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skia-oura · 4 years

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Dipper’s Day Around the World

A/N: This is 21k written over the span of like 6 months, so buckle in folks.

ao3

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December 4th, 5:58 AM EST

Dipper didn’t exactly sleep, anymore, but he was close enough to rest and unconcern with the matters of the rest of the world, sandwiched between Torako and Bentley in their bed, that the sting of the summons—friendly, from a personal circle, not from the standard one that strangers used—startled him into a disgruntled moan. Torako, a lighter sleeper in the morning, the early bird between them, twitched and then hummed an inquiry. “Izza…summons,” Dipper mumbled back before he turned and pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

“Mmm,” she said. After a while, she asked, “Someone you know?”

He could hear her voicebox buzzing under the skin at his lips, could feel it vibrating lightly into the cartilage (manifested cartilage, yes, but cartilage as long as he wanted it to be) of his nose. A very dim part of him strengthened by still-waking awareness wanted to open his mouth and bite down into the flesh a little, just to feel it echo more directly into the not-bones of his teeth. The rest of him knew that it was a bad idea and was a sure way to get the heel of her palm slamming into his nose hard enough to break and hurt. It wasn’t even omniscience that told him this, just unfortunate prior experience.

She still let him close, though, and so he nuzzled in. “Yeah,” he sighed, but he was mostly awake now. “It’s a friends and family circle. Even though it’s at—oh, look, it’s 6 AM,” he said.

Torako reached over and up and ruffled at his hair. He sat up and smoothed it flat, glowering down at her. The motion dislodged Bentley’s arm from his waist but the Bentley that lived in this house was a deeper sleeper than the Bentley that returned to the apartment he’d been kidnapped from, and so he did nothing but scrunch up his nose (adorable) and sleep-mumble unintelligible noises before relaxing back into deeper sleep. Dipper sighed and relaxed shoulders he hadn’t even realized were tense.

“Go gettem, Dips,” Torako whispered, eye cracked open in a half-awake smile. “We’re gonna have breakfast bout nine, ok? Ben’n I got busy days planned.”

“Okay,” Dipper said. He bent down and pressed a kiss to Torako’s forehead. “Let Bentley know where I’ve gone when he wakes up, okay?”

“Mmmkay,” Torako said, then yawned and snuggled back into the covers. “Later gater.”

The summons stung him again. Dipper hovered above the bed for a moment, wings spread, then melted from comfortable (but elegant!!) pajamas into a more formal (but somewhat casual) suit before focusing on tracing the summons back to its locus, and slipping from bedroom on the East Coast to elsewhere.

December 4th, 11:01 AM BST

Elsewhere turned out to be another bedroom, in front of somebody he knew (Soos, no—Olla, her name is Olla) in England. He also knew that her mother would destroy them if she found them together, and it was the middle of the day and wait, what was Olla doing home anyways?

He blinked down at her. “Why are you even in your dorm? Don’t you have classes?”

“Alcor,” Olla moaned. Her hair was a mass of messily plaited braids, ribbons bright but askew. “You gotta help me. You’re my only hope of passing this stupid chemistry class I decided to take with my friend but we’re both hopeless—not hopeless, but definitely for sure 100% in over our heads—and for some weird reason most of the people in class aren’t keen on talking to me long enough to do studying or they’re busy or they’re just pain rude, please save me.”

Dipper sat down on her bed, which was next to the desk she was sitting at. Olla Sussally twisted the chair around in place, leaned forward to heave something up off the floor, then turned back around. In her hands—fingernails painted vivid, somewhat chipped colors that shifted weakly from hue to hue—was a very large tub, and in that tub was the biggest horde of candy Dipper had seen anywhere other than a grocery store. His mouth, despite any efforts to the contrary, began to fill with saliva.

The memory of Olla’s mother was just terrifying enough to remind him that his skin was actually prickling with discharged magical energy. “Your mom changed the wards again, didn’t she? It’s a shame they didn’t work, but she’ll know you summoned me, she always does, and she’s always so pissed even if I didn’t technically approach you.”

Olla moaned and tipped her head back for a moment. “I know I know, it’s so dumb and I hate it yet my mum really is the best and I love her n’all, but like, I have got to get this chemistry in the brain space as fast and fully as possible so can we talk about mum later? I have a candy bag per concept and you’re, like, supposed to be super smart, right? You’re supposed to know everything.”

Dipper cocked his head at her. Olla wasn’t smiling, not even nervously. Well, Dipper thought to himself, Mrs. Sussally couldn’t be too mad if this meant Olla a) was less stressed, and b) passed chemistry.

“Okay,” he said, sticking his hand out. “Deal.”

“Oh gosh oh thank you you’re the best,” Olla breathed out, then reached out and shook his hand vigorously with both of hers. Blue fire bloomed, then sputtered when she whirled around and pulled a textbook towards her—which, considering the fact that Olla was one of the most laid-back and calm people he knew, was concerning. “Okay, so, let’s start with chemical formulas, because hoo my man—my demon? I’ll have to ask you later—but, like, there’s molecular formula, and then there’s empirical formula is sometimes the same but sometimes different, and it has to do with math which is fine but I still don’t get why.”

Dipper blinked at her, then reached forward and pulled a bag of malted biscuits from Olla’s candy stash. She had swiped several worksheets and class notes up to hover in the air between them. “It’s easier to deal with some chemical equations that way,” he said.　“Look—here, at this problem…”

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Halfway through explaining the Gillespie-Nyholm theory in regards to double and triple molecular bonds, Olla’s phone rang. Dipper stopped, stared at it. Olla looked down. The display read: ‘Mum <3 <3 <3.’ The hearts twirled in circles and threw off little digital glittery sparks.

“Aw,” Olla groaned, tipping her head back. “It’s only been, like, an hour. Come on, mum!”

“Maybe she hasn’t noticed yet?” Dipper ventured. He stuck his fingers in his mouth to lick off the sour sugar particles and eyed the still mostly-full tub of candy. “If she hasn’t, we could definitely get through another few concepts. I’ve only had four bags.” He wanted at least another three. Maybe five. Ten would be best.

Olla stuck out her tongue at him, took a deep breath, and then answered the phone. “Hey, mum, what’s up, howsit going, what’s on, you at lunch or something, it’s so weird for you to call me now haha you know class just finished!”

There was a muffled noise, the sound of somebody talking just out of earshot. Dipper tipped his head to the side. Would eavesdropping even be worth it?

“Woah, that’s weird, the wards are juuuuust fine here!” Olla cast her eyes up at the ceiling. Dipper looked up as well, and winced a little at how almost soggy some of the wards looked, bent out of space from where he’d pushed his way through. Well, their cover was blown. He cast a longing look at the candy bags, and wished for a reality in which he could earn them. “I guess your alert app is just fritzing out again!”

Silence. Then, several garbled words, Olla’s eyes widening and cutting to him. She laughed a little nervously. “What do you mean, mum? Sure, I wasn’t in Mid-Millenium Literature class, but that’s just because chem is kicking my ass into a sad bit of lumpy dough and I needed to take time—no, no, no tutors, just me and my cute little—wait you’re right outside the building??”

Dipper froze again. He met Olla’s eyes. As Olla’s mother started talking again, Olla flapped her free hand at him frantically, mouthing go go go!! as she listened.

If he really wanted to, he could take Olla’s mom. But a) he respected her, b) Olla really loved her, and c) Olla’s mother actually kind of just a little bit intimidated him when he wasn’t hopped up on anxiety and possessiveness and fear for his Mizar’s safety. So Dipper grimaced, lifted a hand in farewell, and blipped out of Olla’s dorm room with the fleeting thought of the next place he could go on such short notice.

December 4th, 9:29 PM AEST

It was, perhaps, not the best idea to suddenly appear on the couch right next to Tommy and Filara Hangar—they were a little jumpy—but Dipper wasn’t anything if not dramatic. He slung one leg over the other, slipped into something a little more formal mid-blip, and set his hands on top of his knee so that the fingers were curled a little over the kneecap. “Hello,” he said, pitched just high enough to be heard over the evening news.

Next to him, Tommy Hangar screeched and nearly scrambled over the back of the couch. Filara Hangar seized a wineglass off the table and flung it at him with incredible accuracy. Taken off-guard, Dipper had only a split second to decide whether to let it land or whether to pluck it out of thin air. He hesitated, and the decision was made for him—the glass smacked into his nose and red wine splashed up and over his face. Blinking, liquid clinging to his eyelashes, Dipper said, “Well, that was rude but I get it, I guess.”

Tommy wheezed from behind the couch. “What the fuck, you feathering fuckwit,” she said. “Holy shit you can’t do that to us without giving a ring or tapping out a coupla knocks first. I hate it when you do that! It freaks me the fuck out.”

Filara, on her part, was staring at her outstretched hand, bewilderment blooming all over her aura like morning glories. “I threw a glass of wine at Alcor the Dreambender,” she said, a little faintly.

“And hit,” Dipper groused. He materialized a stylish handkerchief from out of his vest pocket, snapped it open, and dabbed at his face just to emphasize his point. “You’re lucky that this suit is literally materialized out of the power I possess and isn’t actual fabric, because that would be a bitch to clean.”

“Die mad about it,” Tommy said. Dipper opened his mouth to respond to that, but Tommy widened her eyes at him and he wisely shut his mouth. She hauled herself back up and over the couch to sit squarely between Dipper and her wife. “We wouldn’t pay for it anyways, it’s your own feckin fault for slipping in here out of thin air at—” she glanced at the news “—9:34 PM, what the hell and why are you even here?”

Dipper waved the concern aside as though it were a physical thing he could clear the air of. He finished dabbing the wine off his face and snapped the handkerchief again to disperse it from its momentary existence. At the same time, the wine was pulled out of the non-fabric of his clothes and vanished. “My last appointment was cut very abruptly short, and I’d been meaning to check in on you two so I figured that now was as good a time as any. How are you?”

Filara blinked at him. “I hit Alcor the Dreambender with a half-full glass of wine,” she said, a little glee in her voice and in her eyes.

“Yes you did, honey,” Tommy said. She patted her wife’s hand and smiled. “It was a hot damn moment of glory and I love you even more than I already did.”

“Didn’t you throw ice water on him a few months ago?” Filara cocked her head and looked Tommy up and down, lightning bright sparks of realization fading into soft ombre appreciation.

Dipper frowned. There was no need to rub it in, he totally could have stopped that from happening—both the wine and the water. “Yes she did, and we’ve already covered the wine stuff, how are you?”

“It’s 9:34 PM,” Tommy drawled, turning her attention away from her wife to glower. “What do you think??”

“Now, now,” Filara said, rubbing at Tommy’s shoulders from behind. “I know it’s late, but we haven’t seen him in a while and I threw wine on him, so I think that it would only be fair to entertain him with a little conversation, don’t you think? I’m sure he’s a little lonely, aren’t you?”

Filara smiled at him. She looked nothing like Lionel, but Dipper read him into the quirk at the corner of her mouth that said she was still smugly amused at her unintentional victory over him. The little heartache that came with the thought moved Dipper to look past it and the quite frankly presumptive opinion that he was lonely, he wasn’t lonely. He was fine.

“No,” he said, “but Bentley and Torako are busy sleeping right now, and I’m awake and out so I wanted to talk to you.” The more he thought about it, though, the more tempting the thought of blipping back home and crawling into bed for snuggles was. He absolutely was not lonely.

Tommy wrinkled her nose. “That’s right, it is stupid early over there still, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, though stupid early was a relative term when it came to individualistic habits and sleep patterns. For some people in the same time zone, it was stupid late.

Filara leaned over and propped her elbow on Tommy’s shoulder. Her near-invisible lenses flashed a little, and she grinned. “So how are Ms. Gorgeous and Mr. Sigils?”

“Adjusting.” Dipper leaned back into the arm of the couch and twisted a saccharine drink out of nothing to sip at. “We just finished settling into the new house nine days ago. Torako or Bentley might have sent you pictures?”

Tommy had been frowning at Dipper ever since he pulled out his drink. “Dude,” she said, slowly, “I know you’re a demon and all, but that’s rude, man, just ask for a drink.”

“Oh, it’s quite all right,” Filara said, patting Tommy’s arm. “If he brings his own drink, that means that there’s more wine for me. And yes, Torako did send me pictures of the house. Bentley didn’t, but he made up for it by sending me updates on how things were going, and I very much appreciate it.”

With a sigh, Tommy leaned back into the couch and crossed her arms.

“Did she send you pictures of the tables?” Dipper drawled, swirling his drink around in its glass. “Mine was the best one.”

“That’s not what she said.” Filara raised her eyebrows. “In fact, she said that you all voted hers the best, and that’s the solid truth there.”

Dipper sniffed and took a sip of his not-beverage, mentally pulled together his arguments in favor of not Torako winning their unofficial competition, and launched into them with a passion that Bentley would have described as ‘overkill’ and Torako as ‘desperately in denial.’

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December 4th, 8:39 PM PHT

Dipper only burned through an hour before Tommy had enough and kicked him out during a lull in conversation, citing that she actually wanted to spend time with her wife, not the dude who came around to pick her wife’s brain and engage in furious debate over the most mundane things before turning around and treating the most abstract concepts with the same fervor. He’d relented and accepted a couple drinks—overly sugary and laden with alcohol that couldn’t affect his non-existent metabolism—and found himself having made off with one of the Hangars’ drinking glasses on accident. He shrugged, sent it off to the Mindscape Shack, and figured it would make a good excuse for another visit.

In the meantime, it was time to visit somebody very new to their current life.

Dipper closed his eyes and followed one of the faint bonds inside of himself to a small apartment of Cebu—Grand Courtyard Bldg 5, apartment 607, nursery with the window facing north-east—in the evening, when its sole occupant was sleeping soundly, parents in the other room finishing dinner and relaxing before the baby woke up again. There was a personalized cam-monitor in the corner, anti-tamper sigils that reminded Dipper of Bentley (and when he looked at them for more than a split second, he saw Bentley working on them as part of a senior project for undergrad, and how strange, how incredible to think that they’d gone so far from that point, blooming into existence under his fingertips), and Dipper only spared a single thought to artificially looping the input past the anti-tamper sigils (they were Bentley’s, of course he knew how to get around them) before drifting closer to the crib.

Lloyd Remnit had not lasted long after their visit, after Dipper tore the information from his mind and Fantino had died as a result. Stan had always given everything for family, and it always hurt when he failed to protect them. (many Stans had summoned him over the years. Some paid the ultimate price for their loved ones. Some paid a different price, but it all fell to pieces around them anyways. Others, ones who hadn’t summoned him, had summoned others instead—one had given away her soul to be consumed. Dipper had torn that demon to pieces).

This time around, given how his last incarnation had ended up at odds with Alcor, he was determined to have Stan on his side. Which meant—this.

“Hey,” Dipper said softly, breathily. In her crib, María Elena ‘Inyang’ Dimayuga lay on her back, fingers curled into soft fists. He took a moment to take her in—a little on the large side, for a two-month-old, eyelashes dark and soft against her puffy cheeks, baby hair thin clouds across the crown of her skull. “Hey. I’m going to be your Uncle Dipper. Your parents don’t know yet, but they don’t know a lot of things about you yet either, do they? They’re still calling you Aweng. Don’t worry, they’ll figure it out eventually.”

Inyang shifted in her sleep and scrunched her nose. Dipper stilled, but her eyes didn’t open, and her barely-there, underdeveloped aura didn’t shift suddenly in that telltale breath between sleep and wake that infants tended towards. After a few moments, he slid from stillness into careful motion, chin propped in the heart of his palm, elbows on the edge of the crib, ankles-crossed mid-air. His wings fluttered once or twice. He sighed a little.

“It’s been a few years since I’ve interacted with somebody so young,” Dipper confessed. “Not since Lata, at least. Nobody’s been stupid enough to summon me with a newborn sacrifice recently, and the chances to meet babies like you are otherwise pretty slim in my line of work.” He laughed a little. Inyang let out a breathy sigh of an exhale. “But you’re family, you know? I should—I should stick around for you.”

Inyang’s fingers tightened into fists, then relaxed. He looked at her nails. She probably needed them trimmed, soon. Dipper remembered sharp baby nails, and they were a somewhat discordant experience when the rest of them was so soft, so malleable, so easy to swallow—

Dipper closed his eyes, breathed in and out, and chased the thought down into the deepest, most terrible part of him. Then he opened his eyes and looked back down at Inyang.

Inyang looked back, dark eyes large in her small face.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Inyang frozen by the uncertainty of an unfamiliar face hovering over her, Dipper by the very human instinct of ‘maybe if I don’t move, this very small child will just go back to sleep instead of crying.’ Despite being a dream demon who didn’t need moist eyeballs, Dipper was the one who blinked first.

Inyang’s aura twisted. She let out the start of a choking cry. Galvanized by memories of caring for babies over the years, Dipper started shushing her, reaching into her crib on reflex. His sharp talons faded into stubby nubs, his gloves melted away to materialized skin. “Hey, hey, no, it’s all right—”

Footsteps outside the door. Moments before he managed to pick Inyang up, Dipper frantically twisted himself into the shadows under her crib. Seconds later, the door opened.

“Oh, that’s odd,” the parent said. Dipper blinked, and there it was—Alisha Dimayuga, journalist, wife to Jolan Dimayuga, owner of a small clothing boutique that custom-sized for all its customers. “The camera didn’t pick up on you waking up—hush, hush, sweet little Aweng, here I am, it’s okay. Why don’t we go see your Zaza, hmm? Zi would love to hold you, love to kiss your precious little nose and all the pain away.”

Dipper stared up at the bottom of the crib, seeing Alisha pick up Inyang and soothe her without physically seeing it. Alisha rocked from side to side with each step, murmuring about how hard it was to be a baby as she slowly made her way out the room, Inyang still crying pitifully in tired-sleepy-pain-overstimulation. She was going through one of her growth spells, Dipper knew suddenly, though he’d always known it. It hurt, to grow so much all at once and not understand anything, and thankfully it was knowledge that faded quickly. Dipper still remembered his second birth, how things changed and ached and felt like fire melting and reforging and melting his bones all at once. The pain of it, over and over, all at once after stretches of nothing.

He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Dipper considered revealing himself to Alisha and her partner. He thought about introducing himself, but the thought of Alisha’s fear and Jolan’s terror-courage and the rift that would possibly set between him and Inyang made him hesitate, caught between the soft shadows of the nursery and the light spilling in through the open door. He stayed for a few moments, listening to Alisha and Jolan’s soft voices in the other room, hearing Inyang’s cries get quieter and quieter until she was silent.

Maybe another time, Dipper told himself. He coalesced back into his humanoid form next to the crib, with its whale-patterned sheets and its pale linoliwood bars. He looked out the door, into the sliver of the hall he could see, and remembered other babies over the years that he had raised, or helped raise. Later, he told himself firmly. For sure.

Dipper closed his eyes, breathed in deep, and blipped—

December 4th, 8:54 AM EST

—into his designated seat at the dining table, aka the chair that Torako had snatched for her temporary bedside table and kept falling out of bed for. Dipper might have—in the previous months—maybe on occasion scooted it just far enough out of reach that she would tumble out of the sheets. Just maybe on occasion, though. Not every night. That would just be suspicious.

“Morning,” he chirped at Torako, who was sipping at a cup of coffee. He eyed it—hazelnut creamer, oof, she was anticipating a Day.

“Hey,” Torako said. Across the table, Bentley’s forehead was flush against the wood surface. He groaned out something that Dipper interpreted as a greeting.

“You never jump anymore,” Dipper complained. He crossed his arms and set them on the table, leaning forward. “It’s so disappointing.”

“Dude, we’ve lived together for, like, eight years, of course I don’t jump anymore,” Torako said. Dipper hummed in absentminded agreement in order to hide the fact that he was as of that moment making plan after plan to startle the snot out of her. “Besides, now I have a Dipper-sensor as long as Bentley’s around—he moaned out something a second before you popped up.”

Very kind of her to tell him what situation he needed to avoid in order to succeed. Torako really was her own worst enemy, because she should know by know that Dipper wasn’t nearly nice enough to not take advantage of such facts. “I had forgotten about that.” He actually almost had. “Bentley conscious yet?”

Bentley groaned again. Torako picked up her fork, stabbed a sausage on her plate, and shoved it in her mouth. Dipper squinted his eyes at the remaining sausages and wondered if he could get away with sneaking one off her plate.

“Kind of. I think he had a rough last hour of sleep; he was really groggy when I finally shook him awake.”

Half-formed schemes of how he was going to make Torako scream in surprise fell to the back burner as he cast a more appraising eye over Bentley and his aura. Bentley kept saying that he didn’t want them to treat him like something fragile, like those delectable sugar cubes that were 90% air, 9% sugar and 1% flavoring and were so thin they fell apart the moment they touched your tongue, but Bentley was also dealing with PTSD among a host of other problems so Dipper was going to worry. Especially since, you know, exhaustion crept and shifted slow through his aura in a way that Dipper hadn’t seen since last week.

“Hey, Ben. Looking tired there.”

Bentley didn’t make a noise. Instead, he lifted his head up just enough to glare at Dipper. Dipper winced, both at the animosity and at the tiredness strung at the corners of his eyes and in the crease of his forehead. Bentley glared even more.

Torako whistled. “I’m not sure, but it might have actually gotten worse?”

“Shut up,” Bentley groused. He reached out and nearly knocked his mug of coffee over (and if it weren’t bad enough that he was drinking coffee, it was worse because even all the way across the table, Dipper’s teeth could feel the half-cup of sugar Bentley had poured in) before tugging it close and sipping. It must have tasted awful. Bentley didn’t blink an eye.

Dipper looked at Torako. Torako glanced at him. They both decided that shuddering was probably not the wisest course of action, with Ben so grumpy. That being said, Torako still opened her mouth. Really, she was her own worst enemy.

“So you’re…still going to work today?”

Ben grunted and shifted his gaze to her, narrow-eyed. “I gotta,” he said. “There’s a new sigils company being built here, and there’s a…what’s the word…mandatory, right, there’s a mandatory meeting at 9:30 about it.”

“What about a teleconference?” Torako speared another sausage. Dipper, momentarily distracted, looked down at her plate and stretched nonchalantly. If his hand was a little closer to her plate than before, well, that was just coincidence.

Shaking his head, Bentley took another sip of his coffee before saying, “Confidential information. Gotta be in person.”

Dipper, after a blink and a quick rush of information, thought that it might be more that Bentley was being stubborn about ‘earning his keep’ and less about ‘having to go to the meeting in person.’ Dipper was actually pretty sure that Karl Svinhish would happily come to visit just in order to fill Bentley in on the details. He considered the pros and cons of actually saying that, and decided to keep his mouth shut. Instead, Torako distracted, he set his fingers right at the edge of her plate.

Torako snorted and pointed her fork at Bentley. “And Karl Svinhish wouldn’t bend over backwards for you, no, no he wouldn’t.”

Bentley actually hissed at her and bared his teeth. Torako’s face went—not pale, no, but she had the expression of somebody who has just realized that they’re treading right at the edge of too far and should really go back before they’re mauled. She stabbed down for her sausages.

Dipper, right on the edge of getting himself a tasty salty snack, howled as her fork stabbed right into the back of his hand.

“Oh fuck,” Torako said, jumping out of her chair. “Oh fuck, how the fuck did your hand get there, what even—”

Dipper felt torn between cackling and screaming. It really, really hurt in all the best and worst ways. “You stabbed me!”

Bentley, at some point, had half-pushed himself out of his chair. He lowered himself down into it, lifted his coffee mug, and raised his eyebrows as Torako pulled the fork back out of Dipper’s hand. He sipped.

“Shut up,” Dipper giggled at him, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m too tired to be nice,” Bentley muttered. “You were asking for it.”

Torako blinked. She looked down at her sausages. “Were you—trying to take my breakfast?”

“No,” Dipper lied. He licked at the puncture holes in the back of his hand, then willed them to go away. His blood tasted almost like copper, today. “Of course not.”

Torako glowered at him, and pointed the fork. “You were.”

“Never,” he said. There was a tug somewhere in his gut, and he recognized family—friend—Batoor a split second before he said, “and you can’t prove otherwise, Batoor’s calling, see you guys later bye!”

Torako threw her fork. He disappeared before it could reach him.

December 4th, 4:09 PM GMT

Dipper blipped back into physical space upside-down and in a pretty snazzy pair of electric blue ruffled slacks. He craned his neck back to look Batoor in the eye. “You called?”

“Someday, I hope you realize how old you sound when you say that,” Batoor complained. He was sitting on his desk, a textbook in his lap and a pencil stuck behind his ear. His curtains were open, the dorm courtyard below empty but for the few students taking advantage of a clear afternoon to get some much-needed sun. Dipper tilted his head and pointed.

“Is that kid stacking chips on her nose?”

“Undoubtedly,” Batoor said, not even looking. “It’s a new fad. You wouldn’t understand them, being an old geezer.”

Sometimes, Dipper regretted introducing Torako to Batoor. He extra regretted that Torako and Batoor had exchanged contact information, and that Batoor was picking up on some bad habits of Torakos, like bullying Dipper with no regard for how impressively powerful he was. No respect these days.

“I understand fads,” Dipper grumbled.

Outside, chip-stacking student made it to four chips high. Four chips wouldn’t be nearly so impressive if they weren’t being stacked corner to corner. Dipper was kind of jealous—he wasn’t sure he would be able to do that without taking advantage of his powers.

“You keep telling yourself that,” Batoor said. “Anyways—I need help with this history paper. You know about history, right?”

Dipper fancied that, if he’d never become a dream demon caught in the claws of near-eternity (he knew that he wouldn’t last forever, but it may as well be—it basically would be, as far as this universe was concerned, and more than that he couldn’t quite wrap even his demonically-altered brain around), he would have been a scientist, or a mathematician, or an over-qualified pizza store manager (which if it came with free pizza, wouldn’t be a half-bad gig.) At almost-thirteen, he hadn’t been as interested in history beyond conspiracy theories and supernatural stories. Now, though—“My middle name may as well be Historical Record,” Dipper said. He flipped over mid-air. His braid fell over his shoulder as well.

Batoor blinked at him. “Those pants are…new,” he said, in English. Dipper narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Not really,” he said. “What, you don’t like them?” Mabel had been the one who pestered him into conjuring them for himself in the first place. He’d gotten a whole cheesecake out of that deal, and the mortification of them had barely been enough for his young-demon ego to deal with. Now, though—they were ruffled, and bright, and Mabel’s, and that was enough.

“And the braid is different,” Batoor said.

Dipper looked down at it, pulling it further into view with his left hand. He flipped the end of it between his fingers. “ Yeah, I don’t usually go for this style. It’s fun, to change things up.”

Batoor blinked. The scales around his eyes shimmered. “Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, “I guess so. Anyways, I need help with the history paper. About history. In English. I am older so class is harder? It’s a high-level class.”

“Okay,” Dipper said, easily enough. It wasn’t like Torako or Bentley would be better company now, and they were going to be busy anyways. “What you got to pay me, then?”

Grinning, Batoor opened a desk drawer with his foot. Dipper perked up despite himself, shoulders dropping and eyebrows raising. “Candy,” Batoor said, “and snacks. From Kabul.”

Not as easily obtained as gummy peaches, here in Ireland. “Oh,” Dipper said. “I see what you’re doing. You’ve been talking to Torako.”

“Of course,” Batoor said, before switching back to Dashto. “She’s the only one that can handle you, other than Bentley, and she’s the one with the Demonology degree. She’s been very helpful in my studies.”

Dipper stilled. He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were doing a degree in Community-Building and Inter-Species Relations,” he said, slowly.

“I am,” Batoor said. He reached inside the desk drawer and picked up a couple packages, one carefully-preserved mini gosh-e fil stuck in stasis, powdered sugar and chopped pistachios kept in place through the power of food-regulation preservation spells, and the other an assorted bag of koloocheh. A few of them were broken despite the spells, and Dipper knew they had to be good. Koloocheh were brittle cookies by nature, after all.

“Oh,” Dipper said. He couldn’t look away from the treats for a second, then made himself because he could get a major deal out of these if by some small chance Batoor didn’t know any better. “They’re pretty good, but for a whole paper?”

“And proofreading,” Batoor said. He smiled, as sweet as the sacrifice he was offering. “I know exactly how valuable these are. They’re not only delicious, they’re sentimental. My Oware bought them for my Transfer-Day. I haven’t had gosh-e fil since we left Afghanistan.”

Oh fuck, Dipper thought. He felt a trickle of unease down the back of his neck a second before the realization hit him and he sunk to standing on the floor like a dumbass. “Oh,” he said again. “You’re doing a specialization in community law and advocacy, aren’t you.”

Batoor grinned. “Demonology overlaps with law-writing classes a lot, you know. Anyways. For help finding relative articles about my history topic in both English and Dashto, assistance refining my arguments, and thorough proofreading of my English composition, I will give you both of these very valuable, sentimental treats, and maybe we can have some video game time together if my roommate doesn’t come back too early.”

“That’s a big if,” Dipper said. “Do you have the new Red Rider game? The one that’s set in a magicless urban wasteland that you have to carefully scavenge tools and make intelligent allegiances in order to strategically rise to the top of the crime syndicate that’s taken over the city and make the ultimate choice whether to rule over all with an iron fist or transition to a better societal system?”

Batoor stared for a moment. “Yes,” he said slowly. “You like that game?”

“Well,” Dipper said. “I suppose I kind of do, yes, but not too much.” Dipper carefully did not mention that the open-story ending that mimicked the rewards and consequences of living a high-stakes human life scratched the same itch he had tried to, over and over and over in human skins that lasted not long enough. He also didn’t mention that the mathematics that went into calculating story paths from individual choices was jaw-droppingly incredible and he needed to see it in play for himself.

Batoor nodded. Dipper narrowed his eyebrows in suspicion at the sparks of mirth and slowly unfurling anticipation in his aura.

“Stop being amused,” Dipper said, pointing his lace-gloved finger at Batoor and scowling. “I kind of like it.”

“Sure,” Batoor said with a perfectly straight face that was very at odds with the emotions that Dipper was reading. He held out his hand. “Anyways, I do have the game and we can play it if there is enough time. If there isn’t, we’ll play at the next opportunity feasible for both parties. Do we have a deal?”

Dipper looked at the sweets. He tilted his head and thought about the promise of the game—which he was guaranteed to have a chance to play—and then about the difficulty of the task before him. He didn’t mind proofreading either, especially because English had cast off a bunch of the fiddly rules about punctuation that honestly Dipper thought were still needed. He could make sure that Batoor’s teachers weren’t teaching him too much that was wrong.

Grinning wide, Dipper reached out and took Batoor’s hand. “Deal,” he said. Blue fire licked up from between their palms briefly, and Dipper felt himself get—sharper, smarter, stronger—for a brief flash as the deal lanced through him. Then he let himself slide into that state of mind where he was—not compelled to do a task, no, but it was similar.

“Great,” Batoor said, grinning lazily. He leaned back against the desk and looked very self-satisfied. “Because my Red Rider game’s multiplayer option hasn’t been used since the time my roommate agreed to try it out with me.”

Dipper tipped his head. Something niggled at him. “How long ago was that?”

“Two months ago,” Batoor said. “The day I got the game.”

Anticipation tingled up and down Dipper’s arms. He felt himself lift back off the ground. “Oh? Why not? It’s an excellent game.”

“He said I was too intense.” Batoor picked under his fingernails at imaginary dirt, but Dipper could still see the grin on his face.

“Oh,” Dipper said again. Then, he said, “Well, we should finish that paper as quickly as possible, shouldn’t we? I doubt that you’re more intense than I can be.”

“We’ll have to see,” Batoor said, eyebrows raised.

________________________________________________________________

They did not, unfortunately, get a chance to see. Writing papers was harder than Dipper remembered, and Batoor had chosen to write about anti-preter sentiment in Ireland two hundred years ago and the impact of the laws enacted during that time had in the centuries following. There weren’t too many papers on the matter in Dashto, and any articles that they could find were harder to understand the further back they were, so Batoor was stuck with English and translated Gaelic sources.

Halfway into Presumption of Guilt: How Lawmakers Built a Sinister System in the Absence of Politically Powerful Preternatural Citizens that Resulted in the Summer Riots of 3784, Batoor’s dorm buzzed. They froze.

“Hey, Batoor!” Dipper heard. He swung his head around to look at Batoor, who met his gaze. “Why you lock the door? You got company?”

Batoor flushed. “No!” he yelled, voice cracking a little as he flapped his hand at Dipper. “I just was studying!”

Dipper snatched what remained of the delicious snacks that Batoor had traded and stopped just short of blipping out. “When are we going to play Red Rider?” he hissed quietly in Dashto.

Apparently Batoor’s roommate had very, very good ears. “Batoor?”

Batoor leveled the nastiest glare that Dipper had been subject to from him. Dipper threw up his hands in frustration and tried to communicate, with his eyes, that he was just asking, no need to get pissy about it! To which Batoor shook a finger at Dipper, waggled his eyebrows in I-told-you-we’d-get-to-it-when-we-get-to-it, and gestured for Dipper to stay quiet for good measure.

“I was only talking to myself!” Batoor yelled back. “Let me get the door for you—”

Dipper felt a tug in his gut. Thankfully, he let himself follow the summons, twisting out of existence from Batoor’s Irish University dormroom and—

December 4th, 9:44 PM EAT

—into a small bedroom with sparsely decorated walls, a pale tile floor worn right to the edge of minor neglect, and a small child sitting on a patterned rug right at the edge of his circle.

Dipper swallowed back his customary greeting and instead asked, “What’s up, kiddo?”

They hugged their knees closer to their chest, squashing what looked to be a very sentimental stuffed manticore. “Sshh,” they said, so quiet that Dipper had to readjust his hearing. “Aunty Adi is asleep.”

“Oh,” Dipper said. He sat cross-legged a half-inch above the wobbly chalk lines. After a moment, he whispered, “I like your scentless candles.”

The child ducked their face into their knees and the stuffed manticore’s fuzzy mane. “Thanks,” they said, but then said nothing else for a long time. Their aura shifted between embarrassment and hesitation and quick flashing bursts of smothered pride. Dipper made the decision to wait for them to speak, and instead cast out his senses more to assess his new surroundings. There was a small bed in the corner, third-hand but well maintained, a nice new desk bought at a bargain, temperature-regulated sheets, a little bookshelf that was crammed overfull, a tablet for children open to what seemed to be a digital copy of a centuries-old summoning how-to that had never been legally published but had found its way around anyways. Down the hall to one side there were three other signatures—two more children, one adult, each in separate rooms, and to the other seemed to be a living space complete with kitchen and a harmless little snake that curled up in a hole in the wall, sleeping off its latest meal. The night air was cool in such a way that suggested the previous day had been hot.

“Are you really a demon?” The kid asked.

“Yeah,” Dipper said, wiggling his claws at them. Their eyes were big and dark in the candlelight from right over their knees. “Alcor the Dreambender, at your service.”

Another very long pause. Dipper waited.

“The book said you were nice,” they said. Dipper tilted his head. The book had been distributed during one of his nicer, more mentally present phases. Fortunately for this child, he’d had over a decade of recent socialization with human beings, so he wasn’t super tempted to take advantage of what the kid thought.

“Right now I am,” he said. “What you want, then, kiddo? People usually don’t summon me unless they have a deal in mind.”

They looked away and buried themselves further into themselves. The minutes passed. Outside, bugs sang and small lizards rustled in pursuit. The candles flickered, burned wax into vapor that wafted away, slow and lazy but inevitable. Dipper kept himself breathing, steady.

“…Aunty Adi doesn’t like me,” they said.

Dipper blinked. “Oh?” he asked, and looked closer. No broken bones, a bruise on their knee (legitimately tripped and fell), short curly hair (useful for the heat), crooked fingers (an accident when they were two years old), missing tooth (their adult teeth were coming in). Whatever it was, it wasn’t overt physical abuse. Dipper narrowed his eyes. “What does she do? Where are your parents?”

They shifted one foot over the other. “I act funny,” they said instead. “Mom and Dad are busy working in Lilongwe, so they left me with Aunty Adi.”

There was a lengthy silence. Dipper had started getting that uneasy prickling along the back of his neck, the one he got when kids weren’t safe and happy, and he had to breathe in deep and out slow to stop himself from getting ‘intense,’ as Torako put it.

“Other kids don’t like me either,” said the kid. “I don’t get it, I laugh when they want me to and follow all the rules, the ones they don’t say but are there anyways, but they still don’t like me.”

Lonely crept over them like a purple shroud, heavy and dark and bruiselike. Dipper watched it settle and shift for a few moments, and turned the words over in his head. They waited.

“Do you want a friend?” Dipper asked, finally.

A heartbeat, two, and then a nod.

“Do you want me to be your friend, tonight?”

A double nod.

“I’ll need something in exchange,” Dipper said, because it was true (though not really, no, he could totally absorb the backlash that came with spending a night playing with a kid but this wasn’t Mabel) and the kid should know that, but also— “maybe some candy? Kids have candy, right?”

He’d really, really prefer the manticore. He almost asked for it. Then he thought of what Torako would say and do to him if she found out he’d taken a beloved stuffed animal from a lonely, friendless child and figured that stealing candy was a comparably minor offense.

Their wide dark eyes stared into his, and then they very slowly nodded, and even more slowly pointed in the direction of their desk. “In the drawer,” they said. “Milk drops.”

Dipper tilted his head over at the desk and blinked. “Okay,” he said and extended his hand. “Is it a deal?”

After a short moment, they nodded and extended their hand over the shaky, weak chalk lines of their summoning circle. “Deal,” they said, their hand in his, blue fire flaring up between them for a second before dying down.

Dipper tilted his head, blinked into something a little softer (more comfortable, something that would set the kid at ease) and asked, “So, kiddo, I’m yours to play with for a while. What you wanna do?”

The kid didn’t smile, but hesitant happiness spread like frail roots through the heavy purple lonely in their aura. “Well,” they said, quietly, “there’s this—card game, that I got to play once…”

_______________________________________________________________

It took several hours of very quiet playtime for the kid to finally get tired enough to fall asleep. Dipper tucked them—tucked Pili—into their bed, sang a slightly off-key lullaby until their tired eyes finally blinked shut and their chest rose and fell softly and their grip on their Manticore (Nadine) loosened. He thought for a moment, then summoned a Dream to curl up next to them and a Nightmare to stand guard until Pili woke in the morning.

“You keep an eye on them, alright?” Dipper said. The dream baa’d and snuggled in close to Pili, who relaxed further. Himmwichlint, the Nightmare, blinked its five eyes independently and huffed out a derisive what, you think I wouldn’t at Dipper. Dipper huffed back and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not saying you can’t or won’t,” Dipper complained, crossing his arms. He was wearing a very soft sweater that Pili had exclaimed quietly over before stroking for a solid five minutes. “I’m just saying what I want you to do.”

Himmwichlint rolled its eyes back at him. The effect it had was really similar like those plastic googly ones that Belle had once used to bedazzle a pair of sneakers into a constantly-rustling horror show. She had worn them every day for a month to class. Dipper had ended up making a deal with Lionel to have them disappear.

“No respect,” Dipper complained. “What is it with everybody in my life refusing to show me respect? I am a very powerful dream demon, you would think people would remember that more.”

The Nightmare chuffed low in its gizzard, and its wool shook in laughter. Then it turned itself around to lay on the ground at the side of the bed, very purposefully looking away from Dipper.

Dipper threw up his hands. “Unbelievable,” he whispered, turning around himself to leave the room. “Absolutely unbelievable.”

He very quietly swung the door open and then stepped into the quiet hallway. Another step, and he shifted from the soft sweater and comfortable sweatpants he’d put on for Pili into a sharp black suit, dark and imposing and shadowy. He didn’t need to close his eyes for more than a few seconds to know that he wanted the room at the very end of the hall. He walked forward on the thin air just a hair off the ground, passing by several pictures on the walls and a totem lodged in an inset shelf near the ceiling. It was supposed to protect the inhabitants, but the spirit that was supposed to be there was missing. It had been missing for years at this point.

Not that it could have done much of anything if it had been there, Dipper thought to himself with a little grin. It could not have stopped him from having a little chat with Auntie Adi. He doubted that it would have even tried.

In moments, he reached her door. The insects outside had fallen silent. He pushed the door open, soundless, and entered her room.

It was dark. A thin sliver of slightly-overcast moonlight drifted through the crack between the curtains. In the middle of the room was a wide bed, thin summer blankets draped over a sleeping figure. When he looked around, the room wasn’t overly different from Pili’s—the same well-cared-for furniture, clothing bought at a bargain and a few priceless treasures (gifts, or inheritances, or simply items loved to the point of powerfully tempting)—but there was something about it that cradled the sleeping figure. There had been a lot of love in this room. There was a lot of love, and care, and fondness. Pili’s room seemed so much emptier by comparison.

Alcor made his way to the edge of the bed. He flicked out his cane, threaded his hair back into a ribbon-tied ponytail, and then sat down.

Adi didn’t respond for several moments, still deep in sleep. No matter. He knew that the deep part of her responsible for living, for detecting danger and escaping from it was slowly waking up. With every breath, it was pulled closer and closer to the surface, a buoy rising to the surface of a wide dark sea, dragging consciousness up with it. Her brow started to furrow. The soft lines along the edges of her mouth began to deepen. Her eyes tensed. Inhale, exhale, and her eyes fluttered open.

It took two breathing cycles for her to register that there was a strange person in her room, sitting on her bed and looking down at her. She jerked into motion, opened her mouth, and screamed.

Alcor smiled into the silence. He had already borrowed—not stolen, he might still give it back—her voice. “Now, now,” he said, softly. “You shouldn’t disturb the children’s sleep. Let’s be quiet, all right?”

Her eyes are wide. The sclera is bright against the darkness of the room. Her hand feels at her throat, which is bobbing with fruitless effort to speak.

“I know this is frightening,” Alcor said. His grin widened. The fear shooting up from Adi in sparks set him on the most wonderful edge. It buzzed against him, just enough to turn his teeth a hair past sharp and blow his pupils a clawtip longer. “But really, this is quite important—can I trust you not to scream?”

She nodded. What a fool—he already knew he couldn’t. He knew she would scream as loud as she could, and then her children would come in, and then Alcor would have to figure out how to deal with them in non-lethal ways. What a mess that would be. Instead, he chuckled before reaching out and tracing a claw against the bottom of her jaw. Adi froze. Her chest barely moved, quick and light.

“Don’t worry,” he drawled, leaning in a little. Her eyes darted from his teeth to his eyes and then back down again to his teeth. “I already know I can’t. Anyways, this will be a far more productive conversation if you aren’t doing any of the talking.”

With a sharp inhale, she clenched her fingers in the blanket pooled at her waist. Alcor tapped her chin. She nodded again, this time short and jerky. Her fear really was quite exhilarating, Alcor thought to himself absentmindedly. He’d have to make sure to milk as much out of her without compromising his position, or Pili’s.

Ah, yes. Pili’s. A no-name soul that he hadn’t had any meaningful prior relationships with. But children were children, and no-name souls could earn names, couldn’t they? Lionel and Torako and Georgi were all excellent examples. He would have to keep an eye out for Pili—make sure that Adi didn’t do anything unfortunate.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here,” Alcor said, leaning back a little. Adi exhaled shakily, and nodded again. “Well, it has to do with your nibling. Did you know that they’ve managed to access quite the outdated collection of demonic academia? Their circle was a little wobbly, but it’s supposed to be simple enough for a child to draw with a bit of effort, if they’re desperate enough.”

Alcor noted the sudden tension in Adi’s shoulders, the sourness of jealousy that rose up among misplaced gangrene anger, the mist-like waft of dark guilt that drifted off as quick as it drifted in.

“You see,” Alcor said, crossing one leg over the other and wrapping his hands leisurely around his knees, “children have to be desperate enough to draw my circle. That’s not even taking into account the effort many go to in order to get the information needed to draw my circle, and say the incantation, and gather the necessary supplies. Children, you see, don’t often have the resources or freedom an adult does. Please, do me a favor and consider—how desperate must young Pili have been to go to the effort of all that?”

Adi’s anger flashed and deepened. She lifted her chin, eyes narrowed, and opened her mouth to retort before she tried to speak and remembered exactly who it was she was talking to. Fear drowned out the anger. She curled back in on herself, shifting back on the bedsheets with a near-silent rasp.

Yes. This was what he deserved. This was the respect he had earned, that he had been deprived of the last few hours. He breathed it in deep.

“I know you haven’t laid a hand on them,” Alcor drawled. His eyes crinkled in a smile. “Trust me, we would be having a—different conversation at that point. Perhaps off in the desert, where you could scream and I could enjoy it without having to worry about your spawn ruining everything. But that’s also the problem, because—you haven’t laid a hand on them in love, either.”

Silence. Her aura spoke volumes. He let it balloon up between them, bobbed his foot as she swallowed past a rabbit-quick heartbeat. The pale moonlight coming in through the crack in the curtains glinted off the shiny cap on the toe.

“Your nibling summoned me because they were desperate for a friend,” Dipper said, very very quietly. “They wanted somebody to play with. To love them, even if that love wasn’t as real as what they really needed. Even just for a night. You, as their guardian, have failed them. You have neglected them, for terrible, petty reasons that have nothing to do with who Pili is, and have everything to do with who somebody else is—one of their parents, I’m assuming.”

Adi bristled again, shoulders drawing up and back in indignation. Her sleeping cap shifted, exposing some of the kinked hair it was protecting. Alcor reached over. She stilled, heartrate jack-knifing as he pulled the cap back into place.

“You don’t have to be their friend,” Alcor said. He smiled. “But it would be such a shame if you didn’t learn how to be kind to them and how to be supportive of them. Such a shame indeed. There are always…repercussions, you see, for these kinds of actions.” He leaned over, resting his chin in one palm, fingers curled in a precisely calculated mimicry of danger. Adi trembled, swallowed. Sweat tricked down her brow and along the lines of her slender neck. Dipper watched it drip down, and felt her terror spike.

“What a shame indeed,” he said. He glanced up, still smiling, and caught her eye. The shallow inhale she was taking hitched. Her pupils shrunk despite the darkness. Alcor tilted his head to make sure the light glinted across his sharp teeth. Then, he drew back.

“But I suppose it would be better for Pili and your other children if I actually gave you the chance to learn,” he said offhandedly, and looked at his claws. The next exhale broke out of her, ragged and loud in the silence. “I’m trying to be a better person, you see, and I suppose you haven’t done anything egregiously worthy of…such harsh retribution.”

Alcor stood. He picked imaginary lint off his shoulder, pulled his eight-ball cane back into the physical realm, and leaned on it. “I don’t suppose I have to inform you that if things don’t get better, I will know,” he drawled. Adi’s hands were clutching at the fabric over her heart. “But, for the purpose of all transparency…if they don’t, I will know. I doubt you’ll enjoy what happens afterwards.”

With a grin that was satisfyingly wide, Alcor bowed and faded out of sight. A moment later, he released his hold on Adi. He watched her place trembling hands over her mouth and hyperventilate for several minutes. She eventually calmed enough to slide out of bed and stand on shaking legs, though it took her a few tries to be steady enough to walk on her own. She checked her eldest son’s room, then her daughter’s, and then finally –with no little hesitation—her nibling’s.

Alcor grinned as she stifled a gurgling scream at the sight of Himmwichlint curled up in front of Pili’s bed. Himmwichlint lifted its head, blinked its five eyes at Adi, and then yawned on purpose to show off its incomprehensible but terrifying teeth and its two whipcord tongues. Adi whimpered and stumbled back. Alcor, upside-down on the ceiling, hummed and grinned wider.

Himmwichlint tilted its head up, made eye contact with him, and huffed.

Alcor rolled his eyes back at Himmwichlint. He did not need to get out of here, not when this woman’s reactions were absolutely hilarious. He hadn’t been front-row seats to a horror show with so little blood in ages.

Himmwichlint snorted, looked back at the woman, and nestled itself back in. On the bed, Pili sighed and snuggled the dream closer. The dream obliged.

Aunt Adi dropped her fist, just a little. She stared at her nibling, eyebrows furrowing. Soft surprise echoed out in the spaces between her terror and horror. If he looked closely, he could see the beginnings of wonder peeking out from behind the residual film of jealousy and anger.

Oh, he thought. Maybe she would learn. What a disappointment, almost to the point he was the slightest bit mad about it. He’d been looking forward to eking out some more terror from her, maybe indulging in snacking on a finger or two, possibly a kidney, nothing life-threatening. Her actually cleaning her act up was going to ruin things for him.

Oh, he thought after another moment. Maybe—maybe he did need to go somewhere—else. Dipper closed his eyes and as quietly as possible, tessered into the mindscape, lay in the grass among his Nightmares and Dreams, and simply was.

________________________________________________________________

§¢ɷʘϠϰѬ ҈۝†‡₰ ʯ͚:ͼǂ Nightmare Realm

It was nice, for an indeterminable amount of time, to let the manic buzzing energy and self-righteous anger and the hunger for justice (revenge, the kind that benefited him and him alone) seep out of the front of his mind and down into the back. A couple Dreams nestled up to his sides, and one had decided that his chest was the best place to curl up on. It chewed on his lapel absentmindedly. Dipper would have minded more if it a) wasn’t easy to fix, being made of thought, and b) weren’t the case that the Dream was in the top tenth percentile of cute Dreams—which were altogether adorable as it was.

The Nightmare taking advantage of the situation to snuffle into his hair was another thing entirely.

“Erschie,” Dipper said, eyes closed but eyebrows furrowed down. “What are you doing.”

A pause, then Erschie snorted warm sulfuric air directly into Dippers mostly-made-up scalp. Dipper waited a few seconds for something else to happen, then opened his eyes. The moment he did, he felt Erschie’s fangs and sharp front teeth start to scrape at the top of his head.

“Gross,” Dipper said, even as he felt the skin slice open just a little. “Disgusting.”

Erschie paused, then withdrew. Dipper blinked. Erschie then licked at Dipper’s hair with all the gross slobber in Erschie’s dumb gross mouth.

Dipper bolted upright, the Dream on his chest now in his arms and the other two left to flop into the grass and baa irately over the sudden lack of support. “ERSCHIE!” Dipper screeched. His hair stood up on end. He could feel the slobber starting to trickle down the back of his neck. “WHAT THE FUCK.”

Erschie blinked up at him, closed its eyes, and then let out a wool-rustle throat-croak hoof-stomp that Dipper knew to indicate Erschie’s general amusement at being a nuisance in Dipper’s life. The Dream snuggled into Dipper’s arms. This, unfortunately, limited what response Dipper could take.

In order to demonstrate to Erschie that he was a dangerous, serious, terrifying dream demon, Dipper opened his mouth, displayed all his rows of teeth, and hissed at Erschie. For some reason, that just made the Nightmare express Amusement more exuberantly.

“You’ve been conniving with Himmie, haven’t you,” Dipper said. He resisted the urge to stamp his foot. “You’re both out to show me as much disrespect as possible.”

Erschie clacked its teeth together and flicked its ears.

“What do you mean it’s not hard?? I am Alcor the Dreambender, Devourer of Souls and Lord of Nightmares, King of Darkness, Destroyer of Light, the Infernal Star! I’m literally the Scourge of All Beings Living and Dead and you say it’s not hard to disrespect me??”

With an exaggerated snort, Erschie dipped its head down and up twice before flicking its ears in succession.

“I do not embarrass myself!!” Dipper howled, throwing his arms up in the air. The Dream previously occupying them fell to the grass with a disgruntled bleat, and glared up at him as ferociously as it could manage. Dipper looked down at the Dream and winced.

Erschie performed its most vigorous Amusement dance yet.

Dipper pointed at Erschie and glowered. “Shut up,” he said.

Predictably, but disappointingly, Erschie did not listen. Erschie continued to do its best to convey its Amusement at Dipper, adding insult to injury by throwing in a mirthful head-shake.

“Can’t get any respect around here,” Dipper grumbled, squatting down and papping the Dream to show his remorse as was only appropriate. “They’re all out to get me. But you won’t be like that if you ever become a Nightmare, will you? You’ll be appropriately respectful, unlike that ungrateful troll over there. Yes, I could eat it, but no, I am merciful and abstain like a good demon. And this is the thanks I get.”

The dream looked up at him and blinked. It turned its head to take in Erschie, who was now turning around in a circle as it continued to mock Dipper. Then the dream looked back up at Dipper and flicked its ears just like Erschie was.

Dipper stood and put his hands on his hips. “Wow,” he said. “The rebellion really does start early. I can see I’m not welcome here, in my own Realm.”

Erschie blew a raspberry. All three Dreams watched Erschie in clear curiosity, then turned around to Dipper and did the same.

“Rude,” Dipper growled, and pulled himself away into another place chosen on a whim.

________________________________________________________________

December 5th, 1:58 AM, AZT

Dipper found himself outside a small home with a bright blue door. The outer walls were made of corrugated metal that had also been painted blue, and a birdhouse had been set between two of the windows. It was cold. Dipper breathed out, then in, then suffused heat into his next exhale just to see the condensation rise and dissipate into the air.

He turned around, looked down the footpath that meandered down the slope the house was set into. There were more houses, roofs illuminated by moonlight, windows largely unlit. It was 2 AM in this small town of Laza, after all. There wasn’t very much to do, unless he really wanted to terrorize the inhabitants by tap-dancing on their ceilings or whispering traumatizing thoughts into their dreams. He thought maybe that might just possibly be a not great thing that Bentley would get quiet and frustrated with him over, though. Instead, maybe he could just eat some of the goats that one of the houses kept down below. Dipper hummed and tapped his finger on his chin.

Eating goats was probably something he would get in trouble for, on second thought. He could just terrorize the goats. That was still fun, but didn’t hurt any people. Actually, Torako would get a kick out of some selfies, he could do that. Tempt her into another passport-less road trip, for the fun of it. They could take Bentley too, this time. It would be much lower stakes. Yes, a picture would be good. Dipper took a step forward, absentmindedly casting his mind around to count the souls in the vicinity, and then froze.

He turned back around, looked at the blue house with the blue door and the birdhouse set into the side of it. A gust of wind blew through him, then around him as he made himself just a little more solid. In turn, he stared through the house and at the soul on a couch. The soul had dozed off while watching the news, which had turned off automatically an hour ago. Dipper stared, then—because he really didn’t have anything better to do—blipped from outside to just in the living room.

She had become an old, old man, this time, Dipper realized. A very well-groomed and well-dressed old man, even in sleep. She didn’t seem rich this time, he thought to himself, taking in the heirloom table and the rugs worn with age and use, but then again, Pacifica tended to bounce up and down the economic scale from life to life.

Dipper took a seat in the thin air above the table, on which there was a lone, empty cup that had held coffee at some point. He tilted his head at the old man, watched him breathe in (a little raspy) and then out (almost a snore) for several minutes. Dipper closed his eyes, and saw Pacifica’s death—

Tunar, in a hospital bed, age 146, seven weeks and two days before his birthday. He breathes in, and then out, and then in, slower and shallower each time. The heartbeat monitor chimes weakly, but steadily. His nephew holds his hand, an old man himself, and his great-great-grandniece is smoothing down the sparse hair on Tunar’s head.

Tunar does not open his eyes. He has already said goodbye, said it in the hour he was awake before he slept, said goodbye the same way he always did before falling asleep—with a soft ‘I love you,’ a kiss on the forehead or on the hand or on the cheek, and a small little sigh as he set his head into the pillows and closed his eyes again. His other grandnibling has gone with the rest of their family to get something to eat and bring food back for the two who stayed behind. This is probably for the best—there are nineteen of them, you see, because Tunar had loved well and was well-loved in turn.

His death is slow, as easy as death is capable of being. Medicine has brought the human body far, but there will never be immortality. There never is immortality, not for humankind, not for the dayflies who are born at dawn and die at dusk, not for the oldest of vampires or the fairest of dragons or the coldest of yukionna. All things die, eventually. All things pass.

Tunar takes a slow, slow breath in, lets it out, and does not inhale again.

—and opened them only to see that the old man had woken up, 137, still nine years left to him, and was looking right at Dipper.

Dipper startled a little, but didn’t move. The old man did not startle, but instead stretched after a moment in the way that old people do to get stiff muscles to cooperate again.

“Ah, I fell asleep on the couch again,” Tunar muttered. His hands shook a little as he clapped them once. The lights came on, dim. “I really should stop doing that, it’s very bad for my back and for my sleeping schedule. This face isn’t getting any younger, you know.”

Dipper cocked his head. “Do you want it to?” he asked.

Tunar scoffed and pushed himself to sit up straight before reaching for an elegant white cane. His hands, wrinkled and adorned with liver spots, wrapped thin fingers around the gently curved top of the cane. “You think you’re so smooth,” he said, narrowing thick eyebrows at Dipper. “I know better than to make a deal with you, Soul-Devourer.”

After a brief pause that stretched on to the edge between acceptable and too long, Dipper said, “Actually, it was mostly curiosity.”

“Mostly,” Tunar drawled, leaning back into the cushions and looking down his nose at Dipper. Dipper was reminded almost viciously of Pacifica and how she would stare at him, unimpressed, after whatever shenanigan he’d pulled recently that pissed her off. It froze Dipper for several long seconds, his heart in his throat as he couldn’t stop seeing her face over Tunar’s. Then Tunar sighed, and the spell was broken.

“I suppose you’re not actually here to reap my soul for whatever reason, though.” Tunar tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “I know you caused a big hullabaloo a few countries over several months ago, but they’re saying that the river is purified and that there were minimal casualties, which really is quite surprising.”

“Well, old man,” Dipper drawled, leaning over, “what makes you think that would stop me from taking what I want?”

Tunar blinked, looked closely at Dipper, and said nothing for a long time. His eyes were dark, if a little clouded, but piercing in a way that had Dipper twitching his foot. The light buzzed overhead. The clock in the other room slid nearly-silently to the next minute. Outside, Dipper could hear grass rustling in the wind if he concentrated enough, or too little.

A hum brought his attention back to the Pacifica in front of him. Tunar had leaned forward, placing his face and throat closer to Dipper, close enough he could reach out or lunge if he really wanted to.

“Well then,” Tunar said, smiling, his prosthetic teeth shining somewhat brighter than the few natural ones he had left, “seems to me that you don’t want to eat me.”

That wasn’t completely accurate—it never was—but it was accurate enough that Dipper found himself flushing. He withdrew and hunched his shoulders, looking at the pictures set into the wall as though he’d never seen anything like them before. Fingers wrapped around his knee, he managed to respond, “Says who?”

Torako would have gleefully needled the truth out of him. Bentley would have stared at him, arched an eyebrow, and said “Says me,” with the slyest little grin on his face. Pacifica would have lifted fingers to her mouth and chuckled, eyes half-lowered in a kind of superiority-fueled amusement.

Tunar snorted, eyebrows shooting up higher, and leaned back. “Can’t believe I thought you were some kind of suave, smooth-talking master-villain,” he said. “You’re a dumbass.”

Dipper scowled at Tunar. Tunar grinned unapologetically, sharp at the edges. “You suck,” Dipper said, finally.

With a cackle, Tunar finally lay his cane across the top of his legs. “I’m thirsty,” he said, finally. “Make me some coffee.”

“Make—you have a demon in your living room, and you’re telling him to make coffee??” Dipper said, voice momentarily going shrill.

“That’s right,” Tunar said, eyes creased in a self-satisfied smile.

“I could—I’ve manufactured deaths for less offense,” Dipper said, even though it wasn’t much of an offense.

“I’m a hundred and thirty seven years old,” Tunar said, archly. “Even if I thought you would do that, I wouldn’t be frightened. I’ve lived a long time.”

Dipper stared. “Unbelievable,” he finally said. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been dealing with this kind of disrespect all day. You don’t even know me.”

“You just have that kind of face.” Tunar reached out with his cane and poked Dipper in the arm. Dipper’s jaw fell open. “Now. Coffee. I like mine with heavy cream and a scant spoonful of cane sugar. Get to it.”

It took Dipper several moments to get his jaw closed. Then, he stood up, feet firmly on the rug below the coffee table, and walked into the kitchen to do as Tunar said. He was never, he thought to himself, introducing Tunar to Torako or Bentley. Never.

________________________________________________________________

In the middle of a story about the time that an acquaintance, unaware of the fact that Tunar wasn’t particularly interested in romantic or sexual entanglements, tried to set Tunar up with xir grandchild ten years Tunar’s senior when Tunar was 23, Dipper’s phone rang. The lyrics to Dancing Queen blared in the air between them before Dipper could answer it.

Tunar tilted his head. “You have a phone?”

Dipper sent a glower at Tunar, then answered the phone. “Yes?” he asked, in an approximation of what passed for English these days.

“Oh, thank goodness you answered,” the voice on the other end of the line said. Dipper blinked and took a second to place the voice—Reynash, right. “Listen, Lata’s sitter dropped out on us again, he was supposed to pick him up from school today but we just got the call that he didn’t, could you—”

“Yeah, yeah, no, give me five, ten minutes,” Dipper said, tipping his head and calculating the closest point to Lata’s new school that he could feasibly tesser to and remain anonymous. “I’d teleport right to him but that might be a bit—”

Reynash laughed, a little too tight to be completely sincere. “Ahaha, yeah, no, we would appreciate—no, thank you, I’ll let the school know that Lata’s Uncle Tyrone will be coming to get him.”

“Sounds good,” Dipper said. “I’ll message when I pick him up, okay?”

“Thank you again,” Reynash said. “I’ll be home after five, maybe five-thirty, so if you could keep him company until then—”

“Yeah, no problem at all!”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Reynash said. “Thanks again, see you.”

“See—” Dipper only managed to get out one word before the dial tone sounded. He looked down at the phone, and then said, “Well then, he really is busy I guess.”

“Alcor the Dreambender has a mundane social life?” Tunar said, droll. Dipper relaxed, purposefully, then tilted his head at Pacifica’s latest incarnation. He looked at Tunar through half-lidded eyes, Stan held in the back of his mind—Pacifica did like her fame, he remembered absently. She liked being the center of attention, and what better way to be the center of attention than to have a juicy news scoop to sell to the highest bidding news agency?

Tunar took one look at Dipper, humphed, and then smacked Dipper in the knee with his cane.

“Hey!” Dipper protested. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t you get snippy at me,” Tunar said, wagging a finger in Dipper’s face. Dipper was seized by the childish urge to snap his teeth at it. “I could see you getting all paranoid on me. On me! After I’ve spent the last unbelievable amount of time talking to you about my life and all the personal details in it. I even let you slide on reciprocating. The least you could do is let me have this.”

Dipper narrowed his eyes at Tunar. “You going to tell anybody?”

Tunar snorted. “Tell people that Alcor the Dreambender came by for coffee and a chat and ended up taking a phone call in my presence? I’d either end up with terrified Demonologists tearing up my house or being prescribed a variety of medication for hallucinations and fits of fantasy. Perhaps I would have been tempted in my youth, but these old bones are done with all that drama.”

He watched Tunar’s aura, saw it peppered with the lightest of lies—Tunar was plenty tempted now—but it was enough that Dipper leaned back into the couch and took a final sip of his coffee. “Okay,” he said.

There was a beat of silence. “So,” Tunar said, “you have to leave, I’m supposing.”

“Yes,” Dipper said. He leaned forward, set the cup in its saucer with a light a clink as he could manage, and stood up. “My apologies for intruding.”

With rolled eyes, Tunar set his cup on its saucer as well with far less care than Dipper had taken. “Bah, you’re not sorry. I expect to see you here next week—though possibly at a more reasonable hour. My Doctor says that I really need to keep myself on a better sleep pattern.”

Dipper’s hands stuttered over where they were needlessly straightening out his collar. “Next…week?”

“Of course,” Tunar said. He stood with the help of his cane and grunted with the effort. “What, you think I started that story with the intention of leaving it unfinished? No, you will be back next week. And—you have a phone. Call me before you come so that I am ready for company.”

Dipper could only blink. “But I don’t know—”

“It’s written on the stasis fridge, top left corner. Take a look at it when you bring the cups in to the dishwasher.”

Spluttering, Dipper said, “I—you expect me to wash the cups?!”

“And you can let yourself out, I assume,” Tunar said. He turned a genial grin on Dipper, but Dipper was savvy enough to see the slyness in the corners of it. Also, the amusement in his aura helped matters a lot. “Seeing as you let yourself in.”

“...I am an all powerful demon, and you expect me to wash your cups for—”

“That just means I am all the more assured you are capable of such a simple task,” Tunar said. He reached out a slightly shaking hand, patted Dipper on the shoulder, and then said, “Well, I am off to bed. Again, I expect you next week. Do try not to show up in the middle of the night again, it’s not good for my heart.”

With that, Dipper watched Tunar shuffle off around the coffee table and down the hall beyond the other side of the television screen. He blinked a little, completely blindsided—though he probably shouldn’t be. Pacifica also had a tendency of bulldozing through most of her social interactions.

Sighing, Dipper reached down, gathered up the teacups, gave them a little rinse with the sink tap before setting them in the washer, and entered Tunar’s number into his phone. He looked down at it, displaying up at him with deceptive innocence, and furrowed his eyebrows. Then, he saw the time, said, “Oh, crap,” and blipped out of the darkened kitchen.

December 4th, 4:13 pm, PDT

Lata screeched with joy as he barreled into Dipper with all the force of an exuberant six year old, face pressed into Dipper’s waist and arms flung around Dipper’s legs. Dipper, dressed up in his nicest, most disarming and charming human persona, grinned down at Lata.

“Hey buddy,” he said. “How are you doing?”

“I was so bored,” Lata said, nearly yelling the last two words. “But now you’re here so I’m not! Can we go get ice cream?”

“Ah,” Dipper said, before deciding fuck it and nodding his head. “Yeah, sure, but I have to sign you out first and let your dad know we got you, okay?”

Lata appeared to have stopped listening after ‘sure,’ and released Dipper to go have a good old jump-and-punch-the-air-in-victory dance. Dipper re-evaluated the intelligence of giving this already hyper child more sugar, then shrugged because he wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout, would he?

“Uncle Tyrone, I presume,” the secretary said, grinning a little. At first glance, she looked like an older middle-aged woman, but Dipper saw the fangs and the sunglasses and thought vampire. She tapped a few buttons, and a screen lit up in front of her window for Dipper. “Please verify your identity with this security question chosen by the child’s guardians and then sign.”

Dipper peered down at the question. What did you suddenly yell at Reynash Pines that one time that had him scream, launch a full package of Choco Piecies into the air, and tumble back over his home office chair which meant he had to go to the hospital and get three stitches behind his right ear?

He blinked, then toggled the keyboard to input, What U Cravin. The system thought for a moment, then blinked green before showing him the field to write in his signature. Dipper took hold of the stylus it materialized for him, signed, and then said goodbye to the secretary.

Lata had, in the meantime, decided that he needed to be crawling around on his feet and hands like some kind of humpbacked bear cub. “Are you done?” Lata asked, turning around in a circle, still not standing. There was dirt on his hands. Dipper resolved to get Lata to wash them as soon as they could find a public restroom.

“Yes, I’m done,” Dipper said. “You wanna ditch this lame joint?”

“It’s not lame,” Lata said, twisting his head to look at Dipper in such a way that Dipper wondered how he wasn’t snapping his own neck. “School is really really awesome, it’s just that everybody’s already gone home and I could only just wait for people to come pick me up, and waiting is boring.”

“That tracks,” Dipper said after a pause. Lata looked back down at the ground and then started walking forward, down to where the entryway doors were. “You gonna keep walking like that buddy?”

“Yeah,” Lata said. “This is the bear walk! We learned it today in Activities. We also learned the frog leap –though I already knew it—and the lizard crawl, and the earthworm, and the kangaroo hop. Nobody believed me when I said I went to Australia to see the kangaroos, though. They said that you can’t just go to Australia, because there are big spiders.”

Dipper paused a moment to take in that information. He opened the door for Lata, watched him crawl down the front step and onto the rougher—colder—pavement. Lata frowned at the ground, but kept going. “Your…teacher said this?”

“No,” Lata said in his best are you stupid voice. Dipper felt affronted that he was turning it on Dipper, his most favorite Uncle Tyrone. “You and Mom and Dad all said not to tell any adults, so I didn’t! But kids don’t count, so I told them. And they didn’t even believe me!”

Letting the door close behind him, Dipper politely ignored the person walking their dog that stopped in their tracks to first stare at Lata, then turn away with their hand over their mouth and their aura splashed all over with viridian amusement. “Well, maybe that’s a good thing,” Dipper said. “You don’t even have a passport yet.”

“What’s a passport?” Lata asked. His steps forward were far more ginger than they were earlier, inside on the tile flooring of the hallway.

“It’s, uh,” Dipper said, looking down at Lata’s animal-print backpack. It had shifted over entirely to one side of Lata’s back, unbalancing him a little. He reached down, adjusted it, and continued. “Well, it’s a special document—like a little book, I think, though maybe that’s changed—that they scan at Ports when you go from one country to another country.”

“Huh,” Lata said. He took another step, stopped, and then stood up. At the sight of his hands, Dipper moved hand-washing even further up the list of priorities. If he’d thought inside was bad, it was nothing compared to the brief jaunt down the path up to the school. “Do you have a passport?”

“No,” Dipper said.

Lata looked up at him, tilted his head so that the leaves on his antlers bobbed a little. “But you have to, to go to another country, right?”

“Most people have to,” Dipper amended. “It’s expected.”

They passed by a couple arm-in-arm, a single long scarf wrapped across both their necks. Dipper looked down at Lata. “Where’s your scarf?”

“In my bag,” Lata said, like that was the best place for it on a chilly December afternoon.

“And your gloves?”

“In my bag, duh,” Lata said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey,” Dipper said. “You really want to pull an attitude with somebody who said they’d get you ice cream in such cold weather?”

Lata hummed, his finger on his chin in thought. A cold breeze had him shivering a little before he answered, “Maybe?”

Dipper sighed. “Well,” he said, really elongating the word in a way that immediately caught Lata’s attention. “Maybe we don’t need ice cream after all. It’s about 3 degrees Celcius right now, after all.”

Lata gasped. “No, you can’t take it back! No take-backs! You said we’d go for ice cream!”

They were now by the public bathroom that Dipper had initially blipped into. “Let’s wash our hands then,” he said, pointing, “in preparation for ice cream.”

Lata screeched in victory, did a little dance, and then started running towards the bathroom. “First one there gets to eat as much as they want!”

Reynash would demolish him if Dipper let Lata eat as much ice cream as he wanted. Dipper burst into a very graceless, very hasty run, and didn’t really consider that he wasn’t beholden to any deal he hadn’t verbally agreed to.

________________________________________________________________

“I cannot believe I let you get all that ice cream,” Dipper said, having blipped them to a nice ice cream place down in New California before bringing Lata and their spoils to the Pines home.

Lata giggled and stuck his spoon into his Custom Mouse Sundae, complete with five scoops of ice cream molded into the shape of a mouse and topped off with two round waffle cookies that made the mouse’s ears. He dug out the piece of chocolate that made up the eye and stuck it in his mouth, kicking his legs.

“I would’ve beat you if you hadn’t used your superpowers,” Lata said, trying to pout but failing in the face of the massive, self-satisfied grin that kept breaking through. “You had to be nice to me. It’s only fair.”

“Your parents would hate it if I had let you eat the Turtle Family Sundae, the Spaghetti Ice Cream Set, and the Mouse Sundae,” Dipper said, pointing his spoon at Lata from across the table. He had gotten a custom ice cream Mega Bowl, and had filled it with a variety of ice creams and toppings. Lata kept glancing at it with unashamed interest.

Lata leaned back in his seat—Dipper reached across and pulled the chair back onto all four legs with his foot—and groaned. “But it would have been so delicious,” he said. “So worth it. It’s not like they can do anything to you! They can’t ground you, or take away TV privileges, or game privileges, or have you write letters of Recon-ciliation to exchange with each other.”

Dipper blinked. “Letters of Reconciliation?”

Lata carefully carved the tip of the mouse’s nose, cherry and all, off from the rest of the ice cream. “Yeah,” he said, before taking a break to stuff his mouth.

“What’s that?”

“It’s when we have a disagreement, and I write a letter saying what I thought and how I felt about the thing, and Mom and Dad write a letter saying what they thought and felt about the thing, and we give them to each other and read them and then talk about it. It’s so boring.”

Rain tapped against the roof and windows—rain might be a bit of a misnomer for the half-rain, half-ice slush that was falling from the sky, but nevertheless Dipper was glad they hadn’t been caught out in it before heading down to NewCal. That would have been super messy, and cold, and gross. Dipper scooped up a bit of ice cream, swallowed it almost immediately, and then responded. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he said.

“Ugh, you’re such an adult,” Lata whined. He leaned down and pulled one of the cookie ears out of the mouse with his mouth. When he bit down, the part of the cookie that wasn’t in his mouth fell onto the ice cream below, which was starting to melt a bit.

“You’ve gotten sassy since entering Kindergarten,” Dipper said, narrowing his eyes at Lata. “Where’s the little monster that kept saying things like ‘rawr’ and ‘I’m a nibble monster’ and all? Also, I’ll have you know that I am essentially eternally twelve. That’s not an adult.”

“But it’s still old!” Lata yelled, suddenly. He leaned back on the rear legs of his chair. Dipper reached out with his foot and pulled his chair back down with an ease that was somewhat frightening after so many years of not parenting. “You’re old! I asked Dad how old you were and he said you were thousands of years old! That’s so many years. I watched him write out all the zeros, and then we counted out rice and it was so much rice and took so long.”

Dipper scowled and crossed his arms. “I bought you ice cream, and this is how you repay me?”

“I’m just saying the truth,” Lata retorted. “It’s the truth, so you can’t be mad about it.”

Dipper snorted. “Now that’s not how things work,” he said. “Plenty of people get mad about the truth. They do it all the time.”

Lata blinked at him. “But why? It’s the truth. You can’t get mad at something that’s true. Hans told me so.”

As Lata began licking the ice cream, hands fisted on either side of his take-out bowl, Dipper hummed and tapped the flat of his spoon against his own ice cream. He cycled through the examples in his head—everything died, but plenty of people sought immortality—it was true that if you caught a knife to the throat, you would not last long but people got so upset about that—people worshipped or didn’t worship in many ways, and yet there were those who decided that those ways were wrong and got mad—kids grew up, and there were some dumbasses who resented how those children grew up into their own skins with their own experiences and opinions instead of staying malleable, agreeable, naïve—preternatural citizens existed, and yet—governments weren’t perfect, but—and finally hit upon one he thought Lata would understand.

“Well,” he said, slowly, “have you ever watched something on TV and gotten mad about it?”

Lata maintained eye-contact while licking across the ice-cream-mouse’s head. Savage. “Mom says that we have to look up stuff that they put on the TV sometimes, because it’s not always right, and when it’s not right then of course I’m allowed to be mad about it. Because it’s not right.”

Right then, maybe not that. Perhaps he ought to take a different approach here, let Lata provide the basic scenario. “Okay, buddy, how about you tell me all the things that make you mad.”

With a hum, Lata took a huge bite right out of the scoop of Fudge Mountain Caramel Surprise in front of his mouth. Dipper watched and wondered how effective that technique actually could be. “Um,” he said, completely ignorant of the melted ice cream smeared over his nose and lips and even chin, “well, I guess I get mad whenever Ri-Ri lies to me about the places she goes with her parents. And when Toma writes on my papers when I tell zir not to. Or when the lady on International Animal Discovery Channel is absent and her coworker comes in and covers for her, because he’s stupid and gets stuff wrong all the time. And when I have to go to bed at eight thirty, even though all my friends get to go to bed later. It’s so stupid! Why do I have to go to bed earlier? It can’t just be because it’s good for me because I’m a kid, because if it was my friends would go to bed earlier too! And also when Mom says she can’t come pick me up at school because she has an emergency meeting, like today, because she goes to work before I go to school and I don’t get to see her until I get out of school. And—”

Dipper swallowed the entire scoop of classic mint before holding up his hand and waving it. “Okay, okay, I think I have enough to work with there, thank you. Let’s talk about bedtime, okay? You’re mad because you have to go to bed earlier than your friends, right?”

Lata slumped and poked his ice cream with his index finger. “Yeah,” he mumbled, before sticking his finger in his mouth and sucking the melted ice cream off of it. “I guess.”

“Right,” Dipper said. He paused, suddenly doubting that he was the right person to tell Lata about this part of life. This seemed like a very—very parent-to-child conversation, not an Uncle-to-nibling conversation. It was kind of heavy.

He paused too long. “So?” Lata said. Dipper looked up to see that Lata had resorted to grabbing the ice cream with his full hand and was licking it out of his palm. What a mood, Dipper thought, but instead narrowed his eyes at Lata.

“Hey, use your spoon, not your hands,” he said. “And actually—here, use this napkin to clean your hand off. If you put your hands on something, it’ll get dirty and then we’ll both have to deal with the consequences, aka your parents.”

“Okay,” Lata said, reaching with his dirty hand to take the napkin Dipper had pulled out from the 100% biodegradable takeout bag he’d gotten at the ice cream shop.

“Probably should get the ice cream on your nose and chin while you’re at it,” Dipper said absentmindedly, watching Lata scrub at his hand with the paper napkin. Lata was a good kid, Dipper thought to himself. Lata would understand what Dipper was trying to say. This wouldn’t be too hard.

Lata wrinkled his nose, but got most of the ice cream off his face. Good enough, Dipper thought, and then he launched into his little speech.

“Right, so, it is true the kids need a lot of sleep, because they’re still developing their brains and bodies. The reason that babies sleep so much is that they’re growing and learning so much, and everything is new, so it’s exhausting. You’re still learning a lot of new stuff, and your brain is,” Dipper squinted at Lata and tilted his head, “currently, it’s learning how to handle complex and somewhat abstract concepts such as time, numbers, is expanding its capacity for vocabulary, and is beginning to develop the pathways needed to understand things such as life and death and your place in the cycle. You already have a very good grasp on concentration and a decent awareness of places existing outside of your home and school, though, that’s pretty impressive at your age.”

Lata’s eyes went a little unfocused. Dipper dialed it back. “Point is, your brain is working hard, and it needs that sleep to recharge, refresh, and retain—keep—all the information that you’ve been learning. Your friends should probably be going to sleep around the same time you are if they’re waking up when you are, though every kid is different and every family is different.”

Slowly, Lata tilted his head at Dipper. “What?”

“Your parents are right,” Dipper said after a short but deep inhale, “that you should go to bed at 8:30. Your friends also need the amount of sleep that you do. It’s the truth. Are you still mad at it?”

Lata thought for a moment. “Kind of,” he mumbled.

“Why?”

Lata grumbled, “This is worse than Reconciliation Letters.”

“Why thank you,” Dipper said, grinning a little, “So? What’s got you so mad then? It can’t be that your friends are right and your parents are wrong for sending you to bed early, right?”

“I think you’re like all the wrong people on the TV,” Lata said, frowning, not meeting Dippers’s eyes. “I think if I look it up you’re going to be wrong.”

“I’m an all-powerful omni—I mean, all-knowing demon,” Dipper drawled, quirking an eyebrow at Lata. “I know things that Ping never would, and I know all the things that Ping is wrong about. Wanna try again?”

For a long time, Lata stayed quiet. He kicked his legs under the table and glowered at his ice cream. Resentment breathed slow, auburn in his aura, and frustration sparkled at the edges like dew on stinging nettle. Dipper sat on the urge to interject what he wanted Lata to learn, and waited.

After a whole six minutes, twenty-three seconds and four-hundred ninety-eights of a millisecond, Lata said, “’Cause I wanna watch Seawitch Adventures like Ri-Ri and all the others get to.”

Dipper had not known about Seawitch Adventures, but it made sense. He translated, “Because you don’t like it. It goes against what you want the world to be like.”

Lata tilted their head in a shrug and papped at the dining table surface with their hands. There was still a residue of ice cream lingering on the one hand, but Dipper decided that was whatever and Reynash or Kanti could deal with it later. He was doing awesome at this conversation thing.

“People don’t get mad when things are factually wrong. They get mad when things aren’t the way they want them to be. And that’s okay!” Dipper said, after a length of time. “Everybody does it. The problem is when you choose to take that anger out on other people, people who don’t deserve it.”

Lata paused, and looked up. “Do you do it? Take it out on other people.”

Dipper felt his heart stutter in his chest. “…Sometimes.”

“Is that why Daddy and Mommy were afraid of you?”

Dipper held a desperate lie against the back of his many teeth before closing his eyes and letting it melt away, unheard. “…yes.”

“Don’t you know it’s a problem, though?” Lata asked.

Dipper shies away from that truth. He gives a not-quite-lie. “I forget, sometimes.”

Rain splashed against the roof, the windows. The stasis fridge hummed in the kitchen. Lata had stopped drumming against the table. Dipper felt almost compelled to pick it up in his stead.

“…what did you do?”

“A lot of things,” Dipper said, quietly. He opened his eyes. “A lot of very bad things that I forgot were bad.”

Lata stared at him. His dik-dik horns, so much smaller than Henry’s, than Paloma’s, seemed to embody all of Dipper’s regrets and failures for a brief moment. Dipper felt the phantom slide of a soul down his throat. He swallowed, met Lata’s gaze and tried to push the feeling away. Lata’s eyes looked right into Dipper’s until Dipper looked away, a little scared of what Lata was reading in them. Scared, maybe, that Lata might just see his own soul between Dipper’s teeth, even though that was impossible. Anyways, the only soul Dipper had between his metaphorical teeth was—

“Even now?” Lata asked, again.

“No, no, now is better. I forget…less,” Dipper said after a beat. Thoughts of souls faded to the back of his mind. They never really left, though. The temptation was always there, like the background hum of a generator, or the near silent slide of the second hand of an analogue clock. “Now is—I can control how mad I am. I remember that it’s not right to take my anger out on innocent people. I understand that sometimes I’m mad at the wrong thing. Usually I can pull myself back. I never remember to pull myself back when I’m…when I’m like what your parents learned about.”

“Oh,” Lata said. They were quiet for a long time, the two of them. The ice cream in their bowls continued to melt. Dipper stared at his, watched the strawzzleberry cheesecake ooze into the peanut butter fudge scoop.

“I yelled at Mama when she made me go to bed,” Lata said, in a quiet voice. “I said I hated her.”

Dipper winced. That had always hurt—his children, his sister, his niblings saying they hated him in fits of anger. He’d known they didn’t mean it, usually, but it still hurt. Sometimes it hurt more than others. Sometimes he’d lashed out in response. And sometimes, a very few sometimes, he had hurt them far more than they had.

He shied away from the thought. “How—what did your Mama think of that?”

Lata shrugged, poked his ice-cream soup with his spoon. “She frowned at me and said I was going to bed no matter that I hated her.”

Dipper remembered putting on a strong front. He worried lightly on his bottom lip. “Ah,” he said.

After a few moments, Lata looked up at him. “Do you think I hurt her?” he asked. He shifted in his seat, but kept looking Dipper right in the eye.

Dipper opened his mouth to say yes, because he’d always been hurt (even if just a little bit), but Lata looked so small and worried, undertones of dark guilt hovering around his shoulders. He swallowed the yes, then said, “Maybe. Maybe not. You—you have to ask her.”

“Oh. Okay,” Lata said.

They sat in silence. Rain hit the window, the roof. Dipper stared at his own ice cream soup for a while, colors having swirled into a muddy mess. He passed his spoon through it once, twice, a few more times, before sticking it in his mouth with a sigh. In his periphery, he saw Lata blink at him. Incredulity lanced over his head. Dipper stifled a grin and set down the spoon on the table with a light clack. Hyperaware of Lata staring at him, he sighed in exaggeration before picking up the ice cream cup and pouring the contents down his throat.

“Ew, gross,” said Lata.

Dipper swallowed and licked his lips, glancing up at Lata. “What? It’d be a waste to throw it out. You don’t want your own sugar soup? I’ll drink it for you.”

Lata screwed up his nose at Dipper, then pushed the cup at him. His guilt was still present, but disgust and also amusement were sliding over it, burying it from the moment. Soon it would be nothing more than an aftertaste, something Dipper would have to concentrate to be able to sense. “All the flavors are mixed now, it’s so gross.”

“Excellent,” Dipper said, before taking the ice cream and swallowing that, too. There are soggy chunks of cookie in it. It’s not particularly appetizing, but it’s also not a rule breaker, and the mixed flavor is a mystery on his tongue. He closes his eyes and tilts his head, swishing the last of the mixture around in his mouth to try to figure out what was in it.

“Ewwww, what are you doing,” Lata said, giggling. “It’s not mouthwash!”

Dipper swallowed. “Definitely Raspberry Crunch and Honeyed Alfalfa,” he said. “You got something chocolaty in there, right? Some kind of—fudge, fudge something, oh! Fudge Mountain Caramel Surprise, right?”

“You can’t taste everything,” Lata accused.

“If I work hard enough I can,” Dipper said, opening his eyes and smirking. There’s a tug at his navel that means summons, but honestly this is more important (and probably more fun). “Five scoops, right? And I’ve already figured out three of them.”

Lata pushed himself to kneel on the seat of his chair, semi-sticky hands flat on the table and eyes wide. “You can’t,” he breathed.

“Can so.” Dipper hummed and thought to himself. “There was a nutty kind of flavor in there, nutty and a little salty, but it wasn’t cashew, it was a little less fatty, it was—right, I remember you pointing to the Wonderful Salted Walnut.”

“Noooo!” Lata leaned forward even further. Dipper cast an absentminded eye at the pressure that was placing on the front legs of the chair and whether they were likely to tip and smash Lata’s face into the table. It was pretty low, only 28%, so he let it be. “That’s still not all! There’s still one left!”

Dipper cackled and spun the empty ice cream carton on one talon. With a nudge from his mind, it balanced perfectly and continued to spin unnaturally fast. The summons tugged again at his stomach, but he smothered it. It wasn’t anybody he knew. It wasn’t important. “I think you mean only one.”

He closed his eyes to focus on the last flavor, and that can be the only reason that he only realized they weren’t alone when he heard, “And what are—did you have ice cream??”

“Oh shit,” Dipper said without thinking, eyes flying open.

Lata said, with the absolute worst timing known only to children under the age of ten, “Oh shit! Welcome home, Papa!”

Reynash Pines leveled him with the most incredulous glare he’d seen in a while. “Ice cream and swearing?”

Suddenly, the importance of the summons skyrocketed from rock bottom to very near the top of his priority list. Dipper dropped the carton on the floor. “Oh, hey, Reynash, buddy, how’s it hanging, uh, sorry to skip out but I actually just got a summons, you know how they are haha, can’t help that work life, on call twenty-four-seven, see you later hope you’re not mad byeeeee!”

Reynash spluttered. Water dripped off his bangs and onto his forehead. “No, you can’t just bail on—Dipper!”

But Dipper had already clenched the connection to the summons in one metaphorical hand, had tugged, and was gone.

_______________________________________________________________

December 4th, 9:39 PM BRL

The first thing Dipper noticed was that the candles were scentless. He billowed up from nothing in the most dramatic smoke he could think of, pulled the reverb in his throat to mild extremes, and said, “Who presumes to call upon Alcor the Dreambender?” into the dark of the blue-lit room.

The second thing Dipper noticed were the chalk lines—exact angles, minimal differences in stroke width, painstakingly duplicated symbols. Its perfection was mathematically precise, and there were even three layers of binding spells woven into the circle. Dipper casually pulled his cane out of thin air, coalesced his top hat from residual smoke curling into the space above his head, and smiled to himself. Binding spells weren’t much more than a nuisance to deal with.

The third thing Dipper noticed were the people in the room—elegantly dressed adults in formal suits and skirts, beautifully crafted silver masks over their faces, hair coiffed and pressed and sprayed. Their arms were uplifted, frozen in the moment they’d succeeded in summoning him. There were nine of them. Dipper glanced over them, saw their determination and hard-edged stubbornness and solid righteousness in their auras, the colors subtly different for each person.

“Lord Alcor,” one of them said. Dipper blinked, and knew they were he. “We come to offer you an exchange: a solution to our troubles for a worthy sacrifice.”

Dipper hummed, leaned on his cane, and didn’t let them in on the fact that he’d already surreptitiously snapped one of the binding circles. “Oh?” he drawled, a lazy little grin curled into the corners of his lips. “Tell me, what are your troubles?”

“Our beloved country,” the Speaker said, “is being cast into ruin and shadows by those currently in charge. We seek only to remove the…obstacles facing our country’s future.”

“I see,” said Dipper, and then he really did. He was in Brazil, in New Fortaleza, and the government was currently making social reforms that benefited those in the lowest economic tier. There were many people pushing for those reforms from places of influence—born into and risen up to alike. He raised his eyebrows. “And…what would your idea of a fair exchange be?”

The Speaker turned his head and nodded to the woman next to him. She nodded back, then turned around to head away from the circle and towards the stairs at the edge of the wide space they had chosen for his summoning. Dipper watched her go, and did not blink. Absentmindedly, he slid his power around and under the second barrier spell. This one would be a little trickier—raw power would only alert them to its failure, so he would have to play a subtler hand.

One of the summoning group shifted xir weight almost imperceptibly. Dipper blinked to look xir way. Xi made eye contact through the mask and flinched.

“Be steady,” the Speaker said. “Lord Alcor, it would not go unappreciated were you to…refrain from any posturing or intimidation tactics.”

Dipper chuckled, refocused back on the Speaker. “Condolences,” he murmured, pitching the tone so that it echoed off the far walls regardless of the volume. “I cannot control how much terror your…acquaintances feel. I am a demon. Instilling fear in those who look upon us is an unavoidable part and parcel of this existence, you understand.”

The Speaker said nothing, but swallowed. Dipper counted that as a victory in and of himself—he was getting the sense that this man enjoyed talking, and enjoyed even more than that the chance to hear himself talk.

The soft whir-click-swoosh of a door being unlocked and opened echoed through the empty room. It whispered off the walls. Dipper watched the Speaker’s aura twist in uncertainty before determination smoothed it out, hot shmellow oozing over dirty blue-green until it was smothered. He held the Speaker’s gaze until the footsteps started echoing around the room too—the steady tread of the woman’s shoes, followed by a hesitant, uneven, sometimes scraping cacophony of quiet noise. The breath halted in Dipper’s useless lungs. Nobody seemed to notice; his chest had hardly been rising and falling anyways.

Nine children followed the woman. He could hear their shallow breaths, their hitching hiccups, barely restrained tears. He could smell the acrid-sweet scent of fear, the way it spiked and swelled when he leaned back on thin air. The second barrier snapped, and he was just barely aware enough to stop it from flickering with bright thunder. He wanted this. He hated this.

The Speaker waited for Alcor’s attention to shift to the children, but when he didn’t comply, he swept an arm out to call attention to the newcomers. “Nine lives, from nine of us, for nine whose lives must be cut short to prevent ruin to our country. We have learned that you…like…children, and their lives would be yours to do what you see fit with.”

It was strange that these types always learned all the wrong lessons about children, he thought absentmindedly, almost vapidly. It was strange that they always dismissed the possibility of more ethical sacrifices, like candy or sentimental items or factories worth of ice cream. Dipper cast his gaze over the children, his face frozen in that way it was when he felt like he was on the cusp of something terrible. They were cleaned—recently, from the faint hint of chemically-recreated pomegranate on the air—but some of them had clearly had better care than others. He skipped from terrified face to terrified face. The youngest of them was—six, dark curly hair, bought from desperate parents like human lives were commodities, teeth digging into a bottom lip and eyes welling with tears. Then there was—seven and petit, ten and too tall for her age, eleven and barely scared enough the fear drowned out the anger, two eight-year-old twins with vitiligo on their palms (and no, Bentley didn’t have vitiligo, but the splotchy color difference was enough to make him burn colder, right in his chest), nine and born blind, six-and-a-half and missing a finger, and a twelve year old on the cusp of turning thirteen. Tomorrow was xir birthday.

The Speaker’s voice turned soft. “Jamilla, come.”

The twelve year old inhaled sharp and quiet, but went. Xir hands twisted in xir gold shift. Blue fingernail polish flashed in the light, like all the other children’s. Dressed up pretty, their individualism smoothed away as best as possible, for the very ends of their lives. “Papa?”

The Speaker waited for Jamilla to come to him. Alcor kept his eyes on Jamilla every step of the way. He watched how xi quivered, how xi glanced over at him over and over. He thought about thirteenth birthdays and never reaching them, thought about his puffy blue vest and that stupid pine-tree hat that he had loved with all his heart, and how it was hard to even think about wearing things that casual for very long. His power rolled over to the third barrier and began to eat at it.

“This is my own child,” the Speaker said, setting his hands on Jamilla’s shoulders. “Xi knows how important the future of our country is, and was willing to sacrifice xirself for it. While most of the children here are orphans, or as good as, this is a token of my dedication, of my seriousness.”

“…I see,” said Dipper. He tilted his head. Jamilla shivered and averted xir gaze, but did not move otherwise. “Dedicated indeed, to sacrifice somebody you love. Very powerful.”

He cast his eye, slowly and deliberately, over the other children. He tried to catch their gazes where he could. Everything around him felt—slow, almost. He stared into the eyes of the angry-scared eleven year old, whose name was Leilani and whose ambition was to become a child caretaker because children deserved people who protected them and nurtured them and loved them, whose anger had left silvery scars between her knuckles from how many times she’d split them over on somebody else’s face or gut or kidney, whose eyes were dark, furious brown and who could have lived to forty-one, dying young and tragic but not as young and tragic as this.

“Indeed,” the Speaker said. “Now, do you agree to the terms laid out?”

Dipper held Leilani’s gaze a moment longer, before breaking away to fix his attention on the Speaker and his child, his poor, youngest child (who had been loved and cherished but raised with the knowledge that this may happen someday, who had been prepared and taught to step into xir own death of xir own fledgling, undeveloped will). Dipper smiled.

“Nine lives, from the nine of you, for nine whose lives must be cut short to prevent ruin to your beloved country, correct?” Alcor passed a whisper of blue flame between his fingers as he spoke.

The Speaker waited a moment. His hands tensed over his child’s shoulders as he thought the words over. “The nine lives we offer you, to do with as you please, for the lives of those on this list.”

Alcor looked down on the list. Two career politicians who had slowly turned over new leaves, a charismatic rabble-rouser, three underpaid and overworked lawyers with a talent for defending their wrongly-accused clients, a university professor whose lectures were widely distributed and widely influential, an old farmer with a penchant for speaking up loud and proud in defense of reforestation and traditional farming methods, and a janitor who had convinced their coworkers to unionize and strike for better wages. Influential in all the ways the Speaker and his cohorts disapproved of.

As few as twenty years ago, Alcor would have taken advantage of the situation to cause as much carnage as possible while keeping the children safe. He would have gotten 18 souls and probably an additional nine life-debts from the children, to cash in as he pleased, when he pleased. Ten years ago, he would have settled for 9 souls, 9 bodies, and 9 traumatized children placed at the nearest orphanage.

Today, Alcor remembered being angry, and terrified, and determined in the face of the world ending. He remembered the terror of being watched, the nightmares about rearranged faces and deer teeth. He remembered dying.

“Like I said,” Alcor drawled, eyebrow raised. “Nine lives, from the nine of you, for nine whose lives must be cut short to prevent ruin to your beloved country. Or, if you want me to be a little more transparent, nine souls in here for nine lives out there and a whole lot of chaos thrown in.”

The Speaker hesitated. “Chaos?”

Alcor laughed, leaned on his cane a little more. The third barrier dissolved under his power at last with a flicker that he disguised by flaring his flames just a bit higher. Fury burned colder and deeper in his chest, at the very core of him. “What do you think nine people dying suddenly is going to cause?! Especially nine people as influential and high-profile as the ones on your list, and all at the same time! It’s going to be unbelievably chaotic. You might have a little trouble controlling the investigation that follows, but I’m sure you can squash things like freedom of the press and the people’s right to assemble in a jiffy, what with your very powerful positions. I’m all here for that, props to you!”

“You’re taking their souls?” One of the other politicians said, a quiver of trepidation in their voice. Hesitation and guilt began to seep through their aura, dark and damp and almost physically heavy. “But I thought…”

“Young souls are the best,” Alcor said. He had—he shied away from the thought, comforted himself with the many many times that other demons had spouted the same things he was now. “They’re very soft, not nearly as entrenched in their fleshvessels. Absolutely delicious.” He swallowed the drool that had begun to pool at the back corners of his mouth.

“I…”

“Enough,” the Speaker snapped, hands tightening on his child’s shoulders again. Xi was beginning to have terrified second thoughts. The only thing keeping xir where xi stood was xir father’s presence behind xir and years of conditioning convincing xir that this was the right thing to do. “Alcor the Dreambender, do we have a deal?”

Alcor grinned, extended a hand that arched in a graceful, almost indolent line in the air. “I thought you’d never ask,” he purred.

The Speaker flushed with a victorious, vicious kind of pride, then reached out to shake Alcor’s hand. The flames licked up between their palms, and Alcor grinned even wider.

“It’s a deal,” Dipper said, before he took a step forward and plunged his hand down the Speaker’s throat and hooked his claws into the soul nestled at the base of the man’s neck, cradled in the hollow of his clavicle. As the others in the room started screaming, as fear saturated the air around them within seconds, Dipper looked into the Speaker’s confused and angry and terrified, determined eyes, lifted the soul up to his lips, and sunk his teeth into it.

The Speaker screamed, physically, metaphysically, and collapsed as though suddenly boneless. His child screamed and went down with him, panic and terror readily apparent even if Dipper had been unable to see xir aura. The other children stumbled back, one twin tripping and scraping his palms against the ground, the eleven year old stepping in front of the seven year old with an angry snarl on her face. Dipper paid them no mind. He was too busy licking his fingers to catch any residual soul energy that had leaked out when he had bit down. After he had finished cleaning them off, he looked up to see that some of the summoners were making for the opposite door. He cocked his head. Energy thrummed through him. He laughed, high and maybe a little unhinged, before following.

He had eight more souls to collect here before he could get to work, after all, and they’d gone to all the trouble of summoning him to fix their country in the first place! It would be—disrespectful, he considered as he tore open the ribcage of the closest summoner for no other reason than he could, if he wasn’t as diligent as possible.

________________________________________________________________

December 4th, 11:12 PM EST

Dipper blipped into bed and shifted into elegant pajamas in one smooth motion, still a little buzzed from all the souls he had eaten and all the life debts he had collected over the past hour and a half. Finding the children suitable homes had been—difficult enough that he had burned off a lot of the energy gained from the deal, but he was still twitchy and half-guilty over how he had acted in the basement. Right after he had lectured Lata about acting out of anger! Lata was never finding out about what happened.

Next to him, Bentley shifted from half-asleep to half-awake. “Huh? Dipper?”

Dipper hummed. He wiggled so that he was curled up against Bentley, set a still-clawed hand against Bentley’s sleep sweater (he wore sleep sweaters now, it was terrifying that he kept being so cold even when he should be warm) and curled it so that the fabric was in his loose grasp. He had to fight to keep it loose. Everything was—too bright, too sharp, and he felt like he was balancing on the edge of that precipice again, that if he fell it would be too easy to go back to him half a century ago.

“Dipper, you okay?”

He felt an arm reach over him, a hand rub at his back. On Bentley’s other side, Torako snuffled in her sleep, snorted, but didn’t wake up. Dipper pressed his face into Bentley’s chest and nuzzled the fabric without giving a solid answer. The world dulled down to something almost manageable.

Bentley’s chest expanded and then contracted with a sigh. He wiggled down just enough that Dipper’s head fit under his chin. Something seemed—off, in that moment, because Dipper could swear that his feet should be below Bentley’s in this position, but when he reached out with his toes they brushed Bentley’s shins.

“All right,” Bentley said, the sound of his voice reverberating against Dipper’s forehead. “All right, not tonight. It’s—it’s late anyways. You can tell me what happened tomorrow, okay?”

Several moments passed before Dipper felt relaxed enough to nod. All the while, Bentley’s hand rubbed up and down his back.

“Okay,” Bentley breathed out. Dipper didn’t want to see the relief in his aura, so he kept his eyes shut and just focused on the warmth surrounding him. Then, Bentley said, “You wanna sleep between me and Torako tonight? I can move you if it’s too much trouble.”

There was something weird about that statement too, because Bentley was strong but it could be awkward for him to haul something larger over his own body, but Dipper thought about how nice it would be to be sandwiched between two souls he loved (one was his, the other may as well have been but he would never, ever, ever take it, because look at what happened to Henry even though he loved Henry?) and the weirdness of the situation melted away. He nodded again.

“Right then,” Bentley murmured. Dipper felt him wriggle his left arm under Dipper’s chest to wrap around his back. There was a pressure at the spot right above the space between his wings, and then they were turning over, Dipper’s legs pinned lightly between Bentley’s. Seconds later, Dipper’s back was to Torako’s front, and his face was still smooshed up against Bentley’s chest. Dipper hadn’t even had to open his eyes. He let out a soft breath. His hand unclenched from Bentley’s sweater to curl up against it instead, knuckles brushing wool.

“There we go,” Bentley said. He pressed a kiss to the top of Dipper’s head. There was a rustle, Bentley’s body shifting against his, and then he heard Torako groan a little before she was flush up against his back, breath fanning the back of his head. She was snoring lightly, and Dipper couldn’t help but smile a little.

“There we go,” Bentley said again, a little quieter. He rubbed his hand up and down Dipper’s back for a long time before he finally fell asleep.

Dipper listened to them. He took in a deep breath, let it out, and let himself be home.

#fic #tau fic #my fic #dipper pines #transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #lata pines #reynash pines #bentley farkas #torako lam #olla sussally #tommy hangar #filara hangar #plus more #reincarnations #so many reincarnations #batoor el-amin

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secret-engima · 4 years

Note

So I am dying with laughter over your Clouds and Moonlit Skies AU, honestly are so much fun! Loving how you portray everyone :) However I have to admit it is sending my mind spiraling with what ifs & can't stop thinking about Sephiroth (& Cloud too) being reincarnated in Nifheilm earlier. With Sephiroth getting suspicious of the Nif Mad Scientist and snooping til he finds Prompto. After which he's like 'Fuck it. Baby Gloud-Me Clone, this is the Gods telling me it's arson & murder time again...'

Glad you enjoyed!

And yeah that would be a ... pretty interesting AU actually. Seph is reborn in Niflheim and can immediately tell Something Is UP, and then when he’s old enough he starts snooping and finds ... Cloud. And he knows it’s Cloud, he can FEEL it, in the air, in the slightest tingle of magic, in the way the baby’s blue eyes are too-intelligent and desperate.

Sephiroth cradles the child close to his chest, cooing softly, promising destruction and death to all who hurt him like this. The lab goes up in flames with Besithia already dead and thoroughly stabbed in his office. Sephiroth leaves the lab with a baby in each arm (because you commented on them being reincarnated “earlier” so my brain spiraled off into what if Cloud was reincarnated as a different clone and now has bby Prompto as a twin sibling so we’ll go with that?). Seph is, obviously on the run because he’s going to be wanted in all of Niflheim if they ever recover enough footage to know it was him, and he maybe blows up a few more installations and labs for good measure before escaping to Lucis held territory with his not-as-healthy-as-they-should-be-but-hey-he’s-flying-blind-here infants.

Luckily, he runs into some Galahdians within like- ten minutes of getting to shore and when they make appropriately outraged noises at the condition Seph’s rescues are he openly admits that he has zero clue how to take care of babies, he rescued these two from “savage animals” and has been trying to keep them alive as best he can with zero info to go on.

The Galahdians take one (1) look at this obviously Nif born white-haired, grey eyed maniac with a too big sword strapped to his back and bags the size of craters under his eyes and go, “Welp looks like we have a new Clan idiot now.”

Seph is immensely grateful for their help, even if it means them putting a braid in his hair and insisting he’s family now? He’s pretty sure that’s now how the Lucian adoption system works but whatever. He’s more then happy to abandon his reincarnation name and go back to being Sephiroth, now with a clan name tacked on.

In case you’re wondering, that clan name is Ulric. Because Nyx happened to be there while on leave, visiting Lib’s family that lives outside of Insomnia with his best friend when this madman drifted ashore with an infant on each hip. And ... and Nyx is the last Ulric, he knows that, he also knows that he should not adopt lightly, considering he’s the last Ulric Chief. But there’s something in the man’s eyes, a wildness, a predatory glint that reminds him of the Coeurls and of storms, or hunting in the jungle with just a kukri to protect him and he ...

Offers. As impulsive as ever, following some instinct he can’t name. Offers Clan and family, protection and aid for the children, belonging for the Nif refugee where none will ask questions (better another Galahdian trickling in then dealing with the drama of someone fleeing Niflheim). Lib hisses at him because CAUTION NYX IT’S A THING but Sephiroth agrees in a heartbeat and Nyx weaves the Ulric braid into shoulder-length silver hair.

So yeah, Seph moves into Little Galahd with his two kids Cloud and Prompto (Nyx named Prompto after finding out that Sephiroth has just been calling him “Child” because he has no idea how to name anything not already named Cloud) and ends up joining the Kingsglaive for money (after being convinced that yes, the Ostiums will happily babysit for as long as necessary and YES they will remember his long list of things to look out for with Cloud).

Sephiroth makes ... an Impression on the glaive during his training and trials. He fights like a wild-cat, deadly and fast and instinctive, already acing most of the tests without any magic, and the other recruits could swear that sometimes his grey eyes flicker to slitted green as he dances through combat training. He’s let in and soon there are two Ulrics to terrorize the battlefield (and also a bit of a mass panic among the Ostiums who now need to find him a Braincell to join the glaive because Lib is NOT able to contain both Nyx and Seph).

Sephiroth’s Braincell turns out to be a spitfire of an Ostium, a woman who has known the joys of punching things since she was in the cradle (ie Tifa, because if in this AU Seph was born in Niflheim then Tifa was born in Lucis/Galahd). She joins the glaive and Captain maybe pulls his hair out a little at having a recruit who refuses to use any weapon but her fists, but then it turns out her fists work REALLY WELL and also she keeps Sephiroth in line so she gets a pass.

Sephiroth and Tifa size each other up warily, memories and lifetimes between them even though it takes Seph a while to remember the spunky punch-happy woman Cloud had on his team. They get into one nasty fight where it looks like they might actually be trying to kill each other and then afterword Seph takes Tifa home to meet toddler Cloud.

Zack ends up trundling into the training grounds when he’s about 3-4 years old, takes one (1) look at Sephiroth warping his way across the ground like a silver blur and starts screeching for him, nearly pitching head first off the balcony in his efforts to get to “Seph” while a servant panic grabs him. Sephiroth abandons the course to come over and by the time Regis gets down there because someone called him about this, Noctis is happily perched in Sephiroth Ulric’s lap, babbling away and tugging at long silver hair while Sephiroth hums in indulgent amusement. Regis apologizes for the interruption, Sephiroth says it’s fine, he has two sons at home who are this age. Noctis shrieks louder and Sephiroth answers like it was a question and not unintelligible noise, “Their names are Cloud and Prompto.”

Somehow Regis finds himself setting up a playdate between the prince and this glaive’s twin sons and Noctis gloms onto the twins within 0.05 seconds of meeting them (Prompto is a treasure, never asking how Noctis and Cloud already knew each other, or why they cried as they hugged, or why Cloud calls Noctis Zack, he just rolls with it and they adore him in turn as their joint bby brother).

#SE asks #anon asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Clouds and Moonlit Skies verse #Seph Ulric verse #au offshoot #oh no

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thekytchensynk · 3 years

Text

Night in the Laf (Fictober prompt 28)

Prompt number: 28

Fanfiction Fandom: Ducktales

Rating: G

Warnings: No warnings

Read this story on AO3

The door to the elevator hissed open, admitting Louie Duck and Gabby McStabberson into the the lab of Gyro Gearloose. The lights were low, on power-saver mode -- a few here and there, like emergency lights in a power outage, and the smattering of multicolored glows from the various displays.

“You’re sure it’s down here?” she asked, pointing her knife at the young duck. “The weapon you mentioned?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said, stress threading tension into his voice. “Come on, he’s a mad scientist. This place has to have more tech worth stealing than you could shake a tailfeather at.”

She glared around the dim room. There were plenty of computers and scientific devices, but she didn’t see anything that looked like a weapon. Or a storage area for weapons. So … where. A closet maybe?

She took a length of rope from her belt and bound it several times around the kid, tying him to one of the tables. He’d been a bit mouthy when she first grabbed him, but once she made it clear that she needed to get in and was absolutely willing to hurt a kid to do it, he’d definitely gotten a little more cooperative. She just needed one thing. One thing to trade to FOWL and she’d get in return information … information on her mother’s whereabouts…

“Excuse me, but what are you doing in here?”

She whirled to see the scientist himself striding out of the darkness. From the rumpled state of his clothes, she guessed he’d fallen asleep at his desk accidentally.

“Gyro Gearloose,” she said, bringing her knife to a ready position. “Just give me what I’m looking for and I’ll get out of here with no one getting hurt.”

Far from looking threatened by the knife, the man crossed his arms and said, “And what, pray tell, are you looking for?” He added a sarcastic edge to the last two words.

“A weapon,” she hissed.

He rolled his eyes. “All right, who was it? Mad scientist this. Mad scientist that. Just because I am a scientist and I happen to make things people don’t bother trying to understand sometimes, it doesn’t make me a-”

“The weapon,” she snapped. The fact that this scrawny, unarmed man seemed so unbothered by her presence -- more, that he seemed to be irritated by her presence -- unsettled her in some difficult to define way. She wasn’t scared of him, but something had begun to feel wrong.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Come on then,” he said. “Can’t have you killing one of Mr. McDuck’s relatives in the lab.” And he turned to walk away again, leaving her to follow, mystified, in his wake.

As they walked over toward a door she hadn’t noticed before in the dim light, the professor kept muttering. “So, do you know how many villains have come here over the past few years? Because it’s a lot. You’d think I was running some sort of daycare for Duckburg bad guys. Showing up unannounced and wrecking the place.” He whirled on her so suddenly that she brought the knife up on reflex, but he only added, “I hope you aren’t planning on wrecking anything?”

Entirely weirded out by this conversation, she shook her head. “Not if you cooperate.”

“To be fair, she doesn’t seem quite as insane as most of them,” Louie’s voice piped up from across the lab.

Gyro grumbled something unintelligible and turned back toward the closet.

“What?” Gabby asked sharply.

Gyro slammed a hand onto the control panel by the door, causing it to hiss open. “I said, do I have to do everything here?”

As the door came open, something began to expand rapidly. The blue material loomed toward Gabby, who backed away. “What is?”

“I am so tired of people invading my space,” Gyro said from somewhere out of sight around the … balloon? “You just waltz in here, looking for whatever suits your needs, interrupting my work. And who has to deal with the aftermath?”

The balloon popped, releasing a blast of air that almost bowled Gabby over. As it hit, she had a momentary thought of is that … the scent of violets ? Then her eyelids grew heavy. She swayed on her feet, struggling against the sudden lethargy grabbing her, but there was no fighting it. Another few seconds and she collapsed into a heap. Gyro, mask over his face, called to the computer to cycle the air in the room. As the sleeping gas cleared out, he pulled off his mask.

“Seriously,” he muttered. “They really make me do this?”

At this rate, security should give him a stipend.

#fictober20 #28 #ducktales #gyro gearloose

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hitchell-mope · 3 years

Text

(Third film. Kronk’s Tavern. Facillier’s just sat down at the bar next to Hades (Eva Green) who’s nursing a large flagon of beer)

Facillier: so you’ve heard

Hades: heard? Of course I’ve fucking heard. Your daughter and my son are dead

Facillier: legally. Legally dead there may still yet be hope

Hades: he has no magic. And she’s not powerful enough to keep the both of them alive. So either they’re both dead or there’s going to be a rampaging homicidal heartbroken teenager laying waste to the island any day now

Facillier: you don’t know that.

Kronk (genuinely trying to help): well anything’s possible isn’t it? Both could be dead or one had to eat the other. Phytoplankton only goes so far you know

Facillier: Kronk! There’s a call for you downstairs.

Kronk (not getting the sarcasm): OH BOY

(He launches headfirst into the floor knocking himself out cold)

Facillier: tch. Sideskicks. Now that’s been taken care of. How are you doing?

Hades: my second son is presumed dead. So is your first daughter. What do you think?

Facillier: not very good

Hades: nope!

(She takes another massive swig of beer)

Facillier: where’s Hadie right now?

Hades: with Antony at the butchers. Why?

Facillier: let’s get out of here. You can come back to mine. And we can

Hades: oh ho ho. The offers greatly appreciated. You don’t know how much. But I have a wife

Facillier: I know. She dumped you the morning after the wedding night the moment she realised she was pregnant with Mal.

Hades: oh, no. No. I mean my first wife. Persephone. After all this trouble I think it’s time I put our arrangement aside and focus on her and my five, sorry, four, four children.

Facillier: be that as it may. You’re in no state to be alone tonight. At least let me escort you back to your lair

Hades: nope. Nope. Too risky. I don’t trust myself

(This is when “honey I’m good” happens. After the song she collapses into Facillier’s arms completely drunk)

Facillier: yeah....I’m taking you back to my place. You can’t be alone tonight

Hades (mumbling): ifyoumustyoumust

Facillier: heh?

(Hades mumbles again. This time even more unintelligibly. Then pushes herself away from him)

Hades: fine then. Walk me home.

Facillier: start going. I’ll catch up.

Hades: oooh no no no. You’re walking me back to your place.

Facillier: someone has to pay for the booze

Hades (incredulously): it’s KRONK!

Facillier:....fair point

(They leave the tavern and make their way back to the arcade. This is when “walk me home” happens. After the song they walk through the door of Facillier’s arcade, Hades (having switched to his Sebastian Stan form) being half carried-half dragged inside by Facillier)

Anastasia: so he’s heard?

Facillier: and then some. And kronk was absolutely no help whatsoever

Anastasia: Well you know what we sidekicks are like

Facillier: yes I do. I was one.

Anastasia: oh yeah....I forgot about that

Facillier: everyone does. Help me get him to the sofa

Hades (grumpily pushing himself off from Facillier): no-ohhhh!!!! Imma go drinkie-poo some more

Anastasia: drinkie-poo?

Facillier: cut him some slack alright? He’s grieving his son. I doubt you’d be coping well if Anthony were dead

Anastasia: first off. No one should ever mourn a pirate. Secondly. Assumed dead is very different than ACTUALLY dead. Thirdly. Uma’s in the same situation and you’re not falling apart.

Facillier: I can’t afford to.

Hades (over at the bar): STOP TALKING!!!! I’M WALLOWING HERE!!!!

Anastasia: yeah, we know. And you need to stop

Hades: why the he>hic<ell should I?

Anastasia: because it’s not healthy?

Hades (hair bursting into flames): I AM A GOD!!!!

Facillier: yeah, yeah, we heard you the first 98 million times. Now! We need to sober you up

Hades: wahverfor?

Anastasia: it’s unseemly for a being of your calibre to behave in this manner

Hades: oh fuck off Human!

(Facillier pulls Anastasia off to the side)

Facillier: I think it’s time to try a different approach

Anastasia: ya think?

Facillier: the question is; what do we do?

Anastasia: if we can make this slag heap partially liveable we can kick a deity out of his funk.

Facillier: yeah but how?

Anastasia: to music of course.

Facillier: now why didn’t I think of that?

Anastasia (cupping his face in her hands and looking fondly at him): because you can be a right old idiot sometimes

Facillier: thank you Ana, thank you for the help

Anastasia: it’s what I’m here for Antoine. HADES!!!! What happened to you. We made this island what it is. We built everything from the arcade to the docks. Admittedly it only took 12 hours but we did it. So why are you so down in the dumps?

Hades: I grew up. I have four-three-one. I have 1 child on this island and now he’s all grown up. I’m superfluous.

Anastasia: but people used to run at the mere mention of your name. What happened?

Hades: I’m dead inside

Anastasia: then reignite. Antoine!

(Facillier turns the stereo on. This is when “we built this city” happens. After the song they collapse on the sofa)

Anastasia: feel a bit better?

Hades (chuckling slightly): a bit

Anastasia: gonna stop the hard drinking?

Hades: yup

Anastasia: alright then. In that case. I’m gonna go back to my place. The meat ain’t gonna cut itself you know

Facillier: you could just ask us to help you with magic

Anastasia: nah, I like doing it myself. Keeps me busy. See ya tomorrow

Facillier and Hades: see ya

Hades (immediately after the door closes): I lied

(He launches himself at the bar intent on getting more beer)

Facillier: oh no you don’t!

(He clicks his fingers and Hades ends up suspended in mid air. This is when “I do not hook up” happens. After the song the focus momentarily shifts back to Uma and Celia witnessing the flashbacks)

Uma: wow. They were cut up

Celia: yeah....

Uma (breaking into laughter): THIS IS AMAZING!!!!

Celia: what

Uma: don’t you see? This means someone actually cares about me. I always thought-

(Suddenly they get pulled out of the arcade and into another building filled with exercise equipment, a boxing ring and musical devices)

Celia: where are we

Uma: Morgana’s Speakeasy

Celia: there’s a speakeasy on the island?

Uma: sort of. She told me it’s fun to say. And more inviting then mere bare knuckle boxing. Why would the incense bring us here though?

Celia: of course. Look.

(Uma turns to see the action behind her. Morgana looks shellshocked as Anastasia fetches her a drink)

Morgana: she’s gone. Dead. Dead and gone

Anastasia: assumed dear and gone. There’s still a chance she’s alive

Morgana: if he tries to worm his way back here he’s in for a nasty dose of reality. I can tell you that nothing

Anastasia: Morgan, you’ve got to stop doing this. Not everything has to be traced back your psycho sister and Antoine.

Morgana: tell that to them then.

Anastasia: that’s....a lot of T’s in one sentence. You know what you need? Visualisation Therapy.

Morgana: and that would be?

Anastasia: I don’t know. I read it in a book. And I’m spouting it to what I made Hades do just now. I see no reason why it can’t work on you as well.

Morgana: what do we do?

Anastasia: you’ve got second hand karaoke right?

Morgana: at the bar

Anastasia: perfect. (She walks over to the bar). Now let’s see. Hmmmm. Ooh! Perfect.

(She switches on the machine. After a few stutters and a tiny, easily squashed fire the music starts)

Morgana: oh Christ not this one. It doesn’t even make sense

Anastasia: who cares? Just sing it!

Morgana: ugh. Fine

(This is when “big girls don’t cry” starts. After the song the Speakeasy melts away and the two sisters get pulled upwards)

Uma: what was that?

Doug: ten minutes are up. Come on

(He leads them back into the kitchen where Carlos is glowing with white light and viciously beating Harry up as everyone but Hades, Elsa, Hadie and the Hook sisters cheer him on)

Uma: what the hell’s going on?

Doug: Harry ran his mouth. Carlos got so pissed off he unlocked his latent demon magic. And is now currently in the process of beating the shit out of Harry

Uma: and the king allowed this?

Doug: he’s Carlos’s father. Of course he did.

Uma: DE VIL. STOP THIS RIGHT NOW

Carlos (with the “I’m far too cute for you to get mad at me” look on his face): Sono sempre così terribilmente dispiaciuto capitano. ma non ho la più pallida idea di cosa stai insinuando

Uma: what?

Carlos: means “no”. I can speak Italian now

Jay: I like Italian Carlos

Uma: aren’t you English or something

Carlos: my biological fathers the coachman from pleasure island. Who else do you think would willingly reproduce with Cruella De Vil?

Uma:....good point. But you’re what? 16? How have you only just unlocked your magic?

Carlos: never been quite so pissed off before. Thank you Hook

(Harry wheezes and coughs up blood in response)

Doug: anyway....hades, Mal. I believe you two were going to tell them something.

Hades: yes! Right. Sorry. Uh. Where to start?

Doug: want me to help?

Mal: please?

Doug: fine. When I was under the sleeping curse Maleficent appeared to me and tried to get me to betray you all and join her. I stabbed her with a material dark fae are allergic to and she teleported away. But before they she said something that got me thinking. Some crap about being naive and on your own. But I wanted to know more. So I asked Hades. And then told him to tell Mal cause you know it’s her family history even if she doesn’t see herself as Maleficent’s daughter anymore. Now your turn. Your eminence

Hades: Maleficent isn’t french. She’s Persian. In the year three hundred she decided she wanted rule her kind. Only. They weren’t hierarchical. So she got mad. And killed them. Every last man, woman and child. Until she was the last one left. Then made her way to france. She made a name for herself. Became the Mistress Of All Evil. In 1300 Aurora was born. And, well, you know the rest.

Uma (incredulous): what?

Mal: and the really funny thing is. I don’t know how to speak Persian. But apparently. I can understand it. Take it away dad

Hades: امروز برای صبحانه چی خوردی؟

Mal: bakers dozen egg yolk omelette deep fried in chunky chocolate peanut butter. SEE!?!?

Uma: I-I-I I can’t

Evie: neither can I Uma. But let’s face my sister is inordinately and insanely unfairly lucky

Carlos: are you seriously still on this?

Evie: I just don’t think it’s fair that Mal is willing to forgive him after what he did and yet I’m not allowed to be rightfully mad he abandoned me for sixteen years

Mal: we’ve been over this E. You know why he did what he did

(The two sisters continue to argue as Carlos approaches Jay)

Carlos: I think it’s time for that spell again

Jay: good. Because I really like what happens when we use it. By your leave C

Carlos: thank you. To get rid of these ants in their pants/I command thee all to get up and dance.

(This is when “we are” happens. After the song. Evie now looks more annoyed than ever)

Evie: stop doing that!

Carlos: why? I think it’s hilarious.

Ben: yeah it is actually kinda growing on me

Evie: well I don’t like it. So stop doing it. Ok?

Carlos: when did you become such a drag?

Evie: hmmmmm let’s see. Probably right around the time I found out I’m related to two of the people I hate most in this world.

Carlos: hmmmmm. Nah. You were a drag before today

Mal (sensing danger): ok that’s it!

(She clicks her fingers and the whole house melts away along with everyone else leaving her and Evie in a beige coloured void)

Evie: what did you do that for?

Mal: because you snapped at Carlos.

Evie: of course. Of course you defend the precious prince(.)

Mal: what is your problem? Huh? I’m mean you weren’t exactly sugary sweet before. But today you’ve been downright freaky. Ever since I connected the dots you’ve been indulging in this pity party act that just isn’t like you. And sometimes you’re fine. And then you go ballistic for no good reason-oh my god. Is it your uh....?

Evie: what? No. That’s next week.

Mal: ohhhh. Then what is it? Cause frankly. You’re being a nightmare. And you really need to-

Evie: I don’t know ok! And even if I did know. I wouldn’t tell you. Cause there’s no way in His realm you would ever understand

Mal: and just what is that supposed to mean?

Evie: I don’t ugh I just. (Irritable sigh). It’s just that.

Mal: tell me

Evie: no

Mal: why not? Maybe I could help

Evie: you couldn’t. I doubt even Doug or Dizzy could help.

Mal: why?!

Evie: BECAUSE IT’S NOT HAPPENING TO YOU!

Mal: what!

Evie: you just don’t get it. Everything was fine. I escaped my mother. I have Doug. I have Dizzy. I gave our house. And then this happens. And you are oh so smug about it.

Mal: I’m afraid I’m not following.

Evie: of course you’re not. Allow me put this in terms you might understand

(This is when “better than I” happens. After the song. Evie snaps her fingers and takes them back to the kitchen)

Evie: so do you?

Mal: do I what?

Evie: know better than I do? Know why it’s so difficult for me to accept this?

Mal: no

Evie: then keep out of it then

(She stalks out of the kitchen)

Uma: whoo. I do believe you’ve touched a nerve

Carlos: shut up Uma

Uma: or what?

Carlos: or I’ll make you

Uma: you wouldn’t dare

Carlos: I almost killed you back in the mirror. And that was without magic. Imagine what I can do now that I have it

Uma: you don’t scare me De Vil

Carlos: of course not. Because you don’t want to face the fact that the “weak little human bitch” that you loved siccing Harry on. Can now REPEATEDLY hand you your multi legged ass on a platinum platter

Uma: you wouldn’t dare.

Carlos: oooh let’s see now

(He summons Uma’s nautilus necklace to his hand and freezes her in place)

Carlos: how’d she do this again? Oh yeah

(The nautilus begins glowing white hot and he starts singing)

Carlos: 🎶If you want to cross the bridge, you bitch/You've got the pay the toll/Take a gulp and take a breath/And please try not to be a troll/mom and dad you know I've got her, guys/The prince is on a roll/This poor unfortunate soul🎶 What was next? Oh right. 🎶Beluga sevruga. Come winds of the Caspian Sea/Larengix glaucitis/Et max laryngitis/La voce to me🎶 Now, sing!

Carlos (with an insanely sadistic smile on his face): Keep singing!

(White smoke pours out of the nautilus, forms into hands and makes their way to Uma’s throat. Which is itself glowing. Just like Ariel’s did all those years ago.)

Uma (utterly pants shittingly terrified): Aah...

(The smokey hands had just about reached into Uma’s mouth when Doug snatches the nautilus out of Carlos’s hand and throws it back to Uma who falls to her knees and starts sobbing brokenly)

Carlos: hey dude, not cool.

Doug: now is really not the time C. Alright?

Carlos: urgh. Fine

(Doug follows Evie upstairs. Carlos looks around in mild surprise)

Carlos: hey. Where’d my folks go?

(Out in the backyard Ben and Mal are surveying the completely totalled gazebo)

Mal: so whadya say? Can it be salvaged?

Ben: possibly sold to a salvagers. OOOH! I know! If we clean the wood up and fix any missing chunks I can take it to the island and give it out as free firewood. Wait. Does winter exist on the isle?

Mal: there’s no snow. But it’ll get very cold very fast at the end of August.

Ben: that should be enough time to clean and multiply the wreckage.

Mal: sounds like a plan.

Ben: whatcha thinking of?

Mal: sisters getting on my nerves

Ben: again

Mal: well at least I’m trying. Which is a damn sight more than she’s doing.

Ben: perhaps she doesn’t want you to try? Like how you never let us go to therapy with you?

Mal (realising what he means): oh. Never thought about it like that before

Ben: eh that’s alright. There’s a lot that’s been going on today. S’understandable. And besides. Even if you don’t patch it up today. You’ve got until the sun expands to talk it over. And then some. But just remember you’ve got me as well.

(He waggles his eyebrows and smiles that “who said I can’t be an incorrigible little shit just because I’m the king” smile that always makes Mal laugh)

Mal (through her laughter): oh how positively awful

(This is when “1000 years” happens. After the song. Bal hug each other. Then Mal sees something in the kitchen)

Mal: I’m so sorry. You give very, very good advice. But I’m afraid I have to go and make a scene.

(She heads back inside)

Ben (chuckling to himself): I wouldn’t have it any other way

(In the kitchen. Evie’s behind the counter. She’s put her hair up in a messy bun, taken all her makeup off and is forest green pyjamas monogrammed with the initials “D.N.S.G”)

Mal: what’re you doing? This isn’t like you. Getting ready for bed when you have guest. What’re you playing at?

Evie: I’m tired, Mal. It’s been a long. I’ve been put through hell. So excuse me but im going to bed

Mal: at 9:40 in the evening?

Evie: you all know where your rooms are. Celia can bunk with Dizzy. Hades, Hadie and Elsa can camp out in the living room. The pirates can fuck off outsude for all I care. I’m. Going. To bed

Gil: this really does seem unlike you E. Party isn’t over yet. And, plus, we’ve still got to come up plan to stop Chad, Maleficent and Adam.

Evie: but we can’t do that right now. You know that right? If we make up a plan right now and go in guns blazing we’re toast. You understand that right? I mean what the hell are we compared to them? Huh? (Pointing to Mal). A dragon in therapy.(Pointing to Ben). The one scaly to rule them all. (Pointing to Carlos). A teenager who’s four steps away from being a marvel villain. (Pointing to Jay). Civilised Tarzan. (Pointing to Uma). Kleines Fräulein tunnel vision. (Pointing to Harry then Hadie). My brothers slut one and slut two. (Pointing to Harriet). Scottish Bellatrix. (Pointing to Hades). My abandoner of a father. (Pointing to Elsa). An ice queen with social anxiety. (Pointing to CJ). A Liddellite. (Pointing to Celia). Lyra fucking Silvertongue. (Pointing to Lonnie). The general. (Pointing to Jane). A powder keg full of marshmallows. (Pointing to Gil). Blonde Hercules. (She gets kinder now as she points to Dizzy). My beyond intelligent daughter. (Pointing upstairs which is where Doug still is). My talented amazing brilliant extremely handy boyfriend. (Pointing to herself). And me. The only one in this place with any brains. So you see Gilly. We can’t beat them like this. So I’m going to bed. And we can reconvene in the morning. Good night and leave me alone

(She turns to leave but Carlos stops her)

Evie (whining): whahahat? What now?

Carlos: rooms?

Evie: what? Oh yeah. Let’s see now. Most of you know where your rooms are anyway. Uhhhh. Celia. You can share with Dizzy. Elsa and Hades can sleep on the fold out couches in the lounge. The pirates can sleep outside. It’s supposed to rain tonight. Hopefully they’ll melt. Once again. Goodnight!

(She leaves again. She’s halfway up the stairs when Squeaky starts whimpering in pain in his sleep. Squirmy soon joins him. And then they both start crying)

Evie (inhaling sharply through her nose): this is just not my day is it? (Calling up the stairs) Doug. Could you come down. (Bitterly). The shit’s hitting the fan.

(After Doug comes back down. The twins are still screaming and crying in their sleep. And he pirates are looking progressively more terrified)

Uma: WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!?!

Mal (frantically flipping through the spell book): I don’t know! I don’t know!

Hades: and what time is it now?

Hades (thinking intensely): twelve hours. DOUGLAS! What time was it when my ex wife and that class traitor attacked the house?

Doug: uhhhh. 10am. Why?

Hades: and what’s time now?

Matty (who’s just arrived and been witnessing the past events amusedly with a very frightened Dude in his arms): 9:50pm

Carlos: GIVE ME BACK MY DOG!!!! (Matty does so). Thank you. Now. What the hell are you doing here you little freak?

Matty: temper temper Mr De Vil. I suggest you treat me a mite more kindly because right now I am your only hope of keeping those two awake past sunrise.

(At this point the screen cuts to Ursula’s restaurant on the isle. The time stamp on the screen says “several hours ago”. Hook’s at the piano, all limbs and mental faculties restored and he’s giving a little performance to all the villains who are meeting there. This is when “little drop of poison” happens.)

#disney descendants #zendaya!mal

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bisexualnerd · 4 years

Text

Melancholy Kaleidoscope

Chapter 5/5

~You can read on AO3 here ⤵️⤵️~

Dinner had been peaceful so far. There hadn't been any sign of attempt murder just yet. No flying dishes nor forks being used as weapons.

Bruce was looking at them with suspicion in his eyes.

Well, the man had every right to keep a close watch on them.

Cass stole a piece from his plate again and Tim whined quietly at his sister. The said sister just giggled and booped his nose. He sighed as he could hear Jason sniggering from the other side of the dining table.

"Cass..." He complained again as another piece got stolen. "You have your own food already..."

"Messing with you is fun, little brother." She grinned.

"But..." He got interrupted by a shout.

"You take that back Todd!"

"What?! It's true. That potato piece does look a lot like you."

"I am not a potato you imbecile zombie!" Damian had jumped on his chair with a spoon raised high, pointing at Jason.

The older boy just snickered, leaning back a bit to avoid the Spoon of Doom.

"Damian, don't attack your brother. Jason, stop provoking him." Bruce interfered.

Tim picked out a bean and threw it at them randomly.

"No, go on. This's getting good."

"Tim please..."

Jason had raised a chicken leg to block out Damian's attack and now the Spoon of Doom had flown all the way to Cass's plate, hitting one of her vegetables.

And then one of Damian's elbows knocked at Dick's plate and now there was sauce on the everywhere. Dick looked quite heartbreaking at that.

Tim grinned at Bruce before throwing another bean at Jason and Damian, then took joy in seeing the horrified look on his adoptive father's face.

Damian had now resorted to trying to hit Jason with a knife. Not exactly sharp but still enough to make someone bleed. Jason, on the other hand, had dumped all the food from one plate onto Dick's and used that plate as a shield to protect himself. His other hand held the chicken leg from earlier so he could occasionally bit into it.

You know, you couldn't just waste Alfred's cooking.

He heard Cass laughing from next to him and found himself grinning even wider. His sister then threw small pieces of vegetable at their brothers and encouraged them even further.

"Cass, sweetheart..."

"Fun, Dad." She pouted.

"Please don't encourage them..."

"Fun." She emphasized.

Bruce looked like he was asking for strength from above now. From the other side, Jason jumped out of his seat to avoid getting stabbed and Dick had lunged forward to wrestle the knife out of Damian's hand. Apparently, knives were off limit. Forks weren't.

Damian grabbed a fork from the table and with a loud battlecry, he went for Jason.

Tim had managed to pick up a handful of beans to throw at them. Cass was cheering from her seat. And Dick was trying to look unamused but the small upward quirk on his lips told a different story.

Jason ducked under the fork and they chased each other around the table with the older laughing and the younger shouting. Bruce had tried to grab either of them several times and failed.

Jason was now using Cass to hide from Damian. The younger boy stopped before them, glaring hard.

"Step aside Cassandra, so I can put this zombie back to his place."

Cass's eyes widened at how Damian had called her and smiled at him. She glanced back at Jason with a mischievous glint in her eyes before speaking.

"No killing."

"Sis, you traitor!" Jason gasped dramatically while the younger boy huffed.

"Fine. I will not slay him, but there is no guarantee I will spare him from my wrath."

Cass nodded and stepped aside, leaving Jason without any protection. Damian jumped, the fork high in the air...

...just to be caught by Bruce, who had leaped from behind him. Tim startled, crashed into the table and sent one of the plates flying to Dick.

"Alright time out! Time out!" Bruce took the fork away and dragged Damian away from Jason.

Tim looked down at the sauce stain on his shirt and grimaced. Alfred would not be please. Speaking of...

"Where's Alfred?"

Silence fell upon them and Tim stepped away from the mess on the table.

"Right...I'm just gonna..." Dick dashed down the hallway, probably went looking for Alfred.

He came back with the old butler in tow, who took a quick look at the mess before shaking his head disapprovingly.

"I went out to check on the garden for five minutes, and come back to this. Anyone care to explain?"

"It was Jason and Damian." Tim quickly provided.

"Yes. Jay and Dami." Cass confirmed.

Alfred's "I'm-not-mad-just-disappointed" gaze fell upon the two said boys, one of them grinned sheepishly and the other glared at the ground.

Please, take a wild guess which was which.

"You know that's not completely true." It was now Bruce's turn to smile evilly at them.

"Of course it was Jason and Damian to create this whole mess. But...you both have encouraged them to continue to do so." The man turned to his oldest. "Thanks for being the only child I'm proud of."

"Dad!" Cass frowned.

"B, come on!" He groaned.

"So it's settled. Master Jason and Master Damian will clean the dining room up while Master Tim and Miss Cass will be in the kitchen to help me."

"Sorry guys." Dick waved his hands around. "But I can help too. Providing emotional support and encouragement is very important too."

"Big brother!" Cass poked Dick on his side.

"Really?!" Jason narrowed his eyes.

"Thank you Master Dick. Now off you go. All of you."

They ended up cleaning for a good hour. By the time they had finished, he was exhausted. As the four of them dragging themselves upstairs, he could see Dick chuckling to himself from a few feet behind.

The dick.

They all eventually bunched up in Cass's room because this was usually considered neutral ground. Dick had gone to find several more blankets and pillows so they could make themself comfortable.

When Tim finally cuddled up between Jason and Cass, he remembered.

"Hey Jay, what about the prank?" He whispered.

"Hmm..."

"Jay...it's your idea."

"Right...sorry. So tired. Can we do it tomorrow night or some other time?" Jason mumbled, half asleep.

This is pathetic.

"Fine."

He snuggled against his brother's side and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. Not even ten seconds later, he heard Dick whisper-calling for him. Tim fluttered his eyes open to see Dick petting Cass's hair and hugging Damian close to his chest.

"Timmy, hey...the prank?"

"Jay said tomorrow night. He's tired."

"Okay fine. But we're doing it."

"Never say we're not. Go to sleep Big Bird."

"G'night Baby Bird."

He shut his eyes again and tried to sink into the blanket. Jason mumbled something unintelligible and draped an arm over his torso. From his other side, Cass buried her face into his hair and curled up into herself.

Tim yawned, eyes watered. He so needed sleep. He breathed in the scent of Alfred's detergent on the blankets and their clothes as it lulled him into his dreamland.

Everything was good.

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

The next night, Jason had stored all the cheese and leftover meat in his mini freezer. Dick had somehow managed to find an oversized piece of bread and hid it away very carefully. Tim had made sure they got enough vegetables and tomatoes. And he had installed a camera in a dark corner of Bruce's room.

They were so gonna get yelled at.

But it'd be worth it.

Besides, the prank made Jason happy and less broody so he was not gonna deny his brother of this.

The clock struck three in the morning and the operation "Bruce the Sandwich" began.

After many discussions, they had argeed that getting past Damian, Cass and Alfred was the hardest. Making their dad into a sandwich (that sounded like murder, Jason loved it so much) was child play. But not like the movie. Nuh uh.

Almost ten minutes later and they had successfully completed their first task. The three carried the food to Bruce's bedroom and while Dick and Jason waited outside the door, Tim went to the kitchen to get the peanut butter jar. Just a small reminder of the the prank's precedence.

He came back not even three minutes later and they all crept into the man's room.

They started with filling the bed with meat and cheese, making sure nothing touched the man himself but as soon as he moved, all the squishy leftovers would startle the man out of his skin.

Tim got some peanut butter on the veggies and stuck them to Bruce's face and neck. He hoped it'd stick until morning. He then got some more using his thump and swiped it across his dad's forehead while whispering.

"Simba..."

Dick snorted from the foot of the bed and lost his balance, which resulted in him almost fell off the bed. Jason, who was next to him, put his hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing. Tim could still hear a low chuckle coming from his brother's throat.

"If Bruce is Simba, then you are Rafiki." Jason said.

"Hey," Dick whispered. "The Bat King. Coming to theatres this 30th February."

"There's no 30th February."

"Yea no shit Sherlock. That's why I say it."

Bruce twitched slightly and Tim almost jumped on Jason. But the man soon returned to being still. Tim turned around, face scrunched up as if to tell his brothers to finish their prank.

"The bread."

"Oh right. Fuck! Where do I put it?"

"You're half sitting on it Dickhead. That goes on B's head dumbass."

"I didn't sit on it Little Wing."

"Uh huh. Sure..."

Tim placed the bread on Bruce's forehead. It did look a bit squashed. Oh well...

He booped Bruce's nose lightly with one finger which still had peanut butter on it. The man now sure looked like a lion with his coloured nose.

They discarded the tomato slices around and the final piece ended up on Bruce's nose. They tried to balance it but it always tipped over. So they out it on the bridge of the man's nose, right between his eyes.

Dick left behind a piece of paper saying:

"Here's your breakfast in bed. Bon appétit!"

Then they ran off into the night...

...and to the bathroom to wash their hands 'cause going to bed with dirty hands didn't seem so fun.

They were so doomed by the way.

3:54 in the morning now and they all but passed out on Jason's bed. Tim got sandwiched by his two older brothers. He didn't think he minded sleeping like this.

"Can't wait 'til morning." Dick murmured.

"This is morning ya dipshit." He heard Jason's low grumble and snuggled even further against his brother's chest.

"Can we sleep?"

"Fine. Listen to the little shit and sleep already Dickhead."

"Goodnight." Tim didn't even have the strength to tell Dick that it should have been "good morning".

They woke up to the sound of yelling.

Tim rubbed at his eyes and looked around in confusion for a few seconds before the memories came back to him.

"Holy shit! B's up!" Dick shouted excitedly and dragged him up, hitting Jason by accident, which made his second oldest brother growl at them.

"The prank, Jay. Get your ass up now!"

"Fucking hell Dick! Slow down."

"That's your prank dude! Do you want to see the result or not?!"

"Right, let's go."

They scrambled to their feet and dashed down the hall. Standing by the doorway of his room was Bruce, with veggies still sticking to his face, though one or two pieces had fallen already. The peanut butter on his forehead stayed intact.

Tim fished out his phone to take a bunch of pictures while Jason was still busy laughing at their dad's face. The man still looked confused and scared (which was unusual to others, not to his kids) with pieces of food randomly falling from his body to the floor.

Upon seeing them, Bruce bellowed.

"BOYS!"

"Shit, let's go before he gets food on us." Jason pushed him down the hallway and then they were running away.

"RICHARD JOHN, JASON PETER, TIMOTHY JACKSON, COME BACK HERE! YOU ARE ALL GROUNDED!"

"Dickie and I are adults!" Jason called back.

"Did you just..." Tim spluttered. "But I am not, Jay!"

"Yeah, your problem, kid."

"Oh fuck you. He's gonna ground you anyway."

"Hm sure..."

They hid in Tim's room and the older two barricaded the door and windows with his furniture, singing "Do You Hear The People Sing" while doing so.

"What we're gonna do with the pictures?" He heard Jason asked. Tim grinned.

"Just so you know, Twitter is going to have a field day."

End.

#melancholy kaleidoscope #batfam #batkids #batman #batfamily #tim drake #red robin #jason todd #red hood #dick grayson #nightwing #damian wayne #robin #cassandra cain #black bat #bruce wayne #batman fanfiction #fanfic

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jdixiidbcjwob1 · 3 years

Text

He smiled, even though she couldn’t see it.

Y/n sighed, “I’m going to go get ready, be back soon.” something was on the tip of her tongue, something like ‘I love you’ but she didn’t say it, was shocked at the mere thought of it. As she scurried from the room, Y/n wondered what had come over her.

***

Something was off.

Everything seemed normal but Harry had a bad feeling as they approached the car. He held the door open for her, and Y/n thanked him and sat down. As Harry was getting into the driver’s seat he noticed his side view mirror was off just a little bit. But it still set him off.

He stopped, getting out of the car, “Harry what is it?” Y/n asked with concern.

Harry said nothing, getting down onto his hands and knees as he looked under the car. He was back up a second later, throwing open Y/n’s door, “get out now.” he said, grabbing her arm and dragging her from the car.

His grip hurt and Y/n made an ‘ow’ sound but then Harry was pulling her farther away from the car and she realized what was happening.

The bomb went off, and it was loud, Harry covering her body with his as they landed on the grass of the villa.

Y/n’s whole body was numb, ears ringing as Harry pulled away from her, looking down into her eyes. She knew he was saying something but she didn’t know what. She was looking at the blue sky, at the smoke already billowing.

“Y/n.” Harry said louder, grabbing her chin to force her to look at him, “are you hurt?!”

She shook her head, still stunned.

Harry frowned, looking up at the villa. He couldn’t be sure anywhere was safe. He stood up, grabbing Y/n’s hand to drag her to her feet, “come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away from anything else that might explode.”

***

Y/n was fuming. Staring between the facetime call with her family, Harry, and the ‘royal spring break’ organizers.

“So a few royal families got death threats, and instead of telling us, you know, the people who were threatened, you just added more security and got a better island this year?!” she asked. “How the fuck did the bomb even get on the island?”

“We’re looking into it-” an organizer said.

“So what happens now?” Y/n asked.

“We checked the island for bombs and your house is safe, but a number of people have decided to go home.” another organizer stated.

“Y/n, we need you here, the bomb was under your car-” her mom began.

“What do you think?” she asked, looking at Harry and the organizers, “do you think it will happen again?”

“We don’t know-”

“You should go home.” Harry stated, “it’s safer that way.”

She knew he was right. Knew it was for her own safety which was his top priority. But something wanted him to tell her she wasn’t being stupid for wanting to stay either, wasn’t being stupid for wanting to stay with him.

“I think…” Y/n looked up, “I’m staying.”

“Y/n!” her mother yelled.

“Y/n it’s not a good idea.” her brother said, grabbing the phone to get a good look at her, “you were targeted-”

“I’m staying Jeremy.” she said again, lifting her chin a little in defiance.

She could tell by Harry’s jaw clicking that he was upset. His eyes bore into her like lasers and she ignored him.

“S’ not a good idea.” Harry stated.

“Well.” Y/n said, “too bad.”

She argued with her family for another hour, but after it was through, Harry drove her home, his grip tight on the steering wheel. They said nothing.

She knew he was mad.

***

It was the afternoon when Y/n awoke. There was no smell of breakfast and no Harry saying good morning. Just an empty room.

Low voices were heard outside her door and she sighed, putting on a robe before looking out into the kitchen area.

Harry was sitting at the counter next to a blonde man. His back was to Y/n, shoulders broad and strong.

Harry noticed her and stood up, the blonde following suit and turning to look at her.

“Y/n this is Luke, he’s been assigned to help me with guarding you for the remainder of your stay.” Harry said, voice very professional, lacking any warmth.

The blonde smiled, sticking out a hand to her, “nice to meet you princess.”

He smelled like gum, but not the spearmint type Harry liked to chew. It was something else, Juicy Fruit. Y/n had been addicted to the flavour when she was younger but smelling it on the man made her stomach turn, she didn’t even look at him, instead she turned to Harry, ignoring Luke’s hand, “another guard?”

“Just need to make sure you’re safe.” Harry stated.

“You won’t even notice I’m here.” Luke assured her.

Y/n ignored him again, flipping her hair and going back to her room, “I’m going out tonight!” she called over her shoulder.

“No you’re not.” Harry called back.

“Yes I am!”

***

Even in the club, Y/n was angry. When she’d arrived, a number of people had come up to her to ask if she was okay. It was obvious that royals had left, Louisa was nowhere to be seen and even Felicity had gone home.

Going to the club wasn’t about having a fabulous time with her friends, Y/n just wanted to be out, to try to grasp what was normal, what she had spent all year looking forward to.

After an hour of dancing, Y/n decided to go out for a cigarette. As she moved to the hall leading to the alley, she hoped Harry would follow like he had before. Hoped it would be just him and not the massive blonde puppy bodyguard she’d been assigned.

The night air hit her face and she reached for her lighter, then something clicked.

Her eyes darted up, landing on the man in an all blank ensemble that had him practically blending in with the alley walls.

He was a few meters away, but the gun in his hand was obvious.

The cigarette dropped from her lips and Y/n froze.

Her heart was racing in her chest, body cold.

Her breath was shuddery when she inhaled.

They’d warned her. But she’d been stubborn. And now, she was going to die.

Everything happened quickly.

A blur of movement, and Harry was suddenly in front of her. Four shots rang out before a frenzied looking blonde tackled the gunman down, slamming his fist into the mans face until he was out cold but Y/n wasn’t even watching.

Harry was on the ground, Y/n on her knees next to him.

She was sobbing, looking down at her guard, her unlikely lover, who’d just been shot four times for her.

“Harry I’m so sorry.” Y/n whispered, words almost unintelligible amidst her tears, “this is all my fault, I was stubborn, I should have listened to you and now you’re-” she couldn’t bring herself to say the word dead.

Then he opened his eyes and looked up at her and Y/n’s sobs stopped, body freezing again.

“Wearing a bulletproof vest love, just knocked the wind out of me for a sec.” he said, wiping her tears away.

Y/n made a mad scramble to tear open his shirt, to make sure he wasn’t lying. Her brain was frenzied, mind reeling, emotions all over the place. She’d thought she was dead, then she’d thought Harry was dead, but they were both fine?

Adrenaline was pumping through her body as she inspected the bullets that had hit his vest.

Then she was crying again, happy tears, tears of emotions she couldn’t even describe. Her whole body was shuddering and Harry sat up, wincing. He put his arm around her, despite the growing crowd of people and security.

“Hey, it’s okay.” he assured her.

“I thought you were dead!” she sobbed, grabbing the front of his shirt and burying her face in his neck, “I was so scared.”

“I know Y/n, I know.” he shushed her, rubbing her back, careful what he did in front of the royals who were all watching the princess sob over the help.

“I don’t want to lose you Harry.” Y/n sobbed louder, “fuck, I like you so much-”

“Y/n there are people.” Harry whispered.

“I don’t fucking care.” Y/n said loudly, “Harry I like you. Fuck it. I do. I don’t care anymore. I don’t.” she sobbed, hugging him tighter.

She cried until people began to disperse, and then Luke was at their side, waiting, encroaching on Y/n’s space whether he meant to or not.

Finally Y/n pulled away from Harry and he wiped away all her tears.

She wrapped his arm over her shoulders and Luke bent down to help, but Y/n shook her head, “no, I’ve got him.”

And she did. She acted like a crutch for Harry the entire way back to the car, opening the door for him and helping him into the back seat while security and royals watched. But she didn’t care anymore.

***

The doctor had left and Luke had gone to deal with the gunman, leaving Harry and Y/n alone. She’d stood by the door anxiously the entire checkup, watching the doctor inspect the already bruising signs that Harry’s vest had protected him from not one, but four bullets.

She approached him slowly, apprehensive about how he was feeling. The guilt on her shoulders was immense, almost making her knees buckle, causing tears to well in her eyes at the thought of his pain being her fault.

“I’m so sorry.” she whispered.

Harry looked up at her, “not your fault.”

“It is my fault.” she sat on the couch next to him.

“It’s not.” he said, eyes dark.

Y/n’s lower lip trembled as tears threatened to fall, her eyes going to the four dark marks on his torso, “I’ll kiss them better for you.” she offered.

Harry laughed, the contraction of his stomach muscles making him weeze slightly but it was enough of a ‘yes’ for Y/n as she leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to each mark.

Then she looked up at him, kissing his lips softly. Soft wasn’t good enough for him, and Harry made a move to grab her and pull her onto his lap but he winced, stopping his motions and just pressing his forehead against hers.

They were quiet for a few moments.

“You’ll be sent home tomorrow.” he stated.

“Maybe it’s for the best.” she said.

“When you go home, they’re sending me back to England.”

Y/n’s heart froze for the umpteenth time that night, “what?”

“This had a time limit, I didn’t see the point in telling you but… I didn’t think I’d fall for you. Not like this.” he admitted. Brushing his fingers across his cheek, “I’m sorry.”

“I…” Y/n didn’t even know what to say, “no, you can stay in America-”

“I can’t.”

“Then I can come to England.” she stated.

“I wouldn’t ask you to-”

“You’re not asking I’m offering.” she said, voice almost pleading, “look Harry, I can deal with a shit one bedroom apartment, I can deal with maybe even getting a job or doing art and going grocery shopping and cooking breakfast every morning like a normal person. I can take the London underground or whatever it’s called, ‘mind the gap’ right?! Look, I can take it, if it means I get you…” she paused, looking at him, “if you want me too.”

“Never thought I’d fall for a girl like you.” Harry laughed to himself, “I don’t want you to give up your life for me. I know you love it, the magazine covers, the fashion.” he paused, noticing the tears falling down her cheek, “go home, live your life, find some prince and forget about me.”

“I could never forget about you.” Y/n stated, crying fully now.

“You will.” Harry assured her, cracking a small smile, “you will. I promise.”

***

She’d slept cuddled next to him the whole night and in the morning Luke had shown up to take them to the airport. Harry had given her a hug and then moved to sit up front with the pilot, which is when Y/n realized it had been goodbye.

Sitting in the back of the plane with Luke, Y/n hated the fact she traveled alone. She needed someone. Needed Harry.

He was right there. So close. But untouchable.

The flight was rough for Y/n and she sat there, chewing a nail and thinking. Luke had explained that the gunman had given up his team. That everyone was being apprehended while they were in flight. That things would be okay.

But they wouldn’t be okay. Not really. Not if she didn’t have Harry.

When the plane landed, Y/n was quick to be on her feet, waiting anxiously to see her family. When the door opened she got out, ignoring Harry who was standing there.

On the tarmac she hugged her family, having a few hello’s and answering a few questions, but she needed to get to what she needed to say. Finally she held up a hand, looking at them all. Her eyes landed on her brother.

“do you care about me?” she asked.

He looked at her then at her parents, laughing awkwardly, “yeah, of course I do Y/n.”

“Then listen to what I’m about to tell you.” she pleaded, “I know im supposed to marry a prince, and that it’s just the royal way, but I found someone, and… I know he’s it. He’s it for me. I swear to god. I bet my life on it. And I need you to say it’s okay.”

“Y/n.” her dad sighed.

“Dad, I know you used to be king and head of the family but you’re not the coronated ruler anymore.” Y/n stated, looking at her brother still, “please Jeremy.” she paused, “Cut me off from the money, cut me off from the family, I don’t care.”

After a moment Jeremy sighed, “I could never cut you off.” he said, pulling his sister into a hug, “do what you have to do.”

“Y/n this is insane.” her dad said.

“Look, Jeremy isn’t going to die anytime soon. I’m not going to be queen. I need this.”

Her dad looked back at Harry who was standing next to Luke. It was unspoken but everyone knew that the notorious ‘princess whisperer’ was the man in question, Y/n’s father was apprehensive but he knew Harry’s record, knew it was clean and good.

“Fine.” her sad sighed, “give it a try.”

“If it doesn’t work then it doesn’t work.” Y/n stated, however it was just to make her family feel better. She knew in her heart it would work out and when she turned to look at Harry, a smile on his face but still trying to hide his pride even though it gleamed in her eyes, she knew it would work.

***

They’d agreed to come the week before christmas to celebrate. Staying in a five star hotel a short drive away from Y/n and Harry’s one bedroom apartment.

They’d all been shocked when they entered the place. It was warm, and smelt like good cooking, tiny, with the living room covered in paintings that had Y/n’s signature on the bottom. She’d sent pictures of a few to her family and although it wasn’t exactly their taste, they knew she was enjoying it. They knew she was happy.

Harry made a toast at dinner, thanking everyone for coming, thanking them for giving him a chance. “Never in my life thought I’d have royals in this apartment, so my apologies if it’s a bit small.” he’d joked, earning a dazzling laugh from Y/n who watched everything he did with a look of complete and utter adoration.

The turkey they made was the best any of them had ever had, and Y/n’s parents were shocked when Harry announced that he and Y/n had made dinner together, equally.

“You learned how to turn on a stove?” Jeremy joked.

It was a nice dinner, and when it was done, Y/n was the first to stand and gather plates, Harry assuring everyone to stay seated while they quickly tidied up the kitchen before dessert.

Standing next to each other, shoulders bumping in the small kitchen while they washed dishes, neither Harry nor Y/n had ever been happier. But every moment seemed to be like that.

Harry grabbed the gravy saucer and scooped the last bit out, holding it on a finger, “want the last bit darling?” he asked.

She laughed and then leaned in, wrapping her lips around his digit. As she sucked it all off she playfully bit the tip of his finger and Harry chuckled, “still my little brat huh?” he cupped her face lovingly and she beamed at him.

“Always.”

1 note · View note

ghostlykay · 5 years

Note

You write for Nubbins?? If so, could you write Nubbins x (female) S/O cuddling, or anything fluff? Thank you!

I will ALWAYS write for Nubbins because he is SUCH a guilty pleasure. Thank you so much for sending this in, @slashxr !!

Warning(s): nothing atypical of Canon. Long post under ‘read more’!

There were sparse moments when the house fell into utter stillness. Even evenings usually were interrupted by something. Bubba’s steps fell with power, his staggering pace sounded unabashed as he tended to one of the household tasks regardless of hour. Drayton, on the other hand, rarely interrupted the night. Having perhaps the only set work hours out of the entire family, he’d bark at the others to “shut their yaps” and “mind his beauty sleep”. It’d occasionally earn him your silent approval as you preferred to sleep undisturbed too.

Nubbins, however, was at all odds with his sleep, his labors, his everything. At some forsaken hour, he’d once enter the home with all the grace of blundering cattle, howling for Bubba, who thundered over to meet him with squealing giddiness. Drayton, shortly thereafter, had been screaming at them, the threat of beating them both high in the air. Whether they succumbed to the promised bludgeoning, you never found out. Sadly, just as your muscles eased back into a molding mattress, an erratic rapping sounded at your door.

Record timing.

You momentarily considered ignoring the knocking in lieu of some well-deserved rest, but as the tapping began to crescendo, you figured it would be better to answer than risk Drayton’s temper. It wasn’t uncommon for one of the brothers to inevitably wind their way up to your room anyways; after all, as a technical victim of the Sawyer family, you weren’t exactly in a position to deny their visits. Sometimes, it was Bubba, simply dropping off a twisted trinket with a happy babble. Every now and again, it was Drayton himself. Rarely, though. It only seemed he felt the need to pervade your room when his paranoia had unjustly spiked. And, at odd times, it was the visitor who graced your doorway now: Nubbins, as he twitched and grinned unabashedly at your arrival.

“Good evening, Nubbins,” you murmured, a tired smile splitting your features at his anxious demeanor.

“Oh, hey--hey there. You ain’t busy, right? Got somethin’ I need to show you.”

Beady eyes darted seemingly anywhere but at you, twitching eyelids blinking rapidly while fingertips jerked and twisted with unseen thoughts.

“For you? I’m always free,” you replied kindly, already reaching for the sheer robe to cover the thin flannel of your sleepwear. Folding the stolen fabric over your body, you found the Sawyer man had risked a glance at you before turning away. Arching arms beckoned for you to follow. You stifled the urge to giggle at his theatrics, and as directed, trailed after him. Although he seemed nearly playful in his erraticism, you couldn’t shake the inkling that he was trying his best to not look at you. Peek at you, yes, but whenever his own twitchy gaze met yours, it flustered him; actions turned even more nervous. So much so that when you caught his side-stare while pulling the attic’s ladder down, he almost startled, hands suddenly finding the simple latch very difficult to grasp and pull.

“Nubbins, let me---” You offered, only for him to shove your raised hand from him, muttering unintelligibly under his breath. While your lips pursed, he seemed far more agitated at himself than your offer. Despite his erratic nature, you couldn’t help the admiration for him you harbored close.

From a young age, you’d always a hunger for the…..odd. Rather, you were fascinated by the grotesque, the occult even. When your original art piece was shown to your parents, they’d been disgusted by the morbid colors, the unsightly sprawl, and overall abstract imagery of what you’d titled as “Death”. Though no solid shapes had formed on the canvas, as it was a school project, your inspiration was clear. You recalled fondly the research that had been put into that piece; the wonderful, gritty photos stolen from the library of picked apart bones, plucked eyes, and even the morbid, partially censored criminal shots of victims long passed. “Anthropology” had been your cover-up field for the darker passions behind these interests. In reality, it was just a warped pleasure of yours.

A pleasure Nubbins encouraged with giddy delight and relished.

Despite his previous dismissal, crooked hands grasped wildly at yours, dragging you up into the dusty space before leading you through another hatch, and then finally settling you onto the roof beside him. You’d expected the motive behind his clutching interest to be another art piece. After all, he’d been surprisingly quiet for a spell. The alarming change from the week prior, where he’d been threatened to be belted by Drayton personally for all his spastic energy, to this one where he’d sat through dinner with only drumming fingertips and absent staring was offputting. You’d meant to ask him what had been on his mind. You really had. But, every time you’d sought him out, he’d disappear into thin air. Bubba, bless his heart, had yammered out various reasons when you’d asked his whereabouts, but whether he was informing you of his location or covering for him, you never knew.

“You ain’t ever leavin’.”

You arched a brow at that. This was nothing new to you; they couldn’t risk you outside their watchful eye. Period. You’d honestly long abandoned the idea of escaping anyways. What point was there to return to a world where your passions were discouraged?

“And---and, well, since you’s not goin’ nowhere---well, you know, ain’t nowhere out of here---without us---I been thinkin’. Well, not us.You know, not them, but just us, y’know?”

You didn’t know. It didn’t help that, while he spoke in a stuttered afterthought, he was desperately pawing at himself. He must have finally found the object of his frenzied searching because, after a long pull of silence, a thin box was forced into your hands. Though the tilt of confusion never left your features, you slowly brought the parcel up to your gaze. Under the moonlight, you noted that it must have once been a silver shade, the metallic paint on it having long since faded. You supposed the scrawl along the front must’ve been your name, and although the spelling was somewhat off, you felt your cheeks flush at the sentiment.

“Thank you,” you whispered, already beaming at the fact he was giving you a gift.

“Don’t th-thank me. Not--not yet! Open it!”

You obliged, gasping. Inside, folded on top of parchment, a thin, iron chain ended with a heavy pendant. Encased in ivory bone fragments, the locket held a polished, tawny stone in its center. It reflected the starry night’s dazzling eyes beautifully. While carefully cut bone-fragments circled the center jewel in a pattern akin to a ribcage, gentle fingers flicked it open, wonderstruck that it opened with such ease. Protected by the elements, a single photo was crammed haphazardly under the rim. With a little maneuvering, you were able to pull it free, unfolding it quickly, and feeling a warm surge of adoration at the image in hand.

By first glance, it meant nothing.

However, the atmosphere told a domestic tale. Drayton sat comfortably, if begrudgingly in the corner. His grizzled features rarely strayed from that disgruntled look, but for Nubbins’ amusement, he had flashed him a wry, side smile. Bubba was poking bits of meat through the chicken’s cage, and though no sound could be heard, she was certain he was cooing (as he did) at the clucking bird. Unlike Drayton, he seemed unaware of the photography session. Probably for the better, you mused. Poor Bubba got so flustered when it came to his picture being taken. Then, there was Nubbins, the camera man himself. While part of his face was cut off, his wild-eyed grin was unabashed, present, and peering directly into what must’ve been a blinding flash.

Then, there was you in the background. A member to the madness. Apart of the family.

You vaguely remembered him taking the photo, but you couldn’t recall your thoughts in the moment. You could feel the flush of heat rise to your cheeks, a sudden wave of sentiment stinging your eyes.

“ I--I been thinkin’, since you’re not goin’ nowhere, and neither am I, thought....well, I thought you’d be my girl? I’m the best lookin’ one of these sorry sons of a----”

He didn’t finish. You didn’t let him. In an instant, you pounced on top of him, one arm looped around his neck while the other clutched his present into your chest. He startled at the feeling of your lips upon his, hands scrabbling to grasp at your shoulders in obvious surprise.

His hesitation didn’t last.

Lips moved against yours in clumsy passion. His fingertips found purchase in your hair, knotting in their grasp and desperately pulling you closer, drawing you partially onto his scrawny lap. Breaths stuttered. His tongue lapped at yours, begging to deepen the kiss, in which you parted your lips, allowing him to. You were oblivious to the cutting edge of cardboard into your bosom, the need for air, everything. It wasn’t until Nubbins withdrew a hair’s breadth away to plant a series of feather-light pecks to your throat did you remember anything, remembered he needed an answer. Despite your keening desire, you pushed him away.

“Is that not a-a ‘yes’?” He huffed against your skin, hawk nose settled in the crook of your neck.

“Of course, it’s a yes,” you laughed before pulling him to yet another kiss.

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buns-with-a-book · 4 years

Text

Holding

Because nothing is more wholesome than hand holding.

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil/OC, V/OC, Platonic Dante/OC Tags: @nimnox @furyeclipse @synchronmurmurs

Summary: Two times Cassandra held Vergil’s hands and the time he holds hers.

“And get outta here, you fuckin’ bampot!” Cassandra snarled, slicing at the last of the demons. What responded to her was a raspy death rattle, the demon collapsing before her. Cassandra let Astra snap out of existence, panting and smiling as what lay before her were smears of demon blood. Her patrols around Red Grave City had made her see more demonic activity, something that she told Dante. She voiced concern that something big was going to happen soon, if demonic activity was starting to pick up.

A raspy breath caught her attention. It didn’t sound demonic, no, it sounded so very human. She whipped around.

“Hey! If you’re hurt, better make yourself known!” She called, following the wheezing breath. The sound led her to a man, covered by a tattered brown cloak. That raspy low breathing worried her. She knelt down, still a small distance away from him. The man glanced to her, she noticed a familiar pair of strikingly familiar blue eyes hiding under the cloak.

“Go away.” The man growled, an attempt to intimidate. Cassandra looked to his hands.

“You’re hurt.”

“I will be fine.”

“Please, let me help.” She held out her hands. The man stared at them, she could see him debate with himself without even looking at his eyes.

“Very well, if you’re going to be persistent about it.” There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice, as if he regarded her more of a nuisance he had to deal with in the moment that would not last. It was something she was used to.

“Just hold out your hands, I’ll handle the rest.” She said, moving closer to him. The stranger, hesitantly, held out his hands. She noticed the fingerless gloves but said nothing about removing them. Some people had gloves for reasons, like Dante, and she worked around them to give her healing just fine. Now, with a closer look at his face, she realized the extent of his state. His body was cracked, as if inches away from falling apart. Her thumbs carefully grazed exposed skin, her eyes fluttering closed. A faint aura swirled at their connected hands, the Crest doing it’s work. She frowned a little at the resistance her magic met, as if his state was a result of something far more devastating that she could ever fathom.

“It hurts.” His dry voice broke her out of her thoughts.

“Healing always hurts.” Cassandra replied simply. “That means it’s working.” She ignored the dismissive snort she received from him. After a few minutes, she pulled back her hands. “I wish I could do more, but I’m afraid there’s only so much I can do for you.” She couldn’t describe his state, a sense of brokenness that reached deep into his soul. He stood up.

“I will take my leave.” He whispered. She quickly got up.

“Wait!” He stopped. “Can I have your name?” A quiet fell between them. “I’m Cassandra, by the way.” He glanced back to her from under the hood of his cloak.

“I have to go.” Cassandra frowned at his curt words.

“Very well. Take care, stranger. Red Grave City is hardly safe at night.” She nodded, watching him walk away. Something about him told her that they would meet again.

---

“V, just sit down for a moment.” Cassandra huffed, easing him to a gnarled portion of tree.

“I can-”

“Don’t ‘I cannot rest’ me, mister.” Her grip tightened on the black-clad poet. “You’re crumbling apart before my very eyes. If you want to have a hope of getting to Urizen before Dante or Nero do, then you need to be as strong as possible.” Her gaze moved down to his hands. Her heart ached seeing the state of them, crumbling and turning to dust before her eyes. V had so little time left...she pushed the thought out of her head. She closed her eyes, letting the familiar healing power of the Crest of Saint Julia move through her hands into V’s. A familiar sensation met her, of a soul so broken it hurt her as well. She wasn’t sure if it was from the foul pulsations of the Qliphoth tree hindering the effectiveness of her Crest or how far deep the slow decay of V’s very body was.

V took back his hands, taking hers instead. She looked up, the Crest fading.

“Cassandra.” V began, voice soft. “Save your strength. If you expend your energy trying to heal me, you will not have what is needed to stop Urizen.”

“Neither will you.” She retorted before immediately regretting it. She had spent the past month fighting demons in an uprooted Red Grave City, saving those who could be saved, giving the final rites to those that didn’t make it, all of it with V. And now, seeing him crumble away into dust, like the very dust that came from Qliphoth roots when the pulsating tumor, the storage of all that blood, burst and deprived them of their life…her mind was in a tumultuous state of protectiveness and anxiety. She looked to V, seeing his gaze was still on their entwined hands.

“I must admit...when all of this is done, will you still think fondly of me?” She blinked in confusion.

“Why do you ask that?”

“I…” His grip tightened on her hands. “I am not who I seem, Cassandra.”

“Then who are you, really?” His eyes seemed distant.

“When we defeat Urizen, I will tell you everything. I promise.” He said, slowly getting up. Cassandra quickly got up, Astra snapping back into existence.

“You keep saying that. It better be worth it, Mr. Poetry.” V chuckled a little.

“Dante’s rubbed off on you.”

“The moment he figures out how to get his mouth around Gaelic, everyone in Devil May Cry is doomed. He wants to know all the swears.” Cassandra chuckled, feeling her spirit lift a little.

“Well, I suppose you cannot let that happen, can you?”

“Oh no. I’m only gonna teach him how to embarrass himself.” She paused. “Provided he doesn’t embarrass himself by mispronouncing what I taught him.”

“I pray I see that myself one day.” V chuckled at the thought. “But, for now, we have wasted enough time. We must press on.” Cassandra let out a sigh.

“Deeper into the vampiric hell tree we go.” She hoped all of this was worth it.

--- Cassandra hummed softly into the air, listening to the jukebox. It had been six months since Dante and Vergil disappeared, to the Underworld to end the Qliphoth tree at its roots according to Nero. He got a new arm from the whole ordeal, which was good. She figured. It was still weird.

But life still went on, even without the brothers around. As of the hour, Lady and Trish were busy on missions of their own, leaving her to man the fort that was the shop. She had spent the first few solo mannings cleaning up the shop to make it far more presentable for anybody coming into the front door. As weeks passed into months, Cassandra found herself missing the two brothers. Dante, of course, was the man she had adopted as the big brother she never had. As for Vergil, the enigmatic elder brother to Dante, she wondered how much of him was V and how much was Vergil himself. She closed her eyes, remembering the first time she met him. It wasn’t him as V, she knew that. Those smoldering ice blue eyes, she had seen them before. She had met him before the Qliphoth tree burst from the ground, crumbling apart as he hid from the demons that she slew.

Just like when he was V.

Cassandra looked to the pictures on the desk. The portrait of the woman she had come to know as Dante’s mother remained, her painted gaze staring back at her. Next to the portrait was a picture of the crew; her, Dante, Lady, Trish, and Nero. Cassandra smiled at the sight, taken well before the tree uprooted the city. Nero still had his demonic arm, a strange sight at the time but she hardly questioned anyone Dante trusted. She looked to the newspaper that was laid upon her desk, detailing the reconstruction efforts the city was going through to recover from the demonic attack. She folded up the newspaper and set it aside, just as the jukebox stopped it’s track. She sighed and got up, walking over to pick a new song. She heard the door open.

“Devil May Cr-” She stood up, turning to greet whoever came in, but stopped in her tracks. Dante grinned widely as he entered, as if nothing had changed, with Vergil silently trailing behind her.

“Cass!” He said cheerfully. She just stood there, half expecting the two to just disappear. “What, did you miss my mug that bad?”

“Dante you fucking loon!” She snapped. “Making your sister worry like that for six months, you’re gonna regret the demons not kicking your ass sooner!” She stormed over. Before Dante could stop her, she hooked her arms around the twins, holding them close. “I fucking missed you, you crazy son of a bitch.” Dante grinned, ruffling her hair.

“Cass, I couldn’t understand half of what you were saying.”

“Oh, piss off.” She squeezed the two. “Just wait until Lady and Trish return. They’re steamed you gave the deed to the place to Morrison.” She looked at the two. “Fuck, you’re covered in demon gore.” Dante rubbed the back of his neck.

“We...we kinda just came back from the Underworld.” He said, his voice a little sheepish. Cassandra let out a sigh and stepped back.

“Get your ass in the shower Dante. Me and the girls have been keeping the place running with paying the bills.” Dante perked up at the idea of hot water and promptly went upstairs. She looked to Vergil, who was still. His eyes were closed, as if he was remembering something. “Vergil?”

“I have not heard you that mad since you fought Urizen in the depths of the tree.” He said. Cassandra could hear a hint of pain at the memory. She knew she had screamed curses and swears at Urizen, mostly for uprooting the tree and making her life hell for the month it stood.

“I can only imagine how unintelligible I was in the moment. I slip back into my native Gaelic when I’m pissed, according to Dante.”

“Certainly not angry enough to do so in the moment.” Vergil nodded.

“There’s two showers. One downstairs and one upstairs, if you need it.” She looked up and down Vergil. He certainly wasn’t as gore covered as Dante was (the rush of emotions made her ignore that to finally hug him again) but there were certainly splatters of demon blood on him. Even after the offer, he remained still.

“Cassandra. Do you remember what I asked you, in the depths of the Qliphoth tree?” She blinked, confused at his question.

“I...hm…” She thought about it. “If I recall correctly, you asked if I would still be fond of you after everything that’s happened.” He nodded. “Well.” She clapped her hands together. “Your actions, however unintentional, harmed not only Dante and Nero, but thrust Lady and Trish into harm’s way, as well as myself.” Vergil remained stoic, watching her carefully. “However, you also tried to mitigate the damage onto the populace of Red Grave City from the tree’s hunger as V.” She paused.

“If you are just going to throw my failures at me, I will take my leave.”

“Hold on. There’s a point I’m getting to here.” She said. “Obviously, Dante thinks there’s some good in you, because I doubt he would’ve come here so casually with you in tow.” She took his hands, staring at them. “Neither does Nero, so willing to throw himself from the van to pursue you. And you stand here, so he holds something akin to fondness.” She glanced up at Vergil, still giving her a cold look, as if waiting for her to finally make her point. “I’m going to give you a chance Vergil. Dante has, Nero has, so I shall as well.” Her hand carefully slipped into Vergil’s, grip loose to let him pull away as he wished. “On one condition.”

“What.”

“Spar with me.” Cassandra could feel his hand twitch and smiled knowingly. “Not now. Sparring you in the state you’re in, it won’t be worth it.” She pulled back her hand. “Rest, regain your strength, Vergil. After that, then we’ll begin.” There was a simmering fire in his blue eyes, as if she prodded something deep within him. Perhaps, as the older brother, being challenged like this was not something he took in stride, especially when he was told to wait beforehand.

Whatever he had to say died in his throat as Dante strode out of the shower. Cassandra was silently thankful he had enough sense to have pants on.

“Cass, you are a lifesaver.” He said cheerfully.

“Don’t thank me Dante. Thank Trish and Lady, provided they don’t skewer you for being gone for so long.” Cassandra pulled away from Vergil as he spoke, leaving him there. “You want pizza? I haven’t ordered pizza since you left. I’ll pay.”

“YES!” He did a fistbump. “I missed pizza so much.” Cassandra laughed at his enthusiasm for pizza. As he walked back down the stairs, getting into a conversation with Vergil to urge him to clean up, Cassandra relished the sense of familiarity that came with him. After she ordered the pizzas for Dante to chow down on, splurging just a little just for his return, she went to the jukebox to play one of Dante’s favorite songs.

And nothing sounded better than that song wafting through the warm air of Devil May Cry.

#devil may cry 5 #devil may cry oc #dmc vergil #dmc dante #dmc v #devil may cry

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tubbinary · 4 years

Text

ᕦ(✧ᗜ✧)ᕥ You take the moon and you take the sun. ᕦ(✧ᗜ✧)ᕥ

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) You take everything that sounds like fun. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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Stay a while 'cause somethings always cooking.

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Stay a while 'cause somethings always cooking.

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I sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter. Ever since I was a boy I dreamed of soaring over the oilfields dropping hot sticky loads on disgusting foreigners. People say to me that a person being a helicopter is Impossible and I'm fucking retarded but I don't care, I'm beautiful. I'm having a plastic surgeon install rotary blades, 30 mm cannons and AMG-114 Hellfire missiles on my body. From now on I want you guys to call me "Apache" and respect my right to kill from above and kill needlessly. If you can't accept me you're a heliphobe and need to check your vehicle privilege. Thank you for being so understanding.

Gr8 b8, m8. I rel8, str8 appreci8, and congratul8. I r8 this b8 an 8/8. Plz no h8, I'm str8 ir8. Cr8 more, can't w8. We should convers8, I won't ber8, my number is 8888888, ask for N8. No calls l8 or out of st8. If on a d8, ask K8 to loc8. Even with a full pl8, I always have time to communic8 so don't hesit8. dont forget to medit8 and particip8 and masturb8 to allevi8 your ability to tabul8 the f8. We should meet up m8 and convers8 on how we can cre8 more gr8 b8, I'm sure everyone would appreci8, no h8. I don't mean to defl8 your hopes, but its hard to dict8 where the b8 will rel8 and we may end up with out being appreci8d, I'm sure you can rel8. We can cre8 b8 like alexander the gr8, stretch posts longer than the Nile's str8s. We'll be the captains of b8, 4chan our first m8s the growth r8 will spread to reddit and like real est8 and be a flow r8 of gr8 b8, like a blind d8 we'll coll8, meet me upst8 where we can convers8, or ice sk8 or lose w8 infl8 our hot air baloons and fly, tail g8. We could land in Kuw8, eat a soup pl8 followed by a dessert pl8 the payment r8 won't be too ir8 and hopefully our currency won't defl8. We'll head to the Israeli-St8, taker over like Herod the gr8 and b8 the jewish masses, 8 million, m8. We could interrel8 communism, thought it's past it's maturity d8, a department of st8, volunteer st8. reduce the infant mortality r8, all in the name of making gr8 b8 m8.

What the ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) did you just ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) say about me, you little ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)? I'll have you know I graduated top of my ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) in the ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), and I've been involved in numerous secret ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) on ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), and I have over 300 confirmed ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). I am trained in ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) warfare and I'm the top ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) in the entire US armed ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). You are nothing to me but just another ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). I will wipe you the ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) out with precision the ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) of which has never been seen before on this ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), mark my ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) words. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) think ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) can get away with saying that ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) to me over the ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)? Think again, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). As we speak I am contacting my secret network of ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) across the ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) and your ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) is being ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) right now so you better ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) for the ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). The ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). You're ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) dead, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). I can be ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), anytime, and I can ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) you in over seven hundred ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), and that's just with my bare ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). Not only am I extensively trained in ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) combat, but I have access to the entire ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) of the United States ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) off the face of the ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), you little ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) comment was about to bring down upon ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), maybe you would have held your ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). I will ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) fury all over ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) and ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) will ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) in it. You're ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) dead, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°).

My name is Artour Babaevsky. I grow up in smal farm to have make potatos. Father say "Artour, potato harvest is bad. Need you to have play professional Doto in Amerikanski for make money for head-scarf for babushka."I bring honor to komrade and babushka. Sorry for is not have English. Please no cyka pasta coperino pasterino liquidino throwerino.

hi every1 im new!!!!!!! holds up spork my name is katy but u can call me t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m!!!!!!!! lol…as u can see im very random!!!! thats why i came here, 2 meet random ppl like me _… im 13 years old (im mature 4 my age tho!!) i like 2 watch invader zim w/ my girlfreind (im bi if u dont like it deal w/it) its our favorite tv show!!! bcuz its SOOOO random!!!! shes random 2 of course but i want 2 meet more random ppl =) like they say the more the merrier!!!! lol…neways i hope 2 make alot of freinds here so give me lots of commentses!!!!

DOOOOOMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <--- me bein random again _^ hehe…toodles!!!!!

Hi, 4k player here who reported slahser. Slahser was our position 1 faceless void. He built a mek and had around 29 healing salves in his inventory. He would chrono both teams in the middle of a fight, salve his allies, pop mek, and proceeded to yell "SLAHSER'S WAY". We gave him position 1 farm so he could be a position 5.

Granted, his unorthodox build worked and carried us to victory but I still felt it deserved a report.

I owe my life to Arteezy. I got in a horrible car crash and i was in 6 month coma. The nurse switched to the Twitch channel to Arteezy's stream. I awoke from my coma and muted it.

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ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ RAISE YOUR DONGERS ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

(ง ͠ ͠° ل͜ °)ง ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴsᴇᴇɴ ᴅᴏɴɢᴇʀ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟɪᴇsᴛ (ง ͠° ل͜ °)ง

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ As I ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴜʀᴀɪ sᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ sᴛᴏᴍᴀᴄʜ ᴀs I ᴡᴀs ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛ sᴜᴅᴏᴋᴜ, I ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ Kʀɪᴘᴘ ᴘʟᴀʏ Cᴀsᴜᴀʟsᴛᴏɴᴇ... I ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ Kʀɪᴘ ᴡᴀs Nᴏʟɪғᴇ... ɴᴏᴡ I ᴀᴍ Nᴏʟɪғᴇ...ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʙʏᴇ ᴋʀɪᴘᴘ ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

(ง ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)ง ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴏᴅs (ง ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)ง (ง •̀_•́)ง ʏᴇᴀʜ sᴘᴀᴍ ɪᴛ! (ง •̀_•́)ง

(╭ರ_•́)\ Mr. Fors we politely ask for the program 'Plug-Dj" to be used in this live broadcast for alas we will stir up a ruckus (╭ರ_•́)

(̿▀̿ ̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿)̄ ɴᴀᴍᴇ's ᴅᴏɴɢ. ᴊᴀᴍᴇs ᴅᴏɴɢ (̿▀̿ ̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿)̄

(ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง I have been training since before I was born, and today is the day. Today is the day I spam. (ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง

༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽YOU CAME TO THE WRONG DONGERHOOD༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽

༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽ YOU PASTARINO'D THE WRONG DONGERINO ༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽

༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༽ºل͟º ༽ YOU COPERINO FRAPPUCCIONO PASTARINO'D THE WRONG DONGERINO ༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༽ºل͟º ༽

༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽You either die a DONG, or live long enough to become the DONGER༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽

༼ ಠل͟ರೃ༼ ಠل͟ರೃ༼ ಠل͟ರೃ༼ ಠل͟ರೃ ༽ಠل͟ರೃ ༽ಠل͟ರೃ ༽ YOU ARRIVED IN THE INCORRECT DONGERHOOD, SIR༼ ಠل͟ರೃ༼ ಠل͟ರೃ༼ ಠل͟ರೃ༼ ಠل͟ರೃ ༽ಠل͟ರೃ ༽ಠل͟ರೃ ༽

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )つ──☆*:・ﾟ clickty clack clickty clack with this chant I summon spam to the chat ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )つ──☆*:・ﾟ

ᕙ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ. ʜᴀʀᴅᴇʀ, ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ, ғᴀsᴛᴇʀ, ᴅᴏɴɢᴇʀ .ᕙ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ

ヽ(◉◡◔)ﾉ I'M LOL FAN AND I HAVE DOWN SYNDROME ヽ(◉◡◔)ﾉ

(ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏɴɢᴇʀ, ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ (ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง

(ง ͠° ل͜ °)ง LET ME DEMONSTRATE DONGER DIPLOMACY (ง ͠° ل͜ °)ง

(\ ( ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°) /) OUR DONGERS ARE RAZOR SHARP (\ ( ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°) /)

ヽ༼◥▶ل͜◀◤༽ﾉ RO RO RAISE YOUR DONGERS ヽ༼◥▶ل͜◀◤༽ﾉ

̿̿ ̿̿ ̿'̿'̵͇̿̿з=༼ ▀̿̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿ ༽=ε/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿[} ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿^ Stop right there criminal scum! no one RIOTs on my watch. I'm confiscating your goods. now pay your fine, or it's off to jail.

̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿'̿'̵͇̿̿з=༼ ▀̿̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿ ༽ YOU'RE UNDER ARREST FOR BEING CASUAL. COME OUT WITH YOUR DONGERS RAISED ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿'̿'̵͇̿̿з=༼ ▀̿̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿ ༽

(ง'̀-'́)ง ＤＯＮＧＯＲＤＩＥ (ง'̀-'́)ง

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ raise your dongers ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ VOICE OF AN ANGEL ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ LETS GET DONGERATED ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ RAISE YOUR BARNO ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ "I have a dong" ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ - Martin Luther King Jr.

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ OJ poured and candle lit, with this chant i summon Kripp ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

☑ OJ poured ☑ Candle lit ☑ Summoning the Kripp ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜O༽ﾉ ʀᴀɪs ᴜʀ ᴅᴀɢᴇʀᴏ ヽ༼ຈل͜___ຈ༽ﾉ

(ง ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)งSuccubus release Kripp or taste our rage(ง ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)ง

ノ(ಠ_ಠノ ) ʟᴏᴡᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏɴɢᴇʀs ノ(ಠ_ಠノ)

ヽ༼Ὸل͜ຈ༽ﾉ HOIST THY DONGERS ヽ༼Ὸل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ﾉ Kripp you are kinda like my dad, except you're always there for me. ヽ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ﾉ

█▄༼ຈل͜ຈ༽▄█ yeah i work out

༼ ºل͟º ༽ I AM A DONG ༼ ºل͟º ༽

༼ ºل͟º༽ I DIDN'T CHOOSE THE DONGLIFE, THE DONGLIFE CHOSE ME ༼ ºل͟º༽

༼ ºل͟º༽ NO ONE CARED WHO I WAS UNTIL I PUT ON THE DONG ༼ ºل͟º༽

༼ ºººººل͟ººººº ༽ I AM SUPER DONG ༼ ºººººل͟ººººº ༽

┌∩┐༼ ºل͟º ༽┌∩┐ SUCK MY DONGER ┌∩┐༼ ºل͟º ༽┌∩┐

ζ༼Ɵ͆ل͜Ɵ͆༽ᶘ FINALLY A REAL DONG ζ༼Ɵ͆ل͜Ɵ͆༽ᶘ

<ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ ᴅᴏɴɢᴇʀᴇᴅ>

ヽ༼ʘ̚ل͜ʘ̚༽ﾉIS THAT A DONGER IN YOUR POCKET?ヽ༼ʘ̚ل͜ʘ̚༽ﾉ

༼ ͡■ل͜ ͡■༽ OPPA DONGER STYLE ༼ ͡■ل͜ ͡■༽

( ° ͜ ʖ °) REGI OP ( ° ͜ ʖ °)

(̿▀̿ ̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿)̄ IM DONG,JAMES DONG (̿▀̿ ̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿)̄

(ง⌐□ل͜□)ง WOULD YOU HIT A DONGER WITH GLASSES (ง⌐□ل͜□)ง

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ CUDDLE UR DONGERS ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

ლ(́◉◞౪◟◉‵ლ) let me hold your donger for a while ლ(́◉◞౪◟◉‵ლ)

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ง MY RIGHT DONG IS ALOT STRONGER THAN MY LEFT ONE ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ง

(✌ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞ May the DONG be with you! ☚(ﾟヮﾟ☚)

(⌐■_■)=/̵͇̿̿/'̿'̿̿̿ ̿ ̿̿ ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ Keep Your Dongers Where i Can See Them

̿'̿'\̵͇̿̿\з=( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)=ε/̵͇̿̿/'̿̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ DUDE̿̿ ̿̿ ̿'̿'\̵͇̿̿\з=( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)=ε/̵͇̿̿/'̿̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ PLEASE NO COPY PASTERONI MACORONI DONGERIN

( ͝° ͜ʖ͡°) Mom always said my donger was big for my age ( ͝° ͜ʖ͡°)

(/ﾟДﾟ)/ WE WANT SPELUNKY (/ﾟДﾟ)/

─=≡Σ((( つ◕ل͜◕)つ sᴜᴘᴇʀ ᴅᴏɴɢ

(✌ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞ POINT ME TO THE DONGERS (✌ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞

ᕙ( ^ₒ^ c) 〇〇〇〇ᗩᗩᗩᗩᕼᕼ ᕙ( ^ₒ^ c)

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ ArcheAge or BEES ヽ̛͟͢༼͝ຈ͢͠لຈ҉̛༽̨҉҉ﾉ̨

୧༼ಠ益ಠ༽୨ MRGLRLRLR ୧༼ಠ益ಠ༽୨

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉITS A HARD DONG LIFE ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉMOLLYヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

༼ つ ຈل͜ຈ ༽つ GIVE MOLLY ༼ つ ຈل͜ຈ ༽つ

†ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ† By the power of donger I summon MOLLY †ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ†

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉTAKING A DUMPヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ WHAT DOESNT KILL ME ONLY MAKES ME DONGER ᕙ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ FOREVER DONG ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

[̲̅$̲̅(̲̅ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°̲̅)̲̅$̲̅] Mo' money, mo' Dongers [̲̅$̲̅(̲̅ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°̲̅)̲̅$̲̅]

༼ᕗຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ Drop Bows on 'em ༼ᕗຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ

Ѱζ༼ᴼل͜ᴼ༽ᶘѰ HIT IT WITH THE FORK Ѱζ༼ᴼل͜ᴼ༽ᶘѰ

Ψ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽Ψ hit it with the fork Ψ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽Ψ

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ. * ・｡ﾟ Copypastus Totalus!!

ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ༼ຈ ل͜ຈ༽ﾉ☂ ɪᴛs ʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ sᴀʟᴛ! ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ☂ ヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ、ヽヽ｀ヽ

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

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⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜

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▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬��⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

IM DELETING YOU, DADDY!😭👋 ██]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]] 10% complete..... ████]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]] 35% complete.... ███████]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]] 60% complete.... ███████████] 99% complete..... 🚫ERROR!🚫 💯True💯 Daddies are irreplaceable 💖I could never delete you Daddy!💖 Send this to ten other 👪Daddies👪 who give you 💦cummies💦 Or never get called ☁️squishy☁️ again❌❌😬😬❌❌ If you get 0 Back: no cummies for you 🚫🚫👿 3 back: you're squishy☁️💦 5 back: you're daddy's kitten😽👼💦 10+ back: Daddy

Fuck a hater , hit a snitch , your my girl 👭 , my 5 star bitch , i love you more than any dick 💕💯, && if i dont get this back 🕙 , you aint worth shit !! Send this to 8 girls you care about .. 💯 I love you , I love you forever !! 💯 Whoever stops this will suffer for 83 days !! 💯💯💯 Ready, set, GO !!!! in

Stahp. 👋 🏻 Don't Flirt Wit Meh. Do Yhu Not Know What In A➡ RELATIONSHIP⬅ Means.? Frfr.👋 🏻 I Am Loyal. 💯 I Am In Love.💗 && Nobody Gunna Come Between Us. 😝 Stop Wit Yhur Thirsty Asses Tryna Hit Me Up On The DL, I Am Commited.✌ 🏼👌🏼💯

! ! ! ATTENTION 2003 KIDS ! ! ! This 👇 is the last year of being a kid 👦👧! Because NEXT 👉YEAR! We gon be T33N4G3RS💁💅!! PARTYING 🎉💃 DRINKING 🍻🍸🍹🍷 MAKING OUT AND SEX 👅💦O_O PERIODS ☹🍫 HEARTBREAKS 💔☹ MIDDLE SCHOOL SOPHOMORES (7️⃣TH GRADE)

#this took a lot of effort wow #copypastas #swastika tw #submission

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ohmyomegasteveandalphabucky2 · 5 years

Note

Oooh hey!!! How about you write the most self indulgent fluffy or angst or smutty fic you’ve ever written? Really treat yourself 👌🏻

((so the gang and i were talking about this one photo of steve and it struck me that he looks so much like a lil sugar baby or escort for rich ceo!bucky. bucky just worships him; takes his baby to expensive galas just because he likes to see him glittering in diamonds and high end brands. and this is how they meet.))

This was the most expensive gift that Bucky had ever received. He’d told Tony over the phone that he didn’t want anything for his birthday. Solitude, he’d asked for. And what had he gotten in return? A birthday bash large enough to knock the power out across half of manhattan. Bucky couldn’t be mad; he knew Stark meant well. But this? This was pushing the envelope to the extreme.

In his private sitting room was a beautiful, blonde omega, laid demurely upon his velvet lounge chair. He smelled like honeysuckle and morning dew, making the whole room turn to sunshine after rain, with curves that would make a woman jealous and skin that glittered in the low lamplight. The omega was wearing nothing but a pair of peach silk panties and a sweet expression, lips bitten pink and pursed in something of a smirk.

James Barnes was rarely a man to ever be struck speechless, but there was something about this boy had his tongue tied and his heart racing. He was co-ceo to one of the largest companies internationally. He gave talks to crowds full of thousands every week. And yet there was something about this boy that kept his feet glued to the floor. He opened his mouth once, twice, to no avail. The only sound he found himself capable of making was a soft rumble of a growl, and that was terribly inappropriate upon first meeting someone.

While Bucky stared, his gift laughed, daintily bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. It wasn’t loud or boisterous, like perhaps it should have been if going on outward appearance alone. His laughter was, instead, melodic and soft, like windchimes.

“Are you going to be my alpha tonight?” asked the blonde, batting his eyelashes coquettishly, when he finally realized that Bucky was not going to speak first.

Another growl threatened to claw its way from Bucky’s throat as the omega spoke. He clenched his hands tightly at his sides to keep from lunging, from claiming.

“That depends,” he answered tersely. Bucky was good at acting much less affected than he truly was. Almost boredly, Bucky began to prowl towards the omega, his heart rate increasing with every step closer he took. He undid his cufflinks, nonchalant and one by one, rolling his sleeves up his arms to reveal one flesh and one metal.

“Depends on what?” the omega quipped, lowering his lids in Bucky’s direction.

The alpha narrowed his eyes in response, tilting his head to one side as he studied the body of the other laid out before him. If he noticed the way the omega deepened the arch in his back or pushed his chest out further under Bucky’s scrutinous gaze, he didn’t mention it.

“What’s your name?” Bucky asked instead, looking into blue eyes carefully.

A sharp intake of breath and then, “Steven,” whispered quietly, like a confession. Big eyes blinked up at him, wide and innocent. “But you can call me anything you like.”

“Steven.” Bucky savored the feeling of the word on his tongue. He turned it over in his mind. “Steve.” The omega shuddered a sigh and Bucky liked the way that tasted even better.

“And what am I to call you?” the omega - Steve - asked.

Bucky bit down on his bottom lip, considering. Again he fixed Steve with a curious look, trying to get a read on him. But there was nothing but charm and controlled sweetness beyond the intoxicating scent belonging to him. “James,” he decided. Steve nodded once; Bucky paused. “Or sir,” he added, derisively willing himself not to blush. “If you want to get into my good graces.”

Steve blinked up at Bucky, slow and hazy, like a fly caught in molasses, smiling like the sun. “Oh?” he whispered. Slowly, Steve reached his hand up to cup the front of Bucky’s dress pants, grin widening at the soft groan the alpha made. “Your graces aren’t the only thing I wanna get into, sir.” He unzipped Bucky’s slacks deftly, hardly even twisting his wrist to do it, as if he’d done it hundreds of times before.

The omega gasped happily when he pulled out Bucky’s half hard cock, already leaking at the tip and pulsing in his hand.

“No briefs?” asked Steve with a cheeky smirk and a glint in his eye. “Someone was hoping to get lucky tonight.” The blonde leaned forward and nuzzled Bucky’s cock, making satisfied noises as he breathed in the unadulterated alpha scent.

“I did, didn’t I?” Bucky shot back, eyebrow raised and clearly unamused. “Wasn’t all for nothing. I’ve got a pretty little thing in my private rooms. I’d consider that pretty lucky.”

“The first compliment of the night? Oh, so he does have a heart somewhere,” laughed Steve.

Bucky laughed right back, rubbing his dick across Steve’s cheek. “You’re just used to alphas giving it up quick.” Bucky touched his finger to Steve’s bottom lip, pulling it downward. “You’re used to battin’ those pretty eyelashes and gettin’ anythin’ you want.” Steve poked his tongue out to touch the skin just beneath the head of Bucky’s cock.

“Uh huh,” he chirped coyly, licking at the tip like it was candy. “Some alphas are already done by now.”

“Oh, baby,” Bucky said with a dark chuckle. “It’s gonna be a while before I’m done with you.”

“Yes, please, sir.”

Steve went to work without another syllable. One swipe of his tongue and Bucky was biting his tongue and seeing stars.

“Holy fuck,” gasped the brunette, jerking his hips forward uncontrollably. Steve winced and gagged and Bucky felt bad, but he also kind of didn’t - not when there were tears leaking out of crystalline blue eyes. He immediately moved back, intending to apologize, but Steve leaned up and pressed large, warm hands to the backs of sturdy thighs, not only keeping Bucky there, but urging him forward again. Bucky swore he was seeing stars.

“Oh,” he moaned shakily, shifting to cradle Steve’s face in one palm as he languidly thrust his hips. The sight of his knot kissing the omega’s plush mouth over and over made his head spin. “Oh my god…”

Steve hummed, doing his best to smile around a mouthful of cock and bobbing his head faster. One swift movement and Bucky had Steve’s nose pressed right up to his navel, his dick completely down Steve’s throat, knot and all. If it weren’t for those firm and steady hands keeping him upright, Bucky’s knees surely would have given out.

Selfishly, Bucky held Steve down until the blonde was choking, tapping the back of Bucky’s thigh desperately before being allowed to pull away with a heaving gasp. The alpha above him exhaled simultaneously, already regretting not being inside the boy’s warmth. He looked down at the coughing, crying omega with stunned admiration. No doubt he was expensive, Bucky could tell. Where the hell had Stark found an omega like this?

“What - what the fffuck was that…?” stuttered Bucky, absolutely unintelligibly. He was looking at Steve, who was looking at him like the cat who got the cream, leaning back on his elbow and licking his lips with a smug smirk on his face.

“You like that, James?”

Bucky gripped Steve by the jaw with his right hand, hard, and Steve’s eyes glazed over with pleasure. “It’s ‘sir’ to you right now,” asserted Bucky with a growl.

“Oh, yessir,” Steve slurred, his eyes hardly even opened now.

Bucky shoved the boy away, none to gently, causing him to whine. Again, Bucky found himself going to apologize, and again Steve surprised him. The omega spread his legs further, throwing his head back desperately, chest heaving. It was then that Bucky noticed little drops of slick dripping from the seat of silk panties. Steve caught Bucky staring at the growing puddle between his legs and that sparse, mischievous glint in his eye returned before he was swirling nimble fingers in his own mess and bringing them to his lips for a taste. Bucky could've choked on air if he was still breathing. Rolling his hips and sucking on his fingers, Steve looked like a wet dream come to life.

“M’so wet, sir,” he mumbled, sounding slightly garbled around the digits in his mouth. Steve closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. “Could just slide right in me.” Bucky’s dick jumped at the invitation.

Fluid like water, Steve slipped off the chase lounge onto hands and knees, prowling towards Bucky like he was the prey. His hips swayed and his back rippled and Bucky’s mouth was dry. When Steve came to a stop right at his feet, Bucky didn’t think he could take much more. And then the boy spoke. Two simple words that flipped the switch inside Bucky’s alpha brain: breed me.

Bucky lifted Steve like he was nothing, didn’t even let the insatiable little thing kiss his cock again - just bent him over the back of the luxe red velvet. He opened his mouth to tell Steve to arch that back, but he had already gone and done it, pushing his perfect ass back onto Bucky’s dick, peering sweetly over his shoulder.

“C’mon, tough guy,” goaded Steve, lips shining and words dripping with honey. “Give it to me.”

The way Bucky fucked him was animalistic to say the least. Not even the most primal alphas had given it to Steve quite the same way. Bucky had shoved into him without so much as a word, nothing more than a grunt. He took Steve fiercely and quietly, the only sounds being his huffs of breath and the sound of skin slapping skin. Steve had tried to keep his own noises to a minimum - James seemed like the type who didn’t appreciate the moans of fake pleasure - and he’d done well until Bucky happened to nail his sweet spot on a particularly rough thrust. The omega yelped, then whined high in his throat as stars exploded behind his eyes and glittered down his legs. Bucky stopped moving his hips and Steve damn near howled, wiggling his ass back.

“Please…” Steve whispered, looking back at Bucky. The alpha’s hair had come loose from the tie holding it in a bun and was now sticking to his forehead in strands; his face was dark, but his eyes were piercing, staring right into Steve, maybe even through him.

That ghostly metal hand reached up, seemingly in slow motion - Steve vaguely registered that he’d have bruises on his hip from that tomorrow - and took hold of silky blonde hair in an unforgiving grip to pull back, deepening the already severe arch in his back. Steve didn’t realize he was whimpering or that Bucky was growling. The alpha shoved his cock back into Steve, deep and hard, pushing another soft whine out of him and plastering their bodies together.

Bucky brought his lips to Steve’s ear, whispering in return, “You can have it any way you want, sweetheart. Long as you let me hear those pretty noises.”

And oh, James truly was exceeding all of Steve’s expectations and surpassing all reservations, grinding his cock deeper into Steve’s warmth. Even if Steve wanted to stay quiet, he wouldn’t be able to, not with his sir’s curved dick hitting his spot with every thrust. He moaned and whimpered like he was in heat, unable to get enough.

“You like that, pretty baby?” Bucky grunted, warm breath making the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up as he snapped his hips harder and harder.

“Oh! Oh...uhn, sir...uh uh uh - ” Steve babbled mindlessly while shoving his hips back to meet Bucky’s strokes. He could feel the alpha’s knot nudging at his rim, hot and heavy, and ready to lock them together. It costs extra to knot Steve, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn; he’d let James breed him, paid or not.

“Oh, baby, baby.” Bucky’s rhythm faltered; his grip tightened. Steve cried out. “Oh fuck, pretty baby, m’gonna come, gonna knot.”

Steve tossed his head back and whined and Bucky thought he really might be the most beautiful omega he’d ever seen. “Please, alpha,” begged Steve, with his brow furrowed and mouth hanging open. “Please come in me, oh god fuck! Knot me, breed me, uhuhh - !”

Bucky growled and bit down on the back of Steve’s neck, finally popping his knot and coming deep and hard into Steve’s willing body. His hips jerked and his teeth ground together as his cock continued to spill. Under him, Steve was writhing, desperately chasing his release, rocking back on Bucky knot.

“Wanna come, sir,” he moaned. Steve peeked over his shoulder at Bucky and there were tears in his eyes. “Please can I?”

Steve asking so sweetly for permission had Bucky seeing stars and coming a second time, groaning with the surprise of his own pleasure. He grabbed two handfuls of Steve’s pert little ass, causing him to yelp in discomfort; Bucky felt Steve tighten around him simultaneously. Smacking Steve’s ass and watching the red handprint bloom with delight, Bucky husked, “Of course you can, sweet thing. Go on and come on sir’s cock.”

“Oh my g-” was all Steve managed before he was coming, legs trembling as he clenched down on Bucky’s length inside him. Bucky grinned a feral smile as he watched Steve’s clear, liquid come drip out of his little cock and into a small, pitiful puddle on the floor. The omega couldn’t stop moaning.

The two of them stayed tied together just long enough for Bucky’s knot to deflate enough to pull out comfortably. Bucky preened, immensely satisfied as he watched his seed seep out of Steve’s hole to gather with the omega’s little mess. He smacked Steve’s ass again, just to watch his pretty pink hole wink at him.

“There’s a pretty boy,” he murmured, petting over Steve’s beautiful, golden skin, entranced and high from a good fuck. “Such a pretty baby.”

Steve nuzzled back into the touch, rumbling happily in his chest. “Thank you, sir. Y’felt so nice in me.”

Bucky moved away from Steve, pushing his panties back into place, disregarding the mess he’d made of the boy. He put his cock away, zipping up his expensive slacks and pushing his hair neatly back into its bun, as though nothing had happened at all. When Steve looked back over his shoulder again, Bucky had moved a few paces away to pour himself a glass of whiskey, drinking it slowly to savor. It was quiet and that worried Steve. He straightened himself up with a wince, arching his back as if chasing the phantom sensation of the alpha’s knot being inside him.

Before Steve could call him for being distant, Bucky spoke, saying, “I want to buy you again.” And oh. Well, that was a start. Steve watched him owlishly, Bucky taking another sip from his glass. “How much is your starting rate?” Steve went to answer, but Bucky waved him off absentmindedly, the metal glinting in the light. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll double it. I want to see you again tomorrow night.”

“I uh…” Steve began uncomfortably. “I have another client tomo-”

“Triple it then,” Bucky countered. He looked over his shoulder, piercing eyes narrowed in Steve’s direction. The silence dragged on for a moment, leaving Steve with an icy cavity forming in his chest. “Cancel him. And I’ll triple it.”

Steve breathed out an unsteady breath. That would be the next three months rent, plus extra for spoiling himself with expensive things, all in one night. Steve didn’t know why he was hesitating; he wanted to see James again.

“Okay,” he said softly.

“Okay,” Bucky agreed. He slammed back the rest of his drink before topping off his ice once more, fixing the omega with a predatory smirk. Steve returned the smile demurely, blushing sweetly, secretly looking forward to spending another night with James Barnes.

-han

ps: send me juicy head canons ab escort!steve and ceo!bucky ;)))

#mod han #omega!steve #alpha!bucky #escort!steve #ceo!bucky #smut #filth tag #knotting/breeding

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kuriiiiiiiiiii · 5 years

Note

for the askmeme atem as ☠☠☠ bonus if its with kaiba reacting anyway you see fit :)c

2/2

Seto peered down at theblack marble headstone, squinting to read the epitaph.

“The most gifted and selfless soul to grace this land with his presence…”He snorted, “You were just a blundering fool who threw his life away to save afew soldiers from a pack of angry Aeternae.”

The cool bluemoonlight cast a silvery shroud on the headstone and the bouquet of whiteflowers lying at its base. The flowers were slightly withered, seeminglyexhausted from the elements.

Seto swept a hand overthe flowers. They burst into bright blue flames, quickly burning away.

He then took off thenecklace he was wearing, holding it over the dancing flame. The dragon-shapedpendant instantly caught alight, glowing brighter and brighter as if it was stealingaway the moonlight itself. There was a low rumble as the earth around thegravestone trembled and cracked. A circle of blue flames erupted from thecrevices, twisting and morphing into the form of a spectral dragon spreadingits wings over the magician’s back.

He exhaled. “Lead theway.”

The dragon answeredwith a sharp cry, diving head first into the mound. The whole graveyard beyondthe circle of flames crumbled and disappeared, quickly engulfed by a thickexpanse of purple-red miasma, leaving only a small island of earth where themagician stood, the gravestone standing at one end like the hull of a smallboat. The deafening roar of water thundered all around them. Skeletal forms canbe seen rising from the depths of the miasma and approaching the “boat”,clawing and beating at an invisible barrier as they screeched in agony,scorched by the purifying flames.

Seto closed his eyes, shuttingthe relentless noises out of his ears. Then a voice sounded from the back ofhis head, dark and hollow as if it was coming from deep below the waters.

“You are demanding passage for a wanderingsoul. Where is your fare?”

The rasp of an elderlyman sounded hauntingly like the old keeper of the graveyard, but Seto knew hewas speaking to a different person.

“I have it here. Takeit.”

He braced himself assplitting pain dug through his skull. He held his stance through sheer force ofwill, only letting out a grunt as he pressed a hand over the now hollow socketof his right eye.

“Ah… but you wish to bring this soul back withyou to the realm of the living. I charge more for that.”

“Fish-reeking oldgeezer,” The magician muttered, cursing as the reverberating voice cutpainfully through his throbbing head. “Fine. Take what you will.”

He cried out as ablunt force carved through his insides, bringing him to his knees. Good… I am still conscious, He thought,clenching his teeth and tasting blood. Theorgans he took were probably dispensable.

He lifted his head asthe black gravestone crumbled, the rubble rising in a dark torrent that suckedin the earth from all around it. It gradually solidified into a human form.

“Seto…”

Blood was blurring thevision in his remaining eye, but it took no more than one look to recognise theslight frame of his rival.

He was succeeding –but there was still a little more to go. Earth and stone serve as an excellentmedium to tether a soul whose body had been buried for over six moons, but somethingmore viscous was necessary to bind them together – the flesh and blood of akin. Fortunately, Seto had this close at hand.

He slumped heavily onthe ground, blood soaking his robes from the stump that was once his right arm.

The boat-island hadcrumbled away to a mere wedge of land, the blue flames now licking at themagician’s ankles. He fought to keep his focus on the work at hand, carefullystitching his flesh between his rival’s materialising ribs.

“Seto… is that you?”

Yes, you insufferable ignoramus, Seto huffed, his lips twisting up in a madsmirk. Who else do you think would bothercome fetch you from this blasted place?

His moment of glee wascut short by a sharp ache from his legs, almost drowned by the pain coming fromeverywhere else. He looked down and cursed at the sight – his left foot was bendingat an alarming angle, dark marks of clawed fingers burning into the leather ofhis boots. He glanced back at Atem, growling in rage when he saw more skeletalclaws reaching past the wall of flames to tug at the strips of particlesforming his body, unravelling them. Residents…I don’t have time for this! He grabbed a handful of dirt, tossing them inthe air. The clumps of earth turned into a flock of black wyverns, swooping downon the ghostly claws, tearing them away and tossing them back into the blueflames.

Now for you… Seto turned back to the lone claw still firmly latched to his boot. It was all your plan to distract me, wasn’tit? But It’ll take more than you rotting mongrels to get in my way… Hepressed his hand into his left thigh, hissing as he cut off his own circulationat the calves. Let’s see how much more youcan steal from me that I won’t take back! He sharpened his focus on hiscaptured limb, shredding the flesh into particles and yanking them out of the skeletalfingers.

“Seto – Seto, stop!”

He ignored his rival’s flustered plead, only coming to astartled halt when he felt warm hands closing over his wrist.

“I can take it from here.”

At his words, the circle of flames turned fromblue to dazzling gold, roaring to life as they pushed back the relentlessspirits. The roar of the flames grew loud enough to obscure the sound of theriver, and when it finally receded, the miasma had cleared, the wanderingspirits nowhere to be seen. They were back in the graveyard, full moon hanginghigh in the cloudless night.

Seto’s eyes were fixed on his bounty, althoughat this point it took all his strength to simply lift his head. And he didn’tknow whether he should be glad or incensed at what he saw.

Atem’s body was still incomplete, wrapped in a purple-red haze that was pullingup particles from the ground around him. Seto had only managed to put fleshback in his face and half his torso – having lost his remaining “material” whenhe was distracted by the residents of the Nyx – but Atem seemed to be workingaround it. Flowers and leaves were sprouting from between the ribs of hishollow ribcage, vines twisting out into the shape of limbs.

This was the gift ofthe greatest magician Domino had ever seen – in his freshly resurrected statehe should have been no more adept than a newborn babe, yet he was already ableto use magic that would envy the Kingdom’s best mages.

Moments later Atem wasflexing his newly formed limbs, clicking his tongue on the daisies stillsprouting out of cracks in his skin. “We’ll deal with this later… lets see whatwe can do abut your leg.”

Seto only had time toyelp in surprise as golden threads sprout from the ground and wrapped aroundhis mutilated leg. Before long he found himself staring down at his own foot,minus the boot, but the appendage was fully and miraculously healed, withouteven a scar left on the skin.

“Hmph,” Seto blinkedunintelligently, “You’re always doing such unnecessary – ” His retort was cutshort by a warm hand touching his face.

“So foolish of you…”

The entire right sideof Seto’s face was numbed from pain, but somehow he could still feel the warmthof Atem’s fingers slipping down his cheek.

“Don’t patronise me!”He reached up instinctively to swat away the offending hand, but halfwaythrough he changed his mind, instead settling for grabbing the warm wrist in a painfullyfirm hold.

Atem tipped his head.“Did you miss me?”

“Absolutely not.Things were going swimmingly while you were gone, I got the Council seat withoutyou there to offend every Elder alive, Doma had been running rampant with theirnew chimeras but we’re pushing them back to the East borders…” How could a handfrom someone who had been dead for six months be so sickeningly warm? “…I don’t miss you. I just need you back.”

Atem smiled. “Well,I’m back now.”

Seto grunted. A lostbattle from the start.

“…Welcome home.”

☠☠☠

lol i feel like i need to learn to draw all over again… as for writing i never learned how to write XD anyway hope this entertains!

#prideshipping #zombie!#Atem #necromancer!#seto kaiba #fantasy draw meme of death #part 2/2 #thanks for the request <3

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bohemian-napsodyy · 5 years

Text

Here For You

Request: can you do a fluff where Elliot ends up getting drunk out of stress and has a hangover the next day and the reader nurses him? -- requested by anon

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: I feel like Elliot and his not-so-great coping habits are a warning in and of themselves -- man i really just wanna hug him, dear god

there’s also mentions of death, but it does not involve/concern Elliot or the reader directly. just wanted to put that out there.

also some swears

A/N: I’ve only seen season 1 of Mr. Robot so far, so if there’s bits where you’re like ‘wtf Elliot isn’t like this anymore???’, that’s probably why 😂I’m gonna catch up before they air season 4, I promise!! at least this way you know there’s almost no spoilers lol

(I also wrote this as Elliot x female reader, I hope that’s ok! I try my best to keep everything gender neutral but it didn’t really work as well for this one :/

You hadn’t heard from Elliot in what felt like years to you. It was normal for him to go a few days without replying, but normally he wouldn’t wait more than five days before sending at least a one word response to let you know he was still doing okay.

So when your phone buzzed at 1 AM on the eighth day, you almost flung yourself to the other side of your bed to reach your phone. Your features immediately morphing into a frown as you squinted at the garbled nonsense Elliot had sent you:

I think Flipper might be part cat is that even possible Y/N i keep looking at her and her ears just seem pointier i need your help i can’t decide is this thing a dog or a cat??? have i owned a cat this entire time??/????/

Your head spun as you attempted to decipher his message. The sleep that was clouding your mind faded quickly when you re-read Elliot’s text for the fifth time, before feeling your heart sink deep down into your chest. Fast. The feeling settled in the pit of your stomach like a heavy rock.

Was he drunk?

You sighed in disappointment as your gaze moved to the tiny photo that you had set as his contact picture on your phone. It was when you spent the summer together on Coney Island. He didn’t want to go, but he saw how eager you were to bring him along. He only went because of you, he said, but the small smile on his face as well as the way his eyes lit up more than normal in the photo gave away everything.

But now it seemed that happiness you brought into Elliot’s life was gone just as quickly as it came.

Elliot, are you okay?

You knew it was a stupid thing to ask, especially since you already knew that he was very drunk. But a part of you was hoping you were just overreacting. You were hoping Elliot would text back and reply that his mind was just wandering once more.

Your heartbeat picked up when you saw he was typing a reply. Two minutes went by, and he was still typing.

That was enough of an answer for you.

You trudged out of bed and after wiping the sleep from your eyes, you threw on your sweatshirt that you had lazily thrown on the floor the previous night. You had to go over to check on Elliot. Something was definitely wrong.

Just as you locked the door behind you, your phone let out a whistle as Elliot finally texted back. Walking down the hall towards the main door of your building, you glanced at your phone.

yEssS, of course i’m fin Y/N my head is spinning this is realy fuN

You shook your head as you typed back a response, all the while going through various scenarios of what might’ve caused him to get into this situation in the first place.

Give me five minutes, you typed back. I’m on my way Elliot. Please unlock your door for me, okay?

Your phone buzzed almost immediately after you hit send.

okayuyuyyy

You were underestimating things when saying Elliot looked like shit.

You found him lying on the floor on his stomach, watching Flipper with a vacant stare of admiration as she paced around him nervously. She seemed as worried about him as you felt.

“Elliot,” you called out gently as you shut his apartment door behind him. “What’s going on?”

He looked up at you, and your heart stopped. His eyes were puffy and red, as if he had been crying a while earlier. His features morphed into a shaky smile as you set down your bag and sat down across from him on the floor.

“I unlocked the door for you,” Elliot replied almost unintelligibly. You could barely understand him, he was slurring his words so badly. “So that you could come in.”

“I know,” you said quietly, nodding as you bit your lip. You slowly moved closer to Elliot and gently reached out towards his cheek. It was your silent way of asking his permission to touch him.

He smushed the side of his face against your hand, almost like a little dog begging for attention. You noticed the way his features crumpled for just a moment before the small smile he wore when you entered his apartment returned.

“Elliot, what happened?” You asked, fighting the tremble in your voice as your gaze landed on the pile of empty liquor bottles on the table. “What did you do?”

He shook his head like a child, and pushed himself onto his knees only to crawl over to you and throw his arms rather sloppily around you. He leaned his forehead against your shoulder with a thunk.

“I’m tired.” He mumbled into your sweatshirt. You couldn’t ignore the way one of his hands reached up and started lazily running through your hair. “I want to sleep, Y/N, but I can’t.”

“Why not?” You asked, returning his embrace tightly. “What happened, El?”

You heard Elliot inhale shakily, the hand on your back grabbing a fistful of fabric from your sweatshirt.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. You began to trace tiny circles on his back. “I’m here. I’m real.”

It was like those words suddenly pushed everything over the edge. In the blink of an eye, Elliot was trembling against you as he began to sob.

“Shayla’s gone,” you managed to catch him utter thickly through his tears, as well as through the alcohol. “She’s gone, Y/N.”

You held Elliot tighter as everything slowly pieced itself together in your mind.

That’s why Elliot had suddenly stopped contact with you for a while. That’s why he was drunk out of his mind right now.

Today would have marked one year since Shayla died.

“Oh Elliot,” you mumbled, stroking his hair gently as you let him cry sloppily into your shoulder. “It’s alright. Let it out. You’re safe, you’re okay.”

Your arms were cramping up from hugging him for so long, but you refused to let go. For Elliot. He needed you right now.

When his sobs finally subsided, you gave him a gentle smile and wiped his tears off his cheeks with your thumb.

“Why don’t you try and sleep now?” You encouraged gently, feeling more like a parent than Elliot’s best friend. You didn’t mind though, you knew he needed someone to be there for him in moments like these. “I’ll stay with you, El. I promise.”

Elliot nodded, although it was looked like more of a general shake of his head. Looping an arm around his shoulders, you helped him stand up and walked with him over to his bed. Elliot dropped unceremoniously onto the sheets, and you let out a yelp of surprise as he tugged you down with him.

“Please don’t leave,” he slurred, his arms immediately wrapping around you. “Everyone else did. I don’t want you to go.”

You shook your head as you pulled the blanket tight around Elliot and yourself. He was already falling asleep.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

You awaited some sort of reply, anything really, but Elliot had already fallen asleep.

Hello again. You’re finally back. I wish you would’ve given me some sort of warning before you left. But then again, no one ever does, so I shouldn’t be so surprised.

Look, you have to tell me.

What happened last night?

Why is Y/N here? I thought I told you I was going to stop talking to everyone who got too close. Why didn’t you try and stop me? Fuck.

You know something I don’t. You know what happened. Tell me!

Fine. I’ll figure it out myself. You never say anything anyways, but I know you know. You just like watching me suffer, don’t you?

Shit, my head. Just how drunk did I get last night? I can’t remember a thing, oh god. This is bad. I lost control again, didn’t I?

Oh fuck, Y/N knows I’m awake. I’m going to have to explain why I stopped talking to her, I’m going to have to find a way to justify shutting off why I got myself into the mess I did last night. I’m going to fuck up her entire day if I just bring up Shayla. I need a better excuse, and fast.

You have to help me. What do I do?

...oh.

Y/N isn’t talking to me. But... she’s got that look. She knows, just like you.

Shit, shit, shit, she’s touching me. She’s running her hand through my hair. Why isn’t she mad at me? She should be mad. I don’t understand.

I should be moving away from her touch. I told you I wasn’t going to let her touch me anymore. I promised you I would stop communicating with her. It was the best way to protect her from myself.

But I want to move closer to her now, not away. Fuck.

She makes me feel so safe. Warm, even. Something keeps telling me I don’t need to explain anything to her. She’s not upset at all. I can see it in her eyes.

You have to tell me what I did. What could I have done that brought Y/N here, that got her acting like this? She understands, she’s holding me so close. But why? What did I do to deserve this?

Fine. I don’t need you anyway. I have Y/N.

At least I know she won’t leave me. She is here for me.

Unlike you.

#elliot alderson #elliot alderson x reader #elliot alderson imagine #elliot alderson oneshot #mr robot #mr robot x reader #rami malek #rami malek x reader #rami malek imagine #rami malek oneshot #bohemian rhapsody #queen #freddie mercury

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raendown · 5 years

Link

A commission for @theintellectualweeb! Thank you, this was fun to write!

Pairing: IzunaTobirama Word count: 4837 Rated: T+ Summary: Izuna comes home to a kitchen filled with smoke and wonders, rightly, what the fuck. Since when does Tobirama cook? Since never, as it turns out, no matter how many times he continues to try.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Calamity Cuisine

The first time Izuna came home to find their apartment filled with smoke he panicked, as any normal human would. He was the one with a habit of playing with fire, Tobirama usually the one to scoff and stay as far away as possible, so it seemed a logical conclusion that something had gone terribly wrong and the love of his life was in danger.

As it turned out, the only thing in any danger was his dinner.

Panic quickly gave way to amusement upon finding Tobirama standing in the middle of their kitchen with a baffled expression and both hands on his hips, glaring at the stove like it had done him a great injustice. The look was a familiar one. It was the same look he gave to all technology when it wasn’t doing what he wanted it to do. For a man with so many smarts up in his own head he did have an unfair number of troubles with anything marketed as a smart device.

“What…happened?” Izuna asked, not bothering to disguise the laughter in his voice.

“I’m not entirely sure. As far as I can tell I followed the instructions to the letter – although they weren’t as clear as I would have liked them to be.” Tobirama’s nose wrinkled with distaste.

“Oh? What was unclear? And what were you trying to make? All I can see is black smoke.”

Izuna waved one hand through the air, trying to clear a small pocket around him to breathe in, and he wondered why the smoke alarm wasn’t going off until he spotted it sitting on the counter in several pieces. That answered that question. He didn’t even need to ask why or how; he’d known his partner for long enough to guess where his logic had gone with that one.

“Kraft Dinner,” Tobirama announced, holding up a small blue cardboard box. “The instructions said to ‘stir occasionally’ but it never explains what it means by occasionally. Should I hover over the pot and stir every thirty seconds? Should I stir in three equal intervals?” Clearly frustrated, Tobirama tossed the box down and crossed his arms petulantly. “By the time I had decided what parameters to use for ‘occasionally’ the pot had begun to smoke. These things really should include more specific language.”

“Okay you know I love you. But. A child can figure out how to follow these instructions. Literally only you could mess this up.” To take the sting out of his words he clapped Tobirama on the back as he stepped past to open a few windows.

“Children cannot possibly figure this madness out.”

“They really can.” Izuna threw open every window that might be used to evict smoke and then started looking around for something to fan it all around with.

Still pouting Tobirama moved to help him. Izuna considered telling him how cute that disgruntled expression of his was but in the end he kept such observations to himself. Obviously he was already frustrated over this ridiculous little episode and there was no point in riling him up even more. No matter how curious he was about burning the noodles when obviously they would have needed water to cook in.

“How about we just order pizza for the night?” he suggested.

“I suppose so. That was not my plan but one must roll with the punches, as they say.”

“You’re talking like an old man again,” Izuna helpfully pointed out. His partner gave him a pinched look.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Better!”

The second time Izuna came home to a disaster in their apartment was less than a week later and before asking any questions he headed straight for the windows to let it all escape outside. On his way he ducked underneath the swirling black mass and spotted the new fire alarm he had just bought sitting on the counter in the same condition as the last had been – but he couldn’t find it in him to be angry. Not when Tobirama had the decency to look at least slightly apologetic.

“What did the instructions say this time?” he asked when he could breathe again. Tobirama cleared his throat but his answer still came out as an unintelligible mumble. Izuna grinned. “Sorry what was that? I didn’t catch any of that?”

“I said that I forgot about the food. Did you know the oven light goes off when it reaches temperature?”

“Yes. I did. Because I cook all the time.”

Tobirama sniffed. “Well…it’s a dangerous feature.”

“It alternates every minute so that you can tell it’s still at temp.”

“Ah. That is something else that I did not know. I may have gotten distracted by the new catalogue that came this morning. Do you think I could afford a new telescope? There was an ad for an incredibly powerful–”

Before he could really take off Izuna leaned over to shut him up with a kiss. “Not the time. What are you stinking up my kitchen with today?”

He got no answer but opening the oven told him all he needed to know. Well, almost all he needed to know. The blackened mess inside the foil tin could have been either a frozen lasagna or a frozen shepherd’s pie, the ones he kept in their freezer for lazy nights were about the same size, but it was hard to tell the difference after the whole thing had been burnt to charcoal.

“Must have been a riveting article you were reading,” he mused.

“Would saying sorry help?”

“Not if you don’t actually mean it.”

Tobirama nodded. “I’ll work on it. I am sorry the food was ruined.”

For once living on the bad side of town came with an advantage as Izuna was able to slip on a pair of novelty singing bass oven mitts, extract the ruined meal, then carry it across the living room and toss the whole thing out the window. He paused for a moment just to hear the satisfying crash of it landing in the dumpster below before returning the mitts to their hook and turning to give Tobirama the most judgmental raised eyebrow he possibly cook.

“Why has this happened twice?” he asked. ‘You’ve never shown any interest in cooking before.”

“I wanted to cook dinner for you,” Tobirama admitted stiffly.

“So why don’t you just cook the way you always do and order Taco Bell?”

He’d never seen Tobirama puff up with so much offense before. “I will not serve you Taco Bell!”

Nose in the air, he spun away and stormed off to their bedroom as though he’d been greatly insulted. Izuna tilted his head curiously but decided against following the man. Something weird was obviously going on but with Tobirama it was always better to just let things happen as they would and let the man get through whatever he wanted to. It was really only safe to stop him if he was about to hurt himself.

Usually if you stopped him without a better reason he would just turn around and find a worse way to achieve whatever it was he wanted.

As evidenced when Izuna came home several days later to find what looked like the entire contents of his fridge smeared around the kitchen. Nothing had escaped the carnage. Cupboards, countertops, floors, even the ceiling had bits of vegetables clinging to the stucco he’d always meant to scrape off and repaint. At first he thought Tobirama was just that bad at whatever he was doing in here but he understood the moment he took in the sight of the blender with barely a quarter inch of green mush sitting in the bottom of it. The disaster sort of painted a picture of its own from there.

“So. What’s today’s thoughts?” he called out. When Tobirama popped up from the opposite side of the counter with his face coated green it was a difficult call whether he should scream in terror or laugh under he split a seam.

“There was an accident.” Something in his partner’s tone had him narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“And then?”

“…and then I wanted to see if I could recreate the event.” Tobirama’s eyes panned upwards to the mess on the ceiling. “Our blender is much more powerful than I realized.”

Izuna pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed in deeply then breathed out slowly. “Should I ask what was supposed to be on the menu today?”

“My thought was to prepare the shakes you like to bring with you to the gym, although I wasn’t certain what recipe you use to make them. I found several online and most of them involved vegetables in a blender. Which seemed strange to me since it’s usually quite the battle convincing you to eat any vegetables but all the websites agreed.” He shrugged, the mess on his face sliding downwards like a comical theatre mask of sadness.

“Should I ask why you insist on continuing these kitchen adventure or…”

“Is there something wrong with a man trying to prepare a gift for his partner?” Tobirama frowned but his ire was exponentially less effective when hidden behind pureed vegetables. Actually in a strange way it just made him look more kissable, which was a little gross to think about.

Cleaning up the mess of blended food took three hours and Izuna refused to lift one finger to help. He did drag his favorite armchair a little closer so her could act as cheer squad and keep Tobirama from getting distracted. Only god knew what sort of oddities were going on inside his mind every time he paused in the middle of doing something and turned as though to act upon some new idea. Izuna was merciless in driving him back to his task, feeling absolutely no guilt for doing so. The mess was his fault, after all, so he should be the one to clean it.

Afterwards he gave in to Tobirama’s pouting and let the man flop over his lap while he watched TV. It wasn’t exactly cuddling by mostly people’s standards, better described as Tobirama using him for a glorified book rest, but to them it was an excellent way to spend time together while still entertained by their own interests. Just because neither of them enjoyed the same shows didn’t mean they couldn’t happily occupy the same space.

For a full week after that Izuna came home to a disaster free kitchen and he began to think that whatever madness had taken hold of his partner was finally passing over. Their evenings were quiet and the nights when he didn’t cook something for dinner he made sure to call out for delivery to arrive at the same time he knew Tobirama would be getting home, following his schedule like clockwork. It wasn’t until halfway through the second week that he discovered he had become complacent. Considering that he thought he almost deserved the shock of opening the door to find the bloody remains of an actual chicken spread out across their counter.

“Oh god, Tobirama what the actual fuck!?” Dropping the backpack he carried his work folders in, Izuna covered his mouth with both hands and spun away to combat the bile rising up in the back of his throat.

“Fresh meat,” was Tobirama’s succinct answer.

“A little too fresh! Did you actually slaughter a fucking animal in my kitchen? What the hell!”

“You always complain the supermarket doesn’t have meat as fresh as you would like. I thought…” He trailed off as though it had only just occurred to him that there may have been a few flaws in his thought process.

Still facing away, Izuna tried not to picture more details in the single glimpse he’d managed to catch. There was absolutely no need for him to know which parts of that poor animal were where or how much blood was now contaminating his countertop. He wasn’t exactly squeamish at the sight of blood but a dismembered carcass was a little different from accidentally stabbing his hand with a mechanical pencil again.

“Either you’re going to need three bottles of bleach in there before I even think of cooking anything on those countertops or you’ll just have to replace the whole thing because oh my god Tobirama. Does it ever occur to you that maybe you should run these ideas by someone first to make sure they’re not crazy?”

“No,” Tobirama responded bluntly. His voice sounded like it was still coming from the same spot.

A little suspicious, Izuna felt the need to clarify, “You’re not actually still trying to chop up that poor bird are you?”

“Should I stop? It seems like such a waste now that I’ve come so far.”

It took a while to stop twitching but Izuna kept his calm by chanting how much his loved his partner over and over in his head. Without that he was sure he would have turned around, vomited, and then killed the other man. Only when he thought he could speak without screaming did he open his mouth – and then stopped.

“God, I hate it so fucking much when you win with logic,” he grumbled.

“Does that mean I may continue?”

“Yes, fuck, go ahead you psycho. It kind of would be a waste. Are you almost done or something? Can it go in the fridge after? Because I am not coming back in to that room until everything is cleaned up.” Without waiting for an answer he absconded down the hall and barricaded himself in their bedroom.

In the end he actually benefitted from this turn of events since keeping himself locked away kept him from getting distracted by Tobirama’s company as he so often did and gave him the opportunity to go over some of the reports he’d dragged home from work. It was several hours before the quiet little nest he’d made for himself was disturbed by a hesitant knock on the door and he realized that he had probably gotten more done in that short amount of time than he had all day at work. Not having to fend off constant interruptions was definitely a luxury he rarely got to experience.

“May I open the door?” Tobirama called through the wood. “I promise that I washed my hands. Twice.”

“With disinfectant?”

“Both times.”

“Yeah alright. But you better not be covered in blood!”

Tobirama was not covered in blood. He was, rather, naked from head to toe. “I guessed that any mess on my person would upset you so I threw my clothing down to the dumpster. Well, I tried. I believe it was the Lady Hyuga on the third floor who put her head out the window just in time for my bloody shirt to land on her face.”

Izuna howled with shameless laughter.

“Good! I never liked her. Her and all her family; there’s got to be a hundred Hyuga living in these apartment blocks and they’re all so stuffy.” He continued chuckling as he tried to imagine the scene she would have made.

“So you say. I also cleaned the kitchen. As instructed, I disinfected every surface twice.” There was a distinct note of pride for a job well done in Tobirama’s voice, like he expected a reward for following orders, and strangely the fact that he was standing naked without a hint of awkwardness only made it more endearing.

“Thank you,” Izuna told him. “Come here.” When he beckoned Tobirama stepped closer and bent down to receive a soft kiss as his desired reward.

When he straightened he looked back over one shoulder. “I considered trying to cook the meat myself–”

“Nope!” Izuna was up on the bed in an instant, hustling down the hall.

“I said I only considered it!” Tobirama called after him with undertones of offense.

After a quick inspection Izuna declared the kitchen clean enough, though he still had to rub everything down one more time just to make himself feel better about wiping off the blood. The meat he found tucked away in the fridge looking almost like any other store-bought cut of meat so he pulled it out and got started on a late dinner for them both. If the meat did end up tasting much better for being so fresh, well, Izuna was sure Tobirama understood the thanks he was offering when they went to bed that night.

Nearly a full month passed after that without any sort of cooking fiasco breaking up their daily routines. There were several attempts, multiple calls from Tobirama at various points during the day with strange questions that Izuna was certain would have led to certain disaster, but he was rather proud of himself for putting out any and all fires before they could really spring up.

Both of their brothers dropped by for a visit while he still had things under control and Izuna was happy to have a clean kitchen where he could whip up a meal delicious enough to impress even his cantankerous older sibling whose palette swung wildly between caviar or bust and whatever was rotting in the dumpster behind the closest fast food joint. Madara complimented him on his steaks and Izuna pretending that Tobirama had butchered those fresh too but decided he didn’t want to listen to the screaming.

Their family dinner was nice overall despite the two Senju brothers disappearing for nearly an hour and then reappearing by climbing in through the window. Hashirama had tears streaming down his face but he refused to say why so Izuna could only guess that he’d been terrified getting dragged up and down the fire escape. Although neither would explain where they had gone it wasn’t actually so out of the ordinary for Tobirama to get an idea in his head and drag some poor sod along by force to help him act on whatever crazy thought had occurred to him this time so Izuna let it go without thinking very much about it.

It wasn’t until another two weeks later that he realized he maybe should have thought about it a little more. Or, actually, that it was a good thing he hadn’t. Surprises were nice every once in a while as long as it didn’t involve his kitchen going up in flames again.

Walking in the front door to find a perfectly cooked and plated dinner of his favorite western meal, roast beef and mashed potatoes, definitely was not on the list of surprises he could have guessed at ahead of time. Suspicions and questions immediately rose up but he managed to keep a lid on them for the time being in favor of slipping off his shoes without looking away from the feast laid out on their kitchen table. Neither of them being very formal people, they didn’t actually use their kitchen table for eating very often. Mostly they sat on barstools and ate over the kitchen island. Today it seemed Tobirama had taken the time to clear everything off their dining table for a proper presentation, bottle of wine and all.

The image was only made more perfect when Tobirama skidded in to the room with the distinct look of someone who was hurrying to meet their cue. He was blinking wildly and his hair showed evidence of being wrestled down in to a more smooth style, though it still defied expectations by standing straight up on the man’s head. It just wouldn’t be Tobirama if he were perfectly smooth.

“Did you kidnap someone’s dinner?” Izuna asked. It was the only explanation he could think of for the appearance of such a well-cooked meal.

“No.” Shuffling a little awkwardly, Tobirama looked away with a pout. “Anija agreed to come over and cook for me since my efforts to do so on my own...were not yielding the expected results.”

“I must have just missed him in another elevator or something. Damn. This all looks amazing. I am suddenly terrified that I’ve forgotten some kind of anniversary.” Relief swept through his body when Tobirama shook his head.

Gesturing to the closest seat, Tobirama murmured that he should sit before disappearing down the hall again with a frantic light in his eyes. Only when he turned did Izuna finally look past the funny hair and the wild expression to notice that the man was dressed up. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen Tobirama wearing anything nicer than a clean t-shirt in the four years since they had met.

“What’s all this?” he asked when his partner came back in to the room.

“I was trying to be nice,” Tobirama huffed. “But I could never get it right. Dinner is- it’s tradition, I think. But Anija said that a nice meal means I should look nice and you do deserve nice things and–“

“Okay, okay, calm down. If you say ‘nice’ one more time you might accidentally crack a smile.” Izuna did just that in response to the prissy look he got.

“Just pretend I can be kind to you for one evening, if you please.”

Rather than point out that Tobirama did kind things for him all the time – in his own way, of course – Izuna shut his yap and let Tobirama pour him a glass of wine. His favorite, he noted. That was the sort of kindness he had come to expect before they even started dating. Tobirama was the sort of man who watched and learned and remembered, then he put those observations to good use by ordering Izuna’s favorite foods, taking him to movies with his favorite actors, switching brands when their new laundry detergent started leaving rashes on his delicate skin. His love was shown in little actions.

After the wine was poured Tobirama grabbed a paper napkin off the kitchen counter and brought it over, unfolding the one ply sheet and shaking it in the air like it was a proper fancy cloth napkin. Izuna stopped him before he could try and lay it out across any laps.

“Why don’t you just sit down and eat instead of trying to worry about every single detail? This is already amazing. Consider me impressed. Now eat before your food gets cold.” Izuna watched with amusement as his partner wrestled with the concept of not attending to every last detail himself.

“Fine,” he mumbled at last.

The food was delicious, though that was little surprise if Hashirama had cooked it, and the wine complimented their meal quite nicely. With the windows closed to keep the sounds of traffic muted and some kind of music playing at a low volume from their bedroom the evening actually had quite a lovely date-like atmosphere that they didn’t bother with very often as a couple.

Really the only thing that could be improved upon was Tobirama’s dinner conversation. Usually no matter where they were he could be counted on to chatter away about whatever he pleased, unbothered by the idea that someone else might overhear him and find his choice of topic offensive somehow. Now he sat ever so slightly hunched with his fork clenched tightly in one hand and most of Izuna’s attempts to start a conversation were met with distracted mutterings that didn’t quite sound the same as when he was lost inside his own head trying to work out a problem.

If Izuna didn’t know any better he would say his partner was worried about something.

“Are you alright?” he asked eventually.

“Yes, fine, all fine. It’s fine.” Tobirama continued to scowl down at his half-finished meal without even trying to make eye contact. Something was definitely wrong.

“Tobes–”

“Don’t call me that.”

Izuna bit his lip. “This surprise is great and all but you’re kind of worrying me. Are you sure you’re good?”

“Worrying you was not exactly what I had intended. This was supposed to be a nice evening for you. I can be nice!” Tobirama slid his own plate away from himself a stood up to pace an anxious circle around the table.

“Yes, I know you can be.”

“Well good. When you love someone you’re supposed to do nice things for them. Every magazine and article I’ve read says that and Anija agrees so I trust the majority consensus.” As he spoke he made another circuit around the table with his brows drawn together in an expression that could almost be mistaken for deep concentration by anyone who didn’t know him well.

Scooting his chair back, Izuna stood up as well to stop the other man in his tracks. “Hey. Stop. Tell me what’s wrong. You’re being…not you.”

“You just agreed that I can be nice, I’m doing a nice thing!”

“Uh-huh and you’re also rambling on about it when usually you like it better if I don’t mention anything. Please tell me what’s actually going on.” Izuna lifted his eyebrows and caught Tobirama’s eyes. They stared each other down until Tobirama wrinkled his nose and looked away.

Well versed in the surprising unpredictability of a man so set in his own patterns and routines, Izuna hadn’t even bothered trying to guess at the reason behind his partner’s behavior, not after how many times he’d been wildly wrong before. Conclusions he thought of as completely logical could usually be torn apart in three sentences or less by Tobirama’s oversized brain. So right now he just needed the idiot to talk; the suspense was killing him.

Still, he tried to be patient as Tobirama’s eyes darted everywhere else in the room but at him until finally he dug around in the pocket of his dark slacks. The theme of black on black he had chosen for his outfit did absolute wonders to make the rest of him pop. Izuna couldn’t wait to peel it all off him later.

“Anjia said if I wanted to give this to you then I should probably butter you up first. I think he was making fun of me but I wasn’t sure so I thought it was better to be safe than sorry.” Tobirama nodded as though agreeing with his own logic. Then he opened his hand and all the air rushed out of Izuna’s lungs at once.

The ring was modest and slim, clearly chosen to look more natural on Izuna’s smaller fingers. With a band of white gold and a simple braided engraving around the center it could not have screamed ‘engagement ring’ any louder unless someone glued a massive diamond to the top of it. Izuna couldn’t stop staring. And because he couldn’t stop staring he also couldn’t help but notice the very fine trembling in the hand hovering between them.

“I think you’re supposed to ask a question when you give me that,” he breathed.

“Right, yes, you are correct.” Tobirama cleared his throat and shuffled a step closer. “Will- is there a specific way I’m meant to phrase this? I think I should have done a little more research first.”

“Will you marry me?”

Both of them stared at each other in surprise after Izuna blurted out the question on both of their minds. The silence was only broken when Tobirama gave a little mewl of discontent.

“I was supposed to ask you that!”

“Well you were taking too long. So…answer me.”

“Of course I wish to marry you, I was going to-mph!” Before he could go off on a tangent about who should ask or answer Izuna cut him off again by throwing himself at the other man, arms wound tight over broad shoulders so he could drag himself up to Tobirama’s height for a deep kiss.

Hands settled on his hips to pull him in closer and Izuna was grateful when Tobirama bent down a little so he could lower himself from the tips of his toes. Under no circumstances was he willing to break their kiss yet. Not with so much unadulterated joy thundering against the inside of his rib cage. With no other way to express himself he held on tighter and kissed with everything he knew he wouldn’t find the words to say, hardly able to breath past his emotions and loving every minute of it.

It wasn’t until Tobirama pulled away to blink at him with concern that he realized he was tearing up.

“My brother can never know that I cried,” he demanded. Tobirama nodded solemnly in return.

“Understandable.”

“I love you.”

“Yes, I gathered that.”

Laughing wetly, Izuna let his head drop against the middle of Tobirama’s chest. “Jerk. You’re supposed to say it back.”

“Ah. I love you too, of course.”

That was all he needed. Izuna closed his eyes and clenched his fingers, picturing what it would look like when Tobirama slid the ring on to his left hand. Not with a hundred guesses would he have thought this was the reason behind so many disasters in his kitchen.

Worth it, he decided. Tobirama would always be worth it.

#rae writes #commission #izutobi #izuna #tobirama #modern au #fanfiction

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bereft-of-frogs · 5 years

Text

Summer Round-up!

The Summer is over! Cool air is coming through my window, I turned off my fan, everything is great, it’s almost September...

Okay, summer’s not over, but, yup I’ll be traveling for two weeks so I won’t be online and it’s probably going to get hot again, but still! Thus ends my summer.

I think I did pretty well with my goals. Marvel Big Bang draft is done, Thorki Big Bang is over the halfway point, I’m up to 23k words in the Endgame AU. I do kind of wish I was further along on that one but I’d really prefer to be satisfied than get it out quickly so I’m trying to chill and take my time.

I was struggling a bit with feeling...productive. Because under traditional capitalist notions of productivity, I technically wasn’t. I made almost 0 money this summer, but I wrote a lot, learned to embroider, traveled over the region seeing my family and friends. I really need to find a job but honestly, I did have a productive summer.

I thought for my last Six (-ish) Sentence Sunday Thursday, I’d do six sentences from all my WIPs and my favorite six sentences from what I published this summer:

(Under the cut)

[I stopped counting sentences pretty much immediately]

WIPs:

alone, amidst the ruins (Endgame AU) (23,638)

“What is it?” Steve asks. “Are you two serious?” Natasha looks between them. “It’s a pager. A beeper?” They just stare back. “You can use it to send short messages. They went out of style a few years ago, some fields still use them but you don’t see them too often.” “This one has been modified.” Thor turns it over in his hands. “I do not recognize this symbol, but the work on the modifications are Kree in origin.”

the dead reign there alone/part I: of the stern agony and shroud (15,211) (Marvel Big Bang)

Loki releases the spell, drops to his hands and knees, panting and coughing. Now you’re going to die again, he thinks dully. The pain in his chest is spiking and it feels like he is being slowly crushed. Like there is a crushing weight sitting on his chest. The feeling is draining from his limbs. He is ice cold, fading, and darkness crowds his vision. Hela’s boots appear in his vision. Blood drips slowly from her wounded side next to them. “You know, it took me a while to figure out what was so strange about you. Luckily I had plenty of time trapped under your spell to think.” She bends down, caressing his head. “You’ve touched death, little monster. It’s inside you now.”

the dead reign there alone/part II: his chamber in the silent halls of death (3,402)

“What did you expect to happen, Loki?” Thor roars at the climax of their largest fight. “What did you expect? You would rule Earth, kill me, what? What did you want?” “You would have perhaps found out, if I had-” Thor slams him back against the wall. Loki laughs, semi-hysterically, in his face. “Do it, go ahead, kill me like you were going to on the cliffside-” Thor drops him. “You drive me mad!” He shouts as Loki slides down the wall. “You’re going to make me insane, I cannot understand the workings of your mind, you…you vile-” “Vile what?” Loki spits back. “Vile witch, vile coward, vile villain, what am I? Vile monster, that’s what I am.” He rises to his feet.

(untitled) (Thorki Big Bang) (9,493)

The innkeeper laughs. “Simple adventurers don’t speak like they were raised in the palace itself. Your clothes and gear are dirty and worn, but well made. They’re not tearing or fraying. You,” The innkeeper nods at Loki. “Carry yourself like you’re used to getting your way.” Loki’s eyebrow twitches. He turns to Thor. “Would you say I often get my way?” “Constantly. It’s infuriating.”

(untitled) (*sigh* for GrandThorki Day because it seems as though I’ve been sucked into the debauchery) (4,000) <<not kidding it’s exactly 4k words right now I’m freaked out too

“You two are just being so good tonight,” The Grandmaster says, praise dripping from his voice. “I don’t even have to remind you what’s at stake, do I?” They had not been to see the camp their people were being held in for two months. They used to go quite frequently, to be punished. Sometimes punishment meant they were whipped or beaten in full view of their captive people; sometimes it meant watching one of their own be slowly executed as a reminder to behave. The last time hadn’t even been their fault. They’d been dragged there and locked in stocks and forced to watch the Valkyrie be flogged for some transgression or another. The Grandmaster had not specified.

[oooooof this one’s going to be real fucking dark yiiikes @ self] [I might ease it back, this is just the first, insanely indulgent draft, I wrote it while I was in A Mood, okay I’m going to stop justifying myself now]

And from what I published to Ao3:

bone and broth (6/7):

“Just stay with me,” Loki says. “Just stay. See? You’ve got what you wanted too.” Loki’s bony hand closes around Thor’s forearm. “It’s what you wanted, all those visits, all those desperate pleas to me. I’ve given up. Here at the edge of death, I cannot bear for you to leave me.”

flickering light and the smell of wine (6/24) - - for the Noncon Exchange, my triumphant return to writing Les Misérables.

Enjolras shrugs the coat over his shoulders and staggers to his feet. “I can stand. I would rather face my death on my feet.”

The officer rolls his eyes. Enjolras feels absurdly stung by the dismissal. “Dramatic. No, you are not for the firing squad. We are to take you to the prefecture.”

Enjolras grimaces. “I would rather-”

“And I would rather go home.”

...and dying leaves on the branch (7/22) - - Alt. Ending to ‘bone and broth’

Thor believes his brother has fallen to sleep, until he speaks in a low voice. “I cannot ask you to forgive me,” Loki says. “I know there is no absolution for me and I can’t…I can’t say that I am sorry. But thank you. For leaning on your antique sentiment to do this for me.” Thor shifts him in his arms, holding him tighter. “It really wasn’t all bad, was it? My life?”

Tears sting in Thor’s eyes. There’s a thick lump in his throat. “No. No, of course not.”

spare me over (8/7)

“You do not wish to celebrate with the others?” He asks.

Steve sighs. “They’re not celebrating, man.”

“You do not have to lie to me.”

Steve winces. “Really, I wouldn’t call it…celebrating.”

“They are relieved. They feel justice have been served, and I understand.” Thor looks at his hands. “Though he did not receive a death sentence upon his return to Asgard and it was not justice that sealed his fate, but me, when I failed to protect him on Svartalfheim.”

...and a knife in the darkness... (8/22)

Thor cuts him off. “Stop! Do you want to know what I’m seeing right now? You’re rambling. You're not making sense. You’re afraid. You’re hurt. This is not the first time this has happened, brother. This is not the first of these…episodes you’ve had, since you fell. You think me a fool, you think me unobservant, but when you were locked away I did watch you. I watched when you railed against me, I tried to follow the threads of your thoughts and often found myself utterly lost. Not because you were spinning webs I was too unintelligent to follow, but because the threads unraveled almost as quickly as you spun them. You are right, brother. You have lost your mind. But that just means that you’re still sick.” Thor gives him an uncertain, watery smile, petting back his hair.

----

Yeah okay, laying it all out like that. Shit. I did a fucking lot. Now just to convince my brain to accept that I did a fucking ton this summer.

Now I’m off to Europe, with a couple notebooks, several AU ideas I have acquired in the last couple days, and pens that will hopefully survive the journey! See you in September!

#summer 2019 #writing progress #holy shit i did a lot this summer #i didn't really feel like it until i laid it all out like this #dang #noncon cw #(i posted the least graphic excerpt from my noncon exchange as possible #but its still mentioned)

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rezares · 4 years

Text

Father || War & Peace

@spindlesandrosethorns

Reading order of posted threads:

Spill The Tea (August 22, 2019)

Bullshit Cover Story (November 10, 2019)

Bullshit Detective (November 10, 2019)

Wildcard (November 10, 2019)

Word Count: 6281

Date: November 10th, 2019

tl;dr: Rory and Reza arrive in Tunisia, Rory meets Reza’s best friend Hamdi and Reza’s dad! His dad is adorable. 10/10 would die for Abdelmajid.

REZA

And so Aurora had gotten her way and come with him to Tunisia. He was pissed, but didn’t want to express it. Didn’t matter whether he wanted her to be there or not because she was there now. Not like he could afford to buy her a one way ticket back to England.

Not like Aurora’d even get on the plane even if he could and did buy her one.

The plane touched town in Tunis, the capital city, about five hours after it took off from London. They finally made it to his home city of Hammamet an hour later when the train from Tunis pulled into the station. As pissed as he was at Rory, he couldn’t act mad even if he wanted to. The closer they got to Hammamet, the more Reza bounced his legs, full of nervous excitement.

Even if he was here for one reason (that being murder) he was home! Home home, not fake, Swynlake home, or his mother’s house in Austria. Tunisia! He hadn’t seen his country in five years, and, more importantly, his father.

“Hamdi should be waiting out front to give us a lift to my father’s house.” Reza said, bolting up as soon as passengers were given the clear to exit the train.

AURORA

Aurora was fully aware Reza was pissed at her. It was hard to miss; she wouldn’t even need to be a sorceress to feel the tension and frustration in the air. Thankfully their seats weren’t directly next to each other, so they couldn’t fight on the flight over. Instead, Aurora had gotten some work done on her laptop for the store and spent the rest of the trip either knitting or napping. By the time they landed in Tunis, she was feeling refreshed and ready to face the rest of the trip.

And her master’s temper.

Fun times.

Or at least, that had been what she had expected. The reality was Reza was so excited to be home that he practically ignored her. She didn’t mind, she was plenty distracted herself by the scenery passing by. Tunisia was beautiful, and Aurora found herself smiling widely as she looked eagerly out the train window.

It was only Reza’s voice that brought her back to the present, and she had to hold back a snort of amusement as he shot to his feet. He was like a big, excitable puppy. “I’m sure he’s waiting for our luggage too,” she said with no small amount of amusement. “Better be sure to grab that before you launch yourself through the door, hm?” She gathered up her own travel bag, slinging it across her chest.

REZA

“I- I- psh- I don’t bolt-” Reza sputtered, before grabbing his bag. Rory’s teasing was immediately forgotten though, because the train doors were opening and Reza was McFucking home for the first time in half a decade and he was so excited to stick his feet in desert and ocean sand and to eat Tunisian food that wasn’t made in his kitchen with subpar European bought ingredients.

Only briefly did he remember that plenty of people in his country wanted him dead. It wasn’t enough to dampen his excitement about coming home.

“Smell that? That’s the smell of the most beautiful, most vibrant, the best country on earth. America who? I don’t know her. The ocean breeze, the spices from restaurants, welcome to Hammamet.” The older sorcerer said, grinning and gesturing around them as they made their way through the train platform. “Or at least, the train station.”

Rory probably couldn’t smell the city yet anyway. It was just a strong memory of his coming back full force.

“I haven’t seen my country in five whole years. Five, can you imagine? I wonder how much my old neighborhood has changed or if my father has finally redecorated.” Reza turned to Aurora for the first time since the airport and smiled. “I haven’t seen him in five years either.”

AURORA

‘I don’t bolt’ said He Who Bolts as he raced out of the train, and Aurora could only laugh as she gathered her own luggage and followed him at a more reasonable speed. Her own laughter sounded almost foreign to her, and she grew a little more somber when she remembered how little she had heard it in the past several months. If she did laugh, it was usually followed by hysterical sobbing, but not this time. No pressure breaking, no floodgate opening. Just… genuine laughter.

On one level, it was more than a little annoying that the only person who could make her laugh was the same man who had stolen that laughter from her. On another, it just… it felt good. Even knowing what they had come to Tunisia to do.

Aurora caught up with Reza easily, following and ducking so his gesturing arms didn’t smack her in the face. She couldn’t quite smell exactly what Reza was describing yet, but that didn’t stop her excitement. Afterall, she was her mother’s daughter, and the humidity and heat in the air only made her feel at home.

Reza turned to smile at her and her cheeks blushed in reply, the young woman cursing the fact that she couldn’t hide behind her curls when they were (mostly) all up in one of her mom’s old silk wraps. She decided to ignore it, instead giving him a small grin back as she followed a few steps behind. “Well then I’m glad we’re back so you can see each other again!” she said earnestly. Again, not why they came, but a bonus.

It had been a while since she’d seen Reza smile that wide. He deserved this moment of happiness.

REZA

“You know, it was my father who made me-” go to Austria for medical care, he was going to say, but that was when he was cut off by a shout in his native language.

“Hey, ugly! Who let you back in the country?”

Thunk. Something hit him in the head but it wasn’t heavy at all. Reza fumbled to catch it as it fell after connecting with him - pap, pap, pap went his hands against what he figured was cardboard - until he had it turned right to read it.

Written in Hamdi’s god-awful handwriting was ‘welcome home Reza the dumbass’, featuring less awful doodles clearly done by Hamdi’s wife. Reza grinned wide at the message before looking up just in time for Hamdi to charge him and leap into his arms like the dramatic reunion scene in a romcom.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you know my back isn’t what it used to be- ah! I hate you so much.”

“I missed you toooooo, my idiot best friend.” Hamdi, a man only five inches shorter than Reza, said, wrapping his legs around his waist and kissing his cheek. “Europe’s turning you white, you’re pale now. How gross.”

“Take that back.”

Hamdi snorted and signaled for Reza to let him down, which the older man did. Quickly. Like he was trying to drop the other on his ass (because he was.)

“Okay, speak English now. My intern-” because he can’t just say apprentice “-isn’t from here.”

“Is she Ethiopian? I can still BS Amharic.”

“Scottish.”

“No way. Hey, hey uhhh, woman - ma’am. Say something. This clown here’s saying you’re Scottish.” Hamdi laughed, gesturing to Reza with his thumb while grabbing the bag Reza’s dropped when he charged at him with his other hand.

Reza gave Rory an apologetic smile. He should’ve prepared her for the experience that was Hamdi Ben Ahmed. In his defense, could any amount of words prepare someone for Hamdi, though? Trick question.

The oldest of the three sorcerers swiped Rory’s bag and carried it in the direction of Hamdi’s car.

AURORA

Aurora had been listening intently to Reza when he got hit in the back of the head by a flying piece of cardboard. She gasped, immediately spinning on her heel with a glare to find whoever had thrown it at him. What the hell!? Back in the country for less than an hour and they were getting things thrown at them!?

Her eyes landed on the man with the outstretched arm, and only the radiant joy that was pooling off him kept her from snatching the sign from Reza and throwing it back with all her might.

When he sprinted at them, she nearly threw a punch instead. But Reza was grinning, so Aurora decided this was probably a reunion she was witnessing instead of an attack. The man threw himself at Reza and Aurora yelped in surprise, quickly moving to brace Reza's back before his knee dropped them both to the ground.

When they were both safely on their feet again, Aurora peeked out from behind Reza and watched them converse in rapid Tunisian curiously. She stepped out to his side once again just in time to have both their attentions turned to her.

She blinked at him owlishly before her eyes narrowed, lips pursed in annoyance for a flicker of a moment before she gave him her sunniest, most innocent smile. "Aye, lad, that I am!" Aurora said in her thickest, most unintelligible Scottish brogue. "I'm the only black lass who’s ever lived in Scotland! Ever! Name's Aurora, pleasure to meet ya!"

Still smiling, she raised her middle finger to them both before she looked at Reza with a deadpan expression. "You know," she said, accent back to normal levels of Incredibly Scottish, "I used to like my accent."

REZA

Reza snorted a laugh as Rory went Scottish Extreme, and nearly doubled over at Hamdi’s stunned expression. The silk wrap had him pin her as obviously from the African continent. Scotland? Scotland?

Yeah, Reza would’ve been shocked too, if he was hearing her accent for the first time while she was dressed like a Nigerian tourist visiting Tunisia’s beaches.

“Oh hush, I like your accent.” Reza assured her. “Hamdi, how’s Dorsaf?”

“Ask her yourself, she’s in the car. Swollen ankles. Told her to just stay home but she was excited to see you.”

“Her sacrifice is noted. When is she due?”

“Uhhh, mid-February. She’s started nesting early this time.” Hamdi lamented as they neared the car, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “Did Rafika—”

Hamdi suddenly remembered Aurora and...wasn’t entirely sure she was just his friend’s student. Probably not best to ask about his baby mama’s pregnancy in front of her. Luckily, Reza saved him.

“Y’allah, you always ask me about pregnancy even though you have more children than me. Calm down, habibi.” Reza clapped him on the back and affectionately played with his curly hair.

“Oh, I’ve weighed the merits of spiking his tea with Xanax.”

Reza whirled around on his heel toward the voice — a very pregnant Dorsaf Ben Ahmed, and almost dropped Rory’s bag in surprise. Dorsaf was just as radiant as ever, and gave off the same warm, calming energy she always had even after five years.

He pulled her into a side hug and kissed her cheek in greeting. “I’m glad you told Hamdi to shove his concern to come along.”

“Think I’d miss the return of a legend? Nah. We will have you for dinner before you leave for sure.” Dorsaf joked, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “Who’s this, your girlfriend? Hi. I’m Dorsaf, Hamdi’s my husband. We grew up with Reza.”

Dorsaf, a medium, tried very hard to ignore how fucked up Aurora’s aura looked.

“Oh no, no. This is Aurora, my apprentice. She’s brilliant and terrifying when she’s angry, and Sabiha’s favorite aunt.”

AURORA

He did not like her accent; he covered his ears when she talked for too long! Aurora scrunched her nose and stuck her tongue out at him before following after the two to the car. She almost missed most of the conversation, instead busy looking around at Hammamet curiously. It really was a gorgeous town, the skies bright and clear for their arrival.

The second reunion went much smoother than the first, if only because Dorsaf didn’t throw anything at them. Aurora greeted her with a smile, giving her a small wave as Reza introduced her. Her cheeks went a little red at the assumption they were dating, but honestly, it wasn’t the first time it had happened.

She rolled her eyes at Reza’s description of her, stepping forward so she could shake Dorsaf’s hand. “At least this time he led with ‘brilliant’,” she grumbled jokingly. “It’s wonderful to meet you both.”

REZA

Dorsaf shot Reza a glare. “What do you usually lead with, you bastard?” She said after she shook Aurora’s hand. “Poor Aurora, you must be a saint for tolerating him. He’s a genius sorcerer but needs a Baby’s First guide to human interaction.”

She motioned for them to get in the car.

“Should only be about a ten minute drive to Reza’s dad’s.” Hamdi said, popping the trunk to stuff their bags in. “But six since I’m driving.”

“Hamdi, if you kill me I will haunt you.” Reza quipped.

Dorsaf snorted and settled into the front passenger seat as Rory and Reza climbed in the back. She turned around in her seat to face them and raised an eyebrow, addressing Reza in their native language.

“What’s brought you back to Tunisia anyway? I thought you were gone for good.”

“Me too.”

“Do you think it’s safe for you?”

“Doubt it.”

“Then why?”

“...tying up a loose end.”

A tense silence fell between the two as the color drained from Dorsaf’s face and her eyes bore into the older man’s goddamned soul. She closed her eyes and sighed, hand coming to rest over her baby bump as she simply shook her head.

“You’re going to die trying to right a wrong that wasn’t yours in the first place.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

Dorsaf bit her lip, then as if suddenly remembering Aurora was there, slapped back on her warm, tour guide smile. “Reza mentioned you were Sabiha’s favorite aunt now, yes? How is our baby doing? We all miss her terribly.”

“Reza was the first of our friend group to have a child.” Hamdi explained.

“Mm, but the only one never married.” Dorsaf added.

“Marriage is just another piece of paper I’d lose track of.” Reza said. “And who would I marry anyway?”

“You turned down marriage propositions left and right from heads of sorcerer families, what do mean ‘who?’” Hamdi shot back.

“Are we done talking about my marital status?” Reza asked. “You asked Rory about Sabiha, Dorsaf?”

AURORA

“Oh, don’t worry. I annoy him plenty, it evens out,” Aurora said with a small chuckle. She already liked Hamdi and Dorsaf, she had decided. But then, Aurora liked most people.

She climbed into the backseat with Reza, rolling her eyes at the two men’s banter as she got settled. As they began speaking in Tunisian again, Aurora watched the scenery fly by with wide eyes, knowing that even trying to keep up with the conversation now was a lost cause. She only looked back when Dorsaf addressed her in English again.

At the mention of Sabiha, Aurora almost automatically sat up straighter, smiling widely. But as the trio began their back and forth, Aurora wilted a bit again; her conversation with Reza the night of prom still fresh in her mind. She shouldn’t be lighting up at the mention of her sorcery master’s daughter, she shouldn’t feel so proud of her accomplishments.

(The bright, warm lights that had popped up around her head like fairy lights immediately fizzled and died out like little candles blown out by a careless wind, and the fracturing across her chest deepened and spread.)

“She’s doing good,” Aurora said, trying to sound casual. “Um, she’s back at school again, so that’s going well! And she was in our town’s play this last summer. She played Young Cosette.”

REZA

Hamdi saw the reagent appear then fade away just as quickly in the rear view. He knew Reza did too. The younger sorcerer shot the older a brief glare meaning - what did you do to make that happen? Which Reza saw but ignored.

“And how has she settled into England? Reza nearly broke his back to pay for private English tutoring but she struggled. She never had an English speaker at home to help her study.” Dorsaf said, frowning. “I miss her.”

“We all love his little girl so much,” Hamdi explained. “The lot of us got to watch her grow up. Sabiha was the first child born to any of the squad and we all just adored and spoiled her.”

AURORA

“She’s picking English up really well! Doing the play helped, and she’ll talk with my regulars in English so she gets some extra practice,” Aurora explained. “As for how she’s settled? Um, there’s good and bad days. More good than anything else now, at least.”

Aurora missed her too, like a fucking limb. She had texted Sabiha as soon as they had landed, letting her know they had made it safe and sound, although she was purposefully vague about where exactly they were. But Sabiha wasn’t hers to miss. So she buried that too.

“Didn’t spoil her too badly, she’s the sweetest wee thing I’ve ever met,” she said softly. Her hands tangled together in her lap. “What about you?” she asked. “Reza mentioned earlier you two have kids now as well?”

REZA

“Yes! We have six, or will, once this one is born.” Dorsaf said, rubbing her baby bump and grinning. “Reza actually was the first person to ever hold our first four besides us. He helped out a lot with our first daughter.”

“You say that, but all I did was give you Sabiha’s hand me downs for Awatef and tell you both to stop panicking.” Reza supplied.

“Hamdi grew up an only child, and I come from a big family, so we both wanted to just make babies until we finally had enough.” Dorsaf continued. “We have three sons and two daughters, and this will be our third daughter.”

Reza’s jaw dropped, his face absolutely lighting up. “A girl!? Hamdi didn’t tell me it was a girl! I’m sure Awatef and Maysoon are excited to not be outnumbered anymore.”

“Oh, thrilled. Dorsaf and I can hardly keep them from asking every day ‘Baba can you tell Mama to have the baby now?’”

Dorsaf pulled out her phone and quickly got to a photo of their five children in traditional Tunisian clothing at some kind of festival. “Our oldest is Awatef, she is five years old. We wanted to have another right away to get a good start on our big family, so our first son, Noureddine is also five, he’s ten months younger than Awatef. Maysoon and Haudar are twins, they are four and are actually almost exactly a year younger than Noureddine. Reza actually named Haydar because Hamdi and I couldn’t stop arguing so we made him decide. Najm is our fifth, he just turned one. Now we are just waiting for Yosra to come.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you already have the conception date for number seven on the calendar.” Reza joked.

“How’d you know?” Dorsaf joked and the same time Hamdi snorted “Fuck you, pal.”

“Not like you're much better,” said the sorcerer making eye contact with Reza in the rearview. “Mr. I Hate Kids one minute then the next you’re like ‘I want eight more immediately’ after you have one.”

AURORA

Aurora listened closely to the two as they talked about their family, the small, polite smile on her face hiding the hole that had opened up in her chest. Asking about kids was always a hit or miss for her, and lately? Mostly misses. As she looked at the photo, she ached with longing. She wanted that so much; wanted a family of her own.

Every day that dream felt further and further away.

At least this pain she was well practiced in hiding, and she turned her smile onto Dorsaf. “They’re all so beautiful,” she said softly. “Hopefully they take after their mother,” she joked, giving Hamdi her most innocent smile.

REZA

“See? I told you I’m the hot one in this marriage.” Dorsaf said, sticking her tongue out at Hamdi.

Hamdi opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Reza going ‘almost home, almost home!’ in Arabic. The younger sorcerer locked eyes with Reza in the rearview and smiled.

The car wasn’t even in park before Reza tore off his seatbelt and scrambled out of the car, damn near getting his foot run over by the back tire. Did he give a damn? Nope, not one single damn. He tore down the little alleyway that led to the staircase to his father’s second floor apartment.

His father had clearly been watching out the window because Reza was halfway up the stairs when his father threw open his door and shouted ‘The prodigal son returns! Come here, come, come!’

Reza hugged his father so tight his heels came up off the ground. “Baba, I’ve missed you so much- have you shrunk?”

“Hold your tongue or your apprentice gets the bigger bedroom and you’re sleeping on the stairwell.”

Reza laughed wetly, as he’d started to tear up. “Y’allah, this is embarrassing.”

“I know, son. I am a sight to behold.”

“Sh-shut up.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” His father asked, switching to French, as he was warned Rory spoke French but not Arabic.

“Oh. Oh, right, yes. Baba, Rory. Rory, Baba. Er, Abdelmajid Kasraoui.”

AURORA

Aurora let out a sound somewhere between a yell of shock and a squeak when Reza jumped out of a moving car. She at least waited until it stopped before popping out, sighing when she was sure he was okay. Dorsaf and Hamdi were both laughing, and Aurora shook her head fondly as she stepped the rest of the way out. “Give me like two minutes and I’ll be back for our luggage,” she told them before closing the door and following Reza, albeit at more of a trot instead of a flat-out run.

By the time she made it to the stairwell, Reza and an older gentleman were already hugging on the stairs, and her battered heart went soft at the sound of Reza’s wet laughter and brilliant smile. She stood, hands clasped, on the sidewalk until she heard his father begin to speak in French. She perked up curiously, before trotting up the stairs to greet the other half of the Kasraoui-Muller duo.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you,” she returned in French with a bright smile. “I’m Aurora.”

REZA

Abdelmajid didn’t know where his son got his height from. At 5’7 he stood nine inches shorter than Reza, and he swore he was shrinking with age. He stood on his toes to playfully smack his giraffe of a son upside the head.

“How dare you not tell me you were bringing a friend until the last minute, son! Do you know how much more cleaning I would have done yesterday if you told me you were bringing a pretty young lady into my home? Tsk, baba, so inconsiderate.” But the older man’s words were softened by the love in his eyes.

He waved his hand at Reza. “Go grab your bags so Hamdi and Dorsaf can enjoy the rest of their kid-free day. I’ll finish up dinner. Early dinner. The cooking I did to keep still.”

Reza gestured to the car with his head. “I’ll grab everything. You go ahead inside, Rory. Put your feet up.” He gently pat her shoulder. “You must be tired.”

He scurried downstairs and grabbed the four bags - one carry-on per person plus one personal item. After a back-and-forth of Reza offering Hamdi money and Hamdi refusing, Reza insisting and Hamdi refusing still, Reza really truly insisting and Hamdi simply not being able to take Reza’s money, and Dorsaf swiping it from Reza’s hand because she would gladly take Reza’s money, thanks, he hurried back upstairs.

“Baba, it smells like you’ve been cooking enough food for Eid. How early did you start?”

“5:30.”

“Y’allah! Do you never sleep?”

“How can I, when my children and precious granddaughter are so far away?”

“Whose decision was that? You practically deported us from our own country.”

“And it wasn’t easy for me either, baba. But you survived, you can walk, and you are even part of your town’s government. You could not have had that life here.”

Reza was silent for a long moment. He set down their bags and sat down on a couch adjacent to Aurora. “We’re being rude to Aurora, speak French, baba.”

AURORA

Aurora smothered a snort of amusement as Abdelmajid reached up to smack Reza upside the head. She was content to stand back and let the two have the uninterrupted reunion she knew Reza had been wanting and expecting before she had invited herself along.

She blinked owlishly at her master as he patted her shoulder before almost pouting at him. She wasn’t a child, she could manage a five hour flight and a train ride. She trotted down the stairs a little after him so she could wave good bye to Dorsef and Hamdi enthusiastically before she followed Reza’s father into his house. “I really am sorry to intrude,” she said in French, giving him a shy smile before Reza came back in. Then, it was back to Tunasian and Aurora was left to look around the room on her own. She took it all in with wide eyes, fascinated by the tidy little home. Something in the air smelled wonderful, and she took a slow breath through her nose as her eyes drifted closed.

Her head whipped around when she heard her name mentioned, some of the curls that had escaped her wrap bouncing against her skin. “Oh, no, don’t worry about me!” she said quickly, waving her hands. “I was the one who invited myself. You two take your time catching up.”

REZA

“It’s fine,” Reza assured her in English. “We’ll catch up when you eventually knock out.”

He winked at her before turning his head to his father, and in the language only they understood, “Baba, mention needing a new scarf in front of Aurora while she’s here and she’ll jump to knit you one. She’s made all of Sabiha’s scarves and hats for the winter.”

“I can’t ask a favor of a guest!”

“She will insist on repaying you for the hospitality, knitting is her go-to. But she’s not familiar with the climate here and probably doesn’t know it can get chilly enough on winter nights for a scarf. I’m telling you this for her sake, not yours.”

Reza knew Rory by now. She’d fret over how to thank Abdelmajid for hosting her without a strategically placed scarf comment.

“Anyway,” he switched to their one mutual language. “My dad’s a better cook than even I am— and much better than my sisters. You’ll refuse to eat my cooking again after his.”

“Speaking of your sisters,” Abdelmajid said, the sadness in his voice evident. “How are they? Are they really well?”

“Yes, baba. Lamia and Rory are actually best friends so she probably knows more than me. Fadela is as bitchy as usual, and stays alive by absorbing the tears of every man she meets.”

“Good girl, I raised her right.”

AURORA

Although she couldn’t be certain, Aurora was pretty sure that Reza had just been talking about her to his dad in Tunasian, the brat, and she narrowed her eyes at him with a pout. She was long used to Reza and his sisters talking about her to her face in a language she could never hope to understand, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. At least wait until she was out of the room!

Her pout faded at the mention of food, the young apprentice perking up with a smile. She had developed quite a taste for Tunisian food after spending nearly a year having dinner with Reza’s family at least once a week. She hadn’t come for the food, but she was certainly going to enjoy it. “Please, where else am I going to get my fix?” she joked. “You’ve seen my attempts at cooking Tunisian food; I will take what I can get.”

She snorted at the mention of Fadela, but nodded. “I’ve got pictures!” she said happily. “You have very photogenic children, sir,” she joked.

REZA

“Where el— yallah. Where else?” Reza said, mock offended, pressing a hand to his chest. “As if you eat anything but Tunisian food some weeks with all the leftovers Sabiha dutifully packs up for you.”

He playfully threw an ice cube from his glass of boukha at her.

At his children being called photogenic, Abdelmajid’s ears perked up. “Would you like one? My oldest two will be forty soon and haven’t gotten married, it’s embarrassing.”

“Baba!” Reza gasped, choking on the liquor he was sipping.

“I’m getting old! Even Hamdi got married before you! I want to see you and Fadela at least married before I die.”

“Aish. Always with the guilt trip. I gave you a grandchild, that should be enough. Who wants a daughter-in-law anyway, you already raised two daughters, do you need a third?” Reza mumbled, switching accidentally to Tunisian midway through before mouthing an apology to Rory. “Please. Show him the pictures before he makes his full sales pitch.”

Once his father was good and distracted, Reza put their bags away in their respective rooms, his, in his old bedroom, and Rory’s in the room his sisters shared. He cracked the windows for airflow as the house didn’t have air conditioning, like most homes in Africa, fluffed the pillows in Rory’s room to make sure they were comfortable, and set out several blankets of varying materials and thickness so she could choose her favorite. Should he bring one to the living room in case she needs a sudden nap?

No, he decided, and walked out of the room.

He scurried back into the bedroom to grab a blanket and brought it to the couch, placing it next to where Rory had been sitting without a word.

“So is this less scary than the time you met my mother, Ammah ‘Rora?” Reza joked, coming up behind the two of them.

“You met Ingrid?” Abdelmajid gasped. “You poor thing. Did she interrogate you or go straight to fight?”

“She almost pulled her wand on her, baba.”

“Oh my.”

AURORA

Aurora ducked away from the ice cube with a light giggle, sticking her tongue out at Reza. For a moment, everything felt normal, like the last several months had never happened.

And then Abdelmajid asked if she would like to marry into the family and under her blushing cheeks, her smile froze and strained. Thank god she had worn a shirt that covered her chest. She played it off with a small laugh, reaching for her necklace. "I don't think that'll happen," she said lightly, trying to sound joking and falling ever so slightly flat. Thankfully, Reza offered her the perfect opportunity for a distraction and Aurora quickly pulled out her phone.

She spent the next several minutes next to Reza's father on the couch, showing him all the pictures she had taken over the past two years. Her and Lamia's various outings, Sabiha during rehearsal for Les Mis and hanging out in the shop, she and Fadela pranking Reza during lessons. The whole nine yards. It was enough to help her put her heartache on the back burner.

She glanced up briefly when Reza came back in, doing a double take when she noticed the blanket in his arms before he set it down next to her without a word. A part of her melted, the other part wanted to cry. Why couldn't he just continue to be pissed at her? At least then her heart wouldn't have whiplash.

Aurora's cheeks flushed again as they brought up her first meeting with Ingrid Muller. "In her defense, I didn't make a stellar first impression. I may have kicked in the door while cursing Reza out pretty loudly," she admitted, shrinking a little into the couch.

REZA

Reza hummed thoughtfully and chewed on his lower lip. Aurora was right, sure, but he also could’ve been more clear in his text message that he wasn’t mad at her.

“Meh, it was my fault you were mad enough to storm in the door.” Reza said, shrugging a shoulder.

“And my mother is notoriously trigger happy. Baba’s just a teddy bear, and a much better cook than her. I won’t be able to eat my cooking again after being back home.”

Reza jumped up to sit on the counter. “So what do you want to do while we’re here? We probably have a few days before— ” before Mekki’s location is locked in on and I do some murder “— business. Hammamet is touristy there’s plenty to do. You can ask Baba to go along with you if I ever sleep in.”

AURORA

Aurora still hid her face in her hands at the memory of her meeting Reza's mom, even as he tried to reassure her. It had certainly not been her finest moment.

Once she could look back up, she shrugged bashfully. "I uh, didn't really have time to put together an itinerary, so I honestly don't know," she admitted. She was here for Reza first and foremost, touring the city second. But she did want to explore!

She looked at Abdelmajid with a smile. "What do you think would be good to see?" she asked curiously.

REZA

“You mean you didn’t put together a detailed itinerary while chasing me down at the airport? Get your shit together, ‘Rora.” Reza teased, easily, like being around his father again had erased all of the awkwardness between him and Aurora for the better part of this year.

Reza had said that in English, so Abdelmajid only smiled, as he didn’t quite understand all of that. Instead, he turned to Aurora and responded in French. “Every girl in Hammamet has an Instagram picture of them at the Kasbah with the caption ‘Rock The Casbah.’ It’s historic and overlooks the Mediterranean. I can take you one morning. I took great Instagram pictures for my daughters, my son was always too busy working for Sabiha or fighting for social justice to have very much fun. He’s an all-or-nothing kind of person, unfortunately.”

What was with his family and constantly roasting him in front of Aurora? Fuckin’ hell.

“Have him take you to the Medina of Hammamet, the old town. Its colorful, gorgeous to look at, and the restaurants are nice there. The Musee des Religions is good if you want to learn about the history of Islam, Judaism, and Christianity in Tunisia. Historic mosques...oh! The beaches are beautiful.” Abdelmajid waved a hand dismissively. “Just tell Reza to do whatever you think sounds interesting. Tell him I said to do whatever you say.”

AURORA

In cheerful English that she hoped Abdelmajid really couldn’t understand, Aurora brightly told Reza to “Bite me~.” But she was grinning as she did, more than a little grateful that Reza was happy enough to be home that he forgot he was mad with her / annoyed with her / avoiding her.

Aurora turned her attention back to Abdelmajid, listening curiously and giggling as he casually read his son for filth during his impromptu tourist ad. As the older man went on, his voice took on almost a rhythm, and suddenly Aurora felt lightheaded and tired. Fuck, had she taken her meds? She must have forgotten in the scramble to reach the airport in time to catch Reza.

Without her permission, her head listed to the side, leaning against the back of the couch. Her giggle came out soft and slurred as her eyelids started to drop. “I will,” she murmured, fighting to stay awake. “My mom’s from a beach town. I love the ocean.”

REZA

“Ah, this happens all the time.” Reza explained.

He honestly wasn’t sure how to say the exact word ‘narcolepsy’ in Djerba - the word for Tunisian Arabic - so he did his best to describe it to his father in their native tongue as he moved to scoop up Aurora and the blanket. Abdelmajid seemed to understand and helped Reza adjust the blanket around her.

“I’ll take her to the girls’ old room for a nap. Thank you for cleaning it on such short notice. She all but physically fought her way onto the plane.”

Abdelmajid tried very, very hard not to smack his son upside the head, but alas, his son was just that much of an idiot.

“Ow! Baba?”

Abdelmajid didn’t need to say it, Reza knew. She’s in love with you, you emotionally illiterate jackwagon.

AURORA

She was still awake enough to struggle against being scooped up, but too tired to do more than wiggle a little and whine “Nooooo” in a voice thick and slow with sleep. She was pouting as Reza pulled her into his arms, but that didn’t stop her from letting her head flop against his collarbone as she curled tighter close to him. She wasn’t often awake enough to remember when Reza picked her up, and somewhere in her sleepy mind something soft and warm settled over her.

She felt small and safe and warm, and with one last attempt to thank Abdelmajid for the blanket - which came out more like a Very Scottish Mumble of Sounds - she let herself sink into dark, dreamless sleep.

#rory

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