#give it some fresh lines. a little color. perhaps a BACKGROUND... who knows!

[merklins]

ANOTHER PIECE FOR THE PRACTICE COLLECTION (:

[aufaits]

on introductions.

If we're to start anywhere in this story, perhaps we should start here: a camera shot, tightly held, focused on a a hand scribbling furiously in a notebook. There's little to note regarding the hand: a claudaugh ring on one finger, nails tidly trimmed, cuticles pushed back. The only speck in site are faint droplets of ink dotting the hand in question's fingers.

Let the camera pull up, tracing the tight bent tension of a arm, a beast poised to spring. Note too, the casual blazer, bearing all the marks of a fresh ironing. In the background of the shot lies a bag, only half unpacked, closet hanging open as well. Clothes dot the bed in blobs of color, and a handful of books lie on the desk in riotous lumps. And finally, the camera focuses on the face of the figure— a woman in thought, her forehead pinched, mouth set in a firm line.

Vivien sits in her room, hair pulled back into a meticulous bun, scribbling at her notebook. It was a ritual of sorts, a way of pulling herself back into herself, reminding her of the things that mattered in the here and now. The words themselves are practically illegible, shorthand sentiments of neuroses still at hand— you're capable, okay? also, it's nice to meet new people, you haven't gotten the chance in ages.

And so on and so forth. Finding the ritual done, she tosses the notebook and pen into a tote, flinging it over her shoulder. She had opted for being her polished self today— the blouse and blazer de-wrinkled with the old bathroom trick that had saved her in grad school, earrings in a subtle silver, every bit of her the thing that she knew she could be— that she knew she was.

That thing being a sure and steady gaze, an infinite patience, an eye for balance. Or at least, that was what she hoped to tell the others.

At the coffee shop, she pauses, folds her hands in front of her just so. There's something almost nostalgic about a huddle of people, crowded around a table too small for them. Some of them ping points of recollections— names and faces settling like film on the surface of memory. Others feel like a knife pick— memory blasted into desolation, bile rising in her stomach. She swallows it, forces her smile, holds back her shoulders.

"Hi, you're the rest of the team, right? I'm Vivien Jiāng, previously a Junior Archivist for RAISA at Site-7."

She cuts her teeth on the previously, allows herself to concede how strange it feels. That was then, this is now. A hand curls protectively around the strap of her tote bag, finger idly rubbing against the texture of it, reminding herself to stay grounded.

"But I suppose you should know me as Au Fait. That's my callsign, anyway. It's supposed to mean something about having knowledge."

It feels dangerously close to a lie, what she says (or at least, a lie to her). After all, French courses for the entirety of college meant she knew the meaning, held the detailed knowledge that the name implied. But she couldn't give a lecture. That had gone disastrously the last time she'd tried to talk about that language.

"I worked with maintaining the digital SCP archives and catching discrepancies in them, as well as helping general SCiPNET upkeep and data issues. Think of me as a computer guy who loves excel sheets and the smell of old paper, and you should have a good idea of what my last five or so years looked like."

She glances over at the counter, smile weakening faintly. She'd fully forgotten to have food before this, hadn't she?

"Um— I do want to meet all of you, but do you mind if I grab a coffee first?"

[toastedside]

Call From Home

Tim Drake x Batmom!Reader

Warning: sad Tim Drake, him crying, feeling small, fluff in the end

Note: I always like and entertain the idea that Tim eventually finish his education and go to college. I wrote this back in 2019 when I was away for college and experiencing mild case of homesick. Enjoy!

College life was pretty exciting. At least Tim able to muster that out loud now, and no longer wallowing in constant denial how much he enjoyed being a college student. It does get pretty crazy at times. The chaos in the dorms, the shenanigans of bored college students, morning classes. It got its own rhythm, and Tim was proud that he able to blend and follow the rhythm pretty well.

He never imagined that he eventually able to live a life like this. Like this one. Not after him confronting Batman in his own house. Not after his parents’ death. Not after taking the mantle and split his life into day and night. He never imagined he get to party until late night, laughing his ass off whilst running on the campus ground at night, pulling all night for assignments, and running late to classes.

The Red Robin suit he carefully packed still untouched. Tucked carefully underneath his bed. He never got time to be Red Robin. Not with the piling assignments and constant nudging to socialize. He listened to the police’s radio from his dorm when he was alone from time to time, but in a city like this, it’s pretty calm and mild.

Compared to Gotham, this city is peaceful.

It’s loud, it’s colorful, it’s exciting. Perhaps that’s why he liked the thrill of being here. It reminded him of home. Of Wayne Manor that filled with too many people, too many vigilantes who never know when to lower their voices. And perhaps that’s why he grew relentless and anxious as the clock slowly tick by and it’s all quiet. Darren, his roommate, was gone to his parents for the weekend. Left him all alone with his thought.

Tim sighed as he punched the number on his phone screen. He didn’t know why he did it. But something behind his mind pushed him to do so.

“Hello?” the voice answered after the fifth rang. Tim wanted to smack his head. You were probably sleeping.

“Hi Mom,” Tim greeted. “It’s me.”

“Hi, honey!” your voice laced with a lot of excitement. Tim sat up on his bed, head leaned to the wall next to him as he closed his eyes. “How are you? How do you like college?”

Tim chuckled. “It’s exciting, yeah. The assignments were crazy. But it was fun.”

“It reminds me with my college days! One time, this one student flood the whole floor with detergent because he didn’t know how to wash his own clothes in the washing machine.”

“My God. Just last week a student accidentally pushed the fire alarm because she was drunk.”

Tim could hear you laughing. And then a faint sound of a silverware hitting a surface. You’re in the kitchen then. Or the dining room. There were no background noises and it was all quiet. You were probably alone in the kitchen; dug on the freezer to eat a pint of ice cream you always so cleverly hide from everyone.

“How are you doing, Timmy? You haven’t answered my question.”

Tim went quiet as he bit his lower lip. You often called him Timmy when he was upset or in dire need of comfort. A nickname you reserved for comfort and now his brain associated it with tenderness and comfort. And the warmth of your embrace.

All of sudden, he wanted to cry. His eyes started to sting and his chest heavy. He didn’t know why, but listening to his mother’s voice alone opened up something he had shoved to the back of his mind since the day he moved into his dorm.

“Timmy? Honey?” you called for him. He probably had unconsciously let a sob escaped his mouth. “Baby, are you okay?”

“I miss you,” Tim rasped between his sobs. Saying those out loud only made him want to cry harder. “I miss Alfred. I miss Bruce, Jason, Dick, Damian, Cass…” he trailed, sniffled as he harshly wiped his tears with his sleeve. “I miss home.”

Tim pulled his knees into his chest, curled himself into a ball. He wanted nothing but to sank into your embrace, enjoying the way your fingers would thread on his hair and your nails lightly scratched his scalp. He wanted nothing but to eat a homemade food, not the cheap, knocked off questionable foods he often got on campus.

He wanted home.

“I miss you too, honey,” you cooed. You heaved a sigh as you continued, “The house does get a little quieter without you here.”

“I- I thought I’d be okay. I like it here,” Tim sniffed. “But I miss you. I miss home. And – I want to go home.”

The line went quiet for a little while. He could hear you shuffling in the background, a sound of chair being pushed confirmed his suspicion of you being in the kitchen. He was both surprised and bashful about his sudden childish plea. He never thought he would miss Gotham out of all places. It stinks and raked of criminal. The air here was crisp and clear, he could hear the bird chirping on his way to his classes.

But one call to home and his body longed to be there. One call and his soul wished he was home.

His bed suddenly felt too small and stuffy. The mattress is too stiff and the duvet not warm enough. Tim pressed his head onto his knees, his eyes still producing saline tears as he quietly listened to you contemplating your answer.

“Baby, you know what? It’s okay to miss home. It’s okay for wanting to be home and liking where you are at the same time. I had severe homesick cases when I was away for college too,” you answered finally, with a quiet huff as Tim faintly heard you landed in a cushion. Perhaps the living room.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Tim could listen a smile seeped on your voice. “Listen. You live your life here, in Gotham, for almost all your life. You born and grew up here. You live here in this house. You fight for the city. Of course, you’d miss home. Of course, you’d want to be here.”

Tim sniffed as a response.

“And you’re adapting. Nobody expect you to immediately like where you are. Especially when you’re so far away from home, all alone, all by yourself. You’re starting a new chapter in your life. There will be hard times. But I always know you’re a fighter. And you’ll survive just fine. You can do this.”

Tim smiled as he wiped his tears.

“Besides, I believe your friends suffer the same homesick cases too.”

An involuntary laugh escaped him. He let out a wet chuckle as he wiped his tears with his sleeve again. Eyes spared glances into the empty bed across him. “Yeah. Darren is out visiting his parents’ house. Lucky for him his parents are only two hours away.”

“See? You know what I mean?” Tim practically could see the way your face would scrunch up. An expression he grew fond of. “You’re always welcome to come home anytime, honey. Remember wherever you are, no matter how far, you’re always welcome here whenever.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You know what? This gives me an idea.”

“Idea?”

“For impromptu family weekend getaway,” you said thoughtfully. “What about you show the city around for us next week? Tell me places you like, good restaurants to eat, and places you visit the most.”

Tim blinked dumbly. “You’re visiting?”

“Yeah! Next week. I promise.”

Tim could feel a smile slowly crept up on his cheeks. He shifted on his bed out of excitement. “You know what? This also give me an idea.”

“Ooh, what is it?”

“That I should go cycling around and list down all places I want to show you,” Tim said as he hopped out of his bed. Already made a beeline towards his coat and shoe rack. “I think I need some fresh air too.”

“Alright, Atta Boy. Wear your jacket. It’s cold outside.”

“On it, Mom. I’ll call you later. See you next week.”

“See you next week, baby. I love you, bye.”

Tim was already halfway out of his room when he answered, “I love you too.”

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language, nudity (but, like, for art), and violence Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, including violence between the shipped pair, leaning heavily into the "enemies" part of "enemies to friends to lovers" Summary: Local vampire discusses art, depictions of certain anatomy, and enjoys the company of her feral soulmate for 4.5 minutes. Then it goes to shit (as things tend to do). 0-60 Real goddamn quick. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly

4: Portraits For Ghosts

“Am I really supposed to just… stay here? Did she honestly think that I, of all people, would behave? The universe gave me two good hands, and by God, I intend to make that someone else’s problem,” you mutter to yourself as you get dressed. It’s not that you necessarily had anything in mind, rather that you hated the idea of waiting around for who knows how long for Cassandra to return. Especially considering what she had done prior to leaving. Sure, you had laughed, but that hadn’t meant much in the end. At this point, you hadn’t even been out of the dungeon for a full day yet, and the memories of what happened there were fresh in your mind. Nightmares, too, even if you had pushed them aside to deal with Cassandra’s. Why did I bother? You wonder, frowning. There was hardly any point to comforting a monster, no matter the way they trembled.

Or at least that’s the lie you sold yourself.

Soon enough, a knock at the door brings you out of your head. Daphne, maybe, you think, remembering the maiden from yesterday. When you open the door, however, you’re met with an unfamiliar woman. She’s a few years your senior, at the very least, and appears surprised to see you. In her hands is a very enticing tray of food.

“Lady Cassandra wanted me to bring this to you. I am… I am glad to see you are feeling better already,” she says, voice shaking. What was with these maidens and assuming you were anything like your soulmate? Though that last part did catch your interest. Something told you that she wasn’t at all referring to your time in the dungeon. If you had learned anything from Daphne, it was that the best way to get information was to be indirect. So you graciously accepted the food, before speaking, dodging your way around your ignorance.

“Yes, it’s amazing what a bit of meditating can do for the soul- and body, that is,” you start, watching closely for any veiled reactions. Even within the first few words you can tell that this stranger wasn’t expecting you to be pleasant. “Out of curiosity, what did my Lady say about my condition? There are, uh, a few details that I hope she did not share. I’m sure you understand.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, the maiden is nodding, appearing eager to satisfy you. Maybe a hint of fear can be useful, after all.

“No worries, Lady Cassandra did well to respect your privacy, and we would not dare question her further. She simply explained, to her family, that you were dealing with a migraine. I only heard this because I was helping serve breakfast,” she explained, smiling softly. You’re quick to nod, mimicking her expression for maximum empathy. “Do you require anything else? I am here to serve, you must only ask.” Ah, perfect. Would she have offered this even if you hadn’t attempted to be charming? Probably, but your politeness certainly didn't hurt.

“Well, there is one thing… as long as it’s no trouble.”

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

It had been a risk, asking the servant to take you to a room you weren’t sure existed, but one that had paid off brilliantly. Even if said room was nothing like you had anticipated. Who would have thought that Cassandra, you think, would be an artist? What’s far less surprising is the fact that the studio (or ‘study’, as you had called it) is a disorganized disaster. Discarded papers lie scattered around an overflowing trash can, a cabinet with an attached tool rack is missing pieces, and in one corner there are literally random shards of broken glass lying about. What is this, performance art? Part of you feels tempted to clean up the mess, if only to occupy your time. Instead, you decide to examine some of the pieces within the room. Maybe somehow they’d tell you something noteworthy about your soulmate.

First, you move to your left, where a workbench houses strange sculptures. For the most part they’re abstract, jagged edges contrasting with gentle curves, but there is one you think you understand. It’s very clearly a bust… of someone’s ‘bust’. Guess that solves the age old question of ‘boobs or ass’, you think, stifling a giggle. Moving on, you shift your attention to the exposed section of the cabinet. One row is dedicated to small vials, each labeled with a concerning ‘blood’, despite the fact that it’s clearly not refrigerated. Still, you have heard of artists painting with blood before, but you seem to recall them mixing it with something else. Perhaps Cassandra had done the same? Though you did wonder if she had any difficulty resisting the urge to drink the blood, at least prior to mixing it.

Shrugging, you continue to the other side of the studio, squatting to get a closer look at the broken glass. As expected, there’s no discernable pattern or purpose. Huh, you think, wonder why she doesn’t clean up. Maybe she’s waiting for a servant to do it? Guessing her reasoning was rather difficult, especially considering your lack of context, such as how long the mess had been here. Deciding that this was a pointless distraction, you move on to the only other thing of note in the room: An easel, in the center, with a canvas nearly as tall as yourself. So far, there’s little on it other than pencil lines, a sketch marking where to paint certain details. Only the (start of) the background has been colored. Understandably, it’s hard to make out what exactly the finished project would end up representing. Based on what you know of Cassandra and her family, however, you infer that this- with four figures, one larger than the others, protective- is a painting of the castle residents.

“Family means something to you, hmm?... I hope that mine does not miss me much, for I will never see them again,” you say to yourself, instinctively reaching out towards the art. Before you can touch it, or think better of it, the door to the studio is flying open. In storms Cassandra, fists clenched at her sides. As soon as she sees you, she’s rushing forward, pulling you away from the easel. “Hello, darling. Glad to see me feeling better, yes?” You teased, smiling wide at her. Feeling a bit emboldened by your earlier success, you go a step further, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I swear to fuck, if you touched any of my stuff-” Cassandra starts to say, intentionally ignoring the kiss, even though her cheeks get flush at the contact.

“Nope, not a single thing. Not even the broken glass. Nice touch, by the way, makes the whole space feel a helluva lot cozier,” you interject. For a few moments she holds you by your shirt collar, staring you in the eyes as if determining whether or not to believe you. Somehow, some way, she declares you innocent, releasing you with an irritated sigh. After pretending to dust yourself off, you return your attention to the central canvas. “Do you do a lot of art of your family? I passed by several pieces on my way here, though they were certainly in a different style.” Another pause, with Cassandra waiting for you to spring a verbal trap.

“Some of those are mother’s work,” she answers, tentatively, eying you closely. When you merely nod in reply, expecting her to elaborate, she starts to relax, little by little. “I doubt you passed any of mine. Mother tends to keep those closer to her quarters, or near the main entrance.” Interesting, you think, why hasn’t she addressed my original question?

“It sounds like she’s very proud of you,” you muse, still facing away from your soulmate. There’s a slight shakiness to your voice, as your mind starts to dwell on memories of your own family. Perhaps noticing this, Cassandra takes a few steps closer, one hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite sure if you needed (or perhaps deserved) any comfort. In this moment, you feel far more vulnerable than you had the day before. Taking a deep breath, you try to center yourself, before perfectly ruining whatever trust you had just established with Cassandra. “Something tells me she doesn’t know about the titty sculpture though, right? Can’t quite imagine that one being displayed where everyone can see it.”

To your immense surprise, Cassandra gives you a blank stare.

“You… you really don’t know anything about my mother, do you?” She says, after several awkward seconds. It feels strange to think that she had been furious, merely a handful of minutes ago. “If you actually behave for a while, I can show you some of her favorite pieces around the castle. Then maybe you’ll understand.” Intrigued, you debate how exactly to respond. On one hand, you did want to see the art, but on the other hand… misbehaving was your goal of the day.

“Sounds like a nice date to me. Why not start the tour right now?” You suggest, hoping to meet your ‘politeness quota’ earlier rather than later. Still, it is in your very nature to be chaotic, and you find yourself giving Cassandra an affectionate shoulder touch. It’s not at all genuine, but the two of you blush nonetheless. How could you not, when your blood was bound together, hearts made to race in sync?

“Don’t get friendly with me,” Cassandra stammers, unadjusted to the way her pulse pounded. “This isn’t a date. We’re just- it doesn’t matter, actually. As long as it means getting you out of my studio, I don’t care.” With that said, she takes your hand in her own, pulling you towards the exit. If she has any feelings about the soft touch, she hides them well… unlike yourself. Cheeks flushed, you’re half tempted to yank yourself out of her grip, hating the way your heart skips a few beats. Would I still feel this way if I didn’t know we were soulmates? You wonder, biting your lower lip to prevent any unwanted comments from slipping out. Soon enough you’d have art aplenty to distract yourself with. Hopefully.

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

“My God, you were not kidding. I don’t- I can’t even think of anything clever to say,” you chime, staring dumbfounded at the several statuettes of naked women. They seemed to fulfill some other purpose, one you couldn’t parse at the moment, but you could hardly think about the details right now. “I mean, good for your mother, for sticking to a theme, I suppose,” you continue, tripping over your own tongue, uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly amused by your flustered display, Cassandra lets out a hearty laugh.

“Good to know some things can shut you up. I’ll have to keep this in mind for next time you bother me,” she teases, light-heartedly. Her words only fluster you more, though they quickly give you room to counter, much to your joy.

“Is that so? Planning on carrying around a busty bust for the rest of your life, or thinking of going the more au naturel route?” You asked, briefly sticking your tongue out at Cassandra. It takes her a moment to understand what you’re getting at, but as soon as she does she’s smacking your arm with an offended huff. Despite her irritation, the blow is relatively soft, and you swear you can see her fighting to hide a smile. “Starting to go soft on me, are you? I hardly even felt that one.”

“So you’d prefer I hit you harder? And to think you called me kinky,” Cassandra fires back, without a hint of hesitation. Now both of you are laughing, softly, like old friends sharing fond memories. It’s… weirdly nice. A warmth fills your chest, even as you try to remind yourself that you shouldn’t be happy right now. Damn it, you think, suddenly frowning, hands clenching. We shouldn’t be having fun banter, back and forth like a real couple. Not when I’ve still got wounds from her hands on my skin. Instinctively you reach up to your face, thumb running over the marks Cassandra’s nails had left behind. The touch stings, bad, no matter how gentle you try to be. Noticing your shift in expression, your soulmate inches closer. “If your wounds are bothering you, I can have one of the servants get more ointment or whatever it is we have around. I don’t want you to-... There’s no reason for you to suffer more than you need to, besides, I don’t want you complaining all day.” Of course she couldn’t bring herself to imply that she cared. Of course. It wasn’t like the two of you were actually capable of being soft for each other, obviously. All of your confusion melts down, boiled by the warmth in your chest, turning to a familiar, albeit painful, rage.

“Right, right! Because you care so fucking much, yeah? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I-” you jab a finger towards her chest, accusatory- “talking to you? Why am I pretending you're not the one who did this to me? You’re the fucking reason my face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my brain-... I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened down there. I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head, every time I close my eyes, every time I look at you. I…” You trail off, chest heaving a little, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra’s standing tall, unflinching, but there’s a noticeable regret in her expression.

“What. Are. You… going to do about it?” She asks, through clenched teeth, fighting back the full force of her emotions. You can’t tell what exactly she’s feeling, but you know that you want her to show you. Every part of you is itching for a fist fight, regardless of how stupid you know the idea is.

“Depends, dickwad, on whether or not these statuettes are properly secured,” you snap, already moving, fully abandoning all impulse control. By the time your hand grips the first sculpture, Cassandra has put you in a headlock, forcefully tugging you backwards. Panic sets in, making you try to jam your elbows into her stomach. Before long both of you are tumbling to the floor, bodies already aching, limbs flailing wildly in an attempt to hit a target, any target. In the end the air is knocked from your lungs as your head smacks against the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” you grumble, coughing, finally processing just how much of a dumbass you were. It’s clear that at least one of the previous day’s wounds has reopened, and you feel something wet and sticky on your shirt.

“Finished, asshole?” Cassandra wheezes, sounding dazed, roughly pulling you up by your shirt collar. You nod, refusing to meet her gaze. Then she’s sighing in relief, letting you lean on her for support, holding you surprisingly close, considering the circumstances. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Again…”

[rockmiyabideusexmachina]

2021 Megaman Valentine’s Day Contest Results

Among the many things this past year or so has tested us with is delays, and I apologize that this year’s Valentine’s Day contest results are included in that. I certainly did not plan on this taking until March to get completed, and I am sincerely sorry to have kept you all waiting. But hopefully it is all worth the wait!!

Thanks once again to every single one of you who participated! I will be contacting the winners soon enough. Work will probably keep me from replying to everyone immediately, but I will send a message about prizes hopefully within 24 hours.

Also, my thanks to @subzeroiceskater​ for helping out with judging this year. Not to mention the promo pic above and other assorted bonuses that always bring me a big smile. I might say this seemingly every year, but you all made judging this VERY hard. It might have something to do with the themes as well, but I think both of us flipped and rearranged our rankings repeatedly, and even then, it was hard to decide on who would place. XD Each one of you did an amazing job!

After the break, you’ll see the winners for both categories, along with all of the entries. Raffle prize winners will be noted below by their alias, as well.

Category 1: Kiss From a Rosered (Talent)

For our talent category this year, the theme focused on your favorite Megaman characters giving roses to their special someone, along with incorporating the symbolism of specific rose colors within the piece. That rose color was also to be the predominant color within the piece, to the best of your ability.

A grand total of 9 entries were submitted for this category. You can see the full gallery of all entries at full-size [HERE]. Each entrant’s name will also link to their individual pieces at full-size.

1.) Sapphire: *$100 prize*

Subzeroiceskater said:

Oooooh, this is so cute and pink! Piiink~ Ehem. I love the depth, angle, and color grading of these—notice how Roll’s black linework is at the forefront of the pic but colors mixes with the lights and colors from the sun further along the pic. There’s a lot to admire about how everything easy to read with so many competing elements like the similar hues and bright lighting.

Pink roses usually mean a gentler sort of love but did you know that different shades of pink could signify different things as well? A darker shade may mean gratitude; medium shade could be about a first love or congratulations while a light shade may mean admiration. Tron holding a singular pink rose with varying shades of pink while literally tripping over herself and a Servbot could only mean—that this is hilarious.

Miyabi said:

From a technical standpoint, I think your piece clearly felt the most polished, crisp and virtually professional of the bunch. But more than that, I felt it also best gave off the vibe of the rose color dominating the piece, but in very subtle, beautiful ways. Where as the pink sunset causes many of the normally white areas, like Roll’s collar/sleeves, parts of Gustaff, and more, to ooze that pink lighting. Even with her klutziness, you still also portrayed the feeling of sweetness, admiration and appreciation that a pink rose conveys. Just so pretty, calming, and joyful to look at!

2.) Forceway: *$75 prize*

Subzeroiceskater said:

There is a sort of gentle irony with how Skull Man and Shade Man are both robots modeled after horror symbols—skulls and vampires—but are here surrounded by a soft sea of pink roses. The dark night is often depicted as a primal fear because it hides our deepest fears but here—illuminated by the bright shining moon—the night is transformed into a scene of love—perhaps devotion, with how Shade is gently cradling Skull, as well with the church bell in the background. This is a very tender piece mixing the shadows and the sweet.

Miyabi said:

I know most digital art programs have the brushes and shortcuts to make detailing things like roses a lot easier, but your bed of roses certainly look all done by hand on your own, and that alone impressed me a ton! Based off of the Ariga Megamix tale of Skull Man not feeling appreciated or having a family after Cossack stored him away, I felt the pink roses and Shade showing him that he is actually appreciated here was a fantastic conceptual choice. Purples in the sky and Shade’s body split the canvas and contrast with the pink well, including how you used the pink for some of the stars in the sky. Beautiful job!

3.) DigitallyFanged: *$50 prize*

Subzeroiceskater said:

Yellow is a bright color, often evoking the sun, warmth, light, joy and hope. With roses, its positive connotations continue with possible meanings of friendship, care and remembrance. Tabby’s piece seems to evoke the last one the strongest—with Zero, broken and forgotten in a lab—but, not entirely, because of a bond that is stronger than apparent death lives on—even if in this moment, it’s only a memory. Even the roses are not real—just projections of what was once alive. This is fantastic use contrast with the dark, moody blues against the vivid, almost defiant yellows; and the repeated little motifs such as X crying and the water drops falling all over Zero. It stands out from the rest of happy entries with how sad it is but it still manages to be hopeful.

Miyabi said:

Zero’s blonde locks certainly are an iconic part of his design, so playing off of that and focusing on yellow as your rose color fit perfectly. You definitely made this a very emotive piece considering technically, neither of these two are even alive and moving here! As mentioned above, the little details like the water droplets balancing against Cyber Elf X’s tears, the digital lines to make it appear like X has created the cyber-roses for Zero, and Zero’s battle damage caught my eye immediately. You certainly captured the yellow rose symbolism of remembrance and friendly affection beautifully!!

And the rest of the wonderful entries, in alphabetical order by alias:

AbilityField: [Page 1] [Page 2] [Page 3] [Page 4]

*Raffle Prize Winner* Captain N Mega Man Cel

Subzeroiceskater said:

It’s so poetic about how this contest theme is about how the language of flowers is used to communicate feelings beyond just using words; and so, the comic is completely silent, relying on actions to convey its meaning. Yellow roses could mean friendship, care and affection; and it’s shown wonderfully with how Iris and Lan are so thoughtful with one another. It’s so cute how Iris missed Lan only because he was already out buying roses for her. Given how hard comics are to make and how this is fully colored, I really wanted to give this first place—however I felt the color usage of yellow could have been stronger, especially with the last page, where it would have had the most impact. I had to squint and zoom out to even see if the lighting had changed. Still, it’s such a very warm and lovely work.

Miyabi said:

I always appreciate the effort people put into making multiple-page comics for these contests, and this is no exception! Even without dialogue, you did a great job at conveying your story through your art in each panel and it was easily understandable. Another utilizing the yellow rose, I certainly felt the friendship and warmth in your tale. As Subzero mentioned, the only thing keeping it from placing was that the yellow colors weren’t as dominant in other areas of the pic, besides the panel by Sal. Still, your coloring was very crisp and vibrant throughout each page, and it was an awesome submission!

aw-colorcat:

Subzeroiceskater said:

With the red for Metal Man, orange for Cut Man and the explosion of yellow flowers, that’s the trifecta of warm colors. Yellow roses could mean delight and this pic is delightful in all ways. Cut looks so cute practically swimming in the sea of flowers and greenery, as does Metal’s adorable expression—which is a feat since he only shows his eyes. I also really like the juxtaposition and balance of this piece from: the rust-brown car against green-yellow nature running wild, and Metal holding a bouquet meanwhile Cut’s covered with plants. It makes me want to get some fresh air myself!

Miyabi said:

Cut Man looks grateful for being able to ride in that pickup bed of flowers, and I have a feeling the two of them had a wonderful time just snipping and sawing away at all the stems to gather them all. XD Love how the yellow and oranges play off of both character’s color schemes nicely. The subtlety of the yellow flowers in the foreground, along with the sun and tree in the background all play off each other well, too! Just an absolutely cute pic!

Dark-Dullahan: 

Subzeroiceskater said: 

What a fantastic composition. Dark-Dullahan does away with most color, leaving the colors of the mixed-bouquet roses as the main focal point. Classic red for romance, a gentler pink for affection, mixed yellow roses to signify caring and probably so much more—seems like Nana can’t contain her feelings for Massimo. I love how the close up of the bouquet doesn’t just form a kind of heart at the top but serves as the divider between the two, like a diptych. With such a wonderful offering, Massimo would surely accept her feelings.

Miyabi said: 

As you brought to my attention, your mixed bouquet had a few different meanings, such as the dark pink representing thanks to Massimo for saving Nana from Silver Horn, and the red tips on the yellow roses to symbolize falling in love. Certainly got those vibes from her shy demeanor, as she sheepishly tries to hand them to him. Also agree with Subzero that the line from the bouquet nicely works as a way to separate them uniquely with the background. Sorry you weren’t able to complete it as fully as you had hoped, but the concept behind it certainly was strong!

Donnie:

Donnie also sent in an alternate version made during the creative process, in a different artistic style, that I still feel needs to be shared, as well. Fun to see the contrast, yet still have the same feeling and mood to the piece. 

Subzeroiceskater said:

Oh, I adore this one. It reminds me of a movie poster with the tagline. I love the extra PINK flourishes of the letterings like with the Mega Man logo color change and cute pixelated font and heart. Both Rock and Roll’s expressions are so cute, too—with his more subdued smile contrasted with her exuberant grin. Much like how the pink rose could mean many things like thoughtfulness, cheer or as a show of appreciation, this piece is positively sparkling with affection, hearts and all. It’s clever how the sunset is giving the picture an overall pinkish-red hue while having the yellow light as an outline. A darling piece.

Miyabi said:

With pink roses again, I truly liked the additional hue adjustments where you can feel the warmth and see the lighter pink mixed into their skintone, or areas normally of white - from eyes to teeth to the Megaman logo - that have taken on the pink in it’s place. With the painterly watercolor style you used, it all blends in nicely. Even in your earlier version, I feel you brought a strong game with the hues, but toned down the red from that version to make it feel much stronger towards pink, with a tighter crop of your canvas. It was fun to see how it evolved, and strengthened your piece in doing so! Fabulous job!

DragonMarquise:

Subzeroiceskater said:

No better way to show how madly in love you are than a bouquet of roses that run the gamut of—I can’t call these warm colors because these passions are running hot. Orange seems to be the dominant color here—which in roses could symbolize a love that’s passionate, fierce and deep. It’s also expressed nicely with the two lovers embracing, engaged in mid kiss, their bodies also forming a subtle heart shape, to emphasize the flurry of hearts around them. The bouquet is not just orange roses, however, but a mixed bouquet of the classic romantic red and the more affectionate pink—it’s a piece that’s bursting with all degrees of love.

Miyabi said:

You also certainly mastered the limited color pallette challenge as you tackled this piece! Orange, the color of passion, is certainly felt in their deep kiss and embrace. I too caught the heart shape their heads essentially form, which is then further enforced with the heart of hearts behind them. I thought that concept was pulled off very well. Perfect for the fiery intensity of Match, this turned out to be a very hot pic!

Mattasaurs:

Subzeroiceskater said:

This one has a very clever framing (eh? EH?). The color white is often associated with purity, innocence and hope, and with white roses—weddings and marriage. Sonia dons the classic white wedding dress which has a très élégante design—and the little Lyra on her belt is very cute. The pink background is also very romantic and a nice way to tie in with her theme colors. I dig the lovey-dovey feel of Geo doing the classic bridal carry while clasping a single white rose...but seeing the thorns, I think he better watch his hand!

Miyabi said:

For a theme emphasizing color within the pic, I salute you for taking the biggest challenge in choosing white. In many ways, it could have been the hardest to keep as a predominant color, but still make the pic interesting and visually appealing. Choosing to have the petals all around the frame, with the bouquet nearby was a clever touch. With white often used for weddings and new beginnings, I think the concept of your piece worked just right, where it was subtle, but still incorporated enough other color to give the piece some life. 

Category 2: Kawaii-rimi (Humor)

For our humor category this year, the theme focused on your favorite Megaman character gifting the plush form of another Megaman character to their crush, instantly created by a ninja-like character, to play off of the Kawarimi concept from the EXE series. 

With just 3 entries in our humor category this time around, every entrant placed. You can see the full gallery of all entries at full-size [HERE].  Each entrant’s name will also link to their individual pieces at full-size.

1.) Mattasaurs: *$100 prize*

Subzeroiceskater said: 

Y’know how blocks of wood are sometimes used by ninjas when they do that whole body switching thing? I think it’s clever how this pic has Sal—Woodman.exe’s operator—conjuring the doll. Everything about the pic is so fun and colorful: from Sal’s mischievous grin of accomplishment, Miyu being completely shocked by her chibi doppelganger (check out that body language!) and Masa’s confused expression.

Miyabi said:

Yes, while to some, Sal might not be the first one they think of when they think ninja in the Megaman Universe, but I certainly thought she still fits the bill in her design. Usually we don’t see this much emotion or shock out of Miyu, so seeing her torque her body, taken aback at a doll of herself, is amusing in it’s own right. Meanwhile, nothing fazes Masa. And a bit of randomness: oh man, seeing Masa’s head in profile, with his bandana...wow, I never realized how much his head shape with the bandana looks like a fish’s. I can’t unsee it now. Anyways, I also agree that the color, polish, and fun vibe made this a worthy winner!

2.) ColeManX: *$75 prize*

*Raffle Prize Winner* Captain N Cutsman Cel

Subzeroiceskater said:

E-Eyes? What did you mean by that, Mr. RT-55J?  Although judging from the sparkle on those booblights… I understand, Cinnamon—if that happened to me, I’d be making asides to the camera, like I was in “The Office”, too. Cinnamon’s enthusiastic smile with this whole bizarre scene really sells it for me but shoutout to Marino’s smug satisfaction in the background.

Miyabi said:

🎵 I kind of liked it your way How you shyly placed your eyes on me Did you ever know That I had mine on you?🎵

RT says it only has eyes for Cinny right now, but it’s also known to be a little grabby hands, so I don’t know if I’d fully trust it...but good thing this is just a plush version. Time for the tables to be turned, and Cinnamon to get her claws and paws on it, instead. Very cute, although after the DiVE V-Day event, we all know this is a ruse and your pal boobeyes only belongs to the Ferham Fanclub. XD

3.) Ronin-Apprentice: *$50 prize*

Subzeroiceskater said: 

This whole comic is so sweet and fluffy, nya!  ~(=^‥^)ノ☆ It’s adorable how Proto brings up his gift first and the surprise is how Shadow handmade his gift. The little cat-eared Blues design is so darling--almost as cute as him fussing how totally NOT a cat he is. “Did you steal my cat.” had me snorting. Now I’m wondering where Tango went off to…

Miyabi said:

FU-SION-HA! 

Aside from getting his own Super Adaptor, this is probably the closest we’ve got to seeing Tango and Blues merged as one. LOL I’m sure that plush would have a ton of fans wishing it actually existed. The panels where Blues embarrassingly hides behind his scarf and gets pet like a cat had me laughing! Very cute and adorable comic, that certainly had the most depth in terms of the theme of this category!

[jamieatthebarricade]

Maids to Wives // Chapter 3

An Outlander AU based loosely on the TV Show and real life in the historic Jamestown

In 1619, one hundred and forty-four English women from good families crossed the Atlantic in response to the Virginia Company of London’s call for maids “young and corrupt” to make wives for the planters of it’s new colony in Virginia. One in six of the maids could even claim gentry status. Although promised a free choice of husband, they were in effect being traded into marriage for a bride price of 150 pounds of best leaf tobacco, the profits to flow to individual investors

In 1619, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp made the voyage to do one thing: marry a man she's never met. But when she arrives, she comes to the startling realization that her heart belongs to someone else, a certain James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.

Find Maids to Wives on Archive of Our Own!

Chapter 3 : Maids to Wives

“Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.”

- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

May 16th, 1619, Claire’s POV

The air was crisper in the new world, that was the first thing I noticed. The smell of soft pinewood, salt water, and fresh bodies filled my nose. Around me was open air, no tall buildings or hundreds of people in sight. I don’t remember the air being this clean since I traveled with my uncle.

While the air was clearer, there was also a thick fog of tension within the ship. Since seeing land, many of us women had realized how drastic our lives would change in less than a few hours. Either a woman would meet the love of her life, or she would enter a life of hell. I silently hoped for the first option. It was a new day, and we were nearly to the mainland. ‘You should tidy up’ my brain told me, as I looked around trying to find any reflective surface Managing to borrow a small piece of glass from another woman, my reflection stared back at me. Small bits of hair were falling out of my neat bun I had tried to make earlier in the day. The sailors wouldn’t let us use the water for washing up and such, so I wasn’t doubtful I didn’t smell all that good. I decided to use my remaining water ration to quickly wet my underarms as a sort of rugged wash. I smelt myself quick and didn’t find any odar too terrible. 

Looking into my reflection, I smiled. The curls around my face sprang out like a lion's mane, and thankfully to the sun, my face had a bit of color to it. I was no longer the ghostly pale my uncle lamb used to describe me as. He would call me a ghost, depending on where we were and how much sunlight I got. Around me, other ladies were trying to freshen themselves up as much as they could. Geillis had managed to braid a few strands in her long auburn hair. Mary also used some drinking water to give her hair a quick rinse. We all checked each other and were happy with what we were seeing.

“Are ye ready, Claire?” Geillis smiled at me. In truth I didn’t know if I was ready, but there was no turning back from it now. Weeks of waiting and daydreaming were finally coming true today. I was just happy to be on land, a different land, and start this adventure. “I hope my husband is tall. And fit. And has a nice arse” I threw my rag at Geillis in a joking matter. She rarely held back when it came to matters such as female sexuality. Geillis was truly an open book.

At the mention of arse, Mary flushed a nice shade of ruby. “You shouldn’t be mentioning such things!” She whispered softly under her breath, just loud enough for me and Geillis to hear. Geillis in turn laughed and placed a loving arm around Mary’s shoulders.

“If ye think arse is bad, what do ye think happens on the wedding night?” Mary’s face managed to blush an even deeper shade of red, and she quickly hurried into the line for disembarking the ship. Geillis laughed as she ran away, smiling contentedly to herself. 

“That lass is gonna have an interesting time with her new husband” Geillis and me walked over to where the rest of the women were waiting, including Mary. As Geillis looked on I stared out to the land. Grass was much greener than I remembered, and the sky seemed to shine a brighter shade of blue. It was like stepping through a portal into a strange new world, which is strangely what this is. I’m a stranger in a new world who wasn’t awaiting my arrival. Fear tug at my heart at the possibility of something happening. What if there wasn’t enough food? What if we were attacked by a new settlement? I suddenly felt exposed to danger, and subconsciously wrapped my cloak around my body, like a shield.

‘Whatever happens’ I thought. ‘At least I have Geillis and Mary here’. I was fortunate and grateful to have made such great friends on the voyage. Sure, I was expected to be a new wife, but who knew if a man could fill a hole of loneliness and want for a friendship. If something were to happen and I couldn’t tell my spouse, I knew that Geillis and Mary would be there for me.

“Claire, are ye alright? Ye starin’ at nothing,” Geillis gave me a gentle tap on my shoulder, breaking me from my thought haze. They already started carting women off the ship, and Me and Geillis were next in line. The shouts of multiple crewmen filled my ear, and I heard a man shouting the names of both women and the men who would marry them. 

Me and Geillis made our way onto the long boardwalk, and as we were half way, we heard Mary’s name being called.

“Mary Hawkins, Alex Randall,” A short but handsome young man emerged from the crowd. He looked no older than Mary, and his eyes lit up when he saw her. Anxiously, he walked over to her and held out a hand. I could see the blush from her cheeks as they walked away. ‘They’re going to make a wonderful marriage’.

I smiled internally at the sight of them. It was like seeing a sister finding the love of her life, I had nothing but joy for the 2 of them. I scanned the audience. There were men of all different ages and backgrounds. Tall men, short men. Young men, and old men. Most of the young men were reasonably handsome, handsome enough to tolerate. Many of them looked unwashed, which I figured would be the case as most men typically didn’t care that much about hygiene, which was an unfortunate trait.

When we got down to the land, the minute I put my foot down I felt a sense of calm wash over me. Whatever would happen, I’m here now. The feeling of knowing I couldn’t leave, even if I tried, gave me a sense of home oddly enough.

Geillis stood in front of men, waiting behind 2 more women. Slowly their names were called and met with their respective husbands.

“Suzette Augustin, Murtagh Fraser,” Suzette was french, that was one of the only things I knew about her. She was pretty, with very long black hair and a sweet smile, which lit up brightly as Murtagh stepped from the crowd. He was among the tallest of the group, wearing a tartan wrapped around his middle. His face was dark and aged, but he was still very handsome. Suzette definitely thought so, taking his hand politely, but I could see the excitement bouncing off of her.

They were down to the last person before Geillis. All of a sudden, the nerves came rushing back. I would be meeting my future husband in less than 5 minutes. What if he doesn’t like me? What if I don’t like him? I felt the sudden urge to run and hide from all of this, and I looked around quickly for a route (as if I actually had the nerve to run), when suddenly my eyes met with a man. 

He was probably the tallest, leaving me to wonder why I didn’t notice him before as he stood at least a few inches above the other men. His hair was bright ginger and slightly tostled. When I looked at him, all worries and troubles melted away. ‘Did he see the fear in my eyes?’ I wondered. I thought he would look away or turn his attention to one of the other women but his gaze stared at me. Suddenly the urge to run was gone, as if he was holding me by the shoulders. I felt peaceful, like this whole situation wasn’t that bad. 

Our connection was only broken when I felt a nudge behind me, indicating that I had to move forward. I did, but tried to keep my eyes on him a little longer. I didn’t even know his name, yet he was a familiar face in a sea of strangers. I tried to chase that feeling of serenity in his face just a minute longer.

He seemed like he was following me too, his head turning with my step. ‘Did he feel this same serenity?’ Maybe he was getting a bride today, and was just if not more nervous than I was. Deep down a part of me hoped I was to be the bride, but I tried to shake that thought quickly. I didn’t even know this man, I didn’t need to want him this bad.

I turned my head quickly forward, hoping that he didn’t find the action malicious. Even standing forward I still felt his eyes on me, and tried my best to keep my gaze ahead. Geillis and then me, and Geillis was already telling her name to the man.

“Geillis Edgars, Arthur Duncan” A short, stout man emerged from the crowd. He was at least 20 years her senior, and about 5 inches below her. As I saw Geillis’ face drop, I concealed my hand and tried to reach out for Geillis, but Arthur was already by her side, taking her hand lovingly. She took it hesitantly, and as they walked away, Geillis turned back and gave me a sad look. ‘I needed to see her later’.

“What’s your name?” a thick british accent said in front of me. My attention turned and I saw a man, maybe in his late 40s, and a big book in front of him.

“Claire Beuachamp,” I stammered, trying to keep my voice stable as best I could. I wanted to look into the crowd and find that man again. So far, his gaze was the only thing that brought me peace.

“Claire Beauchamp, Frank Randall” the man shouted. I looked out into the crowd, and the ginger man’s face dropped. It wasn’t the same calming look as before. Was he Frank Randall? Perhaps I mistook our connection before. 

Thankfully, another man emerged behind him. He was around my height and a deep, dark face. His hair was a nice brown, and he seemed to be balding but it didn’t age him any bit. He stood in front of me, and took my right hand, giving it a soft kiss on top. His hands were warm, and gave me a sense of hope. ‘I could build a life with this man’ I thought happily, smiling to him, which caused his face to light up as well. 

We walked away from the ship, right towards the ginger man. As we walked towards him, his gaze fell on me again, but this time it wasn’t a calm feeling that came over me. It was more of a flutter, like I was tongue tied without even talking to him. When we passed him, my shoulder brushed him softly. I quickly turned, causing Frank to stop in his path.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. He opened his mouth to answer but I felt a tug on my hand and before I knew it, our interaction was over. I looked over to Frank, and his kind face from before was changed to slight frustration.

Turning back once more, I caught his eye for only a second, yet I found so much solace in his face. It wasn’t love like you read about in stories, but it was understanding, and for some that’s a start. 

This time he was the one to look away, but quite hesitantly. My gaze shifted as well and and all of a sudden I wondered if I was making the right choice. I hadn’t even met both men yet, but the ginger man looked at me as if he was wrapping himself around me like a blanket, shielding me from any worries to come. I looked back at frank and didn’t find that same warmness. 

Instead, the feeling of fear and the want to run came back, but this time, I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to go back home or back to my friends. I wanted to find out what that man’s name was.

[redmaneroster]

Our Home Away From Home, Away From Home

[1] [2] [x] [4-5] [6] [7] [8-9] [10]

PART 3 – Inhibitions

The Kirin Festival is older than Vale itself. No one knows why they wear fish-scale costumes or set fire to carefully carved wooden statues as they drift into the sea. Why they sing songs of a dead tongue, or why they make the drunk climb a soaked pyramid for honor and – with a touch of modernity – some prizes.

Its mysterious allure is what draws most people. It's the reason why Jaune decides to climb the pyramid himself. He fails miserably. Yang has to carry him off.

Jaune didn't get the memo that participants have to have spare clothes because of course they do, so he's sat drenched in the changing room by the beach, Yang outside with his drying clothes by a heater lamp set up for just this kind of occasion.

They're alone again and it's quiet outside of the distant hum of the festival.

"I called Dad this morning," she says suddenly, leaned beside the tent. "I could hear her in the background." And she goes on, laying out her fears, but during a long pause to process her thoughts a little more, she briefly worries if he's listening.

"Yang. I'm here. I'm listening," he says, clear in that way like a droplet in a cave. Echoing in her mind. Present in all the ways that do not judge.

Then she talks. Talks about her mother coming home. Dancing around her while she reconnects with her dad. Or maybe she's just sleeping with him, and her family isn't going to be whole again. At least, these are her more negative thoughts. She's only willing to forgive her mother from running away if her dad gives her a chance.

She might have earned it then. Might, she emphasizes for Jaune. Raven might well and truly never fit back into her life. Summer – bless her soul – reshaped the gap she left behind. So Yang doesn't know if Tai forgiving Raven might even be enough, but she's willing to hope.

-0-

Everyone gets into a few rides and eats their weight in sugar until they all end up at Junior's club again. Most of them are dancing, except for Ruby and Ren.

When Jaune and Yang dance a little too close to each other, they take a step away. When Sun and Pyrrha dance a little too close beside them, Yang decides to save them both the embarrassment by taking a break.

She doesn't see Jaune taking a swig of his flask. And he doesn't notice that the blush of his cheeks wasn't from the alcohol.

Yang comes back to the table just as Ren – under the influence of alcohol – confesses that Joan has been trying to court him.

Ren and Nora's relationship isn't official. It's tumultuous since she came back to Kuroyuri alone over the Summer to mourn her long lost brother. Ren couldn't bear to go with her. When she came back, they've been… uncertain. Awkward, even.

Joan adds to his confusion because she doesn't criticize his choices or cowardice, she just listens. (It's so eerily familiar that Yang shuts her eyes tight just to give herself time to swallow it). So Joan, in a stroke of luck, is there for him precisely when he needs someone who isn't Nora.

Yang doesn't believe he'll choose her over Nora. It's just a rough patch. As long as neither of them do anything stupid in the meantime, she tells them, then it'll turn up alright once they get their rhythm again.

Ren says nothing.

Ruby's concern in that lack of confidence is burning.

Ren, placating her, says that he's certain things will work out between them again but knows he can't trust his own emotions just yet. Nora mentioned the nuckleavee limping around in the woods (JNPR went there towards the end of freshmen year to kill it but only managed to cripple it as it retreated). He was so blindingly furious at the idea that the beast was still alive that his nails started crackling against his aura.

Calm as he was, Ren wasn't completely put together just yet. "Maybe we're too young to be in love anyway," he says.

"I don't think it's love's fault that it happens too early or too late," Yang says, eyes away. "I think it's our fault for acting when we shouldn't or not acting at all. Or Going too far or…" – she glances at the dance floor – "…not far enough."

Ren is smug when she looks back at them. Nothing is left of Ruby but a cascade of rose petals. Then she zips back to her with the same smug look and a neck of her strawberry sunshine. Little umbrella and all.

Yang admits that she was looking at Jaune, but not for the reasons they think.

Jaune wishes he did more with Pyrrha. Even if he's not hurting over it anymore, he's afraid of making any more mistakes like that.

"He was actually," Ren says. He explains that Jaune spent the Summer alone and he spent some time calling him at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. He confessed about his feelings going haywire and how he wishes he could be happy for the new couple but dangerous parts of his mind told him that he shouldn't have been so passive. Strangely, he was being cryptic and even mentioned a marriage, but that he mumbled that last bit and Ren just shrugged it off.

"That wasn't about Pyrrha, though," Yang says.

"…What?"

"Oh. Oh, shit. I shouldn't have said that." Despite hinting at Jaune's big secret, Yang is a little happy that there was something he was only willing to tell her and not anyone else.

Then the rest of them come back to the booth and Yang pulls Jaune aside before Ren and Ruby can say anything.

She asks him about Joan going after Ren.

He tells her that he knows, but that all his efforts to curb her have failed. She's adamant about pursuing him.

Yang decides to try it herself.

-0-

Everyone's on their way back to the festival when Yang realizes that it's going to be too loud to call. She tells them she'll catch up and sits by a bench in the park. The musty smell of the pond battles against the fresh scent of her still lingering strawberry sunrise.

Joan picks up rather quickly, the sound of her team's movie vanishing in the background. She mouths out apologies to them first before she shuts a window behind her (her dorm is on the ground floor and she slips out through the window as frequently as the door) then sound of crickets chirps through the speaker.

Yang cuts to the chase and mentions Ren.

Joan asks her if she was talking to Jaune. Joan sighs, but she's not dejected, just… amused.

"Jaune likes to forget that we're the same age. That I had a boyfriend before, too. He likes to protect me cause I'm his sister. But I'm as wise as he is… and just as naïve."

Joan lists off Jaune's advice to her.

It's just a phase.

It wouldn't work out.

You're aren't thinking this through.

He's already practically married.

Joan rejects them all.

"I can't help what I feel. I can't dance around love like I'm waiting for an opportunity to strike. We aren't struck by falling stars when the perfect partner comes along. We just find the best we can and make it work out. Maybe Ren isn't for me. Maybe what I have is fleeting and foolish and naïve and stupid. I don't care. I am done waiting for the world to give me the good news. This time around, I'm taking initiative."

They end the call soon after. Yang can't argue with her earnest pursuit if she isn't muscling into it and pushing Nora out of the picture. There was also that chip in her tone that sounded like she knew she was fighting a losing battle.

When Yang exits the park, she finds Jaune waiting by the gate. He stayed back for her.

Fireworks flash over the sky, color splashing over a dark canvas.

Yang only looks at Jaune. Maybe it's Joan being proactive that might have pushed her to stand a little closer. Her fingers twitch. She doesn't know what she wants, but thinks that maybe a little indulgence isn't so bad.

Then he looks at her. But not at her eyes. They're locked at her lips. Without thinking, he pulls out his flask. He takes a swig and tries to go ahead but she grabs him by the wrist.

Perhaps remembering what she did last time she grabbed his arm as he walked away, he covers his mouth with his arm.

She laughs at him. "I'm tired. The party's over. Let's just drop them a line and go home."

"Home…" he whispers before nodding.

-0-

They're sat at the couch because they're waiting on their scrolls. Ruby went missing but they were tasked with staying behind just in case Ruby stumbles into their apartment. Yang isn't too worried. Ruby probably saw Penny and was dragged off during the fireworks.

In the silence, Yang tells Jaune that they spent a lot of time today listening to her problems. Maybe they should talk about his again.

The offer is tempting but he isn't quite ready. He wants to take his mind off it but lately his usual substitutes have been less effective. (Spending time with Yang has been dangerously enticing, and he's starting to wonder if he watered down his whiskey a little too much tonight).

"How about a different substitute?"

She pushes off the couch and tells him to wait right there. He does get up to change his shirt but it's taking so long for Yang to come out that he's starting to worry.

He approaches her door.

She bursts out of it. "Sorry," she says. "It's the only white dress I have." She's wearing the same dress she had at the dance. "It's no wedding gown, but with this on, maybe you'll stop thinking about her."

The idea that he'll think about her instead eludes her for a second before they're both thinking about it and her smiles gets awkward. Worse when he won't say a thing and his eyes have been wide this entire time.

She powers through and plays a song on her scroll. "You said they played something by Ivy Garden at the reception. I'm guessing this is it?"

He nods along as guitar strings rattle off into the room, filling the gaps till the wallpaper turns marble, a band plays on the stage, lavender drapes fall over the frosted glass where moonlight shimmers faintly in the gaps. And she is there, skin a rich chocolate brown, eyes like polished hickory.

Then she takes a step in his direction and her hair is a rich blonde, and her skin is pale and… "Yang? You… You don't have to do this…"

"Hush. You won't talk, so let's not talk. Let's try something else here and see if this works for you."

It works. It works too well.

So they join hands and dance. It's slow and circular, around the center of the living room. She can't bring herself to look him in the eyes. Her head rests against his chest and that somehow makes it worse for him. Especially when she loops her hands around his neck.

He wants so much to ask for more, but can't. His hands are shaking when they're squeezing her hips gently. She notices and pulls her head against his Adam's apple. Her warmth pools over him like a scarf, curling him inwards till his eyes go hazy and his lips hover dangerously over her scalp.

The music stops. The world comes back together, to the present, to their apartment.

Yang hesitates to ask if it worked. When she pulls her head out of his chest, she's surprised to find him breathless. He slowly comes back to his senses.

He takes a step back and immediately reaches for his flask. He downs it but the buzz is missing still, even when he empties it down his throat.

His cheeks don't flare. His thoughts don't cloud. All he has is clarity and it gnaws at the desires within reach. At her.

He almost kisses her, lips quivering, fists balled as his flask clatters to the floor. He clearly isn't sure where to put himself, even if a deep part of him already knows.

Yang decides that she isn't the kind of girl that lets something like this slip by.

She is so warm that her lips feel like she's branding him when they kiss; clamping on the delicate flesh of his lower lip with a desperation he should have seen coming. She'd been holding back, and when he bit back, he knew he was too.

White noise filtered into her ears as she became painfully aware of her own heartbeat. It was erratic, beating off-rhythm and she knows she's afraid. He said he was against this before, and the fear that she might be making a mistake again makes her shudder.

But then she moans when he pulls her in and dips a few degrees till she's curling against him. And she realizes that he isn't pulling away. It beckons him like a siren song, plunging him through the haze of his mind – not knowing that he's already found her – to be captivated, taken completely as if drowning in her.

When he leaves her lips, he presses his forehead to hers. His breath tickles her nose. She edges into him again.

Her kiss, then, is featherlight. Brief and affectionate. She wills herself to pull away; lets him breathe and take it in.

"I don't think this is love," he says.

"I don't think either of us are wise enough to tell the difference," she replies.

The idea that she might be right, that maybe this is okay, snaps something inside of him. She's willing to let him indulge just as long she's doing the same. Maybe he won't hurt her by not falling in love. Maybe this is okay. Maybe… Maybe…

He lets go, leaning back against the couch. He's thinking to himself. Wrestling with rationale.

She wants to comfort him, to tell him it's alright. That won't have to change if they don't need to. So she places a hand on his chest to get his attention, but he's so shocked by the sudden contact that he falls back and grabs onto her dress strap as they collapse onto the couch.

He's lying on the couch now with her bodily over his stomach.

She laughs and so does he, both falling away again into natural diffusion.

He thinks himself safe. The burning tension has withered, but just like before, Yang is unwilling to let things end so anticlimactically.

She gets up and sits on his waist. For a moment he's confused until she falls on him like timberwood. His body – the massive traitor that it is – welcomes her embrace with familiarity.

She laughs between breaths.

There's less heat and more comfort. Less passion and more affection. Indulgence in a way that is almost innocent. For a moment he needs to breathe but she clamps over his mouth. His annoyance spurs her on like it's a game. She's still laughing.

Then he opens his mouth. She slips in a tongue by accident.

They shudder.

They're boiling again, eyes shut to whatever is rumbling between them. His hands travel up her legs. A heat crawls over her skin. Then his fingers tease at the edge of her skirt.

She yelps, pulling away.

Yang realizes, rather succinctly, that she wasn't completely ready.

"Yang?"

"I… Okay, I'm not… I don't know about that yet."

His fingers are still on her legs. They're not even very far up but the places he touches tickle in a way that is electrifying.

He slips out from under her as she sits back against the arm rest of the couch. Her body curled up. Guarded.

An ache settles in his chest. "Yang, I'm so – "

She unfurls. "Don't!" She reaches over and grabs his hands. "Don't… Don't apologize. We wanted this, didn't we? I'm just not mentally prepared to do anything but make out right now."

"You make it sound like there's going to be a second time."

"You forget," she says with a grin, "this is the second time."

"Oh."

"Look, Jaune. I think we've got a good thing going on right now. We're not taking anything from each other, we have fun, and we both know that we needed this."

"You're a little more optimistic about this than I am."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I just hope it means things won't end poorly."

She squeezes his hand. "I don't know what it is that we've got going on right now, so I can't tell you that things won't end well or… not." She scooches closer. "But I'll try my best. Trust me?"

She's so earnest that he banishes doubts long enough to answer. He kisses her instead with the same featherlight comfort she'd given him earlier.

She hums appreciatively. "I think I like it when you say 'yes' this way."

"That a rule now?"

"Maybe. Prepare lip balm. You'll have room now that you won't need that flask anymore."

"I'm not attaching myself to you 24/7. I'm keeping the whiskey."

"I mean, you could attach yourself to me 24/7."

"You can't be serious…"

She slaps his arm, laughing. "I'm not! I'm joking! Lighten up a little."

"Sorry. This is… new to me. It feels like I've skipped a few steps and broken a ton of rules somehow."

"No, I get you, but try not to dissolve into a wet blanket." He pouts. She beams and powers on. "We're two consenting almost-adults here. There's nothing wrong with what we're doing."

"Some people would disagree."

"And some people are wrong and can stuff it." Now that she's calm, she finds that she can still smell the saltwater in his socks. He's probably uncomfortable right now. She stands up. "Now we should both take a bath. This makeup is starting to feel like I'm wearing a mask pressed around my eyes."

"Shouldn't we talk this out a bit more? Lay down some ground rules?"

"In the morning. I'd like to enjoy the prospect of what I can do without having to think about what I can't."

He sighs but warmth bubbles into his chest. "Fine. In the morning."

"Good." She walks up to her door. She stops before she opens it. "Oh, and… don't lock your door."

-0-

It's past midnight when Jaune hears his door open. He tries to squeeze his eyes shut to try to ignore what's coming, but once Yang slips into his sheets and hums happily against his chest, he finds himself painfully aware of the body pressed to his.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Being too close but not close enough."

He chooses not to question it.

She slips up further, breath on his neck. She bites. His aura flares up on instinct and she barely gets to his skin, tasting air instead.

"Uh…" he drones awkwardly.

She buries her face into his chest. "Shut up. I was trying to be hot."

"I think we've had enough excitement for one night."

"Lower your aura."

"Yang, c'mon…"

"Jaune…"

He sighs. "Fine…"

-0-

"So this morning, she sneaks up to me while I'm coming into the hallway and she bites me," Jaune says, pointing at his neck. "Then she hands me this bandage before she runs off."

"That sounds dangerously risqué," Joan comments.

Ruby is burying herself in her hood meanwhile, trying to contain her embarrassment.

"That's cause I bit her lip last night for revenge from last time."

Ruby crawls out of her hood and slaps her cheeks. They're still red but she doesn't care at this point. "Okay, so you aren't together?"

"Nora described it as together but not together-together."

"You and I both know that makes zero sense."

"Exactly. That's what makes it perfect. It makes about as much sense as our relationship."

Joan groans. "I can tell Yang came up with that one. It's one of those rules you two talked about, isn't it?"

He nods. "Hundred-percent."

Yang enters the cafeteria and spots them immediately. "Hey, you," she says with a purr. When she sits down, he kisses her cheek.

Ruby retreats back into her hood, gets up, and walks away. Joan rolls her eyes and follows after her.

"You were right," Jaune says, "this is fun."

"Glad you think so. Cause I'm about to sprinkle a bit of madness your way."

Dread hitches itself like prickled grass on his skin. "Okay… Hit me."

"My uncle's coming to Beacon."

"Uh… That's not so bad. Qrow and I are friends."

"No, you don't understand. He saw us at the park and followed us to the apartment to make sure we got home safe."

"Oh… oh, fuck. How much… how much did he hear?"

"Enough to want to meet with your privately. He told me not to tell you. He'll message you later tonight."

"He's going to kill me, isn't he?"

She winces. "Worse."

"What?"

"Qrow wasn't mad on the phone. He was… embarrassed."

Simultaneously he felt relief and yet more dread. "Oh… oh no…"

[covrtofnightmares]

&&. cauldron above, ( james deerling ) was just spotted in the fae lands — word has it ( he ) is affiliated with ( the spring court ). ( he ) is a(n) ( 650 / appears 38 ) year old ( warrior fae ). it’s been said that ( he ) resembles ( david gandy ). ( he ) has been said to be ( loyal & courageous ) but also quite ( ferocious & stubborn ). ( he ) is currently serving as ( the deerling patriarch / consort of the spring court ).

— ❝  you have to be a little bad to make history. ❞

name: james henry deerling

birthday: june 11th | gemini

scent: juniper, mandarin, oakmoss, cedar greens, fresh blooming roses, gentle seabreeze + ( SIGNATURE COLOGNE: light blue - dolce & gabbana )

appearance: james towers above most at a whopping 6′3″. naturally muscular and strong, both from being born into the warrior fae heritage and from years of training, james easily dwarfs most who stand around him. with a thick head of dark, wavy hair and his signature groomed beard, james looks every bit the rugged, rogue, wild warrior fae descending from the mountains.

current familial / relationship status: james is married to faun deerling who, up until recently, was presumed to be dead in astralis. he is aware of two children he bore legitimately with her, aurora and arielle, but is unaware at present that ares and apollo are his natural-born sons and believes them to be his step / adopted children.

biography: james henry deerling doesn’t know much about his origins. his mother, a warrior fae who had been cast out from her family for refusing to adhere to some of the more rigid, violent guidelines of their people, turned to prostitution in order to feed and clothe herself. she developed an affair with a highly regarded warrior fae among the spring court, giving him pleasure in return for coin, and when marietta discovered she was pregnant, she begged and pleaded with her lover to provide financially for the baby she was carrying. she did not believe she would make a fit mother, and when her lover--henry deerling--begrudgingly accepted to take james into his home, marietta left the child on the warrior’s doorstep and disappeared without a trace. henry deerling was a revered knight in the high lord’s army, responsible for training young recruits around the castle, and believed he had little to no time for a child. he intended to raise james as a servant, or similar to the way noblemen handled their bastardized children. but, as a widower with no close relatives, he soon came to love having a child about the house and made james his official heir.

growing up with a knight for a father did not make things easy for james with other warrior children who lived in the outskirts of the spring court. they often referred to him as a bastard, the son of a whore, or dirty blood, due to his unknown mother’s exile from their people. james was often assumed to be weak, due to his mother’s own fickle nature and his father’s strange behaviors, so when one boy shoved the young child into the mud while another, older child attempted to carve james’ wings off his back, telling the deerling heir that he didn’t deserve the wings of a warrior, something inside of james unleashed itself, his magic and might striking out against the other children around him.

children stopped making fun of james henry deerling after that night.

though his father was a knight, james earned no special favors among the spring court. he had to earn his keep, and after refusing to allow the other warrior children to demean his bloodline any longer, james took to the training field. honed fighting was a skill his father had always hoped james would take an interest in, and the two bonded over their sessions with great fervor. henry deerling trained his only son everything he knew about fighting and protecting their people, raising his child to become a man of great strength, power, and passion dedicated solely to protecting the spring court. he fought and clawed his way to a title of honor, first as a guard, before eventually making his way up the ranks to serve as the spring court’s official captain of the guard by the time he was in his mid to late twenties. it was a title he revered with great honor. after his induction ceremony, when james realized that his father had not been present at his ceremony, the deerling boy slipped into his quaint family home to find his father on the ground, his wings crumpled beneath him and his face purple. an empty goblet lay askew on the ground, indicating ingested poison, along with a letter henry held clutched in one hand. james, desperate and consumed with grief, was barely able to read the letter that had been addressed to him.

the elders in his clan had not forgotten the child born out of wedlock, a surprisingly severe crime among their particular branch of warrior fae, nor had they forgotten that the child had been borne from an exiled member of their pack. henry was subsequently punished for allowing the child to live, and not sacrificing him, as any good member of the family ought to, and for the first time in his life, james deerling felt overwhelming grief, loss, and guilt.

james deerling is a good man, but not every story has a happy beginning. so when the deerling heir composed himself, steely resolve had him track down every last member of his mother’s clan. with a burst of magic and a fury of wings and might, killed every last remaining member of his matriarchal clan, until he was the only one left aside from the mother who had abandoned him.

james devoted himself entirely to the protection of the doefoot clan and the high castle following the death of his father. grief was something james had not yet been accustomed with, so losing the only person in the entire world he had ever loved felt like walking through a forest blindfolded. several decades would pass before james learned to properly love another creature. faun doefoot, the glittering princess of the spring court, was sunshine and daisies; she was a warm spring breeze and the color of sunflowers and cherry blossoms. the spring court princess was a delight among astralis, and so when she approached james one day and begged him to teach her how to train herself in combat and self-defense, even stoic james deerling failed to be immune to her charms. james thoroughly believed learning combat techniques was important, given his own colorful background, and spent evenings training faun on how to best to defend herself in case of a siege, royal duel, or even against a random attacker. she became his closest friend and, along the way, something clicked into place deep inside of james’ chest. there was no denying it every time he exchanged furtive glances with her at balls or galas he worked for the royal family: he was desperately, hopelessly, achingly in love with faun deerling. she was stunning, of course, but it was not just her beauty that james became enamored with; it was the strength of her character and the passion in her soul. it was the way that he looked at her and the rest of the world seemed to stand still. he had imprinted on the crown princess of the spring court. and fiercely.

the two began a passionate, whirlwind love affair, each privately acknowledging that his rank and profession did not make him a suitable consort for an heiress who was meant to rule an entire kingdom. but whatever his reservations might have been about his own questionable lineage, faun was determined to tell her parents she would take no other suitor than james deerling; her captain, her confidant, her closest friend. 

that’s when erik newblood happened.

the siege on the spring court was bloody, and though james and the rest of the guard and knighthood tried valiantly to defend the doefoots, they failed. they were outnumbered: in men, in power, in brute strength. it was a devastating loss, and faun was left in the hands of a monster. he wished, desperately, to be able to free faun from the marriage she now found herself in, but his mate informed him that anything he was thinking would be too risky to perform. hell descended upon the spring court, and the only moments of comfort and solace he found in the terrifying darkness that hovered over the spring court were the times he spent alone with faun. erik, in his vainglory, ordered james to the front of the line as the spring court’s war general, choosing to exploit their shared heritage as warrior fae for militant prowess. but while erik was a creature who consumed everything in sight, james preferred to preserve. still, more often than not, james had an inkling that the real reason erik promoted the captain of the guard to a high and prestigious position was so he could keep an eye on him.

it was much easier to keep an eye on a dog you’d leashed to you, after all.

presently, james has no idea that the two boys faun gave birth to, ares and apollo, were not sired by erik, but by himself. though he worried about their patriarchal heritage, james loved the boys as fiercely as if they were his own children, if only because they belonged to faun. he helped raise them in private, without the knowledge of erik, and slipped the boys gifts every solstice and birthday. sometimes, james pretended that the boys were his own; if he looked at ares and his sweet, chubby cheeks long enough, he even thought he saw something of himself in the dark-haired beauty that had captured the hearts of the spring court. perhaps if he pretended they were his sons, it would be enough. perhaps, though he’d never be a father to them, he could be something.

but faun was nothing if not resilient and strong, and through the skills he had helped her hone over the years, was able to covertly destroy the beast who had shackled himself to her. erik newblood was no more, and though james was petrified that faun had behaved so recklessly without him there as support, he felt overwhelming relief flood his system as a semblance of normalcy returned to the spring court. he and faun wedded, after so many years loving and mating in secret, and began to repair the damage erik had wreaked over their home since the regicide of faun’s parents. the two wed, in a beautiful ceremony praised and applauded by all of astralis, and james deerling rose from the role of war general to high lord and consort.

this was his home--anywhere faun, ares, and apollo were. though james still believes ares and apollo are not his children, he spent his rule treating them as if they were his own children by flesh and blood. when the time  came for them to expand their family, however, james was only all too eager. and thus...their first baby girl was born: aurora deerling, the crowned jewel of the spring court, and a princess who had carved out a piece of james deerling’s heart and kept it for herself. james became a dutiful father, and when arielle was born not three years later, james swore he had never been happier in his entire life. four children, two of which were even his by blood, and his treasured mate by his side. perhaps the gods had forgiven him for failing his father so many centuries ago; perhaps they had told him he deserved to be happy.

or perhaps the gods were still angry.

when faun was taken from james this time, with great force and jarring suddenness, james felt something inside of him wither away and die. erik newblood was dead again, this time at the hands of an enraged ares, and james blamed himself. it was difficult to face his family, realizing that he had, once again, failed to properly protect that which belonged to him. unable to face a throne that did not belong to him, james left the spring court and fled to the mountains. grief consumed him, shaping james into a vengeful creature, the likes of which he had not seen since his father’s untimely passing. he was not the monster that erik newblood had been, but he was his own manner of beast.

most believe that james deerling escaped to the mountains solely due to the loss of his wife. and while grief consumed him, james deerling was also a man of hard-headed, stubborn ferociousness. he spent the next two decades researching--faun’s body had never been properly buried, nor did he have clues about the whereabouts of his missing child. he inhaled books, ranging from modern to ancient texts, about enchantments, curses, and loopholes in the very fabric of astralis that could explain the things james refused to look in the face: death. and still, he trained: not just with himself, but with others. there were other warrior fae who lived in the mountains, clans who had despised his mother’s family for their rigid, cruel, and archaic ways, who recognized the man who had slaughtered the spring court’s most notorious warrior clan without the bat of an eye. their children and grandchildren, having grown up on the fable that was james deerling, poured forth and offered their services to him.

if james deerling was going to take on astralis with his bare fucking hands, he’d need to rally an army.

his nights were spent in loneliness, craving faun’s absence, but his days were filled with research, training, and questioning leads he uncovered that led to any possible clues about his wife’s death and his missing child. finally, after years of digging and training, and the solstice hanging above their heads, james held a breakthrough: he knew where faun was. it was just a matter of returning her where she rightfully belonged. and if he could get faun back, then he’d be able to find out what had happened to his sweet aurora, as well.

james deerling is coming back from the mountains. and unbeknownst to his son, he’s bringing with him an entire army of trained warrior fae who plan to serve the spring court unfailingly as they wipe out their enemies.

affinity: as a warrior fae born into the spring court, he possesses some of the natural affinities of spring, though james’ strength is almost exclusively in his combat abilities

wings: as is typical with the warrior race, james has durable wings perfect for flight and combat. his are large, taloned black wings, similar to that of a dragon, marking him as a strong predator in the sky. james’ regal wings are built for endurance, battle, and instilling fear into those who dare to oppose him.

[laws-yellow-submarine]

The X Shaped Mark

My entry to your contest! Congratulations to your followers!

Prompt Choice: Coffe;

Characters: Nico Robin; Nefeltari Vivi

Warnings: None, but I included a little theory

Pseudonym: Barista at the coffeshop

Soft music played in the background. The smell of coffee and baked goods lingered in the air. Today, only a few people were walking by your tea and coffeehouse, near the promenade and the beach. You knew sometimes customers got swayed in by the most curious circumstances. That was one of the many reasons you loved your job as a barista. There were so many interesting people to meet, so many stories to hear. You had seen many relationships and friendships being formed in here. All in all, your work gave you a fantastic chance to view the world from a very specific angle. Right now, everything was quiet – as if the air held it’s breath before a storm.

You didn’t expect many customers today. In fact, there was only one in the guest room right now. She – stunning, with the air of mysteriousness and untouchable charm – came in about an hour ago. With a faint smile and a curious, yet skeptical look in her eyes she ordered a teapot of your famous black tea blend. She took a seat on the table in the corner. It was a bit more secluded than the others and provided a sense of privacy while giving her an excellent view over the coffee shop and the street in front of it. You had never seen her before, but you were sure that she didn’t like others meddling with her business. After you asked if she’d like something else to her tea – sandwiches or chocolate cake perhaps – you left her alone. The warm smile she gave you after you brought her a plate of bagles eased your mind a little bit. Still, you hoped she wouldn’t have any reason to cause trouble. With your keen eye for others, it wasn’t a secret that she held far more strength and power than one would otherwise assume.

You were engaged in your book when the door opened again. The mysterious lady, pushing her long dark hair behind her ear, gave the new visitor a calculating look. It was a girl, or young woman rather. Clothed in fine garments, hair and makeup done perfectly, this other woman came in with swift steps. She exuded glamour and a softness that made her instantly like-able. Though she was obviously wealthy, she showed politeness and respect when she greeted you. You were about to ask the girl for her wishes, gesturing to the empty tables, the girl however made way to the other woman’s direction. You realized that they knew each other from the way the exchanged looks. But you weren’t sure if it was a friendly relationship they shared. The girl with the sky-colored hair agreed when the raven-haired offered her a seat. She ordered a café latte and piece of cake. Your two customers appeared to be on neutral terms with each other, but you could feel the strained past between them with every fibre. You chose to listen a little more carefully than usual, as you prepared the order. The blue haired one was the first to speak.

“Ms All-Sunday,” the girl leaned to her – ‘acquaintance’?, you wondered – and proceeded in a calm tone, “you have some business with me?” The raven-haired woman chuckled and it sounded a bit like a threat. “Indeed, Ms Wednesday.” You looked up and saw her smile towards the girl. It gave you chills.

“I was surprised. It’s been quite some time, since we last met.”

“I assumed it was about time we reached a conclusion for our unfortunate past. Once and for all.”

“That would be the best!”

“Your café latte and chocolate cake. Is there something else, I can do for you?” Call a relationship counselor or something? Your interruption would hopefully manage to break the tension between your customers. Both of them smiled politely and thanked you. There was nothing left for you to do, but to hope that whatever was going on wouldn’t cause to much damage. They continued their conversation as soon as you reached the counter. Luckily neither of them noticed that they were still in hearing range.

“Though, my friend and bodyguard wasn’t too pleased about me meeting you again.” That a girl like her had a body-guard wasn’t a surprise. “Ah, yes – Igaram – wasn’t it?” commented the woman. “How is your country doing, Princess?” “Excellent. The country is peaceful and the people are thriving,” she lowered her voice. Now it appeared that the girl was the more dangerous one. “Are you upset about that, Ms All-Sunday?” The woman replied with a stare, cool as ice. Then she smiled with all sincerity. “Not at all. In fact, I am pleased about it. To harm any of your people was never my intention.”

“I know that.”

That line surprised the raven-haired woman even more as it surprised you. The girl continued softly,

“I know that you didn’t have any bad intentions. You wouldn’t be his friend if you did.” You didn’t know who they were talking about, but you thanked him. He probably saved you a lot of trouble by whatever he did to make the two females allies. It would have been a pain, if they actually started an argument in your peaceful coffeeshop.

“You heard about it. I should have figured.” The woman laughed. Honestly and full of relief.

“How is he doing? And the rest of them?”

“They are doing just fine. Causing ruckus as they go.”

“I can imagine.” Now the girl laughed wholeheartedly, making her blue hair dance along her shoulders. “I hope I can see them again soon.”

“You will. Right now they are quite occupied with some – adventure, but I am sure they will stop by eventually.” There went your hopes and prayers that whoever they were, would never show up near your place. The woman continued to talk about the mysterious group of people. The more you heard about it, the more you believed that it was all made up. The girl however, listened with glee and excitement. She didn’t seem to doubt any of the fantastic tales. Probably because she knew better.

“He is still the same,” the girl concluded eventually.

“That’s for sure. Even after two years, they didn’t chance a bit. Not one of them.”

Whoever they were talking about, your two customers cared a lot about them. Probably more than they would let on. You started doing the dishes, only to keep listening to the interesting conversation.

After a while – and another serving of tea and coffee – the woman asked about the reason for their meeting. She seemed unusually hesitant.

“Why did you agree? You can’t possibility forgive the past?” There was a remorseful look on her face, the air of vulnerability and sincere concern. The girl however, smiled reassuringly.

“Igaram told me you saved his life,” She chuckled, “even though you claimed the opposite.”

“Yes. That incident was a red herring. For a long time I had no choice but to infiltrate certain organizations and get rid of them – I didn’t have any other chance to survive. I tried to make the most of it. And I wanted to prevent as much damage as I could.” You almost didn’t hear what she added with a whisper.

“I hated it.”

“When Igaram told me about it, I started to do some research. I heard about your hometown. About what happened to Ohara. I understood that you did what you had to do. But I am really glad -” she hesitated to continue, “I am really glad that you don’t have to live this kind of life anymore.”

You could see how much those words meant. What impact they had. That there was one burden less hiding in her eyes. That was probably what gave her the courage to continue. There seemed to be a question she needed to ask.

“What happened to that man? I heard that he prevented that – on the plaza…” For a second the blue haired girl was confused. Then she quietly replied:

“You mean Pell. He is doing fine.” The woman almost dropped her cup, as she heard that.

“I thought..” The blue locks danced around slender shoulders once more.

“We thought so too, after he used his powers to fly away with the… - Well, luckily he recovered pretty soon.”

“Then it worked out after all.”

“What do you mean.”

“I suppose you can’t know. This ‘contraption’ that injured your feathered friend was sabotaged.” The woman closed here eyes, seemingly to indulge in the memories as clearly as possible.

“I was convinced you wouldn’t find the place in time. There wouldn’t have been that much damage. When I heard you had been in the clock tower, that the brave guardian – well, that he did what he did – I assumed the worst.”

“What do you mean it was sabotaged? Wasn’t that thing,” she almost spat out the word, only to get interrupted.

“As I said, I worked behind closed curtains to prevent as much damage as I could. I was the one who gave the task to the constructors, I chose the place to hide it – and I told them that the whole construction was designed to be a distraction. It wasn’t designed to be fatal. Your friend only got injured because he was too close.” The girl was outright shocked.

“But how, how did you do that?”

“I was the right-hand man of the boss himself. If I gave an order, who would dare question it?” The woman smirked. Now you were certain that you wouldn’t want her to be your enemy. “It was easy to get away with it.” Her features softened as she continued,

“I am glad that he recovered. Would you mind give my sincere apologies and best wishes to him?”

The girl still looked like she stumbled upon the one piece. After a moment she laughed and agreed.

“Seems like you fit right in with the others.”

The strange conversation turned to marvelous stories of adventures and friendship once again. As the day passed and the sun started to set, your two guests decided to move on.

Now the atmosphere felt like spring. Like a fresh bond blossoming.

As they parted ways, the girl turned around once more:

“You truly are amazing, Miss All-Sunday.” The woman smiled brightly.

“Thank you. But please – call me Robin.”

“I remember that you hated that name.”

“I did,” She paused, as if she needed to push some bad memories aside, “but now it’s the name my friends use. And you are part of our crew, right – Vivi?”

She left the girl standing and walked away – waving with her left hand,

a visible X-shaped mark upon her arm.

[connorspiracy]

Not The Kind of Snacc I Had In Mind || Connor & Luis

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @connorspiracy and @ontheluis  CONTENT: Recreational drug use, NSFW SUMMARY: Connor and Luis decide to meet up after chatting on a dating app and absolutely nothing goes wrong. 

Grindr dates were weird. Connor was far from opposed to a simple shag, but he usually felt like he was supposed to not be so blatant about it, to try and be a gentleman. Was it customary to clean the house before a Grindr hookup came over? He wasn’t sure, but he did what he could to make the place presentable; ran the roomba, made the bed that he was sure would be messed up again pretty soon, lit some Yankee Candles. He’d showered, changed his clothes, brushed his teeth, and was debating starting on a beer when the buzz of the doorbell stirred him from the couch, indicating his date’s arrival. Connor answered, giving the other man a smile in greeting. He’d had no clue this was wolfbane-dude when he’d proverbially swiped right, but seeing the young man in front of him, he put it together. Not that it mattered. He was still certainly curious, but seeing the profile pics come to life before his eyes gave him little desire to revisit that conversation anytime soon. “Hey, Luis, right? Come on in, I was just about to grab a drink if you want one?” 

The cold freshness of the Whye River single lingered in Luis’ nostrils even after the water had dried off his skin and hair. Bathing in the river outside his date’s upscale neighborhood might not exactly be classy, but the brutal pragmatism of Luis’ new life had weaned him off feeling embarrassed about trivial things. Piers’ place reminded Luis of the houses along Boca Chica, eliciting a sharp prick of unwanted remembrance amidst the more arduous thoughts in his head. 

Connor turned out to be just as gorgeous as his profile picture, and Luis had another pang of guilt for placing yet another innocent person in danger of being eaten just for the sake libido and company. But the less human part of Luis brain, the aspect of himself that was all primal instinct and cold pragmatism, didn’t see why that danger should get in the way of shelter, sex, and free food?

The corners of Luis' mouth drew up into a knowing smirk as he closed the door behind him, enjoying the randy tension in the coy game these types of meetups often started. “Sure.” Luis placed his backpack against the wall by the door. “Hey uh....are you the ghostuber dude by the way?” 

If it hadn't already been obvious from the risque Grindr conversation, then the grin tugging at the edges of Luis' lips confirmed to Connor that this lad was well up for it. He doubted it would take them too long to get down to business. "Right, we've got got beer, shots, cider, whatever you want, mate." He helped himself to a White Claw, handing Luis whatever he'd chosen. "Heh, Ghostuber dude," he chuckled. This was why he didn't send dick pics with his face in them. He didn't want it to end up on twitter or reddit once someone realised who he was. "Y'know what? I like that. Might nick it for my instagram bio.” He gave him a little grin. “I wanna ask what you do for work but I don’t even know how much you wanna talk and stuff. I never know how personal folks wanna get.”

“I mean there’s part of me that just wants to jump your bones,” Luis confessed as he leaned forward to accept a White Claw with a wink, the werewolf perhaps being a bit more literal then the words necessarily implied. But Luis didn’t necessarily want to give that primal part of more leeway over his life then it already had.

“But I don’t mind talking,” Luis admitted helping himself to a seat on one end of the couch. “I’m hiking cross country,” was a rather selective version of the truth. “So I’m just taking whatever work I can find along the way here y’know?”

In spite of being in media and in the public eye just enough to receive decently regular flirtation, Connor wasn't always the smoothest at this. He gave a kind chuckle, toasting their White Claws together. "That's very flattering, but yeah, we can talk. Come on." He gestured for Luis to follow him, heading onto the deck and lighting up the fire pit and sitting on the outdoor bench. "Figured this'd be a bit better than watching telly," he snickered. "So are you in White Crest for long then? Just passing through?" 

Luis had been an easygoing and social person before his life had become a runway train of carnage. Connor definitely had the sexy British angle for him, and a sinewy muscularity to go with the baby face, but perhaps was a bit blunt for coy games. Though Luis couldn’t (or didn’t want to) explain why, his sense of hearing and smell had sharpened to the point of being painful at times. He caught the fragrance of the soaps that Connor had used in the shower as his host passed by and listened to the steady background noise of his heartbeat. 

As they went out on the deck Luis looked out over the East End evening. The sun was sinking like a golden torch in the Whye River's horizon, staining the tufty lines of Stratocumulus clouds ablaze with bright magenta against the deeper blues and violets of the upper atmosphere. East End’s upscale houses and shops trailed off at the harbor where ships slept on a liquid mirror of the sky, seeming to bob up and down on cloudy stained glass. Boat masts and pier poles stood out stark like thin black columns against the prismatic sunset.  

But though Luis’ couldn’t see most of those colors anymore, the shadows of the sunset city strangely didn’t impede his sight at all. Luis glanced to smile playful at Connor, the fading light briefly reflecting off the tapetum lucidum blue in his eyes in a flare of electric blue. 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Luis admitted as he leaned his elbows on the deck rail, breathing in the faint scents of fish and smoke on the chilly autumn air. “Got this gig at a fighting ring, doing Cutman work and whatnot for the fighters,” he mused. “Guess we’ll see how well that pays huh?”

"Bit of an amateur boxer or something, are you? That's pretty hot," Connor said with a smile. Most people's Grindr photos didn't leave that much to the imagination. There was usually at the very least a topless selfie in there, maybe a post-workout pic, complete with sweatpants bulge. Luis had a casually athletic build, more compact and slightly bulkier than Connor's slimmer frame. He imagined Luis being able to hold his own. "I... couldn't fight my way out of a paper bag. Have to talk my way out, hope they fall for the accent. This is all for show." He looked at Luis' bright blue eyes with a self-deprecating smile. 

"Well, this place is fuckin' weird, which is why I'm here, but it's not for everyone." In the back of his mind, he was still kind of suspect about the eating wolfsbane thing, but Connor left that alone. He actually wanted to get off with the bloke tonight, not scare him away by interrogating him. "Smoke?" he asked, pulling out a pack of tobacco and everything else he needed for a good joint. 

“Luis shook his head with an aimable wrinkle of the nose at the notion. Learning to fight hadn’t been something he’d willingly picked up or enjoyed, but it came naturally to the less human part of him, way too much so honestly. “A cutman is just the dude who makes sure the fighters don’t bleed out too much,” he explained, finding it wiser to not going into detail what sort of illicit fights would just hire some rando off the street who knew his way around an enswell. “I try not to get into fights if I can help it,” said the fellow whose rap sheet contained a bit too many charges of manslaughter for that claim to be entirely plausible. “You’re better off avoiding it honestly dude. Like...I dig some macho dom vibes much as the next guy, but that aggro life isn’t worth it,” confessed Luis, having woken up too often amongst grotesque carnage to glorify violence.

“It is weird,” Luis admitted with another look out at White Crest’s innocently picturesque panorama stretching out beyond them. “Guess that works for a ghostuber though?” Luis didn’t believe in spirits or magic, but a metaphysics argument wasn’t he wan’t to get up to with Connor tonight, so he just let that be. 

Then it turned out Connor knew the way to heart: weed. “Duuude, you must be into some weird shit if you’re buttering me up this much,” he teased with an assenting nod.

“Oh,” Connor said with a chuckle, feeling just a little bit stupid. “I guess that makes sense. It’s in the name.” Hearing that Luis avoided fights if he could help it only made Connor more attracted to him. He had no patience for that toxic masculinity bullshit. Knowing someone could defend themselves was one thing, being good at a sport was another, but seeking violence for violence’s made someone the type of person best avoided, even for a one night stand. “Yeah, couldn’t agree more. Save the macho dom vibes for the bedroom,” he teased, rolling them each a joint with a grin. 

“The views are fucking gorgeous too, I mean, look at this ocean.” He gestured to the sand and sea that spread out before them, glistening under the moon and stars. “And I never run out of stuff to film.” Even if sometimes, the thing he happened to film was someone being murdered in the woods. That’d be a mood killer, though. His grin only widened when Luos accepted his offer of some light recreational drug use. “What can I say? I like being a good host.” And once he handed Luis the rolled joint, he leaned in for a brief kiss, lips brushing against Luis’ and lingering for barely a moment before he sat back to light up, handing Luis the lighter too. 

The lighter’s flame was a momentary spark against the oceanic sunset as Luis breathed deep. Substances had come to be Luis’ escape from the train of violence his life had become, and the unwilling werewolf closed his eyes and breathed smoke into the night for a time, letting it soak into his blood and cloud out unwelcome thoughts. “Definitely gorgeous,” he affirmed, before turning away from the sea. 

Luis gently lowered himself down to straddle Connor’s lap. He looked down into Connor’s eyes for a moment with a questioning raise of tawny brows, silently asking if this was ok. “So what made you want to do youtubing stuff,” Luis asked with an unconvincingly innocent smirk as he ran both hands up the front of Connor’s shirt. Luis played it slow, his splayed fingers consciously tracing the lines of Connor’s body beneath the fabric, traveling up until he caressed the bare skin of the Brit’s neck. He leaned forward from his perch on Connor’s lap to meet his host’s lips in a long kiss, taking time to just savor the take and smell of him before parting with a breath chuckle. “So were you legit born in England,” he asked in a murmur, pulling down the front of Connor’s shirt slightly to press his lips to the firm skin of Connor’s pectorals. “Or are you actually some Cali-boy whose doing the Brit thing for sex appeal.” Luis continued to lay exploring kisses up the curves Connor’s upper chest and neck as he glanced up. “Won’t mind either way,” he assured with a grin. 

Connor closed his eyes for a moment as he inhaled the joint and blew out the smoke, watching it dissipate into the night. He took another sip of his beer, not expecting the next events that unfolded, but certainly appreciating them. His breath hitched in anticipation as he felt the warm weight of the other man's body on top of him. He lifted his hands to wander over Luis' upper legs and waist. "Started to video journal for myself," he answered, closing his eyes again and sighing as Luis' hands and lips caressed his skin. He curled his own fingers into Luis' sides, sliding them just beneath his shirt. "Ran out of space on my hard drive, started uploading them to YouTube," he snickered. "And the rest is history." 

Thankfully the neighbours' houses weren't right on top of them and there was a bit of space between the houses along the beach, so he didn't feel too self-conscious about the display they were putting on. At least for now. "I'm a born and raised South West London boy, darling," he whispered, playfully exaggerating his own accent. "What about you?" he asked, fingertips tracing tiny lines along Luis' abs. "Hispanic?" 

“Chicano,” Luis confirmed with a nod, closing his eyes for a moment and just letting Connor touch bring on a trembling flex of his abdomen that brought a hitch to his breathing. “South Texas chico my dude,” he elaborated in a teasing imitation of Conner’s phrasing, as if the Coastal Bend was somehow on the same cultural tier as an ancient city of eight point nine million. Luis shrugged off his white cotton shirt onto the deck, ignoring the chilled autumn air as it brought goosebumps along his bare skin. Luis’ shoulders and chest rose and fell with deepened breaths as drank in the scent of Connor and the taste of his lips with a hungry insistence.  

A voice in the part of Luis' brain warned that he needed restraint. He needed to not lose control here.

“So why ghosts,” Luis asked as he reluctantly parted from Connor. He kept running one hand affectionately though his date’s hair while leaning back to take another drag from the joint he’d left on the railing. “You could easily get internet-famous with other stuff,” he pointed with, exhaling smoke at one end of a smile that left the ‘other stuff’ ambiguous. 

Connor’s stomach tightened and he felt himself becoming more and more aroused, especially as Luis pulled off his shirt. His own was unbuttoned all the way down to the navel, so he unfastened the rest of it, letting it hang open to reveal his chest and stomach. For a moment, he thought they were going to shag right there on the decking, but thankfully (at least for the neighbour’s sake), Luis pulled away to take another drag, smoking from his position straddling Connor’s lap. “Right, you’re one to talk about sexy accents then. You can get anyone to drop their trousers by saying romantic shit in Spanish,” Connor teased, continuing his own beer and joint. 

“Why ghosts?” He repeated. It felt like he was about to open a can of worms, so he did his best to put the pushy, opinionated part of him aside, at least for the sake of getting his dick wet tonight. “Ah, well, suppose you’re either a believer or you’re not. Hard to believe in ghosts when you can’t see them. I just happen to be someone who can.” His fingers absentmindedly continued drawing shapes on Luis’ forearm as he spoke. 

The claim about his ability to make people drop drow with Spanish elicited a snorting laugh from Luis, who’d endured less complimentary claims about his background in the past. He pressed his lips to the skin about the hem of Connor’s pants, laying teasing kisses along the muscled v-shape below the Brit’s abdominals, toying with his tongue down the very edge of the curve before relenting. 

“Te voy a joder los sesos guey,” Luis promsied with a soft murmmer in Connor’s ear. 

Connor’s answer clearly brought Luis up short, confusion mixing with the more straightforward lust on his features. Luis wasn’t particularly good at it, but could pick up sometimes when people lied sometimes. The beat of their heart changed. Even though they were skin to skin Luis hadn’t heart any falter in Connor’s aroused pulse. Maybe Luis wasn’t really in any headspace beyond screwing this guy, but it sounded like he thought he was telling the truth.  

Luis sat up on Connor’s lap for a moment and looked at him with reflective blue eyes that grew brighter at the darkness deepened, lips in cast in a half frown of vexation and both hands lifted behind his head. 

“Shit, don’t even know what to fucking make of you Con,” Conner mumbled after a while, the frown broadening in a toothy smile. Luis stood up and reached down for Conner’s hand with a come-hither look that made clear Luis’ personal suggestion to resolve this quandary. 

“Oh, bloody hell,” Connor murmured under his breath, jeans tightening as he got hard when Luis kissed and licked along his pelvic bone. He’d had a few flings in town, and it hadn’t exactly been that long since his rendezvous with Nell, but there was something incredibly alluring about Luis, the way he took what he wanted, unapologetic and confident, just a little filthy, behind a blue-eyed cherubic face you could take home to your mum. “You’re the kind of lad I could take home to family dinner and give you a blowjob in the bathroom after,” he chuckled. 

Connor ran his fingers through Luis’ light brown hair, tugging it gently as his fist clenched with arousal. “I have no clue what you just said, but it was sexy as hell,” he snickered, practically pulling Luis back to his lips so he could kiss him more firmly, more deeply, more desperately. When their lips parted, his breath caught in his throat, and he twisted the joint out in the ashtray. “Why don’t we go inside and you can make whatever you want of me?” 

Luis let himself be led back to Connor’s bedroom, putting up coy resistance at times, pretending to look around the house with wide innocent eyes but wearing a cruelly teasing smirk. One hand in Connor’s and the other tracing the lined of the cool-colored walls, Luis let the adrenaline of anintipation buoy him up like a chemical tidal wave. For a little while he was just a normal guy horny out of his mind and climbing into a hot brit’s bed. 

There came a cracking sound from somewhere outside the room, like a piledriver being used as a nutcracker. 

Luis jerked up instinctively as it hit his lupine hearing like a gunshot, looking around. “Did you...”  But the sound had stopped or maybe hadn’t existed. Fuck it. “Nevermind,” he murmured, busying him with trying to make out with Connor and get unzip his pants at the same time. 

Connor headed inside, kicking off his shoes and leaving them deserted somewhere in the hall. He threw his shirt on top of the laundry basket, climbing on top of the bed with Luis. He heard nothing, ears not as keen as the werewolf, and let himself be in ignorant bliss for a while. They continued to kiss, leaving him with tousled hair and pants half-unfastened, blood rushing between his legs as they got hotter and heavier. “What?” he whispered against a jawline that could cut glass, but whatever Luis had heard, he’d quickly forgotten. 

He whispered compliments, sighs and groans against Luis’ skin, hands wandering his torso. Their bodies were warm against one another as Connor pressed into him, haphazardly reaching to unfasten his belt before he heard it, an obnoxious sound, miniature saw blades gnawing away beneath him. “What the..” he mumbled, narrowing his eyes and looking at Luis as if to question if he was losing his bloody mind. He rolled over, begrudgingly separating himself to look under the bed. “Oh, FUCK.” Connor scrambled back on the bed, scrambling for the closest object to throw on top of the creature. He was trying to get his rocks off, and there was a fucking demon rat under his bed. 

“Dude…please...” Luis moaned, breathing fast and craving release with all this built up tension. He tried to pull Connor back down to him, skin flush and burning with the raw need that turned every nerve into a livewire. 

But before either batter or pitcher could make the final run towards home base, one corner of the bed vanished in a cloud of sawdust. There was the sound of claws scaping up wood, and Luis choked on another flurry of dry sawdust in his mouth, dust clinging to the sweat on his skin 

Luis found himself face to face with an obese beaver-shrew the size of a dog at the ruined end of the bed, and wondered for a surreal second if he’d gone insane from sheer Blue-Balls. 

“What….holy shit….whu…”

Connor really, truly would have preferred to just stay in bed and take the rest of Luis’ clothes off, doing unspeakable things to one another for the next several hours before having another cigarette and maybe sneak in some cuddling. White Crest, however, had other plans. “Bro! What the fuck--” He scrambled to fasten his pants, willing his boner to go down, which thankfully wasn’t too difficult “You little bugger, I rent this house!” He didn’t know if it was dangerous or not, so he instinctively grabbed for Luis to pull him away, then scrambled for the nearest pair of flip flops. “We gotta go, dude. I have no idea what that thing is.” 

Why...how did this rat have horns? Even while gagging on sawdust and woodchips Luis could smell that this thing wasn’t a dog, rat, squirrel, shrew, or beaver. His rational mind recognized it was impossible that a person could smell that well, but his instincts just sorta knew on a gut level that this wasn’t any animal he’d ever seen before. There was a moment of confusion as his brain and gut disagreed on what was going on. But as usual when shit went down, guts won out. 

Luis let Connor pull him away and he rolled off the side of the bed not occupied by a giant woodchipper on legs. Stumbling into the shoes he’d shed at the bedroom door, he sprinted with Connor through the house and out the front door, the frigid outside air extinguishing the amorous fire in his skin. 

Great. This was just great. He’d found a nice, handsome, and incredibly seductive boy to take to bed, and now he had an infestation of God-Knows-What chewing on his furniture. Connor shook his head, more annoyed than panicked. “I’m so sorry. This is--not what I planned for tonight. I have to call an exterminator.” Or a hunter. “But… this was nice, before it got ruined. I’ll call you, okay?” And with that, he pulled out his phone. 

[danyka-fendyr]

Absence of Good - 5

Chapter 5:Head Above Water

Hey everybody guess who’s back from hiatus! Okay, so this is a bit of a long one, which I’m actually rather pleased about. I took a break to let my creative muse simmer, and I think it turned out pretty good! Hotch kind of gets more of a spotlight in this chapter, which is important to me because I want to emphasize reader’s connection with the other characters and not just Spencer. What can I say? I’m a sucker for slowburn. Anyway, hope it was worth the wait! (This hasn’t been proofread so it might not be.)

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines​ @rhabakoli​

AoG Taglist: @pancakefancake​ @prettyboyspenerrr​

Wordcount: 3844

Warnings: Generally disturbing themes. Mentions of death, sexual assault, drowning and other dark themes.

        “War is what happens when language fails.”

                 -Margaret Atwood

        You had never been more terrified of an assignment than this one. And that was saying something.

Through everything that had happened to you in your line of work, there had always been an element of a safety net. Despite all the danger, despite the horrors you saw every day, there was some comfort in the knowledge of two things. The first was that you would get to go home at the end of the day to your loving bed. The second was that you were not the target. You were not the target.

“Are you sure about this?” You asked Hotch, trying to hide the slight wavering in your voice.

“You’ve seen the pictures, Agent Y/L/N. I don’t think I need to tell you how sure of this I am.”

You swallowed thickly, holding the glossy images between your fingers. You hated the texture of them between your hands, had never liked the sticky grip of a fresh printed photograph stealing your fingerprints, so easy to mark up. It stressed you out. These photos did a little more than stress you out though.

“How…this is…”

“Uncanny,” Hotch finished for you.

You two were alone in his office, which should have meant bad news to you on any day, but you had hoped for the best. You had thought maybe he was going to tell you off for helping Reid prank Morgan. Perhaps he had actually called you in to tell you some good news. That had been too happy to hope for though.

“Yes. Uncanny,” you echoed.

“The message seems clear enough though.”

“Say it,” you whispered.

Hotch looked reluctant, like the words would sound almost as bad coming from his as they would from you.

“This unsub is obsessed with you.”

Every girl looked exactly like you. Some of the more recent kills had even been made to look more like you. Hair dyed, styled. One with colored contacts to turn her eyes your same vivid hue. No one could blame you for the single tear that slipped down your face and landed on the dark, lemon scented wood of Hotch’s desk. No one could blame you for your complete inability to look away from all of your dopplegangers.

No…not dopplegangers. Replicas. Created to be perfect mirror images of you.

You felt like you were going to throw up.

“Who-“ You cut yourself off.

“We don’t know.” You had never heard Hotch speak so softly, his voice a gentle murmur. “Agent Rossi and myself are the only two who know about this right now. We thought we should tell you before the rest of the team. We’ve been looking through old cases trying to find someone who escaped but we haven’t met with any luck. Which leads us to believe…”

“That it’s someone I know in my personal life.”

“Most likely.” Hotch’s face was grim, his mouth a thin line.

It aged him, you realized. Every time one of the members of his team was in mortal danger, the years seemed to pile on, making him seem 10, 20, 30 years older than he was. It was jolting to realize that Hotch was not all that old, not in the grand scheme of things. That to Rossi, he was young, comparatively. For a moment you felt you were closer in maturity to Jack, his son, than you were to SSA Aaron Hotchner.

“I’ll go tell the rest of the team,” you whispered.

You tried to move, but you couldn’t seem to do it. For a moment you simply did not have the willpower to rise up out of that chair, an island keeping you afloat just off the continental shelf of the ocean that was Hotch’s desk, a buffer between you two. The terror held you in place, eyes still glued to those pictures, to the broken bodies in them.

“You don’t have to,” Hotch offered, throwing you a lifeline. “Agent Rossi and I can handle it.”

You should have taken it. Should have fallen to your knees and blubbered out your gratefulness. That’s what any sensible person would do. Anyone who had not read too many fantasy stories of heroines who put on a brave face and too many textbooks about how the shock could make you numb to things. If there was anyone willing to play their own brain it was you, and right now you were ready to play it like a fiddle that would be too shocked to process your own grief and terror.

“No. I can do it.”

You wiped your face clean, unashamedly whipping out a compact mirror to make sure you still looked presentable. You didn’t have to bother hiding anything from Hotch. He could care less how much or how little you cared about your appearance, as long as you remained professional. You had always liked that about him. How comfortable he was to be around when it came down to it. How trustworthy.

You didn’t look like you had been crying. That was good. You would lose the respect of 75% of the office if you did, and that was a convenient thing to have sometimes.

“Let’s go,” you said, finally finding the willpower to stand.

You didn’t look at the photos. You couldn’t. Not if you wanted to hold on to the shellshock, the numbness that would buoy you through this briefing.

The bullpen wasn’t ready for your announcement. You could see them all gathered around Spence’s desk, speculating. You knew what they were doing because you had done the same thing on a few occasions. They were trying to figure out why Hotch had called you in, laughing to themselves, smiling. You almost couldn’t bear to tell them, to wipe the smiles off their faces.

You took a deep breath, squaring your shoulders.

Spencer was the first to notice. To see the stone look carved into marble features and to freeze, his amber eyes going dark. It didn’t take the others long to notice, to put together your clenched jaw and Spencer’s tense posture. If there was one thing they knew better than serial killers, it was the face of a bearer of bad news.

“What happened?” JJ asked.

“We have a case. Briefing room, now.” You got there before Hotch could.

There was no hesitation, only an icy edge to the air as you all headed to the briefing room, closing the door behind you. You let Hotch do the setup, the man knowing you well enough to know that you wanted those pictures behind you. You couldn’t look at them while you told the team. It was bad enough seeing Garcia’s gasp as she pieced it together, and Spencer…You could barely look at Spencer, first to pick up the pieces, first to figure things out, first to have a thousand emotions flicker across his face. He was angry, he was sad, he was sick, he was terrified.

You tried to start, but the words stuck in your throat, so Hotch gave you a push.

“We’ve all dealt with unsubs of a more personal nature in the past. As you can all see, this is, unfortunately, one of those times.”

“This unsub has a connection to me. Obviously.” You tried to keep the words from shaking, gripping the edge of the table to hide the tremors running through you while coaching yourself to get a grip. “At first, he chose victims who look like me. He’s become more manic though, with less time between kills. It’s no longer enough to wait for girls who look like me. He’s desperate enough that he doesn’t care what they look like, but meticulous enough to model them after me. Additionally, he is still careful enough to pick girls with similar lifestyles. Low-risk victims with strong educational backgrounds, all the same age as me.”

The words were starting to run dry as it felt like the world might slip out from under your feet. You were sure your legs were going numb, sure that someone was freezing all the blood inside your body in some kind of twisted science experiment. You knew he had frozen the bodies, kept them for a while to do things you didn’t want to think about right now. Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh, you had to make it through this briefing, had to make the words keep coming, but how.

“We believe this unsub is obsessed with Agent Y/L/N, and knowing this we can only assume that as his cooling off period decreases the danger to Y/N increases. There is some good news though. The unsub seems to be deteriorating, which could lead him to make a mistake.” Hotch took over.

“How did so many of these bodies turn up without us noticing?” JJ asked, horror in her eyes.

“The unsub crossed state lines. He’s clever, very much so. Medical reports indicate that he keeps the bodies frozen for a period of time before dumping them, and there are signs of sexual assault, though it appears to have been done with a blunt object. Some of the bodies he brought across state lines, which only further complicates things.”

“But we’re going to catch this psycho, right Hotch?”

Morgan’s righteous anger was normally calming, but now not even he could reach through your panic.

“We’re doing everything in our power to track down this unsub now that it has been brought to our attention. I fought for them to let our team have this case, so I expect you all to be at the top of your game. Agent Y/L/N, for obvious reasons, will not be apart of the investigation, but rather will be in protective custody.”

You swiveled, your legs nearly giving out beneath you but not quite.

“No she will not be,” you protested.

“This unsub is targeting you directly. The safest place for you to be is-“

“Surrounded by my team. At best, cooped up here. But I refuse to be sidelined and tucked away in some safehouse Hotch. You said I probably know this guy. So who better to help track him down than me?” You appealed to Hotch’s sense of reason, that sense that always won out with him. “You need me for this Hotch. You can’t find this guy without me.”

Just when you thought Hotch would agree, Spencer stood from the table, slamming a hand down with more aggression than you thought him capable of.

“Absolutely not!”

You felt the blood rush back to your extremities as it rose to color your face, Spencer’s protest bringing you back to yourself. You clenched your fists, turning the full might of your own fury on him even as he stared at you with eyes that seemed to blaze with fire.

“Reid, she has a point. She’s the only one who knows the unsub-“

“So we’re just going to use her as bait?” You had never seen Spence so livid, his eyes tearing up with the emotion. “I won’t let you put her in danger like that, Hotch. She shouldn’t be anywhere near this case.”

“I’ll be wherever I need to be, and right now that’s here, Spencer.”

There were few people who could match Dr. Spencer Reid. His mother was one of them, an unstoppable force. The eccentric, immutable Gideon, you had heard, was another. You were the third, fire rising to meet fire, washing out any trace of ice, any danger of drowning that might have existed before this moment, this challenge. There were a lot of people Spencer Reid was good and entitled to boss around, but you were most certainly not one of them.

“It’s too dangerous, I won’t let you-“

“Won’t let me? Well I’ve got news for you Spencer, you’re not my boss. You have no claim over me, no say in what I do or don’t do. I’m helping with this case because if you ever want to find this guy, you need me.”

Spencer looked like he was going to say more, but Rossi interrupted him. A dangerous thing to do for anyone other than Rossi.

“She’s right, kid. I hate to say it almost as much as you do, but she’s right. A case like this, could be anyone. You know that. You also know it’s entirely possible that she’s the only person in the entire world who can connect the dots. We’re not just throwing her to the wolves though. We’ll keep her safe.”

You had never seen Spencer looked so betrayed as he had now, looking first to Rossi, then turning to the rest of the table in a silent plea for support. He found none. Reluctant as the team was, you had made your point.

Turning on his heel, Spencer stormed out of the room. You had half a mind to follow him, but it was Rossi who held you back.

“Let him go. He’ll come back soon. He won’t be able to leave you alone at a time like this.”

You didn’t know where Rossi’s certainty had come from, but you could hear it in his voice, and you decided to trust him on this. After all, you would have to trust your team on a lot until this guy was safely behind bars.

The next few days were taxing, to say the least. You had gone through just about every person you had ever met trying to figure out who the unsub was. People you were close to, people you had barely known, and everything in-between. You were about ready to give up, nearly asleep with your head on Garcia’s desk as she cast her sympathetic gaze your way.

“Honestly, it really could be anybody. Sometimes these guys just see you smile at them once in the street and they’re insane for you. They’re wacky.”

“You can say that again.” You sighed.

You were in an extra bad mood tonight. You and Spencer hadn’t been talking lately, not since your fight over whether you should be involved in this. Despite the fact that you were confined to Garcia’s office and that Hotch wouldn’t so much as let you go home, Spencer’s vow of silence did not lift. It seemed as though he was refusing to condone your involvement in this with words.

Which was just as well, you didn’t need him. That was what you were telling yourself. You were just cranky and on edge because of everything else going on in your life. Heaven only knew you had a right to be.

“Boy genius still not on speaking terms with you?”

To add to your stressors, Garcia had been getting unnervingly good at guessing your thoughts.

“I don’t want to talk about him right now. Any activity from the unsub?” You quickly changed subjects.

“Well I haven’t heard from them in a while, but let me ask my brown sugar.”

Deftly pressing buttons, Garcia dialed Morgan, putting him on speaker so you could hear too.

“Hey baby girl.”

“Hello my gorgeous chocolate thunder. I was wondering, could you perhaps update me on the situation?”

“For you? Anything. We just got done talking to the M.E. about the newest body. Apparently he’s now taken to dressing them up as cheerleaders, presumably in reference to Y/N’s high school cheerleading career. Anyway, not much else has changed about his M.O., nothing we’ve noticed yet anyway-“

“Wait…Morgan…did you just say he’s dressing them up in cheer uniforms?” You asked.

“I sure did. Why? Does that mean something to you?”

“Morgan…I was never a cheerleader.” You felt like all the air had been swept out of your lungs. “I don’t think this is about me.”

The team had all headed back to Quantico at record speeds, made faster by the fact that the unsub had been getting closer and closer to Virginia in his killing sprees. They were now assembled in front of you in the briefing room, but this time you hoped to shed more light on the situation.

“When I was 16, I fell in with a bad crowd. Well, not a bad crowd, but you know. Not my kind of people. I was a quiet book nerd and they were party people. Anyway, I was going through some things and I wanted to be cool, so I let them convince me to go to this party. Long story short, it wasn’t fun. The highlight of the night though, I remember, was this girl. Amber Melfort. She and her boyfriend got into this big fight, and it was obvious he was drunk. He hit her, hit her pretty hard, and she fell. Fell into the pool, and didn’t get back out.

Her boyfriend, as you may have figured out, was not a class act. I think he thought that if she really was dead then if he left her there nobody would know it was him. I don’t really know what he thought, to be honest. Don’t really want to know. Anyway you slice it, that didn’t sit right with me. He walked away, but I dived into the pool, fully clothed, and managed to drag Amber out. Did CPR, got somebody half-sober to call 911. At the end of it all, Amber pulled through and her boyfriend, Matt, got kicked off the football team.”

“No offense, but I’m not sure I see how this is related to the case.” Emily’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Amber was a cheerleader,” I said. “Whatever this is about, it isn’t just about me. It’s also about Amber.”

Emily’s eyes widened in understanding, as did everyone else’s at the table.

“It’s certainly worth looking into. Reid, you and Dave go interview Amber Melfort, find out whatever you can. Morgan, Prentiss, I want you to find the boyfriend and make a house call.”

You all collectively scattered, and you and Garcia went back to researching whatever else you could.

“Alright, looks like Amber lives alone not far from here. Apparently she’s been dating a life guard, irony of all ironies, and according to her social media…Oh, major bummer. Turns out up until a couple months ago they were engaged until she broke it off because he was cheating on her.”

“Poor Amber,” you said.

The girl deserved a break.

“Yeah. Okay, so anyway, she hasn’t had any contact with the boyfriend, Matt, in years. He doesn’t live too near here either, which might be why the killings started further out but seem to be circling in.”

“Any stressors in Matt’s life?”

“Oh beautiful baby doll you know that I already looked and weirdly, I have not come up with much. It would seem that, to all appearances, Matt is living the perfect life. In fact, he even just got married. And other than their status as Facebook friends, he and Amber no longer have any kind of connection. He hasn’t even liked any of her posts in over a year.”

You felt the wind get knocked out of you. “I guess my theory was wrong then.”

“Seems like that might be the case. I’m sorry angel cakes.”

You were more than ready to give up. You had been ready to give up for weeks, but now? Now you were convinced you were going to be drowned and buried in a cheerleading uniform.

It didn’t make sense. All of the signs had pointed to a connection to Amber, right down to the drownings which you hadn’t been able to connect before the cheerleading outfit. You were at your wit’s end when your cellphone began ringing.

You did a double take when you saw the number. Spence rarely called, but right now he was angry with you. It didn’t make any sense for him to call. Unless…maybe he had found something. Heard from Amber that there was someone else who was a potential danger.

You picked up the phone, hoping against all hope, only to be filled with cold fear.

“Y/N, it’s Dave. My phone is dead, but we’re on the way to the hospital. Spencer’s been hurt.”

“I’m on my way.” Screw the unsub, you were not leaving Spencer alone in some stupid hospital.

“Okay. Let me know when you get here.”

When you arrived at the hospital, you found Dave quickly and he explained everything that had happened to you. Amber had been the unsub all along, dealing with her trauma the only way she knew how.

Her fiancé cheating on her had been the stressor. Apparently Matt had been cheating on her way back when and that was what they had been arguing about at the party just before he struck her, nearly dooming her to a watery grave. In a twisted reenactment, she had been playing out her memories by killing not herself, but the girl who had come to save her, all in the hopes of gaining your attention. She had become obsessed with you and with your work, and ultimately it led to her revealing herself and having a shoot-out with Spence.

“Is he okay?”

“The doctors think he’s going to be fine. She only grazed his arm,” Rossi reassured.

You breathed a sigh of relief. “Can I go see him?”

“Yes, I think they’re allowing visitors now.”

You didn’t stay behind to listen to Garcia’s speeches about charts before charging ahead.

“Spence.” You breathed a sigh of relief seeing him awake.

He looked towards you and for the first time in days, a hint of a smile pulled at his mouth.

“Hey,” he said. “Did you bring me Jell-O?”

“No. But I can,” you said, turning to go get some.

“No! I mean, that’s okay. Don’t leave yet.”

He looked so pale under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital. A white bandage wrapped around his arm and nearly matched his skin as well as the sheets. The dark marks under his eyes stuck out even harsher for it.

You drifted over to his bedside, taking a hesitant seat in the hard, alcohol scented chair next to his bed.

“Listen…Spence…I’m sorry,” you confessed. “I’ve been stupid. When I heard you were hurt, all I could think about was how if you died I wouldn’t have gotten to tell you…Well, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you that I’m an idiot. You were only trying to protect me, and I’m sorry for not seeing that and respecting it.”

“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry at you, shouldn’t have wasted all that time being mad at you for being right. In the end, you were the one who solved the case and the one who saved the day. Even when you aren’t in the field you’re a brilliant agent, and I…I was just worried. I thought maybe I could lose you, and if I did…I don’t want to think about what would happen. So please forgive me for being so selfish and stubborn.”

You smiled softly at him, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Forgiven.”

He smiled widely at you, a smile you hadn’t seen since before the threat to your life. “I’ll take that Jell-O now.”

“Coming right up.”

        “The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”

                 -G.K. Chesterton

[kathyprior4200]

Alastor and Rosie’s Cannibal Song

Alastor and Rosie strolled arm in arm after Rosie finished going to an Overlord meeting.

 “Hey Alastor,” said Rosie turning to him. “Have you ever considered joining my exclusive club of socialites?”

 “No, I haven’t…but do entertain me.”

 “It’s mainly me and my group of ladies. We meet up for tea and coffee at this nice café not too far from here. We discuss the latest news, perhaps exchange jewelry or deserts.”

 “Sounds lovely, my dear.”

 “Oh and here’s the best part. My group and I have…exquisite tastes when it comes to meals. And I’ve heard about you and your slaughters.”

 Alastor couldn’t help but puff up his chest in pride. “I was also a very skilled hunter in my other life. I’ve made many meals including jambalaya with venison in it. It is my favorite.”

 A grin of sharp teeth stretched across Rosie’s pale face, her black eyes shining. “Have you ever considered eating the flesh of your victims?”

 Alastor’s stomach growled at the thought. “I had a feeling that something was missing after I killed all those men as a human. I’ve hunted and ate deer and game many times. Perhaps I was too unsure about doing the same to other humans.”

 Rosie laughed. “No restrictions now, though. This is Hell. Feel free to eat whatever…and whomever you’d like.”

 Rosie handed him a blue arm of a nearby dead demon. Alastor maneuvered it into his mouth and sliced it to bits with several noisy bites.  The sharp fangs effortlessly tore through the muscle and bone. The tangy taste of blood and juicy meat filled his mouth before he swallowed.

 “That was quite tasty,” he remarked, licking his lips. Alastor then realized something extraordinary: there were countless demons roaming around in Hell. It was as if Hell had decided to provide him with an all-you-can-eat buffet. Not only would he have more meat to eat, but being a cannibal would also help with his fearsome reputation. Cannibalism was considered one of the worst taboos to do on Earth.

 Why not add another sin to his list?

 Alastor bowed and kissed Rosie on her hand in thanks. “Even in death, I learn something new every day. I’d be honored to join you.”

 Rosie introduced Alastor to her group of friends: a bunch of demon women dressed in fancy Victorian dresses of many colors and round ladies’ hats on their heads. Violet, Lavender, and Poppy were some of their names. For a brief moment, Alastor felt like he was back in his time period on Earth. He ate demon meat to his heart’s content. Hell-Born or sinner, raw or cooked, it didn’t matter. He used the flesh and the sinner’s hearts in his jambalaya recipes. As the sinners had previously been human like Alastor used to be, he was now a cannibal.

 The thought of someday tasting actual humans in the living world made his mouth water more.

 On Sunday mornings after Alastor had coffee, he would be greeted by his new admirers while he walked outside, humming a cheery tune.

 “Hello ladies,” Alastor said with a tip of his red top hat.

 “Hello Alastor!” they chimed, as they sat on the ground in front of a mutilated body of a demon. One woman picked up the demon’s separated arm and used it to wave at him. Alastor chuckled and strolled on.

 During one moonlit night, Alastor and Rosie decided to sing a song to strengthen their bond. They were already good friends, if not that then at least compatible associates with similar tastes.

 “Let’s say you’re bored and want to be full,” Rosie began as she walked next to him, umbrella in her hands and little skulls on her hat. She looked like a gaunt Mary Poppins entering a Day of the Dead musical.

 “Sure, you can go about your day, dull. Or…”

 She turned around, her lavender dress spinning slightly. “You can eat a little flesh fantastic with me.”

 Alastor’s red eyes lit up, his hidden deer tail wagging underneath his crimson dress coat. He already loved her singing voice and graceful form. She reminded him of Mimzy, though she was less about the spotlight and more about elegance.

 And speaking of which…

 “Alastor!” Mimzy beamed as she walked over to him. The chubby blonde woman was wearing a magenta flapper dress with sparkles on it. Her headband had a pink feather attached to it and her necklace of black pearls was visible above her round breasts.

 “Good evening, Mimzy!” Alastor smiled. “What are you doing out here, dear?”

 “My shift at the jazz club just ended, so I decided to join you guys.” A pink neon sign down the street read “Mimzy’s Place.”

 “Please do, Miss Hannigan,” Rosie said to her fellow friend. Alastor had introduced Mimzy to Rosie after the two sinners had reunited. “Be sure not to walk home by yourself, Mimzy. You might be dead, but there’s no need to die a second time.”

 “Isn’t that right!” Alastor added with a chuckle.

 “Now where was I…” Rosie pondered. “Oh right!”

 She began to sing again.

 “You can eat a little flesh fantastic with me.”

 “Wait, flesh?” Mimzy asked, curious. “As in human flesh?”

 “Why yes! I just tasted it for the first time,” Alastor said. “Apparently, it’s a delicacy down in Hell for obvious reasons. “I mean…”

 He began to sing, “If you live your days in wonder, but can’t focus due to hunger…”

 He leaned his face in close to hers; Mimzy blushed and didn’t even flinch.

 “Just eat a little flesh fantastic with me.”

 Alastor straightened back up as Rosie joined in. “For if you decide to kill a person, their body will someday rot away. But if you make haste and not let it go to waste…”

 Rosie spun around a black nearby pole before lightly landing on the sidewalk.

 “Then you’ll be satiated for the day!”

 Alastor climbed up and leaned against the pole. “You don’t need to be Lector Hannibal, to consider the life of a cannibal.”

 “Want to be robust?” Rosie asked.

 “You know I must,” Alastor added.

 Then they both sang to Mimzy, “Come eat a little flesh fantastic with us!”

 The two tall demons strolled along as Alastor snapped his fingers. His shadowy demon imps rose from the ground, playing trumpets, drums and saxophones. Nearby demons where either swaying to the jazz beat or darting away in fear. Mimzy ran on her short stubby legs to catch up.

 “Hey, wait up! Can I sing, too?”

 Rosie led out a shrill bird-like call from her mouth as her eyes briefly glowed silvery white.

 “My fellow epicureans, answer my call. May your gluttonous desires led the way!”

 At once, several ladies dresses came out of the alleyways to join her. There were also a few male demons in elegant suits who followed them.

 “Welcome to the club, Radio Demon,” Rosie grinned.

 Rosie and Alastor then sang the duet at the same time:

 “The life of a cannibal

The feeling is so wonderful

Hunt and kill, munch, munch, munch,

A few screams later, you’ve got your lunch!”

 Behind them, the women danced in a line, their dresses spinning as they moved. The men in suits and top hats spun, flipped and did tricks from the poles of nearby street lamps. The red flames in the glass on top of the lamps flickered to the outside music.

 “Have some style and show some class

It is us among the mass

When you’re feeling beat and want to eat

A demon can never have too much meat!”

 “Eat a little flesh fantastic with us

Give in to another kind of lust

A sweet treat you are, come near or far

Our food as you bite the dust!”

 Rosie smiled as she and Alastor did a Charleston dance in the front. Rosie winked at Mimzy who stood in awe of their dancing. She tried to hide her jealousy. Every time Alastor danced with someone else, the sin of envy took hold of her in a tight grip.  Rosie continued:

  “You can refrain and boldly exclaim

‘Eating your brethren’s not right!’”

 Alastor added:

“But we know well, to maim in Hell

The blood will be shed tonight!”

 Rosie blew into a bloodstained shell trumpet. The men and women dancers surrounded the trio in a moving circle, chanting “Eat! Eat! Eat!” as the jazz music sped up. Their dancing shoes tapped against the asphalt, adding to the instrumental sounds. The women took off their hats and waved them several times in the air before putting them back on their heads. The men repeated their actions shortly after.

 Alastor held out his hand for Mimzy to take, which she eagerly did with a smile. The three of them danced around in a circle, laughing as Alastor’s glowing red spirits swirled around above them.

 “The life of a cannibal,” Mimzy began…

“The feeling is so wonderful,” Rosie added…

“Hunt and kill, munch, munch, munch…” Alastor sang.

 Then all three of them called out, “A few screams later, you’ve got your lunch!”

“Eat a little flesh fantastic with us!”

(oh- oh- oh- oh- oh)

“Eat a little flesh fantastic with us!”

(oh- oh- oh- oh- oh)

 The men did more rolls on the floor and posed on the lamppost poles. Nearby, an elaborate black fountain was spraying blood into the larger basin. A lone demon kid tossed a soul coin into it.

 After the men spun around on the poles, they hopped back down to dance with the ladies in the background.

 The song soon ended with Rosie, Alastor and Mimzy doing happy poses on the street, Alastor in the middle between his best lady friends. As the trio bowed, audience clapping emitted from his microphone staff. Everyone cheered as they summoned long flaming spears into their hands. They twirled them around in their hands and tossed them into the air before catching them. Soon, all of them were surrounding Rosie, who posed on a pole with her closed umbrella pointing outward in her hand.

 “Go forth and feast!” Rosie called.

 The eyes of the men and women glowed red in hunger. Like a pack of wolves, the other demons scurried in every direction, prancing on other demons.  Several of the men threw their spears at nearby demons, setting them on fire as they screeched. Nearby denizens screamed as the fancy ladies jumped onto them and sank their sharp teeth into their necks and shoulders. Blood and organic fluid soon littered the street and sidewalks. Mimzy giggled and wrote on a nearby brick wall in fresh blood. She drew a red heart with “A + M” inside it. She even added an arrow through the heart.

 “Very nice,” Alastor mentioned. “A and M. That reminds me, I gotta get ready for my 6 AM announcement tomorrow. I’ll be broadcasting how to make spicy jambalaya. All natural ingredients, of course.”

 Mimzy picked up a pulsing heart from inside the gaping chest of a fallen demon.

 ”You might need this for an ingredient.”

 She gave it to Alastor, who took it in both hands.

 “You’re giving me your heart, what a thoughtful gift!”

 Alastor and Rosie chuckled and Mimzy smiled, too. Though deep down, she hoped he was only kidding about actually eating her heart.

 Alastor took several bites of the muscle, red thick liquid coating his face. The flavor was divine.

 Mimzy tried a bite out of chunk of flesh from another demon. It tasted like older pork, human flesh that had gotten a bit dry and flavorless. Alastor soon recognized the taste of demon flesh as well after eating some more.

 “I’m just gonna pretend it was pork,” Mimzy said, uncertainty in her face.

 “Come on, we all know you enjoyed it,” Alastor teased, playfully pinching her cheeks.

 “There is one thing that is better than flesh,” Mimzy declared.

 “And what’s that, dear?” Rosie asked, wiping her bloody mouth with a lacy handkerchief.

 “Spending time with my lovely friends!”

 Mimzy gave Alastor a hug and Alastor flinched a bit. He took a deep breath and briefly hugged her as well. Rosie knew not to touch Alastor, so she opted to stand supportively by his side.

 Alastor then pulled the two smiling women close to him, happy and in his element. It was something that he agreed with as well, somewhere within his blackened heart. Despite doing things for himself and manipulating people for his amusement, there was something…freeing about being with fun-loving friends he could put some degree of trust in. The sounds of music pulsed like vibrant lights in a sea of darkness. Music had been his oasis, his escape on Earth. Even in Hell, it still tugged at his heartstrings and reminded him of innocent times long ago. It was almost like a beacon of hope…hope of even greater things ahead.

 For the first time in a while, Alastor’s smile was genuine and relaxed.

 “Now that’s what I call entertainment!”

[dragonstoravens]

Babylon Vol. 1: Meetings (2.0)

[ID: a blue patterned banner with text reading “BABYLON.” End ID.]

(A few changes have been made to this chapter post-beta reading, so here’s the newest version. I will also be posting chapter 2 today, and hopefully keeping to an update schedule until all of book 1 is posted. I’ll also be making a masterpost, so people can easily read from the beginning. Happy reading!)

READ ON WATTPAD HERE!

1. Meetings

Azure looked at the comm line as it lit up and made a soft buzz. She wiped her hands on her pants and turned off the tool she was using. "Ma's not supposed to call me this early in the month..." she muttered, donning a headset and tapping the answer key. "Ma? It’s a couple weeks early, isn't it?"

There was a long pause, before someone cleared their throat and a vaguely confused sounding, yet still determinedly professional baritone voice said, “...Dr. Zaraya? Is that you?”

“Been a while since someone’s called me Doctor, but no, I don’t think I’m the one you’re lookin’ for." She scratched her head, also confused. "This is Ma’s line.” She thought for a moment and added, “If you compromise her comfort I'll personally fling you into a star."

“...Her daughter?” 

“Use child, kid, or spawn if you would. Not exactly a daughter.”

“My apologies,” he amended swiftly. “And your pronouns?”

“She and her, still. They’s too mushy in the mouth for me.” She smiled a little. To Azure, it never got old to have someone ask and correct themselves that quickly.

The man made a soft noise of assent. “At least you know the Doctor. She’s been exceedingly difficult to find so far. My name is Trinity Jericho-- he/him, please-- and your mother built something for me some time ago. I need her to repair it.”

 "Oh boy. I got some awful news for you, pal." She transferred the line to a more secure one, a soft beep in the background as she did. "She doesn't really have the time to make fixes these days, she's under lock and key. She can't play mechanic for you, even if she wanted to."

Trinity let out a long, hissing breath. “She’s still under house arrest? I suppose they must have changed their security sometime in the past three years…” He sounded genuinely frustrated, even through that calm, professional voice. “Well... thank you for your time. I apologize about the wrong number.”

On the other end of the line, Azzy frowned. Of course her Ma was still under house arrest, that’s how life sentences work. She would ordinarily have let him hang up, but she hated the idea of something her mother custom made breaking down and going obsolete. "Well now, hold on a minute-” she blurted. ”I said she can't do it. If it's a fix you need, I can handle it." She shifted in her seat and dropped her feet onto her desk with a heavy clunk. "Jericho, is it? What am I working with, and what was the year of installation? If it's Ma's custom work, you're not gonna find a single soul that can figure those connections out faster than I can, and you sound like the busy sort."

“...Hm.” A pause, as he seemed to consider her offer. “Well, with anyone else I’d say it’s impossible, since the model is one of a kind, but it seems as if you’re the best chance I have. It’s a right eyeball, basic internal connection to the brain for sight, along with some extra capabilities. Installed in 30XX. Something went wrong about a week ago, and I lost all movement in that eye and most of my sight. I’d like to have depth perception again.” 

Azure rubbed her temple. "An eyeball in 30XX..." Another hum. "I think I remember her mentionin’ somethin’ like that. Here." A ping sounded to her device, notifying her that the message had been sent. "Head to those coordinates, I'll get you cleared with my cap’n to come aboard, and we'll get you seein' right faster’n a warp speed jump to your next door neighbor."

There was another chime sound from his end as he received the coordinates. “That’s not too for from where I am— I can be there in an hour. Is your workshop on a space station? These coordinates seem a bit high to be planetside.”

"Of a sort. Ping when you arrive, don't get too smart no matter how saucy the helmsman tries to be with you. Good luck." The call ended with a click. Azure leaned back in her chair and hit another button, this one connected to the ship’s onboard intercom. "Indigo, I have a personal request, and I need it approved fast."

Trinity was nothing if not punctual. Almost exactly an hour later, the airlock door of the enormous cargo freighter that was Rebel Blue opened to reveal a handsome young man with sandy colored hair swept back away from his forehead. Behind one ear was a longer piece of hair braided neatly with a black glass bead, and tiny black studs glinted in his earlobes. He had a black cap pulled low over his face, a casual touch that looked completely out of place next to the rest of his clothes-- a dark green button down, black slacks, and dress shoes. He stood with his hands loose at his sides, a posture of practiced calm.

Azure, her hands clean for once in her life, greeted him at the lock, cybernetics quietly crackling. Her beanie was slouching precariously towards the back of her head, her brassy red dyed hair braided neatly to the side. She carried herself with an easy slouch. One look and you could just tell this person did not ever sit in chairs properly if they could help it. "Azure. Pleasure to meet you, welcome to the ship. Hope Smalls didn't get too fresh with ya."

“The pleasure is mine.” In person, his voice was quiet, smooth, and just expressive enough to sound friendly. As he approached to shake her hand, she caught a glimpse of his right eye from under the brim of his cap. It was the same deep emerald green as the left one and looked perfectly normal, except for the fact that it was completely motionless, creating the somewhat unsettling effect that he was always staring directly at her. Unlike some visitors they had, he didn’t look like he’d been too put off by the ship’s snarky AI pilot. “He was fine, but I get the impression that your ship doesn’t typically get many visitors.” He looked around- with one eye, at least. The other stayed locked in place. “I… can’t say I’m too surprised. Forgive me, but this place looks more like a cargo carrier than a passenger ship or station.”

She was entirely unphased, peering into the motionless eye with a thoughtful look that softened the hard set of her jaw. "That's because it is. Handled the retrofittin’ myself." She turned and started walking, the crackling subsiding as it became clear he was actually here for maintenance and not to ransack the ship. "I hope you don't mind, I'm not great at pleasantries so I'm just gonna take you straight to the med for the standard exam. I’m a doctor in cybernetics, not you know...doctorin’."

“Of course. As long as you can fix my eye I don’t particularly care what your conversational skills are.” He put his hands in his pockets-- again, casual in a way that seemed like an affectation. He was a little too careful not to shove or ruin the line of the slacks. “Speaking of eyes, do you truly need me to close mine? Your pilot kept cracking jokes about security.”

She rolled her eyes. "Nah, Smalls is just fuckin’ with you. There’s enough firepower aboard the ship that you’d likely die on sight if you tried anythin’, and half the place is still storage anyway so it really ain’t worth much to get into." It didn’t seem like a real threat or warning, but a casual observation. She led him to an elevator and pressed a button. "As far as business goes, you might be interested to know I worked on your eye durin’ the initial blueprintin’ phases."

“Oh, is that so?” He sounded vaguely impressed. “I suppose more people knew about it than I thought. Up until now— well, up until recently, I assumed only I and your mother knew about it.” He didn’t seem too upset about the revelation, but perhaps it was just the unshakable calm that he seemed to carry with him. Neither his voice or his face betrayed much emotion beyond the words he spoke-- at best, the sort of interest one might have in talking about the weather.

"Oh, it’s just you me and Ma, unless you're a blabbermouth. And I didn’t know who it was for at all until you called." The elevator door slid open and she stepped inside, pressing another button and leaning leisurely against the wall. "She called your eye the Babylon Project. Joke about your name, I'm assumin'. I helped design some of the attachments and recordin’ implements."

He chuckled. “That’s a decent pseudonym, though I don’t think those two cities have any real biblical connection. Perhaps I’ll use it sometime.” He pursed his lips. “My work tends to require that I keep my mouth shut, so most of the details are under lock and key. Mistakes happen, but I intend to keep it that way as much as I can. I’m sure you can see how some of the functions work best if they stay unknown.” Unbidden, the memory of one time he hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut sprung to mind, and he frowned. He still hoped that particular interaction wouldn’t come back to bite him. He certainly wouldn’t be the one to seek it out.

"I'm nothin' if not able to keep a secret. Talkin’ gives me hives." It could have been a joke, maybe. The elevator doors slid closed, and then opened a few long moments later. "You're about to meet Pthalo. She conducts all her business on paper so you can burn evidence if you wish. It's standard protocol to have an uninvolved medic test for health, I'm sure you're aware."

“Yes, I understand the need for doctors. There was a similar procedure when I got it.” He smiled. “The eye itself isn’t the secret, just the functions. Thanks to your mother, it looks like a high tech prosthetic unless you know better.”

"Unfortunately, more and more people know better lately. We might need some updates here ‘n there just to keep it tidy."

 As they reached the doors to what must be the med bay, they were greeted by a blue alien with a gentle yellow glow beneath her skin in a pristine white lab coat. Her voice was just barely noticeably dual-layered, harmonizing with itself under her breath. 

"Good evening, my name is Pthalo. Azure's going to let me take it from here, and I'll lead you to her workshop after the appointment." She gestured to the room behind her and to the right, windows looking into a pristine medical bay, a pitbull posted just outside the door.

“Hello, Pthalo, I’m Trinity Jericho.” He glanced down at the dog, his expression changing to make him look younger, somehow. “May I pet her?”

Pthalo gave a sunny smile. She oozed sunshine. "Oh you're more than welcome. Her name is Payne, she's the ship-wide emotional support animal." Payne's tail began a steady rhythmic thumping against the floor as he approached, eyes closing as soon as his hand touched her head. This was a very good dog.

Despite his earlier actions-- cooly professional posture, minute care for his fancy clothing-- Azzy watched as Trinity now knelt down right next to the dog without a care for the dusty floor. He scratched industriously behind the ears, using both hands, and the first real smile Azure had seen from him came to his face. It was...cute. “Who’s a good girl? You are, yes you are!” After a while of similar whispered baby talk and petting he finally stood, almost reluctantly. The smile remained a moment longer, fading back into obscurity as he moved towards the med bay door. “Sorry for the delay. That’s a very good dog you have, ma’am. I’ve never seen a ship with an emotional support dog, but it’s actually quite a good idea. Maybe I’ll suggest it to my company.”

"It's no problem, being pet all day is her entire job." Pthalo gently closed the door behind them, and Azure could be seen through the windows making her way down the hall, presumably to her lab. "The ship takes all types, dogs couldn't judge if they wanted to. We have a few members that make use of her presence daily, she's become quite spoiled. I'd say anything that's good for low level employee morale and health is good for the company, but that's not news I'm sure." She gestured to an examination table. "Hop up, shirt off. Please point out where the prosthetic is."

“No, I understand that concept well enough.” He looked back down to address Payne. "I’m sure it’s just as good for you as it is for everyone else, huh girl?” The dog panted and grinned. Trinity smiled back, and then turned his attention back to Phalo. He took off his hat, carefully fixing his hair that had been trapped beneath, and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a tattoo across his left collarbone showing three small but beautifully detailed birds in flight, just over his heart. Each one’s pattern and shape was unique. The opposite collarbone was decorated with something that looked like a half-destroyed tower. The tattoo seemed to continue onto his back, out of sight. He got onto the table, and looked back up and over at Pthalo. “Right here.” He pointed to the motionless eye.

Pthalo startled but regained her composure almost instantaneously. "You know, I probably could have guessed that, eh?" A gentle smile. "Do you wash it regularly? Was this a loss of operation due to trauma or defect?" She was walking around to collect tools as she glanced at a clipboard. "Azure gave me a quick rundown, but these checkpoints are odd, even for a standard prosthesis upgrade...." She glanced over him once, then moved in to look closer at his eye.

“The nerves were damaged in an accident. I was legally blind for a while. The other eye was salvageable, but the right optic nerve kept deteriorating so I eventually just gave in and replaced it. It’s very high tech, for a prosthetic,” he explained. “I wash it regularly, and follow all the care instructions, so it should move freely but it started locking up about a week ago. That’s why I’m getting it fixed- or upgraded, I suppose,” he corrected. That would likely make more sense with Azure’s position as a cybernetic engineer. Cybernetic upgrades to an existing prosthetic weren’t uncommon.

"I have to wonder...." She continued to look him over quietly, clearly contemplating something as she checked his vitals. Now that she was doing work, she became much more serious. Her movements flowed like water, seamlessly transitioning from one test to another, until eventually the medically-minded dance ended, and she made a few marks on her clipboard. "Well, Mister Jericho," she smiled, "it would seem you're healthy as a clam. Happy as a horse? Oh, what's the saying? Terran idioms are difficult." She passed his shirt to him. "You may just want to keep that off, if I know anything about Azure's process, it may get dirty if you keep it on."

“To be honest, I prefer your versions of the idiom.” He carefully folded the shirt over his arm and slid off the table, giving Pthalo a professional smile. “Thank you.” He turned to head towards the door, just as the clunk of a pair of boots and the soft snuffling of two dogs greeting each other heralded someone in the hall outside. A woman poked her head through the door, a different pit bull in a red harness pressed up against her shin. 

“Hey, Pthalo, I—“ her eyes fell on Trinity and widened. Silence reigned for a brief moment, and then the woman shook her head as if to clear it. “Hold that thought.” The door shut again and heavy bootfalls clattered off down the hall again. Faster, this time, like she was running.

"Cadet! Cadet you can't just-" Someday, Pthalo thought, people would tell her what was going on. She sighed and rubbed her temple before turning to Trinity. "I'm sorry, could you stay here a moment?" She opened the door and gestured Payne in, who plopped down at his feet with her tongue out. "I've not been given enough information and I've an awful feeling I'm going to need to get Azure." With that, she quietly stepped outside to place some kind of call. Things didn’t ever stop moving on this ship.

Trinity frowned as Pthalo left the room. Something had been strange about that woman, beyond just her reaction to seeing him. If he’d met her before, he certainly couldn’t place her. With not much else to work with, he sighed softly, sat back down, and started petting Payne. His good eye scanned the room for any possible exits— he hoped this wasn’t turning into a trap, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

 In the hall outside, Pthalo breathed a sigh of relief as the call was answered. Azure’s voice on the other end emanated confusion. "Azure, who is Mr. Jericho? I feel like maybe you've lied to me given Cadet bolted at the sight."

At the sound of her name, Cadet halted and turned to walk back towards the med bay. She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Shit, ok. Pthalo, I don’t think she knows either.” She leaned over to speak into the receiver as well, addressing Azure. “I mean, unless you do know him, in which case that’s a whole different ball game.” 

Azure's voice over the comm came through with thinly veiled annoyance. "At most, he's a family client, and that's really stretchin' the definition. I'm on my way up, hold on a minute." 

Pthalo looked at Cadet. "What's the issue? He's here for cybernetic treatment, we're sending him on his way after."

“Well, hopefully that’s all he’s here for,” Cadet said. “I’ve only met the guy once, and his intentions were fine that time, if a bit misguided, but...” She lowered her voice a bit. “He works for Fate. I never got his name, but I recognize that face. It could be a coincidence he’s here now, but I don’t like it. We can’t take chances when that bastard’s involved."

It was at that moment Azure stepped out of the elevator to join them, hanging up the call as the doors opened. "He never mentioned anything about his work. He needs his eye fixed, it isn’t movin’." Her left hand fiddled with a set of goggles in her pocket. 

Pthalo rubbed her temple again. Someday she’d have an aneurysm, and then they’d all be sorry. "Let's take care of him first and you can question him after. The man's shirtless in my med bay and I'd like him out so I can focus on some more important matters."

Cadet sighed. “Alright, fair enough. But we have a decision to make.” She looked around at the other two. “Are we telling Perry? Either he already knows she’s here, or he’s actually totally clueless again, and I don’t know how to tell. Plus, Perry basically told the guy they’d kill him if they saw him again. We might be looking at a tussle if things don’t go well.”

Azure glared up at the ceiling, trying her best to figure out how not to out who her mother was in the process. "He isn't here because he was specifically lookin’ for me, even. I really don't think he knows Perry is here. It seems he’s just real unlucky, not everyone can be God’s favorite." 

Pthalo's gaze bored into them both, but she said nothing.

Inside, Payne took to licking Trinity's face.

Cadet stared Azure down for a bit, as if she was trying to pull more details out of her with nothing but a steely gaze, then sighed. “Ok. I believe you. We just have to hope Perry stays away from the lab while you work, then, and best case scenario he leaves without ever knowing they’re here.”

"I'll take him straight down." Azzy wasted no time, stepping into the med bay with her hands in her pockets. Payne immediately ceased her licking and barked once. "Sorry Payne, you'll have to end your bath for now." She shifted her gaze to Trinity. "C'mon, we've got work to do. Doc cleared you so we're set."

Trinity smiled slightly as he got up, with one last pat to Payne and a quick backwards glance at Cadet as he followed Azure down the hall. He still couldn’t quite place her. Maybe it was the voice that was familiar, but she’d barely spoken directly to him so he didn’t have a lot to go on. His best bet was to do as he was asked without asking questions or protesting. Acting like something was wrong was never a good idea in a situation like this. Better to ride it out as quickly as possible.

Azzy led Trinity to the elevator and hit another button, much more alert and tense than when she first greeted him. As soon as the door was closed, she turned on him. She didn’t mince words, tone dry and calculated. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped against all hope he wouldn’t try and call her bluff. Perry’s safety depended on it.

"Who are you, and why are you here, and how did you get that number?"

Trinity took half a step back in the tight confines of the elevator, feeling a strange sense of deja vu. A knife-sharp British accent echoed in his mind-- ‘I know why you’re here. Do you?’ He kept his voice as steady as possible, easily slipping into the icily calm tone drilled into him through years of practice. He didn’t want to give her a reason to jump. “I’m Trinity Jericho, I’m here because my right eye doesn’t work, and I found the number after weeks of digging trying to get ahold of your mother so she could fix it.” He held his hands out, palms up, though despite the gesture of surrender his expression never wavered. “I swear on the Jericho name.”

Azure stepped towards Trinity, her diminutive height the only thing stopping her from truly towering as she searched his gaze. Static filled the elevator, making the hair on his neck stand on end. After a moment, she seemed satisfied, and the elevator doors opened. She shook her hands a little, and the crackling coming from them ceased. Her slouch returned. "I believe you, you don't seem the overtly underhanded sort. I'm sure I'll find out I’m wrong once I’m dead, though." She walked out and led him to a workshop with a single long glass wall, and one wall covered in plans and blueprints and molecular structures and anatomy drawings, some printed and some by hand. She gestured to a seat in the middle of the room. "How's your pain tolerance?"

Trinity frowned at Azure’s back as they headed into the room. She was certainly one to watch. That static was highly unusual, even among the most powerful cybernetics he’d worked with. “High. Especially around the eye, since the nerve’s completely cybernetic.” He sat, crossing his arms. “I don’t particularly enjoy being out of the loop,” he said, conversationally. “Would you care to explain any of that?”

Azure considered Trinity’s comment as she rummaged in a drawer. "I sure would love to, but that seems like it would invoke the ire of someone best left alone." She glanced at a screen and filled a syringe. 

"I will tell you one thing though; no one on this ship knows who my mother is, and it's best that it stay that way. The illustrious Dr. Zaraya is understandably tough to reach, and if every cred-hoarder with an itch for a bionic-dick knew I was out here and capable of practice, not one of us on this ship would get any of the privacy or quiet we need, least of all me." She turned and gestured to his arm while she continued. "I'm no good at lyin, it's usually better that I just don't say a damn thing, but this ship with all it's colorful backgrounds make that a little tough, and so on occasion I’m called to do some talkin’ I’m not suited for."

Trinity let out a long breath. “Alright, give me a moment to run that through my southern drawl translator.” There was a surprising level of joking sarcasm in the comment, despite the situation. Maybe because of the situation-- it seemed like his ability to keep that calm exterior was waning a tad. The sarcasm seemed more natural for him, somehow. He paused, then continued. “First of all, no one will get this number from me. I didn’t intend to find it in the first place, although I’m glad I did. And yes, the other people I’ve met so far do seem… colorful. Who is it you don’t wish to make angry, the woman with the... metal arm?” He frowned as he said it, as if the words had some deeper meaning to him, but the look was gone in a moment.

"Cadet's just fine." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and held the syringe next to his arm. "One, two, three." She poked him, pressing in the plunger as she spoke. True to his word, he didn’t flinch. "It would seem you're just the ladder climbin' sort, which isn't the worst thing to be, truth be told. That just tends to not sit well with certain members of our little crew here is all. Bein' well connected is dangerous, and it's why I'm gonna have to be the only one you let touch this eye of yours. Anyone catches the signature on it, you're in for tinkerin'." She walked back over to her desk after removing the needle and started digging through drawers filled with various tools. "The problem with your eye can be handled without taking it out. It's not infected, and it looks like you take care of it exactly as you were told, so it oughta be a case of replacing a coupla nodes and maybe beefin up the temp control to preserve 'em for longer."

“Perfect. I don’t plan to let anyone see it, anyway. That’s why I was looking for your mother to do this in the first place. It’s best to keep it among people who already know how it works.” He smirked slightly. “On that note, since you know how it works, you can be confident I’m not bugging this ship. And as for improvements, I won’t say no to anything that makes it less likely I’ll have to impose on you again for a while.”

"It's every cybernetics engineer's dream to make an installation and never see the person again, while somehow knowin' nobody else touched it." She passed him an eye patch. The front of it was embroidered with a skull and crossbones. It was very clearly from a costume. "This is for your good eye. I'm turning this one off, so you can't watch me mess around. Tends to freak the brain out."

He gave the patch an expressionless once over, but pulled it over his good eye without comment. “I’ve been walking around with this one not moving or processing depth for over a week, and seeing at maybe half capacity. I think my vertigo has vertigo.”

Azure allowed herself a little giggle of amusement. It came out somewhere between a laugh and a snort. "Tell me about it. One little thing goes haywire and the whole thing stops workin'." There was the quiet buzz of a tool he couldn't see. "I'm a…” She searched for the term that preserved her identity best. “...fully integrated user, and sometimes, if I don't do maintenance at the exact right time, my ankle shuts off. I trip and drop whatever I’m holdin’ and it’s just a damn mess."

“Yes, I noticed the sparking. Unique, although that’s not surprising considering who your mother is. I’m no expert, but I’ve done a lot of research to make sure I use and care for mine properly. This is the first time it’s broken in a way I can’t fix since I got it, which is a testament to quality if I’ve ever heard one.”

"Flatterin’." It was said with amusement, but she was hard at work, her hands occasionally brushing against his face, gentle but sure. "You're one of the smart ones, although that's because you don't treat 'em like a science set the way I do." She took a step back and hummed, the toe of her heavy boot tapping against the floor. "Remind me of the finer points of this thing. I recall the Babylon project well enough for my part in it, but I'm sure the good doctor put somethin’ else in this sucker for you."

“Right. I have found that the best ways to learn are observation and experimentation. I imagine you’re a bit of a climber yourself.” He smirked. “You probably know most of this, but I’ll give the rundown. The eye’s really just the center of the implant, there’s a cybernetic nervous system in place spreading from the optic nerve to the brain stem. The biggest feature she added besides the basic eye functions is the sensor. If I can get a clear line of sight to anything tech based, my eye can communicate with it and set up a one way sensor. Video and audio, streamed directly into my brain’s image processing centers. I can only have one up at a time unless I want to make my brain bleed, according to her. I’ve never tried. It’s extremely difficult to find even if you know exactly what you’re looking for. If it does get found, it’s one way so it doesn’t trace back, and it's programmed to decode itself if you dig too deep. Nothing’s infallible, though, so I prefer it if people don’t know I can do it at all. People tend to be suspicious of you if they know you have a nearly undetectable way to spy on them, and I prefer that people trust me.” He gave her a sardonic smile, seeming to recognize the irony of that statement, before continuing. 

“In terms of other cybernetics, there are a few implants I have that aren’t directly connected to the eye.” He patted his thigh. “Leg taser, installed separately by a different engineer. It’s basic tech, off the shelf. The other one’s connected to the same neural network as the eye, but it’s kind of a filter function, like an extremely fast-working cybernetic liver. I can drink all day and never feel it if I so desire, and it’s extremely useful if I think someone’s trying to poison me.” The bitter twist to his lips made her wonder how often that kind of situation came up in his daily life.

Azure looked him up and down, deep in thought. She didn’t say anything for a minute or two, and then she stepped forward to continue her work. "Who put in the liver filter? Cybernetics take up a lot of energy, alcohol is a great fuel for short bursts of speed or even to power the taser...." She was mumbling now and a few sparks flew from the eye and landed to cool on his cheek before he heard her set the tool down and grabbed another one. "Wouldn't be hard to add something to give you a digital readout to an outside device to track things filtered, the filter itself could probably use an analyser update depending on when you got it, and if they're hooked to the same network but the thigh isn't, you're running at half energy efficiency and that's a cryin’ shame.”

Trinity heard a soft click and his eye turned back on. Azure was holding a board in front of him with a few lines on it. "Here, calibrate a minute before you take the eye patch off."

He nodded and obeyed, taking note of the changes she’d made as he waited. The site of the prosthetic felt slightly cooler than it used to, a little less noticeable and more comfortable. His sight seemed to be back to normal, but there was the suggestion of a zoom function tickling at the back of his head. She hadn’t mentioned that part, and it wasn’t immediately obvious how to activate it. Rather than experiment further, he returned his attention to the question she’d asked him.

 “Your mother did most of the installation on the neural network, including the liver. I was a bit worried about poisoning at the time so I asked if cybernetics could do something about that. She went a bit above and beyond with it, but I won’t complain.” He blinked the eye several times, adjusting to the return of his sight. “Honestly, those updates sound helpful. I’ve taken to externally charging the taser so it doesn’t drain me so much, but I’ve got some burns to show for it when the external charges overheat or don’t line up right with the implant.”

“Lord mercy, do not ever charge that externally.” She frowned in his periphery, a cringe at the mention of the burns. “That’s how you wreck your actually organic nerves until they’re crispy. We're fixin' that today, shouldn't be hard. Where'd you have your main port installed?" She started circling his seat and looking him over, eyes narrowed as the gears began turning in her head.

“What’s a little more nerve damage?” He quipped, but it seemed offhand. He was too busy ‘searching’ the eye for any further functions to notice, squinting and experimenting as he looked around the room. There was an almost hungry look of excitement on his face as he did so, as well as evident relief at the more comfortable feeling. Somewhere in his brain, he found a "camera" function, complete with what felt like an output...idea? The suggestion of a way to export something. After a moment he seemed to process her question. He tapped the back of his neck, between the tops of his shoulder blades, easily concealed by almost any clothing. Just above it was a large, elaborate tattoo in the shape of a Celtic trinity knot, and another tattoo of a crumbling wall stretched across his toned back, curving over his spine and around his shoulder blades. It seemed meant to join up with the half-destroyed tower inked on his collarbone opposite the birds. The birds were flying towards it, she realized. Towards the wreckage-- or maybe away from the crumbling wall? As with all his tattoos, the placement and detail must have been painful. No wonder his pain tolerance was high.“Here. Direct to the spine.”

She walked around him once more and pulled a triple ended cord seemingly from nowhere. She handed a screen to him, one already set aside for herself. A few taps of her screen, and his lit up with a mapping of his nervous system and the cybernetics attached to it. "Oh man, you see that jumble there?" She points to what looked like a tangle of cables in his neck. "I'm going to move those."

“Go right ahead.” He watched the screen with clear interest, a cousin to the hunger she’d noticed in his eyes before. “Did you make this? What a useful way to interface. I usually just end up poking around until I find what I need, but it’s much more efficient laid out this way.”

She kept tapping and then suddenly, he could not feel his liver or taser. But he could feel, as if through a fog, something sliding beneath his skin. On the screen, tendrils of nodes and wiring pulled away from nerves and muscles.

"Yeah, made it myself. Diagnostic tools're incredibly helpful, do you not have one?" She wasn’t looking at him, looking intently at her screen. "The extra screen you're holding I programmed myself, I figured it was useful for those of us who're a little on the paranoid side when it comes to physical interactions. I'm tryin to find a way to adapt it to standard medicine but my expertise isn't in temporary cybernetics, so I'm still doin’ research on how to make that work."

“I have a simple one, but it really only works for the taser because that’s standard. It gets confused trying to diagnose anything your mother did, and sets off all kinds of alarms when nothing’s wrong.” He grinned as he watched the wiring pull away on the screen. “Yours is… intriguing. I’ve dabbled in temporary and external cybernetics, just a part of my business, but I’m not the company expert. Maybe it could work like a cybernetic endoscope, where you swallow a camera in order to watch the live feed? It would have to be adapted and attached in a way that it could view the nerves, though, instead of the throat or digestive system.”

"That's an interestin’ idea, I'll look into it." She sounded genuine enough, for how distracted she looked. More tapping, and the wiring changed direction, beginning to spread along the length of the spine and daisy-chaining itself along the vertebrae. "As for the diagnostic tool, it makes sense that the consumer basic one wouldn't work with Ma's design. I'll get you one that works, I got plenty, and upkeep's important enough to your health that it's gonna be necessary anyway." She laughed a little to herself. "Not to mention I feel annoyed FOR you with the false alarms."

He chuckled too, nearly too quietly to hear. “Yes, I’ll admit it is frustrating. Thank you... Azure.” It took him a minute to remember her name, having only heard it a few times since boarding the ship, but as soon as he did, his brow furrowed, like he was remembering something. “...What was it you called that other woman, before?”

She glanced up at him, confused, but returned to her work a moment later. "Pthalo? The doctor?" After a moment, her brow also furrowed, and she squinted at him. If he was putting pieces together, then she really needed to get him out of here, for his own safety. "...or are you talking about Cadet?"

His fingers dug into his thigh. She winced, visualizing the newly placed wiring i'm there, but he didn’t flinch. “Cadet, that was it. Now where do I...” he paused again, thinking, and as no more explanation seemed to be immediately forthcoming, Azure returned her attention to the screen.

His liver reconnected, and so did his taser. She continued tapping on her screen, and slowly but surely, a couple more function concepts entered his brain. "You should feel a little less tired at the end of the day now, and you shouldn't need to eat nearly as often."

He shook his head, looking back at her. “That’s going to be quite helpful, thank you. And how do I activate the other functions you added? I can tell there’s a zoom function in the eye, and a few other things, but I don’t know your signature.”

She looked up at him, confused for a moment. Then something clicked, and for the first time since he'd met her, she looked bashful. "Oh, my bad. I always forget about new people." She scratched her head. "It uh.... requires some attunin’. I don't like tellin’ people how to live their lives so-" she waved vaguely at the air, "you'll need to assign a thought pattern or physical movement to each of them, and it'll write to the main core."

“Smart.” He smiled. “I’ll have to take some time to do that later. I like the way you have it set up, though, where I know it’s there without being told. It feels natural.” He still sounded a tiny bit distracted, like he was lost in thought, but genuinely happy about the developments.

"I don't like being overly aware of mine, so I assume non obtrusive is the way to go for others as well." She detached her cords and handed him his shirt, and started rummaging through her things, head in cupboards. "Let me know if things start actin’ strange, I'll send you my regular ping address so I don't confuse you for Ma again. That line isn’t really supposed to ring unless it’s her, you can imagine how confused I was."

Trinity stood up and pulled his shirt on, buttoning it all the way up once more.“I appreciate it. Thank you for the tune-up, as well as the other updates. How much do I owe—“ he froze suddenly, his eyes widening and mouth falling slightly open as the puzzle he’d been trying to solve all afternoon suddenly clicked into place. For some reason, even as his face grew more expressive, his voice became less so. He quieted, as if afraid someone outside the door would overhear. “Ah. I should really leave.”

"Oh it’s only a few-" She squinted at him, and then sighed. She’d REALLY hoped to avoid a freakout of any kind. Her voice remained level and she carefully closed the cupboard she’d been digging in. "You frequent a very specific bar, do you not?”

He nodded with a tight little smile, and began to move towards the door. “If I recall, you owed someone 10 credits from that little situation.” She almost had to strain to hear him, even from just a few feet away. “They asked you if having an eye like mine was possible, to verify my story. That’s where I heard your name. And you knew from before we got in the elevator.” He faced her, expression deadly serious. “I will swear to you again that I didn’t track anyone down to get here except your mother. But I’d prefer not to be found here, just in case someone else doesn’t believe me.”

She sighed again, hands crackling once more as she shook them. Sparks flew to the ground and petered out. “That bet ended in a draw, thanks to Ma. Follow me, move quiet, get your hat on and don't talk." She looked at a nearby screen for a moment, thinking, nodes at her joints beneath her skin glowing a pale purple. "I believe you, there's no way for you to have found that number without knowing who my ma is. You're not gonna die, I can talk them down, but that's not something I WANT to do because I’m shit at talkin’, so let's just go." She brushed past him and began her trek down the hall.

He did as she said, pulling the cap down over his face and following behind her. “I know I’ve already been recognized, so I assume the only reason I’m still onboard is that you and the others who saw me agreed not to share that information.”

Azure sighed as she entered the elevator, bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet. "Cadet recognized you, but I don't think she or Pthalo really want to bother you at this point." She glanced over. "One hell of an impression you must have made, if your neck wasn't snapped on sight." She curled her hand into a fist and then shot her fingers out over and over, little static pulses emanating through the room each time. "I don't think I need to tell you that you can probably find a much better role model than the one you've got. Partially because you can probably tell by now, and partially because my opinion ain't gonna matter to you much."

He shook his head incredulously, and backed up just slightly from her crackling hands to lean against the elevator wall. “You know, I think this is a first for me. The only other people I’ve met who treat me like a criminal over who I work for are business competitors.” He sighed, still watching her hands carefully. “I appreciate the opinion, but no one’s perfect. He’s a great leader and a great businessman, and at the very least I can learn from that. I don’t appreciate his advances towards your friend, and I understand the danger he poses, but considering how well defended everyone on this ship seems to be, is it truly this much of a problem?”

Azure looked at him, her voice measured. The accent seemed to disappear with how carefully she spoke. Each word dripped with weight. "Did you ever think about why he tries to find her, when she so clearly doesn't want to be found? Did you really think about the fact he does this so often, so routinely, the same way every time, to the point where if it had been anyone else that had made that eye, if it was any less high tech or more well known, you would've probably ended up helping him find her whether you meant to or not? You don't know what he did before he got to be the cutthroat he is, and why he's that way to begin with." She glared at the elevator doors as they opened. "You're a climber, and that's all well and dandy, so you probably don't really care all that much because it's none of your business, therefore it shouldn’t have anythin’ to do with you. But it is OUR business. And we don't like him because he's maybe the lowest life form we're aware of, and we care for our own."

He watched her as she spoke, expression impassive. Silence reigned for a few moments after she finished, and he used the time to process her words before responding, slow and calm. “I understand. I have accepted that I am a criminal to some, and I’m sure it’s justified in many cases. At least I can appreciate your loyalty. I have some of my own.” He looked over at her, meeting her eyes with a directness that seemed to cut through all the tension between them. “Here is what I can promise you. No one will be getting that number, and no one will learn anything about this ship or who’s on it from me. I’ll pay you for the fix and improvements, and hopefully stay well out of your way from now on. But if the eye breaks again... I’d rather have you fix it than anyone else. I’ll understand if that isn’t an option.”

Azure looked up at him and something behind her eyes softened, though her hands continued crackling. She looked almost concerned, even after her diatribe. The elevator doors opened once more, and she began her beeline to the docking bay. "I'll always fix somethin' Ma made when it breaks. Hopefully it doesn't break often though. The bill will reach you later. Won't be much, I made some easy adjustments." She looked back at him. "And I never said I thought you were a criminal. I said your boss sucked ass. I think you've got lofty goals and an eye for progress, and for some people the ends to that progress justify the means, and I’m not really one to act like I know what’s right or wrong in that situation."

“Fair enough.” He watched her hands with just a touch of apprehension, and adopted a slightly more casual tone. “If anyone here could be considered a criminal, I wouldn’t be too surprised if it was you and your friends. Not that I have room to judge.”

She laughed. "Hey, I'm just the mechanic, unregistered custom implants notwithstanding. You'd be behind on your paperwork too if you tinkered as often as I do."

“I realize those implants are absolutely not industry standard… but neither are mine. I doubt anything your family makes is. You realize you could easily rip me apart using those, yes?”

Her brows shot up into her beanie, then quickly lowered themselves as she ran numbers in her head. She looked down at her hands, crackling with nervous energy, like they were an interesting puzzle. "...I hadn't thought about it. I wouldn't know where to start to get the accuracy high enough to accomplish dismemberment." She looked at him, expression far away and distracted. "...SHOULD I be able to rip you apart?"

He huffed out a quiet breath, on the edge of becoming an anxious laugh. “I’d very much rather you didn’t! I’m just saying I’ve never seen anything like your cybernetics before. You’re telling me you’re that powerful of an integrated user and you’ve never realized what you could do?”

She looked down at her arms, and her brow furrowed. "I'm always tinkerin’ with 'em, I knew they were good but I figured the market for 'em was high enough someone else would've had 'em figured out as well eventually. I guess throwin' trains isn't a common necessity. Technically it's not necessary for me either but....I need them to be like this to accomplish the goals that I’ve got for later. I’m on a steppin’ stone right now." Her face was almost bewildered. "...I could kick Crim's ass."

“You shouldn’t be directly fighting anyone, with that kind of power!” His volume rose a degree, and he clamped his lips back over the sound before anything else could escape. Logically, she was probably joking, but the idea of what she could do to another human being with those tiny, sparking hands was genuinely unsettling. He removed his hat to run a hand anxiously through his hair, replacing it immediately afterwards, and muttered something to himself that sounded a bit like the beginning of a Hail Mary with a touch more swearing. This was certainly a different side of him than the buttoned up businessman that had presented himself in the ship’s airlock a few hours ago. “Trains. Jesus. I’m damned glad you haven’t decided I’m your enemy, Azure.”

"Shit, me too." She would have giggled if she didn’t feel sort of foolish for not having the realization herself. "It's not that hard, I just eat a lot. It only gets tough when I'm nervous." The airlock was within sight now. She gestured ahead. "Your ride is waiting."

He shook his head, letting out a long breath. “I feel like I’ve dodged at least three bullets and I’ve barely been here an hour.” He held out a hand to her with a crooked smile. “Nice to meet you, Azure. It’s been bad for my blood pressure.”

She shook off the static again and shook his hand. "Pleasure's mine, Trinity. See a doctor about that." She gave a little wave and hollered to no one in particular, "Disembarking personnel bay five, open the airlock!"

And with that, the doors slid open.

Trinity gave her a final wave before that cool businesslike persona reasserted itself over the person Azure had somehow caught a glimpse of-- someone who smiled, baby-talked dogs, and bastardized Catholic prayers if you caught him off guard. Shoulders back, he turned and strode down the gangplank to where his own pod waited to return him home.

Taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @glitterandstarshine @rainbowcoloreddays @the-starlight-chills @erased-in-stone @charlottedotexe

General: @elywritesbydarkness @residentofthedisc @humour-and-hyperfocus @skyfirewrites

[ask-mrradiodemon]

Valentine's Day ~ A Radiodust Story

A/N: This story is largely based on the canon of my RP blog, which I'm posting this on now, and the things that have developed here over time, rather than actual character canon. Having said that, each individual should be in character, and I hope you're all able to enjoy nonetheless. Cheers, everyone

Ao3 Link (since SOME people found it early-)

TW: Brief mentions of alcohol and believing love is unrequited

Baking and cooking are often time consuming activities that can take a toll on anyone's health. Doing so for twelve hours straight three days in a row only makes matters worse, and would cause any normal person to pass out. Of course, the radio demon was far from being a normal person, rarely ever needing sleep. But without a moment's rest, exhaustion was bound to take over at some point. Alastor nearly failed to arrive to the venue on time.

But not quite.

The room in question was something that had previously been old and abandoned; a ballroom in the back of the hotel, complete with a stage up front and a floor made for dancing. It took Niffty nearly a full day to clean up the cobwebs, dust, and creatures that had made it their home, but with the light shining in that space by the end, it was more than worth it. The empty room wasn't enough, though, of course. Decorations had to be put around as well, and with Alastor busy with the food preparations, that task was assigned to none other than...

"Charlie, you've done splendid! Absolutely marvelous!" It was more than a relief when she heard that her decorations were up to Alastor's standards. During the hour of him inspecting each individual piece, only a few tweaks were made. Moving a banner two inches to the left, tightening the knot that held a balloon to the ground, going so far as to change the color of the tablecloth where the food was meant to be placed. Charlie hadn't been nearly as busy lately, but she still worked hard as hell on that. With her work in place and finished, Alastor dismissed her to go get ready for the evening's events.

"So are you gonna fuckin' tell me why you're doing this to begin with?"

Ah, the telltale voice of a drunk man. Not that Alastor was surprised, of course. Without hesitation, he simply made his way over to the barman's table, upon which laid a dozen different drink types. Coffee, hot chocolate, lemonade (pink and regular), tea, juice, and even the soda Alastor had hazardously taken from the upper world's. Under the table, just barely hidden by the cloth, was a large bottle of fine wine: Husk's motivation to be here.

"Well I believe I've said it before, my dear! I've never celebrated an event such as this, and a dance is the perfect method to encourage camaraderie and building relationships among staff!"

Husk was not the least bit impressed. "Right, so that's your canned response you've been givin' to everyone for the past two weeks. In case you don't remember, I've known you longer than these assholes, and you're not like that. So spill."

Alastor didn't respond immediately to the… Question? It was more like an order. Either he had to think of a convincing enough lie, or tell the truth. And since the latter was not an option, and Husk had already broken through several of the excuses Alastor had given, there weren't many options left.

"If you're just gonna give me more bullshit, then don't even bother saying anything." Ding.

"Very well then! I won't! Make sure you're on time this evening, six o' clock sharp!" With that, Alastor simply walked away, with Husk facepalming in the background.

Only ten in the morning! There's so much left to prepare! Hot chocolate couldn't be made more than an hour early, and many of the foods had to be fresh and warm to ensure they were at top quality. At least the cookies, cake, and appetizers had been finished the night before; things would be slightly easier today.

--------

Alastor was never grateful to have an extra pair of hands assisting him. Or, well… three pairs.

"So? You got it figured out yet?" While Arakniss worked on following the recipes that had been laid out for him, Alastor was gathering ingredients for the ones yet to come. Many of which, he promptly dropped after hearing that question. That gave Niss a much needed chuckle; no matter how many times they talked about this, it never failed to send Alastor short circuiting.

“Yes, well… I believe so? Things have been… Written out, and… Well the decorations are gorgeous, you should see them!”

Niss only rolled his eyes at the nervous deflection. “You’re gonna do fine, dance lessons will come in handy soon. Be dancin’ with my fratello before the night’s over, easy.”

Somehow, the thought of that wasn’t as comforting as it should have been. For that to happen, Alastor would actually have to go through with his confession, and Angel would have to actually accept it. Even with that low likelihood, if it managed to happen, Alastor’s online lessons in tango may not have been near enough to actually perform it well. In front of everyone else that was invited.

"There's a very good chance I could step on his feet. Hooves are a bit more rough than normal shoes."

Niss gave a half laugh, half scoff at that. "Look, you're gonna do just fine. I know it pretty decent, you need some last minute practice?"

Alastor glanced up to the clock. Three hours left, and most things only took a few minutes to prepare…

"That would be quite nice."

--------

So far, things had run smoothly. Husk wasn't offering anyone alcohol, Niffty was cleaning up the little spills and crumbs, and the dessert table was quite the success. Almost all the savory and sweet things had been eaten, with Angel seeming to take a particular favor to the strawberry cookies. Though, if Alastor had been honest, he wasn't paying much attention to everyone else. With Angel's plus one being Cherri, they'd had enough fun with all the energetic songs to make time fly past. Alastor had tried choosing the playlist for the evening, but Vaggie took over that quickly once she saw the old things he was choosing.

Thirty minutes left until everyone's curfew. Thirty minutes left until the end of the event. And Alastor hadn't said a single word to anyone besides Husk, about refilling the drinks when things ran low, and Charlie, assuring her he was keeping an eye out for any damages while she enjoyed the night with her girlfriend.

It was now. Or it was never. Alastor gave a gesture to some stranger that had been volunteered to run the music, and it was cut off as the radio demon made his way onto the center of the small stage.

"I hope you're all having an enjoyable time here. I simply wish to say a few words, a toast, if you will, without the drinks. To our honorable staff members, that worked hard to make this event what it was." Only Charlie was the one aware that was bullshit, that Alastor had planned everything out himself and only allowed the others to help if absolutely necessary. He'd done a very good job of hiding the bags under his eyes, she noticed.

“As you all know, I have given many speeches throughout both life and death. Though many have been broadcast, many a time has it been an intimate gathering among those I… used to consider my friends. As one might predict, never in those speeches have I been at a loss for words or needing to plan things out. Until of course… Now. Perhaps it is because you are no longer strangers, and yet you are far from friends either.”

“I told you we couldn’t trust him.” As quiet as Vaggie’s words were, Alastor’s ears picked them up easily. His smile faltered for only a second, unnoticeable to anyone besides his newfound friend Arakniss, standing in the doorway out of sight.

“You see, in the many months since I joined this staff, I have grown to consider you all as…”

...of course. Alastor knew this was going to happen. Each time he tried to show any kind of gratitude, his throat closed up and he was unable to say the dreaded, emotional words. At least, this time, he had prepared.

“Family.”

To say that everyone was shocked, not only at the appearance of Alastor’s shadow clone standing proud next to him, but at the words it said, would be a terrible understatement.

“It is no secret to most of you that I have… unusual levels of difficulty expressing certain emotions, whereas my “friends” here have no trouble at all.” The last part of that phrase was said with slight menace, though not towards any of the members of the hotel; he was quick to learn how his shadows had been finishing his thoughts recently, filling everyone in on the feelings he would rather have kept hidden. There was a reason most of them, all except Al’s own, were banned from the event.

“As such, I am placing my trust in my other half,” accented with a bow while Alastor gestured towards it, “to help me today, and to ensure my meaning is not changed due to my own inability to speak my mind. Beginning with Charlie…”

As soon as the name was spoken, the shadow was no longer by his side, now standing in front of Charlie with a smile. Naturally, Vaggie reached for her concealed knife, but the shadow simply reached out a hand to take Charlie’s own, placing a small kiss on the top of it.

“When I first arrived here, I did not hesitate to let you know exactly what I thought of this idea of yours. Though I still do not believe the end to your means is possible, you have still managed great success, in your own way. Just look around!” Alastor twirled in a circle, using his microphone to gesture to the crowd in front of him. “More and more people are smiling like they never have before! Whether your ultimate goal ends in complete failure, or minor success…”

Silence. And then another gesture with his microphone, this time to the shadow, who spoke in his characteristic deeper, distorted version of the radio demon’s own voice.

“Your kind heart has made a great influence on many people. Hell is lucky to have someone such as yourself to be next in line for power.”

Ignoring the shocked expression on each face, the shadow moved on before anyone was able to comment on the uncharacteristic compliment, stepping to stand in front of Vaggie and perform the same gesture. Or at least, attempting to do so before she pulled her hand away. In response, the shadow simply crossed its hands behind its back.

"My dear, I'm well aware that I have done very little in an attempt to impress you, or not rebut the many tales you've heard of my name. In truth, I'm gar more used to having enemies than friends. If anything, you had the most expected reaction!" With that came a chorus of laughter, all background noises created by Alastor himself. Surprisingly, she didn't consider this situation funny.

"But, regardless of your views on me, allow me to share my opinion of you. Rather abrasive, tough, and perhaps too defensive." Vaggie looked as though she was ready to run upstage and punch him, only held back by Charlie's hand on her arm. "Yet undoubtedly, you are strong-willed and protective. Indeed, an admirable quality, one that I self proclaim to share." A quick bow and gesture of the microphone, a humble gesture though it contradicted the previous phrase. "It is for this reason that I greatly… respect and admire you.  Perhaps one day, I can earn your favor, as you have mine."

The shadow moved with obvious intention past Angel Dust, but if anyone in the crowd noticed, they didn't comment. Rather, it made its way straight to the bar, quickly summoning a bottle of fine wine rather than attempting any sort of contact.

"Husk! My old friend! I trust that you've warmed up to me more since your arrival, my part in recent events having /nothing/ to do with that, I'm sure."

The resulting middle finger gave Alastor all the hint he needed; keep it short, the relationship was Arakniss wasn't public knowledge yet. "But regardless of that, or the intoxicating reasons you've chosen to say, you've done each individual here- a great service by staying, and we are lucky to have you."

The shadow didn't need to approach Niffty; she had been following it around since the beginning, and now its eyes were on her.

"My darling, you're quite the hard worker at this establishment. Enjoy it or not, you've likely done more work in a day than I ever have as co-owner! Though your job isn't what I'd like to mention." If anything, she was more confused than anyone else. "You're rather invasive, you like to listen in on my private conversations, and you are very persistent in matters that are, frankly, none of your business.” Niffty looked almost heartbroken. “However, in doing so, you are never critical or judgemental. Rather, you are kind, encouraging, understanding. For each of these reasons combined, you are the obnoxious, lovable little sister I never had.” The shadow dissipated as she tried to hug the incorporeal being, but a hand ruffled her hair to reduce the disappointment regardless.

“As for the final member of our staff-” The shadow quietly approached Angel before Al held out a hand to stop it. “We will speak another time.” The quiet whispers in certain patches showed that he wasn’t the only one who knew precisely what that phrase meant, but of course the shadow couldn’t simply leave things up to fate. Rather, he told a hold of angel’s face once the crowd’s attention was redirected, whispering “mon cher” in his ear, so quietly no one but Angel could hear. He may not have spoken a word of french, but with the odd seductive tone, he at least hoped he could figure out the meaning.

“But, enough of the sappy things. It’s a wonderful night! Célébrer, my friends, celebrate!”

Angel was quick to run as the peaceful buzz started and anyone could ask questions, as was Arakniss, but to stop Alastor from collapsing as soon as he was out of sight. His knees buckled and Niss was the only thing stopping him from hitting the floor.

“...what have I just done?”

Arakniss didn't have a fast enough answer before Angel came in through the back door, looking unusually pissed off. "Al, what the fuck was that about!?" Immediately, Alastor stood up and pushed away the guiding arm that was intended to steady him.

"I- My apologies, but-"

"You're really gonna go and say nice shit to everyone but me? And make it fuckin' obvious? Geez, if you really hated me that bad you shoulda just said so." Angel had a lot more to say, but with Niss standing behind Alastor motioned for him to shut the fuck up, he kept quiet for only a second.

"I… did not wish to… say certain things in front of the staff, is all."

"Well go on and spit it out then, I'm listening-"

"This is quite difficult enough without your argument, if you would please allow me to speak."

Something about the sincerity, and unusual level of fear, in Alastor's voice made Angel fall silent as Arakniss excused himself out the back door. A quick memory came of the phrase the shadow had said to him, though it didn't last long once it showed up again, taking Angel's hand as it had Charlie's.

"You're very… irritating. You're overly lewd, and brash, and there's many things about you that spark my wrath easier than anything." Alastor couldn't get any further than that, and an awkward silence followed. Angel staring with a mix of anger and confusion, while Alastor felt his face growing brighter red with each passing second. They had a script to follow. Just like the ones he had written for everyone else. Yet he couldn't remember a single word of it. Part of him just wanted to run, allow Angel to finish enjoying his night, and never speak of this moment again. Part of him also knew he'd never forgive himself if he did that.

"You're enchanting." No going back now. His shadow had full control, and all Alastor could do was stand there and watch. "I can't express how much I care for you. My eyes have been on you since the first day we met. Your eyes, your voice, your personality… All beautiful. I'd give you the world should you ask for it. I've been enamoured with you since the day we met, and I'd be honored if I could call you mine."

There was silence for about a minute, and no one moved. Angel held an unreadable expression, and Alastor's heart broke when he eventually pulled the hand away. Here comes the rejection he knew would happen. At least now, he could be able to move on.

"Look, Al… you're… really amazing, like… Holy shit, I…" Angel laughed and shook his head, pushing back his hair with one hand. "If I had any kinda common sense I'd shove ya against the wall now and kiss ya, but…" He nervously glanced at the shadow, and Alastor's heart rose into his throat as he realized what might need to be done.

"It's… Weird. Not havin' you say it. I mean it's you, but… Not really. And it's kinda hard to believe it's real if I'm not hearing it from you."

Alastor wasn't sure what exactly Angel expected him to do. But what he actually did was nod silently as his smile began to fade, and walk out the door, leaving the distraught shadow behind with a shocked expression.

"Don't look at me like that! It's fuckin weird, like if my brother had just gone and told him all the stuff I think about him. You can't blame me for that!" It didn't respond, fading out into the darkness. Angel didn't have much choice but to head out back to the party, where the final song was playing. A tango. Hand-picked, for the dance that Alastor had spent over a month learning, not that Angel would ever learn that now.

For the first time, Alastor allowed himself to cry in front of someone else as soon as he met Arakniss outside.

He cared. He really did. Angel cared for him.

But that meant nothing if Alastor couldn't learn to say the words out loud for himself. Such a bittersweet feeling. Besides the occasional choked sobs, not a sound left his mouth. If he couldn't learn to say the words, all his work will have been for nothing. Somehow, knowing that was worse than if he had just been turned down.

It had been over two weeks since Alastor had attempted to sleep, and four days since he had any rest at all. Too busy.

"When you allow your heart to lead you, it drives you off a cliff."

[antichristsxbox]

Knight in Shining Armor - Part Three

Read part one here!

Read part two here!

Summary: You and Michael begin to plan your wedding but encounter some trouble. Also, warning, this is a little smutty! :)

From the writer: Hey guys! This is my favorite chapter of this fic I’ve posted so far. Please excuse any typos, I proofread it a few times but there’s so much to proofread as this chapter is fairly long; I think I got carried away. Huge shoutout to @jocelynscloset​ for proofreading this for me as well! All likes and reblogs are appreciated + if you liked this fic, feel free to check out my masterlist! :) Update— here’s part one, here’s part two, and here’s part four + here’s my masterlist with more fics!

Word count: 2,329

Darkness looming out your window with a faint orange glow in the background. Grey clouds gather in the sky and high branches on dark trees release dead leaves, blowing across your viewpoint in the dry, warm wind. Hot, but not humid, Stagnant, but not predictable. Every day similar, but not precisely the same as the last. Rising up from your soft pillowcase, silky sheets run past your fingers as you lift them from your body and stand up. Today was the day to start planning the wedding, and you were fairly excited to begin this journey with Michael. More importantly, you were excited for your new life ahead with your soon-to-be husband. 

Quickly dressing in a simple black gown and cast-iron tiara, you make your way to the dining room for breakfast. Always punctual, Michael is sitting at the opposite end of the table. Previously focused on what he was reading, his head perks up and his curls oscillate near his face when he hears the door open. Standing to greet you, he gives you a small hug and kiss on the cheek, then makes his way back to his side of the table. In the middle of the elongated table, there’s fresh fruit, fluffy biscuits, oatmeal, sausage, eggs, yogurt, many different kinds of muffins, and a few more indiscernible items— all at your disposal. You begin to think this enormous spread is excessive for every meal, but who else would eat this food from Hell anyways? Certainly not the already-dead (or undead?) residents. 

“I was just looking over the invitations for our wedding, Dear,” he says, looking up from the cards in his hands. Invitations, you think. This must mean this is going to be a long, drawn-out process. You can’t complain about him wanting to get this right, but at the same time, you are growing more impatient. You were plucked from the relative safety of your tower, dragged to Hell, and now stuck here to wait for a wedding. But, you must remind yourself to respect his wishes and go with the flow of his elaborate wedding plan— it would be the least you could do to thank him for rescuing you. 

“I am certain they look wonderful,” you affirm, sitting down and pouring a cup of coffee. You reach for a blueberry muffin and set it down on your place.

“More importantly, you should choose a dress— we can decorate to revolve around your choice,” he says, looking up and giving a bright, excited smile. You give a small smile back before your attention trails back to your muffin as you slowly peel the paper back, letting it fan out little ridge after little ridge.

“Of course, I’ll choose a dress today,” you say, still looking down at your muffin, now picking at the loose crumbs. 

Realistically, Michael says they could pull off the wedding Saturday or Sunday. Having lost track of time, you learn it is now Monday, looking at the calendar Michael sends to your side of the table via telekinesis. For the remainder of breakfast, you sit and make small talk with Michael. Further planning of the wedding cannot be done without a central theme or color to follow. For the Antichrist, Michael seems pretty sociable and knows how to hold a conversation well. He knows of many things Above that would keep you entertained— sports, politics, and the latest fashion trends in the major cities. Perhaps a dress modeled with a wide skirt and big sleeves, such as what’s popular in London, he insists. Or, taking inspiration from the wide skirts, elaborate lace details, and parasols from Charleston, similar to the styles you grew up with, he says. Perhaps Hell could put together a lacrosse team, as you’ve expressed your enjoyment of the sport to Michael before. Many great athletes are sitting down here doing absolutely nothing. There would be no task too great for Michael to attempt in effort to make you happy. You try to convince him that any dress in your closet would do, yet you have had a traditional, white dress in mind. Asking about further details, you said you would let him handle the specifics and other decorations, as he clearly has good taste— this castle is beautifully decorated and perfect for a wedding, you assure him. The castle would be perfect even with no special preparations, you guarantee. 

Eventually, you excuse yourself from the table so you could go back to your room. As you open the door, an almost sickeningly-sweet smell surrounds you and wafts itself near your face with every step you take— similar to how when too much vanilla extract is added to baked goods, the taste becomes bitter rather than sweet. As you search for the offending foodstuffs, a note is laid flat on your bedside table along with five slices of cake, each a different flavor with a different icing. The note is from Michael reading that you should try these, then let him know which you would like at the wedding reception. Simple enough, you think. Going in line from chocolate, to vanilla, to lemon, to carrot, to red velvet. All are delicious, but red velvet has always been your favorite flavor. You must have experienced a small sugar high from tasting those cakes, because now you’re bone-tired and ready for a nap, despite it being only a little past eleven. Seeing as the details for the wedding have been mostly sorted out at this point, you feel no remorse sinking back into your silky sheets and velvety pillows. 

Waking from your nap, you check the clock to see how much time has passed— it’s only noon, almost time for lunch. Stepping off your bed, you walk towards your mirror and reach for your hairbrush. To your surprise, your once (y/e/c) eyes are now a pale silvery-white color. Perhaps Hell is taking more of a toll on you than you thought. Running the brush through your soft hair, you begin to let your thoughts wander about Michael. How could he deny you in your advances to be intimate? After the wedding, it would happen eventually anyway, so what does it matter? You’re on edge, pent-up, and in need of gratification that only another could provide. Sitting around and playing with yourself has become a daily ritual at this point, but more importantly, it’s boring. There’s only one option left for you to have your much-needed alone time with Michael— seduction. 

One element of seduction is having a somewhat-unattainable nature. When leaving for breakfast, Michael asked if you would join him for lunch. You said yes, but decided to ditch last-minute. Why? Because that makes the next time you see him even more precious. You’re hard to get. Another key to seduction is looking appealing for the one you’re trying to seduce. You begin to brush your hair up and pin it in a loose bun then pull a few of the shorter, loose pieces out to frame your face. Scouring the seemingly endless supply of makeup on your vanity, you find a faint red lip gloss. Having big, glossy lips appealing for most men, you think. Sure— they’re kissable, but they’re also useful for other bedroom activities as well. Picking up a small mascara wand, you open the compact that holds the dark powder and add a drop of water. Mascara helps make your lashes darker and eyes appear more open and awake. Some more face powder is applied to even out your skin, then blush is used to make you seem flustered and ready for Michael.

Time passes slowly when you’re anticipating something, but you manage the rest of the day by reading as well as relieving yourself of your pent-up desire. Many times, you thought of Michael as your hands traveled down to your warm heat. Fingers dipping in and curling up inside, hitting your innermost walls. Your muscles would clench around your fingers, wetness turning into sopping mess. As you became more relaxed each time, you were able to fit two, then three inside. A fourth was attempted and achieved, but the pinky doesn’t do much for you, being so small— you’re able to go harder with only three anyways.

Eventually, it was five o’clock. Michael normally returns to his room between five-fifteen and five-thirty to begin getting ready for dinner at six. Your hands make their way to your back, and you untie the corset you were wearing. Next, the slip you were wearing under your dress goes. In your armoire, you find a red, silky robe with a matching tie. This will do, and it’ll be very easy to take off. 

Peeking out the door to the hallway, you scan the area to make sure nobody is out there. It would be embarrassing to be caught in only a robe by anybody other than Michael. After realizing the coast is clear, you run towards his bedroom and open his door. Quickly shutting it behind you, you walk towards the bed and let your robe drop to the floor. Climbing on his bed, his sheets feel just as soft as yours. A slippery sensation occurs when your freshly-shaved legs glide across the bedding as you spread your legs. Your hand travels down once again and begins rubbing circles on your clit. As your wetness grows, two fingers circle around your entrance until they can be submerged. Small moans escape your mouth when you push your fingers up, hitting a sensitive spot inside. 

Clunk! you hear as the heavy door is pushed. A slightly louder moan ensues, realizing that it is likely Michael at the door. Immediately after the door opens, a loud boom! ensues as Michael quickly closes the door. Slowly, a creaking noise reveals the door just slightly ajar, and you can make out Michael’s voice clearly when he speaks. 

“Darling, I believe you’re in the wrong room.”

Your feet hit the cold floor as you stand up from the bed and walk towards the door. Loose tendrils of hair bounce next to your face, glossy lips are reflective in the candlelight, breasts bounce slightly as you walk. You open the door, grab Michael by the tie and yank him towards you, then shut the door behind the two of you. He would have resisted, but he is so surprised that you would have the audacity to do something like this, it’s stunning. 

“I’m right where I need to be,” you say, taking your hand and resting it on the side of his face before leaning in for a kiss. He abruptly pulls away before you get the chance to make contact. Michael turns to the coat rack in his room and throws you the first thing he could grab. Begrudgingly, you wrap yourself in his long coat then step towards him again. 

Once he turns to face you again, you step closer and hook a leg around his waist, pressing into him as close as possible. A moan slips past your lips as your cunt makes contact with his pants, but your pleasure is cut short as he gently shoves you away and steps back. He is now visibly upset, looking down towards the floor, sighing, then biting his lower lip. 

“I cannot describe how this makes me feel, even after I explained why I was doing what I’m doing,” he says, stepping closer again— Michael is attempting to seem stout and serious. You look up to meet his captivating blue gaze. His lips are pressed together in a firm line. As you make eye contact for a few more seconds, Michael’s brows begin to furrow in confusion rather than anger.

“Step into the light, Dear,” he says, moving towards a table with a tall candlestick. Your eyes are pale, demonic, and possessed. This is not you. 

“Also, the red velvet wins,” you say nonchalantly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What?” he questions with an even more confused tone than look on his face.

“That cake you left me? To try for the wedding?” you say, a slightly annoyed tone in your voice. 

This is a big ‘aha’ moment for Michael. The imaginary lightbulb has now been lit above his head. 

“Go to your room, please. Do not eat any more of that cake. I will be there soon.” 

Michael then goes to the foot of your bed and collects your robe for you, turns his back as you dress, and sends you off out to the hallway— after checking if anybody else was there, of course. Once you’ve left, Michael looks for his knife with the silver hilt and rubies on the end as well as on the sheath. It’s time for a nice, long father-and-son conversation. 

“Ave Satanas,” Michael says softy, allowing his blade to pierce the skin on his wrist as he drags it up the length of his arm. He repeats this with his other arm, and blood begins to fall from his body to the floor, joining the bloody pentagram he is kneeling above. He closes his eyes focuses on summoning his father, in need of an explanation and guidance as to what is happening. 

“Son,” a raspy, ominous voice says from nowhere, the voice just as prominent in every corner of the room— coming from an all-encompassing, all-powerful force. 

“Father, please, what have you done to my bride? How can I fix it?” Michael pleads, voice breaking mid-question. 

“You must give yourself a chance at producing an heir. Give her what she desires from you and she will return to her original state.” 

Satan’s words lingered in Michael’s head; this is a sad predicament to be in. An emotionless, sex-hungry woman fiending after a well-protected integrity. Determined to keep his original promises to himself, Michael knows what he must do. Standing to clean the blood from his arms and body, he checks the time to see if the officiant has gone to bed yet.

///

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[thesandersarchives]

The Immediate Aftermath (2)

Again, what it says on the tin (or: a continuation, focusing on Remus and Patton). Rated T. Intruality, background platonic Thomas&Patton. Fluff, Hurt/Comfort. 1693 words.

Patton’s hand stays firmly in Remus’ grip as they plod along after Thomas, and for that, Patton is immensely grateful. It’s a grounding pressure, and without it he may well fall apart.

It’s clear, though, at least to Patton, that the gesture isn’t only for his benefit. Remus is trembling, his fingers twitching occasionally where they’re interlocked with Patton’s own, and he’s pale--well, paler than usual. Although, Patton wonders, perhaps that was only ‘usual’ because of his... situation.

Patton cringes internally at the wording of his mental monologue, but how do you simply describe someone mentally and physically bonding with a whole colony of psychic supernatural worm-things in any other way? 

Patton’s no good with words, never has been, but he’s pretty sure even someone who’s as good at speaking as Logan, or his maybe-boyfriend, would find it difficult to accurately sum up what Remus has been through--what all of them have been through--in a single little sentence.

He gives Remus’ hand a squeeze, shoots him a smile, and watches some of the tension leave his frame. He doesn’t quite smile back, but he does move a little closer, bumping shoulders with Patton occasionally as they continue to their destination.

Thomas is quiet in front of them, and even though he can only see the guy’s back Patton just knows he’s wringing his hands.

“Thomas?” He calls out, soft as he can.

“Huh?” The man in question stops and spins around to look at him, eyes wide and full of a mix of messy emotions that all combine into what Patton can only describe as ‘desperation’.

“Thanks.” Patton offers him a smile, same as he did Remus, and reaches out to pat him on the shoulder before remembering that he’s still covered in grime. He winces, retracting his hand, but tries to laugh, for Thomas’ sake.

Remus nudges him, relaxing his hold on Patton’s hand. “Go for it, Pats, he’s already got dirt on him from when you guys were hugging earlier.”

Patton blinks, and notices the dirt streaking Thomas’ shirt for the first time. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!”

Thomas finally smiles, the first real smile Patton’s seen from him, and shakes his head. “Honestly, I needed to wash this shirt anyway. It’s fine.”

There’s an awkward pause, then, and Patton realizes that Thomas is a bit too much like him--he’s not going to ask for what he needs. It’s up to Patton to take the initiative, show him that it’s okay to reach out.

So he pulls Thomas in for another hug, intending for it to be shorter this time because he doesn’t want to overwhelm the poor guy, who’s probably had more hugs in one day than he’s had in years, and that’s only two hugs, and suddenly Patton’s crying, crying for this boy in his arms who grew up thinking he couldn’t love and be loved, who’s missed so much--

And then there’s a musty smell and an arm around his waist and Remus is there too.

“Figured since you’re already covered in dirt, a little worm goo wouldn’t make much difference.” He says, muffled slightly by Thomas’ now-ruined t-shirt, and Thomas sort-of laughs, a huff of breath signaling his amusement (or is it relief? Perhaps it’s both) like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to properly, actually laugh.

Patton almost cries harder at the thought, but somehow, he manages to pull himself together and pull back.

Thomas looks between the three of them and grimaces. “I’ll grab us all a change of clothes in a bit. Um, there’s one bathroom just here...”

He opens a door, and Patton catches a glimpse of a fancy-looking clawfoot bathtub as well as an overlarge enclosed shower. Beside him, Remus goes very still, but Thomas continues, turning on his heel.

“The other one’s just this way--”

“Actually, kiddo?” Patton interrupts, “I think Remus and I could probably share. I mean, if you don’t mind taking the tub instead, Ree.”

The shorter man practically crumples into him in his obvious relief. “That sounds perfect.”

Thomas’ face is faintly red--whether it’s from Patton calling him ‘kiddo’ or the idea of him and Remus together, Patton’s not sure--but he’s quick to fish out some bath supplies from the cabinets, promising to leave some fresh clothes by the door as soon as he can.

And then it’s just the two of them in what would be a comfortable silence, if Patton hadn’t been so used to a more... boisterous version of Remus.

This Remus is quiet and contemplative, and despite not knowing him before the colony took hold Patton’s certain that this is not the way he used to be.

Patton takes the lead, then, letting Remus get out of his filthy clothes while he fills up the tub with bubbles and warm water (not too hot, in case his skin is too sensitive, the worm scars haven’t healed up as much as either of them would like). He’s grateful for something to do, not just because it’s a distraction, but because this way he doesn’t feel quite so helpless in the face of Remus’ struggles.

Patton disrobes and steps into the shower while Remus climbs into the tub (Patton catches a glimpse, not that he’s trying to look. It’s disconcerting, how many scars there are from the worms, and the fact that he can literally count Remus’ ribs worries him even more, but he tries not to frown or shudder or anything like that while he’s still in Remus’ line of sight--it wouldn’t be kind, it wouldn’t be fair)

There’s another long moment of silence while Patton starts on the arduous task of washing the dust and grime out of his hair. Then Remus speaks, his voice still a little rough from everything that happened earlier.

“Pat?”

“What’s up, hon?” Patton responds almost automatically, only registering the pet name after it’s left his mouth. He can’t see Remus’ reaction to it, but there’s a pause before he speaks again, and Patton dearly hopes he hasn’t crossed a line, hasn’t moved too quickly after the loss of the colony--

“Would, uh... Could you maybe... Sing? Or, or just talk to me, or something, anything that makes noise--I need it to not be quiet right now, but I don’t--I don’t...”

Remus sighs heavily, and before he can start up with some self-deprecating remarks Patton interrupts, putting as much cheer into his tone as he can without it sounding forced. Or so he hopes.

“Sure thing! Any requests?”

They spend a few minutes going back and forth about songs, because Remus’ taste in music tends towards the strange and obscure, and the songs he names are ones Patton’s never heard of before, but every song that Patton suggests is too mainstream for Remus’ liking. Then it devolves into Patton teasing Remus about being a ‘music snob’, but despite the fact that they’re bickering, the mood in the room is considerably lighter for that little while.

Patton ends up humming a lullaby from his childhood while he rinses the conditioner out of his curls, and when he’s finished, he starts with another, cycling through tunes from his favourite old cartoons until he’s all scrubbed clean.

When Patton towels off and steps out of the shower, he sees that Remus is still in the tub, staring at his hands with his lips pressed into a thin line. Patton wraps his towel more securely around his waist, and approaches gingerly. Getting closer, he can see that while Remus’ hands and arms are clean, the state of his hair and face is relatively unchanged, and Patton frowns.

“Remus, sweetheart, did you want some help with your hair?” He leans in, catching Remus’ eyes, and the other man nods, once.

“Thanks.” His voice is tight, like he’s trying to keep the shaking in his hands from creeping into his throat. Patton doesn’t comment, just nods and gets to work.

He’s interrupted about halfway through by Thomas knocking on the door, letting him know that he’s got fresh clothes for the both of them. There’s a tremor in his voice, and Patton hesitates before responding.

“Would you mind waiting around for us? I’m not sure we can find our way around this place without you.” He keeps his tone light, and Remus, bless him, has been shaken out of his own thoughts enough to pick up on what he’s doing, and manages a sound of agreement.

Patton rinses the last of the shampoo out of Remus’ too-long hair. Remus’ head is tipped back, his eyes closed, his lips set in a relaxed smile. He looks so much happier, healthier, more vibrant and alive and himself, and Patton is overcome with the urge to kiss him--on the lips, cheek, forehead, anywhere Remus will allow.

He runs his thumb down Remus’ cheek--gently, the scars are still fresh, not-quite-healed, more like wounds--and he asks. Quiet. Timid. Remus opens his eyes and looks at him for what feels like a long time. Blinks.

And then one hand rises up from the soapy water to curl around the back of Patton’s neck, drawing him in closer until he’s leaning over the edge of the tub. Remus brings him in oh-so-slowly before he seems to lose his nerve and turn to the side, though he rests his head against Patton’s rather than leaning away.

Patton waits a moment before tilting his head up and pressing a kiss to Remus’ temple, the gesture soft but lingering. When he pulls away, Remus gives him a watery smile, his hand coming to cup Patton’s cheek briefly before he lets it drop back below the surface of the water.

It’s a much shorter process to finish drying off and changing into fresh clothes--Remus gets a little giggly after a few off-color remarks set Patton stammering and fumbling over the slightly too-tight shirt Thomas has given him, but at least there’s no sorrow, no heaviness, nothing to cloud this strange but somehow lovely private moment.

Remus immediately reaches for his hand as Thomas leads them back down the hallway to find the others, and it’s the nicest thing that’s happened to Patton all day.