#feeling a bit like this take might get me flamed whoops but. i’m deep in my az feelings tonight so i guess i’ve decided to share anyway

[wordsinhaled]

i’m so totally normal about the fact that aziraphale’s last (known) deliberate foray into the queer community was when he learned the gavotte at the fictionalized hundred guineas club (!!!) in the 1800s and now in the 2020s he’s like “grindr? what’s that?”

many are talking about his repression which is very valid… and yet the thing to me that stands out about aziraphale is that he’s actually… incredibly stable in his identity and that identity IS incredibly queer. queer by the standards of heaven AND by human standards as well

metatron describes his “de facto partnership” with crowley as “irregular.” and in fact aziraphale in his entirety is irregular. he likes and makes it his business not only to understand but to be a connoisseur of all manner of things angels aren’t supposed to even remotely care about. food. music. books. theatre. sleight of hand. and more.

it’s the sort of behavior that would’ve gotten him othered, treated as a bit odd, in heaven even if he hadn’t chosen to consort all across the earth with a literal demon. and it IS treated that way - the fact is aziraphale even as an angel has got proclivities that set him apart from the rest of the host (even after offering him the highest position in heaven, metatron still acts deeply dismissive of him… like aziraphale’s bookshop is merely a quaint little hobby of his that can be easily transferred to another custodian, and not a literal extension of who aziraphale has become, full of his tartan and unique bibles and special vintages of wine and the books arranged in a very specific way)

so. aziraphale is a queer angel but of course he’s also queer to other humans. but in such a way that… he had his realization a LONG time ago, and put the matter very much to rest after that. aziraphale is perpetually something like several centuries behind schedule. he owns an ancient computer that probably continues to run windows 98 simply because aziraphale’s decided it should. he wears the same waistcoat and coat for generations because he simply likes them precisely the way they are and sees no reason to change them. but the idea that he doesn’t know how he comes across to others - of course he does. he knows he looks like your prim and proper grandfather and he prefers it that way

aziraphale looked around at humans in the 1880s and said: ah yes. this is where i fit. and promptly ensconced himself in that queer subculture. learned the gavotte. read his austen. loved crowley from afar. aziraphale is fiercely and vibrantly queer. just with the sort of assurance of someone who lives with his lover in a commonlaw marriage for decades and then shows up at city hall for the certificate once society decides it’s ‘allowed.’ like… he hasn’t had any need to know what grindr is because aziraphale’s ‘scene’ was a century and a half ago and it defined romance for him too.

but my favorite thing about aziraphale is how much of him is about appearances versus the truth. he can lie straight to angels’ faces and sleep at night. he knows he comes off soft but he once wielded a flaming sword. he dissembles helplessness but he’s far from it and he knows precisely how it makes others treat him. and at the core of aziraphale is rigidity, inflexibility of ideas… his sense of self is stable where crowley’s is malleable, and so on, and so on

and the fact that he’s continuously fixated on trying to misguidedly do the right thing, the fact that he seeks heavenly approval and wants to fit the world into his schema of good vs evil… in no way do i think that means he isn’t one hundred percent aware of how he feels about crowley or what it means about him by angelic or human standards. i’ve seen some folks saying that aziraphale doesn’t want to like kissing crowley and like… as much as i love me some brideshead revisited/atonement flavored angst; i put forth that it’s not internalized homophobia or queer panic but simply: “i’m trying to do the right thing for both of us and you won’t let me.” and “i wanted our first kiss to be different.” he was envisioning an entirely different flavor of romance than what he got but he emma woodhoused too close to the sun

like, y’all. aziraphale in all likelihood has a glorious collection of historical queer erotica. he just has a feathery diva coat hanging in his closet, and for what. “oh, good lord” he says at crowley’s revolutionary outfit in the bastille, while eyeing him up like an entire meal. he’s so good at affected propriety, at carefully constructed stuffiness, but between the two of them aziraphale’s got to be the one who has experience

aziraphale had been physically throwing himself at crowley the entire season. he orchestrated an entire regency ball so they could touch hand to hand. he spends the entire season (well, and season 1) looking at crowley like he’s particularly coveted. he looked at crowley before the fall like he was glorious and beautiful. aziraphale’s queer and he knows it and i think that isn’t his problem, it’s the fact that he wants to build a different sort of future for the two of them but crowley’s gone and thrown a wrench in it by reminding him of everything he can finally have. like. that’s the heartbreak. it’s how dare you make this ugly? i forgive you for our first kiss being all pain and salt. it’s my dearest, i wanted to make heaven as beautiful as you deserve. as sacred and safe for us as our bookshop. and i can do that for us, because once i held a flaming sword and i still remember how the hilt felt in my hands. and now the taste of you is in my mouth.

[griffintail]

I’ll set the scene, cause I feel like this needs a lil explaination, but imagine this:

One of the The Parent Gang (this is how I refer to the characters you’ve written all the wonderful parental stuff about) is wandering around an area they’re unfamiliar with, mainly just lookin to get some new resources or find a decent mine, when they stumble upon a water well in the middle of an empty field. The first thing off about this is there isn’t a village around for MILES, secondly the well is completely dry and empty, and third of all when they look into the well (which goes down pretty deep compared to the usual village wells), they see a CHILD at the bottom of it. The kid’s clearly malnourished, clothes in rags, dark circles under their tiny eyes, and when they see the Parental Gang member everything about the child brightens up; whoops, guess who’s gonna be a dad~!

- from, an Anon Who’s Trapped in Their Own Love of the Found Family Trope and Never Wants to Leave❤️❤️❤️

Yeah, I love those tropes. I love any child reader tropes though! XD

Wilbur is also my favorite thus, I picked him from the gang!

Well Met

Pairing: Parental! Wilbur x Child! F! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of malnourishment, Implied Mistreatment, It’s light angst that rapidly turns into fluff

        Wilbur was hoping to find a place to loot to get a few bits of equipment for L’Manberg. Maybe he could even find a village that would like to trade for a few bits of good gear to keep in case of emergency. He really didn’t mean to wander so far out though.

        “I should have brought a horse.” He muttered as he put his hands on his hips, looking up at the sun at the highest point in the sky.

        He needed to head back if he wanted to get home before the night struck. Looking around, he hoped he could find something that would be a good enough landmark to remind him where he stopped when he came back out with a horse. Instead, he squinted thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him.

        In the middle of the spruce forest, there was a well that Wilbur would usually see in a village, but there wasn’t one for miles, hence his search. Taking another quick look at his surroundings, he went over to the well. It was an older well, moss growing along the sides and a severed rope where the bucket would hang. He heard no water, so, he looked down, nearly falling in as he startled seeing something that was most certainly not water.

        He stared in surprise as he looked at the small figure of what he could only assume was a child. As they looked up at him, he had to restrain himself from just jumping down the well. Big, innocent (E/C) eyes met his, looking so dull for a moment with bags under them before they sparkled with hope. When she, Wilbur assumed looking at them, looked up at them, he saw the rags she wore and how tiny she was. She opened her mouth but only a cough left her lips.

        “Relax.” He quickly told her as she whimpered at the pain the cough brought her. “I know you’re here. I’m going to get you out as soon as I can. Just give me a moment.”

        Desperately, he dug through his bag and breathed a sigh of relief that he did pack rope in case he found any sort of temple.

        “Alright, darling.” He talked to her to keep her calm while he tied the rope to the nearest tree, not trusting the possible rooting well wood. “I’m going to come down and get you. We’ll see what to do when I get you up but we’re going to do this one step at a time.”

        He gave a hard tug to the rope and it held. Carefully, he tossed it down and he felt so much relief that it ended close enough at the bottom for him to get down.

        “I’m coming love.” He told her as he climbed in.

        Scaling down the wall, he tried to think how this poor small child got in this situation. If someone left her there, he would not rest until he found those people. But one situation at a time.

        He hit the floor and he saw how skinny the poor girl was. Not a drop of water was on the floor so he could only assume she was dehydrated as well after that violent cough. Carefully, he crouched in front of her, giving her a gentle smile. She couldn’t be any more than six as well and it made anger grow in the back of Wilbur’s head.

        “Hi, sweetie. Let’s get you out of here, ya?”

        She gave a small, slow nod.

        “Alright, well I’m going to pick you up and you’re going to have to hold onto me like you’re giving me a big hug, ok?”

        She gave a similar nod.

        “Ok, here we go.”

        He picked her up carefully, noticing how she flinched slightly and how cold she was. Since he was so warm, she gave no hesitance to hold onto him as she nuzzled into his chest to take in the warmth. He hesitated in surprise before wrapping his other arm around her, patting her greasy hair, which made him wince at the feeling.

        “It’s ok, we’re going.”

        He held her with one arm now and grabbed the rope with his free hand.

        “Keep holding on like this.” He reminded her lightly before starting his climb.

        It was much more difficult with a passenger to climb up and even more difficult when he could only use one hand. He stayed determined though to get out, not for himself but the little girl clinging onto him. The climb was long but he reached the top, hugging the girl tighter as he swung himself out. Sitting on the ground, putting his back on the well wall, his breath came out rapidly as he tried to catch it while the little girl stayed nuzzled in his chest.

        “We made it.” He let out as he closed his eyes for a moment.

        He waited till his breathing calmed down before he took in his situation. He had a possible starving and dehydrated child, miles away from L’Manberg. The sun would set soon and he’d be slower with the extra weight to bring along. So, he needed to set up camp.

        “Alright darling, I have some water and an apple in my bag. I’m going to put you down and give you that while I set up a quick camp for us to rest in till morning. Ok?”

        The little girl gave a nod and he lightly squeezed her before putting her down instead against a tree, kneeling in front of her as he went through his bag.

        “Drink slowly, don’t want to make yourself sick.” He gently told her, giving her the water before taking a cloth and the apple.

        Carefully, he cut apple using an unused arrow as she slowly drank. He put the cut-up apple on the cloth giving it to her.

        “There were go, darling. You rest up and I’m going to get a fire going to warm you up.” He gently patted her shoulder before he stood up.

        He took off his jacket and hat before working on getting a fire going. As he worked on getting materials, he took off his walkie.

        “Tommy.” He called out on the public L’Manberg channel.

        “Wilbur! Where are you?” Tommy questioned.

        “I’ve gotten held up exploring, I’ll be back tomorrow. Keep everything together for me alright?”

        “Of course, I will! I’m the Vice President!”

        Wilbur chuckled lightly. “Right, thank you, Mr. Vice President. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

        “Ok. Be careful out there.”

        “Will do.” Wilbur nodded before putting his walkie away again.

        He came back and started the fire. The little girl scooted closer to the warmth coming off the flames as he tried to set up a little shelter for the night to hide from mobs using large branches.

        “Alright, we have somewhere to sleep little one.” He smiled as he sat next to her, wiping sweat off his forehead. “I should introduce myself now. I’m Wilbur, I’m President of a nation called L’Manberg.”

        The little girl played with the rags she wore before she looked at him.

        “I’m (Y/N).” She let out quietly, her voice still having a slight rasp.

        He smiled wider hearing her speak. “That’s a very pretty name. Do you have a home?”

        (Y/N) paused as she scrunched up her nose when she thought.

        “I-I don’t remember things very well Mr. Wilbur. I don’t know.”

        “Hey, it’s ok.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I can take you back with me and you can think about it somewhere safe ok?”

        She nodded. “Ok.”

        “Then we’ll do that in the morning darling.”

        When night fell, Wilbur shepherded her inside the shelter and made her comfortable little corner, laying his jacket on top of her. He stayed up during the night just incase with his bow at his side. As the night went on, he’d glance at the little girl to make sure she was alright. He was worried about how she might have gone down the well.

        Was her bit of memory loss from how long she was down there? How long was she down there?!

        He’d make sure she was ok though.

        In the morning, he went out to check for any stray mobs before he woke up the little girl.

        “It’s morning darling. Let’s get to L’Manberg.” He smiled gently as she rubbed her eyes sleepily.

        “Ok, do you have more water, Mr. Wilbur?” She asked.

        “No, I’m sorry love. I wasn’t planning on being out so late last night.” He apologized. “I’ll get us back as fast as I can so we can get more water.”

        “Ok.” She muttered.

        “Why don’t I carry you so you don’t tire out?” He offered as he put on his hat and his bag. “You can put my jacket on and then ride on my back.”

        He helped her out before picking her up.

        “Here we go (Y/N).” He smiled before making the walk home.

        It was another half a day’s journey but he moved as quick as he could. As he walked, he told her dorky little stories to make her give little giggles and even sang a few songs to her, just wanting to keep her entertained. Before even he knew, half a day was gone and he grinned as he saw the welcoming walls of L’Manberg.

        “There’s home.” He told her. “L’Manberg.”

        “It looks pretty.” She mumbled.

        “It is. And it has very nice people inside. I have a friend in there, Niki, I’m sure she’ll make you some cookies if you ask her nicely and we’ll get you some water.”

        His own stomach grumbled but he didn’t feel it as he felt the little girl squeeze onto him lightly.

        “That sounds nice Mr. Wilbur.”

        “Just call me Wilbur. I’m going to be taking care of you until we see if you have a home, so no need for all that mister stuff.”

        “Ok.” She smiled this time, hiding in his shoulder.

        “Now, let’s get down there and get you cleaned up. Then, we can go look around with some cookies.”

        He went down, smiling to himself. He didn’t know if (Y/N) had a home. He’d look, but he doubted there was any place that she belonged to but she’d have a home now if that was the truth. He’d give her the best care and live in one of the best nations, where he’d always keep her safe.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m not sure if you have something planned for this already but wouldn’t it be the height of irony if Tooley got monched on by a starved Chris when he forgot to drug him? Just opens the door and whoops! He eaten!

CW: Whumper death, drunkenness, some dehumanization, blood drinking, bit of gore, vampirism, some very light catholicism

-

New York City, 1936

KING EDWARD VIII ABDICATES THRONE British Monarch to Wed American Socialite Wallis Simpson

Tooley kicks at the sodden, half-frozen newspaper stuck to his shoe, grunting with the effort it takes to dislodge it. His hands are buried deep in the pockets of his thick woolen coat, and he ignores the envious stares of others whose threadbare outfits are patched, whose gloves are little more than rags wrapped around their not-quite-frostbitten fingers.

Instead, he pulls his scarf up higher, tucks his chin beneath its knitted warmth, and finally manages to send the scrap of paper with its water-stained black-and-white image of a stern-faced soon-to-be ex-king and his Baltimore lover into the street, where it sticks in a puddle and soaks clean through.

The old-timers say a heavy rain is coming, citing their aching joints and bones. It's been a wet winter already, and the absolute last thing New York needs is more rain.

Tooley plans to be holed up in his nice warm little house for the whole of it. He's sold three paintings in a month, and he can spend the next few weeks on the next one until his hands want to drop right off his wrists without having to distract himself with petty concerns like money.

The liquor bubbles warm inside him, and even with the frigid air he's broken a sweat along his back, trickling to his waistband, almost a tickle. He stumbles a little, catches himself, coughs out a laugh as the cold air burns deep into his lungs. It can't penetrate the hazy heat of the drink, though.

Mel's always has the best whiskey, and Tooley has the green these days to pay for the very best indeed. He's spent what might be a whole month's pay - if he weren't the luckiest artist in New York - in a single night.

You might say he's made a deal with the devil.

He pulls the brim of his fedora down, shielding his brow from the bit of freezing moisture speckling his cheeks. He struggles not to giggle like a child.

"Got a bit to spare for a hungry man?" A rasping voice calls out from an alley as he passes. "Help me feed my family, sir? I'm out of work, sir! Got three little ones with hungry bellies!"

Tooley ignores him.

There are crowds like that everywhere these days, always pressing for help, for a little something more and more and more. Men out of work, men in bread lines, women with tired faces and sad children. He's had just about enough of it.

They're calling it a depression, and he finds the term apt enough, considering it seems the whole country's been tumbled into a hole and can't find its way out.

He'd take his muse to Europe and paint there if it weren't for the echoing tension that bleeds over across the sea. Every nation he's idolized for their arts is trying to posture at each other. Rattling sabers while the people sigh heavily and keep washing their laundry, like always.

Tooley was a child when the Great War tore his own family apart - losing an older half-brother to the pointless trenches, a father to the mustard gas that ate his lungs to pieces, a mother to her desperate, sharp grief at her husband and stepson's loss.

The War had rendered him alone in the world before he was even twenty, though he'd been too young to hardly understand it and it had had nothing to do with him.

Wars were for rich men to send poor men to fight in, and Tooley is hoping to have enough wealth to maybe just float right past a new one, if the rumors beginning to swirl came true and Europe is going to erupt. Surely, though, no one would let a second war as horrible as the last happen.

Surely not.

Still, even so, he can simply disappear if they try to call him up to fight. He has no one left to lose, after all. No one to fight for, no one to care for. No one but his pretty little model, all locked away, his to keep.

Tooley takes a sharp left and the streets begin to change from the harsher gray of the city proper into neighborhoods, houses crammed tightly together. It's not the best part of town - Tooley's parents weren't the wealthiest, and he doesn't live like a gentleman, he's got no need to, it's not how he thinks a proper artist should live anyway. Have to keep up the image of the nearly-starving creative genius, after all.

There are still lights in some windows, despite the late hour. Tooley isn't the only one drunk at midnight and still moving.

It's a mile or so from the start of his street to where his house is nestled between two others, close enough he could reach out his kitchen window and touch the brick of the home next door. He smiles a little. His nose aches with the cold at the tip of it, but that's nothing to worry himself over.

He's home.

It takes him four tries to unlock his front door, the key jabbing into wood and brass too far to one side or the other. He laughs, breath puffing white clouds into the air, his ears burning with the cold where his hat doesn't quite cover them.

Good thing he's not with a woman, tonight, if his aim's so bad with just his hands.

The thought makes him laugh harder, nearly a guffaw, loud enough that he's sure he's woken a neighbor or two. It's not the first time.

Finally, the key slides home and the lock clicks and Tooley moves inside. The house is chilled in the entryroom, but as he slides his coat and fedora off to leave them on the coat rack and moves into the kitchen, towards the back, he can feel the warmth slowly trickling from the ticking radiators along the walls.

He's due for a coal delivery in the next couple of days, and boy, he's going to need it with the weather the way it's been.

Tooley heads for his perfect little secret, the vampire held in the backroom, once a sort of servant's bedroom for some family that had owned the home even before his own parents did. It's his studio, now, and the place where the little vampire boy is kept.

He unlocks that door, too. A key, a deadbolt, a little sliding lock at the top for added safety.

"Here, kitty kitty kitty," He slurs, and laughs again, delighted at his own little joke.

There's a scrape and a rustle, and Tooley steps back to let the vampire boy move forward, out of the freezing unheated room - Tooley only turns the radiator on in there when he himself is working, it's not like dead things care about being warm after all - and into the kitchen proper, with its little two-person table.

The boy is looking dirty - he's due for a bath, long overdue honestly. Good things he doesn't sweat enough to stink.

His hair hangs lank in his eyes, closer to dark copper than the new-penny shine Tooley prefers. There are smudges along his cheeks, marring his perfect freckles. He's draped in a sweater patched badly where his elbows have worn holes right through, pants that are tied with a rope since Tooley sure isn't going to waste money on a belt for a corpse.

"Is, did, did you, um, did you bring me food?" The vampire boy looks up at him, eyes glinting a little in the dimness, that unsettling cat-like glow-in-the-dark effect. His little fangs flash, too. "I'm... I'm, I'm hungry, Tooley."

"I know you are, bloodsucker."

"It's, it's been, um, it's been weeks, Tooley-"

"I know, I know. Shut your trap." Tooley ruffles his hair, then pulls his hand back with a grimace as he remembers how dirty and greasy it's gotten, walking away to go to the sink and wash his hands. "We'll get t'that. I met with someone very important at th' bar tonight, and first things first, you and I are going to celebrate."

The boy moves slowly, staying half-crouched - he's been hit before, when Tooley didn't want him to stand all the way up. He settles himself against the wall, head tilted to the side. His cheekbones cut sharp angles in his face, edging down to his narrow chin.

Those big green eyes follow Tooley everywhere he goes.

"Celebrate what?" He asks, and Tooley wonders just how old the ridiculous little thing is. He'd said early aughts, hadn't he, on when he was turned? So he'd be, what, in his forties really?

Funny.

Was he locked up during the Great War?

He's still a pretty teenager, but he's probably closing in on fifty. Tooley's twenty-some years younger and looks infinitely older, in his own estimation.

Tooley should look into vampirism, seems an excellent way to hold onto your looks, doesn't it? He wonders if the boy knows how to turn him. They could make beautiful work forever...

Hm.

Something to ruminate over when he's hungover in the morning.

"New commission. I'm taking a few weeks off, give us both a break, but I've got the basic details. I'll pick up a broad, get her all set up for modeling, we'll make us a mint, sweetheart." He moves to the counter, picking up the half-full bottle of gin he keeps there, taking a swig and grimacing, coughing. There's a rattle in his lungs these days he doesn't like much.

"You'll, you'll kill her?" The vampire watches him. He looks hungry, with all those sharp lines emphasized, as though he were a painting himself still in progress, with the outline still written in graphite showing through the colors. He's pale, painted in wash, not yet turned to vivid velvet intensity with oils.

"'Course. You think any of my models would stay alive anywhere near you?" He laughs at the very idea, missing the vampire's little flinch as he turns away. He pulls a loaf of bread from the breadbox, already starting to stale but that's all right, he's going to toast it over the stove anyway. The world swims around him from the liquor, and he catches the counter with one hand to keep himself upright.

The feeling brings another laugh out of him.

The little vampire smiles faintly in echo of it. He has to work to get the stove to gas, narrowing his eyes as it struggles, sputters, before finally a little flame flares up. Just enough to give off a little heat for the toast.

"Fuck. Drank too much. Or not enough." He laughs again, and pulls a knife from the knifeblock, the sharp serrated thin blade best for slicing through the heavy sourdough he buys from a woman down the block. Bit of toast, pat of salted butter, that'll get him through to morning when he can head down for eggs and bacon at Paulie's diner.

Maybe he'll even buy some extra for the hungry men who hound around the doors. He can be a philanthropist.

As he slices, the knife slips off the stale, hard crust and cuts right through the back of his hand, a long line immediately welling with bright red blood. He groans, irritated, and sets the knife down, turning to run cold water over it as the pain flares bright, but slightly muted from his drunkenness.

There's a rustle behind him, and Tooley's mind only belatedly begins to allow alarm to trickle through the warm fuzz of the gin and whiskey. He slowly turns around.

Where the vampire boy had been curled against the wall, a bundle of skinny bones and too-big clothes, there's... nothing.

Tooley glances to one side and sees the boy crouched on the floor by the edge of the lower cabinets, his hands pressed into the ground. He moved five feet in less than a second.

His eyes are flared, wide and with pupils burying the iris in black. He clicks, softly, tongue against teeth in an inhuman way.

Click-click-click-click.

click-click-click.

How'd he move so fast?

"Shit," Tooley whispers. "When's the last time I fed you?"

The vampire doesn't answer, only stares, unblinking, muscles tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. He clicks again.

His lips pull back from his teeth and those fangs that seem so cute and little on every other day suddenly look long, like daggers, dripping a shimmering venom to the ground.

Tooley tries not to blink, too, but his eyes dry and dry and dry and eventually he can't help it. His eyes close, a fraction of a second, and flare open right away.

Not fast enough.

The vampire leaps and Tooley grunts at the impact of the small bony body against his own, his lower back smacking into the line of the counter with a flash of pain. The bread and knife both clatter to the ground.

Panic comes, but it doesn't help. He's still groping to get at another knife when the vampire's fingernails dig into his scalp, grip into his hair and jerk his head to the side to bare his throat.

"Hungry," The vampire boy hisses. "Hungry, Tooley. Hungry."

"I-I know, just, just don't blow your wig, gimmee a minute, I can get you something, just hold on-" Tooley's voice is thin from the harsh angle his neck is being held at, and he swallows, seeing in a bleary haze the way the vampire's huge eyes are focused on the movement of his adam's apple, the bob of his throat.

Can he see the blood pulsing there?

He puts his hands up against the vampire's chest to try and push him off, but it's like pushing against rock. He thinks about painting the vampire as a kind of young Prometheus for a dandy from Boston, tied naked to a rock to be pecked at by eagles, and wonders if the mythological man ever tried to push the rock itself, and if it failed as miserably for him as it does for Tooley now.

"There's blood in the shed out back, just let me go and I'll grab it for you." He pitches his voice soothing and slightly patronizing, like speaking to a whining dog. "Okay, kitten? Just two minutes and you'll be fed, right as rain."

The vampire pauses, hesitates, and Tooley feels his hands working at Tooley's hair and one shoulder, like a cat kneading into your lap before they settle. His little stray. His breathing starts to ease, his heart to slow down, the first rush of panic subsiding.

The world still spins a little, but the rush of adrenaline is settling things into something more solid, wiping away the liquor.

"I'll put you back in your room and go get it for you, it's right outside, good and cold," Tooley coos, and realizes too late it isn't what he should have said.

"There's blood right here, and and and, and, and it's living," The vampire boy says, eyes wide and inhuman, and he's absolutely gorgeous. "Your, your, yours is hot."

Tooley would paint him like this, all feral instinct overwriting the living corpse of an anonymous Irish immigrant who died dozens of years ago. A metaphor, maybe, for the way some of the children who come here lose all their European culture and get boorishly American, and-

The vampire bites down, and all thoughts of art and culture flee from Tooley's mind.

The liquor holds off the pain so long the venom hits before he even feels the way those sharp teeth have breached his skin. He goes limp, dropping in a heap to the floor. He thinks he hits his head on the loaf of bread before it knocks into the floor.

They feel about the same level of hardness.

The knife is right next to his head, lying there, shining in the yellowed lamplight, with its carved wooden handle.

All he has to do is move his hand a few inches to reach it.

Just a few inches.

He tries, desperately, to tell his fingers where to go.

The vampire sucks hard at the wound in his neck, pulling blood from his veins like a man drinking an egg cream after a long hot day's work, and Tooley groans. He can feel the press and pull without the pain, and it's the strangest thing he's ever felt. Stranger than those he's gone to bed with.

The venom makes his limbs feel like stones, weighed down to motionless. He struggles even to swallow saliva, to take a deep breath. His heart never races again with panic. He isn't able to feel it any longer.

Those sharp little fingernails dig hard into his shoulders, the weight of the vampire settled on him, straddling him. A little flirty thought - at least buy me dinner first - makes its way across his mind, barely coherent, slow as molasses.

The vampire starts up his soft rumble, the vibration filtering in through into Tooley's body. It seems like it makes him feel even more frozen, heavy as the ocean and weightless at once.

His eyes are on the ceiling, and he realizes how long it's been since anyone cleaned the corners where cobwebs have grown and grown. They need swept away.

Funny how he never noticed before. Too busy with his art.

There's a moment where Tooley is surprised to look down at himself, as if he's floating somewhere near the ceiling staring down at his own open eyes. When he needed not to blink, he couldn't stop himself, but now the body he is looking at just stares and stares and stares, unseeing, unblinking, unbreathing-

Oh.

As soon as the realization hits, Tooley's awareness of himself as a body he can observe is gone.

There is darkness, and then a point of terrible final light. He feels the grasping of bloodied hands.

And he's gone.

The vampire drinks until the blood stops pumping, until the heart beneath his kneading hand is still. Then a rough tongue laps at the wounds, finding the last few droplets there that still sing with life.

The vampire pulls back, skin flush with life, no longer white as snow. His freckles stand out, scattered like constellations of stars over his skin. The dead man beneath him has all the paleness he had before, they are switched, swapped death for life.

He wipes the blood from around his mouth and looks slowly upwards, breathing in deep gulps he doesn't need but which feel so, so good.

He moves to the stove, to turn it off, but he doesn't quite turn it off all the way. An odd smell fills his nose and the vampire's nostrils wrinkle, but he doesn't know what the scent is, and he simply pulls Tooley's coat on before he leaves, door unlocked.

A few minutes later, a man with his hands over a barrel fire looks up to see a redheaded teenager in a woolen coat far too large for him move under a streetlamp, pausing to look up at it as if surprised by how bright its light is.

He blinks, and the man squints.

The young man's mouth is open, as if scenting the air by letting it roll over his tongue. Before the man can quite understand what he is looking at, the boy's mouth closes and he turns to look at the man. As his eyes shift from being lit by the lamp to draped in shadow, though...

They glow.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," The man whispers, crossing himself hurriedly. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, b-be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil-"

The boy looks right at him, head tilted. The flames of the barrel flicker, hissing a little when raindrops start to fall. His lips pull back from his teeth and there are an animal's fangs there, plain as day.

The man feels pure horror at the sight of a demon walking free and unfettered in New York City. He grabs at the cross he wears around his neck and holds it out, his voice trembling. "May G-God... rebuke him, we humbly pray-"

"I, I, I hope that works for you," The boy says, and his voice is soft, and there's almost a lilt of the old country there that the man recognizes, not quite his own but not far off. "It never d-did for, um, for me. Don't worry. I'm... I'm full. You're, you're, you're in no danger from me. When, when, when, when... when did you come here? To this place?"

The man swallows around a lump in his throat, and yet he finds himself compelled to answer honestly. "Two years past, give or take. Came with m'wife and baby girl."

"From where?"

"... Kerry," He says, against his will. He can't seem to hold back the words. "And my wife grew up in County Cork."

The boy smiles, and his horrid teeth disappear when his lips press together. He looks for all the world like any other young man, a bit skinny perhaps and in need of a good meal or three, but no danger to anyone.

But the man has seen the demon that he is, and he finds himself grateful for the fire between them and the cross still in his hand, the shield of St. Michael and the cloak of Christ Himself.

"My, my, my, my parents were from County Cork," The demon boy says, lightly. His lilt is slightly stronger. "Wonder if we're cousins, your your wife and I. Maybe so. Stay home, um, after dark. Don't, don't, don't work when the sun is, um, is down."

The boy turns and walks away.

The man realizes with a start that in the midst of a chilly December night, the boy's feet are utterly bare. He steps over ice like he could walk on water.

There was blood smeared on the back of his coat.

The man flinches as he hears a sudden boom, close enough that he feels it in his chest as well as hearing the sound. A moment later a woman runs by shouting that a house has caught flame, to call for help.

The man looks back at the way the boy went.

He's gone.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[sugako]

tendou x f!reader

req: 1-800-bedtime w/ tendou (11&25) 

cw: 18+ minors dni, nsfw, fluffy, wax play, mirror sex, unprotected sex, semi-body worship/lots of compliments, pet name used (love), very soft, established relationship

a/n: ummm this is much longer than intended whoops, but i loved this idea i can’t even begin to describe just....ty anon for the req ily 

you had just been messing around when you stuck the tip of your finger into the wax of a freshly blown-out candle. the little, apathetic “ow” you let you made tendou look up from across the table to see what you were doing. when he cocked an eyebrow you stuck up your finger that was capped with the hardening wax. 

“it was hot.” you said lamely, already getting up to peel it away and toss it in the trash. he pursed his lips while he held back a grin and stood. 

“it really is. i’m going to grab a couple things down the street, i’ll be right back.” he said quickly, already throwing on a jacket. 

“wait, i can come with you. just let me, uhh...” you glanced down at your more than casual appearance - stained t-shirt that was two sizes too big, sleep shorts that were just a little too short, cushy slippers, and damp hair. “do you mind if i stay home?” 

“it shatters my very fragile heart, but no, not at all, love. do you need anything?” he came back around the table to press a quick kiss to your forehead, more than thankful that he didn’t have to ask you to wait here. 

“can you get that bread i like and, uh, maybe an iced coffee for tomorrow morning?” you struggled through your mental checklist of groceries that were running low, but couldn’t come up with many. 

“of course.” he kissed you again and made his way out the door. 

when he got back, you who were too busy tidying up the apartment before bed, didn’t even notice the extra bag definitely not from the shop around the corner. you padded into the kitchen to help him unpack, only to be stopped by one of his hands wrapping around the top of your arm. 

“go to bed, i’ll meet you there with a little surprise, okay?” the way his whisper reverberated around your ear sent a shock down your spine. shivering as you pulled away, you nodded quickly and pressed a fast kiss to his cheek before you headed to the bedroom. 

it was almost embarrassing how easily he could rile you up with just some simple words and the brush of his fingers, but you really didn’t mind. a bit awkwardly you sat on the bed, knees pulled up to your chest, trying to distract yourself with your phone to no avail. 

his gentle knock as he opened the door jolted you out of your own head. your eyes drew over his perfect form, already changed into a big sweatshirt and boxers. it was more than obvious that he was hiding something, blatantly holding his arms behind his back. 

“can we try something?” he purred, striding to the bed and kneeling on the mattress with one knee. 

you jaw twitched in tense anticipation. “what?” you squeaked out. 

his relaxed smile grew as he presented three deep red candles that matched his buzzed head and pretty eyes. your breath hitched as you realized, and then a small laugh bubbled out of your chest. 

“because i touched the wax earlier?” you giggled, pulling him on top of yourself and peppering him with little pecks. 

“maybe,” he grinned into your embrace, returning your kisses, “thought it might be fun.” 

“okay, but don’t set our apartment on fire. or me.” you sigh as he sits back up, kneeling over you. 

“no promises, love.” he hums, letting the candles drop into the dip of mattress by your bodies as he ghosts his hands under your shirt until you get the hint and pull it off. his fingers graze up your stomach and around your breasts, taking all of you in. “you’re so beautiful.” 

you roll your eyes, “sator-”

“stop.” he says firmly, tucking his face against your neck and trailing hot, wet, open-mouth kisses down your front. “you’re perfect, want you to see how perfect you are.” he mumbles against your heaving chest. 

you’re silent, knowing you can’t argue. his fingers hook into the band of your shorts as his mouth travels farther down your torso, moving to your hips when he pulls your shorts down and off your ankles. fully exposed, you shiver under his touch as he comes back up to sweetly kiss you fully on the lips.

hands tangle around the back of his head, brushing through the softness of his short hair, while the kiss deepens. as if forcing himself, he pulls away with a little huff and pout that relaxes into a smile when he sees you all out of breath and quivering beneath him. 

with weak hands you tug at the hem of his sweatshirt. “not fair,” you sigh out. he can’t deny you, immediately tugging the top over his head. greedily, your eyes drink in the sight of him, pale and slim and perfectly toned. 

he tosses two of the candles onto the bedside table, keeping a tight grip over the last one, and rattles through the drawer for a lighter. 

“ready?” he asks as he lights it, the tiny flame flickering for a moment before it steadies.

“uh-huh, yeah,” you manage out. 

“tell me if it’s too hot, okay? these are special ones for using on your body, but i want you to let me know if you don’t like anything.” 

you sight is transfixed on the way the wax begins to melt, drips perilously teetering over your skin. “i will, safeword is mendiant.” you offer up before he gets the chance to ask you.

“good,” he hums, tipping the candle so the drips land squarely against your sternum.

the way you twitch and whine under him as the hot wax dribbles down your middle goes straight to his cock, and he has to shift the way he’s sitting to stop himself from getting too distracted. 

“feel good?” he whispers out, all hoarse and uneven, eyes transfixed to the peaks of your breasts. all you can do is whimper out a gasp and nod enthusiastically. the wax is hot, but not too much, and the way it drips down your skin, the little patterns he’s creating along your stomach and chest, just make you want more. 

you want him - now. but you also don’t want to stop, relishing in the way he’s pressing into the top of thigh while he, obviously, holds back. thighs, clamped together by his knees that straddle you, fidget under him trying to get a lick of friction, which is nearly impossible with all the slick between your legs. 

“so pretty like this,” he breathes out, “i want you to see how pretty you are.” 

he blows out the candle, setting it atop the other two on the nightstand, and gets off of you to shuck his boxers off then pull you into his lap facing the large wall mirror over the sliding door of the closet. the room is very dim, barely illuminated by the setting sun that peeks through the wispy curtains, so it’s impossible to see yourself clearly, but you can see enough. 

tendou pulls you close, so your back is flush to his bare chest, and easily pries your legs open. his cock sat comfortably between your legs, twitching under the hotness of your cunt. this wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, he had you to watch yourself, admiring the reflection as you got fucked dumb on his cock. the first few times you weren’t sure - it was unfamiliar, intimate, and more personal - but you soon learned to enjoy it just as enthusiastically as he did, especially when he was showering you with soothing compliments the entire time. 

“so wet from a little wax, love?” he settles his chin against your shoulder.

“mhmm...” you sigh, grinding against him. “satori, i want you.” 

his grin relaxes as he silently heeds your words, lifting you off his lap enough to slip his cock between your folds. once he’s lined up he holds your hips and an iron grip, helping you down his length. you whimper and whine the entire long moment, determined to easily take him. 

he watches as your eyes screw shut, spread pussy struggling to be stuffed so full. at last when he bottoms out his hand comes under your chin to lightly force you to look up. you open your eyes immediately, finally looking at the sight before you. 

his cock is nestled neatly between your legs, the slight angle he’s sitting at making you able to see exactly where the two of you are connected. slowly, your eyes move up, admiring the messy drips of wax that still cling to your skin although they’ve hardened. with the blissed expression your sporting, you can understand why he looks so determined in the mirror. 

“so pretty,” he coos, running his hands up and down you, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. “ready?”

“please, want you to fuck me.” you nod frantically, digging your fingers into the comforter to support yourself. 

his hands don’t leave your sides, settling back to grope your hips again. his knees spread between yours, forcing your legs a little wide, so he can squarely plant his feet before he starts to fuck up into you. 

the squelch of your bodies hitting sends your mind into another orbit and your eyes would have rolled back in your head had they not been fixed to where your cunt was creaming around him. the slick coated his thighs with every bounce, making a bigger and bigger mess as the minutes passed. 

in this moment, everything felt perfect and good. all of your stresses and anxieties gone - filled by thoughts of love and care and the feeling of being stuffed full and fucked well. you held onto the moment, burning it into your brain, never wanting it to end.  

[aenaxes]

memories of a shooting star

[fives x f!reader] what answers can a falling star offer you when it dips into the atmosphere and calls you home?

warnings: none

w/c: 1.4k

a/n: for my sweet @murdertoothpick, “i am an aries, afab, my favourite time of the day is that time between 7-8pm (is that weirdly specific? maybe), i’m an introvert but i hc myself as an extrovert (don’t ask, or do; okay maybe i’m actually an ambivert), and i have no preference of n/sfw *lip bite*” i match you with (best boy) fives! i feel like he'd admire your energy, quiet as it may oftentimes be, and he'd have a knack for picking up on your comfort levels and knowing the right time to tug you close or nudge you further.

Sometimes, you allow yourself the luxury of letting your mind wander in the pressurized stillness between silent dogfights in space. When the brothers have gone to sleep and the generals take perch in high places in the turret towers, you sit over your flimsy army-issue blankets and summon the courage to wonder about breaking every regulation humanly possible.

What would a shotgun wedding look like in neutral space? What would it be like to tap Fives awake in the dead hours of night and hotwire an escape pod? What would it be like to look war in the face and, instead of bowing your head low and slowly breaking bone after bone under its weight, what if you simply refused?

If you squinted into the galaxy, could you see the dregs of another lost battle memorialized in light speed?

What would it be like to live?

How did it end up this way? You wanted to see the stars, those little specks in the night sky, so small you thought you might be able to scoop them into your palm if you reached out far enough. When did joining the war machine become a part of that dream?

They’re big questions.

So you start small, chasing the shadows of uncertainty with a grin as you lift a lighter to the smuggled sparkler stick pinched between Fives’s teeth.

Funny, how it was up to regulation to sleep against a plasma torpedo with enough firepower to knock a small moon out of orbit. But a thin stick of old-fashioned gunpowder and crude metals warranted something a little harder than a slap on the wrist.

But you see Fives grin around the wooden end of the sparkler he’d paid a merchant nearly triple for when he’d tugged you from the waterfront to the night market vendors. But you see him nearly drop the sparkler when he smothers down his laugh at your struggling attempts to get the stick to actually catch; you see him nearly drop it again when, finally, it begins to fizzle and pop soft yellow sparks between you. But you see familiar lights begin to dot the shoreline behind him; you hear Dogma yelp, Echo laughs, Jesse and Hardcase whoop over the fuzzy wavesound.

The stars don’t seem so far away anymore.

Fives reaches up to pluck the sparkler from his lips, offering it to you with a giddy triumph that trembles over his smile. You grin back, and you wonder if Fives sees the sparks in your eyes the same way you do his.

“That was in your mouth!” you laugh and twist your lips into your most convincing display of disgust as you shoo him away. “I thought that was going to be yours!”

“Baby, yesterday you literally asked me to spit in your—”

“Nah-ah-ah!” you cut him off. Briny air fills your open-mouthed grin, and you wonder if this is what the sparkler trail of a shooting star tastes like, warm with the retreating rays of twin suns sinking beneath the horizon, warm with Fives’s easy joy reflected over the gentle waves. “I’m not going to let you sneak an indirect kiss in while the boys are here.”

“Oh, baby girl, they know we do more than indirect kissing—” Fives starts.

“Ah-ah!” you tut, laughing as he reaches the sparkler towards your free hand.

You skirt his touch with a giddy shriek when you feel his knuckles brush over yours. It’s playground flirtation, it’s tag as Fives lopes after you, but the wind feels like you could call this little planet home when the war ends, when the Jedi step back, when you can look up and see the stars unobstructed by the shadow of a cruiser crusher overhead. For all that keeps you up at night, tonight, there is a warm breeze and Fives and the promise that if you turn your head, you will find family in the brothers lighting the shoreline with fizzling dots of light.

So you throw your head back. Your hair catches in your mouth and brushes over your nose as you backpedal over the sand. And when Fives, backlit by the late glow of the sunset, reaches for you, though you might be pretending to run from him, you reach back and close your fingers around gilded rays of light.

It had been a funny question to ask when you were younger: what does a star feel like, cradled in your palm? Would it consume you in its orbit? Would it be so hot it felt like you were freezing? Would it be nothing at all, just asteroid dust and the memories left behind?

It still feels a bit strange to ask, but now you have your answer.

The starlight is calloused and rough. It is young in light and yet ancient with memory. It is tired. It wakes up at 0400 to run bed checks and steel itself for another day in an ocean with no shore.

But it’s soft, too. It is the quiet, forgiving love of the dawn that crests over the waves without fail. It kisses your cheeks with honeyed warmth and lets you tug it back into bed for five more minutes. It opens itself to you and invites you to hold it close, starstreaks finally in your grasp and so, so warm in your palm as you lace your fingers with Fives’s and let him swing you up into his arms and close against his chest.

Fives brings his arms around your neck, wrangling you into a hug as you laugh and wriggle in his embrace. The sparkler crackles a few centimetres away from your cheek and showers you with cool embers as Fives dips his head low and nuzzles his beard against your cheek. Far behind you, Rex’s laughter crests with Tup’s and dips into wavesound.

By the time your laughter dies down, you realize you’ve chased each other to wobble ankle-deep in the warm ocean waters. Seafoam laps at the edges of the rolled hems of your pants, and it just feels right to wiggle your arms around Fives’s waist.

Your star skims the atmosphere and grazes close over the water’s edge, wrapping its iridescent tail around your shoulders and offering you a half-spent sparkler stick. And when you still your heart to look your shooting star in the eye, you find deep brown eyes and a boyish grin mellowing, softening with the steady burn of the sparkler’s waning lights.

Without thinking, you rise up to your toes. Sand slips over your feet, and the wind cools over your skin as you squeeze your hands over the small of Fives’s back and press your lips against his. You distantly register Jesse shooting a low whistle your way, followed by more laughter. But the warmth that spreads from the base of your ribs to the top of your head in the glow of the sparkler beside you is far from embarrassment.

“I thought you said no kissing?” Fives teases with a wry smile after you pull away and settle your heels back into the sand.

You shake your head, and you aren’t sure if you’re grinning because of the warmth in your chest or if the swell between your ribs makes it impossible to hide from his light. You squeeze your arms at his side and crane your head to peck over his beard.

“No indirect kissing,” you correct.

Fives rolls his eyes, but his teasing facade breaks with a yelp as the sparkler flame grazes over his thumb. The stick drops into the shallow waters and rocks in place where the waves lap around your ankles. Dogma yells something about littering before he dissolves into laughter with his brothers.

Reaching around into his pocket, you pull a fresh stick from its little bundle and tap it against Fives’s nose. His expression scrunches, but it doesn’t hold. Fives acquiesces with a soft huff and completes your exchange by tugging the lighter from the loose curl of your fist.

The stars are still in the sky tonight. But maybe one has pitched its orbit planetside and grazed closer than before. Maybe you make peace with the questions and the rules and everything you may never know. Maybe you reach a little further this time.

You close your hand over Fives’s as he lifts the lighter to your sparkler. Golden light spills between your chests. And when you hold a star in your palm, it glows.

[a-cupof-jo]

Dyspnea

Parings: Potion Master!Jaehyun X Medicinal Herbalist!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Intended Angst, Magic!au

WC: 4.1K

Warnings: magic inaccuracies, food mentioned, tiny bit suggestive

For @ficscafe fic scenario event! 

Summary:  The candle flickered as Jaehyun’s breath caught the flame. The life you two lived together was simple, but he wouldn’t change anything about it, “Happy birthday, Jaehyun. Make a wish.” The flame flickered out. He hadn’t known it then, but he should have used that wish more wisely.

Prompt: 38. When they test out a love potion on their partner.

~~

It wasn’t fair that so many people get to enjoy this day while he is stuck behind the shuttered windows  dark shadows. He doesn’t hate this day. How could he? It was Valentine's day- and his birthday but that never mattered. Not to the everyday people who slip through his door hours before this day begins. He can’t blame them. For they came in search of something only he can provide. 

Love.

Or at least some figment of love. For some it was a way to prove their love. Others used it to try and get their long time crush to like them back. Jaehyun can’t help but laugh every time a young teenager pushes open the door to his shop for the nth time that week saying that they wanted to test this “love potion” on another person. Of course he doesn’t give them a full love potion. Just something diluted down closer to an addictive, like honey. It barely lasts 15 minutes. 

He hears a bell chime from the other room. Whipping his hands on his apron he walks through the separating doorway. “I’m sorry,” he glances toward a cracked window that no longer had sunlight gleaming through it. “I am actually closed.” 

“Oh,” a man just shorter than Jaehyun stood in the middle of the room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I’ll just come back tomorrow.” He bit his lip lightly glancing around the room.

“Nonsense,” Jaehyun waved his hand. “You are already here. Might as well make good of the trip. Besides. I don’t mind.” He grinned at the man, trying to ease the tension that laced through the newcomers face.

The man sighed before stepping closer, “I still feel bad.”

“Don’t,” Jaehyun gave a light laugh. “Gives me something better to do than stir pots,” he watched the man warily as the sentence left his lips. “Magical beings” were still a wary subject for some people even if they had been able to practice in the open for nearly 50 years now. When the man just gave him a small smile Jaehyun stepped behind the counter that held his potions and elixirs. “What can I help you find today Mr…”

“Oh, Lee. But just call me Taeyong,” he waved his hand around peering through the glass at the display. “Well here’s my situation.” He glanced up at Jaehyun. “I have a date coming up and my date said there is this potion that allowed a person to change their hair color just by drinking it,” Taeyong looked amazed as he stared up at Jaehyun. “I wanted to try it out for our next date. That, and I’m not sure how much more bleaching my scalp can go through.” He combed his hand through his hair giving it a light tug at the bangs afterwards. 

Jaehyun grimaced as he watched the straw like strands fall back into place, “Well you’re where you need to be. I have a lot of potions for that.” He moved down the row to where a shelf full of colorful bottles filled every inch. “There’s all of these, plus I can also create other colors if you don’t see one you like here.”

Taeyong peered back through the glass eyes wide with wonder. He glanced around the box a few times. "What about white?" He rested a hand over a bottle he assumed to hold the potion. 

Jaehyun grinned, "One of my best sellers." Reaching for a little black jar Jaehyun scan the man. He would obviously look good with white hair. He probably looks good with any color of hair. "You just want to try the white?" 

Taeyong hummed a second glancing toward the moonlit window, "Yes, just the white." 

Jaehyun set the bottle is a small leather pouch, "2 shillings." The coins clinked as rested on the counter. "Enjoy! Have a good night." He watched the thin man walk through the door and past the window before latching the door shut. Taeyong had been pleasant and kind but Jaehyun couldn't help but be slightly peeved with the man. Unlatching the door he peeked his head out; he glanced to his left and, yes, there was still the sign with hours stating 'Dawn to Dusk' hanging off the building. 

The moon was bright tonight and he couldn’t help but stare at it. How could it be that a ball of rock could bring him such peace. Maybe it was just the ambiance, but a little part of him wants to believe that there's a little man that lives on that moon and watches over the earth. It might seem ridiculous, but he could brew color changing elixirs and make people fall in love, so it couldn’t be that far fetched. 

“Happy birthday, sweetie,” Jaehyun jumped lightly as arms wrapped around him from behind. He sighed as you placed your chin on his shoulder. “Sorry I wasn’t back earlier. I got stuck talking to Johnny at the market.” Your finger traced little patterns on his stomach as you both stood in the dimly lit doorway. “Come on, I’ll make dinner.” You pulled at his arm. Jaehyun closed his eyes taking a deep breath of clear night air before turning and giving you a soft smile. “I may have something for you. You know, considering it is valentines day.” 

“Only because it’s valentines day,” He raised an eyebrow at you as you glided through the small store. 

You were once an enigma to him. Someone he couldn’t reach, couldn’t touch. Your brother, adoptive brother, Johnny was Jaehyun’s best friend growing up. You were the aloof younger sister that Jaehyun hardly knew about until you made it to your apprenticeship. For as long as Jaehyun had known you, you’d have always been enamored by plants and flowers. So, when he found out you were studying herbal medicine, he wasn’t surprised. 

“Of course, what other day would it be,” you gave him a small smile as you stood near the pot Jaehyun had previously been working at.

Jaehyun's relationship with you had been moments of fleeting looks, paths crossing, and unspoken rules. Two lives bending and swaying, following the same path, but never touching. Until you broke the pattern, you veered off course.

He had just finished his apprenticeship with the, now retired, potions master Kim. Mr. Kim had taken Jaehyun in from a young age, raising him when Jaehyun’s parents decided they didn’t want anything to do with someone containing magical properties. Johnny had planned a small party congratulating Jaehyun on his success. He didn’t know you were going to be there. Even if you were Johnny’s sibling you never showed anything but indifference to Jaehyun. Music had played from a small group of boys too loud for the space they were in. 

You had sauntered over, a small flute of champagne dangling from your fingertips. "Can you do it?" Jaehyun had been surprised by your bluntness. "Take over for Kim. There's gonna be a lot of pressure," you noted, not unkindly. 

"There will be, but Mr. Kim wouldn't let me take over if he didn't have at least some confidence in my abilities," he swiped the glass from your hand and swallowed down the contents. "Besides, he's still going to be around. He hasn't cut me loose yet." 

You grabbed his hand in yours and tugged him towards the outskirts of dancing people, "A dance?" You didn't wait for a response as you twirled him closer to the center of the floor. 

Jaehyun was not surprised at your fluid movements. Johnny had always bragged about how his sister was a natural dancer and the best in their city, perhaps the world. He smiled at you now sharing Johnny's sentiments. You gave him a small grin in return as the music died, "You're going to be great."

A whoop went up from one of the musicians, Donghyuck, Jaehyun's brain supplied. Your grin grew as you raised your voice in a louder whoop. Jaehyun watched as the sentimental atmosphere changed. You grabbed his hands leading him to a lively dance, "Beside, you can't fail, not when I'm just a few doors down." 

"You mean cause Ms. Joy is a few doors down," Jaehyun teasing corrected. 

You shake your head at him, "I'll be a few doors down." 

You were, and a line that you didn't know existed between you both was crossed. Jaehyun wasn't sure who started the late night rendezvous or the unspoken pact of always standing by each other, but turned into late night talks which turned into early morning coffee, and later, shared lunches. 

You guys fell into a rhythm, a three year rhythm that morphed into passing kisses, soft hugs, mornings of gentle coaxing and nights of soft loving. 

Jaehyun wrapped his arms around you glancing into the pot full of a clear liquid, thicker than water and smelled of sweet syrup, "Busy?" 

You spun to face him shaking your head as you fixed the collar of his shirt, "Everyone was too busy being in love to be worried about visiting me.” 

“Ah, the prettiest healer on the street doesn’t have love on this day,” Jaehyun furrowed his brow. “I knew this would happen. You would leave me because I have given love to everyone but you.”

You gave him a light giggle kissing the corner of his mouth, “I would never leave you.” You spin out of his arms walking further towards the house that sat behind the shop. “You are my soulmate,” you gave Jaehyun a look full of adoration and love.

Jaehyun was sure that his face read the same, “My perfect half.” 

You motioned for him to follow you, “Come, I made something for you.”

“Made something for me,” Jaehyun stepped into the small living areas entryway. “What is the occasion?”

“It’s Valentine's Day,” you had shrugged, pulling a large dutch oven out of the convection oven. You turned and furrowed your brows at him, “and I think there’s something else going on today. Any idea what that is?” 

Jaehyun shrugged, “None that I can think of.” 

“Hmm,” you opened the lid letting more of the aroma fill the room. Your mouth popped open in  mock surprise, “Oh, that’s right. It’s your birthday.” You placed vegetables on the table before scooping up some hot soup. You widen your eyes at him, humor dancing through them, “I can’t believe I forgot about it. Especially because I got you something special.” 

“Something special?” Jaehyun placed cups on the small table as you set down the plates. “Where is it?” 

You grinned and leaned in close to his ear, “That’s for me to know and you to find.” You laughed as Jaehyun let out a choked breath and scanned you up and down. “Now, let’s eat. You’re going to need all of your energy.” 

“You are going to be the death of me,” Jaehyun gave an astonished laugh grinning as you sat across from him placing a small cupcake in front of him. 

The candle flickered as Jaehyun’s breath caught the flame. The life you two lived together was simple but he wouldn’t change anything about it, “Happy birthday, Jaehyun. Make a wish.” The flame flickered out. He hadn’t known it then, but he should have used that wish more wisely.

~~

Jaehyun hummed under his breath as the sun shone through his shop's open windows. Spring was just around the corner and Jaehyun’s happy mood couldn’t be dimmed. Warm bright weather brought in more customers. More customers meant that he was busier, and brought in more revenue, but mostly he was busier. That was one reason Jaehyun loved his job. He was working with his hands all day. There was never a moment where he was bored. 

He watched as a little boy walked between the two aisles the shop held. It wasn’t much, but the little trinkets and common potions that lined the shelves made Jaehyun proud of how far he had come. He could still picture the small store from when he was around the young boy's age. Laughter sounded through the store as the boy tried to escape his mother's hands. "Have a good day!" Jaehyun watched the giggling pair walk out the front door. Turning to the backroom he sighed looking at the pot that sat there.

The weeks he had spent trying to develop a new love potion was wasted as he, once again, failed. Since before Valentines day, now nearly 2 weeks ago, he had been cooped up in that backroom, trying to find a better love concoction. You, while fully willing, were starting to become an annoyed test subject. Jaehyun couldn't help but get testy when you complained about the new love potion. If you were gonna tell him it wasn't good or right then maybe you could give some ideas on how to fix it. Maybe he just needs to find a new test subject. Jaehyun looked through the list of love potions and ingredients that he had already used. Too many, he scowled down at the pages and pages of notes he had made on each variety of potion he had made. 

"Hello," he heard the little bell connected to the front door ring and someone walked around the shop, obviously looking for him. 

Jaehyun sighed, rolled his shoulders back and tried to put on his best smile, "Hi, what can I help you with- Oh Taeyong. Hello." Jaehyun scanned the man in front of him. "The white looks good."

Taeyong reached up and ran a hand through his bright white hair, "Thanks. I love it and so did my date." He tapped his index fingers together as he walked back up to the counter full of the colored potions. "I wanted to try more." 

Jaehyun smiled as the man scanned the rows, "We've plenty to choose from." 

Taeyong narrowed his eyes, concentrating on different colors. He eyes flickered up and met Jaehyun's, "I can't decide. What do you think? What would look good?" 

"He looks great in pink," a hand wrapped around his bicep. "He knows it too, but not many can pull it off well. You might be able to," Jaehyun grinned at you. While you were right about pink being a difficult color to pull off, you knew more than that, the pink dye was the hardest one to make. Which is why when Jaehyun glanced down at the box, he saw only 2 pink vials while the others had at least 10. "What about red? Maybe a green?" 

Taeyong watched the two of you share another quick look. Clearing his throat slightly he looked down in the box again.  "Red and green," he nodded his head. "Yes, I think I'll try those. One of each, please." 

Jaehyun grabbed the two vials and placed them both in a leather patch that you held open, "Okay, 4 shillings." Taeyong placed the coins in Jaehyun's hand. "Have a good day!" 

"You too," Taeyong gave a half hearted wave. 

Jaehyun sighed as your arms wrapped fully around him, “What’s up?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at his face, your eyes fluted around looking for an answer. 

“I still can’t get this potion right,” he ran his hands up and down your arms. Jaehyun felt you press closer to you, your hands started running up and down his sides. “I want something different, something that shows who you are supposed to love, but how are you supposed to know that.”

“Soulmates.” Jaehyun startled as the voice rang through the shop. He turned to glare at the man who had made him jump, “Sorry.” Taeyong raised his hands. “I didn’t mean to intrude or overstay my welcome, but I can’t help but be fascinated by all of this. And also you can’t really-”

“It’s fine,” your arms dropped away from Jaehyun. You finger tapped your chin as you considered Taeyong words, “Soulmates… that may work, but, how could you put something like a soulmate indicator in a love potion.”

Jaehyun tapped his hands on the counter. Soulmates, while not nonexistent, hadn’t been thought about in decades. In fact, Jaehyun didn't know the first thing about finding soulmates or even if he believed in them. It’s not not very plausible, he can’t just give someone a potion and tell them that it will give them their soulmate. There's more to it than that. More to love and being in love then just having souls destined to be together, "I can't do that." He shakes his head at the two who had continued to excitedly discuss the topic. He watched as their faces morphed to disbelief and disappointment. 

Your hands came up to rest on your hips, "And why not." 

Jaehyun reached into the glass cabinet rearranging vials and avoiding eye contact, "There's no way I can reveal soulmates. Too many indicators and no defiant way to squeeze all of those into one potion. Soulmates and their indicators have been hidden for years and it's rare that people ever find or want to be with their soulmate. Besides, there are too many variables." 

"Too many variables," you gave a light scoff. 

"What if you didn't give them a way to instantly reveal their soulmate," Taeyong cut in. "What if, instead, you revealed soulmate indicators or made them stronger." 

"What do you mean," Jaehyun sighed. He knew they weren't going to give this up. The hope and excitement in their eyes made Jaehyun more hesitant to even consider creating this potion. 

Taeyong walked closer to the counter where Jaehyun and you stood. “Soulmates, they are predestined, we can’t control or decide who they are or how we get paired. Now, many of us don’t meet our soulmates, the bonds aren’t as strong and people can find people they truly love. What if you strengthen the bonds? Revealed them?” Taeyong lifted his hand wiggling his fingers. “Sometimes I think I feel a tug on my hand, especially when I am at home alone. I can’t help but wonder if, hope, it’s my soulmate.”

You watched him, an unfamiliar look in your eyes. Slowly you turned to Jaehyun and grabbed his right hand in both of yours, “Please Jaehyun, you can do this, we can do this. Help others find their soulmate, their perfect half.” Your eyes pleaded with him.

 It really wasn’t fair. You knew that he would do anything for you, and you used that against him. Jaehyun sighed, “Okay, I’ll try. If you think this will work I’m willing to work on it.” Jaehyun couldn’t help the small smile that graced his face as you gave him a hug cheering along with Taeyong. He watched as you danced around the room bidding goodbye as you ran back to work. Taeyong also raced out of the shop, saying something about a ruby and some fish. As he watched the door swing shut the smile dropped his face. He couldn’t help the dread that filled his stomach and the distinct feeling that this would not end well. 

~~

Jaehyun stirred the sweet smelling syrup again. This was his fifth attempt at this potion. By this point he was frustrated. Nothing was working, all he kept making were diluted love potions, potions that made eyes change colors when they saw their loved ones, and a potion that made your heart glow from inside your chest. Both you and Jaehyun had been disturbed by the last potion. He had spent two weeks trying to figure this out. Both Taeyong and you had been helping when and where you could. You would get herbs and plants of magical origins, guiding and helping with the new ones that Jaehyun hadn’t seen before. Whereas, Taeyong would stir the potions or gather, obscure, ingredients- fairy dust, dwarf warts, pegasus hoof shavings. While impressive, Jaehyun was too scared to ask Taeyong how he got all real, authentic these ingredients or knew about all of these ingredients. As far as Jaehyun knew, Taeyong wasn’t a magic user. Though he wouldn’t be surprised if he descended from fairies or mermaids. 

He sighed as the potion bubbled the mugwort he just dropped in hissed as it blended, “Make a potion, they said. It will help people, they said.” He pulled out another vial. He had it simply labeled “love”. A base potion that he used when creating all his love potions, but this wasn’t a love potion, not truly. People don’t fall in love because of it, they may not even be able to find love because of it. With that thought in mind he set the base potion down and pulled out a different potion. It’s more medicinal, healing than anything else. It was the first potion that you and Jaehyun had made together. A potion that could heal a bond. Chi bonds specifically. Maybe it would work. If he broke it down to its core parts and mixed it with the current love potion or maybe the one that made your heart glow just a few nights ago.

Jaehyun jumped from his seat racing around the room grabbing ingredients and writing down ratios and doses. The smell of linens and irises filled the room. Jaehyun could help but feel comfort from the two smells. It smelled like you. Like a warm day under the sun laying in the little meadow sitting on the outskirts of town. 

“It smells so good here,” Jaehyun looked up as you entered the room. You closed your eyes inhaling a deep breath. “Like just after it rains and…” you took another deep breath, “and roses.”

Jaehyun tilted his head. That was interesting. The scent was different to everyone. Maybe it was a comforting scent or the scent of your beloved. It may have worked this time. Jaehyun stirred the pot a few more times before turning off the heat, “I just need to let it cool now.” 

You walked closer to him peering down into the now pale yellow potion, “You think it worked this time?” 

Jaehyun wrapped an arm around your waist. He shrugged, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder, “Maybe. I tried something different this time. It may do the trick.”

You hummed as he swayed you both back and forth, “That’s good. I’m really glad that you decided to make this. Soulmates were intended to be together, to have each other and we’ve moved so far from that.” You reached up and played with his hair twirling it between your fingers a few times, “I know that it doesn’t really matter, but I’d like to know, to confirm what I know, you’re my soulmate.”

Jaehyun was so in love with you. So ready to spend the rest of his days with you. He took another deep breath, linens and irises, “My better half.” He kissed under your ear before moving to grab a ladle from beside the pot, “Would you like to ladle or hold the bottles.” You grabbed the ladle from him motioning to move closer to the pot. “Would you like to know what I used this time? What the heart of this potion?” He watched you nod your head urging him to continue, “Our first potion.” Your head shot up surprise lighting up every feature. Jaehyun laughed, “I still remember you rushing in here and demanding I help you. You had never had to make a medicinal potion for a chi before. I hadn’t either, but that didn’t stop us from trying. Maybe we were lucky, or maybe it was fate because that day I feel deeply and madly in love with you. You unlocked my ability to love.” 

You stood still. Face slack jawed but eyes full of love, “You’re such a dork.” Jaehyun couldn’t say anything before you were in his arms, lips on his, and arms wrapped around his shoulders. “I love you.” 

“I love you,” Jaehyun grinned at you, pulling further away from you. He looked over at the now empty pot. “Now, rock, paper, scissors for who has to drink the potion.” He held his hand up in a fist.

“Fine,” You rolled your eyes at him. “Rock, paper, scissors.” You sighed as he held up scissors motioning to cut through your paper. “Fine,” you picked up the small vial tilting it in a small cheers before drinking the liquid inside. 

Jaehyun waited, the air tense around the two of you. A bell rang, but he didn’t pay any attention to it. A small red string pulled at your previously bare pinkie, “Hey guys! What’s going on. It smells so good here, like fresh linen and Irises. Are you guys back he- oh.” The string led past Jaehyun and tugged tight where Taeyong stood, his hand lifted in surprise.

~~

Tag List: @qianinterprises @stayctday @infnteen

[spartanguard]

game changers

Summary: Emma’s son’s hockey team—the one she started when got cut from another—is about to play for the state championship. Along the way, she found assistance—and attraction—with the grumpy ice rink manager where they practice. Winning isn’t the only thing on the line; hearts are, too. (aka the Mighty Ducks: Game Changers AU no one asked for.)

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @thesschesthair​!!!!!!!! wishing you the most awesome, amazing, furry birthday yet!!! After our conversations about the Mighty Ducks series—especially that scene at the end—I couldn’t resist throwing this little thing together in honor of the day. Hope you like it, and thank you for being such an amazing friend!! Love you!!!!

1.6k words | rated G

If someone had told Emma at the beginning of the season that they’d be here, she’d have laughed hysterically and asked what drugs they were on, because she wanted some. There was no way this little ragamuffin team—that, honestly, was half started out of spite—would even make it to the state tournament, let alone to the final.

Yet, here they were, about to face off against the elite team that had cut her son from the roster before the season even started. (She could grumble on for days about the state of youth hockey and the money involved and any other number of social injustices, but what it really amounted to was how it highlighted her own feelings of inadequacy as a young-ish single mom next to all the rich ladies who already had college advisors for their middle schoolers.) 

The puck hadn’t even dropped and she was already a bundle of nervous energy, as much as the pre-teens around her in the locker room. It hadn’t been easy, getting here—god, it hadn’t been that long ago some of these kids could barely even skate—but this was more than they had ever anticipated. She knew she should be dispensing some sage advice, but it’s not like she was ever that experienced in this kind of situation; foster kids didn’t have much of an opportunity to participate in organized sports (part of why she’d been so adamant to make sure Henry had these opportunities).

But then an increasingly familiar presence appeared at her side, gave her a sideways grin she was growing to love, and addressed the kids with a speech that was the perfect combination of encouraging and celebratory.

It may have been a stroke of luck that she found Killian Jones in that run-down ice arena, because none of this would have worked without him. 

And the grin Henry was giving her as they headed out to the rink was worth all of it.

(The way her heart jumped every time Killian was near? Pleasant side effect. But also: not a priority right now.)

The team filed out of the room, leaving her to bring up the rear. “You alright, love?” Killian asked, coming up alongside her, concern furrowing his expressive brow.

“Yeah, just nervous,” she admitted. “Never thought we’d even be here, but now that we are—is it wrong that I really hope we win?” Logically, she knew she’d proven whatever point she’d already set out to prove—that hockey could still be fun, that money was no replacement for drive, that she was capable of running a team. Winning states, though? That would just put it in bold text.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “You’ve done an amazing job with these kids. And Swan: I’ve yet to see you fail.”

The honesty shining in his blue eyes was almost overwhelming, and a sudden tension formed in the narrow space between them; she hadn’t even realized how close he was. Close enough to...no, she couldn’t follow that train of thought. She’d done enough of that for one lifetime, and knew he had, too

So she stepped out of his space, took a deep breath, and started to head out of the room. “Let’s do this, then.”

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

She’d hated him, at first. She wasn’t even sure how she managed to convince him to let the team use the rink, despite the “no hockey” signs plastered everywhere. It had to have been Henry—that kid could warm even the hardest heart.

Which was probably the only reason Killian agreed to help coach, too. Emma knew absolutely nothing about the sport other than what she’d seen watching; but how could she teach the kids the difference between icing and offsides if she didn’t even know? Heck, she could barely stop on her (rented, figure) skates without crashing into the boards. 

And she was totally ready to respect Killian’s rule—until Henry found out who he was and couldn’t stop talking about him. About how he actually founded his previous team, and had a pretty respectable minor league playing career until a hand injury ended it, but went on to be a fantastic coach—for a while, ultimately flaming out at the college level. It wasn’t her business how he ended up managing a secondhand rink in the less-nice part of Boston, just that he continued to let them use it. 

It took a couple soul-crushing defeats before he stepped in and helped her teach the kids the basics, and as it turned out, they made a pretty good team. He was fantastic with the kids; Henry liked him a lot; hell, he was even great with her ex. It was perfect—almost too much so.

Because he could also read her far too well.

It only took one run-in with Regina, one of those rich moms, for him to figure out there was more to her starting this team than met the eye.

He sussed out her history with Neal pretty quickly, despite only meeting him once—her reaction said enough.

And when she put distance between them—a lot of it, for almost two weeks—after they shared a rather intense hug after their first win, he called her out on her bullshit.

“Don’t try to tell me you’re not avoiding me, because I’m actually quite perceptive and this? This is avoiding.”

“I know,” she confessed. “But...I can’t take the chance I’m wrong about you.”

They continued to skate around...whatever this was between them. Emma tried to chalk it up to physical attraction—because damn, was he ever: dark, shaggy hair (with a few lighter strands mixed in), piercing blue eyes, the right amount of stubble, and a bit of chest hair that teased her from under the henleys he wore, which also did a good job of showing off the fact that his playing career might be over, but he was still in fine form.

But it was so much more than that. He was a kindred spirit, in a way. She just refused to admit that.

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

From the moment the puck dropped, it felt like she didn’t take a breath. She and Killian moved with and around each other fluidly, giving instructions, cheering the kids on, maybe yelling at the referees a bit, but ultimately doing everything they could to support the team.

With less than 30 seconds left in the third period, the game was tied 3-3. “Do you trust me?” Killian asked her at the start of their last time out.

“Of course.” She’d never been more sure of anything.

He nodded at her and then turned to the kids, describing a play that, if all went well, would net them a goal and secure them the win.

She was silent with anxiety as she watched the line skate back out. Killian returned to her side and then squeezed her hand. “This’ll work, I promise,” he said, and gave her one of the soft smiles he didn’t give very often.

All she could do was nod and then turn her attention back to the ice.

She still wasn’t exactly sure what he’d told them to do, but it was genius, whatever it was; the kids were completely in sync, passing the puck surely and accurately, until it was in Henry’s possession—and then it was in the net.

The light lit up, the siren rang out—they’d just won the state championship.

She didn’t know whether to scream or cry, so she settled for some combination of both and instinctively threw her arms around Killian, not giving a fig about propriety. They won.

(It was almost worth it for the sour looks on other mom’s faces—but even more for the unstoppable grin on Henry’s.)

She was barely aware of anything during the awards ceremony—not until Henry was shoving their (surprisingly heavy) trophy in her hands.

Back in the locker room, the kids were passing the trophy around, admiring their medals, taking selfies, and Emma had to brush a tear away at the sight. It was more than she had hoped for at the start of the season. 

She turned away to a corner, so she wouldn’t embarrass Henry or something by getting too emotional, but Killian quickly swam into her vision. “What’d I tell you, Swan?” he said softly, reaching up to brush away a tear. “Bloody brilliant, love.”

“Please,” she scoffed, though it was a bit watery. “That winning play was all you. That was amazing.”

Killian blushed, the tips of his elfin ears turning pink. He was about to say something, but then a cry came from the team, who had suddenly gathered around them. “Hey, coaches!”

They both turned to look—and were immediately drenched in coolers of Gatorade. The kids began to whoop and holler and laugh, but Emma and Killian were frozen in place for a second.

Until she looked across at him, grinning at her through his (very wet) fringe 

If starting a hockey team had been a rash move, it was about to be topped—because she finally caved, grabbed him by the lapel of his coach-like sportcoat, and hauled him into her, finding his lips with hers. 

He tasted like—well, Gatorade, and he stiffened at first, but then wrapped his arms around her and deepened it. He kissed her like he meant it, and she gave it right back. It would probably throw a wrench in a lot of things, but she didn’t care anymore. It just felt good; it felt right.

They did eventually have to come up for air, and not just because the their impromptu shower was making their clothes stick to their skin uncomfortably (she couldn’t help but notice the red-tinged dampness of his chest hair through the open vee of his dress shirt and vest). Some of the kids were playfully gagging, but Henry gave them a thumbs up.

If someone had told Emma at the beginning of the season that she’d end it by kissing her assistant coach in a victory celebration, she’d have thought they were completely mad. But as she dragged Killian in for another kiss (of many more to come), she was so glad it was real.

[twstoric]

shrouded in ambers

Jamil Viper Birthday Special!

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: jamil viper x f!reader

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: when you’re always crawling to be on the good graces of the al-asim family, there’s only one obstacle standing in your way—the loyal servant directly under the first prince himself

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): hate-sex?, non consensual touching (minor), slightly dub-con, cunnilingus, high sexual tension, semi-public sex, enemies to..?, servant!reader, slight au!

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2.7k

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: grrr going feral for birthday boy jamil is great <3 and i apologise for any mistakes/typing erros—i was too lazy to proofread whoops-

 Having a smile plastered on your face is a custom in the life you live. Many people warm up much quicker to a seemingly kinder face than a gruff feature—you’re not sure of the detail but you get better responses from doing the former. 

You have a kind smile, you’re told often followed with your usual response of I just enjoy what I do, is all. That kindness of yours has taken you to great heights.

You’re adored by the Al-Asim family; trusted with tending to the younger family members and adjusting their troubles. You’ve climbed up the ranks in a silent hierarchy of servants through years of patience and endurance—you’re not going to allow yourself to fall into a life of poverty just because of a minor slip up. 

Then again, becoming a trusted maidservant of the Al-Asim family, one so close to the royal family themselves and not just for cleaning services, can be a difficult feat to acquire. Especially if you’re not from a line of family that’s been in service to them for generations. No, you were taken in from the slums and going back isn’t an option you’d want to make. 

You want a much higher pedestal. Somewhere you know they wouldn’t be able to get rid of you so easily if you slipped up just a bit because acting perfect on a day to day basis can be so tiring. It’s taken off more years in your life than any disease you know of.

The plan is simple: appeal to the higher ranking family members and you’re fine. The only problem is that the job you desire is already occupied—by someone you might as well consider as the devil incarnate.

“I see you still have the tendency to daydream,” Jamil’s voice is soft when he speaks, the meaning behind his words contrasting to the smooth timbre of his vocals and you have to hold back a glare when turning to him. 

The smile you offer comes naturally to you—trained to stretch on your lips at any given moment as you give the long-haired male a small bow. “Mister Viper. What a surprise.. are you not tending to the First Prince?” Your fingers are clasped together over your maids outfit, then thin material worn out from years of daily use but you take pride in maintaining the smooth white colour the dress comes in. 

Jamil’s face remains neutral, staring at you as if looking for your inner demons before he turns around. “I shall take my leave,” he utters, never losing the cool edge to his voice and you keep the smile on your face until his footsteps are no longer heard. 

When the silence once again envelops your surroundings, you can’t help the quiet huff you let out. Unbelievable, you think. Who does he think he is? He’s never liked you since the day you came and you’re not even sure why! Trying to befriend him is useless and acting polite towards him because he’s higher ranked than you gives you headaches. It’s almost too cruel how the irony of your desires is blocked by the single entity that makes your blood boil. 

Coming yourself with another hiff, you straighten your back, fingers smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress before you take the tray of tea in your hands. Time to go back to work.

‎ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

In life, too many complaints won’t get you anywhere—you know at least this much but again, for the umpetenth time, you can’t help the growing feeling of annoyance brewing up inside you whenever you’re called up to do something in ungodly hours. 

You’ve never had the best personality behind closed doors, afterall. So you’ll quietly complain whenever it's necessary (in your mind, of course. The risk of being overheard makes you paranoid).

The kitchen of the royal palace is spacious, stretching wide to accommodate the source of all the luxurious meals always prepared during occasions formal or not. It’s located in the further areas of the palace as any kitchen normally so as to make sure the smell of cooking food wouldn't stink up the area too much.

Because of its location, you find yourself walking quite the distance from your chambers and into an already dark kitchen. You can’t turn on the lights pass curfew so a small candle is your company as you prepare to boil water for the tea requested. 

The day had been much more hectic than usual. You can’t remember all the details when you’re one of the servants running around the palace to get everything done. It’s preparation for another event. That much you’re sure of but what type you don’t think you really care for the details. 

Fatigue and lack of sleep seems to be catching up to you. You find it difficult to keep your eyes open, resorting to pinching your arms to make sure the slight pain can keep you up and about. Too deep in your sense of tiredness, it takes a second for you to realise that the candle you’ve lit is already blown out—the fire from the stove your only source of lighting.

“Wh-? Ahh, shit, shit,” curses flow out of your mouth profusely, hurriedly reaching inside your dress pocket for a lighter. You’re not sure if it’s because of your fatigue, the chilly air, or even because of how dark it is but you’re fumbling with the match box, struggling to even open it in your panicked state. 

Just before you could properly light the match, the candle burns again with a new fire; the small flame used to light it aflame disappears with a shake of the hand. You stare unblinkingly at your newly lit candle, and as if slow motion, you trail up the hand near the small fire to find the familiar face of the First Prince’s personal servant.

“Mister.. Viper,” you greet, unsettled by his sudden appearance. You don’t think you even heard him come in let alone get so close to you like this. Were you so out of it that you weren’t able to hear anything…?

“What’re you doing in the kitchen so late at night?” Jamil gets to the point, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head questioningly. 

Your mouth opens and closes in response, mind blanking on how you should reply. “Um.. I was requested to make tea for..” Somehow, Jamil is moving closer to you, your vision going blurry before it only fills with the sight of him. “What- what’re you doing?”

Your breath hitches, the small of your back already pressing against the edge of the counter and Jamil places his hands behind you, trapping you between his arms. He leans closer.

“There’s an intruder trying to break into the castle,” he whispers, lips brushing against your ears and your face burns. Jamil does nothing after that. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t speak another word—his lips faintly brushes against your ears each time you breathe, your senses only filled with the warmth of Jamil’s body and how you can smell the strong scent of spices pressed so close to him like this.

“I don’t… Why are you telling me this?” All you can do is question back, lost on what he’s implying ang you tense when feeling his hand settling on your hip, pressing you harder against the counter. 

There’s something so… primal and raw in the way Jamil is touching you. His fingers hold your firmly in a soft pressure that if you weren’t so hyper aware of where his hands are, you wouldn’t notice that he’s already touching you. 

Jamil moves back enough to look at you, his other hand lifting from the counter to grasp your chin so you’re forced to look at him properly. “I believe that intruder is already inside,” he murmurs and you see something glinting in his eyes. Suddenly, his grip on you tightens, pulling your chin roughly towards him and his voice is firmer, “What’re you doing in the kitchen?”

You feel a sudden anger flaring in your chest. “Are you accusing me, Mister Viper?” You can’t help but spit out, glaring at him openly. “I already told you- I’m making tea.” 

Jamil smirks in response, uncaring of your sudden attitude as he lets you go. The male turns off the stove, your protest ignored as he turns to you again, leaning against the table from across you. “On whose orders are you making it for?”

“That’s-” the bite in your throat suddenly disappears. You blink in irritation before an unsettling feeling brews in your stomach. From who.. that’s... Of course it would be from one of the younger children, wouldn’t it..? But for them to stay up this late then.. the First Prince? But that would be Jamil’s responsibility—not yours.

You bite your lip, brows furrowing for a different reason now; confusion. “It was from a note,” your voice is quiet when you say this, gaze darting to the floor to avoid the smug look on the other’s face at your confession. How could you have not realised..?

Jamil takes quick strides over to you and before you know it, he’s turning you around and roughly pushing you down on the counter. You yelp, hands shooting out to soften the impact as Jamil presses his chest over your back. “Aren’t you too trusting… or maybe.. You’re an accomplice of this intruder?”

What.

“That’s- that’s-! Of course not!” You feel the shudder raking down your spine at the low hum Jamil makes from your words. Your face burns with humiliation, tears springing up to your eyes for a reason beyond you; you’re cursing Jamil to hell for all this.

“Why should I trust you? I’ve always found your sudden climb in ranks to be a little odd,” he sighs and the snarky remark you had disappears when you feel something hard pressing against your behind. The outline of Jamil’s growing erection presses against the thin material of your dress, slow languid rolls of his hips makes your body burn.

You’re quiet now; distracted by the way the brunet is rutting against you. Jamil is a difficult person for you to tolerate but you can’t deny how attractive he is. “So quiet suddenly?” And you want to curse the skies why he was given such an attractive voice.

His hold on you eases before there’s no longer any pressure holding you down. You get up slowly, pushing yourself up by the elbows and turning your head to see that Jamil has already moved some distance away from you. The neutral look he normally has is back. 

You think your heart might explode. He can’t just- do that and act like nothing happened..! There’s no words you can think of—verbal communication suddenly beyond you. All you can do is clutch at your dress weakly, your pussy feeling so empty and uncomfortably wet. 

“I can…” you gulp, voice hoarse and Jamil raises a brow in question. “I can help.. find the real intruder.” Your chest feels so fucking heavy now, the bruning heat in your body clouding all common sense. “To prove my innocence.” You add quickly as an afterthought, because you’re not doing this for him.

A small laugh leaves the latter’s mouth in response and you feel your brow twitch. “You’re a difficult person to deal with.”

Wha..?

Jamil pushes himself off the table, once again trapping you between his arms but you feel much calmer than before. The candle burning as your only source of light seems to emphasise the brunet’s features. Eyes slanted and shaped like a predator stares at you hungrily and feels natural for you to draw closer to him when Jamil leans over. “Always having a smile on your face when you’re clearly annoyed. Why are you so insistent on putting up a mask?”

His breath ghosts over your lips, body pressing close to you as if you weren’t close enough. You look into his eyes; searching for something and smiling when you find it. “Should I say the same to you?” 

The simple questions snaps whatever tension you’re in and Jamil crashes his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue and slithering in when you give him access. His hands wrap around your back, trailing down over your ass and squeezing you with greedy hands. 

You moan in response, pulling him closer by wrapping your hands around his neck and rolling your hips against the hard tent in his pants. Jamil groans softly, breaking the kiss to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck. His fingers tug the front of your dress down, the cotton tearing slightly from his rough ministrations but you don’t care about that when his lips reaches the skin above your breasts, marking you with love bites and easing the pain with the slow drag of his tongue. 

Much to your disappointment, Jamil doesn’t pull your dress any further down, instead, he’s the one getting on his knees; his hands trailing up your legs and hiking your dress along with it. Your dress settles over your hips, held by his hands as Jamil nudges your legs apart to trail kisses up your inner thigh.

You’re clenching around nothing, small gasps leaving your lips at every mark Jamil leaves with every inch closer to your aching core. “Please,” you can’t help but whine, tangling your hands in his hair. You feel Jamil smirk against your skin.

He pushes your undergarment to the side and your vision goes white from the first slow drag of Jamil’s tongue against your weeping cunt. The taste of you on his tongue makes Jamil feral—harsh strokes of his tongue against your outer lips before his mouth sucks and he’s eating you out like an animal. 

You’re struggling to keep your moans in, legs shaking with every suction of Jamil’s mouth on your core, greedily tasting every inch you can offer him. His hold on your thighs are brutal; not allowing you to close your legs. Your dress is no longer held up by his hands and falls over the male’s head, hiding him from view. 

You’re biting at your hands to keep your sounds in. It’s already so late at night and despite your location being in the further areas of the palace, if anyone were to walk in the kitchen then the first thing they’ll see is you, writhing and crying from a reason beyond them, Jamil hidden away behind a table and under your dress.

“A- ah-!” The yelp you let out echoes in the kitchen. You’re mortified by the sound but it’s only a second later that you're moaning again. Jamil’s fingers curl once again, dragging against your walls deliciously. His touch is gently, easily finding all the right buttons to push without too much prying as his mouth focuses on your clit. 

You whisper his name quietly, the only thing you can think of saying and it seems to spur the brunet to fuck his finger’s into you, easily finding your good spots and you’re coming with a strangled shout.

You don’t get to register how Jamil greedily sucks off your juices, throwing you into the edge of overstimulation before he finally pulls away; pushing your dress over his head. The blood rushes to your face, gaping at the way Jamil swiped his tongue over his lips as if to collect your juices and your squeak when the male suddenly pulls you into a kiss.

When you break away, Jamil is smirking at you handsomely, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Should we get started then?” You nod absentmindedly, blinking at the satisfied smile Jamil gives you. “Then we’ll start with the main entrance. I think that’s most likely where they entered from because of the hectic preparations.”

“What?” You can’t help but ask dumbly. 

The laugh Jamil lets out makes you feel both warm and irritated. His eyes narrow when he looks at you but the smile on his face is still present. “I see.. Did you want to continue?” You can’t answer. Jamil smirks. 

He takes your wrist and you’re frozen in his stare as Jamil guides your hand to his erection. The hardness in your palm makes your mouth water and thighs clench uselessly as Jamil blinks his eyes slowly. “Don’t worry,” he reassures, pressing your hand harder against his clothed dick and groaning at the pressure. “Should we be able to catch the intruder then I’ll be sure to reward you.”

[catracorner962]

Karaoke

I promise I can write something that’s pure fluff. See?! 

In the newly renovated Fright Zone, the gang is having a party. Catra and Glimmer duet Shaggy. Catra has a surprise. --- AJ Michalka has a phenomenal voice and covers "Warriors" on the SheRa soundtrack. She does this in character as Catra and even says "Hey Adora," at the end, what else did you expect me to do with that except come up with an excuse for Catra to sing this for Adora? I'm sure this has been done before this is just my take. Also whenever I hear "Wasn't Me," or "Angel," by Shaggy I imagine Glimmer and Catra getting drunk and singing it.

Adora brought a hand to her nose, trying to cover her snorting laughter. Besider her Bow swayed in time to the music. Light flashed from above blue and pink.

“HA!!”

Adora couldn’t stop herself, exploding into a fit of giggles, nearly toppling the cocktail in her hand. Nearly sending pink liquid all over her white pants and halter top.

On the stage, her girlfriend and her best friend sang like they hadn’t a care in the world.

“How could I forget that I had given her an extra key? All this time she was standing there she never took her eyes off me!”

Glimmer sang into the mic, her purple leather skirt sparkling in the stage lights.

“Wooow! Yeah Glimmer!” Bow cheered, he took another sip of his beer. More delicately then anyone else around them and probably the only one with a modicum of sobriety left. All around them people sang along, swaying and trying to dance.

“To be a true player you have to know how to play!” Catra sang, winking at Adora from her place on the stage. Her hair had grown out again in the year after the war. Already falling just beyond her shoulders. Adora took a sip of her drink to conceal the blush rising in her cheeks.

“ To be a true player you have to know how to play, if she stay a night, convince her stay a day, Never admit to a word when she say. And if she claim, ah, you tell her, "Baby, no way"

“But she caught me on the counter!” Glimmer’s voice cracked but she kept going,  

“It wasn’t me!” Catra leaned forward into the mic.

“Saw me banging on the sofa!” Glimmer laughed, leaning in to meet Catra halfway.

“It wasn’t me!”

“I even had her in the shower!”

“They’re not bad,” Bow admitted whispering in Adora’s ear. The blonde nodded, pulling a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Catra had convinced her to wear it down for once.

“Saw the marks on my shoulder!” Glimmer and Catra sang in unison. Catra unsheathed her claws in flash, winking again, this time a little more suggestively at her girlfriend in the audience. Cheers erupted throughout the bar, an eager welcome Adora thought, her chest warming. To have Catra greeted with rounds of applause rather than boos and hisses and threats.

“ Honey came in and she caught me red-handed, creeping with the girl next door, picture this, we were both butt-naked, banging on the bathroom floor. I had tried to keep her from what she was about to see, why should she believe me when I told her it wasn't me.”

Glimmer and Catra belted through the mic. It was all Adora could do not to transform into Shera. Just the sight of seeing Catra in the limelight, black pants held up by suspenders, her white shirt open just a tad too loose. She took a swig of her whisky mid chorus and continued to sing.

“I have to hand it to Scorpia and Perfuma; they've really done wonders with the Fright Zone,” Bow mused. He clapped along to the music and finished his drink.

“They sure have!” Adora answered, finally turning her attention from the stage. “Glad they were able to renovate the place into a karaoke bar. Somewhere in the distance Mermista’s groan could be heard, Adora turned. Seahawk and the water princess sat at one of the tables, the pirate’s eyes wide with amazement at the flaming martini set down before him.

“Should I….?” Adora made a b-line towards their table. Mermista flunk out her hand, a spray of water dousing the flames.

“Just drink it,” she groaned to Seahawk’s evident dismay. Adora bit back a grin. It had been awhile since they’d been able to just kickback and relax, indulge even. Post-war meant bringing magic to all the galaxy. Which meant traveling around, squashing the last of Prime’s brotherhood. Plus meetings after meetings and much needed reconciliation between Catra, Entrapta, Wrong Hordak, Scorpia and everyone else. It had been trying and difficult and the work was far from finished. But tonight, tonight was a chance to simply let loose.

“Honey came in and she caught me red-handed, creeping with the girl next door, picture this, we were both butt-naked, banging on the bathroom floor. How could I forget that I had, given her an extra key, All this time she was standing there, she never took her eyes off me!!” Glimmer and Catra finished in unison. Again cheers lifted from the crowd. Glimmer bowed, losing her balance until Catra caught her by the arm to steady her and they made their way down the stage.

“Wow, that was...wow,” Scorpia’s face nearly matched the color of her claws. “That was..I don’t think I understood half those words! But uhh next, next...we have...Perfuma! Who I’ve been told is going to do an...an interpretive dance called Ode to Rain, so that will be….uhh….fantastic.” Scorpia laughed nervously but clapped all the same while Perfuma seemingly floated up the stage.

“Hey!” Glimmer greeted Adora with a hug and Bow with a kiss.

“You were great!” Bow put his arm around her waist. “Who knew you and Catra could duet so well together!”

Glimmer laughed, full and hearty, accepting a glass of sparkling wine from Bow.

“Where is Catra?” Adora looked around the crowd. “I thought she came down with you?”

“She said she had to get ready for something,” Glimmer shrugged.

Adora nodded, trying to quell the bubble of anxiety that threatened to rise.

Catra would be fine, she can be left alone. She’s not a child. She’s perfectly capable.

Bodies pressed against Adora in the maylay of the crowd. Talking and drinking and laughing. The lights flashed all around them. Dizzying.

There’s so many people here….what if...there could be….threats. Some clone we forgot?

Someone wanting to take Catra down?

Adora forced herself to breathe, gripping her glass tight.

“Adora, you alright?” Glimmer touched her arm.

“Yes!” She smiled automatically, “I’m great!” She took a breath, eyes flicking upward as Perfuma left the stage.

Still no sign of Catra.

“It’s just...I worry sometimes...I worry about leaving Catra alone sometimes...what if there’s…”

Glimmer opened her mouth to respond when a cool light drifted across the crowd from above to the stage.

“Adora….you might want to…” Glimmer pointed. Adora followed her gaze, jaw nearly dropping to the floor. Silhouetted against the limelight a lone figure stood before the mic. The outline of someone wearing a tight fitting black dress that fanned out toward the bottom. Catra’s tail swished nervously behind her, ears flicking. She stepped forward, the high slit of her dress revealing one leg as she moved. The light illuminating her freckled face, mismatched eyes gleaming.

“Oh my….” Adora took the last sip of her drink. Beside her bow gasped. Even Glimmer’s eyes stared wide with shock. The hub-bub of the crowd died instantly, everyone holding their breath. Even Emily and Entrapta, who were observing in the corner, fell silent.

Catra’s shaky inhale of breath sounded through the mic throughout the bar. Adora waited, stunned. Taking in her girlfriend, the deep V of her dress, the way she shifted her weight. Then finally, after a mini-eternity, Catra’s eyes slipped close and her voice drifted out:

“We're warriors, unstoppable. We feel the evil coming, and shadows all around.”

She sang low and haunting, each word a melodic whisper. Goosebumps rose on Adora’s skin.

“Danger surrounds us, but won't bring us down. We're on the edge of greatness, turning darkness to liiightt,”

Her voice undulated and moved like the waves, the crowd beginning to hum. She opened her eyes, gold and blue sparkling in the light. Catra’s gaze looked through the throngs of people finally meeting Adora’s. The blonde felt her knees shake, she passed her glass to Glimmer without looking away. Catra smiled,

“We're right beside you, ready to fight. We must be strong! And we must be brave! We gotta find every bit of strength that we have and never let it go!”

“Wooo!! Yaaaah!!!” People exclaimed, clapping. Catra’s smile widened, she took the mic from it’s stand, now walking across the stage, tall and proud and brimming with pride. Adora’s cheeks ached, beaming with a smile. She too clapped along.

“We're bound to this struggle, with mighty sword and flame, we'll never fail you, when you call our name.”

She turned, again meeting Adora’s radiant face across the audience. Their eyes met, though Adora could hardly see her through a fog of tears pressing against her eyes. Her heart expanded so fast and full she thought it would explode. Catra too grinned with confidence, revealing pointed fangs. Her eyes dazzled, shoulders lifting as she sang, not once looking away from Adora.

“Together we'll be heroes, joining forces as one. Strong as the steel we carry, we rise like a su...uu...uu...un!”

She hit the note perfectly, the whole bar erupting into ecstatic joy.

“Yeah Horde Scum!” Glimmer fist pumped at the air, jumping up and down. Off to the side of the stage, Perfuma pat Scorpia on the shoulder through her tears.

“That’s my wildcat!”

Catra sang through another round of the chorus, parading back and forth. People reached out from below towards her, laughing and whooping.

“Cause we're warriors, we are unstoppable,nothing's gonna get in our way. We're gonna win in the end….”

Catra sang through the last chorus, coming to stand gracefully before the microphone stand once more.

“We're gonna reach inside, still together and fight and never let it go. We must be strong…” She finished with a flourishing whisper. Looking at Adora from her poised position stage, she blinked, slowly, her own voice cracking with emotion.

“Hey Adora.”

Tears streamed down Adora’s face, her heart hammering in her chest. She could feel herself glowing, transforming, this time brought on by pride and admiration for Catra. Catra who only sang in secret, in dark places, until now. Catra who had always deserved every bit of attention and affection and praise but never got it, until now. Catra who was so guarded who never let herself betray emotion or vulnerability, until now.

There was a white flash, people gasped, and Adora didn’t need to look down at herself to know she’d become Shera.

Catra climbed down from the stage with Scorpia’s assistance and made her way Adora, people parting for her instantly, cheering and clapping.

“Catra! Y...you! You’re…”

Catra’s lips cut off the rest of her sentence, pressing in a full deep kiss, nearly melting against Adora, well, Shera’s chest. Adora put her arms around her girlfriend holding her close, one hand to the small of her back. She had to control herself in public after all, though it was hard to do with her girlfriend looking so...so ravishingly gorgeous, so happy and exuberant. A new round of tears spilled down her cheeks.

“I knew you could sing,” she breathed, breaking the kiss only to press her forehead against Catra’s which required her to lean down a little more in this form. “But not...l...like that.”

Catra laughed, holding Adora’s hand to her face and leaning into her touch. The ruckus of people seemingly disappearing. The only thing that mattered, the center of her universe was already right in front of her.

“I love you,” Catra whispered.

“I love you too, so much.” Adora pulled her in for another kiss, the cheers escalating around them.

Catra rolled her eyes only to be shoved by Glimmer’s arms around her waist.

“Catra, where was that voice when we were singing?! I need to up my game!”

“That...that was beautiful Catra!” Bow wiped his eyes with his yellow jacket. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“Alright, alright Sparkles,” she pulled away from Adora’s hold. “Next time we do Angel by Shaggy I’ll be sure to really sing it with pathos, yeah? And take it easy Arrow Boy your gonna get snot all over your jacket.”

Glimmer only rolled her eyes but gave Catra a kiss on the cheek.

“Well next rounds on me Wildcat!” Scorpia announced happily clapping Catra across the back gently. This time Catra didn’t stiffen or bristle at the touch but smirked. A testament to how far she’d come in such a short time. Adora could hardly contain her emotion.

“You may regret that Scorp.”

The night continued on, Catra changed back into more comfortable pants and dress-shirt. Rogeilo sang...well..grunt roared some prolonged ballad that no one but Lonnie understood. Mermista and Seahawk performed no less than seven shanties. A curtin was set on fire by the third one. Frosta entertained with a series of impressive ice sculptures and Double Trouble, dramatic as they were, impressions that left everyone’s sides sore from laughter. Scorpia closed out the evening, singing a rendition of “Beautiful,”  by Christina Aguilera that had everyone, even Catra in tears by the end. Though Catra swore her eyes were she only  irritated by the bright lights.

Adora put her arms around Catra from behind, still having advantage of being in her Shera form. Muscular arms holding her girlfriend close in the dark of the crowd while Scorpia, sang her last few notes. Catra swayed in tandem, tail going around her girlfriend’s leg, she leaned her back against Shera’s broad torso and hummed. Adora planted a kiss on the crown of Catra’s head. The mark of the Heart of Etheria glowing against her chest. In the mass of folks and the company of friends, lights glowing and Catra content in her arms, sniffled happily through tears of joy.

They had indeed won in the end.

[lokilickedme]

The Queen of Springtown

I’m going to tell you a story.  It’s a true story.  There’s a bit of conjecture here and there to fill in empty spots, but not a lot.  It’s a story about my grandmother - my paternal grandmother, not my maternal grandmother - I feel the need to specify who exactly it is because mom’s mom has a bit of a story too, but that’s for later.

This one’s about the one I’m going to call Elizabeth.  Elizabeth was her middle name, it was a family name, it belonged to her mother and her grandmother I believe, though I didn’t know any of those people so I couldn’t swear by it.  The family records are long gone if they ever existed.

Elizabeth’s last name was one of those romantically ridiculous names that still clung to old families at the turn of the century.  It had a lot of extraneous letters at the end, a handful of unnecessary and partially silent sounds that looked beautiful in the flowery handwritten script of the time, a noble sounding -eaoux that did little more than tag a fancy sounding o onto the back end.  A lot of fuss for such a little piece of sound.  And when Elizabeth’s grandfather moved his family from France to Ireland and signed the manifests upon arrival in the new old land, he dropped the -eaoux and shortened the family’s name to four tiny letters and a single syllable.  They were Irish now.

Elizabeth’s father carried the new name and the new heritage, and when he was of age he went and married an Irish beauty named - yep, Elizabeth.  They say she was redheaded and blue eyed and fair skinned, though no pictures exist to prove it.  All that exists is my grandmother, who supposedly looked just like her mama.  She didn’t remember Ireland...she was too young when her daddy moved his family to a new land just like his own daddy had done, and she never really told anyone she was Irish.  No one actually knew, once her parents were gone.

But you could tell.  She looked it - flame red hair, china blue eyes, fair skin.  She had the bones of whatever French nobility had been in her lineage from way back, but her colors were the Emerald Isle all the way.  A beauty like you’d see in the movies, petite and ladylike and perfectly put together.

But my god that woman had a wild streak that dated right back to the Celts whose blood made up half of what she was.

(continued under the cut because long story)

So Elizabeth grew up in America, the daughter of an Irish mother and a French father.  She had brothers and sisters, quite a few, though I never knew any of them.  I believe I met two of them when I was too young to remember much about the encounter, but I’ve always found it hilarious that one of her sisters was named Bill.  Bill, like the man’s name.  I never found out why and I’m not entirely sure there was ever actually a reason.  It was just one of those things.

The newly American family settled in Texas.  And when Elizabeth was very young - probably not yet in her 20′s, though nobody knows for sure just how old she actually was because it’s likely she tended to fib a bit about her age to get into places she had no business being - she got herself involved with the Texas mafia.

Now let me tell you a thing or two about the Texas mafia.  It wasn’t an official operation - not like the Italian Mafioso or the Eastern Syndicates or whatever the hell was going on between Florida and Cuba at the time.  But it was every bit as dangerous and vicious and bloody and corrupt as any of those bigger organizations, and it was led for the most part by a man I’m going to call Big Joe.

This was the early 1940′s or thereabouts.  Elizabeth was a party girl - up for anything, always out and about, girl-gang at the swing club, the works.  And Big Joe saw her in the club one night, it may very well have been his club she was dancing at, and the proverbial first-sight thing kicked him hard in the gonads.  This girl was a looker, and she was dancing with everyone in the place, whooping it up, living life like tomorrow it was all going to take a header into the sea.  He had to have her.

And he did.

Big Joe was likely in his late 30′s, maybe early 40′s.  There’s not a lot of information on him other than a handful of facts mentioned once and only once by my grandmother to my aunt - that Big Joe was a handsome man, big and tough and a snazzy dresser, and he always had enough money in his pocket to take Elizabeth anywhere she wanted to go and buy her anything she wanted to buy.  And Elizabeth, party girl extraordinaire, was all up for that.

So Elizabeth and Big Joe become a thing.  Everybody knows she’s his squeeze - and suddenly not a male soul in Dallas or the surrounding metropolitan areas will dare to lay an eye on her, not even a quick glance, because she’s Big Joe’s girl.  And that means something.  Elizabeth doesn’t know quite what it means because she’s likely not even 20 yet, but Big Joe is fun and romantic and he takes her on trips and buys her nice clothes.  He buys her a ring, a blood red garnet, a ring that I inherit many decades later.  He’s going to marry her, he says.  She doesn’t care much one way or the other, she’s having too much fun dancing every night in his club, traveling with him, going shopping, rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous of the Southwest.  She’s all but a star, protected and adored.  Big Joe’s men follow her everywhere she goes when she’s not with him.  And Big Joe starts going out of town without her a lot, taking care of business that he never tells her the details of.

She’s cool with that.  He’s a businessman, that’s what he’s always told her.  Things to take care of out of town.  The Boss.  He has a lot of operations to oversee, operations that make all that money he spends on her.

She has no idea what he actually does.

All she knows - or cares to know - is that when he comes back to town he ushers her around town in his big fancy black car, buying her furs and expensive dinners, showing her off to society.  When he isn’t slapping her around...but hey, that’s part of the deal isn’t it?  It’s the 1940′s, and Big Joe is very much a man of the era.  Women grew up knowing they’d have to take the back of a man’s hand from time to time, and Elizabeth knew which side her bread was buttered on.  She kept Big Joe happy, put a smile on his face, did the old grin-and-bear-it on the rest of it.

And then one night Big Joe comes banging on her door.  He’s frantic.  He pushes a set of keys into her hand - keys to the fancy black car that takes her everywhere - and tells her to keep it there, at her house.  Don’t drive it anywhere, just keep it there.  He’ll contact her soon and tell her what to do.

He leaves in another car with one of his men, and that’s the last time Elizabeth ever sees him.

A few weeks later she gets a letter from Big Joe telling her to drive the car into Grapevine Lake, on the far side by the shoals.  Don’t open the trunk, he says.  Put a brick on the gas pedal and put it in drive.  Do it at night and make sure nobody sees you.

That night Elizabeth picks up her best friend and they drive the car to Grapevine to do as Big Joe said, sinking it in the murky green water on the far side of the lake.  The two girls - just girls, barely even women yet - stand on the shore watching it disappear into the deep dark.

A week later Big Joe is shot to death.  A deal gone bad maybe, or a competitor moving into the territory.  Nobody really knows - grandmother never said.  Don’t think I haven’t done my research...I know what I know, and according to a nearly nonexistent little trove of newspaper articles microfiched in a tiny little library in Azle Texas that isn’t even there anymore, odds are very likely that Big Joe went down in a shootout with the Dallas Police Department.

Elizabeth never opened the trunk of that car.  At least she said she didn’t...it’s one of the many things that nobody ever knew or will ever know, because once she shut the door on that part of her life and moved on, it might as well have never happened.  Getting this much out of her was outrageously difficult.  Thanks to my very tenacious and very persevering aunt, what I’ve just told you managed to survive.  It’s very likely my aunt was the only person she ever told, and it’s very likely I in turn am the only person my aunt ever told.  And now my aunt is in her 70′s and in poor health, and this little unknown family story has started poking around at the back of my skull.  I don’t want it to be lost.  I don’t like the idea of soon being the only person alive who knows it.  It’s not a spectacular story, but it’s testament to the fact that extraordinary things happen to ordinary people, probably more often than you’d think - and that those ordinary people sometimes take it all to the grave with them.

Elizabeth - my dad’s mom, my grandmother, the one I look like and act like and laugh like, the one whose cheekbones and eyes and hair and size I was born with, passed away twenty-something years ago.  She lived through some extraordinary things.  After the demise of Big Joe she married an oil roughneck, one of the semi-transient oilfield workers that were prevalent in the Texas Panhandle at the time, and had two children with him - one of whom was my father.  The roughneck was the epitome of the James Dean romantic brooding bad boy type, handsome and manly, but unfortunately also a scoundrel who had a second family in another city that he went to every other month when he traveled to another rig for work.  She left him when she found out.  It was almost unheard of at the time, a young mother taking her two little kids and leaving her husband to be on her own, but she did it.  And when my father was 12 she met and married a very tall, very handsome, very Cary Grant-esque railroad worker who loved life every bit as much as she did.

They were together for the rest of her life.  I’ve never to this day seen two people more in love than Elizabeth and Jesse.  I spent many summers in Texas with them and not a night went by that I couldn’t hear them giggling in the next room after lights-out, talking and laughing quietly until granddad’s wallshaking snores echoed through the house.  It just about killed him when her heart gave out.  But she was old, and she’d lived a life worth living.  There was nothing in her face in those final moments that could ever convince anyone she wasn’t ready and willing to go when the time came.

I’d been married for a couple of years when she died, and my husband and I traveled to Texas for the funeral.  The first night there, as my aunt brought out grandmother’s jewelry box and told me to take whatever I wanted, the story was passed from her to me.  And when it was all told I opened a little drawer in the bottom of the jewelry box and pulled out an old garnet ring that I’d seen before, when I was a small child snooping in grandma’s stuff.  I’d always been fascinated with it...it just looked like it had a story to tell.  That’s it, my aunt said.  That’s the ring he gave her.  That’s all she ended up with.

It was the only thing I took.

The church was so full the next morning you’d have thought it was the final sendoff for some local celebrity.  Everybody loved my grandmother, everybody, but this was sort of astounding.  Some of them I knew from my childhood, from many many summers spent in the Panhandle, but people came from all over to say goodbye and nobody in the family knew who a lot of them were.  They just showed up, some of them cried, some just stood in the back of the church all stoic in black suits.  Some were very old.  And when it was over and I turned around to watch a group of distinctly important-looking old gentlemen quickly and quietly leave the building, I looked over at my aunt and pointed at them.  She arched her eyebrows in that way she always did, that way, the way that said What did I tell you?? - and I wondered if maybe all those years ago some of Big Joe’s men hadn’t pulled that car out of Lake Grapevine and found the trunk empty.

I mean...this is Elizabeth we’re talking about.

[nbrook29]

but baby, it’s cold outside

So, I might have written a thing 🤭 Robbe’s photo related thing to be more specific.

Also on ao3!

----

“Wow, who knew making a fire could be so sexy?”

Robbe heaves a long-suffering sigh and looks at the sky above him in hopes it gives him strength to deal with the dork also known as his boyfriend.

“Don’t you sigh at me, Robin, you’d agree with me if you could see yourself right now.”

The tone of his voice is enough to let Robbe know Sander is currently in his teasing mood and lives to rile him up.

He looks very pleased with himself when Robbe turns his head to give him an eyeroll, even more so when he notices the smile tugging at the corners of Robbe’s mouth. At the eyebrow wiggle he then receives Robbe stops fighting the smile altogether and laughs quietly at Sander’s antics, his chapped from cold lips cracking a little.

“Will you help me or you’re just gonna stand there looking pretty, huh?” he lights another match but it’s immediately blown out by the wind and he lets out a small whine in frustration.

“But you’re doing so good on your own! I can cheer for you though?” Sander’s offer sounds almost genuine but the blossoming smirk acts like a tattletale and yes, Sander is definitely in the mood.

And Robbe can’t even be mad that he’s a little shit because he’s a sucker for him and that smile and they both know it. So he just shakes his head in feigned resignation, giggling when Sander actually does start cheering for him, whooping and clapping his hands, and just being embarrassing in general.

It’s getting noticeably colder with the temperature dropping significantly since they left Sander’s house over an hour ago. There has been a warning of a blizzard coming to Antwerp this evening but it feels like it may come sooner than anticipated.

They went for a long walk in the afternoon to get a bit of fresh air and to enjoy the dearly missed for years snow after being cooped up in their respective bedrooms for days and days on end, cramming for finals (Robbe) and finishing up projects (Sander). The sound of fresh snow crunching under their shoes felt like freedom at last, both of them instantly turning into 8 year olds, threatening each other with snowballs and making snow angels, soaking half of their clothes in the process.

For the artist inside of Sander, the winter wonderland-like scenery was like a wet dream, his fingers clicking away on his vintage camera every two minutes or so, making their walk extra slow. Robbe didn’t mind though, being long acquainted with Sander’s artistic habits and indulging him every time he turned his big eyes on him to request them getting off their track a bit to take a photo of yet another thing looking awesome covered in snow. And then after every picture taking his hands into his own to rub his freezing fingers in order to warm them up because Sander refused to wear gloves. Granted, they weren’t very practical for operating a camera but still. Robbe had a very personal relationship with these beautiful hands so it’s not like he could just let them freeze off. It was basically his duty. The sweet smile Sander shot him every time he did it was an additional bonus.

They grabbed a coffee from their favorite coffee shop at the corner of Sander’s street but the wonders that the warm liquid did to warm them up has been long gone by now. Robbe is pretty sure the sound that’s coming from his left side is actually Sander’s chattering teeth so he doubles his efforts and after a few attempts he finally manages to make fire pit lit up. His boyfriend lets out a loud whoop and then immediately comes closer, wrapping himself around Robbe’s small body from behind and holding his palms above the new source of warm.

“You know,” he starts as Robbe pokes at the fire a few times and throws a piece of wood in it and letting it burn before melting into Sander’s embrace and warming his own hands over the flames. “I already knew I’m dating a skater boy but I had no idea I’m also dating a scout boy.”

Robbe snorts. “Lucky you because otherwise you’d freeze to death. I’m expecting your gratitude anytime now.”

Hey, he can be a little shit too if he puts his mind to it.

“Well thank you, baby,” Sander purrs sweetly into his ear, placing a kiss on the spot on the side of his neck currently not covered with scarf causing a shiver go through Robbe’s body, only partially due to his cold as ice lips.

He tilts his head to the left and presses a lingering kiss to his mouth, his eyes closing and knees buckling a little within seconds when Sander licks into him, his hands landing on Robbe’s hips to steady himself. It’s slow and unhurried, a bit uncomfortable given the position they’re standing in but it’s not like either of them actually cares.

They do care though when the darkish grey clouds over them decide it’s high time for some snow so they’re forced to separate, Sander letting out a sorrowful sigh, burying his face in Robbe’s neck and circling his waist with his arms, refusing to let go.

“Come on, let’s go before it gets really bad,” he laughs quietly when Sander shakes his head petulantly, his fringe tickling Robbe’s cheek in the process.

“I don’t want to,” he groans but after a few minutes he lifts his head slowly, surrendering. But then he dips his head again under Robbe’s jaw as if to test something. “Hey, you smell nice. Is that a new aftershave?”

“Yeah, you like it?” Robbe asks expectantly.

Sander pretends to think for a second. “Wait, I think I need to check again,” he replies before burying his cold nose in the hinge of his jaw. Robbe lets out a high-pitched squeak at the sudden coldness and tries to squirm away, giggling as Sander instead of letting him go places little (cold) kisses along his jawline. Once he manages to kiss every square of it he backs out with a triumphant smile, barely dodging Robbe’s incoming elbow.

“After a closer inspection, yes, I do like it, I like it a lot.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Robbe tries to hide his smile, pleased with Sander’s reaction because he wants to actually keep his cool but he fails and Sander sees right through him, chuckling when he realizes the slight blush on Robbe’s cheeks has little to do with cold. Surprisingly, he decides to let it go and not tease him about it which Robbe is lowkey grateful for because it’s embarrassing how gone he is for him.

Before they leave the lakeside, they both take a picture with their phones of the now extinguished fire, or actually what’s left of it. Robbe is first to post it but Sander’s photo is better, obviously, his skills at tweaking it to look just right far more superior than Robbe’s. Once Sander’s done, he puts away his phone with a tongue-in-cheek smile and Robbe is already dreading what he’s going to find in the caption. He taps on the app icon and groans.

Fire made by my firebreather 🌬️🥶❄️☃️💙 #scoutboy

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

Sander blows him a kiss, ignoring his scoffing as he entwines their fingers and pulling Robbe along to finally get them moving, the snow getting stronger the longer they stall.

Robbe forgets all about Sander’s embarrassing caption when he realizes they are still about 20 minutes away from his house and he’s almost soaked to his underwear. Sander’s in a better state than him, his leather jacket despite not giving much warmth keeping the snow from getting through, and so are his ankle reaching shoes.

They can’t exactly take a tram because the snow caused a huge gridlock, people honking at each other left and right with trams stuck in between. They try to run for a while but the pavement is too icy and it quickly turns out that one wrong move is going to cost them a broken bone. But Sander looks determined to get them to his house as quickly as possible once he notices Robbe’s soaked through clothes and his violently shivering body so they end up getting there in under 15 minutes.

Thankfully, his parents had left the heat in the house turned on before they went to the movies so once they cross the threshold they are bathed in a delightful warmth. They take off their shoes and jackets, but then Robbe lingers in the entry, aware of his dripping clothes and not wanting to make a mess at which Sander just rolls his eyes and drags him to the upstairs bathroom.

Robbe has troubles to keep his teeth from chattering and when he sees himself in the mirror, his lips are slowly turning a weird shade of blue so he peels off all the soaked layers while Sander turns the shower on, making sure the water is hot enough to stop Robbe from turning into a smurf. He has that deep wrinkle between his furrowed eyebrows and he’s acting like a man on a mission helping Robbe get off the soaked clothes and collecting a fresh share of his own for him to put later on.

“He-ey, calm down, I-I-I’m f-iiii-ne,” Robbe stutters out because when Sander gets all worried about him like this it’s best to squash that seed right away.

“Tell that to your lips,” he scoffs, worrying his own lip between his teeth. “Come on, get in.”

Robbe sighs and decides it’s probably best to just let him fret a little. He lets himself be maneuvered into the shower and then snorts at Sander’s unsure look on his face as he hovers near the shower door, clearly wanting to join in but not wanting to intrude.

“Ar-rre you seriii-oouus?” he asks, groaning in relief when the hot water hits his back. “What are you wai-iii-ting for, get in, you’re all wet too!”

That puts him in motion and Robbe laughs when he sees him shedding his clothes off in record speed, jumping on one leg when he tries to get off his wet skinny jeans, before joining him and pushing his face directly under the stream.

“Fuck, it feels so good.” Sander turns his head back and forth, letting the water wet his hair before he takes a good look at Robbe. “You’re feeling better?”

He delicately thumbs at his lower lip and the sweet gesture makes Robbe smile and give his finger a side kiss, then turning his head slightly to place another on the center of his palm.

“Yeah, I think circulation is back,” he jokes, wiggling his toes.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s my fault, if I hadn’t been fooling around we would have gotten home before it got so bad-”

“Sander, shut up, it’s not your fault it snowed harder we anticipated,” Robbe looks at him with disbelief.

Of course Sander would blame himself.

“But-”

“No buts. Period.”

Sander doesn’t look convinced so to avoid any further doubts, Robbe stands on his tiptoes, looping his arms around his neck and shuts him up with a kiss. It definitely helps to warm him up faster.

“So like... no butts at all?”

Robbe blames it on the almost-hypothermia that it takes him a few seconds to get the joke.

“Oh my god you’re unbelieveable,” he laughs into his finally smiling mouth and deepens the kiss, Sander’s wandering hands effectively erasing any cold-related feeling from his mind.

[slimysnaildaddy]

Please. We need MC with Tourette's and the brothers/undateables all reacting. Bonus if it's Chaotic!MC.

(For context I told the person asking this to send me this prompt bc I have tourette’s but feel weird abt writing shit on here without being prompted, this isn’t just some random person coming into my askbox like LETS JOKE ABOUT DISABLED PEOPLE i genuinely have TS and told them to do it please don’t flame silver here because he lovely and deserves only good things)

HELL. YES. Get ready for chaos. And I’ll be very careful not to hit the stereotypes, but I am one of the 10% who exhibits coprolalia (the much-lauded swearing symptom of Tourette's, literally meaning “Poop-speak” in Greek) so expect some of that. It should also be noted that I, personally, am completely fine with jokes about tics or laughing when they make for good situational humor, but mocking someone for having tics is a BIG no-no. This does not represent the TS community as a whole and you should always ask the person what level of joking they’re okay with.

I didn’t do all the undateables but this is ridiculous and self-indulgent anyway so no one cares.

Lucifer:

The first time he heard MC tic, it was when he was coming into the HOL after MC had been brought there by Mammon. He heard this puny human shout “SON OF A DONKEY WHORE” at the top of their lungs and automatically assumed they were in the process of being eaten by Beel or something of that nature, so he power walked (though he will deny it later) to their room only to find them casually re-arranging pillows and giving themself an occasional smack to the chest or making a strange yipping sound, perfectly safe.

Once MC explained it to him he simply sighed and came to the conclusion that this is going to be a long, long year.

He does get headaches sometimes, so he’s snapped at MC to keep it down once or twice and gotten chewed out as a result. It really isn’t something you can help, and MC makes that very clear.

Lucifer learned not to say anything of that nature, because somehow MC’s wrath is even worse than Satan’s.

He occasionally finds it hard to tell if MC is having a tic or causing problems intentionally. He wonders if they’re doing that on purpose. He is correct. He wonders if he can stop them. He is incorrect.

After he gets more comfortable with MC and learns the boundaries he will make jokes related to their tics.

“My hovercraft is full of eels!” “Perhaps you should invest in eel-catching equipment.”

If they’re having a bad day where they can’t stop hitting themself or might injure themself because of some of the more unpleasant tics, he will ask them if they need help with something, like a cushion.

Actually cracks up at some of the funnier tics. One time MC got him to spit coffee all over Diavolo with a perfectly timed tic. It was glorious.

Will facepalm if they say/do something particularly inappropriate.

Mammon:

First time he heard (or rather, saw) MC tic it was when he was unlocking the door to the HOL for them for the first time and they made a loud whooping noise and clapped very loudly.

Naturally this startled the shit out of him cause he’s a pissbaby lol. MC didn’t say anything about it cause they were too busy expecting to be murdered by this powerful demon lord who has been just this side of hostile to them ever since meeting them. They didn’t know he’s a pissbaby yet.

After a little while they mentioned “Oh hey i’ve got tourette’s” and here’s how THAT went.

MC: Yeah, I have Tourette’s Syndrome so if I start saying or doing weird stuff-

Mammon: WAIT. Isn’t that the swearing disease. (sighhh)

MC: *deep sigh* only 10% of us have coprolalia-

Mammon, barely remembering ancient Greek: WAIT SO YOU SHIT YOUR PANTS-

Satan tries correcting him but MC cuts him off like “no no, i want him to keep thinking that it’s funny as fuck”

Mc then proceeds to torment Mammon by threatening to shit on his belongings. Keeps him from stealing their wallet.

Literally takes him until he makes a pact with them to get the proper explanation (and to get roasted for making that assumption in the first place)

100% jokes with MC about their tics.

Still gets startled by the more sudden/loud ones and has jumped into Beel’s arms bc of this.

Levi:

First time they did a tic in front of him was when they were trying to figure out how to find Goldie.

“Maybe we should look in the- *starts smacking chest repeatedly* GARGOYLES GARGOYLES ughhh hang on this is gonna take a few minutes to stop GARGOYLES GARGOYLES”

Levi: *white guy blinking gif*

They do not look in the gargoyles.

MC explains it to him and he’s just like “OH I’VE SEEN MOVIES WITH THAT”

MC stares off into the distance like a character from The Office

He ends up being responsible for them having MULTIPLE tics where they imitate anime attack calls or gestures, peppered with occasional magical girl transformation lines.

They say rurin in a cutesy little voice every 5 minutes for a whole week and everyone’s glaring at Levi the whole time.

Thinks some of their tics are REALLY CUTE AND ANIME and is not shy about saying this.

MC: ugh, you know this is a GENUINE DISABILITY, right?

Levi: omg i’m sorry

MC: lol i’m just fucking with you- RURIN~!

Satan:

He noticed MC being a bit twitchy from the moment they arrived, but simply assumed they were nervous and a bit flinchy because of that. Of course, they totally were nervous but also their brain was just like “time to clench all of your muscles at once instead of paying attention to this very important conversation”.

After that he just notices more and more, and honestly he probably reads a lot so it’s likely he already knows about Tourette’s or similar tic disorders, it’s entirely possible that he asks them about it or mentions it casually in conversation.

Is honestly fascinated by their tics and what can trigger them, when they’re more or less frequent, things that cause them to get better or worse, etc etc. MC may have to actually tell him to stop treating them like a case study.

Or, even better, they may just intentionally fuck up his observations.

Knows a thing or two about how it feels to not be able to control yourself when upset. Whenever MC gets a tic attack he’s ready. He looked this up.

Tries not to crack up when they say or do objectively funny shit but sometimes a tic is times just PERFECTLY and he can’t help but snort.

Asmo:

The first time he heard them tic it was a mild disaster.

“Kissy poo~”

“OH YOU WANT ME TO KISS YOU?”

“nonono wait-”

Thinks some of the tics are cute and will absolutely let MC know. Even if they tell him to fuck off lol.

He sees a nasty bruise from one of MC’s more unpleasant tics (eg: chest smacking, slamming their head/arm into something on accident from a flailing tic) and doesn’t just have a cow, he has the entire damn pasture. MC simply CANNOT have such marks on their gorgeous skin! Don’t worry, he’s got creams and makeup for that :^)

Is a little too enthusiastic about offering to help MC relax if they’re having a bad tic day. He suggests massages. Massages are always good.

He’s happy to provide the massages.

Please MC let him give you a massage.

Beel:

First time he saw them tic it was during breakfast and they whistled very loudly right next to him.

His poor ears :( how could you hurt him in this way MC

Once they explained it he was like “Oh. Okay.” and moved on with his life.

He gets the whole “having urges to do shit you shouldn’t do” aka eating something he shouldn’t. He does his best to distract MC if they’re having bad tics.

mc: oh sorry i just need to touch something haha tourette’s is wild right *full on grabs beel’s chest* beel: :?

MC can ask him to restrain them if they’re having a really bad time with stuff and he’s more than strong enough to help lol. UNLIKE MY MOTHER SORRY MOM

Always apologizes if he accidentally triggers a tic.

MC starts climbing on him. Tourette’s compels them. He allows it. Jungly gym beel?

No lie I have a tic that’s just me saying “I eat worms!” in a cutesy voice and- IMAGINE

Belphie:

First time he saw them tic it was while he was still in the attic, they started jerking their head around during a late night visit and he was like what the fuck are you doing-

Thought it was incredibly annoying at first. I don’t blame him honestly. Tourette’s more like Annoying Asshole syndrome am i right (haha that internalized ableism)

Subtly triggered their tics intentionally cause haha stupid human

Once he got out of the attic and made friends with MC properly he was just kind of like “oh that was pretty shit of me wasn’t it”

Honestly doesn’t know how to help so he just ignores it lol.

The one time he tries to help them when they’re having a bad tic day he makes them take a nap with him because clearly if they’re asleep they can’t tic, right?

Surprise! They still can. Enjoy the knee to the stomach, B.

Encourages them to use their powers for evil. Like telling them to spill something on Lucifer and claim it was because of their Tourette’s.

Note: don’t do that, mc only obliges bc this is chaotic mc. TS not a toy etc etc

Barbatos:

Read that MC had tourette’s on their file, but honestly didn’t know what it was. Probably just assumed it was a heart condition or something, so when MC comes over for the retreat him and Dia are not expecting the tics.

The first time they tic in front of him it was at the retreat. He had just served them tea and tourette’s said yeeting time and they chucked the teacup. It hit him in the forehead. Tea all over his face. His hair. His suit. The wall. The floor. Maybe some on Diavolo too. He’s both impressed by their aim and wanting to fucking die.

Mammon is howling with laughter.

MC explains it to him while he’s still dripping with tea and he just smiles in a very strained manner and goes to get changed and wash his hair.

At the retreat when MC and Solomon make human food, he quickly learns that MC should not be around sharp Devildom knives. Or a stove. Or anything dangerous.

Gets weirdly protective over them, especially if they DO end up handling potentially dangerous stuff.

Keeps trying to find better ways to serve them drinks so they don’t break all the fine china, like plastic cups with lids. Stuff still gets spilled everywhere so he tries to get them a travel mug. The handle snaps and the lid leaks. Eventually gets them a sippy cup for toddlers, which works wonders. MC thinks it’s hysterical and makes him put a label on it with their name.

He seriously considers investing in Gyro Bowls as well.

After MC accidentally turned a platter with a soup bowl on it into an impromptu catapult with a poorly aimed table smack, he does just that.

One time they mention having a very strong urge to put their hand over a burning candle and he makes sure no candle is ever near them in the palace.

honestly i have too many ideas for barbatos so he’s getting a whole ass fic.

Diavolo:

The teacup incident was also the first time HE learned the true nature of Tourette’s syndrome. Once the whole deal was explained (and he knew mc wasn’t maliciously throwing things at Barbatos) he thought it was the funniest shit.

Bless his heart honestly.

Tries to not laugh at first bc he thinks it’s probably disrespectful. Meanwhile MC is cackling like a mad scientist bc they dabbed for the 343643th time today and Lucifer looks like he’s about to blow a gasket as a result.

Lowkey I can kind of see him as being one of those “Oh my goodness you are so BRAVE for going through this” meanwhile mc stares off into space like they’re on the office

Is astounded at all the unique challenges humans have to go through meanwhile MC is yeeting cups at barbatos

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

I mean in Leonardo's route he mentions Comte used to be a smoker! AND, it's heavily implied Comte used to be a wild child so!

Comte spoilers below, please don’t open if you’d prefer to wait to find out! I know I’m 100% feral for Comte but I don’t want to diminish anyone else’s experience~

Yes, there are indications that he once engaged in smoking, and was implied to be even worse than Leonardo (a chainsmoker of epic proportions, so to speak). As for whether or not Comte was a wild child, I have no way to confirm that with the current information that Cybird has provided, but there are heavy allusions to him going off the rails (at least for a vampire of noble blood). There are several mentions–if I recall correctly he states it himself–that he’s been running from his legacy for a very long time, and only recently settled down and took up the full weight of his aristocratic title. Unfortunately we don’t know much more than that. But I wouldn’t be surprised, he wandered quite a bit around Europe before turning the men of the mansion. In the few glimpses into his backstory we receive there is also plenty of fuel for a so-called teenage or adolescent vampire rebellious phase. Both he and Leonardo have a profound compassion for other people/creatures, and vehemently reject the social hierarchy/power dynamics that other purebloods seem to want to enforce. 

Among the few scenes I have seen that can testify to his more wild behavior is an event that is likely headed to the english app very soon. There was a story event that featured the suitors–as a pair–enjoying a drink and often reminiscing about the past. Comte and Leonardo are seated at a bar, and they’re drinking their own weight in alcohol and bewildering nearby patrons. Leonardo asks if Comte remembers when it was that they became good friends, and Comte is all “I have no idea what you’re talking abt MORE BOURBON.” Spoilers: he likely knows, or at least has an inkling, and doesn’t want to remember his own punk ass going feral. Anywho, Leonardo goes into it anyway, and describes a situation in which he and Comte attended some kind of social event. Upon exiting the venue, they see/hear a young woman being assaulted in an alley by several men. Now, Leonardo is already cracking his knuckles, excited to unleash a can of whoop ass–but Comte actually beats him to it. He goes stone cold and starts knocking out the people hurting her, asking them how they like being on the receiving end of violence. He then gingerly lifts the young lady and asks Leonardo to get the carriage, since it’s raining out and he would hate for her to catch a cold. This is the moment in which Leonardo learns that–for all of Comte’s adherence to his noble title’s customs–all of that ceases to matter when somebody is in need of his help. And that’s why they became friends; because all of Comte’s money, all of his prestige and social recognition doesn’t mean shit to him. He would give it up in seconds if it meant doing the right thing. His principles and his convictions outweigh any of his perceived materiality, no matter how he conducts himself or seems to others.

One of the greater issues Comte seems to struggle with–and could very possibly have been the reason he distanced himself from his own family–is the way that vampires drop humans like flies. Even if they aren’t engaging in a predatory relationship, in some ways humans are deemed expendable regardless. He had the privilege of being born into a family that treats human beings with respect and perhaps even affection, but every single one of his teachers, caretakers, and the servants in the house he grew up with were fired long before he became an adult. But he was just old enough to understand why they left, and it crushed him. Getting too close was deemed dangerous, for both parties; it would hurt the purebloods more to leave somebody they were attached too, and the humans in their employ would grow suspicious/fearful, perhaps even violent, if they noticed that they didn’t age. But like Leonardo, Comte loves the company of all kinds of people, and to be forced to cut ties for the sake of his own emotional and physical health was shattering for him (death is impossible as far as we know, but that doesn’t make vampires impervious to pain).

I think he spent a very long time rejecting that mindset, until he started to live life on his own and saw how difficult it was. To love people fully, and watch their lives end what felt like hours later. Over and over and over again. Four hundred years is a long time to love and lose people, and while it can be easy to believe that all grieving really requires is letting go, such a thing is much easier said than done. Leonardo wrestles with it just as much as Comte does; the only reason Comte fairs a little better is because he exercises considerable restraint. He’s been burned before, and he’s edging the flames more carefully now. Even so, we see several moments in which this self-control collapses; he will never stand in the way of MC’s happiness with someone else–but the attraction is always simmering beneath the surface, never fully realized. Literally the entire crux of his own route is that he’s trying, trying desperately not to just move where is heart is taking him, but failing anyway because MC has the courage to meet him halfway–wants to meet him halfway, despite their differences. 

One of the hardest things Comte is probably forced to contend with is that, no matter how vehemently he feels that his family was wrong, life proves that in some regards they were right. It is extremely difficult to engage in the kind of life they live without a modicum of self-restraint, or at the very some kind of healthy grieving process. Eternity isn’t going to wait for them to feel better, life isn’t going to stop taking the people they love just because they were born under different circumstances, or are another species altogether. Life doesn’t have any mercy, in that regard, and so they must be merciful and understanding with themselves. In the course of his lifetime he’s forgotten how to be gentle with himself, and he’s forgotten how to look forward to each day to come. For better or worse, his answer to the pain of forever was to shut himself down as swiftly and powerfully as he could to stop the growing whirpool of poorly resolved grief, or perhaps better described as melancholia. He was able to survive the first downspiral, but that doesn’t mean he’s confident he’ll survive another. And survival doesn’t necessarily entail living well, it means doing what you must to forge on–no matter how much it hurts.

(I will say that I can clarify what I mean by the specific term melancholia, because I don’t mean it in the colloquial sense. But I’ll give the disclaimer here for the sake of sparing everyone a technical argument they might not care about lol keep reading after the dashes for the conclusion)

—

Essentially, Freud contends that people process grief in two distinct ways, as I will loosely summarize. Mourning is the reaction to some kind of loss (whether a person, a concept, an opportunity, etc.) that inspires a short-term level of discomfort and unhappiness. Most people heal on their own over time, and it’s something that most people have experienced before. Melancholia, on the other hand, is more or less mourning that has never ended. It is described as a prolonged state of dejection in which all the color in life has dissolved and left, in which one’s self-regard often diminishes (not usually a side effect of mourning, but specific to melancholia) and they lose their will to go on slowly but surely.

In Comte’s route he literally says that MC eases the void in his heart, makes him look forward to every single day; that “his time” starts moving again. That the reason he reciprocated her feelings at all instead of stifling them was because he just fell into the comfort and joy of her presence, couldn’t help himself in wanting to see and talk to her. He describes her love as an irresistible “magic,” something with the capacity to transfigure the fragments of his experience into a de facto life.

Sound familiar?

—

And that’s the whole point, that’s what we as the player are here to do. We’re supposed to help him find the magic in the little things again, hope for better again. Make it so that when he does open his heart and lets himself feel freely again, anguish isn’t the only thing that finds him. We’re supposed to help him stop living in the hellscape of anxiety that he’s been forcing into silence, a depression so wide and deep it’s a wonder he never went mad. 

So uh, this kind of became ridiculously meta, but that’s why I love Comte? And that’s as much as I know about him, as of now. Hoping for more details in the jpn app in the future! I know I got a little sidetracked, do forgive me–I get really in it when I discuss Comte LOL

[temilyrights]

layover

Summary:  Jack Sloane x Reader. What happens when Reader and Jack's flight to D.C. gets cancelled and they have to share a bed? Cue a very panicked reader. Fluff, banter, and like two seconds of heat. 

A/N: I've been working on this for months with little to no success but finally, today I had a burst of motivation and managed to finally piece together an ending. Honestly, I'm a little confused about how? because I'm hungover and that's probably a good sign that I shouldn't upload but here you go anyway hah! (Also somehow I managed to write fluff while emotionally distraught about Maria/Jack?? This story really was completed against all odds). I didn’t do a final read-through of this so apologies in advance. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated:) Enjoy!

Read on AO3

You sigh, collapsing onto your bed for the night. The covers ruffle beneath you but you can’t find the energy to care. You and Jack had been in Seattle for the last few days assisting on a case and were meant to currently be sitting on an aeroplane on your way back to D.C., however, you’d arrived at the airport only to discover your flight had been cancelled and the next one you could both get on wasn’t until tomorrow morning. 

Which, okay, wasn’t a big deal, apart from the fact when you’d called the hotel to try and get your rooms back, they’d only had one available due to a conference being hosted in the hotel over the next few days. Jack had said she didn’t mind sharing, she was tired and didn’t really want to spend the next hour searching for another hotel in the hopes of maybe finding somewhere else, so you’d agreed.

And now here you were, in a hotel room with only one bed, which you were going to have to share with the woman you’ve kind of been hopelessly in love with for months, and you were freaking out just a little bit. 

“All yours,” Jack says as she exits the bathroom dressed in her pyjamas. She’s wearing a matching navy-blue tank top and shorts set and your mouth goes dry at the sight, your eyes lingering too long on the deep scoop of the neckline before drifting downwards to her exposed legs. You quickly snap your eyes away when you realise what you’re doing, jumping up from the bed as a blush rises up your cheeks. You only pause long enough to grab your toiletries bag and pyjamas before hurriedly making your way into the bathroom muttering a ‘thanks’ to Jack without actually looking her in the eye. 

You drag out your routine by taking a shower. Usually, you’d just wait until the morning, but you needed to calm down and showering was the best option you had of doing that. It works because when you step out the shower, wrapping a surprisingly fluffy towel around your body, you’re feeling a lot better. 

You dry your hair until it’s damp. You wouldn’t fall asleep for a couple of hours anyway and you liked to let it air dry as much as possible. You grimace when you pull out the pyjama top you’d brought with you. An old oversized t-shirt that wasn’t flattering in the slightest. Sighing, you shrug it on along with some grey sleep shorts. 

Jack’s sitting on the left side of the bed flicking through the room service menu when you exit. You stifle a laugh, arching a brow, as you make your way over. The two of you had only had dinner a couple of hours ago. Jack rolls her eyes playfully as she looks up to you. “You can laugh all you want but I’m hungry.” 

You shrug, holding your hands up in surrender as you drop onto the bed next to her. “I didn’t say anything.”

Jack’s hums. “I can practically feel your judgement.” She hands you the menu before leaning over to the bedside table to grab the phone. “I’m getting one of their sandwiches, want anything?” 

You look over the menu brows shooting up when you see the prices. “You’re going to spend $10 on a sandwich?” 

“It’s a good sandwich,” Jack responds defensively. 

“But $10! I could literally buy you everything in that sandwich, it would be cheaper and you could probably make like eleven of them.” 

Jack snatches the menu from you. “Don’t get anything then.” 

You snatch it right back “I didn’t say that.” Jack smirks. “Just a thing of fries, please.” You hand her back the menu, and she places the order with a smug smile on her face. 

Thirty minutes later you’re sitting next to each other on top of the covers, eating your food and watching reruns of Friends. Jack’s been eyeing your fries since they arrived and without turning to look at her you hold out the bowl. 

“Thank you.” She grins, happily taking a couple before turning back to the tv. 

You watch TV for a little longer, Jack’s soft laughs fill the room and you find yourself getting increasingly more focused on her (and her legs). You need a distraction, so you grab your laptop from your bag, there was a report you still needed to finish that you’d planned to do on the plane and then send it back to the Seattle office when you had landed, but now seemed like as good a time as any. Jack rolls her eyes with a small laugh when she sees what you’re doing. “Really?” 

“Might as well get it done now.” 

“You know, having one evening off wouldn’t kill you.”

No, but you just might. 

“Oh, look.” You sigh, completely unapologetically as you point to your laptop. “It’s already all loaded up, might as well just do it now.”

“And people call me the workaholic.” 

“That would be because you are.” 

Jack opens her mouth in outrage ready to argue but then proceeds to slump her shoulders and sigh. “Okay, true.” You smirk and it only widens when you feel Jack shooting you a glare. “But if you’re going to be boring, I’m going to finally finish reading my book.” 

And, oh god, maybe you should have just stuck with being distracted by her laugh because Jacqueline Sloane in her reading glasses was a whole other level. One you were definitely not prepared for.

She switches off the tv, grabs her book and settles onto her side and you can’t help but glance at her every so often, loving the content smile on her face and the occasional chuckles she releases. She eventually catches you when you stare for a moment too long and sends you a playful wink over the top of her book that has you clearing your throat and quickly returning your attention to your laptop. Even if you can’t focus you don’t let your eyes leave the screen for the next five minutes as you try to gain control of your flaming cheeks. 

Being together like this, just coexisting, felt so intimate. It pulled at your heart how much you wanted this to happen more often. It wasn’t a new feeling, you got it every time you went shopping together, or really just any time you spent together outside of the office because like now, even though you were technically working (although you hadn’t typed more than half a page in the last forty-five minutes), you couldn’t help but think about the amazing woman lying next to you. And as much as your brain was in overdrive because of the close proximity to her, you also couldn’t help but feel grateful that your flight had been delayed. 

You’re so consumed with your thoughts you don’t notice Jack’s moved from the bed until the room plunges into darkness, the only light now coming from your laptop screen. You roll your eyes looking to Jack, whose finger is still resting on the light switch, her face full of faux innocence. “Whoops?”

“Really?” You huff, barely controlling the smile threatening to break out on your face.

Jack just smirks as she returns to the bed, back resting against the propped-up pillows, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. “You can’t work in the dark, bad for the eyes.” 

“Hmm, good thing I’ve got a lamp then.” Careful of your laptop resting on your lap you lean over to your side table and flip the switch. The room fills with a soft glow as your laptop tilts slightly and Jack’s hand flies out to still it. “Thanks-hey!”  You’re just turning back when Jack swipes the laptop and moves it to her lap with a smug smile. 

“Jack-” You try to protest, going to grab it back but she just bats your hand away and in seconds has saved the report and switched it off. 

“Oh, look, It’s already off.” Jack shrugs, smugness radiating off her as she quotes similar words to what you’d said earlier. 

You roll your eyes; you’d be annoyed if you weren’t enjoying Jack’s playful smirk so much (and it wasn’t like you were getting anything done anyway). “Fine.” You huff, reaching out to grab the laptop however Jack picks it up moving it up and out of your reach. “Seriously?” 

“You’ll just load it up again.” 

Ignoring Jack’s remark, you lean over again going to grab it again, but she just moves to place it on her side table and then lays back down. “Fine.” You say, barely containing your growl of frustration. 

You definitely don’t think through what you do next because one minute you’re sitting on the bed next to Jack and the next you’ve moved to hover in her lap, knee’s either side of her hips as you reach for the laptop resting on the table. You grab it, and it’s only when you look down at Jack you realise what you’ve done. Your left-hand rests just below the pillow, the top half of your body hovering above hers as your right-hand stays frozen with the laptop. She arches a brow at you, teeth pulling at her bottom lip to stop the wide grin from taking over her face. Your face heats up and you don’t know why you aren’t moving; you should be moving!

“Comfortable?” smug shit.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You huff, rolling out of her lap and off the bed, returning your laptop to the safety of your bag as you try to calm your thrashing heart and flaming cheeks. 

Jack waits until you turn back around before she speaks. “I would actually.” Behind the amusement, there’s also a genuine curiosity in her voice that makes you pause. You don’t know how to respond, and panic surges through you that has your fight or flight instinct kicking in. 

“I-I’m gonna go brush my teeth.” You quickly make your way to the bathroom and tell yourself the disappointment you hear in Jack’s sigh is just your imagination. 

When you return Jack has moved to lie under the covers, the sheets resting all the way up to her shoulders. Both your smiles are a little forced as you make your way over, pausing by your bedside table. “Am I alright to turn the light off?” 

Jack nods. “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

The room plunges into darkness and you slip under the covers, making sure to keep plenty of distance between the two of you. 

“You know, I won’t bite.” Jack laughs. You turn to face her not at all surprised by her playful smirk. “I mean unless you’re into that sort of thing.” 

“Original.” You huff cheeks heating up, and you just hope it’s dark enough that Jack won’t be able to notice. The floor was becoming increasingly more tempting.

“Originality is overrated” Jack smirks. “But seriously, move up the bed before you fall off.” 

There’s no use fighting her, so you shuffle over, moving more to the centre of your pillow. Jack still doesn’t look completely satisfied but she doesn’t say anything, just rolls closer. Your eyes had adjusted to the lack of light and you could easily make out Jack. She’s looking at you with a soft smile that has your heart thumping in your chest. 

“You better not snore.” You huff, turning to lie on your back to get away from her all-knowing eyes, and efficiently breaking the moment. Jack chuckles but doesn’t offer a response.

----

You’re not sure exactly how long you’ve been lying still, staring up at the ceiling, but you know it must be over the thirty-minute mark at this point. You’d long ago given up with trying to attempt sleep. Your brain just wouldn’t switch off. You couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if you’d leaned down and kissed Jack rather than rolling off her lap. Would you now be lying in her arms instead of staring up at the ceiling pretending you were oblivious to the fact that she was as wide awake as you...or would you be lying on the floor cursing everything in you for being stupid enough to risk it all. 

Jack shifts on the bed rolling over to face you, eyes trained on the side of your head. Your gaze remains fixed on the ceiling even after she sighs, “Can’t sleep?” You don’t respond. Jack huffs, and reaches her foot out, poking your leg. “Oi.” 

You slowly roll your head to the side, brow raised. Jack’s expression is bordering on a pout, and you are very aware that her foot is still resting on your leg, sending heat prickling through your skin. “It’s very difficult to sleep when someone is talking to you.” 

“Yeah, you should tell your brain to shut up.” Your mouth drops open and your cheeks flame red as Jack’s smirk dampens to a soft smile. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I, uh…” You swallow roughly, mouth suddenly very dry. Jack watches you patiently, giving you the time to work out what to say, but the thing was you didn’t want to say anything. You couldn’t stand the thought of ruining your friendship. Jack was just too important to you. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Jack’s shoulder slump in disappointment as a quiet sigh escapes her lips. 

Jack’s known something was off with you for weeks now. She hadn’t said anything, but you’ve noticed the concerned looks she’s been sending your way and how she’s been subtly trying to motivate you to open up to her. And if what was playing on your mind wasn’t her, then you would have. You know it wouldn’t be long until she started pushing a little harder and that terrified you. How do you explain to one of your closest friends that you’ve fallen head over heels in love with her when you know she’ll never reciprocate it? 

You avert your eyes from Jack’s, hoping your feelings hadn’t leaked onto your face. “It’s late, we should get some sleep.”

“Right because that’s been working out so well for us for the last hour.” 

“Fine. Is there something you want to talk about then?” You were probably going to regret asking that, but you do anyway, and roll onto your side to face her properly. It brings you closer to her than you expect it to, and your eyes immediately dart to her lips before you catch yourself and quickly look away. 

“How about what’s bothering you?”

“Jack,” You whine, rolling over to lie on your back again. You can barely move before Jack’s hand darts out and grabs your arm. 

“I think you’ll find I won’t react in the way you’ve convinced yourself I will.” Your entire body tenses and you’re incredibly grateful you’re currently not looking at her. There’s no way she could know, right? You’d been subtle enough. I mean, well, Ellie had worked it out, but she only thought it was a harmless crush. Jack didn’t know. She couldn’t. 

Jack tugs you so you face her properly again. Your fear must be showing because her face softens and she begins to rub a calming pattern with her fingers onto your arm, your body melts. “I was scared by the strength of my feelings, and I knew you were too, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago when you started to try and pull away from me, that I realised you thought I didn’t feel the same way.” Your heart thumps in your chest, your eyes darting between hers with slight desperation because there’s just no way she’s saying what you think she is. “Which to be honest I don’t understand because I’ve been flirting with you for months.”

Your mouth falls open. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Why would I joke about this?” Jack frowns. “Is it seriously so hard to believe I have feelings for you?” 

“Yes. You’re this astonishing, smart, gorgeous wom-” Jack slams her lips against yours, efficiently cutting your words off. It takes your brain a second to catch up with what's happening, but the second it does you respond with equal enthusiasm. Jack’s hand slides from your cheek to your neck, pulling you closer as her tongue brushes your lips seeking entrance that you’re only too happy to comply with. 

You only pull away when the need to breathe becomes too strong. Jack’s shaky breath mixes with yours as you stare at each other. “So,” you say when your breathing was closer to its regular rhythm “come here often?” 

Jack rolls her eyes as a wide smile spreads across her face and she releases a small chuckle. “Is that the best you’ve got?” 

“I’ll show you my best.” You mumble, nudging Jack so she rolls onto her back, and straddle her lap. Her brown eyes sparkle up at you in amusement, and she’s just so beautiful, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow beneath her, that wide smile now a devilish smirk that takes your breath away. It’s unreal the effect she has on you, you should probably be embarrassed by how a single look from her could set your whole body alight. 

You stare at her, taking her in, and then do exactly what you’d wanted to do an hour or so beforehand, you lean down and kiss her. Both of you are smiling too much to deepen the kiss, but it doesn’t matter…that is until Jack’s fingers start teasing up your thigh. Your wriggle in her lap as your body begins to heat up, and then suddenly, in one slick movement, she’s flipped the two of you over. She hovers above you, that tantalising smirk still present as her eyes dance with mischief and you squeal in surprise. 

“Jack,” you laugh. She captures your lips with kisses that turn you to putty. You’ve basically melted into the mattress by the time her lips part from yours to leave a trail of kisses from your jawline down to your throat. Your hips buck and a soft moan escapes your mouth when she grazes her teeth against your pulse point. “I thought you said you didn’t bite.” You smirk, breathlessly. 

“I said, I wouldn’t unless you’re into that sort of thing and,” Jack repeats the action, nipping enough that you’ll know it’ll leave a mark. You moan, your hand tightening on Jack’s thigh. “I think it’s safe to say you are.” 

You don’t offer a response to that and instead, cup her cheek and guide her lips back to yours. You continue exploring each other's mouths but neither of you attempts to heat the night up anymore.

You surprise the both of you when a wide yawn suddenly breaks free from you. Jack pulls back with a soft laugh, as you look up at her sheepishly, cheeks colouring with embarrassment. “Sorry,” you mumble. 

“Don’t be. It’s been a long day.” Jack’s eyes flick to the clock on your side table before she looks back to you with raised brows. “Wow, It’s already two o’clock. We should probably get some sleep.” She rolls off your lap, and snuggles next to you, arranging the sheets to cover the two of you properly. You hesitate slightly, unsure how to proceed and Jack laughs. “Come here,” She breathes. You oblige, rolling onto your side, and wiggle backwards until you’re safely captured in her embrace. Jack links her fingers with yours and places a soft kiss to the back of your neck. 

“Night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight.” Your eyes fall shut, a content smile drifting over your face. Now feeling very grateful for the mishap with your flight and booked up hotel because without them you’d still be hopelessly pining after Jack who was currently wrapped around you like a koala bear. Sighing, you snuggle back further into her arms and it’s not long before you both succumb to sleep. 

[tagsecretsanta]

From @Thundergeek59

to @little-old-rachel

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author mentioned above!

AN: This is only my second fic and I thought it was only going to be a couple of paragraphs, however, Jeff decided to take this over totally and ran away with it. I now know what you writers mean when you say your characters take over!  I hope you like it, I had fun writing it

Rating: Gen/Family fun

Wordcount: 2900 ish

Jeff sat up and swing his legs over the side of the bed, toeing on his slippers.  It was still dark as he reached for his cane and shrugged his dressing gown round his shoulders. “May as well get up as toss and turn in bed”.  Stuffing his communicator cuff in his pocket, he padded out his door and headed to the kitchen.  

Grabbing a small bottle of juice and a couple of biscuits he headed out towards the pool deck and sat on one of the loungers.  Idly munching the biscuit he gazed at the pool, lit up by the underwater lights, and his mind wandering back to Gordon’s pre-Olympic training when he used to time him with his stopwatch, then chuckling as he remembered having to dive-bomb his little fishie in a vain effort to get him out of the pool, several hours later. 

“Oh Lucy, our little fish is all grown and you’d be so proud of him – of all of them”

With a sigh, he pulled himself up on his cane and continued walking down the path to the beach where Virgil had thoughtfully built a bench for him so he didn’t have to sit on the sand, which only thinly covered the sharp volcanic rock.  From here he could look out to the bird colony on Mateo.  He remembered his first few weeks back home,  when easily overwhelmed by boys and noise, he had sought the solitude by the beach.  Just listening to the waves ebb and flow calmed his mind.  

He looked to the red glint just gracing the edges of the horizon and realised Gordon would be up soon to power though his pool routine while Scott would be just behind, setting off round the island on his daily run.  Eight years and some things never changed while others were irredeemably different.

It was Virgil who caught him by surprise with a hand gently placed on his shoulder. “Hey dad, we’re going to get the tree now, do you want to come along?”  “Thanks for the offer but I think I better stay and help your Grandma with dinner preparations.” He declined. “You sure?  We’d love you to join us and anyway, Max is there to help in the kitchen and Ridley and Kayo will be available to fix any potential culinary catastrophes”.

“I’d only be a hindrance with this”  he replied, waving his stick.  “Actually dad, I have an idea I think you might like”.  Intrigued, Jeff let himself be persuaded, hoping he wouldn’t regret it.

As soon as Virgil had set down Two at the edge of the forest, Scott and John set about configuring a suitable pod.  With Gordon awaiting the arrival of Lady Penelope and Alan still in bed, the party consisted of Jeff and his three eldest and he was looking forward to just doing something social with his boys, a nice change from being ferried to hospital appointments.  He was, however, starting to wonder what form Virgil’s surprise idea would take when he heard a soft cough behind him, announcing said son’s arrival.

The sight that greeted him as he turned around was not what he was expecting.  In front of Virgil was a fully functioning hoversleigh, complete with T2’s green livery with the addition of red flames down the side, a red padded seat with a matching throw.  Words failed him, causing a worried frown to appear between Virgil’s brows, until a deep chuckle rose from Jeff, and a smile twitched at the corner of Virgil’s mouth, pleased that his dad had felt comfortable enough to let his lighter side out.  “Certainly is different” laughed Jeff as Virgil helped him into the sleigh.

Scott and John’s faces were a picture as the hatch descended with Virgil and their father.   “Oh my word, you really did it!” John exclaimed as both brothers tried to stifle their guffaws when they saw their father with a green bobble hat and gloves, looking like one of Santa’s helpers sitting in the sleigh.

“Well, I’d been tinkering with the old hover bikes back at the ranch and decided to see how far I could take the modifications and, well, here she is...”

“Well, let’s see what this baby can do” said Jeff as he pushed the controller forward and... nothing.  A quizzical look at Virgil “Safety feature.  You gotta push the red button first but be careful, I haven’t fully tested.....” He couldn’t finish the sentence due to the cloud of snow covering him. 

“WooHooooo” Jeff whooped as he surged forward down the track, leaving them all brushing snow off themselves.

“You do remember that he likes to go very, very fast” Scott said

“Yep, better jump in the pod and catch him before he heads out of sight” added John. ‘C’mon Virg, hop on”.

Scott steered the pod at speed, following the trail of snow kicked up by the sleigh. After several hair-raising twists and turns Jeff had managed to turn the sleigh into a clearing and was doing doughnut spins, thoroughly enjoying himself.  Finally he came screeching to a halt mere inches from his sons, who were once more coated with a dusting of snow.  “Gee Virgil, that’s gotta be the best fun I’ve had in years!  Reminds me of that time Lee and I tested out the moon rover on Alfie.”

“I’m pleased you had fun, but I hadn’t got around to telling giving you the low-down on all it’s features”.  

“Well, as an Airforce pilot you kinda just learn on the job, part of the fun really, isn’t that right Scott”.   “Sure dad, but you just about gave me a heart attack back there.”  “Ah sorry, Scotty, but you gotta admit, if it had been you trying her out, you’d have done the exact same thing”.  “I guess so” Scott conceded.

While Jeff and Scott had been talking, John had been surveying area, seeking out the perfect tree.  “That one, over there, what do you think Vigil”.  “Looks good to me, lemme bring the pod into position” Virgil replied as he hopped up onto the pod and drove it over to the tree, Scott and Jeff following in it’s wake.  

“Ok guys let’s do this.  John, you take that side.  Virgil, get into position with the saw and dad and I will be over here to tell you when to stop cutting and get the pod grapples ready”  Pure IR commander front and centre. “Yes, and I’ll be shouting encouragement from the sidelines” chuckled Jeff.  He’d had time to see his boys work together over the past few months and marvelled at how seamlessly they all fitted together, deferring to each other’s greater expertise.  He’d learnt from bitter experience that his opinions on the best way for them to do something, more often than not screwed with their well oil system and got them second-guessing themselves, which was not what was needed in the field.

 He was fortunate, so fortunate that his boys had developed the way they had, working in the way they did and in the process, turning IR into something more than what he had originally envisaged.  He’d been away from it all for too long to be able to step back in and run it the way he had and he was coming to terms with that, despite how much his pride and sense of usefulness had been hurt.

“You’d have loved this Lucy – just look at our boys working so well together, just like they did when they were little”. 

“You ok dad?” John was first to notice the faraway look in his fathers’ eyes.  “Yes, I’m fine, just  telling your mother about you all”.  John gave Scott a look, who in turn quirked an eyebrow at Virgil. Virgil imperceptibly shook is head.  Jeff, watching the exchange and remembering how they had been doing this since they were children – saying so much without uttering a word.  “I know those looks, and no, I’m not crazy, you gotta remember that for 8 years I only had your mother to talk to, so it’s got to be a bit of a habit.”  

The boys looked anywhere but at their father, feeling caught out with muffled apologies.  “C’mon lets get this tree strapped onto the pod and back home” Virgil successfully diverted the conversation to the matter in hand.

It didn’t take too long to get back to Thunderbird 2, Jeff taking a slightly more sedate pace on the return journey.  What the boys didn’t know was that the reason for the slower pace would make itself apparent as soon as they exited the pod.

Whooooosh...... splat!  A perfect hit and a whoop of joy from the elf in the sleigh.  Scott looked down at the remains of the snowball that was gracing his uniform.  “You did not just snowball me, did you? Scott scooped up a handful himself “You know what that means.....”   “You wouldn’t hit an old man in a sleigh?” Words were barely out of his mouth when Whumph... direct shot to the sleigh, there followed a rapid volley from the sleigh to the other two sons. Virgil and John only had time to cast a quick glance at each other when they realised what was going on before  Boooooffffff..... fluuuuufffff.......Thwaaaak!  

In the meantime, Scott was building a small cache of snowballs, ever prepared, ready to dive into the fray.  He decided that his chances were better if he and Jeff teamed up against Virgil and John.  Whilst  Jeff could quickly manoeuvre the sleigh out of some of the shots, not all could be avoided.  Virgil had the strength and John had the trajectory calculations going on in his head, weighing up the best type of snowball for the distances involved – enough to make a good splatter but not hard enough to cause damage to sleigh or person. The were quite a formidable team against age and experience.

“Okay, okay, I concede defeat” Jeff laughed as one final snowball splattered against his gloved hands raised in mock surrender.  It had been a long time since he’d seen them rosy cheeked in the cold air, just enjoying themselves, “Well, I think it’s definitely time to head back to the Island” John shivered as they loaded pod, Christmas tree and sleigh onto Two’s elevator.   “But we need to make a quick stop off en-route” added Virgil.  “What could we possibly need on Christmas eve that we haven’t already got” Jeff queried.  “Wait and see” was his reply.

Thunderbird Two took off as soon as everyone was strapped in.  Virgil and Scott in the pilot and co-pilot seats with Jeff and John behind in the passenger seats.  Jeff regarded his middle son who was staring out of the window “Penny for your thoughts” he said.  “Hmm? Oh it’s nothing, just daydreaming really”.  “Uh huh, and would that daydream have anything to do with a lovely young astronaut that’s waiting for you back home?” asked Jeff. 

 John could feel the heat creeping up to his cheeks  “Maybe, just idly looking forward to having a few days downtime together.  Our schedules rarely coincide, so it’ll be nice to spend a few days dirtside with her”.  “You thinking of bringing her into the family business?” Jeff asked.   John had not seen that one coming and, clearly agitated, tried to steer the conversation away. Truth be told, he had thought about it but that would imply a whole load of commitment he wasn’t sure either of them could give right now.  

“Not really thought about it to be honest” was all he offered.  “You sure could do with some additional help up there on Five and she is a fully trained astronaut ....and... well, I like her”  You could have knocked John down with a feather.  What the heck had happened to his father and who was this amiable alien who had taken over his body!

Vigil raised and eyebrow at Scott while all this conversation was going on, realising it was touching on a subject neither of them had even dared ask John about.  Scott quirked an eyebrow back, a small smile dancing at the corner of his mouth.  He’d love to stay and listen in but felt it was getting into personal territory that neither of them had a right to enter without invitation.

“Just stopping off here for a few minutes guys.  Scott, wanna come with?” Virgil asked, the please remained unsaid but was clear from his expression.  “Sure, we’ll be back in no time, no need to get up you two.” Scott replied as they both exited the cockpit.

“Ok, I know, it’s not my place to interfere” Jeff continued “but take it from someone who’s been there, when you find someone you just feel totally comfortable with, you don’t just let it slip away.  I’ve seen you two together John, the way you interact, believe me, I’ve never seen you look so comfortable with anybody outside this family, with the exception perhaps of  Penny.” 

Clearly blindsided, John being John, wanted a bit more clarification “Dad, when you said family business, you didn’t just mean International Rescue, did you?”  “Well son, that would be up to you” Jeff left the ball in John’s court. 

 “This thing we have, it’s quite new and we’re having to work round rotas, so we haven’t actually had a great deal of time together. Certainly not enough to make as big a decision as I think you’re suggesting”.    “Son, sometimes you just gotta trust your gut and leave your head and logic to one side. That’s all I’m saying”. 

Their conversation was interrupted by Scott and Virgil entering the cockpit with several boxes carrying the logo of a well known Swiss chocolatier and four steaming takeaway cups.  “Thought we could all use some hot chocolate” Virgil passed out the cups to welcoming hands. “Just what we needed. Got anything in these boxes to go with the cocoa?” Jeff asked. “Sadly, these are for home. I promised Kayo we’d pick up some goodies for everyone to enjoy with our Christmas mimosas and I’d hate to be the one to tell her they didn’t make it home.” Replied Virgil.  “Well it’s a good job I popped into the patisserie down the road while you were busy getting the drinks and got these”  Scott beamed, clearly collecting extra brownie points as he carefully opened the smaller box, revealing the most wonderful choux pastry creations liberally topped with dark and white chocolate ganache, lightly dusted with edible glitter and gold leaf.  “Wondered where you’d wandered off to” mumbled Virgil mid-chew, trying not to spray glitter everywhere.  “You’re not the only one who knows the little out of the way places” 

“Neither of you would know about either of those places if Eos and I hadn’t scoped them out first” John huffed.  He was pleased the conversation had moved on from the rather uncomfortable personal probing of earlier and was quite happy to keep it that way.

 “Call it teamwork” Virgil added as he slipped into the pilot’s chair.  “Well, from what I see, teamwork is certainly something you boys excel at and I couldn’t be prouder” Jeff added as he raised his hot chocolate in salute to his eldest three.

Waiting to meet them in the hangar were the two youngest, Alan bouncing on the balls of his feet, Gordon trying unsuccessfully to hide his delight at the size of the tree that was appearing from Two.  What they hadn’t expected to see was hidden behind the tree. “Oh my God!” Gordon exclaimed as he caught a glimpse of green and red.  He and Alan ran over to check out what had caught his eye and of course, check out the tree.  

Wow, it’s a beaut” enthused Gordon, gently stroking the machine.  “I thought you were all talk when you were going on about fixing up one of the old hover bikes”.  Virgil just shrugged, enjoying the youngster’s reaction to his handiwork. “You even painted on the flames!” Alan shrieked in delight.

“Well, hello to you too” said Jeff, slightly miffed but totally understanding of their enthusiasm for the new piece of kit rather than welcoming him back.

“Oh, hi dad” Alan finally waved, not taking his eyes off the machine. “You know, I was the one your brother allowed to test drive that thing” Jeff added.  That got their attention.  “Aw Virgil, I thought I was your favourite brother” whined Gordon “You know it’s always been me” replied Alan as they both turned towards there father, their interest piqued.  Virgil just rolled his eyes.  “So, how was she? Was she fast? Did you fall out? Did you test it to it’s limits?” so many questions tumbled from Alan who was now more interested in what his father had to say. “Walk me to the elevator and I’ll tell you all about it” said Jeff putting an arm around Alan’s shoulder.  “C’mon Gordon” Alan gestured for his brother to join him.  Gordon ran over, slipping quietly under Jeff’s other arm.  Jeff positively beamed as he finally had their full attention and a new tale to enthral them.  

The three older brothers looked at each other and smiled.  It’d been a long time since they’d seen their dad so relaxed and happy. 

Definitely the best day he’d had since returning from the Oort cloud and perhaps a new Christmas precedent had been set with the hoversleigh for future tree collecting.

End

[salenakingston]

Mystery March Day 5 - Dream

(I wanted to try a bit of a different style when writing this one. I hope it turned out alright.)

Night covered the sky, dots of white accompanying the glow of the moon. Arthur’s gaze peered out the window, the soft sound of music echoing through his room. He was hunched over his desk, just as always. When he wasn’t running around to chase the “supernatural” or helping his uncle at Kingsmen Mechanics, he busied himself with his projects. Between the blueprints, side notes, tools, and metal pieces littering the surface of wood, it was a wonder there was still brown peeking through.

His attention was pulled back down to the mess, somehow ‘organized’ in a way that only he knew. They briefly trailed over to the clock set upon a nightstand. Whoops. Guess he had been up longer than anticipated… again.

How could he not lose track of time when it came to something he was so passionate about? None of his other friends could understand it, nor could his uncle too much for that matter. Then again, it didn’t really matter if they did or didn’t. So long as he could share his fascination in the subject with those he cared about, then it was enough.

The blond pulled himself from his work, throwing back the covers of his bed. Settling down, he pulled the covers back over his form, eye drooping as the melody of music began to lull him sleep. Guess he forgot to shut it off. Oh well, he was already in bed. Surely no one would mind if it was left playing. Uncle Lance was probably asleep already anyways.

The soft humming swirled around him, beating in tune with his heart.

When it's just you

And it's just me

Got the window down 'cause it's my fantasy

You feel so good

Right next to me

You're exactly what I'm looking for

The van hummed down the road, Lewis sitting at the wheel. He always seemed to be the one driving while the blond always fixed it when something went wrong. Should he not be the one driving it then? It never bothered him, and knew his friend was as careful as possible. None of them could foresee every event playing out before they arrived on the scene. Viv would find the haunts, be it through rumors, news articles, or some lead online. She could always find one without fail.

And then they were on the road without so much as a second thought.

Shouldn’t he be concerned with their safety? Of course he was, but he had their back. Shouldn’t he try and stop them, or mostly the bluenette, from chasing after danger? Of course, but he didn’t. Wasn’t he scared just about every time they went on one of these outings? Of course he was, but that didn’t stop him from coming. Truth be told, it never mattered what they were doing. They could be staring death in the face, and while he was sure he would cower in fright, he could never imagine abandoning his friends.

They meant everything to him, just as much as his uncle.

They might not have known it, but they gave him so much, and sometimes it felt like he could never give anything in return.

He could hear Vivi’s laughter from the front seat snap him away from his wandering thoughts. Mystery was up front with her, leaving him in the back. Anyone else might have been annoyed, but it never bothered him. All that mattered was that he was acknowledged. Anything else was far too petty to get upset over.

The van soon came to a halt, Arthur peeking over the back seats. The scene outside the window was about as much as he expected. Another creepy, old house, his friends outside… waiting for him. A smile formed on his face, hurrying out the back door to join them.

Yes, it truly didn’t matter how many times he got dragged along on their interest trips, or how many times he got scared, so long as they were there with him. They always protected him.

Arthur woke up in bed, a large smile covering his face.

Put your hands together girl

'Cause your love is like a dream to me

Put your hands together girl

'Cause your love is like a dream

The van hummed down the road again, the same one as before. Like always, his three friends sat in the front while he was relegated to the back. Everything seemed to be the same, but he could tell immediately that something was off. What was this strange feeling? Literally nothing had changed.

Except it had.

Lewis had taken his eyes off the road for just a moment, enough to lean over and kiss Vivi. Right… They were together now. What was once just three friends and their dog traveling across the country in hunts of the strange became a loving couple with their third wheel. Mystery didn’t really factor in that much between the scenarios, only now that he was the only one in the back, he truly did feel alone.

Why couldn’t the dog sit with him instead?

What difference did it make? It didn’t bother him before.

The bluenette turned her head over the seat. Vivi was a kind soul, even if over enthusiastic about her interests. She had so much affection to give to those she cared most for. She never did anything to make him feel like he was being pushed away. Where was that now? Everything that once made her bright began to dissolve. Their colors began to fade, leaving him the only bright being in the van. She turned back, a switch flipped. Why was he not important anymore?

Why couldn’t they seem to take notice of him anymore?

He reached out for her, for her… for them. The van stretched, the distance between them growing. When he tried to speak, no words came. His mouth opened and closed normally, but his voice was overtaken by silence. His desire to call out to them, to have them notice him like they always did, grew infinitely.

But he didn’t have that right didn’t he?

Who was he to come between them?

Arthur woke up in bed, his smile faltering.

And I never knew

All the things you do

And I guess it's cool to know the way you feel is true

And I wonder why

If there's no time

It feels like everything is lining up just right

Cold and damp.

Darkness seemed to surround him, the only light around him being the shimmer of green bouncing off stones. The low screech of bats rang out around him, fog encasing his body. It began to suffocate him, as if he were trapped in a small space, the fog stealing his breath.

Then a small flicker of hope.

In the center of the darkness was a wisp of orange flame. It floated in front of him, just out of reach. It contrasted the green around him, drawing the blond. Like a moth to the flame as the saying went. He wanted that flame. It would help him get out of this mess. He wasn’t entirely sure why he thought that, but it was one thing he knew for sure. If only he could get his hands to that flame. Fog gripped at him like chains, making him fight harder.

So close.

Not yet.

Tips nearly brushed the flame, hope blazing through his being.

Very well then.

The bonds loosened, his arm moving forward towards the light.

Orange fell at his feet, illuminating the cliff he now stood on. A cliff? When did he get here? How did he get here? Panic began to settle in. That sensitivity he could feel crackling from the flares was gone now. What changed?

A scream.

Head shot up in an instant. The scream was growing further and further away from where he was standing. It echoed off the walls of the cave he was in, green surrounding him once again. The cries soon came to a sudden stop, and only then did his body begin to move. Feet were placed over the edge, gaze looking over a sea of points. In between the gray that covered his vision was purple… and red.

Once again, his voice seemed to fail him, but one thing rang out in his head.

LEWIS!

Arthur woke with a start in his hospital bed, body shaking as pain snaked down his missing limb.

When it's just you

And it's just me

Got the windows down 'cause it's my fantasy

You feel so good

Right next to me

You're exactly what I'm looking for

Green… there was nothing but green whenever he was awake. When there wasn’t green, there was black. Neither color brought him any kind of comfort, dread clinging to the very fibers of his being. Once again he found himself on that cliff, overlooking the mesh of the same three colors: gray, purple, and red. Green came into view again, only when his arms were stretched out.

Even there, it was always green.

But he knew how this would end. He had grown to anticipate it.

He would be met with pain.

Any moment now.

Any moment now…

Nothing.

This was strange. Why was there no pain? No monster to make him pay for whatever he had done? He could feel a strain on his mouth, one that someone might feel if they were smiling for too long. Iron hung in the air, his body finally turning away from the chasm. This was new. The smell just grew stronger as he followed the path down from the cliff. He could see more colors from the corner of his eyes. White, black, and red. Mystery?

That can’t be right. No wait, those were the same colors that matched the monster. What happened to it? And why was the iron the strongest around those colors?

They passed, a crossroads offered to him. He began one that led further down into the cave. Why go there?

He could hear crying. Wait…

Vivi?

Of course, she went down the other path. No.. wait, she went down that path! And he was heading down the same one. Both colors he passed were red, deep and pooling over the other colors. Blue began to mix with red in his vision before he could see the entrance to the lower level. He couldn’t handle it. He didn’t want to see the red and blue together. He didn’t like all the red.

No! Please! Don’t!

Arthur woke up with a start in bed, hand clinging to his throbbing shoulder.

Put your hands together girl

'Cause your love is like a dream to me

Put your hands together girl

'Cause your love is like a dream

Tempo? What was he doing here?

Arthur was vaguely aware he had fallen asleep before appearing here. Where there was usually green was replaced with a clear sky hanging over their hometown. This was.. Very strange. Why was there no green anymore? Why was he here? And why was he standing outside Tomb Tome? This was Vivi’s workplace… but of all places, why here?

Amber eyes snapped forward, the woman of the hour stepping through the door. Almost immediately, she linked her arm with his own, the two now walking down the street together. Ok, still nothing too out of the ordinary. They were friends, and it was common for her to drag him all over the place. Arthur seemed to find his smile, listening to whatever it was she was rambling on about.

The road started to look familiar, recognizing it as the one that led to Vivi’s home. Ok, so maybe he was just walking her home from work. Friends did that. He took her up to the door, their arms finally breaking their link. They smiled at one another, Vivi getting closer to him.

Ok, that is strange.

The bluenette leaned up, planting a kiss on his lips. Nervousness wracked his body. Was it nervousness? Or was it excitement? What was wrong with him? He raised his hand, brushing his fingers along her cheek as he returned her kiss. There. Now he could see what was wrong.

His arm was green. He must not have noticed before since she linked with his metal arm.

This was wrong, all of it was. He wasn’t supposed to want her. He wasn’t supposed to share this kind of love with her. She loved another, even if she didn’t remember him. He wasn’t Lewis. He wasn’t her flame.

This was wrong!

Arthur woke up in the back of the van, Vivi resting at his side. He carefully slipped away from her, fleeing out the back doors.

You're my girl

But not my world

Don't get it twisted

You got me scared

I'm not prepared

And I really didn't mean to fall in love again

Arthur immediately found himself dropped in the mansion, the very same one the trio just escaped from. As if being chased through the halls by a flaming skeleton wasn’t bad enough to suffer through. That ghost wouldn’t give up on him, not until Vivi got in the way.

There was no Vivi this time.

The blond took off running, heat tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. He didn’t dare look behind him, focusing on keeping his life. One quick glance down at his arm confirmed the green that always clung to his being. Ever since he started appearing in the cave, there was nothing but green over him. He couldn’t understand it. Why was it always green? Why him? What did he do to have this happen?

The hall never seemed to have an end. He would keep running, turning, running, then another turn, maybe an up, then down, but it never came to an end. He always ran. He was growing tired, his lungs burning from being unable to stop.

A voice echoed behind him.

“How dare you!”

Running.

“How could you take her away from me?”

Running.

“Monster!”

Running.

“Traitor!”

CRASH.

The blond looked upon the wall he crashed into. The hall finally came to an end. End of the line. His head finally turned over his shoulder, the ghost towering over him, far larger than he remembered. Everything was consumed by purple flames, his voice crying out for a mercy he would not receive.

Arthur woke up with a start in the van, hands clamped over his mouth to keep Vivi from waking up again. Best to get some work done on the van since he wasn’t going back to sleep.

When it's just you

And it's just me

Got the windows down 'cause it's my fantasy

You feel so good

Right next to me

You're exactly what I'm looking for

Arthur killed Lewis.

He killed Lewis.

He killed his best friend.

How could he forgive himself for that? Suddenly so many things made sense. The reason why his skin was always green, even now. He looked like a monster because he was a monster. He’d killed someone. Should it matter that it wasn’t something he personally did, but rather under possession of another entity? No.. it was still his arm that did the deed.

He could hear Vivi crying. Was that because of her returned memories, or the realization that one of her best friends was a murderer? Regardless, he should comfort her. Strange that Lewis was not around. Oh right… he wouldn’t be because she didn’t fully trust him, not after trying to get revenge on Arthur. Another mess that was his fault.

He came over to her, wrapping his arms around her. This could only end in tears.

His skin was still green.

His hands moved up, hands closing around her throat. There were no spires to take the life away from her. He would have to do it himself. Tears raced down his face, feeling the fight leave her. He had killed once before, wait was another time? He hated this. He hated himself. He could never forgive himself.

Arthur woke up with a start in the hotel bed. They were out on a case, and he was in bed… alone.

Put your hands together girl

'Cause your love feels like a dream to me

Put your hands together girl

'Cause your love feels like a dream

Two ghosts stared down at him as he burned. Purple and blue flames danced around him, his cries the song that kept them playing. He didn’t kill her, but he might as well have. The two people he cared about the most, and the two people he wronged. He deserved this. No. He deserved worse than this.

His life for theirs. He’d give it gladly. And he wouldn’t dare to come back.

They would be rid of the monster from their life.

Then, the flames suddenly came to a halt. The looming ghosts vanished, leaving his two best friends, in the flesh. What was going on? How did this happen? What were they going to do now? Was this a torture to remind him of the life he took from them? They approached him, but their arms wrapped around him. Their warmth swirled around him.

What?

He was hesitant to embrace them back, arms shaking as they moved up. He noticed something else that changed. His skin was no longer green. How long had his dreams been plagued with the image of the monster that took one life, and dreamed of taking another? How could he be forgiven? Tears came back to his face.

They saved him once. Did they do it again?

Arthur woke up in the hotel bed, Lewis and Vivi on either side of him. Their arms were wrapped around him, there to chase the demons in his head away.