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planetwaynez · 11 months ago

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FLOWERS AND GOLDEN STRINGS

CHAPTER ONE

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Soulmates AU!

Chapter Synopsis: Jason knos how things works, how people get togheter and how Fate is always working, he just wonders when it's going to be his turn to be loved. Y/N loves her job, she loves the tiny, comfy flowershop and her co-workers and costumes, but it's still Gotham and wierd things are bound to happen, anyways.

WARNINGS: mugging, self-deprecating thoughts, wierd interections, Jason punches a guy, it's pretty chill for a first chapter.

WORDS: 2,2k

TAGLIST: @27drunkdeer @solarrexplosion @mariam12344 @nyxisnotok

Soulmates. The golden string floating around them doesn’t lie and neither does the golden string tattoo that shows up almost right away around their pinkie fingers.

Jason watches dumbfounded the scene in front of him. Of course, count it with Red Hood to help you find your forever and always while saving you from a mugging in a 7-Eleven.

Jason scoffs as the couple hug each other, even the guy that was trying to take the money from the cashier stopped in his tracks watching the scene.

“Are you some type of cupid?” the guy with a ski mask asks. The reason why? This is not the first time that the Red Hood is the bridge between soulmates. It happened last month during a rescue in The Narrows after Ivy decided to transform Gotham into a jungle. It happened four months ago when he was stopping a guy from stealing an old lady. It happened one year ago at the Iceberg Lounge while he was taking care of a few Crime Lord Things.

It seems to be a recurring thing with Jason. He seems to be destined to find others soulmates but not his, apparently.

“No” he answers, bittersweet, and punches the guy in the face knocking him out cold.

In the back he can hear the police coming and he knows it’s his cue to leave but Jason can’t help it but to look at the new couple once again, noticing that they already seem so in love with each other. Reluctantly, he leaves the 7-Eleven, with a new theory about himself in mind.

What if he is only meant to, truly, help others in this lifetime? What if he is not meant to have his own forever and always? Maybe this is all due to his death and resurrection, maybe way before that, maybe before he was born, Fate already knew he was not meant to be a whole soul in this lifetime, maybe this is who he is and he has to be ok with that.

The engine roar of his bike is not enough to make his thought spiral stop, it seems it only makes him think more about the things he doesn’t have. The wind is cold and its blowing at him, making him take a deep breath, even with the helmet on he is grateful for the cold in Gotham tonight, it calms him down.

It's almost six in the morning, so he stops at one of his safe houses. This one is special, he thinks to himself as he gets inside, since it was the first safe house that he got after he started controlling the pit madness, this house, this is like a home. Its purely and entirely his. From the tiny kitchen with all the things he needs to the couch in front of the TV and the bookshelves in his bedroom. The bathroom with one mirror for him to shave, the black courtin dividing the showerhead from the rest. The round table in the kitchen and the two chairs, one for him and one from when Alfred or Roy comes visiting, the toys in the living room in a big pink box for Lian.

This is a safe house and also his safe space, his little heaven on Earth and that’s why he only comes here after patrol when he needs comfort. He can’t risk people finding out about this place but this time he is just so tired.

He needs a hot shower, and some tea, and then a deep sleep until the odd hours of the day. But he gets none of that because when he steps his foot inside the house, his phone starts ringing. It 's Roy.

“Good Morning, Jay!” Roy’s voice is excited on the other side of the line and Jason knows he had a full night of sleep just by his friend's voice.

“Morning” he answers, voice tired and he can definitely feel a headache forming behind his eyes at this point. But he needs to know what Roy could possibly want at the time of the day.

“Jeez, what happened?” the redhead asks and Jason wants to laugh when he thinks about the 7-Eleven encounter.

“I just put two soulmates together, by accident, again” Jason answers, taking his combat boots out and lying on the couch, letting his muscles relax a little bit from the tension he's been feeling lately.

“I can’t believe this” and Roy laughs, because yes, it is a laugh type of situation. Neither Jason can believe his luck at this point. “You have some type of superpower, Jay”

Jason sighs, he thinks its more of a curse but he says nothing about that, changing the subject of the conversation.

“What do you want? Must be a reason for you to call, right?” he says instead, trying to forget the patrol and Roy understands. Deep down, both of them know that Jason is a hopeless romantic and just wants to find his soulmate, but he seems to be running out of luck for himself.

“Just wanted to remind you that Lian’s birthday is this sunday” the line goes silent, they both know that Jason forgot and it's already saturday morning and he didn’t finish preparing Lian’s birthday present. “You coming, right?”

Jason can’t not come. It’s Lian, after all, his little sunshine.

“Yes, of course I am,” he answers, knowing that he will have to go earlier to patrol tonight to come home earlier and have some sleep before he takes his bike to New York City to attend Lian’s Tea Birthday Party in the afternoon.

“Good, she will be so happy to see you” Jason can tell Roy is smiling, because he is also smiling thinking about a little front toothless Lian smiling at him on sunday.

“Yeah, I will be happy to see her too” taking a deep breath, Jason takes his body armor off and relaxes a little bit more on the couch “I gotta go now”

Telling each other goodbyes, Jason gets up from his couch and goes to his bathroom after talking to Roy to take a hot shower, thinking about the only missing piece of Lian’s birthday present. A bouquet of flowers.

He wants to make his goddaughter feel special, so he bought the doll that she's been talking about for months now and decided to give her flowers, since she loves them so much. He also wants to give her a good example of what a guy or a girl should do to make her feel special, that’s his and Roy's goal, to give Lian all the safety they didn't have when younger.

Jason thinks about that little flower shop near this safe house, this little flower shop he always goes to, just to see if everything is alright when they close late at night, since they are situated near The Narrows, and he knows the owner from when he was a street kid, he takes care of that place. Mrs.Sullivan was always kind to him and he is just repayin that, in his own way. He could go there to buy the flowers, but he will be in full Red Hood gear, since he has his time counted from now on.

Clicking his tongue, Jason finishes his shower and puts in some sweats to sleep. He gives up on the tea and goes directly to bed, thinking about how he will make a bunch of civilians feel not threatened at all when he enters the flower shop later that day.

It’s almost seven pm and Y/N is tired. The flower shop was busy with clients and with the arrival of the flower supply, but she can’t be sad about it, the more that she sells the more Mrs.Sullivan will pay her commissions, and she can’t deny it, she loves love. She gets happy to see others happy and with the approaching of the Soulmates Holiday on July 12th she’s been working more than normal and seeing happy people all around, even being close to The Narrows.

She smiles as a girl leaves the store with a huge bouquet for her girlfriend and Y/N feels warmth in her chest, sighing she can’t help it but think about when its going to be her turn to feel the same happiness as the one that is already mated to the other half.

She looks down, annotating another successful sale when the front door opens and makes that little sound thanks to the noisy hinges of it.

“Welcome to the Sunshine Flower Shop, how can I help you?” She says it all in one breath and looks up, with a welcoming smile on her lips when she feels her gut get cold. In front of her is standing one of the most dangerous men in Gotham. The Red Hood.

He is standing there and his presence alone makes the store seem smaller, adding his physic, Y/N feels almost claustrophobic.

“Do you have lilies?” he asks, his voice a robotic tone because of the helmet he is wearing. She gulps and nods, still smiling softly at him, all thought a little worried.

“Which color?” she questions it and he just stares at her, well at least that's what she thinks he is doing, since she can’t see his eyes with the helmet on. The silence is thick and she can feel the air leaving her lungs bit by bit.

“Which color says I love you best?” When he speaks, Y/N takes a deep breath and feels like her head is once again functioning right. The big bad Red Hood just wants some flowers for his soulmate, no biggie.

“Honestly, none of them” silence again. Y/N thinks that she might have just made this guy angry and Jason feels like an idiot for not knowing the meaning of lilies. “But the red tulips mean true and eternal love for someone. And it's also a beautiful flower”

Jason looks at her and tilts his head to the side, he can’t help it but thinks that he probably looks more intimidating this way but she looks extremely comfortable in his presence since he started talking to her about the flowers. He can’t help it but also thinks that she would look beautiful standing in a field of red tulips. He blinks, slightly shocked with his thoughts.

“That will work. Please a big bouquet of those” he watches as she arches an eyebrow and a smirk shows up in her lips, there is also this amused glint in her eyes.

“How big?” she questions it, getting a little notebook and a pink pen in her hands, looking down to annotate something.

“Big enough that I can’t close my arms around it” he says, thinking about how cute Lian is going to look with a giant bouquet of tulips in her tiny arms.

“Ok” she says, a smirk adorning her pretty face and turns around, going to the back to make the bouquet.

Jason looks around, appreciating the little flower shop, always so cozy and almost domestic. He smiles and thinks that this place is just like Mrs.Sullivan and the girl that he was talking to.

A pretty girl. The prettiest he has seen in years.

He feels something grow in his chest and Jason’s hands are sweating as if he is fifteen again. That 's weird. He does get nervous around pretty girls but not like this, not since he got bigger and stronger.

A few minutes later she comes back with an obscene amount of flowers all wrapped up in a pretty bouquet.

“Here it is” when she puts it down on the counter his brain stopped working in its full capacity. The only thing in his mind is how beautiful she is, how sweet and how her smile could heal all his old internal wounds only if she smiled at him every morning for the rest of his life.

He pays, thanks her and leaves with the flowers but he can’t shake this weird feeling out of his chest everytime he thinks about that flower shop again.

“She loved you know that, right?” Roy asks Jason as they watch Lian hug her new doll and smell the bouquet of flowers. All the little girls and boys around her are mesmerized with the size of the bouquet and the moms are looking at Jason as if he is some sort of Knight in shining armor. Roy has that smile on his lips that always means that when they finally get to be just the two of them, the redhead will make sarcastic comments about the situation to Jason.

“I know” he answers, looking fondly to his goddaughter, that is talking her friend's ears off about the doll and the flowers that he just gave it to her. “I planned a lot this gift and I am so happy that she loved it”

Roy knows Jason like he knows himself and he is sure that his best friend is hiding something from him and it involves those flowers that his daughter loved so much. He looks at Jason and makes some mental notes about the brunette, anything that could indicate this weird behavior but the only thing Roy notices is the fact that Jason can’t look longer than five seconds to the bouquet.

“When this party is over I want to know what happened at the flower shop” Roy says slowly and with a big smile, to not attract people's attention to them.

“I will tell you don’t worry” Jason answers in the same way, thinking that even if he tries he can’t hide things from Roy, ever.

And that, sometimes, like right now, sucks.

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nb-octopus-writes · 10 months ago

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once you're in the hive, the other bees assume you're supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Summary:

Virgil accidentally gets absorbed by his best friend's brother's polycule.

In his defense, they keep feeding him every time they see him, and Patton's cooking is really good.

Chapter 1: Halloween Party

Wordcount: 1.9K

There are a lot of people Virgil doesn't know at this party. Remus is here, somewhere, and Virgil needs to find him again before the party ends, because Remus was his ride and he doesn't want to get left here. Janus is here too though, and Virgil doesn't think Janus would let Remus leave without him, and he's sure Remus wouldn't desert Janus, so he's trying not to worry too much about the fact that he doesn't currently know where Remus is.

But that's it for people Virgil knows, and Remus didn't even bother to introduce him to anyone before fucking off to who knows where, and Virgil’s certainly not going to walk up to a random stranger and introduce himself, so he's currently appreciating the snack table. If he's eating or deliberating on what to eat next, he can't be expected to talk to anybody, right?

“’Scuse me, itsy bitsy,” someone says from behind him, and Virgil turns to see a vaguely familiar man in a dazzling prince costume holding a fresh plate of deviled eggs.

Virgil moves so that the prince dude can set the plate down on a clear spot on the table, and frowns. “I'm taller than you, Princey.”

Prince dude shrugs, plucks one of the eggs up, and takes a large bite. “Lucky you, or we'd've had to ask you to vacate the premises,” he says. “No little spiders allowed, real or fake.”

Which, yeah, now that he's mentioned it, Virgil had noted an extreme lack of spider-themed decorations, which is unusual for Halloween. Usually there'd at least be spiderweb cupcakes, but the cupcakes at this party are mostly cute ghosts.

There's probably a good reason for that, Virgil realizes with a sinking feeling. “Should I change?”

“You got another costume handy, or were you planning on spinning a spider-silk cocoon and metamorphosing into a butterfly?”

Virgil grimaces. “No,” he admits.

Prince Dude considers him. “It's not very realistic,” he says, which is true. Virgil hadn't been going for realism, he'd been going for passable costume I can make on short notice. He's wearing black jeans and a black hoodie, and he'd cut some pool noodles in half and wrapped them in more black cloth and stuck them to his back for the other four legs. It had been a pain to get them to stay in place properly, actually, and he'd ended up sewing their wrappings to the back of his hoodie in order to keep them where he wanted them. He'd been pretty proud of it, given that Remus had dropped “we're going to a costume party at my brother's house” on him like an hour beforehand, but now he's wishing he'd come up with any other idea. He could have put a sheet over his head and been a ghost, or something. Granted, that would have required him to have a sheet that was both white and that he was willing to cut holes in, which he didn't, but still.

Prince Dude continues to quietly scrutinize Virgil, and he wants to squirm under his gaze. Eventually, the guy shrugs and says, “Might be best to ask the scaredy-cat himself. Wait here, I'll be back.” And he saunters off before Virgil can answer.

For lack of anything better to do, Virgil picks up a deviled egg and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. It's really tasty, actually, and now he's wishing he'd taken smaller bites rather than horking it down in one.

Virgil had thought that Princey was just being mean with the “scaredy-cat” thing, but the guy he's talking to now actually is dressed as a calico cat. Prince Dude points back at Virgil, and Mister Calico Cat glances in his direction, then turns back to Princey. Virgil can't hear what they're saying, but he supposes Prince Dude must've asked Calico if Virgil’s costume was too creepy crawly scary.

They talk for way longer than Virgil had expected, and he can't tell if Calico's response was more like “No, he's fine,” or more along the lines of “Yes, that's terrifying, please have him removed immediately from my sight and also my home.”

He occupies himself with another deviled egg. If he's going to get kicked out, he might as well enjoy some more of this tasty food first.

Oh, fuck. Remus.

Remus isn't going to want to leave early just to take Virgil home, and Virgil still doesn't know where he even is! Fuck!

Well, Remus could have warned him not to be a spider, so if Virgil gets kicked out of the party it'll be at least partly Remus's fault. Virgil doesn't know anybody here, but Remus knows at least half these people, and if Calico’s spider aversion is enough that there are no spider-themed decorations in the house on Halloween, that sounds like the kind of thing Remus would know about.

Granted, Remus revels in being gross and annoying, but still! He's not a total dick. He should have told Virgil.

Fucker.

Calico vanishes into the other room, and Prince Dude comes back over to Virgil. He doesn't look like he's about to kick Virgil to the curb, at least. Virgil braces himself anyway.

“Good news!” Princey says with a grin. “Li’l Mister Muffet says you don't look like a creepy crawly death dealer and he doesn't have the urge to remove you with arson!”

Virgil blinks. “...gooood?” he says slowly. He hadn't even considered kill it with fire being a potential response to his costume. That would have been worse than just getting kicked out of the party, actually.

“Honestly you're much more Doc Ock in silhouette, Spider-Man,” Princey continues. “That helps a lot.”

Virgil glances back at where Prince Dude and Calico had been chatting. “So he didn't leave the room because he can't stand the sight of me?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, he wanted to make another plate of horse devours,” Princey says, reaching past Virgil to grab a cupcake off the table. This one has a little frosting bat.

“A plate of what?” Virgil says, because surely he didn't hear that right.

“Little snacks,” Prince Dude clarifies instead of repeating himself. “Our fridge is crammed with delicious bits and bobs. It's been so hard to resist the temptation to eat them before the party.” He bites appreciatively into his cupcake, then adds with his mouth full, “You'd think he wouldn't notice what with how much he made, but nooo, sneak one chocolate covered cherry before party time and it's a lengthy scolding for you!” Princey sighs dramatically, then cheerfully devours the rest of his cupcake.

“...hors d'oeuvres?” Virgil says hesitantly.

“Yeah, a couple ordervs of deviled eggs, cheese and crackers, and those scrumptious little pinwheel things,” Princey says. Virgil’s not sure if Princey actually doesn't know how hors d'oeuvres is pronounced, or if he's messing with him, but then Princey gives him a mischievous grin that one, confirms that yes, Princey does know what he's doing, and two, is so familiar that it freezes Virgil in place as the pieces click together in his brain.

The lack of a mustache makes Prince Dude's face look different, and so does the way he did his makeup, and he carries himself differently, but it's undeniable all the same: Virgil knows that grin.

This is Remus's twin brother.

Now that he's connected the dots (you haven't connected shit) the family resemblance is clear even to Virgil’s honestly rather faceblind eyes.

This is Remus's brother, and it's his house they're partying at.

… Virgil doesn't remember the guy's name.

Fuck, he should've made sure he at least knew who the party hosts were, especially the one related to his mischief goblin of a best friend.

Well he can't exactly ask now, can he?

“Also like, five types of cupcakes,” Princey continues, oblivious to Virgil’s inner turmoil. “Seriously, have you tried the cupcakes? Chef Boiardelightful made multiple separate batches of different flavors, from scratch. And they're all delicious!”

Virgil smirks. “And did you try to snitch them before the party too?”

Princey gasps theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “How could you accuse me of such a thing!?” he protests with exactly as much dramatic emotion as Virgil would expect from Remus's twin. “For your information, I did not! I merely sampled a portion of the batter left on the spatula after the cupcakes had gone into the oven. Also some of the frosting.”

“He means that he licked the bowls clean,” says a new voice, and Virgil does not jump out of his skin, thank you very much. And even if he did jolt a little, it's nothing to the startled squawk Princey emits.

Calico's back, holding a platter of little finger sandwiches on toothpicks. He offers them up to Virgil, who takes one. “Thanks.”

“No worries, kiddo!” Calico says cheerfully, and puts the rest of the platter down on the snack table. Princey plucks up two sandwiches by their toothpicks, and gets a stern look in response. “Make sure to leave some for the guests,” Calico scolds.

“My delightful and beloved Patissier,” Princey says, cupping Calico's face gently with his free hand. “I assure you that each of our guests could have a heaping plateful of food and we would still have leftovers until next Tuesday. No-one will be going home hungry.”

It really is an impressive spread. Everything Virgil’s tried has been really good. Remus really could have played up the ‘free food’ angle more when trying to convince Virgil to come. If he'd known the food would be this good, then overriding his usual party-related reservations—it's gonna be loud, there will be a lot of people, I don't know anybody, etc—would have been a lot easier. Then again, Virgil probably wouldn't have believed him. He'd mostly been expecting pizza and cheap beer, honestly, not– not homemade delicacies.

The tiny sandwich Calico gave him is lightly toasted, with some kind of sliced-meat-and-cream-cheese filling, and a little green leafy garnish on top. It definitely looks much fancier than most things Virgil eats, and he can understand why Calico doesn't want Princey to eat them all. That probably took a decent amount of effort. He almost feels bad eating it himself, except that Calico had offered it to him specifically, and it would probably be more rude at this point to not eat it.

“Are you sure my costume is okay?” Virgil asks, interrupting the minor squabble Princey and Calico had fallen into.

“Oh, yes, you're fine,” Calico assures him. “Trust me, if you were pinging my brain as an actual spider I wouldn't be in the room right now, let alone standing next to you.”

“Really, cause most cats I know would eat a spider soon as look at it,” Virgil quips, and is rewarded with Calico laughing.

“That wouldn't be very good host-ly of me, now would it?” he says. “I would never eat a guest!”

“Not unless they're a reptile with scallions,” Princey teases, and Calico flushes.

“Hey!” he protests, swatting Princey's shoulder with one hand and trying to cover his extremely red face with the other. Virgil wonders what the reference was, exactly, but doesn't think it's his place to ask. It seems rather personal, from how hard Calico is blushing.

…maybe he'll ask Remus later if he knows what the story there is.

~~~~

Chapter 2: The Morning After

#nb octopus writes #Accidental Polycule Infiltration Fic #sanders sides #creativitwins #Virgil POV #multichapter #1 #royality #mociet #(implied)#polysanders

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tomionefinds · 1 month ago

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Plot Heavy Tomiones

Hello fellow Tomione fans.

We get lots of asks for plot heavy fics so we're compiled a list. None of these are an endorsement. They are ones we recommend frequently, and a few older ones that may have been forgotten. HEAs not guaranteed.

Don't worry fans, we've got a PWP tag too for when you just wanna have fun. :)

If you feel as if we forgot a fic, go ahead and Submit one here. - TF Mods

Presented in order of length

The girl with everything and the boy from nothing by bunnystealsyourcarrots

M | Complete | 36k

A Tomione Medieval Au where a lord from nothing and nowhere surrounds the castle of a princess with the intent to take everything from her brick by bloody brick.

Dimmuborgir by NoFootprintsInSand

E | Complete | 93k

He steps straight out of the shadows one late autumn evening, but she is not afraid. At least not at first.

gloss by peppershark

E | Complete | 93k

"Hermione.” That low, effortless bass thrums in her ear. Coaxing. Sweet as novocaine. “I wanted to explain.” Her glossy lips peel into a sneer. “Fuck off.” A high-school stalker AU set in the 2000s: heavy on possessive!Tom, dark romance

The Anatomy of the Body of God by dillpicklepanic

E | Complete | 125k

Tom didn't ask for another foster daughter. He certainly doesn't have time to be piecing apart her mind, and it's such a pain keeping her sequestered from the press. But give it a week, and he'll change his mind. He'll realize that it's not the worst thing in the world, having a girl like her around. In fact, quite the opposite - unfortunately for her.

Peremo by virennia

Not Rated | Complete | 129k

When Hermione gets stuck in the 1950's, she has no choice but to live her life. And then, she meets Tom.

Well Roared Lion by treeson

M | WIP | 129k

It seemed ironic that the one thing that could ruin the magical world, the defeat of Voldemort, and Hermione Granger's perfectly ordered life was a book. Time-travel fic. Tom/Hermione. DH-compliant.

D'énigmes et Guerre by macsmackeroo

E | Complete | 144k

Tom re-read the letter twice more to make sure he was not hallucinating before refolding it and returning it to it’s envelope. Strangely, the first emotion he felt was not fury, at the absolute audacity of the woman, but rather, he felt hollow. There wasn’t the longing that he would have once felt as a child, wishing to be adopted, there was just…nothing. He did not feel sadness, anger, joy or even confusion. It’s 1943, Grindelwald’s war rages on, and Tom Riddle discovers there is more to the Riddle family than he originally anticipated.

Nightmare by provocative_envy

E | Complete | 156k

A broken time turner shouldn't have sent me back so far. It was unprecedented. Stepping on it--smashing it--nothing should have happened. At most, I should have lost a week. At worst, I should have disappeared altogether. I shouldn't have traveled back fifty-two years; half a bloody century. This should not have happened.

The Prisoner by NerysDax

E | Complete | 180k

Imprisoned, Lord Voldemort is considered a threat of the past. His knowledge is desired by many. Yet, his offer is for one person only: Hermione Weasley-Granger.

Tied for Last by Speechwriter

M | Complete | 244K

Hermione is killed by Voldemort, and is now dead. Well, sort of. Turns out that death is a little more complex than she knew. Ignores epilogue and last 50ish pages of DH.

Shared Flame by LadyMiya

E | Complete | 300k

It all started when two normally clever individuals both had a really lousy day.

Somewhere in Time by SerpentinRed

M | Complete | 342k

Sent back in time by a mysterious person and trapped in the past with a missing Dumbledore and an overbearing, charismatic Dark Lord, they had no idea how much they could dabble with time before the world they had known shattered into pieces.

Serpentine Moves by betagyre

E | Complete | 357k

Medieval Norman Conquest AU. Fourteen years after eloping with a Muggle, Merope Riddle, of an English wizarding noble family, discovers that she and her son are the last of the line, so she petitions for her title and fiefdom back. Meanwhile Lord and Lady Granger are minor nobility who want their daughter taught magic, but Lord Malfoy, appointed by William the Conqueror to rule English wizards, won’t allow an unattached Muggle-born to study alongside young purebloods at Hogwarts. Merope and the Grangers make common cause and betroth their children, thwarting him for now. But war is coming, and a long, dark path lies ahead.

She Rises by giraffelove92

M | WIP | 359k

He watched as the air around her crackled with her magic, and it was so aggressive, so electrifying, that he wondered how this beautiful creature had ever managed to evade his notice – how he'd so foolishly underestimated her from the start." Darkfic.

Birds of a Feather by babylonsheep

E | Complete | 587k

In 1935, Hermione Granger meets a boy in an orphanage who despises fairy stories, liars, and mediocrity. He offers her a deal of mutual convenience, and soon a tentative friendship forms between them—if Tom would ever lower himself to call anyone a "friend". But whatever they have, it's something special, and if there's anyone who can appreciate Specialness, it's Tom Riddle. 1930's-40's Childhood Friends AU.

Strange Attractors by Mistakes_and_Experiments

M | WIP | 598k

Unspeakable Granger wakes up with missing memories in Hogwarts...in 1942. Hermione might not remember much, but she knew that even post-Voldemort, there were many wannabe dark lords she and her friends had to fight against. The world wasn't automatically sunshine and roses just because they've defeated Voldemort. Also, go back? What go back? If she doesn't even know how she got here with all the wounds she had, then there's really no guarantee that a safe way to jump forward exists! Yet the possibilities that are open to her... if she could change the wizarding world half a century earlier, maybe they'd be more prepared against dark lords in the future. Perhaps a better world for the friends she'd left. With this in mind, Hermione Curie (Granger) sets out to use her field healer and master arithmancer abilities to the fullest (if she had to invent a couple of things earlier than they actually happened in her old future, so be it). Not to mention that in her very-biased-opinion, the wizarding world needs to be dragged out of its old prejudices, kicking and screaming if necessary. But who is that particular prefect? Her mind itches at seeing him…

Madam Umbridge Home for Wayward Girls by lovelyvillain

E | Complete | 752k

Hermione’s life takes a dark turn after the death of her parents, leaving her at the mercy of a tyrannical Matron. Her new home is more prison than sanctuary, haunted by ghosts bearing terrible, bloody secrets. And though she is surrounded by troubled young women, it is the men in her life who teach her that freedom comes at the greatest price of all. Victorian AU, Tomione, Dramione, no triad

#tomione #plot heavy #rated ma/e #multichapter #dark #angst #TF curated list

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khywren · 2 years ago

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「 Garden of Eden : Chapter 1 」

summary: Astarion is absolutely drunk on her blood, the exquisiteness of feeding on her the closest thing he has ever had to a religious experience. It is, in no uncertain terms, the most divine thing he has ever tasted.

He knows he's using her. She should mean nothing to him – just one more in a sea of largely nameless, faceless sacrifices – and yet… she’s different, somehow. She’s the only one who’s cared, the only one who’s shown genuine interest in him beyond the pleasures his body can bring her.

And if she ever found out the truth, everything would come crashing down.

pairing: Astarion/f!Reader | Astarion/f!Tav rating: 18+ MDNI status: 6/10 tags/warnings: blood drinking, explicit sexual content, porn with plot, drunk sex, smut, toxic coping mechanisms, depictions of violence/abuse, hurt/comfort, mild angst, frenemies to lovers, word count: 2.6k spoiler warning: full story will contain spoilers for all 3 acts of the game.

a/n: chapters will be posted individually. crossposted from AO3. links to other chapters: [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ]

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The river runs cold against Tav's fingers as she glides them through the icy water, shivering. She's already stripped off her leather armor and rolled up her trousers and the sleeves of her tunic before wading out into the current to wash away the dirt and grime from another long day on the road. She hopes it won’t be much longer before they can have a proper bath.

Lae'zel is certain that the githyanki creche can't be all that far away, and her emphasis on getting there as swiftly as possible has made finding time to rest difficult. After the party was beset by a pack of gnolls several hours ago, the group was finally able to convince her – begrudgingly, of course – to make camp for the night before everyone exhausted themselves completely.

Scrubbing her body clean – or, clean as it can be – is a small luxury, and the water is cold enough to reinvigorate Tav's weary limbs. She crouches now to rinse her hair, carding her fingers through the tangles and letting the current wash away as much debris as it can.

Satisfied enough for the time being, Tav pads back to shore, though her thoughts are interrupted immediately by an almost imperceptible rustling in the dense brambles near the riverbank.

Cautiously, she snatches up the small dagger she keeps belted to her armor, peering into the darkness in silent anticipation.

Her shoulders slacken as she recognizes the lithe form that emerges rather unceremoniously from behind the brambles.

“Astarion? You're lucky I'm not Lae'zel,” Tav says curtly as she sheathes her dagger, yet she still regards Astarion warily, uncertain of his intentions. “She would have speared you on the spot for pulling that little stunt.”

Astarion huffs a laugh and shrugs in a manner that affirms Tav's suggestion. “Yes, our githyanki friend does seem the type to stab first and ask questions later, but it's fortunate for us both that you've a less... impulsive head on your shoulders.”

He says it as though he's fishing for something less cruel than blatantly calling her a fool for letting her guard down so easily, even this close to camp, but Tav ignores the backhanded remark all the same. She's only known Astarion for a few days, but the elf does come off as rather prickly, she thinks. He isn't overtly unkind, though neither is he as magnanimous as he might think himself to be.

Still, he's skilled with a blade and damn useful in a fight, so he's worth keeping around for the time being. The whole camp knows they need all the allies they can get to rid themselves of the tadpoles currently burrowing through their brains.

Tav wrings the last few drops of icy water from her hair and pats her hands dry on her trousers. She can feel Astarion watching her intently in her periphery, as though he has something to say, and she turns wordlessly towards him, imploring him to speak about whatever seems to be troubling him.

Astarion steps closer, his footfalls eerily silent as he moves towards her. For a moment the only thing that breaks the silence is the chirruping of crickets in the reeds along the riverbank, before finally he speaks.

“You're bleeding.”

Astarion's eyes flicker like rubies in the pale moonlight as his gaze settles on an open cut on Tav's face, lingering on a smear of dried blood on her cheek that she had neglected to tend to earlier. His expression feels to Tav like some unsettling weight that bears down on her, and she shifts uncomfortably on her feet, unsure what to do with this knowledge.

Unable to discern the meaning behind his words, she feels quite like a small animal cornered by a predator, tense and ready to strike. She tries to shove the thought away despite her staccato heartbeat. If Astarion really meant her harm, Tav reasons with herself, he could have slit her throat before she had even known that he was there.

And yet, there had been no trace of concern in Astarion's voice – he had merely been making an observation, as if confirming something for himself that Tav was not privy to.

Relax, she thinks, steadying her breathing. It must be the tadpole's doing, the unwelcome Illithid passenger that's causing her paranoia. After so much traveling and fighting, it's not so farfetched that her exhausted body is more susceptible to its influence than normal.

Yet when at last she finds her voice, her unease is regrettably apparent, the words shaky despite her attempts to calm her demeanor.

“Oh, this? It's nothing serious,” she affirms. “I'm sure Shadowheart can patch me up if I really need her to. It's not the first scuffle I've been in, and it won't be the last.”

A wan smile flits across her face as she tries to lighten the mood, yet Astarion remains impassive, unmoving. His chest rises and falls as he inhales a deep breath, almost as if he's scenting her.

It makes her uneasy.

Tav starts and sucks in a breath when Astarion suddenly steps closer and takes her face gently in the palm of his hand, swiping the pad of his thumb across the beads of blood welling from her injury. In the few seconds their skin comes into contact before Astarion withdraws his hand, Tav notes how cold his fingers felt as they ghosted over her cheekbones, trailing icy tendrils in their wake.

It is not unlike the chill of death, a preternatural cold that raises the hairs on the back of her neck. When Astarion presently brings his thumb to his lips and opens his mouth to lick hungrily at the blood gathered there, Tav swears that she catches a glimpse of fangs.

When Astarion practically shivers with pleasure at the taste of her blood, Tav's heart turns to ice in her chest as she begins to put the pieces together in her mind.

“An excellent idea,” Astarion says, his voice a low drawl. “You never know when some bloodthirsty predator is likely to come along and sink its teeth into you.” His grin is wolfish, and again Tav sees the sharp points of his teeth – his fangs – purposely bared.

There's no mistaking it now.

“That boar...” Tav says, the realization coming to her all at once, “the one we found the other day. That was your doing, wasn't it?”

She hesitates on the cusp of the truth she now grapples with. “You're a vampire.”

She's trembling now, despite herself. She's never been face to face with a vampire before; the thought that he had been keeping such a secret the entire time unbeknownst to any of them makes her blood run cold.

Astarion lets Tav process the information she's been given without interruption. He has no plans to harm her, but the intoxicating sight and taste of her blood has made him painfully aware of the dark, gnawing hunger that compels him to sink his teeth into her neck and drink his fill of her all the same.

“I'm afraid so, my dear,” Astarion says simply. The familiar playful lilt is in his voice again, his expression softening somewhat as Astarion tries to reign in his hunger. There are plenty of boars and other woodland creatures for him to feast on, but he knows without acknowledging the thought that even that single drop of Tav's blood has all but ruined him.

It is, in no uncertain terms, the most divine thing he has ever tasted. No wonder Cazador forbade him from feeding on so-called thinking creatures.

“I was hoping you would have put two and two together sooner, of course,” Astarion says presently with a sigh, shrugging nonchalantly. “But I suppose there have been far more pressing matters on your mind lately. I would rather you have found out under more auspicious circumstances, but that can't be helped now.”

Tav swallows thickly and backs away from him, contemplating her odds of running or fighting. Neither option seems favorable.

“So that's what this is?” she asks accusatorily, her brows knit. “You're here to drain me dry and dump my corpse somewhere in the woods?” She finds herself growing angry now; how could she have been so complacent, so stupid not to notice what he was? “The others will –”

Astarion cuts her off with a harsh bark of laughter.

“You think me some mindless killer?” he asks, his expression petulant. “You wound me, Tav.”

He looks genuinely upset by her remark, the unspoken assertion that he is, in fact, nothing more than a monster.

“I didn't seek you out – not intentionally, of course,” he carries on, “but... perhaps this could be an opportunity for us both.”

Tav can see the growing desperation in Astarion's eyes, his carefully crafted mask slipping only momentarily before he rids himself of such useless vulnerability.

“What do you mean?” she asks carefully, narrowing her eyes. She isn't following his train of thought.

Astarion explains it plainly for her. “You give me more of that delicious blood of yours, and in return you gain a far more powerful ally for whatever battles we may face. It's a mutually beneficial exchange.”

Tav isn't sure if he's bluffing or not – he's always so inscrutable, a most unfortunate circumstance at the best of times, let alone now when she could very well be in great peril.

“And what choice do I have?” she finally asks, brow arched. “I'm not really in a position to say no, am I?”

She crosses her arms and stares at him, all feigned bravado as her mind races. She briefly considers trying to force her way into Astarion's mind to pry the truth from him, but the consequences of failure seem far too alarming. The intrusion of one's private thoughts is never comfortable, and she can’t be certain that it won’t go unnoticed. She wants to trust him – after all, he has had ample opportunities to feed on any of them by now and hasn't – but the idea still feels so illogical.

“Don't be foolish,” Astarion quips back, heaving an exasperated sigh. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but the choice is ultimately yours. Simply say the word and I will find something else to dine on. However, your blood will sustain me far better than any common beast, I can promise you that.”

It's the closest Astarion will allow himself to come to begging, despite the fact that every fiber of his being cries out for more than just a taste of the blood surging through her veins. It’s all he can do not to lick his lips at the thought of it.

But he's far too proud to stoop so low.

Tav turns the thought over in her mind, considering. What good is a reward without a little risk?

Astarion waits for her reply with bated breath.

“Do I have your word that you won't hurt me?” Tav asks, her voice flat. If she's going to do this, she wants his assurance that it won't be the last mistake she ever makes. He could, of course, promise her anything if it would make her yield to him before doing as he pleased, but something tells her that he wouldn't betray her like that.

Astarion's eyes widen as her words sink in; she hasn't exactly accepted his proposal with welcome arms, but she hasn't turned her away either.

“Of course, darling,” he assures her. “When you tell me to stop, I shall indulge not a single drop further.”

“…Okay,” Tav says, chewing nervously on her lip. “How do we...”

Astarion's tone is serious once again. “I suggest you lie down,” he says, indicating to a particularly soft looking patch of grass nearby. “It will make this more comfortable for the both of us.”

Tav does as Astarion bids her, tugging the collar of her tunic down just far enough to fully expose the column of her throat before settling herself in the grass, the blades whispering under her weight as she tries to make herself comfortable.

Astarion wastes no time, straddling her hips and bracketing her thighs with his knees, pinning her in place to stop her inevitable squirming.

“You're sure this is what you want?”

Tav looks up at him, dazzled by the way his pale skin glimmers like polished marble in the moonlight, her breath catching as she nods quietly. She hadn't noticed before, but he really is quite handsome.

Her cheeks burn with a sudden rush of embarrassment, her earlier fears all but forgotten.

“Yes,” she murmurs, “just... do it before I change my mind.”

A laugh rumbles low in Astarion's throat as he hovers over her, drinking in the sight of her beneath him. He can hear the erratic beating of her heart, the closeness and the intimacy of what they are about to do affecting her more powerfully than either of them had expected.

Presently Astarion presses his face against the warm column of Tav's throat, inhaling the scent of her blood as his lips part, trailing featherlight kisses over her skin as he searches for her veins.

When he finally finds what he's looking for, Astarion hesitates only momentarily before sinking his fangs into Tav's neck, eliciting a sharp cry that tears itself from her mouth. She gasps and writhes beneath him as he latches onto her, drinking draught after draught of her warm, pulsing blood as it floods into his mouth.

He all but moans against her neck, the taste of her blood an aphrodisiac for all his senses.

The pain of Astarion's bite gradually fades, the heat of her skin ebbing to an icy numbness that begins to spread through Tav's entire body. She finds herself relaxing into him now, her eyes growing heavy, as still he drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

“Astarion...” She mumbles his name softly, dimly aware that she is slowly losing control of herself. It would be so easy to just close her eyes now and fade into the eternal slumber that beckons her closer with each passing second...

Suddenly Tav's eyes fly open, and she struggles against Astarion's body, desperate to push him off. She worries that he's too far gone, too lost in the taste of her to be aware of anything but her blood.

“S–stop,” she says, more forcefully now “Stop, it's too much.”

Tav pushes at his chest, calling his name over and over again, her adrenaline surging. Finally, Astarion pulls away from her throat and sits upright, his mouth smeared with her blood. He tips his head back and stares at the moon as if in a stupor, his eyes half lidded – a perfect, picturesque creature of the night.

He is absolutely drunk on her blood, the exquisiteness of feeding on her the closest thing he has ever had to a religious experience. As he finally starts to come down from the high, he turns his eyes towards Tav, the guilt seizing him like a vice as he witnesses what he has done to her.

She lays almost motionless beneath him, her breath shallow, the pinpricks where his fangs once were leaking blood down the side of her neck in two thin red lines.

“Hells above, Tav,” he calls out to her, gathering her up in his arms and pulling her upright against his chest. Her eyelids flutter open, and she looks at him, her mouth forming words that she is too weak to give voice to.

Astarion curses under his breath before getting to his feet, Tav's half-limp body cradled in his arms.

“I'm sorry,” she says softly, her voice so faint that even Astarion has to strain himself to hear her. “I waited too long to stop you. It's not your fault.”

The last thing Tav notices before she blacks out is just how warm and alive her blood has made him.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #multichapter

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it-happened-one-fic · 1 year ago

Text

Hours in the Moonlight Master-List

Most believe that vampires do not exist. That they're just an old tale that has been reused countless times in the forms of horror in romance. But you know otherwise. After all, vampires do have a special affection for you for reasons unknown. Delving into the world of the night is something totally different though. Especially for someone who’s been trying to avoid these creatures that practically hunt you.

But then, one step closer in the form of a vampire you accidentally befriend and the slope becomes slippery.

It’s time you learned what happens during hours in the moonlight by the side of vampires who come in the form of friends, allies, and potentially foes.

Here it is! My Twisted Wonderland Vampire AU! I hope you all enjoy!!

Part 1 of Hours in the Moonlight: Fairest Midnight Master-List

Part 2 of Hours in the Moonlight: Persevering Afterlight Master-List

Part 3 of Hours in the Moonlight: Guileful Nightfall Master-List

Part 4 of Hours in the Moonlight: Somnolent Gloaming Master-List

Part 5 of Hours in the Moonlight: Solitary Eventide Master-List

Part 6 of Hours in the Moonlight: Fathomless Vespers Master-List

Part 7 of Hours in the Moonlight: Rose Red Dawn Masterlist

If you would like to read more fics like these, my Twisted Wonderland Master-List can be found here: Twisted Wonderland Master-List.

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darkhymns-fic · 3 months ago

Text

Disease

Husk yearns for Alastor's attention—but the feeling is overwhelmingly mutual.

That's the thing about jealousy. It's such a disease.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters/Pairing: Alastor/Husk, Vox, Angel Dust Rating: M Word Count: 7,522 Mirror: AO3 Notes: Written for Radiohusk Week, Day 4: Jealousy. This was in collaboration with @indoodlingmadness for their amazing art! (Check it out on bsky and twitter!)

Half-slouched on the couch in the hotel parlor, Husk swore that the television commercial in front of him was playing on loop. But it was never the exact same, minimal differences here and there, from the background set to the changes in script. There were dozens of different recordings put out on the dot of every hour. Vox’s desperation was so palpable that he could feel it coating his tongue with its slimy texture. Watching this might as well have made his brain bubble and melt within his skull.

The thing was, there really was nothing else good on TV.

“—And that’s why radio is archaic, boring, and absolutely worthless in today’s modern age!” Vox was holding up another weird stick drawing of the terrifying Radio Demon, somehow getting his smile just right. His desk was shiny, but rattled, the surface of it decorated in claw marks. The neon lights behind him seemed to crack and spark, pulsing in time with Vox’s breathing. Just a few commercials ago, it had been looking new and fresh. “Look at him! You wouldn’t trust that guy in an alleyway!”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the idea,” Husk spoke to the screen, taking a swig of his bottle. In that reception, he saw those antennas spark furiously from that oversized microwave for a head. Televisions were always a two-way deal down here in Hell, and even if the Overlord might have caught his sarcasm just then, he knew he wasn’t the real focus of his ire.

A small crackle that further ruined the reception of the screen. A horrible ruptured feedback that set Husk’s teeth on edge. But his discomfort didn’t match the intensity he saw in Vox’s eyes.

“Oh, Husker. You really should turn such a dreadful thing off. Think of the electricity bill!”

Alastor acted like he hadn’t been watching from afar for the past hour. Husk could tell, just from the very way his fur stood up, from that specific sensation of eyes watching from the shadows. Except, those eyes hadn’t been so directed at him either.

No, just these two Overlords staring at each other from across the room in some weird sickening obsession.

“Don’t you dare shut me off! I know where you sleep!”

“Likewise, old pal!”

When Alastor finally reappeared near the couch Husk sat on, he gave a small wave at the television screen. Another small crackle, one that seemed to make the outdated picture box overheat. Or maybe that was just Vox himself getting all hot and bothered.

Husk rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Was getting bored anyway.” He then reached for the remote that was by his side.

“WAIT I WASN’T DONE–!” Click.

Alastor sighed with a sort of euphoria. “Ah, sometimes, silence can truly be golden.”

“Really? This coming from the guy in love with his own voice.”

It had only been a few weeks since Vox had tried to get Sir Pentious working as a spy for him, but since that plan had spectacularly failed, the Overlord took things in his own hands. Soon, nearly anything with a screen in the hotel, such as a television set, a phone, and even the fucking fridge because it was using so-called ‘smart technology,’ was filled with the guy’s obnoxious face, shouting the same obscenities over and over to get at Alastor who only passed by such performances.

Husk was silently grateful to himself that he only moved with the times as far as flip phones and nothing beyond that. He didn’t know what he’d do if he had to wake up to Vox screaming in his ear about Alastor not paying attention to him.

And besides, the Radio Demon was paying attention to him. Even more than usual.

“Ha! Of course anything I say would have some worth, my friend.” Alastor tapped the head of his cane against his palm, sparing another glance to the now dead TV set. “But I truly don’t care what such a low brow television personality has to say about anything!”

Husk took another sip of his drink. The beer tasted more bitter than usual. “That why you didn’t mess with the cameras today?”

And why you let him see you whenever you can?

As he thought this, he let his gaze slide around the room. No, it wasn’t even just the television or the phones that Vox would spy from. A small flash of a camera lens peeked out from the torn wallpaper, another was wedged into a crevice somewhere on the mantelpiece in the parlor. All not so very subtle, not even a little bit. Charlie had wanted to get rid of them, but Alastor had insisted on leaving them in place. She wanted the hotel to be promoted, he reasoned, and now she got it!

But the real reason was because he enjoyed it. His boss liked Vox’s attention.

Husk tightened his grip on the glass bottle. Why was he even thinking about this?

“He can have his little toys if he wants, for there is nothing to hide!” Alastor said with another tinny laugh. “Perhaps he’s seeking a little redemption of his own?”

“You fucking know that’s not the reason,” Husk said, with more venom than he meant to. He couldn’t keep the words in, not with the way they burned his throat. “What do you get out of it?”

At that moment, he wondered if he revealed too much, but his boss simply chuckled before sashaying across the parlor, away from him. Suspicious-looking lights blinked above him, catching his every motion, his every step.

“I’m an entertainer, Husker! At the very least, I can put on a good show!”

“For an audience of one,” Husk countered.

“It doesn’t matter the size of the crowd. One must give it their all!”

He wanted to say something else—to shout something else. But an insistent vibration in his trousers pocket pulled away his attention. He didn’t even see where Alastor went, though likely to where the most screens were.

Husk pulled out the phone, flipped it open. He was greeted to a barrage of text messages in all caps.

[HEY!!11 WHERE’S ALASTOR?! TELL HIM 2 UNBL0CK MY NUMBR! AND 2 GET AN ACTUAL PHONE1!]

With a grimace, Husk gripped the phone until the casing cracked.

He was so fucking sick of this.

–

Even with the dense crowd at the shaking club, Angel had been able to find Husk—who was predictably sitting right at the bar, already going through his second bottle. Not exactly a hard search.

“Sooo is there a reason ya asked me out here?” Angel said as he pulled up a chair. He was wearing a pink, feathery shawl over his shoulders, completing his outfit with rhinestone-rimmed sunglasses. He leaned over the counter, flicking up his shaded accessories with a finger. “Knew it was only a matter of time before we hit the next level, whiskers.”

Husk gave him a sideways glance, then sighed. His claws tapped against the counter, which continued to vibrate with the beat of some song he never heard of. “I just needed to get out of the hotel. It’s fucking misery.”

Angel gave a cackle, slapping Husk’s shoulder. “Circuits-for-brains getting to you? Baby, it’s way worse in person.”

“I know. I’ve met this guy plenty back then.” It was one of the downsides of being an Overlord—you had to get to know the other Overlords and what territories they held, even if you hated the other’s guts. “He’s somehow gotten worse. Didn’t think that was even possible for that egomaniac!”

Angel already had a cocktail in his hand, sex on the beach style. Husk wondered if he just pulled it out of a purse. “Been meaning to ask ya. Does he and Alastor have some sort of…whatever going on? I know Vox has always been into voyeurism but usually he sort of like, does it to everybody instead of one person.”

Husk waved away the question, scoffing. “Fuck if I should know. They used to be friends or business partners, or whatever.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “Ohhh, so they definitely have some kinky shit going on!”

Husk didn’t really want to think about it. So what if Alastor was into what Vox was doing? So what if Husk had to see it? It didn’t matter what his boss was into—there was already a laundry list of awful things Alastor craved that turned Husk’s stomach.

And this was no different.

Before he could even think of ordering another bottle, he felt Angel take his wrist, easily slipping him off the stool. His wings spread out to keep his balance, and his tail brushed against Angel’s right leg in reflex. There was the flash of a white and gold-speckled smile before him.

“Look, sourpuss. You didn’t call me out here just so I can watch you drink yourself into a coma. I already see enough of that at the hotel.” Two more hands grasped Husk’s waist, pulling him into the dance floor. “Let’s have some fun already! Then we can get wasted later!”

“Fine, but if you step on my tail, I’m calling it off.”

Still, Husk couldn’t help but smile a little bit, because like it or not, Angel was oddly good at cheering him up. The guy could be funny, could be charming when he wasn’t putting on his usual persona, and could take his mind off less pleasant things for at least a little while.

And besides, there were other ways to drown out his feelings besides through booze and sleep. Dancing to the club’s beat was a good start.

That is, until one is reminded.

Hours later, at some point in the night, Husk was more than a little drunk, and Angel was hanging off his shoulders, laughing at some nonsense that fell from his lips in chaotic fashion. “So that whole waterboarding thing is already out because the market is so niche, and Val’s pissed! Now we’re back to student-teacher junk, and he just tells me to look younger for it. Like bitch, I’m ageless already!”

It wasn’t even really that funny, but Husk was laughing, unable to stifle it in his chest. Angel just had a knack for telling work stories, which he’d tell even back at the hotel bar.

But he made the mistake of turning away, just for a moment. He only wanted to lean against a table, and didn’t trust his body to not fall on its ass. So he needed to use his eyes, and he happened to find something in the far off corner.

Laughing shadows, with sharp red eyes and wide smiles. One of them moved forth from a puddle of black on the floor, never minding the trash it maneuvered around—of discarded beer cans, wadded up condom wrappers, and spare change that sparkled in the club’s multicolored lights. The shadow was a small thing, a doll covered in stitches that held together its insides, with a stray green thread leading from its back.

It looked straight at Husk, tilted its head to the right. Then more, and more until the top of its horns were level with its nubby shoulder. It was mouthing something at him, its voice drowned out by the club’s music and the shouts of other sinners having the time of their afterlives.

Even so, Husk heard it. The voice pounded in his skull like a persistent beat.

Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

And then the shadow sunk into the dirty floor, leaving nothing, not even a stain behind.

–

Nothing happened once he and Angel came back to the hotel. No acts of punishment, no pulling of the chain to make him fall to his knees. Husk expected some sort of retribution, for pissing off Alastor for ditching work.

But there were only eyes in his back as he walked back to his room, half-stumbling both from drunkenness and exhaustion—and they weren’t the eyes he expected, or even wanted right now.

In the hallway, Husk saw another camera, one that was perched in the corner. It swiveled, red light blinking. He heard the camera zoom in on him, the electricity sparking inside its metal casing.

With barely a second glance, he threw a card at it, slicing through. It bursted unceremoniously, the light on it growing dark.

Vox’s toys had always been such pieces of trash.

–

The next day, all the cameras in the hotel had disappeared.

Some had been ripped out from their placing within the walls, in the corners of rooms, or wherever else Vox had shown his ugly face on. This included anything with a screen. The television in the parlor was now unequivocally broken, the screen cracked, leaving nothing but static when one tried to turn it on. The ‘smart’ fridge was also completely wrecked, as if it had been torn apart by giant hands. (This also resulted in their food being destroyed, which Husk had to then make a shopping trip for and put it all in a good old icebox). Everyone made sure to hide their phones, but nothing Vox-related was streamed to them besides the occasional malware-infected ad or two.

Even so, Husk still felt eyes in his back. When he worked. When he chatted with others. When he slept.

He knew why.

A sliver of a shadow that ducked away at the last moment, of burning eyes and short arms. Small bouts of laughter he could barely hear, even in the dead of night. Suddenly, there was intense focus on him. It felt like hands around his neck, keeping him in place, just short of squeezing to cut off his air.

Still, Alastor hadn’t shown up or spoken with him. Instead, the Overlord had locked himself in his radio tower, the ‘ON AIR’ sign always on, blaring in the red-drenched sky.

Yet, when he’d dare turn on the radio in his room—a so-called gift from Alastor, one of old-make, crafted from wood, so that he could contact Husk whenever necessary—and find that dreaded radio station, he couldn’t hear anything. No songs, no screams. Just dead air.

Husk would sometimes sit on his bed, within the dark, waiting. He’d flick a glance to the corners, catch another small shadow doll staring, licking its lips, stifling laughter.

“What do you want?” Husk growled out. “I know it’s fucking you. Is this some new shitty prank of yours? Or are you mad I broke one of those cameras?” A bitter taste poisoning his very insides again. “Come out then and talk to me!”

A small twist of its head, the eyes refracting red light that spilled onto the floor. Another little shake of its body, a smile stretched in a copy of its very master, before it then finally slithered away back into the shadows.

But it didn’t really leave. He could still see the smile. The red eyes. Always in the corners, watching him.

He didn’t understand Alastor’s game anymore.

And he didn’t understand just why he wasn’t hating this as much as he thought he would.

–

Another week passed. Alastor stayed locked in his radio tower. His station only played dead air and nothing else.

The shadow dolls still moved about the hotel, trailing after Husk wherever he went. Even outside, he’d see them crawl along the cracks in the sidewalks, or hang from trees, tracking his every movement. They were rarely subtle now. Always watching.

Yet, there would be nothing else. Just waiting, and waiting for something to happen. To change.

“Still keeping this up,” he once said quietly, polishing a glass at his bar, feeling those eyes again. The little creatures were sentient, and certainly had their own consciousness. But Alastor had always used them to do his bidding, whether that was fixing up a broken wall to trailing down a victim for his next show.

“Can you even see me?” Husk asked next, looking straight at one of those little dolls that was behind a rye bottle on the shelf. This one was slightly larger, with sharp teeth that looked rusted. It was salivating, staring right at him with what looked like a blank gaze. “Or do you just hear me instead?”

Vox was the one with screens, with cameras, with all the voyeuristic tendencies to spy and get every detail he could.

But just as Alastor was a good talker, he was also a good listener. A skilled eavesdropper that didn’t need visuals to get any juicy information he needed. Words and sounds were usually enough for him. Also, he had once told Husk, ‘A great auditory experience will light up the imagination far more than what a picture box could ever do.’

What could Alastor have heard down at the club on that night? There had only been a mess of noise everywhere. No way he would have been able to pick up any sort of conversation.

The doll shifted, tapped its claws against the rye bottle, clinking away at the glass. Its red gaze burned and pulsed. It started to melt away into the darkness.

Husk grabbed at its head before it could leave, wrenching it back up. A glass bottle fell to the floor, spilling out all the rye. But for once in his afterlife, there was something else far more important.

He dug his claws against its cheeks. It was both soft and slimy at the same time—he could feel the rough fabric that was its skin, the stuffing that poked out from between its stitches. But he could feel something else, something wet and sticky, leaving his hand covered in tar.

“Alastor!” Despite the doll’s wicked teeth, he leaned in close so that nothing could be missed. “Tell me what you want!”

The doll opened its mouth, crying out, before devolving into unhinged laughter. It shook in Husk’s grip like a wriggling insect. If it was trying to say something, he couldn’t understand. Any words were swallowed up by its own laughter, high-pitched and keening.

Then, it stopped. It leaned forward, its red eyes shining bright. “Husker,” it said, its voice an awful mesh of monstrous and electrical, still sounding like it came from some sort of demonic speaker. “Just how obtuse can you be?”

Its red eyes continued to burn, growing hotter, until it engulfed its entire face. Husk felt the flames lick at his fingers, and quickly let go of the doll that had self-immolated in such quickness. It turned to ash before it could even hit the ground.

—

Alastor hadn’t left his radio tower because there was something wrong with him.

And it isn’t what everyone would think, of course.

His claws tapped against the metal dials before him, the soundboard of his station buzzing with frequencies to broadcast throughout Pentagram City. Lately, he hadn’t had as much time for his weekly broadcasts, with special Overlord guests to serenade his listeners with their screams of agony and rage. It had been such a popular program, always premiering at 6pm on Friday nights! A perfect lead in to the weekend and truly give his listeners something vital to unwind to. But he had been busy with the hotel, and he wouldn’t give his beloved audience any lackluster performance.

Yet, even so, he would turn on the mic, and let it play absolutely nothing.

He would let it play and play. Saying nothing. Singing nothing. Screaming nothing.

Because he was too preoccupied with listening.

Familiar little steps, along with high-pitched giggling, echoed from his right. He swiftly turned his neck, the bone cracking like kindling. The acoustics of the tower made the sound vibrate, falling along the metal grates, the barred windows, and the red-lit neon sign. In the dim light, he saw one of his precious minions, climbing up the legs of his chair to perch itself on an arm rest.

They were such beautiful, vicious little creatures. Always so eager to please. Always getting him the latest gossip. Always retrieving for him the most suitable guests for his radio program. And, there were few hobbies so relaxing than crafting them himself. A cross stitch for the arms, for the neck, shaping up their little smiles to align so well with his. After all, one must be proud of their own creations.

As the doll’s red eyes started into his, which blazed like the depths of a fireplace, it played back for him something from its open mouth.

“Boss,” spoke a voice, harsh like gravel. “It’s been weeks. Why are you avoiding me?”

Then the doll shut its mouth with a sharp snap, sharp teeth grinding. It snickered, blinking up at its master while its pointed tail wagged.

Alastor considered, tapping his claws against the metal of his station. He would have to make sure his little creatures were more hidden. Husker speaking to him ruined his experience. No, he would just listen in on his dear friend go about his day, speak with the guests, and make sure he had a goodnight’s rest. Simply overseeing, as was part of his own duties as the hotelier. After all, he had to make sure his employees were doing their job.

Darling Niffty could be trusted. But, Husker, on the other hand… he always had such little motivation. He was doing the layabout a favor! He even got rid of those cameras that his friend had complained so much about. There had been no other reason he did such a thing.

None at all.

Then, the doll opened its mouth again, the red eyes pulsing like a heartbeat. Alastor felt the tremor run over his back before he could even comprehend the emotion.

“Hey, whiskers! Talking to yourself again, huh? I ain’t judging.”

Alastor’s smile tightened. That same smile tightened on the doll’s face in perfect mimicry.

That spider was such a distraction for poor, slothful Husker. Yes. That was the problem here. That was why he felt such bile in his throat. Of course. The hotel’s first guest was making Husker the worst he’s ever been.

That was the only thing that made sense.

He quickly closed the doll’s mouth with a thumb. “Enough,” he said, the hum in his mind growing louder. “Such a voice has no place here.”

Yet that accompanying sound was getting much too common lately. It was rather unpleasant to the ears.

Alastor patted the little doll on the head, watching how it leaned into his palm like a pleased cat. Such creations would never disappoint him. He half-regretted bursting one of them into flames before. A lapse in judgment, an indescribable urge to reach out and hurt. Which is not uncommon, for it was something to be nurtured. Yet, not without at least some form of control.

He had done so much listening. He hadn’t broadcasted in a while, or spoke into the mic which was rapidly gathering dust. Just the silence. Not even in the mood for an old comfort song.

There really was something wrong with him.

The doll opened its mouth again, still seeking those pets. It was a mindless action. It had only wanted more of its master’s affection. Then, that harsh and discordant sound that moved through, meshing with the low gravel that he’d come to appreciate the nuances of.

“Ya need me to take you out on the town this time? Being at this bar got you acting like an old geezer more than usual!”

“Ain’t you the one asking out this ‘old geezer’ to begin with?”

Then, there was a laugh. From Husker.

Alastor couldn’t recall what quite happened after that. The humming had grown louder, shaking within his skull, drowning out conversation and melodies and all other comprehensible things.

He blinked. In his lap were the remnants of cloth and stuffing, along with the unraveling of green threads. Black liquid stained his clothes, dripping onto the floor from those ruined fabrics.

The hold he had on himself was so very, very delicate.

–

Alastor left the radio tower. Just for a moment or two.

It wasn’t enough to just listen anymore.

–

Maybe Husker was jumpier than usual. Still, it only served to heighten the experience.

A quick turn was never enough to catch Alastor. Swift shadows that blended with the dim hallways, with the dark corners of a room. Husker was staring into the darkness, and try as he might, he could not catch the eyes that would follow him.

The dolls, Alastor realized, were just not sufficient.

A fascinating thing about Husker was that all of his tells were shown in every part of him. It was rather amusing that he had ever thought he could keep his secrets. A flick of his ears, a swish of his tail, and the ruffling of his wings. All so telegraphic in their motions. All so easy to read. His downfall as an Overlord might as well have been foretold.

There was a soft rush of nervousness in Husker as he made his way to his room, once again looking to the corners. He even tried to still his breathing. Because after all, he knew he was being listened to.

Husker reached for his hat, slipping it from his head. His fur was ruffled, unkempt. It demanded a comb, a pair of hands to settle such wayward tufts to smoothness. His wings stretched, a loose red feather drifting to the ground, landing rather close to a certain dark corner.

But there was no movement from the dark. Husker was watching, eyes glaring yellow like twin torches.

“Feels like another camera…” he muttered underneath his breath. The end of his tail brushed the carpet. “The hell…’

There was another indescribable urge, one that nearly made Alastor leave from his place within the walls to reach out. More than just the fur, or even the luster of those wings against the soft lamplight. After all, Husker was always so entertaining to have around, and it was more than just his oh-so-sparkling personality.

Maybe a few inches closer, enough to swallow up that feather within a sea of black. Husker had turned away just then to hang his hat on a nearby rack.

But then, there was another shiver, even as Husker slipped off a suspender strap to get ready for bed. A raise of his eyebrow, another flick to the walls of his room. Husker was waiting, piercing through that darkness as much as he could. Oh, he’d always had such sharp eyes. But were they sharp enough?

A strap hung from his trousers, which was now more loosened around his waist. There was a quick flick of his right ear as he tried to pinpoint a sound. Any sound at all.

Then there it was. The dead air that lived in Alastor’s skull, now echoing across the room.

Oh, the control he had over himself was so, so tenuous.

“Wait.” Husker turned, looking towards the radio (and he took such great care of it, Alastor saw, with barely any dust or scuff marks on it) which was turned off. Then he looked around the room again. “You’re here, aren’t you? Like, actually here.”

There was a small tremor in his voice. It would have played beautifully over the radio, of that, Alastor was certain. Yet, he had to admit to himself that somehow such a sound did not translate the expression on Husker’s face. A mix of fear, revulsion, and yet a glint in his eyes. Expectant? Eager?

Husker was waiting.

And although Alastor was typically a very patient man—and one had to be, waiting hours for the perfect opportunity, the perfect moment to deliver his raison d'être—he found himself anxious. How easy it would be to move forward, to reach out and grasp at fur and feathers. It was akin to a hunger that one felt in the pit of one’s stomach, desperate to devour from the inside out.

Husker moved, just slightly, to remove the other suspender strap from his shoulder. His breathing was still rapid, just held inside his throat. Pointed ears flicked again. Every motion drawn out, like a jagged blade over skin, slowly cutting through in its sweet pain. Those golden eyes were hazy, dazed, and he opened his mouth to speak again—

Until, the most obnoxious ringtone he had ever heard broke through the silence.

Husker seemed to jump several feet in the air, then quickly reached for his pocket, holding up his falling pants with one hand. The melody was inane, inundated with a bass beat that sounded too familiar and like another night when he had caught Husker at his worst.

“Shit! I didn’t—”

But he didn’t have time to hear Husker’s little excuses. The serenity of the moment was over. So he slipped away from the walls, revealing his shape for just a moment before he slipped underneath the closed door. Husker locked eyes with him, but that didn’t matter. He had unfinished business.

–

Out on one of the balconies of the hotel, Angel was looking down to his phone with an impatient frown. He was leaning against the railing, tapping a finger against his waist. “Ugh, did he fall asleep again?”

It was laughably easy to startle him with a simple tap on his shoulder.

“Angel! Fabulous to have caught you here! I thought I missed you!”

If there was a certain tremor in his voice, he was sure to have fully covered it up. One would need sharp ears after all, and he doubted Angel had such things, always deep within his vices to even be aware of the world around him.

Angel backed against the railing, blinking rapidly as Alastor materialized before him. “Holy fuck! You coulda knocked or something!” He breathed hard for a moment, before an odd little smirk stretched his face. “It’s after hours, smiles. Ya looking for a good time? I prefer appointments over walk-ins, so maybe I can pencil you in for a quickie on Tuesday night.”

How charming.

Alastor held his mic cane in both hands behind his back. His fingers ached slightly. Maybe he just hadn’t eaten enough.

Holding himself to the very brink, he moved to wrap a hand around Angel’s shoulders, as if he were an old pal he had run into on the way to dinner.

“Walk with me!”

“Wait, what—”

A swift change of scenery, and soon they were walking the very hotel grounds, up on this stupendous hill that was not at all very accessible-friendly. That fact had always tickled Alastor and how that limited half of the Pride Ring’s residents, but currently, he could find no humor to the situation at hand.

Angel was frozen in place, and Alastor had to dig a few claws into his fluffy shoulder before he had the inkling that he should be walking right now.

“It certainly seems you’ve been taking Charlie’s dear friendship exercises to heart! I think she would love to hear some feedback on how you’ve been using this for your personal life!”

“Uh,” Angel started, then paled when he saw Alastor’s smile as they walked further down the hill. “Well, I, uh—”

“It would seem maybe redemption is in the cards after all! A shame that not everyone can achieve such a lofty goal, and to be quite frank, ha! I still have my doubts. But who knows! You very well could prove me wrong!”

“Did…did I do something? I’m not sure I—”

“And with the addition of my faithful staff, it has helped Charlie’s wacky dream considerably! You could almost call it a handout! I’m sure that’s something you’re quite used to yourself!”

Angel was trying to subtly leave his grip but Alastor kept him in place. For he was not done talking, and he wouldn’t allow Angel to be rude.

“But when one excels, sometimes another starts to make mistakes. Or fall through the cracks as it were! It would be rather shameful if all your progress was worsening another soul’s fortune.”

“Hold on, the hell are you talking about?” At that, Angel suddenly grew an attitude. He frowned at Alastor, slightly looking down at the Radio Demon. Those gaudy shoes of his were indeed good for something. “Are you blaming me for someone else fucking up? I’ve literally just been here and at work the whole time!”

“Haha! A nice little fib, but you can’t pull the wool over these eyes! If Husker’s work performance suffers, I will have to bring my complaints to Charlie and brainstorm a solution. We wouldn’t want to disappoint her now, would we?”

So invested in his own explanations, that certainly made sense to any sane individual, he hadn’t realized he’d let slip his very reasoning for being here.

“Huh? This is about Husk?” Angel was becoming cocky, shrugging off Alastor’s hold on him, uncaring that the action was rough. “Look, I don’t know what dead cannibal carcass crawled up your ass, but if Husk had any problems with me, he’d just fucking tell me. He ain’t like you, smiles.”

Something ruptured—a sound inside his skull. The static sharpening and gouging through his insides, like a rusted ax hacking away at a leg and ruining the meat until it was a sodden mess.

It’s wrong.

Alastor shifted and turned, and made sure to look down at Angel now. Until he was like the small insect that he was, with scrawny, tepid meat on fragile bones that would barely be satisfactory as a midnight snack.

“You don’t know anything.”

Angel stared, the wind of his earlier outburst suddenly deflating him. He stepped back, crushing one of the many plants that decorated the hillside, its lavender petals mingling now with the blood-stained grass.

“W-wait a sec—”

“If you haven’t seen someone at their very lowest, you can’t claim to know them.” A small twist of his neck as he continued to look down, and then he felt that very delicate grip on his instincts start to loosen. “You will never know how it is to hold someone’s very soul in your own hands.”

Yet, before he could even think to do the unspeakable, as he had done numerous times before with no remorse, and certainly it would not start now—especially not now—a melody played through the air.

It came from his radio tower.

Feeling the grin on his face begin to shake, he turned, feeling the pulse of the airwaves beat inside his very bones. The melody came from the soft, low tones of a saxophone. How it glided through the air like honey, or like thick blood that flowed down one’s throats. It was of an old song too, the kind that would only play on his radio programs.

What a curious thing to suddenly calm his violent bout of bloodlust.

With a quick glance to Angel, who had remained frozen in fear, he then reached out a hand to him. The size of his palm could have enveloped Angel twice over, could have crushed him into paste that would take this so-called actor decades to recuperate from.

He patted Angel on the head, the way he’d do for a pet. The other flinched but didn’t dare try to run. Good.

“Let’s not do this again,” Alastor said before he left, vanishing into the dark.

–

There was a certain image that Alastor would like to keep close to him, for it was the same as when he saw Husker on that night, when the gambler would love to entertain his very own guests. After all, he was a showman at heart, a much more natural talent at it than poorly cheating at cards.

He saw it once again in his radio tower, sliding up through the grates and spotting Husker within the sound booth. The saxophone in his arms as he played a resonant melody against the mic, careful to not be too close as to cause feedback. Even without his suit, he was the very picture of that night. He said nothing at all, preferring to hear the end of the song, determined to not interrupt a performance.

But Husker was always one to be a contrarian, for before he could even finish the final verse, he stopped playing. He then removed the strap of the saxophone and threw the instrument to the side with a clatter.

Then, he turned to Alastor, gritting his sharp teeth. “Now can we finally talk?”

A twitch in his eye, but the hands on his mic cane remained calm. Collected. There was nothing wrong. There was something wrong.

Husker’s eyes were digging through him, waiting impatiently. It was so clear by the flicking of his tail and the very low growl in his throat.

Alastor shrugged. “Why, you could have just called on the phone if you wanted to talk, Husker! Or even come over for a visit! I’m only down the hallway!”

Husker paused, then deepened his frown. “Your phone doesn’t work. And I did come by. I knocked.”

“Hm. I didn’t hear anything.”

“Oh fuck off with this.” Husker stomped over to him, his claws scratching against the metal grates. The red highlighted his fur with deeper shades of ebony, lengthening the patterns of his wings. “Just what is going on with you?”

Alastor moved his gaze to the discarded instrument on the ground. To think Husker still took care of it well enough for it to emit such a soulful sound. “Why did you stop playing?” he asked suddenly.

“What? Because I’m not here to put on a show for you! Stop fucking deflecting. It’s annoying.” Husker furrowed his brows. “Did you do something?”

“What an incredibly broad question! I certainly did a little broadcasting, completed my hotel duties, sent a telegram to Charlie, and indulged in some private musings of my own.” Alastor tapped his chin with a sharp finger, definitely not feeling like he was hanging on by a very thin thread. “I also ordered some hors d’oeuvres from dear old Rosie for a light lunch. You can join me!”

“That’s not…” And then, Husker was suddenly being very hesitant, very careful. He looked up at Alastor like he was about to attempt a treacherous climb. “What happened when Angel called me? Can you tell me that?”

Oh, he used to be so good at listening.

But now, all he could hear was the dreaded hum that made his chest feel like it was caving in.

It was a natural progression, to move closer to Husker, even as his friend stepped back. Yet, isn’t this what he was asking for? He’d always been such an indecisive person! Alastor always had to put his foot down and ensure Husker would make the correct choice. The only sensible choice.

Soon enough, Husker stopped moving—the tendrils that wrapped around his legs were certainly helping him with that.

“Husker, dear!” Alastor spoke, and he could hear the odd hollowness in his tone. It lacked the usual punch of his oratory talent. The spark. The drive. This had to be rectified. “I have to confess something, if you don’t mind.”

Saying it was like ripping off a bandaid, or ripping off a limb. Neither could compare.

“It appears I might be jealous.”

His hands delicately wrapped over Husker’s neck, fingers tapping along the fur, pulling at the strap of his bowtie. Husker remained still, watching the dials in Alastor’s eyes click dangerously to the right. Slow and methodical. Inevitable.

“And jealousy can really feel like such a disease.” He leaned forward. “I need the cure.”

There was something wrong with him and the cause of it all was right in front of him.

Angel was an obnoxious pest, but if not for Husker, he would have barely given such a sinner any second thoughts. No. If not for Husker, who had dared let himself wander, get distracted, and slack on the job, he would not be feeling this way. Husker just would not behave.

And then, the very memory of Husker laughing uproariously, his deep tones traveling through Alastor’s skull alongside Angel’s voice, was so very loud. With such sounds, there was the image of his friend underneath the garish club lights, looking away to another, and it sparked another inferno in him. Furious. Outraged. HE SHOULDN’T BE FEELING THIS WAY.

His hands just stopped short of squeezing over Husker’s neck. He towered further, his fingers growing long, and his back hunched. There was only Husker in his vision and nothing else. The shadow tendrils that streamed from his back continued wrapping around Husker’s limbs, locking him from any escape. No, he was not allowed to leave. Not until he fixed this.

Not until he fixed him.

Alastor stared down at the soul before him, his very being craving something he couldn’t truly understand. The weight of his antlers were so heavy, nearly making his neck break. His control was slipping further and further away.

“See what you’ve done to me.”

He expected Husker to resist, to try to run, or even bite at his hands and earn him a mark. If he did any of those things, Alastor would have no choice. He would have to kill him. Eat him. Ensure he could never stray from his path again. Bind him further and further until it could never be undone.

That wasn’t what happened.

Husker continued to look at him, even when Alastor grew, when his body distended, when his face was a veritable nightmare. He always had a face for radio, certainly the kind that most souls could not endure for very long. There were many times Husker had turned away from him, from his carnage and his rage.

Instead, Husker craned his neck up, looking into his eyes which were nothing now but black holes that looked into the abyss. His arms shifted, slightly pulling against the tendrils that were coiled around them—but not to be free. Hands reached out to place them against Alastor’s cheeks, fingers so close to sharp teeth who knew just the right way to tear through flesh efficiently.

Husker still hadn’t turned away, even as Alastor could feel him continue to shake underneath his grip. Fear. It was fear. Except not. It was something else.

“If you need a cure, then just look at me.” A soft furrow of his eyebrows, even as Alastor’s breath moved through his fur. “You want my attention? You got it. I was trying to give it to you all this time.”

Oh. Was that true? It made little sense. Alastor said nothing, staring down at Husker who still saw him as the monster he was, yet would not move.

Then, a soft growl, and Husk’s claws pricked his cheeks. Not deep, but they drew blood. They drew his blood. Noise ruptured around them, even as Alastor remained still. Husk ignored the chaotic sound.

“But you have to do the same for me. You have to pay attention to me. No more peacocking for Vox. It drives me fucking nuts.” Another growl, one that ran down Alastor’s spine. “And you don’t have to lock yourself away just to watch me.”

And there was that same spark in his eyes that Alastor felt inside his chest. The kind that wrung at his organs and made him ache and stumble. So, Husker knew this feeling too.

Hands left Husker’s neck, only to plant themselves on the wall behind him. The slam of his palms on metal earned another shiver in Husker, from his ruffled wings to the waving of his tail.

But those claws were still on Alastor’s face, keeping him in place. Keeping him grounded.

Easy to stay a monster, but Alastor let his body shrink so that he could better press his forehead against Husker’s.

“Vox is a memory,” he said.

“A memory that keeps coming back,” Husker countered. “You play his games too much.”

“Simply to stave off boredom.” The tendrils moved to wrap around Husker’s torso. “You’re not blameless. Always slacking off.”

“You already knew I was a shitty employee. Don’t expect any different.”

“Not what I meant.”

A small ripple of unease, but Husker made him calm by pulling Alastor closer. Those claws rushed through his hair, reaching just at the base of his still heavy antlers.

“I can have friends. You never said I couldn’t. But it won’t be anything more than that.” A pause, Husker’s face so considerate. “I can take a break from it.”

Another pull, until Alastor felt Husker’s breath against his lips. “I’m just fucking tired of not being noticed, boss.”

“Dear friend, you have all my attention,” Alastor said. “So much that you won’t ever have a moment’s peace to yourself.”

Maybe he said that as a warning. To really test Husker’s dedication and loyalty. That is, until Husker kissed him hard, his teeth scratching against both his tongue and gums. It was difficult to reject such enthusiasm, such drive, such…motivation. He could only give it back, tasting the alcohol on Husker’s own tongue.

The antidote must be taken slowly and deeply after all.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #husk #radiohusk #radiohuskweek #radiohuskweek2025 #vox #angel dust #fanfiction #multichapter

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nell0-0 · 2 months ago

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Finally wrote something again I guess. Even if it's lowkey a filler chapter, oops.

Avoiding conflict is conflictive

Chapter 5: A heated argument

The struggles of the chain continue.

I split this chapter in two, so hoepfully chapter 6 will take significantly less. Malon's last shenanigans in this fic will also be there instead of in this one in the end.

#linked universe #lu time #lu malon #lu four #lu twilight #my fanfic tag #crack treated seriously #multichapter

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saioumaarchive · 3 months ago

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[H]e wouldn’t be surprised if it’s been several years since Shuichi spoke with another human being (assuming he ever has: a bizarre theory if not for the unusualness of the rest of this encounter). Not to mention his voice: like the melancholic triads of a shelved viola or symphonic croaks of a chorus frog orchestra. Something complex and forlorn attaches to every phrase uttered; yet, Kokichi would be lying if he claimed it wasn’t calming to listen to. The perfect voice to read aloud a tragedy, he thinks.

~ Kiwi_LuminaryoftheStars, "Fiction and Feast"

Kokichi is in a Brobdingnagian predicament: while scouting for a new DICE hideout, he's become lost, injured, and stranded in the mountains! Luckily, his vampiric rescuer is more interested in discussing mystery novels than eating him - or, at least, he's trying very hard not to eat him. This fic is a delightful combination of silly, tense, and angsty. If you're a fan of found-family DICE, you'll love their portrayal here, as well as the author's characterization of Kokichi as the leader who feels that he's failed them. Shuichi as a vampire is just the right combination of dangerous and adorably socially awkward, and the story's worldbuilding is masterfully executed to make the plot feel as natural as it is unique. We've been immensely impressed with Kiwi_LuminaryoftheStars' work so far and this story is no exception. Please drop by to thank them for sharing, and don't forget to check out their Phantom Thief AU!

Rated M (blood and injury, sexual tension) 14,164 words, 1/2 chapters (incomplete) Published 2 March 2025

~ Mod Ice

#Saiouma #Oumasai #Fic recommendation #Rated M #Multichapter #Incomplete #Vampire AU

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dropofbittersea · 1 year ago

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“Beacon County Sheriff's Department, this is deputy Mahealani speaking.”

“Oh thank god!”

“Stiles?”

“I, uh, I need some advice.”

“Advice?”

“Yeah. So, hypothetically, say you met your boyfriend’s mother and sister for the first time ever. Completely by accident. In the grocery store. And they convinced you to help them make a dinner to surprise aforementioned boyfriend when he got home after work. What would you do?”

Danny paused, and then, “Stiles, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“That’s not the point! And I said hypothetically.”

“Stiles...what are you doing right now?”

***

Stiles never imagined he’d be in Derek’s kitchen cooking a surprise dinner with Derek’s family while they waited for Derek to get home from work.

Partly because their visit was a complete surprise.

But mostly because Stiles didn’t have a boyfriend.

Or even know who Derek was.

But he’d already come this far and Papa didn’t raise no quitter!

#fanfic #ao3 fanfic #derek hale #sterek #stiles stilinski #ao3 #fanfiction #teen wolf #multichapter #fake dating #meet cute

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rjavenuru · 1 month ago

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#writing #writer #multichapter #writers on tumblr #creative writing #ao3 #fanfics #fanfiction #fan fiction #curious #poll #tumblr poll #writing poll #ao3 poll

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planetwaynez · 1 year ago

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FLOWERS AND GOLDEN STRINGS

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

SOULMATES AU!

Synopsis: Jason is certain that he is meant to help others, not just as a vigilante but also as some sort of twisted cupid. He thinks he is meant to only watch other fall in love and never find his forever and always, however after buying Lian some flowers for her birthday and a sucession of events envolving soulmates, he can't get the flower shop girl out of his head. Y/N thinks that the Red Hood is so hopeless in love with his soulmate but why does this fact bothers her so much? Why she wanted to be the center of his affaction? After months helping the vigilante, she meets her soulmate, Jason, but she can't forget the Red Hood. How will she deal with all those new and complicated emotions?

Warnings: SMUT! Canon-divergent, violence, foul lingauge, jelousy, complicated feelings, angst, fluffly, miscominucation, slow burn, injuries, kidnaping, paranoia and more to be added.

CHAPTERS

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

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nb-octopus-writes · 5 months ago

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The Lines that Guide Us, Chapter One

Thank you to @ccspie for the title!

Wordcount: 2K

Inspired by this lovely art by @fanartfunart!

[AO3]

~~~~

Logan did not like his soulmark.

As a child, Logan had frequently insisted his parents regale him with the story of how their marks had formed, and how they had met. He had read every book their library had on the subject of soulmarks, on the various types that existed and what information could be gleaned from them.

He had speculated endlessly about just what form his own soulmark would take, up until he had turned fifteen and the mark appeared on his skin.

Now Logan had four dark lines on his forearm. He looked like he had drawn on himself with a thick marker, and he had gained no information of what kind of person his soulmate was likely to be, nor how he was to find them.

So no, Logan did not like his soulmark.

Nowadays, Logan generally wore long sleeves to prevent others from commenting on his soulmark. He had quickly tired of receiving unasked-for speculation on its meaning, and sympathy from strangers on its lack of usefulness grated even worse. He knew it was generally unhelpful already; he did not need to be reminded of it regularly.

It was best not to dwell on it, he had decided. However fate intended to bring his soulmate into his life, it clearly did not want Logan to help it along.

He was not prepared for the mark to change.

It was a subtle change, and if Logan had been undressing in poorer light, he would have missed it entirely. The soulmark was still the same shape, still four thick lines on his arm, but they were no longer all ink black.

Three of the lines were the same as they had been since the day they'd formed, but the fourth had lightened into purple.

When had it changed? Soulmarks did change sometimes, Logan knew. He just hadn't expected his to be one of them. It was not a countdown or a compass, or any of the other marks that updated frequently. It had not been an outline waiting to be filled in, or the mark of a first touch that would bloom on contact.

The change had to mean something, but what?

Standing in just his underwear, pajamas forgotten in favor of this new puzzle, Logan traced a finger thoughtfully along the purple line. As before, the skin felt smooth and unblemished. If he closed his eyes, he wouldn't even be able to tell there was a mark there at all.

It had been black this morning. Logan hadn't specifically checked it, but he did not think he would have overlooked such a difference. While he didn't wear his glasses in the shower, he was myopic, not hyperopic, and could see his own body clearly without them. Additionally, the lighting in his bathroom was good, and the color change, while subtle, was certainly noticeable.

The mark must have changed today, then. Something significant must have occurred.

Logan thought back through his day. It had been fairly standard, all things considered. He had gotten up, showered, dressed, eaten breakfast, and gone to work, where he had spent a very typical day making coffee and other hot beverages.

Had one of the customers been his soulmate?

Logan's blood chilled. Had he met his soulmate today, without realizing it, without recognizing them, or they him?

He had not bothered to put any of the faces to memory, indifferent to the steady stream of tired strangers seeking caffeine. If asked, there was no way Logan could pick a single one of them out of a crowd.

He had not thought it was important, but now… Had he missed his only chance to find his soulmate?

No. No, it couldn't be over. Not yet, not now. His soulmate was out there, somewhere in this town, and they would meet again. Someday. Hopefully soon.

Logan looked at his soulmark again. Four lines, and one of them purple. What could it mean? Four chances, perhaps? Four times their paths would cross, four opportunities to recognize each other before their lives diverged again.

Maybe. It was just a guess, but there had to be some significance to the fact that only one line had changed color. Although, if they signified four chances, he would have expected them to change in order, from top to bottom or bottom to top. Instead, the purple line was the third down from his wrist.

Logan sat down at his desk and opened his computer. Sleep could wait. He had more research to do.

~ ~

Virgil’s soulmates were going to hate him on first sight, and he had the words on his skin to prove it. Lucky him, having multiple people destined to have their lives twined around his, and destined to think he was a stormy nightmare.

Maybe that was why he had four of them, the universe trying to compensate for the rough matches, as though quantity could replace quality. Wasn't the whole point of soulmates that they were the one, the best person for you, someone guaranteed to love you better than anyone else? Why dilute it across four soulbonds?

Virgil breathed. Dwelling on it wasn't helping. It never did. He breathed, deliberately, and shifted his thoughts. Two of his soulmates didn't sound like they were going to despise him from the moment they laid their eyes on him, he reminded himself.

Probably. One of them he honestly couldn't tell, because he had no clue what the words on his arm even meant. It could be something bad. But the other was a kind sentiment.

Not that Virgil eating pavement or something was going to be a much better first impression, but at least his soulmate was going to be concerned for him, rather than annoyed or calling him a klutz. Hopefully, whatever incident was going to result in his soulmate's first words to him being “Oh my goodness, are you okay?” won't hurt too much.

And at least the other three phrases were very unique. They might come up in a random conversation at some point — or, at least, the two insults might; seriously, he didn't know a single scenario where the other would ever be a reasonable thing to say to him — but they seemed unlikely opening phrases. When Virgil met his soulmates, he would be able to recognize them.

He just didn't know if they were going to want him.

Virgil pushed the matter from his mind. It was going to return again; it always did, but for now, he had arrived at his new favorite coffee shop, and he just wanted to relax and enjoy it.

The shop was not particularly busy, and Virgil had only a short wait before he was at the front of the line and placed his order. Stepping out of the way of the next person, Virgil put his headphones back on — music playing softly, just enough to down out background noise without hiding important sounds, but he'd taken them off to order because people tended to complain he was being rude if he had them on during a conversation, no matter if he could still hear them fine — and watched the second barista prepare his drink.

When the drink was ready, the man looked back at him and nodded as he placed it on the pickup counter. Virgil stepped up to claim it, and noticed the man's gaze lingering on him, a smile playing across his lips. Not a customer service smile, something real. Virgil didn't know what there was to smile at him about, and eyed him dubiously.

“What?” Virgil demanded.

The barista looked startled, and then he opened his mouth and the most unlikely words came out.

~ ~

Over the past few weeks, Logan had worked to pay more attention to the people who came into the coffee shop. It was somewhat tiring, trying to note and remember each person, but it had its benefits. He had started to recognize regulars, to learn who came in on a regular schedule, and who appeared more sporadically.

The shop was small and usually not so busy that they needed to call out names when completing orders, but they still took them down. Logan began to put names to faces and to drinks, and began to recognize favorites.

Pamela, who arrived every weekday morning in variously colored professional pantsuits, always bought a pastry and a mocha. Remy appeared at all hours of the day, sometimes even twice or three times in the same day, and usually bought something iced, though his flavors varied. Virgil, the quiet emo who always wore headphones and rarely made eye contact, favored the less caffeinated side of the board, and occasionally purchased a sandwich that he then ate at the most secluded table. The man with wild energy and an eclectic bold wardrobe who had given a different name every time Logan had seen him always wanted an unusual flavor combination and too many shots of caffeine. Valor was a college student of indeterminate gender — deliberately and delightfully so — who regularly came in for late-night study sessions.

There were more, many more, and Logan was doing his best to retain all the information he had picked up. It was interesting to note how the steady stream of complete strangers had been transformed into a group of people that Logan almost felt as though he knew. It took effort, yes, and it could be taxing, but it also made work more pleasant.

Today, Virgil had ordered a white hot chocolate, and as Logan handed it off, he noted that the man's hoodie sported a new patch on the arm, done in the same plaid fabric that dotted the rest of the clearly beloved garment. Logan wondered if Virgil did the mending himself, or if he had a friend who sewed. The visible stitches were large and messy, but in a way that seemed deliberate, and given how sturdy the patches seemed, Logan suspected that the actual fastening was done with much smaller stitches in a less obvious color.

“What?” Virgil said, and Logan realized he had been looking at him for longer than was standard for this type of interaction, and worse, his face had been making an expression without his doing so intentionally.

What expression had it been? Logan had not made it deliberately, hadn't been paying attention to it as it occurred, and had to recall. In doing so, he failed to appropriately translate from the inside of his head to words most people would use.

“You seem to have caused my zygomaticus muscles to contract,” Logan said as explanation, and then as Virgil's expression changed as well, realized that he should have taken the time to change the phrasing.

“What,” Virgil said again, in a very different tone, one that Logan had trouble identifying. “What does that mean!?”

He slammed his drink back on the counter and used his now free hand to pull back the sleeve of his hoodie.

“This has mystified me for years, the fudge does it mean!?” he demanded again, shoving his now bare arm toward Logan, and Logan…

There were words on Virgil’s arm, the very words that Logan had just said, written in a dark blue ink as though by Logan's own hand.

Several thoughts swirled in Logan's mind as he looked at Virgil's soulmark. Instead of any of them, he said, “You could have looked it up.”

“Oh–fuck you!” Virgil said, pulling his sleeve back down.

“Apologies,” Logan answered, and lifted a hand to trace the line of his zygomaticus major, starting near his lip and moving up and back. “Here. It aids in a number of expressions. I had not realized I was engaging it.”

Virgil squinted at him. Logan shrugged.

“I was admiring your jacket,” he said. “I enjoy visible mending techniques, and I was wondering if you had repaired it yourself.”

Virgil looked down at his sleeves. “I… yeah. Yeah, I did. I–” He looked back at Logan. “You're my soulmate.”

“I am,” Logan agreed, now wondering if the shade of Virgil's patches matched the purple on his own arm. He glanced at the other people nearby. The line was not long, but Logan's coworker at the till and the four people waiting in line had all stopped what they were doing to watch them. It was uncomfortable, having such an important moment so publicly. “We are holding up the line,” Logan said, and checked his watch. “I have a break in a little under half an hour. Would you like to join me for it, and… talk?”

Virgil hesitated, then nodded. He retrieved his drink and stepped back. With a final glance in Logan's direction, he retreated to his usual table.

#nb octopus writes #sanders sides #Analogical #soulmates #the lines that guide us #1 #multichapter

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amethystheart2421 · 1 year ago

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Moonseeker Reclist

Under a cut because this is long!

Multi-chapter

Heart Full of Black by m3535

Diamond on a Landmine by m3535, Zayhad

Ancient Runes by Soupy_George

Wolfsbane of My Existence by AmethystHeart2421

When You Fall by PatronusDorcas

For Reasons Unknown by m3535, Zayhad

The Sounds of Us by Sniper_Jade

Red Flags and Long Nights by JustSadThingsMostly (WIP)

Professor Regulus Black by Captain_Aesthetics

Lover is a Day by le_mru

A Means to a Triumph by Naodrith (WIP)

Crazy Ex-Boyfriend by AmethystHeart2421 (Illustrated by SorenPhelps)

Lover's Eye by teethandtulips

Bad Professor by Sniper_Jade (WIP)

Yours for the Night by willowjh

Hiding in Plain Sight by MidnightStargazer

Heart of the Lion by PhantomGrimalkin (WIP)

Fragile Development by AmethystHeart2421

A Christmas Miracle? by SebbiGrey

Oneshots

Letting Go of Lost Things by doshu

Till Tomorrow and Till Death by thistlecat

i’ll make my way up to the stars. by kamoritoshi

Whatever I Want (Whatever That Is) by xylodemon

Sharp teeth, soft lips by BlueSundayCake

El Reyezuelo de El Dorado by AmethystHeart2421

Earnest Grasping by Jain

bite the hand that feeds by swoons

The Most Dangerous Star at the Dark Centre of the Universe by xylodemon

Book Smart by maybebabyplease

Lover is a Day by Le_mru

A Passing Dream by Elfflame

The Hiding Room by Elfflame

Keep Your Enemies Close by PhantomGrimalkin

Losing the Moon by LaurelsandLumos

The Wolf and the Woodsman by PhantomGrimalkin

monster, moongazer by electricnectar

It's Our Secret by raynick11

You and Me, Moony by AmethystHeart2421

Visions of a Visitor by givemetherapyimawalkingtravesty

If it's all Over I'm Taking This Moment With Me by underburningstars

The Replacements by A_factorygirl_69

I'm going to be it tonight by PhantomGrimalkin

Glad to be Unhappy by teethandtulips

i shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. shall i part my hair behind? do i dare to eat a peach? by diamondmeadows

Better the Snare You Know than the Devil You Don't by xrvnge

Throwing My Life to the Wolves by Anonymous

#moonseeker #moonwater #fanfiction rec list #marauders fanfiction #oneshots #remus & regulus #remus lupin #regulus black #multichapter

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tokoyamisstuff · 6 months ago

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Spellbound pt. I

Chapter 1: Pax Vobiscum (Lt. "peace be with you")

2,4k. words | f! Reader | pre-canon | enemies to acquaintaces

"Witches were wise, wise women they say. And there’s a little witch in every woman today! Some people thought that the witches were bad. Some people were scared of the power they had. But power to help and to heal and to care' Isn’t something to fear, it’s a treasure to share."

Witch Song by Bonnie Lockheart [Source]

"A blood red moon makes witches swoon" or so they say.

Certainly, the pure light it usually offers being obscured by crimson was always a sight to behold.

The bible foretells that it's a sign of the apocalypse - the time when their savior will return, making unrepentent sinners burn in hell and ascend the faithful to salvation in heaven's bliss.

Science has long since explained the phenomenon, but the thought of sun earth and moon aligning so perfectly doesn't make humans any less reverent to the wonders of this world.

So tonight, like so many nights before, there is no sign of the coming end, just the ever repeating cycle of this orb in space circling your world.

There is an odd comfort in knowing that.

After an eternity of searching, on a glade deep in the forrest, you found what you were looking for: A blue spider lily.

An incredibly rare ingredient that proves useful for many schemes. Though it blooms only during those brief minutes of a blood moon and always at a different location, so the chances of finding it are slim.

The petals need to be conservated in a special way your anchestors had passed down for generations, otherwise they will wither and be of no use before you'd even arrive back home.

Just when you were about to start however a loud howl shakes up the otherwise peaceful forrest.

A Lycan maybe?

Not wanting to risk being attacked in the middle of your work, you decide to assess the situation first. You follow the animalistic growls and shaking tres not far from you, speeding up when the sound of clashing metal and strained yells - that sound awfully human - mingle with the noise.

Peeking through a bush onto another clearing, you finally saw what the turmoil was about.

Oh.

As wrong was it may sound, you would've prefered to see an innocent civilian being attacked - but there was no mistaking it, the man in battle truly was one of the cloth. He was struggling to keep his stand against a giant black dog, it's eyes as crimson as the moon above.

You hiss out sharply, all trepidation and worry having been replaced by sheer irritation.

What do you even care if another reckless fool of the cross dies? If anything, after all the suffering they caused in the name of their Lord, they deserve nothing less!

That creature managed to make the warrior lose his balance, preparing to lunge at his throat once again - yet at the very last second, it crashed against a spell you had cast to shield him instead.

Damned be your soft heart...

Anderson recognized the insignia glowing on the barrier right away: The Theban alphabet, used by witches and other occultists in their incantations.

Bloody hell, another foe he really cannot deal with in his current state.

"Show yourself!" he demands in that gruff voice of his, gripping his bayonets tightly in each hand.

When you came out of your hiding the exorcist couldn't help but gasp in surprise: Such a wee, dainty gal was certainly not what he expected.

No.

It doesn't matter he reminds himself, shaking his head. Enemy is enemy, whatever sweet facade they may hide their true, wicked nature behind.

You step into the dim moonlight with your hands above your head in a placating manner, tentatively approaching the growling beast besides the man. Whispering something in a foreign tongue you mesmerize it into cooperation, forehead touching the animal's as it shrinked into the size of a normal dog.

"What a foolish woman" he thinks, "disregarding a threat just like that." He could easily take you out right that moment, kill two birds with one stone...but he was too fascinated with the scene unfolding in front of his very eyes.

Tears dwell in your eyes as you reassure the spirit animal and it obediently nuzzled it's head against your palm. You chuckle slightly, and Anderson barely manages to withstand the enchanting effect of your voice himself, unwilling to let his guard down like that.

His stance gets defensive when you turn your attention to him then, a mischievous grin playing on your lips as you came closer. You stand in front of him, hands confidently on your hips and he cannot fight the slight blush creeping up his neck.

"Beautiful moon tonight, isn't it?" you cheer, reaching out to lend him a hand. Surprised by the gesture he slaps it away - softer than he intended to, though - muttering under his breath. "I had everything under control..."

You snort quite amused. "Yeah, I could see that."

Somehow your carefree demeanour was even more infuriating than his hurt pride from having a lowy infidel like you saving his butt.

Isn't he part of Section XIII, the very people that almost eradicated your kind? Why aren't you taking him seriously, damn it?!

"Oi. You shouldn't underestemate me, enchantress." The man lifts his weapon to your direction, making your new furry friend in the background huff angrily. You merely glare at his distrust and disdain, already regretting having bothered yourself with him in the first place. "Your judgement is clouded by bigotry and bloodlust, papist. I just saved your life, no matter how you want to twist my actions."

"Shut it!" He roars with a snarl at your insolence, still keeping you at distance with his blade pointed to your abdomen. "C'mon, a paladin assaulting a weak maiden?" Not really a new low for those zealots, really.

"Weak doesn't equal defensless" he rightfully states, refusing to meet your eyes in fear it'd make him grow vulnerable to your charm. "I know what you truly are."

"You only know what your church wants you to know" you snap back harshly, taking a few steps forwards until the gap between you and the tip of his bayonet is nonexistent. "They've always dealt in absolutes, scared of what they don't understand...and what they fear they burn."

Your words could evoke nothing in the priest, all he was able to perceive from them was mockery of his faith.

"A man or woman who is a medium or spiritist among you must be put to death" he quotes Leviticus, as if to repel your blasphemy. "You are to stone them; their blood will be on their own heads."

Frustrated, you pinch the bridge of your nose. What a stubborn one...well, to be perfectly honest, you had expected nothing else.

And yet it intrigued you that until now, he has yet to attack you.

"Let me at least treat your wounds..." you offer generously, despite his transgressions. He protests as you crouch down, yet doesn't make a move to put his weapon into action. You take a proper look at the torn and bloodied fabric of his cassock, but much to your surprise there wasn't a scratch on him left.

"Ohh, would you look at that." Clasping your hands together in amusement, a slight hint of wonder was present in your tone. "A regenerator? Fascinating. Seems like the catholic church finally opened their horizon to progress!"

Anderson doesn't comment on your insolence, instead he quickly leaps to his feet again, staring you down with an almost adorable frown, the hold on his bayonets loosening despite not putting them away just yet.

Judging from experience, his sheer strenght would absolutely demolish you in a serious fight. Of couse you had some tricks at hand, but you generally weren't skilled at offense.

Fleeing would be your best option, that much was sure.

"So, what now?" You ask after a while of him mutely observing you, both enraged and captivated by your confusing behaviorw. "...just go" he eventually grumbles, even though still itching for carnage beneath the calm surface. "Just this once, but then we're even. Next time I won't hold back."

Surprised by the refreshingly amicable offer you blink up at the man, gifting him a lopsided smirk in return. "Mhh, if that's so, mind if I ask you a favor?" He grimaces almost offended at your audacity. "Not killing you is the favor."

"I don't know if you were aware" You ignore his remark, pointing to the dog that was still lurking in the back. "But this is a Church Grim. They used to guard your graveyards, so I'm surprised you'd even attack it."

"I couldn't care less what it is" he bluntly replied, no sign of remorse behind his justification. "It attacks the townsfolk whenever they step inside this forrest. Someone needs to put it down."

"You can't stab your way through every problem..." you scold him like a damn child and he crosses his arms in defense, wincing slightly at your aggravated tone. "Those spirits are deeply connected to the place they're protecting. Even if you'd manage to destroy it's physical form, it would simply appear again at that very same spot."

Gesturing for it to come over, the dark creature hurries to your side, alarming the priest briefly until he realized it meant no harm at least momentarily. You knelt besides it, softly ruffling through it's fur like it wasn't able to rip your throat out any time.

What a peculiar woman you were.

"We are able to communicate with them." He knows that, he's not that ignorant. Yet he remains quiet, curious what you're implying. "It has been a normal dog in the past, but his master has been brutally killed and disposed of right in this forrest. It guarded it's owner's grave until his dying breath, but then...strong emotions can sometimes outlast death itself. Strange, isn't it?"

Anderson listened intently to your explanation, his eyes softening ever so slightly as he heard this beast was once such a loyal companion. You cracked a meek smile, almost hopeful at his unusual receptiveness.

"No promises, but maybe you could purge it by blessing the spot his owner resides. If anything it'd at least be appeased."

For a while the priest just stares at you, his expression blank as if you had just asked him to commit a felony.

Why would he even listen to some filthy heathen? This had to be a trap he just hasn't gotten behind yet. But on the other hand, then why did you go out of your way and assist him in the first place?

Nothing about you made any sense - not in the way he was comparing you to everything he was teached about witches at least.

He clenches both jaw and fists, his whole body tensing up at the inner conflict he was trying to resolve. Begrudgingly, he proclaims his decision. "...then lead the way, would you."

The Grim brought you to the place, an overgrown piece of nothingness at a random location in the woods. No funeral, no justice, no rest.

You gather some flowers and try to craft a makeshift cross while Anderson cuts and rips away the thorned vines with his gloved hands. He still can't believe he's doing such a ridiculous thing, but you seem to be serious about it after all.

It felt weird - yet not wrong - to stand besides the catholic, hands folded at your front and eyes downcast as you listened to his improvised eulogy.

"...the righteous perish, and no one takes it to heart; the devout are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil. Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death." (Isaiah 57: 1-2)

Anderson closes the bible and clears his throat, catching a glimpse at your still way smaller form. He could feel the pace of his heart start racing but in his ignorance he mistakes it for his usual rage.

You remained motionless, barely audible whispering your own kind of prayer - a heresy that he would usually never allow in his presence, if it wasn't for the fact that you kept your eyes closed as if you genuinely trusted this total stranger that he still was.

"Happy now?" he eventually speaks up and just when he does, he's tackled to the ground by the heavy dog. Opposite to his worries it simply licks his cheek, it's happy little noises able to lure a low chuckle out of the man. "You're a good boy after all, eh?"

You watch him petting the animal with a hesistant awe until he notices, growing nervous under your scrutiny. "What?" His demeanour immediately shifts into a harsh and reserved one again, but you continue watching each other - almost as if to try and make sense out of the person that doesn't fit the stereotype you had both created in your heads.

"You're different..." Out of a whim, you snatch the bible out of his hand, scribbling something inside one of the pages much to his dismay. "In case you need something. Consider it an action of gratitude."

Anderson furrows his brows, forehead wrinkling as you hand him the defiled holy scripture back. "W-what did you put in there? A spell?"

"My phone number..." You roll your eyes, yet the vibrant smile his selfless gesture put on your face would not falter in the slightest. "Take care, Father-"

"...Anderson." His back is already turned to you as he reveals his identity, for lack of a better way to thank you. "The name's Alexander Anderson."

"Well then, Alexander Anderson..." You taste his name on your tongue and he immediately feels another blush threatening to set his cheeks on fire. "Shall we meet again."

Anderson ignores the cartwheel his heart does in his chest, but before he can hurl out any insults or threats your face suddenly fell, as if you had just remembered something very urgent.

Turning on your heels, you wave as you leave the baffled man alone just like that. He looks after you for a while, until your silhouette disappears into the shadows of the night. Ultimatively he's left trying to unravel tonight's events in his racing mind, one thought predominant no matter how hard he tried to erase it.

You have very kind eyes.

At another place of the same forrest, you are finally able to do what you came here for in the first place - much to your frustration however it seems you have missed this opportunity to harvest the blue spider lilly...

...you couldn't even feel mad, though, for tonight you have found something way more valuable.

"Guess my judgement was too quick...that one sure has potential."

[Next Chapter]

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #alexander anderson #alexander anderson x reader #reader insert #writing #fanfiction #multichapter #iscariot

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fablesrose · 4 months ago

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Ch 23 - The Double Blind Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: A job in the pharmaceutical industry hits a little too close to home as a dangerous drug is about to hit the market.

Words: 7.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Eliot and I are walking past the pub heading to that cafe a couple blocks down, you wanna come?” Hardison asked when I picked up the phone.

I looked down at the outfit I was wearing and figured it was clean looking enough to step outside into public in, “sure, see you in a minute.”

When I got down to the street, Eliot and Hardison were just walking up. It looked like Eliot had a similar idea to me, riding the line of comfy and presentable. Hardison looked a little more dressed up with a scarf.

“What are you, a hipster in Portland?” I asked when I saw his outfit.

“That’s what I said,” Eliot huffed.

“I just have style,” Hardison said, “It’s not my fault you look like a bum next to me.”

“Hey!” Eliot and I said at the same time.

Hardison quickly corrected himself, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Y/n, you look nice.”

I laughed at the clear exclusion and Eliot punching him in the arm.

“Ow!”

They started bickering, so before it could escalate, I wedged myself between them, putting them on either side of me and wrapped my arms around them, forcing them to continue to walk towards the cafe. “Come on, boys, I think we all need a little treat this morning.”

The rest of the walk went by without much incident. Once we got to the cafe Eliot opened the door, Hardison went in ahead of me and as I passed Eliot, he placed his hand on my lower back as he followed me into the building. He kept his hand there, though it was almost hovering, as Hardison ordered in front of us. I ordered, and when I had finally pulled out my wallet to pay, the cashier was already handing a receipt to Eliot. I looked between the receipt and Eliot, finally pulling it out of his hand to see that it had my drink and his on it.

“Eliot,” I almost whined.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He looked at me innocently, a smile on his face.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I insisted, feeling my face warm from the moniker.

His smile widened, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He then handed me my drink from where the barista had slid it over the counter to us. He then turned to add sugar and cream to his coffee before we joined Hardison who was standing away from the counter with a pastry.

“Thank you,” I whispered, taking a sip before we reached him.

Eliot just hummed.

“We staying or going?” I asked once we all stood together.

“We can head back, there’s something I want to check,” Hardison said, “but I’m almost done, let me just finish this.”

I watched as he took two more bites, finishing the pastry before throwing away the wrapper.

“Already?” I asked, “Do you not savor anything?” I took a gulp of my drink, feeling like I needed to catch up.

“Not today,” he replied, “It was too good to wait.” He took a napkin and wiped his face before tossing that too, “alright, ready to go?”

I looked at Eliot who rolled his eyes as he took a drink.

“I mean, I guess,” I said.

“Cool.”

Hardison led the way with Eliot and I right behind him when as we stepped onto the sidewalk, a woman ran into Harison, who then bumped into me. My drink spilled all over me and Eliot who stood beside me.

“Sorry,” I winced, and then turned to see who had bumped into us.

“FBI, sir,” two men came running up to us, flashing a badge that didn’t look right. “That young lady is in our custody,” he said, pointing at the woman who had run into us and Hardison was currently holding.

Hardison laughed, “Oh, you made two mistakes, bruv… First, you flashed that fake-ass FBI badge at me. Second, you spilled her drink.” Hardison then pointed at me and Eliot, who was looking over the damage. Eliot then tossed what was remaining of his coffee behind him and ran to beat up the two fake agents.

The three of us: Hardison, this mystery woman, and I, all watched as Eliot beat them to a pulp before joining us to head back to the pub. The woman told us along the way that her name was Ashley and that she was just sitting there at a different cafe down the block when a man approached her, offering information about the drug trial her sister was part of. The drug trial that led to her sister’s death. When she had turned her back to take a call, he had disappeared, but she noticed those two men watching her across the street. When she had tried to walk away they had started to chase her down, and that's when she ran into us. Super suspicious, sounded like our kind of thing.

“Alright, I’m gonna go change,” I said once we reached the pub.

“I’m gonna head home and change, too,” Eliot said, looking over his stained shirt, not only from my drink, but from the fake agents too.

“Sounds good, see you in a bit,” I told him as he walked down the street to where I assumed he had parked.

“Why don’t you go into the pub, I’ll go tell Nate to meet you down there,” I told Hardison.

“Can you tell him to bring my laptop down too?” he asked as he descended the stairs with Ashley.

“Sure.”

I did as we discussed, telling Nate to get downstairs with the laptop, and then went to change. I decided after I stripped down that I still felt gross, so I took a quick shower before putting on the clean clothes. They were a little nicer than my previous ones, figuring that if this was indeed a job, that I might need to look more publicly presentable.

When I had gotten myself all straightened out Hardison called to confirm my suspicions. Eliot was going to come pick me up to head over to Dr. Robert’s house. Apparently this was the man that Ashley had spoken to at the cafe.

“Hey sweetheart,” Eliot said as I hopped in his truck.

“Hey,” I mirrored, noticing that he had dressed up a little bit too. “Nice gloves,” were the only thing I commented on.

He smiled a bit as we drove, his grip on the wheel tightening though the leather gloves he was now wearing.

We pulled up to the address Hardison sent us and walked up to the Doctor’s apartment. Eliot knocked on the door while I called his name. We waited for a moment to listen for any movement inside, but it was quiet. Eliot tried the handle and it didn’t budge.

“Door’s locked and no one’s answering,” he said.

“Alright, see if you can break in, but be subtle,” Nate answered through comms.

Eliot and I exchanged a look.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered before kicking the door in with one blow.

“Real subtle,” I teased.

“You didn’t seem to have any ideas,” Eliot defended as we walked into the room. “Did you have a lock pick set on you?”

“Don’t tell Parker,” I replied, pretty much confirming that I didn’t.

Eliot called Dr. Robert’s name again while we walked further into the room. When there wasn’t an answer, I walked up to the table and picked up a set of keys.

“Does Dr. Robert’s drive a BMW?” I asked, looking at the key fob.

“Pretty small apartment for one of those,” Eliot commented, looking around the room further.

“He doesn’t drive a BMW, he drives a moped,” Hardison answered.

I hummed, thinking, and examined the key fob further. There was a seam in an odd place for just a decorative item. After some fiddling, it parted into two pieces, showing one side was a cap.

“It’s a flash drive,” I said.

“Plug it into Eliot’s phone,” Hardison said.

I momentarily wondered why my phone wouldn’t work, but didn’t vocally express it. Eliot tossed his phone to me from across the room. I fumbled it for a moment before catching it into my chest. I finally plugged the drive into the port, “is it working?”

“Okay, according to these files Dr. Roberts was meeting with, uh, Darren Hoffman,” Hardison said. “Now Hoffman was trying to buy something from him for… Two hundred thousand dollars.”

“Sounds like a bribe,” Nate said.

“To buy his silence maybe,” I added.

“There’s nothing in his account that shows up that big,” Hardison countered, “if it was a bribe, he didn’t take it.”

“We’ve gotta figure out who this Hoffman guy is,” Nate said.

I took the opportunity to slide Eliot’s phone, still plugged into the drive into my pocket so I could continue to explore the apartment.

Hardison pulled up information on Hoffman. He was the CEO of PallaGen labs, who bought the company that was doing Ashley’s sister’s drug trial. Hoffman was a career executive, jumping from CEO position to CEO position with little to no background in any of the fields he was the executive for.

I was about to turn a corner in the apartment when Eliot called out.

“I found Dr. Roberts. Y/n, don’t come in here.”

I paused. “Is he dead?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he gruesomely dead?”

Eliot paused for a couple of seconds. “No.”

I walked into the room to see the doctor curled up on the couch, looking pale and almost peaceful, but very dead.

“They made it look like a heart attack,” he said.

“What do you mean, made it look?” Nate asked.

Eliot started examining the body, starting at the face, “Well, there’s nine places that a professional will use to deliver an injection.” He had to pry the doctor’s arm up from his chest and pry his fingers up from their clenched position. “They went under the fingernail.” Eliot let the arm go to settle back to its original position, “your Dr. Roberts was murdered.”

I sighed, looking at the body, not sure how to feel. It’s not the first dead body I’ve seen, but the others were nothing like this. I could feel Eliot’s eyes on me, evaluating me. He seemed to determine that I wasn’t going to start crying or puke, so continued to survey the room, checking the doctor’s pockets and drawers for anything useful.

Sophie and Parker then joined the conversation saying that they had found the people Nate had sent them looking for, Parker listing off a substantial list of names.

“Okay, who have you talked to so far?” Nate asked.

“Well, that’s not really an option,” Sophie replied. “They’re all dead.”

That made Eliot pause again as the air started to feel heavier. It’s not everyday or every job where we have had evidence of the widespread impact of our marks, with a solid paper trail of just how many have already died. Usually its financial, or reputational ruin, or one or two deaths with the potential to save many more. I can’t remember a job that started with a death count this high.

This job wasn’t going to be a fix-it job. This was going to be an avengement.

Eliot and I did a little more searching of the apartment, but didn’t find anything else. I confirmed that Hardison had everything from the flashdrive before pulling it out of my pocket. I wiped off any fingerprints I may have left on it with my shirt and left the key ring on the table where I found it. I silently handed Eliot his phone back as he escorted me out of the apartment, his hand hovering on my lower back, much like it was this morning. It didn’t feel like the same day, though.

Eliot pulled the front door closed, making sure it didn’t swing open freely, even though he broke it down. We then walked silently back to his truck where the drive back to the pub was also silent. We seemed to wordlessly agree that we could pick this all back up tomorrow. It was probably for my sake. The more I thought about it, it probably didn’t bother Eliot as much as it did me. I couldn’t pin point quite what I was feeling, which made it that much harder to process.

I told Nate and Sophie I was turning in for the night, the both of them were staying up for a little while to do some research and planning.

I kept turning the day over in my mind. What triggered the feeling? Why is it lingering so much? Is it just the death, or the fact that a medical company is doing it? Maybe both. Eventually I digested it enough to fall asleep.

I woke up the next morning still in a bit of a funk, but feeling a lot better than the day before. I headed down to the poker room where Hardison had set up. Nate, Ashley, Hardison, and Parker were already there.

“How’re you feeling?” Nate asked once I walked in.

“Not quite myself,” I answered honestly. “But I can do whatever you need.”

Nate hummed, looking over some paperwork, “Just relax for now, I’ll let you know if we need an extra man on this one.”

I nodded, somewhat relieved, and sat at the table.

Nate and Hardison started explaining the plan. Parker was going to break into Hoffman’s office to find out what Dr. Roberts had on him. Her cover was going to be a pharmaceutical rep in training, previously a cheerleader and runner up beauty queen, to fit in with the other reps.

“Beauty queen?” Parker asked skeptically.

“Oh yeah, nice touch right?” Hardison said. “That was Ashley’s idea.” Hardison smiled, giving Ashley a fist bump while handing over Parker’s name badge which she took tersely.

Nate moved onto Sophie’s part, getting close to Hoffman so he would go to her when we rattle his cage and scare him. In order for that to happen with Hoffman’s busy schedule with a new drug launch, we had to steal an appointment with a Jennifer Pearson, an FDA rep.

“I’m sorry,” Ashley interjected, “how will you keep the real Jennifer Pearson from showing up?”

Nate looked at me for a hard moment, thinking, before replying, “Eliot can do that.”

Hardison called Eliot to give him a head start on getting ready and Parker pulled me aside while he was distracted.

“I need you to do something for me,” Parker said seriously.

I blinked, “Okay?”

“I need you to keep an eye on her,” she said with a sharp tilt of her head to point at Ashley.

I glanced at Ashley who was smiling at Hardison, “What am I watching for?”

“I don’t know, anything suspicious!” she whispered. “Please?”

I looked between the three of them: Hardison, Ashley, and Parker, starting to get a sneaking suspicion of what was going on here. I felt a smile twitch at my lips, “Maybe specifically between Ashley and Hardison?”

Parker’s jaw clenched and she didn’t meet my eyes.

I let myself smile softly before placing my hand on her shoulder, sympathy coursing through me. I knew the feeling. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Parker finally met my eyes again. Her body seemed to relax just a hair before she nodded at me in thanks and left to get ready herself.

Then it was just a waiting game for a little while. Waiting for Parker’s check in time, for Sophie’s stolen appointment time, for the real Ms. Pearson to show up. Hardison did a little bit of prep work, but most of the time was filled with talking. Between Ashley and Hardison specifically. Nate was mostly staring at the screens and some paperwork, lost in his own head. Ashley and Hardison pulled me into the conversation a time or two, but stayed mostly focused on each other. I had to give it to Parker, they were being a little friendlier than I would like if I was in her shoes. Which I guess I have been a couple of times. I think she was handling it relatively well.

Which, I did try to help her out, every time they started to go down a rabbit hole and start talking to each other closer and closer, I would gently try to add something to the conversation, making sure they were still in the real world and maybe not so close together. To their credit, it didn’t seem to bother them too much, so I didn’t feel bad being a horrible wingman for Hardison. Ya know, the whole “gals before pals” routine.

And then, just like that it was rapid fire of our team heading into the belly of the beast: Pallagen. First, Parker checked in with her pharmaceutical rep team. Then Eliot was there to intercept Ms. Pearson, offering to show her around to keep her busy. Sophie then swooped in to take her appointment with Hoffman.

We had the comms tuned to Sophie’s conversation. She had an air of flirtation, catching Hoffman’s attention.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just heard so many amazing things about this company, and… and the man that runs it,” she said once introductions were made.

“Well, you know… Can’t believe everything you hear,” he replied in cool humility.

“I’m sure in this case, I can,” Sophie doubled down. “I know that you must be very busy, but I was hoping you might show me around.” She placed down a file with a smack that we could hear through the comms, it must be the paperwork the real Ms. Pearson came to sign. “I have to discuss the possibility of doing some consulting for you.”

“I’d be honored.”

“Consulting is code for bribe,” Nate explained simply.

The three of us turned to look at him.

“Yeah, doctors who review drugs for the FDA are allowed by law to take consulting fees from the drug companies,” Nate continued.

I wasn’t super familiar with the practice, but I had heard of it. Hardison seemed to know more about it as he added onto Nate’s explanation to Ashley, who seemed the most in the dark. “See, it’s fifty thousand to each doctor on the FDA panel; two hundred thousand to the director of the New York Medical School to speak at the Pain Awareness Institute; and then twenty-five thousand to each celebrity who attends the annual dinner at the institute.”

“That’s a lot of money,” I said, mostly to myself.

“What’s the Pain Awareness Institute?” Ashley asked.

“It’s a foundation founded by Hoffman and PallaGen to, uh, legally funnel bribes,” Nate answered.

“This is legal?” Ashley asked in disbelief.

“Unfortunately,” I answered.

“We’re in the wrong business, man,” Hardison smiled at Nate and then me.

I cracked a smile and a huff at the joke, but Nate didn’t acknowledge it, moving on with the con.

“Parker, Sophie’s cleaning out Hoffman. Get in position.”

Sophie gave an all clear, meaning Hoffman was out of his office and she had planted a device on his digital door lock to keep it open. We then proceeded to listen as Parker used her awkwardness to her advantage for a full minute (though I’m sure it felt like a lot longer to everyone else) to get out of a sales role play exercise.

Once she got into Hoffman’s office, she sent Hardison all of the files on Hoffman’s computer.

“Locked file on a locked workstation,” Hardison said, picking out the file almost instantly. “I smell secrets… Oh, 256-bit A.E.S. encryption? Adorable.”

The file opened up with ease with multiple documents popping up on the screens.

“Wait, hold on,” Nate said, pointing at one document in particular, “this right here, make that bigger.”

Hardison obliged, blowing up a page that showed the chemical composition of Vioplex, the new drug Hoffman was launching. Nate sorted through some pages on the table until he pulled another chemical composition diagram. He walked up to the big screen, comparing the two diagrams.

“It’s identical,” he concluded.

“It’s HT1,” Ashley said, “I’ve spent three years learning everything I could about the drug that killed my sister. That is HT1.”

“Okay, so I thought Roberts made a connection between HT1 and Hoffman, but no, it's between HT1 and Vioplex,” Nate said. “So Hoffman is going to release HT1 as Vioplex… And a lot of people are going to die.”

The weight I had been feeling since yesterday just became even heavier on my chest. Now there was even more at risk.

Ashley did some more studying of the chemical compounds of the two drugs, telling us that they were the same drug, but Vioplex had a few time released protein inhibitors that would hide the symptoms and delay liver failure from months to years.

“No, he can’t get away with this, no,” Hardison said after Nate looked over all of Hoffman’s bribes in order to push this drug through.

“Listen, the FDA gets five hundred thousand complaints every year about bad side effects. By the time anybody figures out what’s going on, Hoffman will be long gone to his next CEO gig,” Nate explained.

“So he’ll never be held accountable for the people he killed,” Ashley concluded.

“That’s right, we need physical evidence that HT1 and Vioplex are the same thing,” Nate said. “We need the HT1 vials.”

“You think they still have them?” Ashley asked.

“Does any company or person over thirty five you know not have tax and other quote on quote ‘important’ documents on hand dating five to ten years back?” I asked rhetorically.

Ashley blinked at me.

I looked at Hardison in disbelief, hoping that he would agree with me. He gave me a pained frown and a nod telling me that he got me.

“Yeah, drug companies keep samples of everything,” Nate answered her more directly.

“They’ve still got vials of smallpox in over a dozen countries,” Hardison added.

“Do I wanna know what countries?” Ashley asked.

Hardison and I both shook our heads no.

What this all meant though, was that our con just got more complicated. Nate instructed Parker to try and find anything on where the vials were stored and Eliot had to keep Ms. Pearson around until we could get her the HT1 vials.

“Dude, she’s on a flight in two hours,” Eliot whispered, emphasizing the conflict of the situation.

“Well, do not let her get on the plane,” Nate replied while exiting the poker room to get a drink at the bar.

As I contemplated how he would do that, Eliot already got to work in making it happen. His tone when talking to her softened and lowered in a way that made goosebumps slightly raise on my arms and neck. He suggested she stay for a while, to not only tour PallaGen, but the city with him as well. I could hear her contained giddiness through the comms of changing her flight plans in order to oblige him.

It was only when Parker said that she found a safe and was scoffing at his easy password that I noticed that my hands were clenched hard enough to leave deep indents into my palms from my nails, my hands slightly discolored from the change in blood flow. I stretched my hands, trying to get myself to relax and distract myself from Eliot flirting with the FDA rep.

I noticed Hardison staring at my hands, seeing the indents and discoloration. “What?” I demanded, a little harsher than intended.

“Nothin’” Hardison snapped back with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, turning his gaze back to his computer.

I caught his lips start to creep into a smirk, so I tried to glare at him to knock it off, but it didn’t work. I tried to let it go and focus on something else, anything else. Unluckily, that something came when after using her phone to scan some documents she found, Parker was at risk of being caught when a security alert was sending guards to Hoffman’s office. Hardison told her to get out.

“No no no, Parker, you don’t get out,” Nate denied. “You stay right where you are until we get what we need.”

Hardison and I shared a look. What was he doing?

“How much time do I have? Sixty seconds?” Parker guessed.

“No,” Hardison replied, looking at his watch and getting up from the table, heading to the bar where Nate was, “fourty, uh, thirty-five, now twenty.”

“Now you have nineteen, you’re gonna stay where you are,” Nate said.

I followed Hardison out of the room to talk to Nate.

“No, Nate, look,” Hardison began, “security is literally seconds away from Hoffman’s office.”

“We need those vials,” Nate insisted.

“But we also need Parker,” Hardison answered.

While I was anxious about Parker, the feeling softened, hearing that from Hardison. I already knew she didn’t have anything to worry about with him, but hearing this just made it that much clearer to me, just the way he emphasized it, it was beyond just a teammate worrying about another member.

The anxiousness fully left when Parker told us she was done a moment later, escaping the office before security could arrive.

Nate’s smug and self assured expression at her answer caused me to purse my lips. This was toeing the line more than I would like. Even from Nate. Even for me, who has a higher tolerance for his bullshit than almost anyone.

I wasn’t sure how to articulate this to him right then, though. I just had to stew over it while Sophie finished up her meeting with Hoffman, Parker made her way back from PallaGen, and Eliot continued to entertain the FDA rep. Luckily with the latter, I didn’t have to listen to it once Sophie and Parker were out. His part was the equivalent to background noise of the con.

I was heading back up to Nate’s apartment at the end of the day to unwind with the others a bit when Sophie came nearly stomping into the pub. She had a fury on her face that told me that she was going to give Nate a talking to. That took a bit of pressure off of me to do it, though I knew I probably should still address it, Sophie could probably do it better and get through to him more than I could. As much as he loves and respects me, knows I am capable, I know that sometimes, I’m still just his little niece. A little girl that he needs to take care of, that he knows what’s best for her.

It’s kind of funny actually. Both of us knew that he had no idea what he was doing back then, but he tried his best. He still has the underlying feeling that he knows what’s best though. Maybe that contradiction is just something that comes with being a parent, or in this case guardian. Or maybe it’s not that one could feel that they know best, but that they know better, so for now it is the best for the child.

I guess it’s no good speculating. I won’t know for sure until I have kids of my own. If I have kids of my own.

I sat down across from Hardison after entering Nate’s apartment. It wasn’t long before Eliot strolled in.

This was the first time I had seen today, and boy, I wish I hadn’t seen him at all. He was in a suit, but no tie. Instead, his white shirt had two buttons tastefully undone. His hair was silky and voluminous as ever. Now I had to imagine him spending the whole day looking like that with the FDA rep. My jaw clenched as I tried to smile and greet him.

He sat at the head of the table between Hardison and I. He didn’t say anything as he lowered his head to the table, resting it on his crossed arms.

“Little Jennifer Pearson’s wearing you out, ain’t she,” Hardison teased with a smile.

“Dude, we walked the freedom trail twice,” Eliot answered without lifting his head.

“Nice,” Hardison grinned, assuming the innuendo, which I also assumed, causing even my practiced and poised tight smile to falter. I didn’t want to think about that, let alone hear about it directly from him.

Eliot slowly lifted his head, “No, man. The actual freedom trail.”

Hardison’s smile started to falter.

“We took paddle boats to the public garden, shopped on Newbury Street. I went to something called the Boston Duck Tour,” Eliot’s answer became slowly more exasperated, showing his displeasure and exhaustion.

I hated to take pleasure in his lack of, but I couldn’t help the bittersweet feeling coming over me. I would have liked doing all of those things with him, so hearing that he didn’t like it caused me to shrink a bit. On the other hand, I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep from breaking into an inappropriately wide smile, because at least he didn’t enjoy it with her.

Man, I’m turning into a monster.

I cautiously reached over and rested my hand on his arm, squeezing it comfortingly, “I’m sorry Eliot.”

He shifted his focus to me and his face softened a touch, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Nate then walked in with a quick stride, without Sophie I noted, and sat at his desk to continue working.

“Yo, the information I got from Hoffman’s office confirms that he’s still got vials of HT1 in PallaGen storage,” Hardison told him. “Thing is, the vials are stored in a case amongst hundreds of other cases in one of ten storage facilities. Now, if I do my math, that means this case was —”

Eliot banged his head on the table, “It’s gonna be hard to find!”

“I believe I was making that point,” Hardison said almost sarcastically after a pause.

“Well, we are going to get Hoffman to lead us to the vials,” Nate answered coolly. “We’ll use Sophie’s friendship with him to get information, then I’ll enter the game to push.”

Eliot lifted his head with a cautiously thoughtful expression, “You realize the last guy that pushed Hoffman ended up dead?”

“Yeah, well, let him take his best shot,” Nate replied. “We’ll see who walks away this time.”

I felt my eye start to twitch at his attitude. I didn’t notice that I had started to grip Eliot’s arm, probably painfully, until he put his hand on top of mine. I instantly snapped my attention to him, relinquishing my grip on him, but he kept his hand on top of mine, giving it a squeeze.

The three of us then exchanged a skeptical look.

“Prison’s changed him,” Hardison said.

“Better or worse?” Eliot asked.

“Haven’t decided yet,” I answered.

On that note, we, with the exception of Nate, decided to call it a night.

The next day, Sophie went to meet Hoffman over drinks to further discuss her consultation. Hoffman pretty much confessed to everything we assumed of him. People were going to die from Vioplex, and he didn’t care. He wanted Sophie to push the complaints to the bottom and once the deaths become a problem, they’ll send out an apology and pay the fines that would be a small fraction of the profits.

Strangely, even though Hoffman was a dirtbag of one of the worst varieties, he still had enough chivalry to give Sophie his jacket when she expressed she was cold. Maybe that was some of her flirting and subliminal messaging though. She slipped away to take a phone call, giving Nate and opening the scare Hoffman a little bit.

Nate blackmailed Hoffman, saying that not only did he know that Vioplex is HT1, but that he had proof, namely the vials that we needed to steal. Nate asked for five million dollars in exchange for his silence. Nate rattled him enough that Hoffman couldn’t wait to go check on them. He quickly excused himself from Sophie and retrieved his jacket from her, where she placed a button cam on so we could spy.

The button cam was high definition and included GPS so we could track his path. We watched as he went to a particular facility and walked the halls to a particular storage room. He typed in the code in full view of the camera, so I chose to write it down, just to help keep track of it, along with the case number once he reached it.

“Thank you Mr. Hoffman,” Nate said, watching the screen.

“Now, Parker, look,” Hardison instructed before sending her off to get them, “we have the location, alright? Got the access codes, and we have the case number; all you have to do is go pick the lock on the cage. Now, I’m gonna compare Hoffman’s path to yours and, uh, lead you to the right room.” He handed her a button cam of her own so we could watch which she attached to her leather jacket.

“Good luck,” Ashley wished with a smile.

Parker lifted her head to look at her with poorly concealed disdain, “Luck? Do I look like I need luck?”

I placed myself in front of Parker, breaking her line of sight on Ashley, “hey, I’ve got it,” I reminded her in a whisper.

That seemed to stop her for a second enough for Hardison to reassure her, “whoa whoa whoa, she just meant like, you know…” he smiled and gave her a thumbs up.

Nate chose to send her on her way to change the situation. He handed her the trick case that she was going to switch the vials into, “go do your magic.”

Parker took it with the same expression, but left the poker room without further argument.

Sophie let us know when she got into PallaGen and quickly told us that Hoffman was up to something. “Hardison, are we tracking his phone?”

“I’ve got a signal, I just don’t have a connection point,” he replied.

Nate’s phone started ringing on the table next to me. I picked it up, looking at the screen to see that it was Hoffman calling, and handed it to Nate.

“And now I have my connection point,” Hardison quipped.

We listened to the short conversation between Nate and Hoffman that, in summary, consisted of Hoffman agreeing to the deal, but wanting to do it in person instead of just wiring him the money. Nate agreed before either of us could tell him no, convincingly at least.

“‘You’ll be there,’” Hardison mimicked, “Nate, it’s a trap. What are you–”

“Do you wanna end up like Dr. Roberts?” Sophie asked. “All Hoffman has to do is send his goons out into the crowd to brush past you with a syringe.”

“She’s right, this is a suicide mission,” Hardison agreed.

“Alright, listen, listen,” Nate interrupted, “If I don’t do it, it’s gonna tip Hoffman off and this whole thing will fall apart. So, I guess the rest of you are just gonna have to get it done before they manage to kill me.”

Through this whole exchange I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I was angry, scared, and overwhelmed. With how nonchalant he was in his last statement, a surge of energy boiled over and I burst from my seat, rounding the table to stand in front of him, blocking his way.

“That’s bullshit!” I yelled. I wanted to say something else, but nothing came out. Instead I found my hand raising to slap him, but it paused about halfway to his face. It stopped and I clenched it to a fist and just shook it at him before hitting it to his chest. Through this Nate’s expression didn’t change, he just looked at me in his arrogant way when he doesn’t really care what happens. The outburst suddenly drained all my energy and resistance in an instant. I was finally able to whisper, “don’t let them take you away from me too.”

I thought I saw his expression soften, just for a moment before he kissed me on the forehead, whispering something into my hair that included “birdy,” but I couldn’t make out the rest of it. And then just like that, the moment was over and he was back to how he was, confidently sidestepping me and walking out of the room.

I grabbed the closest chair and slumped into it, the lack of adrenaline now draining on my body and emotions. Hardison hesitantly patted me on the shoulder before returning to his computer.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Eliot asked through comms on his way to PallaGen to entertain Ms. Pearson for a little longer and hopefully keep Nate from being killed.

I hummed, pausing before actually answering, “Ask me again when this job is over.”

Everything was quiet until Nate showed up to PallaGen.

“I’m in. Does anyone see anything suspicious?” he asked.

“No, but that’s kind of the point,” Eliot replied. “They’re gonna try to blend in. Look for guys that have a couple inches on everybody else here, and hands in their pocket. Shoes that lace up a little too high. Security guys always wear shoes they can run in.”

“Noted,” I commented.

“Narrows it down,” Nate fired back.

Ms. Pearson’s voice came through the comms, asking if Eliot was even listening to her. Eliot agreed distractedly, but couldn’t really respond.

“You know, I’ve dated a lot of you drug company guys,” she said, “you’re all the same. You’re nice, you’re handsome, and married to the job. Look, I’ve really enjoyed our time together. I’m just looking for someone who’s a little less settled.”

Eliot tried to stutter out a rebuttal.

“It’s not a criticism,” she assured. “You are a great guy. I’m just not looking for someone who sits behind a desk all day. I want someone who travels the world and takes risks, somebody a little more dangerous.”

“Right,” Eliot hesitantly responded.

Eliot chuckled and ensured she would wait to sign the paperwork with Hoffman until after the launch. She agreed that they could hang out for a little while.

“You alright Eliot? You need time to shake it off?” Nate asked bluntly.

“Shut up!” Eliot replied. “Let’s get this show over with.”

“You know? Respect,” I said. “Upfront, knows what she wants. I like it. It kind of compliments your grifting skills Eliot.”

Hardison gave me a side eye when I said upfront, to which I told him to shut up.

“Hardison, how are we doing on the vials?” Nate asked.

The route to the vial’s and Parker’s location, marked as a red dot was on the screen, Ashley and Hardison were watching it standing close to the screen. I chose to stay in my seat to try and give myself room to breathe.

“Parker’s two minutes out,” Hardison replied.

Parker’s dot deviated from the route, taking a wrong turn.

“Wait, wait, stop,” Hardison said. “Parker, you’re going the wrong way, turn around.”

She silently did as she was asked.

“Alright, now take a right,” Hardison told her. “There’s a security camera over your right shoulder.”

“Got it,” she responded. There were a couple of beats of silence as she maneuvered around it before she asked for the code to the door.

Hardison and Ashley looked at each other, asking the same question before scrambling back over to me at the table to find it. I sighed and pulled out my note where I had written it down.

“Parker, it’s five one one nine nine three,” I told her.

“I’m in,” she replied a second later.

I looked over to Hardison and Ashley who were staring at me, paused midway through shuffling through papers and scanning the video tape of Hoffman.

“What?” I asked. They didn’t answer, so I lifted my note that I had the code written on and waved it a little, “contingencies.” I turned back to watch the screen and Parker’s progress.

I heard Hardison mumble a bit clunkily, “you are your… uncle’s niece?” Clearly altering the saying of ‘you are your father’s daughter’ as he worked on his laptop making sure the motion sensors were disabled for Parker

I hummed in response.

Parker was able to get in and switch out the cases, putting the vials in a trick case that can make it seem like the vials are there or missing from the case, depending on when and how you open it.

“Done,” Parker said once she had exited the cage, but not the room.

“Alright, good,” Hardison replied. “Turning on the motion sensors… now.”

There was a moment where nothing happened.

“Parker, come on,” I said.

She sighed. There was another pause before she spoke. “I triggered the motion sensors. The HT1 vials are in the cage. How long until security’s here?”

“Fifteen seconds,” Hardison replied.

“Plus or minus?”

“Plus or minus none. Get out of there now.”

With a little bit of finangling with the guards, she was able to get clear.

Then it was time for Nate to at least try to get out before things got messy. Unfortunately that wasn’t in the cards with Hoffman’s goons grabbing him and bringing Nate to his office.

“So glad you could join us,” Hoffmann said.

Nate chuckled humorlessly, “What’s going on?”

“The deal’s changed.”

“Look, I don’t understand,” Nate stuttered in reply, “I thought a businessman like you would know how to keep a deal.”

“We had a deal when you said you had the vials, but you were bluffing. Nice, getting me to lead you to the storage facility. Too bad the hack you hired to steal the cases got caught.”

“Mm, she didn’t get caught.”

“She left empty handed,” Hoffman shot back. There was a pause before he continued, “See? Now I have the vials, and I have you. I think we need a new deal.” He then told his goons to wait outside and guard the door.

Eliot quickly made his way to the office and took care of the guards, making sure the door was clear.

“As far as I’m concerned, the old deal still works,” Nate said. “You give me the money, and no one finds out that Vioplex is identical to HT1, right? Okay, alright, listen… I’ll lower the price for you: two million dollars.”

“Still negotiating, huh? Well, I gotta admire your persistence.”

“Well, you know, the truth’s gonna come out once people start dying.”

“Well, sure, but by then, Vioplex will have made this company billions of dollars, and I’ll have turned that success into a penthouse office in a fortune five hundred. I think I’ll try oil next,” Hoffman replied, showing that Nate knew his corrupt CEO types well.

Sophie, at this point, went and approached Ms. Pearson at the launch party, introducing herself as Hoffman’s assistant, saying that he was ready for her to sign the paperwork, sending her up on her way to the office.

“It’s a great idea, great plan,” Nate conceded. “There’s just one little snag.”

“What’s that?”

“We stole the vials.”

“Then what’s this?”

“That’s an empty box. Yeah. We have the via- well, we had the vials.”

“You ‘had’ the vials? Where are they now?”

“Well, now, they’re in the champagne that you’re… drinking.”

Hoffman didn’t reply, there was a clacking noise coming through the comms of him opening the trick case to see it was empty with a little note saying ‘cheers.’

“Now, I got to tell you, it was a pretty concentrated dose,” Nate told him, “so, your liver will fail in the next few hours. Two days tops. You should be experiencing nausea, followed by this intense, profound, uh, fatigue, loss of appetite-”

“Now stop it!” Hoffman stopped him. “I know you couldn’t have drugged the champagne. I’ve been watching you since you’ve got here.”

“Well, I’m not working alone, so…”

Ms. Pearson entered the office, introducing herself, and told Hoffman that his assistant sent her up when he expressed confusion. Hoffman insisted that he had already met the FDA rep, and so Nate reminded him that he wasn’t working alone, revealing that Sophie was in on it.

Hoffman stormed out of the office with a ‘no!’ Ms. Pearson, understandably, asked what was going on, so Nate told her to follow Hoffman, that he would explain everything, handing her the case to keep with her.

Hardison hacked into the security system so we could watch the chaos unfold. Hoffman went around yelling about the champagne being poisoned, smashing glasses out of people’s hands. Hardison put the chemical compositions of HT1 and Vioplex next to each other on the screens, showing that they were the same. All of the shareholders were in shock and Ms. Pearson put the pieces together quickly. Hoffman insisted that we had stolen the vials, and so Ms. Pearson opened the case to show that they were still there. Now she had the vials to do testing with. The press surrounded Hoffman, asking questions.

“Fifty high profile doctors, two dozen medical journalists, and an FDA rep,” Sophie said once she met up with Nate.

“That should do it,” Nate replied.

“You do realize that that stunt you pulled defines ‘out of control,’” Sophie said.

“I just wanted you to see that I would never put any of you at risk if I wasn’t willing to take the same chances myself.”

“I love that you think that’s comforting.”

“Let me just pose a question,” I said. “Would you have made the same calls if I were in there?”

There was silence on the other end of the comms.

“That’s what I thought.” I pulled out my com and started helping Hardison clean up.

They made their way back to the pub. Parker pulled me aside again where I assured her that Ashley was fine, and nothing weird or inappropriate happened between her and Hardison. Despite this, she still looked a little uneasy.

Hardison sat down with Ashley to give her some financial compensation and a new quest of finding all the people that were impacted by HT1. Parker continued to stare them down, so I turned to Sophie who was sitting next to her and told her that it was her turn with Parker. Sophie gave me a perplexed look but I didn’t elaborate as I left the pub.

Eliot was waiting for me on the way to my apartment.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked again, referring to earlier in the job.

I sighed, a lot of the anxiety of the job leaving, “Yeah, I think I’ll sleep for a couple of days though.”

Eliot nodded.

“Thanks for looking out for Nate.”

“That’s my job,” he replied simply.

“I still appreciate it,” I reiterated.

We stood looking at each other for a moment before I turned and finished the short journey to my apartment. I followed through and almost immediately fell asleep, the lack of adrenaline and anxiety exhausting.

A/n: Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged! Thank you for reading!

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#eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer #leverage #rewrite #slow burn #multichapter #nate ford #sophie devereaux #alec hardison #parker #ford!reader

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