#cheeky wee pattern

[thestrangestperson]

Michael Sheen has a tendency to play:

- Gay men

- Supernatural beings

- Gay supernatural beings

- Murderers

[humaforever]

Prompt:

Uma leaves Harry alone with their child for the night and he has to get them to bed

To whoever sent this, sorry it took so long but thanks for the prompt. It was so fun to write ____________________________________

Harry watched from his chair, arms crossed as Cordelia, his ever lively three-year-old daughter, wreaked havoc on the living room. Toys were scattered everywhere, and she was running in circles, giggling at the top of her lungs, completely ignoring the fact that bedtime had come and gone a while ago. Her teal tipped curls, a perfect match of Uma’s, bounced with each step, and her big eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Lia,” Harry called, his voice calm but firm. “It��s time for bed, love.”

Cordelia stopped mid-step, turning to face him with her best innocent look. “But, Daddy, I’m not tired!” she protested, even as a tiny yawn betrayed her.

Harry smirked, kneeling down to her level. “Not tired, huh? Then why’s my little sea star yawning?”

Cordelia giggled, shaking her head. “Because you’re boring!”

Harry gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest. “Boring? Me? One of the most exciting pirates to ever sail the seas?”

Cordelia doubled over laughing. “Okay, okay! Not boring. But I still don’t wanna go to bed!”

Harry sighed, pretending to think. “Alright, lass. How about this? Bath, pajamas, and then a story. Deal?”

Her eyes lit up. “A pirate story?”

“Aye,” Harry said, holding out his pinky. “But only if you cooperate. No running off, no splashing, and no cheeky tricks. Do we have a deal?”

Cordelia linked her tiny pinky with his, grinning. “Deal!”

Bath time was, predictably, not as peaceful as Harry had hoped. Despite her promise, Cordelia’s inner sea witch emerged the moment the water touched her skin. She splashed, laughed, and demanded that Harry pretend to be a ship she was sinking.

“Starfish, you’re supposed to be getting clean, not flooding the cabin!” Harry said, dodging a particularly aggressive wave.

“But I’m a sea monster!” Cordelia roared, lifting a soapy hand out of the water like a claw.

Harry groaned, though he couldn’t hide his grin. “Alright, sea monster, you win. But if you don’t let me wash your hair, I’ll call your mum, and you know she doesn’t mess around.”

Cordelia giggled but sat still long enough for Harry to scrub her curls. By the time he lifted her out of the tub and wrapped her in a towel, the bathroom looked like a hurricane had passed through.

“Uma’s gonna kill me,” Harry muttered as he carried her to her room.

Once in her room Cordelia had changed into her favorite shark patterned pajamas, though she was still refusing to actually lay down in her bed. Harry watched as she bounced on her bed like it was a trampoline. Her hair was wild from a long day of play, and her giggles and shrieks filled the air, making it impossible not to smile, even though he tried to keep a stern look on his face. Which he miserably failed at.

“Cordelia, love,” Harry began, crouching to her level, “it’s way past your bedtime. Your mum’s gonna have my head if she comes back tomorrow and finds out you didn’t sleep.”

Cordelia tilted her head, her eyes wide with innocence. “But I’m not sleepy, Daddy,” she said, dragging out the last word as she clutched her plush octopus.

Harry sighed, resting his hands on his knees. “You said that an hour ago, lass, and now here we are. You’ve had your bath, your story, and I even sang that sea shanty you love, twice. What more could you need?”

She held up a tiny finger. “One more song?”

“Lia,” Harry groaned, sitting on the edge of the bed and scooping her into his lap. “You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?”

Cordelia giggled, snuggling into him. “Mama says I do.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Aye, she’s right about that. Fine. One more song. But after that, you’re lying down and closing those wee eyes, understand?”

She nodded solemnly, resting her head on his chest. Harry began to hum softly, the low melody of an old pirate lullaby filling the room. His rough voice softened as he sang, and Cordelia yawned, her tiny body relaxing against him.

“There now,” he said, placing her gently under the blankets and tucking her octopus toy in beside her. “All set for the night. Sweet dreams, my little sea star.”

He kissed her forehead and started to stand as her little eyes started to droop. Though from the looks of it she was still determined to fight off sleep. But her efforts were in vain.

Harry smiled down at her, trying to get up as carefully as possible. “Goodnight, little love.”

Harry tiptoed to the door, hopeful that she’d actually fall asleep. Just as he reached for the handle, her tiny voice called out again.

“Daddy!”

He spun around, leaning against the doorframe holding back a sigh. “What is it, lass?”

When he saw her he could see that she was still tired, but that determination to stay up was overpowering her. And he knew his job wasn't done yet, because just like Uma, when Cordelia was determined there was no stopping her.

She grinned at him mischievously. “You forgot my water.”

Harry pressed his fingers to his temples, trying not to laugh. “You’re just like your mum, you know that? Fine, I’ll get your water. But no more stalling after this.”

When he returned with a small cup, Cordelia was sitting up in bed, looking far too pleased with herself. He handed her the cup and watched as she took the tiniest sip imaginable.

“Done!” she declared, handing it back.

Harry chuckled, tucking her in one last time. “Alright, lass. No more excuses. Sleep now, or the sea monsters will think you’re inviting them over.”

She gasped, pulling the covers up to her chin. “No monsters!”

Harry winked at her. “Exactly. So keep quiet and stay tucked in, aye?”

Cordelia nodded, finally settling down. Harry stood in the room for a moment, watching her tiny figure as she cuddled her stuffy and seeing how her breathing evened out.

“She’s gonna be the death of me,” he muttered to himself with a smile before quietly leaving the room with one last glance at his daughter and shutting the door.

___________

When Uma returned the next morning, well rested and curious, she raised an eyebrow at Harry. “So, how’d it go?”

Harry gestured to the toys strewn across the floor and the damp towels still hanging from the bathroom. “Let’s just say she’s got her mother’s energy.”

Uma laughed, kissing his cheek. “And her father’s stubbornness.”

Harry grinned, wrapping an arm around her waist and giving her a gentle kiss. “Aye, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

[imagoddamnonionmason]

This is the self insert/OC fairy. 🌼🧚‍♀️When you get this in your ask box, please tell us 3 facts about your S/I or OC and pass it around. Let's learn about each other's S/Is/OCs! 🌈🌷

I'd love to learn more about your OCs! They all seem super interesting❤️

Hello mate! Thanks for the ask!!

Ok, so I do not know which oc to pick, so I shall give you all three lmao XD I hope you're ok with that!

~~~~~ \(0u0)/ ~~~~~

Jodie "Bell" Hall (BOCW OC)

After the events of the campaign, Jodie couldn't quite drop the English accent she'd gained from the hours of speaking with Park; however, depending on her state, her original Russian accent might slip through. For example, if she is very sleepy, the English accent slowly fades and she'll speak at you in a mild Russian accent. On the other hand, if someone angers her, it can slip through then, too. I based this off the fact that when I get angry, my northern accent breaks on through my usually not-so-northern accent; I thought that it would make some sense that her accent shifts or fluctuates as the English accent was never hers to begin with, it's just something she picked up from Park.

Her brother was four years younger than her, making her an older sister.

She carries a booklet of sudoku, crossword and other puzzles with her everywhere she goes. It occupies her mind and keeps the noise in her head down - she also finds that it reminds her of cryptography, which is something Canon Bell is said to be good at. It's a tattered book and sometimes she scribbles in the margins different encoding patterns and such. It's basically something to keep her mind from falling in on itself. I might be cheeky in admitting this, but that little snippet was actually inspired by another creator; a thought was sparked and then it turned into this idea that Jodie often keeps her skills sharp by occupying her brain with these kinds of things.

~~~~~ /(030)\ ~~~~~

Franca "Major" Lorenzetti (MW OC)

Her middle name is Viola.

2. She has a family that she no longer speaks with, due to differing opinions on her choice to join the army; her father was extremely traditional and essentially forbade her joining and wanted her to focus on finding someone, settling down and having a family. You know, old traditional views that were not made to suit her. Her family are as follows: Antonio, 60: Father. Alessandra, 55: Mother. Carlotta, 34: Sister. Vincenzo (otherwise known as Vinnie), 22: brother. Later on in her life, after she has joined the military and become well established, her brother turns up on her door having been 'banished' like she had, and they have a tearful reunion. She loves her brother a lot and would do anything for him. The rest of her family though? She doesn't really talk about them much and if you were to ask her about them, she'd probably just stare at you until you left her alone.

3. Franca joined the Royal Army Medical Corps, becoming a Combat Medic. She rose through the ranks to RSM/WO1 - Regimental Sergeant Major/Warrant Officer. This associated rank is where her nickname came from, 'Major'. I actually tried to make the rank as accurate as possible, as I think different regiments and military organisations call them different things.

~~~~~ \(0x0)\ ~~~~~

Nanette MacTavish (MW)

Her maiden name was 'Oakley'.

Her dad is from Cornwall and her mum from the Midlands, so she every so often she has a little bit of a Cornish accent. It's really cute but sounds like a farmer sometimes.

She works at the primary school on the army base that she lives at. She's a teaching assistant and takes care of the children like they were her own! Oh- and her own does go to the nursery at the primary school - she has wee little lass with her husband, Soap, and she adores the girl so much.

BONUS: I don't have many facts for Nanette in the MW world, because most of the work I've done with her came about when I was planning a fantasy medieval au for Franca and Ghost. sigh. I ended up making that au about her and Soap, her knight in shining armour-ish. Ok! That's all for the facts! I hope you enjoyed reading about them!! If you're curious about anything or want anything elaborating, just hmu! Goose out!

[dimples2therescue]

Summary: Louis loves Niall(the shrine underneath his bed made out of 🥕 sticks should be vivid proof of that fact.)Louis will undoubtedly hide a corpse for Niall and declare himself guilty if trial ever arises. To summarize, Louis lives and breathes for Niall. Niall is his personal gravitational shield grounding him to Earth. So, basically, Louis is a Niall junkie through and through and he may wanna cement a future for the both of them despite Niall's reluctance.

Or

Where Louis wants to marry Niall.Niall is scared of committing to one d*ck only especially after riding Liam's uncut one into the sunset. Marcel is nothing but chopped liver and Harry, well Harry paints...d*cks -_-

Walk through fire for you(just let me adore you 💋)

It was a Disney-ish day. You know the drill.

Birds flying high while chirping their diabetically sweet songs with the exception of the chocking blackbird perched on the window sill of Louis shower. Of course the wee fella wouldn’t sing when battling death by asphyxia, Louis did warned him about the size of his wormy meal but did Kevin 2.0 (The first Kevin used to be a chubby pigeon that committed suicide by flying head first into this same window, hence the reason why a small unwashable sharpie cross was doodled into the glass) ever listens? Nope, he certainly doesn’t. Louis would love to purr ‘I told you so’ to the idiotic bird but he hardly has anytime to conjure the words upon his mind when the aforementioned blackbird regurgitates the worm he priorly caught only to slurp it back in like a chinese noodle and ergo, resume the chocking process.

Stubborn motherfucker.

Shunning out Kevin the second and returning to the insanely flawless day that’s way too good to be consider true.

Louis gaze wanders aimlessly along the patterns of his shower tile walls, the pit patter of water perfectly silenced against the tanned caramel skin of his back. His head ducks, forehead resting comfortably against the slide door glass of his compacted modern shower, the corners of his mouth hitch upwards as an overly enthused smile blossoms on his rosebud lips, left hand moving southwards down his prominent vee-line, pads of fingers teasing the fine trim line of tufted hairs leading to his half erected manhood. 

“Birds flying high, you know what I mean, sun in the sky, you know what I mean, breeze drifting on by, you know what I mean...”

Louis voice echoes in a mellifluously sweet timber as he lets his eyelids shut close just in time for his hand to come in contact with his throbbing length. 

His pitch in voice falters slightly, breath hitching in his throat when his thumb teases the head of his flushed overly sensitive cock, applying the necessary pressure to stimulate the organ further, droplets of precome moisturing the pad of his digit. 

“it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day,it’s a new life for meeeeee....”

And fuck yeah, Louis William Tomlinson is feeling good. In fact good is the understatement of the year, he is grand, ecstatic, brill, over the moon and even beyond. He feels invincible and the culprit to blame would be the square green velvet shaped box atop his mahogany bedsy table. Its contents possessing a single emerald stone ring conforming the figure of a dainty shamrock, the diamonds embroidered in the leaves had taken a full greedily chunk of Louis savings, but it was all so damn worth it for he could already envision the jewel adorning his Irish lover finger, sealing their promising future together.

“Duckling...” a needful moan abandons his lips at the exact same moment remembrance after remembrance of his devilishly handsome blonde lover assaults his brain.

Niall’s cheeky overly confident smile with his crooked mismatched teeth on display, the way he would pout into the mirror when his darker roots begin to overtake his dyed golden blonde strands, his rambunctious never ending laugh which could easily overpower the boom of a thundering storm, the prominent dimples at the bottom of his spine and the way he would tease him by drawing a curve underneath them, to recreate a smiley face. Every little thing he treasured to memorize by heart was playing in slow motion behind his eyelids evoking the movement of his hand to pick up its pace considerably as he continued to pleasure himself to the thought of Niall, his flawless amorous duckling.

Louis could feel the muscles in his lower stomach spasming, silently warning him of his incoming release which only spurred him on in chasing the finish line, left hand joining in the sinful act by taking a firm hold of his buzzing sack, fondling his balls with precise rhythmic actions that matched the ministrations to his shaft. It didn’t take long for Louis to come with a cryful whimper all over the glass door supporting his weight, whitish ropes of copious sperm staining the see-through surface, Niall’s name chanted over and over again in a vital plea. 

Post orgasmic bliss and with marshmallow limbs Louis doesn’t refrain himself from reaching over to doodle a small heart with residues of his release that hadn’t yet been washed out by the showers flow. 

“Soon, pet.”

GAHHHHH just the first peeks of an idea I'm juggling with (⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~hope you enjoy*⁠♡

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

Elongate My Underwear

Some months ago, me and my mates did an undie haul. It was this Canadian company which was convenient and it sold a ton of different undergarment styles. Most coveted by myself were the boxer briefs for lady shaped people. They had countless adorable patterns which got me so incredibly hyped. I didn’t even feel bad about going slightly overboard because I’d been in the market for underwear of that exact style for so long. 

We did this order in a somewhat complicated way. One friend used her account that she already had with the company. I used my credit card as I was the one who had it, un-maxed out, in a convenient location. Another friend used her home address for the shipping since neither of us had a mailbox that was secure or large enough. So, yes, the confirmation email probably looked like a wee bit of a mess with all the information coming from three directions. All the information was still legitimate though.

A couple weeks, I think, passed and the entire time I was so enthused about my coming underwear with the nice longer leg length and cute prints, as well as some extra goodies I got like a pair of boxer shorts and some bralettes. And then the friend who put through the order told us that the company flagged our purchase. It was considered fraud for some reason and she had messaged them multiple times explaining why our info was goofy looking and that we were real people. They wanted pictures of her ID which was weird and they didn’t take “no” for an answer. So that glorious three hundred ish dollar haul was refunded. All the undergarments I was desperately anxious for were no longer coming for me. And I was pissed. 

Not so much because that company was weird with verifying our realness, it was frustrating, but shit happens. But because that particular style of underwear is basically impossible to find, even more so affordably. The site we used had prices that made my wallet sing. All other brands and shops don’t even come close. We searched many a place to no avail and all I could think about was “why the shit is this so hard?” 

Menfolk have multiple lengths of underwear that fits all of their life’s needs. Why don’t womenfolk? Why is it that underwear made for lady shaped people only comes in short and super in your butt? When they advertise “boyshort” or  “boxer brief” it usually means that either your butt will still be exposed or covered just enough. Nothing is made much longer than a four inch inseam which is basically booty shorts. And that’s fine sometimes, depending on the mood. However, I got thick thighs and that short length rolls up constantly which is incredibly irritating. I want to cover said thighs so they stop chafing as they are want to do, especially when I get toasty. I don’t like them sticking together. Yet I cannot for the life of me find underwear that is long enough. For the most part. I do have a few pairs, but they aren’t exciting. Why can’t they be exciting? Why is it always the cheeky bikini thongs that are patterned? And why are they only really patterned with hyper feminine prints? 

Is it truly too much to ask for goofy, colorful, playful, fun patterns on women flavored underwear? And it is too much to ask for some of that underwear to be longer? We have bike shorts. Just do that with a lighter fabric and boom, done. I just don’t see why the fellas have all this flexibility with their underthings whilst the other half of the population predominantly gets some level of sultry. It absolutely makes no sense. There are people who don’t have the ability to pee standing up but want to cover their undercarriage with similar garments. I can’t just get men’s boxer briefs because I need a gusset and not a pocket. I can’t use my reinforcements for when the gates open and the monthly red tide is released with men’s undies. I also don’t really want a random amount of fabric loosely bunching around the front of my netherregion, that just sounds uncomfy. 

I know there are brands out there that cater mainly to us weird-gendered folk. They are pricier though. And I really think that this should be a more normalized thing in general. It won’t have to be as expensive then if it has a larger market. At least, that’s how the optimistic side of me thinks. I know too that I’m not alone in this, but I don’t have the brain, funds, expertise, or anything else that it would take to just make my own line and call it a year. So uhh, can someone else who has all that please do it in my stead? In fact, can a bunch of people do it so it gets popularized and then fades to be commonplace? Thanks.

[britcision]

This debate is always really funny to me because people can get really bogged down on “oh no one actually writes like that so why would you spell it phonetically when they say it”

Because no I absolutely will use “ya” or “yer” for “you” for certain characters, because people I know IRL very regularly do the same

Like “yeah” or “yea” or any other slang, people regularly both say and write certain specific variants all the time, so those aren’t likely to be hard to parse

“Tell ya what” vs “tell you what” are tonally different, but not hugely far apart, and I’ve texted and received both

The actual argument against nonstandard phonetic spelling is what this person is saying; it might be hard to understand, especially for people with a different first language, and if you’re worried you’ll lose people, don’t do it

This is also the exact same argument against using slang; cheeky Nandos springs to mind as an entirely incomprehensible example that melted a good chunk of the internet that forgot the UK exists

My personal rule of thumb is: abbreviating and shortening words is usually alright, replacing letters with other letters (only example coming to mind is the “ah” instead of “er” or “ar” like “sugah”) works only in extremely small doses and you’ll need context clues

Or a glossary, a la Wee Free Men, which simply would not work if the Nac Mac Feegle talked just like everyone else

Writing a character’s accent can make their voice come through much more clearly for people, and contains implications about where they’re from, their class, and their background - done intentionally, this shit is all important and more efficiently done by giving them particular speech patterns or slang than paragraphs of exposition, but it needs to be intentional

And yeah, if it’s so thick that you think a reader might not understand, your other characters might have the same problem if they don’t all share that accent - this is a place you can clarify, and have a character building moment

If you don’t want a character to stop and look at the speaker and ask “the hell did you just say”, don’t spell phonetically. It’s a tool that should not be used outside its time and place

I'm watching a post get passed around my fandom talking about how hard it is to phonetically write out a character's accent and I'm not sure if I want to cry or rage. Why. Why? Why do you have to write it phonetically? You're saying that you're concerned people won't be able to read it so don't do it. It's annoying. Plus, you're not even getting it right. I will back out of a fic so fast if it's got an accent written phonetically. I got called a hater for saying that a few months back (not directed at anyone just in the tags of a post talking about fic pet peeves) so I'm not interacting with the post, just silently seething

--

There are a few literary bigwigs known for writing in their own dialects and sometimes making up phonetic spellings the better to do so... Most of us should avoid nonstandard phonetic spelling like the plague.

[rumbelleshowdown]

Author: Rose Daughter

Prompts: Dark chocolate. Falling in the dark. Constellations.

Group: B

-

Ad Astra

They’re called freckles, apparently.

It had taken Belle some time to figure out what he meant when he said he liked her ‘little dots’. The word tickles him for some reason. It’s a fanciful-sounding thing. Freckles.

The first time he’d laid eyes on her – stretched out on the beach, the brim of her sunhat flopping into her eyes – he thought she might be made of alabaster. The same pearly gypsum as the statues he has found amongst the remnants of shipwrecks. He knows better now, having observed her so intimately. She is lovelier, far more fascinating than the unblemished stone of sculptures. There is such detail to her; the silvery streaks on her thighs and stomach, a few faded scars here and there, and all those gorgeous freckles.

She is the inverse of the night sky. If the sky is soot and coal with tiny pinpoints of light, she is cream and roses, stippled with ink stains. They form wee patterns on her skin like the stars overhead. Constellations, Belle called them. They’ve spent many afternoons lying in the sand, him dripping seawater onto the cover of her mythology book. The names bewitch him. Cassiopeia, Ophiuchus, Andromeda, Vulpecula. They’re prettier than the sort of human language his ears are accustomed to. Their lyrical quality resembles the sounds that his fellow Finfolk trill to one another beneath the waves.

Rumple likes to get her words right. He likes to get them wrong, too. He even does so on purpose, sometimes. Just to hear her darling giggle. Just to watch her plush, pink lips tenderly sound out each syllable as she corrects him. But his tongue takes quickly to the delicate names in her gilded book.

The constellations on Belle’s body don’t match the ones charted on the pages. They are entirely her own. It’s a game that he likes to play with himself on the sunniest, drowsiest afternoons. As Belle frolics in the surf and sunbathes on the low tide’s dense sand, he amuses himself by playing astronomer. It requires a great deal of imagination, but then, doesn’t all stargazing?

Lunaris; the cluster on her inner forearm that bears a striking resemblance to a crescent moon. Then there is Florens Rosa; a speckling that contours the back of her neck, each dot falling into place to create the illusion of a rose in bloom. And his very favorite, Saltatio Delphinus; the abstract likeness of a leaping dolphin on her upper thigh.

Every night, long after she’s returned to her cottage, Rumple peers through the mouth of his little grotto. He scans the stars to see if the Gods have plagiarized from Belle’s canvas. To see if they are brave enough to try to replicate one of her designs.

They never are.

(+++)

As a young boy, no larger than a seal pup, Rumple used to thrill-chase by diving into the seemingly bottomless trenches that cut into the seafloor. The blue of the water would get darker and darker as he plunged down, until he was floating in an empty, inky blackness. It was like being swallowed up by the maw of some ravenous predator. His vision would swim as he sank away from the surface, his small body too fragile to handle the pressures of such deep water. Yet, he would push on.

It was exhilarating. To free fall through the darkness, to do something he wasn’t built for.

Finfolk aren’t meant to dive so deep, but he did. They aren’t meant to liberate and hoard human trinkets. They aren’t meant to steal pretty human lasses.

But is that truly what he’s done? Stolen her? It certainly doesn’t feel like stealing. How can you steal what is so freely and happily given? How can you steal what is served on a silver platter, garnished with shortbread crumbs and cheeky smiles?

She was there throughout the summer, when the sunlight made her auburn hair burn like the bonfires the villagers build on the beach. And she is still here amid winter’s grasp, when the heavy clouds cast her in soft focus and the rain extinguishes the embers in her hair.

Every time he lays eyes on her, it is like diving into those trenches again. The disorientation, the vertigo, the intoxicating thrill. To be thoroughly overwhelmed and still want more.

Belle is an abundance of more, always willing to provide and spoil. Butterscotch and blackberries. Jokes, chats, and out-of-tune songs. Early morning breakfasts and late afternoon lunches. Stories of all sorts, bound in leather and paperboard.

And Rumple always takes without hesitation, for fear that there will come a day when there is nothing left to give.

(+++)

Most days, Rumple awaits her arrival in his grotto, tucked into the shadows, impishly giddy at the thought of taking her by surprise. On quieter days, when there is no traffic on the beach, he instead lounges in the tide pools, his eyes trained on the bluff’s coastal trail.

He has waited long past sunset today, which is a rarity. Belle finally trots into view over the uplands’ crest, her knapsack heaved over one shoulder, its bulging mouth threatening to spit its contents in exasperation. Her silhouette is otherworldly, the green tartan skirt of her frock looking flimsy as the moonlight passes through it.

Rumple doesn’t have to question if she comes bearing treats. She clambers onto the rocky outcrop to reach him. A small rectangle robed in silver foil is pressed into his wet hands.

He adores the foil, marveling at how it reflects the water’s shimmering surface in its ripples and wrinkles. He does not adore what the foil is wrapped around.

Belle claims it’s chocolate, but he has his doubts.

“It’s dark chocolate,” she explains, nibbling on a square. “It has less sugar and no milk, so it’s sharper. There’s a bitter bite to it.”

“It’s re-volt-ing.”

“You eat raw trout.”

She rolls her eyes, muttering disparaging comments about his palate. Despite her grousing, she is more than happy to polish off half of the chocolate bar by herself. It makes sense to him. Belle likes sharp things; teeth, and claws, and wits.

Rumple doesn’t mind sharp, but he prefers soft; round jawlines, and button noses, and fond scolding. What he can’t stomach is bitterness. It agonizes him that the stories in Belle’s mythology book all start so whimsically and end so brutally. And that no matter how sweet their days are together, it doesn’t change the fact that she’ll always leave him at the end.

She allows the hefty book to continue its slumber in the caverns of her bag. It’s too dark for her deficient human eyes to make out the fancy lettering. Besides, she looks far too tired for narration duty. Her cheeks are stained with a lingering flush of exertion, her eyes dim with sleepy contentment.

“Today was the Cèilidh,” she says, by way of explanation.

Despite her sore legs and weary yawns, he rouses her to perform a final dance for an audience of one. She demonstrates a reel, her skirt flaring around her legs as her bare feet kick up golden puffs of sand.

Rumple doesn’t really need to know what it’s supposed to look like to know that she isn’t very good at it. Her footwork is clumsy and she wobbles as she pivots. She’s even off-time to her own humming.

“Not the most graceful sort, are you?”

Belle lurches to a stop mid-turn, her brows knitting together. “Excuse me?”

“You look rid-ic-ulous.”

“It’s a far cry better than you could do.”

He gives an exaggerated sneer of offense. “You think dancing requires legs? How horren-dous-ly ignorant.”

Her mouth perks into an amused smile. “Show me.”

“A proper dance begs a partner, does it not?” he says, beckoning to her with his talons.

Puckish delight eats up the sweet turn of her lips. She used to make such a fuss about swimsuits. Now, she just gathers the hem of her tartan frock in her fists and lifts it up over her head. She discards it in a careless heap on the rocks.

Next came the perplexing underthings, fiddly-looking clasps coming undone with a flick of her fingers. Rumple drinks her in like a marooned man at a pool of freshwater.

It fills him with pride to be the one allowed to stargaze at the lavish expanse of her pale, pretty sky. To behold the constellations that live beneath sweaters and sensible woolen tights.

She wades into the water, her skin pebbling in the brisk night air. He takes her hands in his own and guides her further into the sea, the waves lazily sloshing against his back. When her toes can barely touch the ocean floor, he winds his arms around her waist. He hauls her into an embrace, thinking of how sailors greet their sweethearts the first moment their boots hit dry land.

Then, with a twist of his fin, he sweeps her legs out from under her, tucking his tail beneath her bent knees. Belle’s squeak of surprise gets lost in a breathless giggle.

He supports her gently, their bare chests flush against one another. The lack of resistance in the water allows them to spin effortlessly, twirling in small, quick circles. There are no fancy steps – no steps of any sort – but Belle begins to absently hum that same Cèilidh melody.

“It sounds better on a fiddle,” she murmurs, as though embarrassed by her rendition.

“I sin-cere-ly doubt that,” he whispers back.

As they spin, weightless and languid, Rumple leans his forehead against hers; his customary vow of adoration. But then, Belle does something strange. She tilts her chin up and presses her mouth to his. As she captures his bottom lip between her own, Rumple lets out a choked gasp, like a human swallowing seawater.

And then it’s over. It was so fleeting, he could have whimpered from the loss.

“Mhm…what…what was that?”

“A kiss.”

So he does what he’s always done when Belle gives him something; he immediately asks for more.

One kiss turns into two, which melts into a third, and a subsequent stream of kisses that come so leisurely, there is no telling where they begin and end. And he’s falling again, into the darkness of the sea’s deepest trench. His head is spinning, his lungs are burning, and still his every thought is ‘more, more, more’.

“You’re very greedy,” she chastises, though there is little heat behind her words.

Rumple flashes his serrated teeth, heartened rather than discouraged. “You shouldn’t give so readily, dearie. A beast may become accus-tomed to taking more than you’re willing to part with.”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t let you have.”

And he believes her, his generous Belle.

He is struck with a stroke of brilliance. A kiss could be planted just about anywhere, couldn’t it? What if he were to kiss every last constellation in her sky? He could even tell her all of their names as he goes.

He purrs this idea against her lips. Belle throws her head back, moonlight splashing over her porcelain face, and she sends a laugh up to the true stars above. And then her laughter is smothering him as she gives a greedy beast his fill.

Rumple realizes, huffing a small chuckle of his own, that he might like the flavor of dark chocolate after all. So long as he is tasting it on her tongue.

-

[muggycuphead]

weird flex but ok i guess pt.8

7

War… Hold up, do we really need a warning for this one? Dunno, but however, watch out for slightly disturbing and kinda…disgusting imagery, trypophobic patterns, as well as ‘necrotic’ designs I made while having funky fever bc o h m y g o d do I get a little crazier every new quarantine day (and at this point it’s coming to be an usual thing for me, big sad). However, most are made no other than for the sole sake of satire, so y’know, no need to get your underwear in a twist

Friday Night Funkin’ BoyFriend’s Hood – Missing Sketchdumps (VII-IX) [written: 02-08-2022]

Oh no forgot to write down about these ones

Oh well, gotta do it now here I guess (I’ll be as condensed as I can…unlike above)

PD: I don’t have any ‘digitalized’ versions of these either (I feel kinda silly for making the other ones, but oh well), so we gonna stick with the trad sketches

EDIT 26/10/2023: Updated the drawings with rescanned, more clean versions

Friday Night Funkin’ BoyFriend’s Hood – AU fanconcept sketches [VII]

1.-Rocky Bal-BF

Funny wrestling man

Not gonna lie, he looks kinda cute in that outfit I made for him

2.-Rocky Bal-BF but his balls dieded

>All males left the server

This be a case of Herodias’(? Law

You die, you get blueballed

You get through the first round, you get your jimmies turned into scrambled eggs

Goodbye

My penis

In

A

Nutshell

3.-Egypcian staff

Haha funny snake stick go zzzzz

4.-Egypcian…mic?

Custom mic designs FTW

5.-Hypnotized!Mummy BF

Free will? Not happening lololol

6.-BF’s bike

Yes please

Did this with references I had in my PC, but most the work was homemade so shush

7.-Rocky Bal-BF icongrid

He’s in a lot of pain right there, but can you really blame him?

No one told him that rocky bitch was gonna go torpedo mode with her fist…on his crotch :/

8.- Hypnotized!Mummy BF’s icon

You’re chicken now

9.- Helmet Pico

I was gonna say this is the part I didn’t want to reach…but time managed to kill off the shame I used to feel over this

Compared to what other people had done to Pico in the fandom, this is just vanilla

His design does look kinda different from this though (talking about the idea, I don’t have a sketch yet)

Still, if V’s somehow seeing this- I’m sorry

10.- The helmet, now

Watch it with those ginger peaks, fella

The zombeeps are already having it tough to keep some of his sanity with the blackout shit going on, you bring in your flame looking ass haircut in here, and you’ll lead us to real pain out there

11.- Helmet Pico

Stfu

Friday Night Funkin’ BoyFriend’s Hood – AU fanconcept sketches [VIII]

1.- BoneOilers Leader

Originally written to be a bad guy – now he’s just as confused as most of the human homies over what’s just happening in the hood

Proud of his design though, he be lookin’ badass

2.-Rockonna’s Coach

I love this fucker, he’s like the bastardization of an elf; plus, he’s pretty chill

3.- Terresa

She looks like a medical Carol Roll wot-

God bless her soul tho, she’s a sweetheart

I ship her platonically with BF, don’t ask why

4.- BF Roadkill icon

Drive with caution, kids, especially if you go on bikes

5.- Terresa icon

Scratch’d faez

6.- Freakystein Idle

Zombeeps go wee-woo, freaky bois go beep-bup-bap

7.- Heart

Probably BF’s, he got the undead sickie soooo…y’know

8.- BF’s phone

Wonder where those cheeky bastards took that photo at

Tip: comfy place where you go zZZZz

9.- Whisky

GF got stolen by who knows, time to go drown the sadness in a cup of alcohol

Friday Night Funkin’ BoyFriend’s Hood – AU fanconcept sketches [IX]

1.- Generator BF

Man, this didn’t age that well considering BF is supposed to not have any sensical fears…besides lighting

…Unless the feeling of getting electrocuted and posteriorly turned into a human energy tower could be somehow associated with it, then maybe

…Wait, BF’sH BF isn’t directly the main FNF canon BF…

Nevermind

2.- Crowbar BF

The way he posin there is like “Yo, when we droppin’ for the next robbery?”

3.- Sick BF

The zombie sickness’ finally kicking in, say your prayers

…or maybe not, who cares

4.- Roadkill BF

RIP

…nah

5.- Sick BF 2

Fuck, it finally got into his bloodstream

6.- Loose GF

Yeah, this was a thing in the main concept

Basically GirlFriend’s outbreak from her captors, the fact she looks like her mother was a sneaky bonus

Sadly it won’t stick fancanonically, so RIP

7.- Loose GF’s icon

Crazy bitch

8.- BF about to snap

Next line: b R  A I N S

Nah just kidding

He just gonna growl-beep for the rest of the song

9.- Differences between Demon and Zombie glitters

Self-explanatory

10.- BF’s crowbar

Wait are the black tones the blo- oh no wait they’re the metal part

My bad

11.- PICO NO

Pico no

Please, no

He had one repair shop lost before by a madman’s fire, he doesn’t wish to go through that again, thank you

12.- Diagonal mechanic arrow holder revamped + Invert and Auto/Action arrow

Invert arrows do be looking disgusting af

Great

13.- Note+Action and Pico!Auto Arrow revamped + Zombie keyholder

Bloodbone and Stitches

…???

The zombie keys are also disgusting

And the effect when they’re pressed doesn’t make them any better

To put it in a single word:

**CHWICK**

14.- Health bar against a zombie

Lineal health bars? Nah, we do the flicky here, baby

9

[thusspoketrish]

#23 bb 💕 for the end of year fan fic asks!

Hey bb!!! Thank you for the ask!!! xx

23. Fics you wanted to write but didn’t

So, I fully intend on writing these fics eventually, haha, so you heard it all here first, y’all!

Over Cigarettes and Coffee

I really wanted to write a dialogue-heavy ficlet between boyfriends Harry and Draco concerning their hopes/wants for the future that takes place in the wee hours of the night in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. I was going to have Harry sneaking down into the kitchen to have a cheeky cigarette and is joined by a sleep-rumpled Draco who puts on a pot of coffee since sleep is out of the question and sits with Harry at their rickety kitchen table to share the cup of coffee and cigarette.

It would be a slice of life fic, maybe like 15 years out from the war. They’re older, deeply in love, redeemed, comfortable, and confident within their own skin. They tease each other, happily reminisce on memories from the beginning of their relationship, on all the reasons why they fell in love in the first place, all the promises they made to each other, and the things they still want. The conversation culminates in an almost anticlimactic proposal of marriage. It's all just gentle and natural.

I wanted a sort of “sleepy/dreamy” feel for the entire thing and was going to call it, “Over Cigarettes and Coffee”— inspired by Otis Redding’s beautiful song of the same name.

All Things Go

I also wanted to submit a short, fluffy/humorous fic for Drarry Around the World. This was going to be situated in Chicago during the summertime!

I was going to title it, “All Things Go” – inspired by Sufjan Stevens’ song Chicago (see a pattern with my titles? Haha!).

This is the synopsis:

Life is good in Chicago for Draco. Four years after following Luna there after the war, he’s content in a neighbourhood where he’s only been mugged twice, in a tiny apartment paid for by his minimum wage job at the Art Institute where upward mobility is treated like a myth. He spends his free time exploring the city proper with his familiar, an albino Sphinx cat named Voldy, who found him rather than the other way around. Yes. Life is good.

That is, until he links eyes with Harry Potter at the Red Line station’s Broadway and Wilson stop one scorching hot summer day.

Thank you for the end of year fic asks!

[babybadger]

filming a youtube video - something like boyfriend rates my party outfits with Scott

Sorry this is so long i love a bit of fashion❤️

Scott knew he was going to be dragged into a video sooner or later. For months you were too nervous to talk to him about your job incase he thought you were fame hunting or gold digging but you knew 4 months into dating that he understood the real you. 6 months into the relationship is when you asked him by offering up an easy video in which he didn’t need to say much or do anything the team wouldn’t approve of.

“Hello guys gays and girls, we are gathered here for a very special video that I know a lot of you guys have been waiting for..” you start your intro and Scott just stares at you with a dumb smile on his face, loving seeing you so comfortable and smiley in front of the camera. “....My boyfriend, number 39 Scott Mctominay!” he heard and walked into the camera’s view to sit down beside you. “Okay so you all know i love this brand Y/F/B and they sent me a cheeky wee message to ask if they could be involved in my reveal so you know i hooked you guys up with a great discount..” you trailed off and as usual Scott just stared at you and smiled, nodding his head everytime you turned to look at him to show he was listening.

“Okay outfit number one” You state walking out from your closet and revealing the spaghetti strap red dress that clung to the contours of your body. “Wow, c’mere” Scott says in a trance while holding one hand to your hip to swivel you round each side to see all ‘the dress’. “How am I to rate these? Will I just do out of 10s? Yeah a will. Okay this is a 12.” Scott and you proceed to bicker about how 12 is bigger than 10 and that doesn’t make sense which gives your viewers a little insight into your relationship.

“Okay outfit number two” you say as you walk out once again and give Scott a spin, begining to give your thoughts on the outfit while he gawks at you. The denim two piece was perfect for your skin tone. The denim skirt shaped your ass perfectly and the little flowers sewed on gave it a touch of innocence. The top a simple bandeau with the denim frayed on the top making it look torn. “Straight 15. Balls out the park on this one.” The words tumble out his mouth before he whistles at you. You role your eyes at his scoring pattern but soon after thank him and give him a gentle kiss before leaving for another outfit.

“And outfit number three is a little more..well it’s for a formal party shall we say.” you explain before opening the door and lifting you the hem of the most beautiful dress Scott had ever seen. The baby blue ballgown gave just the right amount of cleavage before flowing perfectly down to the ground and pooling slightly at your feet. The sparkles getting closer together the further down the dress. “So your thoughts would be good Scott” you chuckle. “Isn’t a number on the scale for this one babe geezo look at you, gonna need to have a big fancy party so I can see you in this dress again soon.” he smirks standing up beside you and wrapping his hands around your hips.

“Last outfit is ready babe” you call out. Scott couldn’t love your choice more. The entirely silver sequin two piece was straight across the chest, long sleeved and cuffed at the wrists allowing a flowy look to the arm, and the the trousers flared at the bottom making your legs look like they ran for miles. “I think this is my favourite.” Scott states while still staring you up and down. “really you can’t even see my tits in this one” you laugh and he immidiately looks to your eyes. “I can see them when I want, they don’t matter, you just look the most confident in this one. That’s why it’s my favourite. infinity out of ten for the confident look.”

You wanted to cry at Scott’s kindness. He truly was one in a million. “Well everybody that was the sweetest boyfriend in the worlds review of my top four party outfits from Y/F/B, remember to use the discount code for 20% off and we’ll see you soon!” You smile at the camera before turning to Scott and kissing him deeply before flailing your arm about to find the camera lense to cover it so your not filming yourselves making out.

[magniloquent-raven]

Ooh for your prompts: Fluffy Elmax sleepover with cuddling for #16 pls :') xoxox

i had such a good time writing this omg thank you!!! tho there’s a couple bits that threaten to be angst because im physically incapable of writing pure fluff lmao. it’s just tiny bits tho. just a smidge.

also, because s4 isn’t out yet i uh. kinda just did a time skip but didn’t rly change anything about how s3 left off? i know we know hopper’s alive but like. i guess he’s just still in russia in this fic LMAO rip. don’t think about it too hard

posted on ao3 as well :)

—-

Max’s watch timer beeps obnoxiously again. 8:36. El’s late. She hits snooze.

“When’s your friend supposed to be here, sweetie?”

“Soon, mom. You know, you and Neil don’t have to wait up.” They do this every time. Like Max isn’t almost seventeen and perfectly capable of being alone in her own damn house for five minutes. At this rate they’re going to be late for whatever thing it is they’re going to, and Neil will be even more of a bitch than usual.

Her mom glances over at him. He’s sitting in his armchair looking surly, checking his watch pointedly. Asshole.

“Well…I don’t think—”

Max hears a car pull up out front. “Oh, thank fuck,” she mutters, turning on her heel and marching out to greet the Byers’.

Joyce climbs out of the passenger seat as Max strides across the lawn. “Max, honey!” she waves, grinning bright, “How are you?” There’s always a…tone to how she asks that. Questions lurking under the surface that they don’t talk about. It makes Max’s insides all squirmy thinking about it, though she is on some level grateful for the concern.

Max stands on the curb, tugging on her earring. A habit by now. It’s both a comfort and a reminder. She got one hell of a lecture the day she came out of the bathroom with blood running down her neck and a safety pin in her earlobe, but she didn’t regret it for a second.

El slides out of the driver’s seat, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. Max watches her stand and adjust her shirt. She always looked good in yellow. “I’m good,” Max responds after a beat, and it’s honest for once.

The door behind her creaks. Probably her mom and Neil coming out of the house, hopefully to leave, finally. She doesn’t turn around, just steps into Joyce’s waiting arms and presses her face into her shoulder. Max is taller than her now, by a couple inches, so it hurts her neck a little, but it’s worth it.

Will’s still tucked away in the backseat, peering through the window, Max waves at him when she peeks up over Joyce’s shoulder.

Then El distracts her. “Your hair,” she says, gently tugging on a lock behind her ear. Max steps back from Joyce, and runs a hand through it, cheeks pink. Three years ago she’d hacked off all her hair with a pocket-knife, woke up the morning of Billy’s funeral with strands still stuck to her neck, locks hanging ragged across her forehead. Her mother had thrown a fit.

“Yeah, I cut it again,” Max says, like that wasn’t obvious. She’d let it grow out uneven and messy for a while, but she broke out the scissors again about a month ago. It’s neater than her last haircut, but not by much.

El’s hand is in Max’s hair again, dangerously close to her face. Max’s knees wobble a little.

“Bitchin’,” she says solemnly, after a few seconds of consideration.  

Max’s grin is blinding.

Her mother cuts in, before she can respond, gives her the usual talk about staying in the house and making sure she’s got her emergency numbers memorized. Then she bids them all a hasty, distracted goodbye. Her mom was never very comfortable about the Byers’. Probably something about Joyce’s too-knowing gaze, or the fact that El glares daggers at Neil every time he’s within range.

She’s doing it now. Watching him get into his truck with a quiet rage in her eyes. Joyce puts a hand on her elbow, and it doesn’t move until Neil’s truck has turned the corner at the end of the street.

“We should get going,” Joyce says, checking her watch. “Will wanted to be at Claudia’s an hour ago but we got caught up at Mike’s house, and, well, you know how it is,” she flutters her hands, approximating a shrug.

She hugs El goodbye, then pulls Max in for another one. “Call us if you need anything,” she says, pulling back and putting her hands on Max’s shoulders. That sad glint is in her eye again, and Max knows the offer extends beyond tonight.

“Thanks, Joyce, we will.”

By the time she’s taken the corner at the end of Cherry Lane Max’s watch is beeping again.

El glances down at it, a pinch between her eyebrows. “…Was that for me?”

“Uh.”

The confusion melts off her face, replaced by a cheeky grin. “It was!”

Max shuts the alarm off, cheeks burning. “Why were you guys at Mike’s for so long?” she asks. eager to change the subject. If the guys are meeting up at Dustin’s the delay wasn’t because Will and Mike were catching up, and, well, Mike and El’s relationship is…of interest to Max. For reasons.

El purses her lips. It’s a face that tells Max they’re gonna need to be sitting and cozy for this conversation because it’s gonna be a long one. So, she links their arms and pulls her inside.

An hour later they’re huddled under a throw blanket on the couch. El is giggling, face in her hands, and Max is wheezing around a mouthful of skittles.

“Oh, that’s so not funny,” she chokes out, trying not to spew candy everywhere, which brings about a fresh wave of laughter. El’s shoulders are shaking, brushing against Max’s and making her warm all over. God damn, she’s missed this.

“Then why are you laughing,” El replies, poking her side and smiling from ear-to-ear.

She’s beautiful, Max thinks. Her braid is half-undone, letting her hair curl around her face in gentle waves, and her eyes are bright. She looks happy, and Max holds on to that, keeps it all for herself because she did that, she made that happen. She might not have everything she wants from El, but she’ll take whatever she can get. Whatever El wants to give. And sometimes just her smiles are enough, enough to make Max’s chest constrict and her heart glow, because for now, she’s happy too.

She laughs again, in leu of a response. How can she not, when she feels so light she could float away, high on the soft strawberry scent of El’s shampoo and the way her cheek dimples when she grins. But she can’t say that, so she says, “Because it’s Mike,” and pokes El right back. “I’m legally obligated to laugh at his misfortune.”

They have a complicated friendship, which mostly boils down to her being willing to bail him out when he’s in shit, but only if she gets to make fun of him while she does it.

El wrinkles her nose a little, but her smile doesn’t dim, “You two are weird.”

She’s pretty sure it used to bother El, how much Mike and Max fought. Max can’t help but wonder if they’d have gotten along better if she wasn’t in love with his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Because she’d dumped him for good this time. Four months ago, apparently, though Mike was, until a few hours ago, under the impression it was temporary.

Max almost feels bad for him. Except she doesn’t. Apparently, he was a dick about the whole thing, so at least she has a solid reason not to.

“You love us,” Max scoffs. El may have broken up with Mike, but she’ll always love him in some way or another.

El’s expression softens, turns fond and sweet. She’s thinking about Mike, Max is sure, but the smile is still directed as her. Small victories. “I do,” she says quietly.

They order a pizza after that, and watch movies into the wee hours of the morning. By 3am Max’s throat is raw, and her stomach hurts from laughing (and too much pizza). It’s the most fun she’s had in a while. The Byers’ don’t visit as often as any of them would like.

Max isn’t even tired, but El’s head has been dropping onto her shoulder on and off for the past hour so she suggests they call it a night.

She knows that when the boys sleep over at each other’s houses they’ll take the floor, or the couch in the basement, anything but actually sharing a bed. As El wraps an arm around her waist and snuggles up with her under the blankets, Max takes a moment to wonder if that would be better or worse than this.

It always seemed so miserable to Max, how much boys have to limit themselves.  

But also…well, it might be easier sometimes. She wouldn’t have to deal with wanting things she shouldn’t want because El would be over there, and not right up in her space, hands warm and breath tickling Max’s ear. This is different than sitting thigh-to-thigh on the couch, it blurs the line more, and it’s the ambiguity that’s driving Max crazy.

She wasn’t tired before, but she’s wide-awake now.

Time creeps by strangely this late at night. Max isn’t sure how long she lays there, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm her pounding heart. El’s breath is steady, quiet, and her eyes are closed. Max is sure she’s asleep, she was so tired before.

Before she can stop herself her hand creeps up, brushes a strand of hair from El’s face.

Moonlit, she’s ethereal. There’s always been something otherworldly about El, with her big, dark eyes, always watching, boring holes into you with their intensity. Shadows play across her cheek, and Max tracks them for a while, absurdly jealous of moonlight.

She traces patterns on El’s forearm, the one resting on Max’s stomach, keeping her touch light so as not to wake her.

More time passes, and Max’s head feels heavy with sleep that won’t come. She’s groggy, leaning back but unable to keep her eyes closed.

She starts talking. Whispering. Remembering the times she read Wonder Woman comics to El until she fell asleep, and hoping, somewhere in her foggy brain, that it might work on herself too.

“You know… I always knew we’d be good friends. The second I heard your name I wanted to know you,” she murmurs, and draws a star on El’s wrist. “Didn’t know how badly I wanted until I saw you though. You were terrifying, and I loved it. And now…” Her eyes slide closed as she thinks. “You’re the best person I’ve ever met. You’re beautiful. Everything about you. And I love you…more than I should.” She sighs, sits in silence and cards her fingers through El’s hair. It’s getting so long.  

El’s hand closes around her wrist.

Max’s eyes fly open, and she stills, heart pounding. “Uh.” El’s eyes are open, looking up at her, she’s awake, she’s awake, oh fuck– “Um. Did—did I wake you up, I’m—sorry if I woke you—”

“It’s okay.” The corners of her mouth turn up, slow and careful, “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“Oh.” Is all Max can manage, staring down at El with wide eyes, waiting for her to…do something. Max’s palms are sweating. She doesn’t know what to expect.

El moves her hand, puts Max’s palm against her cheek and shuffles forward until they’re nose to nose.

“Oh.”

She tastes like toothpaste and kiwi lip balm, and kisses as sweetly as she smiles. Her hands end up in Max’s hair, fingers gentle but demanding, guiding her forward. If Max wasn’t already laying down, she’d need to be because her knees are jelly.

“Oh,” El echoes when she pulls back, laughter in her voice. She presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Max’s mouth, careful and deliberate. Then her expression softens, sobers. “I was jealous of you. At first. Didn’t…know what it was. Know why. So, I ignored you. And… I’m sorry.”

Max shakes her head, “Ancient history. It’s okay.”

“No, I,” El stops, furrows her brow, “You were so happy. Free. I wanted that. And then, then you helped me have that. So. Thank you.” She cups Max’s face, fingertips tracing along her cheekbone, and Max’s heart sings. “And I love you too.”

They kiss again, and Max decides that El sleeping on the floor would’ve been a terrible idea.

[duckulamoved]

Duck Quacks All!

Interview for TVTimes, February 1989. [Source]

Nabbed from Twitter in the link above! The actual article had me rolling as much as the show, so I’ve provided the article written under a read more for ease of viewing. The article is an interview by Brian Trueman with Count Duckula. Trueman, as the note at the end of the article states, [He] normally puts the words into the mouth of Nanny, the maid at Castle Duckula. 

At last- Count Duckula, the star of his own ITV series, talks exclusively and with no beaks barred to children’s favorite BRIAN TRUEMAN in downtown Transylvania

I arrived at Kluj- throbbing heart of Transylvania- in a state of high excitement and a 1933, four cylinder Rasputin. It had been an exciting journey over the Slavic Alps. I’d run over hedgehogs before- but never in an aeroplane.

I hadn’t raised an eyebrow (mostly because they’d fallen off in the first five minutes) when the air-hostess demonstrated the safety drill but parachuting out of the plane, but I was a touch disturbed by the pilot’s cheery cry of ‘Wish I was going with you!’

It was going to be worth it, though! I had landed the prize of a lifetime: an exclusive first-time-ever, no-holds-barred interview with television’s newest star - Count Duckula, vegetarian vampire duck extraordinaire. 

I’d phoned him more in hope than in expectation. Then someone reminded me he was in Transylvania, so I called him there instead. 

He was no pushover. ‘Would you even consider giving me an exclusive interview for TVTimes?’ 

‘Would I ever!’ he shrieked. ‘Wowee, wowee, wow! Ha, ha, ha! It’s fame! Fame at last! Hold on a moment...,’ he breathed. ‘I’ll see if i have a quarter hour to spare this year...’

He had. Now I was on my way to the encounter. No, I realised, checking my recycled chicken-feather-backed Fowl-O-Fax. I was on my way to ‘La Broccoli!’ - Transylvania’s latest and, the Count assured me, classiest restaurant. 

The cab driver dropped me outside the establishment. I didn’t mind that- it was when they dropped my case on top of me that it hurt. Maybe when he got a cab...

I picked myself up, ironed the embossed leather-look pattern from my bald spot and spotted the green, green and green neon lights that flashed ‘La Broccoli!’ into the pitch blackness of the Transylvanian high noon. 

The place was an exact replica of Castle Duckula- in fact, for a moment, I thought it was Castle Duckula but, dismissing the notion, I pushed across the drawbridge, under the portcullis, and through where there should have been a door. A sepulchral voice greeted me. 

‘Are you the lunch?’ it queried. It was the Maitre D. ‘I’m here for lunch,’ I replied. ‘That, sir, is more or less what I meant,’ came the rejoinder. 

‘Hey, what’s going on?’ echoed another, thrillingly familiar tone from inside the restaurant. ‘Is that the guy from TVTimes?’

Moments later, I was studying Count Duckula across the table- a glass of broccoli juice in one hand, a note-book in the other and a pen in the other. Well, something like that...

I supposed the recipient of my gaze to be in his early... Or maybe his late... ‘I guess you’re probably wondering how old I am,’ interjected this aristocrat as he casually threw one leg over the other. ‘Good grief!’ I expostulated, fishing the leg out of my broccoli juice. ‘How did you know that?’ 

‘Hee, hee!’ the Count cackled, ‘I’m tepalethic. Tethalepic. Tetrapellic. Ahem! All pressmen are obsessed with age,’ he observed. ‘ Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I’m nothing like as old as I was when I was my great-grandfather!’ 

‘Or his father before him...’ observed the Maitre D, who had returned to re-set the table the Count had so recently cleared. ‘Perzackerly!’ quacked my guest adding, ‘Ok, we’ll eat now, Igor.’

‘Igor?’ I queried. 

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘we’re pretty eager to eat now. That’s what I said. What did you think I said? I supposed you’ll be accusing me next of only pretending this is a restaurant so that you can pay for the meal and I can get hold of some desperately needed cash at last!!’ 

‘No!’ I said. 

‘I should hope not!’ he continued. ‘But the way, did I mention you’re paying for the meal?’ 

‘An honour!’ I assured him. 

‘Hear that?’ he snapped at the head waiter. ‘Wheee! Whee-hee-hee!!’

‘Wee, hee, hee, indeed, milord,’ replied the other. ‘Shall I serve lunch, sir?’

‘Do, Ig...er...yes, do.’

He leaned across to me in confidence. ‘Listen,’ he hissed, ‘don’t eat anything red! Got it?’

‘Got it!’

‘Good! I won’t have a book in the place...’

‘A book?’ I quizzed.

‘Yeah, a book...Sometimes they get...read!’

He burst into laughter and out of his shirt, toppling backwards from his chair, sensitive feet waving greenly. 

‘Another drink?’

‘Oh...yes,’ I agreed. 

‘Very kind of you,’ he replied. ‘Another broccoli juice here, M D!’

I shifted my pen. ‘And what about...women?’

‘Wow! Yes, indeedy!’ he responded. 

‘Well?’

‘So where are they?’ panted the be-beaked Count. ‘C’mon! C’mon!’

‘I mean,’ I interjected, ‘the women in your life.’

‘Women in my life?’ he repeated. ‘There aren’t any women in my...’

‘Coo-eee!’ called a voice from the near distance, ‘Duckyboos!’ 

‘There aren’t any women in my life I’d talk to you about!’  ‘Especially that one!’ the Count added. ‘Come on!’

It wasn’t easy taking notes in the darkness of the broom cupboard, but I did my best. ‘How about Zi-Zi Lamour?’ I went on. 

‘Wow! Yes!’ he gabbled. ‘The Most Kissable Bill in Hollywood! She really gives me the goose-bumps! Turkey-bumps, even- and on a duck that’s really something!’ He sighed. 

‘There’s a problem?’ I delved. 

‘I just wish I hadn’t been born a duck.’

‘How’s that?’ I demanded, puzzled. 

‘You ever tried shaving a beak?’ 

I was still pondering his reply when, some 14 milliseconds later, the interview ended. 

There was a high-pitched cry of ‘Coming, ready or not!’ and the door fell in on us. I had a brief glimpse of a towering, one-armed white figure...then I knew no more. 

It’s a lovely hospital; nice views- and they keep the bolts well oiled. And the doctor’s very kind...only...well, I wish he wouldn’t keep calling me ‘cheeky boy’ and feeding me millet...

‘

[whiskynottea]

An Interruption in the 1st Law of Thermodynamics

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27,  Chapter 28, Chapter 29, Chapter 30, Chapter 31, Chapter 32, Chapter 33, Chapter 34, Chapter 35,  Chapter 36, Chapter 37, Chapter 38, Chapter 39, Chapter 40, Chapter 41, Chapter 42, Chapter 43, Chapter 44, Chapter 45 

AO3

@theministerskat , once again, thank you for betaing this story!

Chapter 46. Bluebells and Blue Balls

We spread our fingers out, trying to grasp time, to drag it backwards, if only for a little while; a month more, a few days, a single hour. Laws of the heart trying to defeat the laws of physics. Impossible.

Time kept slipping away through hollows and creases, invisible like the wind, carrying along laughter and touches instead of leaves and dust. Relentless, it continued its journey, bringing us closer to the crossroad where our path would finally split in two, where our hands would be too far away to touch, where our breaths would never reach each other’s mouth but would vaporize towards the limitless sky to reach the same stars.

We returned to Edinburgh for Jamie’s SATs and my BMAT. We both left the exam halls with smiles on our faces. When Jamie had to go back to Lallybroch, I entered Lamb’s office with my best puppy dog eyes and the pleading obvious in my voice.

A week later, I was at Lallybroch again. I was with him again – with his eyes on mine, his hands on my skin, his closeness. I would keep him close for as long as I could.

It was a grim October morning when he cornered me in the hallway, eyes glinting with mischief. And something else. Something I placed only after hearing his voice.

“A year ago,” he whispered, leaning into me, “I kissed ye.”

It hit me like a bolt of lightning. I had forgotten. A year ago, that night after the escape room…

Wait a minute.

“I kissed you, you mean.” I grinned at him, teeth flashing wry and cocky. A grunt left his throat and I hardly kept my chuckle inside.

“I kissed you, too, if I remember correctly.” His voice promised more and more kisses to come as his arms snaked up my sides.

“But I was first.” I heard my own voice hoarse, nothing like the light tone I intended.

“What can I say, I am irresistible.” A corner of his mouth tugged up, in this indeed irresistible lopsided smile of his.

“Oh, shut up!” His cheeky smile soon disappeared beneath my lips.

I kissed him, long and hard, until our chests rose and fell together, and his taste mingled with mine, creating something different, new. Something that was wholly us and wholly ours.

Jamie, at last, withdrew from our kiss, dark blue eyes boring deep into mine. His hand left my curls before it dipped into his pocket, only to emerge again with something hidden in his palm.

“A year ago,” he whispered, eyes glinting with happiness. Dark, clear skies, like the ones we spent our nights looking up at, from our spot on Calton Hill or the hill behind the house. “I kissed the girl I had always been looking for.” His hands came up to my neck, fingers lightly grazing my skin before he locked in place a simple silver chain with a stem of bluebells hanging just below my clavicles. He had given me bluebells that day too, when he’d come to pick me up. And then a bluebells bracelet on my birthday.

I raised my head slowly, looking up at him - at his soft gaze, his smiling lips. “Bluebells,” I said, my voice almost a whisper.

Jamie nodded, his fingers now trailing invisible paths on my neck, my jaw, my cheekbones. “Bluebells,” he repeated.

“It’s so beautiful, Jamie.” The flowers I held when we hardly knew each other, when I walked next to him and he wasn’t mine. And now, I would always have them against my skin – a part of him, a part of our story.

Jamie kissed my brow, lips lingering on my skin for a long minute. “D’ye ken, that bluebells bloom only in Spring?” he asked, his deep voice echoing through my body.

“But how? It was October when you first gave them to me.”

“I dinna ken. A wee miracle. They bloomed for me to give them to ye, Sassenach. They were waiting for us.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I cupped his face between my palms and brought his lips to mine.

“I ken ye dinna wear the bracelet,” he started saying a moment later, his face clouding just a bit. “But – ”

“I love my bracelet,” I interrupted him. “It’s just that…that…” I raised my hand between us, dangling and shaking it. “I’m not used to… I always…” I couldn’t find the right words to explain. “I guess I’m not a bracelet-kind of girl? And I don’t want to break it?” It was a question and a plea, because I needed him to understand, to know that it didn’t mean less to me because I didn’t wear it.

“Claire.” His voice was serious, but softened immediately. “I ken. And I bought ye a necklace, so it won’t get in the way all the time. And then when ye’ll wear gloves…a bracelet isna that easy to wear. But if ye don’t want to wear the necklace either,” he paused, then shrugged. “It’s okay.”

But all I could think was a single word. Gloves. He thought that far. Months, years after. Years, when he hoped I would still wear his necklace.

“I’ll wear it,” I said and kissed him again. “I love you.”

My lips left his and traveled down his neck, biting and sucking, until I could feel him breathing hard and loud.

“Sassenach.” His voice was strained, and I closed my eyes trying not to smile against his skin, content with the effect I had on him. Glad, he felt like the way I did when his lips were on me. “Come?” He took my hand, ready to walk back to his bedroom.

Locking my feet in place, I pulled him back. “I can’t. I promised Jenny I would help with the pies.”

“Ye can help later,” he said. He wasn’t asking.

“I’m already late. I’ve got to go.” I squeezed his hand in sympathy, in a silent sorry. He didn’t let me out of his grasp.

“So I’m giving ye bluebells and ye’re giving me blue balls in return? This is the pattern of our relationship?”

Unable to resist, I barked a laugh. Blue balls indeed, because I had left him in a similar condition when he’d given me the bracelet on my birthday. With a provokingly raised eyebrow, I freed my hands from his long fingers, mouthed a ‘later’ and turned to leave.

His heavy breathing and a hiss that sounded vindictive were the last things I heard before entering the kitchen. Later, I paid for my smugness. Jamie entered my room late that night determined to take revenge. His teeth bit all the sensitive spots of my body and his tongue trailed healing paths where the red marks would soon appear, until shivers ran through me. His mouth locked on my nipples, sucking long enough to make me whimper. His hands caressed my body, but he didn’t touch me where I wanted him the most. The pads of his fingers traveled close enough and then withdrew, nails scraping against the soft skin of my inner thighs. No matter how hard I tried to pivot to get him grant my requests, he kept teasing and taunting me until he was sure I would never deny him again. I tried to touch him too, but he kept maneuvering out of my grasp. Soon enough, we were both equally breathless. When Jamie finally entered me, the gasp that left my mouth released the last bit of air I had kept inside my lungs. And with that, all I breathed in was him. Cardamom and cinnamon and the oranges we had eaten after dinner. And I was full of him, his body completing mine, all my senses his to conquer. All his senses mine to drink from.

--

The next months passed in a blur. Jamie received the scholarship from the University of Michigan.

My interview at Lady Margaret Hall went more than well and all I had to do was to wait for the results.

Lady Margaret Hall. Twenty minutes away from Pembroke college and an eternity away from Michigan. We had made plans and life laughed at our expense. But still, we would move on. We would make it.

It was the weirdest Christmas I had ever had. Stranger than the time I was alone with Lamb – when we hardly celebrated Christmas. This Christmas, though, was different. Everyone was happy – we were supposed to be happy. And yet, currents were trapped between us, creating static, making us think every move, every kiss, every heartbeat that brought us closer to that moment when doing these things would be impossible. And even thinking about it, was solid receipt that we would be torn in two.

And yet, defying everything, we clung to each other. Made every moment count.

Jamie left right after Christmas.

We all drove him to the airport together, crammed inside Brian’s car, keeping silent apart from Murtagh who was trying to lighten the mood with inappropriate jokes.

My heart had sunk deep down my chest and I glued my body to Jamie’s, hoping that the steady rhythm of his heart would wind mine back. His lips were tender against my forehead, his arm wrapped around me, warm and solid, keeping me close. But his heart… His heart was drumming, preparing for war, destined to frighten his enemies like a bodhrán going into battle.

I felt the air travel down my larynx, rushing towards my trachea, filling my lungs with every breath, as if it was trying to prove that I would continue living without him by my side. All I did was to close my eyes and focus on his scent, his warmth, the way his body felt against mine.

I will miss you so bloody much, Jamie Fraser.

I didn’t even dare whisper it in his ear, afraid that tears would rise like the tide, destroying the wall I had built around my feelings like a castle in the sand. So I bit my lip hard and waited. 

Waited to arrive at the airport. Waited for Jamie to hug his family. Waited, breathless, until he would leave, and I would fall apart.

Jamie stood in front of each one of us, his eyes glazed, taking us in for a minute before he was enveloped in our arms. Each, giving him a different hug.

Brian’s hug was strong, keeping Jamie inside his arms as if he was a wee lad again. Full of trust and pride, and a little fear for his son who was old enough to live that far away from home.

Murtagh patted his head first, ruffling his hair, and then gave him a crooked, proud smile. His hand didn’t stop patting Jamie’s back the entire time they were embraced.

Jenny hugged him tight and Jamie wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her up from the ground, just so. She kept whispering to him and they both had tears in their eyes when he set her on her feet again.

With Ian, Jamie did a childish handshake, bumping fists in a flawless pattern that showed they had done the same thing a million times, and then they bumped into each other, their laughter a bit louder to cover all the built-up emotion.

Then, it was my turn.

Jamie walked to me, met my eyes for a long moment and pulled me forcefully to him. His arms were strong around my body and he set his chin atop my head, securing my face against his chest where I could feel every beat of his heart.

Don’t cry.

I didn’t know how much time had passed when I pulled back and looked at him with a bittersweet smile. He bent his head and we stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment before my forehead rested against his. At this moment, with eyes closed and our breaths intermingled, I was peaceful. I wished it could last forever.

“I love you,” I whispered, even though I was well aware he knew it. I had told him a ridiculous amount of times since he had been admitted to Michigan. But I couldn’t help it, I needed him to know.

“I love ye too, my Sassenach.” Tears rolled down my cheeks before I realized it.

“Hey, now…” he chided me, but his voice was soft, his face glinting with tears of his own.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said, short, loud breaths leaving my nose in something that could be a chuckle. Or a cry.

“I’m not leaving ye,” he whispered, kissing the tears from my cheeks. “Ye’ll always be in my mind, in my heart. Every second, every day.” I nodded, and he mirrored my response. “And I’m going to be in here,” he said, lightly setting long fingers over my heart. “And here,” he continued, tapping my temple with his index finger.

This time I really chuckled. “You ridiculous human being. Go, before I change my mind and keep you here.” I pointed to the floor, meaning the airport, Scotland, UK.

“Aye,” he smiled with mischief. “I’ll go, before I change my mind and take ye wi’ me.” He kissed me then, lips tasting of love and promises. “Forever,” he breathed, and his arms tightened around my body for a long moment before they reluctantly let me free.

I didn’t want to be free.

I saw him taking his luggage and I kept watching him as he walked towards the gates. Just before scanning the barcode on his ticket he turned back, and I saw his blue eyes sinking in mine, and I swallowed my sobs, and I mouthed ‘I love you’ simultaneously with him.

I didn’t realize I was walking to him. But I saw his long strides bringing him closer and I rushed, feet moving on the brink of running. I crashed against his chest and squeezed him tight until he brought my lips to his and kissed me. It wasn’t soft. It was desperate and painful, and it made my whole body tingle. Needing him. We broke apart, panting, grinning, eyes shooting flames and hands craving for skin.

“Go,” I whispered, and he nodded but didn’t move. “Nothing is changing. Go,” I repeated.

I walked back to the others and ignored Jenny when she said, “Now that was very rom-com-like.” She still had tears in her eyes. Jamie waved, and we waved back, and I didn’t know how so many broken hearts would fit in Brian’s car on our way back to the city.

I felt my knees wobble as we walked towards the exit, and the next moment Jenny’s arm was around my waist.

“Hey, now,” she whispered. “It’s going to be okay. You’re stronger than this.”

I couldn’t stop rubbing my bluebells necklace between my fingers, as if it would summon him back.

A moment later my phone vibrated inside my pocket.

Scot: I can smell you on my clothes and it’s driving me crazy.

I chuckled.

Sassenach: I’ve got my bluebells, do you have your blue balls?

Scot: Yeap, here secured in my pants.

Sassenach: See? Nothing has changed.

Scot: I love you and I miss you already.

Sassenach: Me too. More than you can imagine. We kept texting until he was on board, and then again during his flight. Neither of us slept that night, too busy to hold tight the tether that brought us together. 

Chapter 47

[a-sweet-pea]

Blowout : Part Four

Part Three

Elle swore she could see a flush rising in his cheeks. “Dinni get me wrong, ah usually wait fer the second or third date tae invite a lassie back tae ma flat.” Elle snickered. “But ah figure the circumstances are a wee bit different.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Aye, but ah cannae jist leave you here oan the side of the road.”

“Well, technically you could.”

“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “No even technically. I am legally required tae carry you and your wee car up tae ma place and make ye a wee cup ‘o hot chocolate and give ye a wee facecloth fer a blanket and…ah dunno, d’ye like Brooklyn nine-nine? It’s got the guy fae Lonely Island playin’ a police officer, and Terry Crews is a big muscly bloke who loves eatin’ yogurt. Ah could put a few episodes ae that oan, jist relax and you can figure aw this out in the morning.”

Elle’s heart felt swollen, like it was about to pull an Alien and bust out of her chest. James’s big, welcoming smile was fading.

“Ah could leave ye here if ye want,” he said, more quietly. “Or take ye to your hotel. I-I’m no meanin tae kidnap ye!” The other hand appeared in the sky above her, coming toward her with the thumb outstretched. “Please, dinni greit.”

“G-greit?” She shook as the thumb came closer. She could see the pattern of whorls in the print as it came right up to her head and, with a surprisingly gentle touch, brushed her cheek.

“Oh aye, you’re American aren’t ye?” He took the thumb back to wipe it against his dark button-up shirt. “Greitin’ is cryin.” I’m not crying. But now that he’d mentioned it, she could feel the hot tears on her cheek where they hadn’t yet been wiped away. “I’m awfy sorry.”

“What for?” Elle wiped her face on the sleeve of her own shirt, leaving a shining trail from her now-running nose. Gross.

“For making ye cry!”

“You didn’t!” She sniffed, and wiped her nose again (on the other sleeve). “I mean, yeah, I-I’m crying…e-everything is huge and overwhelming, that’s not your fault.” She looked up at his giant, worried face. “Some hot chocolate and silly television sounds really good right now.”

“Aye?” His eyes lit up and he smiled again, and Elle smiled to match it. “Well, what are we waitin’ for then?”

“I don’t know what you’re wating for. I’m waiting for you to get moving. Unless you wanted me to walk there myself. Point me in the right direction, I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

He rolled his eyes. “Awright, ye cheeky wee shite.” The hand moved down a bit and toward him until the back edge was pressed against his massive chest. Elle looked up, past the the line of black buttons, the loose collar, the dark hair poking above it, the pale throat, to where his head was tilted down toward her, a smile on his face. “I would be happy tae escort you; because it will take me less than five minutes.”

“Good idea.” She raised a thumbs up, and then turned around so that she could watch the way ahead of them while he walked. “Wait!”

“Whit?” He looked down again, but this time his face was upside down in the air (or at least it looked that way because it was turned around).

“The car!” She felt his laughter low in his chest; the warm cloth wall at her back jumped.

“I’ve got it in my pocket.”

“No you don’t.”

“Aye ah dae! It’s in ma jeans.”

“Oh shit, right.” She flopped back against his shirt. For as mind-meltingly bizarre as this night was turning out, she couldn’t help enjoying the warmth coming off him; she hardly felt the chill of the night air. “Guys pants have real pockets that hold things. I can hardly fit my phone in mine.” The swaying and forward motion were a dead giveaway that they were moving; while it wasn’t exactly smooth, he at least appeared to be walking slowly. “Fuck, my phone.” She patted the front pocket and felt the familiar bulge there. “Yay, I have it!”

“It’ll no work if it’s aw shrunk doon.”

“Tiny person, tiny car, that’s all fine, but a tiny phone is a step too far?” She pulled it out and punched in her passcode. “Shows what you know, cause it totally does work, and I’m gonna play my swipey-match-three-dragon-eggs game until my heart stops going a mile a minute.”

“That’s mental that it’s still workin’. You’re gonnae have to let me have a look at that; the circuitry must be microscopic.”

“Look at the car; I probably wouldn’t get my deposit back even if it wasn’t basically a Hot-Wheels.” Elle tapped a colorful clip art treasure chest, delighting in the pleasant ordinariness of the sparkles and melodic chimes. “Take the engine out, disect it with pliers if you like. But the phone, you will have to pry out of my cold dead hands.”

He laughed again. “Awright, fair. And if ye keep it, mebbe ah can get your number aff ye.”

Elle looked up; even from the low vantage point, she could tell the grin on his face was an absolutely shit-eating one. “James…what’s your last name?”

“McKinnon.”

“James McKinnon,” she continued, in her best impression of someone terribly affronted. “I cannot believe you would be so forward as to ask me for my phone number when we have only just met.”

“Oh aye, how rude ae me.” He turned down a side street that was lit with dim orange lamps and lined on either side with tall wooden doors painted red and blue and black. “Ah should have waited until we were up in ma flat, haeing a drink and watching telly together, aw snuggled up in blankets, and then asked.”

“Yes, that would be the polite thing.”

[teamvnla]

Cutscene : Team VOLT

The had parked in the garage of a large building, Jae recognized it. It was a Hunter company, he had gotten a few jobs from them in the past though they were smaller and kept under the table since he wasn't a liscensed Huntsman yet. He followed Taragon as she walked into the building she seemed just as familiar with it as the staff in the lobby seemed with her.

"I work outta this place, they usually let me do my own thing but sometimes they offer me certain jobs." She explained as they stepped into the elevator.

"Was this one of them?" He asked refering to the "big job" she referenced the night prior.

"Kinda, the original job I got was from them but things started connecting from other job requests. I'll explain more once we're with the others." She answered as she led him out of the elevator passing offices and different meeting rooms each with varying amounts of figures behind textured glass. She led him down the hall to a meeting room that two figures could be seen sitting in, she scanned her scroll pushing the door open as a click signaled it had unlocked. Tarragon stepped in first with Jae following behind her.

"You're late." One of the two figure spoke. The women sat gaze not glancing up from the tablet she was looking at. She had medium light blonde hair and a pair of eyes who's hues seemed to shift in the color with the catch of the light. Two scars went over her right eye, one much short then the other only extending from the top lid to the lower next to it was a much longer scar which extended from above her eyebrow to the corner of her ruby painted lips. Neither of the scars took away from the fact the women was beautiful.

"And as ya can tell someone got impatient." The other person in the room spoke, a man. He had a messy blonde hair, a scruffy beard, and honey colored eyes. He leaned back in his chair casually his feet propped up on the table, a cigarette hung loosely from his lips as he gestured with one hand towards the women.

Jae recognized the pair in the room despite both their faces having been much more aged than when he had seen them, he mostly had pictures to go off of that wee kept in the attic back at the shop in Vale. The memories he had of them were too fuzzy for him to consider them reliable.

The women was Opal Amas, a well renowned tech analysis among Hunters. The man was Leo "Vision" Cornell, a Huntsman who seemed to vanish after graduating from Atlas. They were two of the four members of Atlas Academy's Team VOLT.

Jae stood in a room with the remaining members of the team his father once led.

"And here I thought I had done a pretty good job securing the information."

"Using a pin code that's your son's birthday is anything but secure." Opal scoffed gaze finally moving from the screen immediately landing on Jae, her eyes moved over him cold and almost seemed to analyze his every movement.

"Aye Tar, I thought you were going out to get Vinny. What's with the kid?" Leo's gaze looked Jae over not in the same way Opal's was, his was different...it was almost like he was sizing up Jae.

"Well...there was an unexpected complication you could say but! This right here is Vince and Mai's lad, Jae. Get this, he's a Huntsman." Tarragon clasped her hands on Jae'a shoulders.

"Alright, but ya went to get Vin not his kid." Leo pointed out letting out a small puff of smoke.

"She couldn't possibly get Vincent to join us." Opal stated casually earning a glance of confusion from both Leo and Tarragon. "He's dead." She answered bluntly to their confused gazes.

"What? Shit, really? Wait..wait how do you know that?" Leo took the cigarette from his lips sniffing it out in the glass ashtray on the table.

"Public records, jackass." She responded finding Leo's question rather dumb.

"I was going to get to that, but looks like you beat me to the punch Opal." Tarragon chuckled in an attempt to lighten the tension in the room, it was expected when Leo and Opal were in the same room. She patted Jae's shoulder gesturing for him to take a seat while she moved to the head of the table swiping the tablet from Opal as she passed.

"Damn, hows Mai holdin' up? She doin' okay."

"You're loathsome." Opal muttered under her breath shaking her head.

"Dunno, haven't seen her." She answered seemingly not willing to humor whatever Leo was getting at.

"Before you end up on another tangent, could I know what this 'big job' is about?" Jae cleared his throat finally speaking up for the first time in the room.

"Atleast someone here is excited for the job." Tarragon chuckled swiping through something on the tablet before setting it down on the table, the table lit up as a projection appeared in the middle of the room, the lights around them dimmed.

"The job I originally got was about a group of Hunters in training and their instructor, they were meant to arrive at the shadowing assignment a few days before. When they didn't the parents were thrown into a panic, obviously. As I was looking for more intel, I found out more cases that were oddly similar." She moved her hands through the air showing the original missing students, before pulling up more cases and photos of missing people. "There are a ton more people disappearing, then I found a lead." With a flick of her wrist she pulled up a security video. "People wearing Whire Fang uniforms have been spotted on camera's and eye witness accounts on multiple of these incidenta."

"So the White Fang are kidnapping kids, that doesn't seem too out of the ordinary for a terrorist group." Leo commented with a shrug.

"But why?" Opal spoke up, it was hard tell if she was asking in general or just to herself.

"That's what I've been trying to wrap my head around, but I have reason to to believe that it may be a branching group from the White Fang." Tarragon paused, speeding the video she had pulled up before slowing down to go frame by frame. "There." She said enhancing the frame she stopped on, towards the back of Whire Fang members there was a figure wearing an owl mask. "I haven't seen a White Fang mask like that before."

"So where do we start lead wise?" Jae spoke up looking over the current list of missing people, there wasn't a pattern he could see right away but maybe if he just had some time to look at the file then....his train of thought was cut off but Leo.

"Woah. Woah. Hold your horses kid, since when are you joining this?" He quite obviously had his doubts.

"I made the choice already, he here to stay. He's a fighter." Tarragon responded staring down Leo through the projections coming from the table.

"Have you seen him fight?" Leo quirked a brow.

"No."

"Then how do you know hes worthwhile?"

"Gut feelin'." She responded with a cheeky grin.

"We can't just follow you gut feeling, Taragon."

"If you doubt me so much I can just show you." Jae shot back a slight edge to his tone, he couldnt help but grow irratated at the mans obvious doubt.

"Ah, ah. Not yet, you've got a new toy to play with and good ole Leo here is gonna show you how to use it." Tarragon smiled gaze shifting from Jae to Leo.

"New toy?" This seemed to catch Opal's interest.

"Silverlight." The look on behind Opal's and Leo's eyes was a mix of surprise before both dissolved into emotions he couldnt quirked pinpoint.

"Alright, but first you're going to have to show me what I'm working with."

"If we find a center I could show you a demo-"

"Nope, not like that."

"What do you mean?"

"You're gonna take each of use head on."