#woulda looked slightly odd otherwise

[emdotcom]

Found the source for that office render!

[symphonicmetal101]

MC Struggles With Obsessive/Compulsive Behaviour

Ok, just to be clear.

I haven't been diagnosed with anything, which is why I refrain from writing "OCD" in the title. I've always known I'm a perfectionist- please be aware that there are some major differences between OCD and perfectionism, (despite what Youtube videos may say)- however I have had instances in which I have taken it too far and paid the price physically, mentally, and emotionally. Please be aware that these are all very real things that not only myself, but other people go through. I haven't had one of them in a long time, but my current circumstances make me feel like I might soon, so bear with me while I write another self-indulgent thing.

Or don't.🤷‍♀️

TW: compulsive/obsessive behaviour, a little self-deprecation as seasoning👌

Lucifer

At first, he's very happy to see that you are very organized and neat

One less thing for him to worry about

However, one day he walked past your room and saw you organizing your desk

He respected that, and continued on

The next day he passed by around the same time and saw you organizing your desk again

Odd, but perhaps one of his brothers had interfered and interrupted you, meaning you hadn't finished yesterday

It had been five days now, surely you weren't still cleaning your desk??

"MC, if my brothers bother you, you should close the door. Perhaps then you would be able to finish cleaning your desk properly. Unless you would like some direction in time management instead?"

Lucifer glanced behind you. To his surprise, your desk looked immaculate. He then saw your blushing face.

"Ah... well that's very kind of you Lucifer, however I'm afraid it's not an issue of time management or your brothers. Well, sometimes Mammon comes in and moves the pens around, so then I have to start over..."

"Start over?"

"Y-yeah." You explain your process to him, how you completely clear off your desk, to the type of cleaner you use, how many sprays, to how you like to stack your paper, to how you always have to have three paperclips to your right, and how the black pen is always in between the blue and the red.

"And when Mammon moves the pens...you start over?"

"Yeah. I do."

Lucifer has sympathy for you, put also struggles because it seems like a waste of time if he were to do it.

But he doesn't do it, and it seems to make you calm, so instead he buys you proper gloves for cleaning and a few more bottles of your cleaner

Mammon

"Come on MC, I wanna show ya something in my room."

Oh no

Nononono

You could feel yourself panicking a bit. Mammon's room was messy

Not messier than Levi's but still

But he looked really excited, so you reluctantly followed him

"TA-DA!!!"

Oh wow. His room was spotless!

"I-uh, noticed ya only seem to be comfortable in yours or Lucifer's room. It-it took a while for me to figure out why, but...whaddya think? Will it work for ya?"

He smiled at you and you could see a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

"It looks great! You even picked up the water bottles that were by your bed!!"

He instantly became more confident, his smile growing wider and his cheeks slightly flushed.

"Of course it looks great! Why wouldn't it?"

You gave him a withering stare

"Uh..yeah. Y'know, if ya had just told me ya didn't like it being so messy I woulda tidied up sooner. J-just make sure ya let me know if it gets too messy again. I want ya to be comfortable in more places than just your room, so my room seemed like a good idea."

His face was incredibly flushed

"Thank you Mammon. It really means a lot.

Levi

You had only been in Levi's room twice

But dear god

You really really really wanted to tidy things up for him

But you also knew what it was like to be very particular and have things "just-so"

Aksjsjshdgjak

"Hey Levi, can I make you deal?"

He took off one of his headphones to listen

"What's up?"

"This might be kinda weird. Can I take pictures of your stuff so I can reorganize and clean your room? That way if you don't like it, I'll put everything back?"

You could see confusion and slight panic that crossed his features.

"I'm sorry, I know it's weird, you don't have to say yes I-"

"Um, what exactly would you be doing?"

"Uhhh.."

He stopped his game to sit and talk with you for a bit.

"O-ok. Just that shelf is off-limits. And I'll stay in here to let you know if something isn't ok with me."

He watched in awe as you carefully rearranged his figurines by rarity as well as colour.

You crawled under his desk with velcro ties and made all the cords under there much more organized

You rearranged the pillows on his couch so that they were symmetrical on both sides, fluffing them and squishing them as you saw fit.

His manga was pretty organized, so you just straightened out the pile.

You organized his games in alphabetical order

The whole time you had been dusting stuff off as well

"There. That's better....what do you think Levi?"

"WOOOAAHH!!! I love it!! It looks really good MC!"

"Thanks for letting me do that."

"No problem...but w-why did you want to do it?"

You shrugged. "It calms me down? No, that's not quite it....I don't really now. As it is, I need to cut myself off otherwise I'll clean until I can't stand. Mind if I join you for a bit?"

He nods at you and hands you a control. As the game boots up he says, "Y-you're welcome to do that again if you need to...but that shelf is still off-limits."

You nod, grateful for his understanding.

Satan

He said he had a surprise date for you

So you followed him

To the Cat Cafe

Now, you love cats

And you love food

But the two of them together don't sit well with you

But Satan looked so eager and happy that you didn't hesitate much to go inside.

Everything was going really well until Satan asked if you wanted something to eat or drink.

You politely declined his offer, but he insisted on getting you something

You reluctantly chose a hot drink.

But as you watched the worker prepare your drink, you were horrified to see them carry a cat out from behind the counter, and then without washing their hands, snap the lid on your cup.

"Satan..I need to step outside for a bit."

He watched you in mild concern as you walked out the door and he waited for your and his order to be complete

You were pacing outside, trying to calm down.

Why did that upset me? I haven't even touched it yet. Besides, normal people don't usually care about stuff like that. And I can clean it??? Or grab another lid?? Fuck! Why am I like this?

Your train of thought was broken as Satan tapped on your shoulder, concern and curiosity apparent in his eyes.

"Are you alright? I noticed the worker didn't wash their hands after handling the cat, so I grabbed a couple lids on my way out. I was going to put it on for you, but I believe it would be best for all parties if you did it on your own."

You almost started crying as he handed you a paper towel with two lids in it.

"Why are there two?"

"Although it never particularly bothered me, I thought you may have wanted some solidarity. I can understand where you're coming from." He smiled sympathetically at you.

From that day forward, he paid extra attention to things while you were around to make sure you wohld feel comfortable. You two also managed to tackle the daunting task of properly organizing Satan's books so that you could spend more time in his otherwise clean room.

Asmo

"Darling, you look wonderful in that outfit!! And it's so hot outside, it's perfect!! I was just about to head out, do you want to join me?"

"That depends. Where are you going?"

"Oh, I'm just gonna do a little shopping. There was a cute top on sale at the mall yesterday, I just want to see if it's still there."

You told him you'd be right back.

When you got to your room you threw on a sweater, and then made sure you had your wallet and your phone.

You walked out of your bedroom, checking again, wallet, phone

As you approached Asmo, you checked again. Wallet, phone

"Are you ready to go?" You nodded and followed him out the door.

He made idle gossip with you until he noticed you were looking a little pale

"Oh my goodness, love are you alright? You should take this sweater off, you'll get much too hot!"

"I can't!" You panicked a bit, and he was caught off guard by your reaction.

"I- I'm sorry. But I use the sleeves to open doors and hold bags and stuff. I don't like touching that stuff. Even groceries are hard for me to touch, so I wash the groceries before I put them away when I get home. I enjoy shopping with you though, because you always know what kind of stuff I like just by looking at it, or feeling it for me. It's the same thing I explained before, where it's difficult for me to model the clothes for you until after they've been washed."

"Aww honey, I'm sorry. Next time I'll see if Mammon or Beel can come and help with your bags, m'kay? But you cannot stay in this sweater in weather like this. What about gloves? Would you be ok wearing gloves? I know a place where there's some really cute ones!! And I'll handle the doors for now, ok?"

You took off your sweater and tied it around your waist.

"Huh. I actually do feel a little better....thanks Asmo."

You two laughed lightly as he held open the door for the next shop.

Beel

You had waited for Beel to get out of one of his extracurriculars to walk home with him

You two were planning to eat together

However when you walked into the kitchen, you were greeted with a sink overflowing with dishes, and a sleeping Belphie on the island.

"Oh, uh, before I eat Beel, I'm going to clean that up. You go ahead though."

Belphie piped up, "Just throw what you can in the dishwasher....I'll do the rest later."

Beel looked concerned. "We were late getting home. Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"Oh...uh" you contemplated lying when your stomach gave you away.

"Just eat. I'll take care of the dishes. It's my turn anyways. I'll get to it soon."

"It's not a big deal Belphie, I'll just do them."

"But you're hungry, aren't you? Just eat first? Or did I do something? Is it something I can fix? I can go if it makes you more comfortable-" Beel looked disappointed. Of course it wasn't his fault.

You shook your head. "It's not you. It's me. I just- I don't know- ugh." You felt close to tears.

How the fuck were you supposed to explain yourself?

Beel pulled you into a hug. "Hey, it's ok. You don't have to tell us what's going on, but if you do it'll make it easier for us to help you."

He let go of you enough for you to step back and wipe tears from your eyes.

"I-I don't know what it is! But whenever I know there's something to be done, especially if I can see it, I have to do it before I do anything for myself. That includes eating, getting a glass of water, even going to the bathroom! And if I find another thing to do half way through he first thing, I'll just continue to postpone the thing I need to do for myself until I'm done or I forget about it..."

Silence settled across the kitchen.

"We'll help you do the dishes so it gets done faster, then you have to eat, ok?"

You smile and nod graciously as the twins helped you feel more comfortable

Belphie

"Come cuddle with meeee."

"Belphie, I need to study, please."

Belphie pouted. He was going to cuddle with you one way or another, even if he had to annoy you into it

Only what he didn't realize what he saw as "mildly annoying" was actually triggering for you

So he started messing with the postion of things on your desk.

"Stop it Belphie, I need to study."

"Yeah? Don't let me stop you, I'm just playing with your pen jar."

"But I asked you. To. Stop."

He huffed and put the pen jar down

But then he started to mess with your three pencils you had laid out, smallest to tallest.

"Why do you need three pencils?"

"Because. Now leave them alone."

He grinned.

"Because is hardly an answer and you know it. What would happen if I just took this one?"

"BELPHIE NO!" Your voice sounded between laughter and tears, butbhe figured it was just your way of begging.

"Belphie, please? I need that!"

He just grinned as he shifted into his demon form and passed the pencil to his tail and lazily flicked it back and forth.

Until he saw your face.

"Whatever. Do what you want, I'm done dealing with you." You walked out of your room, angry tears filling your eyes.

"W-wait! Shit! No, come back! I didn't-ugh." He groaned as he picked himself up to go after you, finding you on the outside steps of HOL.

"Hey, why're you crying? It was just a pencil. I put it back."

You pulled your head out of your hands.

"Yeah, but did you put it back right?"

Belphie looked at you perplexed...right? What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

"Look, I'm sorry for using that tone with you. It's really hard for me to focus unless I have things a certain way. It may seem ridiculous to you, but that's just how I am. I don't know what causes it, I just know that it's a part of me. I'm working on it, but if I say stop, I need you to stop. Please."

"....okay. I'm sorry."

Masterlist

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Sleep

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 2286

Content warnings - none, just lots of fluff and humor, platonic relationships

Prompt/Inspiration - AO3 request

Summary -  Mammon starts sleeping in your room at night, and you notice a peculiar habit of his.

AO3

You were a light sleeper. A very, very light sleeper.

There had been several times during your stay at the House of Lamentation when Mammon scared the living daylights out of you by crawling into your bed in the middle of the night. Eventually, you just flat out told Mammon that he had to sleep with you because you were not going to be able to rest otherwise. He stuttered and blushed and fumbled over his words, denying that he had any idea what you were talking about, but in the end, he had taken up semi-permanent residence in your room.

When you start sharing a bed with someone on a regular basis, you begin to learn a lot about them that you wouldn’t know otherwise. Like whether they hog the blankets, if they prefer sheets over thick comforters, if they snore. And you, likewise, started to notice some very peculiar traits of Mammon’s.

For example, he preferred to sleep entirely nude. Of course now that he was sleeping in your room most of the time, he made the effort to wear something. But it wasn’t unusual for him to wake up in noticeably fewer clothes than when he had fallen asleep.

One night in particular, you were about to learn yet another thing about Mammon.

————

Mammon had fallen asleep long before you, and you had stayed up to keep reading a book you had borrowed from Satan. As you got sleepier and sleepier you realized that maybe it was time you called it a night. So you rolled over to turn your lamp off, only to find that you couldn’t reach it because a certain demon of Greed was starfished on the bed, essentially trapping you in a corner.

You thought for a moment about what you should do about this situation you found yourself in. At first, you didn’t want to disturb Mammon. His sleeping face was just so cute! But you were tired. And despite the fact he looked absolutely adorable next to you now, this was the same little shit that woke you up frequently for reasons much more frivolous.

“Pssst, Mammon. Wake up,” you nudged him with your elbow. When he didn’t stir, you gave him a bit of a kick with your foot. And when he still didn’t wake up, you put your hand on his shoulder and gently shook him.

“Wassup?” he finally answered as he sat up in bed.

“Turn off the light.”

“‘K.”

Having successfully woken him up, and trusting that he could manage a light switch on his own, you rolled over, turning your back to him, preparing to go to sleep. But after a good minute or two, you realized the light was still on. So you rolled over halfway, and repeated your request.

“Mammon, the light.”

“Right. Right. Gotcha.” And with that he finally reached over to the lamp and flicked it off, before snuggling back into your blankets and curling up behind you.

————

The following morning, you were the first to wake up. You looked over to Mammon, who was still taking up a good ¾ of the bed, and you couldn’t help but smile. It really was nice waking up with someone else beside you. Even if that someone was a bed hog.

When Mammon woke up a few minutes later, it was only to find you staring at him. He blushed awkwardly as he looked away, which just made you laugh.

“Whattaya lookin’ at?”

“Oh just a cute demon, hogging the bed.”

“Oh...uh...sorry,” he replied, pulling his limbs to himself as he rolled on his side away from you.

“It’s fine. So long as you are willing to turn the light off for me,” you said, smiling and laughing softly, as you snuggled up next to Mammon, wrapping your arm around his waist and spooning him from behind.

“The light?”

“Yeah, like last night when I was reading. If you’re gonna hog the bed, then be prepared to be woken up to turn off the light.”

Mammon rolled over a little to get a better look at you, certain that you had to be teasing him or setting him up for a joke or...something. But you were just smiling at him like normal.

“What’s up?” you asked.

“I dunno whatcha talkin’ about. I didn’t turn off a light last night.”

“Umm yeah you did. You even sat up and talked to me.”

“Noooo I didn’t…” he furrowed his brow in confusion. What on earth were you trying to pull?

“Ok fine. It doesn’t matter. The deal still stands. Hog the bed, be put on light switch duty. K?” you asked, leaning forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek, something that you knew would fluster him.

“Uh yep. Got it. Light switch duty,” he said as he rolled back over to hide his face from you. Without even meaning to, he shifted back slightly so that he was pressed more fully against you, and you simply smiled and hugged him in return. You were such a brat sometimes...kissing him on the cheek like that out of nowhere. You could at least warn him. Not that he liked it or anything.

While you did find it a little odd that Mammon didn’t remember the light incident, you just wrote it off as one of those things. It’s not like it mattered whether or not he remembered, anyways.

————

A few days later, you returned to your room after a study session with Satan only to find Mammon already passed out on your bed, once again leaving very little space for you. It occurred to you then that perhaps he was doing this on purpose so that you’d have to sleep practically on top of him, so you decided to have a bit of fun.

Instead of crawling over him, you climbed in next to him by the edge of your bed, and poked him in the side.

His reaction was immediate. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes...and then he just sat there.

“Mammon? You can lay back down.”

He mumbled something.

“Mammon?”, you sat up to get a better look at him. His eyes were open, but only just, and his gaze was unfocused, “You can lay down now.”

“I don’t wanna,” he whined.

“Mammon, are you still asleep?”, you had heard of sleepwalking before, but this was a whole new level of weird.

“Nooo.”

Sensing that it was perhaps better not to argue with him, you laid down in your bed and tugged on his shirt to get him to join you, “Come cuddle with me then so I can go to sleep.”

Without further complaint, Mammon complied and curled up next to you, resting his head on your chest and wrapping his arm around your middle. It didn’t take him long at all to fall back asleep, leaving you even more certain that he must not have been fully awake to begin with.

————

After that, there weren’t any more unusual episodes with Mammon for awhile, so you had almost forgotten about the whole thing.

That is until one night when you had been just about to fall asleep, and a notification came thru in your DDD. Usually you would put your device on silent when going to sleep, but tonight you had been so exhausted that you forgot. So when the notification went off - it was LOUD.

Mammon immediately sat up, dazed.

“Sorry about that,” you said, turning the sound off on your DDD.

“Fin stis.”

“Huh?”

“Den sai tis id.”

“Mammon, I think you are asleep.”

“Noooo! Am not!!!”, Mammon replied, as he started to act like he was about to get out of bed. Concerned about the sort of trouble he could get himself in while in this state you tried your best to stop him.

“Mammon, where are you going?”

He didn’t answer, but at least he stopped trying to get up.

“I think you’re asleep. Please, don’t get up.”

“I’m not asleep!” he snapped. You were surprised by the tone of voice he was using with you. Yeah he was loud and yelled a bunch, but you had never seen him actually angry with you. Not wanting to provoke him further, you decide to drop the issue and try what had worked the last time this happened.

“Ok Mammon, then just cuddle with me.”

“Fine.”

“Yeah, just lay back down with me so I can sleep.”

There was incoherent grumbling from Mammon as he wiggled back under the covers, still clearly annoyed with you for accusing him of being asleep when he knew he wasn’t.

“We can talk in the morning. Just cuddle for now.”

Once he was laying down again, you cuddled up next to him and wrapped your arm around his waist, hoping it would at least give you some warning if he would try to get up again.

————

“Sooooo, Mammon. Do you remember last night?”

“Huh?” Mammon turned around to look at you from his seat on the floor by your bed. It was Saturday morning, and he was browsing Akuzon on his DDD, trying to decide what to buy with his latest modeling paycheck. You had been laying on your bed, “helping” him with his shopping by occasionally texting him suggestions that you found. They might not have been the most helpful suggestions, but at least they were making the two of you laugh.

“You yelled at me,” you said, turning off your DDD and turning your head to look at Mammon.

“Whattya talkin’ about?? Why would I yell at you??”

“Because I told you that you were sleeping.”

“You’re makin’ that up.”

“Mammon, have you ever had trouble with sleepwalking?” you were genuinely curious if perhaps some of the things he got accused of were the result of him wandering the House of Lamentation unconsciously in the middle of the night.

“Huh?! No! Of course not! What are ya trying to pull? Seriously, is this like a joke or somethin’?”

“No, I’m telling you - you got woken up by a notification on my DDD, and when I tried to get you to go back to sleep, you yelled at me.”

“There’s no way that happened. I woulda remembered it.” Mammon eyed you suspiciously. He was sure this had to be a prank of some sort, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the punch line would be. Why were you being so insistent?

“Well it did,” you mumbled under your breath. If he was going to be so stubborn, you were just going to have to prove it to him. The next time - you were going to catch it on video.

————

Not wanting to wait until Mammon would have one of his “episodes” on his own, you decided you’d have to try to trigger one yourself. Based on your observations, you needed to wait until he was *just* asleep, and then wake him suddenly - either a moderately loud noise, or a forceful movement.

So the following night, you made sure your DDD was fully charged...and you waited.

It didn’t take long for Mammon to pass out. You had made sure he spent the day running around the Devildom taking you shopping, and doing other “date” things, just to wear him out. And since this was Mammon, it took a LOT to wear him out. If it wasn’t for the fact you were on a mission, you’d probably have nodded off yourself long ago.

You pulled out your DDD, turned on your camera to record video…and then delivered a swift kick to Mammon’s butt.

As expected, Mammon sat up almost immediately.

“Hey Mammon.”

“Mmmm?”

“Are you asleep?”

“Nooo,” he whined. You snickered at his response. This was going perfectly.

“I need you to do something for me in the morning.”

“Sure, whattttayaaa want?”

“Can you make me breakfast?”

“Sure.”

“So what are you going to do in the morning?”

“Everryyythinnnn.”

“Are you going to make me breakfast?”

“That’s part of everrryyythinnn’.”

By now you were having a difficult time maintaining your composure. You only just managed to keep your DDD steady enough to get a decent video. You hadn’t tried talking to Mammon this much the other times, and were surprised at how long he was able to keep this up. Seeing as you had nothing to lose, you decided to keep going.

“Can you say it for me in a complete sentence? What are you going to do in the morning?”

“Breakfast and bugggsss.”

“What?”

“Breakfast and bugggsss.”

“Bugs?”

“Yesh.”

“So one more time, what are you going to do in the morning?”

“Killlll everythinnnn’.”

That was apparently your breaking point, and you had to cover your mouth to stop the loud squeals of laughter that weren’t threatening to escape. This had gone far more perfectly than you ever could have imagined. There was no way he was going to be able to deny this now. Imagining how red his face would get as you showed him the video had you giggling even harder.

Pausing your recording, and safely tucking away your DDD, you decided that you had had enough fun for the night and that it was time to give poor Mammon a break and let him rest.

“Ok Mammon, will you come cuddle with me now?”

“Fiiinnneee,” he said, slumping down onto the bed and rolling over so he could snuggle up to your side. You really had exhausted him that day, so he deserved a bit of rest. Gently combing your fingers through his hair, you thought about how exactly you were going to make use of this video as you drifted off to sleep.

Based on this conversation with my husband -

[98prilla]

Medicate

Thomas decides to try anxiety medication, working together with Virgil to find the one that works

AO3

….

I myself am on anxiety medication, and it is so helpful. I kinda hate the "Thomas takes medication and it hurts Virgil" trope, because that's not what the medication is meant to do, and if it does hurt you, then it's either the wrong dose or the wrong medication. This is mostly based off my own experiences trying to find the one that works.

….

“Hey.” He says, popping onto his place on the stairs, eyebrow raised as he looks around and sees no one else, just Thomas. “Sup?” He asks, nervousness creeping into him at Thomas's silence.

 “I… wanted to talk to you about something. But I don’t want you to freak out and run away. I won’t do this if you don’t want me to.” Thomas says seriously, and his heart is racing now as he forces a deep breath in.

 “Ok. Ok. Whatever it is, I won’t run, ok? Just… tell me now and explain after, otherwise, well, anxiety.” Thomas takes a deep breath, nodding once to steel himself.

 “I want to start anxiety medication.” Static roars in his ears. He’s been too much, of course he has, and now Thomas is going to get rid of him just like he always should have.

 “il. Virgil. Breathe. In for four… hold for seven… out for eight.” He slowly gets ahold of himself, following Thomas's voice out and back to reality until he blinks and his vision clears.

 “sorry. I… whatever it was, I’m sorry." His voice is a whisper, but Thomas hears, coming closer and kneeling at the base of the stairs.

 “no. It’s not like that, Virgil. I’ve been researching a lot. This isn’t to get rid of you. It won’t get rid of you. I want it to help. The both of us." He uncurls slightly, reassured at Thomas’s vehemence, curiosity peeking through. Thomas sees this and continues at his small nod.

“You work so hard, Virgil. And I appreciate it, I do. But we both know you go overboard sometimes. I’m not blaming you, I know you can’t help it, that we, can’t help it. But that isn’t healthy. Not being able to sleep, not being able to eat, heart racing and stomach churning constantly, isn’t healthy.” He nods again. He knows this. He can’t stop how he is, but he knows his habits are unhealthy. “That's what the meds are for. Not to get rid of you, not to impair your purpose, just… just to take the edge off. To give you space to breathe. To just… be. Help us relax, help us not overblow things, and if it is doing more than that, if it is hurting you, then it isn’t doing its job right, ok? If we do this, I need you on board. If you feel wrong or bad or sick, then either the dose or the med isn’t right for us, and we’ll try something else. The goal is not to get rid of you, Virg. It’s to help you.”

 He’s silent for a moment, taking it all in, processing the information, before taking a deep breath, pushing back his hair.

 “ok.”

 “Ok?”

 “Yeah. Ok. A few years ago I woulda laughed in your face, but I… I trust you, Thomas. Yeah, I’m freaked out and scared half to death but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? I’m scared and guarded and overwhelmed all the time. I’m so… tired.” He bites his lip, looking down, feeling the tension thrumming in his shoulders, the slightly too fast beat of his heart, how even now his mind is screaming danger, and feels the weight of the world atop him. “I’m tired Thomas. So if you think this will help, ok. Let’s try it.”

 “Thank you, virg. For hearing me out. I’m proud of you.” He hides his smile by rolling his eyes, looking up at Thomas.

 “yeah, well, don’t go soft on me now, Thomas.” A small salute, and he's gone, leaving Thomas chuckling to himself on the staircase.

…

He pops into the living room with little fanfare, flopping onto the couch with a low sigh, faceplanting into the cushions. He can hear the scratch of Princey’s pencil against paper, Logan turning pages in a book, Patton humming softly to himself, but his hair prickles.

 “It’s rude to stare, y’know.” He says, voice muffled by the cushion, but still loud enough they all hear.

 “You’re not even looking at us! How do you know we’re staring?” Roman asks, and he rolls his eyes, flipping over so his head is against the arm rest, hugging a pillow to his stomach.

 “Logan reads faster than that, he was barely turning pages. Patton only hums like that when he’s nervous and trying to pretend he’s not focused on the thing that he is focused on, and you kept stopping writing every few seconds before picking up again, erasing whatever you just wrote.” Roman gapes at him, Logan adjusts his glasses and Patton whispers ‘wow’.

 “You got all that from listening?” Princey squeaks and he smirks.

 “Amazing what you notice when you shut your mouth, Princey.” Roman splutters, making him laugh, Logan shaking his head fondly.

 “so kiddo… how’d it go?” Patton asks softly, slipping onto the end of the couch, and Virgil looks up at him in surprise.

 “You knew?”

 “We did. Thomas approached all of us first, so we would be prepared to help, whatever the outcome of the conversation was. Based on your demeanor, I would assume it went well?” Logan asks, and he sighs, sitting up, hugging the pillow closer.

 “Y’know, usually I’m not a fan of people talking behind my back, but I’ll let it slide this time.” He comments, smiling slightly as Patton slides across the couch, sitting so their sides are touching.

 “We get it, doom and gloom, how did it go?” Roman asks, throwing up his hands in faux exasperation.

 “good, I guess. We talked, and I’m still… anxious, obviously, about it, about what could go wrong, but Thomas said that if it affects me… badly… he’ll stop. That it isn’t supposed to get rid of me, so we’re gonna try.”

 “Thomas is correct. The medication is not supposed to impair you, rather it is supposed to help you better distinguish what is urgent and what is not. If it is doing anything other than that, it is not only harming you, but harming Thomas as well. I will be making daily observations, about your mood, physical state, mental state, sleep and food intake, to help monitor the effects of the medication and make sure that it is not causing you harm.”

 “Oh Logan. You do care.” He snarks playfully, catching Logan’s stifled smile.

 “Of course he does. We all do, Virg. We’ll all be keeping an eye out, ok?” Roman, soft and serious as he catches his eye.

 “thanks, princey.” Patton simply shifts closer, waiting for his nodded permission before resting his head on his shoulder in silent support.

…

The first medication goes poorly.

 Things are fine, at first. It takes two to three weeks to kick in, after all, though Virgil starts noticing changes by the end of week one.

 He feels strange. Odd. Off. Sometimes, the world seems to tilt under his feet, and he finds himself losing his balance, stumbling over his own feet, running into doors and walls, misjudging their distance. He writes it off as a result of not getting enough sleep, which is true. He’s sleeping less than normal, almost not at all, going through episodes of heightened energy before crashing.

 The crux of it all is when he’s been awake for five days straight, unable to turn off his mind, twitchy and sure that Thomas is being watched, being followed. He jumps at a hand on his shoulder, heart speeding, already on the edge of panic, eyeshadow dark and breathing rapid.

 “Virgil. We need to speak to Thomas.” His heart rate spikes further, and he pushes Logan away, shaking his head, hands shaking.

 “No. no, no, no. I can’t, I’m busy, they’re watching, I can’t go out there or they’ll see. They can’t see.”

 “I promise nothing will happen to you. They can’t get you if I’m there. I will keep you safe.” Hesitantly, he nods. Logan is smart, Logan can outsmart them, trick them, maybe he can get them to go away.

 “Thomas. This one isn’t working.” Logan states as they rise up. He is pressed against the wall, eyes darting wildly, breathing erratic and wrong, pressure building in his chest. Thomas looks up at him, eyes wide, and he stumbles back further.

 “Virgil?” He shakes his head, panic taking over him. Because that isn’t Thomas. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows, that isn’t Thomas, someone has taken Thomas and replaced him, this isn’t his host, his friend, and Thomas is in danger, and he didn’t notice and how could he fail like this, fail Thomas, like this?

 Then the world goes black.

…

They take a month. The medication needs to get out of Thomas’s system, and he needs to wean himself off it. He is paranoid and stressed and when it finally stops, he sleeps for nearly three days straight. During it all, the others take turns staying with him, never leaving him alone, constantly talking him down from his ever present fear and panic, wiping himself out with panic attacks day after day. It’s the worst experience of his entire life.

…

“Hey.” He appears of his own accord on the stairs, Thomas looking up from the couch, concern in his eyes. He hadn’t appeared since he’d passed out, though the others had, to give Thomas updates. He’d admitted he hadn’t been feeling quite right either, but hadn’t really noticed how bad he himself was getting until Virgil.

 “Virgil, are you ok? I’m so sorry, I-“ He holds up a hand, gathering his thoughts and stopping Thomas’s rambling.

 “I’m fine. You don’t need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault. We knew there was a chance it wasn’t gonna go well. Stuff like this, doesn’t usually work on the first try. But I think… I think we should try again.” Thomas blinks in surprise, looking at him carefully, trying to asses his words.

 “You do? I thought you’d be entirely against it now.” He shrugs, looking away.

 “Sure, that one didn’t go well, to say the least, but… I don’t want that to stop you. Stop us. It’ll still help, once we find the right one.” Thomas smiles softly, nodding.

 “ok. Ok, let’s do it. I’ll set up another appointment.”

…

He doesn’t notice the changes, this time.

 They are gradual. Slow.

 He finds the ever present tension leaking out of his shoulders.

 He finds it easier to breath. His chest feels lighter, open, not tight and taut and suffocating.

 He doesn’t panic, when the waiter asks Thomas to order. When a stranger bumps into Thomas on the street. When he fumbles over his words on a phone call.

 He’s sleeping. He finds himself drifting farther and farther from his usual 3am bedtime and noon wake up, until he’s forgoing his usual tumblr scrolling, phone set aside by ten. The first time he wakes up at nine, well rested and light, is when he realizes that this… this is working.

 He cries that day. He sits on the couch and cries, letting Patton pull him close and hold him, letting himself lean into the touch, and for once it doesn’t feel too much, it feels nice and good, and he cries harder as Patton shushes him, rubbing his back.

 “you ok, kiddo?” Patton asks, when his cries die down into sniffles, slipping off Patton’s lap, but not going far, letting the fatherly side keep an arm around his shoulders, gently rubbing circles with his thumb.

 “I didn’t realize… I didn’t realize I wasn’t supposed to feel like that, all the time. I didn’t realize I wasn’t supposed to be afraid all the time. I… I just…” He swipes at his eyes, letting out a shuddering sigh.

 “it’s ok, Virg. I’m just glad it helps. I’m so glad you’re doing better, I’m so glad this is working. You’re sleeping more. You’re smiling more. You’re laughing, Virgil, and it just makes me so, so, so, happy. You don’t look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders anymore. You don’t slouch as much, you’re more confident, you’re more open to touch, you come to us when you’re worked up, you’re not constantly second guessing yourself, and it’s beautiful, Virgil. It’s beautiful, to watch you grow like this. To watch you be able to let go of some of that.” He stares at Patton, mind spinning out, because he’d noticed some of that, but not all of it.

 “I hadn’t noticed.”

 “You aren’t supposed to. It’s not changing who you are, Virg. It’s just… letting you be who you are without all of the fear. It’s slow and steady progress. And I’m so proud of you, kiddo.”

 He buries his face against Patton’s side, laughing and crying all at once, because he loves this feeling, loves feeling like this, loves… loves himself.

 For the first time ever, he isn’t afraid.

 And  Patton is right.

 It’s beautiful.

[heartwindguiding]

just gonna put this here @zonie-az have a gift of Austin and part of the protective Austin hc. I finished this at like, 3am, whoops

also part of this is me projecting my dissociative disorder so oops

"We're gonna get you out of there, Austin."

That one sentence shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. The implication that Austin didn't belong with him, that someone could -and would- take him away. For as much show as he put up to the other states, he really did care about Austin.

'You know I wouldn't let California take me away, right?' Austin says gently. Texas huffs slightly, but otherwise gives no response. 'I'm serious Tex. Even if it was a possibility - which it isn't - but if it was I wouldn't want to.'

Texas scoffs at that before responding mentally. He may be alone in his room, but no need to make the other states think he was talking to himself. 'Why wouldn't you? Why stay with me when you could just... leave. Join someone you actually fit in with, or heck, just be on your own. Wouldn't have me hovering or trying to keep you quiet.'

'We both know you hover because you care. You might be over-protective but that doesn't mean I want to leave you.' Austin gives him the impression of a soft smile. ' 'sides, who would take care of you if I wasn't here? Houston?"

That startled a laugh out of Texas and he can hear Austin's echoing laugh. Both of them loved Houston dearly, but they both knew that was not a role that he should try and fill.

'Seriously though...' Austin nudges Texas and then he gets the impression of him leaning with an arm around him. It held no candle to actual physical affection, but this was the best they had. 'Not getting rid of me anytime soon. Although... since we're on the topic...'

Already sensing where this was going, Texas rolls his eyes. 'Austin no. We've talked about this.'

'Oh, c'mooon Tex! One time won't hurt anything! It'll be like a test run - things go wrong, no harm done.'

'It really isn't a good idea.' He didn't even want to think of what the rest of the south would do to Austin, or the flack he would get over it. He had to be strong enough to stay in control; strong enough to protect his family.

There's a slight pause, then, 'It doesn't make you weak, you know.' Texas stiffens slightly. 'I'm serious. We're here for you. You're allowed to lean on us. Me, Dallas, Houston, San Antonio, we're all here for you. You take a break, let me take over for a day. Please?'

He doesn't respond right away, pursing his lips and thinking. Then, he lets out a long-suffering sigh. 'Don't make me regret this Austin.' Austin beams in response but Texas continues, 'You get me if things start going sour, y'hear me? I don't care how much you think I need a break, I won't have you getting hurt.'

Austin's smile still glows when he responds, 'Course! It's gonna go great, you'll see.'

Texas groans and lays face down on his bed. 'Don't make me regret this...'

~~

The next morning has Austin in the front seat. Alone. And wasn't that just new and exciting. He can sense Texas in their mindscape attempting to hover, but their brothers pull him further in. Austin sets to work picking out an outfit - Texas' red button up would suit him just fine - forgoing the hat, of course, before changing. As he exits Texas' room to get food he can't help the grin that spread across his face.

Today was going to be a good day, it had to be. One good day with him fronting wouldn't get rid of Texas' reluctance to let go of the front entirely, but hopefully, it would make some progress.

As he entered the kitchen and saw California, his excitement grew. He might not have agreed with Cali trying to "get him out of Texas" but that doesn't mean he wasn't happy he'd finally get to talk to him. Grin still on his face, he grabs a piece of fruit from the counter and approaches the state. He can sense Texas' apprehension, but that does nothing to stop him.

California looked up from his breakfast as the other approached, a confused look on his face before realization dawned. "Austin?"

Austin bounces slightly and beams, "Cali!"

He looks like he can't believe what he's seeing. "What are you doing here? Where's Texas?"

He continues bouncing on the balls of his feet, he couldn't help it, he was just so excited, "We convinced him to take a break!"

"And he... Let you take over?"

Ah, there it was. California sounds genuinely shocked. Austin nods, emphatically, "Mhm!" He doesn't elaborate however, as he takes a seat and begins to eat.

Slowly a conversation starts between the two; both choosing to ignore the odd looks they receive from the states that see them. Of course, they could only stay questioning looks so long.

"Texas, the heck are you doing?" Oklahoma. Of course. Austin wasn't about to let anything ruin his day, however he could feel Texas stirring in the mindscape. Best to handle this quickly.

There was a slight tensing in Austin's shoulders, but he kept his smile friendly. "'Fraid this is a case of mistaken identities. I'm actually Austin. You're Oklahoma, right?" He wasn't going to lie and say it was nice to meet him. Austin had played silent witness to the many times Oklahoma had seen fit to insult and fight with Texas with no prompting.

Oklahoma made a face. "Austin... ain't that Texas' capital? What, square head couldn't be bothered to grace us with his presence?"

Immediately Texas is trying to push himself into the front, but Austin manages to stay put. 'I can handle this Tex, trust me.' He can feel the uncertainty linger, but Tex backs off slightly. Austin turns towards Oklahoma and stands, smile falling from his face for the first time.

"I'm sorry, what was that Oklahoma? I could've sworn you just insulted Texas, but surely that can't be." Despite his lack of smile his tone is surprisingly upbeat. It's false. "I mean, I would've thought that even you could be smarter than that..." Oklahoma looks as though he's about to respond but Austin doesn't let him. "But I suppose not everyone can rise above their panhandles."

Austin can tell he has the eyes of the room now, but he doesn't care. He glances back at California, noting the shocked look on his face. Hopefully he would take this lesson and Austin wouldn't have to repeat it. He did care about Cali and want to be his friend, but some of the things he said to and about Texas would not be tolerated by Austin. He looks back to Oklahoma who looks equally shocked.

Austin raises a brow. "Nothing to say? I don't see why you're surprised. I'm part of Texas, you really think I'll stand by and let you insult him?"

That seems to shake Oklahoma out of his stupor. "But I thought he--" Austin cuts the state off, already knowing where that was going.

"Hates me? If you had more than a pea rattling around in that head of yours, maybe you woulda realized that I'm his capital. If he hated me that much, why wouldn't he change that?" When Oklahoma's eyes widen in realization, Austin knows he's won. "Insult my brother again, and you'll regret it. Ok, boomer?"

That startles a laugh out of Cali, even though he tries to cover it with a cough. When Oklahoma makes no move to say anything further Austin nods, "That's what I thought. Now, I'd like to go back to my conversation." He turns back to California, "Where was I?"

Oklahoma, wisely, chooses to leave. As California and Austin fall back into their conversation Austin can feel the pride radiating from Texas. The situation wasn't ideal for his first time out in a public setting like this, but hopefully he had proved to Texas that he wasn't going to fall apart over a bit of conflict. And showed Texas that the protection could go both ways. If his smile is a little brighter, who would be able to tell.

[fandom-mess-reborn]

Right when you need it

TW: Talk of substance abuse, addiction, self harm, death, abuse and neglect

The cowboy hissed softly as he walked around the firey hellscape. What did he have to do to find a decent place to sit down and eat?! He kicked a soda around, frowning as his stomach growled again. He huffed and glanced around.

His eyes stopped on a store he hadn't seen before; better yet, he never remembered it even being there before now. His stomach grumbled as he sighed. He checked his gun and went over.

The neon sign flickered, reading as Fill ‘r’ Us, the r having trouble staying lit up. He glanced in the window, seeing a imp behind the counter, playing on her phone with a slushie next to her.

He stepped in, hesitantly looking around at the products on the linoleum shelves. It was mostly junk, but some items looked decent. One odd thing he noticed was that there were no prices for anything. He had a bad feeling the imp would over charge, but he had a way to 'persuade' her if she tried.

He approached the counter, clearing his throat. She looked up at him. "Yeah?"

"I'm finished lookin'." He placed the items down and pulled out his wallet, looking back to see his items already bagged, and the imp on her phone again. "Anything else?" She asked.

"How... did you do that without makin' any noise?" He asked, confused and slightly in awe. She paused. "Huh?"

"Normally plastic bags make noise?" He said.

"Oh... uh, I don't really know how to answer that. I just do. Anyone stuck running this place can do it." She mumbled, looking down.

He nodded, taking out some cash. "No need. I don't run this place like that. Just take what ya need." She said.

"That... ain't good business." He hissed. "Heh, you sound like my old man." She chuckled, gesturing to the cheap vase on a high shelf behind her, a photo of an angry imp next to it. "He always over charged this crap. Even got a few to buy a candy bar for 20 bucks." She sneered.

"Always hated how he did things. People don't willing shop at a gas station unless they ain't got a lot of money. They can't be spending it on a shit ass candy bar worth a dollar." She growled. "So, when I started running things, I let people take what they needed. Place don't need money to keep itself running anyhow." She explained.

The snake didn't understand, yet it somehow made sense. "So, this... thing, is alive?"

"Let me guess. You ain't ever seen this store where you entered, huh?" Stricker blinked. "Uh... no, actually." He admitted, scratching the back of his head. "Place ain't ever in one place at one time. It's everywhere and nowhere; but always there when someone needs it." She explained.

"In a sense. Takes care of itself as long as it has a rider."

"Rider?"

"Well, owner techically, but I don't do anything other than give it what it needs to live. I'm just along for the ride."

"I thought you said it took care of itself."

"It does. But it needs an owner. Someone to feed off of. Otherwise, it eats anyone who walks past it's doors." She explained. "The store feeds off the owner's life. But it can't kill us. Not while we're in it, anyway. Take two steps outside though and we fade to dust."

Stricker frowned. "You're... stuck here?" She nodded. "Yep. Can't leave, but I've still seen more of Hell than you will." She chuckled.

He sneered. "Doubt it." She giggled. "Yeah, whatever." She turned to the slushie machine and refilled her cup. "Care for a hit?" She asked.

"Hit? What is it secretly drugs?" He joked. "Nope. Plain old slush. But... I am kinda addicted to it." She took a long sip, hissing a bit as a hard brain freeze hit her.

Stricker shurgged and nodded, getting a red one. He kept noticing the girl getting a brain freeze. "Slow down, jeez." He muttered.

"Not happening." She sighed as the pain eased. "You like pain or something?" He chuckled.

"You could say... prefer a brain freeze over thinking about my old man." She mumbled, frowning.

"Pain in the ass?"

"Eh... he wasn't always. When Ma was around, we were kinda normal. Me and my dad were... always a little tense. He taught be to cook ramen, pay rent, all that shit. Also made me realize this place don't owe you shit." She growled, clutching her fist.

Stricker frowned, listening, slightly curious what happened between them, dispite it being none of his business.

"I obeyed everything he asked and it still wasn't ever good enough. He'd either ignore me, or tell me how shit I was; be it verbally or physically." She mumbled, giving herself another brain freeze.

"I woulda shot him." Stricker said, drinking the red slush. The girl laughed. "Eh, didn't have a gun on hand. Knife worked well enough."

"There ya go." He cheered, laughing. The imp smiled and laughed, like she hadn't done so in a long time. They both sighed.

He held out his hand. "Names Stricker." She glanced at him, then his hand before taking it.

"Rumor."

[moved-glowfaery]

Them Brooklyn boys is big (Rewrite)

Era: Canon

Prompt: Spot but not how we know him.

Words: 1958

Notes: once upon a time I wrote this, and i decided i wanted to rewrite it. Also im incredibly bad at proofreading so i hope its readable.

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

For the first time in the seventeen years Davey had roamed around on this earth, he had crossed the Brooklyn bridge. It seemed odd to him, how it had taken him so long. but everything he needed was in lower Manhattan. He had never before needed to leave the small island for anything. But here he was, entering in Brooklyn domain. Davey was not a scared kid. He had a little brother and a sister to look after. He had no time to be scared. But when earlier today the group of Newsies had looked terrified of the mere idea to enter Brooklyn. It scared him. The newsies weren't afraid of a fight, he had seen that. He had figured they weren't afraid of anything. Yet the idea of Brooklyn settled fear into their hearts. Even Race, who sold in Brooklyn daily, had avoided going to Brooklyn. Maybe it was not just Brooklyn. Maybe it was the idea of having to propose this idea of a strike to the leader of Brooklyn. Spot Conlon. Davey did not know what to except for him. He must be a tough man to make the newsies scared.

It did not help Davey’s nerves when he noticed the small group of boys following them on a safe distance once they stepped foot in Brooklyn.

"Jack," he muttered, tugging on the boy’s sleeve. The Manhattan leader grunted but did not respond. Les was walking in front of them, almost skipping of excitement. The boy had looked like he won the lottery when Jack had promised to take him along. If Jack hadn't offered, Les would most likely have caused a scene, his little brother could be quite dramatic when he wanted to.

"I can't wait to tell papa about this!" Les bragged. Jack led them to the docks. The further they went from the bridge, the more kids showed up, sitting on boxes, or walking around, every eye on the three Manhattan newsies.

"We're almost there" Jack muttered softly towards Davey. The path they were on ended on one of the platforms of the docks. Surrounded by wooden boxes.

"Jack Kelly," a sugar-coated voice sounded. Davey's eye fell on the girl. She was seated on one of the boxes. Her hands rested next to her, her legs crossed. The girl tilted her head as the looked at the trio, dark brown curls dancing around her face as she moved.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" The accent was heavy but did not make her voice any less sweet.

"We kinda needs ya help," Jack started. Davey raised his eyebrow, just slightly. This girl would probably bring them to Spot,

"Well I is assuming it is bad news," she twirled a curl around her finger as she talked, playing with the piece of hair. "Otherwise ma second woulda come,"

Jack rolled up his sleeves, exposing his sunkissed lower arms.

"I still don't understand why Elmer has to sell in Manhattan," he complained.

"Racer sells in Brooklyn all the time. It's only fairs that one of mines can sell in your borough," "Wait, you're Spot Conlon?" Davey asked. The words escaped from his lips before he could stop it. The girl's gaze moved towards Davey. She lifted her chin up a bit as she ran her gaze over him, observing him front from head to toe. She pressed her lips together for a second before her gaze moved back to Jack.

"Who is the new kid?" she asked.

"This is Davey," Jack sighed, the boy clearly did not want to waste his time here.

Spot jumped down from the box she had sat on. Her black skirt moved around her as she walked towards Davey.

She rolled up her dark red sleeves before she spat in her hand, holding her hand out to Davey.

"Nice to meet ya, Davey," she smiled, a soft sweet smile. It reminded Davey of the girls in his class.

Now that she stood in front of him, he noticed how tiny she was. She was at least a head smaller then he was and her body was so petite he wondered if someone could break her in half by a simple hug.

Davey swallowed the lump in his throat, before he spat in his hand, shaking hers. "Nice to meet you," he said, trying not to frown in disgust.

"Ya don’t belong on the streets, do ya?" she turned her attention to Les and Davey saw the opportunity to wipe his hand on his pants. "Y'all look to clean to be on the streets," she crouched down in front of Les, although she barely had to with her height. "Aren't you a Minchin," she smiled towards the boy. Davey could see the excited beaming of his little brother. "If ya ever get tired of Manhattan and those boring lads, we can find ya a nice place here in Brooklyn,"

Davy placed his hand on Les' shoulder. He fought the urge to push the boy behind him, back into safety.

"We don't have all day, Spot," Jack grunted.

"Of course, Kelly. Always in a hurry aren't ya?"Spot walked back, now leaning against the box she sat on earlier. "So, what ya need my help for?" she played with a curl again, her eyes roaming around the boys watching them from the boxes and back to Jack.

"We are on a strike," Jack started.

"So I've heard," she interrupted him, Jack sighed behind him.

"We send boys around every borough, but we's all know that at the end of the day they all listen to ya," This brought a smile on Spot's face. No not just a smile, more of a confident smirk.

"Whatcha plan?"

"We stop the wagons from delivering to the city, this way no one can sell, not even scabs,"

"That is all?" The curl dropped from between Spot's fingers, the girl now folding her hands together.

"We’ve got a reporter willing to write about it. She is at the square tomorrow, promised us a headline," Davey added, their hope was settled on the headline. Without a headline, there was no news.

"A reportah? A female reportah?" Don’t get me wrong, boys. I'm all for working girls. But I don't recall no female reportah writing headlines. The men on top are far too afraid of us to allow that,"

"Our story will convince them," Jack spoke, his voice beaming with confidence.

"I got a few problems with ya plan," Spot started. The confident smile dropped off Jack's face.

"First, scabs will sell. Even if you stop the wagons, they will find ways to let scabs sell. That’s why them is scabs.”

“We convince-” Davey started, but Spot did not let him finish.

"Only way to stop scabs is with a good ole soakin'"

"We can't beat up other kids," Davey stated.  She did not send him a sweet smile this time. She only stared at Davey for a second before returning her gaze to Jack, ignoring Davey’s comment.

"Second, no matter how good ya reporter is, do ya really think the papes will write a headline about kids refusing to sell the papes?"

"it's about competition," Davey explained before Jack could. "If we stop the World from selling, the Sun will want to write about it. And without the World, more people will buy the Sun. So more people will know about the strike."

"Where did ya pick this kid up? Ya plucked him out of his school seat?" There was nothing left of the sweet flirting girl from a few minutes ago. The gaze in her eyes was cold and she sounded annoyed.

"He knows what he is talking about," Jack defended the kid next to him.

"Then explain this to me, Davey," she crossed her arms.  "Why should I lose a day of sale, will the kids selling the Sun, get all my customers. Yes, the new prices suck, but we've got mouths to feed,"

“It’s not about us against the kids selling the Sun. It’s about the World bringing back their pricing,” Davey tried to turn the conversation back to their point. His palms were sweaty as he tried to figure ways to talk him out of this. Jack’s entire posture was tense. His brow was furrowed and Davey could see the muscle’s in Jack’s arm tense up as Spot started talking again.

"Davey, have you ever had to look after a borough full of kids? Six-year-olds starving cause they made a bad sale that day? You can come in here, talking like the posh schoolboy you are, but I guess that at the end of the day you go home to your family and get a nice meal. We have to go to bed hungry cause we were on a strike. I will not let any kid of mine starve for your stupid games," Spot walked towards Davey as she talked, stopping a few centimetres from the boy’s face. He could feel her hot breath against his face. He could count the freckles on her face and see the strike of green in her brown eyes. She ran a finger across his shirt, tracing the plaid pattern.

"Spot-" Jack tried to interrupt her. He grabbed Davey’s sleeve, ready to pull him away if needed.

"We won’t join ya stupid strike," Spot spoke, turning around on her heels, her eyes moving down all the kids on the boxes.

'"Spot we need ya," Jack pleaded. Davey had not before seen that desperate in Jack’s eyes. But it seemed that Spot was immune to that.

“That is my decision, Kelly," she was already on her way back towards her box, climbing back on top of it to sit down.

"No other borough will join us without you,"

"Then so be it," She pressed her lips together for a second, once she sat down. Then her lip curled in a smile like she was amusing herself. Davey was not the one to get angry, but she was smiling while they were practically begging her to join. That did not sit right with him.

“But, if ya make that headline if ya prove this thing can work. We will join ya,”

“You don’t understand-”

“Get your kid under control, Kelly,” Spot hissed. “He may be smart but he is a pain in the ass already.”

“Davey,” Jack muttered under his breath, a soft warning.

“I think it’s time for you go back to Manhattan,” Spot crossed her legs, sprawling out her skirt.

“But-,” Davey started again, Jack softly hissed at him, urging him to be quiet.

“I said, it’s time for you to go back to Manhattan,” she tossed her hair over her shoulder, shooting him a cold look.

Jack pulled on Davey’s sleeve, a silent command. The Manhattan leader then grabbed a hold of Les’ shoulders and turned the boy around, away from Spot.

“Oh, tell Racer I said Hey, we missed him today,” The sweet voice was back, almost like the conversation hadn’t happened.

Jack didn’t respond to it. Another tug on Davey’s sleeve, urging him to keep walking. He could hear the cuss words rolling over Jack’s lips, as soft as possible so not even Les could hear them by accident.

“What do we do now, boss?” Skittery asked. The boy was the first to jump off the box he was seated on, his eyes on the Brooklyn leader.

“We tell the other newsies the same when they come and asks. We won’t join no strike before they have proven themselves,” Spot stated, her eyes were still on the direction the boys had left in, even when they were out of sight.

“Anything else?”

“Get everyone back to work. We’ve got papes to sell!”

[syntaxeme]

Giardino Segreto ch. 1

[Read on AO3] | [Next Chapter] [Support me on Ko-fi] Rating: T Summary: Alastor finds himself in a bit of a pickle. He’s fallen in love with a human--a frustrated young man named Angel--and now needs to win his love in return before he chokes on pent-up affection (Hanahaki Disease). What’s a demon to do?

— — –

Another night in New York City, and Alastor sat cross-legged on one of the Dellarosa home’s many balconies, observing, listening. The room he was peering into was on the third floor, one of few still lit so late at night. Inside, two very similar young people—easily recognizable as twins—sat on the edge of a nicely-made bed. Both had bleach-blond hair with dark roots starting to show, both were a little thin in some place, a little curvy in others. The young woman was tending to a cut on her brother’s cheek, dabbing an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against the gash.

“Ow,” he said softly.

“Sorry.” She quickly drew away, biting her lip, visibly agonized over his pain.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it by now.” Alastor could’ve recognized that voice even without seeing its source, that soft tenor currently tinged with bitterness. Angel. His heart quickened slightly at the sound. “His fault, not yours.”

“I don’t know why he gets so steamed about it. Even if you two can’t agree—”

“Agree? It’s my fuckin’ life; he shouldn’t get a say!” Angel growled. His sister (Molly, if Alastor recalled correctly) cowered slightly, and he sighed. “Sorry. You know it’s not you I’m pissed at.”

“I know.”

“And Criss ain’t helpin’! He acts like he gives a shit when it’s just us, then when Dad’s around, it’s ‘Antonia’ this and ‘sorellina’ that.” The anger in Angel’s voice was drawn down with pain, and he gripped tightly at the covers beneath him. Molly wiped blood away from the cut on his forehead, and he winced slightly. There was nothing she could do for the bruise under his left eye. “Thanks. Sorry I keep buggin’ you with this shit.”

“He’ll come around eventually, Angelino.” She leaned in and planted a kiss on his forehead, then left for her own room. Angel sat very sit for a few seconds, dark eyes staring at the floor with a kind of helpless fury and sorrow that Alastor couldn’t help but find fascinating. He glanced toward the window, and the demon froze. But of course, Angel couldn’t see him. The boy—a young man, really, somewhere around the age of 25—let out a sigh and turned out the lights, then crawled into bed and buried himself under the covers. It wasn’t until Alastor heard his breathing turn slow and deep that he finally left, strolling away from the house and twirling his staff idly through his fingers.

Was there something a bit voyeuristic, a bit ‘creepy’ about this? Certainly. But could he help himself? Absolutely not. This wasn’t the first time he’d observed Angel Dellarosa and been utterly captivated by every word from his mouth, every toss of his hair. Angel, who had been given a different name at birth but had since chosen a new one for himself. Angel, whose family—excluding his sister—refused to acknowledge who he was and how he felt. Stubborn, passionate, beautiful Angel, who had caught Alastor’s attention on his first night in the Big Apple and held it firmly ever since.

It was odd. He didn’t typically take such a fixed interest in any particular human. Most of them, he would’ve said, were more or less interchangeable. Predictable. Boring. But Angel had surprised him and continued to do so. If only there were something he could do to make the boy’s life easier, he would, without a moment’s hesitation. To see him comfortable, to see him at ease, to see him fulfilled and smiling…

When Alastor’s chest inexplicably tightened, his stride faltered. Further tightness, an itch in his throat, and he coughed. Instead of fading, the sensation of his chest constricting got worse, forcing him to cough harder and cover his mouth by reflex. He was familiar enough with the idea of consumption that he expected to see blood when he pulled his hand back.

The flower petals, however, came as a surprise.

Rose petals, to be specific. Powder pink roses, pink like Angel’s lips when he smiled, like his fingertips when they ran through his hair. Funny. Knowing himself, Alastor would’ve expected red, but although they were stained with the same blood still marking his lips, there was no denying the petals were soft and pale. Another unexpected turn, and once again, it was Angel’s doing.

The concept wasn’t entirely foreign, though he never would’ve expected it to apply to him of all people. He’d always thought of this as more of a Heavenly affliction. Was it a Biblical story? He couldn’t recall.

The tale went that love was a gift, a thing of beauty, and one should never keep such a gift hidden. If kept trapped inside and unshared, the blossoming emotions would fill the space they were given: the space in one’s chest, one’s heart, one’s lungs. The only cure was to confess and to have the feelings reciprocated. Otherwise, the ‘beautiful’ sickness that was love would consume the victim from the inside out. Oh, it was all very symbolic. Very artful. Very poetic.

It made Alastor want to vomit. More petals. Ugh. And the implications! Love. For crying out loud. He’d never felt any such thing in his life. Never mind that he’d gotten a little sidetracked on his recent visit to New York City and stayed a few days…weeks…all right, months longer than intended without forming a single contract. He had been berating himself for it every day. Yet there he stayed. Idiot. And now he was ‘lovesick’ in every possible sense of the word. Fool!

There weren’t many he could rightfully call friends, but there were some who tolerated his presence more than others. One such beast was a fellow demon named Husk, one who also spent much of his time lingering on Earth and enjoying the darker sides of human society. Unsure of what to do or how to approach this issue, Alastor sought him out in one of the seedy speakeasies he was known to frequent.

Husk was the sort of demon who adopted an entirely human appearance when mingling with humans so as to not give away his nature, but he was still easy enough to pick out of a crowd. After all, he was the only one who could see Alastor even while his magic was concealing him from mortal eyes.

“Bullshit! No way is that the hand you got dealt,” Alastor heard as he entered the darkened, smoke-hazed room and headed for the poker tables, where he knew he was likely to find his ‘friend.’

“You callin’ me a liar?” That was Husker’s voice, easily recognizable by its rough and perpetually-irritated tone. When Alastor reached the tables, he found Husk on his feet, in a shouting match with another patron over their game.

“Making friends as always, I see,” he remarked mildly, and Husk glanced briefly in his direction without answering.

“You know what? Fuck it. This bet ain’t even worth arguing about.” Throwing his cards down on the table, he turned to walk away, giving Alastor a subtle nod that said he should follow. So he did, wandering over to the bar, where Husk ordered a rye whiskey.

“You could have finished your game,” Alastor said, leaning against the bar and scanning the room for anything of interest. Not likely, since he knew what to expect here. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Doesn’t matter. I was cheating anyway,” Husk said flatly. “What’re you doing here? Lookin’ for some poor sap to dupe into a deal?”

“As phonetically pleasing as that is, no. I was hoping to catch you for a chat, actually. I, er, have a problem I’m not quite sure how to solve.”

“What, you’re lookin’ for advice? From me?” After receiving his drink, he gave the bartender a nod and led the way to a table in one quiet corner of the room. “I ain’t promising I’m gonna be helpful, but go ahead and lay it on me.”

Sitting very still and very straight in his chair, hands folded on the table, Alastor explained his situation as dispassionately as possible while Husk sipped his liquor. The more he talked, the more he was forced to realize exactly how complex a position he was in and how few options he had left himself. Predictably, when he got to the part about the rose petals, Husk laughed at him.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You got the fairy tale flower-puke disease?” he choked out, and Alastor remained silent, placid, ignoring his irritation. Yes, yes, it was all very funny until one was forced to deal with it personally. With no choice in the matter and no easy way out, it became significantly less amusing.

“I didn’t ask for it, mind you. None of this has been planned by any means.”

“But you let it happen.” Husk’s tone made it clear how strongly he disapproved, that he saw the predicament as Alastor’s own fault. And Alastor was forced to agree, to a point. “You’ve never even talked to the kid and you got it this bad? I woulda figured that wasn’t possible.”

Before I saw him, I would have too. Of course, he didn’t dare say that out loud for fear of his friend ruthlessly criticizing his—very uncharacteristic—romanticism. “However it happened,” he said instead, “I don’t have much choice but to address it at this point. The question is how to go about doing that.”

“What question? You got two options, right? Either you win him over or you eventually choke to death on your fucking feelings. Unless you just wanna give up and die—”

“You know, my friend, you have been every bit as helpful as I expected when I came here,” Alastor said pleasantly. “I truly appreciate your tact and understanding on this sensitive subject.”

Husk rolled his eyes and drained the last of his whiskey. “Look, if you wanted ‘tact and understanding,’ you came to the wrong guy. But I don’t think that is what you wanted. I think you wanted to be told exactly what you have to do, so you couldn’t keep beatin’ around the bush about it. Am I right?”

Unfortunately. The Radio Demon—funny to think how utterly inapplicable his power and reputation in Hell were to this situation—let out a defeated sigh and turned his eyes down toward the tabletop. Stained. Messy. Not his cup of tea. But his friend was right, and he’d gotten what he had come for: confirmation that there was only one thing he could do now.

He had no idea how to go about wooing anyone; he’d never had any need to in the past. How he might persuade Angel to love him and to admit it…he couldn’t begin to imagine. But at the thought of succeeding, of coming to occupy the most important and valued position in the boy’s life, his chest tightened again with desperate longing, and he quickly covered his mouth, trying to keep his cough as silent and subtle at possible. Since the first time, there had been an almost constant tension vaguely lingering around his respiratory system, but it only became unignorable at moments like this.

“Huh. Y’know, I almost figured you were bullshittin’ me,” Husk observed with vague interest as petals collected in Alastor’s palm. “Guess it’s for real. Good luck with that.”

Alastor’s fist clenched, delicate petals crushed, blood dripping down his wrist. Luck was the very least he needed.

[thelastspeecher]

Recoil - Chapter 2: Ricochet

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   AO3

So, I’ll be updating this fic weekly on Thursdays, it looks like.  Y’all have three more weeks of scheduled uploads, then it’s back to my regular bullshit.  Anyways, the Fiddle boy finally shows up in this chapter, Stan shifts into Ultra Dad Mode, and Ford uses his cuteness as a weapon.  Enjoy.

(Again, this fic was inspired by “1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back” by @infriga)

Ricochet (noun): a shot or hit that rebounds one or more times off a surface

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              Ford sat on the couch in his study, abruptly feeling drained.  Was it the leftover exhaustion from the last week or so?  A side effect of becoming a child?  Children did need naps, after all, though Ford had no idea whether children of his current biological age did.  Or was it simply that Bill filled him with a panicked energy, and sharing the information with Stan had helped to ease that burden, share it?  Ford wasn’t sure which one, but as a tense silence fell, he resisted the urge to look at Stan, sitting next to him.

              “Okay.”  Ford stared at Stan, surprised by the single word response.  Stan’s expression was thunderous in a way that Ford remembered from their childhood.  It was the same look Stan would get any time someone messed with Ford.  The implication was dumbfounding.

              Does…does Stanley want to punch Bill?

              “I had no idea what to expect when I came here, but this sure as hell ain’t it,” Stan said, putting his hands on his knees.  His eyes were still stormy, but he plastered on a lighthearted smile as he looked at Ford.  Discomfort began to uncoil in Ford’s stomach.

              He’s treating me like a child.  From the moment he’d awoken, Ford had gotten the feeling that Stan was, so to speak, using kid gloves.  He’d banished that feeling, telling himself that it was just his misperception of Stan’s protective nature.  But he could no longer dismiss that possibility.  Not with Stan smiling at him so reassuringly after being told his own brother had made a deal with a literal demon.  Ford opened his mouth to tell Stan off.  Although, isn’t this better?  Their brief reunion as adults had been tempestuous and violent, and all Ford wanted at the moment, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, was a calm voice speaking warm words.

              “Why are you taking this so well?” Ford finally asked.  Stan shrugged.

              “I’ve been through a lot,” he said vaguely.  “This is the weirdest thing I’ve seen, yeah, but it’s not the worst. Nah, that’d be…”  Stan shook his head.  “Never mind.”

              “I just told you that if I fall asleep, I could become possessed by a demon!” Ford protested.  Stan raised an eyebrow at him.

              “Then why didn’t you get possessed earlier?” he asked.  Ford flushed with anger.

              “You don’t believe me.”

              “No, I do.  After seeing you get turned into a kid, I can wrap my mind around this weird shit. Also, you’re a terrible liar,” Stan added.  Ford flushed again, but this time from embarrassment.  “Seriously, why didn’t you get possessed when you fell asleep last night?”

              “I- I don’t know,” Ford confessed.  “Maybe it’s because my body was so weak that Bill deemed it pointless to control.”

              “Brute force isn’t the only way to get things done.  If he’d taken you over and asked me to turn on that – what was it, a portal?  If he’d asked me to turn it on again, I woulda done it.”  Stan spoke casually, like he wasn’t discussing events that could bring about the apocalypse.  “You say he’s a smart guy.  He coulda found a way around you being stuck like this.”  Stan poked Ford’s small, hairless chest.  “So why didn’t he?”

              “I…”  Ford was lost for words.  Stan’s logic seemed airtight.  Bill had billions of years of experience.  Ford being stuck as a child wouldn’t have been a major hurdle, just a minor annoyance.  But Ford couldn’t think of a single reason why Bill didn’t do anything while he slept. Ford rubbed his eyes tiredly.

              “You look like you could use a nap.”

              “I can’t sleep.  Not until we protect the house from Bill’s influence.  Otherwise, he could possess me this time.”

              “Can he?”

              “Stanley-” Ford started.  Stan held up his hands.

              “Think about it.  Are you still the same person Bill made a deal with?”

              “Why wouldn’t I be?” Ford demanded.

              “For one thing, you’re a kid.”

              “I- yes.”

              “Minors can’t sign contracts, y’know.”

              “I highly doubt Bill would care about the finer points of legal arbitration,” Ford snapped.  

              “Fair.”  Stan was now looking at Ford with a careful eye, like he was trying to find something out of place.  “I don’t think you are.”

              “You don’t think I’m what?” Ford sighed, tiredness beginning to seep back.

              “The same person that Bill made a deal with.”

              “It doesn’t matter whether I’m not physically the same person, mentally, I am. And Bill’s domain is the mind.”

              “Are you sure about that?”  Stan’s voice was soft, careful.  Like he was prodding at a wound to see how severe it was, prepared to retreat the second it began to throb.  Ford was silent.  He waited for Stan to elaborate.  “You, uh, I think you don’t remember this, but when you first got turned into a kid, you had a breakdown.”  Fuzzy memories began to surface in Ford’s mind.  “And not like, a breakdown that you woulda had if you were an adult.  The kind a kid has.”

              Ford could see it now.  Stan crouched next to him, his face and voice infuriatingly calm.  Instructing him to breathe in and out, to let his mind lay still until he could collect himself.  Ford pulled his legs up and close to his chest, feeling his face burn from shame.

              I fell apart like a child in front of Stanley.

              “Hey.  It’s okay.” Stan rested his hand on Ford’s shoulder. “You’re a kid.  Nothin’ wrong with that.”

              Yes, Stanley’s always enjoyed spending time with children.  Even when they were teenagers, Stan would jump at the opportunity to mentor kids younger than them.  Ford could remember clearly one brisk autumn day, Stan telling a long story to a group of children that, by the time he was done talking, had more than doubled in size.

              “You should be a babysitter,” he’d teased Stan that day, once all the children had dispersed.  Stan had flashed him that crooked grin he always kept locked and loaded.

              “Nah.  This is just for fun.”  A contemplative look had brushed across his face then, an expression Stan rarely wore. “And, I guess, for practice.”

              “Practice?  For what?”

              “…Being a dad,” Stan had answered softly, like he was worried saying it would prevent it from happening.

              “A- really, you want to be a dad?”

              “Yeah.”  Stan had hunched his shoulders up then, retreating into his defensive, closed-off position.  The conversation was over.  “Nothin’ wrong with that.”

              “Uh, Ford?”  Stan’s voice drew Ford out of the memory.  He blinked up at Stan.  “You kinda disappeared for a second there.  You okay?”

              “Yes.  I was just…remembering something,” Ford said quietly.  Stan seemed like he wanted to press further, but he dropped it.

              “Well, like I said, I really don’t think you’re the same person Bill made a deal with.”

              Right.  We were discussing Bill.

              “I sorta wonder…can you feel him?”

              “Pardon?” Ford asked, still recovering from the abrupt tonal shift between his fond memory and the present.

              “In movies or TV or whatever, if someone gets into your mind, you can feel them.”  Stan’s eyes bore into Ford.  “Can you feel him?”

              “No,” Ford answered truthfully.  He frowned.  “Wait.”

              “What?”

              “I- I should be able to sense his presence at the back of my mind. I haven’t warded myself or the house against his influence, after all.”  Confusion colored his voice.  “The only reason I wouldn’t be able to detect him would be if the deal had been broken.” Ford looked up at Stan again. “…You might be right.”  Stan merely nodded.  “Of course, if Bill were to possess another person and come after me-”

              “How did you summon him?”

              “I read an incantation off a cave wall.”

              “And what are the odds someone else would do that same thing?” Stan asked. Ford had to think about that for a moment.

              “Even in Gravity Falls, I’d say low.”

              “So he’s not a problem, then.”

              “He most certainly is.”

              “Yeah.”  Stan’s expression had turned thoughtful.  “But not the biggest one right now.”

              “…That would be an apt assumption,” Ford grumbled.  “I suppose the pressing matter is returning myself to my appropriate age.  I’ll need to examine the portal, go over the output data from while it was running, and I should probably-”

              “Uh, no, Sixer,” Stan said, interrupting him.  “The biggest problem isn’t that you’re small.  It’s that you’re dead on your feet.”

              “I’ll be fine.”

              “Yep.  After you rest.”

              “I don’t have time to-”

              “You just admitted you did,” Stan said quickly.  Ford scowled at him.  “If you have time to spend working on turning yourself into an adult again, you have time to spend resting.”

              “I don’t-”

              “You’ve been a kid for less than a day,” Stan said in a pleading voice. Taken aback by the plaintive tone, Ford was quiet.  “I’m not your dad, I’m not your legal guardian.  But I’m already half-convinced that Child Services is gonna break down that door and take you away.  And then the cops’ll throw me in jail for child neglect.”  Stan’s voice hitched slightly.  “I’ve got a lot on my record, but I’ll be damned if I let that get added to the list.”

              “But-”

              “You’re a kid,” Stan said firmly.  The pleading was gone, replaced by determination.  “And not just any kid.  You’re my brother.  That means you’re under my jurisdiction.  So here’s what we’re gonna do.”  Stan met Ford’s eyes.  “You’re gonna take a nap.  I’m gonna fix the broken heater.  When you wake up, we’ll have food and clean up this sty of a house.”

              “Since when have you cared about cleaning?” Ford mumbled.

              “There’s pieces of rusty metal on the damn floor.  You’re not gonna get tetanus on my watch.”  Stan took a breath.  “And then we’ll go to bed.  And we’ll do those things for however long it takes for you to get back on your feet.  Then we’ll try to turn you back.”

              “I don’t see the point.”

              “Kids can’t handle this stuff!” Stan said, gesturing at Ford.  “They’re not designed to live on coffee.  You need sleep and you need food.  So that’s what you’re gonna get.  Whether you like it or not.”  Part of Ford wanted to continue arguing.  But the rest of him was simply too tired.  He rubbed his eyes again.

              “…Very well.”  Ford yawned widely.  “We’ll revisit this tomorrow, though.”

              “Sure.  We can do that.”  The fervent passion that had filled Stan moments ago seemed to have faded.  He watched Ford with a fond expression. “Let’s get you to bed.”  He picked Ford up.

              “Stanley, you don’t…need…to…”  Before Ford could finish his sentence, his heavy eyelids closed.

----- 

              Sometimes, Stan wondered how things might have been.  There were a lot of scenarios that he would play in his mind while he waited to fall asleep in the latest dingy motel room.  But there was one he kept coming back to, particularly with the current situation.  As he attempted to comb Ford’s unruly hair, Stan wondered what would have happened if those pregnancy scares he’d had with previous girlfriends hadn’t been false alarms.

              He always felt stupid wondering about it.  He wasn’t the type to get tied down, and it was for the best that he didn’t knock up the women who left him and stole from him, sometimes in that order, sometimes in the reverse order.  Stan felt like an idiot for merely thinking about it, so he did his best to quash the small part of him that wanted it.  That wanted to be a dad.  It was difficult to suppress, though, and felt especially difficult right now.  Stan set down the hairbrush and crouched down to Ford’s eye-height to look intently at him.

              After only two nights of full sleep, Ford seemed healthier, though still much more sickly than Stan ever remembered him being at this age.  At least the circles under his eyes were hidden by his glasses.  The plan was to use some of the money Ford had left to buy some groceries, but Stan had been uncertain of whether he’d take Ford along, depending on what shape he was in.  Stan managed a smile and ruffled Ford’s hair.  Ford pouted.

              “Why bother brushing my hair when you were going to mess with it right after?” Ford asked.

              “It’s what people do to cute kids like you, Sixer.  Better get used to it,” Stan replied, straightening to his full height. “I think we’re good to go.  You sure you remember the way to the grocery store?”  Ford bobbed his head.  “Good. So, what are the rules?”  Ford sighed.

              “We’re posing as a regular father and regular son visiting a relative,” he rattled off.  “The relative we’re supposedly visiting is actually me.”

              “And?” Stan prodded.  Ford scowled.

              “And I can act precocious, but I still have to act like a child.”

              “Yep.”  Stan dug his car keys out of his back pocket.  “Let’s go buy some food.”

              The drive to the store was uneventful, aside from the brief shouting match over where Ford would sit in the car.  While Ford was napping the day before, Stan had dug out the book on rules for the road that he kept in the glove box.  He couldn’t decide whether he was proud or embarrassed that the thing had clearly never been read.

              “I told you, the law is that people under thirteen can’t ride in the front seat,” Stan said for the twentieth time, looking at Ford in the back seat.  Ford scowled and slumped further down his seat.

              “Caring about driving laws is incredibly out of character for you,” Ford griped.  Stan turned his attention back to the road, biting back his explanation, that he was determined to stay out of trouble for Ford’s sake.  “Actually, caring about laws in general is out of character.  Or was it not you who stole multiple items of clothing for me yesterday?”

              “Kids’ clothes are expensive,” Stan grunted.  “So are speeding tickets.  All I’m doin’ is saving as much money as possible.”

              “Uh-huh.  Sure,” Ford muttered.  He simmered in barely controlled anger as the car was parked, they grabbed a cart, and up to the moment they walked into the grocery store.  One step past the automatic doors and Stan could feel small, six-fingered hands gripping his jacket.  Stan looked down at his brother.  Ford seemed terrified, but Stan wasn’t sure why.  He crouched down.

              “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.  Ford looked down at his feet.

              “N-nothing.”

              “C’mon, Ford, you can talk to me.”

              “Bill.”

              “Don’t worry, Sixer.  Even if he’s here – and he isn’t – I won’t let him hurt you.  Got it?” Stan said.  After a moment, Ford nodded jerkily.  He was still visibly nervous, but even the small reassurance seemed to have calmed him down a bit.  “Good.” Stan stood again.  “Any clue where the bread aisle is?”

              “Um…”  Ford looked around, clearly out of his depth.  “No.”

              “Guess we’ll just wander around until we find something, then.”  Before they could even begin their search, a woman swooped in and peered closely at Ford.

              “Well aren’t you just the cutest cutie to ever be cute,” the woman gushed. Ford blanched and hid behind Stan’s leg. Stan forced a laugh.

              “He’s a bit shy, Miss…?”

              “Susan,” the woman supplied, sticking out her hand.  Stan shook the offered hand, unleashing the wide, smarmy smile he used as a traveling salesman.

              “Susan.  It’s great to meet you.”  Stan broke off the handshake and patted Ford’s head.  “Like I said, my son here is pretty shy.  Especially in new places.”

              “Oh, that’s right, you don’t look very familiar.  Where are you from?”

              “Vermont.”  Stan wasn’t quite sure why he’d chosen that state, but he went with it.  “Ford and I are visiting my brother.  He lives here.”

              “Isn’t that nice.”

              “Yep.  We don’t get to see him very often, so it’s a treat.  We’re actually here to pick up some groceries for dinner.  Do you know where the bread is?”

              “Of course!  Third aisle.”

              “Thanks.”  Stan winked at Susan, who giggled, waved at Ford, and then exited the store.  Stan let out a soft sigh.  “Now we know where the bread is.  That wasn’t too bad, was it, Ford?”  Stan looked down.  His eyes widened.  The boy that had been clinging to his leg a moment ago was gone.  “Uh, Ford?”  Stan spun in a circle, panic rising like bile in his throat.

              Don’t panic.  Don’t freak out.  Stan swallowed.  He’s still in the store.  Just look for him.  He can’t have gotten far.  Stan began to make his way down the various aisles, fear mounting as each one was distinctly free of twelve-fingered eight-year-olds.  He just finished the canned goods aisle when his ears picked up on a high-pitched voice.

              “But it’s me!”

              Ford.  Stan took off in a sprint, rounding the corner to see Ford talking to a visibly disheveled and disoriented man.  The man smiled weakly at Ford.

              “I told ya, sugar plum, I don’t know who ya are.  And I think I’d remember a lil one as cute as you,” the man said in a thick southern accent.  Stan walked up behind Ford and put a hand on his shoulder.  Ford froze.

              “Sorry, sir,” Stan said through gritted teeth.  Ford had the grace to act abashed.  “My son can get excited.”

              “Oh, that ain’t no problem,” the man said, waving a hand airily.  His hair stuck out in all directions and his clothes were visibly stained and torn.  Stan wasn’t sure what his deal was, but he was glad to see the stranger grab his basket and walk away.

              “You’re lucky I can’t ground you, because if I could, you’d be grounded for a month after that,” Stan ground out once the stranger was gone.  Ford turned around and crossed his arms.

              “I was merely talking to an acquaintance.”

              “You sure?  He didn’t seem to recognize you.”

              “Wh- of course he didn’t recognize me,” Ford scoffed, throwing his arms up in the air.  “I’m eight! The last time I saw him, I was my chronological age.”

              “Why were you trying to get him to recognize you anyways?” Stan asked. “I thought we were gonna be discrete.”

              “Yes, but…”  Ford looked away.  “He was my research partner.  He’s the one best suited for helping me with my situation.”  Ford drooped slightly, like he bore the weight of something.

              Clearly, something happened with Ford and that guy.  But we can talk about it at home.

              “We’re just getting food today,” Stan reminded Ford.  Ford nodded sullenly.  “Tomorrow if you’re up for doing things, we can try to find this guy again.”  Stan held out his hand.  Ford glared at him.  “You ran off. Either you’re holding my hand or I’m holding yours.”  Ford reluctantly took a hold of Stan’s hand.  “By the way, what’s that guy’s name?”

              “Fiddleford.  Fiddleford McGucket.”

----- 

              Despite Stan’s assurance that they would seek out Fiddleford the next day, they didn’t.  They didn’t look the next day, either.  Stan had taken one look at Ford both those days and deemed him too physically weak to go on a search.  Ford found himself unable to protest too vociferously; Stan was right that children weren’t built to run under the conditions Ford had been subjecting himself to as an adult.

              Two weeks had now passed since the initial incident.  Ford sat on the floor in the living room, perusing his journal for any information he might have missed, while Stan folded laundry.

              “Any luck?” Stan asked, neatly folding one of the T-shirts he’d stolen for Ford.  Ford scowled down at the journal.

              “No.  I told you, the only way to make any progress into a cure is to get outside help.”

              “Why?” Stan asked idly.  “I did all the stuff you asked me to do.  Grabbed the ‘data output’ from the portal, found the other blueprints that you hid in the woods for some reason.  How would this Fiddlesticks guy be able to figure out something that you haven’t?” That was a question Ford had been asking himself lately.  Part of him worried that the regression was blocking certain aspects of his mental faculties.  He understood all of his research, which was promising.  But when trying to reverse engineer conclusions he’d made previously, he found himself struggling with the logic behind them.

              It’s like I have all the information I need, but lack the reasoning and logical skill to connect the dots.  Ford realized that Stan had been waiting for an answer.

              “He’s…a very smart man,” Ford said quietly.  “His area of expertise is different than mine, so he might have some different ideas than I do.”

              “Makes sense.”  Stan set aside the folded T-shirt.  “C’mere.” Ford got up and plodded over to Stan. Stan pressed the back of his hand against Ford’s forehead.  “You’re still a bit warm.”  Ford pouted. Last week, Ford had caught what he insisted was a nasty cold, but Stan was convinced was something more insidious.

              Just because I had a slight fever, Stan acted like I was on my deathbed. Granted, I did feel ill and weak, but that’s what colds do!

              “I’m feeling better,” Ford argued.

              “Yeah, and you look better, too.”  Stan sighed.  His hand dropped to his lap.  “But I don’t think you should go running around town looking for Fiddlesticks.”

              “His name is Fiddleford.”

              “Whatever his name is.”  Stan took a pair of pants from the pile of laundry.  “We’re not gonna go on a wild goose chase yet.”

              Dammit, Stan!  Ford had learned by now that if he wanted to get his way, he couldn’t argue.  Stan would immediately shut down and refuse to listen to him.  The trick to successfully wheedling his brother was to do what Stan had mentioned at the beginning.  Weaponize his adorable appearance.  If that’s what I need to do, then I’ll do it.  I remember Fiddleford’s regular haunts.  I can convince Stanley to take me to one.

              “Stanley?”  Ford adopted a high, plaintive tone.  Stan looked up from the clothes.  Ford widened his eyes.  An odd look crossed Stan’s face.  “Could we go to the library today?”

              “Really?  You wanna leave the house?” Stan asked.  Ford nodded vigorously.  He felt his unruly curls bounce.  “You know that whenever we leave the house, you have to pretend to be my son.”

              “Yes.”

              “Okay, I’ll bite.  Why do you wanna leave?”

              “I’m bored,” Ford said.  It came out as a whine without him intending it to.  A small grin appeared on Stan’s face for a second before he stifled it. “You won’t let me do anything.”

              “Yep.”  Stan took another shirt from the hamper.  “Last time you did something, you made a deal with a demon and got turned eight.”  

              “Please, Stanley, I want to pick up some books to read.  Like I said, I’m bored.  I need to occupy my time with something.”

              “Well, you did say the magic word,” Stan said slowly.  “All right, we’ll head out after the laundry’s done.”  Ford crossed his arms.

              “Why is it that you’re suddenly so responsible?  I’ve never seen you do laundry without being threatened first.”

              “I got a kid to look after,” Stan said with a shrug.  “If I fuck up, I don’t just screw things for me, I screw things for you.  I’m done screwin’ things for you.”  He glanced at Ford.  Ford looked away quickly, preventing Stan from seeing his expression.

              “Well, how long do you think you’ll take?” Ford asked, in a carefully measured tone.

              “Dunno.  But it’d go faster if I had help,” Stan said.  Ford huffed again, but sat down on the floor and took a pair of pants from the hamper.

              “I’m not good at folding,” Ford muttered.

              “You’re a physicist.  You’ll figure it out.”

----- 

              The Gravity Falls Public Library was somehow even less like a library than Stan had imagined, which was saying something.  But the second they’d set foot inside, Ford had darted off to the Classics section, leaving Stan alone to wander around.  Stan ambled over to a pile of newspapers and picked up the one on top.  He was glad Ford seemed better after getting sick the week before, but knew that if Ford tried to push himself too hard, he’d end up bedridden again.

              People always said I was the stubborn one.  They were wrong.  We’re both stubborn as all hell.  Stan sighed and dropped the newspaper back onto the pile.  How Mom managed to raise us without tearing all her hair out, I have no idea.  He glanced over at the Classics section.  Letting him run off might not have been a good idea.

              “Please, just listen to me!” Ford’s voice begged.  Stan blanched.

              It definitely wasn’t a good idea.  Stan strode quickly in the direction of the Classics section.  As he approached, he could hear another voice speaking to Ford.

              “Cutie, I am listenin’.  And I think ya have a wonderful imagination.  But we should prob’ly find yer parents, okay?”

              “My parents aren’t-”

              “Ford,” Stan said shortly, finally catching sight of Ford talking to the same person he’d accosted at the grocery store.

              Fiddlesticks, right?  Something like that.  Ford glared at Stan.

              “Not now,” Ford hissed.

              “I told you to stop bothering people.”  Stan walked over to Ford’s side.  He placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder.  “Sorry about him, Mr.…?”

              “McGucket.  Fiddleford McGucket.”

              “Got it.  Sorry about him, Fiddleford.”

              “No problem,” Fiddleford said with a soft chuckle.  “It’s difficult to get upset with eager children.  They’re so excited to tell the world ‘bout every thought that crosses their minds.  It’s rather charmin’ of ‘em.”  Fiddleford looked at Stan.  A strange expression crossed his face.  His gaze became more focused, his eyes roving over Stan’s features.  “If we’re goin’ to be crossin’ paths this frequently, maybe you should tell me your name, too.”

              “Uh, Stan.  Stan Pines.” The effect was immediate. Fiddleford recoiled from him, backing into the shelf behind him.  A few books tumbled to the ground.

              “Pines,” Fiddleford rasped.

              “…Yeah.  That’s- that’s my last name.  Buddy, you all right?”

              “I- that- I knew yer face was familiar.”  Fiddleford kneaded his forehead.  “You wouldn’t happen to be related to that rat bastard Stanford Pines, would ya?”  Stan couldn’t help it.  A small snort slipped out.  Ford scowled at him.

              “He’s my twin brother.”

              “Why didn’t he-” Fiddleford muttered to himself.  He shook his head.  “Never mind.  I guess yer visitin’ him, then?”

              “Technically, yeah.”

              “And you brought yer son.”  Fiddleford shook his head again.  “That weren’t the best idea.  He’s not safe.”  A heavy discomfort began to settle in Stan’s stomach.  “It’d be fer the best if the both of ya left Gravity Falls.”

              “I mean…that’s the plan.  Eventually.”

              “No, do it sooner rather than later,” Fiddleford said firmly.

              “I have to help him with something,” Stan said.  Fiddleford locked his eyes with Stan’s, a sympathetic expression on his face.

              “Speakin’ from experience, the longer ya help him, the worse it ends up bein’ fer you.  Really, you should leave while ya still can.”

              “I- I can’t leave.”

              “Oh, really?”  Fiddleford crossed his arms.  “Why?”

              “Because…”  Stan looked down at Ford.  Ford took the opportunity to step forward.  He took a hold of one of Fiddleford’s hands.

              “Fiddleford, it’s me,” Ford said quietly.  “I’m not Stanley’s son.  I’m- it’s me. Stanford.”  Fiddleford’s jaw dropped.  “There was an accident, and-”

              “I s’ppose you want my help,” Fiddleford said, his voice thick.  “Well, yer a world-class genius, right?  You can figure it out on yer own.”  He pulled his hand out of Ford’s grasp.  “Best of luck to ya.”

              “No, Fiddleford, please,” Ford begged.  “I don’t- I can’t do it on my own.”  Fiddleford now seemed conflicted by Ford’s pleading.  “I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done, but I desperately need your help, I-”  Tears sparkled in the corners of Ford’s eyes.

              Either he’s laying it on extra thick or he actually feels terrible about whatever happened.  Whether Ford was acting or not, it worked.  Fiddleford gently stroked Ford’s hair.

              “Okay,” he said softly.  “Okay. I’ll- I’ll at least hear ya make yer case.  I can’t promise I’ll help, but I’ll listen.”  Ford nodded tearfully.  He leaned against Stan’s leg.  “I took my own car here, so I’ll meet ya back at yer place.”

              “Got it,” Stan said with a nod.  He cleared his throat.  “Um, and thanks.”  Fiddleford stood.  His face hardened.

              “Don’t thank me quite yet.  I said I’ll listen, not that I’ll help.”

              “Either way.  I- we appreciate it.”

              “…Well, I ain’t exactly heartless,” Fiddleford mumbled.  With that, he walked away.  Stan looked at Ford, who was still using his leg as support.

              “You didn’t need more books, did you?” Stan asked.  Ford shot Stan a small grin.  Stan sighed.  “This is what I get for telling you that I could be manipulated by cute kids.”

[gruesim]

This is Lily, she would have been 10 this month so I decided to share her story :)

When I was 16 we moved from the UK to Germany and it was the roughest year in my life. Lily was the puppy my parents got me as they decided a therapy dog would be more use to me than a therapist (they were probably correct).

She actually picked me. When I went to visit the litter the lady told me she wasn’t really interested in people, she hadn’t interacted with any of the other potential adopters. This little noob crawled onto my lap and promptly fell asleep. The lady told me that it was clear this little pup wanted to come home with me. We took her home with 8 weeks, and it was a long car drive. I put her on my lap so she would feel safe and not so alone and she gave me an odd look, walked to the other side of the back seat and fell asleep :D I spent the first two weeks sleeping on a mattress by the kitchen, where she had her crate. Everytime she would cry I would let her into the garden (so she learned that crying meant she needed to pee) and I broke my heart not to cuddle her (otherwise she woulda cried constantly). She was incredibly smart and loyal. My mom who worked from home would sit in the kitchen on the floor each morning to read and Lily would sleep on her lap. She was never a dog who wanted to cuddle, but she would always want to be close by. She didn’t much like being touched (I think they say dogs and owners are alike?) and was slightly autistic when it came to interacting with other dogs. She could not smell at all and usually would walk over sausage if it was in the grass. When my mom was sick, she spent every day asleep next to her, and during that crap year she spent every moment I was home with me in my room next to me. She was my best friend, my constant, the one who listened to me and let my cry.

When she was 21 months old she collapsed on the way home from a walk. I took her to the vet and they took a blood sample and told us to call back in a few days. Two days later the vet called while I was at school. When I came home from lunch both my parents were waiting for me, sitting around Lily and I just knew. It seemed she had a genetic condition that meant her kidneys had not grown. It explained why she never grew up from her puppy size, why she drank 3L a day, why her teeth and breath were so bad. Her blood values were so awful that the vet said she should be in a coma and was only holding on for us.

That afternoon I had to go back to school, I had a presentation I had to hold and I am not sure anyone understood anything between my tears. It was exam time, going on to get by Abitur/Diploma. Every teacher I had knew about Lily, so I didn’t fail that presentation. After school we went to the animal hospital and I put my pup down who had to go way too young My teachers heard about it and let me skip some exams to redo later, even though officially you needed a doctors note.

. It was like she knew she had to get me through that rough year, get my mom through her illness and then she could go. So when people say they don’t understand how someone can be so upset about a pet moving on, especially one that you only had for a short time, I tell them that Lily managed to do more for me than my parents, than any other person could. She got me through a year I didn’t think I could manage and kept my spirits up. And it is impossible to feel lonely when you have a dog.

[noonmutter]

I Want a New Duck

( Immediately following the events laid out here ... )

Inventory day was not Rhodryn’s favorite day, but neither was it her least favorite. Customers could be vile creatures in need of a few days with no tongue, but they could also be bundles of sweetness as capable of brightening one's day as any pastry in the shop, if you let them. But inventory day was quiet, and rewarding, and now that the shop's owner had returned, it was guaranteed to be an easy day in pleasant company, doing little more than looking for places missed in the regular cleanup.

Or it usually was. Today might not be so pleasant, to judge by the rambling voice of her employer drifting back from the storeroom.

"...still too bloody riled. I din't--Darlain said if, if I was fixatin'--this's def'nitely fixatin'--if I was fixatin' an' I'd already run outta mad an' there was nobody around an'--this's def'nitely fixatin'. So I'm fixatin'. That's wrong. Somethin's wrong. Cuz I got played? ... no. Not now, tha's not it. Why th'fuck're you still mad day after, bruv..?"

So the ren’dorei put on her gear with the ingrained stealth of decades of servitude, and listened. She was not particularly intent on spying, but what was there to drown him out in the empty shop when she was scrubbing the floor?

At least he wasn't just babbling in there, to judge by the sound of boxes and bags shuffling back and forth and his boots clicking across the floor. "...so she'n'er guy invite you up, an' that's fine, we're fine, s'great, an' then there's idle dumb chatter an' that's fine too, tell 'em th' dumb stories, good laughs, all's great...when’d we start talkin' about my arse? ...well they liked my arse anyway..."

Everyone likes your arse, idiot; it's a good arse. She worked intently at a particularly stubborn stain in a floorboard under the edge of a cabinet, though she was becoming suspicious that it was not chocolate, as she had always assumed, but something more like blood. What had been going on in this shop lately?

It could very well have been blood! ...up till it finally worked loose enough to peel back, and reveal itself as some form of fossilized berry sauce. At least, it had probably been berries... it was sauce, anyway. Blood didn't... stretch... like that.

"...good a time as any t'mention th' missuses, right, nat'ral part o' th'talkin', chattin' about ev'rythin'...she's gotta rule 'bout married men, fine, 'ear tha' plenty, so nah, ours is open, they like 'earin' stories later anyway, but she's got 'er rule so fine, Iggy's still comin' at me...least I think 'e is, gods only know now--no, no, that's uncharitable..."

Could be meatjuice, that could get a bit stretchy. Should be able to smell - Light's sake, did I really just sniff ancient--

”--still comin’ at me--” Her ears perked up in surprise, and then back down low as she scowled hard. Someone had threatened her boss? And just like that, he had her full attention, halfway through peeling mystery gunk off the floor.

"--'ave t'call it a hamhock? yeah 'e was tryin't'be flat'rin' but hamhock? ... gettin' off-track. 'E 'as a lovely 'amhock of 'is own anyway, tha' wasn't a problem, stop that... wierd word choices are not th' issue, Leon, stop. Stop."

For a little bit, he was quiet, apparently forcing himself to actually take a break from his odd little conversation and do work a bit more efficiently.  The mystery gunk briefly gave off a faint stench of scotch gone horribly awry, but that might've been her mind playing tricks.

Leon was messing with his adding machine by the time he started talking again, so he'd clearly made something resembling progress.

"She's still comin' at me right along with 'im, but she's got rules about married men... din't stop 'er any, did it? But I come at 'er back, I'll be th' prick, won't I... an' dammit Iggy's all about it, too... damn fine kisser fer a clown, tha' man..."

Oh. Not threats. How this man loved to abuse his language's idioms... She relaxed and resumed peeling. It couldn't be scotch, scotch wouldn't peel like this. Unless he'd made a sauce of it...

All this grumbling and anger over flirting? That can't truly be the whole of it…

"...got rules about married men, don't y', but yer fine teasin'em after th' fact...cruel thin', y'were speakin' plain an' I were speakin' plain an' then y'still go go go..."

She sighed silently and rubbed at her forehead with the back of her hand.

You're better than this, Mister Ambroce. Please be better than this.

A brief pause, and then a soft thump, most likely his fist on his desk. "All that an' Iggy too! Again th' guy's a wash! Augh!"

The void elf rose to her feet, took a deep breath, and said, "You are an idiot."

"F--!" There was an awfully loud bang and ruckus in that storeroom. A few seconds later, Leon's head peeked around the doorframe at floor level. Spooked horses looked less rattled than he did in that moment. "...Rhodryn?"

The effect of arching a single brow was magnified when that brow was about three times as long as a human’s and trailed shadows from the tip as it moved. She turned away from him, going to wash her hands. "That sounded painful. Do you need healing?"

"No...no." There was a resigned sigh in his voice. He had very quickly learned not to expect any sort of sympathy from her, not that he'd hoped for it anyway. "Mostly th' chair scuffed up th' wall."

No sympathy, but she did offer a hand up once her hands were no longer sticky. "Good. Did that knock some sense into you, or am I going to have to do it?"

Blinking owlishly up at her, he reached up to take the hand almost on autopilot. "What?... why're you even here?"

"It is inventory day, is it not?"

"I..." Grimacing, Leon got to his feet, and brushed off several large dust bunnies from his shirt. "...Sorry. I thought it was earlier." Because it was either that, or admit he'd forgotten he had a manager again. His memory had been unreliable ever since his brain took a vacation in Kul Tiras.

"I always come in early." She patted his shoulder and went to retrieve her cleaning rag. "However, it sounded like you had distracted yourself, so I will forgive you the oversight."

Around people, she nearly always had a pleasant little smile on an otherwise inexpressive face, which made her difficult to read. Now, though, he heard the grin in her voice as she teased him. Though he'd heard her no-customers-all-day voice before, it was rare. He was even less familiar with her being openly amused at him. A bit of a mental rewind as he rubbed the shoulder that'd been briefly pinned between his chair and the wall reminded him of what had started it. "...an' 'o's an idiot, exactly?"

"You and I are the only two people here, and I was not ranting to a sack of flour about flirting that didn't go my way."

So rare to get Leon to the point of fish-mouthing, and yet look at him go, jaw dropping and closing again with an audible clack. After his skin had already taken on a couple extra shades of red, he looked away and grumbled, "Wasn't rantin'. It's a de-escalation exercise. ...S'posed t'ave a duck."

"You do not have a duck. You have an elf, capable of asking questions, such as, 'What is so wrong with aimless flirting that you are so angry at these people?'"

He almost groaned, but stopped himself at the last moment. As a side note, expressions normally accompanied by the groan of someone who sincerely wished they could disappear through a floor that are not accompanied by a groan are very silly-looking. "Y'were list'nin'."

"It was difficult to not."

Desperate for something to do with his hands and, coincidentally, also wanting to hide his still-flaming face, Leon turned and headed for the pastry cases and the cabinets underneath them, pulling his notepad out of his back pocket. "Aimless flirtin's not a problem."

With a sigh, she returns to her hunt for dirt. "What made you think it was not aimless?"

He knelt in front of the cabinet just as she asked that, and there was a clunk as he accidentally cracked his knuckle on the edge of the door. Really? This was what she wanted to express interest in? "...some people think it's fun t'flirt with a guy t'make 'im look stupid."

"Some people just like to flirt."

"An' that's fine! Flirtin's fun if ev'rybody's clear onnit! But not after y'say it's not gonna 'appen!"

Rho stopped hunting under the tables and stood so she could look at him, head cocked to one side. "That is what I don't understand. She said it was not going to happen - that is what 'rules about married men' means, yes? Would that not make it aimless flirting, with a stated lack of intent to follow through?"

The cabinet door thunked shut. "I put it plain I woulda liked t'roll with 'er, she put it plain she wouldn't be rollin' with me. Keeps right on goin' after me an' not just with words, so does 'er buddy. Y'think that's okay?"

She stared, and then blinked slowly. "I do not flirt, and this conversation makes me more grateful for that choice by the second. Let me make certain I understand. You told her, plainly, that you would like to sleep with her, she told you plainly she would not sleep with you because you are married, yet she and her friend continued to flirt and... prevented you from leaving?"

"What?" Finally, he looked up at her. "No, o' course not."

Rho crossed her arms and drummed her fingers against her cheek, then held out her hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. "Wait. What rules?"

"Wha' d'you mean?"

"Her rules about married men. What are they? I assumed she meant 'no married men,' because that is my rule about married men."

He started to answer, but his face fell just slightly as the words "That's what I figured, yeah" came out of his mouth. Finally, the gears appeared to be turning. "She din't want wives comin' after 'er, she said."

"That is my reasoning, as well. That is not a problem in your situation. Your situation that you are very happy to talk about at length. As such, you would be an exception to that rule."

"Yeah, an' I said tha', an'--" He paused, and slowly looked up at the ceiling. The gears reached full speed, and ground through a particularly stubborn chunk of rust that dislodged with such force that he sighed. He’d gone and made assumptions and hadn’t caught himself and it’d bitten him and he’d totally failed to notice until it was too late. "...first of all, Rhodryn, yer now my duckie. Second of all, please slap me upside th'ead."

Rho blinked again, then crossed the room and slapped him upside the head. "Never call me your duckie again."

He asked her to do it, so while surprised that she did do it, he made no attempt to stop her, only rubbing gently at the spot once she'd done it. "Yes'm."

"Now. How will you set this right?"

"I'm...fuck." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck I'm so bloody stupid... Mngh. Apologize, obviously, but'm not sure 'ow."

"What apology would you have accepted if they had been wrong?"

"That's--well, yeah, that's a trick too, but tha's not what I meant, actually." Walking back into the storeroom for a moment, he brought her a flyer from the Ironforge Craft Fest, where he'd circled 'Sarah Hadley' on the list of entertainers. "Aside from askin' 'er sister, which is grossly inappropriate I'm sure I don't need t'tell you, I'm not sure 'ow t'get in touch."

She took the flyer and stared at the name for a moment, again drumming her fingers on her cheek. "Why is it grossly inappropriate to ask where you should deliver an apology?"

"It's-- Iunno, is it a social etiquette thin' fer elves at all, not goin' through a middleman fer pers'nal matters?"

She peered at him. "Are you speaking of having the sister deliver the apology, while I am speaking of asking the sister for... 'Sarah's' location?"

"No. Just th' latter." For all that Leon was a worldly man, he was frequently painfully Gilnean. Even Vember would’ve been hard-pressed not to laugh at him.

"I see no reason it should be inappropriate, as long as you only tell the sister that you need to deliver an apology, not what it is for." Rho handed the flyer back. "If speaking to her bothers you overmuch, what options do you see other than asking the sister for Sarah's contact information?"

Leaning against the counter, he stared at the flyer and bit his lip.  "...mmf. I spose there's tha'."

"You could wait and hope you see her again. I do not think you would like to let this gnaw at you for that long, though. You could hire someone to find her, but you would have to phrase your explanation very carefully if that is discovered. Or, you could ask the sister, perhaps provide her a token of appreciation for her help, and get this behind you."

"She's gonna punch me." Wry laugh. "Prolly deserve a couple more o' those."

"If you reacted harshly in public, yes, you do deserve a few punches."

"...less 'arshly an' more... um... well, I kin think o' plenty of other less charitable words than tha'.” Childishly, foolishly... was bitchily a word? Bitchily seemed like a good word. “But yeah." Brain finally settled into something resembling a course of action, Leon sighed. “Thank you.”

"Of course." Rhodryn bowed her head slightly, and went back to cleaning, taking the thank-you as a dismissal.

Hours later, as they checked each others’ final counts for accuracy, Leon burst out laughing when he got to the end of her overstock list. ‘One (1) too many romantic fools who have apologies to make.’

( @dwyndel @darbiebot @tirasiansails @tirasiantrouper )

[bgn846]

Satum Novum Chapter 2: Distraction FFXV Gladnis

<Previous Chapter 1

The sound of seagulls woke Ignis, he was warm, and finally felt rested.  A second later his brain kicked into gear, figuring out what hearing birds really meant, he was near the shore.  They had arrived in Altissia.

In what Ignis would later classify as a stupid move, he attempted to bolt out of bed.  A number of things happened as a result.  Gravity was a greater force than he’d remembered, and his sweatpants weren’t as snug as they should have been.   The advisor was not allowed to suffer alone, as Gladio had been reading in his hammock.  The dark haired man had witnessed him waking, and was thankfully ready to catch Ignis, preventing him from falling to the floor on wobbly legs.  

The feeling of a strong tattooed arm around his waist, made Ignis’ breath catch.  Gladio was silent as he held him upright, his hold never loosening.  Ignis quickly grasped his pants, effectively keeping them from slinking down his hips.  After a minute the shake in his limbs had gone and Ignis focused on standing up straight.

“I know you’re in a hurry, but you gotta give your body time to adjust.  You’ve been without proper food and rest for over two days.   That has an effect.” Gladio chided.    

“I do realize that, but I have to deal with more pressing matters than my health.”

“Sure, but you keeling over prematurely isn’t gonna help the prince.”  

Ignis sighed.  “What do you suggest I do?” He lamented.

“Move a little slower until you get your strength back.  Accept some help.”  Gladio offered.

That statement made Ignis think.  This man had saved his life, surely there had to be a way to repay him? “How shall I repay you for your kindness?  I do owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything; just don’t throw away what you almost lost.”

Ignis was silent, Gladio was correct, he couldn’t waste this opportunity.  He needed to be smart about his next move.  “Did my clothing make it?” He queried hopefully.

Gladio nodded and finally released him.   Ignis watched as the tall man strode across the cabin, and retrieved a stack of clothes.   “They are clean; I’ll be up on the bridge when you’re ready to go.”  He announced handing off the bundle to Ignis.

The advisor found he was staring as Gladio turned and left the cabin.  He wished they’d met under different circumstances, Ignis was intrigued by Gladio.  However, now was not the right time to be exploring new friendships.  He needed to find Noct.  Thankfully his legs had decided to work properly, and after a few minutes he had freshened up and was ready to go.

Fifteen minutes later found Ignis in the middle of a rather odd discussion.  Gladio and Prompto were both arguing, about letting him go alone.  It appeared that the blond felt he would need their help, and wanted to tag along.  Gladio on the other hand didn’t want to interfere.  Ignis was slightly disheartened by Gladio’s opinion.   Despite the fact, that he knew full well, he would decline the help.   Ignis didn’t want to get either of them involved, unless it was utterly necessary.  

Finally, the only way Prompto would let the matter go, was if Ignis promised to check in with them later.  Phone numbers were exchanged and Ignis was finally able to say goodbye.

Walking down the ramp at the dock felt odd, almost sad even.  The advisor worked to push his feelings aside, he had work to do.  He needed to find a secure line of communication to contact the king, and see if Drautos had made any demands.

--

“Why didn’t you want to go?!” Prompto huffed.  “Someone tried to kill him and you let him go off on his own.  That’s not fair Gladio.”

“Kid, He works for the crown and I don’t want to get involved okay.   He wanted to go by himself anyway, so no matter what you said would have changed his mind.”

“Still, it sucks!  I wanted to help and you ruined it.”

Gladio scoffed.  “I didn’t ruin anything Prompto.  Ignis didn’t want us to come, get over it.”

“What happens if he gets hurt or killed, won’t you feel bad?” The blond tried.

“Prompto, I’m done with this discussion.  I gotta go get more supplies for when we leave again.  Try not to worry.” Gladio offered as he left the bridge.  Telling his younger companion to calm down wasn’t helping his own nerves.  Admittedly Gladio was worried for what awaited Ignis in Altissia.  If he was dealing with traitors there was no telling how deep it went.

--

Noct’s timing was terrible.  He had managed to get the air vent loose in his cabin, and was currently stuck in the duct work.  Stupid action movies, they always had people crawling in air ducts.  Real life was different; the spaces were small and didn’t fit a body at all!    He barely heard the door to his room click open as his head and shoulders were wedged in the wall.

Lazarus’ hearty laugh was what actually caught his attention.  Before he could kick out, two hands had roughly grabbed his waist and pulled him from the vent.  The glaive then slapped him roughly in the head after he was freed.

“Good one highness.  Too bad Drautos has the remote to your collar; otherwise I woulda shocked your arse.”

Noct huffed and held the back of head where Lazarus had smacked him. “I never did anything to wrong you, why can’t you let me go.”

“Doesn’t matter, your kind is what’s wrong with the Eos these days.   Too much power for your own good.  Now get up or I’ll make you.”

“I thought you said Drautos had the remote, so make me.” Noct retorted angrily.

“Fucking punk.” Lazarus spit out as he roughly grabbed Noct by his shirt.  “Get up.”

Before Noct could put up a fight, the glaive had pulled him up and pinned him against the wall.   The next thing he felt were his hands being secured behind his back.  “Hey!  Don’t do that!  What if I fall overboard or you push me. I won’t be able to swim.”

“Not my problem, now get moving.”

Noct was nervous again, he had no idea what they were planning.  If Ignis truly was dead then no one knew what had really happened.  The thought of his best friend not having survived made him start to panic. Unable to stop his body from shaking he focused on breathing.  Lazarus shoved him upstairs to where Drautos was waiting.

The captain of the guard looked over and smirked.  “Welcome to your new home highness, I do hope you like the great outdoors.” Drautos offered as he craned his neck towards dry land.

“Where the hell are we?” Noct asked bewildered.

“It doesn’t matter to you.  The message I’m aiming to send is for your father alone.  We are going onshore and if you so much as look at me wrong I’m going to hurt you.  Is that understood?” Drautos asked.

Normally Noct would have had a flippant response for that kind of statement, but he was afraid.  “Does-does that mean you don’t intend to harm me?” He asked weakly.

“If you do what you’re told, then the chances of your survival increase greatly.”

Noct stayed silent and concentrated on not falling in the water as they boarded the dingy.  Having his hands bound behind him was bad for balance, and he nearly went over the edge once.  He felt Drautos’ large hand grip his jacket and pull him back.  If the captain was willing to save him then maybe he wasn’t going to kill him.

The boat ride was short and no one said anything as Lazarus steered towards shore.  Once the craft was beached, Drautos grabbed him and pointed in the direction to walk.

The rocky outcropping they all headed towards, seemed familiar to Noct but he couldn’t place it.  The view almost looked as if it came from some old engraving in the archives.  Where were they?  A small opening came into view and Drautos shoved him towards the chamber beyond.

It was a tomb or an ancient chapel, Noct wasn’t sure, but he was immediately worried when he saw chains hanging from the ceiling.

“String him up.” Drautos ordered once they’d all entered the small space.

Noct worked hard to stay silent; he didn’t want to piss Drautos off.   He was shaking again as his body dealt with a new adrenaline rush.   This wasn’t going to be comfortable.

Lazarus untied him and pushed Noct over to a chain.  The glaive secured his left wrist above his head with the chain, and then tugged him across the small space to secure his right wrist in a similar manner. However, the spacing was wrong and he couldn’t reach the other side.

“Captain, it won’t reach. I gotta hold him up while you secure his other wrist.” Lazarus announced.

Noct didn’t want that to happen, that would hurt a lot.  One could suffer permanent damage from being suspended like that.  He watched as Drautos stomped over, from where he’d been messing around with a radio. The prince was worried; he didn’t know what the captain’s views on torture were.  This was surely some form of it.  Opting to stay silent Noct waited to see what Drautos would say.

He stopped a few feet away and stared at the prince.  Noct managed to maintain eye contact as Drautos glared at him. Knowing the terrified look he had sprawled on his features was plain as day, Noct focused on breathing.

“Help me.” Lazarus tried again. “I’ll hold him or you can.  I can’t reach the other chain; his fucking arms are too short.”

“That’s too much work, there are empty supply boxes near the entrance, have him stand on one of those.” Drautos ordered.

Lazarus looked like he was about to complain but Drautos flashed the glaive an angry look.  Lazarus opened his mouth to speak but shut it a second later.  Noct could feel his knees going rubbery; the intensity of the situation was taking its toll.

It only took a minute for Lazarus to come back with a wooden crate.   He threw it on the floor and ordered Noct up.  He didn’t fight back for fear of having the platform taken away.  Feeling truly helpless once his right wrist was secure, Noct stared at the floor.  He wasn’t comfortable but he knew it was better than hanging from the chains.

The sound of an imitation shutter clicking caused him to look up.  “What did you just do?” He asked worriedly.

“Collecting proof highness, nothing you need to concern yourself with.”  Drautos answered as he pocketed his phone.  

“What happens next?” Noct asked as he pulled slightly on the chains, they were tight.

“Now you wait, highness.” Drautos offered.

“What are we waiting for?”

“No, you alone are waiting.  We are leaving.   Hopefully your rescue party arrives before you die.”

“No one knows where I am, how is that even fair?!” Noct yelled in a panic.

“I’m merely testing the mettle of the crown, let’s see if they can crack the case of the missing prince.”

“Please!  Don’t leave me here alone!”

The captain smirked and shook his head.  “You don’t have a say in the matter.  Try not to cry, you’ll need to retain as much water as you can.   Lazarus, grab the radio we’re leaving.” Drautos finished.

Noct didn’t have a chance to add anything more, as the two older men briskly turned and left.  Now he was really scared, he was alone and had no idea how anyone would find him.

--

“Now for the setup.” Drautos announced once they were back on the boat.  “Pegasus to Sol, come in.” He barked into the handset of the encrypted radio.

After a minute the radio crackled to life. “Sol here, report your status.” A voice answered.

“Code dark azul.” Drautos replied.

The line went silent again, and another few minutes passed.  This time, the voice that came back was recognizable, it was Clarus.   “Status?”

“The prince has been kidnapped.”    

“Repeat that!” Clarus urged.

“Prince Noctis has been kidnapped. We are in pursuit.”

“How?” Clarus asked worriedly.

“We were ambushed by fucking pirates, they outnumbered us and were able to take the prince.”

“Where is your location?  We will send reinforcements.”

“Unknown, the attack destroyed our navigation system.   As I stated we are in pursuit but we are losing ground.”

“Casualties?” Clarus asked gravely.

“One, unfortunately Scientia didn’t make it.”

The line stayed silent for a moment, Clarus finally came back noticeably distraught.  “Was there any other identifiable information on the attackers? Did you see any markings indicating were they were from?”

“None, it appeared they were a standalone operation.  Have you received any information on your end? Any ransom requests?”

“Silent on our end. Do you know where your closest port is?” Clarus pondered.  “We can meet you there to regroup and plan a rescue.”

“We were nearest to Altissia before the attack.  We won’t be able to follow the attackers much longer.  Once I lose sight I’ll figure out where we are and work on going to Altissia.” Drautos lied.

“Men will be enroute shortly.  Keep me posted with updates.”

The radio went silent.  Drautos turned off the device, and steered the boat towards Altissia.  “Once we get close enough to pick up internet again, I’ll send and untraceable ransom request, with the pictures I took earlier.”

‘Think they’ll find him in time?” Lazarus asked.

“They should, otherwise he’ll turn into another forgotten Lucis Caelum, lost to the realms of time.”

“Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Drautos merely smirked at the younger man.   The captain had to be careful how he played things from now on.  He’d put something in motion that wasn’t easily stopped.

--

Ignis couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed.  He’d only gotten a few blocks from the dock and was in search of a safe house nearby.  The only way to ensure the information he was about to deliver wasn’t traced, was to use a secure line.

Deciding to turn left suddenly into a small alleyway, Ignis waited to see if anyone would pass by. No one came, but he heard the scuff of a boot from behind.  Spinning around revealed a problem.

“Scientia!  Hot damn, you made it out alive!”  Tredd Furia exclaimed. “We all figured you were a dead man, getting lost at sea like that.”

Ignis was thinking fast.  He needed to determine whether or not this glaive had turned or not.  He’d obviously been in communication with Drautos, or maybe not.  He had no way to tell where his information came from.  “The report you were given was mistaken.” He offered.

“Huh – well that’s good.  Where ya headed?”

“Top secret business I’m afraid, I must be on my way.” Ignis replied coolly.

“Right, no worries.” Tredd smiled.  “See ya around then.” He waved noncommittally and walked away in the opposite direction.

Ignis waited until he was out of sight, around the corner, and went to return to his original path.   Then a noise caught his attention.   The faint crackling of what sounded like magic and a soft grunt.  He’d heard Noct make that noise when he warped.

Turning around quickly, he saw Tredd warping directly at him with a dagger in his hand.  Ignis was barely able to throw his body out of the way, as the glaive attacked.  He’d trained with Noct before so he had some practice in dealing with an opponent that could warp.    Tredd clearly had intent to kill, so that was a tougher issue to handle.

The advisor called his daggers from the armiger, except nothing appeared.  He was still defenseless, and Tredd wasn’t stopping to ask him about his lack of weaponry.  The full implication of what this meant finally hit Ignis.  Noct’s magic was gone.  That would only happen if he was dead.

Ignis tried to clear his head to focus on the fight at hand, but he was ill prepared, and stuck on the idea that his prince could be dead.   Noctis had given Ignis access to his magic years ago, and the removal of such a connection meant Noct was surely dead.

Tredd went to attack a second time and Ignis did the only thing he could, run.  When your opponent could warp this made things tricky.  The advisor felt as though he was playing a child’s game, as he dove left and right trying to avoid the glaive.   Things were looking grim as he continued to evade Tredd’s blade.

The man came at him once again and Ignis tried to dodge the attack.   He didn’t make it, and he felt the tip of the glaives dagger connect with his side.  It was painful, the cut was deep, and he knew without proper treatment he might bleed out.    Clutching his side Ignis staggered sideways working to stay upright.

As it stood though, he was going to get taken down by a six damned traitor.  What a way to go, he’d wasted his second chance brilliantly.   Tredd sneered and crouched down for a third attack.  However, he didn’t make it.  The man was about to spring forward when an empty beer bottle connected with his head.

The shock of it caused the man to stumble sideways, but he didn’t go down.  “What the hell!” Tredd yelled as he turned towards the other end of the street, about fifteen meters away.

No one was there.

Then a whoosh of air passed Ignis and Gladio appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, tackling Tredd to the ground.  The glaive went down hard, and Gladio easily got him in a choke hold.  The following minutes were a blur of blue flashes, as Tredd warped to get away from Gladio’s grip.   Since they were touching Gladio went along the man each time he warped.

The first warp seemed to disorient Gladio and he lost his grip briefly.  Tredd took this opportunity to try and stand.  However, Gladio quickly came back to his senses and spun them around, slamming Tredd into a nearby wall.  A terrible metallic scrapping noise erupted, causing Ignis to look around for the source.   The two men had hit the release mechanism for an escape ladder, attached to the back of the building, and it had moved slightly.

Tredd continued to warp them around the small alleyway.  Gladio appeared to have gotten over the initial shock of being thrown around via magic.  Ignis watched as the larger man tightened his hold.  

The advisor knew that consecutive warps were exhausting, and at some point Tredd would have no choice but to stop.  Finally, the frantic moving ceased, and the pair was left writhing on the ground under the fire escape.

The sound of footsteps pounding tore Ignis’ attention away from the fight and he saw Prompto running over.

“Prompto you came too?” Ignis rasped as he winced holding his side.

“Yeah, of course.” He sputtered as he stared at Gladio and Tredd on the ground.

Gladio maintained his grip, even when Tredd began tapping furiously on his arm.  The traitor passed out a minute later.

“How?” Ignis asked weakly.

“Later, we need to get back to the boat and get that treated.” Gladio huffed as he shoved Tredd aside, and rolled over to stand.  “You’re bleeding pretty bad we need to get moving.” Gladio urged in between heavy breaths.

“You both followed me?”

“Not exactly, I went out by myself to follow you, and blondie went out to follow me.  The difference being, he sucks at following people.   So we teamed up to save time.” Gladio offered as Prompto walked over.

“Hey, I did really good hitting that guy in the head.  That was a long throw.”  Prompto exclaimed but he was suddenly distracted when he saw the blood on Ignis’ shirt.  “Shit, Ignis you need help.”

“I fear it may not matter.” The advisor sighed.  “Noct’s dead.”

“Whoa you don’t know that for sure!” Gladio replied as he bent over to look at the open wound in Ignis’ side.  “You’re bleeding a lot we need to put pressure on it.”

Ignis watched speechlessly as Gladio took off his t-shirt and rolled it up.  Momentarily distracted by the wall of muscle, and giant tattoo in front of his face, Ignis wavered in place.  He realized a second later that two arms were being threaded around his waist.  Gladio was tying the shirt around his body to put pressure on the wound.

“Come on we don’t have much time, we need to go.” Gladio insisted as he took Ignis’ left arm and slung it over his shoulder.  

Suddenly the fire escape mechanism squealed to life, and the ladder came crashing to the ground.  Prompto yelped and Ignis could feel Gladio suck in a breath.  The ladder had landed squarely on Tredd’s head.

“Is he dead?” Prompto whispered as he stood frozen in place.

“Kiddo I urge you to look away and keep walking.” Gladio suggested seriously.  “We need to go now.”

“But – he’s been hit in the head – should we do something.” The blond tried again.

“It was an accident.” Ignis added with a strained voice.  “We can’t help him.”  The advisor watched as Prompto struggled with his conscious.  The younger man seemed to come to terms with the situation, a few seconds later, and bolted from his spot running out into the street.

Gladio followed and Ignis started to protest when they turned away from the safe house.  He knew there were potions there, and he still needed to call the king.  Though it didn’t matter, Noct was gone.   Whimpering out loud at the thought, he tried to pull away.

“NO, we can’t go that way, the boat is the other direction.”

“The safe house.” Ignis lamented as he pointed with his free hand.

“The safe house isn’t safe anymore, if loser glaive is hanging around to kill you.”  The taller man cut in.

Unable to put up any resistance, Ignis let Gladio drag him back to the boat.  Maybe he could throw himself overboard later, no one would notice.  He’d failed his prince.

The walk back was a blur, his side throbbed in pain, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Noct.  Turning sideways to get back up the gang plank, Ignis asked helplessly.  “What are you doing?”

“Saving you again.” Gladio retorted as he went straight to the common area.

Ignis was deposited on the table in the room, and Gladio forced him to lie down.   The feeling of lightheadedness was steadily taking over Ignis senses.   He’d lost a lot of blood and was feeling the effects.   The table wasn’t big enough to hold his entire body, so his legs hung off the edge past his knees.

“Prompto go get that box I tell you to never touch.” Gladio ordered a moment later.

All the advisor heard was a quiet yelp, and the sound of boots shuffling away.  “Don’t bother with me.”  He whispered.

“Will you shut it, you still gotta catch the bad guy who set this up!”

That factoid registered with Ignis and he snapped his eyes open again.  When had he closed them?  Astrals he was tired.  Maybe not getting enough rest before he took off to save Noct was a bad idea.   Prompto finally returned clutching a wooden box like his life depended on it.

“Bring it here kiddo, I need something out of it.”

Ignis watched as Gladio opened the box and removed a potion.  “How did you get that?” He asked in awe.

“My dad gave me a bunch over the years.  He was always worried about me and my sister getting hurt.  So I keep some on board in case of near death situations.  Like this one.” He announced dryly.   The dark haired man didn’t wait for a response, as he took Ignis’ hand and helped him break the potion bottle.

The throbbing pain in Ignis’ side ebbed and died out.  He still felt exhausted, but gaining relief from the pain was a welcome change. Closing his eyes once more Ignis tried to calm his breathing.  However, the feeling of fumbling fingers near his stomach caused him to flinch.

“Sorry.” Gladio mumbled.  “I gotta check the wound to see if you need another potion.”  He worked the knot in the t-shirt loose, and tugged it away.

Ignis chose to keep his eyes shut as Gladio worked.  He could feel calloused, warm hands, pulling his dress shirt up and away from the now closed wound.   The sound of the water running in the sink came next, and a warm rag was soon cleaning his side.    

Gladio’s deep voice broke the silence.  “Hand me another one Prom.”

Ignis heard the cap to the potion bottle come loose.  He felt the effects immediately, as Gladio poured the contents over his now healing wound.  

“Thanks buddy, you can put the box back now.” Gladio said quietly. “Now it’s your turn.  Time to get rid of that blood soaked shirt.”

Barely registering that he was being spoken to, Ignis pried his eyes open again.  “I still need to call the king.”  He uttered weakly.

“Your phone works, why can’t you just make a call?” Gladio asked.

“I don’t know how deep the plot goes, and if my phone is tapped then it won’t help us catch the bad guys.”

“Ah, gotcha.  Do you happen to remember any of the codes for the encrypted radio channels?  I’ve got an older radio around here we could try.”

This bit of information got Ignis’attention right away, and he tried to sit up.  A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him, and he threw out his hands to try and grab the table.  Gladio’s arm was around his shoulders a second later guiding him up.

“You really suck at taking it easy don’t ya.” He chided.

Sighing heavily Ignis slumped into Gladio’s shoulder. “I – I’m not myself right now, I do apologize.”

“I didn’t mean anything bad by it; now let’s get you cleaned up before we try our radio experiment.  I’m assuming you remember some of the codes since you got all animated there for a second.”

Moving to the bench instead of the table top was an improvement.   Gladio helped remove his ruined shirt, and found a blanket to wrap around Ignis’ lean frame.  Prompto came back into the room, and stood smiling, waiting for instructions.

“Wanna sit with Ignis while I clean the table?” Gladio asked.

The blond hopped over and plopped down next to the advisor.  “What’s the plan? What did I miss?”

“We will be trying to reach out to the citadel via radio.”  Ignis replied around a yawn.  He still couldn’t shake the feeling of sadness that gripped him.  Was it really true, was Noct gone?

Gladio finished cleaning the table and left to retrieve the radio.   Prompto took this brief break to speak again.  “I’m sure your friend is alright, there must be another reason why you can’t communicate with him right now.”

“Hmmm.” Ignis hummed.   “I do wonder how that glaive knew I was here.”  He pondered aloud.

“We have a good crew of men that work with us, but they all saw you getting plucked out of the sea, in the middle of nowhere.  I’m sure that’s a difficult thing to stay quiet about.”  Prompto added.  “It doesn’t take long for news to spread unfortunately.”

“Oh.  Are they coming back aboard?”

“No, we won’t need another full crew like that for another month or so.  It’s just Gladdy and me for now.  And you of course.” The blond corrected.

Gladio came back in the room before Ignis could craft another question.  “Ok lets’ give this a try.  Code please?” He asked, as he sat down on the other side of Ignis.

“Shit.” Ignis swore suddenly.

“What?!” Gladio asked.

“This won’t work, the person who betrayed the crown is high enough up in the ranks to have access to all of these codes.  Damn, why didn’t I think of that sooner.”  he lamented.

“Be happy you didn’t make it to the safe house, I’m sure your big boss would have had access to that line as well.”

Sighing through his nose Ignis nodded.  “Why must I be thwarted at every turn!”  

“Wait, if the bad guy can hear what you say on those encrypted lines, does that mean he’s using them too?” Prompto asked suddenly.

Ignis perked up again.  “Oh, that is a good point.  Perhaps we could listen in.”

Gladio reached over to a nearby shelf and grabbed a pen and paper.   “Write down as many of those encrypted codes as you can, we’ll go through them and see what we can hear.”

Ignis paused.  “You do know we will be breaking several laws doing this.”

“It’s a matter of life or death so I think that makes up for it.” Gladio offered.

Ignis hoped he wasn’t doing the wrong thing as he wrote down the codes.  The idea of Gladiolus Amicitia being a bad guy was a hard pill to swallow.  He had to go with his gut and trust Clarus’ only son.   Prompto was a mystery but Gladio seemed to think he was on the up and up.  They were his last avenue of help so what choice did Ignis have?   “Here you go.” He said quietly sliding the paper into the middle of the table a few moments later.

“Have at it blondie.” Gladio announced looking at the younger man.  “He’s the tech guru not me.” Gladio admitted.

“Um – what names should I listen for?” Prompto asked meekly as he set up the radio.

“Mine, Noctis, and perhaps Titus.” Ignis answered.

“Ok I’ll cycle through the channels and see what we pick up.” The blond began fiddling with the radio and after a minute he had the first channel live. They listened but nothing came through but crackling.   “Guess I’ll try the others.”

After fifteen minutes Prompto had gone through all the codes and but no one was transmitting anything.  Ignis was still huddled in the blanket from earlier.  He was warm, but he felt like he was about to pass out.    Leaning forward on the table, Ignis rested his head while he listened to the radio static.

Unaware of how much time had passed in this manner Ignis’ body involuntarily jerked to stay awake. “What’s happened?” He asked groggily.

“Nothing yet, we’ve been listening for over an hour.” Prompto offered.

Gladio sighed from beside him.  “You should go lie down Ignis, I’ll stay and listen, but you need to rest.”

“No – I’ve got to be here in case something comes through and you two don’t understand it.”

“We’ll take good notes I promise, but you need to sleep.”

“Hmmm.” Ignis really was exhausted, but he desperately wanted information about Drautos.  He had to find that traitor and make him pay.  The advisor wanted to believe like Gladio, that Noct was still alive, but it was so improbable.  His magic was gone.  He was about to add more when the radio crackled to life.

“ading to altissia – caught fish.”  A broken voice announced.

“I thought you said these were private channels?” Prompto asked in confusion.  “Why are they talking about fishing.”

Gladio held his hand up for them all to wait.  “These people, the traitors to the crown have the same problem as us.  We are all using the same lines of communication.  It might be code.”

“Which encrypted code did you use to get this channel?” Ignis asked quickly.

Prompto showed him and Ignis instantly knew this wasn’t a mistake.   “Keep listening, please.”  It was one of Drautos’ encoded lines.  He’d seen this encryption code by mistake ages ago.  He’d been in between meetings at the citadel, when a glaive had come up and hand delivered a file folder.

Ignis had opened the folder and realized it had been delivered to the wrong person.  It had actually been meant for Drautos, the captain of the guard. The glaive had come running back a few minutes later, requesting the folder, citing their mistake.

The only piece of information Ignis had remembered, when he looked in the folder was a single encryption code.  The advisor didn’t recall it being one of the regular codes, so he’d committed it to memory.  He’d planned to check it later but he never had the time.  Instead he’d written it down and filed it away.  However, now given the current situation this could be the break he needed.

The radio came back to life again.  “Did you throw it back?” The unknown voice asked.

“Nope – strung it up.”  The first person replied.  The voice sounded familiar, Ignis wasn’t sure if it was Drautos talking or maybe Lazarus. The radio channel was too crackly to tell for sure.

The radio voice laughed suddenly.  “Did it put up a fight?”

“Of course, though it wasn’t strong enough to win against me.  Fitting that it’ll die where it all started.”

“ETA?” The voice asked.

“Few hours.”

Then the radio went silent.  The conversation was over.

“Oh man I’m so confused right now.” Prompto wailed.  “Please tell me why this dude’s creepy fishing conversation was important?”

“Well I think that confirms the prince is alive.” Gladio announced relieved.  

Ignis barely registered the talk going on around him.  He was hung up on the last sentence, ‘fitting that it’ll die where it all started’.   What did that mean?   There was a clue in there about Noct’s location and he had to figure it out, fast.

>Next Chapter 3

[smartgirlsaremean]

My Heart’s in the Highlands - Chapter 18

Fandom: OUAT, Hamish Macbeth

Pairing: Bellish, sides of Swanfire and Snowing

Rating: T

Summary: With Rumplestiltskin gone, Belle can't face going back to the Enchanted Forest without him. She leaves Storybrooke forever, travels the world, and ends up in a small village in Scotland, where she meets a constable with a very familiar face.

AO3

Chapter 18 - Double, Double Toil and Trouble - Hamish's plans speed the investigation along, and something's up with Hook.

Zelena snarled. “What do you mean, the Dark One’s son did not return? He must have!”

“There was no one by the name of Baelfire in their party, my lady,” Aurora said shakily. “He stayed behind with his own son.”

“What about the servant girl they say he took all those years ago? Belle, wasn’t it? Perhaps she could do in a pinch.”

“I met no one by that name.”

Zelena growled and waved a hand, and the girl’s head whipped to one side as if she’d been slapped. “Useless. But then, all you spoiled little princesses are.”

“Please, my lady, I - we’ve done as you asked. It isn’t our fault that…”

"Fault? No, I suppose not. Go, and if you breathe a word to anyone about this, I will skin your precious Philip alive.”

When the girl was gone, Zelena glared around her sister’s room for something worthy of her rage. Fixing on a stupid little crystal decoration on her vanity, Zelena hurled it across the room, watching with satisfaction as it shattered on the flagstone floor.

“My lady? Are you well?”

Zelena took a deep breath and turned to face Walsh, who hovered just inside the door. “There has been a...complication in our plans. The only people who would have been interested in resurrecting the Dark One stayed behind.”

“I thought the Queen was his student - would she not wish to…”

“Undoubtedly, but she would not be willing to pay the price.”

"But without him, my lady, how will you…”

"It will be more difficult, certainly, but there are other ways.” She glared into one of the many mirrors hanging on the walls. “They are not ideal, but they will do the job. We must concentrate all of our efforts on returning to the Land Without Magic. When I have succeeded, Rumplestiltskin will never have died at all, and it is I who will be chosen.”

“Winged monkeys?” Henry stared at his mother as if she were crazy. “Those aren’t fairy tale characters.”

“I know, but...well, that’s the only way I know to describe what we saw,” Emma looked rattled. “I mean, I know there are other realms, y’know? Obviously. But I can only think of one place winged monkeys would come from.”

“So now we’re dealing with The Wizard of Oz too?”

“Oz?” Belle came around the counter, her heart pounding. “I thought...I thought Oz was a myth.”

“You’ve heard of Oz?” Emma closed her eyes. “Ok, I guess that settles that. Oz is real. Fantastic.”

“And the winged monkeys are…?” Hook asked, waving his hook impatiently.

“That’s new to me,” Belle shrugged. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Well, we have.” Henry shared a look with his mother. “Only one person in Oz works with winged monkeys. The Wicked Witch of the West.”

“The woman with green skin, aye?” Hamish said, and Belle turned to stare at him. “I’ve seen a film or two.”

“There’s a film?”

“What’s a film?” Hook asked.

“Never mind.” Emma huffed. “Okay, so...so if the monkeys are here, odds are she is too. But why? What does she want?”

“Well, first we need to find out who she is,” Hamish pointed out. “And we can assume her skin isnae green in this world, because someone definitely woulda noticed that.”

“I guess that’s where the census comes in,” Emma said. She still looked a little shaken by the revelation that Oz, green women, and flying monkeys were now a part of her reality, but Hamish had to admire her grit.

“So...we still haven’t seen or heard from my mom,” Henry said nervously. “But if the Wicked Witch of the West did all this, my mom couldn’t have. She was the evil queen, not a witch.”

“I never believed Regina did this, not for a second,” Emma said firmly. “There’s no way she would have brought us back here and then not come for you. Even if she’d gone totally Dark Side, you would’ve been her first priority.”

“Yeah.” Henry looked a little mollified, and Emma put an arm around him.

“It’s almost one,” Hamish pointed out. “We should probably go see what the others have found, aye?”

Mary Margaret - she had insisted that Hamish call her that, and he’d agreed because calling her “your majesty” was still much too surreal for him - sat at the head of several tables shoved together with her husband standing just behind her. They’d moved their base of operations from the sheriff’s station to Granny’s Diner because it was more centrally located. To Mary Margaret’s right sat Grumpy, his brothers in a row beside him, and to her left was the Mother Superior with a few of her nuns. Belle, Emma, Captain Hook, Granny, Ruby, and an older man Mary Margaret had called Marco sat farther down the table.

Hamish crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, eyeing each face and committing it to memory. Under Mary Margaret’s direction, each group read out the names of unfamiliar people they’d encountered. Doc had met a young lady named Tiana he didn’t know, but one of the nuns knew her. Astrid, a nun with a brilliant smile who kept sneaking glances at Grumpy, had never met a couple called Ariel and Eric, but Ruby, Belle, and Grumpy knew them. So it went, and Hamish could see bewilderment and fear beginning to creep across every face as they worked their way through the lists and discovered not a single person who wasn’t known to someone or other.

“That’s everyone,” Mary Margaret said at last, looking over the list and frowning. “I don’t understand - I thought surely…”

“Hang on,” Hamish said, straightening. “What about the woman who visited the pawn shop today? Said she was yer midwife?”

“Oh, Zelena.” Mary Margaret frowned at the papers in her hands. “Her name isn’t listed - but she was at my house for most of the afternoon. They must have just missed her.”

“And you knew her before?”

“No, I didn’t recognize her.” Glancing around the room, her pretty face grew wary. “Has anyone met a midwife named Zelena before?”

“The name isn’t familiar to me,” Mother Superior said. She looked down the table to the row of nuns. “Have any of you heard of her?”

They all shook their heads and Mary Margaret looked faint. “But...surely...what about you, Belle? Captain?”

Belle shook her head, and Hook shrugged. “I’ve met a good many women in my time, but never anyone named Zelena,” he said. “A name like that, I think I’d remember.”

Hamish looked at Emma over her mother’s head and saw that she was staring at Hook, her eyes narrowed and her mouth set in a firm line. Mary Margaret made a distressed noise and placed one protective hand over her belly.

“What if Zelena is the witch?” she asked. “I’ve let her into my home, drunk tea she made for us...how could I be so stupid?”

“You weren’t stupid, Mom, and we don’t know that she’s the witch. Either way, we need to find her and talk to her, maybe find out if she has any other connections in town who can vouch for her.”

“I don’t really see the point of all this,” David said impatiently. “Just because we remember someone doesn’t mean they didn’t cast the curse, and Zelena’s status as a stranger doesn’t make her guilty.”

“Obviously,” Emma answered. “But all we know about the caster of this curse is that they’re going after people who were close to Rumplestiltskin and they’re magical enough to pull off the Dark Curse. Blue keeps pretty close tabs on magic users, and it’s pretty telling that of all the people who’ve come over this time, this Zelena person is the only one no one seems to remember meeting.”

“Mom, I just thought of something,” Henry said. “Belle figured out why Dad is missing.”

Everyone swiveled to stare at Belle, and she fidgeted a little as she explained the safe and the blood magic.

“They’re keeping Neal for his blood?” Emma looked pale and David moved closer to her.

“They wouldn’t have needed much,” Belle reassured her. “Just a couple of small drops would do it, one to open the lock and one to seal it again.”

“And you don’t have any idea what was in that jar?” David asked.

“Something dangerous and powerful. Rumple wouldn’t have bothered to lock it away, otherwise.”

“Okay. We can worry about that later.”

Mary Margaret stood unsteadily, and David immediately went to her side to support her. “I’m sorry, I...I think I need to lie down.” She looked around. “You’re all dismissed. Thank you for your help today.”

“If anyone does run into this Zelena, would you send her to the station so I can talk to her?” David asked. “You can reach me on my phone; I’m going back to the woods to look around. Wanna come with me?” he asked his daughter.

“Nah, I’ve got something else I wanna do,” she said. She glanced at Hamish, and he recognized that look - it was the one a partner would use to make sure you had her back. Nodding slightly, he settled back against the counter and waited. The dwarfs and the nuns filed out, the other members of the council, but Emma pointed at Hook. “Not you,” she said firmly. “I need you to stay here.”

“Your wish is my command, love,” the pirate said with a smile. “How may I be of service?”

Emma met Belle’s eyes, and Belle immediately rose. “Henry, I think there might be some information in your book that we could use. Will you bring it back to the shop so I can take a look?”

Henry eyed her suspiciously, but shrugged and agreed. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes dark and unreadable, as he left and Emma waited for everyone to empty out of the diner. When they were gone, she fixed Hook with a hard stare. “We’ve known each other awhile, Hook. We’ve climbed beanstalks. Waved swords at each other. Fought our way through Neverland.”

“Fallen desperately in love only to be tragically separated?” Hook suggested, and Emma rolled her eyes.

“My point is, you’re no stranger. You know me.”

“Oh, that I do, love.”

“Right. So tell me: why did you think you could lie to me?”

The charming grin on his face froze and slid away, and Hook’s eyes lost their roguish twinkle. “Come again?”

“When you said you’d never met anyone named Zelena, you were lying. The others didn’t notice, but I did.” She crossed her arms. “Superpower, remember?”

“I…”

“The truth this time, or things could get real ugly real fast.”

“I...well...the truth is that Zelena...she’s, er…”

Emma raised her eyebrows.

“A dalliance, alright?” Hook sighed. “A few years before the first curse.”

That still didn’t ring completely true. Hamish straightened and walked a little closer while Emma’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“And...and I’ve run into her again a few times since coming back,” Hook said hastily. “We...reforged the old connection and...well, it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Emma asked.

“I...didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

“Why should I care who you sleep with?” Hook looked a little lost for words, and Emma sighed. “Killian, we’ve been over this. You and me - it’s never going to happen. You can romance every single woman in Storybrooke for all I care.”

“Aye, love, so you’ve said,” Hook said. “But you certainly were quick to notice that I knew Zelena.”

“Because I knew you were lying.”

“Or because you were jealous.”

“Oh my God.” Emma shook her head and closed her eyes. “Does Zelena have magic?”

“None that she’s used in my presence.” Hook shrugged, the cocky grin making another appearance. “Not the sort you mean, at least.”

“Great, that’s all I need to know.” Emma stood back and waved at the door. “Please feel free to leave as soon as possible. I’m gonna go...clean up.”

Hamish frowned as Hook watched Emma’s departure, the calculating look in his eyes not quite disguised by the exaggerated leer. When the other man turned to leave, he met Hamish’s gaze and smiled coldly.

“You really do resemble the old crocodile,” he said.

“So I’ve heard.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve any magic of your own?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Here’s some advice, then, one mortal to another.” Hook leaned close as if to impart a great secret. “This isn’t your fight, mate. If I were you, I’d leave and never look back.”

“That your usual strategy, is it?” Hamish asked.

“Are you calling me a coward?” Hook pulled himself up to his full height and glared down at him.

“All I know about you is what ye’ve told me, and you just said you’d run away in my position. If that sounds like the coward’s way out tae you, I’d say ye called yersen a coward.”

“Tread lightly, little man,” Hook said quietly. “You may have Emma’s ear for now, but I have sworn to win her heart, and when I do, you will regret crossing me.”

Hook turned on his heel and stormed out of the shop, and Hamish smiled grimly. When the pirate was gone, Emma poked her head around the corner of the door she’d disappeared behind.

“Okay, so he’s definitely up to something.”

“Aye, I’d say so,” Hamish said dryly.

“I’ll keep an eye on him. If he thinks he’s making progress with me he’ll be easier to keep track of, and you can help my Dad patrol the woods. We ran into the monkeys on the north side of town, so I’d bet there’s something out there if only we can…”

The walkie talkie on Emma’s belt suddenly squawked to life. “Emma? Emma come in!” David’s voice was high and panicked, and Emma hurried to answer.

“Dad? What is it?”

“I’ve found her! I’ve found the witch! She’s…” He was cut off by static.

“Dad? You were cut off! Where are you?”

“I’m - of the - hurry - “

“Dad!”

The walkie talkie crackled and hummed, and then went silent.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Always On My Mind

Word Count: 2046 Author’s note: Damnit! This got away from me, and is going to have to be a multiparter. Tags: @medicatemedrmccoy, @yourtropegirl, @outside-the-government

You’d taken the position at the bar out of desperation, and on a Friday night, that desperation rolled into a little bit of regret. Regret that you were stuck behind the bar. Regret that you weren’t on the dance floor. Regret, sometimes, that you weren’t just at home, tucked under a blanket on your couch watching TV. Tonight was one of those nights when you longed for the comfort of the knit afghan your mother’d given you last Christmas. It was cold, it was wet, and no one was braving the miserable weather to come for watered down beer.

You turned the TV sitting on the bar to face you, adjusted the rabbit ears until the picture was slightly less static and turned the volume up a little. You loved those Duke boys in their skin tight jeans, and the cook loved the chase scenes in the General Lee.

You heard the bar door slam and glanced up. A group of loggers, probably just in from a distant cut. You hoped they just wanted some grub and to head home because Manimal was on after Dukes of Hazzard, and you didn’t want to miss out on any of the studmuffins in the Friday night line-up. It was sad, but Luke Duke just did something to you, with those tight jeans and rolled up sleeves.

There was a thump from the table of loggers and you sighed and grabbed a notepad. You tucked your shirt in, and lost a button up top, hoping for better tips. Or any tips. It was a quiet night. You filled a pitcher with Bud, and filled a tray with glasses before heading to the table.

“Evenin’, boys. Bud’s on special tonight, figured you’d want to share a pitcher.” You placed the tray on the table and poured their first round. The guy closest to you smiled and you damn near melted. Luke fuckin’ Duke had walked into your bar, tight jeans, flannel shirtsleeves rolled-up and all. “You boys gonna need menus?”

“You on it?” He smirked. You bit your lip and tried not to smile, and failed.

“Might be a bit out of your price point, sweetie.” You winked, and his buddies instantly started ribbing him about striking out. “The special tonight is bacon cheeseburger, home fries, and coleslaw. But lemme grab you menus.” You turned to walk away, making sure your hips swung just enough that it looked casual and not deliberate.

“And another pitcher, honey, you sayin’ no is a tough pill for Gav to swallow,” one of the other loggers laughed as he called after you. You held your hand up to acknowledge you’d heard him and collected menus and a second pitcher before turning around and heading back.

“Let me know when you boys are ready to order,” you smiled, holding on to the cute one’s menu until last. “I’ll just be at the bar, watching my boyfriend Luke drive that Charger.” You caught the handsome one’s eye again and smiled.

The evening was getting busier as the rain started to let up, but the loggers were still at their table, working on their burgers and beers. The jukebox had taken over for the TV, and since Dukes was over, you were okay with the result. A few couples took the dance floor during a slow Willie Nelson number, but otherwise, people were mostly listening and sticking to their booths. One of the regulars, an older widower named Will, approached you.

“My Ally loved this song, Y/N. Would you dance with me?” He was so sweet you couldn’t say no. He turned you around the dance floor, leading confidently. When the song ended, he brought you back to the bar, where the logger was waiting for you.

“Gavin,” he offered.

“You’re tenacious,” you smiled in response. “Y/N.”

“That’s a ten dollar word. I hope it means good enough to discover what gets between you and your calvins.” His smirk promised so much more. You raised an eyebrow.

“Sweetheart, these are Wranglers,” you replied, waiting for the next line. He smiled, leaned around to check your ass out and grinned.

“Damn, on closer inspection, it would appear they are,” he nodded. Before he could say anything else, you cut him off.

“So I’ve got a few tables to see to,” you started. “Did you boys need another pitcher already, or were you just up at bat again, see if you could score?”

“I get the feeling I struck out.” He gave you a hangdog look and the sad hazel eyes nearly melted you. You bit your lip again, and tried to suppress a smile.

“I’m sure you’ll get another turn at bat soon enough, Gavin.” You threw the comment over your shoulder as you went to serve another table. From the corner of your eye, watched him walk back to his table, his buddies giving him a hard time the whole way. You ran a few drinks and then bussed an empty table near the loggers, and saw their pitcher had run dry. You stopped by to collect the empty on your way back to the bar.

“Another?” You asked. One of Gavin’s friends nodded.

“You bet, honey. Every time you shoot him down, Gavin’s on the hook for another pitcher,” he laughed.

“I hope lumberjacks make good money,” you winked. “I can probably say no is six languages.” Gavin groaned and clutched his side like he’d been wounded.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t you like me?” He asked. “Not even a little bit?”

You wrinkled your nose and placed a hand on your hip, making a show of putting on a thinking face. “Well,” you paused, and tipped your head to take in everything. He was better looking than Luke Duke, that was certain. The way his shirt strained across his shoulders betrayed the kind of hard work he did, and you’d have to have been blind to not notice the way his jeans fit. Peeling him out of his jeans would probably be more foreplay than you could handle, truth be told. There wasn’t a part of him that slumped, everything held straight by his incredible confidence. He knew exactly how pretty a package he was. But there was something more to him, you suspected. Like there might be less bravado and a little more substance if he wasn’t trying to make a show of flirting with you for his buddies. The raw confidence was a turn on though, you had to admit. “I suppose you aren’t too hideous.”

He gaped. He was clearly not use to striking out with women. You didn’t mind being the first. “I - but -”

“So another pitcher, on your tab, Gavin?” You winked and headed back to the bar. He couldn’t help himself and was back up to chat with you a moment later.

“Look, sweetheart, I don’t want to be that guy that can’t hear no, so if I’m way out of line, you need to say something. But I kinda feel like now you’re just playing hard to get.” He spoke quietly, looking over his shoulder as though he was afraid to lose face. You kept your face neutral, knowing his buddies could see you.

“Honey, I am hard to get,” you countered. “But I won’t lie, I like the way your jeans fit.”

“If I were to come around, without the guys, would my odds improve?” He asked, looking more than a little vulnerable.

“If you were to take me out for a meal somewhere other than here, they would,” you admitted. “But if I find out you’re bragging about me like some kind of trophy, bets are off.”

“My lips are sealed,” he winked and rubbed his hands together before turning back to his table. You watched as he walked away.

“Mmmm. I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,” you murmured. Cook laughed and threw a rag at you.

“Calm down, Y/N, or that man will think you want him.”

“Just might be that I do, Cookie,” you laughed.

It turned out Gavin and his buddies were good tippers too. As you closed down the bar you cashed out ahead of your usual, even though it was a slower than normal night. You pocketed the cash after sharing out with Cook, and then wrapped yourself up in your puffy vest to head home. You weren’t ten feet out the door when Gavin pushed himself up from where he’d been leaning on the hood of his truck, under the lee of the building out of the rain. You laughed and shook your head.

“Are you sure you aren’t one of those guys who can’t take no?” You asked, folding your arms across your chest.

“It’s pouring with rain. And we were the last out. There’s no other cars in the lot,” he started. “Thought I might offer you a ride home.”

“You’ve been drinking, sweetie,” you pointed out. “And my place isn’t far. I’ll walk.” You turned and headed out into the rain, causing him to jump and scoot after you.

“Mine isn’t far either. How’s about I walk with you? I wouldn’t want you getting hurt,” he suggested, falling in step beside you.

“I’m a big girl, Gavin. I’ve been walking home alone for a lot of years,” you laughed, giving him a nudge with your hip. You glanced at him as he kept walking beside you and decided to let him follow. He was wearing a ballcap advertising his company, you knew what his truck looked like, and you were sure you could describe him to a tee if you needed to, right down to the dimples in his ass. He wasn’t going to try anything.

He didn’t say anything much as you walked, but by halfway to your place, he stopped. “I thought you said you didn’t live far,” he asked. You turned around to look at him, but kept walking backward.

“I didn’t realize a couple miles would hurt a big tough lumberjack,” you teased. He took a couple of long strides and caught up to you.

“I woulda let you drive,” he accused. You laughed again and shook your head.

“I don’t know how to drive,” you shrugged. He stopped to gape and quickly started walking to catch up again.

“There, now you have to let me take you out. I’ll teach you,” he offered.

“I already said yes to dinner, Gavin,” you reminded him as you turned up the path leading to your front door. “Now, I’m not going to invite you in. I’m not that kind of girl.” You stopped and leaned against your front door. You hadn’t bothered locking up before heading to work, but you’d forgotten to turn the porch light on. Gavin stepped up onto the stoop with you, crowding you against the door.

“You will next time,” he smiled. You shook your head, but didn’t stop smiling. He took it as an invitation and leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours. You weren’t expecting the kiss, but even if you had been, you wouldn’t have expected such a sweet, gentle one. You pulled away, your hand immediately shooting to your mouth. Your lips were tingling, and you wanted more. You leaned your back against the door and looked up at him, and suddenly one of his hands was at your waist, and the other was braced on the door beside your head, and he was kissing you again. And he tasted like cheap beer and the promise of more. It was a heady combination and first your arm snaked around his neck pulling you closer. But then you remembered yourself and pulled away. He tried to follow, his lips tangled with yours.

“Gavin,” you breathed against his mouth, placing a hand on his chest. He broke the kiss immediately, and took a step back. “Thank you.”

“I told you, I’m not gonna be the guy who can’t hear no,” he shook his head. “If this isn’t what you want, then -”

“Dinner first,” you could barely form the words. His eyes softened around the edges and he leaned down and dropped a decidedly more chaste kiss on your lips.

“Sunday?” He countered. “I’ll pick you up here around five.”

[heinousactszx]

In The End

Summary: Aranea finally makes her return.  Too bad it’s already over. Meenah/Aranea.  Notes at the bottom

Aranea suddenly popped back into existence.

What happened?  She had just come back to life, she had been ready to scuttle the session, she had been fighting the Condesce, she had-

Oh. Right.

She looked at her hands.  It was subtle, almost imperceptible, really, but Aranea could see that she wasn’t completely there. She closed her eyes and sighed.

She was dead. Again.  Because she failed. Again.  She had the opportunity to save the session like she had planned and yet-

No.  There was no use dwelling on it. Stay in control.

Aranea slowly opened her eyes and gave her surroundings a clear look for the first time.  She was in the dream bubbles, and yet something dramatic had clearly happened to alter the landscape dramatically. There was little left, chunks of rock were floating through the void aimlessly, with no clear direction of up and down. Aranea realized that she wasn’t even standing on anything, just floating in the desolation of paradox space. Cautiously, she began to fly through the wreckage, looking for something, anything, that was familiar.

She drifted through the abyss, casually dodging debris, for what seemed like hours.  The vast emptiness of the expanse began to feel suffocating.  Aranea was starting to get desperate.  There had to be something.  A memory, a fellow ghost, hell, she’d enjoy the company of imps at this point.  To be trapped in this desolate universe alone would be too much to bear.

Just as Aranea’s anxieties were reaching a fever pitch, she thought she saw a figure in the distance.  They were so small and far that Aranea was sure she was seeing things, but the closer she flew towards the unknown silhouette, the more it became clear: there was someone else in the void!

Aranea was nearly overwhelmed with excitement as she quickly shot through the expanse to meet her fellow.  Whoever it was, troll or human, alive or dead, dreaming or awake, it was someone, and that was all that mattered right now.  Maybe they knew a way out! Maybe they knew a way back to life!  Maybe they would just listen to her stories! Anything would be better than-

Wait.  Aranea came to a quick stop as she suddenly saw the figure more clearly. They were a troll, what with their very-familiar set of horns. They were sitting down on a larger chuck of shattered pink moon, wearing black pants with a simple black t-shirt.  They were looking away from Aranea, and that gave her a clear view of their long braids flowing out the back of an otherwise very short haircut.

Son of a fish.

Meenah was the absolute last person in all of paradox space Aranea wanted to talk to.  She would rather fight Lord English alone than have to deal with her former friend right now, especially after everything Aranea had pulled before. Aranea’s mind raced as she considered her options, and quickly came to the conclusion that she really only had two.  She could bolt and avoid whatever retribution that Meenah undoubtedly had in mind.  She’d likely be alone forever, adrift in an endless wasteland in perpetuity, but at least she wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout of what she had done, and that was certainly appealing.  The other choice, of course, was to suck it up and try to explain herself to Meenah, which, depending on the fuchsia-blood’s mood, might be extraordinarily difficult.

Aranea floated in place for a long time before she closed her eyes and nodded to herself.  She knew she couldn’t bear the loneliness, which left just one option.  She was confident she could talk her way back into Meenah’s good graces, no matter how temperamental the heiress could get.  It might be tricky, of course, but if there was one thing Aranea excelled at, if was convincing people.  In the back of her mind she worried that Meenah would attack her immediately, or worse, just reject her outright, but she pushed it away. Stay in control.

She flew, slowly, so as not to be surprising, towards the hunk of rock on which Meenah had been sitting. Just as she was about to open with what she had prepared to say…

“Fin-ally decided to show up, huh?”

Aranea almost fell out of the air. That was not the response she had been expecting at all.  And how did she know?  Aranea was sure she’d been quiet on approach. Maybe Meenah had seen her approach?  Did she have a psychic ability she’d never displayed before?  Was there-

“Ya know, normally I’d think ya were ignorin’ me, but maybe ya just learned to clam up while ya was alive again.”

Aranea shook her head. She had her plan, and she had to stick to it.  This new development was not a bad thing.  Good, even. She could still make this work. Stay in control. She took a deep breath.

“Meenah.  It’s good to sea you again.” Aranea emphasized, hoping Meenah would catch on.

Slowly, the Thief of Life turned to face Aranea, before they finally looked at each other face-to-face for the first time in a very long while.  Meenah was still dead, of course, but her featureless eyes almost seemed to gleam as she stared at the cerulean-blood.  Her razor-sharp teeth were smiling as ever.

“Fish puns, eh? Ya always knew how to push my buttons, Serket.” Aranea smiled back.  It was working! Maybe there was hope things could return to normal after all!

Meenah suddenly dropped her smile, though, as she moved to stand from her seated position.  As she stretched her long, lanky arms, she added, “Too bad ya couldn’ta been assed to kelp us out when we needed ya.”

Aranea frowned. Another wrench in the plan.  “I assure you, dear, that I only just got back here myself.  I assume that some technicality regarding the Ring of Life, combined with my God Tier status and the odd nature of time in the furthest ring, prevented me from returning in a timely manner.”

Meenah’s eyes narrowed. “Ya never shoulda left in the first plaice.”

Aranea would not be intimidated.  “I did what was necessary.  The session had to be scuttled to be saved, and I was the only one who could have done it.”

Meenah scoffed. “An’ that worked out so well for ya, didn’t it? If it weren’t for Pyrope Jr. and little buoy blue, yer little adventure woulda ruined it for everybody!”

“Well, at least I tried something! You all were content with throwing yourselves away against English, who we know we couldn’t beat!  I tried to stop him before he could ever even start!”

“An’ ya couldn’t do it ‘cause ya tried to do it all yerself!”  Meenah spread her arms. “Ya know where we are? This is what’s left a’ the furthest ring after we all blew that green sucka to bits!”

Aranea’s eyes widened.  “You… how… you didn’t…”

“We did. I dunno all the details, reel-ly, but Vriska got that juju she wanted, launched it at that muscly prick, and before I knew it everthin’ was gone.”

Aranea tried to stammer a response, but nothing coherent would come out. Had it all been for nothing? Had she only ended up making things worse?

Meenah had fallen silent, but continued to glare at Aranea, teeth clenched and fists clenched.  Then, all at once, she seemed to soften as her body sagged.

“How could ya leave me? I thought we were friends. I thought we were…more than friends.”

Meenah sank back down to a sitting position with a heavy sigh.

Aranea had been prepared for a lot, but not for this. Her mind was furiously spinning, trying to find a way to help calm herself down and explain herself to Meenah. It was difficult to keep it all together.

Stay in control.

Aranea slowly glided to the rock and gently floated down next to Meenah, who seemed lost in thought.  

“Meenah, it’s not you.” Meenah seemed to shift her head slightly. “I promise it was never, ever you.”

“We were stuck, so long, in that awful session. And then we were stuck even longer in the dream bubbles.  And everything we ever did, everything, was influenced by that awful monster.  We weren’t important; we were just stepping stones to some goal of someone who couldn’t care less about us.”

Meenah had turned to face Aranea now. The Sylph of Light could not pierce the neutral expression worn by her friend.

“And I thought that, maybe, if I took extreme steps of my own, I could carve out something for me, to take control, because… because I just wanted…”

Aranea closed her eyes.  She was near her breaking point, she had to stop, to slow down, to run, she couldn’t fall apart.  Stay in control.  Stay in control.  Stay in…

She felt tears begin to fall down her face. “I just wanted to matter.  I just wanted to mean something to the world.  To make some kind of difference.  And I couldn’t.” Aranea shut her eyes tighter as her tears began to flow even more freely.  Look at her. A failure in every sense, reduced to nothing in the middle of the void.  What could she possibly mean to anyone? How could she possibly be worthy of anything Aranea hung her head in shame.

Then she felt a pressure on her cheek, wiping away her tears.  A second pressure on the other side of her face, and she felt her head being gently tilted up.  She slowly opened her eyes.

Meenah was smiling.  Not a sarcastic smirk like she wore before and not smarmy grin like she’d had many times in the past.  It was a soft smile, so unlike Meenah, and it was directed right at Aranea.  She was holding Aranea’s face in her hands, stroking her cheeks with careful fingers that brushed aside tears.

“Aranea, ya big lunk.” Meenah sniffed, and a tear ran down her face, too. “Ya do matter.  Ya matter to me more’n I think I could possibly ever tell ya.”

Aranea felt her face get hot, and her eyes welled up all over again.

“When yer tellin’ yer stories, or teachin’ me random stuff, or yer goin’ on some silly adventure wit’ me, you do mean somethin’ to me.  Shell, I’d be dead way sooner’n I already am if ya hadn’ta drag my ass to that cocoon.”

Meenah began to tremble slightly as she held Aranea. Aranea felt herself begin to tremor as well.

“Ya didn’t need to be a leader, or a savior or anythin’ like that. All ya hadda be was you, nobody else. Ya matter just the way ya are, Aranea, an’ don’t ever yerself ya don’t.”

Aranea was overcome. Tears were streaming down both of their faces.  Aranea reached out to Meenah, to hold her, to feel her, to tell her she was sorry, to tell her that she loved her, to take in everything about her.  Taking Meenah’s face into her own hands, Aranea brought her as close to herself as she could and kissed her.  Meenah wrapped her arms around the sylph’s body to bring her even closer, and pulled her in as tight as she could.  The embrace was held by the two for what felt like forever, because neither of them wanted to stop holding each other, to stop being together, to stop being one.

Eventually, the two slowly pulled apart, never breaking eye contact as they did. Meenah leaned contentedly into the hand that still tenderly held her head, as Aranea took one of Meenah’s hands in her own.

“Meenah, I’m sorry.”

“Ya don’t gotta…”

“I’m sorry that for so long I missed what I never realized I’d had right next to me. I just hope that…”

“Yeah?”

“For as long as this lasts, whatever we do in the future, I just hope I can stay by your side.”

Meenah took Aranea’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Till the end, Aranea.”

Aranea smiled again as she leaned into Meenah once more.  Meenah accepted her advance again as they held each other as close as they could.

The two sat on the rock in the limitless emptiness of paradox space.  

Together, forever, at last.

Notes: Man, I let this one get away from me.  I think it turned out for the better though.  Meenah’s as fun to write as ever, and it was nice to give some weight to her words.  Aranea is so complex a character, I really hope I did her the justice she deserves. Inspired by the wonderful headcanons of the wonderful @millenianthemums

[decadebeauty4-blog]

The Linc - ESPN projects what Carson Wentz’s new contract could look like

Let’s get to the Philadelphia Eagles links ...

The 11 NFL quarterbacks who could get mega extensions in 2019 - ESPN What his new deal could look like: Five years, $146 million with $50 million guaranteed at signing. Wentz’s agent probably wouldn’t be willing to settle for less than what Garoppolo got from the 49ers in February 2018, even given that Garoppolo was about to hit free agency. Factor in the cap increase and you get just south of $30 million per season, where Matt Ryan’s five-year, $150 million extension came in last May. Ryan was already due $19.3 million for 2018 and actually had an MVP trophy in his cabinet at home. In all, Wentz would be looking at six years and $150 million when you factor in the $4 million or so in cash he’s due for 2019. It would be a considerable discount for Wentz, who would almost definitely fetch north of $30 million per season by waiting one year. The 49ers can get out of Garoppolo’s deal after two years and $60 million, and while Wentz’s initial deal would likely have an out after a couple of seasons, the Eagles would probably have to build in guarantees for future years if he stays healthy and productive in 2019. In all, it’s tough to see a way this could satisfy all parties.

11 former AAF players the Eagles can now sign - BGN DT Mike Purcell: Purcell might be one of the most logical signings for the Eagles on this list. As it currently stands, Philly only has four defensive tackles under contract: Fletcher Cox, Malik Jackson, Treyvon Hester, and Bruce Hector. It’s very likely the Eagles will add to that group in the 2019 NFL Draft. Still, it could be nice to bring another veteran player at that position. Purcell, who turns 28 this month, was the AAF’s top graded interior defensive lineman. He had 19 run stops, 14 hurries, seven quarterback hits, four sacks, and four deflected passes. The Eagles currently lack a bigger, run-stuffing defensive tackle in the mold of Beau Allen or Haloti Ngata. Adding the 6-3, 327 pound Purcell to the roster could plug that hole.

The QB Scho Show #20: Game of Thrones Comps - BGN Radio Michael Kist has Mark Schofield celebrate being less than 10 days away from Game of Thrones season 8 by comparing the QBs in the 2019 NFL Draft class to various Game of Thrones characters. **SPOILER ALERT** Powered by SB Nation and Bleeding Green Nation.

Eagles Mailbag: Wentz’s next deal, Trout footballs, Pump’s chances - NBCSP Here’s what I came up with: 5 years, $159 million, $100 million guaranteed, $45 million signing bonus. Now, I’ll show my work. This contract would give Wentz an APY of $31.8 million, the second-highest APY in the league behind Aaron Rodgers ($33.5M) and ahead of Matt Ryan ($30M). I think there’s a chance the signing bonus is slightly lower to allow for an option bonus somewhere in that contract. The Eagles have used team options a lot in recent contracts and it might not be a terrible idea to have a kill switch on this deal, especially considering Wentz’s injury history. Here’s a look at Rodgers’ and Ryan’s most recent deals: Rodgers: 4-year extension, $134M, $98.2M guaranteed, $57M signing bonus. Ryan: 5-year extension, $150M, $100M guaranteed, $46.5M signing bonus.

Returning NFL players that could have a big impact in 2019 - PFF Edge Brandon Graham, Philadelphia Eagles. 2018 grade: 88.1. The Eagles have enjoyed pass-rush success from all along their defensive line for the past few seasons, and Graham has been a large part of that. He finished first on the team in quarterback pressures in 2016 and 2017, and second on the team in 2014, 2015, and 2018. But finishing second on the team in 2018 was no minor accomplishment — he had the fifth most pressures (77) of all edge defenders. In resigning Graham, the Eagles ensure their defensive line remains dominant for years to come.

Mailbag: Why can’t the Eagles draft a running back or a linebacker in the first round already? - PhillyVoice I know there are a lot of fans who would love to see the Eagles draft a running back or a linebacker in the first round of the 2019 NFL Draft. Don’t hold your breath. The Eagles just won a Super Bowl 14 months ago by employing the Reid roster-building philosophy.

Redskins, Eagles lead in retention rate but Cowboys selected more starters among NFC East in last five drafts - The Athletic Quantitative outcome: 56 percent retention. Of the 34 players the Eagles have selected from 2014 to 2018, 19 remained on the team’s this past season. Philadelphia is the team with both the second fewest picks and the second fewest players on the team last year. Qualitative outcome: Philadelphia had a single player from this group of 19 that received postseason recognition (Carson Wentz), but otherwise have mostly added players that have created substantial depth and/or eventually became a starter for the group. One can always argue that the team still managed to win its Super Bowl even though their draft picks that last five year haven’t gone on to haul in numerous postseason honors like the Giants or the Cowboys.

Jeremy Maclin’s Journey to the NFL - PE.com Get an in-depth look at how Jeremy Maclin overcame the odds to become an NFL star in this feature from 2012.

Donovan McNabb, Mark Recchi, Fran Dunphy among 2019 Philadelphia Sports Hall of Fame nominees - Philly.com This year’s ballot for the Philadelphia Sports Hall of Fame is out, and the list of nominees has many familiar names from across the local landscape.

Solak: Wide Receiver Positional Rankings - The Draft Network 5) Deebo Samuel: WR, South Carolina. The thing about Deebo Samuel is that he really coulda, shoulda, woulda been a first-round pick in 2018. That leg injury bit a large chunk out of a promising 2017 season, and sapped at his athleticism in 2018 -- a crowded South Carolina receiver room doesn’t help. But Samuel’s still explosive, shifty, and has the long speed to house it. He might be the best YAC option in this class over 200 pounds, and his skill in contested situations is underrated. Ideal WR2 to fill every role on the offense.

NFL Rumors: Are the Redskins really the frontrunner to trade for QB Josh Rosen? - Hogs Haven We’ve already covered the rumor that the Redskins were openly discussing trading for Rosen at the Combine. They have also been linked to every top QB, and almost every mid-tier QB in this year’s draft. The consensus is that they’re going to add a young QB this year, despite what Bruce Allen says. The Redskins hold #15 overall, a 2nd, and two 3rd round picks. Speculation has it taking at least a 2nd this year, and a mid round pick next year to acquire Rosen. But everything can change depending on how many teams are bidding (and if the Cardinals really want to move him).

Is idea Giants are “not in love with Josh Rosen” correct? - Big Blue View “The Giants are not in love with Josh Rosen. Fact.” That was ESPN’s Jordan Ranaan on his “Breaking Big Blue” podcast recently. Ranaan went on to say that you could “forget about it” if the Arizona Cardinals’ asking price for Rosen was the Giants’ 17th overall pick and that the Giants probably wouldn’t give up their second-round pick (37th overall) for Rosen, either. What do I agree with and what, if anything, do I not agree with from Ranaan’s commentary? I think it’s easy to make the case that the Giants don’t “love” Rosen. They, of course, passed on the opportunity to draft him a year ago. Maybe they would have taken Rosen or Sam Darnold a year ago if GM Dave Gettleman hadn’t been ga-ga for Saquon Barkley. We will never know.

DeMarcus Lawrence and Cowboys reach agreement on 5-year deal worth $105M - Blogging The Boys NFL Network’s Ian Rapoport has reported that the deal is set to be a five-year extension worth $105M. That’s $21M per season which is a little over what Lawrence was on with this season’s franchise tag ($20.5). It’s gigantic money for a non-quarterback but he’s worth every penny of it.

Too Favre Gone? Presenting the NFL Unretirement Index. - The Ringer Jason Witten came back. Rob Gronkowski’s agent said he could. Jordy Nelson wouldn’t rule it out. Has unretirement talk replaced the retirement tour?

Dexter Lawrence won’t get a ton of sacks in the NFL. But he WILL run through people - SB Nation Dexter Lawrence is a mountain of a man at 6’4 and over 340 pounds. At that size you might expect him to be strictly a nose tackle. You would be wrong. It’s true you would never mistake Lawrence for a smaller, quicker defensive tackle like Ed Oliver because Clemson moved Lawrence around quite a bit up front. But I actually got to see him play from a nice variety of alignments. He looked comfortable no matter where he was lined up, and he showed an ability to make plays from several different defensive line positions. Yes, Clemson even had Lawrence lined up as a five-technique on occasion. He may not be able to play out there on the edge full-time, but I wouldn’t see any problem with him lining up there every once in a while on early downs. No matter where he lined up, the thing that jumped out at me was how powerful Lawrence is. The guy was really hard to move, and, on a pretty regular basis, he was able to jack up offensive linemen and toss them out of the way like rag dolls.

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Source: https://www.bleedinggreennation.com/2019/4/6/18297712/eagles-news-espn-projects-carson-wentz-new-contract-million-worth-philadelphia-quarterback-nfl-qb