#after two months in the writer's block wilderness

[somewhereincairparavel]

🐚 Daughter of Neptune headcanons list... 🌊 part three

Note: ahhh finally done with this unexpected series. Also, this is twice as long as the previous two parts, I got soo carried away haha, well you can't blame me, writing is so fun! This is the last part of this headcanon series, I had so much fun writing this?? Even though I had like a mini writer's block at first, I swear I started typing this part out having no idea what I was doing, but it all turned out better than I expected. This part is not just Jason x reader but it also includes so much platonic stuff with the others of the seven + Reyna + Nico. It's just so fluffy omgg. Happy reading! Thank you sm for all the notes you guys have given me for the previous two parts! Tell me if you guys enjoyed it, do you think I should consider writing more of these headcanon stuff in the future?

Part one: https://www.tumblr.com/somewhereinhogsmeade/746404816602972160/daughter-of-neptune-headcanons?source=share

Part two: https://www.tumblr.com/somewhereinhogsmeade/746489087922520064/daughter-of-neptune-headcanons-list-part-two?source=share

•After Jason woke up on the bus, he'd actually remember your eyes and voice VERY clearly. Because those were his two favorite things about you. But Hera had whacked him on the head pretty badly, so he couldn't remember ALL the details about you in the beginning, like Percy did. (I honestly wanted to make him remember you fully even after Hera wiped his memory off, but that would be too similar to Percy and Annabeth lol so I didn't want it to be cliche sorry)

•Now you guys may be wondering, what about Piper and Jason? Okay Piper would admit her feelings for him, but Jason would turn her down, albeit politely though, because it felt utterly wrong. He knew about this special person in his forgotten life, even though her figure was wispy and blurry. He never had any attraction towards Piper, she was a good friend, sure, and it didn't matter how pretty people thought Piper was, because those black Obsidian eyes of the mystery girl he was so familiar with, was alone prettier by every means. (We all love a loyal whipped Jason who thinks that a pair of eyes are more beautiful than a daughter of Aphrodite)

•He knew you were special. He knew that he didn't belong there, in the wilderness school. He knew that he was miles away from home. His real home. But the name of that home never came to him. •the moment he looked at his SPQR tattoo, though, it would bring him vigorous flashes of you and him sparring in a training room.

•Aeolus the wind god, would remind Jason of the time you and him stayed at his palace to slay Trojan the sea monster. Well, of course you went, how can you go to slay a sea monster without taking a sea child with you? Right? That was the last quest you and Jason went on before he disappeared.

Aeolus would trigger that one memory in Jason. Thank the gods for Aeolus. That one memory trigger is what made everything gush back to Jason like a tide.

•He’d remember your name, finally. His Best friend. His crush. His maybe girlfriend. He'd remember his friends from his home. Camp Jupiter. Gosh. He felt such a burst of energy simply by saying that name. Now, he felt homesick.

So you could imagine the excitement he felt, when Leo was building the argo ii. He'd practically gush about you to Leo, and even Piper would be super cool with it. Over the course of the months, Piper realized that Jason and her were not romantically compatible at all, it was all Hera’s mist. She didn't even know what she was thinking, crushing on someone who was so different from her on every level. So now Piper and Jason were like homie coded.

You were super worried after Percy told you that the new, Greek ship, the argo ii would land today. Which was pretty weird, since it meant that Jason was coming back to you. Why were you worried?

•Well, for lots of reasons, what if Jason didn't remember you anymore, what if he lost his feelings for you, what if he found someone else? The stress was real.

•Without even realizing it, you poured your thoughts out to Percy, whom you initially refused to tell about your’s and Jason's.. er.. situationship.

•Percy, would surprisingly be chill about it?? Like you were expecting some panicking now that he knew his sister was romantically involved with someone.

•Percy would calmly tell you that Jason wouldn't stop loving you, proudly pointing to himself as an example, that he never stopped loving annabeth even after the Hera Fiasco. Well. He had a point. That boy was still whipped for his girl.

•So when you locked eyes with Jason, and saw the familiar gleam in his eyes, you knew, he didn't forget. You forgot how piercing his blue eyed gaze was,because it made you feel stuff erupting from your stomach lol (blud is the definition of 🧿👄🧿)

•Without even caring about what your fellow Romans thought, Jason and you would just lunge onto each other tbh. Its canon that Jason is the best hugger ever, so it would be a rib crushing kinda hug.

•You would be SO relieved that he'd remember you and he'd be so relieved that you didn't move on.

•You guys wouldn't kiss, not yet. You still haven't exactly acknowledged your relationship status, BUTTT you do the cheesy af forehead touch thing (you could have sworn percy fake-gagged LOL)That's when Jason noticed your praetor badge, he’d be stunned, and would ask you for details, you’d simply point to the golden eagle perched at the end of the senate house and tell him that you and percy got elected after you both returned the eagle together.

He’d fall in love all over again omgg the heart eyes he’d give youuu. He knew that you were downplaying your achievements tho, so he’d secretly ask Reyna for the full details lol. (Reyna was a proud mom, so she’d give Jason ALLL the deets)

•okay so when Annabeth judo flips percy, you'd be SO taken aback lol, you’d even get a lil uncomfortable bc well that's YOUR brother getting attacked by a random girl- so initially you’d be ready af to throw hands.But after Percy starts laughing you’d realize that THAT'S annabeth. Like Percy's Annabeth. Dam, your brother was with a fierce girl.ANYWAYS, Percy would introduce Annabeth to you proudly, like “THIS is MY sister” (so dramatic and for what reason)

Annabeth would initially be very nervous around you, because, one, she didn't know that Poseidon had ANOTHER kid, gods know what havoc you and percy would cause together, two, you meant a lot to percy and she could clearly see that, an idiot could deny how much love your brother had for you, so she was determined to not mess up her reputation around you, ESPECIALLY after she the look on your face when she flipped Percy (you had a hot temper, need i mention, so without even realizing it, you had directed a very fierce glare at her, oopsie).

Octavian would again, not give up in trying remove your’s and percy’s praetorship by going “Oh there cant be four praetors its against the rules” blah blah that's where percy intervenes with his legendary “we all outrank you loser” lol

So after the group’s lunch scene where they discuss the prophecies and stuff. You, Reyna and Jason would actually talk amongst yourselves, after you guys came to the conclusion that you will have to join the gang in the argo ii. Jason would secretly be overjoyed that he doesn't need to separate from you anymore but you guys would still be sad that Reyna wouldn't be able to come.

This also meant that you would have to give your praetorship up. Gosh your positions in camp Jupiter somehow never stuck permanently, you'd even joke about that. And Reyna would have to handle Camp Jupiter by herself now that all three of you left, But Reyna assured you that it wasn't your fault.

Okay enough with the plot yapping I did. Bc if I continue it would go on for ages. The main reason you're here is because of reader x jason and I'm kinda deviating from that a little.

It would actually take so long till you and Jason get alone time on the argo ii because of group discussions and coach Hedge lol But you both would meet at the deck at like 2 AM (this kinda reminded you both of the times you and he would sneak out to explore New Rome at night.) That's where you both could feel the tension in the air lol. So many unresolved and unrequited feelings on both ends, how would you approach that?

But thankfully, being best friends first gave you guys an upper hand to moving forward in the relationship very quickly. You'd just start off talking about each other's respective journeys in your respective camps. He'd tell you about the quest with Leo and Piper, and you'd tell him about what went on in Camp Jupiter while he was gone.

That's when you realize that Jason looked a little different than when he left. His hair was Messier, a little longer, no more neatly cropped, his azure eyes sparkled when he spoke of Camp half blood, and the war games they had, how different it was from Camp Jupiter, etc.

But instead of feeling upset about how much Jason enjoyed the other camp, you'd feel relief. Relieved that Jason no longer looked stressed anymore, he'd always held this fatigue in his eyes, while he was at camp Jupiter , it was no wonder, considering the politics he'd had to engage in to prove the worth of the twelfth legion, his leader duties + vigorous training had tired him out, but now, some of the fatigue his eyes held had vanished.

Camp half blood seemed to be the place for him. Now you were itching to go to this mystery camp your maybe boyfriend AND your brother seemed to love so much.

Jason would be super nervous to tell you that he liked it better at camp half blood, and that he secretly wanted you to come and stay with him there though. Because he felt like he was betraying his Roman life. He felt like he was betraying your past.

So when he'd tell you, he'd just yap and yap about it out of nervousness. That's when it happened. That's when you kissed him. You would just pull him in. Period.

He'd be super flustered at first, neck reddening and all, but he'd just lean in and be so into it (he's a neck grabber, fight me) You'd think that as a military dude, the guy would be a bad kisser. Hell no. His dad's the chief of getting all the bitches, he ain't letting his son embarrass him by having no charm lol

OH OH and speaking of the old man, The moment your's and Jason's lips met, you would hear a clasp of thunder and see huge steaks of lightning explode in the sky.

You had to admit, the thought of your dad's watching as you both kissed made you feel weird lol

But if Zeus had hated you so much, he would've zapped you to electrons by now, and if Poseidon had hated jason so much, he would've drowned him. But thankfully, neither happened.

After lots of long deep conversations (and kissing)You both would reach the decision that after the whole gaia situation is over, you'd both stay at Camp half blood, but, you'd both return to settle in New Rome as you grew up. I mean, it's Camp Jupiter that you both dislike staying in, not the city itself. The city is paradise for demigods.

But the fates ruined it, so despite gaia’s defeat (No leo is alive and well here okay) after Jason took up the responsibility of building shrines for minor gods, he had to go back and forth between both the camps.

But you, Reyna, Hazel and Frank would help Jason with the minor gods in Rome, While Jason took care of the Greeks. This made his job a tad easier.So the downside was that you kinda had to do long distance for a while AND you hadn't even visited camp half blood yet (Which got on Percy's nerves, the poor boy wanted to show you around his Camp and cabin SO badly, but the fates never left you or Jason alone. The Romans always had duties in front of them.)

But because you, Reyna, Frank, Hazel, Annabeth, and even Leo helped Jason with the shrine stuff. The job got done a lot quicker.

You both were finally at peace.So as a celebration to finishing the shrine project, Percy and Jason DRAGGED you to camp half blood and had the whole day spent with all of the 7 (including Reyna and Nico).

When I tell you, you've never had THIS much fun ALL your life omg.

You never got to bond with Leo, Piper or Annabeth properly because of the war, and stuff. But today? It was like you guys have been friends since forever.

You played capture the flag, You and Percy used up your water shenanigans to put on the most dramatic fountain show EVER (Annabeth was right in her judgment, you both were completely chaotic together) she realized how fun you actually were, not even half as grumpy as you looked. After you and Percy caused a huge avalanche that almost turned into a hail storm (which was prevented by wind boy Jason) Leo told you guys to stop flexing your fancy shmancy weather powers.

Piper taught you guys how to surf, which only ended in You and Percy somehow splattering water on each other and you aggressively tackling him into the bottom of the ocean, WHICH ended in a chaotic “who can swim faster?’’ competition between you both, You both were SO dedicated that you created a huge bubble to bring everyone into the bottom of the ocean to spectate (Frank turned into a sea urchin though lol)

You and Percy ended up in an argument over who won. Mind you, if you read part one, you'd know that Percy and you have this ability to telepathically converse with each other underwater, but only you both understand, so it would end up looking like you're making strangled fish noises to the others. Nico, Piper, and Leo were absolutely hysterical. Jason was amused but so clueless. Hazel was mortified, while Annabeth and Reyna hoped you and Percy didn't kill each other. And Frank? He was still an urchin.

Also, since You, Jason, Percy, Annabeth, Hazel and Frank would all go to New Rome College together, you guys would have SO many double dates together omgg.

I forgot to mention, you met Tyson and Percy's new little sister Estelle, so now your sibling group has expanded even more.

did i mention that percy and you would have matching dolphin plushies? yeah. he'd have the blue and you'd have the grey

Tyson would love you sm omg :( he'd keep making you stuff every time you showed up in camp half blood.

Also, Sometimes when Percy and Annabeth would be busy, You and jason would so babysit Estelle (which Sally would adore) Jason would so take Estelle flying.

can I just take this moment to emphasize how much Sally would care about Jason?? Like after hearing jason’s erm tragic past, Sally would get so protective of him and give him sm food and everything :( Jason would get a little emotional too. Like you can just see his eyes tearing up whenever Sally hugs him :(((

Even though Reyna joined the hunters, You and Jason would make it a point to see her at least Every two weeks. She'd be so proud of how far you and Jason had come, even after the long break that temporarily had your relationship on hold. Now Reyna could sleep peacefully lol since the poor girl had seen you both hopelessly pining for eachother since you were like 9 lol

She had listened to you telling her that you weren't good enough for Jason to like you back, AND him telling her that he wasn't good enough for you, after all.

Okay after you guys got older, because of the amount of services you and Jason had done for Camp Jupiter, you guys would end up receiving such a cool house in New Rome as a gift (it's like the least you deserved for all that you've been through lol) It would have a fancy Roman bath and everything. and even better, it was not far from where percy and Annabeth were living. So it was a win win.

You and Jason would totally iris message Nico at least once a week, you both were basically proud parents when you see Nico all lovey dovey in a relationship with Will. (Is this how Reyna felt seeing you and Jason? Maybe, yes)

Also, you and Thalia met not long after she came to Rome to check out the minor god's shrines. She loved you, like almost immediately, Jason iris messaged her atleast twice a week, so he told her all about you. So Thalia would be SO happy that someone was treating her lil bro right. He deserved that.

Speaking of family, Zeus had just grudgingly accepted that you were his son's girlfriend lol Poseidon would actually be a little chill about it. He wasn't as judgemental as his brother. But just because you and Jason were dating didn't mean that your dad's didn't stop having a go at each other lol

But you both would make it a point to start aggressively kissing eachother whenever you spot statues of your dad's placed next to eachother. Simply to piss them off. And it works. Every. Single. Time.

You would hear a clasp of thunder each time you do this. You and Jason would just look at eachother and burst into giggles. It was a tradition now between you both.

Sometimes Jason would still look at you like you were made of stardust, and vice versa.

In the end, you and Jason were what people called “Childhood Sweethearts”

[rmd-writes]

hi! tarlos and 24 please!🥰 love your writing 😊

I’ve assigned each prompt I received a number and am using a random number generator to choose which prompt to write because I got quite a few from you all! If you’ve sent me one, I promise I will get to it!! Because I’m using these prompts to try to shake words loose after a bout of writer’s block, these are all just whatever I can come up with in <20min and barely edited 💖

Thanks so much nonnie! ☺️

24. Eating from each other’s plates

There’s a moment of quiet as they each take their first bite of brunch, savouring their meals. He and TK are sitting side by side, knees pressed together.

Nancy is watching TK carefully, like she’s not quite sure that he’s really here. It’s not just that, she’s keeping a close watch on the two of them as well. Carlos feels like he’s under close scrutiny.

He can understand it, he supposes. Nancy cares a lot about TK, and after everything – including having to resuscitate him in the field – she’s probably got a vested interest in his well-being.

It’s nice to see them still bicker like siblings. TK had grown impatient at Nancy taking too long to decide what to order, teasing her and threatening to order for her if she didn’t decide. It’s easy for him – he always orders whatever version of waffles is on the menu at their favourite cafe. Carlos has never understood how TK can stomach eating so much sugar for breakfast, because the waffles on offer may as well be dessert.

Today TK is eating cinnamon waffles with caramelised banana, caramel sauce, vanilla ice cream, toasted coconut and almonds and cinnamon sugar. Carlos opted for something much more savoury – corn fritters with avocado and a jalapeño mayonnaise, plus two poached eggs. Nancy had settled on eggs over easy, bacon and toast in the end.

It’s not long before TK’s sneaking bites off Carlos’ plate as they chat easily with Nancy and she fills them both in on some of the wilder calls she’s been on and what the rest of the team has been up to while TK has been on leave. Carlos doesn’t mind. It means that TK is back, that they’re here together, that Carlos somehow got another chance at it all.

“You guys are gross, you know that?” Nancy says, when she realises that Carlos has been cutting bite-sized portions of his food off and leaving them on the side of his plate for TK to pick at.

“I’ll show you gross,” TK retorts before Carlos can say anything, opening his mouth to give Nancy a view of his half-chewed food.

“Dude!” she exclaims, wrinkling her nose.

“TK,” Carlos admonishes but they all laugh.

Later, Nancy frowns when she notices that TK hasn’t finished his food. “Appetite still not back?”

TK looks at her in confusion. “What?” She gestures at his plate. “Oh! No, that’s for Carlos. He likes to eat it at the end because he says my breakfast should be dessert. Right, babe?”

He beams at Carlos, leaning over to press a slightly sticky kiss to the corner of his mouth. When he’s subjected to the force of TK’s happy gaze like this, Carlos isn’t sure how he survived the months apart. Not when the smile that lights up TK’s face and makes his green eyes crinkle at the corners makes something warm and golden bloom inside Carlos’ chest.

He squeezes TK’s knee and exhales. “Right, I don't know how you can eat that first thing in the morning.”

TK smirks and Carlos realises what’s coming.

“Well, babe. This isn’t the first thing I ate today.”

(you can read my other intimate moments prompts here)

[12timetraveler]

if you're still looking for random requests/inspo ♥️ how do you think it would go down if Arthur tried teaching Albert to hunt??

Shot

Content: Arthur Morgan & Albert Mason, hunting, bromance, romance?, 2AM if you squint, cowboys having feelings.

Authors note: Hello Hello! It's been a minute since I've posted anything. I've been dealing with burnout for the last few months and typing words has been like pulling teeth. Even the joys of Black Hills Redemption couldn't pull me out of my slump. But this ask was sent in to me and it sparked an Idea™ so here we are! Hope y'all enjoy.

I really liked this prompt a lot and I had a ton of fun writing it!

I left their relationship a little more open. Y'all know I ship it like FedEx but I didn't really feel like going into the romantic aspects of the relationship so this could be a romance or a bromance. Readers choice.

As always this was written on my phone so if you see any typos or weird autocorrect things, no you don't.

Also just a shout-out to Matt if you're reading this! You sparked some Albert content in my brain which has been very helpful for overcoming the writer's block so thank you! 💙

The full story can be read below or on AO3 (Must be logged in to view on AO3. Blame AI bots for that.)

~~~~~~~~~~~

“If you're going to be out in the wilderness, you need to know how to survive,” Arthur had explained to Albert over some drinks at the Valentine saloon. “What if your horse spooks and runs off with all your supplies?”

Arthur bumped into Albert on the road into town; Arthur looking for a drink to celebrate a job well done, and Albert riding in to rent out a hotel room for the night. After some friendly chatter on the ride in the two had gone to the saloon together for a drink.

“I know I'm not the adventurous type, but I do know how to make a fire.” Albert huffed good naturedly.

“But do you know how to find water, shelter? Do you know good water from bad? Can you hunt?”

“Mr. Morgan, you know I'm not terribly fond of the sport.” Albert cut in.

“Ain't a sport when it's survival on the line,” Arthur countered. “I'm not talking about shooting an animal just for fun, or to show off. I'm talking about finding a rabbit to eat when you're on the brink of starvation.”

“Well…”

“Listen, I understand why you hate trophy hunters. Killing an animal and leaving most of it out to rot is a damn waste. If I hunt something, I use as much as I can. I eat the meat, turn the pelt into something useful, use any part of it I can. Even if it's just a little trinket on my belt. That's the kind of hunting I'm talking about.”

“I suppose I don't have much experience there,” he admitted. “My father took me duck hunting once but it was just sport. He was usually busy drinking with his business partners. I never really paid much attention.”

“Well, now's as good a time as any. ‘Specially if you're gonna be wandering the wilds taking photos of animals.”

~~~~~~

“I-I’m not so sure about this, Mr. Morgan,” Albert stammered as the two men dismounted their horses just east of Twin Stack pass, in the fields south of the oil field. “I really don't think it's necessary.”

“You're the one wandering the backcountry taking photographs of wild animals. You need some survival experience.” Arthur replied. “Shooting bottles out behind the saloon can only get you so far. You need to try on something real.”

"Mr. Morgan I…” Albert stopped walking, nervously rubbing his hands together. Arthur turned to face him. “I don't know if I can do it.”

Arthur softened slightly. He understood Albert, to a point. He remembered vividly when Hosea had taken him hunting for the first time when he was 15. The thought of killing an animal had turned his stomach. He actually threw up after his first downed deer. He had always had a soft spot for animals, and never wanted to see them suffer. Any time he went hunting, even now, he'd kick himself for hours if it wasn't a clean shot, and the animal suffered at his hands.

“First off, please call me Arthur,” he began, stepping toward the man.

“Then please, call me Albert.”

“Alright, Albert,” Arthur chuckled. “I know it ain't easy. You don't want to see the poor animal suffer. You don't want to become like those poachers who waste everything for a trophy.”

“Exactly,” Albert sighed, openly relieved that Arthur understood his hesitancy.

“But we ain't talking about that kind of hunting. We're talking about survival. Catching a rabbit to feed yourself for the night. That's it. It's no different than eating beef or pork. Just more work.”

“I guess I see your point,” Albert relented.

“With any luck you'll never have to hunt for food. But if your horse spooks or you get stranded or for any reason you need to survive, you need to know how to hunt.”

“Alright,” Albert straightened up, steeling himself for the lesson at hand. “Let's go.”

“Good,” Arthur said, patting Albert’s shoulder. “Now you might want to invest in a little varmint rifle, or even just a standard rifle for protection, seeing as you're out trying to photograph predators. But for today, you can use mine.” Arthur pulled out his varmint rifle and handed it to Albert.

The gun looked a little awkward in the photographer’s hands, like he wasn't entirely comfortable holding it. But he and Arthur had done some practice shots before heading out here, so he at least had some familiarity with the weapon.

“Check that it's loaded,” Arthur instructed, and Albert paused, following Arthur's earlier lesson on loading the gun. Knowing he'd emptied it before putting it on his horse, Arthur handed him some ammo to load the gun before Albert could even ask.

“Thank you,” Albert chirped, nodding politely to Arthur as he began loading the gun. “Would you bring something as well?” Albert glanced over at Arthur as he slid the bullets into their place. “In case my shot is bad, will you bring a gun to finish it off so it doesn't suffer?”

“Sure,” Arthur agreed. “I think that's a fine idea.” Arthur slipped his bow and arrow from the saddle. “No point in bringing in another gun and ruining the meat.” He explained.

“Right,” Albert hummed. “If we're going to hunt the animal, we should make sure it's usable.”

“Follow me,” Arthur said, guiding Albert up the hill a little way.

“See these little holes in the hillside?” Arthur asked, pointing to a few small caves in the dirt as they climbed “Entrances to the warren.”

“How do you know they're not badger holes?”

“Too many to be a badger den. Besides the tracks around are rabbit, not badger.” Arthur shrugged. “Come on. We'll get up here on the rocks overlooking the warren and wait.”

Carefully the two men positioned themselves up on the rocks near the top of the hill, looking down over the slope. Arthur crouched down with a sigh, and Albert moved to do the same.

“Now what?”

“Now we wait,” Arthur grunted. “It's cooling off so they'll likely come out to feed as the shadows grow longer. Just need a little patience.”

“Right,” Albert breathed, settling in on the rock on one knee, varmint rifle gripped loosely in one hand.

The two men waited about twenty minutes, neither saying a word. Albert’s knees had grown sore, then moved beyond, to that painful numbness. Despite this he kept still and did his best not to make a sound. Finally his patience was rewarded.

“Oh, look! A rabbit,” Albert whispered. “What a beautiful shot. I should get a picture–”

“That ain't the kind of shooting we're doing today, Albert,” Arthur chuckled in a low whisper, reminding the photographer why they were there. He knocked an arrow in his bow, ready just in case Albert needed the assist.

“Oh. Right, of course.” Albert whispered. He took a deep breath and raised the gun.

“Good, good,” Arthur soothed. “Get it's head right in your sights for a clean kill, wait for it to stop to eat for a moment.” Arthur could feel the man trembling a little beside him, but Albert was focused on the task at hand. “Take a deep breath in, and out. Always shoot on empty lungs.”

Albert took a couple deep breaths to steady his trembling hands. Everything else seemed to go quiet, and as he finished an exhale, he pulled the trigger.

The shot was good, but the rabbit turned it's head at the last second, and the kill wasn't as clean as either men hoped. Arthur quickly followed it with an arrow, ending the animals suffering.

“Damn,” Albert sighed, defeated.

“Don't beat yourself up. It would have been a good shot if it hadn't moved. Unfortunately sometimes that happens. They ain't prone to just sitting still and letting you get the shot,” Arthur assured him, patting his shoulder. “Even if I hadn't been here, you could have ended it's suffering with another shot, or a twist to the neck.”

Albert shuddered at the thought. But deep down he knew Arthur was right. “I never got a shot like that when my father took me hunting,” he noted.

“Well, the kind of hunting your father was doing sounded a lot more like an excuse to get out of the house and go drinking, instead of actually hunting,” Arthur grunted, swinging his bow over his shoulder. “Now let's go get our catch and clean it.” Arthur offered Albert a hand up.

“Oh,” Albert’s face paled. “We're going to skin and butcher it too?”

“Would be a waste to just leave it here,” Arthur pointed out. “It's death should mean something, even if it's only filling the bellies of two fools like us.”

“I suppose you're right.”

“Come on let's set up a camp further up the hill and we'll have some supper.”

~~~~~~

Albert looked rather squeamish as Arthur showed him how to skin and butcher the rabbit. But he watched with rapt attention, following Arthurs every move with his eyes.

“And that's about it for cleaning it,” Arthur said, holding up the skinned and cleaned rabbit by its back legs. “Then all that's left to do is cook it. Could just throw it over the fire, but if you've got some herbs, it makes it a little more palatable. Lucky for us,” Arthur reached into his satchel and pulled out some thyme. “I've got some seasoning.”

“A gourmet campfire meal,” Albert chirped, much to Arthur's amusement. Using some rendered animal fat he rubbed the herbs into the meat before placing it on a crudely constructed spit over the fire.

“Thank you for teaching me,” Albert continued, giving Arthur a small smile. “I know I've been, shall we say, a reluctant student. But I know that it's good for me to know how to do this.”

“Just don't want to hear about you starving in the wilderness,” Arthur grunted as he sat down by the fire. “By dumb luck you've somehow survived enough trouble with the animals you're photographing. I'd like to keep it that way.”

“It wasn't dumb luck, it was with your help.” Albert settled in the dirt across the fire from him.

“I've only helped a couple of times,” Arthur shrugged, pulling out his journal.

“Maybe, but you've helped more than I can say,” Albert mirrored Arthur, retrieving his own notebook and pen to begin scrawling notes from the day.

“Whatever you say,” Arthur shook his head, turning his attention to his journal.

As the rabbit cooked the men spent the time in silence, each writing down the events of the day. Albert noted the animals he saw, the animals he photographed and where he was when he did so. He also notated the spots he visited that had resulted in no wildlife.

Arthur journaled about the job he worked, totalling up the earnings and doing the math of what to provide to the gang. He also tidied up a quick sketch he'd done of the burnt town below Horseshoe Overlook, as well as a chipmunk he drew.

Both men finished up their writing by noting the coincidence of meeting up with the other, and the events that led them to be sharing a campfire out in the Heartlands. Not that either man would know he was included in the other man's writing.

“Rabbit should be about done,” Arthur said, closing his journal and tucking it away.

“Marvelous,” Albert set his notebook aside and pulled out a pair of tin camping plates and forks. “I have a pair of these we can use.”

Arthur took the plates with a grunted thanks, using his knife to carve the meat off the rabbit until the plates had an even helping of rabbit. He handed one plate back to Albert before settling in with his plate, digging in immediately.

Albert picked at the rabbit slowly, seemingly lost in thought as he stared at the sparse meat on his plate. He took a bite or two, slowly, as if tasting it for the first time.

“You ever eaten rabbit before, Albert?” Arthur asked, studying the man.

“Yes,” Albert flashed Arthur a sheepish smile. “Many times. I suppose it's just different when you see the entire process. See it going from a living animal to a meal on your plate is a bit… jarring. Usually I see it already carved at the butchers, or fully cooked on my plate in front of me.”

“I suppose it would be jarring,” Arthur hummed, scratching his chin. “But after all it's just nature. If we didn't eat it, a fox or coyote probably would have.”

“Very true,” Albert sighed. The two men were quiet for a moment, Arthur taking another bite of rabbit while Albert was lost in thought. “I admire you, Arthur.”

Arthur nearly choked on his food, pounding on his chest a few times to correct it's passage to his stomach. He also had to push aside the way his heart skipped a beat. He'd spent too long living the life of the delinquent outlaw cowboy. There's no way Albert meant it like that.

“Why d’you say a fool thing like that?” Arthur huffed.

“Because I do. You have such a high regard for nature. A trait most hunters I've met are sorely lacking. A respect for life that others just don't have.”

Arthur’s face fell slightly. “I really don't.” He huffed, attempting to lighten the mood with a chuckle.

When he braved to look at Albert once more he only saw a knowing half-smile. Did he know who Arthur was? Well, to be fair he hadn't exactly used a cover name. All Albert would have to do is read the paper and he'd know who Arthur was. But if he knew, why hadn't he turned Arthur in?

Albert just shook his head, as if reading Arthur's thoughts. “Respect for animal life, then,” he countered.

Arthur didn't know what to say. Albert was such a gentle, polite man. How could he be sitting here, talking to a known killer, and calling him admirable?

“Guess I got enough blood on my hands,” Arthur shrugged, deflecting the compliment, as usual. “Seen enough suffering without adding any more to it.”

“I think there are too many people in the world who don't care how much blood they spill, human or animal,” Albert remarked. “They lose their humanity.”

“Most days mine is hanging by a thread,” Arthur grumbled, voice full of self loathing.

“I think you've got a stronger grip on your humanity than you think,” Albert set his food aside, attention all on Arthur.

“You… you understand what I do.” Arthur waved his hand, not really wanting to say it. Albert nodded a confirmation. “You've probably seen my name in papers, or on bounty posters. You know I ain't a good man. Battery, robbery… murder. I don't think I could get much worse. I ain't got much humanity left.”

“It's true those are some… high crimes,” Albert relented. “And yet, in talking to you, I see more humanity than I do in the high society crowd. The leaders of the nation are soulless. They're only out for themselves. Wouldn't help an old lady cross the street, let alone random fools they find in the wilderness.”

“You sure you're not an outlaw?” Arthur huffed. “Sound a lot like my mentor. He loves to ramble on about how crooked society is.”

“We both know if never cut it as an outlaw,” Albert snickered. “I'd die on day one. And it wouldn't be to a gun. I'd sooner trip and get trampled.” The two men laughed at that before Albert continued.

“Whatever your reasons for doing the things you do, I don't think you're the monster the papers make you out to be,” Albert explained. “Every time I've met you, you've been nothing but helpful and kind, if a little gruff. You may be a sinner, but aren't we all?”

“I think my sins may be a little greater than yours,” Arthur scoffed.

Albert only shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe the greatness of our sins varies by the hands we're dealt. The life we live. It's easy to be good when you're born with a silver spoon. It's harder to be good when you're fighting every day just to survive.”

“You a philosopher now?” Arthur chuckled.

“I've had a lot of time to ponder life's intricacies of late. Seeing nature in all her beauty will do that.” Albert shrugged. “But my point is, I've met you a handful of times now. You've never given me any reason to doubt you. The papers say you're a monster but I consider you… a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes,” Albert affirmed. “A friend, if you'll have me.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment, staring at Albert, trying to decide how to respond. He clearly couldn't respond with his true thoughts on the matter. He wasn't any good at the sappy emotional side of friendship. His friendships usually considered of having each other's backs and teasing each other relentlessly. Maybe the occasional fishing trip.

“You shouldn't have left your food unattended,” Arthur noted, nodding to the tin plate Albert had set down. It was now empty, the bushy tail of a fox disappearing into the bushes behind him. The fox let out it's laughing call as it darted away with what was left of Alberts dinner.

“God damnit all,” Albert huffed, grabbing his plate and glaring after the fox.

“Here. You can have some of mine.”

“No, you eat, I'll be fine.” Albert tried to protest, but Arthur had already halved the meat on his plate and plopped it onto Albert’s.

“That's what friends are for,” Arthur shrugged. It was the best way for him to confirm Albert's statement. They were friends, as odd of a pair as they may have been. Albert grinned, bobbing his head in thank you before digging in to the small amount of rabbit that remained.

“So, what else have you gotten pictures of since I last saw you with the horses?” Arthur asked.

“Oh let's see. Well I did finally get a picture of a coyote after our first encounter,” he hummed. “And then the wolves. But I showed you that one. The horses, um… oh I caught a beautiful shot of some bison rutting in the dirt. And a loon on the river.”

The rest of the evening consisted of the two men swapping stories of their adventures. Albert detailed all the many trials he'd faced trying to complete his project. Arthur in turn told him if the strange things he'd seen on his adventures. The glowing green light over a cabin in the heartlands. The cauldron of grey liquid up in the hills of Ambarino. The strange bones he'd found in, on and around Mount Shann. Just little things, talking long after the moon rose in the sky, until neither man could keep from yawning.

An unlikely friendship, but one that made a huge difference in both men's lives.

[thespiceyoops]

Home - Chapter 1

So I finally fell into the Steddie pit and it’s kind of all I can think about right now. I am fully obsessed and I feel like making it everyone’s problem. I thought it was going to be a quick little one shot to help me get past the writers block but it is a full six chapters and has fully taken over my brain. 

Series Status: Complete (6 chapters) 

Series Pairing: Steddie X Reader

Series Summary: You find yourself back in Hawkins after a long 6 month disappearance, the events of the Upside Down sending you screaming out of your home town to escape the horrors that haunted your mind only to find yourself face to face with your best friend begging you to come home, to finally see your boyfriend again....his boyfriend. 

CW: So much angst, descriptions of violence and horror, character death (he gets better), PTSD and trauma, No smut this chapter yet. 

WC: 3.9K

The wind is cold on your face, the late autumn breeze bringing equilibrium to the chill that had settled deep inside you those long six months prior. You had embraced it wholeheartedly when it had finally found you miles outside of your hometown, finally taking the searing edge off the agony that had gripped your heart as the Welcome to Hawkins sign faded in the rear view mirror, a blanket of numbness that covered the shattered pieces of your heart. You hadn’t even attempted to put those pieces back together, the fear of the pain that would come from even letting yourself look back keeping the cover of apathy undisturbed for those long 6 months. There had been moments, deep in drunken stupors, either alone or on the bathroom floor or wrapped in your roommates arms, curled in a familiar sweater or jacket, where you had let yourself be swept up in the memories, the pain and overwhelming terror all over again. Eliza had sat with you every time, smoothing your hair and whispering soft encouragements until you fell asleep, making sure to put the articles of clothing back in the box under the bed before you awoke the next morning, having learned early that sober-you was much harder to handle when you saw them than drunk-you. Her abundant compassion was the only thing that kept you going during your hardest times, sprinkled with the occasional tough love when she knew you could handle it. That tough love was what got you where you were now, standing in front of your old home at 11 am on a Tuesday, staring at a car that was definitely not your parents. Your heart drops as you see a young couple pass the living room window, also definitely not your parents. You were never close with either of them, the pair clearly realizing their regret in creating a child early in your development and instead focusing on their own parties and trips, it had been how you’d become close with one, Steve Harrington, the both of you finding solace in each others similar neglect and carving out your own small world together, spending summer days tearing through the town pretending to be archeologists, tomb raiders or astronauts running from big bad aliens, little Steve always flinging himself in the path of beasts and booby traps and the occasional screaming parent when you disrupted their carefully curated evening dinners with your foolishness. It had been just the two of you against the world until he’d met Tommy and Carol, his personality shifting almost overnight and leaving you drifting alone in the sea of high school horrors. You’d thought you’d gotten him back briefly after his devastating breakup with Nancy, coming to terms with your own romantic feelings for the tall fluffy haired teen only to have those feelings trampled as he then desperately chased every other girl but you to numb the pain of his heartbreak. Resigning yourself to your unrequited love had been hard but a very effective distraction had quickly shown itself in the form of Eddie Munson, his wild look and even wilder attitude taking over all your senses the moment he sat himself beside you in the study hall and began adding little bats and dragons to margins of your notebook already decorated with tiny knights and castle walls, the grin he’d thrown you melting the icy walls you’d hidden your heart behind like the summer sun. The two of you became quickly inseparable, Hellfire taking over your Thursdays, Corroded Coffin’s practices or performances your Tuesday’s and since the moment the two of you confessed your more-than-friends feelings for each other the rest of your time spent sneaking off to secluded places, planning for a future far away from Hawkins, desperately attempting to keep your hands to yourselves long enough to crawl your ways to passing grades and eventual graduation. He’d almost made it too…

The warmth of nostalgia tips dangerously into forbidden territory before you can stop it, the memories of finding out what had happened to that poor girl in his trailer, the fight with your parents that had gotten violent when you had insisted that you go look for Eddie and ended with them telling you that if you were “going to continue to whore yourself out to some satanic murderer then you were no daughter of theirs'', the panic and subsequent relief you had felt when Steve had picked you up on the side of the road, his warm arms wrapping you up in the same hug he used to give you when you ran away from home as a kid, telling you it would be ok and pressing a kiss to your forhead, in that moment you had believed him. You’d clung to Eddie so tight when you’d found him in that boat house he’d joked through tight sobs that you were going to dislocate something but not releasing his grip on your either, not while you’d stayed with him that night on the cold dirt floor, not when you’d made a break for it to escape Jason and his cronies, not under skull rock, only finally breaking contact when you’d dove into the dark waters of lovers lake after Steve had been dragged into the inky blackness. He’d been immediately on your heels to your surprise, followed closely by Nancy and Robin, helping you beat the savage bats away from Steve just long enough for him to free himself, his shredded body leaning heavily on the two of you as everyone had scrambled their way through the upside down. You had remained in some kind of physical contact with the both of them the remainder of that horrible nightmare, hand in bloody hand, fingers tangled in Eddies jacket or the vest he’d thrown over Steve, limbs brushing each other, needing some small assurance that the other was there, never letting them out of arm's reach. Not until the plan that was decided upon, you’d felt your stomach the moment Nancy had split the groups, understanding the need for Steve’s protection and knowing there was no one better to back Nancy and Robin up where they were going but hating the idea that he wouldn’t be by your side while you stayed back to aid the distraction, that he’d be so far away and you wouldn’t be able to do anything if something happened. He’d held you for a long moment when you said your goodbyes in the upside down, holding your face in his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead, promising he’d be right back then looking over your head to lock eyes with Eddie and making him promise to keep you safe …. And to stay safe himself, a look of surprised worry lining his face as he looked at the other boy. 

It had all gone so well, you’d done your job, the bats had come in droves and left the Creel house undefended, you’d shared a long kiss with Eddie, his eyes glowing with pride and excitement over his killer concert, Dustin jumping and whooping at your sides. But then the vent broke, the first one covered quickly with the spiked shield, small celebration cut short with a horrified look at each other as you reminded Eddie that the vent in the bedroom hadn’t been fixed until the previous summer. He’d thrown himself at the door, slamming it shut and screaming for you to get Dustin out before the bats could break through the flimsy wood. You’d managed to help the younger boy hoist himself through the portal and were hanging weightless between the two worlds waiting to pull Eddie through behind you when he’d pressed a kiss to your forehead and shoved you back, your back hitting the floor and knocking the wind from you as he slashed the knotted sheets, cutting off his escape route with a sorrowful smile, promising to buy you time as you and Dustin had screamed at him to stop. You’d nearly shattered your knee when you finally managed to vault yourself through the tear in space, barely allowing yourself to feel the pain as you launched yourself through the trailer door, the screams of the man you loved echoing across the twisted landscape, permeating your bones and driving you towards the swirling vortex of bat-like demons. You were fully prepared to dive in, to let them tear you apart as well so long as you could be in his arms when they began to fall lifeless around you, silence falling like a blanket save for Eddie’s gasping breaths as you fell to your knees at his side, everything in your heart shattering as you took him into your arms. 

The soft call of your name drags you from your tormenting memories with a painful gasp, the familiar voice stabbing into your heart like a knife. You will yourself to keep your gaze averted, to jump into your car and speed away, never looking back again. But you can’t help it, a voice you’d heard in your dreams, in your nightmares, sometimes even in your waking moments when you’d gone one too many nights without proper rest, Steve’s voice. You turn slowly, even through your welling tears you can’t help but absorb every detail of the man before you, his hair swooping in the way it always has, his skin pale and soft, speckled with beauty spots that disappear under a gray shirt and thick jacket, his hands are extended in front of him slightly, halfway between calming and nervous, like he’s trying to get close to a deer or a frightened dog. He says your name again and you finally fight through every instinct to run and look up to meet his gaze with a shaking breath. It’s every bit as devastating as you’d expected, a million emotions swimming in his hazel pools, pain and sorrow overwhelmed in the pure joy and relief that feels unreal as your heart shrinks behind its protective walls. 

“How did you know I was here?” Your voice doesn’t sound like yours in that moment, hoarse and broken like it hadn’t been used in all the months since you’d left. You wince, hoping you don’t sound as pitiful as you feel, expecting a volley of anger and ridicule after having the nerve to show back up in town after all this time, expecting it yet not ready in the slightest. 

Steve takes in your posture, the way you’ve got one foot turned to run, the hunch of your shoulders as you wrap your arms around yourself and his heart breaks, desperate to wrap himself around you yet knowing how fragile the moment is. He starts to make up a lie, something simple, something light that will keep this moment of a dream alive just a little longer but his mind stops as his gaze falls across the familiar leather jacket gripped tight under your fingers, the pale fabric of an even more familiar sweater peeking out from underneath and he can’t help but be honest, as he always has been with you, a tiny flame of hope igniting in his chest. 

“Eliza.” His lip ticks up in the ghost of the smile he’s holding back as he watches your eyes widen with surprise and confusion. 

“Wha- how? Why?” You sputter, mind racing as to how she had managed to make contact, remembering the torn pieces of paper you’d left unreadable along the side of the road, remnants of phone numbers you’d let the wind scatter across an unknown Indiana field. You remembered them for sure, every one of your friends phone numbers seared into your brain like a brand but you were sure that’s where they had stayed, not even in your drunken dazes had you let them slip so how? Steve see’s your mind reeling behind your eyes, letting his hand drift up to gently brush the fabric of your jacket, your eyes snapping back to him from where they’d drifted into your panicked memories, wide and scared. 

“Can we go somewhere to talk a bit?” He tries to keep his tone light, holding back the emotions that swell with every moment he looks at you. “I think the new owners are starting to worry” 

You glance back at the house you had parked in front of to see the couple standing, half hidden behind the curtains eyeing you suspiciously, a wave of embarrassment floods your cheeks as you turn away, nodding and biting your lip as you stoop to get in your car. There is only a moment of reprieve as you pull the door shut, the sudden silence feeling like a cool breeze on your overheating body, before it is broken by the clicking of the passenger door and Steve flops into the seat. You glance over at him confused, mouth gaping for a question that he silences with a chuckle, pointing up the road. 

“Let’s go up the road a bit, they put in a new park last month but it should be pretty quiet right now” He can see the tension in your knuckles as you pull away from the house, the tension he’d felt rolling off you in waves as he stood there, it was enough to tell him not to let you out of his sight, that if he let you drive off alone he will never see you again. He can feel his heart clench as you hesitate, seeing the mental battle going on in your head just as clearly as he always could, the same wrinkle that forms between your brows while your lips open and close like you’re having a silent argument. His hand itches to smooth the creases forming across your forehead like he used to but instead just whispers “Please?” 

The softness in his voice breaks you from your panicked spiraling and you can’t help but glance over at him, his posture is almost relaxed but you can see his own nerves in the way he tugs at the hem of his shirt, his fingers busying over the rough fabric as he tries to maintain his calm. With no other plan coming to mind you start the car, wincing at the screeching whine it makes as it rolls forward. Steve frowns and makes a mental note to ask Eddie to take a look at it if he can keep you from fleeing town long enough. 

It’s a short drive, the new park quiet and deserted as you get out, walking closer you understand why; seeing the remnants of one of the giant cracks that had torn their way through the peaceful Hawkins streets that fateful night, ground next to the swings dipping away and filled with dirt and gravel and a few patches of grass still clinging to the last ghosts of summer. You halt as Steve wanders closers to the swings, an almost physical force keeping you from getting closer, memories of the days following the quake humming into your mind, the government had managed to keep the rest of the survivors safe while El had closed the rift for good, or at least as good as she could. No one knew what happened to Vecna, if he was still out there, if he would be back but what El could assure was that he wouldn’t touch Hawkins again. What that meant you didn’t know, all you could feel at the time was fear and guilt, you were the only one that came through relatively unscathed…physically… the rest sporting visible wounds from their efforts, yours however remained entirely internal once the bruises and scuffs went away, your heart in pieces and your mind fracturing as you spent the lonely nights tormented by nightmares of the ones you loved torn to pieces in front of you, the nightmares Vecna had filled your head with when he threatened El. Useless as they took care of each other, took care of the rest of the survivors while you’d remained locked in your room, hidden from the horrors you’d seen and guilt that tugged at your heels with every step through the town until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

Steve halts when the sound of your feet on the dead grass behind him stop, turning he sees your eyes staring blankly past him to the crack in the ground, your breathing coming in ragged gasps as you clutch your arms tightly around you. He turns quickly, putting himself between you and whatever terrifying visions are playing behind your watery eyes, hesitating for only a moment before placing his large, warm hands on your shoulders, your name falling gently from his lips and slipping past the wall you are hiding behind. 

His voice brings you back to the surface like a buoy, just like it always had, the way he says your name holding you in a way that fights back all your demons just long enough for you to regain control of your breathing and blink back the tears prickling the corners of your vision. You shake your head and slip out of his grip gently, your body screaming to feel the warmth again but your heart aching at the touch. He follows you to the swings, opting to sit on a boulder diagonal of the swing you pick, snatching a long piece of grass and fiddling with it for a moment as you settle, flinching at the way the chains rattle above you. 

“Eliza called us 2 months after you left… you’d apparently mentioned some names when you were…sleeping and she did some digging. That woman must work for the CIA or something I swear.” He chuckles remembering the accusatory tone he’d bristled over when the shrill voice of who he now knew to be Eliza, your 55 year old roommate and apparently self appointed guard dog had launched itself through the phone receiver at him. 

~

“Steve huh? What the hell did you do to this poor girl?” She’d snapped the moment he’d answered with his name, he hadn’t even needed her to tell him who she was referring to, his heart leaping into his throat the moment his brain made the immediate leap. 

“Is she safe?” He’d choked out, strangling the phone in a vice-like grip, whispering into the receiver so Eddie wouldn’t hear, his meds not quite having knocked him out yet. 

“She’s still alive if you even care.” He could hear her scowl over the phone and his heart ached, you hadn’t gotten close to many people when you’d lived in Hawkins so the fact that you had someone this protective in your corner wherever you were overwhelmed him with relief. 

“Oh thank god” his voice had hitch at the end of the sentence, biting back a sob, voice strained with relief. Eliza had been quiet for a long moment, clearly taken aback by the reaction. “I just- please stay with her. I know you don’t know me but I know you care about her. We do too, so, so much.” He had to take a second, his shoulders shaking with muted sobs before he could hiss out the rest of his words. “If… If she’s ever able to please send her home. We miss her so much. I don’t kno-” His words are interrupted by the sound of something shattering behind Eliza, her muttered curses and a hurried, “I’ll call you back” Before the line went dead. Steve had stood there for what felt like hours, grinding his fist into the wall as he bit painfully into the other, stifling his cries in the dark hallway, miserable longing overwhelming him. 

~

“That would explain it” You sigh, remembering the long conversation she had almost too giddily sat you down for after you’d made it a full month sober a week ago, a sudden and mysterious lover had come into her life and she was moving across the country with him which left you very suddenly in a lurch… She owned the home and was more than happy to let you live there; however she was taking all her furniture and you, having not worked nearly enough to replace everything, were left with the ever so inconvenient option of retrieving your belongings from your family home. She had been unsettlingly insistent, lovingly giving you shit for being a scaredy cat and being equally patient as you’d steeled yourself for the trip, trying to think of any possible way to get out of the inevitable call home only to be countered expertly by Eliza’s infuriating persistence. That particular stress had however been for naught, not being able to get a hold of either of your parents at their old number you had resigned yourself to a surprise visit, hoping that it would lessen the likelihood of anyone else finding out you were here before you could gather your things and scurry back out. 

“She called a couple times over the months you were gone, just to let us know you were ok, or at least getting there. I didn’t really tell her what happened, government cover up and all that. Plus we figured you would tell her eventually if you felt up for it.” 

“Didn’t quite get there unfortunately, not that she minds I'm sure, she is either off drinking something fruity in the arms of a too good to be true man or, the more likely scenario, she lied to my face, knew my old stuff was long gone and was just setting me up for well…This.” 

“Oh it’s not actually.” Steve pipes up, the familiar wry smile cracking your lips igniting the hope in his chest ever more to push just a bit. “Your parents left around the same time mine did and dumped pretty much everything not of value out on the front lawn. Managed to get it all before it got rained on… We kept it for if…for when you came home.”

Next Chapter

[imjustabeanie]

Matchup exchange with @ddora-kken

So sorry it took so long ^^'

OBEY ME

Your obey me match is….Simeon!

It was between him and Satan but Satan’s baggage is a mess that’s why I thought someone gentle like Simeon would suit you more. There was also Solomon today and I don’t know how he just stuck so much! From what I understood about you, you’re friendly, artistic and quite energetic! You seem like a passionate and sensible soul. Simeon can match your pace but still guide you gently to keep you safe.

You two met at a type of brainstorming event for writers (I just came up with it). In short, you got paired as a team and had to write mini stories in specific teams. It lasted 3 days and you bonded very well! So well that you started having weekly meetings lol. At first you shared writing tips, with Simeon being more experienced. And then it went into your likes and dislikes. This relationship is a slow burn/friends to lovers. None dares to make the first move for months. That’s until Luke has enough and somehow manage to spill the beans about how much Simeon talks about you. Quite a funny way to ask you out no?

Simeon is a gentleman and a subtle lover. He shows his love through actions and words. He always supports you, advise you and is just present for you to vent. He also does his best to make your life more comfortable by doing chores for you and remembering the little things you like. For exemple, you get a pastry from him each day. On special occasions, he even goes out of his way to plan a special date and gifts you first prints of your favorite books. He also likes classics and if he can’t find the first print he might give you one from his personal collection.

It doesn’t mean that you two don’t have quality time together! He makes it a mission to spend every night in your shared home. His favorite moment each day is cooking dinner with you and then just relaxing in the same room. He lovingly calls you his muse because his art blocks just melt away after spending time with you. It’s quite frequent to enter your house and find both of you in what you can call a hobbit room. You’re either found drawing/reading and he is found writing, brainstorming or watching you. He insists on these moments because they’re quite relaxing and he wants to lessen your stress. When you get insecure he has none of that and just showers you in compliments. He loves you as you are, you are not too emotional or anything.

You’d introduce him to more outdoor activities not gonna lie. Cuz he loves the thrill but doesn’t know where to find it. He’d insist on exploring the human world with you and actually has a scrapbook with all your favorite memories like an old fashioned man. Speaking of that….please teach him how to use a phone. He still sends letters and even sent a pigeon once!

GENSHIN (SUMERU):

Now….none is Sumeru fits you more than Kaveh. Yeah it’s nice to have a calmer partner, but one that’s wilder than you also makes for a pretty good mix.

Kaveh is a very passionate scholar, I believe you two met at the Akademia. You are from Haravatat and you two had to work together on a renovation project of some ancient structure. Contrary to what everyone thought, you two got along quite well. He was a bit judgmental given how Alhaitham and Faruzan are but in the end was genuinely surprised. You both respect each other and share the same passion in your respective fields. At the end of the collaboration he found himself yearning for more. That’s why he asked you on dates using ‘exploring and studying ancient architectures’ as an excuse to gawk at you and not the building. He confessed drunk after he walked to your house instead of his.

Listen to me, the moment he can run away from Alhaitham house he will. So the moment you ask him to live with you his bags will be ready. But this time he will ask for your opinion while decoration it and will drag you with him for shopping when you want. His dream is to build your dream house and he’s actually saving for it! He wants it to be a surprise and the ultimate proof of his love.

Despite his energetic self, he actually enjoys recharging at home with you. When he finds you reading or writing he will just make you a cup of tea and kiss your forehead gently. He calls you his muse and has a plethora of nicknames for you. His love language is a big mixt. He’s of everything! He brings you flowers, treats you like a princess and plans dates on social occasions! Kaveh is emotionally intelligent so he can also predict your moods and acts accordingly. He may not know how to give advices but he’s the best emotional support one could ask for.

Kaveh often comes to you for book recommendations. When he finishes the books he loves discussing them with you. Especially if he got surprised by an element in the plot! Kaveh likes rambling a lot because he feels comfortable around you. He’s always talking about his new plans or complaining about people. The only thing he won’t share are the surprises he plans for you. Unfortunately, he also won’t share his troubles because he doesn’t want to burden you or cause another accident similar to what happened with his father… He’d rather suffer than to share his burdens. It will take him time and patience on your part for him to open up fully. For a shining star like him he is blind to his light. That’s the only issue in the couple I guess.

In your house, Kaveh will definitely plan for a drawing room cuz you both need it! Plus, he gives nice drawing tips. Kaveh sometimes get frustrated when you don’t get the hint so he’ll tell you in a pouty voice but means no harm. Your relationship is very lively and adventurous. Yet you two find earth in your house together to not lose your train of thoughts.

GENSHIN (LIYUE)

Liyue was very difficult…but in the end Baizhu won. This relationship surprised most people in Liyue but who are they to judge.

You two met by pure accident in the forest. You found a nice writing spot and he somehow got lost. He was very tired so you helped him out. Not gonna lie he got embarrassed at being seen in that state. That’s why he insisted on repaying you anyways possible and you two started arguing because you didn’t want it. Suddenly, rain started to pour and you two hid in a cavern of some sort. With Changsheng giving her two cents every two seconds and the hour long rain, it was bound for both of you to talk to avoid creating an awkward atmosphere! You two did get along, when you mentioned drawing Baizhu was interested. He also draws but its plants. He invited you to show his drawings and share a warm cup of tea. That’s how you somehow became a friend. The romantic relationship took time to form but he finally confessed after your wild personality got you into trouble and he patched you up. He realized loosing you was out of the question and asked you out.

Baizhu love language is peculiar. He shows his love by making sure you’re healthy (ironic coming from him cough-). At first it will be overbearing to be introduced to so many herbal teas and healthy foods but he’ll do his best to make you like them. He doesn’t focus on the appearance aspect at all, he just wants you to be healthy internally if it makes sense. He’ll calm down your acne and helps you reduce your stress. Heck I even see the two of you practicing a sport together after Changsheng accused him of not following his own sport advices. It’s the reason why both of you take yoga classes. Baizhu also loves giving you gifts. He knows he is busy, he doesn’t spend as much time as he wishes with you and sometimes he isolate himself so you won’t get sick. He tries to make up for it and actually loves cuddling with you (you introduced him to it. He was too shy at first lol). But he still compensates by getting you gifts and preparing a drawing/writing room with the best materials for you. He also gets you a new flower with a new meaning each day and writes you a loving word. When he works for over a day, he brings you a new book. He actively hunts for first prints of your favorites and surprises you with them at anniversaries.

Baizhu can’t really adventure but he tries for you lol. He also tries to endanger himself less and is more actively searching for an immortality solution. He knows his days are numbered and doesn’t want for his life to end tragically when he just met his love! When he finally spills the beans about his condition, he fully expects you to leave him. You’re angry, which is understandable, but he is surprised that you stay and just scold him for his silence. Your relationship became stronger after this.

You and Baizhu are an odd couple. While you are adventurous, wild and emotional, he is logical, sly and secretive. Despite this his love is pure as you became his Raison d'être.

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU.

also on ff.net

Tagging:  @katie-dub, @wholockgal, @kat2609, @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @biancaros3, @ms-babs-gordon, @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld, @chocolatecrackle.

This chapter was a mess for so long, so big thanks to @wholockgal for helping me try to whip her into shape, and @lenfaz for always listening to my writing-related whining.

Emma

The next person who emails me asking for an extension on an assignment they’ve had ALL SEMESTER to do, I’m straight up murdering. ES

I think that’s what they call premeditation, Swan. KJ

There are 33 emails in my inbox right now asking for last minute extensions. 33! Justifiable homicide. ES

33? You’re quite right. Not a jury in the land would convict you. KJ

… This is the part where you chime in with your own work horror story, so I can see I’m being irrational. ES

Is it? As you wish. I just thought seriously about poisoning our illiterate sub-editor with expired milk I found in the darkest recesses of the break room fridge. All because she used a Daily Mail-worthy pun as a headline for one of my articles. And I might’ve done, if the work experience kid hadn’t just used up the last of it for his Ovaltine. KJ

Oh god. Is he okay? ES

For the moment. Looking a bit green around the gills though. I’ve a bet going with the Pictures Editor he won’t make it til lunchtime. KJ

Okay, so not exactly what I was going for, and yet, I feel strangely less like a monster. You, on the other hand, might want to get that kid to a doctor. And/or book yourself in for a refresher for that workplace sensitivity training seminar. ES

According to Liam, there isn’t an opening for six months. Believe me, he checked. KJ

Of course he did. So... 6 hours til happy hour at the Jingles. You in? ES

Oh? Are you buying? KJ

The first round, sure. But only if you promise me it’ll be an early night. I have 203 final assessments to grade. I DO NOT have time to be hungover. ES

Your proposal is acceptable. KJ

Emma saw the poster on the last official teaching day before Reading Week, tacked to the pinboard outside her office. Poorly formatted, and clearly the work of someone with little to no design ability, it nevertheless managed to stop her in her tracks.

End of Academic Year Staff Party

LASER TAG

School of Classics, Archaeology & History VS School of Social & Political Science

Has it ever rankled to be told we produce “Mickey Mouse” degrees? Have you ever been made to feel that your knowledge of Classic Greek literature was “too highbrow” to be relevant in today’s job market? Ever run afoul of Tracy from Social Anthro in the Library Cafe?

Here’s your chance to get your own back! Sign ups below.

Emma could feel something building in her gut. Something unpleasant and inevitable. Something like picturing herself strapped into a cheap plastic breastplate sometime in the near future.

Killian was going to have a field day.

Or, she thought he might, if she could just dig herself out from under the pile of term papers she needed to grade long enough to set up a meet with him.

It figured that all of the empty space in Emma’s schedule would evaporate just as soon as the weather turned. Living under so many layers for so long, Emma had almost forgotten the sun was supposed to have any real warming ability at all. But suddenly, just as the semester was drawing to a close, it re-appeared with a vengeance, and the city was utterly transformed.

Gone were the puffer jackets and tights, the Gore-Tex and the ugly sweaters Emma had long considered to be the unofficial national uniform. Instead the sidewalks became filled with pasty-limbed people displaying their newly liberated flesh with the kind of exhibitionist zeal Emma hadn’t seen since her first Spring Break trip to Florida.

She nearly tripped over a few as they lay sunning themselves out on the Meadows, oblivious to her sweaty, breathless approach. Not to mention the ten or so pubs she had to avoid on her walk home from work, the pavements outside bursting with mismatched outdoor furniture someone had scrounged up in a hurry. All of them packed with sun-worshippers in the most reptilian tradition, and none of them alone.

Who were these people? Emma wondered. Drinking Magners mid-afternoon and stripped down to the barest essentials, always an audience for their bawdy jokes. Where had they all materialized from? Didn’t they have jobs to go to?

In contrast, Emma’s apartment remained completely ignorant of the change in seasons, still cold as a morgue. Her south-facing windows not only had a great view of the brick wall opposite, but they also brought in precisely zero natural light.

It really was a shitty apartment.

And if she had to spend any more time cooped up in it, alone, wrapped in three sweaters while she read circuitous papers in defence of Andrew Jackson, she was going to go crazy.

She had to get out.

She discovered it by accident, really, one day last November when she’d been caught in a surprise hailstorm, and looking for somewhere warm and dry to scarf down the rest of her Greggs donut. Her office-mate had office hours, and the University library stacks were always too crowded with clueless undergrads or amorous couples looking for privacy.

But the City Library? There were whole floors where the only ones around were harmless old biddies working on their genealogies, and their peripheral vision wasn’t the greatest. It was the perfect place to devour a forbidden pastry, or wait out a hailstorm or two. Or run into the very Englishman you’d been meaning to text back.

Emma liked the Reference Library best. It looked kind the kind of thing a fairy tale Beast might gift to a reluctant new house guest to win her over: floor-to-ceiling shelves lining every wall, supported by cast iron balustrades reachable by spiral staircases, an imposing geometric dome that looked like it came right out of Versailles. For the nerds, original card indicies. And for the displaced American history lecturer: plentiful desk space, wi-fi and always somewhere to charge your phone.

Emma had always considered the place to be kind of her little secret. No matter the time of year or weather, it was never too crowded. But there was no mistaking the leather-clad figure sat alone in the second row, feet up on the desk, nose buried in a thin paperback.

He didn’t register her proximity as Emma made her approach, even as she bent down to get a better look at what had him so engrossed.

‘‘Codes, Ciphers and Secret Writing’?” Emma read aloud, perversely gratified to see him lurch forward in his seat, caught unawares. She clicked her tongue as she took the seat next door. “If you’re considering taking up a career as a spy, you might want to make yourself slightly harder to sneak up on. Just a tip.”

He set the book down on the desk, shooting her a somewhat annoyed glance. “Well this is a turn up for the books. It’s been so long between texts I thought maybe you’d done in one of your students, and were lost to the ravages of the criminal justice system forever.”

Emma made a face.

“No? Well, small mercies I suppose. And fancy seeing you here. I didn’t really pick you for a fan of French Renaissance architecture, Swan. Or was there some other marvel you’d come to admire?” He asked, batting his eyelashes in the kind of over-the-top way that would put a silent film ingénue to shame.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Sorry to deflate that massive ego of yours, but I’m not stalking you. I’m just here for the free wi-fi. How was I supposed to know you’d be here… studying spycraft?”

“So just a happy coincidence then?” He held her gaze for a moment, like he didn’t quite believe her. “Well then, as to the book, believe me, Swan, I have zero aspirations towards the Security Services. Callum, however…”

At that, a young woman a few rows down glanced up from her MacBook to give them the evil eye, and Killian ducked his head, slipping a piece of paper from out between the pages of the book, marked with an indecipherable jumble of numbers written in a childish blue scrawl.

“He’s off penguins for the minute,” he continued, his voice now little more than a hushed whisper. “Now it’s codes. Ciphers. Secret communiqués. Which wouldn’t be so bad, perhaps, if the lad hadn’t refused to communicate in any other way...” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his frustration plain.

By the sound of it, things might have been a little tense at the breakfast table lately.  

Emma whistled through her teeth, though she fought to match his soft tones. “Wow. I think when I was eight years old, all I cared about was ponies.”

He glanced up at her then, the unspoken ‘Is that so?’ making her cheeks color. Even when he said nothing at all, Killian still found ways to make her regret every casual remark, every tiny breadcrumb she unwittingly left behind of the childhood she’d tried so hard to forget.

“Let me see that,” Emma said hotly, snatching the coded message from where it lay before him, leaning forward to examine it.

Then without thinking too much about it, she plucked the red pen from her hair that she’d been using to keep her bun in place, and set about making a series of tiny scribbles.

Killian, his book apparently forgotten, leaned over to study her work. “Know a thing or two about ciphers, do we, lass?”

Emma shrugged. “A bit. It came free with my John Jay obsession. But Callum’s what? Eight, right? So it’s probably not anything too difficult…”

The numbers could mean he was using a book as the key. Each number corresponding to a page and paragraph in the book where the desired word lay. Jay had been a fan of that particular method. He’d favored a dictionary as his key, usually. But the numbers Callum had written…

Emma drew up the matrix, smiling to herself as the childish meaning behind the code slowly became clear. She twisted the paper back in Killian’s direction with a victorious flourish.

“Lachie... is... a…” she translated. “Well, you can see for yourself.”

Killian’s eyes widened looking from the paper, back to Emma, his mouth agape. “You’re bloody brilliant, Swan.”

Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever been told that before. By anyone. Certainly not by someone who’d never been on the receiving end of one of her blow jobs. It was a single stray thought that stuck uncomfortably in her thoughts, and had her barreling on in a hurry to fill the awkward pause.

“It’s a six-sided Polybius square,” Emma explained, keeping her eyes trained to the piece of paper. “I’m pretty sure I read somewhere POWs in Vietnam used a variant of it to communicate between their cells. But Callum’s numbers only go up to 6, so I… what?”

He was staring.

“Nothing,” he said with a cough, though she could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“You okay?”

He shook his head. “Of course. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking what?” Emma asked warily.

Looking kind of like he’d rather the ground rose up and swallowed him instead, Killian sighed and met Emma’s eye, shooting her a look that was so direct she was tempted to scoot her chair back to give them some space. “I was just thinking that Dr Swan is quite a good look on you.”

Emma opened her mouth, to what? Scoff? Say thank you? Luckily, she never had to find out, the silence punctuated by a series of conspicuous buzzing noises.

Emma heard MacBook Girl’s muttered curse. As if she wasn’t just dicking around on Facebook, like everyone else.

“Forgive me,” Killian murmured, clearing his throat and reaching into his pocket and fishing out the device. Whatever he read on that screen, his face immediately pulled into a tight frown and he rose out of his chair all at once.

“Everything okay?” Emma asked, growing concerned.

“Hmmm.”

It was not the most convincing sound Emma had ever heard.

As if somehow sensing Emma’s frustration, he raised his gaze from the phone to look at her, his expression softening a fraction around the eyes. “Apologies, Swan,” he said with a pained smile. “It appears I’m needed elsewhere.”

He hovered a moment, his weight shifting restlessly from foot to foot. “I need to head back to the office first. Would you like to walk with me? Or is the lure of free wi-fi too good an inducement to pass up?”

Emma glanced down at her watch, which showed the time to be little past noon. She’d been planning on enjoying the silence of solitude of the library a little more. Make a dent in her grading somewhere with decent heating and what passed for natural light.

But given the look on his face right now, and the way he was clenching his jaw, the fact that he’d even asked meant he probably really, really needed the distraction. And Emma might be pretty selfish on her best days, but she wasn’t cruel. And it just so happened, she had a particular distraction in mind.

“Sure,” she said, letting some of her weight fall onto his proffered prosthetic, as she rose from her chair.

“Sure, I’ve got time.”

Yeah, he was a fan of the laser tag idea.

His mood wasn’t buoyant exactly, as they wended their way along Castle Terrace, dodging Chinese tour groups who were arriving by the busload, selfie sticks at the ready. But the idea of Emma making a humiliating spectacle of herself certainly seemed to hold some kind of appeal for him.

He was no longer actively brooding.

“I can just picture it now; Emma Swan: Jungle Warrior.”

Emma snorted. Then she opened her mouth to refute this, and then closed it again, considering her track record.

Killian considered her shrewdly. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”

“I don’t know…I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m kind of competitive. The last time I did something like this, it got kind of… ugly.”

“Define ugly.”

“We went paintballing for David’s birthday one year and August ended up in the ER with a dislocated knee.”

Killian winced.

“He says he can still feel it when it rains. Of course, he’s a novelist, so he’s kind of known for being needlessly dramatic so...”

Encouraged by the prospect of mayhem, the usual mischievous sparkle was returning to Killian’s eyes. “I think this competitive side is something I’ve got to see for myself.”

“Too bad you’re not invited, then, huh?”

“I could be…?” Oh no. No way. Was he really pulling puppy dog eyes right now?

“No way. Not happening. You can put those eyes away. It’s a work event. The administration are already on my case about this whole thing enough as it is.”

“And if I talk them ‘round?”

“You’re not going to get the administration to change their minds about me with a winsome smile and pretty boy charm.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

Emma just rolled her eyes, and nudged him into the path of an oncoming tour group.

When I got back to the library I realized you left your book, btw. I returned it. Figured you didn’t need it anymore? ES

Indeed I don’t. In cracking his code, I believe you’ve exhausted Callum’s sudden passion for cryptography. At least, for now. Elsa would like to express her eternal gratitude. KJ

Wow. Look at me, extinguishing a young boy’s thirst for learning. Clearly I’ve got this whole teacher thing on lockdown. ES

Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I saw him googling nebulas on the iPad earlier. I dare say another obsession is in the offing. One that might drive his mother a little less insane. KJ

Well, that’s something. ES

Okay, so clearly the administration was into winsome smiles and pretty boy charm, because the next thing Emma knew, she was seated on a university-chartered bus headed out into the hinterland, her columnist stretched out of the seat beside her.

Because that was a super normal thing to bring along to a work event.

Emma found it easiest to ignore the curious looks of her bus-mates by picturing how she was going to wipe the floor with each and every one of them when they got to where they were going.

For the most part, the reluctant recruits they’d manage to scrape together from the School of Social & Political Science did not inspire awe. Emma was pretty sure she could take them. Between Tracy from Social Anthro with her scoliosis, and Glen from British Politics with his spare tire, they seemed a pretty ragtag bunch, not suited to roughing it in the great outdoors.

There was only one among them who looked like a contender, the bearded guy in the army surplus jacket dozing at the back of the bus.

His possible narcolepsy aside, he at least seemed to be in decent shape, if the cut of jaw was any indication. As if he could feel her gaze on him, his eyes blinked open, and Emma turned back to Killian, who’d suddenly trailed off mid-sentence.

“And you didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?”

Emma cringed inwardly. “Sorry. I was just sizing up the competition.”

“Oh?” He enquired, his tone lightening. “And how do they measure up, in your estimation?”

Emma shrugged. “I think it’s in the bag. Our combined youth-”

“Your fighting spirit-” Killian interrupted.

“And the fact the history department won against the Divinity School last year...  ,” Emma continued, ignoring him.

“What about Rambo over there?” Killian asked, raising his chin to indicate the same guy Emma had been caught checking out before. “He looks like he might present a challenge.”

“Yeah, well,” Emma said, refusing to follow his gaze. “We’ll see.”

If Emma thought she might be able to somehow avoid this handsome stranger, maybe she should have remembered that she was cursed. Because when they nominated team captains, somehow it was him that Emma found herself facing off against.

The two of them stood awkwardly, forced to wait while some teenaged employee scrounged around in the pockets of his cargo pants for a coin to flip to determine territory.

And he was handsome, there was no getting around it. Nice hair, just on the manageable side of curly. Admittedly impressive biceps peeking out from underneath an ill-fitting plastic breastplate. Not to mention the warm, friendly smile as he held out a hand.

“Best of luck,” he said.

Oh, and an accent. A very nice accent.   

“And to you,” Emma said graciously, accepting the handshake. She might have been naturally competitive, but there was no need to be rude.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you on campus before,” he mentioned casually, even as his hand still clasped over hers. “I’m Graham Humbert, International Relations.”

The way he said it, with his tongue peeking out to wet his lower lip, she wondered if he was flirting with her. She wondered if she wanted him to be.

“Emma Swan,” she replied, letting her hand fall back down to her side, palm tingling. “American History.”

Killian

Killian Jones was no stranger to using his masculine wiles to his advantage. Though he’d been something of an awkward youth, his university years had been their own sort of education, quite aside from his unfinished philosophy degree.

Now, as a mediocre journalist with few moral scruples, he employed charm and flattery as tools of the trade. What better way to put an interview subject at ease? Or finesse that long-guarded secret from someone’s lips?

True, Saorsa was hardly The Guardian. He wasn’t uncovering government corruption at it’s highest levels or netting himself any Pulitzers. Though he did manage to stir up a hornet’s nest in Parliament that one time, after he got a MSP to admit to an extra-marital affair. Necessary to the public interest it was not, but it never did the circulation numbers any harm.

It was these skills he thought might help secure him a spot on the team bus to Lugton Bogs, the aptly named quagmire that was home to Edinburgh’s premier, and only, outdoor laser tag centre. Or at the very least, might improve Emma’s standing with the university after a rocky start.

Killian’s first port of call? The Press and Public Relations department, tucked away in cobbled alley near Sandy Bell’s. And from the rising stink of it, mostly treated as an open latrine by some of the male patrons of said watering hole after one too many libations at the weekend.

The inside was decidedly more pleasant, sheltered from the stench by double glazed windows and a heavy steel door. The office itself was attractive enough, a hive of industry playing to the soundtrack of ringing telephones. He stopped to ask the way to the right office, and was directed up to the first floor, where cubicles gave way to actual offices.

It was a promising start, he thought. That is, until he seated himself in a rather uncomfortable chair outside his target office, and had gotten a good look at the nameplate velcroed to the door.

That Killian’s quarry turned out to be a male was regrettable, and a waste of Killian’s talents.  That Killian’s quarry turned out to be none other than Robert Gold, native Glaswegian and former husband of one Belle French, Killian thought perhaps it wasn’t too late to do the honourable thing and fall on his sword.

He’d never been stupid enough to name Belle directly, but realistically, how many Australian librarians in Edinburgh could there be? And here was the very man Killian had publicly outed just a few short months ago, as a man who’d chosen his pill addiction over his marriage.

This was the man he had sought?

Killian was already halfway to his feet, ready to skive off their meeting with great urgency, when the door opened and out stepped a slight, silver-haired man, leaning heavily on a cane.

Tink hadn’t been lying when she’d said he’d been older.

“Killian Jones, is it?” he asked, looking bored.

Hello, rock. Hello, hard place. Killian’s first temptation was still to flee, but seeing as he was half-standing in plain sight, it seemed that ship had long sailed.

Instead he straightened, and held out a hand, trying to keep his voice quiver-free. “Aye, Killian Jones. I believe you’re the man to see about getting oneself included on an employee outing?”

For all his vices, Robert Gold did have one thing to his credit; he did not seem to be a Saorsa subscriber. Indeed, Killian’s name did not seem to bring about any flash of recognition. Nor, to Killian’s immense relief, a sudden zeal to sue for libel.

Though now Killian knew what to look for, he very much doubted the man would have much legal grounds. From the sweat soaking through his dress shirt, to the sallow complexion, to the pupils round as saucers, there was no way Robert Gold wasn’t in the throes of some chemical cocktail. The single life clearly wasn’t working for him.

He did, however, seem for the moment to be all-business.

“Laser tag?” he enquired.

Not sure if he was asking for an explanation, or merely a confirmation, Killian hesitated. “Something of an annual tradition from what I understand. Pitting department against department, all in the name of friendly competition.”

Gold nodded, absently.

“And this…” He peered down to examine the form in front of him. “... Emma Swan. You’re writing a column about her personal life?”

“It’s more an exploration on the nature of adult friendships. How difficult it is to make meaningful connections when you find yourself separated from your familiar networks. Emma is merely a vehicle I’m using to…” Killian fumbled for a suitable word. “...illustrate the point.”

“Hmmm.”

With any luck, that “Hmmm” meant that Gold found the idea tedious, and never wanted to hear about it again. Still, Killian wondered how long it would take him to convince their IT guy to “accidentally” corrupt the link to February’s column online.

“And you feel it would be helpful to you if you ‘tagged along’ on this outing?”

Truthfully, now he’d gotten Ruby to confirm Emma’s ER story, he mostly just wanted to watch her in action. But something told him Gold wouldn’t be particularly sympathetic to his plight.

“I think it would lend my words a certain credibility, if I was actually present for the events, certainly.”

Gold looked thoughtful, as if he was actually entertaining the idea. Or perhaps he was just meaning to add his next date with his dealer to his personal calendar. At any rate, he didn’t make Killian wait too long.

“There’s a number of forms to fill out,” the Glaswegian declared airily, pulling a stack of papers from a filing cabinet. “And some insurance concerns. I imagine your employer can email through proof of that?”

Could they? Killian certainly hoped so.

“Aye, of course.”

“Of course, we don’t ask for copy approval ahead of time, we’re not totalitarian savages. But you should be aware that we are always looking for ways to promote the university as a diverse, innovative and enjoyable workplace. Sometimes this means entering partnerships with members of the fourth estate, and sometimes that means breaking off such arrangements, if we feel our aims are not in concert. If you understand my meaning?”

Don’t burn any bridges. Duly noted.

At Killian’s nod of acquiescence, Gold clapped his hands together. “Well then, dearie, it looks like we have ourselves a deal. Blue pen, or black?”

And you thought it couldn’t be done. KJ

You didn’t. ES

I did. KJ

Please tell me you’re joking? ES

Alas, the cramp I’m nursing after signing near a dozen documents in triplicate says otherwise. I am UoE approved, and ready to watch Emma Swan go full berserker. KJ

I hate you. ES

I know. KJ

“Players must keep two hands on the phaser at all time to activate it. This is a safety feature which prevents the phaser being held at an arm’s length,” Killian read the tiny warning sticker on the side of his gun aloud.

Well, wasn’t that just fantastic.

Killian looked around for some teenaged, zero-hour contract flunky he could flag down, but after the initial hubbub of the coin toss, they’d all but vanished. The stand of trees stood all but empty now, except for the handful of middle-aged academics in green vests, wheezing as they made their way over the rise.

Sod it.

His gun might be fucking useless, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do what he came here to do: Watch Emma Swan kick arse and take names.

She really was in fine form. She might have been surprised by her appointment to team captain, but Killian wasn’t. She was the only one among them who actually looked like they knew what they were doing, and objectively speaking, she looked good doing it.

And as the reluctantly appointed leader, she was the one leading the charge to the enemy compound, organising her little band using military tactics she’d probably lifted straight from Che Guevara. This was exactly why people shouldn’t cross history professors.

Expending the last of his lung capacity, Killian caught up with Emma’s splinter group, just in time to hear the electronic sound effect that signalled a direct hit to the man to his left.

“Six o’ clock,” Killian bellowed, diving for the cover of the nearest tree stump. Emma was already there, pinned down by two more red-vests advancing from the other side.

“Alright, Swan?” he asked, wiping at his forehead with the sleeve of his useless arm.

To his delight, she actually seemed to be enjoying this, her face aflush with activity, her grin wide. She turned his way, tucking a stray tuft of hair behind her ear. “Give us the the tools, and we will finish the job.”

Churchill. She was quoting fucking Churchill.

But as she heard her compatriots fall to enemy fire, he could see the enthusiasm in her eyes visibly dim with each electronic squeal. If they stayed here too long, Rambo and the lasses from Gender Studies were going to pick them off, one by one.

Someone had to do something, and quickly.

And that someone might as well be the eejit with the gun that didn’t bloody work.

Nudging Emma’s shoulder, he pointed to a pile of boulders a little way off. “You make for those, and I’ll cover you.”

Emma looked from the pile, back to Killian. “Are you crazy? That’s like twenty yards. There’s no way we’ll both make it.”

“Only one way to know for sure,” Killian said, rising from his hiding place, and giving her no choice but to follow his lead.

“Aargh,” she cried, scrambling to her feet, rifle at the ready. “You know I hate you, right?”

“Aye, Swan,” he said, swinging to face his aggressors head-on. “I know.”

It wasn’t a drawn-out death.

To Killian’s satisfaction, a few of them had turned and fled when they saw him stand up. But Rambo, the bearded leader of the opposition seemed clue-ier than his friends. He saw the diversion for what it was. And as Emma darted out from behind the stump, he set his sights accordingly. Might have gotten her too, if Killian hadn’t stepped into the line of fire.

“You do know the purpose of the game is not to get hit, right?” Rambo called after him.

But instead of replying, Killian merely slung his rifle up onto his shoulder and headed back to the holding area, humming a song under his breath.

In the end, Emma decimated them, as he knew she would. All but Rambo, that cocksure son of a bitch. He had military training, of that Killian was certain. Or at least a stint in the cadets. He was a little too at ease, in Killian’s view.

Still, Emma managed to hold her own, waiting the bastard out until the clock ran down.

A draw.

He thought he might shout Emma a drink for this. Something tall and refreshing. But as she emerged from the stand of trees, still aglow with near-victory, he saw she wasn’t alone. Rambo strode along beside her, the two of them getting on suspiciously well for people who’d just been trying to “kill” one another.

Killian shrank back, letting himself fall back into a crowd of archaeology professors, comparing aches and pains. They certainly weren’t of the Indiana Jones mould.

He wouldn’t say he watched them. He merely observed them, like any other dispassionate member of the fourth estate. And how could he not notice his subject’s pleasure at this man’s company? The way her gaze dropped downward as they shook hands, a rare show of shyness.

Emma liked him. Rambo. Whatever his name was. Even a blind man could see it.

As far as the project was concerned, this was good news. Emma Swan, single and ready to mingle? Hell, it was a boon. Not to say one’s social life never suffered from embarking on a new relationship, but it was a damned sight better than Emma staying home every night with her marking and her Netflix.

So why did the sight of Emma typing her number into the man’s phone suddenly make Killian feel queasy? This was a good thing.

He should be happy for her.

Getting home took a little longer than anticipated. Not least because he stopped by the Jingles on the way and emptied out their stores of Captain Morgan.

“Maybe you should call it a night, eh?” the bar man suggested, just around the time Killian’s vision started going blurry.

Recalling Liam’s last lecture about “unnecessary expenses” he walked the rest of the way home, taking a somewhat circuitous route through a few back gardens.

He struggled with the lock, frustrated to find his keys kept slipping from his hand. He almost had it when the door suddenly fell in, and Killian with it.

“What the-”

Who else but Liam stood over him, arms crossed in that same look of quiet disappointment he’d been wearing for years.

“Good night was it?” his brother asked coolly, reaching forward to help him up.

“Geroff me, you judgy git,” Killian scowled, rising to his feet perfectly well on his own, with nary a wobble. “Would ‘ave been fine, you hadn’t opened the door like that.”

Liam stepped away, hands held up in surrender. “If you insist.” And then after a moment, “Why do you look like you’ve been at the Somme?”  

Killian looked down at himself, to the best approximation of combat clothes his wardrobe had to offer, now caked in mud to the knee, and streaked with dirt elsewhere.

“Laser tag,” Killian replied. “S’for work.”

“Hmm,” Liam hummed. “Let me guess, you weren’t on the winning side?”

If you wanted to get technical about it, it had been a draw. But deep down, Killian couldn’t kid himself on that front. 

Whichever side he’d been on had definitely been the losing one.

And how were drinks with Rambo? KJ

Graham. His name is Graham. ES

So it is. Does that sharp rebuke mean that in addition to guerrilla warfare, the man also excels at scintillating conversation over cocktails? KJ

Has anyone ever told you you’re a shameless gossip? ES

Once or twice. Though I much prefer the term “indomitable busybody.” That’s my favourite. KJ

Gee, I wonder why. And for your information, it wasn’t terrible. ES

Coming from you, Swan, that’s almost a ringing endorsement. KJ

23  25-32-33-45  51-33-43  42-33-33-25    42-22-11-42  12-26-11-41-42   16-33-36  31-15. ES

23’31  41-43-36-15  23 22-11-44-15  32-33  23-14-15-11  45-22-11-42  5-33-43  31-15-11-32. KJ

Whatever you say, buddy. Good night, Killian. ES

Good night, Emma. KJ

[bump1nthen1ght]

Out of the Woods (Werewolf x Reader) Part 2

Pairing:Fem!Reader/Male!Werewolf

Genre: Rural Fantasy, Slow Burn, Fluff

Warnings: Mention of blood, Small mention of animal (specifically coyote) death, mentions of guns

Word Count: 6082 words

Summary: You begin the slow journey of sheltering a werewolf. Whether that’s a smart idea, you’re still unsure. But the two of you are stuck in this together, like it or not.

A/N: So……part two is here!!! (What do you mean its been 7 months since I’ve updated shhhhh)

But seriously, thank you for all the support over my impromptu hiatus. I was hit with pretty severe writers block on top of general life stress. I found myself disliking everything I wrote and hating the anxiety I had when I didn't. But the break has actually helped ALOT. I’m so happy with this piece and I think y’all will like it, I know you have been waiting a while! Enjoy!

(Side note, I'm thinking of writing some little vignettes about this relationship in the future. Let me know if y'all would be interested!)

Taglist: @ileavechaosinmywake @wannabewolf

@sorryimnotcreativeatall

As Heath scarfs down a whole rotisserie chicken by himself, you wonder how long your groceries are going to last.

He eats with his hands, like a drunk person desperate for a salty snack in the middle of the night. You can see that even in his human form his canines are elongated and extra sharp. They tear through the meat like a hot knife through butter. When he finds a particular piece is too hard to get with his mouth, he flicks out his claws and scrapes it out.

He’s still handsome as hell, though.

His long hair falls elegantly over his shoulder, drawing attention to his sharp clavicle and the definition of his shoulder muscles. It’s shiny and thick, surprisingly well-kept, as if he hadn’t been living in the wilderness for the last few months.

“Here,” You take the scrunchie off your wrist, sliding it across the table, “Take this.” Heath pauses his little massacre to quickly tie his hair up, just out of the way enough so he can eat unabated.

So he does know what hair-ties are.

You add that to the “What The Werewolf knows” list in your mind; His unabashedness about nudity and lack of social graces would indicate he hasn’t lived in civilization for a while, but his general know-how of kitchen appliances and a first aid kit seem to say otherwise.

“So…” You mutter, tapping your fingers on the table. Heath doesn’t even look up from his chicken. “Do you know why the hunters are after you?”

Heath shrugs, cracking a chicken bone and sucking out the marrow. “Sort of,” He says, chicken rib still in mouth, “Been told a lot about this place. This town’s got more people who know about the supernatural than usual and they have a long line of Hunters. It’s kind of known as a ‘Do Not Enter’ zone for us werewolves.” Once he’s finished with the bone, he tosses it to the side of his plate, some grease flying off and dotting your place mats. You nod, still trying to absorb the new status-quo yesterday brought.

“And you came here for?”

Heath finally stops eating, looking up at you with a big smirk. His shining canines have bits of chicken still stuck in between them, but it doesn’t make the fangs look any less menacing.

“I’m a risk taker. Ain’t no pack to hold me back, just living life out in the woods, I need to get my kicks somewhere. Plus,” He takes his last bite of chicken, wiping the excess carnage off his chin, and flexes his biceps, “I’m not a push-over.”

You roll your eyes and take a sip of your coffee, not willing to debate with his showboating. It was probably a coping mechanism anyway, given he was bleeding out on your porch less than a day ago.

“Damn, that was delicious. Got any more?”

You almost choke on your tea, eye the full carcass on his plate, and then look at him.

He’s a big guy, guess that makes sense.

“There’s some chips in the pantry. But we’ll have to wait on chicken.” Heath's face lights up at the talk of snacks, pushing himself up and jogging to the pantry. If he was a wolf, his tail would probably be wagging.

Heath has to lean down to comfortably reach stuff in your cabinets and you jerk your eyes away, forcing yourself to not  look at his (very, very nice) butt. You wipe tea off your chin.  “I have some chicken pot pies for tomorrow, but it’s best to hold off for now. I probably shouldn’t head back into town until we know those guys won’t come back and kill you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Heath waves, letting out a little ‘yes!’ when he finally finds the chips. “I’ll probably leave tomorrow.”

Your mug bangs against the kitchen table as you whip around to him. “What?”

Heath shrugs, mouth semi-full of chips. “I’ll be right as rain by then. Might as well get a head start.”

“But, But, the guys-”

Heath squints, his face going cold. “I’ll outrun them.”

“You’re going to outrun three F-150’s on a bunch of back roads in their home turf? Not to mention Robert’s dirt bikes; Those guys use them all the time to hunt rabbits.” Heath rolls his eyes and you clench your teeth. You really hate it when he does that. “Just...stay here a couple days. The excitement will go down and I can tell them you took off in the middle of the night. Make the trip out of here as easy as possible.”

Heath sets down the bag of chips. “You said it yourself, you don’t have enough food-”

“I didn’t say that. I said-”

“Why do you care so much anyway?” Heath points an accusatory finger at you, “I’m not some charity case you have to worry about. Sorry you feel like you have to be the hero here, but you don’t; I’m a big boy, I can handle myself.”

The hardwood squeals as you leap out of your seat, your chair roughly pushed against the table as you point back at Heath. “I care because I like my chickens, hate those damn coyotes, and don’t want to be stuck burying your dead ass when it winds up on my property, got it?” You walk towards him, forcing Heath backwards into the counter. “Now listen,” you stick a  finger into his chest, “I don’t appreciate you talking to me that way. And if you’re going to stay here, I’d like us to be on good terms. God knows it would be a lot easier for me to throw you out right now, but I won’t. Because despite that snark of yours, I’m a good person, no hero-worship needed.”

The air is thick, hot as you two stand inches from each other, chest to chest. Heath looks down, his face furrowed, before he looks to the side.

“...Fine.” Heath mutters.

You let yourself breathe. A part of you wonders if God amped up your boldness today; ____ from last week probably wouldn’t have confronted  several men with guns and a werewolf on the same day. You brush back your hair and sigh, moving away from Heath to clean up his dishes.

“You should probably go to bed, you’ve had a long day.”

Heath doesn’t say anything, walking past you to the bedrooms. You tell yourself to not look back at him.

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

The next day, you barely see Heath at all; He keeps to his room, only peeking his head out for a quick breakfast, lunch, and an afternoon shower. An afternoon shower that completely clogs your drain with thick, white fur.

You let him have his space, the spat the two of you had leaving a sour taste in your mouth. But the next morning you wake up to a mess of dishes in your sink, another clogged shower drain, and a whole chicken skeleton on your countertop, and decide it’s now time to set some ground rules.

You knock on his door that night, oven mitts and an apron in hand. Heath opens, wearing the same pair of sweats you had given him, shirtless.

You can feel your face flush as your eyes inadvertently skirt over his defined chest, but force yourself to look into his eyes. It’s just like having a roommate, that’s all, nothing’s there.

“You hungry?”

Heath makes a half-motion to say no, but the loud growl that comes from his stomach says otherwise. He scowls a bit and you hold in laugh as he looks as he grabs his abdomen.

“.....Yes”

You nod, biting your lip and handing him the oven mitts.

“Good, because I need some help.”

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

Heath’s quick to learn how to properly peel and mince after a quick lesson, but he still keeps quiet throughout the whole process. You try to find the words to make small talk, but nothing seems to come to mind. Asking about werewolf stuff still feels invasive and you doubt the go-to’s of “Where’d you go to high school?” and “What do you do for work?” will help you in breaking the tension.

Still, Heath doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. Just...quiet. You notice that he’s begun unconsciously bobbing his head to the music playing over your speaker; Even shimmying his feet back and forth. You think several times that you could ask what music he likes, but by the time you work up the courage he’s already made himself a plate to quickly devour.

You had gone with something a little heavier tonight, knowing how much he eats, but his portion still seems significantly smaller than last dinners. You hope he doesn’t feel like he has to eat less because of what you said about groceries; You don’t want him to starve.

But he cleans his plate, walking back to his room with a quick ‘Thanks’.

As you wash your dishes, you try to come up with a new plan to make him more comfortable.

Damn, this is going to be difficult.

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

You never love waking up in the middle of the night, especially when you're thirsty. It feels like walking around kicks you out of that sleeping sweet-spot, right on the edge of unconsciousness. Not to mention how creepy your hallways can be in the pitch-black. But the cottony-feeling in your mouth forces you out of your room, stumbling into the kitchen for a cup of water.

You’re still in a little bit of a daze, just opening the cabinet door when you hear a commotion outside that jolts you awake. It starts with quick clicks of nails on your back porch, followed by a sickening snarl and a thump as something hits your outside wall. It devolves into several yelps and growls, making you grab that faithful knife from its block and run outside.

When you open the door, there’s a final snap as you see Heath rip open a coyote's throat, thick blood splattering against your porch, reflecting the moon light.

It’s odd to say you’re relieved by the sight, having feared the absolute worst (Robert, all those men, Heath’s poor body splayed out on the hardwood). Even as Heath digs into the now-carcass, sort of gruesomely, you feel the relief wash over you.

But wait, why was he outside in the first place?

“Uh, you good?”

Heath jolts a bit, jerking away from his meal, his snout painted red. But he visibly relaxes when he notices it’s you. He gives a little nod, then goes back to picking at the remains.

You set down the knife on your porch side table, leaning your head forward to peer into your chicken coop, which lays not two feet away from your porch.

All of your girls are huddled up in the corner, feathers still fluttered, but they seem far more relaxed than you would expect. Their wobbly heads keep peaking over each other to keep an eye on Heath, who has  made  quick  work  of the coyote. He swipes  his paw over his snout, barely getting any blood off as he wrinkles his  nose.

“Thanks so much. I really appreciate this. But, you know…” You gesture toward the half-eaten coyote left on your porch steps. “I think those other ones will get the message, you  could  probably just go to bed.”

Heath just looks at you, eyes just as unreadable as when he’s human, and walks over to the coop. He plops himself in the grass, laying down his head and tucking his tail.

You’re gonna take that as a ‘no’ to your sleeping inside offer.

You sigh, about to make the  long walk back to your bed when you notice a little movement from the bundle  of chickens.

Georgette, your bravest girl, begins to strut away from the safety huddle. The other ladies cluck as she tentatively trots over to Heath, head bobbing as she gets closer and closer to the chicken wire. With a poke, the tip of her beak sticks in between the holes, head twitching as she eyes up Heath. One of Heath’s ear twitches, but he keeps his eyes closed, sighing as he preps for a long nap.

Georgette, satisfied with her expedition, shuffles her wings and plops next to the wire, settling downfor her own sleep. Georgette likes her chances, what with her guard dog being so close.

The rest of hens, still moving as a big flock, slowly waddle over to her and Heath. They eventually settle down, eyes closing as they press up against the wire.

The sight makes your heart nearly explode with cuteness and you regret not grabbing your phone when you hopped out of bed.

Speaking of which, a winter breeze reminds you of how underdressed you are, so you move back to the warm inside. Not before pulling up your recliner, a quilt, and a cup of water up to the back door, keeping it cracked just a bit.

You just mean to watch them for a bit, enjoy the night air and the peace. But you find yourself dozing off rather quickly, head tucked into your quilt, falling into an easy sleep.

Heath pops one eye open, watching your snoring figure curl up into the recliner.

His tail wags, just a little bit.

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

The next morning, you wake up with a sore neck and a cup of hot tea by your side, the sound of some dishes in the kitchen. Heath either moved to the bed last night or woke up very early, your chickens back in their hutches.

Breakfast is quiet as usual, same as the rest of the day, but when night comes Heath is back out on your porch and you're in your chair. You had the sense to bring your Switch with you this time; Not wanting to bother Heath with chit chat but also not willing to risk another crick in your neck from sleeping in your recliner.

You try to keep the volume down, not letting out your normal amount of expletives as the boss kills you for a second time. Heath’s ears are just too good however, and he turns his head  when he hears you mutter a ‘fuck’.

You shrug, mouthing a ‘sorry’, and Heath just rolls his eyes. He stands up, shaking out his limbs before he nudges open the back door with his muzzle. His wolf form stands about as tall as the side of your recliner, his chin resting on the arm as he looks at the console.

“Not much going on today, huh?”

He huffs, giving the closest approximation to a ‘yeah’ as he sits down, head still resting on the arm chair. You turn back toward your Switch.

“Have you ever played this game before?”

Another huff, a ‘no’, you’re getting pretty good at reading his signals.

“It’s not that hard, I just suck ass at video games.” A cutscene starts as your character enters the battleground. You turn up the volume, the deep voice of your enemy congratulating you on making it this far. You laugh, “Bet you wouldn’t say that if you knew this was my third time, bud.”

The battle starts, background music and the clicking of buttons filling the silence. You try to keep your focus on the fight, you really didn’t need any handicaps for this boss, but you can’t help glancing over at Heath every once in a while. While you had expected him to watch, find something to pass the time, you didn’t expect his gaze to be so…entranced. His pupils were dilated and his ears flicked back and forth with the music. The boss lands a pretty gnarly blow on you and Heath sucks in a breath.

You’ve lost almost half your health and are out of healing potions. You might’ve given up at this point, ride out the rest of the battle half-heartedly and hope for a better next-time. But your audience spurs you onward, finger muscles beginning to ache as you furiously press the controller.

There's a collective sigh as the dramatic ‘GAME OVER’ flashes across the screen, then tension in your neck loosening as you set down the switch. You stretch out your fingers, knuckles red from the stress and the cold breeze blowing in from outside. A wet nose pushes against your wrist and you look down at Heath.

He’s clearly trying to mitigate his excitement, but his wagging tail tells all; He’s invested in this fight now too, and he wants you to give it another go. You smile, brushing a hand over his muzzle. Oddly, he doesn’t push you away.

“Do you want a shot?” Heath’s brow furrows, shooting a quick look towards the door. “Nothing’s come all night, I think we can spare boss battle.” Heath huffs, almost a laugh, before taking his head off the arm chair. He shakes his shoulders, body and fur already begging to ripple with the shift. Your face darkens as a blush creeps up. “Uh, you might need some clothes there, bud.”

Heath rolls his eyes but trots off to his room anyway, tail leisurely swinging behind him.

He comes out in a t-shirt too small and sweats too big and you look away before you can check him out; Stupid stubborn werewolf, being stupidly handsome.

You hand Heath the Switch and sit on the arm of the recliner, throwing the blanket over you both as he settles into the chair. The position you're in cranes your neck and spine in an awkward way, but it’s the only way you can see the screen without snuggling with Heath.

You give Heath a short run down in controls, pointing out the save area he can practice a bit in. Heath just gives you a playful smirk.

“No offense, but I think I’ve seen you lose enough times to figure out my strategy.” You respond with a little punch in the shoulder, which doesn’t move him an inch.

“Alright, hot shot. Do your worst.”

The boss music plays as the character walks in, probably wondering why they’re trying this for the fourth time, and the battle begins.

To his credit Heath is already doing way better than you. His long fingers allow for quicker reaction time and he already understands a lot of the bosses' attacks. You want to be annoyed by it, but you're too focused on the fight to even care.

“Fuck, watch out for the sentries!” You whisper-yell, Heath way ahead as his character rolls out of the way. Both of your heads crane forward when the battle moves into the second phase; It’s uncharted territory and who knows what will come next.

“How does this jackass-” Click “-have so many goddamn-”Click Click Click “-minions! God, fucking-” An unusually devoted lackey stabs Heath in the back, another attack from the boss depleting the rest of the health. “-shit!” Heath and you fall back into the chair, another “GAME OVER” flashing on the screen. Heath growls a bit, hearing the boss bid a snide remark before he respawns outside the battle.

“Oh my god, you were so close.”

“Seriously! Next time, I’m going for those minions fucking throats. No mercy.”

You chuckle, head lolling to the side and onto Heath’s shoulder. The adrenaline rush is slowly fading, your eyes feeling heavy, and you unconsciously snuggle yourself closer to his side. Heath’s body radiates heat, like a warm quilt or a space heater.

Heath nearly flinches as your hip pushes into his rib cage, the smell of your freshly-washed hair floating across his senses.

Maybe it’s the fact it’s getting late, or that he’s too exhausted from the abrupt ride of the past few days, but Heath finds he doesn’t mind it that much. It’s nice, it’s relaxing, it’s….comfortable.

The next battle is just as intense, you giving commentary to Heath’s frustrated playing. But as it goes on, you sink deeper and deeper into the chair and closer to Heath’s side, going from relaxing in the arm to sharing half of the seat. You don’t seem to notice or care too much, but Heath is aware of every moment.

It’s hard to focus on the boss with your side pressed up against him, soft and so careful. It might be the softest touch Heath has ever felt in his life, his mind overloading with how to deal with it.

He loses, swearing as he sets down the console.

“Jeez, how can you even-”

Heath turns to look at you, shocked by your head resting against his shoulder, even closer than he realized. You seem to have just slid into sleep, your breathing slow and even as your head lulls downward. Heath instinctively lags it back against his body, his heart stuttering when you snuggle deeper into him.

You’ve had a long two days as well. He’ll let you sleep.

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

The next morning you wake up, tucked into your bed. You don’t remember falling asleep, nor putting a cup of water on your nightstand.

All you remember is warmth, a familiar smell of pine and fur, and the feeling of someone rubbing your back.

The blush comes before you can stop it.

Oh god, I am so fucked.

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

At breakfast, Heath cracks the eggs, toasts the bread and cleans the pans. You toss everything together and make a semblance of a meal. It’s enjoyed in a peaceful quiet, watching the rising sun before you start your chores.

When you finish for the day, you see a tidy living room and three steaks set out to defrost. Heath sits on the couch, trying once more to beat the boss.

You give him a thanks, he says “Don’t mention it.”

The two of you sit out on the porch at night, kitchen cleaned and bellies full. Your chairs are close, close enough to share a blanket and your Switch. You show Heath some simpler platformers and a colorful rhythm game, but the two of you eventually make it back to the boss. You both lose, again.

It’s easier to fall into a routine than you’d thought; You have breakfast, get your chores done, eat lunch, then hang out until dinner and guard duty. Sometimes the two of you just sit in the living room, doing your own thing, sometimes you banter and bicker for hours on end about nothing.

You offer to brush his tail one of those afternoons and although he hesitates at first, he gives in rather quickly. You hum a background track from your favorite video game as you do, telling him all about the new method which should help you kill that boss. Heath scoffs.

“Fuck that, I could do it only my own.” He says, recline back onto the pallet you set on the ground. You roll your eyes.

“Last night says otherwise, but okay.”

Heath shifts onto his elbows, glaring at you.

“Are you doubting my abilities?”

“Yes, yes I am.” Heath throws one of the pillows at you. You laugh in shock and throw another one right back at him, hand still firm on his tail. “It isn’t good practice to threaten the one with the weapon, now is it?” You taunt, shaking the brush in your hand. Heath dramatically whimpers and pretends to cower in fear.

“Oh no, whatever shall I do.” You throw another pillow at his face. “Hey!”

Heath offers to collect the eggs and clean the hen pen in the mornings, with the excuse that it’s a way for him to get some sunlight and let out some energy. But you can hear the way he coos and makes nicknames for the ladies. Although the chickens stutter around him at first, soon they're eating out of the palms of his hand.

What a lady killer. You simper, letting yourself fall deeper and deeper.

On the fourth night you guys forego pretending to be on guard duty, throw cozy blankets and a bucket of popcorn on the couch for a movie night. Heath’s movie knowledge is tragically low (for you at least), and you intend to change that, starting with Back to the Future.

“Y’know, they actually cast another guy for Marty Mcfly.” You mutter, busting out what might be your fifth fun fact of the night.“They actually got up to six weeks of filming before they cast him. They even reused some shots and just added some close ups of Michael J. Fox to make it seem like he was in the scene.”

Heath hums, stuffing his face with another handful of popcorn. “Only you would study up before watching a movie, nerd.”

You throw popcorn at Heath's face, which he smugly catches in his mouth. You flip him off as he laughs and uses a pillow to block himself from incoming popcorn attacks.

There’s a barrier that’s been broken, whittled down over shared meals and video games. Heath doesn’t even react when you fall asleep on his shoulder near the end of the movie, your snoring surprisingly cute.

He thinks he can get used to this; You, him, the chickens, and this house. Same scenery day by day, not constantly wondering where his next hunt will come from.

If he was going to survive tomorrow.

The credits roll and Heath doesn’t move. He pulls up the quilts and runs his claws through your hair, admiring your peaceful expression. Heath let’s himself rest, let’s himself feel peace for the first time in a while.

It’s on the fifth day that the hunters come back.

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

You're taking out the trash when you see the pick up truck. The blue, far too big and rusted to all hell pick up truck that Robert loves to the moon and back.

A part of you says to run into the house, another says that would be too suspicious. Another part wonders if Heath is within shooting range from the kitchen window, doing the dishes as your speakers blast.

It's with trembling hands that you close the trash can, walking towards your front porch, trying to act like you aren’t about to have a panic attack. You stop at your front door and keep your hand poised on the knob. Robert steps out of his truck and you try your best to fake a polite smile.

“Morning, Robert. Dreadful weather we’re having, ain’t it?”

Robert gives an agreeable hum, brushing off his jeans before he sticks his hands in his pockets.

“Yup. Farm work’s been a bitch this week.”

His eyes glance around your porch and if you were more naive you’d think he was admiring your yard work. But you know what he’s here for, who he’s looking for.

A cursory glance to his windshield says he came alone, nobody hiding in the back or even stowing away in the truck bed. Unless he has an inside pocket or a side holster, he’s not armed either. You’re not in hot water, yet.

“Bummer. I know when-“

“Is he here?”

A vice grips your heart, hand frozen. You take a breath and lie.

“Who?”

Robert sighs, afraid that you would say something like that.

“You know who, ____”

You’re tempted to lie, lie badly, again. But you're not sure how stalling would help; Heath is in the kitchen and it would be too suspicious for you to shout. It’s time to rip the bandaid off.

“And why does it matter? This is my house, isn’t it?”

Robert rubs his forehead, a cloud of breath chilled by the morning air.

“I know what you think, but you need to listen to me.”

“Who my guests are is none of your fucking business, Robert. Not if they haven’t done anything wrong. So,” You turn the door knob, opening it just the slightest, not giving Robert a view inside the house. “Unless you come back with a warrant, I think we are done here.”

The doorframe shakes a bit when Robert slams his hand on the door, stopping you from going any further. He at least has the decency to look ashamed when you flinch, pulling yourself away from him and pressing your back against the frame. His hand relaxes, but doesn’t leave the surface of the door.

“I know you're a good person, ____.” Robert whispers, eyes darting from you to inside. “I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but that sweet heart of yours isn't helping right now. You need to hand him over.” Still keeping an eye on your house, pupils shooting back and forth for the dangerous werewolf inside, Robert takes a step back. You let yourself breathe for a second. “We’ll take care of it, it’ll be over soon and you can get him out of your house.”

The cold air brings color to your shaky breath, your shivers from fear and the cold morning slightly rattling the frame behind you. You take another trembling breath, finding it hard to look Robert in the eyes. He’s a good guy, you know he wouldn’t hurt you.

But my god, you are so fucking angry,

“Thanks for the advice, Robert.” You spit out, staring at his dirty steel-toed boots in contempt. “Anything else this poor sweet heart needs to know? Anything else I’m too stupid to see, hmm?“

You can feel heat traveling up your collarbone as you glare at Robert, feeling a tinge of satisfaction when he takes another step back. “____, I didn’t say that-”

“I know damn well what you 're trying to say, Robert. Unlike what you and your boys seem to think, I’m pretty damn good at reading between the lines.” You take a step away from the frame, losing how grounded the wood behind made you feel. Everything feels red, feels hot, and you’re too pissed for caution anymore. “So how about you tell this sweet heart exactly what she’s missing, huh? What else about my life do you know so much more about me anyway?” Robert’s boot heel crunches in the frosty grass of your lawn, looking up at you from the top of your porch steps. “Tell me what that poor man has ever done to you. Tell me that while he’s been watching over my chickens, helping me do the dishes, and enjoying the first warm meal of his life that he’s been moonlighting as a big bad wolf!” Your slippers stomp down the steps as you stick a finger into Robert's chest. “How about you tell me what else my sweet heart has blinded me too, or else I’m gonna start thinking you're telling me all this hullabaloo has been over nothing. That some dumbasses who call themselves heroes worked themselves into a fit over a rumor, and now are trying to drag me into their shit. So you better start telling some really juicy stuff right now.” You don’t know it, but you’ve pushed Robert almost all the way back to his truck, wetting your sweatpant bottoms with dew. “Because unlike you folks, I’m not going to throw anybody out in the cold and shoot them for a piss-poor reason like that.”

There’s a certain quietness to the morning. Even as your chest heaves with anger, breath pouring out in steamy clouds, the lack of birds chirping and your faucet running brings a certain peace to the scene.

Robert’s eyes are wide, his body laying it’s weight against the hood of his truck when you take your finger off his chest. His hands are clenched shut, his knuckles white and his fingertips bright red. Your anger slowly simmers back down your body and back into your chest, Robert exhaling a breath as you give him his space.

“I, I didn’t-” He mutters and you’re ready to hear another excuse. But his hands unfurl, his body slumping against the truck as he refuses to meet your eye.

The pause is long enough that you begin to feel the chill deep into your slippers, goosebumps peppering across your skin when a cold breeze goes by. Robert finally meets your gaze.

“We only saw the wolf, not him, not the man.” He whispers. “You’re the only one who knows what he looks like.” Robert straightens himself up, fidgeting with his coat and tucking his hands back into his pockets. “I can tell the guys that I chased him off, that he-he turned tail and ran when I showed up.” You see Robert's hands fidget in his pocket, pulling out his truck keys. He tosses them a bit in his palm, a fish shaped can opener looking extra bright in the sun.

“Just, come up with something. If you set the groundwork, slowly, then he could be safe, at least in town.”

You nod, taking a step back and gesturing towards Robert’s truck. He wets his lips before walking to his truck door.

You mouth a “Thank you” as Robert drives away. His smile is a tiny, sort of sad; For who, you’re not sure.

The walk back to your house might as well have been a mile; The adrenaline and the screaming has finally left you and all that’s left is exhaustion. Your hands tremble with the thought of what you just did, both from anxiety and delight. Either way, you could really go for some hot chocolate right now.

“Why?”

You’re jolted out of your own thoughts by Heath, standing in the entryway to your kitchen. His hair is tied back into a loose ponytail, his hands still wet from washing the dishes. Your brow furrows.

“What?”

“Why, why did you do that? You could’ve-” Heath’s voice is shaky, but it slowly rises in volume, “You could’ve gotten hurt, ____! He could’ve had a knife, or one of those guns, he could’ve attacked you!” Heath runs a hand through his hair, his dark claws scratching against his scalp. “You should’ve just-You could’ve just-” Heath throws his head in his hands and you can see the hint of his tail behind him. It flicks back and forth, anxious and agitated. “I don’t know what I’d do if he hurt you. What would happen to the chickens, the house? Why didn’t you just let him take me?”

You take a couple steps forward, having heard this all before. You don’t want to fight, you don’t have the energy for it. Heath is too lost in his own mind to notice you approaching. “I can handle him, any of them. It’s my fault they're here. I’m strong enough, I can protect myself. I can protect us. So why did you-”

Your hand brushes against Heath’s cheek, enough that he pauses his rant and focuses on you. You can see the slit of his eyes fading into yellow, the pupil widening into a circle when he looks at you.

With a quick movement you grab the back of his neck, pulling him down to your height and kissing him.

It’s short, a messy mash of a peck that ends as quick as it started. You can feel your cheeks burn as you look into Heath’s eyes; They’re hazy, a bit in shock. Before you can lose your courage you lay your forehead against his, whispering.

“Because I care about you, you idiot.”

There’s a heavy breath, refusing to back down from his gaze, despite the crawling nerves on your shoulders. You’ve already made the first move, finally admitted the bubbling feelings that have lingered in your heart these past few days. You can’t back down now. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way-”

To give Heath credit, his surprise kiss is far more graceful than yours.

It’s longer, his lips molding to yours without even clacking your teeth together. His hand runs up the side of your neck, pulling your bodies even closer together. You separate with a tiny pop, chests still pressed up against one another.

“I do. I do and I, I will-” Heath gathers himself, a frustrated growl leaving his throat as he tries to find the right words. “No one’s ever done anything like that for me before. But I swear to you, I will pay it forward a thousand times.”

You smile, admiring this mountain of man laying out his heart for you, acting as if he isn’t the toughest person you know.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” Heath smiles, that same cocky smile that waltzed into your town and almost got himself killed. Maybe it should be annoying, but it sets your heart ablaze. “But I want to.”

[heliosthegriffin]

Class of One - Interlude 1: Around the World

AN: Yeah, finally got off my ass and wrote this, who ever said that writing other characters helped with writers block, was a liar, till I proved them right. Because, I had this sitting in google docs about a month after I got bored with it, came back to it, and found the block gone.

Anyway, no Jaune this chapter, just other people moving and doing stuff related to Jaune, and setting up a couple plot threads hear and there.

But, well get the festival started with his shenanigans next chapter.

-----

In Vale

-----

Thomas Rivers was on top of the world, a weight lifted from his back, a thorn removed from his side, to put it simply, he was truly relieved. 

As Black had come through on his word.

At noon, the assassin had sent word that he was in position to take out the target, then two hours later the remains of the Automated Ferry that Arc was taking had washed up, and he was declared missing, followed a message to his Scroll that simply and innocuous read 

‘Black in a second,’

The code phrase that they had decided upon to let him know when the job was done.

Rivers had been so relieved that he nearly passed from his mortal body in that second.

But, Thomas had learned from his past few months how precious time was, he never knew when chance would turn a breeze into a typhoon!

He immediately started calling his contacts, all his remaining supporters and allies, friends and family, he was no longer going out without a fight against that old bastard Ozpin! 

Thomas hadn’t yet served his full term yet, he still had time to regain popularity and respect from the masses, his popularity might be at an all time low, but his family had brand recognition, they might be corrupt, but they have a history of serving Vale.

He needed to leverage that, and make his idiot comrade Jeremy do so too and work together to regain they’re power they’ve lost of the last year, also make sure he doesn’t go running off into the wilderness with a PMC to take over a village, molesting the women and children.

The idiot could do that in Vale if he played his cards right.

They had everything to regain, they’re position, money, influence, and power! With Arc gone, the people will have a hole in their hearts, one they could fill by acting humanitarian! 

Once that happened, Ozpin would never be able to remove them, and it would only be a matter of time till they were able to refill the council back with supporters.

Putting things back to business as usual, only this time, Thomas would make sure once Ozpin was dead, that Beacon was under Council control.

… But, on the off chance his plan failed, Thomas had another plan, a simple but cunning one, make Ozpin pay for each inch of ground he wanted.

If Thomas couldn’t get his power back, he was going to be the most stubborn, unhelpful, veto-happy councilman in Vale’s history, and he’d make Jeremy help. 

They’d work together, to make sure unless Ozpin wanted projects to drag on for years, he had to have to negotiate with him. Make concessions to him, and sure, it was scorched earth policy, but by the time he was out of the council he’d have gotten enough money for him and Jeremy, and they’re family, to relocate in Mistral and start over again.

Or, maybe he’d just call Ozpin and cut to the chase tell him how much money he wanted in exchange for him resigning from the council that could work too.

‘Bzzt’

Thomas hummed to himself, as he looked at the message from Jeremy, he wanted to talk and had invited him over.

Naturally, Thomas accepted.

It was a simple matter being driven over, his bodyguards stationed to protect him.

Then being led into his comrades mansion, walking up the stairs to the study, having the guards wait outside, opening the door-

“Hello, Mr. Rivers.” Ozpin greeted him with a smile, leaning against Jeremy’s mahogany desk, cane in hand. A splash of blood on the wall behind him, and his comrade was nowhere to be seen, but the window was open. “Carry to have a conversation? The night is young and ripe and I’d hate to spend it by myself.”

Thomas spun himself around, running to the door. 

Ozpin smirked, hiding it behind a cup of tea, tapping Long Memory down once.

The door shut, locked. 

Thomas ran nose first into it, cracking it, blood running down his face as he fell to the hardwood floor.

“Oh, my peer, don’t bleed on the floor,” The Headmaster told him politely. “Stand up like a man of your status should.” Thomas trembled and shot up, pounding against the door, “HELP! GUARDS GUARDS-” 

‘Klick’ came with a swift finger snap.

Thomas screamed, but no sound came out.

“Oh, don’t bring in those poor men, I’d hate to bother them.” Ozpin stood up, almost gliding across the floor to the panicking Thomas. “Now, how about we have a conversation like adults?” He said looking Thomas in the eyes.

The headmaster's eyes shocked him into place. Ozpins, well known for his warm brown eyes, brimming with paternal warmth and mystery, was showing Thomas a sight few had seen and lived. Apathetic and cold-blooded eyes, that looked at the councilman as though he wasn’t human at all, as though he was but an uncooperative puzzle piece to the headmaster. Staring past Thomas this second, into the possible uses Ozpin could find for him, like he was examining a tool that would soon break and maximizing the workload it could be used for, until it broke.

“Will you talk like an adult?”

Thomas nodded.

Ozpin snapped his fingers, and Thomas realized he could speak again. “Why are you here? Where is Jeremy?!”

Ozpin smiled. “My associate is having words with him at the moment, he found some… people in the basement, and my associate could not tolerate the acts performed upon them. Don’t, worry he will return alive.” Ozpin then pulled out a Scroll. “As for why I am here?” If the headmaster’s eyes had been cold, his voice held the touch of the graveyard. “I don’t appreciate having my student targeted by a professional assassin.”

“You know?” Thomas whispered.

“Know?” Ozpin chuckled. “Yes, I know. Mr. Arc, and the young Mr. Black explained everything about what happened this afternoon. Though, I had my suspicions.”

“Arc is alive?!”

“Quite, I am blessed to have such a capable student at my Academy,” Ozpin brandished his cane. “If he wasn’t, I would have stopped here first anyway, and we wouldn’t be having such a pleasant conversation, would we?” There was a dull light in Ozpin’s eyes.

Thomas nodded fervently. “Quite blessed, you are a very blessed Headmaster!”

“Yes, now. As to why I am here, it relates to your retirement from the Council, among other things. Don’t worry, we have all night to negotiate, but considering how much dirt you insist on burying yourself in, I find they will be rather short.”

----

Jeremy Plain and Thomas Rivers' retirement from the council the following week came as a bit of a surprise to the people of Vale, even if they were rather unpopular. But, it was ultimately met with apathy, as they had been rather unremarkable Councilors, with little to show for their time.

What did come as a surprise was they’re sudden death in the following days afterward, being found torn apart in their own home, followed by the release of several reports about they’re immense number of illegal acts, horrific and depraved. That nearly drove people into a frenzy that led to many higher ups in Vale’s legal system and justice system being exiled from Vale.

Thankfully, Headmaster Ozpin was there to help transition things along, helping liquidate the estates of the former Councilman into helping they’re victims, and funding several public projects, and putting several well known and respected men and women into the empty positions.

That they were all long-time friends of his was just a happy coincidence.

But, it was easy enough to see now, Vale had a new head, and its name was Ozpin.

------

Mistral’s Underbelly Spider Hideout

-----

“So, Marcus Black is dead, you say?” Lil’ Miss Malachite asked with measured patiences. “This is not the first time, though, the man has been presumed dead. He may not have been a powerful fighter, but he was a tricksy one. What makes you so sure?”

Junior nodded to her from the monitor screen. “Well, I’d say having his corpse in a morgue is pretty telling. But, if that isn’t enough for you, his son admitted to blowing his old man’s brains out,” Junior smirked. “In ‘Self-Defense’ of course, but this was after Jaune Arc had bisected him and what remained of the boat he was on. If that isn’t enough for you, we also fished out his legs, well, most of them, the fish had gotten to them first.”

Malachite waved her fan. “No, no, that’s good enough, I believe you. But, I hope that he stays dead. What about his son? He must be skillful, have you offered him a position?”

“I did, unfortunately, Beacon got to him first.”

Malachite smiled behind her fan. “Well, he wouldn’t be the first Huntsman to fall into our web.”

“True, but word on the street is that he is in Arc’s hands at the moment.”

“Arc? But, I thought you said he was in Beacon’s hands?”

“I did, but Beacon immediately sent him to Arc’s hands, or at least his estate. He is under house arrest there at the moment, locked tightly too. But, my contact on the inside is keeping tabs on him.”

“Ezekiel, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“How is the old goat doing?”

“Well, as far as I can see, Arc treats him well from what he’s told me. Unfortunately, he’s getting up in his years and is looking for someone to take over his web.”

“Oh, I see.” Malachite said with a smile. “I’d offer to send him an apprentice, but it seems he already has his eyes on someone.”

“Indeed, Black will be in good hands.”

“Hmm, it’d be wise for my daughters to reach out to him, I’m sure a young man like him could use a femine touch.”

Junior’s eyes darkened. “I believe that should be up to them, Ms. Malachite.”

Malachite smirked. “Hmm, we’ll see, the future is not in stone. So, tell me about Arc. Jaune Arc it was?”

-----

Outskirts of a Village in Vale’s territory

-----

Lamb’s Rest is a small, quiet settlement on the edge of Vale’s mountain range, protected on one side by high mountains and the other by dense forest. 

Pure and cold water ran off from the mountains, ensuring the settlement never had to stray to get water. 

Its population numbered only a little over four hundred, mostly consisting of single men who mined or logged, but there also exists a small, but growing number of families, who filled the settlement with a sense of hope that one day it might grow into a proper town where people could live.

But, for now it was a quiet, but peaceful settlement, that traded with it’s neighbors every couple of weeks for foodstuff, cloth, and spices, in exchange for coal, quarried rock, and hardwood. But, during the winter it wasn’t uncommon for the men, or some of the women, to go out and hunt game.

On a warm, summer evening, a man came wandering down the dusty, earthen road that ran through the forest that connected Lamb’s Rest to the rest of the world, leading to it’s only entrance, a heavily fortified wooden gate with reinforced steel, manned by several of the settlement's militia.

Two manned heavy machine guns with spotlights on either side of the gate, with sharp barb wire lining the top of the wall connecting to the gate, militiamen lazily patrolled with hunting rifles or whatever they had on hand, be it bow and arrow, or spears. It was a militia after all, the men were all volunteers.

While it wasn’t much, it was enough to protect them, scare away any wild animals, would be bandits, and the occasional Grimm. None of the Militia men were trained fighters, but they made up for it with grit and experience of living out in the wilderness.

That night, one of the men had brought they’re daughter up there, to teach her how to shoot his gun, hoping that a small Grimm would show up, to show her where to hit if she was ever to fight one.

Or maybe a small bear, to show her how to scare it off.

But, nothing so far, settling on teaching how to load and unload the rifle, along with proper firearm safety.

Of course, it was his daughter who noticed the man winding down the path to they’re settlement.

“Papa,” The young girl pulled on her father’s shirt. “There's a man! Is he a bad man? A bandit?”

The father immediately straightened up, looking to where his daughter was pointing. There was indeed a man coming down the path, alone. Which was unusual by itself, as most Valeans that lived this far out knew better than to travel alone in the Outskirts, especially so close to dark, when Grimm could see better than you could.

Was he perhaps a Huntsman? That could explain his lack of group, but that still made his presence quite odd, as he hadn’t heard any news between settlements about needing any Grimm culled. Not that it was illegal for a Huntsman to wander as he wished, just strange. Strange enough to set him on edge.

“David,” Came from one of his fellow militiamen. Francis. “You see that guy right?”

David nodded, plucking his daughter from his lap, “Honey, I think it’s time to go home. Papa will show you home to shoot another night,”

“Aw, but you promised!”

“I know, sugarcube. But, Papa has work to do, I’ll teach you tomorrow.”

“You promise?” His daughter asked with big round eyes.

David smiled. “I promise, now go home to mama, Chessa.”

His daughter nodded, and went home, but not before standing on his toes to kiss her father on his cheek.

David held a tight grip on his rifle as he stood next to Francis, who was merely armed with a bandolier of throwing knives, nothing special about them, just well made and thrown with an expert hand.

The wandering man was nearly to the gate now, walking a slowly, but consistent step, that set his nerve alight.

Francis looked at David out of the corner of his eye. “Are you getting bad vibes too?”

David nodded. “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

Finally, the man stopped in front of the gate. Both heavy machine guns and they’re spotlights centered on the stranger, and the miltia’s leader, Rigor, called out to him.

“What is your business stranger?”

The man, at least David thought he was a man, said nothing for a moment. 

Giving David a good few moments to examine the stranger. A tall person, more than average height, showing very little skin as they were dressed under a cloak that masked they’re body, aside from the odd patch of brown skin.

The only uncovered part of them was they’re face, and even that was hidden by a blindfold, they’re face sharp like a razor’s edge. With a bone chillingly calm smile, even as he had several hard-hitting guns aimed at him.

“I merely wish to have a polite conversation with anyone who would listen. Tell me, what do you know of Darkness and Grimm?”

----- Evernight Castle

----

Cold and dead, red-eyes stared out at the eldritch land around her castle. A dull, almost imaginary pang of loneliness hit her, for what felt like the first time in decades, perhaps centuries. They had become less frequent as time flowed forward. But, stop?

They never stopped.

Neither had the pain of loss.

An age ago, she would have gone out across the ocean and burned, and burned, and burned until ash had remained.

Many monikers and titles had been placed upon her during those visits.

The Witch-Queen.

Demon across the Sea.

Deathless Tyrant.

The Adversary.

Red Eyes.

Bone-Skinned.

God-Queen.

Her Divine Majesty.

Grimm Calamity.

And, so many more.

She preferred to be called Salem, but wouldn’t object to royal honorifics attached to her name.

Salem liked to think she had grown past her tantrums due to her fits of emotions, visions of the past, and the fading memories. 

Immortality was not age-proof it seemed. 

That was the one thing Ozma would probably agree with her on. Other than hating each other.

Combined, they had lost more knowledge than Humanity had gained in the last ten thousand years.

Now, instead of throwing fits, Salem watched the outside of her castle, and felt her age resting on her, feeling a hollow misery that mortals could not comprehend in the least.

Grimm wandered aimlessly across Draconis, the continent that once housed the Brother’s themselves. A fall from grace, the like’s history would never know.

Thanks to Ozma of course.

Salem scowled, and drank from her chalice, filled with some wine she had stored away in the crepts of the castle and forgot about for some centuries.

It tasted like wine.

The mortals would probably go on and on about how full-bodied, flavorful, and aged it was. 

It was wine to Salem, and she sipped it, hours passing before she realized it was empty.

She heft the chalice up, regarding it dully, as though it was at fault for not having more wine, and not letting her get drunk.

Immortality built up one hell of tolerance to just about everything.

Salem had been in possession of this chalice for some five-hundred years, holding tens of thousands of drinks, and accompanying her night after night for the same number of years she had possessed it.

She would freely admit to it being gaudy, tacky, and ugly. But, as she was the Queen of All Grimm, she found few willing to comment on such, that wished to remain living that is.

It was a medium sized skull from some champion of Ozma that Salem couldn’t be bothered to remember.

She turned it around in her hands to look at the back where she had the name inscribed for record.

Bernard Vento

He had been a large, powerful man and likely the strongest man born to that century, perhaps several. He could control dust with finesse, a master of his aura, a deft hand with his bardiche, and a semblance that could invert perception.

Bernard lasted fifteen minutes before she decided to just bombard the area with explosions, though he did give her a headache that lasted a week.

She had his skull encased in gold, then bejeweled with the tackiest jewels she could get, before making it into a chalice.

Ozma had once said she had a dark sense of humor, Salem hummed, agreeing to the thought.

Still, Salem sighed, dull as it was, the sensation of loss and sadness still hit harder than any blow she had suffered in a thousand years. Followed by a pain of loss, one that filled her with dread.

Her memories would continue to fade, she could barely remember they’re voices, what they loved and hated, even if she could remind herself with illusions of they’re appearances, she couldn’t replicate they’re essence.

Not perfectly.

What would be left, when she could no longer remember who her daughters were? Only what they looked like.

A silent dread filled her, at the thought of continuing to still exist so long, time may be her ally, but it was also her enemy. 

How long, how long until she felt only rage and sadness? Or, untill she had nothing at all, no will left to keep fighting, and no memories, only her hollow pain and misery?

Salem took a look at her company, then tossed her chalice over the balcony, firing a bolt of black energy at it, which exploded her centuries-long companion into dust and smoke. She felt nothing but slight amusement.

She returned inside, where her minion awaited her, the one with the mustache.

“Watts,”

“My liege,” The scientist responded respectfully. “There have been developments in Vale.”

“Which are?”

“Well, Ozpin is making a power play over Vale, and they’re seems to be a rising star among the Hunters in Training at his academy.”

Salem chuckled amused. “He can’t help himself, can the old fool?” Ozma was always partial to that part of Sanus, and always wanting to keep it under his reign, one way or another. “What of the child?” Salem tried to feign interest, but it was hard for her, she had seen hundreds of those  so-called ‘once a centuries prodigies’, but they failed to live up to those born in the age of the gods like herself and Ozma, or at least before Ozma split up his power like a fool.

His attempt to raise weapons against her had always failed, and would always fail. Though, a faint pang of curiosity rose inside her, wondering what kind they would be this time.

“He’s the only member of his class,”

That was interesting, actually. “Did he kill them all, or such?” She silently hoped that was the case.

“No, it seems the other hopefully trainees ended up interfering with each other, and dragging the others down with them.” Damn. “How novel.” A tinge of amusement in Salem's tone anyway.

“Though, he has also taken down the entire Council of Vale, which is the democratic ruling body of Vale, and cleaned up much of Vale’s criminal underbelly, it is very impressive, considering all his documents he submitted to Beacon were faked.”

Salem glanced at Watts with surprise, an emotion she hadn’t experienced in decades. “What?” She asked flatly.

“Yes, it seems the only reason he was let in at all was due to overwhelming public support, and the fact that all other eligible trainees failed initiation. By all accounts, he has no training, no known semblance, no education, lied about his age, and should be dead in a ditch somewhere, instead of going on to fight in the Vytal Festival.”

Salem gave Watts a skeptical look.. “You’re being serious, right?” He didn’t have an elborate suicide plot, did he?

“No, I am quite serious, I actually delayed telling you this until after completing my background searches, because I couldn’t believe it. It was only after I found footage from Beacon, that I determined that it all true, and I have to a conclusion about him that he’s-”

“That he’s Ozma’s secret weapon.” Salem said calm and proudly. 

“A lucky idiot.” Watts finished.

Salem gave Watts an arrogant look. “Don’t be ridiculous, that’s about as likely as a golem with a soul.”

“About that, they’re a project in Atlas-”

“No, it’s obvious that he’s Ozma’s secret weapon, pretending to look like a lucky idiot, it’s expert deception, it was bound to go over your head, Watts.”

Watts let out a long suffering sigh, and pinched his nose. “Alright, what shall we do about him then?”

“Have Tyrian kill him.”

“Tyrian’s on vacation ma’am.”

Salem felt surprised for the second time in decades, freaking Watts out a little because she was being so emotive. “He takes those?”

“Yes.”

“Call his scroll.”

“He left it here.”

“What about Hazel?”

“He’s recovering from the Mistral Flu.”

“Cinder?”

“Terrified, but pretending not to be, also looking for the Fall Maiden.”

“Tock?”

“Who?”

Salem sighed. “Alright, just bomb his flying machine, or poison him.”

“It will be down.” Watts nodded, already pulling up some contacts, then went wide eyed. “Ma’am, he killed my assassin contact.”

“What?!”

----

A chatroom on the CCT

----

Deep within the CCT-Network, a chatroom was blowing up, a chat room dedicated to one Jaune Arc, it was quite the exclusive and private club though, consisting of only three members.

Red_Spartan: Did you see the news?

OnTimeCadet: Which news? You’ll have to be more specific.

OneEyeOneShot: (-_^)?

Red_Spartan: Sorry, sorry! The Vale News! Our Knight is missing!

OneEyeOneShot: (0_0)!!!!

OnTimeCadet: What??!!!

OnTimeCadet: Sorry, could you send me a link?

OneEyeOneShot: Link please.

Red_Spartan: One second! Sorry!

Red_Spartan: Here it is! Link.

OnTimeCadet: Dear Dust!

OneEyeOneShot: (;-;)

Red_Spartan: I know right?!

Red_Spartan: It’s fine, OneShot! It’s the Sword of Vale, I’m sure he will be back!

OneEyeOneShot: (|)~(*-*)~-(===>

Red_Spartan: Exactly! He’ll always be back to fight another day!

OnTimeCadet: About that, they’re been an update. ‘Link’ 

OnTimeCadet: I’ll give you two a moment.

OnTimeCadet: It has been a moment. He’s very much alive, and has killed a notorious assassin that is even on the wanted list here in Atlas. Marcus Blake it was.

OneEyeOneShot: *Gif on a sniper rifle being loaded.* Followed by an angry emoji, followed by a happy emoji, then a png of knight standing over defeated enemies.

OnTimeCadet: Easy One, the situation has been dealt with, no need to get in trouble. Though, I am overjoyed he has once again triumphed.

Red_Spartan: Stupid timezones, I freaked out over nothing!

OneEyeOneShot: *Headpat Gif*

Red_Spartan: Thanks OneShot.

OnTimeCadet: Thank you, Spartan, regardless. 

Red_Spartan: You’re all welcome! 

Red_Spartan: On to actual good news! That means he’s still coming to compete in Vytal! He’ll be here in under a month! That means, that means! I can meets him, and touch his hands, and ask for pointers, and be alone with him, and *The rest of the post broke off into lustful rambling.*

Red_Spartan: I’m blushing so hard right now, sorry about that! 

Red_Spartan: Please, don’t tell me that scared you two off? You’re still coming to meet me during Vytal right? That plan is still on right?!

Red_Spartan: I’m going to cry.

OneEyeOneshot: *Png of tissues*

Red_Spartan: Thank you, Oneshot!

OnTimeCadet: Those aren’t for your eyes, they’re to clean up… your excitement.

Red_Spartan: NO! You wouldn't betray me, Oneshot?

OneEyeOneShot: *Smirking Gif*

Red_Spartan: NO! You two are not allowed to judge me! Not since OneShot posted those pictures she had commissioned, and Cadet posted all those body photos of Jaune!

OneEyeOneShot: *Embarrassed Sweating Gif*

OnTimeCadet: … I am speechless.

OnTimeCadet: *Typeless.

Red_Spartan: Yeah, that’s what I thought! … Sorry. Where in the world did you get those photo’s Cadet? I thought you lived in Atlas, those looked like they were taken inches away from him! … Not complaining, though!

OnTimeCadet: I have an inside woman.

OneEyeOneShot: *Surprised Emoji*

Red_Spartan: Lucky! How much did they cost? … Asking for myself.

OnTimeCadet: My dignity, morals, and law-abiding nature.

OnTimeCadet: 1500 Lien.

OneEyeOneShot: *Saluting Gif*

Red_Spartan: Your sacrifice will not go unnoticed.

Red_Spartan: Vytal is only weeks off, you two are still going to meet me in Argus, right?

OneEyeOneShot: *Photo of a Ticket, and suitcase.*

OnTimeCadet: Yes, I have scheduled a substantial amount of time to come over, and celebrate the festival.

Red_Spartan: Fantastic! I hope you’re as excited as I am to see Our Knight up close and personal!

OneEyeOneShot: *Heavy Breathing.Png*

OnTimeCadet … Agreed.

----

Somewhere in the depths of the Wilderness

----

On the ground, with their backs facing the sky, they rested a figure. Wrapped in a dark brown, almost black duster, head obscured by a thick, heavy helmet, they seemed to be a lean, athletic figure.

It would seem they were taking a nap.

If not for all the blood pooling around them, and the gashs rent into the duster exposing raw muscle and bone, that is.

It looked like they were very much dead.

Until one heard a husky, tired groan from them.

Rising from the forest floor, they’re body cracking and complaining as they force their way back up to standing.

The wounds slowly closed over the back, while the blood ceased to flow, and strangely enough, the duster began to repair as well.

The unknown figure turned around, a very heavy looking, sparkling gold amulet with emerald fashioned inside resting on the chest, dark leather armor underneath.

Two fiery eyes stared out from the helmet, as the figure turned around to look at an absolutely enormous Beowulf.

The Grimm was absolutely ancient. Battlescars everywhere that boneplating and spikes did not, it towered over the figure by more than twenty feet, it’s jaws only more than capable of swallowing a grown man with ease, let along sharp, deadly fangs as long as knives, and the claws that could scythe a bulldozer in two.

It’s red-eyes glimmered with hard-earned intelligence and wisdom, and regarded the helmeted human curiously, as it watched them get on they’re feet. It ears twitched as the human groaned, and what could have passed for a smile pulled at it’s tar-like flesh, seeming to enjoy the humanoid’s struggle.

The helmeted human brought out a positively ancient gun, red-powder pouring out of the front, and tarnished and equally ancient short battle-ax, with a blade oddly large for how short the handle was.

“Ready for round two, you ugly son of a-” The helmeted figure didn’t get a chance to finish, as the ancient Beowolf, swiped them in half, sending the pieces flying.

The Beowolf huffed and started to leave.

Then it ducked, as over where it’s head had been, a fist sized bullet had gone through a tree. 

The Beowolf curiously looked back, where the Helmet Human had gotten up again, pointing the gun at it again.

“Damn,” The figure said, reloading the ancient monster of a gun. “Get them next time.” 

The Ancient Beowolf felt a pang of something. It wasn’t sure what, but its hackles rose, or what passed for such a creature as it, before its throat swelled and glowed, before emitting a burning ray of heat at the Helmeted human.

Which they dodged, looking at the Beowolf much more confidently, marching silently towards the beowulf, swinging the ax once, revealing that it’s handle could extend to a size more befitting of it’s enormous blade.

The Ancient Beowolf charged.

-----

???

----

Her hand reached out, to touch the sleeping girl, to comfort her as she struggled in her sleep.

Like uncounted times before, her touch phased through.

It had broken her heart the first time that had happened, unable to touch either of her daughters, or her husband.

Unable to comfort any of them, despite her presence.

Her silver-eyes teared up as she left her dear baby, as she then floated through the humble house. She visited room after room, her little sunflower, her dear drunken friends empty room, and her own room, where her husband slept fitfully, little dear Zwei who kept him company.

She ached to reach out and touch him, feel his warmth, but it was pointless.

Zwei perked up from the foot of the bed, his tiny tail wagging, as he almost barked at her excitedly.

She held up a finger to silence the dog, who whimpered sadly. ‘I miss you too, Zwei.’ She looked around the room, pictures of they’re children lined the walls. ‘You’re the best dog we could’ve asked for, and done more than I could’ve asked.’

Zwei poked his head forward, begging to be petted.

Summer shook her head sadly. ‘I can’t Zwei.’

Zwei gave her a mournful look.

Summer felt her eyes tear up more, this was torture. Damn you, Salem.

‘I love you Zwei, thank you so much.’ The woman said sadly, her head turning towards the rising sun, her power waning, having been active too long. ‘I got to go, I’ll be back, though!’

Zwei smiled, then went up to curled up next to Tai.

Summer looked at her ghostly hand, as it dissolved into particles. This had been the longest trip so far, she had been able to visit each room this time. 

Maybe, just maybe. She could eventually stay forever. She thought as she dissolved into not, her essence being pulled away.

[giftofshewbread]

Gone            (Prophecy Update)

 By Daymond Duck    Published on: September 26, 2021

After Moses died, Joshua became the leader of the Jewish people. Joshua led them across the Jordan River, took them to a place called Shiloh, and gave Shiloh to the largest and most powerful tribe called Ephraim. The Jews erected a Tabernacle there, priests served there, offered sacrifices there, felt God’s presence there, and it was a special place to God for more than 300 years. But the Jews eventually abandoned God, started worshipping a false God, angered God, stirred His wrath, and He destroyed Shiloh (Psa. 78:56-67).

Those that think that God won’t destroy a nation should go and look at Shiloh (Jer. 7:12).

Those that think that God won’t destroy a city should go and look at Sodom and Gomorrah.

On Sept. 16, 2021, several members of the media reported on an interview that former White House Press Sec. Sean Spicer had with former Pres. Trump.

Trump said, “Our country has gone really downhill in the last eight months like nobody’s ever seen before. And we’re not going to have a country left in three years; I’ll tell you that.”

Is Biden really the end of America?

Will America’s Deep State and the global Deep State succeed in bringing about the demise of America before 2024 and the establishment of a godless world government and religion by 2030 or sooner?

Perhaps, it is time for the Lukewarm Laodicean churches and those that think that God won’t destroy a godless world government and religion to go and look at the tower of Babel.

Without God, America is gone.

Consider the following:

Vice Pres. Harris was part of a group that raised funds to bail rioters, looters, and arsonists out of jail, and one has now committed murder.

The Biden administration knows that human traffickers, drug dealers, terrorists, and people infected with Covid are crossing the U.S. border with Mexico, but they are ignoring it or, in some cases, assisting it.

Biden said he would not leave American citizens in Afghanistan, but he has left hundreds there.

Biden let Taliban terrorists have up to 80 billion dollars of U.S. weapons.

The FBI destroyed Hillary’s cell phones for her.

Biden lied about his knowledge of Hunter Biden’s alleged crimes (he boasted about threatening the Pres. of Ukraine if he didn’t fire the man investigating Hunter; e-mails on Hunter’s laptop have been confirmed to be legitimate), but that is okay with the Democrat Party, and the FBI and DOJ have done nothing.

Pelosi, Schumer, and the Democrats impeached Trump over something he didn’t say in a phone call to Russia, but they are ignoring Gen. Milley’s treasonous calls to China, even though he could have endangered the security of the U.S.

Biden has been warned that too much spending can collapse the U.S. economy, but he continues to propose multi-trillion-dollar stimulus packages.

The U.S. Supreme Court has ruled that mandated vaccinations are unconstitutional, but Biden is trying to force people to get one.

The Biden administration is trying to force average citizens to get vaccinated, but he has exempted Congress, their aides, the DOJ, the U.S. Supreme Court, and postal workers.

Fauci lied to Congress about funding Covid research in Wuhan, China, but the Biden administration supports him.

The above list shows that the America most of us grew up in is already gone, but there is no need to worry because the Church will soon be gone (Raptured) too.

FYI: Trump’s slogan was “Make America Great Again” (Strengthen America don’t weaken it). Biden’s slogan was “Build Back Better” (Get rid of the old America and build it back with a different America. That is what he is doing). Obama called it “The Fundamental Transformation of America”).

This writer believes the length of the above list could easily be doubled, but readers will get the point, and there are other things that need to be mentioned.

One, concerning the decline of the U.S. and the establishment of the Ten Kings: on Sept. 20, 2021, it was reported that the Community of Latin American and Caribbean States (CELAC) met to discuss weakened ties to the U.S. and the restructuring of CELAC into a block of nations patterned after the E.U.

Ten groups of nations patterned after the E.U. with a leader over each group (Ten leaders or Ten Kings) that would eventually cede their power to one leader has been a globalist goal for many years.

Also concerning the decline of the U.S.: Biden’s surrender to the Taliban in Afghanistan has triggered calls for the E.U. to establish a military that does not have ties to NATO.

Also concerning the decline of the U.S.: France has recalled its ambassador to the U.S. for the first time in history over a deal the U.S. and U.K. made to provide Australia with the technology to build submarines.

Two, concerning world government: the globalists have weakened America, and now China wants to replace America, take over the New World Order (NWO) and dominate it, not submit to it.

The globalists are just as much against China dominating their New World Order as they were against America dominating it.

George Soros and some of his globalist buddies are now getting worried about the growing power of China. They are even trying to cut off investments in China to weaken China like they weakened the U.S.

According to the Bible, the E.U. will be the main power in the coming world government, not China.

Expect China to resist and invade the Middle East as one of the Kings of the East, but don’t expect China to defeat the Antichrist and head up the coming world government.

Three, concerning the Mark of the Beast: it will be a global mandate to identify and track everyone on earth, and it will go into effect at the middle of the Tribulation Period.

There is good reason to believe that Covid-19 vaccine certificates are on the way to becoming a global mandate to identify and track people.

On Sept. 15, 2021, it was reported that 35-40 nations (Israel, the E.U., and other nations that want to join) will have a digital system in place by early October to identify and track those that have been vaccinated and those that have had Covid-19 and recovered. Those that get an approved certificate will be allowed to travel, enter restaurants and other venues, but those that don’t get one will not be allowed to do these things.

Four, concerning Israel and Jerusalem: America’s Deep State has manipulated Pres. Biden into many mistakes since putting him into office.

It seems that God is willing to let America’s Deep State and Biden weaken America because He said He will allow them to establish a godless world government and religion for seven years.

But now, these godless people appear to be preparing to weaken Israel by reopening America’s special consulate for the P.A. in Jerusalem and canceling America’s recognition of Jerusalem as the undivided capital of Israel.

God will allow them to do this for three reasons:

He is letting Israel learn to trust Him and not the nations.

He is letting the nations choose their own judgment (what they try to do to Israel will come back on them; Zech. 12:3).

He is letting the world know that He is God, He restored Israel, and Israel cannot be destroyed (Amos 9:11-15).

FYI: America’s Deep State apparently does not know, believe, or understand the story about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace (a type of Israel in the Tribulation Period). One like the Son of God delivered them out of it (Dan. 3:25), and all Israel, all that believe in Yeshua, will be saved in the wilderness (Matt. 25:16-22) by a Deliverer out of Zion (Rom. 11:26).

Five, in May of this year, terrorists in Gaza fired more than 4,000 rockets into Israel, but many were shot down by Israel’s anti-missile Iron Dome System.

Israel needs to replace and boost her stock of Iron Dome missiles.

In June of this year, U.S. Sec. of State Lloyd Austin told Israel’s Defense Min. Benny Gantz that the U.S. plans to replace Israel’s Iron Dome missiles. On Aug. 27, Pres. Biden met with Israeli Prime Min. Bennett and said the U.S. will replace Israel’s Iron Dome missiles. Nancy Pelosi recently put $1 billion to replace Israel’s Iron Dome missiles in a bill to raise the U.S. debt ceiling, but the Squad and other leftist Democrats strongly objected to spending money on the defense of Israel. Pelosi removed the money but promised to put it in a later bill.

The Biden administration has made many mistakes (Afghanistan, border with Mexico, etc.), but nothing could be as bad as abandoning its promises to defend Israel.

Six, concerning the division of Israel and the Battle of Armageddon: on Sept. 21, 2021, Pres. Biden repeated his support for the Two-State solution in a speech at the U.N. (but he did say it will be a long time before it happens).

Seven, concerning wickedness and corruption at the end of the age: on Sept. 16, 2021, Special Counsel John Durham got an indictment against a Democrat lawyer for creating and giving false information (lying) to the FBI to smear Pres. Trump during the 2016 Pres. Campaign. According to the indictment, the lawyer’s lies were used to suggest that Trump was colluding with the Russians.

In 2016, the FBI questioned him about it, and he gave the FBI false information while claiming to be an ordinary citizen and denied that he was being paid by anyone to give the FBI a false story.

It is now 5 years later, and the FBI says it has proof that the Democrat lawyer was billing the Clinton campaign, and Clinton’s group was paying him for his work. There are now rumors that Durham plans to go after Mrs. Clinton, but this writer is skeptical. It would not be surprising if Durham goes after some of Clinton’s aides, but Clinton is a prominent member of America’s Deep State.

Some say George Soros is destroying America, and Obama is in his third presidency, but nothing is ever done about what they are doing. Why?

The DOJ and FBI appear to be treating America’s Deep State as a protected class of people. If this is not true, why haven’t they been prosecuted for some of the things they have done? If it is true, it means the DOJ and FBI are protecting the wickedness, corruption, and treason of America’s Deep State (like in the days of Noah when the wickedness of man was great).

FYI: Here is some good news.

If (a big “IF”) God allows the Antichrist to confirm a 7-year covenant with many for peace in the Middle East by 2030, Jesus will be sitting on the throne of David in Jerusalem, and the Kingdom of God will exist on earth by 2037. Christians will be here in new bodies with their loved ones; Christians won’t get sick or die; there will be peace, justice, and righteousness on earth; no Covid, etc.

The bad things mentioned above are signs that a new world is coming soon.

Eight, concerning a falling away in the Church: on Sept. 21, 2021, LifeSiteNews reported that Pope Francis has a history of praising pro-abortion politicians, he supports serving communion to pro-abortion politicians, and he has endorsed gay civil unions.

Pope Francis has the spiritual qualifications of the False Prophet (supports world government, world religion, etc.), but he is getting old. If he is the False Prophet, the Rapture could be very soon.

Before closing, here is a personal message.

I get a little uncomfortable when other ministries ask me to publicize what they are doing because if they or some of their people go astray, I don’t want it to have a negative impact on Rapture Ready or my ministry. Having said this, a Christian group called Tactical Civics is seeking God-fearing patriots that want to restore America. I am thankful for (and support) anyone that wants to restore America. A member of the group has asked me to encourage people that Love Jesus and America to watch the 11-minute video at this link: www.tacticalcivics.com/video

The group wants more people to know what they are doing and perhaps get involved.

Finally, are you Rapture Ready?

If you want to be rapture ready and go to heaven, you must be born again (John 3:3). God loves you, and if you have not done so, sincerely admit that you are a sinner; believe that Jesus is the virgin-born, sinless Son of God who died for the sins of the world, was buried, and raised from the dead; ask Him to forgive your sins, cleanse you, come into your heart and be your Saviour; then tell someone that you have done this.

[busdriver-55]

Summer Romance Recs

- Adult romance = ❤ - College = 💖 - YA = 💗 Heart Bones by Colleen Hoover: Samson and Beyah have nothing in common on the surface. She comes from a life of poverty and neglect; he comes from a family of wealth and privilege. But one thing they do have in common is that they're both drawn to sad things. Which means they're drawn to each other. With an almost immediate connection too intense for them to continue denying, Beyah and Samson agree to stay in the shallow end of a summer fling. What Beyah doesn't realize is that a rip current is coming, and it's about to drag her heart out to sea. 💖 The Summer of Broken Rules by K.L Walther: Meredith's family's annual game of assassin at Martha's Vineyard during a summer wedding is the perfect chance to honor her sister's legacy, and finally join the world again. But when she forms an alliance with a cute groomsman, she's at risk of losing both the game and her heart. 💖 It Happened One Summer by Tessa Bailey: Following some bad choices, Piper finds herself stuck for the summer in the small town where she was born, where she might find more than she bargained for. ❤ Beach Read by Emily Henry: January Andrews writes bestselling romance. When she pens a happily ever after, he kills off his entire cast. They're polar opposites. In fact, the only thing they have in common is that for the next three months, they're living in neighboring beach houses, broke, and bogged down with writer's block... ❤ Breathless by Jennifer Niven: With high school coming to an end, Claudine Henry is focused on four things: sex, starting college, becoming a famous writer, and... sex. But when her parents announce they're splitting up, her entire world begins to fall apart. The epic road trip she planned with her best friend is cancelled, and she finds herself stuck on a remote island off the coast of Georgia with her mom - an island with no WiFi, no cell service and no friends. Until she meets the free spirited, mysterious, and beautiful Jeremiah. He infuriates and intrigues her. Their chemistry takes her by surprise, and when Claude decides he should be her first, she tells herself it's just sex. Exactly what she wanted, right? They both know that what they have can't last forever, but maybe the time they have can be enough. 💗 Starry Eyes by Jenn Bennett: a teen girl's way-too-ordinary life is driven off the beaten path when she's abandoned in the wilderness with her worst adversary - the boy who broke her heart. 💗 Burning Moon by Jo Watson: On her wedding day, Lilly is left at the Church with 500 guests and a note from her fiancé that he "just can't". She decides to take her honeymoon trip to Thailand by herself. Lilly meets Damien early on in the trip and fate continually brings them together. ❤ The Unhoneymooners by Christina Lauren: For two sworn enemies, anything can happen during the Hawaiian trip of a lifetime - maybe even love. ❤ Cool for the Summer by Dahlia Adler: about a girl who’s finally attracted the attention of the guy she’s crushed on for years, only to have her feelings thrown into upheaval by the unexpected arrival of her (female) summer fling. 💗

[stvlti]

Fic Writer Interview

I piped up when @kiseiakhun did theirs so now I gotta pay for my hubris (but also, it's fun! Thanks for going out of your way to re-tag me!)

Name(s): stvlti (tumblr), stultiloquent (ao3)

Fandoms:

Actively writing for: DCU - comics and also related media, by which I mean of course Young Justice the cartoon and somehow also the Titans TV show. I never expected I'd write for a live action TV show series but hey, 2003 Teen Titans were my roots and Titans is a close relative. (Funnily enough I haven't actually seriously written for TT, but it's all about NTT and its derivative works)

Older fandoms on my AO3: Black Mirror: Bandersnatch, Noragami, Death Note

Where you post: AO3 is where I literally archive all my fics that see the light of day, drabbles and crackfics alike, but sometimes they get posted on Tumblr first (especially if it's to fill a prompt) and then make their way over to AO3 for reposting

Most popular one shot (by kudos):

Overall: "the hands that worship you", which is a pwp because I guess y'all love the porn on AO3!

This year: "if you can't summon your own tentacles, store-bought is fine", which is also a pwp because you horny mofos will always pick porn over anything else welp (thanks for leaving kudos though 🤣 and tbf, this one does have the unfair advantage of being literally the second oldest piece posted this year so it's had more time to amass more kudos than my gen / PG rated fics. proportionately though it's definitely not the one I've gotten the highest kudos to hits ratio on)

Most popular multi-chap (by kudos):

Discounting "if you can't summon your own tentacles" (which is more a two-parter that was written as a one-shot), I don't have an answer for either "Overall" or "This year" for this one because I have in fact only ever written one (1) multichap fic since moving to AO3 (we don't talk about the dark days on Deviantart) and said multichap fic isn't even close to within the top 10 most kudos'd fic on my account. That plus it's an RPF from my teenaged years that I really don't wanna plug on main because I don't want y'all to read that shit (it's RPF, come on)

Favourite story you’ve written so far:

I can't answer for "Overall" (cause I feel like I'd be forgetting and therefore neglecting a portion of the stories I've got in my portfolio over the last 8 years), but for "This year" it is in fact my latest entry, "Transference"! I was quite proud of the comfort zones I tested with that one, I pushed myself to write more than 2 character povs for a single piece (my record had always been 2 but in that fic I was juggling 3 - almost 4 character perspectives), plus it gave me an excuse to play around with narrative structure which is always a Thing I'm nerdy about

Fic you were nervous to post:

Cool cool cool so I'm just gonna expose myself with this one, but it was actually the priest kink fic, "When I'm down on my knees you're how I pray". I wanted to contextualise Dick Grayson's guilt issues in a Catholic context as like a what-if, but I've also never been Catholic, wasn't raised Catholic, and it was somehow important to me that I didn't misrepresent the customs and rituals of Catholicism? Even though just writing the fic itself was already fundamentally disrespectful? Idk my brain works on weird logic.

btw if any of you wanna cancel me for this just block me and move on.

How do you choose your titles?:

The title is either based on the central theme / moral of the story, which will come to me as I write and is usually the case for fics I take more seriously, OR, if it's a ficlet I didn't put as much effort into and/or don't intend to show off, I'll usually pull from lyrics for a one liner that hits the emotional notes I'm going for in the story.

Do you outline?:

Almost always. The only fics I haven't outlined are spur of the moment things, stuff that's very focused on a single instance or thought without much plot or coordination needed.

Complete: 26 25 in total

not counting the ones I deleted or orphaned this year (again this number does not include my Deviantart stash shhhh those didn't happen)

In-progress: uh....3 4?

I'm kinda in between the research and planning stage for 3 different fics atm so idk if it's really in-progress in-progress... Those 3 fics aren't even set in stone, I might abandon them again like I did with one of these 3 (the dark academia au) 5 months ago (that I recently picked back up on the research front)

Yeah I forgot my Sladick fic is a 2-parter that I should probably work on and finish at some point 😬

Coming soon/not yet started: I think it's somewhere between 8 and 11

I just added 2 more to the list after Romin Week prompts dropped /sigh. But I really wanna test my comfort zone again and try writing the wilder stories for a change (it'll be fun though if I get around to it! Hopefully something BOP movieverse shaped if I'm lucky)

Prompts:

Sure, send them my way! I accept prompts, just can't guarantee I'll be able to respond speedily though cause I can't chain my muse to me and also real life happens, a lot

Upcoming work you’re most excited about:

Ooof idk if excited is the right word, try trepidation...I'm scared to mischaracterise our faves...but a BOP movieverse fic is probably going to be real fun! Just hope I can finish the research and writing in time for the event though

No-pressure tags:

See this is the real point of me asking to be tagged and filling this tag, cause I wanna pass it on to my writing mutuals in other fandoms. So @trans-l-lawliet @fantomn @mellonearyou @3dnygma , if you're listening,,,,

Also any other writerly friends or followers reading this and curious to try, please go ahead! Have fun with this!

[your-high-lady]

Revenge(Throne Of Glass Fanfiction)

I would recommend reading the following AN because though it may be long, it will probably answer quite a few of your questions.

AN: Hello. This one-shot is very graphic and I would not recommend reading it if you're not in a very wretched mood and wanting to kill someone. I've written a very detailed and very explicit version of a part of Kingdom of Ash that Sarah J Mass chose to write about very briefly. That wasn't enough for me so I added to what she wrote.

I started writing this one-shot about 3-4 months ago when I was angry and probably losing my mind because right now there is not a single reason that I can think of that would've caused me to even think about writing this let alone writing it at all, other than that one of the screws in my brain had come loose and seriously damaged another part. But anyways.

No, I'm not a sociopath and don't take psychiatrist help, though after reading through my one-shot a few times while editing has made me wonder whether I should seek help from a shrink because what I've written honestly scares me too. Me, the writer. This stuff came from my mind. Like, WTF! What is wrong with me!? But still. I want you to read it, of course at your own risk. I'm not forcing you to read this in any sense, but I would really appreciate a review or two giving me some feedback on my writing, and maybe a couple more assuring me that my writing is not as insane as I think it is.

I don't know what else to say except that I am sane. I am not mentally or physically disturbed in any way that could've caused the following to come out. I just... I don't know. I just don't know. There's just something about the way my mind is wired that I decided to write this and then post it on FanFiction.

It just occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, the writing isn't as graphic as I think it is. If that if the case, please ignore all of the above.

Thank you, have a great day.

Disclaimer: I, in no world or sense, own the TOG world or its characters. Sarah J Mass very spectacularly imagined all of it and put it into seven wonderful books for us to read, and I'm very grateful for that. The first part, which is in italics is basically a copy paste of the part in Kingdom of Ash where Rowan asks Gavriel to heal Cairn. The part starting from the non-italics to the beginning of the actual torture is a loose summary of what Sarah J Mass wrote before Rowan actually began. After that is all mine. That's where my work starts: When he starts hurting Cairn. Everything before that is not my words. They're SJM's words put into a different form, or at least the non-italics are. Please know that, and don't come for me saying I copy-pasted her work and took credit for it. I gave her credit, just now, in the past few sentences.

If you have any other questions or worries, feel free to contact me however you like.

Ok, this is actually getting really long. I'm gonna stop.

--

Rowan didn’t know where to look first.

At the wolf and Fae male sprawled on the floor.

Or at the iron coffin across the tent.

The iron box they’d locked her in.

Had to reinforce it seemed, from the sloppy welding on the thick slabs atop it.

The box was so small. So narrow.

The smell of her blood, her fear, saturated the tent. Emanated from the box.

A metal table lay nearby.

And beneath it…

Rowan took in the three unlit braziers set beneath it, the chain anchors at the head and foot off the table.

Rowan turned his head to look Gavriel who was healing Fenrys, in his wolf form. And beside him, he lay. “Heal him,” Rowan said with lethal softness. The Lion looked up to find Rowan’s gaze not on Fenrys but instead on Cairn. Chunks of flesh had been torn from his body and a lump was forming on his temple. It was the blow that had knocked him out. A blow that had been inflicted by Fenrys. Right before he collapsed himself. But not from his wounds, instead of from… Rowan started. What had happened here, what has been so terrible that the wolf had done the impossible to spare Aelin from enduring it? Though Gavriel’s eyes were wary, Rowan pointed at Cairn again, “Heal him.” There wasn’t much time left. Not for what he wanted to do. What he needed to do.

Drawers had been pulled out. Polished tools glinted inside. A pouch of them had also been set on a piece of black velvet beside the metal table.

Her blood sang to him of pain and despair, of utter terror.

His Fireheart.

Gavriel’s magic shone golden as it settled over Cairn.

Rowan surveyed the tools Cairn had laid out, the ones in the draw. Carefully, thoughtfully, he selected one: a thin, razor-sharp knife. A healer’s tool, meant for small incisions. Rowan turned to look at Cairn as unconsciousness gave way. By the time, Cairn was fully awake, Rowan had him chained to the metal table. Cairn beheld Rowan, as he stood over him with the tool in his tattooed hand, others laid out beside him. He began thrashing, but the iron chains binding him held. Then he saw the frozen rage in Rowan’s eyes. He understood what he intended to do with that sharp knife. A dark stain spread across the front of Cairn’s pants. Once Gavriel was out, Rowan wrapped an ice-kissed wind around the tent, blocking out all sound, and began.

--

Rowan started at the bottom. He twisted and broke the bones in Cairn’s ankles, giving himself easy access to the bottom of his feet. Though Cairn tried to keep his mouth shut, the pain was too much. And so he screamed. He shrieked loud enough that Rowan’s ears ringed with it. But despite that, he savoured Cairn’s screams as he first peeled off the skin at his toe pads. Slowly, mercilessly. Then his heels. And then the arch of his foot. Through the ringing, Rowan thought about her. About Aelin. What had she gone through? How had Cairn tortured her these past months? Had she screamed like Cairn was now? More?

He looked up to see Cairn’s face. It was streaked with tears. His nose was running, face pale. It wasn’t enough. No amount of pain Rowan inflicted on him would be enough to challenge what Aelin must’ve gone through. Maybe, Rowan thought, I should lock him in the iron coffin. Take away his air. Make him feel what my wife felt. Later, Rowan. Later.

He moved on to Cairn's lower leg, letting his blood drip, drip, drip on to the floor. He picked up a slightly bigger knife. It was equally sharp if not more, as the last one. Rowan put it against Cairn’s shin and carefully made a horizontal cut, starting about an inch below his knee and ending at his ankle. Then the other leg. The screams grew louder, wilder. A haze had entered Rowan’s mind and only one thing, one word was able to get through it: Revenge.

The lone word burned within him, with each heartbeat, with each intake of breath.

Revengerevengerevenge

It was all he could think about. He wanted revenge. He wanted to hurt Cairn. He wanted to destroy his body, then his mind. He wanted to kill him. And he didn’t care about himself, about how he might feel regretful—or even disgusted with himself—when he finished, even though he doubted he would ever regret this. Cairn deserved everything he got. Every scream, every nightmare, every time he felt even a shred of pain or fear. He deserved it all. And so that is why he asked softly, “Cairn.” The shrieking halted. “Why am I hurting you? Do you know?”

"Because you're a sociopath, that's why." Cairn spat, panting.

Rowan turned his head to look at Cairn… and smelt more urine. “Wrong answer.” He moved so that he was closer to Cairn’s left thigh. Put the knife’s tip against it, right in the middle. He knew, one hard plunge down and he would crush right through the bone. Cairn wouldn’t be able to walk then. But then again, he wasn’t able to right now either what with the chains and his unfortunate injuries. Eh. Let’s do it anyway. And down went Rowan’s knife. He heard the crack of the bone. He felt the splinters graze the knife. He felt the rage in himself when he turned the knife making a full circle. He relished the shrieks that emanated from Cairn’s throat. Miraculously, Cairn was still alive and conscious. Rowan planned to change that. But first, he had to tell Cairn the right answer. “The right answer to my question, Cairn, is because you hurt my mate. You tortured her. You mistreated her. You laughed at her. You did all that and more. And now, I’m going to make you pay for it.” And with those words, he took the knife out of Cairn’s leg and jabbed it into the other. Harder. He heard the point of the knife clang against the metal table under Cairn. The screaming was getting hoarse. But that wasn’t what Rowan wanted.

Rowan took the knife out. Looked at the dark red blood staining the blade, tilting his head to the side, contemplating. His bright green eyes turned to look at Cairn’s blue ones. Turned back to Cairn’s bleeding leg. Rowan put his finger into the small hole his knife had made. He angled skin back and made a short horizontal slit, tucking his knife into the small flap. He moved his eyes to see Cairn looking at what his fingers were doing. Cairn began to tremble. He saw in Cairn’s eye fear and anticipation of what was to come. The agony he knew would come. Rowan didn’t give him enough time to mentally prepare before he yanked. As if he were no more than a butcher pulling off the skin of his dead prey. He watched as Cairn’s body arched in pain, as his mouth opened in agony and gurgling noises came out. They sort of sounded like stop! stop! Rowan processed them as to keep going! keep going!. So he did.

“Ahhhh!” Cairn’s voice was getting hoarse with each howl. It wasn’t enough for Rowan though. He wanted Cairn to lose his voice. Then he wanted Cairn to regain his voice, so that Cairn could scream even louder and then lose his voice again. But he was going pale now. Rowan took the knife out of Cairn’s skin and ripped back the skin above so that he had two flaps off skin opening up and down his leg.  He, then, did the same torture to the other leg, just much faster. Cairn already knew what was going to happen. There was no pleasure in dragging it out twice. By the time Rowan finished, he had been pulled to oblivion. Rowan stared at Cairn’s face. It was toned with muscle. Sharp and angled. It would be a pretty one, if not for the permanent arrogant smirk on his face, even in oblivion. Rowan had had enough of staring at his rutting face.

Rowan moved his hands so that they hovered over Cairn’s bleeding legs, and healed him. And slowly, Cairn came back to conscious, groaning because though Rowan had healed him enough that he was no longer unconscious, he still had the injuries. And they still hurt very much.

Rowan moved his eyes to look at Cairn’s sharp face. There was a smirk on his face. “Feeling arrogant, are we?” Rowan asked Cairn.

His smirk grew, “No matter how much you torture me, you’ll never be able to forget that you”, he lifted his head, jerking his chin at Rowan, “failed her.” Rowan flinched. “That’s what hurts, doesn’t it. You think hurting me will make you feel better. And it might. But you’ll still always ponder over it, what I might’ve done to her. Did I rape her? Did I cut her? Did I burn her? Did I drown her? No one knows… but, wait. Aelin would know. I know. But you don’t. I’m not going to tell you. And I don’t think the bitch”—Rowan slapped Cairn for that, causing a spray of blood to come out of his mouth—“wants to relive those memories either. They’re pretty brutal if I remember correctly.” Cairn shrugged as if accepting the fact that no one was going to say anything. But Rowan hadn’t decided anything yet. Half his mind was demanding he torture the information out of Cairn, but the other was saying that he wouldn’t be able to bear it. Hearing about what Aelin went through would kill him. He believed that side. And anyway, it didn’t make a difference, whether he knew what happened to her or not, it would be equally painful. Either way, Cairn wasn’t going to see the sunset today.

Picking up the smallest and sharpest knife Rowan had in his arsenal, he slit Cairn’s shirt in half. Turning and playing with the knife, Rowan said, “I don’t know what you did to her, Cairn, but I can still label you. Murderer, sadist, torturer, abuser. There’re so many words. Which one should I use? Tell me. What word do you want me to use.” Cairn’s nostrils flared with anger but he didn’t say anything. Rowan sighed. “You speak when I don’t want you to but lose your tongue when I want you to talk? How inconvenient. I guess I’ll just have to choose the word for you.” He took a few seconds to himself before he told Cairn, “I can’t decide, Cairn,” he huffed, amused. “I suppose we could use more than one word. Let’s start with… coward? Is that okay with you?” Cairn just glared, nostrils flaring. Rowan gave him a small smile, before putting his knife point against Cairn’s skin. And so he began, once again. Coward, sadist, betrayer. He carved out all these names and more, some of the more ancient words in the Old Language, on to Cairn’s torso, all the while savouring his screams. They were worse than before, and soon Cairn’s voice was hoarse and he was struggling to get his voice out. But Rowan didn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. He needed to keep going. He needed to give himself this. He couldn’t have avoided Maeve taking her away on that beach, all those months ago. He didn’t even know what was happening until she was taken away, and he saw that blood-soaked shirt staining the sand red. Aelin didn’t tell him anything and Rowan couldn’t help but hate her for that. For taking herself away from him. For taking away the greatest honour of protecting and keeping his queen safe. She took that away from him, and he hated her for that. But more than he hated her, he loved her. He loved her more than anything in this world and he could bring himself to forgive her but only because he had the opportunity to maim and kill the man who hurt his wife. His mate. His reason for breathing. Because there was no reason to live if she was not breathing alongside him. To whatever end. They had said that to each other many times before. To whatever end. That included death. If she died, Rowan would happily follow along, with her.  

But Aelin was alive. She had escaped. His Fireheart had braved everything and escaped. She would be okay now. Rowan would be able to take care of her. But he needed to kill Cairn first. He needed closure. And so he only stopped with the carving when there was just one small spot left above his hip, where the skin was not split and bubbling with blood. The rest of his torso was just a slab of ruined flesh and blood. Just like Aelin’s must’ve been after the whipping she got in her first month off Endovier, and on the beach at Maeve’s orders. But that spot. He would come back to that spot. Later. He had to do some other things first.

As Rowan put the knife down, Cairn’s shrieking died down too as he once again was pulled into oblivion. He made sure Cairn’s wounds had started clotting and that he wouldn’t die of blood loss, before going to a small bucket full of water and washing the blood off his hands. His clothes were splattered with blood, too. He would have to throw them away because of the staining that was sure to happen.

Taking his hands out of the water, Rowan looked at them. His fingernails and fingers were also stained red with blood. They would be stained for at least a day or two before the blood came completely off. He was used to this. After all the wars he’d been to and come back from, he’d gotten used to it. He’d gotten used to the sticky feeling of it before he could wash the blood off. He’d gotten used to the metal stench of blood and the feeling of the phantom blood that never seemed to get off his hands. Instead, it just seemed to cake on even more with each war he returned from. He’d never really cared for any of these things before he met Aelin. Blood was blood—something to be washed off and forgotten about. He hadn’t cared about the blood or who it might’ve belonged to. He still didn’t, especially if it had the black colour and reek of Valg blood. He wanted his hands coated in Valg blood. But this wasn’t Valg blood staining his fingers. This was red blood, Fae blood. Cairn’s blood. And still, he didn’t want to wash it off completely. He wanted the reminder. He wanted the reminder of the pain he’d inflicted on Cairn. He wanted to remember the feeling of his flesh squishing under his fingers and hands, and the feeling of his hands being icky and sticky with blood. He enjoyed the feeling of it. He was distantly aware that his thoughts were not right, and that if anyone heard what he was thinking they would call him a psychotic killer who very badly needs some help, but he couldn’t care less about them. Cairn had hurt her. And Cairn would pay for it now. It was as simple as that.

Drying his hands, he walked back over to Cairn. His face was contorted in pain, leaving little space for the usual arrogant smirk. Not one to waste any time, Rowan moved his hands over Cairn’s body and gave him a little energy boost, still leaving the pain there and wounds open. Once Cairn was relatively awake and aware of his surroundings, Rowan picked up a medium-sized knife. Inspecting it, he said to Cairn, “Cairn, doing good? I hope you’re okay. I want to be alive for the rest of this. I want you to feel it. I want you to experience the pain you put my wife through. You deserve to feel it, for what you did to her and I’m sure countless other people, too. You enjoy it, don’t you? You enjoy their pain, their screams, their tears. Well, I enjoy yours, only yours…And I guess other people who hurt my Aelin and our court, too. You, who put my wife through misery. You, who made her cry. You, who took her away from me.” Rowan was getting tired of talking, so he put the knife at Cairn’s shoulder and just started peeling the skin of his upper arm, moving it around here and there to get to the more hidden-from-him spots. Cairn didn’t scream this time. Instead, he just moaned and groaned in pain, which was expected at this point after all the pain he’d already been through. His body and mind had probably entered a place where he was accepting the pain rather than trying to fight it, which was completely fine with Rowan as long as he could keep hurting Cairn. He kept speaking over Cairn’s groaning, “You did so much, Cairn. Do you remember when I was trying to train you? You were so difficult. You wouldn’t listen, always got into fights with the others. Why? Why did you always need to keep fighting?” He moved down to Cairn’s forearm. “Why do you enjoy it? Isn’t it sickening to you? Have you ever puked after torturing someone? Do you have any conscience at all?” Cairn didn’t reply, so Rowan just moved on to Cairn’s other arm, and before long, Cairn was once again pulled back into his mind, but not before Rowan cut off both of his arms. That procured a shriek from Cairn’s throat, which made Rowan smile in the sweetest delight. He drank a glass of water, swallowing the minor disgust at his own thoughts. He walked over to the small fireplace on the side of the tent and lit a small fire. Then picked up the first knife he’d used and put it beside Cairn’s head, freeing his hands so that he could bring Cairn’s back to consciousness one last time. While Cairn was blinking away the last dregs of unawareness, Rowan said, “I have nothing to say to you, except that your whole life, everything you did, led to this point. You and your actions are why I’m here standing here, holding this knife. You hurt her and now I will kill you.” Cairn trembled as Rowan picked up the small knife used for precise incisions. “Please, please. Make it quick.” Cairn begged in a small squeaking voice. Rowan slowly shook his head, bringing his mouth close to Cairn’s ear. “You don’t deserve it.” Coming back up, Rowan brought the knife down to Cairn’s crotch. “You didn’t actually think I’d let you keep your manhood after what you did to my wife, did you?” And with those words, Rowan castrated Cairn. His mouth widened in horrified terror. Rowan imagined that he was so much in pain that he couldn’t even get his voice out to express the pain he was going through. It was so painful he couldn’t even scream. His hands presumably come up to hold his crotch but he couldn’t because of the iron holding him down. After he’d carved out impotent on to the small spot he’d reserved before, he moved to Cairn’s forehead. Starting just above his bushy brown brows, Rowan dug his knife into the skin and peeled it back until half of Cairn’s scalp was just hanging off the table edge. Rowan didn’t blink an eye at the bits of brain spilling out, as he went to the other brow and did the exact same thing. During all this, he also very reluctantly healed Cairn just enough so that he wouldn’t die of blood loss or suffocation or any of the shit, as Rowan basically destroyed Cairn’s mind, physically and mentally. He moved on to the cheeks, peeling the skin of then the nose and ears, also slicing the skin away and then cutting the body part of altogether. Then he took his knife and jabbed them into each of Cairn’s eyes. He screamed at. Loud and clear, his voice rang through the tent. Soon Cairn’s once permanently-arrogant-and-smirking-but-handsome-at-the-same-time face was not a permanently-arrogant-and-smirking-but-handsome-at-the-same-time face. Instead, it was a slab of meat, blood, squishy shit, and just overall, waste. No one would be able to tell who he was, anymore. No one would see that arrogant smirk again. Aelin, though she would most likely see him in her nightmares for years to come, will never again be tormented by him and his face in reality.

Before Cairn could die out on him, Rowan peeled the skin off Cairn’s neck, before picking up his axe and slamming it down. Cairn’s head fell and vulgarly rolled around the tent floor before Rowan picked it up and threw the head into the fire that he’d kept going with his magic. He watched it burn for a couple of minutes before going to the rest of the body. He cut it up into smaller pieces before throwing those into the fire too. His nose prickled at the scent of burning flesh but he kept watching. He wanted to make sure that not a single piece of that male lived. He wanted to make sure that was Aelin safe, or at at least as safe as she could be at the moment. Ten minutes later, the fire was finally starting to die down, leaving the ashes of Cairn scattered on the floor.

Cairn. He was dead. Good riddance, was all Rowan thought before he exited out of the tent, his magic blowing the scent of the burnt flesh away from the tents.

In the chaos of Aelin’s escape, Rowan was easily able to walk out of the camp without attracting any attention. He had only taken a few steps away from the camp entrance gates before he ran. And ran and ran and ran. When he was sure no one could see him, he stopped and just let it all out. He had been feeling sick at himself and his actions the whole time he’d hurt Cairn. But he’d kept it buried deep in his soul. He knew it was important that he give himself that closure. He’d needed to hurt the person who hurt his mate. It gave him a little solace that her tormentor hadn’t died an easy death. He’s experienced pain first, then died. He’d needed to give himself that satisfaction. And so he gave it. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be sick. And so he vomited. Everything he’d eaten in the past couple days spilled out of his mouth. And when it was over, he gagged dryly. It was his way of physically getting it all out. All the anger and hopelessness he’d felt in the past few months—it all came out and he was glad of it. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to puke anymore he stood up, took his hawk form and flew around until he found her scent. Her normal scent of jasmine and lemon verbena was laced with fear and blood and misery but there was also a slight undertone of happiness and pride which Rowan guessed was because of her escape. Of course, she would be happy and proud of herself. She’d been through so much and come back alive and aware of her surroundings if not completely pleasant. But they could work on that. Together. Together they would heal.

AN: Well that was quite the journey. Yes, I’m still sane. I hope you are too, and I also hope that you liked my one-shot. Let me know if there are any other ideas you might have and would like for me to write about, and remember to leave a review. I always find those quite nice and interesting to read. Thank you. And have an amazing day.

[journeyedman-blog]

( paul wesley. 28. cismale. he/him. ) ❛ andrew schneider , a scorpio from san francisco, moved into holloway eight years ago. they are a writer that lives in apartment 6f and their neighbors don’t particularly mind them. some say they can be brooding and reserved but others say they’re creative and insightful. anyways, one thing is for sure: you hear love like ghosts by lord huron, it’s andrew blasting it. ( penned by erie, 23, est. )

Hellllllllllllo! I am so thrilled to finally be posting this intro, even if I am a little late to the party. You can call me Erie, and I’m from the EST Timezone! Here are a few fun facts about myself:

- My favorite band is Lord Huron. If you don’t know who they are, I’d strongly suggest looking them up. I can’t even begin to describe how their music makes me feel.

- I’ve been rping for nearly six years. I started here on tumblr, and have always been on tumblr, which I’ve learned is fairly uncommon. A lot of people I’ve met in the rpc started on twitter, facebook, or other platforms. Regardless of where you started though, I’ll love you just the same!

- I’ve played Paul Wesley face claims a lot over the years. He was by far my favorite part of The Vampire Diaries. He’s an amazing actor, and characters I’ve played using his face have always had a certain vibe that I love. It was actually because of my very first Paul Wesley Face Claim that I was introduced to Lord Huron, and now I sort of associate the two things with each other. Andrew is a mix of two of my previous Paul characters, with a few new things added in. That’s a pretty nice segue way to...

Andrew! Let me tell you this boy’s story, because I’ve been itching to for days!

- Andrew grew up in San Francisco with his dad, who is a world renowned (Think like, Stephen King level fame and success) but struggling author. His mom left with his younger brother when Andrew was very young. He’s never met his brother, and his Mom flat out refuses to have anything to do with him to this day because...

- The reason his Mom left was that Andrew’s Dad had developed an alcohol problem from his writing struggles, and would regularly abuse her. She got pregnant with Andrew’s brother with another man, who promised to support her and the child if she left. She left Andrew with his Dad because she had grown to hate him, because he served as a reminder that she had once loved the man that had made her life into a living Hell.

- I’d like to be able to say that his wife leaving him, and the responsibility of taking care of his son now being completely on his shoulders served as a wake up call for Andrew’s Dad, but unfortunately it didn’t. His drinking got even worse, and he simply hired people to oversee the care of Andrew, and locked himself away in his study, trying to write the next great novel. In some ways, this was probably something of a mercy, because he certainly wasn’t in any condition to take care of a child, and if he’d attempted it, Andrew probably would have suffered the same kind of abuse that his mother had. As it stands, the abuse he did suffer was very minimal. Once he was old enough to start school, Andrew was sent to Leman Manhattan Preparatory School in New York, boarding there. He lived there for ten months out of the year from the time he was 4 until he was 18, and as a result, grew up to barely know his father.

- Although he resented his father, it was hard for Andrew not to follow in his footsteps and becomes a writer himself. This is partially because the only good memories that Andrew has of his Dad involve him praising pieces of his writing as he grew up. In those moments, Andrew was able to see a glimmer of the man his father once was before alcohol consumed his life. Writing was the only thing that he and his Dad shared. But even without these moments, he still probably would have ended up becoming a writer anyway.

- Having lived in New York for the better part of his entire life, once he graduated High School, he moved there permanently in order to attend Columbia. It was while he was there that he met and fell in love with Alice.

- There’s not a lot I can say about Alice, because in a lot of ways, she’s kind of a mystery. I will say that Andrew was very in love with her. After a year of being together, he proposed marriage and she said yes.

- After his second year at Columbia, he and Alice decided to move out of the residence, and that’s when they moved into Holloway together as a betrothed couple. However, very shortly after moving in, Alice disappeared. Her leaving seemed deliberate, since she took most of her stuff, but she left no note, and no explanation for why, or where she was going. Andrew was heartbroken.

- It wasn’t long after Alice left that Andrew decided to leave. He had started to drink heavily, and spent a lot of his time shut up by himself doing nothing but writing, and he realized he was well on track to becoming exactly like his father was. He knew he needed to leave everything behind, and live as differently as was possible. Without giving it too much thought, he packed a bag and left New York; and he didn’t return for 8 years.

- In his time away, Andrew went on a journey. He traveled across North America, a great deal of it on foot, and camped out in the wilderness. As he traveled, he wrote and sketched in his journals, keeping accounts of the things he saw and experienced. Trekking on foot, from forest to field, from field to mountain, and everything in between, he made stops in towns and cities when he needed to resupply. He lived this way for eight years, on what essentially became a journey of healing and enlightenment. 

-  Although the purpose of the journey wasn’t supposed to be try and find Alice, there was no denying that in the back of his mind, he was always searching for her, hoping to find her. He kept finding reasons to push his journey further and longer, and though he could justify them to himself, deep down he knew it was because of her. In the end, he never did find her, and after breaking down into tears at the realization that no matter how far he went, he probably never would, he decided it was time to finally return home.

- Now Andrew is back. His apartment has been paid for, but vacant for the past eight years, and he’s finally returned to live in it. After eight years on the road, he has hundreds of journals to sort through, which he intends to take the best parts of, revise, and try to get published. Spending so much time away, it’s going to take some time for him to figure out how to live a normal life again.

That’s the story of Andrew so far! I’m not super happy with how I wrote it (Having a mental block today) but it gets the important stuff across! I may try writing out an actual bio eventually, but we’ll see. Anywho! If you’d like to plot anything, please feel free to shoot me a message! 

[dogbearinggifts]

Síncopa, Part One

A/N: So, while chatting on the Coco Discord the other day, the notion of an Incredibles AU came up, talks about possible power sets turned into plot threads, and before you know it, a story needed a writer. 

This one is cowritten with @calliopesquill. I’m still working on Elegy, and plan to stick to the normal schedule with that one, but the plot bunny for this one was very insistent. 

Also on AO3.

*******

1946

Get to the van. 

It had seemed an impossible task at first, yet now here he was, meeting his reflection’s gaze in the rearview mirror as Ernesto’s tower disappeared behind him. 

A wash of dizziness sent his head back against the headrest. He knew he should have waited until late morning—or better yet, afternoon—to make his escape. Ernesto always drained his powers shortly after sunrise, and he would have been in better shape to run, to drive, had he more than twenty minutes to recover. But the guards only relaxed around him in the hour after Ernesto locked the soundproofed door and strode away—and this had been moving day. The morning Ernesto decided a more secure location would thwart further escape attempts. 

Opportunities like that didn’t often come his way. 

Héctor glanced out his rearview again. Carefully tended gardens had given way to tangles of trees lining either side of the dirt road. He guided the van down a hill and, as he watched, the ivory tower dipped behind the gravel and dust.

He laughed. Gone. Out of sight, just like that. All those months trapped in that soundproofed room—over. He was out on that vast stretch of land surrounding Ernesto’s headquarters, surrounded by untrimmed trees and hideous brush. Wild. Free. It had been months since the sun had shone in his eyes.

A black motorcycle appeared in his side mirror. 

He’d known this would happen. From the moment he managed to slip free of the guards, he’d known they wouldn’t let him go without a fight. Yet now that the fight was upon him, the temptation to scream was nearly as strong as the temptation to stop the van and surrender in hopes of earning a little mercy. 

Imelda. Coco. They’d spent months worrying, wondering. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—throw this chance away. 

Héctor stomped on the gas pedal. The van bolted forward, but not before another motorcycle appeared in the mirror, growing larger by the second. 

A sob tore at his throat. He tried to push the van to a higher speed, but it had already reached its maximum. 

A third and fourth motorcycle joined the first two. 

Hands held behind his back. A cloth tied between his teeth. 

He couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t. They’d have to shoot him before they dragged him back. 

One of the motorcycles pulled up alongside the van. Half by reflex, half by decision, Héctor yanked the steering wheel to the right. The van tilted, swerved, and remained upright as it barreled down a side road.

It took only a minute for the motorcycle to reappear in his side mirror. 

“Hold still, mi amigo.” 

He hadn’t struggled; he’d only flinched when Ernesto raised a hand toward his cheek. Nevertheless, he remained as motionless as possible, waiting for that familiar chill against his skin. 

His vision swam as a second motorcycle joined the first, taking the opposite side. Héctor squeezed his eyes shut for a second, only a second, hoping to push the dizziness back, and opened them just in time to see a third and fourth motorcycle round the now-distant corner.

That touch was as cold as ever, as cold as it had always been when Héctor agreed to lend his amigo a bit of his powers. Two were better than one. But it had never lasted so long Héctor felt a chill spread down to his toes. Never so long he swayed on his feet. 

Coco. Imelda. Their second child would’ve been born by now; she’d know whether it was a boy or a girl. A Miguel or a Victoria. 

He sank to the floor. His arms were released, the gag untied. 

Why?

There was an answer. It had come in the form of a soaked cloth held to his face, through the sick-sweet smell overwhelming his senses as, minute by minute, he was consumed by weakness and fatigue. He wanted to go home and that was unacceptable. 

Yet he still couldn’t make himself understand. He could only watch as Ernesto left, trailed by the guards, and locked the door behind him. 

A motorcycle pulled up alongside the van. Héctor kept his gaze focused on the road, willing the van to reach a speed it wasn’t capable of reaching. He could do this. He could make it. There was a turn up ahead; he could lose them there. 

One moment, there was nothing before him but open road. The next, a motorcycle swung out and blocked his path. 

Héctor spun the wheel frantically to the left. Tires skidded on gravel, the van tilted; he slammed on the brakes a second too late. There was a sickening lurch, the sound of creaking metal, and the van teetered on two wheels. 

He could see it fall, feel the impact as it hit the dirt. He’d survive, in all likelihood—but the resulting injuries would leave him in no shape to flee. 

Then, as quickly as the van had tilted, it righted itself, crashing back to the ground on four wheels. For a moment, Héctor fought to draw a breath through lungs still reeling from the punch. 

A white motorcycle pulled alongside the van and a tall, broad-shouldered figure started toward him, removing his helmet. 

Héctor stomped on the gas pedal, but the van didn’t move. He fumbled for the door handle—no, no, stay inside—realized the error and searched for a lock instead. There had to be one; he had to find it, lock the doors. It was a better plan than running off into the wilderness. Lock the doors and stay inside, jump in the back and hide until it was safe to emerge.

The door swung open. 

“Hola, mi amigo.”

 By some miracle, Héctor managed to scramble out of the driver’s seat and onto the passenger’s side. He felt around for the handle, trying to think past his heart hammering in his throat. 

“I think we need to talk.” 

Ernesto stood with the sun at his back, his form silhouetted and face hidden in shadow. There was little hint of anger or disgust in his words; they wouldn’t have been out of place in an heladería or a sun-warmed garden.

“I told you.” Héctor’s voice shook, but it was still stronger than he’d expected. “I just want to go home.” 

“You know that can’t happen, Héctor.” 

His hand found the door handle; he pulled and stumbled out onto the ground. Out the corner of his eye he saw one guard abandon his bike and move for him. Fighting another wave of dizziness, he scrambled to his feet and ran for the brush. Rocks tore at his bare feet, but he could deal with that once he had his powers back. Once he was safe at home, once he’d explained it all to Imelda, he could—

A gloved hand brushed his arm. He tried for another burst of speed, but he was so weak already and the hand was on his arm, pulling him back; a second wrapped around him, holding tight no matter how he struggled. 

The sob tore at his throat again. Not now. Not when he could feel the sun on his face. 

A second guard joined the first, and they soon had Héctor’s arms pinned behind his back. Like they did every morning. No gag this time, but it wasn’t needed. He dug his heels in at every step, but they pulled him along. Back to the van. Back to Ernesto.

“Please,” he said when the guards stopped. Tears choked his voice. “Please, just let me go home.” 

Ernesto said nothing, back turned as he retrieved something from the side pouch hanging from his motorcycle. 

“I—I’ll move Imelda here. And Coco. We—we’ll live as close as you want.” 

A bottle. A cloth. Ernesto poured the contents of one onto the other. The sick-sweet smell didn’t reach Héctor where he stood, but the cold pit in his stomach grew.

“You—you can come over every day. Or I’ll come here. You—the powers? You can have them. I—I won’t tell anyone, I swear.” 

Ernesto set the bottle on the ground. Héctor’s struggle against the guards only resulted in a stronger grip on his arms. 

“Por favor. I just want to go home.”  

“Keep him still.”

Héctor tried to yank an arm free, but gloved fingers dug into his skin. A hot wind stirred against the tears on his cheek. 

“Please.”

With one hand Ernesto held the back of his head; the other held a soaked cloth over his nose and mouth. It was pointless to hold his breath, but he tried. 

As before, Ernesto held the cloth in place until he had to breathe. 

As before, that first breath sent fatigue crashing over him. He tried to fight the grip on his arm, but it was like swimming through syrup. 

“Raúl.”

Ernesto spoke without turning,  but the guard he’d addressed moved to his side. 

“Go ahead of us. It will be a few minutes before he’s unconscious, and I want everything ready when we arrive.”

Héctor’s thoughts were already beginning to run together, but he thought his new room had been ready long before Ernesto arrived to drain him. That....that was what he’d said, what they’d all said. Not just around him. To him. 

“We haven’t tested it yet.”

Ernesto’s smile bore more resemblance to a grimace.  “It’s been tested. Once, but it’s been tested.” 

This...was something new? Héctor made another attempt to free himself, but the movement wouldn’t have torn paper. 

“Go. He won’t be out for long.”

A motorcycle roared off down the road. 

Something new. Something that had needed testing. Something that had worked. 

Something he needed to be asleep for. 

“Please.” The plea was slurred, sluggish even to his own ear, muffled by the cloth. “I won’t run if...if I have… them with me.” 

“You say that after you stole my van?”

There was an argument for that, but Héctor couldn’t force it into words. His knees buckled; he tried to stay on his feet and slumped against the guard holding him fast. 

He couldn’t lose consciousness. The moment he did, a new nightmare would begin. He looked to the van, looked for something to keep his attention, and found nothing. It was a van. Just a van....

“Por favor...Ernesto.....just want....”

The last thing he saw, before his eyes closed and silence claimed him, was the faint, relieved smile on Ernesto’s lips. 

[horrificmemes]

31 Horrific Days [October Writing Challenge]

So it’s still September, BUT the month of Halloween is quickly approaching and I figured some people may like to get a head start on this so they have things to post! Here are 31 prompts for writing, one for each day of October. Skip any days that irk you or that you just don’t have the time and energy for, but feel free to use the tag #31horrificdays so others can see your work! As always, the prompts are up for interpretation and are meant to inspire a plot rather than dictate how it goes - all fandoms, original characters, or even a changing cast is more than welcome! [I may do a part 2 of vague, one-word prompts for those who want something more flexible].

The character goes out on a date (or an outing with a friend) and comes home late that night to see all of their furniture moved/stacked oddly, rotten food in the fridge, but no signs of entry or security issues.

The character learns through conversation that one of their friends hates Halloween.

The character is distressed from several nights of nightmares/sleep paralysis, all of which leave them waking up terrified. Eventually, what they see in their dreams start to blend into reality.

Write a story about supernatural happenings.. from the POV of a character’s pet.

Write a story about a character receiving threatening letters in the mailbox that keep getting scarier and more dangerous every day through the month.

The character, along with one or more others, decide to visit a local haunted house attraction that’s just opened up.

Halloween is rolling around and an odd fair has come to town with all manner of old-fashioned clowns, fire-eaters, and jugglers. The character(s) get their hands on tickets to see the show and cannot resist.

After hearing about an abandoned house in the neighborhood that was supposedly the scene of a gruesome crime years earlier, the character and a friend or two decide to explore the property.

A fun, creepy night of urban exploration gets the character(s) into trouble.

While spending some time at the beach at night, the character comes across something else moving near the shore, something that may or may not be human at all.

The character didn’t plan on any costume for Halloween this year, but their best friend/partner wants to go shopping for the perfect costumes, perhaps even as a themed pair.

Write a plot about a character meeting a fae creature, but realizing they aren’t as pretty and delicate as the fairy tales made them believe.

After watching a horror movie, the character claims there weren’t scared at all. However, once the house is quiet and dark, they’re suddenly hiding under their covers in fear.

With Halloween approaching, weird people have been hanging around town. Very weird people. ‘People in masks standing outside of houses’ weird people, including the character’s house.

Two character end up in a battle over which is better: ghostly horror movies or monster movies?

After the death of a friend or family member, the character (and possibly one or a few others) finds a hidden trap door in their home while cleaning out their belongings. Inside, they uncover secrets the deceased was hiding.

The character makes a new friend who claims to be an actual witch. They end up proving it to them with an impressive display of magic (if the preferred character is actually a witch, feel free to change the POV)

The character ends up locked in another reality where everything around them is just a bit ‘off’, as well as the fact that no one seems to recognize them. Then they meet one other character who does remember them, and appears to be going through the same thing.

The character has a run-in with someone from their past; someone they know for a fact has been dead for years.

The character has had a near-death experience, and is seeing a few moments between worlds before they’re brought back to life.

The character(s) have a run-in with an odd trick-or-treater a week before Halloween, but the eerie child refuses to leave their doorstep

The character, along with one other, travels to the Suicide Forest in Japan (or another famous haunted wilderness of writer’s choice) and uncovers something grisly, or perhaps even gets lost and disoriented. 

The muse meets up with an old friend or family member, and together they find home videos from their childhood Halloweens. This could be either a heartwarming experience, or an eerie one if they see something spooky they didn’t remember from their past.

The character starts a brand new job, but quickly learns that there are warnings that come with the job. No wonder they can’t keep employees for more than a few days.

The character (one or more others are optional as well) has been kidnapped and locked in a cellar, trying to find the means of escape.

Write a ghost story including any characters of your choice, with one twist: the story takes place in a past decade or century.

The character has just moved to a new city and isn’t familiar with anyone or anything. As they’re taking a walk late at night to relieve their stress, they have an eerie feeling that they’re being followed down every block.

Write a horror plot centered around a gas station (petrol station).

The character lost a beloved pet a year earlier, and finally decides it’s time to bring home a new shelter pet to love. They're magnetically drawn to one animal in particular, but once they take it home, they start to suspect that this animal may not be ordinary at all.

Write a story from the perspective of a legendary monster (lagoon creature, zombie, sea monster, yeti, etc)

It’s Halloween night - write a story about a costume party or get-together going terribly wrong.

[luninosity]

Aha! I have managed to finish something! Because I think I am busy on @viperbranium‘s actual birthday, I shall post this early - have some fluffy first-meeting Evanstan writer-of-kid’s-books Seb and reading show host Chris AU! And have a lovely birthday, my dear! I hope it is EVERY BIT AS WONDERFUL as you deserve. <3333

##

Chris shows up for his first day on set nervous. He knows what he’s here to do, he knows he wants to do it, he just can’t quite shake the sense that he’s going to flub a line or sit too stiffly or fail completely at reading.

 He eyeballs the children’s book in question. He’s read it three times to get used to the rhythms, the pacing. Lots of good messages. Superheroes, compassion, accepting help.

 The book eyeballs him right back, but somehow does so with kindness. It knows about encouraging nervous kids. Chris Evans, clumsy with enthusiasm, is pretty much a big kid at heart, and could use the reassurance, right?

 He flops into his chair. Then he sits up straighter. Time to be a good host and presenter. First episode of hopefully many, many more. Children’s literacy programs and all that. Brand-new show.

 He crosses his legs. The camera lights’re kind of bright.

 He looks at the book again. All about heroes, by a person named Sebastian Stan, a person whose prose has made Chris beam and whose author picture is unfairly adorable, all big eyes and fluffy hair and wide happy smile.

 Sebastian Stan looks like a person Chris could want to know. Sebastian’s kid’s book is pretty much everything Chris’s anxious heart could ever want: compelling, generous, clever, and containing awesome superpowers. Sebastian Stan knows, Chris decides, about the importance of kindness, and of fun.

 Sebastian Stan would probably consider these thoughts, coming from a person being paid to read his book on television, at least mildly creepy.

 Still: Chris and the book mutually straighten shoulders anyway, side by side. Him and the words and the superheroes. They can help each other. That’s the theme.

 He reads. He relaxes. He reads some more. The show overall’s only about twenty minutes long, not counting commercial breaks and the credits and so on; mostly it’s him introducing the book, reading, suggesting other books kids might like if they liked this one. He knows that Sebastian Stan’s written two more. He makes sure to mention those.

 He’s read them, too.

 They do a couple of takes—once the microphones’re having issues, and another time a stuffed animal falls over on the chair. Chris laughs, picks up the animal—some sort of bird mascot in a matching hero costume—and holds it for the sign-off.

 “I’m Chris,” he says, grinning at the camera, “and I hope you enjoyed that story, I know I did. I’ll see you tomorrow for another story, one about airplanes!”

 And they’ve got it. First day of filming. First story. Done.

 They manage to get him reading through three more episodes before they call it a day, and it’s been a good day, and he’s still grinning as he changes out of wardrobe, as he swipes off camera-ready make-up, as he heads home.

 A couple months after that, the first episode’s aired. Chris, while not instantly famous—how many people really watch children’s reading shows?—gets a certain amount of modest recognition. Not bad. Kind of nice. Just the right level of being known, and known for something important, something that gets kids to read and makes parents happy and makes families smile.

 He’s kept one book. That first book, the Sebastian Stan book. He’d asked for it for his niece. Somehow never quite passed it on. Bought her a new copy instead.

 It sits on his bookshelf next to wilderness stories and philosophy books and shiny glossy outer-space imaginings. It makes him smile, too.

 Under Los Angeles sunshine, he ducks into a Starbucks. He’s not really a big Starbucks person, but he’s yawning and a little fuzzy; his little brother’d needed a ride to the airport at fuck-the-world o’clock that morning. He collects blissful steaming caffeine. He turns.

 An absolutely gorgeous man’s holding the door for him. The man’s coming in as Chris is going out; the man’s tall and slim but with lovely wide shoulders, dark eager hair, beautiful cheekbones, faint hints of masculine stubble…a wide curling kitten-smile…pale cheerful rain-over-seaglass eyes…

 Chris freezes halfway through the door.

 The man pauses, and then bites his lip and blushes, which is first of all adorable and second probably not the standard reaction to someone becoming a door-blocking statue.

 “Hang on,” Chris says. “I know you.”

 “Not really?” Still blushing, but peeking up now, and not as shy as at first glance. His eyelashes are long and soft and dark, and Chris should stop staring and can’t. Those lips quirk up. “I know you. I didn’t think you’d know who I was…”

 “Sebastian,” Chris says. “Sebastian Stan. I have your book. I mean I read your book. I mean, your book, I read it, on the show.”

 “Chris Evans,” Sebastian says right back. He’s smiling more. Maybe he likes awkward first meetings and men who can’t recall how to speak. “I watched the episode. I liked it. You were—I liked hearing you read it. My book.”

 “You did?”

 “I did. I do. Like it, I mean.” They’re smiling at each other now, wordless. Anticipation slides down Chris’s spine. Dances at his fingertips where they clutch a slightly too-hot cup. Crackles like whipped cream and sugar in the air: this is something, this is the start of something, Sebastian’s noticed him looking and is looking back and Sebastian Stan likes the way Chris read his book on the show…

 In the pause, Sebastian glances at his own hand. Still holding the door. “Can I…we’re in a Starbucks…can I maybe…buy you a coffee? And we can…we could talk about books? Or something? Oh—wait, you have coffee, I’m sorry, I’ll just—and you were on your way somewhere, I shouldn’t keep you, never mind—”

 “You don’t have coffee yet,” Chris leaps in. Both feet. His heart. Overpriced lattes and mochas. Offered up at Sebastian’s feet in their battered slim black boots. “I don’t have anywhere to be. Nowhere. I could, um, maybe I could buy you a coffee? Instead? Or tea. Some people like tea. Or apple cider. Or whatever you get at Starbucks. Anything.”

 Sebastian’s smile comes back. Full brilliance. Lighting up the world and lightening Chris’s heart. “I like coffee.”

 “Wow,” Chris says, “me too,” and tips his head back toward the counter. “Can I?”

 “Yes,” Sebastian Stan agrees, eyes warm, shoulders warm when they brush up against Chris while moving out of the doorway, a movement that’s not quite accidental, drawn together as a wave and the sand, a compass-needle to true north, “yes, I’d like you to—I mean I’d like it if you wanted to—yes, you can.”