#but if there was ever any cat that could live and thrive without a brain in their thick skull it’d be Bernie

[lactosegremlin]

Please enjoy this email exchange with my data analytics instructor this morning.

[ppersonna]

make me - myg | m

strawberries on a summer evenin'. baby, you're the end of June. i want your belly and that summer feelin', getting washed away in you - watermelon sugar, harry styles

↳ summary- an ordinary sleepover with your best friend turns into anything but ordinary, thanks to your ridiculously loud neighbors above you.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+ / nc17

↳ word count- 4.4k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre-  pwp lol, smut, fluff, somehow the dirtiest fluff i have ever written bc there’s some depraved shit in here

↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), unprotected sex (dont...pls), dirty talk, rough sex, degrading talk, dom/sub undertones, bratty backtalk

↳ a/n- yooooo dawg this... was fun.  i hope you enjoy!!  ive been in my yoongi feels lately uwu. feel free to comment, message, dm, whatever u want babes.  i love you!

Yoongi thinks if he has to hear your upstairs neighbors fuck for another minute longer he might actually go crazy.

It’s been hours now.  The girl is screaming like a feral cat and the man is doing a terrible impression of a porn star, trying his best to talk dirty but really just calling the howling banshee awful names.  

If only his dick would be as annoyed as his brain.

He knows you’re awake next to him too.  The steady rise and fall of your breathing changed when the bad porn above you began—now it’s faint and too quick to indicate anything but your wakefulness.

“Ohhhhh oppa!” The girl above you screams.

It’s finally what breaks down the silence in your bedroom.  At her wanton sound, you and Yoongi are unable to stop yourselves from bursting into laughter.

Yoongi’s stomach hurts from laughing so hard.  Tears form at the corners of his eyes as you make the bed rumble from the force of your combined laughter.

“God, do they think that sounds hot?” You finally ask after settling down to mere giggles.

Yoongi shrugs and wipes away his tears. “Apparently.  He must like the way she sounds like a dying cat.”

His comment sends you into a spiral of laughter again, and you’re clinging to your chest as it heaves with exertion.

Yoongi is your best friend for a reason.  No one makes you laugh as hard as he does.  No one understands you the way he seems to be able to—it’s almost intuitive the way he can understand your feelings.  

You live for your weekly sleepovers.  You drink wine, watch terrible horror films, gossip about your other friend’s love lives, and fall asleep in your bed together.  It’s never been anything but blissful.

Until recently…

When your heart decided it would beat too fast around him.  When your brain decided to spin and weave stories of romance with your best friend.

Now, you can’t hardly think about anything else around the dirty blonde haired boy.  It’s overwhelming to all of your senses when you see him, feel him near you.  You want to kiss him, to love him, to tear his clothing off.

Which makes lying in your full size bed while the neighbors above you fuck and attempt to act out their wildest fantasies—badly—so much harder than usual.

“God,” Yoongi sighs and tugs the blanket up to his chin. “Does she even like it or do you think she’s faking it?”

You wrinkle your nose in disgust. “Ugh, I know I wouldn’t be into it.”

“You don’t like dirty talk?” He teases with a poke to your stomach.  It makes an eruption of nerves go off in your chest.

“Oh, no I do. But that’s not dirty talk,” you shrug. “He’s just being mean. There’s no sensuality underneath it.”

He hums and lays back down to stare at the ceiling.

“Give me an example,” he asks of you. It makes your cheeks flush red and you’re thankful for the darkness in your room to provide you cover.

“Um, well,” you cough awkwardly. “He’s saying shit like ‘you fuck anything don’t you?’ which, maybe she’s into degradation, but I’m not. Not that extreme.”  Your explanation sounds lame, but you continue anyway. “I prefer to hear things like ‘this slutty little pussy belongs to me’.  Possessive and hot at the same time without being too...uhh...hurtful.”

Yoongi feels his cock rise with piquing interest. There’s a nagging guilt about thinking of his best friend this way, and a tinge of jealousy thinking someone who isn’t him has said that to you.

He feels his throat dry up, and you wring your hands nervously on the blanket. The moaning above you doesn’t stop, and you can hear the telltale sound of flesh slapping on flesh, indicating they’ve commenced into penetration and it makes your body throb with annoyance, and with want.

There’s moments when a louder slap echoes through the room—it’s clear the man is slapping her somewhere—and she whines desperately.  Your core starts building that familiar heat, a slickness gathering you can’t stop. You press your thighs together tight and squirm as subtly as you can. You pray Yoongi doesn’t notice.  

Yoongi, however, does notice.  He breathes a sigh of relief internally knowing he’s not the only being affected by the commotion above. But he doesn’t understand the meaning behind it. For all he knows, you’re just turned on because—well, because it’s sex and it’s loud and who wouldn’t be a little turned on? You’re likely not at all aroused by him, or the thought of him. Right?

Another slap echoes through the room and you can tell by the way the girl gasps that her partner slapped her in the face.

“Damn,” you shiver.  Yoongi turns to peek at you through the darkness.

“You into that?” He asks curiously. “Face slapping?”

It’s hard to swallow for a moment—it feels like you’re trying to down a boulder.

“Uh, yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, I like pain.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply and it makes you fear you’ve overstepped the line. You’ve gone too far off the ‘best friend’ track and the whole train is about to de-rail.

You’re opening your mouth to apologize for taking it too far when Yoongi finally speaks.

“Fuck it,” he sighs. “You want to fuck louder and establish dominance?”

The world stops turning.  You’re sure that gravity doesn’t exist anymore and the theory of relativity has been proven wrong.

Did Min mother fucking Yoongi, your best friend of over twenty years, just offer to have sex with you to...establish dominance over the neighbors above you attempting to make a cheap porn?

He’s looking at you normally, but there’s a glimmer in his eye that says more.  It says he wants you.  Your stomach twists in on itself.  There’s no way, there is no actual plausible way that the man beside you feels the same way about you as you do.

“You want to have sex with me?”

Yoongi’s cheeks turn pink and he looks away for a minute.

“I also want to date you,” he murmurs.  

If you thought the world ended before, you’re sure this is the fiery explosion that brings a new earth into life with a bang.

The noises from upstairs interrupt the romantic moment with a scream, a guttural howl from the man, and then muffled whispers and sighs.

“What do you say we keep them up all night too?” His mouth turns to a smirk as he awaits your reply.

“Yeah,” you nod as you throw the blankets off you.  “Fuck those guys, lets show them what real kinky sex looks like.”

Yoongi’s eyes turn feral as he works his eyesight down your body.  Your normal sleepwear outfit of a tank top and shorts looks like lingerie to him now and he’s salivating at the way he can see the curve of your breasts, and the press of your hard nipples against the fabric.

You’re throwing yourself onto Yoongi’s body in an instant, pinning him down to the bed and pressing your lips to his.  You waste no time in waiting for him now that you know—now that you’ve heard with your two ears that Min Yoongi not only wants to fuck you, but date you as well.   No use wasting any more time—the time for action is now.

The kiss is hot and Yoongi’s hands falter for a moment in surprise before he’s coming to his senses and tugging at your tank top quickly to pull it off your body.  His hands feel hot on the bare skin of your back, rubbing at your spine and up to your shoulders.  It makes you shiver, and you slide your tongue into his mouth to explore the heat inside.  

His hands navigate forward to cup your breasts, fingers toying with your nipples—pinching and pulling and rolling between the pads of his fingers.  It has you keening into his touch and grinding down on his basketball-shorts-covered cock. 

Yoongi pulls away from you and pulls at a nipple harshly, which makes you gasp out loud.

“It’s real cute how you think you’re in charge right now,” he points out.  “Real fucking cute.  It’s gonna make me almost feel bad for punishing you.”

You’re sure your soul is going to leave your body at hearing your best friend’s sexy baritone voice verbalize your dirtiest fantasies.  If this is how you react now…, may God have mercy on your poor little pussy.

Yoongi thinks he’s possibly never been harder than he is right now.  His best friend, best girl, is sitting atop his boner and he’s twisting your pretty nipples so hard they’ll surely turn purple soon.  You sound so sweet when you whine, and you’re starting to whine louder as he continues the pressure on your tits.

“You thought you could take control, didn’t you?” He asks, slipping further and further into the dominant act.  He loves this, thrives off it.  He didn’t think you’d ever be into it—none of the girls he’s dated before have—and he’s thrilled he doesn’t have to hide this depraved part of himself.

You nod and bite your lip, wincing as he tugs once more on a nipple before letting go.

“Cute,” he sighs.  “But wrong.”

In an instant, he flips you two over and he feels his heart and cock swell at the sight of your sweet eyes widening at the quick change.  

“This feels better, don’t you think?” He asks.  You nod and he shakes his head.  “Answer me, baby doll.  You’re already about to get punished.  You wouldn’t want to make me not let you cum, would you?”

The fear in your eyes increases and you clear your throat to talk.

“No sir, I don’t want that.”  

Yoongi nearly moans.  Hearing you call him sir, being underneath him—it’s his wet dreams come to life.

“Then tell me,” he instructs. “Tell me you need me in charge.”

You’re dying to be a brat, really wanting to pull Yoongi completely out of his shell, show him the full extent of what he can do to you.  Plus, you really wanna give your neighbors a show—a taste of their own medicine, don’t you?

“What if I don’t want to?” You tease.

Yoongi’s grin turns wider and his eyes sparkle with knowing. He’s a through and through brat-tamer, and by the end of the night you’ll be crying for forgiveness.

“Little tease,” he growls as he leans down to latch his mouth on your abused nipple.  

You gasp out loud, and it turns into desperate mewling as his teeth nibble and pull.  You’ll be bruised up for days, surely.  He sucks hard, pulls on it roughly and bites with meaning. You just know your panties are completely soaked.

“Talking back to me, huh? You think that’s going to get you where you want to go tonight, little girl?”

He turns his attention to your other nipple, eyes peering into yours as you struggle to answer with the sizzle of pain in your breast.

“What are you gonna do about it?” You send back with a shake of your hips under him.

The growl he delivers around your nipple and the quick bite makes you yelp.

“I think I should shut that loud mouth of yours up.”

You smile in response and his fingers tug down your shorts.  You lift your hips and allow him to pull the clothing off and you’re left in your slicked up panties.

“Oh yeah?” You retort.  “You gonna shut me up with that fat cock?”

Yoongi visibly shivers. His spine tingles deliciously for minutes after the hair on his neck settles.  He’s dreamed of you like this, under him and begging to be put in your place.  And now, here you are.  And he can’t wait to make it a reality.  He’s even forgotten about the loud neighbors.  It’s now just all about you.

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Dirty little slut so horny to get her mouth on my cock.”

Yoongi allows a finger to trail down your clothed slit, and he outwardly groans at how wet you are.  You’re unable to hold back your whimpers of need—he’s so close to where you need him most and where you’ve dreamed of having him.

“You talk a big game for someone who’s drenched before I’ve even done anything,” Yoongi says with a smirk.

Your legs tremble as he pulls your panties to the side to expose your drenched folds. He dips a finger in and touches your clit. You moan in unison—he’s captivated by the heat and slick, you’re feeling air escape your lungs with every swirl of his finger.

“Y-Yoongi,” you whine.  He tsks and pulls his finger out.

“That’s not my name right now.” His hands start to slide your panties down and your stomach leaps with excitement.

“Sir, please.”

“Now you want to be my good girl?” He asks with a chuckle. “Where’s my mouthy little brat who wants my cock to shut her up?”

He leans back on his heels and watches you eye him. You’re nearly bursting at the seams. You’re naked while he remains completely clothed and while you’d normally feel exposed and vulnerable, all you feel is white hot heat. You’re burning for Yoongi, for him to do what you’ve dreamt he could do.

“Why don’t you show me what that sweet mouth can do?”  

He maneuvers to stand at the side of the bed, dick straining against the mesh of his shorts. He waits for you to sit up, which you wordlessly obey.  His cock is now eye level with you, and your mouth feels dry. You’ve dreamt about this dick, about what it looks like and how it would feel in your hand, inside you. The fact that you’re here now, about to find out all your secret fantasies is heady.

Your hand rubs at the straining material, over the thickness of his cock. He feels big, and you give it a squeeze which makes him hiss.

“Still being a tease,” he sighs with faux disappointment. “You’re in a precarious position to be such a little cocktease.  Might need to fuck that right out of you.”

It makes you whimper—his direct threats sounding like smooth promises going straight to your core.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Yoongi growls and grabs a bit of your hair, tugging your head back to look at him in the eyes.

“I think you should shut this fucking mouth up.”  His voice is dark, and his eyes glow with lust.

A grin pulls over your face as you gaze sweetly up at him—his hand still gripped tight in your hair.

“Make me.”

Yoongi is silent for a moment as he stares at you in wonder—his beautiful girl, so rebellious and yet so willing to comply.

“I fucking love you, you little fucking slut.”

Yoongi forces his shorts down and grips your chin, holding it hard in his hand.

“Now choke on my fucking cock.”

You open your mouth complacently and he wastes no time in shoving his entire length down your throat mercilessly.  

It’s hot. It feels like fucking heaven.  Your lips wrap around him and suction and he can feel your gag reflex straining against his tip at the back of your throat.  Yoongi thinks his entire spine is tingling with desire for you and the way you take his cock so well has his toes curling.

You didn’t even get to have a good look at Yoongi’s cock before it was shoved into your throat, but now that it’s there you don’t even need to see it to knows he is fucking thick and long. It stretches your mouth and you know your pussy will be taken to its limit when he finally buries himself inside you where he rightfully belongs.

“Can’t talk back now, can you?” He teases as he begins to fuck your throat. “Mmmm shit—, you suck my cock so fucking good.”

His words are nothing but encouragement for you and you fight back the growing discomfort in your throat and allow him to use it as he pleases.  Tears form in your eyes and slip down your face at the exertion and you soon feel his balls slap at your chin.  You’ve only fantasized of being used like this by Yoongi, and now it’s actually fucking happening.  You’ll be damned if you don’t give him the suck of a lifetime.

Yoongi thinks he’s staring into heaven as he fucks your tight mouth and watches as your eyes fill with tears.  They leak out and he knows you’re loving this just as much as he is by the palpable enthusiasm you accept his cock with.

“Look at my little brat,” he coos mockingly. “Not so big and brave now, are you?  Not with daddy’s cock wrecking your hot mouth.”

He picks up the pace and the sounds turn disgustingly lewd.  It’s a wet, slurping sound as Yoongi forces his cock in and out of your drooling mouth.  Saliva drips onto the bed below you as you take him all, never given a chance to breathe or swallow.  Yoongi takes and you selflessly give. You’d allow the man to split you in half—and you’re actively hoping he does just that tonight.

Suddenly, Yoongi is pulling out of your mouth and leaving you panting and keening for more. He grips his cock with a fist.  He strokes himself roughly and looks down at you.

“Gonna cum, baby girl. Fucking beg for it.”

Your hands grip at his thighs and you’re breathing hard to catch up on the oxygen you were denied.  But it doesn’t stop you from doing exactly as he orders.

“Please, daddy. Please cum on my face.  Let me taste your cum, I want to know what you taste like.  Cum on me.  Mark me, daddy.”

Yoongi whines and increases the speed of his pumps. His mouth falls open as he watches you pout so sweetly and wait so eagerly for his seed on your face. He wants to see your entire body covered in his cum and he plans on ensuring that happens sooner rather than later.

“My eager little bitch. Wants her daddy to mark his territory.”

You nod, tongue sticking out and wagging like a dog for his cum.

“Please, daddy.  Make me messy.”

It seems to be the secret password to Yoongi’s climax. Your desperation, your eager position, the way you beg so sweetly.  It sends him right over the edge and he cries out as his cock pulses white stripes over your pretty face.  

He wishes he could take a picture of the way his cum covers your face.  He’d make it his background photo so he could see it every day, show everyone around him the gorgeous little whore he gets to cum on every night.

“Shit, babygirl,” he groans as he attempts to catch his breath.  “Look at you.”

You smile as your tongue retreats into your mouth and you savor the drops that landed on your tongue.  Your eyes close in bliss as you enjoy the flavor, noting it tastes salty and sweet and you can’t wait to reacquaint yourself with the taste over and over again.

“Lay back,” he orders as he pushes his shorts all the way off.  

In his haste to fuck your throat, he only pushed them halfway.  He slips out of them and pulls his shirt off before he joins you on the bed.

“Let me drink this cunt.”

You whimper in agreement as you press your back in to the pillows and spread open your legs.

“Please, daddy.”

He grins as he lowers himself to lie between your legs.  He blows on it, cool air pushing over your folds chilling you.

“Fuck,” he sighs.  “Greedy little cunt wants it all, hm?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“So compliant for me now,” he whispers as he kisses your thighs. “I like it when you behave.”

He kisses in further, and soon he’s using his fingers to spread apart the folds and pressing the flat of his tongue to your clit and laving it over the aching nub.

“Holy shit,” he groans as he comes up and sucks his tongue back into his mouth.  “Sweetest little pussy.”

You can’t reply, the capability to speak has left you now.  He buries his face back into your cunt and gets to work.  His tongue starts flicking against the bundle of nerves and then dips down to fuck into your channel.  He works his tongue around you and your back arches off the bed and your heels dig into the mattress.  You seek purchase in his hair with your hands, digits gripping at the blonde locks between your thighs.  

Yoongi groans and moans into your cunt, and soon he slips two fingers in to fuck you roughly.

He pulls his lips away and licks his tongue over them to collect the slick that lingers.  His fingers maintain a quick pace and he drinks in the sight of you gasping at the stretch.

“Yeah, look at you take my fucking fingers.  Such a wanton little whore for me.”

He slides another finger in to join, then another, and it makes your cries echo loudly around the room.  He suddenly remembers the neighbors above you and smirks.  He pulls his hands from you, making you keen with desire and desperately beg for more.

“Daddy! Please, I need..” you gasp. “Need you!”

He pulls himself up to join your hips together and rolls his them against each other.  His cock rubs against your soaked pussy and he bites his lip at the feel of it getting slicked up.

“I want you to be nice and loud for me, baby girl,” he demands sweetly in your ear as he licks the shell.  He notes your shiver and smirks, before kissing your ear lightly.  “Tell those mother fuckers upstairs who’s going to take you to Hong Kong.”

“Yes, daddy,” you agree.  

It only takes the consent to leave your lips for Yoongi to spear his cock into you.  He’s not slow or gentle, he pushes it into the hilt immediately.

Yoongi meant to start a pace, to begin fucking into you mercilessly, but he’s frozen inside your tight heat.  You feel so good, so fucking tight and warm and wet for him.  It’s better than heaven, and surely better than any pussy he’s been inside before.  Maybe it’s because it’s you, and no one else.

“Fuck!” He gasps. “Holy shit I could cum right now.”

You whine and move your hips desperately.

“Fuck me daddy! Fuck me hard, please!  Use me like your little cock sleeve.”

Yoongi bites his lip and feels his cock pulse.

“Shit, you’ve got a dirty fucking mouth,” he grits. “Let’s see if you’ve got a dirty little pussy too.”

He sets a pace, desperately wills his cock not to cum yet.  He wants to fuck you senseless, until your eyes roll back in your head.  He’s gonna make sure you get off on his cock before he comes close to his end.

Yoongi grips your chin again, like he did at the beginning as he fucks into you roughly.

“Look at you take my fucking cock so deep,” he bites out.  “Your cunt is so fucking desperate for my fat cock, isn’t it? You need me to fuck some discipline into you.”

You’re nearly screaming now at the force of his thrusts.  He’s pushing all the way into you with each push and his balls smack against your ass deliciously.  You’re babbling, words unable to make sense as he fucks all the brain cells out of you.

“Dumb little cock slut,” he whispers as he leans down to suck a nipple into his mouth and bite at it before releasing it  “Little brat turns into a perfect little fuck hole for me, so fucking good for me.”

“Yes, y-y-yes baby! S-so close!”  

Yoongi’s had you near the verge since his oral, and now with his punishing pace and power in his driving hips, you’re hovering over the edge.

His hand drops down to rub at your clit, a circular motion that has you gasping and screaming his name.

“That’s fucking right,” he breathes. “Tell them, baby.  Tell them who’s got the best fucking cock.  Tell them who fills this pussy up so well.”

You’re eager to comply.

“You, daddy!  Fuck!  You feel so fucking thick in me.  I need your cum, please, please.  Cum on me.”

Yoongi feels his balls tighten impossibly--he knows he’s seconds away from an explosive orgasm.

“Cum on my cock, baby girl.  Let me feel you cream my fucking cock.  Wanna see you all over this fat dick.”

His free hand tugs at a nipple and pulls it punishingly, tugging it so far it pulls the skin around it.  Your screams light up the room, echoing and bouncing off the walls and surely traveling up to your neighbors bedroom.

“Yoongi! Fuck! I’m cumming!” You warn, a millisecond before your world crashes around you.  

Your cunt squeezes his cock so tightly that it causes his hips to stutter in their pace.  It grips him tight, angry like a squeezed fist and Yoongi feels the air get sucked out of his lungs as his climax follows directly after yours.  He didn’t even have a chance to pull out--he’s emptying his load into your womb and whining at the feeling of your pulsating walls milking every single drop greedily.

It’s several minutes later that you’re both caught up to normal breathing and resting beside each other on the bed.  The room is silent, save for little pants and breaths, and Yoongi reaches over to lace his fingers into yours and hold your hand tightly.

“You wanna date me?” He asks sweetly, as if his cum isn’t dripping out of your cunt as he speaks.  

It makes you laugh.  It’s so classically Yoongi that you can’t help but to laugh.  

“Yes, daddy, I want to date you.  I want to date you every single day.”

He pulls you into his embrace and kisses at your forehead.

“Maybe we should send your neighbors some flowers for getting us together,” he teases.

As if on cue, the all too familiar sound of skin slapping against skin and screeching moans comes from upstairs and plays through your apartment like an unwanted jukebox.

“God damn it, our plan backfired.” he grumbles. “I think we turned them on.”

You press your sticky, sweaty body against him and kiss at his lips.  Your hand sneaks down to his cock and grips it again, begging it to come back to life.

“Shall we try again, then?”

[peachyteez]

angel nurse ≫ DAY THREE, LEAP OF FAITH

this fox hybrid was brought into the recovery facility covered in scratches, whip marks, blood, and every other injury you could imagine. due to this, yeosang has trouble trusting humans, as he was afraid they could just hurt him all over again. until he meets jiyu, his “angel nurse”.

PART OF THE HEAVEN SERIES.

✧ taglist: @defsoul15, @jaeminpeachy, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4, @t-tbinnie, @chanyeolol, @danibookmarks, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @alienmashup, @panini, @moon8894, @koasworld, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha, @treasure-hwa, @etherealbyeol, @hwaseongzzz, @lovely-sanie, @orbitiiny, @pirate-of-the-dark-seas, @babydolljo, @ms-starlight, @everrrlasting, @bls-luv-me, @atzgiggle, @arohabyeol, @rainbowmagicpixecorn, @soverystupid, @ayetothezee, @kingalls00, @sanstreasure0305, @sparklingmallow, @peachseok

✧ notes: seojin is a made up character! refer to the following to maybe play a little game? ⬇️

if you can guess who i visualized seojin as, there may or may not be a little surprise :)

hint: i visualized him off a webtoon character!

hint: said webtoon has to do with vampires

there’s also a small description of him in the story 👀

back。| next。

yeonjun pinched his nose bridge as he tried processing his dear best friend’s words. “so how do you plan on helping him recover if...you’re not going to see him in person?” he asked. 

jiyu bit the inside of her cheek in thought. “i haven’t figured that out yet. but i don’t think it’s a good idea for him to be exposed to human interactions yet. he seemed so closed off and unwilling to cooperate when i came in yesterday.” she said.

“but do you really think he’ll warm up to people when he’s in there by himself?” yeonjun asked. “it’s not like he'll magically—”

“i know, i know,” she groaned before running her hand through her hair. for once, she was stumped on what to do. she didn’t want to force him to break his walls down, but she didn’t want to leave him alone for too long. 

“maybe i can ask taehyun to talk to him?” yeonjun offered. “he told me they’re friends.”

she shook her head. “i don’t want to make it look like we’re using his friends to have him cooperate. if anything, it could push him further into his shell.”

yeonjun quietly chuckled before ruffling her hair. “well, seojin checked up on him earlier and he looked to be okay. physically, he looked to be recovering from his injuries, but he looked to have a lot on his mind, according to seojin anyways.” 

seojin was one of the hybrid assistants that the facility employs to help patients settle into their new, temporary living space. jiyu remembered him; he used to be one of her former patients before getting adopted by a new family. after settling in, he decided to return to the facility as a caretaker assistant. coincidentally, he was assigned as jiu’s hybrid assistant. small world.

“is that so...?” she mused. “where’s seojin? i might ask him a few questions.”

“last time i saw him, he was in the break room.”

making a beeline for the break room, she saw the familiar tabby hybrid sitting and sipping at his milk carton. 

“oh? miss jiyu! it’s been a while,” seojin greeted as jiyu took the seat across from him. jiyu did a double take at how much he had changed compared to the last time she saw him. he was no longer a small, frail tabby cat hybrid; he now looked to be thriving, buff might she even add. he even dyed his hair red, although a bit darker than mingi’s.

“why does no one ever listen to me when i tell them to drop the ‘miss’?” she playfully groaned.

“sorry, force of habit,” he chuckled, referring to his time spent under her care. “but what’s up?”

“you checked on the new fox hybrid this morning, right?” she asked. 

one of seojin’s ears twitched as he tilted his head. “the grumpy one? then yes, i did.”

“you say that as if you weren’t grumpy yourself,” she wryly commented with a chuckle. “i had enough scratches to tell.”

he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “anyways, yeah, i checked up on him this morning. poor guy seemed lost in his own thoughts. he spent most of the time looking out the window with this distant look in his eyes,” he recounted. “i managed to get his name, though. it’s yeosang.”

“yeosang...” she said to herself. the name sounded so smooth as it rolled off her tongue. “is he...better?”

seojin pursed his lips. “i asked him if he was willing to let people here help him, but he seemed to shut down at the thought. but i gave him a small pep talk, too so there's maybe a slim chance that his mind cracked a little.”

she thoughtfully nodded. “i can understand here he comes from though. being abandoned by people you love into a harsher reality is never fun. nor will it be easy to forgive,” she mindlessly commented. “but i need to check up on him sooner or later, i can’t just leave him in there by himself for who knows how long. i just...don’t know how to approach him,” she said, wracking her brain for any new ideas. 

“maybe you just need to show him like how you did with that tiger hybrid. hongjoong, i believe was his name? during my visits with him, i saw how he changed after each day,” he said. “coming from a hybrid that was treated here, we all come in a little skeptic and hesitant about accepting help from humans, when they were sometimes the root of our problems and why we ended up here in the first place. but you all never gave up on us, and still treated us with care and kindness. it may be part of your job description but we all still appreciate your efforts since we never received much prior to being here.”

jiyu was touched by his words, and also found solace in them. she was glad that majority of the hybrids found comfort and love here. after all, that was the primary goal of their recovery process: to accept a helping hand from their caretakers, form a trust connection with them. “...i’m glad to hear that.”

a small grin was plastered on seojin’s face. “what i’m trying to say is, yeosang might be a little bit more closed off than the others, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t yearn for love and kindness like the rest of us.” finishing his milk, he stood up to throw the carton away and leave. he bent down and booped his head with her’s, giving it the smallest of nuzzles. “i’m sure your hybrids won’t appreciate my scent on you, so take this small nuzzle and good luck!” he childishly grinned before leaving the break room. 

watching the tabby cat hybrid leave the room, she chuckled as she watched his tail sway back and forth before she was left alone with her own thoughts. “in a way, i guess he's right...she mused to herself. “alright then, i’ll pay him a visit tomorrow,” she promised herself, the plants by the windowsill being her only witnesses. with the promise, she left the break room to return to the office. as she passed by yeosang’s room, she resolved her promise again.

in his room, yeosang was curled up in the hospital bed as he replayed the conversation he had with seojin a few hours before. 

“will you be willing to allow the people here to help?” seojin asked as he joined yeosang by the window, looking out at the different hybrids wandering around with their caretakers. 

yeosang was silent. he still didn’t know if he could take another potential betrayal. how would he end up? where would he end up? looking back down outside at the various hybrids, although he would never admit, he was envious of them. envious at how they were able to open up so easily to others, envious at how they were able to smile freely without a care in the world, and envious at how they managed to form a connection with other humans. 

seojin observed yeosang’s expressions and slightly smiled before returning his gaze back outside. “i was here once, too,” he admitted, earning yeosang’s attention. “and i had jiyu as my caretaker, too.”

yeosang remembered the female that came in the previous day and inwardly cringed at how awkward they regarded each other. 

“and i was like you, too. got hurt pretty bad by my old owners, not to mention other people when i became a stray. and not to mention i gave jiyu enough scratches for a lifetime,” he chuckled. “but she never gave up on me. she always came back at the same time, whether it be for medical checkups or just for a casual hello—”

“why are you telling me this?” yeosang quietly interrupted before feeling a sharp pain on his side. grimacing, he clutched onto his side and slightly bent over from the unexpected pain. 

seojin immediately helped him to sit back on the bed before checking his wound and changing the bandages. while preparing the cotton ball and tweezers for the ointment, seojin gently smiled. “i told you because i thought maybe it’d help you relax a little bit while being here,” he said before spreading ointment on yeosang’s gash. “maybe if you heard some personal experiences, maybe i can help you open up a little.”

after changing yeosang’s bandages, seojin started preparing to leave. “maybe give jiyu a chance. i can guarantee she won’t harm you. actually, she’s more prone to accidentally hurting herself rather than others,” he laughed. “see you tomorrow!”

and with that, the door slid shut behind seojin.

yeosang sighed, staring up at the rectangles on the ceiling. it was a constant game of tug-of-war in his mind. ‘yes, maybe she’s different and you can open up’ but also, ‘no, you’ve been through too much to risk it all again’. it wasn’t like he wasn’t taking seojin’s personal experience into consideration, it was just...opening up again was hard. 

how did others do it? how did they find it in themselves to be open and friendly with humans again, when humans were the reasons majority of them were there in the first place? 

either they have guts of steel, or i’m just a coward. he thought. but the scars and marks on his body were constant reminders of his old life. a life full of pain, anger, distress. fear. he never wanted to feel as much fear as he did ever again. 

but he realized that he would never be able to escape his bubble of uncertainity if he just wallowed in it. if he continued to stay how he was, he would never break the cycle of doubts.  

taking a deep breath at his revelation, he closed his eyes and steeled his nerves, making a promise to himself.

i’ll take the leap of faith. whether or not it turns out well, that’ll be fate's decision.

[selene-tempest]

How to care for your John Tracy

So, you want to get a John?

Before deciding that a John Tracy is the one for you, you must first realise that they take a lot of specialist care, time and attention that you must be willing to put in if you wish to get the best out of your John.

When taking on a John Tracy one must approach as you would a feral cat, making no sudden movements, do not attempt to touch or grab on first meeting. Allow him to size you up, get used to your presence and approach in his own time and at his own pace.

This could take minutes, hours, days, weeks or longer, there is no set time frame in getting a John to trust you, it varies from person to person. You must be prepared for setbacks and times when it might seem like an impossible task. They require regular reinforcement of their socialising, lots of praise and quiet support.

If you do not have the time, patience or love to devote to your John then we suggest you consider adopting a different breed of Tracy, they are many and varied. For a readily sociable one we suggest you try a Scott or a Gordon, both of which are friendly from the offset and easily tamed with the offer of food.

If a quieter Tracy is still needed but one that is less skittish than the John breed then maybe a Virgil is better suited to your situation. Or if you want one you can play with a lot, then an Alan would be perfect for you. A Tracy is a lifetime commitment so take your time in choosing the right one for you.

Personality traits:

If you do decided that the John is still for you then you will find that all the time and effort you put in is incredibly rewarding. Once you have proved yourself to a John you will find that it will go from a hissing, trembling, retreating ball of anxiety to a purring, snuggling pussy cat that is happy to cuddle for as long as you wish and is, in general, a pretty laid back, chilled addition to your life and household.

Contrary to popular belief a John Tracy is not an antisocial being, this is misinformation that has been circulated due to their quiet nature and contentment in their own company. A John Tracy is by nature actually an asocial introvert (see below pictures).

Once your John Tracy is used to you and has adapted to your ways he will be the most loving, wonderful, affectionate, caring, engaging, sweet, adorable, funny and friendly creature in the world. When he is allowed to do so on his terms in a way that makes him feel safe and secure, of course.

A John Tracy does not hate people or dislike interacting with them, he simply does not do well in crowds and social situations in which he is not prepared or comfortable. Then he may feel overwhelmed and react in a way that society sees as negatively, although for a John social anxiety is perfectly normal and acceptable and should be treated as such. A John is perfect as he is.

Your John Tracy requires a safe and secure place that he can retreat to when feeling overwhelmed or over stimulated, but on the whole, if allowed to come out of his shell and interact without being pushed, forced or tricked he will be perfectly content. John's need positive reinforcement, kind words and to be made to feel secure and loved from the start, this is the only way to bond with one.

A John Tracy is a devoted, loyal and loving creature that is known to mate for life, as do most other breeds of Tracy. A Tracy is a delightful companion that you will not be able to live without once you have one.

Unfortunately, many people will just not work out with a John Tracy, the very reason that so many varieties of this breed are left abandoned in space stations around earth's orbit.

Many see them as hard to socialise and grow impatient with their John, wanting him to act a certain way in a certain length of time, none of which is conducive to a happy and healthy John.

This is often seen as a fatal flaw in the John breed of Tracy, but many John enthusiasts insist that that is part of their attraction. The introverted tendencies of the John is in no way a flaw, it is part of what makes this particular breed of Tracy so special and so desirable to the right person.

John's make very good companions and they are well worth the additional effort that you will have to put in.

Feeding:

John's are not demanding in the food department and you will have to be prepared to offer food at regular intervals as they hardly ever seek it out for themselves.

Your John will try to exist on a diet of bagels and cheeseburgers but this is not good for them and, as much as they may protest or go on hunger strikes, you must continue to offer them a variety of options in your quest to ensure they eat enough to survive.

The same rules apply to keeping them hydrated, they will naturally gravitate towards coffee and occasionally water but they need to include fruit juices, herbal teas and the occasional meal replacement if they have been in a particularly stubborn mood, which they are regularly inclined to slip into.

Nothing is more stubborn than a Tracy breed and the John is one of the worst.

Exercising:

Your John will take care of itself in the exercise department although, once bonded to their person, a John will often try to entice you, or can be easily tempted itself, into playtime and physical activity.

When left to its own devices a John Tracy will spend many hours running, either outside in nature or indoors on an exercise ring. This helps to keep them healthy and fit for their jobs, for all Tracys are working creatures, all highly trained in their fields.

A John will also enjoy playing in water, such as swimming or diving and some extreme sports if it sparks his interest as John's are very athletic and flexible.

John's not only require physical exercise but mental agility training too. They have a very active, inquisitive and engaging brain and enjoy problem solving, organisation and stimulating intellectual conversations.

John's like to work with their hands and are very good with computers and AI's but be warned, they are also very good at hacking and you will have very little privacy with a John in your life.

Housing needs:

You John will require extensive housing to stay happy and content. He will require not only the run of your house with the ability to explore every single inch of your property but also his own specialist housing.

John's require a lot of space, both in the social way, the physical way and the outer space way. Do not deprive him of these essentials.

He will require access to both indoor and outdoor housing of the tropical island variety as well as his own space station.

Now this might seem excessive but it is a necessary part of having a John. John Tracys require extended periods of time in Zero-Gravity in order to both thrive but also stay calm and in control. John's like to feel weightless and to indulge whenever the urge takes them so you will have to be prepared to spend large amounts of time without your John in attendance.

John's prefer quieter surroundings to noise and will often take themselves off to hide if they are over stimulated and surrounded by other noisy Tracy breeds. You cannot stop this, it is part of the John's nature and you have to accept this if you wish to have one of your own. Attempting to force a John into socialising when he does not wish to is an unpleasant, cruel and unfair action and should never be undertaken if there is any other option.

John's also require a number of soft surfaces on which to stretch out, relax and be quiet. John's seem to require very little sleep and are very active both in body and mind for long periods before they crash out completely and need time to re energise themselves.

Appearance:

John's come in a variety of Ginger and Blond colours and are on the taller end of the Tracy spectrum. Long, lean and sleekly muscled the John is a beautiful specimen of Tracy breeding and very pleasing to look at.

Their hair is of the softest quality and, when a John is relaxed and content in your presence, they often enjoy it being stroked and petted, this pleases them and helps them to stay calm and sleepy.

John's have arguably the prettiest eyes of any Tracy breed, although lovers of the Scott, Virgil, Gordon or Alan breeds will beg to differ saying that blues and browns are nicer.

John's sometimes have a questionable dress sense when allowed to please themselves but their standard blue is figure forming and pleasing to behold.

Petting and affection:

John's can be extremely affectionate when they feel comfortable with someone. It just takes them a long time to get there.

John's do not like sudden movements or to be grabbed or forced into affection by someone they do not know well and are not already comfortable with. Unexpected affection from someone that is not one of their chosen people will cause them to freeze like a fainting goat and adopt the tactic of play dead until the threat goes away.

But when a John is comfortable it very much enjoys attention, affection and love.

As mentioned above, John's are an introverted breed of Tracy and allowances have to be made for them. They do not respond well to being forced out of their comfort zones or into interacting when they do not want to.

When a John wishes to interact they will be friendly, approachable and funny. They will happily join in with family activities and events but be aware that they may require additional quiet time after to recharge. This is just the way of the John.

Additional tips and information :

-Respect your John's boundaries. They will make it clear with body language if they are comfortable or not even if they do not verbalise it.

-John's are sensitive and they will respond with sarcasm when they feel threatened or attacked.

-John's cannot be forced into anything they don't want to do. They cannot be moved if they don't want to move. They cannot be tricked or cajoled, they are too smart, give up now.

-John's love their family more than anything and are fiercely protective of them. Never get in between a John and another Tracy breed. You will come off worse.

-John's have a death stare that might actually kill you. You have been warned.

-John's are generally very sensible, until it comes to a challenge between other Tracys, they are extremely competitive creatures and nothing will stop them.

-John's are logical and organised.

-John's do not respond well to blackmail, trickery, deception or engineered situations.

-A John is perfect as it is, never try to change it or force it to be something that it isn't.

-Being socially avoidant is only one part of his personality and it's only when you take the time to get to know him that you will see the rest.

All in all, we can highly recommend bringing a Tracy into your life, they are wonderful creatures and well worth your time and energy. Just think carefully before you choose a John as they require the most love, patience and attention.

(John pic curtesy of @misssquidtracy)

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Addicted to You

Part II: All Along the Watch Tower

Summary/Reader’s Notes: In this part the boys head to Columbia to do some reconnaissance. They all find out why they are really there and as expected...Frankie does not handle it well. There will obviously be more ‘reader’ centric parts as time goes on. I thrive for your thoughts and comments. **Shout out to @rae-gar-targaryen​ for being an amazing person and helping me with translations. The italics are either Spanish, with the translations in ( ) or they are the boys talking over the coms as a reminder that they are spread out and not near one another--let me know if that reads okay or if there is a better way to do the Spanish/English in the paragraphs.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Pope’s sister!Reader Word Count: 5k (this is a theme...) Warnings/rating: R/18+ Language, derogatory language, STRONG kidnapping elements, blood, violence, execution/death, general Frankie DISTRESS. Angst, Bro Hugs, Man tears, TOM. (I am in pain after this. Please give me your feelings)

Part I 

MASTERLIST

Seventeen thousand dollars for one week of reconnaissance wasn't anything to shake a stick at. And Frankie was almost ashamed to say when Pope told them that was the initial pay out, they all jumped on it without knowing many details. Times were tough. Tom was going through a divorce, paying two mortgages, and scraping by as a piss-poor real estate agent. And in the words of Pope, the real crime was that he had been shot for his country five times and couldn't afford to send his daughters to college. Will was still giving pep talks, to kids barely old enough to drink, through the recruiting agency and traveled so much settling down and having a family wasn't an option. Benny was street brawling in a cage every Friday night for what he could make playing penny slots up at the casino. And Frankie--well, Frankie drifted from one job to the next, never having a job long enough to get basic health insurance and pay for anything that would help the nightmares he had every night. So, maybe it wasn't all that sad when the four of them jumped at the idea of making five figures for a week of work. 

They had each packed a bag and flown over the borde into Columbia where they spent the first day letting Pope show them around and talk about the terror that narcos like Lorea was unleashing on the country. He laid it on pretty thick when honestly, he didn't need to. They were already there. No backing out now. 

Somewhere on the outskirts of the city Pope had a storage unit that was basically full of everything they would ever need for recon work. They loaded up on assault rifles and ammunition, radio communication tools, med kits, binoculars and scopes, hell, he even had fucking night vision goggles for each of them. Pope tossed Frankie a bulletproof vest and he strapped it on, still looking at the impressive wall to wall unit of tactical gear. He knew he had been after Lorea for three years, but this was excessive, especially if it had all been paid for by the Columbian government. 

As far as the four of them knew, this mission was off the grid. Pope had cut a deal with local authorities and had intel that Lorea had about seventy-five million dollars of drug money holed up in the middle of the fucking jungle. If they decided to take the job after the recon, well, they got to keep twenty five percent of it. Frankie couldn't even begin to think what he would do with that kind of money. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something Pope wasn't telling them. He spent the majority of the first leg of the trip waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. 

“Holy shit,” Will whistled as Pope showed them the storage unit. “Where did you get all of this, man?”

“I told you,” Pope said, tossing a vest at the blond. “I’ve been after this guy for three years. The Columbian government is extremely motivated--if I say I need it, it shows up within a week or two.” 

Benny picked up one of the assault rifles and flipped it over in his hand, examining the mag chamber and nodding. “Must be nice.”

“Listen,” Pope stopped digging through the supplies and looked at them. “I need to know you guys are sure about this. Lorea isn’t in some hole in the jungle--it’s a mansion. We’re talking guards, barbed wire fencing, security cameras. That’s why the reccie is so important.”

“We get it, man,” Tom said holding out his hand. “It’s serious shit. Now give me my com.” Tom held out his hand and Pope put a radio and earpiece in his palm. And that was that. They were all in.

The next day the five of them were in the thick of it. Frankie moved slowly through the trees, big, lush green leaves slid along his arms and torso as he stepped carefully through the mud and sticks. His steel-toed boots were quiet enough for this terrain but he kept his eyes peeled for any trip wires or trigger cameras. 

Will walked alongside him, mirroring his footsteps with about ten feet between them as they swept a path towards the chain link fence that surrounded the perimeter. Pope and Tom had set up a vantage point on the hill, using binoculars to walk them through the path and tell them what they were up against. 

It was humid as fuck and his shirt clung to his back and he felt a bead of sweat start to drip down from the brim of his hat. As he smacked a mosquito off of his arm he remembered there was a reason he had moved back to Texas.

“What are we lookin’ at, Cat?” Tom said over the radio and his voice came clearly into Frankie’s ear.

“I got two guards by the south end.” He clicked the button on his headset and kept moving.

“Looks like I got one by the gate,” Will confirmed. “How reliable is this informant, Pope?”

“She’s good for her intel.” Pope answered simply.

Pope’s informant was a local, who apparently had been feeding him information off the grid for a ticket out of the country and a small cut of the money they recovered. Apparently she drove a van onto the base like clockwork to deliver loads of Lorea’s cash. Some of the guys, mainly Tom, figured the intel was bullshit and Pope was too trusting because he had most likely been balls-deep in this broad. But if Pope trusted her, then so did Frankie.

“Yeah, that means she’s smokin’ hot.” Benny said, from his spot on the north side of the Mansion. “Blonde or Brunette? I’m trying to paint a picture here while I sweat my ass off in these fuckin’ trees.”

“Fuck off,” Pope said flatly.

“Keep the radios clear, assholes,” Tom said with annoyance in his voice. “Focus.”

Frankie walked a few more feet, making sure he stayed in the cover of the foliage as he peered through the links. And clear as day he saw their first issue. A young girl, probably about ten years old, ran past one of the guards chasing after a soccer ball, before a young boy stole it from her and they ran back into the house. 

“Shit.” He cursed. “Pope, we got kids here. Does he have kids living here with him? Because if he does that complicates things and that is not what I signed up for.” 

“The family’s not the problem,” Pope’s voice came through his ear. “They’re the answer.”

“Why?” Frankie felt the anger in his voice but he couldn’t stop it. He did not sign up to hurt kids. Drug lords? Sure. Their guards? Absolutely. If it shot at him then he would shoot back--but kids did not fit that criteria. 

“Church.” Pope said like that answered everything and the rest of them waited in silence for him to continue. “Lorea is very devout. Every Sunday morning he sends three guards to the six AM service. When they get back, he sends the rest of the team with his family down to mass. That leaves him and three guards in that house. That’s our way in.” 

“Why would he do that?” Will said.

“Worried about someone taking his kids,” Pope shrugged. “And he never leaves his money.” There was a pause over the radio before Pope continued, “Plus--I don’t think he expects anyone to actually have the balls to try and rob him.”

“What does that say about us?” Will said, approaching the fence line and looking through a few of the slats. “Shit…”

“What do ya got, Will?” Tom said over the com and everyone waited with baited breath. 

“I got an execution about to go down.”

Silence was over the coms as they all waited to hear more details. Frankie lowered his binoculars and stepped carefully over the fallen branches on the forest floor. Once he was next to Will, he peered through the slats in the worn down boards that leaned against the fence. Sure enough, there were a handful of men on their knees in the dirt, burlap bags over their heads as one of Lorea’s henchmen pressed the barrel of a handgun to the back of their skull. 

“Fuck,” Frankie whispered, shaking his head. 

Will closed his eyes as the first shot rang out and the man at the beginning of the line fell to his knees in a splatter of his own blood and brain matter. “Not our place, man.” The blond whispered and he was right. Going in there to stop whatever was happening would do nothing but get them killed. 

That’s when they heard the screaming.

“No!” her voice rang out as another shot echoed in the courtyard of the mansion and the second hostage fell beside the first. "¡Pare! ¡Pare, por favor-- no hicimos nada! Déjame ir."  Maybe if you tried Spanish they would listen to you, but you doubted it. (“Stop! Stop--please, we didn’t do anything--let me go!)

Frankie felt his stomach drop to his feet. He knew that voice. He would be able to pick her voice out of a crowd anywhere. He had heard her happy. He had heard her sad. He knew the way she whispered sweet nothings in his ear. However, what he had never heard was the near hysterical level of fear that her voice held now. 

“What the fuck?” Will whispered as realization dawned on him too and the pair watched another of Lorea’s lackies pull you from the van screaming and kicking as hard as you could. 

Your blindfold had fallen off in the transport from the city to the jungle in the middle of nowhere and although your hands were still zip tied in front of you, that didn’t stop you from trying like hell to get away. The burly bald man that pulled you from the van wrapped a large arm around your chest and picked you up off the ground. You continued to scream as they shot another one of your crew in the execution line and finally your assailant put his hand over your mouth. 

“(Y/n)...” Frankie wanted to puke. Your screams cut through him like a knife. The physical pain he felt in his chest as he watched you with wide eyes was almost too much to bear. His feet started to walk him toward the gate before he even realized he was moving.

“Cat!” Will hissed, getting up from his hiding spot and grabbing him by the back of the shirt. 

“Let me go--” Frankie tried to shove him off, keeping his voice down as much as he could. His hands shook, his knees felt like they were going to give out, but he had to get to you. His body was moving faster than his brain was processing. Why the fuck were you here? Here of all places.

Will tightened his grip and pulled him back down to his crouched hiding position. “You walk in there now, you’re dead and so is she!” Will all but begged him to listen to reason. “I don’t know why she’s here but at least she’s alive.”

Frankie held his jaw tight as he looked at Will and then back to the fence. 

“Pope,” Benny said over the radio from his vantage point. “Did you know she was here?” 

The radio stayed silent. Frankie put one knee on the ground to balance himself. He bit his lip and nodded to Will. He would stay put for now. But if they tried to kneel you down in the execution line, he was going in--with or without the others. 

As the bald man put his hand over your mouth you did the only thing you could think of and bit down hard on his fingers, driving your heel backwards against his shin. He dropped you like you had burned him and you stumbled, catching yourself on your bound hands before getting back up and trying to run. 

“Cuca!” the man cursed, shaking his hand out and quickly lunging to grab you by the hair. When you tried to kick him again he spun you around and back handed you across the face.

You hit the ground hard, a small cry coming from the back of your throat as your face hit the dirt. You could already feel the twinge in your lip and taste pennies on your tongue as you spat a small bit of blood onto the gravel. Hoping that you could close your eyes and this would all have been a dream, that's what you did. The fucker had hit you hard enough that you coughed, a hollow ache settling in your chest as you fought to not let yourself cry. 

A smaller man exited the van and saw what was happening and slapped the bald lackie on the back of his head. "No dañe la mercancía!" (Don’t damage the merchandise)

"Esta puta necesita un bozal." The bald man spat back as he grabbed you by the hair and pulled you to your feet. (This bitch needs a muzzle)

“Lorea estará muy enojado…” The smaller man scoffed and waved off the bald man, heading back across the yard. (Lorea is going to be upset.)

Cunt. Merchandise. Bitch. Frankie listened to them degrade you and he felt the bile rise up in the back of his throat. He wanted to kill each and every one of them. No. Not just kill. He wanted to make them suffer. He wanted to smash that bastard's head against the bricks over and over until he could never lay another finger on you, or anyone else, ever again. He wanted to shove the barrel of his own gun inside that prick's mouth and pull the trigger until there was nothing left of his skull but a handful of teeth. 

Frankie started to move forward again and Will grabbed him before he could get more than a couple of steps. 

"Frankie!" He all but pleaded as Frankie tried to fight his grip with a grunt and they both struggled in the leaves. Will put his arms around the other man's shoulders in sort of a modified choke hold and kept him stationary.

"You gotta let me go man--they’re gonna hurt her." Frankie tried desperately. His throat was tight, his heart was pumping way too fast, he couldn't just sit here. "I have to go get her--"

"I can't do that, brother," Will shook his head and tightened his grip ever so slightly. "It's a death sentence and you know it. We gotta regroup. Come up with a plan. We'll get her--I promise."

Frankie watched helplessly as they took you inside the mansion and out of his sight. Two years. It had been almost two years since he had seen your beautiful face. Two years since that night after playing pool at that dive bar on the outskirts of Dallas. Two years since he had smelled your skin or tasted your lips and yet there you were--just as goddamn beautiful as he always remembered and he couldn't get to you. 

"Whatta ya want to do, Pope?" Benny's voice came over the coms and brought them all back to their present task. "You're running this shit show."

"Meet back at the trailhead entrance. We'll go over everything and come up with a plan." Pope's voice said much too calmly in response and Frankie hated him for it. 

He knew. He had known from the minute he showed his face back in Texas that you were here. He had lied to his friends and worst of all he had lied to Frankie. But why? Pope knew better than any of them how close Frankie was to you--that you were special to him. 

He jerked his arms free from Will's grasp and stood up. He wouldn't do anything rash, he needed time to think. Ripping his hat off and squeezing the bill in his hand he cursed quietly and ruffled his own hair furiously. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" He growled as he started back towards the rendezvous point, not bothering to look or even care where he was going. He ripped the com from his ear and let it hang useless from the collar of his shirt.

“We need to get the fuck out of this jungle.” Will watched him go and squeezed the button on his radio again. "Cat's not doing so hot, man."

"Yeah, no shit." Benny retorted. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Easy, smartass,” Will warned.

"Don't let him go in that house and blow our cover." Tom said, flatly. As if he really thought Will would be stupid enough to let such a thing happen.

"Way ahead of you." Will snapped back before getting up to follow his friend back through the trees.

---

The five of them drove from the mansion in silence. By the time the Jeep crawled its way out of the rough terrain of the jungle the sun had already set. Crickets were starting to chirp and a few fireflies speckled the tall grasses on the sides of the road as dusk took over. Will drove with Pope in the passenger seat and Frankie in the back, purposely putting distance between the two men for the ride to the small village that they were staying at. 

No one said anything until Will parked the car in the gravel in front of a dive bar and all four doors opened as they climbed out. Before any of them could blink, Frankie walked around the car and grabbed Pope by the lapels of his button up shirt and slammed him back against the side of the Jeep. 

“Fish!” Will said, but Pope held up his hand and waved the blond off as he winced. Frankie had had the entire drive to stew about this and he more than deserved whatever he had to say. 

“You knew,” Frankie grit his teeth and got close to Pope’s face. “You fucking knew she was here and you said nothing!” 

“Is that true, Pope?” Benny asked, sticking a cigarette behind his ear. 

“Yeah,” Pope whispered and nodded his head. 

“Why?” Frankie hissed and pulled him forward slightly, pushing him back against the jeep again, not bothering to be gentle about it. “Why wouldn’t you fucking tell us, man? Why wouldn’t you tell me??”

Frankie couldn’t keep his voice from cracking at the end and at this point he didn’t care. The thought of you in the hands of a Columbian drug lord was something he could barely fathom. Were you scared? Of course you were. Had Lorea let any of his guys touch you? Hurt you more than he had seen in the driveway? There wasn’t a way for him to tell you that they were coming to get you. You were alone--and he couldn’t do a damn thing. 

“I needed to know that you guys were in this because you wanted to be--not because you would feel guilty if you said no. This is dangerous. We have no support. No back up. No med e-vac. We are on our own.” He said each word pointedly, looking from Frankie to the other guys individually before back to the man in front of him. “I needed to know that you accepted that because you wanted to and not just because my little sister was in trouble.”

“Trouble?” Frankie, laughed bitterly and shook his head. “You’re something else, Santiago. A flat tire is trouble. Getting laid off is trouble--she could have been killed.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Pope bit back, finally raising his voice a little. “Do you think this has been easy for me? That’s (y/n) in there! I’m her brother! I’m the one that chose the dangerous career--she was supposed to be safe!”

“How long have you known?” Tom asked.

“A few days,” Pope said, quietly. “I knew she was in the area because we were supposed to meet up. When she never showed the locals said Lorea had ambushed a group of Americans--journalists, a couple doctors. I tracked the ping off of her cell for a day, but then I lost it. I knew he had to have her.”

“Goddamn,” Tom said, shaking his head.

“I knew I needed help,” Pope looked back up at them. “And if I use any of the guys down here, Lorea will get whiff of this thing and he will be gone--and so will she.”

“Whose money is it?” Tom asked and Pope looked at him with a carefully blank face.

“It’s complicated. You were paid through a third party LLC--”

“Ehhh, it’s not that complicated. A hundred thousand dollars for a recon--,” Tom said sarcastically. “Whose money is it, Pope?”

Pope sighed and shook his head. “It’s my money.”

“Hijo de puta,” Frankie cursed and let out a pissed off chuckle. (Son of a bitch)

“That doesn’t change anything!” Pope tried but none of them were having it.

“Of course it does!” Will said, letting his voice get louder for the first time that night. “You thought you had to pay us to--” He stopped himself and took a deep breath.

Frankie eased his grip on the other man’s shirt a little bit and bit his lip. His chest ached. His heart felt hollow between his ribs and he wished the rock that was sitting in his throat would go away and let him take a deep breath as well. 

“How could you think that we would have said ‘no’?” Will asked. “We care about her too--she’s your family.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you the truth!” Pope pointed at him and squared his jaw. “If it was personal you all would have followed me blindly and I needed it to be your own choice.”

“You’re an idiot, Pope,” Benny said less tactfully and Will elbowed him in the ribs.

Pope wasn’t listening to them. He was focused on his best friend and he said the only thing he could think of. “I’m sorry, Frankie.” He was sorry, more than he could express. He didn’t want to be doing this, to see the people he cared about most going through this shit-storm. But they were here and it was up to him to get everybody out safe. 

Frankie released him abruptly letting Pope fall back against the Jeep and leaving his shirt wrinkled from his white-knuckled grip. He shook his head and rubbed a large hand over his eyes and down his face. “I need a minute.” He kept his voice low, trying to keep his emotions at bay as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and walked off into the dark of the parking lot, focusing on nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other. 

The four of them were left in silence as they watched him go. 

“So, what about the money?” Tom finally spoke and Benny chuckled.

“Fuck you, man,” Will shook his head and fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ll go see if he’s okay.” He nodded in the direction Frankie went before walking away.

Pope rubbed the back of the neck and nodded. He looked back at Tom. “The intel on the money is still valid. Lorea is still running a fully operational drug business. It’s just an added bonus to if we can pull this off.”

“Good,” Tom nodded and crossed his arms. He jerked his head over towards the patio of the bar. “Come on. You owe us a drink and we need to come up with a plan.”

---

Frankie put the cigarette between his lips and flicked it to life with his metal lighter. He inhaled deeply, pocketing the metal square and closing his eyes to rub them furiously with the back of his hand. What was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to wait all night before they loaded up and headed out?

He thought about the last time he saw you. I missed you. He always missed you. The way you said his name, the way you smelled, the way your arms wrapped around his waist as you laid your head against his chest--he missed it all. 

“Shit,” he cursed quietly, moving the cigarette from his lips so he could wipe the couple of tears that had fallen off of his cheeks. 

“Cat?” Will asked, and Frankie stayed facing away from him.

“Yeah?” he said with a clearing of his throat, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all Will.

“You okay?” Will asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Oh, yeah,” Frankie nodded, taking another drag off of his smoke and blowing it back out through his nose. “I’m great.” His tone was hateful, but he couldn’t make it sound any other way and Will knew it wasn’t directed at him. 

“She’s gonna be okay, man--”

“Is she?” He angrily threw his cigarette onto the ground and twisted it under his boot. “How long have we been doing this? How long have we gone after guys like him?”

“Frankie--”

He took a step closer to Will and pointed his finger into his chest but Will stayed perfectly still. “Guys like Lorea do whatever the fuck they want until guys like us stop him. They take and they take and he has her! Why? Why did it have to be her?”

Will swallowed hard as he watched Frankie’s eyes get wider. It may have been the middle of the night, but the light of the crescent moon couldn’t hide the water that was pooling at the edge of his eyes. Will’s own heart broke for the desperate man in front of him. Of course he cared for you, too, but it was nothing compared to the torch that Frankie held for you. They all knew that. 

“What if he hurts her?” Frankie, dragged his hand down his mouth and rubbed his jaw, trying to steady his shaking words. “What if--”

“We can’t think like that. You cannot think like that.” Will shook his head and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We’re going to go in that fucking mansion tomorrow and we are not leaving without her. I promise you that.”

“What if he’s already killed her? And I never got to--” Frankie bit his lip and looked out into the street with a shake of his head. “And I never got to--” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t put into words all of the things that he never got to do when it came to you. And now, for the life of him, he could not come up with a single thing that was so important that it had stood between the two of you all of these years. He closed his eyes and fell silent, not even resisting when Will pulled him into a vice-like embrace and clapped him on the shoulder a few times. 

“We’re gonna get her back. And you’re going to tell her everything you’re thinking. Okay?” Will lowered his voice and squeezed Frankie’s shoulders in support. All Frankie could do was nod and hope he was right.

--

TAG LIST: Let me know if you want to be tagged or if I missed you!

@irishleesh93 @ripleyafterdark @lokiaddicted @winters-buck​ @stevieharrrr​ @zeldasayer​ @rae-gar-targaryen​ @thebakerstboyskeeper @bookshelvesandteacups @honestlystop @seawhisperer @huliabitch @phoenixhalliwell @roxypeanut @mrsparknuts @domino-oh-damn @wickedfrsgrl @cloud-of-roses @arrowswithwifi thinemineours @sgtpenny @xxlovingfandomsxx @scorpionsandhoney @honeybeeespeaks @lukesrighthand

[moons-and-stars-and-shit]

Hi a 🍰 pls?

Appearance: over 18, she/her, 5’3 115lbs hourglass figure, long wavy dark hair and hazel/green eyes. I like to wear makeup and experiment with colorful makeup and I have a edgy, sexy, chic style 🥀

Personality: ISTJ, Capricorn ☀️&🌙 Ravenclaw, Introvert, I am generally a very chill person, I do tease and am sarcastic but I try not to take it too far. Not necessarily the mom friend more like the annoyed aunt lol I tend to show affection like a cat kinda hot and cold but my love language is touch and action. Dry send of humor! I would say my worst traits are that I seclude myself when I’m upset and can be selfish/self centered, am a pro procrastinator and low-key like to complain/rant about things that aren’t a big deal 👀 THRIVE in quiet cozy place🍄

Other Facts: I rlly enjoy animals, (I adore my cat and aquariums, everyone should own fish they are the best🐠) gardening, baking, my eyeshadow is my creative outlet and I am almost always listening to music and will spend hours making playlists I like all genres with the exception of hardcore screamo, any country that came out after 2010 🎵 I work as a barista and in a greenhouse and don’t like driving, also like sweets, candles and perfume and I LIVE for cozy rainy days🌸

Relationship stuff: I would say I’m generally low maintenance in a relationship, we don’t have to spend every moment together but spending quality time is important. I can’t handle it when people get super emotional (like lose their temper or frustrated easily) I love cuddling and taking care of them,💙

Your blog is one of my favorites to follow, writing is top notch;)

@sarcasticjellyfish

Romantic Matchup

Iwaizumi Hajime

How Y’all Met

AHHHHGGGGGG

YALL HAD THAT CLASSIC BARISTA CUSTOMER LOVE TROUPE!!!!!

Ok...I’m calm now

So he would always came to the coffee shop where you worked

But he always came at the Exact. Same. Time.

E v e r y S i n g l e D a y

For one reason only...

You

He thought you were so beautiful!

And you always made an effort to talk to him

And even better

YOU MADE THE BEST COFFEE EVER

He swears you make it better than everyone else

But damn he could never find the balls to ask you out

Eventually word of Iwas little crush made it to Oikawa 👀

So what did he do?

Stalked you two of course 🙄

He put on his best disguise

Went to the coffee shop

And waited

Jesus he swears this was the SADDEST thing he’s ever saw

Why tf was iwa being so soft

And AWKWARD

After iwa left Oikawa went up to you

He basically told you that iwa had a crush on you but would never grow the balls to tell you

You liked iwa too so you concocted a plan...

The next day when iwa walked in he ordered his usual

You made it for him but instead of putting his name on the cup...

You put your number 🤭

Omg iwa turned RED

He stuttered out a thank you

Then left

Let’s just say you got a little date invite that night ;)

What They Love About You

He loves that you don’t need CONSTANT attention

Don’t get him wrong he loves you and would drop everything for you

But the fact that you guys can go a day or two without being with each other and it not affecting your relationship is comforting to him

He loves that you like to bake 👀

Now he himself isn’t that into baking

But he still likes the treats 😋

Bake the man some cookies 🍪

He’ll fall even more in love with you

He loves that you take care of him

Now iwa is very in tuned to his body

What it needs

It’s limits

All that jazz

But he can get carried away sometimes

And it’s those moments where you care for his overworked body and reprimand him for overworking himself

We all need that person to keep us grounded yk

UGH

I’m sorry but iwa tells dad jokes

So he loves that your humor is a little on the dryer side 😅

Favorite Things To Do Together

Honestly He LOVES when it’s pouring rain outside and he just gets to cuddle with you all day

It’s just so cozy and warm and quiet and ieufhfjrdj

He loves it

But besides from that he likes going on late night drives with you

Because every time you go for one you play one of the new playlists you made

And y’all just vibe all night

And finally

He loves to garden with you

He’s not the best gardener but he’s not half bad either!

He has a little cactus plant that’s his pride and joy 🌵

Random Hc

He’s your Uber

Ever since you two became a official couple...

He’s driven you EVERYWHERE

he also does that this where he turns the wheel with one hand

Pretty hot ngl

Iwa actually loves fishies!

So aquarium dates are a must

Iwa has a bit of a sweet tooth

So be careful with how many sweets you give him 👀

Every song iwa said he likes you’ve put on a playlist called “iwas Jams”

Astrology

If they’re operating from a base of love and mutual respect, they’ll be able to overcome most obstacles, but they must work hard.

Gemini must have freedom to think outside the bounds; they rely on their quick wits, humor and intellectual prowess to move through life at a fast pace.

Capricorn is concerned with advancement and status; they rely on following the rules and finding set, tried-and-true paths to follow toward success, no matter how long it takes.

Gemini likes to cut corners; Capricorn likes to be thorough.

These two Signs’ challenge as a couple is to learn to maintain a similar pace so they can arrive at the same place at the same time.

Capricorn is very unassuming and quiet, which stands out even more against Gemini’s outgoing, boisterous nature.

Capricorn tends to be slow, steady and stubborn while Gemini is flexible and tends to change their mind a lot.

Gemini has a quick brain that sees loopholes in an instant, while Capricorn is tough to convince that taking advantage of a shortcut is a better idea than following the well-mapped course that they know will ensure their success.

However, if these two can learn to understand and then implement one another’s approaches, they can achieve far more than they could alone.

Overall Aesthetic

Rainy Days 🌧

Someone to you - BANNERS

If the world was ending - JP Saxe

Happiest year - Jaymes Young

All of me - John Legend

[naralanis]

To learn to want (and to love)

“What is it that you want, exactly, Hermione?”

Hermione has to blink, bleary-eyed and not entirely alert. She’s been reading the same paragraph on Transfiguration Today for the past ten minutes or so, and her reading glasses are practically dangling off her nose she’s so out of it, so Ron’s question takes her by surprise.

“I--uh, what?” she stutters, pushing the spectacles up and turning to face him. The lamp on his side of the bed is still on, and it illuminates the circles under his eyes, his slightly receding hairline, and, most importantly, his frown.

“What do you want out of this, Hermione? We’re not--” the words seem to elude him for a moment, so Ron opts for just vaguely gesticulating around the space between them, a gulf in their bed that has been steadily widening for the past decade or so. “We’re just going through the paces here. What are we doing??” He finally huffs out.

It takes Hermione by surprise, but it also doesn’t. She’s not an idiot, she knew the signs were there; she had just chosen to ignore them because they didn’t necessarily bother her at all. She hadn’t thought they bothered Ron either, because he certainly never thought to bring them up -- not when the sex stopped, or when their casual, affectionate touches seemed to fizzle out, not even when they went most of their days not saying anything other than ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ to one another.

Maybe she had been a little too willfully ignorant.

She wants to answer him honestly, she does, but instinctively she knows that’s not exactly what he wants to hear. So Hermione shrugs  her shoulders and blows out a weary sigh.

“I’m not unhappy.”

Ronald visibly deflates, as she had predicted. He runs a hand over his hair -- it’s mussed and sticking out at all angles -- and he sighs so low and defeated Hermione can’t help but feel terrible about it. It isn’t his fault -- it isn’t hers, either, which somehow makes this worse.

His gaze meets hers and he looks so sad, but there’s a little smile tugging at his lips, like he’s trying to be happy for her sake.

“But you’re not happy.”

Well.

The divorce comes easier and quicker than anyone ever expected, and Hermione is simultaneously surprised and a little bit miffed that it doesn’t seem to catch any of their friends and family off-guard. Even Rose shrugged when she and her brother came by during Easter, saying something along the lines of “honestly, I saw it coming” and going back to her crème eggs.

Hugo, on the other hand, had been inconsolable and angry, and he unfairly directed all of that emotion towards his father, who did nothing more than take it and tell Hermione they would deal with it. Hugo returns to Hogwarts still acting a little cold, but he gives Ronald a hug at the platform and deep down Hermione knows they’ll be OK.

She lets Ron keep the house, because she never really felt any huge attachment to the place and knows he has some pride in the brick walls he erected himself, in the picket-fence he painstakingly paints over every summer or so. They still meet regularly for family dinners, they go out with their friends, and somehow it’s easy, like pressure had been lifted.

Ron helps her move into her new flat in the heart of Muggle London, grumbling all the way about the five floor walk-up where magic is not allowed. Rose enjoys the little reading nook Hermione made for her in her room, and Hugo thaws considerably at the brightly decorated bedroom full of Chudley Cannons posters.

It’s better, for them. Different, but better.

Hermione finds herself enjoying her work more. With no husband to come home to, and the kids away at Hogwarts for most of the year, she stays later, looking over complex runes and equations with more gusto than she’s experienced in years. She almost feels like a student again.

Sometimes -- when Ron goes on dates, or maybe when Ginny needles her enough after a round or three of Butterbeers at the Leaky Cauldron -- Hermione wanders if there’s anything she should be wanting. She’s content, she’s fine. She’s not exactly thriving, but she can’t figure out what on Earth she could possibly want, so she pushes it aside and laughs along whenever Harry jokes about her settling for things too easily.

It’s random and undeniably odd, when it happens. Hermione’s focusing hard on a tricky little rune she came up with while mildly intoxicated with Ginny last week, and now her sober brain cannot make heads or tails of it. She’s so entranced she misses the three insistent knocks, her door swinging open and a harried woman rushing into her office.

“Goodness’ sakes, Miss Granger! Hello!”

She jumps when a hand is impatiently waved right in front of her face, and then she almost falls out of her chair when she finally sees Narcissa Malfoy staring up at her. 

Hermione has no time for a greeting, because suddenly Narcissa tosses a loud, buzzing object at her and practically hissing as she speaks. “Please make this bloody thing stop!”

Hermione’s reflexes barely kicked in time for her to catch...

“Is this an iPhone??” She manages to squeak as the device buzzes and trills, the screen going absolutely nuts with colours.

“I don’t care what it is, will you please silence it without destroying it?”

Eyebrows shooting up and jaw snapping closed, Hermione dutifully turns it off, and Narcissa’s breath of relief is loud and heavy.

“Thank you,” she says, taking the thing back from Hermione between thumb and forefinger, as if touching it disgusted her. “Draco gave me this bloody thing, I have no idea...”

Somehow, Hermione hears the whole story about how Draco is “in” with Muggle technology and gave his mother a smartphone to help her “keep up with the times,” a statement that offended Narcissa to no end, and Hermione laughs as the blonde tells her. Somehow, she forgives Narcissa’s blustering intrusion and even teaches her how to turn the contraption off when walking into heavily warded areas such as the Ministry, because that can make some Muggle technology go haywire. Somehow, they end up talking for about an hour and Hermione forgets all about her runes, because wouldn’t you know it, Narcissa is a surprisingly easy person to talk to.

And so, Hermione accepts her offer of lunch the next day as a thank-you for the whole iPhone incident. 

They meet in a swanky little bistro at Covent Garden and Hermione almost walks right past Narcissa, because the woman is wearing dark wash jeans and a bloody t-shirt, with her hair up in a sleek ponytail and cat-eye sunglasses perched on her head. She does a double-take when Narcissa waves her to their table, and Hermione teaches her a bit more about the phone, genuinely impressed to learn that Narcissa has now got FaceTime down pat.

Hermione doesn’t remember how exactly they end up making plans to meet again the following week, but it happens. And then, the next week, and the week after that, until Hermione just blocks out her lunch-time every Wednesday on her calendar. Ginny comments on the meetings with a laugh and a raised eyebrow, but Hermione brushes that off.

They talk, a lot. About everything and nothing, all at once, and Hermione comes to find that Narcissa is not only smart, she’s wicked smart. Like, knows complex arithmancy smart, like ‘I invent potions for fun’ smart, like ‘yes I know basically all the constellations, what of it?’ smart. Narcissa has a wealth of knowledge to share and seems happy to do so with Hermione, who soaks it all up like an eager sponge, leaving their lunches happy and sated from more than just the food.

That isn’t to say Hermione doesn’t teach Narcissa a thing or two, either, iPhone incident aside. Hermione talks her ears off about Muggle authors (Narcissa is absolutely enamored by anything of Agatha Christie’s and the thought tickles Hermione to no end), and she also teaches her all about the Muggle painters of centuries past (Narcissa is inexplicably fond of Vermeer). Once, on a whim, Hermione presents two tickets to Les Misérables in the West End, and Narcissa just sobs the entire time while Hermione just hands her tissue after tissue.

Narcissa learns that Hermione puts her milk in before her tea and they have a spirited argument about it, because the blonde is simply affronted, and it ends with Hermione not-so-begrudgingly vowing to switch it around. Hermione learns that Narcissa has never been on a roller-coaster, so Hermione takes her to The Big One in Blackpool and learns the hard way that Narcissa gets motion sick very, very easily.

Before she knows it, this thing with Narcissa has lasted over a year, and both Rose and Hugo ask her if she’s planning on inviting the woman over for Christmas, and that’s when Hermione’s thoughts grind to a halt, because she had not even considered it, but now that the idea has been planted in her head, she wants, wants, wants.

She wants to invite Narcissa over, so she does, and the Slytherin comes bearing gifts that make Hermione’s children and her ex-husband squeal in delight (to be fair, the dragon-ivory chess set Ron received was lovely, if a bit excessive). And as they eat their roast and drink wine, Hermione gets lost in the vibrancy of Narcissa’s smile and the glimmer of her eyes in the candle-light of her dining room and suddenly she wants, wants, wants.

She wants their parting hug to last a little longer, she wants the kiss Narcissa bestowed upon her cheek to be a few centimeters to the left, she wants to hold on tighter and ask Narcissa to stay the night because she can’t bear to part with her just yet.

And, like that, something suddenly just clicks in her head; a feeling slots itself into place inside her chest and Hermione is a bit overwhelmed, because she’s never quite wanted so much before and she doesn’t know how to deal with it.

It’s Ron who helps her, in the end. She calls him up (on his brand new iPhone -- Merlin those caught on fast) and he comes over immediately, finding her pacing her living room thrumming with manic energy, and once she relays her predicament he just laughs until he can hardly breathe.

“‘Mione,” he says, shaking his head with fondness. “You fancy her. Of course you want to snog her senseless; frankly we’ve all been waiting for you to do something about it.”

Oh.

‘We all’ entails, apparently, literally everyone Hermione has ever met, including her landlady with whom she hardly talks but who somehow knows all about how often Narcissa comes by her place.

So Hermione makes a plan, because she wants, wants, wants to tell Narcissa about her recent discovery at New Year’s. She prepares accordingly, because she’s Hermione Granger and she won’t do anything by halves, so she writes out her confession in about sixteen inches of parchment and carries it nervously with her all through the party.

And Narcissa is absolutely radiant, enough to make Hermione forget all about those thoughts carefully penned to parchment. Hermione wants to dance closer and closer to her, she wants to rest her hands on her waist and sway with her, she wants to tilt her face just so and breathe the same air until their lips brush together.

Narcissa looks at her like she can read Hermione’s mind, and maybe she can; maybe she can see all the want shimmering through Hermione’s eyes, because Hermione never had a great poker face to begin with. And, to her surprise (not to mention relief), Hermione sees that want reflected on beautiful, beautiful azure, so she follows Narcissa beckoning finger until they’re pressed together and the dance-floor fades away to nothing.

Hermione wants, wants, wants, and finally, finally, Hermione gets it.

[peachyteabuck]

of freedom ~ act i, “if we ruled the world”

summary: a sort-of non-avengers au where everyone has their powers and absolutely no one is in a highly powerful mob (or, at least, that’s what the feds think). 

or, a commission in three parts for anonymous, who asked for a series about wanda x natasha x reader.

pairing: wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff x reader (focusing on wanda maximoff x reader)

words: 3,521

trigger warnings: wanda using her powers during sex, fingering, dom/sub dynamics, paranoia mention, 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

“Baby,” you sigh. Your voice is slow, desperate not to scare her away – desperate to make sure she feels safe. If you spoke too loudly you’re worried she’d jump, skitter away like a feral cat in an alleyway – and just like when you’d try and trap one of the animals who roamed the streets of New York without a home, you have to coax her into her refuge under the thick, heavy blankets. Come stay with me, you want to whisper. I can keep you safe, protect you. Some days you’d try and be a little more aggressive in your efforts, maybe any other time you’d make kisses at her and try to entrap Wanda in your arms.

Today, though, you lower your voice and expose your tummy and pat the covers. Today, you lure her into the safety of your arms without becoming frustrated and giving up. Today, you don’t try to trick her. “Come back to bed.”

Wanda inhales deeply, still not meeting your gaze. She did wake up earlier than necessary, she’s got a good few hours before she has to leave. You know that, know her schedule better than she does. But, she’s also nervous for her meeting – and you know that, too. “I don’t know if I have the time,” she mumbles.

“Wanda,” you can see the muscles in her back tense with every inhale. It pains you to watch such a feeling course through her like that.  “Come back to bed.”

There’s a beat of silence, but then she gives in - sighs and slips back under the warmed covers with you. She’s only in panties – a soft grey pair from some designer you’d probably mispronounce if you tried to say it aloud. They’re high, framing her narrow hips and flat stomach. Bruises from the night before are becoming more prominent by the minute, the V you formed with your teeth and tongue nearly purple as night. Without a top, you can see where they trail between her breasts then up and long each collarbone but where, carefully, you stopped wherever her sweater can’t cover.

Memories from then flash in front of you as she curls her legs around yours.

Her pussy in your mouth with both her hands tangled in your messy hair. Her fingers deep in your cunt as you moan into her mouth. Her legs, shaking, as you came together for the fourth time that night. Deep pleasure you can feel in your muscles each time you move – moans that come from somewhere even deeper.

“You’re like a koala,” you whisper into her skin, smiling deep and wide. You kiss at where her hand intertwines with yours. It almost hurts – your heart and your lips and your cheeks. It almost hurts to be this happy and tender in a bed you share in an apartment you share with the woman you love. If the world outside was crashing, you doubt you’d make any move to safe yourself.

Wanda peppers tiny, featherlight kisses across your shoulders – you can feel her smiling, too. “And you’re like a stuffed animal.”

Silence settles over you both like the dust in the room settles on your windowsill – the one that has been superglued shut since you moved in (Wanda originally claimed it was because the burglary rate in the neighborhood was unnaturally high. Now, though, you know better).

Your lover can’t stay still, though, and soon she’s swirling a sunset of colors between her nimble fingers. It’s beautiful, the hues of pink and orange and hints of red and the yellow of the sun from the curtains making it even more so. It’s distracting, so much so don’t notice when you can’t move your hands.

You furrow your brow, thinking your arms had fallen asleep. It isn’t until Wanda flipped you on your back and was pulling a clean strap and dildo from your velour-lined sex toy drawer that you understand/

“Lay back, baby,” Wanda coos. You abide, even when she lets you go to pull the strap on over her hips and adjust it.

You’re still wet from the night before – how could you not be? – so while one hand keeps you still Wanda slips two fingers from the other into your dripping heat. All you can do is whimper, your throat sore for the same reason.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Wanda moans, grinning when she finds that spot inside of you that makes you cry out. “You’re gonna soak my sheets, baby girl.”

“Our sheets,” you correct. A captain goes down with their ship; you will go down with a half-smile and a glint in your eye that shines brighter than a mid-day sun.

“Mm,” is all Wanda says back, smiling as she crooks her fingers in just the right way. “My apologies, darling. How will I ever make it up to you?”

You want to bite back with an equally sarcastic response, want to push her down and make her come until she’s begging for you to let up. You can’t, though, because even if you’re not leather- or rope- bound Wanda’s got you pinned to the bed. Stupid powers. You try and break out of invisible binds, do your best to squirm and fight and reach for the woman just above you.

It doesn’t work though, nothing works. A part of you you’ll never admit exists, a part of you that Wanda knows lives and thrives deep in a secluded corner of your brain, is glad you can’t break from your hold. What would the fun be if you didn’t try, though? What would this game be if Wanda couldn’t bite her bottom lip as she watched you struggle in her hold?

“Gonna ride you face, baby,” Wanda coos. “You want that? You wanna be a good little girl for me and make me come all over that pretty little face of yours?”

You mmm and nod, biting your bottom lip and beaming up at her. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Wanda smiles back as she crawls her way up your body. She stops next to your head, kissing your temple, your cheek, your lips. “Good girl.”

She swings her leg over your body and moves to straddle your face. Her pussy, likes yours, is absolutely dripping with her, with her thick, heady scent that makes you moan the second your tongue meets her center. You take long, deep drunk from her nectar as you trace over her folds.

“Fuck,” she gasps out, struggling to speak. “How are you so good at this? Fuckin’ love your mouth.”

Her deep accent, one that had eroded to a slight tinge overtime, coats her words like caramel over a crisp Granny Smith apple. It’s one of the best parts of having sex with Wanda: you love seeing the parts of her she’s hidden from the rest of the world. She has to be serious at her job, stoic and cold and controlling and conniving. Her literal job is to manipulate whoever her boss wishes, and (even though Wanda is very adamant about being very good at what she does) it can be quite draining. You can see it when she comes back after a long day, or even sometimes after a short one.

All of that seems to melt away when you’re with Wanda, as if within the four walls of your bedroom (or kitchen, or shower, or living room floor, or…) she can molt the snakeskin she has to rebuild every time she gets called in. Her accent – one she locked inside her long ago – is only revealed when the exoskeleton is left at the door.

You moan again, deep in your chest, when you feel your pussy being stretched and filled. You can see one of Wanda’s hands and the red-purple electricity swirling around her fingers, the other hand’s tangled in your hair.

Somehow, knowing it’s her powers that are fucking you makes it that much better, makes your pussy that much wetter as some phantom force rails you within an inch of your life. Each thrust into you makes you groan into Wanda’s pussy, which makes her hands tighten into fists and strangled moans leave her plush lips.

You’re close, and so is she, when Wanda pulls off of you and leaves you panting and empty. You’re about to whine and cry and beg for something, but then Wanda’s back on your face – this time, facing away from you. Before you can understand what’s happening you feel Wanda’s mouth on your own pussy, her own fingers (her real fingers and mouth) stretching you open. Your own hands, now free, grab at Wanda’s hips to hold her to you.

One of her arms wraps around one of your legs, letting her pin you down as she sinks two fingers into you.

You can practically hear her smiling, her fingers leaving you for a moment as she sits back up. You whine into Wanda’s pussy at the emptiness and she giggles, circling your clit absent-mindedly as she mocks you.

“Aw, don’t worry about it, slut, I’ll have you filled up soon, alright?”

You mmhmm into her sweet cunt, the noises quickly turning into deep moans when her fingers enter you once more.

It’s good, so good and you’re nearly bursting from the pleasure. Your heels kick, trying to find purchase so you can buck you hips. It’s impossible, though, Wanda sees all from her vantage point and makes it so your feet always just miss the sheets.

“Just give up, baby,” she coos. “You know how well I have control, how easy it is for me just,” she flicks her hand and whatever’s inside of you grows and pumps inside of you. She laughs as you cry out. “exercise how much dominance I have over you.”

You into her pussy once more before she starts to grind down on you. She nearly growls when she speaks next. “Now make me come.”

You take your order with valiance, tongue making broad, sloppy strokes against her pussy when you’re not panting and moaning desperately. Wanda takes pity on you, releasing one of your hands from her hold so you can reach up and sink two, three fingers in to her and curl them until she’s crying out, too, grinding against your face once more until your face is covered in her juices.

She continues to ride your face as the aftershocks of the orgasm flow through her body like waves, her hips moving in a similar fluid motion.

Wanda takes a moment to catch her breath, and to let you catch yours; when she moves to sit next to you – for a moment you think it’s over, you’re done, you’ve satisfied her.

But no, of course not. Wanda Maximoff, the woman you love, is never satisfied – especially not when it comes to sex with you.

Within the blink of an eye she’s staring down at you, wicked smile plastered on her face as she sits above you, hands at resting on her thighs while her powers pin you down and fuck into you.

“You like that, baby,” she asks, voice dripping with sadistic delight. “You like how I fuck you so well without even having to lift a finger? Do you like how good I can make you feel without touching you?”

You nod furiously, unable to form any intelligible words but still desperate to please her.

Wanda leans down to whisper in your ear, the feeling in your pussy never letting up. “Do you like how much power I hold? Do you like how easy it is to make you submit?”

You bite your bottom lip before giving a small nod.

Wanda grabs at your chin, making your eyes meet hers as she hisses through grit teeth. “Say it.”

“I love how power you have,” you nearly scream – a stark contrast from your previous silence. Wanda loves when you’re vocal – adores how loud you can get. She’s lucky the walls are thick, or else she’d be getting complaints from her neighbors at least every other day. Part of her, though, wonders if that’d be so bad…a wave of arousal hits her as she imagines claiming you knowing everyone could hear how good she fucks you, how loud you are. “I love how easy it is for you to get me under you!”

Wanda smiles wide as she stares down at you – skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as you moan and writhe on the bed. It’s the most beautiful sight she’s ever seen. Fuck all that high-scale art mob bosses love so much, those expensive paintings that are perfect for hiding bugs in, for covering up secret safes and whatnot.

Wanda could watch you groan and cry out around nothing for the rest of her natural life (and whatever comes after that). She has the urge to film it so she can watch it every day forever – but that would require tearing her eyes away for the few seconds it would take for her to find her phone. How could she waste these precious moments staring at you, admiring you, loving you? You come again, and again, and again just like that – under her spell or whatever it is she does with whatever it is she has.

Wanda lets up, eventually, gives you a moment – allows everything to recede. You whimper at the empty feeling in and around you and you don’t know why you craved being released from her grip for so long. Why did you ever wish to be free of her – even if it meant feeling like your body was a live wire? How could you have ever wished such a thing?

You’re still recovering, still waiting for your vision to clear up, when Wanda produces a Hitachi out of thin air and positions her hips just above yours. You moan when you understand what’s happening, the deep noise quickly becoming high-pitched and desperate at Wanda turns the vibe on. You’re already sensitive, like Wanda, and it only intensifies as you both begin to grind into the soft silicon. As such, it doesn’t take long for you both to come for a final time – room quiet except for your breathy moans and the vibrations.

Wanda collapses next to you, each of you panting heavily. She curls around you, pulling you to her so your back presses into her bare chest.

She leaves light kisses along your shoulder, the crest of your ear.

“You good,” she whispers. It’s not accusatory, not worried. Like many times before, she’s just checking in.

“Of course,” you say back – voice equally low. “You don’t have to worry, all the time, you know.”

Wanda huffs out a loud laugh. “Oh baby, of course I do.”

She eventually detangles her limbs from yours, the sun becoming too hot on her skin and the patience of her boss wearing thinner by the minute.

You don’t whine when she leaves you like you did before, understanding she really needs to go this time (like, for real), but you still sigh and roll over to her side of the worn mattress. When you inhale you can smell her – her deodorant, her body wash, her cunt. It’s heaven.

“Miss you already,” you say into the sheets, ready to return to sweet slumber once again – even if you have to do it alone.

Wanda laughs lightly, pulling on your least-dirty shirts, a dark pair of jeans, and a deep-maroon sweater. As she puts her hair up into a loose ponytail with one of the many hair ties littering the floor, you can see her looking for her shoes. You sigh and roll your eyes.

“Under the dining room table, babe,” you call from your incredibly comfortable position.

She scoffs, looking under the bed again with increased fervor. “Why would my shoes be under the dining room table? Who puts their shoes under the dining room table? Who am I? Not a person who puts their shoes on the dining room table, that’s for damn sure.”

“Babe, you didn’t ask me why your shoes are where they are-“

“I didn’t ask you where they are, either!”

You can hear her footsteps becoming quieter as she pads into the kitchen. Judging by her huffing and not saying goodbye before the door slams, her shoes were – in fact – under the dining room table, just as you knew they were.

You’re in love with an idiot. An absolute idiot. And, God, this is the happiest you’ve ever been.

Wanda’s present at the meeting…mostly. She checks the clock on the wall behind her boss’ desk once every, ten? Fifteen seconds?

The P.I. Natasha hired to track a possible mole doesn’t notice – something Natasha picks up on the fourth time she sees Wanda’s eyes flick three feet above Natasha’s eyeline. The woman makes a note on her desk calendar to fire the guy ASAP, and to more strictly enforce Natasha’s policy on hiring only women freelancers.

(This dude is supposed to be the best in the business and can’t notice that a woman literally two feet from him isn’t paying attention to whatever he’s saying. Jesus Christ, they’re giving licenses to fuckin’ anybody these days.)

The man leaves, eventually (though, much, much past when social convention would dictate). Once the door has closed and Natasha is sure no one can hear them, she questions the woman in front of her.

“Why in God’s name are you checking the time so often?” she inquires, eyebrows furrowed. “Is something wrong? Oh God, are you supposed to do a drop off? Is someone threatening you?”

Wanda’s wide eyes get even bigger, her hands flat out in front of her. “Oh no! Nat, what the fuck? Chill out. No, it’s just…”

Natasha relaxes a little (just a little), but still watches her friend like a hawk.

“Sorry, it’s just. It’s just my g-,” Wanda coughs and corrects herself, trying to pass off her actions as clearing her throat. Natasha sees this obvious remediation but does not comment. “I just promised a friend I’d see them today. At a coffee shop. Today. This afternoon. At a coffee shop. After the lunch rush.”

Natasha narrows her eyes and slams both her hands down on the dark-oak desk in front of her. “Wanda whatever-the-fuck-you-middle-name-is Maximoff, I swear to God if you have a girlfriend and did not tell me I am going to behead you.”

Wanda looks fearful for a moment, but then the widest smile breaks out on her face. “I am! She’s amazing! The best! We’ve been dating officially about six months but- “

“Six MONTHS!?” Natasha nearly yells, slamming her hands onto the desk once more.

“But we’re taking it very slow because she says she just got out of a relationship and stuff. Like, last night was one of the few nights she’s stayed over and didn’t run off before the sun rose.”

Natasha mms, nodding her head in understanding. “Is she cautious, or are you?”

Wanda glares at her boss-slash-friend, but doesn’t disagree with the thinly veiled criticism. “She’s great, though. Do you wanna see a picture?”

Natasha rolls her eyes and snorts. “Of fucking course I want to see a picture!”

They both giggle as Wanda pulls out her phone and scrolls through the less-than appropriate photos of you to find your date from yesterday afternoon – the one where you two got flatbread pizza and cheap beer and laughed so hard Wanda was sure she gained a six-pack by the time you returned. You’re smiling big, hair pulled back; dressed in a soft grey shirt Natasha recognizes as Wanda’s and black leggings and worn sneakers. That’s not all Natasha recognizes.

“You okay?” Wanda asks. Her concern is genuine, but so is Natasha’s fear.

Natasha nods. “Yeah, tell me more about her. What’s she like?”

Wanda’s eyebrows relax and she smiles again, flipping through photos and telling stories. The first photo is of Wanda and someone…someone Natasha recognizes? Somehow? She’s can’t place it, but – she swears she’s seen that face before, that smile, those teeth.

The next photo is Wanda and the same someone sharing a meal. The way the someone’s smile crooks, the way their teeth shine in the light and how their hair looks in a sleek bun…

The third photo is when it clicks for Natasha, seeing the someone and Wanda in coordinating outfits for a date to an art museum. It’s…shocking, to Natasha. This is the first time in a while, since the last time she saw that someone, that she’s felt like her world is crashing down around her. And that feeling – one of doom and disaster – is one she does not like.

It’s not too long after that Natasha finds a reason to cut the conversation short, showing Wanda out.

“I’ll see you later!” Wanda calls. “Oh, maybe I can introduce you!”

Natasha nods and smiles, saying something about “how that would be nice” and “I’ll see you later.”

There’s only so much she can do to avoid the judging eyes of her bodyguards, but she ignores them nonetheless. This is something she needs to think over alone.

✕✕✕

READ ACT II HERE

[jaskierswolf]

The Bard of Kaer Morhen Pt.2/4

Previous

Jaskier had just turned eighteen the second time he met a witcher.

He was fortunately sober this time. He’d bumped into Eskel a few times over the last two years and whilst the man tragically still rejected his flirtations they had become fast friends. Eskel thrived off the extra coin that Jaskier’s songs brought in and had even managed to upgrade his armour which thrilled Jaskier. Eskel’s last set of armour had been starting to fall apart and Jaskier was worried about him. He didn’t want his friend to get hurt on the hunt.

Another bonus to their friendship was that Jaskier was already successful fresh out of university, the envy of all his peers. He was the up and coming talent. He was the bard to hire for social events.

And he was also earning a reputation for being an unparalleled lover too.

He wasn’t sure which he was more proud of.

He was strolling down the path from Lyria towards Vengerberg with his lute in his hands when he saw him.

His hair was like fire but his eyes shone like liquid gold.

Another witcher.

Jaskier grinned and trotted up to the man. He was pulling a dark horse behind him and grumbling under his breath with a sour expression on his face.

And Jaskier loved him.

“Witcher!” Jaskier called as he approached.

The man glared at him with fire in his eyes and Jaskier could have swooned. Were all witchers so handsome and sexy? Jaskier decided they must be, a side effect of the mutations perhaps. Eskel hadn’t never been willing to discuss that side of witcherhood.

“What do you want, bard?” The man growled.

Jaskier felt a rush of arousal at the gruff tones of the witcher’s voice. “Spare a humble bard a tale, witcher, and maybe you’ll find out.” He winked as he stepped closer to the gorgeous redhead.

He wanted to run his hands through those curls, and he was certain the man’s armour was about to rip open on his arms. Jaskier had never seen such large strong arms before, not even on Eskel. This man was pure muscle and it made Jaskier’s heart feel weak.

Recognition lit up in the witcher’s eyes much to Jaskier’s delight. “You’re Eskel’s bard.” He grumbled.

“I’m my own bard.” Jaskier corrected. “Darling Eskel seems determined to reject any opportunities to claim me.” Jaskier pouted for added affect and let his fingers trail absentmindedly down the witcher’s arm.

“Back off, bard.” The witcher growled. “I have a partner.”

Jaskier tilted his head and smirked. “That’s not a problem.”

The witcher laughed. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that, but I don’t think you’d win in a fight against another witcher, bard.”

Jaskier pouted but stepped away. “Fine. You win but I’m a flirt by nature so don’t take it personally. You witchers are a slippery bunch. So handsome and yet so unobtainable. Although,” He dropped his voice back into his lower register to flirt some more. “If you and your partner ever want some company.”

“Fuck off bard!” The witcher snapped. “To the gods, Eskel must be mad.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I grow on people. I was serious about the tales though. Same as Eskel, you’ll get a cut of the coin if you tell me some ballad worthy adventures. Perhaps a wyvern or other draconid, they always go down well with an audience. Ooh or a real dragon! There aren’t many of those left.”

“We don’t hunt dragons.” The witcher rolled his eyes.

Jaskier persisted. “But you must have seen one.”

“No.” The witcher shook his head.

Jaskier huffed. It seemed this witcher would be harder to crack than Eskel. Eskel had always been funny and open. This new witcher was faster to anger and less tolerant to Jaskier’s tactile and openly affectionate personality. He grinned, perhaps this one would be more likely to let him join him on a hunt, if only he could prove himself to be useful. He was pretty handy with a dagger after all. His enemies always seemed to underestimate him which he used to his advantage masterfully.

Jaskier walked with the witcher back towards Lyria. He was going in the wrong direction to where he wanted to go but he was a curious fellow and he just couldn’t let this beautiful man walk away from him without at least getting one story or even a name.

When they reached the city Jaskier waved at the merchants in the square that he knew and bartered quite successfully with the barkeep for the witcher’s lodgings and food. He slid onto the bench opposite the witcher and stared longingly as his red curls danced in the candlelight.

“So tell me, witcher, do you have a name?” He hummed as he sipped his ale. He preferred wine but prior experience had taught him to only order ale in this particular tavern.

The wine was shit.

“Lambert.” He growled.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Lambert.” Jaskier raised his mug of ale and grinned.

The ale loosened Lambert’s tongue somewhat and Jaskier was able to pull a few basic tales from the man, nothing to sing about in their raw form but Jaskier knew he could easily fix it with a few artistic embellishments. The food was tolerable, not great but not as bad as the wine. Lambert seemed to have no complaints as he wolfed down two full plates to Jaskier’s one. Jaskier had noticed Eskel ate like a starved man too when coin afforded a more lavish amount of food so Jaskier had made sure to order extra.

Lambert grumbled what could have been a thank you, or equally a grievous insult, at Jaskier and then downed the last of his ale.

It was at that point when things began to go downhill.

The doors flung open and two rowdy drunk idiots fell stumbling into the tavern.

“Oi!” One of them shouted. His skin was pale, and almost yellow from years of excessive drinking and his eyes were bloodshot. He was a mess. “Where’s the fucking mutant?” He roared and the other man laughed before coughing his lungs out.

“We don’t want no mutants in our city.” The second man wheezed. “They’re unnatural beasts!  Steal our women and children to turn them into the monsters they’re supposed to kill!”

“Come out, freak and we’ll kill you quickly.” The first man cackled and spat on the floor.

A silence fell over the tavern.

Lambert gripped the hilt of one of the swords that was resting next to him on the bench, but Jaskier was faster. He’d pulled the dagger from his boots and had it pressed up against the first man’s neck before Lambert could even blink.

“Say that again.” Jaskier hissed as he pressed the dagger into the drunkards throat. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood but it had certainly shaken the other man.

The first drunk swallowed nervously and his eyes flashed to his companion who answered, sounding less confident than before. “We don’t want no mutants in our city.”

Jaskier grinned and tilted his head. “Firstly, that’s a double negative. So you’re saying you do want the witcher’s in your city which I wholeheartedly agree with. Witchers are some of the finest people I’ve met.”

The poor man looked confused. His alcohol addled brain couldn’t keep up with Jaskier’s quick tongue.

“Secondly. Don’t you dare call my friend a freak again or I will not hesitate.” Jaskier pulled his dagger away from the man’s throat and turned back to join Lambert at the table.

He heard the heavy breathing of his attacker as he launched into an attack but the blow never hit. Lambert had drawn his own knife and thrown it at the man before Jaskier could even turn around.

The dagger hit the drunk in the shoulder and the man howled in pain. Both men scurried from the tavern with their tails between their legs. Luckily Jaskier was well liked by the barkeeper and his family and they weren’t thrown out after them.

Lambert clapped him on the back. “Thanks, bard.”

Jaskier nodded and pulled the witcher into an awkward hug. “Anytime, witcher. Anytime.”

__________

It was a rare occasion when two witchers met on the path. They preferred to stay out of each other’s way, there just weren’t enough contracts anymore for them to occupy them same areas and still make enough coin to live on, even with the bard’s songs, which was why Geralt was surprised to run into Lambert in Rivia.

He tried not to go back to Rivia too often. His chosen name made it awkward to be around the locals. He’d tried to assimilate a Rivian accent but around born Rivians he just sounded like a cheap copy but as was the way, a contract had lured him into town.

“Geralt of Rivia!” Lambert cheered when he spotted him and Geralt cursed under his breath. “You’ve come home!”

“Very funny, Lambert.” Geralt muttered but went over to greet his brother. “You here for the contract?”

“Just got back from the Alderman’s house. Drowner infestation down by the docks.” Lambert pushed an ale towards Geralt.

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Fancy splitting the coin.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow at him. “Desperate for the coin, wolf?”

Geralt grunted in affirmation. “My armour needs repairs. Right now it’s that or a decent meal. Not both.”

As if on cue, Geralt’s stomach growled causing Lambert to howl with laughter. “Take the contract.” Lambert grinned as he dumped a heavy coin purse on the table. “Ran into Eskel’s bard friend. Turns out he’s quite the investment.”

Geralt frowned at the sight of the gold coins sparkling in the dim light of the tavern. The mysterious bard, the lover of witchers had apparently gotten even Lambert to roll over. Lambert didn’t make friends with anyone outside of the wolf pack and his cat lover.

“You find out his name?” Geralt asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Fuck!” Lambert groaned and hid his head in his hands. “It just never came up!”

The mysterious bard went by a few names depending on where you were on the Continent. In Cidaris he was known simply as the Witcher’s Bard. Further south in Metinna the name Dandelion cropped up. In Toussaint he was known as Fleur-de-lis. In Novigrad he was called Jaskier and in Vengerberg he was known as Daffodil.

It infuriated Geralt.

He wanted to know who this man was that had invested so much time and effort into singing their praises, who had befriended both his brothers with ease, who didn’t fear them.

“It never came up.” Geralt growled. “How the fuck didn’t it come up?”

Lambert flipped him off and pulled the mug of ale back across the table. “Look, he just never said, which is unbelievable because fucking hell I’ve never known anyone who can talk so much.”

Geralt hummed in response.

“Sort of like your opposite.” Lambert smirked so Geralt punched him in the arm. Hard. “Fuck off!”

“I’m taking the drowner contract.” Geralt stood up and grabbed his swords. “Some of us still work for a living.”

“Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it.” Lambert grinned and took a long draught of his ale and cackled as Geralt stormed out of the tavern to go search for the drowner nest.

It was all this fucking bard’s fault.

Geralt didn’t know why he was angry with the bard. He’d never even met him. He chalked it down to petty jealousy that his fellow witchers seemed to be earning money off the stories they gave to the bard, that they were eating lavish hot meals with decent ale to wash it down with, that they could visit brothels whenever the need arose without having to worry about the next contract.

Of course, if Geralt didn’t give half his coin away to people in need then he’d probably not be having a problem in the first place, but he just couldn’t help it. What good was a trip to the brothel if he knew that he’d taken the last of a villagers coin and they wouldn’t be able to feed their family that week.

The guilt would sour the pleasure before it could begin.

He sighed and pinched his nose.

“Bloody bard.”

He’d heard the bard’s songs a few times in his travels but never from the composer’s lips. He’d asked a few times whether the troubadours had written the songs but none of them had. One snivelling looking pompous bastard had laughed in his face and declared that his own songs were far superior and that they only reason he played the witcher songs were because they drew in a bigger crowd.

Geralt suggested that that meant the songs were better and the bard went blue in the face and then stormed out of the tavern. Geralt had been asked to leave soon after.

One girl, a pretty blonde with cornflower blue eyes, one of which was hidden behind her hair, had giggled and said she was just stealing the songs from a friend of hers but wouldn’t say anymore about the mysterious witcher bard. He’d felt foolish after asking because he knew that Eskel’s bard was a man, it was just the girl’s eyes had drawn him in more than he would like.

It wasn’t that Geralt cared about the bard.

He just wanted to know for himself.

Nothing more.

_______

Next

[quiveringdeer]

Now i want to know your answer to this one if you please :D Cloverfield: If you were in the zombie apocalypse/alien invasion, would you hide, and if so, where would you hide? What group of people would you want with you through this?

Ooooo!!!

Zombies: Ok so i consistently thought of this through hs and college. Now it just pops into my head every so often. While I don't ever feel like I want a gun of my own it just came up at dinner last night that a friend is gonna work to get their license here and I'm thinking of tagging along cause I dont wanna be in a situation where I dont know how to use it and also suck at aiming. So practice practice.

Also as for where to hide out. I currently live in the southern appalachias and I think mountains are totes the best place to be for zombies. I've also thought rhat while most people will be headed to walmarts or lowes and places like that I'm gonna skip those as they will probs have a high infection rate in the beginning. People be hidin wounds and shit. So no thanks to epicenter places. Even these buildings in rural areas are gonna be a no for me. I do think I'd hit up any smaller medical pharmacy and such if others had already broken in to begin looting--tho with this recent year's experience the panic buying of pains meds and stuff may deplete those rather quickly, outside of the like stronger stuff in the back you'd need prescriptions for. Which would be my main objective in a looting situation! First my own depression meds and shit cause i dont want to deal with that on top of the apocalypse. And then higher dose pain meds for when I now doubt have to amputate someone's limbs who has an extremity bite. But also like common first aid stuff in bulk. Cause the goal is to hole up somewhere far away from populations.

Also there is an army surplus store around here so I'd have a friend go with me if we had early stage warnings and stock up on MREs. Dried beans, rice and other non parishables. Oh! And water pruification tablets/drops. I have a life straw but not passin that around.

as for shelter I was thinking that most public land agencies (of which I work for one and wouldnt have thought of this otherwise) but they generally have multiple maintenance yards/compounds that are generally completely fenced in with sliding gate systems that work with a code, which hopefully could be modified to be done by human effort to conserve energy resources. There are also a number of places that have solar panels on buildings here so tracking those down to being to whichever maint. yard my crew chooses. Probs would be stickin with coworkers and callin close friends to invite them here. Then it'd be a matter of building up the integrity of the fence structure, adding in barriers to keep things further from the chainlink, ala the way Negan's camp is in the walking dead?? where they even employed zombie wardens out front to cut down on humans trying to infiltrate.

There is also my thought that I may consider moving north where snowfall and ice are more prevalent. It'd be fuckin miserable to live theough the winters. But on the off chance zombies existed even though I feel like rotting corpses couldn't maintain the musculature control to remain upright for long--plus without pain sensations they're more likely to overexert their muscles and stuff which leads to tears in muscles or tendons which would lead to lower mobility I could assume. Since pain keeps us from breaking ourselves by not exerting to our fullest capabilities. Anywho, regardless of all that. Heavy snowfalls and freezing temps should render them almost inert in the harsh northern winters. Making them easier for human hunting parties up for the task, to decimate their populations around the area.

Though the thaw in summer would probs be awful with the smell, while our mighty decomposers do their job! not to mention these wonderful animals, insects included, who have larvae that thrive on eating rotting meat? those guys will be active during the warmer times and help more quickly decompose the zombies. Yay nature havin our ill-adapted/evolved humans!!

So then it's a matter of waiting out things. I may even draft up a email with my plan to be able to mass send through our agency servers so others could hopefully mimic in their areas so that we could have multiple holdouts of humans to be able to have an better mix of human genetic diversity once we wait out the zombie decomposition and need to repopulate.

Also, another thought. I'm sure many Indigenous people, especially those unfortunately forced on reservations, will be amazing strongholds. Cause when they shut their borders they SHUT their borders lol From experience with the tribe next to my park and their protocols for the early pandemic. So potentially calling in friends and contacts to set up alliances eventually.

I think that's all the main important bits. I wont drone on with plans for accepting those in need into the compound and such. Cause while i'll definitely be using my voice to speak up for that, if it works out that a bunch of coworkers from my park are within the compound with me those decisions will probably run through the incident command protocols and hierarchies already set up within the national park structure. I'd just try to implement myself within those teams that are making decisions cause I feel I'd have thw most useful plans, obviously. 😌 lol

but yeah. Thanks for asking this question my darling!!! There are other things i probs left out but it's super early and my cats are yelling at me that i havent fed them since i chose to answer this upon waking lol

Aliens

suicide mention in this one 😬

Ok so aliens i havent thought about as extensively. I'd probs try to communicate I'm not a threat and hope they arent the type to want to subjugate humans. If so I mean my fantasy brain is like-- are they attractive aliens to me?? cause 👀👀👀 If not and they're the subjugating kind I'd probs off myself I guess?? Like I don't want to be forced into perpetual servitude and hiding out to try and survive without being captured seems miserable sooo yeah.

[noctuascion]

Hi! I have a Cryptage prompt, if you're still taking them, because my writing brain appears to be taking the day (week? month? year??) off. Basically crypto feeling insecure about how many adoring fans Mirage has, and not being able to be comfortable with other people telling Mirage that they're "in love" with him. :)

Oh, hello there!! I'm always taking prompts!! And, yeah, I feel that. Lol. I'll gladly take your prompt, though!! Thank you!!!

--

Park didn't belong in the spotlight for a multitude of reasons: he was terse, quiet, preferred his privacy, and was just uncomfortable with it in general. Crypto wasn't meant for the limelight in general—he was to be a mysterious character with little care for interviews and what his fans said about him.

Elliott, however, thrived on the attention, Mirage a prime example of someone made to live with all eyes on him. He was spectacular in the ring and able to charm his adoring public, all bright smiles and dazzling moves. His fans were eager to show their love for Elliott, Park noticed, one afternoon the two were spending together.

Elliott was reading some fan mail whilst Park was busying himself drawing on the trickster's arm, sleeve rolled up and intricate patterns marked along the tanned canvas, flowers and cats occasionally tossed into the mix. Elliott never minded. They always reminded him of really cool tattoos, and he didn't want to get any anytime soon, so he was fine with Park just drawing all over him (even if it was a pain to clean off later).

However, the hacker's curious gaze couldn't help but shift towards the letter currently in hand. It was from some female fan that had been watching Elliott ever since his first year of competing. There were a lot of sweet comments, about how he helped her move on from toxicity in her life, and that his smile was enough to make her a happier woman. He could see Elliott smiling as well; improving someone's life must make him joyful.

But Park didn't miss the confession near the very bottom, the typical "I'm in love with you." Elliott apparently received the phrase a lot—and not just counting the night they got together. For someone like Elliott, love never came easy, despite his desperate attempts to find someone to use all of that love in his heart on, to find someone to dedicate his existence to. Some people could be heartless, treating him like a ticket into a better life, and others abused him emotionally to get what they wanted. He had to grow thicker skin, learn from his mistakes, before he truly sought out someone that made his world worthwhile. Park commended his confidence and bravery. He's never been in relationships before, but leaving toxic ones must take a lot out of one mentally and emotionally.

Still, rereading that letter, the constant praises and adoration, the love for Mirage and everything he does, caused a feeling far too familiar to the man to wash over his mind, normally hectic thoughts beginning to run wild. Park wasn't one for letting insecurities bother him, but it seemed they, like a lot of things, made him feel uneasy, unhappy.

Elliott folded the letter with one hand, setting it aside, before pulling another one from his pile, this time temporarily taking the hacker's canvas away to rip the envelope open, arm returning to its prior stationary position. Again, though Park had tried to focus on drawing, his eyes drifted over the letter, though he wish he hadn't, as this fan appeared to be less shameful with their desires. He's sure, if Elliott peeked at him, he'd be flushed pink.

This time, though, the confession was within the first three paragraphs, third sentence of the second one. "I love you so much. I want to live my life with you," he read, frowning. People clamoring over themselves to be with Elliott—it was almost pitiful, but, then again, he didn't expect much from fans. Even his own can be a bit rowdy, though they appear much more mellow compared to his partner's.

The trickster didn't smile this time, just folding and tossing the letter aside without much change in expression. Another letter was opened up, arm returning to Park (even though he's become far too distracted to even think about drawing right now), and began reading the next one.

Once again, a love confession could be seen in the final paragraph, though it was far more poetic than simply "I'm in love with you." She had taken time writing this, it seemed, pouring her heart out on paper to this complete stranger she only knows via the television.

"Every waking day without seeing you is a strike to my heart. Your smile is radiance, and your very being is joy. My desire for you goes beyond physical, a wish to see within your heart, to let our souls intertwine in a dance for only us to see. I want everything you are, everything you'll ever be."

Elliott's fans really were adoring, if that was anything to go by. Park wasn't jealous by any means—frankly, were he to receive such letters, he can only see himself tearing them up and throwing them out. Elliott would scold him, saying someone put a lot of work into those, and Park would retort with: "They should spend time sending those types of letters to someone whose name they actually know."

That same feeling earlier returned, insecurity gnawing at his heart. Dour expression crossing his visage, his hand released Elliott's, marker pulled away, immediately alerting the other. Curious, the trickster reached out to poke the other's cheek, downcast eyes now moving to meet his own.

"Hey sweetheart, something on your mind?" he asked, hand dropping to place itself on the other's shoulder, an attempt at reassurance.

"… No."

Elliott raised a brow. "So you just look super depressed just 'cause?"

"… Yes."

A soft snort escaped Elliott, tossing the letter aside and moving to wrap an arm around the smaller's shoulders. "You and I know that's bullshit. Come clean and I won't get the information through other means."

The dangerous wiggling of his fingers was enough to tell Park just how he'd "gather information."

"Fine. But promise not to be mad at me…?"

"I don't think I could ever be mad at you, sugar pie. Probably a biological thing."

Park released a breath, head moving to lean on Elliott's shoulder. "I was… reading the letters your fans sent you…"

"… Is… Is that it? 'Cause, if it is, I think we need to have a talk about what makes you feel guilty and why it's dumb."

Park scoffed, though it was more amused than annoyed. "No, that's not it. But… you have a lot of… caring fans."

"Emphasis on 'caring' makes me think you might be meaning a different word entirely."

"They're affectionate… and kind… and they say nice things about you…"

"… Are you… jealous—? Have I not been saying enough nice things about you?"

"No, no, you say enough—probably too much, actually. But, no, I just… I don't think I like your fans saying how much they love you. It makes me think, one day, they'll make you feel more loved than I do…"

Elliott couldn't wipe the shock from his expression, immediately unwrapping his arm from Park's shoulders to place his hands on them instead, turning him so he was now face-to-face. The hacker's gaze had fallen once again, dourly staring at the copious amounts of love letters Elliott received on a daily basis.

In the end, that's all they were to him—just letters. They never amounted to the smile he got to see everyday, the gentle kisses and careful touches, the sweet feeling of his beloved's hands in his own, and nothing could ever amount to the three little words Park so seldom uttered, the way his cheeks would tinge pink and the sheepish tone that replaced his confident, cool one.

He couldn't imagine trading any of that for empty words spoken by fans.

"Hey, angel? Who do you know me as?" he asked.

"… I suppose I know you as Elliott."

"And who do my fans know me as?"

"I… I guess they only know you as Mirage."

"They get to see that persona of me, the fake me."

Elliott's hands began sliding down Park's arms, tracing gently over the smooth skin, feeling the change between real and synthetic skin, before gently grasping his hands in his own.

"They see the smile I wear when I don't want people knowing what I'm feeling. They see me acting cool and confident, and they don't ever see Elliott, the guy who just wants to own a bunch of dogs and has as many insecurities as he does kills in the arena."

Park's hands were raised now, Elliott craning his neck just a bit to press kisses to the knuckles, smiling at the other, who was beginning to look less and less dour and more surprised by the trickster's words.

"You get to see me, Elliott Witt, the guy who drools on your hoodies and accidentally chews on your hair because he thinks it's cotton candy."

That broght forth a laugh from the hacker, trying to pull a hand away from Elliott's to cover it, but the trickster was adamant in seeing his smile, hearing his laugh.

"And I get to see you in all your own dorky glory."

"I'm not dorky. You just bring out the weird in people," Park responded through his fit of giggles, any trace of sadness or insecurity having faded from his visage, only replaced by mirth and joy.

"That, I do." Elliott smiled and leaned in to press a kiss to Park's forehead. "I'd never leave you, pancake. You're the only person on the Frontier who would still love me even after hearing about all my baggage. I'm a mess, but I've never heard you complain."

"Maybe when you're drooling on me."

Elliott smiled, chuckling. "Yeah, you do complain about that a lot."

"But, even if you drool on me, I still… love you."

"And I love you too, darling."

[yngai]

—    BASICS :      ADA  WONG .

IS    YOUR    MUSE    TALL    /    SHORT    /    AVERAGE ? :    she  is  5′7  which  is ,  i  suppose  ,  fairly  above  average  in  height .

ARE    THEY    OKAY    WITH    THEIR    HEIGHT ? :    definitely ,  she  is  perfectly  content  with  it .  she  imagines  herself  as  tall  enough  to  be  somewhat  imposing  in  certain  instances  without  it  ever  being  cumbersome .  there  are  very  few  things  about  her  appearance  she  is  not  overtly  confident  about ,  really .

WHAT’S    THEIR    HAIR    LIKE ? :    a  short ,  practical  bob-cut  is ,  perhaps ,  one  of  the  defining  features  of  the  ada  wong  persona .  dark ,  well-kept  hair  that  is  easy  enough  to  maintain  on  the  field .  a  slick  &  interesting  look  that  is  simple  enough  to  disappear  into  the  background ,  only  catching  the  eye  of  those  whose  interest  she  wants  pointed  in  her  direction .  in  the  years  before  her  spywork ,  her  mother  fashioned  her  hair  in  the  beehive  style  which  was  common  in  hong  kong  during  the  60s .  like  many  aspects  of  ada ,  her  hair  is  very  soft  to  the  touch  if  someone  ever  gets  close  enough  &  she  allows  them  this  intimacy .

DO    THEY    SPEND    A    LOT    OF    TIME    ON    THEIR    HAIR     /    GROOMING ? :    it  depends  on  what  needs  upkeep ,  really .  she  prefers  to  be  quick  &  efficient  so  she  can  maintain  a  certain  degree  of  consistent  grace  &  beauty  without  cutting  into  precious  time .  like  her  hair ,  make-up  is  simple  &  minimalist ,  with  lipstick  &  eye-shadow  being  her  primary  concern .  anything  that  requires  greater  attention  to  detail  &  more  than  an  hour  of  her  time  she  tends  to  do  between  missions ,  unless  the  nature  of  her  objective  allows  for  such  things ,  like  if  she  is  to  maintain  a  persona  for  an  extend  period  of  time .

DOES   YOUR   MUSE   CARE   ABOUT   THEIR   APPEARANCE   /   WHAT    OTHERS    THINK ? :    yes .  it  would  be  strange  to  imply  otherwise ,  i  think ,  her  very  work  &  existence  is  tied  to  how  others  perceive  her ,  what  her  appearance  communicates  &  its  intersection  with  the  expectations  of  others ,  how  to  make  use  of  such  things  to  play  them  at  their  game  &  win .  it’s  all  a  performance  act ,  like  i  mentioned  in  my  meta  about  her  femininity ,  &  thus  when  the  masks  drop  &  her  mission  ends  such  concerns  vanish  away .  in  the  privacy  of  solitude ,  the  brief  moments  between  the  need  to  be  someone  else ,  she  does  let  herself  go  a  little  bit .  with  no  eyes  to  perceive  she  doesn’t  really  exist  &  thus  the  performance  of  hyper-femininity  is  not  necessary .  the  comfort  ada  wong  brings  leaves  with  her  &  though  there  is  relief  in  letting  go ,  there  is  fear  &  hurt  too .

—    PREFERENCES.

INDOORS    OR    OUTDOORS ? :    more  of  an  indoor  type ,  the  world  outside  is  not  for  her .  crowds  &  people  &  all  that  information  floating  around  in  great  volume ,  it’s  overbearing ,  &  she  feels  much  more  lonely  in  public .  four  walls  bring  with  them  limitation ,  restriction ,  less  pieces  on  the  board  &  thus ,  it’s  easier  to  control . RAIN    OR    SUNSHINE ? :    rain  can  wash  away  all  things &  she  finds  comfort  in  how  the  sounds  of  raindrops  hitting  every  surface  does  the  same . FOREST    OR    BEACH ? :    the  beach  is  a  place  of  relaxation  &  leisure ,  &  ada  can’t  deny  herself  that .  forests  are  dense  &  messy  &  places  where  people  get  lost  &  never  return ,  she  doesn’t  need  that  experience  again . PRECIOUS    METALS     OR    GEMS ? :   gems  &  precious  stones .  diamonds  are  a  girl’s  best  friend  is  the  key  cliché  here ,  but  i’ve  also  discussed  the  idea  of  ada  as  a  cat  burglar  for  a  fun  alternate  universe  with  @qipaos​ . FLOWERS   OR   PERFUMES ? :    flowers  are  too  kindly  a  gesture ,  too  intimate ,  they  communicate  far  too  much  intent .  perfumes  play  a  major  role  in  memorability  &  appearance ,  unique  sense  &  aromas ,  muted  &  overpowering ,  she  finds  them  much  more  fun . PERSONALITY    OR    APPEARANCE ? :    combination  of  both ,  really ,  she  tends  to  be  attracted  to  people  who  match  her  both  in  looks  &  ability ,  those  she  can  see  herself  in ,  no  matter  how  superficially . BEING    ALONE    OR    BEING    IN    A    CROWD ? :   kind  of  answered  this  one  already ,  although  really  it’s  really  choice  between  the  overbearing  loneliness  of  being  in  public  or  the  loneliness  of  having  no  self  to  cling  onto .  at  least  with  crowds  &  people  to  look  upon  her ,  she  can  be  ada  wong . ORDER   OR    ANARCHY ? :    she  fled  the  grasp  of  people  who  bring  anarchy  wherever  they  thread ,  much  preferring  order . PAINFUL    TRUTHS    OR     WHITE    LIES ? :   she  is  a  woman  made  of  white  lies  who  covets  painful  truths  about  the  world . SCIENCE   OR    MAGIC ? :    science ,  it’s  resident  evil . PEACE    OR    CONFLICT ? :    while  she  finds  work  in  constant  conflict ,  such  is  the  nature  of  the  world ,  it  is  all  in  the  hope  of  one  day  achieving  peace .  stopping  those  who  would  use  umbrella’s  downfall  to  gain  power  &  control  they  do  not  deserve . NIGHT    OR    DAY ? :    nights  are  quiet  &  peaceful ,  watching  the  neon-lights  of  a  city  dance  around  each  other  is  a  frequent  ritual  for  a  woman  who  only  sleeps  when  utmost  exhausted . DUSK    OR    DAWN ? :    dusk ,  for  a  similar  reason . WARMTH    OR    COLD ? :    her  demeanor  is  almost  always  cold  &  clinical ,  warmth  is  a  very  exclusive  reservation  for  those  who  earn  her  compassion . MANY   ACQUAINTANCES    OR    A    FEW   CLOSE   FRIENDS ? :    various  contacts  in  low-to-high  ranking  positions  in  a  variety  of  corporations  &  organizations  who  provide  useful  information  about  the  current  state  of  the  pharmaceutical  market ,  as  well  as  the  dealings  of  the  illegal  arms  trade  of  bio-weapons .  although ,  there  are  those  she  could  call  close  friends  if  only  for  their  frequent  meeting  during  missions . READING    OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ? :    getting  lost  in  a  good  book  is  an  experience  she  can  never  deny  herself ,  &  given  that  she  collects  information  for  a  living ,  reading  is  apart  of  work .  then  again ,  so  is  playing  games .

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

WHAT    ARE    SOME    OF    YOUR    MUSE’S    BAD    HABITS ? :    in  a  literal  sense ,  she  smokes  frequently ,  giving  into  the  calming  effects  of  nicotine .  an  awful  habit  that  undoes  her  sense  of  self  is  pushing  her  issues  &  worries  onto  her  facades ,  the  personas  she  constructs  for  sake  of  her  job ,  whom  she  imagines  as  other  people  whose  experiences  &  existence  are  separate  from  her  own .  all  she  lives  through  during  a  mission  is  theirs  instead  &  thus ,  she  doesn’t  have  to  deal  with  it .

HAS    YOUR    MUSE    LOST    ANYONE    CLOSE    TO    THEM ?    HOW    HAS    IT    AFFECTED THEM ? :    her  friends  &  family ,  her  life  before  raccoon  city .  she  didn’t  really  lose  them  as  much  as  they  lost  her ,  forced  to  vanish  into  the  employment  of  wesker’s  organization  for  her  personal safety ,  into  the  persona  of  ada  wong ,  turning  her  into  the  woman  she  is  now .

WHAT    ARE    SOME    FOND    MEMORIES    YOUR    MUSE    HAS ? :    almost  everything  predating  her  undercover  work  at  umbrella ,  try  as  she  might  to  imagine  they  belonged  to  a  different  woman  entirely .

IS    IT    EASY    FOR    YOUR    MUSE    TO    KILL ? :    depends  on  how  human  she  perceives  her  target  to  be ,  if  they  carry  within  them  a  strain  of  any  mutagen ,  no  matter  how  sane  &  in  control  they  are ,  she  has  no  issue  putting  them  down  (  like  with  krauser  ) .  if  not ,  well ,  it  might  take  her  awhile  before  she  can  come  up  with  a  decent  enough  justification  at  least .

WHAT’S    IT    LIKE    WHEN    YOUR    MUSE    BREAKS    DOWN ? :    strangely  silent ,  contemplative ,  spending  hours  clinging  desperately  to  a  pillow ,  crying ,  alone  in  her  bed ,  open  bottle  of  wine  by  her  bedside  if  she  truly  needs  to  drown  the  noise  out .  she  tries  to  not  let  it  all  get  to  her ,  but  the  life  she  lives  is  sometimes  too  much ,  even  if  she  brims  with  strength  &  confidence ,  moments  of  weakness  are  natural . IS    YOUR    MUSE    CAPABLE    OF    TRUSTING    SOMEONE    WITH    THEIR    LIFE ? :    there’s  a  very  persistent  sense  in  the  back  of  her  mind ,  present  since  the  days  of  her  childhood ,  that  the  only  person  she  can  always  rely  on  is  herself .  when  it  comes  to  survival ,  despite  having  others  save  her  from  certain  death ,  she  always  reasons  that  she  is  the  one  who  ensured  it ,  keeping  leon  alive  long  enough  to  help  her  out ,  for  example .  outside  these  instances ,  she  has  always  managed  to  endure  on  her  own ,  escape  plan  after  escape  plan ,  contingency  after  contingency ,  avoiding  the  wrath  of  the  most  powerful  people  in  the  world  &  outliving  their  reign .

WHAT’S    YOUR    MUSE    LIKE    WHEN    THEY’RE    IN    LOVE ? :   intoxicating ,  addicting ,  a  very  involved  &  passionate  lover  whose  presence  &  attention  is  almost  unrelenting ,  making  up  for  how  infrequent  she  can  truly  be  there  for  the  other  person .  breaking  down  her  personal  &  emotional  barriers  is  a  tough  deed ,  but  very  rewarding ,  she  likes  to  think .  though  she’d  like  to  keep  sex  &  romance  separate ,  preferring  one  without  the  other ,  intense  short  term  encounters  without  meaning  or  commitment ,  any  soul  needs  love  &  care  to  thrive ,  &  one  like  hers  all  the  more .

TAGGED  BY :   @horrorempathy ,  the  legend  themself . TAGGING :   i  spent  too  long  writing  this  i  don’t  have  any  more  brain  power ,  i’m  sorry ,  please  steal  it  😔🥺

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

OC Interview

I was tagged by @eddescuella and I will be doing all three of my babies! Tagging the others @r0xy-w0lf @verai-marcel @horsegirl1h @mrskrazy

Name?

“Misty Forester, or Misty Rodriguez. Depends on who you ask.”

“Michelle Delacruz. Michelle Mustang to everyone else.”

“Ryan Shane O’Donnell.”

Are you single? 

“For now.”

“Yes, and that ain’t changin’.”

Ryan purses his lips for a brief second. “Yes...”

Are you happy? 

“I don’t have a reason not to be.”

“For the time being.”

“I guess.”

Are you angry? 

“No, no reason to be.”

“I get angry about something or other on a daily basis.”

“Sometimes I feel anger...but I try to keep it contained.”

Are your parents still married? 

“My parents were never married, according to my mom.”

“They were before they died.”

“Very much still happily married.”

Nine facts!

Birthplace? 

“New York, where we don’t play.”

“New Austin, I think. Though I’ve heard speak about a place called Texas. Can’t really ask to confirm now.”

“Saint Denis.”

Hair colour? 

“Brown.”

“Black.”

“Red, or ginger as some people call it.”

Eye colour? 

“Green like the forests of West Elizabeth...or so I’ve been told.”

“A very light green. Sometimes they look gray.”

“Green...like the other two.”

Birthdate? 

“April 10th, 1877.”

“August 16th, 1877.”

“June 7th, 1875.”

Mood? 

Misty shrugs. “Pretty calm I guess.”

“Same.”

“Can’t say any different.”

Gender? 

“Female, duh.”

“Unless ya eyes ain’t working, female.”

“Male.”

Summer or winter? 

“I don’t mind both but I prefer summer.”

“I lived in the desert, so summer is a definite choice.”

“I like both, actually.”

Morning or afternoon? 

“I fucking hate mornings!”

“I’m an early riser through and through.”

“Used to be able to sleep in, but that changed when I had my son. So, mornings.”

Eight things about your love life

Are you in love? 

“Hmm...”

A look of longing appeared on Michelle’s face for a second. “I was once upon a time...”

“In a way I am, holding on to the past...”

Do you believe in love at first sight? 

“Love at first sight is all fairy tales.”

“That’s a no for me.”

“Used to think it was hogwash, until...” a small, sad smile crosses Ryan’s lips.

Who ended your last relationship?

“Never had one to begin with.”

“I did...I...had a son myself. Puny little thing who died just days after his birth. I was never the same afterward, and it drove a wedge between my lover and I. I couldn’t bare to hurt him anymore.”

Ryan places his hand on his chest, where a glint of a chain appeared with a delicate ring hanging from it. “Some racist bastards that killed my wife...”

Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 

“Yes, I know I have. I was still a teenager... the poor boy thought he would have something with me.”

“When I ended my relationship, yes.”

“My mother’s...after I married someone she didn’t approve.”

Are you afraid of commitment? 

“After learning my mother had her heart and soul poured into my father and he hadn’t returned... I would say yes.”

“I’ve always been. Even when I was with my son’s father.”

“No, I was always confident with my choices. I knew when I wanted to marry my wife, and I never looked back.”

Have you hugged someone in the last week? 

“I probably have. Can’t exactly recall.”

“I don’t really give affection.”

“My son.”

Have you ever had a secret admirer? 

Misty snorts. “Oh yes. That boy I mentioned earlier.”

“Psht, nah. Pretty sure people are more afraid I’d put a bullet into them.”

“Well...growing up rich definitely made me desirable in many women’s eyes.”

Have you ever broken your own heart? 

“I suppose...when I was a child and wishing for every Christmas and birthday that my father would come back home...of course that never happened.”

“I fooled myself into thinking that I could have a decent life and family after struggling for so long. How wrong I was.”

“No, not really.”

Four preferences

Smile or eyes? 

“I could get lost in someone’s eyes.”

“A little bit of both.”

“Yeah, a little bit of both for me as well.”

Short or taller? 

“I’m fairly tall myself. I can’t really see myself with a man shorter than me.”

“Everyone is taller than me, so I don’t really have a say in choice.”

“Doesn’t really matter.”

Intelligence or attraction? 

“I’ve met some handsome men with nothing between the ears, and it’s rare to find someone with both. Rare, but not impossible.”

“Intelligent. When life takes a hard turn, you need to know how to pick yourself back up.”

“A good brain and a pretty face is a great combination. That’s how my wife was.”

Hook up or relationship? 

“I’ve had my fair share of hook ups, and I still do. One day I’ll settle with the man I’m meant to be with.”

“I’m guilty of bed hopping too. As much as I’d like to have a relationship, I can’t bring myself to do it.”

Ryan bit his lip, looking sheepish. “Man has his needs, you know. Can’t deny a good time when you have no release. Right now I’m not even thinking of another relationship.”

Six choices

Love or lust? 

“Why not both?”

“Love. Lust is just temporary.”

“I will always choose love, but I have moments of lust too.”

Lemonade or iced tea? 

“Lemonade is pretty tasty.”

“I have no idea what iced tea is, so lemonade.”

“What is iced tea?”

Cats or dogs?

“Dogs.”

“I’m allergic to cats.”

“I had both in my household growing up, so I’m not biased.”

A few best friends or regular friends? 

“Best friends. I put too much trust in some ‘regular’ friends and nearly lost my life because of it.”

“The close friends are the ones you can count on.”

“Definitely a few best friends. The world is too cut-throat to trust too many people.”

Wild night out or romantic nights in? 

“I love to go out and have some fun! I never did have a romantic night in though, I guess that’s something I’ll have to look forward to.”

“I’m ain’t much of a sap. I’ll gladly jump on my horse and go crazy for the night.”

“A romantic night in...I miss those.”

Day or night? 

“I’ve always been a night owl.”

“I thrive in the sun.”

“Doesn’t matter to me.”

Four have you Evers

Been caught sneaking out? 

“A few times. I swear my mother has a sixth sense.”

“Nope, never.”

Ryan had to laugh. “Well... with a family full of psychics, kinda hard to go anywhere without someone knowing.”

Fallen down/ up the stairs? 

“You’d think as a dancer I’d be more graceful on my feet.”

“I mean, who hasn’t?”

“Honestly though, I’m pretty sure we’ve all done it.”

Wanted someone / something so badly it hurt? 

“My father, my sister...”

“So much, I wanted my parents back. My son back.”

“My wife, is that even a question?”

Wanted to disappear? 

Misty giggles slightly. “Out of embarrassment, yes.”

“More times than I care to admit...”

“No. As a father I can’t.”

Friends

Do you secretly hate one of your friends? 

“Wow, no.”

“Fuck no. The hell kinda question is that?”

“All of my friends are wonderful. I can’t hate any of them.”

Do you consider all of your friends as good friends? 

“They gave me a home when I had nowhere else to go, so yes.”

“They’re ride or die for life.”

“They let me come and go as I please since I have to be around for my son, and they don’t give me a hard time about it. They’re definitely good friends.”

Who is your best friend? 

“You’re making me choose?”

“My horses.” Michelle laughs. “They don’t talk back!”

“My wife was.”

Who knows everything about you? 

Misty ponders for a moment. “Honestly, no one.”

“My ex did.”

“My wife.”

Do you and your family get along? 

“My mother and I had our normal spats, but we’ve always been good with one another.”

“My sisters and I have had our fights when we were younger, but we had to grow up real quick when we became orphans. Hadn’t had an argument in years.”

“For the most part. My parents didn’t like it when I chose to marry a Japanese immigrant instead of one of the many eligible women in Saint Denis, but they lightened up over time.”

Would you say you’ve messed up in life? 

“I suppose so... when I decided to run with some undesirable people instead of conforming to society.”

“I’ve made some poor decisions when I was younger.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never regretted any choices I’ve made.”

Have you ever ran away from home? 

“I was kidnapped.”

“No, never.”

“To go and marry the love of my life, yes.”

Have you ever got kicked out? 

“Nah.”

“Nope.”

“Thankfully no.”

[olliepig]

The Swimming Pool

This was spawned by @gumnut-logic‘s earlier post about all 5 brothers on the beach and their different reactions to the same scene. I remembered the writers of Avengers saying they made sure they knew how each character would react to falling into a swimming pool and we thought it would be fun to do the same to the boys. Somehow, it seems to have turned into a Gordon fic though... Anyway, here is my first ever attempt at a fan fic!

****************************************************************

Gordon’s morning swim was a routine he’d followed for almost as long as he could remember and he enjoyed the peaceful time where he could relax without everyone around more than he let on. He loved being the joker of the family, and mostly thrived on the company of his brothers and sister but he had to admit that it was nice to have a bit of time to himself with no chance of anyone disturbing him. The pool was calm and inviting as he approached, towel slung over his shoulder and a tracksuit on over his trunks to protect him from the cool morning air. As there were no stray brothers lurking ready to push him in, he decided to walk right along the edge of the pool like a tightrope on his way to the nearest lounger where he could dump his stuff. Suddenly, his world lurched sideways and he landed with a splash in the water. Struggling to the surface he looked around in bewilderment expecting to hear laughter and see a retreating back but was greeted by nothing but birdsong and the lap of the newly disturbed water on the sides of the pool. Feeling his wet clothes heavy on his body, he wriggled out of them while treading water and retrieved his floating towel before it sank, throwing them onto the nearest lounger to dry off. An examination of the side of the pool revealed a number of loose tiles to be the cause of his sudden dunking, most likely caused by the repeated shockwaves from TB1’s launch. Pushing himself off the side of the pool into an easy backstroke, Gordon pondered the possibilities that may have just been presented to him by this new knowledge.

Unusually, Alan was the next brother to appear by the pool some time later and Gordon was just finishing his usual workout as his only younger brother wandered past. Taking the opportunity, Gordon shouted on him, only to be greeted by a raised eyebrow and suspicion as to his motives: “No, I’m not falling for that again!”

“Aww come on,” encouraged Gordon, moving into the middle of the pool. “Is this better? I’m not going to splash you or anything. I have an idea for something…”

Misgivings overruled by intrigue, Alan headed for the poolside to find out what plot was being hatched now. Unfortunately for Alan, this took him right to one of the loose tiles, which unceremoniously dropped him into the water with a yelp, much to Gordon’s delight.

“You found out my plan then…” Gordon cackled before a soaking Alan launched himself at him and submerged him, starting a water fight loud enough to rouse their middle brother from his morning coffee.

“Don’t you dare tell him! Just keep splashing and hope he doesn’t ask too many questions” Gordon whispered to Alan as Virgil approached, trying to get his still half-asleep brain into gear and figure out why Alan was in the pool with all his clothes on.

“What on earth are you two doing?” The two youngest Tracy’s turned as one and floated in the water trying to look as innocent as they could as their middle brother neared the edge of the pool. Gordon sensed Alan starting to open his mouth and quickly dunked him before he could say anything, knowing that his overly honest little brother was likely to give the game away by coming up with an elaborate explanation that would make no sense whatsoever. Just as Alan resurfaced, Virgil reached the edge of the pool and felt the edge of a tile lift under his weight.

“You pair of…” he exclaimed as he slithered resignedly into the water, somehow managing to place his coffee cup on the edge of the pool for later on his way past. He resurfaced to find Gordon and Alan nearly drowning themselves as they struggled to stay afloat while crying with laughter.

“You’ve got to admit, it’s a good way to wake up!” piped up Gordon between fits of giggles before retreating as fast as he could to the far end of the pool in case of a second attack. He was well aware of the dangers of a Virgil without the required 3 cups of coffee in his system.

“I think I’ll stick to the coffee thanks” grumbled Virgil, hauling himself up onto the side of the pool and stripping off his sodden shirt which landed with a splat on the ground next to him. Sitting with his feet still in the water, he picked up his coffee and continued drinking as if nothing had happened.

“Don’t tell Scott or John! We need to get them too or it’s not fair!” pleaded Gordon once he realised that any retribution coming his way wasn’t going to be swift.

Virgil looked down at the hopeful face of his brother. “OK, but we need to get these fixed so if you want to get them it needs to be soon” he replied, as Gordon and Alan nodded enthusiastically. “And if they try to kill you I know nothing and I’m not going to stop them…” he added before standing back up and heading into the house for a dry set of clothes and his second coffee of the morning.

Try as he might, Gordon couldn’t think of a way to get John up to the edge of the pool despite him being on the island. He’d spent the day locked away with Brains discussing modifications to Five, only emerging once the sun was down so that had ruled a lot of plans out but, later that night, John wandered out onto the pool deck to look at his beloved stars and have some time to himself. Gordon had been out on the lounge balcony watching John while wracking his brains and was about to give up and hope that inspiration struck overnight when his brother moved from his lounger to head back into the house.  On his way past, something made John wander over to the pool and he bent down to trail his fingers in the cool water. As he was doing so, the earth suddenly shifted under him and deposited him abruptly into the pool. While John is no water baby like Gordon, he found the feeling of weightlessness in the water comforting and he spread himself out and enjoyed the sensation of floating for a few seconds until the sound of Gordons laughter filtered over to him. Looking up, he spotted his younger brother doubled over on the balcony having clearly been watching him but no longer paying attention. Quietly, John pulled himself out and moved like a (very wet) cat hunting its prey through the kitchen and up the stairs, not caring about the trail of water he was leaving behind him. As he entered the living room, Kayo raised a quizzical eyebrow at him but he pressed his finger to his lips and she remained silent with a small smile playing on her lips. It was not often that Gordon was caught off guard after a prank, and even if this particular one wasn’t exactly orchestrated by him, he was still going to get some payback for laughing. Somehow, Gordon was still incapacitated with laughter and didn’t hear his waterlogged brother approaching from behind before it was too late and he was caught in a soggy embrace.

Gordon knew that Scott followed a similar morning routine as he did but with an early morning run instead of a swim to clear the cobwebs away for the new day, so both he and Alan were up unusually early the next morning to put the final plan into action. As soon as the eldest was out of sight of the villa they set to work dragging all the loungers around the pool over to the side where Scott returned from his run and arranging them so that the only way past was to squeeze along the very edge of the pool. With this done, the only thing to do was wait. Having already been subject to the wobbly pool tiles themselves, Virgil and John both made sure they were present to see the finale of the inadvertent prank and were enjoying a coffee by the poolside. When Scott returned to the villa, he found the two youngest engaged in a game of bouncing a ball backwards and forwards along all the loungers. Smiling fondly to himself, he proceeded to make his way carefully along the side of the pool, alert to the likelihood of the ball being thrown at him and knocking him in. This distraction is exactly what Gordon was relying on and Scott completely missed the big red X that Virgil had painted on the offending tiles and stood directly on one. In slow motion, he tipped sideways into the pool, arms windmilling wildly in a vain attempt to stabilise himself. Spluttering for air, he surfaced with an exasperated “Gordon…” to find his all of his brothers helpless with laughter, their game and coffees abandoned.

“That was the best one yet!” wheezed Gordon, holding on to Alan as they both wiped tears of mirth from their eyes.

“Oh really?” asked Scott, with a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he hauled himself out of the pool and leapt over the loungers. Virgil arrived behind Gordon at the same moment and the brothers picked the prankster up with ease and tossed him into the pool. Up on the balcony, Kayo and Grandma simply looked at each other, smiled and sighed as the sound of all five brothers ending up in the water fully dressed and laughing filled the air.

[lepus-arcticus]

OMENS: CHAPTER FIVE one | two | three | four trigger warnings apply HORIZON MENNONITE COLONY JULY 23 - 12:06 PM

Abel Stoesz was cabled with stringy muscle, a sparse yellow beard struggling to assert itself under phlegmy, peacock-blue eyes. He had the brutish, loose-jawed look of someone who was willfully stupid, and Mulder, still on edge from the dead fox in the boat, was already itching to break his nose. 

Salome, his wife, was a waif of a woman; tiny, shorter even than Scully, and so agonizingly underweight that you could see the architecture of her skull beneath her face. Perched beside Abel on the stiff loveseat, she rested her bird-bone hands on the gentle, rounded swell of her belly, and a raisin-coloured bruise, smattered with green, framed one eye. Most of her was buttoned up in one of the ubiquitous puff-sleeved frocks of the religiously sequestered, but Mulder would bet that the bruise had a few cousins underneath the powder-blue polyester. They were a few days fresh, he estimated, probably about as old as the news of Anna’s death. 

Mulder longed for the opportunity to set Abel up with a few matching welts of his own, but settled for hating him privately in the interest of avoiding an assault charge and one of Skinner’s arduous ass-chewings. He consoled himself by grinding his molars together. 

Outside, white bungalows and red barns squatted in clusters on the flat expanse of land. A black storm battled the sun for dominance, and the glass panes of the windows, loose in their tracks, rattled against the wind. The other members of the colony, bonneted and behatted, milled politely about their business. 

He and Marion had been invited to stay for lunch by the community elders the moment they arrived. They’d been ferried along to the dining hall, but then Abel had emerged from the throng and snapped them away from the friendly masses, yelling for Salome, who scurried after them and into the dark of their tiny home. 

The air stank of hyssop detergent. No one offered coffee or tea. Marion refused to sit down, and Salome eyed the gun on her hip uneasily. 

Abel spoke first, and spoke plainly. “I didn’t murder my sister.” 

“It’s interesting you say that, Mr. Stoesz,” Mulder countered, struggling to hide the contempt in his voice. “Why do you assume that Anna was murdered?” 

“Why else would you people be here?” Abel glared at Marion, who was standing sentinel near the empty wall, arms crossed. Mulder half expected steam to billow from her nostrils. 

“Your sister’s husband mentioned that you’re not too fond of him,” Mulder said. “Would you say that’s accurate?”

“Hugh Daly is a scourge on this earth, and every day I pray for his retribution,” Abel sneered, spittle frothing in the corners of his mouth.

“Wouldn’t it be more Christlike to pray for mercy on his soul, instead of divine punishment?” Marion asked, her face ruddy with indignation. She stared Abel down with fiery determination, and Abel stared right back, the loose skin around his eyes twitching, not deigning to respond. The wind knocked against the windows like it wanted to pick a fight.

“What has he done to warrant retribution?” Mulder asked, and Abel turned back to him. 

“Anna always had a… disobedient streak. That’s why she left. But that man… he seduced her, corrupted her. Ruined her. Before he came sniffing around, before he made her his whore, Anna could have still come home. She could have returned to her people, to her rightful place.”

“Her rightful place?” Mulder prodded.

“It was my duty to bring her back. To correct her. She was my sister. My responsibility.” 

Mulder leaned back in his seat, hands firmly flattened on his knees so they wouldn’t accidentally crash into Abel’s ugly mug. He let his eyes pass over Salome’s battered, bitter face, and wondered what, exactly, constituted this man’s idea of responsibility. 

“You know, Mr. Stoesz,” he began, slowly, easing into a new strategy. “I… do admire your conviction. It takes a strong hand to correct a wayward woman, and so few men these days have the stomach for it.” 

Abel was visibly heartened, his mouth twisting into an agreeable, self-righteous frown. This is too easy, Mulder thought to himself. Men like Abel thrived on validation. If he could effectively convince him that he was on his side, he was sure Abel would, intentionally or otherwise, let the cat out of the bag. Or, maybe, in this case, the crow. 

Mulder could feel Marion staring at the back of his head, but thankfully, she didn’t say anything. He hoped she could trust that he knew what he was doing.

“I have a sister too,” he half-lied. “I understand. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her. To bring her home if she was… lost.” His mind conjured a few versions of Samantha at various ages, abducted, cloned, ripped to a bloody pulp in the wheat. His chest contracted in a familiar pain, and he directed the images to the raw hollow in the back of his brain where he kept most of his thoughts about her, promising to return to them later for self-flagellation. 

Abel nodded fervidly, evidently gathering his thoughts. 

“Anna was the devil’s slut⁠—” Salome hissed in a high, thin squall, apparently unable to contain herself any longer. “Witch—”, then Abel violently gripped her arm, and she gasped and shut her mouth, glowering at her belly and skating a claw around it discontentedly. 

“She was still my kin,” Abel growled. 

Mulder, sensing an opening, leapt in for the kill. “Mr. Stoesz, have you ever experienced anything you couldn’t explain? Or suspected that you have the ability to make things… happen? To affect the world around you without necessarily taking direct action?” 

Abel looked at Mulder stupidly, his neanderthal mind stonemilling the words, trying to decide if he was accusing him of something or not. But before he could answer, Salome spoke again. 

“Hugh Daly is facing retribution for his sins. Whatever misfortunes befall him, whether they are acts of God, man, or Satan himself, he is deserving of.” She trembled with conviction, her bony jaw shaking. 

“And Anna, Mrs. Stoesz? What about her?” Marion said tersely, from over at the wall. 

“Perhaps she has also received her judgement,” said Salome, and Abel looked at her quickly, working, Mulder noticed, to keep his expression neutral. 

Mulder’s cell chirped in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he muttered, and removed himself to the porch, carelessly letting the screen door slam shut behind him. He jabbed the worn rubber of the call button and put the phone to his ear, squinting at the gathering storm. “Mulder.” 

“Mulder, it’s me…” Scully sounded breathless, resigned. He didn’t like it one bit. “Hey, you okay? What did the autopsy turn up?” He picked at a shard of peeling paint on the railing, wary of the sadness in her voice. 

“Anna Daly was pregnant.” 

“... Are you sure? How can you tell?”

“I found… remnants. Of the fetus.” 

Mulder flinched. “From what I can gather based on the apparent level of skeletal development, I’d estimate she was eighteen to twenty weeks along.” 

He sucked air through his teeth. “Jesus. You think Daly knew?” 

“I’m going to call him up to the station here and find out.” 

“You okay?” His stomach clenched with the brief flickering memory of her ova in a vial. Not now, he thought. She doesn’t need to know right now. Maybe not ever. 

She hesitated momentarily before answering him. “I’m fine, Mulder.” 

“You sure?” Scully’s voice took on an exasperated edge. “Yes.” 

“Because if you’re not, it’s…” “What do you want me to say? That it was fun?” She said, sharply. “Scully, that’s not⁠—”

“⁠—Listen, I have to get back. We’ll discuss it tonight.”

“...Okay,” he said, doing little to disguise the irritation in his tone. 

Held hostage by some unspoken, unacknowledged superstition, neither of them said goodbye. Mulder hung up the phone, took a stabilizing breath, refocused himself, and walked back inside. He settled back into a stiff-cushioned chair across from the Stoeszs. “I just got a call from my partner,” he said. “Mr. Stoesz, are you aware that Anna was pregnant at the time of her death?”  

Abel looked like Mulder had punched him in the gut, which was almost as good as actually doing it. 

“Are you serious?” Marion whispered behind him, and when he glanced over his shoulder at her, her eyes were saucer-wide. 

And then Abel leapt up in a sudden rage, prompting Salome to flee the loveseat like a frightened, emaciated rabbit. 

“Get out of my house,” he seethed, taking a few lunging steps towards Marion. She stumbled backwards, palming her gun over the holster. 

“Mrs. Stoesz, if you’d like, you’re free to come with us.” Mulder swiftly maneuvered himself so that he was between her and Abel, and reached out an upturned hand, but she gave him such a sharp, hateful look that his balls practically shrivelled, even as his heart went out to her. 

“You heard my husband,” she hissed. “Get out.” 

Just another person he couldn’t save. Add it to the scoreboard, boys. 

He stomped out of the house behind Marion’s flustered stride, the cool wind catching the edge of his trench coat and sending it flapping behind him. A few plaid-clad teenage boys waved excitedly at them from the flat of a wooden cart as they hoofed it back to the truck. 

Marion released a creative string of curses and condemnations concerning Abel’s personal attributes, including the diminutive size of his dick. “You drive,” she finished, tossing Mulder the keys in disgust. “I’m gonna end up killing us if I do. Fuck, that man riles me.” 

“You’ve got experience with him? Mulder asked, as he hoisted himself into the cracked leather driver’s seat of Marion’s cherry Chevy Scottsdale. A felted green air freshener in the shape of a pine tree swung from the rearview mirror. He started the engine, and Harvest swelled to life from the tape deck. 

“Kind of.” Marion said, slumping into the passenger seat. “Met him a few times. Mostly at Rhiannon’s, back when me and Anna lived there. He used to show up a lot. Rhiannon usually wouldn’t let him past the front door, so him ‘n Anna’d be arguing in the driveway… God, was she really pregnant?” 

“Yeah. Sc - uh, Dana found, um. She found evidence to that fact.” 

“Fuck. Goddamnit.” Marion was pale. 

Mulder pulled into the road and eased the needle on the speedometer upwards. The truck gasped and sputtered like it was having an asthma attack. The sky above had turned dark and threatening, but the sun pushed a few tenacious arms through the thunderclouds to illuminate the lonely stretch of highway. It was eerie as hell. 

“So… while we’re at it, can you tell me how you came to live at Rhiannon’s?”

“Why do you need to know?” 

“C’mon. Just help me out a little here.” 

Marion picked at a hangnail, sullen and slouching. “Um... I, um, left the res when I was 16. I wasn’t planning on staying in Horizon or anything, but Theo picked me up and kinda took care of me and set me up at Rhiannon’s. She took Anna in, too, when she ran away from the colony.”

“Did Anna ever say anything about why she ran away?” 

“Oh, gee, I dunno, she was probably tired of getting pummeled to shit by her brother,” she said bitterly, as if he was an idiot. She gripped the console and swallowed. “Fox, slow down a little.” 

“Oh⁠—” he eased off the gas pedal. “The… colony elders didn’t do anything about it? What about their parents?”

“Her parents have been dead for years. Highway accident. And the elders...it was none of their business, not their concern. You saw how Salome looked. They’re fucking heartless up there.” 

Mulder nodded, thinking. “So… do you think that Abel would be capable of all the things that have been happening? Setting the silos on fire? Drowning the horse? …Anna?” 

“No,” Marion said flatly. “I don’t.” She took a deep breath and let it stream out of her nose. 

“I’d love to know your thoughts on this, Marion.” 

“And I’d love to know what the fuck you were going on about in there. Affecting things without trying to. What does that even mean?” 

He eased into it as naturally as he could, cautious of her mood. “Well… in my particular line of work, I’ve seen people who… experience such a strong emotion that it can affect the physical world around them. Daly claims he’s been seeing omens, right? And I saw something strange myself this morning. A dead fox in a boat out at the lake.” She turned to him at that, quickly, with a sharp look in her eye. “That seems pretty on the nose, don’t you think?” he continued. “Perhaps Abel’s anger towards Daly is manifesting in these visions, or somehow these events are a result of⁠—” 

“⁠—Stop the car. Oh, God, stop the car. Stop the car.” Mulder glanced at her, and upon seeing the look on her face, immediately pulled over to the side of the highway, lurching over the rumble strip. Even before they’d rolled to a stop, Marion was heaving herself out of the passenger seat and vomiting noisily into the ditch, clutching her stomach. 

Mulder had to look away to keep from losing the rest of his breakfast. Jesus, first this morning, and now Marion... this was entirely too much upchuck for one day. He hadn’t even been going that fast. 

He hunted around the back seat for the bottle of water he’d spotted earlier. He replayed a few fresh, brutal memories of Scully’s poorly-hidden chemo nausea, her deathly pallor, her heart-wrenching heaves behind closed motel bathroom doors. He burned anew with guilt.

Mulder swung himself out of the truck when the retching stopped, toting the bottle. Marion was kneeling on the side of the road, arms wrapped around herself, weeping. He crouched down and placed a palm on her back, trying not to balk at the caustic smell of her. 

“Marion, have some water, okay?” He held the bottle out to her, and she looked up at him, teeth bared, her earth-dark eyes bottomless with desperation. “We’ll find out what happened to Anna. I promise. We’ll keep you safe. From Abel, from Hugh⁠—” 

“Oh, you stupid, stupid⁠—” she sobbed. “Abel has nothing to do with it. You can’t stop it, Fox. You can’t. You need to leave this place. You need to get out.” 

An investigatory thrill chilled the back of his neck, and a distant flash of lightning silently illuminated a fumey cluster of clouds. “What can’t I stop, Marion? Why do we need to leave?” 

Marion groaned in tandem with a low roll of thunder, her tears splattering onto the asphalt, a prelude of the coming storm.

“You can’t stop what’s happening.” Her throat was thick with fear. “No one can.” 

[migleefulmoments]

awesome-fanfictionada * tumblr * com / post / 615676095589728256 so anon ask how it's possible that no one's ever let the cat out of the bag this entire time (not to mention no one's ever captured a surreptitious pic of C/D together) and the answer is a rambling response filled with fake rumors and inane talk about smiling at each other. basically, there is no answer for how darren's "incompetent" team has kept a lid on this secret for nearly a decade. cuz they haven't. cuz it's all bullshit.

The first thing to keep in mind is that awesome is a newbie- she popped up in January 2020. Everything she knows is from "researching” the ccers favorite gifs and answers Abby and co gave to their nonnies in the last few years. She was trolling through the cc masterposts but most of them are long gone so she basically learned through their favorite gif playlist-if you put all the gifs together and took away the slow-mo feature it was probably a total of 4 minutes or less of Chris and Darren’s lives and all of it was from the Glee set or during promo for the show.  

I wrote my comments after her post: 

Anonymous asked:

So, we're 8-9 years? into this whole situation. I want to know how no one has ever let something slip about the truth. There's a lot of pieces in motion...PR houses, SM, appearances with beards, them being together (physically in the same place, like living together) without public knowledge. There's also a lot of people that would have knowledge of the situation. And some of them are not that bright or discreet. It's an incredible amount of time to maintain all of this.

Dear Anon, I’m not sure about the tone of your ask and if you want me to convert you or reassure you? However, I’ll just comment on the things you say. It’s not correct that no one has ever let anything slip about them, there have been in the past people who (2) tweeted about them as a couple just to dleete the tweet shortly after. Not always, some tweets are there still. (3)There have been IG posts and radio interviews with the voice of one of them in the background when there was supposed to be no official interaction. There have been other let’s call them (4)“clues” - even if they weren’t meant to be such. (5) It’s been many years, yes, and with the years comes the ease and the routine, everybody is aware of the situation, teams know what they have to do to keep it going (though sometimes they also slip up, some more than others). With the years the startling suspicion that they might be indeed a couple subsides and nobody cares about it anymore (but us), no one goes out to investigate because why should they? (6)Who cares about D marrying to hide the fact that he’s gay? He’s not the first nor the last to do it. (7) And he’s not that famous that people will want to know at all costs or have tabloids to pay for the scoop. (8) No, it is still his team that needs to pay to get articles out (talking about M mostly). And based on the comments they get on such articles, D’s secret seems to be an open one. Why would anyone tell about them? In HW everyone knows everything about everybody but they seldom tell cause they are all in it together - so who should tell and whom to? (9) Besides - there are plenty of couples in HW and around HW who are pretty secretive about their relationships and have been for years without anyone finding out anything they did not want exposed. Some couples are never seen together anywhere but are known to be married because they have at some point or another confirmed their relationship. (11) It is a long time to maintain this but if the parties involved are fine with the outcome (I doubt D and C are now, but for argument’s sake) nothing will get in the way to disturb the situation.

Do you want me to confirm to you that they actually live together? I cannot. That they have been together all the time? I cannot. (12) But look at them interact at the G/lee reunion and tell me honestly that there isn’t anything going on between them - they have been looking at each other that way for almost 10 years now. Have they at any time looked at their official SO in the same way? They make each other smile and laugh, that counts for very much in a relationship.  

Yes, I started on 2...ignore there is no 1. 

2. She mentions the Tweets that were soon deleted- this is one of my favorite arguments because it’s the most pathetic proof and proves just how easy it is to con a tinhat. Faking a Tweet has been easy for many years and anyone with photoshop skills could do it from day one. Tweets that showed up, then quickly disappeared but luckily ONE person managed to get a screencap? Riiigggghhhhttttttt. We also know that a couple of those famous disappearing Tweets were never real but were written about as part of the “news” post that GleekinthePink mistook for real but was later proven to be fanfiction. 

3. The videos where they hear the voice of the other -usually in a laugh- aren’t “proof” of a relationship. First of all, the obvious, we don’t know who it is since they are off-camera and the person on camera never makes a face of surprise like I would expect if the other outed them. It also makes no sense to imagine that Darren married Mia to protect the secrets but they took a risk by having the other in the room during a live or while shooting a video they posted to social media. I can’t imagine taking a chance like that on something as stupid as a promo Livestream or a haircut-maybe to attend a small family event like Chris’s mom’s funeral or his dad’s wedding, but not a haircut. 

4. What clues did they give away exactly? The not-actually-matching shirts? The not-at-all matching duvet covers? The song lyrics? None of these “clues” are evidence of a relationship. They are simply evidence of a fandom obsessed with making everything into confirmation bias and Abby’s talent at bringing everything back to Crisscolfer.   

5. Now she starts to layout her argument that “everyone knows and they are willing to keep it a secret because who cares”? This argument is so weak I would hope that her community should see right through it, but I’m sure they don’t. I’ve learned through my interactions with Trump supporters and ccers that people who are in a group because they want to win and to be special, people who are bonded together through anger, misogyny, and hate require very little fact-based information. They thrive on short sentences-repeated often- and in anger and having a scapegoat to hurl all their shit at. Having someone to hate is like meth- it’s highly addictive, it rots their brains and it keeps them coming back even after it is killing them. I am sure that any ccer who reads awesome’s post will accept it all at face value.  Hollywood isn’t a close community full of people who either love and respect each other enough to protect Darren or are indifferent as long as it doesn’t affect them. The fact is, Hollywood is a small community, yes. If cc were a couple, everyone would know but being a small community and one willing to hide another’s deep dark secrets aren’t the same thing. Nobody has a reason to protect Chris and Darren by lying or actively working to protect their secrets.. People like and respect Darren because he’s genuine, honest, kind, and interesting but ccDarren is none of those things. He’s a liar who is hiding in the closet because he’s can’t give up his fame, he “treats Mia like shit”, he continues to work with the man who put him in the closet using THE Contract. THE Contract alone would be HUGE and go well beyond tabloid fodder. The NYT and WaPo would be all over the story of Ryan Muphy and Fox TV forcing Darren into the closet, forcing a beard and forbidding them to interact for a decade. 

The biggest reason her theory is nothing but a naive fantasy is that Hollywood isn’t a static community.  Over the last decade, many people came and went and there is no way you will ever convince me that in 10 years, not one person let it slip or was willing to sell them out for their own 15 minutes of fame or blackmailed one of the players get something they wanted. Darren is a vary social man and lots of people consider him their friend. He attends a lot of functions where people see him with Mia. Either ccDarren and ccChris never go out in public- for 10 years they have kept their relationship inside at one of their homes and only a couple of friends know the truth or it’s statistically inconceivable that someone hasn’t slipped or outed them. Glee had a huge cast and crew- add the plus ones and we have a crap ton of people who know, but not one person told a friend who let it slip? Nobody told a friend who works at TMZ or knows someone who does or who is on TMZ payroll? Puh-leaze . 

The tabloids would LOVE to get ahold of CrissColfer- not simply because they are gay, but because Darren has presented as straight for over 10 years and he just married a woman! He also said as a straight man he won’t play another gay character. A gay Darren would be tabloid fodder at any level but as Abby loved to point out, he just won every award; he’s one of the Ryan Murphy Players and his career is on fire right now. CDAN has posted multiple blinds about Darren being gay over the years which proves that tabloids would be interested in such a story.  

6. In 2020 it would be big news if a celeb married to hide a gay relationship.  Especially if that man was famous for playing gay characters and who has been in a relationship with the woman he married for 10+ years. Awesome is dreaming if she imagines nobody would care about such a story.  It’s a story about deception and lies but if you add in the shit they believe, THE Contracts and being forced in the closet, a paid beard who abuses Darren and hidden relationship with another man who has presented another man as his long-term boyfriend? Yeah, that would be huge news. 

7. I have no clue why she thinks he isn’t famous enough to have a tabloid pay for information. Has she read TMZ in the last 5 years? It’s full of stories about Farah Abrahman and other reality stars and their shenanigans. You don’t have to be a huge blockbuster movie star to get a tabloid interested. You only need a sordid story about love mixed with deception, sex, money murder or abuse of power. The tabloids feed off stories like the tinhats have written CrissColfer. 

8. I always love the comments about his team forcing articles out -especially Mia. WTF? His team doesn’t force out articles- they get him publicity when he has a project. Darren hasn’t done all that much press I would call fake, certainly, not many that are written by his team or read as if they just pieced together PR pieces written by his team. Maybe ccers are finding nonsense articles that are clearly written for clicks (they were debating about one last month that was clearly written by someone who Googled Darren and cobbled together his story from what they found online without trying very hard. It wasn’t even written well.  It’s super easy to avoid those articles- if they say “sponsored” that’s a good clue. If you have to click through paragraph by paragraph or photo by photo, or you can barely see the article among the flashing ads, you’re probably reading something of poor quality and not worthy of your time. Stick with articles that are more reputable-actual entertainment publications that cover the industry and including interviews or stories written by journalists. BTW, when was Mia in an article last? I mean more than a mention or two? She was quoted in some for TSG’s opening but other than that she isn’t in the pieces.  

9. There are plenty of couples who keep their relationships quiet but Darren Criss is NOT one of them. Neither is Chris Colfer... but especially not Darren Criss. He doesn’t talk about his relationship per se but is mentioned in places where one would normally talk about one’s spouse. Mia is always by his side and clearly enmeshed in his life- they share old friends and live and work together. The people awesome is referring t-those who keep their private lives private- aren’t running around with a fake wife or fake husband to protect their actual relationships- they are just keeping everything quiet-think Ryan Gosling and Eva Mendes or early Angelina and Brad. Arguing that because some celeb’s keep their private life private, it is rational to believe that Darren and Chris are simply one of those couples is a fallacy-but it’s almost 3 am and I’m too tired to think about which one it is. 

11. Now she’s arguing that in over a decade in Hollywood, the people in Darren’s and Chris’s lives have been static and therefore there isn’t anyone to rock the boat and out them. An interesting argument in light of Darren’s resume over the last 9 years- Broadway (4 different shows (2 Hedwigs)), TV (Royalties, Hollywood, Glee, AHS, ACS), music (including a few tours, 2 albums, multiple one-off shows, and several music videos), Elsie Fest, two feature movies and all the award shows, charity events, fundraisers, and other random things that Darren does. He also owns two businesses that we know of- TSG and The Motley.  That’s a shitload of people that he’s interacted with just at work in the last decade. Oh and add all the people who worked on the wedding-the vendors and their staffs- it’s unrealistic to believe that not one of them realized something was ccUp. Chris entirely changed careers adding all the people in the publishing world that an author works with. He also has done a couple of shows for TV. I’m not even considering the charities they both work with. Not only is this a LOT of people who are keeping their mouths shut, but it isn’t a static group-Darren filmed Hollywood and Royalties this year and rehearsed Amerian Buffalo bringing in an entirely new set of people to work with. If Chris gets his TLOS movie off the ground that will be hundreds and hundreds of new people with him  The fact is, Hollywood isn’t static- it’s the most unstable business I can think of with new people coming to seek their dreams and others giving up or going off to do something else like music or Broadway. There are alwasy new people coming and others going. If Darren and Chris were in fact in a relationship then lots of people near htier homes would know- grocery store workers, restaurant staff, dry cleaners, etc. Yet nobody with this type of evidence has ever even suggested they are a couple. The legit media has never sniffed around trying to find out if Darren is actually gay or with Chris. That says a lot about the validity of the story. Darren would have been hounded by the media when he started playing Blaine but was telling everyone he was staright and showing up at events with Mia. 

Hollywood isn’t known for being altruistic and kind. It’s a ruthless industry full of people with huge egos and big power and people who are broke and just want to get hired for a part, they want their dreams to come true. Hollywood is a town of desperation for so many with big dreams and a quick buck selling a story to a tabloid or the 10 minutes of fan that it would bring- hell even someone making a deal with TMZ to cover them for a period of time in exchange for info about Chris and Colfer is wayyy more credible rational than believing Hollywood is static and nobody has a reason to out Darren.  

12. Laughter and joy are important in a relationship but smiling at someone during a charity online reunion isn’t proof of anything- it’s just common courtesy to be polite in that scenario. Notice they once again are relying on a photo- a stillshot from a video- 1 single frame is “PROOF they are in love” because Chris is giving heart eyes to Darren.   

If your entire argument is they have overwhelming chemistry then you must know that nobody will take you seriously and you should really get listen to an objective opinion by someone who isn’t desperately searching for confirmation bias that they are a couple. Good chemistry doesn’t make a relationship-lots of people have good chemistry and they aren’t in a relationship and lots of people in relationships have poor chemistry. It isn’t proof of anything except that ccers have no evidence.