#the fact that it was the middle of the night on a deserted street behind some shitty student dorms made it more surreal somehow
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late night visitors
a ladynoir x reader
most people don't get visited by paris's notorious superheroes at night. luckily, you're not most people.
wc : 1982
contains : fluff. just a bunch of fluff ngl. polyamory. mari and adrien's ages arent stated but they grew up with me in my head so they're about 17/18 here idc.
f/f - favorite flowers
a/n : we love starting a fic and not finishing it until a year later <3 i made this short (?) and sweet before i went overboard. enjoy :)
one thing paris didn’t get enough credit for was its quietness. during the day the city bustles, each arrondissement’s streets filled with tourists and families enjoying the city of love. but you loved it at night. the air grows cold and the roads are deserted, only a few stragglers walking about. the city lights twinkle against the skyline and blend into the clear night sky to create your favorite sight.
you had spent a while sitting on your balcony and just enjoying it, having finished your homework and chores and ready to just be. you let all of your worries about school and friends and villains go and finally relaxed, staying outside for an hour before heading off inside for a night of rest.
tap tap tap.
you grumble, slowly rising from your sleep at the sudden noise you've heard at the other end of the rom. sitting up and rubbing at your eyes, you look around your bedroom to pinpoint where the disturbance came from. from what you can see in the dark nothing fell from your bed, and your closet and bedroom doors are closed so that only leaves one other spot.
tap tap tap.
letting out a huff of air through your nose, you rise from your bed and throw on your robe, quickly noting the alarm clock on your dresser telling you its already past midnight, before moving to the window that looks into your balcony.
not able to see anything, you carefully open the door, shivering and only stopping for a second to again look at the beautiful view of paris before looking around your balcony, only to see a small flower pot that rose had gifted you knocked over.
figuring it to be some dumb bird or a stray, you turn back towards your room just to see a giant pair of bright green eyes staring right into your soul.
it’s pure luck that you're able to muffle your short scream in your hands to not wake and alarm your parents and half the of the arrondissement. unluckily, paris’ beloved hero chat noir is on the brink of laughing his stupid leather-covered ass off.
he somehow manages to calm down, but that means now he’s talking. and god help you when chat noir decided to speak.
"i knew you could be jumpy when scared but you leaped higher than a startled cat! you should've seen it!"
he makes more jokes and lets out little laughs as you stand still in front of him, glaring at him in your pajamas. the fact that your bottoms were covered in pink cupcakes didn't help your case.
“if you seriously woke me up at midnight just to tease and laugh at me so help me god chat,” you squint your eyes in a warning, barely noticing the figure cloaked in red and black sliding up to your side.
“nope, we brought something else,” you hear whispered into your ear. not flinching this time, be it because you were too pissed off or less on edge from the last time. you turn and smile softly when soft baby blue eyes meet your own. “how was your day, mon cheri?”
you hum as your hands find their way around her shoulders and hers wrap around your middle, “better now that you're here, can't say the same for others though.” ladybugs body rocks with a silent laugh as chat looks at the two of you shocked.
he goes off into one of his usual dramatic rants about how the “loves of my life have left me behind for each other! the stereotypes are true!” as you both watch him in amusement.
“alright fine, you big oaf. get in here,” you sigh, moving your arm from around ladybug to open in his direction. he puts on his model-worthy blinding smile and rushes into the hug, squeezing the both of you and raising you off the ground. sometimes you forgot how strong they could be.
during the day, marinette and adrien were the pinnacles of perfectly normal teenagers. it’d been an honor to not only see them grow up from stumbling middle schoolers bestowed with unfathomable power to where they are today.
when you first met mari you thought she was weird, to put it frankly. you’d reflected on how nervous she would get around you and adrien and how you caught her following you a few times, much to her embarrassment at the memories. but after giving her a chance at the behest of alya you found out how amazing she could be. she was incredibly smart, excelling in her studies and being the group's designated tutor. it was only during one of your late-night tutoring sessions, the blue-haired girl smiling at you sweetly and praising you when you got a problem wrong, that you realized you had feelings for her.
and adrien was so radiant it was scary. you figured since he was rich and childhood friends with chloe bourgeois of all people that he’d be another snob for you to ignore. but then that day happened when chloe was jealous of all the attention you were getting on your new hairstyle and dumped a tiny carton of milk on your head. normally you didn't let her get to you, but you couldn't help but tear up and run to hide in an empty classroom. it wasn't until a little later that a soaking-wet adrien sat down next to you, telling you he was sorry for what chloe did, and said “if she’s going to bully my friends, she’ll have to do the same to me.”
after that, it was hard not to harbor feelings for the two of them, and you were so glad when they confessed not only to each other but to you as well. you weren't expecting the whole superhero reveal thing, though. but it warmed you inside to know they trusted you enough with this secret.
“let’s head inside, its getting colder and i don't want you to get sick.” ladybug pulls out of the hug, holding the back of her hand up to your head.
“i’m fine, bug,” you assure her, pulling her hand away and smiling at the way her cheeks tint pink. “what’d you bring me?”
ladybug waves her hand to chat, the boy coming up behind you before your vision goes dark with his hands covering your eyes. you hear the sound of ladybug’s yoyo, then the familiar whssh of her body traveling through the air.
“can you give me a hint at least?” you plead. its been a solid three minutes of waiting for marinette to come back and the excitement is making you antsy. not to mention your leather-clad boyfriend standing right behind you.
“no can do, babe. we both know you'll figure it out and then ladybug will figure out that you've figured it out and then she figures out its because i told you and then-”
“ok ok! i get it! ill wait patiently.”
luckily you don't have to wait long, chat removing his hands to show you marinette standing in front of you holding a bouquet of f/f and a box of your favorite pastries.
“i made them this morning so they'd be fresh in case something happened, thank god we only had to deal with some thieves.” marinette hands you the flowers, the pair of them thankful when you bring them up and take in a deep inhale of their scent, holding them close to your chest.
“i wouldn't call ten men breaking into the louvre just any regular thieves, my lady.” chat chuckles.
ladybug shrugs. “didnt seem so tough to me.”
she shrugs. “didnt seem so tough to me.”
“c'mon you two, lets head inside before some insomniac catches a picture of you two.”
they follow you inside, the both of them able to sneak well after years of practice. you put the flowers in a spare vase on your dresser, gently placing them inside with a smile. you hear a slight smack followed by a 'ow!’ and a laugh. you turn to see your girlfriend scowling at your boyfriend, whose mouth is stuffed with one of the pastries.
“i made them for y/n! at least let her have the first one.” ladybug chastises him, setting the box down on a coffee table before sitting on your white chaise.
chat ignores her, too entranced by the deliciousness of her baking. “whatever you say, buggaboo.”
you smile, loving to watch how they interact with each other. they worked so well together, and sometimes when you admired them it seemed like they were made for each other. if it wasnt so sweet you’d be more jealous, but they never made you feel excluded.
“ill go put these in your kitchen so you can have them for breakfast.” chat puts some of the pastry on a napkin and leaves it on the table for you before picking up the box and slinking out of your door with a wink.
you send him an appreciative smile, looking to the side to see ladybug still slightly pouting.
“its fine bug, i appreciate it no matter what,” you sit down next to her, reaching up to take her mask off as her baby blue eyes look at you fondly. “ill have to repay you somehow. just tell me what and its yours.”
mari looks at you silently for a few seconds more before brining up her hand to cup your face and bringing you in for a sweet kiss. mari's kisses were some of your favorites, the girl always making sure to assert herself as ladybug and it travels into her intimacy.
you pull away reluctantly, her looking at you with a lovestruck grin.
“you already repay me by being mine, mon cheri.” she whispers, placing a gentle kiss on your warm cheek. you start to flirt back when a force plops onto the chaise next to you, a mop of blonde hair landing into your lap.
“i second what she said, my love. only if i get some kisses too obviously.” adrien says, his mask now off to show off his dazzling emerald eyes.
you roll your eyes in playful annoyance but relent, leaning down to give him a kiss as well. adrien’s kisses are just as amazing as mari’s but they feel…desperate. not in the way he kissed you when he underestimated a villain and nearly lost his life, rushing back to your apartment and kissing you before holding you in a tight embrace for an hour.
he was desperate for physical touch, the reminder that he’s yours and your his and that you wont leave him. but no matter how much the two of you pretend to be exasperated at his constant touches and flirting, you want to assure him that you’ll always be here for him no matter what.
the kiss ends and you nearly giggle from the sight of his dopey grin and hooded eyes, quickly widening when mari roughly grabs his cheeks and kisses him dramatically.
“there, happy not, kitty?” she asks, the boy laying limp across your lap.
“yup. perfect.”
after a minute of mari teasing chat for his dopey reaction to your kisses and adrien pointing out how she acts the exact same, the time of night catches up with you and you feel your eyes start to droop. just when you feel the lull of sleep taking you away, a strong pair of arms lifting you up and placing you in bed. when they start to pull away, you tiredly reach your arm out to hold their wrist, whispering a quiet “stay.”
thankfully your loves cant say no to you, the two of them resting on top of the covers as they cuddle you from either side.
its quiet as they stay with you, and you’ve never loved the quiet of the city more.
.
.
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#miraculous ladybug#miraculous ladybug x reader#marinette dupain cheng#marinette dupain cheng x reader#marinette x reader#ladybug x reader#adrien agreste#adrien agreste x reader#ladynoir#ladynoir x reader#adriennette#adrienette x reader
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Anyone Anywhere Anytime
Turns out I still have some Gen Rex brainworms to expunge.
AO3
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Anyone Anywhere Anytime
(Or, five times someone close to Rex became an EVO, plus one.)
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The first rule of the war was that anyone could become an EVO. Anything, too, but making sure people knew it could happen to people was a higher priority than strict accuracy. It could happen to a stranger. It could happen to a celebrity. It could happen to a poor man. It could happen to a rich man. It could happen to the kid down the street. It could happen to your best friend. It could happen to your partner. It could happen to you.
Anyone.
No one was safe.
The second rule was that EVOs could show up anywhere. The Amazon Rainforest? Check. The Sahara Desert? Check. The middle of the ocean? Check. Antarctica? Check. The middle of Mexico City? Check. Kyiv? Check. Highway during rush hour? Check. The middle of a corporate office? Check. High security military facilities? Check. Wherever there was life, there were EVOS.
Anywhere.
Nowhere was safe.
The third rule was that EVOs could be created at any time. Sometimes you’d get a warning, a split second before the day’s unluckiest person, pet, or petri dish got an unwanted upgrade courtesy of the pervasive nanite plague. Day or night, dusk or dawn, it didn’t matter. Asleep in bed, on top of the world, down in the dumps, stressed, relaxed, whatever. No one knew what the trigger was. There might not even be a trigger. So it paid to always stay on your toes. Always vigilant.
Anytime.
No time was safe.
Anyone could become an EVO, anywhere, at any time.
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#1: Six
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Rex was not a fan of baseline hand-to-hand lessons. Like, okay, it was cool to be able to do some of this stuff, but, honestly, whenever he got into a fight, he’d be using his builds, so it felt sort of… unnecessary. Especially compared to more practical practice.
Six raised an eyebrow so that it arched above the top edge of his sunglasses. “Are you going to tell that to Van Kleiss when he manages to drain your nanites again?” he asked.
“Uh, no. I don’t really chat with Van Kleiss when I’m fighting him.”
A second eyebrow joined the first.
“Okay, okay, but that’s banter. That’s different. We’re not, like, actually talking.”
“I see,” said Six, before aiming a punch directly at Rex’s face.
“Ack!” said Rex, barely dodging it. It was definitely a ‘training speed’ punch, telegraphed way more than Six usually would. “Six! I wasn’t ready!” A common complaint of Rex’s during training.
“Someone who attacks you while your nanites are offline won’t wait until you’re ready, either.” An equally common response from Six. It was a whole song and dance. Routine, really. Their own form of banter.
Rex knew Six loved it. Probably. Possibly? Okay, it was sometimes hard to figure out if Six loved anything, or even if he liked anything, but one time Rex held off on the banter and Six walked him down to Holiday’s lab for a full body checkup, so that was something, right?
Anyway, they continued lightly sparring for a few minutes before Six put him into a serious hold. “Alright,” he said, “today, we’re going to work on breaking–”
Six went silent, his body stiffening and going still.
“Uh,” said Rex, “Six? You okay?” He reached up behind him, or tried to– Six’s hold was still solid and really did its job of making sure Rex couldn’t grab or hit Six. “Is this supposed to be some kind of ‘figure it out on your own’ thing? What’s going on?”
He didn’t get a response from Six. He did, however, get a response from his nanites.
{alert: t102-INITIAL activation of b6066-ZETA detected in range. query: action.}
“Oh, crap,” said Rex, flailing. b6066-ZETA was the batch number for the primary population of nanites in Six– A fact he’d thought hilarious when he’d first managed to find out. He didn’t know what t102-INITIAL meant, but then, he’d never been in close physical contact with someone who was going EVO.
{alert: t103-CASCADE activation of b6066-ZETA detected in range. query: action.}
{command: abort activation.} Rex sent back.
{error:} said the nanites, because of course Rex would miss step one under these circumstances, {not connected. alert: t103-CASCADE activation of b6066-ZETA and b5534-ALEP detected in range. alert: t102-INITIAL activation of b6002-THETA detected in range. query: action.}
Rex didn’t need direct skin-to-skin contact with an EVO to be able to cure it. He did, after all, wear gloves, and he could work through an EVO’s clothing, if necessary.
But he did have to make a connection, he did have to send his nanotechnology into the target, at last at first, to take over and deactivate the other nanites. And he hadn't done that yet. Normally invisible dermal nanite colonies lit up and moved as Rex forced them into action.
{command: abort activation.}
{processing…}
"Okay, okay," said Rex, more than half his attention on minding the connection. "It's processing. Not everything is instant, right?"
{processing…}
“Just… just hang in there, okay? Six?”
{processing…}
Rex didn’t know what he’d do if Six was incurable. Six was… He was the first person Rex had really met. The first person whose name he knew. The person who’d been with him the whole time, who had protected him in the ruins of Mexico City, and later from people like Dr. Fell. He was the one who taught Rex to survive, who was still teaching him how to survive.
Rex didn’t know what he’d do, if he lost Six.
{alert: command aborted by secadmin-SIX. query: action.}
“What?” gasped Rex, affronted. “Admin? Since when is Six an admin? Who decided that?”
{admin_history: priadmin-REX (priloc: b4739-BETA, locus: hsapiens1-REX) designated user-SIX (priloc: b6066–ZETA, locus: hsapiens2036606606-SIX) secadmin on–}
Six spasmed and pushed Rex away, practically throwing him across the room and breaking the connection Rex had to the nanites in Six. Rex rolled, ironically making use of some of the first things Six had ever taught him, and bounced back to his feet just in time to watch as Six’s nanites took over.
Limbs and fingers lengthened. Skin went shiny, green and scaled. Six made a terrible, terrible sound.
“I-It’s going to be okay,” said Rex. Because it had to be. This was just… this had to be because it was in the middle of an activation, not because Six was incurable. Once it ran its course, and Rex was able to make contact again, it would be fine. Six would be fine. And then Rex could sit down and figure out what priadmin, secadmin, and locus meant, as well as why his nanites decided to be so talkative today.
{help_info: topadmin, priadmin, secadmin, and user are the four access levels designated on standard nanOS.}
The last three fingers on each of Six’s hands lengthened further, and fused together, forming long swords not unlike his magna blades. A long tail grew from the base of his spine, stabilizing his center of gravity.
“Also, please don’t go crazy, because I really, really don’t want to fight you like this.”
{help_info: a locus is an integrated biomechanical entity formed of all nanites within or controlled by a biological organism and that biological organism. individual loci are designated by–}
Rex dodged out of the way as one of those swords came down at him. Great! Six was crazy. This was bad, bad, bad, bad.
He called up his nanites into his smack hands and deflected the next blow, pushing forward even as he winced against the sound it made. Six flipped over his hand, or tried to. He got clear of Rex, yes, but he fumbled both the flip itself, and the landing. Rex had never seen Six fumble anything before.
Except footballs and basketballs. But Rex was pretty sure that was on purpose.
(A magna blade through a ball was a clear message, after all.)
But it made sense that Six would fumble now. Nanites themselves could only control so much, after all, and still relied on their hosts’ brains for a lot of things. Six wasn’t used to his new body plan. So, fumbling.
Rex lunged for Six again, this time managing to grab his tail, but Six stabbed one of his swords right through one of the tendon-like cables that controlled the grip of his smack hands, and his hand flew open, letting Six escape, bounce off one of the walls, and hit Rex’s back, just over the shoulders. Rex hit the ground again, but not for long. His boogie pack pushed Six off before he could do any damage, and man that was close.
Six skirted Rex’s counterattack, and almost managed to get Rex in the same hold he’d been in just minutes ago, but that was fine. Contact was contact. Rex was not going to be picky. Not today.
{alert: contact made with locus-hsapiens2036606606-SIX. query: action.}
{command: shutdown. command: extract activated nanites.}
{processing…}
"Come on, Six, let me do this, please."
{processing…}
"Because I don't know what I'd do without you."
{processing…}
"Also, your sword fingers are getting way closer to my face than I thought they would and it's really freaking me out!"
{waiting… alert: command accepted, extraction initiated.}
Rex sighed in relief as he felt Six’s frame change behind him and the extra weight of Six’s extracted activated nanites settled inside him. Six’s grip on him loosened, and Six himself tilted back until they were lying flat on the floor.
“Six?” said Rex.
“Yes, Rex?”
“Just checking.” What, exactly, he was checking went unsaid. “Just don’t do that to me again, okay?”
Six patted Rex’s shoulder and made no promises either way.
.
.
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#2: Caesar
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"It isn't that simple," said Caesar, glaring up at the over-bright and too-high screen. If he didn’t already hate White for how he was treating his little brother (“It doesn’t matter how many dubious long-lost relatives crawl out of the woodwork, he isn’t leaving Providence.”) he might hate him for how he’d arranged things so that he’d be able to, quite literally, look down on everyone.
“Explain,” ordered White.
“I shouldn’t have to,” said Caesar, eyes flicking briefly to the doctor who’d joined them just a moment ago. Dr. Holiday, he thought her name was. “I know I’m not the only scientist from the project who survived the nanite event.” Rylander, Meechum, and Van Kleiss, at least, had to still be around. “You should already know the answers to these questions. Is this some sort of test?”
“Humor us,” said Dr. Holiday, clicking a pen and resting the tip against a notepad. “You might have a unique perspective on the question, especially in regards to Rex.”
Caesar sighed roughly. In regards to Rex. Yes. Yes, he supposed he did, but he’d really rather spend this time in a lab, trying to get the last kinks out of Rex’s programming before… before.
But these people wouldn’t let him do that until he gave them what they wanted.
“Fine,” he said, blinking back a touch of dizziness. A side effect of near light speed trave? “There are several roadblocks to the goal of ‘curing everyone.’ The first is that not all nanites are the same. By the time the nanite event happened, there were hundreds of different sub-projects. The nanite project as a whole had hundreds of the best scientists money could buy, and it ran for over a decade. There was even a major programming fork in the early days, so there’s the possibility that there are two different operating systems at play, in addition to different models of nanite with different programs. Some of those programs were meant to run on humans. Most of them weren’t. Some of them weren’t meant to interface with biological entities at all. And the more recent batches were designed with limited self-programming capability, so that they could interface better with individual hosts. There is no one size fits all solution. Even if you’re talking about Rex, his nanites just aren’t going to be able to communicate with all other nanites.”
“What about the Omega nanite?” asked Dr. Holiday. “Isn’t that supposed to be a master control?”
“Eh, well, there are master controls and then there are master controls. In theory, he can use it to talk to all the other nanites, in practice–”
“What about kill codes? Emergency stops?” asked White, leaning forward.
“That’s the second problem. There might have been emergency shutdown codes, or emergency self-destruct codes, but only a few people ever had access to them. Top admins. We wanted to put these things into people. ¿Lo entiendes? We didn’t want just anyone to be able to mess with them. Which loops back to the other part. Even with a master control, if it’s changing someone’s body, it needs user permission.”
White scoffed. “Yeah, and you’ve really done a stellar job with that.”
Caesar made a face but didn’t dispute the point. Things had gone very wrong. “I think that might be the main stumbling block for Rex. That wasn’t implemented yet in everything, but if it was tagged as complete and for humans, there’s that limit there. Also, if the onboard AI has any integration troubles, getting permission would also be problematic. No communication, no permission.”
“Wait– Onboard AI?” Dr. Holiday asked, looking interested.
“Later, Holiday,” said White. “What are the other problems?”
“Frankly? Admin levels and programming tools. It’s my understanding that most of the original project equipment was lost in the event, and if you had anyone with top admin permissions, this would be a very different conversation.”
“What is your admin level?” asked Holiday.
“I have primary admin permissions,” said Caesar, “with a few special permissions on the computer in my lab.” He jerked his head in its general direction. “But most of my access - my primary location - was from my computer in Abysus. I don’t know if I can replicate that from a secondary. And there’s not a chance I’d be recognized if I ‘went EVO.’ I don’t have a registered locus in the system. Although, I suppose Rex might be able to promote me to secadmin if… but that’s behind a partition… he was ten! Of course we put it behind a partition…” We being Caesar and his parents. His parents who were…
“Great. Whatever. I’ll leave the technobabble to the nerds. Salazar. Don’t forget. I’m watching you.” The screen flicked out.
Holiday stepped forward. “Let me show you to your lab space,” she said. “I think we do have a lot to talk about.”
“Actually, if it’s all the same to you… From my perspective, my day started with the nanite event, the death of my parents, and time travel. I’d like to take a moment to… catch up with current events.”
“Oh,” said Holiday, softly. “I hadn’t– Of course. But you should still know where the labs are.”
Caesar managed a weak smile. While it was true he was unsettled by recent-to-him events, he was mostly saying this to get Holiday out of his hair. She was probably expecting him to break down, now, but Caesar had never been much of one for emotional affect… Although he’d been expecting something more from the deaths of his parents… His principal emotions at the moment were continuing hatred for White Knight and… worry for Rex.
This was not a good environment for him, he was sure. It already wasn’t a good environment for Caesar, and he’d been here, what, five hours? And Caesar wasn’t being used as a hostage, a weapon, or an experiment.
Yet. There was always tomorrow.
They walked down a series of impersonal hallways. There were more signs of life here than near White Knight’s ‘meeting room,’ but it was still quiet, which Caesar was grateful for. He was developing an unusually sharp headache.
“Communal labs,” said Holiday, opening a door to reveal another hallway, this one inhabited by a pair of scientists trying to get an optics table through a doorway. “You haven’t been assigned work space yet, but the intake paperwork should be ready by tomorrow.”
“This can’t be all of your labs.”
“No,” said Holiday. “Of course not. But this is what you’ve been cleared to access, so far. You’ll also be assigned a small private lab, for sensitive work, and you will have limited access to some of the spaces we have for Rex.”
“To study Rex, you mean.”
Holiday shut the door and continued to walk down the hallway. “I don’t like it either,” she said. “But things could be… worse.”
“How so?”
Holiday hesitated. “I’m not in charge of all the scientists here,” she said, finally, “and before I was in my current position, I was treated like a glorified intern. My predecessor…” She seemed to make a decision. “He tried to kill Rex. There are still too many people who think like him. But outside of Providence, it’s worse. EVOs, even the human-passing ones, legally aren’t human and can be killed with no legal repercussions.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Caesar. Even if everything was as bad as she and White said, human-based EVOs should be treated like people with a disease, not dangerous animals.
“I wish I wasn’t,” said Holiday. “Rex has been…” She pressed her lips together in a firm line as she input a key code for the next door. “He’s been assaulted, more than once. He wasn’t seriously injured, his nanites let him shrug off most things, but it’s not… You can’t live freely in a world that doesn’t consider you human.” She swallowed and then waved a hand at the room. “This is the principle programming and sim lab.”
“Ah,” said Caesar, taking note of technology that, at least on the surface, was decidedly behind what was in his pod lab.
“Next stop, general quarters.”
They didn’t talk again until they reached a much narrower hallway with a lot more traffic.
“Shift change,” explained Holiday. She stopped in front of one of the doors. “This is your room. You should be able to use your ID card to open it.”
The room was, in fact, a small studio apartment. Not huge, but fully furnished with a small kitchen and full bathroom. There was a desk with a computer set up on one side, next to a fake window.
“The computer should let you access the public internet, but you’ll have to wait for credentials to access Providence’s databases. That should still let you catch up with current events.”
“Right,” said Caesar. “Thank you, Dr. Holiday.”
“Oh, one more thing.” Holiday reached into her pocket and pulled out an old model clamshell phone. “In this line of work, you get used to carrying a few burners. It has Rex’s number already on it.” She handed it to him.
“Thank you,” said Caesar, almost dropping it as he took it, unclear on what, exactly, she wanted him to do with it.
“Just… be careful, Caesar.” She turned away and walked back down the hallway.
Caesar let out a puff of air. She could at least call him Dr. Salazar… Although that would have him looking over his shoulder for his father… and might be a little strange considering what appeared to be her relationship with his brother.
Life was, as always, unfairly complicated.
He shook his head and went into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. Although, considering that the locks were electronic, he suspected that anyone with ‘clearance’ could get in. He looked at the computer and sighed. Best to get started.
He sat down and shook a slight tremor - probably caused by lack of sleep and adrenaline - out of his hands. Time to see what the nanites had been doing over the past six years.
.
There was… a lot.
A horrifying lot.
Although, to be fair, most of the horror on Caesar’s part came from watching his little brother fight what looked like giant monsters. Although, that was also somewhat impressive, because their parents absolutely had not programmed Rex’s nanites with giant swords, saws, guns, or VTOL equipment, which indicated that the self programming abilities of Rex’s nanites were far more versatile than intended… or they’d figured out how to ‘steal’ programming from other nanites, he wasn’t sure yet. In any case, the emergent behavior were fascinating, and–
Caesar hissed as his hand spasmed. That wasn’t normal. Had he strained something earlier, or…
It occurred to him, then, that after so long, most people with a propensity for ‘going EVO’ already had, with the rate of new incidents currently being relatively low compared to what had happened right after the event. But for Caesar, the event had only just happened.
He swallowed and clicked through to a website discussing the symptoms of ‘nanite infection.’
Much of it he had already been aware of, including positives like the elimination of several common diseases, reduced rates of infection, faster healing for minor injuries… Those were the things nanites were supposed to do, after all. Negative side effects other than ‘going EVO’ were surprisingly few and far between, other than nasty interactions with strong magnetic fields.
He scrolled down.
… most cases nanite activation is spontaneous, with no prior warning or indicators. However, some individuals report precursor symptoms. Research is ongoing, and it is currently unclear if these reports are reliable, and, if reliable, if they are caused by nanite activation. Some demographics, notably hispanic males under the age of thirty and East Asian women between the ages of twenty-five and forty, report these precursor symptoms at a higher rate…
Of course. Those demographics lined up nicely with the original test subjects. The nanites had been adjusted based on their data, so it made sense that sufficiently similar people would interact with the nanites differently than the general population.
Caesar also fit those demographics.
He scrolled further.
… commonly reported precursor symptoms include headaches, dizziness, excessive sweating, muscle spasms, unusual muscle soreness, tremors, sore throat, sore eyes, unusual hunger or thirst, difficulty focusing, transient aphasia, nausea, seizures, general malaise and anxiety, feelings of doom…
Caesar was very much not experiencing all of those symptoms. However…
He licked his lips and glanced at the phone Holiday had given him. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt. He picked up the phone and dialed the only saved number.
“Aló, habla Rex! What’s up, Doc?”
Was that the sound of Mario Kart in the background? Did Rex cope with terrifying experiences like his body producing a machine that trapped him in a tiny airless bubble by playing Mario Kart? Whatever, not important.
“Ah, actually, Rex, this is Caesar.”
The sound of the game stopped and there was a rustling sound. “Uh,” said Rex, “hi… bro? What’s, uh. How are– How are things?”
“It’s,” said Caesar, no longer sure what to say. He could have worked himself up over nothing, and Rex… with his amnesia, he was probably expecting Caesar to give him some kind of full-life rundown, which Caesar wasn’t sure he’d ever really be up for. He swallowed. “I was wondering if you would like to…” What was Rex even allowed to do, here? He wasn’t sure.
“Sneak out together?” asked Rex, brightly. Caesar could almost envision a wagging puppy dog tail.
“Yes, that,” said Caesar, forcing a smile. He’d read that facial expressions made enough of difference to the average voice that people could tell whether or not you were smiling over the phone. He inhaled to continue, maybe to elaborate on what, exactly, they could sneak out to do, but the bottom of his stomach fell away and he–
.
Caesar inhaled sharply as a white tile ceiling came into focus, along with a face. He blinked a few times. “Doctor… Holiday?”
“Yes,” she said. “How do you feel, Caesar?”
“I–” How did he feel? “Fine.”
The familiar-unfamiliar face of his not-so-little-anymore brother leaned into his field of view. A few rapidly dimming lines of light lay scattered over his skin and clothing. “You’ve still got all your memories and stuff, right?”
“I… think so,” said Caesar, levering himself into a sitting position and looking around the room, which wasn’t any different from how it had been when he first walked in. “What happened? I had called you, and then…”
“You went EVO,” said Rex, nervously, picking at the seams on his gloves.
“Ah,” said Caesar, who hadn’t considered what it would be like for Rex to hear that over the phone. “I was under the impression that something like that would result in more collateral damage.”
“Oh, yeah, because of the stuff on the news?” Rex shook his head, the last of the nanite-lights going out as he did so. “Nah, man, the news only shows the violent ones, or the flashy, powerful ones. A lot of EVOs don’t do much of anything unless you mess with them. You were pretty chill.”
“Right,” said Caesar, because what else could he say to that? “I’m glad I was… chill. I suppose I’m due for a medical checkup?”
“Standard procedure,” said Holiday. “You, too, Rex.”
“Aw, man, do I have to? I was actually beating Bobo this time.”
“Caesar’s nanites might be different from what you’re used to, due to his proximity to the event,” said Holiday.
“She’s right,” said Caesar. He might as well get some good will from backing her up on this. And, besides, it might be a little easier to talk to his little brother if they were both… getting medical scans… and…
Okay, that was a terrible idea, actually. But it wasn’t as if Caesar had any better ones.
“Ugh, fine,” said Rex, crossing his arms. The intonation was almost exactly the same as the last time their mother made him go to the doctor before his accident.
Caesar smiled, and this time it was almost genuine.
.
.
.
#3: Bobo
.
The emergency lights blared overhead as armed Providence agents streamed into the room. The monkey rolled on the floor, laughing, as the probably-a-teenager-but-only-probably threw anything he could grab at him.
“I can’t believe you fell for that!” howled Bobo.
“I can’t believe you did that!” countered Rex, whose eyes were suspiciously glassy. “I was really worried!”
“I’m already an EVO, kid! Can’t EVO me twice!”
Six sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It had only been two months since he’d found Rex in the rubble of Mexico City, and every day was another massive headache. One that could only be rivaled by the headache he got wondering what would have happened to Rex if he hadn’t intervened.
“Shut it down,” he said. “False alarm.”
“You thought I was going EVO! Ha! That’s one for the books!”
“You suck so much!”
Yeah. This was going to be a long day.
.
.
.
#4: Holiday
.
Beverly was getting her last exit check up before she was released from Providence’s care when it happened. She was watching Rebecca type something on her computer, something about slight anemia, her face visible only in profile, when she saw it. Color, curling up out of the collar of her sister’s lab coat, vibrant and striking against the overwhelming white and pale gray of the room.
For a moment, she thought it might just be the shirt Rebecca was wearing underneath the coat, but then it moved, it spread, feathering out over the curve of her jaw and her cheek, dyeing her eye with stripes of bright gold and adding points to her ears. The color - no, the fur - crept out from the ends of her sleeves, covering the backs of her hands and fingers.
Beverly couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t– She couldn’t– This couldn’t be happening. Not to Rebecca. Not her sister. Not when Beverly had just realized she’d missed years of her life as an insane spider-monster.
Not when Beverly was the only one here, with no way to protect herself.
But Rebecca kept typing away at the computer, only looking away when one of the machines began to beep at her.
“Bev, are you feeling okay? Your heart rate just spiked.”
“I’m–” gasped Beverly. “Becca, you– Your skin!”
Rebecca blinked her (too large, too bright) eyes at Beverly, then looked down at her hands. “Oh!” she said, then fell silent for a long minute. “Oh. That’s– Huh.” She turned her hands over. “That’s… Huh.”
“What do I–” said Beverly. “I don’t–” Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “What do I do?”
“Just, uh,” said Rebecca, sounding stunned and bemused. “This hasn’t happened before, obviously.” She paused. “There’s a procedure.” She reached for the phone on her desk, slowly. “I never thought I’d have to use it to report myself, and maybe that’s a little hubristic of me…”
“Why?” asked Beverly, still shaken.
Rebecca glanced at Beverly. “I didn’t think I’d retain my intelligence.” The subtext was clear. She didn’t think that she would keep hers, because Beverly didn’t. She pressed a button on the phone. “Hello? This is Dr. Rebecca Holiday in examination room three-thirteen. I’m reporting an EVO– No, you don’t need– It’s me. Yes, that’s correct. I have gone EVO. Yes. I appear to be, yes. I understand the procedure. I will stand by, thank you.” She put the phone down with a click. “Alright, they should be here soon… Bev. Beverly. Are you alright?”
“Why are you asking me that?” asked Beverly, twisting her hands together. “You’re the one who– who–”
“Well,” said Rebecca, examining her nails, which looked longer than usual, “I seem to be. Fine. Mostly. I’m… unlikely to lose my job over this. Variagation isn’t progressive, generally speaking. Assuming this is already complete, and that’s likely, I won’t get any worse. I’m just, ah. Processing.”
“Processing,” repeated Beverly. “Becca, what if you aren’t– What if you’re not curable?” Rex was great and all, but Beverly hadn’t been curable.
“Then I’d have to deal with that,” said Rebecca, who was still way too calm for the situation. “There’s already precedent for EVOs working with Providence. I’ll be fine. Promise.” She smiled. “Ow.”
“What? What is it?” asked Beverly, not moving from the examination table.
“Change to my tooth structure… Still don’t know why so many EVOs are adapted to be more combative…” She fell to muttering about random science stuff, which was typical Rebecca, but still.
The door slammed open and Rex slid in, followed shortly thereafter by Six (who Rebecca was maybe sort of dating - it was really unclear), and a dozen Providence agents. Who had guns. Guns that were being pointed at Rebecca.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Come on, guys, it’s like you don’t work with multiple totally awesome EVOs every day,” said Rex, walking between the agents and Rebecca with ease, Six following him after pointedly pushing down one of the agents’ guns. “So, uh, how’re you doing, Doc?”
“Fine,” said Rebecca. “Just a bit… surprised.”
“Uh huh,” said Rex. “Want me to, uh. Work my magic?” He held up his hands and waved them back and forth slightly. A thin blue line flashed across one of his palms, as if his nanites were eager to be used.
“Actually, if it’s all the same to everyone,” said Rebecca, “I think I’d like to run some tests on myself, first. We have limited data on early nanite behavior in EVOs who retain their intelligence. Limited data on EVOs who retain their intelligence all around, actually.”
“And what are we?” asked Bobo, shouldering his way past the agents. “Chopped liver?”
“You,” said Rebecca, “are a different case altogether. And you know it.”
“Ah, so Rex is chopped liver. Got it.”
“Hey!”
“Rex is one data point. It’s always good to have more.”
“Absolutely,” said Rex. “So… does that mean you’re going to come join me in the training salle? See if you’ve got any special abilities? Maybe take a shot at some of the guys in the Petting Zoo?”
Six pushed up his glasses. “If you intend on staying like this for any period of time, it would be tactically sound to assess your combat abilities.”
Rebecca smiled again, and her teeth really were sharp. Heck.
“Alright, alright, but I’ll need to do my tests first, in my main lab… Beverly, I’m really sorry, but I think it might be better to reschedule the rest of your checkup. We’ve. We’ve both had a scare.”
“Yeah,” said Beverly, who still felt like a strong breeze might blow her over. “I think. Yeah.”
“Okay. Six, could you…?”
Six looked like he wanted to object. “Yeah, I’ll see her out.”
“Thanks,” said Rebecca. She and Rex left, followed by the other agents.
Beverly hadn’t moved at all.
“Come on,” said Six. “Let’s go.”
“R-right,” Beverly said, sliding off the examination table. Her legs almost buckled, but she managed to stay upright, and a few breaths made her feel a lot better. Which meant that it was time for deflection. She looked up at Six. “If you’re just going along with this because you’re one of those guys with a catgirl obsession, I’m going to kill you.” She didn’t know how. Six was, like, a ninja. But she’d figure it out.
“Noted.”
.
.
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#5: Noah
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“You would be wise to consider delaying your celebration for the moment, Rex. You’re about to have your hands quite full.”
Rex crossed his arms, smirking, because it was hard to take him seriously when he’d just been taken out by Noah driving a forklift. Heh. Forklift certification, Van Kleiss’s true weakness. “Oh, really, and how do you figure that?”
But Van Kleiss just smirked again and lunged forward, his arm longer than it should have been. He made contact with Noah’s chest, and the nanites activated all at once in a flash of yellow-orange light.
Oh, jeez, of course Noah would be a big one. And not particularly bright. Crap.
.
Why were Providence agents so trigger-happy, darn it? Rex was right there.
.
At least he was closer to the destructive end of the spectrum than the violent end, but would it kill him to stop running around and give Rex an easier time?
.
Sometimes, Rex really hated how his biometrics worked. And also Van Kleiss. He really hated Van Kleiss.
Which was why hitting the guy with a train was so satisfying.
.
Watching EVO Noah almost rip the guy’s arm off was even more satisfying. Maybe Van Kleiss’s real secret weakness was just blond teenagers or something. What a loser.
.
“Oh my gosh,” said Noah, watching the TV through his fingers. “I did that? I did that?”
“Yep,” said Rex, tossing back some popcorn.
“That’s so cool. Wish I could actually remember, though…”
“Eh,” said Rex. “I like you better this way, anyway.”
.
.
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+1: Rex
.
(He could hear his parents arguing. He couldn’t tell what they were arguing about. He couldn’t open his eyes, or move, or even think all that much. It was like when he woke up early in the morning, but was actually still asleep, still dozing, but deeper. Darker, somehow.)
(Something was very wrong.)
(There were more people talking than just his parents. Caesar, of course. Of course his brother was there. But so were other people. Scientists. Their names slipped from Rex’s mind even as he thought of them, but they were there.)
(Why were they there?)
(It was suddenly very important to him that he wake up. Vital. Something was going to happen. He needed to be awake.)
(Why couldn’t he wake up?)
(The voices in the other room fell silent one by one, until it was only his father talking, his tone grim, his cadence steady. Then he, too, fell silent.)
(Had something bad already happened? Rex didn’t remember.)
(He… didn’t remember.)
((He didn’t want to remember))
(The door opened. Footsteps came near, two sets of them, his mother and his father.)
“Rex, we’re so sorry, but this is the only way.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll work, and then this will all just be a memory.”
(There was, very briefly, the sensation of something cold in his veins.)
{system integration initiated.}
{processing…}
{processing…}
{processing…}
{update: b4739-BETA integration achieved. hosttype hsapiens detected.}
{update: locus designated hsapiens1-REX (user-REX) systemwide.}
{alert: locus-hasapiens1-REX healthstat abnormal. processing healthstat report to topadmin.}
{alert: beginning t88-INITIAL activation of b4739-BETA.}
{processing…}
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day 1 - Dancing
- Oh, Scar, look, it's snow! – Grian excitedly jumped up and down at the windowsill, looking at the snow flakes falling and swirling in the air. Large and fragile as moths, the flakes rattled in the evening light under the light of a night street lamp, falling onto the cold and cooled ground, with absolutely no intention of melting. — By morning there won’t be a green place..
Scar, who was preparing dinner, looked over his shoulder. There were several difficult tasks right in front of him at the same time: the first was to ensure that the sausages did not run away at a speed that would harm Jelly, the second was that the dinner itself did not burn, and the third was to satisfy Grian’s need for attention, which he really needed.
But despite the fact that Mr. Goodtime knew how to be a multitasker, the sausages were stolen, dinner was heated up and put away from the hot stove, and Xelqua was hugged from behind while he stuck to the fake snow moths that were doing a silent dance. Having turned off the main light so that the dancers could be better seen from the window, Scar left only a weak lamp above the stove hood, which produced a warm light, and a warming kettle, with a weak red backlight, which gave such an evening specific lighting.
Scar did not laugh loudly, swaying weakly from side to side, like a clockwork pendulum, which made Grian chuckle:
- Oh, Mr. Goodtime, are you trying to dance?
- Why not? – Scar almost purred, carefully turning Xelqua to face him and began to quietly hum some slow melody, which Grian remembered somewhere in the subcortex of his consciousness, but could not at all grasp what exactly this song was.
Grian couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed when he found himself in the arms of his boyfriend, and Scar led the dance around the entire perimeter of the kitchen, making the young people spin around to the tune of the humming melody and Grian's laughter of happiness.
Xelqua didn’t really understand what could be so interesting about dancing in the kitchen in the middle of the night, in the snow. Until his partner pulled him into a dance, accompanied by a ball of dancing snowflakes, socks rustling on the floor, a boiling kettle and Jelly rumbling over a half-eaten sausage.
// @desert-duo-week
#desert duo week 2023#desert duo#scarian#gtwscar#gtws#grian#mcyt#mcytblr#grian mcyt#trafficshipping#or#hermitshipping#who knows...#the author is very lonely but loves them#jelly cat#jellycat#lukaniel writes
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From Here to Eternity
Chapter Eight: Keep Yourself Alive...
Pairing: Eddie Munson x f!reader
Warning(s): Steve being skeptical about Eddie, Robin not wanting to listen to you or Steve pine, mention of Steve's six little nuggets dream, Eddie playing the guitar (yes, that warrants its own warning), Queen being played for titular reasons, Robin reading you for filth...
Series Summary: You’ve just moved to Hawkins from Philadelphia in the middle of your last semester of senior year. On your first day, you end up enthralled by the freak of Hawkins High School…
Chapter Summary: Robin reluctantly accompanies you to The Hideout to watch Eddie's band perform...
☆Previous Chapter☆ | ☆Bonus Chapter☆ ** |☆Next Chapter☆
"I seriously can't believe you talked us into this," Robin groaned at you for the fifteenth time since Steve had picked the two of you up, locking eyes with you from the passenger visor mirror as she put the finishing touches to the mascara on her bottom lashes.
"Hold on, there's no us in this equation- she talked you into this, I'm just your ride," Steve clarified, checking the rear and side view mirrors- like the responsible dad he was- before turning onto the road that would take the three of you to The Hideout.
After a skillful combination of sad puppy eyes and guilt tripping when you'd visited her at Family Video, you'd managed to convince Robin to go with you to see Eddie's band perform the next night and Steve had insisted upon driving the two of you as soon as he'd overheard your plans. In fact, his exact words had been, "yeah, there's no way I'm letting the two of you drive yourselves to some dive bar you've never been to before just to see the freak and his band."
"You invited yourself to drive us, though-" you pointed out bluntly to Steve from the back seat, fiddling nervously with the edge of the shorter-than-normal skirt (that Chrissy had finally convinced you to wear during an hour long phone conversation after school) as The Hideout came into view- "oh, good- look! There's a payphone across the street, Robin can call you when it's over to come pick her up."
"Or, you know, sooner, than that..." Robin mumbled under her breath as she capped her mascara and shoved the pink and green Maybelline Great Lash tube back into her purse, but you'd heard her.
"Hey!" You flicked Robin's shoulder in frustration as Steve pulled into the mostly deserted parking lot.
"Okay-first of all, why the hell would I only be picking Robin up? How are you expecting to get home if it's not with us? And secondly-" Steve put the car in park and ran a hand through his hair as he looked around at the distinct lack of other cars in the lot then glanced down at his watch with raised eyebrows- "you did say they were playing at nine, right?"
Feeling the flames of raw indignation heating your blood at the implications behind Steve's comment, you huffed audibly as you hurried out of his car. "Eddie's gonna take me home and it-it's a Tuesday night, Steve!" You jerked open the door in annoyance and clambered out onto the asphalt. "Thanks for the ride," you spit out in anger as you slammed the car door and stomped away towards the entrance to the bar.
"Sweetheart, come on! I didn't mean it like-" Steve rolled down his window as he attempted to coax you back to the car, but you summarily ignored him- "that. God damn it."
"Way to go, dingus-" Robin scolded Steve before grabbing her purse and scrambling out of his car after you- "hey, wait! Wait for me! I'm not coordinated enough to run- it's not an approved activity for me! I'm not cleared for this!"
"You didn't have to say you'd come, you know-" you tossed bitterly over your shoulder as you heard Robin's clumsy footfalls fast approaching you- "and he didn't have to drive us." You gestured angrily towards Steve's car that was surprisingly still idling in the parking lot. "I could have just driven myself to see my boyfriend and his band play or- better yet- I could have just caught a ride with my boyfriend," you shouted loud enough for Steve to hear, feeling vindicated when his head whipped around towards you and Robin and you saw the surprised expression on his face.
"Wait- hold on, Eddie's your boyfriend now?" Robin questioned in shock, finally getting close enough to grab your arm and halt your aggravated progression towards the dive bar's entrance. "Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?"
Pulling at the chain around your neck, you brought the skull ring out from under your top for her to see. "Yes, Robin, Eddie's my boyfriend! And I didn't tell you because I didn't think it really mattered, you know, in the grand scheme of me asking my friend to go somewhere with me for support."
"Holy shit!" Robin gasped. "I mean- no, holy shit! I thought this was just like you needing some emotional back up to pine away after Eddie like Steve always needs emotional back up for his constant pining for Nancy-" she gushed and your brows rose in surprise at her revelation.
"Steve's still pining for Nancy?" you asked, eyes flicking to Steve in his car, but your question was completely ignored as Robin rambled on.
"-but no! You actually did it! You got the guy! You and Eddie are together!" She laughed giddily as she grabbed both of your shoulders in excitement. "This is a horse of a completely different color!"
"You've had the Wizard of Oz on repeat at work again, haven't you?" you deadpanned as she shook you.
"Yes, but that's not the point!" Robin beamed at you. "Come on, let's go! We don't want to miss your boyfriend's band!" Grabbing your hand, Robin eagerly pulled you to the entrance. Stumbling along behind her, the two of you entered the mostly empty and thoroughly smoky bar that reeked of sweat, cigarettes, and cheap beer.
"So, wait a minute- the reason you've been all crabby about coming with me tonight is because you thought I'd be pining after Eddie the whole time?" you questioned, the two of you making your way over to an empty bar top table near the stage to watch the band finish setting up.
Your breath died in your throat and time seemed to stop as your eyes swept over the form of your boyfriend. The overhead lighting from the stage gave the illusion of a golden halo reflecting off his raven curls that were pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of his neck; making Eddie look like some kind of ethereal fallen angel. He was wearing an Iron Maiden shirt with the sleeves torn off, a pair of black jeans with threadbare knees, and a pair of scuffed black combat boots; from his waist, you could see his signature handcuff belt and his wallet chain. Logically, you knew you were practically drooling at how ridiculously sexy he looked -fully in his element- but you simply couldn't find it in yourself to care.
The grin and wink Eddie gave you when he finally turned and caught sight of you had the kaleidoscope of butterflies going crazy in your stomach and you couldn't help but steal the (more than) occasional glance at Eddie's backside when he bent over to fiddle with an amp.
"I mean, yeah-" Robin shrugged her shoulders, pulling your attention back to her and away from your silent thirsting for Eddie- "have you ever been around Steve while he's pining? It's brutal... and exhausting." She shuddered at the thought and you couldn't stop your giggle at her reaction.
"His pining is both brutal and exhausting?" you asked through bouts of laughter.
"Oh my god, yes! He's an absolute nightmare when starts in on his pity parties about Nancy being 'the one that got away'- which lately is almost constantly." Robin slapped her hands on the table top dramatically as she leaned towards you to stage whisper. "I swear on my french horn- if I have to hear about his 'six little nuggets' dream one more time-"
"His six little what dream?" You snorted in disbelief.
"Six little nuggets! He wants six little Harrington-Wheeler children running around: three boys and three girls-" she blurted out- "like he doesn't already have a whole brood of kids to look after! I mean, he's more of a parent right now than I'll ever be! Besides, I don't know how he got it in his head that Nancy is the type of girl to ever have- or even ever want to have- six children!"
"Well, she's without a doubt the most motivated person I've ever met-" you reasoned- "so if it turns out she does want six little Harrington-Wheeler nuggets, she's gonna have them, one way or another!"
"Okay, fair point- but she's still dating Jonathan; not Steve-" Robin countered with a slight frown- "and they've been dating for way longer than she was ever with Steve... plus I mean, when you've been through what they've been through together-"
"Wait, what have they been through?" you furrowed your brow at her unexpected and rather cryptic comment.
"Oh my god, how do you not know about-" Robin began, but the reverberation from someone tapping on a live microphone drew both of your attention towards the stage and effectively ended your conversation.
Without any preamble, the first notes of Queen's 'Keep Yourself Alive' rang out through the bar and you and Robin turned to look at each other with wide eyes; neither one of you expecting to hear a song from Queen being played by a band named Corroded Coffin. Focusing your attention back on the stage, you were completely enthralled by watching Eddie's fingers effortlessly glide along the strings of his guitar; every single inch of him evoking both the skill and presence of Brian May. You honestly weren't even sure who was playing what in the rest of the band because you simply couldn't pull your eyes away from Eddie.
It wasn't until the fourth song in their set that Eddie finally looked up from his guitar and locked eyes with you; his pupils so dilated that his chocolate button eyes were completely blown black. Giving you a wolfish grin, Eddie propped his foot up on the amp and rolled his hips forward as he started in on the first notes of 'Rock You Like a Hurricane.'
"Holy shit! He's literally eye-banging you in public," Robin unexpectedly chuckled into your ear, startling you out of the trance that watching Eddie play had put you under. "This is so freaking great!"
"Oh my god, Robin, shut up," you sputtered out frantically, head whipping around in her direction to try to get her to stop making a scene in the sparsely populated bar.
"Oh, come on! You know that's what he's doing!" Robin laughed out giddily as she gestured towards Eddie, "he's totally not being subtle about it!" As if trying to prove her point, Eddie sent you another wink and you were certain that any second now you were either going to melt into a puddle of yearning for him or burst into flames of embarrassment.
You could feel both humiliation and arousal quickly pumping through your bloodstream and, being unable to deny her accusation, you hid your face in your hands as Robin cackled away with glee. "This is so much better than listening to Steve endlessly pine! You can't even speak! I mean, I knew you were head over heels for him, but this is next level!"
The start of the guitar solo had you pulling your hands away from your face to watch Eddie's fingers flying along the strings as the tip of his tongue peaked out from between his plush lips; he was mesmerizing as he absolutely shredded through the solo entirely from memory.
"Uh... okay, all messing with you aside, he's actually like crazy good," Robin gaped as the song ended and the band seamlessly transitioned into another guitar heavy song that you weren't familiar with.
"Yeah... he really is," you agreed slowly, once again becoming enthralled by Eddie's talent.
Throughout the rest of Corroded Coffin's set, you and Robin vacillated between having her lovingly teasing the ever-living crap out of you for how quickly you (willingly) would fall right back into your thirsting for Eddie and both of you being completely amazed by how skilled he was. When the last note finished reverberating throughout the bar, Eddie unplugged his guitar and turned to talk to Gareth who- now that you could focus on something other than, you know, Eddie- apparently played the drums and Jeff who played the bass.
"So... you're going to go spend the night with Eddie now, right?" Robin questioned and you mentally cursed how observant she could randomly be at the most inopportune times.
"Robin, how do you do that?" you grumbled instead of answering her question, which, of course, indirectly told her she was right on the money.
"How do I do what?" Robin laughed. "Read you like a book?"
"Yes." You scowled bitterly as you moved to turn towards her, but the feel of an arm wrapping around your waist stopped you in your tracks.
Spinning you to face him, Eddie captured your lips in a quick kiss. "Baby, you came!" he grinned brightly as he pulled back far enough to look you in the eye.
Behind you, you could hear Robin snort, but you ignored her in favor of smiling at Eddie, "I wouldn't have missed this for anything."
Leaning forward with the clear intention of kissing you again, Eddie halted when Robin loudly cleared her throat. "Sorry-" Eddie smirked, pulling you into his side as he held his hand out towards Robin- "Hi, I'm Eddie."
Taking his hand in hers, Robin smiled as she shook it, "Robin." Letting his hand go, Robin pulled the strap of her purse up further on her shoulder. "Well, I'm gonna head out! Stop by Family Video after school tomorrow, okay?" She simpered widely as she waved goodbye to you and Eddie and headed towards the door.
"You ready to go, princess?" Eddie whispered in your ear as you watched Robin disappear into the night.
A shiver ran down your spine at the feel of Eddie's warm breath puffing against your neck and, not trusting your voice not to quiver, you nodded your head.
Grinning wolfishly again, Eddie threaded his fingers through yours and lead you out of The Hideout.
"So she's really dating Munson now, huh?" Steve shook his head as he angled his side view mirror to get a better look at Eddie opening the passenger door of his van for you. Eddie held your hand as you climbed into the vehicle and he bent forward to place a kiss on the back of it before shutting your door and running around to the driver's side.
"Oh yeah," Robin chuckled, using the other side view mirror to watch Eddie back the van out of its parking spot and peel out of the lot.
"You know, I have half a mind to follow him and make sure he gets her home safe," Steve sighed as he put his car in gear, turned on his headlights, and shifted his body in his seat in order to look out the back window of his car to make sure it was safe to drive.
"Well, you'd be waiting a long time for that," Robin smirked as she settled back in the passenger seat.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve huffed, backing out onto the road.
"Put it this way-" Robin let her head fall to the side to grin knowingly at Steve- "I think you're gonna have to have the talk with your favorite son."
TAG LIST: @ruinedbythehobbit
#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson#joseph quinn#joseph quinn fanfiction#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things#eddie stranger things#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson boyfriend#eddie munson fanfic#female reader
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orv, empty sky au. same universe as this.
Anna Croft is, technically, a citizen of the United States, despite the fact that she’s never set foot there in her life. Neither have her parents, or her parents’ parents, or her parents’ parents’ parents. She’s asked them for an explanation, and the explanation is this: a child of a citizen is still a citizen. Old laws still hold. There’s still something of the motherland in them all, buried deep in their bones like so much rot.
It was a load of shit, basically.
She believed it only in the middle of the night, newly woken from too-vivid dreams and the line separating mad imaginings from reality far too thin. The image is printed in the darkness behind her eyelids. America, before the calamity. A city green and lush in the middle of a searing desert. Shining buildings and neon lights and cigarette smoke. Shit concrete for the ground and polished marble floors for the hotels. Luxury in the casinos and elaborate confections for the tourists and the streets for people who had gambled every last cent away.
Of course, when faced with the cold, synthetic light of day, it obviously wasn’t real. It wasn’t anything she should be able to make sense of. The United States exists now, sure, but most of it is miles underwater. Hardly any deserts there, or greenery, or anything really other than water. Anna Croft has heard some things about underwater cities, but she’d never gone and fact-checked. It wasn’t relevant, so she never bothered. Easier to fall into routine: wake up, go to work, squint at numbers and statistics for the lab, scam money off the techs, go home, go to bed, do it all over again in the morning.
#omniscient reader's viewpoint#orv#omniscient reader#anna croft#empty sky au#my writing#mine#everything
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Chapter - 1
(Percy's POV)
My nightmare started like this.
I was standing on a deserted street in some little beach town. It was the middle of the night. A storm was blowing. Wind & rain ripped at the palm trees along the sidewalk. Pink & yellow stucco buildings lined the street, their windows boarded up. A block away, past a line of hibiscus bushes, the ocean churned. Florida, I thought.
Though I wasn’t sure how I knew that. I’d never been to Florida. Then I heard hooves clattering against the pavement. I turned & saw my friend Grover running for his life.
Yeah, I said hooves.
Grover is a satyr. From the waist up, he looks like a typical gangly teenager with a peach-fuzz goatee & a bad case of acne. He walks with a strange limp, but unless you happen to catch him without his pants on (which I don’t recommend) you’d never know there was anything un-human about him. Baggy jeans & fake feet hide the fact that he’s got furry hindquarters & hooves. Grover had been my best friend in sixth grade. He’d gone on this adventure with me, Annabeth & Nora (who was his best friend)to save the world, but I hadn’t seen him since last July, when he set off alone on a dangerous quest-a quest no satyr had ever returned from.
Anyway, in my dream, Grover was hauling goat tail, holding his human shoes in his hands the way he does when he needs to move fast. He clopped past the little tourist shops & surfboard rental places. The wind bent the palm trees almost to the ground.
Grover was terrified of something behind him. He must’ve just come from the beach. Wet sand was caked in his fur. He’d escaped from somewhere. He was trying to get away from.. something. A bone-rattling growl cut through the storm. Behind Grover, at the far end, a shadowy figure loomed. It swatted aside a street lamp, which burst in a shower of sparks. Grover stumbled, whimpering in fear. He muttered to himself, 'Have to get away. Have to warn them!'
I couldn’t see what was chasing him, but I could hear it muttering & cursing. The ground shook as it got closer. Grover dashed around a street corner & faltered. He’d run into a dead-end courtyard full of shops. No time to back up. The nearest door had been blown open by the storm. The sign above the dark display window read: ST. AUGUSTINE BRIDAL BOUTIQUE.
Grover dashed inside. He dove behind a rack of wedding dresses. The monster’s shadow passed in front of the shop. I could smell the thing-a sickening combination of wet sheep wool and rotten meat & that weird sour body odor only monsters have.
Grover trembled behind the dresses. The monster’s shadow passed on. Silence except for the rain. Grover took a deep breath. Maybe the thing was gone. Then lightning flashed. The entire front of the store exploded, & a monstrous voice bellowed: “MIIIIINE!”
I sat bolt upright, shivering in my bed. There was no storm. No monster. Morning sunlight filtered through my bedroom window. I thought I saw a shadow flicker across the glass-a humanlike shape. But then there was a knock on my bedroom door-my mom called: “Percy, you’re going to be late” -& the shadow at the window disappeared.
It must’ve been my imagination. A fifth-story window with a rickety old fire escape... there couldn’t have been anyone out there.
“Come on, dear,” my mother called again. “Last day of school. You should be excited! You’ve almost made it."
“Coming,” I managed.
I felt under my pillow. My fingers closed reassuringly around the ballpoint pen I always slept with. I brought it out, studied the Ancient Greek writing engraved on the side: Anaklusmos. Riptide. I thought about uncapping it, but something held me back. I hadn’t used Riptide for so long...
Besides, my mom had made me promise not to use deadly weapons in the apartment after I’d swung a javelin the wrong way & took out her china cabinet. I put Anaklusmos on my nightstand and dragged myself out of bed. I got dressed as quickly as I could. I tried not to think about my nightmare or monsters or the shadow at my window.
Have to get away. Have to warn them! What had Grover meant?
I made a three-fingered claw over my heart and pushed outward-an ancient gesture Grover had once taught me for warding off evil. The dream couldn’t have been real.
Last day of school. My mom was right, I should've been excited. For the first time in my life, I’d almost made it an entire year without getting expelled. No weird accidents. No fights in the classroom. No teachers turning into monsters & trying to kill me with poisoned cafeteria food or exploding
homework. Tomorrow, I’d be on my way to my favorite place-Camp Half-Blood. I'd get to see my favourite person: Nora! erm...yeah..& a few others too...
Only one more day to go. Surely even I couldn’t mess that up. As usual, I didn’t have a clue how wrong I was.
My mom made blue waffles & blue eggs for breakfast. She’s funny that way, celebrating special occasions with blue food. I think it’s her way of saying anything is possible. Percy can pass seventh grade. Waffles can be blue. Little miracles like that.
I ate at the kitchen table while my mom washed dishes. She was dressed in her work uniform-a starry blue skirt & a red-&-white striped blouse she wore to sell candy at Sweet on America. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
The waffles tasted great, but I guess I wasn’t digging in like I usually did. My mom looked over & frowned.
“Percy, are you all right?”
“Yeah...fine.”
But she could always tell when something was bothering me. She dried her hands & sat down across from me. “School, or...”
She didn’t need to finish. I knew what she was asking.
“I think Grover’s in trouble,” I said, & I told her about my dream.
She pursed her lips. We didn’t talk much about the other part of my life. We tried to live as normally as possible, but my mom knew all about Grover.
“I wouldn’t be too worried, dear,” she said. “Grover is a big satyr now. If there were a problem, I’m sure we would’ve heard from... from camp...” Her shoulders tensed as she said the word camp.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’ll tell you what. This afternoon we’ll celebrate the end of school. I’ll take you & Tyson to Rockefeller Center-to that skateboard shop you like.”
Oh, man, that was tempting. We were always struggling with money. Between my mom’s night classes & my private school tuition, we could never afford to do special stuff like shop for a skateboard. But something in her voice bothered me.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I thought we were packing me up for camp tonight.”
She twisted her dishrag. “Ah, dear, about that..I got a message from Chiron last night.”
My heart sank. Chiron was the activities director at Camp Half-Blood. He wouldn’t contact us unless something serious was going on. “What did he say?”
“He thinks...it might not be safe for you to go to camp yet. We might have to postpone.”
“Postpone? Mom, how could it not be safe? I’m a half-blood! It’s like the only safe place on earth for me!”
“Usually, dear. But with the problems they’re having-“
“What problems?”
“Percy...I’m very, very sorry. I was hoping to talk to you about it this afternoon. I can’t explain it all now. I’m not even sure Chiron can. Everything happened so suddenly.”
My mind was reeling. How could I not go to camp? I wanted to ask a million questions, but just then the kitchen clock chimed the half-hour. My mom looked almost relieved.
“Seven-thirty, dear. You should go. Tyson will be waiting.”
“But-“
“Percy, we’ll talk this afternoon. Go on to school.”
That was the last thing I wanted to do, but my mom had this fragile look in her eyes-a kind of warning, like if I pushed her too hard she’d start to cry. Besides, she was right about my friend Tyson. I had to meet him at the subway station on time or he’d get upset.
He was scared of traveling underground alone. I gathered up my stuff, but I stopped in the doorway. “Mom, this problem at camp. Does it...could it have anything to do with my dream about Grover?”
She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “We’ll talk this afternoon, dear. I’ll explain..as much as I can.”
Reluctantly, I told her good-bye. I jogged downstairs to catch the Number Two train. I didn’t know it at the time, but my mom & I would never get to have our afternoon talk.
In fact, I wouldn’t be seeing home for a long, long time.
As I stepped outside, I glanced at the brownstone building across the street.
Just for a second I saw a dark shape in the morning sunlight-a human silhouette against the brick wall, a shadow that belonged to no one. Then it rippled & vanished.
First chapter you guys!!
Feels so good to be writing again😁
Link to the next chapter is here.
Link to the description is here.
Comment, like & share.
Take care my lovely readers.❤
Alice signing off.
XOXO.
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Rapture
A dream
I:
She looked back at me. Her eyes were very close, and I had the sense she was looking through me.
"I don't think so," she said. "You're not the first person who's said that."
"I feel like I should know," I said.
"You don't?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"So, you're not the first person who's said that you're not the first person who's not the first person who's not the first person to say that."
"Is this a dream?"
"Yeah."
"And is this what I think it is?"
She nodded. "Yup."
"And is this something that happens to you a lot?"
"Pretty much."
II:
On waking, I realized that I remembered the details of this dream pretty clearly -- it was the one where I was standing on the surface, looking over my shoulder at the tower in the distance. I thought that I could make sense of what I saw.
But the memory itself was pretty blurry. The details of the tower were very unclear to me, like it had just been that way when I was looking at it yesterday. I thought it was a pyramid -- it looked triangular to me, somehow -- but it was in fact just some low cliff, with no particular design or purpose. The clouds made it look much taller.
And it was weird that I didn't remember who I was looking at, what I was looking at -- it had been a person, a female person, but she had been pretty far away, and in the dream I hadn't been able to see much more than a silhouette. And there had been no colors in the dream.
There had been color when I was outside, just a few minutes earlier, but the surface was much more colorful today, in the daytime -- some kind of pinkish sky. Not a typical daytime sky -- the sun was very bright, with lots of white -- and not one I'd ever seen before.
I tried to explain this to the person in my dream. "You mean I was looking at the sky when I was here before, and the sky looked like this? That's very strange, and there's a chance I'm imagining it."
"That's what my mom told me," she said.
"So, your mom must be a friend of mine?"
"Uh, yeah. She's been dead for a long time."
"Sorry to hear it. So, what's a typical day here like?"
"I mean, I don't know. Like, if my mom were to show up right now, and try to explain where we are, how would you explain it to her?"
I said, "You know, in dreams, I try not to explain too much. I don't like it when I can't figure out where I am. It's a lot like waking life, in a lot of respects, and maybe there are a few subtle distinctions here and there, but in any case, we'd be much less confused."
The other woman smiled at that. She looked almost happy. She was looking at me the way she had looked at me when I was having that dream, and there was a lot of the same sense of something very, very different from what I thought I was experiencing.
I asked her: "Why'd you ask me about the sky? I don't even think that's what we're supposed to talk about."
"I know," the woman in the dream said. "But something important will happen tonight."
III
I looked down. I was sitting on the porch of the house that had been standing on the surface of a desert, with a lot of sand, and some mountains, for the last few weeks. The sun was setting over the mountains to the west -- it was about to set behind the house.
I turned to face the house, which seemed much bigger from down here, and made out several more windows, and a lot of trees around the house.
The woman in the dream turned away. She began walking back down the street, in a direction opposite to mine.
It was getting darker. I began to wonder if I had made a mistake. I could go to sleep. I'd have to wait for night to fall. I could try to walk back.
That meant I would have to walk for miles. But it was still the middle of the day. I could walk for a little while.
I got up, and set out, walking slowly, and stopping to look around and take in everything I saw. I had no idea what I was doing, or how I had ended up in a desert I could not recognize. This was a long, long trip, and I could only go as fast as I walked.
The house was now lost in the darkness. As I looked around, I saw many small towns, or at least I saw many tiny clusters of houses.
There were no towns or clusters of houses at all where I was going. I had seen towns and houses, but all were far away -- maybe miles, certainly more than three miles.
At one point, the street got darker -- there was something blocking my way, and it was hard to see. I kept walking, but after some time I realized that I was getting nowhere.
Then I saw -- a small cluster of houses -- and some people walking around -- a little girl in a red dress, and an old man in a straw hat. I could see people standing in front of one of the houses.
As I watched, I began to hear a strange, rhythmic sound -- the sound of a crowd of people singing, one single voice at a time. I went around the houses to get a clearer look, and saw many of the same people as the people I saw earlier.
They were singing some sort of slow song, maybe a religious one -- it was hard to tell in the dark. I was unable to see a building on one side of the street, which was not normal. It was getting dark, but it was still light enough that I could see the houses on the other side of the street, where there was a gap.
The song was still going on, but there was only one voice, not many voices. I started walking, and saw some of the same people, and a gap opened up in front of me. As I walked, I could see the walls of the houses were getting larger, and that there were a lot of houses, and that I was in a long, long street.
The song stopped abruptly. The people became more clear. There was a man in a large straw hat, who was talking.
I moved to my right, and saw something strange. It was a huge white archway, on what looked like a large, raised platform.
The man said, "Hello, I am Brother Mungo."
I said, "Hello, Brother Mungo. I am Brother Ibar, the messenger. I have come with a message. Brother Mungo, I am here to ask that you send your people back down to the earth. You cannot stay here."
"I am Brother Mungo. And what are you, Brother Ibar? You say you are a messenger? If you are a messenger, then say this. Are you telling me to get up, or to sit down?"
I said, "I am telling you to stop the people who are living in this house."
"The people are not in this house. I am not in this house. What is it that you see that the people can do?"
"I don't know -- I see an archway, and I see a room. Maybe your people are the people who made the archway. It is very strange."
"Are you telling me what to do?"
"I am telling you to stop living here. Ibar, you are not telling me what I should do, and I am telling you not to do anything."
The man in the hat looked at me curiously, and took a little step back, and said, "And what, pray tell, am I not allowed to do, Brother Ibar? Do you wish to stop me from standing on the edge of that platform of stone?"
"If you stand there, there will be danger. The house will collapse."
"And if I take a step back?"
"There is even more danger. It is very dangerous, and Ibar, I ask you to stop."
"The danger is not great. I stand on the edge of a platform of stone. If I take a step back, there is a wall, with a great dark archway where I came from. Is this a bad thing?"
"It is very bad. Please stop."
"Very well. Ibar, you may tell me why. The house is made of stone. The archway behind me leads to a chamber where I have seen many people -- do you know what they are?"
"I know they are in there, that is what Ibar. They are living there."
"Very well, and what happens if I let my feet touch the ground?"
"Nothing, Brother Mungo. If you fall from the platform
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BREAKING TIME By Sasha Alsberg (EXCERPT)
Book Description
Fate brought them together. Time will tear them apart.
When a mysterious Scotsman suddenly appears in the middle of the road, Klara thinks the biggest problem is whether she hit him with her car. But, as impossible as it sounds, Callum has stepped out of another time, and his arrival marks the beginning of a deadly adventure.
Klara soon learns she is the last Pillar of Time—an anchor point in the timeline of the world. After being unable to protect the previous Pillar, Callum believes he’s fated to protect her. But now a dark force is hunting the Pillars—and Klara and Callum are the only two standing in the way. They’ll have to learn to trust each other and work together…but they'll need to protect their hearts from one another if they're going to survive
The Author
Sasha Alsberg is the #1 New York Times bestselling coauthor of Zenith, the first book in The Androma Saga. When Sasha is not writing or obsessing over Scotland, she is galavanting across social media with her two dogs, Fraser & Fiona. Sasha lives in London, England.
Social Links:
Author website: https://www.sashaalsberg.com/
Twitter: @sashaalsberg
Instagram: @sashaalsberg
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sasha.alsberg
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15100575.Sasha_Alsberg
Buy Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Breaking-Time-Sasha-Alsberg/dp/1335284893
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AppleBooks: https://books.apple.com/ch/audiobook/breaking-time/id1591477301
Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Sasha_Alsberg_Breaking_Time?id=5TlHEAAAQBAJ
EXCERPT:
Excerpted from BREAKING TIME by Sasha Alsberg, © 2022 by Sasha Alsberg, used with permission from Inkyard Press/HarperCollins.
Callum - 1568
“Thomas!” Callum yelled as he left the pub. The wall of crisp night air dizzied him, causing him to stumble over cobble¬stones that seemed to shift beneath his feet. Drunken laughter muff led as the door slammed shut behind him.
“Where the hell are ye?” he shouted. His voice echoed through the deserted streets.
No answer came.
Lanterns flickered along the main road, setting the heavy fog aglow. In a wee town like Rosemere, the slightest whis¬pers could be heard a mile away. They carried farther than that, Callum knew; the windows around him were shuttered, but candles burned low just inside. How many prying eyes watched from behind the slats? How many would speak of his friend, the disgraced fighter, in hushed voices at tomor¬row’s market, over bread bought with the coin they’d won betting on him mere weeks earlier?
Callum clenched his fists. The whole pub had shouted and jeered while Thomas got pummeled that night. Sounds still rang in Callum’s ears: the thud of fist and flesh, the sickening crunch of bone. It was the third time this month that Thomas had lost—only the third time, in two years of fighting.
Brice would be angry.
Master, keeper, devil, father. Brice MacDonald was all of these things to Callum and Thomas. Whatever Brice’s wrath tonight, Callum could not let Thomas face it alone. Not when Thomas had looked after Callum for so long, raised him up from a nipper as well as a real older brother would.
But he would not abandon Thomas like his mother had abandoned him.
The thought sobered Callum. He called again, lowering his voice to a taunt.
“Thomas! You owe me three shillings!” Thomas could usually be drawn out with a jab.
Callum paused, straining his ears for a response but was met with unease instead. An owl watched from its perch atop the baker’s roof, golden eyes unblinking against the dark night sky. The shining orbs fixed on him.
He tore his gaze from the bird and walked on, moving away from the firelight and into shadow.
Even more worrisome than Brice was the fact that Thomas had given Callum his most treasured item earlier that night: his notebook, small sheaths of vellum bound in leather. When he first began carrying it around, Thomas claimed to have stolen it from the apothecary when he went in for a poultice.
He had kept it on him, always, and had never let Callum lay eyes on what was inside. Yet he had pressed it into Callum’s hand, just before the match tonight. He said something to Callum when he did, but his words were inaudible within the roar of the pub. Then after, he disappeared from the pub without even a goodbye.
Now Callum was wandering the streets, alone.
It was unlike Thomas to behave so strangely, to lose so badly. The Thomas he knew—boyish and rowdy, tough as leather but never mean—had fallen away with the autumn leaves these past months. Instead of spending evenings at The Black Hart Inn, weaving stories he’d learned as a child of selkies and sailors for red-cheeked barmaids until the sun rose, Thomas began to disappear for days, weeks at a time—stretches too long for Callum to explain to Brice. He took a beating or two for it, too. When Thomas returned, he was sullen, sometimes violent, and consumed by a strangeness Callum had no words to describe. His eyes stared but did not see, as distant as stars burning in his skull. If he spoke at all, he told tales of the demons that terrified them as children: like the Sluagh, spirits of the dead who wandered in flocks, flying around the sky like soaring reapers and stealing souls, flesh hanging off them like blackened rags. Or the bean-nighe, banshees, messengers from the Otherworld and omens of death, who lingered in lonely streams, washing the clothes of doomed men. Normally Callum heard of such dark crea¬tures within the stories of heroes, but Thomas’s stories didn’t end in life…but death. He fixated on that fact, as if it were coming for him.
I saw her, he’d said of the bean-nighe. I refuse to die.
It worried Callum, but just as his worry morphed into con¬frontation, Thomas would come back to himself. This was enough to comfort Callum as he watched Thomas return to tales of ancient heroes and kings. Maybe he accepted his re¬lief too soon since the nights of those stories were fewer these days, and more often Thomas’s speech would turn dark again. He would speak of strange visions, of men who leaped from one world to the next.
They’re coming, Cal, you’ll see. It’s as simple as stepping through a veil.
Who’s coming, Thomas? What veil? Callum asked, and Thomas would laugh.
It was no tale that Callum knew. He’d warned Thomas not to tell it. He didn’t like the wary looks it earned him. It was one thing to be a bard who told these stories for a living, but it was another thing to speak like a madman of evil spir¬its and fairies as if they were tangible things away from the lyrics of a song or the pages of a book.
Callum reached the end of the main road—the turn for Kelpie’s Close. If you wanted trouble, you found it in Kelpie’s. The narrow backstreet edged Rosemere like a blade pressed against the town’s throat.
A chill clung to his skin. Here, there were no lanterns to light the way, his only guide sparse slivers of moonlight. The wind picked up suddenly, lifting his hair and reaching under his woolen cloak. He tried to shake off visions of the Sluagh hovering above him, raking their cold fingers down his neck.
“It’s as dark as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat,” he mumbled.
Callum reached for the dirk tucked under his arm and found the carved handle concealed under layers of wool, feel¬ing a sting of guilt. It was Thomas’s knife. Callum had slipped it away from him before the match, worried about what his friend might do in the crowded pub if he got enough drink in him. He tapped it, drawing enough strength to plunge into the darkness.
“Scunner!” he cursed, meaning it. “Where are you?”
A cry pierced the quiet.
Callum’s heart pounded as he followed the sound farther down the alley. He pulled the dirk from under his arm, cer¬tain now that he’d need to use it.
“Thomas?”
Unease, cold and metallic, crept up his spine. The alley appeared empty—strange, for this time of night—but the si¬lence was thick, alive with a feeling Callum couldn’t name. He pushed on, deeper into the gloom. “Thomas?”
Another strangled cry, ahead.
Callum broke into a run.
A single lantern flickered a short distance away, casting a wan glow over a lone figure slumped against the wall. A sweep of red hair, bright even in the dim alley.
“Thomas, ye bastard, do ye ken what—”
The insult lodged in his throat. Thomas lay on the ground, his legs splayed at sickening angles. Blood seeped through his shirt, blooming like ink on paper. Callum rushed to his friend and knelt beside him. He dropped the dirk and pressed his hands against the deep slice that marred his friend’s torso. A knife wound.
“Dinnae fash, Thomas, dinnae fash,” Callum repeated, voice tight and panicked. He glanced up, searching for friend or foe, and found no one. “We’ll be back to the pub before Anderson kens we havna paid our tab.”
Thomas stared up at him with glassy blue eyes. With each shuddering breath, more blood spilled through Callum’s fin¬gers. He ripped the cloth stock from his neck and pressed the fabric onto the wound. It did little to stem the flow of blood. Within a few heartbeats, the cloth was soaked through, red and dripping.
If he pressed any harder, would it be doing more harm than good? Should he call for help, though it might draw the at¬tacker? Callum hadn’t a clue. He wished suddenly, ferociously, that he’d had a proper mother, one whose wisdom he could call upon to calmly guide his hands. However, Thomas was the only family he had.
His only family was dying.
Thomas opened his mouth, but instead of words, a wet cough came out, splattering red across his pale face.
“Dinnae move, Thomas,” Callum shushed him. His uncer¬tainty gave way to desperation, burst from his throat. “Help! Help us!”
His words dissolved into the night air, leaving behind only a tightness at the center of his chest. If he hadn’t taken Thomas’s dirk, he would have been able to defend himself, he wouldn’t be dying in Callum’s arms—
Thomas gasped, but it seemed as if no air reached his lungs.
Lowering his head, Callum gripped Thomas’s hands, though his own were shaking. “I will find the man who did this, I swear—”
Then the world flipped sideways. A blow had hit Callum like a runaway carriage, throwing him against the alley wall opposite Thomas.
Pain exploded along his ribs. Grasping the mossy wall for purchase, he struggled to his feet and wiped blood from his eyes, scouring the darkness for his attacker—and found no one.
“Show your face,” he growled.
A cruel whisper cut through the quiet. “Are you certain?”
The man emerged from the shadows as if he had been one with them. He wore a dark black cloak, in stark contrast to his unkempt, pale hair. Deep set in his face, a pair of amber eyes seemed to emit their own light. Callum’s gaze was drawn to a glinting shape in the man’s hand.
A dagger, dripping with blood.
Thomas’s blood.
Callum’s heart pounded like a war drum in his ears.
The man sighed. “Move along. Unless you’d like to meet the same fate as your compani—”
Callum lunged forward, cutting off the man’s speech with a guttural cry, striking with the speed of a viper.
The man ducked. He whirled around as Callum charged again. He overreached with the arc of his knife, and Callum used the moment to surge upward with a punch. His fist took the assailant in the chin—
And the force knocked Callum back.
He stared. A blow like that would have laid out the tough¬est fighter, yet the man stood and smiled, rubbing his chin with a gloved hand.
“I’m going to have fun with you,” the stranger whispered. “I like a man with a bit of fight in him. It’s more fun to play with your prey, don’t you think?”
Callum didn’t see the blow coming, only felt the pain sear¬ing across his temple as he was thrown to the ground again.
He lifted his head, vision blurring. He blinked it clear, took in his friend’s ashen face. The sight flooded Callum with rage.
Whoever said to never fight with anger fueling your fists was a fool. Thomas’s best fights had been powered by emo¬tion. Callum wasn’t fighting for money now. Or for Brice. He was fighting for Thomas. Because Thomas was—
“Stay down, little man,” the attacker’s voice hissed.
Callum dragged himself to his feet. His body, corded with muscle from a lifetime of training, screamed for him to stop. Instead he stood, swaying.
“I dinnae believe I’m going to Heaven,” Callum said, rais¬ing his fists once more, drawing strength from the familiar ache that radiated through his arms. “But I cannae wait to bring you to Hell with me.”
Lunging forward again, Callum poured everything he had into a single strike. He swung, landing the punch more out of luck than skill, half blinded by blood and dirt.
The man merely flinched, then caught Callum easily by the throat. A grin curled over his face.
How could that be possible?
“My, my, you are a feisty one,” he hissed.
The man lashed out, and pain flared along Callum’s torso. He released Callum and stepped back, red-tinged silver shin¬ing in his fist.
Callum touched his side, and his fingers came away wet with blood. He watched as crimson spread across his shirt. He tried to take a step, only to crumple to the ground beside Thomas, whose head rested limp against his chest.
Callum had never feared death, but now as he looked into its eyes, terror seized him.
“Many thanks for the entertainment,” the man said.
To Callum’s horror, he bent low, holding a vial to the spreading pool of Thomas’s blood. He was gathering it.
“If you’ll excuse me, there’s one last Pillar I must find.”
Pillar?
The unearthly amber eyes melted into darkness as his oppo¬nent backed away and turned, disappearing into the shadows once more. Softly hissed words echoed in the alley. Àiteachan dìomhair, fosgailte dhomh, Àiteachan dìomhair, fosgailte dhomh…
The words the man spoke were Gaelic, but Callum’s fad¬ing mind couldn’t make out their meaning. A dark, mist-like substance rose from the ground and curled around the man’s feet, nearly indistinguishable from the dim of night. Like a sudden fog had rolled in.
Callum sputtered a curse, lacking the strength to spit. He tried to lift himself, but with each breath, pain flared in his side like a web of fire.
“I’m sorry, Thomas,” he croaked. Tears fell freely down his face, mingling with blood and sweat. He pressed his forehead against his friend’s. Grief washed over him at the still-warm press of his skin.
Thomas was gone, and Callum would soon follow.
A shiver raked his body. His eyes drifted shut.
Take me already, he pleaded to the darkness.
And the darkness answered.
No, not the darkness—Thomas’s voice, a memory now, though it was solid as stone.
“Get up, scunner.”
The warmth of the words turned electric, spreading through Callum’s body like wildfire. His eyes shot open and he gasped, breathing in a shock of cold air still sharp with the smell of blood. His fingers found the dirk he’d dropped earlier.
Grief and agony and pain and rage lifted Callum onto his feet, thrumming in him as he charged after Thomas’s mur¬derer, knife raised and eager for flesh. He grabbed blindly, finally grasping a handful of fabric—the man’s cloak. Turn¬ing, the man’s eyes widened, making two white rings of sur¬prise in the dark. Callum’s hand grabbed the man’s neck and aimed his dirk at the pale slash of his throat.
Suddenly, they froze. Callum could not move. His hand remained around the man’s neck, the tip of the dirk pressed against his vein. Light flowed around them. It’s not time for sunrise, he thought. Dimly, he noticed markings along the man’s collarbone. Knots carved into his skin.
The man cried out—not in pain, but in anger—but then, the cry was stifled by a rush of silence, so thick Callum thought he might drown in it. His stomach turned violently as the ground seemed to drop out from under him, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut. He was falling, flying, falling.
I must be dead in the alley. The man must have killed me. This must be death.
A bright glow burned against his lids. He closed his eyes tighter and welcomed whatever might follow, only hoping he’d find Thomas there. A wall of light had formed above, descending as if the sun were pulling him through the sky. His body rose into its searing embrace.
He waited for the long drop to the ground, but it never came.
Callum kept soaring.
Not just through the street.
Not to death’s embrace.
But somewhere else.
Leaping to another world, like the man in Thomas’s story, Callum thought.
So he leaped.
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| secret summers |
Word Count: 1,597
Warning(s): None
Notes: This thing they have between them, it's a secret. But its also better than not having her at all.
Thank you for reading, love bugs. 🖤 GIF credit: angels-reyes
[[Masterlist]]
Things weren't supposed to go on this long, it was supposed to be a simple summer fling while you were in town. But Coco finds himself outside your house for the third time this week.
It's dark when he pulls up to your street, the summer sun long since set. The lights are off in your house, save for the front porch light. He cuts the ignition to his bike immediately, praying the rumble of his bike didn't wake any of your neighbors.
This thing you both had, it's a secret, and even though you both knew that right now it was for the best, it still pissed him off that this was the only way he could be with you.
It doesn't take long before your front door is opening and closing, the soft glow of the streetlight a few houses down the only light guiding you towards him.
You were in nothing but a pair of baby blue cotton shorts and a black tank top because despite the fact that summer was almost over, it was still hotter than hell in Santo Padre.
Coco can see the wide grin on your face through the darkness as you are racing across the street towards him.
"Hi." You say breathlessly when you finally reach him. He smirks down at you, sliding his hand around the back of your neck. He barely has to tug you to him and you're leaning into his kiss.
"I wasn't expecting to see you tonight," you say, pulling away from Coco reluctantly. Putting on the extra helmet and getting on the bike behind him. Both wincing at the loud rumble of the bike coming back to life, and he waits until he's sure you are settled and ready before heading towards one of your favorite late night destinations.
It's been the same all summer, and for the past three summers at that. You do things with your friends and family during the day. He would be out doing god knows what with the club, and then at night you will text to see if you both had time to see each other. Neither of you think of it as a booty call because you don't always hook up. Sometimes you both end up at the diner on the outskirts of town, binging on greasy fries and spending most the night talking. Other nights, you'd ride out to the middle of the desert and watch the sunrise. Not much would be said, but you'd enjoy each other's company nonetheless.
You and Coco came from different worlds. But you teased that a bad biker, with a poetic mind was something you didn't know you wanted.
You never saw Coco like he was less than, and never judged him for the life choices he made. Not when you brought your car into the auto shop he worked at to have a water leak fixed, three summers ago. Not when he made the first move, and asked for your phone number in some dingy bar. And not when he brought you to that cheesy diner - which is now your favorite place in all of town - for your 'first date'.
"I wanted to see you again before you left. We got a run tomorrow, and I won't be back till after you're gone." Coco finally speaks up.
He brought you to the opposite side of town, to a little hidden gem that overlooked the entire town of Santo Padre. A soft glow begins to shine across the horizon as the sun begins to rise.
Your fingers run up and down the back of his hands where they wrap around you, holding you close to him as you sit between his legs.
"I'm glad you did," you tell him, "I missed you."
He chuckles, "It's only been two days, ma."
"Yeah, two very long days."
Coco finds himself saying things around you that he's never said with anyone else before. Part of him prayed that if he did tell you how he truly felt, maybe you'd stay. The other part of him telling him it was selfish of him, that you deserved to get away from this shit town.
"What's on your mind, Johnny?" Your soft voice floats through the air, his real name off your lips sounding like music to his ears.
"I wish we can do more together."
It's something he has said more than a dozen times over the past summers, but definitely a lot more this time around.
"Johnny…" Your voice is barely audible. You can feel Coco shift nervously behind you, a sigh escaping his lips.
"That doesn't sound good," he says with a dry laugh. If you were about to break up with him, it was a pretty shitty plan considering you both had a good hour drive back to town.
"Just say it. Is this," his hands motion between you and him, "over? For good?" The last two words barely above a whisper.
"What? No!" Shaking your head, your voice echoed through the quiet morning sky. "No. No, of course not." You shifted so you were looking at him.
You reach for him, pulling him into a reassuring kiss. Your fingers scratch the back of Coco's neck like you know he loves, and he nips at your lower lip.
"Then what's wrong?"
"I think I love you!" You blurt out, eyes shut close. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth and Coco grins slowly, lifting his thumb up and pulling your lip down.
"You do?"
You scoff at his reaction, "Don't sound so surprised. You could at least say it back."
Coco grins and tugs you closer to him. "You didn't really say the words, you know."
You softly push him away, both of you chuckle. "I love you, Johnny."
He can't hide the grin on his face nor does he even try. "I love you, too." He whispers the words against your lips and you hum in response.
You laugh when he pulls you to straddle his waist, your hands diving into the curls of his hair at the same time his lips take over yours.
“You taste so fucking good,” he whispers in your ear and you let out a moan when he bites the skin behind your ear.
“What do I taste like?” you rasp out.
“Summer,” he says as he kisses his way back down your neck. “I can’t wait to find out what you taste like in the winter.”
You giggle, “Probably hot chocolate,” you say into his mouth. “I love hot chocolate.”
“Mmm," he moans. "Good to know.”
You stop and just stare at him, hand on either side of his face as he stares back at you.
"I don't want this to end." He whispers. And your heart breaks at how hurt he sounded and at the thought of having to walk away from Coco again.
You give him a smile, "What if it doesn't have to?" You tell him.
His brows furrow at your words. "But you have to go back to New York."
"What if I told you I didn't have to."
He shakes his head and you can see the frustration building in him. He gently pushes you off him so he can stands.
"No, querida. I won't let you leave everything good for me, for this shit town." He paces back and forth.
"I'm not, Coco. I had an interview today with Pena. I'll be transferring from New York to Santo Padre. There's a lot more here for me than in New York. You are here, this is where I need to be." You stand in front of him to keep him from pacing.
"Why? Why would you leave everything just for me?" He asks.
"Why wouldn't I? I'm not going to tell you I love you and just walk away for another 6 months. I want this. I want this to work with you. I'm all in, if you are."
"Of course I want you, querida. I want this and I want to tell everyone about us, about you. I love you." He places a kiss on your forehead.
------------
The lights of your house are still off when you pull up. This time Coco walks you to your front door.
"What are you doing later?" He asks.
"Hopefully seeing my boyfriend." You tease.
"Want to come to the clubhouse with me later? Meet the guys?" He shyly asked. You knew this was a big step for him and meeting his family was a big deal.
Leaning forward you leave a soft kiss to his lips, "I'd love to."
He nods and smiles, placing another kiss to your lips before gesturing to the front door. "Good night, Princessa."
Opening the front door, you watch as Coco makes his way across the street to his bike.
"I love you, Johnny Cruz." You shout.
You can hear Coco laugh as he turns around to you in the middle of the street. "You're crazy." He shouts back.
"Everyone in love is a little crazy, baby. Gotta get used to it." You yell back.
"I love you. Good night." He tells you getting on his bike and strapping on his helmet. You give him a smile and a small wave before closing the front door.
Coco sits for a second staring at your house before bringing his bike to life. This love thing was definitely something he was going to have to get used to. And he will. For you, he definitely will.
--xx
TAGLIST 🖤: (Feel free to let me know if you would like to be added/removed)
@alienstardust
@mijop
@yourwonkywriter
@sesamepancakes
@encounterthepast
@queenbeered
@chibsytelford
@mayans-fics227
@jeremyrennerfanxxxx123
#Johnny Coco Cruz#Coco Cruz#Mayans MC#Johnny Coco Cruz x Reader#Coco Cruz x Reader#Mayans MC x Reader#Mayans MC imagine
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Sleight of Hand - Chapter Two
Din Djarin/F!Thief OC
E for Eventual Smut, I Promise
Summary: Mando heads to Mos Espa with his quarry. His quarry, however, has other plans.
Warnings: Banter I guess, Star Wars swearing, mentions of bindings and bound hands.
Notes: I slaved over this chapter for far too long and I’m not sure if it pays off, but I guess we will see!
Read on AO3
Series Masterlist
“You didn’t have to actually let go of me, you know!”
The woman hasn’t shut up since they left Mos Eisley. She sits behind him on the speeder bike, her hands bound to the back of his belt in case she gets any ideas. Unfortunately, her only idea so far has been to whine. Loudly.
And, infuriatingly, it’s all perfectly audible to the Mandalorian thanks to the enhancers in his helmet.
Mando is rapidly forming an intent dislike of her voice - its wheedling, husky pitch is like nails on durasteel, grating along his nerves. That, coupled with the faint smell of garbage wafting from her clothes, makes her a less-than-ideal passenger.
He remembers fondly the look in her eyes as he released her wrist from his grip. The defiance vanished, replaced by sheer terror as she fell. That expression will keep Mando warm at night.
The shrieking that followed as she landed in the garbage pile directly below, less so.
By the time he made it down to street level, the thief was pulling herself out, shedding her jacket which had become coated in some unidentifiable ooze. She was uninjured, but dazed - in no state to run as he grabbed her by the arm and slapped the binders on.
Mando had dragged her, protesting all the while, through the spaceport to the speeder he’d stashed down a side street. Now, the rolling dunes of Tatooine stretch out before them - Mos Espa, and the Mandalorian’s payment, awaits.
Neither fact the woman is happy about. Fortunately, Mando doesn’t really care if his bounty is happy or not.
“I thought I was going to die,” the woman continues to half-whine, half-yell, oblivious. “You dropped me like a sack of bantha shit!”
“The smell’s about the same,” Mando mutters. Somehow, she hears it through the rush of wind, and tries to hit him, but her bound hands prevent her from doing much more than wriggling like a fish caught on a line behind him.
“Stop moving,” he grunts - it’s hard to steer with her throwing her weight about. “Do you want us to crash?”
She grumbles some more but settles down. Mando kicks the speeder up a gear as they crest the top of a tall dune, throwing up a plume of sand in their wake as they soar down the other side.
The suns hover on a slow, downward trajectory in the sky. By Mando’s estimate they have about an hour or two left before they get to Mos Espa, which will put them in the unfortunate position of nightfall. It’s not ideal to travel in darkness - with the Jundland Wastes looming to their left, the danger of wildlife and, worse, local life is a very real one.
Few people are friendly out here. Few people have reason to be.
As if reading his mind, the girl starts to squirm again. “Can we stop?” he hears over the muted thunder of the engine, “I need to, uh, make a water deposit.”
Mando says nothing.
“I need to pee, okay!” she screams, and he sighs, at last relenting. He spots a cluster of low, flat rocks and slows the speeder to a stop alongside them. He reaches back and untethers her hands, then hops down, helping her along the way.
She holds her bound wrists out to him plaintively. “Can you take these things off? Please? They’re going to make things difficult.”
It’s the first time she’s been anything close to civil with him, but he sees straight through it as a ruse. He knows she’ll bolt as soon as those are off - never mind the fact they’re in the middle of the desert. So Mando just stares at her, saying nothing.
It doesn’t take long for her to lose her patience. “Well...Kark you , then, you - mud-sucking motherkriffer!” She kicks a spray of sand against his ankle and tries to hit him, but her bound fists just bounce off his armor. He stands there unmoving as she swears more and bends at the waist, cradling her now sore, captive hands.
“You can go behind the rocks there,” Mando says, inclining his chin in the right direction. The thief glares up at him through a fringe of bright hair for a moment before turning and stomping away with as much violent emphasis as she can muster.
He’s not stupid, so Mando ambles around the side of the rock, keeping his shoulder turned out of some remnant of respect. Still, the woman yells at him, but gives up once she realizes he’s not going to go away.
To at ;east some of his surprise, she returns to his side once she’s done instead of running away. “Do you know how difficult it is to pull up your pants when your hands are tied like this?” she complains at once. Lacking the energy, Mando doesn’t respond.
“Come on.”
It’s as he’s leading her back to the bike that she makes a break for it. She feigns left and dodges right, taking off at a dead run. She’s surprisingly nimble - her legs are longer than he thought - loping along gracefully even on the soft, shifting sands.
Mando just watches her go. He waits til she’s out of sight, then he withdraws a canteen from his pack. He lifts the tip of his helm for a sip, then when he’s finished, replaces the cap and tucks the flask back in his bag.
He takes his time getting back on the speeder, settling in, making himself comfortable. Then, he withdraws the tracker from a pouch at his belt. It beeps rapidly as soon as it’s exposed to the open air. Mando examines it for a moment before tucking the tracker away and kicking the speeder bike back into life.
Less than a minute later, he pulls up beside the woman. After her first mad dash and running full-tilt over loosely packed sand for the last ten minutes, she has slowed to a panting, sweating trudge. Her exposed skin is already bright pink.
“It’s six days’ walk either way to civilization from here,” Mando says conversationally over the soft purr of the speeder.
She keeps walking, sweat dripping from the tip of her nose. She keeps her wide eyes half-closed against the sun, and her teeth are clenched in what looks like a mix of anger and determination.
“You’ve got a couple hours before nightfall,” Mando continues. “You might make it. If you find shelter.”
She just keeps walking. And, deep down inside, Mando feels the first thread of admiration unfurl at the sheer, stubborn tenacity of the girl, in the face of all odds.
He tries once more. Because for that alone, she deserves a chance, at least.
“I guess if the Tuskens don’t find you, and the bonegnawers miss you, you might-”
The woman stops so abruptly that he overshoots her by several meters - he stops, and waits. A moment later she catches up, appearing contrite at his side.
“You’ve proved your point,” she says, holding out her hands. He fastens them to his belt, shifting forward to make room for her on the back of the speeder. This time, he doesn’t help her up..
Once she’s seated behind him, she leans against his back - where before she had been straining away. She seems tired, the fight gone out of her. Good. It means she won’t be any more trouble.
Mando takes hold of the handlebars of the bike and sends them both speeding off into the gently shimmering horizon.
The twin suns begin to set, sinking with deceptive slowness over the jagged mountains in the distance. The light turns a deep gold and the sky bleeds into deepening orange, casting longer, deeper shadows across the desert as the Mandalorian and his quarry zoom through it.
The temperature begins to drop as well, until Mando feels his Beskar cool like spent embers and the sweat begins to dry on the back of his neck. Even the woman is quieter. She doesn’t squirm anymore, or complain; Mando is lulled by the blessed silence, enjoying the lack of her voice.
Maybe that’s why he relaxes - letting off the throttle to let the speeder coast rather than roar across the dunes.
Tatooine is beautiful, in a bleak kind of way; its desolate emptiness resonates with something deep inside the Mandalorian once known as Din Djarin.
He doesn’t hate it here. Not really. Fett has turned out to be a surprisingly decent man, if not a real Mandalorian, and Fennec Shand is...ruthless, but she is tempered by Boba’s wisdom.
Mando, on the other hand, is tempered by no-one. He has nowhere else to go, and nothing to his name - not even a Creed. He wears the helmet mostly out of habit now than anything else now.
And he is still haunted at night by the image of a wrinkled, trusting little green face.
He blames his thoughts for distracting him - for letting his guard down - for assuming the little thief had given up. In reality, it seemed she was biding her time.
Out of nowhere, she throws her weight to the side and yanks on his belt as hard as she can. Which, as it turns out, is pretty hard.
Mando’s surprised, but he’s not taken completely unawares. The speeder veers violently, almost turning on its side, but he quickly regains control, asserting his superior strength to bring the vehicle back into balance.
By the time he does, it’s too late to avoid the rocks.
The front of the speeder strikes with a glancing blow but it’s enough to fling it - and its passengers - into the air as it flips. Mando slips from the seat and finds himself falling, falling, and then the ground hits him in the face and for a moment everything inside his helmet goes black and rings with a resounding noise like the tolling of a terrible, high-pitched bell.
When it fades, he’s face-down in the sand. Careful, deliberate movements determine that nothing is broken - only bruised.
He sits up, sand cascading out from under his helm, under his armor, from under everywhere. Blinking through some of the stuff grating at the corner of his eyes, Mando groans as he spots the speeder. Or, rather, what remains of it.
It throws up thick black smoke as it burns in a smoldering pile next to the body of the girl.
Mando takes his time getting to his feet, checking himself for injuries, shaking off the sand. His belt has been torn clean off, the woman flung away like a rag doll. He finds his belt on the ground halfway to her side.
Mando unholsters his blaster and holds it leveled between her shoulderblades as he approaches. She doesn’t move, although all her limbs seem to be intact and pointing in the proper directions.
“Six days,” he mutters as he crouches down and nudges her in the ribs with the barrel. “I hope you’re happy.”
“Ugh.” The thief emits expansively as she stirs, turning her head - sand cascades out of her hair. Her mouth is smeared with crimson and there’s a large abrasion bleeding freely on her cheek. “That hurt more than I expected.”
She-devil is right, the Mandalorian thinks, remembering the ranting of the cantina bartender. He resists the urge to put his face in his free hand and sigh.
It’s going to be a long job.
#din djarin/ofc#din djarin/female character#mando/female character#mando/ofc#mandalorian fanfic#the mandalorian fic#the mandalorian fanfic#din djarin smut#sleight of hand#din Djarin fic
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French Fries for two (Eren x reader)
Summary : It’s late and you’re out of a nice party, alone and hungry. You decide to stop at a diner for something to eat and you soon find company.
Genre : Fluff, Modern AU
Warnings : None
The night air bite your skin as a shudder runs up your spine. The silver Moon hangs high in the dark sky, pinpricks of stars serving as her Court ash she watches over you.
You engulf yourself further in the comfort and warmth of your jacket, steps hurrying on the pavement as you walk to the neon lights of a welcoming diner, stomach groaning for some food.
Paradis’ Diner
You have no idea how late it is right now, your conception of time blurred by hours among partying students and loud blaring music. But judging by the empty parking around you and the music of your feet on the ground, it must be around 2am. Or maybe later, who knows ? What matters right now is that you found a place to both flee from the cold and eat something.
With a sigh you push the front door, the pleasing sound of a bell greeting you and warmth enveloping your freezing body like a cocoon. The smell of fries and greasy food taunts your nostrils, emitting another growl from your stomach. The neon lights shine down upon the clean and polished tiled floor, red and white. No one stands behind the counter on which are displayed muffins and baked goods you can taste from here by how delicious they look. The light music flowing through the place comes as a nice contrast to the loud bass you just left behind, a gentle and merry whistle coming from the back of the diner.
With a relieved smile you go over to one of the many deserted booths, plopping down on the red leather couch. Your hands find the menu and you look down upon the many dishes displayed. Your attention so absorbed by the wish to fill your stomach that you failed to hear the approaching steps and the male stopping before you.
He stares at you with a light frown, paper and pen in hand, ready to take your order. He sports a dark red apron with jeans and a shirt, brown hair tucked in a messy bun and emerald eyes glinting under the neon lights.
He’s been working for hours now, serving loud families and impolite people. He just wants to come home now, take a shower and plop down in his bed to sleep it off. Hell, he was cleaning up and you just had to come in now ? When he was ready to call it a day ?
“Welcome to Paradis, what can I get you ?”
You startle at the deep voice beside you, eyes shooting up and locking with the tired looking man. Gosh, you really need to be more aware of your surroundings.
You failed to see his eyes widening at the sight of your features now revealed to him.
“Hello.” You quietly greeted back, looking at the food items on the menu and nodding, “I’ll have your cheeseburger and French fries, please.” You answer with a sweet smile.
And in spite of his previous annoyance, the simple gesture spread a gentle warmth through Eren’s chest, the sight of your smile engraved in his memory. You looked dishevelled. Probably from a late night out.
You always looked pretty though, soft (s/c) skin, bright (e/c) eyes he felt like drowning into and beautiful (h/c) locks he’d like to play with on a lazy morning. And you always looked like home too.
You and him were in the same university, different majors and somehow you had caught his attention. In fact he found himself unconsciously searching your form in the corridors. Something called him to you, pulled him in. And this ever since he had laid eyes on you.
He has never talked to you. Not that he didn’t want to but more like he never had a chance to make a move. You were always busy or on the move, never settled. That was something he liked about you. You were passionate, loved your major and worked hard. You were smart, resolve strong behind those eyes.
This was an opportunity he couldn’t miss. Maybe this was fate who gave him Sasha’s shift tonight ? Just so he could finally talk to you and ask you out ?
“Hey, you’re a Psychology major, right ?” He questioned, posture relaxing, emerald eyes now curious. He knew the answer already but maybe he shouldn’t let you know he’s been asking around about you.
He had spent weeks trying to find information about you, asking Armin, Mikasa and even Jean... All he had gathered was your name, your major and your
A chuckle fell from your lips, like music to his ears and you flashed him another smile. “Yeah indeed, and you are ?”
“Eren, Criminology major.” He presented himself, holding out his hand for you to shake. Electricity tingled through his veins and made his hair rise on his skin as you took it, the warmth of your palm spreading through his own.
He shook it off, running a hand through his hair, “Cheeseburger and fries, eh ?” He repeated quietly. “I’ll be back.”
And with that he turned around and went back to the kitchens, ready to prepare your food.
“Here you go.” Eren said as he placed your food on the table with a boyish smile.
Your mouth watered at the sight, your stomach screaming for a bite.
“Thanks !” You shot him a friendly smile, seizing the burger and taking a bite, almost too much for your mouth to contain.
The brown haired male’s eyes stared at you, a chuckle falling from his lips bubbles. You had ketchup on both sides of your lips.
Your eyes shot up to look at him, swallowing your food slowly as you tilted your head to the side, a light frown etched between your brows.
“You’re still standing here ?” You queried, curiously.
“You didn’t tip me.” He answered, a mischievous glint shining behind those gorgeous irises of his and a teasing smile curving his lips. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Money ?” You queried, ready to fetch your wallet.
Eren took a moment to consider your offer, before shaking his head and offering you a teasing grin. “I’ll have fries instead.”
And before you could retort anything the criminology student sat in front of you, eyes holding yours captive as he leaned back on the couch. He marvelled at the sight of another smile gracing your lips, a light blush on your cheeks.
“Okay.” You nodded, pushing the basket of fries to the middle of the table, offering him an amused glance. “Help yourself.”
With a victorious smile, he took some fries and with that the two of you shared a meal. Talking and joking, smiling and laughing, unravelling each other and getting familiar with the synchronised thuds of your hearts.
You wiped your mouth with a napkin, looking up at Eren, the man who you just met and yet felt like a long time friend, like family, like home.
“So, do you do that with every client you get, or ?” You questioned after taking another bite of your burger.
“Stealing fries ?” He swallowed his mouthful, glancing up at you mischievously. “No, only you.” And by the intensity behind his green irises you could tell he was honest.
Your heart swelled in your chest, words failing to form on your lips as he offered you a kind smile, deprived of any malice.
“Is this your way to flirt with me ?” You finally got your query out, gazing intently at the male in front of you.
He laughed lightly, the sound warm and free. It brought you to late night walks with a friend, laughing at silly jokes and stumbling along the streets under the moonlight.
“One could say that.” He admitted, eyes never escaping from yours. “But I’d rather phrase it as me asking you out.”
And why would you say no ? When he looked at you with promise of fated love and when his smile looked like something you had once loved so much ? When he reminded you of a lover you had never met yet had spent your whole life with once ?
“I’d like that.”
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This is a fic written for @stxleslyds! The prompt was: a fic with Dick, Roy and Lian spending time together in the Outsiders era. Thanks for the donation, Tati 💙.
Important: This fic takes place a week after the events of Outsiders (2003) #19.
“We could use you here,” Roy says. Even with his voice coming directly through the comm, Dick almost doesn’t hear him say, “I need you here.”
A soft wind blows through Blüdhaven, ruffling through Dick’s sweat-matted hair. What a filthy night it is for a Friday. Thunder rumbling in the distance with hot, humid air filling Dick’s lungs. It’s the kind of air that isn’t natural for a place like the ‘Haven. It’s here for whatever reason, and it’s no better now that the sun has been replaced by pink and purple neon lights flashing across the strip. It’s nights like these that Dick can admit to missing his red tunic and green shorts. It was shit to wear them in the winter but an absolute godsend in the summer.
Dick sighs deeply, moving away from the ledge of the building and away from his view of the herds of drunk people whose laughter echoes between the bars and casinos. There’s a tall HVAC unit in the middle of the building that he walks over to and sits against. The fabric of his suit rubs against it, and he squirms a little at the uncomfortable position. He bears it because this is a conversation that requires a little support.
“Dick.”
“I know,” Dick mutters.
He should be under the streets of Brooklyn the same as all the other Outsiders should be. Considering the circumstances, it’s no surprise that some of them have deserted the ship for the time being. Licking their wounds in private so to speak. Dick’s not proud of it. He tacks it onto his mental bulletin board of shame where it sits up there all torn and ugly like the rest of his deplorable moments.
“I’d feel better if you were here to watch Lian when I step out of the room,” Roy says in Japanese. Dick’s brow furrows. Either Lian is in the same room as Roy and he doesn’t want her to know they’re talking about her or there’s an Outsider nearby that he doesn’t want listening in on his personal issues. “She hasn’t started therapy yet and her separation anxiety is still high.”
“High for both of you,” Dick points out. He thinks back to a few days ago when Roy had called him in a panic because he’d left all of his groceries in the middle of the store after his paranoia got the best of him and had him running back to the base to check on Lian.
“Tell me about it,” Roy laughs dryly. “I feel like I’m going fuckin’ nuts, dude.” The strain in his voice sends a full body shiver down Dick’s spine. “All I can think about is whether she’s okay and if the base is protected enough, and if I can really trust everyone here. You and Kory are the only ones I feel okay leaving her with.”
You shouldn’t trust me like that, Dick thinks bitterly. Lilith and Donna trusted me with their lives and look where they are now.
“Everyone else is… I trust them as teammates. I trust them with my life. But I can’t—"
“Trust them with Lian’s,” Dick says, knowing how much this whole situation has fucked with Roy's ability to trust anyone and everyone. Except him and Kory, apparently. Probably Ollie and the rest of Roy's family too.
He thunks his head against the HVAC unit and stares up at the dark sky. Not a single star up there, he thinks, and something like guilt burns in his chest. You took them all with you, didn’t you, Donna? Put them in your pockets and faded away. “She might not be comfortable with me there,” he says after a moment.
It pains him to think that Lian could be scared of him. Scared of him because he looks similar to one of the blue-eyed, dark-haired kidnappers who murdered her babysitter and then branded her like cattle. That type of trauma association doesn’t go away after a week.
“Kory told Lian you might stop by, and you know what Lian asked her?”
Terrible things flash through Dick’s head. Things like words born of fear or disgust. He hugs his arms around his knees and squeezes them tight.
“No, what did she say?”
“She asked, ‘Is Uncle Nightwing gonna bring Blue’s Clues with him?’”
A smile tugs at the corner of Dick’s lips and his eyes start to sting. He can’t believe that’s the first thing she thought of. It only seems like yesterday that he was watching Blue’s Clues with her in Titans Tower. Sometimes he would pause the show and ask Lian questions about each of the clues just to hear what kind of outlandish answers her kid brain could come up with. Other times the detective in him couldn’t help but steer her towards a logical answer. Roy used to always roll his eyes and tell him to stop trying to turn her into a mini Nightwing.
“That doesn’t mean she’ll be okay seeing me in person and you know it,” Dick reminds him.
Roy’s sigh is soft and muffled in his ear. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
Dick’s not one to wait around.
“Let’s cross it now.”
“You’re coming over?” Roy asks, and even though he mostly sounds neutral, Dick can hear the disbelief hidden under it all.
If there was an award for the world's most shitty friend, Dick would probably be in the lead to receive it. Here Roy is dealing with the fact that his daughter was abducted and almost trafficked, and what’s Dick been doing for the last few days instead of sticking by his side? Working himself to the bone in Blüdhaven, that’s what. Hiding away from the fact that he almost lost another important person to him. Trying to avoid the crushing weight of failure that clings to him like a second skin.
Pathetic. Some safety net he is.
“Yeah, give me an hour,” Dick says.
The commute from Blüdhaven to Brooklyn isn’t bad at this time of night. Most of the traffic is packed downtown where all the bars are lined up. Dick takes the highway to avoid the worst of it.
The roar of the city dies off once he goes underground. Down here the HQ looms over him in all its steel glory. Dick’s always thought of it like one giant elevator. It’s all hard angles and sleek, silver walls. Hardly a place one would describe as homey, but it was home to a few people nevertheless.
Dick goes inside after getting his eye and hand scanned by the computer. He heads down the hallway, keeping his footsteps light and quiet out of habit. So far there’s no sign of Jade, Indigo, or Rex in any of the rooms he passes. They’re the most likely to be here around this time. From what Kory told him the other day, Grace has been spending most of her time clubbing, and Anissa has been staying with her dad. He hates to admit it but it’s almost a relief that he doesn’t have to worry about running into either of them.
He ends up finding Roy and Lian in the rec room. Lian is sitting on the leather couch in the middle of the room. She must have had a shower not too long ago because her hair is a little damp and she’s wearing a pair of purple pajamas with unicorns on them. A Cinderella blanket is strewn across her lap and a stuffed rabbit sits discarded on the floor by her feet.
Roy looks small squatting in front of her. His pants are the only sign of his Arsenal gear, and it makes Dick feel slightly out of place since he’s still decked out in full mask and suit. It’s the first time Dick’s seen Roy in person since they brought down Tanner’s operations a week ago. He looks how Dick would expect any parent to look after being targeted by a major sex trafficker: stressed and exhausted.
Those tired eyes of his shift to the doorway where Dick stands, and Dick can see the way Roy looks him over from head to toe, assessing Dick’s condition. He can look as hard as he wants, but he won’t find anything. Dick keeps his face blank and unreadable.
“It still hurts,” Lian whimpers, and both Dick and Roy's attention immediately snaps back to her.
She wraps her arms around her stomach and bends over her lap like she’s going to throw up all over the floor. Roy doesn’t move to try and avoid any possible bouts of vomit. Nothing happens as the seconds tick by. No retching or anything. There’s only the sound of Roy’s hand rubbing up and down Lian’s arm.
“Me and your Uncle Nightwing are gonna get you feeling better soon,” Roy assures her in a gentle voice. “And guess what?”
Lian makes a questioning sound in the back of her throat.
The look Roy shoots Dick is somewhere between caution and amusement. “He’s been playing quiet mouse behind you this whole time.”
Dick braces himself as Lian shoots back up like a rocket. “He’s behind me?” she asks, twisting around in her seat. Dick’s heart starts jackrabbiting because what if she’s scared of him? What if he accidentally triggers her PTSD? What if— “Uncle Nightwing!” Lian shrieks.
Relief shudders through him because she sounds happy to see him. Not scared or angry or disgusted like he feared. She’s looking at him like he just told her he brought her a bag of candy, and that revelation is enough to make him take a breath and finally enter the room.
“Hey, kiddo,” Dick says, hurrying over to the couch so that she doesn’t have to get up. “I missed you.”
Lian reaches for his hand and holds on to it. It’s not like the hug Dick usually gets from her and maybe that’s because she doesn’t want anyone touching her back after the incident. Dick will take anything he can get. His much larger hand closes over her own and he swings them back and forth lightly.
“Me too,” Lian says. She squeezes his hand three times. “Why do you still have your gloves on?”
“My hands are cold,” Dick lies. “Why were you bent over like an accordion just a minute ago?”
“Her tummy’s been hurting,” Roy says with a frown.
“It’s because tigers used to try and eat people,” Lian tells him matter-of-factly. Roy looks like he’s about to correct her but she quickly hurries on. “My brain says there’s danger and it makes my tummy stop working.”
A lightbulb goes off in Dick’s head as he realizes that she’s describing anxiety. A simplified explanation of how the digestive system shuts down and sends blood to other parts of the body when there’s danger.
“My tummy does that too,” Dick says after a pause. “I get a lot of anxiety sometimes. Do you want me to show you how I try to make it go away?”
Lian scrunches her nose. “Do we have to take medicine?”
“Nope. All we need to do is sit up straight and breathe. Breathing really deep helps our brains calm down and makes our tummies feel more relaxed,” Dick explains. He sinks down on the plush couch and demonstrates how she should be sitting. “Now move back until you’re sitting like me.”
Lian does as she’s told and scoots back until she’s resting against the back of the couch. Dick only remembers how short she is when he notices how her feet stick out straight in front of her instead of dangling over the edge of the couch.
“Now tell your daddy to get in position.”
“Daddy,” Lian slaps the free cushion beside her, “sit next to me.”
“Magic word?” Roy prompts.
“Please,” Lian pouts.
“That’s better.” Roy’s knees pop when he shifts out of his crouched position. The whole couch rocks when he falls back against it. “What’s the strat here, Wing? We need to close our eyes or what?”
Dick wants to ask him why he’s acting like he’s never done this before but the playful words stick in his mouth like glue.
“We’ll close our eyes in a second. Lian, I want you to watch how your daddy and I take really deep breaths, okay? Then we’re all going to do it together.”
“I can take really big breaths!” Lian insists. She scrambles out of her pose and gets on her knees. Her little fingers wrap around Dick’s bicep as she leans in close to him. “I can take one million breaths as big as an elephant!”
The tired and apathetic part of him tells him to ignore her kid logic and to get back on track. The uncle part of him is another story. It wants him to be fun and helpful. To distract Lian from the worries and fears she has.
In the end, he does what he always does best: puts on a performance.
“Oh yeah?” Dick challenges with a grin that hopefully doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “I can take five billion breaths as big as a planet.”
“Elephants are bigger than planets,” she says.
“I think maybe the elephants are only bigger in your dreams.”
“Yeah, they are,” Lian agrees because she’s a typical kid who will support anything that proves she’s right in some capacity.
Roy looks amused when he puts his hands on Lian’s shoulders and steers her to sit back on her bottom. “Alright little missy, no more talking. We’re gonna do what Uncle Nightwing says now, okay?”
“Okay,” Lian agrees, looking over at Dick expectantly.
Coaching Lian through the exercise is easy. The most important part is making sure she’s taking breaths that are deep enough to make her stomach expand like a balloon. Dick has her place her hands on top of her stomach so he can see them rise when she inhales.
Roy follows along and Dick can tell that he’s taking advantage of the exercises for his own benefit. His face looks peaceful and relaxed as he follows along with Dick’s instructions to suck in a breath on the count of one and exhale up until the count of ten.
“Keep focusing on counting,” Dick tells them while they exhale. “We don’t want any other thoughts in our heads. No bad thoughts or funny thoughts. Only think about counting to ten.”
They run through a few more cycles. Dick’s pleased when he hears both Lian and Roy’s stomachs grumbling as they exhale. It’s a good sign that the deep breaths are massaging their organs and decreasing any kind of stomach pain.
“That’s it,” Dick says. “We’re all done.” He opens his eyes and sees Lian slumped against the back of the couch. Her hands are still resting on her stomach, but she looks languid instead of tense like she was when he first saw her.
“I’m tired now,” Roy says. His movements are slow as molasses when he slides forward to the edge of the couch and bends over to rest his arms on his thighs. He looks at Lian. “How about you, princess? You feeling any better?”
“Mhmm. My tummy doesn’t feel really uh…”
“Tight?” Dick offers.
“Yeah, it’s not so tight anymore.”
Roy pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good. Mine feels a little better too.”
“Can we do Uncle Nightwing’s breathing thing again tomorrow?” she asks through a yawn.
“Sure thing,” Roy nods. His attention shifts to Dick. “Are you gonna still be here to lead us through it?”
This isn’t some kind of test but it feels like one. It feels like if he says no then he’s only proving that he’s a bad friend. That he can’t be relied on. He doesn’t want to give Roy that impression because it’s not true. Roy can rely on him the same way Dick relies on Roy. He hopes showing up here tonight is proof of that.
“That’s the plan,” he says, voice soft.
Roy leans over the couch and squeezes Dick’s knee gently. “You sure?” he asks, and his eyes roam over Dick’s face like he’s trying to find evidence that Dick is lying.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He pats Roy’s hand reassuringly in the same way Alfred's done for him and Bruce a hundred times. It's only now that he realizes it's a habit he's picked up.
Lian suddenly leans into Dick’s side and presses her weight against his arm. She pats both his and Roy’s hands.
“I’m sure too,” she says, and this time Dick can’t help but smile.
#Dick Grayson#Roy Harper#Lian Harper#tw: mentions of sex trafficking#tw: mentions of past kidnapping and child abuse#my fic#fic commission
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Long Distance Longing with the Brothers
Want a little angst and sweetness? I love how this turned out and I think it’s a new favorite for me. I honestly should wait to post it... But I have no patience, I love it too much. Weirdly enough, thank Taylor Swift’s new album for giving me this idea. Go figure. 🤷♀️
Warnings: Angst, implied starvation
Intro:
The brothers knew it was going to happen eventually. The year can't last forever, and at some point they were going to have to say goodbye to their human for the break… But that didn't make the situation any easier. Nobody likes being so far from the one they love. It was only a matter of time before our boys are reaching a breaking point...
Lucifer
Lucifer has never really had a reason to not to work before… Like, yeah there are those days where things get stressful and he takes a step back, but actually taking an extended period of time to just... not work? A "vacation" if you will? He’s never had the desire. What would he even do with himself?
Well, for the first time in literal God knows how many centuries, he had an answer for that question. He was going to be with MC.
And that's exactly what he told Diavolo when he finally accepted that missing the MC was negatively affecting his work.
He wanted a… "vacation."
Diavolo had never once thought Lucifer would ever ask, and to be fair the man never thought he would either, but he's more than happy to give his friend a few days off to visit his dear human.
Whatever brief hit that his pride took by having to admit that he needed a break was more than made up for by finally seeing the MC again. He knew he missed them, painfully aware of that fact, but just the sight of them waiting to meet him outside the portal was enough to nearly take his breath away…
His first vacation was sure to be paradise.
Mammon
Oh, the distance was killing this poor boy. Any day where he can’t have the MC on his arm feels worse than when he's on a losing streak…
Speaking of a losing streak, he's been stuck in one for a whole month without his beloved partner in crime with him. Did he lose his lucky charm or was he just too down in the dumps to gamble well? Anyone's guess.
Well he got fucking sick of it. He wanted to see the MC, ASAP. But how would he get to the human world…?
It takes a week but he gets an idea. It took another for it to actually trigger.
Like clockwork one of the witches he's regularly in debt to, one that just happens to be a bad gambler herself, summoned him out to give her a little extra luck. Usually, he'd just kick whatever slot machine she’s parked herself at and be done with it but this time he's got to ask… How long does that summon spell last, eh?
He made a new sort of bargain. She gets to take Goldie out for a spin if she gave him some time in exchange… 24 hours to be exact.
He didn't waste a second after striking the deal because he had a lot of flying to do.
The MC probably didn't expect to hear frantic knocking on their door at the break of dawn, nor to find a beat tired and disheveled Mammon leaning outside it….
But he embraced them for all it's worth anyway. If it meant feeling them in his arms again, he'd trade away the whole world if he had to...
Leviathan
He… didn’t do so well with the distance. Like at all. He'd mope around the house, constantly bemoaning how unfair things were. Not even his favorite games can give him any joy because those were the games he used to play with MC…
Sneaking in the occasional video call was pretty much the only thing that could make him smile anymore. Just seeing their face felt like getting a cold drink in the middle of a scorching desert… But he wanted more.
Thankfully, the MC themselves gave him a really, really good idea…
For two weeks straight, Levi seemed to get out of whatever funk he was in to help out around the House… Like, really help out. Suck-up levels of help out. It creeped everybody out...
After a time he finally approached Lucifer and made a simple request. There was an anime convention going on in the human world soon and he'd like to attend…
The ulterior motive for this little visit is practically written on the wall, but he'd been acting so damn unnerving for the past two weeks Lucifer just gave him permission to make him stop.
When the MC agreed to meet him on the opening day, they said they'd be dressed up as someone he'd recognize. Frankly, he was expecting Henry or maybe Ruri-chan but he was completely floored to see them waiting for him dressed in a familiar black hoodie with coral-like horns on their head and a carefully crafted serpent's tail behind them.
To this day he still can't decide what made him happier: seeing the love of his life so adoringly dressed as him or finally feeling their body collide with his after they came running to each other outside the convention hall...
In the end it probably doesn't matter because for that whole day alone, he finally felt like he had everything he could of ever wanted right there with him.
Satan
Satan's not one for idle moping so when he felt that yearning in his chest finally hit a tipping point, he didn't whine. He didn't complain. He got up and did something about it.
Teleportation magic is tricky to master and dangerous to perform even with sufficient skill. One wrong move and you could end up smearing yourself across three different continents…
But like that would stop him.
He pulled out every book he could find on the subject, researched for days, then practiced for weeks. First on books and apples, then on some of Lucifer’s belongings.
He had to keep making new excuses to throw Lucifer off the scent (especially after he started sending some of his shirts away to different parts of the house) but after some time, it finally paid off.
Satan was probably the last person the MC would have expected to see show up in their room randomly one night, sitting casually by a lamp and reading a book like he didn't just master time and space just to come say hi.
But who was going to be all that picky when they could finally shower their nerdy cat-lover in all the love and kisses they've both been missing for months now?
Asmodeus
If you took Asmo at his word, then the sheer depths of longing and despair he was experiencing while the MC was away could far outweigh that of anyone else to ever have existed in the history of all time.
He was the Avatar of Lust, desire was in his nature. Couple that with a burning need to have his lover as close to him as he possibly could and it was safe to say he was losing his mind!
This might have been the reason Solomon finally gave in after his 16th-ish time trying to beg the sorcerer to help him. He really was quite pitiful in this state...
When Solomon told Asmo that he could smuggle him out of the teleportation gate between the Devildom and human world ONLY if he could magically disguised his appearance, he was kind of expecting Asmo to refuse. This was Asmo he was talking about. He honestly thought that he'd rather die than deprive the world of his beauty so selfishly…
The world is full of surprises, ain't it?
No matter where they were, no matter what they were doing, the MC was suddenly mowed over by a "stranger" running at them at top speed like an Olympic sprinter. It’d probably have been pretty scary before Solomon lifted the enchantment shortly after to reveal their demon’s gorgeously familiar face.
Solomon wasn't going to let him stay too long, lest he incur the wrath of Lucifer, but Asmo couldn't care less. Be it a thousand hours or a few short seconds, he could always find a way to make his time with the MC last a lifetime...
Beelzebub
Fun fact, Hell freezes over a little every time Beel says "I'm not hungry…" No. Seriously. A freezing wind blasts across the entire Devildom like the realm itself gets a sudden chill...
So imagine the levels of panic that went through pretty much everyone there when his appetite started to fail him.
It's not like the poor baby could help it, food just tasted so much better when the MC was there that eating without them was like trying to digest actual disappointment… He got tired of trying after a while.
A few days of this behavior were worrying, but when he started to get a little thinner the family went into an uproar, starting with Belphie but soon spreading to the rest of the House as well.
Lucifer's soft spot for the twins may have influenced his decision. I mean, it was awfully generous of him to get Diavolo to approve of an fully sanctioned, planned meeting between Beel and the MC. He probably wouldn’t have offered that to anyone else...
Not that Beel cared about all that background favoritism anyway. Hell, on the day that he was finally allowed to see them, he couldn't be bothered by anything other than holding the MC close and hoping they'd never let him go again.
His appetite did return to him eventually, of course, but as long as he had his human with him even the cheapest street taco tasted like a fine five star-meal.
Belphegor
Frankly, Belphegor was sick and tired of missing people.
Ever since the Celestial War he missed Lilith. When he was stuck in the attic, he missed Beel. And now that the MC was away he was supposed to just sit patiently and miss them too? No way. Not happening. Something about that had to change.
It wasn’t the first time he'd gone to Lucifer in an angry huff, but admittedly he had more ammo than usual...
There was a… discussion between the two. It went on for a couple hours… There may have been some words to the effect of, "Don't you think you owe me?" exchanged…
Honestly, it was kind of amazing Belphie didn't end up in another attic "timeout" by the end of it. But he got what he wanted, so what's to complain about?
With a little persuasion on his part, Lucifer managed to get Diavolo to approve of a weekly visit for the two, SO LONG as Belphie stayed on his best behavior in the human world.
There wasn’t really much worry about him acting up, though, since he'd have his nap buddy back. It would be pretty hard to be a threat to humanity when he was too busy staying snuggled up to his favorite person until well past noon...
#obey me#obey me shall we date#shall-we-date-obey-me#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#obey me headcanons#obey me scenarios
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Pedro from the Phone - Part 2
PART 1
MASTERLIST
Pairing: Pedro Across the Street x You
Summary: After Pedro tries to connect with you in person, he continues receiving mysterious phone calls but you have strange news. This is the follow up to Part 1.
Words: ~1600
Rating: all ages? (sorry this is not sexy)
Warnings: even more pining???
A/N: I really thought this was going to be a one shot and I liked the open ended mystery of this fic. Honestly I wasn’t even sure anyone was going to be into it to begin with. But I was totally shocked! I have never gotten so many requests for more on my writing and I am just a whore for your love. (OK that’s not entirely true. I wouldn’t write more of this if I didn’t think it was working.) Anyway, the people have spoken. So I’m super curious if you like where it went or if I ruined a good thing!
(And I’m working on some actual Calls smut so stay tuned for that.)
---now
Your foot was bouncing uncontrollably under the table. Your heart was drumming. You’d ordered a coffee but it was impossible to drink it when your stomach was doing backflips.
You were sitting outside the cafe in your normal seat. You’d been so excited that you’d gotten there 20 minutes early. You’d done your hair carefully and picked out one of your favorite outfits. You were going to meet Pedro. In the flesh.
You couldn’t believe how nervous you were. It seemed like you already knew him so well, there was no reason to feel intimidated. But you had butterflies. Maybe it was because your friendship was, of course, due to bizarre circumstances. And those circumstances had meant you’d gotten to know him better than some friends you’d had for years.
Life had been so boring before Pedro. You could get lost in the sound of his voice. And even though the phone calls baffled you, you’d grown to anticipate them— checking your phone over and over. You remembered how empty it had felt when the phone stopped ringing. You’d really thought you’d lost him forever. And you’d wondered if he even thought about you or if he had just been grateful the interruptions were over.
But you’d finally gotten another mysterious call yesterday, woken up in the middle of the night like a dream. You really had thought you’d been dreaming when you heard him say, “We should meet up.”
You chewed on your bottom lip. Every time a man passed by, you wondered if it was Pedro. No, that guy seemed too skinny. Too young. Too short. Could you even tell someone’s height by their voice alone?
You checked the time on your phone. 11:59. 12:00. 12:01. Your phone rang and you dove for it.
“Pedro, where are you?” you asked. You wished you could hide how excited you sounded.
“What? I’m right here,” he said. His voice sounded strangled.
“I don’t see you. I’m sitting out front,” you said. There were no other people at the cafe that were alone. You spotted a man walking down the sidewalk but he wasn’t on the phone. Maybe Pedro had gotten the address wrong. But something in your gut told you that wasn’t it.
Maybe he realized what a bad idea it was to meet an absolute stranger. Maybe your first instincts had been right all along. Maybe you should be thanking your lucky stars that you hadn’t just walked into the hands of some kind of creep.
“I think I have to call you back,” Pedro said. He didn’t sound right.
Your hand shook under the phone. “What? Wait,” you tried.
Now you didn’t care about how panicked you sounded. If he hung up, would you ever hear from him again?
“I’m standing right in front of you but….this doesn't make any sense,” he said.
“What do you mean?” you asked.
You stood up, eyes searching around for a man whose face you wouldn’t recognize.
“I don’t understand,” Pedro said. “I’m sorry-”
The line went dead.
Your mind was swimming. You felt like you might cry. Why would you do that? You didn’t actually know Pedro at all, you realized, and expecting him to show up had been foolish. There wasn’t going to be a handsome man attached to that voice. You’d gotten your hopes up. You’d gotten ahead of yourself. You’d fallen in love with a fantasy.
You stood there, trembling, clutching the phone against your ear even though there was no one on the other end.
“Hey.” Behind you came a familiar voice.
You turned around. It was him. Somehow you just knew it. He was tall and broad with dark hair, a few strands of silver. His strong, tan jaw was dotted with patches of scruff. He looked at you nervously, his brows furrowed. His soft, dark eyes were sparkling with longing.
“Pedro?” you breathed, overwhelmed by the sight of him. None of this made a lick of sense.
He nodded and he broke out in a smile, looking over your face like you were an oasis in the desert.
---then
“I don’t understand,” Pedro said.
He was standing at the cafe, looking down at your nervous face. You didn’t have a clue about who he was, it was painfully obvious. And now he could see how anxious he was making you. You were edging your purse into your lap.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you were someone else.”
He’d hung up the phone. He got out of there as quickly as he could. He couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. He’d seen you there, right in front of him, heard your voice. It was unmistakable. But it wasn’t you. How could you exist in two places at once? He sat in his car for a long time, staring down at the blank screen of his phone, shaken.
He didn’t get another call for a week. Although he missed you, he had been so confused about the situation and so embarrassed by how much it had disturbed him, he almost didn’t want to hear from you again. But now the phone had decided it was time to connect you. He looked at the phone for a long time, frozen. At the last second, he picked up.
“Hi,” you said. You sounded cheerful.
“What the hell happened?” Pedro asked, resigned.
“It’s you,” you said with a quiet laugh. “This is so weird.”
You had trouble explaining what, exactly, was going on. You told him that he had shown up at the cafe except it wasn’t him exactly, not the same Pedro that had been on the phone. But the two of you had shared a coffee, hit it off. In fact, you’d just met up again for dinner and you’d had such a good time.
“But-”
“I know,” you said. “You told me.”
He’d told you that he’d been waiting since that first time at the cafe, that he’d been talking to you, even still, for months on the phone. This whole thing was crazy. These phone calls seemed to have jumped the track of time or reality or something. You didn’t really believe in that kind of thing. You barely had to because you had met Pedro as promised. It didn’t matter why it had happened or how. You were just so giddy.
“I think I like you, Pedro,” you said bashfully into the phone.
It made his heart melt but he felt something else. Was it possible to be envious of himself? Some version of himself from the future or some other dimension?
The phone kept ringing and every time, Pedro picked up. It was still you. You spoke to him with even deeper familiarity than you had before.
“How’s work going, babe?”
You were getting to do more of the things you had talked about.
“We’re going away for the weekend. Driving up the coast.”
It made Pedro even more desperate to be with you. You asked him a lot of questions about what he was doing but it seemed like you already knew the answers. You and Pedro, your Pedro, were growing closer.
Pedro would go to the cafe every Saturday. He felt like he was insane, sitting inside, watching you write. Wishing that time would speed up so he could start living this life he’d been hearing all about. Sometimes he would see you laughing into your phone and he knew that you were talking to him, a conversation he’d already had.
Some days, bitterness drove him to doubt and he questioned whether there was truth to anything you were saying. But then you’d mention something that made him realize you knew him like no one else. Things he’d never told anyone.
“You shouldn’t feel so insecure around your neighbors.”
Things he barely remembered.
“It always frightened you as a kid when the wicked witch’s feet rolled up under the house.”
Pedro had it all figured out and he knew soon he wouldn’t have to wait any longer. You’d go to the cafe to meet him and your phone would ring. It was all he could think about.
When he spoke to you on the phone now, it seemed like you were distracted, distant. You didn’t always linger on the call the way you used to. Maybe it wasn’t going to work and all this waiting was for nothing.
“You sound down,” you said.
“Just tired,” he lied.
He knew that you knew every intonation in his voice.
“You can tell me, you know,” you said. “I love you.”
You were both silent for a long moment. Maybe you’d realized that that wasn’t something you’d said to Pedro, this Pedro on the phone. He wasn’t sure how to respond. His mouth went dry and his breath caught in his throat.
“I’ll see you soon,” you said and rushed off of the phone.
It was Saturday. Pedro went to the cafe and sat at the window. There you were with your coffee, your foot bouncing under the table. He was so nervous now. What if this went like the last time? You’d told him that this was what had happened to you but it was impossible to know that for sure. None of this could even be explained so how could it be guaranteed to work out in a particular way?
It had been almost a year since that first call. Maybe he’d been driven completely mad.
Pedro ran his hand through his hair and steadied himself with a breath. You were on the phone, your head craning to see down the street. He wanted to touch you, to hold you against him and know that you were real. His heart was racing. He tried to push back the memory of the last time he stood in front of you. You were on your feet now, head flipping back and forth frantically. He went out through the door of the cafe. You still had your phone pressed to your ear. Pedro came up behind you.
“Hey.”
---
tagging everybody that asked for more: @pascalslittlebrat @libbymouse @danniburgh @a-bang-for-your-bucky @fangirl-316 @metalarmsandmanbuns @mouthymandalorian @bisexualolympus @wheresarizona @rebelliouscat @pedro-pastel @sleep-tight1 @pedrocentric @tigpooh67 @christina-loves @dindaddy-ficrec @patternedlantern @freeshavocadoooo @yespolkadotkitty @221bshrlocked @purplepascal042 @starlightmornings
#give the people what they want#calls#calls fic#pedro across the street#pedro across the street fic#pedro across the street x you#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal#calls apple tv +
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On My Own- Arthur Morgan
summary: Making his way across the West after his father’s hanging, a young Arthur gets himself into more trouble than he’s ready for.
characters: Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews, Dutch Van Der Linde
a/n: Inspired by a link sent to the Safe Haven discord! I couldn't unsee this once I watched this Godless clip, and had to get it out of my brain so I can move on with my life 💀 Check out the original post by Mags!
The bustle of town was chaotic and overwhelming; just what Arthur was hoping for. Kids like him thrived on Market Days, hiding easily amongst crowds full of fresh pockets to pick.
He’d been on his own for a while now, ever since his ‘Pa had been hanged. Despite his father’s best efforts, the old man had in fact beaten him to the grave. Arthur couldn’t say he was sorry to see him go. Life on the streets was rough and unkind, but every night he fell asleep grateful to be away from his father’s hard knuckles.
Drifting from town to town, Arthur did what he could to get by. Heading wherever a ride from a stranger would take him. He’d been holed up in this dusty town for weeks, somewhere East of California. Arthur could tell the townspeople were growing tired of him. Folks never liked to face the poor and orphaned, and he was well on his way to overstaying his welcome.
The problem was the town he ended up in. It was dirty and hot, but most importantly it was in the middle of nowhere. There was no way he’d survive leaving on foot, and no way out otherwise. Every ride he begged for was quickly denied, the locals seeming more and more irate with his extended hand and sticky fingers in the weeks prior. His time was ticking away, and he needed some kind of plan.
Kicking a stone to take out his frustration at the whole mess, Arthur watched as it soared through the air. It landed by a set of four hooves, the horse they belonged to nickering in protest at the assault.
His eyes lit up at the sight of the beast hitched outside of the saloon, owner nowhere to be found. He was out of ideas and out of options. But a horse, he thought, gave him all kinds of new leads.
He looked around cautiously, keeping his movements small as he searched for any sign of its rider. Eyes narrowed, hidden behind the brim of his father’s too-big hat, he took in the bustling streets around him. Easy enough, Arthur figured. Just hop on the thing and ride out of town, off to bigger and better places.
He straightened his posture, keeping his shoulders back and his head held high as he strolled up to the hitching post. Any good thief, he reminded himself, stood on a solid foundation of confidence. If he had to fake it for now, well so be it.
Reminding himself of this as he stood beside the horse, he slid a foot in the stirrups and swung himself into the saddle. Shifting side to side to test his luck, waiting for the great beast to decide to throw him.
His confidence grew when he sat atop the horse, accepted for now as a suitable rider. Taking the reins in hand, he squeezed its sides to nudge the horse into traffic. Taking the first corner he saw, anxious to get out of sight of the saloon. The horse responded to him well, and soon they neared the edge of town, just a few short strides away from the wide open desert.
He picked up the pace from a trot to a canter, readying himself to push to a gallop. Arthur smiled to himself, home free at last and feeling brighter than he had in weeks. With a horse he could go all kinds of places, finally get himself somewhere safe.
A sharp whistle cut through the air, the sound bringing Arthur out of his thoughts. He barely had time to register the sound before the horse beneath him came to a hard stop, it's hooves sliding in the dirt from the force of its effort. The shock had Arthur clawing desperately at the reins, trying in vain to find his balance. He flew over the saddle horn, soaring through the air before landing face down in the dirt.
He hit the ground hard, the impact stunning him. Arthur groaned, rolling onto his back and staring up at the sky. His arm throbbed where he landed on it, overwhelming pain making him see white every time he moved. Broken, he noted, gritting his teeth and crying out as he pushed himself up in the dirt. He hunched over, clutching his arm as tears rolled down his face.
“That didn’t quite work out as you planned, now did it?” said a silvery voice, grounding him as he fought against the pain. Two men approached, their relaxed pace a surprise considering the circumstance. Arthur groaned in pain, hot tears burning his eyes as he shook from the effort to keep himself upright.
“The good book says pain is it’s own teacher,” the other man commented. His deep voice was steady and calm, sending a shiver down Arthur’s spine. He forced himself to look up at them, letting his mouth fall agape in a silent cry.
The two men towered over him, looking down on him curiously. The first, the man with the silvery voice, was taller and well dressed. High cheekbones drew attention to his eyes, sparkling with amusement at the situation. His playful smirk looked reassuring somehow, like it didn’t matter that Arthur had just tried to rob them. Like this was all some game to him. The other, a younger man with dark hair and even darker eyes, puffed steadily on a cigar. Smoke circled him as he exhaled, his eyes never leaving Arthur.
“You’ve got a good eye for horse flesh,” the younger man remarked, watching his loyal steed. His expression was hard, but his eyes danced with an interest that matched his partner’s. “Best animal I’ve ever had. Tireless, surefooted, and mean,” he said pointedly, turning his gaze back to Arthur.
Panic started to well up in Arthur’s chest, the gravity of the situation hitting him all at once. His breathing picked up, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men. Mind racing with thoughts of their next move. Whether they beat him or killed him or turned him over to the law, he had to react before they could decide.
He reached into his coat, drawing his revolver and pointing it at the dark haired man . With every ounce of false confidence he had left, he aimed between dark eyes and begged his hand to stay steady.
The tall man beside him drew his own pistol, the sound sending a jolt of fear up Arthur’s spine. The dark haired man reached for his companion, pushing away his weapon before it could land on Arthur. He tossed his cigar to the ground, lowering himself to a squat in front of the boy.
“Son,” he said surely, “you ain’t going to shoot me. Not now, or ever. That ain’t how I’m going to go.”
Dark eyes locked with his, staring him down patiently. Arthur panted, unable to keep his fear disguised as he cocked back the hammer of his revolver. He returned his aim to the man’s forehead, his face wet with fresh tears.
"Now I know what you're thinking," the stranger continued, unbothered by the barrel that shook in his face, "no man can know his own demise. But my friend here, he'll tell you that this sure as hell ain't it."
The man reached up slowly, wrapping his fingers around Arthur's revolver. He ignored the boy's weak protest as he took the gun from his hand. Arthur let go, hanging his head as he waited for the crack of a gunshot to rid the world of another mangy street rat.
Instead, the man pressed on, disarming the gun before continuing.
"Now tell me son," he said, his voice rough like whiskey, "have you got a family?"
Arthur kept his gaze on the ground and shook his head, his shaggy hair dangling in front of his face.
"Well you've got one now. I'm Dutch, and this is Hosea," he gestured to his partner beside him, watching on wordlessly, "and we're going to see you right, boy."
Arthur looked up again, stunned by Dutch’s response. A family?
Dutch rose to his feet, reaching out for Arthur’s hand and pulling him up with his good arm. “Now,” he said, “let’s find you a doctor son, you took quite the fall there.”
He laid his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, guiding him back towards the bustling town. Dutch whistled for his horse, who followed dutifully as they walked through the busy streets.
Family, Arthur rolled the word around in his mind. He glanced back at Dutch and Hosea, somehow sure that everything would be just fine.
#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#ficlet#fanfic#fanfiction#rdr2 fanfiction#red dead redemption 2 fanfiction#rdr2 fanfic#arthur morgan#dutch van der linde#hosea matthews#godless#early vdl gang#pre-canon#vdl gang#van der linde gang#young arthur morgan#young dutch van der linde#young hosea matthews#my fic
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Exorcism
I couldn't get this idea out of my head until I wrote it down. May or may not be continued.
Summary: What if Charlie is right? What if demons can be redeemed? but what if it isn't going to end in sunshine and rainbows? What if it takes a darker path?
Also, radiodust.
-
The bell rang out and echoed all across Pentagram City in warning. The yearly purge was upon them. The ringing continued to announce as many demons sought shelter in hopes of hiding from the mass of angels who would soon descend upon Hell and exterminate any and all demons caught in their wake. The streets would be deserted.
Which meant it would be a lovely morning for Alastor to take a walk.
He knew Charlie would be hold up in her room for most of the day as she tried to block out the guilt of knowing her people were being mass murdered. He knew Vagatha would stay loyally by her side and offer words of comfort in this time. Nifty and Husk would busy themselves with cleaning and drinking respectively.
And Fat Nuggets would rest in Alastor's room atop the pink and white suit the swine had claimed as his own security blanket the day his 'daddy' disappeared.
A memory Alastor hoped would cease after nearly a year and a half since his disappearance, but he could only hope so much the wound would heal. The deer still found himself waking up in the middle of the night and expecting the spider to be there with a smile as if he never left. As if it were all just a bad dream.
No one but Nuggets needed to know that portion of the tale, however.
Alastor would continue to smile. He would pretend he didn't question what happened to Angel Dust and instead helped to comfort Charlie upon the fact she lost her number one patron. She blubbered on about how much progress he'd been making. Then to suddenly leave without a trace? To take none of his possessions?
No one knew where he went. Even after a very... spirited talk with his former employer, everyone was left to wonder.
And that is precisely why it was still in Alastor's mind. The night before his disappearance, Angel had smiled and flirted in all the ways Alator had grown accustom. He'd taken Fat Nuggets into his arms and planted a light kiss on Alastor's lips with a 'night Smiles.' Then he went to sleep, which Alastor watched peacefully before he himself drifted as well.
How? Why? Normally a mystery like this would be somehow caused by the Radio Demon in a little game. For the first few days, Vagatha had even thought it was what was happening.
But then she caught the tension in Alastor's smile as he tried his hardest to keep it in place.
“This.... isn't one of your games,” she said upon realizing it.
Alastor laughed bitterly. “No. I don't like this game.” He didn't look back but knew there was a change in Vaggie's expression. Most likely pity.
But that was then. When the wound was still fresh and flowing. On the day of the Second Angel-less Purge, the wound was festering. It burned in a way Alastor didn't know was possible. Had this happened to anyone else, he would be very interested to see how it all turned.
But now that it was happening to him? He wanted it to end.
Maybe he would get lucky. Someday, the wound would manifest into a disease that would then be his demise. When he had tried to describe the feeling to Rosie, she had called it a wounded heart. How strange of her to assume there was even a heart in him.
And how disgustingly sentimental to assume it would be his downfall.
But as he strode down the street and watched people run for cover, he kept looking up. The exorcists were coming in droves. They disappeared behind buildings and blood-curling screams followed shortly after. Many people ran away from the innermost part of the city.
Alastor walked towards it with the same confidence as any other day. He hummed to himself and smiled up at one of the neon-lit faces. He dared it to come for him.
And felt a large amount of disappointment when the angel looked away and flew towards the lust district.
“Ah, It would seem even you up there fear me! How interesting!” He let out a laugh and strode in the direction the exterminator was heading. He didn't like to be ignored, after all.
-
It was well known the way the exorcists moved through the city. After watching them for centuries, overlords knew how to keep themselves safe up until the moment they would leave. In most cases, the dumbasses wouldn't bother going into any buildings and only sought to kill those on the streets.
The prime targets were anyone currently acting in sin. To do so out in the open on the day of the Purge was a deathwish. Then, it was more about clearing the streets. Massive crowds and groups would be mowed down, then to those who wandered on their own. The creatures were not the biggest on picking off the ones who stray; it was more quantity than quality.
Which meant so long as an overlord was taking the time to relax rather than sin, they were fine. It was about lowering the population, after all.
But it would seem not every exterminator got the memo.
One crashed right through the glass of the VIP lounge in Valentino's club. For a moment, the people inside thought it was a mistake. The overzealous birdbrain probably lost track of its wings and just crash landed. But then a spear went right through the screen of Vox's head.
Valentino's eyes shot open wide at the sight and pressed back against his seat. This exorcist was bigger than the others. Its smile was glitching and looked older by comparison. At least he'd assume so; he didn't make a habit of trying to see one up close.
It stabbed in deep, its movements jerky and unstable. There was a strange sound of feedback which died as its head swiveled and the smile faced Valentino.
“Holy shit!” Velvet cried out. Her scream made the moth demon jump as he remembered she was even there.
But it was with that call that chaos ensued.
A chaos Alastor heard as he walked up and saw the giant broken glass. He tuned in to hear shouts and cries and begs of mercy. He heard Velvet babble incoherently before her voice croaked out a shout and ceased. He heard Valentino shouting for everyone to 'get the fuck out of his way!'
And it was then that things seemed to calm. Curiosity won Alastor over and he stepped into a shadow to find his way inside the gaudy clubhouse.
The sight that greeted him was interesting to say the least. The entire lounge was torn apart. Bodies were ripped to shreds and completely unrecognizable. As he walked, he could see bits and pieces of Vox. Something he noticed with slight disappointment. Well, maybe he shouldn't have taken his time. It looked as if an exorcist beat him to the dismantlement of that infuriating television.
He couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle there.
Aside from the short zapping of wires, Alastor's boots clicking across the floor were the only sounds from the usually lively studio.
“My, my...” he turned a corner with little care to stumble into the beast who did this. “What a mess you have caus-hrmph-!”
He was interrupted as a pair of hands wrapped around his mouth, then a second pair grabbed his wrists to prevent him from summoning something. He fell back against a taller form and felt fur against the back of his head. He allowed himself to be dragged into a dark room. For a moment, he had a pang of hope. Perhaps Angel had truly been kidnapped by Valentino and used this as an escape attempt.
But that hope faded when Alastor heard the angry voice in his ear.
“The fuck you think you're doing?!” Valentino hissed. “You're gonna get me and the rest of my whores killed!”
Alastor brought a leg up and slammed the heel of his shoe right in Valentino's crotch. A pair of hands let go to tend to the abused organ which left Alastor with an opening to pull free completely.
His smile turned into a sneer of disgust. “Don't ever touch me!”
“I saved your fucking life just now, you cannibalistic murder-bambi freak!”
As if on cue, a shadow of an exorcist walked by the door and paused by it.
Valentino pressed himself up against the wall and used an arm to force Alastor to follow suit.
Alastor thought for a moment on tearing off the offended limb, but paused as he noticed the shaking, half dressed performers on the other side of the room. Normally, he would put an end to this with little care as to who or what was watching.
But then there was the sound of feedback. His ear twitched at the noise. Odds of any of them surviving a fight with one of the angels was slim to none.
There was a whimper from one of the scantily clad people in the corner, but it calmed when Valentino glared in the direction and put a finger up to his lips.
As the shadow faded and disappeared, Valentino relaxed. He kept his position as he looked out the door.
Then clenched his jaw to keep from screaming in pain when his arm was suddenly bent out of place with a sickening 'snap!'
He pulled the offended arm away from Alastor. “You fuckin' asshole!”
“I gave you a clear warning, my promiscuous friend,” he said with a shrug. He grinned widely. “Do not. Touch me.”
Valentino cradled his arm as he glared at Alastor. “Normally, I'd have shot you down and used your corpse as a toy in one of my films, but today is different.”
“As adorable as it is that you believe you could harm me, I would like to remind you there will not be a third warning as to personal space. Do what you will with that information.”
“You are one dense motherfucker, you know that?” Valentino sneered and looked at the door before back at Alastor. “Didn't you see what that thing did to Vox and Velvet?! You think it ain't gonna come after us next?!”
“If you fear being mangled like your compatriots, then might I suggest running to whatever place you deem safe?” The sound of feedback was slowly returning, something no one else seemed to notice. But Alastor couldn't see a need to warn the pimp. He tilted his head. “Perhaps in one of your other seedy studios? Or wherever you hid Angel Dust?”
“Holy shit, you're still not over that walking talking fleshlight?” Valentino's sneer widened. “Look, I get it; he was a good piece of ass, 'specially for someone who don't know any better ones. But I told you he wasn't with me. He wasn't worth the fight with you then and he ain't worth it now.”
There was the sound of a hushed whimper from the corner as the feedback grew. Valentino was too caught up in his insulting Alastor to notice or care what his whore was crying about.
“Find someone else to get your dick wet. It migh-hrk!” Valentino's eyes flew open wide as the long sharp end of a spear stabbed through his chest. The shock didn't waver as blood found its way up his throat and out his mouth.
Alastor watched with a moment of grim satisfaction as the spear sliced up. Blood burst out like a fountain as Valentino was cut from chest to shoulder, covering both the Radio Demon and the exterminator in bright red.
As the smile glitched on its face, that good feeling retreated like a scared animal. Alastor suddenly felt something he hadn't felt since he was a child. It curled coldly around his heart and squeezed.
Fear.
He heard his mother's voice as if he were five again. Father had been mad at him and looked at him with murderous intent. She stepped in. She was screaming at him to run.
Just like back then, he followed the order before he could even realize what he was doing. He disappeared into the shadows and only hoped the exorcist wouldn't follow.
-
“Ohhh, yes~ Cum for me, Daddy~” She arched and begged the john to finish it up. The last thing she wanted was to die out in a car while some asshole had her bent over the backseat. She felt a little safe being right outside the studio, but it was still a dangerous place to be.
It didn't help that her client was taking forever to finish.
Still, she played it up and hoped her pleasured moans and begging would be enough to push him over the edge. She already heard screaming and death around them. The exterminators were so close. But that only seemed to spur him on; the sick freak.
She listened as his panting became more labored and thrusts a little more desperate. So, she begged some more and sounded surprisingly genuine.
But then she let out a yelp of surprise when something large slammed down against the hood of the car.
She looked out the back window to see Valentino's mangled body stare back at her. She pulled off of the john who had stopped his thrusting once the body hit his car. With a quick maneuvering, she climbed out to see if it was really the overlord.
She touched him gingerly. It was. And he was very very dead.
She looked up and froze in fear at the sight of an exorcist in the sky right by a broken window in the building above. It didn't look down at her and instead opted to follow something inside. Whoever it was looked to be heading for the roof.
She took that opportunity to run the opposite direction. Let the john deal with his blue balls; she was gonna not be here if/when that thing came back.
Meanwhile, Alastor could feel the exorcist following him. It was an odd creature. Most didn't target any particular demons. It was especially rare for them to target overlords. Yet here he was with one hot on his tail.
But he only needed to get to the roof. If it was still following him then, he could summon his tentacles and crush it under the weight of his magic. Then from there, maybe he could find out why in all the Nine Hells it was so relentless.
As he burst out onto the roof, he turned and looked for the large bird-like figure in the sky. But before he could locate it, it located him and slammed its body into his.
Suddenly, he was off the ground and struggling in the grip nearly a mile above the studio roof. It was clearly intending on dropping him. But he managed to kick off the heavensent creature before it could let go on its own. If he was going to die a second time, it would be on his own terms.
To his dismay, the exorcist dove down after him, one hand on his throat and the other on the angelic spear in its hand. Alastor gripped the creature's wrist just as it attempted to stab him in the face. They continued to fall. The exorcist made no attempt to fly away and instead opted to push the demon down faster. Its wings flapped to gain even more speed.
Alastor snarled through his smile.
“If you believe I'll die as easily as the others, prepare to be sorely disappointed, foolish little angel!”
They continued to fall. The ground rushed up to meet them quicker and quicker. But the grip on him shifted and the smiling neon face glitched again. Behind it, Alastor heard a muffled voice. So painfully familiar.
“Al?”
At the sound, Alastor lost his smile completely. His mind was flooded with images of that voice using his name. In anger, in desperation, in lust, in exasperation, in lo-
He and the angel hit the city street with a loud, echoing 'Boom!'
-
He only wanted to step outside for one fucking second. Just to get one smoke in and make sure Nifty was safe as she dusted a few of the windows on the outside of the hotel. Once he had his cigar, he'd go back to the bar and drink until Charlie put on her fireworks display to signal the end of the annual purge.
Husk didn't want to come outside to see one of the exorcists descend upon the hotel.
For a moment, he only stood there, tense. He took a glance up at Nifty's location to see she had thrown herself into the hotel and slammed the window shut. Husk was about to do the same thing. But then he noticed the red mass draped over the exorcist's shoulder.
As it touched down on the ground in front of the hotel, it dropped the pin-striped mass like a giant lump of garbage. Husk's eyes shot open wide to see Alastor's limp body. He couldn't tell from his position if the demon was still breathing, but if he was, he looked like he could stop any moment.
“The fuck is this?!” Husk demanded as he gestured to Alastor. In all this time, no one had seen the exorcists care about their own weapons, much less the people they kill. And yet, here's one delivering a body to its place of origin.
The exorcist took a step back and turned with all the flare and grace of a dancer. It strode away, flapped its wings and took to the sky.
“Don't you fly away from me, you fuckin piece of shit!” Husk ran up and spread his own wings to give chase.
Ht just barely stopped himself when he heard a little voice behind him.
“Husk...?”
He turned to see Nifty knelt on the ground by Alastor's body. She pushed at his shoulder as if to try and shake him awake.
“He's not smiling.” She looked up at the cat as he walked back over. “Wh-why isn't he smiling?”
Husk looked down at the deer and brought a hand to his neck. He looked at Nifty with a frown.
“Go get Charlie. Tell her Alastor needs help. Now.”
-
No one paid attention to the direction the exorcists left. Everyone was too concerned with surviving to worry much about the disappearances of the death creatures. Once they were gone, it was time to return to business as usual.
So no one noticed when one of them veered off course to an abandoned part of the city. It knew for a fact this area would be empty. It knew because it used to disappear here to get shitfaced with a friend when it didn't want to deal anymore.
It paused for a moment in an old parking garage and leaned against a support beam. It hit the back of its head to the concrete a few times before deciding to remove it's mask.
“Holy shit...” Angel breathed out the words and looked down at the mask. “Holy shit... I can't....”
“Anthony.”
Angel jumped as the mask began to speak. He sat down on the ground. “Uh, y-yeah. What's up?”
“How're you doing on your first assignment? Did you end your traumas?”
“Yeah, totally! Got to straight up slice my abuser in half! It felt fuckin' amazing!”
He could hear the voice grumble at the word 'fuck' but it didn't push the issue. It was left alone in light of other issues. “And what about the other one? Your final trauma here?”
Angel paused at that. He wanted to lie and say he felt nothing more than satisfaction when he and the radio demon plummeted to the ground. But....
“I donno if I would call what me and Alastor had as 'trauma.'”
The voice cut out for a moment. Instead, it was replaced by a slick sound of thrusting and Angel's own wanton moans.
“Ohhh fuck! Al, Al we-”panting. “I'm getting sore. We gotta... Ah.. Oh... Ahhh FUCK!” the thrusting sound only increased. A low, dark chuckle could be heard before the feed was cut completely.
Angel glared at the mask.
“That was one week before you ascended,” the voice stated coolly. “How is he not part of your trauma?”
“Oh my fuckin God-!”
“Language, Anthony.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? We had a safeword!”
“Is he dead?”
“I,” Angel wanted to lie. He wanted more than anything to say that, yes, Alastor's body was torn to shreds just like the Vs. But he knew the angel on the other end would see right through his lies. “It ain't that simple, babe. Alastor ain't like the other overlords. He's.... a special case. I can't just kill him.”
There was a hum of consideration. For a moment, Angel was left in silence.
But then he heard the sound of wings flapping behind him. He let out a sigh and leaned his head back. “Fuck....”
“You asked for this, Anthony. And the death of the Radio Demon was part of the payment.”
He stood up and brushed some dirt off the suit. “Yeah, I know.”
The other exorcist brought up both hands and cupped Angel's face. “You do know what this means, don't you?”
Angel frowned. "No?"
“Until payment is made, you're locked out of the Kingdom of Heaven.” The cupped hands moved away as the other angel took a step back. “The moment the Radio Demon is confirmed dead, you may return. Until then, you are to stay in Hell.”
“Seriously?!”
“That's the rules, unfortunately. When you accepted the mission, you accepted it in its entirety.” The angel sounded sad. They reached up and patted Angel on the head. “We all want you to be able to move on, Anthony. And the best way to move on is to remove the temptation to fall back.” There was a frown in their voice. “To many of the people who only ever knew the Kingdom of Heaven, this would be a death sentence. But this was once your home and you are strong. I know we will see you again.”
Angel was speechless as his forehead pressed against the other's.
“Take care, my friend...” The angel pulled away and walked slowly for the exit.
Angel watched them fly off and slowly melted back to the ground. He stayed there until the bells rang out and Charlie's fireworks shot off into the sky to signal the end of the purge.
“Well, fuck...”
#hazbin hotel#alastor#charlie magne#vaggie#husk#nifty#fat nuggets#angel dust#vox#valentino#exorcist angels#radiodust#hazbin fanfic#writings#may or may not continue#we shall see
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