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[meowizard]

i just..... what is going ON in the tally hall fandom

[jadekitty777]

Baker’s Dozen, Part 1

Oh my god we are at the home stretch and I am still amazed I managed to do all eight days. This is a two-parter, so the second chapter will be up tomorrow.

Day 7: First Morning @taiqrowweek

Rating: K

Words: 6,000

Summary: When a desperate escape from fans leaves Qrow seeking shelter in a nearby restaurant, he expects little of the rundown, failing business that offers him a table. One bite is all it takes to change his mind. [Actor and Chef AU]

Ao3 Link: Baker’s Dozen

~

Early Saturday afternoon found downtown L.A. bustling with traffic on the sidewalks and the road. Qrow found himself in the heart of Pershing Square, lying on the grass and enjoying the midday sun beaming down on him, wondering why he didn’t do this more often.

“Oh my god! Qrow Branwen?!”

His eyes shot open, seeing a small gaggle of women hurrying his way as every head within earshot turned to look right at him.

Oh right.

That was why.

He shot to his feet, yelling over his shoulder as he sprinted away, “Sorry! No autographs today!”

He thanked whatever gods might be out there that his last role forced him to stay in excellent shape, because he was easily able to outdistance his pursuers. Unfortunately, as he skirted around the foot traffic, their yells only seemed to be attracting more attention his way. He ever spotted one desperate teenager pulling a phone from her purse.

He was about to be all over Instagram, wasn’t he?

Knowing this called for every actor’s Superman disguise, Qrow pulled his sunglasses from his pocket, shoving them onto his face as he took the first alleyway he could find. Coming out on the other side, he slowed his pace to a fast walk, lowering his head to avoid further detection and slipped into the doorway of one of the businesses a few doors down before the other crowd could catch up.

He sighed, grateful for the dark atmosphere inside the building as he pulled out his phone. Alright, time to call his driver and get out of dodge.

“Table for one?” The question had him jerking around, seeing a young woman in a cowboy getup smiling his way from a little podium. Her golden hair was particularly eye catching, long and untamed in a way that reminded him of his twin sister’s. Her name tag, which was in the shape of a star, read ‘Yang’.

He took in the environment around her, noticing the array of booths and tables that made up the majority of the room, and realized he’d ducked right into a restaurant. “Uh, no sorry I uh-” He started to say, only to trail off as he actually considered it. Why the hell not? It wasn’t like he’d eaten, and it would take his driver about the same time to get there when having to slog through the weekend traffic. “I mean, yeah, just me. Can I get a booth as isolated as possible?”

“You got it!” Yang agreed, picking up one of the menus and leading him to a booth in the back. He couldn’t help but notice she even had spurs on her boots that clanked when she walked. The walls were decorated with a similar Texan flair, bull horns and deer antlers interspaced with paintings of farm homes and woodland creatures and metal lone stars. How quaint.

Despite the aesthetics though, it was obvious from the minute he sat down and the bench creaked loudly, that upkeep wasn’t a priority. Or, he reassessed as he took note of the lack of patrons despite it being the lunch hour, it probably just wasn’t in the budget. That probably wasn’t a promising sign on the quality for his upcoming meal.

“Ruby will be with you soon.” Yang said, setting the menu before him. The cover had the name ‘The Dragon’s Den’ proudly printed across it. Wait, that wasn’t southern. Did he somehow run all the way to Chinatown instead?

“Uh, thanks.” He flipped the menu, but with the lighting so low, he couldn’t read the finer script. He pulled off his sunglasses, setting them on the table before looking through his options. Despite the slightly confused name, everything within seemed pretty par for the course; roast beef, fried chicken, catfish, and a large array of barbequed meats that any Tramp off the street would gladly steal for his Lady.

“Howdy there, can I get you started w- Oh my god!”

Ah, shit.

He looked up, seeing yet another starstruck gaze aimed at him by a petite girl in a similar get up to the hostess but was a few years younger – was she even old enough to work here?

He held up his hand in a desperate attempt to ward off any screaming. “Kid, I swear to give you the best tip of your life if you keep quiet.”

His waitress pressed her notepad against her mouth, a muffled squeak escaping around it. After a moment, she took a breath, then lowered the notepad slightly to reveal a sly smile. “I’ll make sure Yang seats any customers far away from you if you promise me an autograph and a picture too.”

He snorted. What a devious little brat! He could appreciate that. “Deal.”

“Hehe, yes!” She gave a little hop before quickly composing herself, placing her pen to the page. “Alright stranger that I’ve never met and do not know the name of, what would you like to drink?”

“Don’t oversell it kid. And water’s fine.”

“Coming right up!” She scurried away. He watched her detour towards the front, dragging the blond woman to the back where they disappeared behind a set of swinging double doors.

He counted down from five in his head.

“EEEEEEEEEEEE!” Came two screams from the kitchen.

Right on cue.

“OUT! BOTH OF YOU, OUT!!” Was the next shout he heard, the tone definitely masculine.

Yang came back out first, her gaze lingering his way before she hurried away, giggling all the while. Ruby was next, setting a glass of water on his table along with a straw.

“Your drink, mon-sir.”

He laughed. “Did you mean monsieur?”

“Yeah, that one!” She giggled good-naturedly. Despite the fact she was an obvious fangirl, he found himself taking a liking to her.

“Heard a bit of yelling back there.” He gestured towards the doorway.

“Yeah, dad just thinks we’re being dumb. He doesn’t believe you’re out here.”

Dad? Well, that might explain why it seemed this rustic establishment was getting away with breaking child labor laws. “Eh, it’s probably better that way anyways.” Kids were cute; but adults fawning over him was always a little weird, especially if they were around his age.

“He wouldn’t know how to appreciate the moment anyways.”  Ruby clacked her heels together, spurs chiming when she did. “So were you ready to order or did you want a few minutes?”

He glanced down towards the menu. He wasn’t really used to food like this. Growing up, his dad would favor getting the rice cooker going rather than tend to the BBQ gathering dust outside. As for now, his career tended to call for strict dietery needs depending on what shape he needed to be in for each role – none of which ever called for anything steeped so heavily in grease and fat. “Any suggestions?”

“Ooo,” She tapped her chin with her pen thoughtfully. “Well dad just took out the kolaches a half hour ago, so those are extra good right now.”

The question was out of his mouth before he could think to fake it, “What’s a kolach?”

“Oh, it’s a Texas thing. Basically, it’s a pasty with filling. Today’s strawberry, which is my favorite.”

“Trying to sell me dessert before the main course?”

“Well yeah! That’s like the highlight of being an adult, right? When I move out, that’s how I’m gonna do it.” Ruby said proudly. “But if you want to be all traditional about it, then by far dad’s best dish is the country-fried steak.”

He knew what that dish was at least. Steak fried in batter and slathered in gravy. It sounded like a heart attack on a plate. He closed the menu decisively, handing it to her. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Great!” She quickly wrote it down.

As the girl hurried over to go place his order, Qrow took the opportunity to look up the address and text it to An. ‘Pick me up in forty-five?’

‘Certainly sir.’ She replied.

He had just switched back to his browser, when Ruby came back, setting a small plate in front of him. The Kolach was about the size of a cookie, with a breading cooked to a nice golden brown and the bright red strawberry filling dusted over with powdered sugar.

“Here you go! The best dessert you’ll ever have.” She proclaimed.

It certainly looked good, but it wouldn’t have anything on his mother’s Ichigo Daifuku. “Maybe second greatest kiddo.”

Ruby looked about ready to defend her dessert’s honor when a call of ‘waiter’ had her drawing back. “Um, gotta go. Enjoy!”

Picking up the pastry, Qrow turned his attention back to his phone. He eyed the 2.9 rating the restaurant had on Yelp, his stomach turning with trepidation as he took his first bite. The outer crust had a nice crunch but the inner dough was fluffy and light, with a hint of butter. The sweetness also hit with less punch than he was expecting, the strawberry standing mostly on its own with only the sugar on top adding to it. Just the way he liked it.

He was right, it didn’t out beat the Daifuku… but it was pretty close.

As he polished it off, he pulled up the reviews, scanning through them.

‘Great food but the decor is just awful. Pretty sure the place hasn’t had an upgrade since the 70s.’

‘Nice staff but everyone looks like they should be operating out of a western drama.’

‘Terrible! The kid waiting on me didn’t even look fifteen. She was super clumsy too. Dropped a whole cup of BBQ right on my sweater. When I demanded to speak to the owner about it, the hostess gave me attitude about how he was too busy and called ME a blowhard! What a circus show! Never coming back!’

‘The food’s amazing, but the wait times are ridiculous. Forty-five minutes for a rack of ribs? Is there only one cook back there?’

And on they went. Complaints about the location, the confusing name, more on wait time and the staff. But, beyond a few issues on the food arriving too cold, there was nothing but stellar compliments for the taste. He lent back in his seat, hearing it give another dying groan. He watched Yang sit another table of five while Ruby bustled about to get their drinks. Eyed his crumb-dusted plate, realizing the treat was probably offered to him because someone hungry was more likely to notice the wait for the main course. What a sad state. Apparently great food but poor management and lack of funds to fix anything. The place probably wasn’t going to last another year.

Ruby was all smiles when she came back to him, clearing his dish. “So, did you like it?”

“It was excellent, just like you promised.” Qrow told her honestly. For a split second, he almost let that be the end of it all. To just have his meal and leave, forgetting all about the reviews that foreshadowed the Dragon Den’s closure and the innocent kid whose family would be facing thousands of dollars in debt.

Instead he found himself strangely invested. Perhaps it was just human curiosity or pure boredom, but whatever it was, something made him lean forward, cross his arms over the table and ask, “So Ruby, you said your dad’s the one cooking, but who runs the place?”

“He does.”

He arched a brow. “He’s the owner and the chef? And he makes his kids work here?”

She shifted on her feet. “Uh well, I only help out on weekends and maybe a weekday here or there when dad really needs me. Yang’s got it real bad tho. She has to rush from her classes at Cal State to here five times a week.”

As the suspicion niggled at the back of his mind, he almost asked, but figured the deliberate omission about the whereabouts of their mother was all the answer he needed.

“There’s no other waiters?” He asked instead.

“No, we’ve got a few part timers, just not enough for a full day. Dad keeps saying when business picks back up he’ll hire a few more and a new chef too but,” Ruby averted her gaze. “That was a year ago.”

“What happened?” He pressed.

She shook her head. “We kept losing staff and now I just think he’s too busy. He sometimes doesn’t even come home. He’ll just sleep at one of the tables and then be up for the next day.”

“He’s here every day? From open to close?”

“Yeah.”

He whistled low between his teeth, placing his palm under his chin. He’d had some rough shoots over the years, but at least he had the solace of taking breaks. “Wow. That’s awful. And I bet a teenager like you hates having to work when you’d rather be at home playing video games.”

“Oh, no. I don’t mind.” Ruby refuted, before amending shortly after, “Uh well, most times, at least. Jerky customers kind of ruin my day. But otherwise, it’s okay.”

He had a feeling it was anything but. “You sure ‘bout that?”

“Yeah. I mean, when we first moved here, this place was dad’s dream.” She waved vaguely in the air as if to encompass the little establishment. “He always loved making people happy by cooking for them. Even when I was a kid he’d tell me that the gift of a good meal is the smile on someone’s face when they eat it.” She faced him, resolute and steady. “I know it’s important to him, so if I can help him keep this place by working here every now and again, then that’s just what I’ll do.”

He studied her carefully, but nothing he could see seemed imply she was lying in any way. It was a value he could certainly respect, as he and his sister had grown up being told the importance of caring for and respecting their elders. But living in America taught him that not all families operated this way. It was surprising, but uplifting, to see it here. “That’s rather admirable of you.”

Before they could say more, a hiss of ‘Ruby!’ drew her up short, and then Yang was sidling over, an impressive stack of plates balanced precariously along her left arm. “Table 3 needs their check before they bounce on us.”

“Oh right.” She paused, just long enough to place the pastry dish on top of her sister’s already full load with an overly sweet smile.

Once his waitress had left, Qrow said, “Guess I’m distracting her.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. You can distract half the nation.” Yang replied. “Must be awful, never having enough privacy.”

He shrugged it off, as if he hadn’t sprinted several blocks twenty minutes ago. “Comes with the business.”

“Well, I’d hate it. I get enough attention as it is.” She shifted some of the weight on her arm.

“Ah, what? You’re the total heartthrob in school or something?” He could see that. She had other assets that matched Raven’s – and he remembered how often that had the boys trailing after her like stray dogs desperate for affection.

“Or something.” She echoed vaguely. “I’m going to go check on your meal.”

It was only as she turned away, he noticed her right hand as it caught the faint light from above. The shine to the skin too bright to be natural and its immobility too revealing that the limb was anything but real.  

Or something indeed.

God, maybe he should pitch a show because this was starting to feel like a classic TV sitcom. A single dad, running a failing restaurant and just struggling to get by to provide for his two kids, one of whom was disabled and the other was sacrificing the last of her childhood. Ruby, with her boundless optimism, would be the star of course. Yang would be the sassy, fiery-tempered co-host. Their dad would be a bumbling fool with a heart of gold. It would either top the charts or fail after the first season.

Not having much else to do as he waited, he texted the inane thought off to his agent.

Your writing leaves a lot to be desired. Stick to acting Qrow. Willow ordered.

He chuckled silently, replying: Is this why you gave your daughters such icy names? Because they were born from someone so cold?

Watch your tongue Branwen or I’ll tell Tommy Wiseau you want to co-star with him.

Ouch, I’ve got freezerburn.

I’m again questioning why I work with you.

You love me. He sent an obnoxious amount of kiss emojis along with it just to really annoy her.

She sent back swords. Ah, she was the best.  

He decided to leave her alone, switching over to one of his racing game apps and immersing himself in the competition. Every now and again, he’d catch sight of the girls in the corner of his eye. Ruby taking orders and checking on customers. Yang fetching refills or cleaning up. His red Alpine racer was just passing the finish line of the second race when Ruby was coming back.

“Here you go, the best meal in the house.” She set down the dish before him. It was an excellent presentation, like it came right out of a cooking magazine. The fry-battered steak was a light, golden brown, slathered with a brownish-white, peppered gravy. A generous helping of fluffy, buttery mashed potatoes and bright yellow corn, both flecked with more pepper, completed the meal. All of it was framed by the plate with its dark blue flower trim that made the colors pop and really sold the southern charm.

“Thanks kiddo.” He said, feeling his stomach grumble.

“Enjoy!” She hesitated, adding in a small rush, “Just um, call me if you need me!”

He unrolled his utensils as she hurried away, shaking his head. She was probably hoping he’d call her every five minutes, just so she’d have more of an excuse to talk to him. Poor kid probably thought she was missing the opportunity of a lifetime. He didn’t let it bother him. After all, everyone who’s ever sat down with an interview with him knew he was a terrible conversationalist.

He cut down into the steak, finding it came apart easily and was perfectly cooked through. He dripped the bottom in the gravy, twisted it around on his fork, said a silent prayer to his arteries, and took the first bite.

Oh.

Oh.

Holy Mother of Mary.

The fried breading crunched nicely but the steak practically melted into his mouth, combining with the gravy and a series of spices he couldn’t even begin to name but knew it was doing something wonderful to his taste buds.

He hummed happily. It was good. It was beyond good. As he cut another piece and took another bite, finding it as delectable as the last, he still couldn’t believe it. There was just no way anything could be this delicious.

He was over three-quarters of the way through the steak by the time Ruby came to check on him.

“Sooo,” She glanced at his plate then to him, smirking, “You like it, don’t you?”

“Don’t look so smug.” Qrow replied halfheartedly, stuffing another forkful in his mouth and hearing her fading giggle.

He didn’t get it though; with food like this, the place should be packed. If people could wait in line to get his autograph for six hours, then why couldn’t they wait a measly half hour for an incredible meal?

“Hey kid.” He said when Ruby came back around again, this time to collect his empty plate.

“Yeah?”

“We still got to take your picture. Any chance I can give my compliments to the chef while we’re at it?”

“If Yang can be in it too, you got yourself a deal.”

He chuckled. Should have expected that. “You got it.”

“Eeeee!” She squealed, hopping in excitement. “Okay, okay, let’s go now!”

He obliged, finding it hard to move at first. Wow, he was stuffed. He managed to follow Ruby to the back, seeing her wave her sister over before he was led through the double doors.

Walking into the kitchen was like walking backstage on a set – wherein the stage was just a collection of pieces meant to play their positions and what was behind the curtain was where the magic truly happened to bring it all together. But instead of sound design and lights, it was sizzling grills and knives chopping down. And instead of half a dozen people rushing about, there was only one. He was mincing up an onion with a swift finesse only the best of chefs had while singing along with a cassette player that was peddling out country tunes.

“It’s a quarter after one, I’m all alone and I need you nooow.”

Singing badly, Qrow thought, cringing inwardly.

“Dad, no!” Ruby cried. Not even looking their way, the man just continued on, more loudly and off-key then before.

“Oh god, please smite me.” Yang groaned as she walked in, hiding her face in her hand.

Her sister raced across the room, pulling at his sleeve, hissing insistently. “Dad, we have company.”

“Meaning I have an audience that actually appreciates my performance?” His laughter was hearty as he peered over her head. The cutting stopped immediately. “U-Uhh…” Was all he managed to splutter before looking down at his daughter. “Uh?!”

“Told you he was here.” She said in a know-it-all sort of tone.

Used to this, Qrow just cleared his throat, introducing himself even if it felt a bit arbitrary. “Qrow Branwen. A pleasure to meet you.”

The man didn’t reply straight away, still taken aback by his very presence – or perhaps, from the faint lines of panic crinkling his brow, weighing over the fact he’d just served a celebrity without actually knowing it. Whatever it was, he seemed to catch his bearings, setting down his knife and crossing the kitchen. As he introduced himself in turn, he held out his hand, “Believe me, pleasure’s all mine. Name’s Taiyang Xiao Long.”

Xiao Long? Strange, he didn’t appear to have any Chinese in him, which likely meant he was married into the surname. At least now he really understood the restaurant’s title. Qrow shook his hand, surprised by the strong grip. He could feel the calluses built onto his hands from years of using cooking utensils.

“I apologize,” Taiyang said as he pulled back. “Had I taken my daughter’s word for it, I would have offered you a meal more extravagant. Or at the very least, some good wine.”

He had to keep himself from chuckling at the way Ruby stuck out her tongue at her dad’s back. “That’s alright. If I’m being honest, that was one of the finest meals I’ve had in quite some time.”

The chef’s cheeks turned a little rosy but his smile was just like his daughter’s, toothy and bright. “That’s mighty kind of you to say.” Heh, cute. He even talked like the aesthetic.

Before they could converse more, the ringing of a timer drew Taiyang’s attention. “Ah, pardon me.” He hurried to the stove, pausing only long enough to wash his hands.

“Sooooo,” Ruby stretched out the word as she slid back over, pulling out her phone. “Picture?”

“Wait, hold on!” Yang ripped off her hat, finger-combing through her golden locks. “Does my hair look okay?”

Her sister gave her a thumb’s up. “Like a rat’s nest. So yes- Ack!” She got smacked in the face with the hat.

“Girls, don’t be bothering him like that.” Their father chastised, stirring something in a large pot.

“We’re not!” Yang claimed.

He shook his head, but it was hard to tell if it was at her or at the soup he was tasting. “Really Mr. Branwen, you don’t have to.”

Ruby looked scandalized. “What?!”

“He owes us. I kept all the other customers away from him.” His eldest explained.

His head whipped around. “That’s worse! A man shouldn’t have to pay for his privacy!” As he pulled down some spices, he continued, “What you two ought to be doing is just appreciating the moment.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea dad. Now if only I had something to capture it with and keep it forever. Oh wait!” Ruby waved around her phone violently. “I DO!”

Unable to hold it in anymore, Qrow started to laugh. He was right; they would make a good sitcom. “It’s been a long time since I’ve met such interesting people.” He addressed the chef, “It’s alright, really. I did promise them.”

Taiyang opened his mouth to protest further, but another timer went off – how many did he have? – so he just said, “To each his own I suppose.” Before he turned to go check something in the oven.

Taking the opportunity for what it was, he held up his arms. “Alright, bring it in ladies.”

Ruby tossed her own hat next to Yang’s, giggling as his arm came around her shoulders. Yang was a little more uncomfortable, so he let his hand rest on her shoulder, above where he assumed her arm ended, and felt her relax almost instantly.

“Okay, 3, 2, 1!” They all smiled widely as the camera shutter clicked. They pulled away and Ruby looked it over to make sure it was good, before squealing happily. “Oh gosh it’s perfect! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You’re – oof! – welcome.” He huffed out when she nearly tackled him with a hug. He pat her back. “Now, I believe I promised an autograph too?”

She grinned hugely. “Right, yes!” She grabbed Yang, “Come on we got to find something for him to sign!” The two hurried to a small office, and he caught Ruby saying, “He could even sign your arm!”

“You think?” Yang’s voice faded to the background, overtaken by a loud sizzling.

As Qrow came as close as he dared, Taiyang said, “Thank you for this. You really made their year.” He was stirring the onion he had minced earlier around a nice heap of melting butter in a hot pan.

“Like I said, it’s fine.” He echoed.

“Still, it’s appreciated.” The burner was flipped off and the pan taken from the heat, but the onions continued to sauté.  “‘Fraid I can’t offer you much in compensation though, beyond giving you your meal free.”

He tilted his head. “Can you afford that?”

“Really, I insist. As they say, happiness is priceless.” Was the curt reply.

Only the rich say that. He scoffed at the obvious farce – not that Taiyang noticed as he turned away to attend to something else. Subtlety by words had never been his strong suit, and it wouldn’t be in the next five minutes either. So, he cut to the chase, “Listen bud, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I know everything, but it’s pretty obvious from the state of this place to the lack of non-relative employees, that you’re not exactly in good standing.”

“An astute observation, but I don’t believe you needed to bring up all that just to make a case to pay for your meal.” He was back to chopping – this time, potatoes. Stubborn as a mule was a term invented for this guy, wasn’t it?

“It wasn’t.” Qrow assured. “It was a case to buy your restaurant.”

The knife chopped down so hard, it went right into the wood. Taiyang turned around to stare at him. A clatter to their left caught Qrow’s attention. The girls were both standing just outside of the office, the things they’d brought for him to sign now strewn across the ground.

No one spoke.

A beeping filled the air, and still no one spoke.

“Uh. Timer?” He said, awkwardly.

Taiyang seemed to blink out of whatever daze he was in. He came forward, almost aggressively enough that Qrow tried not to shrink back, but the other man only reached over his shoulder to turn off the timer, side-eyeing him as he walked away.

“Really?” Ruby’s small but hopeful voice shook the tense air.

Yang’s was more suspicious. “You do know you’re buying a failing business, right?”

He offered the duo a smile. “Won’t be failing when I’m done with it. This place just needs a bit of sprucing up. More staff. Maybe a new location-”

Slam! Went a cooking sheet on the countertop.

“No.” Taiyang said rigidly.

Unperturbed, Qrow carried on. “Alright, no new location. Kind of a bad move but I can work with that. But the name has got to-”

“Stop.” He commanded. “Do not treat me like a fool. I may not have grown up here, but I learned rather quickly that folks around here will do a lot for 15 minutes of fame. I will not allow you to do the same to my family.”

“What, dad-!” Yang started

“Can’t you just-!” Ruby spoke over her.

“Quiet, both of you!” He bellowed, before turning his back to them, grabbing some tongs to turn the racks of ribs around a bit more aggressively then needed. “The answer is no, and that’s final. Now, I will thank you kindly to take your empty offer and walk it out the door.”

When the girls started to raise protest again, Qrow was the one to silence them this time, raising a finger to his lips, before he took a few steps closer to the chef. “Believe me when I say the offer is not empty. Your daughter over there tells me how much this place meant to you when you first got it, but now you’re letting it rot under your feet. Is that really how you want it to go out?” The other man’s jaw clenched and he refused to look at him. He took that as a good sign, reaching out to place a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Let me help you and your family.”

For his efforts, a set of tongs were shoved so close to his face, they almost touched his nose.

Behind the makeshift weapon, Taiyang’s eyes bored into his own. He spoke steady and sharp, “Mr. Branwen, I will say this once and only once. I have put everything I got, my entire heart and soul, into this restaurant. It is the only thing I have for my girls and I am NOT about to gamble it away on some publicity stunt to stroke a rich man’s ego. So, you ask me to believe you? Then come back with a lawyer and a contract full of terms we both agree on, as I will settle for nothing less. Am I understood?”

The storm brewing in those blue eyes didn’t intimidate him, because this close, he could see the dark circles etching a deep exhaustion around them. The mark of a person desperate and at the end of their rope. Despite only knowing him for a few minutes, Qrow could tell that he was a good man, as well as aggravatingly hardheaded.

“Got it.” He told him, reaching into his pocket to fetch his shades. “I’ll see you in a few days then.”

As he pulled them on and turned away, he thought perhaps he heard Tai give some biting remark about how tomorrow, perhaps he’d be offered the moon. But he didn’t let it faze him. Instead, he crossed over to where the girls still stood, frozen – but unlike their father, they did nothing to hide the tentative hope on their faces.

Qrow lent down, fetching the sharpie and two sheets of paper, using a nearby counter to pen out the autographs. He even took the time to add his signature calligraphy, making the tail of the Q look like a feather. He offered each one in turn, “Ruby, Yang. Thank you for the pleasant experience.”

Yang was slow to take hers, as if she might say something. In the end she only thanked him.

Contrastingly, Ruby’s vibrancy was back, an almost nervous energy pitching her tone as she quickly offered to walk him to the door. It didn’t take him long to figure out why, as she hid her face in her treasured autograph and groaned. “I’m sorry about my dad. He’s just so, so, embarrassing!”

“He’s not so bad.” He refuted, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Against his fingertips, he felt the buzz from his phone signaling an incoming message – no doubt An letting him know she’d arrived. “He’s playing it smart. Even I don’t do a job without a contract.”

“Still, he could have been more polite.”

Her tone allowed no argument, so he didn’t bother to tell her that for him, it was actually a refreshing change of pace. He had all sorts of people tripping over themselves to fawn at his feet and, while some celebrities ate up all that attention, Qrow had certainly never been one of them. It was nice being talked to like an equal – a privilege often reserved only to his closest coworkers and manager.

There was also just something so honestly genuine about Tai. Call it simple intuition, but he knew what it took to play all sorts of characters and he could say without a doubt that the blond wouldn’t be able to fool a preschooler if he tried. He was the kind of man who hid nothing and wore his emotions right on his sleeve.

Qrow, who shuttered his behind fake smiles and sunglasses all day, could really appreciate a quality like that.

“It was really amazing to meet you.” Ruby said as she pulled open the front door for him. “Like, as in the-best-thing-to-ever-happen-to-me amazing.”

“You’re setting the standard pretty high there, considering it won’t be the last time you see me.” Qrow said, stepping outside.

Her expression lifted, her youth seeing to shine through in her eyes. “You mean, you’re really coming back? Ever after dad was, well, a total jerkwad?”

“Well, you know what they say. You feed a crow once, and it’ll come back to roost.” He pulled down his sunglasses, enough to wink at her. “See you ‘round kiddo.”

“Y-Yeah! See you! Thank you so much, Mr. Branwen!”

He was pretty sure she waved after his car long after it left the street.

~

Three days would pass before Qrow would return to the Dragon’s Den. Like a knight readying for battle, he stood in front of the door over an hour before opening time.

When Tai finally arrived, he almost dropped his keys in the gutter at the mere sight of him.

“Why hello thar pardner.” Qrow drawled, tipping an imaginary hat. “Fancy meeting you here.”

For a moment, he just stared blankly. But finally, a snort escaped him. “You need to do more westerns if that’s the best you got, pardner.” He stepped forward, adding more softly, “You, came back.”

He nodded. “’Fraid I don’t have the moon to offer you, but I got the next best thing.”

Taking his cue, the gentlemen standing nearby fixed up his tie and strode forward. “Mr. Xiao Long? I’m Hei Xiong. I work in property management. It’s my understanding Mr. Branwen here would like to strike a deal with you.”

“Does he now?” That same bite Qrow’d heard in the kitchen was back, the blonde’s hackles already raised. Not missing a beat, Hei ruffled through a few papers in his folder, pulling out the top one to show him. Tai read it aloud. “Claim of co-ownership?”

“Yes. Mr. Branwen is interested in becoming your business partner.” The manager supplied.

“…Does he now?” He echoed as he looked towards Qrow, but the fiery attitude he’d expelled like a shield had doused some.

“We would be happy to discuss it in more detail this morning, if you’ve available?” Hei asked.

Anticipation held Qrow’s breath and anxiety jumped his heart as he waited for the other man’s response.

For the second time, he was rewarded with another of Tai’s bright and toothy grins. “I certainly am.” He stepped past them both and opened the door to the Den. “Please come in.”

[mallowwrites]

Day 23 - Part 2

Story: A Heart’s Thoughts

Synopsis: Everyone has their own two powers, but it’s up to luck whether you’ll end up being tortured for it or not.

Welcome to our little Empowered village, the place where you’ll learn to use your powers for good- or, that’s what we were told.

Genres: Angst, Action, Romance, Superpowers, College, Adenture, Fantasy

Word Count: 3.5K

<- Previous || Next ->

Jack's excitement faltered when he recognized Emma, staring at them with a baffled face. He backed away from the door with his hands raised slightly as he saw Emma's eyes follow his every move.

"Look, Emma, we can explain."

"I know, that's why I asked about it before jumping to conclusions."

Jack sighed, his expression a bit saddened, "your face tells me you've already drawn your conclusion."

Emma stared at him firmly for a few seconds before nodding slightly, "I probably have, so why don't you try to prove me otherwise?"

Jack bit his lip, turning slightly to look at Francis who was standing behind him and slightly shook his head. Jack looked down at the ground before drawing a deep breath, "I can't. Not now, at least. Our friends are joining us soon. We have to talk to them first."

Emma continued staring wordlessly at him, before letting out a soft, shaky breath and nodding lightly, "okay."

Jack ran a hand through his hair as he fully turned around and took a step closer to Francis so he could whisper, "Cecilia isn't going to like this."

Francis shook is head, "she isn't the only one you should be worried about. None of our friends are going to like this, and I don't blame them. We should've paid more attention to our surroundings before opening that door."

Jack touched his earpiece and said, "guys, please come. We've opened the door."

As he finished speaking, he started impatiently tapping his feet on the floor with his hands in his sides, waiting for his friends to arrive.

Francis watched his friend's impatience and whispered, "Jack, calm down."

"I am calm."

"No, you're not."

"I am."

"No, your neck is red, your sweating, and tapping your foot like a madman. Stop it, you're not making it seem any better."

Francis glanced up behind Jack and smiled a little before grabbing his friend by both shoulders and turning him around, "look at that, the first ones are coming already."

Eden, Jude and Alec were walking towards them and Alec already had his hand raised in a wave when he noticed Emma and stopped in his tracks. He looked at Emma, turned to Jude and Eden and then finally gave Jack and Francis a confused look. Jack just gave a hopeless look in return and Francis shrugged, making Alec roll is eyes before putting on a friendly smile and approaching Emma.

"Hey, can I help you with anything?"

Emma gave him a friendly smile in returned and replied, "these two kind men were going to explain to me how they opened the door to a house that isn't theirs."

Alec's smile instantly disappeared and he gave Francis and Jack a bewildered look before quickly walking past Emma towards them, Eden and Jude closely following behind.

He stopped close to Jack and whispered furiously, "what did you do?"

Jack whispered back, "we opened the door and then she suddenly appeared behind us asking us how we opened that door!"

Alec put two fingers between his eyebrows as he put his other hand in his side and turned to Eden and Jude, "Cecilia isn't going to like this."

The two men nodded wordlessly, both looking agitated. Meanwhile Emma continued to watch the men from a small distance, making sure not to lose sight of them.

Jude sighed and touched his earpiece before speaking, "Cecilia, I think you should come now, we've got a bit of a situation."

Cecilia replied almost immediately, "what did you guys do?"

Jack bit his lip upon hearing Cecilia speak through his earpiece before replying, "I think we messed up."

He flinched as he heard Cecilia curse and yell for the others to gather before everything turned silent and he turned to Francis with an exasperated look.

Emma finally approached the men and asked, "are you done consulting? I need to know whether I should be calling the police or not."

Eden quickly stepped in with a smile, "would you please give us a few more minutes? We're not complete yet and would like to wait for our other friends to consult with them.

Emma squinted her eyes as she folded her arms, "if you have to consult this much, how can I be sure you're not just working hard on fabricating a story?"

Read more on Wattpad

[ In case the link doesn’t work, try putting the whole thing into your browser: https://www.wattpad.com/721341419-a-heart%27s-thoughts-day-23-part-2 ]

Tagging: @vallikesgivinghugs @cafechenle @fluffyshua @lunastarward @kat-tas-tro-phe

[zmediaoutlet]

femme

Title: femme Link: (AO3) Square Filled: Feminization Ship: Sam/Dean Rating: E Tags: Established Relationship, Bunker Era, Feminization, Dirty Talk Summary: Rummaging around the internet, Dean finds a kink he hadn't seen before; Sam explains, and demonstrates. Word Count: ~4500 Created for @spnkinkbingo

The stitches on Sam's shoulder are holding, though they're an annoying stinging distraction whenever he reaches for his beer on the nightstand, or tries to get a new one. Dean's got the slowly-warming twelve-pack planted between them on the bed and Sam could probably drag it closer if he wanted, but it seems like a lot of effort, just now. They're holed up in a wildly sketchy motel on the outskirts of Spartanburg and it's been a long enough day that he doesn't so much care if he gets blood spots on their scratchy sheets, especially with how the rude old woman at the desk had frowned through renting him the king-size room. Even so—

"Dude, stop pulling your stitches," Dean says, giving him a quick backhand to the belly. Sam sinks back to the awkwardly stacked pillows with a huff, and Dean grabs a fresh beer for him, twisting off the cap before he hands it over. "That's fine work I did, don't be messing it up."

"Don't sell yourself short over there," Sam says, rolling his eyes, but he tries to settle more comfortably anyway. The mattress is an old one and he doesn't even want to imagine what other stains it might have under the covers, but maybe he shouldn't add to them. Anyway, Dean always bitches if he has to re-do stitches, bitches more about Sam bleeding on him, and he might as well avoid that headache, too. He takes a swig of the beer and sighs at the television. Shark Week reruns, because Dean insisted after they got to take out a bunyip inexplicably lurking in Georgia and both got soaked to shit in the lake, and Dean's got a perverse sense of humor, sometimes. They're both stripped down to their underwear, after peeling out of their wet clothes and rinsing off the mud and blood and lakewater grime, and Dean's got the heater on but it's still kind of cold in here. Sam keeps letting the chilly beer bottle glance against his bare belly and then has to hiss and pull it away, resting it against the blanket instead. Dean's not even paying attention to the TV, just screwing around on his laptop on his side of the bed, though when Sam went to change the channel during an extra-goofy great white attack reenactment he got another smack and an are you kidding? this is the best part!, so he keeps suffering through it. Maybe he'll go for a fourth beer.

Proof that Dean's not paying attention: "Wow," he says, under his breath, and Sam glances over to see him—

"Are you kidding," Sam says, on a sigh.

Dean's hand flashes up to close the lid on the laptop, ancient reflex, before he grimaces and lets Sam see it. It's not like it's the first time he's caught Dean looking at porn, although they usually aren't actively in bed together. "I was just looking something up," Dean says, sort of defensive.

The site he's on is full of just—ass, semi-artistic pictures one right after the other. "I can't even imagine what the question was," Sam says. He shifts on the pillow, ignoring another sting from his shoulder blade, while Dean scrolls down, clearly fascinated. The pictures are focused enough that it's hard to tell if they're looking at women or men, all high full muscle waxed perfectly smooth. Pretty, either way, and Sam licks his lips.

"Perv," Dean says, and then grins when Sam gives him a look. "Okay, yeah, fair." He scrolls down more, and there's a picture all bent-over, a wet shine in the shadowed valley and a hand pulling the cheek open so they can see, and—wow is right.

"This is better than your usual," Sam says. It really is, enough that there's a swirl of warmth down in the pit of his belly. He swigs down the last dregs of his beer and puts the bottle on the nightstand, mutes the TV while he's at it. When he turns back Dean's on a picture all in black-and-white, the model arched and legs spread so that there's no obstruction to the hairless hole, just a glimpse of sack down below, and Sam bites his lip. The man's wearing polish, nails perfectly manicured and painted dark as he wraps his fingers around the back of his thighs, and—it's just a really, really good look.

"I was looking something up," Dean says again, almost stubborn, but when Sam glances up his ears have gone all pink.

The laptop's covering him up, but that flush is a telltale sign that Sam's known since he knew what his dick was for, and he starts to thicken up, just like that. "What was it?" Sam says, eyes now glued to Dean's profile. "Prettiest asses on the internet?"

Dean rolls his eyes and slides the laptop over to the nightstand on his side of the bed, swings off the mattress onto his feet. "You know that's not it, they don't have a picture of me on there," he says, popping up his eyebrows before he heads into the bathroom, and—well. He's not exactly wrong.

The bathroom door's still ajar between them and Sam can hear him taking a piss, echoey and loud on the grimy tile, and while he has the opportunity he leans over the wide expanse of the bed, his stitches pulling painfully at the stretch, and fetches the laptop, dragging it back over to his side. God, those are some nice pictures. It's not a porn site Sam recognizes. Certainly not one of Dean's usual—he goes for the cheesy stuff, videos of bouncy tits and big-dicked guys and lots of spray tan. He scrolls up, and now that he's getting a closer look he can tell that all of the models are guys. Just subtle tells, in the way their hips are built, the shape of muscles in their backs. None of them, still, as gorgeous as Dean, though there's no way Sam's going to mention that. He's smug enough as it is. Still, he wants to know how Dean got here, especially if he's going to try to be coy about it—and it's just a few clicks, through the browser history to a clumsy search, and he smiles when he reads the question.

The running water in the bathroom stops and Dean comes out, wiping his hands on the hips of his boxers, and he frowns when he sees Sam's holding his laptop. Sam raises his eyebrows at him, and reads aloud: "What's a 'bussy'?"

"Don’t start," Dean says, hands on his hips. "It's not like I know what the kids are saying these days."

He's still sort of flushed, pink high on his cheeks and ears, and Sam lifts his chin, beckoning him over. He comes, of course, even if he rolls his eyes. He knees up on the bed, bare thighs flexing prettily, and Sam slides a hand up one leg, gently tickling the fine, sparse hair. "Did you get your answer?" Sam says, his thumb slipping up under the leg of Dean's boxers.

Dean blinks at him, still knelt up high, and then shakes his head after a second. "Got distracted," he says, voice gravelly, and yeah, Sam can see the bulge of his dick, not quite soft.

Sam pushes the case of beer out of the way with his foot, down to the bottom of the bed, and lifts the laptop up, and when he tugs at Dean's hip with his other hand Dean shifts over easily, swinging his thigh over Sam's to sit heavy in his lap, his hands rough but warm on Sam's stomach. Sam puts the laptop on the bed next to them and opens a new tab, types an address in one-handed. "What, are we doing show and tell?" Dean says, eyebrows high, and Sam shushes him.

It's not like it's Sam's go-to kink. That's just—Dean, more or less, and he's had a lot of years to come to terms with how weird that is. He's run across this, though, in jerk off sessions through the years, and even if it's not his favorite it works for him. "Bussy's a dumb word for it," Sam says. He rests his free hand on Dean's smooth side, slides his thumb along the soft skin under his waistband. He hits enter and then watches Dean's face while the site loads, and—

"What the hell," Dean says, almost under his breath. He's sort of frowning but he's not looking away, and something in Sam's stomach lurches hot when he sets his teeth in his bottom lip.

The site's all sugary-pink, sparkles and bubblegum. Skinny pretty boys in pigtails and little dresses, dicks swelling up through their panties. "Boy pussy," Sam says, finally, and slides his hand up the leg of Dean's boxers to get a firm hold on the plush curve of his ass.

Dean blinks, his hips pushing back automatically against Sam's hand. He shifts his weight, his knees denting the mattress on either side of Sam's hips. "That—seriously?"

Sam taps the pad, clicks randomly and gets a scroll of preview pictures, more prettily made up boys smiling for the camera. He can't believe Dean hasn't run into this kind of thing before surfing for porn, but then Dean's always been sort of vanilla. It was a shock, when they finally started sleeping together. Sam had to pry and wheedle and finally get him drunk to pry the fantasies out of him and they were all the tamest stuff—picking each other up like we're strangers and remember how you had that soccer uniform and what if we backseated it, like high school? They were hot, because Dean was the one asking for them, and Sam happily obliged but he's never really pushed them further. What they've got, it's good. Even so—this, Dean flushing dark red as another boy hides his little dick and opens his mouth wide for the camera, this is—something.

"Got the name memorized, huh?" Dean says. He darts a glance at Sam, looks back at the laptop's bright screen. "You come here often?"

Sam smiles, kneads the handful of Dean's ass he's still holding onto. "Sometimes," he says. Dean's dick is chubbing up, in his boxers, obvious and pressing out the thin fabric where he curves left. His shoulders are broad, always have been, and even if his chest and stomach are a little soft, the curve of muscle in his arms and thighs isn't. There's no way Sam would ever, ever mistake him for a girl. He sits up more, lifting off the pillow, and presses a kiss against Dean's collarbone where there's that little spatter of dark freckles. "It's kind of hot, right?"

Dean's hand goes to the back of Sam's head, his fingers sinking into his hair, holding on while Sam leaves a soft line of kisses leading to the hollow of his throat. "Uh, I guess," he manages, but he's still hard and getting harder, pressing into the lowest part of Sam's stomach, and Sam licks over his collarbone and then sets his teeth in it, applying just the lightest pressure. "So, it's—crossdressing?"

"Not just that." Sam turns his head, squeezes Dean's ass while he taps again at the laptop and goes to a different part of the site, and it's asking for money now but there are more pictures, boys with completely smooth fronts in their skirts, boys leaning over with a plug pressed deep inside, keeping them open, giving heavy-lidded looks over their shoulders. "The whole thing's more like—being pretty, and available. Knowing that you're going to get fucked and that's all you want, all you're good for."

He pulls back, so he can see Dean's face. He's still red, but there's something sort of uncertain around the tilt of his mouth, and Sam frowns and puts his hands on Dean's hips, squeezing a little to get his attention. "Hey," Sam says, and Dean looks at him, his eyes dark. He rubs his thumbs in little circles over the softness of Dean's belly, just above his waistband, soothing just in case. "Too weird?"

Dean bites the corner of his lip, then dips his head, and Sam gives him the kiss he's obviously looking for. He's got two days of stubble and it's a familiar comforting scratch against Sam's skin, his arm strong when he curls it around Sam's neck and holds on. Sam keeps the kiss gentle, just small licks and presses with their noses brushing comfortably together, and Dean murmurs Sam against his lips, and then in between the close moving of their mouths he mumbles, disjointed, "I wore panties once."

Sam sucks in a breath so sharp he almost chokes. When he pulls back enough that his eyes won't cross Dean's still blushing, his eyes closed tight, and Sam grabs his hips hard and says, "Tell me," and Dean stumbles out a story: some girl, when they were still kids, sweet-talking and dangerous, full of ideas, and she made him do it. Sam's stomach clenches hot like a fist. That's how Dean says it: "She made me," head ducked and voice quiet, like it's something dreadfully embarrassing and terribly dirty. God, just the image, just the idea of it, goofy vanilla Dean doing what he was told, liking it, but keeping it a secret even from Sam for a decade and more. Sam shoves the laptop further away and flips them, gets Dean on his back and leans over him, blocking him from the lamplight, his thighs spreading around Sam's hips, and he kisses him hard, then, filling Dean's mouth with his tongue and scraping his teeth over his lips, and Dean just gasps into him and takes it.

"Were you pretty?" Sam demands, once he can bear to pull away. Dean blinks up at him, almost dazed, and Sam shoves back on his knees, grabs Dean's boxers and tugs. "Come on, get these off," he says, and Dean lifts up his hips and Sam yanks them down over the generous swell of Dean's ass, his mouth getting wet when Dean's dick swings heavy and slaps against his thigh, gorgeous pink in the gingery-dark of his pubic hair. That's not for now, though—he puts himself right back between Dean's legs, grinds his hips down into the cradle Dean makes for him, and gets a hand on Dean's jaw, makes him look Sam in the face. "Tell me, tell me what it was like."

"They were—they were pink," Dean says, voice cracked and deep, "and kind of silky, and she said I was—pretty as a girl."

Sam groans, imagining—Dean at nineteen, so beautiful Sam would rub himself raw in the shower every morning over his mouth and his body and his perfect skin, wrapped up in pink—yeah, he bets Dean was pretty, and he keeps his grip on Dean's jaw and starts a slow rhythm with his hips, pushing his still-covered dick up against Dean's, and he says, low and almost nasty up close to Dean's mouth, "That's because you were a girl, weren't you—pretty as a picture, I bet. Had anyone fucked you yet, back then?"

Dean shakes his head, no, and Sam smiles at him. "No, course not, because that was me, wasn't it. I was the first dick in this pussy, huh," he says, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut and gasps, but his thighs drag up against Sam's hips, too, he gets his hands on Sam's sides and digs his nails in like Sam's already fucking him and—oh, god, why aren't they already fucking—

"Sammy," Dean says, dazed and breathy when Sam has to fumble over the side of the bed, ripping through his duffel to get the sticky tube of lube, and then he says it again deeper when Sam shoves his boxer-briefs off his hips, his dick swinging out heavy and throbbing already.

Sam gets his hands on Dean's meaty gorgeous thighs, pushes them out wide so the tendons strain and says, "Let me see your pussy, baby, give it to me," and Dean mutters oh my god but he grabs behind his knees, helps pull himself open, and Sam kisses him for it, licks in easy to his gasping mouth as he gets his fingers all sloppy-messy with lube and smears wet all over the crack of Dean's ass, pushing in with no preamble, no asking for permission. Dean grunts, deep in his chest, and Sam starts fingering him open right away with his mouth running crazily, saying the nastiest sweetest things he can think of against Dean's lips, into the furiously blushing shell of his ear, like there's a good girl and yeah, opening up that cunt all soft for me and are you going to be good for me, sweetheart, are you going to let me in, let me get inside you and Dean moans out loud, his body scorching and his hips flattened out into Sam grinding his fingers into his sweet spot, and Sam finally can't wait another second and he slicks his dick perfunctorily with the hand that had been inside Dean and then feeds himself in, the tight heat of Dean a shock in the base of the belly, watching Dean's face to see the startled wide spread of his eyes and lips before he moans out loud, breath hot in Sam's face, a long wild groan as Sam sinks in right to the hilt, no stopping, no waiting for him to adjust.

"Perfect," Sam says, and Dean drops his grip on his legs to wrap them around Sam's waist, one hand clawed into the pillow and the other wound into Sam's hair, keeping him close while he stares up, watery edge to his pretty, pretty eyes. Sam kisses the inside of his forearm, keeps his eyes locked on Dean's while he grinds into all that threatening wet, barely pulling out, hips churning, and then he leans in with his elbow planted hard next to Dean's head, tracing Dean's bottom lip with his thumb, and he mumbles out all low and close: you're doing so good, baby, your pussy's perfect, so wet for me, huh, god, does that feel good? You like that? You want me to fuck you like this all the time? Dean groans out like he's been punched and Sam starts to fuck him for real, hips and nuts slapping nastily loud against Dean's ass. He puts his head down and sees Dean's dick just drooling wet all over his stomach, so much there's a trickle sliding down his side, and Sam drags his hand through it and then wraps his hand around Dean's dick and says into his ear, "You've got such a pretty clit," and Dean gasps, "Fuck, what the fuck, Sammy, jesus christ—" with his voice shivery, his nails raking over Sam's shoulder, his hips flinching up up up into Sam's thrusts, and god, he's winding up, Sam can feel him clenching, ready to blow, and he hauls in his control and nails him as hard as he can where it counts and he breathes out, come on, baby, be a good little wife and give it up for me, and Dean makes a choked noise in his throat and comes like that, his heels digging into Sam's thigh, his ass, his breath coming so fast it sounds like he's hyperventilating. Jesus, he's the hottest thing Sam's ever—Sam puts his head down to Dean's shoulder and plants his hands on the bed and hammers home, lets go, and even though Dean's shaky and shuddering he keeps his thighs wide and his hips up, his hands slipping on Sam's sweating back, and he puts his lips against Sam's hair and makes a soft punched noise when Sam unloads into him, slides up to hold the back of Sam's head while Sam breathes out hard and pulses, hips working out the last of it, feeling like his spine turned to liquid and he's just pouring it all out into Dean's waiting, willing body.

"Fuck," Sam says, rolling his forehead against Dean's shoulder, and picks up his head to find Dean red-faced, his lips dark and dented with teeth-marks, his eyelashes wet as he blinks up at Sam. Jesus. Sam's dick flexes, pulsing again deep inside, and he knows Dean must feel it from the way his eyelids flicker, and Sam says, "God, Dean, you're so—" and he drags himself up on weak arms and cups Dean's face in both palms and kisses him, his hips still gently rocking. Dean lets him, mostly breathing open-mouthed against Sam until he sets his teeth in Sam's lip and tugs, and then pulls back into a little smooch like an apology. Sam's ass clenches at the tiny hurt, crushing his half-soft dick further into Dean, and god, he could—he could almost go again, right now.

"Don't even think about it," Dean says, against his lips.

Sam huffs, and gives Dean's cheek a quick kiss before he shifts back, sliding himself slowly out into the cold awful air. The head glances sensitively against Dean's soft thighs, everything a wet mess of lube and come, and Sam shivers for a second but it's nothing to the shudder that rocks all the way through Dean.

"Okay?" Sam says. Reality's trickling back in and he lifts up on his elbow, sliding a soothing hand down Dean's ribs. That was—fast, rough, rougher than Sam usually goes.

Dean nods, eyes closed, but doesn't say anything for a second—no goofy post-sex jokes, no complaining. Sam frowns and slides his hand down to Dean's hip, squeezing gently, and Dean finally opens his eyes and looks up at Sam. His blush hasn't gone down at all. "I'm good," he says, voice like gravel.

He's a really, really bad liar. Sam shifts to one side, taking his weight half-off, but he keeps his hand on Dean's hip, one thigh between Dean's, so he has to tilt into Sam's side. God—the laptop's still on the far side of the bed, miraculously, though thankfully the screen's gone dark and the sissy website isn't glittering pinkly at them both. Sam squeezes Dean's shoulder, the thickness of his bicep. "You know I don't—" He clears his throat. God, now he can feel himself blushing. They're in their thirties, who knew that was still even an option. "You know I don't think of you like a woman for real, right?"

Dean snorts, and glances down at his spent soft dick before he looks back up at Sam. "I didn't think you were blind, Sammy," he says, but there's the tiniest bit of strain still tucked under his voice.

Sam licks his lips, thinking. "And you know if you wanted to try something," he says, feeling his way through it, "I'm totally game." Dean just stares at him, their faces a few inches apart, and Sam touches his chin, prickling over the stubble. "If you liked that, say. Or if you wanted to do more."

Dean blinks and his eyes drop, but after a second he nods, jerkily. "Cool," he says, "good to know," and he's playing it off but his hand curls over Sam's side, he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and oh, man. Sam takes a deep breath. Maybe another pair of panties. Maybe—maybe getting Dean into a skirt, no panties at all, because he likes to do those dorky roleplay scenarios. Sam coming home to the bunker with groceries from the list Dean made and finding Dean in the kitchen, dressed up, maybe wet already because he was waiting, and he has to close his eyes and remember that he's not fifteen anymore, he can't go again that fast. Jesus, who knew.

He leans in and kisses Dean one more time, pressing his mouth open and licking in, soft, before he pulls back and rolls off the bed. They're both smeared all over with come and Sam used so much lube that it's smeared all over his crotch, and he can imagine how nasty Dean must be feeling. "I was gonna get a washcloth," he says, grimacing, "but maybe we should just take another shower."

"Only if you're gonna carry me in there," Dean says, and then, "Oh, goddamn it," with his voice suddenly sharp.

"What?" Sam says, arrested on his trip around the big bed.

"You pulled your goddamn stitches, is what," Dean says.

"What?" he says, again, turning his head pointlessly and tilting his shoulder forward, and—ow, shit, he did, he thought that trickle down his back was just sweat but apparently not. He slides his other hand up his back and it comes away smeared red. Damn it.

"This is why we don't do athletic activity with big holes in our skin," Dean says, dragging himself into a sitting position.

Sam doesn't miss the flinch when his weight gets onto his ass. "I didn't hear you complaining," he says, lightly, and Dean rolls his eyes but pinks a little, too. "I'll get the sutures again, hang on," Sam says, and then stops in his tracks. The box of beer is on the floor, at least one bottle broken and a puddle soaked into the carpet, presumably from being kicked off the end of the bed in all the excitement.

"What?" Dean says, in his turn, and then peers over the end of the mattress. He snorts a laugh and flops down onto his back. "I'm totally blaming that on you."

Sam steps over the puddle, shaking his head. "You're the one who bought glass bottles," he argues back, but it's weak. He grabs a washcloth, running it under the sink until the water gets warm.

"You're the one who's a frickin' monster in the sack, Pornyboy," Dean says, through the open door.

Sam grins a little, can't help it, twisting around in the bathroom mirror to see the cut bleeding sluggishly down his back. His hair's a wreck, sweat damp all over him, and now he gets another set of stitches, and Dean's probably going to make him clean up the glass, too. Beer and come and blood, all over.

"We're going to have to leave a hundred bucks for the poor maid," Dean says, echoing his thoughts.

Sam smiles, and squeezes the washcloth so it won't drip everywhere. When he comes out into the room Dean's sprawled back on the bed, one knee drawn up, shining in the lamplight, watching him. "Worth it," Sam says, shrugging.

Dean huffs, folding his arms behind his head. "It really was," he says, with a sigh, and then grins.

[warmdevs]

New Post has been published on https://warmdevs.com/visibility-of-system-status.html

Visibility of System Status

The first of Jakob Nielsen’s ten heuristics — visibility of system status — relates to so much more than user-interface design. At its essence, it is about communication and transparency, which are critical to many aspects of life. People strive for predictability and control, and, in most cases, more information translates to better decision making.

Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, take a few moments to look around and note the various types of systems around you, and how they communicate their current status. Your phone or laptop display how much battery life remains; your email application tells you how many unread emails you have; a sign in the subway indicates the next stop (or, if you’ve missed the last one, how many minutes until the next train arrives at the station). All these nuggets of information allow you to accurately assess the current state of the systems you interact with.

Definition: The visibility of system status refers to how well the state of the system is conveyed to its users. Ideally, systems should always keep users informed about what is going on, through appropriate feedback within reasonable time.

Knowledge Is Power

Only by knowing what the current system status is can you change it — that is, you can overcome the gulf of evaluation and figure out what you need to do next in order to reach your goal.

For instance, when you drive a car, you need to continuously see its speed to decide if you need to go faster or slow down. Those who have ever driven a car where the speedometer was broken can attest to the fact that it’s quite difficult. When this happened to me, I felt at the mercy of the cars around me, as I attempted to keep pace and blindly trust that they were going at a reasonable speed. A lack of information often equates to a lack of control.

Appropriate Feedback

Whenever users interact with a system, they need to know whether the interaction was successful. Did the system actually catch that button press or was it busy with something else and it ignored it? Did the item get added to cart? Did the request go through? (One reason users have these questions is that they have been burned before by technology that didn’t work properly. However, even when the happy day of bug-free technology arrives, people will still wonder if they really clicked or tapped correctly.)

Appropriate feedback for a user action is perhaps the most basic guideline of user-interface design. It serves to keep users informed of the current status and to allow them to steer the interaction in the right direction, without wasting effort.

Such feedback can be as simple as a change of color once the user has clicked on a button, or a progress indicator when a process needs a little longer to finish. These indicators communicate that the system is working, and reduce uncertainty — preventing users from, say, tapping the same button multiple times because they weren’t sure if the first time worked.

Changing the color and adding a checkmark to buttons on a selection screen communicates that the system has registered the user’s choices (left). Progress indicators reassure the user that a longer wait is normal, and that the system is still working (right).

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In this video clip from our mobile eyetracking study, the user has clicked on a button and is unsure whether a new page is actually loading because there is no feedback. The hollow red circle shows where the user is fixating on the screen. We can see that she looks back and forth between the button and the top of the screen, where a progress indicator for the page load typically appears, to assess whether anything is happening. (In most browsers, hover over the video to display the controls if they’re not already visible.)

Providing immediate feedback for interactive events allows users to quickly identify the source of errors and fix them as soon as they were made. In fact, immediate feedback is one of the main benefits of direct manipulation, an interaction style in which users can act directly upon different UI objects. In contrast to direct-manipulation UIs, command-line interfaces do not display the current state of the system, nor do they give immediate feedback. Programmers know how difficult it can be to locate the source of an error in an interface which lacks immediate feedback; they often have to resort to tools such as breakpoints and stepping to understand how the state of the system changes with each action specified in their code.

Do you want your users to feel like they’re using DOS or Unix? The real difference between these ancient command-line UIs and modern GUI designs is not the presence of colorful icons. It’s visibility of system status.

The Amazon Music app on iOS allows users to directly manipulate the order of items within a playlist. Users are aware of the system status at all times, and thus can easily identify and correct an error.

Even when users cannot see the effect of an action because the system does not have a screen (like is the case for voice-only devices such as Amazon Echo and Google Home), a minimum feedback that the command was heard is essential. Amazon’s Echo displays a ring of light on the device to indicate that it is currently listening or working on the command. This on–off type of indicator isn’t as good as a running timer, for example, but at least the user can be assured that the system heard the command and the timer was set in the first place.

Compel Users to Action

Modern systems are often complex, and it is unreasonable to assume that all the variables that describe the state of a system can be communicated to the user. Many backstage components, such as what JavaScript files are downloading and executing to make a site work, are of little interest to users. Yet, occasionally backstage aspects can actually play an important role frontstage.

Take, for instance, the case of inventory size. How much stock is available for a product is usually not relevant to users and should not be displayed. Yet, there are two exceptions:

When the stock is low: If people know that there are just a few items left, they are more likely to act immediately — following biases such as scarcity and social proof.

When there are no items in stock: This information can save the users the effort of trying to add to cart products that are no longer available. (Losing the immediate order is preferable to losing credibility for future orders, which will never be placed if users feel that they cannot trust you.)

The J.Crew site displays a notification that there are “Only a Few Left!” when the user moves the mouse over low-stock sizes of a product. Some sizes are already sold out, and thus shown crossed out in light gray.

Communicating how far away a user currently is from qualifying for free shipping or another type of deal can also encourage additional purchases.

NatureBox.com: A banner across the top of the page communicates how much more money the user needs to spend to qualify for free shipping.

To communicate backstage events that may impact users, you can use either notifications or indicators. Modal dialogs are also used to inform people of state changes that can significantly affect them.

Communication Creates Trust

When, in a real-life relationship with a person, that person withholds information from us or makes decisions unilaterally, we start losing trust and feel that the relationship is no longer on equal footing. The same thing happens when we interact with a system.

When we understand the system’s state, we feel in control — we can rely on the system to act as expected in all circumstances. The predictability of the interaction creates trust not only in the mechanics of the site or the app, but also in the brand itself.

Sites and apps should clearly communicate to users what the system’s state is — no action with consequences to users should be taken without informing them. When an external event or the passage of time caused a change in the state of the system, explain it in brief but understandable terms.

For example, what should happen when a user revisits a previously created wish list that now contains items that are out of stock or no longer sold? The worst user experience would be if those items simply disappeared from the list, with no explanation why. How about a notification at the top of the screen? This would be only slightly better because it would not help the user remember what items had previously been on the list to find suitable replacements. Both of these methods take control away from the user and degrade trust — users may stop relying on the wish list if the items in it sometimes disappear on their own.

A better way to build trust is to explicitly communicate the current system’s status — which items are no longer available — and then allow the user to either remove them from the list or keep them visible for future reference.

Loft.com continues to display out-of-stock items in wish lists, with appropriate messaging to communicate the status of the item to the user.

Conclusion

The visibility of system status is a basic tenet of a great user experience. At its core, this heuristic encourages open and continuous communication, which is fundamental to all relationships — whether with people or devices. Users who are uninformed about the system’s current status cannot decide what to do next in order to accomplish their goals, nor can they figure out if their actions were effective or if they made a mistake. Don’t blindfold your users!