#the most immaculate scruff ever

[andy-clutterbuck]

[onlinesikhstore]

Sikh Kara Stainless Steel One Edge Diamond Cut Bangle Singh Kaur Punjabi Kada OG

Stainless Steel Stunning One Edge with Diamond Cut Design Sikh Kara Punjabi Kada Kakar Bangle

Design No. OG1 (This is new design arrived).

Approx. 6 mm width and 6 mm is thickness of these Kara, 

Weight approx 45-60g (variable due to different sizes of kara).

Sizes are the inner diameter of Kara measured in centimetres.

Punjabi Traditional Design Kada - Just Arrived Life Time Guarantee for Shine.

These will stay stunning for their Life and will not rust at all.

Non-allergic to skin. These Kara are remembrance gift for life.

Best thing ever to gift your loved ones and these always remind them about your presence. I am myself wearing a 18 years old Kara that my Grandmum has gifted me and it always remind me of her. 

Kara GIFT FOR LIFE Apart from religious values Karas are the best to be given as a remembrance/memorable gift. Hence, a brilliant gift idea for loved ones.

These Kara are one of the Sikh Kakars. (Very Smooth - as shown in photos - photos are zoomed to show details) - Very Popular design in market right now - very famous in youngsters and we are the only seller who has this exclusive design for sale in UK.

Very Smooth from inside and heavy.

These Kara are from the Holy and blessed land of Shiri Amritsar Sahib (The City of Golden Temple/Darbar Sahib/Shiri Harmandir Sahib Ji). Please choose variation size while buying or mention it to us in your note.

Please read below more Information about Sikh Kara:

A kara (Punjabi: ਕੜਾ (Gurmukhi), کڑا (Shahmukhi) कड़ा (Devanagari)), is a steel or iron (sarb loh) bracelet, worn by all initiated Sikhs. It is one of the five kakars or 5Ks — external articles of faith — that identify a Sikh as dedicated to their religious order. The kara was instituted by the tenth Sikh guru Gobind Singh at the BaisakhiAmrit Sanskar in 1699. Guru Gobind Singh Ji explained: He does not recognise anyone else except me, not even the bestowal of charities, performance of merciful acts, austerities and restraint on pilgrim-stations; the perfect light of the Lord illuminates his heart, then consider him as the immaculate Khalsa. The kara is to constantly remind the Sikh disciple to do God's work, a constant reminder of the Sikh's mission on this earth and that he or she must carry out righteous and true deeds and actions, keeping with the advice given by the Guru. The Kara is a symbol of unbreakable attachment and commitment to God. It is in the shape of a circle which has no beginning and no end, like the eternal nature of God. It is also a symbol of the Sikh brotherhood. As the Sikhs' holy text theGuru Granth Sahib says "In the tenth month, you were made into a human being, O my merchant friend, and you were given your allotted time to perform good deeds." Similarly, Bhagat Kabir reminds the Sikh to always keep one's consciousness with God: "With your hands and feet, do all your work, but let your consciousness remain with the Immaculate Lord." The basic kara is a simple unadorned steel bracelet, but other forms exist. It was historically used like a knuckle-duster for hand-to-hand combat. Battlefield variations include kara with spikes or sharp edges. Sikh soldiers of the British Indian army would settle disputes by competing in a form of boxing known as loh-musti (lit. iron fist) with a kara on one hand. 

Brilliant finish and very decorative. Ideal gift item for loved ones.

P.S. Colour of item may slightly vary due to camera flash and light conditions. Some kara may have negligible small black grinding mark on the kara joint. This is always seen on all kara as most of the Kara making/shaping work is done by hands. However, this do not affect the quality/look of kara. Please note there may be a grinding/minor scruff marks on kara joints that happens due to grinding the stainless steel joint. As someone who has ever visited Kara stores in Amritsar must have witnessed that these Kara come in jumbles and mostly made manually by hand. However, We follow proper grading/selection procedures before getting these kara but still sometimes it is hard to get the perfection and I hope it is understandable. Incase, you are not happy with quality, please do let us know and we will issue you the full refund after verification.

[darklylucid]

Asa Emory Headcanon / Profile

I recently watched ‘The Collector’ and ‘The Collection’, and this man has lit an absolute bonfire in my brain. I have had an unabashed, unabated love of slashers for more than 30 years, and this man has now taken pride of place in my heart. 

I will be adding thoughts to this as I think of them. This is more of a ‘work in progress’ than a complete work.

I hope you enjoy, my gift to the fandom.

Part 1 of 2 - Meet Asa Emory, Entomologist. The ‘day job‘, the immaculate deception.

Outward Appearances

Average height. Average build. He’s a good looking man, no doubt, but there’s nothing remarkable about him. He doesn’t stand out in any way, he doesn’t draw attention to himself, and truth be told he almost blends in so well most people’s eyes would probably skip right over him without a second glance. Just another anonymous face in the crowd.

But, if someone did notice him…

It would be very easy to admit that Asa Emory is probably one of, if not the most well-groomed men anyone will ever meet. His clothes are always neatly pressed with a ‘just washed look‘ and they’ll never even see so much as a smudge of dirt on his person. Although he’s not clean shaven, the scruff he always seems to have along his jaw line is always neatly trimmed. The expression ‘A bit rough around the edges’ would likely come to mind.

Adding further credence to that expression is the myriad of small scars adorning his face, the most prominent of them being a horizontal gash across the bridge of his nose and a thin vertical slash through both lips on the left side of his mouth. Any inquiries regarding their origin will always be met with an oblique “just the hazards of the job”, a small self-depreciating smile, a helpless shrug and a prompt change of subject. They do make him look a bit what some would consider ‘rough and ready‘, but to be honest, they do make him all the more intriguing.

Asa is, thankfully, not one of those men that seem to believe that bathing in cologne is the best way to make themselves attractive to women. If anyone ever gets that close to him, all they’ll ever be able to detect is a blend of laundry detergent and a barely-there hint of aftershave.  

Wardrobe-wise, it seems to be that the majority of clothing in his closet would be best described as a blend of comfort and utility. This is not a man anyone would ever describe as a ‘fancy dresser’. Buttoned up shirts neatly tucked into comfortable slacks with a leather belt and black leather work boots are staples of this man’s wardrobe, as are a variety of jackets, invariably denim or leather.

At Home

He’s the ideal neighbour who keeps his home and yard impeccably maintained, never causes problems for anyone and has never had anyone bring a complaint against him of any kind. They’ll see him occasionally as he comes and goes, but he’ll never give anything more elaborate than a customary wave and a faint smile as he goes about his business. A minimal, almost automatic response that they’ve grown accustomed to over the years. His neighbours don’t take it personally, though. He’s always been respectful of their privacy, so they’re more than happy to give him his own in return. 

There are a lot stranger people they could have living next door, after all…

Despite being beautiful inside and out, tastefully furnished and decorated (if a bit dated), his residence is in and of itself a carefully crafted illusion. It has all the empty, hollow feel of an ornate ‘staged home’, a house carefully designed to give the impression of a warm, comforting retreat where a family can imagine themselves happy, safe and comfortable. A mirror reflection of the respected and trusted Asa Emory ‘persona’ he’s put so much effort into projecting to the outside world.

Yes, he is an Etymologist, and it’s to be expected for him to surround himself with the trappings of his profession, but the taxidermy insects that are scattered everywhere throughout the house are the only personal touches that are intrinsically him. Everything else is a perfectly crafted lie, the disguise he hides behind to conceal who he truly is.

Understandably, there will be nothing outside or inside the entire house to tie him back to ‘The Collector‘. The house is as utterly detached from the hotel as the brightest solar flare is from the absolute darkness at the bottom of Mariana’s Trench.

Social Life

At work, acting within his capacity as an Etymologist around colleagues he’ll be amiable, polite and charming, a model member of the faculty with a quick warm smile and a friendly, even temperament. His work will be flawless, showing no mistakes or inaccuracies. His behaviour will be beyond reproach and his manners impeccable. If anyone has a problem or is in need of someone else’s expert opinion, Asa is the one they would prefer to go to, as he seems genuinely happy to answer any and all work related questions with patience and thoughtful insight. All around, a pleasure to work with.

This is his cover, what he presents to the world, what he wants you to see and believe.

A deeply private man all too happy to keep his own company, ‘always alone but never lonely‘, he’ll always politely decline any and all co-workers offers to socialize outside of work, and eventually they’ll stop asking. They’ll know it’s nothing personal, simply accept it as just a quirk of his personality and take it in stride. A bit ‘standoffish’ rather than what some would call ‘snobbish’. He truly seems to be happier on his own, and they’re happy to let him be.

If anyone tries to engage him in conversation about anything personal, stilted small talk is all they’ll ever get out of him. He’ll never voluntarily reveal anything about his private life whatsoever, and any and all direct inquiries anyone asks regarding it will only ever get vague, non-committal answers and a clever misdirection away from their line of questioning.

Unless, of course, they engage him about his favourite subject - insects. There will be no doubt in their mind how deeply passionate this man is about all things creepy-crawly. Actually, he might be a little too passionate about this particular subject…

There’s a certain disturbing intensity behind his eyes as he expounds upon the virtues of bugs, a subtle, disconcerting shift in his mannerisms that, to be honest, would start to creep some people out. There’s something...unsettling about this man, but they just can’t put their finger on it. They really should trust their instincts.

‘The Collector’ is peeking out at them from behind a carefully maintained veneer of normalcy.

Exhausted with the effort of maintaining his façade, he’ll often feel the need to retreat to a quiet, out of the way corner of the city where he can get a bit of fresh air and solitude. Nothing much else gives him quite a sense of inner calm than sitting in a quiet park or urban oasis and observing a dazzling array of insects in a natural setting. A small sketch pad is ever at the ready to capture a particularly interesting specimen at rest, rendered in great care and painstakingly detailed. Small pleasures where one can find them.

Personal Relationships

For Asa Emory, a stable, long-term personal relationship is not only something he would be uninterested in, but more likely incapable of, and it all comes down to a simple matter of risk versus reward. Who and what he is at the hotel is the real Asa Emory, and no matter how careful and controlled he is, he can’t conceal his true self indefinitely.

All the effort and hard work he’s put into maintaining his professional reputation, which takes overwhelming priority over any possible benefit he would receive from such an intimate partnership, would be jeopardized is he were to slip up in even a small way, and have them make a connection between him and ‘The Collector’. It’s just not worth the risk.

That being said, however, if Asa were to engage in a close personal relationship with anyone, there would have to be something uniquely special about that person for him to even allow them to get close to him. There is something deep down within this man, something he would never admit, that is starved for comfort and affection, something he’s gone almost his entire life without.

If someone were to have full knowledge of who and what he truly is, having not only a clear understanding of both personas, Asa Emory and ‘The Collector’, but fully accepting of both without reservation and keep his secrets, they would earn almost the full measure of both his trust and loyalty.

It might be easy to see Asa Emory with that one lucky person in a very traditional relationship, almost a 1940’s or 1950’s dynamic where he is the devoted, committed partner who would come home after a long hard day to the comfort of someone who would not only welcome him home with a warm hug, but fuss over him a bit before sitting him down to his favourite home-cooked meal.

Such a person would invariably avoid a ghastly fate at his hands as long as they were to remain absolutely loyal. But, if he were to even get the slightest hint of any kind of betrayal, their suffering would stand out as more exceptionally cruel and vicious than he ever has or ever will inflict upon another human being. He would prolong their suffering for as long as he possibly could, and their death would be a mercy he would not allow for a very, very long time.

* slightly NSFW under the cut. *

Asa And Sex

Being intimate with a willing partner, even for something as casual as a one night stand requires a certain level of trust, intimacy and vulnerability that does not come easily or naturally for him, therefore casual sex, for Asa, can be a rather trying venture for more than one reason.

This man is a true sadist at heart, and despite what he projects to the world outside the hotel his true passion revolves around inflicting fear, pain and suffering onto others. There will be a constant internal struggle between who he is free to be at the hotel, and who he must be outside of it, and sacrifices must be made and a balance found between what he wants to do and what he can do within the boundaries of a consensual sexual encounter.

However, despite his best intentions, there will be always be a certain degree of inevitable ‘bleed over’ between his two very dissimilar personas, Asa Emory, publicly respected Entomologist and ‘The Collector’, mass murdering, psychopathic torturing sadist.

He will inexorably push boundaries and comfort zones, carefully gauging their reactions to what he’s doing to determine where they draw the line at what they will and will not allow him to do to them. The change will be so subtle, so gradual that they might not even be aware of the shift in his demeanour until they suddenly find lips giving way to teeth and a bruising grip replacing a gentle caress.

This is a man for whom the term ‘vanilla’ should never be applied, and his kinks go far beyond what most people would consider either ‘normal’ or even ‘safe’. He has an overwhelming psychological need for control and to dominate a partner, accepting nothing but their complete and absolute submission for the duration of the encounter. Someone tied up, tied down and at his mercy will arouse him beyond measure.

Regrettably, not everyone shares this man’s particular needs and desires, and precious few potential sex partners will ever be capable of allowing him to simply ‘let go and be himself.’ Asa losing control and getting carried away would be an unmitigated disaster, the fallout from an accusation of either dubious or non-consensual behaviour a blow to his public persona that he will take every effort to avoid.

Therefore, every encounter will always require a repression and denial of his true nature. If he is unlucky enough to find himself in a situation with someone that either shows unwillingness or outright refusal to meet his particular requirements, and if he is in need of a sexual release badly enough, he could very well swallow his frustrations and restrain himself just enough to take the edge off, forced to make the best of a disappointing situation.

Unfortunately, this will understandably be a far cry from the satisfaction he would have been hoping to achieve, and all that unfulfilled desire usually results in Asa showing a much greater degree of cruelty towards his victims back at the hotel, a sexually repressed and frustrated sadist being forced to transmute one need into another by lack of a proper outlet.

However, there is an easy, readily available alternative. It is entirely possible that Asa Emory would enlist the services of an escort. With an escort, you can specify exactly what you’re looking for in a partner beforehand. Services can be negotiated, and they will come into the arrangement knowing full well what will be expected of them and he will get to have at least some of his darkest needs fulfilled. For a little while, at least.

Money, the great motivator.

For part 2, ‘The Collector Headcannon / Profile’, CLICK HERE

[randomvarious]

Today’s mix:

Blech II: Blechsdöttir by PC & Strictly 1996 IDM / Ambient Techno / Abstract / Downtempo / Trip Hop / Drill n Bass / Breakbeat

I wouldn't go so far as to say that Warp is the greatest electronic music label of all time, but I'll say that it was definitely the best one between the early and late 90s. And if you're someone who's ever taken a look at Warp's immense catalogue and said something along the lines of, "Jesus, where do I even start with this," start with this mix. One, It's simply one of the greatest DJ mixes that's ever been made, and two, it manages to encapsulate every single mindbending theme that Warp had its fingernails firmly dug into at the time. Blechsdöttir manages to capture the essence of Warp in 1996, from its IDM, to its ambient techno, to its downtempo, trip hop, breakbeat, and future jazz, to its drill n' bass, and all back when they were the reigning, undisputed champions of the abstract-and-weird-but-not-too-abstract-and-weird side of electronic music.

Now, you'd think that it would be intuitive to have someone from the Warp label be the one to mix a bunch of Warp tunes, since they'd probably be the most likely to know the label's songs both inside and out, but the fact of the matter is that both mixes in the Blech series were actually kind of a joint venture between Warp and another king label in electronic music at the time, the masters of jazzy breakbeat and trip hop, Ninja Tune. Rather than looking in-house, Warp were able to get the pair of PC & Strictly Kev, better known as DJ Food, to construct their Blech mixes. And what a perfect decision that ended up being.

Blechsdöttir is one of the greatest DJ mixes ever constructed for a few reasons: the selection is magnificent (Autechre, Aphex Twin, and Nightmares On Wax tracks aplenty), the overall course it takes is one of the most enjoyably varied, 70-plus-minute journeys you'll ever embark upon, and the transitions between songs are immaculate, so much so, that there are a bunch of points within this thing when you don't even realize that the song you think you're listening to is actually the next song in the tracklist. "Seamless" is a word that actually gets thrown around a bit too much to praise the track changes in DJ mixes, and because of that, I wish there was, like, a cogent way to differentiate between levels of seamlessness, because this might as well be the concept's pinnacle. I mean, it's just unreal what PC & Strictly pulled here nearly a quarter-century ago.

A clinic in satisfying abstractness that to this day remains timeless. In the highest reaches of the most upper of echelons as far as DJ mixes go, and an excellent way to introduce someone to Warp's most triumphant period.

We hope you've gained a new insight into what can be done in the world of great, inspirational music, through electronics.

Listen to the full mix here.

Highlights:

Autechre - "Lost" / Disjecta - "Kracht" Autechre - "Rotar" / Autechre - "Flutter" Plaid - "Abla Eedio (Unreleased Exclusive Mix)" Aphex Twin - "Ventolin (Plain-An-Gwaary Mix)" Autechre - "Rsdio" Jake Slazenger - "Nautilus" Nightmares On Wax - "Dredd Overboard (DJ Food Lifesaver Mix)" / Aphex Twin - "Cow Cud Is A Twin" AFX - "Laughable Butane Bob" Freeform - "Brieflei" The Black Dog - "Chase The Manhattan" B12 - "Infinite Lites (Primitives Mix)" Elecktroids - "Midnight Drive" / DJ Mink - "Hey Hey Can U Relate" / Nightmares On Wax - "Dextrous" Jimi Tenor - "Downtown" / Aphex Twin - "SAW: II CD2.4" Nightmares On Wax - "What I'm Feelin (Rae + Christian Mix)" LFO - "Shove Piggy Shove" / Mira Calix - "Humba" Red Snapper - "The Last One" Nightmares On Wax - "Gambia Via Vagator Beach (Scruff Mix)" Squarepusher - "Problem Child" Mike Ink - "Paroles" Aphex Twin - "Ventolin (Wheeze Mix)" Jake Slazenger - "Slowdance"

[saferemercer]

Worthy

June 26th, Late Evening, After the Queen��s Gala

"There ya go lass, she's all set for yeh!" 

Safere glanced at the dwarf gryphon master, still holding the winning ticket in her hand. To the right of her, stood Snowbeak, the majestic, white Wildhammer gryphon she had just won in a high society raffle. The beast was immaculate; feathers shining in the moonlight, beak seemingly polished to a mirror sheen and talons sharp as adamantine steel. She was straight out of a storybook. 

Safere looked down at her rented tuxedo; a crab meat stain on her collar, one cufflink gone and her shoes having stepped in something grey and slimy. She didn’t want to think about that too much. All in all, she felt pretty damn foolish standing in front of this paragon of gryphon-kind, ready to take her as a mount. 

“So uh...you have any tips for how to...uh, care for her?” she asked. “I mean...I have another gryphon, but he’s older and kinda half-blind…”

The dwarf chuckled, unlatching the gryphon’s chains. “Oh, Snowbeak is ah’ feisty young lass, she’s gonna want ta’ fly around prettah’ often. You’ve got ah’ roost fer her, yeah?” 

Safere rubbed the back of her head. “Yeah...definitely,” she hoped. 

“Good, good. She needs tha’ best of care! You gala types can manage that, ah’m sure. You ah’ knight or ah’ cleric of some kind?” 

Safere rubbed her head, harder. “I’m...a...uh, protector.” 

“Protector! Ha, tha’ sounds good! Yeah, Snowbeak is fit fer the grandest of adventures. The soarin’ clouds, the tallest mountains, the greatest-” 

“I get it, I get it,” Safere said, through gritted teeth. “I’m...sure we’ll have a wonderful time together.” 

The dwarf shrugged and gave Snowbeak a final pat on the snout, before he opened the gate and led her out of the pen. Safere walked up to her, trembling just a little. She raised a hand and brought it down to touch her beak. The gryphon stared into her eyes, as she was touched. Safere swore she could sense a subtle disappointment in those eyes. She sighed. 

“I know, Snowbeak...we’ll...make this work,” Safere said, now starting to regret ever taking a raffle ticket. 

July 20th, Mid Evening, Crowsfield.

Snowbeak was screaming at her. Well, squawking might have been more accurate, but it sure felt like screaming to Safere. If the beast could speak common, she had an idea of the level of vitriol she’d be experiencing right now. 

“I know, I get it, you’re angry!” Safere grumbled, trying to clean her feathers with an old brush. “We don’t...we don’t fly as often as you’d like...and I wish I could fix that, but I just...don’t travel as often as some people. Ok?! Buddy doesn’t mind, do ya pal?” 

She turned to the black gryphon in the pen next to her. The cross-eyed, older gryphon was chewing on a large ferret he had caught earlier that day, but in the same way a tired farmer might sip on a tall glass of sweet tea. He was in no rush. 

As if Snowbeak could understand Safere’s words (she was almost certain she could, some days), the majestic gryphon snorted at her, in seeming disgust. 

Safere sighed. “Yeah, I know, you don’t like being compared to Buddy. But he’s the only gryphon I’ve ever really known before, so maybe we can just-” 

Snowbeak raised her legs and flapped her wings right in Safere’s face, knocking her to the ground, landing flat on her ass in the dirt.

“Oh, fine!” Safere shouted, lying down in defeat. “Have it your way! I’ll just let you-” 

“Might I be of assistance, Miss Mercer?” 

She looked up to see a man in copper colored armor, standing above her, offering a hand. She turned around and gripped his palm, rising back to her feet. She recognized the man immediately. He was the only one she knew who would wear a fully enclosed helm in such sweltering weather. 

“Mordecai, right?” Safere asked, despite knowing she was right. She just..hadn’t spoken to him that much. 

He nodded. “Indeed, Miss Mercer. Mordecai Sharpe, at your service.” He sounded calm and helpful, even if his expression was entirely unreadable. That copper-colored mask he wore always bore the same neutral, placid expression. His eyes were the only thing that could be seen. Kind brown orbs, blinking every so often. 

Safere sighed, dusting off her trousers. “Well, uh, have you got any experience with gryphons? At least more than I do?” 

Mordecai nodded once more. “I rode one for nearly a decade. Back when I was a more...active member of The Silver Hand. She was a gorgeous creature, fair and swift...but I didn’t appreciate her at the time.” 

Safere blinked. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that I...neglected her,” he began to say. “Not in the sense of health or feeding, I assure you. I always kept her well fed, clean and cared for. Until the day she died, she never missed a meal, nor was she abused. But…” 

The man’s shoulders fell, for but a moment. “I didn’t truly appreciate her. I never even named her. Not really. Whenever a fellow knight would ask me, I would say something like...Silverwing or Judgment. But it was a hollow excuse for a title. I simply didn’t care. She was a beast to be used for glory. Much like a sword or a shield. Cared for, certainly. But never loved. Never seen as more than a tool.” 

Mordecai turned to look at the gryphons. “Do I have your leave to approach her?” 

“Sure,” Safere replied, shrugging. “Just be ready, because she’s in a mood.” 

He walked up to Snowbeak, slowly reaching into a pouch on his waist and retrieving a handful of wildberries. Once he reached the gryphon, he held out his palm and let her eat from it. She did so with some trepidation, but soon enough, had cleaned his gauntlet entirely. She then leaned her head against his arm, as he stroked her gently. 

“A beautiful lady...you should be very-” 

“HELP!” 

Mordecai and Safere turned around to see a young woman running toward them, a distraught expression on her face. The paladin ran forward to meet her halfway. 

"Miss, what is wrong?!" 

"Please, they took my brother, please they took him into the forest-" 

He laid a hand on her shoulder...and she seemed to calm down, enough to explain more clearly, at least. By then, Safere had joined Mordecai by his side and was listening closely. 

"She took Theodore, the...some witch, I saw her snatch him from his bedroom window and take him into the moor! I tried to run after her, but these...skeletons rose up from the dirt! Undead monsters! Out in the Bleakmoor! Please sir, miss…please help my brother…” the girl wailed, tears welling in her brown eyes. 

“We have no time to lose. Miss, return to your home and wait for us there. We will find him. Safere,” Mordecai said, turning to face her. “Might we-” 

She nodded, already running back to Buddy. “Come on!” she called back. Fiddling with her ebon gryphon’s chain, Safere mounted him and pulled the reins. He may have been an older gent, but Buddy knew when it was time to get serious. Years of getting Safere out of sticky situations had given him a kind of sixth sense. He rose to his feet and flapped his wings, ready to burst off. 

Mordecai was running up now, while the young woman returned to her homestead.  He looked at Buddy and Safere. “I...don’t know if I’ll be able to fit on there with you. Or if your gryphon can carry my extra bulk,” he said, gesturing to his mix of chain and plate mail. “Perhaps if-” 

Safere shook her head. “You’re taking Snowbeak!” 

The paladin shook his head. “No, miss Safere, she is yo-” 

“This is not the time to argue, pal! Get to it!” Safere shouted. 

Mordecai nodded and ran to the ivory bird, expertly climbing upon her saddle without even a wayward twitch from the proud beast. She shrieked out a battle-squawk and took to the air almost immediately, leaving Safere and Buddy to catch up. 

They were soaring above the hills now, keeping low enough to spot any figures...if it wasn’t so bloody dark. 

“I can’t see a damn thing down there!” Safere shouted, the wind coursing through her hair. 

“Let us remedy that,” Mordecai roared back. “Cover your eyes, Mercer! For just a moment!” 

Safere did as she was told, bringing her wrist back across her eyes, just as the night turned to sunrise in front of her. Her peripheral vision was a holy inferno, but it soon faded enough until she felt comfortable to gaze openly again. Mordecai was still glowing, casting a net of light across the hilly moor below. 

“There!” he said, pointing down. Sure enough, no longer shrouded beneath a barrow-hill, Safere could spot a crowd of figures. Over a dozen skeletal warriors, covered still in the dirt and grime of their former resting places. Most gripped broken hatchets and rusted blades. A couple held ancient shortbows. These two decrepit snipers took aim as Safere and Mordecai came down upon them. With surprising dexterity, an arrow was loosed, aimed right at Snowbeak’s chest. 

But the gryphon saw it coming, swiping the missile away with a talon. The other shot toward Safere and Buddy; its aim was less true, allowing them to dodge the projectile with a quick turn. By then, the two of them were landing. Hard. 

Snowbeak smashed into the center of the undead, scattering two of the boney bastards into splinters. Mordecai pulled his great morningstar from his shoulders, the flanged head gleaming with golden fire, as he slammed it into the rotting ribcage of another, crushing the sternum and wasting the foul creature away. 

Safere came down less glamorously, but no less effective. Her cutlass in one hand, silver edged and shining, slicing through the skull of the axe wielding monster nearest to her. The foolish archer she had landed by, tried to swat Buddy with his bow, only for the elder gryphon to grab him in his beak and snap his spine. 

“Interlopers!” A shrill voice screamed. Safere turned to see a wretched old hag, twisted and deformed, holding a young boy by the scruff of his pajamas. The child was wailing, kicking at his captor, to seemingly no avail. “You will not stop the sacrifice to Gorak Tul!” 

“Gorak Tul is vanquished, fiend! Killed in his own realm of shadow and failure!” Mordecai growled, shattering the knees of an approaching skeleton. “You will accomplish nothing!” 

“Yeah, you suck!” Safere helpfully added, stabbing another undead. 

“Fools! Gorak Tul’s spirit lingers, forever! And I will be his new bride!” the witch shrieked, raising a twisted dagger to the child’s throat. “The boy’s blood will show me the way!” 

Safere grit her teeth, looking around for any options. There were still a half dozen skeletons advancing. Buddy was fighting off one more to her left. Snowbeak...was gone. Where had she-

Mordecai let loose a sharp whistle. The gryphon moved so fast, she was more of a blur of white upon the wind, than any discernible form. Just as the witch had barely begun to look behind her, she was rammed by the Wildhammer gryphon, sending her gangling form flying forward, her loose grip on the boy’s shirt going slack, as he fell a few feet to the ground. 

Safere ran over to him, making sure he was unharmed. Aside from some dirt stains and a bruise on his shoulder, he seemed to be fine, if still wailing and terrified. Within that handful of moments, Mordecai, Buddy and Snowbeak had dispatched the handful of remaining skeletons, their bones scattered and unmoving. The witch...lay in a defeated pile nearby, groaning like a sickly weasel. 

“You are beaten, monster. Submit and be judged!” Mordecai commanded, his aura pulsing like wildfire. He stood above the subdued wretch, morningstar at her throat. 

The witch mewled and raised her elongated arms, in a show of surrender. “I...yes, I am defeated! Oh, brave and powerful paladin! I...submit to your mercy! Please!” Her yellow eyes wide and pleading. 

“Mercy! How could a villain such as you deserve-” Mordecai began to say...before stopping and sighing. “Very well, witch. You will come with me, bound and subdued...to be judged by the people of Autumnhearth! And see what mercy they lay upon you!”  

The paladin barely shifted his gaze, but for a mere moment, he did glance at his belt, to retrieve a length of rope...only for Safere to watch as the hag began to channel a pale blue energy in her palm. 

A Ruinous Bolt! Safere thought to herself. She had been researching just last night. In a flash, she drew her Gnomish pepperbox from the back of her trousers and fired. One, two, three, four…

Her aim did not fail her. Each silver shot ripping into the hag’s flesh, with the last metal ball landing right between her sour yolk-yellow eyes...which made the spell in her palm fade away and the witch slump back onto the ground, as dead as her would to be husband. 

Mordecai looked back at the shot riddled body and exhaled. “My thanks, Miss Mercer.” 

She nodded, sweat dripping down her forehead. In her arm, the young boy blinked and wiped away tears. “That was...so loud!” he squeaked. 

“Ah yeah...sorry about that, Theodore,” Safere said, grimacing. “But it’s over, your sister is waiting for you.” 

The boy nodded and hugged her, still crying, but less feverishly. Mordecai came over to him, kneeling down and offering a hand. 

“How would you like to fly on a gryphon, master Theodore?” he asked. 

For likely the first time that night, the boy smiled. 

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

The reunion with Theodore’s sister (Charlotte, they learned) was full of more tears and smiles alike, but the boy was soon returned to his own bed, with a small number of local farmers promising to watch over the house until morning. Mordecai would join them, sitting down by the front fence with Safere. Snowbeak and Buddy waited nearby. 

“That was...an exciting evening, wouldn’t you say, Miss Mercer?” Mordecai said, having removed his mask, among the two of them. Safere had seen his burned visage before and grown accustomed to it. The permanent half grin across his partial lips and exposed cheek, were little more than a beauty mark to her by now. 

“Hell of a lot more...fighting than I expected, that’s for damn sure,” she said, sipping from a glass of fresh milk. Supplied by Theodore's grateful farming family, after the two of them had refused the meager amount of silver they had scraped together as a reward. “But this is good cow juice.” 

Mordecai sipped from his tin straw and nodded. “Indeed. Regardless, you fought well. Thank you again for your expert shooting.” 

Safere chugged the last half of her moo-juice and stood up, brushing off her pants. “Don’t mention it, Mordo. Last thing I needed tonight was having to tell Wes that her Warden took a Ruinous Bolt to the chest.” 

He chuckled and stood with her. “You recognized the spell? How impressive.” 

“Yeah, all that reading paid off, just like Mere said it would,” Safere replied, smiling. 

“You make the steward proud, I’m sure,” Mordecai said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Are you returning to Easthollow with your gryphons, then? They’ve had a busy evening too.” 

“One of them, yeah,” Safere said. 

“Good, I hope they-” 

The paladin turned to look at her, confusion in his eyes. “One of them?” 

“I’m leaving Snowbeak with you, Mordo. You made an incredible team. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna break that up.” 

Mordecai shook his head, raising a hand in disagreement. “No, Miss Mercer, I couldn’t accept such a-” 

“First off, call me Safere. Or Saf, even,” Safere said, making sure her cutlasses were properly attached to her belt. “Secondly, I’m not gonna hear any arguments on this. Snowbeak deserves someone like you. Someone brave and worthy of her. Someone who can make the best use of her skills. And that ain’t me.” 

The man was silent for a moment. “You are worthy of more than you think, Mi...Safere. And you are as brave as any champion of the Hand that I’ve ever known. You joined me in the search for Theodore without a second thought. Lent me your steed, without hesitation. Charged into the mass of undead and stood by my side.” 

He whistled, causing Snowbeak to trot over. Mordecai rubbed her neck and watched as she nuzzled back. “If this is your desire...your command, I will do so. I will care for and love Snowbeak, as I failed to do for my former steed. But never believe it is because you are unworthy. Promise me this.” 

Safere sighed and smiled, looking down at her boots for a second or two. Before returning his gaze and nodding. “I promise.”

He nodded back. “Good. Also, I ask that you bring Buddy along to visit every so often. The two are quite...attached.” 

She blinked and looked from Snowbeak to Buddy. The white gryphon was looking back at him, softly cooing. Buddy in turn was waving his wings slowly and...prancing? 

“Buddy, you scoundrel!” Safere exclaimed, laughing. “Have you been laying down some moves behind my back?!” 

Buddy squaked, shaking his wings and hopping up and down. Snowbeak scraped her talons in the dirt and squawked back. 

“Best warn your gryphon master of the possibility of eggs, in the future, eh?” Mordecai cautioned, chuckling along with her.

Safere gave him a thumbs up. “You bet. Keep safe out there, Mordo! See you soon!” She left with a spring in her steps, mounting her flirtatious bird and soaring off toward Easthallow. The wind in her hair felt like energy flowing through her. She let out a loud “woooooooooo!” and grinned. 

It had been quite a night to fly. 

[tsipasce]

Same Difference, ch.04

A/N: Thanks for the kind comments, this is my first fanfic so let me know what y'all think– hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it

Chapters: 01  |  02 |  03

AO3 | Fanfic

Walking home, Nanami was on a bit of a high. Work had been boring recently and her prayers were answered in the way everyone who wants a bit of excitement expects—working with a yakuza boss on a series of human experiments. Makes sense to me~ she thought. She was kind of done with everything at this point, having little in the way of plans today unless they involved relaxing in her apartment and binging some old sitcoms. After the amount of crazy she’d dealt with this weekend, escapism seemed like the right thing to do.

Just as she was about to turn onto her street, that same car from yesterday pulled up to the sidewalk. Sighing inwardly, she hoped it was just a coincidence. Please don’t talk to me… I barely made it through this morning. Haven’t I been through enough today? Then the car window rolled down. Crap.  

“If we’re going to work together, you can’t be so careless.”  He was annoyed.  

Rolling her eyes, she began, “You know what…”

 but as she was about to respond in a way she was sure to be unbefitting of most professional relationships, he handed her her purse from the day before. Nanami’s face lit up, realizing she could trash the list she’d made of annoying errands and phone calls she’d have to make in order to replace everything. Forgetting the reason she had lost it in the first place, she beamed, holding it closely, genuinely just happy to have it back, “Thank you!”  

A look of surprise flashed across Overhaul’s face, then quickly reverted to his stick-in-the-mud composure as he faced forward. It wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, but he found he didn’t dislike seeing her smile. Considering many of the faces he encountered day to day only expressed either anger or apathy, it was nice to see something so different directed at him. He continued monotoned, “Don’t let it happen again.”  

Driving off without another word, Nanami watched as the car disappeared into the distance, If nothing else, this’ll be interesting.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Having gotten little to no rest over the weekend, Nanami dragged herself into work. Walking to her office, she continued texting her friends whose calls she’d missed over the weekend, assuring them nothing catastrophic had happened.

A.K.A. lying. She thought to herself.

Still mentally buried in her phone, she heard someone calling her name.

“Dr. Watanabe!” called the nurse.

“Oh, good morning, Mrs. Ito. What’s the matter?” Mrs. Ito was a sweet older woman who’d been with the hospital for years. When Nanami first came to work, she was the first person to greet her with open arms, so seeing her was always a treat.

“Well, you have a visitor in your office. A handsome one,” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh really? Pray tell…” Nanami replied in an equally mischievous tone. As unprofessional as it was to ogle patients, seeing a pretty face was just the pick-me-up she needed after her hellish weekend.

“Ooh, well he’s tall..” she began.

“Mmhm,”

“Well-dressed”

“Uh huh,”

“Cute, short brown hair”

“Oh my..”

“and these very intense golden eyes”

“Oh yea—Wait, come again?” She quickly snapped out of her daydream.

“Oh and he’s also very courteous and conscientious. He even had a matching mask on.”

“…I’m taking a sick day.” Nanami said resolutely, turning on her heels.

“Wait why?” Mrs. Ito asked but Nanami was already halfway down the hallway.

I cannot deal with this today. My nerves hardly recovered from yesterday…

Mrs. Ito caught up with her, dragging her back by the scruff of her jacket towards Nanami’s office.

“I know you young doctors can get nervous around patients sometimes, but this is a growing experience for you, Nanami. You’re one of the most competent physicians I know, so don’t be afraid—go get ‘em, tiger!” Mrs. Ito herded her towards her office and watched for Nanami to open it and head inside.

Realizing she couldn’t escape, she shakily put her had on the knob and turned. Mrs. Ito landed a final encouraging hand on her back, playfully pushing her inside. The door promptly closed behind her and she could see Overhaul sitting in one of the guest chairs across from her desk. She stood there for what felt like an eternity until he broke the silence.

“You’re awfully quiet considering how excited you sounded in the hallway.”

Yup. Time to find a rock to crawl under.  

She slowly made her way to her desk and set down her bag, too embarrassed to make eye contact just yet. Sighing, she recomposed herself and replied not even attempting to acknowledge his jab,  

“What are you doing here?”

“We need to finalize the details of our arrangement.”

“Fine. Which details?”

“Firstly, you’ll be using this to communicate with me,” he explained, sliding her a phone terribly similar to her own. “This will be a secure line. Do not use anything else when we speak.”

“Ok.” Eyeing the phone she realized it would be hard to tell the difference, so she took an old pen and overhauled it into a cute keychain in the shape of a crow. Nanami grinned at how cute she thought it looked hanging from a phone meant for ~espionage~.

“Are you a child? Don’t use my quirk so flippantly.” He chastised.

“Oh please, I’ve seen the articles and autopsy reports. If you can blow people up, I can at least make cute keychains,” she retorted. “Besides, it’s my quirk too and I hardly ever get to… never mind.” There was a pained look in Nanami’s eyes but it went as quickly as it came.

He stared at her a beat, questioningly, until he continued, “We also need to establish our method and procedure for this experiment. There is an address in that phone. Be there tonight at 7pm.”

“How do I know there won’t be an ambush?”

“I need you alive and we’ve made an agreement. I will honor my word.” He replied plainly as he got up and turned to leave.

“Ah yes, the word of an antisocial sociopath. My mind’s completely at ease now.”

He paused, “So that’s how they describe me?” Nanami could’ve sworn she heard a ghost of a chuckle before he opened the door, “Don’t be late.”

The second the door closed she let out the breath she’d been holding… If anything went awry, that would be the end of her, and no one would know. The risks were becoming more and more apparent, but an agreement had been made and there were too many questions.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Deep breaths, Nanami. Take deeeeep breaths. She’d been repeating this mantra to herself the entire drive over, trying to calm her nerves but to no avail. In her anticipation and he’d come straight from work, not bothering to change. She was wearing her white coat with a simple, but professional outfit underneath. It was fitting considering she was just going form one workplace to another, just slightly-less-legal workplace.

The address in her new burner phone hadn’t looked nearly as suspicious as she’d expected. It pointed to a traditional home in a quiet neighborhood that was picturesque and pleasant except for the fact that it was the heart of Shie Hassakai territory. She wondered how many of the “neighbors” were in on this elaborate setup. Nanami parked her car a couple blocks away from the destination and proceeded to walk the rest of the way just to be safe. Having to answer police on why her car was parked right out font of a suspected yakuza hideout was a possibility she’d like to avoid.  

Even after taking a more careful look around on foot, most passerbys would see little out of the ordinary, but Nanami could tell she was in the right place. There were signs of a specific kind of disturbance in the areas surrounding the neighborhood. It was immaculate, careful work, but there was no mistaking what created it.  

Most of this place has been “overhauled” in one way or another… What was he building around here?

After walking for what felt like an eternity, she cleared her throat, raising her fist to knock. Before her knuckles made contact with the tall wooden gates, they were opened. A man stood at the door in a long, hooded white coat with a plague mask covering his face.  

They sure do have a flare for the dramatic here… Nanami noted, taking in the full ‘fit.

“Hello, Dr. Watanabe. Please follow me.” The man calmly replied to her quizzical look.

Walking in, the gates closed softly behind her and she was able to fully take in the front courtyard of the house. From movies she’d expected to see something akin to a fancy drug den, but this was serene. The pathways had been meticulously manicured, but were still lush with trees and tasteful moss. On the wrap-around porch cushions were placed perfect for a leisurely evening drink, and leading up to the entrance, soft lanterns illuminated the path and—

“Ahem. This way, please” The man politely chided, snapping Nanami out of her daydream.

She hurriedly followed him inside, hoping her gawking wasn’t too obvious.  Once inside, the house was warm and inviting, but before getting too far down the hallway, the man stopped in front of a vase.  

Turning to her he said, “Your phone, doctor.”  

Nanami hesitated, weighing her options. Objecting now would just seem suspicious and I’m sure there are cell phone jammers. Might as well play it safe and play ball. Worse comes to worse I can make way to escape…hopefully. After some rustling in her bag and a heavy sigh, she forfeited her device.

“Thank you.” The man said, taking the phone and turning again towards the vase. Pushing it forward, a passageway opened that looked much less inviting. “This way”.

This is possibly the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, but here we go~ Nanami thought as she took the first shaky step down the stairs. It was deafeningly silent, the walls themselves feeling as though they had eyes This is definitely someone’s quirk. Continuing further into the depths of the base, they took a series of dizzying turns until they arrived at the first door she’d seen, in what felt like miles of these underground corridors. He knocked solidly and a familiar, muffled voice responded, “You may enter”.

The masked man opened the door, the light from the room shocking her eyes as they adjusted from the dark passageways. Overhaul was sitting in typical villain fashion on the couch of what she presumed to be his office, waiting.  

“Welcome.”

“Good evening.” Nanami stiffly replied as he motioned for her to sit across from him. As it stood, she was outnumbered and still trying to remember the way back to the exit. A poker face and practiced caution were going to be her best tools to ensure she left tonight without incident.

The door closed behind them and the masked man who led her stood in the corner by the door. They sat in silence, Overhaul looking a bit too relaxed for her liking while he studied her. Usually Nanami would shift nervously, but she knew better than to be anything but firm, returning his stare. After a beat, he finally spoke, “I trust you had an amicable reunion with Kurono on your way here. He will be assisting with our research.”

Her brow cocked in confusion and he gestured to the man who had led her, Kurono now removing his mask. As she turned to look at him, Nanami couldn’t help the look of annoyance that took over her face. She saved his life and he sold her out.

“Don’t they have a thing against snitches in your line of work?” she spoke without thinking, but honestly didn’t regret it.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Overhaul put a hand up to his mouth, letting out a minuscule cough.  

Did he just do his version of a chuckle?

“That only counts if it’s against your comrades. I was simply reporting pertinent information.”  

“One, sounds like something a snitch would say. And two, thank you for confirming that we are in fact not comrades. I was beginning to get mixed signals, what with the random attack and cold stares.”

Overhaul simply replied, “You can relax. If we meant you harm, you’d have known it by now.”

“‘Relax’,” Nanami scoffed.  

“Have I not kept my word? Since our negotiations, nothing untoward has happened to you, correct?”  he asked pointedly. Nanami was still thoroughly annoyed but couldn’t refute that he’d at least followed the bare minimum requirements of their deal. She just refused to give him the satisfaction or brownie points for it. The fact of the matter was she didn’t trust him, but they had a job to do.

She forfeited their little staring contest, letting out an audible sigh before responding, “Let’s just get started, we have quite the bit of work to do,” she replied, exasperated.

“I couldn’t agree more, follow me.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

They exited the office, leaving Kurono behind to take care of some “business” as they called it, leaving Nanami and Overhaul to head for the lab alone, her following a safe distance behind him. She’d relaxed slightly after realizing it would be more logical for him to keep her alive and if she’d learned anything from the reports, as gruesome as they were, it’s that his actions were always logical in some twisted-void-of-humanity sort of way.  

The hallways were relatively dark but, in the distance, she saw a rather large set of doors. The lights became more intense and sterile as they drew closer and she noticed Overhaul visibly relax his shoulders. I guess everyone has their own version of a “happy place” …  

Using his body to block her view, Overhaul entered a code into the keypad and the doors slowly creaked open. He began, “This is—”

“Beautiful.” Nanami managed to get out as she stared in awe of the facility and equipment, she had only dreamed of using. Back in her research days she’d used mostly hand-me-downs, and the hospital she worked for now had some newer machines thanks to some generous funding, but nothing like this. It was immaculate without a blemish in sight. More impressively, she saw no signs of her quirk. Whatever had been damaged, he’d fixed it the old-fashioned way.  

Just as he was about to arrogantly confirm her assessment, he turned and saw her face. There was a twinkle in her eye he’d only seen once before in the mirror. Most of the other members only saw it as a means to monetary ends, besides Kurono, but he knew it was mostly just to placate him. To them, it was just another room in the building, but to him it was a sanctuary. Seeing someone else recognize this caused an odd ache in his chest he hadn’t felt before.  

“… Thank you.” It came out much more earnest than he intended and he turned away from her, clearing his throat. “Now,  let’s discuss procedures.”

Realizing she had once again spoken without thinking, Nanami facepalmed inwardly before hurriedly responding, “Y-Yes, of course, I’ve brought some ideas and hypotheses we can work from.” She stammered, patting her briefcase. As nervous as she was, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been excitedly hypothesizing the second she got home from their meeting at the tea shop.  

They continued to walk through the lab, all the while Nanami inwardly “oohed” and “aahed”, fantasizing about how she’d get to use the equipment. It was a decent-sized laboratory with a rather open layout. There were two work benches in the middle like islands, each bookended by tables with subterfuges and water purifiers, and the walls were neatly lined with the larger machinery. Arriving at the end of the lab, she saw another set of workbenches facing a large whiteboard. Overhaul reached into his jacket, pulling out a file folder and laid it on the desk before removing his jacket and plague mask, revealing his smaller black one underneath. He then replaced his gloves and put on his own white coat motioning for her to sit at the work bench. Folding his hands he looked at her searchingly before initiating.

“Let’s begin by exchanging notes,” he said sliding the file towards her. She opened her briefcase, pulling out a file that was noticeably larger, sliding it towards him. He stared at it suspiciously for a beat before picking it up and taking his file back from her hand, holding them sideways so the difference in thickness could be easily observed. “This is part of the imbalance that needs to be rectified. If we’re going to consider this a partnership, I expect for these to be of equal size by the end of the night.” He said with an air of authority that had Nanami a bit miffed.

“So you want me to spill my guts?” her brow raised.  

“Yes. If you’re cooperative, it will only be in the metaphorical sense.” He said matter-of-factly.

“I thought we were done with threats.”

“And I thought with the beginning of this partnership we were done being so adversarial, yet here we are. Where’s the sense in coming this far just to resist me?” He motioned to the situation.

Nanami knew she was being a roadblock to her own progress, but she had realized something in her preliminary research that gave her pause: they had the same quirk, but utilized it in completely different ways. He was already a danger using the quirk as he knew it now, and she was afraid of what might happen if he gained any further mastery of it. On the other hand, there was so much to be gained in researching the discovery of their shared quirk and what he could teach her about it. It was an impossible decision, but considering she was already in the belly of the beast, sharing notes with Overhaul himself, she realized she had already made it.

Rolling her eyes, she relented “Fine.”  

“I knew you’d see it my way,” he almost purred, “Now, show me what you’ve got.” He motioned over to a door in the corner next to a larger window. She raised a brow questioningly before he elaborated, “There is a chamber past that door where we can use our abilities without damaging the rest of the laboratory. You used my quirk in a way I haven’t seen before, in order to begin this experiment, we need to both know our limits and abilities.”

Taking a deep breath, Nanami marched towards the chamber with him, knowing whatever happened, it would at the very least be interesting.

[bastillewolf]

The Grand Tranquility Hotel (XIV)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: I don’t know why someone decided to spread the rumour of Salt & Milk, but I’m seriously disappointed I’m probably not getting a new album in April. Guess I’ll continue writing fanfiction while listening to every AM album on repeat. Hope you’re all doing well. Enjoy!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

@edgythought​​​ @iwannabemorethanme​​​ @he4rtbre4khotel​​​ @juga-42​

Chapter XIV - Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino (Pt. II)

“Hi,” she managed to bring out, her voice barely as loud as a whisper.

Alexander Turner stood right before her, looking as handsome as ever. Though if it hadn’t been for those piercing brown eyes, she didn’t know if she would’ve recognized him at first glance.

His hair was a lot longer, and he no longer wore it in his slicked back fifties fashion. It hung over his face slightly, and was accompanied by a well-trimmed beard with a hint of orange in it. He was clad in a fully white suit, and as expected, tailored to fit his figure immaculately. His pants was slightly high-waisted and wide legged at the bottom, and it made her wonder how he managed to look so damn good in everything.

He himself looked quite aghast at the sight of her, his mouth opening and closing but not able to make a sound.

They both stood there for a bit, simply taking in each other’s presence while they were surrounded by the silence of the hallway.

“I…” She took a deep breath. “I forgot my keys.”

Though still appearing to remain in a daze, the hotel owner nodded ever so slightly, seemingly trying to gather his bearings. And while walking past her, he glanced behind him to make sure she would be following him. Which she did.

It was a tension that hung around them, many unspoken things lingering in the air, yet neither of them seemed to be able to grasp a proper hold of the situation. Her hands were shaking, suddenly feeling very sober after the initial shock had gone away. And as she silently trotted down the stairs after him, that gush of excitement she had felt was melting like ice cream on a hot summer day.

He was most likely taking her to the lobby to kick her out. To call for security if she would make a fuss. To not have to look at her ever again.

She wavered in her step, lingering behind at the back of the lobby as she watched him approach the young man behind the desk. He glanced back at her, before muttering something to the employee.

Great, she thought to herself, this is it.

And yet, there he stood before her again, with a spare key to room 521 in his hand.

“I hope you don’t forget this one too, it’s the last spare we have,” he muttered, looking down at the golden object he fumbled with.

Just hearing the smooth sound of his voice again made her chest flush. “I’ll try my best to remember next time, mister Turner,” she replied quietly.

She swore she’d seen a glint appear in his eyes when he’d heard her call him that. “Let me escort you back to your room, then,” he said, before quickly adding, “To make sure you remember.”

Nodding in agreement, she exited the lobby with him, leaving a confused employee behind the counter and a smirking Nick in the entrance of the restaurant, who had been silently watching the scene unfold.

 “You look good, Alex,” she admitted.

He huffed, rubbing a hand over the scruff on his chin. “I’ve seen better days.”

“I don’t know what your better days were, but I would’ve liked to have seen them if they topped this look,” she smiled.

The corners of his lips quirked up in amusement. “You don’t think the goatee is a bit much?”

“I like it. The white suit might be, though.”

“It’s the latest trend. I’m trying to blend in.”

“With a white suit?” She raised her brows. “I think you’re the one who sets the trend, and others follow. That’s not exactly the same as blending in.”

He chuckled, shaking his head in mirth. He looked up at her under his dark lashes, seemingly thinking over what he was about to say. “I’ve really missed-“

However, he was interrupted by her door opening, revealing a dishevelled-looking Matt. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, trying to shield himself from the bright lights in the hallway with a hand on his brow. “What took you so damn long?”

She remained silent. The only response he got was her eyes flickering to her side, which he followed.

Alex blinked; his face changing to a blank expression. His gaze held a different story, however. It moved from Matt, to her, to Matt, and then back to her again.

“Oh,” was all he said.

Shit.

“Alex, it’s not-“

“I’m glad I could be of service of you this evening, miss,” he interrupted her, grounding out the words from his mouth, “I hope you enjoy your stay at our hotel. For however long it may last.”

“But-“ He had stormed off before she could say any more.

She met Matthew’s gaze, who raised a brow at her.

“I see not much has changed.”

 It took her a lot of effort to persuade Matt to join her for breakfast. She hadn’t had a good night’s rest after the events of the previous evening, and stated that she didn’t want to be the only one showing up looking like shit.

“Thanks for that,” Matt commented, though he knew she was only joking. “But I think I’ll just order room service again.”

“Please, Matt,” she pleaded, kneeling next to him on the bed. “Don’t just do it for me. Jamie asked for you yesterday. He said he misses you loads.”

He pursed his lips in thought, a sign that told her she was getting through to him.

“You can always just leave if you’re not feeling up for it anymore. Besides, there’s a running buffet, and I know how much you like those.”

The corner of his lip quirked up ever so slightly, and the accompanying glint in his eye said enough.

 It was a lot quieter in the restaurant compared to last night, clearly ensured by the heavy amount of alcohol that had been consumed, as well as the fact that it was an early Sunday morning, which was usually reserved for private hangovers with room service.

And though she had enough tables to choose from, she asked one of the employees to help her scoot one over to the place she had been sitting at the night before. It had a nicer view, and a clear pathway to the buffet, which Matt had already made a beeline for and was now piling a mountain of eggs on a single piece of toast. The employee asked if she wanted to reserve the table for dinner to, which she happily agreed to, and he told her it would remain in the same spot.

A hand touched her shoulder, making her look up in surprise. “Mind if I join you?” Nick asked.

She smiled up at him, “If you’re not too busy.”

“Not during mornings like this,” he replied, “They’re always very tranquil.”

She gave him a knowing look, as he took a seat next to her.

“I hope you’ll be checking out our day spa, it’s really great.”

“That’s actually a very good idea,” she hummed thoughtfully. A massage seemed like the best thing for her tense shoulders right now.

A plate, with less eggs, was distributed in front of her rather carelessly. Her eyes wandered to Matthew, who had planted himself on the seat on the other side of her, not even bothering to spare a glance at the other man joining them. Her initial response had been to scold him, to tell him to use his manners, yet she refrained from doing so.

Matt had his own reasons to be mad. For when she might have been let down by Nick and Jamie, he had been dropped by his closest friends like a sack of potatoes.

For when he was fired, he had at least expected them to stay in touch, to see how he was doing. But they hadn’t. And she knew it had hurt him more than he was willing to admit. Which is why she didn’t say anything, because in the end, he was the one who would have to forgive and forget.

She watched as Jamie eventually joined them at the table, giving her a silent nod in hello.

It really just ended up in them awkwardly watching Matt shovel heaping forks of scrambled eggs into his mouth, while he very obviously pretended to read an article in the newspaper.

She kicked him under the table, provoking a glare from him. “You could at least be civil,” she hissed.

“I’m not strangling anyone yet, am I? I think that’s civil enough,” he retorted.

And if things couldn’t get any worse, she saw Nick trying to subtly wave someone over out of the corner of her eye. Someone who very clearly looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in that moment.

Yet, he seemed to realize he should act more like the part of the professional hotel owner, because he strode in their direction looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. His hands were occupied with straightening the golden ring on his finger, as his eyes gazed across the room and greeting his guests with respectful nods.

“What can I do for you, Nicholas?” he asked. It was evident he was trying to refrain from making any eye contact with the other people at the table, which made Nick confused. It wasn’t what he’d expected after what he’d seen last night, after all.

“I… Uh, I was wondering if you wanted to join us for breakfast, Al,” he stammered.

The hotel owner raised a brow. “I don’t think I have time for that. I have business to attend to.”

Before he could leave, the clerk placed a hand on his arm, giving him a pleading look. “Please, it’s been far too long since the last time we’ve done this. For old time’s sake.”

He stood there for a bit, and a part of her had anticipated him swatting Nick’s hand away in disgust; but he didn’t. Instead, he took the last remaining seat across from her, and folded his hands in his lap. It didn’t take long before a waiter, who was kind of deemed unnecessary at a running buffet but was conveniently there anyway, offered them drinks and had plates of food brought for the rest of them.

Finally, Matt folded the newspaper and put it back on the table. He directed his gaze towards Alex himself, and though he held a blank expression, she knew what he was up to from the moment his body language shifted.

“Why do you have a beard?” Matt asked plainly.

“Why do I have a beard?” Alex repeated, visibly annoyed.

“Yeah. Is it like, a statement? It’s fine that you have a beard, but now it’s like you’re the guy who just has a beard. Like it’s your thing, now. Just that. Nothing else.”

She smacked his arm, as Alex’ expression remained stoic and perhaps even slightly annoyed. “You think it’s not okay to have a beard?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Matt tried to explain further, making her throw her head into her hands in exasperation. “I’m just saying, don’t let that be your thing. Have something else about you, you know, like maybe a magic trick.”

Alex blinked, trying to ignore the fact that Nick was visibly holding back his laughter in the corner of his eye, and clicked his tongue in indignation. “I don’t think it’s necessary for a hotel owner to know magic tricks. It’s rather childish.”

“And you think it is necessary to drop your best friend like he means nothing to you? Is that not childish?”

And there we go. He might have beat around the bush for that first bit, but he got there eventually.

“Do you really want to start this now, Matthew?” Alex asked, a threatening tone to his voice even though he appeared calm to the eye.

“I mean, I would’ve done it five years ago, but you would’ve just stormed off. Seems like things haven’t changed.”

It was deathly silent after that.

And she had wanted to intervene, if it hadn’t been for the two men lunging at each other’s throats almost simultaneously.

[certifiedskywalker]

Lost - Benjamin Poindexter

Hello my friends! I hope you are doing well and fancy a delve into Daredevil’s newest villain, Bullseye. I really loved the way this character was portrayed and I hope this imagine does him justice! Enjoy!

His long fingers gripped the granite counter top tightly, his knuckles turning white at the strain. The flex of his forearms seemed dramatic in the dim light as the muscles were grossly defined. The shadows under his chin were drawn sharp as he clenched and unclenched his jaw rhythmically. His shoulders were hiked up, like feline hackles, and his head hung low between them. The loud, heavy thoughts weighed his brain down to that painful position, with his eyes glued on the manila envelope before him.

Your fault, your fault, your fault. The words floated in his skull, reverberating off the bone and back into the pink flesh of his mind. His brows furrowed as he vainly tried to block the voice out. Angrily, he shook his head hoping to give himself a moment of silence.

Your fault, your fault, your fault. Traveling from his head and down his throat, the phrase found purchase in his heart. The once steady beat started to pound wildly with some untapped rage. He could feel the blood rushing through his body, echoing in his ears.

Your fault, your fault, your fault. Suddenly, he was moving, his fingers wrapping around the handle of the knife. A sharp turn, a slight snap and the blade was lodged in the drywall. It sunk deep, chipping the paint as it found its mark.

My fault, my fault, my fault. With a scream so loud that the heavens shook, he fell to his knees. His shaking hands pulled at his short, dirty blond locks in pure frustration. If he had just stayed away, kept his distance like he had been, you would have been spared.

It was a brisk day in Hell’s Kitchen. The chilled air nipped at your face, flushing your face with a dusting of red. You shook slightly, pulling your too-thin jacket closer to your chest in an attempt to combat the cold. Sadly, the attempt was feeble as the wind picked up a freezing breeze, seemingly just for you.

“Ms. L/N! Ms. L/N!” You turned quickly to greet the small voice that shouted for your attention. A small boy from your homeroom rushed up with a large amber leaf clutched in his tiny hands. “It’s huge!! Look at it!”

“It is, Tyrone! Why don’t you trace it like we did in class today?”

“By rubbing a crayon over it?”

“Yes,” you said sweetly, “but be careful. Even with the paper protecting it, the leaf is still brittle. It might break.”

“Okay,” Tyrone said, a giddy smile on his face. “I’ll show you when I get done!” The little boy quickly ran inside the cozy schoolhouse and you couldn’t help but envy the fact he would be sheltered from the cold. You gazed out at the rest of the children in the playground yard and felt a smile grace your lips.

Children clad in brightly colored coats and knitted wool hats screamed with joy as they played about. Some braved the freezing chains of the swing set and took to new heights while others were intently focused on the kickball match at hand. You felt a rush of warmth despite the immaculate weather roll through your body. It had taken a while, but you had made it. You were home, in New York, teaching a new, blooming generation of bright students. Now, you just couldn’t let them freeze to death before they changed the world.

“C’mon in kids!” you shouted, “It’s lunchtime!” A chorus of whoops and cheers greeted your ears as the bundled-up children funneled inside the small school. You waited until those few lingering students had walked through the doors.

Before you went inside yourself, you wandered the playground and picked up the stray play equipment. You leaned down slowly, picking up a jump rope and a doll one of the kids had snuck outside. Letting out a sigh, you turned to stand up straight. Your eyes wandered briefly over and across the street. Even though it was a mere glance, your gaze locked with another’s.

His face was obscured slightly by the hood of the black jacket he wore. Hands hidden inside the pockets, you couldn’t tell if he was familiar; but you could feel his eyes on you. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine, partly due to a sense of unease. Trying to mask your intent on getting a better look at him, you stalked over to the fence.

As you did, a large truck flew past on the pavement, disrupting your eye line. When your line of sight was clear once more, the darkened figure was gone. Brows furrowing, you glanced up and down the street, at least as much as the bulky fence before you would allow.

“Ms. L/N?!” A shout drew your attention away from your task as you looked over your shoulder. Tyrone stood in the doorway, waving a colored piece of paper gleefully. “I finished!”

“Great,” you said, turning back to where the man had stood moments before. You gave the area one last once over. Not a trace of him remained. Frowning yet slightly relieved, you started towards the happy boy. “Let me see what our resident artist as done!”

When three o’clock was signaled by the tolling of the final bell, you had barely thought of the strange figure you had seen across the street during the children’s recess. Now, however, he was all you could think about as your students filed out of the schoolhouse and into the widespread arms of the cruel Hell’s Kitchen. What ifs and questions of who he was berated your mind, brewing a worry that tied up your gut.

Then, when the last child was picked up and the final bus shuttled out, you felt a held breath release. With a renewed sense of ease, you gathered your things from your classroom and bid farewell to your fellow staff. They were kind people, good people. People who, like you, wanted to raise the children of Hell’s Kitchen up above the ashes.

As you walked out of the fenced in school yard, thoughts of your students cluttered your mind. You were so lost in your reflections that you almost missed the familiar black hood of the figure earlier. You could see him more clearly now, as he attempted to appear nonchalant on the corner. He was slim, with pointed features that just barely poked out from the hood.

Before you could even think about what to do, like a magnetic, your feet were drawn to him. They carried you over until you stood before him with a cocked head, peering into the face of a handsome man. His light hazel eyes seemed to blink with disbelief when they focused on you. You watched as his scruff covered jaw opened and closed quickly; but any words seemed to die out on his tongue as you waited.

“It’s you,” you said, giving the strange man a soft smile. You liked to preach to your students that kindness was first; so you felt you had to follow our own rules, even if the man before you seemed to be watching you closely.

“It’s uh,” he paused, his eyes barely meeting yours.

“I saw you, this afternoon. Across the street over there.” You pointed back down the block where the school was snugly seated. The man swallowed hard at your remark.

“I just um-”

“Is your child enrolled there?”

“What? No, no,” he shook his head, seeming to find his voice now. “I have just seen you around before. I didn’t realize you worked there. I didn’t mean to….to stare. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you chirped, “you just worried me. You almost looked lost.” The man let out a chuckle at your assumption and it was the most wonderful sound you had ever heard. While it was soft, it started from his broad chest and seemed to grow in richness somewhere in his throat before it slipped from his lips. Your heart thumped wildly, as if it longed to chase after the laugh that seemed to drift off in the wind.

“I-I uh, I’m Y/N,” you said, trying to break yourself from your reverie. You extended a hand to him, hoping to break any tension that had started to arise. His nervous eyes glanced from your hand to your eyes then back again, as if he were calculating. Then, finally, his eyes met yours once more and his warm hand greeted your own.

“I’m Dex.”

If only he hadn’t given in, then you wouldn’t be in this mess. And oh, what a mess it was. It sickened Dex that it had taken this long for him to have realized. While he had been playing the part of Hell’s Kitchen’s beloved Devil, the true devil was clad in a crisp, white suit and sitting safely in a penthouse. He had been played and he was disgusted with himself.

Gulit ate away at Dex as he slowly rose from his knees. With shaking steps he walked over to the embedded blade and yanked it from the wall. A simple, menial thing to do. A distraction from what needed to be done. He tossed the knife in the sink and turned the faucet on. The sound of spraying water soothed him slightly as he closed his eyes.

Behind his eyelids, Dex saw only you. He knew the risks of watching you, but he couldn’t stop himself. You had worked at the Hotline for a while, not long enough to ever spare a glance at him but enough for him to become enraptured by you. Every word you spoke oozed with compassion and an innate softness that Dex, himself, naturally lacked. He longed to listen to you speak for hours on end and it nearly drove him mad when you finished school. His research told him you had earned your teaching degree and that you were destined to move on to bigger and better things.

That didn’t dull of the sting of your empty cubicle the following Monday. So when Dex joined the FBI, he used his new found resources to find his North Star again; to find you again. Of course you would work at a school for the less fortunate. Dex considered himself stupid for not coming to the conclusion himself. He would watch you, from a distance as you cared for the children you taught, as you gave them the guiding hand he longed for.

So when you came up to him that day, that day he had dared to get a little closer, that day he slipped up, everything changed for Agent Poindexter. He, himself, didn’t change, not entirely. As you both grew closer, he told you about his line of work. Dex even dared to mention his episodes, riding them off as a form of PTSD from his war days. Lying to you pained him, but he couldn’t let himself get too close.

Dex thought he had been doing a decent job at that. Never too close in public. Only in the privacy of his apartment did he dare to let his walls down. Only then would he allow himself to melt into your touch, your kiss. He never knew he could be capable of having you in that way. He had been foolish to think that it would last as his secret at all.

“Dex? I’m home!” Your voice called him out of his state, turning his attention to the door. You held brown paper bags of groceries in your arms, a domestic sight that Dex might have cherished if it had been at any other time. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said softly, walking over to help you. “How’d it go today?”

“It went well, but Sandra K. was picking on Haley R. again. I think I’ll have to call the parents in to talk with them.” As you spoke, you walked over to the counter and pulled out a stool. You sat and watched as Dex put away the groceries. While he was listening and trying to distract his mind from itself, you watched the muscles in his back move against his shirt.

“That sounds hard,” he replied, turning back to you when he had finished. You bit your lip and nodded, eyes holding his gaze. You could tell something was eating at him, but you knew not to press it with Dex. If he needed or wanted to tell you, he would; but he had to do it on his own time. You learned that after your first fight with him, an event you did not wish to repeat.

“Yeah,” you said lazily, eyes drifting to the counter. Your brows furrowed when you saw a manila envelope resting there, open. “What’s this?”

Before your fingers even graced the packet, Dex had swiftly moved to the side of the counter you sat on and picked it up. You squinted at him, and the envelope, with piqued interest. Dex swallowed, but put on a smile, just for you.

“Work. A file they want me to look into.”

“Does it have nasty pictures in it?”

“Yeah, really gross.” You smiled at him and Dex’s smile widened a little too. It had become too easy to lie to you.

“Then keep it away,” you teased, “I don’t like nasty.” Dex let a huff escape his nostrils at your words and he rolled his eyes.

“That’s not what you said-” Before he could finish, you placed a slender finger against his lips. Long ago, Dex would have never allowed for this contact; but you had your way of breaking his once solid rules. Even if it took a few dates, you were had been determined to tear them down.

“Shh, Poindexter, just kiss me.” He smiled, truly smiled, against your finger. Resting the envelope, he reached for you. One of his large hands grabbed at your waist, pulling your body flush to his own. Your finger moved from his lips and traced his cheek gingerly.

He stared into your eyes a moment longer, taking you in. A wave of calm washed over him before he captured your lips in a searing kiss. His other free hand buried itself in your hair and Dex couldn’t help but marvel at the softness. He felt your hand make its way from his cheek to the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to your warmth.

Dex must have been lost like you had thought at the beginning, because with you, especially like this, he felt so completely himself. Your touch, your heart melted any voice or worry in his head away. His stress fell through his fingers like grains of sand when you spoke. Your kiss gave him a taste of normalcy he thought he could never had. He wasn’t going to let anyone take that, take you, away from him.

The envelope went ignored, forgotten the moment Dex hoisted you off your feet. He wrapped your legs around his hips and a giggle escaped your lips. As he walked with you over to his bedroom, his thoughts weren’t of the envelope. They weren’t of the images of you that lurked inside of it, taken by some goon Fisk had hired. They weren’t even about how he was going to kill the Kingpin, slaughter him for threatening you. All of Dex’s thoughts were given a lear focus; with you as his North Star.

[dirkgentle]

So... this Todd person. You seem to like him a lot. Why? What makes him so great? Because it seems like you’re over exaggerating him a little (a lot).

                  For a moment, the only sound is that of Dirk’s bewildered and absolutely mind-boggled disbelief. Then, in a sudden bout of insight into the utterly incomprehensible, he breaks his stream of quizzical exclamations with a laugh. 

                 “ Oh, right! I see! You’re one of those unfortunate ones who haven’t met Todd! Now, this does make perfect sense — I was getting seriously concerned for a second there! But of course. Yes. Joy-deprived waking-up-every-morning-to-a-world-that-doesn’t-include-Todd-Brotzman person speaking, that was to be expected. Not, of course, that you are in ANY way to be blamed; lots of people haven’t met Todd! Even I managed not to meet him for thirty-four entire regrettable years of my life! We’ve all been there. Such a dreadful state of mind, being unaware of Todd’s existence! You should seriously consider getting one for yourself, though NOT mine, I’m afraid he’s exclusively reserved for Dirk-ish purposes and not available for sharing, renting, kidnapping, stealing, being flirted with or ANY other objectives that make him even the slightest bit less of a my Todd. Look — why don’t you take a seat and let me elaborate? 

                 “ Todd … is … incredible. If you’ve ever felt that there’s a shortage of good things in the universe, that’s because they all went into the making of Todd. All of them. I’m sorry about that. I am, however, considerably less sorry about hogging them all to myself in a conveniently hug-shaped Todd bundle because, quite frankly, it’s an act of self-care and should not be unduly criticised. Speaking of hugs! Todd’s … well, I shouldn’t say bite-sized, but he’s certainly a snack, delectable in all the right spots and easy to carry around for some much-needed indulging. I love Todd! There’s just something about the shape of him that seems to fit immaculately against my chest, gosh, he’s the most flawless thing, though obviously he’s a person, but what a multi-functional one! He’s like … aha! A Swiss army knife of an assistant, except instead of a toothpick and a bottle opener and a little wonky bit that I could never quite work out he comes with an even WIDER array of neatly integrated qualities. For instance! His head is at once a wonderful chin rest and a place to dump ALL your forehead kisses and the most gorgeous sight since the invention of shooting stars and full of invaluable scientific knowledge and intelligence! He’s — oh, you poor person, you don’t even know! He’s sooo talented ?? To a preposterous degree, really. He knows all these outlandish minutiae about … electricity and – and car driving and growing the SWOONIEST bit of stubble that’s just right for tickly smooches and … and !! He’s a punk star, too! Oh, he’s so punk. I once saw him put on shoes without socks underneath. And he can sing! And play the guitar! He’s in a band, actually? Don’t know if you’ve heard of them, they’re only THE BEST AND MOST PROFUSELY AMAZING band ever. He’s their lead singer! To recap: not only does he sing, but he leads! He lead-sings a whole band! A whole one of a band! ” 

                 { Time to suck in a dizzying breath that swooshes all the way into the tips of Dirk’s toes, by the lung-bursting feel of it. } “ Todd looks … lovely on stage. And not on stage. Todd looks lovely on and in all stages, is what I’m saying. Even in a fresh-out-of-bed, no-toothbrush-inserted-yet, baggy-underwear-sporting stage. It’s uncanny, meaning I wholly lose my ability to can around him. He has these eyes, you know - and, oh, oh, he’s got lips, too, but not just any old pair thereof. They’re … mmm, I rather suspect he wouldn’t be TOO keen to hear me disclosing my assessment of them. We have this agreement, you see, wherein I shouldn’t necessarily overshare with strangers the sort of knee-weakening things — uh. Yes, I am getting a little side-tracked, aren’t I? Back to the Todd at hand! Well, sadly, not at hand. I ADORE holding his hand! His hands are a firm ingredient of happiness. — Hey! But I can hold these while I find myself tragically bereft of his actual presence! How very fortunate that I carry his pictures on me at all times, wouldn’t you say? Will you kindly look at them! That’s him, being an absolute  t r e a s u r e  at five twenty in the morning, can you believe it? And - oh! This shirt really accentuates what I haven’t, at this point in time, enlightened you about, but shall be thoroughly dedicating myself to in a sec’. Todd is fantastically strong! Do you see his arms? And his back? Oh, and those collar bones, and his neck, and his jawline and — ” 

                 A peculiar softening takes place across Dirk’s features, a ripple of undisguised fondness that spreads from the curl of his mouth to his besottedly slanting brows. “ He’s brave, too, you know. My boyfriend, ” he continues in a murmur, a tingle of relaxation easing into his voice now that the excited downpour has found such a willing ear to plunge into. “ Terrifically brave. Quite possibly - no, definitely definitely - the most courageous man I’ve ever known. Person I’ve known, really. Todd is … he’s so good. Few people are. I mean, not to misrepresent my perspective:  m o s t   people are good, notwithstanding popular belief. But Todd is … Todd is Todd. He’s unmatched. He’s … how do I put it? He’s always there. Al-bloody-ways. Without fail. He grabs whatever offends his sense of right and wrong by the scruff and shakes it until everything that keeps it from succumbing to common sense comes tumbling right out. The world’s better for him. I’m better for him. He was the first - the … the first person to look at me, really look at me and decide what he was seeing was worth staying for. He wouldn’t let me come to any harm, extraordinarily enough. Todd’s ( bear with me for another minute! ) … a protector of the universe, in his own manner, although heavens know it’s given him enough bullshit. But he … goes on. He’s a silver lining. He’s beautiful and loyal and unbeatable in all the right ways. Knows how to pack a punch, too. He gets me right back on my feet every time I stumble. He takes care of me. Spoils me. Makes me  s t u p i d l y  happy. And … well. ”  

                 With a sigh, the detective pockets the stack of printed-out Todds, thumb stroking affectionately across the patch of jacket that contains the bundle. “ He doesn’t know any of this. There’s never - NEVER! - been a single person more obstinately determined to slander himself than Todd Brotzman. But I … I love him. Very hair-raisingly, fanatically, irresponsibly, gorgeously much so. That he knows. And the rest … we’re going to get there, one day. ” 

“ … AND ALSO! Did I mention that he’s an out-of-this-world talented kisser ?! ”

[andy-clutterbuck]

THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER - 2018

[onlinesikhstore]

Sarbloh kara smooth flat kada sikh singh kaur punjabi khalsa iron bangle gift i3 Sarbloh Smooth Iron Heavy Flat Sikh Singh Kaur Kara Punjabi Khalsa Kada Bangle These kara are almost round with very minor edge as shown in photos. New design. Design No. i3 Metal: Sarbloh/Pure Iron Width approx. 22 mm Thickness approx. 8 mm Weight of these Kara are approx 165-290 g (variable due to different sizes of kara). Sizes are the inner diameter of Kara measured in centimetres. Please note there may be small cut mark/black marks or scruff/grind marks or hammer marks on some kara. These are present mostly at Kara joints as most of the work on these kara is done by hand and these marks are inevitable. In addition, all kara from Amritsar are always transported in Jute bags and in Jumble, which causes scruff marks/dings. However, these do not affect the quality of kara. Punjabi Traditional Design Kada - Just Arrived Non-allergic to skin. These Kara are remembrance gift for life. Best thing ever to gift your loved ones and these always remind them about your presence. I am myself wearing a 21 years old Kara that my Grandmum has gifted me and it always remind me of her. Kara GIFT FOR LIFE #karaforlife #kadaforlife #SarblohKara #SikhArtefacts #Bangle Apart from religious values Karas are the best to be given as a remembrance/memorable gift. Hence, a brilliant gift idea for loved ones. These Karas are one of the Sikh Kakars. (Very Smooth- as shown in photos - photos are zoomed to show details) - Very Popular design in market right now - very famous in youngsters and we are the only seller who has this exclusive design for sale in UK Very Smooth from inside and heavy. Non allergic to Skin. These Kara are from the Holy and blessed land of Shiri Amritsar Sahib (The City of Golden Temple/Darbar Sahib/Shiri Harmandir Sahib Ji) Please read below more Information about Sikh Kara: Akara (Punjabi: ਕੜਾ (Gurmukhi), کڑا (Shahmukhi) कड़ा (Devanagari)), is a steel or iron (sarb loh) bracelet, worn by all initiated Sikhs. It is one of the five kakars or 5Ks — external articles of faith — that identify a Sikh as dedicated to their religious order. The kara was instituted by the tenth Sikh Guru Guru Gobind Singh at the Baisakhi Amrit Sanskar in 1699. Guru Gobind Singh Ji explained. He does not recognise anyone else except me, not even the bestowal of charities, performance of merciful acts, austerities and restraint on pilgrim-stations; the perfect light of the Lord illuminates his heart, then consider him as the immaculate Khalsa. The kara is to constantly remind the Sikh disciple to do God's work, a constant reminder of the Sikh's mission on this earth and that he or she must carry out righteous and true deeds and actions, keeping with the advice given by the Guru. The Kara is a symbol of unbreakable attachment and commitment to God. It is in the shape of a circle which has no beginning and no end, like the eternal nature of God. It is also a symbol of the Sikh brotherhood. As the Sikhs' holy text the Guru Granth Sahib says "In the tenth month, you were made into a human being, O my merchant friend, and you were given your allotted time to perform good deeds."[3] Similarly, Bhagat Kabir reminds the Sikh to always keep one's consciousness with God: "With your hands and feet, do all your work, but let your consciousness remain with the Immaculate Lord." The basic kara is a simple unadorned steel bracelet, but other forms exist. It was historically used like a knuckle-duster for hand-to-hand combat. Battlefield variations include kara with spikes or sharp edges. Sikh soldiers of the British Indian army would settle disputes by competing in a form of boxing known asloh-musti (lit. iron fist) with a kara on one hand. Brilliant finish and very decorative. Ideal gift item for loved ones. We are UK based supplier #SikhArtefacts. Items can be collected from our shop in Rochester, Kent, UK. We have 100% positive feedback. Please bid with confidence and check our other fantastic listings. If you are not happy with your purchase we will give you 100% refund on return of item. No hard and fast rules for refunds and returns. For more information pleasemessage us. We will try our best to reply all messages within one business day. Free Economy Royal Mail Postage in UK. First Class Postage can be arranged at a very reasonable price specified in the listing. Postage discounts will be given to International buyers for multi-buys. Any questions please do not hesitate to contact us. P.S. Colour of item may slightly vary due to camera flash and light conditions. Some kara may have negligible small black grinding mark on the kara joint. This is always seen on all karas as most of the Kara making/shaping work is done by hands. However, this do not affect the quality/look of kara. We accept return, replacement and do refunds etc within 14 days of dispatch date only. Please notify any issues with the item in this period. Please note size may vary plus minus 1mm due to measurement variability. Please note there will be an additional postage charges payable by buyer in case of swap or exchange due to size. Therefore, we request buyer to measure their old kara diameter before choosing size from variations. Return postage will be paid by the buyer. Any P&p charges paid will be non-refundable. Please note there may be a grinding/minor scruff marks on kara joints that happens due to grinding the joints. As someone who has ever visited Kara stores in Amritsar must have witnessed that these Karas come in jumbles and mostly made manually by hand. However, We follow proper grading/selection procedures before getting these karas but still sometimes it is hard to get the perfection and I hope it is understandable. In case, you are not happy with quality, please do let us know and we will issue you the full refund after verification. Stay blessed and please buy with confidence! Design No: i3 Main Stone: No Stone Modified Item: No Type: Bangles Gender: Unisex Country/Region of Manufacture: India Certification: OnlineSikhStore Main Material/ Metal: Sarbloh/Iron MPN: OnlineSikhStore Main Colour: Silver https://www.etsy.com/listing/973515002/sarbloh-kara-smooth-flat-kada-sikh-singh?utm_source=nembol&utm_medium=api&utm_campaign=api

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

north pole dancing

Please forgive the horrible title. For the sentence starter: “I swear to god, if I hear that Mariah Carey song one more time, I’m gonna kill someone” because doesn’t that just scream Bakugo? Also on ao3!

Bakugo sluggishly dragged himself downstairs only to be met by the scent of cinnamon and vanilla and the ungodly sound of Mariah Carey.

Rubbing the sleep out of his barely open eyes, he threw his head back to open his mouth in a loud yawn. Fuck, he was still exhausted despite his two and a half hour nap.

He had gotten up rather early that morning, in spite of his undying hatred for cold weather, to go for a run around campus. Even with having the day off for winter break, he wasn't about to start slacking in his training.

His solo run had somehow turned into a race when he had noticed that Four Eyes apparently had the same idea as him and was running around campus in his ridiculous jogging getup.

Honestly, who the hell actually wore tracksuits outside of class? Fucking Four Eyes, that's who.

Bakugo had lost, of course. Without the use of his Quirk (seriously, fuck winter), he was no match whatsoever for the class president as much as he hated to admit it.

He was getting better at the whole humility thing but he had still wanted to punch Four Eyes' stupid face in. Especially when the Sonic ripoff had claimed that he didn't even think they had been racing.

What the hell kind of bullshit low blow was that? He knew damn well that Bakugo's Quirk was affected by the colder weather. Was he trying to say that Bakugo wasn't any competition at all? That fucker had another thing coming.

At least he had until Kirishima had shown up, seemingly out of the blue, to essentially grab Bakugo by the scruff and drag him away from the frantically flailing Four Eyes. Shaking his head with a heavy, long-suffering sigh, Kirishima had led him to the gym for their scheduled training together.

Bakugo had spent the next hour venting his frustrations on Kirishima who was trying to work on his mobility, something his Quirk made especially difficult. They had spent the following hour wrestling without the use of their Quirks until Kirishima, the fucking brick shithouse, had come out victorious.

Bakugo was only slightly surprised to find that rather than getting pissed that he had lost, he had just been proud that Kirishima had managed to get out of his short arm scissor hold. He might have also been a little too distracted by Kirishima's wide, victorious grin to really be all that upset.

After doing some stretches to ensure they didn't wake up with any weird cramps the next morning, they had made their way back to the dorms for a quick shower. While getting redressed, Bakugo had announced that he was going to take a nap, inviting Kirishima to join him.

Pecking his boyfriend on the cheek, Kirishima had politely declined in favor of having lunch with Sero, Kaminari, and Ashido. Bakugo had just nodded and given Kirishima a kiss of his own before climbing the stairs to return to his room.

Two and half hours or so later, Bakugo woke up bleary-eyed and absolutely fucking starving. He probably should've eaten something before his power nap.

Hungry and hoping Kirishima had saved him some lunch (his boyfriend was considerate that way), Bakugo begrudgingly made his way downstairs. As he did, he winced at the abhorrently familiar tune that some asshole was playing in the common room.

"I swear to god, if I hear that fucking Mariah Carey song one more time, I'm gonna kill someone," Bakugo groaned as he padded barefoot into the kitchen, suppressing a shiver at the cool touch of the tiles. Dropping his hand to bury it in the pocket of his sweatpants, he looked around the kitchen.

Kirishima and the others were gathered in the kitchen. They were spread out through the room, all doing their own thing.

Kaminari was perched on the edge of the counter in one of his millions of band t-shirts, a speaker by his hip. He swung his legs back and forth, heels occasionally knocking against the counter drawers.

Sero was standing by the open pantry, stuffing various ingredients back onto the neatly arranged shelves that Iida kept in immaculate order. He bobbed his head along to the song, tapping his fingers.

In the center of the kitchen, crowded together around a tray of sugar cookies, was Kirishima and Ashido. They were both thoroughly engrossed in decorating the variously shaped cookies with icing and sprinkles.

Kirishima looked up as he entered the room, greeting him with a wide grin. Wiping his hands on his pants like the slob he was, Kirishima walked over to him with a bright, cheery chirp of, "Hey, babe! How was your nap?"

"Fine," Bakugo mumbled, stifling another yawn. Glancing around the kitchen again --- at Ashido smothering cookies with bright red frosting, at Kaminari tapping his hands against his knees to the rhythm of the song --- he asked, "How was lunch?"

"Good! We just made sandwiches," Kirishima answered with a blinding flash of his sharp teeth, disproportionately excited about sandwiches. "Oh! I made you one for later, if you want it. Turkey and Swiss on rye."

Bakugo tried to tamp down the ridiculous burst of warmth that pulsed through him at the simple fact that Kirishima remembered how he liked his sandwiches. He wasn't very successful.

Instead, he just shrugged and thanked him. Trying to distract from the stupid blush that was warming his cheeks, he cleared his throat and barked at Kaminari, "Turn that shit off, Pikachu."

"Aww, c'mon," Kirishima laughed, grabbing Bakugo by the hands and dragging him further into the kitchen until they were standing in the center of the room. "It isn't that bad."

Bakugo rolled his eyes but remained silent as Kirishima guided his arms around his neck, setting his own hands on Bakugo's trim waist. As the chorus played again, Kirishima smiled and awkwardly swayed from side to side with Bakugo, coming dangerously close to accidentally stomping on his boyfriend's toes.

From his seat on the counter, Kaminari snickered, clapping his hand over his mouth in a futile attempt to muffle his laughter. Leaning towards Ashido who had paused in her cookie decorating, he wheezed, "It's like the most awkward middle school dance ever!"

"Fuck off," Bakugo immediately snapped, mostly out of reflex, flipping Kaminari the finger behind Kirishima's head. Kirishima just laughed, shaking his head fondly.

As his laughter trailed off, so did the song. It was quickly replaced with another; a slow, romantic one better suited to slow dancing around the kitchen.

Kirishima's face immediately flushed a deep red as Kaminari and Ashido serenaded them with a chorus of wolf whistles, Sero joining in after a moment. Dipping his head, Kirishima chided, "C'mon, guys, knock it off."

Rather than tell the others off like he wanted to, Bakugo just tugged Kirishima closer and started to lead. He wasn't that much better of a dancer than Kirishima but it didn't matter. He wasn't going for skill, he was going for romance.

He wasn't very accustomed to being the romantic one. He usually left that up to Kirishima who was always more than ready to do some big romantic stunt like buy them matching suits or start dancing with him in the kitchen at five p.m. on a random Thursday.

Unwinding one arm from around Kirishima's neck, Bakugo took one of Kirishima's hands in his own to guide him around as they danced. It wasn't particularly graceful, less of a tango and more of a clunky waddle, but it didn't seem to matter to Kirishima.

His shy, embarrassed smile quickly morphed into another blindingly bright grin as he lifted his head to meet Bakugo's eyes. Bakugo smiled back at him as the others erupted into a cacophony of cheers and awws.

Maybe Christmas music really didn't suck that much. Not when he was dancing with Kirishima.

[terraisnotonfire-blog]

Volfram Prologue

"And so I said, that is not a gelatinous cube, that is my wife!"  Everyone else at the table exploded in to uproarious laughter as Deimos finished his joke, except for Saros whom merely chuckled awkwardly.  He didn't get the joke, he seldom did on nights like these.  It had been another successful day in the life of traveling perfromers, and they were celebrating in Deimos's preferred fashion, getting very drunk.  There was a time when things were tough, but these days, the father and son duo did quite well for themselves.  Their food was always hot, and heir beds were always warm, that is, except for when Saros didn't choose to sleep outside under the stars instead.  He felt a kinship with the night sky.  It made him almost feel like he belonged.  A feeling he had thought he felt as a child, but not once since.

Saros didn't look like anyone he knew, not even his dad.  He had deep indigo skin, so dark you would think it black at first.  His skin was mottled by speckles of white, except for his face which had only one large solitary dot on his forehead. But that was by far not the most interesting part of his lean, angular, elflike face, that honor went to his eyes. They were swirls of color and sparkles, like two galaxies far away twistied in the night sky.  He often wore bandanas and headcoverings of that sort to hide his hairline, or lack thereof, for instead of where hair should be, where black shoulder length tendrils about a fingers width each. From a distance, one could easily confuse them for dreadlocks, so he wore the bandanas to complete the illusion, as well as decorate the tendrils with metal cuffs and leather bands.  He wore multilayered, flashy gold and red robes, adorned with colorful trims, sequins, and tassels, a distracting wardrobe to divert attention from the far more outlandish looking person inside of them.

Deimos could best be described as ruggedly handsome.  His long mane of silky dark brown hair seemed to wave in a non existent breeze at all given moments.  His golden brown eyes were like two limpid pools of honey.  His immaculate smile, and impressive jawline were framed by a light scruff of facial hair. When he chose to wear a shirt, he often wore one with a a deep neckline and billowy sleeves he could roll up to showcase his glistening, tan physique.  Chiseled by the gods, and blessed by a higher power were phrases often spoke to describe his body.  But actions speak louder than work, and the way women acted around him spoke volumes.  They were putty in his agile hands.  It was often common to see him surrounded by a flock of women, and tonight was no different.

"You guys were great out there"

"Huh" Saros turned to see a large orc woman sitting next to him.  His swirling blue eyes locked with hers

"Oh, uh," she nervously scratched her bald head, her cheeks deepening to a darker shade of green as she looked away.  "I was just saying, I saw the two of you perform earlier.  It was really good."

"Oh thanks."  

"How did you do that thing with the goblet?  It was like real magic, but there wasn't any spellbooks or runes  or hand signals or chants or nothing."

Saros chuckled nervously "A good magician never reveals his secrets."  His secret was that it actually was magic, a magic that seemed to come from within.  It was a unique talent he had never seen anyone else possess, and one he strived to keep a secret.  And what better way to hide it than in plain sight.

"You know, I just got in to town, and I don't have a place to say.  I just checked and all the rooms are full.  Any chance you'd want to share a room."  She tried her best to remain stoic and only slightly interested in the proposition she had offered, but a mischeivous grin crept on to her lips.

Saros rolled his eyes.  It hadn't been the first time that he had been used by women trying to get closer to his dad, and yet he was constantly foolish enough to believe it would be the last, and so each time it was like a fresh wound.  He sighed with great exasperation as he grabbed his plate and stood up.  "Why don't you just ask him yourself?"  He then turned, found an empty table in the corner of the room, and moved to it.

Saros never did well with women.  He always felt anxious whenever he spoke at length with one alone.  He often ran out of things to talk about, resorting to pleasantries about weather or current affairs.  He could feel their stares judging him inferior.  Their gaze penetrated through his garish wardrobe and affectations and saw the real him underneath, the freak.  Just like tonight.  The orc woman had been staring at the freak, and as soon as he engaged, she got embarrased and looked away.  It was an occurence he had grown used to.

He found himself much more comfortable talking with men, he could converse with them much more easily. Except for when they talked about women, as they had started to do on this night.  That was one topic upon which he had a hard time relating, choosing instead to nod and mumble "Yeah" noncomittally until the topic changed.  But tonight he didn't feel like talking to anyone.  He had a lot on his mind.  

The goblet trick had gone well, really well in fact.  So why hadn't Deimos seemed as impressed by it as anyone else.  Was his dad upset because someone else was getting all the attention.  Was this what the future of their relationship held? Envious stares and lackluster praise?  Good for a beginner?  Ha. He'd like to see Deimos do anything of the sort.

"Well son, are you staying inside or outside tonight?"  The sound of his father's voice from behind caught Saros off guard.

"Umm, outside I think." Saros turned around to see his father and the large orc woman from before looming over him.

"Ah good.  I made a new friend and she was going to come back to my room and show me some of her writings."  Saros looked over at the woman to see her flexing her right arm, her bicep nearly ripping through her shirt sleeve. Deimos grinned and cocked an eyebrow.  "We are going to arm wrestle to see who gets top bunk."  The orc woman stopped flexing and her face returned to that familiar shade of dark green.

"Father, please, I do not need to hear about your sleeping arrangements."

"What?  You are always talking about how we need to communicate more?"

"You know that this is not what I meant."  Saros turned back to his food, and stuffed the last few bites in his mouth

"Ah, I am just giving you a hard time.  If you change your mind, you know--"

"The secret knock of course." He mubled through a full mouth. As he stood up from his table.  "And if you need me you can find me--

"On the tallest hill outside of town, yes I know.  I love you son."  Saros brushed past his father as he headed out the door without saying a word  Deimos turned to the woman beside him and shrugged. "They grow up so fast."

Saros made his way to the wagon outside.  He hopped inside and rummaged around, grabbed his bedroll and a couple of other essentials, and headed off in to the hills to the east.  He had seen one on the way in to town that was quite large indeed and knew it would make for an excellent spot for stargazing. And sure enough he was right, he was about a mile from town meaning he was free from all the noises and the lights, and able to just stare at the clear sky and the stars above.

Nights like this were his favorite growing up.  Money hadn't always been easy for the pair.  There was a time when they had no choice but to sleep outside.  When Deimos worked alone he had made enough coin for both, but had struggled trying to provide for two, but he did as well as he could.    When they made coin, as they seldom did, it went to food first and shelter last.    Deimos always said that he had grown up without either, and he'd choose a hot meal over a warm bed any day.

Saros always enjoyed it when his father talked about his childhood, it helped him relate to him more. Deimos had grown up an orphan on the streets of Carth, in the kingdom of Alfard.  Before learning acrobatics and juggling, he stole and pilfered to get by, before that he had lived on refuse.  He had passed on those theiving techniques in the early days, and it had been Saros's duty to supplement their income by picking the pockets of the rich.

One day, after performing in Innastorm, Deimos had found himself on the beach, staring up at the stars with his companion for the night.  At the time he was doing well enough to feed himself, and he stayed indoors when he felt like it.  But tonight, the starry sky had called to him, and after he and his lover had  their tryst, they found themselves talking about the meaning of life.  He didn't know why but he felt compelled to tell her about how empty his life felt, the constant  female attention, the food, the beds, when he was living on the streets, he thought those things would make him happy.  But he felt like he had gained all that he wanted, but lost what he needed, and he didn't know what it was.

She had told him that life didn't give you its meaning.  You had to give meaning to it.  He had nothing he was invested in or cared about other than himself.  Until he found something or someone beside himself to care about, his life would continue to be empty and meaningless.  He had told her the only thing he cared about was the freedom he felt looking up at the night sky, and it would take a miracle to make him care about anything else. Nine months later he awoke to find a newborn baby with skin light the night sky, and eyes that sparkled like stars.  He had called him his Miracle Boy ever since.

On those nights they looked up at the stars together, Saros would lay in wonder as Deimos would tell him stories of all the things he had done in his life.  Deimos would always say that the most important thing is freedom.  "Be who you want to be and do what you want to do, and let no one stop you. That is what is most important in life.  Always remember that Saros. And what's the second most important thing?" he'd always ask. "Family." Saros would always answer.

"That's right."

As he reminisced, he could feel drowsiness begin to overtake him. He took a moment to adjust his bedding and find a comfortable position, he then concentrated for a moment and suddenly a ethereal humanoid shaped figure, only visible to Saros, appeared before him."How can I aide you, Saros?"

"You know the drill.  Wake me up in 8 hours.  If anyone or anything with ill intent comes within 30 yards, wake me up."

"Of course.  Rest well." Saros closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, his ethereal guard standing watch.  His dreams were tumultuous, filled with visions of storms and battle and suffering and loss.

"It has been 8 hours Saros. Farewell."  Saros awoke to see the ghostly form of his ever vigilant protector evaporate before him.  It was a dreary day in early Autumn.  Grey mist hung in the air, not a single beam of sunlight could be seen anywhere.  Saros was glad he took the chance to stargaze when he did, odds are it would be too overcast to do it tonight.

About a half hour later, Saros found himself back in town at the Broken Shovel Inn, knocking at the door to his father's room.  There was no answer.  He paused and remembered.  He knocked again, this time five times in succesion, a brief hesitation then twice more.  Still no answer.  Once again, he knocked, this time, slower, harder, and more deliberately, but before he could finish the last two taps, the door opened.

"Knock knock."  Deimos stood before him, disheveled, sweaty, and pale.  He waved Saros in, "You can enter.  The girl from last night is gone."  Deimos made his way back to the bed with apparent difficulty

"How did you sleep?" Saros's voice was laced with trepedation.  His father had pulled all nighters before, so it wasn't uncommon to see him out of sorts in the morning. Even so, this seemed different

"Not well, and not for any fun reasons either.  Whoo, I think you are going to need to let your old man sit down for a bit.  I uh, I am not feeling so hot."  Deimos faltered for a bit as he tried to reach for the bed in front of him, but before he could make it, his legs gave out beneath him and he crumbled to the floor

"Father."  Saros rushed to his side, "Are you alright?  Did that orc from last night do this to you?"  He grunted as he managed to hoist Deimos up on to the bed.

"No unfortunately, she is not the reason for me being unable to walk.  We just talked for a little bit and she left.  There was one other thing of note.  I do not guess by any chance you came in here last night in disguise and attacked me with a dagger?"

"No of course not, father."

"Good, if so, I would have some various serious complaints about your technique.  Whoever it was barely managed to knick my arm.  I managed to stab him straight through the hand.  And then the bastard must have taken off with my knife.  Do you see her anywhere.  It was Lola, I do not know what I would do with out her."

"Father, there are more pressing issues than a dagger, here let me take a look at your arm." Saros rolled the billowy sleeve on Deimos's right arm back to reveal, amidst his olive skin, a  large patch ofwhat appeared to be marble, with a small scratch at the certain of it.    He put his hand to it, it was cold and hard like stone.  "This is not good.  Father, we must get you to a temple immediately."

"You are probably right.  I do not want to ruin my perfect complexion."  Deimos laughed, but the nervousness in his voice betrayed his apparent nonchalance.   Saros lifted him up to his feet, threw his uninjured arm over his shoulder and escorted him to the door, down the hall, and out of the inn.  After asking a few people out on the street, he managed to ascertain the location of the  temple of Cinna and began to head towards it.  Saros struggled to carry his father, Deimos seemed to be growing weaker by the second and having a harder and harder time supporting himself, even with Saros's help.

By the time they made it to the temple, Deimos could hardly hold himself up at all, and decided to collapse on the ground instead.  Immediately, seeing that something was wrong, a number of clerics rushed to his aid.  A dwarf woman in more ornate robes approached Saros as several figures huddled around Deimos, chanting and invoking Cinna's name.

"What is wrong with him, my child?"

"It's my father.  He was attacked in the night by a man with a dagger.  And now his arm is turning to stone."

"Well, given those circumstances, I think poison is most likely.  Cockatrice spit most likely.  It is excrutiating but easily fixed.  The woman crouched down beside Deimos and placed her hands on his arm.  She began chanting, and after a moment, her hand began to glow green.  Another moment passed, and the chanting and glowing stopped.  She removed her hands to reveal that nothing had changed.  "This is troubling.  Let me try again." She repeated the process and once again the stony patch of skin remained unchanged.  One of the other clerics spoke up.

"Ma'am, I don't think its a cockatrice."

"Well then what is it."

"I'm not entirely sure, but I have some conjecture.  Take a look at the skin that's already changed.  It looks more granite than limestone.  Plus, I ran a few detection spells.  He's definitely got a toxin in him.  But he's also testing positive for a curse, nothing basic either, none of our curse removal spells have worked.  I think the curse is bound to the venom and as long as the venom remains, so does the curse, and vice versa. In order to get rid of it--"

"We have to get rid of them simultaneously.  But to do that, we're going to need to know what both of them are.  Perhaps if we knew who the attacker was we could surmise what he used to attack you.  Did you get a good look at him?" The dwarf dabbed the sweat from Deimos's brow as she spoke to him.

"I did not.  But I did manage to tear a piece of his clothes.  I figure it is importnat, so I held on to it."  With great difficulty and strain, Deimos, unclenched his left first to reveal a scrap of black cloth.  Saros grabbed it and examined it thoroughly for anything of  use, but was ultimately fruitless.

The dwarf spoke up again  "If we do not stop the spread of the venom soon, once it reaches his heart, the toxin will spread rapidly throughout his body, turning him in to a statue within moments.  The only option we have left is to amputate."

Deimos chuckled, "Who ever heard of a one armed juggler?"

"Father!  This is no time for laughing."

"Saros, what have I taught you? There is always time for a laugh.  Now run back to the inn, grab my other two daggers, and rush back her as quickly as possible."

"What?"

"GO!"  Deimos dropped the levity, and his face grew hard and stern

"Of course father."  Saros got up and sprinted back to the Broken Shovel.  It took him about five minutes to make it back to the inn, he charged past customers and staff and burst in to the room.  His two other daggers, Florence and Selina, were still sitting on the bedside table.  He grabbed them and dashed back.  When he had left, the venom had already reached his upper arm, it wouldn't be too much longer before it reached his chest and things would be too late.  His mind raced over what might happen to his father.  He didn't always get along with him, but he knew that Deimos loved him.  Or at least he was pretty sure he did.  He was his Miracle Boy after all.

Saros arrived to see the clerics still huddled around him.  But they no longer appeared to be attempting to cast spells, they appeared to be reciting last rites.  He pushed a few aside to see what was happening.  The clerics had removed his shirt, he could see that it had spread all the way up his arm and to his chest.  The dwarf woman from before spoke up.  "I'm sorry, there is nothing more we can do.  Within moments, it will reach his heart."

Saros dropped his head as tears began to well in his eyes "I'm too late."

"Nonsense boy, you're just in time.  All of you, give me some space."  The clerics huddled around Deimos scattered as he struggled to his feet.  "Be a good boy and help me up."  Saros picked his father up by his still fleshy arm.  Deimos was considerably heavier than before and his left arm made a loud scraping noise of stone against stone as he was lifted to his feet.  Once he was upright he looked Saros in the eyes as he rested his good hand on his shoulder.

"Saros, my Miracle Boy.  Perhaps it is time I stopped calling you that.  You are 20 years old, it is time you become a man.  It is time you become Saros.  Whatever it is that means.  Follow your heart, do what it tells you is right, trust it and let it guide you.  I just have one small favor to ask you."

"Anything father," Saros managed to force out between choked back tears.

"Get Lola back for me.  I will miss her terribly."

"O-of course."

"Now hand me my daggers." Saros wiped the tears from his eyes and handed the blades to his father.  "The work of a showman is never done."  With screams of agony, he managed to close the grip of his stony hand around one dagger and lift his arm up as if he had just caught the blade, and positioned his other arm as if he was about to throw the other.  "Always remember the two most important things in life Saros."  Saros watched as the stone spread to the center of his chest and suddenly began to spread through out his entire body. "I love you son."  And with that, his father was gone, and only a statue remained.

[8bityeol]

Undulate [m]

Genre : smut / Submissive!Sehun

Summary : When angry, there’s only one person that can make you feel better. Thankfully, that one person answers to you.

"How do you propose to make me feel 'better'?" you asked, one eyebrow raised.

Your painted nails were wound tight against the cup as the soles of your heels tapped relentlessly against the floor. Fuck. Even thinking about it had blood rushing to your ears. Who the hell did they think they were? Bastards, that who they were. Jealous and seething bastards with nothing to do besides cheat on their wives with their secretaries. had your uncle not been sitting in the boardroom, you're certain your glass would flew across the table, hitting and splashing whoever.

The doors to your floor opened and you headed straight to the receptionist. Your mind set on thing and one person only. You can tell she was frightened, in all your years at the office, she had yet to see your face so screwed with anger.

"Vivian, can you call Mr. Oh up please. Pronto."

Before the Vivian, the receptionist could respond, you were swinging the doors to your office open and letting them close with a crash. Feeling too hot and confined, your shifted out of your blazer and let it land on the sofa.

He'd be up soon. Those were the only words that seemed to calm your mind and stop you from burning holes into your hardwood floor. You   placed your coffee down, your stomach suddenly not feeling the need to drink it anymore and then wandered to over to your chair.

You opened your laptop, but with haste you shut it and instead, turned towards the gaping window that surrounded the office and gave you a most astounding view of the city.

You'd been watching people amble around the lit roads and streets when you heard the door open.

"What's wrong now, Princess?" He asked, as his hands worked seamlessly over the buttons of his blazer.

You spun on your chair, now facing him as he took long and slow strides towards you. You stared down the length of his body before sighing. "I got blindsided by the good old McGuyver and Co. Those dogs probably planned it out all."

"Really?"

You nodded, "My project plan was perfect, and they all decide to say that it's immature and incomplete. Misogyny I tell you."

He now sat atop your desk. "Sorry, Princess."  

You stood up and moved to the middle of his legs, with both of your hands  running over his broad shoulders. Sehun was truly a man made to be a god, in hindsight, you probably weren't the only to think so,anyone would be dumb to catch the hungry look other ladies in the office threw at him. But, unfortunately for them, he had eyes only for you and wanted only your touch.

"Today, I want you to call me Mistress," you said, eyes on his lips.

You had your hand under his chin, your thumb running over his lips before you drew him closer. His hands moved to your back, pulling you chest to chest in a familiar move. What was once a tentative kiss was   transformed into a ferocious thing as anger from earlier events flooded your mind. Your teeth held his lip between them, and then your tongue moved ruthlessly against his. He mewled in your mouth as your hand ran down from his shoulder, and then his chest. His heart was beating loud and clear and you loved it.

You pulled away and relished momentarily in the sight of his pretty little face. His lips which were once a soft pink was now tinged with red, the remnants of your ruthless kiss. And then his eyes, his sweet eyes were cloudy with pleasure and the need to obey. God, the bare sight made your mouth water.

"Please ... Mistress, can I make you feel better?" He asked.

"How do you propose to make me feel 'better'?" you asked, with one eyebrow raised.

He placed a kiss onto the slither of skin the peeked from your shirt. "I'll do anything you want. Anything."

"Anything? Good boy," you said, stroking his hair. "Get on your knees."

Immediately, he pulled his lips from yours. "Yes, Mistress," he said, kneeling down before you.

"Go on, make me feel better."

"Of course, Mistress." he begun at the bottom, his lips moving over your feet which were still nestled inside the pointed shoe. Taking his oh so precious time, he moved up your stocking covered legs, lavishing them with hearty kisses. He stopped only at the edge of your black skirt.

"Problem?" you peered down at him, your head cocked to the side.

"Your skirt, please can I remove it?"

The corners of your lips lifted. "Of course."

He wound his arms around your waist, his long fingers pulling the zipper over your backside. The skirt fell to your feet and you lifted them so that he could remove the article.

You sat back down onto your chair and he moved to fit in the space between your legs. locking gazes with you, he placed his lips on your inner thigh and you felt as shiver run through as his cheek touched the skin. He dotted a few more on the other high, before moving upwards. And then there it was, the first kiss your center, right over your dampened underwear.

You hummed in appreciation, and so his tongue darted out over the rich cotton fabric, wetting it further as the muscle ran down the center of your pussy. His fingers looped under the lace trimming of your panties, before he guided them down the length of your legs and to his pocket. You suppressed a smirk, of course he'd do such a thing.

"I've been craving your taste all day, Mistress," he said, just before his lips pressed against your hot flesh.

"I'm glad to hear that," you smirked down at him.

Sehun always had the skill of making something inside you quiver wild, not only did his lips have the power of speaking filthily, but they also had the power to drive you crazy.

His flattened tongue ran down your center, parting your outermost lips and basking in your heady taste. Your feet curled ever-so-slightly in the confines of your heels. It was always the first few touches that had the coil buried deep in you curling.  He was slow at first, his tongue exploring your folds and becoming reacquainted with you. It certainly had been long since he'd last visited - three days to be exact.

It wasn't just his mouth on your pussy that excited you, no, if that was the case then any old sod could have you coming. It was his eagerness, and his need to make your toes curl and your body to burn but also his sweet hums against your sensitive clit. It was also the way he stared at you as you wandered around the office and the small upturn of his lips whenever you grabbed him by the scruff of his collar or yanked with his tie.

He loved it.

Your hands were now buried beneath his once immaculate hair, pushing him further against your pussy. He took it all in stride, never once stopping but only groaning in pleasure as his ears caught the soft mewls that seeped from your lips.

He pulled away, but you could still feel his warm breath blowing on your wet flesh. "Mistress ... may I place my fingers inside you?"

"Of course you can." you said.  

"Thank you." He muttered, just before his lips wound tight against your clit and his two fingers sheathed themselves inside you. They moved in and out, quickly settling into a smooth rhythm and then curling to rub and torture at the spot that made a delightful scream rips from your throat.

Your legs were now wound against his shoulders, the heel of your shoe digging into his shirt covered back. Spurred by your tremors and sounds, he moved faster and drew figures of eights through your center. God, for how long he had longed for this. From the moment he stepped into the office and saw your reddened lips set into a firm line, he felt a tightening inside his trousers. And now, whilst knelt before you, face and tongue nestled in your delectable pussy, he deemed himself the luckiest man on Earth.  

"Keep going," you urged, your head lolling back against the chair.  "R-right there ... fuck."

Your breathing had grown heavy and you could feel the familiar tightening of your muscles as your hips bucked helplessly against his face. You came with a soft cry and rode out the aftershocks against his tongue and fingers.

As you sat there, catching your breath, his tongue lapped eagerly at your juices making you twitch at the over-sensitivity. You pushed him away your foot at his shoulder.

"You're such a good boy," you said as your hand rested on his cheek.

"Did I make you feel better, mistress?" his face was pulled into a smug grin that made his wet lips glisten like gloss.

"Oh yes you did," you pulled him down by the tie and with his head near yours, you placed a kiss on his lips. Your free hand briskly moved to touch the tent in his pants. you stood up, and his hands came to rest on your hips.

You pulled away from the kiss. "Sehun ... before we have fun, I need to give you something."

"What is it?" he asked.

Your hand went to the drawer next to his legs, pulling it open you took out the glossy package. You placed it into his hand. "Consider it an early birthday present."

He laughed through his nose, as his fingers pried open the box. "Early birthday present? my birthday is in a year."

"Shh, you," you said with a smile.

He looked down at the package and smirked. He lifted the leather collar up to your face. "My birthday or yours?"

A/N

Basically, this was just me and my fantasies gone wild. I love msub, that is my shit and we need more msub fics around here!

Lol, I was writing this and I accidentally wrote 'puddy' instead of 'pu**y'. I dunno why, but that made me giggle.

[singingisfun]

Accidents Happen - Chapter 2

Hello lovely readers! No, you're not seeing things. I'm back! Nearly two years later, I've finally finished the second part to this story - never say I don't keep my promises!

Many of you requested a follow-up and here it is... finally. It's the same story as the first chapter, only now it's from Emma's perspective. If you haven't read part one, you might want to before reading this one (sorry, I don’t have the tumblr link for that). I added some scenes and expanded on some others and I really hope everyone enjoys it.

Thanks for all the incredible reviews and comments. And for those of you waiting for the next chapter of Changing Tides, I promise I'm working on it and I will finish that story as well (and like I said, I keep my promises - no matter how long they take).

Enjoy!

AO3

ff.net

Emma enters her apartment and immediately kicks off her shoes – the damn things have crushed her toes until she’s afraid she might see blood if she looks down, but it was worth it.  That bastard with the smart-ass mouth – ‘What would you know about family?’ – is behind bars where he belongs and her checking account is thankful for it.  

She limps toward the kitchen, stretching her aching feet with each step and carefully lays the bakery bag in her hand down on the counter.  She empties the contents and grabs a lighter, placing the blue star-shaped candle precisely in the middle of her treat and lighting it.

"Another banner year," Emma whispers to her empty apartment, leaning over and watching the glow of the lone candle on her cupcake. She didn't buy a whole cake. Why would she when there wouldn't be anyone else to have a piece?  This cupcake is the perfect size for someone like her.

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

I wish I didn't have to be alone.

It’s an impossible wish and she knows it.  It’s not like someone is going to come knocking on her door out of the blue. Still, she blows out the air in her mouth and opens her eyes.  The candle is no longer lit, smoke billowing up from the blackened wick, and she stares at it for a moment, waiting for… something.  Of course, nothing happens and she sighs to herself. 

What a way to spend a birthday. 

Huffing out a breath, she straightens and her eyes catch her image in the mirror across the way.

And what are you going to do about it, Emma? she thinks in irritation.  You know the only person who can do anything about it is you, so get your ass out of this apartment and do something.

She picks a little bar she's never been to before.  It's small and cozy and nothing like the meat markets she usually frequents when she's looking for company for the night.  A quick glance around the room tells her maybe she should have gone somewhere else.  The place is practically empty but she approaches the bar anyway and orders a drink because while some of her other haunts would definitely provide a variety of choices, she's just not in the mood to listen to thumping bass tonight.

The bartender is a sweet, portly guy who smiles appreciatively at her without leering.  She likes him instantly.  In between waiting on the few other customers in the place, he strikes up a conversation with her, telling her cute little anecdotes about his wife and daughter and she's suddenly very happy she picked this little hole-in-the-wall for her evening.  It’s laid back and easy and she realizes this is exactly what she needed, just casual conversation with another human being.

She's sipping at her second rum and diet coke when he walks in. 

He's alone, which strikes her as odd because the guy is absolutely gorgeous, jet black hair and immaculately trimmed scruff, but she just figures he's meeting someone.  He sits at the other end of the bar and orders a beer.  When he glances her way, he doesn't leer either, which solidifies her suspicion that he's probably waiting on a woman.

The bartender makes small talk with him as well while the guy munches on some peanuts.  He seems nice.  Normal.  Not some sleazeball out for a wild night of partying, just a guy waiting on his girlfriend while chatting quietly with the bartender and watching the basketball game on the TV behind the bar. 

She smiles to herself when she hears the bartender start talking about his daughter’s obsession with fairy tales and jokingly says that if he hears ‘Let it Go’ one more time he might throw his DVD player through the window. The guy chuckles softly and she doesn’t know how it happens but suddenly she’s sucked into a debate on which Disney movie is best.  

The next thing she knows, the guy is sitting next to her defending Peter Pan’s Captain Hook like he’s personally affronted by the pirate’s villain status. And for the first time in several years, she realizes she’s actually smiling – not the calculating smile she uses to lure a mark in, not the fake smile she uses when she’s on the prowl – but a real smile, the kind that makes your cheeks ache because you can’t seem to stop.  And not only smiling but laughing because the guy, Killian is his name, admits sheepishly that Peter Pan is his favorite movie of all time.  

They move on to other subjects after that, the basketball game that’s still playing, the recent storms that left half the city in darkness…  She keeps expecting a woman to walk in and join him but the night goes on and no one shows.  She’s surprised and a little disappointed when the bartender announces last call because she doesn’t want to give up his company just yet.  He hasn’t made a move, hasn’t so much as casually put his arm on the back of her chair.  So it’s a complete shock when they’re standing on the sidewalk outside, both waiting for cabs, that he surges forward and kisses her like he needs to breathe.

His eyes are soft (and did she mention stunningly blue?) when they break apart, his fingers running through her hair as their noses bump.  She knows she’s playing with fire when she suggests going to his place but, fuck it, it’s her birthday and it seems she’s gotten her wish to not be alone.

It’s easily the most incredible one-nighter she’s ever had.  

His eyes burn with passion one moment and melt with tenderness the next.  And it scares her because she’s never felt something like this before.  She’s never wanted to take her time and enjoy the foreplay he lavishes on her.  She’s never watched a lover’s eyes as he slid into her or held his hand as the passion exploded through her body.  She’s never wanted to make it last like this or hold a man close afterward.

But she does tonight.  Maybe it’s because it’s her birthday or maybe it’s because of the way her body seems to know his. Or maybe it’s just those intense blue eyes or the way he calls her ‘love’ in that sexy British accent.  But whatever the reason, she finds herself holding both his gaze and his hand when she falls over the edge.

After, he tucks her into his side and plants a tender kiss on the top of her head, his hand stroking up and down her back in a way that should make her panic but somehow doesn’t.  Instead, it makes her feel safe and precious.  She doesn’t remember drifting off to sleep but she awakes in the middle of the night with his arm still wrapped around her.  

And that’s when the panic sets in.  

It feels too good.  It feels too easy. And that’s a dangerous combination.

Quietly, she slips out of the bed and dresses, forgoing shoes because the floor is hardwood and she doesn’t want to wake him.  Still, she can’t stop herself from watching him sleep for a minute.  How he can still look that sexy even when he’s snoring like a freight train, she’ll never know, but it terrifies her even more because she’s tempted to crawl back into the bed with him, especially when he makes a grumbling sound, flips over into the space she’d vacated and hugs her pillow with a sigh.  

With more than a little regret, she silently makes her way out of the apartment, being sure to lock the door on her way out.  

***

She thinks about him more than she should, considers more than once going back to that corner bar to see if she might run into him again.  But she doesn’t.  Maybe if it had felt like just sex she would have been able to but, more often than not, she doesn’t think about the sex.  She thinks about his smile and the sparkle in his eyes and the way he’d helped her with her coat and –

No, it’s better to keep it what it was: A birthday wish that came true.  She doesn’t want to ruin it by making it more than that.  It was a rare and beautiful night and it’s better to save that memory than risk the inevitable pain that would rain down if she tried for more.  

Fate, however, has its own plan.  

She waits two full weeks to buy the test.  She already knows what it’s going to say but she still can’t help holding her breath while she counts down the seconds.  It’s the longest and shortest two minutes of her life.  

When the second blue line pops up, her heart jolts with so much pure joy that it takes her by surprise.

She’s going to have a baby.  

She’s going to have someone who is completely hers.  A child she can coddle and spoil and share all of the wonderful things with that she missed out on when she was young.  They’ll go to the movies… and the park… and the zoo… and Disneyworld… and it’s going to be perfect.

She sighs happily when she settles into bed that night, realizing that her birthday wish not only came true, but somehow managed to turn into a lifetime of having someone with her on her birthday. Inevitably, her mind drifts to Killian. She’s going to have to tell him. A thrill creeps up her spine at seeing him again but then doubt takes root.  Will he be happy? Will he be angry?  Will he accuse her of trying to trap him?  He’s the one who’d supplied the condom so he can’t really make that argument.  

Maybe she shouldn’t tell him.  Maybe he’s forgotten all about her.  A man who looks like that would have no problem finding female company.  He’s probably had a dozen women since then.  

And that thought brings on the next question.  What if he gave her something other than a baby? If he did, she’d be obligated to tell him, wouldn’t she?  

The next morning, she goes to the doctor and has a battery of tests done.  He confirms the pregnancy and also confirms everything else is fine.  She doesn’t know why, but she feels vindicated on Killian’s behalf that he was clean.  Her first instinct had been that he doesn’t sleep around and she knows this isn’t exactly proof but still…

But now she has to wrestle with the question of telling him or not.  If she tells him, she’ll have to see him. And if she sees him, she runs the risk of damaging an incredible memory.  

But she wants to see him.  And that thought is absolutely terrifying.  She wants him to be happy with her.  She wants him to be a father to their child because no matter how happy she is that she’s about to be a mother, that scumbag she caught on her birthday was right: She doesn’t know anything about family and she needs help.

She goes to his building one day and sees him walking out chatting happily with a woman and even though they part ways on the sidewalk, it’s enough to make panic seize her. She stands stock still as climbs into his car, her mind inevitably calling forth all sorts of questions that she’s not sure she wants the answers to.  What if he doesn’t remember her?  What if he’s involved with someone else?  The memory is too good to risk.  So she just stands there, paralyzed with fear and letting him drive away without saying a word.  

She decides to write him a letter instead.  That will work better.  If he doesn’t answer, she’ll be fine and she won’t hold it against him.  She’ll go on with her life and do her best just to be thankful to him for giving her this gift.  

She works herself into a frenzy on her way over to his place – nerves and pregnancy hormones are a terrible mix – and as she clutches the letter in her fist, she can feel tears threatening.  

When she makes it to his door she’s suddenly paralyzed again, this time with indecision. Should she slip it under the door? Stick it in the jam?  Under the door?  In the jam?  Before she can make up her mind, fate rears its head again and the door swings open in front of her, revealing the man who has dominated her thoughts for the past six weeks.  

He freezes when he sees her, a gym bag slung over his shoulder, and breathes out her name (at least he remembered it) and she feels the tears sting even more.  

He asks her in and she says something – she’s not really sure what – then shoves the letter into his hand and makes a break for it.  

She gets home without letting the tears fall and tries her best not to stare at her phone.  She fails. Twenty minutes later when the unrecognized number pops up, she’s so relieved that the tears threaten again, but she pushes them down and keeps her voice steady as they make plans to meet the next day.

She’s so nervous that her palms are sweaty when she gets to the coffee shop. Her heart thuds when he walks in but she ignores it and takes a deep breath.  She wants him to be happy… And she wants it a little too much.  Once they sit, she barely lets him get a word in because she knows if she stops talking, if she looks into those piercingly blue eyes, she won't be able to hold it together.  So when he presses his thumb to her mouth and tells her he’s in this, his voice low and adamant, relief floods her veins before she can stop it.  He’s looking at her with tenderness, his thumb warm against her lips and it takes her a second to remember what she was saying.  

Oh, right, she was going to tell him the date and time of the ultrasound.

She doesn’t hear from him again until he walks into her doctor’s office a few weeks later and she can’t deny she’s shocked to see him.  He notices, of course, but he doesn’t mention it, instead taking the empty chair next to her with a reserved smile and a quiet, “How are you feeling?”  

His smile isn’t so reserved when the technician leaves the room – they’re having a baby girl! – and she panics because her hand is in his and she doesn’t even remember putting it there.  

(Never mind the warmth that flooded her when he pressed a tender kiss to her head.)

The next time she sees him, he’s the one in a panic.  He bursts through the door of the hospital room and practically crushes her in his arms.  She tries to calm him, telling him it’s okay but he doesn’t seem to hear her.  

She’d overreacted when she’d seen the blood that afternoon (pregnancy hormones must cause temporary insanity) and she’d been frantic when she’d called him because the thought of losing this baby had spiraled into an all-out anxiety attack.  She’d be alone again if that happened.  She wouldn’t be able to lay in bed at night and talk to her stomach anymore.  She wouldn’t be making any more plans for the future – because for the first time in her life, that’s what she’s been doing, planning for more than a week or a month at a time.  Now, she’s planning years in advance.

And now, seeing him in nearly the same state she’d been in earlier, floods her with both guilt and affection, so she strokes his cheek in an attempt to sooth him, apologizing and telling him that the doctor said there’s nothing to worry about. But he still doesn’t release her, his forehead pressed to hers and his breath coming in harsh pants against her lips. She closes her eyes and leans into him and it’s amazing to her how much better she feels just having him by her side, having someone to worry with and take comfort from.

“I just got scared,” she tries to explain, “It’s silly, I know.  Maybe the hormones are getting to me.  I really am sorry to make you rush all the way down her for nothing except my paranoia.”  

“Stop apologizing, love.  It’s no trouble.  I want to be here.”

He pulls back to look at her and his eyes are filled such truth that hope floods her system, leaving her paralyzed when he leans toward her mouth.

It’s one of those moments in time that freeze, one of those moments when everything stills to a halt and blurs at the edges of your vision because the importance of what’s happening in front of you takes over and nothing else matters. She gets caught in it for a second, his lips drifting closer even as his eyes search hers, giving her plenty of time to turn away.  And, at the last second, she does because it terrifies her how much she wants to, how much she already needs him.

“We can’t do this, Killian.”

He stiffens for the briefest moment but he doesn’t pull away and she realizes it’s because he can’t – her traitorous fingers have curled themselves into his coat.  She clenches her eyes shut, but doesn’t release him, the warmth of his breath on her lips too good to let go of just yet.

He doesn’t seem to mind and, if anything, his touch becomes more tender, his fingers tracing along her jaw.  

“Why not, love?” he asks, his husky voice threatening to send a shiver down her spine that she barely manages to hold at bay.

He’s still perfect in her eyes, he’s still the kind, attentive stranger she met after that jackass called her out for knowing nothing about family. He’s still the man who made her birthday an incredible memory instead of a night of loneliness and despair.  And if she risks this and she messes it up, it’s going to break her.  She wants him to stay perfect.  And more than that, she wants him to stay in her life.  But at the same time, she wants to kiss him so badly that her heart stutters in her chest. So, she keeps her grip firm and grinds her forehead into his, indecision holding her frozen while his thumb strokes lightly against her cheek, the unspoken plea a direct contrast from how tense the rest of his body is as he waits for her decision.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she surprises even herself with her honesty, “but I’m not good at this… I don’t do relationships. And with you…  We’re going to be parents. You say you want to be part of our daughter’s life.  And I… I want you to be.  So if we try this and it doesn’t work out…”  

She can see the conflict simmering in his eyes when she eases back, still clutching at his collar, but before he can speak the nurse walks in to discharge her.

His eyes dart in her direction at least a dozen times as he walks her to her car, the air tense. So she breaks the silence before he can, asking if they can be friends.  She holds her breath while she waits for his answer and she can tell he doesn’t want to agree but in the end, he does and she’s not sure if she’s happy or disappointed.  

***

Having Killian Jones as a friend is probably the best thing that has ever happened to her.  He listens intently to everything she says, even when she drones on about stupid things like movies and grocery shopping.  (And if the fact that her system goes into overdrive every time she shows him where the baby is kicking, that’s her problem, not his.)  He makes her laugh when she complains about sitting behind a desk at work and he even offers to help her paint the baby’s room.  

The night he comes over is nerve wracking for her.  She’s never had a man in her apartment before.  In fact, outside Mary Margaret, she’s never had anyone over before (and the only reason she lets her in is because the woman is a force of nature).  And it’s not until he’s standing in the middle of the baby’s room that she realizes how overboard she’s gone on the baby items and toys.  But he just looks at her in that reassuring way and tells her it’s perfect and the tension leaves her in a rush of relief.  

As it turns out, it’s kind of nice having a man to help move furniture and set up ladders and, really, she’s the size of a bus and she won’t admit it but she should have done this months ago.  They work well as a team, him meticulously painting the borders with a steady hand while she rolls the walls and it’s not long before she’s laughing because she glances his way to find pale pink paint stuck in his eyebrows.  He laughs too and then he does that eyebrow raise thing that usually sends electric shocks through her system but this time he looks so ridiculous that she just laughs harder.  In fact, she’s laughing so hard that she almost doesn’t hear the doorbell when Mary Margaret stops by to deliver some cookies, telling them both they deserve a break.  

Two weeks later, she enters the waiting room of her doctor’s office and is surprised that Killian isn’t already there.  The man has got to be the most punctual person she’s ever met and he’s never once been late before.  She takes her usual seat and picks up one of the baby magazines off the table, telling herself not to worry, that he’ll be there soon.  But as she waits, her leg starts to fidget, the ingrained insecurities creeping up her spine.  By the time she’s called back to an exam room, her heart is pounding, glancing toward the door in an almost desperate way.  

He’s not coming.  She knows he isn’t.  He’s finally figured out that she’s not worth the effort.  He’s finally decided that her crazy mixed signals are more trouble than he’s willing to deal with.  She’s going to be alone again; she’s going to have to figure out how to raise a child by herself.  And she’s going to fuck it up, she’s sure, because she’s a mess and she’s got no idea what she’s doing and she’s pushed him away and one day she’ll have to explain to her daughter why her father isn’t around and it’s her fault because she’s –

The door swings open in a rush and there he is and she’s hit with a wave of relief so intense that she can’t breathe.  He’s saying something, but she can’t hear him over the hollow buzz in her ears and it’s mortifying because she’s crying – crying over a man she barely knows because she already needs him, him and his stable presence at her side, him with his kind eyes and reassuring words.

He doesn’t miss the tears – of course he doesn’t, he notices everything – and guilt eats at her while she frantically dashes them away even as he bolts across the room to sit next to her, panicked because he’s worried that something has gone wrong with the baby.  She keeps her eyes averted when she tells him the doctor hasn’t been in yet and tries her best to get herself together, the strong hand on her jaw only serving to make her eyes sting worse.  

An abyss isn’t deep enough for her to crawl into when she sees the understanding cross his features but he doesn’t get angry – even though he has every right.  Instead, he draws a deep breath and then he’s telling her about how his father abandoned him and how he and his brother didn’t believe it and his voice breaks and it’s so close to her own story that she freezes, her heart aching and her hands shaking.  He doesn’t look at her as he speaks but she can’t look away from him, the pain in his posture and her own memories bubbling to the surface and threatening to choke her.

After he finishes, he finally meets her eyes, and they’re nearly black with intensity.  His hand is gripping hers, locking their fingers together. “I’d never do that to my child, Emma. Never.”  And in all her life, she’s never believed anyone more.  Hope and gratitude mix in her chest and then she’s hugging him, whether to thank him or to comfort him she’s not sure, but she does know she never wants to let go.  

He hugs her back, burying his face in her neck and when she replies, she puts every ounce of conviction she can in her voice.  “Our child is very lucky to have you as her father.”

His arms tighten, seemingly at a loss for words, and she finds herself very disappointed when the nurse comes in and they have to break apart.

***

He’s nearly giddy during those last few weeks, calling her every day he doesn’t see her just to check on her, to make sure they have a plan in place for when she goes into labor.  He’s smiling like a fool when Mary Margaret drops her at the hospital, and she is too, excitement to see their child outweighing the contractions.  

But it doesn’t last.  The contractions get more intense and holy shit, how stupid was she to do this without drugs? Because her body is being ripped in half and she’s not dilating, and this kid is never going to come out.  She tries to be brave at first, tries to keep quiet when the contractions hit but after hours of intense labor she gives up, allowing the shouts free reign, no matter how guilty it makes Killian look.  To his credit, he stays for every single one, standing steady beside her even when she shoots daggers at him.  In fact, the more irritable she becomes, the gentler he gets, doing everything he learned from reading those damn baby books to make it easier on her.  

Finally, it’s time to push and she knows she’s squeezing his hand too hard but he doesn’t even flinch, supporting her back when the pain tears unrestrained screams from her throat. Everything fades out, and just when she thinks the agony is never going to end, she feels the relief of her daughter finally greeting the world.  Time freezes, the image of her baby girl filling her vision and it’s all she can do not to weep with joy.  Because this… this moment… it’s everything she’s ever lived for, everything she’s ever dreamed of and her heart fills with so much happiness that, for the space of several heartbeats, it overshadows the pain.

She hears Killian’s gasp from beside her, his hand in hers strong and steady and right.  But then the baby is swept away to be cleaned and weighed and the exhaustion returns in full force.  She swears every bone in her body hurts, her muscles useless as she collapses back onto the bed; but Killian is there to catch her, his chest lined up behind her to keep her upright so she can watch the nurses clean up their little girl.  

His arms come around her waist, his breath gentle next to her ear when he thanks her for his daughter and she reaches back to wrap her arm around his neck, overwhelmed with gratitude that he's here, that he stayed through the entire thing and put up with her.  His arms tighten when they bring the baby back and she can't see his face but it's easy to imagine that soft glow in his eyes when he strokes the back of his finger against their daughter’s cheek. It’s pure beauty, this moment, euphoria and love warming her from the inside and Killian’s gentle embrace warming her from the outside.  

He suggests Hope when they discuss baby names and she nearly tears up again.  Because it’s perfect.  Because hope is exactly what he’s given her – just like he gave her this beautiful baby – so she agrees instantly, snuggling closer into his arms.  She realizes in the next moment that he's near tears as well when she tells him she wants his last name included, and she closes her eyes when he kisses her temple, so content and happy that her heart swells.

****

Being a mother is terrifying at first.  She frets over every decision.  (Should she spring for the hypoallergenic diapers just in case? Is this swaddle too tight?)  She even goes so far as to worry over the idea of putting Hope in her car seat the first time she needs to go to the store for fear that they’ll get into an accident during the five-minute drive.  Which is why she’s so relieved when Killian knocks an hour later sporting three grocery bags filled with every single item she’d dictated to him right down to the specific brand of baby rash ointment she’d insisted on.  

She expects him to be annoyed at being appointed her errand boy, but he’s smiling wide when he walks in. He takes the bags to the kitchen, then instantly disappears into Hope’s room.  After she’s unpacked everything she crosses the hall, leans against the door frame and watches him gently run his finger over Hope’s bald head, humming a soft melody as he does it.

He misses her, she realizes. It’s been three days since she got out of the hospital and he hasn’t been over since he dropped her off so, naturally, he jumped on any excuse to come by.  Her eyes well with tears and she turns away, heading back to the living room while she yanks her emotions in check.  Of course, he misses her.  He’d spent nearly every waking moment at the hospital with her and, when he’d brought them home, he’d stayed to help, even going so far as to send Emma to bed for a nap so that she’d be rested for the inevitable overnight feedings.

It’s a bit later when he wanders into the living room, looking slightly disappointed and somehow, she knows exactly why.  

“She went down about ten minutes before you got here,” she tells him apologetically.

“Yes, well, she’s sleeping like an angel,” he says, his eyes lowering to the carpet and rocking back on his heels.  Silence descends for a moment and then he shuffles around, scratching at the back of his ear.  “Is there anything else you need? I could – ”

“You can stay,” she interrupts. “You don’t need an excuse.  Have a seat and I’ll throw together some food. I’m starving.”

His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas and then he’s motioning for her to sit back down.  “No, let me.  I make a mean chicken and vegetable linguine.” When she hesitates, he hurries on, “You’ve been forfeiting your sleep to feed our little girl.  The least I can do is feed you in return.”

She’s a little shocked she manages to hold in the choked sound that threatens to escape.  He cooks, too?  How is he even real?  

“Sure, but I don’t have…”

“Oh, no worries, I got my own groceries while I was shopping for yours.  Just let me run to the car and grab them.”  He practically skips to the door and it’s not until he walks back in that she realizes she's been starting at it the entire time, completely dumbfounded at how perfect he is.  

She follows him into the kitchen and starts pulling pans out, intending to help, but he shoos her away, telling her to relax.  “All the parenting books say you should sleep when the baby is sleeping, Swan.  Go rest, I've got this.  I'll fetch you when it's ready.”

She capitulates easier than she usually would.  Having a man putter around in her kitchen is not something she ever would have thought to allow before, but she's exhausted and he's already humming again, rifling around in the drawers until he finds the cutting board and carving knife.

It's not a desire to hear him singing softly that has her muting the TV when she settles on the couch and it's not because she’s imagining how amazing it would be if this was actually their life. She’s just taking his advice:  Sleep while the baby sleeps.  

(But that doesn't account for the smile she wears as she listens.)

It’s dark when she opens her eyes again, the smell of something delicious filtering through the air.  She walks to the kitchen to find two full plates of uneaten food going cool on the counter before she hears the soft murmur of his voice coming from Hope’s room.  She enters just as he applies the second piece of tape to the diaper he’s just changed and watches him brush his nose over Hope’s forehead.  

“There’s my little lass,” he whispers to her, “feel better now that you’re clean and dry?”  Hope gurgles and he nods as though she’s answered in the affirmative.  “Good.”

Gathering his daughter up, he turns and spots her in the doorway and a grin breaks out to match her own.  “And how about you, love?  Feeling better now that you’re rested?”

“Yeah,” she replies, surprised at how throaty her voice sounds.  “Thank you.”

“Well, why don’t you feed this wee one while I warm up our dinner?”

“Okay,” she agrees.  

When she joins him a few minutes later, he’s got the table set and has moved Hope’s swing to the space in between their chairs.  He spends the entire meal with a happy smile on his face and his eyes on his daughter while she describes every mundane detail of the last three days.  

And, yeah, the man can definitely cook.  She polishes off the plate and even uses a piece of garlic bread to soak up the remaining sauce, drawing his gaze when she moans at how incredible it is.  His eyes darken with outright greed for an instant, his tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip, but he covers it immediately, averting the dazzling blue back to Hope.

Three months later, he shows up again at her request, this time with a prescription bottle and, strangely enough, a bouquet of flowers.  (How on earth did he know it was her birthday?  Because she’s sure she’s never told him.)  He sets the flowers on the table without a word and pulls a fussy Hope from her arms, heading straight to the kitchen to measure out the bubblegum flavored antibiotic and coaxing Hope to drink it.  Her frayed nerves are completely forgotten as she stands in the doorway, her eyes flitting between him and the flowers.  

“How did you know?” she asks.

He turns, a bit distracted as he wipes the dribble of pink medicine that Hope didn’t swallow from her chin.  “Know what, love?”

“That it’s my birthday.”

His eyes shoot to hers and his brow furrows.  “It’s your birthday?” he asks in surprise.

The intensity of his gaze is unnerving and she shuffles.  “Yeah.”

“I… I didn’t know.”

Her stomach drops to her shoes, realization blooming that the flowers aren’t for her.  She must have interrupted a date or something.  

He’s staring at her with a wrinkled brow when she finally has the courage to look at him, Hope perched on his shoulder while he idly rubs her back.  Then, inexplicably, his face morphs to a tender expression, his words soft when he replies, “I got them to celebrate the anniversary of…  Well, it was a year ago today that we… met.”

Understanding dawns on her, not just about the flowers, but why Killian’s eyes are suddenly so full of compassion and empathy.  He’s just realized how she spent her last birthday (and nearly every other one she’s ever had)… sitting alone in a quiet bar, not a friend in sight.  Shame washes through her and she escapes to the bathroom before he can say anything else.  

He doesn’t make a big deal of it when she finally reemerges, but he brings flowers on her birthday every year after that – along with a cake that is big enough to feed more than one person.

***

They fall into a rhythm over the next few years, working together to raise Hope.  There are still times when she looks at him and her blood races (okay, it’s nearly every time she looks at him), but she never acts on them.  Mostly because she doesn’t see that same feeling crossing his face anymore (okay, she sees it occasionally but not nearly as often as she used to).  And, besides, this is how she wants it.

Right?  

Her life is nearly perfect. She’s got a sweet and bubbly daughter who wants for nothing and a man who loves their little girl as much as she does.  And they make quite the team – as Killian likes to say.  And somewhere along the way, she’s even amassed a group of loyal friends.  

Yes, her life is more perfect than she’d ever dared hope for and risking that…  well, she’s not sure she wants to risk that…

Then again, she thinks to herself, staring a hole into the head of the redhead across the playground, maybe there’s something she would risk…  Like a quiet murder…  Because there is absolutely no reason that… woman needs to flaunt her obvious boob job quite so… blatantly.  

Tightening her hand into a fist, she crosses the playground, barely stopping to wave to Hope who is at the top of the slide.  Killian is a huge fan of the park.  They meet here on a regular basis to drop off Hope since it’s central between their apartments and it’s certainly not the first time she’s shown up for their swap to find him talking to some bimbo-looking-single-mother but there’s something about it today that makes her hackles go up.  It probably has something to do with the way Killian shuffles on his feet while he chats with the woman – and did he just scratch behind his ear?!

That endearing but tell-tale sign nearly stops her in her tracks and she has to grapple for breath because she’s never once seen him do that to anyone outside their tight circle of friends. And it’s only slightly mollifying when he sees her approaching and his eyes light up.  

He immediately introduces her to the redhead – Caitlin is her name – and she’s the mother of one of Hope’s classmates.  

It’s a miracle that she’s able to keep her voice polite.  

“I was just telling Killian how much Abigail enjoyed the story he read to the class last week.  Did he tell you about it?”

“No, he didn’t,” she replies while snakes snap around in her stomach.

“Yes, well, remember the day Hope left her coat at my place and I ran by the school to drop it off?  Mrs. Gibson caught me in the hall and insisted I come in and before I knew it, I was holding a book of fairy tales.  She’s quite the formidable woman and turning her down didn’t seem like a wise choice.”

Emma almost laughs at that. Almost.  Under normal circumstances she would.  And under normal circumstances she’d tease him about what a pushover he is.  Because, yes, while Hope’s teacher is formidable, Killian probably jumped at the chance to read to the class.  He absolutely adores reading aloud to Hope.  But today, with these snakes taking bites out of her stomach, she just raises an eyebrow.  

“Let me guess.  Peter Pan, right?”

And if she feels like it’s a victory when he shuffles and scratches behind his ear again before dashing away to gather Hope, she’d never admit it.  

Her eyes follow him as he crosses the playground and she sees the woman beside her doing the same – along with several other women watching from the scattered benches circling the jungle gym.

She wants to excuse herself from and go after him, to grab him by the lapels of that black leather jacket and stake her claim on him in no uncertain terms, but the woman draws her into a conversation about the upcoming festival at school and she can’t be that rude.  So she’s stuck chatting for a minute, which turns into several minutes when the kids beg Killian to play pirates and princesses and, pushover that he is, he agrees.

To be honest, now that she’s talking to the woman, it feels like an innocent exchange.  She seems nice, like someone Emma would hang out with if she’d met her under different circumstances.  But her eyes keep drifting back to Killian every so often and – wow – she’s really got to get ahold of her murderous tendencies.  

(Not that she can blame her. He’s a stunning man and he’s friendly to everyone.  I mean, even the grandmothers fluff their hair when he’s around and he treats every one of them, young or old, with the same gallant cordiality.)

It’s not until a few months later that she realizes her murderous tendencies might just win after all…

Emma and the girls are out celebrating Mary Margaret’s (finally) engagement.  They’re at a club around the corner from Killian’s apartment that he’d recommended to them and who should walk in but ‘little miss redhead’ herself.

She’s obviously a regular here. The bartender calls her by name and she doesn’t even have to give her drink order before a longneck bottle of beer is opened and in front of her.  And if she’s a regular here, then there’s every possibility that Killian learned of this place from her.  Have they hung out here together before?  Did they play pool together at that ancient pool table?  Did he sit next to her at the end of the bar where she plants her generous, tightly-denim-clad –

“Earth to Emma,” Ruby’s voice breaks into her thoughts. “What are you looking -- Wow, she’s hot.  Thinking of switching sides, are you?”

Emma immediately blushes, looking away, horrified when the other girls turn to check out the woman over their shoulders.

“I don’t know what you’re – ”

“Isn’t that the woman who lives in Killian’s building?” Mary Margaret chimes in.  “The one with the little girl… Abigail, I think.”

Emma tries not to, but she can’t stop her jaw from turning to brick with how hard she grits her teeth, which earns an interested look from Ariel.

“You don’t like her, I take it.”

“I don’t know her well enough not to like her,” she retorts and Ruby sniggers.

“You don’t like her because she’s hot and she lives in Killian’s building.”  

When Emma remains stubbornly silent, Ruby nudges her arm.  “Come on Ems, admit it:  You’re jealous.”

She sends her a glare, “No, I’m not.  Killian can do whatever, or whoever, he wants.”

“And you think he’s… doing her?”

Emma just shrugs because she doesn’t really know how to answer, glancing back to the woman as she walks over and picks up a pool cue from the rack on the wall, her traitorous mind conjuring up more images of Killian bending over the pool table with her to help her line up a shot, or bending her back over the pool for some other reason…  

“Emma…”  It’s more the touch of Mary Margaret’s hand landing on hers than the sound of her name that has her drawing a sharp breath.  “Honey, please tell me you know better than that.”

But she doesn’t.  Maybe at one time she did – years ago – back when he used to look at her with heat simmering in those ice blue eyes but now… Now she’s not so sure.  It’s been a while since he’s looked at her like that and… and maybe he’s gotten over it.  Maybe an uncomplicated woman who laughs easily and doesn’t carry all the baggage she does is just what he needs.  

The silence grows heavy and she looks up to see all her friends staring at her with concern and she realizes she’d just said all that aloud.

“I can’t blame him,” she goes on. “He’s entitled to be happy…”

“Well, he’s not doing her,” Ruby says confidently.

“How do you know?”

“Girlfriend is on the prowl,” she explains, nodding in her direction. “And you’d know better than me, of course, but I get the feeling Killian’s the type to satisfy a woman so well that she wouldn’t feel the need to look for…  alternate company.”

Pure relief runs through Emma. He is.  He’s absolutely that type.  Still, it doesn’t completely diminish the doubt.  “But that doesn’t mean he’s not considering it.”

“He’s not considering it either,” Ariel says sardonically.

“How do you know?” she asks again.

She can practically hear their eyes rolling.  “Because he loves you, Emma,” Mary Margaret puts in.

And mortifyingly, that has tears springing to her eyes. “He…  doesn’t. Why on earth would he?”

“Oh Emma,” Ariel takes her free hand.  “He absolutely adores you.”

“He does,” Ruby agrees.  

“And you love him,” Mary Margaret adds softly.

Emma wants to deny it – or possibly sink into a dark abyss to get out of admitting it – but they’re all looking at her with such understanding and patience… and these women – these women know her – they know her in ways no one else does.  And they know Killian.  And they look so sure of themselves that the truth slips from her mouth before she can stop it.

“Yeah, I do.”

Then there’s a moment – a moment when all of their expressions turn from concern to pride, a moment when she realizes just how blessed she is to have these women in her life.  Women who never judge her, never push her.  And she meets each of their eyes in turn, realizing that not only are they proud of her, but she’s also proud of herself.

Mary Margaret breaks the moment, releasing her hand and sitting back in her chair with a blinding smile. “Well, now that you’ve finally admitted it, what are you going to do about it?”

“I… I don’t…”

“Jump his bones,” is Ruby’s suggestion and they all laugh.

***

It’s a few days later when he calls to ask if she’d like to join him and Hope for a trip to the children’s museum and Emma feels butterflies in her stomach.  But…  It’s not a date.  He’s not asking her out.  They do this sort of thing all the time.  They both treasure Hope too much to miss any of her ‘firsts’ and this outing just falls under that category.  

But she does go out of her way to look nice.  She does leave her hair down because he made a casual comment a while back about how lovely her hair looks that way.  And she does put on her most expensive perfume.

She watches him carefully the whole day, still plagued with doubt no matter how sure her friends are.  He’s not acting interested.  He’s just Killian.  Sure, he smiles and teases her a bit but his focus is almost completely on Hope – which is exactly where it should be.  

It’s not until they sit down to watch the dinosaur film that she notices it.  She’s hyper-aware of him now, so when his fingers unnecessarily brush her skin as he drapes his arm over Hope’s shoulders, she glances his way and catches the little glimpse of tenderness that she would have missed before.  Then later, at the pizza place, he does it again when he helps her with her coat, an unnecessary but slight graze of his fingers on the back of her neck.

But she still isn’t sure.  So she decides to test him.

They make it back to her place and she fidgets around the living room while he puts Hope to bed, surprised with how nervous she is.  It’s just Killian.  This isn’t something they haven’t done a hundred times before.  All she has to do is offer him a beer and he’ll stay. There’s no need to pace this floor trying to come up with a reason… She’ll offer him a beer and –

And there he is, walking back into the living room, completely relaxed and comfortable in her home and for the first moment in maybe her entire life, she can see exactly what she wants her future to be.  

She realizes she’s smiling, her nerves momentarily forgotten and he smiles back.

“She’s asleep?” she asks.

“She was asleep before I even laid her down,” he tells her.

That makes her chuckle.  “Yeah, she had a full day.  Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming.  It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

It’s an off-hand comment but her heart flutters at his sincerity and she turns away, grabbing at a few toys to keep her hands busy.  It’s a near thing when he meets her at the toy chest with a few toys of his own, but she manages not to suck in a breath at his sudden closeness.  God, does he have to smell so good all the time?

She puts some distance between them because she needs air that doesn’t smell of him if she’s going to put together a coherent sentence, her mind grappling for some reason to get him to stay and, thankfully, she comes up with the perfect excuse.

"Mary Margaret told me that you're planning David's bachelor party."

He hesitates for half a second and her stomach plummets.  "Yes, well being the Best Man and all, it's my job. And you're planning Mary Margaret's bachelorette party, I hear. No worries, lass, I know it's my night to have Hope and I've already arranged a sleepover for her with one of the mothers from her class so that we can both fulfill our duties."

"Oh? Which mother?" she asks.  

It better not be… "Abigail's.” Of course it is…  “You've met them before. She lives two stories down from me. She's a nurse and I've helped her out with Abigail a few times when she's had to work over, so she was happy to repay the favor."

Her confidence takes a knock as she mumbles under her breath, but she doesn’t let it deter her.  "Ruby said her mother would be happy to keep her, if we need it."

"While I'm sure Hope would love that, she's already excited about staying over with her friend, so maybe next time."

Let it go, Emma.  Let it go, now. "Well, it was just a thought… Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Ruby and I wanted to do something special and we need a, ah… co-conspirator from the men's camp."

He raises that ridiculous eyebrow of his. "And what, exactly, would we be conspiring about, Swan?" he asks.

Her nerves are immediately abated and she snags a couple of beers before they settle on the couch so she can tell him her plan.  

While she speaks, a slow and devastating smile blooms on his face that has in heart fluttering again. "Never knew you were such a romantic, Swan."

"I'm not," she denies, "It was Ruby's idea, not mine."

But her denial is futile. The man can read her like a book. "Uh huh," he says slowly, narrowing his eyes on her.

"Okay fine, maybe it was my idea. They've just been really good friends to me and I wanted to do something special for them."

His grin widens. "I do believe you've gone soft, darling."

Oh, if he only knew… "So, will you help?"

"Of course I will, love. I don't deny being a romantic."

No, he doesn’t.  Why else would he bring her flowers every birthday?

"I know," she replies drawing a deep breath for courage.  

This is it.  This is the test.

Watching carefully, she takes his empty beer bottle, making sure to brush her fingers along his when she does it.  And there it is, the slight darkening of his eyes that she’d been hoping for.  

She smiles in victory as she walks to the kitchen to place their empty bottles into the recycling bin and takes a minute to catch her breath before she goes back to the living room.

Wow, that look had been pure sin.  

***

She thinks about that look for the next week, visions of it creeping into her mind at all hours.  

He wants her.  There’s no question.  But, wanting isn’t the same as loving.  And maybe the reason he’s never acted on the wanting is because that’s all it is.  

He’s an honorable guy.  And he adores his daughter.  And he’d never do anything to endanger his relationship with her mother over something so shallow as simple sex.

But… but maybe he just knows her that well.  Maybe he realizes how damaged and broken she is.  She’s never told him how similar their histories are but maybe…  Maybe that’s why he’s never asked.

It’s terrifying when she thinks of it, putting her heart out like that, laying everything on the line and giving him the power to crush her.  Every other person she’d given that power to has done just that:  crushed her.  

But she can’t deny it anymore. She loves him and she’s going to have to do something about it before some other uncomplicated woman comes swooping in to take him away.

Drinking will help.  

Mary Margaret’s bachelorette party is tonight and drinking will definitely help her work up the courage to find out exactly how he feels about her.  

(And, if she doesn’t like the answer, she can pretend tomorrow that she doesn’t remember anything.)

(Yes, she realizes how fucked up that is.)

(But isn’t the reason she’s in this mess because of how fucked up she is?)

It goes exactly as she plans. She drinks and drinks and her inhibitions get lower and lower.  She’s got the courage to lean her head on his shoulder while they watch David and Mary Margaret dance together, and she doesn’t even hesitate to warn off the simpering brunette who seeks him out not only once, but twice – even after he blew her off earlier in the night.  

She lucks out that there are only two empty chairs when they return from the bar with drinks for everyone. His brother, Liam, takes one and she’s not about to pass this up, so she pushes Killian into the other and settles on his lap.  It’s a thrill when she notices how his knuckles go white on his glass and she doesn’t miss the low groan that rumbles in his chest when she plays with his hair.

She also doesn’t miss the looks her friends send her.  

(Maybe she should have gotten their opinion on this little plan of hers, but she really wasn’t in the mood to listen to them tell her how stupid it was.  Because if they knew how calculated she’s being, those looks would be disapproval instead of encouragement.)

(The thought sends a sharp pang of guilt through her system and she reaches for another shot.)

The DJ announces the final ballad and she drags him to the dance floor with her.  Sitting on his lap had been encouraging but it was hard for her to spy on his expressions that way, so she really wants to be face to face with him for a while.  He tries to keep some distance between them while they sway to the dreamy song but she’s not having it tonight.  Tonight, she lines her body up to his and grips at his hip to keep them close together. The song is nearly over when she realizes her intention to watch his expression has been completely forgotten, her eyes closed and her forehead resting against his the entire time.  It feels perfect, though, so she doesn’t pull away, but she does open her eyes just enough to examine the mouth that is so close to hers, noticing the quick intake of breath he takes when she runs her hand up his arm to settle it on the back of his neck.

The car ride back to her apartment is another matter.  It’s cold outside and the whipping wind that hit her before they climbed in sobered her a little.  But she’s still a little hazy, so she leans against him – he’s so comfortable – and closes her eyes while the city lights streak by out the window.  

She’s nearly drifted off to sleep when they arrive at her apartment and she admonishes herself for it because this whole plan will be for nothing if she passes out now.  Thank god for how much a gentleman Killian is when he catches her just before she faceplants on the pavement and thank god for the biting Maine wind that serves to sober her even more because, dammit, she doesn’t want to actually forget what happens.

She concentrates on sobering further during the elevator ride.  His hand is warm in hers and she doesn’t let go, her drink addled brain making her think that maybe she can pull some of his soberness from him if she hangs on.

She pulls him toward the couch as soon as they enter her apartment because her body is thrumming with the need to tuck herself into him without all their friends watching.  She wants to bite that perfect neck of his that has tempted her too many times to count over the years.  But he’s directing her toward the kitchen first, insisting that she take some aspirin, and really, he thinks of everything.  

And there’s that neck, with its muscled cords tempting her like the fucking poison apple in the Garden of Eden and she just can’t help herself.  Her inhibitions are down enough that she’s already up on her toes before she realizes what she’s doing, inhaling his scent and barely resisting the urge to run her teeth over the sexiest freckle she’s ever encountered in her life.

She hides her disappointment when he thrusts the glass into her hand like a shield, obediently plucking the aspirin from him and tossing it back.  

When she lowers the glass, she catches the way he’s watching her, a little wrinkle between his eyebrows like he’s worried about how drunk she is, so she does her best to sound in full control when she thanks him for taking care of her.  

"You'd do the same for me, Swan," he replies, scratching behind his ear.

It’s the ear scratch that gives her the courage to go on.  "I'm not just talking about tonight.  You're always there when I need you and I don't thank you nearly enough. I know you do most of it because of Hope but - "

"I do it for both of you," he cuts her off.

And that’s it.  She’s completely sober now.  Because she realizes that’s exactly what she needed to hear – and she didn’t even have to trick it out of him.  He cares for her as much as he does for Hope – who she knows he adores with every cell of his being – and he said it like it was simple fact.

So she dives for him, meeting his mouth with hers for the first time since the night that still haunts her dreams.  And she does it without a single doubt in her mind.  

His arms are strong and sure when they engulf her, his mouth as avid as hers when he returns the kiss but, gentleman that he is, he stops way too quickly.  

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows he’s right to put on the brakes but she disregards what she knows and because this moment is too important and she doesn’t want it to end yet, so she resorts to begging – please, Killian – and putting enough pressure on his collar to bring their foreheads back together.  

He groans low and deep and that’s all she needs to press her lips back to his.  Then he takes the kiss and runs with it, pulling her flush against his body and burying his hand in her hair.  She glories in the fisting of his hand on the back of her sweater and in the way his body slides against hers when he dips his head to catch her bottom lip, her hand planting firmly on his back to slip her leg between his.  

And, god, he’s already hard, she can feel the erection even through both layers of clothes and the knowledge leaves her gasping.  

And then he’s pulling away again, grounding out her name like it’s a prayer and – jesus, she loves the sound of her name on his lips.

His eyes are impossibly wrecked, blown wide with want and confusion, and she’s suddenly reminded of the way he looked at her on the night they met.  It was the same look then.  Like he didn’t quite believe she was real.  It’s the look that scared her even when it gave her hope.  The same one that had chiseled out the first brick of the wall she’d built around herself.  And seeing it again now makes her understand that he’s managed to whittle away every single brick, scattering them in every direction.  Slowly and steadily, he’s demolished her defenses and she never wants to erect them again.  

She almost tells him (Christ, she wants to tell him), but she holds it back – not because she has any doubts left but because he would doubt it if she said it right now.  She’s drunk and he knows it and no matter how lucid this realization is, he’d never believe it when she’s this impaired.  So she goes with another confession instead.

“Do you remember the night we made Hope?”

His eyes darken to nearly black and his breath catches, planting his forehead against hers before he answers in a gritty voice, “I remember every detail, love.”

“So do I… I remember everything,” she admits.  And she does. She remembers every single detail, “I dream about it sometimes… about what it was like to be with you.”

“I dream about it, too,” he confesses, the severity of his accent telling her how true the words are.  

She can’t stop herself from kissing him again and she wouldn’t want to try.  Her body is starved for him, memories of the last time they did this rushing into her mind.  But it’s not only those memories that have her directing him toward the couch. There’s also the memories of him smiling at her from across the room, winking at her over Hope’s head, extending his hand to her to help her down a wobbly flight of steps.  And with each memory, the tug in her stomach gets stronger, the emotions all-consuming.  

His hands are everywhere, cupping her cheek one second and grabbing at her ass in the next.  His mouth is open to hers and she nibbles at his upper lip even as he bites down on her lower one.  They’re perfectly matched, just like that first night, their bodies instinctively knowing where to touch and how much pressure to use to drive the other into madness.  

She doesn’t know where on earth the lamp comes from but she’s pretty sure it’s not the alcohol that has her tripping over it.  Still, it’s enough for Killian to slow things down, telling her that she’s drunk and they shouldn’t be doing this right now.  

She tries to convince him that it’s not the liquor – because it’s not, and please, she doesn’t want to stop now… Her head is fuzzy with love and she tries one last time to tempt him by rubbing her hand over his throbbing erection but…  well, he’s Killian and he’s too damn honorable.

“Tomorrow,” he gasps, putting firm hands on her shoulders and forcing her to look him in the eye, “Tell me this tomorrow.  I want you, Swan.  All of you.  And if we do this and you regret it in the morning I... Tell me this when you're sober and clear-headed and I promise, I'll give you everything, everything I have to give.”

He looks desperate.  And guilty.  And while she’s pretty sure she could talk him into this, she also knows he’d beat himself up for it afterwards.  Because while she knows it wouldn’t be just a quick fuck, he wouldn’t – not for sure, anyway. So she releases his collar and walks away without another word before she changes her mind.

She’ll tell him tomorrow.  She’ll convince him tomorrow.  Because now, she’ll have to courage to do it ‘sober and clear-headed.’

But tomorrow there’s a wedding. A wedding they both have to attend.

***

She hydrates like a madwoman as soon as she wakes up, downing a near gallon of water and several more aspirins. It takes a great deal of restraint not to call him immediately but while she’d like to, she doesn’t want to rush this conversation and… there’s a wedding today that they can’t be late for.

She manages to fend off her friends’ questions regarding last night while they get the bride ready – today is about Mary Margaret, not her – but Ruby sends her a knowing glance when Killian drops off Hope because there’s no mistaking the tension in his shoulders when he catches a glimpse of her.  

She wishes she could chase after him to relieve that tension but Mary Margaret needs help with her veil and she is the Maid of Honor, after all.

He watches her with unmasked adoration as she walks down the aisle and she tries to waylay his nerves with a smile of her own.  But it seems their history still has him disbelieving and there’s nothing she can do about it until she can get him alone.  

But she can’t get him alone yet. They’re in the middle of a wedding. Still, she tries again when they’re walking out, her arm linked in his.  

“Later,” she whispers to him, hoping he understands that it’s the promise she means it to be.  

And maybe that’s enough to convince him since his eyes soften to a cool blue that has her stomach somersaulting. Or maybe not, since they’re back to questioning when they get ready for their dance – and this time she doesn’t have time to reassure him before Hope is there, begging to dance with her daddy.

She’s going to have to do something more blatant, she thinks to herself.  And when she comes up behind him, her heart melting at the way Hope’s head is laying against his shoulder while David and Mary Margaret climb into their fairy-tale looking carriage, she goes for it.  

She wraps her arm around his waist while they wave goodbye to the newlyweds, then takes it a step further by brushing her lips over his and asking for a ride home, making sure to add that she’s only had one glass of champagne.  

He looks stunned but delighted and he agrees, carrying Hope to the car and opening her door for her before buckling Hope into her car seat.  

They both stay quiet during the drive so that Hope won’t wake up and they put her to bed together when they arrive back at her place.  He still looks nervous and she realizes she’s nervous now, too, but she takes his hand anyway and pulls him along with her to the couch, determined to be brave tonight even without liquid courage.

But the nerves are suddenly overwhelming and she can’t make herself meet his eyes, so she traces the hand she’s still holding and looks at it instead.  “I'm sorry about last night.  You were right.  I was drunk and I never should have put you in that position.”

“It's alright, love. We can pretend it never happened if you want.”

His answer not only stuns her but also brings back every fear she’s ever had to the surface, her heart freezing in her chest as she looks away.  “Is that what you want? To pretend it never happened?”

“God, no, Emma. I just…”

Oh, thank god.

“I told you a long time ago I'm not good at this.” And she’s not.  She sucks at it.  “I'm not good at… at talking about…  But I never… I never told you why.”

Then she tells him about her past. Something she’s never shared with anyone.  She tells him how she was abandoned when she was a baby, and abandoned again when the Swans sent her away – and she can see the molten fury on his face before he pulls her forward into his arms, his voice hoarse with sympathy when he tells her how sorry he is.

She takes comfort from his warmth and swallows hard before she continues, “I was moved around a lot after that.  I was never in one place for more than six months until I aged out of the system.”

She puts pressure on his chest so she can look him in the eye while she tells him the last of it because this is the most important part, even if she has to stutter through it.

“I never had anyone I could count on.  Never.  I was always alone… until I met you.  And you… You changed me.  You made me want to trust you.  When I found out I was pregnant, I almost didn't tell you.  I was terrified because even that first night you made me feel things I didn't want to feel.  But I couldn't not tell you… And then you were there… every time I needed you, you were there… and I told myself it was just because you wanted Hope, not me, because no one has ever wanted me but I think maybe, maybe you do?  And maybe – ”

“I do, Emma.  I do want you… in every way possible.”  

She’s so stunned she can’t think of a single reply but, as always, he comes to her rescue, leaning forward to rub their noses together.

“And I don't just want you, darling.  I love you… more than anyone I've ever known – except maybe our daughter – and if you let me, I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

And this time the reply is easy. “I love you, too.”

His face lights up, his smile blinding as she urges him to his feet and walks him to her room.  

Their first time together had been intense – and more meaningful than any other sexual experience Emma had ever encountered – but tonight…

Tonight, it’s a thousand times more.  Every kiss carries a message, every caress a declaration.  They’re letting go of their painful pasts and looking ahead into a brighter future.  It’s slow and dreamy and everything the phrase ‘making love’ is supposed to imply. Because that’s what it is.  It’s love in it’s truest form.  It’s the stripping of souls to lay them bare in front of the one person that you know will treasure them.  And they do treasure them.  They treasure each other like fine porcelain, gently and reverently building the passion until it bursts through them.  

She’s deliriously happy when she floats down from her second high, Killian breathing heavily into her neck in the wake of his own bliss.  And the words are out of her mouth before she even considers what she’s saying.

“Where are we going to live?”

She’s caught him by surprise but she doesn’t regret the words, so she continues as though his shoulders haven’t gone suddenly stiff, rubbing her lips over his forehead, “Your place is closer to Hope's school, but Mary Margaret and David are going to be living in her apartment now and it would be nice to have a couple of built-in babysitters a door away.”

He stays quiet for another second and she thinks maybe she’s pushed too far, so she opens her eyes to meet his. “Too soon?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer with words – but he does use his mouth, delivering a kiss so enthusiastic that she giggles.  

“While I liked that answer, it really doesn't answer the question.  Where do you think we should live?”

He’s grinning like a fool and, when he finally says something, it’s her who’s caught by surprise. “Marry me, Emma.”

She doesn’t answer with words either, and by the time they break apart they’re both laughing.  

“While I liked that answer, it really doesn't – ”

“Yes!”

Their chests are still shaking with laughter when they fall into the pillows together and she snuggles into his side.

“I think we should live here,” he whispers into her temple.

***

They announce their new relationship to their friends as soon as David and Mary Margaret return from their honeymoon two weeks later.  

To say their friends are happy for them is an understatement.  The girls take her out to lunch a couple of weeks after that just so they can grill her for all the details.  It’s a fun afternoon, full of girl-talk and teasing and no one seems to notice that she doesn’t take an actual drink from the champagne flute in front of her.

When she gets home, she’s cleaning up Hope’s room when the picture on the wall catches her attention and she stares at it while emotion fills her lungs.

Faith, Hope, Love.

Years ago, when she bought that, she’d had none of those things in her life, and she’d bought it to remind herself to make sure her child had all three.  

Now, though, her life is full of hope.  Killian had given her that years ago.  And it’s full of love.  He’d given her that, too.  But the most important thing he’s given her is faith - faith enough that she was able to take that hope and love and make the biggest and most important leap of her life.

And, of course, it was Killian who’d caught her.

She reads the words again as her hand unconsciously drifts to her stomach.  She already suspects she’s pregnant, but she hasn’t said anything to Killian yet.  She wanted to wait until she’d picked up a pregnancy test before telling him and she still hasn’t had time.  But, suddenly, she’s impatient.  She wants to know now.  So she texts Mary Margaret and asks if Hope can come over for a little while so she can make a quick trip to the store.  (It really is nice to have a babysitter next door.)

On her way back from the drugstore she texts Killian to make sure he’ll be home on time.  And she tries to wait until he gets home but that pink box is calling to her like a siren and she can’t wait any longer.  

She’s standing at the sink in their bathroom, holding her breath as she watches the display when she hears Killian’s voice.  

“Emma? Is everything alright, love?”

Is everything alright?  Everything is perfect, she wants to tell him, but she can’t seem to wrap her lips around the words because that second blue line just popped up and…

“Emma? Are you…?  Is that a… a pregnancy test?”

He's looks as shocked as she is when she turns to him, and she feels the smile spread across her face. "I guess we're batting a thousand, sailor."

He's smiling back instantly and then rushing forward to pull her into his arms.

"If it's a girl, I think we should name her Faith," she whispers into his ear.

"Faith, Hope and Love," he replies and rubs her nose with his. "That's perfect… love.”

[maybe-its-5sos]

M’lady (Jason Todd smut)

Requested: Yes Request: A friend asked me to do it :P    Summary: Galas are a lot more boring than you could truly ever comprehend before.  Word count: 767 Warning(s): sexual content Tag: @pinkwitch21 @dcuniversefanatic

You had begged Jason to go to the gala, trying to at least somewhat mend the relationship between him and Bruce, or take the baby steps. Because the tension between them was too much to bear. 

But even you had to admit that this was the most boring event you’ve ever been to in your existence, posh men and women, with fakeness reeking from every inch of the building. Jason seemed to be jawing with every pore, but it wasn’t all bad. Jason looked as handsome as ever, with messy hair and a black suit, a tie messily hanging around his neck, with the first button unbuttoned. He even briefly talked to Bruce, saying hi and asking where the “other brats” were, which to anyone else wouldn’t have been much, but it was something, progress. 

You didn’t look too bad yourself, with a gorgeous dress that Bruce insisted on buying for you, even tho you really didn’t want him to spend the ridiculous amount of money on you. You were wearing gorgeous makeup, including red lipstick and your hair was set in your favorite style. 

The boring nature of the party could put you asleep on your sleep and it was clearly the same for Jason. “Hey, wanna make out in the bathroom?” You ask, gently biting your bottom lip. Jason quickly smiled at you brightly, a mischevious glint in his eyes. “M’lady,” He chuckled, offering his hand, that you quickly took, as he led you to the restrooms. 

They were unisex bathrooms, with a gorgeous dark gray marble floor, and dark gray walls with a mustard yellow accent wall. A large sink table with a huge mirror on the wall, and individual cubes for the actual toilets, nothing like the stuff you see in public schools, with doors that you can see over and under and walls thinner than paper, no. They were individual stalls with thick walls, and doors that fit perfectly and locks that actually worked.

Jason quickly pulled you into one, they were immaculately clean, closing the door behind you and locking it before attaching his lips to yours in a feverous kiss, that took all the breath out of you. Pulling apart to get some air a bright smile laces your face, causing Jason to smile back, “What?” He asks.

But without even answering you attack his lips again, his scruff grazing your skin, as your hand's venture down his sides, suddenly squeezing his package, causing him to give you a questioning sound, raising an eyebrow. 

Suddenly he separates from the kiss, turning your back towards him. “Pull up your dress,” He said as he undid his pants, just pulling them low enough including his boxers to release his length, that had been growing for a while. 

He held you from right above from your hip, causing you to bend over a little bit, as Jason pulled your panties to the sides, the tip of his dick with a small bead of precum on it, gently teasing your folds, the only urgency on both of your minds. 

“Stop messing with me Jay,” You raspily say.

As soon as those words left your lips, he pushed his length into you, causing you both to groan in unison. But this wasn’t meant to be some long drawn out love making session, but just a mere quickly, which happened to be more exciting than half of your sex-life. 

He started moving at a rapid pace, remembering that there’s a party going on outside and these people whisper more than any normal people. His hips knocking into yours heavily and at a fast speed, both of you trying to muffle your moans, unsure of how well you could be heard near the sinks. 

His breathing was getting irregular, and his thrusts inconsistent, a clear sign of his fastly approaching closeness. A few thrust later he bursts, his head swinging back, a light groan leaving his lips, as you slightly slump against the wall. 

He pulls out, turning you back to face him, giving you a light peck on the face, “Let’s get cleaned up,” He said, giving you some toilet paper, while doing the same, and putting his pants back on, as you try to smooth out your dress.

As you leave the cubicle, you smile as Jason is still smoothing out his clothes. “Babe, there’s something on your face,” You chuckle, as Jason looks up in the mirror to see his face covered in red marks.

“Meet ya outside,” you wink, before making your way back to the party room, a smile on your face. 

Masterlist Ask

With love, -K