#queue are still a mere bud

[neteyamyawne]

🦋 — Thigh Riding

✧ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : ᴅɪʟꜰ!ᴛᴏɴᴏᴡᴀʀɪ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴍᴀᴛᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

✧ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : ᴛᴏɴᴏᴡᴀʀɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴡɪꜰᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ɪᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇꜱ

MDNI ✯

❈ Warning : Thigh Riding, fingering (f receiving), breast play, soft dom tonowari, edging, tsaheylu making, dry humping.

❈ Word count : 0.8k proof read.

"word" - dialogue

❈ Note : I loveeeeee Tonowari's thighs omgg those damn thiccc thighs! (I want him to squish my face between them)

❈ Glossary : Tweng - loin cloth, Yawne - beloved, paskalin - sweet berry, Muntxate - wife, mawey - calm

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ

Moonlight filtered through the flaps of your mauri as your desperate moans sounded through the thin walls of your shelter, your wet gliding over the expanse of your mate’s thigh, his skin glistening with your juices as your breaths labored with the effort to get some kind of friction, hips rolling over his thick thigh as he squatted in front of your quivering body riding his thigh.

“My My yawne, you really need to cum, huh?” He whispered in your ear as it was pinned back to your skull, your breaths shaking as his large hands rested on your waist, guiding your hips in smooth rolls, moving one of his hands to your heated core, pressing his fingers against your throbbing clit, rubbing circles with them, heightening your already overwhelming pleasure.

“Ummm fuck… wari, kiss me!” your demand was immediately satisfied, lips colliding, his tongue taking over your senses, your languid thrusts on his thigh sent tingles running up your body, the sound of wet slaps of the skin was imprinted into the back of your haze fucked out mind. “What do you want, honey? Tell me, do you want my cock to fill you up? Hmm?” He crooned in the kiss, placing and marking the skin below your chin and Jaw.

Your eyes rolled back in your skull, incoherent words spilling out of your mouth but he took the sign, he leaned back on the wall of your shared mauri, his thigh so wet with your slick that you slipped right down with a yelp at the sudden change of position when he tilted his thighs upward, the mound of your pussy bumping on the joint of his hip, a moan pilling from your plump lips “what was- that for?” you rasped out, grinding your cunt on the tight bulge under his tweng, the bud of your orgasm was just starting to unravel, he groaned throwing his head back pushing down on you down on his tight little problem while gritting his teeth “shhh I need you soakin’ loose for me, honey, when i stretch you open with my cock, i want you nice and loose f’me” his low whispers where enough to send shivers running down your spine.

He quickly slid a hand down burying two digits deep inside your gummy walls, curling and scissoring them until you were a whimpering mess above him, head buried in his chest, hips still moving in fluid motion, fucking yourself on his fingers nice and slow, taking your pleasure, getting more and more vocal as you neared your release, just mere hair length away.

Your pants and whines were music to his ears as they flicked back and forth at your sweet voice, as you begged him for more, voice loud and careless from the amount of pleasure coursing through you, his fingers brushing against your sweet spot repeatedly making stars burst through your vision “wari… I’m gonna… I’m gonna cumm'' you don’t know that was a demand, a plea or a request because you were far too gone to think about it “cum for me, paskalin, let me taste you” as if on command, the coil snapped, gushing over his thick fingers as your head fell over his shoulder, eyes drooping close, sweat beading on your pristine teal skin bathed in fire light “good girl, yawne” he growled massaging and rolling your swollen clit between his fingers, not giving your poor pussy a break, even while you came down your high.

Your breathy moans kept his cock throbbing hard, to intensify the aftermath even more, he connected your Queues together, a series of moans could be heard as he kept you nestled in his lap, toying with your pussy, nipping at your shoulder and neck with a content sigh as this sight was only for him.

He pulled back within a blink of an eye, he laid you down on the mat hovering above you as he trailed a line of kisses from to the base of your throat, to the valley of your breasts, kissing and sucking on one of them while kneading the other roughly, his other hand spreading your legs wide, finally resting it on the plush of your thigh as he nuzzled his hips between them, rubbing his clothed cock against your dripping folds, you groaned as you felt his tightness, your hands coming up and tangling them in his long locks, thrusting your hips up, eyes closed, lips parted, begging for more.

His warm taunting chuckle on the swell of your breast made goosebumps rise on your torso, seeing your desperate need for him to dick you down “mawey, Muntxate, have patience” his hand cupping your wet cunt, sneaking in his middle finger and claiming another desperate whine from you “wari… please!!” another chuckle from him was your only answer from him, throwing your legs over his shoulder as he removed his fingers and his loincloth, brandishing his cock out and pressing it on your folds, coating it with your juices before aligning it with your awaiting hole “you ready, baby girl?” your eager nod made his smirk widen “don’t worry, pearl, we just started for tonight” he chuckled as he pulnged in…

𝐀/𝐧 : Tonowari and his thighs are going to be the death of me!!!

Yawne : @taylormarieee, @persefolli, @eyweveng, @deadgirlrin, @eyrina-avatar, @avatarsslut, @neteyamsoare, @bobthe-turmpetman29, @nonniesworld, @zanabelle99, @thehoneymushroomhealer, @neteyamgfs, @xylianasblog.

©Neteyamyawne2023 | All Rights Reserved. Do not repost on other platforms, copy, steal, or translate any of my works!

[mrxcreepypastamadness]

Candycane Woodland of Lies (Overworld)

Song: Dark Forest

Character Cover: Anniversary Day Crumbilina

Lore: "One of the most mysterious ROM hacks of the SRW Central, An' (or better known as Our Anniversary Day) warps the characters and world of Sugar Rush World to tell an intriguing and creepy story. Crumbilina being a character of an undead spirit to such an extent that her mere presence in the ROM hack is to be feared."

*Instrumental*

Anniversary Day Crumbilina: 🎵See umbras of what you could have been back then, every good thing always has it's sudden end, The devil can't think, only act.🎵

SRW Boyfriend: 🎵*Sings*🎵

Anniversary Day Crumbilina: 🎵I still smell that red on you, you're horrendous, the next one on Satan's queue, find the lost tormentous freak. Lungs hurting please take them out. You can't hide from a martyr's one devout🎵

SRW Boyfriend: 🎵*Sings again*🎵

Anniversary Day Crumbilina: 🎵Distress rising, my devising, scan Pandora's box but acknowledge rain's clock, hues getting getting harsher, who is the carver? Won't get farther🎵

SRW Boyfriend: 🎵*Sings*🎵

Anniversary Day Crumbilina: 🎵Hear the devil's symphony, shun the angel's chorus, satanas strikes viciously at trespassers in my forest. Has my novelty peaked your interest? Now I won't ever rest HERE I, WILL FOREVER LIE.🎵

SRW Boyfriend: 🎵*Sings again, then solo*🎵

Anniversary Day Crumbilina: 🎵Let yourself waft the miasm, collapse over the phantasm. Before you start, pulling up the weed NO MORE BLISSFUL DREAMS🎵

*Laughs in rotting Crumbilina*

Anniversary Day Crumbilina: YOU LITTLE BRAT! CAN'T YOU SEE WHO YOU'RE FIGHTING WITH?! I AM THE QUEEN OF THIS FOREST!

*That transition changes after she throws SRW Boyfriend into a different place where Vanellope's corpse is at*

Anniversary Day Crumbilina: 🎵PICK YOUR POISON, BUDDING FLESH FOR WE COLLAPSE FOREVER MESH. YOU HAD NO IDEA DID YOU? YOU BUILT IT AFTER YOU RIPPED IT OUT🎵

SRW Boyfriend: 🎵*Sings*🎵

Anniversary Day Crumbilina: 🎵DID YOU REALLY TRUST THE LIES, NOW LET THE QUEEN CUT YOU DOWN TO SIZE, DON'T YOU TOUCH MY PREY OR YOU'LL BE THE NEXT ONE I FINALLY FILET🎵

SRW Boyfriend: 🎵*Sings again*🎵

Anniversary Day Crumbilina: DROWN!!!

*The transition changed back to normal, but pinkish red as she is glitching*

Anniversary Day Crumbilina: 🎵IT'S SHADOW TOWERED IN THE LIGHT, ISN'T IT SUCH A STAGGERING SIGHT? WATCH AS YOUR HIGHNESS TAKES HIS FLIGHT AND VANISH IN THE NIGHT.🎵 FIGHT! SHE BITES! GOODNIGHT!! I WATCH!!

SRW Boyfriend: 🎵*Sings a final time*🎵

Anniversary Day Crumbilina: 🎵GOT YOUR DESIRE, NOW FEEL THE BLAZE. I WILL GET HIGHER, WHILE MICE LIKE YOU WILL STAY. THE EVIDENCE BESTOWS ME AM I FINALLY FREE? FEAST UPON THE FLOWERING ORGANS FOR I AM🎵

Anniversary Day Crumbilina: YOUR QUEEN!!!

Song Based By:

Dark Forest WITH LYRICS | Mario Madness LYRICAL COVER | ft. @squarecans

Original Video: KennyTheLyr1c1st

[bakatenshii]

Blitz

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

word count: 2.5k

TW: 18+, smut, exhibitionism, a spritz of omorashi

A/N: this is completely diff from what I’m used to and comfy with; it’s truly the softest thing I’ll ever write— for the real angel, Weese, who welcomed me into my first ever fandom with open arms. I wouldn’t be here without you, wouldn’t have met any of my best friends were it not for you. From the bottom of boku no kokoro, Happy Birthday <33

Weese’s Birthday Bash masterlist

blitz

/blits/

a sudden, energetic, and concerted effort, typically on a specific task.

(slang) heavily intoxicated

He gives credit where credit’s due, and in all fairness, you have been well-behaved, glued to his side til 2am that night. Might even be a new record; usually you’d have gone off and disappeared at the strike of midnight like you’ve got a pumpkin carriage awaiting, only it brings you to a different destination each time.

Whiskey mixers generally mean you end up at some twenty-four seven conbini chatting up the cashier to give you the karaage for a discounted price because you’ve ‘lost your wallet’. It’s never lost; Ushijima knows this because he’s chained it to your belt, lil lobster claw too rickety for your drunk fingers to maneuver.

Tequila shots are the killer; the ones that get his protective mode on overdrive, eyes scanning the streets littered with stumbling drunks until he finds his stumbling drunk. 

It’s currently quarter to three, which means it’s been a solid twenty minutes since you’ve wandered off. If he calculates the rate of distance in your drunken state, you couldn’t have traveled that far— two streets down, at most. He hopes, anyways.

Ushijima doesn’t like going out, doesn’t quite get the appeal of being shoved into crowds of people in a cramped room with perspiration mixing with other spilled fluids coating sticky skin. ‘It’s just ‘cause you’re too la-’ a hiccup, a giggle, ‘large, ushi.’ is your usual response. ‘Take up too much space.’

Ushijima goes out because you go out, and when you go out, your Find My Friends icon seems to like playing Pac-Man, navigating through the map like you’ve got dots to clear past every street and building. It worries him. So he goes out.

Tequila shots usually bring you to another club, whichever looks the most bustling, because you flock to crowds, like moth to flame. It’s your first character flaw.

“I’m not that drunk,” he whips his head to see your frame swaying outside the queue of a club entrance, bouncer leaning in close, too close.

Your second character flaw is that you’re too friendly. You tell him he’s too cold, too curt, but he thinks you’re just too outgoing. This is what happens when you’re so sociable.

It only takes him two long strides to cross over the street, extend out one long arm over to your shoulder, and pull you into his chest. The bouncer looks up at him, neck craning probably more than he’s used to, before spitting on the floor and turning back.

“Toooooshi,” he doesn’t think his name has that many vowels, but you’re pawing at his shirt, trying and failing to slither an arm around his waist. “‘m hungry.”

This is standard, this is the usual routine. He’s used to this now, “let’s go home, we have food at home.” After the third night out, he’s made a habit out of cooking before you leave. Because you’re always hungry, you always— “want Maccas,” you’re giggling.

“McDonald’s is going to be closed.” It’s a fact, there’s a slim chance you’ll make it before three, no point in wasting time. Besides, there’s food at home.

But you’re tugging at his arm and dragging him down the street, and he’s letting you, because the best way to appease you is to let you see for yourself. You’re bouncing with excited chirps, skipping down the road with grace that will always impress him given the stilts attached to your feet.

McDonald’s is closed.

It’s like he said, so he allows you to pout and sulk for a minute, run a hand down your back in comfort, before taking out his phone to call a cab. He can feel your shoulder bump into his chest, hands fidgeting with the hem of your short dress, “what’s wrong?”

You’re blushing, cheeks tinting over with a light shade of pink illuminated by the bright yellow lights, and it’d be cute if he wasn’t worried. “What’s wrong?”

Another tug at the black fabric, eyelashes fluttering to point towards the wall, the sign; anywhere except him. “I need to pee.”

It comes out so quietly, so docile, a contrast to your otherwise boisterous drunken state. He leans down, face brushing past your hair until it’s only a mere inch away.

“What’s that?”

He watches as your glossed lips push out into a pout, huffing out a, “I need to pee, Toshi, I need the toilet.” Your heels clack on the gravel a few times as if to prove a point.

“I’m calling a cab right now,” he reassures you, “we’ll be home soon.”

You don’t seem reassured. You seem more anxious, if anything. “No, Toshi, I need to pee now,” he can feel your fingers fidgeting with his shirt, yanking the fabric in nervous twitches.

He watches you chew on your lip, willing a solution out from the pink gloss staining your teeth, any solution—

“Alley.”

It’s barely left his mouth before your head’s whipping to glance at the dark narrow street hidden behind the fast food joint. It’s tight, or maybe you’re right, he’s just too broad, but he barely fits down the cramped road.

You’re not moving, though, just staring up at him expectantly as if sending him a message, a signal. He doesn’t really get it. “It’s fine, there’s no one on the streets right now.”

Your bottom lip snags under your teeth, doe eyes looking up through fluttering lashes as you shake your head. The tint on your cheeks grow darker, and he takes a few steps forward, shadowing your smaller frame in his large silhouette. “I’ll block you, you can go now.”

Ushijima’s not the best with people, he’s always been told this. He knows it himself, but he thinks he knows you pretty well, at least.

He’s lost.

He’s waiting for you to say something, anything, an explanation for your odd behaviour, but instead he feels dainty fingers tug on his shirt again before shoving him lightly.

“Turn around,” you won’t look at him, eyes fixed on the broken bottle on the dingy alleyway floor, “Don’t look.”

People are a mystery to Ushijima, but at this moment, you are an enigma.

All 200 pounds of pure muscle on him is stagnant. He’s confused; he’s seen you naked, seen you from all angles in all sorts of positions, he’s brushed his teeth while you were using the toilet before— he doesn’t get it. So he tells you.

Your fists meekly punch at his arm, at his chest, wherever they can reach, “It’s embarrassing,” you’re pouting now, and he thinks it’s cute. Under any other circumstances he’d lean over and kiss you, but not right now. Right now he wants understand what’s going on up in your mind.

“Why?”

It sets you into a frustrated huff, cheeks puffing out before a dejected sigh, “fine, whatever,” and then you’re squatting down, finally, to his relief. Your dress is hitched up only a fraction before he hears the trickling, but you don’t stand up when it stops.

His whole body freezes at the feeling of a warm hand pawing at his crotch. “What are you doing?” He snatches your hand off by the wrist, pulling it into him to stand you up; you don’t stand up— you fall, on your knees in front of him.

He’s used to you being a handful when you’re drunk, used to you falling all over the place, but the alleyway is soiled, filthy, not entirely appropriate for the thoughts he’s having with you on your knees. So he’s trying again, reaching down to grab hold of both your hands this time, and lugging you up.

You don’t budge, don’t even glance up at him, and he has half the heart to reach down and carry you out, but another hand lands on his crotch again and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the strain in his trousers.

“Toooooooshi,” you’re still not looking up at him, eyes fixated on the growing tent he’s presenting in front of your face. Another soft touch, another purr, and Ushijima knows he’s a lost cause.

He lets go of your wrists, bending down to wrap an arm around your knees and picks you up before standing you back up against the wall.

“Spread your legs.” It’s not really a suggestion.

He watches as you comply, thighs parting as far as the black lace still bound around them will allow, so he rips it down before pocketing it.

He can hear your whines of complaint, it’s your favourite pair, but it’s all drowned out with a gasp as he buries his face into your wet cunt. His hands wrap behind your thighs, large palms pushing them apart until they rest over his shoulders.

His tongue flicks up your drooling slit, lapping at the juices dribbling out your needy hole and down his chin. You’re whimpering now, hands shoving at his face, “stop, Toshi, I—” he looks up at you, gaze piercing through your flushed expression, “I just peed, ‘ts gross.”

“I know.”

“Toshi we’re—” a moan, nails digging into his scalp when he dips his tongue into your clenching hole, “in public, please,” your face whips to the side, anxiously scanning for passerby’s.

“I know,” he echos with a harsh squeeze of your thighs, fucking you down onto his tongue. He can feel a hand threading through his hair, gripping and pulling while the other is obediently clamped over your mouth in an attempt to muffle wanton moans.

“Toshi, stop,” you’re crying now, legs around his head trembling with every lap and lick into your dripping cunt, nose grazing that sensitive bud as he presses your body into the wall. The fingers meekly pushing at his face are chased by your hips bucking against it, and he can feel your hole clench around his muscle.

He doesn’t stop. 

He doesn’t stop because he can feel you coming undone, feel your tight cunny quiver with every thrust— and you do, with a loud sob of his name, before he removes his hand from under to clamp over your mouth.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” he doesn’t think you can hear him, your eyes rolling back and tongue pressing into the pads of his fingers.

He can still see your hole quivering when he stands back up and unbuckles his trousers. His aching erection springs free with a tug of his waistband, snapping up and wetting his shirt with pre.

Normally he would’ve prepared you better, laid you on your back and fucked you on his tongue and thick fingers until you’re wailing his name, legs shaking with the overstimulation. But he doesn’t have that luxury now, doesn’t have the soft mattress, the plush bedding to sink you into; he only has the brick wall digging into your back in a dingy alleyway.

So he sinks his cock into your drooling cunt, pushing his cockhead through the first ring of muscle. There’s nails clawing at his shoulders, back of his neck, anywhere they can reach, anywhere they can grasp.

It’s tight, so tight he doesn’t think he can fit, thinks he should’ve prepared you after all, but one look down at your tear-stricken face crumbles any inhibitions. His hips snap forward in the same breath his large palms find themselves back under your thighs, lifting you up against the wall.

The jagged wall is probably digging into your back, and normally he would’ve tried to appease the pain, shift the angle so you’re more comfortable, but right now all he can think about are your doughy walls sucking his cock in, one slow inch at a time.

It’s excruciating how tight you are; by the third inch you’re throwing your head into the crook of his neck, nails digging into his back trying to ease the stretch— Ushijima’s trying, too; trying to make sure he doesn’t drown in the feel of your fluttering walls and snap his hips forward until he can feel the kiss of your cervix on his cockhead.

It doesn’t work, not when you’re chanting his name like a mantra, crying about how full you feel, how much he’s stretching you out— you can feel him in your stomach.

He drops your body down into the thrust of his hips and buries his cock to hilt. Five seconds, then ten, then thirty; he lets you catch your breath, catch his breath, before you’re whimpering in his ear begging him to move.

There’s no time for modesty, an alleyway is hardly the setting for soft gentle sex. With a vice grip in the flesh of your ass, he hugs you into his chest and steadies a hand on the wall behind you.

He can feel your legs attempt to wrap around the width of his hips, his waist, can feel you cooing soft moans into his ears, can hear you sobbing his name like it’s the only word you know. Every piston of his hip echoes in the cramped alleyway, heavy balls papping against your mound.

He’s breathing in your moans, letting himself drown in you desperate whines of his name, “cum in me, Toshi, fill me up”— he’s shoving your pliant body into the harsh wall, arm moving down from the jagged surface to grip the soft flesh under your thigh.

In one swift movement he’s pinned your knees to your ears, limp calves bouncing off his sturdy shoulders as he pounds into you at an unrelenting pace.

Your moans turn to sobs, wails of Toshi, Toshi, Toshi; his breaths turn to grunts into promises to breed you so good, fill you up with his cum until it’s dripping out of your sweet lil cunny. There’s mini crescents marking up the back of his neck, dark purples and yellows running up along yours as he suctions onto new blank patches of skin.

Loud, unrhythmic squelching echos in the alleyway, his arms bouncing you onto his length until you twitch, spasm around his cock, and you’re coming undone for the second time that night with his name spilling out in broken sobs.

Ushijima doesn’t stop, fucks you through your squeals and shoves until he feels your greedy cunt milking his cock again, then he’s spilling into you with hot ropes of cum.

He doesn’t stop until your body’s gone pliant caged inside his, knees still pushed against the wall and saliva dribbling past your lolling tongue down to your messy pussy, mixing with creams of cum and slick and drool.

One limb at a time, he unfolds you and carries you in his arms, cradling your limp body into his chest. He looks down, admires your hazy gaze, pupils blown, and presses a gentle kiss onto your forehead.

A soft hum leaves your lips, or maybe a giggle, but you’re squirming in his arms, body leaning up until he can feel your soft lips grazing his ear.

“Toooshi,” you drawl, and he almost chokes at how fucked out you sound, the rasp in your voice sending dangerous jolts down to his no longer softening cock.

“Hm?” He’s debating on flagging a cab instead of calling one; can’t really reach into his pocket when you’re in his arms.

“Want Maccas.”

[xxxsoukokuxxx]

hello, new follower here. I saw your event, and was wondering if we could please get something with Dazai and number 13? man needs some serious comfort and reassurance, even if he doesn't admit it. Not that I can talk lol. If you don't want to, that's fine. Please just know that I'm adoring your work, and my queue is looking quite full because of you XD

🌹200 Followers Event🌹

Character: Dazai x reader

Warnings: mentions of suicide; depressing themes

Notes: Thanks for requesting and your patience! You're adoring my work!? Ah, I'm so happy rn. Thank you so so much, I'm so glad you enjoy my works! Have a pleasant day/night and I hope that you enjoy this

Prompt: 13. "Cause all of me loves all of you. Love your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections."

__________________________________________________

A melancholic dullness filled the atmosphere. Rain seemed to never stop pouring from the sky and dark, heavy clouds blocked the sun's rays. It was fairly cold as well. A half-drunk bottle of sake lay on the cold hardwood floor next to Dazai who sat on his bed.

His Suicide Guidebook lay in his hands, mocha brown eyes scanning and skimming words written on pages. A resigning sigh escaped him. You were in the kitchen, making some hot chocolate to keep you both warm and to give your taste buds a little something sweet.

Carrying two porcelain mugs by the handles, you walked into the room he was in. Usually he'd glow up with excitement or at least look your way but he didn't, not today.

You frowned but he just sat there silently smiling. Smiling as if it were something ironic that was going through his head. Or maybe he just realized something dark, scary even but accepted it's facts. You set down both the mugs, giving his one to him.

Dazai only took the cup from your hands not even looking at you. Your lips pursed and pressed into a turn line. "Did I do something wrong?" you finally asked, worried that you may have upset him somehow. "Of course not my love, how could you ever do anything wrong?" he chuckled at the latter.

"...You're not...you're not thinking of...trying to kill yourself now, are you?" worry laced your voice as you questioned him. You heard something of a tiny laugh and a hum mixed together.

"I'm rather tired to do so right now, thanks for the hot chocolate." is all he said. A few minutes of silence passed by, you merely looked at the steam escaping the hot chocolate in your hands. You could hear the pitter patter of the rain, you weren't sure what to do or even say.

You looked up and saw him still reading his book. Does he never get tired of reading the same thing over and over again? Or is he just searching for something in it, maybe reading between the lines, maybe going over each suicide method again to see if it'll work this time around.

"Dazai?..."

He hummed in response. "...I love you." you uttered, you were scared now, what if he were planning something? You didn't want him to die, no you couldn't let that happen...

The brunette paused on his reading for a few seconds, he practically froze. Hot chocolate in hand, book in the other, he looks up at you. His eyes narrow but soften. The look of worry and anxiousness visible in your eyes. He didn't realize he was scaring you. He set his book and mug aside, motioning for you to come sit on his lap and cuddle.

You happily obliged, setting down your mug and moving towards him on the bed. His arms enveloped you and squeezed you lovingly, a kiss placed atop your head.

"All of me loves all of you. I love your good and bad, all your perfect imperfections." you tried to speed through what you said, a little nervous about what he'd think. Added to that your voice was muffled by his chest. But he heard it, heard every word, in the way it was said...so genuine and loving but full of shyness too.

Dazai was taken aback a bit by it but smiled feeling sentimental. He placed another kiss on your head, "I love you too." he muttered against your hair. "I love you so much..." his grip on you tightened. A lump formed in his throat, he wanted to burst out into tears but didn't know if he could, he didn't know how at this point. But you'd be there, you'd be there to hold him, to comfort him, to love him for everything he is.

[keeroo92]

A Father’s Presence

Hi guys! This was my contribution to the @dadgilzinedmc​, in which the Sparda boys take a trip to the amusement park. I hope you enjoy it!

-----

Vergil grimaced and did his best to block out the sound of howling children. Their laughter and screams of delight grated on his ears, and he found the encouraging shouts of their parents equally disturbing. Yet again, he questioned his sanity in being where he was.

An amusement park. How ludicrous.

Buttered popcorn and human sweat tainted the air, colorful banners and balloons in every direction. The whirring of machinery oscillated as nearby rides cycled through the crowds waiting their turn, grinning excitedly or grumbling about the wait. Starry-eyed teenagers barely outnumbered the swarms of unruly children. Case in point was a nearby family of four, the father hand-in-hand with a toddler, laughing proudly as the child devoured an ice cream and smeared more of the treat on its face than it managed to get in its mouth. The cheerful buffoon leaned down to wipe away the mess and pressed a kiss to the child’s forehead.

Disgusting. Was that what a father was meant to do? This may be more difficult than he thought. 

Yet he had only himself to blame for his current predicament. 

As the weeks had passed in the Underworld, he’d had plenty of time to ponder the existence of his son and all it implied. Duty, responsibility, strength. Fatherhood; a gift he never expected to receive. Having lost so much already, Vergil knew family was a precious gift (excluding Dante, of course). By the time he and his accursed twin returned, Vergil’s resolve to be in Nero’s life was unshakable.

But his desire to do so didn’t help him know how to be there properly.

His first few clumsy attempts had led to disaster, and Nero seemed reluctant to be in his company after he asked one too many awkward questions about Kyrie. In the end, his lackluster efforts left him no choice but to ask Dante for aid, and after weeks of enduring his brother’s teasing, here they were. Three grown men surrounded by children and young families at an amusement park. 

“Dude, we have to ride the Mega Coaster! It’s huge!” Nero cried, pointing at a snake-like metallic structure on the opposite end of the fair grounds. Even from such a distance, the screeches of the patrons aboard were faintly audible.

Dante tossed an arm around the youthful man’s shoulders and cackled. “For sure! But first —cotton candy!”

Vergil raised an eyebrow, stepping over a splash of fluid he didn’t dare to ponder further. The ease of his brother’s banter with his son summoned a strange longing in his heart, but he shoved it aside. Feelings were not to be trusted. “Cotton candy? That doesn’t sound edible.”

His two companions exchanged a grin Vergil didn’t like one bit. They were scheming something; this could only spell catastrophe. He glared at Dante but got only laughter in response. 

Within moments, the eldest Sparda held a stick with a blue cloud larger than his skull mounted on it. He eyed it suspiciously, curling his lip at the sugary scent. Why did people eat such things?

For that matter, how did people eat such things?

A glance at his brother and his mass of pink fluff showed one technique of tugging a chunk off with one’s teeth. Animalistic, but effective enough. Perhaps now was the time to emulate his twin; he had more experience with situations such as this. 

Vergil took a bite, allowing the fluffy sweetness to meet his taste buds. It vanished within seconds, melting away as if he’d merely dreamed it. Only a powerful aftertaste of sugar marked its passage. 

He didn’t despise it. 

“Good, huh?” Nero commented, his own helping already missing several mouthfuls. Vergil offered a non committal hum in response. Using words only got him in trouble before, maybe avoiding them would be more effective for now. He took another bite.

The trio soon rejoined the crowd, allowing the flow of humanity to pull them along towards the rides. According to Dante, the sooner they got in line the better, so they might as well finish their cotton candy on the way. For once his logic was sound and Vergil followed his lead into a snaking queue for The Zipper.

The pointless contraption was only the first of numerous conquests, each daring to seek an answer to the question of how many planes of rotation a human being could withstand before vomiting. Children and adults alike screamed and laughed as their bodies whirled and spun about, tinny music and the squeal of metal a soundtrack to their terrified joy. 

Hours passed in a blur of color and sound, motion and taste. At first Vergil tried to argue that he did not, in fact, need to experience every single ride, but Nero and Dante’s pestering only grew more tiresome as they dragged him along. The two seemed determined to force him to endure it all. With each absurd ride, they grew ever closer to the monstrous roller coaster overshadowing the park.

Yet despite his reservations, Vergil stifled chuckles as Nero settled a balloon animal hat on his closely cropped hair, and he outright smiled when Dante vomited after riding The Orbiter. His own stomach fared rather well, though it did change position whenever a ride featured a sudden drop. Apparently Yamato only trained him to resist rapid horizontal motion.

At last, he found himself seated beside Nero as the Mega Coaster creaked into motion. Behind them sat Dante, already whooping as the ride began. The lack of proper restraints barely registered in Vergil’s mind as they climbed a steep slope, the first of many dramatic steel hills their small cart would plummet down. He braced his feet on the floor and locked his eyes on the rails. 

“Here we goooo!” Nero hollered, grinning as the cart lurched over the peak. 

Vergil swallowed harshly as his belly shifted, the ground racing closer with each beat of his heart. Faces still waiting their turn in his seat blurred below, shouts echoing from the ride’s other passengers. Wind roared in his ears and through his hair, louder than the metallic hum of their cart in motion. He was tempted to close his eyes, but the view was impressive any time the cart slowed. 

The Mega Coaster proved it deserved its name, throwing his body to and fro as he hurtled through the track. Loops and twists, peaks and valleys too numerous to count, the ride in full control of those few minutes. His eyes watered in the intense wind, but Vergil refused to submit. No childish ride would best him, on this or any day. He crossed his arms and glared through the final turn, forcing his stomach to rethink its plans of revolt. 

As their ultimate conquest slowed to a halt before the platform, Vergil smirked at his victory over physics. His body was his to command, though it was admittedly thrilling to require his focus to do so. Perhaps roller coasters served a purpose after all? It merited further study. 

“Hey, check it out!”

He turned and followed Nero’s extended finger to a nearby display. Beside it sat kiosks showing photos of terrified faces plummeting down the steepest slope of the Mega Coaster, glee and fear alike sparkling in their eyes. 

The largest display screen showed an image from Vergil’s own escapade. Nero sat beside him in the front cart, hands braced on the metal and laughter clear in his youthful expression. His own face wore a stern frown, arms crossed and hair aflutter. Behind them both sat Dante, his hands raised and collar flapping in the wind as he whooped at top volume.

“Damn, Vergil looks like someone just pissed in his cheerios! I’m getting twenty copies,” Dante replied with a shit-eating grin, already striding to the kiosks.

“Foolishness,” Vergil commented. Undoubtedly, he’d never hear the end of it.

He followed Nero away from the kiosks and the horde of fair-goers demanding their own photographic evidence of their supposed courage. How pathetic to imagine riding a roller coaster was a feat of bravery. Vergil scowled —the masses truly had a simple existence. 

The setting sun painted the clouds with shades of pink as they walked, reminiscent of the cotton candy Dante ate earlier. Vergil licked his lips at the reminder, still unsure if he enjoyed his own sample of the sugary treat. It was both pleasant and revolting, following the theme of the day. At least the younger children were dissipating at this late hour, their high-pitched squeals of delight fading away as the park approached closure.

Indeed, the crickets were just beginning their song as he and Nero found a suitable place to wait for Dante’s return, leaning on a white fence overlooking an empty field. The tall grass swayed in a light breeze as if to beckon them closer, urging them to leave behind the distractions of the fairgrounds. 

Beside Vergil, Nero sighed, his short hair still mussed from their exploits with a certain roller coaster. A smirk curled the boy’s lips, amusement glinting in his eyes as he watched Dante wave in their direction before dashing towards the food stalls with far more enthusiasm than fair cuisine warranted, a massive stack of photos in hand. Childhood was short, but immaturity lasted forever.

“So, uh…” Nero said hesitantly. 

Vergil raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak, content to let the boy finish his thought before offering any comment. The way he shuffled his feet and scratched the back of his neck brought home just how young Nero was, his awkwardness an obvious sign of his inexperience.

As if I have room to judge, Vergil thought.

“It’s been a good day,” his son continued. “Dante mentioned it was your idea, so uh… Thanks.”

Vergil froze. The lingering echoes of laughter and mirth faded to a dull buzz. It all seemed distant and foreign, like a mirage. The only thing in the abhorrent display of normalcy that mattered to Vergil stood beside him, brow furrowed in a mirror image of his own stern face. How hadn’t he noticed the resemblance before? 

He cleared his throat, struggling to find an appropriate response. “You’ve enjoyed it?”

Nero leaned back, lifting his eyes to the sky with a hint of pink coloring his ears. Another trait they shared. Dante had always teased him about it when they were children.

“I mean, yeah. Never been to one of these before.”

A disorienting tightness bloomed in Vergil’s chest, different from the ache of separation he’d grown accustomed to. It hinted at joy, teased him with hope and danced with potential. Was this how having a family was meant to feel? He didn’t mind it. In fact, he wouldn’t complain if it became a regular occurrence. 

The two men stood in silence as the first stars twinkled to life above. Little sunlight remained, yet the world seemed a touch brighter. Wasn’t it strange, how different one’s perceptions could be when one wasn’t alone?

Nero eventually broke the reflective calm with a wry chuckle, running his palm through his hair and smirking at his father. “How much do you wanna bet Dante’s coming back with nothing but pizza?”

Vergil met his son’s gaze and matched his smirk, a dry huff of amusement slipping free. “That or strawberry sundaes. Perhaps both.”

Nero chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Warmth he hadn’t known in decades suffused Vergil’s chest. He’d made his son laugh. Perhaps there was hope for them yet? At the bare minimum, it seemed the young man didn’t hate him the way most sons despise their absentee fathers. The way he despised Sparda. Why the difference?

I came back. My father did not. 

Was it possible that his mere presence was enough to tip the scales? What a strange concept; he’d have to ponder it further. For the moment, he had other priorities.

“Perhaps we could do more things like this in the future,” Vergil said carefully. “If you’d like to, that is.”

Nero nodded, his eyes bright as he spotted his uncle on the way over. “Yeah, sounds good. But maybe next time we shouldn’t let Dante get the food?”

The legendary devil hunter held three pizza boxes, his stack of photos balanced precariously on the top. A grin stretched across his entire face. Vergil smirked and shared a knowing glance with Nero.

“Indeed; children do require supervision after all,” he quipped. 

Nero coughed to disguise his laughter as Dante joined them, sending another burst of warmth through Vergil’s heart. Yes, family was a blessing. He’d never take it for granted again.

[symphonic--chaos]

Empires of Brick and Blood Chapter 5 - Mea Culpa Rating: PG-13 This chapter is set to the song: Se Quel Dolor: IX. Occhi de' miei desire d'amor nidi - Fieri Consort

Also posted on AO3

Jacob's large frame looked awkward within the relatively small visitor chair settled in the darker corner of the room they'd placed Bane in. One long leg bounced quickly as he watched the nurse moving around the bed, taking vitals and marking them on the chart she seemed to use as a reference, notes from the previous nurse that had come in to check on him an hour ago. Nothing had changed, Jacob had watched his friends monitor obsessively, he could have given her all the information she was looking for. The machine was still going with his erratic heartbeat, each brief pause in the beeps keeping Jacob on edge and ready to go for the nearest doctor at the station around the corner. Without Bane awake, and without anyone else blood-related to him or without a proxy, they were at a stand-still on what to do. There was no DNR on file, nor was Bane himself on file anywhere, which Jacob knew well because it was a way to hide his identity. Taking in a slow breath and soon clearing his throat as he shifted to lean his elbows on his knees, his attention turned to the door as Izzy walked in with the doctor, both talking about what they should do, Izzy looking at Jacob then as she motioned to him. 

"He's Bane's best friend. If anyone's going to make a decision, he'd know what Bane would want best." Jacob's heart dropped into his stomach as he swallowed the lump in his throat, standing to go over to them. Yes, he was his best friend, he knew exactly what Bane would have wanted, but at this point there was a struggle within him of sticking with what Bane wanted and going off his own heart, and Izzy's heart. Going off the good of the people in the alleys that depended on Bane and the safety net he provided with his altered Zydrate. The doctor looked up at him before offering over the clipboard, a form for a new heart provided by the Lightwood's from an un-named donor on top. "No, he wouldn't want a new heart." Jacob said immediately. "Think of something else. A new pacemaker or defibrillator or--" "We don't have that option, sir. The one he currently has was able to restart itself, but it's showing signs of malfunctioning. It's only going to last so long before it short circuits and causes more damage to his heart. He needs a transplant." Jacob looked from the doctor to Izzy, who was looking up at him with a pleading look in her eyes, then to Bane, watching the nurse replacing the fluid on the line beside him. Jacob's hand rose as his rubbed at his mouth and jaw, feeling the stubble there from not shaving that morning, anxiety budding in him worse than it had the past couple hours. They'd had this talk before, the two of them remained unaltered in the sense of getting any new organs, Jacob merely for the reason of having good genetics on both sides of his family, who came from up North where most things were untouched in the woods. Bane... Bane had always told him that the only part of him that would ever need to be replaced was his heart, and that he would rather die than get someone else's. There was always going to be someone else in the city that could use it more, that if his heart was replaced with someone else's, then he would cease to be him. Bane believed that just because it wasn't his own, he would love differently, he would lose the strongest part of himself that his mother always prided on him being the biggest and kindest. Jacob watched the rise and fall of Bane's chest, watched the way it would seize briefly as the machine beeped wildly on queue. This was his best friend of over a decade. This was the man who, as a young teen, had welcomed him with open arms, his family offering an open home to escape his own, gave him a place in a new city, who had easily become a brother to him despite no blood relation. His best friend was going to save the world. "...Do it." Jacob choked out, shoving the clipboard back to the doctor as he let out a shaking sigh, moving away from the two to instead go and sit back in the chair, burying his face in his hands. "Thank you." Izzy's voice was small, soft, after a long beat of quiet once the doctor and nurse had left to prepare, her hand resting on a broad shoulder. "I think I couldn't bear to lose him just as much as you couldn't." It seemed so unfitting of her in Jacob's opinion, to be so quiet and meek. She seemed strong, loud, confident and proud just by how she held herself. However, when he looked up at her, he realized how tiny she was at that moment. Defeated, tired. She'd been fighting the doctor for nearly an hour according to the clock and Jacob only wondered if she resorted to her name and status to get them to cave into letting him make the decision. "He's not going to be happy about this, but he's going to..." "Save the city." Izzy finished, giving Jacob's shoulder a squeeze. "Isa-- What are you doing?" Raphael asked as he walked into the room, Izzy pausing her swipe over Bane's fingernail with the black nail polish. "I mean, what does it look like I'm doing, Raphael?" She retorted as she held up the nail polish bottle with a look that was as sarcastic as her words. "Did you find Alec?" "I did, though if you had just bothered to go look around, you would have too. He's in his hall in the other wing." Raphael watched Izzy applying the nail polish to Bane's nails, seeing the storm growing from the expression on her face. Where he had planned on leaving after letting her know where her brother was, pure curiousity had him deciding to stay and watch the explosion he knew was coming- he was living for it. Izzy had left Alec multiple voicemails, each getting angrier when he wouldn't pick up for her, a rule they'd set between each other the day they had gotten their first phones- no matter what, they picked up for each other when they called. "Thank you, Raphael, that's all. Go away now." Izzy's tone had changed drastically in a minute and Raphael smiled, this was the side of her that always made him giddy for more. Raphael turned to leave and spotted Jacob on his way, the two men eyeing each other until Raphael resumed his way out, shutting the door behind him. "He seems pleasant." Jacob muttered, finishing the text he was reading, a confirmation that his dogs had been taken by Alissa to be cared for while he was with Bane. "He's a giant dick, and I hate him." Izzy responded nonchalantly as she capped the nail polish and slipped it into her bag, carefully positioning Bane's hands to let them dry.

Izzy's relationship with Raphael was much like Alec and Bane's, though the sexual aspect was nearly non-existent. She'd learned he was asexual, a term that wasn't unknown with her, but not clear enough for her to understand on the first go. She didn't understand why he'd say teasing words with that wolfish smile, why he'd let her get close, but deny any sexual advances. Then, a couple weeks later, he'd have her backed into a corner and he'd be touching along her skin tortuously slow as he told her what a good girl she was when she would shiver and melt in his touch. A long and rare heart to heart talk with him had her understanding that just because he didn't find everyone attractive, didn't want sex with anyone that could walk by, didn't mean that he didn't feel anything at all. Raphael still had a sex drive, only it was very low and on his terms, when he knew his body wanted it, as rare and far between as it was. That, sometimes, when he knew how he was affecting her, that by watching her reactions to his touch and words, it would pass to him and that would be one of the rare times they would actually have sex. Most of the time he seemed content just bringing her pleasure, citing that it made him feel content when he couldn't reach the same level everyone else could.

"I'll be back, I'm going to find Alec. He's going to apologize." Izzy said as she stood, moving the chair back and out of the way of the nurses that frequently came in to check on Bane now that the surgery had been completed.

"How well do you think that's going to go?" Jacob asked as he stretched in the (much larger) recliner chair they'd brought him since he looked, as Izzy had put it, 'like a clown in a tiny car' in the previous chair. A laugh rumbled in his chest as he saw the unimpressed look she gave him, no doubt she thought he would be as stubborn as she was.

This gave Jacob time to get a little shut eye, to rest like he hadn't been able to over worry of Bane going down the wrong path and passing while he was asleep. So far the new heart was being accepted and Bane's body was reacting normally to it, the doctor's saying they were optimistic that he'd be just fine, albeit sore when he woke. When the billing department had come in to ask Jacob how they planned to pay for the surgery and heart, Izzy had come to his side and introduced herself (which Jacob noted by the nurses wide eyes was unnecessary), informing them that the Lightwood's would be footing this bill and to add it to the tab of one of their doctor's to be paid with the next payroll round. Izzy had informed Jacob after that she knew that was how they paid their doctors only because of the times she had watched her mother go through the bills, and it was the only way they'd get it past the elder Lightwood's.

Jacob was snapped out of the beginning of a comfortable doze by the sound of Izzy yelling in the distance, her voice easily carrying through the halls. It was none of his business listening in, but he also couldn't help hearing her scolding him for going too far, for hurting someone that was helping them. The nurse that came in and quickly shut the door had a nervous look on her face and Jacob wondered if she had to pass that hellstorm to get to this room. She pulled out papers and sat in the small chair beside him, showing that she needed Bane's information and, despite his hesitance to give it, he began working with her to fill it all out, both trying to ignore the small, raging Lightwood outside.

Raphael was listening as well, leaning against a wall outside of a nearby room as he ate an apple he'd pilfered from the cafeteria, even daring to peek around the corner to watch the siblings. What surprised him the most was how Alec had his head bowed and didn't dare to look his sister in the eyes, something that Raphael noted must have been his silent admission to guilt and a type of repenting. Or he just wasn't crazy enough to tell her to shut up.

"Bella-"

"NO. NO BELLA, ALEXANDER." Izzy shouted, shoving his chest before putting a finger up in a menacing way. "You're going to get in that room and you're going to apologize to Bane, right now. YOU messed up, YOU hurt him this badly after everything he's been doing to help us, YOU know better, Alec. Whatever this is that you're doing to him, it needs to stop. He's sent me screenshots. I see the shit you sent him, which, by the way, you're a dick for touching my phone, I changed my password. But you need to talk to him and get your goddamn shit together and stop treating him the way you do."

Alec inhaled and bit back a comment he could have made about how her passwords were always the same and the easiest to crack, this would be a terrible idea to bring something like that up while she was this mad. She wasn't wrong. There were things that he had sent that he hadn't realized until days later, things that were a drunk, upset Alec, and not the levelheaded Alec that stood in front of Izzy now.

"Alright, okay, stop. Stop. I'll go talk to him." Alec finally said as he lifted his hands defensively once she had started going off on him in Spanish, much like their mother did whenever she was upset with them. Bane slept through the commotion thanks to the pain drugs they had put him on after the surgery, though as the bag's content ran dry, he slowly woke and became more conscious of his surroundings. A shift of his body had him hissing in pain, his hand lifting to his chest as his eyes opened, only for his hand to bypass the wound on his chest to cover his eyes. A double attack on both senses and nerves, but the quiet shuffling of feet had that bright light diminished, Alec's voice coming with the returning steps.

"They had to do surgery. I..."

Bane could hear Alec's voice taper off in hesitance and it wasn't until he uncovered his eyes to look at the oldest Lightwood son that Alec continued, his gaze on his hands, looking a way Bane had never seen him before. Alec looked...nervous. Guilty. He didn't look like the strong and confident hunter that Bane had come to get used to and it was alien to Bane, who had almost come to expect that personality to be how he was even outside of work.

"I fucked up. Izzy said you had something on your heart, that tall guy said you got it instead of a new heart. That after I... shocked you, I really damaged it and could have killed you. I'm sorry for that." Alec finally looked up, locking eyes with Bane, who looked rightfully upset with him, though it was his silence that had Alec on the edge of his seat.

"I know you were drunk every time you messaged me, but are you even aware of everything you did? What you said? I told you to get out after a, frankly, fucking great, night, and then I don't see you for a week. No skulking the alleys, no coming to threaten me or my people, sending Izzy for the Zydrate. But yet it was like clockwork, I would get messages from you almost every night saying about how you like your hand around my throat, how you like the chase because everyone just throws whatever you want at you and I make you actually put effort into doing anything. The fucking text about how good I feel around you? Alec, I get it, you're going through shit with your family, but I don't understand the shit we're going through. Almost a year ago you hated me with every fiber of your being. You threatened to kill me every chance you could to keep me in line. And now all this? Finding out where I live? Finding out my number and saying you're coming ? What do you want from me?"

Bane took a deep breath and made a face as pain stung in his chest, the neck of the hospital gown lifted to look at the fresh wound on his chest, his face falling as he remembered what Alec said. It wasn't his anymore, he was never going to be the same. His head fell back against the pillow as he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself and will that pain away, but without the medicine it made it tough. Alec watched him and pressed the call button for the nurse, who was planning on coming back within the hour, but the discomfort was even clear to Alec and even he couldn't consciously make someone suffer like that.

"He needs more," Alec said to the nurse when she came in, pointing up to the empty bag hanging beside the bag, Jacob's choice when they offered Zydrate. He'd said that Bane would never use it, which was a surprise enough to Alec considering it was what he dealt in the alleys. At the same time, Alec had remembered what Bane had told him about his...abilities thanks to the plague, something Alec had been skeptical of until he decided to secretly administer the Zydrate he'd been given to the prisoner himself. This way he wouldn't have to explain to anyone where he got it or why he preferred it over what the lab could produce for him for pain.

Alec was grateful to have the break in their talk, a second scolding in a row and he was already tired of everything that had happened so far. Both he and Bane were silent as the nurse moved around, setting up the new bag and tossing out the old, the moment almost seeming awkward with the silence that had filled the room.

"My parents want me to go against Fillitreux in the upcoming election. My father has been pushing me more and more to be this ... perfect, militant, business machine. He's been forcing me to crack down on your alleys, replacing my guards with those that keep track of me. I can't even piss without them waiting outside the door for me, like I'm some child. Drinking became my getaway and..."

"You hate drinking, I can see it in your face every swig you take."

"Yeah, well, it burns and tastes like shit, but going somewhere and blacking out is better than the constant mental destruction he gives."

"That's great, Alec, really, it is, but you know what? Not when I'm dragged into the middle of it. Don't forget, you're the one that hated--hates? Whatever, you're the one that harbored the shitty attitude towards me, threatened to throw me in jail, then suddenly we're fucking in alleys. I'm...not complaining about that because, once again, great, but really. I thought it would end there, not house calls or texts saying you're going to come over and then never show up."

Alec rubbed his face with his hands before using them to brush back his hair as he leaned back against the chair.

"I...used you as a scapegoat and I only remember that one night. When I came through your window. It was..."

"....Great?"

Alec looked at Bane with a raised brow, unable to hold back the soft laugh when Bane grinned and wiggled his eyebrows, nodding finally as he gave a soft, 'Yeah.'

"Look, I'm sorry. I can't say I still wouldn't have shocked you, but... if I knew you had what you did, I wouldn't have. I would have just knocked you out." Alec paused briefly as he motioned to Bane's covered chest. "I was actually wondering what that old scar was that night, I just figured you were in some fight."

"No, it was from when I was 13. There were some complications when I was a kid that they thought had passed, but really they were just so minor that no one ever noticed. Then when they started getting bad, they told me they wanted to replace my heart. but I told them I refused. I'd rather just die of whatever it was than lose the part of me that makes me love the way I do. But I guess that's just...useless now."

"Bane, your heart doesn't make you love the way you do. It's--"

"Hey guys, we brought you food." Izzy said as she entered the room with Jacob, unknowingly interrupting Alec as she brought the trays over. "Yours was approved by the nurse, so you can eat it with no worry, Bane."

Izzy pressed a kiss to Bane's forehead before placing Alec's tray in his hands. She gave an expectant look to the two of them, receiving a confirming nod from Alec, which brought a bright smile to her face. As she moved to take the other seat in the room, she paused at the clipboard at the end of the bed, a name catching her attention. Her fingers wrapped around the board as she lifted it quickly, turning the page, her eyes skimming over the paper before she spun to look quickly back at Jacob, who was staring at her mid-bite of his sandwich. Turning back to Bane with a shocked look on her face, Alec was quick to catch on that something was wrong.

"Izzy-"

"Magnus? You're.... you're a--"

"Largo? Magnus Largo?" The doctor announced as he walked into the room, looking at his own clipboard before looking up at Bane.

Bane's face dropped as if the new heart they'd given him had failed, a clattering beside them hinting that maybe Alec's had as well. Alec's face was paled and he looked quickly from the doctor to Bane, the expression on his face saying that he knew he'd made a big mistake.

"You're... the last living Largo? You're the key he was talking about."

[thetakenpokemon]

Act 2 - More Wardens

//RETRIEVING FILES// … //FILES RETRIEVED//

FOLDER IDENTIFICATION: Night Warden Team - Sundown Elite

[TEAM INFORMATION BELOW]

Warden Team Identification: Sundown Elite

Team Members: 6

Specialization: Taking down powerful threats - UBs to Super-Natural

[INDIVIDUAL INFORMATION BELOW]

Name: Rorke Stonemaul

Alias: Craghammer

Gender: Male

Species: Conkeldurr

Bio Below

A seasoned warrior. His skills specialize in either taking on large numbers of opponents at once to fighting one individual whose size is equal to or greater than his own. Although capable of taking down powerful foes with only his fists, his favored weapon is large club made of Diamond-Grade Obsidian. The club not only grants him greater reach, but allows him to strike harder as well as block powerful attacks without risking injury to himself.

His personality is down to earth, he is very practical and analytical during the situation at hand. He utilizes the strengths of all around him to the greatest efficiency, making him a great tactician. His behavior has a tendency to give off a cold personality, however this is due to him not being very expressive. Although a humble individual, he won’t turn down a challenge if offered.

Additional Notes

His weapon is supposedly a tradition of his home-clan, where upon reaching adult-hood they are to forge a weapon made of a unique Obsidian within the depths of a volcano. His chosen weapon is the club. Its hardness surpasses that of diamond, unlike normal obsidian which is brittle and easily scratchable.

Name: Aurelia Orthona

Alias: Crystalis

Gender: Female

Species: Jynx

Bio Below

An extremely proficient Cryomancer. Her control over her ice powers grant her a great amount of versatility, ranging from conjuring sharp icicles to be used as projectiles to creating large structures of frozen vapor to impede movement. One of her favored methods of defense is entombing herself in ice, creating a protective shell that she can also shatter at-will - sending shards of frozen shrapnel towards those that would be surrounding her. Her powers have shown to be capable of conjuring objects of ice with great detail - such as various weapons like blades and spears.

Her personality is extremely vain, it’s incredibly often to see her flaunting her power and looks at others all the while demeaning them. Due to her superiority complex she believes herself to be a prime example of Pokemon, that all others compared to her are her lessers and could never compare to her. Occasionally she has shown that she’s capable of some form compassion, however these instances are very rare and only towards those she has some form of respect towards - how little it may be.

Additional Notes

She has displayed quite a prowess with a variety of weapons in close-quarter combat. Although rarely, there has been times she would conjure said weapons out of ice and use them against her opponents.

She speaks little of her origins, although it’s believed that she may have come from a powerful and wealthy family.

Name: Oxott Mal’Du

Alias: Apex

Gender: Male

Species: Scrafty/Heliolisk Hybrid (Natural)

Bio Below

One of the greatest ‘Feral Hunters’ known. Hailing from a tribe in a land untouched by technology, he gained his skills in hunting dangerous Feral Pokemon due to his lifestyle. His greatest skills lie in his mobility and strength, where he outpaces his foes - usually those far larger than he - and disables them. His weapons consist of a large serrated blade, his bolas, and a small hunting knife. Wrapped around the hilt of his serrated blade and his arm is a rope made from Luxray-tendon, granting him greater reach by releasing the weapon and swinging his arm, and the elasticity of the tendon brings the weapon back to his hand after the swing. He can also channel massive amounts of electricity into all of his weapons for even deadlier effects.

His personality is quite laid-back, he is known to be a rather honest individual yet also very considerate. Due to the mindset of his tribe he believes strongly in power, how one can always strengthen themselves to improve further. Because of this he won’t hesitate to assist others in either training or providing advice if asked, although this mindset has also made him rather prideful. 

Additional Notes

The skulls and pelts he wears on his body are trophies, taken from powerful Feral Pokemon that he himself has slain. His serrated blade is his greatest trophy of all, for it is the leg-bone of a Feral Tyrantrum that he and several others killed. He claims that the bones of these Tyrantrum are as strong as metal, thus one of the reasons why hunting the Pokemon is so dangerous. He says that to slay one is to be considered one of the greatest accomplishments of a Feral Hunter, and no other weapon compares to those carved from its bones.

Due to his origins, he has very little knowledge when it comes to advanced technology. Although his time working the GoT has expanded this knowledge, there are still some things that he’s unaware of.

Name: Sofia Deluca

Alias: Sylph

Gender: Female

Species: Audino/Whimsicott Hybrid (Natural)

Bio Below

A masterful healer of physical afflictions. Although her skills in combat are acceptable at best, her greatest strength lies in her healing energy and her power over the wind. She is capable of conjuring strong gusts that can briefly enhance the movement of her allies by massive margins, or manipulate the air around her to grant her flight. She can also release pollen that contain powerful healing properties when inhaled, mending wounds in mere moments - although at the cost of the injured individual’s stamina. Although it would normally affect those within close proximity to her when she releases said pollen, she can also manipulate the air to guide the healing particles to those she wishes to heal. She can also release pollen that contain a powerful sedative that cause unconsciousness after a few minutes once inhaled. She refrains from physical combat as much as possible, using either her sedative pollen or her wind skills to avoid foes.

Her personality is that of high spirits and energy, she is known to be an incredibly bubbly individual who is almost never unfriendly towards others. She is often very vocal, getting into other people’s business for the sake of befriending them. Rarely has she ever shown any sort of contempt for people, and she is extremely forgiving and understanding - to the point that many consider to be a double-edged sword of hers.

Additional Notes

She has constantly shown several traits of pacifistic behavior, one of many being that she never desires to be the one to directly harm another individual. It’s believed that this may be tied to some sort of traumatic event in her past, however she seems to show no trouble being in fights as long as she’s not the one hurting them.

She is apparently capable of producing a toxic pollen that paralyzes the lungs, causing those who breathe it in to suffocate. The mere thought of using it appalls her however, and she desires to never use it if she can help it. It’s believed that this may be linked to her pacifism and the possible traumatic event.

Name/Alias: Venus (Self-Given)

Gender: Female

Species: Roserade/Mawile Hybrid (Artificial)

Bio Below

A deadly hybrid with an arsenal of organic weapons. She fights with a variety of tactics in battle, from sticking close to her targets to keeping her distance. What would normally be normal flowers on her arms are instead closed buds, opening them would reveal maws lined with teeth. These maws alone can be weapons, but she is also capable of firing large needles from these buds to strike down foes from afar. Attached to the back of her head is an even larger maw that’s capable of spitting out streams of extremely corrosive nectar, the acid-like substance seems to break down most organic and inorganic matter. She is also capable of unleashing numerous whip-like vines from under her arms that can be used either for striking or restraining her foes. These variety of weapons make her very adaptive, adjusting to the scenario at a moment’s notice.

Her personality is very forward, perhaps rather excessively forward. Although friendly, she often tends to miss social queues and has difficultly comprehending on what is and isn’t best left unsaid. She has a strong desire to include herself in scenarios and conversations to offer her thoughts, even if they’re completely unrelated to her. Although she’s oblivious to some of this behavior, she still means well in the end.

Additional Notes

Even with the efforts of the Hybrid Rehabilitation, she still deals with PTSD from the trauma inflicted by the HWDP. Unlike most of the Hybrids, her case was far more extreme due to the success of her being an optimized weapon. Although the frequency of flashbacks have decreased majorly, she still experiences strong bouts of anxiety in certain situations.

The HWDP Identification Code on her body reads FL-07

Name: Sabra Bomani

Alias: Scourge

Gender: Male

Species: Cofagrigus (Venharan Incineroar)

Bio Below

An experienced fighter that still retains his skills even after death. He knows the traditional fighting style of Venharan Incineroars (or Tsubeten, what they refer themselves as), which is to use mobility and relentless attacks to overwhelm their opponents. He combines the skills from his past life with his Cofagrigus abilities, which is to manipulate and solidify darkness into extra appendages. The hands that form from this darkness end in sharp claws that are capable of slashing and rending, although he can have these claws overlap over his own hands to enhance his strikes. He is also capable of making his body intangible by converting his entire form into darkness, allowing him to become resistant to nearly all physical attacks. This form also allows him to hide in people’s shadows.

His personality is very youthful, the liveliness of his behavior being rather surprising despite his ancient age. He is very respectful to those he interacts with, never making fun of an individual even if jesting. It’s very common of him to comment on the traits that he likes of those he’s conversing with, be it their appearance to the way they hold themselves. He has a strong fondness towards combat, something that’s common among Tsubeten warriors. Although he himself tends to shrug off insults and aggressive behavior, he has no toleration when it’s targeted towards other individuals - especially those he has grown fond of. In response he would attempt to intimidate the aggressor to stand down, or challenge them to combat if the former was unsuccessful.

Additional Notes

The Tsubeten have far leaner bodies compared to the normal Incineroar. Although they are weaker in terms of overall strength, they make up by possessing far more agility and stamina than their more muscle-bound cousins.

Due to him never having left the Tomb of Warriors until recently, he is very oblivious to a lot of things that would be common knowledge in the modern world. The world has changed massively since when he was alive, so there’s still a great amount of things that he needs to learn.

//CLOSING FOLDER//

[akashicpoint]

First of all, Great askbox name.

Second. What does "queue are still a mere bud" mean?

Thank you!!

Also, queue are still a mere bud is just a pun version of Holly's "You are still a mere bud" quote she says during the rank 6 match!

[lutzofviktuuri]

so on my wrist, so on my soul

A Viktuuri soulmates au. Currently unfinished. Planned happy ending because that’s what Viktuuri is for. I’m not guaranteeing it ever being done. If it ever is, I’ll probably throw it onto AO3, but until then, it’s here. Rating: ....we’ll play this one by ear. M, I guess for now Chapter WC: 2,087 Current Story WC: 7,186 Chapter: One Summary: Viktor Nikiforov has known since he was sixteen years old that he was fated to be a champion. Now, at twenty-eight, the fate grates--what has he earned, and what is merely destined? He wishes, perhaps more than anything, that his fate had been a name and not a destiny. Katsuki Yuuri, on the other hand, has known he had a soulmate since he was sixteen years old, and some days, he would give anything, anything at all, for Fate to take it back.

Simple

On Yuuri’s first day of class at the University of Michigan he was still so jetlagged that he had, quite unlike himself, completely forgotten to cover up his fate mark, and as he leaned on his hand in class, half asleep, the slightly over-exuberant girl who sat next to him had sighed in clear longing, “Oh, you have a name! I’m so jealous. How simple that must make things.” It was fortunate that Yuuri was so sleep deprived that he did not process her words until well after the class had ended, or he might have, in his exhausted and stressed state, simply burst into tears. Simple. The words echoed in his head even now, four years later, as he skated in a loud and crowded arena. Fate marks were rarely simple. Of course, that was how the movies usually portrayed fate marks; an image, or a single word, or a name, or all three, pointing clearly to a path, to a destiny. The hero with courage written across his wrist becomes a fireman, the leading lady with justice written on hers serves on the US Supreme Court, the man with a full name written across his wrist puts together a social media campaign to find his match  and inevitably does, with a happily-ever-after ending. There was never really any uncertainty. There was never any struggle. They all walked clearly towards their fates, and they were, in the films, almost always happy ones. They never mentioned the unpleasant fate marks, the ones which read sacrifice, longing, despair. For those whose fate mark was or included name, they never mentioned the ones whose names were not soulmates, as usually thought, but fated enemies. They never mentioned those whose names were platonic, life-long friends. And they certainly never mentioned those unlucky few who wore a name that the other did not even share. A fate mark was destiny and could not be avoided or denied—but Fate was not always kind. Simple. His fate mark was anything but simple.

Yuuri took a deep breath as he gained speed with a few backwards crossovers. Warm-up was almost over, and he wanted to get in at least one more quad toe before he left the ice. He brought himself into position, getting ready to jump and reach back with his toe pick, setting off the spin, when he heard gasps and cheers from the audience nearer to the other side of the rink. He tried not to let the flash of silver distract him as he watched his idol glide out from a landing of what was probably his signature quad flip. He jumped, reached back with his toe pick, and spun—but as he was coming down he could feel it. His axis was off, he wasn’t going to land perfectly—he tried to save it, to only touch down with a hand, but he fell, and the crowd gasped for a completely different reason. Yuuri winced, pain radiating up his arm and throbbing on his left hip. He got up quickly, his cheeks burning in embarrassment. There was no way the judges had missed him biting the ice so badly. They would scrutinize him more closely in his short program now, he knew, watching more carefully for under rotations in his jumps, or unclear edges on his flip and lutz. He wiped ice shavings off his pant leg just as the announcer called for the skaters to leave the ice. Yuuri cursed internally, his gut twisting with anxiety. Why did that fall have to be his last element on the warm-up? All the skaters save Michele Crispino, the first competitor, made for the exit. Off the ice, Yuuri knew several of them were quite friendly, even friends. But as they stepped off the ice one by one, carefully wiping snow from blades and applying their skate guards, not a one of them looked at the others. They were all in the zone as Phichit was fond of saying. Yuuri, as he glided to the exit and t-stopped before stepping off the ice, followed the examples of the others, avoiding all eye contact. He spared only a brief glance towards a head of silver hair—but he looked away quickly. “Yuuri,” Celestino’s exasperated voice reached him as his blades hit the rubber mat. Ciao Ciao handed him his black and blue skate guards. His coach’s own fate mark was clearly visible: luce guida. Not a name, but a true fate. Yuuri busied himself with putting on his guards, looking down and avoiding his coach’s gaze. They walked together towards one side of the rink when Yuuri finished, headed back to the rink’s small gym so that Yuuri could jump rope until his turn—second to last—on the ice. Celestino walked closely to Yuuri, hiding his face and mouth from the cameras as much as possible. “You knew that was going to end badly before you took off. You didn’t properly set it up. Why did you jump anyway?” Yuuri’s gut twisted and clenched further. Celestino wasn’t scolding him, not really. He just wanted to know what was going through Yuuri’s head, Yuuri knew that. But part of Yuuri felt a barb at the end of the words anyway. You should have known better. Of course you couldn’t make that jump, what were you thinking? “I got distracted,” Yuuri replied honestly, wincing at his own words and rubbing his left wrist over his glove. He was like some lovesick schoolgirl staring after him that way— “Yuuri, I know that this is your first Grand Prix Final, but you cannot let it get to you. You have been pulling great scores all season. If you skate the way that you have been, you can easily end up on the podium—but not if you let the stress affect you, capisci?” Ciao ciao said. Yuuri blinked. Oh. He hadn’t even considered the stress of the actual competition yet, his first Grand Prix Final, but now that Celestino mentioned it… He felt his whole body tense and go rigid. Celestino frowned slightly. “Yuuri,” Celestino said. “I need to jump rope,” Yuuri said quickly. “Come get me just before my time, please?” Celestino’s jaw set, clearly holding back from saying things that he wanted to say. Instead he just nodded, and Yuuri rushed out of the arena and down a little, empty hallway. The gym was at the end of it, and when he pushed open the door he found that three of his fellow competitors were already inside—Christophe Giacometti, who was stretching somehow lewdly on the floor, JJ Leroy who was lifting weights in a corner with his headphones on, and— Yuuri avoided looking at the last too long. He didn’t want to be rude. Averting his gaze from any of his competitors at all, he honed in on his duffel bag, still where he left it in the corner of the room. He fished out his jump rope and his iPhone, shoving in his earbuds to drown everything out while he jumped. He closed his eyes, concentrating on keeping his mind as empty as possible. It was working well too, which was why he startled when he felt someone touch his ear and one of the buds was removed. His eyes flew open, and there stood Chris, grinning at him, Yuuri’s earbud held close to his own ear. “Are you listening to Ska?” he asked. “Chris,” Yuuri protested. Yuuri had known Christophe Giacometti of Switzerland since they were competing together in Juniors, and the man had always lacked a sense of personal space. “This sounds like ska to me,” Chris said, delighted. “It—I—” Yuuri looked down at his phone, strapped to his arm. He’d just been letting Spotify play whatever it wanted, and, sure enough, it was on some 80s J-ska band. “Oh.” “Yuuri, I’m surprised. I didn’t think you were a ska kind of person,” Chris teased him. Then he grinned, suggestively. “It’s always the quiet ones.” Then suddenly, Yuuri felt a hand on the base of his spine that slid quickly lower. He yelped and moved away. “Chris,” Yuuri protested, his face heating. He was familiar with Chris’ antics, but he didn’t think he would ever be quite used to them. “Chris,” spoke a quiet, delicately accented voice that Yuuri would recognize anywhere. “Can’t you at least wait until after the competition to sexually harass your competitors?” Yuuri tried not to stare directly in the direction of the silver haired skater who spoke. Yuuri looked just off to the side; staring directly at him was something Yuuri likened to staring directly at the sun. Chris just laughed. He backed away, but tossed the other skater an easy grin. “What fun would that be?” Chris replied. He winked at Yuuri. Yuuri just sighed and shook his head. Then suddenly the walls around them seemed to vibrate with the force of a cheer going up in the arena. Michele must have finished his skate. “Ah, that’s my queue. I’ll be on deck. See you on the ice, boys.” With a shrug and an easy wave, Chris exited the gym. Yuuri nearly sighed in relief. Dealing with Chris was fine, usually—but not before a skate. “My apologies for Chris,” spoke that soft voice again, and Yuuri went rigid. Was he actually talking to him? Yuuri whirled, and the other skater was watching him, a small, carefully constructed smile on his lips. “We have been friends for many years—he has always been that way, with everyone. He doesn’t mean any harm.” Yuuri tilted his head, for a moment uncomprehending. Then, he realized, with a little rush of embarrassment, that the other skater clearly didn’t know who he was—or, at least, anything about him. Well, why would he? Yuuri thought, with only a tiny touch of bitterness and a much larger touch of dismay and longing. You’ve never been anywhere close to being a threat or an equal. “Ah—well—I know. I’ve known Chris since we were in Juniors. But—ah—thank you? Anyway?” Yuuri spoke, and then cringed internally at the uncertainty of his tone as his heart beat faster than it had any right to do. The silver-haired skater just smiled a little more. It was a polite smile, though. A smile Yuuri recognized from his many press conferences and fan interactions. It did not reach his eyes. “Of course,” he said with a nod. The other skater then went back to stretching, and Yuuri averted his gaze, their sole interaction clearly finished. Adrenaline rushed through Yuuri’s body, and his hand shook as he replaced his earbud in his ear. He’d actually spoken to him. He’d actually spoken to him. And of course Yuuri had managed to make a complete fool of himself. Just like you’re going to make a fool of yourself on the ice if you can’t get yourself together. Yuuri returned to his aggressive jumping rope, doggedly losing himself in an unforgiving rhythm. The next time he opened his eyes, JJ was gone. He stopped jumping rope, suddenly panicked. How long had he been down here? Was he on deck yet? Surely Celestino would have come to get him if it was close to his time to skate? He yanked out his earbuds, shoving his iPhone back in his duffel and making for the door. “Katsuki,” the soft voice spoke, and Yuuri froze, his hand poised just on the door. He turned his head and knew that his eyes had to be wide; he couldn’t help it. “Ganbatte ne.” “Doomo arigato gozaimashita,” Yuuri replied automatically. He speaks Japanese? Yuuri felt like his brain had perhaps short circuited. He stood there for a moment, this time actually staring at the silver-haired skater, the man he had admired for nearly half his life. The man whose name was written across his wrist. Виктор Никифоров—Viktor Nikiforov. “Ah—davai.” He could not avoid, for a split second, glancing down at the other skater’s bare left wrist, even knowing what he’d find there before he looked—nothing. Yuuri gave the other man his own polite smile and, with that, went out the doors of the gym. There was no need to linger. No good could come of talking to an unrequited soulmate. Yuuri rubbed his glove-covered wrist as he entered the arena, assaulted once again by the cold and the noise. Simple. Staying away kept things simple.

Next >

[candy-corps]

Late Night Snack

Sahuna written by @mygardenofmuses !

It was quiet in the flat. Everyone was sleeping or away, or, well lost. Only in the kitchen were dim lights burning now, while the chopping of a kitchen knife cut through the silence in small intervalls. Chop, chop, chop, chop ... Bruce made food. This happened often, but never just for him and never at this time. This night was different: Hunger pains had woken him up and comfortable as he was, resting with Jaal, forced him to get up eventually. He could always take the food and eat in bed, Bruce thought, as he added a pile of cut cherries to the bowl where banana, apple and grapes lay already. How he'd missed all the fruit while he was on Andromeda. Focused on his work, he noticed just late that someone got closer. Did he wake Damien? Bruce looked up.

Sahuna rubbed her eyes. She was very sleepy, and given the gravity difference between the two planets, she still put her hands on the wall for support. She blinked in surprise when she heard noises. Who could be cooking at these hours of the night? Jess had been kind enough to tell her than bat people like Bruce was often nocturnal, but she didn't expected she'd get to witness it. "H-Hello?"

No burglar. "Sahuna" Bruce recognized, his ears lowering again which had raised up in alert. "Why are you up?" he wondered. Jaal was sleepy. So she should be sleepy, too, right? Oh, how glad he was now that he had clothes on: they were not used to female guests and therefore quite free on the dressing code at night. But since it got a little chilly, Bruce wore a black dressing gown over his underwear. He fixed that up just to make sure and regret it a second later: his hands were still dirty from cutting. Bruce  headed to the sink to wash his hands - as much as he disliked it.

"I heard a noise and I thought I had to defend Jaal and you from a burglar..." She chuckled, rubbing her cheek.  "Jess told me batpeople are nocturnal. I guess this is daytime for you, uh?"

"Uhh, technically" Bruce affirmed, washing his hands. "There is no schedule right now. I sleep when Jaal does. And when we manage, we go out at night when the moon's out." Goodness, that sounded like he dragged Jaal out for no reason. "I ... need some moonlight now and then or my healing doesn't work. I also need, well, food" he added, pointing to the bowl before he turned off the tap and grabbed a kitchen towel to dry off his hands. "I was hungry so I got up to fetch some. That's all."

"Aw." Sahuna gave a look to all the ingredients. She picked up the knife and analised it. "What a small dagger. Something like this could come in handy in battle. Or cooking, which I think it is its main purpose." The Angaran woman turned to look at him. "Can I help somehow? Given I'm already here, and all, I am the guest, so I want to do my best to submit to the customs of Earth. Please tell me if there is anything I must do or avoid."

Ohh. No. Bruce' ears lowered. "There is nothing you gotta do" he assured, raising his hands defensively. "Just be yourself. I was actually about to be done." Folding his hands, Bruce looked at the bowl and then again to Sahuna. "But - Do you want something? Jaal likes fruit and almond milk."

"Almond milk?" Sahuna blinked in surprise. "Ryder mentioned it once but I never had a chance to drink it myself. Can I?", she requested, a hint of shyness in her voice.

Bruce actually smiled. "Of course." He walked over to the fridge, took the bottle Jaal stored the milk in. As he turned, he shut the door with his wing and fetched a mug from the cupboard for her. He filled it with just a little bit of milk. Sahuna should try it; not feel obligated to drink all too much when it was not to her liking. "I could warm this up for you. Warm milk is what you give people when they can't sleep" he explained as he passed her the mug.

"That is a lovely custom." Sahuna smiled and sat on one of the chairs. "I'd love to drink warm milk. It reminds me of a thing my father used to do for me when I was younger. He used to brew essence of najamuka and give it to me and the rest of my 25 siblings. We made a queue to get our cup and a good night kiss."

How cute. But 25 was too close to 27. Which was the number of all the kids that he couldn't have anytime soon. Bruce shook the thought off, but it took him a moment. "I'm sorry." Where were they? Milk! "Uh, I could add some spices, too." He turned to the shelf in question and grabbed vanilla, cinnamon, cocoa powder ... and just for the heck of it, chili flakes, too. He was curious how she'd react to these. "I hear that when it smells nice, it tends to taste good, too." He pushed the little closed jars over the counter, towards Sahuna.

"Thank you very much. You are very kind. Is there any protocol I must follow with this drink? Ryder told me that there's a drink called tea, that you have to sip it..." Sahuna struggled, but managed to raise her pinky. "And apparently it's important to drink it with this finger up. That is the "proper etiquette" to do so, and that some 'Queen of England'? would get mad if the tea gets spilt. Does this apply to almond milk too, or it is just the tea?"

"It's just the tea" Bruce promised. Then, thinking of it: "No, it's - it's nothing. No one will get mad, and no one would mind." Well, maybe the Queen of England. "I certainly won't" he assured. Damn, Sahuna ... "Just ... act naturally" Bruce requested. He took a glance at the fruit bowl, picked a pear from it and showed it Sahuna. "Tell me if that's friend- or love-shaped, for example." He truly wasn't sure and didn't want Jaal to get offended when he offered him some.

"I am not sure if I know how to 'act naturally'. Everything back home is regulated by protocols, so when I travel first thing I do is to ask about those. I don't want to disrespectful by accident." She explained and smiled. "You are a kind soul, Bruce. I like that of you." She looked down at the fruit and giggled. "Jaal told you about the friend-shaped and the love shaped fruits too?" She inquired. "That was one of the first things his real father taught him. He loved Jaal so much. Always did things so carefully." She brought a hand to her chest. "I miss him."

So that was where Jaal got it from. Bruce had to wonder how he looked like when he was young. "He died in the war, right?" Bruce guessed. He placed the pear on the table and twirled it a bit.

"Yeah. He was on the regular day at work when our enemies attacked. Some of his friends told me he died shielding some of the youngest coworkers." Sahuna smiled weakly. "He was so peaceful, and kind. He didn't deserve to die like that."

So he was no soldier. "Yeah" Bruce agreed. "I'm sorry." He didn't mean to wake bad memories; he'd just been so curious. Figuring Sahuna should like almond milk well enough, Bruce filled the mug up with the liquid. "I'll warm that up for you" he announced. Sahuna didn't smell the spices, but they could be always added later.

"Yes, please. I'd like that very much." Sahuna handed him the mug. "Maybe you can add those... species too?"

"Yeah, but ... which?" Bruce wondered. "All together will be weird" he warned. "You could smell, or ... maybe try to see what you like. wait ... " He opened a drawer and took out a teaspoon, then gave it to her. "Maye try a little, little bit. And be careful with this," He pointed to the chili one. "It's hot for me. I dunno if it's good for you, though. Our taste buds are different."

"Jaal told me that hot things in this planet are actually sweet for us. I'll try that." She picked up the chili, then added a spoonful of it to her mug. "I love sweet drinks." She commented, mixing it all.

This ... better work. "Alright" Bruce said, watching, with some horror, as Sahuna stirred the mixture. "Then let's try that." Once she stopped stirring, he took the mug and put it in the microwave, which started to hum as he turned it on. You could see the mug circle within; illuminated by the microwave's light. Another sting of pain let Bruce remember why he was in the kitchen in the first place. He took a glance at the bowl with the cut fruit in it, and, after consideration, opened one of the lower drawers - stuffed with candy. He'd sprinkle homemade marshmallows on it and then add some honey, too.

Sahuna was looking at the mug, fascinated by the movement of the microwave. "I've heard of these... microweeebs... a long time ago. But this ie the first time I see one."

"A microwave?" Bruce figured, looking at it. "Yeah, they're great. Remind me to make you popcorn before we go ... " back to Andromeda. Bruce flinched at the mere thought of it. Wasn't there something they could do to .... procrastinate on that ... - ? "Didn't you want to see Fawn?" Bruce remembered, looking back at Sahuna and adding more and more sweets to the bowl on the side.

"Yes, that!" Sahuna clapped her hands. "And thanks. I'd love to see her, but it's in the middle of the night, I don't want to bother her parents."

"I was rather thinking of, uh, tomorrow" Bruce replied. He took the bottle with honey and squeezed some on his 'fruit' bowl. And then some. And then some ...

"What are you doing with that bottle?" She asked curiosly. The microwave dinged and Sahuna took out her mug.

"Careful with that" Bruce warned. He didn't want Sahuna to burn her hands on the hot mug. "It's just honey. It's sticky, so it comes in a special container." Caught now, Bruce stopped to add honey. As he stirred everything, all was still coated, though. It was fine.

"Can I try a bit of honey? Jaal told me to be careful with it, that is very spicy." Sahuna put down the mug on the table.

"Honey's my favorite. Well, next to ... a few other things." Blood, definitely blood. But he didn't have to say that out loud, had he. "It's sweet for me. And it tastes different, depending where it's from and what kind of flowers were blooming at the time it was made. This is from the Netherlands; a place with tons of flowers. It's really, really good. I think." Bruce dripped a few drops on the spoon Sahuna's been using. Chances were low she'd like it much, but he was still hopeful.

"I like flowers. They're beautiful." Sahuna smiled and licked carefully the bit of honey. Her eyes went wide right away. "Oh my stars! This is hot, hot, super hot!"

Oh, too bad ... ! "You should try some milk" Bruce suggested. He heard that drinking water was of no use to get rid of the taste of something hot again. "I'm sorry" he apologized. Sure she asked for it, but he should have known better.

"It's OK, I asked for it, hahahaha!" Sahuna laughed and picked up the warm mug. She drank a good sip, and her expression relaxed right away. "Mmmmh oh myyyy... this is heavenly. I haven't tasted anything so sweet in a long time."

Ah. So hot ans sweet were simply reversed, was all. "I'm glad you like it" Bruce gave back, smiling. Now, cooking for Jaal should be a whole lot easier. "You know ... Angaran 'sweets' taste hot for me. I can't eat them. So ... Angaran food was hard" he had her know. Bruce took his bowl and ate a bite from it. This, yes, was very sweet, and very good. The first sweet dish he had in three days!

"Oh you poor thing... I had no idea. And here I was trying to give you sweet foods and... they were spicy for you. I'm so  sorry." Sahuna bit her bottom lip,  then looked down at her mug. "We've got a lot to learn from each other."

"It's alright." Bruce waved it off. "Jaal took care of me. He stole all the food in the fridge and I liked some of it." The blood, yes, and the algae sticks.

"I noticed. I had to go shopping." The woman chuckled, then she drank another sip. "I should go back to bed. This drink is making me very sleepy."

Bruce nodded. He picked his bowl up since there was no use to eat here once Sahuna got going. "It's still a few hours until the sun will go up. I'll go keep Jaal company" he announced.

"That's a great plan. He doesn't like to sleep alone." Sahuna smiled and walked to the door. "Thanks for everything, Bruce. Good night."

"Good night." Bruce lifted a wing to wave her goodbye; his hands being busy holding bowl and spoon. He felt sorry for Sahuna. He had someone to return to now, but he still remembered vividly what it was like to wake up without. He dimmed the lights even more and then went to return to their room; eating a mouthful of fruit now and then.

[fitzdyke]

another prompt from this list, this time it’s a Silverflint coffee shop au that started as a drabble and turned into a 3k fic accidentally?

“Not you again...”

The midday lunch rush was just finishing up, and James had been keeping his eyes on the clock, waiting for his own break. Only twenty minutes left now, and then he would be free to take his bagel and tea and book to go and sit on his favourite bench overlooking the river. With the shop getting quieter and no queue, he took a second to actually breathe. It had been a rather busy morning. In fact the whole week had been particularly hectic. It was the start of September, and students had started going back to school, and while the local college provided him with plentiful business, he’d be lying if he said he’d enjoyed serving masses of dead-eyed youths, or even worse, the chipper ones who tried to make conversation with him. Plus there was some kind of modern art exhibition open in town that had been drawing crowds in from afar, leaving the local establishments buzzing with activity.

He poked his head into the small kitchen to find the chef whistling over a sizzling pan of scrambled eggs.

“Billy, I’m going to head out when Eleanor gets back, could you prep my lunch bagel now it’s gone quiet out here?” he shouted back.

Billy tossed the eggs in the pan, flipping some into the air and catching it again mid-fall. “Sure thing, boss. Glad it’s slowed down, anyway.”

James nodded at him and returned to the counter. He leaned against his work station, arms folded as he looked over the shop. Most of the tables had been occupied early in the day by students with laptops and notepads, and he had been steadily refilling drinks all morning. Just as he had tricked himself into a false sense of tranquillity, the arrival of his worst nightmare was signalled by the sound of the shop bell tinkling.

The man bounced straight up to James, grin spread wide across his face as he drummed the fingers of two heavily tattooed hands on the surface of his counter. The fucking hipster.

“For fucks sake, not you again.” James groaned, unconcerned about decorum and customer service. This guy didn’t deserve it, anyway.

“You’re gonna really hate me today.” the man said with a laugh, producing a crumpled list from the back pocket of a pair of incredibly tight, and incredibly paint-splattered, jeans.

“More than I already do, you mean?” James scowled, eyes darting over the man and finding all the more reasons to despise him. He had his hair in a bloody man-bun of all things today. The combination of the messy bun and the facial hair (with a little waxed moustache above the beard, no less) reminded him of every barista twat he’d encountered and interviewed when he had tried to open up a small shop in London. Most of them had been smug and overly-friendly, too. It was one of the reasons he liked having Eleanor as a barista so much. Sure, she took extra long smoke breaks and swore at most of the customers, but she was no-nonsense. Also, was it James’ imagination, or did the man even have more tattoos dotted over his forearms than when he had come in the day before? Impulsive little shit.

“Ohh no. Yesterday and Monday were just warm-ups. Today, we’ve got all of the artists in.” tattoo-twat said with a heavy sigh, squinting at his own handwriting. The last two days, he had come in just after the lunch rush with a long, complicated list of drinks to-go, including concoctions that James was sure he’d made up on the spot, before leaving with a wink and no tip. “You’re gonna want to write this down.”

James snorted, reaching into his own back pocket for his pen and notepad. He tapped the pen on the paper, raising an expectant eyebrow at the offending man. Tattoo-twat took a deep breath.

“Right, so. A mocha with whipped cream, three spoons of sugar and two shots of cherry syrup, a black coffee with two shots of hazelnut syrup, a matcha latte with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles- here, I’ve got the matcha powder for you, ‘cause I bet you don’t have any.” he said, stopping to pat his pockets down before yanking out a thin packet of green powder to hand to James, who merely glared at him. “An Earl Grey with just a smidge of soy milk and a slice of lemon, another black coffee but with an extra shot of coffee and also as hot as you can possibly get it, so maybe save that one until last?”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you save it for last on the list.” James growled, already growing impatient.

“Because they were all just sort of yelling at me and I kinda just went with it? I don’t know? Anyway, a caramel latte with two extra shots of coffee and almond milk, also the caramel has to be sugar free or else Idelle will crash halfway through our afternoon sketching, peppermint tea with one shot of coffee and one of vanilla-”

“That’s not a thing. I refuse to believe that’s a thing. You’re reading it wrong.” James said, leaning over to snatch the crumpled note from the man’s hand. Halfway through the list, black messy scrawl had switched to various colours of inks in all kinds of handwriting, all much clearer than the first few bullet points. Unfortunately, tattoo-twat had read it out right, and now James was condemned to make the monstrosity, along with a handful of other incredibly weird drink combinations.

“Creatives, eh? Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.” The man laughed awkwardly, leaning forward onto the counter. His shirt, dark and loose and embroidered with little stars, lay half open, giving James a perfect view of a tanned chest and dark nipples. He had been determined not to look down the man’s shirt, but a glint of shiny metal drew his eye downwards to where a piercing went through one hard bud. James coughed, turning around with the piece of paper to start making his order up.

“They decide halfway through that you probably weren’t listening then?” he asked casually, getting to work and ignoring the slight flush he could feel creeping up his neck. He decided he’d rather not look at the man if he could avoid it, lest he find that damned nipple winking back up at him again.

“Nah, I just sort of threw the list to the new collaborators while I sorted out my shit. Too much to do, not enough time or caffeine.” he said chirpily. He hadn’t divulged any details to Flint over the last two trips, seeming content enough to watch Flint work while he glared at the man.

“Oh, so you’re not just the tea boy then?” James asked, unable to resist getting the jibe in. He heard the man scoff behind him, and gave in to the urge to turn back around to see his reaction. His still had that stupid lopsided grin on his face, although now it seemed all edges and teeth.

“No, I’m not just the fucking tea boy. I’m the project manager, actually. I’m more than a pretty face and a great ass, you know.” he drawled, shifting to lean sideways onto an elbow. James frowned, turning back towards the drinks. He swore he could feel his gaze running along his back as he had turned away.

“Project manager, hm? Some hipster start-up, no doubt. Funded by daddy’s bank account.” he said conversationally. Not that he gave a fuck about what the man did, of course. But he was admittedly a little curious.

“Well, ‘daddy’ had nothing to do with this, trust me. And no, it’s a modern art exhibition, actually. Some of the best talent in the country, mixed mediums, all that jazz. I’ve got to keep my team happy, hence...all this.” tattoo-twat said, gesturing to the list that sat limply on James’ counter. Ah, yes. That modern art exhibition. “Don’t worry, though. You’ve only got two more days of me, then we’re gone, and my pretty face and great ass both disappear into the sunset.” he said, the smirk apparent even in his voice as James looked away.

“Why here?” James asked brusquely, changing the topic sharply. “There’s at least three coffee chains within spitting distance of this shop, why the fuck did you decide to come here?”

“One of our guys stopped off last week when he was scouting out our location, took a shine to your blonde barista. He was told in no uncertain terms into which orifice he could shove his offer of a phone number, so naturally he swears that she and him are meant to be. Made me come here on Monday to see if I could swing her opinion, and quite honestly? She is terrifying.” the man laughed, still propping himself up on the bar and clearly quite content in his role as storyteller, a natural. Flint chuckled to himself, shoulders shaking.

“He wasn’t the dickhead with the long hair, was he? Tall, tight clothes, abs you could probably grate cheese on, attitude problem?” James said, biting down another laugh. Eleanor had spent an entire afternoon shift last week moaning to James about the man, calling him every name under the sun, before telling Flint exactly how, in her words, “unbearably fuckable” she had also found him. Flint’s war against Eleanor’s shit taste in men was one he had long known could never be won.

“The very same. Charles is an arse, but he has his uses.” the man said with a shrug. James snorted.

“Charles. Jesus, doesn’t sound much like a Charles. Thought all you artsy types would be called like...” James bit his lip, thinking as he measured out syrup shots. “I dunno. Rainbow. Magenta. Bear. Pineapple. Chrysanthemum. Salome.”

“Salome is biblical, that doesn’t count as an artsy hipster name.” he interrupted, expression turned almost serious. He looked more earnest than James had seen him look all week. “If he didn’t look like a Charles because you think he’s artsy or whatever, I’m curious. What do I look like?” tattoo-twat asked, frowning up at James from his slumped position on the counter. His hips were pushed out behind him, and James was irked to see a table of young girls sat nearby paying more attention to his tight jeans than their textbooks. He raised an eyebrow at the man.

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Flint said, the corners of his mouth tugging up a little as he fought against appearing too smug.

“Oh, come on. You’ve got to have thought of me as something in that pretty little head of yours. Asshole-coffee-man, That Guy With All The Hair, Pineapple...” he chuckled, imitating Flint’s raised brow.

James ignored the ‘pretty’ comment, and decided against telling tattoo-twat exactly what terms he’d been thinking of him as all this time.

“Which one is yours?” he asked the man while juggling two jars of frothed milk.

“The cherry mocha. I’ve got a sweet tooth.” the younger man said, giving him a wide, toothy grin as if to drive the point home. Was this guy fucking serious?

“Sweet tooth? You’ve got roughly the sugar consumption of a seven year old for a week in this.” James sighed, shaking his head in disappointment at himself, the tattoo-twat, the entire coffee industry, and the universe as he pumped two shots of cherry syrup into the mocha. It already smelled sickeningly sweet to him, but whatever kept this man-child happy. “Anyway, now I can think of you as cherry-mocha-man. Happy now?”

“Actually, it’s Silver. Oh, and can you pass me the really hot black coffee and the hazelnut one separately when you’re done? I need to finish them off.” tattoo-twat-cherry-mocha-man-Silver, who was now reaching into his waistband, said. He lifted up the hem of his shirt, exposing a toned waist and a hipflask tucked against his side.

“That cannot be comfortable.” James stated shortly. He watched as the tattoo-tw- Silver. He watched as Silver put the metallic flask on the counter, its contents sloshing around inside, and shrugged back at James.

“It was the least conspicuous place for it. You joke, but these aren’t even the tightest pair I own. Anyway, you still haven’t told me your name yet.” Silver said, that cocky grin fixed back on his face.

James wasn’t used to this amount of attention from customers at all. His regulars knew him well enough by now to understand that he wasn’t one for small talk, he knew for a fact that he intimidated his younger customers for whatever reason (Good, he thought.), and even when he did get chatty ones, they usually read him pretty quickly and gathered that they’d have as much joy and ease trying to get a conversation out of one of the leather sofas he’d placed by the windows. But then clearly, this man Silver seemed to think that because he was artsy and charming and attractive, he could spend however long he liked chatting up his barista.

“It’s James. Which is an actual name, oddly.” he replied. If he was going to participate in an actual conversation with this guy, he might as well try and get the upper hand if possible. It would certainly make the next two lunch shifts interesting, although James was already considering swapping his lunch break with Eleanor’s so that she would have to deal with his orders instead next time, God help him.

“So is mine.” Silver said. “First name is John, which I’m not actually sure anybody could argue isn’t a real name to be fair. Biblical, too.”

James checked over the drinks, making sure he hadn’t missed anything out. He was fairly certain he had met every single one of the group’s ridiculous demands, all he needed to do now was top the ones that needed cream, and do the stupidly hot coffee that Silver needed to spike with booze. “You don’t look much like a John either, if I’m honest.” he said while grabbing a can of whipped cream from the fridge.

“Hmm. I get that a lot.” Silver sighed, watching James as he finished the drinks. “So, the angry blonde. Is she your girlfriend, or...?”

James snorted suddenly, a high-pitched almost-giggle that seemed to alarm Silver slightly, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline.

“Eleanor? God, no. You were right, she is fucking terrifying, that one. She can be a laugh, though. Fun to drink with, too. But neither of us would ever.” he said, putting the cups into two cardboard carriers. He paused, trying to decide whether or not he should add the extra comment, before his tongue got the better of him. “It helps that I’m gay, anyway.” he said, slightly quieter as he ducked his head down to check the lids.

John Silver straightened where he stood, expression unreadable as he blinked back at James.

Silver hummed, breaking the moment of silence. “Well, that does make things easier, at least.”

James looked at the man, frowning in confusion. He felt the skin on the back of his neck begin to prickle, and he shifted on one foot under Silver’s gaze.

“Really? What’s that?” he asked gruffly. Silver’s mouth hung slightly open, his eyes wide and unfathomable as they stared at each other.

“Makes it easier knowing that when I ask you out for dinner at the end of the week, you might say yes.” Silver said, voice soft.

The continued prickling along his neck confirmed his suspicion that, at least subconsciously, part of James had been expecting that this was where the conversation would arrive at. He also knew that he could have been much more blunt to the tattooed man, ignored him completely while he made his order to go, told him in no uncertain terms to fuck off. Yet he hadn’t, for whatever reason. He had entertained Silver, kept the conversation flowing, uninterrupted.

He realised that he had been motionless, staring at Silver who was now biting his lower lip between his teeth, something akin to nerves playing around his features. James hummed.

“That’s what you think, is it?” James teased, quite enjoying drawing this out. He tried to resist smiling, but felt his mouth tug up against his will. Ducking his head, he made his way over to his till to ring up the dozen drinks. “Ah well, you see, I’m an optimist at heart. That’s a whole two coffee orders away from now, so who knows? I could grow on you by then.” Silver said, fishing some notes out from the obscenely tight jeans to hand to James. He chuckled as he accepted the skin-warmed cash.

“How far away is your studio exactly?” he asked, his mind ticking over a plan, and he couldn’t quite yet decide if this plan was going to be the best idea he’d thought of all week, or his complete ruination.

“Fifteen minutes perhaps, if I pace. Overlooks the bay.” Silver said, checking the lids on the cups before lifting the two carriers. “I’ll manage with this, if that’s what you’re worried about.” he said, curling his arms up in turn and pretending to struggle with the load.

James hummed, trying his best to appear nonchalant as his eyes drifted to the clock on the wall of the shop. Less than five minutes to go.

“If you drop those off in time, get down to those benches over there, the ones overlooking the river, in the next half hour or so...” he said with a shrug, watching John’s brow crease as he calculated. “You might just catch me in a good mood.”

He watched the face of John Silver, the tattoo-twat who had forced him to make twelve increasingly fucked-up coffees, split into its biggest grin yet. Seeing James’ unchanged expression, he fought to get the smile under control, ducking his head.

“Right then. I should probably jog off then, shouldn’t I?” Silver said, spinning around to face the exit. The shop bell rang as the door opened, Silver not having quite reached it yet.

“Fucking hell, not you again.” Eleanor growled, barging past him with her handbag swinging. James snorted under his breath, hearing John bark a laugh as he left them.

She threw her handbag on the counter, pushing her hair back into place. “God, what a twat.” she sighed. “Anyway, you can go now.”

James clapped her on the shoulder, fighting back a smile.

“You’ve dated worse.” he said, handing her his apron and abandoning her to go and grab his bagel from Billy. If he walked quick enough, he thought he might even be able to get a chapter or two of his book read before Silver turned up.

[thatlittlered]

Out Of The Blue | Kurt Wagner

Words: 905

Fandom: X-Men

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x Reader

Warning(s): too much fluff, you have been warned😭

Requested by anonymous:  Hi!! if requests are still open, maybe a Kurt Wagner x reader fic? I love your work!!

A/N: I’m finally catching up with my queue, hurray! I really hope this writer’s block doesn’t last long ‘cause I’m having such a hard time keeping up with all the requests yet at the same time I don’t want to close them ‘cause I love beings sent ideas too much! Don’t worry though, I’m never giving up on queue. I’ll make it! I hope you liked this one, Kurt is such a little blueberry and I love him so much! 😍

You were wandering through the school’s gardens with a friend, listening to them go on and on about their most recent crush. You tried to pay attention, you really did but your mind couldn’t help but drift off to a million other little things.

You smelled the fresh air around you, a pleasant change from the mundane smell of cleaning products that filled every classroom. Looking around, your eyes fell on the flowers that had been tight buds only days ago had begun to open, they already had a deeper blush of pink. The winter should still be in force but already spring had pushed it back to moderate temperatures and the a gentle breeze was messing with your hair but you couldn’t care less.

Then your eyes flicked around the green trees until you spotted a familiar figure resting under the big oak tree and you immediately smiled to yourself at the sight. You knew how much Kurt loved spending time outside and you often liked to join him, which often resulted in hours spent laying on the soft grass as you chatted endlessly. Other times he’d ask you to read to him because he loved your voice and you could never resist his adorable pleas.

Your gaze remained on him, looking to see that toothy grin he always wore when he saw you but instead he remained in the same position, curled into a ball with his head buried in his legs. You suddenly felt concern wash over you, something was wrong and you could feel it.

Before your friend even got a chance to finish what they were saying, you excused yourself and ran over to Kurt. At first, he didn’t seem to notice your presence but you stepped on a twig that snapped and alerted him. 

Startled, he whipped his head up and took in your form through his blurry vision. The sunlight was hitting your back so gracefully, adorning your form and illuminating your white wings so perfectly he swore he had never witnessed such a beautiful sight before.

Blinking twice to fight the tears that kept coming, he watched silently as you took a seat next to him - your sweet smile quickly replaced by a look of concern. He wiped the remainder tears on his sleeves, his cheeks turning a light shade of lilac at the way your thighs touched while you inched closer.

“Kurt? What’s wrong, why are you crying?” you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear to take a better look at his eyes, puffy and swollen. You hated seeing him like that.

“It’s nothing, really.” he sniffed a little and your heart broke at the thought that he didn’t trust you enough to share his problem. But you weren’t giving up so easily.

“Sweetie, please tell me what’s wrong. Perhaps I can help you.”

His cheeks flushed an even darker color at your use of nickname. It was hard for him to concentrate on anything else when you were around.

“Ze other students, zey make fun of me.” he sniffled again, fighting more tears.

“Why?” you tilted your head in genuine confusion, which caused a small smile to tug on his lips.

He could never get enough of how you treated him like he was perfectly normal. God, he had fallen so hard for you, it honestly scared him at times. He had never felt that way before but it was so blissful. Your mere presence gave him such serenity.

“Because I’m different.” he answered in a broken whisper and your face dropped at the insecurity behind his words. How could anyone make fun of someone as unique and special as Kurt?

“Well, all of us are different - that’s why we’re here.” 

“It’s not ze same wiz me. Zey say I’m weird.” his eyes fell on the scales that decorated his blue skin.

You snorted a little in response. “Don’t be silly. This is place where we don’t have to hide our individuality. There’s not a student in here that’s ‘normal’. We all have something that makes us unique.”

“Yes, but my mutation is not beautiful like yours. You have your wings and zey are great.” he pointed at the angel-like wings that decorated your back. “I’m just blue...” his voice trailed off with a loud sigh.

“Well, blue is a lovely color. I love blue!” you perked up and a bright smile tugged at your lips as he stared back at you in disbelief. “Do you need a hug?” you suggested in a singsong voice and you could swear you had never seen him blush so hard.

“Um...I...” seeing how he was struggling with his answer, you wrapped your arms around his waist quickly and he froze for a while but you felt his own arms snake around your shoulders as you snuggled deeper in his embrace.

“Thank you.” you heard him whisper in your hair.

“Oh, don’t mention it.” you pulled back to peck his cheek sweetly before you stood up and fixed the wrinkles on your skirt. “I should get going before class begins, but I’ll see you later, right?” you smiled down at him but all he could do was gaze at you dreamily and how the sunlight falling on your back made you look.

‘Like an angel from Heaven’ he couldn’t help but think as you walked away and he could feel the butterflies in his stomach.

[lottosevens]

Still Looking Up

A Raven’s Home fanfic Rating: T Paring: eventual Raven/Chelsea (Chrave) Summary: PARENT TRAP(ish) AU. Raven and Chelsea ended up falling out big time after the chinchilla controversy in their senior year of high school and haven’t spoken to each other since. When Levi, Nia, and Booker discover a photograph of their moms from their good old days, the kids decide it’s time to try and bring the two old friends back together. Chapter: 1/?

(You can also read on AO3)

They’d only just begun their new adventure in Chicago (that’s what she’d called it when she’d told Levi about the move—he’d seemed less than convinced) and everything was already stressful. Their new landlord had conveniently forgotten they were moving in that day and had gone off on vacation with his mother, so they’d had to push back their move-in by two days. Then, the first hotel they’d tried to check into didn’t allow pets, and neither did the one after that. Chelsea thought this was not only inhumane and unfair to all of the poor dogs and cats and turtles and other creatures that may be traveling with their humans, but wildly inconvenient for her. But they were finally settling down in their third-attempt hotel, which did allow pets, with less than—she glanced at her watch—ten hours to go until Levi’s first day of school and thirty-four hours until her first day of work. She closed her eyes and rested against the headboard for just moment, just taking in the fact that, yes, she was really here, and yes, this was really happening. Her entire life had been turned upside down within a matter of months and had kept spinning and spinning ever since. But it felt like things were finally settling down, despite how crazy the past twenty-four hours had been. And soon, they’d be in their own apartment and settled into their new work and school routines and things would be back to normal. She couldn’t wait for normal. When she opened her eyes, Levi was climbing up onto the foot of the room’s single queen bed, his nearly-as-big-as-him backpack in hand and their golden retriever Zoodles at his heel. In one quick movement, Levi dumped the entire contents of the backpack on the bed. Pencils, pens, crayons, folders, and notebooks covered the white, standard hotel-issue bedspread in a rainbow of color. “What are you doing, bud?” she asked, rolling some of the crayons that had strayed her way back toward Levi’s pile, with little success. “I have to organize my backpack for tomorrow. I can’t be the new kid and the kid with a messy backpack,” he answered, without lifting his gaze from the task at hand. With nimble hands and a little (unhelpful) help from a slobbery dog, he began sorting his pencils and pens into piles. “Do you want any help?” She started to reach forward but he shook his head and stilled her hand. “Thanks,” he said. “I got it.” Chelsea nodded, and returned to her resting position against the headboard. She admired and respected her son’s independence, absolutely, but it always made her a bit sad to think about why he was so self-reliant, so willing to go and do things his own way. “Alright, but make it quick, okay? You need to get to bed soon. There’s school in the morning.” “I know, Mom.” Chelsea sighed, and felt a warm, wet patch forming on the side of her jeans. She looked down, and, of course, Zoodles had his nose pressed into her outer thigh, bashfully begging for her attention. “Come here, buddy,” she called, and he scrambled happily so that his head was resting safely in her lap. She gave him a big scratch behind the ears. “Tomorrow everything will be back to normal, I promise.” She didn’t know why she was hoping so hard for normal, all of a sudden. For years before her marriage had started to fall apart, she’d been hoping for a return to anything but normal, anything but the monotony that she had inexplicably and then unwillingly fallen into Garrett. Her life had once been just a bit extraordinary, had had a touch of magic. But that was a long time ago, almost eighteen years now, and nothing worth thinking about anymore. She had a new life and, starting tomorrow, a new new life with a new job and a new apartment in a new city. She had a lot to look forward to. There was no use in looking back. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — Paris Fashion Week was always the most stressful time of year for Raven, even though it probably wasn’t supposed to be. Fashion Week was supposed to be a time of socializing and showing off (both of which were things which Raven knew how to do very, very well). By the end of the week, though, she was always exhausted and cranky and even a little bit intimidated by all the other amazing designs she’d seen, and all she wanted to do was go home and do nothing for another week except take several long bubble baths and spend some time with her kids. If you had told Raven fifteen years ago that she would be passing up shopping in Paris so that she could go home to be with her children, she’d laugh in your face and go back to flipping through her latest copy of Vogue. Yet, here she was, in the back of a car on the way to the airport, bouncing her leg in anticipation. “Could we go a little bit slower?” she muttered under her breath, checking the time on her phone. She still had over an hour before her flight was supposed to leave, and didn’t need to worry about silly things like security to get on the private jet. But the sooner she was there, the sooner they possibly could take an earlier space in the take-off queue, and the sooner she could be back in Chicago and on her way to pick up her kids from school. Raven sighed and leaned her head against the cold glass of the window like she’d done as a child in the backseat of her parents’ station wagon. They were stuck in the usual traffic around the Arc de Triomphe, which meant the stop and start and stop and start of almost standstill traffic. Raven closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. There was no need to be anxious, there was no need to get upset. She’d be home with her kids in ten hours’ time and she wouldn’t even remember this car ride. If she just let herself let go of the things she couldn’t control, she could be at peace. At least that’s what her therapist always said. Her pilates and yoga instructors, too. Even her ex-husband had said something to the effect at one point, long ago. But Raven Baxter was all about taking control, and always had been. Letting go wasn’t a concept that came to her easily or often. She managed, though, and with just a few more deep breaths she felt herself center and her muscles relax. Things were better. Things were calm. When she opened her eyes, she would be at peace, able to enjoy the rest of her ride through the city before they hit the Autoroute. But when she opened her eyes, she immediately felt her muscles re-constrict and her breath catch in her throat. Her body became the absolute opposite of at peace as a shock of red hair flew past her window. Raven’s face pressed even further against the glass, trying to catch another glimpse of the red-haired cyclist, but to no avail. The bicycle was gone, disappeared into the mass of cars ahead of them. Her every nerve felt on fire. Raven would love to say that was the first and only time she’d ever jumped at the sight of long, red curls that seemed at one so familiar yet so distant. She felt silly for her excitement, for thinking that, of all the places in the world, she would find her here. She didn’t even want to, she told herself. They hadn’t spoken in almost eighteen years, despite Raven’s earliest efforts, and now she wanted nothing more than for it to stay that way. She could hold a grudge as long as anybody. She settled back into her seat, head against the leather interior instead of the window, and closed her eyes once more. Her body was still vibrating with energy, and her heart still thumping wildly in her chest. She needed to calm down. She needed to relax. She needed to take a nap. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — The plane landed that afternoon in Chicago at 2:12, which gave Raven exactly 48 minutes to collect her things, get the car, and get over to the Lakeshore Day School before the final bell rang at 3:00. When she pulled into the parking lot and looked down at the dashboard clock, she smiled victoriously. It was 2:51. She still had nine minutes to spare. In the spring, the grounds of the Lakeshore Day School were lush with blossoming trees and beautiful flowers, and during the fall the leaves on the trees all turned magnificent shades of orange, yellow, and red that Raven hadn’t really gotten to see while growing up in San Francisco. But during the winter, the campus looked no more appealing than the arctic tundra, its perfectly manicured lawns hidden beneath a layer of frost and its trees mere skeletons, crouching over the stone façade of the school building. On a normal winter day, Raven would turn up the heat and wait in the car for the kids to come out of school. But it was unseasonably warm outside (thanks, global warming) and she’d been cooped up in cars and planes for too long already. She needed fresh air and to stretch her legs. Benches lined the walkway up to the school’s giant front staircase, but Raven had had enough sitting, so she decided to lean against one instead. She pulled her phone out of her purse and began swiping through meaningless email after meaningless email and responding to some less meaningless texts, when she caught sight of something in her peripheral vision, a flash of red hair leaning a bike up against the other end of her bench. She shook her head and sucked in a breath. “No. Not again. You’re not gonna fall for this twice in one day.” She kept her focus fixed on her phone, sent a text to her group message with the twins telling them she was outside, but her curiosity was messing with her, telling her to look up! look up! She scoffed again. She wouldn’t. She had more dignity than that. She looked back at the clock on her phone. It would still be five minutes before the bell rang. She could last five minutes without looking up. She had to beat this damn urge somehow. She was a grown woman, a famous fashion designer, she traveled around the world on a weekly basis. She couldn’t keep doing this. It was getting pathetic. A few seconds later, the figure finally stepped out from the edges of her vision, and Raven rejoiced. She’d done it. She hadn’t looked up. She was probably cured now. She’d never ever have to— A large weight crashed into her lower legs and sent her almost toppling over the back of the bench, but she was able to catch herself, keep herself upright. Her phone was another story. It crashed to the concrete on the other side of the bench with a horrifying crunch. She tried to go get it, but the thing that had crashed into her—apparently a giant golden retriever—was blocking her path no matter which way she moved. “You better get your slobbery mouth away from my pants, dog. They’re suede,” she muttered, trying to push it away, but to no avail. The dog would not budge. She kept up the struggle. “Where is your human?” “Zoodles, come back here!” Zoodles? Raven thought. What kind of weirdo name for a dog was that? But the dog backed off instantly and took off jogging toward the voice, leaving Raven covered in hair, slobber, and her own sweat. She leaned over to dust off the bottoms of her pants as best as she could, hoping the slobber wouldn’t leave any stains. “Are you okay?” the voice said, much closer than it had been the last time. There was something about it that felt so familiar. “I am so sorry about that. We just moved here and he’s been really excited by all the new places and people. Haven’t you, Zoodles?” Raven froze. That voice. It was more than just familiar. It was the voice. Her voice. She couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or ashamed or proud that it had taken her so long to figure it out. After all these years of compulsively searching for that voice, for that hair, for that girl, she’d found her. But suddenly, she couldn’t unfix her gaze from her feet. She watched the tiny droplets of melted frost roll down the rounded toe of the leather boots. The voice spoke again. “Are you okay? Should I call somebody?” Raven shook her head, finally stood upright, and turned so she couldn’t see the other woman, but more importantly, so the other woman couldn’t see her. “I’m fine,” she grumbled, with a cough, hoping her hardest to disguise her voice. She was a bit out of practice. “Okay, good.” She could hear the woman’s smile in her voice. “My name is Chelsea Grayson. My son Levi just started school here today. He’s in the fourth grade, but I should probably get him tested out. He’s a really smart kid, a lot smarter than I was at his age. Or I was ever, really. I’m assuming you have kids that go here?” Raven remained silent. The bell rang, a shrill hum in the distance, but then it was quiet for a long time between them. Raven could hear Chelsea shifting in what was surely a pair of pleather loafers, and release then a soft sigh. “Sorry to bother you,” Chelsea finally said, her voice quiet, the disappointment carrying through. Raven heard the soft clip-clop as she began to walk away toward the school, but it stopped abruptly. “Oh, is this your phone?” Raven held out her hand behind her, still unable to turn around, and she felt the cold metal of her phone thunk heavily into her outstretched palm. “Thanks,” she squeaked. She didn’t get a response this time. As she was inspecting her phone for damage—apparently the fall sounded a lot worse than it had actually been—a pair of voices that she could never forget called out to her, and two pairs of footsteps began pounding thunderously down the pavement. Before she knew it, she was sandwiched between two eleven year olds. Her hands quickly found rest on the backs of their heads. “Hey, babies,” she whispered, squeezing them closer, planting a kiss to their hairlines. “I missed you.” “We missed you, too,” Nia, her youngest but wisest answered. “Did you bring us anything back from Paris?” Booker, her oldest and decidedly less wise, but loveable nonetheless, asked immediately after. “You know what? I don’t remember. We’ll have to see what’s in my suitcase when we get home.” She chuckled softly, reveling in being home again, having her children so close. “How was school today?” They shrugged out of her hug simultaneously. It was okay,” Booker answered. Nia nodded her agreement. “Yeah, nothing special.” “What about last week?” The twins shared a look. “The same.” Raven narrowed her gaze. “Well, how about I give you two the car ride to think of some better answers, and we’ll talk about it more at home. Sound good?” The twins both shrugged and began to trudge toward the parking lot, their shoes, the only non-regulated part of their uniform, leaving two trails of footprints in their wake. Raven started after them, but as she began walking, she realized that she’d made a critical error. She’d forgotten entirely about Chelsea, forgotten that she’d left her bike at the other end of Raven’s bench, forgotten that she would be standing directly in Raven’s path to the car. But she realized her mistake too late. Chelsea was standing frozen at the end of the bench, her eyes wide and her now shorter red curls flowing gently from beneath a floppy winter cap. “Raven?”

[another-chorus-girl]

Erik House - Chapter 11

Hello pham! Now it’s been a little while longer for this update and it’s because I wanted to wait until today to post it. As of now ALW’s “Phantom of the Opera” is celebrating 31 years since its original debut on October 9, 1986. Happy anniversary phamily!

"No NO!" Erik scowled, halting his composition. "There needs to be inflection! It is not simply spewing out lyrics! There must be pain and passion in your voice, raw emotion!"

Gerik meekly nodded, not fool enough to question the fully masked man. They'd been at it for hours tonight.

"Again!" Erik commanded, starting from the beginning of the aria on the organ.

Gerik took a breathe and started over. While Erik was frustrated he could not deny he was seeing little by little some improvement. Still the film adapted man was a more trying pupil than Christine had been. But Gerik was fortunately willing to learn, it was just a matter of Erik breaking down the man's old habits.

The men paused hearing a door open and close, followed by footsteps.

"Is it possible that a break is imminent in the near future?" Kerik called, "Some of us would like to enjoy a meal in peace and quiet."

Erik's golden eyes narrowed into slits, "I thought I had said no one was to come down and disturb me under any circumstances."

"I'll have you know I'm NOT downstairs, merely my voice is." The novelised man's voice echoed around them, displaying his own ventriloquism skills. Footsteps descended until Kerik was down the steps. "Now I'm downstairs. There's a difference."

Erik groaned, waving a hand at Gerik. "Go, we're done for today at any rate. And remember what I said."

Gerik got up, adjusting his cravat before taking his leave passed Kerik-who's yellow eyes bore into him the entire time.

"That was my unsaid queue for you to take leave as well boy," Erik grumbled, standing fully.

"Why are you suddenly being so kind as of lately?" Kerik asked, ignoring the elder man's demand, flouncing down on a nearby couch. Stroking his hand along the red velvet cushion his eyes gleamed. "Ooh, Louis Phillipe furniture I see?"

"And just how have I been been 'kind as of lately'?" Erik asked, crossing his arms.  

"Don't think I haven't noticed you lurking about upstairs. I know it was you that calmed Cherik down when Cudia damaged one of his stuffed birds. Or the one that left foiled sweets for Panaro when he was worrying over that dog of his falling ill? And now giving private lessons?" Kerik went on.

Erik's gaze softened, "I'm merely looking out for my own. Believe it or not while many of you-especially YOU-can be a thorn in my side, I consider you lot....my family."

"Hm," Sitting up Kerik shrugged, "If it makes you feel better, I think he's making progress at least. It's still a little distasteful to my ears, but tolerable to an extent."

Hearing footsteps coming down, Lerik and Crawford blinked puzzled to see the novelised man lounging in the basement with his older counterpart.

"I suppose I'll go since it's time for seniors night," Kerik remarked, patting Erik's arm-whom flinched with a glare at the physical contact-before walking passed the other two men.

Lerik pulled out his board and held it up to be read, 'What was that all about exactly?'

Erik shook his head, "Let's just say our youth can be....exhausting to say the least."

Sitting down, Crawford nodded. "You preach to the choir my good monsieur."

"That reminds me," Erik asked, "Your lot are going to behave I should hope at this...soiree of sorts your hosting I trust?"

The older Merik nodded, "Of course, they know not to step out of line on this night."

"Even given our other guests that will be in attendance?"

"Yes, every precaution is being taken."

"Splendid," Erik clasped his hands together. "Well let's see to our other matters then. Lerik, I believe you had something to say last time?"

The mute scowled behind his mask before Erik realised what he'd just said.

"I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me..."   --

"And then what?" Winslow asked.

Destler downed his glass in one shot, bringing it down onto the table with a cheeky chuckle.

"I hung the cad upside down before gutting him like a fish," He seemed to boast. 

"You know what I said to the boy just before that?"

He shook his head.

"He said he wouldn't let such a clumsy mistake happen again to which I said 'You're SUSPENDED!'"

The two men were cackling with laughter, earning some unsettled looks from the cafes other patrons. 

"Doesn't sound much better than that horrible Beef I had to deal with," Winslow groaned as he scribbled down more notes.

"You had a beef with whom?" Destler asked, adjusting his glasses.

"No his NAME was Beef."

He chuckled as Winslow explained.

"And then I cornered him whilst the fool was showering, didn't even register I was there until I pulled the curtain back."

"You came at him with a knife I presume?"

"I had one but no," Winslow said.

"Then what?"

"...A plunger"

Destler was holding his sides as he laughed, "Used I should hope?"

To which Winslow merely flashed him a silver toothed grin.

"Say, what's that?" A voice interrupted the men as they glanced at the source. A young man in perhaps his early twenties with brown clean kept hair stood. His clothes looked finely pressed and immaculate.

"N-Nothing," Winslow mumbled shyly, trying to conceal the score he was working on.

The young man chuckled, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I'm not very familiar with music, but my wife is very in depth with it though."

"Very nice, now I believe my companion wanted some privacy." Destler scowled, removing his glasses setting them on the table.

The boy held his hands up in innocence with a nervous glance. "I meant no intrusion monsieur. I merely was curious about his music-"

"And he merely does not wish to discuss it."

Realising the situation was going south, the young man backed off going back to his table.

"Thank you," Winslow said, pulling the sheet music back out from under the crook of his arm. "I just...don't like other people looking at my music anymore. I don't trust them."

Destler made a remark, "Heh, you show me."

"That's different. I trust you,"

Destler's brown eyes met Winslow's blue.

"I don't think anyone's ever really put trust in me before," He confessed.

Winslow nodded, "I've put too much trust in people. But I don't do that anymore, except you."

"Thank you," He smiled, watching Winslow work.

--

"You're sure about this? I can move down instead? It wouldn't be too much trouble." Panaro asked, carrying a box down the hall.

Karimloo shook his head, walking with him, a large box in his arms as well. 

"Don't be silly, besides with Soot that would be even more work having to switch rooms. Besides, I don't own too much."

Since the Meriks had developed a well budding companionship, half the time they barely stayed separated at night now. So Panaro and Karimloo decided to cut out the middle man and share a room. Single quarters were a luxury, only a handful of the Meriks received one-as there were so many occupants and not enough rooms to go around even for the enormous house.

But they just couldn't stay apart.

"I just want to make sure your happy," Panaro said, setting their boxes down in the room.

Karimloo held the Merik's chin between his thumb and index finger with a smile.

"Of course I'm happy," He said, his malformed lips grazing over the other man's. With his free arm, Karimloo gently clicked the door closed. "I think we earned a break." -- Gerik practised what Erik was teaching him during the free hours he had. The elder man was a strict teacher, but he had yet to be mistaken on anything in his curriculum.

Y offered to help him as well, suggesting they practice together. Gerik enjoyed the idea, though his older friend noticed that each time they would meet to practice it was never at his own room.

"Why don't we ever practice in your quarters?" Y asked bluntly, seeing no reason to beat around the bush.

Gerik's pale blue eyes glanced the other way. "Oh. Haven't we? I um....I guess I didn't notice."

"What's going on? Is there something your hiding?" Y asked, his unblinking eyes narrowed quizzically.

"No. Well yes. Wait no! That's not what I meant."

The older man sighed, "Tell me it's not something that needs to be brought up with Monsieur Fantome?"

"I should hope not! If he sees it, he'll likely request never to be in my presence again!" Gerik retorted.

"What?"

He sighed, "Why don't I just show you?"

Pulling out his key Gerik unlocked the door, pushing it open with a creak. 

Flipping the light, Mr. Y was somewhat taken back at what he saw.

At first he was startled thinking he had seen Karimloo standing in the room. Well, technically it was Karimloo, or at least the mannequin looked like him-even the mask was authentic and identical.

"You mean to tell me you made this?" He asked.

The film adapted man nodded, "Yes. Those photos Harley gave me were actually quite good references."

"Did you even-" He mumbled, pulling off the mannequin's mask only to place it back on its' face. "Oh! Yes, it seems you even got his....entire face done correctly."

Y turned to Gerik, looking as though a lightbulb had just gone off in his head.

"Wait, is THIS why you were asking me about the automatons I made for Phantasma?"

Gerik's face went a darker shade of red, "Yes..."

"You realise I designed those for entertainment purposes in the park-"

"I already know about her," Gerik stated.

"That was a scrap idea! I didn't even use it!" He retorted. "Can I ask you not to bring that sore spot up with Anna?"

"I don't want to do anything obscene I just wanted it to be...lifelike." Gerik confessed.

Y couldn't help but frown, his friend was hurting. After seeing Gerik run upstairs to his room still doing his belt and shirt up he confronted the film adapted man and heard all about Karimloo and Panaro and then the run in with Kerik.

It wasn't a healthy obsession per se Gerik was going through. Then again, when had ANY man in this house not had an unhealthy obsession in their lifetimes? But unlike the last one Gerik's wasn't affecting anybody, he wasn't trying to dismantle The West End and Broadway mingled romance. The most he'd done was shoot Panaro a dirty look behind his back or stared over at Karimloo when he wasn't looking.

"I'll give you the basic layout I used," Mr. Y relented, "But I expect to see the finished product. I won't be held responsible if Karimloo finds out about a sex bot clone. One Merik ringing out my neck was enough."     --

Crawford was not exaggerating when he said every precaution was taken for this night. No stone was left unturned as he attempted to lock up for the evening any lasso from the Meriks in attendance and hiding away anything they could tie into a makeshift rope. The longest length of thread allowed would be their bowties, and even that he was on the fence permitting.

But he had another bargaining chip that appealed to most of them.

"There will be absolutely no mishaps tonight. This is important. Not just to me, but I know it is important to you as well." Crawford explained sternly but calmly. 

"And, I have one last ultimatum. Should your behaviour reflect poorly, your claim on the vacant quarters will be relinquished. I see one of you so much as making catgut cat's cradles and you've past the point of no return as far as the room is concerned."

This last remark made some heads perk up. Crawford was already aware of the little contest the Meriks wanted to have for the free room. And it might just make most of them behave for an evening like this.

But while a personal room amongst a floor of slightly discontent roommates was a hefty and tempting bargaining chip, it would not be an easy night for most to endure once the first knock came to the door.

Sarah was the first to arrive, putting her arms around Crawford as he greeted her at the door.

"I knew you would be here," He smiled holding a single red rose for her. "Happy anniversary darling."

She leaned up to kiss him, her free hand grasping his coat lapel.

"Thirty-one years. They seem to have rolled by like days," She mused.

"Indeed they have,"

He then handed her another rose, but this one unlike the first was a pristine shade of white.

"This is our night, but I know you would have wanted him to be here too." 

Crawford said solemnly, as Sarah accepted the white rose.

Her pale blue eyes softened, she fell in his arms and he could feel Sarah tremble.

"Yes, you're right," She nodded, feeling his hand reach up to pet her curls. 

Pulling back she gave him a smile. "But this is a night to celebrate yes?"

"Of course. It's just a wait for the others now."

And soon another knock had come. Mauer was pleased to see Elizabeth arrive, the Merik also offering her a red rose.

When another familiar face was awaiting at the door, that was when the ultimate test started.

"Ah! Sierra, do come in" Crawford allowed her in. "And...I'm sorry what was it again?"

"Ahem, Fraser if you please." The brunette male accompanying Sierra said. He knew this wasn't Karimloo, nor was the other masked man at the door, but it still unnerved him. Especially knowing somewhere in the house he was indeed here.

"I'm not sure about this," He mumbled to his wife, his arm interlinked with hers.

"There's no need for that. Besides we were BOTH invited here, this is our night too." Sierra reassured him, leaning against his shoulder.

Fraser sighed, "Alright, but the second I see a red lasso in sight we are leaving."

"I understand, and please put your arm down! You look ridiculous!" She joked, swatting his free hand that he had held up.

They were greeted upstairs to a parlour room full of masked men.

"Madame, he's merely being cautious." Warlow stated. "But you needn't keep your hand at the level of your eyes all night monsieur. One, you'll just create a cramp in your arm after so long. Two, we're all well aware of what tonight represents, and mean you no harm."

"Tonight that is" Lewis scowled as did Davies. Jones whom was seated and receiving a tarot reading from Kerik glanced up surprisingly at Sierra and Fraser.

"Hmm I see old memories....of despair ahead," Kerik mumbled, his back to the couple.

Looking up at the Merik whom shifted uncomfortably in his seat he turned to what exactly Jones was looking at.

"Wow, I'm good at this!" Kerik said smirking down at the cards in front of them.  

Tugging on Fraser's arm Sierra said, "Why don't we sit down? I see-"

Karimloo stood frozen in the doorway.

"Love? What's-" Panaro said catching up with Karimloo whom paused seeing new faces in the parlour, "-wrong?"

Sierra smiled, "Karimloo, it's...been awhile."

"Y-Yes it has," He stammered.

All the while this awkward encounter was happening Fraser glared at Karimloo, hardly hiding his distaste for the man that almost killed him. On the other spectrum, Panaro found himself scowling as well.

"Good to see you again too! I heard you two hit things off, congratulations." 

Sierra smiled at Panaro, but the Merik just glared icily, Karimloo noticing the other man's arm a little tighter around his.

Tonight was going to be a long night.

But once more of the guests arrived-sopranos and their respective Vicomte's-things were surprisingly calm. Although McKintosh and Lewis got into a slight confrontation with Hays that soon enough was subsided before things went beyond loud French insults.

Barrowman and Freeman scowled at each other. 

"Shouldn't you be travelling through time or space or something?" Freeman scoffed.

"Har har monsieur, like I haven't heard that one before."

Fraser had excused himself to use the facilities. As he was making his way back to the parlour, the Vicomte felt his collar be tugged back. Immediately Fraser's hand went up in a panic.  

"Unhand me you-!" Fraser started but paused realising it was Panaro behind him. "Wait what is this all about?!"

"Just keep your wife in check monsieur," The Merik jabbed.

Fraser blinked, "Excuse me?"

"I know they have a past, and I don't like the way she smiles and giggles talking to him in there." Panaro grumbled crossing his arms like a disgruntled child.

"I assure you my wife certainly has no intentions towards your...companion. I don't exactly enjoy that she often talks of him as a friend."

"Talks OFTEN of him?!"

The brunette eyed him still somewhat suspicious of Panaro's motive. "Just take my word that nothing is or certainly ever will be going on with them. I won't bar her from making friends, but I'm not losing her either."

Panaro glared before turning to leave, "Fine."

And the two men left it at that for the time being, neither wishing to sour the night.

Soon with only an hour until midnight and Jones clinked a glass to signal for some attention.

"While I know this evening may have been somewhat rocky," Seeing some faces in the crowd nod or shrug in indifference. "It truly says something about us to be here together. I think we're all agreed that putting aside some differences for a night like this is understandable?"

"For another hour that is," Karimloo glared at Fraser whom scowled right back.

The Merik grimaced feeling someone pinch his ear.

"Behave," Wilkinson scolded to which Karimloo meekly nodded bowing his head.

"Well said," Crawford nodded.

Jones smiled feeling rather proud of the praise. "Yes well, thanks. Actually, did you care to say anything? Of all of us this is really your night the most."

"I don't really have much to say. Except that we all made this happen, and we should acknowledge and take pride in that."

Even a few of the Vicomtes' in the parlour smiled at this.

"Cheers." --

Fortunately, unlike the last occasion the Meriks consumed alcohol, the chaos was controlled and free of any fire or punjabbing as the De Chagny's and sopranos took care the leave before midnight struck.

Sarah and Elizabeth were still present, the latter listening to Mauer play in the parlour. Sierra and Fraser were leaving just before this time came around.

"It was nice seeing you again," Sierra said to Karimloo.

"Yes, I...it was nice seeing you." The West End man said stumbling over his jumbled words.

He flinched feeling the brunette's arms around him in a hug. Hesitantly Karimloo returned the gesture. 

“He’s a keeper,” She whispered in his ear, “I’m happy for you.”

Karimloo felt his face flush, “What?? I don’t...I”

Sierra giggled, “I know! And I think it’s very sweet. You deserve to be happy too.”

A tiny smile creeped over his face at the thought of him, “Yes, well thank you.”

As she and Fraser departed Karimloo didn't see Panaro in the parlour. His assumption right that he’d retired to their quarters, Karimloo shimmied the door open with his foot, holding the last half of a bottle.   

"Care for more wine?" Karimloo asked

"Fill it up," Panaro frowned.

He glanced at the Broadway man confused, "Something troubling you?"

"Of course not,"

But his large gulps of the wine-already reaching to refill his glass-and trembling hands seem to say otherwise. -- Cherik was adding a new edition to his rooftop dreamery-a pheasant it would seem-when he noticed a dark figure sitting on the roof's edge.

Walking closer, he could see-even with the figure's back to him-it was Jones sitting alone.

"Why arn't you at the party?" Cherik asked, "I'd have thought you of all people would be there."

Jones smiled, "Oh I was, but I had enough excitement for one night I think. 

Besides, it's a beautiful night out, don't you think?"

"Yes it is," The full masked man nodded. He shifted a little uneasily. "Would you...would you mind terribly if I joined you?"

"Not at all," Jones said, patting a spot beside him.

Cherik and the Merik sat together, watching the stars up ahead, noticing one shoot past in a flash with a white tail.

"I don't understand the concept people have with 'shooting stars' and wishing upon them." Cherik said.

The Merik nodded, "Neither do I. But you can still wish on it, you never do know what will happen."

Cherik's lip curved up in the tiniest of smiles looking back at Jones. --

"Where has the time gone really?" Sarah asked.

With an arm around her Crawford nodded, "And yet it feels like yesterday."

"I've missed you." Her eyes look up at him,

The Merik sighed, "I'm so sorry. I've missed you too, and hearing your voice. So many nights I want nothing more than you."

"But they need you here."

By this point everyone else had retired for the evening. They were the only two left in the dimly lit parlour.

"At least no one needs me right now." Crawford said.

"Just me."

Sarah stifled a yawn to which Crawford chuckled. "It sounds as though someone is tired."

Already she was beginning to doze off, fighting to keep her eyes open. Reaching around, the Merik scooped her up in his arm as he stood.

Taking great care, he walked them down the hall, opening the door and setting Sarah gently down on the bed. She couldn't help the sleepy smile gracing her lips seeing the photograph of them, hands clasped together on their wedding day. Her small fingers played with the ring on her finger of gold plating around an onyx stone. Sarah’s eyes fall closed just as she felt a warm blanket being wrapped around her. 

"Pleasant dreams love," The Merik whispered, extinguishing what little light remained in the room.

-As stated above October 9 this year marks 31 years since Michael Crawford, Sarah Brightman, and Steve Barton dubut the ALW musical at Her Majesty’s Theatre back in 1986 today. 

-Crawford presenting Sarah with a white rose as well representing as I stated in a previous chapter that Steve Barton the original ALW Raoul sadly passed away back in 2001. 

-Welp we all do remember the mannequin in the 2004 film (and the ALW musical)

-The reference Gerik makes to Mr. Y about “her” is the Christine automaton used in the London version with Ramin Karimloo as Mr Y/The Phantom. But as this Mr. Y is Ben Lewis’ adaptation he didn’t use the robot Christine in his production.

-Sort of a tidbit rather than a footnote, Ramin idolised and very much respects Colm Wilkinson and this is why Karimloo is so complacent when Wilkinson scolds him.

-As Sierra Boggess has played Christine with Ramin Karimloo, she has also done so with Ben Lewis, John Owen Jones, Scott Davies, and very briefly with Hugh Panaro. 

-The following Raouls’ mentioned were Ethan Freeman, Hadley Fraser, John Barrowman and, Peter Hays. If a Raoul is brought up in the story like the Meriks’ they will be referred to by their last names, the Christine’s will still be by first name.

-The pun Freeman makes is in reference to John Barrowman also playing Jack Harkness on the British tv series “Doctor Who”.

-The wedding photo referenced at the very end is one of the many promo pictures for the ALW musical shot with Crawford and Brightman together with the latter wearing her wedding gown. The ring mentioned being the one used in the musical that the Phantom presents to Christine when trying to force her into marrying him at the end of PoNR.  

[mypoorfaves]

Yoi sickfics masterpost

I said I would and I did! This list contains every sickfic I have read and enjoyed from fanfiction and ao3, sorted by character and tagged for symptoms. Please read the tags carefully for any potential triggers!

If you liked this list, you can check out a similar masterpost I did a while back for whumpy yoi fics focusing on injury and angst.

(Fics all listed under the cut)

～～～

～～～Otabek～～～

The Tale of a Sick Hero by 2D_Earth

1000~ words

In which Otabek is sick, and Yuri dotes.

Tags: aged-up characters, coughing, cold, fever, mentions of emeto

～～～Yurio ～～～

after the cold comes warmth by orphan_account

1400~ words

Yuri lets out another sigh. A cold during the off-season is one thing because then he can just sleep it off and make up for lost time on his own but now… Now is his chance to prove himself; to Victor, to the other Yuri and to the rest of the figure skating world that he’s someone to look out for—a force to be reckoned with—as has his moniker, ’The Russian Punk’, seems to imply.

Tags: cold, sore throat, fever, headache, dizziness, nausea, emeto mention

Ruffled Feathers by Bam4Me

1600~ words

This is all Yuuri and Victor's fault. Yuri felt FINE until one of them suggested that maybe he didn't, and now he's sick. Those assholes.

*

Or, the YOI Wingfic that no one was expecting to be a secret fluff fest.

Tags: wingfic au, cold, sore throat, chills, coughing, dizziness

Intertwined by stella_polaris

5900~ words

Yuri comes down with a bad cold and has to take a break from training. That gives him lots of time to think about the relationship with his best friend and is he maybe not just his best friend?

Tags: aged-up characters, cold, fever, coughing, fainting, passing out, headache

Promise by _Angel_ (Meganekko_Misery)

1400~ words

Yuri Plisetsky gets sick during ballet class.

Tags: stomach flu, emeto

Of Sick Days and Movies by BunniesofDoom

1200~ words

Yuri is feverish and grumpy. Yuuri tries to help.

Tags: fever, more fluff than sickfic

Raincheck by CalamityK

1100~ words

“You’ll be better before I leave.” Otabek hums; tracing the patterns of his upcoming routine on Yuri’s thighs.

Yuri meets his eyes. “And if I’m not?”

“Then I’ll just take a raincheck.”

--------

Or that fic where Yuri is sick and Otabek is simply the best.

Tags: sore throat, more fluff than sickfic

Even Tigers Ain't Always Tough by CalamityK

1500~ words

“I don’t mean hot like attractive. I mean hot like I could fry an egg on you.” Otabek says rather sternly. “You have a fever.”

--------

Or that fic where Yuri gets sick and Otabek gets worried.

Tags: aged-up characters, established romantic/sexual otayuri, fever, coughing

～～～Victor ～～～

Practice Is Cancelled by Arisprite

4900~ words

Victor gets a cold, and the Katsuki family is there for him.

Tags: cold, fever, coughing, chills, overheating

Feverish by SarkaS

4900~ words

Yuuri should have known this was going to happen. He warned Victor it was not good idea run that far with what weather forecast said, and in such light clothes.

Tags: fever, sore throat, chills, headache

Safe & Secure by glim

1100~ words

He hates this, though; he hates being sick and how being sick reminds him of cold hotel rooms after long flights and mornings spent in colder airports.

Tags: sore throat, headache, coughing

Ill-Timed by glim

3100~ words

Yuuri glances at Viktor, working to keep the frown off his face. If you weren’t looking too closely, you might think that it was mere fatigue that made Viktor look pale and shadow-eyed, or made his voice sound quiet and rough.

Tags: cold, coughing, chills, sneeze

Two Minutes by GooberFeesh

1500~ words

Even though Yuuri knew it was just a cold and that it could have been much, much worse, it didn’t really eliminate the feeling of dread when Viktor awoke two mornings ago to a sore throat, stuffy nose, and tight chest.

Tags: cold, fever, congestion, sneeze, coughing

Love So Sick by rinhoshinya

300~ words

Viktor is whiny and clingy when he’s sick and Yuuri doesn’t quite mind this.

Tags: cold, fever, short and sweet

Calling us home by Vampiric_Charms

3400~ words

Anxiety, guilt, stress - all par for the course, isn’t it (then tripled when Victor is concerned). Double that triple when Victor is suddenly not around when Yuuri comes from from practice, and then add in a few unexpected text messages, some maybe not-so-helpful off-hand words from his sister, and even more baffling responses from Victor himself, and of course Yuuri’s afternoon goes much differently than he really expected - or wanted - it to.

Tags: mentions of emeto, headache, chronic headaches, bit of self-depreciating victor and sadness

Porridge by Sitrus

800~ words

Viktor's sick, Yuuri takes care of him. You can't find Viktor's go-to sick day food in Hasetsu.

Tags: stomach flu, nausea, mentions of emeto

Delirious by MeowshmallowX

1000~ words

In which Yuuri does funny things to Viktor’s heart—right up until he passes out.

Tags: flu, fever, collapsing, passing out, delirious, delirium, coughing

Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch (You Know That I Love You) by RennieOnIceCream (Hitsugi_Zirkus)

3500~ words

Viktor catches himself and doesn’t even hide his smile when he asks, “Did you just call me ‘honey’?”

By the way Yuuri hurriedly glances to the side, it looks like he hadn’t even realized he’d done it intentionally. It had just slipped out, and that’s what makes the occurrence of it all the more lovely to replay in Viktor’s head again, and then again, and then maybe thrice more.

Viktor bats his eyelashes at Yuuri. “Say it again~”

Or, moving in together in St. Petersburg takes some adjustment, some stressful and some very, very sweet.

Tags: fever, lots of petnames, more fluff than sickfic

Easy Now with My Heart by braveten

12 300~ words

“Fast, Yuuri. Pow pow.”

“Pow pow?”

He giggles—Victor Nikiforov, figure skating champion, Olympic athlete, Yuuri’s idol, who is currently sick and delusional, giggles—and puts his hand on Yuuri’s chest, pillowing his head there, too. “Pow pow,” he repeats as he feels his heartbeat. “Pow pow, pow pow. Fast, see?”

Tags: cold, flu, fever, nausea, emeto, delirious, delirium, coughing

don’t worry by JMonCheri

21 700~ words

Time seemed to slow to a stop, at first Viktor seemed to falter as he slowed alongside with time, his flush obvious on his cheeks. Viktor stopped skating, his form stayed frozen on the rink, before promptly dropping to the ice like a ragdoll. Yuuri gasps alongside with the crowd. Viktor did not do any jumps, spins, or anything. Viktor Nikiforov, his undefeatable champion, his naive Fiancé, his love, his everything, has simply fainted.

Viktor did not look like he was going to get up anytime soon.

For the first time that night, Yuuri allowed himself to listen to the announcer’s booming voices.

“Viktor Nikiforov has fainted! Where are the medics? I repeat, Viktor Nikiforov has fainted!”

Tags: !!character death!!, cancer, leukemia, keeping secrets, hiding illness, collapsing, fainting, hospital, iv, fever, time skip in second chapter, yuuri has child, lots of feels, wow just really depressing, the ending is bittersweet, like not heartbreaking imo but still feels

～～～Yuuri ～～～

Practice Should Be Cancelled by Arisprite

2100~ words

Yuri has had a low key cold for days, and it’s really grating on his nerves. It doesn’t help that the forced inactivity is pushing up anxieties he’d thought he had under control.

A companion story to Practice is Cancelled but the only connection is that they’re both sickfics, so no need to one before the other.

Tags: cold, fever, slow build, coughing, anxiety

Crash by cosmicrelief

2800~ words

Yuuri comes down with a cold and Viktor has no idea how to deal with it.

Tags: cold, fever, shivering, chills, headache, dizziness, collapsing, passing out

Reunion by CheekyPotato

2000~ words

After a month apart due to competitions, Yuuri finally reunites with his fiance but it doesn't go as planned.

Takes place after Season 1

Tags: cold, sore throat, headache, sneeze, fever, coughing

Breakfast in Bed by glim

1600~ words

"You have a cold," Viktor confirms. "And I have breakfast for you."

Tags: cold, coughing, sneeze

Tender Care by Sabinasan

7400~ words

When Yuri comes down with the flu, Victor takes the opportunity to strengthen his budding relationship with him while nursing him back to health.

Tags: flu, nausea, emeto, fever, chills, overheating, headache

Sniffle, Sneeze, Skate…? by pendots

1400~ words

Victor gaped. Yuuri didn’t look fit to be standing, much less skating!

(In which poor Yuuri is sick but still insistent that he and Victor go to practice. Victor won’t have it.)

Tags: cold, fever, coughing

Dizziness is not Contagious by Lazchan

3000~ words

Yuuri is determined to skate; however a cold makes it a bit difficult to stay upright.

Tags: fever, dizziness, collapsing, passing out, bit delirious

I'm right here by your side by Alliwriteistrash

1100~ words

Yuuri is feeling sick and Victor does everything he can to help him get better.

Tags: chills, fever, short and sweet

Caring by BunniesofDoom

1100~ words

Yuuri gets sick, Victor panics, and Yuri saves the day.

Tags: fever, coughing

Arrivals by youaremarvelous

6700~ words

Yuuri falls ill shortly after moving to St. Petersburg. With Viktor away on a sponsor meeting, it’s up to the Ice Tiger of Russia to nurse him back to health.

Tags: sinus infection, strep throat, sore throat, fever, chills, emeto, congestion, headache, coughing

Auspices by youaremarvelous

8000~ words

How many Russians does it take to cure a sick person?

Yuuri probably doesn't want to be the punchline to that joke.

A sequel to Arrivals

Tags: sinus infection, strep throat, sore throat, fever, emeto, chills, headache, coughing, dizziness, blood

to where the reality grows by CarbonFootprint

3000~ words

“Victor had been through enough long seasons of vigorous skating to know how the off-season went: first came the exhaustion mixed with a burning need to continue to train as hard as one would when in-season, and then, as if on queue, came the crash afterwards.

It was different for each and every skater of course, and probably for most athletes of any rigorous profession. Victor had always gotten some kind of bout of the flu that kept his bedridden for several days, but Chris, for example, seemed to always come down with allergies and muscle aches that kept him away from the rink for a week at least.

For some it was a cold and for others it was aches and pain, but either way he knew he should expect something similar from Yuuri. ”

In which Victor dotes on sick Yuuri as any fiancé should.

Tags: cold, slow build, fever, dizziness

I’m Right Here by merigold

8800~ words

Yuuri’s sick. Viktor’s more than a little charmed at the chance to take care of him.

Tags: bronchitis, fever, clinic, hospital mention, fever, coughing, anxiety, home remedies

Of Sickness and Healing by Tonys_Loki

1700~ words

Yuuri’s eyes flutter open and Victor smiles softly at him despite the haze in the warm browns.

“Victor?” Yuuri rasps.

“Hello, my love. How do you feel?” Victor asks.

“Better,” Yuuri answers.

Victor has to suppress a laugh at that, because if anything Yuuri looks worse and sounds just as bad as he did that morning.

In which Yuuri is sick and Victor is trying his best to make him better.

Tags: fever, mentions of emeto, nausea

The Fundamentals of Caring by braveten

20 800~ words

“Let me guess, you’re going to go take care of Yuuri while he sleeps? Just in case he sneezes or something?” Yurio rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. “Viktor, you’re whipped.”

Viktor rubs the back of his neck as he leans against the wall. “What does that mean?”

“It means that if Yuuri asked you to do a little dance for him in nothing but a coconut bra and a hula skirt, you’d do it.”

Viktor pauses, confused. “And that’s a bad thing?”

Tags: flu, fever, delirious, delirium, emeto, !!sexual content!! (in the second chapter; easily skippable)

The Razor’s Edge by kitykat17

29 500~ words

Yuuri was used to a hard life. But this was a whole new level.

Yuri’s life is going well. He as at the peak of his career, and has started his life in Russia with the man he loved, Victor Nikiforov. However, things take an unexpected turn when he finds out he has cancer. How will he tell Victor? What will these mean for his career?

Tags: cancer, leukemia, emeto, hiding illness, angst, clinic, hospital, spinal tap, chemotherapy, crying, pneumonia, coughing, fever, !!alternate ending available with character death!!

～～～Both Victor and Yuuri～～～

a little room to breathe by qynntessence

9000~ words

Viktor blows his nose wetly and blushes, turning away from Yuuri’s kind eyes. “Can-Can I have another tissue?” He blows his nose again, a thick, congested sound, which turns into thick, congested sneezing. “I’m sorry, I know it can’t be much fun to take care of your sick fiancé when you have a cold. Asthma sucks.”

In which Yuuri has a cold (and also anxiety), Viktor has the flu (and also asthma), and they’re messy and in love and try their best.

Tags: cold, flu, one past emeto mention, asthmatic victor, asthma attack, coughing, headache, fever, chills, overheating, sneeze, anxiety

Insult to Injury by glim

8000~ words

Almost a whole week alone with Viktor might not be worth one of them made victim to a sprained ankle and both of them to a winter head cold, but maybe it is worth all that, at least in some small way.

Tags: cold, sore throat, sneeze, headache, injury, sprain, sprained ankle, contagion

Ice Gays by iceprinceofbelair

4900~ words

A collection of sickfics for my fave ice gays.

Tags: cold, fever, overheating, crying, jetlag, tired, asthmatic victor, asthma attack, trans victor in one chapter, period cramps, soreness

[bffhreprise]

Entry 205

 Brimming with energy, I couldn’t resist joining the others in dance, especially with Mila providing us with song and lighting effects fit for a club, not that I had actually snuck into one.  My head was still fuzzy and I needed to burn off some of this energy before I made silly mistakes.

 Not refraining in showing off my moves was probably a mistake, but I wasn’t about to let everyone ― excluding Portentia ― show me up by too much.  Though graceful and a quick study, Portentia obviously hadn’t studied dance.

 “She’s deaf.” stated Aaliyah after leaping into my arms to have me spin her around.

 I stared at her blankly, hardly able to believe what I had just been told.  Unable to hear the music, Portentia had to be watching us and feeling the vibrations for queues.  Her abilities just raised themselves a couple notches in my eyes.  I had thought her accent was a bit odd, but I merely assumed English was a second language to her.  The girl was remarkable to say the least.

 I misstepped slightly as Aaliyah kicked off me to flip backward out of my arms.  As I spun around to catch myself, James easily snatched my hand, dancing with me now.  I still couldn’t really believe he was “human-ish” as Aaliyah had put it.  I could feel his strength in his hands and the very slow beat of his heart as we danced.  His heartbeat was far too slow for a human at rest, much less one dancing.

 Trying to shock him, I made my body grow taller.  His eyebrow raised, but that was all.  I knew I was being observed as I observed him, but being the one who was likely getting less from the exchange was rare for me when away from my parents.  I had no doubt that Aaliyah was his secretary by choice, but who was he to have drawn her into such a position?

 A stab of misery plunged through my heart as I thought of them, how I’d never see them again.

 James dipped me back with such ease that I’d swear he had danced like this a thousand times, easily lifting me as he spun us around.  When he set me down, I was facing Aaliyah again, so I shrunk to dance with her, my clothes becoming baggy sacks over my frame where they had been too snug a moment before.

 My tiny friend thought nothing of it, of course, but nothing had ever surprised her to my knowledge.  From the moment we met, she had held all the cards.  My parents’ meager attempt to oppose her when they realized something dangerous was in our home was met with playful brutality as she demonstrated the ease with which she could kill them.  She asked so little of us that my father spoke in shocked whispers about her for a week.

 Did Aaliyah manage to shock James as much?  I was having trouble gauging him.  He smiled with such ease and seemed genuinely kind, but who gained such wealth at his age without misdeeds?  He seemed young at least.  Was he really?

 Portentia smiled as James passed her my way, and I took on her appearance, surprising her immensely.  I would wager that her vampire friends had been cautious around her.  Invulnerability was an intimidating aspect to overcome if she ever became an enemy.  I didn’t doubt her certainty in her ability to regenerate was well-tested, now that I had seen a fraction of it myself.  If she actually acted the part of a superhero, she had surely been attacked countless times.

 “Your heart’s not beating.” I stated a while into dancing with her.

 “Nope.  Don’t need a heartbeat.” she told me proudly.

 “I could have sworn I heard a single beat when I fed off you.” I told her.

 She shrugged, concentrating on dancing, but I was still wondering what she was.  How many other oddities lived here beyond James and her?  I was intrigued but a little overwhelmed.  Why did Aaliyah bring me to such a place where I was obviously outmatched?  Whom could I trust here?  James…  I wanted to trust him.  As mysterious as he was, I already knew I believed in him.  Such trust this early was worrisome.

 “Master, you should probably change clothes and head to breakfast.” stated Mila hours later when she suddenly paused the lights and music.  “Marco will have food prepared in seven minutes.  You are scheduled to give your normal instruction this morning, though we might need to switch to the employee recreation center if the evil twins don’t give Cosette permission to use their gym.”

 Dancing with Mila had been interesting.  I was fascinated by the technology involved in her construction and even more impressed by the A.I. existing.  

 “Oh.  Fair point.  I’d best be on my way then.” replied James, taking a step toward the door.  Then he turned to us and said, “Thank you, everyone, for the lovely time.”  Looking to Aaliyah, he asked “Care for me to come back this way on my way to the kitchen, or should I just meet you there?”

 She tapped her chin as if in thought before saying, “I’ll go to the kitchen with Cosette.  I bet she’d love to try Marco’s cooking!”

 “Wait.  What?  She eats food?” he inquired.

 “I’m perfectly capable of eating, yes.  See, I have teeth.” I assured him, causing my fangs to grow in size as I opened my mouth wide.  Giggling at wry expression, I said, “Sorry.  Vampire humor.  You’d be amazed what my parents saved on dental work.”

 “I bet, but you still won’t get paid extra for not making use of our dental plan.” he insisted with a wink.

 I laughed and said, “You’re as bad as Aaliyah, ruining my perfectly good plans before I can get started.  In all seriousness, I can consume human food just fine.  I simply don’t get any nutritional value from it.  As long as I keep my tongue active, I do get to enjoy the flavor as well.”

 “Umm… Keep your tongue active?” he inquired.

 “Well, I’ve been told I’m an amazing kisser, so I suppose I can demonstrate.” I replied, stepping toward him.

 “What!?  That has nothing to do with eating.” he stated.

 “For a vampire, it can.” I teased.

  “Vampires have a great deal of control over their bodies, boss-man, sir.  She can ‘turn off’ her taste buds.  Vampires keep a large number of their organs inactive to conserve energy.” explained Aaliyah.

 Nodding, I said, “Generally speaking, it’s just easier as well.  Keeping things active takes concentration.  You wouldn’t believe how difficult carrying a baby is for a vampire.  I have huge respect for my mother.”

 Aaliyah walked over and hugged me.  As well as I might try to hide my jumbled emotions, she knew.

 “Ah.  I see.  I really must be going though.  I’ll meet you both in the kitchen.” James assured us.

 “I’m going too.” stated Portentia, obviously not wanting to be left out.

 “Well, the three of you.  Sorry.  See you soon!” he exclaimed with a wave before turning to the door.

 Mila followed on his heels.

 “Any recommendations on what to wear?” I asked Aaliyah.

 She grinned at me and went running to my bags.

 “Why bother changing?  It’s not like any of us worked up a sweat.” stated Portentia.

 “I can’t be seen wearing what I arrived in last night.” I argued.

 “Why not?  No one will care.” insisted Portentia.

 “That Alma girl will certainly look down on me if I do, and these clothes smell of where I’ve been the past day.” I replied.

 She shrugged and said, “Everyone collects odors.  What’s the big deal?”

 “James doesn’t seem to smell of anywhere.  He just smells…” I paused, trying to decide on the right word for him.

 “Like James.  Yeah, I getcha.” she told me, smiling.

 I found myself wondering if Portentia had any clue how many heads she must turn with her flawlessly white skin and hair.  She didn’t seem like she’d even consider it.  We might well become friends, especially if her sincerity about letting me have her blood held true.  If nothing else, I did have hope.