#and you don't have to catch up on eight chapters of WIP to read this one!!

[thatbanditqueen]

Basic Training Ch 2

This is a new Elvis Fan Fic set during his basic training at Fort Hood WIP I am playing around with for the summer. Comment, reblog , tag and let me know what you think or if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Thanks to my ever alpha @whositmcwhatsit who read the rough draft and made it so much better. Thanks Jader Gator. I love you and I think you know that I go between being so in awe of your writing that it is paralyzing to being inspired to write just to get close to what you create.

There are so many good writers in our fandom, and I am lucky to be friends with a little group of horny elvis witches who put up with me, answer my random questions and help me figure out narrative roadblocks, so thanks, as ever, to my sister wives @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @powerofelvis for helping me write. You guys are so talented I feel lucky to breathe your air, you teach me everything.

Summary: Elvis surprises Bess at her office to thank her and gets to know some of the other women on post.

Word Count: 4.9 K

Warnings: None. Swear words? Handsy charming naughty Elvis?

I have formulas, tropes, motifs that I always go back to consciously or unconsciously.... whatever... as I was naming this chapter I realized how chapter two is always about the nicknames..... Here we go...

If you need to catch up, read Chapter 1: I Don't Date Soldiers here

Basic Training Chapter 2: Lil Moo Moo & Tupelo

Wednesday, April 2, 1958

1715 Hours (5:15 p.m.)

Fort Hood Front Office

“Oh, give me Burt Lancaster any day over Elvis Presley.”

Mabel’s eyes didn’t leave her work as she said this, not even when she placed her cigarette in the ashtray on her desk, the keys on her typewriter plunking up and down in her glasses’ reflection as she typed. Unflappable and wry, Mabel was a career civil servant with the commemorative lapel pins to match each milestone from her twenty six years and counting career at Fort Hood. Her light green metal desk was set in the center of the large outer room in the base’s front office, right in front of the CO’s door. Bess’s desk was to the right, across from the XO’s secretary Rose, who left everyday right at five o’clock on the dot. 

The other two women Bess shared an office with were almost polar opposites. Rose worked punctually from eight to five every day, while Mabel was always the first to arrive between 6:45 and 7, and often the last to leave, determined to stay on post until the CO left. 

Bess fell somewhere in-between, arriving most days with her father at 8 a.m. and then pushing him to leave as early as possible. But with her father out of town, Bess was mistress of her own destiny; a mistress who apparently couldn’t bear to leave until the final details for an awards ceremony tomorrow afternoon were hammered out. 

Which is why she was perched on the corner of Mabel’s desk at 5:15, or at least it had been before Dori arrived. Waiting for her father, the CO, to return from inspections, Dori had turned the conversation to her favorite topic of late: her quest to meet Elvis Presley. Tonight she was specifically wondering if he would come to the MWR dance that weekend. This had prompted Mabel's unsolicited preference for the tall, athletic physique of Burt Lancaster.

Dori giggled. “How many times did you see From Here to Eternity when it was in theaters, huh Mabel?”

“More than I’d care to admit, Ms. Crenshaw.” Mabel lowered her bifocals as she hit her typewriter keys slowly, looking down every few seconds at some hand written notes. “And every time they play it on TV or show it here.”

“And how many times did you see Jailhouse Rock, huh, Bess?” Dori teased.

Bess blushed. “Only once.”

Mabel paused her typing and picked up her cigarette again. “I have the feeling Bess has turned sour on those Presley pictures. You should have seen her last week, damn near punched a dent in her desk after a reporter ran her off the road.”

“Ah, no, Bess loves Elvis.” Dori checked her lipstick before putting her compact back into her purse. “She’s lying too. I remember seeing Jailhouse Rock with you and the soldier on duty said you’d been to our sweet 'lil ol base theater every night that week.”

Bess fixed Dori with a grimace, mumbling defensively. “That was Loving You, and I only saw it three times. People were talking through it the first two times.” She shifted, rolling her thigh over Mabel’s desk as she balanced herself. “I didn’t care for Jailhouse Rock, though, kinda thought the main character was a jerk.“

“Oh honey, that’s what made it so good.” Dori’s high voice vaulted up the ceiling “Don’t you just find him scrum-diddly-umptious actin’ all tough and mean, but then being hung up on his lil ole manager the whole time?”

Bess straightened the stack of files on her lap.

“No, Dori, I don’t care for quiet, mean, brooding types who can’t just be a man and tell me how they feel, playin' mind games instead. And, as for Elvis, honestly I can take him or leave him. There are twenty thousand men on this base.” Bess straightened her ponytail, balancing her files on her lap as she spoke. “Why, I could find you ten Mississippi tall boys who can play gee- tar and yodel at you before mail call is done…”

Bess’ voice trailed off when she noticed Dori gasp and cover her mouth with her hand, eyes wide with shock as she smacked Bess’ knee. Mabel whistled low, her eyes quickly fixing on her typewriter as Bess shifted around on the big desk.

“What? What is it….” Bess’ jaw fell open and dropped her files to the ground. She felt them slip over her skirt on their way, unable to stop them, it was as if she had forgotten how to use her hands. No, all she could do was cringe with embarrassment at Elvis’ downward smirk as his eyes flitted up to look at her.

“Oh cluck a fuck, I mean fuck a duck - I mean, oh cluck!” Bess heard herself cry out reflexively, then remembering how to move, she scrambled to pick up her papers. She was grateful for Dori’s unflappable poise as the blonde hopped over Bess’ hunched body on the ground and introduced herself to Elvis, adding:

“Please excuse my friend there, she flunked outta finishin’ school.”

Bess watched Elvis kiss Dori’s extended hand with mild amusement as she squealed and smiled and unleashed her excitement onto him, her hand already on his chest.

“I been prayin’ every day to run into you, Elvis - Oh, may I call you Elvis?”

“Yessum, I -”

“Oh good! See, I knew we’d be great friends, I just knew we would! I have been all over this base hopin’ to run into you. Why, we’re all just pleased as punch ta have ya round here, aren’t we?”

She turned to see Bess still on all fours, curly brown hair half loose from her ponytail, while behind her Mabel looked up and grunted softly in salutation before continuing to type. 

Mabel’s cranky glare and Bess’ antics on the floor did not create the mood Dori had envisioned for her first meeting with Elvis Presley. She looked down and her broad smile wavered for a moment as she realized the top button of Bess’ shirt was undone, revealing her bra completely. Dori’s painted pink lips popped as she nudged Bess with the tip of her heel and whispered through her teeth.

“Stand up, Bess honey, fo-ar gawd’s sake, ya shirt!”

Bess jumped up, fixing herself as a big red blush grew over her face, made worse as Elvis caught her eye with a wink. Mabel stopped typing for a moment and motioned for Bess to come and look at something while Dori kept right on talking to Elvis with her hand now firmly around his bicep.

“Now, don’t pay no mind to Bessie’s talk about you and your pictures, why, we’re all big Elvis fans round here, the biggest fans ya ever met.”

Elvis cocked his eyebrows up at Bess’ simmering glare from where she now stood behind Mabel’s chair.

“Huh, yeah, that’s sweet of ya, ma’am -”

Dori put her finger to Elvis' lip. “Dori, honey, puhleeze!”

“ - Uh, Dori.” Elvis’ spoke carefully, as if forming every word in the back of his throat before speaking out, his voice was soft and shy. “I don't s’pect everyone to like all my pictures. After all, I didn’t write them, it’s just a job to me.” He winked again at Bess. “S’pose I mind even less if they like some of my other movies. Like ‘em enough to see ‘em every night a tha week.”

Bess felt her cheeks redden even more, but before she could think of a clever reply, Mabel elbowed her and pointed at the XO’s handwriting.

“Can you read that? It looks like repercussion, but it could be reprimand as well.”

Bess picked up the legal pad for closer inspection and turned to the others, motioning for Dori to come take a look. She hadn’t expected Elvis to follow, but he did, making himself right at home and angling his tall body behind the women. 

He snuck his hand around Bess’ waist as he looked at the writing Dori held up for him, eyes forward and completely detached from the movements of his fingers rubbing along the waistband of Bess’ skirt until she pulled them off. This made her stumble to the side and gave Elvis an excuse to openly grab her waist and steady her, She frowned, flustered by the way his long fingers navigated the crease right where her waist met her ribs, his thumbs squeezing tightly and then rubbing gently over her as he asked if she was ok. 

Pushing Elvis’ hands away, Bess whispered that she was fine, trying to slow her pulse and still the shivers that ran up her spine. Her whole body trembled, aware of his proximity to her, and she refused to meet Dori’s now extremely curious eyes over Elvis’ shoulder. Nodding, he turned back to the others and helped himself to the paper, declaring that it was repercussion as he introduced himself to Mabel, kissing her hand, and asking her about the tiny, porcelain figurines on her desk as she giggled.

“That’s Lady and Lola, my brother brought them back to me from Japan. Are you a dog person, Private?”

Bess made her way back to her desk, taking in the youthful bloom of Mabel’s beaming face and girlish laughter. She had never seen her co-worker this cheerful and open before. Dori’s face was aghast as Elvis ignored her and made himself comfortable on Mabel’s desk, asking her for a cigarette and then turning with a conspiratorial whisper as he asked them not to tell anyone. 

Dori began tapping her fingers along her crossed arms harder as she watched Elvis put his hand on Mabel’s shoulder, while the older woman batted his thigh and chuckled at his jokes about dogs. Bess smiled to herself at the way Dori tried to wrest the conversation back by talking about how she used to have the sweetest lil ol’ poodle in the world when she was a girl. But it was an uphill battle, because now Mabel was pulling out her secret tin of homemade shortbread and asking Elvis what he thought. He had to try five pieces before he could adequately decide his verdict, and he moaned as if he had never had shortbread before. His voice was low as he stuttered “Mmm hmmm mmm hmm mmm” in a hum, and Bess dropped her pen when he caught her eye and licked his lips, proclaiming through crumbly mouthfuls that it was “the best doggone cookie he’d had in a long while.”

Bess shook her head at Elvis’ transformation from the shy soldier who had walked into the office to the confident, cocky rascal he was now, only minutes later. Elvis was masterful, she mused, and it was down to the attentive way he looked at each person he spoke with, talking to you as if you were the most important person in the world and responding to everything you said and did with his eyes. No, with his whole body really, she thought. He had a magnetic energy that had drawn her in the moment they met Friday. Now that same magnetic energy was doing its work on Dori and Mabel before her very eyes, as he engaged with them in a way that was humble, considerate and disarming. Some soldiers were stiff and uncomfortable here in the front office where there were often three to five women bustling about. Elvis on the other hand, seemed to be in his element amidst a group of women vying for his attention.

Bess found, to her own chagrin, that this included herself and was disappointed by her own desire to get his attention. She held out until she could no longer help it and interrupted their conversation with a loud, authoritative cough.

“I’m sure you didn’t come to our building to talk about puppy dogs and shortbread, Private, we don’t want to keep you from your tasks or the mess hall.”

Elvis turned to look at her from where he sat on Mabel’s desk and began throwing his olive patrol cap from hand to hand as he gulped.

“Uh, well ma’am, actually, I came up here hoping to get a word with you, Bessie. Uh, I mean Miss Schwartz.”

Now it was Bess’ turn to swallow and once again avoid Dori’s questioning eyes. Mabel’s eyes snapped down to her typing, her face back to being an expressionless stone wall.

“Sure thing, um, walk me to my car? I just, I was just about to leave, I just, uh, need to put these in the Commander’s office.”

As she walked back to her father’s desk, she heard Dori’s voice ring out behind her.

“I didn’t know you were acquaintances with Bessie. That busy bee, she really gets around this base, huh? I reckon she knows more soldiers than the rest of us combined.” Bess smiled to herself at Dori’s insinuation. “ Are you here to ask her to the dance?”

“Uh, no ma’am, Dori, Miss. I, uh, reckon it's better for me to keep a low profile this weekend, let the boys enjoy their night.”

“Well, you know, that attitude might give our boys the wrong impression, like. Make the guys think you fancy yourself too good for our simple, lil ole MWR dance.”

“Uh - well- “ Elvis’ face lit up when Bess rejoined them and they shared a lingering smile that Dori vowed to interrogate Bess about later.

“Oh let him be, Doreen,” Bess murmured, her voice breathy as her heart fluttered once more at the depth of Elvis’ knowing, penetrative gaze. “Uh, he, uh, the boy, man, the man clearly doesn’t want to go. And he already knows that I don’t go on dates with soldiers.”

Mabel had stopped working again and was now chewing the edge of her glasses, leaning forward on her chin as if she was watching a soap opera unfold in front of her desk.

Dori pursed her lips and placed her right hand on her hip energetically. “Oh he does now?” She said playfully, flouncing up the bottom of her blonde bob. ”Well, Private, you’re in luck, because I do date soldiers. I’ll pick you up at 8.”

Elvis looked to Dori, then back at Bess, his confused expression transforming into a smirking wide smile as he registered Bess’ frown. Bess looked down, picking at a chipped piece of her thumb nail until it came off, as if it was the most important thing in the world and needed her attention immediately.

“Huh, well, whoo boy.” Elvis eyed Bess again, then his lips screwed up into a wider grin as he chuckled mischievously. “I don’t hardly know ya, but I can’t say as that’s ever stopped me before.”

Bess’ heart did a series of flip flops as she watched Elvis laugh with Dori. She wasn’t sure what she disliked more, the fact that her friend had just maneuvered herself into a date with Elvis, or that she was jealous. Bess decided it was the later and that she would will herself not to care. 

Elvis' eyes flickered over her for a second and Bess suddenly had a sense that he could tell exactly what she was thinking and feeling in that moment, and she returned to picking at her thumb nail. She was vaguely paying attention as she heard Dori tell Elvis that she’d meet him up at his barracks Saturday night, but she thought Elvis smirked wider as he took in the smile that she forced her lips into.

“You’ll be there, won’t you, Bess. Even though you don’t date soldiers?” Dori looked at her, adding another few fluffs to her hair for absolutely no good reason.

“Hmmmm. Well, I usually do, since the CO encourages all the single female employees to go, but I did have some research st—”

“Don’t be silly, of course you’ll come, it’s gonna be so much fun. I can already tell. There’s gonna be a live rhythm and blues band we hired in from Houston. They are just the bee’s knees, and I’m on the MWR committee. My theme for this dance is Spring Fling, cuz it’s spring! The decorations we got are so adorable, floral Chinese lanterns y’all. I cannot wait.” Dori squeezed her hands into fists and did a little dance in place.

Elvis turned back to Mabel. “You comin’ Saturday night, Miss Maybelline?”

Mabel giggled like a school girl instead of the fifty year old woman she was.

“Every one I can make it to, CO’s memo encourages all single women on base to attend.”

Elvis took Mabel’s hand in his, softly trailing over the top as he kissed her knuckles and smiled devilishly as she giggled again.

“Well, be sure ta save a few dances for me, mmkay, honey?”

Mabel nodded with a giggle and a wink. 

Elvis’ cocky smiled followed Bess' curt nod out of the office and into the back stairs of the building where her voice echoed down the concrete stairwell.

“You know Private, I really wish you wouldn’t come to my office unannounced.” She paused two steps below him and turned around so he had to stop himself from slamming into her finger as it pointed back at him.

“Hold on a minute there, baby, now, what’s wrong with being friendly?” He grabbed her finger. “Careful where you point that thing, woman. First lesson of basic training is safety. Thought you’d a know by now.” He grasped her hand and softened it into his fist. She seemed to lose her train of thought looking up into his eyes. “What’s got your panties in a twist, Bessie Boo, you ain’t jealous, are you?”

Elvis was decidedly less polite when they were alone, Bess realized. She wasn’t sure she liked it, or the way it made her feel as she pulled her finger away and kept descending down the stairs in front of him, her voice a little shaky.

“Of Dori? No, no, not at all. In fact, that all seems to have worked out the way it should.” She shoved the door at the bottom open and headed toward her car as Elvis’ long legs made easy work of striding next to her.

“Why’s that?”

Bess turned as she got to her car.

“Cuz, well, you seem like a good match.” She smiled, trying to really mean it, trying to keep her voice cool and nonchalant. “Dori, is, well, she seems to have the sort of, um. Well, that is, she’s very glamorous. And popular. And attractive. She’s a lot like the girls you’re always with in the fan magazines. I think you’ll have a lot of fun.”

Elvis stepped closer, fixing his work cap back on his head. “So you read the fan magazines, huh? Thought you could take or leave Elvis Presley.”

Bess didn’t know if her cheeks could take the constant flushing she was experiencing. She leaned into the hood of her car, changing the topic as she spoke to the blue paint.

“Look, why did you come by my office?”

Bess leaned her back into the car, and he reached out for her waist, rubbing his hands along the sides for a moment, before taking the handle next to it and pulling it open, tilting his head to get in.

“I uh, I came by because I wanted to thank you. Think we could just talk for a spell?"

Bess swallowed and nodded. After a few moments searching, she discovered her tongue where she had left it on the roof of her mouth and did her best to eke out intelligible words. They scooted along the white vinyl car bench until Elvis got to the other side and leaned back, stretching out his arms and looking at her.

“I know'd it was you that talked to Sergeant Norwood.”

Bess looked down. “I, ugh, actually. That would be highly inappropriate of me to talk to a senior instructor in your company and ask for any special treatment.” She looked back up at him. “But, um, how’s it going?”

Elvis grinned wide. “He’s, uh, well, he’s instruction’ alright,  instructed me to come over to his house here on post after dinner most nights. He, uh, well, I uh, he lets me use his phone to call home and get a few hours of shut eye at their place. Though I preferred the bed at your house, Bessie bug. Cushioning there was better.”

Bess let out a snort as Elvis slid down to put his head in her lap, just as it had been that first night in her guest room. He pulled her right hand in his over her chest, threading his fingers through hers as he looked up into her face with apt admiration.

“Ya are the first real friend I’ve made here.”

“Hmmm. Seemed like you were doing all right making new friends upstairs.”

Elvis smirked, his squeezed his fingers between hers.

“You are jealous a Dori. Jus say tha word and I’ll take you to the dance too, baby. I could take both of you as my dates, ya know, nuff a me ta go ‘round.”

Bess tried to take her fingers back, but it was a half-hearted attempt and his hand was so much bigger than hers. Resigned, she squeezed back and sighed, looking out the window.

“Ha, I’m sure. But, no, I’m not jealous, I’m just giving you a hard time, Presley. You sure seem like a fast operator.” Bess felt an aching warmth blossom in her belly as his thumb rubbed the inside of her palm.

“Honey, I didn’t operate nothing, I’m just an innocent bystander caught in the eye of Hurricane Dori. If anyone is operatin’ fast, it’s your friend back there.”

“Yeah, well, you have to forgive her, she had a lot more going on in Savannah than she does here. We are sorely lacking in ladies’ charities and fancy galas for her to host. So Dori gets all pent up, all that energy and nothing to do with it. Maybe you can help wear her out. " Bess arched her eyebrows suggestively, her voice was light and teasing. "By dancing, I mean, of course.”

“Huh, sure. How ‘bout you? Will you have any pent up energy ya wanna dance off with an ol’ friend?”

“Ha, I’m about as old a friend to you as Dori is.”

“Nah, honey, you’re different, we go way back now. I don’t know anyone who’d risk their job to take a po’ boy like me home an feed me an’ take care a me so good.”

Elvis' eyes welled up and Bess softened, thinking he might cry. She found herself soothing the top of his forehead with her left knuckles.

“Hey, ssshhh, hey. You would have done the same for me, right? If our roles were reversed and I was a new recruit being trained for combat?”

The left side of Elvis’ face lifted into a crooked grin. Bess was transfixed watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Course, course I would. You know, I’ve spent the last two years running from women chasing me, I reckon the Army’d be in better shape if they’d put ya girls into combat. Ain’t nothing more terrifying than a hoard of twenty thousand screaming girls coming for ya.”

“Ha, yeah, probably makes basic training seem like a breeze.”

Bess smiled down at Elvis, and made her fist into a fake microphone, affecting a serious, transatlantic accent like the reporters at his press conference last week.

“So, Private Presley, what do you think, is basic training harder or easier than running from women for a living?”

Elvis chuckled. His right hand let go of Bess’ fingers and snaked around her waist. “Well, ain’t nothing like getting clobbered by a swarm of women. I s’pose the main difference between those girls and the Russians is, they don’t mean to hurtcha. They’re just tryin’ to get themselves a piece of ya for a souvenir.”

Bess’ raised one eyebrow, her reporter microphone hand still at attention.

“Oh? Please tell us, the American people want to know, which piece of you are these girls trying to get their hands on?”

Elvis burst out laughing. “Uh, no comment, though I could show you later if you want.”

Bess blushed at the glint in his eyes, and kept talking. “Hmm, fresh. Next question, how devastating was it to get your haircut?”

“Well, now, that didn’t bother me none at all. You know what they say, hair today, gone tomarra."

He paused, grinning at her tepid "Ha. ha. ha."

"But no, I ain't sore. Now, if it weren’t never gonna grow back, yeah, sure, maybe I’d be sore, but I don’t mind following the rules and cutting my hair like all the other boys here. I’m actually starting to like it.”

Bess combed her fingers through his crew cut.

“MMhmmm. I liked it better long, but you know me, I hate soldiers.”

“Picked a weird place to work then, Bessie, ain’t nothing but soldiers here.”

“This is just temporary, till I figure out what’s next for me.”

Elvis looked down towards his knees, speaking softly. “Yeah, jus temporary. That’s what my manager keeps sayin’, but man oh man, I think it’s all over for me. Ain’t no one gonna remember me in two years.”

“That’s not true. Trust me, it just feels that way. How many records you sold?”

Elvis leaned his face into her fingers as they cupped his cheek, he could feel Bess’ thighs tremble slightly underneath her skirt and it made him smile. He looked up at her big brown eyes sheepishly.

“Oh, I don’t know, ‘bout 25 million I s’pose.” His voice was casual and aloof til he cried out at the smack of Bess’ hand hitting his shoulder.

“Ha, I would have guessed 4 or 5 million. 25? I can’t even picture a stack that high. It would go all the way to the moon, probably. You’re thick, you know that? Like we could forget you with all those records out there, spinning 'round in people’s homes, on the radio. No, I think the Russians would have to bomb us to kingdom come before we forget about you, what with 25 million records playing all over. ”

“You’re sweet, Bess, you know that? My uncle used to have a cow named Bess.” He grinned up at her and made a moo sound. “Lil' Bessie Moo Moo, she was sweet, just like you… Moo Moo.” His voice tapered off as Elvis' hand began to trail up the side of Bess’ body. His voice became low and earnest. “She had the sweetest milk.”

Bess shivered at the touch of his fingers before pulling her head toward him. Just as she was an inch away from his lips, she stopped him, and tilted back up, fake microphone fist in her hand again between their faces.

“And, I know our listeners will want to know this important detail, where exactly was this cow, Private, Memphis?” She was the reporter again, and her heart thumped with a beat of regret as she took in the split second of disparagement that played across his face as she lifted her lips away from his. But then it was gone and he was back to playing cool with a grin. 

“Nah, back in Tupelo where I was borned and raised.”

“Tupelo, huh? Well, tell us Presley, why does all the good rock and roll music come from that part of the country, places like  Mississippi, Tennessee?”

Elvis nestled his head back into Bess’ thighs, scrunching up his lips as he thought.

“Don’t know, I guess we jus have a history of it, it's a place where ya got Black rhythm and blues and country and western, spiritual music. It's in the air we breathe down there, I guess, gets all jumbled up and out comes rock ‘n’ roll.”

“Well, Private, is rock n’ roll the secret weapon we’ve all been waiting for to take down communism and restore civilization to Eastern Europe and Russia? And if so, when are you being sent over enemy lines?”

“Now, maybe you’re on ta something there, pretty sure it’s already destroyed civilization state side.”

“Oh, definitely, the very fabric of our society is crumbling, just ask any parent and they’ll tell you that their teenager hates school and wants to have sex, all because of rock ’n’ roll. No teenager ever felt that way before they heard your music.”

“Huh, you’re a smart ass, you know that?”

“I’ve been a smart ass since you met me. Try to keep up, Tupelo.”

“Huh, yeah, ya a piece of work, lil' Moo Moo. And ya asking for it talkin’ to a man like that.”

Elvis pinched her soft, springy sides as he chuckled. Anyone walking by the blue Ford would have only seen Bess’ silhouette sitting up, head tilted back in a deep, guttural laugh for the first time in almost a year, as Elvis lay back in her lap, tickling and pinching her. They sat in her car for another hour, as Bess fussed over a cluster of razor burn below his ear, and he asked her about her life, getting to know as much about her as she was willing to reveal until she had to push him off her lap to go meet Sargeant Norwood, dismissing his offer to come back to her house and show her that souvenir all the gals were chasing after

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

Read Chapter Three Here

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Rated - Explicit

Mating Dance by AestheticAcoustic

Summary: Pro-Hero Ground Zero just broke into the top ten. To celebrate, his friends drag him to a strip club. There, he spies a familiar face working the pole, and working it beautifully. It's Izuku, who he hasn't seen since slamming the door in his face in middle school. Katsuki's greatest regret was always that day. Maybe now he can apologize and make-up for it.

Complete | 11 Chapters

Rated - Explicit

Yoga Moves by SassyYah

Summary: As part of his therapy, Katsuki attends a yoga class and meets the only omega to ever catch his interest. The green-eyed omega, Izuku, demonstrates how to use some of the props and Katsuki decides he needs to see more of this hot dork. Izuku is surprised to have hero Dynamight in his class but is even more surprised by what Dynamight says to him.

WIP | 27/32 Chapters

Rated - Explicit

My Idol by MissLorali

Summary: Pro Hero Katsuki, a secret super fan of Idol Deku, gets the chance to meet the omega of his dreams after saving him from a villain attack.

{One Shot}

Rated - Explicit

Take my freaking bento! by MiraChaDoodles

Summary: In which quirkless omega Midoriya Izuku unknowingly asks Bakugou Katsuki to court him.

{One Shot}

Rated - Teen & Up

Comfort omega by @silverynight

Summary: "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course! It's not about me this time. It's one of the heroes who works at the same agency as me. He's a friend, even though he doesn't want to admit it." She chuckles, then glances at the bank's front door nervously. "I don't know what's going on with him exactly... He was alright this morning..."

"I don't think he's ever received help from a comfort omega before," one paramedic cuts in, looking down at her tablet. "And if he doesn't have a mate it's most likely that his inner alpha has been accumulating stress and anger until... Well, until now."

"He also has anger issues," Uravity adds. "Although he's been working on them..."

Izuku sighs; stubborn alphas are the worst, he's probably one of the few ones who doesn't trust comfort omegas...

***

"Alright... I'll go. Who's the pro hero by the way? You mentioned he was one of the best, Uravity..."

"Dynamight."

Complete | 13 Chapters

Rated - Teen & Up

When We Meet Again by RohanBerry

Summary: It's been years since Izuku has seen Kacchan, but one chance encounter leads to texting, which leads to calls, which leads to a date, which leads to some rather nasty online comments. Thankfully, Kacchan is around to make sure Izuku knows his worth.

{One Shot}

Rated - Explicit

[clefable-time]

WIP Wednesday

Finally participating in something like this now that I've made a reminder to do so - god, I've been working on this chapter for like, eight months asdfasdads

You can read chapter one of Duets for Ruined Monsters here.

--------

He isn't sure whether it's seconds or minutes of silence that pass between them – though he could measure the passage of time by her heartbeats if he truly wanted to. His hunger rushes to the forefront of his mind at the idea, and he swallows it down. 

Just a little longer – he only has to hold out for a little while more. They'll find the damned Nightsong, return to the damned Towers, and then he can drink his fill of cultists and beasts and whatever else happens to step in front of his fangs. He has gone far longer without blood – for an entire year, once – this is nothing. 

“You haven’t been eating.”

He nearly jumps from his own skin. The telltale writhing of the tadpole behind his eye is completely absent; no, she isn’t reading his mind. His discretion must simply be faltering. 

“I’m almost insulted,” she continues. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” Then she laughs – an airy laugh that he quickly identifies as practiced. Her gaze falls to the specimen jars he uses to haul blood from camp to camp, all of them empty and spotted with blackened, congealed residue. “You drained your reserves a while ago, and there's nothing alive out here.” She peeks up at him, cold eyes poking out from beneath the dusky sheet of hair she's flipped to one side of her face. 

He remembers the day she cut it, indiscriminately shearing off chunks with a dull knife until Karlach came by with her razor to even it out. The fuzzy stubble on the back of her scalp rasps over his chest.

“You minx.” He grins, fangs grazing his bottom lip – he’s far more experienced at this game, and he’s more than willing to circle in tandem with her, as warring tom cats will before one makes his decisive pounce. “Trying to change the subject, are we?”

But she simply smiles right back at him – wicked and toothy. “I am.” 

The honesty is enough to catch him off guard, and she capitalizes on even the slightest falter in his expression; she’s the one who pounces.

“I thought we had an arrangement.”

He chews on his cheek. Truthfully, he's loath to be beholden to any single source of food; he has lived that way for two hundred years. Feeding from her was less to keep himself sated (she could never produce enough blood for that – no one could) and more of a way to hold her interest. It was a way to test the limits of the tadpole – how it affected his control over him.

“We did.” He swallows. “Before.” 

Below him, she mouths the word as though it's one of a foreign tongue, feeling out each syllable. Her brow furrows, then, candlelight glinting off of her scales: “What changed?”

His loosened grip on her waist is regained as he flexes his fingers against her, digging into her skin through thin fabric. “You, er,” he says, clearing his throat. “Don't seem to enjoy it like I thought you might have.”

“Enjoy it?” She snorts - she actually snorts at the concept. “Why would I enjoy it?”

She is not stupid (nor is she particularly naive.) She knows the ways of their world and its histories and nuances – but there are gaps in her knowledge, excised from her with her memories, that leave her wanting in very specific areas. She knows how to cast a spell flawlessly but not when she first learned it; she can read the Draconic script on her choker, but can't write or speak the language herself. He'll see the frustration in the crinkle of her nose, in the way her eyes dart back and forth to search for an answer to what should be an easy question only to trip and stutter when the search comes up fruitless.

At moments like this, he is tempted to tease; it would be very easy to do so, and her reactions are endlessly entertaining. But in this specific instance, he feels what he can only describe as relief – his suspicions are correct, and the part of “tawdry vampire lover” can be tossed aside with its accompanying script – but that also leaves him without much else to say.

“There are… some that do,” he says, after taking a moment to formulate. He recalls that drow back at Moonrise – an unsavory woman with putrid-smelling blood. “It is a terribly intimate act, after all – a fearsome monster pressed to your neck, holding your life in his hands. Plenty of those books you enjoy have explored the subject further than that.” He does find an opportunity to tease her then, pulling her closer and dipping his head to nose at her shoulder – to mouth at her neck without biting. She tenses in his fingers, but remains otherwise motionless. Spoilsport. “So, I suppose that such a thing could be... romanticized.” He makes sure to purr that last word along the pointed tip of her ear, and catches her harsh shiver in his arms.

“That’s…” She squints. “...asinine.” 

He comes apart then, barking a laugh – pressing his face into her shift to muffle the noise. 

Her head whips around to glare up into his eyes. “What? Would you find breastfeeding erotic? It's the same principle; it's just eating.”

It takes every remaining ounce of his composure to resist outright howling at such a comparison. “There you go again, darling,” he wheezes out between giggles. “With that obsession of yours.” He blinks away a few tears that well up from the pressure of withheld laughter. “Should I start stuffing my shirt? Is that the secret to gaining your affection?” 

“Shut up,” she hisses. A swift elbow to the ribs paints his newfound mirth red with throbbing pain – but it's well worth the delight he takes from seeing her face scrunch up in frustration, ruffling her scales. “You know what I mean!”

He steadies himself through the stray giggles, nestling his cheek atop her head, his nose buried in her hair. “Is that how you see me? A defenseless babe who requires constant feeding?” 

“You certainly whine enough to play the part convincingly.” She draws her knees to her chest, pinning his hands atop her stomach. “All that I'm saying is that you need to eat, as any one of us does – especially with Thorm and the Absolute and who knows what else waiting for us. We have to be at our best.” She rests back against him, her shoulders collapsing with her breath. “It doesn't have to come from me, but down here, I don't see any other options.”

“There aren't,” he mutters. “I’ve checked.” And checked, and checked, and checked. It was practically torture – a subject with which he is well-acquainted – watching the cleric bleed herself time and time again throughout this maze of a temple, so eager to waste such a precious, delicious resource just to be rewarded with Shar’s next deadly obstacle course. 

Perhaps she has a point about the cleric's priorities.

------

Not tagging anyone because I don't really know anyone in the community right now -- kinda starting from scratch with this new blog. If you see this, then consider yourself tagged!

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

with all appliances and means to boot: ncis/tiva fic

for this challenge, @loudlooks​ requested Tiva + "I didn't know you could do that." thank you for the inspiration!! *hugs*

set summer between S3-4 w/ team dynamics & tiva (a LOT of tiva—they took over the fic, basically, and I’m not sorry about it) 

also, this turned out like eight times longer than I expected & was the most fun and freeing thing I’ve worked on in years, so

enjoy:) 

FFN

“I didn’t know you could do that!” 

McGee’s voice filtered over news-chattering televisions, incessantly ringing phones, and chicken-clacking keyboards to reach Tony at his desk. 

“There was no reason to mention it earlier. It is not exactly a useful skill, my friend.” Ziva’s full-throated chuckles were wind chimes amidst the office drudgery.

Tony shook off the eruption of gooseflesh on his arms. It was way too early for that. And McGee was babbling again.

“I’ve just never met someone in real life who could do it.”

“Really?!”

A boom of shared laughter enveloped them.

Glancing at the digital read-out on his monitor, Tony silently cheered. 9:07. Totally busted. Then he pretended to be busy with paperwork, so his attention was occupied ahead of time. 

The agents’ conversation lowered until it faded completely, coinciding with their entrance into the squadroom.

Tony had that effect on them now. The tables, as the saying went, had turned. They were the class troublemakers to his super-strict teacher. They, the unruly cadets, and he, the veteran drill sergeant. They were Agents; he was Boss. 

“Agent McGee. Officer David. You’re late.” 

McGee froze while swinging around his desk. Ziva froze after dropping her gear. Tony continued to stare yet not see the file in front of him, but he didn’t need visual confirmation to know the teammates were exchanging glances, coordinating their plan of counterattack. 

“Well, technically we were in the building on time.” The opening lob courtesy of McGee. 

“Technically, that’s not good enough, McTardy.”

“It was when you were wearing our shoes.” 

Tony fought an eye roll. “You can’t throw me off the scent with a well-timed idiom blunder, Officer David.” 

“Can’t I, Tony?” Ziva’s voice was louder, closer to him. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he spied her leaning on the divider between their workspaces. So close now, he caught a whiff of her lavender mint shampoo as she flicked at a cascade of curls that had fallen over her shoulder. If this was their strategy, well, it wasn’t the worst angle. 

But Tony DiNozzo was better. 

“No, you can’t,” he reiterated, finally gracing each of them in turn with his steady gaze. Calm, yet intense. Everything rumbling beneath the surface. “And it’s Agent DiNozzo. Or Boss.” 

Ziva stared back, golden-brown eyes matching his intensity, but not the calm. She rattled off a string of heated Hebrew, ending with a sharp snap of her teeth before spinning around on her heel and dropping heavily into her desk chair.  

Crazy chick.

“So, anyway. Just to be clear: If you’re here after me, you’re late. Period.” Tony slapped a case folder closed, causing his desk to tremble; he could emphasize his words, too. “For today, you can make amends by telling me whatever it is McGee didn’t know Ziva could do. I’m thinking it involves lots of stretching, but if there’s a video game reference, leave it out. Go!” 

And like that, authority forfeited for curiosity. 

McGee did roll his eyes and muttered something that suspiciously sounded like waste of time under his breath. Ziva scoffed, typing noisily at her computer and decidedly not looking in Tony’s direction. 

“That’s an order.” Even he didn’t buy the command. 

9:10. The day was shot. 

. . . 

If someone asked Tony how his first weeks as leader of MCRT were going, he’d say, “Good, considering the circumstances,” with a flash of white teeth. He didn’t like to lose face, sure, but he was pretty confident it was the truth, too.

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, leaving you in charge of a team that for years affectionately regarded you as The Class Clown, the circumstances weren’t on your side and ‘good’ was the most you could hope for.

. . . 

“What did you do?” 

Passing through the automatic doors, Tony came up short—as much due to the always assaulting antiseptic stench as the accusation. “Why do you assume I did something wrong? Can’t I come see my favorite Autopsy Gremlin with no ulterior motive?” 

“Sure you can,” Palmer called from the freezer section, where he was sliding a corpse home. “But I already talked to Abby, who talked to McGee.” 

Fantastic.

“So before, with the ‘what did you do?’...that was kind of redundant, huh?”

“Guess so.” A dorky chortle escaped the assistant. “I mean, seriously, they were only late by a couple minutes, Tony. Sorry, Agent DiNozzo.” Another hiccup of laughter. 

Great. Just great. 

“Gee, I was hoping I could escape some of the ridicule down here....” Tony pressed his palms against the cold steel of an autopsy table, shoulders hunched, depositing weight into the defeated stance. All his course-correcting tactics, including buying his team lunch, had done little to reverse the morning’s death blow. McGee and Ziva were ignoring him aside for a lone campfire, and then their interactions were clipped—aggressively so where the ex-assassin was concerned. Now the damage was spreading to the sub-basement, it seemed. 

“Look on the bright side, you’re the team leader. It’s what you’ve always wanted, right?” Palmer mirrored Tony on the other end of the table, adjusting his glasses before adding, “This is a bump in the road, but no one ever achieved greatness without first overcoming resistance.” 

“That’s wise, Palmer. For a man who talks to the dead. You wouldn’t happen to know—”

“What McGee didn’t know Ziva could do?” 

Tony blinked. Maybe they’d been underestimating the Autopsy Gremlin all along. “Yeah. Know anything about it?” 

“It’s not a big deal. We were at the bar last night and first the waitress got Abby’s drink order mixed up, but it was super busy, so I suggested that—”

“Sometime today, Palmer.” 

“Well, it turns out Ziva can knot a cherry stem with her tongue, and then...” 

Oh, it was more wondrous than he’d guessed (and that list was long).

Palmer’s rambling dissolved to the background of Tony’s thoughts. He couldn’t get to the audacity of everyone going out for drinks without him because the dexterity of Ziva’s tongue was front and center. As he was recently familiarized with that very tongue and the talented mouth it resided in, it was all too easy to lose himself in a sexy daydream of the alleged feat.

Until he remembered how pissed she was at him. Bubble, burst. 

. . .

If someone asked Tony how his first weeks sleeping with Ziva, his former partner and current subordinate, were going, he’d say, “What? I’m not—we’re not—how dare—what?!” 

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, some of his rules haunted you. 

. . . 

“Rough day?”

Tony looked up right away. It was best not to play games with the director, who emerged stealthily in the dim, empty squadroom. He’d dismissed McGee and Ziva at regular quitting time, unable to make eye contact with either of them—for different reasons—but stayed behind to catch up on last week’s case reports. Him, voluntarily completing paperwork. 

Rough was an understatement.  

“I see my shortcomings are making the rounds.” 

Jenny’s smile was beautifitic, the one she wore during news interviews. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t seeking it out. I was speaking to Ducky on a separate matter, and he happened to mention talking with Mr. Palmer, who—”

“Got the scoop from Abby because McGee blabbed to her,” Tony finished, barely restrained. “Yeah, I’m well acquainted with the watercooler daisy chain.” 

It didn’t slip his notice that Ziva was the missing link. The text he’d started writing to her the second she disappeared through the elevator doors was unfinished and unsent on his phone. 

“Did you also hear they went for drinks after work without inviting me?” It came out as a whine.

Jenny didn’t mask her amusement. “Did you always invite Gibbs for drinks? No, because he was your boss and you were probably venting about him.”

Touché.

“I’m trying, ma’am.” This he intoned with every fiber of professionalism and sincerity he could summon in the moment. The problem was that this wasn’t his first mistake since taking over—wouldn’t be the last—but he was trying. He wanted that noted. Also, there was an insane learning curve, and yes, big shoes to fill. Could he be blamed for that?

The redhead stepped forward, switching her smile for an expression of...not quite pity. Understanding? “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Robin Hood: Men in Tights?” 

“Shakespeare.” Jenny chuckled, her fair eyes sparkling in the light of his desk lamp. Tony could see why Gibbs was once head-over-heels for her, back when they were partners. He knew something of those complicated emotions, of which the text draft on his phone contained damning evidence. 

“It’s the nature of being in charge,” she continued. “You’re going to have crappy days and plenty of nights when you can’t sleep. My advice, from experience? When you screw up, apologize and do better next time.”  

“Isn’t that a sign of weakness?” It was a reflex, after so many years. 

Jenny caught his eye and held it. “No. It’s a sign of respect.” 

. . .

He was sober when he showed up on her doorstep. Stopping off for some liquid courage briefly flitted through his brain, but flitted out just as quickly. McGee, he could buy a NutterButter, eat some humble pie himself. All would be cool again. Ziva was a different story. 

Namely, a story with a lot of sex in it, and it’d barely been a month yet. That he spent a large portion of the day envisioning her tongue doing erotic dances with a red cherry stem wasn’t helping. It also further convinced him of a brutal truth: Things were changing. Things had already changed. 

Ziva, outlined by the glow from inside the apartment, crossed her arms over a baggy workout t-shirt. Curls piled in a messy bun. It was Tuesday, kickboxing night. “If you are here for a booty call, you will be sorely disappointed.” Each word was wrapped in her delicious Israeli accent, momentarily distracting him from their sum meaning.

He’d expected as much.

“See, when you want to get them right…” Tony’s attempted humor and roguish smile failed to earn him leniency. 

“Goodnight, Boss.”

The door hurtled toward him, closing on his chance to repent—and more than that, his chance with her. His left hand flew up, catching the wood with a few inches to spare. 

“Hey, whoa. Wait. I’m here to apologize, all right?” Breath whooshed in and out of him; sweat beaded instantly on his forehead.  

Okay, so it wasn’t just about the sex. He was enamored with her, and it hadn’t been a full month yet.

Ziva yanked the door back, though the arrangement of her features maintained dubious feelings. She raised her eyebrows in a way that said, Yes, and?

“I was an idiot, Ziva.”

A corner of her delicate mouth pulsed. “Good start.”

The heaviness in his chest released. He dared another smile, softer-gentler this time, and the door stayed open. “I was too hard on you and McGee.”

“You will apologize to him as well, yes?”

“Yes. McSweetTooth will wet himself with glee, I’m sure of it.” Tony shuffled his feet, bringing him onto her brown doormat, never dropping her gaze. “But seriously, Ziva, I know I messed up, especially, you know...I mean, you should be able to call the guy you’re sleeping with by his first name, even if he’s your boss. That is,” he sheepishly tagged on, “if I’m still the guy you’re sleeping with, after today.”

For a bloated handful of seconds, Ziva froze, as she had that morning in the squadroom. Eyes like lasers, drilling through him. It lasted long enough for doubts to creep in. Then—

“Are you?”

So simple, but coupled with her head tilted to expose honeyed neck, her popped knee, and the slight part of her plumped lips, the challenge was clearly set for him. 

This would be fun. 

Tony launched over the doorway, literally sweeping Ziva off her feet as he plowed into the apartment. An honest-to-goodness squeal filled his ears, then that wind-chime laugh took over and his knees wobbled in their sockets—nevermind her 100-something pounds hanging on his torso. 

It was the first time he’d carried her this way—any way—but her arms and legs wrapped around his body with an ease he would have analyzed if not for the supple give of her breasts against his chest, or her frizzy hair tickling his chin. Her mouth alternated between whispering the dirtiest promises in his ear and nibbling on his neck. Thoughts would have to wait. 

How they shut the front door, how they maneuvered the hallway to her bedroom, how they undressed and (eventually) found the bed was a haze of details that didn’t matter. The shudder that coursed through her at his every touch, mattered. The inverted bridge her back made when his lips and tongue met her center, mattered. His name on a gasp, woven into a sigh, lifted to a shout...

In this area, Tony DiNozzo excelled. He was damn well going to prove it. 

. . . 

It took two rounds to sate her. The first go was part of the apology; the second was because he had a young, hot lover who could run eight miles at the crack of dawn, kickbox for an hour after work, and still have energetic sex with him—twice. Who wouldn’t take advantage of that? 

“Guess I got that booty call after all.” He love-tapped her ass, which was bare to the air. He braced for retaliation. 

None came.

Hair mussed and cheeks flushed, Ziva glanced over, fixing him in her line of sight. A smirk hiked up the side of her mouth not buried in the pillow. “As did I, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Never going to live that down, am I?”

“Give it a few months.” Her smirk widened as her eyelids drooped, each blink taking longer and longer to pull back up. 

. . .

They dozed together in the dark of her bedroom. They weren’t cuddlers, per se. Their connections left them too sensitive, sticky and unspooled. They stayed close, though. Touching random pieces of her to him, him to her. His head resting on her bicep curled closest to the mattress. Her ankle molded to the arch of his foot. Sometimes as conventional as their hands laid one atop the other, fingers loose. 

. . . 

He began talking while they ate cereal in the kitchen at quarter to eleven. He was talking as she cleaned and put away their dishes and led him to the front room, his body going where she steered and nudged. What he voiced was nothing new to either of them. All the same issues that overwhelmed him on a cool May night, that propelled him to Ziva’s door in what would become a habit. He was drowning; she was refuge. 

For that, and so many other reasons, he trusted her without question. 

Ziva allowed him to talk now because that was how he worked out problems. They both knew that, too. 

“I think it comes down to the fact that...I don’t know how to be a team leader that isn’t Gibbs.” The admission floated and settled on the sofa cushion between them. It wasn’t often they said his name anymore. The memory was sore to the touch. 

“We have been over this, yes?” Ziva tossed a leg across his lap, the other tucked beneath her. He immediately claimed the tanned skin of her thigh, rolling it under his hands. “This is a chance to be your type of leader, make your own rules.” 

“Every time I do that, it blows up in my face.”

“Not every time,” she corrected, her eyes darting to his lips and lingering. 

His heart rate ticked up. Very true. They might not have happened if Gibbs hadn’t left. But… “We’re one thing, Ziva. The team is another.”   

She turned his chin with her hand, locking his gaze with her steady and fervent stare. An imposing combination. “Tony, you either keep trying or you quit, just like Gibbs. What will it be?” 

It was Tony’s turn to sneak a not-so-subtle glance at her lips. When she put it like that, the answer was undebatable. What he’d told Jenny wasn’t a lie. And giving up wasn’t an option. 

Didn’t mean he’d hand her the win that easily. 

“How about we make a deal?” While his eyebrows waggled, his hands roamed farther than her thigh. “I persevere with the team leader thing. In exchange, you show off your fancy cherry stem tying prowess for me.” 

Her mouth gaped, eyes narrowing. “Who told you?”

“Palmer. The guy’s actually not a bad sounding board.” He’d have to remember that for future thorny cases. 

Ziva deflected, “I do not have any cherries in the fridge.”

Tony returned, “That wouldn’t stop a true parlor trick magician like yourself.”

Her face reformed in an expression that always intrigued him. A cat devising the perfect trap for her prey. It didn’t surprise him when she stretched her leg out, straddling his lap properly. He circled her low back, drawing her hips over him and generating a spark of friction. There was extra verve in her fingers burrowing the short hairs at his nape, tipping his head upwards. 

“You must really want me to—”

Ziva covered his lips with hers, swallowing his words as they melted to moans. Instead of continuing hot and heavy, everything slowed. Each kiss long and needy, a continuous caress. Her heady spice invaded his senses. The tip of her tongue slipped by his teeth, running the roof of his mouth before pushing in further.

Tony’s spine straightened at the sensation of tongue against tongue, the rough texture, the strokes and flicks. He gripped whatever part of her was in his reach, would likely leave marks. She didn’t flinch. She was all around him, practically tying him in a knot. 

It was exactly how he imagined it, but also superior.

He was smiling when they broke apart, breath imperative for them both. “Your ingenuity is an inspiration, Ms. David.” 

Ziva winked, leaning forward to kiss him again, a casual closed-lipped peck in the wake of such an intimate encounter. And he knew, no matter what came of leading the team, he wanted this—them—to survive. 

“Now you must honor your part of the deal, Tony.” 

“Whatever you say,” he agreed, flipping her onto the cushion and following her down for round three.

. . .

The next day, Tony waited at his car in the parking lot for his team to arrive. He walked into the building with them, and didn’t check the clock in the mornings ever again. 

He apologized to McGee, which just freaked out the newly-appointed Senior Field Agent. As Tony predicted, the Nutter Butter made all the difference. 

By the end of the week, he brought Special Agent Lee onto the team because there was symmetry in four and they needed a probie to act as a buffer. Plus, she was good at meeting case report deadlines and Tony wasn’t.

He doubled-up on campfires and went to Jenny for advice more often. Palmer, too. 

The team went out for drinks, occasionally inviting him to join. Occasionally not. 

A month later, he and Ziva started keeping their love in each other’s hearts along with spare clothes in one another’s dressers. Soon, there would be no sense hiding them anymore. 

And when someone asked Tony how leading his own team was going, he said, “Our results speak for themselves,” and meant it. 

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, leaving you in charge, you wore the crown and made it your own. 

fin

[millennialgrandma]

August Wrap Up

I have officially been doing these monthly wrap up posts for a year now. How surreal is that?

This was sort of a wild month for me. I ended up taking the first two weeks of August off of work, with all these grand plans to catch up on hobbies and do home projects and read to my heart's content and write fic and dive back into astrology again and visit family and...and..and. What actually happened was that I went to Home Depot eight fucking days in a row and painted exactly two rooms of my house, in between doing a whole lot of nothing before I traveled to my hometown to celebrate another rotation around the sun.

Things I Wrote

Most of this month was spent wondering why both my desire to write and my muse decided to run off together. I did, however, manage to squeak out a silly little crackfic called bone broth (dramione, M, 1k) as a birthday present for @ambpersand. You can find other delightful little treats in the birthday collection here.

Things I Read

A whore is back to her old tricks - no books this month. I at least got back into my groove in terms of reading. And finally caught up on all the WIPs I'm following/have since been completed. I have a handful of other WIPs I have been eager to start, so I gave myself a strict rule about catching up on the others first.

Fiction:

Nonfiction:

Fanfiction:

Complete: (approx. 129.6k)

A Bloody Idiot by @eveningstruggle (dramione, E, 8.2k)

Home Again by @indreamsink (dramione, E, 7.2k)

Bad Kids by @sodamnradd (dramione, E, 18.3k)

Feint by @ambpersand (dramione, E, 5k)

Right Time, Wrong Place by @forgotten-traveler (dramione, E, 2.2k)

Bloody Knickers by @emilyinwonderland (dramione, E, 4.2k)

She Thinks by @mightbewriting (romione, E, 15.8k)

Group Read: Not In Our Stars by @biscuitsforpotter (theomione, M, 9.7k)

Medicine by RegulusBlacksSwimTeacher (dreomione, E, 4k)

Tension by @inadaze22 (dramione, E, 10.4k)

round figures by pankycranda (dramione, M, 2.3k)

Heavy Hung by @malfoysmugglemrs (dramione, E, 8.8k)

On the One Hand by @willhavetheirtrinkets (scorose, M, 2.1k)

Sugary Sweet by @sweetestsorrows (dramione, E, 3.8k)

In Search of a Husband by @sweetestsorrows (dramione, E, 3.7k)

Forbidden Fruit by @sweetestsorrows and @roseheira (dramione, E, 3.2k)

The Better To Love You With by @sweetestsorrows and @roseheira (dramione, E, 10k)

A Cat Declawed by @sweetestsorrows (dramione, E, 3.7k)

Lonely by @sweetestsorrows (dramione, E, 3.3k)

Cat Daddy by @holygnocchi and hellodarknessdarling (dramione, M, 3.7k)

WIPs: (approx. 158k)

Not What This Is by @whimsymanaged - Chapter 1 (dramione, E, 2.4k)

Intuition, Blue, & You by @smoke-and-plume - Chapter 1 (dramione, E, 5.3k)

Tainted by @catmintandthyme - Chapters 1 - 3 (dramione, E, 15.8k)

Change of Plan(t)s by @whimsymanaged - Chapter 1 (herbadbottom, E, 1k)

disparate by @starsin-motion - Chapter 1 (dramione, E, 10k)

Kingdom Come by @inadaze22 and @jaxx-in-a-box - Chapter 1 (dramione, E, 4.3k)

Let the Dark In by @senlinyuwrites - Chapters 17 - 21 (dramione, M, 28.7k)

Season Pass (To This Ass) by @mightbewriting (NOW COMPLETE) - Chapters 4 - 6 (dramiome, E, 7.5k)

Probably a Scam by @catmintandthyme - Chapters 13 - 14 (dramione, E, 6.5k)

Ten out of Ten by @morriganmercy (NOW COMPLETE) - Chapters 13 - 16 (dramione, E, 25.6k)

The Curse of 100 by @rosedevents - Chapter 15 (dramione, E, 2.8k)

In These Silent Days by @heyjude19-writing - Chapters 1 - 3 (dramione, E, 12.6k)

All Live To Die by @willhavetheirtrinkets - Chapters 1 - 13 (dramione, NR, 35.6k)

Things I'm Currently Reading (Heading into September)

Listen. I still need to read the last chapter of Love and Other Historical Accidents. I just don't want it to end, alright! I don't think I have anything else I'm working through at the moment. Maybe that means I'll pick a long fic off my TBR for September! Honestly, who's to say?

[avasghost]

When We Drown Update #2

[image description: a pale blue photo of a rocky cliff, and a boy at the edge in the distance, standing on a pile of rocks and looking down. in white serif font in the centre, reads “when we drown: update two” / end id]

wip intro here. first writing update here. 

DISCLAIMER: this is my original work, please do not plagiarize in any way.

hi everyone! it’s been a while since i did a writing update (time is fast) and i’ve written quite a lot! up until about a week ago i was in a really, really bad writing slump (which lasted like,,, four months) and so that’s why there hasn’t been a crane anatomy update for a ages because (: i haven’t been writing it (:

i don’t know if i mentioned this in the first update, but this book is now non-linear which has been an ~adventure! the non-linear plotline is kind of freeing because i can just pick a scene i want to write from any time in april’s life and just ... write it? i don’t have to follow the years chronologically. i try to create some kind of causal thread between the scenes but i don’t know how well that’s working out lmao. since WWD follows an entire life story with the protagonist looking back on it and remembering her life, i try to make her memory of one event trigger the memory of the next event, and usually they’re linked by either emotion or information.

current word count: 13,228

so when we drown is officially longer than crane anatomy now, despite being the side project! fun.

anyway lets get into the chapters because i have nothing else to say. tw for death, and other trigger warnings are before the individual chapters!

excerpts under the cut.

chapter 5: faces

[image description: a birds eye view of a forest of snowy pine trees. above the trees in black serif font reads “chapter 5: faces” / end id]

this is a very short chapter (a page and a half) which is a flash forward to when april and elena live together in a cabin in the woods sometime in their late forties. elena is asleep in an armchair and april stokes the fireplace, and then goes outside and sees elias’s ghost and then it dissapears (tbh,,, i think a lot of the chapters will be like this oops) this is the second ghost sighting in the book, but at the point when april is 48 it’s almost a regular occurrence! i might end up moving it to later in the book eventually, since i might want the ghost sightings to be in linear order if nothing else is, to keep the main thread of the book in order.

I closed the door of the woodstove, and glanced over my shoulder to see if Elena had been woken by the clanging of metal. She stirred slightly, a familiar face in her nightmare, an unfamiliar face in a familiar dream. Two fingers clenched against the armrest, then became limp again. Half of me wanted her to wake up, to see me, to speak to me, to see the fire bouncing in the grate and be happy for warmth. But again, she needed rest. She needed to be alone for a while, even if that was just in her head. She’d seen her fair share of fire.

also its snowing in november and its british columbia and i know this is unrealistic but! aesthetics are more important than logic we all know that.

[image description: blurry pine trees and a light snow falling in front of them, with a ridge of snow along the bottom. white serif text in the centre reads “The snow-tipped pines that cupped the cabin sagged under the weight of unexpected snowfall. Their fallen needles jotted the snow. The sky was white, spotless, like an expanse of faraway ocean or the inside of a crystal ball.” / end id]

The snow-tipped pines that cupped the cabin sagged under the weight of unexpected snowfall. Their fallen needles jotted the snow. The sky was white, spotless, like an expanse of faraway ocean or the inside of a crystal ball. No birds flitted between the branches, no foxes slunk between the pines. All was still. All was white. I was alone.

and the ghost is seen then disappears as usual and april goes inside again.

You were gone by the time I reached the door again, by the time I stepped inside and Elena stirred in her armchair, by the time I had stepped out of my shoes and gone to stoke the fire again, which was already starting to dwindle.

i like having elias referred to as “you” because its like april is telling the story to him, but he’s not there, so she’s talking to herself, which is very in character for her to do.

chapter 6: the party

[image description: a slope of pine trees with a grassy field at the bottom. mist shrouds the trees in the distance. a dirt path leads through the grass towards a cabin. in the top right corner, reads “chapter 6: the party” / end id]

chapter 6 follows the day before elena’s fifteenth birthday, and then her party the next day. this is a traumatic time for april because she decides she should mention her first elias sighting at the party. obviously people think she’s crazy and so you can guess how that turns out (aka april goes home and cries because she’s a soft bean)

elena has a cool tree in her backyard apparently!! this seems to be a running theme.

Dribbles of leftover sunlight sifted through the branches of the elm tree that ribbed the sky, its roots furrowing the lawn like varicose veins.

i will admit i didn’t finish this chapter and haven’t written most of the party scene yet so i will probably update on the rest of it in my next update (if i’ve written it by then which i probably won’t have but! we’ll see.)

chapter 7: sacred ground

[image description: the ocean stretching into the distance, with small waves. a blurry girl with long brown hair stands in front of it, facing the water. in the middle in white serif font reads “chapter 7: sacred ground” / end id]

the aftermath of the first elias sighting, when april goes and tries to talk to elena about it. i actually don’t know if this or the party comes first and the non-linearness might be catching up to me oops but we’ll just pretend everything makes sense okay <3 

first she tries to decide who to talk to about it and her options are quite limited. she picks elena because she’ll probably take her seriously, and then goes to her house in a state of shock.

I considered my options. Elena: the calm one, either pretending to be wise or really wise. Magnolia: probably less stupid than she made herself out to be. My mother: still crying over a tragedy of five years ago and a tragedy of fifteen years ago and the tragedy of a lifetime wasted in crowded cult meetings and stark bedrooms, tears always falling, thoughts either always whirlwinding or too dead to pay attention to. I found myself winding up the jittery pathway to Elena’s house, or maybe it was me that was jittery. Maybe it was me, who made the world blurry like this. Maybe it was me who was seeing things, not those things drifting into my line of vision and then falling out of sight. The pearly birches jagged the edges of the valley, their leaves chartreuse in the wind-rustled sunlight.

and then elena rejects her plight and april returns to where she saw elias. turns out elena isn’t as accepting of april’s hallucinations as she was supposed to be! here’s a bit of dialogue i generated from that incorrect quote generator that seems fitting for this moment!

April: Bad things keep happening to me, like I have bad luck or something.

Elena: April, you don't have bad luck. The reason bad things happen to you is because you're a dumbass.

this IS april and this IS elena how does this generator know what my book is about!! anyway back to excerpts:

I ran back to where I had seen you, all slow wonderment vanished, and found the place where my old footsteps in the sand looped around. I knew you wouldn’t be there, I wasn’t surprised that you didn’t appear again, your face bobbing in a rice paper mist. I wasn’t surprised that Elena didn’t chase me out, eyes drained of tears, to apologize. And I wasn’t surprised that from that point forward, I thought of that place as sacred.

chapter 8: always falling

[image description: a blurred black-and-white close-up image of water falling. white serif font in the center reads “always falling: chapter 8″ / end id]

tw: death, drowning, blood, fantasizing about drowning

eight-year-old april and magnolia visit a waterfall with magnolia’s parents. feat. april’s dog, august!

The waterfall coiled down the cliff face, cracking the surface of the river like a thousand strands of thunder. I could hardly hear Magnolia’s parents shouting something up ahead, their voices lost in the blare of water.

shortly after:

When I heard suspension bridge, I pictured one from old fairytales I read: wooden, burlap ropes for railings. A thirty percent chance of falling in. I was reassured by the stability, but August shivered at the way it jilted underfoot. He had never walked on ground that shifted under his feet, maybe it was an earthquake, maybe the ground was breaking in.

and here’s sweet eight-year-old April fantasizing about what it would be like to drown. If you think that’s foreshadowing no it isn’t 👁👁

[image description: a slightly grainy photo, half water and half sky, both tinted turquoise. a hand lifts out of the water toward the sky. above the hand in white serif font, reads “What it would feel like to drown, water snagging in my lungs, sharp stones shattering my ribcage until the entire river turned to blood. Being sucked by the current until someone finally found my body, far from where I lost it.” / end id]

I stared over the edge, tried to pierce the thick buzz of mist that separated me from what would be the teeth of my fall. I imagined the bridge giving way, like it always did in the stories I read. One end breaking, the ropes snapping, the entire bridge swinging into the bottomless river. What it would feel like to drown, water snagging in my lungs, sharp stones shattering my ribcage until the entire river turned to blood. Being sucked by the current until someone finally found my body, far from where I lost it. Maybe it would be an old fisherman, hauling a girl in with the day’s catch, or his frail wife, who would faint on the spot at the sight of a dead child, bloodied and mangled and already tearing apart.

they cross the suspension bridge, and august unfortunately falls in! this is just a bit of april’s childhood trauma and i wish i didn’t have to cause her this pain but i do i’m sorry 😭

chapter 9: dead letters

[image description: a close up sheet of paper with a few lines of cursive writing across it. a fountain pen lies across the page. in the bottom right hand corner, a black serif font reads “chapter 9: dead letters” / end id]

a very young april and elias get caught in a hailstorm then go inside and find letters from their father, who they never met because he still lives in the cult their mother escaped from the day april was born. their mother tries to hide the letters from them but! these children do not relent. 

We tracked through the colourful forest in autumn, our rubber boots tore trails through the scattered maple leaves. Pronged pinecones crackled under my heels as I chased you, threading between the trees.

I was eight, you were faster but I managed to keep up all the same. A haze of rain sizzled on my skin, but rain didn’t phase me back then. I didn’t mind the water droplets that pearled down my neck into the hem of my bright yellow rain jacket.

they escape from the hailstorm and find their mother in the kitchen making tea (rare!) 

When we tripped over the doorframe and found ourselves panting in the kitchen, the kettle wheezed and mother emerged from her bedroom to take it off. The scent of green tea wafted through the air as she poured it, steaming, into a ceramic teacup with a crack veining down the side.

april tries to take one of the letters but her mother stops her. later during the night, she and elias get out of bed and read the letters and it turns out their father left the cult as well, and wants to meet up with them. april wants to meet him, but elias is bitter about it and doesn’t really even consider him their father because he was never there for them. 

chapter 10: frostbite

[image description: two pale hands reach towards the sky, in front of a blurry indigo background. in the top left corner, white serif font reads “chapter 10: frostbite” / end id]

tw: freezing to death

there are those weird times when their mom tells stories about her life. these incidents never end well but happen occasionally! she tells april about a time when her and a few other cult members were in the mountains and one of them froze to death. at this point april is around fifteen (which is where the main plot of the book is at right now)

She cut off there, blanched, stared out the window at the sun-speckled backyard, but I could fill in the rest of the details myself: skin a cold stone blue, frostbite jittering through the lungs and spine like a poison, eating everything slowly. Lying in the snow, letting the cold overcome them. Dead before morning. I wanted to ask if they buried the body, dug a grave of snow that would be melted by spring, or just left the corpse lying in the snow for someone else to find, or be eaten by a wolf pack, or to deteriorate, and haunt those lonely slopes forever.

afterwards, april goes outside (yes its snowing again 😭 as someone who dislikes snow i sure write about it a lot) 

On those days, my desperation to leave the house rose to a high and I would slide into a pair of ragged sneakers and a cable-knit sweater and push out into the cold. Once vibrant green leaves now greyed with frost, a snowfall months early but not unwelcome. Striking before the trees had the chance to shed their leaves. Frost brittled the branches of the oaks so I could snap them without an effort, not that I wanted to snap them. The concrete of the road was spined with ice that made it look like the ground was caving in, icicles barbed the eaves of our house like jagged teeth. Sometimes I thumbed snow into my mouth like a child, hoping no one was watching a seventeen-year-old eat snow, and let it blot my tongue and dribble down my throat. The cold shock to my system helped clear my mind of whatever mother had been talking about, helped me cope with the pain I shouldn’t have been feeling in the first place.

aaannd that’s everything i’ve written so far! this has been the worst writing slump of my life and i’m not too happy with most of the stuff i’ve written lately, but hopefully that clears up so i can update y’all again soon!

- ava

wips taglist (ask to be added or removed!) @shaelinwrites​ @august-iswriting​ @wildswrites @nodeadnarrators @annlillyjose @shaonharryandpannisim @letsgetsquiggly @strangerays @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @dallonswords @teaandtypewriters @chewingthescenery​ @kahaaniyaa @coffeeandcalligraphy @47crayons​ @writing-is-a-martial-art​​

[avaantares]

Well, folks, after 20 MONTHS of weekly updates (save the two week hiatus this spring when my computer was being repaired), we've reached the final chapter of CotFA. Phew, that was a long run.

Those of you who have followed along and commented/kudo'd, thank you very much! Those of you who were waiting to start reading a 330K monster until it was complete (a totally valid choice!), you can now read it all in one marathon session if you like. Those of you who only came here for Torchwood and don't even go to the same school as DMC... Look, I have a lot of fandoms, okay? 😅 (And you don't even want to know how many more are represented in my WIPs...)

I'll be posting the companion piece/my Awakening zine contribution Some Are Born to Endless Night later this week, and then... goodness, I have no idea what's next. Maybe I'll actually take a couple weeks off from writing? Or maybe I'll start one of the eight thousand story ideas I jotted down over the past year but couldn't work on because I was still editing CotFA. Who knows?

First, though, I'm going to go curl up in bed and read something I didn't write. 😊 Catch y'all in the morning.