#although admittedly i never whacked my head on a tree

[mothfables]

In Which Wars Picks a Fight With an Apple Tree (& Loses)

“Remind me again why we’re going to every tree?” Wars’ voice is slightly strained as he trails behind Legend, hefting the heavy basket in his arms.

“Because-“ Legend pauses to twist a particularly stubborn apple from its’ stem. “Because I don’t want my apples to rot while I’m not around, and Ravio can only do so much on his own. Besides, it’s not every tree.” One more twist and the apple comes free. He turns to drop it into the basket, shooting the other hero a smug grin. “Just most of them.” Warriors splutters.

The two of them have been out here for a few hours now; after Ravio had mentioned how he’d been worried about finishing the harvest in time Legend had all-but leapt up and made a beeline for the back door. Warriors had followed after him curiously only to find a basket the size of his torso shoved in his arms and told to ‘keep up.’ The other hero had apparently decided to start right this minute and marched straight for the nearest fruit-ladened tree, Wars stumbling after him.

They had to have gone through at least a quarter to a third of the orchard by now, Warriors guesses. Legend has a lot of trees, but not that many. (Part of him suspects the other is going slow on purpose.) Then again, the Captain doesn’t know much about apples, or the care and harvesting thereof. There wasn’t really much of an opportunity, in the city.

He shifts the basket in his arms so it’s more secure before speaking again. “What are you planning to do after this? Surely you’re not keeping all of these.” His voice comes out sharper than intended and he winces. Shit, he’d slipped into what Wind called his ‘knight voice’ for a second there. He sneaks a glance at his brother, who doesn’t seem to have noticed, having moved to the next branch to start working at the apples there.

Legend hums before answering. “Well, yeah, some of ‘em we’ll keep, some we’ll be selling next market day. The rest we’ll bake or turn into cider or something.” He comes back to dump an armful of fruit into the basket. “None of it will be wasted, if that’s what you’re worryin’ about. Even the overripe ones; those get put out for the deer an’ anything else that wants any.”

Wars can’t help but smile at the accent slipping into his brother’s voice, like warm honey over cool mint. It’s something the Veteran tends to keep tight under wraps, to match his voice to the front he puts up for the world. The fact that it’s making an appearance now, and the other is making no move to correct it, shows that he feels comfortable and safe enough to let his walls down- even if it’s just a little.

Following Legend as he moves to the next tree, Warriors takes the time to look around them. Trees heavy with fruit surround them, branches hanging low from the weight. Some are bare, however, and he remembers Legend saying how he’d had to work to bring it back from practically nothing, him and his uncle, before the man died and Legend was left to continue on his own. Even now, to his untrained eye, Warriors can see there’s still much work to be done. But that doesn’t erase all the progress that has been made.

Things continue in this vein for a while, the two of them chatting amiably and occasionally sniping at each other in friendly banter. At one point, Legend sends Wars back to the house to grab another basket when the first becomes too full. Wars complains but does as he’s told, grinning as Legend playfully gripes about him ‘growing soft from all that city-livin’; what, the big, strong Captain can’t carry a single basket?’

Warriors shoots back that he ‘may not be the Rancher, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t done my fair share of heavy lifting!’ Legend cackles. Wars finds himself beaming at the sound, his chest growing warm and full.

He’s so caught up in their banter that he forgets to watch his step; his foot catches in something- a hole or divot in the ground- and he stumbles straight into the low-hanging branches of a nearby tree. The basket tumbles from his hands, apples scattering everywhere as he tries to catch himself. He only succeeds in tangling himself further before his head meets the trunk with a resounding thwack!

Wars slumps against it, dazed, before yelping as he’s bombarded by what feels like at least half a dozen small projectiles from above. He holds up his arms in an attempt to shield his already aching head but it’s over as quickly as it started.

He hears what he thinks must be Legend yelling but his ears are ringing too badly to make out any individual words. Then there are hands on him, pulling him away from the tree and supporting him as he stumbles. Wars presses a hand over his eyes, dizzy.

He blinks and he’s sitting on the porch, Legend next to him. The other hero is fussing, pressing a gentle hand to his head and leaning closer to check his eyes. A scowl fixes itself on his face when he sees Wars looking at him and he removes his hand to cross his arms.

“Y’back with me, city boy? Or do I have t’go an’ call Time or Rulie out here?”

Warriors can’t help it- he laughs. Legend blinks, caught off-guard, before his scowl deepens. That only makes him laugh harder before a spike of pain lances through his skull and he has to stop to press the heels of his palms into his eyes, hissing.

“Serves you right,” his brother grumbles. Even still, he’s gentle as he pulls Wars’ hands down to check his head again. “I think you might have a minor concussion. With how hard you hit that tree I’m surprised it’s not any worse. ‘specially since y’got rained on with apples right after.”

“That’s what those were?!”

Now it’s Legend’s turn to snort at the flabbergasted look on Wars’ face. He leans back, done with his examination. “Sure was. Gotta say, the look on yer face makes me wish I had Wind’s pictobox or somethin’. It was priceless.” He shoots him a smirk.

Wars pouts, but any (admittedly minor) affect it might have had is ruined by his stomach growling. He glances down at it in surprise. It hadn’t been that long since he’d last eaten, had it? ...No, they’ve been out here for hours, that’s right. Damn.

Legend sighs and reaches for something out of his sight. Wars blinks and suddenly there’s an apple being waved in his face. He follows the arm it’s attached to and sees his brother scowling at him, a singular brow raised.

“C’mon, I’m not sitting around here all day.” Legend looks suddenly unsure. “Um. I don’t- know if it’s okay to eat with a concussion but no one ever said not to, so-”

Warriors huffs a laugh and takes the apple, watching Legend deflate with relief. “I’m pretty sure you have to be careful with more serious concussions. If it’s minor like you said, I’ll just have to watch not to hit my head again and drink plenty of water.” He pauses, thinking. “At least, I think that’s right.” ...Listen, he may have learned concussion symptoms and care by necessity in the war, but it’s been a few years and people don’t usually make it a habit of keeping his skills in that department sharp. There’s a reason there’s more than one healer in their party.

Legend’s other eyebrow rises to join the first. Wars coughs and glances away, raising the apple to his mouth and taking a bite.

His own eyebrows shoot up and he finds himself making a delighted sound at the taste. He’d forgotten how good fresh-picked fruit tastes. (No, the stuff from the Champion’s slate doesn’t count. Something about the way it saves things just doesn’t do the flavour right-) Suddenly he’s torn between devouring it on the spot and savouring every bite.

“Lege, I think I love you,” he declares, taking another bite.

The veteran makes exaggerated gagging noises. “C-c’mon, it’s jus’ an apple. I’m not- it’s not even a fuckin’- pie or anythin’.” Wars simply chews louder, swooning dramatically. “Gross.” But he’s smiling, violet eyes bright, and Warriors beams back at him.

In a few more bites he finishes his treat and is left looking down at his empty hands with a forlorn expression. Legend sighs and hands him another apple.

“What’s got you so excited ‘bout these anyway? I thought for sure you’d get like this abou’- I dunno, that dumb fancy food nobles eat or somethin’.”

Warriors ignores the fact that Legend absolutely knows what ‘dumb fancy food’ is, well aware the veteran has been forced by Fable to attend several events in his own era, and simply hums, tapping his feet happily. “Nah, I’ve never really been a fan,” he says eventually, watching Legend’s ear flick in surprise. “It’s just- fresh stuff like this is- was hard to come by, during the war. And then after, when we were focused on rebuilding and everything, it was just as hard. Maybe harder, depending on where you were in the city.” Second apple finished, he wipes his hands on his pants and leans back to soak up the sun. “Especially since a lot of it would spoil by the time it got out to us. So it was always nice, getting something fresh, y’know?”

He sneaks a glance at his brother. Legend is quiet, his gaze unexpectedly thoughtful. Warriors doesn’t mind. He knows his brothers, knows they see the gleaming city, the fancy clothes, the posh people, and think ‘rich, cultured, used to fine things.’ And sure, he’s a little bit of all of those (being the Hero and a highly-respected Captain during a major war you played a huge hand in admittedly has its’ perks), but the truth is he’s always preferred the simpler things.

That’s one reason he loves spending time with his brothers, staying with them in their homes; he gets to see the world like they do, if only a little bit: their comforts and habits, their favourite places and people and foods. They’re all so far from the pomp and rigidness of court life back in his own era, and he loves every minute of it.

He smiles, expression fond, and leans over to knock his shoulder against the vet’s.

“So,” he starts, causing the other to startle, “you said something earlier about baking some of the apples? What do you usually make?”

Just like that, it’s like a switch has been flipped. Purple eyes light up again, and Wars watches as his brother visibly brightens, hands beginning to wave and gesture as he speaks.

“We make a bunch o’ things! It depends on the apples and what you wanna make; there’s a bunch of desserts and dinner stuff an’ drinks an’ all kinds of things! Rav likes apple butter so we usually make at least one or two tubs of that. But we also make pies, tarts, cobblers, stuffed apples... We brew a bunch of cider, too, that’s really good when it gets colder. I think Wind an’ Hyrule would really like the candied apples Ravi makes- ooh, and Time would prolly like apple chips-”

Warriors listened to his brother talk, his expression happy and open. His head still hurts a little, but it’s easy to push back and focus on this- a happy brother by his side, a sunny porch, and a whole bucket of fresh, delicious apples. He rests his weight back on his hands and closes his eyes, determined to enjoy it.

[riverlikethelake]

hello author! how are you doing? may I request enemies to lovers, sully!reader X Aonung where he let his hair down for the first time and the reader falls in love right away 😳😳

Two eyes, a hundred words.

This is a really late answer but here you go<3

Kind of trying out a new writing style plus I wrote this during my lunch break so don't judge me too hard😭

requests are open <3 (I promise they'll be better than this, had an ungodly amount of work to do this week)

You can’t say you were thrilled to have to move to a new home, but you understood and decided to accept it. When the Sullys offered to take you with them, well Jake and Neytiri offered, Lo’ak and Kiri demanded it of you, you couldn’t say no.  

You had been inseparable from the Sully family for as long as you can remember, specifically Lo’ak and Kiri. From the moment you could both crawl, you were attached at the hip. You were and Lo’ak both adventurous and admittedly reckless. Lo’ak was thoughtless, and you were impulsive, which led to many hours bonding in the healer's hut together. 

With Kiri, you could just sneak away, find a carved-out hole in a tree, and sit there for hours with her, you’d confide in eachother and wander around the forest together.  You practically lived with them even before you were ‘apart of the family’, Neteyam always referred to you as his sister and Tuk was trailing behind you as soon as she could walk.  

After your parents died, you became insanely protective of the Sully kids, fussing over Lo’ak after he’d come back from a raid covered in bruises and blood. “I pray I will not end my brother before he gets himself killed!” You’d snap, but of course everyone knew you were just worried, you had already lost one family, you could not bear to lose another. 

So, you followed them to the reefs, sitting in front of Lo’ak on his ikran as you flew across the ocean. You didn’t have an ikran of your own, you weren’t ready for your iknimaya before the humans showed up, and once the war broke out you were too busy helping Kiri and Mo’at in the healer's hut to go through with it. 

You had fallen asleep against your brother many times, he’d tease you about it when you woke up, but he’d try to be as still and silent as possible while you were asleep, although he’d never admit it. 

Even with the long naps you took, you still weren’t ready for how exhausting your arrival would be. You knew asking for Uturu would cause a commotion, but when two Metkayina boys circled you and your siblings, yanking at your brothers tails, you wrapped your arms around your body, closing in on youself knowing you couldn’t make a scene. 

You glared at the boys though, making one of them stop in their tracks as they locked eyes with you. You kept his gaze, challenging him before a girl walked up and pushed him, telling him to knock it off. You were thankful for the girl, especially as she turned out to be the Olo’eyktan’s daughter and happily showed you around the village. 

- 

You really did not like Ao’nung, how his sister could be so sweet and accepting, while he was a cowardly jackass was baffling to you. He did nothing to help at swimming lessons, only making fun of you and showing off, you can’t deny that he was attractive, but that didn’t change how annoying he was. 

He was an idiot you thought, not only that but he was an asshole. At least Rotxo joked around and talked with you and your siblings, Ao’nung just saw it as below him. You admit, it was funny when Lo’ak fell off his Ilu, you laughed pretty hard, but only you’re allowed to do that. And you stated as much when you whacked Ao’nung in the back of the head for laughing. 

When it was your turn with the Ilu you didn’t fall off, but you somehow ended up wrestling with her underwater as she swam, eventually you got the connection under control. Though, you had a hard time controlling yourself when Ao’nung made a comment about you not being able to give up your ‘aggressive forest girl ways’. 

You got right in his face and asked him to repeat himself, his stupid grin and the way his head tilts making your breath hitch. God he was annoying. 

Kiri was the only one in your family that seemed to not have any trouble adapting. She was always off on her own admiring the plants and fish, sometimes even at the bottom of the reef just, laying there?? You felt a sense of pride and smugness when she showed up on an Ilu, having been apparently approached and chosen by the animal, you raised your chin to Ao’nung as he scoffed. 

Eventually you started to get better at your breathing, you we able to hold your breath far longer than Lo’ak and Neteyam. Not that that was a high bar, but you still rubbed it in Ao’nung’s face as often as you could. 

- 

You were sitting on the walkways with Lo’ak, teasing him about his crush on Tsireya when you spotted Ao’nung and his friends giving Kiri a hard time, Lo’ak had noticed too and you both rushed over to intervene. 

“Hey” your brother shouted, they turned to look at the two of you. You reached over and snatched Kiri’s hand away from Ao’nung’s, glaring at him. “Leave her alone.” you stated. 

Lo’ak got in between you and the boys, but they weren’t intimidated. “Oh look, it’s another four fingered freak and their tsiki.” Ao’nung taunted, his friends grabbing Lo’ak’s hand and at your tail. 

“Kalweyaveng” you hissed, pushing Ao’nung away. You heard Kiri yell but you didn’t process anything other than Ao’nung ugly fucking smug face until Neteyam pushed him away, putting himself between the fight. 

“You heard her” he got in Ao’nung’s face “leave them alone.”  

One of the boys hissed but Ao’nung put a hand up silencing him.  

“And from now on, I need you to respect my sisters.” Neteyam jabbed his finger to Ao’nung’s chest. Smirking, he put both his hands up and backed away slowley. 

Neteyam turned around and ushered you and Kiri away, nodding for Lo’ak to come, but as you were walking away, you heard them calling you ‘an entire family of freaks’ 

Lo’ak stopped in his tracks and turned around, Neteyam urged him to come but Lo’ak said he had it handled. He walked up to Ao’nung and started showing off his hand, talking about how it could do something cool. 

You smirked; this was a bit he had used on you many times before. You laughed as he punched Ao’nung till he fell over on his ass. “It’s called a punch bitch” 

You didn’t hesitate to run past Neteyam and tackle one of the boys before they reached Lo’ak, sitting atop their chest serving serval blows to their face before Ao’nung pulled you off by your hair. He threw you to the ground and started pulling at your tail before Neteyam tackled him, leaving you to jump on Rotxo’s back, who had a hold of Lo’ak. 

You grabbed him by his ears, pulling and biting his cheek. The boy you had punched earlier grabbed your tail and started pulling, you kept your hold on Rotxo causing you to all topple over, pulling each other along in the sand. 

“my TAIL!” “AGh MY EARS” “LET GO OF MY TAIL SKXQWNG”  

- 

“What did I tell you?!” Jake was furious, you hung your head avoiding eye contact. 

“It was my fault sir-” Neteyam tried to take the blame but Jake shut him down. “No you didn’t, and you gotta stop taking the heat for these knuckle heads.” 

You frowned as he gestured to you and Lo’ak. “They were making fun of Kiri!” “We were protecting out sister!” You finished his sentence. “They called her a freak.” Lo’ak stated, watching Jake’s expression falter. 

“Go apologize” He stated, Lo’ak protested but he cut him off and looked to you. “Both of you.” you rolled your eyes as Lo’ak stomped out, you stared at Jake for a moment before huffing and following Lo’ak. 

Both of you apologizing at once would probably seem too ingenuine, not that you cared if you actually made peace, but you knew this was important for your family, so you walked the other way when a split in the paths came. You found Tsireya teaching some young Metkayina children how to breath properly, you didn’t want to interrupt but you had nothing else to do so you sat down next to her and silently watched the lesson. 

The children were curious about your family, but they weren’t discriminatory like some of the people older than them, so they looked at you in awe, but you weren’t uncomfortable. Tsireya welcomed you to her lesson, even using you as a guide and had you speak about your experience learning. 

Once the lesson ended the children swarmed you, bombarding you with questions and asking you to swim and play with them, you obliged and entertained them with exaggerated stories of the jungle, and tossing them around in the water. 

Neteyam approached you, smiling as you lifted a kid up and placed a kiss on their cheek after they whispered something about thinking how beautiful your hair was in your ear.  

“I see my sister has been stolen from me” He exclaimed exaggerated, you rolled your eyes. “Do you know where Lo’ak is?” he asked casually. 

Placing the kid down and splashing water on the others, you shrugged. “He went to apologize to Ao’nung last I saw him” you watch at him as his face goes stiff and he walks off. 

- 

You sat on the back of Neytiri’s Ikran as you flew around the island looking for Lo’ak, she was the only one who had gotten you to calm down and stop trying to attack Ao’nung after you found out what happened. 

Jake had caught you midair when you lunged for the boy, cursing at him and calling him all the human insults you knew. You’d get a scolding later, but you knew the heat would fall on Jake for teaching you those words in the first place. 

You were seething with anger, but your worry for your brother outweighed it by a landslide. 

You didn’t have to tell Neytiri when the horn was sounded, signaling Lo’ak’s return. You hopped off and started searching him for any injuries as Neytiri scolds him. You glared at Ao’nung as his father forced him to take a knee. 

When Lo’ak took the blame for Ao’nung you were going to scream at him, but he gave you that look, the one he always used when he really meant ‘don’t push it’, so you shut your mouth and stayed quiet. 

You followed him as he walked away, getting ready to interrogate him, when Ao’nung caught up to you both. 

“Why did you speak for me?” He asked  

You pinched Lo’ak’s ear “Yeah, I'd like to know that too” you added. 

He swatted your hand away and looked at Ao’nung. “Because I know what it’s like to be one big disappointment to your dad” 

Your ears turned down, you knew how Lo’ak felt, you had spoken about it many times, but your heart still broke every time he brought it up. 

Lo’ak sped up his pace, passing you and Ao’nung. You both stopped in place, watching him walk away. After a moment you looked at him and glared before going after your brother. 

But the image of his face, covered in guilt, wouldn’t leave your mind all night. 

Lo’ak told you about Payakan before anyone else, you sat outside the Marui on the edge of the dock, kicking your feet as he told you about the entire ordeal in detail. 

You just really wanted to beat the shit out of Ao’nung, hell any of his friends would do. Of course, reading your mind, he made you promise not to start any fights with them, you agreed reluctantly.  

He didn’t say you couldn’t finish them, just that you couldn't start them. 

- 

The next day you noticed how much more welcoming Ao’nung had become to your family. He wasn’t holding you all with open arms, but it was a step up. You caught him looking at you several times throughout the day, every time you’d avoid frowning at him, or you just couldn’t. He had this look in his eyes that pacified you every time you felt the urge to hiss at him, but at the same time it annoyed the shit out of you. 

Every time he’d help you with your breathing you felt like fire was on your skin, he’d make a comment about your heart beating fast and you’d respond by telling him that if he stopped being annoying then you’d have a moment to be calm 

The one thing you could both agree on is making fun of Lo’ak, mocking him when he stuttered or said something stupid around Tsireya. Other than that, you’d huff and turn the other way if you crossed paths with him, which was easy as he didn’t seem too eager to speak to you either. 

But that didn’t stop the lingering eyes and quick glances at each other, there was something about communicating through your eyes that was different. You’d make fun of him and he’d find faults in whatever you did or said, but when you spoke through your eyes it was a whole different story. 

You liked looking at him, you just wish sometimes he’d keep his mouth shut. 

- 

You don’t know how you got here, one moment you were weaving seaweed and leaves together for a present for Tuk, the next you were on top of Ao’nung, hissing at him as he held your wrists to stop you from punching him. 

“Stop! I am sorry!” He shouts, throwing you off him. 

“Take back what you said skxqwng” you yell, scrambling to your feet to pounce on his again. 

He holds his hand up, “Ok ok I take it back.” He said, how he rolled his eyes audible in his voice. You hissed, keeping your eyes on him. 

You tried to keep civil when he initially approached you, but he started asking why you followed the Sully’s since you weren’t their family, you ignored him till he made a comment about how your parent must not have wanted you.  

“Keep your mouth shut next time you want to speak on things you know nothing of.” you seethed. He chuckled 

“What? Touchy subject?” 

You raised your chin and tilted your head. “Yeah, I’d think that dead parents are a sensitive topic for anyone” You resisted the urge to smirk as you watch his face drop, you turn and pick up your project as you sit back down. 

You feel his eyes on the back of your head, burning and pleading your you to turn around, hear what he has to say, look in his eyes. But you don’t, you’ve learned to brush things off easily, it’s hurting your family that gets you holding long term grudges.  

He sits next to you and mutters out an apology as you continue to weave the materials. “I don’t expect better, so don’t bother” you shrug. 

An awkward silence falls between you, he rubs the back of his neck and asks you about what you’re making. 

“It’s for Tuk, she’s growing and will need a new tweng” you state, your expression and mood start to soften as you think about your siblings. 

“I am… sorry for what i did to your brother” He explains awkwardly. You stop your movements and raise a brow. 

“You have an odd way of showing it” you mutter before turning back to your work “And it’s my brother that deserves an apology” 

He tells you he already apologized to him and your parents before he stumbled upon you, you hum in response. You continue to weave but out of the corner of your eye you see him scratching his head. 

“You got sand in my hair” He murmurs with a smirk, noticing you looking at him. You stare at him blankly, he reaches for his bun, unwrapping the braid that held it up. Your breath hitched as his hair fell. 

His braids were long and rested on his back, he tussled them to get the sand out, causing a few to fall past his shoulders, hanging in front of his chest. You didn’t realize you were staring till you locked eyes with him. He was cute, you had admitted that long ago, but this was different.  

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him even as you saw the teasing smirk form on his lips. “Like what you see forest girl?” He drawled, leaning in closer. 

If you reached out, you could touch his braids. 

“You are as attractive as you are egotistical” you enjoyed watching him chew his lip as he decided how to respond, either way it would be a blow to him. 

You couldn’t ignore how your heart sped up, you watched him chew on his lip, it annoyed the shit out of you, you wondered how he’d react if you kissed him to make him stop. 

You’d never admit how you noticed little things about him, how he talks with his hands, the way his eyes widen when he gets an idea, or how he smiles just like his mother 

He’s still annoying as shit, he’s a jackass and being infatuated with him doesn’t change that you still hate him. 

“You’re as pretty as you are bitchy” he says, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

He leans forward, tilting his head as he gets in your face.  

You think you have to speak to Norm and Max because you have surely gone insane.  

You hate him, that’s just a fact 

But maybe you’re a little more than infatuated… 

[brandyllyn]

In our own image... (01)

Chapter 1

(Poe Dameron x OFC)

Other chapters...  My Masterlist

Word count: 2200. Read it on AO3.

Rating: Teen & Up (PG) language.

Poe Dameron, Commander in the Resistance Army, hands down the best pilot in the fleet, hero of D’Qar, and one sexy guy - although admittedly that one might be just in his own head - was having a shit day.

It started when he fell out of his hammock that morning. He fell out every morning, but this morning was especially bad because he had somehow missed putting his foot down correctly to catch his fall and whacked his head on his table on the way down. Despite having strung up his hammock in a private little stand of trees, canvas tarps providing a roof from the rain and some additional privacy, he still cursed loudly enough to wake up several people nearby. Which on its own wouldn’t have been that bad either except one of them was Snap which meant Poe was never going to hear the end of it.

It had been downhill from there. Breakfast was leftover rations from the night before. There were no flight maneuvers on his schedule today, just endless strategy meetings. No mission in sight to get him out of this jungle either.

And they were running low on caf - so low the pots were being brewed less than half strength, weak and watery. Barely worth drinking even though he savored what little jump he could get from the murky beverage.

By the time lunch came around Poe was ready to throw in the towel. The day was not going to get better and to top it off, BB-8 was mad at him. They’d been arguing for nearly ten minutes while Poe was trying to eat lunch. A few other people had come and tried to make conversation but Poe’s bickering with BB-8 had made most of them quickly move on to other tables.

"Come on buddy," Poe pleaded with his droid. "I’m sorry, I know you don’t like it. But I can’t fix it right now either." BB-8 beeped at him with exasperation, ending on a trilling note that Poe would have called insubordinate if it hadn’t been paired with a sad whistle. "I know, I know. The moment I can get somewhere that sells the tools I need we’ll fix it I promise."

"What’s up with Beebs?" Jessika Pava asked, sitting down at the table next to Poe and clutching a mug of tea. Poe eyed the beverage dubiously. Last he heard they were on their third or fourth use of tea leaves and her drink didn’t look much better than his caf had that morning. But if the Black Squadron pilot wanted to pretend she was holding more than the dregs of what used to be tea he wasn’t going to say anything about it.

"Someone pushed him down a cliff and now he’s got sand in his circuits," Poe replied, eyes carefully avoiding the man sitting across from him.

Finn heard him anyway. Obviously. He was sitting less than two feet away, he couldn’t help but hear Poe. "I’m not the one who got us crashed on the sand dunes."

"I’m not the one who-" Poe started but was cut off by a mournful whistle from BB-8. He sighed, "I know buddy, we’re both really sorry."

"Real sorry Beebs," Finn echoed, rocking the droid affectionately with his foot.

Pava snorted, hiding a smile behind her mug when Poe glared at her. "Why don’t you take him over to the droidsmith," Pava offered.

Poe turned to her in confusion, seeing BB-8 do the same at his feet. "The who?"

Pava tilted her head at him and then blinked, "Oh yeah, you’ve been gone a while. We’ve got a droidsmith. Set up over on the south side next to the Mu."

"When did a Mu shuttle arrive?" he asked.

Pava rolled her eyes, "With the droidsmith."

"Yeah Poe," Finn mocked, "with the droidsmith."

Poe glared at him. "What do you know about the droidsmith?"

"I know he’s over by the Mu shuttle," Finn retorted.

"She," Pava muttered under her breath and Finn gave her a glare before correcting himself.

"She’s over by the Mu shuttle, everyone knows that."

"Mmhmm," Poe grunted, looking down at BB-8 who was blinking up at him hopefully. "Right after lunch, I promise."

Without the constant interruption from BB-8 Poe managed to finish his meal in peace, Pava falling into step beside him after he pushed back from the table. She led him past the Command center and a string of X-Wings, then pointed out where the shuttle was settled next to a large canvas tarp strung between three trees. From where he was standing, it looked like it was covering nothing but crates.

He took a step forward and then frowned when he realized Pava wasn’t with him. "You’re not coming with me?" He asked

Pava shook her head, "It’s probably best if I don’t. She doesn’t like me much."

Poe glanced at the shuttle, then back at the pilot. "Why not?"

"Me? The Great Destroyer? Why do you think a droidsmith might not like me?" She asked sarcastically.

Oh yeah, Poe thought, that. It wasn’t that Pava tried to get her droids shot, exploded, imploded, or short-circuited. It just always seemed to happen to droids that were near her for more than a few minutes. BB-8 flatly refused to fly with her, even when Poe had directly ordered him to once.

BB-8 was ahead of them both, rolling across the ground and investigating the new ship. Poe looked back at Pava, "Do you at least know her name?"

Pava shrugged. "I’m told she doesn’t speak Basic. She’s got a little translator droid you can talk to though. Name’s K-0."

"Great," Poe muttered as he watched her walk away. When he turned back, it was just in time to see BB-8 disappear around a stack of crates. "Just great."

Judging from the size of the roof tarp, the droidsmith’s shop covered several hundred square feet. She had stacked crates around several sides to create the illusion of walls and there was covering on the ground to keep everything out of the inevitable mud after the rainstorms. Poe ducked under the tarp, his boots making a hollow thunking noise on the ground cover.

He waited a minute for his eyes to adjust to the shadows and then raised an eyebrow. In front of him was a table, set fairly low to the ground, with a ramp leading up to it and an R4 unit in two pieces on top of it. The droid whistled at him as he went by and he gave it a nod. From that table there was another ramp to a higher table, this one scattered with a variety of parts. It took a moment before Poe realized the benefits of the arrangement. Different droids would need to be at different heights for repairs. And the ramps made it easy for them to roll where they needed to be.

He walked past the second table and around a corner made of boxes and entered a larger, enclosed area. The ceiling was tall, at least fifteen feet, and he could see various parts hanging from the poles that held the tarp up. Light filtered through the opaque fabric but the interior was mostly lit by a variety of battery operated lanterns and lights strewn around. He idly noted a hammock in the corner, and a stack of crates leading up to it. Falling out of that one could cause serious injury. On a table near to it, at a normal height, Poe got his first look at the droidsmith.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. He’d met a few droidsmith’s over the years. One had been a burly Snivvian, another an elderly human woman. Enough to know that there was no one kind of person who was drawn to the profession. It required smarts, quick fingers, and mechanical know-how - but once you had those the possibilities were endless.

This droidsmith was… there was no other way to describe her than stunning. Skin a dark golden color, a few shades darker than his. She had large irregular shaped spots framing her face, extending along her hairline behind her ears and down the sides of her neck, underneath the wide leather choker she wore. They continued on, disappearing into her clothes and he wondered briefly how much further they went. She was Chasinian, Pava hadn’t mentioned that. One side of her dark hair was cut shorter than the rest - the rest falling over her shoulder.

Poe felt an instant jolt of attraction. It wasn’t just that she had striking looks, but the entire picture she presented seemed to be tailor-made for him. She was sitting on the table, knees spread wide and feet touching, BB-8 nestled in the gap of her legs like a small child. As he watched, she pulled off the sturdy work gloves she was wearing to reveal long fingers. She immediately began running her hands over the droid, pressing on sensors and caressing the edge of his panels with soft, graceful touches. For just a moment, Poe was irrationally jealous of his friend. He shook the thought off quickly. He heard BB trilling happily, popping open ports to show her the array of gadgets and mechanisms Poe had installed over the years.

As she stroked the droid, Poe could see her muscles moving. The white tank she wore left her arms bare, and she had a streak of grease along the outside of her forearm. She looked like someone who could not only kick his ass in hand to hand combat - but like she’d steal his X-Wing while he was still trying to catch his breath.

Poe had a type. He’d admit it. And that type was "could kick his ass and steal his ship." It had gotten him into trouble too many times to count in the past, and yet here he was. Suddenly lusting over a perfect stranger based on the way she was touching his droid and the mental fantasy he had drawn up based on no more than a twitch of muscle and streak of grease.

Then again, there was also the fact that she didn’t report to him. Or he to her. That was… on a military base that was maybe the sexiest thing of all.

He shifted his feet, his boots making the flooring creak and she looked up at him. Her eyes were deep brown, almost black, and she cocked an eyebrow and then tilted a head down at the droid. He flushed at her perusal and quickly coughed, trying to cover his face with his hand.

"Yeah, he’s a little beat up, someone rolled him down a cliff." Her expression didn’t change and he quickly added, "Not me." He gave BB-8 a hard look, silently begging the droid to not rat him out to this woman. "Is, uh, is K-0 here? To talk to?"

The droidsmith gave him a confused look and made a clicking noise with her tongue.

Poe heard a rustle and a small single-wheeled droid, barely bigger than his two fists, rolled out from under a table. "I am K-0," it intoned, tilting a sensor array back to look up at him. "What need?"

Poe looked between the droid and the droidsmith before nodding. "Okay, well K-0. That’s BB-8," he pointed to the orange droid as though there might be some confusion and then grimaced, abruptly halting the motion and running his hand through his hair instead. "He’s uh, he’s had a rough time and he’s got sand in all his gears. I also think he’s got a sensor loose. I could fix it but I…" he glanced around the workshop. "I don’t have the tools. I was thinking I could borrow-"

As he was talking the little droid beeped and whistled in binary, aiming it at the woman holding BB-8. When Poe got to his last sentence he saw her shake her head vehemently, giving him an annoyed look. Or maybe a skeptical one. Or possibly some mix between the two. Whatever it was it wasn’t a look he had hoped for. Certainly not from her.

"Okay," he continued, listening to the little droid translate, "no tool borrowing. Would you be able to…? I mean, I was told you’re a droidsmith so I was hoping maybe…"

She was nodding, smiling at BB-8 and ignoring him entirely as she pried one of the panels off with her fingernails and set it gently on the table next to her. He heard her make a soft tsking noise and BB hummed contentedly back.

K-0 tilted to look at him. "Will fix. Do good."

"Thanks?" Poe looked between the three of them again. "I’ll be back in-"

"Two day," K-0 intoned solemnly.

Poe nodded and backed out of the workshop, feeling suddenly like he was intruding in a moment he wasn’t meant to see. She looked up at him as he went, those dark eyes meeting his before she leaned back over BB-8 in apparent fascination.

Poe stumbled back out into the light, putting one hand out to catch himself on a crate and turning his head toward the sun.

"Sithspit," he muttered.

He wasn’t an expert, but he was pretty sure that hadn’t gone particularly well.

=

Chpt 2

[lichlover]

a continuation of this delightful concept, featuring double entendres galore, a dark and stormy night, and yet another goddamn ouija board.

“Okay, Krav!” says Taako. “Here’s the dealio!”

The avant-garde clock hanging from their wall displays 12:32—that’s his best guess, anyway, as it consists entirely of two nearly translucent spindles and twelve brightly colored circles. One of the spindles stands nearly upright, and the other is inching tentatively past blue, so 12:32 it is. Its quiet ticking is the only sound that occupies the space, apart from Taako’s own voice. Lup and Barry are still out, wherever they are, which means that for now Taako has their apartment to himself. If they burst in while he’s attempting to summon the manifestation of Death himself, well, it won’t be the strangest thing they’ve walked in on him doing.

Admittedly, their cramped family room isn’t nearly as atmospheric, unless fairy lights and the kitchen’s dim glow count as mood lighting. The storm rages persistently outside, soaking their shallow balcony and lashing against the sliding doors, and he supposes that’ll have to do for now. He’s propped a broom between the door and the wall, bracing it closed, just to be safe. That’s about as much preparation as he’d done before he had set his sopping wet bag on the sofa, unzipped it with a flourish, and retrieved his prize.

Obtaining this particular ouija board had taken some actual effort on his part. He’d ventured into the thrift shop’s back room with a very reluctant cashier, shoving aside dust-covered boxes and bins full of sequined bodysuits, holding up his Stone of Farspeech to shed light over towering shelves. The one they’d found hadn’t even come in a box. It was draped in spiderwebs and sitting next to a DVD copy of an interpretive jazz workout, which he’d pushed aside with one acrylic to get to the board and its planchette. The cashier had recoiled, surveying it with a wrinkled nose and slightly watery eyes. “Are you—” He’d sneezed and nearly sent his glasses flying. “Are you sure? I mean, if you’re all hung up on this spirit-summoning thing, I’m sure we’ve got some haunted dolls or somethin’ around here that would do the trick—”

“Hey,” Taako had interrupted, brandishing the planchette at him. “Who’s the paying customer here? Yes. Correct. I know what I’m about, son. Ring me up.”

The ouija board now sits indolently on the coffee table behind him, looking for all the world like someone’s pathetic idea of a Scrabble game. For all the fanfare surrounding its existence, it isn’t terribly relevant right now. Taako jabs a thumb in its general direction as he taps his foot impatiently, staring down the far wall.

“Been a hot minute, hasn’t it?” he says, smirking at the cracked plaster. “I don’t usually call so soon after a first date, but wouldja just look at that—” This time, he swivels around for dramatic effect and gestures widely to the board. If possible, it’s even more depressing than the last one, with a lengthy crack across one side and dismal, fading letters. “As luck would have it, I found another one ’a these just lyin’ around, gathering dust. Sure looks like it’s lived, a, uh… a full life, but I’d bet it’s got a couple more summons in it.”

Taako turns his gaze back on the wall and reaches out, crooking a finger invitingly. “So, what d’you say, reaper man?” He grins, wide and full of anticipation. “Come ’n get it.”

He waits, propping himself on a heel, for a good several seconds. The rain beats against the windows, and a rush of wind thoroughly rattles the trees below their apartment, but it’s muffled from where he stands at the center of the family room. Otherwise, everything is quiet. If he strains his ears, he can just barely hear the clock ticking.

12:34 by now, surely.

A low, barely-perceptible breeze passes through the room and ruffles the hem of Taako’s skirt. Like a gaping wound in reality itself, the air splits in two, parted by a blade that trails black, gauzy smoke. The space crackles with arcane energy and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. However much of a sucker Death really is, he thinks, there’s some seriously powerful magic at work here.

That is kind of his jam, though.

It takes a moment for the main event to make his appearance, but when he does, Taako isn’t disappointed. If anything, a vaguely irritated Kravitz is even more gorgeous. His gaze snaps to Taako almost straightaway, which to be fair is what most people tend to do in his vicinity, and a tiny frown creases his brow. His smooth, perfect brow. Taako notes with amusement that Kravitz’s cravat is just slightly off-center, and as soon as his lips twitch in a tiny smirk, Kravitz catches his heel on the rift and nearly stumbles. He rights himself as Taako snickers behind one splayed hand.

“Well,” he says. “Didn’t mean to trip you up, handsome, but I gotta say I’m glad I did.”

To his credit, Kravitz covers his surprise with a smooth and extremely impressive eye roll. If that isn’t an attractive quality in a guy, Taako doesn’t know what is. “How long has it been, exactly? An hour? Two?”

“Already counting the hours we’re apart?” Taako clicks his tongue, only half-trying to stifle a grin at his own quip. “I mean, that’s a little whack, my dude, but—but if that’s how you roll.”

“You know that isn’t what I—you know what? Nevermind.” From where it sits in his hand, Kravitz’s scythe dissolves, and the rift phases out of existence behind him. Someone on the outside could have mistaken them for two normal people standing in a living room, having a normal conversation. To be fair, that’s what Taako intends to do, although he isn’t feeling particularly attached to the normal bit. He notes the gold embellishments on Kravitz’s vest as the reaper continues, still looking altogether extremely vexed. “Look, I’ve already made one too many house calls tonight. If you don’t mind, I’ll need that ouija board so I can be on my way.”

As he says so, Kravitz steps forward as if to make for the coffee table, but Taako slides easily between them. “Oh, not so fast, fella,” he says. “You and I have got some business to conduct.”

He’s rather proud of how easily his interference forces an Emissary of Actual, Literal Death to stop in his tracks. Kravitz sighs. “Business regarding what, exactly?”

“No need to be so formal,” Taako drawls, and lowers himself to perch on the table’s edge. He crosses ankle over ankle and looks up at Kravitz through dark, heavy lashes. “It was kinda… uh, kinda rude of you, wasn’t it? Just dropping in, scarin’ the shit outta everybody, and swingin’ right back out with no explanation?”

Kravitz arches an eyebrow. The undersides are highlighted faintly with gold, which would have made Taako weak in the knees had he been standing. “You don’t seem terribly intimidated.”

“I,” says Taako, “am an excellent thespian. Now, c’mon.” He shifts and tips his head toward the ottoman adjacent, and Kravitz follows his gaze uneasily. “Y—You said it yourself, right? Tough workday? I’ve got some questions, you got all the answers. Sit down, take a load off, and I promise I’ll go easy.”

He can’t resist a smirk, then, because it’s far too easy to get double entendre with this guy. That’s got to be a good sign of some sort.

Still, rather impressively, Kravitz lets that one roll right off him. He shuffles awkwardly to the ottoman and sits, fluffing his mantle out behind him, and Taako watches the feathers ripple and shudder in response. Now that they have less than a foot of space between them—gods bless this apartment’s tiny floor plan—he can make out their iridescent shine, among other things. Kravitz’s subtly pointed ears, for instance, and the golden cuffs that cling to their tapered edges. Or the way his coat sits a little too snugly around his shoulders, as if it isn’t quite well-tailored enough to contain perfection. Or how briefly but noticeably his eyes flick to the curve of Taako’s lip, then dart away without any indication that he’d been looking to begin with.

Sometimes, Taako decides, actions really do speak louder than words.

“Alright,” Kravitz says, and Taako forces his attention back in line. “You said you had… uh, questions?”

“Well, yeah, no fucking kidding. You’re Death. I��I mean, I think we all confronted our mortality tonight, literally. You can’t expect me to, uh, to just take that in stride.”

But Kravitz is already shaking his head. “Emissary,” he says. “That’s different. There’s no such thing as Death as an entity. It’s more like… like a law of the universe that we, uh, enforce.”

“Law enforcement, huh?” Taako purrs. “Never woulda pegged you for the officer type, but I could see it.” He imagines Kravitz in the polished uniform of the Neverwinter militia, brass buttons and jaunty cap and all, and has to bite down on his lip. “Yeah, I could deffo see it.”

He’s getting off track, but hell if Kravitz doesn’t make it easy. “Anyway. Emissary. Seems a tad too important for making house calls, hm? Don’t—don’t tell me we were something special.”

Kravitz’s mouth twitches. “The only thing you’re special for is using a ouija board. Do you know how outdated those things are? I think they were popular when I was alive.”

Well. That’s new information. “Okay,” says Taako, and lets his gaze dip to Kravitz’s chest, trying to ignore the flattering fit of his vest as he scrutinizes it for a rise and fall. Sure enough, he can’t make anything out. “So that makes you—”

“Immortal,” says Kravitz, at the same time Taako says, “Dead.”

He tips his head. “Well, yeah. That too.”

It says a lot about Taako that he immediately wishes he had paid more attention to Lup and Barry’s Thursday morning is-it-really-necrophilia-if debate. He can’t even recall the consensus, which had been reached with a few contentious glances from nearby professors. Once again, it’s up to him. “Okay, then,” is all he says. “That explains it.”

Kravitz blinks. “Explains what?”

Maybe it’s a little brazen—okay, scratch that, it’s incredibly brazen, but it’s also after midnight and Lup’s residual impulsiveness is starting to rub off on him. Taako shifts forward, and it’s not like there was much space between them to begin with, but now their knees nudge together when he leans in. He swears he hears Kravitz’s breath catch in his throat (which makes this even better, because the dead don’t need air, do they?) as he reaches up and thumbs over Kravitz’s cheek, and sure enough, a chill rockets up his arm and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“This,” he murmurs, and they’re close enough now that Taako can make out thin, feathery eyelashes and the hint of a shimmer across Kravitz’s upper lip. “You… you’re Arctic, my man.”

“Really?” says Kravitz, faintly. “I—I hadn’t noticed.”

Taako can make out his own heartbeat in his ears, thrumming with want and begging him just to edge a little closer, to kiss the life back into this beautiful man. He swallows, reins it in, and sits back with a brisk pat to Kravitz’s thigh. “Well! Mys—uh, mystery solved, I guess. Def—” He’s never hated his stutter more than he does right now. “Definitely dead as a doornail in there. But that means—I mean, if you die, you don’t just… automatically become an emissary, huh? What is there, some kinda lottery? An internship program? Application process?”

Kravitz stiffens. Taako can tell when he’s touched a nerve, and not the good kind, either. “Ah… no. I was a special case. Still am, I guess.”  

“Seems kinda fucked up that someone would just decide that for you.”

He shrugs a little helplessly. “It might be, but I’m grateful. I get to spend eternity doing work that matters. Barring having to go after the occasional idiots who decide to mess around with a ouija board.”

His tone is so pointed that Taako can’t help but snicker, although he chokes back his amusement before it morphs into full-on laughter. “Yeah, okay, you got me there. That one’s on Taako, ’kay? Totally wasn’t tryin’ to break up your… whatever it is you even do in the astral plane. They got wine and cheese over there? You strike me as a wine and cheese sesh kinda guy.”

A wry smile breaks across Kravitz’s face. “I prefer brandy, actually.”

“Brandy! You’re chock-full of surprises, huh? See, I’m a cocktail man myself, but I’m also—I’m open to experimentation, if you catch my drift.” He grins, and the way Kravitz’s eye twitches suggests that he does, indeed, catch Taako’s drift.

“Anyway,” he says, looking very much like he’s trying to keep another smile at bay, “we’ve gotten off track. I have some questions for you, too.”

“Who, moi?”

“Yes, toi,” says Kravitz drily. “I don’t care what you told me, ghost summoning isn’t just a fun Saturday night time-waster. There’s got to be a bigger reason you went to the trouble of digging up a ouija board from gods know where.”

Taako bats his eyelashes. “Can’t a guy summon Death without having any ulterior motives whatsoever?”

With what is apparently a fair bit of effort, Kravitz fixes him with a deadpan—ha—stare. “Honest answer? No. Never. And I already told you, I’m not Death.”

“Yeah, but it rolls so well off the tongue.” He leans back on the heels of his hands, returning the stare in full. “So you seriously wouldn’t believe me if I told you that it was all for shits ’n giggles? Like, it’s gotta be for some nefarious—I mean, c’mon. My dude. Do I look like a necromancer to you?”

Kravitz opens his mouth, evidently with the intent to respond, and stops short as his eyes snag on the folds of Taako’s off-the-shoulder blouse. Entirely impractical for the weather, of course, but all of a sudden Taako is extremely glad he’d worn it. He pulls his shoulder inward and lets one sleeve slip just so, and it must have the desired effect, because Kravitz suddenly purses his lips like they’ve gotten very, very dry. “Well?”

“You—no,” he says, and gives himself a tiny shake. The feathers covering his mantle perk up and cockle as he does so, and weird factor aside, it’s actually one of the most endearing things Taako has ever seen. “No, I’ll admit you don’t. But appearances can be deceiving.”

Taako thinks of his sister’s absolute maniac of a boyfriend, and says, “Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”

That earns him a suspicious glare from Kravitz, and he sighs. “Y’know, I’d give you my word, but we both—we know that means jack shit. So I guess you just gotta be willing to trust ch’boy on this one.”

The speed with which Kravitz’s expression drops is almost hilarious. “I really do, don’t I?”

“If it makes you feel any better, handsome, I give you full disclosure to keep an eye on me.”

Kravitz starts to reply, trips over the beginning of whatever he’s trying to say, and releases a long sigh instead. “You think you’re very charismatic, don’t you?”

“Just above average,” says Taako. “Wink.”

He chuckles in the way people chuckle at gods-awful jokes, which is to say, more than a little guiltily. Manifestations of Death have no business being this inadvertently charming. “I believe it’s your turn for a question.”

Taako scoffs. “When did we start taking turns? Last I checked, th—that isn’t the way an interrogation works.”

Kravitz regards him with lingering amusement in his eyes. There’s a warm but unmistakably sharp glint to them, and he’s reminded of Lup, ready and raring to burn spell slots just to prove somebody wrong. “If anyone should be doing the interrogating here, it’s me. You’re the one with the contraband.”

The universe can’t possibly pin this one on him. Everything about their situation—the setup, the exchange, Kravitz—it’s too good to be true. It’s precisely why Taako can’t bite back a smirk as he says, “Oh, so you prefer to take control, huh?”

“No,” says Kravitz, a little too quickly. To his credit, he doesn’t give much reaction other than that, although Taako notes that his dark complexion makes it near-impossible to discern a blush. Lucky bastard.

“Thought not,” he says. “I’m never wrong about that stuff. Okay, so… you��uh, you mentioned someone decided to make you an emissary. Who was the someone?”

Kravitz’s mantle fluffs around his neck. “Her Majesty the Raven Queen,” he recites. “She who presides over the passage of life and death and all governed by it. She’s my… well, employer, I guess, if you’re putting it in modern terms. And a goddess, of course, but you—I’m sure you already knew that.”

“She give you that?” Taako levels a finger at the mantle.

He glances back at it as if he’s just noticed it on his shoulders. “Oh. Yes, she did. It’s meant to be protective, but it’s also a… a mood detector, of sorts? Evidently it can react to what I’m thinking, but obviously I wouldn’t know… ah, sorry if it’s been distracting you.”

Taako wants to say You’re plenty distracting on your own, but he’s not that far gone. Not yet, anyway. Instead he says, “It’s cute, bird boy. Chill. Your turn.”

He sits back, because he doesn’t want to let on exactly how compromised he’s been by Kravitz and his ridiculous feathered cape. There are a thousand more jokes to be made in that vein—something about quoth the raven, among other possibilities—but all he’d been able to manage is It’s cute, bird boy, and the strangest thing is that he means it. This isn’t an off-the-cuff affection like the ones he’s so quick to dole out. No, Taako thinks, with a growing horror in the pit of his stomach, Kravitz is cute. He’s also snarky and dorky and very, very attracted to Taako, if he hasn’t been hallucinating all the cursory glances and small intakes of breath.

And the worst part is that if the flush of heat across Taako’s neck is any indication, he’s very, very attracted to Kravitz, too.

He can just imagine the look on Lup’s face when he tells her. So, he’ll say. Last night the boner squad and I summoned Death, and then I summoned him again to try and seduce him just for the hell of it, and, well, fuck, he’s actually amazing and now I wanna do it for real. How was your night? Knowing her, she’ll probably top his story with some outrageous tale of attempted resurrection and a car chase or two (with a ridiculously sappy rant about how much she loves her boyfriend thrown in for good measure), but not before she loses her entire shit at his expense. Taako’s blush flares hotter at the very thought.

Go big or go home, as the saying goes. He’s already home, which means there’s only one thing left to do.

“Okay,” says Kravitz, startling Taako out of his reverie. “Are you going to give me that ouija board?”

By the grace of whatever god is feeling particularly benevolent towards him tonight, Taako is able to make a seamless recovery. He pushes himself to his feet and puts a hand on his hip, looking imperiously down at Kravitz on the ottoman. “Depends,” he lilts. “You willing to work for it?”

To his surprise, Kravitz follows suit, standing up and immediately regaining the height advantage. Taako is halfway tempted to climb up onto the coffee table again, but there’s barely enough room for him to turn around—in fact, the cramped space between the table’s edge and the ottoman has them sandwiched right up against each other. Sure enough, a chill radiates through the fabric of Kravitz’s shirt. The resulting shudder that grips Taako’s body isn’t entirely unpleasant.

As a matter of fact, he realizes, it’s not unpleasant at all.

He really wishes he’d paid more attention to the necrophilia debate.

“Make me work for it,” Kravitz hums, and his voice and their godsforsaken closeness sets Taako shivering all over again. “And how would you do that, exactly?”

Taako forces himself to muster every iota of his usual bravado. It’s not much at the moment, but right now he needs every bit he can get. “I dunno if—if you’ve noticed, my man,” he says, and pointedly ignores the break in his voice, “but I’m a pretty smart cookie.”

“Mm. I, uh… I don’t doubt it.” He’s looking about as distracted as Taako feels, all attempts at intimidation forgotten, as some innate gravity coaxes them closer. Taako’s hands meet with Kravitz’s chest, sliding over the fine material and numbing quickly against the cold. He can’t possibly care less.

They’re inches away, and Taako just knows that any minute now, Lup and Barry are going to come stumbling out of the entryway and tell him to keep a lookout for the police. Or it’ll be Magnus and Merle, a little sloshed or a little high or both, begging him to reconsider his incredibly stupid plan. It really is stupid, Taako thinks. The plan, that is. But the plan also has him pressed up against an unfairly gorgeous man who seems just a tad punch-drunk on the moment, and he would be lying to himself if he said he doesn’t feel the same.

Taako is waiting for fate to kick down the door and flip him off when their lips meet. He’s not sure who initiates it and he honestly doesn’t care. All he has the capacity to care about is how incredible the icy thrill of Kravitz’s lips feel against his own, and the way they rock forward into each other in perfect synchronicity. He bares his teeth and tugs lightly because he’s earned it, and everything in him soars and burns with the gasp he gets from Kravitz in return. The moment is dizzying and so absolutely beyond anything he could have asked from a Saturday night—or a Sunday morning, he realizes, because midnight is a distant memory.

Everything seems a little distant, actually, when they part. Kravitz is staring at him, half-lidded and disbelieving, and Taako is sure he’s staring right back. He’s too lightheaded to do anything else.

Eventually he says, “Well, that’s, uh… that’s how we do.”

“I—you’re unbelievable,” says Kravitz, and he clearly doesn’t mean it to come out as breathy and dumbstruck as it does.

“Damn right,” Taako shoots back, and sidles out from between an Emissary of Death and the coffee table. “But I dunno if that was worth one whole ouija board.”

Kravitz’s eyes flare, bright and unnatural under the dim lighting. “You can’t be—oh, for Her sake.”

He cuts himself off and holds out a hand, and from his peripheral Taako catches the ouija board and its planchette disappearing in a plume of black smoke. They appear seconds later in Kravitz’s hand, and he folds them up and tucks them away with a huff.

Taako’s mouth falls open. “You could just—are you telling me—you could just teleport that shit the whole time and you didn’t—you didn’t just do it?”

“I don’t like to just magic my problems away,” says Kravitz, sounding wholeheartedly offended. “I wasn’t about to just—stop smirking, Taako, please.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Taako says, even though he’s never been less sorry in his life. He watches as Kravitz materializes his scythe, mantle tousled hotly around his neck, and only speaks up again as it starts to cut through the air. “H—Hey, hey, one more question?”

“Mm?”

“Just wondering,” Taako chirps, and winds his braid around a finger. “If I were, to, y’know, want to get ahold of some more astral plane contraband—”

“Do you want my frequency?” Kravitz interrupts.

Is he really that transparent? Taako gives a noncommittal shrug, like they haven’t just done something completely worthy of trading frequencies. “Sure, sure. If you’re down.”

Kravitz gives him an awkward smile and ambles over to attune his Stone to Taako’s. Their hands brush, because of course they do, and electricity shoots up Taako’s arm, making his skin tingle. He sucks in a breath and does his best to stay unperturbed. This is not the time to lose his cool. Not now.

No, he’ll save that for his sister’s return, when he tells Lup about how he not only flirted with Death and lived to tell the tale, but got away with Death’s digits and a Sunday morning to remember.

[thorne93]

Fox the Fox (Part 3)

Prompt: Reader starts her job at the BAU, but her young associate and her have a chemistry they can’t deny; but will the fates let them be together?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: language

Word Count: 1976

Note: First whack at a dedicated Criminal Minds fic. A huge thanks to my beta @like-a-bag-of-potatoes I couldn’t have done this without her. Thank you all for reading!!

Song:  You are in Love - Taylor Swift 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks had gone by since you started at the BAU. The team was still great and you had solved several cases in that time. The paperwork was the worst part. Finding the scum of the Earth was the highlight. Well, that and having Spencer as a friend. Gideon had put you two together on a lot of cases, pairing you up because he said you worked well together. You had to agree with him. Spencer kept up with you and your thought pattern, and same for him.

Most of the time you found yourselves having lunch together, him volleying random information at you. Half of it you knew, the other half, you soaked up. The dance sessions continued, but in all honesty, he didn’t need them. After two days of it, he had it down. Tonight would be the seventh dance class with him. You were very fond of him as well. Admittedly, you kept having to remind yourself he’s a coworker and ignore the way it felt when you looked into his eyes, the way his hands felt on your skin, your back, the way you were excited to just see him coming into work, eagerly looking forward to your time at lunch or the dance sessions. All of these things would suggest a mutual crush, but was it really? You knew Spencer’s was. His physiological changes were apparent enough, but were you perhaps just happy to have someone to relate to, to be friends with? You hadn’t made any friends in your time while training. As good as you were at your job, your own feelings were sometimes a mystery.

As you wrapped up your dance session with Spencer he gave you a small wave after throwing his bag over his shoulder and leaving. You followed suit just a few minutes later and headed to the library to stay sharp on your knowledge and skills.

Only after ten minutes perusing the psychology section, you spotted a familiar face at the table at the end of the aisle.

“Spencer?” you said, controlling your tone so the excitement didn’t show through.

He glanced up from his book and smiled at you.

“Oh, hi, Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“Well, I got lost on my way to get Chinese,” you joked sarcastically before sitting down with him. “I’m here for the same reason you are. Research and study. Got anything good?” you asked, peeking at his book. “That’s a good one,” you noted.

“You’ve read it?” he questioned, a light twinkling in his eye.

“Yeah. Ph.D in Psychology, minor in criminology,” you informed, shrugging.

“Interesting. Have you ever read Cockner’s book on Theory of Nature?” he questioned, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“I haven’t, was it good?”

“It’s interesting. I’m not sure I agree with it though.”

“So you’re a nurture fan?”

“I didn’t say that,” he protested lightly before leaning back up and putting his hands on the table. “I’m a believer in case by case basis.”

“I bet you are. Do you have any books you recommend?”

He thought for a moment and gave you three titles. You jumped up and began looking but he quickly joined you, finding the books almost instantly. He pulled them out and handed them to you. You asked if you could join him at his table and he said of course.

You read so much slower than he did, although, you doubted many people could rival him. You were only the quarter of the way through one book, and he had put away a five-hundred page book, and was about to finish the three-hundred and fifty pager now.

“That’s amazing, you know,” you mentioned, your eyes not leaving the pages as you read them.

“What?” he asked, stopping, his finger stopping on the page.

“The fact that you can read so fast. You have no idea how jealous I am. It’s amazing,” you echoed, nodding toward the book.

“It’s nothing really.”

“Seems like it to me. I read slower than molasses in January.”

“Which means you take in details. Most people only skim content. It’s been proven that if you have an average reader read something then summarize what they just read, it’s virtually impossible. So, the slower reader the more they take in.”

You cocked a half smile. “Well so far, it seems more like a curse, details or not.”

“Your job requires you to pick up on detail, I’m not surprised that you don’t read incredibly fast. In fact, it fits perfectly that you would slow down, take your time, take in every minute detail...I’ve seen the way you work, and you work exactly the same way. See, people who read quickly, on average, don’t retain the information, they get it in then it’s gone. It’s processed and finished, their mind never catching up. But you, you imbibe the information, and process it faster.”

You cocked your head side to side. He was right. You read slowly, you assessed situations sort of slowly but then they clicked faster than almost anyone on the team. His tone changed though, again, his words coming out faster than usual. The tone was the most peculiar thing though, because underneath the explanation was admiration.

The evening continued such that Spencer would say something, such as, “Listen to this,” or “This is interesting,” or “Look what I found.” Sharing a love of the mind and law enforcement was amazing, not to mention being almost on his level of intelligence. Often times, you felt a little alienated because people couldn’t follow your thought process, humor, ideas...But Spencer kept up with no problem.

“Would you like to meet here together for a couple of nights a week?” Spencer questioned, a tiny bit nervous as you gathered your books that you couldn’t finish and he grabbed a handful that he couldn’t get to.

“Sure, I’d love that. Maybe we could go after your dance sessions?”

“That’d work!”

You checked your books out and started to leave before he called out.

“Y/N, wait!”

You stopped right outside of the doors as he checked out and jogged after you.

“Let me walk you to your car,” he offered.

“Oh, okay, thank you,” you said softly. You weren’t sure why he was doing it, you were an exceptional agent. Just as capable to take down someone who might bother you as he was--Oh, it’s not about you not being able to, it’s about him wanting to. Right. Sometimes you couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

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

The next day, you were aware of the team’s eyes’ following you two all over the office, how you seemed to go where Spencer went, how he seemed to join you everywhere. It was quickly becoming apparent that all your time was spent together - work (on cases - together), lunch, dance sessions, now library study sessions.

Spencer pulled out a cheese sandwich the next day at lunch with celery. Hardly hearty. This wasn’t unusual either, you had noticed more than once his lunches were light and lacking protein, fiber, nutrients.

“Spencer,” you started, your eyes on your computer screen as you filled out a report.

“Yes?” he said, lowering his sandwich.

“Do you refuse to eat enough to keep you healthy or do you just not know how?” you questioned, feeling a little...protective over him.

“To be honest, I don’t know how to cook. I know the proper temperature and time to cook most meats on though.”

“How about you come to my place tonight for a real meal after our dance session?”

“Oh,” he said, the small blush coloring his cheeks as it so often did when you mentioned you and him in an activity together. “Alright.”

-----------

After leaving the dance session that gave you a good little workout, and a good reason to get your heart beating - in more ways than one, Spencer followed you in his car to your place.

“Are you allergic to anything?” you asked as you got into your apartment, throwing your stuff on the couch.

“No,” he replied, awkwardly stepping into your apartment.

“It won’t bite, Spencer. Come on in. Just drop your stuff anywhere. Come here, I want to show you what I’m doing.”

You decided to make cajun chicken alfredo with garlic toast. You got out the pan and coated the chicken in spices, put butter in the pan, and put it in to fry. You also got a pot of water on to boil and preheated the oven.

“For your stove, to cook chicken the best way, it should be on dial five,” he informed, standing right behind you, so close that you could feel his body heat.

“Thank you, Spencer, but when it comes to cooking, I leave the unnecessary science out of it. Just trust me.”

“Alright…”

“Now, cook the chicken thoroughly. It’ll start to be golden brown, and I like mine a little darker, a little tougher, so I let it go longer.”

When the water began boiling, you dropped in the pasta, and once the chicken was done, you slid it out of a pan, onto a cutting board. Then you slid frozen bread on a cookie sheet and made a quick garlic butter sauce, and lathered the bread in it, then threw it in the oven.

“Next, we’ll toss in this cooked pasta after we drain it…” You lifted the pot and carried it to the sink and dumped it in the strainer, Spencer nearly glued to you the entire time as he followed you around, barely giving you an inch of space. You had to admit, you kind of liked being this close to him - okay, you liked it a lot.

You put the pasta in the pot where you cooked the chicken and poured in heavy cream, more spices, and a little more butter and stirred it around until it boiled. You pulled out the bread from the oven, Spencer’s eyes trained on you the entire time.

“Okay, now we cut the chicken like so, then toss it into the mix…” You scraped the chicken into the pot and held your hands toward it. “There! Cajun chicken alfredo.”

You grabbed plates, silverware, and glasses and dished the food up and went to your small table in the living room-dining room combination.

“This looks delicious,” he said with admiration, his blush the deepest you’d ever seen.

“Thank you, just wait until you try it.”

He bit into it and his face lit up. “This is very good, Y/N,” he commended. The way he said your name made butterflies hit your stomach. The most intelligent man you’d ever met just complimented your cooking.

“I’m glad you like it. I was thinking maybe I could make you some lunches, if you don’t mind. I notice you don’t get a lot of nutrition.”

“You want to make me lunch?”

“If you don’t mind. I make my own lunches, it's not that hard to double it, to make sure you eat well.”

“I have to admit I’d like home cooked meals rather than cup soup or a soggy sandwich. I’d really appreciate that. Would you like me to pay you for your time and the ingredients?”

“Not necessary. In exchange, just, tell me one fact about everything I bring you, sound like a deal?”

“Odd, no one’s ever requested extra information from me. But, I’d be delighted. Great food, from a pretty girl, you can’t beat that,” he said with a smile before he took a bite.

You were too stunned to eat for a moment. Dr. Spencer Reid just called you pretty. Spencer is too clinical and calculating to flirt, he only says facts - truths. Smirking slightly, you realized, in Spencer’s mind it was just a fact that you were pretty.

[rdgpcg]

Saturday I competed at Kinetic Multisport’s Diamond In the Rough triathlon. It had been a couple years since I raced this event in Perryville. In fact, the last couple times I had done the olympic event when it was still run by Piranha Sports. Under my new race planning strategy, I watched the weather and signed up at the last minute on Wednesday  . . the very last day you could register. Race day conditions didn’t disappoint. It was a cool 68 degrees when I arrived at Perryville Community Park and the temperature never got out of the low 80s. The humidity stayed low as well. It turned into a perfect race day.

Perryville Community Park really is a diamond in the rough.

  I had decided on the sprint rather than the olympic distance this year because frankly it just sounded like more fun and I do this for fun. I don’t need to tack on mileage so someone is impressed with how far I can go. I’ve left that ridiculous worry behind. With only an 8 mile bike leg, the sprint this year was short even for a sprint. It was appealing to me because it removes any and all race strategy. Just go like the hammers of hell and breathe later! No need to watch power, no need to save something for the run. Just go!

Swim

Bike

Run

I arrived in ample time to grab my packet, setup transition and mill about prior to the start. I love pre-race especially at a triathlon. It is always fun to listen to chatter and talk to other athletes from all walks of life. It turns out many of those racing were deep in the heart of their Kinetic Multisport seasons with a deep commitment to doing as many races as they could. Kinetic has a good thing going. With more than two dozen races in 5 states, they offer many perks to those competing throughout the season. The vast majority of their races are olympic and sprint distances with a few long course events mixed in here and there. This is a nice contrast to the Ironman organization which seems to target the extreme end of the sport.

Pre-race at Diamond in the Rough.

Kinetic has greatly simplified Diamond in the Rough. The olympic swim is two laps of the sprint course and the olympic run is two laps of the run course. The bike remains different but this makes both race logistics and navigation much simpler.

I was in the black-capped swim wave, also known as the old farts swim wave, which started precisely at 8:04 a.m. Diamond in the Rough is in in-water start. Once in the water and warmed up, you can either tread water, hold on to the pier, or just move inshore a bit and stand in the muddy bottom that is the Chesapeake bay. I chose the latter. The starter gave a good countdown and I simply made my way toward the start buoy as we got close to the gun.

DIR Swim

The triathlon swim is a funny thing. It used to be something I dreaded because of the inevitable swim panic. I guess I am traumatized for life because I still get a sense of dread at the start worrying about panicking. Nobody likes to panic. Nothing good ever came after the phrase “I panicked!”.

Fortunately not me in the swim anymore.

But I didn’t panic. In fact, it’s been a long time since I’ve panicked on the swim. These days, I start out with a workman-like mentality and focus on the first buoy, navigating through people, and waiting for my heart rate to come up. Eventually, I focus on my stroke and get into some sort of fun rhythm. (A really inappropriate joke leaps to mind but this is a family blog.) Before I know it, I am disappointed the swim is over and I have to start doing something hard. Such was the case at Diamond in the Rough. Apparently last year the tide was strong (or as strong as it can be on the Chesapeake) and it really slowed the swim. This didn’t happen this year although I did manage to swim most of the second half next to someone else in my wave whom I collided with multiple times. I’m not sure which one of us wasn’t swimming straight but we managed to do so most of the way in.

The swim at DIR (I’m not typing “Diamond in the Rough” anymore. Okay, I did there but now I’m just doing DIR) . . . the swim requires the use of a pier and some added metal steps to get in and out of the water. The pier also has several flights of steps to get up and down from the park. Admittedly, this kind of sucks after the swim but mostly because if any number of athletes come out of the water together it gets a bit congested. Apparently, I whacked my right shin on the steps somewhere because when I got back to transition to get ready for the bike, my shin was bleeding profusely. “Hmm. That’ll look pretty badass in the race photos.*” Otherwise I didn’t notice much around transition like how many bikes were still in my area, or how slow I was.

Trying to avoid scalpels.

In case my dermatologist is reading this, I did take the time to spray down with sun screen again before heading out on the bike.

  Swim: 16:03

T1: 1:13

The bike was just fun! The DIR olympic course is known for its hills especially the giant climb coming out of Port Deposit but this part of Maryland jams a few hills into the short sprint course too. The four mile out and back is basically a mile in and out of the park then 3 miles down and up hills. Apparently there were some treacherous spots as I saw at least one broken collarbone and at two cases of serious road rash. Fortunately, I just looked like I had serious injury as blood flowed freely down my shin into my cycling shoes. Otherwise I essentially just turned the pedals as hard as I could. By cycling standards, I’m really not all that fast but it was still a good time.

The short sprint course had no shortage of descending and climbing.

I’m always impressed by guys and gals that come off the bike via the flying dismount. When done properly, it is elegant, graceful, and speedy. When done improperly . . . well I mentioned there was a broken collarbone right? At age 53 I have no need to learn to master the flying mount or dismount. You break things other than the collarbone with a failed flying mount.

As it was I clomped my way up and down the hill between transition and mount/dismount in my bike shoes with Look cleats. For those that are not cyclists, picture running with a half a golf ball glued to the bottom of your shoes.

Bike: 26:26

T2 was a time-killing debacle. When I racked my bike I bumped the bike next to me and knocked it off the bar. This is amazing to me because in T1 my bike always seems to be magnetically attached to the bar. My bike neighbor had precariously hung their bike and faced it the wrong direction. I hadn’t really bumped it that hard. I managed to catch it before it fell but now found myself holding two bikes and not running.

Properly racked bikes.

I felt like yelling “TIME OUT” but that doesn’t work in triathlon. Time dragged as I re-hung both bikes. And then I had to put on socks. I learned the hard way in preparation for the French Creek triathlon not to try to run barefoot with my custom insoles. This leads to a massive blister so I sat on the ground, wiped my feet off and donned socks and running shoes. At least I had added lace locks to my Hoka’s so I could pull them on fast. All of this took so long I felt it was a shame I didn’t bring along a neck tie for a more formal look on the run.

T2: 1:45

On the run, I mostly passed people. It is hard to tell but there were probably some olympic athletes on the course by then as well since the olympic distance started first. Still, the vast majority of folks were sprinters and the run course wasn’t packed when I was on it. I did get passed by one younger gentleman early on. He was running really well.

My lace-locked equipped Hokas.

My friend Susanne would be proud of me for the finish. Throughout the run I had picked off one runner at a time. There was one gentleman I made up no ground on until the last few hundred yards. About 300 yards out from the finish he slowed stretching a leg. Weakness! The predator in me pounced and I accelerated. I was within a few yards of him as we neared the finish chute and I saw 50 something written on his calf. My age group! I blew past him and sprinted down the chute. He gave chase but I kept my advantage across the line. This would prove important.

I am disappointed overall with my run at DIR. I don’t know if I didn’t really have a tough enough mental game, had not done enough speedwork, or just don’t know what a good 5K pace is these days. I think all of the above. I haven’t done a transition run all year except for the French Creek triathlon, there has been a minimum amount of speedwork, and I haven’t out and out raced a standalone 5K in years. I think I need to add all these to my “to do” list. Granted, I was out to have fun at DIR but there is no reason not to try to be as competitive as I could. The run has always been my thing. I placed 6th overall in the run but I still feel like it wasn’t all that well executed and could have been faster.

Run: 23:33

Post-race I collapsed in the grass under a shady tree for a bit and sucked down a bottle of water. I then went to the scoring tent and printed my result. 1:09 and first in age group! Awesome! I went into transition, packed up my T area and grabbed my phone. I had a text from Kinetic Multisport with my result that showed 3rd place age group. Huh!? How could that be!? We all started at the same time. It isn’t like someone faster could have finished later. I went back to the scoring tent and re-printed my result. 3rd place age group. I retrieved my earlier printout and compared. Aha! My category changed. I was 1st place in 50-54 but 3rd place overall masters. This is better so I got advanced to a better category thanks to my sprint down the chute. The gentleman who passed me early in the run was 2nd overall masters. 1st place went to a gentleman I didn’t see anywhere on the course. He was a Kinetic staff member and at the podium had on civilian shorts, a Kinetic staff shirt, and hadn’t looked like he raced. It seemed odd, but hey . . it’s their party.

Well, there it is. A pretty boring race write-up if ever there was one. It gives me an idea for something a bit more thought provoking but for now let’s just say I am still enjoying short course racing far more than I ever enjoyed long course. I think I’ll stay here for a while.

* Imagine if you will a picture of me on the podium. I had handed my phone to someone to take a picture and in so doing managed to turn on some sort of thing on the camera that made all the pictures look like this:

I think I enabled the cataract filter on my iPhone camera.

Assuming the race photographer doesn’t require a kidney and an organ to be named later I may purchase a couple pics from them and post later.

      Sprinting Again Saturday I competed at Kinetic Multisport's Diamond In the Rough triathlon. It had been a couple years since I…