#normal fuckin brass knuckles

[exx-bee]

ggod forbid women do anything

[bruciemilf]

Hii!

I was wondering if you had any n.sfw type of headcanons for Harvey vs Two Face when they're being intimate? 🤭

Because of the Jason Dent AU fic, part of me thinks TwoFace might be a pillow princess for Matches 😅

I mean, I try to assume couples are versatile but was also curious if you felt either would be more or less likely to enjoy something over the other. Or if they'd be pretty much the same in their wants/desires. Hope this makes sense!

Really like your blog. Your post with Batfam Twitter about Harvey breaking out of Arkham to take Bruce out on dates is part of what got me into them 😍🥹

HOOOO. NSFW ahead!!! Minors don’t interact, please and thank you!!

—

I’m so goddam thirsty for this man. No, — it’s unhealthy. I’m like a feral Resident Evil nightmare that escaped confinement and I’m in need of emergency euthanasia.

In my heart I can’t imagine Harvey or TF bottoming. But it also really depends on!! I could maybe see Harvey, whimpering like a goddam mess, Bruce bounces on his dick like a fucking horny rabbit, and TF snarling, “Fuckin’ wimp.” (He loves it)

One thing’s for sure thought; These mfs are So Nasty.

Two-Face is big on degradation; Bruce’s pleasure is extremely important for him, and while he prioritizes his baby doll getting the best treatment possible, you can catch him shoving Batman on his knees anytime, anywhere.

“C’mon, sweet boy. Use that smart ass mouth for something useful. “

And Bruce can’t ever say no 😔 He has them memorized down to the veins

Also you bet Harvey’s hung as hell. 10 inches. Bruce has higher chances of ending up in the ER after fucking than fighting.

DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY-

I just know for a fact Two-Face always has Bruce on his lap when he’s playing poker.

Either when Bruce is disguised, or just normal. Besides, Brucie Wayne is basically Harvey’s glorified blow up doll. So what if he’s around the room while talking essential business? So what if he’s witness to it?

Black Mask makes that comment exactly once and Harvey paints his brass knuckles red <333 “Tsk. Fucker got blood on my watch.”

God help you if Bruce wears red lipstick around this bastard. They’ll make out so messily. Everywhere. At any time. Cause Harvey’s not stopping until Bruce begs him to let him breathe.

SCAR WORSHIP.

MUTUAL

SCAR WORSHIP

Harvey will call Bruce princes while fucking him doggy style, his belt tightly snaked around his neck. He makes the prettiest noises, punched out moans and tiny little gasps. “Ah, heh— you came? Again? You’re making a mess, sweetheart.”

I genuinely do think rough sex is their go to, but like. Loving rough sex? Nevertheless, when one or both have an off day, when Gotham’s nightshade hand punches just a little too hard, they find sanctuary in each other’s softness.

Sometimes Bruce gets fucked with Harvey between his legs, spread like a last meal on his WE office, his smaller hands sinking in his man’s broad shoulders. And he’ll say nothing except his name, like a mantra.

“Harvey. I love you.”

“I know.”

“Bastard,” Bruce laughs rarely, and when he does, it feels like a prize, “Say it back. Both of you.”

“Tch. Brat. We love you. Happy?”

“Always.”

[jack-kellys]

i said i’d post more notes so here are some MORE uk notes, organized enough for u to skip to whichever part u wanna read first. main hits in order are:

1. delanceys as a whole actually

2. jack and physicality (bodily and visually)

3. davey and leaders

4. ensemble notes at the end. here we go!

also all my other analyses so far r linked at the bottom <3 go look

~the delancey brothers!~

so help me i love these guys. i hate them so much and i rly don’t think they’ve been this evil before, like i think. they were more of a cartoonish school bully kind of threat.. but like. nah dude. these are strikebreakers. and they act like it.

they are both taller than essentially all of the newsies except davey. which idt has been true in the past but is significant based on the fact that jack kelly is usually cast always under 5’10 i THINK.. to show he’s still a kid. these delanceys just look bigger, and are older. they don’t interact as much with anyone wearing knickers instead of full-length pants. except.

when each newsie goes up to grab their papers, oscar does a different mean thing to LITERALLY EACH ONE OF THEM. he’ll drop them, or fake a kid out (his fake out w/ buttons has made me jump each time i’ve sat close enough in woodside LMAO he nearly hits him!!), or hold the papers away from them, or push them into their chest. or just give them a sneer. like he is just awful LMFAO

another thing is that they smile very easily when they are doing horrible things. it’s so fucking cool HAHAH but ok lemme go chronologically i’ll speak on dis later

when jack is writing up on the chalkboard, he’s not fighting some guy- it’s oscar, dude. jack and oscar literally go at it, and jack is so physical in this show so when he’s fighting his whole body is fighting. jack shoves oscar down onto the stairs, oscar gets up and tries to grab him but jack SHOVES HIS ENTIRE FOOT into oscar’s stomach and literally pushes him with everything he’s got and oscar tumbles into the stairs, knocking more wind out of him, and is coughing and shit all while “strike!” goes up on the board. god. it rly is the way jack has to put his whole body into making sure oscar can’t get up… it must be an even fight normally

when -5 newsies show up to the gate and they have the “ahh oscar we got bum information” it’s like… they don’t have to intimidate to intimidate. “my skull bustin’ arm” isn’t cartoonish, bro, it’s a fucking fact. and then oscar just laughs, and it’s not evil it’s like bc this is genuinely fun and amusing to him that they are going to kick some kid ass. man!

and then they do i mean i think it’s brass knuckles to the face that take crutchie out… they might kick him too. idr i’m watching all the kids run for their lives during the fight tbh.

MORE IMPORTANTLY, THEY SHOW UP WITH BATS. and it’s not like. a little stage combat bop to the face via a wrist motion— morris at least is swinging with two hands at these kids like he’s tryna hit a home run. it’s choreographed well obv, so he doesn’t even have to slow his swing it’s literally a straight up… if a kid got hit with that they’d be down for the rest of the strike. period bro. it’s kinda fuckin terrifying.

act 2 baby! pulitzer’s office. when pulitzer is extorting jack, when he says “oh, but it’s not right to condemn that little cr*ppled boy to conditions like those…” oscar. fucking. looks over to his brother. and smiles. no it was not a one night thing either. it is every. time. pulitzer mentions crutchie. and it’s chilling, it’s slow and knowing and BAD ASF !! then they haul jack off.

he’s taken upstage behind the scaffolding towers while pulitzer sings the rest of the reprise, but there’s enough light to see what’s going on between the three of them. and what’s going on is that jack is held to the wall while the delanceys take turns punching him. like. whole-shoulder-into-it hits. in the ribs so no one can visually see. oh. my. god. they wrench him downstage and toss him to the ground, jack actually falling and sliding (unlike….proshot where jerjor stumbles to the ground ig) onto his stomach during “we’ve been given discretion..” (discretion only, which is why they rough jacks up privately as he technically hasn’t given the brothers a reason to smack him around..) jack looks like he’s about to get up when my perhaps my favorite detail in the show happens. everyone listen closely:

oscar puts his foot down, on jack’s shoulder. his right shoulder. the shoulder of which fic writers and headcanoners for years have been including as some place where jack has chronic pain after an injury. and michael does a few shoulder moments through the show if you’re really looking (not as obv as jerjor but more natural maybe) and like. and oscar stands on it and pushes jacks back to the ground. holy FUCKING SHIT! ITS!!!! ITS THERE!!! our fucking!! the Thing!!!!! the fucking lore bro like does oscar know it’s sensitive for jack… duuuude. evil delanceys best delanceys

anyway they literally rock. pay attention to them onstage if u can! also the actors r quite funny together and they often do a bull-and-cape bows choreo thing w/ george running thru alex’s mimed cape <3

speaking of jack though, …jack!!

im not making this up jack does tilt davey’s chin up at some point i just don’t remember when… it has to be sometime on seize the day. it’s.. i don’t think i’m making this up.

he does make a point of tilting… might’ve been romeo’s chin up during the seize the day speech during “ain’t no crime to being poor,” and jack makes a movement for the kid to hold his head up. ugh. jack’s pride through this show is a wild wild journey because all it really is.. is within other people. god. god…

another big jack thing as i like to yell abt is his physicality.. when he’s impressed he’s soft and when he needs to get something out of someone or get them away from him he’s distinctly rougher. his physical action is also quite purposeful and feels less reactive than it does like… thought through. even when he’s tugging himself away from les even it’s like an “oh, get off of me already”. it’s a slow, sort of just sick-of-it motion, it’s a wind-up into pulling his arm away (oh this could. be because it’s his bad shoulder and oscar had dug his heel into it the night before. hold tf on WOAH WOAH!!!! rizz ghost-directed this production fr) before of course he realizes it’s les. like it’s very clear he’d be the type to hide an injury really well and then when he lets himself feel it he feels it.

continuing the end of the rally though oh my god. he basically stands upstage center as everyone passes him. everyone he’s ever known passes him and insults him and shoves him but what’s interesting is like. the money is still in his hand. and no one takes it. idk it’s just cool. but literally everyone has words to say to him (well, some spit at him), because honestly, jack said words to them.

significantly, and i can’t stress this enough, jack is an extremely good observer and because of this he does think before he speaks.. in a way. he bases it around a person for sure though, specifically: during the seize the day speech, he goes up to race (he makes his rounds through the whole stage during this part, getting to speak to every newsie on stage. it’s really.. ah, moving, tbh) when he says “they are slaving to support themselves, and their folks” BECAUSE he’d been seeing race and davey not get along (hello to my post about that) through most of the show.. because of davey’s privilege of having a home. inversely, during the rally ‘speech’ jack says “how long can you go without making money” to fucking tommy boy, WHO HAD BEEN A SCAB. tommy literally stands up from the ladder he’s sitting on too bc literally how dare jack… like that is SO. specific.

^but, it also shows that jack definitely knows the methodology of trying to win people over. he knows how to be persuasive, he just obviously isn’t at the rally bc he’d been even more persuasive during seize the day.

• caveat. race is literally so fun to watch during the rally. because he quite literally is only here for the cause because of jack, like if jack wasn’t leading it… idt he’d be in support of it. (especially based on his dislike of davey). he does this “oh my god” of disbelief when jack says to vote no, shaking his head and laughing a little. it’s just. horrified. and it’s gradual too, like he slowly realizes what is going on, that jack is selling out vs. being genuine. ugh. love this racetrack so much but anyway

davey’s shove to jack when he goes to get les is like so small and light in the way of like. not wanting to touch him. because WWH reprise had been filled to the brim of davey touching jack and now davey can barely even fathom it. god they are so going out. also i think it’s interesting that dave and les are the ones to take on and off jack’s newsie square mural, since they’re the only two who have been in the know of jack’s talent since towards the start of the show (meddas)… cool choice.

santa fe for this jack feels the least tangible, like it’s very much in his mind. from it being ingrained in the set, and certainly the moon expanding and practically consuming him from behind, it’s very… dreamlike and visual. when davey walks in on jack painting he’s like “ohhhh is that santa fe. lmao.” LIKE?? it’s very not real in this which is interesting. because jack is very very good at running in this. so it’s cool that this rly is the one time he can’t (when he wants to).

also it rly is the way that the mics caught the ripping noises when jack is taking off the portraits from his penthouse’s overhang… the slow one at the end of “ you stole for those boys, didn’t you?” whew. and he looks at it. and then hides it. god

also, and i’m realizing this hasn’t been canon before: jack is packing a bag to literally leave. he has the money, he kept the jacobs out of jail, he has to go. because his pride does reside in others, and when there seems to be no one left, he has to leave. of course he does. god…

davey time.

the holding of davey’s head is after world will know while the tables are being set up. finally nailed down when tf this happens lmao

“oh, wow… well. you’re really good.” davey covers up when he’s impressed in favor of a statement of fact. he doesn’t like giving away his position, even when it’s not about the strike (/this foreshadows his hesitancy in the next scene, and his statements of facts about how strikes work accidentally backfiring as a stalling tactic and turn into actual reasons to strike).

davey laughs when he’s nervous, which makes when he’s smiling and when he’s not.. quite stark. his resting face is a little inquisitive frown, like he’s always kind of listening. but yeah for his spotlight at the rally he literally is like “oh haha! um- umm, haha— NEWSIESOFNEWYORK. haha! ummm, we got kids from- from every neighborhood!!” i love him. just the concept of meaning what you say so much that it needs to come out of you no matter what form it takes. @we-are-inevitable and i have talked abt poet!davey before and yeah it was uk davey who it stemmed from for a reason.

the role call moment in seize the day is cringe but genuinely davey’s will never not make me laugh bc like HE THINKS it’s cringe too. but what he also does is not call himself david. he says davey. during a role call. names. and it’s davey. do y’all understand

i actually will probably never shut up about crutchie’s open arms to davey after the refuge and davey rly just falling into it my god.. it makes me so emotional. and they talk for so long…

• to this point, i think it’s rly interesting how leaders, specifically, gravitate towards davey. charlie is talking to the guy upon impact- after world will know the two of them are borderline speaking over jack.. the blocking has charlie turned inward towards davey while sitting on the table, which blocks jack off. race argues with davey partway thru the pre-seize the day scene enough so for jack to push race back. and spot LOVES davey. he’ll try to look toward jack and she will bring him right back down to her level and get him looking at her again and they RUN OFF WITHOUT HIM even though they’re all headed to the same place. like lmao. davey is built to lead and engage, there is just something within his nature that is desperate to come out that all the other leaders tease out in different ways. tbh katherine too. DEFINITELY katherine too, since they’re attached at the hip.

we end the davey section with a javid moment idr if i’ve mentioned or not: when jack sets the deal to buy back papers with pulitzer, the transition back to newsie square is davey running. running to jack, katherine a ways behind, and grabbing jack’s shoulders with his eyes widened. well? and jack kinda shrugs, he’s playing it cool before he just grins, and davey rattles jack’s arms before they like. their hug is so close and intimate and rough and davey shoves jack into him, it’s the kind of hug that rocks them side to side a bit. my god. it’s unbelievable. can’t believe they got away w that level of homo onstage <3

speaking of homos im gonna go thru some ensemble quick stuff

albert and crutchie are close friends in this which is so cool. albert is also like consistently the one to pick anyone up off the ground, be it crutchie or les or another kid. it’s just what he does and it helps to not single out crutchie as well. he’s just so helpful and unhinged. like what a weird fucking paring he’s so crazy LMAO

finch is the one who starts the boos during the rally, loud and abrasive and angry. he and race are standing at manhattan with… ooh. idk. it might be splasher but literally do not quote me. finch is just so abrasive through this whole show i fucking love him. loud weirdo

mike is the angriest newsie in town. he is always yelling before a dance break

every time jojo and jack interact it’s like he’s picking up his baby brother or he’s hugging him etc and it like literally makes me emotional lololol. wow

jack bromage was fully back as tommy boy for my show (he’d been out for a bit/doing partial things bc of an injury!!) and THANK GOD because he is. and i’ve been over this but he is literally so cool LMAO he is For The Cause.

buttons is literally so cool in this despite his name. he steals from a vendor before getting the other newsie he’s with to toss their fruit to a sitting-alone splasher, his bit with the delanceys gets him pissed, he’s just consistently ready to actually throw hands and appreciate him for it. kind of serves uhhh livesies tommy boy energy which is fantastic

henry just has a lot more lines in this which surprises me every time. either that or he talks a lot just when he’s onstage LMAO

specs kind of always either literally leads or encourages the movement when newsies are in the aisles/city alleyways, which makes sense— of course the lookout would know the city back and forth!! god! i love him. i do wish we had a black actor again but sam is very sweet <3

that’s all! i say, having done another multiple thousand-word analysis post. thanks for joining me once again gents.

my past analyses have been about:

the show at large +principal characters,

davey,

something to believe in’s new perspective,

other general notes/characterizations,

and racetrack!

[delanceyposting]

Incredibly long post but i wanted to post oscar Alcoholism era on here. Also posted on ao3

1000~ words, cws for alcoholism, violence, and referenced child ab*se. Please ignore things that dont make sense This is the longest Thing that ive written and actually finished in forever

It was inevitable, bound to happen at some point. Maybe it was the cards he had been dealt, or perhaps it was simply a matter of genetics, but one thing was clear and undoubtable; the amount that Oscar drank definitely was not normal.

He snootily claimed that he could stop any time he wanted, but the truth is, he completely lost control the moment he had a beer in his hands. One was never enough to distract him from the vile being he had made out of himself. In fact, one beer could hardly even get him buzzed after his constant series of binge drinking.

Oscar was constantly coming home late at night, then being incredibly hungover in the morning, slumped over a bucket and puking his brains out. But alas, that couldn’t even stop him from going out and doing it again in the same day.

He absolutely despised the lack of control that he had over himself. Sure, he hated not having power over the other things in his life, but not having power over himself was an entirely different story. You can be above everything your life and do just fine, but are you ever truly fine if you aren’t above yourself?

This constant carousal became so prominent that Morris, and even Otto, had to step in. A make-shift intervention, if you will. Oscar was furious over it, screaming that they had no business dictating what he could do to his own body, and that he was going to continue purely out of spite for them.

“Mo, I tried to tell’ya that this whole fuckin’ thing was pointless,” Otto scoffed, arms folded across his chest as he sat sprawled out next to Morris on the tattered couch, “he ain’t even worth it.”

Otto knew how to push his buttons, and unfortunately for him, Oscar wasn’t gonna take it. Already slightly inebriated, and now blinded by rage, he landed a forceful blow to Otto’s jaw before he could even recognize what he was doing. The initial hit had already knocked him out cold, but Oscar just kept brutally socking him with absolutely no mercy. It was like something horrible had possessed him and was taking complete control of his body. In that moment, any and all dominance he had over himself vanished faster than he could count out 20 papes.

It took both the forces of Morris and Wiesel to pry Oscar away from his unconscious, bleeding cousin. When he finally snapped back into reality, he was met with a thoroughly battered and bruised Otto, bright red liquid dripping down from the shallow gashes scattered across his freckled face. His jaw was already swelling from brute force of the first swing. His nose was bent out of shape and very obviously broken.

Funny enough, Oscar couldn’t even recall slipping his brass knuckles on.

Seeing the damage he had done to Otto reminded him of something terrible— something he had suppressed deep inside his memory and vowed to never remember:

The image of 6 year old Morris, contused beyond recognition, bawling his eyes out after Pa had beaten him, all because he tried to hide his beer. He innocently thought that maybe if he couldn’t find where it was, then he would have no choice but to choose Oscar and him over it.

Blood poured from the wounds on his face, mixing with tears and snot as it dripped down and pooled on the floor below. It was pretty normal for their dad to smack them around, but the extent of this beating could never even compare to what they had experienced in the past. It was unlike anything he had ever done to them before.

Still being held back by Morris and Wiesel, he suddenly burst out into tears, inconsolably sobbing just like Morris did way back when. “What is it, Os? Why is you cryin’ now?” His brother spun him around to face him, eyebrows furrowed in both concern and confusion. Wiesel rushed to Otto’s side, taking a good look at his wounds. Oscar didn’t answer, still distraughtly wailing with his shirt balled tightly in his fists. “Os? Ossie?”, he called out, desperately trying to snap him out of this crying spell that he was under. Now genuinely worried by his sudden breakdown, he grabbed his chin and forced Oscar to look him in the eyes. “What is this about, Oscar?” Still very weepy, he managed to spit out the word ‘Pa’. Morris’ face went blank, like a deer in headlights.

Apart from Oscars blubbering, the room went quiet. The tension was so thick that you could cut through it with a knife. Out of the blue, Morris spoke. “You fuckin’ see?” His solemn expression twisted into anger as he grit his teeth. Oscar squinted at him through teary eyes, waiting for him to elaborate. Morris rolled his eyes at his brother’s incompetence. “You fuckin’ see why I ain’t want you drinkin’ like he did?”, he spat, eyes now carrying a fire that wasn’t there before. Oscar just stared back blankly, breathing shakily. His question had snapped him back into reality for a moment.

“You claim t’fuckin’ hate his guts, but you ain’t even takin’ the time t’realize that—“, he pauses, taking a deep breath before finishing his sentence. “—you is him, Os.”

Oscar felt sick, like he could throw up at any moment, and he was sweating like the Dickens, which could’ve very well been from the alcohol resting in his stomach, but who’s to say?

“I’s can do better, Mo,” he grabbed at his brother’s shirt, pulling him closer. “Please, Mo, I ain’t wanna be like ‘im—I’ll do anything, just please help me be better—“ His throat was scratchy and his face ached like he was about to break down crying again. “You better fuckin’ promise me, Os.” Morris grabbed his chin once again, this time much more aggressively. His gaze was intense. Oscar could’ve sworn that it pierced a hole straight through his soul. “I— I promise, Mo— I’on wanna be like ‘im, Mo—“ Before he knew it, he was crying again. Morris just shushed him, wiping his tears away with his sleeve. “Y’ain’t gotta start ya’ cryin’, Os. Just go get Wiesel the first aid kit, eh?” Oscar nodded in response before walking off to fetch it from the cabinet.

Even though he promised Morris that he wouldn’t, even though he swore that he hated the person he was becoming, and that he didn’t want to turn into his father, Oscar returned to the bar that very night.

[i-got-these-words]

Short Midnight Drabble ~

[Content warnings: Excessive drinking; dubious consent; victim self-blaming; jealousy; explicit sexual content; explicit language.]

The rhythm in his head had but one name. Tequila.

Guan Shan winced as a shooting pain lanced through him, striking dead centre in the space between his eyes like a rusty nail trying to screw its way through his skull. His heavy and only-somewhat-cooperative tongue rolled around a tart curse that would have had his mom smacking him upside the head and scolding him six ways to Sunday.

Fuck a cheese grater. Where was he?

Prying his eyes open, Guan Shan squinted into the dimly lit room, thankful that someone had had the foresight to draw the vertical blinds closed. The scintillating shimmer of a spring dawn spilt through the narrow gaps, casting the room and its slumbering occupants in hues of cerise and new beginnings.

Guan Shan didn’t recognise them, and he sure as fuck didn’t believe in new beginnings. Or second chances. He was forced to clench his teeth against a wave of nausea when he tried to sit up, his body stiff and protesting. He took a few steadying breaths through his nose as the rusty nail asserted itself once again, burrowing deeper and laying claim to his alcohol-addled brain.

The room was littered with the usual post-party detritus, but in place of ransacked snack bowls, disposable red cups and crushed beer cans, there were half-empty food platters, fully empty champagne bottles and a slew of personalised confetti.

It came him to then—Jian Yi and Zheng Xi’s engagement party.

He instantly regretted coming. Then, just as quickly, felt bad for even thinking it; Jian Yi was the closest thing Guan Shan had to a friend, even if Guan Shan would never admit it. But then he remembered how, in the face of his hesitation, Jian Yi had assured Guan Shan that he wouldn’t be attending. After all, he was halfway across the globe and had already sent his apologies and felicitations in the form of an outrageously luxurious RV disguised as an engagement gift.

Shit.

Guan Shan needed to get out of there.

He took his time levering himself to his feet, swaying a little as the room spun. Gingerly, he lumbered past the handful of dozing guests, most of them more scantily dressed than they had been at the beginning of the party, limbs twisted around a partner—or partners—a piece of upholstered furniture, or a bottle of top-shelf liquor.

The air was thick with the scents of warm, canoodling bodies, an eye-watering floral fragrance someone had drenched themselves in the night before and the lingering traces of eau de fuck mist. Wrinkling his nose, Guan Shan scowled at the thought of partygoers going at it right there in the living room whilst he was passed out drunk on the couch. What happened to having some goddamn decorum?

Meandering out into the hallway in search of his chukka boots, Guan Shan rubbed his temples and wondered if it was too early in the day for the Sunday trains to be running. He considered getting an Uber back to his place, but he was trying to save up—for a wedding gift, a fucking suit because the one he owned was only fit to be worn at funerals, smart shoes that hadn’t been bought at a thrift store, and a round or two of over-priced drinks at the joint bachelor bash Jian Yi was already twittering about.

Fuckin’-A. He’d need to budget more tightly than he already had been, but he consoled himself with the option of selling the suit and shoes second-hand post-wedding and making up for the difference by picking up a few more shifts at the restaurant.

And making do with less than three hours of sleep a night.

Putting his monetary worries to one side, Guan Shan spent the better half of a minute getting tangled in the loose end of a congratulations banner that had come half-undone from the wall. As he passed the kitchen, he caught the time on the microwave’s digital display: five fucking am. The first train wasn’t due til half six.

Mood souring, Guan Shan ran a frustrated hand through his shorn hair, a little stiff and sticky from the product he’d fingered through it last night. His stomach lurched when he noticed the wretched bottle of jalapeño-infused tequila on the breakfast bar and he wondered why he’d thought drinking himself to oblivion would be a good idea. Not only had it been one of his more foolish decisions, it hadn’t even fucking worked.

Guan Shan could remember, clear as day, how his mouth had dried up and his heart had dithered like a fucking damsel in distress when he’d spotted He Tian sauntering through Jian Yi and Zheng Xi’s verdant backyard. With his signature cocksure swagger, He Tian had garnered the attention of many a guest sprawled on rattan garden furniture. Guan Shan had envied them their insouciance as they sipped chilled champagne from sparkling glasses and got their fill of a fabulous ass furnished in dark denim. Guan Shan, on the other hand, had ensconced himself in the kitchen in an attempt to avoid crossing paths with his ex.

That, too, hadn’t fucking worked.

With an hour to kill, Guan Shan found himself in the guest bathroom, splashing his face with arctic-cold water in the hopes that it would chink away at the haze of his hangover. In anticipation of having overnight sojourners, Jian Yi or Zheng Xi—more likely the latter—had stacked a pile of sealed toothbrushes and bottles of mouthwash on the window ledge.

Guan Shan felt marginally human after he’d scrubbed his teeth and freshened up. He chanced a look in the mirrored cabinet above the sink and grimaced. His rose gold hair, which had been a deliberate mess of spikes at the beginning of the night was now nothing short of a grooming disaster. His cheeks were flushed from the cold wash, masking the dusting of freckles on his face that bloomed and waned with the seasons. Normally a blazing liquid copper, his eyes were a dull brass, tarnished by too many shots and not enough winks.

The mouth-watering aroma of morning coffee wafted through from under the bathroom door and Guan Shan hoped whoever was up was brewing it strong. He was downing a couple of Advil he’d filched from the small cabinet when he noticed a bruise peeking out from the collar of his shirt. He leaned closer to the mirror, trying to get a better look.

Motherfucker. It was an honest-to-fuck hickey.

As his already-shit mood took a nosedive, Guan Shan ground his molars, the flush on his cheeks deepening with anger. Who the fuck had put it there? And when? Guan Shan couldn’t remember making out with anyone last night and, given that he was fully clothed sans shoes, the necking session had probably not gone past first base.

Probably.

Had he been so blitzed out that he couldn’t remember letting someone suck a bruise on his person? Fuck.

Fuck!

Guan Shan’s ire took an ugly turn. He shouldn’t have put himself in that fucking position. He should’ve known better. Seeing He Tian had fucked him up and Guan Shan had responded by getting shitfaced.

Eyes stinging, Guan Shan swiped viciously at his face with another palmful of frosty water. Just as he turned to the toilet and unzipped his fly, the bathroom door swung open.

He Tian paused in his stride to blink at Guan Shan. Then proceeded to make his way to the sink.

“Do you fucking mind?” Guan Shan growled, ignoring the way his insides squirmed at the sight of a sleepy-looking He Tian: softly tousled locks, a rumpled silk shirt and black boxer briefs that were so tight his dick was one cough away from indecent exposure.

Opening the cabinet and rummaging through the contents, He Tian mumbled a curt, “Nope.”

Guan Shan knew he was on the verge of snapping, and he let his anger simmer to a boil as He Tian popped the cap off the Advil container and knocked back a few pills. When he was done guzzling a mouthful of water right from the tap, his gelid grey eyes slid to Guan Shan. He Tian lofted a dark brow and the motion shouldn’t have been as sensual as it was.

“It’s not like you haven’t pissed in front of me before,” He Tian mused. “In fact—”

“Finish that sentence and you’ll be shitting out your own teeth for the next year,” Guan Shan snarled.

A smirk ghosted He Tian’s lips and the challenge in his eyes made Guan Shan’s stupid heart stutter like a gin-soaked queen in stilettos. “—I distinctly recall how much it turned you on.”

The illusion that he had any self-control around He Tian shattered as Guan Shan pivoted on his heel and plunged towards the taller man, fists raised and powered up.

But He Tian was ready for him. He’d always been fucking ready for him.

Guan Shan’s knuckles barely grazed the hard-lined jaw it was aiming for as He Tian swiftly dodged to the side. When Guan Shan brought up his left elbow to ram it into He Tian’s obscenely, perfectly straight nose, He Tian ducked like he was made of liquid and not the stacked muscle Guan Shan knew was rolling under that naturally tan skin. He Tian countered with a friendly jab to Guan Shan’s kidney; it wasn’t meant to hurt, and it didn’t. But it did momentarily surprise Guan Shan and He Tian predictably took advantage of his hesitation.

The bathroom cabinet shook as Guan Shan’s back collided with the tiled wall.

He Tian closed in on him, outstretched arms boxing Guan Shan in from either side and leaving He Tian wide open to a counterattack, one that they both knew wouldn’t come.

Guan Shan blamed his sluggish reflexes on the hangover from hell and, this close up, he could see that He Tian hadn’t come away completely unscathed either from a night of liberal drinking and liberal morals.

His eyes were rimmed pink, half-lidded and weary. His weekend stubble was a velvet shadow that would have taken a younger He Tian a week to grow out. His post-party redolence was a mixture of faded cologne, the spicy notes of celebratory fizz, and a familiar musk that reminded Guan Shan of lazy mornings in bed, sun-warmed sheets, and an intimacy that didn’t involve swapping spunk.

Guan Shan’s throat tightened like a vice when he spied the flecks of dark red on He Tian’s crumpled white collar, and the grisly bite mark on the side of his neck that was responsible.

“I’ve barely said two words to you and you’re already trying to break my face,” He Tian drawled in a voice that was as deep as it was dark, and made all the more dangerous by a disarming smile. “What crawled up your ass this fine morning?”

Read the full fic here: Love Bites and Bruises

[trustsalvatorewriting]

remember me || cesar diaz - chapter one

Summary: In which Cesar decides to have a summer fling

Word Count: 2,256

-

❝ why would you ever kiss me? i'm not even half as pretty ❞

The first time Cesar truly felt fear was the night he saw a lost teenage girl on La Luna, just outside a bodega, at nine o'clock at night. He'd gone out for a walk after an argument with his tío. Thought he would take some time to cool off before he found himself on the wrong end of a pair of brass knuckles. He made a mental note never to buy a pair.

    It was a warm summer night, and he found himself wearing a simple black t-shirt and blue jeans - he would have to trade them in eventually, especially if Oscar was getting out soon. If Andrés was right, he would have to join the Santos by the end of summer, and all hope of feeling like a regular teenager would go out the window in an instant.

    He had just made it into Sanctuary when he saw her. She was standing on the corner of La Luna, a block away from the abandoned train station and across the street from a crappy bodega that paid taxes to the Santos every month. She turned her head, looking both ways, clearly trying to figure out where she was.

    Normally, he would have let her figure it out. A person that was willing to stay out past curfew on gang territory was a person confident enough to defend themselves. Cesar shoved his hands into his pockets as he waited for her to pull out a phone and call for help, the eerie silence on the street starting to eat away at him. It was when three Santos drunkenly stumbled out of the bodega that he sped up his pace.

    "What'd I tell you?" One of the members grinned, waving the pile of cash in his hand. "I ain't even have to say 'tax time.' Them Prophets are bitches."

    "You better get that shit to Andrés in the morning," another one warned. "Puta doesn't like having his money missing."

    "Que se joda!" The one with the money threw the money at him, cackling as it rained down.

    Cesar swerved off the sidewalk, attempting to pass by the drunkards without getting their attention. He kept his eyes trained on the concrete, occasionally glancing up at the girl to ensure she was still there.

    "Yo!" A hand clamped down on Cesar's shoulder, spinning his around. It was the guy who had thrown the money. Beneath his jaw, the name 'Malakai' was tattooed in cursive. "Oh, shit! It's Lil Spooky."

    'Shit,' He thought to himself. 'Think fast, asshole.'

    "Aye, Lil Spooky!" The second one exclaimed. He took a sip from the bottle in his brown bottle in his hand. "I ain't seen you since you was a little chico. Cuantos años tienes, eh?"

    "Tengo quince. Listen, I can't stay. I got my hyna waiting for me, and I can't keep her waiting," He lied smoothly.

   "Quince? Damn. I remember when Andrés had to carry your ass inside 'cause the music was too fuckin' loud. What you think now, Lil Spooky?" He swung the end of his bottle against an open door. It shattered, leaving bits of broken glass on the end as he held it up to Cesar's neck. "Things getting too loud for you?"

    Maybe there was one good thing that came with finally joining the Santos: he wouldn't have to deal with assholes like this.

    Ever since Oscar was put away, some of the Santos were getting hard to control. Andrés did his best, but he didn't have a reputation -- at least, not the way Oscar did. He was soft on his punishments but strong on his legislation. It had made in-fighting inevitable. Cesar was his nephew. He supposed he should have expected people to turn against him, too.

    "Watch your tone." Cesar lowered his voice, not breaking eye contact with the bastard in front of him. "Spooky's getting out in a couple days. What's he gonna say when he finds out some bitches were fucking with his little brother?"

    He was bluffing. Anyone that knew Cesar, knew that he could've gone another three years without speaking to his brother and he wouldn't have even blinked; but he didn't even recognize the guys in front of him. If it weren't for the white tank tops and crosses around their necks, he would've just as easily believed they were Prophets. If they didn't believe him, both he and the girl on La Luna would be fucked.

    The guy shoved him off, tossing the bottle onto the street. "Maricón. Let me know when Spooky's out. He's got a debt he needs to pay off."

    Without another word, he popped a cigarette into his mouth, lighting it. Cesar nodded and turned on his heel, only to see the girl walking in the direction of the train station. He winced, only turning when 'Malakai' called out for him once more. "Oh, and tell your tío we'll bring him his taxes in the morning."

    'Do not engage,' Cesar thought to himself. He jogged across the empty street, stopping a few paces before the girl before cupping his hands around his mouth. "Hey! You really shouldn't be out here, alone at night. Freeridge isn't that type of hood."

    The girl turned around, a look of fear crossing her face before it fell into relief. "Shit. I'm sorry, I'm just trying to get to my friend's house. His name is Judas Medina. Do you know him?"

    She spoke softly, speaking with her hands and with rapid movements. Cesar couldn't help but grin. "No, I don't know him, sorry. If you have his address, I could help you, though."

    "Uh..." She looked around, scratching the back of her head awkwardly.

    Cesar nodded, pulling out his phone and tossing it to her. She caught it with ease. "The password's two-six-seven-three. You can dial the police if you really think you're in danger, but let me walk you to this Judas guy. I don't wanna risk you getting hurt."

   The girl unlocked his phone, going into his contacts and hitting the keypad. She bit her lip, locking eyes with the stranger in front of her. He looked a bit younger than her, with his hair covered in an absurd amount of gel and a pleading look on his face. After a moment, she nodded, and typed in Judas' address in his Maps app.

    "You are thirty minutes from your destination. You should arrive at your destination by 9:35PM."

    "I'm Maya." She nodded, keeping the phone in her left hand as she reached out to shake the boy's hand.

    He smiled then, shaking her hand. "Cesar."

    The two followed the phone's signals, walking side-by-side as Cesar scanned the perimeter for any threats. They walked in silence for all of three minutes before Maya started talking. "So, it's pretty obvious I'm not from around here, huh?"

    "Just a little," Cesar chuckled, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Where are you from, anyway?"

    "San Diego. I live there with my dad and his girlfriend during the school year. Every summer, I come here and spend time with my mom," Maya explained. "We were supposed to have dinner tonight; but she fell asleep, and I didn't feel like waking her."

    "Right. So you're going to this Judas guy to steal all his food and then run?"

    "Would that be so bad?" She winked, running a hand through her honey-blonde hair. "What about you?"

    Cesar grimaced. "I've always lived in Freeridge. Can't really imagine a life outside of it."

    "Come on, that's bullshit." She rolled her eyes. "There's a whole world out there, with different countries, cultures, people -- and you're telling me you can't imagine a world outside of Southside L.A.?"

    He shrugged. "What's the point if I can't see it?"

    Maya huffed, muttering the word "tarado" beneath her breath. Cesar only grinned, somewhat pleased that he'd managed to get on her nerves considering they'd met only a little while ago. He moved to walk in front of her. She scrunched her nose in annoyance, glaring at him through her eyelashes.

    "So, how old are you? Like, seventeen?"

    "I just turned sixteen," she replied, hand still gripping the GPS in her left hand.

    "And your parents are letting you travel alone? That's weird. I would'a thought San Diego kids were spoiled."

    "I would'a thought you weren't a Santo," she shrugged half-heartedly. "And it's not a big deal. My dad works late, so he couldn't bring me to the train station, and my mom passed out as soon as we got to the house."

    "How'd you know I was a Santo?"

    "Seriously?" Maya snorted. She took a step closer to him, wrapping her finger around the chain on Cesar's neck. He looked down, only to see a silver cross hanging above his chest. "Check the ice, ese. Either you're a Santo, or you're religious."

    "I'm affiliated," Cesar muttered, tucking the pendant into his t-shirt. "Why? Does that bother you?"

    "I'm letting you walk me to my best friend's house in the dark, in a neighborhood I'm unfamiliar with." She turned the corner, only to be met with a street lined with houses. "You being gang-affiliated is the least of my problems."

    They reached the third house in silence. It was nice -- luxurious, even -- compared to the other places Cesar had seen. This Judas guy must be really classy. As Maya went to ring the doorbell, he turned and asked, "So what's this guy like?"

    Before she could respond, the door swung open, revealing a short, pale boy with messy dark hair and sweatpants. "Maya! Fuck, I wasn't expecting you until the morning. My folks are in the living room, but we can hang in my room." His eyes drifted to Cesar, and they immediately filled with shock. "No shit. You're Lil Spooky! Maya, you're fucking with gang members now? I don't blame you. He looks better than A-A-Ron."

    "You put the 'ass' in 'class,' Judas. Let us in. I'm starving." She pushed the door open, walking past him with ease.

    "I'll leave, if you want," Cesar told Judas. He would understand if he did. There would be a target on his back if people knew he was associated with Cesar, even if he was just 'affiliated.' "She didn't have a phone. I just wanted to make sure she got here safe."

    Judas furrowed his eyebrows. "You walked her all the way here?" When Cesar nodded, he continued, "From where?"

    "La Luna Drive," He answered, the cross around his neck suddenly feeling hot against his skin. "There were guys coming outta the bodega. they were drunk, and aggressive. Looked like they were gonna cause trouble."

    "Do you think I'm gonna let you in just because you pretended to be el salvador for half an hour?" He sneered.

    "No, I didn't mean it like that--"

    'Boyfriend,' Cesar thought to himself. 'Got it.'

    The cold look in his eyes shifted, turning to amusement. Judas grinned happily, opening the door wide in an effort to invite him in. "I'm just fucking with you, Lil Spooky. Come on in."

    "Actually, it's fine. I should get back. My tío is probably worried sick," Cesar started, suddenly uncomfortable.

   "No seas marica, asshole. Maya's still gonna need help getting home." Judas turned on his heel, heading deeper into the house. After a few seconds, he yelled, "Are you coming or not?"

    'What the fuck?' Cesar thought to himself, before taking a few steps, walking into the house and shutting the door behind him. He was met with a dark room, lit up only by the TV on one end of the living room and a kitchen light to his left. In tbe kitchen, Maya was raiding the fridge, a box of Cheeze-Itz in one hand and a pack of Mountain Dew in the other.

    She glanced up at him and grinned. "You want something?"

    "Uh, water's good." He followed behind Maya and Judas as they grabbed several snacks, laughing and catching up like old friends.

    Judas pulled a few bottles of water out of the fridge before heading out and turning into a hallway. "So, how is A-A-Ron these days?"

    "Still in love with Alivia," Maya sighed, her hand tightening around a bag of potato chips. "They've been going strong for, like, two years. I don't know why you bother asking anymore."

    "Fuck him. What kind of name is Aaron anyway? Un nombre de puta, I'll tell you that." Judas' room was at the end of the hall. He set his snacks down on a wooden desk before motioning for Maya to do the same. Cesar went to sit on a surprisingly neat bed, though the headboard looked worn in for a reason he didn't want to ask about.

    Maya threw a water bottle at Cesar, eyes still trained on the bags of junk food in front of her. It landed at the end of the bed, nearly tumbling off the edge. He chortled as he went to pick it up. As he began to take a sip, Judas threw himself on the worn-out computer chair in front of him.

    "All right. I have one fucking question for you and you better answer it honestly," Judas stated.

    Cesar nodded stiffly. Confrontations like this felt all too personal. He fought the instinct to stand up and leave.

    The Colombian boy leaned in, his face painted in curiosity. "Are you scared of ghosts?"

[crystallos-sol]

I needed to ramble ideas for this bullshit bc @oceanaromantic is a genius an absolute fucking icon and made this beautiful Trans Sting HC that you are legally required to read.

Okay so begins the mass of ideas I'm about to spew here:

Sting loves crop tops, this is canon,,, he also refuses to get rid of his earrings. He's had them since before he transitioned and no one can take his love for crystal earrings away.

Has stolen his male friends clothes & yes he still does after he transitioned. So sue him he likes to steal clothes.

First time he took T he was so excited that he came out to Rouge immediately then and there and just started excitedly rambling about it to him. Rouge the best bro ever just nods and goes: yes this is normal & valid.

First transphobe Sting meets is in a grocery store, he's just trying to pick up food with Rouge, Yukino & Rufus. Rouge has to hold Sting back from fighting them. Yukino is mad & Rufus murders them on the spot.

Rouge reminds Sting about his T & Sting is thankful because he'd hate to miss a round. When he first got his ID changed to his actual gender Sting cried and his guild had a party in celebration!!!

When Sting came out to his guild he was so anxious but he had Rouge, Yukino & Rufus by his side. Sting was of course accepted & Minerva cried actual tears over her friend being happy.

Sting was gifted alot of cool trans themed things for his birthday as well has a pair of brass knuckles from Rufus. He adores all of it. (Trans themed things include but are not limited to: crop tops, hair ties, a bracelet, a mug, a tea clamp & swim trunks)

Sting was wearing his trans flag crop top around the guild hall and Team Natsu (Or has I like to call them: Team Kick-Ass) stops by asking about something & Gray just stares at him. Sting is a little nervous hoping his friends aren't transphobes but Natsu looks at Gray and asks him: Hey man isn't that your pride flag?

Sting fuckin loses it and Gray is officially kidnapped for trans kid sleepovers & no Sting doesn't apologise for breaking into Fairy Tail to kidnap him.

[ask-beacons-finest]

I love the poly babies, pls guys talk about your weapons! But don't let Ruby hear it ... She .. yeah.. Ruby ... (sent by anon)

Parsley, in her mid- to late-twenties, standing in the living room of her own home, a fussy baby rocking in her arms: Shhhhh, shhhh, I know our love, I know. Daddy will be back soon, don't you worry. I miss him too.

Parsley, glancing up, then back down to the child: Our weapons have always remained the same, two knuckle dusters. Brass and Bronze. They've served us well all these years, and they continue to serve.

Parsley, with a quick tap on her scroll as it starts ringing: Hey, are you nearly done? I'm tired of babysitting.

Parsley, on the other end of the phone line: I know, I'm sorry. The mission got a bit...complicated. If it's getting too much you can always call Tarra, or Moms.

Parsley, the one in the home, sighing: No no, I've got it. Just hurry up for the love of it all.

~~~~~

Clove, in her late-teens, tumbling across rocky ground with a heavy thump, coughing in pain as she strains to push herself up: D-...Damn it...Almost...

Clove, surprisingly catching a staff thrown directly at her with ease, then uses it to pull herself up to her feet, her breathing heavy with exhaustion: I'm not...done yet...

Clove, slamming the staff down onto the ground twice, the top of it shifting into a spear point: Today's the day I win. I promise.

Sun, casually cracking his knuckles at the challenge with a wide smile: Well then, prove it.

Clove, charging towards Sun with her polearm, shouting: I WILL!

~~~~~

Basil, standing on a stage with his arms crossed, a stern look on his face: ...

Glynda, speaking out to a whole team of four opposing him: Are you four ready for this? Standard match rules apply. The victor is decided when aura reaches the minimum allowed amount. Any more strikes after that will be met with disciplinary action. Ready? Go!

Basil, slowly stretching out his arms, flexing his razor-sharp clawed fingers, a smile spreading across his lips that reveal feline-esque teeth, speaking with almost an animalistic growl: Bring it.

~~~~~

Ash, leaning over onto a desk within a normal looking dorm room, her voice a playful purr: Oh, Doctor, I just feel so baaad. I think I'm in need of an...examination.

Tarra, sitting in said desk with a few open textbooks and notes, trying to hold back on laughing: Ash Howlite I swear I'm going to fight you.

Ash, with a giggle: Suuuure, you and what army. But hey! When's Willow getting back?

Tarra, flipping a page in one of the textbooks: she has a lab on fridays, babe you should know that. She'll be back in like...two hours.

Ash, with a smile as she clasps her hands onto Tarra's cheeks, pulling her attention away from her studies: Oh hush, you know that the only thing I won't forget is that I'm dating the two prettiest, smartest girls in the world! And hey...that means we have two hours to ourselves...wink wink.

Tarra, sternly, but still with a hint of laughter: I. Am. Studying.

~~~~~

Thyme, sitting at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, a large sword with a clock face built into the. Ase of the blade stabbed into the earth behind them: So, where to next?

Magnolia, sitting beside them, shrugging: Perhaps we should visit home, see the family. Maybe even tell them the news.

Thyme, chuckling a bit as they stand up, grabbing the sword from the earth: Yeah. Yeah we should. Heh, it's just sort of funny, isn't it? In other timelines they've gone to our weddings as friends and allies...but now they're finally going to be what they should be, mothers.

Magnolia, nodding, a small smile on her face as she takes Thyme's hand to stand: I'm looking forward to it. Before we do that though, you might want to turn around.

Thyme, their face growing confused, turning around: Turn around? What do you-

Thyme, face to face with an incredibly large ursa, which lets out an rib-shaking roar, muttering reluctantly to themself as they pull the sword up to a combative stance: Oh you've gotta be fuckin kidding me...

[brian-wellson]

(( CW — this one is disturbing, possibly triggering. ))

I.

“More wine?” asked Jennifer. The sommelier moved effortlessly across the room toward the assemblage of bottles she had brought from her own collection. Her long, white dress barely brushed the gleaming, varnished floor, a stark contrast to the black gemstones of her necklace and bracelet set.

“Mmhmm,” replied Cliara. “Something from the northlands.” The ren’dorei’s ears twitched in anticipation. Wellson had never seen her dressed up before. True, while not a traditional outfit, her ugly Winter Veil sweater was festive enough. Plus, it reminded him of Trin, and the night she —

“Let’s see... I have a 30 year Alterac Pinot Noir, and ... hm,” muttered Jennifer as she searched through the bottles. “A few different Gilnean brandies of various ages and vineyards.”

“Brandy,” said Cliara. Jennifer did not move. Cliara rolled her eyes. “Please.”

Jennifer smiled and poured out a rather generous amount of brandy. “VSOP, from a old vineyard in the Highlands,” she said, placing the snifter in front of the ren’dorei. After watching her try the brandy, Jennifer turned to Glenice — a woman who had, not unexpectedly, attempted to look anything but the naval investigator she was.

“Three fingers, scotch, thanks,” Glenice said, never taking her eyes off of Wellson.

He was sitting at the right side of the still-empty head of the table. Across from him, Cliara; next to her, Jennifer; across from Jennifer, Justine; at the opposite head of the table, Glenice. Others had joined and come and left, too. Henry and Elunara. Birdhat. Gwen. They had come by to say hello and have a bit of eggnog; well, all except for Gwen, who picked something from her hair and had hesitantly given it to him as a present. All the while, Wellson and Justine and Nihil had been cooking, together, just as they had in years prior. Their dinner was largely over. The cottage was filled with the scents of roasted fowl, braised boar shank, maple glazed parsnips. And, of course, the stone-fruit pies baking in the background.

Everyone who had attended that evening was rather tipsy at this point. Wellson glanced out toward the dining room. The fireplace crackled, like a good dwarven hearth fire. The guests were laughing, talking; he wondered why these particular people had even shown up in the first place when his true friends, they had not. To be sure, Wellson had to admit that he was confused. With the exception of Jennifer and Cliara, none of the other attendees had been invited. Indeed, the others believed to have invited — Kyara and Juniper, Dr Thalsian, and Quai (and her horrible brother) — had not shown up at all. He had not expected them all to attend, though a raven message or two would have been nice. He grimaced to himself.

“You good, boss?” asked Justine as she dusted the pies with confectionary sugar. In the background, Nihil, her half-elf lover, was filling the port glasses.

He looked over toward Justine. “Fine,” he replied with a chuckle. “Though I am starting to tire.”

Justine set down the confectionary sugar. “Go sit down. Wait. She will show up,” she said.

Wellson nodded. She will. She always does.

II.

He took his seat next to the empty head of the table. Soon, pie and port were delivered to each guest. The dark berries of the pie reminded him of Gooseberries or of cherries. They smelled heavenly, a rich bouquet of dark jam; he had been insistent that they boil the berries down as much as possible. The black juices ran out of the pie, and — when set against the white porcelain of the dishes — looked like small pools of blood.

“Now, I know it’s customary to have a glass of port prior to the pie, to raise a glass to those we love,” he said, nodding toward Quai’s empty chair, “and to those whom we may even begrudgingly respect...”

Glenice looked up toward him. She massaged her scarred throat, took a stiff shot of scotch, and nodded.

“However, Quai would kill me if I drank this without her here, so I think that is something we shall avoid,” he said, adding, “Besides, there is some in the pie already.”

“At least you know something about your partner,” quipped Glenice. She took another hit from the scotch.

“That’s not really fair, Major,” said Justine, raising her voice. “He knows far more about you than he’d ever say.”

Glenice shrugged, remaining silent.

“Besides,” said Nihil, “it wasn’t you who found the person who hurt me.”

Wellson looked over toward her. Her delicate elven features flashed into a bruised and disfigured mess for an instant. An image of bloodied brass knuckles flashed through his mind. He blinked. Everything was normal. What was that?

“Yeah, yeah,” said Glenice.

Wellson cleared his throat. It was getting a bit stuffy in the room. He took up one of the garnishes he had used for the boar shank. Like an orchid, it was pink and white, though with voluminous (half-eaten) petals. He turned it over in his hands. He had missed beauty such as this — this simple flower, these respected peers, a room which, even while stuffy, still smelled delightful. The fire continued to crackle on as the group enjoyed their pie. Cliara and Justine, they actually managed to get along quite well, despite the latter’s well known dislike of anything sin’dorei related.

“How is the monster hunting business,” asked Wellson.

Cliara looked slightly embarrassed. “Fine,” she mumbled. She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “I’m trained well, out in the field. Seen some crazy things. You know,” she said.

“Make it up to Northrend yet?”

“No, don’t think so.”

“Avoid Grizzly Hills.”

“Why?”

“Just... please do,” he said.

“I go where the business takes me, Brian,” she said.

“Fair,” he conceded.

As the pies were eaten, a growing feeling of malaise began to sink in. Was she coming? he wondered, flipping the velvet box in his pocket.

“She’ll be here, boss,” said Justine. She knew.

“And I,” said Glenice, way more than half-in-the-bag, “need a gryphon ride home. What do you think, Commissary Hotchner?”

“Indeed.” Jennifer nodded. “As much as I would love to stay for a toast, I do have my own life to which I must attend.” She shook her head. “No one likes executing a funeral in the cold,” she said. Jennifer crossed her lips with her fingers, a black ‘x’ it had left behind faded to nothing. Wellson could feel himself doing the same, though not remembering why. “And I do not wish to keep the Vicar waiting. You know how impatient she can be,” she said.

The group bid the two good evening. Justine and Nihil, neither of whom were drinkers, left for the back bedroom, and, soon enough, Cliara was called away via her commstone; apparently, there was a ship heading north, toward the dwindling war, and she was needed. A gust of wind blew the door open, and she excused herself before vanishing into the dark. She did not close the door. Grumping to himself, Wellson stood. He wiped his brow. Certainly the fire was not this hot, he thought. And, just as he was about to shut it, Quai was there, standing before him. With a woman.

III.

“You came...” he gasped.

“Oi, ya, so did I, bruv,” said the other woman.

“J-Jocelyn...?”

The two long-departed siblings stared at each other for a moment. Wellson saw the glint of his mother’s charm bracelet on Jocelyn’s wrist. A lump formed in his throat; he could swear that, off in the distance, he could hear her being hacked to pieces...

“You gonna let us in or make us freeze?”she asked.

Wellson gestured. “C-come in, please,” he said, hurriedly.

He watched as the two entered the room. They moved timidly. Maybe they were just cold still, he thought. “Please, please come in. Let me take your overcoats. We can dry them by the fire,” he said.

The two women exchanged a confused glance. They took off their overcoats as suggested. He hung them on a black, cast iron coatrack near the hearth. It no longer felt as hot as it had. He massaged his chest; his heart, it was skipping beats. Seeing Quai made him nervous, apparently.

“I ... am so glad y-you made it,” he iterated, taking his seat. He gestured for Quai to sit at the head of the table. She did so reluctantly. Jocelyn wandered into the kitchen. “Justine is going to be thrilled to see you,” he said.

Quai raised an eyebrow. “Justine?”

“Mm... I had the Major and the Commissary here, too, but they’ve ugh —” he said, gripping his stomach. Quai began to look about the table, eyes locking onto the half-eaten flower. In addition, there were glasses of all kinds, wine and liquor bottles of rare vintage, and not a single crumb on the table at any other place-setting than his. Perhaps more alarmingly, while every seat had an unconsumed glass of port, her’s did not. And the boot flask she had given him was the table’s centrepiece, where a candelabra should have been.

“What did you have?” she asked. She took his hand. It was clammy. “For dinner, I mean.”

Wellson undid his collar. “Roasted boar-shank, garnished with an orchid; local duck, stuffed and baked; maple-glazed parsnips; and an amazing stone-fruit pie. Nihil did an outstanding job.” He offered her the best smile he could.

“N-Nihil,” stammered Quai. Not good. “Where are they now, Justine and Nihil?”

Wellson’s face flushed. “The back bedroom,” he said.

“Jocelyn!” Quai called.

“Wot ya want now? I was just gonna have some of this fuckin’ pie. Smells fuckin’ great, lady.”

“Before you do,” said Quai, her voice singsong-like, “Check the back bedroom.”

“But... but pie!” whined Jocelyn.

Quai frowned™. “Do it now.”

Rather alarmed by Quai’s tone, Jocelyn stomped through the cottage. “Some fuckin’ reunion...” she mumbled.

After she had left the room, Wellson removed the small velvet box from his pocket. He opened it. The ring inside, it shined — sparkling as so many nights under the stars.

“My grandmother’s ring,” whispered Quai. A tear slipped down her cheek.

“Will you...?”

“Brian...”

Quai took the ring, turning it over in her hand.

“Your g-grandfather s-said...”

“I know,” she said, softly. She placed the ring back in the box. “I will take this, ok? Keep it safe until...” She shifted uneasily.

Jocelyn stumbled back into the room. “Ain’ no one back there,” she said. “Pie. Now.”

Quai snapped her fingers. Wellson did not hear it; Jocelyn did, though, and she stared. “No pie for you,” Quai spat. “Nor for anyone else.”

Wellson was confused. No pie? For his own sister? He blinked his eyes. The elaborate, warm decor he had envisioned began to dissolve. Chestnut turned to decrepit, grey wood; an overchair into a stool. His once white-clothed table, barren except for his own paltry meal, and glasses here and there. No fire in the hearth. His cheek twitched. “Quai, I don’t feel...” he managed. His mind began to ring:

...we have a pact...

“Stay here with me?” he sputtered.

She replied. He could not understand her. She swiped at the glass of port in his hand, but missed. She watched as he drained the glass. The port would end it — she knew.

“T-this was all f-for you...” he said, eyes locked onto the ring in the box. “Y-you... Andrew... to live...”

Quai said something once again. Her voice was louder, yet he still could not understand her; her words, they made no sense.

As the room grew dimmer and dimmer, Wellson felt his sister come back into the room. He could feel himself being laid on his side. He could feel his body go rigid, back-breakingly so. He could no longer see. His heart was skipping beats, slowing over time. Someone forced something into his mouth. He could feel himself vomit. The whispers in his mind finally died away. For the first time since Darkshore, he felt peaceful.

“Q-Quai...” he whispered. “Elune help...”

He reached an unsteady arm upward. Someone took it. Someone told him he was going to be ok, that they would see him recover. His body felt like it was being squeezed, like before he had left the Manor. And then, then he could hear screaming. He could hear crying. And then everything simply faded — until nothing remained.

Nothing.

— — • — —

( @quai-mason @jocelyn-wellson / @glenicemorcant @mastersommelierjennifer @justinegrotius @seattlebourne / @killerkyara @juniper-rose-blower @thalsianiii // cc: @risrielthron )

(( Disclaimer: If you or someone you know is in crisis, please call your doctor, call 911, or go directly to the Emergency Trauma Centre. ))

[harrieatthemet]

Holiday: Chapter 9

A/N: Surprise hehe xx message me darlings I’m so lonely. This chapter is heaaaated girlllll. Lil twist coming soon y’all ;)

My knuckles were a ghostly white, my hands wrapped around the iron brass of the guest room bed frame. Both of my legs were on either side of him as he laid down, relishing in the view as he let me do all the work. With both hands placed on my sides, thumbs resting comfortably in the dips of my hips, he grunted each time I’d sink back down onto his length just before lifting my hips up again. And he’d groan, longing to be back inside of me again. As his lips etched subtle hickeys along my collarbone, his hand snaked it’s way to my bum, where he gave it a rough grab before muffling a moan into my neck.

“S’nice,” he grunted, nipping at the base of my neck, “feeling you all over me like this.” 

His voice strained as I bucked my hips against him once more, his grip on my bum getting firmer. I could tell he was close, fighting off his own orgasm so he could let me cum first. As the vein in his neck became more prominent, and I could see his eyes roll backwards before he cocked his head back, it was obvious to me that he was gonna let go any second now. So, I picked up the pace a little, the metal of the bed frame tapping up against the cream colored wall. 

“Ella,” he hissed, “riding me like tha’ I’m-“ his voice was strenuous and he could barely finish, sucking in a sharp breath.

The groan that came spilling past his lips was a warning, and as a wave heat started to come over me, he tumbled right over the edge. I could literally feel him twitching inside of me, which took me right to the brink of my orgasm as well. Bringing my hand down to place on his chest, I pressed my thumb into his skin hard as I whined out a moan. His hands guided my hips as I rode it out, and my lips quivered as I gasped out his name. Gnawing away at his bottom lip, he watched in pleasure as I let his name slip so profusely from my mouth. Even when I rolled off him, tumbling to the empty side of the bed, he still followed me with those eyes of his.

I laid there, breathless for a moment as my chest was heaving. The sound of Harry’s breaths, being immersed into the room at an erratic and untimely pace, made me smirk a bit. We both sat there in comfortable silence, not that either of us really minded. Once my breathing started to normalize, and my heart rate started to slow, I propped myself up on my elbows before I sat upright. My eyes scanned around the room, frowning at how much of a shit job Harry did decorating his home’s guest room. The next order of business was to find my clothes, which Harry had recklessly strewn across the room, if not across the house. It was hard for me to get my thoughts in order, the blaring of the ringer on his phone going off for the third time in the hour I’ve been here. I truly marveled, all whilst trying to understand, how demanding work seemed to be for him. Even now, as he had been allotted a few weeks of down time, he’d still seemed to be getting quite a few calls. Though I adored Jeff, and had always been fond of him, I was mentally scolding him for being so bothersome. 

“Wha’s th’rush, love?” He chimed, watching as I shimmied into my underwear before searching for my shorts.

“Kids won’t pick themselves up from school.” I joked, buttoning the top of my shorts as I shot him a cheeky smile.

“S’two o’clock!,” He protested, “kids don’t get out ‘till 2:45. School’s just down the road.” 

“Yeah, but..” I stuttered, unsure where to take it, “work is busy right now, figured I’d get a head start on some fabric orders. Y’know, boring stuff like that.”

“Why do yeh always leave here in such a hurry?”

The tone of his voice made a frown tug at the corners of my mouth. It wasn’t my intention to offend him, or make him feel like I was using him for something. His voice was hushed, and I could tell his feelings were a little hurt before I even looked at him. We’d been at this charade for nearly 3 weeks, ever since we’d flew home from Vail. I’d drop the kids off at school in the morning before heading back home, primping myself up before Harry’d pay a visit. He’d come over for a few hours, and fuck my brains out a few times before slithering out just in time to avoid the kids. It was upon my request, because seeing him here Monday through Thursday with only me in the house would raise suspicions. We’d switch it up, and I’d go to his house for a quick dick appointment before scurrying myself out the door. It was only that, though, just sex. I didn’t know if he wanted more, or what he was angling to get out of our newfound relationship terms. Maybe it was me, and I wasn’t ready to jump into something serious with him. I had a lot of reservations, and I kept a part of myself closed off to him so things wouldn’t end up like they did last time. But, each time we’d finish, I’d rush him out or I’d light a fire under my ass as I would leave his house. 

“Not trying to” I sighed, fumbling with the top button my blouse, “just busy, s’all.” I leaned down, delivering a quick kiss to his lips.

He didn’t match my energy, and when I went to kiss him he kept his lips firm. His body was all tangled up in the duvet, and he kept himself up by shifting all his weight onto his elbow. I could see him from the mirror as I ruffled with my hair, smoothing it out before dabbing some powder on my forehead to matte my makeup. With furrowed brows and a crease in his forehead, he watched silently as I packed all my things up into my handbag. It wasn’t until I zipped up my bag, leaning in to closer towards the mirror to apply a fresh coat of lipstick, that I saw him toss the sheets off. He was scrambling to pick up his clothes, stuffing each leg into his jeans and slipping a Guns N Roses tee over his messy head of hair. 

“Got somewhere to be?” I snickered, slipping my sandals on.

“Yeah,” he grunted, looping his belt onto his skinnies, “gonna come with yeh t’pick up the kids.” 

“What?” My voice was frantic, head whipping around to face him, “No, wait no no, why?” 

“S’like,” He started harshly, “you’re embarrassed t’be seen with me or something.”

“No,” I corrected, “s’not it. I just-“

“Just wha’? Wha’ is it, then?” 

I looked at him for a minute, eyes glazing over as I racked my brain for a valid reason. Truth is, there wasn’t one. Well, not one that I was confident enough to tell him. I enjoyed keeping things how they were, inside the four walls of my house or his. We hadn’t been seen out together, romantically that is, since even before the divorce. Picking up the kids from school? Together? It made me wonder how the kids would feel, what they’d think. Especially Brayden. He’d been picking up on Harry and I’s interactions lately, the few times Harry’d be at the house to pick them up for a weekend or take them to dinner. He’d peek at how Harry’d be smirking at me, or I’d send a wink his way as he guided the kids to his car in the driveway. Even last week, he’d almost caught Harry with a hand on my bum, after he’d given it a playful smack as he dropped the kids off at my house. Then there was me, who was just scared. Scared that it wouldn’t work, or that we’d take that step and he’d fall back into old habits. Scared that I’d give myself to him, all of myself, only to end up getting my heart broken again. Scared that someone would snap a picture of us, which would likely happen, and then I’d end up having a lengthy phone call with my mom, my friends, or my sister Molly in order to explain myself. 

“People will... I guess, y’know, see us out together. Haven’t been out with you in a while, like in public like that. So they’ll think-”

“Tha’ we’re together?” He interrupted. 

“Yes!” I exclaimed, glad he’d understood where I was coming from, “knew you’d get it! Don’t want people t’get the wrong idea or anything, confuse the kids.”

“Wrong idea?” His brows furrowed again, eyes narrowing as an offended look flickered on his face.

“Yeah,” I begun, “wrong idea, thinking we’re together.”

“Aren’t we?”

“I mean, I didn’t think-“

“Course you didn’t.” He grumbled, “Wha’ the hell has been going on then?” His voice was starting to rise, and I could tell as the vein in his neck started to make an appearance that he was beginning to grow angry. 

“Don’t need to raise your voice.” I hissed, voice monotone as I folded my arms across my chest.

“Does this not mean th’same to you as it does t’me?” 

“Dunno,” I huffed, “does it?’

“Fuckin Christ Ella,” he blustered, “will yeh quit it with tha’? Stop th’mind games n’ all tha’, quit closing yourself off t’me.” 

“M’not I just-”

“Wha’! Just wha’!”

“Scared.” I muttered.

The cross look on his face began to fade, as a softer look began to creep up. I didn’t want him to feel bad, and I didn’t want the pity either. If he hadn’t gotten loud with me, I probably wouldn’t have said anything at all. He understood that it was a valid feeling for me to have, remembering how badly things had ended up for us in the past. He didn’t care to endure that, or put me through that, again and I was beginning to realize that. But it didn’t change much, for me anyways. With Harry, with eyes always on him and certain pressures that rested amongst his shoulders, he knew as well as I did that it wasn’t as simple as ‘just being together’. There were complications, some that came from him living a lifestyle that was always seemed to be on display and some that would concur just within our family. As I’ve said before, he never really thinks things through. When he wants something, he wants something, and it blurs reality and everything else. 

“Yeh coulda just said tha’,” He sighed, scuffling across the room so he could stand in front of me.

“Didn’t wanna hurt your feelings.”

“Ell,” He chuckled softly, wrapping his hands around my wrists before looking at me.

“know why y’scared, I do. Just-we can give it a shot. Promise it’ll be different, gotta trust me s’all. And yeh gotta stop keepin’ to yourself.” 

“And what am I gonna tell the kids? They already noticed you being around more often.” My voice was a little low, and when I finally brought my eyes up to look at him he was smiling at me.

“We can tell them whatever, think they’ll b’happy ‘bout it. Tell y’wha’, I’ll stay tonight at your house, for dinner. Tell ‘em then.” He assured, squeezing my wrists a little. 

I chewed at my bottom lip, reiterating his proposition in my head. All in all, it didn’t seem like a bad idea. There really was no harm in giving it a chance, testing the waters and seeing if we’d have better luck the second go round. Penelope would be glad to have Harry around, I’m sure. She loved toying around with his guitars, and putting on ‘performances’ for him when she was feeling particularly spunky. And the fact that Harry could come maybe every night, just to sing her to sleep, would send her over the moon. Quinn was still little, though I’m sure he’d be happy to see more of his daddy, and probably wouldn’t notice or be able to appreciate the change quite like the other two would. Brayden, though, would be the happiest of all. Since he was a baby he’d put Harry up on a pedestal, and glorified everything he did. He’d do everything Harry did, right down to the way hen dressed. Having Harry around would mean more play wrestling outside, and someone to cheer him on when he goofed off with the soccer ball in the yard. I’m sure seeing more of Harry around the house during the week, instead of only the weekends, would Dom some good for him. 

“Alright,” I exhaled, “like that idea.”

“Gonna come t’get the kids, and we’ll-” And as he begun, he was quickly interrupted by the chiming of his phone as it sat in his back pocket.

“Need t’get that? Fine if you do.” 

“No,” Harry stared blankly down at his phone, arching it so I couldn’t quite see, “s’not important.”

His demeanor tensed up a bit, roughly tapping the power button on his phone in order to deny the call. Before stuffing it back into his pocket, his eyes flickered to me, in which he smiled as I looked up at him inquisitively. 

As I head towards the door, keys jingling in my hand with my purse wrapped around my wrist, Harry tutted behind me. Every so often, as we made way from the second level of the house towards the front door, he’d snake a hand around my waist or jab a finger into my side just to bother me. Walking off the steps, heading to my car parked just in front of his, I smiled to myself as he hummed whatever Fleetwood Mac song that was stuck in his head. It was a familiar tune, maybe Sara or Dreams, and it made me reminisce a little. 

“See,” I joked, “people with their cameras out!” I discreetly pointed to a woman in the corner of the school blacktop, phone lazily hidden behind her arm. 

“M’glad yeh wore some makeup then.” He joked, earning a playful slap on the arm from me.

Harry was giddy. He was visibly happy to be here, at school pick up waiting on the blacktop. I’m sure all 3 kids would double over in disbelief, and sheer joy, to see him standing and waiting for them to come out. A few people were whispering, eyes flickering over to Harry as they kept their conversations hushed and secretive. He didn’t mind, not at all it seemed. I’m sure he was used to it, and he was just too excited to be in the school lot. With a goofy smile, his eyes danced as they zeroed in on the red double doors at the end of the blacktop. He’d never really picked the kids up from school, his schedule was too busy most of the time and we’d never really been on good enough terms to come together. 

The second the double doors creaked open, and all the little kids came barreling out, Harry’s smile doubled. His gaze was fixated on the sea of little faces, waiting to find the ones he’d recognize. A few familiar looking kindergartners came traipsing out, smiles plastered on their face as they skipped over to their parent or babysitter, and I knew Penelope would come strolling out soon.

As she stepped off the steps, hair mess of waves bouncing as she walked, I smiled and waved shyly at her once her eyes landed on me. Hands gripped on the straps of her sparkly pink backpack, she hadn’t noticed Harry standing giddily beside me. But, once she did, her face lit up and her casual stroll switched into a sprint.

“Daddy!” She wailed happily, picking up the pace as she got closer.

“Penelope!” He mimicked, squatting down and throwing his arms wide to receive her.

She crashed right into his chest, arms wrapping around his neck as he swept her up. Penelope was a daddy’s girl, always has been and probably always will be. Everyone watched adoringly as Penelope peppered his face with little kisses, making sure to avoid bumping into his sunglasses. Watching, my heart fluttering as the scene these two were causing unfolded in front of me, I caught a glimpse of Brayden waltzing out. He was with a gaggle of other boys, some of his friends, cracking corny jokes. He had definitely picked that up from Harry.

His white converse scuffed themselves along the concrete, his jeans getting stuck beneath the heel of his shoes as he headed over towards me and Harry. With his head down, watching as his laces swayed with each step, he remained completely oblivious to who was standing next to me. Penelope was perched up on Harry’s hip, waving to her friends and screaming ‘this is my dad! He’s famous!’, and I anticipated the look on Brayden’s face when he’d finally lay eyes on Harry. 

“Mom, can you take my backpack so I can- wait!” Brayden smiled, blinking almost as if to make sure it was really Harry, “Dad’s here!”

“Been ‘ere the whole time!” He laughed, using his free arm to pull Brayden into a hug.

I headed over to the doors, where one of the teachers aid’s handed off Quinn to me. He was just as happy to see Harry as the rest of them, regardless of how cranky and tired he was. Quinn, with his little paw patrol backpack (so cute, I die) sitting on his back as he nestled himself into my arms while I carried him, laid his head on my shoulder. Penelope refused to let Harry put her down, so the two followed behind me as I led them to the car parked across the street. 

I opened one of the doors, fighting to get Quinn to just sit still so I could get him into his car seat, while Harry slid Penelope into her set on the opposite side. Brayden was hanging onto Harry, walking in his shadow and chatting up a storm. And as Harry fumbled with the car seat buckle, Brayden slipped his hand into the handle of the passenger’s side door and went to take his usual seat. 

“Oi, buddy,” Harry laughed, “don’t expect me t’sit in the back do yeh?” 

“Wait,” Brayden inquired, eyebrows furring together, “you came to school together?” 

Harry nodded, pecking his head before nudging him to get in the back seat of the car. Brayden was confused, obviously. I guess he just assumed Harry drove from the studio or his house, or wherever he’d usually come from, and had just met up with me here. To have us both in the same place willingly, for Brayden, was weird and a foreign concept. And as I drove home, I racked my brain to try and remember when the last time Harry and I had gone together to get the kids at school. It wasn’t until we were nearing my house, when Harry played Penelope that Shania Twain song Anne had gotten her into, that I realized it had been well over a year. 

“Daddy,” Penelope chirped, “play polly pockets with me inside.”

“Course, poppet. Can I be the blonde one?” Harry asked, his voice playful as he released Penelope from her car seat.

“Ugh, daddy,” She scolded, “you know she’s my favorite! No, no way.”

“Fiesty lil thing y’are.” He chuckled, watching as she strode up the walkway.

Brayden walked in with Quinn, holding his little baby hand as they admired the bunny sitting in the lawn. I collected all my things from the car, digging for the keys in my purse so I could unlock the door.

Everyone had a routine after school, and it shocked me that even with Harry here they still kept their after school routine in order. Brayden headed in for a snack before starting his homework, and Quinn went right to the couch in the playroom before passing out for a nap. Penelope was caught up with her little toys, and having Harry as a playmate only added to the fun. I had started dinner already, and for majority of the two hours that I spent cooking noodles and making sauce, I repeatedly went over just how Harry and I would deliver the news.

Even when everyone had gathered around the dining room table, Quinn wiggling in his high chair as Brayden settled into his seat alongside Harry, I still had no idea how this would play out. Everyone was so chatty during dinner, filling in Harry on their day at school. Penelope would rant on about the pictures she colored, while Brayden would bond with Harry over the jokes he had told his school buds at the lunch table. Harry listened, intrigued and overwhelmed with love at how happy his kids always were. Every so often he’d glance over at me, as I’d nervously chew on a meatball. Neither of us knew what to say, or even how to introduce the topic. Just when I thought I’d blurt it out and get it over with, Harry stepped in and spoke up.

“S’it my turn to talk ‘bout my day, now?” He’d coo, scrunching his nose at Quinnie from across the table.

“Tell a joke dad!” Brayden begged, mouth filled with un-chewed pasta.

“Inna minute,” he started slowly, “me and mummy wanna tell yeh somethin’. S’good news.”

“Are you having a baby momma?” Penelope asked shyly, frowning at the thought of another sibling.

“No!” I laughed, shocked at her facial expression, “would it be a bad thing if I was?”

“Don’t want a sister. I like bein’ the only girl.” She whined.

“Know I’ve been around more often,” Harry chimed in, “me and mummy..” 

“Are you getting divorced again?” Brayden’s voice was solemn, and I didn’t know whether to laugh at how he thought it was possible to get divorced again or feel awful at how the idea made him so upset.

“No, no lovey. Opposite, actually. We wanted to, like, y’know explain to you how-Daddy’s been here more because, like-” 

“We’re dating.” Harry interrupted sweetly, saving me from myself, “Tha’ means like, yeh kiss ‘nd hold hands ‘nd stuff. S’a good thing, means I’ll be here more.” 

“So,” Brayden started, nodding his head as he tried to understand, “you and mom are in love again?”

“Yeh could say tha’, yes.” Harry smiled wide, kicking my foot from across the table. 

[winedwords]

Adam| Gasoline ½ | Cole

Title; Gasoline Part 1/2

Pairing; Adam Cole/reader 

Words; ~3,200

Summary; You’d do just about anything to win. And you really did mean anything. Part ½

 A/N: Repost from the old blog. 

 And being accompanied by The Most Dangerous Woman in the World, (Y/N), the challengers from Detroit, Michigan, Alex Shelley and Chris Sabin, the Motor City Machine Guns! 

This was it. This was the big one. Everything we had been working for was tonight.

The shot at the Ring of Honor tag team titles, currently held by Bullet Club’s Young Bucks. 

Chris and Alex were overjoyed when they became the number one contenders. I had been a little bit more reserved. The Young Bucks meant Bullet Club members, at the very least Adam Cole, at ringside. 

I could game plan for the Young Bucks, but having the entire Club at ringside to hold on to their last gold? That proved more challenging. 

Getting Hangman Page out of the picture had been easy. Just had to say the right words to both the Hangman and Bobby Fish, two notorious hot heads, and they became embroiled in their own vicious feud. It didn’t 100% remove the Hangman from ringside, but if shit went pear shaped, I knew I could count on Bobby flying down the ramp to get involved. He’d even said as much when I had run into him at the airport as we were traveling to this show. 

The two Gorillas of Destiny were thankfully called to Japan by the head of the Japanese Bullet Club, Kenny Omega. Rumor had it that there were going to be shenanigans at one of the tournaments the Club was in. 

Cole was the wild card, the one I wasn’t entirely sure how to plan for. When the Machine Guns became the number one contenders, he was beside himself, trashing the Bullet Club locker room. Cole had already had a thundercloud following him after the loss of his title at Final Battle to Kyle O'Reilly. Now? He stalked around backstage like a lion with a sore paw and an even nastier disposition. The former champion had been prone to snapping at the stage hands in the back even on the best of his days, now he snarled and lashed out at everyone for the smallest of things. 

Adam Cole was not a man that appreciated or would respond well to being manipulated. He was like fire; all consuming, mercurial, and passionate to the point of obsession in his pursuits. He was ruthless, reckless, charming, and cocksure and damned if that alone wasn’t catnip to me. 

Even given his faults, I’d be remiss in saying he wasn’t beautiful. Tall and strong, long dark hair and too-blue eyes, with high cheekbones and a jaw line sharp enough to cut glass. Top it all off with the scruff along his jaw and a cocky smirk that made my stomach do backflips…

I shook my head, trying to get those kinds of thoughts out of my mind. The tense game of cat and mouse that had been played between myself and Adam Cole for weeks now. What had started as flirtatious smiles and winks had steadily progressed into sly games of grab ass. I wasn’t sure who was the cat and who was the mouse. I knew he was doing it to get under my skin and I was strong enough to admit it was kind of working. 

This is why I had brought a couple… equalizers to ringside. 

The roar of the crowd in Las Vegas made my blood sing and the brass knuckles in my jacket pockets clinked against me with every step that I took towards the ring, between Chris Sabin and Alex Shelley. The brass knuckles were only there if things went really bad, because I was counting on this ridiculously skimpy ring gear I had poured myself into to help serve as a distraction for Adam Cole. Chris had raised his brows and Alex had wolf whistled when I had met them at the gorilla because of the neckline I had cut myself into my Machine Guns shirt, the amount of midriff and tits showing, and the particularly risqué pair of hot pants. The only thing that provided even a hint of modesty was my trademark leather jacket. 

The crowd had noticed too. The pop we normally got was intermixed with wolf whistles and catcalls. Both Chris and Alex chuckled under their breath as I hammed it up, winking at members of crowd and adjusting my shirt suggestively.  

It was during this playful interaction with the crowd that Bullet Club’s music hit and the crowd lost it. 

Being accompanied by Adam Cole, representing Bullet Club, they are the ROH Tag Team Champions of the World, Nick and Matt Jackson, the Young Bucks! 

 And so it begins. I turned towards the ramp, just to be met by a heated stare from Adam Cole. He was trying hard, very hard to not give a visible reaction to my appearance, but he was betrayed by the rapid clenching of his jaw and the pupils of his too-blue eyes were blown out. I schooled my face into a taunting smirk but my knees were a little weak and my stomach was filled with butterflies of anticipation. 

As the three members of Bullet Club made their way to the ring, I climbed onto the apron and motioned to both Alex and Chris that there needed to be a quick team meeting. 

“This is it guys. The match for the titles. I need you all to kick ass and not worry about Cole at ringside. I’ll handle him but I’m not gonna be able to do much else. Whatever happens, and I do mean whatever happens, unless I’m knocked out cold or being choked out with barbed wire, do not react to what’s going on at ringside." 

Both of the men from Detroit looked like they had swallowed a lemon. 

"Are you sure about this, (Y/N)? He’s a piece of shit and he won’t have any issues hurting you,” questioned Chris, his brows furrowed tight together. 

“Let me worry about Cole. I promise I have him handled, just take care of business. ” That half truth sounded convincing even to me. I was 75% sure I could handle this. 

Both of them still looked unconvinced but they begrudgingly nodded. 

“You be careful out there, (Y/N). If shit goes bad I want you to get out of here.” Alex said as he pulled me into a quick side hug. 

“Don’t worry about me. You got this. I’m gonna make this playing field as even as possible, by any means possible. ” With that, I hopped off the apron to the floor so the match could start. I looked towards the opposite corner of the ring, to be met with three pairs of eyes. The Young Bucks were staring at me with curiosity, like I was a puzzle to be figured out. Adam Cole’s face was practically thunderous and I wasn’t sure why. 

I didn’t get time to ponder as the bell rung. It was gonna be Alex starting off against Matt. They circled each other once and then locked up. It was a couple moments of grappling before Alex brought his knee into Matt’s abdomen and Irish whipped the Young Buck into the corner. I slammed my hands twice into the apron and crowed my approval. Across the ring, Adam scowled and I made sure to preen and blow him an exaggerated kiss. The crowd, having caught the exchange, cheered and his scowl deepened as he began to pace in the Bucks’ corner. 

This continued throughout the early moments of the match. Momentum shifted both to the Machine Guns and the Bucks, but never for very long. Adam and myself would trade flirtatious taunts whenever the momentum shifted but we stayed to our respective corners. The closest we had gotten to each other had been when Nick had landed a super kick on Chris; Adam had come to my side of the ring and had yelled at me to suck it while thrusting his hips at me. I didn’t even get a chance to respond in kind because Alex had charged in front of me after breaking up the count in the ring. Adam had backed off and moved to his corner of the ring, his hands up in mock surrender and an insufferable smirk on his face. Nigel himself was standing at the announce table in indignation. I couldn’t hear what the British man was saying over the raucous chants of “Super kick!”

It was too good to last. 

The Machine Guns had finally had the momentum swing their way for more than a couple sequences. Alex and Chris had dived through the ropes from the ring onto the Bucks and Adam Cole, who were attempting to regroup at ringside. The men from Detroit pushed their opponents back into the ring and Adam decided now was the time to make a move. He’d jumped up on the ring apron and began screaming absolute filth at the referee. The ref was too distracted to see Alex pinning Nick and I took off towards Adam Cole. He must not have seen me, as I was able to get behind him, grab both ankles, and with using most of my strength, I jerked Adam from the apron to the floor. He hit his head on the apron with a crack and I froze a couple feet away from him. It wasn’t until he swung his head towards me with a glare that I shot back to my corner, with Adam hot on my heels. I had almost made it to the announce table, where I was hoping to hide behind Nigel, the Matchmaker, whom I knew was a little sweet on me. 

Emphasis on the almost. I was maybe fifty feet away when I felt two arms wrap around my waist in a steel like grip and I was wrenched around. Chris Sabin saw as well and he made his way towards us from the other end of the ring, but he stopped and returned to the match at the subtle shake of my head. 

Every nerve ending in my body felt like a live wire. Adam was practically wrapped around me like a turtle shell and I’ll be damned if the feel and heat of his body against mine didn’t make me wet. He picked me up and practically frog marched me away from the relative safety of the announce table to a neutral corner. 

“I didn’t wanna do this sweetness. Especially with you looking like a fuckin’ wet dream,” he murmured into my ear, the iron like grip loosening around my waist as he set me down. It was enough for me to break the hold the former champion had on me and stumble backwards, to get a couple feet of distance between the two of us. I had the shake the fog from my brain that his touch caused. I needed to be aware of my surroundings both for my sanity and safety, given that both teams in the ring were prone to flying over the ropes. 

“You don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to, handsome. This is all in good fun.” I flicked my hair back with a wink, “fixing” my cropped shirt by pulling it down a little farther to expose more cleavage. Adam’s stare was hot as his eyes dragged from my face, to lingering on my chest, down my bare legs, and back up again. 

“You just gotta name the time and place for us to have some fun bay bay. You and I could be real good together. You didn’t need to ruin it by pulling me off the apron,” His smirk was predatory as he began to take slow steps towards me. A rapid glance into the ring revealed that my Machine Guns had the upper hand yet again versus the Bucks. 

Just a little bit longer. 

I stood my ground and maintained eye contact, mainly because I wasn’t sure if my legs would cooperate given how they felt like jello. “I can’t let you interfere in this match Adam. Though I am very, very sorry that that face of yours hit the apron. I’d hate for something to happen to it. ” Was that really my voice sounding so husky? A glance at Adam though left me reassured that he was just as effected by our little game as me. The pupils of his too-blue eyed were almost completely blown out, leaving just a sliver of blue, and the bulge in his wrestling trunks seemed to be more pronounced than usual. 

“I’m sure we can find a way for you to make it up to me, sweetness. I’ll only make you beg for my forgiveness a little.” He was now so close that I could feel the heat radiating off of his body and his hands skimming the sides of my hips. My skin broke out in goose flesh at the touch of his fingers and I began to panic through the pink haze that was taking over my brain. 

His hands were dangerously close to feeling the brass knuckles stashed in the pockets of my leather jacket. I had to do something extreme to distract him. 

“Do you promise?” I asked coyly, inching a little closer to him and making sure to tilt my head up to look at the former champion. The licking and biting of my lower lip was unintentional, but the glancing at Adam’s lips was intentional and exaggerated. Victory flashed in his eyes, accompanied by promises for much more pleasurable activities. “Oh sweetness, I would never joke about something like this.” He said as his left hand started to travel upwards, inside my jacket and up my rib cage. 

Fuck it. I had to break out the big guns. I leaned in just a touch closer and let my right had begun to wander up Adam’s right arm in itsy bitsy spider motions, then across his shoulder towards his neck. Wherever my fingers went, the corresponding muscles in that area contracted and my mouth went a little dry just watched those muscles tense. I was always an arm girl. It was now or never though. 

Mustering up all my courage, I grabbed Adam Cole by the base of the neck and pulled him towards me. Then it was just a little flex onto my toes and our mouths met. I only heard the roar of the crowd for but a moment before it was drowned out by the roaring of blood in my ears. The warring sensations of both the scratch of his facial hair and the softness of his mouth felt like a sensory overload. Just the touch of our mouths together felt like a lightening bolt straight to every erogenous zone and suddenly every article of clothing I was wearing felt entirely too constricting. 

A microsecond later, Adam’s arms dropped low, to the swell of my ass, tugging me a little bit closer to deepen the kiss. I wound my left arm over his shoulders to tangle in his hair. The kiss didn’t stay chaste for more than a couple moments. 

Say what you will about Adam as a person, but fuck, the man could kiss. Just enough tongue to make me tremble and teeth to make me whimper. The first time he caught a whimper over the din of the crowd, I could practically feel his self-congratulating smirk and the proverbial puffing of his chest. Feeling a little spiteful, I grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged. The ensuing moan I got from his lips was absolute filth and Adam pressed even closer to me. It took almost everything in me to not drag him to the back when I felt the growing hardness in his trunks. I had to shake the heated fog from my brain, I had to make sure that the Machine Guns won this. 

I cracked an eye open, mouth still feverishly attached to Adam’s, and surveyed the ring as discreetly as possible. Alex and Chris has taken my advice and ignored what was happening at ringside; Nick Jackson appeared to be knocked out cold and Alex and Chris were setting up Matt for the Made in Detroit - a vicious sit out powerbomb facelock combination from the top rope. I glanced back at Adam, eyes screwed shut, and knew I had to make my move and soon. 

I gave him one last nibble of his lower lip and a brush of my tongue against his in apology for what was to come, before I pulled back just enough so there was a fraction of space between us. I thought I even heard Adam whine at the back of his throat as I pulled away. 

“Sorry ‘bout this handsome.”

He didn’t have time to react before I brought my knee up hard into his groin. The air in his lungs rushed out of his body and the mostly male crowd “oooh’d” in sympathy. Adam was doubled over in pain, his hands moving to guard his groin. My hands shot to my pockets to try to get the knuckles on. Based off of the fading pain and growing rage on Adam’s contorted face, I only had a couple of seconds before he recovered enough to retaliate. 

I fumbled too long for my comfort with the knuckles, pulling the right one out of my pocket and finally sliding it onto my hand. 

“Again, I’m real sorry handsome, I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“Not as sorry as you’re gonna be sweet-”

He couldn’t get the endearment off of his tongue before I hit him with a brassknuckled right hook. Cole’s body went limp as the referee got to 3 in his count. The crowd went wild. 

The Motor City Machine Guns did it. They were tag team champions.

I wish I could say that I was happy on that moment, but it felt like my body temperature had dropped below freezing and every endorphin has just rushed out of my body all at once. It took everything in me to slide into the ring to celebrate with Alex and Chris, my body shaking as I pulled myself up to my feet. I like to think that even in the glory of the win, both Alex and Chris could sense something was wrong, as I was rapidly pulled into a sweaty group hug. 

“We’re gonna talk about it later, (y/n).” Chris murmured as he pressed his lips into my hairline. 

“Guys I don’t want to rain on your parade, but I need to get out of here. ” I whispered shakily, my right hook was good even without brass knuckles, but Adam was tough son of a bitch and he would be up any minute now. Alex’s arms squeezed around my shoulders comfortingly. “Let’s get out of here doll." 

With Shelley’s arm over my shoulder and Sabin’s arm around my waist, we made our way out of the ring. I felt like I was in a fog and I didn’t even see who held the second rope for me to hop out to the floor. Our entire way from the ring, the Machine Guns flanked me on either side, an arm from each supporting my shaky legs and I up the ram. 

"This isn’t over, (y/n)! Not by a fucking long shot!" 

The bellowing from the ring was enough to make the three of us turn. Adam was in the ring, flanked by the battered Young Bucks, his jaw already turning colors. Even from the top of the ramp, I could see the nuclear heat in his eyes practically searing into me as he was leaning against the ringpost and turnbuckle. Alex began to tug me towards the curtain, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away, even if my feet were begrudgingly cooperating. Adam’s final words were echoing into my ears as we moved behind the curtain. 

"You can’t run from me, (y/n)!"