#de to smoke gave me a chance to. try and share a bit if my side of things.

[thran-duils]

Lost in Zero Gravity (P.4)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Four) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 2,944 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior Author’s Note: If you don’t like the tags on this fic, just a warning to stop reading because it’s taking the turn that was mentioned all up in the tags

Part Three || Part Five || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

It had barely been a week and a half and Steve was already calling you. They’d sent you flowers twice and sent Tatiana a check to give to you. But apparently giving you the time you thought you needed was not on their docket.

You answered happily though, “Hey.”

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Far better than the last time you saw me. I can guarantee that. But I still don’t look my best.”

“That’s perfectly okay, Y/N. Understandable that you aren’t completely healed up yet,” Steve said. “But, we were hoping you would be up to a small trip.”

“O-oh,” you stammered. “I, uh, I mean should I? I don’t know if I should be getting rough.”

Steve laughed at that and assured you, “I can be gentle if that’s what you’re worried about. But, really. It’s actually important that you come with.”

You bit your bottom lip, contemplating. “I actually haven’t left the brothel since… you know.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. “Mhm, well, it’s secluded. It’s my beach house. Don’t gotta worry about anyone but us and some guards. And we can pick you up directly from your place.”

A beach house? God, that did sound nice. You cleared your throat, trying to joke, “Wives? I don’t need my nose broken again.”

“No. They are going on a small trip themselves separately. We are going on a crabbing trip as far as they know.”

“But what are you really doing then? And why is it important that I come?”

Teasingly, Steve told you, “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Me and surprises really aren’t—”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Steve cut in. “You need to get out of that place. Get some fresh air. There’s a jet tub and a hot tub. You can stay in it as long as you want.” He added and you could hear the smirk in his tone, “As long as you let us get the look we want, that is. Stipulation.”

“Pervert,” you joked, smiling despite yourself.

“It’ll be worth it. Trust me.”

Sighing, you weighed your thoughts. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” you asked surprised. It was Tuesday.

“Yeah, we are ready to go and I’m assuming you don’t have any plans?”

“No.”

“Perfect. We will swing by to pick you up at 4.”

“In the afternoon I hope.”

Steve chuckled, “Yes, the afternoon, dove. So, be ready. You know how punctual Tony is.”

“Don’t want to start the trip off on a bad foot,” you agreed.

“Exactly.”

You blurted, “Hey… can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

Carefully choosing your words, you asked, “Did you… were you able to find him?” Steve was silent on the other end of the line. You furrowed your brow and asked, “Steve? Are you still—"

“Yeah, I’m here. And yes,” Steve answered. “We sure did.”

“And…” you prodded, trailing off, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“We’ll come get you at 4pm tomorrow, dove. You should get your things packed,” he said, completely sidestepping your question. “I liked that blue one piece you bought when we were out that one time. The cut out one with great cleavage.”

“Okay, I’ll pack that one. How long are we staying?”

“A few days. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. I gotta go though, dove.”

“Okay,” you repeated. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

When you hung up, you stared down at your phone. Why hadn’t he answered your question? You turned around after a few moments, placing your phone down on your bed. You got onto the floor and reached to grab your travel suitcase out from underneath the bed.

<><><>

Coming down the stairs after you dropped your bag off in the master bedroom and taking a very long bath in the jet tub, you slowed your steps. You were taking in the view, looking out the windows that stretched at least ten feet at the first landing on the stairs. The water was lapping at the rocks outside, the sun just starting to set. It was calming.

“How was it?” Steve asked, coming into view.

“Amazing,” you told him, smiling. “You didn’t come up for your view though. How can I keep up my side of the bargain if you don’t meet me halfway?”

Steve smirked, “Cheeky. Still.”

You noticed he was still dressed nicely and you asked, “Do you want me to go change?” You had thrown on the suit he asked you to bring and a coverup over it.

“Absolutely not. You look fine.” Steve held his hand out for you and you took it. He was quiet, looking at you.

You got uncomfortable and asked, “What’s up?”

Steve looked over your shoulder and you followed his gaze seeing Tony walk in from outside. The two of them seemed to communicate without speaking and you repeated,

“What’s up?”

Steve’s attention was back on you and he asked, “So, you remember how you asked about Jared?”

“Um. Yes?”

“If you had the opportunity, would you want to see him before he died?” Your mouth fell open slightly, unable to find your voice, completely caught off guard. Steve stepped closer, and said, “I know how it feels to see someone who wronged you know they’re about to die.”

“He’s still alive?” you blurted.

“He’s here.”

You stammered, “E-excuse me? Here?” Your heart was beginning to pound.

“Don’t worry, he can’t get out,” Tony said quickly, holding up his hand to you. He saw you were threatening to unravel and he came closer. He explained gently, “And even if he could, he’s pretty dehydrated and he’s definitely starving, so he’s not going to be moving too fast anyway. Plus, you’ve got us here now and we won’t let anything happen to you?”

“What…” you said, trying to grasp what was going on.

Steve explained, “Found him a few days ago and kept him alive after we gave him a good beating. Wanted to give you the opportunity to watch it happen if you wanted to. You don’t have to. Just wanted you to have that chance.”

You were suspended in shock. You thought you were coming here to relax, get fucked a couple of times. And then just head back home. It dawned on you that second that this was the surprise that Steve must have been alluding to on the phone when you agreed to come here. Not the surprise you were expecting; not even in the realm of possibility.

Did you want that? Did you want to see him die? You swallowed sharply, flooded with the memories of all the times he had beat you, cheated on you. You hated to admit some part of you would like to actually watch him suffer. You could never do it yourself, not on your own. And now you had this golden opportunity to have it happen in a way that he would know it was because of you that it was happening.

“Y/N?”

You were taking a long time to answer.

“I…” you started to say, looking in between them. You exhaled slowly and admitted, “Yeah. Yeah.”

“You’re sure?” Tony asked. You nodded and he nodded in return. “Good. I think you should. Give you some closure.”

That seemed a little sadistic but you let them led you towards the door. They walked you out onto the dock that was lit by small lamps. The sunset was beautiful on the water, the waves glowing with the colors. It was a stark contrast to what you were walking out here to do, such a dark deed. There were a few men standing at the end of the dock and you made to stay closer to Tony, keeping an eye on them as you approached.

When you came to a stop, your eyes circled around the group. You immediately got worried, thinking the worst.

Nervously, you asked, “Where is he?”

Tony pointed down at the dock and you furrowed your brow in confusion. “Guys gotta be freezing in this water.”

“O-oh.”

Tony walked over towards the side of the dock where you saw there was a ladder. He began climbing down it and Steve gave you a little nudge. You walked over to the edge hesitantly and looked over. There was another lower dock there, a speedboat next to it. That made sense, this dock was pretty high. They definitely were not going to kill you, you tried to reassure yourself.

You forced yourself to climb down after Tony, his hands coming up to steady you as you got within his reach. You settled down next to him as soon as you saw they were telling the truth.

Jared was tied up to one of the pillars holding up the dock, his body half submerged into the water. He looked absolutely awful, close to death. His face was swollen, bruised. They had not lied about the beating either.

He seemed to recognize you and his eyes narrowed. Something kicked up in him and he shouted against the gag, hate in his eyes. You could not tear your eyes away from him.

“I personally love the sight,” Tony said, standing close. He lit up his cigar and took a long drag, his eyes raking over Jared.

Steve had climbed down now and was standing close as well.

You were still in shock seeing Jared yell at you, struggle against the binding. Tony was right, the water must be freezing.

Something came over you.

“Fuck me,” you said, not taking your eyes off of him.

“Pardon?” Tony asked, choking on his smoke a bit.

“Fuck me,” you repeated. Tony was staring at you, his finger running across his lip. You shrugged and added, “I want another man fucking me where his stupid ass can see it. Right before he dies. I want that to be one of the last thing he remembers. He hated the thought of another man touching me.”

“Shit,” Steve breathed, laughing lightly.

Your adrenaline was rushing now. “That’s what I want. I don’t want to actually see him die. I don’t think I could handle that but… I want this.”

There were a few moments of silence and you finally tore your eyes away from Jared to look at the two of them standing behind you.

“I won’t say no to that,” Steve said finally, grinning devilishly. “I’ll do the honors.”

You stared into Jared’s eyes, knowing you would never have to look at him again after this. You would never have to worry about him ever again because of Steve and Tony.

<><><>

The lobster you were chewing was decadent, too good to exist. You were buzzed now, having to take a couple shots after Steve got done plowing you and then you walked away, without a care, knowing damn well that someone was going to be murdered behind you. The shots had hit quickly on your empty stomach and luckily dinner had been delivered shortly after you had taken the shots. The three of you were sitting at a table on their dock, the table lit by tall lamps.

“You said you were coming back from a job?” Steve asked, before taking a bite of his steak. You eyed him confused and he chewed, swallowing. “That night.”

Revisiting this again. You did not want to think about it anymore tonight but considering the favor they had done, you pushed your uncomfortableness aside and nodded. “Yeah. Some Wall Street guy. Definitely a frat boy who never had to work a real job in his life. He had every drug imaginable ready to just offer up. Obviously I did not partake.”

You picked up your champagne, taking a swig before taking another bite of your lobster.

“No more of that,” Tony said flatly.

Eyes narrowed, you asked, “Frat boys or Wall Street? Cause I really don’t always get to choose.” Another bite. It was so delicious. You had to ask what restaurant it was from.

“Nobody.”

You stopped chewing. Your eyes moved between the two of them, sitting there looking stoic. “What?”

They both exchanged a look and you felt your stomach starting to tighten. There was something wrong; something bad was about to happen.

Steve answered this time, “Nobody else. Nobody but us.”

You almost asked if they were joking but you remembered Tatiana’s words about owing them. And the looks on their faces told you they were in no way joking around. You placed your fork down, straightening up. They were watching you with an uneasy intensity, gauging your reaction.

Giving a light, nervous laugh, you told them, “Uh, I mean… I kind of have other regulars.”

“Why would you feel the need to continue with other regulars?”

“T-t-to keep my options open?”

“That’s… insulting,” Tony chuckled, his smile not reaching his eyes though, turning his head to stare off into the water.

You felt cold, a tightness in your stomach. Insulting him was the last thing you wanted to do.

“What is this? What are we talking about?”

Steve shrugged, “I’m not sure what’s not clear about this, Y/N. You will work for us and us only. You get an actual apartment. Move out of the brothel. So it’s not as suspicious that we are visiting you. Then we will be able to visit you whenever we want and we won’t have to worry about an incident like this happening again. Or worry about you leaving.”

You could not believe what you were hearing. They could not be serious about this. To just upend your life to just be at their beck and call. And to prevent you from leaving if you wanted to? This situation was spiraling way too quickly.

“I don’t want to live by myself,” you argued.

“It won’t be some run-down building, Y/N,” Tony sighed, annoyance lacing his tone as he looked back at you. “You’ll have a doorman. And security.”

“So, you want me to just… depend on the two of you for income and for my housing? Nothing else?” you asked them, flabbergasted.

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

“What rational person wouldn’t be worried about that? I haven’t had the greatest track record with partners as you have seen yourself.”

Steve cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. You closed your mouth, knowing immediately you had said something out of pocket. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating about me. About us. Have we not been good to you?”

“I-I.. that’s not what I meant—”

“You think I’m going to hit you?” Steve asked harshly.

“No—” you stammered, your heart pounding in your chest. He looked irritated all to hell.

Tony held up his hand and Steve closed his mouth, still glowering at you across the table. You averted your gaze to Tony as he spoke.

“You’ll be perfectly fine wherever we set you down.”

Your voice was small, “I can’t even choose?”

“I would like somewhere in our jurisdiction for one. And then the doorman stipulation.” He saw you had shook your head ever so slightly, a reaction more than anything. Tony leaned across the table, staring directly into your eyes. It took everything in you to not look away and to not show fear. You felt like you were probably failing miserably at that. “I don’t think you understand fully what’s going on here, sweetheart, and that concerns me. You won’t have to trick anymore. No more uncertainty of who is taking you home. No more late-night walks. A steady income, your own place. Protection too furthermore; you’ll have at least one guard at all times. Why would you not want that?”

Logically. You would want this. You should want this. You begged them to screw you over your abusive ex hours ago. Practically egged them on to commit murder with acting the way you had. Everything he was saying was positive. But it was ignoring the fact that it sounded like you were going to be owned, your movements dictated by the two of them.

You licked your lips and offered weakly, “It’s not smart of me.”

“Why?”

“My line of business isn’t exactly about exclusivity.”

“Well, I guess you’re leaving that line of business then,” Tony said coolly.

There was not a choice here. You were being told.

You needed to get away from the table, away from their heated stares. You were swimming in anxiety. Standing up from the table abruptly, the chair squeaking, you took off. You did not know where to, you had nowhere to go. You just knew you wanted – needed – to be by yourself, to gather your thoughts.

By the sound of the heavy footfalls following you down the boardwalk, it did not seem you were going to be granted that. You broke into a run, knowing it was futile. There was no way you could outrun a super soldier. Steve caught you without any trouble whatsoever and pushed you up against the wall of the beach house.

“I don’t want to!” you exclaimed.

“It’s either here, secluded, under guard or in your new apartment under guard.”

Tears watered up in your eyes and you choked out, “You can’t do this.”

“I can’t do this?” Steve said, a flash of cruelty in his eyes and an amused smirk on his lips. He leaned in closer and said more quietly, “Dove, we run this city and you are a part of this city. Our favorite part actually and we are securing our favorite part for ourselves.” He stepped closer, glaring down his nose at you. You felt smothered against the wall by his imposing presence. “And that’s whether our favorite part likes it or not. Because we already own it because she owes us.”

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming, @oceaniamaddness, @multifandom-superlover, @imsonick, @holl2712 

[guardianofrivendell]

The Way to a Hobbit’s Heart

Thorin Oakenshield x Bilbo Baggins (Bagginshield)

Requested: Yes and no! This piece is part of “The Hobbit Discord Server’s Holiday Gift Exchange 2020″ and is my gift to @misfit-with-a-pen​ 💖

Warnings: oh my goodness, all the fluff! I can’t! Also Sassy Bilbo because it’s still me who wrote this :) 

Summary: When Bilbo enjoys a nice afternoon walk in the Shire, he notices a smell... A rather foul smell, if he was honest. When he comes closer to his home, the smell seems to intensify. It couldn't come from his house now, could it? Because Thorin was home.... Alone. Oh dear!

A/N: This story couldn’t exist without the help of @xxbyimm​! She is such an amazing and fantastic person and always ready to listen to me rant about ideas, complaining about everything and gave me TONS of advice on top of that. How wonderful is that?

Bilbo always favored late afternoon walks over morning strolls.

Though he knew most of his neighbors wouldn’t agree with him and probably would think of him as even more peculiar than they already did if they knew, he just couldn’t help himself. 

You see, it was the way the sun hung low in the sky, giving everything it shone upon a warm golden glow. Furthermore, as most of the hobbit community was too occupied prepping the most important meals of the day, the town was practically deserted.

This meant Bilbo could enjoy the beautiful sceneries in peace without having to get involved in friendly banter and polite greetings. And finally - the temperature was nor too warm or too cold, which was just perfect. 

But there was nothing better than an afternoon walk in early spring. Birds were building their nest, flying past his head with twigs in their little beaks. 

It reminded him of that one time a thrush had landed on Lobelia’s straw hat and had absolutely wrecked the damn thing. It took her a while to notice and Bilbo had had the greatest difficulty in keeping a straight face. She went running through the Shire afterwards, screaming about a vicious bird attack. Since that day he couldn’t help but snicker every time he saw a thrush.

Yes, Bilbo loved his walks indeed. But he loved his home just as much.

It wouldn’t be long before any respectable Hobbit started working in their garden again after the winter break and every yard and patio would get overflowed with a soft and subtly sweet flowery scent. It wasn’t any different in his garden. 

The flower buds of the early bloomers were starting to show, some of them already in their lovely, bright colours. Just a few more days and he could bury his nose in the daffodils, tulips or primroses, taking in their flowery scent.  It was a moment Bilbo looked forward to every single year, but now he could finally share it with his husband Thorin. 

To everyone’s surprise, this grumpy dwarf had warmed up to the art of gardening. Under Bilbo’s patient supervision, they were able to turn their neglected patch of land into the beautiful garden it was today.  

Bilbo smiled to himself at the thought of his husband. He came a long way to get here... Both of them did. Literally and figuratively. 

Thorin had been under a lot of stress for a long time without barely any chance to breathe: the rebuilding of Erebor, restoring trade agreements, bringing his people back to the mountain, … It never stopped and he was close to getting a burn-out.

Bilbo had seen it coming from miles away and had raised the alarm on Thorin’s health. Bilbo’s home in the Shire proved to be the perfect place to get a much needed break from ruling a Kingdom.  

The mountain was in good hands with Fíli and Kíli as his advisor - Balin was still there to keep an eye on them - and the peace and quiet of the Shire was wearing off on Thorin. He was finally able to relax and enjoy the time with Bilbo.Even so, they couldn’t stay away forever and they’d made plans to return to the mountain before the annual Durin’s Day celebration.  

That didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy the time that was still left.

Bilbo continued his way on the path that would eventually lead him back to his home, he stopped when he smelled something odd. He sniffed a few times, tilting his head sideways. What in the…?  

Bilbo couldn’t tell what the smell reminded him of, and yet it somehow seemed familiar. Was Lobelia trying to burn down her house again with another attempt at copying his famous rabbit stew? 

The closer he got to his home, the stronger the scent became. It couldn’t come from his house now, could it? Thorin was home so nothing serious could have happened.

Bilbo’s eyes widened.  

Thorin was home… alone.  

“Oh dear,” he murmured.

Thorin was not yet entirely used to living like a hobbit, still adjusting to life in the Shire. The more delicate, joie-de-vivre way of life that suited the hobbits didn’t always go well with the sturdy, rather head-on approach and maybe a tad brute way of the Dwarrows. He definitely wasn’t the domestic type. Yet.

Bilbo hurried up the lane to his front yard, struggled to open the gate in his haste and made his way inside. When the door closed behind him, it felt like someone had slapped him in the face.

Oh yeah, the smell definitely came out of his house. He coughed a few times, and his eyes started to water. He completely missed the leftover trails of smoke near the ceiling, and that was maybe for the better. 

“Thorin?” he squeaked between coughs. “Love?”

No answer. Was he even here? And what was that pungent smell? It almost smelled like an onion died a painful death and was left to rot! But with added spices. Now he almost wished it was Lobelia’s cooking instead... 

He left the entrance hall and stepped further into their home, making his way to the study. If Thorin was home, he would probably be there. Bilbo hoped to find his other half hunched over a book, or too focused on writing a letter to his nephews to hear his calls. Not that he didn’t trust Thorin to find his way back home on his own… okay fine, maybe he didn’t.  

Before he reached the study, his eye fell on the pantry. A rare curse escaped his mouth.

Empty jars, most of them tipped over, crumbs and pieces of vegetables on the ground together with a puddle of liquid that Bilbo wasn’t too keen on investigating further. 

He stood frozen in the round doorway. What had happened? 

Flashbacks of that one fateful night when the company had barged in - uninvited might he add - and raided his kitchen and pantry flooded his mind.

Could they...?

No, he shook his head. It was too quiet for the company to be here. Plus Thorin would have mentioned it. There were no secrets between them. Not anymore.  

He crossed the hallway and entered his kitchen. Or rather, what was left of it.

If he thought his pantry was raided, it was nothing in comparison to his kitchen. There were dirty pots and pans all over the place, as if the dishes hadn’t been done in weeks. Most of the cabinets were opened, the contents of the shelves in disarray or scattered over the counter. A lot of food made it to the floor as well, and it seemed like someone had tried to clean it up by shoving it to one side of the kitchen.  

It looked like Thorin had tried to make something for dinner. Or a snack maybe? At least, he hoped it was Thorin who wrecked the kitchen. Because there wasn’t a single hair on his feet that would even consider cleaning this up himself! 

“Thorin, I really do love you but you got to learn to clean up after yourself,” Bilbo muttered in frustration when he picked up a dirty kitchen rag from the floor. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” a low voice sounded behind him.  

Bilbo swirled around and he forgot to breathe for a second.

There, in the doorway of the dining room, stood Thorin in just his dark blue tunic and black breeches, barefoot and an apron tied around his hips. A towel carelessly thrown over his shoulder and a casserole in his hands made it look like he belonged in a kitchen. But Bilbo knew better. 

The dwarf himself looked like a complete snack. If it wasn’t for the state of the kitchen and the foul smell still filling his nostrils, he would’ve jumped him without a second thought.

No, scratch the snack! His husband was a full five course meal. Bilbo took a deep breath. And by Durin’s beard, was he hungry... 

Thorin lifted the pot a little. Bilbo stepped out of the way so he could pass.

“It just needs a little more time on the fire.”

It didn’t. It really, really didn’t. 

That became abundantly clear when Thorin lifted the lid so he could stir in what looked like stew, and Bilbo had to grab the counter to steady himself.

Oh, well, at least now I know where that smell comes from, he thought. Breathe through your mouth, that’s the key! 

“You know, if you didn’t like my cooking, you could’ve just told me,” Bilbo joked while he took the pot off the fire again in an effort to save what could be saved, but not before he put the lid back on. “I think this is done, love.”

“Are you sure?” Thorin chuckled. The sound reverberated in his chest and it made Bilbo’s stomach flip. It was one of his favourite sounds and it still did something to him every time he heard it. 

“I wanted to repay you for taking such good care of me,” he said. “So I made us dinner.”

“You did?” Bilbo asked, endeared by the gesture but honestly, also a little afraid for his life by now. “Marvellous!”

“Go and take a seat at the table, I’ll be right there,” Thorin hummed and he gestured towards the dining room.  

Thorin came out of the kitchen and placed the pot in the middle of the table and wiped his hands on the apron. His eyes fell on Bilbo who still stood a bit to the side.  

When he entered the dining room Bilbo froze, stunned by what he saw. 

Thorin had set the table beautifully and had paid extra attention to details, the way Bilbo liked. Freshly picked flowers from their garden stood proudly in a white porcelain vase, napkins neatly folded on the right side of the plate and he had used Bilbo’s mother’s pottery. He really went out of his way for this. 

“Is it not to your liking?” Thorin asked, a slight tremble in his voice. “If it’s about the mess in the kitchen, I promise I’ll clean it up later.”

He was nervous, Bilbo realised when he looked at Thorin. The King under the Mountain who could face multiple armies with only twelve companions without a second thought or hint of fear was almost shaking with nerves because he had made dinner for his lover. It was adorable.  

“It’s lovely, Thorin. Really, it is,” he assured him, while Thorin pulled a chair from under the table so Bilbo could sit down. “I didn’t expect it, that’s all.” 

Thorin quickly made his way to the other side of the table and filled the mugs with ale and the glasses with wine. Bilbo however, eyed the food on the table cautiously. 

To be fair, from a distance it looked decent. There were carrots, mashed potatoes, other vegetables that he couldn’t quite name at first sight but seemed okay, bread,… And the pot of stew. On the corner of the table stood a bowl of what he suspected was some kind of gravy, but the chunks in it made him doubtful. 

He took some of everything on his plate and tried to keep it together when the aroma of the stew filled his nostrils once more.

Thorin looked at him expectantly. 

The things one does for the one they love, Bilbo thought while he took a deep breath and tried the stew. Oh dear, it tasted exactly like it smelled!

He tried to swallow it as fast as he could without a lot of chewing. His hand flew to his glass of wine and with a large gulp of the red substance his food finally went down.  

“Is there something wrong?”

“No! No, it’s… well, it’s a little hot,” he explained. That wasn’t exactly a lie.��

He tried to find the correct words to let him know cooking maybe wasn’t his strong point, but decided to change the subject instead. “Have you heard from Fíli yet?”

Thorin shook his head.  “I did not. It hasn’t been that long since I sent my last letter. Give him some time.”

He took a sip from his glass of wine. “But tell me about your afternoon, did you enjoy your walk?” 

Bilbo was relieved he could talk for a while - and avoid taking another bite - and told Thorin about his walk and how he was planning on asking old master Worrywort what he did to his wood poppies to get them so big and bright.

While he was listening intently, Thorin took a first bite of his homemade stew.

The minute he closed his mouth, his eyes widened and he almost choked on the meat. He let his fork drop on the plate with a loud clatter, a fist against his lips while he tried really hard to swallow the food.

Bilbo didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. He decided on a neutral expression, like it was the most normal thing in the world for a person to choke on a spoonful of stew.  

Thorin brought the napkin to his mouth and wiped the tears out of his eyes, still panting from the effort.

“Mahal, why didn’t you say anything?” he groaned.

Bilbo eyed him carefully, not wanting to hurt Thorin’s feelings. He worked so hard to prepare all this, well, you couldn’t exactly call it food…

“About what?” he tried, gathering his courage and taking another spoonful. 

“The food! I saw you eat it!” Thorin murmured, his face distorting in absolute horror as he watched his husband trying his best to process another bite.

“Please don’t. I can’t believe you want to take another bite!” 

“You made this for me, of course I’m going to eat it,” Bilbo said, smiling at him. Please don’t make me eat it again, Bilbo pleaded internally. 

“To be honest, I don’t even think Bombur would touch this,” Bilbo added.

“That bad, huh?” he laughed. “Who am I kidding, of course it is, I tasted it. I still taste it!”

He took his mug of ale and chugged it down in one go. When he placed it on the table again with a thud, his expression had changed into defeat.

“I know you love your meals and this isn’t…” he rose from his chair. “This is not a meal worthy of any hobbit, let alone Bilbo Baggins.”

With the majesty only a true dwarven king can muster, Thorin strode from the dining room towards the kitchen. Bilbo shuffled in his seat, pondering what had happened before hurrying behind his One.

The sight that greeted him made his heart clench. Thorin had started cleaning up the mess, his back to the door, head low and shoulders slumped. Bilbo could see he was distraught and clearly wounded in his pride. 

In a few strides Bilbo stood behind his husband and threw his arms around him, giving a little squeeze.

”Don’t you ever think what you do isn’t enough. The fact that you went through all this trouble for me, means more to me than you’ll ever know,” Bilbo mumbled into Thorin’s neck before he placed a featherlight kiss there, which elicited a groan out of the King’s chest.

Thorin turned around and wanted to return the favor, but Bilbo stopped him. 

“No, no, no, Thorin. First we need to clean up this mess. I’ll help you.”

After an hour of cleaning, they sat on a spotless kitchen floor, looking over their work proudly.

“We make a great team, you and me,” Thorin said.

Bilbo rested his head on Thorin’s shoulder and sighed contentedly.

“Can you promise me one thing though?”

“What’s that?” Thorin wondered.

“Please leave the cooking to me?”

Permanent taglist: @roosliefje​ @kata1803​ @entishramblings​ @artsywaterlily​ @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose​ @marvelschriss​ @kumqu4t​ @myrin1234​ @dark-angel-is-back​ @the-fandoms-georgie​ @lathalea​ @xxbyimm​ @sokkasdarling​ @katethewriter​

[thebountyfucker]

Sharing is Caring

18+ ONLY - NSFW

Embo/F!Reader/Cad, minor Embo/Cad

Tags: PiV sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism, choking, deep throating, Embo and Cad are sorta buddies, lots o' cum, overstimulation, shibari, slightly feral Bo

Here's the link to my masterpost

This one is for the group chat. Love you hoes

“I got company comin’ over, so ya better behave.” Cad drawled as he ran the rope he was rigging you up with along your waist. You met his gaze, your eyes shimmering nervously. You were too damn cute, he’d give you that.

“C-company?” You asked as he tied off the rope and took a step back to admire his handiwork.

“Don’ get all shy now. It’s just Bo.” He muttered as he turned to dig around in his dresser drawers for one of his numerous toys. He pulled out a wand vibrator, and turned it on with a smirk. He threaded the wand through the rope around your waist and angled it so it hit your clit just right. You gasped softly as he patted your cheek. “Keep quiet fer me, okay? I’d hate fer him to know dat yer in dis state.”

You nodded frantically as he slipped out the door. Your legs shook already. It was going to be a long night…

-

Cad poured Embo a drink from the bar, watching the other hunter with a keen eye. They were tentative allies, sure, but Cad would hardly say that he trusted the other hunter. Given the glances Embo shot him in return, the feeling was mutual. They had to be. One always had to be on their guard around other hunters. One could never guess where the others' loyalties lie.

Cad made his way toward Embo with drink in hand. Embo accepted it with a nod, not saying a word. Cad didn’t mind. Embo’s silence was one of the reasons he was tolerable compared to the others. Cad set his own drink down on the table and moved toward the panel on the wall, raising the oxygen levels so his company could drink without the risk of suffocation. Cad’s breathing tubes went to work filtering out the extra oxygen.

“Hear anythin’ interestin’ from de Guild?” Cad drawled as he eased down into his chair and gathered a pack of playing cards in his hand. Embo grunted as he set his mask aside and took a sip of his drink.

“There is a job coming up. They will not say who is hiring, but the payout is roughly five million.” Embo replied, and Cad whistled in response.

“Damn. Any interest?”

“Of course there is interest. But they need someone of a higher caliber than most within the Guild.”

“So who’s a serious candidate?” Cad asked as he dealt out a hand of cards. Embo grabbed his cards, and fanned them out in his hand.

“Bossk, Aurra…”

“You?”

Embo chuckled as he glanced down at his cards. “Yes.”

“Guild-specific hiring?” Cad asked after taking a large swig of his drink.

“Unfortunately.” Embo reached for his drink and took a sip. “But I could get you in on it. 65/35 split sound amenable?”

“Sixty-five percent in my favor?” Cad teased with a quirk of his browridge. Embo rolled his eyes.

“No, mine. I would be getting the job, after all.”

“Doesn’t seem like getting de job is worth dat much. 50/50 split.”

“60/40.”

“Are ya really tryin’ dis wit’ me?” Cad managed with a chuckle. He downed his drink and laid out a card. Embo glared down at the card, before looking at his own hand.

“You do it to me all the time. I think it is only fair to return the favor.”

“Oh fuck you.” Cad managed between snickers as Embo laid down a card of his own. Cad leaned back. “Now dat was a dumb play.”

“I still do not get this game.” Embo muttered as he finished his drink and set his cards down on the table face down. He gestured to the bar. “May I?”

“Go ahead. Bring de whole bottle while yer at it.” Embo nodded in understanding as he stood and approached the bar, before pausing halfway across the room. Cad frowned and leaned forward. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“It sounds as though someone is in pain.”

“Oh dat’s just my fuck toy.” Cad replied nonchalantly, and Embo blinked over at him.

“Should I… leave?”

“Nah. Just let ‘er be. I’ll take care o’ ‘er in a bit.” Cad leaned back and put down another card. Embo came over with the bottle of booze and set it down on the table, before looking at the card Cad put down.

“Why did you do that?”

“Wanted t’ give ya a chance.” Cad smirked as he flicked the cap off the bottle and took a swig, much to Embo’s dismay. Embo settled back in his chair, a look of discomfort on his face.

“You are not usually so generous.”

“What can I say? De prospect of two-and-a-half million makes me feel all warm an’ fuzzy.” Cad fiddled around in his pocket and produced a pack of cigs. He offered one to Embo, who took it and perched it between his lips. Cad leaned over to light it for him.

They thoughtfully smoked in silence, taking turns laying down cards until Cad inevitably won. Embo seemed distracted, though, and Cad wasn’t sure why until he heard you whining for him from the room nearby. Embo shifted in his chair, trying to ignore your calls, but Cad could see they were getting to him. His eyes brightened, his body went lax… he fidgeted with the cards as he tried to think of anything else. Cad was almost certain that he was hard.

Cad set down his cards and stood, slowly approaching Embo. Embo put out the cig on his hand and looked up at Cad.

“What?” His voice was husky despite himself. Cad chuckled as he gripped Embo’s chin between his fingers, and tilted his head back. He could feel Embo tense beneath him, unsure of Cad’s intentions.

“Do ya want ‘er?”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Come now… ya can’t fool me. Yer eyes give ya away. Dey always do.” Cad chuckled as he released his grip on Embo’s chin; he instead patted Embo’s cheek. “Go on. Take ‘er.”

“I… do not understand.”

“Like I said, dat much money gets me feelin’ good. My only demand is dat ya aren’t doin’ dat gentle shit. Fuck her so hard she can’t walk. Got it?”

“And if she does not want that?”

“She will.”

-

The vibrator against your clit was pure torture at this point. A puddle of your fluids covered the floor beneath you. Your legs could hardly hold you up. You needed Cad to free you. He was so close by, you knew that he could hear you. You knew he could! You cried out his name once more as the door slid open and in walked… well… not Cad. Embo’s glowing eyes pierced through the darkness, and you shuddered, suddenly embarrassed by your nudeness and obvious arousal. Cad entered the room behind him, pushing Embo toward you.

“Cad, what are you-?” You asked as Cad came over to switch off the vibrator.

“I’m gonna let Bo take care of ya.” He hummed as he stroked your cheek. You leaned into his touch with a small sigh.

“If you do not want this, you are free to say so.” Embo muttered, and Cad chuckled, tangling a hand into the hair at the base of your skull.

“She’s a lil’ slut. She won’ say no.”

“You like to put words in her mouth.” Embo muttered as he crossed his arms over his chest. Cad went about untying you, before leaning in close and whispering in your ear.

“Go on, den. Speak t’ him. Settle his anxious lil’ mind.”

“I would like that.” You nodded, stretching your limbs as Cad untied them. Cad tossed the rigging rope aside, before sitting down in a nearby chair to watch.

You turned back toward Embo, who hadn’t moved from his position. He was waiting for you to make the first move. Ever the gentleman. You sauntered toward him, less gracefully than you were intending since your legs felt like jelly beneath you. He watched as you approached, unmoving.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be shy.”

“I am not ‘shy’.” He muttered as he glanced over at Cad. “He wishes for it to be rough. Speak now if you are not amenable to that.”

“Cad knows how I like things.” You fiddled with the latches of his armor, surprised at how easy they gave under your ministrations. The armor fell to the floor. You pulled him down so you could whisper in his ear. “You should really listen to him.”

“So he says.” Embo muttered as he swatted your hands away so he could remove the rest of his clothes. You would have assumed he was displeased with the situation given his tone and… well… general demeanor. But a deep, loud purr rumbled from within his chest, and you knew that he was thrilled. Cad leaned back, watching with keen eyes.

Bo hardly finished undressing before shoving you down onto your knees. Your gaze landed on his cock and you swallowed hard; it was larger than you were expecting. You looked up at him, and then down at his erect cock.

“I don’t know if I can-.”

He brought his cock to your lips and you opened wide anyways. He tangled a hand in your hair and guided your mouth down his length - well, as far as you could without completely choking on him. He held you there, at your limit, watching as your face got red and tears welled in your eyes, before easing you off. You only got a moment of relief before he guided you back over his length, this time much faster. You gagged around him. He pulled away. He shoved you back onto his cock, much more forcefully. Tears streamed down your cheeks. When he pulled away, you let out a deranged little laugh.

“Come on, I’ve fucked ‘er harder den dat!” Cad called and Embo growled in response.

“Shut up.” He released his grip on your hair and instead started thrusting into your mouth, driving hard and deep. The slick sounds mixed with your gagging filled the room, and you cast a sideways glance toward Cad and he leaned back, legs spread open like the whore he was. A hand rested on his thigh, easing toward the obvious bulge in his pants.

Embo wrenched his cock out of your mouth and bent over to pick you up straight off the ground. He tossed you face-first onto the bed, and was quick to box you in against it. He leaned down, pressing his cheek to yours.

“I am going to fuck you now.”

“Please do.” You lifted your ass to press against his cock. He growled lowly in your ear as he rutted his cock along your rear.

“Good. Good girl.”

He lifted his weight off of you and pulled open your legs, before drawing the head of his cock along your swollen cunt. You mewled and whined, rocking your hips in an effort to push him further into you. You got your wish, much faster and harder than you were expecting. The air was wrenched from your lungs as you fell face-first against the comforter on the bed. He submerged himself to the hilt, and your toes curled at the sensation of him filling you up. You moaned his name, and turned your head to glance at Cad.

Cad offered you a wink as he palmed his bulge through his pants. Cad’s face was tinged with green, and his eyes were hazy with lust. You knew that he’d want to get involved somehow. You wondered if Embo would let him. The last thing you wanted was for them to get in a fight over you… though that would be pretty hot…

A hand went to your throat and the other went to your lower stomach as he fucked into you, fast and hard, like a frenzied animal driven to breed. He muttered something in his mother tongue, something so heavy with lust that you can’t translate it. The hand on your throat tightened. Your head lolled forward into the comforter. He lifted you, holding you in the air as he drove into you. You moaned, your legs shaking around him.

You managed to turn your head to watch Cad shedding his clothes and approaching. He put a hand to Bo’s back, and Bo’s head shot toward him, a feral look in his eyes.

“Easy dere.”

Bo replied in his native tongue, and Cad’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’ sass me. If ya remember, she’s my lil’ fuck toy.”

Again, Bo replied in his native language. His grip on your throat tightened until you stars filled your vision and you were gasping for air. Warmth pooled in your belly, threatening to spill over. Cad muttered a response in Durese, which eased Bo’s grip on your throat. You took a deep breath as he picked up his pace, fucking harder, faster. You hadn’t known that it was possible for a person to thrust that fast. Your whine pitched up.

Cad’s hand slipped underneath you, rubbing the area around your clit. It was swollen and hot, and your whine pitched up even higher as he chuckled.

“What a filthy lil’ slut, takin’ another man like dis.” The pad of his finger ghosted over your clit and your entire body seized, on the precipice of orgasm. “Won’tcha cum, lil lady? Hm?”

His finger brushed over your clit again and you were done in. You screamed out his name as your body went stiff and you squirted all over Bo. Fireworks sparked in every nerve, drawing euphoria to wash over you.

Bo pulled out of you, panting but not yet sated. You listened to his breathing as you came to, your gaze immediately drawn to him. Cad had a hand wrapped around Bo’s cock, and was stroking it lazily. Bo’s eyes were half-lidded at the touch, and he reached out to wrap a hand around Cad’s neck, though Cad was not about to let that happen.

“Don’tchu think about dat.” Cad growled, and in a flash Bo had somehow managed to lift Cad and toss him down onto the bed. He straddled Cad’s waist and pressed his hands down on Cad’s chest, not initiating anything sexual but letting the Duros know that he was trapped. Cad’s eyes were wide and his mouth was agape as Bo leaned down.

“You do not command me.”

Cad stared up at him a moment longer, before gathering his wits about himself and pushing at Embo with a growl. “Get off o’ me, ya lug!”

Embo obliged, moving off of him and setting his gaze toward you once more. You shivered and reached for him, begging for more.

“Hey, yer takin’ my cock now. He can watch.” Cad muttered as he moved between you and Bo, driving into you without another word. Bo’s eyes flashed and you knew he was displeased by this. Something about Cad pushing him to be rough had activated this feral aspect of him you had never seen before. He growled in his native tongue and Cad growled in response. “She’s mine, remember?! Now stop actin’ like some beast and let me fuck ‘er, ‘kay?”

“Don’t be rude, Cad.” You muttered as you reached for Embo, wrapping your hand around his cock and giving it a few strokes. Cad rolled his eyes but didn’t fight you as he thrust into you, not nearly as fast but just as hard as Bo had. At the same time, you pumped Bo’s cock, feeling it quiver within your hand. Embo wrapped a hand around your wrist, and helped guide you. He was rambling on in his native language, and you weren’t sure if he knew that you couldn’t understand him. You just nodded along as Cad growled and rolled his eyes again.

“Won’tcha shut up? Stars, I give ya booze and let ya fuck my girl and suddenly ya have so much t’ say ‘bout everything.”

“Make me.” Was all Embo said in response. Cad’s eyes narrowed as he continued to fuck you, grinding his hips against yours.

“I’ll bite chu.”

“Oh, so frightening.”

You managed a chuckle between your moans, and you leaned forward to lap at the head of Embo’s slick-covered cock. You delighted in the taste of yourself as you wrapped your lips around his cock. This drew him from his squabbling with Cad, which then allowed Cad to focus on fucking you. The room went quiet, save for the pants and moans of the two men. Perfect.

Cad drew his devilish finger around your clit, and you whimpered, the noises reverberating into Bo’s cock. He moaned softly at this. His eyes slid shut as he gingerly rocked his hips. You could tell by the quivering of his cock that he was close.

Cad pinched your clit, drawing an even louder whimper for you as the heat pooled in your belly once more. Bo hissed and eased out of your mouth, stroking himself as he neared orgasm. With a small gasp, he came all over your face and neck. You moaned in response, and Cad moaned as well.

“Yer so hot all covered in cum…” He muttered as his own pace grew erratic. He rubbed at your clit as he ground his hips against yours, and you orgasmed once more. Ecstasy coursed through your body as you twitched, dousing Cad with your fluids. He pulled out and orgasmed onto your stomach as you slowly came to. He panted, and moved to the side to allow you to sit up.

It was silent for a while, before Cad turned toward Bo.

“I’m gonna bite chu now.”

“I will bite you right back.” As if trying to prove it, Embo reached up to touch his mask.

“Wouldn’t be de first time.”

“And likely not the last…”

[teknicianwrites]

Kissing a scar that they got from something traumatic for f!Hawke and Merrill?

Thank you for the lovely prompt! This definitely got away from me, but I think I like it anyway.

@dadrunkwriting

Meredith gave Marinda a last long look before nodding. "I trust we understand each other, Champion." She turned away, calling out to gather the mages and Templars she'd brought and headed back to the Gallows.

Carver glanced back at her and she gave him a sheepish shrug. He rolled his eyes and fell in line with the rest of his Order.

She took a moment to breathe in the cool night air of Hightown, but the normal comforting scent of night-blooming flowers was covered by blood and smoke.

Andraste give me strength.

Cheering erupted as Marinda gingerly walked back into the main hall of the Viscount's keep. Nobles rushed to her side to express their gratitude, touching her, crowding her, blocking her view as she tried to find her lovers in the crowd.

She forced a smile to her face and nodded at whatever Lady de Cerrac said. "If that's the best the Qunari have it's a wonder they're still causing trouble in the north," she replied, with no idea whether it was relevant to the topic. It probably was. If not to de Cerrac then to someone talking at her. The Arishok's body still lay on the ground where he'd fallen, and even the aristocracy of Hightown didn't have that short of an attention span.

Tittering laughter followed her words so it must have been the right thing to say, except it quickly became the wrong thing to say as a strong hand gave her an approving slap on the back. It took every ounce of willpower she had to grin through the fire that lanced through her abdomen for it. The owner of the offending hand grinned back at her underneath a disheveled mustache. "Too right, Champion, too right you are!"

Maker, she had to get out of here. She couldn't pass out in front of everyone, not after the Knight-Commander had given her that title.

She could have cried with relief when Aveline pushed her way through the throng, Merrill trailing close behind and Varric's voice ringing out, "Alright everyone, I know she's impressive but I do believe our Champion has earned her beauty sleep."

Despite the murmurs of disappointment, the crowd parted for the Guard Captain as she led Marinda out into the night. Merrill came to her side, and Marinda clutched at her hand for support.

"Where's Bela?" she asked softly, still forcing herself to walk with an event gait while within sight of the dispersing nobility.

"She skulked away in the commotion," Aveline said, voice hard with disapproval.

Merrill tucked herself closer, pulling Marinda's hand to drape her arm over her shoulder, and Marinda leaned into it gratefully. Her warm body shared much-needed heat after Marinda's recent blood loss."I think the crowd made her nervous. She'll be back. She always comes back."

Aveline shot her a skeptical look, but upon looking over Marinda's increasingly failing attempts to hide her pain, kept her thoughts to herself.

"What did the Knight-Commander want, Chuckles?" Varric asked as they walked through an empty side-street on the way back to her home.

"Oh, you know, the normal things." Marinda attempted a half shrug and choked back a whimper for how it made agony shoot down her side. "The duties of a Champion, my responsibility to the city, she'll throw me in the Gallows if I don't toe the line. All the standard formalities."

Merrill's eyes widened as she turned to her, and Marinda stumbled. "She wouldn't. You saved the city! You can't lock someone up after they saved the city!"

In the privacy of the alley she allowed herself a small groan from the sudden change in angle. Merrill bit her lip apologetically and returned her position at Marinda's side. "She didn't say those exact words, but it was heavily implied."

Aveline frowned. "It may have been bravado, Hawke. She named you Champion herself. Hauling you in now would be a tough sell."

"Red's right," Varric agreed, then hummed thoughtfully. "Still, it wouldn't hurt to ingratiate yourself with the hoity-toity in the coming months." Marinda groaned at the thought and Varric shrugged. "I'm just saying. You get into some weird shit with some weird people. Hightown having your back would be a good position to be in."

"I just saved all their lives! Isn't that enough?" Marinda whined, because if she was whining in annoyance then she wasn't whining in pain.

"With these people? Start going to the dinner parties, Chuckles. Trust me on this."

They reached the front door of her estate and she slumped in defeat. Merrill unlocked it for her and helped her through the threshold. She was immediately greeted by a cold mabari nose against her palm..

"Hey, Cal. It's fine. I'm fine." She gave him a reassuring scratch behind the ear.

Cal whined his disagreement and licked blood from her hand.

"Meserre!" Bodhan peeked his head out from the basement. "You're alright! Is the trouble over?"

"Yes, Bodhan. Everything's fine." Her gut was screaming at her to lie down and she was cold and lightheaded from blood loss, but she was breathing and the house was still standing. That counted as fine, right? "Do we have any elfroot?"

His eyes darted over her bloody and battered form. "I believe so, meserre. Is there anything else you need? Food? A hot bath?"

A hot bath sounded lovely, but she was afraid she would black out and drown in it. Not a very Championly way to die. "Maybe some broth? And water?" She knew she desperately needed fluids.

"Of course, meserre. Orana's down the stairs keeping the boy calm. I'll have her whip something up for you right and proper."

"Thank you."

Merrill scurried off after him, saying she was going to get some bandages, and Marinda was suddenly faced with the prospect of getting to her room.

All she wanted to do was pass out in her bed, but the stairs down from the Viscount's Keep had been bad enough. Stairs going up? She stared at the climb in despair.

Aveline must have seen her face. She held out her hand and, when Marinda moved to take it, gently scooped her up into her arms. Marinda hissed as her middle was jostled, and Maker, if she had the blood for it she would be blushing in humiliation at finding herself in a bridal carry.

"Aveline-" she tried to protest, and Aveline cut her off with a stern glare.

"No, Hawke. Hush. I've got you."

Varric's amused face quickly fell when she didn't put up any more fight. "I'm going to see if I can find Blondie for you."

Marinda shook her head. "He's probably healing people the Qunari hurt. Don't pull him away from that, I'll be fine."

He gave her a dubious look. "All the same. I'll let him know you're hurt and ask him to check on you when he gets a chance."

She was too tired to keep arguing and let herself slump into Aveline's hold.

Aveline carefully carried her upstairs and carefully deposited her on her bed. Cal immediately hopped up to her side, snuffling his concern at her neck.

"No, buddy," she murmured. He whined, but she knew he would get in the way of getting her armor off. "Foot of the bed," she offered in compromise, and he whined again but obeyed.

Merrill came through the door, balancing bandages, rags, a bowl, a cup, and a pitcher in her arms. She must have had Bodahn pile it onto her; there was no way she could have stacked it herself. "I've got everything. Well, not everything, Orana's working on the broth, but everything else. There's elfroot under here somewhere, if I can… oh…" She seemed to realize her predicament. Her arms were so full she had no way to put anything down without dropping it all, and the sloshing from the pitcher told Marinda it was already full.

Aveline came to her rescue, setting the pitcher on the nightstand and helping her unload the rest onto the bed.

"Thank you Aveline! I didn't think that through. I should have let Bodhan help me but poor Sandal was so scared I couldn't bear to pull him away with Orana needing to cook," she rambled anxiously.

"It's fine, Merrill." Aveline gave Marinda a long look. "You'll really be alright? You're not trying to joke away internal bleeding?"

Marinda huffed a soft laugh she immediately regretted. "Everything hurts, but I'm not going to die. I may not have my own ride-along passenger like Anders, but I'm still a healer. I'm not losing any blood. Just need time to make some more."

"I'm trusting you on this, Hawke. You'd better be alive tomorrow," was the stern reply.

Marinda gave a weak smile. "Champion's honor." She gave a weak salute. Did Champions salute? She didn't know. She should have asked Meredith for a handbook. "Go. I know you need to check on your men and get the city to stop being on fire." Marinda watched Aveline's face meander between exasperation and amusement, before finally making the unexpected journey to sincere.

"Thank you. You saved a lot of lives tonight. Even if Hightown forgets that in a month, I won't." Aveline gave her hand a squeeze and looked to Merrill. "Take care of her."

"I will," she promised.

Aveline gave them both a nod and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

Merrill hovered at her side. "Ma vhenan, what do you need?"

"Water. Please."

Merrill helped her drink, then gave her some elfroot to help with the pain. Marinda chewed on it, ignoring the bitter taste as Merrill carefully helped her out of her ruined armor. Her lover was gentle, but everything hurt and Merrill apologized for every wince and gasp.

"Creators…" Merrill stared at the fresh scar on her stomach.

"Fuck," Marinda agreed, looking down at herself.

She'd known it was bad. The Arishok had run her completely through and pinned her to the wall of the Keep. But even with dried blood obscuring it, Marinda felt light-headed to see just how much of her torso had been rent apart.

Merrill took an unsteady breath and dipped a clean rag into the bowl of water, gently washing the blood away to reveal the full extent of the scar. Her hand shook as she wet the rag again, moving to clean a smaller wound at Marinda's shoulder.

Marinda tore her gaze from the scar and looked at Merrill's face to find her eyes welling with tears. Marinda gently caught her wrist and pulled the cloth away, setting it aside and entwining their fingers with her other hand.

"I'm ok, Merrill. I'll be ok."

Merrill tightened her grip like her hand was a lifeline. "You almost died."

The Arishok whirled on her, and she ducked away from his axe and stumbled against the wall.

She should have been watching the sword.

"I'm alive. I'm here."

"You almost died. You were on the ground and you weren't moving and there was so much blood… Creators, there was so much blood."

Agony liked fire burned in her gut, clear through her back. She heard metal scrape against stone as she looked down at the weapon piercing her torso.

"I'm here."

"You were already so hurt and then-"

Her vision blurred as she looked up at his snear.

"Your role is realized."

"Shhhh."

"You shouldn't have done it. I didn't teach you just to watch it kill you. You almost died-"

This was how she was going to die. She stared into his eyes and distantly heard someone scream her name. She turned toward the sound and saw Bela, restrained by two Qunari, frantically trying to break free.

Bela….

"I couldn't let him take her."

She was dying, but she wasn't dead yet. And she wouldn't let him have her.

"I know. I know, ma vhenan. But I thought I lost you. I thought I killed you."

With a cry of rage and pain, she ripped the power of her own lifeblood from her wound, and boiled his blood in his veins.

"You saved me."

"Merrill no, there's too many people-"

Marinda turned Merrill's hands over and pushed back her sleeves, and traced the fresh scars from where she had used her own blood to keep Marinda's in her body.

"I can only slow the bleeding, I can't close the wound. Heal yourself, vhenan."

"That was so dangerous, love. All of the nobility could have seen."

"Merrill…"

Merrill laughed through her sobs. "You started it. You lost so much blood they would have thought it was yours."

"I can't lose you. Heal yourself or I'll bleed myself dry, I won't watch you die-"

Marinda kissed her left wrist, then her right, feeling each scar beneath her lips that had saved her life.

"I can't."

"You can."

She kissed them again, and a third time for good measure, and it wasn't until she tasted saltwater that she realized she was crying.

Merrill's gaze was resolute. Marinda had no mana left, and she couldn't use her own blood to stop the bleeding. Merrill was offering her own.

Her throat was closing up, but she made herself speak. "I can't lose you either, love. You're my heart too. You and Bela."

As Varric and Bela distracted the crowd and Aveline used her own body to shield them from sight, Marinda tentatively reached for the pull of Merrill's heart. It wasn't Marinda's blood and she couldn't call on Joy this way, but she was still a healer. Ignoring the pains that weren't threatening her life, she mended back arteries and organs and flesh. She was used to the warmth of Joy, or the soothing cool of creationism, or even the steady burn of Justice, but this felt raw. Primal.

Merrill took a hand back to cup Marinda's cheek. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

With careful attention to Merrill's pulse, she healed as much and as quickly as she dared, increasingly aware she was twice a maleficar in the Viscount's throne room. She didn't think she'd have the strength to run.

Marinda smiled and pulled her close. "Absolute disasters."

Confident that if she died tonight it wouldn't be from this wound, she made a last small pull on Merrill and sealed the bleeding at her wrists.

They both cried, delayed terror finally safe to be expressed, and then they kept crying, in relief and disbelief that they had survived and were free.

When they finally calmed, Marinda kissed her, tasting salt and lyrium and blood.

"I love you, Merrill."

"I love you too."

Merrill finished cleaning her and carefully wrapped the cuts and scrapes that hadn't been healed. Orana came by with the broth, and Merrill helped her drink it. She gave her more elfroot to chew as she changed out of her own bloodied clothes, and poured her some more water to wash away the taste.

She helped Marinda lie down and kissed her brow. "Sleep, vhenan. I'm sure Anders will be by tomorrow, and you'll want to be rested for that. If Varric told him what happened we're probably in for a scolding."

Marinda chuckled and closed her eyes. Merrill put out the lights and snuggled into her shoulder, and Cal crawled along the bed to curl up at her other side.

She was alive. Kirkwall was still standing. She was its Champion, whatever that meant. Merrill was with her, and though she didn't know where Isabela had gone, she knew she was free.

Marinda slept.

[mxndoscyarika]

Red Sunsets (Javier Peña x Chinese!Reader) | Chapter 10: Al Fín Se Hablan

Author’s note: I’m still here! I’m soooo sorry this took so long, I know we’re close to the end but school and applications took up all my energy 😭 Thankfully, I have a writing class this quarter that’s been helping to keep me inspired! Hope you guys like this one, it’s not much but it’s cute 😘

Summary: Family fights, grudges, and determination. Those three things defined your journey as you navigated through the workings of the DEA. Getting in was hard, and catching Escobar was even harder. You joined Javier Peña and Steve Murphy in the hunt for Escobar, forming bonds and life lessons along the way.

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Red Sunsets masterlist

Warning(s): smoking, discussion of marriage 👀, one(1) vaguely sexual innuendo

You sighed and rubbed your face, trying to rid yourself of the haziness that came with staring at pages of small text. You lifted your face from your hands as a steaming mug of coffee was set onto your desk. It was made just how you liked it, and you knew exactly who was next to you. “Thanks, Javi.”

“Of course, hermosa,” he rasped. You smiled as he rubbed your back and kissed the top of your head. “How are things coming along?” “They’re not,” you lamented. “Nothing makes sense and I haven’t been able to make even the dumbest connections.”

“I can take a look at them in a few minutes,” he soothed, nodding at the typewriter on his desk. “Just let me finish something up for Messina.”

“Okay,” you sighed, pouting at him. You pulled him down so you could press your lips to his, smiling at the familiar pressure. “Thanks, baby.”

Javi hummed softly and sat down at his desk. “Anything for you, mi amor.”

You two didn’t notice Steve’s slack-jawed expression as you went back to work, the rustle of papers and clicking of the typewriter filling the office space. Whorls of steam tickled your nose as you took a sip of coffee, the fruity notes lingering on your tongue. It was certainly watered down, but you appreciated the caffeine nonetheless.

“So were either of you going to tell me you got together,” Steve asked, looking between the two of you, “or was I supposed to find out myself after you two sucked face? When did this happen?”

Neither of you looked up from your work as you replied simultaneously, “A while ago.”

The blonde scoffed, set down his cigarette, and crossed his arms. “So you’re telling me that you’ve been together this whole time, and I never knew?”

“Yup,” Javi grunted, pulling the finished report from the typewriter and examining it for errors.

You rolled your eyes at his gruff reply. “We would’ve told you, but we haven’t had the chance. But I guess you know now, so there’s no need for that.”

“Wait, so you two are together?” Steve asked in disbelief.

Javi cringed at the volume. “Thanks for announcing it to the whole world, Murph.” He held out his hand for the folders, which you silently passed them to him.

“Oh, as if the entire embassy didn’t know you two had a thing for each other,” he scoffed, taking a drag from the smoking cigarette. Wagging his finger, he stated, “But this- this is a cause for celebration. Connie’s going to freak out when I tell her the news. How about a double-date tonight? Just the four of us getting some drinks.”

“I don’t mind as long as Javi comes.” Taking another sip of coffee, you silently begged for the caffeine to stamp out your growing headache.

“With you? Always,” Javi said, squinting at the small print. A lock of hair fell from its place, making you want to run your hands through his silky hair. But he was too far from your reach, and you didn’t feel like getting up from your chair. He didn’t notice Steve choking on air across from him.

---

Despite being a weeknight, the bar was fairly full. Music played softly as you searched for an open table or booth. The warm weight of Javi’s hand rested on your back as you rose to your tiptoes for a better view. You spotted Steve and Connie sitting towards the back, tucked away in a booth for four.

“I knew it!” Connie exclaimed when you arrived at the booth, slapping her husband’s arm.

“You knew what?” you teased, scooting across the seat. After work, you and Javi went home to change into more comfortable clothes. While Javi was content with simply changing his shirt, you slipped into a mid-length dress and some stylish slip-on shoes.

“That you two were together,” she said, pointing between you and Javi. “If you were trying to hide your relationship, you weren’t doing a very good job. Though I guess there’s something to be said for Steve not picking up on it earlier.”

“When you work with them every day, everything starts to look the same,” Steve scoffed. “They’ve been acting like this for months by now. Hell, they’re probably married and didn’t tell us.”

“That’s some fantastic detective work,” you said, sharing a look with Javi. He smiled softly and looked down at his drink, swirling the amber liquid. “But we’ve only been together for a couple weeks.”

Although you and he were officially in a relationship, you had quickly realized that not much changed. For some reason, part of you had expected grand gestures and declarations of love, but you also knew that wasn’t Javi.

No, your Javi expressed his love through small favors, gentle touches, and attention to detail. In many ways, it was all you ever wanted; someone who cared about you and would make you feel cherished in a world that was so busy.

Instead of waking up alone in a cold bed, you now woke to Javi pressing warm kisses on your shoulder and nuzzling along your neck. His stubble would scratch your skin as his soft lips worshipped your body, sweet murmurs of  “good morning” and “I love you” rumbling in his throat.

The mornings were always your favorite for that reason.

“So, what made you two take the plunge?” Connie asked, bringing you back to reality. You must’ve looked like a deer caught in headlights, because she shrugged sheepishly. “I’m just curious.”

“Why don’t you tell them?” you asked, nudging Javi’s arm.

He sighed softly and downed the rest of his drink before telling them what happened.

---

The city glowed beneath the overlook, the silhouettes of comunas like mountains during a sunset. You and Javi stood together by the edge. Although it wasn’t particularly cold, Javi gave you his leather jacket, draping it around your shoulders before pulling you into his arms.

It smelled like him, the scent bringing you back to the night of your first undercover mission. The difference was, you and Javi and Steve and Connie had gone to a bar not as DEA agents, but as couples.

A couple. No matter how much you’d wanted to be Javi’s, and for him to be yours, you still couldn’t quite fathom that he’d chosen you. You wondered how your family would react if they found out. Would they be happy that you finally found love, or would they disown you because you broke tradition?

Javi kissed the side of your head and murmured, “Come back to me, baby. What are you thinking about, mi amor?”

“You. Us.” You held his face in your hands and kissed him deeply, your lips molding together. “Te amo, Javi.”

He stilled, your lips brushing against each other. The soft rumble of his voice warmed you from the inside out. “Hm, you know, ‘te amo’ is normally only reserved for the love of your life, as in someone who you’d marry.”

“I know,” you replied, kissing him again. A soft groan escaped him as you wove  your fingers through his hair. “I didn’t stutter, did I?”

“No, you said it perfectly,” he said. In the faint light, you could see his eyes sparkling. They were dark, like the comfort of a bedroom. Like the warmth of coffee in the morning. Like the star-filled sky. You leaned into his hand as he cupped your cheek. His voice was velvet as he murmured, “Eres el amor de mi vida. Nunca imaginé que podría tener un amor como el que tenemos. But then you arrived, got off that plane, and blew us all away. You blew me away.”

You smiled and bit your lip, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You fell in love with me that early on?”

“It wasn’t hard,” he answered, kissing the tip of your nose. When you scoffed lightly, he pouted. “It’s true!”

You rolled your eyes. “Well we can’t both fall in love at the same time. That just makes us look like a couple of fools.”

He laughed softly. “It would, wouldn’t it?” He paused, then said your name softly. When you hummed for him to continue, he asked, “Do you ever think about settling down? Giving up on all this and going home to live your life?”

“Honestly,” you began, “more often than I’d like.”

The warmth of his lips against your temple made you smile as he asked, “Why is that?”

You let out a sigh. “There’s just always been that pressure for me to settle down, get married, and have some kids. And when I was younger, I fought against it. But now that I’m here with you….”

“Let me guess,” Javi started, a half smirk on his face. “You realized that men are pendejos and you’re better off alone?”

He grunted as you smacked his chest lightly. “No,” you objected. “I realized that all I needed was the right person to share my future with.”

“And who might that be?”

“I think you know who it is.”

Translations:

“Eres el amor de mi vida. Nunca imaginé que podría tener un amor como el que tenemos.” You are the love of my life. I never imagined that I could have a love like ours.

Tagging:

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[copias-thrall]

There’s Something About Mary

A day in the life of our crusty Mr. Goore

Mary POV chapter bc I want to and I can.

⬅️ Previous

*public masturbation, kinda*

Mary wakes up horny.

He must have been having a pleasant dream, because his cock is hard and throbbing where it rests heavy against his thigh. He shoves a hand down into his undone jeans to give his cock a squeeze—just for a moment of relief—and, as the touch wakes him up fully, he realizes he can hear the distinct sounds of sex from one of the rooms. A thump thump thump and a squeak squeak squeak, all punctuated with blatant moans.

Fuck it, he thinks, and he begins to jack it to the sex orchestra going on, not 10ft from where he lies on the couch. Once a place they sometimes took turns on, the couch has become Mary’s de facto room—a subtle punishment for his supposed defection. So, he has no qualms about masturbating in his room, and if any of the other guys have an issue with it, Mary has no problem making his display more public, just for spite.

He pauses only to spit in his hand when his dry palm begins to chafe. It doesn’t even matter when the noises from the other room cease (and later Mary will have to tease them about their staying power), Mary just scrolls through his mental Rolodex until he brings up the memory of his dick in between Suey’s tits, how they jiggled despite being held together, how shiny they became once covered in his jizz, and how she looked up at him as she contorted one to bring it up to her mouth to lap some off.

“Shit, shit,” he exclaims as the memory of her pink tongue lapping up his cum causes him to release. Some shoots up his bare chest, but most of it lands and pools in his belly button. Eyes still closed, his free hand shoots out and fumbles for the box of tissues on the table, encountering instead a stack of thin takeout napkins.

As he does his best to clean himself up with the napkins—whose integrity is suspect—he can hear the low rumble of male voices and a high, feminine giggle from the sex room. Just to be a jackass, he gets himself up so that he can have first dibs on the bathroom.

Making sure to lock the door behind him, Mary turns on the hot faucet, willing the water to warm up sooner than later. He takes the opportunity, while he waits, to piss in the toilet; it’s already open—toilet seat up—even though it’s supposed to put it down when they have guests. They’re out of TP again, so a roll of paper towels rests on the lid of the tank.

Once the water is warm enough, Mary uses a couple pieces from the roll to clean off the jizz drying and to give himself a brief wipe down. His face is still half crusty with makeup, and he’s tempted to just add to it, but he’s learned from hard experience how that can fuck up your face, so—even though it’s a goddamned pain—Mary washes his face. He even uses the harsh Dial hand soap, even though the acrid smell will get up into his nose for hours.

He thinks of the nice-smelling scrub Suey has and her drugstore face cream he sometimes rubs into his skin.

In the soap- and toothpaste-speckled mirror, he starts to apply his “Day Face” (as Suey calls it) from the communal box of makeup (his better stuff is in his backpack): a light dusting of white powder; some eyeliner all the way around; a dull, red lipstick; and black shadow on his cheekbones.

He’s just starting on his hair when there comes a pounding on the door

“Fucks’ sake. C’mon, Goore.”

Mary turns his head upside down in the sink basin so he can haphazardly splash some water into his hair.

“Fuck off, douchebag.”

He starts to work his fingers into his locks, coaxing the glue already in it to activate.

“She’s gotta pee, man.”

He fluffs his forelock in the mirror as his other hand searches for the blood tube in the box.

“We have a kitchen sink.”

A small voice tells him not to take his annoyance with his friends out on the girl, and he sighs.

“Stop being a di—”

The voice cuts off as Mary swings the door open. Brendan's angry face smooths into one of minor irritation. The girl—Lisa?—stands, thighs crushed together, in an oversized kitten t-shirt. She looks at Mary, wide-eyed; her gaze darts to his bare, wet chest before snapping back up.

“Lis,” he says, winking as he saunters out.

Her face crumples a little.

“Lizzy,” she says, and Mary’s stomach swoops a bit when he realizes he’s probably slept with her before.

He makes himself smile as she moves past him to the bathroom.

“That’s what I said: Liz.” He shoots her a finger gun at her as Brendan scowls at them both. When the door closes and Brendan is still glaring, Mary lets out a “What?”

“You sticking around for breakfast, man?”

Mary rolls his eyes. “I’m here, ain’t I?” He starts to paw through the plastic shelving drawers next to the couch for a shirt.

Brendan shrugs. “Thought your pussy-whipped ass might need to get back to that uptown princess of yours.”

He glares at Brendan. “Stop being dick.”

“She’s fucking slumming it, dude. I’m warning you.”

It’s not a new argument, so Mary just ignores him, instead trying to apply a bit of blood to the tip of his forelock using the heart compact Suey gave him.

Titus emerges from the shared room, yawning, in his terrible leopard print robe that’s way too short.

“Morning, asswipe,” he says to Mary as he walks by. “What’re we bitching about?”

Brendan says “uptown girl” as Mary says “nothing.”

Titus sighs.

“Jesus, Brendan. You gotta get over that. That’s Mary’s mistake to make.”

“You know what? Fuck this shit.” Mary starts getting his backpack in order.

“That’s right! Blow off another band meeting!” says Brendan, and Mary spins on his heel to stomp back.

He jabs a finger into his chest. “I’m here all the goddamned time, more than I am at her place. I come to every meeting you tell me about.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you about anything. You should just be here. You should be committed,” hisses Brendan.

“I’m going to make some toast,” says Titus as he swishes toward the kitchen.

Mary rifles through his plastic draws and slams a notebook and loose papers onto the table.

“There’s mine, dude. Lyrics. Composition. Where’s yours?”

Donnie and Jamie wander out of their room.

“Not this shit again. It’s too fucking early,” says Donnie.

Brendan vibrates. “What about funds, man? A social media presence? You think all that happens by magic?”

“So I’m supposed to write, and compose, and do the budget?” snarls Mary.

“Guys,” moans Jamie.

“And our Insta is shit, by the way.”

“Fuck. Can we not?” moans Donnie.

Mary again jabs a finger at Brendan. “Then tell him to can it. I’ve already been exiled to the couch. I don’t need him picking fights because he doesn’t like my girlfriend, who—by the way—has never fucking done anything wrong.”

“You haven’t been exil—” Jamie starts.

“We were supposed to fucking share those rooms,” Mary hisses as he gesticulates. “I pay the same amount of rent, and yet I come home one day to find all my stuff in a pile in the living room. I have to wait for you guys to stop playing video games because ‘this is shared space’ to fucking sleep.”

“We all agreed—”

“No. You guys agreed. I didn’t get shit to say about it. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not too fucking keen on being pleasant.”

They all stand there, glowering at each other until Donnie says, “I need to take a goddamned piss,” and finds the bathroom door locked. At his soft The fuck? the lock clicks, and Lizzy opens the door cautiously.

“I’m sorry. It just. Seemed like you guys were getting into it.”

Brendan sighs. “C’mon, babe. Let’s get your stuff.”

The fight isn’t a new one, and—with no resolution in sight—they all drop the subject so they can get on with the breakfast of eggs on toast Titus brings out and the subsequent band meeting. The Brick—a cheap, overworked laptop—is brought out so they can go over band business: the budget; the van maintenance and parking costs; the gig and practice schedule is outlined so that they can align their work shifts; new merch ideas are bandied about; and they talk about how to improve their digital sales.

Mary’s leg jiggles impatiently.

The meeting breaks nearly 5hrs later; Jamie goes back to sleep because he’s got the night shift at the Quik•Mart; Brendan heads out for his afternoon shift at Target; it’s Donnie’s day off, so he cues up Mario Kart; and Titus decides he’s going to go pound on the drums in the practice space they rent, since his dad pays his bills.

Mary has been saddled with stopping by the local record stores to see if any of their physical CDs have sold to prove he’s “committed,” even though he’s got the closing shift at Sixes & Sevens.

As he’s leaving the building, he encounters Brendan, who is leaning against the brick, smoking a cigarette. Mary’s fingers twitch.

“So you’re not coming back tonight, then.”

“We have band business?”

“No.”

“Then, no.”

Brendan lets out a puff of smoke.

“You think I’m being a dick, but that girl does not care about you. She’s a tourist. Us—the band. That’s what’s real, Mary.”

Mary knows he should keep walking, but even after counting to 10, he’s still pissed, so he spins on his heel.

“You don’t know anything about her or her goddamned life.”

“Neither do you.” He finishes the smoke, then tosses it to the pavement to grind under his combat boot. “We’ll be here when it all explodes in your face, Goore. But you’re going to have to rebuild a lot of bridges.”

And then he’s off down the sidewalk. Mary stands there, seething, waiting until Brendan disappears round the corner since he’s also headed in that direction.

He’s not really in the best of moods when he hits up the first store, but by the 4th, he’s back to his plucky repartee. The owner of his favorite shop intimates that a vinyl version of their LP might sell much better than their DIY CD, and Mary enthusiastically thanks the dude as if it’s the first time such a concept has been considered.

The whole route honestly doesn’t even really take that much time at all—maybe 2 hours—so he chances stopping by Suey’s. Worst case, he’ll take a nap; best case, she’ll be there to bitch at him.

Like everything else today, however, circumstances are just not on his side, and he opens the door to her tiny fucking apartment to find it empty. The mail is bad again, and he rifles through it, plucking out anything that’s obviously junk to toss and anything that looks like a bill to put on her counter. There’s only a bowl in the sink, so he leaves it.

He’s hoping that she comes home before he has to leave—maybe she’ll even give him a blow job—as he wraps himself up in the afghan that smells slightly of her.

She doesn’t.

His alarm wakes him up at 4:15pm for his shift at 6. Groggily, he stumbles to the fridge to see what there is to eat, and finds a pot crammed in haphazardly amongst the other food items. Mary’s not really sure what he’s looking at—Suey tends to just throw shit together when she can’t be bothered, but most of the time it’s edible.

It ends up being some sort of cheesy potato stew and actually isn’t that bad. He eats the whole thing out of the pot before scrubbing it and the lone bowl clean. He waits as long as he dares to watch her come clomping tiredly through her door, but he really does have to leave. He leaves a kiss on her mirror after he reapplies his lipstick. (He should probably redo his face but: eh.)

Work is work. It starts slow—with Mary taking down the chairs and wiping off everything with the disinfectant spray. Sometimes Mary finds this kind of Zen—a time to hum out chords and roll around lyrics in his head—but today he’s just tired. It gets a little better when Mickey and the other bartender show up to do citrus prep. It’s a weekday, so there’s only a moderate crowd, and Mickey leaves them to it so he can do business manager-type things in his office.

And then there are the girls. Most of the girls who come to Sixes & Sevens aren’t the type to be put off by Mary’s whole shtick—and there are obviously the ones who come here expressly to flirt with him—so he has no qualms turning on his charms. Mickey lets him do it because customers are customers, and if girls want to come and spend money on drinks while they purr at Mary, who is Mickey to stop them? Len or Mika don’t give a shit because tips are pooled.

Used to be Mary could have his pick of a warm body for the evening—some girl (or occasionally some guy if Mary deemed him beefy enough) who’d take him to her nice-smelling, clean apartment … who’d let him spend the night on her soft, downy pillows after he pounded her into next year, before kicking him out at dawn. But now he’s got a girlfriend—one who makes sure he eats and yells at him to wash his face—waiting for him in her stale apartment with her flat, polyester pillows, and Mary hopes he’s not fool enough to fuck that up.

Not that his dick has gotten the memo.

No matter how many times Mary tells that fucker that he’s not going to fuck any of these women, his dick still twitches in interest whenever plump lips are wrapped around straws or fingertips trail over his hand. Tonight is especially bad for some reason, and Mary has to stick close to the walls of the bar so that no one can see his semi. A girl in a furry, white shrug seems particularly on his dick, and he does his best to flirt just enough for a good tip, but not enough for a proposition.

When he gets his break, Mary takes it out back in the alley by the dumpster. The air is chill, but it feels good after the humidity of the bar. He was hoping maybe his dick would go down, but it’s like it’s trying to spite him. Leaning his head back on the wall, he can’t help but close his eyes and run his palm lightly over the outline. It’s a fool’s errand—it’s not like he can get off without it showing on his pants—but that doesn’t stop him from touching.

A voice clears, and Mary startles. He’s out here by the rancid garbage so he can be alone, so he wasn’t really expecting to find anyone else.

“I can help you with that,” says the girl with the white fur that may or may not be real. She’s standing across from him, and he can see that she’s in a dress so simple that it must be hella expensive. She’s holding an unlit cigarette.

Mary jerks his hand away from his crotch, shifting so that he can surreptitiously adjust his jeans.

“The fuck are you doing out back here?”

She shrugs. “Needed to get away from my bitches. I love them but: drama city. You got a light?”

He knows it’s a ruse, but he still fumbles out his Zippo because he’s a goddamned gentleman. She, shockingly, takes the opportunity to move in closer to his body as he holds out the flame … close enough to blow the smoke of the first drag in his face.

“So,” she says, eyes darting down to his semi. “You want me suck that?” She gesticulates with her chin, posture nonchalant but eyes hungry.

His dick gives an answering throb, but he shrugs. “Nah. I got a girl.”

She looks at him, assessing, before half crossing her arms and taking another drag. Smoke pours out her nose.

“She’s not here.”

Mary doesn’t respond immediately, not knowing how to get out of this. She hasn’t said anything untrue. He’s horny, Suey’s not here, and she wants to suck his cock.

He reaches his hand up and taps his breast where he thinks his heart is.

“She’s here,” he says, and he’s glad Suey’s not present because hoo boy would she give him shit for that winner.

The girl just tilts her head at him, this time blowing smoke out the side of her mouth after she inhales. It occurs to Mary that he wants her cigarette more than his dick wants to be sucked. If she thinks this is some kind of elaborate game of hard to get, she’s sorely mistaken.

“You got a picture?”

“A … what?”

She gesticulates impatiently. “A picture. Of this girlfriend.”

Mary thinks, then pats around for his wallet, even though he only ever puts it in his back pocket. When she sees the wallet come out, she laughs.

“An actual picture? That’s old school.”

He shrugs as he rifles. “I’m on my break.” He doesn’t tell her that his ancient flip phone doesn’t take pictures. Well, not good ones.

The photo of Suey he has is relatively new—slipped in behind the old, worn one of his mum—but its edges are starting to soften. In the image, Suey stands, hip popped, as she gives him the finger with a snotty look on her face. She’s in one of her weird 90′s outfits—a micro mini and tied up band tee—and the cute pudge of her belly hangs over her waist band a little. Her hair is pushed back from her face because she’s just lifted up her sunglasses—there’s still a little mark on her nose where they were resting.

She hates this picture, but her attitude makes him smile.

“You gonna ogle it all night, Mary?”

Mary’s attention snaps back to the alley. He ignores the intimacy. Carefully, with a stern look on his face that he hopes conveys how much the photo is not to be fucked with, he hands the picture over.

White Fur looks at the picture for a long time. Then she looks up at him. She gives the image one more glance before handing it back to him.

“Yeah, ok,” she says as she crosses her arms again.

Mary tucks the photo back into his wallet.

“The fuck does that mean?” he scowls. He’s just about had it with people insulting Suey today, and some random-ass girl in a back alley is the last person he’d let get away with it, even if she is a fan.

She takes her last drag before flicking the stub in the direction of a dumpster.

“Dunno. You seem like the type to have some scene girl with more legs than brains hanging off your arm.”

Mary thinks that’s a little uncharitable: he’s always been an equal-opportunity lay.

“She seems legit though,” the girl continues. “Makes sense.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

“Yeah, no problem.” She heads for the door, but stops to smirk at him. “Looks like I helped after all.”

As she swings back inside, Mary looks down to realize his hard-on is gone.

Mickey doesn’t cut him early, but he doesn’t make him stay past closing either. Even so, it’s still after 3am when he gets to Suey’s. The bills are gone from the counter, but there are no new dishes in the sink. He opens the fridge to find a pizza box crumpled into the top, balanced precariously on the other items. Mary takes it out and inhales the cold pizza right from the box; he knows they’re all for him because Suey fucking hates pepperoni. (Though it doesn’t escape his notice that she’s put one piece of pineapple in the center to mess with him.)

He leaves the box by the trash (he’ll flatten it tomorrow), and then makes his way to her bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, lest he incur her wrath.

When he finally wiggles into her twin bed in his boxers, he’s bone tired. His dick still kinda wants some action, but Mary thinks he’d probably just fall asleep in the middle, and Suey really would bite his head off if he woke her up for no reason. He wishes she’d just sleep nude, but finding her in one of his well-worn shirts is the next best thing. He doesn’t mean to wake her up, but he can’t help himself from running his hands all over her—this girl who sees him and not his “image.”

“Mare?” she says in a quiet, sleepy voice.

He kisses her head.

“Go back to sleep, baby doll.”

She doesn’t speak again, but she squirms around until she’s sprawled across his chest. He’d prefer to have her caught up in a little spoon, but having her pressed into him—body sleep warm—is nothing to wave a stick at.

This is all he wanted, anyway.

Next ➡️

[alice-beaumont-ravenclaw]

A Wonderful Surprise

A/N #1: This is fic #2 of the Brazil series. It was inpired by the ! prompt of the 30 days OTP alphabet challenge as well as Prompt #2 of Fictober 2020 by @hphm-fictober​ . You can find Alice’s outfit HERE, and the suggested music HERE. (Here are Part 1 & Part 2 of the first fic of the series.)

“Alanza told me she would join us here.”

Alice and her friends were standing near the bronze statue of Floriano Peixoto, the second Brazilian president, in the neighbourhood known as Cinelândia. They were surrounded by buildings built in the Beaux-Arts architectural style, which gave the area a certain European cachet with their columns, symmetry, and highly decorative façades. 

“Are you sure about the time?” asked Diego.

“Noon seems like an odd time to meet up,” said Penny, who was wearing a large sunhat.

“That’s what she told me. She said she knew of this place where we could eat lunch close to here, and that it would be simpler to visit the area after,” explained Alice, fanning herself with her map of Rio.

“Olá!” they heard from behind them.

“Alanza!” they exclaimed, running to her.

“How are you? I hope you didn’t wait too long,” she said beaming.

“No, not at all,” said Barnaby, blushing.

“Long enough for us to overheat,” mumbled Tonks and Tulip.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! Come, come. Let’s go and eat. I know this boteco that’s been around since 1921.”

“What kind of food do they serve?” asked Alice.

“Various stuff. You can get pizza, fish, churrasco, feijoada…”

“What are the last two things?” asked Penny.

“Well, churrasco is basically meat barbecued on skewers, while feijoada has black beans, some pork or beef product, and at least two types of smoked sausage and jerked beef,” explained Alanza.

“Black beans, you say?” said Alice. “Well, as I do not want to spend the afternoon passing wind, and that I don’t want to eat something too heavy, I think I’ll stick to pizza.”

“The meat on skewers sounds great,” said Barnaby as they sat at a table under the yellow awning. 

After a hearty meal, they headed to the Theatro Municipal, a theatre that borrowed from the Parisian Opéra Garnier’s architectural style. The roof was a vibrant shade of turquoise, and the central dome was adorned with a majestic golden eagle.

“Can we go inside?” asked Andre, using his hand to shade his eyes from the sun.

“Unfortunately, no. We can only go in to see a performance or if we are part of a tour, which were all full when I checked,” replied Alanza.

“Too bad. It looks really nice from the outside, would have loved to see the inside,” said Alice.

“Oh, I doubt it compares to the Paris Opera,” said Alanza. 

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been inside the Opéra Garnier.”

“What? But don’t you have family in Paris?” asked Tulip.

“I do, but it’s not like the law mandates us to go inside the Opera every time we’re in town. I walked past it when I’ve been to the Galeries as a kid, but until last summer, I hadn’t been to Paris after Jacob’s disappearance.”

“I wonder if this one has a ghost, like the one in Paris,” said Penny.

“A ghost?” asked Barnaby and Charlie as they started to walk past the theatre.

“A phantom, actually. This French author wrote a story at the beginning of the century about a Phantom haunting the Opéra. It turns out that the Phantom is a deformed man named Erik. An excellent musical was made based on this story. I honestly could listen to the soundtrack over and over again,” said Alice, softly sighing.

“So, where are we heading next?” asked Tonks as they strolled through Largo da Carioca.

“Igreja São Francisco de Penitência. It’s a church. The interior is really impressive,” said Alanza.

“Where is it?” asked Diego.

“Right there,” replied Alanza, pointing to a building up a small hill.

“Doesn’t look super impressive from the outside,” said Andre.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, Andre,” said Alice, nudging her friend on the shoulder.

“Oh, sweetheart, everyone judges books by their cover. Why do you think I put so much importance in my outfits, as well as yours?”

“Believe me, the exterior doesn’t do justice to the interior,” said their Carioca friend as they made their way up the stairs to reach the church.

When they finally made it inside the church, they were greeted by exquisite gilded carvings on the walls and altars, as well as magnificent paintings on the ceiling depicting the glorification of Saint Francis in a Baroque illusionist style.

“Wow,” simply said Andre, his mouth ajar.

“So much gold,” said Tulip.

“Good thing we didn’t bring Jae. He’d be salivating,” said Tonks.

“He’d probably try to take something to sell it,” said Penny as she removed her hat.

“Come on. He’s not that bad,” said Alice as she looked at the ceiling.

“Are you so sure of that?” asked Charlie, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at Alice.

“Well… Ok, maybe not, but he mostly deals in magical contraband, so I don’t think he would see anything here worth selling,” admitted Alice.

“I wouldn’t put it past him to still try and make a quick buck from something here,” whispered Diego.

“Is it common for Muggle churches to be covered in gold?” asked Barnaby.

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen a Catholic church with so much gold. Russian Orthodox churches have their fair share, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen this amount of gold in a church,” said Alice, looking around. 

“How do you know so much about churches?” asked Diego.

“I’ve seen some when I travelled with my parents when I was a kid. Even if you aren’t religious, churches can be of cultural interest, as artists were often commissioned to paint and decorate them to show how grand and powerful the Church was,” explained Alice.

“And if you didn’t already know, Alice is in Ravenclaw,” said Tonks, Alice sticking out her tongue at her.

“Hey, where did Charlie go?” asked Andre.

“He’s right…” started saying Alice as she looked beside her, only to see no one was standing there. She turned on herself trying to spot her boyfriend, to no avail.

“Hum, I think he went outside,” said Diego. “He found it stuffy in here.”

“Why didn’t he tell me? I should go with him,” said Alice. 

Before she could turn around, Diego wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her further inside the church. “Come on; I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to miss all the art in here.”

Alice gave Diego a suspicious look, furrowing her brows, before glancing behind her. She figured that if Charlie had wanted her to be with him, he would have told her. She shook Diego’s arms off of her shoulders and joined the girls at the altar, where Tulip was busy imagining Dennis getting married to the love of his life. Once they were done visiting the church, they went back outside, where Charlie was waiting for them in the shade.

“Are you ok?” asked Alice as she ran up to him.

“What do you mean?”

“Diego told us you went out because you felt it was stuffy in the church…”

“Oh! Yeah, I just needed some air, but I’m perfectly fine now.”

“Glad to hear you’re feeling better, mate,” said Andre as they made their way down the stairs.

“Ok, next up is a sweet treat: pastéis de nata. And it will give us the chance to relax a bit and step away from the heat,” said Alanza.

“Hum, actually, you guys can go ahead. We’ll join you later. There’s something I want to show Alice,” said Charlie, taking Alice’s hand.

She looked up at him, her cheeks turning pink.

“Ok, you two have fun!” said Diego as he guided the rest of the group away from the couple.

“We’ll be at the Confeitaria Colombo!” shouted Alanza as Alice and Charlie walked away.

They left the street they were on, taking a narrow road to lead them to the larger Rua Sete de Setembro.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Alice as she let Charlie lead the way.

“You’ll see,” simply replied Charlie.

“Is it what you and Diego were talking about yesterday?” asked Alice.

Charlie stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Diego was looking for you yesterday before lunch, and he went straight to talk to you when I told him where you were. Also, you two looked like you were cooking up some plan last night at dinner,” said Alice as they started walking again.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” replied Charlie, avoiding Alice’s gaze.

“Ah! I knew it! You were planning something with Diego!” said Alice as they turned into a small deserted street next to an old theatre. “Seriously, where are you taking me?” she said, looking worriedly around.

They crossed a plaza and stopped in front of a building built in limestone that looked like a church. Four statues were on the façade: one on each side of the building, and the other two were on each side of the door. Before she had time to read what was written at the top of the building, Charlie took both of her hands and made her look at him. 

“Close your eyes,” he said, smiling.

Alice looked at him, skeptically.

“Please,” he pleaded.

She furrowed her brows, smiling lightly as she closed her eyes after removing her sunglasses. He waved a hand in front of her closed eyes to make sure she wasn’t looking. He gently took her hand and guided her inside the building.

“You can open your eyes now,” said Charlie as he stood behind her.

Alice opened her eyes and what she saw rendered her speechless. Three floors of walls covered in books. A magnificent chandelier dangled from the ceiling, which also had a skylight in iron structure. The intricate details of the wooden frame of the library’s galleries were sublime. Alice felt like she was in a dream. Sure, Hogwarts’ library was big, but it was dark, a little gloomy, and unwelcoming; Madam Pince having a lot to do with that last impression. This library was luminous. The blue walls contrasting with the wood’s darkness and the touches of gold on the wood contributed to Alice’s warm feeling as she stood in this great library.

“Oh, Charlie,” whispered Alice, turning around, the skirt of her dress twirling as she did so. 

“You like it?” asked Charlie as Alice wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Like it? I love it!” she said before kissing him on the lips, her straw hat falling backward.

Charlie placed his hands on her waist, closing his eyes as he leaned into the kiss until he realized something. He opened his eyes and cleared his throat.

“What?” asked Alice as she took a step back.

“Hum… there are people around…” whispered Charlie, looking around the room.

Alice turned her head, noticing some people looking at them as her face grew hot.

“Sorry,” she mouthed before looking back at Charlie. “Let’s take a look around,” she whispered as she grabbed her hat from the floor.

They walked around the bookcases on the ground floor, looking at all the old books’ spines. They didn’t dare touch any, as they felt the gaze of the librarian on their back.

“I guess every library comes with a Madam Pince,” whispered Alice.

“I guess kissing in a library won’t get you on the librarian’s good books,” said Charlie, looking behind him. “Anyway, it’s not like we can read anything here. Everything seems to be in Portuguese. We should go back to the others… Alice! What are you doing?”

Alice held a book in her hand while holding her wand over a page with the other. “Shhh, be quiet. It’s just this book had ‘Contos de fadas brasileiros’ written on it.”

“But it’s in Portuguese! And your wand…”

“I need it to use a translation spell Rowan taught me.”

“Taught you? When?”

“Well, she didn’t actually teach it to me in person. I just found it on a note in a book she read,” explained Alice as she read the page her wand was hovering over.

“Quick,” said Charlie, as he looked behind them, “the librarian is coming.”

Alice closed the book and promptly replaced it on the shelf as she surreptitiously slid her wand back into her crossbody handbag. “Obrigada,” said Alice, turning to face the librarian with a sweet smile, her angelic face seemingly calming any worries the librarian had as the couple swiftly left the library.

“That was a close call,” said Charlie once they were outside. “Anyway, what did you say to the librarian?”

“I simply said ‘thank you.’”

“Why?”

“Because it’s polite and one of the few things I can say in Portuguese,” explained Alice as they made their way back to the Rua Sete de Setembro. “Figured something polite, and my sweet face would get her off our backs.”

They leisurely made their way to the Confeitaria Colombo, holding hands and talking about their vacation so far. As they approached it, they saw their friends leaving the restaurant.

“Here are the two lovebirds!” exclaimed Tulip.

“We got some custard tarts to go when we figured you wouldn’t be back in time,” said Penny, holding up a small plastic bag.

“They were delicious!” said Barnaby, rubbing his stomach as he smiled.

“Mate, you have some coloured lip balm on your lips,” pointed out Andre, smirking.

“So I guess Alice liked her surprise,” said Diego, grinning.

Charlie used the back of his hand to wipe off the lip balm as he and Alice blushed.

“Wait, did you two abandon us just to make out somewhere?” asked Tonks.

“What? No! We visited a library!” exclaimed Alice.

“A library? Why would you visit a library instead of eating custard tarts? Are you trying to cover up for the fact that you did spend all that time making out?” asked Tulip, her face inches from Alice’s as she looked at her suspiciously.

“No, they did go to a library: The Real Gabinete Português de Leitura, or Royal Portuguese Reading Room,” explained Diego, making Alanza wince at his Portuguese pronunciation. “The two Argentinian girls I spoke to yesterday said it was a really nice place to see, so I told Charlie he should take Alice there.”

“Wait, when you left the church…” started saying Alanza.

“I went to locate the library, make sure I had the right directions,” completed Charlie.

“Aw, all that for Alice… Makes me sick,” said Tonks, sticking out her tongue in fake disgust.

“Jealous,” said Alice, lightly nudging her friend.

“You wish,” replied Tonks, linking her arm with her friend’s. “Now, come on. We’re supposed to go see a royal palace.”

“Actually, it is the Imperial Palace,” explained Alanza as they made their way down the street. “It became the prince regent of Portugal’s residence when he moved here with his family to escape Napoleon’s invasion of Portugal. It is at that time that Rio became the royal seat of power.”

“Bloody French,” said Tonks, smirking as she glanced at Alice. 

“He wasn’t French, he was Corsican, and his ancestors were Italian,” said Alice.

“But he was the emperor of France, no?”

“For, like, ten years.”

“His army was French?”

“Yes…”

“Therefore, I reiterate what I said: Bloody French,” said Tonks, sticking out her tongue.

“Stop bickering, you two,” said Andre. “As long as I get to see a palace, I’m happy.”

“We are not bickering. We are having a friendly conversation,” said Tonks and Alice in unison, making Alanza raise her eyebrows and look around in confusion.

“Don’t ask. That’s how they are,” explained Penny to Alanza, rolling her eyes.

When they finally arrived at the Imperial Palace, what stood in front of them was a white three-storey building in a simple baroque style with a tiled roof. 

“That’s it?” asked Tulip.

“Well, it has its charms,” said Alice.

“There are some details around the windows,” said Penny.

“It is not what Europeans think of when they hear ‘Imperial Palace,’” pointed out Alanza.

“Thank Merlin, you see it too! I mean, it’s lovely, sure, but it’s no Versaille or Buckingham. Please tell me it’s like that golden church, and the interior is grand,” said Andre with pleading eyes.

“Unfortunately, no. It was stripped at the end of the 19th century and became a central mail office. It mostly serves as a cultural center nowadays, with temporary art exhibitions.”

“Then why is it called the Imperial Palace?” asked Barnaby.

“Because when Brasil became independent, it became the Império do Brasil, or Empire of Brasil,” explained Alanza. “When it was the Portuguese royal family’s residence, it was known as the Royal Palace. Before that, it was the house of the Governor.”

“How come you know so much?” asked Tulip.

“She’s from around here,” said Diego.

“Alice, you live in London. Do you know who first lived in Buckingham Palace?”

“Hum, no?”

“See! I live in London as well, and I don’t know the history of any buildings, except the Tower of London because executions,” pointed out Tulip. 

“Alright, when Alice told me you wanted to visit the historic part of Centro, I may have studied up on my Trouxa history. The map I have with me is full of my notes,” she said, showing the scribbles on her map.

“Trouxa?” asked Barnaby.

“People who can’t do magic.”

“Ah! We call them Muggles,” said Charlie.

“So, as much as standing in the sun learning about cultural differences is fun, what is next?” asked Penny.

“Well, that’s pretty much it. Next up for you is to head back to the hotel to relax, so you are ready for tomorrow’s hike,” said Alanza.

“Hike?!” said Alice and Penny.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any outfits that are intended for nature,” said Andre.

“I was actually planning to go to the National History Museum tomorrow, since it’s free on Sundays,” said Alice.

“Says the rich girl,” said Tonks.

“Rich people are notoriously cheap,” replied Alice.

“But I don’t want to go to a stuffy museum,” complained Tulip.

“We can separate for the day. You guys can go hike in nature, while Penny, Andre, and I go to the museum.”

“Will there be dragons on that hike?” asked Charlie.

“Charlie. Always asking the important questions,” said Diego.

“Hum, no, sorry,” replied Alanza.

“Meh, then I’ll go to the museum with Alice.”

“Are you sure? There won’t be any dragons in the museum either,” said Alice.

“No, but you’ll be there,” replied Charlie, making Alice blush.

“Ok! I think this is our cue to head back to the hotel before those two start snogging in front of the palace,” said Tulip as she ran towards the street to hail two cabs.

“Well, see you tomorrow then! Tchau!” said Alanza waiving to the group as they joined Tulip.

A/N #2: Hope you enjoyed it! Next up: the museum, where I will describe every single exhibit they see... Joking. Anyway, just wanted to let you know something regarding the Imperial Palace. So, in the fic, Alanza said they interior is rather ordinary, it’s mostly based on pictures of the interior. According to Culture Trip, “in 1980 it was restored to its former glory with the interior replicated to how it was in the 19th century.” Unfortunately couldn’t find any information regarding the current state of the interior.

[disfordevineaux]

I don't know if you've done this before. But, do you have any Chase headcanons about his childhood or early teens? I'm kinda curious about how my favorite disaster boi could've been like back then 🤔

Chase childhood/teen/early 20s headcanons

I actually answered an ask I will link HERE with a little bit into what I think about his whole ‘growing up’ situation, if you can even call it that. I’ll delve a bit deeper into my hcs but I recommend you read that post I linked. It establishes my thoughts on his childhood to where a lot of these hcs will spawn from. So essentially this is a Part 2 of my Chase childhood headcanons. Going to focus on his late teens and early 20s.

As stated in my previous hcs Chase was an ‘orphan’ until his uncle (his mothers older brother) who magically showed up to adopt him for the government checks. His uncle was a long haul fisherman or something along those lines. This is where he officially received his last name of Devineaux once again.

I have a feeling his name wasn’t originally Chase. That being most likely his middle name or one he came up with which he changed to be his first, either shortened from something or just as is. He seems like an Alexandre to me. He would have negative connotations towards that name and preferred to decide a name a for himself rather than keeping the given name from a mother or family who didn’t really want him. He would have changed it once he left home.

No matter the living situation he was in, there wasn’t a lot of money around and if there was it wasn’t shared with him.

The majority of his teen years or the years that sculpted him into who he is now were in a town North-West of Paris along the coast. Somewhere like Dieppe, a fishing-port town.

You’d think by looking at him as an adult he was a bully or one of those ass hats at school who tried to be cool by being a dipstick or forcing a ‘class clown’ motif. In reality, he did everything in his power to blend into the shadows as he hated school, especially the social aspect of it.

Still, he was a sarcastic little shit when needed.

Spent a lot of his time outside or working dead-end jobs. Sometimes couldn’t return home or had to get into his house through a window instead of the front door.

Didn’t have many valuable possessions but had many crazy experiences like witnessing a flock of birds attack a drunk man, and won.

Was strangely optimistic about his future. Couldn’t get any worse than this, yeah? Yeah, it can and it will buddy.

Did watch Footloose religiously and intensely enjoyed it. *Wink*

He was reasonably good at school and tried to fast track it and graduate a year early. His application was accepted even with the few blemishes on his school academic report thanks to a few fights he partook in.

He was best at literature, English studies and writing in general. He was the top English and writing student and once even tried joining the drama club but the second he walked in the door he was instantly annoyed with everyone inside and did a full 180 out of that hellscape.

He then tried out for the sports clubs and teams but didn’t have time between work after school.

Chase actually made a friend during his last few years at school who managed to be the school’s main weed dealer (Chase draws chaos to him enough said). They actually were a good duo and Chase developed a serious attachment to him. His friend had a lot of money thanks to his business and often would get Chase to be his ‘bodyguard’ when selling to older clients.

They were both weird guys with different levels of intensity over random things. Both had that ‘dudebro’ vibe who would listen to Abba but in reality, the type of dudes who sit right next to each other in a hot tub, no need for 5 feet apart.

Somehow both comfortable with their sexuality which is refreshing. But, that won’t last long :(

They never got to really developed their relationship further before Chase left but it was a silent agreement between them that they liked one another on a physical and emotional level. They rekindled and I guess, ‘officially’ date when in the Air Force when training together. (Lovers in the military trope don’t @ me it fits him PERFECTLY.)

He and his friend were actually going to join the Air Force together. And they did. Chase first and his friend later.

Dude did some stupidly impulsive shit. Especially once he had a friend. Antics? Yes, many. Young, bored lonely boys with repressed feelings do stupid shit to fill the long hours. Jumping off things at high speed? Yes. Buring stuff? Yes. Smashing stuff? Yes. Listening to Green Day? Unironically, Yes.

No doubt they once burned down an abandoned house while trying to hotbox in one of the rooms. Nearly replicated the incident with the school DURING CLASS in the janitors closet. Boys just wanna get high and kiss okay?

Chase was born strong physically but mentally? Nar. Could fight a bear but would crumble under an anxious moment.

Never wanted to appear weak. It was what everyone expected but he never backed down from a fight or rivalry to his detriment. Stood up for himself no matter the circumstance. He always stood up for his boyfrie- SORRY I MEAN FRIEND.

He was an angry guy, mostly because people constantly tested his patience and intelligence and his home life was always a tense situation where there was no time to be soft or delicate.

Did get into many fights with one particular guy during school and out of school hours.

He was an attractive teenager. I like to think (like is a strong word) he was targeted by this one particular asshole because of their pent up feeling towards Chase. Chase either rejected his advances which set it all off or you just got that vibe from all their exchanges. Either way, at one point the tormentor made his feelings cryptically clear and Chase made sure they weren’t reciprocated.

One particular final fight between them, Chase wound up with a bat to the face which broke his nose badly.

The nose never really healed the best or back to how it was originally. This was something that scared him forever, becoming more resentful and unable to let things go. A lot more guarded from then on.

Chase used to be the pretty buff tall boy but the nose downgraded him to just a tall buff boy who has hints of a pretty boy in him.

Worked a few jobs during most nights. Needed money, mostly supported himself financially. Worked as a dish boy in a local restaurant and at the cinema as a cleaner. He always seemed to get the cleaning jobs.

Chase used to skateboard. He was pretty good at it too.

He started smoking young, around 15-16. And thanks to his companion, would often smoke weed supplied to him by his friend.

Loved going to the dentist when he could. He started eating those strong cheap dusty mints when he smoked as it was a cheap form of keeping his breath fresh after he smoked. Also, he thought it made him look cool and ended up getting addicted.

He wasn’t a joyless kid or teen, He just wasn’t one who smiled a lot.

Chase never really trained for his driving license. He just went for his test at the police station. They made him drive around the block once and they just gave it to him.

Chase: the aspiring pilot.

Chase wanted to be a pilot ever since he was young, specifically the French Air Force. No real trigger set that dream in motion, he just liked the idea of piloting a high-speed plane and seeing the world from up above. Moving fast is his ultimate goal.

He studied and prepared early to join the École Militaire de l'air (Military Air Force before it folded into the Air School). But you have to be over 18 and with his plans to complete school early, he would spend the year until then in basic military training, then would transfer over. All of this was to increase his chances of being accepted along with the examination, which he passed thanks to his passion for it.

Of course, things don’t always go to plan and even though he was on a path to graduating early a huge final brawl broke between him and a longtime bully halted this.

He had always fought with him specifically and this time, after years of building it all up, it hit the fan.  The incident put a hold on his plans and wasn’t able to graduate a whole year early.

Fast track forward and due to home pressures and school weighing him down he decided to just leave school and home and when he left, as one last ‘fuck you’ to his tormentor, his friend helped him break into his house and stole his car and drove it straight to Paris, abandoning it in the countryside just before. No one ever knew it was him and it is by far his greatest victory, as he knew how much he loved that car. Major mood. Chase was tempted to push it off a cliff in spite but couldn’t find one.

Chase still went into the general military before transferring to the Air Force once over 18 and acing his entrance evaluations.

Chase and his ‘friend’ managed to get in at the same time. Que, LLLLLLLL LOVERS!

They made sure they were in the same dorms, ‘classes’ and that their schedules lined up. They even swapped around so they had the same duties.

Chase thrived and was a great pilot. He achieved his pilots’ license and began working his way to completing the 2 years here then moving on to a higher position. His friend focused more on the engineering courses.

For someone spontaneous in an impulsive way, he liked the regimented schedule. It gave him purpose and meaning

Chase ended up getting kicked out after a massive brawl incited by an argument with another cadet about the particular notion of his relationship with his ‘friend’.

It was made clear to him such behaviour receives no second chances and was forced to leave, meaning he never officially completed his 2 years and was never allowed back in the foreseeable future.

Chase was desolated and once again hardened by this turn of events.

His 20s in a nutshell

Chase sought employment in the police force thanks to his military origins. He did, in fact, complete the basic military training aspect so he was a front runner for the police force.

He needed a job as all his money was wasted on a fruitless dream.

Spent the first few years of his police force employment as a ‘beat cop’ until his arrest numbers/success and work availability sought his promotion to a detective quite early in his 20s.

Chase was used to working full time and all the time at odd hours from very early on. He started his work career young.

They say you have 10 years in the prime of your career and Chase used that up instantly, shooting up the police then detective ranks fast due to how hard he worked, non-stop. His obsession and dedication with keeping busy and solving cases made him unmatchable.

Chase was physically skilled despite his smoking habits and mentally quick too, even if he acted dangerously without foresight sometimes.

He was very successful as a detective. It was his true calling

Chase has seen some nasty things and is a very good shot with a handgun.

Has he killed anyone? You decide. Personally? Yes, obviously. This has never and will never phase him.

He has been through so many police issued cars he now gets the second-hand cars due to how reckless he is.

Perused criminals with crazy car chases even when he was just a lowly beat cop. It got worse when he became a detective.

No doubt he kept and took home case files (sometimes even evidence) and didn’t give them back even when he became an Interpol liaison. He worked on those cases, he solved them, they are his. He keeps them all either at his apartment or in a storage unit.

Work became his life. His only vice.

Opted out for a partner as it wasn’t a department regulation just a personal option if wanted. Don’t need someone wasting his time, slowing him down or possibly taking away his shine.

Developed obsessive tendencies.

Detective work is competitive. You end up running around trying and fighting to get the best brutal murder homicide case as it will look great to your superiors. It was all a race to see who was the best. Chase was one of the best thanks to having no outsider life to distract him.

Somehow Chase wasn’t a suck-up his those above him. You would think he would be but Chase just enjoyed working and solving, completing things.

You are measured by your achievements and you have to be sure of yourself and your capabilities to survive in the race.

For work that was on the outside very heroic and selfless. Most detectives he worked around and ‘with’ were selfish, heartless and egotistical. The successful ones were anyway. Chase one of them.

He hated them all just as much as they hated him.

Ended up not caring for normal citizens and fellow employees disdain for his abrupt nature. Developed a superiority complex as a result.

But he remained composed and well mannered when dealing with victims and witnesses.

He was very susceptible to the alluring nature of the egotistic know it all.

All of this aged him rapidly. I have no doubt he is only in his early to mid-30s (in the show) but has aged himself visibly with unhealthy working hours and lifestyles.

(I’m not going to go too deep here as at this point I might as well insert my dam fanfiction. I have a whole story planned for what I think his detective days were like. I’ll give you a hint, it’s dark.)

Final relationships.

In regards to his love life? Don’t have one. One night stands? Eh, maybe very occasionally but he isn’t the sort of person to get wrapped up in such things. He is very professional and despite being touch starved he can live without physical relationships easily. They also make him uncomfortable now due to certain events.

His ‘friend’ asked for Chase to wait for him, that once he was finished in the Air Force his partner would come find him. Chase did for the entirety of his 20s and pretty much would for his entire life. First loves are hard to forget.

They only met up again once when Chase was in his late 20s and his friend no longer felt that way towards him or that kind of way anymore. He had a family. Chase sort of understood that his lover realistically would have moved on and blamed himself for not looking for him instead. He became obsessed with his success with work after all.

He couldn’t comprehend why his friend would finally contact him after all these years just to tell him he didn’t love him anymore. He always assumed it was to tie up loose ends or to make fun of him for waiting. To hurt him.

Chase was physically and mentally devastated to say the least. Especially when the last interaction they ever had was his old friend handing him a goddam conversion camp pamphlet.

This really dragged on and I’m sorry I really went off there. I hope it was at least relatively what you were after.

[crowsent]

AUgust 2020: College AU

Prompt given by @augustwritingchallenge

Summary: Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the III gets peer-pressured into going to a party and meets someone.

Pairing: Minor Perc’ahlia

Characters: Scanlan, Percy, Vex’ahlia

Word Count: 3180

CW: N/A

Notes: the tumblr version is unformatted, no italics, no bold, nothing. for that reason, i highly recommend you to read the ao3 version instead so yall get that sweet sweet tone difference.

AO3 Link: HERE

=

Let it be known that Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the III was three more unnecessarily complicated essays away from trudging downstairs into the campus basement where a supposed “demon” dwells to bargain his soul away for but a day of having a clear head for once. The migraine seemed to be permanent. A persistent, obdurate nuisance that’s making his head spin and his eyes see two laptops with furiously typed half-finished assignments on the screen. Well, it was either the cause of the migraine, or it meant that Percy needed to get new glasses.

Or, according to his roommate, one Scanlan Shorthalt, all Percy needed was, “A day off.”

Rooming with Scanlan meant that Percy had experienced more than his fair share of having to skulk to the library, cafeteria, or, God forbid, being forced to wait outside their dorm room whenever Scanlan deigned to bring back a “friend.” More often than not, he had to spend more time turning down Scanlan’s many offers to “unwind” than on actually working on his assignments. Whether it be countless invitations to various parties Percy had no intention of attending, or simply skipping class and laying about with nary a care in the world, roll a couple blunts and allow the feeling to sweep him away. Let the thoughts drift. Stop existing for just a moment.

And though Percy had always turned Scanlan down without so much as a beat of hesitation, perhaps this once time was a rare moment of Scanlan being right for once. Perhaps Percy was working himself to death and maybe it was time for him to stop burning the midnight oil on an essay he was sure his professors merely gave a cursory glance at.

Scanlan swung an arm around the bedpost of his bed, sheets unmade with some of it pooling on the floor. He held a nonchalant pose even as he gave Percy a rather convincing look. “Come on. You’ve been working like a madman for hours! All work and no play makes Percy very grumpy and I, for one, don’t want to see bitchy Percy ever again.”

With another mournful look at his laptop screen, at the paragraphs dancing in his vision, Percy sighed and removed his glasses to rub the headache from his temples. “I have been rather tetchy, haven’t I?” Scanlan made various noises with meanings that might have ranged from “Yes,” to “Fucking duh,” but Percy chose to give him the benefit of doubt. With a sigh of defeat, Percy saved what little work he managed to finish and shut his laptop.

As soon as the screen made a soft ‘click,’ Scanlan let out a loud yell and pumped his fist up in the air in victory. “Finally! I was kind of thinking that you were some kind of robot.” It was the loudest thing Percy had ever had the misfortune of hearing, and he was quite sure that his migraine worsened even more at the sound of Scanlan’s voice. “Okay. I have the perfect idea for you to roll y0our shoulders a bit. Relieve all the tension penetrating your body.”

“Wording, Scanlan.”

Scanlan ignored him. “Just relax and allow yourself to experience everything that college has to offer. A couple of smokes, women, men, bad song choices and spiked drinks.”

“You’re inviting me to a party aren’t yo-”

“I’m inviting you to the best damn party you will ever be invited to,” Scanlan assured. There was fire in his eyes. Granted, Scanlan grew spirited whenever trying to cajole Percy into a party but there was sincerity behind his enthusiasm. “I know you rich kids get invited to all sorts of shit with three-piece suits and butlers with silver trays following after like lost puppies but Percy. Percival. Perc. There aren’t any fountains that shit gold or anything, but come on. If there’s ever a single party that you go to in your college career, let it be this one.”

“I really don’t think-”

“There probably won’t even be that much alcohol and drugs in it. It’ll be rated PG-mostly-13 as far as college parties go.” Scanlan had moved on from his bedside perch and had instead elected to encroach upon Percy’s space, giving his best attempt at puppy dog eyes. “There won’t even be horny assholes humping each other on the couch this time! Hopefully. Probably.”

“Scanlan.”

“Cassandra might be there, I don’t know, but Pike will definitely be there, and I’m the one planning all this for my friends and I’d really like for you to meet them so pretty please Percival Frankenstein Van Helsing Cleopatra de Rolo the Fourth will you please attend just one party to break from your perfect honour roll student life? It’s a birthday party if that helps so it won’t be as wild and crazy as the others. There will even be masks and shit because my other friends are dramatic little shits and I love them to bits and I really want you to meet them all and you don’t even have to suffer the mortal ordeal of being known so please? Please?”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, you win, Scanlan.” Another whoop and a cheer, somehow louder this time, if it was even possible, coupled with a hug that Percy only very slightly recoiled from. “I will attend, with a mask, but do not expect me to stay long.”

“Trust me my friend,” said Scanlan, pulling away with the brightest and widest grin Percy had ever seen from him, “after meeting them, you’ll want to stay.”

Percy doubted it. It had been years now since meeting the Briarwoods, but strangers still made him wary. He couldn’t bear to crush the hope in Scanlan’s eyes though, and resigned himself to an unpleasant night with people he had no intention of talking to ever again once the party was over. Well, once he left. It was going to be one of those attendances where Percy stayed just long enough to be polite. As soon as he could, he planned on booking it right back to his and Scanlan’s dorm room.

If he was already in the room, then maybe, Scanlan would have the decency to bring a potential ‘friend’ somewhere else. (The couches in the common space in the dorm were terribly uncomfortable.) Percy glanced at the clock in the room. Then to his closet, the racks and racks of somewhat formal clothing from a habit he never managed to kick. To the box he knew he kept hidden on the floor, further camouflaged by articles of clothing that don’t fit anymore. Perhaps it would be odd to bring a leather crow-like mask with goggles for eyes to a party, but then again, there was no way in heaven, hell, or any other planes that could possibly exist, that Percy would ever purchase a mask for an event he didn’t even want to attend.

Besides, store-bought masks might fall and slip. His mask won’t.

“I’m going to make some last minute prep for the party. Hang on.” Scanlan hurriedly scribbled an address down in his notebook, tore the scrap of paper off, and handed it to Percy. “Right here. A walk from campus. Starts at seven, don’t be late, see you!”

Before Percy could say anything, Scanlan was out the door, mission seemingly accomplished. He probably only returned to the dorm just so he can invite/cajole/bully Percy into attending his friend’s birthday party. Scanlan even neglected to mention the names of the friends he so wanted Percy to meet.

With a few more hours ‘til Percy has to pretend to socialise at this party, he got up out of his chair, dug out the box from the depths of his closet, and rooted out his mask. For a moment, he did nothing but stare at it.

Foreign and familiar at the same time. A distant echo of the past with a voice that only grew louder and louder the longer he held his mask. It had been years since he had last looked at it, let alone felt the tough material with his own fingers. The glass of the goggles had cracked in places, and the straps would surely no longer fit his head. But he had time, and upon closer inspection at the box itself, it seemed that Percy had subconsciously packed his leatherworking tools, along with more than enough stray pieces of metal, glass, and leather to fashion this mask into something more appropriate for a party.

The migraine still has not gone away, and with every second that passes, Percy gets closer to formulating that plan to sell his soul just to get the pulsing to stop, and he really should get some rest, but leatherworking isn’t work to him. It was relaxing. Freeing. Certainly more than any party would ever do for him. And with Scanlan gone, Percy had the chance to do some work in peace. He cleared his desk, gathered his tools and set to work.

.

“Percy?” The mask Scanlan chose covered only the lower half of his face. A smooth porcelain-like cover. With night cresting around the corner, and the cheap street lamps offering little to no illumination, (because public funding was… not particularly the best in this area) Percy couldn’t quite tell what Scanlan’s mask was made of. It fit him though. Even in the dim light, there were purple swirls that curled near the edges.

Scanlan nudged him. “Hello? Earth to Percy. Please be Percy. It would be so awkward if I was talking to not Percy.”

“Yes, Scanlan. Hello.” Percy adjusted his mask once more. It was strapped securely on his face, with buckles that would prevent any college party-goer that had one too many drinks from tugging the mask down his face.

Scanlan reached up to tap the shiny metal bits Percy managed to attach to the mask and make it look less plain. The nail of Scanlan’s finger made a soft sound as it met metal. “Huh.” Scanlan nodded and crossed his arms. “Look at you Mr. Overachiever. I thought you were just going to bring a plastic mask and be done with it.”

Percy reached up to push his glasses up his nose, only to hit the metal-plated beak of his mask. Right. The goggles were fixed, mostly, but his prescription had been altered slightly now. Scanlan looked a little blurry. “Did you honestly expect me to half-ass dramatics?” Still, with the mask on, no one could tell that Percy would be squinting for the entire night.

“Should have expected as much from the guy with fifty-thousand names.” Scanlan beckoned him over, towards a building flashing with lights and brimming with people. Pink and purple streamers hung down from the front doors, with some gold accents for flavour. “I’ll introduce you to my friends. Oh, and congratulate Vex and Vax happy birthday yeah?”

He had no idea who those were, but Percy assented. He had to shout the closer they got to the building. The music was tasteful, for a party, but it was unbearably loud. The migraine, which had subsided somewhat in the hours of silence Percy spent working on the mask, had begun to surface again. Still, he gave his word, and a de Rolo never breaks his word.

Scanlan, bless him, tried his best ot be heard over the music. Percy even tried to lean down to hear him better. All he caught was, “... nice mask… saw Cassandra…” and then, much clearer than anything else, “PIKE’S HERE!”

Now, Scanlan was a friend, possibly Percy’s only friend in the odd two years he’s been a student in Emon. None but Scanlan had the moxy and resolve to continuously track Percy down and whittle his walls little by little to form a fierce friendship with him. Percy would fight dragons for Scanlan if need be. But, he thinks with great respect mixed with even greater resignation and a little bit of frustration and regret; Scanlan packs up all logic and inhibitions and manners into a suitcase  whenever he saw Pike, and then defenestrated that suitcase as he bolted for her.

Indeed, with the occasional flash of bright light in the building, Percy saw Scanlan’s form rushing over to the side of a pretty woman with pale hair and a plain light blue mask. He could see the laughter in Scanlan’s shoulders from so far away as he and the woman, Pike, talked about things too far from Percy’s earshot.

Now he was simply alone, in a crowded room full of masked strangers with pulsing lights and too-loud music and Percy quickly took off into a corner, doing mental arithmetic with every step to count down the minutes he’d have to spend in this party he never really wanted to go to.

Mercifully, he found a punch table, several bowls lined up with various liquids. He can’t really drink anything in this mask, but he might as well look like he’s mingling with the crowd and whatnot. Percy grabbed a red plastic cup, chucked most of its contents into a potted plant, and leaned his back against a wall, looking out into the sea of people undulating their bodies with the rhythm of the music, and did his best to look like he wanted to be here.

Save the migraine and the lingering whispers in the back of his head about assignments due, the change of pace was refreshing. Annoying, but refreshing. And lacked the social obligations Percy feared he’d have to fulfill when he first came here. People saw him leaning against the wall and assumed that he was merely taking a break from the festivities or awaiting someone. It was peaceful, in a way.

That is, until a woman with an elegant blue mask marched to the punch table, grabbed two cups, downed both, and grabbed a third and joined Percy, leaning on the wall herself, body slightly angled to face him. Percy angled himself as well to face her, to be polite. The mask covered the upper half of her face, with feathers sticking out and up from one side. It matched her silvery blue dress quite well.

“Do you have a sibling?” she asked without preamble, staring into her cup.

Percy instinctively glanced about the room, trying to look for the matching shock of white hair of his sister, whom Scanlan stated might be here. “Yes, a sister,” he answered idly, if a bit sullenly as he found that she was not in attendance. “Though I’m afraid she didn’t join us this evening. A shame too, she would have made for better conversation.”

“Well, at least you don’t have to watch your sister abandon a conversation with you to trip over words with her crush,” said she. She downed her drink in one go. “Honestly, it’s not even the ‘being ignored mid-conversation’ bit that’s bothering me. It’s the pining! It’s the tripping over his own two feet! My brother is a rogue of a man who stole dad’s credit card so he can throw a couple parties and buy some new shit so I don’t have to spend a cent but have him stand in front of Keyleth and he suddenly forgets every language he’s ever known!”

Percy had no idea who this woman was talking about, but a childhood of etiquette lessons compelled him to nod. He wondered what it would feel like, to have Cassandra be so taken with someone in the romantic sense. Just thinking about it felt odd. “Well, I’ve never had the fortune -or misfortune, apparently- to know that feeling, but I can somewhat relate.” The woman gave him a look that clearly meant that she’d lap up any distraction at the moment. Percy would take a distraction just about this time, too. It would certainly make time pass quicker until he could say that he’s attended and make a beeline back to the dorms. “I was peer-pressured into attending this party by a friend, and then I had to watch that friend leave me to fend for myself so he could unsuccessfully flirt with a woman he likes. And then I’d have to listen to him pine all day when he stumbles back into our dorm room with the scent of so much alcohol on his shirt he could be safely classified as a fire hazard.”

The woman snorted and raised her empty cup in the air. “If I had anything in this cup right now, I’d toast to our shit luck.”

Percy raised his cup as well. “I also have nothing in my cup, as drinking with this mask on is terribly inconvenient, but I can toast to that.”

They tapped their cups together, the woman squinting at Percy, finally, finally getting a good look at him. “Did- did you make your mask?”

“I did.” Again, he tried to adjust his glasses, and again, he hit nothing but the beak of his mask. “Well, I made it quite a few years back, but it seems that attempting to get through Professor Groon’s dreadful history essay requirements had… sparked some of my lost creativity. Fixed a couple of things here and there, re-adjusted the straps-”

“Oh God!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t finished the essay yet.”

Neither had Percy. Seeing as he was in the middle of a party, he’d resigned himself to having to rush it in the morning. Again. “I have to admit, I’m more concerned about Professor Groon’s reaction to me not submitting the assignment than I am with taking the hit to my grades.”

She laughed again. Clearly, whatever that punch is had a kick to it that was only just now starting to take effect. “He is an intimidating man, isn’t he?”

Percy hummed in agreement. Professor Groon made a mountain seem small in comparison. “Dear God, yes. And he never seems to blink.”

“Never!” the woman laughed in agreement. “It is such a relief to hear someone else notice that too. I thought I was going mad, uh…?”

Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the III. “Please call me Percy.”

“Wonderful to meet you dear. My name is Vex’ahlia.” She smiled at him from under her mask, face just a little bit red from the punch. The pulsing  lights made the braid draped over her shoulder seem to shine. Her hand stretched delicately out towards him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Percy.”

Percy took her hand in his and returned her smile.

He had no idea what possessed him to do so. Perhaps it was her disarming smile that seemed to knock his legs out from under him, or perhaps it was the way her eyes seemed to glow as they locked onto his, maybe it was even the migraine, throwing all common sense onto the ground. But rather than shake her hand, as he would have done in any other circumstance, Percy bent down just a tad and kissed the back of her hand.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Perhaps he can stand to linger here a few hours more.

[atths--twice]

Chapter twenty... here we go! I hope you all are enjoying this story! 

Chapter Twenty

Christmas Calling 

Another Christmas has come and is about to pass. Scully has decided it’s time to reach out to Mulder with more than a simple text or email.

December 2015

Scully sat on the couch at her mother’s house on Christmas evening listening to the laughter and music coming from every corner of the room. Dinner had been eaten and everyone was enjoying another beverage of their choice. Scully held a near empty glass of wine and smiled as she looked at the people gathered together that evening.

Bill and Tara were unable to make it again that year. Not wanting it to be a sad or quiet affair with it being Louise’s first Christmas alone, Maggie invited Louise, her two children, their spouses and children, and her brother Jack to share Christmas with them, to ensure that she was taken care of.

Louise’s children, Marcus and Annie, had been friends of Scully’s since high school. In fact, she was very much in love with Marcus when she was a senior. They dated briefly, and attended prom together senior year. The story she told the faux Mulder about that night, was still something the real one teased her about.

Annie and her now husband, Paul, had been there that night. Annie still harbored anger toward Sylvia and her stupid prom date for building such a huge campfire and embarrassing them all by the need to ride back on that pumper truck.

Marcus married a wonderful woman and their kids were adorable, especially the new baby. Scully held him many times during the day, staring into his big brown eyes. He smiled and cooed and she sighed behind her own happy smile. He was a good baby and she could not help but feel the sadness of missing William. She thought of him every day, but the holidays were the hardest.

Scully looked up to see Annie coming over and joining her on the couch. She looked at her and Scully smiled. “You doing all right, Dana?” she asked.

“I’m okay, yeah,” Scully replied, smiling still.

Annie was always the coolest person she knew. She never backed down from a problem. She always stood up for herself and was not afraid to speak her mind. Scully was tough and she would scrap with the best of them, but there was something about Annie that was different. She was simply Annie and no other description was needed.

She and Scully would sneak out at night when they were in high school, a bottle of Annie’s dad’s alcohol in the backseat of her car. It never mattered what kind of alcohol it was. It was sneaking out and sharing it that made it so memorable. Annie smoked sometimes on those sneak out nights, but Scully never did after that one time she snuck the cigarettes from her mother's purse. The taste had put her off of them forever.

One night, when they were both back from college for the holidays, Annie picked her up and they went driving around, free of the burden of school for a little while. Pulling into the deserted parking lot of a state park, Annie took out a joint and for the first time, Scully tried smoking pot.

They sat in Annie’s car and talked about everything and nothing, sharing the joint between them. They sat for hours giggling and then sitting on the hood of the car, staring at the stars and wondering about the universe. When Scully could be trusted to not dissolve into loud giggles, they headed back home.

Annie and Paul got married when she and Mulder had been working together for almost a year. It was a crazy wedding, with a story poor Paul never lived down, worse even than the dreaded pumper truck story. He passed out and needed a few minutes to recover before the wedding could proceed. Someone also brought a dog that bit the drummer. Scully helped see to his bite, which was superficial, and Annie walked up and handed her the bouquet, much to the abject horror of the other bridesmaids. Everyone still teased Paul mercilessly about that story and he just shrugged and smiled.

Annie was now a caterer, and she loved it. She offered to make the Christmas meal as a thank you to Maggie for hosting the day, and Maggie had eventually agreed, but with the firm knowledge that she would clean it all up. Scully knew that was not going to happen, and she had been right, not with all the younger hands available and willing to help.

“So you’re still enjoying your work at the hospital?” Annie asked and Scully nodded.

“It’s hard at times, but seeing a patient recover and flourish when they may not have without the help, is truly amazing,” Scully said quietly.

“That’s great. I always knew you would do amazing things with your life, Dana,” she smiled and Scully smiled back. “I heard about you and Mulder.” Annie said quietly.

“Ah, well that’s not surprising,” Scully sighed.

“I’m sorry you aren’t together anymore. Have you … been seeing anyone else?” Annie inquired and Scully laughed.

“Annie,” Scully said, shaking her head. “It’s … I … saying it’s complicated does not come close to describing our relationship. He’s … no. I’m not seeing anyone else. I honestly don’t think I could.” She sighed again and rubbed at her forehead.

“Are you two talking then? Trying to work things out?” Annie asked kindly.

“We text and email, but haven’t spoken in a while,” Scully said, and she decided tonight would be the night that ended. She would call him and extend the olive branch and see what happened.

“I’m really sorry, Dana. I wish there was something I could do to help you,” Annie said, squeezing her hand. “You wanna get stoned?” They both laughed loudly, and Scully squeezed her hand.

“Thank you for the offer, but not this time. I haven’t done that in many years, maybe since we did it last time,” Scully said, remembering when they had, in Annie’s first apartment, laughing and de-stressing from finals. “You know, you’re the only person I’ve ever done that with, to this day, both times. God, what a wild life I’ve lived huh?” She shook her head and laughed at herself.

“Well,” Annie laughed as she stood up and Scully joined her, walking into the kitchen to put her wine glass on the counter. “If you change your mind, make sure you let me know.” Scully smiled and nodded, pulling Annie in for a hug. She held her tightly and then stepped back. “I hope you and Mulder find your way back to each other. I really like him.”

“Me too,” Scully said quietly and Annie smiled, squeezing Scully’s hands. She sighed and they left the kitchen.

“I’m gonna get going, but it was wonderful to see you again, Annie. Your family is, as always, beautiful. Your food is delicious and you have done great things with your life as well,” Scully said with a smile.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush,” she said with a roll of her eyes and Scully snorted with laughter. “Go on, get out of here and call that handsome man and talk to him.” She gave Scully a look and she nodded.

“See you later, Annie.”

“Bye, Dana.”

Scully made the rounds and said goodbye to everyone, gathered up her gifts, and headed to her car. She put her bags in the backseat and got in, starting the car and letting it warm up. Taking out her phone and being sure the Bluetooth was connected, she set it in the holder. Her stomach turned nervously as she thought of actually speaking to him. It had been so long since she had and she missed the sound of his voice.

Driving away, she had a sudden crazy idea to drive over to the house and see him face-to-face. As fast as it came, the idea left her. She felt nervous enough with just a phone call, seeing him now …

She drove for a few minutes before getting the nerve to press the talk button on the steering wheel.

“Say a command.”

“Call Mulder,” she said, and took a deep breath.

“Calling Mulder, cell.” The phone began to ring and butterflies took up residence in her stomach. One, two, three, four rings and the voicemail recording came through the speakers.

“This is Fox Mulder, leave a message.”

She heard the beep and the words she was going to say got stuck in her throat. “Uhh … it’s me. I’m … leaving my mother’s and … I wanted to tell you Merry Christmas. Maybe you’re out ... I don’t … umm. Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she stammered and hung up. God, that was embarrassing.

“Jesus Christ,” she murmured to herself. “First time calling after so long and you garbled your way through like that? You fucked that up so badly.” She shook her head and felt like calling Annie and taking her up on her offer to get stoned, hopefully forgetting that phone call ever happened.

Silence filled the car as she drove the rest of the way home. What a stupid idea to call in the car anyway, she thought, shaking her head again. She should have waited until she got home, she only had about fifteen minutes to go. The rest of the drive home, she chastised herself for her stupidity.

Pulling into her parking space, she turned off the car and put her head on the steering wheel, still so embarrassed. She leaned back, put her head on the headrest, and her phone began to ring. Jumping at the sound, she looked down to find Mulder’s name on the screen. Her heart flipped as she reached to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Scully? It’s me,” he said quietly and tears sprang to her eyes.

“Yeah, hi. Did you … hear my message?” she asked, praying to all the saints that he had not heard it.

“Message? No, I uh, just saw that you called and …” He trailed off and she let out the breath she was holding, and sent up a prayer of thanks.

“Well, do me a favor and just … erase it when you get a chance. It’s … just erase it, okay?” she asked and heard his low laugh.

“That bad, huh?” He laughed, and she groaned.

They were both silent for a few seconds that felt much longer. She could hear him breathing, and she closed her eyes, missing him so much.

“So, you coming back from your mom’s?” he asked. “Your brother in town?” She smiled despite the tears in her eyes.

“Yes and no. Bill isn’t in the country this year, again. My mother invited her friend Louise and her family over instead,” she said as she wiped her eyes and leaned against the headrest again. “It was good to see them again.”

“Louise? It sounds familiar, have I met her?”

“Yeah, her children, Annie and Marcus, we went to high school together-”

“Oh, do you mean the Marcus? Pumper truck, Marcus?” he teased her, and she laughed softly, tears still in her eyes. “Did he wear his cummerbund?”

“Yes, and I’m wearing my moire taffeta dress. His wife really appreciated the walk down memory lane,” she said sarcastically causing him to laugh. “I regret ever telling you that story.”

“I think you mean re-telling me the story." Came his standard reply. “You know, since the first time you did, I didn’t hear it.” She sighed and waited, knowing there was one last thing he always said. “Because it wasn’t me you were talking to that night.”

“I never should have told you that was what we discussed,” she sighed again, but with a smile on her face. She heard him chuckle softly and she closed her eyes.

They were quiet again and though not uncomfortable, there was so much that remained unsaid. She knew what she wanted to ask him, but did not want him to think she was calling just to nag him.

“You there, Scully?” he asked quietly.

“I’m here,” she answered just as quietly. “How are you, Mulder?” She held her breath and waited, finally asking him what she really wanted to know.

“How am I?” he asked, his voice remaining low. “I’m … I’m okay, Scully. No reason to worry about me.”

“I do, though,” she said, barely above a whisper. He took a breath and she waited again.

“I’m doing all right, Scully. Better than … before. My therapy sessions have ended and … I’m doing well,” he told her. “I wouldn’t have believed at this time last year that I would have said any of those words, but it goes to show how much it has helped.” He laughed softly and she exhaled a short breath.

“Did she … are you still taking your medication?” Her apology for not worrying about the sexual side effects running through her mind. It was on the tip of her tongue to say it, but felt it was not the right time.

“Still taking my meds, Doc. Told you, no need to worry,” he said, and she could hear his smile.

“I’m glad to hear it, Mulder,” she said quietly and he hummed his response. Quiet again and this time she broke it. “Well, I just wanted to … check in, wish you a merry Christmas …”

“Yeah. Merry Christmas to you too, Scully,” he said quietly and she knew she needed to hang up before she burst into tears.

“I’m on the early shift tomorrow, so I should be calling it a night. I’ll talk to you soon?” she said, waiting anxiously for his answer.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “We’ll talk soon. Thanks for calling, Scully. Good night.” And he hung up, without waiting for her answering good night. She sighed and opened her eyes. Putting her phone in her bag, she took the keys from the ignition and began to gather up her things.

Her arms loaded with gifts, she headed to her door. She dropped everything in the entryway, took off her coat, and put her keys in the bowl. She picked up the bags and put them in her room to deal with tomorrow. Changing into her coziest pajamas, she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and got into bed.

Replaying their conversation in her mind, she tried to find any signs of anger or annoyance. Finding none, she thought of it from a different side and found nothing but acceptance and the possibility of moving forward. She would call again on New Year’s and maybe they could watch the ball drop together, like old times. Yet different, as they would not be together. Sighing with a smile at the possible thought, she turned over and fell asleep.

That New Year’s call never happened. She tried, repeatedly, but he did not answer, nor did he return her calls. She tried the next couple of days too, and still no response. Texts went unanswered, as did emails. Finally, a few lines were sent her way.

Doing okay, Doc. Don’t worry. Just needed some time to think about some things.

She tried not to worry, tried not to be furious with him and go back to her life and doing what she loved, but he set up his claim, as he had always done, and she sighed. She did that a lot in the next couple of days, until a nurse walked in and stopped her heart with a few simple words.

You have a phone call … He says his name is Walter Skinner. Assistant Director, FBI.

________________________________________

So... here we are at the beginnings of season ten. I am excited to finally be here, although I have enjoyed the journey to get where we are now. I truly hope you all are also enjoying the journey. Them broken up is not right and I did not like seeing them that way. This... this was my way to fix that. 

[lycorogue]

ML Secret Santa Story: The Great Debate

Holy smokes, it’s 2am! Uh, I wanted to have this done by Christmas Eve, but I guess an official Merry Christmas to my @mlsecretsanta giftee @mouserzwuzhere is now in order. So... Merry Christmas!

Sorry for the delay, it actually kept me most of this month to lock down what I wanted to write. In the end, I ended up going with something inspired by a Tumblr post. Of course, I can’t find the post now to link it, but it talked about the logistical fallacy of most Christmas movies where Santa is canonically real, but adults still don’t believe in him.

I went with mouserz preferences of fluff, friendship/family bonding, and LadyNoir. I hope this ends up being a pleasant surprise for you under your digital Christmas tree this morning. :D

UPDATE (12/25/19): You can now find the story on AO3, on FFN, and on DA as well as below.

The Great Debate

Summary: When Ladybug agreed to meet up later with Chat Noir, she never imagined they would end up discussing the validity of Santa being real. It’s funny the things you do for your loved ones.

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 4032

Status: Completed one-shot

Disclaimer: I’m ignoring the two-part season 3 finale with regards to Master Fu; pretend this takes place before that....

Ladybug breathed in the chilled, crisp night air. Her breath escaped in a thin fog. Her supersuit kept her warm, but her cheeks still flushed with the bite of wind as she swung through the city. Thankfully, the snow recently ceased, and the air was calm. Once she was at her destination she would be warmer.

Looking down the long roofs of the office buildings, she spotted a figure already perched six buildings down the street. He was there. He was waiting for her. She shifted the weight of the package nestled in the crook of her left arm, and sprinted towards her meet-up.

Chat Noir lazily kicked his legs as he leaned back on the tower roof's ledge, staring up at the sky; looking for stars he couldn't see. He hummed “Silent Night” to himself, and was on the third verse when Ladybug landed behind him.

“You're late, Bugaboo.”

“Don't-” It was on reflex, but there was no akuma around now. She simply sighed, and shook her head. “Sorry. I wanted to get something for you first.” She held out her package: a box of Tom & Sabine Bakery macarons. It was risky to bring them to Chat Noir, but it was also a bit of an impromptu meet-up.

Earlier that day, for the second Christmas Eve in a row, Hawk Moth decided to not take a vacation, and akumatized a poor distraught person. As they were fighting, Chat Noir seemed more distracted than usual, exchanging his usual ill-timed flirting for requests that they hang out again later. The more the battle wore on, the more Ladybug picked up that perhaps this get-together was something Chat Noir truly needed.

Then they defeated the villain. Ladybug purified the akuma, and used her ultimate power to restore Paris. The duo fist-bumped in front of the rush of reporters capturing the latest attack on their beloved city. Ladybug's earrings chimed that she only had two minutes remaining, and soon after Chat Noir's ring beeped for the second time. She couldn't say anything to him in front of the reporters; couldn't let Hawk Moth potentially know where they would be. Instead, she gave him a silent plead to forgive her abruptness, and swung away. Once out of sight, she used the last few precious seconds of her transformation to text Chat Noir where to meet up. She prayed that he would get the message before de-transforming.

It seemed he did.

She didn't have much time to plan a Christmas gift for Chat Noir. She didn't imagine an opportunity to gift him anything. It would be far too inappropriate while they were actively attempting to protect Paris, and she didn't want Chat Noir to get the wrong idea if she asked him for a meet-up for a gift exchange. She didn't have the time to make anything, and she barely had the time to purchase anything; most stores were already closed for the holiday. She lucked out that her parents had anything left in their bakery.

“Huh. Great minds, it seems, M'lady.” Chat Noir smirked as he grabbed a matching pastry box he had hidden beside his right hip. His contained a pair of over-stuffed cream puffs. He brushed the snow off the ledge beside him and patted the now-bare roof.

Ladybug studied Chat Noir. She sprinted through the list of patrons she saw in her parents' bakery that day, trying to remember any young men with blonde hair. None came to mind. Perhaps he had bought the cream puffs while she was in her room. Maybe that was why he was so persistent with wanting a meet-up.

“Great minds indeed.” Ladybug hummed inquisitively, but still accepted the cleared-off seat. Holding out her box to Chat Noir, she traded peppermint macarons for her puff.

“Mmm.” Chat Noir popped the macaron in his mouth in one bite. “I guess it makes sense that we'd both pick pastries from the Tom & Sabine. It is the best bakery in all of Paris, after all.”

Ladybug lightly blushed, and hoped her cheeks were already red enough from the cold for Chat Noir to not notice. “I'm sure they'd appreciate hearing that, especially from a superhero.”

“You should tell them too, then.”

She had never thought of that. “Perhaps I'll take the time to do so.” She bit into her cream puff, and quickly licked up the filling oozing out of the opposite side.

Chat Noir popped another macaron in his mouth. “Thank you for meeting up with me tonight.”

Ladybug stilled, looking deeply at Chat Noir. “You sounded like you needed it. Is everything alright?”

“It is now.” He gave her a sad little smile, and then scraped some cream out of the center of his puff.

“It's Christmas Eve, Kitty. Wouldn't you rather spend it with loved ones?”

“I thought I was.”

“Come on, be serious, Chat Noir.”

He put down his treats, and instead scooped up Ladybug's right hand, keeping her gaze. “I am serious. Please tell me that you know by now that I'm always serious with every love confession.”

“Chat Noir-”

He dropped her hand and scooted further away from her. “I know, I know. You're in love with someone else. I understand that, but it doesn't lessen my feelings for you, and how dear you are to me.”

“Kitty.”

Clearing his throat, he tossed another macaron in the air, and caught it in his mouth. “Sorry I'm keeping you from your loved ones, though.”

Ladybug rested a hand on his shoulder. “You're not. You're dear to me too, remember?”

They finished their treats with small, simple, stupid conversation. They talked about nothing in particular, for fear of giving something away that would reveal themselves, and yet they said a lot with the way they each talked about being a superhero, or how they felt about the past year, or even about the weather.

“How could you not love the snow?” Ladybug gathered the empty pastry boxes, and tucked them beside her.

“It's lonely.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Most people stay inside; isolated in their homes. Paris isn't as bustling as normal. It's quiet.”

“See, that's one of the things I like about the snow.” Ladybug scooped some off the roof, and started packing it into a ball. “It absorbs sound, you know. That's why Paris seems so quiet and serene when it snows. The lights then reflect off the crisp white, and the city just seems clean and new. It seems safe.”

“It is safe, with you as its savior.”

“Yeah, well you're not too bad yourself there, Kitty.” They shared a smile. “Besides, snow isn't lonely. It's inviting. Families huddle together to drink cocoa as they watch the snow. Friends play together making snow angels or snowmen, or race on sleds, or build forts together, or have snowball fights.”

Chat Noir's face fell, so Ladybug threw her freshly formed snowball at his shoulder.

“Hey!” He quickly packed his own snowball, but Ladybug was faster and hit him with another one. “Okay! Okay, I submit!” He dropped his snowball, and held his hands over his head.

“Haven't you ever just played in the snow? How could you not feel the magic of it while you dance under a soft snow fall, or catch flakes on your tongue, or simply lay in the cold silence, just feeling at peace with the world?”

“I'll have to keep all of those in mind the next time it snows.”

“Good.”

Another soft, shared look as they each offered the other a gentle smile.

Church bells softly rang in the distance; breaking the spell as Chat Noir turned to the sound.

“It's getting late. Should we head home? Don't want to chance Santa passing us up since we aren't asleep.”

“Wait, Santa?”

“Yeah. You think he's in the area already? I mean, I really couldn't ask for a better gift than to spend time with you, M'lady, but I wouldn't want to push my luck with the Big Guy in Red.”

“Chat Noir, do you still believe in Santa Claus?” She quirked an eyebrow at him, and playfully smirked.

“I mean, are you telling me you don't?” His face scrunched up as he stared incredulously at her. “We literally saw him! Twice!”

“First of all, those were both during akuma attacks, so who truly knows what is and isn't real during those? Secondly, Santa Claws seemed to just be a friendly old man who dressed up as Santa; not Jolly Old Saint Nick himself, and his 'Santa' powers were because of the akumatization. So he doesn't count. Finally, I'd hate to break it to you, but the Santa we met when Paris was overwhelmed by giant attacking toys wasn't real. It was Chris Master's powers manifesting his interpretation of Santa: the Santa in his snow globe.” Ladybug rested a comforting hand on Chat Noir's arm.

“How do you know that wasn't the real Santa? He said he'd see us next Christmas Eve; tonight!”

“He said that because it was what Chris wanted Santa to say.”

“How do you know that, though?”

Ladybug's breath hitched, and she simply shrugged. “What? You can have Cat Intuition about how the Agreste mansion security works or the fact that Volpina had an illusion instead of the actual Adrien Agreste, but I can't have Ladybug Intuition about whether or not that was the real Santa?”

Chat Noir studied her for a tell, but eventually caved. “Okay, you got me on that second meet-up with Santa; that probably wasn't the real one. Although, you were the top of his Nice list, so maybe you should hope that your Ladybug Intuition was off, and that was really him.” He winked. She groaned. “Either way, he looked a lot like the man who got akumatized into Santa Claws, which means it could be possible that the man last Christmas was in fact the true Santa, but was posing as a regular citizen.”

“Why? Especially on Christmas Eve itself? Wouldn't he be too busy delivering gifts?” Ladybug tried to keep the smug look off her face, but Chat Noir's lips kept puckering more and more with each question. She could tell that he was trying to build up a rebuttal.

Chat Noir opened his mouth to respond, pointing at her in stunned silence. A second later he relented, shrugging in defeat instead. “Alright, so maybe we haven't met the actual Santa, but that doesn't mean he's not real.”

“He might have been, once. There could have been someone who spent Christmas Eve delivering gifts to the children of a very large area – so that it felt like it was the whole world to those people – and the legend of Santa came from that, but I don't know if I trust that he's still real.”

“Well, why not? I knew you could be pragmatic, but even this seems a bit much for you.”

“He'd be well over a millennium old, for starters.”

“Yeah, but what about Master Fu?”

“There's a bit of a difference between two-hundred and two-thousand years, Chat Noir.”

“Still, Master is as old as he is largely because of the magic of the Miraculouses, isn't he?”

“Possibly.”

“So why is it such a stretch that Santa has magic of his own, and part of it is the long life, or even immortality? The Miraculouses can't be the only form of magic within the whole world, can they?”

She gave it thought. “Alright, valid point. What about the gifts, though?”

Chat Noir lounged across the roof and dismissively waved his hand. “I already told you: magic. He probably has a bag with access to a pocket dimension or some-”

“No.”

Chat Noir rocked his head to the side. Ladybug pivoted to face him, folding her legs in front of her as she anchored her hands to her ankles.

“No,” she repeated, “I'm not even talking about the plausibility of him carrying all the gifts with him or getting in and out of people's homes. If I'm going to agree with him nearing two-thousand years old because of magic, I'll concede on those other magical parts.”

“Okay, so what's wrong with the presents then?”

Ladybug scooted closer to Chat Noir and leaned a little towards him, energy buzzing off of her. “If Santa Claus truly delivers presents every Christmas Eve, then why is it that most adults don't believe in him? Wouldn't him delivering gifts to their children convince the parents that he's real? Since a large portion – probably even a majority – of adults are also parents, wouldn't someone somewhere have factual evidence of his existence by now? Or, at least, wouldn't it be a much more widespread belief, even among adults, that he's alive?”

Chat Noir sat up, hugging one leg to his chest. His eyebrows furrowed, and he wouldn't look at Ladybug.

“I mean, think about it,” Ladybug continued, rolling onto her knees as she began to gesture wildly. “You and your wife wake up Christmas morning, and gather around the tree with your kid- You're picturing me as your wife, and imagining what our kid would look like, aren't you?”

Chat Noir sheepishly smiled and shrugged.

“Never mind that. Not the point.” Ladybug waved the thought away. “So your kid is opening up gifts, finds one that is labeled 'from Santa,' and unwraps it. You don't recognize this gift. You haven't purchased it for your kid. You may just think your wife must have gotten it and not told you, so you let it go. But this keeps happening every year, so you finally ask your wife, and she tells you she always thought you were the one who bought those gifts, because she certainly didn't. Isn't that suspicious? A random present from neither of you managed to make its way under your tree? Every year? Wouldn't you want to figure out who put it there? And you hear your friends – who are also parents – saying the same thing happened for each of their kids. Wouldn't that alone be enough evidence for most parents to believe that Santa must be real, because what other explanation is there for the mystery gifts?”

Chat Noir tapped his chin with two fingers, scanning the clouds for answers. “Yeah, I guess that's true.”

“On the flip-side, if Santa doesn't actually leave any presents - so that parents don't question where they came from - then why does it matter if he's real, because he still isn't going to be coming to everyone's houses unless it's to eat the cookies.”

“I got it!” Chat Noir snapped and turned back towards Ladybug, he was also up on his knees, waving excitedly. “Magic again.”

“How so?”

“Santa's magic is memory focused. He doesn't actually use chimneys – which really helps explain all those homes without fire places – instead, he arrives just before the parents lock up for the night, and he uses his magic to make them believe they already did. He then enters, leaves the present, and locks the door behind him as he goes on his merry way. His magic then makes the parents believe they had munched on the cookies to give the illusion of Santa, and that they were the ones who purchased the gift for little Julien. The question of 'who got him that present' never comes up, and Santa still remains a glorious holiday mystery.”

“What if the parents, still disbelieving of Santa, already bought little Mary a gift from 'Santa' and already ate the cookies before going to bed?”

“Then Santa saves on unneeded calories, and he switches up the 'Santa' for 'Mom and Dad'. Then his power works exactly the same way; except this time it also makes them think they didn't label the one gift as from 'Santa' at first.”

“It's still too many homes to leave presents for in one night.” Ladybug sat on her heels and crossed her arms.

“I thought you were going to concede on all of the 'other magic stuff'?”

Ladybug shrugged.

“Okay.” Chat Noir thought for a moment. “What if his powers also allows him to teleport? Or to slow time? Or to pause time? We have Miraculouses that could do some pretty crazy things, after all.” Chat Noir's ears perked and his belt-tail twitched as if it were real. “Wait a minute! What if Santa has a Miracle Box? That feast amuk was encased in stone before leaving Tibet, and we stopped it while it was still in Paris, so what if it didn't have a chance to make it to Santa to eat his Miraculous?”

“Master would have told me if Santa was one of the guardians.”

“What if he didn't know? What if there were Guardians secretly placed throughout the world, and for their safety, the monastery Master Fu trained at didn't have their names?”

“And he only uses the Miraculous once a year to provide extra Christmas gifts?”

Chat Noir started counting out his points on his fingers. “He's not using the Miraculous for his personal  gain, so it's not breaking any rules. He's providing joy and wonderment to the world. He's making sure every kid gets at least one gift they'll love, regardless of the parents' financial or emotional standing. We don't know what he does with the rest of the year, so maybe he's protecting the world just like us, but with his memory-altering Miraculous powers, the world just never figures it out.”

Ladybug simply stared at Chat Noir. He held his ground and kept her gaze.

“Alright.” Ladybug pivoted on the roof ledge, and dangled her legs below her. “I relent that there's a possibility that Santa is real.”

“And a Miraculous Guardian?”

“It's a stretch, but I guess I can't argue against it. Not right now, anyway.”

“So does that mean you'll wait up for him?”

“No, that means there's no point. If he is real, and he does have a way of altering memories, then I doubt he'd let either of us remember seeing him. He's been doing this for over seventeen-hundred years, after all.” She gave Chat Noir a side smile.

“I guess that's true.” Chat Noir deflated a little and sat beside her.

“Besides, I thought you wanted to go to bed so you didn't chance missing out on your gift from him,” she teased.

Chat Noir curled into himself and blushed, again unable to look at Ladybug. She instantly knew she went too far. She couldn't say goodbye to him like that.

Ladybug detached her yo-yo, and looked intently at it. Chat Noir followed her out of the corner of his eye.

“Ladybug?”

She gave him the tiniest hint of a devilish grin while pressing a finger to her lips and shushing him. “Don't tell on me, okay?”

“Tell?”

Ladybug threw her yo-yo straight up, calling out “Lucky Charm!”

“What are you doing?” Chat Noir again hopped up onto his knees as he studied her. “What about no personal gain?”

The charm landed in Ladybug's hand, and she closed her fist around it before Chat Noir could make out the small red object with black spots.

“I think this one can be allowed.” Ladybug re-attached her yo-yo to her hip, and stood on the main portion of the roof. With Chat Noir still seated on the ledge, they were about eye-level.

He tried to spy her charm, but she kept her hand hidden behind her back. “So, what convoluted plan do you have for that?” He stood to try to look over her shoulder, but she blocked him with a stiff arm.

“Nothing too bad. Now sit back down.” She pushed gently on his chest, and he plopped his butt back onto the roof ledge. “Perfect.”

She then placed her hand in between them and unfolded her fingers. Resting on her palm was a tiny sprig of mistletoe, although, with the red coloring and black spots, it looked more like holly. With her spare hand, Ladybug held the Lucky Charm mistletoe sprig over their heads, then leaned in to kiss Chat Noir. Giddily, he rose to meet her, his hands reaching out for her waist as he puckered up and eyes fluttered closed.

She giggled, and used a finger to turn his head so she could kiss him on the cheek instead.

Chat Noir pouted and sunk back onto the roof. “You're supposed to kiss on the lips under a mistletoe.”

“Sorry, Kitty, but I do still love someone else.” She flicked his bell, and placed the sprig of mistletoe beside them. “I will give you one more gift though.” She cupped a hand on either side of his face, and pulled it towards her. Angling his head down a bit, she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, and then rested hers against it. “Merry Christmas, Kitty.”

Chat Noir wrapped his arms around Ladybug and squeezed her close to him; breathing her in. “Thank you, Ladybug. Merry Christmas to you, too.”

She let him hold her for a moment, and she held him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. With their eyes closed, and the normally bustling city quiet with snow, it didn't feel like there was anyone else in all of Paris but the two of them. It only lasted a moment, but it was calming for them both.

He's right here, Ladybug thought, he's not Chat Blanc, and I'll stop him from ever feeling that desperate and alone.

She's here, Chat Noir thought, she loves someone else, but for right now she's here and I can pretend for a few seconds that I'm the one she's in love with.

The thought didn't make Chat Noir purr, as it usually did; instead, a small whimper escaped his throat.

“Chat Noir?” Ladybug leaned away from him, breaking the illusion.

“Sorry. I had a moment, but I'm fine. Thank you again for spending time with me tonight.”

“No problem, Kitty. As long as you don't want us to make a habit out of this.” She ruffled up his hair until he broke his hug in a giggling retreat. “You are a friend of mine, Chat Noir,” Ladybug continued in a serious tone. “I want to be here for you whenever you need me, and I do enjoy spending time with you, as long as you're not flirting.” She cocked an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest.

Chat Noir meekly smiled back as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Is my flirting really that bad?”

She simply raised the second eyebrow and pursed her lips.

“In love with another guy,” Chat Noir sighed, “Right.”

She took his hand and gave it a light squeeze. “You'll find someone. I promise. She'll see the amazing Chat Noir that I do, but she'll get to know your actual name, and her heart will be only for you.”

Before Chat Noir could respond – and Ladybug knew he wanted to – she let go, and lassoed a nearby light post. “Merry Christmas again, Chat Noir.”

He gave her a genuine smile in return. ��Merry Christmas, M'lady.” He said nothing else, and Ladybug was grateful. Her earrings started rapidly beeping. It had only been about three minutes, but Tikki always seemed to wear out faster if Ladybug used her Lucky Charm for personal reasons. She probably didn't have much time left.

“Let me know if you do catch Santa,” Ladybug teased. She then scooped up the empty pastry boxes,  and loosened the tension on her yo-yo, sling-shotting her through the Paris skyline.

Chat Noir looked at the discarded Lucky Charm sprig of mistletoe, and brought it up to his lips. The trinket cut their evening together short, but it was worth it for those kisses, and that hug. A couple of seconds later, the sprig burst into pink glitter that vanished in the air; like a miniature firework. Ladybug must have de-transformed, and the Lucky Charm vanished with her other superpowers.

Chat Noir no longer had his keepsake from the night, but he had his memories. Those were enough, and he trusted he'd make many more with Ladybug over the years.

Now he had to figure out how to capture Santa so he could prove to his lady that he was right.

[btskismet]

Kismet (Chapter 18): A BTS Jin Imagines Fanfic

First ever fanfic. Contains some fluff and smut. Please read sequentially as it is a long story arc. Please provide feedback! My IG is btskismet.

November 7, 1944

Jun-seok was staring at a short Japanese man with a funny mustache. It was as if this man was trying to copy Adolf Hitler's tiny mustache. However, his mustache didn't seem to grow as well as Hitler's so it was half the length of the German dictator's, which made it look slightly skewed.

He expected for the Shosa (Major) to look a little more... refined. After all, he was the highest ranking officer in this district so far. He overheard that General Isumi was traveling to the capital of the country but would be back soon. So, Shosa Kimori would be calling the shots in this district for sure.

The man was smoking a tabacco as he was sitting inside what used to be a meeting room in the government building. He was looking at several papers placed on top of the table beside him.

He saw that he was looking at the military application form he filled out when he applied to be part of the Japanese Army. As the man looked at each page intently, Jun-seok shifted his weight while standing, anxiously waiting for what he had to say.

"So you know how to speak both Japanese and Korean, eh?", the man asked.

"Hai, Shosa Kimori", Jun-seok answered with a loud voice.

"Oh, I'm not Shosa Kimori. I'm Tai-i (Captain) Yuzawa. The Shosa couldn't meet you today. He went to the next town."

Jun-seok bowed really low and expressed his apologies. He felt stupid and for sure, he would be getting a beating. What a horrible mistake.

"It's alright. Stand up. I have another question for you.". Captain Yuzawa said, motioning Jun-seok to stand up straight.

"Do you know how to speak English?", the Captain asked, looking up to Jun-seok with one of his eyebrows raised.

Jun-seok hesitated. He thought he might need to lie because he might be sent to the enemy lines if he said he didn't speak it well enough, especially after what he said earlier. Would it matter if he didn't?

Before he was about to respond, the Captain raised his right hand and waved it slightly in front of his face. He was letting Jun-seok know that he didn't need to answer. "If you don't know, it's fine. The Mayor has someone in his family who can speak Japanese. It's important that you can speak both Japanese and Korean. Not all the locals speak very good English either."

Captain Yuzawa sets aside the papers and stands up to look out the window. He smoothens the creases on his pants. Jun-seok can tell that this man was stern and very detail-driven - his office was impeccably clean and all items on his desk, though minimal, were placed in a very purposeful way. Nothing was out of place.

When he faced Jun-seok, he started to speak in a very firm voice and said, "First of all, I don't agree having you here, Ittohei (first class private) Sakurai. We are having problems with some of the platoons here so if you do the job Shosa Kimori wants you to do, I think it will cause more trouble."

The Captain came up close to Jun-seok, peering into his eyes as they were of the same height. "Do you think you can speak to your fellow stubborn-minded Koreans to stop killing the populace?"

Jun-seok was flabbergasted in so many levels with the Captain's question. Yes, he heard the blatant insult to his race but what perplexed him was the fact that they were killing people and he was challenged to stop them.

"I will do my very best, Captain.", Jun-seok said as firmly as he possibly could. He knew he wasn't as confident as he would've liked, especially in front of this man who has profound disdain of his presence.

"Tch.", the Captain muttered and sat back down. "Dozo", he said and offered the seat across his table for Jun-seok to sit on. "I have a lot to share regarding your orders. Sit."

They spoke for almost an hour about what Jun-seok was ordered to do. It involved him knowing all the Korean platoon leaders and soldiers in the camp.

Lieutenant Akagi aka Gang Cheol was the one the army had most trouble with. Since he was the only commanding officer in certain remote areas of the district, he was the one who gave orders of having several locals killed on the spot. He also executed them as well. Though he was diligent in following orders from up top, if he was the lone officer with his platoon, he would exercise brutality in the most horrid way. 

“Lieutenant Akagi's platoon is fiercely loyal to him because they are all Koreans. But a few follow him because they are afraid to be beaten up.”, the Captain said with a bit of displeasure. Jun-seok thought that the Captain probably had several issues with Lt. Akagi in the past. After all, the lieutenant reported to him. He must’ve been reprimanded before in not being able to keep Lt. Akagi in line, he thought.

"We are stern and brutal if we need to be, especially to set examples to the locals. But if we just randomly kill them, then it doesn't serve our purpose here. Plus the Shosa is friends with the Mayor and he needs to have the coffee fields removed so we can build the tarmac. But he can't just order them to be done or else he destroys the friendship he has with the Mayor."

"Why is the Shosa friends with the Mayor of the town?", Jun-seok asked.

"Wouldn't you be if the man saved your life?"

The Shosa was in camp the first few days he arrived to the country and then rebel forces infiltrated it. A bullet struck the Shosa's abdomen and was bleeding heavily. The Mayor was on his way to the camp since he was summoned minutes before the fighting broke out and to take cover, he went inside the tent where the Shosa was at. He saw him and instead of running away, he dragged him to a nearby jeep and drove to the town hospital and had him treated. If he didn't do that, the Shosa would've died.

"Since then, Shosa Kimori wants to respect the Mayor and his community's needs to keep the town's resources running and for them to keep supporting us. Akagi and his platoon's antics are ruining those chances."

Jun-seok assessed how dangerous this was going to be. He knew that he would have extreme difficulty dealing with Akagi-san if he found out that Jun-seok is really Kim Man-seok's son. He had to make sure they thought of him as purely Japanese. But he won't be able to communicate with them if that's the case; they would shut him out.

"Captain, none of them must ever know that I am Kim Man-seok's son." Jun-seok said hurriedly. "Or else I'll never get close to them."

The Captain nodded in agreement. “Yes, you would have that difficulty. We have to make sure they don’t know. Did your face appear in any of the photos in the newspaper?”

Jun-seok tried hard to remember. He knew it was only photos of his father and brother that appeared in the papers. Since he was younger then, his mother made sure that he was not exposed to the media as his father and brother were recovering in the hospital.

“No. I’m sure of it”, he replied to the Captain.

“Alright then. You are to mingle with the rest of the platoon and make sure to get the others soldiers to change their mind about Akagi so they will follow him less. If Akagi sees that his soldiers are not as loyal to him, he would be less confident and then we can easily move him out of the platoon. If we did that now, his platoon will rebel against the higher officers and we will never get anywhere. Knowing them, they would kill everyone on sight. And I don’t want to lose soldiers anymore by executing them. We still have the rebel factions to deal with and I have less troops as it is.”   

Jun-seok nodded and understood his orders. He also surmised that he had to be crafty to make this work. His life depended on it too. Looking at Captain Yuzawa, he wasn’t one who would accept failure. He wouldn’t hesitate to execute Jun-seok if he failed.

“Before we assign you to the barracks to meet the platoon, you will have to report to the Jun-i (Warrant Officer) Watanabe. He handles our military equipment and you’ll be reporting to him. He is aware of your ‘other’ mission and agreed to help you.”

Jun-seok’s face lit up as soon as the Captain mentioned about the warrant officer and the latter noticed. “Yes, you are getting what you wanted, private. We are not going to let your skills go to waste. After all, you are going to work to get that tarmac built - it’s only fitting you get to work with actual aircraft.”

“Yes, sir! You can count on me, sir!”, Jun-seok said, beaming because of this news.

“You are dismissed.” 

Jun-seok stepped out of the office and was given information by the other private outside. He had to pick up supplies from the local market and meet the warrant officer there.

He couldn’t contain his happiness with the news. Finally! I’ll be able to do what I really wanted to do.

Jun-seok was pleased and he did a bit of a skip as he was walking to the market. He was smiling to himself, thinking of what it would be like to get close to an actual fighter plane. “I hope I can work on a Zero* or even the new Hayate**! That would be so cool!”, he thought with a huge smile. 

He was jostled from his thoughts of fighter planes when he reached the market. It was a busy area that morning and he was surprised that a lot of the locals were there and it was pretty noisy. He noticed that the locals didn’t seem to be too scared of the soldiers here as they were also quietly mingling with them, buying produce and food. The locals were selling their wares of vegetables, fruits, rice and fish. The smell of coffee was pretty strong as there were stalls brewing coffee and selling coffee beans. 

He came upon one stall and looked at the beans being sold. They were of good quality and they smelled wonderful. A young man talked to him in broken Japanese, asking if he wanted some. He said yes and he was given a small bag of ground coffee. When he was about to pay, the man decline. “Muryo de (free of charge)! Ok?”, the man said.

He bowed and thanked the man. As he walked away, he put the bag near his nose. The coffee smelled so good and this made Jun-seok smile. But he stopped in his tracks when he was in front of the sundries store where he was to meet Warrant Officer Watanabe.

“There she is again.”, he muttered. He was looking at the young woman he saw earlier who helped the man who was beaten up by the soldier. She was still wearing the same clothes and the nice 1940s hairstyle she had. She was smiling and talking with a Japanese officer in a very respectful yet comfortable way. he could see that the officer was smiling and acknowledging her, pleased that they were conversing.

She was bowing slightly for every comment the officer gave and though she moved respectfully, he could see that she was comfortable in her own skin. Like she was not about to be bossed around. She was very confident, even though she was acting gracefully and respectfully towards the superior officer. 

“She really is beautiful.I wonder who she is.”, he thought, observing her intently.

He started walking towards her and the officer but as he was about to approach them, she started saying goodbye to the officer.

“Gokigen'yō, Jun-i! Atode mata hanashimashou!” (Have a nice day, Officer. Talk to you later!), the lady said to the officer and waved. She didn’t look where she was going and bumped into him, which startled her. 

“Ah, gomen nasai, Yakuin (I’m sorry, officer)!”, she said loudly and bowed her head low.

Jun-seok gave a short chuckle as soon as she bowed, finding her quick change of disposition amusing. Because of this, it made her look up quizzically.

“Daijobu desu (It’s fine).”, he said softly. This made her stand up straight and bowed slight before walking away quickly. 

He looked back as she walked away, quite curious about this beautiful woman who was sparky and exciting underneath the surface. And to his surprise again, she looked back at him with that intense stare before walking away.

“I will meet you again.”, he declared in his mind before his attention was called by someone.   

 - - - to be continued - - -

*Mitsubishi A6M fighter plane - used by the Japanese army from 1940 to 1945

**Nakajima Ki-84 - a well-known Japanese fighter plane introduced in WW II in November 1944

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Here is this week’s installement! We meet Mack! Or do we? I write for the enjoyment of @dirtystyles and @bleedinglove4h, but I hope other’s enjoy it too!

Summer’s Child- Chapter 8- Who Are You?

"Who's Mack?" That was the question of every hour by his second weekend in San Francisco.

Harry was really glad for his experiences at Woodstock, or he knew that the city would have been a huge shock for him. A huger shock. There were sights and sounds that were entirely new to him, like he was a farm boy new to the big city, even though he’d grown up going to a much bigger city. 

It was different from New York. New York was huge and chaotic and frenetic. The sights and sounds were things he’d experienced since he was a boy. And they differed to San Francisco, but mostly in New York he was a just another young person, not a de facto member of the counterculture.

Which he definitely seemed to be in San Francisco. He wasn't sure if it was his arrival at Haight Ashbury, his clothes, or his hair, but there was a definite us versus them feeling in the city. One group had open arms and a spliff to share, the other gave him a once over coupled with a sneer and saw no use for him.

Harry had always been a teacher favorite, and had never been around police except when they were peacekeeping and he was a member of the crowd, usually a small member of that crowd. Pandered to and played with.

Except the officer who had come to tell him and his father about his mother's accident. Harry knew his blue eyes with the kindly crinkles. He also remembered the harsh coffee smell of his breath and its sour words. He’d been so kind to Harry and Edward but there was no chance he’d be remembered fondly, not with the news he bore.

So, all the cops after that had an advantage. They weren't telling him his mother was dead and they immediately liked Harry, as adults had all of his life. 

The cops outside the flophouse he found himself in the first night hassled the hippies, Harry included. He'd thought the proverb about not trusting anybody over 30 was ridiculous until that first time he got pushed up against the wall and roughly frisked just for walking down a sidewalk. The cop had called him dirty, which he currently was, no denying it, from his long pilgrimage across country, and had made sure the stucco of the building bit into his face. It was unnecessary roughness and mean spirited for the sake of it. Harry’d be unlikely to seek out or even trust the uniform again after that, no matter the age of the officer. Strangely though, the officer and his actions had nothing on the people walking their small dogs in Golden Gate Park, where he found himself now.  If he wasn't waiting to find out who Mack was, apparently a legend in the district, he'd have left after the first well dressed, perfectly coiffed woman grabbed her purse tightly while she walked like her thighs were glued shut. He’d done nothing to any of these women, their purses were the last thing on his mind until they brought them to his attention. It was strange to him that their suspicion made him feel like he’d done something wrong. At least it was the cops job to confirm people were unarmed, which may have not been why they frisked him, but, these well heeled ladies had no reason to judge him, or those collecting around him.

Though he supposed a mass group of any kind drew eyes, especially a group of, well largely female hippies, dressed in light dresses and crochets. He didn’t get it though. How could you fear a girl with flowers in her hair? What did she threaten but your view of your past, or your way of life?

He was glad other people like him were coming, he felt like this was were he fit in now, not that he’d ever really. But, power in numbers. It calmed him down. He’d wanted to split, but after 9 days, this was his first lead on Jillian and he was gonna follow it. So far all of Cherie’s descriptors bore out. She was the first person who had recognized Jillian as more than a pretty girl in a photo.

That first night he and his passenger had wandered into a diner, the first one they'd seen. It was crawling with other late teens and early twenty somethings, in various states of dress and sobriety. Harry was hungry, his stomach fallow and gurgling, but his mind growled over the opportunity.

Harry had choked down a patty melt with a coke and pulled his picture out of his shirt pocket.

"Ah man!" The first guy he showed it to sounded promising. "That's one fine piece! You said she's your old lady? You guys looking for a love-in?"

Harry was so confused by the diatribe it took him a second to realize the guy had taken his picture and was showing it to the table, one guy let out a long whistle that woke Harry back up.

He got talking. He wasn’t here for a love-in. “No man, I'm looking for her, she ran away from home and sent me a postcard from here. Have you seen her? Any of you?"

"Nah, seen a lot of runaways, none that looked like her!" He shook his head and took another long look at the photo before handing it back. Harry wiped the picture of the guys prints andstopped for a second and stared too. He barely recognized himself. That Harry wouldn't be searching San Francisco, but that Harry was as close to Jillian as he'd ever been. He wanted to be him again. 

He nodded, "Yeah," came out like air from a balloon. "Thanks."

He asked the other tables. Nobody had any memory of her, least not one they copped to, and the first table had made him feel more worried for her. He thought hippie boys were supposed to be feminist. That had been Jillian’s conviction. That they’d know how to treat girls equally. 

Maybe you could put on the clothes of the new man, but keep the mentality of the past. Harry needed to go, there were other people to ask, who might not skeev him out. Maybe he’d ask mostly girls? He hoped she stuck to girls after that encounter. But would he scare the girls? 

Harry checked in with Allen, hugged him goodbye, wished him well and left. He hoped that this place had all the safety his companion was looking for. He hoped he’d somehow find out one day. He turned back as he held open the door and felt a little encouraged, Allen was sitting with a different group of young men, boys, and he was smiling, and eating fries off someone’s plate. 

Hippie hospitality?  Maybe when you had little, it was easier to share it. The breeze hit his face and Harry could smell the sea and a darker odor he’d smelled on some of the men inside. The air was a caress, and Harry followed it to what he hoped was Jillian.

There were people cruising the street, and Harry talked to as many as he could. He’d approach with a blank face; he was afraid a smile was too open, and was trying to keep the desperation off his face as well. He was received mostly openly, though the picture usually clammed people up, but the longhairs were hospitable in their way. He got offered weed and hash but it was the place to sit he took.

There were couches, on the street, people smoking and chatting. He sat down on the sofa and passed around the picture, nobody knew her, or admitted they did. Harry accepted the small rectangle back after it made its circumnavigation, and looked down, brushed a finger over it. Could you love a picture? If it was all you had left. He spaced out a little. Harry looked up then, there were eyes on him, no doubt, the weirdo misty eyed over a photo. Maybe he could blame the smoke?

Chrissy, the one who'd offered him a seat, smiled sadly at him. He didn't ask her who she was looking for, but he recognized a fellow seeker.

Later, it was Chrissy who woke him up. There were still voices in the street, but it was much later. He didn’t even recall laying down, let alone closing his eyes. He’d just felt safe, certainly safer than the naps in his truck cab in parking lots for big rigs or under bridges in the flats of the country. 

"Hey man, you have a place to sleep?" Harry thought about his room, all the way across the bay and shrugged. He did, but it was so far away.

"Cmon, you can crash on my couch, the guy who usually sleeps there is at a gig." She seemed like a caretaker, and he needed care.

He was too tired to dig deeper into that. The gig, or the guy.

He slept in his clothes, and when he woke up, it was to the smell of coffee.  There was a mug, with a chipped rim, but his metaphorical name on it. She also offered him a smile and shared her sandwich, offered him the diagonal piece on her plate.

He spent another day on the street with Chrissy helping him this time.

"Don't put up posters man, usually they have the opposite effect. People hide out or whatever, lots of kids here don't want to be found. But I can help you ask around. I know everybody, they trust me. See if anybody knows your Jillian."

That was when he was leaving, getting in his truck and heading back to Berkeley, finally, after a lost weekend searching. "What do I owe you?"

She'd fed him twice and given him a place to sleep and beat her feet up and down Haight Street looking with him.

"Nothing!" Harry furrowed his brow. He was about to protest when she lay a hand on his arm and he saw the tears cloud her eyes. " Maybe I'll ask you to return the favor sometime?" He kicked over his engine and Chrissy watched him drive away, he knew because she waved back when he hoisted his splayed fingers.

Harry wondered who she was looking for, but figured she’d share that with him when she was ready. He and others may already trust her, but maybe she didn’t trust them.

He settled in and ate three full meals with Professor McCreedy before his feet itched and his heartache flared.

The squat man looked much less like a professor to him than his father. He wore sandals and had a massive beard. He reminded Harry more of dwarf than a professor. But he was funny and smart.

But not smart enough to notice that Harry's mind was over the bay. Or that hearing about the professor's memories of Harry's "looker of a mother" made Harry jealous. He couldn’t remember what she looked like. What if he didn’t remember Jillian’s face, or her moans, or the sound of her laugh soon?

Harry didn't want to be rude, it was so amazing to have a house to stay in so close to campus, and essentially rent free, but he had other places to be, memory loss to prevent.

Harry assumed there would be some kind of work expected of him for his room and board. He was waiting for it, but Professor McCreedy never brought it up. It surprised Harry that he was hoping it would be physical labor when he got to it. When he helped his dad out, it was almost always bookish things.

Harry missed the horses, and the pitchfork, the mindless repetition. He was sick of thinking and fear. Hearing about his mother, it made him want to go out and get in his truck and keep looking. If he’d been restless for three months, now his body was as jittery as his mind. 

The first few days, Donald, as the professor insisted Harry call him, let him rest. Harry had looked haggard when he arrived, he knew it.He didn't need a mirror after seeing his host's face, but when he made it to the bathroom, he couldn’t miss it.He looked hollowed out and much older than 18. His hair was lank, there were plum colored smudges beneath his eyes, and his clothes looked grimy. He could see an oil stain from his patty melt days ago.

He used the toilet, and then popped out to grab clothing, so he could shower. He'd taken his case and motioned with his head. He was too tired to talk and received a limp salute in return. Harry gratefully took that as a yes.The shower washed off the three days of failure, the one week of anxiety as he hurtled across the country at 60 miles per hour, and the threat of dehydration as he swallowed the spray.

When he came out, he felt better, but resolute. He had all week to look. And another after that. And he'd made a friend who would help him, and introduce him around, so people trusted him. Harry would find her.

That was something he noticed, there was immediate inclusion but also distrust of newcomers. The dope on offer was both hospitality and a test.

He'd passed.

Then he passed out, from lingering effects. He woke up 14 hours later feeling better physically than he could really remember feeling since prom night. But he also felt like he was behind, like the hours he felt searching his dreamscape for answers had robbed him actual discovery.

He figured that was because he'd woken up chasing Jillian in his dreams. Everytime he got close, she'd turn into a bird and fly away. Once a hummingbird he couldn't quite catch though it hovered before him, then a dove, cooing at him, and then a mockingbird. It was the mockingbird that got him. It had been her favorite book in high school. He'd liked it too. It was one of the few non sci fi movies they went to the drive in for. 

The mockingbird, he waited for it to turn to him, and it repeated Jillian to him when he tried to capture it. It had her eyes. The birds voice was hers, calling her own name. When he asked where she was, it said, "here." And flew away from him, across the bay, north.

He'd startled awake, ready to fly himself. He pulled on some clothes and left with a simple wave over his shoulder. He couldn’t eat, his stomach roiled, and he put no trust in his voice.

He didn't mean to be weird. But she'd said here and then flown away. It was an invitation.

He just didn't have the address for the party.

It took him another couple weeks to find it.

He'd been smoking with a new group of friends, well Chrissy's friends. It was relaxed, the grass and sitar music doing its job. "Hey man, you have that picture on you?" Chrissy suddenly asked.

He almost laughed. He always had that picture on him. He didn't sleep with it under his pillow or anything. And Harry didn't kiss it goodnight, well maybe just once, but he had it. He'd stopped showing it around suspiciously, because even though he was looking more and more like a young person who frequented the Haight, he was occasionally sniffed out as new by the actual young people of the district. Showing the picture right away made it worse, then they knew, and grew more suspicious of him. Like he was a narc, which he had come to know was a very bad thing.

He quirked a brow at Chrissy, she was good people, and she laughed. She knew he had it.

The picture was holding up pretty well, he'd taken to holding the edges and people followed suit, most of the wrinkles came from the first day, at the diner.

It had gotten better since then.

He handed the picture to the guy on his left. "Hey man, you ever seen this girl?" 

He whistled. "Nah man, she your old lady?"

Harry had stopped even trying to answer that one, so he shrugged. And the picture went from person to person. Once again, nobody seemed to recognize Jillian.

He knew she'd been here, he couldn't fathom her being anywhere and not being memorable to the people around her. Harry was fairly sure nobody else had eyes when he was near her.

He took the joint coming to him and sucked in a harsh breath to fill his lungs with smoke in the way Ronnie had taught them. He held the joint between his thumb and hand, keeping it tucked into his palm. Ronnie’d learned that from an old lady in Kathmandu  and came back to teach them instead of brag, essentially doing both. It made the joint less conspicuous until cops learned the trick.

It was a let down now.

The smoke didn't burn like it used to. He'd stopped coughing until his eyes watered a while ago. He'd nearly puked at Woodstock the first time, he'd coughed so hard.

Now he bong ripped with the best of them, when somebody was as posh enough to have a glass pipe.

He was sharing a bowl with a girl when the picture made it back to him. He’d been having a good day. Somebody had shown him how to use a magnifying glass to light the bowl, a solar she’d called it,. The science geek in him, left behind at graduation but soon to be resurrected, loved it. Cherie, the girl, who was patiently waiting for him to take his second hit with her hand extended for the lighter took the photo because his hands were full.

"Oh wow, man! I know your old lady!"

By force of habit Harry countered, "She's not my old lady." Before the words set in. "Wait! What?"

"I know this girl! We shared a flop for a week about a month ago. She was quiet, kinda dreamy, best tits I've ever seen in real life."

Harry shook off the first question that came into his head then. "Was she ok?" He asked instead. He almost dropped the e bong when he reached for Cherie's hands. "Was she alone? Waiting for somebody?"

"Nah man, I don't know about that." She shrugged. “She was working at the diner on the corner down the street. Seemed to eat there a lot. She partied but never got sloppy." She tilted her head. "She kinda kept to herself, but we'd dance most nights, she liked to dance and sing." She took a hit then, held in the smoke, started talking while releasing. "Come to think of it, I think that's how she got mixed up with that church. Some girl we were dancing with one night."

"What? A church?" He could remember when Jillian stopped going to vacation bible school because she’d overheard the teacher talking about the smell of her mother's breath. He'd quit then too.

"Yeah! Well, a kinda church. Bunch of hippie girls dancing around and handing out flowers on street corners, but that's on account of Mack." She chuckled while she leisurely took her second hit and he wanted to shake her shoulders.

Wait. "Who's Mack?" Harry had that feeling he'd had when he dreamed Jillian was in love. 

"Oh man, he's the dreamy preacher! Not like movie star looks, but he'd got like a Jagger charisma, and he's hot! His eyes are so intense.” She focused on her memory until he jostled her shoulder. “Like kinda clean cut for me, but I even went to the service after that girl Rhiannon told me about him. I had to see what all the fuss was about.”

"They still hang around with the flowers? In the park?" It was a lead! His first real one.

She let out her smoke in rings. He didn't know that trick. "Yeah, dude! You look like you just found a fix! They still do, I haven't seen her in a while though, like a couple weeks. Not even at the service the first time. But I think he keeps ‘em outta the city when they first join.”

"Where though, where did you see her?" He ignored the kidnapping comment. 

"Down at Golden Gate Park. For fellowship!" She said like it was obvious.

He didn't know what that meant. But he got to his real question. "When do they do that?"

"Every Sunday, sometimes Friday nights too, but they call that one worship." She screwed up her eyes. “Just sing then, groovy songs, change some of the words from the Beatles to talk about Jesus, I think.”

She kept talking, but he wasn’t listening. He was planning.

Friday night, he found himself anxiously waiting at Golden Gate Park. Young people, mostly pretty girls were coalescing.

None of the guys seemed like Mack, not even the tall man in the hat near the flower painted platform up front. He had a guitar strapped to him, and a few chicks hanging near him, he was letting one stroke his strings. 

But Harry didn't think he was Mack.

Who's Mack? Where's Jillian? 

Those were his thoughts for another hour, plus the last two days. The group had grown slowly and then all at once. Now, the hat guy was going around playing and the circle of dancers was widening.

Suddenly, the guitar and it's holder hopped onto the back of the 4 x 4 platform. He struck a cord and the whole group got into formation and looked up. 

Harry found his body doing it to, and the scent he’d come to know as patchouli got stronger. He realized the front row had incense burners. 

Harry wasn't sure where the strong jawed man came from, he seemed to have just appeared. The apparition was being lifted onto the platform by ten barefoot girls in long white dresses wearing flower crowns before he realized someone new had arrived.

[kitsune-kirei]

Neverending Survey: Kirei Meztli

RULES: Repost, do not reblog. Tag 10 blogs! (Or as many as you’d like)

Tagged by: @lightofthecrystal, @elegie-de-sang, @ataki-yuuto, and @lillies-n-lilacs, thank you for tagging me​, It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these!

Tagging: @gaillaffxiv, @infiniteleftdoesffxiv, @sparrow-ffxiv, @fensa-valehart, @mai-takeda, @seina-kurokiba, @gaggle-of-dorks-ffxiv, @jorandalkitor, @thesinsofgreed

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Kirei Meztli ( @kitsune-kirei )

NICKNAME:  Kitsune, Kitsu, Rei, The Firefox.

AGE:  Unknown, looks in her 20′s or 30′s. 

BIRTHDAY: Unknown.

ETHNIC GROUP: Half Hyur, Half Doman .

NATIONALITY: Ul’dahian, Doman.

LANGUAGE/S: Hingan, Eorzean.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Quoiromantic (thank you for this term Spurrow)

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Complicated as fuck.

HOME TOWN / AREA:  Yanxia, deep within the bamboo forests. 

CURRENT HOME:  A hidden cave in the Mists. The location is unknown, except to those Kirei has become dedicated to.

PROFESSION: Flower arranger/seller, deliverer, information broker, exorcist, spy. 

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Curly, wavy, and messy, fire orange in color, recently cut to cheek length. 

EYES: Peculiar lavender eyes.  

FACE: Almost doll-like and delicate in appearance, sometimes covered in dirt. 

LIPS: A bit pouty, rarely wears lip-paint.   

COMPLEXION: Olive, dewy.

BLEMISHES: A mole on the left side of her chin. 

SCARS: Small, barely noticeable scars mar her entire body. 

TATTOOS: None, sometimes Kirei will mess with Henna. 

HEIGHT: 5′6, pretty tall for a Miqo’te.

BUILD: Skinny, lanky, tall. 

FEATURES: Foxlike ears and a foxlike tail. 

ALLERGIES: None.

USUAL FACE LOOK: Neutral, melancholic, bright, friendly, ever present smile. 

USUAL CLOTHING: Practical clothing on the skin-showing side. 

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S:  Losing sense of taste, hands and feet being cut off, feeling trapped.

ASPIRATION/S: To liberate every single slave under the Echion slave branch, to understand what it means to be human.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Empathetic, helpful, friendly, dedicated worker, passionate, self sacrificing, able to look at the bigger picture, peacekeeper.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Self sacrificing, self pitying, generous to the point of poverty, feral, half truths, holds too many secrets.

TEMPERAMENT: Phlegmatic- individuals tend to be relaxed, peaceful, quiet, and easy-going. They are sympathetic and care about others, yet they try to hide their emotions. Melancholic-  individuals tend to be analytical and detail-oriented, and they are deep thinkers and feelers. 

SOUL TYPE/S:  The Shaman- This type of soul is wise and old. They can give great advice as well as truly connect with people around them. Others often feel better in their presence.

ANIMALS: Fox, Deer, Otter.

VICE HABIT/S: Smoking, drugs every so often, having strong urges to dig holes in the ground out of nowhere, toxic relationships, succumbs to feral instincts every now and then. 

FAITH: Loose faith in Kami/ Shinto.

GHOSTS?: Yes, Kirei can communicate to spirits and sense ones nearby.

AFTERLIFE?: Yes. 

REINCARNATION?: Yes. Kirei has brief episodes where she gets feelings from her last lifetime, and rarely, will share a familiar feeling among people she had been acquainted with in her past life. 

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Taught to read and write, self studying.

FAMILY.

FATHER: R’ihan Meztli - Estranged, Keeper of the Moon. Kirei traveled with her father in Thanalan for a while before he ultimately sold her to a slaver. Spent his life work searching for a powerful Kami in the east. 

MOTHER: Leiote Sekai - Deceased, Doman Hyur. Leiote was a Geiko in Hingashi, and was well known for her ethereal presence, beauty, and kindness. She was ultimately charmed by the outsider R’ihan Meztli, and they both moved back to her home village in Yanxia to start a family. 

SIBLINGS: Kaeyu Meztli - Half sibling, half Keeper half Seeker.  Kaeyu and Kirei don’t know the other exists. Kaeyu has a reputation for being rather rambunctious and a trouble maker. 

EXTENDED FAMILY: Kirei has family on her mother’s and father’s side, but she doesn’t know anything about them, or there whereabouts. 

NAME MEANING/S: Kirei (きれい)- The Hingan word for ‘pretty’, or ‘beautiful’. It has been heavily implied to Kirei by others, that she was named after her mother’s beauty and kindness in hopes that she would inherit these traits. 

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: None.

FAVORITES.

BOOK: A Hingan child’s book called ‘The Tale of Mohatsu-Otome’, otherwise known as the Eastern version of Rapunzel. 

DEITY: None.

HOLIDAY: Moonfire Faire.

MONTH: Fall seasons.

SEASON: Autumn.

PLACE: The astral plane, various hidden nooks and crannies throughout Eorzea, Doman bath houses, hot springs. 

WEATHER: Sunny with a chill in the air, warm desert days, rainy.

SOUND / S: Ethereal singing, the singing of lesser nature spirits within the woods, wind chimes, ocean waves, water, the rustle of leaves in the wind. 

SCENT / S: Incense, tobacco, fresh unpicked flowers, old tomes, herbs, fresh baked bread, tea. 

TASTE / S: Peaches, apples, fresh sweet cream.

FEEL / S: Soft and bristly fur, warmth, fresh snow, crunchy leaves, fine sand, hot rocks, pebbles.

ANIMAL / S: Goobbue, Tortoises, smaller creatures.

NUMBER: 3, 6, 9, 33.

COLORS: Rich purple, pink, light/bright blue, green. 

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Dancing, healing, cooking, making shitty looking but durable furniture, sewing, manipulation, twin daggers, aether control.

BAD AT: Lying, drawing, staying clean, writing.

TURN ONS: Charming cockiness, depth, intensity, shoulders, meaningful words, white eyes, dark eyes, smirks, someone who can figure her out, making her laugh, a nice voice.

TURN OFFS: Simple minds, tunnel vision, someone who doesn’t listen to her words, racism, un-needed/careless violence and aggression, calling her a ‘cat’, unflattering colors, self absorbed.

HOBBIES: Flower frolicking, cooking, traveling, swimming, making junk, people watching.

TROPES: Girl next door, Hippie, Undere/Yandere

QUOTES: 

“I want to understand... The weight of a human life.” 

“We need to keep moving forward. We have our eyes in the front for a reason after all, there is no point in looking back to the past.” 

“I take a hold of my fate with my own two hands. I will not leave things to chance.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?

A1 : I’m not sure about the title, but it would definitely have to be an animated film. And It would probably be about Kirei’s backstory and about her parents. There’s a lot of details about her past that I don’t get to touch on too much in RP. 

Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like?

A2 : Something that would invoke a lot of emotion if possible. Ghibli/Disney-esque would be awesomeeee.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?

A3 : Long story short, something happened to me while visiting Japan that gave me inspiration to write Kirei. Close friends know the entire story, but its a bit long and wild. I’ll just say it involves a Fox shrine I ran into!

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?

A4 : Besides the thing that happened in Japan, I wanted a character where I was able to express my interest in things like shamanism and the spirit world. I also was really attracted to the idea of writing a character that was still kind to others even though she has no reason to be, due to the rough life she lived. 

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : I’m a really open person who likes to approach people to start conversations, but Kirei is the opposite of that. It makes it a bit harder to approach in RP since I wrote her to be a wallflower. She’s also much more reserved than I am, so if there’s a wild scene happening in RP that I would like to get in on, I really can’t on Kirei since she’s not one to participate in things unless asked. 

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse?

A6 : Probably too much in hindsight rofl. Kirei is the first RP character I ever wrote, so I gave her a lot of commonalities from myself so it would be easier to write her and learn how to RP. 

Q7 :  How does your muse feel about you?

A7 : She would probably tell me that I’m trying my best, but she thinks that with most! 

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?

A8 : A whole other side of Kirei comes out if she interacts with manipulative/cunning characters, and I really enjoy writing that darker side of her that appears. 

Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?

A9: A big inspiration for the core of Kirei is Tohru Honda from Fruits Basket (if you couldn’t tell but all the fruits basket stuff I reblog). I just loved how she was written, and how she stayed kind despite her hard life, and I loved her layers and how she viewed others. Tohru gave me a lot if inspiration to be kind to others growing up, Kirei is really just a homage to her. 

Q10: How long did this take you to complete ?

A10: TOO LONG, I worked on it on and off throughout the week. 

Thanks for reading if you stuck around this long! 

[thedeaditeslayer]

Bob Dorian, actor and magician who introduced classic films on AMC, dies at 85.  

While we are late in sharing this, we would like to share our condolences to the friends and family of Bob Dorian, the original professor Knowby.  Sam Raimi had actually paid him only $100 to record his lines for The Evil Dead. He will surely be missed. You can read the article below. 

Bob Dorian, an actor, magician and avuncular movie buff who presented more than 10,000 classic films, B-movie serials and pre-Code Hollywood gems as the first prime-time host of American Movie Classics, died June 15. He was 85, although he often said he preferred to give his age by way of film history, declaring that he was “born between ‘Flying Down to Rio’ and ‘Top Hat.’ ”

His daughter Melissa Dorian confirmed the death but did not say precisely where or how he died, noting that the family prepared only a two-line obituary in keeping with his desire for privacy.

Mr. Dorian performed on the stage, radio, television and occasionally on film, appearing in two movies by one of his favorite contemporary directors, Woody Allen, and lending his voice to Sam Raimi’s 1981 horror classic “The Evil Dead” as an archaeologist whose tape-recorded readings from an ancient text summon demonic spirits to a cabin in the woods.

Bespectacled and bushy-browed, he began acting at 14; dabbled in stand-up comedy and trapeze-catching at the circus; played the bass in a New York jazz group, the Four Dimensions; and performed mind-reading tricks and other illusions as the Amazing Dorian, sometimes incorporating his wife and three daughters into his act.

“Women, cars — you name it and I’ve floated it,” he told The Washington Post in 1991, describing his powers of levitation. A magic performance he once gave in Saudi Arabia, he added, drove his audience from the room because “they thought I was doing the devil’s art.”

[He’s an expert, yes, but first, he’s a fan: Bob Dorian at AMC]

Mr. Dorian appeared in a 1976 television special alongside magicians David Copperfield and Carl Ballantine, but became far better known as the principal host of American Movie Classics, later shortened to AMC. The network launched in 1984 as a premium-cable showcase for old films, presenting movies without cuts or commercials a decade before the creation of Turner Classic Movies, the channel’s main competitor.

Although he was later joined by daytime hosts Gene Klavan and Nick Clooney, Mr. Dorian was “the heart and soul of AMC,” Los Angeles Times journalist Susan King wrote in 2002, about one year after Mr. Dorian left the network. His departure coincided with sweeping programming changes at AMC, where old movies were replaced with contemporary films and, eventually, original series such as “Mad Men.”

During his tenure, Mr. Dorian introduced movies with a two-minute segment filmed at a living-room set, where he roamed between bookshelves, a black Maltese falcon statue, and portraits of stars Jean Harlow and Hedy Lamarr.

Regaling viewers with Hollywood history and behind-the-scenes trivia, he explained how the filmmakers of “Casablanca” wrote the script as the movie was being made; how Bette Davis landed the lead role in “All About Eve” only after Claudette Colbert suffered a cracked vertebra while filming “Three Came Home”; and how no fewer than 188 actors had played the roles of Sherlock Holmes and his assistant, Dr. Watson.

While TCM host Robert Osborne was an urbane film historian, Mr. Dorian insisted that he was little more than a movie fan. “We never use tape-overs,” he told the Dallas Morning News in 1994, explaining his process. “If I make a mistake, we leave it in. I want to seem like a human being who enjoys movies, not a superior professor talking down to an audience.”

He recalled that he got the AMC hosting job in large part through chance, when he met a producer in the early 1980s after being cast as Dracula in a television ad for a video game. “It was a very long two-day shoot, with most of my time spent in a tight coffin filled with way too much smoke,” he told GoFatherhood, a parenting blog. “Lunchtime usually lapsed into long conversations about all those great old movies the producer and I enjoyed when we were growing up.”

The producer, Norm Blumenthal, later helped start AMC, and asked Mr. Dorian if he would be interested in serving as an announcer. Executives were considering “two Broadway actors, a well-known TV film critic and a few others who were more involved in writing as a profession,” Mr. Dorian said.

After Mr. Dorian was suggested as half of a Siskel-and-Ebert-style duo, one executive purportedly had a breakthrough. “Wait a minute,” Mr. Dorian recalled his saying. “The critic might not be too crazy about some of the films we’ve brought in. This guy Dorian likes everything!”

Indeed, he favored classics such as “Citizen Kane” and “King Kong” as well B-movie serials such as “Zombies of the Stratosphere,” encouraging viewers to give the 1952 science-fiction film a try — if only because it featured Leonard Nimoy, who later played the pointy-eared Spock, in a supporting role as a Martian.

Mr. Dorian was born in Brooklyn in April 1934, two months after the release of “It Happened One Night.” He rarely discussed his upbringing, aside from recounting the Saturdays he spent evading matrons at local movie theaters, where he watched three or more films for the price of a dime.

He later worked as a theater usher, a job that enabled him to catch 86 screenings of the swashbuckling 1950 film “Cyrano de Bergerac,” and appeared in television shows such as “Suspense” and “Studio One,” according to one Washington Post report.

Mr. Dorian performed in the Allen movies “The Curse of the Jade Scorpion” (2001) and “Hollywood Ending” (2002), along with an independent Civil War film, “The Last Confederate” (2005). He was also a mainstay of regional theater productions — including at the Paper Mill Playhouse in Millburn, N.J. — before retiring to Florida in recent years.

Survivors include his wife of 65 years, Jane Dorian; three daughters, Melissa Dorian, Robin Dorian and Jane Dorian; and two grandchildren.

Mr. Dorian likened his work at AMC as that of a historian or archivist, keeping old films alive for younger generations. But he seemed to find equal — if not greater — delight in his theatrical performances, notably in a 1998 touring production of “The Wizard of Oz,” during which he served as the understudy to the wizard, played by Mickey Rooney, and began the show as Dorothy’s Uncle Henry.

“Then we go through the tornado scene,” he told the New York Times , explaining his transformation into a new character. “I’m upstairs becoming a citizen of Oz, and I come out a little bit later when the Winkies are working for the Wicked Witch. I’m the head Winkie. We hired a line of Broadway ensemble dancers to be the Winkies, and I kept saying, Couldn’t you put me behind these people?”

[collecting-stories]

St Pat’s Day | Murphy MacManus

I’m so excited that you’re going to start writing again! I have a Boondock Saints request if you’re up for it. Can you do #29 & 68 from your prompt list with Murphy? Thanks!

St Patrick’s Day - Murphy MacManus

Whatever entertainment Doc had intended the television to play that evening was ineffective in capturing any of the patrons’ attentions. Instead the crowd, who’d come in for St. Paddy’s Day, were too busy shouting over each other. Most days the bar was scarce, only the true drunks coming in to sit at the counter and talk about the good old days with Doc. A couple younger men were among them, Irish enough to be counted as equals in their far off tales of the motherland.  

You were just Irish enough to be hired by Doc but not Irish enough to take part in their conversations. Both your parents were from the Emerald Isle but you had never been fortunate enough to visit.  

“As long as you look pretty pouring our drinks!” One of the older men was always quick to point out whenever the question of your authenticity arose.  

“I’ll have you know I look pretty all the time.” You would tease, prompting a response from one of the two younger men who frequented the pub.  

Murphy McManus would lean over the counter, look you right in the eyes, and say something along the lines of “I’ll say” before being pulled away from you by the collar. Always by his brother Connor.  

Tonight there were too many non-Irish to matter who was what and you’re usual job of tending the bar was traded in for something akin to waitressing the room. You took drink orders and balanced a tray on your shoulder, careful of anyone who might be too drunk to handle themselves. All the while you kept an eye out for Murphy and Connor, though more so the former than the latter. Connor seemed alright and he was nice looking but there was just something about Murphy and you couldn’t help feeling that something was mutual.  

“There she is!” Rocco shouted, giving you all of a split second to register his presence before you were being grabbed around the waist and pulled backward into him.

“You’re lucky I didn’t have drinks in my hand!” You chastised when he let go of you, giving you the chance to turn around and meet actually look at him. “Where are your partners in crime?”  

“Don’t say that so loud!” Rocco stressed, his face paling as he looked frantically around the room.  

“It’s a figure of speech Rocco.” You rolled your eyes at him and started back toward the bar. You’d been here last St Paddy’s Day and when news stories about what was happening in Boston after those mobsters were found in an alley you put two and two together fairly quick. Plus, Murphy had asked you to hang on to some rather expensive watches.  

“Just fer a couple a months, then they’re forgotten about and ye could pawn ‘em for a trip home.” Had been his reasoning for giving them to you.  

“I’m not going to jail for you Murphy,” you had replied, tempted to add that he hadn’t even taken you on a date and he was asking you to stash contraband.  

“I’d never put ya in harm’s way lass, trust me.”  

You did a quick scan of the crowded bar one more time as you poured Rocco a drink. They’d been in last night, and every other night this week, and Murphy has promised to see you tonight. Not that it meant anything especially important. He saw you every time he came in. And you knew they wouldn’t miss St Paddy’s Day at Doc’s. So where they were you couldn’t fathom.

Rocco let out a short laugh, watching you’re expression change as the door opened and the McManus brothers walked in. He didn’t even need to look behind him to know what was happening, the smile on your face gave it away immediately.  

“Oh my god you’re in love.” Rocco snorted, causing you to snap your attention back to him.  

“Shut up!” You leaned across the bar and smacked his arm.  

“I thought I was the only one who got smacks!” Connor laughed, coming up behind Rocco and putting his hands on his best friend’s shoulders. “Ya been cheating on me?”  

Murphy took up the seat beside Rocco, glancing over at his brother and then you, “kindly tell my younger brother that yer spoken fer.”  

“Younger! Mam said I was the oldest.”  

“She made it very clear that I was.” Murphy replied.  

“She said that whoever-“  

“Boys!” You shouted to get their attention, laughing when all three men looked at you. “Who spoke for me?”  

“What now?” Murphy asked, looking over at you a bit bewildered.  

“You said I’m spoken for but last I checked no one has spoken for me so I’m wondering where you got that information.”  

Murphy recovered rather quickly, leaning his elbows on the counter so he could get closer to you, “I have, obviously.”  

You managed to keep your composure as you leaned in close to him, the bright blue of his eyes anchoring you. His mouth quirked up in a smug smile and thought of the only comeback that would knock him down a peg, if only so you could build him back up. “What if I like Connor more?”

Connor was quick to dart around Rocco and shove his brother aside, smiling at you, “always knew ya had the hots for me lass.” He teased, knowing full well that you had a thing for his brother. And that Murphy had a thing for you too.  

“Ya’ve got ta be joking!” Murphy protested, shoving against his brother to try and regain his seat. “Have ya seen this one? Ya can’t possibly like him!”  

“I said what I said.” You replied, looking down the bar when your name was called, “now, I’ve got customers boys.”  

Murphy watched you walk to the other end of the bar before shoving his brother as hard as possible, knocking Connor off the seat. “Fucking cunt.”

It was halfway through the night that you managed to find your way back to Murphy. Not that you both hadn’t done your fair share of sneaking glances. Or in Murphy’s case, blatantly twist his chair around to watch you while you waited on other tables. When you finally came back over to them you stood at the other side of the bar, between Rocco and Murphy’s barstools. You put your tray down on the counter and leaned your head against your arms, your feet hurt and people were being especially not-friendly tonight.  

“Ya alright there lass?” Murphy asked, hand rubbing up and down your back as he leaned in close to you.  

“I could use a good nap or something to de-stress.” You replied, standing back up straight and turning to look at Rocco and Connor. Murphy’s hand stayed on your back and he swivelled his chair to face you as you naturally stepped back into the space between his legs.  

“Murph’s got something you can de-stress on!” Connor joked, causing his brother’s face to go red.  

“Aye, shut up you fuck!” Murphy shouted back.  

“He certainly de-stresses to the thought of ya! He calls yer name so much I’m half convinced he’s praying to ya!” Connor continued, unfazed by his brother’s growing annoyance.  

“Connor!”

You were pushed forward into Rocco when Murphy jumped off his seat and went around to his brother, knocking him from his stool again. As he pushed him against the counter Connor made a grab for Murphy’s arms to keep his brother from whacking him. Other patrons that were directly around them stepped back, not wanting to involve themselves in the brothers’ quarrel.  

“Hey!” Doc hit the bar top with the bat he kept behind the counter, “knock it off! Fuck! It’s fucking St Paddy’s Day! Shit...ass...fuck! Quit fighting!”  

“Sorry Doc,” Connor replied, having caught Murphy in a headlock and having the upper hand for the moment, “Murphy here is just pissed his girl doesn’t like him.” 

“Would ya fuck off!” Murphy shouted, weaselling his way out of Connor’s grip and shoving his brother one last time. “Bunch a’ fucking pricks.” He huffed and then took off for the door, already lighting a cigarette.  

“I’m taking my ten minutes Doc.” You were halfway to the door as you called to your boss over your shoulder.  

“Careful! The brick out there is a lot more uncomfortable than it looks!” Connor shouted and you flipped him off as you walked out the door.  

Murphy was standing in the alley, cigarette hanging from his lips and hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. He turned his head at the sound of your footsteps on the pavement. “Can I bum a cigarette off you?” You asked.  

He took the cigarette out of his mouth and held it out to you, “I only got the one left, I’ll split it though.”  

“Okay.” Sharing a cigarette shouldn’t have made you as happy as it did but you couldn’t help it. “You remember New Year’s?” You asked, passing the cigarette back.  

Murphy had been flirting something awful on New Year’s Eve. The bar had been packed like tonight and every time you walked passed he brushed your arm or you bumped his leg. At one point he’d gotten you by the pool table, claiming he needed you take his order though it wasn’t beers he was asking for when he whispered in your ear. You’d been giddy all night then, especially after he told you he wanted to spend the end of the year, and the beginning of the next, with you.

He’d bummed a cigarette off you at the time, promising to share it with you if you came over. You’d waited a good thirty minutes outside the pub after your shift before your toes started to feel frozen in your shoes and you’d walked home alone. He never mentioned it the next night when he came in with Connor and, based on the way he continued to flirt with you, you chalked it up to them doing something you could get in trouble for knowing about.  

“Yeah,” Murphy replied, voice sounding less confident than it had inside, the words mixing with the smoke from his cigarette. “Connor and I got caught up in something.”  

“I figured...you got something tonight?” You asked, flirting was only useful if it worked and since it hadn’t last time you decided that being direct was the way to go.  

“Nah, unless ya count the possible murder a Connor.” He grumbled, still sour at his brother.  

“You could avoid murder charges and spend the night at my place?” You offered, “my roommate’s off visiting her parents.”  

“Yeah?” The smug little smile was back as he passed you the cigarette. “Thought ya ‘had the hots’ for me brother.”  

You put the end of the cigarette out on the bricks before grabbing Murphy’s jacket collar and pulling him into a kiss. Beer and tobacco were about the only thing you could taste as his hands gripped your hips and pressed you back into the wall. Connor was right, the bricks weren’t as nice as they looked. When he pulled away for a breath Murphy leaned his forehead against yours, eyes soft and smile on his face.  

“How long’s Doc making ya stay tonight?” He asked, tilting his head and kissing your neck and collar, taking advantage of the fact that you’d followed him out here without a coat on. Though he was holding you so close that you could practically fit inside his coat with him.  

“Till closing...you better not give me a hickey or Rocco’ll be saying shit all night.” You laughed, tapping the back of his head when he stayed too long on a particular spot.  

“So what?” He kissed you on the mouth again.  

“Aye lovebirds! Stop fucking in the alley, break’s up and I want a Guinness!” Connor’s voice carried from the door, startling you and causing Murphy to drop his head to your shoulder as a string of expletives left his mouth.  

“We’re coming!”

“I’m sure you are lass but are you planning on joining us again or not?” He joked.  

Murphy led you back inside, his hand in yours as he walked passed his brother. With one last kiss you pulled yourself away from him, going back to work. This time he stayed, sitting at the bar, still watching you as you served customers. Rocco and Connor stuck around to drink and to pester Murphy, making fun of him for hanging around the bar waiting on you.  

“Don’t be jealous just cause you aren’t getting any Connor.” You joked as you refilled their beers.  

“I get plenty.” Connor replied.  

“Yeah when?” Murphy asked, leaning over to look at his brother, “ya forget I live with ya. Ain’t never seen ya bring anyone home.”  

“Honestly, I’m gonna bring Rocco home if you both don’t stop.” You replied, shooting Murphy a wink.  

“Yeah?” Murphy replied, taking the bait, “come ‘ere.”  

You moved down the bar so you were right across from him and leaned in close, “what?”  

Murphy put his hands on the counter, pushing himself up enough that he could lean all the way across the bar to kiss you.

“Hey, save that shit for Valentines!” One of the regulars shouted down the bar.  

You laughed and pulled away, “almost closing,” you promised.  

Once anyone paying was gone, including Connor and Rocco, though not before they got in a few more jokes, Murphy stepped out to have another cigarette while you finished locking everything up.  

“Thought you only had the one.” You’d pointed out as he took a whole pack out of his pocket.  

“Nah, ya always waste ‘em when I give ya yer own.” He replied.  

“I do not!” Though you knew it was true, you only ever smoked half the cigarette before putting it out and then being subjected to a long lecture about wastefulness from Murphy.  

He waited outside for you, just like he said he would this time. When you came out of the bar you had your jacket on this time, locking the door behind you before turning to Murphy. He stood at the edge of the sidewalk across from the door, smiling at you.

“Could you hold my hand?” You asked, as you both began to walk back to your apartment, thinking of how nice it felt earlier in the alley when he’d held your hand and wanting to be as close to him as possible.  

“Give it ‘ere,” he reached over, grasping your hand in his and letting you lead him home.

Norman Reedus is lucky he’s cute because his Irish accent is shit.