#fossilised teeth

[d-z20]

Her Game, Your Rules (NSFW)

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: To stop your family's reputation burning to the ground you are forced to marry Rio Vidal, an old money type of rich CEO who seems to be on a mission to make your life hell

-OR-

You end up snapping and fuck Rio to get your frustrations out.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Reader, Bratty Rio, biting, marking, fingering (Rio recv), fisting, dom brat-tamer reader, seriously it's just rough smut, maybe some plot if you squint

Words: 3.6k

A/N: At the time of writing this, I am under the influence of christmas spirits (read vodka and mulled wine) and so this is a little self induldgent and I apologise for any typos oops

AO3 | Masterlist

Your family’s fall from grace is like a slow-motion train wreck—every headline, every whispered scandal, is another crack in your once-unshakeable reputation. The solution comes as a cruel irony: an arranged marriage. Not to just anyone, but to Rio Vidal.

She’s untouchable, the CEO of a sprawling conglomerate with roots so deep in old money they’re practically fossilised. Her power is absolute, her public image flawless, and her demeanor? Smug. To her, this marriage is nothing but a game, another business deal where she holds all the cards.

The first time she calls you pet, it’s during the engagement photoshoot. The photographer adjusts your pose—her arm around your waist, her hand resting at the curve of your hip—and she leans in, her voice low and taunting. “Smile, pet. You wouldn’t want them to think you’re unhappy with me, would you?”

Her hand squeezes the flesh of your hip and you almost snap.

It only gets worse after the wedding. Rio is everywhere—her presence suffocating yet calculated, as though she knows exactly how to push your buttons without ever truly crossing a line. At home, in the shared penthouse you can’t even call yours, she lounges with infuriating ease. She’s always perfectly put-together: designer suits, expensive perfumes, and that perpetual smirk.

“You’re tense again,” she says one evening from the couch, sipping her wine like a queen on her throne. “Is it me, or are you trying not to stare?”

You grit your teeth. If she notices how often your fists clench, she doesn’t let it show.

Tonight is no different. A high-profile business dinner sees you both playing the part of the perfect power couple. Rio dazzles the room effortlessly, sliding her hand into yours with calculated affection as though it’s second nature. Her teasing words are quiet, meant only for you.

“Careful with that scowl, pet,” she murmurs while brushing non-existent lint from your jacket. “You’ll ruin the illusion.”

By the time you return to the penthouse, you’re simmering. The space feels colder than usual, and Rio only adds to it as she strides inside like she owns not just the apartment but the entire city. She shrugs off her coat and tosses it onto a chair without looking back at you.

“You were quiet tonight,” she says, her voice laced with that familiar condescension. She turns just enough to meet your gaze, and there it is—that smug little smile. “I’d almost think you were enjoying my company.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, but it’s exactly what she wants.

Rio’s smile widens as she steps closer, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. She stops right in front of you, impossibly composed as always, and tilts her head like she’s sizing you up. Her eyes glint with something sharp, something knowing.

“Oh? Is that irritation I hear, pet?” She purrs, voice low and teasing. “It’s adorable how hard you try to keep it together. But I see you, you know. You hate how much I get under your skin.”

The change happens like lightning striking—quick, hot, and inevitable. Before you realise it, you’ve grabbed her wrist and spun around, slamming her back against the closed door. The sound echoes through the penthouse, sharp in the silence.

Rio gasps softly, her breath catching as her back hits the door. For the first time, her perfect composure falters. Her wide eyes meet yours, lips parting as though she’s trying to find something to say, but for once, she’s quiet.

“All that teasing, Rio,” you murmur, stepping closer until there’s barely an inch between you. Your voice drops low, deliberate. “Did you think I wouldn’t do something about it?”

Her silence is electric, crackling between you.

You reach out, tilting her chin with two fingers, forcing her to look at you. Her breath hitches, and you catch it—the tiniest flicker of uncertainty in her gaze, a fracture in her armor. But then, like a reflex, her lips curl into a small, bratty pout.

“What’s the matter?” You taunt softly, a smirk tugging at your mouth. “Cat got your tongue?”

Rio’s breath is uneven now, her lashes fluttering as she blinks at you. She tries to mask it with that familiar bite of defiance. “Finally showing some backbone, pet?” she whispers, her voice breathier.

The words make you grin. “You like pushing me,” you say, your hands sliding to her hips, pinning her against the door. She tenses just slightly beneath your grip, her body betraying her cool demeanor. “But you’re not as untouchable as you think you are.”

Rio’s chin lifts defiantly, her sharp gaze meeting yours like a challenge. “And what are you going to do about it?” She breathes, but there’s something crumbling in her voice now—something you can feel.

Your smirk widens as you lean in, your mouth brushing against the shell of her ear. “Exactly what you’ve been asking for, Vidal.”

And then you kiss her.

It’s not gentle. It’s months of frustration, tension, and unspoken words igniting all at once. Rio lets out a small, startled noise against your mouth, one that only fuels you further. Her hands shoot up to grip your shoulders, but whether she’s trying to push you away or pull you closer, you can’t tell, and you don’t care.

You press her harder against the door, tilting her head back as you deepen the kiss. For once, she isn’t teasing. Her breaths are quick, her lips parting under yours with a kind of quiet surrender that makes you feel drunk on power. Her smugness is gone, replaced by something raw, something real.

When you finally pull back, Rio looks at you with half-lidded eyes, her cheeks flushed and her breaths coming fast. Her composure is shattered, her usual teasing grin nowhere to be found.

“Well?” you murmur, brushing a thumb along her jaw as you tilt her face to yours. “Still feeling smug?”

She scowls, breathless, and flustered in a way you’ve never seen before. “Don’t get cocky,” she mutters, her voice soft but bratty, her gaze darting away as if she can’t bear how vulnerable she looks.

You grin, leaning in again until your lips hover over hers. “I’m just getting started, pet.”

Your smirk lingers as you grab Rio’s wrist, guiding her away from the door and deeper into the penthouse. She doesn’t resist—her breathing still unsteady, her steps hurried to keep up with you. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the soft click of your shoes against the hardwood floor and the faint rustle of her movements behind you.

The door to your bedroom swings open, and you tug her inside, not giving her a chance to reclaim even a shred of that smug composure. You push her back against the edge of the bed, and Rio stumbles slightly, catching herself with her palms as she glares up at you. That flash of defiance is still dancing in her eyes, but it’s tempered now—undercut by the pink flush dusting her cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls too quickly.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you taunt, stepping closer, standing over her. “Nothing to say, Vidal?”

Rio swallows, the sharp comeback you know she wants to make catching in her throat as her gaze flicks up to meet yours. Instead, she juts her chin out stubbornly, a spark of her usual bratty fire returning. “What, do you need a gold star for dragging me in here?”

You huff out a low laugh, reaching out to hook a finger into the front of her perfectly tailored blazer and tug her back to her feet. Rio gasps softly at the sudden movement, but you’re already turning her around. She lets out a small, startled noise when her back presses against your chest. You take your time sliding the blazer off her shoulders, letting the fabric pool at her feet, followed by the silky blouse underneath. Every inch of newly exposed skin is a victory, a crack in her armour.

When she tries to turn back around, you stop her, sliding one hand over her hip to hold her in place. “Stay still,” you murmur, your voice low and commanding against her ear. Her body stiffens at your tone, but she doesn’t fight you. Your hand drifts upward, running along her bare arm, then grazing the strap of her bra before letting it fall. Her breath hitches audibly.

You step back just slightly to admire her—the perfect Rio Vidal, now flushed and breathless, standing before you in nothing but her skirt. You don’t bother hiding your smirk as you lean in again, your fingers dragging down the zipper. The skirt slips down her legs, leaving her in only the barest scrap of black lace.

“Look at you,” you whisper, grazing your knuckles over her hip. She shivers under your touch, her sharp facade slipping further. “All that teasing. All that attitude. And yet here you are.”

Rio turns her head just enough to glare at you over her shoulder, but the effect is ruined by the redness in her cheeks and the way her lips part slightly as if she can’t catch her breath. “Don’t let this go to your head,” she mutters, though her voice waves.

You chuckle softly, reaching out to grip her chin and turn her face toward you. “You’re still talking back?” you murmur. You tilt her head, leaning close enough for your lips to brush against hers—but you don’t kiss her. You let her feel the heat of you; let her squirm under your touch.

When she finally lets out a small, frustrated whimper, you know you’ve won.

“Good girl,” you murmur against her mouth before finally capturing it in a kiss—deep, heated, and utterly consuming.

Rio melts against you, her defiance unravelling as your hands trail down her body, leaving no part of her untouched. You don’t bother taking off your own clothes so her nails dig into the fabric of your shirt, gripping it desperately as if she can’t get close enough. Her bratty protests are gone now, replaced by quiet, breathy sounds you’d never thought you’d hear from her. Each one is like fuel to the fire burning between you.

When you finally guide her back onto the bed, pinning her beneath you with her wrists above her head, Rio looks up at you—flushed, vulnerable, and breathless.

“Still feeling smug?” you ask, smirking as you lean over her.

She doesn’t answer this time. She just arches her back, tilts her head slightly, and gives you a look that’s both challenging and pleading all at once.

“Yeah,” you murmur softly, leaning down to nip at her neck. “That’s what I thought.”

As you hover over Rio, the flicker of defiance in her eyes does little to hide the vulnerability beneath. Your lips curl into a satisfied smirk as you trail your fingers lightly along the curve of her hip, the teasing touch making her squirm. Your other hand rests firmly at the base of her neck, your thumb brushing against her pulse—steady but quickened, betraying the control she’s desperately trying to hold onto.

“Look at you,” you say again, your voice dripping with condescension. “Everyone thinks you’re in charge of everything you do, but we both know that’s a lie.”

Rio’s eyes narrow at the jab, her lips parting as though she’s about to retort, but the words catch in her throat when your thumb presses just a little more firmly against her neck. Her body shivering beneath you, her breath hitching as your hand on her hip continues its slow, deliberate strokes—up, down, and back again, each motion calculated to unravel her composure further.

“You can’t fool me, pet. I can feel the way you’re trembling. I can see the way your body reacts. Face it—you love this,” you whisper, delighting in the way the name makes her shiver.

Her cheeks flush deeper, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she tries to keep her resolve. Your hand on her hip shifts slightly, your fingertips brushing lower, closer to the edge of that last scrap of lace. Her breath stutters, and despite her best efforts, a soft whine escapes her lips.

“You talk a big game,” you say, your thumb stroking gently along the side of her neck, holding her in place as your free hand drifts lower. Without ceremony, you hook your fingers into the delicate band of her underwear and slide it down her legs in one smooth motion, letting the damp fabric fall to the floor. “But right now? You’re mine. And the best part?” Your lips curve into a wicked smile. “You don’t even want to fight it.”

Rio lets out a shaky exhale, her bravado crumbling further as your grip tightens ever so slightly, just enough to remind her who’s in charge. When she finally speaks, her voice is a barely whisper, lacking its usual sharpness. “Don’t get used to this,” she mutters, but the effect is ruined by the faint, pleading undertone in her words.

You laugh softly, low and mocking, as you lean down to press a slow, claiming kiss against her throat. “Oh, I’m already used to it, pet,” you whisper against her skin, feeling the way her pulse races beneath your lips. Your hand trails downward, slipping between her thighs as you drag a single finger through her slick folds, teasing and deliberate. The sharp intake of her breath is music to your ears, her body trembling under your touch. “And judging by the way you’re falling apart, I’d say you are too.” As the final words leave your mouth, you roughly shove two fingers inside of her.

Rio’s body arches into yours, her resistance melting away completely as her hands grip at your shoulders, holding onto you like you’re the only solid thing in her world. Whatever composure she had left is gone now, replaced by soft, whiney noises that fuel the fire between you.

You pull back slightly, just enough to look down at her—flushed, vulnerable, and completely at your mercy. “See?” you taunt, brushing your thumb along her jaw. “This is where you belong, Rio. Beneath me.”

You smirk darkly, pulling your fingers out of her with no warning, ignoring the desperate whine that spills from her lips as you do. Her body jerks at the sudden emptiness, and before she can so much as recover, you grab her by the waist and flip her over like she weighs nothing.

Rio lets out a surprised gasp, her cheek pressing against the mattress as you shove her down, one hand fisting into her hair to keep her in place. “Stay,” you growl, your voice rough and commanding, punctuated by the sharp tug of her hair that forces her head to tilt back just enough to expose her neck. “You don’t get to be in control here, pet.”

Your other hand grips her hip, pulling her back so she’s on her knees, her spine arching beautifully under the pressure of your grip. Her face remains pressed against the mattress, muffling all the noises spilling from her lips. You drag your nails along the curve of her back, just hard enough to leave red trails in their wake, marking her as yours.

“If people could see you now,” you sneer, tugging her hair again, eliciting a broken moan from her. “The big, bad CEO, reduced to this—a whimpering little thing begging for my touch. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.” The hand on her hip slides upward, fingertips digging into her skin hard enough to leave bruises in their wake, so she won’t forget tonight anytime soon.

Rio tries to lift her head, her defiance flaring for a fraction of a second, but you slam her hips back down in a single, rough motion, pressing her further into the mattress. “Don’t even think about it,” you snap, tightening your grip on her hair. “You don’t move unless I say so.”

Her body trembles under your hands, her breathing ragged and uneven as she struggles to maintain even the smallest semblance of composure. But it’s useless—every rough tug, every sharp dig of your nails into her skin, every mocking word you whisper breaks her down further.

You lean over her, your teeth scraping against the curve of her shoulder before you bite down—enough to leave a mark, a visible reminder of exactly who she belongs to. Rio gasps, her body arching instinctively against you, and you let out a low, satisfied chuckle. “That’s better,” you murmur, your lips brushing against the fresh mark. “Now, be a good girl and take what I give you.”

You don’t give her time to recover as your hand slides back between her thighs, forcing them apart as far as they’ll go. Without hesitation, you thrust two fingers back inside her, rough and unrelenting. The wet, obscene sound of it fills the room, mixing with Rio’s muffled cries against the mattress. She’s already trembling, her walls clenching around you as you add a third finger without pause. Her body shudders violently, her knees wobbling under the sheer intensity of your pace.

You curl your fingers just enough to draw a choked moan from her lips. “Falling apart already? You like being ruined, don’t you, pet?” Your words are cruel and mocking, as you drive her higher, your fingers moving faster and deeper, until the tight heat of her body is nearly overwhelming.

When her breath catches again, when her thighs quiver, you push further, withdrawing your fingers briefly before pressing back in with four, stretching her open. Rio lets out a strangled sound, her head turning just enough for you to catch the tears clinging to her lashes, the way her lips part in breathless surrender. She’s shaking now, reduced to nothing but broken moans and whimpers.

“Not enough?” you rasp, gripping her hip harder with your free hand to hold her steady. “Then take all of it.” Slowly, deliberately, you press your fist inside her, feeling her tense, and then give way around you. Her body arches sharply, a guttural cry escaping her as her head drops forward, her hands clutching desperately at the sheets. The sheer intensity of it has her completely undone, her body jerking with each movement as you start to move, each thrust coaxing more incoherent noises from her lips.

“You’re a mess,” you growl, your tone dripping with smug satisfaction as you watch her fall apart. “The mighty Rio Vidal, completely wrecked and begging for more. Tell me, pet—who do you belong to?”

Rio is a wreck beneath you, her body quivering and her breaths coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Her hands claw at the sheets, her nails curling into the fabric as though it’s the only thing grounding her. “Please,” she finally whimpers, her voice trembling and cracked, a stark contrast to her usual composed arrogance. “Please, I—I’m so close.”

You lean over her, your hand still working relentlessly, your fist driving into her over and over again. The slick heat of her body clenching around you sends a thrill of power coursing through your veins. “What’s that, pet?” you mock, leaning closer to nip at the shell of her ear. “Did I hear you begging? The untouchable Rio Vidal, pleading for permission? Say it again. Say exactly what you want.”

Her response is immediate, raw, and desperate. “Please! Let me—let me cum,” she sobs, her voice muffled against the mattress. “I need it, I can’t—please, just—please!” Every word is laced with want, with a pleading edge that makes your smirk widen.

You slow your movements just enough to make her whine, her body writhing in frustration as you keep her teetering on the edge. “You’re mine,” you growl, your voice low and firm, as your free hand slides up her spine before tangling in her hair again, pulling her head back enough to make her gasp. “Say it, Rio. Tell me who you belong to.”

Her reply takes less than a second, her walls clenching around your hand as the words spill from her lips like a confession. “Yours! I’m yours, please, just let me—”

You cut her off by picking up the pace again, your movements rough and unrelenting. Her body seizes as she tumbles over the edge, her cry muffled by the sheets as her climax tears through her. Her thighs tremble violently, and she’s left gasping, completely undone beneath you. You ride her through every wave of it, drawing out her pleasure until she collapses, spent and shaking, her cheek pressed against the mattress as her breathing slowly steadies.

For a long moment, the room is filled only with the sound of her ragged breathing. Then, a low, dark chuckle escapes her lips, raspy and laced with exhaustion. “Well,” she murmurs, her voice still shaky but dripping with wry amusement. “I guess that counts as finally consummating our marriage.” She tilts her head just enough to glance back at you, her usual smirk making a weak but defiant return, though her flushed cheeks and trembling thighs betray her.

You huff a laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “Careful, Vidal,” you say against her skin. “We both know who’s really in charge here.” You trail your fingers down her spine, watching the way she shivers under your touch.

Rio chuckles again, softer this time, as she shifts slightly, her body still too spent to fully move. “To the world, I’m still the untouchable CEO,” she says, her voice quiet but firm, the sharp edge of her confidence returning. “But between us?” She glances at you, her eyes glinting with that familiar mix of defiance and surrender. “We both know where I belong.”

Your smirk widens as you push her hair back, brushing your lips against her temple. “That’s right, pet,” you say softly. “And don’t you forget it.”

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Happy Holidays sluts (complimentary) if you are celebrating anything, if not Happy Dec 24th :D

this was going to be the arranged marriage au for aaa week before my laptop decided to be homophobic and break >:(

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taglist: @danveration (comment to be added to a taglist)

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

harness your hopes

content warnings & word count: swearing, drug consumption (weed smoking), nostalgia. 3.3k

✧ OPENING SCENE — "CRUEL SUMMER" ✧ Now Playing: "harness your hopes" – Pavement

You got in late last night. Your suitcase hit the floor with a soft thud that echoed a little too loud in the quiet house, and your mom was already hovering in the kitchen, pressing microwaved leftovers into your hands like it made up for the last ten months of phone calls that ended in I-don't-have-time-for-this. She and your dad asked polite questions while you stared at the clock, watching the microwave numbers blink. By the time you made it to your room, the house had already gone still.

Now it's morning, and you're not sure if the clock ever started ticking again.

The air smells like salt and something older—like driftwood and dust and the echoes of a version of you that never left. The ceiling fan creaks the way it always did. You lie there for a moment and just breathe, the sheets kicked off sometime in the night, one leg tangled, the other bare and cold. You're in nothing but panties and an old band tee so worn it feels like paper, sleeves hitched up under your arms. You didn't even unpack. Didn't even shower. You just collapsed.

Your parents left early for work. They said they would. You'd mumbled something like okay while staring at the popcorn ceiling last night, eyes too tired to match your mouth. And now the house is yours again, quiet and humming and too big. The floorboards creak in the same places. The fridge still makes that low whining noise when it's settling. And your room—God, your room—is exactly how you left it, like a shrine to a girl you're not sure you recognise anymore.

Posters peeling at the corners. Thumbtacked Polaroids of bonfires, pool parties, faces you haven't seen since graduation. Ticket stubs tucked into the mirror frame. Salt-scuffed crystals on your desk, tangled with jewellery you never wear anymore. Thrifted sweaters draped over your armchair like half-forgotten lovers. The window sill: still dusted with ash from bedtime joints, like a cigarette graveyard you never cleaned. Candles burned down to waxy nubs. A single record spinning lazily on the wall—Fleetwood Mac, maybe. Or something more obscure. Something only you and Sam used to pretend to understand.

You stretch, slow and feline, then slide off the bed and pad across the floor, bare feet cold on the hardwood. You find your rolling kit buried beneath an old sketchbook, your lighter shoved into the toe of one of your Converse. Ritualistic. Automatic.

You roll a joint on the same desk where you wrote your college essay last year—Why Language Matters. You'd cried writing it. Your mom wanted you to major in Home Ec. You wanted something else. Something with teeth.

The paper seals with a flick of your tongue. You light a couple candles—sandalwood, probably, or that weird beachy one from the thrift store that smells like an ex—and climb back onto the bed with your prize between your fingers. You push the window open all the way, until the hinges groan in protest. The breeze hits you full in the face—salty, sun-drenched, and heavy with seagulls screaming their morning gossip over the water.

You spark up.

The flame kisses the tip, the smoke curls toward the window, and you lie back on your bed like a girl in a music video, hair splayed across your pillow, eyes half-lidded. The ceiling fan spins above you. The sheets smell like the detergent your mom still uses. Somewhere outside, a dog barks, a car engine coughs to life, and the town keeps turning like it doesn't know you left.

It's all the same. It's all the same.

Except you.

You're not sure what's changed, exactly—just that something has. Something in your blood feels older. Louder. Like maybe you did leave part of yourself behind here, fossilised in the dunes or hidden under the pier. Maybe she's still waiting, watching, wondering when you'll find your way back.

You take another hit. Blow the smoke toward the gulls. You're home. And no one knows it yet.

You're on your third hit when you hear it.

A dull thump—like someone stumbling into a mailbox or tripping over the cracked bit of sidewalk your dad swore he'd fix last summer. Then, a voice: low, rough, and annoyed in a way that sounds almost theatrical.

"Putain de merde, Sam, warn a guy next time you stop like a fucking statue."

You blink, exhale slow through your nose. Freeze mid-lounge on your bed. The smoke curls toward the open window as your ears sharpen, already tuned in.

Then:

"...Wait—"

A beat. Then louder, brighter—familiar in that way that hits behind the ribs:

"HEY!" Then your name, followed by: "YOU HOME?"

You bolt upright without thinking, the joint still pinched between two fingers. Your heart does something stupid in your chest, tripping over itself like a freshman on the first day back. You scramble to the windowsill, nearly knocking over a candle, ash catching in your hair as you press your head up into the frame.

There, on the lawn—looking up like he's seen a ghost and can't decide whether to laugh or shout—is Sam Winchester.

Tall, awkwardly sun-kissed, still dressed like he hasn't figured out what weather he's in. Hood up. Dimples out. Eyes wide with that open-faced awe you forgot people used to look at you with.

Standing beside him, cigarette dangling from his lips, sunglasses too dramatic for the hour and grinning like the devil with a love poem in his back pocket—is Frenchie.

He lifts two fingers in a lazy salute.

"Well, well, well," he says, lips twitching around the cigarette. "And here I thought maybe you had died in the city. Turns out you are just back and already corrupting the air quality."

You snort, shifting so your elbows rest on the sill. The morning breeze lifts your hair, smoke curling lazily between you.

"I didn't know I needed to make a fuckin' announcement," you say, voice scratchy with sleep and spliffs. "Hi."

Sam huffs a quiet laugh and shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket like he doesn't know what else to do with them. "You could've told someone you were coming back."

You shrug, biting your smile. "Where's the fun in that?"

Frenchie takes a drag, then points with the cigarette like it's a wand. "She is still full of shit. Excellent."

"You gonna let us in?" Sam calls, stepping toward the porch. "Or should I dig up the spare key from under the raccoon statue?"

"Hey!" You bark-laugh, "don't you dare slander Gregory."

Frenchie tilts his head. "You named the statue Gregory?"

Sam's already jogging toward the steps. "She kissed it once. I saw."

"Ritual," you say simply, like it explains anything. "You wanna come up, or stand there airing out my business?"

Sam's hand touches the front door handle, but he hesitates. Looks up at you again, something soft in his expression. "It's good to see you."

You pause, just a second, then nod. "Yeah," you say, voice lower now. "It's good to be seen."

Frenchie exhales dramatically. "Okay, enough with the emotions, I am starving. Let us in or I eat Gregory."

You grin, disappearing from the window just long enough to stub the joint in the little dish you always use, toss a sweater over your bare legs, and make your way toward the stairs.

They're already stepping into the house when you reach the bottom—bringing with them the smell of cigarettes, summer air, and something that feels dangerously close to home.

Sam and Frenchie are barely through the door before you launch yourself at them.

It's instinct. Muscle memory. A one-woman ambush fuelled by too many months of silence and too many nights wondering if they still laughed at the same stupid things without you.

You crash into Sam first—arms wrapped tight around his middle, knocking a surprised "oof—" out of him as he catches your weight and laughs, a real, startled sound that fills the house like it used to.

"Okay, okay," he says through a grin, squeezing you back like he means it. "You still tackle like a linebacker."

"You still smell like overpriced shampoo," you mutter, but you're smiling so wide it hurts.

Before he can respond, Frenchie's arms loop around both of you in one exaggerated, chaotic swoop.

"Aha! Group hug," he croons, cigarette safely extinguished somewhere outside and replaced with his usual manic warmth. "I feel like I am in a Hallmark movie. Where is the tragic backstory and the emotional breakthrough?"

You laugh into Sam's hoodie and pull back just enough to catch the shit-eating grin on Frenchie's face.

"You missed me," you accuse, eyebrows raised.

"Mon amour," he says, gesturing dramatically, "I mourned you like a dead wife. It was very French. I wore black. I smoked at your grave."

"I wasn't dead, asshole."

"You left me with him." He points at Sam, who just rolls his eyes. "You know how many breakfast debates I had to carry alone?"

Sam shrugs, smile crooked. "He's mad because I told him The Little Prince is pretentious."

"It is not," Frenchie says, eyes widening. "It is existentially whimsical. There is a difference."

You blink. "Are you guys—were you literally just now arguing about that?"

"Yes," they both say, too quickly.

You groan, ducking under Frenchie's arm and heading back toward the stairs. "God, I missed you idiots."

Sam chuckles, calling after you, "We were headed to the diner—everyone's already there. You coming as you are, or should we warn them you're back in your underwear era?"

Frenchie whistles up at you. "I support the choice, personally. Fashion-forward. French-approved."

You flip them both off without turning around. "Give me five."

Back in your room, the morning still hangs warm and still in the air. You blow out the candle, stub the joint, shut the window until it clicks. You pull on cutoff shorts, a cropped sweater with a stretched-out neckline, a pair of beat-up sneakers that still have sand in them from last summer. You don't think too hard about any of it. You just move, automatic, hands in motion like you never left.

The house creaks under your steps as you lock the door behind you. Frenchie and Sam wait on the curb like they never moved, like they've been waiting there for a year.

You fall into step between them, and the walk begins.

And now—now you really see it.

The town stretches out before you like a photograph someone forgot to take down. All soft-focus colours and chipped paint and beach grass curling at the edges of sidewalks. The thrift shop still has the same stupid neon sign that buzzes like a wasp nest. The record store window still has the same "Help Wanted" sign taped up, sun-bleached and ignored. You walk past a garage sale with old Barbie dolls and worn denim jackets that smell like attics and high school. The air smells like low tide and melting asphalt and the faintest trace of sunscreen.

You haven't looked at this place in the daylight since the day you left. Eyes red and puffy from crying, your friends on the front lawn, lined up like a crooked picket fence of goodbyes. You waved. You promised you'd call. You almost didn't get in the car.

Now here you are. In the same place. With different lungs.

Sam and Frenchie are mid-debate again—something about philosophy this time. Naturally.

"I'm just saying," Sam argues, "if morality is intrinsic, then why do people do shitty things even when they know they're wrong?"

"Because people are romantic and stupid," Frenchie fires back. "They do not care about being right. They care about feeling something."

Sam snorts. "You're impossible."

"And you are a suburban ethics textbook in a human body."

You smile to yourself and keep walking, their voices a familiar static in your ears.

The diner's just ahead, neon buzzing. The door swings open. And somewhere inside, the rest of your summer is waiting.

You're almost at the diner when it happens.

Your sneakers hit the sidewalk with that soft summer scuff sound—worn soles on familiar concrete. You've got one hand tucked into the pocket of your cutoff shorts and the other curled loosely around the fabric of your sweater, pulling it down over your thigh like it might make you feel less bare. Sam and Frenchie are still mid-argument beside you, debating whether or not dreams are reflections of inner truth or just leftover brain static.

You're not listening.

Your eyes are locked on the window of the diner, the one that still buzzes with the flickering pink neon sign that says EATS like it's a command. Same cracked plastic letters. Same fly stuck on the inside. You're about ten feet away when you feel it.

The shift.

Inside, Jack Kline lifts his head from a plate of pancakes, mouth still full, and turns toward the window like something pulled him by the spine. His eyes go wide—truly wide, like cartoon-character, you've-got-to-be-kidding-me wide—and then he's slamming both hands on the glass like it's going to let him through.

You freeze, startled.

He shouts something you can't hear, but his lips are unmistakable:

"YOU'RE BACK!"

You blink. Smile. Lift a hand, slow, halfway to wave—

Too late.

The diner erupts.

Charlie is on her feet in a second, yanking her phone charger out of the wall with one hand and shouting, "OH MY GOD, YOU BITCH—!" like it's a declaration of war and love at the same time. She jumps over the back of the booth, almost takes out the syrup caddy, and knocks Hughie's drink into his lap on the way out.

Hughie stands up too fast, fumbles with a "Wh—what? Wait, WHAT—" and stumbles after them, napkin stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Annie follows behind them with a stunned sort of grace, like her brain hasn't caught up to her feet. "No way. No fucking way," she murmurs, grabbing the napkin off Hughie's shoe like it's second nature.

Kimiko doesn't say a word. She just moves. Smooth and fast, already ahead of them all by the time the bell on the door rings and your chest goes tight.

Sam laughs beside you, wide-eyed and stunned. "Well," he says, "guess they missed you."

Frenchie's grinning. "I would be offended if they had waited even one second longer."

You barely have time to register it before it happens.

Jack tackles you first. It's not elegant. It's not graceful. It's all arms and momentum and sun-warmed skin and "I thought you were coming next week!" in a voice that cracks halfway through the sentence. He hugs you like someone who never quite believed you'd come back.

Charlie's next—throws her arms around you and Jack at the same time, tugs your hair just a little, just enough to make you yelp. "You absolute asshole, you didn't text, you didn't warn me, I could've DIED—"

Annie swoops in right after, a little breathless. She squeezes your arm, tucks your hair behind your ear, and says, "You're here. You're really here," like she's still processing it out loud.

Hughie hangs back for a second, unsure of where to put his hands. Then he gives up and just hugs your shoulder, awkward and sweet. "Hey," he says, voice higher than usual. "Hi. Wow. This is... wow."

Kimiko steps in quietly. Her fingers brush yours. Then she pulls you into a hug—tight, real, grounding. She pulls back, signs something against your wrist. You don't quite catch it. But it feels like: don't leave again.

Behind them, the diner door swings again.

Butcher walks out slowly, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky, cigarette already lit. He looks you over like he's checking for bruises and bullshit, then exhales smoke through his nose.

"Well," he says, voice rough, "if it ain't the fuckin' prodigal burnout."

Cas steps out next, hands in his jacket pockets, head tilted just slightly like he's reading something on your face that no one else can see. He doesn't say anything, not right away. Just looks. His presence is a sentence with no punctuation.

"You gonna say something or just brood at me, Novak?" You ask, smirking.

He blinks once. "You cut your hair."

You snort. "That's what you're going with?"

"I like it," he says. Quiet. Honest.

And somehow, that's the thing that makes it real.

You're here. They're here. The town hasn't changed—but maybe you have. Maybe that's the point.

Charlie finally lets you go and tugs your wrist toward the diner. "You've got about six waffles with your name on them, bitch. Come on."

Sam smiles beside you. Frenchie's already halfway to stealing someone's hash browns. You take one last look up at the neon sign. The fly's still trapped behind the glass. Then you walk inside.

The inside of the diner smells like syrup and too much coffee.

You forgot how much you missed it. Not just the food or the cracked pleather booths, but this. The sound of all your people talking over each other like they've never once worried about being heard. The way the sun catches in the window glass and turns everything soft and gold. The buzz of the neon sign behind you, humming like it's part of your blood now.

Jack's practically on your lap again, still mid-rant about some video game you definitely forgot existed, a triangle of pancake hanging out of his mouth while he gesticulates like he's leading a revolution.

"And then—then—right after I told him not to go through the cursed forest, he went through the cursed forest! Who does that? Who just walks in?"

You raise a brow. "You do."

Charlie cackles. "Oh, you do. You literally did that last summer. At like 2AM. Drunk. In flip-flops."

"I survived, didn't I?" Jack grins, maple syrup on his cheek. "Like a champion."

"You fell into poison ivy and cried," Kimiko signs across the table with a completely blank expression.

Frenchie leans back beside her with a dreamy sigh. "I bandaged his legs myself. It was very intimate. He screamed like a goat."

Jack groans, sliding down in his seat. "Why does no one ever let me be cool?"

"Because you're not," Hughie offers from across the table, grinning. Annie elbows him lightly in the ribs, her other hand resting over his under the table like it's always been there.

You watch the way they move together—so practiced, so familiar, so comfortable. Hughie glances at her like she hung the moon. Annie pretends not to notice, but she does.

Frenchie's arm is draped behind Kimiko's shoulders, lazy and loose but protective in that way that makes your chest ache a little. You're not sure if he even knows it's there. You're not sure he cares. It's not new, but it's different. It's finally.

Cas sits on the end of the booth, sipping his coffee like it's a science experiment. He tilts his head every so often, eyes flicking between faces like he's taking stock of everything and filing it under important.

Butcher's next to him, flipping through the diner's laminated menu like he doesn't already know it by heart. He glances up every so often to toss in a dry comment like breadcrumbs.

"You've got syrup in your damn eyebrow, sunshine," he mutters to Jack without looking.

Jack wipes his face with a napkin, misses completely, and keeps talking.

Sam's across from you, long legs stretched out under the table, smiling quietly every time your eyes meet. He hasn't said much since you sat down. But he hasn't looked away either.

You wonder how long he's been waiting.

Charlie lifts her juice like it's champagne. "Okay, but can we just take a second to say—she's back. Our girl. Right here."

They all lift their glasses. Mugs. Forks. Whatever they're holding.

"To the college cunt," Butcher says, smirking.

"To the first year survivor," Jack shouts.

"To the bitch who didn't text," Charlie adds with affection.

"To home," Sam says quietly.

You laugh, loud and bright, and knock your coffee mug gently against Charlie's glass. "To home."

A beat of stillness.

Then:

"Oh—speaking of home," Annie says, eyes lighting up, "we're all going to that party tonight, by the way."

You raise an eyebrow. "What party?"

Charlie leans in, smirking. "The first real one of the summer. Everyone's gonna be there."

Jack's already vibrating. "You came home just in time."

Hughie nods. "Dean's throwing it."

Your heart stutters. You set your mug down, slow. Sam clears his throat. Doesn't look at you.

Charlie grins like she knows exactly what she's done. "Oh, yeah. You remember Dean, right?"

And just like that—

Summer really begins.

← INTRO POST NEXT PART →

author note/s: trying the new layout. hoping we all like it as much as i do. i don't know, some of y'alls be posting super pretty fics with layouts that look so nice and i just wanted to try and emulate my own. anyways, i started writing this earlier on, i am actually 15k words deep in my docs, but i'm splitting it up into individual instalments/chapters. let me know what y'alls think so far, please. i love the feedback. this one has been super fun so far because merging all these characters together feels like a fever dream i never wanna wake up from. i promise i'm introducing our boys soon... hehe. until the next one, smin signing off. all the love.

soldier boy/ben & dean taglists: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @bruisedfig @angelicjackles @soldiersgirl @tinas111 @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @drakulana @mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @liiiilsss @0ccvltism @itshellfire @sl33pylilbunny @nevercameraready @paristheonewhoreads @podiumackles @suckitands33 @lyarr24 @spxideyver @winchestersbgirl @mj-102009 @kaz-2y5-spn @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @ladykitana90 @deangirlsstuff67 @ohgodimgoungtodie @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @ambiguous-avery <3

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

One of my teachers believes megalodon is still alive, what should I tell him? It's the usual "Well, you can't prove it's not around" sort of argument

Oh brother... well, he's definitely wrong, because proving that megalodon isn't around anymore is incredibly easy! It's as simple as, "how come we don't see tons and tons of discarded megalodon teeth that date back only a few years, or even a few centuries and millennia, and we only find fossilised teeth?" See, megalodon tooth fossils are very common, and that's because the meg like all (most?) sharks shed their teeth as they grew new ones. If the meg was still alive we would see those giant teeth, even if the sharks themselves were "hidden" then eventually those teeth would wash up ashore after several years. But we never find them! Nor do we find lots of whale or large fish carcasses with massive bite chunks on beaches, or even living whales with battle scars left over from narrowly escaping the jaws of the meg. We could speculate on the giant squid thanks to sperm whales having fighting scars from them, but there's no similar phenomenon for the meg! The government can't hide EVERY tooth and carcass.

Oh and then there's also the more general stuff. "We've only explored 5% of the ocean we don't know what's out there" that mostly applies to the deep ocean where life is scarce. The megalodon lived in the tropical and subtropical regions of the world and was a predator of the topmost layers of the ocean, most likely. It's also theorised to have given birth close to the coast. In the coastal and shallow parts of oceans we would've sooner or later spotted them. "What if it just evolved to live in the deep sea" Such a large, specialised animal that was dependent on coastal waters for breeding? In such a short amount of time, while its prey was going extinct and the climate cooled? Unlikely. The meg ate whales and large fish to support its humongous size, where does one find such prey on the bottom of the ocean, I wonder? One does not. "Maybe it evolved to filter feed" wh- Then that's no longer the megalodon, is it!!???? There are real, actual super interesting and cool filter feeding sharks that need our attention and protection, and if someone's willing to completely ignore them for the sake of a stupid argument about their beloved megadeath murdershark still existing, then that's pretty sad. At that point you can calmly whisper, "it's okay, shhhh, you can let her go. It's okay. You can miss her, but you need to let her go."

Ah, if you're going to attempt to talk to your teacher about this, I do recommend you don't get snarky like I do about this matter, because that tends to get people on the defensive. No one wants to feel like they're being made fun of (very understandable)! I'm just personally very dumbfounded about people who willfully ignore science in favour of going "I wish this cool giant gigamurder killershark was still alive so I'm going to think that way now"

[psychopurr]

— DINOSAUR ID PACK 🦖

NAMES : amber, anky, ankylo, archie, archo, bailey, blue, bones, bronto, buck(y), cambria, carno, cera, charlie, claw, cory, daemon, darwin, dee, delta, devon, dina, dino, dinora, doe, draco(rex), echo, ediacara, eli, fern, finn, fleet, fossil, grover, harpy, jade, jane, kylo, leo, lichen, lichida, luca, marella, max, mono, mosa, neo, nuna, nyx, phyla, pteraspi, pyro, raptor, red, rex, rexie, reximus, rexley, rexy, rhino, roardin, roarke, rocky, ronaldino, rory, roy, sage, saur, scale, scotty, scout, shale, spike, spine, spino, stega, strata, sue, talon, theodore, thumper, tina, titan, titania, titus, tooth, trexler, tristan, trix, trylo, ty, venator, verdi, zephyr, ziggy

PRONOUNS : bite/bite, bone/bone, cera/cera, cera/ceratop, cera/top, claw/claw, cre/creta(ceous), dig/dig, dino/dino, dino/dinosaur, dino/saur, dinosaur/dinosaur, don/don, evo/evolve, flora/fauna, foss/fossier,fossi/fossi, fossil/fossil, jur/jurassic, mim/mim, mimu/mimus, mimus/mimus, paleo/paleo, paleon/paleon, phy/phylum, pretyx/pteryx, rapt/rapt, rapt/raptor, rawr/rawr, rex/rex, roar/roar, saur/saur, saur/saurus, saurus/saurus, scale/scale, spino/spino, suchus/suchus, teeth/teeth, tetra/tetrapod, tri/triassic, tri/trilobite, tyra/tyra, tyrant/tyrant, tyras/tyrant, ven/ven, vena/vena, venator/venator, vol/cano, zo/zoa, ☄️, 🌠, 🌋, 🦕, 🦖

TITLES : the fossilised, the fossilised one, prn the fossilised, prn who is fossilised, prn who is buried in stone, prn who walked with/among dinosaurs, prn who walked among giants, the giant one, the titan, the last titan, prn who survived the meteor, prn who saw the meteor fall, the one who roared, the one who roared last, the lizard king, the cold-blooded king, the great hunter, the swamp stalker, the shadow in the ferns, prn who stalked the ferns, the one who came before

[pt: dinosaur id pack,

names,

pronouns,

titles, end pt]

[dinodorks]

[ The fossilised remains of a Psittacosaurus, an Early Cretaceous ceratopsian, and Repenomamus, one of the largest mammals during the Mesozoic. ]

"When dinosaurs ruled the Earth, we tend to think of the mammals at the time — including our distant ancestors — as small and quivering in the shadows. "We've always had this picture of mammals as the literal underdogs," says Elsa Panciroli, a paleontologist at the Oxford University Museum of Natural History. "They're being trampled. They're cowering in the darkness at night, just trying to avoid being eaten." But a remarkable new fossil, originating in the early Cretaceous some 125 million years ago and now described in the journal Scientific Reports, conjures a rather different possibility. It consists of two intertwined skeletons — an upstart mammal sinking its teeth into a much larger dinosaur. "Our best guess is that the mammal was in the middle of attacking the dinosaur," says Jordan Mallon, one of the authors of the new study and a paleobiologist at the Canadian Museum of Nature. If true, such a revelation shakes our traditional view of dinosaur domination and mammal submission. It suggests a more complex ancient food web in which certain dinosaurs were prey and some mammals were predators. In the case of this particular fossil that was unearthed in modern-day northeast China, "this mammal appears to have been particularly gutsy or voracious," Mallon says."

Read more: "This fossil of a mammal biting a dinosaur captures a death battle's final moments" by Ari Daniel.

[dougdimmadodo]

October's Fossil of the Month - Simbakubwa (Simbakubwa kutokaafrika)

Family: Hyena Cat Family (Hyainailouridae)

Time Period: 23-22 Million Years Ago (Early Neogene)

Currently known only from fossilised teeth and lower jaws discovered in Kenya's Messa Bridge fossil site, Simbakubwa kutokaaffrika was originally described as a prehistoric species of hyena before reexamination of fossils housed at the Nairobi National Museum of Kenya led to it being reclassified as a hyaenadont (a member of the extinct order Hyaenadonta, the members of which were generally dog-like animals with similar jaws and teeth to modern hyenas, although their teeth differed from true carnivorans today in that they lacked modified molars used for crushing and tearing seen in animals such as bears and dogs, and seemed to grow their teeth in slower than most modern carnivores.) While the limited variety of Simbakubwa fossils means that much of its biology is a mystery, it is notable among the hyaenadonts because of its size; estimates of its body size based on the size of its jaws suggest that, while most hyaenodonts were comparable to a large dog in size, it was at least as large as a lion, with the most generous estimates suggesting that it may have weighed as much as 1,500kg/3,307lbs (surpassing even modern Polar Bears in size,) although as the more complete fossils of related species suggest that members of the "hyena-cat" family of hyaenodonts that Simbakubwa belonged to had extremely large heads compared to their bodies it is unlikely that it actually reached such as size. Based on the shape of its teeth and the presumed strength of its jaws it is likely that Simbakubwa was purely carnivorous and fed on large mammals such as rhinoceros and gomphotheres (extinct relatives of modern elephants,) although based on the lack of any preserved teeth showing adaptations for crushing it is unclear if members of this species also fed on bones as other hyaenodonts and modern hyenas are known to do. While the circumstances of Simbakubwa's extinction are unclear, it is plausible that as the earth gradually became cooler and drier as it approached a series of "ice ages" in the later neogene resources became scarcer and large carnivores were among the first species to be affected by this. While the binomial names of most species are derived from Greek and/or Latin, Simbakubwa kutokaaffrika is Swahili, translating roughly to "great lion from Africa."

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

*Note - The second image above shows a Simbakubwa lower jaw (bottom) compared to a modern Lion skull (top.)

Image Sources: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Simbakubwa-kutokaafrika_2.jpg

and

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/article/new-species-ancient-carnivore-was-bigger-than-polar-bear-hyaenodonts

[delightingintragedy]

Various Uses for Fossils in Magic from Wisht Waters by Gemma Gary

"Sea fossils, as well a guarding against drowning, had other protective uses. The fossils of sea urchins, or Echinoids, were employed for a variety of protections. Upon these fossils, one might find a star-like pattern, very reminiscent of the 'daisy-wheels', which one might find inscribed into the timbers and masonry of ancient buildings, most likely for apotropaic purposes. Their folk names include shepherd's crowns, thunder stones and fairy loaves. They protected against thunder, evil spirits and witches, prevented milk turning sour, and in common with other fossil amulets, they sweated in the presence of poison. As 'fairy loaves' they might be used to ward off supernatural interference from the baking process, and to ensure an abundance of bread."

pg. 104

"Belemnite fossils, from an extinct squid-like creature, were known as thunderbolts, and were thus kept as charms to protect against lightning. Once believed to be the tongues of ancient serpents, fossilised shark teeth were one of the fossil amulets against poison"

pg. 104

"Rings of stone, formed from the fossilised stems of the sea-lily were known as St Cuthbert's Beads, as were worn as amulets against evil influences."

pg. 105

"The 'Devil's Toenail' fossils were carried as charms against rheumatic pain, and they were powdered to be used in the treatment of soreness of the back in horses."

pg. 107

"Various accoutrements of the sea witch's divinatory work may be seen in the Museum of Witchcraft. Here we find that belemnites were employed by a Newlyn sea witch named Nancy. She would read the fall of her 'sea stones' to make predictions for fishermen. Perhaps their traditional association with lightning gave belemnites the virtue to make predictions regarding storms and changes in the weather?"

pg. 108

[...] There have been many ways to bless, consecrate and 'sain' water, thus rendering it more potent and useful within various rites and magical operations. This might be achieved by steeping or immersing charmed items within the water, or else allowing water to flow or be poured over such an item. These may include charm-stones, fossils, flints, or the metals gold and silver.

pgs. 115-116

"Ammonite fossils were also employed as charm stones to cure cattle in 17th century Scotland. They were known as 'cramp stones' because cattle afflicted with cramp would be treated by being bathed in water in which a 'cramp stone' had been steeped for a number of hours."

pg. 122

[mutant-distraction]

Gigantopithecus (/dʒaɪˌɡæntoʊpɪˈθikəs, ˈpɪθɪkəs, dʒɪ-/ jy-gan-toh-pi-thee-kuhs, pith-i-kuhs, ji-; lit. 'giant ape') is an extinct genus of ape that lived in southern China from 2 million to approximately 300,000-200,000 years ago during the Early to Middle Pleistocene, represented by one species, Gigantopithecus blacki. Potential identifications have also been made in Thailand, Vietnam, and Indonesia. The first remains of Gigantopithecus, two third molar teeth, were identified in a drugstore by anthropologist Ralph von Koenigswald in 1935, who subsequently described the ape. In 1956, the first mandible and more than 1,000 teeth were found in Liucheng, and numerous more remains have since been found in at least 16 sites. Only teeth and four mandibles are known currently, and other skeletal elements were likely consumed by porcupines before they could fossilise.[5] Gigantopithecus was once argued to be a hominin, a member of the human line, but it is now thought to be closely allied with orangutans, classified in the subfamily Ponginae. - Wikipedia

[pyukumukuus]

TOTV Ethical Dilemmas

I am 3 days into my Tears of the Vegan playthrough and I am having a tremendous time.

I am not actually a vegan, but playing this game as one makes for a very interesting philosophical exercise. The definition of 'vegan' is not always clear, so there is plenty of opportunity for debate throughout this playthrough over which materials are ethical and/or vegan-friendly.

I thought I'd list some of my dilemmas so far here!

Monster parts like horns and teeth are forbidden, obviously. But what about if they come from a stal?

You could very well argue that stal are reanimated dead, so how can you kill something that's already dead? I haven't allowed myself to collect the parts so far, more for gameplay reasons than anything else - I feel allowing myself to do that will just allow me access to too many potential weapon fusion materials! But now that I'm reading about it a bit more, it seems stal only drop the most basic forms of monster parts anyway so allowing this would most likely still keep the game challenging.

Verdict: So far forbidden, but I might allow this

Are base weapons, shields and clothing, which appear to be made from animal parts such as leather, permitted?

It depends. I have decided that the in-game description of the item is the ultimate decider here, more so than its appearance - Link's scabbard and belt look like they are made from leather so I wouldn't get very far if I had to go off appearance!

If it's not stated specifically in the description what something is made of, then I will make the assumption that it is vegan-friendly. Some examples below:

Lizal bow - Description says that this bow has been 'reinforced by the bones of a large fish' so it is NOT vegan-friendly.

Traveler's shield - Description says that this is made of animal hide, so it is NOT vegan-friendly.

Boko shield - Description says this is a 'handhold' attached to flat tree bark. It doesn't state what the 'handhold' is made of (it could perhaps be bone) but we can give this shield the benefit of the doubt as no info = vegan-friendly.

Archaic warm greaves - These very much look and seem like they would be made from leather and fur, but the description doesn't mention this so no info = vegan-friendly.

Verdict: Depends on the item description

What about items made from fossils?

I made a decision on this early on in the game after picking up a dragon bone boko bow. I was prepared to drop it until I read in the item description that it was a boko bow (i.e. string tied to a tree branch) which had been reinforced with fossils. So yes, this bow is made from bones, but the bones are actually from fossils! Are fossils vegan? That is really quite hard to answer!

For this one, I had to decide what kind of vegan I want Link to be. Is it the source of the material (i.e. animal origin) that is most important to Link, or is it how it was obtained (i.e. by killing)? I have decided to go with the latter. Killing animals, creatures, monsters etc. and using their parts for food or clothing is not okay... but making use of ancient fossilised remains is a different matter entirely, as these have effectively become part of the natural environment in the same way that a seed or a stone is. Dust to dust and all that!

There are probably vegans out there who would disagree, but that's part of the fun!

Verdict: Permitted

Koroks are living creatures! Surely it's not okay to use their leaves?

As far as I can tell, korok fronds and leaves aren't parts of the korok's body but rather accessories that are used by koroks. It's not possible to harm a korok in this game (even when strapping them to rockets, burning them on a crucifix or throwing them into the depths!) so we don't really know what materials they would drop as loot.

I have decided to permit the use of korok fronds as these just seem to appear when chopping down trees, the same as pine cones or acorns. There's no evidence of any harm being caused here.

Verdict: Permitted

Are the Zonai constructs alive? Is it vegan-friendly to use their parts?

I have decided to allow this as the constructs seem to be made from stone or similar material and are powered by Zonai charges, making them more akin to robots than living creatures.

Verdict: Permitted

What about taluses?

I had to do some reading to come to a decision on this. It appears that a talus (and similarly a pebblit) is a monster 'camouflaged as a rock formation', which suggests that they are NOT actually made of rock, they just appear that way.

However, the ore that sprouts from their backs is indeed real ore, not a part of their body that just looks like ore.

I will have to double check the in-game description to be absolutely certain, but I would say that this means that talus hearts are forbidden as these are a body part of the talus and not actually a rock, despite their appearance. But any gems received from taking out the ore deposits on their backs are fair game!

Verdict: Ore - Permitted; Talus heart - Forbidden (awaiting confirmation)

Is it okay to loot the zonaite and brightbloom seeds dropped by little frox?

As frox are actively hostile to Link I have decided it is okay to fight back against them. To my knowledge, they eat brightbloom seeds and zonaite grows on their backs similarly to how ore deposits grow on taluses. If that's the case, then I'd say it's okay to loot both of these things.

Verdict: Permitted

Are chuchu jelly and dark clumps okay?

I would say dark clumps are probably fine on the basis that gloom hands drop these when they despawn, even if they are not attacked, suggesting this material is actually solidified gloom itself rather than a piece of the hands.

Unlike gloom spawn, chuchus don't seem to secrete jelly naturally without being attacked so I would for that reason consider chuchu jelly to be non-vegan.

Verdict: Chuchu jelly - Forbidden; Dark clumps = Permitted

What about courser bee honey?

Honey is one of the more controversial vegan debates I have seen and I don't know enough about beekeeping to really be able to offer any argument. Regardless, I have decided to disallow honey in my playthrough as attempting to get honey in this game certainly angers and upsets the bees!

Verdict: Forbidden

[catilinas]

fossilised shark teeth from the woods :-)

[aloe-variance]

Bone of the father

Tom Riddle was so lucky to be disembodied that early in life. I had an epiphany drinking morning coffee:  just several decades more, and his father's bones would dissolve! He told us this ancient potion requires bones. The graveyard is not in the tundra. Maybe his father would be “lucky” enough to be buried in sand or soil with no acid. Let us say centuries past a greater miracle happened and the skeleton is fossilized.  Can one even use fossilised bones? Would he become a sandman? How lax is this bone definition anyway? So many questions. Let's hope his father's teeth would have been enough.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Unpredictable // Chapter One

Ian Malcolm x Original Female Character / masterlist

Chapter Summary: Lyanna Grant, niece to Alan Grant finds herself working on her uncle's latest dig site.

Unpredictable Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

Palaeontology. It was not an occupation that was extremely popular these days. However, it's always been what Lyanna wanted to do. Ever since she was young and visited the local museum for the first time. She must have been around eight. Her uncle had waited until she was old enough to remember the shock and awe of the things on display. Lyanna could remember gazing up at the razor-sharp teeth jutting out of the jaw of the tyrannosaurus skeleton and she knew. She just knew. This was it for her. Nothing could ever even come close.

 

Since that oh-so-fateful day, Lyanna became obsessed with the flora and fauna of the past. She read every book she could find, read every article, and found every fact. She collected figures and fossils and studied the subject furiously. It paid off well considering where she was at now, she supposed. 

Lyanna was now one of the most well-known palaeontologists in the modern world... although she suspected that part of her reputation may have some due credit to her being the niece of Alan Grant, a professor and world-famous palaeontologist himself. They’d both written a book. His about the evolution of the dinosaurs and hers about the different types of creatures from different eras throughout the prehistoric periods and how ecological changes then impacted the way the animals evolved in turn. 

Only a few years ago, Lyanna had finally gotten her Ph.D. certifications in palaeontology and had right off the bat found herself out in the field helping her uncle dig up dinosaurs. Sure, it could be considered mild nepotism but it was great working with family because she didn't feel so alone when she started working in Montana with him. It was a huge leap for her career not having to start at the very bottom of the palaeontological food chain. Alan made sure that the transition was as comfortable as possible. Lyanna really couldn't have asked for a better uncle slash boss...

"You alright there?" Dylan asked, breaking her from her thoughts and redirecting her attention to the task at hand. 

"Yeah," she replied wistfully. "Sorry, I was just thinking." Dylan was another graduate from Lyanna’s class. Alan had picked him up too when she’d graduated, claiming that new blood would be good for the digs. And it had been, given that they had a pretty constant trickle and turnover of volunteers as they grew bored with the heat and the sand.

"About what?" He asked curiously, fingering the dust out of a fossilised eye socket. 

"Just about how lucky I am," Lyanna replied with a small smile. She really was, and because she was self-aware about it, it made it easier to appreciate just how far she’d come in such a short time.

Dylan snorted and returned to the work at hand. They were currently excavating the skeleton of a Velociraptor. Lyanna was brushing away the few stray sands that were still on the pelvic bone of the creature. 

"You know, I'd hate to meet a raptor on a dark Friday night. Look at those teeth- they’d shred through you like a mandolin,” he winced, glancing up at Lyanna quickly.

"Yeah, I completely agree. It would be terrifying. Thankfully, a giant meteor crashed into the earth and prevented that, hey?" She laughed, pleased with her joke. Dylan chuckled and shook his head in mock irritation. “Though it wouldn’t necessarily shred you. See-” Lyanna ran a finger over the teeth worn through with time. 

“They’re built to grip and tear the flesh from the bones, so it would be more like…” Lyanna searched for some kind of analogy that would make more sense. “Getting stuck in a bear trap. You’re not going to be able to get out of it without ripping half of your leg off unless you unlatch the jaws.” 

"Doctor Grant? We're ready to try again." Lyanna heard the voice say from across the site. She clutched at her hat as a gust of dry wind tried to blow it away. 

"I'm going to go check this out, okay?" She said to Dylan while standing up and brushing herself off. He nodded distractedly and kept working. It wouldn’t be long now until they’d be able to get the bones out and shipped off for analysis and study. 

Glancing one more time at the partially exhumed skeleton, Lyanna stepped out from under the cover and immediately felt the beating hot Montana sun on her back. If she wasn’t sweating before, she certainly was now. 

During her short time working with her uncle, Lyanna had acquired a golden tan that covered most of her body except the parts of herself that were shielded by her clothes. It was almost like she wore tan gloves and thigh-highs. It was a good thing she didn’t get about much without a longer-sleeved shirt or shorts on. Lyanna made a mental note to try and get the rest of herself tanned up the next time she hit town. 

Before she came to the desert wasteland that she now called home, Lyanna was quite pale. Many of her friends constantly joked about how she was probably a vampire because of the paleness of her skin and because of how she spent most of her nights studying deep into the early hours of the morning. That was, of course, before she made it out to Montana and was dead asleep by ten in the evening most nights from all the hot sun and hard labour during the day. 

Lyanna started jogging when she felt and heard the soft lead pellet enter the ground over by the scanner tent. She wanted to see how the new technology worked, given that this was likely the future of archaeology and she’d need to know if she hoped to run her own digs someday.

She reached the area just in time for an image of a Velociraptor to pop up on the computer screen. Damn. She missed it. There was always next time, she supposed. 

"This new program is incredible. A few more years of development, and we won't even have to dig anymore," Danny, working at the computer said. Lyanna did not miss the tone of barely contained glee in his voice.

"I hope not," Lyanna spoke, making her presence known to the group gathered around the computer. “I only just joined this circus.” 

“Absolutely,” Alan turned around and grinned at her knowingly. “Where’s the fun in that?”

"It looks in good shape," Lyanna said, gesturing to the image on the screen and leaning in for a better look.

"Chip off the old block you are,” Alan smiled slyly, quiet pride shining through his features. “Yes, it looks about five maybe six feet high. I'm guessing about nine feet long," he reached up and accidentally touched the screen, making the image distort and flicker.

"What'd you do?" He asked Danny, pursing his lips disdainfully.

"You touched it. Dr Grant isn't machine-compatible," Ellie said with a laugh. Lyanna nudged at her shoulder and tried to contain her laughter. If there was one thing Alan hated above all else- it was technology. 

While Ellie wasn’t a blood relative, Lyanna still considered Ellie her aunt. She basically was her second mother, considering how she’d been around since Lyanna was quite young. She’d taken her on and supported Lyanna when she needed it, and was a huge source of motivation for her to finish her studies when she’d struggled and hit hiccups along the way.

"Hell, they've got it in for me," Alan added in agreement, touching the top of the makeshift dust shield over the monitor screen.

The image corrected itself and Alan continued assessing the skeleton.

"Look at this," he said, turning to the group of volunteers behind him. "It's no wonder these guys learned how to fly." The group chuckled, not seeing the similarities between the two types of skeletons. It wasn’t a popular opinion shared amongst the scientific community, but knowing Alan as she did, Lyanna knew he wasn’t likely to soon give up on proving it. 

"No seriously,” Lyanna piped up, “he's right. Do you see the pubic bone, turned backwards like a bird?" She asked, backing him up.

"It's true. Dinosaurs have more in common with modern-day birds than they do with reptiles," Alan bounced off her comment, turning to face the group. Ah, here is where they got the scientific benefits from their volunteering.

"Look at the vertebrae, full of air sacs and hollows, just like a bird's and even the word "raptor" means ‘bird of prey’." 

Lyanna could see that Alan was going to get into one of his infamous rants, and she noticed a couple of volunteers back up a step as if to wander off and do something else. 

"That doesn't look very scary. More like a six-foot turkey," they heard a kid's voice from the back of the group call out. Lyanna sighed before rubbing the sand and sweat from her forehead. This was the downside to having volunteers. She would be lying, however, if Lyanna said she didn’t laugh after seeing Alan's reaction.

"Here we go,” Ellie chuckled, knowing what was about to happen.

 

"Okay then, imagine yourself in the Cretaceous period," Alan began, walking forward and fishing out his raptor claw that he had acquired back on his first-ever dig right out of university. Lyanna could remember many days in his study when he was home between digs fiddling with it and imagining the beast that used to be connected to it. She considered it an heirloom and secretly hoped that Alan did, too. 

"You get your first look at this ‘six-foot turkey’. He moves like a bird, lightly bobbing his head.” Alan moved slowly towards the kid, Johnny, Lyanna thought his name was. “You keep still because you think that maybe his visual acuity is based on movement like a T-Rex and he'll lose you if you don't move.” He shook his hand, imitating movement. 

"But no," he paused, "not Velociraptor. You stare at him and he just stares right back." By this point, all of the volunteers and workers were captivated by Alan's words, hasty escapes forgotten. Lyanna was too, to be honest. But then again, she’d been enraptured by Alan’s words since she’d been a tot, so it wasn’t all that different to usual.

"And that's when the attack comes," he raised his hands, bringing his two pointer fingers up side by side to show that raptors didn't hunt by themselves. "Not from the front, but from the sides. From the other two raptors you didn't even know were there," he and Lyanna both smirked. Alan stood up straight.

"Because Velociraptors are pack hunters... they use coordinated attack patterns and he attacks you with this," he raised the claw to show Johnny, whose eyes widened comically.

"A six-inch retractable claw, like a razor, on the middle toe," Alan placed the claw between his index and middle finger, showing him where the claw would have been situated. "He doesn't bite your jugular like a lion, no. He slashes at you here or here," he said, raking the claw along different places of the kid's torso.

"Or maybe your belly. Spilling your intestines," he then smiled, crouching down again so that his eyes were level with Johnny’s. "The point is... you are alive when they start to eat you," he grins, satisfied with the reaction he had elicited.

Even Lyanna thought he might have gone a little far. 

Johnny nods and hurries off. Alan turned and chuckled after seeing the look on Ellie's face. She didn’t look particularly impressed, but she also looked amused, so Alan must have known he wasn’t in too much trouble.

"Johnny is probably going to have nightmares now, Alan," Lyanna snorted, crossing her arms playfully. 

"There's nothing to be afraid of. They've been dead for 65 million years," he said factually. 

"It's the power of the imagination," she responded, tapping the side of his head. He smiled down at her and patted her shoulder affectionately.

The three of them started walking up the hill that separated them from the rest of the camp.

"You know, if you wanted to scare the kid you could have pulled a gun on him," Ellie laughed, pulling the brim of her bucket hat down to shield her face from the beating sun.

"Yeah, I know. I can't believe you want to have one of those," Alan replied, gesturing back towards the scanner area where the volunteers were wheeling the new equipment out of the sun.

"I don't think she wants that particular kid," Lyanna laughed, wiping another layer of sweat from her forehead.

"Exactly. I mean, a breed of child would be intriguing. What's so wrong with kids?" Ellie asked, squinting at Alan. 

"Oh Ellie... they're noisy, they're messy, they're expensive," Alan listed, trekking up the sand dune.

Ellie and Lyanna both laughed but she could see where he was coming from. Life was becoming more expensive by the day. One or two probably wouldn’t break the average person’s bank, though. 

"They smell," Alan added after a second of consideration.

"They do not smell!" Ellie laughed, shaking her head at the audacity.

"Babies smell," he reasoned, pointing an accusatory finger at her. He had her there, Lyanna supposed. 

Before Ellie could answer, there was a loud rumbling coming from the sky.

"Is that a chopper?" Lyanna asked, shielding her eyes from the bright midday sun. 

"We aren’t due for another inspection,” Alan replied just as the black machine came into view. Then he thought about it for another moment. “Are we?”

"I don't know but let's find out,” Lyanna thought out loud as the chopper started to come down towards the ground. And not on the dedicated landing strip either, she noticed.

“Oh shit,” she exclaimed suddenly, bolting into motion. “The dig!”

[thelordofologies]

Fossil Shark Teeth ID Project - Part 1

I am currently working on a shark teeth ID project. It is a personal project I am working on because I got gifted a multitude of fossil shark teeth of various species.

I am fairly sure that the teeth (seen in the two pictures below) belong to the family Lamnidae and are from the species Cosmopolitodus hastalis.

If these teeth are in fact the teeth of Cosmopolitodus hastalis they ought to date back to the Miocene and Pliocene (which are the two epochs of the Neogene). Although the species was still alive during the Pleistocene, fossils found of Cosmopolitodus hastalis in Cadzand (in the Netherlands) date back to the Miocene and Pliocene.

One of the shark teeth (the left picture below) gifted to me is so severely eroded that I cannot visually identify it, however it is still a gorgeous fossil.

Between the various shark teeth I also found what I suspect to be a part of a fossilised chela (claw/pincer of a crab) (seen in the right picture below). Considering the location of the find I think it might be from Carcinus maenas and could date back to the Pliocene.

Tags: @darkcybertron @cornerstars

[popculturealtar]

Silent Hill Monsters Series: Air Screamer

The Air Screamer is a monster from Silent Hill 1 and Silent Hill: Book of Memories. Its a large, pteranodon-like monster, and its name is derived from the screech it creates. It is the first monster Harry Mason encounters in Silent Hill.

The Air Screamer is a spirit of beginnings, and unfolding events. Due to its symbolism pointing to one of Alessa's favourite books, it is also a spirit that governs over childhood and innocence (or the loss of both).

Concepts:

Time, beginnings, unfolding events, childhood innocence, loss of innocence.

Signs and symbols:

Clocks, rust, dust, wrinkles, grey hairs - connected with the passing of time.

Ancient animals and dinosaurs - connected with its appearance.

Books, picture books, libraries - connected with its origin.

Childhood toys - connected with its origin.

Salt - used as a preserver to protect from time.

Offering ideas:

Clocks, iron nails, coffin nails, fossilised teeth, picture books, children's toys.

Devotional acts:

Dusting off your shelves.

Helping the elderly.

Babysitting.

Throwing out old clothes.

Going for a walk to somewhere new.

Researching dinosaurs from different periods.

Listening to loud music, particularly screamo.

Reading a new book.

dividers by @/saradika

[shark-shark-shark-shark-shar]

Sharks have been around for over 400 million years - long before dinosaurs. Because their skeletons are made of cartilage (like our noses) instead of bones, they don’t leave fossils like other animals – but fossilised shark teeth have been found

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Lost & Found - Chapter Fifteen.

Because I'm going to be busy and nowhere near a computer tomorrow, I'm sharing the update a day early. It's a bit of a filler chapter, but we do have those on occasion. Enjoy, besties!

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen

Words - 3,022

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse.

Food smells. Emma was not used to returning home to find such wafting under her nose. Coconut milk, lemongrass, garlic and cilantro. They usually only ordered in when both were home to choose. Hmm. 

“Hey mister, did you order Thai food?” she called, hanging up her jacket, unclipping Axl from his leash and sliding her sneakers off, walking through to the kitchen. “Where the hell did you find a Thai takeout place in Santo-oh my god, you’re cooking.”  

Guero turned from the stove, placing the lid back on the pot he’d just stirred. “I am.” 

She was stunned. “You’re cooking, and you’re not burning anything!”  

He looked a little coy, his smile spreading as he greeted her with a kiss. “That part remains to be seen.”  

Setting her bag down, she basked in his affection, nails stroking the back of his head. “I'm shocked, this from a man who can't even boil an egg without making it look like it's been fossilised.” Moving to the pot, she removed the lid and inhaled deeply, the aromas making her mouth water. “Jesus fucking Christ, that smells good! Did you have help? Because I cannot believe for one second you followed a recipe without panicking.” 

Picking up his phone, he turned the screen to reveal an emailed explanation. “Lee. She sent me that this morning, instructions included.” 

So, that’s what he’d done with part of his day off, then, Emma reading through, laughing to herself. Lee typed exactly how she talked. “Put the chicken in with PLENTY of oil, but don’t fuckin’ let it start smoking, then keep it moving and wait until it’s GOLDEN BROWN, not fuckin’ cremated before you add the garlic and lemongrass! And for fucks sake, buy microwave rice pouches! My trust in you does not extend that far and I don’t want the damned wailing in my earholes if you end up burning it to the fuckin’ pan. Rice is tricky. Let Ben’s Original do that part for you.” 

“It’s gotta sit for a while now,” he spoke, arms sliding around her waist, mouth going to her neck as she placed his phone back down. “So, I got some ideas on how we can pass the time.”  

She felt herself be lifted, Guero seating her on the edge of the counter, beginning to undo her shorts. “But I’m all gross and sweaty.”  

Her complaint was met by a gruff rumble as he bit her earlobe. “You fucking smell great, as always. Now, shut up. I’m hungry.” He tugged at her cut offs and undies, slipping them down her tanned, slender thighs, her socks yanked free. He fixed her with the kind of stare that had her blood sparking, nuzzling her softly before kissing her with filthy heat.  

“God fucking damn, I love you so much.” His murmur preluded more of those steamy kisses, Emma tangling her fingers in his hair, her hands sliding to his back, pulling him against her. The heat of his skin whipped a tempest over her flesh, goose pimples rising, anticipating whirling.  

He felt it gnaw, his need eating at him with hungry teeth, yanking her closer to the edge of the counter. He pushed her body back a little, hands parting her thighs wide before he buried his mouth between them.  

The intrusion of a hot, wet tongue snaking between her folds had her eyes closing in bliss, hands gripping the edge of the counter, her head falling back with a soft gasp. The hungry suck he took sent sparks gleaming through her, muscles jolting as a soft purr slipped from her mouth.  

He literally growled around a mouthful of her cunt, fingers digging into her thighs. “Shit, you fucking taste amazing, mamas. God, you always get me so fucking hard.” Imagining the rigidity of his cock, coupled with the fast beat of his tongue across her clit had her trickling against his mouth, her arousal tingling her core as she panted, resting her feet up on his back as he ate her thirstily.  

“Mmm, you shouldn’t have mentioned that gorgeous, fat cock getting hard, because now all I can think about it getting wrecked by it,” she purred, her eyes a haze of allure as she stared down at him, the cute, yet sexually charged sight of her biting her lower lip making his insides pool molten.  

He turned his head, biting her inner thigh hard, the action making her gasp, running his tongue in a slow, firm lick over the red marks left behind, his eyes never leaving hers. “Yeah? Baby girl wanna get fucked real hard, does she?”  

Straightening, he yanked off his t shirt, Emma feeding two fingers into his mouth, grasping his jaw and pulling him close to her. “Yeah.” Her fingers slid from between his lips, turning her head to run a slow lick up his cheek, pulling off her vest and bra, all while fixing him with a look of roaring lust. “Now.”  

It acted like someone pouring an entire vat of accelerant upon his fire, but Guero held himself back, arching an eyebrow, shedding himself of his own clothes before shunting his body between her legs. One hand gently curled around her throat, the other grasped his cock, skimming the head through her soaking folds. “This what you want, huh?”  

“Mmm,” she hummed, her tongue flicking against his earlobe, teeth crushing in a soft bite. “So, so badly.” He turned his head, his mouth meeting hers, kisses of fiery honey exchanged as he finally caved and glided inside her. She pulsed around him, sucking him a little deeper, his grunt against her tongue a deep baritone that sent a spark flaring through her, his hand still holding her neck.  

The thick weight of him stretching her walls evoked her soft gasps, letting go of her clutch on the counter, arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer. Her nails slid over his back, a glide of sensual daggers, his grip on her neck releasing to instead grasp her thighs, pulling them wider, the roll of his hips sending him so deep into her she saw stars.  

He laid kisses to her throat, teeth peppering little bites, his groans all smoke and rasp as he pounded her voraciously, the wet slap of him filling the air as he fucked her. It rough and unrelenting, their mouths locked in blazing kisses, lightning striking tiny storms beneath their skin. He rutted her deep, fingers imprinting divots into her thighs, nerves lighting up as he felt her tighten around him, the velvet wet clasp heavenly.  

Lightning leapt up her spine as the hard shunt of his body pressed her clit, her thighs clenching at his narrow waist, her nails dug into his shoulder, the other knotted in his hair as her cries loudened, both chasing the dawn that primed to spill golden over their horizons. When that light finally shone and gilded, their groans reached crescendo, clung onto one another tightly as white-hot pleasure beamed through them, breathless and orgasm drunk.  

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she panted, stroking his face. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, moving to kiss her neck. “I’m amazing, huh?” 

“And so humble in your talents, mister.”  

He laughed, gently sliding from her, hands stroking her thighs as he lifted his chin defiantly. “I’m the fuck of the fucking century, and you know it!”  

With how proficient he was at making her come, she supposed she really couldn’t argue with that. His track record wasn’t every time for no reason. “Well, mister fuck of the century. I’m going to drink a cold beer in a hot bath. If I can walk.”  

Her wobble when she moved off the counter to her feet had him snort laughing, Emma picking up her clothes and taking them to throw in the machine before walking slightly bow legged to the bathroom.  

“Shut up!” she threw over her shoulder, Guero’s laugh filling the kitchen at her unsteadiness. One bath later, and she and Guero were curled up on the couch, eating large bowls of curry, curry that was neither burned or otherwise inedible. Quite the opposite.  

“You can do this more often, now that you know you can,” she commented, washing down a mouthful with a sip of beer.  

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “I had seventeen panic attacks making that, even with her majesties step by step instructions.”  

Speaking of her majesty, as Emma was laughing at his reply, her phone beeped, picking it up to find a text from Lee.  

‘Bish and I are going bowling, and I need other people there to distract from how fuckin’ much I suck! Come with? We’ll be there at eight. PLEASE!’ 

Putting the idea to Guero, she was met by noises of protest. “Hmm, nah. I’ve kinda gone full potato mode and I wanna stay that way. About the most energetic thing I’m planning on doing is piledriving you into the couch once I’ve digested.”  

Although that offer was tempting, Emma had been seduced now by the idea of an outing. “Oh, come on! Please? I haven’t bowled since I was a kid, and you’ll get to laugh at how abysmal I’ll likely be.” His face remained unchanged. “Please, honey, please, please?” Her gentle shaking of his arm coupled with her hopeful eyes finally got through, Guero smiling. 

“Fine, tell her we’ll be there.” He had a hard time saying no to her, knowing that of course she’d come from a life where she’d never been able to have anything her way. Her getting her own way couldn’t hurt either, he figured, Emma giving him a big kiss before jumping off the couch to go and get ready.  

An hour and a half later, donned in very bad shoes and drinking awful bowling alley beer, and Emma was showing that although after many years of absence, bowling was something she wasn’t too bad at. Lee, however... 

“Baby, aim central. Curve your arm,” Bishop advised, Lee chewing the inside of her cheek as she concentrated. She took her aim, the green ball leaving her hand and hurtling down the alley... straight into the gutter.  

She turned, her eyes fixing upon her husband, who to his credit did try not to look so thoroughly entertained. “It’s a damned good job I think you’re fuckin’ cute, Obispo Losa.”  

“What?” he laughed, shrugging as she sat back down with a huff. “I didn’t say a word.”  

Her eyes narrowed in an instant. “I see you, looking at me with that tone of voice.” 

He began to laugh immediately, transported back to many memories revolving around their time in the military together, and the one man she’d taken that very expression from. “You sound like Delaney, shit.” Guero and Emma looked blank, Bishop quickly taking his turn before coming back to explain. “Delaney was Luke Delaney, our commanding officer, and this guy was a fucking trip, I swear.” 

“He could be scary, that’s a given, but mostly he was just fucking funny as hell,” he continued, side eyeing Lee as his laughter grew. “One time, Lee didn't put everything required into her pack before we went out on training exercise, so Delaney punished her by finding this big assed rock that weighed roughly the equivalent of what she hadn’t brought and told her she would march with it. So of course, Lee being Lee, as soon as she got out on the march and around the first corner out of his sight, she put it down.” 

“Then he comes up to her afterward, right, and he fucking demanded to know where the rock was. She said, and I fucking quote, “Sir I lost your rock, sir! Couldn’t find another that big, sir, so sought a replacement, sir!” so then reached into her pocket and pulled out a fucking pebble the size of a goddamned grape!  

“We’re all trying not to laugh as she places it into his hand, Delaney is hanging onto it by the skin of his fucking teeth, and he fucking, he fucking just shakes his head, pulls a pen from his pocket and demands she sign her name on the stone. It stayed on his desk for the rest of his time there at the base because he knew he’d laugh at her audacity every time he saw it.” 

“That ain’t as funny as what he fuckin’ made you do a few weeks later in the mess hall,” Lee began, snickering immediately as Bish closed his eyes, reliving the mortifying memory. “This guy in our platoon, Ellis Bundy, there’s always one, ‘the guy’ as they’re known, and he didn’t follow Delaney’s orders to the letter, so he fuckin’ made him stand on the table and wave his arms while reciting the line “I’m a shit bird” over and fuckin’ over until told otherwise.  

“So Bish is fuckin’ killing himself laughing at him, cracking up, absolutely howling. Delaney spies it and roars, “Losa! On the table!” upon which he had to flap his arms and say “I’m a mocking shit bird” until he told him to get down! Inside, I was fuckin’ cry laughing at him, oh god!” 

“Ellis Bundy!” Bishop exclaimed, shaking his head. “That fool set off a goddamned live round in a tank one time, fucking deafened everybody in there, the fucking stupid cunt. Christ, he was a living shit show!” 

Hearing the stories of their miliary days warmed Emma, thinking it so lovely they had such a long history with one another. Friends for over twenty years, but as she’d learned from Lee herself, only married for eight after reconnecting many years after leaving the military.  

It was a beautiful thing, watching how in tune with one another they were, the party of four moving to the bar after their game, which Guero had won, and Lee and Emma had come in joint last place. Seeing a healthy marriage was something she wasn’t used to for the most part, of course only witnessing the awful abuse Marie had endured throughout her time captive within her home.  

Rocco’s hands had never reached for her with the same love that Bishop’s did to Lee, stroking her neck idly as she rested her head on his shoulder, listening to Guero tell her of his triumph following her Thai green curry recipe, little panic attacks aside.  

“Well, you ain’t ever gonna be as badass as Emma is in the kitchen, but there you are, you can do one thing at least now other than ignite chaos,” she commented, sipping her beer. “I swear, sugar. That fuckin’ thing you made with the bacon pieces, oh my god!” 

Emma thought back over her lunches made from leftovers she’d taken in recently, a box for Lee too unless it was a Friday, when the pair treated themselves to a delivery of burgers and fries. “The Bucatini all'Amatriciana?” 

“Yep! That's it!” Lee enthused, pointing across the table at her. “That one nearly made me get down on one knee and fuckin’ propose!” 

“And where would that have left me, sweetheart?” Bishop asked, entertained. 

“The spare room.” His wife’s statement roused a lot of laughter, Bishop furthering it. 

“Oh, great,” he rumbled, “you take a wife and I ain’t even allowed to watch. Fuck my life.” 

“Do I get to?” Guero asked, raising an eyebrow, Lee not answering for the excitement that followed after reading an alert on her phone.  

“Oh, baby look, they got last minute tickets for the midnight showing of The Exorcist at that little movie theatre just outside of town!”  

“Yeah? Get ‘em booked, we’re going,” Bishop nodded, Lee beginning to do exactly that. It had sold out prior to them deciding if they wanted to go or not, Lee putting her name down for email notifications should any cancellations arise. “Okay, there’s seven left. You guys wanna come with? I’ll get the tickets, y’all get the snacks.” 

Emma’s face lit up immediately. “Yes!” She then checked herself, turning to Guero. “Can we?” 

“Mmm, kinda wanted to call it a night after here. I’m tired,” he replied, his enthusiasm definitely not on par with that of his girlfriend.  

“Come on! You can sleep when you’re dead! Please, please, please?”  

He thought for a few minutes, Emma badgering at him some more before he finally relented. It might have been innocuous to anyone else, but Lee noticed it, just as she’d picked up on it in the past, too. Guero had a hard time telling Emma no and pretty much always caved to her wishes. With anyone else in his life, he’d have absolutely no problem with making his feelings known. A soft alarm sounded in her head, but she didn’t pay it further mind. 

Just over two hours later and they were sat in the packed out, independent movie theatre furnished with snacks and drinks, the iconic opening of the classic horror movie beginning to play, Guero wishing he had a coffee the size of the soda he held in order to stay awake. Halfway through the film, he found enough incentive, Emma repeatedly jumping out of her skin.  

“I swear,” he whispered, leaning close to her ear, his grin wide. “Watching you fucking crap your pants every five minutes is worth not being asleep for.”  

She nudged him with a soft elbow, offering him a kiss he happily granted her. It was close to 3am by the time they arrived home, Guero happy to faceplant the bed, glad outlaw hours meant he didn’t have to show his face until around 11am the following morning. As it turned out, though, Emma had other ideas.  

“Where are you off to, baby girl?” he asked, Emma kissing her way down his torso.  

“To say thank you for tonight in a way I think you might enjoy.” Might enjoy? Now, there was an understatement, Guero smirking to himself, feeling his cock swelling with anticipation. 

When her lips wrapped around his hardness, it was definitely the derailing of his original plans he preferred most that night. Sleep could always wait to be on the receiving end of the best blowjobs he’d ever received in his entire life.