#and our new LOB BEAM!!

[saywhatjessie]

Like V-J Day

Or the lads kiss each other to cover for Colin kissing Michael after West Ham and a new Richmond tradition is born. 5.9k [Ao3]

Never did Sam Obisanya think he’d be clutching and screaming with Jamie Tartt after scoring the winning goal in a premier league trophy match.

For several reasons, really. He’d always believed the team could do well and he’d believed he could do himself and his family proud in this sport he loved but after everything they’d gone through and with Jamie Tartt of all people…

He was having a little trouble trying to believe he wasn’t dreaming.

That feeling only increased when Jamie stopped screaming, his eyes on something past Sam’s shoulder and going wide with panic.

“Sam!” Jamie yelled. “Kiss me! Kiss me on the mouth!”

Sam blinked at him, unsure he’d heard right. “What!?”

Jamie shook his head, his eyes still wide, and moved his hands from Sams’s shoulders to his face. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

There wasn’t really time to think so Sam just said “Oh. Okay!” and Jamie leaned in and kissed him.

It was quick – nothing fancy. Jamie pulled away and patted Sam on the cheek. “Good lad.”

Sam just nodded, not sure how to respond to the situation. Was this another trick? Like winning an Oscar at the Espys?

Sam got distracted by Isaac and Bumbercatch colliding with him, dogpiling and screaming about his goal.

He wasn’t sure anyone else saw Jamie kiss Dani and then Jan Maas. Was this something they did now? Were they kissing each other?

Just in case, Sam pressed his lips to Moe’s temple and kissed Isaac on his nose. Isaac’s face scrunched up rather adorably but he was still screaming so Sam didn’t think he’d actually overstepped.

The rest of the team joined their huddle and with Coach Lasso’s victory dance, Sam's thoughts of kissing were quickly abandoned.

Until the following press conference.

It was a rare triple-coach event with both Sam and Jamie representing the players.

The reporters lobbed them easy questions about how excited they were for their win and how disappointing it was that Man City also won their match. But it was Marcus Adebayo, The Independent, who really brought the heat.

“Mr. Tartt, any comment on why you kissed three of your teammates on the pitch after the match?”

The coaches turned slowly to look at Jamie – Ted, surprised and delighted, Roy, surprised but trying very hard not to look it, and Beard, extremely unsurprised but pleased.

Jamie shrugged, his arms folded in front of him on the table, the picture of smugness. “Celebration, innit? We’d just won a really big match the season after we’d been promoted. ‘S like that old picture from America. After the war or summat.”

“‘V-J Day in Times Square’?”

“No, the kissin’ one,” Jamie told him. “Not sure what a VJ is but I don’t think you can do that in public.”

A couple people laughed. Sam heard Roy growl. He leaned forward to speak into his mic.

“We kiss people on the pitch after a victory all the time,” Sam said. “I don’t know why a victory this great would be different.”

“Well, you don’t often kiss each other,” Marcus offered.

“Well, never has a team been as close as this team has gotten,” Roy interjected, leaning toward his own mic. “We encourage our players to express themselves however they like. If kissing on the pitch is something they want to do after they play some good fucking football, we’ll fucking support them.” He grunted, slouching back a little. “It’s the Lasso way.”

“Aw, come on now, Coach,” Ted said, smiling softly at him. “It’s the Richmond way.”

Roy rolled his eyes but he offered a soft smile back. Sam beamed at them and Jamie’s smile was as bright as Trafalgar Square. 

Jamie offered Roy a cheeky wink. “Nothing wrong with kissin’ the lads, yeah?” 

“Oh fuck you,” Roy said back and everyone laughed.

They moved onto the next question.

On the way back to the dressing room, Sam hung back to walk with Jamie. “What was the kiss really about?”

Jamie grinned at him. “I’m supposed to be playing decoy, aren’t I? So I saw Colin kissin’ Michael on the pitch and I knew I had to distract everyone, yeah? Make it normal.” Jamie shrugged. “Knew Colin didn’t want to come out yet. Now he doesn’t have to.”

Sam melted a bit, taking a moment to appreciate the Jamie they have compared to the one they started with. He wrapped an arm around Jamie’s shoulders, clapping him on the arm. “Jamie, that is so sweet. I’m sure Colin will be so grateful.”

“Weren’t planning on telling him, to be honest.” Jamie frowned. “Don’t want to put him on the spot or whatever.”

“Jamie,” He shook him a bit and Jamie dropped his head, pleased. “That really is wonderful. But we should at least talk to the team. See who else might like to get in on it. The more teammates kissing, the more normal it gets.”

“Yeah, alright,” Jamie said, smiling up at him. “And I’m sorry for kind of ambushing you. Shoulda probably explained meself better first.”

“No, it was fine, I understand.” Sam told him, letting go of his shoulders as they entered the room, almost everyone else in the shower already. “And it was a nice kiss.”

“Oi, mate,” Jamie grinned. “You haven’t seen a good kiss yet.”

The transition through the off season and then back into pre-season training without Coach Lasso had everyone noticeably glum. They’d kept Coach Beard, and Nate had been promoted back to assistant coach again, but Roy as manager didn’t quite have the same charm as their American friend.

Not that Roy was bad. And not that he didn’t try.

He actually did a phenomenal job of bringing his own unique perspective of the game into coaching them on the pitch while keeping up with some of Coach Lasso’s open and compassionate policies. It was quite the environment.

An environment that spurred them to win their first game of the season for the first time since Sam started at Richmond.

Everyone was on the pitch screaming and celebrating when Jamie locked eyes with him. His eyes churned, a kind of slow illumination of feral joy, and he pointed at Sam, his grin a vicious challenge.

He stalked up to Sam, his grin growing more manic, and Sam ran to meet him, wanting to share in whatever primal joy Jamie was feeling.

Jamie, of course, gripped the back of Sam’s head and brought him into a leg melting kiss.

Oh yeah. Sam had forgotten about that.

 They hadn’t yet gotten around to bringing anyone else on Jamie’s kissing scheme – except for Dani and Jan Maas, who were, themselves, kissing across the pitch – but Jamie had promised Sam he hadn’t seen a good kiss yet and well..

Wow . Yeah, okay. Sam understood why the ladies on Lust Conquers All let Jamie get away with so much now.

HIs knees actually buckled and he had to grip Jamie’s shoulders tightly to keep himself from going down. He felt Jamie smile against his mouth, laughing as they broke away. “Did I actually make you go weak in the knees?”

“Fuck off,” Sam laughed, still a little dizzy. “I wasn’t ready.”

“I warned you!”

“Not recently!”

Jamie laughed again, putting an arm around Sam’s waist to hold him up. He used his other arm to reach into the cluster of teammates celebrating next to them.

“Oi, Richard!” Jamie pulled at the Frenchman, dislodging him from the group. “Kiss me!”

Richard smirked and said something in French that was probably very dirty but Sam couldn’t understand it.

He pushed up against Jamie, his side brushing Sam as Jamie still hadn’t let him go, and pulled Jamie into a kiss without any hesitation.

He immediately shoved his tongue in Jamie’s mouth, which Sam could have told Jamie was to be expected. For all Sam knew, that might have been what he’d warned in French.

Jamie laughed as he shoved Richard away. “You prick.”

Richard just winked and moved to jump on Zorro as he passed.

“Wow,” Sam said, bringing his arm up around Jamie’s shoulders. Now they were doubly linked. “Did you tell him already? About the kissing thing?”

“Nah,” Jamie said, grinning as they walked toward the dressing room. “But he’s French, inhe? Knew he’d be up for it.”

Sam groaned. “I’d call you out for stereotyping but I also know Richard.”

Jamie laughed.

“Think Cockburn might be my next target,” Jamie mused, his lips pouting out in a thinking face. “He could probably loop in Winchester and Roberts.”

“I can talk to Moe and Babutende,” Sam offered. “I already sort of kissed Moe at the last game.”

“Yeah?” Jamie grinned. “Was it as magical as I imagine?”

Sam shrugged. “Kiss him yourself.”

Jamie winked. “You know I will.”

Watching Jamie cut a path through all their teammates over the following weeks erased any doubt Sam might have had that he was 100% serious about his role as a distraction.

He did end up kissing Cockburn, then Bumbercatch, then Zorro, and also Sam and Jan Maas and Dani every chance he could get. A couple of them cornered Sam later to ask him what Jamie was up to but were more than happy to play along once they knew it was for Colin. Meaning Sam himself had kissed Richard and Dani and Winchester and O’Brien and he even got to kiss Moe properly. Jamie was right: it really was magical.

They somehow got all the way to November before they actually had to talk about it. And, unfortunately, only because they’d hurt Colin’s feelings.

He approached Sam in the dressing room, the training after their win against Crystal Palace, when Sam had actually hopped up to wrap his legs around Jamie to kiss him at a better angle. Sam had a rotation of which teammates he’d kiss after a match but he definitely always made sure to kiss Jamie.

Sam and Colin weren’t the first two in the locker room but they were early enough to be among the first, and no one was really awake yet.

Colin was already in his training kit, looking sleepy and unobtrusive. He plopped down on the bench next to Sam’s cubby with a deep sigh.

Sam chuckled, hanging his shirt up and grabbing his own kit. “Fun night?”

“What? Nah.” Colin sighed again, reaching up to rub his forehead. “Not hungover. Just couldn’t sleep. Something botherin’ me.”

“Oh,” Sam answered, startled. He was always happy to help a teammate and friend with their problems, but Colin had never come to him before, “Would you… like to talk about it?”

“Yeah, actually.” Colin turned to look up at Sam, his wide brown eyes looking tired and sad. “Do you think Jamie’s avoiding me because I’m gay?”

“What?” Sam jerked, his head shaking in an automatic denial. “Colin, of course not. Has he been avoiding you? I thought you played FIFA with him yesterday.”

“We did! I did, he’s not I guess–” Colin huffed a breath, his brow furrowed in frustration. “‘Avoid’ might not be the best word. I just, you know, I feel left out. I feel like the team’s excluding me because I’m gay.”

Sam frowned. As far as he knew, Colin had been there for all team dinners, team movie nights, the casual FIFA with the boys. If Colin was being left out, Sam wasn’t seeing it. “Excluding you how?”

“You know…” Sam screwed up his face in question and Colin sighed. “With the kissing. The after win kissing you all do on the pitch. I know Jamie started it, and he’s kissed just about everyone – even Shannon! – but he hasn’t kissed me. Is he being weird about me being gay?”

Sam blinked and immediately had to suck his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing. Laughter would not unhurt Colin’s feelings.

They really should have seen this coming. Or, if nothing else, Jamie should have just kissed Colin. Not kissing him has singled him out the same way Colin being the only one to kiss a man would have.

“Colin, I promise you, Jamie isn’t avoiding kissing you because you’re gay.” Sam stopped and frowned. “Or, he might be, but not in the way you think.”

Colin frowned back, his shoulders slumping.

“No, hey, listen.” Sam reached forward and gripped Colin’s shoulders. “I promise, just let Jamie explain. Oh, Jamie! JAMIE!”

The locker room had been filling up while they’d been talking, the boys getting gradually livelier as their coffee kicked in. Jamie had just sauntered in, dressed in peak form in his floral track suit and orange tinted sunglasses.

He grinned over at Sam and Colin and trotted up to them. “Yeah, mate?”

“Tell Colin you haven’t been avoiding kissing him because he’s gay.”

“What?” Jamie jerked, pulling off his sunglasses so they could see his blue eyes wide in shock. “Mate, definitely not! I’ll kiss you now if you like, make everything square.”

Colin put his hand out as if to stop Jamie from kissing him. “No. No, don’t do that.”

Sam wasn’t quite as successful with stopping a laugh. He choked on it a bit. “Jamie, Colin has noticed that you’ve been kissing everyone else on the team and would like to know why you haven’t kissed him.”

Jamie frowned. “Oh. yeah, I guess that would look homophobic. You were probably right and we should have told him.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” Sam agreed, clapping Jamie on the back.

“Sorry,” Colin said, his frown looking more perplexed now than unhappy so at least that was good. “How is Jamie kissing the whole team a good deed?”

“I’m playin’ decoy!” Jamie tells him with an undercurrent of pride you would have never seen from Jamie Tartt three years ago. “Distractin’ the press like so you and Michael can kiss after matches if you want.”

“Kiss Michael…” Colin started before his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh! After West Ham last season!”

“Yeah, mate,” Jamie said, bouncing a little on his feet. “Saw you snogging on the pitch so I quick kissed Sam and some of the other lads so at the conference, they asked me about that instead of what was happening with you.”

Colin looked at Jamie, awed and a little impressed. “I’d just thought no one had seen us. Thought I got lucky.”

Sam chuckled. “You’d have to be very lucky. There were thousands of people watching.”

Colin shrugged.

Jamie scoffed. “Nah, mate. It was me! And then Sam thought the rest of the team might want in on it, so we’ve been, like, creatin’ this culture of kissin’ the lads after a win. So if you ever wanted to do it again, you’d be sorted.”

Colin smiled. “That’s real sweet, boyo.” He punched Jamie in the arm. “But you still should have told me!”

“He was trying to be humble,” Sam told him, rolling his eyes.

“Well now that he knows–” Jamie grinned, stepping up on the bench and shouting. “Oi!”

Everyone was in the locker room by now, the stragglers still changing while everyone else chatted. They all looked up at Jamie.

“Oi! Tartt!” Roy yelled back. “Why aren’t you changed?”

“One minute, Coach.” Jamie grinned. He turned back to the team. “Everyone knows about the after-win kisses, yeah?”

Everyone muttered in affirmation, some of the boys elbowing each other cheekily.

“Well Colin knows now!”

“Was it a secret?” Zorro, asked, confused.

“It would have been hard for him not to notice,” Jan Maas added.

“Weren’t a secret, just didn’t want to make it a big deal,” Jamie answered. “But now it is. So I figured we should have, like, an open discussion of boundaries or whatever. Now that we all know what’s happening.”

More muttering of agreement but then Bumbercatch asked, “What was wrong with how we were doing it?”

“Nothing,” Jamie asked, over yet more muttering. “I fucking loved it. But I do want to make sure we’re all on the same page, yeah?”

Everyone started nodding, throwing in their agreement. The coaches were all hanging by the door of their office, passively observing, until Nate piped in, “That’s very mature, Jamie.”

Jamie scoffed. “Fuck right it is. I’m a legend at open communication.”

Nate visibly sighed. Sam smirked.

“I do want to thank you all for doing this, by the way,” Colin interjected. “I did like being able to kiss my fella after a game like that. I was worried I wouldn’t be allowed to do it again.”

“Well first of all,” Roy started, commanding the room. “It’s not a matter of ‘allowed’. We’re never gonna stop you from doing whatever the fuck you wanna do with whoever the fuck you wanna do it with.”

Colin smiled. “Thanks coach.”

Roy nodded. “On this team, we all have each other’s backs. And if that means snogging on the pitch so one of our own doesn’t have to hide, have at it.” 

Jamie grinned. “Was there a second of all, Coach?”

Roy grunted, scowling at Jamie. Sam fought not to giggle.

“ Second of all,” Roy started. “Show of hands. Who’s in on this shit?”

Jamie’s hand was the first in the air, Dani and Sam’s coming up almost as quickly. Most of the rest of the starters raised their hands, as well as half of the reserves. Isaac’s hands were folded against his chest.

Sam watched Roy nod at him and Isaac nod back. He would leave that one alone. It wasn’t his business.

“What about you, Coach?” Jamie asked.

“What, me?” Roy snorted. “Fuck no, I can’t be kissing players.”

Jamie shrugged. “Don’t see why not. Same as a bum pat, innit? Besides: we need to kiss some people who aren’t teammates so Colin kissing Michael in’t suspicious.”

Roy’s eyebrows seem reluctantly swayed by Jamie’s logic but his frown didn’t move.

“I’m up for it,” Beard offered, his hand raised. “I’m always down to kiss beautiful men.”

Richard yelled something in French that sounded like agreement.

“I’m free for some smooching as well,” Will said, awkward but grinning. “I’m small so you can definitely pick me up and spin me around.”

Jamie scoffed. “‘Small’. You’re taller than me, man.”

Winchester leered at the kit man. “Been thinking about that, Will?”

Will went red and ducked his head but his lips were pulled into his mouth like he was trying not to smile.

“Anyone picks me up,” Bumbercatch added. “And I’ll kick your balls into your stomach.”

“Great boundary, Moe,” Sam told him. Moe nodded. “I myself have been fine with the level of kissing so far.”

“Bet you have,” muttered Jamie, and winked when Sam shot him a look.

Sam would try not to look at that too closely.

Colin raised his hand. “I saw Richard fully snog Jamie with tongue and everything so I’d like to ask for no tongue, please. I’ll also need to clear all this with Michael, obviously.”

“I have spoken with my girlfriends about this already,” Dani said. “They have both said that it’s wonderful. So I am free to kiss all my amigos!”

Sam smiled. Dani lived such a beautiful and loving existence.

“Jane’s good,” Beard says, waving his phone redundantly.

“It’s a no for me, oh rats,” Nate said, unconvincingly. Sam couldn’t imagine his girlfriend would have been bothered by, well, anything. But if Nate wanted an out that was fine.

“My girlfriend and I actually had a conversation about this exact situation,” Will offered, smiling dreamily.

“Will, you’re a freak and I love it,” Jamie told him, pointing at him approvingly. Will grinned up at him.

“I mean I’ve kind of had that conversation,” Colin said. “But it’s more of the hall pass thing. Like ‘which five people could I hook up with and it’s not cheating.’”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve done that,” Zorro said. “Rachel McAdams and Zendaya.”

Everyone nodded at that. “Solid choices,” Roberts added.

“But wait Colin saying that means…” Jamie grinned over at him. “Which ones of us are on your hall pass list?”

Colin went red. “No. Nope. Not doing that.”

“Well I am, obviously,” Jamie said, smirking.

“And probably Bumbercatch,” Isaac added, speaking up for the first time. His face was alight with teasing his best friend.

Bumbercatch puts a hand to his naked chest in humble thanks.

“I’m not doing this!” Colin said again, louder, his face impossibly redder.

“It’s not fair that you can only have five,” Dani said, sadly. “Since there are more than five of us.”

“I don’t want to sleep with all of you!”

“Oh, so you’re out on the kissing, then?” Sam asked, grinning.

Colin sighed, crossing his arms. “No.”

“Good lad.” Jamie winked at him.

Sam grinned, climbing up on the bench next to Jamie. "And can we all tell Colin that none of us feel weird kissing him because he's gay?"

Everyone talked over each other, rushing to comfort him.

"Don't know why it should matter," Jan Maas piped in, shrugging. "I'm not straight."

Sam jerked. “Oh.”

“Oui, nor me,” Richard added.

Sam frowned. “I thought you were just French.”

“Well I mean I’m not straight either,” Jamie said, raising his hand. “But you all kind of already guessed that, right?”

“Wait,” said Colin, eyes wide. “So I’m not the only gay one?”

“Well, I mean I still like girls so–” Jamie shrugged. “I didn’t wanna steal valor or summat.”

“That’s not what that means,” Beard sighed.

“Oh, yes!” Dani said “I also love men but do not only love men. So I did not know how to respond.”

“Right and like gender and sexuality are constructs, so why should I give in to the colonialist idea of labeling my sexuality,” Bumbercatch shrugged. “I have sucked dicks before, though.”

“Oh, yeah, same,” Jamie grinned, a dreamy look in his eye. “It’s fuckin’ great.”

Roy choked, quietly. Sam knew how he was feeling.

“Okay,” Colin said, looking as thunderstruck as Sam felt. “Show of hands. Who’s not straight?”

Colin raised his hand, obviously, and so did Jamie, Dani, Jan Maas, and Richard. Also Zorro, Bumbercatch, Winchester, Reynolds, Cockburn, Shannon, and O’Brien. And Will. And Beard.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Roy whose arms were conspicuously crossed. Roy grunted at him. “You little pricks don’t need to know my business.”

“Interesting reaction,” Beard noted. 

Roy growled.

Still, all totalled up, it was most of the team. 

Colin’s eyes were saucers. “Oh my God, I wish Trent were here. This is almost my Oprah fantasy.”

“Ooh, I’ll raise another hand in Trent’s honor.” Beard volunteered, lifting his other hand. “We actually had a Diamond Dogs discussion about this so I’ll let him know he was right.”

“Okay…” Sam said, shaking his head. “So wait: I’m the only straight guy who’s been kissing other men for months? It’s not just something we were all doing, secure in our heterosexuality?”

“I mean, it was still all friendly, yeah?” Jamie said. “I’m not trying to fuck all me teammates. The kisses were super platonic. I just wasn’t straight while I was doin’ em.”

General agreement goes up as people lower their hands.

“This is confusing,” Sam confessed.

“Ay, don’t worry about it,” Jamie elbowed him, grinning. “We’ll just keep on, right? Nothing to panic about.”

Sam wasn’t panicking about it, but it wouldn’t let him rest either.

The team kept on the same: they lost some matches, they won others. They always kissed. They’d even started kissing the ties sometimes, just because they all liked doing it so much.

Keeley had been annoyed they hadn’t spoken to her about it first but was actually having a marvelous time managing their statements about everything. And the fan reception had been indulgent to downright elated, fans going as far as tweeting pictures of them kissing their friends after matches.

No matter which way you looked at it, Jamie’s impulsive decision to kiss Sam was an overwhelming success.

Sam just struggled a bit to figure out what this meant for him .

He was straight. He was pretty positive he was straight.

But by this point, he had kissed everyone on the team and some coaches and he had notes.

Dani’s kisses were always sloppy and enthusiastic - Dani always smiling too much to maintain a proper kiss.

Richard would grip the back of his neck which was super nice but he always worked too hard with his lips.

Jan Maas was no nonsense, moving Sam where he wanted and capturing his mouth for just long enough to wind him up. And he would bring Sam  in for a hug after so his tall body swallowed him.

Zorro would start with a hug – also large and safe feeling –  before giving a polite kiss and a friendly clap on the shoulder.

Colin was way too timid to kiss the rest of them like he kissed Michael but he still gave the sweetest little pecks.

Bumbercatch had a way of growling into his mouth which was quite thrilling.

Winchester loved to be dipped.

Beard always put both hands on the side of his neck and pulled away from the kiss with a loud “MUAH!”

Sam always made sure to pick up Will and spin him around.

And Jamie was definitely the best kisser. But that went without saying.

Sam didn’t know what it meant that he had all of these opinions about kissing men. He knew he didn’t want to sleep with them – he didn’t feel the same spark, the same drive, the same fire that consumed him when he was pursuing Rebecca – but he did love them and he did like kissing them and apparently none of the rest of them were straight.

Which was fine! Sam wasn’t being homophobic!

His feelings were just a little complicated.

“It’s simple, right?” Jamie said as Sam spotted him in the weight room on one of their off days. “Men want to kiss you. You want to kiss them. What’s the problem?”

“There isn’t one, I suppose,” Sam answered reluctantly, his hands hovering next to Jamie’s face. “I just kind of feel like everyone’s waiting for me to have sudden gay realization or something. Like I’m a bisexual bomb counting down to detonation.”

“Have you thought about doing some gay shit? Just to see how you feel about it?” Jamie asked, a little breathlessly. “Now that all the lads are gay, I’m sure someone’ll give you a handy. Just so you can know for sure.”

Sam’s face screwed up. “I’m not entirely comfortable with using our teammates for sexual experimentation. I hope you understand.”

“Yeah, fair.” Jamie frowned, grunting slightly at the weight. “I do feel like you’d know by now. You’re around fit footballers all the time. You’re around me all the time. If you don’t want to fuck me , I don’t think you’re queer, mate.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Jamie, not every queer man wants to sleep with you.”

Jamie scoffed. “Yeah they do. They might not like me, but they do want to fuck me. Hate fucking is still fucking.”

Sam laughed. “I wish they could bottle your confidence, Jamie.”

“They bottle Lynx. It’s basically the same thing.” Jamie set the bar back on the stand and pulled himself to sitting, turning to grin at Sam. “Anyway, wish I could help you more. My bomb popped early.” He shrugged. “Fit footballers, like I said.”

Sam grinned, taking the plates off the bar to bring it to his own weight. “Like that poster of Roy in your room?”

Jamie groaned. “Why does everyone know about that?” He ran a hand down his face and sighed. “I will get him.”

“Get him?”

“Kiss him, like,” Jamie answered. “Been dreaming about it since I was a lad, haven’t I? Never had a chance like this.”

“You don’t have a chance now ,” Sam reminded him. “He’s not in on this.”

“We got Captain!” Jamie answered back. “We can get Coach.”

That was half true. They hadn’t ‘got’ Isaac. He was looped in on their kissing now, though.

Isaac was straight and, unlike Sam, refused to be kissed. Sam hadn’t gotten the whole story because apparently Isaac wasn’t talking but Sam knew enough about being black, being an athlete, and being in England to guess what the problem was. But it still felt weird to leave their captain out of something that had become such a sacred ritual for the team.

 They had all found a compromise. After their win against Tottenham, Colin had kissed Isaac on the forehead in celebration. Isaac had looked so touched, so profoundly loved, that all of the rest of the team started doing it, too.

Sam kept kissing him on the nose. He really loved the face Isaac made when he did it. It was important to cherish your captain.

So, they’d kind of gotten Isaac.

“You can try and kiss the coach on the cheek,” Sam offered. “He might headbutt you, though.”

“Nah, he won’t.” Jamie told him, patting the bench and getting up to replace Sam behind the weights. “Not if I make a pretty enough goal.”

Sam was laying on the bench. He looked up to see Jamie’s smirk from below.

“I got it all worked out,” Jamie continued, hiking his shorts further up his thighs as Sam starts his presses. “We’ve just been kissing after matches, yeah? And Coach always runs off and leaves us to it. But if we’re in the middle of a game and I make a sexy goal – like proper beautiful, they’d write songs about it and shit – while we’re all celebratin’ I can trot right up to the sidelines and give him a proper snog.”

Sam grunted, holding the bar at his chest. “Kissing by ambush doesn’t sound very ethical, Jamie.”

Jamie snorts. “I’m not just gonna maul him. I bet I can get him to kiss me . All caught up in the moment like.”

Sam snorts back. “You’re mad.”

“I gotta try . Gotta make teenage Jamie proud.”

Sam shook his head, setting the bar back on the rest as he finished his set. “Bet you a hundred pounds.”

“Nah, fuck that. If I can get this done, I want a free meal at Ola’s.”

Sam blew out a breath, reaching out his hand to shake. “Done. And if I win – if he doesn’t kiss you by the end of the season –  you’re bringing in the whole team and paying for everyone.”

“Definitely,” Jamie clasped his hand and shook it. “Because I’m not gonna lose. And now you’re gonna be financin’ mine and Roy’s first date.”

Sam held up his hands “If you say so. It’s already unlikely he’ll kiss you but date you?”

“Man, fuck off.” Jamie laughed, shoving him.

Sam laughed and shoved back.

“What are we laughing about,” Colin asked, smiling already.

“Hey, Colin, between us: you do want to fuck me, right?” Jamie asked. “Sam’s trying to tell me that not all queer lads want to fuck me but I know that’s wrong.”

“Well I can’t speak for everyone but me, yeah.” Colin shrugged as Jamie grinned and gestured at Sam like ‘see?’. “You are actually on my hall pass list.”

“See, I knew it!” Jamie huffed a breath like he was glad to have that settled. “We won’t be fucking, Colin, sorry to say. I’ve got bigger fish, you get it.”

“What, like Roy?” Colin grinned and Sam laughed at Jamie’s expression. “No offense taken. He’s a bit scary for me but certainly a big fish.”

“Right, fuck you both.” But Jamie still helped Sam finish his weights.

When it did happen, it happened almost exactly as Jamie said.

Jamie made an absolutely filthy goal. And it was a hat trick. And it won them the match.

And Sam had to watch as Jamie charged the sidelines and stopped directly in front of the manager, arms spread and head cocked. He couldn’t see Jamie’s face but he could see Roy’s. He saw how Roy rolled his eyes, his mouth set in that annoyed smile Sam had only ever seen him use when Jamie was being a prick. He reached one hand into Jamie’s hair, his fingers clutching at it, and the other moved up to cup his jaw as he moved in to kiss Jamie.

Sam swore, loudly and enthusiastically, as the rest of the team hooted and hollered, hats raining down on the pitch.

Jamie ran back on the pitch, cheeks high with color and hair an absolute tragedy. His grin was nothing short of euphoric.

“How’s teenage Jamie doing?” Sam asked him.

“He’s fuckin’ great!” Jamie told him. “Let’s finish this fucking match.”

They ran down the clock, playing very silly but very strong for the final twenty seconds of added time.

Jamie all but tackled Sam when the buzzer sounded, lifting him up by his collar and kissing him soundly. Sam laughed and gripped Jamie’s shoulder to steady himself as he kissed back.

“So Ola’s at 6 tomorrow, yeah?” Jamie asked him after he pulled away.

Sam laughed, shoving at his face.

Other players descended on them, yanking them to their feet and into kisses.

They were lucky this was a match at home so they could all pour into their dressing room and scream their heads off without having to worry about catching the bus home. Cries of Richmond Til We Die permeated the air, inside and still out in the stands.

When everything had calmed down and people were making plans for how to celebrate, Jan Maas called across the locker room. “So, Coach, do we need to get a hat trick for you to kiss us or is that just for Jamie?”

The surrounding players ‘Ooohed’ and laughed as Jamie went red, elated smile still spread.

“That was a special exception,” Roy told them, not quite masking his own smile. “Tartt was asking for it.”

Louder ‘ooh’s’ and a couple wolf whistles went up.

“No! Fuck off!” Roy yelled at them. “I’m not kissing any more players. Stay the fuck out of my business.”

He turned to Sam. “And I want those fried plantain things tomorrow, alright? Cheers.” And then he turned and walked into his office, closing the door behind him.

Sam turned to Jamie, flabbergasted. “Did you tell him already?”

“Maybe,” Jamie grinned, shrugging. “Had to try.”

“You are a miracle, Jamie Tartt.”

Jamie shoved at him as they continued changing.

They all agreed to meet at Colin’s for a boy’s night of beer and Fifa to celebrate their win. Sam walked out to the car park with Jamie, the two of them riding over in Zorro’s jeep.

Sam turned to Jamie as they reached the car, waiting for the rest of the team to join them.

“If you and Roy start dating seriously – which I would support you in, of course – would that mean we’d have to stop kissing after games?”

“Mate, never ,” Jamie told him, looking horrified that Sam had even suggested it. “Roy knows that the lads come first.”

“Good,” Sam said, releasing a sigh of relief bigger than he thought it would be. “I think I’m definitely still straight. But to have to stop kissing you would break my heart I think.”

“Aw, Sammy boy,” Jamie slung an arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling his head down to press their foreheads together. “I told you, didn’t I? A good kiss can change your life.”

[edosianorchids901]

The Intruders

For @book-omens-week Day 4: free space

Life in the South Downs was ideal. Plenty of space, lots of green, and not too many humans around. There were some humans, of course, but they were easy to avoid. Not like in London.

And then there was the cottage. A great big garden, full of endless flowers and bushes and a really terrific pond. It was peaceful, quiet, the perfect place for an introverted duck to hang out.

Or at least, it had been until the new inhabitants moved in, and her perfect life was interrupted.

The new inhabitants weren’t human. They weren’t ducks, either, or any of the other animals that she sometimes socialized with. They were something else, something…

Familiar, actually. The duck had never spent much time in St. James’s Park—too much competition for snacks—but she occasionally flew across on her way to one of the quieter places. She’d seen these two before. They had often been standing next to the pond, or strolling through the park, or sitting on a bench.

She didn’t know what they were, but strange things happened around them. And once they careened into the garden in a clattering metal contraption, the duck’s life became much less peaceful.

The metal thing came and went at all hours, roaring down the drive and disrupting her naps. Changes happened to the garden at random, flowers sometimes just springing into existence unpredictably when the being with dark glasses snarled at them. On a more encouraging note, though, the pond unexpectedly doubled in size by the end of the first week.

More ducks flocked to the pond, which she didn’t mind too much. The two strange beings provided plenty of food, sometimes spending an entire day flinging food at her and the others, so there was no real need to compete for meals.

But while the larger pond and endless supply of food was a nice addition to life, it came at a cost. The two strange beings talked. Constantly. Endlessly. Enough to give her a headache.

“We’re not going for tartan drapes,” the one with the dark glasses said irritably, hurling a strawberry to the grass with unnecessary violence. The duck approached cautiously and snapped it up, keeping an eye out for further edible missiles. “The tartan sheets are bad enough. Not to mention your damn jumper.”

The one in the jumper crossed his arms, then uncrossed them in favor of gently lobbing another strawberry in front of the duck. “But when I initially asked about décor, you said that you always liked to decorate with whatever’s stylish. And tartan is—”

“Nonono, it’s not. It’s really not.”

“It is!”

“No, it’s really not. Come on, I know you like colors as much as I do.”

“One would never know that from your flat. And I hardly think my tartan drapes are more egregious than your white leather sofa.”

The duck liked colors—especially the flowers—but what she really liked was food and a peaceful environment. She could put up with the incessant conversation if it came with plenty of food. But now, the two strange beings had gotten too wrapped up in bickering to feed her.

She waddled up to just in front of them and quacked as incessantly as they talked. When even that didn’t get their attention, she flapped her wings enthusiastically and quacked even louder.

The one wearing tartan paused mid-sentence and looked down at her. He beamed, picking up his bowl of fruit again. “Oh, hello! I’m sorry, were we being too loud for you? Would you like us to quiet down a touch?”

“Are you really asking a duck questions?” the one in the dark glasses asked. “I hope you’re not expecting an actual answer. Besides, it’s our garden, we can argue as much as we— aaaugh!”

Point made, the duck stopped biting his dangling fingers, looked up, and quacked again.

The one in tartan laughed. “Well, my dear. I think we’ve just determined that ducks can answer questions, hmm?”

“Ngh.”

They both tossed more food down before diving back into the discussion about colors at a lower volume, and continued to feed her and the others as they talked. Content now, the duck nibbled on the wide variety of snacks. Maybe she could still train the intruders to be good neighbors.

[dujour13]

Owlcatober 2. Favorite food

the 4th and final part of The Prodigal Tiefling - also on AO3

(CW food & fluff)

---

It was a pretty sweet plan.

Siavash settled his back against the cool wall of the Citadel balcony and smiled to himself as he played, while a gap in the Worldwound vapors above the west guard tower twinkled with evening stars, winking back at him like they were in on it.

His fingers had found their music again since he’d recovered Woljif alive in the Worldwound. He’d only been half aware what a weight he’d been dragging since the tiefling disappeared, but now that it was lifted song rose out of him as easily as breath again.

Not that all the weight was lifted. The night of the gargoyles he’d lost a lot of people, the flames of hope he’d kindled as Knight-Commander extinguished far too soon, and by his own negligence. Every death was like a punch to the gut, but it was the mental image of the young tiefling’s body shattered against cold Worldwound rocks that ached the most.

They’d started to be friends. Or so he’d hoped.

Of course Woljif ran that night. How could anyone blame him? He ran because he was smart enough to catch the scent of shit on the wind, and to know this new Knight-Commander was in it over his head.

But also smart enough to stay alive out there. Siavash smiled again, shifting to a more cheerful chord.

Since they got back to Drezen the tiefling seemed uncharacteristically subdued, and Siavash hoped a little welcome-back gesture might lift his spirits and let him know he really was forgiven, at least as far as the Knight-Commander was concerned.

At the same time, he had to be careful it wouldn’t be mistaken for flirting, which he definitely wasn’t. Siavash vowed to stick to his self-imposed penance—which he’d already cheated on twice in the two years since Kristov, but that didn’t really count, because neither of those guys was anyone he’d ever really fall for—

Oh.

His fingers faltered on the strings.

Right. That was why he needed to keep this strictly friendly, and yet special; hence the plan.

* * *

“Wait. Are you telling me you lugged those all the way out here into the Worldwound for the last day and a half’s march?” Lann looked at Siavash like he’d sprouted a horn.

“Yeah,” Siavash grinned.

“If you’re complainin’ I’ll eat yours,” Woljif volunteered, snatching a cherry roll from the boxful in the chief’s arms and threatening to swipe another.

“Wouldn’t want the Knight-Commander’s efforts to go to waste.” Lann swatted his hand and helped himself.

“What’sh the occasion?” Seelah asked through a mouthful.

“Our merry band of Kenabres city defenders is back together at last,” Siavash beamed. “Setting out to defeat the forces of the Abyss side-by-side once again. I thought that was worth a little celebration.”

For a moment everyone gaped at him, standing there in the Worldwound wastes in his green striped trousers, purple tunic and aqua scarf, guitar strapped across his back, smiling broadly over a box full of slightly stale cherry rolls, luminous Elysian butterflies fluttering around his head.

“Party time!” yelled Aivu, bounding excitedly across the rocks. “Pass!”

“Ready?”

As she caught the lobbed pastry it exploded into crumbs and sticky cherry filling that she licked from her grinning dragon-lips as she trotted back.

“Very promising,” Daeran mused, nibbling at the cherry roll poised on a lace handkerchief thrown over his hand like a doily. “Am I to understand that if I run off in the middle of a dire battle and then come slinking back with my tail between my legs you’ll throw us another pastry party? Next time with mimosas, I might hope?”

Woljif’s mouth was too full for a retort.

Meanwhile the succubus, on whose request they were currently headed for Greengates, stood off alone keeping an eye on the perilous terrain that lay ahead. Siavash called her over.

“Arueshalae, have one.”

“I shouldn’t,” she said meekly, dark liquid eyes lowered.

“Don’t tell me you’re watching your carbs,” said Seelah. “Sister, you can afford a cherry roll.”

“I’ll eat hers,” Woljif volunteered through stuffed cheeks.

“No, I—I just don’t think it’s right. I wasn’t in Kenabres.”

“You were there in dreams. That counts.”

At Siavash’s apparent sincerity Daeran burst into a peal of mocking laughter. “In that case I shall catch up on my beauty sleep, perchance to dream of striking down a dozen demons. For the cause.” And he settled into a languorous pose with his pack as a pillow.

Seeing Lann’s look of despair Seelah elbowed him. “Don’t be such a sourpuss. It’s not the kind of Crusade I expected when I came here either, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Still, Arueshalae shook her head. “Someone like me doesn’t deserve—”

“Nonsense!” Siavash cut her off. “Arueshalae, if you’d like to join our Merry Band, with all the privileges and responsibilities that entails, you must partake of the sacred cherry roll.”

Bashfully she gave in, taking up the dripping red roll in both hands and, just as she had once done with still-beating human hearts, brought it reverently to her lips.

“Haha! You’re one of us now, like it or not!” Seelah slapped her on the shoulder, rousing a swirl of butterflies.

Later when the others had wandered off to their camp occupations, Siavash found himself alone by the fire with Woljif.

“Thanks, chief,” the tiefling said, patting his stomach with a satisfied grin. “My lucky day. Cherry rolls are my favorite.”

“I know. That’s why I chose them.”

“I—huh—?”

“You mentioned it once.”

“Guess I musta,” Woljif mumbled. His tail twisted.

“I like to take note of little things like that with people,” Siavash explained, just to make sure it was crystal clear he was not flirting.

“Ah, I get it. Part a’ the diplomattin’.”

“Sometimes. And sometimes just part of being a friend.”

Woljif’s tail froze in mid-twist. He began to fidget with the cuffs of his jacket. “You really are an original, chief, you know that?”

“I could say the same of you.” Siavash pinched himself mentally. Stop.

But Woljif chattered on unawares. “I mean, if it was anybody else I’d say you’d get eaten alive out there, tryina make friends with people like me, but I dunno, somehow you pull it off. In fact I’m startin’ to think that’s what landed you the job, and what’s keepin’ this crusade goin’. I don’t bet ol’ Galfrey ever hauled snacks halfway across the Worldwound for her chums. You know how to play the game your way, chief.”

Siavash chuckled. “Nothing gets past you.”

“Ha. Looks like not much gets past you either.” Woljif glanced up and there was a conspiratorial flash in his clever yellow eyes, bordering on affectionate. Suspecting he was being played, and playing along? Suddenly he flushed and pretended to interest himself in the blank horizon of the Worldwound in the opposite direction.

And while his eyes were averted, Siavash stole another look, admiring the way his curls framed his profile in the firelight, and already planning another trip to the Drezen bakery just to see those eyes light up again, and that clever, dimpled, slightly greedy but also sincere smile that made his heart glow warm as the southern Andoren sun.

Stop. Leave the poor guy alone. “I’m glad you liked them,” he said softly as he rose. He couldn’t help placing a hand on Woljif’s shoulder on the way. “And I’m glad you’re back with us.”

Woljif’s cheeks had gone glaringly ruddy. “Yeah, me too, trust me. I mean where else can a guy get cherry rolls out here except with you—guys. Sure as hells not with Baphomet cultists.”

“So you’ll stick around?”

It took a moment for him to answer, like he was working up his courage or struggling with something. Probably, Siavash reflected with regret, all too aware he was being reeled in, and Siavash could do nothing to express his sincerity without crossing the forbidden flirting line, so he just stood there wearing his most reassuring smile and hoping that would do. Let me give you more than snacks. Please trust me.

Woljif shrugged. “Sure.”

A pause.

Woljif sighed. “I mean yeah. I’ll stick around.” Sheepishly returning the smile, the glow of firelight in his eyes was softer than he probably would have liked. “I promise.”

[machinesuper]

Serious sam 2 pc download

Steamworks for online play - It eliminates the need for Gamespy for online play since the service has been announced to be officially closed.We suggest you try the file list with no filter applied, to browse all available. No files were found matching the criteria specified. It can be played in both singleplayer and multiplayer. Co-Op and Deathmatch Chaos - Go to war against Mental’s horde with up to 16 players online and annihilate everything that moves across 45 levels of mayhem or drop the gauntlet and face off in brutal Deathmatch. The demo of Serious Sam 2 features 1 mission called Seriousopolis Uptown.Helpful Native NPCs - Meet different races inhabiting environments and even fight side by side against enemies, to experience an additional bit of cooperative play feeling within the single player campaign.Powerful Turrets and Crazy Vehicles - Use powerful turrets to wipe out the relentless hordes of enemies and engage in heart-thumping action atop wild, mountable animals and intense, death-dealing vehicles.

Also, for the first time ever, use the alternative fire button to lob a grenade into an oncoming crowd of monsters and what the bad guys go boom!

Destructive Weapons - Unleash Sam’s classic arsenal with the shotgun, minigun, rocket launcher, and cannon or square off with new guns like the Klodovik.

Spectacular Environments - Battle across more than 40 beautiful, expansive levels spread out over 7 unique environments and gain the support of the quirky native tribes.

Fearsome Enemy Creatures - Take up arms against 45 outrageous enemies and 7 intimidating bosses from bomb-toting clowns and windup rhinos to zombie stockbrokers and the iconic beheaded kamikazes!.

Frantic Arcade-Style Action - Hold down the trigger and lay waste to a never-ending onslaught of bizarre enemies pursuing Sam from every angle and around every corner.

Serious Sam 2 is a shot of adrenaline to the hearts of first-person shooter fans across the world. You can read our thoughts on the game over here.About This Game The iconic Serious Sam brings his trademark relentless intensity to this bigger, bolder, more colorful sequel to the classic Serious Sam: First and Second Encounters! Tasked with rescuing the universe one bullet at a time against overwhelming hordes of time traveling enemies, Serious Sam must battle through thick jungles, murky swamps, frozen tundra, and futuristic cities to bring down Mental and his vile armies. Their latest entry, Serious Sam 4, was released last year and it received a positive reception from fans. It’s nice to see Croteam revisit their old games. This is serious Key Features: Frantic Arcade-Style Action - Hold down the trigger and lay waste to a never-ending onslaught of bizarre enemies pursuing Sam from every angle and around every corner. You can read the complete patch notes over here. Serious Sam 2 is a shot of adrenaline to the hearts of first-person shooter fans across the world.

Recreated beam gun animations to improve the bring up/put down animations.

Moved Netricsa icon up so it's not as close to the Armor text.

Reduced spacing of characters in the conversation text.

Removed darkening overlay from the loading menu.

Raised tool throwing Simba's target marker locations to fix items sometimes getting stuck on the model they stand on.

Created a new version of the lock texture.

Brought back the "Use auto jump" profile option.

Brought back original Serious Bomb mesh.

Brought back the original display for the minigun.

Made the gear on the side of the minigun spin.

Fixed an issue where the Albino would not spawn after you activate the Ursul Gardens chicken secret.

Fixed missing materials and other issues on new DM maps.

Moved Rocket launchers further apart in the first-person view to stop them from colliding when dual wielding.

Fixed helicopters colliding in Greendale.

We won’t list them here because we are ashamed of their existence.

Recreated fonts to fix missing characters (All translations should work fine now).

Fixed an issue where the serious bomb ammo would carry over even when you lose your weapons.

Fixed improper order of outro movies to the statistics menu.

Fixed an issue that allowed the player to pull out weapons while driving.

Fixed issue with “InSamnity! 2” stopping levels from loading.

You know that feeling when you’re dual-wielding cannons and shoot yourself in the face? Well, it’s not going to happen anymore.

The profile options will now initialize and save correctly.

[snipergys]

LASER BEAM!!!!

[thebaddestofbatches]

The Bad Batch Preferences pt. 1

Kissing

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

Crosshair

Favorite Place: Just behind your ear and along your jaw. He prefers to wrap his arms around you from behind and these places are easier to reach. Plus they’re more sensitive and he likes to watch you squirm.

Makeouts: Definitely. And frequently. Whenever he gets back from a mission, you do something he finds hot, or just because he hasn’t kissed you in awhile.

First Kiss:

It was hot on Techitua. Dusty too. You lowered your shades on your nose, a polarized version of Tech’s goggles as Crosshair opened a case on the ground.

A makeshift shooting range was set up parallel to the Marauder, a metal piece with a target spray painted on it placed at a distance of 25 meters.

Hunter had told you that if you wanted to stay on board, you needed to know how to defend yourself and assigned you to Crosshair, without even asking if you had any prior experience.

“Alright. I don’t expect you to be top notch with this thing.” Crosshair said, his tone borderline patronizing as he removed a small blaster from the case. “Blasters take a lot of practice to use correctly and you’re only a doctor. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t hit anything.”

You raised an eyebrow at him and took the blaster from his hand. Barely looking at the target, you took aim and fired one, two, three, four, five shots.

Crosshair’s slack jaw and a quick glance told you they all hit the bullseye.

“You forget, soldier,” You said smugly. “I’m an army doctor. I can rip you apart and put you back together just as easily.”

Crosshair’s toothpick hit the dirt and then he was on you, smashing his lips to your hungrily.

.*(*)*..**(*)**...**(***)**...**(*)**..*(*)*.

Echo

Favorite place: Your hand. He likes to hold your hand and bring it up to his lips for absentminded kisses. When you cup his face, he turns his head and presses kisses to your palm.

Makeouts: Not too often. He’s shy after all his modifications and you definitely have to initiate them, but once he relaxes, then he’s into it.

First Kiss:

“Dang ferreck!” You swore as the control panel of the rescued radio shocked you for the fifth time that night.

You gave it a swift thump on the top in retaliation, gritting your teeth.

You needed this to work. It had to work. It’d been so long since you heard real music.

Another try at the wiring and another spark that singed your fingertips. You let out another string of curses and tossed your screwdriver onto the counter with a clank before thumping your forehead against the table repeatedly.

There was a gentle touch on your back that stopped your assault on your cranium. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could feel the poke of Echo’s prosthetic through your tunic.

“You alright?” He asked.

“No,” You grumbled into the metal.

Echo sighed quietly and after some shifting behind you, you raised your head to see his human hand disconnect two crossed wires and reconnect them at new points. There was a fizz of static and then a gentle song began to float through the speakers.

You let out a whoop of joy and leaped to your feet, grabbing the clone by his collar to pull him down for a quick kiss.

“Thank you!” You squealed, snatching up your screwdriver again and leaving Echo standing there, stunned and pink.

.*(*)*..**(*)**...**(***)**...**(*)**..*(*)*.

Hunter

Favorite place: Your neck. He likes to feel your pulse point and kiss the sunmarks and spots along your skin. It’s also one of the best places for him to get your scent.

Makeouts: Not as often as Crosshair, but frequent. He likes to be affectionate with you and when he gets time or feels stressed, being around you and close to you is his priority.

First Kiss:

You’d been separated from the Batch in a marketplace and were now wandering aimlessly.

As you passed an alleyway you heard a whistle and a man sidled up to you.

“Hey gorgeous,” He said. “Where you going?”

“Away from you,” You muttered, but he heard it anyway and snorted. “Feisty girl.”

A gag rose up in your throat and you increased your pace. Behind you the man called. “Hey I’m talking to you! Though I appreciate the view!”

A hand landed on your butt and you whirled, fist raised to deck the stranger for daring to touch you. Before you could though, someone stepped between you and punched him, hard.

You looked up to see Hunter, a deep scowl on his tattooed face as he glowered at your harasser.

“Don’t touch her,” He growled, drawing up to his full height.

The man spat and launched himself at Hunter, sending them both rolling to the ground.

There was some yelling and sounds of fists hitting bodies before Hunter scrambled to his feet breathing hard as your harasser lay on the ground, groaning.

Hunter turned to you with worried eyes and you punched him in the arm hard and then quickly pecked his lips. “You didn’t have to make a scene.”

“Sorry,” He said, not sounding sorry at all as he pulled you in for another kiss.

.*(*)*..**(*)**...**(***)**...**(*)**..*(*)*.

Tech

Favorite place: Your forehead and temples. He can get so busy with this or that and a quick peck to the forehead is his go-to for affection when he’s caught up in something.

Makeouts: Usually whenever he gets an idea he wants to try with you. He learned affection mainly from books so he’s picking up more and more as he goes. Usually you initiate the sessions. However, when he gains confidence later in the relationship, things get more serious as he experiments.

First Kiss:

“Tech?” You called from the porch of your hideout. Hunter had sent you to fetch the male for dinner and so far he was nowhere to be found.

“In here!” The clone called and you followed the sound into the shed to see Tech holding two vials above a pot.

“What’re you doing?” You asked leaning on the doorframe.

“I’m testing a theory. The substance excreted from the fire salamanders’ skin may have some properties that can boost our explosives.” He replied, carefully tipping the vial of white powder in, followed by the orange liquid.

“And you thought it was a good idea to test that in my shed?” You said, quirking a brow.

The technician had the decency to look a little abashed. “Well it isn’t in the house.”

He set the tubes aside and picked up a firestarter, holding it over the pot. “And a spark to trigger the reaction..”

Crack. Fwoomp! Boom!

The small windows shattered and you ducked as a blaze burst up from the pot and then died out just as quickly, sending up a cloud of ash and dust.

When the smoke receded, you heard Tech give a small cough and looked over to see his whole face covered in soot and the front of his normally gelled back hair spiked up.

You burst into giggles, picking up a small cloth from the worktable and approaching the clone to wipe his goggles clean.

He blinked at you from behind the lenses, like he was surprised to see you and you smiled. “That went well.”

Tech gave you a sheepish look. “I’m sorry about the windows. I’ll fix them tomorrow.”

You laughed again, waving him off. “It’s alright. I was prepared for damages when I brought you lot here.”

He gave you a grateful look and suddenly you couldn’t help yourself, darting forward and pecking his lips.

Tech immediately turned scarlet. “What was that for?”

You shrugged. “For being you.”

And then you passed him the cloth with a wink. “Hunter says dinner’s ready. You should probably clean up a bit before you come inside.”

.*(*)*..**(*)**...**(***)**...**(*)**..*(*)*.

Wrecker

Favorite place: Your cheeks and nose. He likes to pepper kisses all over your face. He’s so enraptured by you that he wants to keep you close at all times to make sure you’re real. Plus he’s a massive cuddlebug.

Makeouts: On occasion. But this boy is too much of a teddy bear for anything more than gentle loving touches. He’s slow and sweet and so very careful with you.

First Kiss:

The Batch was pinned down in an abandoned bunker as a gang faction gathered outside. Echo was doing his best to reboot the turrets while Tech worked on the doors, but unless it happened fast, you weren’t getting out of this unscathed.

You were peering out one of the broken windows with Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker picking off grunts where you could, but they had greater numbers and illegal firepower.

A shot from a bike mounted turret hit the wall above your lookout and the ceiling caved in, causing Wrecker tackle you, cradling you to him as he rolled away.

“You alright?” He asked, pushing off of you, his voice higher than normal.

“Yeah.” You said and Hunter swore as glass shattered behind you.

“Echo!! What’s the status on those defense systems?!”

“Same as you asked thirty seconds ago!” Echo snapped. “These circuits are rubbish! This place should have been scrapped for parts years ago!”

Parts.

A light bulb went off in your brain and you immediately turned to Wrecker. “Give me a charge!”

“Why?!”

“Trust me!”

He gave you a look you couldn’t read under the helmet, but dropped an explosive in your palm.

Immediately you started dismantling it. “I need a gravmag, some wires, and anything explosive we can spare. Oh and Echo’s arm.”

“What?” Said Echo.

You ignored him and started your hunt for parts as you snatched a screwdriver, a multipurpose laser tool, and pliers from Tech’s backpack, stripped a console, broke Crosshair’s gravmag off of his grappling hook, and took three more charges from Wrecker. You dismantled, screwed, and rewired before beckoning Echo over and having him weld it all together.

“(Y/N),” Wrecker asked as he fired off another shot. “What are you doing?”

You waved him off as you activated your new, shoddy weapon of mass destruction and bolted for the window, lobbing it as hard and far as you could.

“Hit the dirt!” You yelled and there was a large boom and the whole building rattled.

When the dust cleared, you beamed proudly at the clear landscape.

The gang that had been surrounding your hiding place was now lying unconscious having been thrown a good 50 meters in all directions at extreme speeds.

“What-“ Said Crosshair in his rare stunned tone. “What did you do?”

“Simply,” You said. “I reversed the polarity and made it into a big bang.”

Wrecker whooped and tossed his helmet aside, scooping you into a bear hug and peppering kisses all over your face. “THAT’S MY GIRL!”

You turned pink and he drew back from you enough to press a sweet kiss to your lips, which only served to fill your face with crimson.

There was an awkward cough from one of his brothers and Wrecker turned a similar shade of red, setting you back on the ground.

“Er-“ He said, patting your shoulder awkwardly. “Good job.”

[sunriseverse]

TITLE: got what’s coming to me RATING: T PAIRING(S): eventual Megatronus/Orion Pax SUMMARY: Most days, Megatronus’ opponents are normal, run of the mill lower-caste mechs. Today, unfortunately, is not one of those days—in fact, her opponent turns out to be about as far from normal as it’s possible to get, and now she has the responsibility of all of Cybertron resting on her shoulders.

Or: The one where Megatronus fights Primus without knowing it, and the Creator pulls the equivalent of tagging her as “it”, except the game is life, and being “it” means being God of Cybertron.

-

The sunlight is coming through the great stained-glass windows at an angle, casting coloured beams of light across the room—blues, reds, golds, and greens stretching across metal and stone.

In any other situation, Orion might call it beautiful, or captivating, or, really, any of the five dozen odd glyphs she’s learnt since Alpha Trion brought her to Iacon, but right now, doing her best to stand at attention and jotting down notes while trying to look unobtrusive and inoffensive tucked against the decadently-carved column off to the side of the long table the High Council is gathered around.

She’s not even sure why she’s the one here—why Alpha Trion chose her, a junior historical archivist, over one of the more experienced mecha in the Archives—Starburst, who specialises in Primal traditions and rites, or Analog, who knows the legal system inside and out, would surely be better fit for...whatever this is. She’s still not really sure—Alpha Trion is the type of mech to let one figure things out on their own rather than tell them the answer.

One of the mechs at the table, a finely-polished Senator by the name of Canyon, raises his voice above the din. “It’s preposterous!” he says. “A disposable gladiator—surely this is some elaborate ploy! Admit it—one of you is behind this.”

“And what, exactly, would we gain?” counters a pale green mech with vibrant purple biolights running across his shoulders. “Senator Canyon, the prospect of letting her make decisions for the people of Cybertron disgusts me, and,” he waves a servo, gesturing broadly, “I’m sure, equally the others at this table.”

“Assumption is the root of hubris,” Alpha Trion says, just a tad sharper than his usual genial rumble, but it’s lost in the sudden din of the other High Council Senators as they begin to lob their own accusations. Orion gives up trying to take notes—there’s just too many voices speaking at once, overlapping and cutting into each other—and instead starts glancing over the ones she’s already taken in an attempt to better understand the situation at hand.

So: Primus, allegedly, appeared to a disposable-caste gladiator, and appointed her Prime. Well—she revises that; Champion of Cybertron. She can’t remember any references to such a position, historically—but then, she’s no Starburst. Still, she searches her databanks, which, unsurprisingly, doesn’t turn up anything new.

“—may make a suggestion,” says one of the Councilors, his voice rising above the fray, and Orion strains her audials to try and make sure she doesn’t miss anything. “Perhaps it would be prudent to assign a mecha to this new...Champion—a liaison, if you will.”

“Not one of us, surely?” squawks one of the other mechs, his vocaliser spitting static for a moment. Orion has to force her facial plates to remain carefully neutral.

“I do believe I have a solution,” Alpha Trion says. He sounds suspiciously serene. “As the main centre of information on Cybertron, I believe it would be beneficial for our new Champion’s liaison to be a member of the archival staff. Not myself, I’m afraid,” he says, “as I am, unfortunately, not particularly, ah, up to date with the political and social atmosphere at the moment. However,” he continues, and Orion suddenly gets a sense of extreme dread, “I do believe Archivist Pax, as a historical archivist with a nascent interest in modern politics, would be a perfect fit.”

Oh Primus, Orion thinks, slightly hysterically, as two dozen odd mecha turn to scrutinise her. She cycles her optics a few times, and then says, “I do not mean to question your wisdom, but surely another member of the archival staff would be better suited—Archivist Analog or Starburst, perhaps.”

“Nonsense,” Alpha Trion says, cheerfully. “They’re currently busy with projects of their own—you’re the only option, I’m afraid.”

“Hm,” says Senator White-out, and eyes her critically for a moment. “Well, far be it for me to question your wisdom, Head Archivist.” She sounds more than a little relieved, as are the others, if the wave of nods that goes around is any indication. “Then it’s decided,” she continues, “Archivist Pax will act as liaison with the...Champion.”

“Ah, well,” Orion says, and has to reset her vocaliser for fear of spitting static. “I...am certainly...honoured by the position bestowed on me.” Which is, she supposes, technically true—under any other circumstance except this one, where she’s being thrust into a position she has no idea how to fill.

“Excellent!” says Alpha Trion. “Then I do believe our meeting today is adjourned.”

As if they’d been eagerly awaiting the word—which, Orion thinks, isn’t a farfetched supposition—the mecha rise from their seats and hurry towards the exit. The only one who remains is Alpha Trion, clearly waiting for Orion, and Orion hurries to his side. “Sir,” she says, quietly, “are you truly certain that I’m the best choice for this situation? I...” She pauses, grimacing lightly without meaning to. “You know that I’ve...shown interest in Megatron’s works—surely that’s not what the High Council wants in a liaison.”

“Oh, no, they don’t,” Alpha Trion says. “Luckily, the others have no inkling of your position on the matter.” He sounds indomitably cheerful. Not for the first time, Orion wonders at what, exactly, goes on within the old mech’s processor. “You are, thus, the perfect femme to aid our new Champion.”

“But do you not think me...unqualified?” Orion prods, uncertainty leaking into the glyphs despite her best attempts.”

“Nonsense!” the Head Archivist says, tilting his helm, a smile stretching across his features. “You may not be as well versed in, say, Primal rites and rituals as the others in the Archives, but I do believe that, as a historical data clerk, you will be able to bring a unique perspective to the Champion’s attention. Now, I do believe that you should make your way to the Primal Palace, and meet with the good Champion—the early turbofox gets the irocrow, as they say.”

It’s a clear dismissal, so Orion says, “Yes, sir,” and hurries off the main path towards one of the exits that leads out onto the lower streets.

[supermantv]

daxton + first date after getting back together

Their first date after getting back together is technically at the Winter Dance, and while it had been overall pleasant, there were still the minor bumps (the major glaring one being that Paxton had nearly ran his girlfriend over with his car) that prevented the date from retaining a sense of utter bliss that Paxton was still seeking. He adores her, loves being around her, thinks she is the most exciting person that he has ever met, but there is no denying that Devi is an absolute hurricane. He loves that too, and he’s starting to understand that moments of complete peace will be hard-earned, but entirely worth it. He’s also hoping that these moments of peace become more and more common, with a smoother path paved to achieve them each time. 

They’re in his garage when he decides to broach the subject, a random slasher film playing on the screen that neither of the two are really invested in. Devi lays between his legs, her own feet dangling over the edge of the couch as she rests her head on the hard planes of his stomach. She traces unrefined patterns into the exposed skin above the waistband of his jeans where his shirt has ridden up, and Paxton knows that if she keeps this up, there’s a very high possibility he will actually be driven insane, so to prevent this, he shifts into a sitting position, forcing Devi to move with him.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and it’s hard not to get distracted when his eyes follow the movement of her hands, shifting to smooth out her skirt, because it’s yellow and pink, and cute, and short, and it very much suits her. 

“Um.” Paxton clears his throat and flicks his eyes away and Devi must see something in his actions to tip her off to the situation because she actually laughs. Loud and unapologetic and Paxton feels the tip of his ears beginning to burn but he’s smiling. “Shut up,” he grumbles without a trace of any real aggravation, lobbing a pillow at her head. She catches it easily and hugs it to her chest. 

“Okay, okay,” Devi says and she quiets down but her eyes are twinkling. “What’s up?” 

“I was just gonna ask what you wanted to do for our first date on Saturday.”

“First date?” Devi asks bemusedly. 

“Yeah, y’know, first date since getting back together,” Paxton clarifies, but Devi still looks confused. 

“Wasn’t that at the dance?”

“Yeah, about that,” he starts, drawing back his shoulders and filling his voice with enough mock authority that Devi guffaws under her breath. “I’d like to put in a formal request right now for a do over.”

“Why?” Devi asks, taking this chance to throw the pillow back at him. It bounces harmlessly off his face where it slides into his lap, and he cries out from the shock of the hit rather than the pain. Devi ignores him. “I had a good time. Did you not have a good time?”

“I had a great time,” Paxton reassures her and his heart just about melts when she beams at him. “But I very nearly ran you over with my car at the beginning of the night.”

“After that!”

“After that you threatened to kill the DJ.”

“He deserved it,” Devi grumbles and the same murderous scowl she’d worn that night resurfaces. “But those were minor issues anyway.”

“I’m not sure vehicular manslaughter or attempted homicide are minor issues,” he jokes and his girlfriend rolls her eyes before he becomes serious again. “Really though. I just want to go on one perfect first date with you. No Trent or Marcus, and no narrowly avoided death.”

Devi wrinkles her nose. “Perfect is a tall order.”

“Third time’s the charm,” he says, but Devi’s doubtful expression doesn’t waver, so he relents. “Okay then, not a perfect first date. A first date where everything goes according to plan.”

“That’s more realistic,” Devi says, but she sounds and looks unconvinced by his words. “But still.”

“Don't worry,” Paxton says, leaning forward to rub his thumb tenderly across her cheek. She relaxes into his touch and he grins. “I'll prove you wrong.”

“I sure hope so,” Devi sighs, and no more is said on the subject for the night because then she's grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and yanking him into her. 

But of course, Devi was right to be skeptical, because as Paxton is starting to learn, it is impossible for things to go according to plan when they're involved. 

He’d called that very same night to make reservations at a semi-fancy Italian restaurant across town, and was promptly told they didn't do reservations, which as Paxton figured was even better, because if a restaurant didn't do reservations, that had to mean there was always available seating, right? He asks his mom to teach him how to iron on Thursday, and by the time Saturday night rolls around, he feels relaxed and ready, so assured that nothing could possibly go wrong. He lays the bouquet of flowers he'd bought for Devi gingerly in the passenger seat and whistles to himself as he starts the car. 

Except his car won't start. Why won't his car start?

And from then on, things only spiral out of control further. Paxton texts Devi asking if she can just walk to his house and he'll order an Uber to take them to the restaurant from there. Except when he checks his bank account, he cringes at the lack of money, failing to realize earlier how long it'd been since his last paycheck from his summer job. He wouldn't have even been able to pay the bill for their food, much less order a $15 Uber now. And really, he's not above begging his parents or sister for money, but his parents aren't home, gone on a weekend camping trip in the wilderness where they most likely don't get cell service. And Becca is working on a new assignment for school, her door locked with very clear instructions for Paxton not to interrupt her. He doesn't want to risk becoming a murder victim before his third first date with his girlfriend. 

So, when Devi arrives at his house and the front door swings open to reveal her visibly frazzled boyfriend explaining to her that he's going to be cooking for her tonight instead of going out, she smiles sweetly and nods her head in understanding. Paxton wonders briefly if she had seen it in his face, how close he is to snapping, because he’d been expecting maybe a little push back, a slight protest. He knows his girlfriend isn't renowned for her accommodating nature, but he thinks she's trying to be in this moment, for his sake, and he's grateful and questioning how he could have gotten so lucky. It makes him want to cradle her in his arms and kiss her senseless, but he can't because he needs to figure out what he's going to feed her. 

Paxton leads Devi to the living room and leaves her with a peck on her forehead and the TV remote before rushing back to the kitchen. And this is where the next problem presents itself, because Paxton doesn't know how to cook. 

At best, he can scramble an egg and microwave a hot pocket. Both of which he thinks Devi would not appreciate. So, Paxton grabs two packages of ramen from the cabinet and drops the noodles into a pot of boiling water. He thinks he can spruce it up with an onion, trying to recall all the tips and tricks he'd seen on the Food Network, but as he's cutting it his eyes begin to sting and he can't see all that well because he's blinking back tears and he's starting to feel like a contestant on Chopped when he slices his finger with the knife. He winces at the initial pain, but the cut is shallow, and it would be fine but now his blood is all over the cutting board and the onion and there goes that idea. 

Paxton is praying that it can't get any worst from here, because if one more thing goes wrong he's not sure he'll be able to keep it together. 

He turns off the stove and removes the pot from the heat, pouring the noodles carefully into two separate bowls. It's certainly not Michelin star worthy, but Paxton promised Devi dinner and it's better than nothing. 

But it's as if he’d been a war criminal or a serial killer in his last life, and the universe is determined to punish him, because Devi is sitting at the dining room table waiting for him, and all Paxton has to do is take three moderately sized steps to make it to the make it to her. But his foot gets caught on the corner of a rug and he staggers forward, the noodles and bowls flying out of his hands and straight onto Devi. The broth stains and drenches her dress and the noodles coat her from her hair down to her shoes, but she's still sitting, as if she hadn't processed what had just happened. 

“Shit,” Paxton swears, crouching next to her and flicking noodles off her thighs. “Are you okay? Any burns?” 

“I'm fine,” she says, glancing down at him, and her eyes are a little wide and her chin wobbles slightly, and he feels his heart drop into his chest because she's about to cry-.

The sound of her laugh startles him and his head snaps up, thinking she might've cracked before he had.

“What?” he asks, concerned. 

“I tried to tell you,” she says, but she doesn't look upset. Noodles cling to her cheeks but her smile stretches the entire length of her face. She doesn't even sound like she's gloating, even though she had been right, and as a result of his unwillingness to listen she was now wearing their dinner. 

Paxton’s fingers curl around the hem of her dress, causing broth to seep down his fist. “I wanted to make this perfect for you.”

“And it was,” Devi insists, hands coming up to cup his face. 

“Devi,” he grimaces. “You don't have to lie.”

“I'm not!” she objects. “It was perfectly us. And I like that.”

Paxton lifts a brow. “You like being covered in soggy ramen noodles.”

“You're deliberately missing the point,” Devi rolls her eyes and pinches his cheek. “I like being with you, even if the day is a complete disaster, I'll be happy because I was spending time with you. And, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a bit of a disaster magnet.” 

“I think it's cute,” Paxton murmurs demurely. 

“See,” Devi says. “You know what I'm talking about, and you agree.” 

“The noodles don't help though.���

Devi makes a face. “No they do not.” 

And while Devi is taking a shower in his bathroom and Paxton is laying in bed, thrumming his fingers against his stomach, he thinks about what she had said about this date being perfectly them. He smiles to himself.

[bbrandy2002]

Fool’s Rush In

Part 10

I’m participating in @wackydrabbles​ prompt 71 “Dont be stubborn. Try it.”

Word Count: 1890

Pairing: Liam and Riley

Thanks @burnsoslow​ for beta reading and pretty much having to drag me across the finish line, as well as all the weeks and weeks of listening to me whine and pity myself.  And @emkay512​ for pre-reading and your encouraging words late Monday that made my whole night.

a/n: this is crack, plain and simple. I haven’t written since mid-october; just been paralyzed with fear over my own writing and this is my practice run and basically the best I could come up with. I’m going to try so so hard to finish this series

The new royal couple, fresh off their Vegas flight, stepped up to a makeshift podium the press had created on the tarmac. It was packed tightly with news station microphones crammed in every nook and cranny, one on top of the other. Voice recorders were spread across its surface, and the crown's private jet served as the backdrop. A bevy of frenzied reporters -- domestic and international -- pushed and elbowed their way into one another in hopes of getting the closest shot of the newlyweds and a chance to have their questions answered first.

“King Liam! Is the marriage binding?”

“How long have you known, Miss Brooks?”

“Were you trying to make a political statement by having a hooker at the ceremony?”

“Your Majesty! Will the monkey be joining your court soon?”

So many questions, most followed by laughter and snickers directed at the King and his bride.

Liam frowned as his eyes dashed side to side in a diligent effort to understand the literally thousands of questions that were lobbed at him all at once. He blinked rapidly as one flash of a camera after the next blinded and bleached his vision. Just as it would return to normal, another successive set of flashes would set him back again.

He had been a part of news conferences since he was a child, when he would watch his late father speak from different parts of the world, near and far, about this policy or that deal. Yet this was different. This was not only the biggest breaking story in Cordonia -- or even Europe -- but one that had swept the world. 

His drunken actions two nights ago, no doubt, would have created a stir; however, it was Maxwell's post on Instagram of the ceremony that now made him tabloid fodder. Everyone knew about the king who was married by his own brother and an Elvis impersonator, the leg-humping monkey that served as a ring bearer, and the chain-smoking, tube-top-wearing prostitute who was the maid of honor. As confident as Liam had been that he could handle this, as he'd dealt with so many other stories of intrigue regarding the monarchy, he couldn't dispel the twisting feeling that burrowed deep into the pit of his stomach.

Maybe Madeleine was right: he had become a laughingstock. A failure. Just one big fuck up.

As much as he hated to hear the things said about him, he could deal with it. In the morning, he would call Prince Harry to swap stories, survival tips, and perhaps share a good laugh about it.

It was just ...

Liam felt Riley's tiny hand grip his a little tighter. He wouldn't blame her one bit if his little pussycat turned around and headed back up the steps to the jet and returned to Las Vegas. The only thing Liam wanted to do was keep her shielded from the hurtful comments and insensitive questions. But to his astonishment, she stood there with all the feigned confidence in the world, flashing a big, beaming smile that lit his heart on fire, while staring back at him affectionately. She was handling the situation better than she was before they stepped off the plane. He knew she was doing it for him. God, she just makes everything better. 

Feeling a little more grounded and in control, Liam returned her smile. A touch of radiance sparkled between his eyes and hers, as if it were some sort of unspoken conversation only they understood. Riley knew exactly what he needed at that moment to rise above this scandal they were both being raked over the coals for: He needed her to be okay.

Raising his free hand to calm the crowd so that he might address their concerns, he noticed the press' attention and cameras suddenly shift away from him and into the distance. Murmurs and chatter soon erupted. Naturally, Liam's gaze followed suit -- towards a group of heavily-armed soldiers heading their way. They wore white hazmat uniforms and had self-contained breathing apparatus and personal protective equipment. Leading the charge was a well-dressed gentleman in a three-piece suit with a shiny bald head that glistened with heavy perspiration. 

He walked like he hadn't shit in weeks.

Liam squinted and lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. “The hell is that?”

Riley inched closer to Liam and clasped his suit jacket. "What's happening right now? Who are all those people, Liam?"

Liam's forehead creased in puzzlement; he didn't know. Wrapping his arms protectively around Riley, he pulled her even closer but never answered the question. It wasn't until the uniformed men stopped briefly and pointed to Drake, who was standing with his arms crossed at the bottom of the stairs, that it suddenly became clear who they were looking for.

Reporters and onlookers had been so focused on Liam’s return with the American woman, they hadn’t noticed that the brooding Walker had exited the jet last among their posse. Just as everyone had watched replays and snippets of Maxwell’s Instagram video, they were also fully aware the King’s best friend wasn’t exactly returning to Cordonia … healthy … thanks to Maxwell’s Tik Tok sing-along. 

A video Drake Walker had no clue existed. 

 The crowd began to disperse in fear and panic. If men in hazmat suits were needed, they could only assume this went well beyond your casual, run-of-the-mill STD.

Still in no mood to play around, Drake started yelling obscenities and gradually backing away from the hazmat brigade that was closing in on him like a cheetah at a water buffalo hole. 

"Mr. Walker," a heavily echoed voice called out, sounding oddly reminiscent of Darth Vader through their breathing contraption, "we need you to come with us."

"The fuck I do." Drake shook his head emphatically while continuing to slide away from them. "I'll beat the shit out of all of ya if you so much as touch me."

"Now, Mr. Walker, don't be stubborn. Try it, and you'll find yourself with a nice little tranquilizer to the ass. Are you going to come with us willingly, or do we have to make this more difficult than it needs to be?"

Drake stood motionless in disbelief. "I don't even know what you guys want or what you think I did," he squawked with a hint of desperation in his tone.

"Tough titties. SEIZE HIM!"

With that order, Drake twisted on the heels of his boots and took off, dodging and weaving away from a bunch of men he had no clue why were even after him. 

He had a pretty good hunch, though, who set this chain of events in motion.

The bald guy in a three-piece suit walked up to Liam and flipped his badge open. "Your Majesty?"

Liam nodded, not bothering to acknowledge the man's credentials. "I am. What is the meaning of all this? What the hell are you doing with Drake?"

"Sir, if you will, it has come to our attention that Mr. Walker is a public health risk and highly contagious. We will have to secure him into our custody at once."

Liam scrunched up his face in utter confusion and stared back at the official before responding, “He just has case of crabs, syphilis, herpes, genital warts, gonorrhea, and chlamydia. You’re treating him like he’s about to start some damn worldwide pandemic. Without sexual contact and with heavy doses of medications and creams, Drake should be able to live a normal life like anyone else. So, as the ruler of this country, I am ordering your men to stand down at once.”

“My apologies, King Liam, but my orders come from the World Health Organization and the United Nations. You'll need to take this up with them. Dr. Wolfschitz was clear on the protocol."

"Dr. Wolfschitz?" Liam questioned as realization quickly set in. He twisted around to face Leo, who had this enormous shit-eating grin, the likes he'd never seen on him before. "You? You did this?"

“Walker messed with the wrong bull, little bro.” Leo stuck up his pointer fingers on both sides of his head with a menacing scowl and smugness in his tone. “Now he gets the horns.”

Liam swatted away one of Leo's finger horns. “This is serious, Leo. Not everything is a joke! You're going to fix this, NOW!"

Leo placed a comforting hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, patting it a few times before speaking softly to him. “Look, I know you’re upset right now. You two were very close. But the Drakester is going to a far better place. There’s a big open field and everything where he can run and play all day with others just like him. And all the meaty bones he can eat too … lucky bastard.”

Riley had to bury her face in Liam’s chest to prevent the laugh that threatened to escape, but the bobbing of her shoulders was something she couldn’t hide. 

“NOW, Leo!” 

Leo tried to hold his ground but was too weak to resist the impatient glare Liam was burning into his soul. After a brief moment, he rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "Why ya gotta be such a dillhole, Liam? Do you realize you get rattled faster than a two-tit turtle on a tightrope? It's really not your best quality, little brother, but we can work on that." Annoyed, Liam rubbed a hand over his eyes and groaned as his brother continued, "Either way, Father always said, ‘if you can't help your fellow man out, you might as well become one of the Walkers.’ Truer words were never spoken so eloquently.”  Leo raised his eyes to the heavens thoughtfully before thinking better of it and lowered them toward the ground. "May you rest in peace, Father," he shouted.

As Leo trotted off to speak with Bald Dude to confess his false claim, Bastien helped guide Liam and Riley through the rambunctious swarm of reporters and spectators. Once they reached the limo, Liam helped Riley inside as Maxwell rounded the vehicle and climbed in on the other side. Pausing for a moment before sliding in, the King placed his hands on top of the open door of the limo and turned one last time to check on his friend. He swallowed hard over the guilt of leaving him behind. As His Majesty watched in horror, Drake took a tranquilizer dart to the back of the thigh and Bastien insisted the area was a security threat, shoving him inside. They would send another car to transport Drake and Leo back to the palace. 

Bastien stomped on the gas pedal and sped off, kicking up dirt and smoke as the tires peeled and squealed against the fiery Cordonian asphalt.

When they passed through the airport's security gate, a small motorcade following closely behind, Liam finally lifted his head, his eyes growing wide when he realized what just happened: Bastien's shove had sent Liam flying across the seat to land face-first into a lap — her lap. 

He stayed frozen in place, unable to look anywhere but the two slender, bronzed legs peeking out below the hem of his new wife's dress. 

Riley lifted an eyebrow, a slight grin dangling from her plush pink lips. "Something you wanna say, Your Majesty?"

Everything that had just happened in the 15 minutes since they landed was long forgotten. Drake who? Liam glanced up with a devilish smirk. "Welcome to Cordonia, Pussycat."

@burnsoslow @dcbbw @ao719 @hopefulmoonobject @texaskitten30 @janezillow @merridithsmiscellany-blog @mskaneko @loveellamae @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot @drakexwillow @caroldxnvxrs @jovialyouthmusic @forthebrokenheartedthings @bebepac @kingliam2019 @lovablegranny @cordoniaqueensworld @amandablink

@liamxs-world @choiceskatie @iaminlovewithtrr @hopelessromanticmonie @charlotteg234 @annekebbphotography

@txemrn @ofpixelsandscribbles @alyssalauren @cordonianroyalty @monsoonblooms12 @mom2000aggie @theroyalheirshadowhunter @princessleac1 @kimmiedoo5 @graceful-leah @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @thegreentwin @gkittylove99 @cinnamonspongecake @lifeaskim @neotericthemis @pink-diamond13 @walker7519 @natureblooms24 @yourmajesty09

Liam x MC only: Cordonia-gothqueen

Anything with Drake: @tinkie1973

FRI Series Tags:  @sanchita012 ​  @narrytheworld ​  @queenwalton   @gabesmommie1130 @cordonianprincess   @liamandneca @emkay512 @waywardromancefantasygirl @nomadics-stuff @queendianaofcordonia @zaffrenotes @zilch3 @kat-tia801 @drrookie @sfb123

[miserable-pile-of-lies]

The Sleeping Prince of Wallachia Ch. 2 (Full)

Here's the entirety of chapter two in all of its glory, I hope you guys enjoy the small lore that I created regarding Greta!

Summary: Wallachia is in great peril at the behest of Death himself; all those who have attempted to battle the creature have swiftly been executed and made an example of. The key to defeating the beast lies in Dracula's castle, located twenty odd miles out from a small village by the name of Danesti. In this village, the headwoman Greta must act quickly to save her people from the onslaught of attacks by night creatures and other ungodly minions who have sworn their loyalty to Death. Will she alone be able to stop Death or will she require additional aid to save her people and those in Wallachia?

Roasted walnuts indecorously bestrewed the forest floor, being tossed from a perch high above that stretched into the sky. Humming a cheerful tune that foretold the story of Queen Dido, a thirteen-year-old Greta smacked her lips obnoxiously as Marius attempted to scamper away from the branch they sat upon. The young girl hurled an emptied shell of a walnut into the air, given to her by the portly baker Grigore, a Wallachian native that had recently settled in Danesti to toil his goods.

“That isn’t how the founding story of Carthage goes, Queen Dido was bewitched by Cupid’s arrow,” a twelve-year-old Marius moaned wearily at his older friend who crossed her lanky arms unimpressed by the explanation. The Roman boy dug into the pouch that sat between him and his companion, uttering a cry when he felt a pinch twist the doughy skin of his love handles. Offering his finest glare, the adolescent lobbed a walnut at the lass who only ducked backwards in response to the sneak attack with a snigger.

“That cannot be, Prince Aeneas deceptively seduced our founding mother with sweet words only to leave her high and dry in the pursuit of his journey, ultimately courting Princess Lavinia of Italy,” Greta bit out with a scowl as she described the cowardly philanderer that covertly escaped into the night when leaving Carthage at the command of Jupiter. Prince Aeneas went on to become the founding father of Rome, previously recognized as the city of Lavinium when the metropolis was founded by his followers to honor their queen.

Marius merely shrugged at the latter details relayed by Greta, knowing how the rest of the myth went. Queen Dido, in a fitful rage, committed suicide out of spite at the abandonment of Aeneas and sparked the Punic Wars that led to the annexation of Carthage. Presently, both civilizations were relics of the past and the descendants of Aeneas and Dido had long forgotten about the dissension that divided the two to begin with.

“Who cares about any of that, it’s all ancient history anyway; more importantly we should talk about Faiza,” Marius clucked out with a cheeky grin as Greta’s face promptly flushed at the mention of the girl who currently held her affections.

Nimble fingers tapped bashfully against the coarse bark of the tree as she thought of the remarkable Moroccan beauty, two years her senior with an unmatched intellect that could not be found elsewhere in the village. Clearing her throat with a thunderous cough that echoed amongst the thicket of trees, thick chestnut brows quirked up to implore Marius to continue his line of questioning.

Sighing heavily in exasperation, the young man reached across to tug at his closest playmate’s cheek, earning an appalled yelp in reply.

“You vexing little runt, what was that for,” Greta demanded with a scoff, lightly slapping the terracotta toned hand away as Marius held his rib from chuckling harshly at Greta’s indignation. Thoroughly riled by the taunts, the daughter of the headman gracefully descended from the tree, stirring up the emerald leaves that laid in the low grass below. Lips curved upward at the sound of an astonished choke, knowing that Marius would take much longer to get down than Greta.

Leaves crunched in protest, alarming the teenager, who speedily pulled out her short sword to defend both herself and Marius from a potential assailant. Pale green eyes squinted in concentration, rising from the thick branch he sat upon. Marius tactically retrieved his elm bow and arrow to target the source of the commotion hidden by the overgrown shrubbery. Palms were presented in a mock defense manner and soon both sword and bow were lowered without further inquiry; the newcomer was a fellow inhabitant of Danesti who went by the name of Felix. The scrawny queer man looked affright when he saw their weapons drawn, shaking like a white flag in the wind signaling a surrender from a defeated camp of soldiers.

“Greta and Marius, I’ve come to retrieve you both on behalf of Tobias, he says that your mother is nearing the end of labor,” Felix squawked out nervously forcing his hands to his sides while tipping the crooked point of his jaw in the air, an attempt to reinforce his position as an elder among the children who innocently snickered at the poor fellow.

Tobias was the current headman of Danesti, father of Greta and husband of Iman, patiently awaiting the arrival of his second child with the rest of the men in the village. As per custom, Iman was currently being attended by several midwives and parish priests recruited from the capital of Târgoviște; a far journey that took the travelers weeks to make it to the settlement in time for the birth.

The leader of the village had forfeited several family heirlooms to afford the care needed for Iman and adequately compensated those assisting in the birth. Childbirth was an unforgiving ordeal; one could never be too safe to preserve the life of both mother and child even with the aid of experts.

Honeyed eyes crinkled in joy; the youth absolutely thrilled that she would finally meet her younger sibling. The young girl had been praying that it would be a boy so that her father could be at peace and have a successor that would eventually inherit the role of headman. If that occurred, her father would stop stifling her fun with Marius and the other village children, forcing her to sit through tedious meetings with the village council about the daily state of affairs in their community.

Regardless of the gender of the newborn, Greta promised her mother that she would look out for her younger sibling and her mother beamed from ear to ear while affectionately carding her rich brown hands through her daughter’s silken hair. Often wrapped in colorful linens covering her form and adorned with intricately knotted scarves, her mother dressed in the traditional garb that was expected of women hailing from Somalia, a resource rich country found in East Africa. Though it was rare to see out in the open, Greta adored seeing her mother braid her kinky curly hair into the fine thin rows of braids decorated by glassy beads and golden hair cuffs imported from North African traders passing through the area to sell their finery.

The relationship between Tobias and Iman was an anomaly to all onlookers based on the traits of the two; Tobias was a brash man who had no filter and the shortest temper that could set off at a moment’s notice while Iman was quiet spoken yet assertive in her demands, effortlessly carrying herself like a member of royalty. Additionally, Tobias carried the wide frame of a brutish bull, but he was slightly below average in stature while Iman towered over her husband with long slim legs and a slender frame hidden by her garments.

“We need to hurry, I don’t want to miss the birth of my baby brother,” Greta complained impatiently while Marius climbed his way down the birch tree with cautious steps, ensuring that his footing was secured along the way.

“You keep saying that you will have a brother, but how can you be so confident,” the boy queried warily with a suspicious glance, unconvinced that intuition alone could predict such a momentous event. Landing upon the ground, the youngster hollered upon Greta roughly grabbing and shaking him by the shoulders in frustration. Hoping that Felix would lend a helping hand against the rambunctious girl, Marius silently implored the middle-aged man to intervene and separate the two.

“You sound so skeptical my dear Marius, you should know that I’m quite clever when it comes to these matters,” Greta pledged eagerly, forcibly disconnected from the lad by an already fatigued Felix. The old man wished to return to the village before the three lost daylight and encountered the mischievous spirits of the forest.

“Enough out of you two, come along now,” the farmer churned out with difficulty, feeling hoarse at the thought of the journey back to the township.

Nose scrunched with a harrumph, Greta filed behind Felix with a small pout and Marius walked beside her feeling a small pang of jealousy. His friend had spent a great deal of time boasting about the new arrival of her sibling that he could not help the thorns of envy that pierced the entirety of his being. Thick as thieves, just about everyone in the colony had known how close the two were, rarely seen without one another. With the arrival of a newborn, Greta’s responsibilities and chores would increase tremendously as her mother recovered over the span of the next two months.

What if we grow apart Marius mused gloomily, instantly prickled with guilt at the selfishness of his thoughts but was shaken out of his stupor when he felt a hand roughly the same size as his own. Jade orbs welled up with teardrops as a thumb brush against his palm and he gripped the hand back in silence.

“What are you thinking about,” Greta murmured with great care; a tone rarely used in their conversations due to the spitfire personality that defined the young maiden.

Brushing away the tears in his eyes with his available hand, Marius contemplated how much he would be able to disclose without feeling entirely embarrassed by the pettiness of his emotions. Initially shrugging his shoulders in deference, his ample cheeks burned in shame as he slowly treaded along the path hand in hand with Greta.

“Promise not to laugh,” the boy pleaded with a defeated look, not being able to make eye contact with Greta who openly stared at him with such unease. Taking a deep breath in, the young girl released her hand from Marius and grabbed her friend’s knobby shoulders with an intense hawk-like gaze.

“I swear upon our friendship that I will not laugh, nor will I reveal the contents of this discussion to any soul,” she assured with a heavy sense of conviction, unconditional love filling her freesia eyes. Lips parted in mirth from the sheer honesty of his friend, a chuckle threatening to bubble up from his throat at his own foolishness.

“Can you promise that we’ll always remain friends,” Marius entreated faintly, inspecting the approaching dusk of the sky that precariously peeked through the treetops.

Although dumbfounded at the soft plea, Greta did not dither in responding to the vulnerable request, “Even if we were friends for an eternity, it still wouldn’t be enough time together.”

A wave of warmth washed over Marius at the declaration, assuaged by Greta’s consideration of his intrusive thoughts. Playfully knocking his shoulder into her own, the childhood friends smiled at one another, before redirecting their attention to the approaching sight of their settlement.

The trio slowly came to a stop at the barricade that was currently bolted shut from potential new arrivals in the village; Felix hesitantly craned his willowy neck upwards to see who stood guard at the top of its walls. Sure enough, a stout man roughly in his late thirties beamed at the sight of the three, quickly retrieving the bast rope to lower the door of the enormous, antiquated gatehouse. Squeaking in protest, the barricade slowly opened to the three, dust settling in the air upon impact. Without further notice, Marius and Greta speedily dashed across the oak wood of the gate while Felix’s knees trembled from exertion as he slowly limped into the community.

“Didn’t think the three of you would make it in time,” Luigi snorted cheekily, teetering towards the post to relatch the gate on the headman’s orders. Shortly after, the hefty man climbed down the shifty ladder that squeaked every step of the way before reaching the ground to properly greet the triad.

“If these two hadn’t been gallivanting about in the forest, we could have been back much sooner,” Felix complained rubbing his sore shoulders. Holding his rounded stomach while unleashing a booming guffaw, Luigi playfully shook his balding head at the mention of Marius and Greta’s predictable antics. The adolescents wordlessly exchanged a sour look before politely excusing themselves from the drawn-out discussion between the two chatty adults.

Heading towards her family’s residence, Greta and Marius spotted almost every villager crowded outside of the gate of her ancestral home. The gate was carved with several strokes belonging to the Punic alphabet and astrological formations that foretold the perilous journey of her forefathers.

Standing at the forefront of the assemblage, Tobias paced back and forth worriedly awaiting the nursing aides who instructed him to stay outside until the birthing ritual was completed. The sound of a woman wailing reverberated within the family home and Tobias wished for nothing more than to be by his wife’s side. A sizeable number of villagers swaddled their leader in support, all holding celebratory gifts to offer protection against any harm that may come to Iman or the arriving infant.

Lengthy, partially braided chestnut tresses fell past sun kissed broad shoulders; the headman possessed a striking profile that was disrupted by the prestigious wide hook of a nose displaying his Carthaginian roots. The warrior’s features were that of a handsome hero residing in an epic poem, his Herculean body cladded in his finest olive tunic befitting the occasion. Despite Greta clearly resembling her mother far more, both father and daughter shared the same honeyed gaze that resembled the jewel tones of amber.

The entire village of Danesti recognized the headman and his wife as the most handsome couple in the village, both easy on the eyes and charming in their own way. However, the couple had eyes for no one else; the village leader was completely smitten and dedicated his every waking moment to Iman while Iman could not see another man loving her the way Tobias did. Tobias claimed that he fell for Iman from the moment that he had laid his eyes on her, formally the daughter of a Somali livestock peddler who regularly passed through Danesti on route to the numerous towns in Wallachia.

Whenever Greta asked about the tryst, the older villagers professed that no one had silenced Tobias in quite the same manner that Iman did upon their initial meeting, the headman completely bewitched by her stunning beauty and graceful manner. Falling to his knees shamelessly, the newly appointed leader of Danesti begged for Iman to allow him to worship her for the rest of his days and Iman accepted the shocking proposal with a shy smile. Despite the two reciprocating feelings for one another, her father Assad was completely against the courtship as he had plans to marry Iman off to a thriving merchant who lusted after his eldest daughter.

In the end, Tobias challenged Assad in a physical brawl for the hand of Iman and the rest was history. The two wasted no time in conceiving a child within the first year of their engagement, naming Greta after the precious gem that adorned the ring Tobias gave to his wife, formerly worn by his late mother who died in the aftermath of his own birth.

Bushy brows seemed to cement into a permanent pinch, clearly distressed until he heard a familiar voice.

“Father, how is mother doing,” Greta questioned tensely, pushing through the crowd while Marius was herded in by his folks despite the boy’s protests.

Exhaling with a frightful glower, Tobias channeled his anxiety into outrage at the late arrival of his daughter, “Have you had your fill of prancing off with Marius?” Ears ablaze in mortification at the scrutiny of the villagers who went silent at the confrontation, the young girl stopped a few feet shy of her father.

“I needed to go somewhere quiet to complete my gift for mother,” Greta confessed weakly, digging into the goatskin satchel slung across the finely threaded olive tunic that mirrored the one that her father donned. Carefully, her uncertain fingers produced a small carved sculpture of a woman holding an infant while shameful tears muddled her vision. The craftsmanship of the small carving was remarkable, the creation a labor of love worked on by Greta and Marius over the period of a fortnight.

Rumpled brows sheepishly slackened at the admission, knowing that if Iman had been present, she would be livid with her husband’s arbitrary treatment of their daughter. Hesitantly, the headman closed the distance between himself and Greta who stubbornly withheld her tears as he approached.

Lifting the corner of his mouth minutely, the gruff man reached out and gingerly carded his chunky fingers through the beautiful chestnut hair of his daughter, not one for sentimentality or overt displays of affection in front of others. Peeking from beneath the reach of her father’s labor-thickened hands, Greta gathered the courage to blow a raspberry in retaliation. The sound of laughter erupted amongst the crowd of villagers, thankful that the situation had not escalated any further. The tense line of Tobias’ mouth relaxed for the first time all day; a small smile coaxed from the outrageousness of his adorable daughter.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the door of the cruck home belonging to Tobias and Iman flung open. In the doorway of the home stood the principal midwife, looking to Tobias with a weighted gaze that forebode tragedy. All went quiet in shock, the exultant air of the villagers immediately vanishing in fear of what would come next.

Face crumbling in misery at what lied ahead, Tobias sucked in his plump lower lip, approaching the doorway of his home with solemn steps. Before fully making it over the threshold, the headman threw a backwards glance at his daughter whose eyes carried a sorrow that was beyond her years.

“Restrain your grief,” Tobias uttered cautiously, directing a grim expression to Greta before entering his home. Marching past the chaste kitchen of his abode, the man followed closely behind the midwife who remained quiet as a mouse before arriving at the door of the room that had been prepared for the birth. Closing his freesia eyes with a silent prayer, he opened the door and his husky body crumbled to the ground.

His beautiful wife had never been so pale, the rich brownness of her skin ashen from the exertion of labor and her mouth ajar as she wheezed harshly. Her lithe form sagged uncomfortably on the birthing stool that she sat upon. The maternity gown cloaking her frail form was drenched in excess blood from the pelvis down, the essence of life puttering silently onto the floorboards of the room. The secondary midwives turned their remorseful glances upon the speechless headman who saw the swaddled form of his stillborn son, laying in the woven basket of his crib perpetually silent, never to awaken from his eternal slumber.

“Where is our boy Tobias, they refuse to let me hold him,” Iman churned out deliriously, blearily making out her husband who still sat in the doorway. With great difficulty, the thirty-five-year-old rose to his feet, ambling towards his wife who reached out her hand in search of her beloved. Arriving at her side, he pressed his lips to the clammy forehead of his wife who shook like a leaf in his embrace. Shushing his wife with a gentleness that only she inspired, Tobias softly asked Iman to rest despite her repeated question. Eventually, she dozed off from the sheer pain of her loss and the weakness of her body while Tobias held her fragile hand to his cheek.

“There is something I must tell you,” the central midwife addressed miserably, knowing that what she was about to disclose would break the man before her beyond repair. Heartbroken from the loss of his ill-fated son, Tobias shook his head refusing to part from his spouse.

“No more, not now,” the warrior beseeched quietly, incessant tears drenching his face, looking down at his doomed wife; the village leader had spent enough time entrenched in death to know the telltale signs. Even in her sleep, Iman breathed with difficulty and her body was soaked with cold sweat from the feverish trot of impending death.

Nodding with a heavy heart, the midwife stepped out of the room with her aides, giving the couple their much-needed privacy with the promise of addressing the village in place of the grief-stricken man.

Setting foot into the dusk of the evening, the middle-aged woman was immediately met by the mob of villagers who had not breathed a word since the departure of their leader. Hands were gravely clasped in prayer with heads bowed, hoping that at least one of the poor souls had survived the traumatic birth. The daughter of the village leader looked at the midwife with lifeless eyes, slowly stepping forward with clenched fists, nails digging violently into the skin of her palms.

“Where are my parents,” the minor queried weakly; she looked nothing like the spirited girl that danced gleefully at the arrival of the midwife with her aides. Lip trembling, the adolescent brushed past the midwife with an anguished cry, marching into her household completely distraught. Marius observed his friend from afar, feeling the pit of his stomach drop into the deepest depths, wishing that he could provide an iota of comfort. Nothing he said would erase the sorrow that would forever mark this day; he could only hope that Greta would find the courage to smile again one day as tears ran down his face.

Spiraling into complete panic, Greta made her way through the simple structure of her home, wiping her tears with the sleeve of the cotton blouse her mother had just laundered a few days ago. Arriving at the door where her parents were surely behind, her face flittered between dread and hysteria. Intaking a deep breath, she pushed the door open silently and an ear-shattering scream reached the villagers who all mournfully turned to embrace their own families. The village men removed their hats out of respect while the women held their children close to their breast, some too young to understand what was going on.

Tobias abruptly removed himself from his wife who was still barely holding on at the sound of his daughter’s screech, silently standing up with his back facing Greta. Nose flaring irritably, ire scathed his irises when he looked at his daughter who was amid a panic attack. Chest heaving up and down in apprehension, the child convulsed as an ugly cry cut through the silence of the room, not knowing whether to stare at her condemned mother or brother.

Tears still lingering in his eyes, Tobias savagely stomped across the room, standing before his firstborn without penitence.

“Straighten up now daughter of mine, you need to grow up,” he shouted venomously, grabbing the girl roughly by her slightly too large tunic to ground himself. Blunt teeth bared wickedly for all to see, the chieftain burrowed his daughter against his strong chest with silent tears, words at odds with his current actions.

Nothing reached Greta who continued to wail, the strength in her knees disappearing entirely as she slid to the floor, her father silently sinking with her. Thick snot and tears ran amuck, her breathing clearly affected by her frenzied state while a hand gently rubbed her back. The edges of her vision blackened as she fainted; Greta vaguely recalled her father raving like a mad man in his native tongue, sobbing harshly as he brought his beloved child firmly into the embrace of his burly arms. It would be the first and last time the future head woman would see the resilient man brought to tears, the love of his life stealing them away permanently with her unexpected departure.

_____________________________________________________________________________

I have lost my other brother Greta thought ardently, turning the statement over and over in her head a million times, wondering when the immediate grief of Marius passing would slither away. Presently, her muddied sleeves were rolled up to her elbows as she gathered the remains of the corpses strewn about her village. Dismembered bodies were carefully laid on thick tarps customarily used to protect the produce cultivated by the farmers of Danesti. One thing was certain after last night’s invasion; the village of Danesti had fallen and it had occurred under Greta’s charge.

Invisible unrelenting fingers pointed at her in a silent accusation, calling for her execution and demanding that the head woman be replaced by a more capable hand. Loading up a wooden cart with rows of bundled corpses, amber eyes sorrowfully looked onto the Earth that bled her people dry in this latest attack. Less than forty percent of the inhabitants of Danesti and those belonging to other nearby villages survived, many children becoming orphans while the women were widowed in the aftermath of their closest victory against the night hordes.

Humiliated by the string of her latest failures, the village leader could not bring herself to thoroughly engage with anyone. If a villager approached her for further instructions regarding their task, she cowardly evaded eye contact, automatically generating an appropriate response. Despite the fatigue eating away at her strength, Greta refused to stop busying herself with the innumerous number of tasks before her. Very few members of the village council had survived, leaving her with an excessive workload to keep her out of her thoughts for a decent stretch of time.

If the previous headman could see her now, he would probably double over in shame from beyond the grave, wondering why his daughter failed the colony given all that he had taught her. In his last days, Tobias constantly reassured Greta of her position as next in line for the leadership of the village, silencing anyone who stood in opposition of her inheriting the role.

“Only you have the abilities to lead Danesti beyond its current splendor,” Tobias affirmed maniacally before he passed from a broken heart, his health steadily declining over the years, leaving a depressed and scared eighteen-year-old Greta to pick up the pieces of his ambitions.

Watching her once indestructible father devolve into a mass of sinewy muscles on his deathbed emotionally ravaged Greta. However, she could not afford to mourn for months like she did with her mother and baby brother, for the sake of the villagers now depending on her counsel. Burying her emotions deep in her breast, Greta only divested her authentic emotional state to Marius in moments of deep insecurity. The young woman feigned abundant confidence in the presence of her people, strategically dispatching a witty remark here and there at anyone who dared to challenge her position of power.

With the hammer of Tobias, Greta led a new age of prosperity in Danesti over the next four years; encouraging the expansion of the village as well as carefully managing the resources to supply the newcomers settling in the community. Branches of commerce grew as well, the wardress carefully researching the highly sought goods of Wallachians nearby to encourage her people to communicate with others from their native countries for trading purposes, utilizing the diversity of her community.

Slowly beginning to recover from her past traumas, a cruel God deemed that it was time to awaken Greta from her dreams of a brighter future, Wallachians region wide receiving a wave of brutal attacks by the night hordes. Death was an inevitable foe that she knew she would never be able to completely curb, stealing her villagers every now and then due to tragic accidents or old age. What she was facing now was entirely different; mass graves were being dug due to the surplus of carcasses that cluttered the lands, because there were not enough hands available to dig individual graves.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she looked to her bounded shoulder to find a tanned hand planted there, meeting the eyes of the Speaker who saved her life the previous night. Once again, finding heavy worriment in those cerulean-blue orbs, the young heroine found herself almost cursing the woman for rescuing her and Marius in that instance. At least if she died then, it would have been at the side of her dearest friend whom she considered to be the last member of her long-gone family.

“We need to talk,” the ginger-haired woman whispered gently, seeing the vacancy and pain that traversed the head woman. Stopping her task at the bidding of an invisible force from the ether, Greta allowed herself to be led away from her people who stared at their leader sympathetically.

What the fuck am I doing the hammer-wielding warrior questioned, chewing her lower lip aggressively while darting her eyes to the back of the Speaker’s fiery strands that bounced at the beating of the morning wind. Finally, the two ceased further movement upon arriving at a patch of undisturbed land that had not been scorched. The unknown woman turned to Greta with the irritated twitch of her nose, the stench of smoke still filling the air long after the Speakers had put out the flames.

“My name is Sypha Belnades, I’m the granddaughter of the Elder Speaker that leads this particular caravan,” Sypha extended politely, introducing herself with a small bow out of respect for the chief ruler of the village. The young mage happened upon Greta shortly after the night hordes fled from the assault on Danesti, feeling an unconscious link form between the two at the vulnerability that the young leader displayed for her people. Tears of empathy sprouted at the sight of Greta sprawled over the newly deceased Marius, knowing the importance of bonds and how easily a community could translate into the bonds of family.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Greta bowed as well with a forced smile, “I’m Greta of Danesti, daughter of the deceased Tobias and Iman,” responded punctually before allowing the sorcerer to continue her train of thought.

Clearing her throat in discomfort, Sypha attempted to regain her footing in the exchange, finding it difficult to formulate her thoughts amid the tragedy that she had witnessed firsthand.

“Our chapter of Speakers have spent the last couple of weeks traveling throughout the region of Wallachia, striving to put an end to the massacres that have swallowed up these lands,” Sypha started with an explanation, recounting the horrors that she had seen in her travels with a dire countenance, clearly bothered by the amount of death she had seen in the last two months. Unspeakable calamities had been dealt out without reasoning, leaving the group of Speakers at a loss in how they should advance and lend aid.

Unsubstantiated rumors circulated around the fabled entity known as Death personally commanding the army of night creatures; however, accounts from the commonfolk reported several different descriptors identifying the mystic general behind the current campaign of genocide. Some said that the commander of the army was a cloaked young woman with dark skin possessing unsettling hues that glowed, while others detailed an older male vampire who lacked the expected regalia of his kind.

“Currently we are at a disadvantage, my caravan alone cannot provide the support desperately needed across Wallachia,” Sypha confessed uneasily, rubbing her chilly fingers together to ward off the unforgiving chill that the morning air brought.

Pinched by the unyielding sense of compassion instilled by her late mother, Greta straightened her undignified form with a newfound purpose. No matter how lost she may have felt, the headwoman could not idly stand by while innocent people were slaughtered without just cause. Brown slim fingers extended out and clasped Sypha’s shoulder with certainty at what would come next, her amber eyes lighting up reinvigorated at the unspoken pledge of defending her remaining charges.

“What can I do to help,” the young warrior inquired with haste, not realizing that this exact moment would turn the tides in saving Wallachia and spark the ensuing chronicles that celebrated the legendary heroine and her fellow comrades made along the way.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Makayla Part One

Sam Winchester x Reader

Words: 2767

Summary: Five years after abandoning your former hunting partners, you turn up at the bunker pleading for the Winchester’s help. Old wounds open for Sam and Dean goes into protective brother mode. Everything changes when you tell them why you’re there. 

Notes: I imagine this taking place in season 12. 1) because I think Sam is extremely attractive in this season and 2) I wanted to involve Mary. As always, reviews mean the world so don’t be shy! This is going to be another mini series, probably having three or four parts, so be sure to keep me updated on what you think. 

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural​ . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

-

The violent rattling of the door was starting to scare her. She was crying, but you didn’t have time to comfort her. You grabbed her duffel bag, swept her up in your arms, and you ran like hell. You got to the car and rapidly buckled her into her car seat before feeling a hand yank you backwards. 

“Mommy!” Makayla cried. The vampire bared his fangs at you and you landed a punch his his nose, stunning him long enough for you to grab the machete from the front seat. 

“Kayla, baby, close your eyes.” You instructed before you lobbed off the vamp’s head with one clean swing. Blood splattered your clothes and the body landed with a thump. Your daughter’s tear filled green-blue eyes opened again and you quickly stood in between her and the gory mess. “Everything is going to be okay.” 

You jumped in the driver seat and practically floored it, ignoring the crunch and bump as you drove over the dead vampire. You drove for about an hour and pulled off into a motel parking lot. Makayla was still crying so you climbed back into the back seat and pulled her into your lap. It was quiet for a moment as her tears slowly stopped. 

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Can you tell me about him again? So I won’t be scared?” You brushed her brown hair back and kissed her forehead. God, she looked just like him.

“Kayla, you must have heard the story a thousand times.” Her innocent look morphed with enough sass to convince anyone. Now that, you were sure she got from her uncle. 

“I want to hear it again.” Adding a pout for good measure, she cuddled up closer to you. “Please?” You chuckled and let out a sigh of defeat. 

“Alright, alright.” Truth is, sometimes it just hurt too much to remember. But Makayla always wanted to hear more and more about her dad. “You’re dad and I had been friends for a long time. We traveled together, along with your uncle, for years and years, killing bad monsters and saving good people.”

“Dad was good at killing monsters, right mom?” A proud smile spread across her face. 

“The best.” You held her tighter, remembering how he used to smile at you when you’d defeat some evil spirit or demon. How you missed that smile.  “After a few years of traveling together, your dad and I fell in love. He protected me and I protected him. We were happy.” This was the part of the story you could never get through. “But one day, I had to go away.”

“Why?” Every time she asked you this and every time you just gave her the same answer. 

“I’ll explain one day. When you’re older.” You ran your fingers through her hair, looking at the stars through the sunroof. “But after I left, I had you.”

“And now we have each other’s backs.” Kayla beamed. You smiled. 

“That’s right.” 

“Mom, what was he like?” No matter how many times she’d heard it, she always wanted to hear more.

“Your dad was the kindest, bravest, and most caring person I’ve ever met. He was sweet and strong and he gave the absolute best hugs in the whole wide world. He had green-blue eyes that lit up when he smiled-”

“Just like me!”

“Just like you.” You pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “Your dad showed me what love is. And when I had to go, somebody up there,” You pointed to the stars, “wanted to make sure I could pass that love onto someone else. So they gave me you.” You were both silent for a while, Kayla drinking in your words and you trying to keep your emotions in check. 

“Tell me something new, mom. Please?” She had heard all of this before, but she never could get enough. In her mind, her dad was a superhero. You thought for a moment. 

“Well, your dad had the best laugh. Even after an exhausting day of fighting bad, bad monsters, he could light up the room. His big brother meant the world to him. And me. We were a real family. He was from Kansas. And his name…” You took a deep breath. “Was Sam.” 

-

Five Years Ago

“Sam look out!” You shouted. He ducked and you shot the shape-shifting bitch in the heart. You watched as the false-Jessica crumpled to the ground. This particular freak had a vendetta against Sam for taking down one of its shape shifting buddies. To get revenge, it took the form of Sam’s dead girlfriend, Jessica. Even after seven years, the memory of her still hurt him more than you could ever know. 

For a while, you both just stood there. Sam was frozen, staring down at the shapeshifter’s body, the loss of what could have been lingering sadly in his eyes. You wanted to reach out to him. To hold him and comfort him so that the memories didn’t become nightmares tonight, even though you knew they would. But you knew that you weren’t what he needed. 

“It wasn’t her.” You said, trying not to look at her. Shape shifter or not, she was beautiful. She had been everything he ever wanted. She was normal. And you knew that he would always love her. 

“I know.” He sighed, finally tearing his eyes away from the body. He walked around it and pulled you into a hug without another word. Just holding you reminded him that he was okay. That even after everything he’d lost, he still had you. 

“Hello!” A voice shouted from the basement. “Could you cut the Nicholas Sparks crap and get me out of here!” You and Sam looked at each other. 

“Dean.” In the heat of the fight, you had honestly forgotten that he was caged up in the basement. 

After freeing Dean, you disposed of the body and headed back to the motel for a much needed shower. Sam let you have dibs, despite Dean’s protests. The boys opted to go grab some take out for dinner, telling you they’d be back soon. 

“You okay?” Dean asked, letting Sam drive since his head was still pounding from getting knocked out. Sam took a deep breath. 

“I will be.” He had you now. 

“Y/N kicked ass today.” Dean noted, giving his brother a look. 

“Yeah.” Sam chuckled. “Yeah she did.” Dean shook his head. 

“Uh oh.” 

“What?”

“That is a dangerous look, Sammy.” Dean turned on the radio and Sam quickly switched it off. 

“What look?” 

“You know what look.” When Sam still didn’t understand, Dean sighed. “You love her.” Sam shifted in his seat. 

“Dean, Y/N and I have been together for almost two years now. Maybe...” Sam kept his eyes on the road, but his mind was only thinking about you. “Maybe I do love her. What’s it to you?” Dean laughed. 

“Just buckle up, Sammy.” Deep down, Dean was afraid for his little brother. Y/N was a survivor. And he knew that she would do anything to keep herself from getting hurt, even if it meant hurting Sam in the process. 

-

Present Day

You wouldn’t have come if you had any other choice. You were so far in over your head that you had nearly gotten Makayla hurt and that couldn’t happen again. You needed the help of the best hunters that you knew. So there you stood, outside a worn down looking building in Lebanon, Kansas. Knocking didn’t work and you knew that you weren’t getting through that massive metal door, so your only option was to wait. Luckily, you had a family friend in Hastings who had chopped a few vampire heads in their hunting glory days watching over Kayla. 

You froze at the sound of a gun cocking. 

“Who are you?” It was a woman’s voice. Maybe you had the wrong hideout. 

“I’m looking for the Winchesters.” Still facing the door, you felt the rifle press against the back of your head. 

“Who. Are. You?” She asked again. 

“I’m an old friend.” 

“What do you want with Sam and Dean?” She pressed the rifle a little harder into your skull. 

“Who are you?” You challenged. “How do you know Sam and Dean?” You moved to turn around, but you were knocked out cold as she slammed the butt of the rifle into the back of your head. 

When you woke up, you were tied to a chair in what looked like a kitchen. 

“What the hell…” You groaned, your head aching. A woman was standing in front of you- presumably the one that gave you the concussion. 

“I got you in passed the wardings, so I’m assuming you’re human or some kind of creature.” 

“I’m a hunter.” 

“Even if that is true, what do you want with the Winchesters?”

“I need their help taking care of a nest of vampires.” The more you looked at her, the more familiar her face looked. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” She just narrowed her eyes. 

“Sam and Dean will be back any minute so they can figure this out.” She sighed and walked out of the kitchen. 

“Are you just going to leave me here?” You shouted in annoyance. You didn’t have time for this. You didn’t like being away from Makayla. She had grown up as one tough little girl, but you knew she got scared when you were gone for too long. Thinking of your daughter, you felt a sense of dread wash over you. You were going to have to tell him. But how could you? How do you tell Sam Winchester that he’s had a daughter for the past four years? 

The loud clanging sound of the bunker door opening pulled you out of your planning. You heard Dean’s voice echo down the hall. 

“Mom! We’re back!” Wait… Mom? “Well, I’m back, Sam went to get more coffee, but I think he’s secretly buying conditioner.” 

“Dean, we have a small problem.” You heard your captor tell him before her voice dropped to a whisper. 

“You tied up a girl in our kitchen!” Dean exclaimed and she told him to keep his voice down. He appeared in the doorway a few seconds later. He froze when he saw you, his face changing from worried to pissed. 

“Hey Dean.” You greeted, giving him an awkward smile. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He growled. 

“Can we talk after you untie me?”

“I don’t think I want to.” 

“Dean!” With an aggravated huff, he moved behind you to undo your constraints. “That woman is your mother?”

“It’s a long story that I really don’t feel like explaining to you.” You wiggled your wrists free and stood up, swaying slightly from the dizziness. Dean crossed his arms. “You need to leave.”

“I need your help.” 

“I don’t care.” The last time he was this mad at you was the last time you saw him. You would never forget the look of disgust on his face before he got in the impala and drove away. “You can’t be here when Sam gets back.” 

“Dean, you know I wouldn’t be here if I had a choice.” You pleaded. You didn’t blame him for hating you. You broke his number one rule. You hurt his little brother. Before he could respond, you both heard the bunker door again. 

“Dean, why is there another car outside-” Sam started to ask, his words catching in his throat when he walked into the kitchen. “Y/N.” He gasped, his eyes going soft. 

“She was just leaving.” Dean gave you a hard stare. 

“Sam I-”

“What are you doing here?” Sam stood up straighter, pushing his emotions aside, his eyes turning hard like his brother’s. 

“I know that I have no right to be here.” 

“No. You don’t.” His jaw clenched as he resisted the urge to throw his arms around you. Five years since ditching him at a motel in Missouri, why show up now?

“But I need you.” You tried to keep calm, but so many thoughts were bombarding your already pounding head. “I need your help with a hunt.” 

“Why the hell would we help you?” Dean scoffed, getting angrier and angrier by the second. Sam just looked hurt. 

“This is just about a hunt?” He shook his head. He was stupid to think you would come for anything else. 

“Look, I wouldn’t have tracked you two down if I thought I could find anyone else. But everyone knows the Winchesters are the best hunters around.” You had to drop your pride and just say it. “I’m in over my head here, Sam.”

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but that sounds like a you problem. Not an us problem.” Dean motioned for you to leave, but you stood your ground. 

“Sam, please.” You were almost tempted to get on your knees and beg, but your phone started to ring. “Damn it.” You muttered, answering to a worried sounding Naomi. 

“You better get back here, Y/N.” She whispered into the receiver. You could hear Makayla singing along to the radio. 

“Are you driving?” 

“There was a group of men I don’t know at my house so I’m taking Kayla to a motel run by a friend of mine. You better hurry up with those hunting pals and come and get her. She’ll be safer with three of you than just me.” 

“They’re going to need a little more convincing, Naomi.” You hissed, feeling Sam and Dean’s eyes burning into you. She sighed. 

“Well one of them’s her daddy, isn’t he?” 

“Naomi-”

“You’ll have to tell him one way or another. Just get them up here.” She hung up without giving you a chance to argue. You turned back to the brothers. 

“I need you to come to Hastings.” 

“Like hell-” Dean started but Sam interrupted him. 

“Why?” The way he looked at you made you feel like something heavy was weighing on your chest. You couldn’t breathe, let alone tell him about Makayla. 

“I… I can’t tell you.” Before Dean could explode on you, you continued. “I have to show you.” 

“No, no way. I am not driving an hour just to-”

“Okay.” Sam agreed, earning a very irritated glare from his brother. Dean’s eyes darted between the two of you. He ran his hand down his face. 

“Fine. Fine! But I am driving.” 

-

You rode in silence. You offered to take your own car, but Dean insisted on you riding with them. He probably thought you would just cut and run again. So you were forced to endure an hour of agonizing, angry silence. They had told their mother- yeah, their dead mother who was now kicking your ass- that they would be back soon, so it was just the three of you. Dean wouldn’t even turn on the radio. Sam couldn’t look at you. 

You shouldn’t have come. You should have found another hunter- anyone else. The little voice in your head suggested maybe this was just an excuse. A reason to see him again. You had to remind yourself that you were here for Makayla. You would do anything if it meant keeping her safe. But how were you going to tell him?

You arrived at the motel before you could really think of a plan. Naomi said she was in room 6 and she met you outside, thankfully. 

“Is she okay?” You asked quietly. Naomi nodded, eyeing the two men getting out of the car behind you. 

“She’s inside now watching old Scooby-Doo reruns.” She pulled you aside. “So what did he say?” 

“I haven’t told him.” You gulped. Her eyes widened. 

“Well, honey, you better think of something fast.” She motioned to Dean and Sam, who were now walking towards the door. 

“So what is it? What do you have to show us?” Dean huffed. Sam just watched you with curious eyes. 

“Okay, there’s something I need to talk to you about before I open this door.” You took a deep breath, trying to come up with a plan. 

“Mommy!” And there goes the plan. Makayla ran out of the door and latched to your leg. Sam and Dean froze. You bit your lip, putting a hand on her head. 

“Guys, this is Makayla.” You picked her up. Dean’s confusion started to morph into understanding as he looked at her dark hair and bright eyes. You couldn’t read Sam’s face. “Makayla, this is Dean. And this...” You felt terrified tears spring to your eyes. “Is Sam.”

-

Continue to Part Two

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto;

Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624​; @halesandy​

Sam Winchester: @theamuz

[seasonofthewicth]

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 3

masterlist

AN: This took me so long because I wasn’t sure whether to split this chapter in half, I ended up doing it so I think it flows a bit better and hasn’t become a monster of a chapter. Things are starting to get a little juicy!!

----- 

The next two weeks flew by in a blur as Aelin settled in to her new normal. She had spent days debating how to arrange the furniture in her bedroom, enlisting Fenrys and Aedion multiple times to move her bed from one side of the room to the other and back again until she was satisfied with its placement.

She had managed to put her personality into the boring room, its brick walls spiced up by colourful wall hangings and the wooden beams of the ceiling offset by drapes of dangling plants across her shelves. She felt at home in the loft.

Her moving into the communal areas had been more of a struggle. Rowan and Lorcan protested her attempts to cover the sofa with her hand-made quilts but they had relented once Fenrys and Aedion had expressed their support.

“We don’t want it to be too much of a guys’ apartment,” Aedion had admitted.

When Lorcan had protested that it was a guys’ apartment with a not-so-subtle smirk at her she had lobbed one of her throws at his head. He had caught it and his smirk spread to a full blown grin, but he tucked it onto the arm of the couch, nonetheless. She supposed it was actually a progression of their relationship that she knew he was teasing. The past two weeks had shown her that most of his snarky comments were joking, whether or not their delivery seemed as such.

 She had learned many new things about all of the guys in the loft since moving in. She had thought she had known all there was to know about her cousin, and they had always got along, but she was delighted to find that they had quickly become as close as brother and sister. His eager personality paired him well with Aelin’s outgoing nature.

The only issue was the frequency that she had ended up sharing her breakfast with one of his visitors, always dressed in one of his shirts or their own dress from the night before. She didn’t judge the girls, she just didn’t need to think about her cousin in that way, although it had surprised her that he hadn’t made any comments to Aelin about Lysandra since their flirtations the day she moved in. In fact, she had expected him to ask for her friends number the next day; but the request never came.

She had watched the two of them on the first night she and Lysandra had visited the bar Rowan worked at. It had quickly become the spot she spent most of her evenings at, the rest of the loft joining too, on the nights Rowan was working.

The bar reminded her of Rowan; dark walls with old-fashioned lamps placed around the room to brighten up the space. The wooden panels around the bar were rustic and worn-looking without being shabby, and it had an easy mix of regular patrons and drop-in drinkers that felt homely and comfortable. Rowan’s attire of plaid shirts fit in as well and while they rotated in their colour they were a guaranteed feature, along with the rag he slung over his shoulder that made him look like such a typical bartender she hid her snigger in her drink.

It was during those nights at the bar that she had gotten to know Rowan the most. The bar was never particularly busy so he could spend most of his shifts talking to her, fixing her sweet cocktails without her even having to ask.

“What else would Aelin Galathynius drink?” He had teased her the first time she and Lysandra had paid the bar a visit. He had even tucked a pink umbrella into each of their glasses.

They had made easy small talk while he worked and she found it fascinating to watch him work, the way his hands would flow across the bar, steady and strong while he poured. He had an easy way of interacting with customers, polite but charming that helped to earn him the tips she spotted him receiving.

She herself had contributed to a large number of those tips, seeing as he hadn’t let her or Lysandra pay for a single drink any of the times they had visited. Aedion, Fenrys and Lorcan didn’t pay either, but none of them seemed inclined to tip, probably a result of having the routine down for years.

She sighed, longing to spend a chilled night in the bar now, but the summer was over and her first day back teaching high school history was upon her. She adjusted her blouse where it hung from her shoulders and slipped on her pumps.

She headed to the kitchen to fix her coffee and was met with Fenrys and Aedion in the kitchen.

“Morning,” Fenrys greeted her around his mouthful of cereal.

“Good morning,” She greeted in return. “You excited for today?”

“You know it,” He pointed his spoon at her, “Being the most liked teacher in the school really is fun.”

“Right,” She laughed as Aedion rolled his eyes.

“Fortunately, I have to get to my job where I’m also the most liked employee.” Aedion drawled sarcastically. He was the only male employee at a marketing company and he probably would have enjoyed it if any of the women there would have given him a second thought. Instead, to his dismay, he had ended up the little brother of the office.

“I’ll head down with you,” She said collecting her things and waving a goodbye to Fenrys as they headed out.

Once at her car she bid Aedion goodbye and started her drive to the school. From the new loft her school was now an hour drive, it had only been fifteen minutes from Arobynn’s place, but that was beside the point. She could put up with a longer commute if it meant not having to see that monster of a man ever again.

She arrived at the school and pulled into her allocated parking space, grabbing her things she headed into the morning teachers briefing. She smiled at the few teachers she knew as she took her seat, she didn’t have many friends at the school, most of the teachers had at least twenty years on her which made finding common ground tough, not impossible, but she wasn’t desperate to see them outside of the school.

“Morning everyone, welcome back.” The principal started and read the list of notices for the beginning of the school year. She zoned out, these notices were the same every year and she didn’t have any first year classes this semester, so she knew all of the kids she’d have and nearly all of them were great.

“Now, unfortunately I’ve saved the worst until last.” The principal’s voice cut in, interrupting her planning. “The district has let us know we need to make some budget cuts, and we’ll likely be looking to cut some staff in the larger departments.”

Her stomach sank. Shit. That didn’t bode well. History was one of the biggest departments and had one of the largest budgets for the number of trips the students went on to complement their studies. She also hadn’t been at the school for long either, only a couple of years since she qualified, so she’d likely be one of the ones to be cut.

“We recognise that this isn’t great timing but unfortunately the decision has come from the high-ups.” The principal’s apology mellowed her slightly, but she couldn’t fight the element of panic that was creeping in.

Once the principal had finished she left the meeting and traipsed to her classroom. She couldn’t fight the dread in her stomach, it was surely only a matter of time before the principal sent for her to break the bad news. She couldn’t believe the timing, at the start of the school year, just as she was beginning to feel settled in the loft it was all getting shaken up.

-----

The bar wasn’t busy, it never was on late Tuesday afternoons, but there were still a scattering of customers Rowan needed to serve in between chatting with Fenrys who was perched on a stool at the bar. Aedion and Lorcan would likely come through the doors soon, settling in their own stools until Rowan closed up.

It had become their place to hang out once Rowan had got the job there a couple of years ago. It was comfortable and Rowan’s boss didn’t mind him giving his friends a few drinks on the house, Rowan knew he was a valuable employee, he took it seriously, even if it was just bar work to some. It was also nice to spend some time together out of the loft, and he liked that Aelin had joined a few times since moving in, she slotted well into the dynamic.

He was wiping some spilled beer off the top when Fenrys’ question reached him.

“Have you decided who you’re bringing as your date for the weekend?”

His date? The weekend?

“What’s this weekend?”

Fenrys rolled his eyes, used to Rowan’s lack of organisation.

“Essar’s wedding remember, we RSVP’d months ago.” Fenrys’ tone was teasing.

“Right, that. I remember now.” This was something he must have buried deep inside his mind. He knew what Essar’s wedding would mean. All of their college friends would be reunited, himself, Aedion and Fenrys had all received an invitation which meant Lyria would have had one herself. Ah, the question of his date. “I hadn’t thought about it to be honest.”

The door swung open and Aedion slid through, loosening his tie, followed by Lorcan out of his uniform but still in a Rifthold City Police Department t-shirt. As they took their seats he filled their glasses.

“What’s the topic of conversation for tonight gentlemen.” Aedion’s voice was cheery.

“Essar’s wedding, or more specifically our dates.” Fenrys’ eyes sparkled.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, boyo,” Lorcan said to Fenrys, “If there’s an open bar one of you is taking me.”

“Since when!” Fenrys exclaimed.

“Since now,” Lorcan laughed.

“I can,” Rowan offered, but didn’t go any further when he caught Aedion and Fenrys share a look.

“No, my friend,” Fenrys grinned at him, leaning over the bar, “You will take a date. A female date. Someone who will show Lyria you’re over her.”

“Who? I’m not dating anyone and there isn’t long to start dating someone new.” Five days was not enough to find a date he could take as a plus one for a wedding. That was at least a second date activity.

“There’s plenty of time, and if not,” He didn’t like the grin building on Fenrys’ face, “You could always take a fake date.”

“No,” He shook his head, absolutely not. He wasn’t that pathetic. “Absolutely not. What are we? Fifteen?”

“You don’t have to be young to be desperate.” He was going to kill Fenrys.

“You could go alone and show Lyria that if you wanted.” Aedion knew his words would hit Rowan in the right place. “Or you could take a fake date.”

“Who would I even ask?”

Even Lorcan grinned, seemingly caught up on the joke Fenrys and Aedion were teasing him with. Rowan knew his resistance was somehow waning.

“How about Aelin’s friend Lysandra?” Fenrys’ suggestion came far too quickly.

“Stop it,” Rowan scolded him, he couldn’t be serious. He barely knew Lysandra, they had only met twice, and hadn’t ever spoken one on one. But she was an attractive woman, and Lyria would notice. Stop. He wasn’t seriously considering this.

“Maybe I’ll invite Lysandra then. You could always ask Aelin.” Aedion said, enjoying himself far too much.

“Aelin?” He repeated, Aedion had to be joking. He and Aelin were friends now. That would be weird.

Aedion’s response was interrupted by the arrival of Aelin herself, Rowan hissed at them to change the subject as Aelin slammed her bag down and plopped into her seat. Her golden hair was mussed, her ponytail pulling to one side and her cardigan hung off one of her shoulders. It was the most dishevelled he had seen her; she was normally far more put together.

“Pink wine, stat. Please.” Her manners seemed to be tacked on at the end as an afterthought.

“Everything okay?” He asked her, turning to the side to fetch her drink.

She let out a delirious laugh, “I lost my job today.”

The atmosphere at the bar changed immediately, Aedion hopped off his stool to slide onto the one next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Gods, are you okay? What happened?” His voice was full of concern.

“Nothing bad, I wasn’t fired or anything, but it’s budget cuts,” Her voice was thick, clearly more affected than she attempted to seem. He placed her glass in front of her.

“That’s rough, I’m sorry. Drinks on me though.” She offered him a tight smile. The others murmured their own commiserations.

“Thanks.”

“Ace I’m so sorry, is there anything we can do?” Aedion asked gently.

“No,” She leaned into his arm and raised her glass, “Just drink with me, distract me. What were you guys talking about before I arrived?” This brought a smile to Fenrys’ face again as he leaned forward.

“We were discussing our plans for the weekend. The wedding of a friend from college is coming up.” Aelin nodded along as he spoke, taking a large gulp of her wine. “Essar’s family is minted so we all get plus ones, meaning,” He seemed to pause, building his own tension. “Rowan needs a date to show Lyria he’s over her. And seeing as it’s Rowan he might need some help with that.”

He was going to kill Fenrys.

“I’m just going to suck it up. There’s not time to find a date.” He dismissed the idea, this ended now.

“Rowan,” She smiled at him, “Of course you can find a date by the weekend.”

She was being so nice, but all it was doing was adding fuel to the fire for Aedion and Fenrys.

“Thanks, Aelin, but—”

“Ace,” Aedion interrupted him, “Poor Rowan here, is useless at finding himself dates even without time pressure, so I suggested an easy solution to his problem.”

He was going to kill Aedion too.

“He takes you.” Aelin’s eyes snapped to him, her mouth dropping open. “A fake girlfriend, it’s perfect really.” At Aedion’s explanation something changed in her expression that he couldn’t decipher.

He stumbled to put her at ease, “You honestly don’t have to, it’s a stupid idea.” He ran a hand through his hair shakily. This was embarrassing.

“How bad will it be? Seeing Lyria?” She asked, tapping her fingers on the side of her wine glass. Surely she wasn’t seriously considering this.

He looked to the ceiling, hoping to draw some strength from somewhere. “Honestly, it could be pretty bad,” he admitted. There was no point in lying when nearly all of the cards were on the table. “But I would be fine, there’s no pressure.”

She took another sip of her wine, swilling it around her cheeks before carefully swallowing.

“Who doesn’t love a wedding?” She asked, sending him a sly smile. “I’ll show Lyria what she’s missing.”

“You’re sure about this?” He still wasn’t convinced this was a good idea. He ignored the grins he knew were likely already on his friends’ faces.

“Why not?” She shrugged at him. “I’m not buying my own drinks though.”

“Deal,” He returned her smile. He really wasn’t sure this was a good idea. Alcohol and playing Aelin’s boyfriend were definitely a dangerous combination.  

-----

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen​

@maybekindasortaace​

@slytheringalathynius​

@http-itsrebecca​

@morganofthewildfire​

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​

@fictional-horan​

@tottenhamboys20​

@dressedindustandshadows​

as always if I’ve missed anyone please let me know!

[fallen-gravity]

Snow Day

13 year olds Dipper and Mabel decide they want to spend their winter break up in Gravity Falls with their Grunkles and experience their first blizzard. Chaos ensues.

Notes: Here's my submission for a Secret Santa I participated in on discord! It was so much fun and I'm so glad I decided to participate this year!

Happy new year, @anistarrose! I'm your Santa!

The prompt: "I will crave and enthusiastically consume any form of Pines family bonding, time travel shenanigans, Bill getting dunked on, or any combination of the above." I, of course, had to go with the former, because you can never have enough plotless fluff and shenanigans!

AO3

Having been born and raised in California, Dipper and Mabel never got to experience winter the way television always promised they would. They never got to experience snowball fights, sled races, or building snowmen the way all the kids on TV got to.

Sure, they’ve seen snow before, it’s dusted here and there, but it was never enough to stick to the ground overnight. When they were younger, they always hoped the spirit of the season would be enough to bring them a blizzard so they could get snow days like all the kids on the east coast got to have, but it never came to be. They’d just about given up hope on the idea of playing in the snow in their own backyard when they were around ten years old.

Regardless, they looked forward to winter break every year. Their parents used to always take time off work to take them on a short vacation, and when Dipper and Mabel begged them to let them spend their winter break after their thirteenth birthday up in Gravity Falls with their Grunkles, their parents had said yes, which only made Dipper and Mabel look forward to break even more.

They left by bus an hour after their school let them free, and they arrived at the Mystery Shack eight hours later to their attic bedroom already set up for them.

~~

Dipper awakens to the sound of Mabel shrieking her head off at six in the morning. He nearly jumps half a foot in the air, scrambling to turn his bedside lamp on.

“Mabel?” he squeaks. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Dipper, look!” she beams, bouncing up and down on her feet and pointing out the window.

“Seriously?” he groans, rubbing at his eyes as he stands from his bed. “I thought we were already numb to Gravity Falls weirdness by now” he says, but can’t help the gasp that escapes him when he looks out the window to humor her. There’s so much snow falling from the sky that Dipper can’t even see the tree line of the forest beyond the shack, and there’s a layer of snow coating the ground so thick that it completely covers the steps of the back porch.

“Woah,” Dipper gasps. “I didn’t think it could snow that much in Oregon”

“That’s just the thing!” Mabel grins. “What if it can’t? What if the reason it snowed like, two feet overnight is because it’s all a part of the Gravity Falls weirdness? You remember what Stan said when he came to see Grunkle Ford, right? It was snowing!” she throws her arms up in the air dramatically. “Dips, do you know what this means? This could be our only opportunity to see snow like this without having to go to like, Alaska or something!”

“You know what else this means?” Dipper asks, frantically grabbing at her shoulders.

“What?”

He smirks, shoving her towards her bed as he books it for the door. “Race you outside!” he calls behind her, not even bothering to look behind his shoulder for her reaction.

“Hey! No fair!!” Mabel cries, scrambling to her feet and sprinting out of the room in an attempt to catch up with her brother. The young twins tumble down the stairs, and nearly collide with Ford on their way towards the kitchen where they’d last dumped their coats.

They yell a frantic apology in his general direction and unison, but they’re moving too frantically to hear his response. Dipper eventually makes it out of the shack first, and he’s standing with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face when Mabel meets him outside.

“You better not be telling me that I owe you any of my special cocoa for beating me out here” she pouts, crossing her arms over her chest to mimic Dipper. “Cheaters don’t get cocoa”

Dipper chuckles, his arms slipping to his side as he cautiously steps down the snow-covered steps of the deck. “Alright, fair enough.” He points an accusatory finger at her. “But it’s been eight years. You’re gonna have to tell me your recipe someday”

“In time, brother o’ mine,” she replies as she joins his side. “In time.”

For a few moments, neither of the young Pines twins say anything. In unison, they throw their heads back and lift their arms up into the air and let the snow fall gently on their face. Catching snowflakes on their tongues is a lot harder than TV makes it seem, but it feels good to just stand out in the snow and let it land gently on their face.

It’s peaceful. Dipper closes his eyes, and he knows if the snow weren’t so thick and wet and if his winter coat were better suited for it, he’d let himself fall back and lie down in it. But since it’s not, he settles for standing in place and just listening.

It’s peaceful, until it isn’t.

Something cold and wet smacks him in the back, and he’s so startled by it that he yelps. His eyes pop open, and he whips around frantically to see where that could’ve come from.

Dipper just barely misses the sound of Mabel’s maniac giggle before he’s pelted again, this time in the forehead.

“Yes!”  Mabel cheers, pumping her fists in the air. “Bullseye! Two in a row!”

“No fair!” Dipper pouts, brushing the snow off of his hat. “I wasn’t paying attention!”

Mabel smirks as she bends to prepare another snowball. “What, so now you’re against cheating? You seriously need to work on your moral compass, bro”

He just manages to duck in time as he bends to form a snowball of his own. “That was different! It’s not like I’m the one who woke you up unreasonably early this morning!”

“Pssh,” she waves a dismissive hand. “I just as easily could’ve come out without you if I wanted to”

Dipper takes her brief moment of distraction to pelt her in the arm with a snowball. “Nuh-uh,” he mocks, the same way he has since they were toddlers. “Admit it; you don’t have the heart. You love me too much”.

“Ewww, never” she cringes dramatically, and lunges the snowball she’d been solidifying between her hands directly towards his face. Dipper tries to duck, but miscalculates the force and speed of her throw and the snowball splats against his face so roughly and suddenly that it knocks him to the ground.

“Ohmigosh!” Mabel declares, the playful tone in her voice gone. “Dipper, are you okay?” she asks, running to his side. His response is an incomprehensible mumble, muffled by the snow he hasn’t wiped off his face yet.

“What was that?” she asks, leaning closer.

Underneath the snow, Dipper smirks, and balls the pile of snow sitting on his face and shoves it into Mabel’s. “I said you’re going down”

He stands to his feet, bunching his fists into the snow to gather a bunch of it at once, and Mabel half-shrieks, half-giggles as she makes a run for it.  Dipper almost manages to snag her right in the head, until she suddenly takes a sharp turn to hide behind one of the wooden columns supporting the roof of the shack.

“Hey!” he shouts, and just barely dodges a snowball she lobs at him from her hiding spot.

“What?” she calls, popping her head out from being her hiding spot. “Nobody ever said that hiding was against the rules! Besides!” she gestures to the column mirror to hers that’s closest to him. “It’s not like I’m hiding somewhere super-secret, or anything!” She lobs another ball in his direction.  “The longer you stand there the more vulnerable you become!” she singsongs, tossing a snowball back and forth between her hands teasingly.

Dipper makes a dive for it into the snow, and crawls along until he’s standing behind the wooden column, shoving fistfuls of snow into his pocket along the way. Mabel groans, like she can’t believe she didn’t think to crawl away before he did, and attempts to launch a snowball at him as he’s standing up. She misses, and Dipper can’t help but laugh as the snowball sticks to his wooden column and doesn’t budge.

He mashes the snow in his pocket into a ball, and grabs a bunch more snow to make it even bigger. He winds his arm back like throwing it harder is going to make aiming it any easier, and hears the back door creaking open just half a second too late.

The snowball flings out of his hand, but instead of hitting Mabel, his intended target, the snowball hits Ford as he’s coming out of the door with such force that it knocks his glasses off of his face.

Dipper freezes, looking absolutely horrified, and Mabel bursts into hysterical laughter.

“Grunkle Ford!” Dipper shouts, wiping his hands off on his jacket and running towards his great-uncle. He’s expecting him to look shocked, or sad, or even angry, but when Ford gets his glasses back on his face he’s nearly laughing as hard as Mabel is.

“I…” Ford starts, removing his glasses for a brief moment to wipe some of the excess snow from his lenses. “…came out to see how you were doing, because I saw you running by me in the kitchen, but I guess you’ve already answered that question for me”

“Grunkle Ford, I’m so sorry,” Dipper’s gaze falls to the ground, his cheeks turning pink in embarrassment. Ford only chuckles and places a gentle hand on Dipper’s shoulder, prompting him to meet his eyes again.

“There’s no need to apologize, my boy. I love the snow. Stan and I used to have snowball fights all the time when we were kids”

“Really?” Mabel beams, stepping out from her hiding spot.

Ford nods. “Every time we had the day off from school, he’d wake me up by sneaking a snowball into the house and throwing it at me while I was still asleep in bed.” He shakes his head affectionately.  “You could never wake Stanley up early for anything, but the moment school got cancelled on account of a blizzard, he was up an hour earlier than even Ma or Pa”

Ford takes a few steps forward and leans against the wooden pillar, gazing out at the falling snow. “I always did wonder what he was up to those first few winters after Pa kicked him out. I tried forgetting, I tried telling myself he wasn’t worth the time of day, but…”

For the briefest of moments his shoulders tense, like he’s suddenly overcome with the image of Stan freezing to death in his Diablo, but he shakes that image off with a deep breath and his shoulders relax as normal. He bends to pick up a handful of snow, and lets it fall between his fingers. “Now, though, I’m just happy to see it again,” he turns his gaze back towards the younger twins. “Haven’t had a chance to see it in thirty years”

“What?” the young twins ask in perfect unison.

“Not even in the multiverse?” Dipper asks, and Ford shakes his head.

“Most dimensions didn’t have a concept of weather. Even the dimension that was supposedly a perfect copy of our Earth was eternally summer” he muses, and steps down from the porch and into the snow. For a brief moment he too merely stands where he is and watches the snow fall, until an idea visibly comes to him and a devilish grin spreads across his face.

“I have an idea,” he says, grabbing two handfuls of snow, and disappearing back into the house.

There’s nothing but the sound of Ford’s boots on the hardwood and the whistling wind, and then nothing at all, and then the sound of Stan shrieking.

Ford comes running out the door again, grinning so hard that his smile could split his face in two. Stan follows close behind, but stops in front of the doorway, clad in his ratty tank top and boxer shirts with a large chunk of snow splatted against his chest.

Dipper and Mabel exchange glances, and can’t help the snickers that escape them.

“For your information, I was in the middle of something very important” Stan grumbles, jabbing an accusatory finger at Ford.

Ford only laughs, forms another snowball, and throws it at Stan, still in the doorway. “Mm, how dare I pull you away from your black and white Victorian era romances right?”

“Alright, that’s it” Stan growls, and slams the door closed. He’s only gone for a minute or two, and when he opens the door again he’s wearing a puffy winter coat and pants. “You want a fight? You’re gettin’ a war.”

He steps outside, sprinting down the porch steps and shoveling handful of snow onto the sleeve of his jacket until he’s got an entire armful. He bunches it all together until he’s got a singular giant snowball in his hands. Ford’s eyes go wide at the sight, and he takes a few cautious steps backwards.

“S-Stanley, I was just joking, you must understand that I’m not properly dressed for this” he chuckles nervously, raising his hands in the air in defeat.

“Y’got your turtleneck, don’t ya?” Stan grins devilishly, solidifying the snowball in his hands. “Besides, that never stopped me when we were kids, now did it?”  He steps cautiously towards Ford so as not to drop his snowball, and lunges it right in his brother’s face.

The hit lands, and Ford falls to the ground the same way Dipper had just moments ago.

The two young twins exchange glances, and can’t help but break into hysterical laughter.  Ford sits up, removing his glasses to remove the snow that had gotten shoved behind the frames, and wipes them off on his sweater before heading back towards the door.

“Fine,” Ford replies. “If you want a war, you’re getting a war”

“Hey, now wait just a minute, brainiac” Stan crosses his arms over his chest. “I recognize that tone. Don’t think I’m letting you use any of your fancy-schmancy interdimensional weapons against me. We got all the weapons we need right here” he gestures to the snow around him. “I may be a professional conman, but at least I have standards when it comes to these sorts of things” he closes his eyes, nodding sagely.  “If we’re waging a war on each other, it better be waged fairly”

He pauses for a few moments, his gaze turning to the young twins. “…and turn those two against each other!” He points towards them, and approaches the two of them. He picks Mabel up by her waist, and places her on his shoulders.  “I call Mabel! Girl’s got aim and can take you and brainiac junior down any day”

“Yes!” Mabel chants, pumping her arms in the air. “Team personality reigns superior again!”

“We reconvene here in five.” Stan says. “Go and get your coat on if you so insist to put any more layers on, and then all bets are off” he bows sarcastically to Ford, Mabel giggling on his shoulders.

“Best of luck to you, Sixer” he teases. “You’re gonna need it”

Dipper watches as Ford disappears inside, and Stan and Mabel run off to another part of the shack’s backyard. Stan kneels on the ground, and Mabel leap-frogs off of his shoulder to help him build a snow fort for defense. Upon seeing that he’s watching them, they both form snowballs in their hand and threaten him with them.

Dipper yelps, and runs back towards the porch before they can hit him. Something creaks, and Dipper nearly jumps a foot in the air, but his tension melts when he just realizes that it’s Ford coming back outside with a thick coat and winter hat.

“How are things looking?” Ford asks, placing a gloved hand on Dipper’s shoulder.

Dipper shakes his head. “It’s not looking good. Mabel’s got strength and sculpting abilities, and they’ve already started on their fort. By the time we can even start on our foundation they’ll already have a castle built”

Ford hums in acknowledgement.  “And we both know how Stan is with cheating” he taps at his chin. “What we’ll need is strategy”

“Hey!” Stan shouts from across the lawn. “Are we talking or are we fighting? Get a move on!” He tosses a snowball that lands in the space between Ford and Dipper.

“…Right,” Ford says. “We’ll strategize as we go along then”

Dipper drops to the ground where he stands, bunching armfuls of snow together to build a small wall. He silently gestures for Ford to help him, and he obliges, wordlessly kneeling to the ground and helping to pile snow onto the singular-walled fort. Once it’s tall enough to cover Dipper, he tugs Ford to a crouching position.

“Okay,” Dipper whispers. “So far, Mabel’s strategy has been to…not have one. She builds a bunch of snowballs at once, and then flings them all at once. If we want to knock her out, we need to wait until she needs to restock”

Ford chuckles affectionately. “She sounds just like Stan when he was a kid. He’d have to make the biggest snowball he could. I’m sure there’ll be an overlap between the two of them needing to restock at some point”

Dipper smiles. “They sure do have a lot in common, don’t they?”

Ford ruffles his hair. “I’m sure they say the same exact thing about us, my boy”

Dipper beams at that, but before he can respond he’s interrupted by the sound of Mabel screaming “CHARGE!” and snowballs being pelted at their small wall. Dipper and Ford dive out of the way, and Dipper starts shoving snow into his hands. Without lifting his head over the wall, he attempts to throw his snowball back at Mabel, but misses and only hits the edge of her fort.

“Hah! That the best you’ve got?” Stan taunts, popping his head out from behind cover. Beside Dipper, Ford flings a snowball back at him, and a soft oof escapes Stan as the snowball hits him in the shoulder. He grumbles something to Mabel that neither Dipper nor Ford can hear, and soon after Mabel pops her head out too. She and Stan start pelting snowballs at Dipper and Ford in unison.  A good number of them miss, but when Dipper pops his head up during a short pause to check and see if they stopped to reload, he’s pelted right in the forehead. Stan and Mabel high five, and Dipper groans as he attempts to scrub the snow away.

“Okay,” Dipper whispers, crouching to the ground once more. “I think they’re restocking.” He bunches some snow into his arms. “You ready?”

Ford nods. “I’m ready”

The two of them pop out from behind their wall, and start pelting as many snowballs at Stan and Mabel as they can manage. Some of them are tiny, some of them are huge, and Dipper doesn’t notice that one of them had a frozen acorn in it until it was too late, but they’re getting a good rhythm going. Dipper manages to knock Stan’s hat off his head, and Ford’s able to knock Mabel’s snowball out of her hand as she’s still trying to put it together.

“Yes!” Dipper cheers, and from across the yard Mabel crosses her arms across her chest.

“Booo,” she calls. “No fair! We never said anything in the rules about strategizing!”

“It’s a snowball fight, Mabel, there aren’t any rules!”

“Exactly!” she calls back. “Snowball fights are supposed to be about chaos!” She throws her arms in the air.  “Not calculating the best angle for wind trajectory, or whatever nerdy thing you and Grunkle Ford have been talking about!”

She chucks another snowball as hard as she can, and this one smacks against Dipper and Ford’s tiny excuse for a fort. It crumples to the ground with a pathetic splat, leaving them vulnerable from every angle.

“See?” She grins. “Just like that!”

“Hah! Nice shot, pumpkin!” Stan cheers, and he and Mabel high-five again. Even from where Dipper sits he can see their playful grins melt away into maniacal smirks, and just barely has enough time to see them shoveling snow into their hands before  Ford grabs his hand and begins sprinting to another part of the yard, doing anything he can to avoid being pelted with snow.

“New plan,” Ford whispers to Dipper as they run frantically around the yard as if it were a minefield. “Take down their fort. Once their defense is gone, they’ll be just as vulnerable as us, and it’ll give us a better chance at taking them down”

Dipper salutes him, trying and failing to keep the goofy grin on his face. “Understood”

With that, the two of them split off into different directions. Dipper doesn’t quite see where Ford disappears to, because as soon as he splits off from Ford he’s on his knees smushing together as many snowballs as he can in one go. Once he’s got enough, he stands to his feet and charges back towards the direction of Stan and Mabel’s fort.  He starts blindly lunging snowballs at them, not risking even a second to give them an opportunity to knock the snowballs out of his arms. Dipper knows that without Ford by his side he’s twice as vulnerable, but he also knows that once Stan and Mabel’s fort comes down they’ll all be on equal ground.

He misses every shot he takes at the fort, but finds malicious satisfaction in “accidentally” hitting Stan square in the face. He dives to the ground shortly after to avoid being hit by the retaliation attack, and his frantic recreation of more snowballs is frozen dead in its tracks at the sound of footprints crunching in the snow quickly behind him. Dipper curls in on himself, afraid of the possibility that Stan snuck away when he wasn’t looking to sneak up and attack him from behind.

The attack never comes, though, and when Dipper finds the bravery to sit up and glance behind him he sees Ford sprinting towards the three of them with a massive snowball in each hand. Stan and Mabel yelp in surprise, ducking beneath their fort for cover, but it’s no use, for when Ford hurls his snowballs at their fort it comes crumbling to the ground.

For a few moments, nobody says a word. Dipper, Stan, and Mabel sit in shock, exchanging glances. There’s nothing to break up the silence between them but the whistling wind and their heavy breathing.

Until Mabel stands to her feet, brushes herself off, and shouts “FREE FOR ALL!!”

She gathers a bunch of snow between her hands, throws it at Stan’s chest, and all chaos breaks loose from there. The rest of the family is on their feet in an instant, chasing each other around the yard in a blur of jackets and gloves and flying snowballs. Dipper gets knocked to the ground face-first by a snowball to the back of the neck, but he’s having too much fun to notice the cold feeling on his face. Ford manages to knock Stan’s glasses off of his face, and Stan retaliates by throwing a wad of snow at the only exposed part of Ford’s neck. The high-pitched squeak that escapes Ford at the sensation makes the kids laugh, and they form a temporary truce to team up against Stan to see if they can get similar results from him. It works, once they’re able to lunge a snowball at his exposed wrists, but comes at the cost of Stan turning and lunging snowballs at them in return.

Dipper’s laughing too hard from the chaos of it all to notice Ford approaching him until it’s too late. Instead of pelting him with snow, though, Ford picks him up by the waist. “I’ve got one more idea to take the others down, if you’re still willing to work with me” he whispers, and Dipper nods wordlessly. Ford places Dipper on his shoulders, gently bends to gather a snowball in his hands without letting Dipper slip off. He then offers it to Dipper, and even without saying a word Dipper can tell he’s got a smirk on his face.

Dipper glances between the snowball in Ford’s hand and Mabel and Stan, and finds a smirk spreading to his own face. He takes the snowball from Ford, and as soon as it’s out of his hand he starts charging towards the other two.

“Sweet moses!” Stan yelps, leaping out of the way of their path. He jumps to his feet, brushing the snow off of his coat, and looks to Mabel. She nods, and he picks her up and places her on his shoulder as well.

“Winner takes all?” Mabel smirks, leaning her elbows against Stan’s head.

“You know it,” Dipper grins, mimicking her gesture and leaning against Ford’s head. “If we win, you have to make us your special hot chocolate. If you win, I dunno, you just get the same old boring hot chocolate I always make because someone is too stubborn to share her recipe”

Mabel sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry at him. At Stan’s call, the two pairs messily charge towards each other. Stan and Ford struggle to bend down to pick up mounds of snow without accidentally dropping the younger twin off of their shoulders, and Dipper and Mabel struggle to throw the snowballs handed to them by their Grunkles without almost falling backwards off of their shoulders. For the first few minutes Dipper wonders if this was a bad idea, but as soon as Stan and Ford figure out their balance and fall into a pattern with the respective twin on their shoulder, Dipper almost wishes that they’d been doing it this way from the very start.

From up here on Ford’s shoulders, Dipper feels like he can accomplish anything. He knows, logically, that Ford can’t be any more than two feet taller than him, and that he already has gone through the apocalypse and won, but there’s something about this height that just makes Dipper feel safe.

That is, of course, until Mabel pelts him in the forehead with a snowball and nearly knocks him to the ground.  Dipper grips onto the edge of Ford’s jacket just a bit tighter, and Ford nods silently to reach a hand up and gently squeeze Dipper’s hand in reassurance that he doesn’t intend to let go that easy.  The two pairs prove to be a near-equal match, and their battle lasts for nearly an hour until the moment that Stan misinterprets Dipper’s body language and ducks at the wrong time, and Dipper’s able to knock Mabel off of her grunkle’s shoulder with a soft thud.

“Yes!” Dipper pumps his fist in the air as Ford helps him to the ground, and goes to offer Mabel a hand to help her off the ground.

“Good game”

She tries to fake an angry pout at him, but it doesn’t stick. “Good game, you dork” she takes his hand to stand, and punches him in the shoulder as she stands. She walks to take Stan by the hand, and gestures towards the shack. “But you’ve made one fatal mistake, brother” she smirks over her shoulder as she and Stan make their way inside. “You never specified that I had to tell you the recipe if we lost, just that I had to make it for you”

Dipper splutters, and opens his mouth to respond, but she’s already gone before he can think of a good comeback. He pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. A gentle hand on his shoulder tears him from his thoughts, and when he looks up at the source he sees Ford smiling at him in amusement. He doesn’t say anything, just sort of shakes his head, and the two of them follow Stan and Mabel inside.

Once inside, Dipper runs up the stairs to kick off his wet clothes and to change into something dryer and warmer. While he waits for Mabel to finish preparing everyone’s cups of cocoa, he drags all of the blankets from their beds downstairs and drops them into a pile on the living room floor, climbing underneath it for warmth. To Dipper’s surprise, Ford kneels on the ground and joins him under the blanket pile, winding an arm around his nephew for warmth.

“It’s ready!” Mabel cheers, stepping carefully into the room with two nearly-overflowing mugs donned with whipped cream, chocolate shavings, chocolate sprinkles, and a straw-shaped cookie sticking out of the mound. Dipper takes his mug carefully, and Ford chuckles as he takes his own.

“You know, Mabel, the multiverse had thousands of different flavors of whipped cream. The Pines Family sweet tooth is a strong one, and I collected as many as I could without getting caught by their equivalent of customs”

“Really?” her eyes become stars, stopping in her tracks on her way back to the kitchen. “Did you sneak any back home?”

Ford nods. “I’ve got a lovely cherry cream locked away in the basement lab for safe keeping.” He takes a sip of the hot chocolate in his hands, leaving a white moustache of cream across his lips. “If you’d like, I’d love to experiment with making a cherry cordial hot chocolate sometime”

“Are you kidding?” She squeals. “I’d love to!”

If it weren’t for Stan’s soft grunt as he takes a seat on Dipper’s other side, he’d have been too distracted watching Mabel and Ford geek out over food experiments to notice his arrival. Dipper smiles at them one last time before shifting his gaze to Stan.

“Grunkle Stan?” He says, before taking a sip from his own cup.

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I wish all of our winter breaks could be like this”

Stan smiles warmly, ruffling up Dipper’s hair. “Me too, kiddo. Me too”

[dear-mrs-otome]

Ribbons & Bows - SLBP (Mitsunari)

Fandom: SLBP Pairing: Mitsunari x MC Rating: No Warnings Summary: What do you get when the perfectly imperfect neighbor and coworker finds out our intrepid heroine can’t wrap a gift well to save her life? Some reluctant help, and perhaps even more reluctant revelations.... ( A quick bit of Christmas-fluff, for a dear friend’s exchange gift. (Hence the named MC) I waffled on even posting this, so far past the season, but figure someone out there might enjoy it too! 2.5k+ words)

She’d recognize that sound anywhere. The sharp, staccato rapping at her door that carried over the sweet croonings of Bing Crosby singing about a White Christmas - too fierce to be anything called as soft as a knock. She knew exactly who it would be on the other side too, and tried her level best not to let her good mood slip away as she straightened up from tweaking the last folds on the gift she was wrapping.

The apartment was small, small enough she had to weave around the boxes of ornaments and decor she’d pulled out of her meager storage on her path to the door. Not so small though that she made it there before a second salvo of pounding followed the opening shots already fired.

“Mitsunari.” She didn’t even have to wait to finish swinging the door open before she greeted the man on the other side. It was already a given who it was. Neighbor, co-worker, thorn in her side...pick a label and run with it. They all fit her particularly handsome cross to bear.

The man in question shook ravenwing bangs out from behind his glasses with an irritated toss of his head, all the better to fix her with a baleful glare. “October.”

Her gaze slid instinctively away from that frigid stare uncomfortably, but it wasn’t much of an improvement given its traitorous preponderance to travel the length of his neatly trimmed frame any time she didn’t keep it firmly locked. A ‘swimmer’s build’, as Jace from the mailroom always drooled aloud. Lean and purposeful, as immaculate in button up and trousers as always - never so much as a spot, or tuck, or crease out of place. 

He was hot...especially for an accountant. She had to give her ovaries that. Too bad his personality had about all the warmth of a winter solstice atop Everest, and even less of anything resembling charm.

Neither of which had ever stopped her heart from doing an odd lurch whenever he met her eyes though.

He didn’t wait for her to dredge up any reply. “Surely you are aware that it is - “ He made a show of checking the ever-present watch on his wrist for emphasis. “Eleven at night, on December the first. So why then, in God’s name, am I being forced to listen to Christmas music at jetliner decibels through my wall?”

“It’s not at ‘jetliner’, Ebenezer Scrooge,” she shot back, hackles immediately up whenever this man was around. 

“It’s loud enough to get the attention of Ms. Takemura above you I would wager though. You’re lucky she didn’t call the super on you.” He made a small dismissive snort, before his gaze wandered down to the package she had forgotten she still held in her other hand. His eyes narrowed sharply and she tried, to no avail, to hide the misshapen mess behind her back. “What in God’s name is that? Is that supposed to be a present?”

“Yes, it’s supposed to be a present.” A good part of her wanted to be huffier about her reply...but the other larger part knew it was a sad excuse for a wrapping job, and she couldn’t stifle the sigh that slipped free before she’d given it permission. “It’s supposed to be for Hideyoshi too. I should have just taken the store clerk up on her offer to wrap it for me. Nothing like looking incompetent in front of your boss.”

She could feel him studying her for a long moment, though she didn’t dare look up to meet his gaze. Nearly jumping when he thrust his hand out towards her, gesturing with it impatiently. “Give it here.”

Pure reflex had her obeying his chilly command, and when it was in his grasp Mitsunari turned the sorry thing over as he examined it, a moue of distaste curling his lips down as if he were holding a dead mouse rather than a box and some scraps of paper that were clearly suffering delusions of grandeur.

“How did you even manage this?” He couldn’t have looked less impressed if he tried. “You do understand the basic concepts of geometry, do you not?”

“I-”

Her protest was cut short when he brushed past her and strode brazenly into her apartment, azure eyes taking the chaos all in with a few measured glances. “Scissors. Paper. Tape.”

“What?” She knew he was speaking legitimate words - they just made only the barest attempt at coherency.

“Scissors. Paper. Tape.” He repeated himself, louder and slower, as if speaking to someone hard of hearing. “You can’t give this to Hideyoshi as it is. It would be an insult.”

He took a seat at her sofa as if it were his own home, placing the package on the coffee table before him and looking at her so expectantly she was already gathering the requested items, dumping them on the table unceremoniously - more than a little bemused at the odd turn of events. Seeing her frosty co-worker ensconced comfortably in her living room was hardly the way she’d envisioned her Friday night going when she’d woken up that day.

He let out a small sound of approval, stripping her package of its sorry wrappings carefully, before reaching past the gaudy rolls full of penguins in Santa hats and kittens wrapped in tinsel for a classic striped pattern. For lack of anything better to do, she plopped to a seat beside him to watch as he worked - reluctantly admiring his deft, well-shaped hands as he set about measuring a new piece of wrapping for her box. 

“It’s not that I’m messy or don’t care,” she said finally into the silence, both to fill it and to soothe her wounded pride. “It just doesn’t seem to matter how carefully I line things up or space them out. They always end up too short or too long, too wide or not wide enough, the tape sticking everywhere…”

“Again - simple geometry.” Mitsunari’s gaze slid her way archly. “Not a skillset I would imagine is in high demand in HR though.”

She pulled a face at his bent head, hating that she couldn’t argue.

It seemed only moments before he’d finished, an impeccably squared box slid along the table towards her, freshly wrapped. He’d even done the thing where he’d managed to line up the stripes along the cut edges too, to her amazement.

“That’s...wow.” She looked up from turning it this way and that to shoot him a beaming smile, admittedly impressed. “Two hundred percent improved!”

She wondered if she only imagined his slight fidget. 

“A two hundred percent improvement is a mathematical impossibility,” he frowned. 

“Yes. I’m aware.” She stifled the urge to roll her eyes. “Have you never heard of hyperbole?”

“Intentional exaggeration as a rhetorical device?” he replied. She was about to shake her head, until she saw what looked like the faintest of dry sparks hiding behind his deadpan expression. “No, never.”

“Probably not a skillset I would imagine is in high demand in the finance department,” she lobbed back, and enjoyed the way his lips twitched faintly, as if stifling the urge to smile.

The faux-leather of her cheap sofa creaked as he turned to eye the equally sorry pile stacked beneath her cheery little Christmas tree, its lights winking happily in blissful ignorance of the crimes in repose at its feet. “And what are those?”

“The rest of my gifts.” She bit back the ‘obviously’ that tried to tack itself to the end of that sentence. She wouldn’t ruin this rare detente with Hideyoshi Holding’s prickly CFO just for the thrill of a cheap shot.

“Well...hand them over too. No need for you to embarrass yourself more than you already manage to on the regular.” He arched a sardonic brow at her. “I trust you can be relied on for something as simple as nametags and a stick-on bow, no?

“I think I can manage that much.” It struck her belatedly, as the absurdity of the entire situation wore off slightly, that she was being a terrible hostess - even if an impromptu one. “Would you...like a drink? I have water or tea...or I just opened a bottle of wine.”

Why had she said that? Offering a man alcohol, at practically midnight. Oh, God, it sounded absurdly forward, or hopeful, or...something. 

“Wine would be fine,” he replied, to her genuine surprise.

She stood and poured two glasses from the open bottle of table red sitting on her small kitchen counter, sipping one cautiously as she handed the other to him and retook her seat.

He accepted it, and then gestured with it to the seasonal trappings decorating her apartment, a small frown creasing the space between his brows. “Why is this all up so early?”

“My father loved Christmas. It was his favorite time of year.” She twisted the stem of the wineglass between her fingers restlessly.

He reached silently for the first of the packages she’d nudged closer, making quick work of it as she waited with poised pen and welcomed the familiar bittersweet patina of nostalgia. 

“He always did all the wrapping, because I was so hopeless. Except his own present of course, which amused him to no end. I keep thinking every year, it’ll get easier with him gone. It doesn’t exactly...but I can put these things up and watch our movies, listen to our music, and feel the good outweigh the bad now.”

Mitsunari only nodded slowly. “It sounds as if he would have approved.”

The pile on her side grew larger and his smaller as they worked efficiently through them, until there was only a couple of disasters left. And then Mitsunari picked up a small box - one she recognized all too well.

“Not that one!” 

She startled even herself with her yelp, but Mitsunari seemed utterly unfazed, merely fixing her with a single arcing brow as he held the box above her swiping grasp. “Whyever not, Ms. October?”

“It’s fine as it is, honestly.” She lunged again and he only sat up a bit straighter, her fingers brushing fruitlessly against the crumpled underside. 

“I won’t give it back until you tell me why.” 

He turned it over, looking for a tag, and she rose up onto her knees to make one more desperate attempt - only to watch with a sort of slow-motion horror, almost as if outside her own body, as she lost her balance and sprawled inelegantly across his lap, her cheek planted firmly against an even firmer chest. 

They both froze.

“October.” There was an odd, strained note to his voice. “Why is my name on this gift?”

She wanted to die, there on the spot. The only bright spot about any of this was that the crisp weave of his shirt was cool beneath her flaming face, as she scrambled for an answer. Distracted by the balsam notes of his cologne mingling with the evergreen of her Christmas tree, both tickling her nose and scattering her thoughts. 

How did she tell him it was for all the times she sat down at her table of one, eating dinner by herself, wondering if he was on the other side of her living room wall doing the same thing at that same moment?

How did she tell him it was for all those times at work she felt absurdly proud of herself for managing to earn one of his quicksilver smiles of praise? The times he held a door, or a taxi, or a stack of heavy files unprompted? The times she heard him come home from the office hours after she had, only to arrive the next morning with an inbox of organized reports, no questions asked?

How did she tell him it was for the face of his she glimpsed sometimes, in that split second when the elevator doors opened on him riding by himself as they passed each other in the course of their daily comings and goings, and she caught sight of what she suspected was the real Mitsunari - the man behind the ice and the vitriol and the acid-etched tongue. Far too young to look so forlorn. As if he’d let a mask slip in the close confines of the tiny space, where there was no one around to notice, and hadn’t quite managed to prop it back up again. 

As if it were his default state to look that utterly alone.

“Because I-” 

‘Buy them for all my coworkers’ was how she should finish that sentence, she knew. It was the safe answer, the sane answer. The one that sat like sawdust on her tongue.

And then it died at the slow slide of his hand gently flattening itself against her back, keeping her from pulling away. His palm was rock-steady, but she could feel the faint tremor of his fingers bracketing her spine, and wondered just what that small gesture cost him.

She settled for a truth, if not the truth. The one she scarcely dared admit to herself. “Because I wanted to make you smile.”

“I…” For the first time ever, she heard him at a loss for words, as Mitsunari cleared his throat thickly. “I’ve never gotten a Christmas present before.”

It was that confession that finally got her to lift her head, cheeks still hot as she gaped at him, suddenly terrified she offended him somehow. Suddenly even more terrified that the answer was far worse. “Do you not celebrate?”

“I’m not...opposed to it.” There was still a thread of something wound tightly between his words, making a snare of them that kept her rooted to the spot. Counting the hard beats of his heart wrenched out beneath her hand. Five, ten, a dozen as she waited for the continuation she felt vibrating through him. “I’m just not sure what to make of this.”

She could see as much when she steeled herself to meet his eyes - the blue of them looking lost. Emotion moving in their depths, like the flicker of something great passing beneath arctic ice. No less immense for being half-unseen.

“You can make of it exactly what you want.” It was the closest she could come to putting herself out there, coward that she was. Leaving the door open if she couldn’t manage to take that first step herself. 

She couldn’t miss the unmistakable way his gaze flickered down to her lips, subliming from glacial to the blue center of a flame in an instant. “And if I want more than just that gift?”

“You can have that too.” Her head tipped up expectantly, in clear invitation.

He didn’t need to be told twice, it seemed. There was a moment, a space squeezed between heartbeats where his breath fanned sweetly over her cheek and his nose just brushed hers - a last chance to pull away, before his mouth sealed over hers and she was consumed.

His lips seared hers, his tongue hot like flame as he sought hers out, the faint taste of red wine still clinging to them both. He swallowed down her moan like the finest of vintages, answering with a tiny hungry growl that set her mind blanking. She clung to his shoulders and felt them flex intoxicatingly as he hauled her to straddle his lap, fingers dimpling hard against her thighs and backside until they were cradled together seamlessly. Bodies pressed in a long line from head to curled toe.

She only tore herself away from the fascination of his kiss when the world began to spin, breaking apart long enough to press her forehead to his and stare into the deep water of his gaze, their ragged breathing knotted together.

“Merry Christmas, Mitsunari.”

It was ridiculous, innocuous. Words dredged up for the lack of any higher function on the part of her brain, although the sentiment was heartfelt. 

And it didn’t seem to matter, when he rewarded her with a smile so fragile and fledgling she knew without a doubt it was the first of its kind he’d ever formed, elevating him from beautiful to breathtaking. Her own Yuletide miracle. “Yeah. I think it might be.”

[frecklefaceb]

Suicide Squad Bake Off

Genre: Fan Fiction (Suicide Squad)   Parings: George “Digger” Harkness Warnings: Language Rating: General Audience Disclaimer: This a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line.  

*This was an idea from forever ago based on my obsession with GBBO and pondering how the Squad would do in the competition. Poor @clublulu333​ has been waiting patiently, forever. I’m sorry its taken awhile to post anything. I hope those still lingering in the fandom enjoy it. Lots of love.*

 ______________

The idea came to Harley after a mission. The squad had been stranded, a crazy storm had kept the helicopter grounded, and they weren't able to return to Belle Reve. Flag found them the last room in a cheap motel, and luckily it was a suite with a large king bed and a sitting room, complete with two sofas that converted to sleepers. In order to keep the peace, Flag had seized control of the t.v. and settled on a baking competition show. Several of the members groaned with the selection, but soon they were all equally wrapped up in the surprising intensity of the show. Who knew baking could be so enthralling?

The next day, Harley immediately requested they do their own bake off as a reward for their good work, and Waller obliged, procuring all the items needed for the contest. A large tent and outdoor kitchens were constructed in the prison yard, causing some disdain from a few members, as naturally no one had been informed why their outdoor time had been temporarily suspended. The big reveal caused a myriad of reactions from the team.

"Alright, listen up!" Flag bellows over squeals and groans. "Waller was so kind to accommodate Harley's request on behalf of the entire squad. So, like it or not, we all get to have our own bake off."

Deadshot clicks his tongue while sending the obliviously happy woman a glare, "Man! I didn't even like the show that much."

Harley grins as her hands caress the surface of the stations, "Oh, come on! It's gonna be fun!" 

"Nah," Killer Croc chimes in and Digger laughs. 

"We'll be competing in two challenges. Myself and Katana will judge with the help of CO Griggs," Colonel Flag smirks as Griggs looks around to the other guards in confusion. 

"Sir, please don't make me eat anything they make." 

Flags brow raises, "Nervous?"

He scoffs, "Me? No. I'm just gluten intolerant."

"Right. Cause the Oreos I watched you stuff in your face earlier were gluten free," Flag challenges, and a few of the other guards snicker.

"I don't mean to interrupt this little party, but I don't cook," Deadshot folds his arms. 

Flag's eyes narrow, "You're kind of a prima donna. Do you know that?" 

"Don't get it twisted. I didn't say anything about it being beneath me or that it was a woman's place to be in the kitchen," Deadshot defends, taking an easy jab at Boomerang, who was often vocal about a woman's place was in the kitchen or on her knees. 

"I stand by me words," Digger chimes in with a grin. 

"Ya unicorn is a REAL lucky gal," Harley jests. 

“The only woman to tolerate him is one he’s paid for,” El Diablo adds, and the group chuckles. 

“Least I ain’t charring them like we’re at a barbeque,” Boomerang bites with a puffed out chest, strutting towards El Diablo, but Flag quickly steps between the two. 

“Enough,” he flatly orders. “You two can take stations in opposite corners, Floyd you can be a judge with Katana and Griggs, I find baking relaxing so I’ll take your spot, and the others fill in.”

“That’s cute. Do you have your own embroidered apron and shit?”  

“No but I’ve got a gun and you don’t, so I suggest you parade yourself over there,” Flags threat wiping the smile from Deadshot’s face. Rick glances over to the idling Squad members, “Grab your aprons and get into place. We don’t have all day.”

______________

"Times up!" Griggs shouts over the clanking of dishes and counters. 

"Stop touching your stuff!" Harley snarls at Digger. He licks his fingers with a gold toothed grin, ignoring the dirty looks from the others. 

"We'll bring you up individually, and you can tell us about whatever abomination you've made for us," Griggs announcement teeming with an underlying uncertainty. He was undoubtedly thinking about all the things he'd done to the individuals about to feed him. 

"I'm first!" Harley squeals, skipping to the front with a plate of cupcakes. Katana scans the obnoxiously bright confections, before glancing at the two other judges. 

Growing impatient, Harley picks up one of the cupcakes, practically shoving into Katana's face, "Oh, come on! Try it already!" 

Deadshot tears it from Harley's grip, and willfully takes a large bite. Griggs and Katana each hesitate before following Deadshot’s lead to try their cupcakes. 

“That’s not bad, Dollface,” Deadshot encourages between bites.

Harley beams with pride as Katana nods in agreement, and Griggs waves her off for the next contestant, Croc, who was dismissed for submitting baked chicken. Chato impressed the judges with his Tres Leches cake, and Colonel Flagg scores high marks for his Matchamisu. Griggs groans quietly as he waves the final contestant forward, “Digger.”

Snickers erupt as Boomer works his way before the judges to present his entry. 

“Dude, what is that?” Deadshot questions while side-eyeing the plate with toast and sprinkles. 

“Fairy toast,” Boomer shoots back, offended that the judges were perplexed. 

Griggs scratches his neck, unsure if he heard the thickly accented man correctly, “Say what?”

Between clenched teeth, Digger snarls, “Ya heard me.” 

“That ain’t dessert. It’s buttered toast with sprinkles,” proclaims Deadshot, with an antagonizing nod of agreement from Griggs.  

“The hell it ain’t, ya uncultured fuckwit! Even made it in me oven.” Cried Digger, his voice rising an octave with his defense. 

Griggs smiles at Digger’s frustration, but Flag interjects before the situation further escalates, "It’s a better entry than baked chicken.” 

Croc growls from the back of the room are ignored as Harley chimes in, “Fairy bread is actually a popular treat at children’s parties in Australia.” 

“Bloody right,” Boomerang bites while sliding the platter across the counter. Griggs snorts while grabbing a piece of heart shaped toast, slowly inspecting the surface. If anyone would be brazen enough to tamper with the food it would be Captain Boomerang. 

“Ya didn’t harass the rest of ‘em. Oi, just take a bite!” 

Griggs eyes narrow, “I will once I give it a sniff.” 

The other contestants collectively match Boomerang’s impatience with the officer, and begin heckling the judges. Flagg motions to Griggs to wrap it up, while Katana lifts her plate and then shrugs, before taking a bite of the bright confection, silently nodding as she chews. Deciding it was safe, Griggs finally takes a bite, and then another, quickly finishing before pawing for a second piece, “It still looks stupid.” 

Boomer knocks the toast from his hand and Griggs flings the platter back in retaliation, loose sprinkles scattering across the counter. With a contentious gaze, Digger reaches for the plate and takes a cautious step backwards from the bench. 

“The sprinkles are magical,” Harley encourages, as Digger passes to his station. 

Stepping out from his work station, Flag announces, “We’re going to forgo a technical challenge – “ 

“What?! You can’t do that! Technicals are part of the deal!” Harley pouts at the news ignoring the cheers from others in the tent.  

The Colonel turns to the distressed woman, folding his hands behind his back widening his stance, peacocking his stature and position over the prisoners. “Ms. Quinn, let us not forget who is in charge.” 

“It’s not fair!” Harley screams, picking up one of the eggs and lobbing it at Flag. His mouth drops with disbelief as it explodes on his left shoulder. As if on cue, the rest of the squad starts throwing perishables from behind their tables, and a full-on food fight ensues. 

“Please, don’t let me interrupt,” Waller’s voice echoes over the group, her tone cold, much like her glare, cutting through the chaos. 

Everyone in the tent freezes with wide eyes. Colonel Flag pinching the bridge of his nose as he mutters, “Guess I won’t be making my white chocolate cranberry tart.” 

Unamused, Waller lifts a brow and Flag nods. 

“Time to clean up!”

[halothenthehorns]

THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT

James took the book with a happy enough smile. He wanted to believe they were all being paranoid, that this was the year nothing bad was going to happen to his son and they'd get to have a rousing time laughing about whatever was to come, rather then going for more calming draughts.

Hogwarts loomed above them as magnificent as ever, not that they had time to appreciate much of anything as they went sprinting inside out of the rain. Ron was only just shaking some water out of his face as he said how the lake was likely to overflow, before roaring in shock.

Lily startled as James screamed like that, then scowled as all four boys started laughing at her expense. "I'm so glad you find people screaming funny," she told them pleasantly. "I'll make sure to remember that later, dear," she finished with flashing eyes at her husband.

He gulped, tried and failed for a smile, then went back to the book.

    A water balloon had crashed onto his head, somehow managing to make him even more wet.

Sirius still couldn't wipe the smirk off his face as he stated, "well that's just lovely. A very welcome back to school present."

"I'm sure it gives students a chance to miss the rain outside," Remus agreed.

More were coming down as well, one landing at Harry's feet and drowning his socks in the icy liquid, another being lobbed at a group of girls who quickly dived into the Great Hall for cover. Above, Peeves was cackling in triumph

"Good to see the weather doesn't affect his mood," James snickered.

as he took aim for another. McGonagall came storming onto the scene, shouting his name, but hardly made it a few steps without sliding in the deluge and having to catch herself on Hermione's neck before they both crashed.

"Ouch," Lily winced in sympathy.

"For McGonagall and Hermione," Harry agreed with a sad frown for both women.

Hermione grimaced in pain and McGonagall apologized, Hermione quickly waved her off while massaging at her throat.

"Great, now we know who we can use to catch our falls from now on," Sirius snorted.

McGonagall turned her attention back on Peeves and demanded he stop, who paid her no mind as he tossed another set and exclaimed he wasn't doing anything!

"While technically he is doing something," Remus' smirk kept widening.

After all, they were already wet!

"He's not wrong," Sirius finished for him, causing all four boys to crack up laughing again. Lily sighed, wishing she could teleport someone sensible into the house at least.

McGonagall threatened she'd go and get the headmaster, and Peeves retaliated by dumping the rest of his load on them before zooming away. McGonagall sighed at all the dripping students, but instructed them all to get into the Hall.

"She couldn't have at least offered to dry them off?" James asked, a wicked grin still in place at his poor sons expense.

"Guess she was still too distracted glaring after Peeves to think about it," Harry chuckled, knowing he'd been no worse for wear of the extra cold.

The group went into the much warmer Great Hall where the set up was the same as last year with all the floating candles and golden plates on top of each of the four houses. Harry and his two friends took seats by Nearly Headless Nick, who wore his usual attire.

"Of course it's his usual," Sirius snorted, "he can't hardly change clothes."

He beamed at all of them and stated 'good evening', though Harry replied according to who, while draining the water from his shoes.

"Ah cheer up Harry," James said bracingly, "a little water never hurt anyone."

"Even when it's chucked at you from a balloon?" Harry asked simply, not bothering to keep the smirk off his face.

"Especially then," Remus pointed out, finally getting Lily to laugh at that one.

Then he muttered he hoped the sorting was fast, he was starving, while his internal dialogue noted this would be the first he'd be attending since his own.

"Thank you for that lovely reminder," Lily snorted.

Slightly down the row, a boy called down a greeting to Harry, Colin Creevey.

"Blimey, nearly forgot about this one," Sirius raised a brow in surprise.

"Be thankful it's only a hello," Harry sighed. "He didn't lose a drop of his enthusiasm for me, but at least he didn't memorize my schedule again."

"Well darn," Sirius snapped his fingers, his face giving a slight twitch as his tongue seemed to register he'd said the wrong thing, but quickly pushing past that. "I kind of liked your stalker. Did he and Ginny ever start up that fan club?"

Harry twitched like he wanted to mimic what he'd seen the others do and chuck a pillow at his godfather, but repressed the urge in the end, while James ignored the two and kept going.

He was a year below Harry and had always been deep in awe with him. Harry gave an exasperated hello back, and Colin quickly kept the conversation going by telling Harry that his little brother Dennis would be starting this year!

"Oh joy, we don't need Ginny anymore," Remus jumped in on this. "We've got our own club right there!"

"So glad you two are enjoying this," Harry sighed, which didn't help the fact that he was trying to ignore them both.

Harry faked some enthusiasm for this, while Colin eagerly hoped that his brother was in Gryffindor with them! Then Harry turned back to his friends and asked curiously if it was normal for siblings to get put into the same house, his mind on the Weasley's, all of whom were Gryffindors.

"Not necessarily," Sirius said at once with a happy smile. "I'm a Gryffindor, but my brother was a Slytherin."

"None of us have siblings, so we can't mark it," Remus shrugged, "but no, it's not standard," he finished agreeably.

Hermione said no, pointing out that a set of twins, one of whom had gone to Ravenclaw, the other in Gryffindor.

"Identical twins doesn't mean identical personalities," Lily shrugged. "I can just as easily picture Fred or George having wound up in Slytherin."

"You take that back!" Sirius said instantly, looking as affronted as if she'd cursed at him. "Those two are proud Gryffindors after me own heart."

"Oh hush Sirius," she waved him off, still addressing Harry, "they're both ambitious and clearly very cunning, it's not too hard to picture."

Harry nodded but decided against arguing the point, as he couldn't picture any of the Weasleys in such a house.

Harry was now looking up at the staff table where there were some empty chairs, Hagrid's as he was still out with the first years, McGonagall's who must have gone back out to dry up the Entrance Hall, but one extra seat Harry couldn't place.

"New teacher," the other four said as one.

"Can we please get someone normal this year," James sighed.

"Should I resent that?" Remus asked with a wane smile.

"You are far from normal Moony, but that's not what he meant and you know it," Sirius grumbled. They all wanted just one bloody year of peace, and so far every one of Harry's DADA teachers had somehow had a hand in spoiling it. Admittedly Remus was still the best by far, so hearing the position was open again stung more than they would have expected it to as they knew who they wanted there.

Hermione noticed as well, asking where the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher could be? Harry's internal dialogue kicked in as he remembered they'd yet to have one two years in a row, his personal favorite being Professor Lupin,

Remus couldn't help beaming, still somehow doubting that he'd done any real good in the position, but when no one else looked remotely surprised but instead just happy to hear it, Remus decided against bringing up the argument it was best he had left, he'd only cause more trouble.

who'd left last year. One quick look at all the staff again confirmed there were no new faces though to mark who it could be this year. Hermione was getting worried as she asked what if they hadn't gotten anyone this year?

Lily let out a surprised snort of laughter, saying, "that would honestly be kind of interesting. Wonder what they'd do?"

"With any luck, call it a permanent free study period," Sirius sighed wistfully.

"I imagine Dumbledore did appoint someone," Remus shrugged, "there must be someone out there who's still willing to try."

"I know someone who quit too soon," James grumbled under his breath, still giving his friend the stank eye before continuing.

Harry was still watching all of the other teachers, his least favorite sticking out being Snape.

"The feeling is mutual," Sirius hissed, to no one's protest. They all wished they were more surprised that he was even still there. It didn't seem fair, that he could do that to Remus and he hadn't suffered his own job as payment.

The feeling was mutual, and had somehow grown since last year when Harry helped Sirius to escape under his overly large nose.

James only got a moment to laugh before saying on reflex, "Harry thought that, I swear!"

Lily wasn't paying him any attention, her eyes were vacant and still managed to look more angry than sad at everything Severus had done last year, so James quickly hurried on and managed to ignore Harry grumbling, "thanks for the bus dad."

As Sirius and Snape had been old school enemies, the animosity could only have grown.

The ceiling above still showed the storm outside, while on his other side Ron groaned he was so hungry he could eat a hippogriff.

"Buckbeak resents that," Sirius smirked.

"You're speaking for a hippogriff that hasn't even been born yet," Remus laughed.

"I'm sure many hippogriffs resent that," Sirius' smirk widened, "he's just the first by name I thought of. I'm sure-"

"Oh bloody hell you two," Lily cut them off with a pointed look. "It's just an expression as you well know, let James finish this before midnight will you."

"She's in a bad mood," Sirius mumbled into Harry's ear, low enough that he was sure she hadn't heard.

Not moments later, the doors opened and the new set of first years came filing in, who were so wet they looked more like they swam here, and were all shaking from either cold or nerves.

"Those poor dears," Lily crooned, switching back to motherly anxious at once. "I wish someone had at least taken to drying them."

One in particular stood out to Harry, a tiny little mousey haired boy who was wearing Hagrid's coat, which was ten times as large as him. Despite his half terrified expression, he caught Colin's eye and gave him a thumbs-up, mouthing that he'd fallen in the lake.

Causing a burst of laughter in the room. They really hoped he got sorted into Gryffindor now just to hear that!

He looked positively delighted about it.

"I love this kid," Sirius said at once.

"Considering at least once a week you begged us to go take a swim in that lake with you, I'm not surprised," James chuckled.

McGonagall escorted them to the staff table and then set out the stool with the Sorting Hat on top of that. The Hall went silent, and they all waited as the song began:

James looked deliriously happy, not quite being able to believe his luck! He'd been dying to sing along with the hat!

A thousand years or more ago, when I was newly sewn, there lived four wizards of renown, whose names are still well known:

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor, Fair Ravenclaw, from glen, Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad, Shrewd Slytherin, from fin.

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream, they hatched a daring plan, to educate young sorcerers thus Hogwarts School began.

Now each of these four founders formed their own house, for each did value different virtues in the ones they had to teach.

By Gryffindor, the bravest were prized far beyond the rest; For Ravenclaw, the cleverest would always be the best; For Hufflepuff, hard workers were most worthy of admission; And power-hungry Slytherin Loved those of great ambition.

While still alive they did divide their favorites from the throng, yet how to pick the worthy ones when they were dead and gone?

'Twas Gryffindor who found the way, he whipped me off his head. The founders put some brains in me so I could choose instead!

Now slip me snug about your ears, I've never yet been wrong, I'll have a look inside your mind and tell where you belong!

James finished with gusto, then looked around expectantly like he was awaiting his applause. What he instead received was laughter from three of them for what they considered far too much enthusiasm, and one actual person clapping which was Sirius with a straight face.

"Lovely performance," his best friend nodded with a critical smirk. "Could have used a bit more volume, but you are out of practice so I'll let it slide."

"Thank you," James nodded seriously, only giving the others another reason to laugh. He ignored them and turned proudly back to this book without a trace of remorse.

Every person present applauded the performance, as Harry leaned over and mentioned that hadn't been the song the Hat had sang to them.

"Sad that it took you till your fourth year to know that," Sirius sighed.

Ron told that it sang a new one every year, then guessed that it must need something to do with all its free time.

Lily snickered in appreciation and agreement.

Professor McGonagall was now undoing a large sheaf of parchment, and began calling out the new students by their last name in alphabetical order, who would come up and put on the Hat, then go to their new table.

"It's a good thing they applaud," Remus snorted, "because it's not as if they have them labeled."

She began with Ackerley Stewart, who joined Ravenclaw. Harry spotted Cho clapping along with the rest of her house,

"Now why would you notice a thing like that?" James asked with too wide eyes.

"Can't be because of her Quidditch ability, Harry did beat her last game," Sirius nodded along with an undeserved smile in Harry's opinion.

He tried desperately to ignore them both, but his growing redder by the second face wasn't leaving much room for that farce.

Lily wanted just as much to hear more about Harry's first crush, but she pitied her son too much in that moment and instead said, "get on with it James, no need to pick on him when it took you three years to even admit you had a crush on me."

James flushed and quickly turned away.

and for a moment Harry had the want of getting up to join that house as well.

"A moment I'd have liked to see him act on," Remus murmured, causing Lily to at least giggle at that. James and Sirius pouted at them, as they'd just been told off for this, but James decided against arguing the point.

Then Baddock, Malcolm joined the Slytherin's, and Harry watched that boy join his new house, wondering if he knew that Slytherin was known for turning out the most Dark wizards.

Lily sighed, her earlier amusement soured. She wished Harry would stop thinking of that particular stereotype.

After a few more students were called, it was Creevey, Dennis' turn, and after stumbling over Hagrid's too large jacket he made his way to the Hat and was quickly announced as a Gryffindor.

"Yes," Sirius cheered, "I wanted to hear about his experience in the lake!"

"Not so good for Harry," Remus chuckled, "as we might have another Collin this year."

Harry sighed without comment, dearly hoping against that.

Dennis quickly replaced the hat and ran over to his brother.

"Did he keep the jacket?" James asked.

"No, he gave it back to Hagrid," Harry chuckled.

Squealing about how he'd fallen in the lake, but something had grabbed him and put him back in the boat.

"The giant squid I presume," Lily smiled.

"I love this kid," Sirius cackled, anyone who had this brilliant reaction was okay with him.

Colin was just as excited as his brother as he exclaimed how cool that was!

"The concern for his brother is touching," James snickered.

Explaining for him it was probably the giant squid who had done him the favor. Dennis' expression somehow grew more delighted, as if no one could ask for more from life.

"Well when you put it like that it sounds like a bad thing," Lily giggled.

Then Colin drew attention to Harry sitting not too far away,

"As if you don't have a million pictures of him hanging up in your room," Sirius said with a pointed look at Harry.

Harry was still trying his very best to ignore all of this teasing, hoping they could change topics soon!

Harry quickly turned his attention back to the sorting, where they'd only made it to the L's and Ron was complaining about his stomach. Nick reprimanded him, saying the sorting was more important than food, and Ron snapped back it sure was if you were dead.

"Should have eaten more on the train instead of ruining your snacks," Sirius shrugged.

Nick ignored the snap, saying he hoped this new crop of Gryffindors helped to keep up their running streak, their house had won the past three years now.

"All three thanks to my boy," James added on with undisguised pride.

Harry flushed again, though this time for a different embarrassment. Only his last year would he actually claim some credibility for, and his whole team deserved the praise. His first two years had really been more of a fluke in his opinion, he hadn't asked or earned those points just for doing the right thing.

Finally the sorting was completed, and Dumbledore stood up to welcome them all, before offering the simple advice to 'tuck in.' Food magically appeared onto the plates, and they all dug in as Nick watched.

"Why does he attend the start of term feasts if he's just going to watch us like that?" Sirius asked with a roll of his eyes.

"I thought they greeted the first years in the antechamber," Harry asked in surprise as he first realized this. "Nick and the others were with us the whole time this year."

"Your first year seemed to have been some kind of occurrence," Lily shrugged, "where they were having a meeting about Peeves and were running late. They usually wait in the Great Hall with everyone else."

Ron sighed with his mouth still full of food how much better he already felt. Nick was watching him with mild disgust as he told that they were lucky to have a feast this year, as there had been a problem in the kitchen earlier. Harry tried to ask what had happened around a mouth full of steak.

Lily had to fight back the impulse to scold him for talking with his mouth full, she found no sense in doing it for how many years ago.

Nick said it was Peeves obviously,

"Of course," Sirius began laughing at once. He always enjoyed hearing what that Poltergeist got up to.

he'd had his usual argument of wanting to attend the feast, but of course everyone said no. The Poltergeist couldn't look at a plate of food without throwing it.

"I'm glad Nick mentioned that instance in particular," Remus gave a fond smile. "I was worried someone would forget about it."

"Let me guess," Harry began with a happy smile.

"Right in one," Sirius nodded without remorse. "We caused a distraction and let him into the Great Hall, where he started the most epic food fight in Hogwarts history between all of the houses."

"I had to attend potions with mash still in my hair," Lily sniffed, but her shoulders were shaking with repressed laughter as she finished, "but it was worth it when I nailed you with that whole bowl of pudding." She finished with a loving smile at her then boyfriend.

"I knew you did that on purpose," James said, swinging his finger wildly in her face.

Lily had an unrepentant smirk on her face, and still grumbling a bit with a fond smile of his own, James turned back to the book for now.

Ron agreed Peeves had seemed in a particularly bad mood today, asking what he'd done to the kitchens in particular?

"Cause mayhem," Remus said at once with a casual shrug.

"That is a good idea though," Sirius nodded along. "How come we never thought of getting him into the kitchens."

"Because you valued your meals more than your life," Lily snorted. "You never would have jeopardized such a thing after McGonagall threatened to ban you from the Great Hall after you let Peeves in there."

Sirius nodded in agreement with that.

Nick shrugged as he said the usual, making everything fly around and breaking whatever he could, giving the house-elves quite a fright- clang!

"Timing," James said with mild disappointment, he'd wanted Nick to keep going.

Hermione had knocked over her drink, staining the tablecloth below orange for several feet, but clearly paying that no mind.

"What's with her?" Remus asked in surprise.

"Oh that's right, she wouldn't know anymore then Harry that there were house-elves at Hogwarts," Sirius shrugged.

"And judging by the way she was acting about it over the summer, this might not go down well," Lily sighed solemnly. She now felt bad for her earlier outburst at Sirius, and she'd already seen evidence that Ron and Hermione might rehash the argument they'd just had.

She demanded that there were house-elves in this castle?

"Where did she think all that food came from?" James snorted in surprise. "She knows the only staff there are the teachers."

"Guess it just never occurred to her to question it," Lily shrugged, she'd been the same way for the longest time.

Nick agreed of course there were, one of the largest dwellings of them in Britain. Hermione gasped that she'd never seen one, and Nick laughed of course not, it was a good mark to never see them. Hermione was still half gaping in shock as she demanded that they got paid, and were treated as proper employees, yes? Nick laughed so hard his head fell off as much as it could.

"I just love that you and your friends don't even try what we strived for," Sirius sighed. "It took me ages to get him to laugh so hard his head fell off."

He fixed it before telling her that elf's didn't want such things. Hermione set down her silverware and pushed her plate away. Ron began laughing at her, but she shot back that slave labor had made this meal, and refused to take anything more.

All five of them looked worriedly surprised at that, was she going to refuse to eat her whole stay there? Only Lily felt sympathy for the girl rather than wanting to laugh at the display like clearly the Marauders wanted to, at least she understood why Hermione was behaving like this.

Ron kept trying, offering up her favorite foods, but then Hermione gave him such a severe look McGonagall would have been proud, and he let it go.

"You know she's really making a point when she ignores the desserts," Remus said solemnly.

Once the feast was over for everyone else, Dumbledore took to his feet again. First he praised the good food, to which Hermione huffed at,

"Is she going to be like that every meal now?" James sighed.

"It'll be a miracle if she even attends another meal," Sirius shrugged.

but no one noticed as Dumbledore began speaking of other things, such as the list of forbidden items at this school which had been updated to including Screaming Yo-yos,

"Killjoy," Remus pouted.

Fanged Frisbees,

"Can't believe it took him that long to add those," Sirius snickered.

and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs.

"My personal favorite," James cackled.

The full list of four hundred and thirty-seven items

"And he's memorized every one of them," Lily said with chipper.

could be found on Filch's door.

"There'll be a line out the door for that," Harry muttered under his breath, which James and Sirius still heard, and exchanged indulgent smiles, more than happy Harry was playing along.

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

"Cannot imagine why," Remus said with an almost straight face.

He still continued with the warnings, stating that the Forbidden forest was also out-of-bounds,

"At least I didn't have to deal with that last year," Harry sighed, that was one thing he could be grateful for at least.

as well as the Hogsmeade village to all below third year. He added on something extra this year, which was that there would be no Quidditch tournament.

James had been happily reading for so long, that this bombshell didn't quite register until he heard Sirius gasp so wildly you'd think he'd been stabbed in the chest.

"You must be bleeding joking!" Remus demanded, watching James like he wasn't sure who he was staring at anymore. "Tell me that was a terrible joke."

"I'd never joke about something like this!" James yelped, staring down at the print like it had just whacked him over the head with his own broom.

"I, I don't understand," Sirius' lower lip was starting to wobble, like he was going to start crying any second. "He can't, Dumbledore can't-"

"Oh come on you lot," Lily sighed, finally cutting in, "read on now, and let the man give an explanation as to why, you know he will."

Harry gasped in outrage,

"A completely appropriate reaction," Remus nodded, ignoring Lily rolling her eyes at him, though Harry still looked as stunned at the news as the rest of the boys.

and glanced around to see Fred and George mouthing wordlessly at the headmaster, to appalled to yell out yet.

"They weren't the only ones," Harry sighed, somehow getting the feeling he would have preferred Quidditch to whatever was going on this year.

"It's a good thing Wood hadn't come back this year, or he would have had heart failure," Lily couldn't help but point out with a light giggle.

Dumbledore had to speak over a growing protest to state that instead, starting in October,

"Unless you plan on cancelling all classes this year and giving everyone a free year, I cannot see in what way taking out Quidditch is alright," Sirius huffed.

but was cut off by the doors opening.

"Oh bloody hell!" James groused.

"The timing of whoever interrupted this should get an award," Lily snorted.

"So the reason they canceled Quidditch has something to do with this big secret," Remus' eyes glowed with curiosity now.

"Must be really big," Sirius ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

The man who came in was one that made the whole hall fall silent. His features were striking, and not in a pleasant way. As he walked towards the staff table, you could distinctly hear a clunk every other step. Then a strike of lightning threw his face into sharp relief, and Hermione gasped.

Harry let out a strangled noise as well, his eyes going wide as he got his first remembered look.

"Who on earth-" Lily began with confusion, but James shrugged, clearly indicating none of them had any idea so kept going.

Harry couldn't blame her, as this stranger's face was like nothing he'd seen before. Every inch of the lined face seemed to bear a scar, half of his nose was missing, and his mouth looked more like a wound as well, then there was the eye.

James couldn't help a little shiver for this man, wondering what on earth he'd been through to get like this.

One was normal sized, but the other was wide as a pound, the iris of which was bright blue. It seemed to have a life of its own as it roved over every inch of the place, never settling, and at one point rolling right into the back of the man's head. It never blinked.

Sirius' mouth was stretching wide, the idea of that thing a combination of creepy and kind of cool leaving him unsure how he was supposed to be reacting.

He reached Dumbledore, who shook his hand and offered him the seat beside him.

"No way," Remus demanded, his eyes narrowed shrewdly at the book. "That's your new DADA teacher?"

"Unless he's there for some other reason, which I can't think of," Lily agreed.

"Why can't you just have one normal teacher?" James sighed.

"Hey," Remus yelped, giving a halfhearted glare at him. "You saying I'm not normal?"

"Moony, I know you're not," Sirius snorted, waving James on amidst the others giggling.

As the man took his seat, his coat rose up enough you could make out his legs, one of which was simply a peg.

Dumbledore gave him the introduction of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody.

"What!?"

Harry just nodded absently though, like the news didn't surprise him. What he was thinking on though was this odd little feeling, like he shouldn't trust this man one little bit. It was so at odds with his first impression of him though, a trustworthy man, why would he have such conflicting feelings about this?

"That's, that's not-" Sirius shook his head wildly as he tried to line up the Auror in his prime now with this misshapen thing.

"No way that's Alastor Moody," James was going nearly green in shock as he reread that almost terrifying description. "Sure he's been pretty badly marked, but the eye, leg and nose? Who on Earth managed to get him?!" His head was reeling as he tried to wrap his mind around that. Moody was like his idol, he couldn't imagine a more fearsome and undefeated Auror, and to hear something like this had happened to him was crushing!

Lily felt terrible for him of course, but suddenly she was looking at her husband with a whole new fear as well. She had never argued with him when he said he wanted to be an Auror, in the type of life they lead fighting a war it almost made sense this was where he'd been leading, but for the first time she truly reflected what it would feel like if her husband didn't come home one day because he hadn't lived through one of those injuries. She was already facing a terrifying future where her and James were set to die, but what if they somehow managed to fix it, and James only got a few more years left of life but still died because of this? Her heart felt like it was shriveling up in her as she so desperately wanted to throw this at James, for the first time try and convince him of something else, but wondering if she even should. Was it right to try and force him to change careers just because she was getting a little spooked?

Still stuttering slightly from 'this future sucks' overload, James had to blink hard a few times before forcing himself to go on. He hated sitting here thinking about this happening, but glancing over at Harry was a good reminder it wasn't the most important thing in his life right now.

He and the rest of the staff began applauding the new appointment, but no one else moved.

"I'd be too shocked to as well," Lily murmured, still shifting her weight around with unease.

The noise died quickly, and Harry hissed into Ron's ear if this was the same Mad-Eye Moody?

"Guess now we get the name," Remus grumbled to himself, his brow still furrowed up in worry for this future. It was honestly beginning to feel like no one in their future from the Order lived a decent life, which wasn't exactly encouraging.

The same Arthur had gone out to help this morning?

"Just, Alastor Moody, as a teacher," Sirius' eyes still hadn't gone back down to their normal size. "I can't decide what's blowing me more, the thought of him doing that, or him with half his nose missing! Or that eye, or-"

James reached around Harry and gave his best friend a pat on the shoulder in commiseration, he was still fairly in shock himself.

Ron agreed it had to be the same guy, and Hermione asked what had happened to him. Ron said he wasn't sure,

"Wish Ron did know when that happened to him," Sirius shivered, wondering if there was an ambush somewhere in their future, or if this happened after Voldemort's downfall?

Moody didn't seem to notice the attention on him, now eating some sausages and drinking from a hip flask from his coat. When he lifted his arm to drink, Harry got a better view of the wood, which was carved to be shaped like a foot.

The four of them couldn't help another shiver. It's not as if they'd never met someone with a prosthetic, but the idea of it happening to the head of the Auror department like that still wouldn't sit right in their mind, not the man who seemed thicker than stone.

Dumbledore had to clear his throat to reclaim attention, and then continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, going back to say that this year Hogwarts would be hosting the Triwizard Tournament.

James had still been reading on autopilot from the shock of Moody's appearance in this timeline, that he'd almost read right past this without realizing it. Then his brain caught up with his tongue, and he nearly bit the muscle off as he shouted, "what?"

"You did not just say that!" Sirius demanded, reaching over and yanking the book away, though the second his eyes landed on the words they still managed to double in size.

"That's what all this fuss has been about?" Lily snorted. "I think I'd have preferred to hear about the Quidditch matches."

"Well that's a little harsh," Remus laughed. "I've heard all about these things, and they sound like a blast."

"Clearly we haven't heard about the same thing," Lily snorted, several events that ended in deaths first coming to her mind.

Harry did not join in the celebration of whatever this meant, but instead felt a cold chill break out over him. This was going to be terrible, of that he had no doubts. Yet his fourteen year old mind was just sort of confused on the topic, and as trying to think on reasons why he wouldn't like this for any time gave him a headache, he instead inserted, "what's that?"

"Oh you're going to love this pup," Sirius smirked. "It's this event where they take students from different schools and pin them against each other in these crazy matches. One year they had hippoi athanatoi-"

Harry interrupted like Sirius had just spoken Greek.

"Fire breathing horses," he waved off, "and they raced them around this swamp filled with-"

"Please stop," Lily moaned, pressing her hands to her ears.

Sirius rolled his eyes at her but said, "anyways, the point is, it's like this huge game to prove your school's the best."

"Sounds like fun honestly," Harry laughed, he couldn't help it with all the enthusiasm Sirius was showing, and his attitude had successfully pushed away any negative feelings Harry originally had.

"Well, it was canceled a long time ago," Remus added on with a smirk. "They seemed to have problems controlling, ah, certain aspects of it, and well-"

"Almost every year a contestant died," Lily finished bluntly.

"You're a worry wart," James scoffed. "That was years ago, and you think the same thing about Quidditch."

"Rogue bludger," she said bluntly, causing all four boys to sigh, and Harry to try and defend:

"But Dobby-"

"Bucking broom, dementors, do I need to keep going?" she threatened, causing him to wince and admit defeat.

"What are you being such a baby for?" James groaned at her. "Didn't Molly say something about an age limit? I'd think she'd have told her kids about this ages ago, so that she could tell them not to join, if they were old enough."

"Yeah, you probably have to be of age or something," Remus agreed. "Honestly, that makes sense anyways, you'd think they'd have thought of that in the first place."

Lily at least looked mildly appeased, but his dad's offhand comment brought something back to almost the forefront of Harry's brain. Like his mother should stay worried about this...

James didn't notice Harry's lingering worry though, as he'd admit that this almost did make up for the no Quidditch this year. Harry was going to have a blast watching whatever the schools had cooked up! He quickly snatched the book back from Sirius now so he could keep going.

Fred shouted in shock that Dumbledore must be joking!

"I cannot imagine Dumbledore joking about something like this," Remus laughed.

The tension upon Moody's arrival broke as the whole hall burst into excited muttering, and Dumbledore let it continue for a moment before chuckling and saying he was not joking, though he had heard a funny one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who had gone into a bar- McGonagall cleared her throat loudly to cut him off.

"Ah, why'd she interrupt?" James snickered. "That was a good one."

"I've never heard it," Harry said in surprise.

Even Lily couldn't find it in herself to groan this time as Sirius lit up like a kid with a new toy as he said, "alright, then listen good. A leprechaun, a troll, and a hag all went into a bar."

Sirius put on a false voice as he cried out:

"Benny!" said the bartender to the leprechaun, "I warned you three not to come back here after the last time. Took me weeks to clean up after all the mischief you caused."

He changed voices again to that of his best impression of an Irish man:

"Oh but it's Floss's birthday," said Benny pointing to the hag. Who smiled and showed off her one good tooth. "Give us a quick pint and let Troll and me sing to her. Then we'll be on our way. Cross me heart an' hope ta die."

Sirius then switched back to his normal, though slightly louder then was called for, voice as he continued:

The bartender was a soft-hearted, and rather soft-headed man, and so he did as Benny asked.

No sooner had they finished their drinks when a fight broke out over who should be allowed to give Floss a birthday kiss.

The troll and the leprechaun wrestled like they were caught in Devil's Snare and broke a remarkable amount of glassware. The bartender tried every spell he knew to stop them, but nothing worked. Truth to tell, he was not a very good wizard.

Meanwhile Floss the Hag stood by, grinning and looking quite pleased with the celebration in her honor.

After a lengthy brawl, the troll had the advantage. He towered over the quaking leprechaun, ready to smash an enormous beer barrel over the poor fellow's head."

Then Sirius switched to his best feminine voice, his impression of Lily though he'd never admit that aloud, and said:

"Oh for pity's sake," said Floss who was also an accomplished witch. "Alohomora!"

Sirius continued the pattern of switching between each voice as he finished off the joke.

"With a wave her wand, Floss opened the sealed barrel, dumping a lovely, golden brew over the troll, and quite possibly saving the leprechaun's life.

"Floss!" cried the leprechaun. "Let me thank ye with a wee kiss." But the hag shook her tangled tresses of hair and refused him.

"Yeh see! I'm the one she likes!" shouted Troll. He somersaulted to his lady love and tried to gather her in his great arms, but in a blink of a Cyclops' eye, the hag disapparated and her companions fled.

Once again, the bartender was left with a dreadful mess to clean up. His wife, who had witnessed the whole affair, heaved a sighed and began to mop up the ale."

In this voice he actually tried at Madam Rosmerta, to which he would admit to if anyone had bothered to ask.

"Well, my dear," she said. "At least we've learned two important lessons."

"What's that?" said her grumpy husband. He was in no mood for philosophical musing.

"Obviously," the wise and alarmingly cheerful woman continued, "A Benny saved is a Benny spurned. And a rolling troll gathers no Floss."*

Harry let out a surprised burst of laughter, even the others joined in though they'd heard the joke before. Sirius just had this magical way about him of being able to retell any joke and still making it funny, the one and only exception being his serious/ Sirius joke, but he was still working on that.

Dumbledore agreed now wasn't the time for that joke, and went back to speaking of the Tournament. He knew that some students already knew what this was, so he encouraged them to let their minds wander while he informed the others.

"The only ones who wouldn't know about it are the Muggleborns," Lily snorted, "and even then you're likely to hear about it at least once before you leave school. The stories about this thing still get thrown around some nights."

"How many times has Hogwarts hosted it?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Well the first one was held sometime during the 12th or 13th century," Remus shrugged, "but it officially ended in 1792."

"It was held every five years by each school in turn," James shrugged.

"So Merlin knows how many times exactly," Sirius snorted, not up for doing the math at the moment, but Harry seemed to get the gist of it and nodded.

He began by saying that the Triwizard Tournament was founded over seven hundred years ago, as a competition between the three largest European schools, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A student was selected from each school and set to compete in three tasks. Each school took turns hosting it every five years, but the event ended when the death toll became too high.

Hermione repeated the word death toll in shock, but she was of a minority. Everyone else seemed to be muttering excitedly to their friends about this, not much of a care for people who had died hundreds of years ago.

"You see Lily, you and Hermione worry too much," Remus nodded along.

Lily just sighed, recognizing she was outvoted and it wasn't worth the argument.

When Dumbledore continued, everyone quickly fell silent to listen as he comforted that they'd taken great measures this year to ensure no one would die.

"I'm sure that's what they said last time," Lily muttered to herself, her eye still lingering a moment too long on her son with worry, so she was the only one who noticed him flinch at that statement. She frowned, but didn't call him out on it as he quickly tried to smooth out his face and pretend otherwise.

The heads of the other two schools would be arriving in October, and the selection process would begin on Halloween night.

"Uroh," James couldn't help but mutter, considering nothing good had ever happened on that date!

"I'll agree with you on that one," Harry sighed, rubbing in high agitation at his temple now. He just knew the more he heard about this, the less he was liking it, no matter how persistent his fourteen year old mind was trying to butt in and say this sounded like a blast.

There would be an impartial judge who decided the champions, and the reward was the Triwizard Cup, the glory for their school, and a thousand Galleons prize money.

"Impartial judge?" Harry asked with only the vaguest of interest now, though he tried to hide it for the sake of the men who still looked enthralled by the idea.

"Not happening pup," Sirius said at once, "this is going to be a surprise."

Harry gave him a good natured pout, but didn't argue the point, almost relieved to let it go and hoping Dumbledore would soon as well.

Fred at once said he was going to try.

"Cannot blame him," James cackled, knowing he'd be first in line if this had happened while he'd been there.

He was not the only one, as all around the hall people were nodding along with deep interest at all of this. Dumbledore quickly nipped that in the butt, as he said that there would be an age restriction,

They may have already worked this out, but none of them could honestly bring themselves to groan about it too much. Harry had enough life and death situations the past three years to last them a lifetime. Despite how much of a riot it would be for them to hear about this going on, none of them could even pretend they weren't a little happy Harry wouldn't even get an opportunity.

you had to be of age, seventeen, to enter. There was an uproar at once, the Weasley twins in particular looked murderous.

"I can see why they'd be a little ticked," Remus winced in sympathy. "They are turning seventeen soon enough, it's so close they must feel personally affronted."

"Can't wait to see what they do about it," James said with an old mischievous smirk, which Sirius happily adopted moments later.

Lily chuckled lightly at them, but wasn't going to hold out any real hope either of them got away with anything.

Dumbledore didn't seem to notice as he explained this tournament was dangerous no matter how many safety measures were in place, and anyone underage wouldn't be up for the task.

"Well he's just being a right ol' killjoy," Sirius shook his head in mock scolding.

He looked almost stern now as he asked the students who could not compete, not to waste their time trying.

"Right," James drew the word out in disbelief, "as if half the students in that school aren't going to try anyways."

"It'll be a hoot to hear," Remus snickered.

He rounded the discussion up by saying it was getting late, and they all had to get to class in the morning, and to chop chop off to bed.

"You cannot announce something like that, and actually expect them to chop chop anywhere, let alone bed," Lily said deadpan.

"Least we're in agreement on that," James chuckled.

Dumbledore retook his seat and began speaking quietly to Moody, while the rest of the students began filing out. Fred and George kept their places in mutiny, grumbling to each other how they'd be seventeen in April, they should get their shot.

"And if they'd bumped it down to sixteen, every fifteen year old close enough would be complaining," Remus rolled his eyes. "There really is no happy median."

Fred was saying they couldn't stop him, that the champions would get to have all kinds of fun!

"Right, fun," Lily rolled her eyes, thinking the twins needed to hear some of the stories she had, maybe they'd change that word.

"Can't deny the glory of that," Sirius nodded simply, like his best friend unable to bat away his own desire to see his name tossed into this.

With a thousand Galleons for prize money.

"A lure to any," Remus laughed, not particularly wanting himself to go out and do this, but knowing he'd back either of his friends if they wanted their go.

Ron gave a dreamy agreement to that, but Hermione convinced them all to start heading upstairs. Harry asked who this impartial judge could be?

The others were fighting hard to keep a straight face as Harry eyed them all critically for a clue. It probably wasn't fair of them, but they wanted to see the surprise on his face when he came to realize that answer.

They didn't have any idea, but Fred was certain that a few drops of Aging Potion would get them in.

"Not a bad idea actually," James nodded at once.

"Much more subtle then I would have given them credit for," Remus agreed.

"Sometimes the subtlest things make the biggest impacts," Sirius said with one to many crinkles around his eyes, giving Harry the strong impression he spoke from experience.

Ron reminded that the school knew they weren't of age.

"Well there's that," Harry said, still watching those around him and looking for a crack. "Couldn't Dumbledore saying something to this judge, get them out of it?"

"Nuhu," James wagged his finger, "you're not getting it out of us, you'll just have to wait."

Harry grumbled at them, but had no way to argue the point.

Fred shot back that wouldn't matter, it's this judge who decided, and once he did that was that. Hermione voiced her concern though that people had died in this before. Fred waved that off, saying that was years ago, and what was life without risk?

"And here I used to agree with them," Remus sighed, his smile slipping slightly as he remembered one to many times of the risks of Harry's life.

James and Sirius exchanged put out looks, knowing they would have agreed with the twins before they started these books, but now wishing for nothing more exciting to happen to Harry this year than watching some older students do something stupid and maybe a paper cut from his homework.

Then he turned his attention on his brother, asking if they figured this out would he want in? Ron tried to play it off, saying they hadn't learned enough,

"It's not always what you learned," Sirius shrugged, "it's the ingenuity it takes to win the game."

"I'm glad you're not encouraging him or anything," Lily snorted.

then Neville's voice came from behind them saying that he knew he couldn't do it, but his gran would probably have told him to try anyways and actually bring some honor to the family for once.

"That woman is agitating me the more I hear about her," Lily's scowl deepened, hating to hear about Neville speaking of her the more this carried on. "What woman would say that to a child? It's not his job!"

"Agreed, I've heard Frank go on about her," Remus sighed with pity. "He's about as lovely on the discussion as you are about Petunia."

Lily pursed her lips so tight they went almost white, but all they could really do was feel pity for the poor boy. It was so sad that Neville's life hadn't seemed to turn out much better then Harry's, but sitting here griping about it wasn't going to fix anything.

He was cut off from saying anything else by falling into a trip step.

Sirius went an ugly gray color, remembering his and someone's old gag of trying to push each other into these. It was a terrible blow to the gut at such a random reminder, and he'd already been in such a down mood at the thought of Neville's life he looked pretty bad in that moment.

The others hadn't really noticed though as they all avoided each other's eye in that moment because they'd all thought on the exact same person, and James quickly read past the sticky moment.

Most of the older students knew by now which of these to jump, but Neville had a notorious bad memory and sank up to his knee in the step. Harry and Ron quickly stepped back to pull him out, and as they passed a piece of armor that was laughing at the display, Ron told it to shut it while slamming its helmet shut for it.

"Ron's such a sweet friend, even to someone who's not a best friend," Lily said with a little too much pitch, but it at least made the boys smile again.

They made it up to Gryffindor tower where George gave the password of Balderdash to the Fat Lady, saying a prefect had told him already.

"He's literally been with you the whole time," Remus snorted, "when did this happen?"

"Before they sat down to eat," Harry shrugged.

The common room was as cozy and warm as ever, but Hermione took one look at the glowing fireplace and muttered something about slave labor,

"Glory, in all the fuss I've nearly forgotten about her little problem," James snorted in surprise.

Lily gave him a sharp look, mostly for referring to it as a 'little problem' but wasn't going to have a go at her husband for something she'd already had out with Sirius.

before marching up the stairs. Harry, Ron, and Neville went up to their own dorm, where their other two roommates were already getting ready for bed. Seamus had pinned up his Ireland rosette to his headboard, while Dean had a poster of Viktor Krum above his.

Sirius let out a surprised bark of laughter, thinking that those two who were clearly best friends doing that to each other was pretty hilarious.

They all settled into bed not long after, and Ron whispered sleepily to Harry that if the twins did pull it off, well that tournament you know? He might just go for it.

"I don't think I could stand listening to Ron go through that anymore then Harry," Lily sighed, running her hand through her hair at the thought.

"Thankfully the age rule applies to him to," Remus said peacefully.

Harry half agreed as he rolled over in his sleep, a dream already forming in his mind's eye as he pictured convincing this judge he was seventeen,

"Sorry pup," Sirius smirked, "you could be seventeen and still not pass for it, you're too scrawny."

"Oi," Harry yelped, giving him the stank eye, but the others were too busy laughing to think he meant it.

He'd been picked for Hogwarts champion, and being risen above the crowd with the Triwizard Tournament Cup in hand.

"So not only would you go for it," Remus chuckled, "you have no doubts you'd win eh?"

"Every person in that school is having a similar dream at that moment," James laughed.

"And Harry's actually got some experience to back up the delusion he could," Sirius smirked.

"Delusion?" Harry pouted, choosing to stay in this conversation and ignore the terrible ache he was getting from this daydream...it's not as if it had any meaning at all...right?

"You sure sound confident Harry could win," Lily shot back at Sirius.

"Hey, I'm happy he can't," Sirius threw his hands up in surrender, "I'm just saying, he's lived through some stuff that would give him an edge."

"You should stop talking now," James butted in with a snicker, knowing Sirius didn't mean it, but Lily was giving him the stank eye meaning she was thinking otherwise.

Cho's face in particular stood out, glowing with admiration.

Causing all four of them to smile at Harry's expense, who rather wished his mum and Sirius would start going at it again to save him from this.

Harry grinned into his pillow, exceptionally glad that Ron couldn't see what he could.

"As if Ron wasn't thinking the exact same thing," James snorted as he passed Sirius the book.

"Except possibly with some other girl then Cho," Sirius nodded in agreement.

HPHPHPHPHP

Two big reveals this chapter back to back, hope I did them justice...

* At least, that's Mugglenets version of the joke, the whole of it was taken from there and I claim no originality in that. My personal favorite punchline is something else, but I'm saving that for another book, so just consider this a warning this joke may crop up again.