#when they do something awful. yes. sure. but its ridiculous to expect some twist for everything

[dennisboobs]

I'll be honest the whole argument about it being imperative that the gang never "wins" is still so fucking stupid to me. did you watch 3x01 with your eyes closed. dennis has "won" before, and it ruled, actually. why do we need broad ass arguments like this trying to pin down sunny when there's like. countless examples to the contrary to show it's been like this the whole time.

[chockfullofsecrets]

"If I'm not careful I'm gonna end up writing content for a character who literally never appears in 141 episodes"

I mean, you are more than welcome to. In fact, we will gratefully encourage this.

you encourage chock? you encourage chock like the author? oh! oh! tk fic for anon! tk fic for anon for Two Thousand Words!

(also, heads up that i am moving next week! have been working on Importance of Timing when i can, but the first chapter probably won't be here for another two weeks at least.)

---

Verin Thelyss, Essek knows, is a seasoned battle commander and strategist.

He’s also in possession of the instinct to tackle people when he’s excited, so Essek is well aware that it’s only those decades of training and experience that have his little brother pausing for the briefest instant as Caleb and Jester teleport him into the hold of the Nein Heroez before he launches himself at Essek in a dead run.

Veth and Caduceus are at their respective homes, Kingsley watching over the ship, but he is far from alone - Yasha and Fjord each have a supportive hand on his shoulder, a silent assurance from the tense minutes waiting for their friends to return from Bazzoxan. They swear in unison and scramble for their weapons as Verin screeches to a halt just shy of shunting Essek straight though the hull and yanks him into a rib-crushing hug.

He burrows into the junction of Essek’s neck and shoulder, made possible only by virtue of the activated floating spell that puts the coiffed swoop of his hair a full inch above Verin’s. “Thank the fucking Light, you’re not actually dead.”

“What the fuck, he’s like a swearing puppy,” Beau hisses. There’s a soft thwap as Fjord gently smacks her across the back of the head.

Essek is feeling out the edges of friendly intimacy, still, stumbling through every brush of fingers and shared look of exasperation, but even he does not need Jester’s frantic gesturing to prompt him to lift his arms and awkwardly wrap them around Verin’s shoulders.

It’s like wrapping a single thread of silk around one of Yasha’s biceps. Clearly he is not built for comforting.

Verin stiffens with a single sharp twitch of his ear against Essek’s collarbone . Essek’s thoughts flail wildly between an expectation of tears or a dagger to his ribs, but his brother just laughs, loud and hearty, and snuggles even further into his personal space. “I see someone’s finally taught you how to hug back - you should have written and told me, this is better news than any number of pages on den politics.”

Essek bristles. “Careful, or I will stop,” he huffs, somewhat more waspishly than he intends to.

Luckily, Verin has proven immune to his moods. “Oh, please don’t,” he insists, voice still crackling with glee. He grins, warm and wide enough that Essek can feel it against the side of his neck. “It just makes doing this that much easier.”

“Doing what,” Essek says reflexively, even as the tiny portion of his brain that he allows to remember his childhood starts to blare an alarm. “Verin-”

It’s far too late to realize that Verin’s hands have somehow been maliciously positioned just along the backs of his ribs.

Jester, standing with Caleb behind Verin, perks up in clear interest as the corners of his mouth start to twitch up. On second thought, Essek thinks he’d have preferred the dagger.

“Verin,” he hisses again, fighting back the anticipatory shiver crawling up his back. “Don’t - don’t you dare-”

It’s about then that Verin’s evil, evil fingers find the edges of his mantle’s arm slits and squeeze him even closer as they stretch to wriggle under his arms.

He snatches his arms back, but it’s too late - a dismayed giggle sneaks from his throat, then another, and then he’s beating helplessly at Verin’s shoulders as he dissolves into high, squeaking laughter.

Every single nerve between his armpits and his ribs squirms in unison - a bubbly, slippery sensation even more potent for how long it’s been since he last felt it. “No,” he shrieks. “I - ahaha! eeheee! - no tickling, no tickling, Verin-”

Jester looks thrilled - she’s bouncing on her toes, babbling something to Caleb that’s inaudible over the rush of his own laughter. Light, the Nein are going to tear him apart for this-

“Yes, tickling,” Verin protests, laughing right along with him. “All the tickling! You let me think you were dead! For months! I thought I was never going to get to watch my poor brother giggle himself to pieces ever again!”

He’s not, because Essek is going to kill him. “That - nahaha, hff, ahaaa! - that was - ha - it’s been decades - stop, stop, there’s people!”

“Yeah, people,” Beau says, loud and smug and far too close behind him. “Hey - Verin, was it? - does hotboi here have a worst spot?”

Oh no. Oh no. Essek squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to focus and does the only thing he can while laughing like an idiot.

With a shaky flick of his wrist, his floating dispels. Verin yelps in surprise as gravity takes Essek straight out of his grip.

The instant his boots hit the deck, Essek twists the rest of the way out of his grip and bolts.

There’s nowhere to go, really - the Nein have a room full of Counterspells, and Verin can run faster than he can, and he’s already tumbling halfway back into laughter in giddy anticipation of being caught. Still, it’s a surprise when he stumbles into a brick wall of leather and biceps that resolves itself into Yasha as she hoists him back into the air.

“Oh, where do you think you’re going?” She sounds admirably innocent given the soft, teasing smile she gives him.

“Noooo,” Essek giggles. Heat gathers in his cheeks as he tries to make himself stop - it doesn’t make sense, he’s not even being tickled anymore, but even the potential for it flutters light and fizzy at the bottom of his lungs. “I - I’m not ticklish anymore, I’m not-”

The Nein and Verin cluster around the two of them, bubbling with various levels of amusement. “Really?” Beau drawls. “It’s cute that you think denying it has a single fucking chance of working.”

The sarcasm helps him center himself, if only a little - he buries his face in Yasha’s arm and sucks in a deep breath that doesn’t do nearly enough to get rid of his blush.

He straightens as best he can while being bear hugged by a barbarian. “I am denying nothing,” he says carefully. Jester is still bouncing next to Beau, fingertips already twitching where they’re curled sweetly on her cheeks around a mischievous beaming smile, and Essek has to look away before the nervous snickers still wobbling on the back of his tongue can worm their way free. “I am well aware that Verin is - incorrigible-”

He hisses the last word in his brother’s direction - again, harsher than he intends, but he is so unused to being soft around him - and fails to contain a shy smile as Verin sticks his tongue out in retaliation.

Jester’s tail waves its way into the edge of his peripheral vision. He jumps and looks over at Fjord instead. “-but I, ah, I would ask for more respect from the rest of you-”

“You really shouldn’t,” Fjord says, grinning boyishly back at him. “I mean, you know us.”

And then, to Fjord’s right - “Essek?”

He’s been avoiding looking at Caleb. It is foolish, perhaps, to think that after all of the incredibly stupid things he knows Essek has done he will decide to judge him for this, but he cannot help the way his shoulders stiffen as he twists a little further to meet the gaze of the last link in their semicircle. “Yes?”

Caleb looks - focused, in an offhanded way, like he’s intent on something happening just slightly out of their current reality. Stunned might be a better word for it. He blinks for a moment before focusing those keen blue eyes somewhere near Essek’s eyebrows. “Ah - did you know that when you laugh, your ears -” He puts his hands up to his own ears and flaps them a little.

Drow do not run particularly warm, but that only makes it easier for Essek to feel the heat absolutely flood back into his face. “I-” he stammers. Nearly a century of politics is nowhere near enough to help him keep a straight face. “I - ah - eeh!-”

Caleb is close enough to reach out and run a questing fingertip over Essek’s left ear - it flicks wildly, trying to dislodge the unexpected tickle, but a surprised squeak still slips out.

There’s a moment of silence before Verin starts to snicker. “Oh, I like your friends,” he says merrily, beaming. “Go on, Light knows he doesn’t let himself laugh enough otherwise.”

“Don’t,” Essek gets out hastily, but Caleb is already reaching out for another go and Yasha’s grip is firm enough that all he can do is squeak again. “Wait - hm, hnn!”

Beau sidles up to Yasha’s side and gives him a self satisfied leer as she reaches out across their little group to pluck the feather from Fjord’s tricorn. “You got him, babe?”

“I do,” Yasha confirms and lets out a little squeak of her own as Beau reaches around her, no doubt squeezing something entirely inappropriate with company present.

“Hot,” Beau smirks, and reaches to flutter the feather over Essek’s right ear. “Aw, does that tickle? Thought you said you weren’t ticklish, man.”

Essek maintains some facsimile of composure for all of two seconds before his face crumples “Nnn - hehehe - eheehe - oh!”

His lungs are surely going to burst, with the way they’re shivering out desperate giggles as he shakes his head frantically between Caleb’s fingers and the teasing feather. He can’t move his arms, so he kicks his legs instead. “Please,” he begs, nearly incomprehensible even to his own ears. “Ah - aha, heeheehee! - tickles-”

Verin leans down and scoops his ankles up with one ridiculously sculpted arm. “Essek, you’re going to put a hole in someone with those boots.”

He looks up, raising his eyebrows teasingly, and Essek’s stomach drops like he’s cast something on it. “Here, I’ll fix that.”

Essek’s eyes, narrowed with laughter, shoot wide open. He doesn’t remember Verin being this evil - but then again, his brother’s never been egged on by five other people determined to render reports of his death more realistic.

“Verin, Verin, no-” he tries, but he’s giggling so hard that he can’t even get the words out. He twists as far away from Caleb and Beau as he can, flailing frantically, but Verin’s grip holds firm.

He pouts dramatically. “What? Is it my fault that my tiny, ticklish wizard brother insists on wearing metal-tipped boots that endanger everyone?”

Essek opens his mouth to reply and promptly dissolves into another frantic peal of laughter as Beau gets bored of his ears and shoves her feather in Caleb’s direction before jabbing a finger between his trapped arm and his chest to get at his armpit. “Your - shihihit, shit, ahahaaa, not there! - your arcanist brother is going to kill you just as soon as I can- hahaha!”

Verin just laughs, unlacing one of his boots and starting to slide it off. “Is that your attempt to convince me not to tickle your feet?”

Jester, practically vibrating, emits a sound that perhaps only weasels can hear. “Oh, that’s so cute! Can I have one of them?”

“One of his feet? Sure.” Verin hands over an ankle, grinning down at Jester. “You, I think you’re my favorite.”

As Essek gasps and struggles and falls further and further into a formless mirth that makes him feel so light he can hardly bear it, there’s a different sensation at his ear. A hazy portion of his brain identifies it as the rough bristle of chin scruff and an amused huff of breath.

“You don’t really want them to stop, do you,” Caleb murmurs. “I will help you, if you do.”

It’s quite unfair, Essek feels, to try and make him explain himself while he’s strung out and dizzy with laughter. He tries anyway, for a syllable or two, but Verin digs in between two of his toes and he ends up just tipping his cheek against Caleb’s and shaking, laughing too hard to make a single sound.

“Alright, then,” Caleb says. “In that case-”

He brandishes the feather with a flourish more suited to somatic casting, swooping it down the length of Essek’s nose before directing it back to his ear.

“Tickle, tickle...”

[obae-me]

Hi I love your blog and your writing. I don't know if your doing request or not, so if you aren't just ignore me. But could you possibly have a hc where MC breaks a body part and had to be in a cast how would the brothers (+undateables if you have time) would react?

Oh but this is soft tho, I love writing fluff, thank you so much for the request! 💜

Lucifer

MC had been with him when it happened, and it’s something he’ll never forgive himself for. He forgets how fragile humans are and how anything can hurt them. Anything! He had prepared for monsters, demons, curses, spells, poisons, but he never thought he needed to protect them from stairs!

He was walking beside them as they both started to walk home from RAD, talking to them about an upcoming project. It was dark and rainy, and it bothered him none as he started to descend the slick stone steps. He was just about to warn them about their step when they stumbled down the stairs, hands extended to try to catch themselves, hitting each step with an awful sound before resting on even flooring with a groan.

He freaked out so badly, he called MC by five different wrong names before he finally got it right just as he reached their side. They were alive. Great. They were breathing. Fantastic. They...they had their right wrist bent in the wrong direction.

MC was fairly certain he didn’t even breathe or blink at all as he flew them towards the Devildom’s version of a hospital. He kicked the doors open, demanding MC got looked at, ignoring all of MC’s pleas to wait like everyone else. The poor doctor was not prepared for all of Lucifer’s commands and questions.

MC is not allowed to walk, not allowed to go to class, not even allowed to leave their room for a while. He’s so worried something will happen. He doesn’t even want them to sleep without him there first. His brothers are only allowed to come see MC one by one, following a strict schedule he posted outside MC’s door. Anyone found breaking the schedule will be severely punished. 

Is he overreacting severely? Yes. But does MC appreciate his affection? Yes. He’ll hold them close whenever their wrist hurts, petting their head and shushing them if they ever cry. He’ll do all his work for Diavolo in their bedroom, making sure to glance up in frequent intervals and check how they’re doing. He’ll watch over them so intently he’ll end up accidentally falling asleep in the chair by their bed, head resting on his folded arms.

Even after it’s healed, he insists on holding MC’s hand whenever they walk to make sure it won’t happen again. He’ll also pick them up now whenever it rains. He can’t afford anymore unnecessary risks. 

Mammon

He brought MC along on another one of his poor-planned money making schemes. He wanted to show off and impress them, and MC only agreed to go along to try to make sure he didn’t get himself in too much trouble. Try being the key word here. 

It ended up being super sketchy, causing both MC and Mammon to run away from angry demons. Since Mammon is impossibly fast, he held onto MC’s hand to try to keep them together. However, even if MC ended up being an Olympic runner, they still wouldn’t have been able to keep up with his speed. So, they lost their footing and fell hard against the ground. There was a rough popping noise, but Mammon got them right back on their feet. It wasn’t until they finally got home before Mammon realized that not only were they scratched up, but their shoulder...didn’t look right.

He thought maybe he could fix it himself, which was the opposite of what he should’ve done. Now, not only did it look even worse, but MC’s expression of pain caused Mammon to panic like he never had before. He held onto them tight, much too tight, and MC was almost certain he’d end up passing out before they did.

He got a doctor right away, and while they were getting checked, Lucifer and Mammon were fighting worse than they had in a long time. Mammon had hardly fought this much for anything-or anyone-before. The only reason why Lucifer let him off the hook for something this severe is because it’s been too long since he’s seen Mammon so serious.

Mammon won't leave their side, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves to be near them either, so he’ll spend time pacing by their door for hours before MC tells him to quit. They tell him he doesn’t need to feel so guilty, it was an accident, stupid stuff like this happens to humans all the time. He’ll kneel on the floor by their bed, head against their leg, looking like a scolded puppy. It’s the first time they’ve seen him cry.

It’s not everyday Mammon will do whatever they want. Even if it’s not perfect, even if he messes up, he wants to get MC whatever they want or need.

After they’re fully healed, Mammon will still check their shoulder every day, and Lucifer doesn’t complain when Mammon tones down some of his schemes for the sake of MC’s safety.

Levi

He signed both himself and MC up for this awesome parkour class. He had seen an ad for it and wanted to go, only because he wanted to learn some cool moves that he had seen in an anime. Of course, this was a demon class, so already they had the students doing crazy things like jumping roof to roof and doing flips that would take years for MC to do properly. Unfortunately, they tried it out anyway, not wanting to wimp out of it.

Next thing they knew, they heard Levi scream as one of their legs gave out on them, unable to support their landing. He was by their side, already in tears, shouting incomprehensible words as he called for help on his D.D.D. Not only did one of the brothers have to carry MC home, they had to carry out Levi as well, his brain fried at the sight of their broken leg.

He blames himself hard, having to catch his breath anytime he sees MC in their cast. He had no idea human’s bodies were so brittle, they never seemed so weak in anime. They were always fighting, overcoming impossible feats. He was so lost in the world of fantasy he didn’t know real life was so...frightening. It was a reality check he really needed, he appears to treat MC more authentically now.

He’ll make sure MC is fully entertained while they’re on the mend, it's the least he can do. Most of his setup is now in their room so they can play games with him and watch shows together. He’ll talk their ear off about his favorite plots, and promise to MC that they’d get better and he would protect them, just like his precious characters. 

MC now has little drawings on their cast thanks to him, to liven it up a bit. Covered in chibis and little hearts.

He’s used to not getting much sleep, so he’ll watch MC as they rest, watching their chest rise and fall, making sure he keeps an eye on their leg. They’re not allowed to move it much, so he keeps tabs on how much they toss and turn, sometimes holding MC in his arms while they sleep to make sure they don’t move.

Even when they’re better he is always wary about them leaving the house. He should’ve never broken his rule, home is always safe, and now he can’t relax until he knows MC is safely home.

Satan

He was always afraid of hurting MC due to his wrath, but he never knew that they could so easily be broken. He hadn’t even intended to hurt them, he didn’t! He just...he was angry, he didn’t want them to come into his room, but they insisted, they wouldn’t listen! Now look what he had done to them...

He had slammed the door on them while their finger still lingered in the door-frame, he had no idea...he didn’t know something as simple as shutting a door would hurt them so. They both heard a sharp crack, Satan originally believed it had been part of the door, the wood breaking. Until he heard MC’s shriek of pain. He opened the door back up to see their finger bent backwards where the door had shut on it.

After he had tore the door off its hinges and resolved it to splinters, he ushered MC quickly out of the house to get their finger checked. His other brothers had to quickly come at MC’s request to keep Satan from harming the medical staff when told they had to wait to get checked. It took him far too long to calm down, having to be physically restrained by Lucifer and Mammon until he cooled off. 

MC’s broken finger had been on their dominant hand, so Satan did all the writing for them. MC never asked him to, he did it anyway. He felt like it was the bare minimum of redemption. He made sure to read up more on the skeletal structure humans possessed, and MC is pleased to find that they had never seen Satan be so gentle with them. He softly strokes their hand, has a hard time now raising his voice above a whisper around them, and MC swears he now has painkillers in his pocket at all times for whenever they need it. 

Satan takes after Lucifer in being much too prideful for simple apologies, he’s hardly wrong in the first place, but he said it to them once they drifted off to sleep, head in his lap. He didn’t move from his spot all night.

Healed wounds meant nothing, Satan refused to treat MC any differently from his delicate and precious books.

Asmo

Trust him, he would have never given MC those ridiculously high heeled shoes had he known that humans were so clumsy and fragile. The heel of the shoe was so tall, whoever wore them might as well be walking on the very tips of their toes. They were a new fashion, and since he adored his adorable MC so much, he got them a pair.

The last thing he expected was to have them fall so dramatically after a single step. At first he planned on giving them props for their fall, it was like a movie scene, but then he saw how their ankle looked. Twisted and limp, MC started to hyperventilate.

He had seen some pretty disgusting positions the human body could get into, but this was wrong, it shouldn’t be like that. He had never been so serious or flown so fast before. He didn’t even say a word until they were in bed, getting some medication for the pain. He grasped onto MC’s hand and apologized repeatedly until MC was convinced he had lost his voice.

After they’ve been taken care of, he refuses to let go of them, cuddling them pampering them. He didn’t know just a simple misstep in the wrong shoes and they could just hurt themselves like that! He thought himself a master of the body, but he still had much to learn about humans, it seemed.

He calls himself Nurse Asmo for weeks, not leaving MC’s side, carting them around in a wheelchair even if they insist on using crutches or moving around themselves. He’ll have none of it. He feels responsible and so MC is under his constant care until their body is just as beautiful and whole as he remembers. He’ll want to make sure he takes care of them so well, their body will have no choice but to heal faster.

He’ll not forgive himself for allowing MC’s perfect body to get like that again. He’ll never let MC even look at high heel shoes, he knows plenty of adorable flats that would look great on them.

Beel

He’s always extra careful around MC, he knows they’re fragile, he’s well aware of the difference between strengths. Anytime he’s around them, he does whatever is necessary to make sure they’re safe at all times. Unfortunately, no matter how protective he is, sometimes accidents happen, especially when humans and demons mix.

He and Mammon were fighting over food, special food, limited edition flavor chips, and Mammon had stolen it. He didn’t even eat it, he sold it. It was an insult. They both were in demon form, battling it out, Lucifer trying to stop it, by force it would seem. They were all so consumed in combat, power flinging, furniture flying, they had no idea MC had walked in the room to check on the chaos, only to get caught up in it. A large cabinet headed in their direction, and if they hadn’t stepped back, they might have gotten fully crushed. Unfortunately, their foot ended up being crushed in their place.

Beel felt sick to his stomach, hearing the sound of the bone crack made his insides feel all twisted in a way he and his iron stomach hadn’t felt in centuries. The fighting immediately came to a close, the food they were fighting over seemed worthless to him now, for once he couldn’t care less. He refused to let any of his other brothers touch MC. In fact he almost didn’t want to touch them himself. He had such a hard time holding them, he ended up physically shaking, worried that he’d hurt MC even further. He doesn’t want to let them go, though, he holds onto them for an entire day, acting like MC’s personal shield. 

Beel skips classes, workouts, even his team practices to be with MC. MC is absolutely not allowed to move by themselves, he’s going to carry them wherever they need to go if they must go somewhere. Until they’re fully healed, all the meals are going to be MC’s favorite foods. None of the brothers get a say otherwise, but no one is going to defy Beel over this anyway.

MC never sees him fight with any of his brothers again, not with them around anyway, and if they thought Beel was already super protective, they weren’t ready for their new unofficial bodyguard.

Belphie

Honestly, he was bewildered how MC hadn’t died yet--well, other than that--in the Devildom. Lilith had loved humans, and, he in the past, had loved them too, so he knew how weak they could be. However, MC had just...tripped...on their own feet, falling right onto their own face. He laughed at first, he will admit, he had no idea how hurt MC was. When they stumbled back onto their own feet, their face and chest was covered in blood.

He was frozen for a good few minutes, his mind buzzing, his heart pounding out of his chest. He kept getting flashbacks of that terrible moment in the attic, and it was only until MC grabbed his arm, disoriented and in pain, that he was able to move again. They gasped his name to snap him out of it. They weren’t flinching away from him, they didn’t look afraid of him, in fact they were leaning into him, looking for his comfort. 

He got them home as quick as he could, making sure MC didn’t have any more fumbles on the way. Obviously once they saw the state MC was in, all the other brothers were freaking out as well. Mammon accused Belphie of doing something to them again--it was taking Mammon the longest to forgive him-- which didn’t make Belphie feel better about it. Normally he would’ve just fought Mammon then and there for such an accusation, after all the things his older brother had dragged MC into, but he didn’t have the energy. MC needed to be taken care of now. 

He did feel guilty, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Once the doctor came, he left the room, getting some air. He would wait until after MC was asleep to come check on them and make sure they were okay. He would make sure that MC’s pillow was fluffed, that they were comfortable, and then he’d fall asleep at MC’s feet at the end of their bed. He’d wake up at the slightest movement, checking over their body and face for who knows how many times now. 

While they were deep in a dream, he took a permanent marker and drew little cow spots on their bandage. It was a silly gesture, he was well aware, but even having a small piece of matching patterns made his heart happy. 

He won’t say it but he’s so glad when they’re finally healed. MC notices a sharp increase in his energy levels as he asks them to do plenty of activities together. He hardly ever wants to do something with them besides nap. 

He’ll be prepared to catch MC if they ever trip again. He won’t let them be hurt ever again. Period. 

Diavolo

He wasn’t there when it happened to MC, but Lucifer relayed the information to him as soon as possible. He didn’t freak out, at least, not in the way people would expect. It is rather unlike the Lord of the Devildom, however, to drop all his work, cancel all his meetings, and quickly make his way over to the House of Lamentation.

He excuses MC from classes immediately, making sure staying safe and healthy was their first and only priority. Not just for the sake of the program, but something in him stirred violently at the sight of seeing them pale, in pain, their forearm in a cast. He asked Lucifer for details. 

Upon hearing that it was due to some lesser demon, he laughed, but it was a terrible laugh. He calmly stated that he would handle it, but every member of the household could feel the house rumble. Not even Diavolo could stay completely tranquil, it seemed.

He knew the consequences of having a human in the Devildom, he knew the risks. He knew about the dirt in his kingdom that called themselves demons. He just didn’t realize how it would make him feel . Not only did MC have classes off, he allowed all the brothers to stay home for a while as well to make sure they were well taken care of. He had Lucifer give him daily updates on their progress.

MC is now curious why there are new changes to not only RAD but the House of Lamentation, Purgatory Hall, and even Diavolo’s castle. Simple things like ramps, elevators, railings, anything as a means of injury prevention. None of the demons need to use it, it’s all for MC, but everyone acts like it’s completely normal. All due to Diavolo’s ‘modern design’.

None of the brothers dare say anything about the Demon Lord’s frequent visits to their home, or to MC’s room. Not even Lucifer had him come over this often.

MC is thankful they never have to see the demon that resulted in their arm breaking again, but they didn’t know where they possibly could've gone. 

Barbatos

It’s safe to assume he knew about this. Except, there were plenty of timelines where something like this had happened, so he didn’t know the details of which unfortunate accident would come about. Whatever the case, he was prepared to assist and serve MC in whatever way he could.

He always thinks he’s seen everything and is well prepared for it, but it still doesn’t prevent him from having his chest hurt and his nerves shudder at seeing MC like this. On the outside, he’ll always appear neutral, so no one knows just how much he’s feeling for this human. He’s so much softer with them than anyone else.

MC doesn’t know how this demon keeps getting into their room without coming through the door, it freaks them out a bit, to be honest. They don’t complain about their room being so pristine you could brush over it with a white glove, though. 

MC thought that maybe, maybe, just once they could get away with getting up and doing things on their own. The brothers kept on fussing over them non-stop, but at one point they got called away to a meeting, leaving MC alone at home.

They got up out of bed, ready to stretch their legs and get some fresh air, trying to get some sort of normalcy back. They did all this not knowing that Barbatos was keeping a close eye on them from the shadows the entire time. 

Whether it was by Diavolo’s orders or Barbatos’ own volition, MC will never know, but they did find their little excursion to the outside quickly brought to a halt by some form of magic that transported them back to their room. Barbatos had them back in bed before MC could even reach the front gates. 

No matter how they tried, they were forced to stay safe, now even unable to get out from their bed. No matter how much they struggled, their own sheets betrayed them. The silent butler only showed up once MC gave up. He strutted over putting a soft but surprisingly stern hand over their shoulder as he went about taking care of them. Any words of protest fell on deaf ears. It was his duty to protect him, and not even MC could stop him. 

Simeon

He had no idea till he noticed that MC hadn’t been to school for a few days now. When he brought it up to the brothers, they explained how MC had staggered back home one night, hand completely busted, and they wouldn’t tell anyone why. For MC’s safety, and just for the brother’s peace of mind, MC was to stay home until further notice.

Simeon’s an angel, so peaceful, anger isn’t something he fully understands, but he felt a burning pain in his chest. Why didn’t anyone tell him immediately? Was he just supposed to figure this out himself? It had been quite a long time since Lucifer had seen Simeon frown so deeply before, eyes cloudy with distress.

Simeon had never missed classes ever. He was always much too early, much too eager to stick to regulations. So when he ended up skipping class, it shocked Luke to his core and caused Diavolo to make a note that an angel had broken the rules to go check on a human. This program was turning up all sorts of surprises.

MC was pleasantly surprised to hear the soft knocks on their door, vastly different than any of the ways the demons announced themselves. Simeon strode in, radiating warmth, carefully grasping their hand in his, and gave it a gentle kiss. The pain MC had felt no longer existed. Simeon explained that it was still best if they heal on their own, but at the very least, they wouldn’t feel pain. He would be there to make it all go away. 

He’s around MC now much more frequently, guarding them, keeping them from harm. From that point on he urges MC to let him know when things happen.

Solomon

He had been teaching MC more about magic. Not only did he think it would be beneficial for his human companion, but it would sate some of his curiosity. He wanted to learn more about MC, about their capabilities, testing to see in what ways their previous angel ancestor had changed them.

He knew they had a hard time driving out their power, so he tried different methods to assist them, methods they could use on their own. Magic rings, chants, wands. Unfortunately, once something worked, all their built up power flooded out of them at once, their temporary wand exploding into shards, and the bones in their hand following suit.

He used some of his magic to heal up what he could, being careful not to go too far or he’d overwhelm MC’s already weakened body. MC couldn't tell what was running through his head as he had them supported and cradled with one of his arms, the other one hovered over their hand. Magical circles and sigils running over their skin as it rushed to heal them. While his face seemed calm, his eyes looked a bit darker, missing the mischievous glint in them. They were tighter, laser focused, serious.

After he did what he could, both of them promised not to mention it to anyone, for fear both of them would never hear the end of it, or worse. While MC walked themselves home, Simeon used magic to keep an eye on them from his room, taking note what happened with him today. His mouth tight, arms folded across his chest, watching as the remnants from MC’s faulty makeshift wand burned rapidly in the fireplace. 

Luke

He has absolutely no idea how humans work or how weak they are. So when he heard MC had a broken bone, he didn’t even fully understand what that meant. Broke...a bone? He knew the word broke didn’t sound pleasant, and when he finally went to go see MC, his little head almost exploded.

Their body broke?? Human’s bodies could break like that?? And they couldn't just have it healed immediately??

He blamed the demons most definitely, but MC had never ever been so entertained when the little angel pointed at each and every one of the brothers--Lucifer included--and chewed them out. Each of them had different expressions. Belphie looked exhausted, Beel looked downtrodden, Asmo didn’t even seem to be paying attention. Satan looked like he was only focusing on not destroying Luke right then and there, Levi looked mortified, Mammon was the only one arguing back, and Lucifer was stunned speechless that a creature barely higher than his waist was giving him a lecture.

Until MC is fully healed, Luke makes sure to bring plenty of freshly baked sweets right to their door, not noticing seven pairs of glowing glares while he lingers in the house of demons.

[hawksky]

You wake up on your ex's fire escape; wc 2.5k

A/N: I don't really know how to categorize this ? starts as funny, gets into angst with a happy/hopeful ending. I might write this again for another character and make it 0 angst but using Megumi just let this get away from me. Thank you @sixeyesgojo for reading through my first draft, it helped me edit a lot since 😘. Although I have not looked over the ending since I wrote it, I'm done working on this fic so sorry if it falls flat.

CW: Mentions of excessive alcohol consumption.

Suggested listening: song 1 and song 2 you can pick just one to cater your experience (they are VERY different vibes) or switch over around the shampoo situation.

Objectively, there were good ways to wake up. In the arms of a beautiful person, with cold sheets and a warm body, or with the scent of your favourite breakfast wafting through the air. No disrespect to mornings at all, there were good ways to wake up, you were mature enough to recognize this.

A perplexingly rough, wet, and warm sensation gliding across your cheek, while last night’s jeans dug into your waist, and there was a pounding in your head? It was fairly safe to say this was not a good way to wake up.

It spoke volumes for how out of it you were that it was only just beginning to register in your brain that you weren’t at home, you were not even on a bed, and that the continued licks across your face were the work of animal far too large to be one of your friends cats.

“Fucking hell you’re supposed to be intimidating” you hear a voice grumble without much heat behind it.

As you forced your eyes open you are met with an excited dog tapping its paws in excitement of your presence, and the man behind the half hearted grumble. His gaze was unmistakably familiar, but his expression could not be more foreign to you.

“uhm, Hi” you croaked out while plastering a wide grin in hopes he wouldn’t murder you.

His eyebrow raised on instinct in response. You knew he was waiting for you to explain what you were doing, but the reality was you didn’t have an answer.

“I wish I could explain, but honestly I’m not sure what happened – last thing I remember was being bought another shot… Wait, where am I exactly?” You were desperately hoping you came off as charming instead of pathetic given the circumstances.

“How out of it are you?” he scrunched his face in confusion as he muttered to himself. “You’re on my fire escape, it’s in Ikebukuro? Tokyo… Japan, in case you needed the reminder”

It felt infantilizing to have him scold you like this, which only made this next part all the more difficult. You were not supposed to be Ikebukuro. You were not supposed to be in Tokyo. You were supposed to be in Yokohama. What was even more concerning is that you were definitely not supposed to be on your old fire escape, the one connected to the apartment your ex still lived in.

As you painstakingly pushed yourself upright, a warm weight laid on your upper thigh, a furry face nuzzling into your stomach – you wondered if she was aware of tension between you and her owner. You scratched behind her ears, letting Jade know she was in fact a good girl despite the earlier reprimand from her owner.

As much as you’d love to spend the day sitting on a fire escape petting your ex’s dog, you had to go home, you just need to call –

Your phone. Where was your phone? You felt around frantically for your phone, only to come up with nothing. A light sense of panic bubbles in the pit of your stomach, only to be swiftly interrupted.

“it’s already charging, I plugged it in last night, you dropped in inches away from falling down”

So, he was still watching you despite having returned inside long ago. It was difficult for you to parse this sort of gesture, how caring could it be to plug someone’s phone in when you still left them to sleep outside? Maybe he was just doing everything he could to get rid of you. It was too much to try and analyze for someone who blacked out and woke up in a different city.

“Why did you come here?” you hear him bite out from inside. It sounds harsh, but it feels like his stange way of inviting you inside.

“I don’t know what you’ve picked up from these circumstances, but not knowing is kind of a part of the problem. Believe me, there’s no amount of conscious desperation that would leaf me to sleeping on a fire escape, even yours”

You glanced around the apartment to avoid his void expression; it was spotless. But it was even harder noticing, the turned over picture frames, your favourite quilt still on the back of the couch – remnants of the past living in the present.

This tension only increased as a mug of freshly brewed green tea was placed in front of you. How thoughtful to remember you hated coffee, to realize your throat was probably killing you – you would have tasted a creeping bitterness from all these emotions, if it wasn’t overpowered by what was the distinct taste of your favourite brand that had to be special ordered.

He had always complained, there were plenty of good options for tea at the grocery store, why wasn’t that enough for you? It was so much extra effort to special order from a tea shop across town, the only place that you were able to charm the owner into ordering for you.

“How are you still so fucking awful at taking care of yourself?” he spat the words out like an insult, it was jarring honestly. Despite the time away from each other, it was no less strange to feel his detachment.

He moved towards the door beckoning Jade to follow. “There’s a towel and change of clothes in the bathroom, you should probably take a shower. If I’m not back by the time you leave, just lock up before you go, I haven’t moved the spare key.” Without looking back or waiting for a response he left.

You were starting to recognize your growing frustration – you had known him how long? Dated and lived together for a not-insignificant amount of time? Yet here you were, no idea how to interpret this strange morning, much less his last comment. Did he want you to be here when he returned? Were you supposed to leave and act like you had never been there? Could he genuinely be as indifferent as he wanted you to believe? It pissed you that your feelings were probably plain on your face.

You searched for your phone, finding it on what used to be your side of the couch. It felt ridiculous to think you ever had a side of the couch, but you were both creatures of habit and slowly without even thinking you both made your own little sanctuary mere metres away from each other.

You awoke your phone, expecting a flood of texts and phone calls from your friends, only to find nothing. Not a single check in from anyone. You open the group chat and furiously tap out a message.

<Hey assholes who let me go home on my own last night? Anyways good job I blacked out and I’m on Fushiguro’s fire escape! You are all absolutely useless to me I swear to god.>

Your phone vibrates rapidly as you place it down but you’re not in the mood to field their questions.

You’re tempted to leave now, just to get it over with, go home and crawl into bed and forget any of this ever happened. But, you felt gross, it was late enough in the morning that you could run into someone you knew, and you missed the water pressure here.

As you got ready for your shower you surveyed your options. You refused to smell like him, but the only other bottle in the shower was doggy shampoo. Surely dog’s fur and human hair weren’t so different right? Jade did have a beautiful coat, very soft and shiny… You reprimanded yourself for the ridiculous idea, but the point remained, there had to be something else for you to use.

Your brain, far more alert than it was 30 minutes ago, thought of all the things he hadn’t changed, all the fixtures still in place. You had always kept an extra set of all your supplies under the sink. By the grace of all that is good on this cruel cruel earth, they were there, in all their dusty glory, your prized hygiene products sat unmoved under the sink. It would have been sick and twisted to have to leave your ex-boyfriend’s apartment smelling exactly like him, left to spend the rest of the day agonizing over whether you should take another shower.

As you entered the shower you wondered more. He had to have noticed the softness in your eyes, the faint smile you wore just having an ounce of his attention again, the way ti widened at every caring gesture, and falling with every biting remark.

Yes, it hurt every day missing him. Yes, it would hurt if he hated you. But none of that compared to the feeling of not knowing. What were you supposed to do with all these residual feelings that have yet to go away? Were they worth the suffocation or should you strip them away?

You were proud of yourself, all these reminders of what you once had, in a place you once loved, and you had yet to break down, not even shedding a tear. If you weren’t wrapping yourself in a towel, you would’ve given yourself a pat on the back. This victory was short lived, everyone’s strength has its limits and you had taken yours too far past it already. But then you saw it, something you were completely unprepared for.

Laid neatly on top the closed laundry basket was THE outfit. It was nothing special to anyone else, just a grey sweater and loose joggers, but how many days had you spent alone breathing in his scent for comfort while he was gone? How many hard days at work had you reaching for these exact pieces as if they were the cure to all your problems?

Unable to support your own weight anymore, you fell to the tiled floor, tears spilling out, as your already sore throat grew even more hoarse – you felt like everything was collapsing around you. You weren’t expecting to see him, and you certainly weren’t expecting to need him in so many little ways. It was easy to forget how easily he weaves himself into your life, encroaching on everything you do.

The world disappeared behind each shallow breath, and an endless stream of tears you couldn’t control. Your fingers scratch against your forearms repeatedly, trying to ground yourself in some reality you could no longer grasp. It is so exhausting trying to be over him, going through these cycles of strong emotions, over and over and over again.

Suddenly, for the second time in as few hours, you felt an overwhelming weight encompass your body.

Of course, his stupid fucking perfect dog would still know how to bring you out of a panic attack like he had spent so much time training when you started dating. You clutched to Jade as your breathing slowed, but it did nothing to stop your sobs, if anything it was just another painful reminder of everything you let go.

“Uhhh….” Megumi was frozen at the door, for the first time today he didn’t know what to do. His indifferent façade dropped as he observed the scene on his bathroom floor.

There’s nothing left to lose, not for a moment that he has seen this morning have you possessed more than an ounce of dignity, “So that’s it? You don’t know what to do either? You know it’s been a whole fucking year and I still haven’t figured out how to live without you. A whole year and I’m still a mess. I can’t survive being reminded of us, look at me. And yet every attempt to get over you was a knife twisting because they’ll never be you. Now I’m here and I get to witness the wonderful Megumi Fushiguro, unaffected, and you… you have it all together.” You trail off, giving to him everything left in you.

You weren’t expecting the confused and indignant expression on his face, “You think this is having it together?” His voice lightly raising with each word “This place might as well be a sealed shrine to you and our relationship. I haven’t thrown a single thing out, moved any furniture, bought anything new – the only thing that’s ‘new’ is your stupid tea I keep buying even though I hate it, and for fucks sake y/n I should’ve moved out. Every part of me that looks like I have it together is just my version of a mess.” He brushes a stray strand out of your face, his own face moving far too close for this to be purely platonic anymore “y/n I’m no better off than you are, I’ve just kept everyone from looking”.

“So what are we supposed to do with all this?” Your eyes shining, naïve hope seeping through your defenses at the confirmation that he couldn’t live without you either.

“We could try again” Somehow, it wasn’t quite what you needed to hear. “I, am going to get dressed, and then we’ll talk, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” He nodded lightly, pulling himself up and exiting with Jade on his heels.

Dressed in the clothes you thought would burn your skin to even touch let alone wear, you let out a long sigh as you sit on at the breakfast nook. “Look, Megumi, I need to know if you’ve worked through it, any of it? I can’t, I can’t wait another three years for you to tell me you can’t say the words I love you, that you can’t commit to more than a yearly rental, I can’t just have you here I need more security than that”

He pursed his lips, unsure of what he could say to that, how he could make sure you didn’t leave again.

“Megumi, I don’t need you to say it to me today, I don’t need you to commit to anything today, but I have to know you’ve tried that I can’t keep waiting for you”

“I… Just give me a minute, please” his voice weak pleading with you. You waited, knowing better than to rush him, laying a hand on top of his assuring him you weren’t going to run out the door.

“y/n, I’m supposed to be honest and vulnerable, I’m supposed to tell myself that people won’t abandon me just because I give them access to who I really am. I want to tell you I love you, because there’s no other explanation for feeling this way. For feeling like your eyes outshine the stars, that your mind is more brilliant than the sun. I’ve tortured myself for a year with the idea of you meeting someone who could give you everything I couldn’t, and selfishly I prayed they were awful, I wished you were miserable so I pretend the truth wasn’t real that I was not enough for you, that I couldn’t give you what you needed. I’ve never seen a loving relationship, certainly not for long enough to form memories, but I look at you and I can’t imagine anything else”

Your thumb reaches to brush away the stray tear sliding down his face as he spoke to you. Manoeuvring yourself around to be on the same side of the nook as him, you pull him into you, letting him bury his head into the crook of your neck. You placed a gentle kiss into his hair before whispered into his ear “You were always enough, I just needed you to know it too.”

not not a tag list: @satosuguslut @sandyscastle

[flying-guinea-pig]

Not What He Seems (ch.1)

(Prefer to read this on AO3?)

(It’s happening folks. The big reveal, four years in the making.)

NotWhat He Seems: Chapter 1

Thomas' heart always beat a little faster when he summoned something, even after several years in this job. It was the thrill of calling a powerful being into this reality with only your wits and some chalk lines as protection.

Beëlzebob was an intermediate-level demon. He took the appearance of every cliché devil ever - hairy black goat legs, a ridiculously buff and gleaming red upper body, large curled horns. The works.

He was also not cooperating at all.

"You are... di̵s̢tra͢c̢te͜d," the demon whispered, his voice echoing back strangely from the corners of the summoning lab. The shadows seemed to thicken.

Thomas kept his face impassive. These were just some special effects, after all. His binding circle was perfect, he didn't need to worry.

"I have outlined our offer in this document. These are the terms you have previously discussed at length with my colleague," he said, reaching out slightly to hand Beëlzebob the carefully rolled up contract. "All should be in order."

The demon unrolled it and took his sweet time reading it through. He would make a good addition to the safe summons list, despite being a bit higher level than their usual choices. This old-fashioned approach, with the written contract and all - it would teach the students to be patient and give them time to focus on the details before shaking on anything.

"Yes," the demon said, dragging a black claw over the parchment. "These terms are acceptable. However, there is one issue."

"Is there?"

A horrible, fanged grin. "The contract must be written in your o̦̰͚w̮̮n̬͇̹̕ blood, mortal."

Maybe it was his experience with grandstanding demons, or Tyrone had been rubbing off on him, but Thomas was not impressed. "That wasn't in the agreement."

"You will rewrite it. Ḩè̲̙͙̩̤r̦e̹̦ ͏͕̥a̝̱̺͟n̘͔d ̛̦̱̲̖n̩͈̪o̰̻͓͓͢w̺͍͎̦.̪̣͇̩́"

"No, I don't think so," Thomas said, mildly. Seriously? All that work was just wasted? Typical. He was not going to use his own blood to write it, sheesh. With all those clauses and addendums the thing was way too long. Not to mention willingly given human blood had power - power that wasn't a part of this offer.

The shadows twisted - the candles flared. "You will, little mortal, or I will step over this boundary and write it myself, straight from your veins."

"This attitude is not convincing me you're a good fit for our list."

"You have summoned me and I will not leave without my deal!" Red-tinged smoke filled the circle, edging over the chalk lines and spreading into the room. It stank of sulphur and decay.

Thomas coughed. Dramatics aside, maybe it was time to get rid of Beëlzebob. Too bad, Hicks would be disappointed to cross off another name on the safe summons list… It had shrunk a lot in the past years. If this kept up their students would soon only get to summon the Organ Duck. If they couldn’t offer a proper practical education they might eventually run out of interested students as well, which was bad news for the survival of the demonology department.

"Whoa, did someone drop a rotten egg in here?"

Tyrone usually didn't barge in during summonings, especially when they were trying to get more demons for the safe summons list, but this time Thomas didn't mind. The open door let in some fresh air and that was very welcome at the moment.

Tyrone entered the room, waving away some of the smoke. "Hey, Hicks mentioned you wanted to have a talk?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Thomas said, distracted. The smoke was dissipating with record speed and Beëlzebob was visible again, staring at Tyrone in abject terror. "I'm a bit busy right now though."

"Do you need any help?" Tyrone offered. His smile was perfectly friendly.

Thomas glanced at Beëlzebob. "As a matter of fact, he was just leaving."

"Yes! Yes indeed," the demon hurried to say. "Just leaving. Right now. I’m going. Big misunderstanding, you know how it is, have to be somewhere else, goodbye now!"

“Thanks buddy," Tyrone said. "Very accommodating of you, leaving without a deal like that. I will remember this. Here, have a snack."

With a snap of his fingers a familiar deep-fried ball appeared, partly wrapped in a festive paper towel.

Beëlzebob caught it with a flinch and popped away without another sound.

“So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“Just a second, let me clean up first.” He frowned at Tyrone. “Speaking of cleaning up, what happened to your shirt?”

“What?” Tyrone glanced down at the brown stains on his usually so crisp white shirt, and made a face. “Aw man, seriously?”

“Do I want to know?”

“I bumped into Banerjee on my way here. He was carrying samples. And he didn’t even apologize, can you believe it?”

Banerjee was the Cryptozoology department’s newest hire, working on his doctorate involving – honestly, Thomas had no idea, he just knew it involved a lot of mud. He wasn’t aware of Tyrone’s true identity. The university staff tried to keep that one under wraps. Parents might object to their children coming to a university where Alcor the Dreambender was frequently hanging around.

“He owes me a new shirt.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “You can literally make it brand new with a thought.”

“He doesn’t know that. It’s about the principle of the thing.”

Shaking his head, Thomas set to work. To his students it often came as a surprise that practical demonology involved a lot of cleaning up. The preparations were extensive, of course, but afterwards someone had to put away the candles and mop up the chalk, blood, and other assorted fluids the demons occasionally left behind. Beëlzebob in particular had left footprints of some kind of sulphurous ooze that he probably shouldn’t handle without gloves…

Safely removing summoning circles was an art, really. It’s not like you could just start scrubbing away with these things – the outer part was usually the binding circle, and you never knew if the demon was still hanging around, invisible, waiting for you to make a mistake. Not that he expected something to happen while Alcor the Dreambender was literally waiting at the door, but proper caution was a good habit to have.

“You know, I could clean this up for you with a snap of my fingers,” Tyrone mused, lounging against the wall while he waited. His shirt held no trace of the brown stains.

“Are you offering?”

“For free?”

Thomas snickered at the almost scandalous look on Tyrone’s face. Put down his cleaning supplies. He had planned to do this differently, but you know what? Now might be as good a time as ever. And it would be fun, wouldn’t it, to put Tyrone off-balance for a moment? “How about a deal then?”

Tyrone perked up.

“You get this room back to its cleaned-up, usable state,” said Thomas, and felt the smile break through on his face. “In return, you get to be my best man.”

To his credit, it didn’t take Tyrone long to realise. “Thomas! You finally popped the question then?”

“Yep. I said I was going to do it soon, this can’t be a surprise –“

“And she said yes?”

“We did talk about it beforehand, you know –“

“Congrats!”

“Thanks,” Thomas grinned. “So, what do you say? Fair warning though, being my best man comes with certain responsibilities. Making sure I’m on time at the wedding and such.”

Organising the stag night as well, technically. Though Thomas suspected Brad already had some thoughts in that direction.

“I’ve been someone’s best man before, I know how it goes,” Tyrone said. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Thomas.”

The room around them shifted, the magical arrays fading away and taking the trailing odour of brimstone with them.

Tyrone’s expression shifted too, as he let go of Thomas’ hand.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked.

“Nothing.”

“You seem upset?”

“I am happy for you,” Tyrone said. “It’s just… you’re getting old.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No, I mean – look at you! Getting married. Maybe kids and a house, soon.”

“I’m not buying a house on a teacher’s salary,” Thomas said. “The rest… who knows? We’ll see how it goes. Is that what’s upsetting you? That I’m growing up?”

Tyrone shrugged awkwardly. He seemed smaller somehow. “You’re going to be very busy with all that – that life stuff. It’s happening already. Everyone is so busy. Your dates with Elisha, Eddy’s got his new job, Brad’s mucking around in his dad’s company - when was the last time we all hung out, just for fun? Not because it was someone’s birthday or anything? It’s been ages since we had a game night.”

That… had been a while, true. “I guess that’s what happens when you get older. There are more demands on your time, you get to juggle more responsibilities.”

“I’m not getting older.”

“Right.” Thomas took a deep breath.  “Listen, so… we’re busy more often. And it’s not like in college, where we all could just hang out all the time. But you’re basically part of the family, Tyrone. Alcor. You’ll always have a place here. And I’m sure the rest of the gang would say the same.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Thomas said. And smiled, to lighten the mood. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“You’d just miss all the amazing deals I make with you.”

“Of course” Thomas said, glad Tyrone was now teasing instead of moping. “I’m clearly only using you for your clout as Alcor. You’ve made my life so much easier.”

Tyrone mimed a gasp. “Sarcasm, Thomas? Ouch.”

“Not entirely sarcasm,” Thomas admitted. “You do make my life easier, sometimes. When you feel like it. For instance, vanishing that sulphurous stuff Beëlzebob left behind, I was not looking forward to handling that. The smell lingered.”

Tyrone suddenly looked way too innocent. “Oh, I didn’t exactly vanish it.”

Oh Stars. “What did you do?”

“Might have put it somewhere. Like, oh, I dunno… Banerjee’s car.”

Thomas facepalmed. Serves him right for making a vague deal like that. “Is it at least safe?”

“Define ‘safe’.”

“Tyrone!”

“Don’t worry, Thomas, I promised not to deliberately harm the university’s students and faculty, remember? He’ll be fine.”

“All this for an accidental stain on your shirt, really?”

Tyrone folded his arms in front of him. “He didn’t apologize.”

Thomas shook his head, exasperated.

Demons. They really knew how to hold grudges.

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

The Mindscape was a vast, endless realm where the strong hunted the weak and territories were defined, invaded, and redefined. This was the place where demons lived, and they didn’t like each other any better than they liked humans. The collective noun for a group of demons, as they say, is ‘a carnage’. Teaming up was rare, and more often than not ended in the stronger one destroying the other as soon as their goal was met. That was just the natural order of things.

Even so, sometimes even they needed a neutral place to go. Somewhere deals could be made without worrying about being devoured. This place was the Midway Bar, run by a demon known only as the Bartender, and for the past six years it had attracted a group of regulars.

They took over the table in the corner. Sometimes the group lost a member, occasionally it gained one. They weren’t here to make deals. They were here to drown their misery and sneak away before a stronger demon took advantage of their intoxication to ambush them outside these walls.

Beëlzebob entered the Midway Bar. He went straight to the Bartender, who after a short conversation pointed in the direction of the gloomy table in the corner.

“Get lost,” Flaga the Eagle-winged said, at his approach.

The demon next to her, who mostly looked like a giant fungus with teeth, curled a green tendril around their glass. “Yeah. This is a private party.”

Beëlzebob paused. He was stronger than each of them, he knew. But this was no place for threats. “Apologies for the interruption. May I sit?”

That wasn’t how demons talked to each other, especially not to a bunch of low-levels like them. They shared a suspicious glance. The one across from Flaga, some kind of feathered crocodile hybrid, raised his empty glass meaningfully.

Of course. “Listening can parch the throat so,” Beëlzebob said. “Let me get those refilled for you, and then we̙̮'̥͉̘ll̟̮ ț̳̮a̪̩̗̥l̯̹̹k̰.”

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 14

“Does this mean we’re free to go?”

“I… don’t know.”

Previous

Read chapter 14 on AO3 or read below:

Cardan and I pass the water bottle back and forth until it’s empty, without speaking. When he reaches over and sets it down on the floor beside the mattress, I know what he’s thinking. I’m thinking it too, but I don’t want to voice it aloud, because that would mean moving and doing, and neither of us want to do that. I want to stay tangled up in the admittedly horrible blankets, my side pressed against Cardan’s, while I catch my breath and take stock of myself. I feel drained and thirsty, but strangely loose, like someone’s stretched me out with a taffy machine. Like the kid in Willy Wonka.

But I am also sore, in ways I did not expect and in places that I did not expect either. Thighs, yes, of course. But my core? If I clench my abs it hurts. And inside, too, I feel a little scraped raw, and I wonder how I’m supposed to bang out a whole heat without tearing something if this is how I am after just a few hours. The first time is supposed to be a little worse, though. A little more awkward. Maybe the next one will be better. Then I realize I am making plans for the future.

I stop looking at the unfinished basement ceiling and look at Cardan instead. We have come uncoupled from our final round, so he is next to me, not flush against my back or chest like he had been. The light plays on his tousled hair and his cheekbones and very full—even more full now that they are swollen—lips. He’s always looked like a statue carved by a sexually frustrated hand, and this is probably the most obscene I’ve ever seen him, but there’s something at peace and almost angelic about him right now. I don’t know whether to be bothered by it or not. I look at the ceiling again, tracing a line of tubing with my eyes.

“They haven’t come to check on us in a while,” I say at last.

“Yeah,” Cardan agrees, but he doesn’t move to do anything about it.

“We should figure out what’s going on.”

“Well, we were very loud.” He grins. “They probably didn’t want to interrupt.”

His smile is infectious, but my own fades quickly. I glance at him, then beyond him to the door. “It’s been like twelve hours. I think we need to check.”

“You think I need to check.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Alpha.”

“Oh, no,” he groans, bringing a hand to cover his face. A blush is creeping into his cheeks. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s the only time you’re going to hear it.” Very lightly, I kick his shin. By now he knows if I meant it to hurt him, I’d just hurt him. “Go on.”

Cardan groans again, then rolls to the side of the mattress, rummaging for his clothes. I am disappointed when he stands and pulls his jeans back on, but, since his back is turned to me, I take a second to admire the way they sit on his hips. He actually has a nice ass, and it feels weirdly refreshing to allow myself to think it without judgment. A lot of guys don’t. I can see the scars criss-crossing his back now, and there are fewer of them than I thought, and more faded. I am relieved for a second—fewer scars have to be a good thing, right?—until I remember that there are plenty of other ways to beat Cardan without leaving permanent marks and feel a flush of anger.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling a white shirt I haven’t seen before over his head. “You’re all over the place.”

I bristle. He’s referring to the thing both of us are avoiding. I can sense him too now, the same looseness I feel in my body, the relief, and the same spiky undercurrent of nervousness. It has to do with scent, to how we’re now much more attuned to the chemicals the other person gives off. I should have known better than to open myself up to something like that.

Before I can open my mouth to dismiss his claim, Cardan twists around to look at me. The t-shirt he’s wearing says “I went to the Hamptons, and all I got was this T-shirt!” in big, kitschy blue lettering, and I nearly choke on my own laughter.

He pulls the shirt out, frowning as he reads the lettering. “I mean, is it that bad? Gauche is kind of in, right?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know. You like it.” Cardan crosses the room and knocks on the door. “Hello,” he calls. “It’s safe. We’re done now.”

There is no response. I sit up, wincing when my abs protest. They’re usually pretty prompt.

Cardan’s frown deepens. He knocks harder. “Hey!”

“Do you hear anything?”

“No.” He slams the flat of his hand against the door. “But they can’t have just—”

I feel the panic rising in him as it rises in me. Would they leave us shut up in here? Cardan and I had both started to like our captors, especially as they helped us through the ordeal that was my heat; it was easy to forget that they were career criminals, not paid to be kind. If they or their employer had no more use for us, would they leave us locked in here to die?

“Try the knob,” I suggest.

Cardan puts his hand on the doorknob, rattles the handle, and looks dumbstruck when the door springs open. “What the…”

I scoot to the end of the mattress closest to the door and peer outside. I see no one. The chairs at the folding table are empty. “They left?” I ask, incredulous. “They just left?”

Cardan rubs the back of his neck. “Were we that loud?” Off my derisive look, he adds, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Does this mean we’re free to go?”

“I… don’t know.” Wrapping one of the sheets around myself, I stand too. “We probably shouldn’t waste the opportunity.”

“Right,” he says, still dazed.

“Shower first,” I add.

He swings his head around to look at me. “They could come back. You sure you want to waste time on getting clean?”

“We didn’t stay alive all this time just so Madoc could kill you if he smells you on me.”

Cardan goes pale. “That is a very good point.”

I start gathering up my clothes—sweatshirt, shorts, tank top, discarded bra—while he goes to start the water. My ankle hurts less now, although it still twinges if I put too much pressure on it; three days off of it have helped it heal, apparently. I’ve never been great at giving myself recovery time, but maybe there’s something to be said for taking breaks.

When I limp to the bathroom, Cardan has already stripped down again and is washing off in the shower. He left the door open, so nothing is hidden. I nearly drop the clothes I am carrying, and scold myself. It’s not like I haven’t seen him before. It’s not like he wasn’t just inside of me.

But seeing him now, in the light, his skin glistening from shower spray, rubbing himself down with soap, is a completely different experience. I shake myself all over, remembering that he can sense me now and determined that he not know the extent of what I feel, because what I feel has so many dimensions—lust, longing, genuine affection—that I am a little scared of it. I drop my blanket and my clothes in a heap against the wall and join him under the water.

He both is and isn’t surprised when I step into the shower. I know he can sense me without looking, just like I’d know what direction to walk to get to him if we were dropped miles apart. It’s that thing we’re not talking about, that neither of us will name. Naming it will make it real. So instead of saying anything, Cardan picks up the bottle of lavender shampoo, squeezes a little into his palms, and begins massaging it into my hair.

I work very hard not to moan, but I do brace my hands against his chest. I allow myself that luxury. A splotch of color catches my attention, and I slide one hand up and gently press my fingers against the bite mark on his neck. “Did I do that?”

Cardan smirks, continuing to massage my scalp. “Yeah.”

“Huh.” I trace it with my fingers. “Are you mad?”

He pauses, and I have to force down a surge of panic. “I wish you’d asked,” he says at last.

My face burns. “I got carried away.”

“If you’d asked, I would have said yes.”

I look up. His mouth is curved with a sly little smile. My heart thuds.

“This is going to surprise you, but I haven’t gotten to make a lot of choices, historically. Not important ones.” He resumes lathering my hair. I have a lot of it. “I would have chosen you. I wish you’d let me.”

“Well, I—” My tongue feels thick and heavy in my mouth. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

He snickers. “Yeah.”

I step back to rinse out my hair. He watches me, not bothering to disguise it when his eyes trace over my body. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re both worn out. But, here and now, I don’t mind being looked at. My body, for all its myriad imperfections, got me through these last harrowing days, from escape attempt to the end of my heat and everything in between. He can like it. Maybe I can like it, too.

I stand on my toes to kiss him, and he wraps his arms around me, kissing me back as the water washes the last few days away, leaving behind the cloaking scent of lavender. When my hair is clean, I pick up the shampoo bottle and squirt some more into my hands. I hold my palms out to Cardan, who bends his head to me. And I help him get clean, too.

---

“You’re walking a little funny there,” Cardan says, later.

I glare at him over my shoulder. He is dressed, clean, his hair still dripping from the shower—and grinning like a cheshire cat. “I still have a bad ankle. So what?”

“No.” He circles his arms around my waist and pulls me into him, so my back comes to rest against his bare chest. I take a deep breath. His skin is still so warm. Nuzzling the side of my head, he says, sounding a little awed, “I did that.”

“And? Do you want a medal? Come on, we have to—” He starts kissing my neck, and I am briefly torn between rolling my eyes and pushing him back into our cell and onto the terrible mattress. In the end, I do neither. I close my eyes and let my head fall back against his shoulder. “Cardan.”

“I know.” He buries his head in the juncture of my shoulder and neck. He seems to like it there. “I know I know I know. Just a minute. Here.”

He takes my hands and pulls me across the basement, sitting in the empty chair that would normally belong to the Roach and positioning me so I stand in front of him. To my surprise, the next thing he does is wrap his arms around my waist again and bury his face in my stomach.

“Let’s not go up,” he says, his words slightly muffled by my tank top. “Let’s live in this basement.”

I rest my hand on the back of his head. “We can’t do that.”

“Maybe we can. The Roach was teaching me some stuff. Maybe we can get by stealing snacks from convenience stores and just be bandits forever. Basement bandits.”

I stroke my thumb through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “I have college.”

“You can commute.”

“Oh, sure.” I place both my hands on his shoulders and give him a little push. “C’mon.”

He doesn’t budge. “It sucks out there, you know,” he says. “It really sucks. And it doesn’t make sense, I know it makes no sense, but I think this is the best thing that could have happened to me.”

“Aside from all of the parts of it that were terrible,” I point out.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “Aside from that.”

“That was most of it, you know. I feel like the last few hours are really coloring your perception…” I trail off. “You don’t want to go home,” I realize aloud. “That’s what this is.”

Cardan’s shoulders tense. “Forget it.”

“Hey—”

He releases me and stands up. “You’re right. We should go.”

“Cardan.”

It seems like he is already halfway up the basement steps. Stupid long legs. I jog after him as best I can, catching up to him just after he pushes the door open. And then he is just standing there, taking in the ruined—or unfinished—house. I forgot that he hadn’t seen it before. With the sunlight streaming through the rafters, it is a pretty striking sight.

I find myself blinking. Has the sunlight always been this bright? I shield my eyes with my hand.

“What is this?” Cardan asks quietly.

“The Ghost said it was being built for somebody’s mistress,” I reply, even though that doesn’t really answer his question. “He said it was never finished.”

His frown is back. “But who—”

Then he stops, straightening, and I hear what he hears: the screeching sirens, then the unmistakable sound of roaring engines and car tires flattening the grass outside. We glance at each other and, unified in purpose, race to the front of the house.

We burst out the door to find four police cars, an ambulance, and two unmarked black cars swarming the house, tires screeching as they brake. The black cars race up the side of the field and come to a halt. The driver of the first one barely waits for the car to truly stop before he emerges, moving with surprising agility. His shoulders are broad, and even the adrenaline of the situation isn’t enough to suppress his slight limp.

Cardan is clutching my hand, or I am clutching his. “It’s Madoc,” I whisper. “Madoc is here.”

But Cardan is staring too, because the person who emerges from the second car is another familiar figure. This one has his cheekbones, his dark curly hair. “My brother,” he says, sounding surprised.

I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing—that Balekin is here, that Balekin bothered—but I give his hand a squeeze and let it go, knowing one of us needs to do something, make this almost normal. I start across the field, intercepting Madoc a few yards from the house. His face is a storm of emotions and they are all unreadable to me.

“I,” I begin, but then he pulls me, one-armed, against his shoulder, and into a hug.

Madoc is, as a rule, not very affectionate. He loves us, although there has always been something terrifying about being loved by him, but he hasn’t hugged us since we were children. But he is hugging me, right now. His hand presses against the back of my head, like he is afraid that I will be taken again if he lets me go.

“Dad,” I whisper, and I let myself lean into him. My shoulders shake, and I tell myself I will not cry, I won’t. I am done with crying.

“Jude,” Madoc says. “I thought I’d lost you.”

My heart strains at its seams. Maybe I will cry.

But then I feel a prickle of awareness and pick my head up to look over at Cardan. The police are busy securing the perimeter, so Balekin has gotten to him first, and is talking to him in a low voice. He has his hand on Cardan’s shoulder. It might be friendly, brotherly. But tension in his Cardan’s posture makes me think it is not.

“Wait, just a second.” I make myself pull back from Madoc, then walk over to where Cardan is standing.

Balekin takes a step back. There is a smile on his face, which could be kindly, but has too sharp an edge for that. “Jude Duarte,” he says, by way of greeting. “I understand I have you to thank for my brother’s safety?”

I bristle, because I know he must see this as a mark of Cardan’s lack of worth. Protected by an omega. It takes a lot of self-restraint not to grab Cardan’s hand again. “We looked out for each other. He saved my a—me, too.”

“Hmm.” Balekin’s eyes narrow.

“Can someone tell us what’s really going on?” Cardan asks. I feel his discomfort like it’s mine. “What the hell happened? How did you find us? How are you here?”

“Your phones and wallets were turned in at the police precinct,” says Madoc, coming up to join us. “Along with GPS coordinates leading to this address.”

Cardan and I look at each other. “Well, I won’t have to get my driver’s license replaced,” he jokes. “Good. Hate the DMV.”

“But who did this?” I ask. “Who was behind it?” I look at Balekin before I can really stop myself.

He raises an eyebrow, but he says, “Our brother, Dain.”

“He confessed?” Cardan asks, disbelieving.

“In a way.”

“He’s no longer a concern,” Madoc says with a finality that indicates no further questioning will be entertained.

Cardan and I look at each other. “But—” Cardan begins, just as I say, “Why?”

“The details don’t matter,” Balekin says. “Cardan—”

“We should let the paramedics examine them,” Madoc interjects. “Jude’s wounded.”

“It’s really a scratch,” I protest.

“Great!” exclaims Cardan, walking past me and toward the ambulance. Balekin looks frustrated, but lets him go and stalks back to his own car, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. I move to follow Cardan until Madoc lays a hand on my shoulder.

“Jude,” he says, in a low voice. “That boy.”

I notice the furrow of his brow, the slight flare of his nostrils, and wish the earth would swallow me up. “It’s all right,” I say, avoiding his searching gaze. “It isn’t his fault. He didn’t do anything I didn’t ask for. We were trapped together for a long time.”

“I didn’t think you were friends,” he says. There is a slowness to his words that suggests he’s choosing them carefully. Or maybe he’s judging me.

“I’m not sure what we are.”

“It’s very clear what you are.”

“Dad,” I whisper, scandalized.

His face softens. “We’ll figure it out. If you say he helped you, then I will take you at your word.” He releases me. “Go get looked at.”

To escape the conversation, I am more than happy to oblige.

Next

[marmosa]

if it were up to me.

George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: none!!

A/N: i don’t celebrate christmas, but if you do- merry christmas!!!! i hope this is a lovely treat for all of you that do and don’t celebrate the holiday. i’ve been binge watching the movies with my sibling this past week (we’re on winter break right now) and i was just on a roll (finally got some inspo thank god). but i loved writing this piece and i truly hope you all enjoy reading it just as much as i did writing it. happy holidays to you all, i love you tons <3

***

“Are you busy right now?” 

[y/n] looked up from the papers splayed out over the table in front of her, her lips pursing into a little pout of annoyance at her broken spell of silence. She grit down a sarcastic remark and looked over her shoulder towards the source of the sound, the venom bubbling to the tip of her tongue dissolving in an instant as she put a face to the voice. 

“Ah! George! Um, a little bit, but I have a moment to spare. What do you need?” 

He visibly relaxed when the soft tone of her voice ran through his ears, her inviting smile and outturned posture welcoming him into her space, “I wanted to ask you a question actually.” 

[y/n] furrowed her brows and quirked her head to the side, her brain rapidly noting and filing his odd behavior. George was naturally more calm in his pursuits and actions, well as calm as a Weasley twin could be anyway, but this seemed to her a bit overkill. As he stalked over, she picked up on the way he was wringing his hands and the corners of his smile were twitching. It irked her, but she resigned not to mention it. 

“Well, out with it already! You’re making me nervous just standing there,” she chuckled, using her ankle to pull out the chair next to her, motioning for him to take a seat with a jerk of her chin. 

He let out a puff of air and plopped down next to her, slumping his shoulders into the chair. [y/n] couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her at his display of annoyance, his eyes flickering to her face for what felt like the first time since he approached her. He could feel his smile twitch yet again as he rehearsed what he was supposed to tell her. 

“Okay, well it’s less of a question and more of an explanation and then a query,” he explained, obviously trying to dance around getting to the point. 

“Alright, out with it then,” she nodded, raising her brows with a tilt of her head to edge him on. 

“Uhm, Merlin, he’s a bloody git for making me do this,” George groaned, shielding his face with his hands and lulling his head backwards. 

“Who’s a- George if you keep beating around the bush I’m gonna tune you out and get back to work,” [y/n] huffed, her expression falling into one of mild irritation. 

“Sorry! Sorry- uh, you know Emmett right?” George began, his heart twisting in his chest with every word that started to tumble forth from his mouth. 

“Yeah, we have nearly four classes together. What about him?” 

“Well, uhm, he was too nervous to ask you himself- Hufflepuff and all, so he requested my services during potions. Came up to me, sweating awful bad, red up to his neck, and asked that I ask you if you’d go to Hogsmeade with him this coming week,” George finished the last part with venom biting at his tongue, his retelling obviously botched out of Emmett’s favor. 

[y/n] could feel the embarrassment bleed its way into every single crack of her face, her eyes bulging out of their sockets as her brain drowned in it’s process’. She quickly averted her gaze to the papers next to her, grabbing at some blank parchment and her quill. 

“That- uhm, wow! That’s incredibly sweet of him to ask. However-” 

George felt his heart begin soar at the ‘however’, biting back his extremely obvious shit-eating grin fighting its way onto his face, “Yes?” 

“I was actually hoping someone else would ask me to Hogsmeade, well not necessarily ask, more like officiate it as a date of sorts? I-I don’t know, but I unfortunately can’t accept his offer- lovely as it is! Of course,” she rushed out, chewing on the inside of her cheek to try and soothe the discomfort bubbling in her stomach. 

“So, that’s a no?” George questioned for clarification, more to fan his internal flame of victory than get an answer for the Hufflepuff boy. 

“Yeah, it’s a no- oh! But George, do let him down gently please, I know Emmett and he can be a bit overcritical at times. Just let him know it’s not his fault, I just happen to like someone else,” she trailed off, her eyes glued to her hand that had subconsciously shot forward to squeeze George’s wrist as he stood up to go dutifully deliver her answer. 

“Anything for you,” he finally let his smile crack through, his other hand reaching over and squeezing hers, “See you in the Great Hall?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, retracting her hand and turning back to her work as George padded away, leaving her to her thoughts. 

As soon as she was sure he was out of ear shot she let out a string of curse words, her head falling forward with a defined thunk, “Merlin, now I can’t finish my work at all.” 

***

“[y/n]! What took you so bloody long?” Esme called out from the table, clambering out of her seat to rush over to her friend who looked more than a little flustered. 

“Oh you know, the usual, running into yet another ridiculous unfathomable situation,” [y/n] shook her head, plopping into her seat. 

“Do tell,” Esme hummed, her lips curled up into an expectant smile. 

“Don’t be shy, give us all the details,” Lucile chirped from across the table, pointing at [y/n] with a fork adorned with a chunk of turkey.

[y/n] looked down and across the table, scanning the area to make sure George and none of his pals were anywhere to be seen. She let out a puff of air as soon as she deduced that the coast was clear, motioning for her friends to huddle in as best they could with their seating arrangement. 

“So you know how I usually spend my free period in the library doing homework, right?” 

The two other girls nodded, Esme already giving [y/n] that cheeky, suggestive grin. [y/n] frowned and shook her off, slapping Esme’s shoulder lightly with a plain ‘ew’. 

“Well George came up to me, acting all the more nervous, completely out of sorts for him-,” 

“A Weasley twin? Nervous? Someone pinch me I must be hearing things,” Lucile whistled, frowning when Esme kicked her leg under to table in a silent warning to watch her volume. 

“And then he spends forever getting to the point of his sudden appearance and it turns out Emmett set him to ask me to go to Hogsmeade with him!” 

“The Hufflepuff?”

“Yes” 

“Well, what did you say?!” Lucile urged, setting her drink down to minimize the splash zone had [y/n] given them a surprising answer. 

“No, of course! You know I like-,” [y/n] whipped her head around, doing yet another sweep of the table to ensure she wouldn’t be heard by the wrong people before dropping her voice to a hush, “you know I like George.” 

“No wonder he was nervous!” Esme threw her hands up, earning herself a few awkward glances from the people seated next to them, “he was worried you’d take up Emmett’s offer.” 

[y/n] could feel that same embarrassment from earlier draw itself taut on her features, as she folded into herself, “That’s a load of rubbish.” 

“No, Esme’s right. If you certain he approached you as awkward and nervous as he was, it’s probably because he didn’t want you to say yes to Emmett’s offer,” Lucile concurred, finally directing her attention back to her meal, “besides, I passed him and Lee in the hall earlier and I caught your name.” 

“What-?” [y/n] coughed, nearly choking on her food at Leslie’s far to casual mention of this piece of information. 

“Yeah and then when they saw me they went all quiet and headed the opposite direction of me,” Leslie nodded, biting back an amused smile as she watched [y/n] literally melt in on herself in real time. 

“You’re bluffing! That’s great news innit! Come on [y/n] you’ve gotta let yourself accept that he likes you,” Esme clicked her tongue, elbowing her in the side gently. 

“I won’t because it’s not true. Besides, we’re already going as friends and I think that’s quite alright for me,” [y/n] shook her head, shrugging off Esme’s side eye and disproving frown. 

“Whatever you say, Ms. denial,” Lucile grumbled, pouring some more gravy over her turkey. 

“If you don’t quit picking on me I’m going to head off to the dormitories and forget this interaction ever happened,” [y/n] deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout. 

“We wouldn’t have to pick on you if you’d just admit that he likes you already!” Esme nearly shouted, sinking into herself slightly when Lucile took her turn reminding her to watch her volume. 

“What’s all this about picking on [y/n]?” 

[y/n]’s face went slack with horror, as her nerves painted themselves plainly obvious on her features. She passed Lucile a pleading look not to mention anything, and Esme didn’t need to be told twice simply by the waves of terror rolling off of [y/n]. 

“Just teasing her for the whole Emmett thing, it’s quite funny if you ask me. Poor lad will just have to find someone else, but so’s life,” Esme chuckled, scooting to the side to make room between her and [y/n] for George to take a seat. 

“Exactly, that’s what I said! Which, by the way, he took the let down very nicely [y/n]. So don’t go beating yourself up over something you couldn’t help,” George mentioned, reaching around [y/n]’s shoulder to give her a squeeze. 

“Thanks George, I appreciate it,” [y/n] smiled, ducking her head slightly to try and conceal the water building up in her eyes purely from nerves. 

“He’s a Hufflepuff, he’ll cry it out, get a few hugs from his pals and move on with it,” Lee noted from across the table, he and Fred taking liberty to sandwich Lucile between them. 

“Aside from him, we heard you already had a fancy in mind- is that true [y/n]?” Fred added, leaning his chin onto his hand, a devilish quirk to his grin. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” [y/n] snipped back, sticking out her tongue in defiance, “Why are we even concerned with my love life anyway? Esme might be going with Dina, Lucile has got her hands full of potential suitors, Lee’s got his dates for the next month planned, Fred is practically tripping over himself for his newest infatuation, and George’s got- wait, what’ve you got George?” 

It was George’s turn to feign embarrassment, the red slowly seeping up his neck until it overtook his entire face, “Well, nothing in particular actually, it’s quite complicated-,” 

“Complicated in that his crush is shy and he’s shy and they’re both hopeless but he’d kill me if I tried to help, so we’re all just waiting for a miracle to drop from the sky,” Fred sighed dramatically, reaching across the table to snatch a roll from one of the quickly emptying break baskets. 

“When you put it that way it sounds lame,” George grumbled, passing his brother a bitter look, “It doesn’t matter anyway. Hogsmeade is just a bit of holiday magic, something could happen at any time.” 

“He does make a point there,” Lucile chimed in, nodding her head in agreement.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, you’re literally living your own version of The Bachelorette- if I can recall that’s what my cousin told me. Anyhow, if anyone needs a bit of holiday magic it certainly isn’t you,” Esme giggled, wiggling her eyebrows at Lucile’s less than amused expression. 

“What’s this Bachelorette you mentioned all about?” Fred quipped, his eyes sparkling with interest. 

“You’d certainly enjoy it, Fred. What with your lifestyle of charm and dazzling your fancies and all,” Esme hummed. 

“Did you just call me a slag?” Fred gasped, faux hurt painted across his face. 

“I did nothing of the sort! Don’t you put words in my mouth,” Esme threatened, pointing an accusing finger at Fred. 

George rolled his eyes at his friends’ antics and decided now was a great a time as any to slip away while everyone was distracted. He carefully elbowed [y/n] who was thoroughly amused with the electric banter flying across the table, her head snapping to the side at his redirection of her attention. 

He mouthed a silent ‘want to get out of here?” to which she responded with an eager nod. George’s smile widened and her made quick work of maneuvering his long limbs out of the table, offering a helping hand to [y/n] shortly after gaining his bearings. 

The two began to head off but not without Lucile calling after them, “Where are the two of you headed!?” 

[y/n] swiveled around with a messily concealed expression of excitement, offering their friends nothing more than a bouncy shrug of her shoulders before she turned back around and quickened her pace to match George’s. 

The cacophony of sounds echoing from the Great Hall slowly trickled down to nothing but a dull murmur, the occasional hallway conversation the only discernible noise through the sleepy castle. 

“So, I take it you needed a breather after that harsh interrogation,” George began, burying his hands into the pockets of his robes. 

“You wouldn’t believe. I swear they were moments away from drilling me for my Ministry administered ID,” [y/n] giggled, shaking her head, “honestly, you’d think they’d get tired of asking a question they never get an answer too.” 

“Very much so. Maybe it’s just blind optimism and a bit of hope that one day they’ll chip away enough at it that you’ll just give in and admit it,” He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders, “But who knows.” 

[y/n] hummed in agreement, pulling her robes tighter around her body to try and hoard every last sliver of heat she could as they wandered the corridors of the castle, “so, what’d you drag me out here to do?”

“Truthfully I just wanted to get out of there, I had no general plan in mind. But hey! I’m a Weasley, we’ll find something to do soon enough,” He grinned ear to ear, making a show of his jazz hands. 

“I’d usually recommend going out to sit under the stars but the snow and cloudy sky do make that a very unpleasant option,” she sighed, blowing out a puff of air from between her lips. 

“Oh! I know, I have the perfect idea,” He exclaimed giddily, “I know you’re going to start out opposed but hear me out.”

George grabbed her hands and drew her to the side, huddling his shoulder to try and minimize his size to capitalize on whatever privacy they had made for themselves in the tiny little niche in the wall. 

“It’s not against the rules is it?” [y/n] questioned, a concerned quirk in her brow. 

“Not entirely,” He trailed off, trying his best to reel her back on board when she looked more than a bit opposed, “But it won’t get us in trouble- or not a lot of trouble, at least. If anything happens I’ll take the blame, I swear on Godric Gryffindor himself.” 

“Fine, fine, tell me your idea,” she giggled, drawing her lip between her teeth to try and get her bubbly laughter under control. 

“Okay, so you know all those dusty, old, empty classrooms on the upper levels?” He paused, waiting for her nod of conformation, “well, they just so happen to be the perfect place to practice charms, spells, and the newest collection of Weasley Wizard Wheeze’s.” 

“You’re letting me see the new line?” [y/n] gasped with glee, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. 

“Not necessarily new, more like a final product. But more or less yes,” He nodded eagerly, his hair shaking with the aggressive movement. 

“Well, what’re you waiting for? Lead the way!” 

“Say no more.” 

***

“You were not lying when you said these places were dusty,” [y/n] coughed, fanning the invisible particles from out of her face, taking in the clothed furniture and dim windows. 

“It’s not the brightest place, but it’s not too shabby either! Watch this,” George muttered a spell and flicked his wand, all the candles and wall fixtures flickering to life before them.  

[y/n] turned to him with an impressed look, her arms crossed over her chest in pride, “Since when have you paid any attention in charms?” 

“Since forever! I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He rolled his eyes, getting on his hands and knees to search under the furniture for his hidden treasure, “ah ha!” 

“What’ve you found?” She quipped, jogging over to help him with whatever his search had brought him. 

“The new line of course,” He grinned, handing her a lovely orange and purple box, pushing himself off the floor to dust the particles off his robes, “Do ya like the packaging?” 

“It’s certainly bright,” She nodded, lifting the box up slightly to examine the bottom, “I like the ribbon though, it’s a beautiful shade of purple.” 

George felt his smile soften as he reached forward and pulled the ribbon loose from the box, dangling it in front of her, “Well then it’s yours.” 

“Really?” She asked softly, setting down the box, taking the soft piece of fabric from him. 

“Of course. It’d probably end up in the trash anyway. It’d look much lovelier in whatever way you intend to put it to use,” He grinned, leaning against the desk that held the box. 

“Thank you,” She muttered sheepishly, reaching behind her to tie up a section of her hair, “I love it already.” 

George could feel the blood rushing to his ears as he looked at her with pure adoration, his heart drumming against his ribcage so aggressively he was sure it was going to beat right out onto that dusty floor. 

“S’no problem,” He tipped his head forward courteously, “now, you wanna try out some Wheezes?”

“You bet I do.” 

***

“I can’t believe you guys managed to make all this stuff!” [y/n] squealed in childlike delight as she pulled yet another one of their confetti party favors, the confetti charmed to bloom into flowers as soon as they hit the ground. 

“It’s our passion, the thing we love most. I’m just glad it’s having its desired effect,” George chuckled, stomping on the now empty box of trinkets to flatten it out. 

“You guys are some of the most talented people I know. You’re incredible George,” She breathed, reaching down to pick up one of the confetti flowers, stroking its petals ever so carefully. 

George felt time stop. Her words looping in his mind like a broken record, her rolled up sleeves, out of place hair, and gentle handling of the flower an image he was never going to burn from his mind. He felt as if he could scoop her up right there and consume her in a hug so strong she’d melt into his arms and never leave them. 

[y/n] glanced over her shoulder at George, who was sitting crisscross on one of the desks they’d uncovered. Her smile faltered when she noted the way he was looking at her, a far-away look in his eyes and a weird quirk to his lips. She was suddenly extremely self-conscious under his gaze and she quickly straightened out her posture, coughing as if to clear her throat. 

“I look rather unkempt now, huh? Reckon I was having a bit too much fun,” She chuckled quietly, clicking her heels together. 

“You look fine,” George spoke up, suddenly in front of her. 

“You’re just saying that to be nice, I know there’s probably confetti in my hair or ash on my cheeks,” She shook her head, eyes flickering to meet his. 

Her heart nearly stopped, his gaze so intense it made her want to sink so far into herself that she just disappeared and never returned. She wanted to know what he was thinking, what had him so trained on her. It was almost certain in her mind that there was something up with her appearance. 

“Well?” She asked, trying to coerce some words out of him. 

“S’just a little smudge of ash, right here-,” He squinted, reaching forward and swiping his thumb right on the apple of her cheek, letting his hand linger on her face a little longer than it needed to. 

“Oh- thanks,” She swallowed, sounding far too breathless for her comfort, but pretending to not notice just how obviously out of sorts she was feeling. 

“No problem.” 

The two stood side by side in their own little world for what felt like forever, until [y/n] felt the bubble of words lodged in her throat finally pop and surge forward, “are you going to Hogsmeade with anyone?” 

Her brain immediately wanted to back peddle and come up with some shitty excuse as to why she asked such an out of place question, but it was near impossible now as George was already jumping to answer her question. 

“I was thinking it was just going to be Fred, Lee, and I. Maybe we’d run into you and your friends. Like every year. But-,” He shrugged, “I was kind of hoping for something else this time ‘round.” 

“Something else?” She echoed. 

“Like a date,” He continued.

“Anyone in mind?” 

George fell silent, offering her nothing more than a silent nod. Because when it came down to it, admitting feelings for someone when they were right in front of your face seemed more daunting than anything. 

[y/n] nodded and shuffled off to retrieve her things, straightening out her dress shirt and pulling on her robes. She could hear George behind her doing the same, a soft gust of wind letting her know he was also tending to the aftermath of their games. 

“Thanks for inviting me out to do this, it was fun,” She spoke up, still not daring to look up from her hands, continuing to pretend that she was still busy fixing her attire. 

“Anytime,” He replied, waving his wand to send the trash to the bin, ‘you’re always welcome to have fun with me.” 

“Good to know,” she hummed softly, “well, I don’t know what your plans for the night are, but I best be getting to bed.” 

George wanted to say something, anything, to try and make it clear that she was the girl he was thinking about. That she was the one he wanted to take to Hogsmeade on a date. That she was the one he wanted to drink butterbeer with, buy a cute gift for, play in the snow with, and then cuddle by the fire after it all. It was always her he wanted to do those things with. Always. 

But his words failed him once more and he finished the last of his cleaning, offering her a small gesture of farewell, “I have to find Fred and Lee, we sort of planned for something later tonight, so...”

“I understand. You lot are always having far more fun than you should be,” She giggled softly, “But I’ll be off then, I don’t want to worry Esme.” 

“Yeah, don’t keep her waiting. Merlin knows she’d have my head if she found out I was responsible for getting you in trouble,” He snickered. 

“That is very much true, she certainly would do that. Anyway, Goodnight George,” [y/n] waved him goodbye, shutting the classroom door behind her with a click. 

***

“You look far too down in the dumps for the night before Hogsmeade, what’s got you so low?” Esme questioned, hopping over the top of the sofa and sliding down next to [y/n]. 

“It’s nothing, really, I’m not upset, just sleepy,” [y/n] assured, shaking her head with a weak smile. 

“I know you and I know a liar when I see one. Come on, out with it, before I go get Lucile to talk your brains out,” Esme huffed, scooting closer and wrapping her arms around [y/n], “you can talk to me y’know.” 

“I know. It’s just-,” [y/n] sighed, letting herself relax into her friends embrace, “Everyone kept saying George liked me and I was really hoping he would’ve built the nerve to ask me to Hogsmeade. But it seems like I was right, and he doesn’t like me that way. I’m sorry to bore you with this topic again, it seems like the only thing we’ve spoken about for the past couple of days, but I- I just wished you guys had been right about us.” 

Esme could feel the sadness building up in [y/n] by the quiver in her voice and softening of her tone. It broke her heart to see her friend so distraught, especially over something as trivial as a boy. But she knew well enough herself how much these sorts of things meant to her and her friends and despite her urge to tell [y/n] to just push him out and party, she knew that would be of no help.

“I understand darling,” Esme cooed, squeezing [y/n]’s shoulder, “and I’m sorry things turned this way. But remember, we’re all going to spend time together tomorrow with our favorite candies and drinks, near the crackling fire with the winter blizzard swirling outside. It’s going to be lovely and just like George himself said, a little holiday magic isn’t the only opportunity to confess your feelings.” 

[y/n] giggled through her sniffles, rubbing her fists into her eyes to try and dissipate the tears that had welled up in her eyes. She knew Esme was right and though all she could feel was a dull hole in her chest at the prospect of only meeting George as a friend tomorrow, she knew Hogsmeade in itself never disappointed. 

“You’re right, no more tears from me, I promise,” [y/n] smiled.

“You better not, tomorrow is about fun, now off to bed! We’ve got a day ahead of us tomorrow!” 

***

The Three Broomsticks bustled with business, students of every kind huddled together with glasses of butterbeer engaged in cheery conversation. The three girls had found themselves tucked off in a cozy little corner, giggling about something or other, lips covered in foam. 

“And that’s when I turned to him and told him to shut his mouth before we both got caught and ended up in detention,” Lucile exclaimed, throwing her hands up and falling back against her chair. 

“Scandal!” Esme and [y/n] gasped, exchanging looks of intrigued horror. 

“There’s no way he did that, not-,” [y/n] stifled a laugh, dropping her tone to a hush “not in the common room.” 

“Oh, but he did!” Lucile broke into another fit of laughter, her head hitting the table with a thunk as she struggled to real herself back in.  

[y/n] finally got a grip of her laughter, trying to equalize her breathing pattern as she scanned the restaurant for familiar faces, her cheery disposition quickly dying out as she recognized the patrons who’d just entered the shop. 

Esme picked up on her change of manner and reached across the table, squeezing her hand with a reassuring smile, “It’ll be fine.” 

[y/n] returned a weak smile and nod, “I know. Don’t worry about me.” 

The three girls sobered themselves up as Lee, George, and Fred made their way over to the table all with cheery grins plastered on their faces. 

“Well ladies, how’s Hogsmeade been treating you so far?” Fred inquired, sliding into the booth next to Esme, Lee following suit.

“You know, gossip, jokes, more gossip-,” Lucile began, giggling at the looks the boys gave them. 

“And lots of butterbeer,” [y/n] added, raising her glass in the air. 

“Speaking of butterbeer, here comes our order,” George noted, rubbing his hands together happily as he slid in next to [y/n] and Lucile. 

“Lovely timing,” Fred noted, the table erupting in a cacophony of ‘thank you’s.

The table broke out into conversation, some involving everyone and others only demanding the attention of a few. Amusement, horror, anger, and disgust all adorned their features as they cycled through topics, never at a shortage of something to grace the table with. 

As time passed they found themselves outside, discussing where to head off to next, everyone with hopes of their own for the rest of the day. It ended up being decided that Esme and Lee would head off to the Sweet’s shop, Lucile and Fred would make a stop at the Instrumental shop for some personal supplies, and  [y/n] and George would be at the bookstore. Then they’d all meet up at one of the gift shops to search for some small gifts and knick-knacks. 

Before they all headed on their own separate ways, Esme made sure to give [y/n] a tight hug and some reassuring words. The group split and left each other to their own devices before they were to regroup. 

“Is there any book you’re looking for in particular?” George asked, quick to keep their dialogue going. 

“Well not really, I’m actually looking for a few bookmarks and some new pens and such. The bookstore has a lovely selection there, so,” [y/n] explained, glad he shouldered the burden of lighting a conversation. 

“That’s nice, reminds me that I do need some new quills. I have gone through far too many for comfort, my mum is going to gut me when we head home for break,” he chuckled, shaking his head with a shudder. 

“Come on, she cant be that bad. Besides, I know a spell to fix them right up, if you ever need it.”

“First off thank you, I appreciate it. Secondly, if you’re so sure you should come over during the holiday’s, meet her for yourself.”

“Are you inviting me over for Holiday break?” She asked, surprise evident in her tone. 

“I guess I am,” He chuckled, “Only if you want to, of course.” 

“I’d be delighted to join your family for the holidays.”

“Terrific! I’ll send an owl to my mum as soon as we return to the castle!” 

The book store run didn’t last for very long considering they both had an idea of exactly what they needed, the only dallied around the new shipment of quills that were fancifully decorated, as the glitter was hardly something anyone could resist. They paid for their things and stepped back out into the frigid cold, the snow surprisingly calming down quite a bit considering they’d expected it to only turn up. 

“Hm, it seems we still have a decent amount of time to spare,” George muttered, glancing down at his wrist watch. 

“What should we do? I doubt the others are finished,” [y/n] exhaled, the plume of air dancing in front of her before blending in with the rest of the atmosphere. 

“I have an idea, but you’re going to have to trust me,” He perked up, that same giddy excitement from the night before written all over his face. 

“As long as you’re not dragging me to the Shrieking Shack, I’m more than happy to come along.” 

“Brilliant, alright then, follow me!” 

***

“Oh, Merlin!” 

[y/n] gaped at the scenery, her eyes bulging out of her head as she took in the beauty around her. The trees towered high over them, covered in sheets of snow, the green peaking out as if to remind them that it was still persisting through the cold. A few patches here and there of purple flowers that had withstood the freezing cold, poking out from under the snow. A lone bench poised in the center of it all, the entire place feeling like a little nook they could call their own. 

“This place is gorgeous George! How ever did you find it?” She breathed, absolutely enamored with the way everything looked. 

“You’d be surprised what you can find with a few years of exploring and adventuring under your belt,” He nodded, a sense of pride swelling in his chest at her display of wonder. 

“Yet again, you are absolutely incredible George,” She said, more to herself than him, but still managing to get him flustered.

“I’m glad you like it, I’d hoped you would. Wanna take a seat?”

“Oh, sure!” 

She staggered over, dragging her feet through the thick layers of snow towards the bench, pulling out her wand to mutter an incantation so that the snow on the bench melted away, leaving it clean and dry for them to sit on. She plopped down with a huff of content, her legs finally getting a break from all their heaving in their monstrous snow boots.  

“I’ve always wanted to bring someone here, y’know,” George sighed, setting his bag of stuff down between his feet. 

“Am I-?” 

“The first person I’ve brought here? Yeah,” He nodded, a small smile unconsciously pushing its way onto his lips. 

“I- I don’t know what to say,” She nearly whispered, taken aback with just how forward he was being and just how lucky of a position she was in, “thank you George.” 

“Of course,” He grinned at her, his cheeks red from the blistering cold. 

“Hey George?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

His smile faltered and his eyes widened as he processed her request. 

“It’s totally fine if you don’t want to, I just thought I’d ask, because I got a feeling-,” She went off, trying to save whatever was left of her dignity. 

“[y/n]!” He grabbed her face, turning her head so she was facing him again, “you can.” 

He pulled her into him, their lips connecting in a sweet exchange. She felt her bag slide out of her lap as she scooted closer to him, her arms wrapping around his torso, trying to pull him into her the best she could with their awkward positioning. He did the same, pressing into the curve of her body as he held her face like if he let go she’d vanish. 

It was a soft and drawn out kiss, the two finally reveling in the fact that they’d both gotten what they’d so desperately wanted all this time. George could practically feel himself going lightheaded from just how overwhelmed he was. 

When they pulled away, he had that same grin, giddy joy practically radiating off of him, “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” 

“Me too,” she giggled, unwrapping her arms from around him to reach forward and tuck his stray hairs back under his hat. 

“Can we do it again?” He asked, eyes wide with childlike anticipation. 

“You can do it as much as you’d like, darling. I’m all yours from here on out,” She hummed, slinging her arms around his neck

“Absolutely wicked! Now c’mere, love.”

[bisexual-inuyasha]

The Hook

Chapter 2: Getting to Know You

Prompt: “I shouldn’t be here.” “Well you are. Don’t even think about leaving.”

The next morning, Ling woke up alone. Ed had reminded him Al expected him back. And besides, Ling was all talk. He could kiss Edward Elric but anything more would have to wait until he dealt with his suitor situation. It wasn’t cheating, he knew. But that didn’t mean it was right.

Was he a suitor when he never bothered to ask? Ling’s eyes were itchy with lack of sleep. His cheek tingled from where he’d slept on it. God, mornings sucked. Especially early mornings after a late night.

Even still… he smiled. Last night had not been a total waste. He wrapped his fingers around something warm and smooth, something that had rested against his curled stomach through the night.

“Young Lord, I’ve brought you a snack before your meeting. You barely ate yesterday, so I brought extra.” Lan Fan’s voice carried through the doorway, especially loud. “Do you need anything to drink?”

“He’s gone, Lan Fan.” Ling sighed, sitting up. He was decidedly less dressed than when he’d gone to his rooms. By the time Ed left he was too tired to shrug into his sleep clothes. He’d been missing a shirt and his pants had already been half off. He’d just stripped into his undies and fallen asleep under a mountain of blankets.

“What’s that?” Lan Fan sat across from him, her legs crossed and posture careful. “A gift?”

“You could say that.”

It was only a small cat figure, crudely carved from a soft wood Ling had never gotten around to figuring out on his own.

“It’s. Um, cute?”

It wasn’t. It looked awful. Edward wasn’t artistically inclined in that way. Ling couldn’t care less. “Thank you.”

“Speaking of gifts, you’ve got another. It arrived this morning.” Lan Fan took a bite of Ling’s food. “You should eat.”

“What was the gift?” Ling scooped up a mouthful of rice. “Who was it from?”

“Not Edward Elric.” Lan Fan spoke around her food. “The other man you’re supposed to be involved with.”

Ling’s throat felt dry. He coughed. “We’ve certainly not been meant to be involved yet, Lan Fan. That won’t happen for another month. You know there’s quite a long engagement process in Xing.”

“Yes, Sire. I’m aware.” She closed her eyes. He watched as she considered for a moment. “When you are ready for my opinion I will be sure to give it.”

Irritation flared through Ling but he let it pass. Lan Fan was always free to give her opinion. The only thing putting him off was that he knew what her opinion was. And that she was right. He took a deep breath and pushed a smile onto his face. “I await the day.”

Today was not like the last two. He had so much to do. It was not like his engagement meant the kingdom stopped running. And his hands-on approach to ruling meant he couldn’t shove many duties onto his advisors and court. He was entangled in all of the decisions, from clan relations to trade negotiations. He had all the details and all the paperwork.

So he dragged himself up, splashing cool water on his face. Lan Fan raised an eyebrow at his undress.

“It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.”

“No, that’s true. I used to kick your ass when you’d wake up half naked after getting mugged in the Hua clans.”

“I wish you wouldn’t remind me of starving days.” Ling put on a pouty face. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to respect me now, Lan Fan? I’m working hard as emperor.”

“I have the utmost respect for you, Sire.” She smiled at him, and it was genuine. She wasn’t too angry at him, then. “I just want you to be careful. You are walking in a thin place. The thin places are difficult to keep you safe in.”

“You don’t have to protect me from everything, Lan Fan.” He gathered up his robes. With a celebration came the expectation of finery. “Though if you want to help me into this ridiculous outfit, I’d appreciate it.”

She did, and by the time his first round of consultation was to start, he was fully dressed. His hair was pulled back today, in the proper style. He arranged his expression into an indifferent coolness.

“Don’t forget, Sire. You’ve got the matter of the gift to deal with.”

His stomach clenched. “Don’t worry. I won’t forget it.”

When she wasn’t looking, Ling snuck the little cat into his pocket.

The mysterious suitor’s gift was on his mind through the whole morning. As his constituents asked about the borders of their fields and the negotiation, he ran his thumb over the figurine in his pocket and tried not to look towards the table where the gift waited for him.

A maze of questions and conflicts and negotiations later, he was being led to the gift. A no stuck in his throat. Refusal built like a physical pressure in his chest. The urge to leave was so strong his hands shook with it.

His advisors were clueless. And of all the days, Lan Fan was busy with other affairs. She wasn’t even in the palace. For the first time since he was inaugurated, a clammy sweat broke over his forehead.

He stood at the box. He didn’t care what was in it. It wouldn’t change his mind, whatever it was.

But accepting the gift was a furthering. For every step into Xingese tradition he took, the expectation he would follow through grew. Maybe this is why he just stood, staring at the box, for several minutes.

The longer he took, the heavier the silence around him grew.

Low rumbling started in the back of the crowd. A few people grumbled and a couple shouted as someone aggressively, and rudely, shoved their way through.

Ed pushed his way near the front, a notebook in his hand, his metal fingers clasped around a pen. Ling heard him shout over the thin wall of people ahead of him. “Well, get on with it. How else are any of us supposed to know what’s in it?”

Ling laughed. He pulled the fabric wrapping from the box. It was a nice enough fabric. From far away, the cloth had just looked like a boring eggwhite, but up close he could see damasked swirls twisting around the corners. The box was equally almost boring--cream, slightly darker, with a line of gold around the opening. His expectations were low.

And good thing.

The gift was a simple, expensive shaving set. Ling felt like this was something Fu would have enjoyed. However, he, with his lack of facial hair and attachment to his other bodily hair, had no use for it. He quirked a brow, put the nice, ivory handled blade back into the oversized box beside the crystal container of what he could only assume was cologne. Maybe?

A single boom of laughter sounded from the general vicinity of Ed, but no one else seemed to think anything of the gift. And then, to his horror, one of his advisors cleared their throat.

“For when he is here, Sire. To shave your husband.”

Ling carefully closed the box. He was trying, and failing, to look nonchalant.

“Sire, should we respond with a gift in kind?”

Ling ground his teeth. “I will be in my room, crafting a response for my… suitor.”

He’d chosen the word specifically for its connotation of uncertainty. A suitor has not been accepted yet. The advisors all glared, and a few of the crowd closest to him gasped. He could feel the burning in his cheeks. Anger, embarrassment, and maybe a smidge of disappointment flooded his thoughts. He needed to be out of here.

Murmuring grew behind him, growing to a small roar as the heavy doors to the court closed behind him.

It was hard to stomp through all his layers but he did his best.

The kitchens were busy when he arrived. Lan Fan was elbow deep in a bowl of dumpling filling. She took one look at his face and picked up the bowl to move towards him.

“We should go, Sire,” she finished kneading the ingredients together and dumped the bowl into the arms of another kitchenhand. “Your face may frighten the staff.”

He shuttered his expression, pushing the emotions and thoughts deep inside until he could be somewhere private. It was not easy, and from Lan Fan’s face he could tell he was not fully successful. He tried, though, and that was the best he could do.

“It was bad?” Lan Fan spoke under her breath while she washed her hands.

He couldn’t speak on it. It was insulting, actually. The kind of gift given to a stranger. But worse so, because it was a gift truly meant for the gifter--a gift of expectation. A note that said one day, he expected Ling to serve him.

He did not become Emperor to serve over-confident old men.

The thought made him bristle. His face contorted into a sneer, despite his best efforts to keep a neutral expression. He turned away, so that only Lan Fan could see him. “It is best discussed somewhere else.”

She didn’t respond, only dried her hands and hurried from the room. Ling followed, though he could only go so fast without tripping over the length of his robes. The hindrance was especially frustrating, and even more so because he wanted to move. To push himself, quicken his steps and his body until he couldn’t hardly breathe.

He already didn’t want to do this.

He had a growing list of reasons to refuse.

Except.

Except there was a reason he accepted in the first place.

It was enough to fuel the fire inside him higher, until he was nearly bursting at the seams in his shuffling pace.

Finally, they were in an empty room. A quick glance around told him it was an empty washroom, and if not for Lan Fan’s very blatant disinterest in men, they may have been in trouble. As it was, she only slammed the door closed (a cathartic sound, though it did nothing for his thrumming body.) When she turned towards him, there was only concern. He hadn’t realized he’d expected anything less. But now, some tightness around his lungs loosened.

He’d been expecting a reprimand.

“What was the gift?” She started pulling his robes off of him.

Briefly, he wondered if this was unusual. The thought left his mind as soon as it crossed. He shifted his shoulders to help her remove the uppermost layer. “It was a shaving set.”

“Hm?” She moved to his front, untying a sash. “But you don’t have any facial hair.”

“It wasn’t for me to use myself.” Ling’s hands shook again. “Hua explained. It was for me to use, on him.”

Lan Fan’s fingers fumbled on the sash. “That doesn’t make sense, Sire.”

“It was meant as exactly what it was.” Ling stepped back and finished undoing the sash to his underrobe himself. “A notification of expectation. A signal that he wants me to be a doting husband.”

“I can see how in some twisted way that makes sense.” Lan Fan frowned. “Though he must be aware it doesn’t give a good impression.”

“He doesn’t think he has to care. He offered his hand in marriage without knowing me, Lan Fan. He wasn’t taking me into account at all. He wants Xing.”

“No.” She sat on an empty countertop. Her expression bothered him. “Not just Xing. He wants you, too. Sire.”

His skin felt raw. Only a few days ago, that may have been a relief. Now it was an irritation digging its way into his blood. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s been keeping tabs on you through the advisors. He has asked specifically after your health and happiness. The reports have been mixed, but he’s asked more than once.”

For a moment, Ling went cold. “Have any of them mentioned--”

“No. No mention of him. But the Amestrian does seem interested in you, specifically, Sire.” She frowned. “Though, I can say from your reaction to the gift that it’s a hopeless cause on his part.”

“What do I do?” He sat on the floor. At least a dozen tailors would be scandalized at his treatment of his clothing, but what did he care? Those same tailors complained every time he wore an outfit a second time.

“I cannot answer you, Ling. I’m sorry.” She smiled. “You should go to breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.” He was too angry to feel hungry.

“Ed will be there. Surely, he will calm you down.” Lan Fan smiled. “Besides, you should at least try.”

Ling closed his eyes. “I’m not putting the robes back on.”

“You’ll scandalize us all, Sire.” But she was still smiling when she said it. “Please, at least keep your head around the boy.”

Ling blushed. He left, tired and still irritated.

He ignored the stares of the others. Admittedly, his under robe and darkest, loosest pants were not the usual outfit for an emperor. It would take until tomorrow for the rumors to reach outside the kingdom. And when they did, he’d solidify them with his announcement of withdrawal from the marriage.

What had Ed called it?

A soft rebellion.

He sat, heavily, in his seat at the top of the table. Ed and Al sat near him, like they had the night before. Soon, this would become noticeable. Soon, he’d have to deal with all of the fallout from there. Right now though…

“I like your new look.” Ed tapped his fingers on his glass, taking a deep drink. He stared Ling down, questioning. “It’s certainly to stir up some talk around here. Especially with how you stormed out earlier.”

“Surprised you noticed over all your laughter.” Ling stretched in his seat. The dining hall was chilly as the flame of his anger started to wane. “Al, you wouldn’t believe how loud your asshole of a brother laughed at me in my own court.”

“I’m sure he didn’t laugh half as loud as he snored.” Al contemplated, rubbing their chin. “Though I guess he didn’t do much snoring in your room last night.”

Ed and Ling both squawked a protest but Al just snorted.

“I gotta say, though. Your kitchen knows how to make a roast quail that just melts.” Al took a bite, a nibble really, and savored it.

“Al’s a bit of a foodie. In fact, I don’t think they’ve ever enjoyed a place we’ve visited as much. They go on and on about the food here in the room. Do you know how much I had to hear about the sugared sweet potatoes? That was a half hour rant at least.”

“They were good! And one of the cooks said she’d share her recipe with me.” Al’s eyes narrowed, a slow and innocent smile spreading across their face. “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t had to hear--”

“Ha! An-any way.” Ed waved his arm, the shine glinting with the bright lights of the room.

Ling caught the metal fingers in his, and Ed’s face lit up like a cherry sparkler. “Did you polish this?”

“Uh…” Ed’s mouth fell open as Ling openly observed the newly cleaned screws and gleaming plates. “Well, yeah. I mean, if I’m going to be modelling for an emperor, I figured it best be up to emperor’s standards.”

“Silly Edward.” Ling pulled the hand towards his face, checking the wear and tarnish. The scuff was still noticeable at the thumb, bits of unreachable fade peeking out from beneath overlapping metal. “I like your hands either way.”

Al coughed. “People are going to notice if you guys keep all that up.”

Ling dropped Ed’s hand and turned to his food. “So you say the quail is good?”

His appetite did return. He ate steadily through baked quail, quail egg dotted rice, taro starch candies, fried squash blossoms, sweet tomato filled dumplings. Occasionally Al would ask about a dish and he’d explain whatever he knew--not usually very much--and they’d write down a few notes to ask about later. And occasionally, he’d glance over to see Ed, a wide grin on his face, eyes alight, cheeks still tinged pink, and his heart would stutter.

This was the feeling he’d dreamed of as a kid. This excitement buzzing through him whenever he looked at Ed. The easy comradery between himself and the two brothers.

Ling leaned over, keeping his voice quiet and his body language inconspicuous. Al didn’t even look up.

“Let’s meet up where we met the first time, tonight.”

Ed nodded, and they continued through their meal until Ling had to excuse himself.

If Ed’s face turned a deeper shade of red, Al didn’t mention it.

As much as Ling was enjoying his scandalous outfit, he couldn’t justify doing any more official work in it. He changed into a simpler, less heavy version of the outfit he wore that morning. He hadn’t seen Lan Fan at breakfast. He assumed she had a good reason for wherever she was. Still. He wanted to tell her he’d made up his mind.

He toured through the city, overseeing repair projects and brokering deals between bickering businesses. The people weren’t quite sure what to do with him. And he was still learning exactly how to be what they expected of him. His advisors had tried to shepherd him into similes of past emperors. He chafed under their pressures as they tried to fill a shell they’d formed for him. The worst times were when they could cite legitimate reasons for their herding.

For example, he was exposed and in danger while out in the towns. So therefore, they must be able to have him well guarded. This very logical set of observations was followed with therefore every step he made had to be very meticulously timed and prescreened. Theoretically, he would spend only a small allotted time at each job, and no more.

One thing was always true, no matter how meticulously planned his outings. Each job multiplied. If he showed up to discuss the demarcation of a farming plot, the result would mean that already grown crops would have to be divided. Inevitably, a dispute would have to be settled. Then, as is only polite when you’ve just told at least one person they’ve less crops than they thought they did, he’d sit for a tea.

Today he didn’t get to lunch. Or back for another round of celebrations. And this was the way it always went, for any of his days he spent out with the people.

It was his favorite part of the job.

By the time he returned to the palace he was exhausted deep in his very bones. The robes, lighter he’d thought than the earlier ones, weighed him down. And still, he had dinner to go through. And the aftermath of this morning to handle. He wanted to sleep.

Then, he remembered.

He had a meeting. After dinner.

His steps still dragged, but a little less.

He made his way to his room and collapsed in his bed.

Only to jump up a moment later, shouting. “What the hell?”

A body wiggled under his covers. Fighting his way from a mountain of plush blankets, Ed’s head popped up. “Oh, you’re back. You were supposed to be back hours ago.”

A soft smile lit his face despite the heaviness of his limbs. “I can’t half ass a job with the people. They’d never forget and the bitching wouldn’t end for years. Probably until I died.”

“Even during your engagement?”

Ling scoffed. “Don’t play with me. You and I both know that’s a sham.”

“You sure?” Ed hugged the covers to his chest. Ling thought it was awfully cheeky that the Amestrian could sleep in his bed, wake up, and immediately start asking prying questions. Maybe he should have been bothered. Instead he was mildly impressed.

“Am I sure that the supposed suitor of mine who I’ve never met, who has no reason to have any interest in a decades younger new emperor in a country with an assassin problem, is nothing more than a sham of political leverage?” Ling slid his top off. He’d put it back on before dinner. But now, he needed to be lighter.

“Leverage? And what does that mean, for you?”

This conversation was a heavy one. Heavier than the exhaustion in his bones. Heavier than the robe he’d allowed to slide onto the floor. Heavier still than the thoughts that had been running through his head all day. “Do you know how I became Emperor?”

Ed frowned. “You fought your way through the other heirs, made alliances, made deals. That’s how every Xingese emperor ascends, right?”

“No. I’d have never been able to fight my way through 43 heirs.” Ling rubbed his eyes. “Promises. I made promises to those I didn’t need to fight my way through. Promises that their clan wouldn’t starve. Promises that I wouldn’t mercilessly kill those clans whose heirs I did have to fight through.”

“Sounds better.” Ed smiled. Ling didn’t.

“If I promised you, right now, that I would fix Amestris for you. That utilizing my marriage to your ruler, I would root out and destroy the corruption that causes Amestris to spread into neighboring countries like a virus. How would you feel?”

Ed’s face shifted, first to anger then to thoughtfulness, before finally landing on doubt. “How could you, even if you did marry him? Amestrians aren’t trusting. They’ve been in war after war--”

“Exactly. And yet, with the resources of Xing, the possibility arises that I could. And this is the possibility I’m faced with. Right now, I’m new, and my rule is based on promises that are thin until I fulfill them. And some of them will only be fulfilled when I die and haven’t killed off the opposing clans. When people aren’t used to honesty, believing in good things will become impossible.” Ling sat on the bed, pushed aside the covers. Ed was still dressed in this morning's clothes. As any normal person would be, Ling decided. “Having a strong military force behind my decrees would go a long way to making people take me seriously.”

“Sounds cowardly to me.” Ed crossed his arms. Ling was going to have to reign this conversation in, or he’d get no sleep before dinner.

“Yes, cowardly,” Ling wrapped his arms around Ed’s waist. “I’m certainly cowardly enough, but maybe not enough for this.”

Ed fought back his grin, but to no avail. “Well, I can’t believe I was lured all the way to the palace under false pretenses.”

“You mean you don’t want to become my mistress?” Ling placed a kiss against Ed’s throat. He wouldn’t usually be so forward, but he had found Ed in his bed.

“Don’t think I’ve got the legs.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to anyway.” And then Ling pulled Ed down, curled around the small statured boy, and fell asleep.

This way, exactly, was how Lan Fan found them. Ed, lying awake in Ling’s arms, and Ling, deep asleep.

“He seems relaxed.” Lan Fan shut the door quietly behind her. “This is good. I wanted to talk to you privately anyway.”

Ed sputtered. “He’s right here, it’s not like we’re alone.”

Lan Fan gave him a deadpan stare. Then she opened her mouth, talking loudly. “Ling! Oh, Ling, it’s an emergency, Ed is cutting off my leg with his automail arm. He’s going to kill me Ling, watch out!”

Ed gaped, waving his free hand in her direction. “Stop it stop it stop it! What are you doing?”

But Ling didn’t wake up. He only snuggled deeper into Ed’s chest, wrapped his arms tighter around Ed’s waist, and hummed contentedly.

“So, as I was saying.” Lan Fan on Ling’s desk, glancing through some of his pictures. “You came here before he got back. Before lunch. You must be hungry.”

“Starving, actually.”

“Careful, he’s got to be starving too.” She rested her chin on her hand, staring him down. “He’s been known to nibble in his sleep.”

“You two are close, yeah?”

“What are your intentions with the Emperor of Xing?” She uncrossed her leg, hopping down from the work desk. “How can I trust you?”

“We had an interesting conversation about trust earlier.” Ed looked up to the ceiling. “I don’t have any intentions, to be honest. I barely know him.”

Lan Fan was at the edge of the bed now. He could feel her cool touch on his leg, a threat more than a comfort. “That’s not a very comforting answer, considering what’s on the line.”

“You couldn’t very well trust me if I lied to you, could you?” Ed swallowed. “I like him. I have since I saw him half-passed out in the garden. He was so far gone he couldn’t stand, and he thought the flowers were stars.”

“It’s hard to understand why you went out after him.” Lan Fan’s grip on his leg tightened. “I had assumed he wanted to be alone. Why didn’t you?”

“I--” Ed hesitated. How much did he want to tell her? “I’ve had that look on my face before. The one he had when he went outside. I hadn’t wanted to be alone, then.”

“So you just took a chance? Followed a hunch?” She sat on the bed. Ling shifted beside him. “And then stayed out there with him, until we found you.”

“He doesn’t remember that part, I think.” Ed spread his fingers over Ling’s arm. “He asked me to lay with him. I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

“You really don’t want anything from him, do you?”

“Just a chance.” Ed turned his face into Ling’s hair. “A chance to get to know him.”

“He wants you to.” Lan Fan sighed. “It’s time to get ready for dinner, now.”

“Right.” Ed ran his fingers through Ling’s hair, careful to keep the metal from tangling. “I should probably go. You probably wanted to talk to him, yeah?”

“I think it would be best.” Lan Fan didn’t move. “After all, it wouldn’t do for you two to arrive at dinner together, again.”

Ed moved carefully, lifting Ling’s arm and sliding out from beneath him. “He sleeps like a log.”

“Only after his visits to the people. It drains him but he loves it. He doesn’t do well sitting still.” She stood before Ed could reach the door, hand outstretched. “I think you’ll love him, before too long. I wish you good luck, Edward Elric. It is no easy task loving Ling Yao.”

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s worth it, every step.” Her hand hung in the air, waiting. “But he is emperor. And he doesn’t understand how important he is.”

“I make no promises.” He shook her hand and left, feeling somehow that he had made a vow, despite his claims.

Maybe he was already a lot deeper in than he thought.

They didn’t sit together at dinner this time. Ling was dressed in the robe he’d worn to town, only slightly rumpled, and smiling at everyone. A few people had attempted to ask him about his show over the gift this morning. He waved off their questions easily and changed the subject.

He’d even had one of the waiters sneak a baked taro bun over to Al, who had greedily devoured the whole thing. But he didn’t look at Ed.

Lan Fan stuck to his side, slyly moving him away from the less pleasant visitors. Ling pretended not to notice, but at one point he grew frustrated with a conversation, grabbed her around the waist, and did a circle around the room with her, ignoring any woh tried to talk to him. She laughed at him, and he ended up laughing with her. It was only a single round but it was enough to stir up the murmuring all over again.

The abrupt change had successfully signaled a change, however. The groups of people chattering needlessly started to break up into smaller groups, and music began playing. Ling watched as people stopped paying attention to him, concerning themselves with their own conversations.

He took a deep breath and sat down, rubbing his hands over his face. “God, that was becoming insufferable. I receive one shaving set and everyone has jokes and questions.”

“I think it’s more than that, Sire.” Lan Fan stretched. “Are you keeping your appointment?”

“A good emperor always does, right Lan Fan?” He grinned at her.

She squeezed his hand. “Just guard yourself, sire. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

He stuck his tongue out. “You’re always so serious. Never want to just have fun.”

“I have all sorts of fun when I’m with you, Sire.”

They both burst into giggles. He stood, brushing at the wrinkles on his top. “I’ve best get going. Ed disappeared quite a few minutes ago. He’ll be worried if I don’t show up soon.”

“Sire?” She tugged on his sleeve. “You do deserve to be happy. Don’t let any of us make you doubt that.”

A lump rose in his throat. “And is that your official opinion, Lan Fan?”

“That is always my opinion, Sire.”

He was still riding the high of knowing he’d be able to rely on Lan Fan, even if he made the selfish decision, even if he allowed his pride to rule just this once, when he made his way to the archway. Ed sat beneath, staring up at the tiny white flowers that dotted overhead.

“They do kind of look like stars, if you cross your eyes a bit.” Ed thumped back, stretching his arms above him.

“You’ll never reach them. They are the stars, after all.” Ling sat down and matched Ed’s pose.

“Do you remember asking to watch the stars with me?”

Ling shook his head. “No, I don’t. But I’d like to get the chance to try for real.”

“Well, that’s all up to you. I could always be your mistress.”

“You wouldn’t, you’re far too moral for that.” Ling hummed. “No, I’m going to call off the engagement. I can’t follow through with it.”

“Is this because of me? Don’t make a decision like that because of me. We just met, after all. What if we like different music or something?”

“Don’t worry. I’d probably have made this decision even if I hadn’t met you.” Probably. Maybe. Ling hoped he would have. “I’ve given up a lot to be Emperor. But I feel like this would be giving up more than I could actually bear.”

“I won’t argue with you.” Ed turned on his side. “I can’t say I wasn’t hoping.”

Ling opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a hand grabbing his arm. Lan Fan was here, and she’d obviously hurried.

“Lord, there’s been a development. We’ve just received word.”

Ling frowned, his brow pulling together. “What is it? Is everything ok?”

Lan Fan looked towards Ed, and then back to him. “Your fiance is heading here, to meet. He cites a misunderstanding as the cause, but I fear he may have learned of,” she made a vague gesture towards Ed. “Your extracurriculars.”

Ed’s face turned red again, a sight that would have usually sent Ling into cheery, warm feelings. But now his stomach felt it was digging its way into the dirt.

He would be meeting his suitor after all.

Ed grabbed his hand, already sitting up. "I shouldn't be here. People are bound to start showing up soon to congratulate you."

Ling didn't let go of Ed's hand as he moved to leave. "Well, you are. Don't even think about leaving me here."

Ed stopped, looking to Ling uncertain. "But--"

"Please."

And so Ed stayed, waiting for Ling as advisors came to tell him he only had two days before the King of Amestris arrived.

[hasspartacusdoneanythingwrong]

The Flame-Soaked City, Part 2

Mash, Jeanne (not the servant), Cris, and Kat's trek through Fuyuki continues! Mash has to come to terms with her new powers, while The master trio are learning how to fly blind. How will they react when their little journey gets a lot more crowded? Also, we get sidetracked and spend way too much time justifying the existence of CEs in-universe!

Part 1 here Part 3 here

(Note: anything <between triangle brackets> is being said mentally between the masters.)

Mash and Dr. Romani talked for a bit more about Mash's new condition as a pseudoservant. Before he was cut off by interference, he gave us coordinates for a leypoint, a source of magical energy that could give us a more stable connection. The heat was awful, but Mash's spirit origin was obvious enough that we could follow her footsteps to avoid the worst of the debris in our path.

Those things in the debris were nightmares, though. Mash could flatten them easily, but they were difficult to pick out in the haze, and we were already losing blood from our head wound.

As we neared the leyline’s focal point, I finally felt a source of magical energy that was different from all the skeletons that searched through the wreckage of the city.

Jeanne: Mash, is that... a human? Over there!

Mash: You're right, senpai! That's... the director!

Cris: <<Aw crap.>>

Kat: <Come on, don't be like that! The more people we find out here the better!>

Cris: <<Yeah, but she's had it out for us ever since Jeanne zoned out in the middle of her speech.>>

Jeanne: <<<I did not "zone out", you two were distracting me! How do you expect me to carry on two conversations at once?>>>

Cris: <<I don't know, but you can get plenty of practice right now.>>

Olga Marie: Well? What do you have to say for yourself?

Jeanne: Yes?

Olga Marie:...

Jeanne: ...No?

Jeanne: What are we talking about?

Olga Marie: How on EARTH did someone like you make it into Chaldea? The second it's possible, we're sending you back. We don't need fools on the front lines, especially not injured ones.

Cris: <<Smooth.>>

Jeanne: Oh, will you just-

Olga Marie: What was that?

Jeanne: ...Will you just... stay here, while I check on Mash's progress with the summoning circle?

Olga Marie: Well? Don't just stand there then, get on it!

Kat: <That was close.>

Jeanne: <<<As much as I know you would love to argue with her, Director Animusphere has a point, Cris. We're barely holding on as is.>>>

Cris: <<Oh come on! The only thing here is a bunch of skeletons, and Mash can flatten them in one punch! We're fine!>>

Jeanne: <<<Something is keeping these skeletons together, and I'd rather not deal with that while I am fucking blind, Cris.>>>

Kat: <Hey, we've all been through a lot. Let's just see how Mash is doing.>

Mash: Oh, Senpai! Perfect timing, the circle is almost complete!

Jeanne: Director, we almost have contact!

Energy flowed through Mash's shield and into the sigils surrounding it. Soon enough, Doctor Romani was with us again.

Romani: CQ, CQ. Hello, hello? Okay, the connection's back! Mash, Hannah, it's wonderful to see you again!

None of us actually went by our legal name, but it is less of a hassle than explaining the real situation, so we kept our mouth shut.

Romani: Sorry! I mean, er-

Olga Marie: Doctor Romani? Why are you running communications? Where's Lev? Put him on!

Romani: Director, you're alive? Wha-

Olga Marie: Of course I am! Now where's Lev? Why is a medic on the comms line?

Romani: I know I'm not cut out for the job, but there's nobody else.

Jeanne: What... what do you mean by that?

Romani: Currently, the surviving full time staff of Chaldea is less than twenty people. I'm the highest ranking survivor. Lev was supervising from the command room, where the blast was the strongest. There's no way he could have survived that.

Olga Marie: ...No...

Romani: All other the master candidates are in critical condition. We might be able to save a couple, but-

Olga Marie: Don't be ridiculous! Cryopreserve them immediately! We can worry about reviving them later.

Romani: Ah! Of course! I almost forgot they had that!

After putting the other masters in cryopreservation, Romani continued with his report. Chaldea's systems were crippled, and rayshifting out currently wasn't an option. Their comms were also cut off from the outside world.

Olga Marie: Very well. Romani! Continue with the repairs. In the meantime, Hannah, Mash, and I will investigate the town. If we came back empty handed the Clocktower would have my head.

Romani: Right away, Director!

The connection cut off, and the director focused on us.

Olga Marie: Unfortunately Hannah, you're the closest thing we have to a master at hand, so we'll just have to see what you can get.

Jeanne: What do you mean?

Olga Marie: Do I really have to spell it out for you? We're at a summoning circle! Summon another servant! Chaldeas was designed to power the contracts of dozens of masters, even in this state it can handle whatever dreck you can scrounge up.

Cris: Please. I'll have you know I was brought here because I have the compatibility of three masters!

Kat: <Definitely helps that we ARE three masters. Now hurry up! I wanna summon a berserker!>

Jeanne: <<<You do NOT.>>>

Olga Marie: Just try to get ONE other servant for now. Overconfidence won't help us any.

Mash and Olga prepared some materials for the ritual, and then I repeated a chant Olga fed to us. And then...

A deluge of information forced its way into our mind. Bones scattered in a desert. The tranquility of sunrise. The feeling of chains tying us down. The agony of warfare. ...A white squirrel? Each one forced its way in haphazardly, shoving the last one out of the way.

Cris: <<Hey, I think I got something solid!>>

Kat: <Me too!>

Jeanne: <<<I... kind of?>>>

The first thing I noticed once reality faded back in were the gems littering the ground around us. Even brushing against one of them brought back the flash of feeling from before, but not quite as overpowering.

Cris: <<Jeanne? Stop playing with rocks. We're surrounded.>>

The first thing Cris noticed was the dozens of spirit origins now surrounding us. Before panic could set in, one of them spoke up.

???: Now that you have command over the army of shadows, victory is at hand. You can rest easy now, Master. We are the Hundred Personas, Assassin class.

Olga Marie: What did you do, Hannah? I said one servant, not one hundred! How do you expect to control all of them?

Jeanne: I think they're a package deal, Director. Their spirit origins are almost identical.

Jeanne: We're glad to have all of you. Thank you for answering our summons.

Each one of the servants standing before us had only the most minute of differences in their spirit origin. I'm sure if you overlayed them all they'd form the original whole. So many bodies in a single graph... fascinating...

Kat: <Um, Jeanne? You can geek out about your servant later, there's a couple others in the crowd.>

Two new servants in the crowd stood out. The smaller one approached first. Her spirit origin seemed very similar to Mash's- this one was definitely a knight class! Judging by our connection, they must be Kat's servant.

???:It is nice to meet you, Master. Since I am still in training, please call me Saber Lily. I look forward to working with you in the years to come.

"Saber Lily" was an odd name, but we knew enough about people not to pry.

Jeanne: <<<Do you two know any lily-themed swordswomen?>>>

Cris: <<Of course, I totally paid attention in our History class. Who do you think it is, Kat?>>

Kat: <The biggest lily in history is that french one... Ahah! It's d'Eon, it's gotta be! I hear she's pretty! Gah, now I hope Cris got a caster, I want our eyes healed already!>

Jeanne: Thank you for coming. I hope this won't take that long, but I look forward to our time together as well.

That just left the servant Cris pulled, which was... oh no.

As the mountain of a servant stomped towards us, their spirit origin spoke volumes about them. Its fault lines and twists showed the unmistakeable marks of being forced into the berserker class.

It stopped inches from our face.

???: I am Berserker Spartacus. Sorry to ask this, but are you a tyrant?

[beetlelands]

okay this is probably the last one i’ll post. it’s from november 2019 and is called “son of a maitland.” bet you can’t guess what it’s about. oh and this one is just kinda chocked full of ocs so thats fun

-

-

At a family reunion Barbara Maitland (neé Anderson) was sat down by her parents after they heard her tell yet another relative that her and Adam weren’t ready for kids yet. They had heard the same thing from their daughter for years, but it’s not like they could blame her. Having kids was a big leap, but they were sick of watching her look so longingly at families.

“Sweetheart, we love you. We always have and always will.” Her mom started.

Barbara laughed awkwardly, “are you breaking up with me?”

Her parents laughed, her dad saying “of course not, sweetie.”

“You and Adam have been dating since your sophomore year of high school and you were friends far before that. You got married about five years ago.” Her mother explained.

“Thanks for reminding me, I almost forgot.” Barbara joked.

“What she’s trying to get to is that when you were little you always said you wanted to be a mother.” Her dad cut in.

Barbara’s face fell, “So that’s what this is about.”

Her mom nodded solemnly. “For years we’ve heard you say that you’re not ready for kids, but when you were five the one thing you were most excited about when it came to being an adult was being a mother. It just hurts my heart to see you look so yearningly at families when we’re out together. Or just yesterday when we when shopping, you stopped and stared at the baby clothes for a bit and didn’t think I noticed.”

“Parenthood is hard, and it’s always going to be. You’re never truly going to be ‘ready’ to be a parent. The world will never be perfect enough for your kid, but you can take the steps to make sure they enjoy the world- even with its faults.” Her dad said, giving her a gentle smile.

Her mom placed a hand on her shoulder, “We can‘t make you have a child, but we can tell you that while any fears you have may be rational, you can’t let them keep you from having a kid.”

“I- okay.” Barbara nodded, hesitation turning into determination. “I’ll talk to Adam.”

-

While Barbara had her parents intervene on the situation, Adam was stuck with his sister calling him out.

Adam Maitland sat down on his sister’s couch. While Barbara was at her family reunion, Adam was helping his younger sister, Jessica, move.

Jess plopped down next to him, kicking her feet up on the boxes that now took up the space where her coffee table once was. “So, how are you and Barbara?” She said in a tone he was all too familiar with. He really thought he’d make it through the day without hearing the question.

“We’re good” he said as he ignored the true meaning of her question. “We actually just started taking some couples recreational classes. She’s surprisingly good at ballroom dancing, says it’s the ex-cheerleader in her.”

“Oh come on, Adam. You know what I meant.” Jess teased her older brother.

“Look, everyone always asks. And the answer is always no. When she is pregnant, it’s not like we’re gonna keep it a secret. We’re just not ready to have a baby yet, so drop it.” He got defensive.

She put her hands up in surrender, “no need to get your panties in a twist.” He glared at her. She put her hands down.

Jessica sighed, her tone going serious. “Why are you so afraid of being a father?”

“Wha- who- I’m? What?” Adam sputtered.

“You’re afraid of parenthood. Why?” She repeated in different terms.

“I’m not afraid to be a father.”

“Then why haven’t you and Barbara had kids.”

“We’re not-“

“Don’t give me that ‘not ready’ bullshit. You’d be amazing parents, but instead you’re wasting your parental potential on restoring old objects and making pottery. Since when did Barb even like pottery?”

“We’re just not in the right place right now. The economy is a wreck, global affairs are fleeting. I don’t want to raise a kid in a crumbling society.”

“Oh my god Adam, do you hear yourself? You sound insane! You’re attached to this ridiculous need for perfection to hide away from your own insecurities.”

“Just because you took one psych class doesn’t mean you’re right.”

“Maybe so, but dude you can’t let such trivial things get to you. The world will never be perfect, that’s human nature. If you keep waiting for perfection, you’ll never have a kid.” Adam went to speak, but Jess cut him off. “If you want a baby, have a baby!”

“Okay okay, you make some good points.” He sighed. “I’ll talk to Barbara when she comes back from her parent’s house tomorrow.”

“Great! Now, let’s finish packing up my apartment. This couch has got to go.” She stood from the couch and offered her brother a hand. “Come on, grandpa.”

“I’m two years older than you!”

“Exactly.”

-

Adam whistled the tune of an old calypso song he couldn’t remember the words to. He was making dinner for Barbara- and himself of course. He was just about to plate the food when the door opened and the familiar sound of keys jingled for a second.

“Honey, I’m home” Barbara sung out with a small laugh. Adam smiled at his wife’s antics.

“Dinner’s ready.” He called out, and instantly he heard her footsteps approach the dining room. He placed the food in the two plates and carried them to the table.

“Welcome back honey” he greeted her, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. “how was the family reunion?” He asked, pulling out her chair for her to sit down.

Barbara sat and Adam pushed the chair back into place. “It was interesting as always. Like a pre-thanksgiving.”

He took a seat, “Was there karaoke again this year? I remember last year when your uncles performed (song) and forced your dad to join in. That was amazing.”

“Oh of course there was karaoke, have you met the Andersons?” She joked. “Granny made us all sing (song). And mom had me and dad sing (song) with her. It was wonderful.”

“I wish I could’ve gone, but I had already told Jess I’d help her move.”

“It’s no problem, babe. But they did miss having you around. You’re everyone’s favorite in-law, whether they admit it or not.”

Adam beamed, “Well I can't wait to see them at actual Thanksgiving.” They were going to do Thanksgiving at the Anderson’s this year and Christmas at the Maitland’s.

The two began eating the spaghetti Adam had prepared. They fell into a comfortable silence.

“Oh I forgot to ask how Jess was.” Barbara spoke up, totally not avoiding a topic.

“She’s doing well. I think she plans on proposing soon, which isn’t that much of a surprise considering her and Abigail are moving in together.”

“Aw that’s sweet.” She smiled, definitely reflecting on when Adam proposed to her.

“Jess actually brought something up yesterday.”

“Oh? What was it?”

“Well she asked the question as usual, but this time she was adamant about my answer.”

“Oh” she said quietly.

“She asked why I was scared to be a parent and when I answered, she told me that I was insane.”

“Well what was your answer?”

“I told her that I wasn’t afraid, I just didn’t want to raise a kid in a crumbling society. And she brought up a good point.” He sighed, placing his fork down, his spaghetti long forgotten. “Barbara, if we keep waiting for the world to be perfect, we’ll never have a kid.”

“Wow okay, my parents brought up a surprisingly similar point.”

“Do you think they conspired against us?” Adam asked, glancing around the room as if they were being watched, earning a small giggle from his wife.

“Dad said that things will never be easy and that there’s no true way to be ready for parenthood. But what really stuck with me was when he said ‘The world will never be perfect enough for your kid, but you can take the steps to make sure they enjoy the world even with its faults.’”

The couple fell silent for a few beats.

“Barbara?” She answered with a hum. “Do you want to have a child with me?”

“I- yes!” She grinned.

“But like not right now, right?”

“We should finish dinner first.”

“Oh okay wow, we’re just jumping right into it.” He awkwardly cleared his throat.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight, honey.”

“I just- this time it’s for real. It should be special right?”

“What’s more special than a home cooked meal?” She asked somewhat jokingly.

“I love you so much” he smiled squeezing her hand from across the table.

“I love you too so much.”

-

The couple ended up not trying that night, but they were sure to try time and time again in the following month(s). One day she took a pregnancy test and boom that shit was finally positive.

At the start of her second trimester, they told their immediate family about Barbara’s pregnancy. At the (?) week mark, they threw a baby shower. It was wonderful. And on March 7 of (year), Connor Maitland was born!!

-

The boy was almost 15 and in his last semester of freshman year. While he was at school, Barbara and Adam were cleaning the house. They weren’t necessarily expecting guests, but the place was due for a good cleaning. Music played on the radio that was placed on the stairs to better filter the music throughout the house. The Maitlands sang and danced along to the music. Adam stepped on a creaky floorboard and called out to Barbara to put fixing it on their to do list. He continued on with his cleaning, sweeping. Barbara entered the living room, a slower song now playing on the radio. She giggled at the sight of Adam slow dancing with the broom.

“Mind if I cut in?” She asked, looking from the broom to her husband. Adam gave a cheeky smile, placing the broom against the wall. And so the couple danced, Adam taking the lead. As the song came to an end, Adam dipped Barbara. When he brought her back up, she kissed him. The two would have continued kissing if the next song didn’t start playing. It was an upbeat song, and just so happened to be a song that Adam had put on a mixtape for Barbara way back in the day. She claimed it was one of her favorite songs because it reminded her of him. They danced again, this time Barbara leading. She spun Adam out and the two danced separately for a bit. Adam shook invisible maracas to the music, making Barbara laugh. The two had the same idea, jumping towards each other to continue their dance. But alas the place they landed was where the creaky floorboards were, they sunk through the floor crashing into the basement.

-

The door creaked open, causing Connor to wince at the sound. He closed the door upon entry, allowing himself to focus on the loud music playing from the old record player. The track skipped a few beats, almost as if mimicking the young boy’s heart beats.

“Mom? Dad?” He called out, putting his book bag down by the door. He slipped off his shoes before walking away from the door, heading towards the kitchen.

He noticed the large hole in the ground, and his pulse quickened. He approached the hole, peeking down to see what his below their house.

The record stopped playing as the boy looked. Connor’s eyes grew wide, and the sudden lack of noise left him drowning in his own thoughts. He scrambled back from the gaping hole, hands over his mouth. The tears forming in his eyes burned. He shook his head, sputtering the word “no.”

With a shaking hand, he pulled out his phone. He called the police, detailing the situation. His clammy hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he spoke, trying to find some sense of grounding.

Once he was done talking to the police, he called his aunt Jess. Technically his mom’s cousin Jane lives closer to them, but Jess was just a city out and he favored her over Jane. He held back his sobs as he spoke with her, but as soon as she said she was on her way, he hung up and allowed himself to mourn.

The boy sat down on the couch, curled into the fetal position. His sobs visibly shook his body. He had so many questions- namely how did this happen and why did it have to be his parents? His head pounded a sickening beat.

Connor didn’t watch when his parents’ bodies were taken away. He was barely responsive when the police asked him questions. His aunt Jess arrived and he felt like he finally found some sense of grounding. Her familiar voice was comforting. The police left because I make the rules. Jess sat down next to the crying boy, asking softly if she could touch him. Connor nodded and she wrapped her arm around him, a sideways hug of sorts considering his fetal position on the couch. He fell into her arms and she held him closely. The aunt and her nephew sat there for what felt like hours before the woman spoke up.

“Do you want to stay here?” She asked softly. Connor hesitantly shook his head no. Sure, he didn’t want to leave his home, but would it really be a home without his parents?

“Do you want to stay with me?” He nodded yes, unsure of where else he’d go. Sure, he could go live with either set of grandparents but he didn’t really want to leave his school district. He had already lost his parents, he didn’t need to lose his friends too.

“Are you ready to go now?” Connor didn’t respond. He felt like he’d never be ready. But he needed to get out of his house, the air felt heavy and contaminated by the happy memories he had of his parents. Jess didn’t rush him to answer, just softly rubbed circles into his back. Connor eventually nodded and she tapped his back twice, signaling to him that she was getting up, before retracting herself from him and standing up. Jess offered him her hand and pulled him up onto his feet.

The aunt guided her nephew out of the house, grabbing his book bag by the door. And with that they left, Jess telling him that she would handle getting all of his stuff from the house so he didn’t have to go back unless he wanted to. He didn’t want to.

-

Grieving is hard. Attending his parents’ funeral was like finding their dead bodies in the basement all over again.

Connor hated the funeral. Hated how people he never knew pitied him. Hated how their condolences were rehearsed and repetitive. They didn’t care- not like he did. The only people there that truly cared about his loss were his grandparents and aunt. But that’s because the death of Adam and Barbara was the loss of their children and her brother.

The funeral was over soon enough, and Connor was able to continue on with his life. Well it wasn’t that easy. The boy drowned himself in tasks to distract from his pain. He picked up several hobbies, not quite enjoying any of them but forcing himself to continue doing them. After six months, Connor had pushed his emotions to the side so often that he almost felt numb when someone mentioned his parents.

-

Lydia Deetz’s mother died six months ago. Now here she was, having left the Big Apple for some small town in Connecticut. But the good thing about the new house was that it was haunted! Sure, the ghosts were very vanilla but they were sweet and still ghosts nonetheless. When she had gotten to know the ghosts, Adam and Barbara Maitland, they mentioned their son Connor. Adam asked Lydia when she would be enrolling into school, and meekly asked her if she would look for their son. Just to check on him, because they haven’t had any contact with him since they died. Lydia sympathized with Connor and was quick to agree to the Maitland’s task.

But before Lydia could even start to think about said task, a certain demon came into her life. That’s right. Lawrence Betelgeuse “Beetlejuice” Shoggoth. The bio-exorcist himself, the ghost with the most.

We all know how that story goes. Lydia summons Beej, all hell breaks loose, dance break, yada yada, knock knock knock, uwu family, another dance break, Beej goes back to the netherworld, shake shake shake Senora.

It had been a month since the Beetlejuice situation had been dealt with and it was time for Lydia to go to school. She was bummed to have to return to normalcy, or as close to normal as Lydia could achieve.

Lydia left out for school, reminding herself of her promise to the Maitlands. She was to find Connor and tell him of his parents’... situation. She would have to explain the whole being dead thing. Despite having come to terms with Emily’s death, a part of Lydia was jealous to know that he would get his parents back and she couldn’t get her mom back. She knew it was wrong to feel that way, but she was only human after all.

-

Lydia looked down at the picture in her hand one last time before pocketing it. It was a picture of Adam, Barbara, and Connor. It had a note on the back that the Maitlands wrote for their son. Lydia had studied the boy’s face all weekend, having looked at several pictures with Adam and Barbara.

She walked through the hallway, looking around. The school wasn’t too big, so she shouldn���t have too much of a problem. But there were still quite a bit of people. She continued toward her locker, listening in on conversations in hope of hearing his name.

It had reached the end of the day and Lydia still hadn’t seen Connor. She had given up hope for the day, deciding she should try again tomorrow because he may be sick or something. She walked down the hallway, disappointed that she couldn’t talk to him that day.

Lydia was walking on the sidewalk, passing the school. That’s when she turned a corner and bumped straight into the person she had been looking for. She had nearly fallen down from the impact but the boy caught her.

“I’m so sorry” they said in unison, laughing a little at their synchronization.

“I should’ve been paying attention.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. The action reminded her of Adam.

“I think we both could’ve been paying more attention than we were. But at least no one was injured.” She shrugged.

He nodded in agreement, smiling. He went to continue walking, but she cleared her throat. “You’re Connor Maitland, right?” She asked meekly.

“I- yeah? How do you- why?” He sputtered, understandably confused.

“I know your parents.”

“I think you mean ‘knew’” He mumbled, looking down.

“No, I know what I said.”

His head jerked up. “What- you- huh?” He subconsciously pushed up his glasses.

“We have a lot to discuss, Connor.” She stuck her hand out towards him and he hesitantly grabbed it. They shook hands. “I’m Lydia Deetz.”

“We, uh, we can go somewhere to talk?” He hesitantly suggested. “There’s a bench not far from here.” He nodded in the direction of the bench.

“Lead the way” she smiled, motioning for him to go.

They sat down on the bench. Connor wrung his hands together, mind racing as he waited for Lydia to speak. Another one of Adam’s mannerisms, she noted.

“Long, medium, or short version of the story?”

“Uh, medium I guess” he shrugged.

“Good choice.” She nodded before jumping right into the story. “I moved into your old house with my dad and Delia, just a week ago or so. We’re from New York, but that’s not important right now.” She cleared her throat, deciding not to talk about Emily. “Your parents are ghosts.” She said bluntly.

“What?” Connor muttered, furrowing his brows.

“They tried to scare my family out of the house. But it really didn’t work. I tried to help them scare my dad so we could go back to New York. But he couldn’t see Adam and Barbara, and he didn’t believe me. Adam, Barbara, and I decided to come up with a plan to scare my dad and Delia. They were planning a dinner party, so we decided to cut in on that. It was great. Adam and Barbara were able to possess the guests and had everyone sing Day-O. It wasn’t exactly scary, but it was just up their alley. But that didn’t work. It just made dad want to stay more. He wanted to profit off the house. Some stuff went down, like a lot of convoluted stuff that I’ll tell you later. I don’t want to overwhelm you.” Too late. “Point is, now we all live like one big family. Adam, Barbara, Delia, Dad, and me.” She smiled. “Anyway, your parents asked me to try to find you, to let you know they were still around. They miss you, a lot. This weekend we went through scrapbooks and they told me a lot of stories about you. Oh! Speaking of..” she trailed off, reaching into her book bag. She pulled out the picture of Adam and Barbara with Connor. She handed it to him. “There’s a note for you.”

Connor read the note, and began tearing up. Lydia wondered what the note said, having previously decided to not snoop despite her curiosity.

“I don’t know what to say” he said quietly, taking off his glasses to rub away the tears falling from his eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything- not until you’re ready.” She shrugged.

Connor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He sniffled as his tears slowed to a stop. He placed his glasses back on his face.

He slipped the note into his jacket pocket, sighing. “Thank you- for bringing me the note, for talking to me, for giving me time to process everything. Just. Thank you, Lydia.”

“It’s no problem, Connor. I’m just glad you actually took time to listen to me and didn’t just write me off as some crazy person.” She said with a small laugh and he smiled.

“Can I give you a letter to bring to them tomorrow? And can you tell them that I love them.”

“You could always come over” she suggested. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Or if you need more time-“

“No no, I would like to see them”

“Then you should be able to see them.” She shrugged.

“Okay nice. Just ask your dad if I can come over tomorrow, and we can walk together after school. I know Aunt Jess will let me go, as long as I don’t give her all the details of course. She’ll just be glad I’m finally hanging out with someone outside of marching band practice.”

She smiled, “That’s fair.”

He looked down at the watch on his wrist. “Oh I gotta go. Again, thank you.” He stood up, pulling his book bag onto his shoulders. “Bye, Lydia!” He said before running off.

“Bye, Connor!” She called after him. He gave her a backward wave before turning the corner.

Lydia pumped her fist in success. She grabbed her book bag and headed home.

-

She placed her book bag by the door, taking off her shoes. “Adam! Barbara!” She yelled up the stairs. “I’m home!” She would’ve been quieter, but her dad was at work and Delia was out shopping so she didn’t have to worry about them complaining about her shouting.

The ghosts flew down the stairs, tumbling to a stop in front of the teenager. Lydia laughed, “why don’t you just go through the floor and ceiling?”

“Feels weird” Adam shrugged. “But that’s not what’s important.” He started.

“Did you talk to him?” Barbara asked, clearly excited for the answer.

“Yeah!” Lydia smiled.

“How’d it go?” Adam asked nervously.

“He didn’t freak out when I explained the situation to him. He cried at the note you wrote him and said he wanted to write a letter back to you. But I invited him to come to the house tomorrow- if that’s okay with you guys.”

“Of course it’s okay!” Barbara celebrated with Adam.

“Wait, we should ask your dad- or Delia.” Adam said, earning bids from his wife and Lydia.

“Dad will definitely say yes to Connor coming over. Ever since we went to the Netherworld, he’s been all soft when it comes to family things. But don’t tell him I told you that.”

“Our lips are sealed” Adam joked. In unison, him and Barbara pretended to zip their lips. However, Adam’s lips became actual zippers.

Lydia and Barbara laughed. The visual joke reminded Lydia of Beetlejuice but she wouldn’t say so. The man reverted his lips back to normal.

“Honey, that was terrible.” Barbara said, shaking her head.

“You loved it” He teased, poking at her side.

She swatted his hand away, giggling. “Maybe I did.” She shrugged, regaining composure.

Lydia smiled at the couple’s soft antics, despite the teenager daughter in her telling her to pretend to be disgusted. “I can’t believe you’ve figured out advanced dad jokes.”

“Can’t wait to annoy Conn with them.” He beamed. Barbara smiled softly at the sentiment, rubbing his arm endearingly.

“He’ll love them” she said quietly.

Lydia didn’t want to encroach on their moment which was clearly personal, but wasn’t sure if she should leave or not.

“I now have two children to bother with my dad jokes!” Adam pumped a fist into the air, clearing any of Lydia’s doubts on her presence in the room.

“Oh no” Lydia deadpanned, pretending to be upset by the notion.

“Oh yes. The dad jokes- or should I say rad jokes- are just getting started.”

“No, no, you should not say” Lydia shook her head, but was unable to prevent herself from laughing a little.

-

Lydia and Connor walked side by side on the sidewalk after school. Charles had, unsurprisingly, said yes to Connor coming over and Delia declared that she would make cookies for the boy (and Lydia of course). They walked in a comfortable silence- at least it was comfortable for Lydia. Connor was having a little breakdown over seeing his parents again. They were almost to the house when he finally spoke.

“Okay so how does this all work?” He asked suddenly, looking over to her.

“What?”

“My parents are ghosts” he said simply.

“Oh yeah, I suppose I didn’t really explain the whole being dead thing. I don’t know how all of it works, considering I’m not dead, but I can try to explain from our side of things.” She shrugged and he nodded for her to continue. “It’s really all just about the willingness to acknowledge the strange and unusual. Almost everyone just turns a blind eye when something odd happens, they move on. To put it simply: they don’t look, so they can’t see. I discovered Adam and Barbara in the house because I was raised to like the strange and unusual. Hell, I myself am strange and unusual. So, I was able to see them as ghosts.”

“All I have to do is want to see them? To believe they’re there?”

“I mean yeah basically.”

“And can I touch them?”

“Yeah they've been learning how to interact more with the living realm. Ghost time works different than our time, so while it’s only been a few days since they’ve been ghosts they’ve had plenty of time to practice being corporeal.”

“Have you met any other ghosts?”

“I met a demon, but I haven’t really been around the town enough to really try to find ghosts. Then again, there might not be any as all ghosts are to proceed directly to the Netherworld. Adam and Barbara just didn’t get the memo, and when they did, they didn’t want to leave.” She shrugged.

“I’m glad they didn’t.” Connor smiled.

They made it to the Deetz-Maitland house and Lydia opened the door for Connor to enter. She came in after him, closing the door.

Lydia walked passed him, cupping her hands over her mouth as she shouted up the stairs. “Adam, Barbara! We’re here!” From the kitchen Delia called for her to stop yelling. Lydia rolled her eyes.

The ghosts ran down the stairs, not wanting to overwhelm Connor by flying. The boy stared at his parents and they stared back, wondering if he could see them. Lydia gave Connor a thumbs up from over his ghost-parents’ shoulders.

Connor took a deep breath to calm his nerves but his breath was shaky. His eyes were starting to water. They looked the same as they had that morning when he left for school. They looked the same as they did when he saw their dead bodies in the basement- albeit cleaner.

“Hey kiddo” Adam said cautiously. His voice made tears fall from Connor’s eyes.

“We missed you” Barbara said softly, voice wavering as she wept.

“I mi-ssed you t-oo” his words broke as he cried.

The parents hugged their son, and they stayed like that for a while. Lydia left them alone, going to bother Delia in the kitchen.

They pulled from the hug, and Barbara held her son’s face in her hands. Tears stained the ghost’s cheeks. Her cold hand grazed his cheek.

“You’ve gotten so big.” Her smile was soft, almost sad.

Adam ruffled his hair, “You’ve got to stop growing kiddo, you can’t be taller than me.”

They laughed, but Connor didn’t push his dad’s hand away like he used. He relished in their presence.

-

-

and again that’s it. that’s all i wrote xx

[my-one-true-l]

Could u write a micro fic of the wammy boys would react to thinking their s/o was cheating. And even went to the extent to interrogate their s/o, only to find out their s/o were planning them a gift 💫 could be angsty sfw or nsfw, up to u ♥️

 Here you go, Dear Anon. 🖤

“You’ve been distracted as of late.” L’s eyes looked darker than usual, his hunch more exaggerated. “Is something keeping your attention?”

They laughed airily, a veiled attempt to hide their nerves. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ryuzaki. Everything is fine.”

“Ryuzaki? You always make a point of calling me L when we are not in the company of others. I’m aware that we are unconventional, but I assumed you were happy.” He paused momentarily before the words spilled from his mouth. “Is there someone else?”

He feared the answer, his stomach twisting with anticipation that he had been betrayed.

“What?” Their face dropped into sullen features. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Your sudden change in behavior can be construed as the actions of one being unfaithful.”

Their expression shifted from sorrow to sly. “I would never do that, but since you are you I will let it slide.” They walked to their room, rustling within the walls before they returned, a small box in hand. “I was planning on giving this to you later and since you are so good at finding things, I was worried it would be spoiled before then. So here you go.”

“This is the explanation for your suspicious actions?” He lowered his head and looked up at them softly, taking the box in hand. “Why did you get me something? It isn’t a date of any importance.”

“It’s a just because gift.”

“What is it?” He asked, a tiny smile on his lips.

“Open it and find out.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mello stared out the window, eyes fixed on the street in front of his apartment. They had been gone for hours, something that had become a habit over the last month. His scowl grew heavy by the second until their car pulled up to the curb. He watched them scamper happily up the sidewalk, waiting until he heard their keys in the lock before he moved to the living room.

“Where were you?” His voice edged on anger.

They tossed their keys onto the shelf by the door. “Well, hello to you, too.”

Mello repeated his question. “Where were you?”

“I was at work.” They tilted their head in his direction. “What are you getting at?”

“You seem to be at work an awful lot lately.” He glared them down, his blue eyes piercing into them. “Where have you really been?”

“I told you work.” They began to lose patience with his redundancies. “What? Isn’t my word good enough anymore?”

“If you’ve been at work, then where’s all the extra money you should be earning?”

“You know what? This was supposed to be a nice surprise, but since you’re being an ass, here.” They plunged their hand into their coat pocket and extracted two blue pieces of paper.

His eyes fell to their outstretched hand and what it clutched. “Are those tickets to--?”

“Yes.”

“Those cost a fortune.”

“Yup. That’s why I took the extra hours and that’s where the money has gone.” They frowned at him, a hint of annoyance tinging their face. “I also waited in line for 16 and a half hours, too. That’s where I was last night. Not with someone else.”

“How did you know that I thought that?”

“Mells, please. I know you.” Their anger faded as sadness took its place. “I just thought you knew me, too.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Hi baby!” Sneaking up behind Near, they wrapped their arms around him and planted a kiss on his alabaster cheek. “Why are you in the interrogation room?”

Near did not return their affections. “I need you to take a seat please.” He motioned to the chair directly across from him on the other side of a desk.

“Ok.” They looked quizzically at him. “Is this for a game?”

“Your behaviors lately have been contradictory to your norm.”

“I suppose so, but-“

“Such behaviors include leaving at varying hours, taking phone calls at odd hours, and having no explanation for your whereabouts.”

“Yes, but you don’t underst-“

“I can only conclude that you are seeking attention outside of our relationship.”

“That is not the case at all.” Tears welled in their eyes. “Can I answer you now?”

Near remained stone-faced. “I did not ask any questions, but I want to hear your rebuttals.”

“If you must ruin the surprise, I have been in contact with an antiques dealer that specializes in toys. I found an original—“

“An original? Like the one I had as a child, before Wammy’s?”

“Yes. I wanted you to have one again.”

“That was very considerate of you.”

“Yes.” They pouted from across the table. “Your interrogation of me  was not.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The floor was riddled with empty cans and chocolate wrappers, chords from various game systems cluttering the walkway. Matt leaned his back into the edge of the couch, legs stretched out toward the console before him. The controller sat idly in his gloved hands, his thumbs not remembering how to mash the buttons.

He watched them as they sat on the couch and read, his eyes gazing through hazy lenses.

It was the first time in weeks that they had been home on a Saturday. Their weekend absences had been accompanied by evenings out, becoming more frequent as the weeks went on. Some nights they didn’t come home at all.

He didn’t want to think the worst, but it was hard for him not to. He never expected mush from the world. People will almost always let you down, but they were an exception to that sentiment, until recently that is.

“Can I ask you something?” His words broke the unusual silence that hung in the living room.

They folded their book in their lap, putting a finger between the pages to mark their place.

“I’m not accusing you of anything, but are you seeing someone else? It’s just you’ve been gone a lot and you’ve been really distant lately and I was wondering.”

Smirk across their lips, they answered through the unintended offense. “Seriously?”

“Look, I know that it isn’t always easy, but it can get better. I will try quitting again, too. I know how much you hate the smoking.”

“That isn’t it. You really don’t get what’s going on here.”

“Ok, that’s fair. Tell me where were you all those weekends and evenings?”

“I was picking up some extra shifts to make some quick cash.”

Without another word, they stood from the couch, noting the page number before leaving the book on the cushion and disappeared into their room. Within a few moments they returned, dropping a video game into Matt’s lap. “Here you go. It’s the one you wanted right?”

“Yeah, but…”

“I felt bad that you didn’t get it back when it came out because you spent your extra money on nicotine patches and the parts to repair my car.” They smiled at him, but it didn’t hold back their sarcasm. “Thanks for thinking I’m a cheater though. That’s an awesome feeling.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Like an animal locked in a cage, Beyond paced the floors of his third story apartment. He could have climbed the walls with the way he was feeling. He was never good at handling when his thoughts got the better of him, and right now he was between utter despair and out and out rage.

While rummaging through their dresser, Beyond found the newly issued passport, the roll of cash fasten with an elastic hair tie, and the hand-written schedule on how to leave, detailed right down to the date & times of flight arrangements.

He wanted them to come home. He needed them to come home.

Now.

He no sooner had reached his breaking point when the door opened and they stepped inside.

“You’re late” was the greeting he met them with.

“Oh good. You’re home.” They beamed at him as they tossed their jacket on the coatrack by the door. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“Who is he?”

“What?”

“Who is he?” he snarled, his eye practically glowing with the gift that was forced upon him. “Do not make me ask again.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play innocent with me. I know you’re planning to leave me. I found everything. Did you think I wouldn’t find out or were you just going to disappear from my life and hope I wouldn’t think a thing of it?

“Please tell me. What did you find?” They kept their voice soft, but it wasn’t enough to hide the tremble that plagued every word.

“The money. The passport. The itinerary. You know, your escape plan to get away from me.”

“Oh.”

“Oh. Oh? That’s all you can say?”

“It’s not like that at all.” They reached in their pocket and took out two plane tickets and handed them to him.

He snatched them for their shaky grasp and read the type print. “I don’t understand.”

“You always talk about wanting to go there. I thought we could go for our anniversary. I wanted to surprise you.”

Beyond’s face washed in guilt. “I’m sorry. This was incredibly thoughtful of you.” His fears and anger left just as quickly as it had built and was now filled with joy and sadness. He wasn’t sure why he was like this still.

“I just wanted you to get something you wanted. Something good.” They took him into a hug. “I know you’re still not used to being loved, but I do love you. I would never hurt you.”

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled the words a second time as he rested his cheek on their shoulder.

“I know, but you’re always doing this. You have to try to stop jumping to the worst case scenario.”

“I’ll work on it. I promise.”

“That’s all I can ask for.”

[monomas-a-smug-bih]

hinata with a smol(er) male manager ask

How about Hinata with a new smol(er than him) male manager in training that’s just super cute! Like he always bakes for them (with healthy recipes but they still manage to taste amazing) is always super supportive and cheery. And sometimes massages his hands after games (because it may be just me BUT MY HANDS ARE SORE AFTER A GAME BRO) please?

just posting it again to switch it to this format, cuz i like it more...

...

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” A wave of annoyance rushed over the team at the sound. Karasuno should’ve been used to Hinata’s immense energy by now, but more often than not his abilities were unbelievable. What gave this small boy the capabilities to scream so high so often? Neither Daichi nor Sugawara would know, but tried their best to calm their crows’ collective irritation.

But this time, for once it seemed the energetic boy had a reason for his efforts, unlike most other times. Before the short boy, in front of the entrance to the gym, stood an even shorter boy. Quite a sight to see for anyone on the Karasuno team. Though Nishinoya surely existed, a second person to exceed at shortness as crazily as him, was nearly more unbelievable.

“Y-you’re s-shorter than me too!?” Hinata smiled with a triumphant grin on his lips, bringing his flattened hand over your heads as if measuring the two of you. “What do you think guys? Am I growin’ or what!” Hinata halted himself from jumping into the air at the sound of the other boy’s voice, it was a surprisingly soft and calming chuckle.

“Yes, I am quite short…I’m also y/n! It’s nice to finally meet you all!” You smiled sweetly at Hinata, savoring the sparkly look in his eyes before looking through the rest of the team. The other boys eyed up the container in your small hands; you’d filled it with the banana honey oat energy bites you’d whipped up before school today as a welcome gift, though I guess they should be welcoming you…but your nature refused you to come empty handed! “Here, if anyone’s hungry I’ve got these waiting for you guys! I’m here to train as a n-new manager!” Karasuno’s team gasped in awe at the offer.

“WHAAAAAT? This guy can cook!” The sudden voice made you shrink a little. After all of their previous conditioning, a ravenous looking boy with a buzz cut and wild eyes rushed to your treats, then another player, and another reached in for a ball of fruit and honey for themselves, the container soon empty on the bench. “Suga! Daichi! Please, please, please can we keep him?” The boy you assumed to be Tanaka pleaded, being scolded for ridiculousness in front someone new by who you guessed were the captains of the team. A smile made it to your face, cheering on the inside and growing giddy. This was the biggest compliment you could’ve asked of them after all!

You bowed on instinct, delivering your gratitude immediately back at them in a cute and appreciative manner. “Thank you for liking them! I’ll be sure to make more for the next time we meet!” A nervous smile crawling it’s way onto your face at the seemingly awestruck team at your formalness. “Daichi” got the team to thank you, warming your heart even more.

After the boys inhaling the bunches of nutrition you’d offered, they scrimmaged and trained somemore together. You had to admit that watching any of them play was quite the entertainment, though one player always seemed to stand out in comparison to you. “K-Kiyoko?” The reserved girl replied with a nod. “If you don’t mind me asking…who’s number 10?” The girl hummed, sending you a knowing glance. You felt your cheeks heat at the pressure. What could she possibly know from you just asking something so simple? Somehow, she gave off a very knowing yet shy sense of character, but in this moment you really wished she couldn’t see right through you.

“Hinata Shoyo,” she smiled, the black dot on her cheek raising a little at the action, her glasses catching a surprisingly devious glint from an above window. Her voice was calm as can be. “do you think he’s cute?” You had to tear your eyes from the orange-haired decoy. The sound of sneakers seemed to cease in your mind. For some reason, the teasing question made your cheeks burst only further into flames. You couldn’t help but cry out slightly and hide behind your sleeves, feeling a lot smaller than you usually did despite your already petite size.

“N-n-no I don’t! And if I did… but I don’t! Well m-maybe... I uh…” you gulped at the subtle giggle erupting from the girl, embarrassed at the question and for waving your arms about in a panic. You then whimpered, realizing you’d gained a small amount of the players’ attention, decoy-boy included. Meeting amber eyes, you couldn’t help but stare. Though he wasn’t much taller than you, you couldn’t help but admire the powerful presence he gave off on that court. What he didn’t have he made up in determination, coming out just as high as those with much more of an advantage against him. Relating to him in the height department, you couldn’t help but admire an attitude like that.

Your staring contest was broken by Hinata’s bright smile, and the wave he sent you with it. You couldn’t help but like the cute way his eyes squinted as he did, his bright orange curls swaying with every bouncy action he made. You soaked in his expression, like sun on a summer day. A volleyball interrupted the daydream before you could even wave back. An angered looking boy with dark hair and a scary face seemed to smash the ball into poor Hinata’s, your breath hitching. That’s gotta hurt. Before you could aid him, Kiyoko spoke again.

“It happens a lot more than it should, either by accident or on purpose.”

“Eh? Really, Hinata’s hurt this often? Poor guy…” your gaze swung back to the suffering ball of cuteness. Rather than making you way over, since this was somehow the usual for Karasuno apparently, you shouted from the stands. “Hinata! Are you alright?” The soft voice met his ears, said boy heaving his way back to his feet from the impact.

“I’m fine! Kageyama’s just really moooody todayyy!” He shouted back to your surprise, your soft voice usually going unnoticed. The so-called moody boy growled, and you feared for Hinata’s already rosy forehead. Though, Hinata only taunted back, making you smile.

Right before the end of practice, you made sure to scavenge for an ice pack. Though it was late already, you managed to find the infirmary unlocked! And got what you needed. Running back eagerly, your large jacket making your cute frame seem even smaller, you rounded the corner and headed back into the gym, hoping players still remained. Kiyoko and Yachi were still chatting in the stands, Yachi training to organize games as you probably should’ve of been. Though, when the dark-haired girl eyed you up, there was now anger in her elegant eyes, only that small smile, and a knowing look going from you, to the boy struggling with a volleyball net nearby. You felt the blood rush to your cheeks again, and headed towards Hinata.

A familiarly soft voice reached the other boy’s ears. “H-hi, Hinata. Want some help?” You asked, knowing well you’d never put away something like a volleyball net, hoping it’d be simpler than it looked. The brightest smile reached Hinata’s face again, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yes, please y/n! You’re so nice!” He stated plainly with an excitement not expected from someone who just finished playing as much as he did. He grabbed the corners of the net below him, expecting you to do the same. So hesitantly, you did.

“I-I’ve never put away a net before!” You smiled out of nervousness, Hinata’s curiosity seeming to spike.

“Really? Not to worry y/n, it’s easy! I’ll help you!” You chucked at his eagerness, weren’t you supposed to be the one helping him?

After cleanup, teammates were saying their goodbyes, Kiyoko and Yachi on their way home already. You watched Hinata’s back as he left the storage room, remembering the cold and damp item in your jacket. “Ah! Hinata wait!” The orange head of curls faced you, foot tapping almost out of impatience. You couldn’t help but fiddle with your hands and eye his shoes rather than meet his eyes. Unknown to you, he’d found the habit cute. “S-sorry! It seems sorta stupid now that I’m thinking of it, b-but-” He replied with a tilt of his head as you looked up at him. Whipping out the ice pack you couldn’t keep in your jacket any longer, you hand it to him. “It’s for your head, I meant to give it to you earlier, but you’re so determined you’d just never stay on the bench long enough for me to help!” Another cutely nervous chuckle. Hinata stared down at the mound of slushy ice and soft plastic in his hands, an odd feeling twisting within your stomach as he did. When Hinata cried out in an emotion you weren’t sure of, you couldn’t help but worry. But, before you could manage even a word, you were tightly wrapped in the arms of the cute boy you’d been interested in all practice, your heart picking up its pace. “H-Hinata-“

“THANK YOU!” Your face filled with surprise, the boy not letting go for quite a while made your mind spin, though you missed the feeling of his soft curls brushing your cheek. For some reason, the boy in front of you seemed on the edge of tears, you hoped it wasn’t out of pain for his injuries or your presence.

“Y-you’re welcome, Hinata. Is there anything else I can do to help?” The boy smiled back at you again, this time a hand on the back of his neck.

“Ah, actually my hands are aching! Do you know anything I could do for these guys when I get home?” Hinata clenched his fists dramatically, twisting his wrists with a whimper. He must’ve been playing hard, you’d watched after all. You scolded yourself mentally for the temperature of your cheeks raising once again.

“I’ve heard massaging them helps a lot, then warm water…d-do you mind if I help?” Hinata’s smile grew once again, dragging you out of the storage room and into a bench.

“Try me!”

You did, trying to be as natural as possible. Hinata leaned back, pressing your ice pack to his head as your fingers worked at his overworked hands. We aren’t holding hands, you tried remind yourself, I’m just holding his hand, not holding hands, wait- but I’m…t-that doesn’t count, right? You gingerly pressed circles into Hinata’s palms, trying your best to repress the shyness from your rosy cheeks as you did so. After a few relieved sighs and another thanks from Hinata, he bounced up from the bench, taking him with you. You both readied yourselves to leave, the gym now empty other than the two if you. Your heart couldn’t help but sink a little.

“Goodnight y/n, I hope you sleep really well! Thank again!” Hinata jumped through the doors and out under the starry black sky, raising an arm up for a wave. Your heart leaped at the view, and you had to remember to wave back.

It could’ve been his constant bouncing, maybe the winter air, but you relished in rosiness blooming on his cheeks too.

...

tadahhhhhhhh, MY FIRST HAIKYUU ASK! hope you guys like it, it’s quite late but this was very fun! Make sure to fill my inbox with more hq asks :)

[fandammit]

Look how long this love can hold its breath (2/4)

Part 1

A/N: Another ~2500 words of Ben Gross character study/slow (I mean sloooow) burn Devi x Ben romance. 

*******

He spends the next two days after the party replaying his back to back attempts at kissing Devi, then the way he had just stood frozen in place as Paxton helped her out of the pool.

By that time, Shira had emerged from...wherever it was she had been and had draped her arm around him, and the combined weight of that and the guilt he felt from making a move on Devi when he was still in a relationship with her had rooted him in place.

So he’d just watched as Devi had had what probably should’ve been a private confrontation with her closest friends in front of the entire school, then as Paxton had rushed in to save the day and whisked her away to take her home.

He’d hate Paxton if he wasn’t so thoroughly disgusted with himself, and he’s at least not so selfish that he isn't glad that Devi at least has someone there for her at the exact moment she needs it, since he's apparently too much of a coward to be it.

His one saving grace for the night was that he’d managed not to be a total shithead. He’d waited until most everyone was gone or too drunk to really know what’s going on, then pulled Shira aside.

“Hey, so.” He’d taken a deep breath in and then breathed out again slowly. “I think we should break up.”

He had steeled himself then, ready to give a long and genuine apology about how it wasn’t her -- she’s beautiful and popular and he knows he’s lucky she even spent this long with him -- it was him. He’d been ready to talk about how sorry he was to do this to her, how he knew she’d find someone again soon and he wished her the best.

But she’d just given him a bored look and said ok, then left the room with a listless wave.  

******* After nearly a year together, it turns out that his relationship with Shira is approximately the equivalent of a half-hearted shrug, which might make him sad if he wasn’t spending all of his waking hours thinking about what to say to Devi when he eventually has to talk to her about what happened at his party.

He'd run after her at the moment and blamed it on the alcohol -- and that had held at the time -- but he isn’t so sure it’ll hold up in the bright light of day.

What scares him isn’t some delusion -- and he knows it’s a delusion -- about Devi holding some kind of more-than-friends affection for him, but the very real threat that he’s lost the opportunity to actually be her friend at all.

The awful, boundless loneliness of going back to just being her enemy instead of her maybe, sometimes, somewhat friend seems unbearable. Not now that he knows how much lighter he feels when they stand on solid ground next to each other rather than just trying to claw each other down to get ahead.

He really wants to insist that he was drunk and stupid and that he didn’t mean it, even if saying that second part out loud makes him feel a little bit sick -- as if the lie is too much for his stomach to hold.

Or else that he’d just been so lonely and grateful that someone gave him a present and he’d been drunk enough to let that gratitude manifest in affection, and that it wasn’t her, specifically -- he’d have kissed anyone in that moment who’d given him a present. He’d have kissed his dentist for sending him that postcard.

He so desperately wants those things to be true -- like, more than he wants the Clippers to win the title or his mom and dad to spend more than a week at home with him. More than he wants to be valedictorian at the end of high school.

Because he knows the last thing he needs to do is admit that it wasn’t the alcohol or the present or the fact that it was his birthday and he was feeling alone despite the crowded house. Because admitting that would mean admitting that he had tried to kiss Devi simply because he wanted to kiss her. Because she had looked pretty in the dimness of the theater room, and he’d looked at her lips and suddenly realized (or maybe let himself admit) it wasn’t the first he’d wondered how they might feel. That somewhere along the way the warm sensation in the center of his chest whenever he looked at her wasn’t spite, but something softer, something more tender and dangerous and hopeless.

“Goddammit,” he says out loud in the darkness of his empty room, which is weird for two reasons: he almost never cusses and he’s talking out loud to absolutely no one.

Still, it helps, kind of, so he keeps going.

“God. Fucking. Dammit.”

And then because he can’t bear to say that one particular truth out loud, he switches it for one that he can; stares straight up into the emptiness of his dark room and says through gritted teeth: “You are an entire fucking idiot, Ben Gross.”

*******

It takes another day for him to work up the courage to talk about what happened that night, which is ridiculous because the tactic he lands on has all the grace of a daytime soap: feigned amnesia.

So he stutters through some half-assed explanation about what he may or may not have done, about not wanting things to be weird, and how they shouldn’t be weird because, hey after all he couldn’t remember anything, so they should be ok.

She looks somewhere between thoughtful and skeptical, which makes sense because Devi’s not stupid. She is, in fact, the exact opposite of stupid, which is something that has frustrated and motivated and enticed him at various turns in their rivalry.

He figures he’s about half a minute away from her calling him on his lie, and he steels himself for whatever sharp-edged insult he’s about to get deservedly thrown his way.

Which is why he’s stunned into silence when she doesn’t insult him at all, but instead asks if she can move in with him.

“I’m sorry, what now?” He asks -- you know, once he’s able to get his brain to function properly and his mouth moving like it’s supposed to.

She sighs heavily, and he notices for the first time how tired she looks -- almost defeated. Which throws him off even more than Devi Vishwakumar asking if she can move in with him, because he’s never even seen her look humbled -- and God knows he’s tried.

“Before you say no --.”

“I’m not gonna say no, Devi.” He interrupts, and the relieved smile on her face is enough to make him want to give her almost anything she might ask for. “I’m just -- is everything ok?”

He expects her to say something sarcastic, something along the lines that the simple fact that she’s even asking him means that her world has gone terribly wrong.

But she doesn’t say that. In fact, for a long moment she doesn’t say anything at all, just closes her locker and leans against it with her head kinda bowed.

“Uh, Devi?”

He moves closer to her and it’s almost as if he can feel the misery coming off her in waves. Some remote part of him clocks the fact that like two years ago this would’ve felt sweet; now he just feels alarmed and a little panicked, his anxiety settling along his skin like an itchy rash.

She looks up at him and he’s close enough to see the brightness of unshed tears in her eyes. His eyes widen in shock as he moves closer to her -- not to touch her, because he doesn’t think she’d actually appreciate that from him right now, but to block the gaze of any random passerby in the halls. Half their class have seen Devi lose her temper, but next to no one has seen her cry, and he thinks she’d probably prefer to keep it that way.

“Hey,” he says softly, ducking his head down to meet her lowered gaze. “I just need to ask my parents, but I already know they’re gonna say yes.” He chews on his lower lip. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

“Not unless you can convince my mom not to move us to India.”

He blinks rapidly at that.

“Wh -- what?”

She nods, lines of misery settling along the shape of her mouth.

“That’s why I need to move in with you. I can’t just, like, go back home and be there with mom, knowing that she’s just gonna whisk us off to India.” She shakes her head. “I can’t be around her, Ben.”

“Ye -- yeah, ok, definitely, sure.” He says, trying to process what she’s saying. He takes a deep breath and gives her a small smile. “It’s no problem, David. You can stay with me however long you need to.”

*******

“So, this is the guest room,” he says, opening the door. “Well, one of them.” He gestures towards the closed door on the far side of the room. “This one has the best bathroom though.”  

She raises an eyebrow at that, then walks past him and sets her bag on the bed. She turns around and scoots onto the bed.

“I -- uh -- really appreciate this Ben,” she says, and it’s the first time he can ever remember her actually seeming shy. “I know it must suck to have your rival in the house with you.”

His face twists involuntarily when she calls herself his rival, and he can see the flicker of confusion on her face.

“Do you prefer nemesis?”

He gives her a small smile.

“I was thinking -- .” He almost says friend, but then thinks that might be a bridge too far. “Associates? Living with someone who considers themself my nemesis makes me feel like you’re going to murder me in my sleep. ”

She rolls her eyes.

“I mean,” she says after a moment. “You are letting me stay in your house for, like, free.” She smiles. “If that doesn’t qualify as friendship, I don’t know what does.”

He shrugs and looks away, but only to hide the wide smile on his face.

He hears a knock on the door, and then his mother walks into the room.

“You all settled in sweetie?” She asks Devi with a smile.

Devi nods.

“Yes, thank you Mrs. Gross. I really appreciate this. I know having a house guest can be an imposition.”

She waves the compliment away.

“Not at all. There’s 4000 square feet in this house -- we could go days and not even see one another.” She turns to Ben. “In fact, that is literally what is going to happen this week because your father is going to Malibu for a boy’s getaway and I’m having a girls trip to Napa for the week, so we’ll be out of your hair until next Thursday.”

He gives his mom a tight smile and leans forward for her to kiss him on the cheek like he knows she will.

“And I’m so sorry we’re going to miss your band concert, sweetie,” she says and he sees Devi frown out of the corner of his eye. He glances over to her and mouths a capella, then turns back to his mom. “I promise we’ll make one of them one of these days. It’s just -- well, you know, sometimes you just need a break from parenting!”

She gives him a small hug then sashays out of the room, and he’s left with the weight of Devi’s stare.

“So, have you ever been in band?” She asks after a moment.  

He shakes his head.

“I have not.” He shrugs and gives her a smile that he knows is strained at the edges. “But I am in a lot of extracurriculars, so it can be hard to keep up.”  

She gives him a hard stare when he says that, but he has the feeling it isn’t really directed at him. He makes a weird gesture with his arms that’s halfway between it’s fine and what can you do, and thinks about how Devi’s parents have always gone to every fair, competition and exhibition they’ve ever had. They even went to the monthly award ceremonies in elementary school, where Devi would rotate between being student of month to science star of the month to best orchestra student of the month to shining art star and then back around again.  

His, it should go without saying, have never gone to any of his events -- a fact that it seems like Devi is now realizing by the expression on her face.

“When’s your A Capella concert?” She asks after moment. 

“Tomorrow night.”

“First one of the year?”

He nods.

“Yeah, so it probably won’t be our best one.” He grins at her. “I mean, I’m going to be awesome, obviously, but the rest of the group -- they don’t quite have my talent.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Alright, Will Schuester, leave me alone so I can unpack.”

“Ok, first of all, that’s glee club and it’s completely different,” he says, as he turns to go. “And also, I’m clearly Finn Hudson.”

“You’re a freaking dork is what you are,” she yells behind him, but even with his back turned he can tell she says it with a smile.

*******

Their A Capella concerts never have a very big audience, which makes it easy to spot Devi in the third row of the auditorium the next night at his concert. She gives him a small wave and a thumbs up from where she’s sitting, and he smiles so widely at her that his cheeks hurt a little bit.

The concert goes pretty well, all things considered. He is obviously the best part of it -- that part wasn’t a brag to Devi. Well, it wasn’t solely a brag. 

He emerges from the chorus room and out into the lobby as soon as its over, not even stopping to help tidy up the room as he usually does to score brownie points. 

He scans the lobby and sees Devi standing in the far corner, her hands in her pockets as she scans the room for him. 

“David,” he calls out and walks over to where she’s standing. He tells himself he’s a little bit breathless because of all the singing he’s just done. “You didn’t have to come.”

She shrugs.

“I know.” She gestures to the program in her hands. “It’s actually a lot cooler than I thought it’d be, though it’s nothing like Pitch Perfect.”  

He scoffs.

“I mean, this is just a concert -- you should see what it’s like at regionals.”

“Ooh, do you guys have a sing-off in the parking lot?”

“One sing-off, David? More like you can’t go anywhere at regionals without getting challenged to a sing-off.”

She laughs, and he gives her a sidelong glance.

“So you, uh, you don’t think it’s weird and nerdy?”

She shakes her head.

“No, it is definitely still weird and nerdy, but, like, in a cool way.”

He grins at her.

“Thanks for coming -- it’s the first time anyone’s ever been there for me.” He catches the look on her face -- a flash of something that could be anger, could be incredulity, could be sadness -- and furrows his brows. “What?”

She shakes her head.

“Nothing.” She smiles at him. “I’m glad I came.”

He smiles back at her. 

“Me too.”

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

And They were Coffin-Mates

Title: And They were Coffin-Mates

Summary: “I’m a vampire.”

Out of all the things to come out of his best friend’s mouth, he hadn’t expected that. Was Virgil sure he wasn’t dreaming? Maybe this was some set-up to one of Patton’s corny puns. Something like “I’m a vampire. I like my coffee de-coffin-ated.”

Virgil pretended to hate them. He groaned or grimaced at how awful they were. But really, it was all to cover up the smile they produced.

“A vampire? Pffft,” He quirked an eyebrow, “You’re going to have to try for a better joke than that, Pat.”

Word-Count: 3.5k

Pairings: platonic moxiety (they’re best friends)

Warnings: Vampires, blood mention, memory loss, involuntary turning, hurt/comfort, puns, so many puns, crying, non-graphic violence, headache, sensory overload, panic

This is based off a prompt ask I got sent a long, long awhile ago and just finally finished!

-

Virgil trudged up to his apartment, sweat rolling down his back. Really, it was his fault for wearing a black plaid hoodie and ripped black jeans. Wearing black in the sweltering heat of the summer sun’s gaze was like inviting death upon you. But he looked good in black and was willing to suffer. Besides, Virgil was quite sure his soul was dead already.

Eventually he made it to his apartment, blessed air conditioning hitting his face at last.

“How was your day, kiddo?” His roommate and best friend Patton asked. He was in the kitchen, mixing something in a bowl.

Virgil groaned loudly, collapsing into the couch cushions.

Patton whistled, “That bad, huh?”

“I’m going to fight the sun. Either that or move to Seattle, whatever’s easiest.” 

He groaned again, shoving his head into a couch pillow. His head hurt and he was so damn thirsty. Thirsty for water, please get your mind out of the gutter. He was terrible at remembering to drink enough water, something his coworker Logan constantly berated him about. Did he work with Lo today? God, he couldn’t remember. The entire day felt like a blur.

“Aw, I’m sorry you had a rough day. Maybe I can brighten it up with some pat-cakes?”

“Pat-cakes?” 

“Like it’s like pancakes, except with my name--pat-cakes!”

Virgil groaned, this time attempting to keep himself from laughing.

“Stop trying to cheer me up, it’s illegal.”

“Oh? I guess I’m a warmhearted crook then!”

“Warmhearted?”

“Yeah, because instead of a coldhearted crook, I got a lotta love and I’m not afraid to give it.”

Virgil snorted, gazing up from his pillow. Patton stood there, grinning in his grey cat-onesie. The sight was enough to warm his cold, barely beating heart, dammit.

“Well consider yourself under arrest.”

“What for?”

“Stealing my heart.”

“Oh my goodness, you made a pun!” Patton’s blinding white grin was worth it for allowing such a cliche, cheesy pun escape his lips.

“Yeah, well, don’t count on it being a regular thing,” Virgil said, turning away in a poor attempt to hide his burning, surely reddening cheeks, “that was my allotted pun for the year.”

“Auugust I’ll have to try to get another pun out of you before the year’s over.”

“August?”

“Y’know Auuu-guust, like ‘I guess?’”

“Pat, I love you but that one was terrible.”

“Oh, tearable! Like paper?! Or tearable like tears?”

“Patton, no, that wasn’t a pun.”

The banter continued as Patton finally started to pour pancake batter onto the grill. In typical Patton fashion, he created animal shapes  and stick figures out of the pancakes, rather than keeping with normal, round ones.

It helped distract Virgil from both his headache and his rather unmemorable day. Everyone deserved a Patton in their life. Someone who brightened your day with their mere presence. Virgil set the table for their pancakes-for-dinner feast as he pondered this.

He then found their largest water container (a blender) and filled it up to the brim with water. Was he going to regret this sometime in the middle of the night? Yes. Did he care? Not really, no.

He didn’t even know why his throat felt so parched. The last couple weeks of work had been ridiculously slow. It wasn’t like he had to deal conversing with a horde of customers, thank God. He took a gulp, then another and another.

“Wow, I sea you were thirsty!” 

He lifted the blender away from his mouth to respond, before pausing. He blinked, staring at the now-empty blender. Huh.

“Um yeah. Really thirsty.” He chuckled, setting the blender beside the sink.

“Good thing you quenched it then.” Patton said, looking at Virgil weirdly.

He didn’t blame him. Virgil would too look at someone weird if they chugged a 40 ounce blender like it was nothing. He licked his lips, his mouth still feeling as dry as ever. 

A part of him wanted to grab the blender, refill and down it, desperate to douse the itching, stinging feeling that clenched his throat. But he refrained, sitting down at the kitchen table instead. It was probably possible to die from drinking too much water, right?

“Here you go!” Patton said, shaking him of his thoughts. He placed a plate of pancakes in front of Virgil. There were several blobby pancakes with two triangles pointing out at the top, what Virgil presumed to be either a cat or dog.

“Thanks Pat,” He said, “So, uh, how was your day?”

“Oh, it was Pet-tastic!” Patton perked up, “I got to pet a dog today!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I was on the subway when a person came in with the cutest--”

Virgil tried to focus on the words coming out of Patton’s mouth. He really did even as his head throbbed, headache worsening. Patton’s voice, the humming of the refrigerator, the dishwater noises, everything was suddenly too loud. He fidgeted, the fluorescent light beating down on him. He took a bite, hoping it would help. He hadn’t eaten since morning, of course he felt like shit. He just needed substance. Once he ate something, things would be okay.

Except he spat it out, coughing. Something was wrong. It couldn’t be Patton’s pancakes. He always made them to a fluffy, sweet perfection. Yet Virgil’s stomach threatened to heave up its contents at the mere taste.

“Virgil?”

He jerked his head towards Patton, wincing from the whiplash. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m never okay.” is the retort Virgil wanted to throw back. Deflecting and self-deprecation was Virgil’s main attributes. Patton would’ve gasped at him, telling him he’d physically fight him for talking bad about himself. Except those words didn’t make it out of Virgil’s throat.

“I’m--I’m sorry, I just--think I need to go--bedroom.” 

He hated it. He ruined a perfectly good dinner all because his brain decided to freak out over things that didn’t bother normal people. 

“Hey, Virge. It’s okay, I’m not upset,” Patton said softly, “we can hang out more tomorrow. Movie night, remember?”

“Y-yeah.” Virgil said, rising from his chair. Vertigo crashed into him, almost sending him to the ground if not for a pair of arms catching him.

“I’ve got you.” Patton said, adjusting his hold so that Virgil stood, heavily leaning against him.

“T-thanks.”

“Let me help you to your room, okay? Wouldn’t want you falling for me again.”

Virgil let a small, breathless snort. He wanted to protest, but his legs felt too much like jello that he didn’t trust them. Patton guided him down the hallway, to Virgil’s dark cave of a bedroom. He let out a hiss when Patton flipped the light switch.

“Opps, sorry kiddo.” Patton apologized, shutting it off. They stumbled into the room, until they reached Virgil’s bed. Patton hoisted him onto the bed, fussing with his covers until Virgil was nice and tucked in. 

“I’ll save you some pancakes.” Patton said as he closed the door. Virgil didn’t respond. He closed his eyes, the quiet darkness quelling his swelling anxiety. Fatigue finally claimed his bones and he fell unwillingly into slumber.

It wasn’t a peaceful sleep. It was one of those dreams you woke up more exhausted than rested. The thirst followed him into the dream. It gnawed at him, nearly indistinguishable from hunger. He had to satisfy it, relinquish the control it held over him. He went out to search for something to make the burning ache go away. 

He went--well, he wasn’t sure he went. Everything turned hazy, as dreams often tended to be. The next thing he knew, he was standing over someone. No, not a person, they were just a pulse of red to him. They had it, the thing he needed and they weren’t giving it willingly. Something tackled him to the ground, pinning him to the ground as he flailed, desperate to escape its’ grip--

He shot up, gasping. Panic pumped through his veins. This wasn’t his bedroom, where was he? He frantically scanned the dark murky surroundings, relaxing slightly when he recognized it as his apartment living room. Still, what was he doing here and not his bedroom?

“You’re awake.”

Virgil jumped, vaguely making out Patton in the armchair beside the couch. He wasn’t in his cat onesie anymore. Oddly enough, he seemed dressed not in pajamas but in a polo shirt and blue jeans.

“Y-yeah, finally. I had a really weird nightmare.” Virgil said, surprised to find the action of speaking no longer painful. In fact, his throat felt fine even. Maybe the blender water’s effect was delayed.

Patton sighed, moving to sit on the couch next to Virgil. He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he clasped his hands together, fingers twisting in a fretful manner. It alarmed Virgil. Patton was always babbling about something, jumping from one topic to the next seamlessly. Virgil didn’t know how he never ran out of things to say.

“Virgil, there’s something you should know,” He hesitated, “I was planning on telling you eventually. I just didn’t think…”

“What is it?” Virgil asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“I’m a vampire.”

Virgil gaped at him. Out of all the things to come out of Patton’s mouth, he hadn’t expected that.  Was Virgil sure he wasn’t dreaming? Maybe this was some set-up to one of Patton’s corny puns. A way to placate Virgil. Something like “I’m a vampire. I like my coffee de-coffin-ated.” Virgil pretended to hate them. He groaned or grimaced at how awful they were. But really, it was all to cover up the smile they produced. 

Virgil laughed, except it came out wrong. All high-pitched and strained.

“A vampire? Pffft,” He quirked an eyebrow, “You’re going to have to try for a better joke than that, Pat.”

“I’m not joking. Promise.” Patton insisted, grasping Virgil’s hands with his own.

Virgil swallowed, staring down at Patton’s pale hands. Come to think of it, Patton always shied away from doing outdoor activities, especially in the blazing hot summer heat.

“I’m Irish! I burn easily.” Patton once said, laughing.

Patton wasn’t laughing now. He looked abnormally serious, his lips pressed together in a neutral line. It was starting to freak Virgil out even more, to be honest.

“Vampires aren’t real, they’re just fictional,” Virgil said, as if he didn’t spend his time watching conspiracy theory videos at 4AM and wholeheartedly believing them on a daily basis.

Besides, Patton was too sweet, too kind and bubbly to be a vampire. They were gruesome creatures of the night, they feed on blood and had little room for morals. Unless, Virgil’s breathed hitched, unless Patton had been faking everything, what if their entire friendship was just a whole facade in order for him to get close enough to suck his blood?!

“Virgil, breathe,” Patton said, squeezing his hands.

He squeezed back, inhaling a deep shuddering breath.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have nothing to apologize for, remember?” Patton said, referring to a past conversation they had regarding Virgil’s anxiety.

“Patton, I just…” Virgil bit his lips, instantly regretting it. He must’ve bit down harder than usual because it hurt, “having a hard time not thinking this is a dream.”

“I can show you,” Patton said, “Is it okay if I turn on the lamp light?”

Virgil nodded and with his consent, Patton reached over to the end table and turned the lamp on. A soft glow flooded the room. Virgil closed his eyes regardless, black dots overwhelming his vision. 

“You okay?”

“Just gimme a moment.” Virgil gritted his teeth, wincing again when the action hurt him. What the hell was wrong with him?

“I’ll only keep it on for as long as necessary,” Patton reassured.

“Alright,” He nodded, fighting to keep his eyes open. It burned like someone had been chopping garlic, but that was ridiculous, right?

Patton drew a breath in, opening his mouth wide. Virgil watched in horror as two sharp incisors intruded from his gumline. Even if Patton wasn’t one for cruel, practical pranks, there was no way it was a pair of cheap plastic fangs. They looked too real, too grotesque to be fake.

“What the fuck!” Virgil fell off the couch, tripping in his haste to flee. He plunged to the floor, his head banging against the corner of the coffee-table.

A dull pain blossomed around the crown of his head but he stood up anyways. He had to get away, flee from this twisted nightmare he found himself in. This couldn’t be real. Perhaps he thought he woke up only to be thrust into an even worst nightmare than before.

“Virgil, Virgil, please calm down!” Patton appeared at his side within a blink, placing his hands on Virgil’s shoulders. 

He tried jerking out of Patton’s grip, glancing wildly for some sort of escape. Belatedly he realized though the lamp light had been turned off, he could still perfectly see his surroundings. What the hell? He looked back at Patton, taking in the worried wrinkles and his normal set of teeth. No fangs. Where were they? He knew he saw them, he couldn’t have imagined them--

“P-please dont hurt me,” He whimpered, digging his head into Patton’s chest. He didn’t know why he did that. He should kept thrashing, escaping the grip of a supposed vampire. But Patton was also his friend, who cheered him up with stupid cheesy puns. The one and only person Virgil trusted and sought comfort from.

Patton drew his arms around Virgil, pulling him closer. He froze, waiting for sharp fangs to pierce his neck. Instead a hand carded through his hair, soft and gentle.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Patton said, his voice tight with emotion, “I’m going to hurt those that did however.”

Virgil craned his neck to look up at him, “W-what do you mean?”

Patton didn’t say anything at first, continuing to caress Virgil’s hair.

“Virgil, how was your day?”

“What?”

“Your day, before you--” Patton hesitated, “before you fell asleep, what happened?”

“I overslept my alarm,” Virgil recalled, “I was in a rush to get to work, and I....”

He bit his lips, a soft curse slipping out from both the pain it produced and the fact he couldn’t remember. He must’ve went to work, right? Work has been so slow and tedious that he just forgot what happened. He must’ve said some of that out loud because Patton slowly shook his head.

“Virgil, I contacted your workplace. You never showed up to work.”

“Wha-but I wouldn’t--I mean--” Virgil jolted, making direct eye contact with Patton, “I’m a vampire now, aren’t I?”

 He couldn’t believe he said that out loud just now. It was absurd, it didn’t make any sense! But...it did make sense in a maddening, down-the-rabbit-hole way. His unquenchable thirst, his unusually sensitive eyes, food tasting weird, that absurd, horrific nightmare that was starting to feel more and more like it wasn’t a nightmare. Had he really almost killed a person to drink their blood? He felt lightheaded, his world spinning wildly out of control as he clung to Patton for balance.

“I got you kiddo,” Patton whispered, leading him to sit on the couch, “do you need a glass of water?”

He was deflecting, maybe in a poor attempt to spare Virgil from the cold, harsh reality.

“Patton,” Virgil hissed, “I need to know.”

Patton averted his gaze, his hands curled into fists by his side.

“Yes.”

Virgil’s heart stopped beating. Wait a minute, didn’t vampires’ hearts already didn’t beat because they were undead? Did that mean Virgil was technically dead?!

He frantically checked his own pulse, relieved yet spooked hear it. Albeit, much more slow and lethargic than before.

“Our heart beats at a slower rate than humans,” Patton laughs weakly, “A lot of the myths around vampires don’t have any truth to them.”

“Pat,” Virgil’s voice trembled, “This is crazy, I mean--you’re a vampire and I’m one?! Did you--”

“No!” Patton insisted, his eyes flashing a brief red, “Virgil I promise you, I’d never do that. It can be really, really painful--the whole turning process. It can be so traumatic that well, I--I don’t even fully remember my own. Many don’t survive let alone live pass it. I’ve never wanted you to know what it’s like to--”

Patton cut himself off, jerking his head away. Virgil took hold of his hand, squeezing it gently.

“Know what?” He pressed. Patton’s lips quivered, tears glistening in his eyes, as he cupped Virgil’s cheek with his free hand. Virgil leaned down, gently touching his forehead with Patton’s.

“Pat, please.”

“You deserved a normal human life,” Patton said at last, a strangled noise escaping him, “Where you got to live and grow old and die. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to be a monster like me.”

Patton broke away, clasping a hand to his mouth as the tears finally fell down his face. Virgil watched, his head throbbing as conflicting emotions raged war inside. Denial, rage, sadness--he pushed them all aside. Patton. He needed to focus on Patton. 

Despite everything, he still knew one thing; Patton Patterson was the furthest thing from a monster. Virgil refused to believe anything otherwise. He needed that one thing to remain true or else he’d fall apart completely.

“Patton you’re not a monster, you’re--you’re,” Virgil took a breath, steadying himself, “you’re my best friend.”

Patton let out a bark of laughter, “If--if you knew the things I’ve done, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

“Yes, I--I would,” Virgil swallowed, kneeling down beside him, “Pat, you are the kindest person I've ever met. You cry at cheesy Hallmark movies that end in happy endings. You volunteer at the local animal shelter and soup kitchen. You believe the best in people, even if they’re a shitty anxious nobody who doesn’t deserve it--”

“Virgil--” Patton choked.

“And--and unless that was all one elaborate ruse to fool the world, to fool me,” Virgil pressed on, “vampire or not, your presence makes my day bat-ter.”

“Bat-ter? L-like bat?”

“Yeah, well, congratulations you managed to get a pun outta me before the year’s end.”

Patton stared at him, mouth hanging open. He then laughed again, this time surging forward to tackle Virgil in a hug. Virgil yelped, falling to the floor hard enough to see black dots. Still, he clung to Patton as if afraid of never getting the opportunity again. Virgil let out a high-pitched keen, no longer being able to contain his anguish. Patton responded with a despairing wail of his own. 

Tears poured down both of their faces as their sobbing duet continued. For a long, long while it was the only noise produced from either of them. Until it tapered off into weak whimpers and then it was just the sound of two slow, steady sets of heartbeats close together.

“Pat?” Virgil croaked, utterly exhausted from the ordeal. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, safe and secure in Patton’s arms. A small part of him yearned to wake up in his bed and learn that all of this was a nightmare and nothing more. Yet the pain from unconsciously biting his lip with his newly sharpened incisors said otherwise.

“Yes?” Patton answered, his hand brushing through Virgil’s hair once more. He was so soft and gentle that it was hard for Virgil to ever imagine him the same species as Count Dracula.

“If--if you didn’t, um, turn me, then wh-who-how--why don’t I remember--why would--” Virgil let out a frustrated huff.

“Virgil, I...I don’t know who did it or why. There’s lots of reasons why another vampire would do it,” Patton said, dropping to a low growl, “and none of them are good ones.”

“Oh,” Virgil swallowed, “and that person? I went after a person, didn’t I? That was real, right? Did--did I hurt them? I swear I didn’t mean to, I--I--”

“Virge, deep breathes,” Patton said, “They’re okay, you didn’t hurt them. They were fanged out but okay. And then I brought you back here and gave you some of my blood supply.”

“I--I don’t remember that.” Virgil said, “I remember attacking them and something...stopped me? That was you right? But I don’t--I don’t remember--”

Virgil’s voice trailed off, the words once more getting tangled up in his throat. He was afraid. Virgil was always afraid but this was new. Vampires were real and he was one of them. He was an immortal, bloodsucking creature of the night. As much as it sounded cool on paper, it was utterly terrifying. Especially to know he had no memory of becoming one. 

As if sensing his distressed thoughts, Patton brushed his bangs aside to kiss his forehead.

“Shh, it’s common for young vampires to black out from blood rage. It’s--well, it’s not okay what happened to you, Virgil. I’m so sorry, I should’ve been there to stop it from happening. But I swear to you it’s going to be okay and that I’m here now to help.”

“Promise?” Virgil asked, yawning.

“Of course. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a stake in my heart.”

And while Patton’s words didn’t immediately quell his fears, he fell asleep knowing Patton would be there for him, like he always was.