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the-letter-horror-lover · 2 years

Text

Rox

Summary:

Eric and Rox, pure porn, and they like it like that.

Notes:

Yes, 16 is coming, but this one was just for fun.

Chapter Text

The buzz of the tattooing pen filled zir ears as ze shaped the new motif. Butterflies. Beautiful black and white butterflies with nuclear green spots. Butterflies, the symbols of the soul's transformation. Eric was zir willing canvas tonight, the butterflies rising from just over the root of his prick, wrapping to the right over the flange of his pelvic bone. Around and up his back, following the inside curve of his shoulder blade, the butterflies ascended to the roses on his shoulders, alighting to feed on the nectar of mortal blossoms. Finally, in invisible UV-ink script among the butterflies, "Media vita in morte sumus."

"Pretty Man, you are a work of art." Stark naked, tied to the chair, and in a state of bliss, Eric opened his eyes and gave zir the most goofball smile. "And you're as high as a kite on endorphins."

"Surfing it. Amazing. More," he rasped.

"Gorgeous. Insane. Voracious." Rox picked up a lidded cup of orange juice and slipped the straw between Eric's lips. "Suck." Eric drank down a good amount of the cup and then flexed against his bonds when ze kissed him. "Let me dress the new designs."

That boy knew how to distract zir, but Rox took a moment to step back and admire zir work. Cordelia had been an inspiration. Rox imagined that if ze ever raised a child that ze would feel much the same pride. After all, it was ze and dear Ronnie-that-was who had taken Elizabeth to the Origin. While the transformation was the work of She Who Spins, the will to survive that Rebirth came from Cordelia alone. Newly widowed, a new mother, wounded, and dying, the butterfly burst forth from her mortal cocoon and thrived.

"Let me see?" Eric asked. "You were on fire, Rox."

"In a moment." A Reaper's touch could heal or kill, and Rox exerted a little extra to speed up the healing. Already the one just over his pubic bone had stopped seeping. "I do have a delicate touch, do I not?"

"And a kinky canvas."

"I've created a horny little monster." How could you not slap his ass? Rox did and it felt so good ze did it again. "Stop distracting me, you satyr."

"Or you could just fuck me right here."

"I give the marching orders, Pretty Man, and the fucking orders." Ze dressed and covered the tats with her own formula of beeswax and aloe, giving a grope to his locked-down bits. "Behave or I put it in a cage until Saturday."

"I always behave."

"No lightning strikes in my studio, libertine." The last butterfly was covered and Rox used her fingers to tease some of his fauxhawk into a pair of horns. "You're just so cute when you're all rammish and mouthy."

"I can do other things with my mouth. Get a little closer." Trash-Talking Eric was Turned On Eric.

"Do I need to tape it shut? Or should I smack your ass like a bongo player on Red Bull?" Ze body bumped him. "Or to I need to put your mouth and ass in the kitchen and make you work?"

"Fuck you." Overbright eyes, flushed cheeks, and a sneer. "Make me do jack."

"That's it, boy." Whoopie! "You need me to lay down the law around here."

Eric loved to play rough, even when he was doing what he wanted to do. Who knew that he had such a cop kink to match the service kink? The thing about Eric's service kink was that making pancakes, being a bath boy, or sexual services were all on the same plane. Rox never had a bottom who would get get off on orders to make elaborate sweets and Officer Friendly's tender attentions equally. It was fun and a little fattening, especially when Eric was in the mood to spoil one. Ze needed to get back into swinging zir scythe.

Restraints sent Eric to the moon, and being restrained and then moved was the equivalent of an endorphin keyboardsmash. Cuffing his upper arms to his torso, ze snapped a lead onto his collar and marched him into the stairwell. It was time for a visit from Officer Friendly.

There were times when not being able to keep his big fucking mouth shut had a good side. God. Real chains and bungee cords. Rox nailed every kink he had as if ze'd put them there zirself. And there were titties. Eric was a gold star faggot, but was going to trade it in if he couldn't admit that titties were fun. Rox's were cute. And since he had time to think, what with being on his knees and chained to an oak bannister as thick as his forearm, Eric found that liking titties did not make him less of a fag, it just meant he liked titties on Rox.

"HEY, COP! You going to keep me tied up in here all fucking night?" Rox was not afraid to play rough and Eric relished it. It was as if his skin was waking up, and everything else that had been muffled for so long. "I've got rights, you know!"

"Pipe down, punk. You have the right to be slapped in the face with my dick."

Officer Friendly strode into the stairwell, one of New York's finest perverts, and Eric reminded himself not to break role by drooling. Rox did something to motorcycle cop wear, especially those boots. Eric had previously enjoyed some rather fine copfucking in his time, but this was a whole new level. There were times when Rox was all about the femme, there were times when Rox presented masculine - those shoulders made Eric unf - and then there were times when Rox's gender was all about fucking up the binary.

Like now.

Pushup bras and a stiff cock in those blue pants. Hair tucked under the a motorcycle cop's helmet. Sunglasses. Handcuffs. Boots.

And the Nightstick of Doom.

"Good evening, Officer Friendly." Eric singsonged before adding, "You cock-knocking jugfucker."

Rox grinned, a mouth full of pearly whites as ze undid the chinstrap of the helmet and tossed zir herringbone braid free. "You perverted little shit. I need to give you the full force of the law. You go blasting through the city on that big blue crotch-rocket of yours-"

"With a perverted cop staring at my ass-"

"Breaking every traffic law-"

"Waving that nightstick around like a honking handled dildo-"

It was trash-talking, which not many people could do, but Eric loved it with someone who could play along with him. Good God, but he wanted to suck Rox off - that hadn't happened in a while, and it shook Eric to realize the trust that he placed in Rox.

"It's funny, punk. I think you want to be dickslapped." Rox unbuckled and unzipped, revealing that Officer Friendly liked to wear panties to match zir push-up bra. "Pervert."

"Other pervert. We keep having his conversation, usually with that nightstick up my ass."

"Is that a wish or observation?"

Eric was very busy appreciating Rox's dick under red lace. "I like things up my ass in general, so just mentioning."

"Are you a cocksucker, Butchy Boy?" Rox purred. "You're looking at the dick like it's dessert."

Now there was a question. That was something he hadn't done in a long, long time. For reasons.

"Eric?"

"Haven't in a while. Years, really."

"Ah. Gary."

"Yeah."

"Do you want to suck me?"

"Oh, fuck yes." Eric's mouth actually watered. He could almost taste it.

"Then there need to be ground rules." Rox stepped close and lightly dickslapped him. "If you're going to suck my dick, you're going to do it right."

Something inside of him relaxed at that. Trust Rox. It was okay. Fifteen minutes later, there was a pile of rejected flavored rubbers on one of the stairs.

"They all taste like cough medicine."

"You are a picky, butchy, bossy little brat."

"It's not my fault that most of the guys who invent these things have never had a dick in their mouth."

While Rox went to search for an acceptable alternative, Eric had plenty to keep him busy. The cross-piece for the nightstick was well up his ass being nicely unyielding to his prostate, bungee cords wrapped around his hips and thighs to keep it in place, with the indignity of dripping minty-fresh lube chilling down the back of his balls. He could hear Rox grumbling around the bedroom, then the kitchen.

"Damn it, you're such a mouthy brat, Eric. You need a dick in your mouth to cork you up."

"I'm a fucking trained chef, so I'm picky about what I put in my mouth!"

And maybe a little worried, too.

Rox stomped back into the stairwell with a packet of polyurethane rubbers and a squeeze bottle of chocolate syrup. Fucking yum. Hot-eyed, hard-cocked, with motorcycle cop pants sliding down zir hips. Yes. Oh, fucking hell yes. However-

"That better not be Hershey's, goddammit. Fake-ass chocolate flavoring and HFCS doesn't fly with me, Officer Friendly."

"Fox's U-Bet - it's even Kosher for Passover and it's my last bottle, you twat." Rox tucked the bottle under zir arm, and opened the condom packet, rolling the rubber on over a squirt of lube. "Prima donna attitude. Mouthy fucking power bottoms-"

"Shut up and gimme the dick." Yes, pushing it, but it was like flying with the endorphin high from the bondage and tattooing singing in his blood. "You push that thing good, Officer Friendly."

"I'll give you the dick, boy. Squeeze that nightstick like the cock-hound bottom you are and I'll fuck that filthy mouth of yours instead of your ass." Eric's reply was forestalled by a mouthful of dick and chocolate, Rox's fingers tight in his hair and syrup bottle at the ready. "Be a good boy and I'll cut your cock cage to let you come on my boots. I saw you looking at them. Kinky, wicked, mouthy harlot."

Eric thought he was probably lit up like a slot machine hitting a jackpot. His worries disappeared in a flood of endorphins and lust.

"Suck me right, boy. You can take it deeper. Don't be lazy - throat me."

Lazy? LAZY? My ASS lazy. Take you to the root lazy. Suck you like your dick's a cherry popsicle lazy. Make you hold on to the bannister lazy. Lazy? Make you come like a fucking fountain lazy.

"Look at you, a butchy power bottom on his knees with a pair of bollocks on his chin." Ze tugged his hair, pulling him close until those nuts were indeed on his chin. "Open wide!"

Oh, yes. It was on! Hair pulling trash talking wet and messy blow job with the shot in the chocolate streaked rubber and Rox and fucking hell dammit Red and zir knives and his dick. Ze was going to give him a fucking vasectomy if he sneezed at an inopportune time one of these days. The blood rushed from Eric's head to his freed dick fast enough to make him dizzy.

"Cute little cocksucker, where's your gag reflex? You did such a good job that you get to shoot on my boots - which you can clean later." Rox nudged the leather shaft of the boot right against his cock and then dickslapped him again. "Fuck the leather. Hump yourself off."

"Evil fucker." He wasn't going to last long, his muscles quivering from tailbone to the root of his dick. "Goddamn it why do you use frosty minty lube I swear to fuck that my asshole's numb-" Good. So fucking good that a dry hump on black leather was a little juicier than expected. "You kept me off until you popped and now you w-want to fffuck watch-"

His hips hitched and this time Eric had to bow his back against the heated bliss firing in his brain and loins.

"Your asshole isn't going to be numb tomorrow, Pretty Man. You're not going to be sitting without a fond thought for me for a few days." Ze pulled his head up by the hair. "Faster. Fuck my boot faster, make a sticky mess all over it, you wicked harlot of a boy."

This time Eric groaned, clutching his thighs around Rox's leg and humping without shame, the crosspiece of the nightstick giving his prostate heaven and hell with each thrust.

"Fuckgoddamnityouevilbitchohhellyeshellyesrox-" It was an orgasm to take the top of his head off, to pull every muscle in his body into the same helpless motion. Rox anchored him, stopping the panic before it could root, bending and catching his mouth in a fierce kiss.

"Good boy. Good Eric. Oh, you sweetheart. See? There it is. There we go." Ze crooned, drawing zir booted leg back and wiping down the leather with a handful of Lysol wipes. "It's all right. See?"

Somehow he got his lungs working again, brain blank with shock as ze unbound him. The nightstick and binds when into buckets of hot, soapy water just beyond the door, and ze had to support him speechless and rubber-legged into the bathroom. The chocolate and lube and�� contagion washed down the drain, leaving him clean and shaking. Ze tucked Eric into the red satin nest of zir bed, orange juice with a bit of ginger grated in putting his head back on straight.

"Okay?"

It might take a while to answer that. Instead Eric just opened his arms in appeal, and Rox slid under the covers and into them, kissing his chin, cheeks and lips.

"Sleep, Eric. Sleep, lovely lad. I'll be right here when you wake. Shh."

A last thought crossed his mind as Rox's "shh" sent him to sleep. Oh, God. Please don't let me fall in love. I'm so fucking awful at it.

Chapter 17

Summary:

Alan's heading into a one-week break from chemo therapy.

Chapter Text

Ronald had to laugh at his brother this morning. Whatever arrangement was going on between Rox and his brother, it had good results. Ronald was starting to see the Eric he remembered, not the silent and traumatized man getting off a bus at the Port Authority, or the loner and hermit that Eric became as he struggled to recover. Now his brother was singing in the kitchen to the Ramones 'Rockaway Beach.'

Whatever works, Ronald thought with a smile.

"Your chef's on a tear." A guy in a sweet-looking three-piece wool was picking up a large order, a car and driver waiting at the curb. "Here you go."

Ronald swiped the black Amex through. "He's getting creative in there. There's going to be some goodies Friday morning."

"Yeah, we're really familiar with the cookies where I work." The guy paused, fiddling with the pen before signing and adding a good tip. "I don't supposed you'd remember one guy, but his name's Alan-"

"Humphries. I do remember him, he's in here about two or three times a week. One of our favorite customers, actually."

"My name's Chip Winters, I work at Bridges, in legal. Is he… I know he's sick…"

"Oh. Yeah, well. I'd say he's as okay as it gets under the circumstances." Ronnie wanted to guard the man's privacy, seeing as Alan was about as hermity as his brother. "I'd pass along some good wishes if anyone wanted to send them. It's been rough."

"It's cancer? Leukemia is what I heard." He picked up the box of four dozen cookies.

"Yeah. It is." Ronnie put the receipt in the drawer. "He's doing all right, but it's cancer."

"He's really well-liked. Decent. Not a lot of guys on the street can say that. I'll let people know to drop off good wishes here?"

"I think he'd like that. Just make sure that there's nobody sick or anything like that. Chemo hits your immune system - you can't fight things off."

"I will, thanks."

The guy left, the driver opening the door for him, taking the cookies and placing them carefully in the passenger seat. The song changed and Eric boogied right along, the most delicious smells wafting out of the kitchen. Might as well go and see what the Full Metal Chef was cooking. Eric's cooking jams were always epic, and stepping into the back revealed that Eric was in Carnivale/Mardi Gras overdrive, with an array of gustatory hedonism just starting to be placed on the long steel tables.

Empanadas. FUCK YEAH.

"Hey, bro! Gimmie!" Ron walked in making grabby hands at the goodies. "Oh, wow! Is that a chocolate tres leches?"

"Fuck off, Beer Brat. I'm still making breakfast." Eric hefted his strudel dough rolling pin menacingly. "Or you'll be brewing with a concussion."

"Feed me, shithead. I want pancakes." Ronald could do bratty, too. "How's Rox?"

In answer turned and lifted his white t-shirt and showed Ron the new ink under dressings. "Ze was on fire, baby bro."

"Man." Ron leaned in. Those were some awesome butterflies - the detail was mindblowing. "Ze has a great touch. They're hardly seeping at all."

"Ze's like the Bernini of ink." Eric lowered the shirt, still glowing like a Klieg light. "Wait until you see the reactive script."

It was entirely possible that his brother was falling in love. "You and Rox-" Thunderous scowl from Eric. Alert! Forbidden territory ahead. Abort mission! "Shutting up now. Pancakes."

"Will pancakes keep you shut up?"

"Until lunch, then I want some of the shrimp empanadas."

"How about a swift kick in the ass instead?"

"Could you not murder each other until I get my larder stocked? I'm hungry!" Came a plaintive call from the front of the store. "Ronald, stop teasing your brother. Murder in the kitchen is against the health code, I'm sure."

"He's being a dick!" Eric bellowed.

"I'm a fast learner!" Ronald grinned, shouting right after Eric. "Want some pancakes, Alan?"

"Sure, I'd love some!"

Eric was reaching for his throat and Ron backed up with a grin while shooting Eric the finger.

"Be right there, Alan!" Ron called. Ooh. Eric was giving him the glare of death, and Ron turned and skipped down the hall to the front of the shop. It wasn't often when he could score one of his brother, and he smiled sunnily at Alan's reproachful look. "Pancakes will be ready in just a few."

"At this rate, you'll be ducking flung pies at the Shady Pines Rest Home." Alan was piling extra goodies on the counter as Ron took the loaded bags out of the cooler behind the counter. "Don't tell me he starts it, either. You're a horrendous tease."

"I know. He's just fun to poke." Cocking his head, Ron gave Alan a full looking over. "You look better - you're color's much better. How are you feeling?"

"Much better. And I've been able to kick one medicine, save the opiates for really bad days, and wean down the ativan." Setting the panniers on the counter, he continued, "Now I have an argument with my doctors tomorrow over the use of certain unauthorized medicine, then a week off chemotherapy entirely."

"How are your docs going to take that?" There was a sound of Eric starting up the Kitchenaid mixer down the hall, and the scent of bacon. Yes! "They could make trouble."

"Medical confidentiality. Don't worry, I'm not letting them on. If anything they'll think I'm getting it from a black market dispensary." Alan loaded the panniers as Ron rang him up. "I'm just looking forward to the week off."

"What are you going to do? You're going to like this - it's cake, and fruit, and pudding, and cream in a parfait." Ron tucked it in the bag and ahead of Alan's reaching hand. "Nope. You'll spoil your pancakes. Hey, there was a guy in here asking after you. He said he worked in legal. I told him you were doing pretty well, and he wanted to drop off some good wishes."

"I… I'm not the biggest social butterfly in the company. That's a little surprising." Alan rubbed the tip of his nose with a finger. "Wait. Italian suit? Buffed nails? Metrosexual hair?"

"More like a corporate with an up-brush." Ronald had a moment where he wondered why he was noticing the guy's hair. Fucking orientation issues. "Good suit. Italian, I think."

"I know him. Has a thing for Brioni. I prefer Kiton or Canali." He smiled. "Suits. Italian menswear. I fell in love with Italian suits when I was taking vacations in Italy."

The tune changed to the Ramones singing 'Beat on the Brat' and Eric cranked it. "He's all frisky this morning. Sorry."

"It's all right. I'm glad he's feeling good." And if Alan knew the reason for feeling good, he kept it to himself. "He wasn't really going to make pancakes, was he."

Ron found that from somewhere, he could still muster the grace to blush as he lifted the gate to let Alan in.

Breakfast with the brothers was a delightful thing, and Alan was quietly worshipful over peach pancakes with buttered pecan topping. The food preempted any peacock displays, though Alan noted in Eric the aftermath of a very good night - no doubt with Rox Sharp. The pancakes were perfectly fluffy with diced peaches evenly throughout, and Eric quizzed him relentlessly about Italy.

Especially seasonings.

"I was a kid when we were there." Ronald said, dumping more bacon onto his plate.

"Yeah, but you were really little Ronnie. Four or five, maybe." Eric flipped more bacon onto their plates. "Naples, then Bologna."

"Lots of spaghetti, that's what I remember."

"Amalfi Coast, Lake Como, wherever there's water. I love to swim." Alan smiled, the memories sweet, but when or if he could go back nobody would say. "I've put them on my bucket list."

Shit. He nearly bit his tongue off in chagrin, but while Ronald looked shocked Eric only nodded. "Yeah. There's a few places on mine, too."

Alan swallowed, then breathed a little in relief. Of course Eric would have a bucket list, too. "Where do you want to go?"

"Amsterdam. Paris. London. I really loved Seattle, too. And there's Hawaii - Kauai." Eric reached out and shook his brother's shoulder. "Not going anywhere yet, Beer Brat."

"I know. Just - I don't like to think about it." Ronald sighed. "Death shouldn't win."

"It's not winning or losing, Ronald." Alan patted the young man's shoulder. "Now, getting to the botanical gardens on Tuesday… that might as well be on my bucket list."

Eric grinned. "Breaking out?"

"Hardly. I'm being chaperoned." Alan sighed. "I sound like a brat. My chemotherapy nurse thinks I'm not ready to solo yet."

"The one with the driver husband?" Ronald asked. "He's become a regular for dinners. He asked if we did kid food."

"Yeah, that's Carmine. He's Andrea's better half. She's a tyrant, but she loved the red velvet cake pops."

Eric, however, had his mind elsewhere - looking off into the middle distance. "I can do kid food. Kids would love my food."

Alan knew that look - it was the look of someone about to have a brilliantly misguided idea. Risk management time. "Everyone who knows anything about children via significant actual and extensive exposure to children raise your hands." No takers. Now to change the subject. "I was hoping to provision for the trip, though. Stuff for energy and maybe a picnic." Andrea was sacrificing a day off. The least he could do was bring goodies. "And cookies."

Eric eyerolled. "You and the sweets. I bet the first thing you did when you were eighteen was eat ice cream for breakfast."

Actually, the first thing he did at eighteen was figure out how not to freeze to death after being thrown out on his ass in the middle of January. "Wrong. Little Debbie Swiss Rolls and hot chocolate. It was too cold for ice cream."

There ensued a surreal discussion about the merits of Little Debbies versus Drakes Cakes, TastyKakes, or Ronald's 'I don't think you've ever heard of them' favorite, Dolley Madisons. Eric declared them both idiots and offered to make them some ramen noodle and Velveeta mac and "orange salty crap that they can't call cheese."

"It's retro food, Eric!"

"It's crap!" Eric hooked a thumb at Alan. "Other than mass-produced snack cakes, this guy knows his shit." A pause and a gleam in those very mischievous blue-green eyes. "Except about salt and fennel."

Oh-ho. Frisky Chef wanted to play? Alan grinned. It was like using a laser pointer to tease a cat. "The classic presentation of bouillabaisse-"

"Is the presentation of the authentic Marseille dish, not the fish-water 'classic' tourist version-"

There were good points to arguing with Hot Butch Honey. It was like mixing porn with the Food Network and the Travel Channel. One of the best points was that there was going to be a tub of bouillabaisse broth, fish and shellfish, plus the classic rouille and bread awaiting him on Friday. Eric was on the phone as he left ordering the fish and seafood. There was more than likely enough fennel in stock.

At home, he went through his emails, and was rather surprised at the volume of interdepartmental emails in his box. And then he saw that they were all good wishes. Get well soon cards, memes, LOLcats, cute animal videos. People were saying they missed him, and... and he didn't have any facial tissue.

"Need to order that."

Alan sacrificed one of his pocket squares, wiping up the tears and blowing his nose. For a long time, he sat and reread the notes, saving them one by one to a new folder on his desktop. They missed him. They thought about him. They didn't want to intrude. They hoped he was getting well. They hoped he'd come back to the offices soon. They had advice, admonishments, and more cute animals videos than he could watch in a week. Then he set up the webcam, put on his knit cap, and started the video.

"Hi, everyone. That was… it was just a lovely surprise and I can't thank you all enough. I'm in treatment, and I'm doing well. Thank you for thinking of me, it means so very much.

Thank you. And Chip, watch out for those cookies if you're not keeping up with your racquetball, all right?" He paused. "It's been rough. And I miss you all, seeing and talking with you every day. I just want you to know that. Good night, and everyone have a good weekend."

It wasn't something he'd thought about. You didn't appreciate the everyday things in life until you faced the prospect of losing them. He uploaded the video to his YouTube account and then sent the link to everyone - all 115 accounts who'd sent him notes. Then he opened up his files, settled back on the couch with his laptop and began to prepare is recommendations into the latest prospective acquisitions. Alan put his headset on, opened Mindmap, and got to work.

Case one: Sometimes very stupid people have a lot of money, very little sense.

"It is not my job to save people from the consequences of their own stupidity and greed." Alan dictated, talk converted to text. "They dove into this one against the best advice we had to offer, so let them take the bath they signed up for. The bailout's an insult and the C-levels would piss it away on their own salaries. I'm putting in a 'Hell no' on this one. I'll provide alternative purchasers, but these tools need to be out of a job. Report attached."

Case two: When cooking the books at least spend the money on someone who is capable of producing well-cooked books.

"They have massive liability in the form of two highly toxic properties they're trying to unload before the EPA comes after them It's been the same shell game since I was about six. They're running out of shells to hide the toxic pea under. Whoever ends up holding the bag on this one may be in bad shape depending on the outcome of Estate of John Ray Wheeler alias Monongahela Salvage v. EPA. Not recommended. Full report follows."

Case three: He hadn't seen such blatant bullshittery since his undergraduate Modern Lit paper on Ayn Rand.

"And they are in violation of the FCPA. 'Cost of doing business' and 'related expenses' my ass."

It was odd, he was working about as much as he did at the office, but in less contiguous blocks of time. There were times he had to put the laptop aside and sleep, and other times he'd be busy in the middle of the night, working and wondering if he was the only person awake in the financial district.

He fielded phone calls from his superiors and in addition to his regular Thursday meetings, he was chided for making people sniffly. Everyone was concerned. You need to eat more. Darleen in accounting is going to knit a sweater for you. People knew about the place on Pearl Street now - thanks to Chip, the cookies, and the inability of anyone in legal to keep their mouths shut about anything until paid to do so.

"And after tomorrow, I have a week free from chemo and the other drugs. Apparently they want to see what my bounce looks like." Alan sipped cautiously at a cayenne-spiked lemonade of Eric's invention and almost smacked his lips. It was just tart enough and had enough of a kick to make his eyelids sweat. "After I recuperate, I'm taking a few days to go places that are not the hospital."

Well, make that one place and see how it goes, but he wasn't going to say that. He still had some dignity, here. He signed off with everyone's good wishes, and then just lay back on the couch and stared at the tin-tiled ceiling for a while. He was dreading tomorrow, and he was dreading intensification. Andrea had been honest with him about that first day of phase two, and had promised to stay with him for the intrathecal.

The very idea of a spinal made him want to throw up. The one he'd had in the emergency room had been so much more than enough.

"Okay, Alan?" He addressed himself, "Go over your presentation for tomorrow, do some yoga, then eat and go to bed." He didn't need to wind himself up.

Setting up the laptop, Alan went through the medical cannabis presentation, looked over the hand-out folders, and brought it in at ten minutes. That would leave enough time for the arguments… hm… question and answer period. Packing up the laptop, he left it on charge and put his things in order for tomorrow. Snacks and juices, a bottle of water, and a small bottle of trace mineral drops - it had reduced his cravings for salt, too - slippers, Kindle. After a moment of hesitation, he added his chemo shirt, a flannel shirt, and his comfortable jeans. If he had to bring out the high caliber ammunition, he might as well look the part.

"Full battle dress." He selected a Kiton suit in light grey wool, Bruno Cucinelli tie and pocket square, Harry's of London black wingtips, Moreschi belt, and a French-cuffed Finamore light blue dress shirt. "But what to do about the head?"

Alan considered this in the mirror. The fade was holding, and he looked ridiculous in a hat - of which he didn't own any. Maybe he ought to invest.

"Then again, considering where else you're losing hair, I wouldn't have such a pity parade about the stuff on your head." Losing one's pubic hair was disconcerting, and a little embarrassing - even if nobody else knew. He quickly tried on the suit, pleased that enough weight had come back that the clothing didn't hang on him. "Okay. Even for a cancer patient, I look good."

And in the morning, he needed every advantage he could get. To say his team was not on board with this was understating the case, but damn it to hell he was going to turn them around or pitch them fucking well overboard.

In the morning he entered the room, set up his laptop, and started the second the last of his team was seated. Research. Evidence. Science. Twenty thousand extant papers about the efficacy of C. indica, C. ruderalis, C. Sativa, and their native cannabinoids in various clinical settings and there's no research? Alan hit them with everything he could about the body of research on the drugs they were giving him.

"Six hundred extant papers on oxycontin." Alan let his voice drip icicles as he went through the drugs and proposed drugs they'd given him. He slapped the folder down on the desk. "I am out of patience with the lot of you. You asked for evidence, and facts, and science, and there it is. It's on the internet, freely available to medical professionals and researching scientists such as yourselves. Sticking your fingers in your ears and going 'LALALALA!' is not going to cut it with me. If I can do my homework on this - and regain five pounds - then so can you. I expect better."

Alan was aware that he was standing beside his chair, and had just read off a whole table of physicians. Did he care? He checked. No, not a bit.

"If you have legitimate, quantifiable concerns, then I expect whats, wheres, whens, hows, and whys. Not to be a human beta test, and not to be kept in the dark." He let his voice sharpen. "Most of all, I do not expect you to look like a class of undergrads who have figured out that they're going to have to work. I was a TA, ladies and gentlemen, and I know the look. Do better. Next order of business?"

Alan sat down and composed himself. The suit had been the right call.

"It's still illegal," Dr. Chowdree said. "It's a street drug-"

"I obtain the substance from a highly reliable botanical geneticist, who is well versed in the medicinal properties his products." Eric needed a doctorate - that notebook of research and Eric's own notes were a few steps, duct tape, and a thesaurus from being his dissertation. "I have the utmost confidence in the science."

"From black market dispensary, Dr. Humphries?" Dr. Millard sniffed.

"Five pounds, good sleep, reduced pain, reduced nausea, and less gastrointestinal distress without the side effects and risk of addition presented and documented by ativan and the vicodin." Alan rebutted. "Let's not mention the oxycontin, or the side effects of the antidepressants you were ready to shovel at me. I'm willing to be the beta test on this one; informed consent has always been a biggie with me." Zing. "I don't like being an aftermarket statistic, especially when it involves surprise catheters."

"I would be interested, Dr. Humphries, in measuring your C-reactive protein, erythrocyte sedimentation rate, and plasma viscosity to map any reduction in the inflammation." Dr. Kelsy, his rheumatologist, spoke quietly as she pushed her glasses up. "The effects you're describing need to be validated by the numbers. If there's a significant reduction in your C-reactive and ESR, I'll back it."

Sometimes, all you needed was just one. He couldn't say that everyone was aboard with this, but first Dr. Kelsy, then Dr. Oh, then Dr. Chowdree were enough to hammer the others if not into compliance, then into shutting up and going along. Then they all shook hands and smiled while thinking in four letter words, and everyone was happy. Alan felt as if he'd swum twenty laps, but by God he'd won this one.

He went to the chemotherapy floor, feeling lighter of mind and heart than he had in a while. Only to get razzed for his suit by Andrea.

"Fancy, fancy, fancy, Alan." Andrea mock-fanned herself. "Carmine said you were sporting drop-dead threads today, but I had no idea."

"I paid him in cookies and pudding cups to keep quiet." The Peacock Brothers were rubbing off on him. Alan put a bit of a preen and strut in it. "A good suit is to men what lingerie is to women - it only serves its purpose if it ends up on the bedroom floor."

Andrea cracked up, having to sit in the chemo chair until she got it under control. "You are terrible. I like it."

"I told you that you were a gay guy in a girl suit." Alan took off his cufflinks, tie and tie tack. "I brought my chemo wear. Just let me get changed."

"All right. I'll come back in a few minutes, Mr. Hot Stuff." She pulled him down to kiss his forehead. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

He hugged her hard. "Couldn't do it without you, Didi."

"You are one of two people on earth who gets to call me that." She hugged him back. "Get changed, I have to print out new marching orders."

"Okay. And I brought you some goodies, too." The scrambled egg in sippy cup did him in. He brought her a real breakfast. "Scoot. I'll be all settled in when you get back."

Andrea scooted, and Alan got undressed, emptied his briefcase and folded the suit, shirt, and accessories into it. The shoes went into their felt bag in his backpack, and the slippers came out. He left the silk boxers and socks on, then changed into his chemo clothing and settled into the chair. He'd eat the brownie before she started his infusion.

Andrea came back in. "New marching orders from Dr. C, Alan. He's lightened up on the ativan, due to a 'new medication.' I take it you won?"

"I at least hammered them into going along." Alan sat up for the usual exam. "Dr. Kelsy was interested enough to say so."

"She's really new, but I hear good things about her." Andrea palped his arm and shoulder, looking for infection, tenderness and swelling. "Excited for next week?"

"So much! I just want to go out and do things." That it was complicated by the dread of intensification he left unsaid. "Even if it's just spending a beautiful spring day in a garden."

Andrea chuckled, smiling behind her mask. "You have the zoomies."

"I do not. I have cabin fever." He lay back as Andrea prepped his portacath for the blood draw. It was embarrassing, but he still was not good with needles. "It's been a month of not going or doing. I miss it."

"What time do you want me to pick you up on Tuesday?" Andrea asked as Alan closed his eyes. He knew it was not possible, but he could feel the portacath in his body as his bloods were being taken and it hit him funny sometimes. "I was thinking about nine."

"I was, too. I really want to go do something before it starts again." The thought of a spinal tap with chemo going into him made him put his head down and try not to shake. "Sorry."

"It's all right, Alan. I know it's scary." She put his port right, covered it, then hugged him gently. "I've arranged with Dr. Chowdree to be with you all the way through."

"So I'm only going to think about the gardens. We're going to have a great day." Alan said firmly. "And I'm picking up goodies from Pearl Street."

"They've been taking good care of you." Andrea racked the little tubes of blood. "Carmine brings dinner from there at least twice a week."

"And I brought you breakfast!" Alan reached down and pulled up the backpack. "Buckwheat and peach pancakes, scrambled eggs with spinach, walnuts, and goat cheese, plus bacon."

Andrea literally squealed. "Why can't a girl have two husbands?"

William had to wait for General Affairs to send Maintenance to repair his office, then had to go to Cordelia and apologise. She was not jealous, that was mortal silliness, but she was enraged with him on Grell's behalf and had made her points with exceptional force. It was also indisputable that he had left her with incomplete information by not informing her of the exact nature of Eric Slingby's and and Alan Humphries' deaths. The worst part is that she did have very salient points, and William felt like a pincushion and punching bag by the time she slammed the door.

The London Dispatch was quiet, with the staff walking very softly past the Dispatch Manager's office. Cordelia's Reapers toed the mark, stood straight, and listened sharp - despite being disorderly, rowdy, and libidinous off duty. In every way, they were exemplary Reapers. William gave three precisely-timed knocks and let himself in - against all the frantic, silent advice of the Dispatch staff shaking their heads and making frantic cutting motions with their hands.

"I provided you with facts, but not with vital details that included the involvement of the demon known as Sebastian, and your late husband, as well as Grell's role and my own in the undesirable outcome." One had to get out of the gate fast, or Cordelia would ride right over you. "I also admit to my own ineffectuality in attempting to rectify the situation with Grell, and I am not an arsebackwards and thudfingered idiot, and despite the outcome of a truly horrific misjudgment on which no actual malice was consciously predicated."

Cordelia rubbed a spot above her right eyebrow, giving him one of her particular looks. Will reached out and offered an awkward rub.

"You are still an idiot." But she took off her glasses and leaned into the rub. "Do you know what it takes to be angry with you?"

"You should have told me you wished to see Grell. There was no need to sneak into my ledger." The Dowager Duchess Phantomhive bore tremendous but unexpected loyalty to Grell for saving the family from disgrace, and for saving her life as she lay dying. "I understand some things, you know."

Cordelia sighed. "It's complicated, Will. There's so much between Grell and myself."

Angelina Dalles, the Campania Incident, Grell's persistent involvement with that demon butler, and the inexplicable decision to make Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Middleford into a Reaper.

Not that he could or should complain.

"Should I visit Grell again?" Will asked. "To make things clearer."

"Dearest darling, ze intends to tear your heart out and eat it. I would let things settle somewhat."

"That is a figure of speech."

"Are you sure about that?"

"... with Grell it is perhaps more prudent to assume the bloodiest interpretation possible."

"I told Rox that I wanted zir to come home."

William let that sink in. "That, in light of Grell's previous exile, and his… her desire to eat my heart, would be exceedingly unwise."

"I am Dispatch Manager. I have sole discretion over my Reapers." Cordelia put her foot down to Administration as hard as he ever had. Meddling with the Dispatch managers was a good way to spend time regrowing body parts and vital organs. "Ze turned me down. At the moment ze feels too much responsibility toward the reincarnates, one of which is her current lover. As he was before, which you forgot to mention."

"I… am behind modern times perhaps. What is this pronoun?"

"You are one hundred and twenty-five years my senior - cradle robber."

"You were not in a cradle when I met you. As I remember, you were sticking me with a sword." And Will remembered it quite well; his first meeting taught him to never get between Cordelia and her intended target. "It was quite rude, sticking first and asking questions later. Hasty. Not to mention unsubtle and indiscreet."

"Shut up and rub, William."

William shut up and rubbed. His question would be answered in sideways fashion, some time later, no doubt. It was awkward, ungraceful, and perhaps hazardous to his person, but William did want Cordelia to return to his residence with him. Sleep was so much more pleasant when there was someone warm in bed.

"The shift is over, will you not put on your coat?" he asked.

Cordelia looked at him over the top of her glasses, amused. "William."

"I am attempting to remedy the serial situations in which I have not expressed myself adequately or clearly as to-"

Some kisses needed to come with a warning.

And there was no need to crumple his tie.

Chapter 18

Summary:

Good stews are simple in presentation, but can be highly complex - and sometimes a little more complicated than they seem.

Alan was muzzy enough that Andrea accompanied him down to the lobby and handed him over to Carmine. The brownie dosed with high-CBD cannabis kicked in some time after the benadryl and when he woke up there were a lot less in the way of warning signals that the post-chemo misery was incoming. Still, he ended up sleeping again on the way downtown, awaking only when he remembered bouillabaisse - that was today!

Only the Frisky Chef could take his mind off chemo.

"Carmine? I need to stop by Pearl Street. My bouillabaisse!" Alan wrestled himself upright and blinked. They were at Houston and traffic was packed. "I finally got Chef Hotshot to put his court bouillon where his big mouth is."

Carmine laughed and lowered the partition. "You've met the guy? I've met the steampunky club kid - Ron."

"That's his little brother."

"I want to pick up dinner, so I'll come in with you. Are you going to be okay to eat?"

Alan assessed himself. "I think I am. I'll see how I feel in a couple of hours. But I am not giving up on the bouillabaisse."

"Got your pops?"

Carmine avoided calling them Preggo Pops for the sake of Alan's dignity, but Alan's dignity would be far more offended by getting car-sick. He held up the little Altoids tin and rattled it. "All is well. What are you thinking of for dinner?"

"Didi wants some of the white seafood lasagne and a loaf of their olive oil ciabatta, but it's a little advanced for the kids." Carmine sighed. "They're in the 'cut the crusts off the bread' stage and 'I want spaghetti' stages. Oh, and Cheerios. We're going nuts trying to to get them to eat nutritious stuff."

"He does good food, but you're right about the kids. When I was little I was the same way, and I didn't suffer from malnutrition. Do they still make Flintstone's vitamins? That was my mom's go-to." Alan pushed himself up in the seat. Still no nausea, just the usual 'coming down with something' feeling. "Or is it Sponge Bob vitamins?"

"Flintstones. We're old school." Carmine craned his neck. "Parking fucking sucks right now. Want me to run in and grab the goodies?"

"Reverse order. Run it around the block and I'll run in." Alan tucked his wallet into his hip pocket, looking with dismay at the mini traffic jam around Pearl Street. "It's no longer a best kept secret."

"Partially my fault, I bring some of my clients by here. The food's so good."

"Mine, too. I used to bring cookie plates every Friday - and someone missed that enough to track down the cookies. Here I go!" He was out of the back seat and squeezing between a double-parked Caddy and a Beemer with a single digit salute for the horns, then on the sidewalk and in the door. "Ronald, you're a bona fide Financial District thing. Sorry I'm late."

Ronald opened the gate and ushered Alan through, pausing in handing out brown paper Pearl Street Kitchen bags stuffed to the handles with comestibles. "Yeah, this is rush hour for us. All those dinners going out. Your driver called one in and Eric's got your bouillabaisse in the back."

"Can Carmine pull in around back? They're parking out there like they're auditioning for a new Mad Max movie."

"Sure, I've got that order in the back anyway. Go on in - Eric's been hovering over that bouillabaisse like it holds the secrets of the universe."

The kitchen was a flurry with just one person in it, and Alan scooted to the side into the safety of the alcove. Pulling out his phone, he called Carmine.

"Pull into the alley around the back. Your dinner's ready to go."

Eric marked brown bags with a Sharpie, set one marked 'Capello' next to one marked 'Humphries' then bellowed, "Last batch, Ronnie!"

"Eric, we're out of everything!"

"Close it up, then!" Eric bellowed again in a voice that likely carried to South Street.

Alan took advantage of the maelstrom to look at the tab on the Capello's bag and hang a fifty on it, then open the top of his bag and take a look. He'd wait until tomorrow to eat it. Just in case. What was in the Tupperware tub at the bottom? Alan had one guess, and it started with

'b' and ended with Eric Slingby, Hot Butch Honey Chef.

He raised an eyebrow at Eric - who simply gave him a cocky grin and twirled a spatula between his fingers. "Dessert's a local specialty."

Eric couldn't say exactly why he did it. Jerking chains and mouthing off just came naturally. Mr. Twinkie looked a little pale and tired, but a bit of Eric Slingby's Authentic Homemade Smartassery perked him right up.

"They've helped a great deal. Thank you." Humphries said, pausing then continuing. "Now, you normally do better than that jerking my chain, you big butch flirt."

Was that a return flirt? That was a return flirt. Eric grinned and gave a bit of a strut as he loaded the bagged dinners to go on the cart. "Yeah, you're feeling pretty good - all feisty."

"Why is it smaller people are always termed as feisty?" Humphries huffed, a twitch of the lips indicating amusement. "We can be just as hubristic as, say, highly skilled hotshot chefs built like their Viking ranges."

Eric preened, gratified his guess that Humphries flirted by argument was correct - and a little by the compliments, too. "I didn't know you were checking out my range."

There was an exchange of horns from the alley followed by. "Scoot it in, cutie. There's a cake in there with my name on it!"

"Blow me kisses all you want, Red - this is my spot!"

He and Humphries looked at each other. "Oh, Lord." "Oh, Lord."

"My driver, Carmine Capello."

"My tattooist, Rox Sharp."

Ronald spoke behind both of them. "My glee. Do it for the Vine, fellas."

Eric shoved the cart at Ronald, forcing him to juggle his phone. "Out, Beer Brat. Give those hungry people their food and then close it up."

"But-"

"OUT."

Ronald outed.

"Rox Sharp, tall tattoo artist, gives to queer youth and HIV-related charities, seriously avant garde with a car collection?" Humphries asked.

Eric nodded. "Tall Italian redheaded livery driver with two fussy kids and a wife who loves the white lasagna?"

"Exactly - his wife is also my chemotherapy nurse."

And then there was a whole lot of long, tall, and red with shoulders to make him unf in his kitchen. Even Humphries was a little round eyed. Rox in red ballet flats was maybe a half-inch shorter than Capello, and flipping zir long red braid.

Eric raised his hands. "Ronnie said that Capello could park there, because he's driving Humphries who is picking up his classic and correctly seasoned bouillabaisse, and dinner for his own family."

You had to get the first word in when the braid flipping started, or ze would go all night.

"Here I thought you'd started curating a collection of redheads." Rox sniffed. "Who's Mr. Long and Lean? Make some introductions, Eric."

"Bossing my ass around in my own kitchen. Behave or no cake for you." He'd pay for that later - hopefully - but his kitchen was his kitchen. "Right, Rox Sharp meet Carmine Capello, who drives for that guy over there - Alan Humphries. Capello, I'm Eric Slingby - I own and operate this nuthouse. Your white lasagna's ready and I did kid food. Humphries, this is Rox Sharp - my tattoo artist. Capello, that hipster dork over there is my brother Ronnie Knox who makes killer beer. Everyone out, Ronnie?"

"Yeah, and the cases are cleaned out. Man, what a rush hour!" It was just so cute how Ronnie would get all chirpy around Rox - little bro was sorting out his orientation issues pretty well. "There's a shitload of orders for Monday dinners, I have them on the iPad."

Eric took it and looked it over, then whistled as he added up the raw materials in his head. "I'll get the orders done tonight. Might have to make a few trips in the Snot Rocket."

"I can't go. Have a date." Ronnie preened. "Stacy's in town."

"I thought you were going to Monica's." That boy and his dick. "And what about that girl from Velvet who was blowing up your phone?"

"She dumped me. I'm soothing my wounds." He looked at Eric with big puppy-dog eyes. "That new cheesecake in the fridge upstairs would be such a comfort."

Eric sighed - he was such a fucking pushover. "Go. Put the cake in a box and the box in a cooler bag."

Ronnie shot up the stairs like a bottle rocket, leaving Eric in the kitchen with two long-stemmed redheads and a short-stemmed brunet. At another time, under other circumstances, Eric would have just called it a three-course tasting menu - because wedding band or not, Carmine Capello was pinging his gaydar and he might be pinging Capello's. Or maybe he was just getting a thing for redheads.

Rox was chatting enthusiastically with Humphries, very touchy with the fingers though, and Eric turned his attention to Capello. Capello flicked his gaze to Humphries, then raised an eyebrow at Eric. What? No way. Eric raised both of his in return and flicked his gaze to Rox. Capello considered that, then flicked his gaze again to Humphries and again back to Eric, this time with a more questioning expression. Eric shrugged uncomfortably. Even if the attraction was there, it was complicated by a lot of different factors. Time to change the subject. Eric checked Capello out, glancing at the wedding band. Capello gave a one-shouldered shrug and tapped his phone with the ring finger. Ah. Someone had to let him off the leash. Yes. Eric let his gaze slide to Rox, and gave back the same one-shouldered shrug. Capello smiled, a real one, and nodded. Loud and clear.

"Let me know what the kids think of the kid food." He slid the bag over to Capello. "My baby bro was picky as hell when he was in grade school."

"I will for sure. We're just trying to keep them from rickets and scurvy at this point."

"I survived on my mom's grilled cheese sandwiches, Campbell's tomato soup, Fritos, Captain Crunch, and Flintstone's vitamins until I was old enough to cook. They'll be fine."

"What do I owe?" Capello reached for his wallet as Eric shook his head.

"Kid food's free because it's an experiment, and Humphries snagged the tab before you came in."

It was almost overwhelming. Zir lads. Zir lads were all here. It was a joy like sunlight and a pain like a scythe in the guts. Ronald was bouncing around like a gangly puppy. Eric was trading speaking looks with the lanky Italian redhead - that boy and his prick. And Alan. Rox removed zir gloves to shake his hand, knowing that William would have a flappy fit over it. If a Reaper's touch could stave off the Shadow or turn it away entirely, Rox was all for it.

"So pleased to meet you, Mr. Humphries." It was eerie the way this Alan's hands felt the same as zir Alan's hands. "I've seen you at some of the Safe Spaces functions."

"How do you do? I remember the candy-apple red '62 Corvette you donated to last year's fundraiser. Two of my bosses didn't speak to each other for a week when one outbid the other."

"That was you who brought the big dollar bidders?" Ze left a lipstick mark on his cheek. "That's for bringing the deep pockets."

He was wide-eyed, but this was Alan - always a little startled with people.

"All I had to do was dangle that car. That was the star of the show."

"And you know Eric and Ronnie well enough to have parking privileges. I am fascinated." Rox was not going to let on that she'd seen him passed out in one of the recliners. Ze walked zir fingers up his arm. "Eric's been hiding you."

He still had a lovely blush, stammering and disclaiming. "I've been… um… that is… Ronald and Eric are very good friends…"

Eric paused in his silent flirtation with the Italian cutie, who was making speculative glances between Eric and Alan, and arched an eyebrow at zir. Ze did have a thing for men who could Spock. Rox arched zir eyebrow right back and grinned. Eric was gearing up for a strop, and that was a good thing.

"Behave, you." Zir Pretty Man grumped.

"But I'm so bad at it." Rox purred back. "Alan, you have to assert yourself with this one or he rolls right over you."

"He loves to argue, too." Alan affirmed, looking as if he might be getting a little of his own back.

"Pot to kettle, Mr. Wall Street Guy." Eric crossed his arms and shot one hip. Ze would have to have him pose naked like that - it was a good look.

"He's a terrible tease, Mx. Sharp. Possibly one of the best chefs in Lower Manhattan, though." Alan hefted his bag and Capello watched the interplay. "Mr. Slingby, thank you for the traditionally prepared bouillabaisse. I shall have your feedback shortly."

"All right." Eric seemed to be parsing Alan again, communicating on another spectrum above everyone else, and Alan picked up on it.

"I'm fine. The new medicine has helped immeasurably. I look forward to a lovely feast and revisiting some fond memories." Alan smiled and it was as sweet and kind as spring. "No need to worry."

How many times had ze heard that before.

Eric gave a too-casual shrug. "Might be better the second day. Lets the flavors blend." Alan gave Eric the 'I know what you're doing look' over the rims of his glasses and Eric returned it with a cocky grin. "The fennel is much more subtle that way."

"Hm. Subtle you say." The tone was deadpan, but Alan was trying not to smile.

Rox watched them banter and flirt, feeling as if ze could close zir eyes and ze'd be back in the Dispatch with zir juniors once more. It was amusing that Eric and Alan fell so easily into their mating dances. Oh, ze didn't want to give Eric up - he was loving and affectionate… and mortal.

Oh, dear.

That, again.

Alan made his farewells, as did the hunky driver - was Alan hitting that? He'd been flirting a mile a minute with Eric, with a wedding band on his ring finger, too. Maybe Eric was getting a thing for tall, sexually versatile redheads with shoulders. There would be interrogation this evening.

"Look at you, you flirty thing. All aglow." Rox pursed zir lips and looked him over. A month in zir care had worked wonders. "Goodness, you looked positively hungry."

Eric blushed. Right on target. "Shut up."

Rox advanced, stalking gracefully. "I believe you called it "test driving" - right?"

"No cake for you."

"Your ears are just scarlet, Pretty Man." Hooking zir fingers in the front of his trousers, ze reeled him in. "Tell Boss Rox your naughty thoughts."

"Tasting menu. I was thinking tasting menu." The poor dear facepalmed, the ears deepening to a shade just short of aubergine.

"Mmm. You are so missish for a pervert. It's quite the thrill." Rox insinuated zir fingers into the waistband of his underthings. "You can't bang everyone, dearest. It takes practice - you have to work up to it."

"Hey! I am not going to-"

Ze kissed him before he could say something stupid. Oh, the stroppy thing kissed zir silly while giving a sharp smack to zir ass in a way that made her squirm happily. "Bossy, butchy brat. Is Ronald out for the night?"

"In a few. He's getting changed and raiding the fridge." Eric did not let go of zir rear end, nuzzling and nibbling at zir ear. "He's got a hot date that requires cheesecake."

Oh, my. The Pretty Man was trying to seduce zir, kissing so sweetly. "You stroppy thing. You just want to get in my knickers."

"Or get you out of them-"

"You've locked down my toy." Ze did love cutting the silicone cage off, though.

"You're a boner hazard, Red. I'm making an innocent Béarnaise and bam - boner! It's like puberty again."

Rox laughed, pushing zir leg between his. "I think you're just making up for lost time. You've been celibate for so long."

He wrapped his arms around zir. "It's like everything's waking up again. I can't tell you what it's like. Like being dead and coming back to life, maybe."

Would zir kisses and zir touch add years to Eric's life, or could they hold back the sickness enough to matter? Oh, bloody hell, ze was falling in love with him and ze was so awful at it.

He broke the kiss and nuzzled zir ear, giving a playful tug on zir earring with his teeth before asking, "Come upstairs?"

Eric's voice held a hint of a deep burr, and Rox felt zirself go a little weak in the knees. It wasn't fair that certain men just put zir brains right down into zir knickers. "You are sometimes a very bad man."

"I hope so." Then he had the nerve to kiss that spot on zir neck that made zir breath catch and her heart do flips. "Come upstairs with me?"

Oh, hell. Nuzzly. Kissy. Sweet as sugar and twice as horny. How long since ze had bottom time? Too long. "Yes."

Ronnie was singing in the shower as they crept past the bathroom door and down the hallway to Eric's room. Brain in zir knickers. Right. And as soon as the door shut behind them, neither of them could get their clothing off fast enough. It was hard to retain one's dignity when one tripped getting out of one's own pants and knocked one's lover onto his bed. It was even harder to care about one's dignity when one's lover wrapped his arms around one and kissed one until one's IQ dropped ten points.

It made zir feel young again. Young and giddy, foolish and randy, believing that love-

Oh, no. Not again.

Rox broke the kiss and remembered to breathe. "Eric, are you in love with me?"

It took him a moment to engage the upstairs brain and his eyes widened. "Why - are you in love with me?"

"No. Absolutely not." Oh, what a lie.

"Good. Me neither." He lied right back.

"Okay." One should keep the lies mutual, after all.

"All right." And the kiss made further liars of them both.

Rox broke the kiss again. "Rubbers. Now. Gimme."

"You don't have any?"

"I came for cake - not for nookie, cookie."

Eric started to get up, then paused. "Ronnie's still in the bathroom. What- No, wait. I've got it."

Rolling out of bed, Eric kicked his trousers in the general direction of the hamper and took an Altoids tin from the top of his dresser.

"Breath mints? Hand it over." Ze held out a hand and he gave her the tin. "What kind of mischief-" Inside zie found breath mints, but also two little pillow packs of lubricant and two condoms. "You wicked little hedonist. This was in your pocket the night I brought you home. It's a booty call kit."

"Ronnie's idea." It was so amusing to make Eric blush.

"Yes, but who taught him? This is a big-brotherish thing to do." Waggling the box, Rox laughed. "Come here, Pretty Man. Let me get that thing off you. I want you very badly."

That was no lie. Eric being both sweet and rammish promised a very good time. It was with amusement that ze noted how he held his breath as she dispatched the silicone cage. Really, ze would have to come up with a more durable alternative if ze didn't want to keep denting his wallet with destroying the things.

"Red, you're murdering my bank balance - I've had to start buying them wholesale in New Jersey." It was difficult for Eric to stay grumpy when he hardened that fast. Ze gave him a stroke that tipped his head back and made his hips flex.

"You were saying?"

"Dunno. More."

Ze tore the wrapper open with zir teeth, and unrolled the lubricated nitrile over the rosy head of his prick and down the shaft. "Hedonist. Harlot. I love your repressed urges darling, especially when I'm face down and you're riding me as if I have 'Six Flags' stamped on my arse."

"It's a pretty ass. Cute, even."

The nerve! Ze smacked his thigh. "You impertinent bastard, everything about me is ravishing, stunning, and flamboyant - I don't do cute."

Oh, that was an Evil Eric smile if Rox ever saw one.

"Cuuuute." The big lummox cooed, crawling onto the bed and lying atop zir. "Like when your freckles get really bright when you're going to-" He laughed and nuzzled zir when ze pummeled his ass. "-come. You bite your lip when you're getting ready to come, and just before you do your freckles look like little bits of rose petals or paprika-"

"Bastard. Teasing wretch." Those muscles. That arse. Wrapping zirself around him ze exerted a little more strength to flip them both - but carefully, as mortals were delicate. "I want a fucking, Eric."

"Gimme the Altoids box." He rubbed his hands up zir thighs and hips.

"You taste fine, Pretty Man. I like the places your mouth has been." Ze settled down on him, grateful for the results of a fresh sugar wax even if the application and removal made zir howl. "I like the way you use your mouth, too. Verrry talented cocksucker, you are."

"I need the lube for that cute ass, sweetheart."

Eric's endowment was on the thick side of generous, and as much as zie wished for different bits with which to enjoy him, the plain truth was that getting in bed with Eric made zir not care. He made zir shameless whatever gender ze sported that day. Ze handed him the box and pursed her lips in disapproval of the lube.

"Boring, Eric. With all the flavors out there you pick plain old water-based in a longneck?"

"It's versatile! Besides, I have to keep Ronnie stocked up. That boy is all over town." Eric opened the top of the tube with a flick of his thumbnail. "I'll have you know that my asshole and balls were minty-fresh for three damn days after my last visit with Officer Friendly and the Night Stick of Doom."

If you couldn't laugh while having sex with someone, you shouldn't be fucking them - and Rox was laughing so hard that ze had tears in her eyes. "You bitch about swamp balls all the time. I gave you nice mentholated fresh balls. M-make up your mind."

"Like that?" Eric's grin was wolfish and hungry as he slipped the elongated tip of the lube packet into zir, sending a surge of heat from brain to balls. "Red, you look so good…"

"B-bastard brat wicked bloody ahh strumpet-" Zie took his prick in grip, positioning zirself and then slowly easing down. "Hedonist, you look so good on your ba- oh on your back!"

"Talk mean to me, lover." Eric groaned, his hands tightening on zir hips as ze opened for him. "Ride my dick like you stole it."

"Mouthy service brat, this is my pretty cock to play with." The stretch was lovely, making Rox shameless to scratch that itch. "If you pop your shot before I tell you to, you'll have it locked down for a week."

Oh. Oh, perfect. Ze didn't mind zir bits when Eric's prick pressed to zir prostate and the wicked thing rocked his hips just so. Lovely pace on the lad, that was for certain.

"Wanna make you pop, Red. Make your freckles stand out and play with your titties." Eric rasped, the flush on his cheeks and the bright gaze showing what ze missed when he'd have zir from behind or on top. "Fuck my hand, lover. Ride me hard and make a mess-"

"B-bossy butchy boy, gimme that dick!" Oh, spare a thought for poor Ronnie, getting an awful earful as Eric took a grip on zir hips and bucked. "Lazy-arse power bottom, the only thing you move is your mouth-"

The slats of Eric's bed creaked in protest, and Rox couldn't help zirself when he made a perfect rub. Eric lifted zir knees off the bed as he met zir coming back down. "Lazy? I've give you lazy-"

"Work that ass for me, you stroppy strumpet-"

"Fuck you, kiss me when you talk trash with that mean mouth-"

He got his feet on the headboard and a grip on her arse and ze couldn't kiss him because she was too busy telling him to fuck zir harder.

And then he had a hand in zir hair and kissed zir just as perfectly as he fucked and- "Fuck oh fuck Eric don't you-"

"Come for me come for me Red a little more come on want to feel you coming on my cock-"

It took everything ze had not to bite and to keep him from seeing zir lose control of zir teeth, but oh ze made a mess of his belly and chest when ze arched and zir toes curled and the heat bloomed in zir loins and zir brain-

Oh, ze did hope Ronnie had left for the evening.

Then he kissed zir - warm, perfect, sweet, and loving - and ze kissed him back. It wasn't lying if you didn't say anything, after all.

It was good to awaken next to someone warm, William thought. Cordelia, like a cat, took up a great deal of room as she sprawled, hogged the blankets and in general slept on him. However, since he slept like - no pun intended - the dead, it didn't matter how Cordelia slept. William slept through pretty much everything. Well, everything except Cordelia nuzzling his ear, segueing into her preferred method of waking up, and embracing him with the passion of a goddess. Whatever he had done right, however he came to have her in his life, William was deeply grateful - and not just when she'd lie with him.

But his life was bliss when she would.

He should tell her.

"I should tell you that ah I am d-deeply fond of you and not just when you are willing to hmn have me in your bed-"

Cordelia opened her eyes, fingernails digging into his shoulders. "William - now? OH! Yes there like that, William now!"

Now-? Mmmnow! Cordelia's heels drummed on his arse as he gave her what she was asking for. Sweet and slick and strong around him and her fingernails and there was no call to do to to him such violence especially when it drove him to fever pitch and it was a good thing that reapers did not need to breathe because the bliss and release was such that he could not. They did quite make a wreck of her bed, but it was pleasant to lie entwined with her afterward, kissing the flush from her cheeks. Cordelia's fingers stroked the nape of his neck.

"Sweet old soul," she murmured to him."What would I do without you?"

"You would likely experience less frustration that causes you to upend my office," he replied thoughtfully. "Though I must admire the level of terror that you have inspired in the Dispatch at the mere possibility of your disquiet."

"William?"

"Yes?"

"Rhetorical."

Then for reasons that would likely remain mysterious, Cordelia kissed him again. There were times when it was simply best not to question.

"Will you see Grell again?" This Rox business and novel pronouns had him flummoxed. "And tell me this time instead of going through my ledger when I'm in the shower?"

"You would have been impossible over it, and you know it. I would like to see zir again, and to keep an eye on the reincarnates." Cordelia stroked his hair. "They were your family, William. I cannot think about what it was to lose all four of them."

"We do not have families as mortals do, Cordelia."

"I know, but they were anyway. I do want the whole story, William."

"It's complicated." And somewhat unflattering, actually.

"William."

Could he get out of this? Not without some damage to tender parts, he thought. Gingerly he lifted the lid he'd settled on the entire mess.

Sighing, William began, "The events of which I shall speak began about the same time time as a concatenation of circumstances involving both your late Aunt Angelina's affiliation with Grell Sutcliff and the peculiar circus of murderers."

In the middle of his explanation, Cordelia began to quietly weep and gently cradled his head as if he were the one afflicted. So very strange. He could not understand it. Or why she would rain kisses on his forehead, and make the same noises to him she had once made to comfort their… her daughter as a very young child. His own cheeks were wet with her tears, of course with her tears, as he gently explained again that Reapers do not have families as mortals do, so how could he mourn the loss of them?

#black butler fanfiction

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canyouimaginethatstory · 3 years

Text

I Need You (Lucifer X Reader)

A/N: This was written for a friend that was inspired by an edit they made of Lucifer. I kinda tweeked history a bit but I think i worked. ENJOY!

Lucifer was sitting on the porch of a small little cabin that was hidden away. It was a cabin he himself had designed. True the devil didn't really need a house. He could go wherever he wanted. But after whats happened he couldn't bring himself to go anywhere else. But he also couldn't stand to go inside. The small building held good memories. It also held memories that crushed the celestial being every time he stepped inside. Especially since those events had happened just two days ago. The memories caused more pain to the fallen angel than even his punishment from his father. The day he lost the one being he had come to truly love. And to top it off she was human. Her name was Y/N and Lucifer knew for the rest of his existence he'd never love another. Lucifer snapped his fingers and a bottle of liquor appeared in his hand.

He downed a drink full as memories of her played in his mind. The archangel had met her shortly after returning from the alternate world. she was a hunter from that world. Lucifer couldn't explain it. The minute he spotted her standing in the bunker library he felt drawn to her. He remembered how confused and scared she looked. Over time Lucifer would come up with small things to say to her. To his shock unlike everyone else who glared at him or avoided him she didn't. Y/N always replied back. Always offered him a warm smile. He often found himself smiling back. Not his usual cocky, menacing smile. But a genuine smile. As time went on they spent more together. Lucifer found himself growing very fond of her.

Unknown to Y/N when she would go on hunts Lucifer always stayed close to her. She never saw him but he was determined to make sure she always returned safe and sound. During one hunt a wendigo managed to corner her. Before it could hurt her she watched as it poofed away into dust. Y/N was confused until she sensed someone standing beside her. She looked over to see Lucifer looking at her. She swore she saw worry in his eyes. He wasted no time making sure she was ok. Lucifer took notice that she was looking up at him kind of weird. He was starting to worry again when she gently grabbed his face and pulled him down enough to place a small, soft kiss on his lips. He gently wrapped his arms around her and happily kissed back. And that's when their romance was born.

In his eons of existence no one of any kind of being made him feel like Y/N did. Loved, wanted. Around Y/N Lucifer felt more like an angel than the monster most other humans and beings saw him as. He truly loved her. Every time that fact hit him he would chuckle. He had despised the human race and yet he fell hard for one of them. And this fall he enjoyed. Not to say that the relationship didn't come with worry. Y/N was a hunter after all. Lucifer knew she wouldn't give up the life. So every hunt he was secretly there with her. He smiled remembering how she always referred to him as her guardian angel. He loved how it sounded. She has had currently been on a hunt. Tracking what seemed to be a goddess of some kind. That had Lucifer on high alert. If he were to pick a being that annoyed him more than humanity it would be gods and goddesses. Y/N was slowly scoping the rundown house her lead had brought her to. When she rounded the something grabbed her and pinned her against the wall. She looked and noticed it was vines.

"Well what do we have here?" she heard a strong female voice say as a figure walked out of the shadows. The woman had long red hair with back roses braided into it and she was wearing a flowing black gown.

"Who are you?" Y/N asked.

"I go by many names," she said, "but I think your kind mostly knows me as Persephone,".

"The goddess?" she asked a little shocked. The goddess nodded.

"Why are you hurting people?" Y/N asked, "aren't you suppose to be good,".

"Oh I was," she said, "but then I was taken to hell. To be the dark princes' queen," Lucifer shuddered from the shadows he hid in. "Who knew I would actually fall in love with Hades,".

"Hades?" Y/N asked. Then her eyes widened, "You mean Lucifer?". Again the goddess nodded.

"I was given a special spell to enter his cage," she said, "but then one day he decided I needed to return to my family. I begged him to let me stay. I loved him. But he said he didn't love me,".

"So all of this for an eons broken heart?" Y/N asked.

"Oh no," Persephone stated walking closer to her, "it was to Lure you here Y/N Y/LN,".

"Why me?" Y/N asked.

"Because your the one he wants," she said coldly, "and I want my prince back,". Soon Persphone's hand was around Y/N's throat.

"Let her go Persephone," Lucifer ordered suddenly appearing.

"I will only spare her if you let her go," she said, "you belong with me Hades,".

"The hades you know is long gone," Lucifer said, "First to all of any kind Hades was a god. But I'm not a god. You gods and goddesses are lesser creatures than I. I am an archangel. We were only a thing because of one of my father's failed attempts at storytelling," Lucifer's eyes glew red, "Now let her go!".

"Fine," Persephone said, "but if I can't have you back. Have my throne in the underworld back. Then neither can she," Suddenly a bolt of light flew from her palm and hit Y/N full force. The pain through her body was so intense she couldn't even scream.

"No!" Lucifer screamed and raised the goddess up in the air by her neck. Anger fueled the angel as he slowly drained the life out of the goddess. And just let her lifeless body turn to ash in his hand. He snapped out of the state of red he was seeing when he heard Y/N gasping. Like she couldn't breathe. "It's gonna be ok," he said kneeling down beside her. He placed his hands on her and started letting his grace flow. But something was wrong. It's was like his grace was blocked. Y/N saw the fear in his eyes. He couldn't heal her. "No no come on," he muttered to himself. Trying so hard to get his angelic powers to work. "come on!" he yelled as he kept trying to heal her. Y/N gently grabbed his hands.

"Lucifer," she said to get his attention, "Just take me home,". Lucifer still determined to heal her gently picked her up in his arms and zapped to the little cabin. When things got serious between Y/N and himself he had conjured the small house so they could have a place to hide away together whenever they felt like it. He gently laid her on the bed in the small building.

"I'm gonna heal you just hold on Y/N," he assured her kissing her forehead. Again trying to get his grace to work.

"Lucifer," she said gently touching his cheek. The sadness and fear playing in his blues eyes broke her heart, but she knew for her this was it, "just sit here with me,".

"Y/N please," he tried to plead.

"There's no curing me," she said right before a small coughing fit hit, "whatever she did to me is stronger than your grace. And I can't fight it,".

"Y/N please let me try," he said. Tears clearly forming, "please hold on. I need you,".

"My guardian angel," she said placing her hand on his chest where his heart was, "you'll always have me. Right here,".

"I won't have a heart if I lose you Y/N," he said. She reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek as it slid down.

"Yes you will," she said taking a big breath of air. It was becoming harder to breathe, "I want you to do me a favor Lucifer,". He nodded. Clearly trying to hold himself together. "Don't let yourself be the monster other beings think you are," she gasped again, "be the angel I know you are,". He leaned down and kissed her softly.

"I love you," he said as he gently held her close to him.

"I love you too Lucifer," she said softly as she closed her eyes. And he knew. She was gone. She didn't witness the full blown angel meltdown. With tears freely flowing Lucifer took out his hurt and anger on the inside of the small cabin. Breaking and smashing anything in his path while letting a pain filled inhuman screech escape. And now he was sitting on the porch of that same cabin. it felt like years had passed by but had only been days since he lost her. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to give her the goodbye she deserved but what was it? Then a thought came to him. She was a hunter. Was. That word sent a bolt of fresh pain through the archangel as it reminded him that his true love was gone. Really gone. He finished the bottle of liquor and smashed it on the ground next to the countless others that he had downed before it as he stood up. He walked up the small pebble path that lead from the house to the road. And just stared at the place that for short while felt like a home. But it only felt that because he had her.

"I'm sorry," was all he whispered as he waved his hand and the cabin was soon engulfed in flames.

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#lucifer supernatural #luciferspn #lucifer x y/n #lucifer x you #lucifer x reader #lucifer spn imagines #lucifer supernatural imagines #supernatural lucifer x reader #mark pellegrino

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 2-5: 时间针脚 The Patchwork of Time Translation

“What are you standing around in a stupor for? See a ghost?”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

Behind the glass wall were several blurry figures busying around.

MC: This should be Team A's area.

Mya had suddenly called a few minutes ago to give me directions to the place I was supposed to report to.

I ran what I was going to say to everyone, in the form of an introduction, through my head once more before gently clearing my throat and opening the door.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Hello everyone, I'm—

Thunk!

The sound of metal heavily hitting the floor cut my words short as the handle of the door completely fell off.

MC: !?

Did I break it? No way! I broke the office's door on my first day here!?

I didn't quite know what to do for a while. One of the figures closest to the door turned slightly around at the noise.

He had a head full of spiky hair, like that of a hedgehog. He didn't spare even a glance at the door handle; instead, his gaze fell directly upon my person. He shot up from the seat of his workstation.

??: Yoooooou!!

MC: Sorry! It wasn't on purpose, I swear!

??: You're the newcomer that's supposed to be coming in today, right? Sister Zheng Lin, we've got an extra hand!

He excitedly yelled at the other end of the office.

This isn't quite turning out like how I imagined it to be...

Summoned by his yell, a plump woman speed-walked towards us. Her smile was friendly, but there was a sort of unconcealable exhaustion marring her features.

Zheng Lin: Hello. Welcome to Team A. I'm the leader, Zheng Lin.

MC: Hello. Um… I accidentally broke your door handle just now… Sorry…

??: Aw, that thing's been dead half a month ago. We just didn't have time to call someone down to fix it. Don't mind it, yeah?

??: C'mere. I'll bring you to your workstation. Your stuff looks pretty heavy. I'll take it for you, yeah?

He enthusiastically takes the office appliances I'd brought in from my hands and continues walking straight ahead.

Zheng Lin: That works too. I'll leave you to bring her around to meet the others then, Brother Mao. I'll come over once I'm finished up here.

I nodded, following after "Brother Mao".

Brother Mao: I'm Mao Ge, but you can call me Brother Mao! The best rock singer among all Designers here!

He grinned, pulling out a chair and gesturing for me to sit. He then magicked out a rag from god-knows-where and quickly gave the table a wipedown.

Brother Mao: You were 2nd place in the contest, right? We all watched the broadcast; it was absolutely brilliant.

Brother Mao: Especially when you chose Director Qi of all people. Boy, that was a killer! How did you dare to pick him?

Brother Mao: Forget his face, even his breath alone is an icy sub-zero.

Brother Mao: Ever seen an iron tree bloom? I'd say even that's slightly more common than seeing Director Qi smile.

Brother Mao: I'm not talking about his cold smiles, of course. We see that way too often.

MC: Eh? … I just thought getting him to review my work was a rare chance that I couldn't pass up on.

Brother Mao: You go, girl! Looks like we've finally got a competent person in Team A! Feel free to ask me anything if you face any problems in the future! I've gotcha covered!

He grinned, patting himself on the chest to further emphasize his point. He'd already assembled and laid out all of my office appliances on the table at some point in our conversation.

Brother Mao: Alright, everyone! Put everything down. Let me introduce to you our new buddy, (Y/n)!

All the people around me nodded in greeting as Brother Mao introduced them to me one-by-one.

Brother Mao: The one dressed in a Cheongsam is Li Man'man. She came here a minute earlier than you and braved through 3 interviews just to enter Warson.

Li Man'man: Hi, nice to meet you.

Brother Mao: And that's Chen Che, our team's tailoring genius. He's been here for nearly 4 years and has just been promoted to a Senior Designer.

The guy named Chen Che raised his head from the multitude of fabric surrounding him. He adjusted his glasses and gave me a wary look.

Chen Che: Hello.

It was at this moment in time that a guy sporting a quiff hairdo walked past us. His head was haughtily raised and his expression was one of utter disdain.

Man With Quiff Hairstyle: Hmph.

MC: And he is…?

Brother Mao: Don't mind him. He's an annoyance. He just failed the promotion test and is being the green-eyed monster to everyone right now.

I only nodded, not knowing what to say.

Brother Mao: That one over there's Hao Shuai, the trendsetter of Team A and also the King of Werewolf games.

Hao Shuai: Wanna play Werewolf? I'll host one next time, but not now...

Hao Shuai buried his face with a sullen expression as Brother Mao quietly pulled me aside to a corner.

Brother Mao: He's not been in too jolly of a mood these few days. He didn't manage to get promoted to Senior Designer, so he's been pretty depressed about it.

MC: Sounds like it's very hard to get promoted up a rank...

Brother Mao: Precisely! Although Warson has a rank promotion system in place, the way things are being assessed in them makes it scarily hard! People normally have to do it five or six times before they manage to get themselves promoted.

Brother Mao: And, you might even get demoted a rank if the work you turn in doesn't make the cut!

MC: That strict!?

Brother Mao: I'm a Junior Designer like you. I've already taken the assessment around…

Zheng Lin: 10 times.

Brother Mao: You remember all so well, Sister Zheng Lin.

He gallantly retrieved another chair for Zheng Lin to sit on, seemingly paying no heed to the embarrassing number of tries he'd gone through.

Brother Mao: Don't they say that failure's the mother of success? I just have to get a couple more of those and it'll net me a great success!

I laughed at his joke along with Zheng Lin.

Zheng Lin: Our assessment system is just stricter than others.

Zheng Lin: Even though everyone is free to design whatever they like with their creativity as the limit, becoming an actual Fashion Designer is some serious business.

Zheng Lin: Those capable of joining us here in Warson are all talented individuals. Hence, what's really being tested in those assessments are your passion and perseverance.

Zheng Lin: I've welcomed hundreds upon hundreds of rookies during my 10 years here in Team A, but most of them drop out after failing the assessment 3-4 times.

MC: Eh?

Zheng Lin: Firstly, everyone who first comes here holds high self-esteem, so they're a bit more sensitive to criticism. And it is only natural for people to find it unbearable, especially after having been criticized a lot.

Zheng Lin: Secondly, there's a limit to the type of jobs that can be given to Assistants and Junior Designers, so things often end up being boring and repetitive

Zheng Lin: It's hard to go on like that if you don't have the right sort of determination.

MC: ……

Zheng Lin was about to say more when the door slammed open with a "bang!". Several people stood at the entrance, worry written all over their anxious faces.

Colleague A: Can someone consolidate all of Sliver's Autumn-Winter fabrics into a document?

Colleague A: I still have to go down to the mall and conduct surveys and research so I won't be able to do that in time!

Colleague B: Some trouble cropped up regarding the visas of the foreign models who're slated for a shoot next week, so we need another 18 new ones!

Colleague B: What should I do, Sister Zheng Lin!?

Zheng Lin gave a helpless sigh.

Zheng Lin: I'd originally wanted you to let you get used to things around here, but we have our hands full… Do you mind helping us?

MC: … Sure thing!

Zheng Lin: Then, could you first help us by going to the warehouse and picking up Silver's Autumn-Winter fabrics and consolidating them into a sample book after?

Zheng Lin: You can get Brother Mao to help you check it through once you're done.

I nodded and joined the fray.

Time went by. And finally, I finished my very first task after an hour. Brother Mao told me to take it up to the Team A representative who was in the meeting after checking through it.

❖☆———————————★❖

It was clearly noon soon, yet the doors of the meeting rooms on both sides of the corridor were still tightly shut, I could occasionally hear the sound of loud discussions coming from within.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Excuse me, I'm here to deliver the fabric samples.

Pushing the door open, I saw a Designer who was in the middle of loudly explaining his idea while Sariel held a pen, looking down at the document in his hand.

All the other Designers were either listening intently or hurriedly sketching out their new ideas, having been struck by a sudden wave of inspiration. It was almost as if the very air itself was crackling with ideas, going head to head with each other, gathering and merging into a brand new storm of ideas.

I’m going to be taking part in meetings with everyone in the future too… I couldn’t help but jump for joy at the exciting notion.

Placing the fabric catalogue book down, I couldn’t stop myself from taking one last glance at the meeting room before I left.

❖☆———————————★❖

Brother Mao: Oh, right. Don't forget to retrieve the catalogue book once the meeting upstairs is done.

MC: Okay.

❖☆———————————★❖

Everyone left after the meeting ended. I picked up the scattered pieces of fabric, stacking them neatly into a pile. It was only then that I noticed a pen lying on the ground.

The pitch-black pen was see-through, slender, and sturdy, with three gold-stamped petals at the very end.

MC: This is...

An image of Sariel wielding this pen with his head bowed in thought appeared in my mind.

MC: Is this pen his? It certainly suits that icy countenance of his...

❖☆———————————★❖

I bent down to pick it up, but the moment my fingers brushed against it… I suddenly felt an inexplicable sharp jolt of pain piercing my head.

My heart clenched violently, almost as if a nightmare that had been buried deep within its depths was about to be awakened. The stifling feeling of sadness and despair washed over me together with the odd feeling of my heart having been impaled by something.

What’s going on?

I pressed against my chest, trying to get through this sudden bout of pain that came out of seemingly nowhere.

Sariel: What's going on here?

There seems to be a faint voice ringing through my ears. The pen was taken away from me the next moment. Gone with it were the odd sensations.

I blearily looked at Sariel who had suddenly popped up from nowhere, still slightly woozy in the head.

Sariel: What are you standing around in a stupor for? See a ghost?

MC: I don't know what happened to me earlier…

Sariel: That's what I'd like to ask you.

☆Light Choice: Explain what you felt earlier

I shook my head, trying to recall that odd sensation you felt earlier.

MC: I… My chest and head just suddenly started hurting.

MC: I know I’m in the meeting room right now, but it kind of felt as if I wasn’t here at the same time…

MC: Like a nightmare, you can never wake up from…

Sariel’s expression changed minuscule bit upon hearing the word “nightmare”.

Sariel: How about now?

MC: I'm fine now, and the uncomfortable feeling's also gone.

Sariel: Has this happened before?

MC: Once…?

★Night Choice: Conceal what you felt earlier

MC: I just felt a little light-headed… I'm okay now.

MC: Oh, right. I picked up your pen.

I pointed towards the pen that he'd already reclaimed, which was now in his hand. Sariel only frowned.

Sariel: You felt light-headed after picking up this pen?

It was only when he mentioned it that I realized that that seemed to be the case. But what would a pen have anything to do with a bout of dizziness?

Sariel coldly grabs my hand, making my heart stop cold in my chest. However, all he did was stare at it in silence for a few seconds before releasing me just as quickly.

MC: What are you looking at? Is there something wrong with my hand?

Sariel: Nothing. It's well and fine.

What's up with Sariel? Grabbing my hand out of nowhere like that and not even telling me the reason why...

So, I ended up giving my hand a thorough check as well. There was nothing off about it, but I couldn't help feeling a little worried.

I'd also experienced some "auditory hallucinations" back then at the rooftop…

MC: Maybe I should go get myself a check-up at the hospital just in case…

Sariel: You look pretty peppy on your feet to me. Doesn't seem like there's anything physically wrong about you.

His gaze smoothly slides up from my face to the top of my head as he spoke.

Sariel: Though, I can't say the same about the other parts of you.

MC: ……!

I was fuming, yet I didn't dare to express it with a vehement glare. Seeing how riled up I was at it, yet unable to do anything about it, a flicker of a smirk made its way up to a corner of his mouth.

This was my second time seeing him smile today… The iron tree has bloomed…

Sariel: Are there flowers growing on my face?

I shook my head.

Sariel: A ghost then?

I shook my head again.

Sariel: Then why are you looking at me as if you've just seen a monster?

MC: You just smiled. It's too rare of a sight.

Sariel: … How stupid.

He put on a straight face as he pocketed his pen and turned to head out.

Suddenly remembering something, I hurriedly pushed the door open and ran after him.

MC: Wait a minute, Director Qi! Are you free right now?

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-3) | Next Part: (Chapter 2-8)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #For Light and Night

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nobodyfamousposts · 3 years

Text

Blue Memories (lbscexchange2021)

Yay! It’s Valentine’s Day!

Soooo....who wants a sad?

He opened the door for Marinette and gently escorted her inside.

She looked around, surveying every detail. The baby blue of the accent wall. The furniture in all of its strange varieties of makes that still somehow fit together. The assortment of decorations from the little black cat figurine that had been a joke housewarming gift from friends to her potted plants lined up at the wide windows—still tenderly cared for, even in her absence. All things that were part of the home. All things that made the home their own.

And yet, not a single hint of warmth came to her eyes.

“This is…my house?”

Ours, he didn’t say.

After all the things they had experienced throughout the years—the monsters they’d fought, the battles they’d won, the people they’d saved…

It seemed so surreal that it was something as simple as a car accident that would take her down.

She stepped through the entryway into the main room—tentative. Unsure. Like she didn’t think she belonged. Her grip on her cane tightened, belying her anxiety.

He rested a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. Allowing her to use him as her other support as she was forced to confront a home she didn’t know and memories she couldn’t recall.

“Just…take a bit of time to familiarize.” He whispered.

I will be with you every step of the way.

She took a breath but nodded before moving forward, and for a second—

Standing tall, wearing her suit like armor, her shoulders broad and head high in steely determination even in the face of overwhelming odds—

Luka could see the courageous young woman he loved in this stranger’s frame.

For her part, Marinette was…handling the circumstances if nothing else.

She stepped away from him, standing with only her cane and her one good leg for support. Rather than immediately head for the couch or any place to rest, she wandered the room, taken in by the all of the remnants of a person she used to be.

There was an array of frames along the wall as she passed, each containing memorabilia from newspaper clippings to artwork to awards. She gave them a cursory glance, none of them really standing out. At most, she barely touched one that contained a pink ribbon—

“Isn’t this a bit much? And a bit silly?”

Alya had gasped in mock outrage. “Girl, this is your own design house! We have to have a ribbon cutting ceremony to make it official! Otherwise, what have our years of labor been for?”

Marinette giggled. “You mean my labor?”

“Hey, don’t forget who did the interviews.” The other woman said with a wink.

More giggling.

“Of course, of course! I never would have gotten this far without you. Any of you.”

“And don’t forget it!” More giggling. “And besides, a happy opening is a sign of a happy beginning. This is your dream, girl! Go all out and enjoy it becoming real!”

“Okay, okay! So how will we do this?”

Luka smiled as he brought over the fancy scissors.

—pink ribbon, a couple inches thick, contained in a frame along with a picture of a group of strangers standing outside a building.

He carefully took their bags back to their his room, allowing her a moment to reflect and himself time to gain some composure.

To think it would be a car accident that did this. Not some epic villain battle, no. A stupid car accident because of her insistence on meeting him at the airport and some idiot who decided to run a red light. He'd consider laughing if he wasn't on the verge of breaking down…

But…she needed him. More than ever now.

When he returned, she was standing at the wall aligning with the window, lightly touching the dollhouse that was stationed there.

“Do we…did we have kids?”

“No.” Not yet.

It was grand—a four storied house with five rooms on each floor, each fully furnished in different ways. Its outside had the design of a cozy cottage, with walls were painted with a soft pink as well as white doors and window shutters. All of which were moveable, to her amazement.

“Where did we even get something like this?”

It had been a labor of love.

She hadn’t wanted to leave the kwamis stuck in the Miracle Box with no idea of the happenings in the world. And as they had begun spending more time outside, Marinette had been insistent that the kwamis deserved their own space outside of the Box. It had taken her weeks to make it—and multiple failed attempts.

She gave them their own home within hers. She’d wanted them to feel welcome.

It may very well have been the first time the little gods had cried.

“It was…a project.”

She frowned, but didn’t speak further. Her gaze turned to the nearby shelf on the adjoining wall. Holding a number of books. A single bin full of yarn for knitting. Two guitars rested along the side.

“Luka, it’s beautiful, but…why?”

“Why not?” He smiled.

“But…I’m not much of a guitar player. You know that. I’m not like you, Mr. Top 20 three-weeks-in-a-row. I still don’t know how to play the guitar.”

She moved to put it back in its case, but he pulled her back and into his lap along with the guitar. Her squawk of surprise only made him grin, and he placed a kiss to her head.

“That just means you’ll have more opportunity to learn.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“Do you play?” She had asked, curious as she looked over the two guitars.

He smiled bitterly.

“Wow,” Dingo whistled as he peeked through the curtains. “Quite a crowd out there.”

“I’m not sure I can do this.” Luka muttered.

It had been one thing when he had been playing with Kitty Section. But the band had gone their separate ways and now he was playing center stage.

“No worries. It’s only your first show. If you choke, who will even remember?”

He sighed. “Yeah, see, that? That’s not helping.”

“I’ll tell you something that will, though…” Dingo trailed off with a smirk. Before Luka could react, the other wrapped an arm around his neck and dragged him to view the opening in the curtain.

“Dingo!”

“Take a look!”

Luka glared at his friend—or tried, but Dingo’s grip around his neck really kept him from turning in any direction besides the one the other wanted.

Dingo, for his part, didn’t even have the grace to look back, instead grinning at something through the curtain.

“A certain little lady in the center seat of the middle row.”

Luka froze. And immediately, his eyes glanced over the crowd, searching for…

Dark hair.

Blue eyes.

A bright neon pink sign with his name.

Her smile.

He breathed.

“Mari…”

Dingo clapped him on the back and released him.

“If you can’t play for your fans, play for her. You know she’ll always listen…”

“Yeah.” He answered.

What else could he say?

He’d built up his music career over years. For all that she had been busy with her own design house, she had still be there for him every step of the way. Supporting him. Inspiring him.

And now only one of them still knew that.

“Congratulations on the release of your new single!”

Ah.

He winced as the flashing lights hit him.

For all the time he spent on tour, he would never get used to this.

“Thank you.”

He knew better than to respond. It wouldn’t be enough. It was like an avalanche of questions and microphones barreling down on him.

“Mr. Couffaine! How do you feel about your ranking on the Music’s Top Ten?”

“Is there any truth to the rumors that you are doing a collaboration piece with Jagged Stone?”

“Are you really having an illicit affair with XY?”

“Luka Couffaine, you just completed the last stop of your world tour! What are you going to do now?”

Finally, the one question he wanted to answer.

“I have someone to see.”

It had been both a dismissal and an explanation as he took his leave to wait for his ride.

Tomorrow was their anniversary, after all. He’d managed to schedule the end of his tour to give him just enough space to make it back in time to spend it with her.

Marinette was probably already waiting at the airport at this moment.

Or at least…she should have been?

He checked his watch. Was he early? A bit, but not by much…it had been a little last minute for her, though. Maybe she was caught in traffic?

His phone rang. Was that her?

“Hello?”

“…”

“…what?”

He winced and turned away, trying to fight back the burning in his eyes.

Maybe she saw his reaction because she went silent as well. The tension of the room heightened, near to the point of stifling. For all that he wanted to reach out to her, there was a distance between them that felt…impassible.

He heard her move further into the room. Closer to the kitchen, it sounded like. He listened as something seemed to slide briefly across the countertop, as if she had picked up something for a closer look. Despite his better judgement, his curiosity got the better of him and he turned to see—

It had been hell. The date. The entire day. Hell. To the point he was convinced that some higher powers were giving a sign that this relationship wasn’t meant to be.

Except it wasn’t a sign, it was a fucking billboard.

He’d had it all planned out. Picking her up in his new car. They would have dinner together, followed by a movie, coffee and dessert at a nice little cafe he’d heard good things about, then a stroll by the Seine.

Except whatever higher power up there hated him, apparently.

First the car—the brand new (okay, only slightly used) car he’d recently purchased wouldn’t start, so he’d had to ride his bike to reach her. This meant the restaurant was a no go, meaning his reservation that he’d put in a good month in advance went to waste. Marinette had suggested they just walk to the movie which he was fine with, except that it started raining and the theater in question suffered a power outage. Desperately trying to salvage the night, he’d led her to the cafe anyway only to find they had apparently gone out of business the day before.

Luka was…done. He was just done. He’d apologized profusely and tried to call a cab for her before he’d walk home in the rain so he could scream into his pillow.

Suffice to say, he was pretty sure the date was a bust. And would likely be the first and last he’d ever get with her.

But while he’d been on the phone discovering that traffic was backed up and even THAT much of the night wasn’t going to go right either, Marinette had noticed a little souvenir kiosk under an awning nearby. He hadn’t known what specifically had caught her eye, but when she returned, it was with a thermos of tea she had brought from home and two little mugs she’d just purchased—both with their own different engravings.

She passed the "I AM WEIRD" cup to him. Was…was this a joke? Was she saying something?

He wasn't sure what it was until he saw her blushing as she sipped from her own cup, clearly displaying the engraving of "I LOVE WIERD".

The night went wrong in so many ways. But there…huddling from the rain under the storefront tarp, sitting next to her...he felt warmer than the hot tea could have been responsible for.

She held the “I LOVE WEIRD” cup gingerly, staring at the porcelain as if it could tell her its secrets. But when nothing could be found, she set it back at its previous place and continued on.

Marinette’s gaze had moved on to the next item of interest. She peered into the various photographs lining the top of the nearby shelf. Each contained images of a young couple. A man with teal hair and a lip ring along with a woman with dark blue hair and earrings. The pictures varied—them hugging while bundled up in the winter season, him picking her up and her holding him tightly for balance, them dancing at an outdoor festival, them making silly faces in a photobooth. Each one of them smiling.

One that kept her attention, however, had the man in a tuxedo and the woman in a stunning floor length dress. It was white with an illusion neckline, and bore the images of petals. But the truly striking feature was the airbrushed effect at the bottom of the dress as it changed from white to vibrant teal and finally to black—a clear match to the hair of the man standing beside her.

It was a wedding.

She had said he inspired her dress. That she had made it with him in mind. He had believed her, of course. He never needed her to prove she loved him.

But oh, how his heart had sung seeing her like that. In his colors. Showing the world whom she belonged with.

He had barely heard anything the priest had said. He had to have stumbled in his vows at least twice. He was torn between burning to touch her and yet not wanting to dare to—that something so beautiful shouldn’t be touched.

He would never forget the way she had reached out for him instead and held his hands with hers as she said she wanted to start a life with him.

She picked up the picture.

“It’s beautiful.”

It’s her.

“It’s beautiful. And I can’t…I don’t…”

Like gravity had failed her, she collapsed rather than sat onto the sofa—

That ugly, ugly leather sofa that Jagged had insisted they take with them from Marinette’s brief stint as his personal designer.

“No, you keep it, Mari. You’re gonna need something to spruce up your new place.”

“Jagged, seriously. That thing is hideous and I don’t need it.”

“What are you talking about? It’s perfect! It’s leather! And sturdy! And you can even pull it out into more of a bed. Besides, who knows when you’ll be bringing a studly young man to your place and need something to ‘rock it’ in, eh?”

“Oh my god, Jagged, please don’t!”

“Ey, Luka! Come on, mi boy, back me up!”

“Luka, don’t you dare—!”

Luka, for his part, kept his focus on cleaning his equipment and wisely said nothing.

He moved to her side without thinking.

“Mari…”

“What…” She looked up at him, hopelessly lost. “What now? What do…we do?”

She held the picture frame to her, as if trying to fill the hole in her heart that once contained years worth of love.

“I don’t know what…I don’t know how to…”

She sobbed.

If the phone call had shattered his world, this had crushed the remaining pieces.

“What…what are you saying?”

The doctor sighed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Couffaine. But the damage of the crash and the shock of the incident has led to some trauma. We are running tests, but there is no way to tell just how great the extent is or how long it will last.”

He barely heard the words for what they were. Percentages. Chances. Outcomes. Luck.

She’d always beaten the odds before, hadn’t she?

She could…

Surely, she could…

He barely noticed when the doctor had led him to the white—white, white horrible white room.

And the all too pale and shaken woman resting inside.

“Who are you?”

It was her eyes.

Her beautiful blue eyes.

But not a trace of familiarity.

“Hello, Marinette.”

He smiled, trying to not let tears fall.

“My name is Luka…”

He slowly moved to sit beside her, taking his wife into his arms like he always did.

It…wasn’t the same.

"It'll be okay..."

Throughout his life, Luka had always been a river. Slow. Steady. Constantly cutting a path through life and through the world.

Luka was a river.

But for Marinette, he had been her rock.

“We’ll make new ones.” He promised her.

Day by day. Moment by moment. He would stay with her and make new memories.

It wouldn’t replace what was lost.

But they would make it together.

#ml fic #lbscexchange2021 #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #lukanette #ml angst #ml sad #car accident #memory loss

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Text

[Ficlet] Gonna Hit Rewind

Hi guys! So this is a little drabble inspired by a prompt by my friend @drinkyoursoupbitch, where I show what my MC, Carewyn Cromwell, was up to during a certain scene in the Harry Potter series!

Before we begin, just a couple of notes --

Post-Hogwarts, Carewyn becomes a lawyer for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement -- you can read more about her life as an adult here, if you’d like! When it comes to the Order of the Phoenix, Carey-Bear doesn’t formally join, instead providing covert assistance while staying autonomous from Dumbledore (who she doesn’t really like as a person) and looking “subservient” to Fudge’s wishes. Later on, this becomes very useful after the Death Eaters take over the Ministry in 1997: when the Battle of Hogwarts begins, Carewyn actually helps take back the Ministry by placing Umbridge under citizen’s arrest and temporarily taking charge until Kingsley Shacklebolt is officially appointed Minister. Carewyn’s outfit in the sketch enclosed below is inspired by this design. Musical accompaniment for this ficlet were “Leave Me Alone” by Michael Jackson (for Carewyn’s conversation with that...certain family member in the aforementioned sketch) and “Turn Back Time” by Derivakat (which inspired the title of this drabble!). And in regards to Carewyn’s negative attitude toward Time Turners...that is 110% my mother talking. When we read Harry Potter and the Cursed Child together, she absolutely hated that it involved time travel, as she found the whole idea ridiculously confusing and illogical. (The whole climax of Prisoner of Azkaban was even her least favorite aspect of the original Potter books. 😂)

Hope you enjoy -- and much love, Soup dear! xoxo

x~x~x~x

“Down here, down here,” panted Mr. Weasley, taking two steps at a time. “The lift doesn’t even come down this far…why they’re doing it there…”

They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to that which led to Snape’s dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes.

“Courtroom…Ten…I think…we’re nearly … yes.”

As Arthur Weasley rushed down the hall toward Courtroom Ten, he was unaware that in Courtroom Seven, the door of which was left slightly ajar, Carewyn Cromwell was speaking to her estranged uncle, the new head of the Cromwell Clan, at that very moment, nor that their conversation would ultimately determine Harry’s fate in that courtroom happening just three doors down.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Blaise, and you know that full well.”

“I merely wished to speak with the Minister, little Winnie -- you are aware of how much our family still supports the Ministry and, by extension, your career, are you not?”

Carewyn fixed Blaise with a very cold blue eye. “And I suppose Lucius Malfoy speaking with the Minister down here mere moments ago had nothing to do with you making an unscheduled visit?”

Blaise cocked his eyebrows, his identically colored and shaped eyes narrowing under them.

“I can sense you trying to enter my mind, Winnie,” he said very softly, his eyes rippling like light blue flames despite the hardness of his face. “It won’t work. You couldn’t reach my thoughts when you were a girl, and you can’t reach them now.”

His voice became cooler, to the point of sounding condescending.

“Whatever questions you have, you know your uncle would be more than willing to answer them, if you merely ask nicely.”

‘Answer’ -- ha! Carewyn thought to herself scornfully. Lie your face off, more like. But even so...if I’m going to get what I need, I need to keep him talking...

Carewyn went very quiet, considering Blaise carefully and her next words even more so.

“...Are you or are you not associating with Lucius Malfoy?” she asked softly.

“You might recall that he and Father were business associates back in the day.”

“Of course I do. That’s why I’m asking. Or have you forgotten where Grandfather’s activities sentenced him -- where they sentenced you, until you were able to bribe the Minister to reduce the rest of your family’s sentences?”

“Our family, little Winnie,” Blaise corrected her, a notable, fiery edge to his voice.

You all may be related to me by blood, but you are not my family, Carewyn thought fiercely, but she once again bit her tongue. If she provoked his temper the way she was tempted to, he’d be less likely to talk to her.

When she didn’t respond, Blaise continued.

“Lucius Malfoy has always had a working relationship with the Cromwell Clan. It’s only natural that we speak from time to time, as two patriarchs of prominent magical families.”

“Magical families with certain reputations, you mean,” Carewyn said very coolly.

“Cornelius Fudge thinks very highly of Lucius Malfoy.”

“And of you, thanks to your impressive acting. But that doesn’t extend to everyone else, and you know it.”

“Of course,” said Blaise with a very cool smirk. “That’s something we have in common, isn’t it, Winnie? Putting on a charming face to get what we want, and not caring who hates us for it?”

Carewyn didn’t care enough to argue this point -- she’d already had this sort of discussion with Rakepick several times back in the day, and she knew that it meant Blaise was not only trying to divert the conversation, but also was absolutely full of it.

You’re acting like this fact makes us just as bad as each other, Blaise, but it doesn’t. Even if we have some similarities in our methods, that does not make us the same. I’ve never terrorized people to try to advance myself. I’ve never manipulated or forced anyone to join a criminal organization. I’ve never masqueraded as my nephew in order to try to manipulate my niece into selling her soul and her freedom just to save him. However much I’m not perfect, I’m head-and-shoulders above you, when it comes to the moral high ground.

But honestly, there was no point in arguing with people like Blaise. It wasn’t like she’d ever convince him that everything he thought was wrong -- that Muggles weren’t inferior, Charles Cromwell was an abusive monster, and everything he and the Cromwell Clan did to try to get Carewyn, Jacob, and Lane back under their control was reprehensible rather than justified -- and she didn’t feel enough passion to try. Especially not when there were more important things happening at that very moment...

Harry would be in the courtroom by now. She had to hurry.

Although Carewyn tried to keep her face stoic, her brain was working very fast. Her eyes drifted away, off toward the far wall of the courtroom where the Wizengamot benches were lined up.

“...Look,” she said slowly, her voice becoming a little softer, “my Legilimency has become very sensitive, in this line of work. It allows me to read people’s intentions and feelings very quickly, even when I’m not actively trying to. And Lucius Malfoy...he doesn’t see you as an equal, but as a pawn.”

Blaise’s eyebrows came down over his eyes, but he didn’t respond.

“You and the rest of the Cromwell Clan only got out of Azkaban because you were able to appeal to Fudge,” said Carewyn, “but if you’re associating with the wrong people, that could very quickly sour. Your position will become uncertain again, and you won’t be able to protect them -- especially if Fudge gets the kind of control over the Wizengamot that he wants...where charges and judgments are laid down based on favoritism more than legality. We’re already seeing it with how Fudge is now treating Dumbledore and Potter, after how much he always sucked up to them. End up outside of Fudge’s good graces, as they did, and the same might befall you. I realize that you and Malfoy...”

Are Muggle-hating bigots.

“...have similar politics,” she said at last very stiffly, “...but Lucius Malfoy’s politics are far more extreme than yours, and although the courts decided there wasn’t enough evidence to prove his methods were also...we both know that’s also true. If he falls, he will drag you down with him -- and if you take the fall for his actions, he won’t lift a finger to help you.”

Carewyn forced herself to look Blaise in the eye.

“Grandfather’s dealings with R got you all in enough trouble. You bought yourself and the rest of...our family a second chance -- something many others did not get. Are you sure you want to endanger that?”

Blaise considered Carewyn very carefully as she spoke, his blue eyes boring into hers critically. By the end, they’d actually widened.

“...Are you actually expressing concern for us, Winnie?” he asked very lowly.

Carewyn scoffed. “Don’t misunderstand me, Blaise -- I don’t really think you all deserved a second chance in the first place, after everything you’ve pulled.”

Her blue eyes became a bit more solemn.

“But truthfully...I’m not that upset that you were released from Azkaban. Dementors...they’re wretched creatures. I’ve seen what they can do to people.”

Her expression darkened.

“...I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, however terrible they are.”

Something confused and almost disgusted rippled over Blaise’s face, making his nose wrinkle.

“Ugh -- and here I’d thought you’d actually weeded out that weakness in your heart...”

Carewyn’s red lips came together tightly, but she didn’t reply. The two stared each other down for a moment, before Blaise finally exhaled.

“Very well, Winnie -- you want to know why I’m down here?”

He reached into his scarlet robes and pulled out a gold chain, on the end of which dangled a tiny gold hourglass.

A Time Turner.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed upon it.

“Lucius Malfoy has expressed quite a bit of interest in my old department, when we’ve spoken,” murmured Blaise. “One sub-section in particular -- one where records of magical predictions are kept.”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. “Prophecies?”

“They are truly a fascinating thing,” said Blaise, his voice sounding rather airy. “So much value is placed on them -- too much, one could argue...just as one puts too much value on all attempts at ‘future sight.’ Alas, the section of my old department that Malfoy was interested in was not my area of expertise -- my area was in the study of Time, specifically backwards-facing. We did occasionally dip into the study of forward-facing time magic, but more in the sphere of inevitabilities -- things that evolve naturally in nature, every season -- not human affairs. Unfortunately when I was there, there was an employee monitoring the perimeter of the section I meant to enter -- I couldn’t have explored further even if I’d wanted to.”

“So Malfoy wanted you to stop by your old desk and pick up something that might help him or someone else enter the Department of Mysteries?” Carewyn asked. “Why?”

Blaise shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

“And yet you have a suspicion as to why?”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed upon Carewyn’s face, not angrily, but almost darkly.

“I may no longer work for the Department of Mysteries, Winnie, but I cannot discuss the more classified branches of their work too deeply. That is part of the Vow I made when I first joined the Department -- it forces me to speak in hypotheticals and vague descriptions more than specific details. But I fear no random stooge using this tool to try to enter my old department, whether Malfoy or otherwise. In fact,” he added with a smirk, “I would frankly love to see them try.”

He ignored Carewyn’s critical, confused expression and pressed on more seriously.

“You’re not a stupid girl, Winnie. I know you know what’s really going on, under the surface. Me offering assistance to Lucius Malfoy early on is merely how I intend to earn enough favor to keep my family safe, should the worst happen.”

“And what is that?” asked Carewyn.

Blaise cocked his eyebrows again. “Ask your mother. She remembers the First Wizarding War just as well as I do -- how it all started before.”

He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Blaise.”

Carewyn speaking his name and sharply grabbing his arm holding the Time Turner made him stop.

“If you wish to provide Lucius Malfoy useful information,” she said lowly, “you can tell him that that employee was not there by accident.”

Blaise looked back over his shoulder, startled. Carewyn closed her eyes tight, trying to block out the intense nausea rippling over her.

“He’s there to make sure Malfoy’s superior can’t reach what he wants,” she murmured. “There are many more, just like him, all with the same goal. It doesn’t matter when you go there -- there will always be someone there who will keep him away from what he wants.”

Blaise stared at Carewyn, his eyes narrowing in bewilderment.

“...Why are you telling me this?” he whispered.

Carewyn swallowed back the lump in her throat.

“I haven’t worked with time magic like you have...but people aren’t supposed to be in two places at once. That I do know. A lot of problems have been caused by people trying to mess with time. Mum told me that once in the 19th century, a whole bunch of people’s lives were erased out of existence, all because someone messed around with a Time Turner...”

“Ah, yes, Eloise Mintumble,” said Blaise, sounding as darkly amused as a bully might upon seeing one of their usual targets wearing a particularly obnoxious dress. “Tried to go back more than a few hours and ended up changing things so dramatically that she both erased 25 people out of existence and aged her body five centuries and died upon return trip. A rather fascinating case study.”

“You’re disgusting,” Carewyn said coldly. But she got back to the task at hand, her voice hardening. “Even if Malfoy couldn’t get what his master wants from the Department of Mysteries with that Time Turner, he could still do irreparable damage with it. If all Malfoy needs is assistance, to believe that you’re helping him and for you to earn enough esteem that the Cromwell Clan stays safe...then give him the intelligence I’ve given you. Don’t give him that Time Turner.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his lips spreading into a rather condescending smirk. “Why? Because it’s wrong, little Winnie? Because it’s illegal and immoral, and ‘not the right thing to do?’”

“I’m not foolish enough to appeal to you with morality, Blaise -- I know you don’t have any,” spat Carewyn. “I’m asking you not to do it for your own self-preservation. For the Clan’s. ...For your family’s.”

Blaise’s smirk actually slid off his face. Carewyn held his gaze as best as she could, even with how ill she felt.

“I may not be one of those who takes turns standing watch in your old department,” Carewyn said very softly, “but Jacob is.”

Blaise’s face went rather white, and Carewyn knew she’d struck a cord. For as cruel, selfish, and immoral of a person as Blaise was, he still saw his family -- all of it -- like his personal belongings. And he “took care” of his belongings. He wanted complete control over them and, like Charles before him, he never respected them as people, nurtured them, or gave them any freedom...but Blaise didn’t want anyone touching “his things.”

The older man’s jaw clenched as a rather dark glint flashed through his eyes.

“...I see.”

His teeth still bared, he extended the hand holding the Time Turner’s gold chain and, very slowly, lowered it into Carewyn’s hand.

Carewyn’s eyes softened in relief.

“Thank you.”

Blaise exhaled heatedly through his nose.

“Jacob always was a fool,” he growled, his voice full of resentment. “Risking his life for people like that Muggle filth who abandoned you and your mother -- ”

“Better than selling his soul and freedom to serve the person who locked my mother and all of you up like prisoners,” Carewyn shot back rather coolly.

Blaise’s eyes flashed angrily. “You will not speak ill of your grandfather, Winnie! Everything he ever did in his life was for us, including you, your brother, and your mother, and I will not have you forgetting that!”

“Crow that lie as much as you want -- it won’t ever make it true.”

Blaise seethed as Carewyn pocketed the Time Turner in her robes. Slowly, his temper cooled enough that his lips spread back out into a rather vindictive smirk.

“For the record, Winnie...Time moves in a loop. If Lucius Malfoy were to use the Time Turner after I give it to him a half-hour from now, the effects would’ve already been felt by us by now. We would have heard about someone having broken into the Department of Mysteries before our conversation even started. The fact that we are not hearing that means that he never receives the Time Turner from me. So, in fact, it was already clear that I would give you the Time Turner before I actually did -- ”

“Oh, shut your trap,” Carewyn said tiredly. Just listening to Blaise wax on was giving her a headache. “I don’t even want to try unpacking all that time travel rubbish. All I care about is that Malfoy and his ilk can’t try to mess with time, now or ever.”

She turned on her heel and strode for the slightly ajar door. Pushing it further open, she then looked back over her shoulder at Blaise.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of. Stay out of trouble, or I will not hesitate to prosecute you.”

Blaise’s eyes were very cold even around his smirk. “If there’s anyone who should be warned to stay out of trouble, it’s you, Winnie. I’m not the only one who’s aligned themselves with people who could drag them down, if they fall.”

“Perhaps,” said Carewyn mildly. “But my friends will catch me if I fall, just as they have before. Just like I always catch them. That makes all the difference.”

She walked away, her heels clapping against the black tiled floor as she strode to the end of the hall, listening at the door of Courtroom Ten. She could hear several voices talking inside -- after a moment, she recognized two as Amelia Bones and Cornelius Fudge.

“...certainly described the effects of a dementor attack very accurately. And I can’t imagine why she would say they were there if they weren’t -- ”

“But dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard! The odds on that must be very, very long, even Bagman wouldn’t have bet -- ”

“Oh, I don’t think any of us believe the dementors were there by coincidence,” said a very misty, serene voice from inside the Courtroom.

Carewyn’s shoulders relaxed, even as her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling.

Dumbledore. He’d made it in time.

Exhaling heavily, Carewyn quickly turned back around and walked briskly back down the hallway, back upstairs toward her office. On the way, she walked by Blaise, who was now deep in quiet conversation with Lucius Malfoy, and Carewyn and Malfoy coldly stared each other down as she passed.

x~x~x~x

Carewyn hated keeping the Time Turner in her desk. She wanted to be rid of the thing immediately, but she knew she had to be patient.

Around 11:00, just before lunchtime, Carewyn asked to borrow a Dungbomb from Tonks and covertly dropped off it just outside the Auror Department on her way back to her tiny office. The resulting smell resulted in the entire floor clearing out, until someone could deal with the smell. Carewyn herself, however, stayed in her office and powered through, spraying some Muggle air freshener to try to mask the smell.

I forgot how much I hate Dungbombs, Carewyn thought dully. Oh well...desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess.

Keeping the files on a case she was working on open on either side of her, Carewyn read through them every-so-often as she pecked away at a letter she had to write. This letter had to be concise and to the point, if its recipient was going to know it was safe and exactly what she had to do, to help keep Harry Potter from getting unjustly expelled.

Right on time, three hours after Harry’s hearing, Carewyn’s Legilimency picked up the feeling that someone was approaching her office. A moment later, there was a knock on her door.

The ginger-haired lawyer exhaled heavily, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Come in,” she said.

Although she kept her voice level, she already felt a headache coming on. She knew who was on the other side of that door -- and sure enough, when it opened, in came tall, silver-bearded Albus Dumbledore, dressed in long midnight-blue robes.

Carewyn’s eyes hardened as the Hogwarts Headmaster closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Carewyn,” Dumbledore said pleasantly.

“You got my message from Tonks, then?” Carewyn asked.

“To come straight to your office as soon as I arrived, but to not let anyone see me entering? Yes. Though I daresay the evacuation of this floor thanks to the smell of Dungbombs helped with that considerably,” said Dumbledore, and his light blue eyes twinkled. “I presume it has something to do with why some members of the Wizengamot were asking what I was doing back here so soon, and why Cornelius looked even more sour at my presence than usual.”

Carewyn’s face was twisted in a deep frown as she finally took the Time Turner out of the drawer and put it on top of her desk.

“The time and place of Harry’s hearing was changed three hours ago, with no notice,” she said stridently. “The hearing originally scheduled for 11 o’clock instead was moved to 8 o’clock at 7:58 this morning. The letter was sent by owl to Privet Drive at 7:59, right before a second letter informing Harry that because he didn’t show up for his hearing, he was presumed guilty and therefore expelled from Hogwarts. Both letters arrived at 8:52. The Order wasn’t informed of the change until a little after 9, but was also informed by Arthur Weasley that you’d had the matter well in hand and had arrived miraculously early.”

“And so they felt no need to send me any post regarding the matter,” presumed Dumbledore with a dewy smile. “But in order for all of that to have happened, I will have to go back and ensure it does happen -- isn’t that so?”

Carewyn nodded curtly as she handed the Time Turner and a sealed envelope to Dumbledore.

“Three turns back should be enough -- you don’t want to risk changing too much, by arriving too early, and I have a closed-door meeting with Chester Davies prior to that. Give this letter to me as soon as you arrive in the past. As soon as she...escorts you out, head straight for Courtroom Ten. You should arrive just after Harry does -- it shouldn’t raise as much suspicion if you make it to the courtroom after Harry, since he was already in Arthur’s office when he first received word of the change...”

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with some mischief. “Clever as always, Carewyn, my dear. You do the Order very proud.”

Carewyn’s eyes flashed. “I’m not doing this for you or your ‘Order,’ Dumbledore, as you know full well. Jacob was completely at R’s mercy after he was expelled from Hogwarts, and I don’t want to even think about where Potter might end up, if the same thing happened to him. And if Jacob’s guarding something in the Department of Mysteries, I don’t want to make it any easier for You-Know-Who and his goons to get the drop on him.”

Dumbledore’s calm didn’t shift, though his eyes did turn a bit more solemn. “And as always, Carewyn, your cleverness is only rivaled by your caring for others.”

Rising to his feet, the Headmaster tucked the envelope inside his robes and then picked up the Time Turner.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said cheerily, “or, should I say, ‘I will have seen you?’”

And with three turns, he’d disappeared.

Carewyn gave an exhausted, groan-like sigh.

“I hate Time Turners,” she muttered to herself.

x~x~x~x

When Dumbledore appeared in Carewyn’s office out of the blue at 8 o’clock that morning, the ginger-haired lawyer reacted with a lot of irritation and suspicion. Those feelings weren’t helped when Dumbledore handed her the letter addressed to her, and yet written in a hand identical to hers.

Carewyn,

First of all, yes, I know you recognize this handwriting. This isn’t a trick -- it’s just the work of a Time Turner: specifically the one Dumbledore’s holding. On that note, ask him to hand it over and then smash it. We have more than enough problems in the here and now: no sense in adding more time travel rubbish to the pile.

Now that that’s been taken care of, let’s get to business --

The time and place of Harry’s hearing was moved just a minute ago. It now starts at 8 o’clock in the morning in Courtroom Ten. Don’t worry, Arthur’s already been notified and is ferrying Harry as we speak, but Dumbledore needs to get down there right now. Kick him out of your office, nice and loudly -- there are people outside who could overhear, and you don’t want anyone to think you and Dumbledore are on good terms. Which, fortunately, you’re not.

Now that Dumbledore’s out of your hair, let’s go over what you need to do --

Blaise has sneaked into the Ministry, specifically the bottommost floor near the Department of Mysteries, on Lucius Malfoy’s direction. No, Blaise isn’t a Death Eater -- just short-sighted and self-serving as ever. The point is that he has a Time Turner on his person, which he cannot be allowed to walk away with, under any circumstances. You’ll be able to catch him leaving the Department of Mysteries if you go downstairs in the next fifteen minutes. He’ll be meeting Lucius Malfoy around 8:30, in the middle of Harry’s hearing, so don’t let him walk away without getting that Time Turner away from him. Don’t come at the issue straight-on, though -- you can appeal to Blaise to give it to you willingly. Just keep him talking. Once you have the Time Turner, you can hold onto it until Dumbledore arrives in your office at the time that was originally scheduled for Harry’s hearing, so he can use it to go back far enough to arrive at Harry’s hearing on time.

I know, this Time Travel stuff is absolutely bloody ridiculous. But at least this way Malfoy won’t be able to use the Time Turner Blaise stole to cause even more havoc.

Burn this letter as soon as you’re done reading it. We don’t want anyone coming across it.

Good luck.

As for Dumbledore himself, he arrived at Harry’s hearing right on time, all according to plan.

“Ah,” said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. “Dumbledore. Yes. You --er -- got our -- er -- message that the time and -- er -- place of the hearing had been changed, then?”

“I must have missed it,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my writing #harry potter #fanfiction #carewyn cromwell #albus dumbledore #cornelius fudge #amelia bones #blaise cromwell #lucius malfoy #time turners #AHHHHHH #YES IT ALL COMES TOGETHER #this took a while to write but it was worth it #but yeah my mum loathes time travel stories #she's a scientist at heart so the illogicality of them just drives her crazy #jacob honestly doesn't like working with dumbledore any more than carewyn does but he does see 'the greater good' of it #so he ends up being a guard not just for the prophecy but also later on for people escaping the death eaters #he likewise just barely evades ministry scrutiny enough to be able to hide people during the War #yes carewyn's choice ultimately does lead to negative fall-out like bode getting imperiused and arthur getting attacked by nagini #which of course carey-bear deeply regrets #but at the same time how much more damage might she have prevented? we'll never know #sometimes in war you have to make bad choices to try to mitigate even worse consequences :(

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taybatwo2 · 6 months

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Monster High Skullector Nightmare Before Christmas Review Part 1 of 2

I don’t know how I managed to snag one for my friend and me on that poorly done and hellish drop (it was also my first time I have ever tried ordering two Skullectors), but they came in and I finally had time to review my set.

The hand painted prototypes on the front of the box are so lovely (especially Sally’s delicate eyebrows and blush that are missing on her final doll).

The back of the box sleeve: “J ❤️ S True Love Never Dies. Debuting in the fan-favorite film, Disney Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas, Pumpkin King Jack Skellington and dreamer Sally embark on a wild misadventure that capture the spirit of Halloween, Christmas and true love. This collector doll pack celebrates the moment that Jack and Sally realize they’re meant to be together forever. Dressed in a boospoke suit with a frightening skeleton print. Jack is ready for a haunting night with Sally, who is dressed in a creeptastic off-shoulder dress with a petrifying patchwork print.

The defrightful collector item captures the nightmarish fun that awaits every night in Halloween Town.”

……I always thought their romance was a bit slap dashed at the very end, but they are a hauntingly lovely couple.

Their box with the sleeve off! It’s a very lovey set up. With the gate from the graveyard being shown, Zero (which I would have gladly traded for Sally’s purse), and a tombstone that has Frankie’s symbols, and the Monster High crest.

The back of the box has another lovely photo of the dolls. I like the lighting on them in this photo.

I like how they made the artwork all scratchy and hatchy like Tim Burton’s art style. They also added some snowflakes, skulletes, Draculaura’s bat symbols, and a heart with Clawdeen’s G1 shirt pattern.

Okay, enough of the box! Let’s open this sucker up!

……anyone else feeling a draft……?

Well apparently Jack has too much booty for his pants to be fully closed in the back when they were packaging him. Haha!

More under the cut:

The inside panel, sans the plastic and Jack and Sally. I love that they included the Spiral Hill, two trees featuring Halloween Town and the Valentine’s Day Town doorways (although the hinges seem to be missing), and Sally’s basket to Jack (something else that I would have preferred over her thread purse).

A closer look at the trees in the corner. Clever choices in trees: one representing Halloween and the other the love between the characters.

Okay dokey, now onto Sally. I thought I was going to like her less than Jack in this set, but she is actually a GORGEOUS doll.

How they did her eyes, her eyelashes, her face stitching, and even her cooler blue body stitching is just so lovely. I AM SO GLAD they did not give her “regular monster high eyes.” I love it when the designers experiment and give their ghouls, boos, and mansters new looks while still calling back to their roots (she might have the Tim Burton inspired eyes, but her proportions are all Monster High). Her hair is also a really soft (Saran….?). It’s not overly red or brown, but a nice mix of the two.

Her stitching has been simplified, which is a shame, but expected. Her right arm should have had her stitches moved down, but I really like the stitching they kept on her legs and chest and neck.

I actually like her mermaid gown more than I thought I would (Monster High really needs to try some new silhouettes). There is actual thread stitching going down the center of her top and around the collar. The spider-web like lace is also very soft and flowey and not at all stiff. The green skullete on her skirt is also not super distracting. It also lays very nicely around her shoulders and bust.

While the gown looks nice on her, I have seen cooler looking fan created dress/outfit designs for Sally than what they have here….but it does have some details I was just expecting to be printed on.

Her shoes are nicely detailed (duh, it’s Monster High), with the stitches in them looking like they’re actually pulling the different segments together (like movie Sally’s stitches do). The heels are a reference to some of the potions/ingredients that Sally uses in the movie.

The font looks spot on, while the outside of the jars have been simplified.

The soles of her shoes have more of that scratching ink pen texture that Tim Burton seems so fond of.

I first thought she had a dead opossum/rat on her head band (like in the movie), but it actually is made up of vines, and several of the flowers Sally picks in the movie that foretells the future of Jack’s Christmas to her.

Her bag is definitely a slightly altered model of G2 Beast Pets Frankie’s purse (on another note, I find it a fun coincidence that G2 Frankie has blue-ish stitches like Sally does). In my opinion, it is the weakest of her pieces….why couldn’t we have gotten Zero with that extra plastic?!? Mattel loves putting pets where they don’t belong in Barbie and other Monster High releases, why not this one (the answer is probably the extra cost of Jack’s new head and body sculpt).

Her earrings are black cats, and look fairly similar to the black cat that shows up in the movie.

Her body color is a much stronger blue than I originally thought (I was thinking it would be closer to G1 Frankie, Scarah, or Lagoona’s). But it looks closer to G3 Frankie’s.

The second and last part of my review will feature a close up of Sally’s head sculpt and a full review of Jack, as I ran out of space for pictures here.

#aleta’s toys #monster high #monster high doll #doll collecting #dollbr #doll collector #toy collecting #monster high dolls #Aleta’s review #toy review #monster high review #monster high skullector #monster high nightmare before christmas #nightmare before Christmas dolls #the nightmare before christmas

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crushing-on-nico-di-angelo · 3 years

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Seven Nights in Cabin Thirteen

I’m inspired by another post I saw here that I didn’t wish to hijack lol, and OP deactivated or else I’d link their account here. credits to @the-ghost-king for the idea of a demigod therapy/Will being a past drug addict on this post. Yes this is a bad fic. It’s also my first fic ever. Please criticize if you see anything

Will never thought that he would ever appreciate his first monster attack. He was seven years old, and in hindsight his teacher probably only worked there to prey on young demigods (at least, that’s why he suspects the attack happened so early in his life compared to other demigods). But when Lee Fletcher sat him down 4 years later and told him that he was trans and would now be known as Lee instead of his birth name, Will knew that everything happened for a reason.

After many conversations with Lee about how he knew (gods bless that man’s patience) and with an older Athena camper who’s special interest dealt in psychology, Will realized the reason that he always felt disconnected from his mom and sisters in Austin was because he was like Lee. He was a boy.

Telling people wasn’t easy. Of course his older brother had to know; he was the one who introduced Will to this concept. Telling the rest of camp was as easy as telling Chiron, who told Dionysus, who always threatened to turn anyone into a dolphin if they talked shit about any trans kid. Telling his mom... that had to be the hardest part. How was he supposed to tell them? The only similarities they all had were that they were all musically inclined and that they were all girls.

Apparently, Will forgot that Naomi Solace was a musician. The music industry has more queers than an all girl’s school GSA. Her only questions were “Alright, what’s your name then, kiddo?” and “When do you want to set up an appointment with a therapist?” As for his siblings, well, let’s just say the oldest, Frankie, always knew. And it didn’t take long for seven-year-old Mickey to cut her doll-that-somehow-looked-exactly-like-Will’s hair and change his notes from high to low when she accompanied his singing on violin, as part of voice training.

Four years has passed since then and Will can hardly believe it. He’s stealth back at Austin because it’s just easier that way, but since a quarter of the camp knew him since he was seven, he figured there was no point; it isn’t like anyone treated him as though he wasn’t a man-- er, boy-- at camp anyways. So, life went on. He got his period for the first time during the Battle of Manhattan, that was no fun, but luckily Thalia was cool about it and made sure not to tell anyone. He started binding shortly afterwards, got a couple bruises hear and there. Kayla yelled at him for a week for that one, he remembers fondly. Discovered why it’s better to take off your contacts in the shower... that day isn’t such a fond memory. That was the first and last time he ever made himself bleed. Although, he will say that’s what sparked his interest in medicine and what made him the best doctor Camp Half Blood had seen in decades at the mere age of 15 years old. Life at camp was good, if a bit dull. He got used to the routine and the constant influx of damaged campers, the siblings and friends, and the always-perfect Texas Barbecue and Coke.

That is, until the War Between the Camps happened. Lou Ellen woke Will up before sundown that day and told him their plan. They were to hide in the tall grasses and wait for Camp Jupiter to show their ugly faces. Cecil had the genius idea to paint their faces and arms black so they’d blend into the night better, and Will supposes in the hubub of everything they forgot that his hair nearly (”nearly”) glows, even at night. Until Mr. Nico “I’m so smart, I nearly killed myself shadow travelling” di Angelo pointed it out. Whatever, it made sense at the time. They won the war against Gaea, not without sacrifice, and they finally, finally got past all the wars and destruction and health issues that they were able to just hang out and get to know each other as friends.

And boy, was their friendship amazing. Nico had the best taste in music from Will’s eyes, and that’s saying something because Will is a music snob. Nico could be a little stubborn at times, but that’s alright because so was Will (”Gods damn it, Nico, if you don’t take your medication right this second I will-” “You’ll what? Hm? You’ll force it down my throat? Last I checked that was abuse.”). They fit together so perfectly and became fast friends.

It wasn’t always sunshine and lollipops, though. What is, for a demigod? Will relapsed once and passed out right in front of Nico’s cabin. He was crashing from an exciting high that he hadn’t experienced in so long, and he felt so tired and ashamed of himself. Methamphetamine was a goddamned bitch, so while he was coming out of withdrawals, he made Nico promise not to let him leave the cabin for a week were simmering down. He had to make sure something like this never happened again. They Iris Messaged Chiron and explained the situation, and he understood. He made sure to contact the older son of Dionysus who had been Will’s therapist in the past and said what had happened and they agreed on a session for soon after Will got mostly over his cravings.

So now they had a week of downtime together. Awesome.

“Solace, do you need anything? Are you okay?” Nico asked towards the end of the first full day that withdrawals were over.

“I’m-- fuck. I’m fine. I swear.” He responded unconvincingly.

“That’s not what you said last night... no offense, but I’m not fully inclined to believe you when you look like shit.”

“It- It... it’s not something I’d like to talk about, if that’s alright. And... don’t tell Clarisse, please.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, don’t worry. But I would like to know if this is going to be a common occ--” Before he could even finish asking, Will was already shaking his head and responding.

“One-time thing only, I promise. Gods, I’m sorry I showed up here at all.”

“Woah, buddy. That’s not what I was saying at all. You’re my best friend, I’m glad you came here.” Will almost couldn’t believe what Nico was saying. Then again, did Nico have very many friends? Nico himself certainly didn’t seem to think so. “In any case, you don’t have to explain what happened, or what led up to this, or anything like that. I don't need to know. What I do need you to do, however, is take a shower. I’m sorry to say so, but you smell like ass.”

“Yeah well, I’m…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. How do you explain to someone that he still wanted his drugs, and he didn’t want to leave the cabin because he knew he would leave to go find some before he would even think about going to his own cabin at this point.

“You don’t have to leave,” Nico said, perhaps sensing his agitation. “I have a shower in the cabin.”

“What the fuck do you mean you have a shower in the cabin?” The shock of this knowledge get him out of his stuck mind. “How did you get plumbing in here? How did Chiron allow this?”

“I helped design my cabin, and while I may not have all the experience in architecture that Annabeth does, I do know a thing or two. I did meet with Isambard Kingdom Brunel, you know.”

“I did not know. You- Who is Isambard Kingdom Brunel?” Will asked

“Oh, some civil engineer who is like a million years old.” Will scoffed at that.

“You’re one to talk,” he teased. He was never going to let go of the fact that Nico was technically like 80 years old.

“Oh hush, William.” William… never Will, like most people. William… like he was something special, something that deserved three syllables. “Anyways, like I was saying: take a shower. You look like you were up mowing all of camp with a flashlight.”

Knowing Will’s reaction to drugs, that wasn’t unlikely. He stood up. “Lead the way? I’ve never been around your cabin before.”

Nico’s cabin was unlike any others. Using some sort of Doctor Who-like technology, there was a living room, a kitchen, and one room. Surprisingly, the walls were all light or pastel, a stark contrast from Nico’s general (and unintentional) punk-rock appearance. However, the furniture was all a deep black. Nico led him to his room, a minimalistic one with a bed, a desk, and a lamp. Will wondered where all the personalization was, but made no comment.

“Here’s the shower,” Nico pointed to yet another room in this somehow huge cabin. “If you see something amiss or odd… ignore it.” Will didn’t want to think of the implications of that sentence.

He stepped in the shower and oh my gods, watching the dirt and grime wash off him after his 8 hour high-- which he did not want to think about (and not just because the author doesn’t want to taint his search history), it was too embarrassing-- was a wonderful feeling. He was still tired. He didn’t know why, it didn’t used to be this hard. However, he was pretty sure that he tried to clean the entire outside of the hypnos cabin before going over to the Hades cabin to do the same. This was the first and last time Will would ever thank the gods for Nico’s poor sleeping patterns, he had heard him outside and came to get him before he tired himself out more.

He nearly passed out in the shower again but managed to make it out. He looked around the well-stocked bathroom and realized something that he probably should have bothered to notice before: he didn’t have any clothes with him. Fuck. He wrapped a (black) towel around his chest because he didn’t think his body could take anymore binding and prayed to Dionysus that Nico didn’t notice that his chest wasn’t exactly male.

Luckily, the first thing Nico did say was “Is that a tattoo?”

Will looked down at his sun. “Yeah, it is,” he smiled. He remembered the night he did it, it was kind of hard. He ordered a tattoo gun off amazon and had Frankie do it for him shortly after the Battle of Manhattan. Some people might think it’s in honor of his dad, which is fine. It was really for Lee Fletcher, though. His mom totally freaked, for a really long time, but after his C-PTSD diagnoses she realized that whatever works for him works as long as it isn’t drugs or self harm. He knows she wants a future for him that doesn’t involve music, and that’s why she freaked. She thought it would ruin his chances. But it’s right on his shoulder, only visible in tank tops or no shirt.

"It… its to honor the man who taught me I could be myself." Will said after a small pause.

"That's a very lovely sentiment. If he made that much of an impact on you, he must be a very cool person."

"He was." Will knew that Nico heard the was by the way that Nico nodded solemnly. "I uh… I don't wish to be more of a bother, but do you mind if I go to bed now? That shower really helped."

"Yeah, of course. I can take the couch, you know where my bed is-"

"No, absolutely not." Nico sighed softly, as though he expected this. "I can sleep on the couch, in Austin I actually prefer it to my bed."

"That's-- no offense William, but that's weird."

"It feels less lonely to me," Will protested, then let out a huge yawn.

"Alright cowboy-" Will smiled at Nico's nickname for him "-get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Nighty night, Neeks. Love you." he didn't miss the small smile on Nico's face before he walked away. Will has always been very loose with his 'I love you's like that. He figured it's better to say it too much than not enough.

He had found his old stash the night before, the one that Clovis had helped him forget about. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about last nights events. At the time,he told himself that he shouldn't do anything with it, and put it out of his mind for about a week, but eventually his urge to smoke overcame his self-control. He went on a rampage of cleaning and was absolutely certain he looked like a madman. The worst part is, he didn't even know why he did it. It was as though his rehabilitation hadn't even happened, as though this was something that was as natural as getting a cup of coffee in the morning. He was so mad at himself, so embarrassed.

These thoughts occupied his mind until he fell asleep about an hour after his last words to Nico. He slept with no dreams, for the first time in about a month.

word count: 2,245

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amphtaminedreams · 3 years

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Sitting Front Row at...(On a Budget Obvs): Lookbook no.15

Hey to anyone reading!

And welcome to my fave lookbook I’ve done in a longggg ass time! Yes, that’s partially because it involved making collages and doing the low effort work of scouring Vogue Runway for “research purposes”, but I promise, that statement wasn’t made out of COMPLETE laziness-I am super happy with it too. It’s been a good use of pre-part-lockdown-lift time in the interim between that brief period of Christmas celebrations and eateries finally fucking opening again because let’s be honest, I always knew I was gonna get distracted by oat milk vanilla lattes and veggie all day breakfasts once I could actually sit down with them at my fave local cafe. You could say I was very much operating on a self-imposed deadline.

The “what I would wear to sit front row at...[insert designer here]” TikTok/Instagram reel trend was something I wanted to get on board with ever since I first saw one and whilst the option of doing my own live action take-I really cannot bear the thought of having to edit footage of myself awkwardly attempting to sit nonchalantly in front of a camera for hours on end-was off the cards considering my complete lack of screen presence, I decided a Tumblr text post would work just as well, and if not even better in a way. Given the absence of the time limitations you face when you’re making a reel or a TikTok I thought it’d be cool to present the looks as part of a mini moodboard for each designer which adds a bit of context to each look even if you aren’t familiar with their past collections and establishes the general vibe of the brand I’m attempting to replicate. Not to sound snotty or as if I am the font of all knowledge on anything high fashion related but even with my amateur knowledge I noticed that as the video trend took off and was adopted by big name influencers, it became less about the average person putting their own personal spin on the aesthetic of the labels we can’t ordinarily afford and more about them building outfits that only vaguely resemble the general public perception of the brand around the real corresponding (and often gifted and thus inaccessible to someone who doesn’t makes thousands for a sponsored post) pieces they own SO I thought I’d take the trend back to its roots and get a bit resourceful. All that being said, in no particular order, here are the outfits I would wear to sit front row at Gucci, Vera Wang, Miu-Miu, Marc Jacobs, Dolce & Gabbana, Brock Collection, Alexander McQueen, Etro, Burberry aaaand Saint Laurent based on their past collections and guess what? They didn’t cost a shit tonne of money :-)

-disclaimer: will include an asterisk before any new purchases if from a high street store though to be honest, I don’t think there are any, we shall see! I do include where I got old purchases from in case anyone wants to search anything on Depop/Ebay-

1. Saint Laurent (formerly Yves Saint Laurent)

-blazer from identityparty on Depop, pleather trousers from Zara, jewellery from Dolls Kill-

I know technically abbreviating Saint Laurent to YSL doesn’t really make much sense anymore given the brand’s name change in 2012, but I’ll always think of it as that in the same way I’ll always associate it with the slightly dishevelled yet simultaneously glitzy rock n’ roll aesthetic. The thing is, whilst YSL hasn’t done anything wildly out of the box for a long time, it’s rare they put a look on the runway that I wouldn’t wear; they never end up being a fashion week standout but the Parisienne take on grunge we’ve seen Anthony Vaccarello establish as his go-to will always have a place in my heart.

2. Alexander McQueen

-embroidered leather jacket from Ebay (originally Topshop), harness from Amazon, dress from ASOS, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

Alexander McQueen is a brand that is pretty much universally liked, from the historically extravagant and groundbreaking shows the man himself put together to Sarah Burton’s more toned down but still beautiful collections. Obviously I didn’t attempt to do justice to the former, so I tried my hand at putting together a look inspired by Sarah’s blend of delicate femininity and nomadic edge, and it went...okay? Like it’s definitely not my favourite of all the looks because it does give off slightly cheap copycat vibes buuut outside of the context of this lookbook it’s cute.

3. Brock Collection

-boater hat from Ebay, midi skirt from morganogle on Depop, corset top from ownmode_, heels from amybeckett1, bag from Primark-

Brock isn’t as well known a brand as most of the others in this list but I adore everything Laura Vassar Brock does and I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to try and channel the vision of one of the OG pioneers of the cottagecore vibe through my own wardrobe. I mean fr, this woman’s work as a steady provider of meadow photoshoot worthy dresses and corsets and skirts is v slept on and I will not stand for it. I will sit in front of a camera and then write a paragraph in my blog post begging anybody who reads to give LVB (an abbreviation I acknowledge is unlikely to catch on because Lisa Vanderpump anybody?) some form of acknowledgement for her services to period romance novel inspired moodboards everywhere.

4. Marc Jacobs

-coat from House of Sunny, white shirt from Retro World Camden, co-ord from Sugar Thrillz, bag from Poppy Lissiman-

If there’s one thing Marc Jacobs always does, it’s COMMITS. TO. HIS. THEME. I just KNOW he has a secret Pinterest with separate boards for every fashion era of the 20th century and he is putting those boards to good use providing us with collections that are as immersive as they are eclectic year in year out.

5. Miu Miu

-beret from H&M, hair clips from H&M, jewellery from Primark, coat from mollyyemmaa on Depop, shirt from YesStyle, sweater vest from YesStyle, skirt from Depop, diamanté belt from Brandy Melville, shoes from Koi Vegan Footwear-

We all like to talk about Bratz dolls and Monster High dolls and Barbies as fashion inspo but can we all focus on Cabbage Patch dolls for two secs so as to acknowledge the fact that a Miu Miu collection is basically all their fits grown up? And made boujie as fuck? If I want my fix of Wes Anderson meets Scream Queens (what a combo) inspired outfits, if I want prissy and girlish but also glam, if I want to look like a bratty rich girl whose one redeeming quality is her eye for vintage clothes, I know where to look and that is the Miu Miu section of Vogue Runway.

6. Vera Wang

-blazer as in no.1, velvet bralet from catdegaris on Depop, harness from Amazon, skirt from Ebay, knee high socks from Ebay, lace up boots from Ebay-

Vera Wang’s RTW aesthetic, a blend of the ethereal, ultra-feminine bridal designs she’s known for and British style punk rock influences, is something I feel has only become firmly established in recent years but it is everything I ever wanted and more. I always find myself trying to balance the part of me that loves everything girly and delicate and pretty and the part of me that would love to be in a biker gang and Vera’s collections are always an inspirational reminder of just how well it can be done.

7. Burberry

-coat from charity shop, suit from emmafisher3 on Depop, top from simranindia, shirt underneath from Zara, jewellery from ASOS-

Now I’m not gonna lie, I’m not the biggest fan of Burberry but there have been a few looks over the past few years I’ve really liked and as someone who owns numerous trench coats, high necks and way too much plaid, I thought it’d be an easy one to replicate. Plus, if you can count on Riccardo Tisci for nothing else you at least can rely on him giving you some layering inspo which is very much needed in a country where it literally just snowed in April and where my plans for today have just been cancelled because the iPhone weather app did a Karen Smith and didn’t predict rain for today right up until it started raining so thanks for that one British meteorologists. Your incompetence strikes again.

8. Etro

-corset from Urban Outfitters, vinyl trench coat from Topshop, boots from Ebay, black slip dress from kaoanaoleinik on Depop, fur trim afghan coat from louisemarcella-

Like with Brock Collection, Etro isn’t a hugely well known brand, but it is always one of my favourites-to add a spanner into the works of any attempts to cultivate a firm sense of personal style, I live for the ornate Bohemian look that Etro does so well just as much as I love both grungy and girly pieces, and so I really wanted to include a brand whose collections go down that route. It was a toss-up between this and Zimmerman, the flirtier, free spirit counterpart to the dark romance of Veronica Etro’s designs; her vision really shines through the most when it comes to the brand’s winter collections, imo, and given that I live in a country where winter or some weather state resembling it does seem to take up 70% of the year, I did decide on channelling her work rather than that of the equally talented Nicky and Simone Zimmermann this time round.

9. Dolce & Gabbana

-flower crown from ASOS, tiara from Amazon, earrings from YesStyle, dress from alicealderdice1 on Depop, opera gloves from Ebay, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

D&G is a brand I felt really conflicted about doing-I don’t include their current collections in my fashion week reviews based on the actions of designers Stefano Gabbana and Domenico Dolce over the last few years because I don’t want to mitigate the collective effort of fashion critics to push them towards irrelevancy. Though people like to claim the brand has turned a corner since Lucio Di Rosa was brought on board as the manager of celebrity and VIP relations last year (they are as prolific a force on red carpet fashion as ever), we haven’t seen any real meaningful apologies or reparations made by Dolce and Gabbana themselves which once again leaves us in the all too familiar quandary of whether or not we can separate the art from the artist especially when it is far too much of a simplification to only credit the two men for their work given there’s a whole design team behind them. There are a LOT of shitty people working in fashion, the whole industry is a bit of a cesspit if we’re honest, but I don’t think that should stop us from at least being able to appreciate old collections if we make sure we aren’t engaging in any kind of promotion of current works whilst doing so. D&G are a brand of high highs and low lows, with looks that range from hideously ugly to showstoppingly beautiful in a single show-when the looks are good, they are GOOD-and their presence in the fashion world is most definitely felt whether we want it to be or not. It would just be shit to refuse to recognise the existence of some real iconic runway moments, the practical work that went into the ornate detail and opulence that helped cement D&Gs place in sartorial history, the styling that’s made goddesses and fairytale queens out of modern day women as they’ve glided down catwalks, the far more extravagant and, let’s be real, sexier version of our world D&G shows have transported us to in the past. Will I talk about D&G ever again? No, and if you Google the scandals their brand has faced over the past few years, there are more than enough reasons why, but just this once I did want to pay homage to some of the collections, the snippets of which I saw on my Tumblr dashboard back when I was about 13, that first got me into fashion.

10. Gucci

-fur coat from Topshop, clips from Zaful, glasses from Ebay, dress from gracewright246 on Depop, shirt from Boohoo, blazer from charity shop-

Now last but, if you ever read any of my fashion week reviews (the likelihood of someone actually having read one of them and reading this is incredibly, incredibly slim lol, I wouldn’t read me either) you’ll know, definitely not least, is Gucci because Alessandro Michele comes through every!! single!! time!!

The man is truly the king of quirky throwback maximalism and it hurts my heart that a lot of people seem to think of it only as a brand associated with ostentatious displays of wealth. Year after year since Michele was made creative director he has released purposeful, fully-fleshed out collections which unravel themselves to us on the runway like time capsules containing the belongings of the rich and whimsical and yes that can sometimes result in outfits which are *ahem* a bit mismatched but it doesn’t matter because through fashion he manages to take us to a vivid version of the past where people could dress as freely and lavishly as they wanted to, into the wardrobe of a person unaffected by the side-eyeing of others. You get the impression he doesn’t design so much as plays around with some kind of enchanted dress up box and takes inspiration from there and to give that impression is only a credit to his talent-to make outfits so kooky and extravagant look like they were meant to be takes a boldness and genuine love for clothes that I do tend to feel a lot of the big name designers have lost in the pursuit of profit and the necessary placating of the dying customer base that keeps that coming in. Of course I'm not for a second saying Gucci does not care about profit, but at the very least, they have on board a creative director who genuinely has fun with what they’re putting out there and wants to make a statement too and that really shows; you can rest on your laurels and sell tweed boucle jackets to rich old white women for eternity but nobody’s going to mention your brand name and the word groundbreaking in the same sentence ever again unless they’re talking about what it was a century ago, you know (mentioning no names...unless...did I hear someone say Chanel)? That feels like such a shady way to end, lol, but I’m sure said brand will survive-to be fair, they’ve been included in every other What I’d Wear to Sit Front Row At video I’ve seen so although I’m always slagging them off for doing the saaaaame thinggggg year after year, for that same reason their aesthetic is instantly recognisable and so will always be a source of imitation. There are obviously pros and cons to being a brand which constantly reinvents itself but I think it’s totally possible to do that whilst maintaining an overall mission, and Alessandro Michele’s work at Gucci demonstrates that with ease.

Anyway, if you got to here, thanks for reading! I know I’m super behind on this whole TikTok trend and I know a Tumblr post instead of a video is a bit of a cop out but all the real, physically awkward ones out there know that watching yourself back is excruciating lmao, so I hope this does the trick. After this, I’m gonna get back to the reviewing S/S21 collections post though knowing me I’ll probs take a few days to get back into that because I feel like since I left full-time education (RIP me going back in a few months) writing continuously like this for any longer than about 15 mins fries what brain cells I have left. Again, thank you for reading and if you are, sending many good vibes your way! Stay safe!

Lauren x

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