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absolutepokemontrash · 3 years

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MC’s Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar

(Part 3! Starring Mini Mammon and Mini Asmo!)

Part 1 Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Underground Tomb special Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Part 4

MC names:

Lucifer’s kid=L!MC | Mammon’s kid=M!MC | Asmo’s kid=A!MC

Why did bad things happen to good people? Well... Lucifer being a good person is up to interpretation. He hadn’t done anything too heinous recently, his instruments of torture were collecting dust for goodness sake! So why oh why was he staring down two half demon children who looked suspiciously like two of his brothers?

The first kid to step forward was Mammon’s without a doubt, but their general demeanour was very different from their father’s. Perhaps their other parent had done a good job-

“What the fuck was that?!”

Never mind. The kid had Mammon’s pottymouth.

The other child surveyed the scene with a nervousness that their suspected parent never possessed. The kid’s gaze fell on Lucifer, their eyes began to glow ever so slightly. “Uh-um...” the kid cleared their throat. “Someone explain what’s going on!”

Was this child seriously trying to use manipulation powers on Lucifer? He almost laughed at the mere idea of someone trying. The child didn’t even seem to be aware that they were doing it. When their question was met with blank stares, they instantly shrank back and practically hid behind the first half demon. Despite the severe self-esteem difference, this kid was Asmodeus’.

Lucifer’s own child cleared their throat and smiled. “Welcome to the Devildom!”

The Uncle That Looks Like he Has his Shit Together but he Leaves the Reunion Drunk off his Rocker (Lucifer)

Ah shit here we go again-

Okay- okay. Normally he’d scold L!MC for taking Diavolo’s line, but Dia had recovered from his shock and was now gushing over the new exchange students like an excited puppy.

“Okay... L!MC you’re going to need to share your room.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Unless Belphie is willing to give up the attic as a nap spot-”

“OVER MY DEAD BODY!”

“You’re sharing your room.”

RAD was buzzing with gossip for the entire first month of the second attempt at the exchange program. The threats of being eaten were once again stamped out very quickly.

(Special thanks to L!MC for being a good bodyguard)

Now, Lucifer didn’t exactly know what to expect when it came to the child of his favourite brother. Mammon was a dumbass, but this kid... this kid...

Was smart.

For the first time in Lucifer’s very long life he felt compelled to place someone in a higher echelon than himself.

Mammon’s child managed to successfully budget that dumpster fire of a house. On the first fucking day. Not only that. This kid managed to skim FIVE THOUSAND GRIMM OFF THE TOP AND THE BUDGET STILL WORKED! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT-

Lucifer and Mammon thanked whatever spirit was watching over them because they truly believed their financial woes were over.

Shame that M!MC also spent their money on dumb stuff they didn’t need. Like father like child.

It’s no secret that Lucifer does have a bit of a soft spot for Asmo, I mean, who doesn’t love Asmo? But A!MC was a blessing sent right from the Celestial Realm.

They were just... too sweet. Way too sweet. Lucifer was actively getting cavities just being near them.

Anyone who bothered A!MC and M!MC during the first month ended up getting... uh... suspended.

(We can assume the threat of suspension would have extended to those who bothered L!MC but all the lesser demons were already terrified of them.)

Normally when Lucifer called someone into his study it was to lecture them for at least four hours and then send them to their rooms, but he was having quite the difficult time actually being upset with M!MC and A!MC.

A!MC looked close to tears and M!MC just stared right back at Lucifer with little to no fear in their eyes.

“Starting a fight during the first week of school is not how I expected the exchange students to behave.” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, and prepared to continue the lecture, when he heard a sniffle. There wasn’t enough Demonus in the entire Devildom...

“I-I’m s—sorry...” A!MC sniffled, quickly wiping at their eyes. “Th-they were being r-really scary and we did-didn’t know what else to do...”

“So you threw them out of a window?”

“I threw them out of the window.” M!MC huffed. “They were bein’ a dick.”

“So you threw them out of a window?”

“That um...” A!MC mumbled. “That’s not all... I may have... told them to stick their head in a toilet first...”

“You made them stick their head in a toilet,” Lucifer turned to M!MC. “And then you threw them out of a window?”

“Yes.” M!MC and A!MC replied. Lucifer downed the rest of his glass of Demonus and debated whether or not it would be a show of weakness to slam his forehead into the desk in front of the children.

Lucifer looked between the two for a moment, then shook his head and sighed. “It’s my job to deal with threats to the exchange students, not yours.” Lucifer stood in front of the two, he rested his hands on their heads and gave them a quick pat, before knocking their heads together. “Next time someone bothers you, tell me. If I hear even a whisper of you two getting into another fight, I’m hanging you from the ceiling. Is that clear?”

A!MC and M!MC looked at each other, then back at Lucifer and nodded. “Yes sir!”

“Good.” Lucifer removed his hand from their heads. “Now shoo.”

Flying lessons for the two of them went way quicker than it did for L!MC, mainly because L!MC was a way better teacher.

As much as Lucifer loved his newly found niblings, he couldn’t show it too much. Outward softness was reserved for L!MC and L!MC only. M!MC and A!MC were stuck with silent acts of affection.

Every once and a while a little present or two would end up in M!MC or A!MC’s possession. Some ice cream money for M!MC when they blew their part of the budget on fancy sunglasses, a multiplayer video game that the three half-demons could play together, new shoes when A!MC accidentally ruined their’s...

He’s a good uncle. A scary uncle. But a good uncle. ^_^

(Don’t tell him I said that, I’m still in trouble for advertising Mammon’s escape Go Fund Me and I don’t want to have to write the rest of this HC hanging upside down.)

He’s Not Like the Other Dads, he’s a Cool Dad! (Mammon)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (Fear)

He’s a dad?! HE’S TO YOUNG TO BE A DAD! Hang on- he’s over five thousand years old...

Oh would you look at that! His kid pulled out a calculator.

...his annual income? Uh... why do you- HEY! WHAT’S WITH THAT FACE?!

M!MC puffed out their cheek as they continued to add the ever growing list of numbers into the calculator. Mammon was trying to get a peak at what they were calculating. M!MC suddenly looked up and practically lit up the room with their smile. Aw, their fangs were growing in!

They had a devilishly charming smile, just like their pop! A real chip off the old block! It almost brought a tear to Mammon’s eye and he actually felt compelled to give this kid all the money he had on him. Maybe even his Rolex too!

“Mammon, Avatar of Greed,” M!MC said sweetly. “My... dad.”

“Yep! That’s uh... that’s me!” Mammon awkwardly ruffled his kid’s hair, the kid laughed good naturedly.

M!MC’s sweet as honey smile flipped from elated to malicious in a manner of nanoseconds. “You owe over thirteen years of child support. Dad.”

Everyone say thank you to Lucifer and Diavolo for getting M!MC to compromise and not try and sue their father.

If you thought Mammon spoiled L!MC you’ve got another thing coming. Mammon’s wallet never stood a chance against his kid.

Poor Goldie, press F to pay respects.

Mammon also tried to teach A!MC and M!MC to drive, M!MC has no regard for their safety, the safety of others, or the laws of the road, buuuuuuuut they manage to get the car back with no dents and no property damage bills are being delivered to the house sooooo...

A!MC can drive fine... it’s just that they adhere to literally every law known to demonkind, which means neither Mammon or Asmo are allowed to open up the sunroof and do that movie thing where they pop their heads out and yell something. ITS NOT SAFE!

Our beloved dummy also tried to teach his kid how to play poker, with... limited success.

“Aw, come on kiddo.” Mammon smirked, flicking his kid on the nose. “Your poker face is awful, I can also see your cards from here.”

M!MC growled and held their cards closer to their face. “My poker face is fine!” It was in fact, not fine.

Mammon scratched his head and thought for a moment. Was he sure that this kid was his? I mean, they weren’t good at poker, had terrible luck in blackjack and roulette, and could barely understand the rules of craps. Craps! While he was lamenting the loss of possible gambling winnings, an idea hit Mammon at a thousand miles an hour.

“Hey kid, you’re damn good at math like your great and amazin’ father, have you ever thought about learnin’ how to count cards?”

Fancy outfits on, hair done (sorta), car ready, the two were off to the casino after quite the intense training montage. It appeared that casinos in the Devildom allowed children inside... Diavolo should really fix that.

“Okay M!MC, you remember what to do, right?”

“Yes. Remember the signal, and if someone catches on, deny deny deny.”

Mammon gave his kid a slap on the back. “Damn straight! You got this, bud.”

As the night dragged on, M!MC and Mammon had made their weight in money, paper money, they had made a SHIT ton is what I’m saying. Tragically, neither the Avatar of Greed or his child had any sense to leave before their luck crashed like the Stock Market in 1929.

They were both Icarus, and they were playing chicken with the sun... and by 3 am they were also playing chicken with security.

“GO GO GO!” Mammon shouted as he and M!MC sprinted towards the car, the night’s winnings in hand.

“I think I lost a shoe!” M!MC gasped as they scrambled into the car, security on their heels.

“I’ll buy you new shoes JUST PUT ON YOUR SEATBELT!”

Re-enacting every Fast and the Furious movie in twenty minutes was how that lovely night of father/child bonding should have ended... until they got home and realized they were locked out.

“The window to my room!” M!MC whispered, pointing up at their window. “It’s usually unlocked, we can climb up to get to it.”

“Good idea!”

M!MC tucked the bag full of their precious money under their arm and began the climb to their window, their father close behind. They had almost made it, they were so close, M!MC could literally touch the window-

The window swung open and the smiling faces of L!MC and A!MC greeted them.

“Oh my, it looks like we have some delinquents breaking curfew~.” L!MC cooed, resting their head on their hand.

“You shouldn’t be gambling this late! A-and your accessories don’t match!” A!MC huffed.

“Oi! L!MC, A!MC! What are ya doin’ up this late! It’s not good for ya!” Mammon whisper-yelled.

“My sleep schedule should be the least of your concerns right now, right A!MC?” L!MC elbowed A!MC, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Yep! Those who break curfew are hung from the ceiling by their toes.” A!MC shuddered.

M!MC rolled their eyes and stuck out their hand. “Come on L!MC! Let us in! You should listen to your older cousin!”

Upon hearing M!MC pull the older cousin card L!MC smiled deviously, grabbing both of M!MC’s hands. “Of course, dear cousin.” They leaned in. “Long live the king!”

L!MC shoved M!MC downward, Mammon caught them, but lost his own grip and they both lost hold of the money, which fell out of the bag and onto the ground like snow. Paper snow...

Oh well, at least Mammon and M!MC landed in some of the bushes...

“Ya know,” Mammon said as the money fell around them. “I’ve had dreams where this has happened.”

“Wow,” M!MC smiled. “Me too!”

Yep. This was his kid alright.

Not all his father/kid time revolved around money, it also revolved around both of them trying to avoid horror movie night without making it look like they were chickening out.

“Okay, I’ll fake a medical emergency!”

“Kid, no! They’ll never believe that!”

Since A!MC had their father’s eye for fashion and none of the judgemental comments, the kid became Mammon’s unofficial style coach.

“U-um... I hate to say it but those shoes don’t match with the rest of the outfit, the silhouette is confusing...”

“What’re ya talkin’ about? I look fantastic!”

“Are you blind? You look like a thrift store threw up on you.”

“Who invited you, Asmo?!”

“I’m here to support A!MC! You’re doing great by the way, sweetie!”

He may have cried a little when M!MC was able to fly without help... sniffle... they grow up so fast...

Oh- oh fuck they both crashed into the tree-

Oh My God he Actually Showed Up?! (Levi)

That... that couldn’t be real life! A shut-in’s worst nightmare! More people he needed to talk to!

Considering Mammon and Asmo’s track record with taking care of his things, Levi was incredibly hesitant to invite the two to binge anime with him and L!MC.

It seemed that the two normies inherited their fathers’s level of respect for closed doors. What I’m saying is the two crashed anime night.

“I have never seen such bullshit before.”

M!MC’s hands were stuffed in about five pairs of socks each, effectively turning their hands into useless nubs.

“You be quiet! This is to make sure that you don’t take any of my things and try and sell them on Akuzon!” Levi hissed, turning back to make sure his figurines were safe from the mini Mammon. A!MC was standing awkwardly next to L!MC, who was sitting in Levi’s gaming chair reading manga.

“So what are we going to watch..?” A!MC piped up. “I haven’t really watched much anime but I did watch Digimon...”

“I was more of a Beyblade kid.” M!MC hit their sock-stumps together to make a thumping noise.

Levi looked like he was ready to have a stroke. “L-listen! Those are gateway anime! You two need to watch proper anime! Non-dubbed anime!”

A!MC let out a shriek and stared at their reflection in a very shiny looking gundam figurine. “Have I been wearing off colour lip gloss the entire day?! O-oh no... I’m a mess!”

Levi let out a strangled wail and snatched the gundam out of A!MC’s hands. “D-don’t touch that! It’s worth more than a house!”

“It is?!” M!MC perked up and tried to wrestle their way out of their sock-gloves.

“Don’t make me stick you in a straight jacket...” Levi growled. He turned to L!MC with a pleading look on his face. “Please make them stop...”

L!MC grinned deviously and closed their book. “Of course I’ll help you, if we watch season two of The Promised Neverland.”

Levi shrieked and nearly pulled out his hair then and there. “It’s manga divergent! MANGA DIVERGENT! THEY SKIPPED SO MANY ARCS!”

M!MC and A!MC continued to wreak both purposeful and accidental havoc on Levi’s room, he was just about ready to summon Lotan then and there when L!MC shrugged.

“The ball’s in your court, Levi.” L!MC leaned back in the chair and resumed reading their manga.

Levi’s willpower shattered the moment he heard something fall off one of his cabinets. “WE CAN WATCH WHATEVER YOU WANT JUST MAKE THEM STOOOOOP!”

Quick as a flash, L!MC was out of the chair and had both M!MC and A!MC by the ears.

“HEY!” L!MC growled. “STOP ACTING LIKE IDIOTS OR SO HELP ME GRANDFATHER YOU TWO WON’T LIVE TO SEE GRADUATION!”

M!MC and A!MC became the most well behaved children in the Devildom after that... and L!MC and Levi got to watch their anime in peace.

Okay, Levi wasn’t heartless, he loved his lame normie niblings. They were just very very loud...

Though, M!MC was very good at finding merch for way lower prices... and A!MC actually really liked some of the anime they watched... Maybe they weren’t so bad.

M!MC’s attempts to budget that financial dumpster fire of an otaku was not going well, at least until M!MC convinced Lucifer to dangle concert tickets in front of Levi like a carrot on a stick until he agreed to do his best to stay within the monthly budget.

Levi had learned his lesson from L!MC’s flying lessons and steered clear of them, but luck was not on his side. The ONE time he willingly stepped outside of the house...

Both M!MC and A!MC crashed right into him.

The Uncle With the Cat You Never See and Aren’t Really Allowed to Pet. (Satan)

Oh fuck him sideways the house was going to be so much louder... Say goodbye to his quiet reading time...

On the bright side, the look of pure disbelief and exhaustion on Lucifer’s face gave Satan the biggest rush of serotonin he’d ever had in his life.

To be honest, he got on well with Asmo, and he... well it’s Mammon.

Could have been worse.

Could have been ANOTHER child of Lucifer.

“So... who do you think did it?” M!MC asked as the opening to the fourth episode of the murder documentary they were watching began. “I think it was the sister.”

“On what evidence do you make that assumption?” Satan asked.

M!MC shrugged. “Chick’s shifty.”

“I um... I think they disappeared on their own accord.” A!MC murmured. “I mean, so far it seemed the two’s home lives sucked...”

“Good theory.” Satan nodded to himself. “But both of you are wrong, it was very clearly the mother and the neighbour.”

“On what evidence do you make that assumption?” L!MC asked, imitating Satan’s voice. Detective Toe Beans was sprawled out on their lap.

Satan glowered at L!MC and leaned over to scratch Bean behind the ears. “The step-mother and neighbour are backing up each other’s alibis and they have a motive, access to a possible murder weapon, and a way of disposing of the corpses.”

L!MC rolled their eyes. “That’s a load of crap. It was just the step-mother. The mother had the motive, she and the father were on the outs, she wanted the father’s inheritance all to herself so she got rid of his kids.”

“How many more episodes of this are there?” M!MC asked. “This seems like a really dragged out way of just saying: I don’t know.”

“Sh! They’re explaining possible corpse disposal methods!” Satan hissed.

The four of them traded theories until the documentary series eventually ended with an unsatisfying ‘we dunno’.

“This is such shit...” M!MC muttered. “How have they managed to fill eight episodes with all these leads and evidence and the case is still unsolved?!”

“It’s because everyone involved was incompetent and stupid.” Satan sighed.

“You know,” L!MC smirked. “With all the true crime stuff the four of us watch, we could create the perfect crime.”

“We really could.” M!MC nodded in agreement.

“Using A!MC’s powers no one would suspect us...” Satan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Uh...” A!MC shifted uncomfortably. “On an unrelated note... I’m going to go...”

As A!MC scampered out of the room, L!MC turned to Satan and M!MC.

“There’s always the one weak person in the group who’s not down with murder.”

“A sad truth.”

“Hang on I thought we were talking about theft or something-”

Satan and M!MC are surprising study buddies, hell, they even help Mammon study. Or... it’s more accurate to say that they try to help Mammon study.

A!MC is good company, they’re quiet when they read, unlike most people in the house who felt the need to provide commentary on every single event that occurs in the book.

After proving to be quite useless in L!MC’s flight lessons, he just reminded the two new half demons to wear protective padding.

The Hot Single Dad That’s In Every Romcom That Features a Child (Asmo)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (excitement)

Oh... his... father... HE WAS A DILF NOW-

He practically vaulted out of his seat to coo and fuss over his new found hellspawn, they were just SO CUTE!

Their wings were just like his! So adorable! Oh and those little horns! They were so cute Asmo just might have combusted then and there.

Of course, he couldn’t combust without finding out which of his flings had made such an adorably shy mini-him.

“Ah! I remember that party!” Asmo squee-ed as he looked at a picture of A!MC’s parent. “They looked so hot in that outfit I swear I was completely-”

“Asmodeus.” Lucifer grumbled. “That’s a child in front of you.”

“Oh! Right! Mind if I call your ren, A!MC?” Asmo asked, ruffling their kid’s hair. “I want to see if they remember me fondly!”

As Asmo chattered with A!MC’s parent about just how adorable and perfect their kid turned out, Asmo leaned over to A!MC to ask a question.

“A!MC, I know this is sudden but how do you feel about getting a sib-”

“ASMODEUS IF YOU FINISH THAT SENTENCE I WILL FEED YOU TO CERBERUS!”

“Tsk. Rude.”

It’s safe to say Asmo adores his kid. I mean, they’re 50% him, how could he not.

He didn’t exactly have experience with the whole... being a big part of his kids’s life thing. Sure he held the unofficial record for most kids but that was because effective birth control hadn’t been invented at the time when he was allowed to run rampant in the human world, not because he was an A+ dad.

None of that mattered! He was going to be a 10/10 dad to A!MC!

They were so shy... so... mouse-like...

“Um... dad?” A!MC awkwardly twiddled there thumbs as they stood in the doorway to their father’s room. The sweet smell of whatever essential oil was being spread with the diffuser did next to nothing to calm the poor half-demon’s nerves.

Asmo popped his head out of his walk-in closet with a sparkling smile. “Yes, child of mine?”

“I um, just wanted to ask...” A!MC was desperately trying to stave off an oncoming stutter-spiral. “H-h-how- *ahem* how do- ugh...”

A!MC steeled their face and straightened their posture.

“How do I be confident like you?!” They blurted that out a little too loud for comfort, but Asmo’s near-immediate joy quashed any embarrassment A!MC was feeling.

“You want to be like little ol’ me?” Asmo gushed, clearly trying to hide just how flattered he was. “Well, of course you do! Your dad’s got your back. So first what we’re going to do-”

The Avatar of Lust had done the stereotypical early 2000s movie makeover many times before, but never with so much enthusiasm. His kid’s style was fine, it wasn’t a lack of pizazz either, it was the lack of confidence in the pizazz.

“Okay, now stand up straight.”

A!MC straightened their back as much as they could.

“Perfect! Chin up, shoulders back, and there you go!”

A!MC didn’t look too different on account that Asmo felt like their fashion sense was perfect, but dear not-old dad coached MC on a new walk, better posture, and Asmo filled their arms with about seven boxes of self-care supplies.

“What’s all this for?” A!MC asked, shifting the weight of the boxes slightly so they could actually see their dad.

“That, A!MC, is all the stuff you need to have confidence.” Asmo explained. “It’s not required of course, but it sure does help.”

“I’m not sure I follow...”

“Oh sweetie, it’s simple really. When you take care of yourself, you feel better, and when you feel better, you look better, and when you look better and feel better, your confidence skyrockets!” Asmo shifted some of the boxes A!MC was carrying around so they could stand up straighter and not be held down by the weight of the self-care arsenal. “Good posture stops your back from hurting, dressing decently helps you feel better about your appearance, as does taking care of your skin, aaaaaand all this will culminate in you being your best!”

A!MC still looked a bit skeptical, but they nodded anyway.

“Remember MC!” Asmo said as he led MC back to their room to help them sort their new stuff. “Confidence in yourself doesn’t happen overnight, so don’t let Mammon try and sell you a fix-all potion because it’s just boiled Gatorade.”

“O-okay- wait did you just say-”

“Yes, boiled Gatorade.” Asmo shuddered. “Let’s not talk about that.”

Dear uncle Asmo? A financial dumpster fire?! It’s more likely than you’d think.

Sure, Asmo’s got a job and makes his own money, but Geez Louise... one demon does not need that much hand cream! Or that many questionable Akuzon packages that everyone is too afraid to touch...

M!MC had their work cut out for them is what I’m trying to say.

Of course... once M!MC realized what a lost cause getting Asmo to stop with the obsessive bath bomb purchases was and a few too many insults were thrown at M!MC’s dear dad... some of Asmo’s things went uh... “missing”

But would you look at that! No one went over-budget!

Even though their dads have a fierce party related rivalry, A!MC and M!MC get along great. It’s very wholesome.

The Uncle That Helps You Pester Whoever is in Charge of the Food at the Family Reunion About Dessert (Beel)

Yay! More kids :)

Do you think any of them know how to cook? No? Okay... :(

Beel adores his new niblings with all his heart and soul, and Belphie’s out of the attic and is able to meet them with everyone else this time! Yay!

I didn’t mention this in the other parts- but Beel totally gave L!MC piggyback rides whenever they asked, but now that two more kids have arrived... it’s now a fight to be tall.

But yea- kids like uncle Beel. Strong contender for favourite uncle.

“Do you think this is right?” A!MC asked as they fiddled with the settings on the stovetop.

“No clue. Do we put the cheese on while the meat is cooking or do we wait until after?” M!MC asked, they flipped through multiple cheeseburger recipes on their DDD, their frustration growing. “Hang on- do we have a deep fryer?”

A!MC rummaged around the cupboards and shelves for a good fifteen minutes and came back empty handed. “No, but I’ve seen videos of people making fries without a deep fryer, I think we just need to heat up vegetable oil and drop the potatoes in.”

After setting up the make-shift deep fryer, the two cousins carefully dropped the first fry into the oil, then screamed like banshees when some oil splashed close to their hands.

“Did you get burned?!” M!MC asked, A!MC shook their head.

“No, you?”

“Nah...” M!MC eyed the oil warily. “We should do this one at a time to be safe...”

It was an awkward process, grab potato, place potato, scream, make sure no one is burned, repeat. As... decent as the process was, with both of them manning the deep fryer, no one was manning the patties that were now completely charred.

“What’s going on in here? It smells like Solomon’s cooking.” Beel poked his head into the kitchen and saw two very upset children and the world’s messiest kitchen.

“We’re failures. That’s all...” M!MC murmured.

“We wanted to make lunch for all of us and we ruined it...” A!MC added.

Beel’s heart was set to explode then and there- but his stomach growled. “You tried your best, don’t feel too bad. Let’s get cheeseburgers somewhere else with Belphie.”

M!MC and A!MC nodded enthusiastically as the three of them left the destroyed kitchen behind them.

After Beel had to sling a sleeping Belphie over his shoulder, the now four of them were halfway out the door before they heard L!MC scream bloody murder.

“YOU IDIOTS COME BACK HERE AND CLEAN THIS MESS UP RIGHT NOW!”

M!MC and A!MC made eye contact, then sprinted out the door. “CHEESEBURGERS FIRST!”

A!MC and M!MC probably go to all of Beel’s games like the little super fans they are. Beel is very grateful for the support! :D

Flying lessons? Nnnnnot again. He’s here for moral support and moral support only. And to catch the two babs when they inevitably fall.

The Uncle Who Was Like... Really Racist the Last Time You Saw Him But He’s Not Anymore (Belphie)

So he uh... he didn’t try and kill these two. That already gave the two newbies a better first impression than what he gave to L!MC.

The Anti Lucifer league ALSO grew, just by one member though. A!MC was very easily persuaded to snitch on whatever prank the group concocted.

The attic nap club gained two new members, but Belphie still had to deal with wings hitting him in the face and waking him up. He’d usually return the favour with a swat from his tail.

“M!MC I swear I will throw you out of the window if you kick me again.” Belphie murmured, mashing his face into his pillow.

“Mmmph.” M!MC threw a pillow in Belphie’s direction.

“Quit whining, Belphie.” L!MC huffed. “You’re doing better than me.”

A!MC had attached themselves to L!MC like a sloth to a tree and would not let go or stop drooling. Ah schadenfreude, the best feeling in the galaxy...

“Stop with that look.” L!MC hissed, Belphie snickered. “I’m telling you to quit it because you’ll wake up Beel, and Beel is solving your M!MC problem.”

Belphie turned to see Beel practically crush M!MC into a bone breaking hug in his sleep.

“Should we do something about that?” L!MC yawned.

Belphie smirked his little douchebag smirk. “Eh, let them stew for a few more minutes.”

“Help me...” M!MC rasped.

Out of the three, A!MC is probably the best nap buddy, they bring in their own pillows and don’t hog the blankets.

Belphie is once again at the forefront for taking videos of the flying lessons, at least till M!MC accidentally broke Belphie’s DDD.

Just a friendly reminder, the sleepy cow man would kill for these kids.

Look at them funny and no one will find your body.

Okay! That’s part 3 done! I had to cut Belphie’s and Satan’s short because of post limit stuff, but the stuff with the side characters is coming soon! Also, Mammon would like me to inform all those who donated to his Go Fund Me that you will NOT be getting your money back, he has a kid to deck out in full Gucci now, he needs the cash!

337 notes · View notes

rachelsteapot · 3 years

Note

Hiiii I saw you would like to write about Arthur Shelby!! That’s great cause there aren’t many stories about him. Could you please write one where he gets jealous or possessive? Please and thank you

OMG YES! One jealous and posessive Arthur coming right up!

Disclaimer: I really do not know how good this is, I wrote it in like one sitting so any constructive critcism is apprecated :)

Warnings: Sexual harrassment, Fighting, blood if you squint.

Tags: @theshelbyclan

I Promise (Jealous!Arthur x Fem!Reader)

From the first time he set eyes on you, Arthur Shelby knew that you were going to be his, and there was no room for anyone else. At first, his brothers thought he was sick; he was so far from his normal demeanour that sickness must have been the cause. It was most unlike the eldest Shelby brother to not hire a whore when they went into town, and god forbid he stopped playing in the snow. Then, his brothers realised the root of this change in his behaviour.

You were the newest addition to the Shelby assistants. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, you were always ready and willing to dive headfirst into a stack of invoices, or sit and steadily decipher one of the brother's chicken scratch handwriting. Tommy had hired you specifically to work with Arthur due to his struggles with most, if not all, literary ventures. Especially the numerical kind.

You had been warned by Tommy that Arthur could be difficult to say the least. According to your boss, he was prone to fits of rage, often came across as rude, and liked to snort cocaine. However, this was a side of Arthur that you never saw. Tommy put it down to your voice, perhaps thinking that the way you spoke reminded Arthur of their mother, but you weren’t so sure. Sometimes you noticed Arthur watching you when he didn't think you were looking. There was something else in his eyes, beyond the sadness, there was love. You weren’t sure, but didn’t exactly intend to ask about it. Sometimes, when you were helping Arthur with his numbers, he would sit you on his lap and have you check his maths as he worked. He was slowly improving, and you were sure that he knew, but more and more often he would seemingly make deliberate mistakes so you had to come and help him.

Throughout your time together, you had grown close to Arthur and he to you, perhaps a bit closer than a boss and his assistant should have been. But what mattered was that Arthur’s work was improving, and you were doing your share of the paperwork.

Recently however, you had noticed Arthur daydreaming when you worked with him. While you were explaining maths, his eyes would drift away, and he wouldn't seem to hear what you were saying. During these periods, the mistakes he made were genuine, causing him to get frustrated more and more often.

The only thing left to do was ask him what was wrong.

It was a warm Thursday afternoon when you noticed Arthur drifting in and out of thought. You were sitting at your desk, reading through a stack of invoices, while he sat at his, reading some memo from Tommy. A heavy sigh interrupted your train of thought and you looked up to see Arthur cradling his head in his hands. You stood, kicking your shoes off before slowly padding over to his desk.

Placing your hands on his shoulders, you leaned over the back of his chair and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“What’s wrong, Arthur?” your gentle query received another sigh.

“Nothing, Y/N. Just Tommy being a twat again and not asking what I thought.” came his grumbled reply. You gently placed a kiss just above his ear and sighed too.

“Why don’t you tell him?” That received a dry chuckle as he sat up and you slid off his shoulders, coming to stand next to him.

“It doesn’t exactly work like that, but maybe. There’s a family meeting tomorrow. I might, but I doubt he’ll listen.” You nodded and licked your lips slightly in thought.

“Just let me know if there’s anything I can help with,” you said gently as you returned to your desk. He nodded in response and you both quietly slipped back into a swirling world of numbers and letters.

Friday evening was the next time you saw Arthur. He was working away from his office for most of Friday, especially since there was a race on and Shelby Company limited still operated a betting shop. You had been counting the earnings of today’s race for hours, so when Finn pranced into your office at the end of the day and asked if you wanted to go to The Garrison with him and the boys, the answer was a resounding yes.

As you left your office for the evening, Finn linked your arm with his and walked you to the Garrison, happily comparing the work that you two had done. There was nothing flirtatious about your relationship with Finn, he was too young for you anyway. But, he had an easygoing sense of adventure and was known to crack a joke about anything. Besides, Finn had his suspicions about you and Arthur, and he knew that if it was as he suspected, it would not be wise to try anything.

The two of you arrived at The Garrison and relaxed into the noisy, smoky atmosphere. You could have easily entered the Shelby box, but preferred to mingle with people more akin to yourself once in a while. Finn ordered for you, and before you knew it, you had been challenged to a drinking game. Usually you wouldn’t have bothered, but tonight, you were out to win.

Arthur stepped through the doors of his beloved pub, just in time to see Y/N drinking his baby brother, Finn, under the table. He chuckled lightly to himself, but his mood soon turned sour when he noticed that you weren’t just experiencing his attention. The man sitting next to you at the bar had placed his hand on your waist and was trying to pull you onto his lap. Try being the keyword here, as you had turned to him and tried to explain that, one: you weren’t a prostitute, and two: you weren’t interested. But this man was adamant, even reaching up to feel at your breasts.

Arthur could feel your discomfort from where he stood. He could feel the fire of rage building up in his stomach, until, finally, he snapped.

You hadn’t even noticed that Arthur was here until you felt the man that had been bothering you get ripped away. As you turned to find out what was happening, you saw the side of Arthur that, until now, you had doubted the existence of.

Arthur had your harasser on the floor and was beating him with a fury that you'd never seen before. It was clear that this man was unconscious, and his face was a bloodied mess. If no one stopped him soon, this man may die. And, really, that was what Arthur wanted. You were under his protection, regardless of whether you liked it or not, and no one would hurt you again.

You stepped forwards, wobbling slightly from the alcohol you had consumed. As you approached, Arthur tensed, sensing that someone was coming. Slowly, you placed your hand on his back and he spun around, towering over you.

“Arthur, please. Stop.” Finally it clicked in Arthur’s brain that this newcomer was you. His eyes softened.

“Let’s go home, love,” He croaked, sliding his hand around your waist and leading you out of the pub. You gently steered Arthur towards your home, unlocking the door when you arrived and sitting Arthur down on the sofa. He sat there, silently shaking, while you gathered a first aid kit.

“This is going to sting a little bit, Arthur,” you whispered as you sat down on the sofa beside him and dabbed some whiskey onto a cotton pad, taking his hands into yours to clean the cuts. He winced slightly, but sat still as you began to wrap his hands in bandages.

“Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you do it?” you asked, leaning onto his shoulder as you tied off the bandages. Arthur looked down at you and took your chin into one of his hands.

He held your chin, tilting your head so you looked him in the eyes.

“You’re mine, Y/N. I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you. I love you too much for that,” he muttered before pressing his lips gently to yours.

“I will never let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

#Arthur shelby #Arthur shelby x reader #Jealous Arthur Shelby #fluff #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #shelby brothers #shelby company limited #john shelby #finn shelby

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ordinaryschmuck · 3 years

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Why Samurai Jack is a Fan-Frickin’-Tastic Character

Salutations, random people on the internet who certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

And today, I’d like to introduce you to somebody:

This is Samurai Jack, from the popular Cartoon Network series Samurai Jack. Jack is a rare case. Where most shows would have a cast of main, secondary, and recurring characters of varying sizes, Samurai Jack is a series that mostly follows its titular character on his own. Sure, occasionally, you'll see the Scottsman or Aku making an appearance once in a while. But for ninety-five percent of the series, it's entirely focused on Jack and whatever oddball bounty hunter he's forced to deal with for the next twenty-two minutes. This type of decision can be risky because without quality writing, strictly following the same character week after week could get boring real quick. Thankfully, Samurai Jack is a series that's packed to the brim with incredible writing and direction, making Jack himself a fan-frickin'-tastic character.

How is that possible? Well, let me count the ways.

1. He’s the right type of overpowered

Jack knows almost every fighting style in the world and uses that knowledge to survive every bounty hunter, demon, and/or robot he faces every episode. On paper, this type of character could seem unbelievable given that he's just a mortal man, and even monotonous to know he always wins. But that's the thing: Even though Jack manages to almost always win every fight he's in, it's quickly explained why in the very first episode. Through a montage, we see Jack learning every fighting style from several teachers, each of them helping him prepare for the ultimate battle against Aku, an unspeakable evil. Through the simple act of showing us a few scenes of Jack learning a new skill, it's easy to understand why he's a difficult opponent to beat and easy to believe when he introduces another fighting style we haven't seen him use yet. Plus, while Jack's fighting is formidable, that doesn't make him--

WRONG SHOW! But it's true.

Despite winning every episode, it is never an easy feat. Nearly every battle results in Jack getting beat up and torn apart (Or, his clothes do, anyway). When this happens, it makes the victory feel earned rather than easily given. Take his fight against the beetles in episode three, for example. All of his traps go off without a hitch, and he makes it out while standing upon a pile of his vanquished foes. However, during the fight, his armor got stripped away entirely, and he's now scratched up and covered in robot oil:

That image alone proves that even though he’s winning, it doesn’t come easy for him. That remains a staple throughout most of the series, throwing in a few instances when he temporarily loses only to make his eventual victory all the sweeter. He may be overpowered, but at least it's still entertaining to watch regardless.

2. He adapts quickly

A bit of background information to those who haven't the show (probably should have done this in the beginning, but live and learn, I guess): Jack is an ancient samurai that gets magically teleported to a future where his mortal nemesis rules the world. Now, Jack is forced into an environment vastly different from his own, and in turn, he's forced to deal with a lot of stuff he doesn't know. Most writers would take advantage of this type of predicament to make a ton of fish-out-of-water jokes as a way to poke fun at the idea of a samurai being in a futuristic "utopia" (Or, at least, in Aku's eyes, it's a utopia). Thankfully, the writers avoid that cliche. In fact, if my memory serves me right, there's only one fish-out-of-water joke in the entire series. Which I'm more than grateful for because having a character getting thrown off and confused by the world around him would have gotten old fast. But it's not just being in a future world that Jack quickly gets used to. It's also being in situations he's unfamiliar with. Whether it's learning to fit in with dance-crazed zombies or being turned into a chicken (yes, that happens), it doesn't take too long for Jack to figure out a way to get through his current crisis. It proves that even though Jack is a strong warrior in battle, he's also a strategic one who can't be so easily outsmarted.

3. He plays off of everyone he encounters

Jack, in almost every sense of the word, is a straight man. Most of his humor comes from interacting with the bombastic temperaments of others due to his own behavior being so stoic and calm. The series accomplishes this feat by having the future world filled with colorful personalities, making almost every character the best comedic partner for Jack. Primarily through Aku and the Scottsman, who, as I mentioned before, are the only characters that make regular appearances. These are characters with personalities that clash with Jack's, what with Aku being bombastic and chaotic and the Scottsman being loud and crash. Every time Jack interacts with either of them, comedy almost always follows. A good thing too because while Jack can have his own humorous moments, it's better to pair a straight man with someone insane if you want the laughs to come frequently.

4. He’s still a ton of fun himself!

That being said, Jack is still a riot when he gets to be. By and large, I'd say he has a dry sense of humor, often shining through when he interacts with someone carrying the chaos for the both of them. But, occasionally, there are moments when Jack lets his goofy side out, and it's always funny. They're rare, but that in itself is why they work. Because since Jack always acts so serious in this series, seeing him suddenly break that character results in a laugh because it's something we wouldn't expect from him. If he always acted like this, it wouldn't hit as hard as it would only just be his usual sense of humor. So seeing him smile like an idiot as he's waiting "for the magic to begin" causes me to bust a gut laughing each time.

5. He lives despite tragedy

But not everything is all fun and games for our protagonist.

Jack has one goal in this series: Get back to the past and stop the future of Aku from happening. Several episodes make it clear how strenuous a task this could be, showing Jack briefly losing hope that he'll even complete it. Hell, a good chunk of the final season is him practically given up. He still fights to stop Aku's minions from wreaking havoc, but you can see that the light has left his eyes, and he is more than willing for it to end. But, despite how hard things get and how tragic his life can be, there is always a spark of hope that reminds him what he's fighting for and gives him a second wind to finish it. Even when he's at his lowest point, when everything is seemingly hopeless, Jack will always get back up to defeat Aku, no matter what timeline they're in. It is truly noble and shows just how much of a hero Jack is. In fact--

6. He’s the definition of what a hero should be

At least, to me, he is.

What do I mean? Well, I always believe that a hero is a person who would do everything they can to do the right thing, refusing to let innocent people suffer no matter what the cost. Jack proves it in every episode, frequently the ones where he's inevitably screwed over by his own selflessness. He could easily finish his quest and finally get back to the past, but because it could mean that someone innocent would be badly affected by it, Jack always doubles back to save them. The best example is in the second episode of season two. Jack gets ahold of a fairy that he heard can grant him any wish that he wants, but it's trapped in this ball of energy and will never get out. Jack can just wish to go back to the past and stop Aku once and for all. He only needs to make one simple wish. And what does he wish for? The fairy's freedom.

Because that's who Jack is. He's not the guy who would bargain for the life of another, even if his quest is more important. You can argue all you want that if saving something as inconsequential as the fairy's life is pointless due to tragedies like it being preventable if Jack successfully goes back in time. But that doesn't matter to him. A life is a life, and Jack is not the person to trade it. He's a hero and a damn good one at that.

There are many reasons why Samurai Jack is a fantastic character, but the one above, and the others I've just listed, prove how he is a fan-frickin'-tastic character.

(Sidenote: Does it bother anyone else that, despite five full seasons, we've never known what his real name is? No? Just me? Ok.)

#what i thought about #fan-frickin-tastic characters #samurai jack

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hey-there-juliet · 3 years

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Random Drabble Day (2/23)

Summary: First off, let me just say that this is more like a one-shot than a drabble because I'm a wordy bitch and I cannot control myself 😅

That said, I always had a hard time imagining Julie writing some of the Perfect Harmony's lyrics about herself, so I thought why not make this just another song that Luke and Julie wrote together? This is set somewhere between Finally Free and Edge of Great, in that week when Ray was stress-eating. This is supposed to fit back into the show at the end, so it might seem like a cliffhanger, but it's not.

Quick shout out to @jamestkirkish for betaing this for me! I love you and you are amazing! Any remaining mistakes are my own. And to the fabulous Sloan, for helping me out with Luke's handwriting! Enjoy 🧡

Fandom: Julie and the Phantoms

Relationship: Juke 💜

in the great scheme of life and ghosts

No matter how many times Luke insisted that she had been snooping through his things, Julie knew for a fact that she had done no such thing. In reality, she had simply been cleaning the studio when she came across it.

For three ghosts who didn't eat and could barely even touch anything most of the time, the boys sure knew how to make a mess. Every morning Julie would walk into the studio to find the chairs or coffee table rearranged, at least one of the rugs was always askew, and the clothes... the clothes were everywhere, and the worst part was: they reeked.

And so every morning before leaving for school Julie would shoot them a stern look and tell them to pick up after themselves. Which they did - when she got back home, things were mostly in their rightful place. Still, every weekend Julie would make sure to take a moment away from homework and rehearsal to tidy the place up to perfection, just like her mom liked it. She'd dust off the furniture, water the plants, sweep the floor, and even vacuum the whole place. One Saturday when she was home alone (her dad photographing a wedding, and Carlos at a friend's house), she even went through the trouble of washing all of the guys' old clothes.

Somehow, and she didn't even want to think about how that worked, the clothes didn't stink when they were actually wearing them, but at any other moment when they made no contact with their skin? Yeah... not good. So she washed them all (three times, using every trick and product she had). She washed them a fourth time for good measure and, by the time she was finished, any traces of twenty-five year old mold was gone, and so was the smell.

So no, she was not snooping - no matter what Luke said - when she came across the crumpled paper ball between the couch and the low cabinet, just behind a big vase her mom had gotten from tía Victoria.

Julie sighed, making a mental note to tell Luke to put his discarded ideas in the bin (again) if he didn't want them anymore, when one scribbled and wrinkled word caught her attention: Perfect Ha-

She bit her lip, staring down at the teasing word. Perfect what? Was it lyrics? Maybe half formed ideas? Doodles? Julie knew Luke liked to doodle in the margins of his notebook whenever he got stuck trying to come up with the next best piece of lyric or melody. She also knew she should probably just leave it alone, put it with his stuff to ask him later if he wanted to keep it, or put it in the garbage. Except the more she glanced down at that damn word, the stronger she felt it pull her towards uncovering whatever else the crumpled paper ball was hiding.

In the end, the pull was too strong. She'd just take a quick look, make sure it wasn't anything important before she threw it away. And, she reasoned with herself, trying to squish the guilt that was making itself known in the pit of her stomach: Luke had gotten rid of it, so he clearly didn't care much for whatever was in there.

Not able to resist any longer, Julie carefully unfolded the paper, slowly making her way towards the piano and using its surface as a table to help smooth the page over.

Luke's (horrendous) handwriting covered it with the bare bones of a song, random lines were scribbled in the margins with a couple of doodles for company, and even a little note from their bassist - ‘Reggie was here ;)’.

It took her a minute before the chicken scratches became words, and then Julie's breath left her in a rush, as the guilty feeling in her stomach turned into butterflies and flew away with her imagination.

It was a song, parts of one, anyway, and - more importantly - it was a love song.

Unprompted, her own words came back to her, "Wow, Luke! I didn't know you were such a romantic." Quickly followed by Alex's short reply, "He's not."

She knew now who Unsaid Emily was really about, but these new words were clearly about a different kind of love. The romantic kind, and Julie couldn't help letting herself believe - just for a moment - that the song might be about her.

Before she could let herself be carried away in a daydream, there was a - now familiar - shift in the air, a sound almost like static, the only thing letting her know of a ghost's appearance. Without a thought, she crumpled the page again and shoved the paper ball in her pocket for later inspection.

"Hey, Julie!" Reggie's cheerful greeting sounded across the studio from where he had poofed in, and soon - with his "help," bless him - Julie was finished with her weekend clean up.

As if summoned by the end of her chores, Luke poofed in, ready to rehearse. Alex soon followed; and by the time Julie retired for the night, the song had been almost forgotten where it hid inside her pocket.

Almost.

***

After getting ready for the night, Julie settled on her bed with the wrinkled page and her dreambox. She read over the words again and again, imagining they were about her.

Step into my world,

Bittersweet love story about a girl

Shook me to the core

Voice like an angel,

I've never heard before,

You and me together, it's more than chemistry

Love me as I am

I hold your music

Here inside my hands

You are my brightest burning star

We create Perfect Harmony.

And unless Luke had been singing with another girl, there didn't seem to be many options on who it could be about, right?

From the beginning, Julie had felt something connecting her to him; to all of them, in different ways. But Luke had been the one to give her a little piece of his soul right after meeting her when he let her use Bright to earn back her spot in the music program. Seeing his passion reflecting back on her, the way he treated music like she used to, made her miss it more than anything for the first time in almost a year. It made her miss the way it felt to use music to connect with her mom.

After they spent a whole weekend finishing each other's songs and working on new ones, getting to know each other's inner workings - the part of them that bled out feelings into paper to create beautiful melodies, Julie knew she was a goner. Finding out he'd been the one to write the words that shaped her taste in rock certainly didn't help. Like he'd been helping her find her way to music long before they even met.

Her crush on him had been inevitable from the start, and while falling for him was probably one of the worst things she could’ve done, it was too late to stop it. She'd been free falling for a while, and hopefully she'd land in his arms soon enough. Reading over his words again gave Julie a warm fluttering in her stomach that made her think he was more than ready to catch her once she reached the ground.

Carefully folding the piece of paper, she put it inside her dreambox, then placed the box back on the shelf.

***

The following week went by without any hiccups. Every once in a while, Julie would remember Luke's song and a familiar warmth would fill her up, leaving a soft smile on her lips and glazed eyes staring off at nothing. Just as often, Flynn would have to shake her out of her daydreams.

She didn't think much would come of it until her dad decided to throw the band a party so he could film them and post their video on YouTube. Which was fine. Amazing, even. It was most certainly great! Until Luke came to the school, staring at her with his stupid, beautiful, awed eyes, and with his soft, perfect smile, saying things that made her combust and melt, all at the same time.

"I think you make me a better writer."

"I think we make each other better."

Calling Nick 'Luke' was bad enough, but slipping into a complete musical sequence as she danced with him? "Goner" didn't even begin to describe her.

Like the other times they'd written together, the lyrics flowed through her, finishing the song he'd started with the same ease as one would take a breath.

Julie knew that whatever was going on between her and Luke couldn't happen or, if it did, it couldn't last. In fact, in the great scheme of life and ghosts, she didn't know much, but what she did know was that - be it in life or in death - love was constant.

He didn't need to have a heartbeat or to be able to touch her for her to love him. He was just as real to her as the next person, and whether it would hurt in the long run or not, it didn't matter.

She knew Flynn was only looking out for her, but that ship had sailed, and Julie was already so lost in his ocean eyes that avoiding eye contact wasn't going to bring it back. She would entertain her though, even knowing it wouldn't work. Just like the tide, eventually he'd pull her right back in.

She could love him just as he was, for however long they had together, and especially after that.

End notes: I hope you guys enjoyed it! And, if you'll notice, at the beginning it kind of gives off the impression that Luke eventually finds out about the song and Julie tells him how she found it. Which may or may not lead you to believe that they're in a relationship. I guess it all depends on interpretation though ;)

Oh, also! Shout out to the chaos squad folks that guessed right! You guys are no fun :( /j lmao

#RDD #23 by 23 challenge #fanfic #mine #jatp #jatp fic #julie and the phantoms #julie molina #luke patterson #juke #jukebox #julie x luke #fic recs

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yeojaa · 4 years

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in the night.

blame john wick for this. i may or may not do accompanying pieces but it was very fun to write, in any case. yay, assassin!kook!

pairing. jjk x reader. rating. ... general-ish? tags. this doesn’t fit in the usual three categories but leans more fluffy than anything. includes mentions of blood, vague descriptions of suturing, and kook being a little sassy shit. wc. 1.1k. beta reader. @hobi-gif 💜

You’ve taken care of him more times than you can count, sewn shut more holes than any normal person ought to have. You’ve salted his wounds and stitched his skin, provided pills and patchwork. You’ve seen him at his very worst, beaten and broken, barely coherent against your doorframe as if there was no other way he might remain standing. You’d even saved him once, sheltered him when you shouldn’t have, and put a bullet through the man chasing him.

He owes you his life at least five times over. He knows that.

It doesn’t stop him from knocking loudly, with knuckles stained ruby and the same colour seeping through the white of his Oxford. It takes longer than it normally does - a beat of one, two, three - before the small three-by-two window slides open.

He’ll never get over how beautiful you are, even caged behind bars and with a look of complete distrust in your eyes. They soften at the sight of him.

“Again?” It’s lyrical - music to his ears.

“Again,” Jungkook confirms around a mouthful of blood.

You heave a sigh - a low, drawn out sound he recognises for its endeared amusement - and he hears the different mechanisms click out of place. First, the deadbolt, followed by two barrel bolts, and lastly, the chain lock.

The door swings open, just a hairsbreadth, enough for him to glimpse a sliver of your face, your neatly knotted dark hair that sits in a low bun against your neck. You’re swathed in a lightly rumpled shirt - too large in the shoulders, undone indecently down four buttons. He wonders, for a moment, whether he’d woken you up. It would make sense, given the god forsaken hour.

“What’s the magic word?”

He scoffs then, the motion agitating the wound further against his clothes. Even as he tries to hide it, bite the sharp sting back with an equal bite of his own - teeth over tongue - he knows you see it. You see everything. “I’ve got no apples for you, Doc.”

You relent before the words have fully formed, stepping back to allow him passage into the only place he might call safe. “Come in anyway, I guess.”

Shirt and coat are stripped the moment he crosses the threshold, discarded in a heap on the far table that houses too many loose sheets, all covered in chicken scratch that carries no meaning to his untrained eye. He feels a little bad when a grisly streak of colour lends itself to a formerly pristine piece of paper.

He settles into the familiar chair - head back, knuckles white over the edge of the armrests - and exhales a deep sigh, breath whistling past his teeth.

“What happened this time?” You’re asking even though you shouldn’t, even though it’s best that you don’t know. You knowing only puts the same mark on your forehead - a bull’s eye right between the eyes - but you’ve always known that and you’ve never seemed to care, presenting questions as easily as you breathe.

He swallows a hoarse whine when liquid splashes across the damaged skin, sodium chloride bringing forth a different kind of sting. Rivulets run the length of his abdomen, pooling in the dips and divots before soaking into the black waistband of his briefs.

“Mistake. Stupid mistake.”

“You’ve gotta stop making those,” you hum with a little laugh and a glint in your eye. It distracts from the first thread of the needle through his weeping flesh. “Nicked the artery. You’re lucky you got here.”

“Isn’t that what you say every time?” It isn’t easy to smile through the pain but he manages, offering a goofy grin that edges on disturbing by the Joker-esque red that paints his cheeks and jaw. He thinks you’d hit him, if not for the fact your hands are far too occupied.

“Which part?”

“Not making mistakes,” he returns, watching with morbid fascination as you stitch him back together, thread looping over and into his skin with each pin prick.

“I mean - you make me say it every time.”

“Maybe I just like hearing it.”

“Then you’re a masochist, Jeon.” The last knot is secured into place and you nod, small and nearly imperceptible. “You’re all done. Let me bandage it up and I’ll give you some meds for the pain. Try not to make any more mistakes that might open it up again.”

Sterilized bandage is applied, pressed into place with firm, unyielding hands. Everything spins at the contact - a shade rouger than he’d expected - an explosion of white against his eyelids before it’s gone. One inhale, then another, head lolling against the worn leather headrest. “I swear you fuck with me every time.”

You swing a smile in his direction, coquettish over your shoulder. “How else would you learn your lesson?”

He supposes you’re right.

“Take this.” Something flies in his direction and by the grace of god, Jungkook manages to catch it with the hand attached to the arm attached to the shoulder that isn’t crying out in blinding pain. “Three now, then two every six hours until you feel like you can go without them.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Said three go down the hatch dry, swallowed thickly before he tucks the bottle of little white pills into the front pocket of his pants. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than one.”

“Okay, okay - we’re not keeping track.” Well, he’s not, at least. He thinks you must be, by the way you’re levelling him with that stare, heavy-lidded and half-hidden behind the glare of your glasses. You’re watching his every move, studying him as he pulls his stained shirt back on and makes for the door, tuxedo jacket laid over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He blinks owlishly, expression betraying nothing as he rounds on you. You’re close, hardly any space held between the two of you. He can see your eyes now, how they twinkle up at him and steal his breath more than any injury could.

“Ah, right.” The distance closes then, bloodied fingers seizing the collar of the shirt you wear so well. His shirt, he’s come to realise once he notes the embroidered initials along the cuffs. “How could I forget?”

The kiss comes as if it’s his last, lingering and longing swept into every pass of his lips, each delicate swipe of his tongue. He swallows every sound you make, holding them somewhere deep in his chest like a treasure. It’s nothing like you’d expect from a man like him, brooding and blunt in all other aspects.

“Don’t come back,” you tease, breathless.

“I will,” he returns, beaming. And then he’s gone, with only the blood on your front to remember him by.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound

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dibberdipper · 4 years

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Cheap frat party beer

Pairing: Poppy x MC (Bea Hughes)

Warnings: Drinking, suggestive themes, language

Word count: About 1,500

Summary: Pining was never Poppy’s style. No matter how much she’s going against her gut feeling, she just might not regret going to this boring party.

Author’s note: I tried to fix as many grammar mistakes as I could, I am so sorry if you found a few. Thank you so much for the comments of support on my last post, this is my first official fic on here so I really hope everyone enjoys!

Her name was Poppy Min-Sinclair. She needed no introduction, she knew it was pure luck and privilege that led her to the top of the Belvoir food chain. She had everything, from the perfect grades, the perfect ranking, the perfect wardrobe, the perfect boyfriend, she could go on.

But for some reason ever since that new girl stepped foot in her life, she was left wanting something more. Bea Hughes came along and took over her entire life in an instant. It frustrated Poppy to no end. How could a girl rise the ranks so quickly in mere days? How did she already gain the attention of the whole school?

More importantly, the question she was the most startled by was why she was so infatuated. She had never felt this helpless over someone since private school. It felt like every encounter was a ticking time bomb until she finally gave in and forgot about who she was. She could be absolutely anybody she wanted, yet she wanted nothing more than to be the Belvoire’s newest fascinations girlfriend.

Instead of paying attention in class, or actually paying attention to the daily mindless gossip, she found herself reliving memories made days prior. The intrigue when she first met her, the pure rage and what almost felt like fun when Bea pretty much threw her in the jello pool, and the embarrassment that was her take down.

“What, are you obsessed with me?”

Just thinking about that moment sent her butterflies in her stomach fluttering, she’s never felt that familiar warm sensation on her cheeks at least since elementary school.

Before she could finish her daydreams, to her disappointment they just had to be interrupted.

“Poppy? Poppy!!”

She rolled her eyes.

“What am I, a dog your trying to train? Stop yelling in my damn ear.” She sneered at her friend.

Chloe huffed. “Poppy, you need to go to this weekend’s party. The last one was like, so embarrassing for you-“

Poppy sent her a warning glare, she gulped in response.

“My point is you need to show up and try to embarrass her back.”

Though deep down, she felt a rush of excitement for what could possibly go down, silently regretting her relationship status, but she could never let her thoughts be known.

She gave her right hand woman a sly smile. “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll give them a show.”

Over the weekend

“Oh, um, babe I didn’t expect to see you here after the last one.” He scratched the back of his neck, waiting for her response.

Poppy’s attention wasn’t on her boyfriend, but on the girl at the other side of the room. Bea took a moment to notice her, and gave her a sly smirk when she did. Poppy gave her a cold look over her shoulder to keep her facade of disgust up. After a tense moment, Carter nudged her shoulder.

“Babe?”

Poppy finally came up with a response after not paying attention to him, her eyes still glued on Bea’s.

“Well, I had to show somebody I’m not willing to give up my spot so easily. I have to show everyone at this party that I’m Poppy Min-Sinclair and not just ‘Bitch that was yeeted into jello’-“ Before she finished her rant, she tore her eyes away from Bea for a moment to glance at Carter. It was evident Bea hadn’t caught only her attention.

Time seemed to freeze as she felt a plan spin in her head. She was no stranger to orchestrating these evil ideas, otherwise she wouldn’t be ranked number one. She took in her surroundings; Carter’s wandering eyes, the cooler behind them that was filled to the brim with cheap canned beer, and the inviting stare from the girl across the room. She took a deep breath, no matter how many times she’s concocted these ideas, they didn’t make her feel anymore secure.

“Fuck it.” She reached behind her, opened the cooler, and chugged the bitter taste as fast as she could.

Thinking she was only trying to prove herself ‘cool’ Carter chuckled.

“Baby, I don’t mind leaving for a bit to get you something you’ll actually like from-“

“No, you listen here!” She jabbed a finger to his chest.

“I’m not going to be humiliated and stand around while you’re eye-fucking another girl. You’re as disposable as anybody else in this damn school, and I’m not!”

She knew she was no lightweight but nobody else knew that, not even Chloe. She caught Veronica live-streaming her whole ‘meltdown’. If everything backfired, she knew she could easily hide behind the classic too much beer excuse.

She played off most of the eyes watching her, as she swayed her hips over to the only pair of eyes she cared were watching. Perhaps to everyone else it looked like a cat fight about to go down, or a thinly veiled threat. But only Bea Hughes and her partner in crime Zoey Wade knew what she really whispered.

“Go upstairs, turn left, and walk ahead until you see the last dorm on the right. Leave five minutes after me.”

Before she walked away, she was sure to send a glare to Zoey.

“Alone.”

Poppy impatiently tapped her fingers on her lap wondering if it was all a mistake. She bit her lip, questioning herself and whether everything backfire until the door slammed open.

“Poppy I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing but-“

“Kiss me.” The words blurred out of her mouth without her even realizing it.

Bea’s mouth hung wide open in shock. “I… I’m sorry, excuse me, but what the fuck?”

“Do you want me to say please or what?”

Bea closed the door behind her, and took a few steps over. The room was almost completely dark, with the exception of the moonlight crawling in with the party lights. She felt Bea’s hands, that she noticed were bigger than hers, cup her face. She took in her deep dark eyes, the beautiful brown tone of her skin, and her inviting lips adorned in red lipstick. Bea drew back.

“Look your breath smells like alcohol, I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

She was turned her away, but Poppy grabbed her hands in protest.

“I may not look like it, but I swear I can handle plenty of drinks. Don’t walk away when I’m not even drunk.”

Bea met her eyes, and gave the woman in front of her with pure desperation in her eyes her signature sly smirk.

“Is Poppy Min-Sinclair, ranked number one in Belvoire, begging the small town girl to kiss her?”

Poppy swallowed any cocky remarks back, along with her pride. “She is. If you keep her waiting, she might just walk out.”

Poppy felt Bea’s warm hands on her face again, and her sultry whisper in her ear. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we…”

Bea nibbled her ear, making Poppy let out a soft moan. A sound neither of them knew she could make until that moment.

Their lips met after only a week of glaring, pettiness mixed met with almost immediate pining, and just all around sexual tension. Neither of them knew a sensation could be so intense with somebody they had only just known. They skipped the friends milestone, straight to enemies, to whatever they were now.

Bea’s hands wondered into her hair, Poppy’s hands roaming over Bea’s back. Her fingers trailing downwards, her heart beat’s pace quickened. She anticipated every moment next. Poppy felt Bea’s hands linger at the hem of her skirt, when they heard the knob turn. They pushed each other away, straightening her clothes. Poppy immediately dropped down and hid under the bed as the door opened.

“Hey, are you okay? You’ve been gone for a while and I wanted to be sure you didn’t need any backup.”

Bea sent a playful glance to Poppy, Poppy’s heart freezing. The rush of excitement overwhelming her, she didn’t know whether Bea would expose her right now or keep their secret act in the night a secret.

“Little miss Poppy Min-Sinclair never showed up. A shame really.”

Zoey laughed. “You really scared that girl into chickening out of talking to you.” Poppy glared at Bea, and Bea stifled a giggle.

“Anyways the guys downstairs want to play beer pong, you can go up a few ranks since Veronica’s live-streaming. You can’t miss it!”

Bea shot a sneaky look at Poppy, and looked back at Zoey.

“Ten minutes tops, ever since Poppy essentially ditched me here I’ve gotten a bit sleepy. When I’m done I’m going to sleep in here, I’m sure whoever this room belongs to won’t mind too much.”

“Sounds like a plan, ready to kick some ass Bea?”

They walked out of the eye sight for Poppy, and she heard them leave the room with one last piece of dialogue slipping out. Poppy’s heart sunk.

“Please don’t try to wake me up or anything, I have a feeling I’ll be in there for a few hours.”

Poppy slowly tiptoed to the door, closing it. She sighed and sat back on the bed. There was nothing for her to do for the next ten minutes but sit there and smell like cheap frat party beer.

Thank you for reading! Tagging: @lolimugly @origmansello @grapecaseschoices @mvalentine @greatestflirt-hero @otakufangirl-12 @sugarplumpnhoneybun @ognenniyvolk @somewillwin @coldbatfriendroad@that-one-choices-person @ariel-0318 @drethanramslay @queensayeed @kawaiibanditmoneytaco @rotten-teddy-bear @aguywiththreepairsofglasses @elijahmessenger @axiel90 @ritafarrr @erza-elcy-crimson @poshbiscuit @sarasansone98 @ghalind @that-one-choices-person @dervaux @generaldameronss @adrianadmirer @anonymous--anteater @everythingchoices

#poppy x mc #poppy min sinclair #Queen B

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Galactica, Chapter 61 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet opened up, Alaska chickened out, and Courtney finally had her date with Bianca.

This Chapter: Trixie widens his search for Aiden’s replacement, and Courtney gets a taste of the good life.

***

Courtney doodled absentmindedly on her notepad during Miss Fame’s Monday conference call. She was getting an update from the company that ran her European stores, and discussing the upcoming marketing plan with Alyssa. Courtney knew that she was only there in case Miss Fame wanted to add anyone to the line; since Ivy and Laganja were both on the call, she didn’t really need to be paying attention. She probably should’ve been anyway, but this was a case where a little negligence would be forgiven.

Which was good, because she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering, daydreaming about how wonderful the weekend had been with Bianca. Adore had come over on Sunday for dinner, after which Courtney almost went home, but Bianca pulled her in for an embrace and insisted that she stay another night. When she’d worried about not having any appropriate work clothes, Bianca promised to find her something from her own closet, even excited at the notion of styling her for the office.

At first, Courtney was a bit concerned about whether the thigh-high black boots were too hookerish, but Bianca was adamant that they were fashion - and she should know, right? At least her luxurious knit dress was in Fame’s approved color palette, so she was pretty sure she wouldn’t get scolded like the time she dared to wear a lime green top.

She looked down at her notebook, realizing that it was absolutely covered in hearts, and quickly flipped the page, embarrassed.

She clicked on her mouse, waking up the computer to check her emails. If she was gonna space out, she may as well make at least a halfhearted attempt at productivity. She saw that there were a few unread DMs and clicked on the window.

ROXY: Package here for you

ROXY: A big-ass box from Neiman Marcus

ROXY: From the Marie Claire messenger again

ROXY: You gonna tell me who you’re dating over there now?

COURTNEY: LOL, sorry. It’s brand new, I don’t think we’re ready to go public

ROXY: Bitch it’s just me, I can keep a secret

COURTNEY: Since when?????

ROXY: Since always!!

COURTNEY: On Friday, you told me that Jaida is getting IVF and Alyssa’s son is in rehab again

ROXY: Yeah and yet you tell me NOTHING

COURTNEY: LOL. Okay well when we’re telling people, I’ll tell you first. Deal?

ROXY: WHATEVER

ROXY: Another major delivery came for Fame’s asst from MC today

SHANNEL: OMG. BDR just came into Nina’s office in the weirdest mood. She was all smiley and she approved this dumb spread that Nina’s been pitching for 3 months.

ROXY: 21 year old pussy is good for the soul

SHANNEL: APPARENTLY

The second she could get up, Courtney raced to reception to grab the package, wondering what it could be. They’d put together a bunch of outfits with the stylist this weekend, most of which were still at Bianca’s--except for her ensemble for the party tomorrow, which was hanging in a garment bag on the coat rack, partially covered by Courtney’s jacket so as not to be too conspicuous.

When Roxy said “a big-ass box,” she wasn’t lying. Courtney’s eyes widened as she spotted the box, quickly taking it back to her own office, peeking inside while Fame was occupied with Raja. She pulled out the note first.

Stay warm. XX, B PS Don’t worry, the fur is faux

Extra curious now, Courtney reached into the box, lifting the tissue paper to see what was inside and finally just pulling it out--a beautiful, full-length, raspberry-colored winter coat with a fur-trimmed hood. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head as the utter extravagance of it all.

COURTNEY: OMG Bianca!

BIANCA: Do you like it?

COURTNEY: It’s beautiful! But it’s way too much. You’re spoiling me.

BIANCA: Get used to it ;)

Courtney smiled to herself, hiding the box under the table and standing to try on the coat, positively glowing with happiness. She glanced at herself in the mirror that Fame kept by the door for “last looks,” and saw that it fit her perfectly, even across her narrow shoulders, almost as if it was tailored to her body. Which...now that she thought about it, the stylist on Saturday had taken her measurements, so maybe it was.

Just then, the door to Fame’s office opened and Raja stepped out. Courtney whirled around, a guilty expression on her face.

“Oh are...are you done? I was, um...just going to get Miss Fame another coffee.”

“Yeah, we’re done for now, you should probably stick around. Nice coat,” Raja said, brushing past her on her way out. “I’ll be back at 2 to finish. Make sure she’s fed.”

“Okay, thank-” Courtney began, finishing with “-you,” just as Raja breezed from the room.

Courtney slowly removed her new coat, hanging it carefully on the rack before heading into Miss Fame’s office to ask what she wanted for lunch.

***

Bob closed the door to Trixie’s office behind him, making a beeline towards the coffee machine. It was mid afternoon, and while there still was a bit of a home stretch to go before the holiday break, the tough decisions ahead were out of his hands.

“All I’m saying Chachki,” Jovan smiled, the man leaning against the wall. He was wearing orange trumpet pants and a blue fuzzy sweater. “Is that I can totally bedazzle your crutches.”

“What an amazing offer,” Violet drawled, her tone completely dry.

“Hey guys!” Bob grinned, sliding in next to Maxwell, his boyfriend handing the cup he had just poured. “What are we talking about?”

“The Christmas Party,” Maxwell smiled, looking up at Bob who gave him a quick peck. He was wearing a pink shirt, the cotton stretched across his chest, the khakis he wore all year looking delicious on his pert little ass.

“Right!” Bob took a sip. The Galactica Christmas Party was one of the biggest fashion events in December, Miss Fame always going all out. Bob had heard rumors around town that there’d be gigantic ice sculptures, but Roxy had told him she had seen order confirmations for a forest of Christmas trees.

Some called him and Roxy the office gossip sluts, and if the name fit, Bob wasn’t going to complain.

“I haven’t decided what I’m wearing yet.” Violet was sitting on a chair, her curled hair fastened with a golden clip, her skirt just above her knees. “This is the first time I’m not going as Fame’s assistant and I don’t have to match her or blend into the background.”

That made sense, Bob really noticing how Violet’s wardrobe had shifted from the uptight prissy bitch who had first entered their floor, more color and sharp cuts showing up in Violet’s clothes as she got to express herself more and more.

“But since there’s a good chance she’ll actually look at me since I’m going with Sutan, I have to stay on theme without being flashy or cheap or one of the million other things she refuses to accept.”

“The bedazzling offer still stands,” Jovan smiled, taking the last bite of his afternoon muffin, and Violet rolled her eyes.

“How did you two meet anyway?” Maxwell took a sip of his coffee. “You and Sutan I mean.”

Bob perked up immediately, his stomach doing a happy flip.

“Oh?” Violet looked surprised, like she genuinely hadn’t expected them to be interested. “You want to hear about that?”

“Yes!” Bob grinned. “Yes yes yes yes.”

He and Maxwell had been discussing how to get Violet to spill the dirt the entire week, and now, the chance was finally here.

“Well.” Violet paused, tapping her fingers on the table, like she was trying to decide if she should share, and Bob was about to burst with curiosity.

“Spill it!”

“He bought me a drink at the Vogue Fashion Fund, and asked me on a date a few days later.”

Bob waited for a beat, but Violet was simply smiling.

“What?! That’s it?!”

Of all the things Bob had imagined, this was by far the most disappointing answer.

“Pretty much.” Violet shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee with a glint in her eyes.

***

IVY: okay so you know i hate gossip

ROXY: Oh yeah me too gurl

IVY: lol

IVY: No really

ROXY: Yeah yeah whatcha got?

IVY: The dress Courtney’s wearing today?

ROXY: Oh yeah, she’s really upping her game

IVY: Well...it’s familiar…

ROXY: Oh yeah?

IVY: I asked Laganja to run some photos. Here’s BDR at last year’s Monsoon Foundation Charity Luncheon

[Picture: Bianca wearing the dress]

ROXY: BITCH!!!!!!!!111

***

“So yeah, these are the ones I like...what do you think?” Trixie asked, chewing nervously on the inside of his cheek. “I really need to find someone that Fame will love, she was so annoyed at the last batch.”

As Pearl picked up one of the portfolios to glance through it, she couldn’t help but notice how rough her friend looked, like he hadn’t slept in a week. He probably hadn’t, she realized, the tension in the apartment so thick you could cut it with a knife. She’d been trying to give them both space, but maybe that wasn’t a good idea.

“So, um…” She looked through the first portfolio and then picked up the next one, pausing on pages she found interesting. “Is everything okay? How are you?”

“Uhh…” Trixie scratched his head, then finally said, “It’s been a hard week.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s okay,” Trixie sighed. “We’ve got our- She’s got an appointment with a doctor tomorrow. So I guess, after that, we’ll know for sure.”

“Right.”

He didn’t seem to want to talk about it any more, so Pearl dropped the subject for the moment. She pointed to one of the photos, a stunning blue piece with dramatic shoulders, exactly the type of shapes to which Fame was generally drawn.

“This is amazing.”

“Yeah, right? She seems super talented, although I worry that she’s only been out of school for less than a year. A little green, a little…” Trixie sighed again, “Over-confident sounds mean, but…over-confident.”

“Have you spoken to all of them yet?”

“Yeah, Rita checked all their references and I had Skype interviews with all the top candidates this morning. We’re trying to move quickly, I really need to get the ball rolling before we shut down for the holidays. And with the added bonus of getting them a visa...it could be a mess. Anyway, these are the very best, but I don’t want to put them in front of Fame unless they’re actually gonna impress her.”

“Uh huh. One question though…”

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for another sociopath, or are we moving in a new direction?” Pearl asked, a teasing smirk on her face.

“You’re hilarious,” Trixie deadpanned.

“I know.” Pearl tapped on the folder, saying, “I think this one is special. There’s a lot of range, and new ideas, but very classic and chic at the same time.”

***

“Ho...ly shit…” Bianca said, the door to her town car open, watching Courtney twirl in her new coat, then open it to give her a peek at the sexy sequined mini-dress underneath. Bianca pulled her into the car, giggling, a hand immediately sliding up her bare thigh.

She was mildly surprised when her fingers came into contact with soft cotton instead of the sexy lace she’d been wearing.

“Wow, these feel...breathable.”

Courtney laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m out of fancy underwear until my next trip to the laundromat. Sorry about it.”

“Nah, I like them. Reminds me of college.” She flashed a grin at Courtney, who was now straddling her on the leather seat, arms around her neck.

“Yeah?” Courtney tilted her head, teasingly evading a kiss as Bianca chased her lips.

“Mmm…” Bianca’s fingers slipped into the panties, squeezing her ass.

“I like this, too…” Bianca’s own coat was unbuttoned since the driver had the heat on full blast, and Courtney ran her thumb along the neckline of her blazer. “You look so sexy…”

Bianca said nothing, just gave her a wicked smirk, lips finally coming into contact with her neck, lingering there, hot breath against her pulse point making her whimper.

“We should probably wait until after the-” Courtney inhaled sharply, clutching Bianca’s shoulders. “-after the party.”

“Alright, alright…” Bianca acquiesced, pressing a soft kiss to her lips and removing her hands. “I can be good if you can.”

“Debatable,” Courtney responded, her eyes flashing with a naughty glint as she sat down beside Bianca, snuggling up against her.

“It’ll be a fun little experiment.”

***

Violet was standing in Sutan’s closet in her pajamas, flipping through her clothes, her lip between her teeth.

None of it looked right, and Violet had given up on even trying on the dress she had originally gotten to go as Fame’s assistant, the skirt's mermaid cut making it impossible to move in with her crutches.

If her foot hadn’t been broken, she would have trawled her preferred vintage shops weeks ago, or would even have made a dress herself, but the party was in two days, and because of Bianca’s birthday, she couldn’t even empty her savings account to get a dress that could live up to the expectations of a Galactica party.

She was completely, and utterly, fucked.

“Fuck,” Violet sighed, dumping down in the arm chair Sutan had been sweet enough to move to his closet so she could sit.

“Violet? Are you okay?”

Violet cursed to herself, Sutan naturally catching her at a moment where it absolutely did not suit her.

“I’m okay!”

But of course, it wasn’t in Sutan’s nature to leave her alone, her boyfriends head poking through the door seconds later, a concerned expression on his dumb face.

“What’s gotten into you?” Sutan was fresh from the shower, his black and grey hair in an unstyled cloud around his head.

“You’re going to laugh.” Violet crossed her arms, the annoyance still under her skin, rolling around her body.

“Try me.” Sutan stepped inside, a towel wrapped around his hips, his hand holding it in place.

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

Sutan snorted, and Violet pointed at him.

“See!” She exclaimed. “Don’t make fun of me!”

“Okay, okay, I admit that wasn’t my greatest moment,” Sutan chuckled, giving her a quick apology kiss, Violet sinking back into the chair as he walked over to his dresser. “but the good news is that your problem is easily fixable.”

“I can’t just go out and buy a new dress.” Violet tried not to roll her eyes, tried not to make this a fight, but it was like Sutan had decided to press every single button she had. “I can’t afford it.”

Sure, she had gotten a pay bump after moving to design, but she had already used her December budget on Christmas gifts for everyone, actually spending the day with people so much more expensive than what she usually did, which was a movie on her ancient laptop and wine by herself.

“Who says you have to pay for it?” Sutan pulled a pair of pajama pants out, throwing his towel to the side, now naked which would have been weird if Violet hadn’t been used to years of dressing rooms. “I’m planning on getting a new suit anyway,” Sutan balanced on one leg, pulling the pants on, “and the shoppers at Barney’s are great at what they do.”

“Are you serious?”

“What makes you think I’m not?” Violet watched as Sutan pulled a t-shirt on too, running a hand through the hair Violet knew he’d struggle to style in the morning, but that he was also done dealing with it for the night.

“I don’t want your money.” Violet sighed, sitting up in the chair, Sutan finally ready for bed.

She liked staying with Sutan, she really did, the man kinder and more generous than Violet could ever have imagined, but she was also longing to go back to her own place, to have her own space and to spend time completely alone.

She knew her apartment wasn’t much, that it didn’t have air condition or an elevator, that she didn’t have a memory foam mattress or a dishwasher or a housekeeper that came to clean, but it was hers.

Violet knew a psychiatrist would probably consider her need for independence a flaw, something she should work on, but she didn’t want to rely on anyone ever, not even Sutan.

“I can figure it out.”

“Oh that, I don’t doubt,” Sutan smiled, holding a hand out to help Violet out of the chair. “But there is a difference,” Sutan pulled, his hand finding her hip as soon as she was upright. “Between being prideful and being stubborn, lovely eyes.”

Violet shot him a look, and Sutan laughed, giving her nose a quick kiss.

“I’m offering to buy you dresses, not a penthouse.”

Violet opened her mouth to protest, but for once, Sutan was faster.

“You’re going to several parties for my sake. Let me spend money on you.” Sutan rubbed his thumb up and down, gently caressing Violet’s hip. “Please?”

“I’ll consider it.”

***

Being at this elite music industry party with Bianca was thrilling, and Courtney was on cloud nine. She was beside herself with excitement when she got to meet Charlie Hides, unable to stop herself from gushing about her work on Tove Lo’s album.

“Well thank you, darling,” Charlie said.

“Courtney’s a singer too,” Bianca added, and Charlie’s face perked up a bit.

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, aspiring,” Courtney couldn’t help admitting, immediately kicking herself for her inability to fake it.

“She’s incredibly talented,” Bianca said, a hand touching Courtney’s elbow, grounding her.

“You should send me your demo,” Charlie said, picking up two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and handing them over.

“Really? Thank you so much!” Courtney exclaimed, momentarily forgetting that she didn’t have a demo.

“Sure thing,” Charlie said with a grin, before excusing herself to greet another guest. Before she left, she gave Bianca a hug, muttering, “Very cute, B.”

After she walked away, Bianca turned to Courtney with a smirk. “She’s subtle, huh?”

“I think I’m gonna pass out,” Courtney said, and Bianca squeezed her hand.

“You’ll be fine. You’re doing great,” she assured her. “I see another producer I know, let’s say hello. Olivia!”

She waved across the party to a beautiful Black woman with the most fabulous hair Courtney had ever seen in her life. The woman looked up, sending Bianca a beaming smile as she crossed the room to greet her.

“Bianca!”

“Hey Liv, I haven’t seen you in forever!” Bianca said, giving her a hug.

“I know! I’ve been in L.A. for most of the year. Just decided to come back to New York in time for this delightful gray sleet we’ve been having,” Olivia said, that dazzling smile softening her words.

Bianca laughed, turning to Courtney.

“Court, Olivia Lux is an awesome producer. Liv, this my friend Courtney. She’s a singer.”

“Hi!” Courtney prepared for a handshake or some air kisses, only to be swept up into a warm hug. “So nice to meet you!”

“Charlie wants to hear a demo, but she hasn’t gotten the chance to record anything yet,” Bianca said. “Any chance you’re free? Or are you still booked up solid until the end of days?”

“No, I’ve got some time in January. What kind of music do you do, sweetie?” Olivia asked, turning to Courtney with that lovely smile.

“Um… Well, I guess it’s kind of like… Pop, but kind of folk?” Courtney said, trying to think on her feet. “Like Joni Mitchell meets Kylie Minogue?”

“Sounds absolutely glorious!” Olivia said, and Courtney felt her confidence grow. “I know what it’s like when you’re starting out. That shit is terrifying.”

“I’m gonna go grab us some drinks…You two have fun,” Bianca said, leaving Courtney Olivia to talk shop.

After a couple of minutes, Courtney found herself feeling like she was with an old friend. She was just so warm and open, telling Courtney about her own career as first a recording artist, then a producer and composer, making her feel completely at ease--and shockingly interested in Courtney’s own musical taste. When Bianca returned with three cocktails, Olivia put an arm around Courtney and told her, “I’m in love with your friend.”

“Oh yeah?” Bianca said, amused. She handed them both drinks, adding, “Glad you guys are getting along.”

“Getting along? We’re gonna elope,” Olivia said, and Courtney giggled, smiling brightly, happy to have found someone so kind and down to earth.

“Mazel Tov,” said Bianca, giving Courtney a wink.

“Seriously though,” Olivia said, turning to flash Courtney that megawatt smile again. “Why don’t you hit me up and we’ll arrange for you to come into the studio?”

“That would be amazing!” said Courtney. She was so happy, she had to fight an urge to kiss the bottom of Olivia’s glittery heels.

“Perfect!” Olivia said, leaving them both with another round of hugs.

“That went well,” Bianca said, smirking at Courtney over the top of her glass.

“Yeah!”

“Come on, I want you to meet my friend Derrick. She’s a choreographer…”

Later, after about the 20th intro, Courtney began to catch on to a troubling pattern.

“Hey guys! This is my friend Courtney…”

“Meet my friend Courtney…”

“Courtney’s a friend of my sister.”

Friend, friend, friend...

At no point, to anyone, did Bianca say (or even imply) that there was something going on between them-- and Courtney wasn’t sure what to make of it. It wasn’t like she expected for Bianca to call her “my girlfriend.”

They hadn’t had that conversation, and something told Courtney that after tonight, it was a long way off.

She tried to put it right out of her head, though, and focus on the positive. She was at a great party, meeting a ton of music industry professionals, and yeah, maybe Bianca called her “friend” about 800 times, but friends were good, right? Especially considering how much Bianca loved her friends.

She continued to enjoy herself, greeting people, trying her best to learn their names, and just being grateful that Bianca had even brought her through the door. So what if she didn’t want people to know about their relationship? Or if this was just a casual fling for her? She was still doing more for Courtney and being more supportive than anyone she’d ever known.

It was close to 2 am when Bianca put a hand on her lower back and leaned in close--the most intimate gesture since they’d walked in the door.

“You ready to take off?” Bianca whispered.

“Sure,” Courtney said, slightly relieved since she could feel her own energy fading, and knew that making it to work by 7:45 the next day would be a struggle.

They said goodbye to Charlie and grabbed their coats, making their way downstairs to the waiting towncar. It wasn’t until they were on their way that Courtney really let everything hit her, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I…” Courtney swallowed.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“You sure about that? What’s wrong?”

Courtney shook her head vigorously as traitorous tears slipped down her cheek. “Nothing’s wrong, everything’s perfect.” She wiped her face, disgusted with herself.

“Then why are you crying, angel?”

“Because…” Courtney squeezed her eyes shut, positive that she was about to ruin everything. “Because you’re just…making all my dreams come true.”

“Okay. Yeah, I can see how that would be upsetting.”

“No, it’s just…I'm scared, that it’s all gonna disappear,” Courtney said, now unable to hold back the river of tears. “You’re gonna get bored, or meet someone else, and I…I’m falling for you so hard and I know it’s too fast and I-”

“Hey, look at me.”

Courtney turned to her, eyes liquid, sniffling.

“I have been having…the best time with you,” she said, taking one of Courtney’s hands in both of hers. “And I know that it’s still new, but I said that I’d help you with your career and I will. No matter what happens with us. I promise. And I don’t break promises. Okay?”

Courtney nodded slightly, then asked, “Why don’t you want people to know about us? Are you ashamed? Are you just...already looking for a way out?”

“What?”

“You just kept introducing me as your ‘friend’ all night, and I just thought that it meant you don’t care about us, or that-”

“No! I dunno, I guess we haven’t really talked about labels, and I wanted to make sure everyone took you seriously,” Bianca said. “Took your talent seriously.”

“Oh.” Courtney sniffled, feeling a little stupid for letting her insecurites get the better of her.

“Also…you know, a lot of the people there were…mutual friends of…”

“Of?”

Bianca sighed slightly, a sheepish smile on her face, then said, “I guess it’s time to come clean to Fame and Raja, huh?”

“Really?” Courtney looked at her with surprise.

“Well, yeah. I don’t want us to feel like we’re sneaking around. That shit gets old real fast.” Bianca kissed the back of her hand. “I’ve been selfish, I was trying to do this without getting them annoyed at me, but…It’s not worth it if it makes you feel like I don’t care. Because I do.”

Courtney bit her lip, feeling like she might burst into tears again, but this time from joy. She took a deep breath, trying to get her racing heart to calm down.

“When do you want to tell them?”

“Well…the Galactica party’s on Thursday. Wanna be my date?” Bianca asked, a sly smile deepening her dimples.

Of course, they’d both been planning to go to the party, but Courtney had resigned herself to the idea that they’d be there separately. She’d even asked Tati to come as her plus one, not believing for a second that going with Bianca was a possibility. After all, it was so soon.

“That’s in two days!” Courtney exclaimed, eyes wide.

“Yeah… Does that work for you?”

For a second, Courtney felt almost dizzy, imagining walking into the party on Bianca’s arm. There was no way in hell that it wouldn’t cause a stir...but the idea of everyone seeing them together, while a bit frightening, was also terribly exciting.

“Okay. Yeah, that sounds...perfect,” she said, eyes shining happily.

“Okay then,” Bianca said softly, pressing a kiss to Courtney’s cheek.

6 notes · View notes

skaryskylar · 4 years

Text

Toss A Coin To Your Witcher

Pairing: BakuDeku, DekuBaku Switch

Type: One-Shot

Prompt: Twin Stars Week/Day 1-Fantasy

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: All the smut, Minor KiriKami, Dubious Consent, improper Use of Magic

Read on AO3

His stomach growled as he settled into the darkest corner of the inn. The ale in his cup had already gone warm, but he didn't dare waste a drop. It was bitter on his tongue, dry and heavy on the hops. Swishing through his jaws with difficulty, it seeped rather than flowed down his parched throat.

But it was all he could afford.

The pouch at his waist was depressingly empty, silent without the jingle of coin. He needed to sit and wait. See if something cropped up. But the inn didn't seem to be overflowing with those in need. No, it was fool's night. The bard atop a table strummed his lute, singing a tale of a honeyed, fair maiden chased down by a horrible beast of a bear. It was a lewd little ditty. If he could, he'd scrunch his face in disgust.

But that would mean he wouldn't look 'approachable'. In this line of work, and with a pocket as barren as his own, he needed to keep an easy going appearance at all times.

He tried to direct his ears elsewhere. Some of those gathered at the bar-common townsmen and farmers out for an evening drink-were whispering amongst themselves. It wasn't hard for him to pick up on the murmured sounds.

"-'s him. I'm sure of it."

"That's not him! He's short! They say that this Witcher is ten feet tall, wide as a bear and twice as fierce!"

"I heard he's got a hound's gnashing canines for teeth and blackened claws on his hands."

"He walks with a peach-colored wolf. It used to be white, but blood stained the damn thing's fur red so many times it started to grow out a strange, rosy color."

Ochako whined at his feet. Her dark eyes peeked up from under the table, ears downcast. Those assholes. Didn't they know she had a sensitive soul? Smiling at her comfortingly, he scratched behind her ears, a silent apology.

"Fool! He doesn't walk with a wolf! He is a wolf! When the full moon hangs low beneath the clouds, they say he transforms into a monster neither man nor beast."

"Shh! He can hear us! Don't you know he has ears large enough to hear for miles? See how they peek out from that head of dark curls!"

"I keep telling you that's not him! What would the Symbol of Strength, the Slaughterer of Shigaland, the Devil's Wicked Right Hand, Izuku of Yuuei be doing here of all places?"

"Perhaps he's come to slay the dragon."

Izuku perked up at that. His stomach groaned in protest but he had long ago learned to pay hunger no mind in the face of work. A dragon's head huh? That would fetch him a pretty penny. Perhaps enough for him to make it to the next town over with a sackful of dried meats, bread, berry...

And a horse. By the gods, how he needed a new horse. He lost the last one in a nasty encounter with some graveirs a while back. Travelling was a royal pain in the arse without a horse.

He stood to his full height, pushing his day-old ale aside as he made to go stand by the bar, leaning some of his hefty weight against the creaking wood of the counter. It was warmer there. Whether it was the heat of their fearful gazes or the warmth of human touch, he didn't care to find out.

He had something better to focus on.

"What's this I hear of a dragon wreaking havoc on innocent citizens?"

He went for a charming smile. The same that had maidens fall over him all the way from Shiketsu to Aldera. It didn't work. Men were less susceptible to his charm. They took one look into his eyes-saw how unnatural the green was with its sheen and flecks of gold, and knew he was not of their same blood and bone.

(No, he was stronger. Faster. More cunning and full of tricks. Without the folly of their emotions to weigh him down. A symbol of strength just as his master had been a symbol of peace.)

Sure enough, the one closest to him with the greasy black hair and gaunt face took one look into his gaze, and immediately blanched, tugging his mug of ale closer to his chest.

"M-M-Mind yours Witcher! Yer not welcome here!"

"It's not the Witcher." One of his friends snorted into the foam of his drink. "Don't mind a fake trying to trick his way into some coin."

Rather than speak to defend himself, Izuku drew his sword from its scabbard. The inn went silent in the wake of its gleam, watching how the silver glinted and shone even in the dim light. It was a beautiful piece of work, made from the finest goblin ore and elven wood, forged by dwarves in the deepest fires of Mount Rocklock.

It had passed from worthy hand to worthy hand till it found its way into his own calloused grip. The feats performed with it granted it a name fitting for its prestige.

"One for All." One of the men breathed. He reached out as if to touch iy, but Izuku was quick to slide the blade back into its sheath.

"Now," He grinned cheekily. "About that dragon."

The dragon, he learned, was terrorizing the farm lands towards the edge of town. It hadn't done much in terms of fire damage, just a few burnt stables here and there. A rabbit hutch for one man.

But it was surely taking its fill. A shepherd had lost half his flock while they were grazing in the hills, and that was just the beginning of it. Chickens, goats and cows had all fallen under the things clutches. There was no blood spilled so it naturally ate them whole.

But to spite the farmers, the thing had even stolen barrels of cheese and crates of milk, just throwing salt into the festering wounds. Slowly but surely, the little bastard was creeping closer and closer to the main villages. It wouldn't be long before it ran out of animals to eat.

Maybe then it'd decide it fancied human thigh instead of lamb.

"Listen, us farmers, we have a pact," The most reasonable out of the bunch, Inasa the dairyman, approached him with a fresh drink and a hot plate of roasted chicken. He was about to descend upon it with vigor, when a paw reached up to settle on his knee.

Ochako stared at him from under the table, brown eyes wide. Sighing, he split the meat in half, offering her the larger share.

"We'd be willing to pay if you can get the damn thing out of our hair. It won't be much in the way of coin, but you'd be guaranteed food for the next month at least. My wife and I can offer our place for you to rest your head for a night upon your return to sweeten the deal."

Izuku's stomach growled in response, the meager meal having not been enough. He willed an embarrassed blush to fly up to his cheeks, painting the backdrop of his multitudes of freckles a rosy red.

"Sounds like we've got a deal." He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

(If the farmer and his wife renegaded on their part, he would leave them out during the upcoming full moon and have Ochako rip them limb from limb.)

Promise of food stuck fast in his mind, he collected his things and began to walk out. The wolf was quick on his heels, gnawing at an abandoned chicken bone as Izuku adjusted his sword at his hip. He was only a few paces from the door when a voice called out,

"Wait! Witcher! Mister Slaughterer Sir! Wait!"

He nearly didn't stop. If Ochako hadn't spat out her bone to growl, he wouldn't have.

Certainly not for the bard. He was young. Mature in human years but his jaw was still smooth with youth. Neither hair nor scar marred his features, boyish grin bright with a fool's bliss as he clumsily stumbled his way over, golden eyes taking the setting sun's last rays into their depths to shine bright as day in the encroaching darkness.

"Let me come with you."

Izuku smiled.

"No."

Turning right on around, he once again set off on his journey. Ochacko huffed at his side as the bard continued to follow them. He maintained a distance just outside of his sword's reach so if Izuku fell prey to the building desire to turn and gut the man where he stood, he'd have to put some effort in.

And that was energy he did not have.

His stomach rumbled. The wolf at his side gave a keen whine.

"-can sing songs about our travels! Of who we meet and what we dare to do! I heard you're setting out to kill a dragon. Imagine what limericks I could reap from that!"

He pulled out his lute, cleared his throat and sang,

'The dragon with tongue of fire and death

Nearly killed us all with one sniff of its breath'

Izuku stopped in his tracks. He gave the other man a long, soul-searching look. The bard scrambled to get back, saying some nonsense about how he'd work on those horrible lyrics. In his haste, his hat ripped from his head, exposing long locks of flaxen hair, a single stray jagged line of black towards the side. But that anomaly wasn't what caught Izuku's attention: it was the pointed nubs of batlike ears that pointed through the matted fray, of a paler complexion from the rest of the man's skin due to the lack of exposure to sunlight. Immediately, his hands left the lute to cover them up, pulling his green flouncy hat low beyond their tips once more.

"You're an elf."

"Half-elf!" The man protested. "My mum's about as human as they come." After a beat of silence, he picked his lute from the ground, inspecting the wood for damage.

Izuku's smile widened.

A half elf. This was perfect. The only thing dragons enjoyed more than sheep was a roasted, honey-eyed elf. The bard would be a useful trap.

"What's your name stranger?"

"Denki Kaminari."

"You may come along. Don't get distracted, nor can you distract me. Dragons are dangerous after all."

It would've been an easy trip if the fool didn't talk so much. He had an easy voice; it chimed like bells. All the masculine grit stuck to the back of his throat, leaving only light melody to flow from his lips. It made him sound naturally friendly and open. Izuku wished for that. Every tone of his own words had to be thoughtfully considered before he spoke, lest he fall into the same gruff, monotone of his kinsmen.

That wouldn't do. He had to be personable to get jobs. Strong to make results come to fruition and cunning to ensure he always had his way.

His master was not lazy with his tutelage. One could not become the Symbol of Peace without accumulating centuries of wisdom, and that same wisdom was bestowed upon him with each lesson; each fletching of an arrow, crushing of yarrow root in mortar with a pestle, and adjustment of his manner of speech came with some kind of warning. It was the warning that made him careful. It was his care that made him great.

But the bard, Denki, wasn't taught. He wasn't raised as he was. He was just...human. Well, half-human.

And fully annoying. So, so annoying.

Like a pest he flew around Izuku as they walked, commenting on his height, how his arms were twice as thick as his own. He was writing songs as they made their way up the hills to the farmlands.

If he had to hear another comparison of his 'wild, curly locks' to a 'dewy clearing on the first morn of spring', he would cut off his ears and throw them to Ochako to eat. At least then one of them wouldn't be starving.

"And your eyes! Cut from the finest jade no doubt! They say Witchers can see in the dark like a cat. They say your kind prowl the forests at night searching for prey from a young age, and that's how they find you, bloody babes wrapped in wolf skins. Is it true?"

"You are not born a witcher," Izuku said idly, coming to a stop. They had arrived at the appointed farm. He could see the burnt rabbit hatch; how meager the gathering of cows was in the field.

But this story didn't add up.

"Witchers are made. It is not a path suited for every man. Be happy you're a bard."

"I'm terribly fond of my profession good sir. There's nothing the fairer sex fancies more than a man who can sing their troubles away."

"Is that so?"

The scent. The scent was wrong. He knew what dragon smelled like and this wasn't it. There was smoke yes. The anger, of course. The acrid scent of soot and all-consuming fire, but there was a sweetness that betrayed its magical origin.

Dragons did not smell sweet. They smelled like a viper pit after a night of rain, like the petrichor seeping off the ground before lightning struck true. They stank of death and doom with the smoky after notes of all-consuming rage.

At least, that's what he knew from his own experiences. Perhaps this one was a runt.

"They quickly find my tongue has many uses. Singing makes it nimble and quick. Easy to fit in, uh, tiny spaces if you get my meaning."

He did, but refused to give any indication that it was so. Humming good-naturedly, he moved towards the main cottage without a word, letting the bard talk him down the stone path.

If it was a dragon, then the bard would draw him out. If it wasn't, he could still use the man as a distraction as he created a better plan. Win-Win situation.

The woman that answered the door was thin. Her head of hair had already started turning gray, and there were dark circles beneath her fearful brown eyes. She spoke in whispers and murmurs, as though she thought speaking about the dragon itself would bring it back to harm her. Izuku ignored the usual talk about the terror the victim felt, how helpless they were in the face of such a mighty beast, and focused on the facts.

The attack happened two days ago, which meant the scent would still be fresh if he tracked it down. They were missing all their rabbits, half their cows, and a barrel of cheese. The first two was nothing out of the ordinary. Dragons weren't known for having a small appetite.But the barrel of cheese was strange. Even stranger yet was the missing cherry pie.

"I remember leaving it on the windowsill to cool that morning, but when I came back it was gone." She said, pressing a hand to her head.

He would've written it off as a common thief taking advantage of a disaster, if the last detail she uttered hadn't set off all his alarms.

"The worst part was its laughter."

"Laughter?" The bard spoke the question on his mind between bites of apple pie. "What kind of dragon laughs?"

She sighed, pressing her eyes to her hands as if she were about to weep.

(Izuku hoped she wouldn't. He didn't do well with females, nor their tears. They made him...unsettled.)

"It was horrible. My husband and I went out to put out the fire and we heard the thing just laugh and laugh and laugh. It sounded almost human, but there was a darkness to it. It was small, but if you heard it you'd notice. No one, not even the worst of the worst sinners, sounds that evil."

Izuku set off with suspicion in his heart and a bit of dried meats in his pouch. The bard kept trying to break into his head, see what plans he was making behind his 'jolly demeanor' but he remained silent, smile locked to his face as if it were an iron mask. Ochako had no such patience. When the bard got close enough to brush Izuku's shoulder with his hand, she barked and snapped her teeth, sending the man running several paces back.

"Control your dog Witcher!"

"She's a dire wolf." Izuku corrected cheerily. The good little pup snarled her agreement. He didn't need to look to see the man was terrified. The sharp scent of a little piss was one of the wafts in the air.

The trail was leading them into the mountains. It would be a day before they reached the end of it. Izuku would've walked through the night with his wolf at his side, but elves, half or not, were prissy about darkness.

They settled at the foot of the mountain. Izuku set a fire with ease, magic crackling electric green in his palm before shooting out to the bundle of sticks and tinder. Ochako took her place at his back, licking her fur for a quick clean before settling on her paws and falling asleep. Her snores rang out throughout the land, imposing and fearsome, letting all woodland creatures know that a direwolf was present and ready to rip out their throats if they strayed too close.

He could sleep easy so long as she kept snoring.

"Witcher,"

But not as long as the bard insisted on speaking.

"This dragon...I've got my reservations about it. Wouldn't we have seen its claw marks in the dirt?"

"Dragons fly bard." The Witcher answered, eyes shut as he lay against the direwolf's back. She was warm beneath him, fur tickling the skin of his neck as he shifted to get comfortable. There were a few moments of darkness and blessed, blissful silence.

Then:

"I can't get that laughter tidbit out of my mind. What kind of dragon laughs Witcher? Will we face a particularly fearsome one?"

"The fiercest." Izuku replied, because he couldn't resist. The bard's 'eep' of fright sparked a distant amusement in his chest.

"Perhaps if you tell it a funny tale or two, you'll distract it long enough for me to take its head."

He felt the vibrations of the bard laying out a bedroll. (Made of fine material no doubt. Ever the prissiest those elves) The ground gave a slight shake when the man threw himself upon it.

Izuku's eyes remained closed as Denki gave a long sigh.

"Hopefully I'll live to see another night."

Izuku did not hope. He had been told he inspired such a feeling in others but he himself was immune to such irrationality. He was a man of facts, of odds and probability, of notes scrawled on paper well into the night, of the smell of ink lingering on calloused hands.

He did not hope. He predicted, anticipated and prepared.

His odds of survival were high. There was an off-chance he would perish: burning to his demise or falling off the face of the mountain seemed to be the top two contenders for the 'final blow'. But the probability of him strutting out of there with a dragon head slung over his back and Ochako gnawing on rawhide at his side was greater by far.

The bard though?

...Hmm.

The man continued to talk to himself through the night, attempting to assuage his own fears. Groaning, Izuku turned his back on him, and tried to fall asleep to the anxious melody.

The first thing he noticed upon waking was the silence. Ochako's warmth was still at his back. He could feel her chest rise and fall with each breath, but the loud fearsome snores that should've been ringing out were muted. He could taste the magic of the silencing spell in the air before he could taste the bitterness of morning. Hand already at his scabbard, he leapt up, only to get slammed back down by a leather boot.

Crimson eyes cut from ruby and forged in flames leered down at him. The wicked, sharp grin of his attacker loomed inches above, teeth sharp and white blotted red with blood, so close he could taste the copper of it.

He thought of the bard. A quick sniff told him the man was still alive. Terrified, if the whimpers and more than subtle waft of piss meant anything, but still alive.

He quickly scanned the attacker. His chest was bare, golden skin not marred with scar nor birthmark, immaculate and smooth save for the rolling hills of his abs and pink peaks of his nipples, stiff in the mild morning frost. A cape the same color as his eyes gave a few flaps in the easy winds. It was clasped by a silver dragon around the neck, white fur lining the shoulders above his defined collarbone. Clearly a luxury, but not a symbol he could put a royal family name to.

His pants were dark, but made of fine material. He had only seen kikimore silk once before in his life: at the royal wedding of Prince Shoto of Endeavour and Princess Momo of Creati. Her dress had been made from two yards of it and a stunning, hand-sewn lace. It was a white so pure it glistened when the sun hit it, rivaling the shade of the snow as it fell upon the pair underneath their wedding arch.

This was that same material, but dyed a black so harsh it absorbed all color, cuffs tucked into his boots. Lined with that same white fur as the cape, they had spikes beneath their soles. Armor was strapped around the man's knees, sharp points tacked on so they could be used as a weapon if need be, Every inch of this man was a weapon. Sharp. Dangerous.

And he smelled nothing like a human. Izuku didn't recognize this scent. Sweet and sultry, like golden ambrosia presented before an altar, or the exotic perfumes of a passing noblewoman. He had to lean away to catch the fresh winds and clear his head from the hazy mist that threatened to settle over him at the smell of it.

But there was something else on that wind. The smell of a viper pit after a heavy rain. He looked to where the edge of the attacker’s cape billowed in the gentle breeze.

Hmm.

Izuku slipped on an easy smile. It was second-nature by that point, but it only seemed to make the man angry. His eyes narrowed into slits, confident smirk morphing into a bitter scowl.

"Don't play innocent with me Witcher. I've met others of your kind. You don't have the heart for kindness."

Smart one. Arrogant asshole. Izuku made a point to smile harder, quirking a brow in what he hoped would look like a playful jest, as if the man were an old friend rather than the next victim of his blade.

"Now, now. I'm sure we can talk about this-."

He saw the dagger coming down before it was even raised. Heaving, he got the man away from him by turning suddenly, rolling across the ground. Grabbing Ochako by her scruff, he tossed her to the screaming bard and went to face his rising opponent.

Izuku reached for his sword, only to find the scabbard empty.

The other man twirled it about in his hand, checking his reflection in the blade. The tip was already stained red. If the beheaded, mangled deer towards the edge of their camp signified anything, it was that his blade was stolen from him while he slept then used to hunt breakfast.

Which meant that this one who appeared in the image of a man, licking the last of the blood from his teeth, was definitely not mortal. Izuku could sense other life forms even while unconscious. No one touched anything so close to him without his fist closing around their neck. This one was...was...

"Who are you?" The bard yelled. He was bound in rope, hands behind his back and ankles together. His cap still covered his ears securely. Izuku angled himself so the stranger wouldn't see the elf's face, lest he catch the spark in his eyes and begin to suspect.

"I am Prince Kacchan."

"Prince of what?" Denki snorted. "Thieves?"

There was that rage from the farm, smelling of soot and ash. It was thick in the air, hot and violent. Sparks skittered up Izuku's skin as those eyes came to meet him again. They looked him over, slowly, with intention.

Then there was the glint of a smirk full of salacious promise and scandal.

"I think you look better beneath me Witcher."

"I think I'm going to need my sword back Prince Kacchan."

He didn't miss the shiver that racked through the man at the sound of the title. The air was heavy with their auras, challenge and intrigue passing between the two of them, neither willing to drop their masks.

Until a pained roar came down from mountain high, sending birds squawking away from shuddering treetops as the ground rumbled. Kacchan leapt up at once, landing on a branch in a show of nimbleness.

He tossed back a wink.

"Come find me Witcher. I have need for some company." He said before taking off. Leaping from tree to tree, he kept the sword still in his grip as he disappeared into the foliage.;

Izuku bit back a curse. Gathering his things, he used the blade he kept within his boot to cut the bard free. Ochako led the charge as they ran, kicking up dust and dirt in their haste. The bard was too slow to keep up so Izuku swung him onto his shoulders, matching Ochako's pace with ease.

"Where do you think he ran off too?"

If the scent that clung to the man's cape was right, then he had run off to meet their dragon. Izuku didn't reply with this, gritting his teeth as he set a faster pace, thoughts of his sword flashing through his mind along with the possible outcomes of the situation.

The higher up they went, the worse the options became.

The scent was thickest at the very top. There was a cave or rose quartz, large enough for a dragon, but decidedly empty of its large hulking mass. There was no camp set up for Prince Kacchan, only a couple large stones here and there.

Izuku knew better than to judge by first glance. He moved to enter the glistening cavern when the bard pounded his shoulder.

"There is no way I'm going into that cave without a battle plan Witcher! What if it drops from the skies and roasts us where we stand?"

"Then we die," Izuku said simply. Though the bard screamed and yowled his protest, he did not release him, edging his way into the dark cave overflowing with the sharp scent of dragon.

And blood. So much blood and death.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, narrowing on everything in his path. Kicking aside a cow's skeleton, bones white and licked clean, he brought his tiny party further to the back of the cave, where the smell was strongest and the warmth of fire began to trickle through.

"I'm not too sure about this Witcher."

"Just sit up there and smell pretty bard."

"What do you mean by-?"

A deafening roar cut them off. The ground shook beneath his boots, dust falling from the pale pink stalactite above. He leapt back as one of the spikes dropped, bursting into shards in the same spot he once stood. Deeper and deeper he went as the roar continued. The more he listened, the more pained the cry seemed. It was...off. This wasn't anger. It wasn't lashing out. He doubted it even knew they were in there at all.

He crept closer to the scent of fire, inching along the wall of the cave, straining his ears to hear beyond the wail.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. It hurts. Quit wailing you big baby. You're acting like you lost a ball sack."

That was Prince Kacchan. The jackass who stole his sword. Clutching the bard's ankles tight, he dared to creep in further, murmuring a spell to hide his and Ochako's scent.

Bracing himself, he peeked around the corner.

It was a dragon alright. Definitely not the runt of the litter though. It was huge, looming several feet above his own head even in a crouch. Its horns were long, thick as a tree trunk, curling around his head like that of a rams. Its scales were red so dark they were almost black, taking in the light of the fire, each as long as Izuku's hand.

But it wasn't its massive size that drew his attention.

It was its wounds.

A gaping hole tore through one wing, the other folded at an awkward angle behind him. Broken, no doubt. Its claws were long and sharp on all three limbs.

The fourth was missing. Its dark eyes were glued to the spot where it should of been, watering with unshed tears of pain as Prince Kacchan cleaned and wrapped the wound. At the blonde's side was Izuku's acclaimed sword, sitting still and idle, waiting for him to grasp it in his hand once more. The discarded bandage pile was where the stench of blood was strongest. Izuku sniffed, identifying the sour smell of infection in the cloth.

"Whoa," The bard breathed and, immediately, all eyes darted to their location.

Izuku could've killed the man himself, but it seemed like the dragon wanted to take a go first. He let Denki go, dropping him to the ground when the thing raised its head to strike, then rolled to snatch his sword before it was too late.

Two things happened then.

The dragon gave a keen whine, then began to collapse in on itself, shrinking in a blaze of red light till a man stood where the beast once sat. His spiky hair was the same shade of crimson as the scales, and his build more similar to Izuku's own bulk than Kacchan's lithe muscle. There was a bandaged stump where his left hand should've been, a clean cut slicing just above the wrist. His eyes were curious, a light reddish-brown as they fixated on the bard and the bard alone.

He was also completely nude.

The second was that Izuku reached for his sword, fingertips brushing the hilt when lava burst from the floor below, wrapping around his ankles and wrists, pinning him to the ground. He grunted when the familiar sensation of a spiked boot stepping on him came from his back.

"We meet again, Witcher."

His face in the dirt, Izuku dropped any mask, letting a cold fury envelope him as he struggled. He was close. So close. One inch more and One for All would be where it belonged.

But the Fates did not will it to be so. Kacchan gave a savage, mocking laugh as he plucked the sword up from the floor. He did some kind of magic to turn Izuku over so that he was facing the ceiling.

He couldn't see Kacchan, but he could feel his witchcraft. Powerful, it thrummed through the air, enveloping his limbs like a restraining caress till he was immobile.

At least the dragon found the bard. If he could enjoy nothing else, it would be the fact that he could hear the annoying little man being ripped limb from limb before he died.

...But the Fates didn't will that to be so either.

"You're an elf!"

"A-A-And your prick is out sir! I implore you to get a covering. Where are your trousers?"

"Oh! My apologies. I didn't mean to offend."

Izuku sniffed. Sweet and heady. Nervousness. Anticipation. Attraction. Arousal-.

Oh fuck.

"I've never met a real elf before. My mother says your kind are as sweet as honey and have eyes of starlight. If I may see your ears?"

"I-I don't really like letting people look."

"But they're beautiful!" The dragon insisted, as if scandalized. "Elves are the most beautiful creatures in all the land. I should know! I'm a dragon! My kind collect pretty things."

There's the sound of someone shifting. Probably the elf, blushing like a maiden at the flattery. Izuku fought the desire to throw them all off the mountain.

"I have a cousin, Mina. She courted an elf. At their celebration, there wasn't a dry eye on that mountain top. From envy of course. A good half of our family was ready to kill her to take her place."

Gritting his teeth, Izuku made a mental note to rewrite the segment on Elven-Dragon Relations in his journal.

"So I assume you're the one that's been harassing the farmers then," He said, trying to get Kacchan's attention. Maybe Ochako would be able to catch the man by surprise if he kept him distracted. "You need to feed your friend after all, and he's not fit to hunt."

"Hey!" The dragon-shifter's voice was stunned, and a little hurt. "I thought we agreed we'd live off the land."

"Those beasts were on land." The Prince said arrogantly. "Our land. Those hills belonged to my kind long before these filthy mortals claimed the earth as their own."

That shortened his list. Demi-god? That'd be a bitch to take down. He would have to go off of rumors for that. The last Witcher to take down a Demi-God was centuries ago. One of the Vampire Fathers maybe? They walked the world long before his own kinsmen did, but their weakness to silver was common knowledge. He just needed One for All back and he'd make it work. It wouldn't be easy, but it would be possible.

But that wouldn't explain the fire.

He'd never heard of a vampire capable of making molten lava out of rose quartz then cooling it quick enough to bind a Witcher.

"Those farmers are poor and scared. They've sent us here to kill the dragon ravaging their homes," The bard said because he had a big mouth and just couldn't shut up. Izuku tried to think, tried to run through all the information he'd gathered so far to find a way of this mess. He strained against his binds, but even with all his strength, they wouldn't budge. Fortified by a dark magic no doubt. He would need to wait and build his power to counter it.

That could take days. Months even.

He'd be dead by then if Prince Kacchan wished it so.

"That's horrible," The dragon was saying. "I'm terribly sorry this has happened. I had no idea where he was getting the food. We'll leave if that would please you...and, uh, the farmers of course!"

"Oi! Shitty hair! We're not leaving! Do you know what I went through to find this place-!"

"Splendid! Did you hear that Witcher? A bit of diplomacy and we've saved the townspeople!"

Izuku gave a long, tired sigh, smile straining as soon as he pasted it back up.

"Wonderful," he said through grit teeth, failing to keep the sarcasm from his tone. "Now if I could get my sword, we'll be on our way."

At the sheer implication, the dragon hissed. Izuku shut his eyes to the sound, already aware of the sharp claws that were undoubtedly reaching out for the bard to stuff him further back in the cave. Territorial little bastards, those dragons. And if his gut was right, he wouldn't be letting the bard go anytime soon.

"By the gods, what is it man?"

"Oh! Sorry! The claws, they, uh, do that sometimes. It's normal."

Izuku could taste the lie on the air, sweet as cherry wine and just as deceptive.

"But you all don't have to leave now," The dragon continued. "Let us feed you! We've got plenty of food to share! And that lute! You're a bard, aren't you elf? Tell me some of your tales!"

The bard, like a fool, agreed.

To his credit, Izuku did not resist as he was lifted roughly to a stand. Prince Kacchan's fist was wrapped in his tunic, pulling him away from the ground even as his other hand wove sigils into the air, completing the stone cuffs around his wrists and ankles into dark circlets. He pulled his aching arms down to his chest, bending his elbows as he was hopped over to a smooth raised stone by the fire.

He took the seat, lips pressed tight as Kacchan sat right next to him, avoiding eye contact with all lest they see the calculations in his eyes. The fire rose high, hot against his front, with pointed wooden spikes at its base. If he kicked out at the right angle, could he launch one into the Prince's chest? Once he was gone, Izuku could take a lame dragon with Ochako's help.

The direwolf sat at the edge of the light, watching the Prince with wary eyes as he went about roasting the cow. Ever a loyal girl. Izuku didn't deserve her.

"Let's share names then," The dragon-man said, now with a fresh pair of breeches covering his bits. "I'm Eijirou the Wild. I'm from the mountain range of Kirishima."

"I'm Denki, a bard. Half-elf." He emphasized. "And that's Izuku of Yuuei. The Slaughterer of Shigaland and the Devil's Wicked Right Hand. He's a Witcher."

"And I'm already bored of this conversation. Eat and then leave bard."

"Don't be rude Kats!" Eijirou the Wild smiled, a grin with sharp pointy teeth and fawning eyes for the bard alone. Kats. What was that short for? Was Kacchan not his 'true name'? What kind of creatures needed to hide their names?

"Don't mind him. He's been sour ever since his mother tossed him out for stealing her favorite plaything."

"She didn't kick me out," the Prince said sourly. "I left of my own accord."

But his words went ignored. The dragon and the bard were already well on their way to a rousing conversation, speaking to each other in fervent whispers, inching closer by the minute till they could pick the remnants of meat off each other's laps. No one asked the Witcher about his life, because they didn't care. Prince Kacchan was too caught up in his own annoyance. and the dragon just wanted to know more about the bard, looking at him as if he was the one who cast away the moon to hang the sun in the sky.

Honestly, how did he get 'Elven-Dragon relations' so wrong? Didn't they have a lesson about this at Kaer Morhen? His old master would be so ashamed.

The bard of course played right into their hands. He relished the attention, even got comfortable enough to take his hat from his head, shyly allowing a clawed hand to wondrously prod at the pale tips of ears.

When he pulled out the lute, the Witcher knew they were in for a long night. He played song after song, growing more loud as they opened a barrel of orc gin and passed it about. Izuku sat there, small smile beginning to ache, ears ready to bleed as they began a new ballad,

'A dragon there was, a dragon, a wild one

All red and fierce and ready for fun!

The dragon! The beast! The wild one!'

He was going to beg for the sweet release of death. There was no other choice. The bard was annoying the shit out of him.

"You're annoying the shit out of me bard." Prince Kacchan spoke for him. Tossing the last of his scraps into the fire, he stood and emptied the contents of his waterskin on his hands to clean them. Wicking them out to dry, he commanded, "Find yourself elsewhere."

"Don't talk to him like that-!"

"Leave!"

Eijirou frowned. Pointedly snatching up Denki's hand, he led the bard off towards the edge of the fire's light, in the direction of the cave's entrance, continuing their rapid fire conversation about some frivolity. Izuku didn't trust the bard with the dragon alone. Silently, he looked to Ochako. The direwolf rose to her feet. Huffing her displeasure, she heeded his wordless request and turned to follow the pair.

It left him and the Prince alone, only the crackling of the fire to fill the gap between them. He kept his eyes on the flames, watching the wood split and burn from their heat.

"You're a quiet man Witcher. What's in that head of yours?"

His smile froze.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are."

A partial lie that left his mouth dry. He chanced a glance at his unfortunate companion. Kacchan's expression betrayed nothing but a fox's cunning. There was trickery afoot. Izuku took pride in his ability to catch it

"How about I let you guess? Hmm. Three tries."

A game then. The Prince doubted the extensiveness of Izuku's bestiary. He could see a vision of victory already dancing in the man's eyes, and swore to keep it as was: a vision rather than a reality.

"If you win-,"

"Then I get your true name."

The man's eyes narrowed into slits. A tell if any. That narrowed his list once more. Vampires didn't give a damn about 'true names'. Maybe an elder member of the fae?

"If I win then I get to lay claim to what's yours."

Tricky wording. Fae then. He'd seen a good share of their cunning.

But when he spoke his guess aloud, the man only smirked.

"You could break a fairy with one sweep of your hand couldn't you Witcher? Just snap them in two."

Red eyes traced the length of his biceps, something unreadable in their gaze. Izuku gave a sniff but he couldn't smell anything past that heady perfume. It clouded his head, made his mind lazy even as he resisted. He used his eyes instead, studying the curve of his collarbone, the path of a bead of sweat down his pecs, past the taut skin of his stomach to the low hanging hem of his trousers. There was a coil tightening in his gut, the pressure of a low flame.

"Vampire." He said hoarsely, throat suddenly parched. The scent got closer as Kacchan slid even closer. Every inch of skin pressed to his side burned hotter than any fire ever could. Crimson eyes dancing, the man dropped his chin to the butt of his hand, pouty lips forming an arrogant smirk at the end of a short, "Nope."

His last guess. Izuku was silent, eyes searching to see what his nose couldn't smell. He looked like a human. A dangerous human but a human nonetheless. What creatures could adopt this form, especially one as easy on the eyes as this? He wished he had his notebook in hand rather than down at the inn. He would have taken his time going through old pages of lessons till he found the right one.

Now he had only his intellect and his gut to guide him, and the former was fading fast, lost to a rosy haze of heat and need.

Wait...wait...wait...There was magic at work here.

"You're human. A sorcerer that's filled with trickery and cunning."

Kacchan gripped him by the arm, fingers digging into his skin like little daggers before swinging his other leg over. He nestled himself into Izuku's lap, firm thighs on either side of his waist as a hot breath caressed the shell of his ear.

"Wrong. Honestly Witcher," He shifted. Izuku felt his arousal twitch once through the fabric. "Have you never met an incubus before?"

"...Ah."

"Yeah."

"You said you were a Prince."

"Prince of Corrupted Virtue."

"Is that what they're calling it this age?"

"Fuck if I know," The Prince's voice lowered into a growl as he pounced. Again, Izuku was one his back, hands and legs pinned to the ground as the incubus nuzzled its nose to the junction where his jaw met his neck.

"You smell good Witcher. Of magic and strength, pine, firewood and all those-Mmm," He fidgeted as a breathy moan got caught in the air. "All those other manly things. You owe me a prize, don't you?"

"How about a pat on the back?" He asked sardonically. With each twitch he made, the other just tightened around him, hot hands locked on his raised biceps as an armor-less knee kept his legs apart. Kacchan pressed a gentle kiss on the lobe of his ear, then changed his mind, switching for a long, slow swipe of his rough tongue against the shell.

(He shivered reflexively, a heat beginning to spread in his loins.)

"Come now, Witcher," He said the title with a voice promising sin. "A demon's gotta eat."

"I don't suppose we could negotiate terms?" He tried squirming out from his grip, but the Prince only laughed, low and raspy, descending upon his neck to bite down on every bit of bared skin.

His hands ventured under the hem of his tunic, hot against the cool skin, ripping the fabric apart to leave his chest bare. Izuku made a keen sound of annoyance. The old forgotten sensation of self-consciousness tried making itself known, but he beat it back with a fierce refusal. He had scars. It came with the job. There were many. They were gnarly. They were hideous.

He had a lengthy kill record to match.

Kacchan was not afraid. He took his time with each one, pressing his lips to the scarred skin as he were a lover rather than a parasite. Izuku squirmed with each caress, grinding against a firm thigh in search of any friction.

"You're a fighter," he crooned. Izuku hissed when teeth grazed his nipple. Kacchan licked a long stripe up the area in apology, flicking the tip back and forth till the nub was a pert peak of pink. "Why do they call you the Devil's Wicked Right Hand?"

The question was meant to distract him from the fingers inching toward his belt. Did he have anything under there that could help him? He sold his dagger months ago. His potions stock was low but there were some salves.

Nothing magic. Nothing useful.

He bit back a curse when the fingers met their target, one hand ripping the belt away while the other palmed at him through the rough cloth.

"Answer me," Kacchan demanded. Izuku groaned when his slick tongue dipped into his navel, pressing kisses down the curly trail of green leading past his trousers.

"They say I do his work for him," He gave a stuttered gasp as the Prince squeezed. "I've sent both man and monster to fill his domain. More than he could ever ask for."

"She's got more space down there than you think."

"Your mother I-ah-I'm guessing?"

Kacchan rose. A thin string of spit connected his rosy lips to Izuku's abs, snapping in sync with red eyes gone to look him in the face.

"Do you always talk about your partner's mothers before you fuck? I know your kind are socially inept, but really?"

"Let's get this over with then. Eat your fill and let me go."

The Prince smirked, yanking at the loose band of his trousers till his cock sprang free, already at thick with his arousal, tight against his stomach. He watched as Kacchan fondled it in his rough palm, shame and anticipation at war in the back of his mind. He bit down on a gasp when the demon finally descended upon his cock like a man starved. His warm, slick mouth wrapped around the length, cheeks hollowing out to deliver a firm pressure as his tongue swept at the bead of pre-cum, slow and careful on the slit.

Izuku watched, breath heavy with lust, as the tufts of flaxen blonde bounced with each suck, straining against his stone cuffs to be able to reach out and tug at it, to retain some sense of dignity and control.

But he had no intention of letting him free. As if sensing his efforts, he laughed, a deep vibration in his throat that made the witcher try and lock his legs with a pained grunt, beating back a tidal wave of pleasure with sheer spite alone.

"You're going to have to come eventually Witcher." Kacchan huffed as he let his prick loose, a pop sounding out when the tip left his lips. "Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Tin and canisters of salves had rolled out from his pockets when his trousers were tugged. The demon selected one at random, removing the cork with a careful sniff, then emptied some the contents on his palm, rubbing the oil between his fingers then turning to look at his prey with mischievous eyes.

Izuku took one whiff and was overrun with the scent of mint. He recoiled as much as he could, knowing the other's intention before he could even act.

"That's for muscle pain."

The Prince's smirk was wicked. Wild.

"Then it's perfect."

"Not that kind of muscle pain. It's a salve from the Isles of Chiyo. It's meant to-,"

A low scoff was the only warning before a discarded shred of his tunic was stuffed into his mouth, the salt of sweat heavy on his tongue.

"You talk too much."

The demon stood. Casting his cape to the side, he took off his boots, then his own trousers, standing bare and golden in the wake of the fire. Izuku tried not to stare at the taut muscle, the shadows cast by the dim glow, and the arrogant grin on the man's face as he returned to his place above him.

(He failed. Miserably.)

"Stay still Witcher. This won't hurt." Izuku glanced at the salve again, wincing at the sharp scent of fresh mint. "I hope."

Izuku knocked his knees as soon as the man approached, eying the slick between his fingers with wary eyes. Kacchan tried to pry his thighs open, but Izuku was stalwart, shaking his head like a virgin bride on her wedding night.

The demon huffed.

"You have to consent. It'll taste bitter if you don't come willingly."

'You're the worst seductress I've ever met,' Izuku said through the cloth. 'I've met common prostitutes that're better.'

The demon's gaze flickered from his prick, still standing at full attention, to the sheen between his fingers. A blush filled his face, redness darkening the sharp planes of his cheeks.

"Would it be easier if I..?" He glanced away, stubbornly glaring to the ceiling.

And wasn't that a tale to be told? A shy incubus? Where was the bard when you needed him? Izuku almost pitied the little Prince. Almost. He gave a grunt, shifting back and forth. His knees relaxed slightly in the process and red eyes locked on the movement.

The demon must have taken this for a 'yes'. Leaning on his haunches, he gave Izuku a full view as he prepped himself, two fingers scissoring back and forth, in and out with sinful, slick squelches and low, halted groans filling the space between the crackling of the fire. \The heat pooling in his stomach began to simmer. He wanted to touch- to be touched- but his hands remained atop his head, He was painfully unable to do anything but watch as the demon rocked onto his own fingers, the other hand wrapped around his cock, pumping steadily till it was a pretty, flushed rouge.

When he decided he was ready, he crawled forward, pulling himself atop Izuku till he was lined up properly.

When he finally sank down, he could only hold onto his hands, biting down on his teeth to distract himself when the simmer in his gut turned into a raging boil.

The Prince was a tease. There was nothing shy about the way he lifted himself till the tip was barely brushing the tight ring of muscle, then rocking down to the hilt, one hand braced against Izuku's chest and chest fondling his balls-coaxing him to come with a masseuse's touch and sultry whispers. But he refused to be the first. He met every buck with one of his own, eyes never straying from that of his partner. Every twitch and spasm had the demon tightening around his length.

"Be a good boy, Izuku." Even his name came out in a hiss, arousal evident in every vowel, so thick he could practically taste it in the air.

Red eyes flinched a little when Kacchan's hand reached to touch himself, shutting completely as he alternated between spat compliments and insults.

"You're taking too long. Do all Witchers have this kind of restraint?"

"God you're so thick and-Ah! Oh, oh fuck."

"How many people have seen you like this? At their mercy? Lain out beneath them like a common whore?"

Izuku spat the cloth from his mouth, fire in his lungs and tears in his eyes.

"Faster," He demanded in a low groan. The demon smirked, slowing his pace to something torturous. He snapped his hips up, silently making his plea known, but the demon only pressed down against his chest, peppering kisses up his clavicle as his cock slid against his navel. The smell of mint was ever-present, but not as strong as that of fire. Ash and soot clung to the air as the crackling of the flames became a roar. The wood split in deafening claps, flames climbing higher as the demon's breaths quickened.

He gave up on the slow rolls, bouncing up and down on Izuku's cock desperately, cleaning around him as keening into his jaw with a low whine till finally, the incubus found his release. And with it, he lost control of his powers. Izuku's wrists and ankles sprang free. He sat up just as the flames hit the ceiling, licking at the stalagmites as his hands went to grasp the demon's hips, holding him down as he fucked into his tight, wet hole, chasing after the tide that was once so keen to swallow him whole.

Soft fingers ran through the hair at the nape of his neck. A quiet, murmur was in his ear, begging him to "go, go, go" till he came with a shudder that racked through his spine. He blinked back red and green stars. Collapsing on the warm, lithe body beneath him, he took a moment to steady his breathing, enjoying the post-coital bliss.

He cleaned them off with the remains of his tunic then cast the scrap into the fire pit to sit with the soot. The smell of mint and ash was strong. The salve was particularly potent. He couldn't feel any part of his groin, numbness spread to even parts of his backside which was concerning, but not as much the one lying next to him. The fire had snuffed out, plunging them into a darkness so deep, even his vision was blurred. A voice spoke into it, raspy from use, gentle with its curiosity.

"...What is your name Witcher? Your true name?"

He was at ease, but he was no fool.

"They called me Deku as a child. Some in Kaer Morhen came from a place where such a name meant 'uselessness'. Weakness. They taunted me for it, so I cast it away."

He turned to the side, where he knew ruby eyes shone upon him.

"And you, Kacchan? Any childhood nicknames you didn't favor."

"They wouldn't dare," He said, puffing out his chest. "I would've ripped out their tongues if they had tried. Disrespecting me is disrespecting the devil herself."

Izuku made a sound of disbelief. Crimson eyes narrowed. "You doubt me?"

"I just...I'm sure there was something. Everyone has a nickname."

"Except for me."

The tunic that was tossed burst into flame, small and timid but still hot enough to destroy the fibers. He was getting somewhere.

"And we can't forget that you're royalty. They had to have called you something when you turned your back. Sparky?"

"No."

"Smoky?"

"They called me Prince Katsuki or nothing at all." The demon snarled.

Then he froze.

Izuku smirked.

"Katsuki," he tried. The name was fire on his tongue. Every syllable screamed of power "Prince Katsuki."

"Don't do this Witcher."

Izuku saw him moving before he even thought of it. He stopped the blackened claws from plunging through his heart at the last second, strong grip on the wrist. He looked straight into crimson eyes as the pupil swallowed the irises whole, engulfing the red in black with the force of his rage. The tension in the air was strong enough to become a physical weight bearing down on his shoulders. His grin never faltered.

"Katsuki," he said sweetly. "I forbid you from harming any member of my party."

Those eyes narrowed into slits. The fire roared once more to life, lighting the cave into a brilliant scarlet.

"How dare you command me-?"

"Katsuki, I forbid you from harming farmer, common man, shepherd, and from stealing any of their property."

"You're making the worst mistake of your life! My mother will find you and rip you limb from limb-."

"Katsuki, I order you to hand me my sword."

The demon stiffened. Gritting his teeth the entire while, he rose as if he were a marionette pulled by invisible strings. His movements were blocky as he made his way through the dark to the discarded blade. One for All glinted in the light, a startling green sheen to the metal as Katsuki laid it flat against his palm, kneeling before him like a knight did his king.

Izuku accepted the offering with grace, not bothering to resist the urge to ruffle soft blonde tufts after the blade was safe in the scabbard.

"That wasn't so hard was it?"

"DAMN YOU WITCHER!"

"What is going on here?"

The bard and the dragon stood at the edge of the shadows, eyes wide as they took in Izuku's state of undress. Shameless, he took his time in collecting what was left of his clothes, watching the demon screaming insults and threats all the while. The demon never moved to harm him, but a good Witcher was always careful.

"Nothing," he answered the question terribly late, so much so that Denki jumped when he answered. "We'll be taking our leave now. The problem's solved."

He saw the way the bard and the dragon looked at each other, then held back a groan.

"-WILL SLAUGHTER YOU AND EACH OF YOUR BASTARD CHILDREN YOU GREEN SOD-!"

"Where's Ochako?" he asked wearily. At the sound of her name, the wolf gave a short howl from the direction of the cave's entrance.

As long as she was safe, he could go. If the bard wanted to stay, marry a dragon, and live forever as a prissy hoarder in bliss, he couldn't care less. The demon wouldn't pose a threat. The dragon wouldn't dare harm an elf. He could tell the townspeople the bard died gruesomely during his battle, and his absence would serve as the proof he needed for payment.

Everyone would leave this encounter happy.

"-FAIR-FACED FRECKLED FUCK! I'VE MET STABLEBOYS WHO WERE A BETTER ROMP THAN YOU! YOU SMILING SIMPLE LIMP-DICKED-!"

Everyone that mattered would leave this encounter happy. Without even a backwards wave, he left the trio behind. Ochako fell into his pace with ease, and together they went down the path into the night, bare-chested with his trusted blade at his side. Screamed curses rang out into the dark, carried by the smooth glide of the wind. Izuku smiled, small but true.

The sounds were greater than any song the bard could write.

The pouch of coins slammed against the counter, a few gold coins spilling out onto the wood. The attendant behind the wood stared at him with blank violet eyes, hair of a similar shade a messy mop atop his head. A pipe hung from his lips, steady stream of smoke billowing through the air.

"A horse," Izuku said with a tired smile. The man stared back with dead eyes. "Please."

Groaning, the attendant set his pipe aside. Ten minutes later, Izuku walked away from the stables with a mare of his own choosing. It was an easy day in a new town. The whispers followed him as they always did, curious eyes following him as he walked his horse through the town.

Only one was brave enough to break through them all. A little girl with hair of silver and eyes a familiar scarlet.

"Witcher," She began with the familiar tones of a plea, pale hands clutching at the edge of her frumpy gown as tears swan in her gaze. "My-My cat! It's been taken by a d-d-dragon! Please help me get it back before it's too late!"

Izuku took one long look to the mountain range. As if sensing a possible repeat scenario, his prick began to burn uncomfortably. His hesitation must've shown on his face because she dropped to her knees, hands clasped in a plea.

"P-Please! I would've gone myself, but his laugh was so scary I couldn't move!"

Ah, then there was no doubt. Swinging onto his horse, he offered the girl a small comforting acceptance, then set off to the mountains, Ochako running at his side.

At least, this time, he had a salve more...suitable for salacious cause.

#KatsuDeku #bkdk au #bkdk fic #bkdk fanfic #bkdk fantasy au #bkdk smut

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lackofhonor · 4 years

Text

Narcos Episode 01.09 – “No, I have not been duck hunting, you... fucking hillbilly.” – Javier Peña

So this is supposed to be fun?” Javi asked sarcastically.

Murphy lowered the binoculars and looked over his shoulder at his partner. Javier Peña was hunched over on the bench seat in the boat with a cigarette clenched between his grit teeth. The orange coal of the lit cigarette casting a tiny glow in the grey gloom of the morning. They had been on the water for maybe two hours and while Steve found the air refreshing, it was clear that his friend was finding this morning’s hunt less than invigorating.

Two weeks ago Steve had convinced Javier to come up from Texas for a visit. He had spoken with Javi via phone many times after what had happened with Escobar. Truly, Javi deserved to be there for when the fucker fell, but it just hadn’t worked out that way. Instead, Javier had been sitting in Texas waiting on a disciplinary review for his actions. Still was waiting on that review, in fact. Steve had tried to stay in touch, even as he and Connie tried to gather together their lives in Colombia and move them back to the States. It had been a monumental challenge for him personally and professionally but the strain was worth it to be standing over Escobar in the end. And it had ended for him with taking that last photo of the bastard dead on the roof. It had ended for him when he and Connie stepped on that plane flying out of Colombia. Hadn’t it?

Yeah.

But had it for Javi? Well that was the question, wasn’t it?

Steve couldn’t help but feel his friend still had loose ends from Colombia in his head that needed tying. Y’know, beyond the fact Peña’s career was on the line with this review board shit. No, Javi still wanted some blood. Via their phone calls, Steve had gathered that all Javi had done since hitting stateside was drink liquor and fuck women. And while that was pretty much Javi’s M.O. throughout the entire time Steve had known him, normally Javi didn’t seem so depressed while going about his chosen extra-curriculars. Sometimes he fucked or drank away the stress or was sullen and frustrated. Sure, that was fine. But this was something darker and sadder than a typical bender.

So during their most recent weekly phone call, Steve did what anybody would do for a friend: told him the truth (“You need a hobby that isn’t fucking women or drinking yourself to death, Javi.”) and invited him on a trip (“Come on out and see Connie and I. Relax for a bit. Take your mind off this review board shit for a while so you can get your head on straight.) Javier Peña, being a reasonable man who recognizes that perhaps he may not exactly be dealing with things well, gave in with some reluctance (“…yeah. Yeah I guess I could come out and see you guys for a weekend. Not like I have much to do here until the hearing anyway… “) So of course Steve Murphy felt the need to try broadening his friend and former partner’s horizons by introducing a potential new hobby (“Great! We can celebrate for real with you here. There’s this band Connie’s been dying to see so we can hit that up. Plus the season just opened Sunday and I’ve not been since before I was posted in Miami. We’ll be able to go duck hunting while you’re down here.”).

This chain of events lead to the current moment with both men sitting in a olive drab john boat that had seen better days and Steve’s cousin’s dog sitting in the floor next to their feet. They were floating on the choppy waves of a muddy river looking out over nearly one hundred duck decoys bobbing in the freezing water. It was a cold day. The sky couldn’t seem to decide whether it wanted to spit light rain or tiny frozen drops at them and the wind cut at their faces. The boat was tied to posts sunk into the riverbed that were part of a blind covered in camouflaged netting and live willow branches. Sort of a little faux tunnel the boat could hide in. Murphy had stealthily steered their vessel inside that morning after a truly harrowing ride across the water just before dawn. Murphy was calm. Soaking in the sounds, smells and sights around him. He maneuvered the boat with ease and stroked the Benelli shotgun with a fondness that spoke of years of similar experiences when he had loaded it earlier. Javier on the other hand was not as charmed. His shoulders were bunched up to his ears trying to maintain valuable heat in his neck and head and he hunched over the borrowed Remington 870 in his lap as he stared blankly at the horizon.

“Stop your whining. Isn’t this nice? You get out in nature. Enjoy some fresh air.” Steve shared in his low friendly baritone. He took a moment to drink some hot coffee from the dented green metal thermos by his feet and observed the sky contentedly.

Javi grunted and continued to puff at his cigarette as he curled further inward. He felt miserable. He was still a bit hungover from the night before to tell the truth. The wind had changed direction again and the bitch was cold as hell right in his face. He didn’t come here to be tortured by Murphy’s idea of what a healthy past time should be.

“I’m freezing my ass off in a rinky dink boat decorated in switchgrass at the ass crack of dawn so you can get this bullshit out of your system. I did not need to come along for this hillbilly holiday,” Javier complained loudly. Murphy merely hushed him with a look and continued to sip his coffee and pet the black Labrador laying in the floor of the boat.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. You got to eat a nice hot breakfast at least. Homemade biscuits and eggs fresh from the chicken’s butt. And Ace here likes you,” Steve said. Javi grumbled under his breath but did give the dog a fond scratch behind the ears.

From the slate colored sky above came a chorus of quacking, signaling the incoming flock of about thirty mallards from the south. Outlined against the ominous grey clouds above the river Javier could make out the green heads and lighter colored feathers of the birds. Steve fumbled for his duck call and gave some rapid fire noise that he had tried to explain to Javier the day before was a “hail call”. It was meant to draw the ducks in closer.

“Take your time. Let them get in close enough. Remember what I told you: swing through. Butt, belly, beak then bang!” Steve tells Javi sotte voce. They both ready their weapons as the birds approach.

“Alright, take ‘em!” Murphy hisses when the birds are in range. Javi leans into the gun and squeezes the trigger through the arc as he follows their quarry. The sky explodes with sound and two birds drop from the sky into the watter below. “Good job man!” Murphy cheers and high-fives Javi.

Maybe this hillbilly crap isn’t so bad, Javi thinks to himself as Murphy gives the dog a gruff command that has it launching itself form the boat into the water. It is kind of nice to hear the lapping of the water on the boat’s hull, the gentle flutter and soothing noises of the birds. The river in late fall is beautiful in its own way. It is stark and wild with all the green faded away now for the season, but still beautiful. Javi observes how his friend is so relaxed in this environment and cannot help but crack a smile.

“Good boy Ace! Come on, come on!” Murphy calls as the black dog paddles back to the boat. The dog is determinedly swimming back to them with head above water with the downed bird. Murphy is moving around inside the blind now. He seems to be poking around searching for something when he starts to curse.

“What’s the matter?” Javi asks as he removes the hood on his sweatshirt from over the camo baseball cap Steve had loaned him. It’s still cold, but maybe the adrenaline of the moment earlier has warmed him some.

“Fuck, I forgot the ramp this morning. It’s this thing I stick on the back of the boat so Ace can get back in the boat on his own. I coulda sworn I stuck it in here this morning.” Steve is rummaging behind the extra life jackets and decoys.

Javi shrugged and looked out to see the dog treading water over the side. Javi could barely keep his eyes open when Steve woke him up at 4 a.m., shoved his feet into a pair of chest waders and tossed him a dark green hoodie with the words ‘Ducks Unlimited’ on the chest and an old camo coat. Although he did wake up pretty quickly once they got the boat on the rive and he had the icy spray from the speeding boat and wind in his face.

“What’s the big deal?”

“He can’t get in the boat dumbass. He can’t swim like that forever. He’ll get tired,” Murphy stated, “I’ll just take the boat off the pylons and we’ll beach on the shore real quick. He’ll follow and he can climb up the rocks onto the boat.” Murphy began the process of untying the boat from the mooring posts and unlashing parts of the boat hide that made up the floating duck blind. Javi looked over the side again at the plucky little retriever. Big, bright, rusty brown eyes in a handsome black face stared back while the animal continued to paddle away, duck still firmly clamped between its jaws. He could see the nostrils of the animal widen as it huffed air in, still treading water. It wasn’t that big of a dog. 80lbs maybe? He could just scoop it out of the water. Easy.

Javi stood up. “You don’t have to do that.”

Murphy wasn’t paying attention at first. Too focused on untying his complicated knot from when he tied up earlier. He felt the boat sway as his friend moved. But out of the corner of his eye did he see Javi lean over the side of the boat for the dog. His eyes widened. “Javi, no-.”

“Come on big boy, I gotcha.” Javi called to the dog as he leaned for over into the water to scoop up the animal. He had it about balanced right. The dog was barely out of reach. If he could lean just a little further now.

“Come on Ace. Oh shi-!” Murphy watched as his partner tipped headfirst over the side.

Two seconds later the spluttering dark headed man surfaced right next to the boat cursing a storm. Ace, the mallard still clutched in his mouth, whined continuously and paddled around Javi in the truly frigid water. Steve reached out a hand to his friend in the water, bracing himself off the motor in the back of the boat. “Swim over here. I can get you back on without capsizing off the stern,” he instructed.

Javi carefully kicked and stroked his powerful arms to the back of the boat and grabbed Steve’s hand.

“Alright, on three I am gonna haul you up but you gotta push yourself onto the boat at the same time.”

Javi nodded.

“Alright, ready…three!” Steve groaned and heaved the sopping man out of the water so that his top half was wedged onto the boat. Javier used his elbows and shoulders to drag himself fully inside and flopped into the hull with a grunt.

Steve laughed and shook his head as he watched his friend cough and shiver. He was ok. He’d be a little cold but Steve would set him right in a minute. At least now he didn't look so moody, like he had been sucking on a lemon, like he had looked all morning. No, now Javi looked like a drowned rat. Although Steve wasn’t going to tell him that. Yet.

Javi straightened himself up, sitting on his knees and glaring at his friend. But before he could open his mouth the persistent whining of the dog interrupted. Steve peered over the edge of the stern of the boat. Ace doggedly paddled with the bird still in his maw.

“Alright buddy, hang on. You think we can pull him over together or you need a bit?” Steve asked Javi as the man tried to wring out part of the ancient camouflage coat that he had loaned him that morning. Javi rolled his eyes and positioned himself in the stern, carefully bracing himself on the side as Murphy was also doing. Together they carefully reached down into the water and hauled out the black lab and rolled him into the boat, dropping a good amount of water back into the boat.

The dog leapt to its feet and presented his prize to his master. A job well done surely. Murphy ruffled Ace’s ears after plucking the bird from the dog’s mouth and handed it to Javier.

“Your first duck hunt and your first duck. What do you think Javi?” The blonde man grinned at him so widely Javi couldn’t help but return the smile as he took the duck from his friend.

“Y’know, all things considered-“

Javi was interrupted by a truly massive full body shake from Ace, spraying he and Murphy with even more freezing water. Soaked to the bone, water dripping off the bill of his cap and desperately in need of a smoke he looked down at the black dog, its tail thumping furiously on the floor of the boat. He thought about the way that early morning fog had looked on the water and the duck he would eat later with Murphy’s hick relatives. He though about the money he spent for a license and duck stamp that would go back to preserving more habitat. He thought about the quiet and the trees and the way the biting wind felt. Javi wiped the water from his face and kneeled down to give the dog a good scratch behind his ears with one hand while he still held the duck.

It was fun.

Kinda.

The dog shook itself again. More water went flying. Javi scowled.

“Have we fed your inner redneck enough for today? Cause I have enough for a lifetime I think,” he huffed, searching the pocket of the duck coat to see if his precious cigarettes were dry enough to be lit.

Steve laughed and clapped him on the shoulder as Javi cupped the flame toa damp, mangled white paper cylinder. “Tell you what, next year I’ll come to Texas and play cowboy with you and your Dad on the ranch instead, ok?”

Javier’s eyes lit up. “Don’t get too cocky there, hillbilly. We’ll have to see how you measure up at ropin’ and drinking whiskey.”

Steve rolled his eyes and started the boat motor for home.

#pedro pascal #steve murphy #javier pena #narcos #i made a thing #I think Steve and Javi stay in touch and remain friends after everything they went through #Before the hunt for cali and after Escobar has been caught #steve murphy and I are hillbillies #inspired by me falling out of the boat the first time I went duck hunting #inspired by that photo of pedro pascal #lannister-slings-and-arrows #drabble #writing

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reinhartiisms · 3 years

Text

@sprousec

Cole: had just washed his hands and was beginning to knead the pasta dough that he'd just made. Well he'd made it earlier in the day and it had been resting while he and Lili went out shopping. "What kind of sauce do you feel like? I can make spaghetti, carbonara, alfredo? Any requests?" He asked Lili, getting out the pasta maker from the cupboard and beginning to turn the dough through it. The living room almost looked like a bomb had gone off in it with all the baby items they'd bought during their shopping trip and with that it really made it feel real that they were going to be having a child in just a few months. The onesies and clothing was tiny and they could add it to the tiny bunny that he and Lili had brought at christmas time. "Do you want something to drink?" He asked Lili.

Lili was busy putting away the bags her and Cole had collected over a long day of shopping when she heard Cole's question. "I'm not really in the mood for a specific noodle or sauce," she smiled at him. "Surprise me." She was too focused on trying to notate down what all they had and what all they still needed to get. It was funny how with all these bags, it looked like they had everything they needed but Lili knew they hadn't even scratched at the surface. Babies needed a lot. "Wine," she answered him wryly but let out a wistful sigh. Wine. God, she missed wine and she wasn't even a big drinker. "Water is fine." Closing her Notes app on her phone, Lili straightened up and made her way into the kitchen to join them. "Is there anything I can do to help?" She asked, swinging her legs over the counter and sitting up on the top.

Cole: "Ooh fun, I could go really out there then" He probably wouldn't though. Lili was a bit of a pickier eater and he wanted to make something that she would actually want to eat, especially since she was pregnant and he knew she needed to keep her calories up, although not by too much. Once the pasta was finished and into nice long lengths of spaghetti, Cole put it into the bubbling water so it could cook. He pulled the ingredients out of the fridge for pesto sauce and began making that. It wouldn't take too long and hopefully Lili would like it. It had parmesan in it and you couldn't really go wrong with cheese. He looked up when Lili answered his next question and Cole gave her a smile, pushing a glass of water towards her. "You can probably have non alcoholic wines, we should try some one day if you want"

Lili wrinkled her nose and gave Cole a pout. "Oh please, there's no point of wine if it's non-alcoholic. That's like sugar free candy or dairy free ice cream. It's a crime." She picked up the glass and sipped from it, watching as he cooked. With the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his dark hair all frizzy from the heat of the kitchen, he was painting an attractive picture. It was pretty unfair. Lili squeezed her legs together at the thought and took a more vigorous swig of water. Damn baby hormones. If she wasn't crying while reading sad poems, she was getting all hot and bothered about her very unavailable ex. "So seriously, nothing I can do to help?" Lili asked, needing a distraction. "No stirrer needed? Cheese grater? Pepper shaker?"

Cole: "I mean, it'll still taste the same, it's just not got the same effects. But I get what you mean" Cole told her. She was right. It was sort of pointless, especially since most people liked the buzz they got form alcohol. Once the pasta was cooked, Cole put it to drain in the sink and then got out two bowls, the sauce was ready and he was just going to add the two of them together. "Nope, i'm all done" he answered, putting a bowl in front of the two seats at the island and then offering Lili a hand so she could get down and they could sit next to one another and eat dinner together. "What do you think?" He asked, starting on his own bowl of pasta.

Lili "Ah, once again, I am useless," Lili joked and took Cole's hand as he helped her off the counter. The dinner smelled delicious, as always. Before she could sit down, she poured herself some water and then grabbed some bread that Cole still had saved from a previous grocery store venture. It may not have been freshly baked, hot out of the oven in Italy but it'd pair nicely with the pasta. She dipped her bread in the sauce and took a bite, nodding her head. "Delicious, as always. I really need to up my cooking game." Lili had gotten a lot better over the years but she didn't get too experimental in the kitchen and tended to stick with safe dishes. "Thanks for cooking for me," she gave him a smile. "Otherwise I would've eaten something really shitty from Postmates and felt awful afterwards."

Cole: "Oh stop it, you are not. I just didn't have anything for you to do is all" Lili most definitely wasn't useless. Cole just often didn't need too much help. Pasta was easy to make and it didn't take long to cook so there really hadn't been much for anyone to do. "Welcome. It's pretty easy and most food isn't hard, you just have to be ready to fail the first few times you make a dish until you get it right" Pasta was really the only thing that Cole was super good at cooking, everything else was a bit of a gamble on whether or not it would turn out right. "Well I'm glad you stayed for dinner then. Although postmates isn't too bad, I don't think. Depending on what you get"

Lili "I don't typically get healthy food." Lili was doing a lot better eating wise when it came to being pregnant, but it was hard to avoid fries and milkshakes when they were so readily available to you. Her biggest craving lately had been chicken wings washed down with some orange soda and that wasn't exactly what the doctor recommended. She twirled some pasta around her fork and after taking a big bite of it, swallowed with her water. "Maybe you can teach me some," she asked Cole, taking another bite. "You won't always be here to cook for Brooklyn and I'd like to give her some of Dad's favorites when it's my night to have her."

Cole: Cole just continued eating his pasta as Lili spoke. At least she was aware she wasn't eating the best food and it probably wasn't enough to really do anything. "Yeah? I could definitely do that. It's really easy so i'm sure you'd have no trouble making them" Cole had learnt most of his pasta making skills from his dad who made the best pasta Cole had ever had. His Dad had learnt in Italy when he'd lived there before Cole was born so it was no wonder his Dad's skills were that good. "Yeah we're definitely screwed if she doesn't like pasta" Cole joked, drinking from his cup of water. "Not that we have to worry about that for a while at least"

Lili "Sounds good," Lili smiled at Cole. As helpful as Cole was being throughout her entire pregnancy, Lili knew that eventually she'd have to stop depending on him. They were going to be parents together, but she was going to be a single mother nevertheless. She couldn't lean on Cole to provide everything for her or for Brooklyn. "As long as she's not vegan, that's all that matters. Mads keeps telling her that meat is evil and if our baby comes out wanting only organic mush, I'm gonna make Mads change every dirty diaper." Lili smirked at Cole as she said this and took another bite. "But I'm guessing the only thing she'll want is milk for a while so you're right, we've got time." Lili just hoped breastfeeding wasn't the nightmare it seemed to be for other women.

Cole: "It does. Although I don't think babies can be vegan anyways right? If you're breastfeeding then they're still getting milk from something. Unless they have soy formula or whatever" So long as Brooklyn was happy and healthy then that was all Cole could really have wanted and he was just going to support whatever Lili wanted to do as best he could. This was a whole other ball game that they'd really have to learn about, pregnancy was one thing but everything that came after Brooklyn was born was something else entirely. They could just take it all as it came. After his bowl was finished and Cole had drained the last of the water from his cup, he stood up, stacking the dishwasher with whatever he could fit inside it. "So, do you want me to walk you home? Or..you could stay? You can borrow some clothes and we can sort though the bags we got earlier?" He offered.

Lili "Sshh." Lili placed her hand over Cole's mouth, dramatically widening her eyes. "No more v word around this child. Too much damage has been done already." She gave Cole a little wink and as she saw him standing to collect the dishes, handed hers over. She felt comfortably full. Draining the last of her water, Lili stood up and watched as Cole bent down to put away the dishes. Domestic. So domestic. Daddy Cole vibes already..it really wasn't fair. She let out a little sigh and pointed towards the bathroom as he began to ask her a question. "I think I'm just gonna freshen myself up." She wanted to brush her teeth so she didn't have pasta breath and her cheeks could use some cold water to wake her up to reality. Her and Cole were /friends/. Just f r i e n d s. She shut the bathroom door behind her, splashed her face with some water, and squeezed some toothpaste on her finger as she scrubbed her teeth. Stupid Cole being so sweet and charming and sexy and domestic.

Cole: "Alright" Cole chuckled and filled the dishwasher with Lili's dishes before turning it on and beginning to give the hand wash only dishes a quick scrub to put onto the drying rack. "Okay" He nodded at Lili's next words and watched her leave. He still wasn't sure if she was planning on going anywhere or whether she wanted to stay over. Something that seemed to be happening more and more lately. Cole didn't mind. It was a lot nicer than being alone in bed all the time and Lili seemed to sleep well at his place so he was happy that she seemed to be getting some rest which was always a good thing. Walking into his own room and shutting the door, Cole changed out of his jeans and into some sweats, swapping his jumper for a plain singlet. The heater was blasting in the apartment so Cole didn't feel like he needed much else. He left some clothes out that Lili could change into if she wanted and then moved into the lounge room. Most of the baby things were sorted by where they'd been bought but Cole was going to make piles of what they had, clothes, blankets, gadgets etc just so they'd be able to sort them easily later.

Lili didn't immediately leave the restroom. She snooped a little. Opening up Cole's bathroom cabinet, she snorted at the pack of condoms, unscrewed some tops of colognes and smelled them, and nodded approvingly at the skincare products Chrissy had sent him. He was keeping up with his skin care regime, good boy. It wasn't until Lili figured Cole would think that she fell into the toilet that she finally washed her hands one last time for good measure, and opened the door. She could see into Cole's bedroom and saw that he had laid out some clothes for her. Sweet. Incredibly annoying that he was being so attentive and sweet and emotionally unavailable to her but..sweet. She shed her clothes and slipped on his shirt, seeing that it fell mid thigh and deciding to skip the sweats. It was too hot in his apartment anyways. She ran a hand through her hair and tousled it before coming back out to see Cole looking through the bags. "Whatcha doing?" She asked him, leaning against the doorframe of his living room.

Cole: "Cole hadn't even realised Lili had left the bathroom so when she spoke from just to the side of him, Cole just about jumped out of his skin, placing a hand on his heart "You gave me a heart attack" He told her with a smile, "And I'm sorting making piles in the bags of what we have. I figured if we had a different bag for a different category then when we got shopping later, it'll be easier to sort through that way as well. We're definitely going to need some more clothes probably but I think we did pretty good today" At least they had a few of the basic necessities. He looked up to Lili as he spoke his last few words, taking note of her outfit. She looked...hot in his t-shirt. She always had. Lili being in his clothes had always been a turn on and it had been endless when they had been dating. It was different now, especially that she was pregnant but she still looked just as good in his shirts, bump and all.

Lili bit her lip, laughing. "Sorry, scaredy pants," she teased. She hadn't known Cole was that deep in concentration. She straightened up and went to go sit down next to him, seeing the careful piles and arrangements he had already made. It wasn't something she was very interested in but she still perused through them, remembering what they had bought. "I feel like clothes are tricky because who knows how big she'll be and how much she'll grow," Lili told him as she carefully folded a onesie she had picked up and then placed back in the bag. "And some stuff we can order. I saw a few cribs I liked and bookmarked, I'll show you later. But I think we got a lot of essentials." They had almost everything that was needed on the 'baby's first checklist' PDF Lili had found and printed. She glanced back up to see Cole staring at her and she smiled. "What are you looking at?"

Cole: “Yeah we don’t know how big she’ll be but I don’t think she’ll be huge. Maybe long” Cole was pretty tall and Lili wasn’t super short so it was probably easy to assume that Brooklyn could possibly fall somewhere in the middle. His cheeks flushed when he realised Lili was looking at him and Cole had been too intent on looking at her to realise. He could’ve said ‘nothing and waved off an excuse but it felt like Lili had already caught him. “Just you” he told her honestly and moved closer to press a kiss to her lips. When he pulled away, his cheeks were redder still. “Sorry, just ignore I ever did that” Cole didn’t really think Lili would mind but it was a dangerous game to play with both their feelings.

Lili closed her eyes as Cole moved in to kiss her. It was both expected and unexpected; she recognized his soft looks, but he didn't normally go past more than sweet words when it came to them lately. Cole was much more restrained than Lili was. When he pulled back, she licked her lips and shook her head. "You can't apologize for kissing me," she told him with furrowed brows and then moved into kiss him again. "You either want to kiss me or you don't. Make up your mind, Cole." Lili's tone was teasing but they both knew the serious undertone of her statement. It also didn't help that Cole smelled really good and was really warm and that Lili's fingers were now moving through his longer strands of hair as she got closer to his face than she had in a while. "But if you're not going to kiss me, I'm going home because I am so damn horny and you're not helping by being..you."

Cole: “Yes I can. I just did” Cole smirked and shut his eyes as Lili moved to kiss him again. It was a struggle constantly for Cole to not kiss Lili, especially as he always wanted to, much much more than what he ended up acting on. “I always want to kiss you” He told her. One of his hands was moving down her back, the soft of his shirt coupled with the warmth of her skin was making it hard to stop. “Don’t worry, I intend on finishing what I started” He replied, moving in to kiss her once again.

Lili "You're talking too much," Lili said before Cole shut her up with his mouth. As much as Lili loved what Cole had to say, she wanted less talking, more kissing. His hands pressed against her and the feeling of him going to take off the shirt she was wearing made Lili moan and she just kissed him that much harder. /Finally/. It had been so long since they had last done this and the relief Lili felt at just being touched by him made her want to cry. Nobody made her feel as good or as loved or as wanted by Cole and consequences of hooking up be damned - she had an itch to scratch and Cole was finally going to make it go away.

Cole: Lili’s shirt or rather Cole’s shirt that Lili had been wearing had come off rather quickly and once his mission of taking it off had been accomplished, Cole moved to pulls his own singlet off, tossing it amongst the bags they were sorrounded by. His mouth still attached to Lili’s, Cole got up and tried to move both himself and Lili into the bedroom. Dylan wasn’t home yet, at least Cole didn’t think he was but he still didn’t feel like being interrupted in the living room either way. The door had slammed noisily behind them and it was a bit of a stumble but they made it to Cole’s bed. Afterwards, happy and sated, Cole moved his arm around Lili, his eyes beginning to droop shut “I love you” he told her sleepily.

Lili laid stretched out on Cole's bed after they were finished, staring up at the ceiling. She couldn't move due to Cole's arm being on top of her and she didn't want to. She probably should pee - she definitely should brush her hair - but there was something about this moment that she just wanted to stay in and soak in. She had been sleeping alone for some time now and just being this close to Cole was everything. When he spoke, her eyes pricked with tears. It was hard to hear, but she knew he meant it. "I love you too," she whispered back softly and sighed, rolling over so that she was resting her head against his chest. She wasn't tired - far from it - but in bed with Cole, in their own little world, is where she wanted to be.

#f2f: co parents with benefits.

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chaoskirin · 4 years

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The Seven Seas--Chapter One

Fandom: Queen Genre: Sci-Fi/Gen Rating: PG Chapter 1 Word Count: 2379

I haven’t written any Queen fanfic in a while, but I’ve had this one in mind for about a year. Figured now was a good time to give it a go!

---

The morning started like any other: At quarter past noon, and with beer and potato chips for breakfast.

"Fred, I want to go home," Brian said, hand on his forehead, leaning back in his chair. Roger stretched his leg out and attempted to tip the chair over; the back collided with the wall and Brian shot him a grumbly look.

"No. We're staying right here 'til we're done," Freddie replied. "And I would say we've been productive thus far--except for all the complaining."

They wouldn't be done until Freddie said they were, which could be today, or tomorrow, or three weeks into the future. With his Mercurial temperament, he'd named himself well. That's something none of the four would ever argue over.

John, typically, said nothing.

Roger flipped over in his chair, reclining upside-down with his bleached hair splashed across the dusty floor. Out of all of them, Rog felt the crushing boredom the worst as they sat and sat and sat and thought about lyrics for a good chunk of the day. He just had a different way of dealing with it; while Brian complained and John entertained himself within the recesses of his own mind, Roger caused Trouble.

"Oh, Roger," Freddie said. "Do sit up."

"I'm gettin' the blood to my brain," he replied. "So I can think of your stupid songs."

"If they're stupid, we're not using them," Freddie said.

"You let the car song through," John muttered under his breath, after which Roger grabbed a handful of wood chips and attempted to launch them--while still upside-down--across the room. He performed an unintentional backflip out of the chair and crashed to the floor.

Where he remained for some reason.

"Entertaining," Brian observed. "I still want to go home. I've got things to do. My thesis--"

"Oh, your bloody thesis. You're a rock star now, Brian!" Freddie exclaimed. He stood, paced across the barn, stepped over Roger, flailed his hands for effect, then paced back. "You don't need a doctorate if you're a rock star!"

"I thought we were to be rock gods," Roger provided, insinuating that a god was somehow superior to a star.

Freddie supposed he had a point. "Yes, yes, we're getting there. Patience!"

Asking this lot to have patience was like asking an elephant to fly. Like asking a fire to burn cold. Like asking a monkey to type the full works of Shakespeare with both hands tied behind its back. All possible, when one considered how very exciting and unpredictable the universe was... But still vastly implausible.

Something very small and very loud crashed through the barn's roof, landing mere centimetres from Roger's outstretched arm. Roger jumped to his feet with the alacrity of a twelve-year-old non-smoker and stumbled away, knocking over stools, a bandstand, a whole table, and a random chicken as he went.

The chicken, perturbed, scuttled from the barn.

John sat up, his face perfectly passive as Freddie asked, "What the fuck was that?"

Brian stood, creeping toward the shimmering object. It appeared frictionless with all its sparkling silver splendor, and as aerodynamic as the most advanced American war devices. Oblong and saucer-shaped, it sat off-kilter within the barn's floor, its leading edge plunged clear through the rotting wood and stuck soundly within the dirt. It wiggled a bit as if to free itself, then seemed to deflate in defeat as if sighing.

It was no larger than a standard record.

"Aliens, probably," John said.

"Oh, aliens!" Freddie poo-pooed, swatting him with the back of his hand. "It's clearly a toy. A frisbee or somesuch. Roger, go outside and see if--"

The frisbee whirred and hissed, a door opening and consummately vanishing as it did so. A bright green light shone from within as steam and fog poured out of it like water.

"Is Spielberg here?" Roger said. "Is he having us on? He's making a movie, you know. Offered me a part--"

"Oh, he did not," Freddie said. "Hello in there? Hello? Is it aliens?"

"Well, they wouldn't be aliens to themselves," Brian griped. "We'd be the aliens to them."

"Bother your semantics," Freddie said, kneeling next to the oblong contraption. When he poked it (as he could think of nothing better to do with it), his finger slid off the surface as if it were made of particularly slippery ice.

"Well don't piss 'em off," Roger said, kneeling next to Freddie and poking the thing as well. "Whoa. I can't touch it."

Indeed, it was covered in some sort of shield, which reflected all attempts at poking, no matter how vehement. Whenever one of them thought to touch it, it shimmered with a glowing rainbow of energy before repelling the contact entirely. It was neither cold, nor warm, nor anything at all. However, Roger could make the shield wiggle with a sort of frustration if he touched it in two places, and when Freddie added his fingers to the mix, the whole saucer seemed to burble in scandalized protest.

"I can't help thinking that's a terrible idea," John said.

"We should kick it," Roger suggested.

"That's exactly what I meant," John replied.

As Roger stood and drew back his leg to give the thing a good kick, Brian said, "It's not a football."

Defeated, Roger stomped the ground with the very foot that had been just about to launch the thing back into the sky. "Then what's it doing in our barn?"

Brian opened his mouth to answer, then his eyes dulled with the abject inability to answer Roger's inane inquiry. "What kind of question is that? Do footballs inherently belong in barns where you're from? If something enters a barn, does it become a football?"

"Well... Kinda? If it can be kicked?"

Meanwhile, the little door on the saucer-object remained open. Freddie wondered how much more mist could pour out of the thing before it was empty. Or perhaps it contained its own mist generator and it would continue to spew forth a cloud of noxious green gas until evicted from the barn. "I actually think Roger may have the right of it," Freddie said, detecting the faintest hint of ozone. "Exciting as all this is, I don't want to be poisoned."

Roger reeled his foot back again.

Fortunately, the occupants of the saucer picked that moment to show themselves. A single moment later, and they might have been stepping out into earth's atmosphere, tumbling end over end in the worst result of first contact ever written about in any science fiction in history.

Thwarted again, Roger collapsed into his chair and crossed his arms.

The aliens--for that's the way Freddie had begun to think of them--appeared as silhouettes against the burning green light from inside the saucer. Unsurprisingly, they were tiny, each barely the size of a paperclip or perhaps even smaller. A walkway extended in front of them as they squirmed out into the barn's dim light; the creatures meandered down it, leaving a trail of slime behind them. Vaguely slug-like, they were nevertheless adorned with at least half a dozen tentacles each, which were in turn adorned by an incredibly ridiculous amount of jewelry. Enough to rile Freddie's jealousy at any rate. If only he had more places to put shiny things, he could be a much happier man!

There were three of them. The tallest one spoke:

"ARE YOU THE QUEEN?"

Freddie blinked. The alien repeated: "ARE YOU! THE QUEEN?"

"We're... Queen?" Freddie tried. "The band. Queen."

"HAIL QUEEN BAND. THROUGH THE RADIO CHATTER OF YOUR ILLUSTRIOUS PLANET, WE HAVE DETERMINED YOUR LOCATION AND SEEK AN AUDIENCE."

John muttered, "I'm sure this is going to go well."

"I'm not sure you understand," Brian said. "We're not the queen. Or any queen, really. We're just--"

The aliens seemed undeterred. The tallest one interrupted: "NONSENSE. YOU HAVE PRODUCED MORE RADIO CHATTER THAN ANY OTHER ENTITY CALLING THEMSELF A QUEEN ON THIS PLANET. WE DEEM YOU THE SUPERIOR OF ALL OF THEM. YOU WILL NEGOTIATE ON BEHALF OF YOUR PLANET."

One of the smaller ones, who seemed to be wearing glasses on his protuberating eyes, asked, "WHAT IS YOUR PLANET CALLED?"

"They've been listening to our radio chatter," John began, "and they don't know what the planet is called?"

"Er... This is earth," Brian supplied.

"OF COURSE IT IS EARTH," the smaller alien said. "ALL TERRESTRIAL OCCUPIED PLANETS ARE MADE OF EARTH. WHAT DO YOU CALL YOUR PLANET? WHAT NAME?" He pulled out a very tiny, very adorable starmap from one of the flaps in his skin. Freddie didn't know whether to be awed or disgusted.

"That's--" Brian tried. Puzzled again, he scratched his head, as if the aliens had made a perfectly reasonable point.

In the silence, Roger clarified. "The planet is called earth."

The three beings conferred with each other for some time, their slimy tails wriggling behind them like rain-saturated worms. Occasionally, their stalk-eyes would flick around to fix the quartet with a glare--at least, Freddie thought it was a glare. It was hard to tell when one didn't understand the intricacies of alien expression.

Finally, the visitors turned. The one holding the starmap said, "EARTH IS A TERRIBLE NAME FOR A PLANET. WE DEMAND TO KNOW WHICH IDIOT NAMED IT."

Never mind that none of this made any sense whatsoever... Brian still engaged in a heated argument with the aliens about the virtues of a planet named earth, and how no one had ever actually named it. That's just what it was called. Roger found that hard to believe, since the idea had to have come from somewhere--and after all, the people of earth hadn't always known there were other planets, which meant they had to discover earth was a planet at some point, which meant they would have had to name it. When asked why, Roger shrugged and said that if humans were presented with something to name, they would inject their opinion onto it without questioning whether or not they should.

Brian supposed that was logical, then he further supposed that the person who named earth would certainly be dead by now, which the aliens thought was probably better for everyone.

"And just what is your planet called?" Roger asked, once the argument exhausted itself. Freddie thought the whole point of the alien visit probably wasn't to discuss the names of their respective planets, but here they were.

The other shorter being stood up just a bit taller. He was wearing different colors than the other two, although those colors were so random and chaotic that no one in their right mind could describe them. He seemed for all intents and purposes to be a diplomat of sorts. After a wiggle of importance, he said, "DENMARK, OF COURSE."

No one said anything for quite a while, then everyone started speaking at once. Except for John, who was quite content to smile at the absurdity of it.

"You're just from Denmark?" Roger asked. "How are you so short? And slimy?"

"I'm sure it's lost in translation," Brian observed.

"They've come billions of kilometers all to tell us them come from a place called Denmark!" Freddie exclaimed.

"NO, NO, NO," the alien said. "IT'S WHAT ALL CIVILIZED ENTITIES CALL THEIR HOME PLANET ON A MAP! SHOW THEM, WOULD YOU?"

The other short alien--the one with the glasses--lay its starmap out on the floor and opened it to a rather obscene size. It shouldn't have been possible for so much paper to fit inside one pamphlet-sized document, but the creature continued to unfold it and unfold it and unfold it until it covered an enormous portion of the dirty floor. Moreover, the stars elevated themselves just above the paper in a spectacularly impossible three-dimensional layout. Freddie couldn't help an awed "Oooh," of admiration.

John, sarcastically, added "Ahhh!"

"YOU SEE?" the tallest alien said, pointing to an X on the map. As it poked the location with a tentacle, it lit up with a vast trove of information--exact location, atmosphere type, composition of the rocky surface, current radio traffic, and climate. Probably. Freddie didn't actually know, as he couldn't read their language.

"Okay, what's it really called?" Roger asked.

"OH, YOU COULDN'T POSSIBLY PRONOUNCE IT," the diplomat said.

"Don't tell me what I can't pronounce," Roger insisted.

The aliens conferred again, this time for quite a while. When they turned, the diplomat cleared his throat and announced something that no human would ever be able to pronounce: a cacophony of squeals and thisksks and clicks and sub-sonic whistles and grunts and whoops and probably a boat horn or two.

Roger narrowed his eyes, considered for a moment, then opened his mouth and screamed.

"IMPRESSIVELY CLOSE," the diplomat said, as one would comfort a toddler who also happened to be a horse.

"IN ANY CASE," the leader said, his eyes spiraling around in what might have been an eyeroll, "WE CANNOT EXCHANGE PLEASANTRIES WITH A PLANET NAMED EARTH. IT IS SIMPLY PREPOSTEROUS. WE DEMAND YOU RENAME IT."

"But as we've said before--" Brian tried, but the leader held up a remarkable number of tentacles to halt him.

"YOU ARE QUEEN BAND," the leader said. "CLEARLY IT IS YOUR RIGHT TO NAME THIS PLANET."

Freddie, rather half-asleep from the long day they'd already suffered (at his whim), imagined it would be easier to give the visitors a name now, then sort things out later. After all, nothing political could come about as a result of this visit. The aliens were far too tiny to be any sort of threat. And if he just gave them a name, he could get back to writing lyrics with the others and no harm would be done.

Without any sense of impending doom despite his foreshadowy thoughts, Freddie searched around the barn until his eyes fell upon an open, half-stale loaf of bread. "The planet is now called Rhye," he said, adding the H in his mind since it sounded more dignified. "Yes, Rhye. Has a nice ring to it, I think."

"The moon's called Chicken Shit," John said.

Brian elbowed him.

"THEN ON BEHALF OF DENMARK," the leader said, "WE DEMAND THE UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER OF RHYE AND ALL ITS INHABITANTS! IMMEDIATELY!"

#queen #queen band #fanfic #freddie mercury #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon #ck writes #not bestiary

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inkdrinkershadowsinger · 4 years

Text

Snape Vs. Dumbledore Points Battle

It all starts with something that Severus simply cannot forgive. Dumbledore, in a fit of his usual all knowing all omnipotent manner givens twenty points to Frederick Winhouse of Hufflepuff for proper and quick usage of the levitation charm during the first week of school. Granted, the ending result could have been quite messy for all of those at the Badger table had that blasted nincompoop failed in counteracting that overzealous first years reach for the ginormous pastel colored cake in the middle of the table, but still…..twenty points? That simply act had pushed the Hufflepuff’s to the lead in an almost ostentatious manner. And to announce it in the middle of dinner? Ridiculous. Snape will never rid the sound of a hundred cheery Hufflepuff’s shouting in unison as loudly as they can from his subconscious.

It only gets worse with the coming weeks.

Severus knows that the war has had a horrible effect on the man. Dumbledore was the leader for the light, and the man who had given him refuge from the cold terrors of Azkaban in the wake of his turncoat against the Dark Lord. The pressure, even now with the Dark Lord gone, but have been too much for the old man.

Severus can take the oddities though. He can take the, uh, colorful clothing and the eccentric speeches at the start of each new term, but what he cannot take is the points.

Approximately in the first week of school, Dumbledore awards the following points.

To Huflfepuff:

Broderick Bones, 7 points for picking up a piece of fallen parchment from an otherwise spotly hallway, and thus, “Maintaining the highest standards for cleanliness at Hogwart’s School.”

And to,

Salem Cartwright, 3 points, for enquiring as to whether Bones should recycle said parchment as that is the common thing to do in the Muggle world, and we should all “be conscious of the environment.”

A conscientious Muggleborn, exactly what he needs.

In the same week, Snape removes 10 points from Cartwright for voicing his moral objections to the dissection of a flobberworm the fool child has named Abernathy. Sorry, Sir. Abernathy.

Dumbledore then awards Cartwright 11 points for the ingenious naming of a Flobberworm and the careful handling of creatures big and small.

To Ravenclaw:

Jemilea Robbins gains 27 points for dutiful handwriting after Dumbledore has to take over Professor McGonagall’s class one afternoon.

Snape removes 15 points from Robbin’s sister, Gaia, for her “absolutely atrocious chicken scratch”.

No one complains, other teachers or students. Snape believes that they are all afraid of him or at the very least hate him for his role in the last war. His status in the last conflict might not be as readily available as the mark on his arm, but word gets around. They may not know about all the evil that he has done with his former compatriots, but imagination coupled with perception is sometimes all you need.

The only person who seems to be comfortable around him is Albus.

Snape loves the power to take points. With so many of his students doubling as his former classmates who not only remember the long nosed Snape but whose families have been deeply affected by the Dark Lord, Snape is far too familiar with the people that he is supposed to be teaching. So, he rules with an iron fist.

Dumbledore, however, seems to lead…differently.

Snape has seen the powerful man fight with fire blazing from his wand and spells so powerful that they have incapacitated the most fearsome supporters of the Dark, but here, at this place, Albus Dumbledore is as tame as a kitten. He presents a grandfatherly air, handing sweets out to crying first years, and calling upon unsuspecting third years to congratulate them on a well-cast charm that he couldn’t possibly know about. He rules with rewards while Snape rules with punishments.

Severus decides that he is going to break the old man. Snape understands that he is lucky. He understands that Albus Dumbledore has given him a chance at reformation. He realizes that without this man he would be in Azkaban suffering under the horrible bearings of the Dementors. Still, when he lays at night under the same stones that sheltered him as a child and the same protective castle magic that allowed for healing and peace for a scared half blood and a new, incredibly bright Muggleborn, he feels like the dementors are here, and that he will never again know that same peace or happiness. He aches for what once was, and condemns himself and Dumbledore for not giving him this chance at redemption sooner. What could he have done if he could have just changed thing sooner before everything became so bleak?

So, with a new resolution to best the greatest light wizard of the age, Severus starts strategizing. Each morning he looks at the point counters in the Great Hall and calculates.

In short order, he quickly removes 74 points from Gryffindor, 56 points from Ravenclaw, 33 from Hufflepuff, and even 19 from Slytherin. Crimes wage from eating in class from a Belby to waking to quickly in the corridor, to incorrect placement of a cutting tool on the work station, to breathing too loudly. Severus understands that he is being petty, but with the old man continuing to give points for ridiculous things like 20 points for each house for a beautiful handwritten anonymous piece of poetry that he found in the hallway outside of the Transfiguration classroom and 15 points to Ravenclaw for having the most students in the library at one time, Snape has his work cut out for him.

The rest of the staff seem to be aware that something is amiss, but choose wisely to keep out of it. But this, Snape can absolutely not abide.

It’s James and Lily all over again. It’s blatant favoritism for Dumbledore’s old house. Keaton Lang and Alex Shingle have gotten back together for approximately the seventh time this school year, and in a show of “fantastic forgiving and true love” Dumbledore has awarded Gryffindor house 70 points. Snape is going to be sick.

He barges into Dumbledore’s office, and bright lights explode into his face. Sparklers sprinkle down on him from the door frame, and Snape is sure that these are the sticking kind that will only be extinguished by a certain charm that he is sure that he has forgotten.

“Dumbledore, I demand an explana…..”

Snape is stunned into silence.

Dumbledore’s office looks as if St. Valentine himself has decorated, and Eros and Aphrodite are going to jump out at him any second and poke him in the arse with an arrow.

“Oh, Severus, it’s great to see you. Would you like a sherbet lemon drop? I’ve just recently acquired a taste for them.”

Severus nods morosely.

“I’m here to talk about Shingle and Lang, specifically about the points that have been awarded for them for “true love”.” Snape doesn’t use physical air quotes, but he trusts that they are felt by the professor.

“It’s great, isn’t it, Severus.”

Snape, about to launch into a tirade about why it is certainly not great at all, is stopped when Dumbledore begins to speak again.

“After everything that this school and our world has been through it’s nice that we are finding ways for each of us to be celebrated. So many of the students have lost loved ones. I believe that it is important to bring about a community here where students can feel protected and appreciated. Wouldn’t you agree? And what a better time than Valentine’s. Well, just after Lang and Shingle rejoined, Parks and Tuttle from Slytherin finally confessed that they are in fact a unit. I believe that there will be wedding bells for those two shortly after graduation.”

Snape stopped. He knew Parks and Tuttle. Both were from mid range politically inclined families, but the two who had so far escaped the extremism that had colored Slytherin during the Dark Lord’s reign. Both were studious, and both were clearly infatuated with one another.

“I awarded them nearly a hundred points with the condition that I be invited to the wedding. They agreed quite happily. It’s time to celebrate things again, wouldn’t you say, Severus, at least for a little while.”

Dumbledore looked at him, and nodded curtly. He turned to leave.

“But what were you wanting to discuss Severus?” Dumbledore called after him.

Severus stopped and smirked.

“I just wanted to make you aware, Headmaster, that the moment Shingle and Lang break up once again and Lang has the nerve to shed even one melodramatic tear in my classroom that Gryffindor will be losing quite the hefty sum of points for lack of fortitude.”

Severus tensed for a minute before he heard Dumbledore chuckle from behind him.

“And very well too,” Dumbledore said. “I’ll never be invited to their wedding if they keep breaking up.”

Severus turned, and somehow behind him he could see both the fierce wizard that laid waste to many on the field of battle and the kind old man who adored lemon flavored candy at the same time.

“We’ll make it yet, won’t we Severus.”

Severus nodded.

“We will.”

#severus snape #Dumbledore #Harry Potter #Harry Potter headcanon #harry potter thoughts

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daemongal · 5 years

Text

Hey anon! You’re so sweet for saying that thank you! Luckily I don’t have a particular type of reader insert, I just kind of go for what feels right for each insert :3

Ok, so for some reason I saw this request and just had to write it. It feels like you’re asking something really personal of me and it just gave me some feels.

I just need to say as a disclaimer that I myself am not ace so please don’t assume this is from personal experience. I may be making some generalisations as I know it is on a sliding scale but I thought for the sake of the fic I would depict the reader a certain way so I hope this is ok!

I may have self indulged a little too much but I decided to make this super smoft because I like to think that Dante can be a total sweetheart! Hope you enjoy and thank you for the request! (Cut inserted for length)

_________

You sat on the sofa playing with your hands, tension heavy in your shoulders as Dante pulled you closer to him, arm over your shoulders holding you tight.

You had been dating Dante for a few weeks now, enjoying every moment of his company. Whether it was his stupid jokes, his childish behaviour or the way he so observantly adhered to your invisible boundaries. You wouldn’t say anything was official between you both, although it was becoming more and more clear that you both liked each other quite a lot.

Dante never pushed you towards anything you weren’t comfortable with. The first time he wanted to hold your hand, he held his out for you to take. The first time he held you in his arms, he invited you towards him on your own terms, rather than wrapping his arms around you like so many others had without warning. As for kisses, the only place he had planted them so far was on the top of your head.

You were happy to be where you were now, in his arms quietly watching some cheap horror flick, pressing your head against his chest and focusing more on his heartbeat than what was happening on the screen. You knew you needed to tell him, because you knew it would be make-or-break and you’d lost too many people from supposedly leading them on.

“Hey.” Dante’s voice broke you from your thoughts. “Somethin eating you babe? You seem real tense; movie’s not to scary for ya is it?” You smiled up and him and flicked the tip of his nose.

“No, don’t be silly. This is just... nice. Us being like this.” You wanted to stay here in his arms, in this moment; so comfortable and warm and safe. You knew he would never try to do anything without you being totally comfortable first but you knew he would have an expectation, that his mind would be wandering to what happens when the movie ends.

“Normally when people are enjoying themselves, they aren’t stiff as a board. Seriously though; if there’s something wrong you can tell me, you know that.” He planted another soft kiss against the top of your head, the motion causing you to melt into his embrace as you let out a long sigh.

“Look it’s just... I don’t know what you expect of me. I... really like you, Dante. I don’t want to scare you away but I can’t keep this from you.” He squeezed his shoulder with his hand reassuringly.

“Honestly babe, short of you unzipping your skin to reveal you were actually a demon in disguise all along, nothing’s gonna scare me away. Hell, I'd maybe even be able to compromise on the whole demon thing, if it was you.” You couldn’t help but smile at his kind words, pressing your face into him further.

“But what if... this was it? What we’re doing now, if this was... as far as we’d ever go; that this is... as close as I’m capable of being with someone before.... before my stomach does flips, and not the good kind.” You felt Dante’s chest rumble beneath your cheek as you squinted your eyes shut, turning your head to avoid his gaze.

“So that’s what’s been bothering you. Look, you can keep your eyes to the floor because I’m gonna say some stuff to you now that’s gonna embarrass the shit out of me because this is not something I do often.” He took a deep breath as he gathered his thoughts.

“I’ve been young once, okay. I’ve done plenty in my youth, and even in my not-so-youth, stuff that would make even the most sexually experienced person cringe. My bucket list has been cut down and down throughout my life, and now here I am; still doing the same shit 20 odd years later and wondering why the last box on my list hasn’t been ticked. That was, until I met you.” Your breath hitched in your throat, as your hand gripped his coat for purchase.

“I’ve had more than enough experiences for one lifetime and, to be honest, I ain’t no spring chicken anymore. The only thing I want to do with another person now is... settle down. Live out the rest of my stupidly crazy life with a bit of stability in it. Having someone here for when I come home, someone to worry about me when I’m away. I want that relationship to truly mean something, to have feeling behind it, to have... love.” You sniffed quietly as your eyes started to fill up, his words cutting deep into you. He took a moments pause as you felt him shuffle his body beneath you.

“Look, what I’m trying to say is I really like you and... I’m perfectly happy never taking this any further than what your comfortable with if it means I get to be with you. I’ve... never met anyone else like you and I probably never will again. Your company and the fact that you choose to be with me is more important to me than anything physical. I can still hold you like this,” he wrapped his other arm around you and held you tight, “and kiss you like this,” he planted another kiss against your hair, “and talk to you like this; and that’s all that matters.” He swallowed and cleared his throat.

“Sorry, I’m really not good at this whole, talking about feelings shit but I feel like you deserve at least this honesty from me considering how hard it must have been for you to open up to me. Basically, don’t worry; I’m going nowhere babe.” You gripped his coat tightly as the tears fell freely from your eyes now.

You never expected him to be so okay with this, it’s not like you were ignorant to his past exploits, which made you even more nervous about opening up to him; but it just made his acceptance all the more meaningful. You felt his hand in your hair, gently stroking through the locks as you tried to regain your composure.

“You’re too good for me you know.” You managed to mumble through the sniffles and slight hiccups.

“Aww I wouldn’t go that far babe. Honestly, as much as I big myself up, I know I’m far from perfect, but don’t ever repeat that to anyone.” You chuckled lightly at his defensive response.

“You’re as close as I could have ever hoped for.” You wiped the tears from your face before sitting up and looking into his eyes. You smiled at the slight blush he had on his cheeks as he averted your gaze, scratching the back of his neck.

You placed a hand in his hair, lightly rubbing his scalp and enjoying the feeling of his locks between your fingers. You swallowed before placing your other hand on his cheek.

You leaned towards him, inching closer and closer to his face before planting your lips softly on his cheek. You lingered there a few seconds, the feeling of his stubble against your skin being more pleasant that you had expected.

You sat back with a smile on your face as Dante’s hand brushed against the spot you had kissed, holding his cheek as if to catch something that might fly away. You laughed lightly through your nose. His hand reached to your cheek cupping it lightly, emulating your earlier action.

“May I?” He asked gently brushing his thumb against your skin. You nodded in response as he leaned towards your face. Your breath hitched in your throat as his lips touched your cheek, his stubble tickling against your skin as you unconsciously leaned into the contact.

His lips left a comfortable tingle against your skin as he pulled you into a warm embrace, cupping your head with his hand and nuzzling his face against you.

“I guess... this makes us an item then?” You asked gingerly, body relaxing into his hold.

“Mmmm, I thought we already were. Wait, didn’t you?” You reached up and roughly scuffed his hair with both your hands.

“You never asked?! How was I meant to know?”

“I always thought actions spoke louder than words!” He pulled your hands from his head before intertwining his fingers with your own, quickly stealing another peck on the cheek.

“Just promise me one thing ok? You gotta talk to me, tell me if I’m going too far or if I do something you’re not comfortable with. I don’t want to make a stupid mistake and send you running. Deal?” You smiled once more, leaning forward to press your face against his chest.

“Deal.”

#anon #ask #request #ace!reader #dante x reader #dante #dmc #devil may cry #fluff #smoft #i'm warm and fuzzy now #:3

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daybreak-academy-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Daybreak Academy: Chapter 21

Case of Invi

Summary: In which Invi goes on a snipe hunt. Word Count: 1,394 First | Previous | Next ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

Invi was Daybreak Academy's human security system. There were very few things that escaped her constantly watching eye. But there were days, rare ones, where Invi would turn a blind eye and pretend she didn't see or know anything. This would usually happen when Invi wasn't feeling well, or when an event like Aced punching Ira would occur and could blow over in a few days. There were even some holidays that Invi refused to operate at her typical critical eye level, if only to humor the students and faculty.

April Fool's Day was not one of them.

There were to be no jokes, pranks, or flying toilet paper rolls unless Invi agreed to it. Sitting quite prominently on Invi's desk was a list of approved April Fool's shenanigans. The biggest requests were to wear costumes or to dye their friend's hair. Harmless stuff, they were always approved. Ephemer had placed a request to go around with silly string, on the pretense he only use it on his friends. Considering the boy only had a small handful of friends outside the headmasters, Invi approved it. Then there were other generic requests Invi let slide: whoopee cushions, joy buzzers, and x-ray goggles, for example. A firm knock on her door caused Invi to look up. She ignored it at first- anyone who needed her attention could just come on in, after all. But the knocking continued. And continued. And continued.

“You may come in.” Invi said, trying hard not to sound annoyed. But the knocking did not stop. Giving a sigh, Invi started to head toward the door.

When the headmaster opened the door, no one was there.

“Classy...” she grumbled under her breath. As she started to shut her door again, she noticed an envelope attached to her door. Raising an eyebrow, Invi took the envelope and went back into her office. She casually strolled back to her desk as she looked the envelope over. Something was inside of it, but she couldn't get a good feel on what.

Invi reached for her letter opener, then peeled back the glue holding the envelope together. A very undignified noise of surprise came from Invi's lips as glitter exploded from the envelope. She looked down at the mess in distaste. Most of the glitter had landed on her, but a good bit still ended up on the floor. Invi felt really bad for the custodial man when he came around- this glitter was going to take weeks to get rid of, if ever.

The headmaster then looked back inside the envelope. There was a letter stuck inside, trapped in the springs needed to launch the glitter in the air. Carefully, Invi pulled the letter out. It was surprisingly clean for something that had been surrounded in glitter three minutes ago. The message on the letter was written in a simple format with easy to read handwriting;

'There's a snipe on the loose,

Only Headmaster Invi can find it!

But she has to follow our clues

(completely through and through)

Or else the snipe will surely flit!'

A small half smile crossed Invi's lips. She turned the letter over, finding that it continued on the other side, written in a completely different handwriting. This was a bit more curly than the other, with a lot of unnecessary loops and curls at the end of each letter.

'The arts have eyes. But one is very sleepy…'

Invi raised a bemused eyebrow as she set the letter down. So someone wanted her to go on a snipe hunt, huh? Well, she didn't authorize it, but it must have been for some reason. The first clue seemed pretty simple; the only place that held artwork was on the lower areas of the main building. Figuring that she didn't have much else to do, Invi started to make her way out of her office- leaving behind her a small cloud of glitter.

“Urg, I hate glitter.”

. . .

For a moment, Invi didn't know whether to laugh or just continue to stare. Someone had placed googly eyes on every student artwork on display. It didn't matter what it was, if it was in the open, there were googly eyes attached to it. Invi moved a bit closer to one of the paintings on display and realized that the eyes were put on with poster putty. So obviously this snipe hunt wasn't being organized by the Ursus or Leopardus houses; those students wouldn't have wasted an opportunity at mild, and possibly permanent, vandalism.

Invi continued to look along the rows of googly eyed artwork. She only stopped when she realized that one painting had a different set of eyes than the others; this one had a pair with painted on half-lidded eyes. Figuring this was the place of the next clue, Invi took a careful step forward to remove the painting from the wall. Sure enough, there was a small note on the back, so she took it off then placed the painting back on the wall. This clue was written in a small chicken scratch;

'TP belongs in the water. But is it flowing today?'

The Anguis headmaster moved her head from side to side as she thought the clue over. TP surely stood for toilet paper, right? But having it in water that flows? The only 'flowing water' on campus was the water fountain in the plaza right inside the school gates. By the way the clue was worded, it almost sounded like someone was trying to clog the...

Invi's eyes grew wide in terror.

No way. There was no way anyone would do that. For the love of the Nine Old Men, please tell her someone didn't do it! Invi quickly turned on her heel and ran as fast as her feet could take her. She prayed to anyone listening -the Nine Old Men, Ub Iwerks, Mary Blair, anyone!- that someone didn't try to clog the school's fountain as a prank.

When she finally saw the fountain, Invi was so relieved that she almost cried. There was toilet paper decorating the fountain, but all the water had been drained in advance. Sitting there quite innocently on the fountain's edge was the next clue. As Invi tried to calm herself, she then deduced that this hunt wasn't from the Unicornis or Vulpes houses either. The students in Vulpes were too kind hearted to TP something as important as the school's fountain, and the students in Unicornis were too dignified to use anything but party streamers.

The next note had the most atrocious handwriting so far- looking like it was done quickly and without any thought of being legible;

'The snipe is at the dorms. But I hear he's hungry.'

That was… awfully blunt, to say the least. Which ever student decided to write this note didn't seem to have much of an imagination. The note wasn't very specific on which dorms she were to go to, but by now she had a good inkling on which house it was. Invi gave a small grunt as she started to head toward the Anguis dorms.

Invi walked up to the Anguis dorms as if she were about to reprimand someone. In between the dorms, there were a few students operating a pie stand. When they saw her, they waved at Invi. Invi kept a straight face as she headed toward them.

“So,” Invi casually said to the three students waiting for her, “Where's this snipe I was meant to find?”

“Right here!” one student from behind her cheerfully declared. Invi turned around to face this student, and instead was smacked in the face with a cream filled pie. The four students then erupted into a loud laughter at the same time Invi gave a sharp gasp in surprise. When the headmaster didn't come out of her shock, the Anguis students stopped laughing to look at her in fear.

“H-headmaster Invi?” one of them cautiously asked. “Are you alright? It was just a little prank...”

Invi turned to the student who had talked before her eyes trailed down to one of the extra pies. Tilting her head, Invi picked up the pie and looked back at the student. To their surprise, Invi smashed the pie into the student's face.

Her smile was only half visible when she told them, “Now we're even.”

#daybreak academy #chapter 21 #kingdom hearts fanfiction #Invi #Season 1

3 notes · View notes

sprnklersplashes · 4 years

Text

not beyond repair (13/?)

ao3

January is a funny time in the school year. There’s little actual work to be done and handed in and graded but the aura of stress clings to the walls of the school and especially to the seniors, now staring down the barrel of that final stretch of the school year. The post-Christmas buzz still stubbornly hangs around and can be seen in the quiet moments before Miss Fleming enters homeroom, the weeks of stretching out on couches and gorging oneself on mince pies and pricey chocolates not wanting to go away so easily. Veronica can feel it now, in the early morning when she’s sitting on her desk, her fingers ghosting along JD’s coat, Martha sitting at her side and Heather on the desk behind, idly stroking Martha’s hair in a secret gesture of affection. All they have is fifteen minutes. Fifteen precious minutes where they can pretend high school isn’t a real thing with real world consequences.

“Also, there’s a pretty extensive Patrick Kavanagh collection in the school library,” JD goes on, his eyes lighting up the way they always do when he starts talking about literature. If there was a way to make her fall harder for him, it was when he was like this, caught up in his love for the written word, rambling on about any and all books he had read, particularly when it came to the poets. Watching the way he came alive when poetry was brought up was worth the confusion she wasn’t unused to feeling when he was talking, the feeling that she was struggling to keep up with him. “I checked it out when I first got here. No other place has ever had as much Irish poetry as Wester-”

He breaks off into a minor coughing fit, his shoulders shaking beneath Veronica’s hands. He still hasn’t shaken off that flu it seems, despite him swearing to God he was fine when he came back. Part of her, the protective part formed over years of being friends with Martha and just her own instincts, wants to grab him and check his temperature and try to force him down to the lobby to wait for Claire to pick him up. And the other part, well…

“I would try not to say, ‘I told you so’,” she says. “But I did tell you so.”

“You didn’t,” he says, the worst of it seemingly over.

“I told you it was contagious and you were the one insisting on your tough immune system.”

“You did tell me to get into the bed,” he reminds her.

“Yeah you did tell him to do that, in fairness,” Heather adds, leaning forwards on her knees. Veronica raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘whose side are you on here. I was your friend first.’ “But also… everyone got sick at some point. Last week my chemistry class was three people. And one of them was sneezing too.”

“I didn’t,” Martha reminds them, a confident edge in her voice that would have been foreign last year. Veronica suppresses a smile as she watches Heather keep running her hands through her hair. That girl’s doing wonders for her girl.

“Yeah, Dunnstock how are you the only one in our entire grade who didn’t get sick?” JD asks, coughing into his sleeve. Veronica finds her hand on his shoulder and tighter than before, her eyes moving over this face. Still looking healthy, his cheeks their normal colour, but that doesn’t stop the way her feet tap anxiously against the desk.

“My mom’s a nurse,” she explains with a shrug. “Which means I’ve had every vaccine there is to get. Sometimes twice.”

“That and her immune system is just generally a beast,” Veronica adds. “It’s why your mom let you stay over when I had chicken pox when we were 6.”

“That too,” she replies with a small grin. She ducks her head slightly so that her hair falls forwards a little. Behind her, Heather frowns for a moment before continuing to stoke her hair, taking a moment after each one to scratch her back with featherlight fingernails.

“Good morning class.” Veronica suppresses a groan as Fleming comes through the door, breaking the gentle hum of the room and bringing in the reality of morning announcements and codes of conduct.

“My cue to leave,” JD says with a grimace, lifting his bag onto his shoulder. “See you guys later. I’ll save your seat in English for you, Dunnstock.”

“Thanks,” Martha says, her attention elsewhere. Her focus is on Heather as she moves slowly back to the place she picked out at the start of the year, with the rest of the Heathers, and Kurt just behind her, sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She can’t miss the protective flash in her friend’s eyes, nor the way her hand curls into a fist on the desk.

“I’ll see you later, darling,” JD says, squeezing her hand gently before heading out the door, avoiding Fleming’s watchful gaze. Although he does take a moment at Heather’s desk to tap the back of her chair and whisper something in her ear. Veronica can’t make it out, and it may have been nothing for all she knows. But it has an effect on Kurt, who turns away from her. If he had been planning anything, it’s gone now.

Veronica slides into her seat, the date written sharply across the blackboard catching her eye; January 12th, 1990. Gone are the 1980s and everything that came with them. On the lead up to New Year’s Eve the news was full of events that shook the world in the past decade; the assassination of a Beatle and of a Pope, the election of a new President that happened just when she was old enough to dip her toes into politics, the fall of a wall on another continent. They’ll all be in history books on day, maybe not too far away, but all she can think about (selfish, she knows) is her own life. From 1980 to 1990. Middle school to high school and everything that came with both of them, dreams she’d thought were so far away getting closer and closer and she’s trying to take every step with all the grace and poise she’d hoped. Now she’s here, staring down the barrel of a new decade that’s even less certain than the last. From seven going on eight to seventeen going on eighteen-

Holy crap.

“It’s my birthday next week.” She’s proud of how offhand she sounds. She certainly doesn’t sound like she was rehearsing this for the first two periods of her school day and refining it all the way up to lunch. It seems stupid and it probably is, especially if you asked someone like Heather Chandler with her 17,000 friends but for her it was years of her and Martha eating cake in her room, maybe a year or two with Betty in the mix as well. But now she’s upgraded from one friend to three. Well, two and a boyfriend. Which is new territory for her, birthday-wise.

“I know,” JD replies, pushing the baby tomatoes out of his salad. “Which is why I have already got my eye set on your gift,” he adds, budging his floor gently against hers under the lunch table.

“No,” she tells him, fighting a blush as she pokes his cheek. “I don’t need presents. What I do need is you guys.” Her friends look up at her, all three frowning a the bluntness of her statement and two raising eyebrows in an identical fashion, both conveying the message ‘I’m getting you a gift whether you like it or not’.

“Can you clarify what you mean by that?” Heather asks, wrinkling her nose. “Because that sounded really weird without context.”

“It did, didn’t it?” she replies, giggling along with the rest of her lunch table. At least Heather had the grace to hide it behind her hands. “Okay, okay so… I was just thinking we get together next weekend for something. Maybe my place. Or the bowling alley just reopened, we could go there. Get food after.”

“Question,” JD interrupts, his elbow on the table and his finger in the air. “Will there be cake?”

“Of course there will be cake,” she tells him, tapping his cheek playfully. “Keep up, babe.” She turns to the other two, a surprising nervous energy about her. She starts a gentle run through JD’s hair, hoping to calm herself. “Are you guys in?”

“Of course I’m in,” Martha says with a fond smile. Veronica grins; if there was ever an affectionate way to say ‘duh, idiot’, of course Martha would have figured it out. “I’m always in.”

“Great.” One down… her gaze moves to Heather, whose hand slowly creeps over Martha’s, but her eyes meet Veronica’s and show nothing but the same sparkling enthusiasm she had seen back when she was giving her makeovers.

“I’d love to,” she says. “And since it’s your birthday, I can take the liberty of planning it.”

“Heather, that’s sweet, but you don’t have to.”

“Yes I do,” she interrupts insistently. She pulls herself back just a little. “Besides I’m really good at it. Chandler and Duke used to get me to plan everything.”

“Okay,” she replies quickly, not wanting her their former friends’ presence to linger. “I trust you Heather.”

“And I trust her judgement,” JD replies, pointing in her direction with a fry. “And you, I guess.”

“Flattered,” she replies flatly, cocking an eyebrow. He gives her wink before looking past her for a brief moment, toying with the sleeve of his coat.

“Just a minute ladies, nature calls.” He kisses Veronica’s temple swiftly, his fingers delicately touching on the back of her hand. She feels a light, barely-there blush creep over her face and gentle warmth on her skin as she whispers ‘okay’ and squeezes his hand

“Are you going to do that to all of us or just her?” Heather asks. “Because I don’t think my girlfriend would be happy if you did it to all of us.”

*****

He takes a minute to scope out the men’s room first. He’s planned this about as carefully as he can, down to the minute. And it’s a pain in his ass, keeping one eye on the clock and the other on his lunch table, his little orange bottle sitting patiently in the pocket of his coat the whole time. Kissing his girlfriend and making like it’s just a normal bathroom run.

He keeps his eyes on his reflection as he twists the bottle open. Maybe he can pretend it’s someone else if he does it like that.

He doesn’t hate the meds. Not them specifically. In fact since they do their job right and keep his brain in check he can’t find anything to complain about. But… there’s the small issue of taking them to school, taking them in school. The old ones were pop one in the morning and go about his day. The new ones are one every lunch time which is… less than ideal. Especially considering lunch is the only point in his day when his entire friend group is together, given their fragmented school schedules. The rest of the days are a pick and mix of when he sees them-Martha three times a week in English, Heather twice a week in history and Veronica twice a week in social studies, not counting their little moments before and after classes, stolen away in their garden or behind the lockers or against the window. Those moments don’t last long enough to count. He wants to make the time he has count, not just with her but with Martha and Heather too.

And then there’s the other thing. The fact that this is another thing. Therapists is one thing, one thing that’s relatively normal, tied to the ground and doesn’t make heads turn so much. It doesn’t have too many negative associations, except in the older or less liberal citizens of Sherwood. But therapy is something she can understand and he can be okay with her knowing. These little guys in their little orange bottle aren’t so much.

He knocks two back, taking a swig from the water fountain, and closes the little bottle again before checking his own reflection. He pulls his hair over his face a little, letting it fall forwards into his eyes and leans on the sink, the boy in the mirror seeming to frown at him.

“Don’t give me that look, bitch,” he mutters to him. He taps the lid of the bottle with his finger. “These keep our brain in order. And for that we thank them for their service.” He turns to leave and puts the bottle back in his pocket just in the nick of time it seems; the door clicks and creaks open.

And doesn’t he just love the one who walks in.

JD’s old survival instincts kick in when Kurt enters, an everyday occurrence in both their lives suddenly and abruptly turning into a showdown. Two go in, one goes out.

He briefly considers that maybe Claire’s right when she calls him melodramatic.

“What’re you doing?” Kurt asks, stopping in his tracks, his mouth twisting in to a snarl.

“That should be obvious,” he replies flatly. His hand curls into a tight fist at his side so hard that his nails press into his palms. He doesn’t hide the fact that that he doesn’t like Kurt and hasn’t since his first day in Westerberg (both of them), but it’s different from how he feels about Ram or Heather Chandler or Heather Duke. He can’t forget the shiner on Macnamara’s cheek on Halloween night, the way she trembled in the half-light of Veronica’s living room, how small and fragile and breakable she seemed for the first time since they met.

“What’re you staring at?” he says harshly, taking another step towards JD. He doesn’t necessarily take a step back. It’s more of a stumble.

“Nothing.” He dodges around him and tries to make for the door, only for him to be caught on the shoulder. He tries to swallow but his throat is dry. He keeps his eyes on the poster about washing our hands on the wall. If only that poster could be the only thing in the room right now. Instead Kurt’s beside him, his hand slipping into his pocket-

“No!” He jerks away from him but it’s too little too late; his little bottle sits in the palm of Kurt’s hand and a wicked glint is in Kurt’s eye. He tries to breathe slowly and deeply, to put his chaotic thoughts in some form of order. “That’s mine!”

“Dude…” A wide grin spreads over his face, unfamiliar in its enthusiasm and its lack of mockery or cruel intent. “You do drugs?”

“No, I don’t!” he snaps. “Just give it back!”

“Or what?” he taunts, tossing the bottle from one hand to the other. Every time it lands, JD flinches and he realises trying not to is pointless. His fist gets tighter and it feels like his body is a wound up coil ready to jump. He knows it would be easy enough to give into that urge and it would work. But that’s only easy for a minute. Then after that it’s detentions and phone calls and awkward car rides and having to explain himself to Veronica and then having to promise Claire he’ll do better. And yeah, he cares. So he keeps all of that in his tightly curled fist and traps it there.

“You know ‘or what’,” he whispers, raising an eyebrow. “Especially now that Ram’s not around to protect you.”

Kurt scoffs and rolls his eyes, but it’s smoke and mirrors. If anyone knows the difference between not caring and just pretending, it’s probably JD. It’s definitely JD. He doesn’t move an inch, putting the ball in Kurt’s court and hoping he’ll do what he needs him to.

“Psycho,” he mutters, chucking the bottle in his direction. He manages to catch it and puts it back in his pocket, where it belongs. “I don’t get what Veronica sees in you.”

“Me neither, buddy,” he replies. But she sees something and they’re making something. And that’s what he’s going back out to.

******

“What are you grinning at?” Veronica asks, bumping her arm up against Martha’s as they sit in the parking lot, waiting for her mom’s car. A rare day off for Martha’s mom means that she can give her daughter a ride home, and when she says her daughter, that includes Veronica, of course. Martha herself as been smiling at something in her planner, something she’s tried and failed not to smile at. Veronica has a strong idea of who the culprit is but that hardly stops her from being nosy. If anything it makes her more nosy.

“This,” she says, passing the book over to her. In the corner of the second page of the ‘notes’ section is a little flower drawn in pink pen, simple in its design, with a small scribbled message next to it ‘you’re so smart-it’s amazing’. Her hunch was right-the handwriting is unmistakable, and besides, only one person could make Martha blush like that. “She wrote it during study hall when I went to the bathroom. I didn’t even notice until now.”

“Sappy girl,” she says fondly, handing her back her notebook. “I’m glad though. That she’s making you happy.”

“Thanks,” she says, pulling her jacket over her hands. Her smile falters a little.

“Hey.” Her hand comes over Martha’s. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. Veronica cocks her head at her. Really, Martha should know better than to lie to her by now. “It’s just… I like Heather so much. But I can’t bring her home or tell my mom about her.”

“You haven’t told her yet?” Martha shakes her head, looking out across the lot. Veronica isn’t sure if she should be flattered or confused or depressed that Martha’s told her but not her own mom. No matter what she’s feeling inside, Veronica rubs her shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s complicated,” she says. “Like… I know my mom isn’t… she doesn’t hate gay people. I know that. Every time there’s news of some new hate crime she always talks about how bad it is. But it’s not even the gay thing… okay it’s a little the gay thing. But telling my mom that I have someone, it…”

“It brings her into it,” Veronica finishes it. “And then it’s not just you two… it’s you two plus your mom. And it brings her into your family.”

“Exactly,” Martha agrees, nodding. A knowing smile creeps across her face. “So I take it you haven’t told your parents about JD?”

“Not… quite yet,” she admits delicately, making Martha laugh. “I mean- have you met my mom!”

“I love your mom!”

“Yeah, you don’t live with her!” she reminds her, pushing her gently. “Can you imagine what would happen if she knew about me and JD? She’d be insufferable.”

“But…”

“Can we go back to when this conversation was about you?” she asks. Martha shakes her head, her ponytail falling over her shoulder.

“Nope.” Veronica laughs and leans back, her arm sitting on top of the railing.

“Okay. But… I don’t know… maybe I just like the idea of taking JD home.” She pushes her hair out of her face. “On the other hand I could just hide him from my parents forever.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can. Our wedding will just be an outrageously fancy dinner and we’ll do our vows while my parents are in the bathroom.” Martha bursts into laughter, covering her mouth with her hand and burying her face in her hand.

“Will that work?”

“Of course it will,” she says, more than satisfied by her little fantasy world.

“Doesn’t his mom know about you though?” she asks, just as her mom’s car pulls into the parking lot, alerting them with a quick honk of the horn.

“Yeah,” she says, getting up. “But… that’s different.” Martha squints at her behind her glasses, her head cocking ever so slightly. “Okay it’s… kind of different.”

“Maybe,” Martha admits just as they approach her mom’s car. “But if you’ve met his family...” Her voice trails off and she doesn’t need to finish that sentence.

“Sometimes I really don’t like when you’re right,” Veronica grumbles. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she just saw Martha smile at that.

Her mom is sitting on the couch when she comes in, her dad at the stove. Wednesday night, his turn to cook. Judging by the half-empty tub of chilli powder on the counter, his adventures in Mexican foods are not over yet and Veronica’s tonsils may be in danger of being blown off.

“Hey, pumpkin,” her dad greets as she sets her bag down. “Don’t eat anything it’ll spoil your appetite.”

“Doubtful,” she replies, filling up her water bottle at the sink. She turns the faucet a little too tightly but its not like she can help it. She’s standing with her hand on the doorknob, about to let her real life and her family life mix and there’s one way it can end; an embarrassing, awkward disaster. And maybe she’s being melodramatic, and more than likely nothing much will change once she tells them and they’re over this hill. But it’s driving up the damn hill that’s the challenge.

“Hey, so, for my birthday,” she begins, pressing the tip of her bottle into her palm. She leans against the counter, hoping she comes off casual. “Could I go out with a few friends on Saturday?”

“Sure, honey,” her mom says, getting up from the couch and making her way over to her. She tries to think if she’s ever heard Claire call JD ‘honey’. ‘Kid’, sure, plenty of times, but as much as Claire is probably the loveliest adult she’s ever met, she doesn’t strike Veronica as the honey type. Probably because, unlike her own parents, Claire recognises that JD is months away from being a legal adult. “Which friends? Martha and Heather? And JD?”

“Yeah. Just those three. We think we’re going to go bowling and get some food.”

“A boy at your party, Ronnie?” her dad says. Veronica groans out loud, rewarded with a disapproving look from her mom. She holds her hands up in surrender. “Just… you’ve never had a boy at your birthday party before. Not since kindergarten.”

“Yeah because Mom said I had to invite my whole class so no-one felt left out,” she reminds him. Certain people were perfectly fine with leaving her out, but that didn’t seem to matter to her parents back then. She wonders for a second if Heather Chandler’s mom ever told her that she had to invite the whole class. If she did, the message obviously didn’t take. “But I’m nearly 18 now.”

“And in any case, JD’s just a friend, right sweetheart?” her mom asks, rubbing her arm. She meets her mom’s gaze for a brief second, the same colour and shade, one pair blissfully ignorant and excited and the other reprehensive and awkward. She could just turn around and agree with her, let her parents keep thinking she’s a happy little single with no interest in mingling. Could be easier for all of them. Or not.

“Well, not exactly,” she admits. She squeezes the bottle in her hand, making crinkles on the plastic, and closes her eyes, bracing herself. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Whatever she was expecting, her dad’s wooden spoon hitting the kitchen floor was… well, not it.

“Boyfriend?” her dad echoes, his voice a strange mixture of mad and shocked. If she had the spine, she’d ask what exactly he has to be bad about.

“Boyfriend!” her mom squeaks, on the opposite end of the spectrum to her dad. She grabs her hand tightly. “Oh well Veronica that’s wonderful. How long have you been together, did you ask him out, does his family know?”

“Okay one question at a time, Mom,” she says, half laughing. “Just since… since November I guess. And yeah, Claire knows.” It’s a little white lie. Those don’t hurt, right?

“Since November?” her dad asks, seemingly calmer now. “Explains why you got him that stuffed cat for Christmas.”

“And why he got you that beautiful necklace,” her mom explains. “Aw, Veronica, I’m so happy for you.”

“Okay,” she replies, ducking out of her mom’s embrace before she can start squishing her cheeks. She straightens her skirt and turns around, facing her ecstatic mom and her dad, who’s still trying to process what she told him. “So… you guys are okay with it?”

“Of course we are! As long as you’re happy-”

“I want to meet him,” her dad interrupts flatly, throwing the dishtowel over his shoulder.

“What?”

“I want to meet him. Your boyfriend. I want to meet him if this thing is serious.”

‘Serious?’ she thinks. ‘Who said anything about serious?’

Maybe JD’s crumbled bedsheets and the butterfly at the base of her throat did.

“Dad,” she sighs. She looks over to her mom for help, an ally, literally any solidarity here, and just finds a shrug.

“Well, if you’re with him… I’d like to meet him too,” she says. “I’m sure he’s a lovely young man. But… it’s normally standard procedure that your parents meet your boyfriend.”

“Come on,” she sighs. She knows they’re right, of course, but that’s only because standard procedure is working against her. Doesn’t make her agree with it.

“Well, Ronnie, what could go wrong?” her mom asks, wringing her hands together.

‘So freaking much,’ she thinks.

“Nothing,” she admits with a defeated sigh. “Fine, I’ll bring him over.”

“Wonderful,” her mom says, clapping her hands together. “Well, what about Friday night? I can make my chicken casserole; we can all sit down and-”

“He has something on on Friday,” she interrupts, crossing her arms over her body. “Something he can’t get out of.”

“What is it?” her dad asks, raising an eyebrow.

“An appointment,” she replies. She tries not to bite her lip, but her dad seems to take it and nods, dropping the subject.

“Well, what about Saturday?” he asks. “He can come over before you go out with your friends. We can sit down, all talk together-”

“Talk about what exactly?” she asks.

“Well, you’re my only daughter,” he admits. “And I want to make sure he’s… right for you.”

“Oh my god!” she says.

“Language,” her mom reminds her.

“Okay,” she says, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “But… please don’t pull the ‘she’s my only child’ thing on him when he’s here.”

“I won’t,” her dad says, shrugging unconvincingly. Veronica and her mom both raise their eyebrows at him, keeping their eyes on him until he begins to cave. “I won’t… too much.”

“Nice try, Dad,” she says, laughing unexpectedly, turning to go upstairs and make a start on her homework before her dad calls her back.

“Hey… I’m glad you’re happy, hon.”

“Thank you,” she replies, smiling for real for the first time since she came in.

What exactly had she been worried about?

She brings up the prospect to JD in social studies while waiting for their teacher to get in. Having come in a few weeks into the school year, JD didn’t get the chance to grab the seat next to her; he sits two rows in front, three seats to the right. She worked that out the first class they had together. Maybe that’s what ‘having it bad’ is like. For now she squats on the floor next to him, grateful for their teacher’s lack of punctuality.

“Would me meeting your parents make you happy?” he asks, stroking her hair gently.

“Not particularly,” she admits. “Honestly I’d be happier keeping you away from my parents until the day we both die.”

“Worried they won’t like me or I won’t like them?”

“Worried my mom will be showing you my baby photos,” she replies.

“I would love that.”

“I wouldn’t.” He pokes the dimple in her cheek, grinning back at her. “So you’ll come over?”

“Of course I will,” he tells her. “Anything for you, Ronnie.” She scrunches up her face, trying but failing to disguise the butterflies in her stomach. Is it normal to still have butterflies at this stage? Maybe not, but the romantic in her hopes they last as long as she and JD do.

“Get a room, you two,” Chandler sighs, one row behind and three seats to the right. She files her nails, sitting on her own and yet still looking unbothered and powerful the way only she can. Alone by choice. She doesn’t look at them, instead raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow in mild annoyance.

JD rubs her arm just as the bell rings and Veronica has to get up, stretch her stiff legs and run over to her own desk before Ms Noel can bust her for being out of her seat.

*****

Claire, surprisingly, is in the living room when he gets home and that’s not the only thing that’s unusual. The TV is pulled out from the wall and she’s squatting behind it, glasses on her head, sleeves rolled up, her face screwed up in concentration so intense she doesn’t seem to notice JD until he’s right beside her, and even then she smiles at him and asks how school was as casually as she would if he found her in the kitchen or her study, as he almost always had.

“What are you doing to our TV?” he asks.

“It’s been wonky all week,” she says, swinging a thick wire around. He takes a step back. “Colour blinking on and off, the sound not working. I’m trying to fix it.”

“Why don’t you just call someone?”

“Because I’m not wasting money on asking someone to do something that I can clearly do myself,” she tells him, looking up at him with a self-satisfied smirk. “Life lessons, Jason.”

“I’ll note it down,” he says. “Look, I need a favour.”

“What is it?”

“I need to go down to the grocery store tonight,” he tells her. “And I need to use the kitchen on Friday.” Claire takes a break from her 200 wires and knobs and frowns at him, leaning back on her heels. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replies quickly. “But you know you don’t need to ask to use the kitchen, right? It’s your house.”

“Right,” he says, trying not to think too much about the words ‘your house’. “Well it’s just… I don’t really want to be interrupted while I’m in there.”

“Consider me gone,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I’ll probably be in here anyway trying to fix this thing.” She smacks the top of it hard, making the whole stand seem to shudder. “Hey, is there anything on the screen now?”

“No,” he tells her. “Just black.”

“God damn it,” she sighs, the top of her head disappearing behind the set.

“Claire,” he begins, suppressing a smirk. “How do I know it’s not more damaged now than it was when you started.”

“Don’t sass me,” she says from behind the TV. Her glasses come up over the top, pointing sharply at him. “I’ve almost got it.”

“I’m sure you have,” he replies. He doesn’t need to see her face to know that her mouth is hanging open and her eyebrows are most definitely hitting the ceiling. “How long have you been at that anyway?”

“On and off all day,” she replies. “I always meant to get around to it. It’s been on the brink for weeks now.”

“It’s never been on the brink for me,” he points out, sitting down on the edge of the couch. “Maybe it just hates you.”

“You barely use it,” she replies. “Do you know how many people would kill for a kid who doesn’t watch the TV? Oh!” He hears the sound of something being slotted and clicked into place, then out of place, then back into place, and then a knob turning before she steps out, the cover of the back of the TV still sitting propped up against the wall. She lifts up the remote and turns to him, her wide eyes and hair falling out of its braid and sweater slipping off her shoulder making her look like something of a mad scientist. “Ready?”

“Dazzle me,” he replies.

She points the remote at the TV with a flourish and hits the button, bouncing up and down with glee as she prepares to show off her amazing technician skills-

Only for the screen to remain black and silent, the afternoon sun hitting off it and the only picture being their reflections. In the dark screen, he can see Claire’s disappointed pout and it’s actually enough to make him hold back his biting remarks.

“Damn it,” she sighs. “I took the whole fucking back off.”

“That’s a dollar in the swear jar,” he tells her. While Claire swears that she had a swear jar in her kitchen for almost a decade now, JD can’t help but wonder if she read his file and put it in for his arrival. He knows that for some people, “troubled kid” =cursing a lot. He guesses it comes with the territory. Pity she didn’t make a ‘gets into fights in school’ jar instead, then they’d have had a vacation to Hawaii booked and paid for by now. And at least 51% of the dollars in the jar are Claire’s anyway.

“Maybe we’ll have to use that jar to get a new TV,” she sighs. “I’ve had this thing since about 1973 anyway. Maybe it’s time for an upgrade.” She cocks her head, mentally assessing it, weighing up the pros and cons before shrugging and turning on her heel. “I’ll give it another grilling tomorrow when I’m well rested.” She puts her glasses on and sits down on the opposite arm of the couch, her chin propped up on her fist. “So what do you need from the grocery store?”

“Uh… flour, sugar… eggs I think. I’ll double check the recipe.”

“You’re baking?” she asks, grinning.

“Yeah,” he replies, feeling both dread and excitement, the latter winning out. “It’s Veronica’s birthday on Saturday.”

“Aww.” With a look from JD, she calms herself, dialling the ‘gushing foster mom’ stuff back down where it belongs. “That’s sweet Jason. Literally I guess.”

“Oh that was bad,” he replies, laughing. “Anyway I’ll double check. I think we have a lot of the stuff here.”

“What are you making her?” she asks, following him into the kitchen and leaning on the counter.

“Red velvet,” he says softly, taking the recipe book down from the shelf. If nothing else, he lucked out by being taken into a house with more recipes than he’d know what to do with. He holds it open at the right page with one hand and goes through the cupboards with the other one. “It’s her favourite.”

“Make a little extra one for me?” she asks.

“Make that saffron risotto and I won’t say no,” he tells her. He isn’t kidding. He’d do many things for that risotto.

“Oh, I managed to run out to the pharmacy today,” she says, looking through her bag. He keeps looking at the book, knowing what she’s bringing out of her bag. “Picked up your next prescription. You said you’re running low, right?”

“Yeah,” he says flatly. He must sound nearly as bad as he feels because Claire puts the bag down and comes slowly to his side.

“Everything okay, kid?”

“Course it’s okay,” he sighs, looking up at her quickly. “Thanks. Thanks for picking them up for me.”

“Jason,” she says, a little firmer this time. “Anything you need to talk about? Or is this a Rachel thing?”

A Rachel thing. That’s what he calls something only to be discussed between himself and his therapist. The real dark stuff that sometimes he can’t understand. He can understand this, of course, but it’s just…

It’s embarrassing.

“It’s fine,” he sighs, closing the book, his finger keeping his page. “It’s just…” He looks up, Claire’s face the classic parental concern (or foster-parental concern), gentle and coaxing. He tells himself hes only talking to her because that’s what she’s here for, it’s what the system pays her for. “I just… I don’t like having to be on them.”

“Jason,” she sighs. After a moment, her hand is on his shoulder and it’s… not unwelcome.

“I know I need them,” he says. “I know that. And I’m not… It’s not like I hate them. I just…” Big truth time. He scratches the cover of the book in his hands. “I don’t want to need them. Not forever.”

“Oh, kid,” Claire breathes. “I know. I know it’s a lot right now.” He hums in agreement. “Would you feel better if I told you that you get used to it?”

“I will?” he asks.

“Of course you do,” she says. “Like these.” She touches the frame of her glasses. “I got them when I was 12. And I get used to them. Putting them on every morning. Taking them off every night. Sometimes I forget they’re there sometimes. And then I break them.” He at least chuckles at that. “And I don’t want to need them either.” She rubs his shoulder in a gentle motion that comes close to wiping his worries away. If only. “And that’s not going into all the other meds I’ve had to take before. It’s all just stuff I need. And there comes a point where it feels like second nature.” His head moves a fraction of its own accord, less than a breath away from Claire’s shoulder. It’s close to comforting, a line he’s seen more than once in his time. She squeezes his shoulder tightly and a rush of feeling comes over him, half-confused, half okay. “I know it sucks right now, kid. It’s just something you need. No shame in that.”

“Thanks,” he whispers, his voice cracking.

“Any time,” she replies softly, her breath tickling his hair. She pats his shoulder again before getting up and moving over to the counter to pick up her car keys.

“Also I’m going over to Veronica’s early on Saturday,” he tells her, taking out his notebook and writing ingredients on a back page. “She wants me to meet her parents.”

“Oh, it’s that serious?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Should I do the same? You bring her over, we have dinner, I grill her about her intentions with you and threaten to skin her if she hurts you?” He bites back a laugh; it’s not that Claire doesn’t pack a punch sometimes, but she’s 5 foot nothing and has a penchant for pastel jumpers and home crafting. He can’t see Veronica being scared much by that, especially not that she knows her now.

“I’ll make notes of what her dad tells me,” he replies. “To give you pointers.” He pauses, his pencil twirling in mid-air. “Although… maybe that wouldn’t be too bad. You, me, her. Real dinner.”

“Pick a date on the calendar,” she tells him.

“Maybe,” he says again. He used to love that word, ‘maybe’. When he’s moving every 3 months, it’s a nice way of saying ‘I’d like to, but realistically, it’ll never ever happen because I’ll be gone soon’. In recent years, he’s liked it less and less. “Okay, let me just leave my stuff upstairs.”

He takes the stairs two at a time and throws the bag down on his bed before taking his wallet out of it. It’s meant to be less than a minute, but something catches his eye; the reflection of himself in the mirror propped up against the wall, the way the sleeves of his coat fall over his hands and the collar is flipped up to his cheekbones, the way the black stands against the pale wall of his bedroom. He’s barely paid attention to it despite wearing it practically every single day since he got it. He likes it, doesn’t he?

For the first time in years, he’s not so sure about it.

******

Veronica takes her finger out of her mouth, scowling at the chipped nail. To her credit, Heather Chandler probably put more effort into getting her to kick the nail biting than into anything else. She curls her hand into a fist, sitting at the kitchen table and waiting for her boyfriend to knock the door. To meet her parents. To actually talk to them. For them to talk to him.

Surely it’s not too late to cancel.

“Are you sure this is enough?” her mom asks from the counter. Two plates of sandwiches, a pot of coffee, a jug of ice water and a plate of homemade cookies. Her mom’s gone all out in more ways than one. She’s wearing the Easter blouse. If her dad’s over protectiveness doesn’t send JD running, her mom just might.

“It’s fine, Mom,” she says. “We’ll get food after bowling tonight.” She looks up, frowning. “Where’s Dad?”

“Probably at the front door,” her mom says. “Waiting for him.”

“Oh God.” She gets up from the table and runs into the hall, then the living room, where she sees her dad sitting in his armchair and facing the window. “Dad!”

“What?” he asks, a little startled. He pulls at his shirt collar, trying to perform relaxed. He’s doing worse than her, which is an achievement. “I’m just waiting for lunch to be ready.”

“Can you wait in the kitchen?” she asks. “You know, where there’s no windows?”

“Ronnie-”

“Dad.” She contemplates batting her eyes at her, trying to play up ‘Daddy’s little girl’. “Dad, I’ll let him in.” Her dad sighs and pulls himself up, crossing the room over to her. She pats his chest lightly. “And then you can scare him all you like.”

“All I like?”

“Okay, not all you like.” He laughs and ruffles her hair before setting off to the kitchen, not before taking one look at the front door, peering through the stained glass.

“Dad!”

“I’m going!” She laughs behind her hand as she herself turns to look out the window, her eyes scanning for a familiar coat or shock of dark hair passing by her window. She guesses she must have been concentrating too hard, because when the doorbell does ring it makes her jump out of her skin.

Before she opens the door, she does have to dead-stare her dad in the eye until he backs up back into the kitchen.

“Hey,” she whispers as he steps in. She pulls him into a soft, fast kiss, one eye open in case her father decides to ‘accidentally’ walk in on them. Her hand doesn’t grasp the collar as it normally does but falls flat against his chest. “You ready?”

“Of course I am,” he says with a shaky grin. “I was born ready.”

“Okay tough guy,” she laughs, running her hand down his arm to hold his. A snarky remark forms and dies on her lips when she takes him in fully. “Is that a new jacket?”

“Oh, this?” he asks, stretching out his arm. It’s dark blue and soft and stops at his waist rather than his usual floor-length coat. “Um yeah. Christmas present from Claire. You like it?”

“Yeah… it’s nice.” She clears her throat, bringing herself back to the present and grabbing his hand. “Come on. My mom’s probably going to hunt us down if we stay out here any longer.”

When they get into the kitchen, her mom is at the counter, working at nothing, while her dad puts on a show of reading the newspaper next to her. They’re both a little too into their feigned ignorance; Veronica has to clear her throat to alert them to their presence.

“Mom… Dad,” she begins as they both look up, regarding JD with broad smiles. Her catches for a second and she wraps her hand around his arm. “This is JD. This is my boyfriend.”

“JD…” Her dad repeats, strolling up to them. He’s just about eye level with JD. He tenses next to her, his fingers curling tighter around hers. His mouth opens but for a second no sound comes out. Veronica bites her cheek, trying not to laugh at his wide eyes, or the way he covertly wipes his hand on his jeans before holding it out to her dad.

“Um, Jason Dean, sir,” he says. “But… most people call me JD.” Her dad shakes his hand, the beginnings of a grin on his lips. When JD winces just slightly, small enough for just her to see it, Veronica swallows a snicker, but also makes a mental note to buy him liquorice on Monday to make up for it.

“Nice to meet you, son,” he says, clapping JD on the shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down?”

And it’s at that moment she hears Jason Dean, her JD, her unbreakable and unshakeable JD, squeak.

And she’s not sure she isn’t dreaming.

“I was not scared by your dad!” he insists as they walk through the parking lot to the bowling alley. Veronica had allowed half an hour before insisting they had to motor to be ready. Although her parents had a little more time with him than she had planned, thanks to her dad’s insistence that he wait down there while she ran upstairs to get her jacket and do her make-up. He said that him and JD would have plenty to talk about while she was gone. Well, her dad did anyway, and JD had plenty to smile and nod at and plenty of time to watch the stairs anxiously.

“You were so scared by my dad,” she corrects him, running her hand up and down his arm and resting her cheek on his shoulder. “But he liked you.”

“He did?”

“Mm-hm. I can tell. He didn’t like Heather Chandler and I could tell that. He was different with you.”

“How different exactly?” he asks, pride clinging to his every word. She doesn’t need to look up to see the satisfied smirk on his face.

“Mm. He was happy with you. Underneath all of the Dad stuff.”

“Way, way underneath all of that,” he agrees, pressing his lips to her hair. She takes his hand and turns around under his arm so that she faces him, sees the amused, soft smile on his face. She places her hand on his chest, just a little north of his heart.

“Thanks for coming over,” she says sincerely.

“Like I said in school,” he replies. “Anything for you, Ronnie.” He places his hand over hers. “And you’ve met my biological parent and my foster parent, I think it’s only fair I meet yours now.” She huffs a laugh, shaking away the usual prickling discomfort that comes around in the rare occasion his father is brought up. She takes hold of his jacket instead and pulls him towards her instead, grinning against his lips at the feeling of his hand tangling in her hair.

It’s not that she’ll miss the trench coat, she thinks as she wraps her arms around his waist. It was just a coat after all. But damn if it wasn’t fun grabbing the labels.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Not good to keep your friends waiting.” She hums in agreement, wrapping her arms around his and letting him lead her inside.

“Happy birthday Ronnie!” Before Veronica can even take anything in, a small flash of yellow crashes into her side and nearly knocks her over despite being practically half her size.

“Thanks Heather,” she laughs, wrapping her arms around her in return. Heather lets her go for less than a second before grabbing her hand and pulling her along with so much strength she slips out of JD’s hold.

“Come on! We set up down here!” Heather pulls her down past the lanes of other families and groups of teenagers or little kids bowling, so caught up in their own games none of them can spare a glance at them.

When Heather drags her down to the last lane, their lane, she’s close to speechless.

She doesn’t know how they swung it, but Heather (she imagines with Martha’s help) has tied blue and white balloons to the backs of chairs and even stuck a few to the ball dispenser, along with silver streamers that catch the red and green and yellow overhead lights. On the table there’s three different wrapped boxes and a white cake, which, if the red flakes are anything to go by, is red velvet, as well as a bottle of Coke and a bottle of Fanta. They caught Martha in the middle of placing silver candles on the cake, which right now spell out “Happy Bir”.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, hiding behind her hands, looking from Heather to Martha. “You guys did this?”

“Well, it was mostly Heather,” Martha says sheepishly.

“Oh, bullshit,” Heather says, skipping over to Martha and wrapping her arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Martha told me what I should get. I just followed her advice.”

“Well…” Her friend’s cheeks turn red, both from the praise and the public displays of affection from her girlfriend.

“You’re the best,” Veronica says, running over to Martha and throwing her arms around her “Seriously the best.”

“A little,” Martha allows herself to admit. “JD made the cake though.” Veronica turns to him, looking at him scratching the back of his neck, looking anywhere but his cake on the table.

“Oh did he?”

“I did promise you a red velvet cake,” he reminds her, sitting on the one free spot on the table.

“You guys are amazing,” she says.

“We know,” Heather replies, resting her cheek on her shoulder. “Now come on, are we bowling or what?”

And that’s how they spend their night. While Veronica relies on her old instincts from middle school birthday parties, JD turns out to be surprisingly bad at it (leading to quite a few hugs from Veronica). Heather, swearing she’s never bowled before, insists on Martha helping her. No one can miss how much she leans into her girlfriend’s embrace, how she deliberately pulls on Martha’s hand to tighten her grip on her waist. Or the not-so secret kiss Martha places on the back of her ear. Veronica celebrates every victory with a larger than life victory dance and high fives from all three of them and takes every defeat with a kiss on the head. She alternates between sitting on the table next to Martha and standing wrapped in JD’s arms while waiting for her turn. Even when waiters come down with French fries, hot wings and mini hot dogs they can’t calm down, high on their own buzz, play fighting over who’s winning, who has the better partner, who is the better partner, whether JD is really getting distracted or if he’s just… bad. She laughs until her face hurts and when in the moments when it starts to fade, she either leans on Martha or JD (one time Heather) and just for a second, she doesn’t even need to think about or say anything. She just sits in the moment and laughs and it’s perfect.

When she blows out the candles on her cake, she just wishes that they can always stay like this.

#heathers the musical #jdronica #heathers fanfic #veronica sawyer #jason dean #fic: not beyond repair #me to my followers: you can have a little update. as a treat #also me updating in less than a month? who is she?

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