#there's another line further down that is way cooler :P

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Sundress Season

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k

Tags: Fluff, Domestic af, Hurt/Comfort, Nothing major the Reader got some scratches gardening and Frankie is Concerned, p in v sex, wrap it before you tap it, Size Kink, Sort Of, Exhibitionism, If You Squint, A little, Dirty Talk, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff (plus a little loving smut),Triple Frontier, Frankie “Catfish” Morales, Domestic, Gardening, Outdoor Sex, No Beta

Summary: You and Frankie have just moved into a farmhouse fixer upper and are enjoying the first warm day of spring. A lazy afternoon nap turns into something... more.

Read on Ao3

Leaning the shovel against the white picket fence, you stand back to take an appraising look at your handiwork, squinting against the midday sun. You’ve taken advantage of one of the first truly warm days of spring to plant some blackberry bushes along the boundary of your new home. Sweat slides down your spine and you can already feel a dull ache spreading through your calves and along your forearms, but you toss aside your leather work gloves with a grin, proud of your morning’s work. You brush your hair away from your face with the back of an arm, leaving a trace of dirt along your forehead. “Frankie, come look.”

“One sec.” His answer is muffled, even considering it’s coming from inside the old farmhouse the two of you have just moved into, and you realize he must still be working on the kitchen sink.

You enter the house, surprisingly cool and dim after the sunny warmth outside, and walk to the kitchen. Frankie’s legs jut out from beneath the sink, and all you can see of him are his work boots, khaki pants, and a glimpse of his soft stomach where the rusty red t-shirt he’s wearing has ridden up. You lean against a nearby counter, the smooth stone lip pressing into your lower back, and smile down fondly at him. “How’s the sink coming?”

The house is a dream come true for both of you, but it’s also needed a ton of work both inside and out. You’ve already sanded floors, patched up creaking stairs, painted most of the rooms, and ripped out overgrown hedges that had threatened to take over the yard. Once you’d cleared them out, the yard and gardens became an invitingly open canvas, just waiting for you to make your own.

The two of you had spent several late winter evenings curled up in front of the stone hearth, seed catalogs and plant nursery order slips laid out in front of you, arguing pleasantly over how to cram in every plant both of you want. You’re determined to line the yard with fruit trees and shrubs, while Frankie is surprisingly invested in the beds where he plans to cultivate tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and a variety of herbs. At least you both agreed to leave the large, well-established lilac trees bookending the house, and you’re currently waiting to see who will win the bet about what color the sprawling, thorn-covered rose bushes will be. You’re hoping for a buttery yellow to complement the lilacs, while Frankie is holding out hope that they’ll be the same pale pink as the roses he’d brought you for one of your first dates.

This morning, just when the two of you had made plans to tackle some of the new plantings, the kitchen drain had backed up. You’d decided that job would be better handled by Frankie and headed out to start the landscaping yourself. “Almost there, I just need to…” Frankie’s deep in concentration, and you swear you can almost see him sticking the tip of his tongue out as he focuses. There’s a final sound of metal scraping against metal, followed by a victorious “ha! Try it now.”

“You sure? I don’t want to soak you.”

A muted huff echoes from the space below the sink. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Ok,” you shrug. “Just don’t blame me if you get a faceful of water.” You turn the tap on slowly and watch as the water spirals easily down the drain. “Hey, you did it!”

Frankie braces a hand along the top of the cabinet and pulls himself to his feet. “Don’t sound so surprised,” he teases. “Told you I could do it.”

“My hero,” you say lightly, crossing the floor to kiss his smiling cheek. His scruff scrapes lightly against your face, and you find yourself lingering, especially when he captures your lips for a proper kiss. “Now I can wash some of this dirt off- I feel like I brought half the yard in.” After the hours you spent planting various shrubs and a few small fruit trees, your arms are streaked with dry soil.

“Here, let me help you.”

Frankie steps behind you, his broad form leaning against yours as you stand at the newly repaired sink. His thighs press lightly against your own as his arms encircle your waist. He leans his chin on your shoulder and his messy curls brush against your ear while he begins to run soap over your forearms. You laugh, his efforts mostly just splashing dirty water around, but the cool water is a welcome relief. “Frankie! I can do it myself.”

You can feel him smiling against your neck. “I know, I just- oh.” His voice turns suddenly soft, with a note of worry.

“What is it?”

“Baby, you hurt yourself.” He steps alongside you, examining the delicate skin of your inner arm with a concerned frown. “What happened?”

“What?” You look down and see a few thin, angry red lines streaking the length of your forearms. “Oh, it’s nothing. The blackberry branches were thorny, that’s all.” You’d been wearing one of Frankie’s flannels for a little extra protection, but it had grown too hot and you’d stripped down to just your t-shirt. “It’s fine, they’ll heal fast.”

Despite your reassurance, Frankie ducks into the bathroom while you pat your arms dry with a clean dish towel and comes back holding some ointment. “They’ll heal better with this.” He flips open the cap and looks up, seeking permission.

You nod, unwilling to deny him anything, especially with that melting brown gaze trained on you. It’s not necessary, but you have to admit- you love that he takes such good care of you. Frankie takes his time, gently stroking a dab of ointment over each small scratch. His light touch quickly takes the sting out of your small hurts, and when he’s finished you catch his hands, bring them up to your lips for a grateful kiss. You adore his hands- so much bigger than your own, strong and capable but still so deft. He ducks his head and smiles and your heart clenches with love for this quiet, loving man.

------- After changing out of your dirt-streaked jeans and into a clean sundress (which, of course, Frankie also offered to help with), you head back to the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge. The cold glass bottle begins beading almost at once, and you hold it against your slightly sunburnt neck. “I was going to go read in the yard for a bit, care to join me?”

“I’ve got a couple more things to finish up here, you go ahead.” Frankie drops a kiss to your temple as you pass, on your way to get a book and an old quilt to spread out on.

“Ok, see you in a bit.” The old screen door swings shut behind you, bouncing slightly before it catches the latch. A project for another day, you think. The two of you have already done plenty, and for now you just want to enjoy the rest of the sunny afternoon.

You spread your quilt out under a flowering magnolia tree which offers just the right amount of shade and lay down on your back. A light breeze stirs the green grass around you and sets the flowering tree branches swaying, a few pale pink petals raining down. Sunlight dapples your face as you relax, enjoying the surroundings of the garden you and Frankie are making together. The book is good, but you find yourself distracted, listening to nearby birdsong and watching billowing clouds scud across the bright blue sky. With the sun warm on your face, it’s not long before your eyelids are drooping.

-------

When you wake up, shadows are lengthening across the yard and Frankie is sprawled out next to you, having come out and dozed off at some point after you did. You lean into his shoulder, still warm from the heat of the sun, and smile against him. There’s a patch of skin just below his hairline and above his collar, and you lean in to kiss him just there. He tastes faintly of clean sweat and you press your tongue against him, seeking the slight taste of salt.

Frankie stirs and sleepily cracks one eye open. “Can I help you?” Try as he might to sound long-suffering, you suspect he enjoys your touch.

“Nope, I’m good.” You toss your book aside and drape yourself over his back, enjoying the slight movement below you as he shifts to accommodate you. It’s getting a little cooler now as the sun slips towards the horizon, but Frankie’s warm, solid presence grounds you. He tenses a little when you lean your head on his shoulder and you pull back at once. “Is your shoulder still bugging you?” He’d pulled it while you were moving and as hard as you try, you don’t always manage to wrest the heavier chores away from him, so it’s been a slow recovery process.

His answer rumbles quietly from below you. “A little. Working on the sink probably didn’t do it any favors.” You lean up at once, straddling his waist so you can massage his neck and shoulders. “Poor thing, you are tight here.”

He hums in agreement, though you can feel the tension begin to leak out of him as you knead his tense muscles. You work a stubborn knot, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder, and as he sighs you can feel him relax further.

You lean down once more, careful to put your weight on your hands, braced against the ground,  and drag your mouth lazily over his neck. Your seeking licks turning to more intent kisses and when your teeth close over his pulse point, Frankie lets out a low groan and bucks his hips. You feel the movement all through him, especially where you’re seated against his ass.

“You want me to stop?” You ask teasingly, getting the expected shake of his head in response. You grind slightly against him before returning to nose at his neck. By the time you trace the shell of his ear with your tongue and nip gently at the cartilage, Frankie has had enough.

He rolls the two of you over with a smooth motion that ends with you flat on your back, and him smiling above you. “Oh, are we done fooling around?” You look up playfully. “I can show you the blackberry bushes before-”

He stops your mouth with a kiss, nipping at your lower lip before licking his way into your mouth. Delight shivers through you and you deepen the kiss, your tongues tangling languidly. You run your hand through his tangled curls, scraping your nails against his scalp. This pulls a soft noise from low in Frankie’s throat as he leans into your touch. His nose brushes yours and he nudges your cheek, trails kisses down your jaw.

Heat is pooling low in your belly and you spread your legs to invite him closer. Frankie takes the hint, canting his hips to drag the growing bulge in his pants against your core while you push back into him. “We should head inside,” you gasp as he moves lower, sucking at the delicate skin of your neck.

“We can if you want, but who’s gonna see?” His large hands cup your breasts and he dips his head to brush kisses over their swells. You arch your back, desperate for his touch even as you look around cautiously. He has a point; there’s no neighbor on this side of the house, just a patch of woods, and you’re well back from the road.

“Good point.” You reach down to tug at the hem of his shirt. Grinning, he sits up for a moment to help you. As soon as he’s shirtless he gets straight back to the task at hand. Frankie’s fingers make quick work of the buttons running the length of your sundress and he pulls the fabric aside, exposing the creamy lace of your bra. Your stomach flips at the sweet, eager look on his face. You’ve been together so many times, but he always makes you feel special, cherished. Despite being outside, potentially exposed, you feel completely at ease in his arms.  

With a quick glance up to check that you’re ok with it, Frankie unclasps your bra and helps you shrug out of it. The air is slightly cooler now, but his warm, broad palms encompass your breasts before the chill can even register. You sigh as his thumb brushes your nipple, and downright shudder when he wraps his plush lips around the stiffening peak. Your legs are writhing almost of their own accord now as you grow desperate for more. “Frankie,” you groan, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips curve into a smile and his tongue darts out to flick against you. It glides along your swollen bud and your pussy aches for more so you hitch your leg over his hip. Frankie grabs your thigh to hold you close and rolls his hips sinfully against you, drawing a desperate noise from deep in your throat. “You like that, baby?”

You nod frantically. “You know I do. You know it drives me crazy when you put your mouth on me.”

Frankie chuckles and sucks your nipple into his mouth, pulling much of your breast along with it. The tugging sensation sends a bolt of desire straight to your cunt and you whine. You seize his jaw and glare, your eyes blown with lust. “If you don’t touch me soon Francisco I swear I will go inside without you and finish the job myself.”

You’re all talk and Frankie knows it. “I am touching you, sweetheart,” he says innocently.

You give an irritated huff and seize his hand, directing him where you want it. His composure slips when his fingers brush the crotch of your panties, already soaked with your need. His gaze flicks to yours, a lovestruck look in his eyes as he asks softly, “is this all for me?”

Biting your lip you nod. “Yes. I need you Frankie, please .”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby.” Frankie hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them over your legs. You kick them off, nearly sobbing in relief as he drags a single finger through your glistening folds.

Frankie closes his eyes reverently. “Shit honey, you weren’t kidding.” His finger comes away coated in your juices and he sucks it slowly before replacing the digit. He adds another finger, the pads slipping just inside your entrance to collect more of your slick before circling your clit. You tip your head back, grasping his shoulders as he gently fingers your slit. Just when you can’t take it, when you’re ready to beg for more, he pushes those fingers into you, stretching you out perfectly. Mewling, you buck your hips, chasing the feeling of him fucking you open.

“Mm, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Never. Think you can take another?”

“Yeah.” Your answer comes as a breathless whine.

“Good girl.” Frankie adds a third finger and you swear it makes you see stars. He curls his fingers to stroke that spot deep inside and you find yourself skating the edge of your release. You’re so close, could so easily tip right over that edge, but it’s not until you hear Frankie murmur “come for me, beautiful” that you actually do. All that gorgeous tension he’s been winding up unspools in a rush of pleasure, your legs shaking and your hips bucking as he works you through it.

You’ve scarcely begun to come down before Frankie’s blazing a trail of kisses down your belly, his hands gently parting your thighs wider to settle between them, keen concentration suffusing his handsome face.

“Wait,” you breathe, catching his jaw with a deft hand.

Frankie draws back at once, concern creasing a furrow between his brows as he gazes up from between your legs. “Everything ok?”

You sit up, already nodding to reassure him as you draw him forward and kiss him deeply. “Everything’s perfect. I just want to come on your cock this time.”

Frankie looks down at you in amazement before pulling you into a crushing embrace. He tilts your chin up to give you a searing kiss, his arm wrapped around your waist. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath tickling your lips as he rasps “You’re perfect, you know that, right?”

You giggle, moved by the awestruck look on his face, and drop your hands to unbuckle his pants. He’s already barefoot, making it easier to push his pants down, followed by his boxers. You glance around again, reassuring yourself that the coast is clear. Clocking what you’re doing, Frankie chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby, we’re good.”

Smiling a little sheepishly, you nod. “I know. Just protecting your honor.”

Frankie begins to laugh softly but the sound is cut off by a hiss as you lick your palm and wrap it around his shaft. “F-fuck.” His eyes roll back in his head as you tighten your grip, working his cock. You brush your thumb over his weeping slit, collecting the pearly bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Now who’s being a t-tease?”

You look up at him innocently through your lashes. “I don’t know what you mean, Frankie.”

“Sure you don’t,” he huffs, his breathing already picking up. “C’mere, baby.” He pulls at your waist, encouraging you up into his lap.

You’re happy to oblige. With a few quick movements, you’re settled above him, his cock lined up with your entrance. Throwing your arms around his neck, you lower yourself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Frankie buries his face in the crook of your neck and meets you halfway, thrusting up to seat himself fully inside you. He always seems even bigger when you’re on top, and he gives you a moment to adjust to being so well-filled.

“You good?”

“You have no idea.”

He smiles at that, clearly pleased. “Then tell me,” he urges, kissing you just below your ear. “Tell me how much you like me stretching you out on this big dick.”

Your eyes flutter closed at this. He knows what dirty talk does to you, knows exactly when it will be the most devastating. “It feels so fucking good, baby,” you assure him. “You’re so thick and you hit so deep. I can’t get enough, want you even deeper. Please, Frankie.”

He sucks hard at your pulse point, his tongue laving your neck as he begins to thrust up into you. “Anything, baby. I will give you anything you ask for. You know that, right?”

Gasping, you nod quickly. “I know, love. I know.”

His fingers tangle in your hair, his strong arms bracing you as he fucks up into you. You match each thrust, grinding yourself on the base of his cock. The two of you find your rhythm and you lean back, allowing him to hit at an even deeper angle. Frankie leans forward, able to reach your breasts now. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, all wet heat and slick tongue moving against you. You whimper and arch your back, trusting him to support you.

He does.

Frankie’s eyes are screwed shut as he pounds into you, determined to take care of you before finding his own release. Your whimpering cries plateau and he can tell you’re not quite there yet. He rests his forehead against yours without missing a beat, opening his eyes to gaze into yours. “What do you need, baby?” He asks it softly, reverently, his large hands cradling your face as if you’re something holy. With him looking at you like this, you almost feel that way.

“Talk to me, Frankie,” you gasp. “Want to hear how much you like this.”

Your want pulls an answering moan from him. “God, you know I fucking love this. You’re so tight, and you take me so well, baby. I could pound this pretty pussy all day.” He snaps his hips, driving himself deeper inside you as if to prove his point.

Your breathing comes faster, your cunt clenching around him as his words drive you closer to your edge. “Fuck, yes, just like that. I’m so close, baby,” you whine.

Frankie cants his hips, hitting that devastating spot deep inside you. His voice is even huskier as he urges you onward. “You have no idea what hearing that does to me, sweet thing,” he pants, sweat dampening his hairline. He runs the back of his hand distractedly over his forehead. He’s not about to let go before you do and he leans in close, his warm breath ghosting against your ear. “ Come for me. I know you want to. I can feel you clenching around me so be my good girl and come for me, sweetheart . ”

And just like that, a wave of sweet pleasure rolls through you. You clutch his shoulders as the two of you ride it together, Frankie moaning against your lips as he finds his own release.

Your head drops to his shoulder, your limbs quivering as little aftershocks zip through them. Frankie holds your limp form easily, dropping lazy kisses over your face and hair while you drift back to the present. Finally, you draw back, a dazed smile tugging at your lips. You blow out a breath along with a tired, please laugh. “That was-”

Frankie chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, pleased to have pleased you. “I know, baby.” His kisses are easy, unhurried, and still make you feel nearly drunk with happiness as the two of you linger lazily in your afterglow.

By now, the sun is truly setting, the horizon taking on a purple hue as the first evening stars begin to appear. Even in Frankie’s arms, you start to shiver as the breeze whispers over your rapidly cooling skin. In a deft move, he tugs at the edge of the old quilt, rolling the two of you into it, creating a cocoon of private warmth. As the sky darkens and more stars appear, the two of you stay wrapped up in each other, making plans for your future in the peaceful space you’re creating together.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Fade

CW: Stab wound, descriptions of wound-packing and stitches, brief reference to child abuse, blood, passing out, talk of going into shock

Follow-up to Jake Being Stabbed

Everything smells like blood.

The smell of it is thick and sticks to the inside of his nose, coats his tongue with the memory of copper-salt-sweet, like when he lost a tooth as a kid by pulling it out, too impatient to wait. Every breath comes with an answering flush of agony radiating from the blurry handle he can see sticking out of his shoulder, he feels sick with pain down to his fingertips, out through his chest.

His heart beats in hammers, working too hard to keep pushing blood that doesn’t want to stay inside him.

His eyes are on the ceiling fan spinning lazily above his head. He needs to change those light bulbs, he thinks. Soon.

“Ne dvigaytes', Misha,” Antoni says, leaning over him, shaggy hair over distant dark brown eyes. Whatever Antoni sees, it’s far, far away from him. But his fingers move quickly, don’t press too hard. “Eto budet bol'no.”

Bol’no. Jake knows that one.

“H-hurt,” He repeats, eyebrows furrowing a little. The ceiling fan is starting to make him feel dizzy.

Or maybe that’s the blood loss.

“Hurt... p-painfully.”

“Da,” Antoni murmurs, emotionless, flat as the side of the knife, and Jake turns his head a little - oh, the world spins when he does that - and sees Antoni’s long fingers closing around the handle of the knife.

“Shit,” Jake whispers, realizing a half-second too late - or early, it doesn’t fucking matter, does it? - what Antoni is about to do. “Wait, Ant, don’t-”

“Nyet doktora, nyet bol’nitsy,” Antoni whispers. “Tol'ko brat'ya.”

“Oh, fuck, no.” Jake allows himself the whimper that escapes without his consent, he tells himself he allows it. His uninjured arm tenses as he closes his hand into a fist, closes his eyes, tries to shut out his knowledge. “Antoni, it’s gonna-... I’ll fucking b-bleed out-”

“Nyet,” Antoni mutters. “Etot byl slishkom napugan chtoby ubit' tebya, ya dumayu.” He pauses, and Jake cracks an eyelid to see Antoni holding out a cooking spoon, the handle horizontal in front of his face. “Bite down,” Antoni says in English, his accent heavier than Jake has ever heard.

But... he thinks... Chris has probably heard him speak like this.

He opens his mouth, obedient and terrified, and the wooden tastes odd against his tongue as he closes his teeth around it. 

“This will hurt,” Antoni says, and picks up the towel again, hovering it over the knife he is gripped tightly onto. “Very much. Bite down.”

He pulls the knife out of Jake’s shoulder in one smooth motion.

Jake’s back arches off the floor, his head jammed back against the tile, as he screams around the spoon, veins standing out in his throat. Antoni jams the towel against the wound in nearly the same second the knife exits and the sharp pain of the blade is replaced by the overwhelming throb of cloth being forced not on but in to the bloodied gash.

Jake keeps screaming, eyes wide open now, vision white and gray and sparking every color there is and several he’s pretty sure he can’t usually see, as Antoni packs the wound with careful, precise, efficient speed.

“At first I think it go through,” Antoni says, almost idly, as if this is nothing more than the average Saturday night for him. “But I see now is blood from front pooling on floor. A good sign. Tonight we fail. What if you leave fingerprints, hm? What then?”

Jake’s screams taper off into grunts, forcing air through his nose, his hand in a fist beating ineffectually against the floor just to have something to do. He’s going to black out. He’s going to black out. He’s going to-

“Yeshche raz, Misha.”

Antoni pushes the cloth viciously further into the wound and Jake’s world goes dark.

-

He swims up from darkness to pain he can’t understand, that his mind simply sets aside and refuses to acknowledge. His shoulder burns like it’s being slowly torn off of his body and he whines, eyes still closed, afraid of the light that turns the backs of his eyelids red. 

It was bound to happen eventually. 

He’d gotten worse and worse.

They didn’t leave in time.

They can go now, though. Right? This will be enough, right? He shudders as his arm is jostled a little, tears running from the corners of his eyes to soak into the short hair by his ears, run further, drip to mix with the blood on the floor below.

This has to be enough to be worth leaving for good this time, right?

“Mom-... fuck, Mom, y-you okay? Shit, shit, h-hurts, Mom, we gotta go, we gotta go-... he’s gonna kill you-”

“Sssshhhh,” She whispers, running her fingers through his hair. Her voice is deeper, but he knows who it is, then. Where he is. When he is. “It’s okay, Jake. I’ve got you. Dr. Masood is here. It’s okay.”

Jake’s eyes open and her brown hair swings around, in waves, she must’ve taken her braid out before someone called her. Nat smiles down at him, concern written in the way her eyes travel over his face, in the tightness of her jaw and the way the lines of her face stand out more than ever, etched in stone. 

“Nat-... h-he didn’t do it on p-purpose, he thought-”

“I know,” Nat says, softly. There’s a spike of pain and Jake turns his head to see the flash of light off a thin needle and unmistakable stiff black thread. He stares at it, barely able to comprehend what’s happening.

Dr. Masood doesn’t look at him. He is far to focused on stitching closed Jake’s shoulder. His own lips are a thin line, and there is nothing but determination in his dark eyes, in the swift motions of his hands, expert, unshaking. 

“Chris told me,” Nat says, running fingers through his hair again, reaching to gently turn his eyes back to her. “That, um, he said his name is Jameson... thought you were someone else. I don’t care about that right now. Just look at me, Jake. You’re not going to bleed out, I don’t think, but you sure gave us a fright.”

“All... all in a day’s work,” Jake says hoarsely, and Nat smiles for him, shaking her head slightly. He blinks a few times - the sharp pain of the stitches is... less present, somehow. Less insistent. He feels a little distant from it, drifting somewhere just beside his own body, not really inside it.

That’s probably not good.

“Where-... where’s... Chris, Ant, everybody-...” He trails off, unable to find the energy to keep asking.

“Chris is in your room with Kauri,” Nat answers, reaching over to take his good hand, right hand, his uninjured arm, closing her fingers around his. He can barely feel her grip. “Ant... I don’t know. I think in the bathroom upstairs. Everyone else is in their rooms.”

“Kauri.” Jake tries to move, and then groans and collapses back to the floor again. “Kauri, shit, he must’ve come back and seen-”

“Kauri called me,” Nat says quietly, evenly. Her voice is careful, not exactly emotionless but not shaking, either. There’s nothing but warmth and certainty there, and Jake lets himself rest in it. “He wasn’t making much sense, and I got here as fast as I could. Chris filled me in once I did. He was-... having some trouble, but he got the words out. Dr. Masood is going to get you sewn up and stabilized.”

“Antoni did excellent work packing the wound,” The doctor is murmuring to himself. “Quality work. Fresh clean cloth, not sterile but better than anything else in your average household... this is shockingly clean for a stab wound, the assailant missed major... everything, really, what absolute good fortune-”

“Dr. Masood?” Nat raises her eyes, and the doctor pauses in his meticulous work to look at her. “His fingers are cold.”

“Numb,” Jake corrects her in a mumble.

“What?” Dr. Masood’s eyes move to Jake, now, but there is no change in his expression of focused scrutiny. 

“M’fingers... numb. Can’t really feel Nat’s hand.”

“Hm.” Dr. Masood goes back to work. Jake thinks he’s working more quickly now. “Natalie, what is Jakob’s blood type?”

“Uh...”

“O positive,” Jake manages. He remembers having to know this for the hospital as a kid. “’M O positive.”

“Lucky you,” Dr. Masood says quietly, and then sits back on his heels, looking up at Nat. Looking at him to jake feels like looking through a campfire, everything wavy and woozy and strange. He feels drunk, and cold. And like he’s looking at himself from across the room. 

He tries to waggle his fingers in a wave. Hey, me.

Dr. Masood is frowning now. “Go to my car and bring in the cooler you find there. It’s not too large, it shouldn’t be hard to carry.”

Oh, the white around his eyes is back, pushing in on his vision, wiping it clean. White and gray and black and red.

What’s red and black and white all over-

“Fuck,” Jake whispers. “Chris is... gonna freak out.”

“Too late for that,” Nat says, matter-of-fact. “We can handle that later. Doctor Masood, why-”

“Jakob needs blood,” Dr. Masood says simply. “And I have been told there will be no visit to a hospital. I can provide some care here. Call your friend who does EMT work, they will be better at emergency stabilization than I am.”

“They might be busy-”

“Then tell them to stop being busy. Jakob Stanton needs blood.” Dr. Masood’s eyes are on Jake’s face again, and his lips thin even more. “I do believe he needs it right now.”

Jake stares back at the doctor’s wavy, shivering face until his vision fades to black.

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @endless-whump

[katzkinder]

Fool’s Gold, Ch 1

Prologue

I should mention that the version up on ao3 has extra content not included in the tumblr updates. The version available on Tumblr is just the story featuring Greed pair, while the ao3 version has some extra bits and bobs. They don’t particularly impact the story, but they do add another layer, and if you like Gear and Youtarou, you might enjoy it! Thank you for being patient with my sporadic schedule ^^

[All That Glitters Is Not]

The first thing Licht noticed upon regaining consciousness was that his head felt like someone had tried to split it open like a melon. The second was that, wherever he was, it was cooler than the weather permitted, and the scratchy sheets beneath his cheek could sorely use a good wash. He wrinkled his nose, groaning as he sat up and clutched his head. The third…

“Ah, good. You’re awake. Was starting to get worried.”

--Was that he wasn’t alone.

Licht whirled, nearly falling off the small bed he had been placed on in his haste and only succeeding in making his aching head spin. The sound of metal clanging against it itself made him grimace, using the sound’s source to finally locate the… Dungeon’s, he supposed, other occupant.

 A suit of armor?

“Hey now, no need to be hasty. You’ll only hurt yourself like that.” The deep voice he had heard was definitely coming from the armor, which sat, almost casually, even, upon a stool with a little wooden serving cart laden down with a pitcher, food, and dishes to serve it on. If he squinted, he could make out the shape of bread and what might have been a block of aged cheese in the darkness, penetrated only by the light of torches placed at regular intervals around the place.

“P… Piss off…” His throat hurt, voice coming out scratchier than he would have liked. “Who are you, and where am I?”

“First, drink this.” A copper cup was pushed at him through the bars, held securely in the jointed fingers of a gauntlet and presumably filled with water. Licht scoffed at it, not budging.

“Not until you answer me. Who. Are. You,” he repeated, carefully enunciating each word as if the man in front of him were some foreign entity just barely capable of understanding him. If suits of armor could look annoyed, this one certainly did, joints creaking as the whole thing sagged with its occupant.

“Do you want the damn water or not?”

“What I want is answers.”

A soft, harsh mutter that was almost certainly a swear, his captor turning to place the cup back in its place amongst the meal’s various other accoutrements. “Listen. If I promise to answer your questions, will you drink something? I don’t need that brat boss of mine giving me an earful over a stubborn kid…”

Licht bristled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed that was, now that he took a moment to look, little more than a cot pushed into the corner, and standing fast enough that the room spun. Stalking towards his unflinching captor, his lip curled back into a sneer, baleful glare trained on approximately where he thought the man’s eyes would be. Gripping the bars of his prison, he pushed his forehead up against the cool metal, duly noting that where he had expected rust he instead found smooth, well cared for material. That would make things more difficult once he was alone again, but it was nothing he couldn’t overcome, he thought.

“I’m not a kid.”

The helmet tilted, arms folding noisily across the chest plate. “You sure are acting like one.”

“I’m not,” Licht insisted. Adjusting his grip, he shoved his face more insistently at the bars, trying to get a look at the layout of the area beyond his cell. It was fairly large, all things considered, with clean, dry stone that looked like it was well fitted together. Directly across from him was a wall with a torch holder, unlit for the moment, though light sources reflected off the silver armor his captor wore from either side of him. To the left and right of that torch were more cells, equally as bare as his own save for a cot and, if he squinted hard enough, the shape of what might have been more bedding underneath.

  No doubt moth eaten and covered in rat shit.

Still, the relatively clean space was… Surprising, and up close like this, he found he was indeed correct in assuming the shape he had seen to be cheese. Bread, cheese, some cured meats, and…

The words he had meant to speak died on the tip of his tongue, facial expression going slack in his befuddlement. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” The man turned at the waist, following his line of sight to a yellow skinned pear sitting innocuously amongst the other foodstuffs, the bottom of which appeared to be colored pink to red at uneven intervals. “... Have you never seen a pear before?”

Licht bit down a snappish reply, stomach giving a sudden rumble in protest to him doing anything that might deny him food he hadn’t until then realized he was sorely needing. “Give.”

“Excuse me?”

“Give me. The pear.” When all that met him was silence, he tore his gaze away, leveling it back again at the other man and ignoring the feel of eyes judging him. “What? You wanted me to eat and drink something, right? So hand it over.”

Slowly, as if he were still putting together the pieces of some sort of complex puzzle, the man moved, passing items through the bars to Licht’s awaiting hands. “You’re… A very strange man.”

“I’m an angel.” And with that, he bit into the fruit’s unblemished skin with a resounding, satisfying crunch. It was sweet, tart, just the slightest bit gritty, but not at all unpleasant as the juices ran down his chin, Licht closing his eyes to savor the taste. “Sho. Ansher my queshons.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full…” was the muttered reply, and feeling eyes boring steadily into him, Licht cracked an eye open, not seeming the least bit sheepish for the halfhearted scolding. “I think it’s pretty obvious where you are, anyway.”

“Hah?”

Shifting to prop his chin in hand, he continued, waving his free round around with a lazy, lackadaisical motion. “Look around. It’s a dungeon-”

“But where, and why, and who the hell are you?”

“Guildenstern.”

Finally receiving an answer mollified him, somewhat, Licht finally picking up the cup to take a drink and, after giving it a cursory sniff, finding that he quite disliked the metallic taste the copper imbued everything with. Still, it was refreshingly cold against his parched throat, so he couldn’t complain too much, all things considered. “Guildenstern, huh… What’s with the armor?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Least comforting thing you could have said.”

A snort, Guildenstern rising to his feet with a grunt and the creaking of nearly every joint in the whole uncomfortable looking mess, in Licht’s opinion. Yet Guildenstern didn’t seem too bothered by what was undoubtedly a getup that only made his life harder. “Wasn’t supposed to be. Behave yourself. Boss’ll want to know that you’re awake.”

Licht rolled his eyes, stuffing a hunk of bread into his mouth next. “Good. Bring him here so I can kick his ass for making me late for dinner. My parents are going to start worrying if I don’t get home soon. Angels don’t make their parents worry.”

For a moment, Guil paused, and Licht got the distinct, infuriating feeling that he was being pitied by those unseen eyes. “... I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be.” Soon left alone with nothing but a quickly depleting meal and his own thoughts as the loud clanking steadily faded away, Licht eyed the door of his cell, slowly chewing in order to better savor the flavor of the fruit while he thought.

Well, he supposed, there was no use in overthinking it. After all, an angel’s power was absolute and he could overcome anything he set his mind to.

Satisfied with his conclusion, Licht stood, wiped the back of his mouth on his grass and dirt stained sleeve, approached the cell’s door… And kicked with all his might. One way or another, he was going to get out. Guildenstern hadn’t been wrong about it being obvious where he was. He knew without a doubt the where, he had an inkling of the why, but he didn’t particularly want to stick around and confirm his theory. Such a nice meal for a prisoner, when provided by a demon, could only mean one thing. He wasn’t about to be the fattened up main course for any monster, and that getting any info out of the man stationed to guard him had been so difficult only further cemented it in his mind.

“Tch.”

The lock held steady. Once more, then. Once more, once more, as many times as it took…

“Stupid piece of… Just-!” Clang! “Die-!” Clang! “Already-!”

“First you steal my flowers, now you try and break my stuff? After I so graciously provided you with food, too. Maaan…”

Licht growled, the new irritating voice prompting him to put even more power into the swing of his leg than he had been. Although the whole door rattled in its frame… It did not give way. He swore, stepping back as a looming shadow approached.

Glittering golden scales and wickedly curved horns, razor sharp fangs and eyes that burned like hellfire, all wrapped up in cloth as dark and decadent as the pitch of night…

“You sure are a firecracker who just doesn't know when to quit, aren't ya~? Guil says you think you’re an angel. Ha! That’s a riot! So tell me, lil angel…” The dragon leered at him, curling one clawed hand around the bars of his prison while Licht glared back, baring his teeth at the monster before him. “What kind of punishment is suitable for thieves~?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

A startled laugh, smoke curling out from behind unsettlingly human lips. “Ohh, I am gonna have fun~ With~ You~”

A demon, through and through.

[withthingsunreal]

hey guys

did y’all know there’s a limit to how many links you can have in a post

adventure time masterpost part one

♥=my favourites Ω=significant plot (though sometimes this is not immediately obvious) ♪=a song happens ♫=a personal fave song happens ¿=just don’t try to think about it too hard okay

SEASON SIX

Ω 6x01/6x02 - Wake Up/Escape from the Citadel [WATCH] - Finn and Jake need to get to the Citadel, and Prismo agrees to help. But the Lich beats them to it, and it seems he's got some plans of his own.

♥ 6x03- James II [WATCH] - An excess of James.

6x04- The Tower [WATCH] [alt]- Finn's missing his arm, so he decides to build a tower into space so he can punch his dad and steal HIS arm instead. Solid plan, right?

¿ 6x05 - Sad Face [WATCH] - A circus, and a clown.

♪ 6x06 - Breezy [WATCH] - Finn's flower isn't doing so well, and Finn himself isn't feeling anything, but his new bee friend Breezy wants to help. Stay tuned for spook (me, that's me) starting a petition to retitle this show 'what the hell did I just watch.'

¿ 6x07 - Food Chain [WATCH] - Finn and Jake learn about the food chain by, um, living it.

6x08- Furniture & Meat [WATCH] - Mo' treasure, mo' problems.

6x09 - The Prince Who Wanted Everything [WATCH] - LSPrincess has a story to share with the Ice King, and LSPrince has a lesson to learn from Fionna the Human.

6x10 - Something Big [WATCH] - Something something Maja something Ancient Psychic Tandem War Elephant something something feelings?? Listen I don't know what I'm watching anymore ok

♪ 6x11 - Little Brother [WATCH] - Shelby has an accident, ends up with a little brother, and turns to Jake for brotherly advice. Well, giving Finn a sword worked out pretty well...

6x12 - Ocarina [WATCH] - Kim Kil Whan buys the treehouse and tries to teach Jake a lesson about responsibility. It goes suuuper well.

6x13 - Thanks for the Crabapples, Giuseppe [WATCH] - Ice King and his fellow offbeats go on a wizard road trip to form their own secret society.

6x14- Princess Day [WATCH] - Breakfast Princess gets rude with LSP. Mistake! Time for her and Marceline to mess up the Breakfast Kingdom way bad.

6x15 - Nemesis [WATCH] - There's a great evil in the Candy Kingdom which must be stopped.

6x16 - Joshua and Margaret Investigations [WATCH] - Finn and Jake's parents fought monsters, too! Even when their mom was way super about-to-pop pregnant, apparently.

6x17 - Ghost Fly [WATCH] - Jake kills a fly, because flies are disgusting. But ghost flies seem to be worse. Oops?

6x18 - Everything's Jake [WATCH] - Bender searches inside himself and finds that Fry has been with him all along Jake goes on an inner journey, but like, literally. not really spiritually so much.

♥ 6x19 - Is That You? [WATCH] - Jake and Finn mourn Prismo, and then things get super bananas up in their dreamspace.

6x20 - Jake the Brick [WATCH] - Jake observes nature as he spends some time as just another brick in the wall.

6x21 - Dentist [WATCH] - Finn's tooth is in real bad shape, and he has to face facts: it is time for him to Go Dentist.

6x22 - The Cooler [WATCH] - There's a crisis in the Flame Kingdom, and FP makes the (objectively terrible??) decision to turn to PB for help.

6x23 - Pajama Wars [WATCH] - Sleepover in the Candy Kingdom! Nothing terrible is happening.

Ω 6x24 - Evergreen [WATCH] - Master Evergreen and his lizardy minion Gunther attempt to save the world.

¿Ω 6x25 - Astral Plane [WATCH] - Finn goes on an astral adventure, and sees some junk that may be relevant soon.

6x26 - Gold Stars [WATCH] - Sweet P starts school, and makes some new (terrible) friends.

6x27 - The Visitor [WATCH] - Finn follows his dream from Astral Plane and finds his least favourite massive disappointment at the end of the trail.

6x28 - The Mountain [WATCH] - It’s a Lemongrab episode. I don’t know anymore.

6x29 - Dark Purple [WATCH] - Susan Strong and some brave hyoomans on a rescue mission.

6x30 - The Diary [WATCH] - Fandom can be a consuming thing. TV finds an old diary and gets a little too into it.

6x31 - Walnuts & Rain [WATCH] - Finn and Jake get separated and go on different (weird) journeys.

6x32 - Friends Forever [WATCH] - Ice King tries to make himself some new friends. It goes terribly.

6x33 - Jermaine [WATCH] - After Jake has a shared dream with Jermaine, the boys go to visit their brother, who’s still living in their childhood home.

6x34 - Chips and Ice Cream [WATCH] - Chips, chips chips chips. Ice cream ice cream. (A travelling performer passes his curse on to Jake. It doesn’t go well.)

6x35 - Graybles 1000+ [WATCH] - Graybles, again, some more. Apparently the Candy Kingdom is still around however much further in the future, and someone’s still putting up string lights at Marceline’s. So there’s that.

6x36 - Hoots [WATCH] - The Cosmic Owl gets distracted by a mystery lady’s pretty set of tailfeathers.

6x37 - Water Park Prank [WATCH] - Finn and Jake (and the Ice King) spend the day at the water park.

6x38 - You Forgot Your Floaties [WATCH] - Magic Man, up to his usual biz, but this time he’s getting a helping hand from Betty. No way this will go horribly wrong??

6x39 - Be Sweet [WATCH] - For some inexplicable reason, Tree Trunks thinks LSP is a good choice for a babysitter. Yikes.

6x40 - Orgalorg [WATCH] - Gunther and the Gunts throw a houseparty.

6x41 - On the Lam [WATCH] - Martin finds another group of adorable creatures to try to exploit. yay.

6x42/6x43 - Hot Diggity Doom/The Comet [WATCH] - An election in the Candy Kingdom, and an impending catastrophe.

SEASON SEVEN

7x01 - Bonnie & Neddy [WATCH] - The King of Ooo continues his efforts to be the worst. PB has to help someone important to her get back to where he belongs.

7x02 - Varmints [WATCH] - Bubblegum tries to protect her pumpkin patch; Marceline lends a hand.

7x03 - Cherry Cream Soda [WATCH] - A candy citizen comes back from the dead, causing some complications for those he’d left behind.

7x04 - Mama Said [WATCH] - While out on a mission for the King of Ooo, Finn and Jake run into Billy’s ex-gf Canyon and decide to help her out instead.

7x05 - Football [WATCH] - BMO tries to do something nice for a friend. It does not go well.

7x06/7x07 - Stakes: Marceline the Vampire Queen/Everything Stays [WATCH] - Marceline has a favour to ask of PB, which results in her reflecting on the last thousand years of her life.

7x08 - Stakes: Vamps About [WATCH] - Marceline’s old nemeses are back, and she’s absolutely down to take ‘em all on again.

7x09 - Stakes: The Empress Eyes [WATCH] - Targeting the Ice King? Possibly not the greatest plan a vampire could have.

7x10 - Stakes: May I Come In [WATCH] - Jake finds his courage.

7x11 - Stakes: Take Her Back [WATCH] - Marceline’s out of commission, so it’s up to Finn and Jake to take on The Moon.

7x12 - Stakes: Checkmate [WATCH] - Four down, one to go.

♫ 7x13 - Stakes: The Dark Cloud [WATCH] - Marceline has to decide what she’s fighting for.

7x14/7x15 - The More You Moe/The Moe You Know [WATCH (watermarked)] - It's BMO's birthday, and a special guest is coming with a special mission for our lil robot buddy. yay?

7x16 - Summer Showers [WATCH] - Viola helps LSP put on a play, and Jake is super proud.

7x17 - Angel Eyes [WATCH] - BMO bribes Finn and Jake into playing cowboys and bandits.

7x18 - President Porpoise Is Missing! [WATCH] - An undersea authority figure appears to have vanished.

7x19 - Blank-Eyed Girl [WATCH] - Urban legends may or may not be baloney, and may or may not be out to get you.

7x20 - Bad Jubies [WATCH] - One heck of a storm brewing up some real nasty vibes.

7x21 - King's Ransom [WATCH] - Ice King isn't going to let anything stop him from rescuing his best bud, and Finn and Jake have got his back.

7x22 - Scamps [WATCH] - Finn rehabilitates some bad seeds.

7x23 - Crossover [WATCH] - Prismo needs Finn and Jake’s help with a junked-up timeline.

7x24 - The Hall of Egress [WATCH] - A dungeon keeps hitting the reset button every time Finn tries to exit.

7x25 - Flute Spell [WATCH] - Does Finn have a new girl in his life, or is he working on a different sort of magic?

7x26 - The Thin Yellow Line [WATCH] - It Is Okay To Be You, ft. The Banana Guards

7x27 - Broke His Crown [WATCH] - Bonnie and Marcie try to have a dinner date with the IK, but his crown is up to some weird biz.

7x28 - Don’t Look [WATCH] - Finn fails to follow the literal only instruction given.

7x29 - Beyond the Grotto [WATCH] - Sea lard rescue 911

7x30 - Lady Rainicorn of the Crystal Dimension [WATCH] - TV finds a weird box.

7x31 - I Am A Sword [WATCH] - FinnSword gets straight up hijacked.

7x32 - Bun Bun [WATCH] - Remember how Cinnamon Bun used to be... just, like, generally bad? at doing things? okay that but smaller.

7x33 - Normal Man [WATCH] - Normal Man needs some hero help to return Glob to Mars.

7x34 - Elemental [WATCH] - An... ice... princess? kinda??

7x35 - Five Short Tables [WATCH] - Fionna and Cake try to make some artsy-ass flapjacks.

7x36 - The Music Hole [WATCH] - Music happens, some of it on a stage.

7x37 - Daddy-Daughter Card Wars [WATCH] - Charlie helps her Papa work through some card-related stuff.

Ω 7x38/7x39 - Preboot/Reboot [WATCH] - Finn, Jake, and Susan visit a very scientific establishment.

SEASON EIGHT

8x01 - Two Swords [WATCH] - So when a FinnSword and a Grass Sword meet... sometimes some stuff can go the hell down.

8x02 - Do No Harm [WATCH] - Finn and Grass Finn try stuff out.

8x03 - Wheels [WATCH] - Jake tries to connect with his granddaughter by proving he’s cool.

8x04 - High Strangeness [WATCH] - Tree Trunks loves... revolution (｡•`_´•｡)

8x05 - Horse and Ball [WATCH] - James Baxter rides again.

8x06 - Jelly Beans Have Power [WATCH] - PB tries to get a handle on the elemental powers thing.

Ω 8x07 - Islands: The Invitation [WATCH] - Susan sent out a distress signal, and a response has arrived.

8x08 - Islands: Whipple the Happy Dragon [WATCH] - Hazardous seas, or Here There Be Dragons.

Ω 8x09 - Islands: Mysterious Island [WATCH] - Finn gets separated from his friends, but makes a new one.

Ω 8x10 - Islands: Imaginary Resources [WATCH] - BMO helps Finn and Jake get acquainted with the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of virtual reality gaming.

Ω♪ 8x11 - Islands: Hide and Seek [WATCH] - Memories of island life.

Ω 8x12 - Islands: Min & Marty [WATCH] - Minerva Campbell and Martin Mertens get to know each other.

Ω 8x13 - Islands: Helpers [WATCH] - Finn meets his mom.

Ω 8x14 - Islands: The Light Cloud [WATCH] - The conflicting desires to protect your child while also allowing them to grow and thrive.

SEASON NINE

9x01 - Orb [WATCH] - Some very normal dreamscapes on the return journey to Ooo.

9x02 - Elements: Skyhooks [WATCH] - The boys make it home but things are looking... different.

9x03 - Elements: Bespoken For [WATCH] - The Ice King has a story to tell about a hot date he had, and also tangentially the current state of things.

9x04 - Elements: Winter Light [WATCH] - A visit to the Ice Kingdom.

9x05 - Elements: Cloudy [WATCH] - Finn needs to calm down, and Jake needs to potty.

9x06 - Elements: Slime Central [WATCH] - It's Slime Time baybee

9x07 - Elements: Happy Warrior [WATCH] - A normal one in the Flame Kingdom.

9x08 - Elements: Hero Heart [WATCH] - LSP tries to help Finn listen to his hero heart, while PB just wants everyone to be a little bit sweeter.

9x09 - Elements: Skyhooks II [WATCH] - Let's Get Lumpy.

9x10 - Abstract [WATCH] - Jake is wary of some changes in Jermaine.

9x11 - Ketchup [WATCH] - Marceline and BMO catch up on recent events.

9x12 - Fionna and Cake and Fionna [WATCH] - Ice King gets to hang with the REAL Fionna.

9x13 - Whispers [WATCH] - Finn and Fern help Sweet Pea with some nightmares.

9x14 - Three Buckets [WATCH] - Finn and Fern spend some uhhh quality time together

SEASON TEN

10x01 - The Wild Hunt [WATCH] - Huntress Wizard needs some assistance, and Finn has some junk to work through.

10x02 - Always BMO Closing [WATCH] - BMO and Ice King team up to become a door-to-door salesman.

10x03 - Son of Rap Bear [WATCH] - FP needs to work on her rap game.

10x04 - Bonnibel Bubblegum [WATCH] - Family junk is complicated.

10x05 - Seventeen [WATCH] - It’s Finn’s birthday! Let’s get Arthurian up in here.

10x06 - Ring of Fire [WATCH] - The marvelous misadventures of Tree Trunks.

10x07 - Marcy + Hunson [WATCH] - Marceline’s dad is in town and totally embarrassing her again.

10x08 - The First Investigation [WATCH] - Finn and Jake look into some haunted happenings at Joshua and Margaret Investigations

10x09 - Blenanas [WATCH] - Finn wants the highest possible authority to weigh in on whether or not he is funny.

10x10 - Jake the Starchild [WATCH] - Jake’s gotta save the world. No, a different one.

10x11 - Temple of Mars [WATCH] - Jermaine and Finn gotta rescue Jake, and in the process maybe help Betty work through some things.

10x12 - Gumbaldia [WATCH] - Peace talks.

♥Ω♫ 10x13 - Come Along With Me [WATCH] - Everything stays, but it still changes.

[slash-em-up]

In-Flight Entertainment Pt. 1: ChromeSkull x Reader

This was supposed to be a one-shot; but then it started creeping up on 2k words and I figured I better chop it up. Part 2 will be up soon and 90% smut.

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

You were not ashamed to say that you hated airports. Absolutely hated them. The bustle, the smell, the overpriced coffee… There was nothing about them that inspired less then complete loathing in you. So when your boss gave you a heads-up that you’d be traveling to LA for a company meeting, you could only groan internally.

Nothing ever seemed to go right when you flew - a belief further cemented by the unexpected snowstorm that had caused your current situation: A ten-hour layover in Denver.

You were going to be so late for your meeting.

Your carry-on seemed to weigh a ton as you lugged it off the plane, cursing yourself for not fixing the loose wheel before you left as it swerved and pulled your case back and forth behind you.

Sighing heavily, you adjusted the barley-hull pillow wrapped loosely around your neck so it wasn’t pulling on your hair quite as uncomfortably, and searched for the sign to direct you towards your next gate.

On the other side of the airport. Great. At least you didn’t have to worry about being late for take-off.

Passing through the airport, you couldn’t help but glance around at the multitude of shops and small restaurants that peppered the space. It almost looked like a mall, if you discounted the weary look your fellow travelers all seemed to be sporting and the cases trailing behind them like colorful dogs.

You’d have to stop somewhere to eat. The small package of pretzels and soda you’d consumed on your first flight had done little to tide you over, and now you were feeling more than a little peckish. And thirsty. And stressed. You’d kill a man for a decent Old Fashioned.

Arriving at your gate, you plopped down onto one of the barely padded seats with a sigh. Nine hours and twenty-three minutes until takeoff. A family of six sat next to you, immediately starting in on a very loud and expressive argument. It was definitely time to go find that airport bar - but first, you needed a quick refresh in the ladies room.

Dropping your carry-on with the rest of the luggage you trotted across the large hallway, having extricated your makeup bag from your case before leaving it with the desk-steward. There were a pair of eye-masks in there calling your name.

It was insane how enjoyable leaning up against a hard wall with your eyes closed could be after five hours cramped in Coach. You stretched up and down on the balls of your feet as your muscles slowly relaxed, leaving you feeling a bit better than when you’d arrived. Now you just needed food.

That was the only thing on your mind as you shuffled back to the desk and snagged your case from the luggage corral.

Even your case felt lighter. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a horrible layover after all.

“Excuse me Ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to come with us.”

Aaaannnddd you’d spoken too soon.

You spun quickly, taking in the very large, very serious looking men in suits standing shoulder to shoulder behind you.

“…Me? Me, Ma’am?”

The suit-twins eyes narrowed.

“Yes, you Ma’am. Don’t try to run, we’ve already got security on alert.”

You gaped in shock.

“Why would I try to run? I haven’t done anything!”

One of the men sneered as the other looked at you like you were an idiot.

“So that’s your bag, is it Ma’am?”

You blinked.

“Uh, yeah it’s my…”

Your voice trailed off as you took a closer look at the bag you were holding.

Sharp corners, no scratched metallic paint, a gleaming ‘RIMOWA’ screeching up at you from the side…

Well that explained the wheel…

The silver hard-sided case was definitely not yours.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I must have grabbed this one by mistake. I’ll take it back, I’m so -”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple ma’am. You’ll still need to come with us.”

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

You were getting the distinct feeling that you were fucked. Or, were about to be.

What the hell was in that suitcase?

The suited men had ushered you quickly to a side-elevator, punching a code into a keypad before pushing a button labeled ‘P’.

They’d yanked the case from you the first moment you were out of public view and now seemed intently focused on making sure you stayed still and quiet.

Even minutely adjusting the pillow still draped across your shoulders had made them both twitch like they were expecting a fight.

The elevator ding sounded ominous as you were quickly led down a gleaming, white hall - each side covered from floor to ceiling in magnificently large windows, offering a spectacular view of the departing planes and the snow-covered Rockies far behind.

The only break in-between were what looked like small sitting rooms. It dawned on you that these must be the VIP lounges. Like, the VIP-est of the VIPs. Shit, who’s luggage had you stolen, Lady Gaga’s??

You were brought to an abrupt stop at one of the closed doors, pausing outside as one suited man knocked quietly, entering after some unknown signal, bag in-tow; as the second man stayed outside - never removing his eyes from you.

“I can apologize in person if that’s what you’re after. I’m a big girl, I can own up to having grabbed the wrong bag - I just think the whole secret service thing is a little over the top…”

The guard didn’t blink.

Ok, this was getting ridiculous.

“I’m SORRY MR. OBAMA, I DIDN’T MEAN TO STEAL YOUR CASE!”

Your arm was grasped firmly as the suit dragged you a little closer to the door.

“BEYONCE? I PROMISE I WON’T DO IT AGAIN!”

The grasp on your arm turned into a solid shake, nearly knocking you against the wall.

“Shut up!” the guard hissed.

You sneered up at him.

“COME ON SNOOP DOGG, I THOUGHT YOU’D BE COOLER THAN THIS!”

The door opened, allowing the other guard to exit with a look at you like you’d just signed your own death certificate.

“He wants to see her.”

“He, who?!”

The man grasping your arm pulled you quickly, spinning you into the room and closing the door firmly behind you.

You blinked, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the sudden dim lighting of the small room; taking in the plush modern couches lining the walls, the two-person dining table, the open pair of suitcases on the glass coffee-table, and then finally, to the man sitting casually behind the luggage, inspecting a pair of underwear from your case.

“Ah… Pitbull. You were going to be my next guess…”

A single brown eye flicked up to meet yours, followed by a loud snort and a half-smirk.

His head tilted as he examined you, and you did the same.

Gaze wandering from his black dress shoes, up his long black-clad legs, over his broad torso - dress shirt uncuffed and sleeves rolled up to expose fully tattooed forearms - then finally to his face. You weren’t an expert by any means; but even to you it was pretty clear he’d undergone some extensive reconstructive surgery at some point. His entire face, all the way up to his bald head looked… off… The black leather eyepatch was also a little bit of a give-away.

He allowed you a few more moments to take him in before reaching down and pulling a phone out of his pocket.

You jumped slightly as an electronic voice sounded through the room.

“I’ll have to address security with the airport. You’re either an exceptional thief, or they really suck at their jobs.”

Now it was your turn to snort.

“Believe me, of the two, they’re definitely more likely to just suck at their jobs.”

His gaze never left you as he reached down and plucked out the romance novel you’d stuffed into your bag for the flight, waving it teasingly.

“I almost believe you.” He typed.

You looked down, starting to feel embarrassed.

“Look, I’m really sorry for this mix-up. I swear I didn’t know it was your bag.”

Without commenting, the man rose from his seat.

Holy shit, he was tall.

He walked slowly, like he had all the time in the world and knew you weren’t going anywhere.

He stopped as he reached the small dining table, leaning down to open a mini-bar placed inconspicuously against the wall and grasp two small bottles of alcohol.

He shook them in your direction and raised his visible brow in question.

“God, yes.”

He snorted again and made short work of pouring the libation into a set of non-descript glasses; offering you one before motioning for you to take a seat.

You relaxed back into the pale leather, pausing for a moment to quickly (and hopefully discreetly) remove the pillow from around your shoulders.

The glint in the man’s eye told you he’d noticed and was once again amused by you.

You took a large gulp of the liquid in your glass and almost immediately started choking on it.

“FUCK!” you hacked out “What *cough* the fuck is this?!”

A broad grin and shaking shoulders met your watery eyes as the man reached over to type something into his phone.

“I understand ASL, unless *hng* you’re just some wacko who doesn’t like to talk.”

The man nodded before setting his phone back down.

‘It’s Lagavulin. Not exactly something you try to shoot.’

You took another - much smaller - sip and nodded.

“I’m sure under different circumstances it would be wonderful.”

‘Different circumstances?’

“Yeah, well it’s kind of hard to enjoy something so nice when you’re being accused of stealing and are more or less imprisoned.”

The man leaned back in his seat.

‘I know you didn’t take my case… at least, not for any reason I’m concerned about.’

You blinked.

“You do?”

He nodded succinctly before signing.

‘If you knew who I was and were trying to take my case, you wouldn’t have drunk something I gave you so readily.’

Again, you were feeling more than a little dumbfounded.

“So… I can go?”

A long arm motioned towards the white door.

‘Anytime you like; do you have somewhere pressing you need to be?’

You thought sadly about the uncomfortable chairs and family of six waiting for you back at your gate.

“… Not really.”

‘Layover to LA?’

“Yeah! You too?”

The man nodded, looking at you sympathetically.

‘Guessing you’re not business class.’

You laughed out loud at that.

“Ha! No way, who’s got the -… well I guess you do.”

He answered with a shrug.

‘I’d like to buy you dinner, by way of an apology for all the hassle today.’

A small smile crossed your lips as you thought about it.

On one hand, he’d kind of had you kidnapped and implied that if you’d known who he was you would have expected him to poison you or something… But on the other hand, this was definitely the most interesting trip you’d taken, and it was largely in part to do with this guy…

Eh what the hell.

“I’m Y/N.”

The man grinned widely, showing off his perfectly straight, white teeth.

‘Call me Jesse.’

[cozycryptidcorner]

Chapter One

Notes: Hey hey hey hey! For those who don’t know, this is a celebration of ya girl hitting 1.5k followers! You all spoke, and I listened, so buckle up, pals, and come get ya’ll’s juice. 

The air of the ship is remarkably sterile, every breath of it almost flushes your lungs free of living cells, and a bleach-like taste has long settled on the back of your tongue, one you haven’t been able to wash out. A water bottle sits on the polished table in front of you, one that boasts its source is an underground spring on a relatively untouched planet, definitely something far out of your price range and would never accept unless given for free. The ship rattles briefly as the inertial dampeners compensate for a sudden source of gravity, though so subtle that the water in the biodegradable plastic trembles only slightly.

“That means we’ve hit Lolth’s atmosphere.” A Starward Matchmakers™ representative smiles, her teeth too white and her mouth too wide. Her tone somehow converges on every single nerve you have in your body.

“Oh, of course, how could I forget.” She waves her hand dismissively. “But you should maybe put a damper on that attitude of yours, the royal family isn’t known for putting up with sass.”

Oh, you want to punch her in that perfectly crafted nose. Biting your lip down, you try to focus on the shift of gravity, the artificial pull slowly dying as a planet’s natural force takes hold. The slow descent feels like forever, the lack of windows in your cabin only torturing you further. You wish you could be up in the cockpit, strapped into the captain’s chair, completely in control, but no. It wouldn’t be proper. Finally, another attendant pokes their head through the open door, announcing the finished landing.

Before you stand, the representative grabs your hand in an ironlike grip. “Remember; grace, poise, elegance. Not someone of your reputation.” She is far stronger than someone of her skinny frame can manage without modifications. Even when you nod, she doesn’t immediately let go, most likely in the hopes that prolonging this threat might actually put some fear into your soul.

You pull away, eyeing her in a challenge, and after a moment too long, she relents. Calmly, you pick up the personal bag you were allowed to bring and leave the cabin, the Starward Matchmaker™ representative on your heels. The unmistakable scent of ‘natural’ air hits your nostrils, like a balming relief against a day-old burn, and you try to pick up your pace down the thin row of cabins and out into the open. It’s hot, far hotter than you are used to, a dry breeze doing nothing to relieve your already sweating skin. A dull hum permeates the cavernous space, the engines of your ship still in the process of a complete shut-down. At the very foot of the stairway is a tall humanoid, gray in complexion, silky white hair blowing out like thin spider webs.

“Mistress,” he says, bowing first to you, then to the representative. “Allow me to welcome you and your entourage to our lovely planet. The keias is beside himself with excitement to finally meet his soulmate.”

“Thank you!” Manners matter, you think, eyes flickering overhead to where two slabs of metal slowly shut a dangerous atmosphere away from the underground’s inhabitants. The Starward Matchmaker™ representative pinches your arm in a location no one beneath you would see in the way of a prompt. “And- it will be my honor to meet them, sir.”

“Of course, please, follow me. Your things will be taken to an apartment while a more, er, permanent solution will be found.”

“I understand, thank you.” You take one step down on the polished, faux marble steps of the ship, then take a pause. Perhaps it goes unnoticeable by others since it only lasts a fraction of a moment. Am I really doing this, you wonder in that second, looking at the hard stone floor of the hangar, is this who I am, really? It passes, and you continue downwards, the question left unanswered. You fold your hands, nails digging against knuckles, and follow the Drow escort through the unbearably warm cavern.

There’s a warbling pattern in the stone, one that holds your attention for a minute too long and has the Starward Matchmaker™ representative gently kick at your heel. Head up, you can almost hear her voice in your head, and so you do, obediently, and try focusing on some other things noticeable at this position. For example, while there are other ships in the hangar, not too many, but the quality of each is unquestionable. All of them are sleek, shining, and shaped in the typical ornamental fashion that Abraxas Corporations has long since patented, each number that you see painted on the sides showing that the oldest model is only a single year out of the factory. A fantastical waste of money, in your humble opinion, but you don’t dare verbalize it right now.

The drow attendant leads you to a tunnel, one dimly lit by hazy blue lights lining the floor, and the temperature becomes just slightly more bearable. While the stone you walk on is smoother than those fancy ships outside, the walls and ceiling are rawer, bumps and crevices creating a sort of texture that at least gives you something fascinating to look at until the drow attendant opens a metallic door embedded into the rock. It’s a station, you think, with a train or trolley of some kind waiting against the wall. The doors part the moment you are within range, and finally- finally, a blast of cooler air soothes your skin, your entire body relaxing under the blissful relief of air conditioning.

“Have a seat wherever you’d like, my lady.”

Oh! The attendant is talking to you. With a small mutter of thanks, you take one of the cushioned benches by the window, staring at the glass, trying to see past your reflection and back into the tunnel. The ride isn’t that long, at least, in comparison to the time it took to get from a deep-space station to planetside, but the nervous anticipation makes it seem like another eternity. You are already standing up to get out, though you step to the side for your guide to go first.

You wouldn’t call this place bustling, unlike some of the previous stops your ‘entourage’ has ended up at. The people who do occupy the area aren’t in any kind of hurry, either, but are merely wandering to their destination at a leisurely pace. And, unfortunately, the moment you are seen, all eyes seem to fall on you like a bug beneath a microscope. Which, you suppose, is a funny kind of metaphor to use given the species and circumstances, but even so, you walk through the hub with your head held high and your posture perfectly straight, just as practiced only a few days before. A far cry from the slinking and prowling that you are used to, that’s for sure.

The three of you walk all the way to the other side of this terminal, towards a gilded set of elevators, all of which are guarded by another drow. Your own drow attendant slips a key card from his pocket, sliding it through a reader, and the machine beeps in confirmation. The ground rises rapidly, as the tube you stand in lowers, going down, deep into the depths of the planet, rocks surrounding the glass until the tunnel empties into a cavern more massive than the city you hail from, buildings built into what is left of a long-extinct forest from the planet’s distant past. Flickering lights of homes and offices could almost fool you into thinking them to be stars, but you know better. Still, it might be nice to look at something and pretend you aren’t buried under a couple of kilometers of rock.

The elevator zooms past and beneath the central part of the city, moving further down into the natural lava tunnels of a long-inactive violent core. The royalty of the world lives deeper from the surface, probably for the better air conditioning, you’d gander, or some sort of reigning mythology about how they’re closer to their planet/god(s) this way. You hadn’t really had the time to pour over every little detail of this world’s history and lore, since literally four days ago, the royalty of Lolth was the last thing on your mind.

Eventually, the flawless glass doors open, and you are let out into a garden of sorts. There is grass, at least, you think it’s grass, lining either side of the stone pathway, flowers sprouting in areas that are easy to listlessly meander around. Bioluminescent mushrooms and moss grow along the cavern walls and pathway, though rustic-looking lampposts help to light your way every couple of meters. There, up ahead, you realize as you try to document just how far the lanterns go, someone is already walking towards you. Could it be him? Your body fills with anxiety, your fight instincts gearing up to, you don’t know, pretend to cower?

“Is this it?” A voice asks, and you are already confident that you hate this person. ‘Overbearing’Condescending would be a nice way to describe their tone, but you would take it a step further and maybe say it’s condescending and maybe even bastardly for good flavor.

“Yes, Vice Martial,” the drow attendant bows deeply. “As much as I am certain the two of you would appreciate introductions, I’m afraid the keias was very specific about the immediate transportation she would take to his presence. I’m afraid we are already running short on time.”

“Be silent, I gave you no permission to speak.” The Vice Martial’s eight legs click, click, click against the ground as he approaches, eyes narrowing. “I was against this ridiculous farse from the start, and to have something so small, so pitiful, dare enter our home and live off of our land like a parasite?” He leans in closer, so close you can smell alcohol on his breath. “Unacceptable.”

Show no fear, have no weakness.

“Of course, you have your apprehensions!” The Starward Matchmaker™ representative pulls a glossy brochure out of seemingly nowhere, her grin vast and terrifying, her voice the epitome of perfectly perky customer service. “Anyone daring to make such a big decision should be terrified! But at Starward Matchmakers™, our focus is to bring a harmonious connection between two destined souls is something we take so very seriously. If our experts have matched the two together, then our girl here is perfect for your prince, excuse me, keias, in every way!”

“I don’t care about what welp that little bastard sleeps with,” the vice marshal snaps, at least now directing his drunken anger to the Starward Matchmaker™ representative, “I care about whether it’s right for Lolth.”

“And those are some very valid fears!” She somehow smiles even wider. “But allow me to put everything to ease. Our satisfaction rate is one-hundred percent, which is nothing less of perfect. The people I represent have no intention of sullying our records now, with this. Do you understand? Of course, you do! Now if you would be so kind as to _excuse us,” _ she grips your arm and shoves her way forward, _ “we have some magic to make!™” _

The vice marshal doesn’t even have a chance to say anything else, because you are suddenly shoved into the entrance of an… apartment? House? The drow attendant and the Starward Matchmaker™ representative stand in front of the closed doors, either to block anyone’s entry or deter you from exiting, you don’t know. Probably both.

“Remember,” the Starward Matchmaker™ representative says, smoothing one of your sleeves of nonexistent wrinkles, “no attitude. No spunky quips. I don’t care how funny you think whatever joke you’re making is, you will be quiet as a dandelion. Show him not the respect you think he deserves, but the respect he thinks he deserves.”

This is all a reiteration of things you have been told over and over and over again, so you resist rolling your eyes. Though, whatever exasperation you feel is quickly gone the moment you see someone beginning to descend from the long, marble stairway. His appearance is the same as the photographs you were shown when they first sat you down, hangover pounding in your bloodstream. His hair is so dark it looks almost black, skin a deep gray with touches of blue. You immediately stand taller, mouth squeezed shut, eyes watching his every move as if he will burst forward and rip you to pieces.

He has a reputation for doing worse.

The clicking of his steps stop as he stands, full height, right in front of you, and you have to tilt your chin upwards just to meet his gaze head-on. Even with the Starward Matchmaker™ representative right in the room, she can’t see your face, so she can’t police your reaction. You don’t give him anything demure, nor submissive. There is no shyness in your eyes, you don’t allow yourself to feel small, and you most certainly refuse to show a smidgen of fear.

“Hello,” you say, and you can practically hear the Starward Matchmaker™ representative’s face hit her palm for speaking out of turn.

“Hello,” he responds, cocking his head ever so slightly to the side, his pure black seeing-eyes blinking only once, his motion sensors staying blank and still as though dead. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

“I- it is an honor to finally meet you as well.” You wince at the formality of this meeting, wishing that the Starward Matchmaker™ representative and drow attendant would just leave the two of you alone, but you know that you will not receive that… how did the Starward Matchmaker™ representative put it… privilege, at least until she can see the relationship is blossoming the way it needs to.

The way they need it to.

“Your planet is beautiful,” compliments always work, and you genuinely mean this one, “I mean, well, I haven’t seen a whole lot of it, but just from the little that I’ve been through, it’s... “you shrug, “really nice.”

“Oh.” He cocks his head the other way, now, a lock of hair the color of the blue-gray stones falling into his face. “I remember, your profile says that you weren’t born on a planet.”

“No,” you shake your head, “but I’ve been planetside a- um, a few times. Humans need real gravity every now and then.”

“Real gravity is good for any ground-species.”

The conversation is going nowhere, clearly, so the Starward Matchmaker™ representative decides that this moment where she cuts in. “If I may, _keias?” _

His face looks over at her in an instant, the movement of his neck so quick it would have cracked if he was human. The prince’s gaze hardens, perhaps unnoticeable by someone of his own species, but easy to note by both you and the Starward Matchmaker™ representative. After a lone, nerve-wracking moment where he observes her like a bug beneath his feet, he offers single, clipped, nod.

“It’s been a very long journey, very much worth it, I am sure, but,” she lays a hand on your arm, and you immediately tense up, “she’s quite tired, and I’m afraid I have to get her squared away for the night. I hope you understand! I’m just here for her wellbeing in such a foreign situation.”

The prince looks at you.

You don’t say anything.

“Of course,” he says, squaring his shoulders. “Elias will bring you to your suite. May I expect you over for an evening meal?”

“We’ll see how she feels.” The Starward Matchmaker™ representative pets your arm. “This is all so overwhelming for her, I’m sure you understand.”

The prince places both hands behind his back and looks over you, not with the same chilling observation he gave the Starward Matchmaker™, but something... else. Something softer. “I’m sure I will.”

“What in god’s name was _that?” _

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do.” The Starward Matchmaker™ representative folds her hands together, looking at you over them with narrowed eyes. “You went off script.”

You offer a listless shrug, looking her in the eye. The lights here, at least, are bright enough for you to see comfortably without needing to strain your eyes. “I just don’t think you can make a decent connection with someone when every permutation has been desperately thought out.”

The Starward Matchmaker™ representative huffs, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “You aren’t here to be yourself, you’re here to do a gosh-darn job. This isn’t all rainbows and puppies, I thought you understood how serious this business is.”

“I do.”

“It doesn’t look like it, honey! What made you think that acting like some bland little twat was a good idea?”

You sit down on one of the plush, oddly misshapen chair, glaring at the wall while the Starward Matchmaker™ representative goes on a tirade. The room is large, the ceiling far higher than most places you’ve ended up in, and this isn’t even the full extent of your suite. You get a room, the Starward Matchmaker™ representative gets a room, a personal servant the royal family is providing gets a room, and for whatever reason, a whole extra bedroom, wholly unused, just down the hall from yours. For any guests, the drow attendant had said, but there is no one you can think of hosting at the moment.

Oh, the Starward Matchmaker™ representative looks like she’s tiring herself out. Better start nodding in agreement to whatever else she says.

“Good,” she, at least, seems satisfied. “I’m glad we’ve had this little chat, then. Hurry and wash up, then, we want you to look presentable tonight.”

So you are going to dinner. You sit up a little straighter, then bounce off the chair and into your room. There’s an adjacent bathroom, with a dress already hanging up by the mirror, a gray, fluttery thing that will ripple easily with movement. Color doesn’t really matter down here, you remember, poking at all the dull jewelry and makeup, driders and drows can’t process the light spectrum as well as humans. What they can sense, though, is movement, so clothes that shift and float with the slightest gesture are the ones that are worn to show off. Still, putting something on that’s basically the equivalent of neon orange feels like putting a target on your back.

Shower first. Think later. It’s real water, too, and not those sonic frequencies that knock dirt from pores or those sanisaunas ™ that disinfect the day’s grit away with nothing more than hazy steam. Today, though, you can’t take your time, and you are too hyped up to stay under the water’s stream for too long, no matter how blissful it feels. The soap has some kind of deep earthy scent, not one that you might select for yourself, but one you aren’t abhorrent towards. It works a nice lather against your skin, though the bar slips from your clumsy fingers since you aren’t exactly used to scrubbing the good old fashioned way.

There’s a towel waiting for you, hanging up against the rack. It’s the first thing in this place you’ve seen that’s white, even the glossy marble and metalwork of the whole suite, including the bathroom, are various shades of gray and black. Which isn’t to say that it looks terrible, because this is sincerely the most beautiful place you’ve ever managed to score, it’s just… odd, you think, that the towels are white, as though they were purchased and placed here with you in mind. You wrap it around your body, stepping out, and taking a moment to stand in front of a mirror. There are dark circles beneath your eyes, crescents of exhaustion that beg you to take a moment or two just to sleep.

You get dressed, instead. The gown is at least designed to look more complicated than it really is, and you manage to get it on by yourself. The zipper slides up your back with a bit of ease, then you smooth down the tight bodice, noticing only now how badly your hands are shaking. Your mouth tastes dry, and perhaps the unnatural ashy paleness of your skin truly brings out the grayness around your eyes. The wall is cool against your back as you lean back, sliding down to sit on the hard floor, placing your forehead against your knees.

Breathe.

It’s hard, thinking about having to eat dinner with him later. It’s hard to think about him in general, and to have him matched as your soulmate? You’ve always known these things are farces, of political or corporate gain, and now you dig your heels into the ground of that belief and hold it closer.

The door knocks with a volume and efficiency only the last person you wish to see at the moment possesses. “Time to go, sugar! We can’t have the prince waiting, can we?”

It takes a wobbling moment for you to stand, hand braced up against the wall, but you somehow manage it. Throwing up a facade of calmness that you haven’t felt since you were hauled into that interrogation room five days ago, you open the door. The Starward Matchmaker™ representative holds out a box, the lid already off to reveal a glittering pair of shoes. Not high heels, thank the gods, you don’t know how you would pull together the energy to fight her on that. It’s pair of flats, a pattern of shattered glass decorating the outside, the inside surprisingly comfortable to what anyone would assume by looking them over.

You put them on, holding on one of the chairs for balance, and take a few experimental steps. It’s decent enough, but even with thousands of years to perfect the art of shoes, it still takes a couple of good hours to break even the best of pairs in. With a small sigh, you shift the weight between your toes and heels, already feeling where those blisters are going to end up forming, but there isn’t really anything you can do about it. The Starward Matchmaker™ representative isn’t going to let you wear your old but comfy combat boots if she can help it, you’ve had to smuggle them in the very bottom of your luggage and bribe an inspector to keep quiet about it.

After a moment of watching your movements with a fixated grace that you’ve long since gotten used to, the Starward Matchmaker™ representative sighs, tucking a piece of perfectly blond hair behind her hair. “Not what we all wanted, I’m sure, but it will do.”

Pressing your lips together, you don’t risk rolling your eyes lest she suddenly decides that you are far too tired to dine with the prince tonight. You don’t wish to be stuck in the suite with her for another night, you’ll go crazy, and you can’t have the prince catching wind of any violence on your part.

“Now, remember; healthy appetite.” The Starward Matchmaker™ representative comes up behind you, playing with your still-damp hair, twisting it into something you’re sure is attractive to the driders. “There is no such thing as ‘ladylike’ here, but you must prove that you’ll be able to produce good and healthy heirs.”

You wrinkle your nose, but don’t respond.

The Starward Matchmaker™ representative tugs at your roots, causing your eyes to tear up. “And whatever you do,” her voice is low, threatening, “I will be watching. Every movement, every breath, every bite of food you dare to take. If you so much as twitch in a way I don’t like,” she pushes a pin through whatever she sculpted, taking no care to be wary of your scalp, “you will be terminated. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Her voice turns back to that sickening cheerfulness that makes you want to wring her neck. “Turn around.”

You obey, hands flat at your sides.

“Oh,” Starward Matchmaker™ representative holds a hand over her mouth, “you look beautiful, honey! Just so,” she fans herself with her fingers, “marvelous. You’ve come such a long way in such a short time!”

You say nothing.

Read Chapter Two Here

[vintagevalentinex]

Fever

So here is another Benny/Reader story (because I have no chill).  This fic is inspired by the song Fever by Peggy Lee.  I strongly recommend that you listen to the song before and/or while you read the story!  Anyway…I hope you like it! :)

@icecream-and-winchesters​ @bovaria​ @abaddonwithyall​ @aprofoundbondwithdean​ @maraisabellegrey​ @bkwrm523​ @kittenofdoomage​ @ohfora67impala​ @theerinpage​

Title: Fever Author: vintagevalentinex Words: ~2425 Pairing: (Benny x Reader) Warnings: Smut, smut, smut.

You hated the summer.  It was bad enough that you hated the way your legs looked in shorts (that’s another story for a different day.).  It was way too hot, and sweating was definitely not on your list of favorite things to do.  As much as you hated regular summer, you hated the summers down south exponentially more.  The summers in Louisiana were awful.  To begin with, the heat was nearly unbearable.  That combined with the ungodly humidity and you were a soupy mess.  

One would think that would be reason enough to completely avoid that god-forsaken state.  But no.  There happened to be a very handsome vampire that saved your tail from time to time.  You know it sounds crazy…a seasoned hunter having the hots for a vampire.  It wasn’t the way things were supped to go.  It wasn’t natural.  But god damn did it feel so good.  The tension between the two of you was electric—and you certainly weren’t the only one to notice.  The Winchester brothers would tease you mercilessly whenever you met up. So when are you and Benny hooking up?  He was a pirate, you know?  Pirates are sexy, right?  C’mon (Y/N) the two of you need to get together already.

You had had enough of their teasing.  Didn’t they have their own business to attend to?  You rolled your eyes as you drove down the familiar highways, sighing as you turned on the AC.  Word had it that there were some werewolves causing trouble down in this neck of the woods.  You thought it might be a good idea to swing by Benny’s diner to see if he could be any help.

You remember the last time the both of you worked together.

“C’mon (Y/N) I’m not that bad!”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling a little.

“Alright, alright fine.  You’re not completely awful.”

Benny held his hands to his heart dramatically.  “Oh darlin’ you wound me so!”  His eyes twinkled mirthfully as he continued to look at you.

You couldn’t help but mirror the smile he wore as you cleaned off your blade, completely tuckered out after wiping out an entire vampire nest, even with Benny’s help.  You found yourself nursing a cup of coffee at the counter of his diner, Benny drying off dishes behind the counter.

“So…you got anywhere ta stay tonight, shug?”

You shrugged your shoulders, letting out a breathy sigh.  “Didn’t really think about it yet, to be honest.  I was too focused on clearing out the nest.”

“Yer such a vigilant ‘lil hunter.”

“Shut up.”

Benny chuckled, throwing his rag over his shoulder.  “Well…if ya’d like…I got a room in the back…ain’t nothin’ much…but it’s somewhere to lay yer head…”

You furrowed your eyebrows.  “I’m guessing you only have one bed.”

He smiled sheepishly.  “Well…was assumin’ ya wouldn’t mind sharin’…”

You rolled your eyes, a smile forming on your lips as you shook your head.

“Not going to happen.  I’ve got to hit the road anyway.”

He smiled fondly at you, almost in a way that made you uncomfortable, not because it was creepy, but because it was like he was trying to figure you out, trying to see what made you tick.  You chewed on your lip nervously, all of the sudden feeling awkward as he continued to stare unabashedly a grin forming on his lips.

“Well cher, the offer still stands…any time…if ya ever need a place ta crash…”

You nod, your eyes finally able to look at him instead of anywhere else that wasn’t him.

“Thanks, Benny.  For that…and the hunt.  That would have been a big mess without you.”

He returned your nod, half-smiling, his eyes still boring into you.  “Ain’t no thing.  M’always happy to help…especially you, (Y/N).  You’re always welcome, darlin’.”

You finally rounded the corner, the diner coming into your line of sight.  You couldn’t help but smile as your tires crunched in the gravel as you pulled up to the front.  You quietly made your way inside, sitting at the same place at the counter that you did last time you rolled through town.  You heard Benny yell that he’d be right out, the smile on your lips growing as you heard him walking quickly from the kitchen to the front.  He stopped as he realized that you were sitting there.

“Well, well, well.  Look who’s blown on in.  And jus’ what can I do for ya, Miss (Y/N)? What are ya doin’ in my neck of tha woods, hmm?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, the smile still planted firmly on your mouth.

“Hello to you too, Benny.  I’ve been hearing that there have been some werewolves causing trouble…know anything about that?”

Benny shrugged his shoulders.  “Nope.”  He popped the ‘p’ as he spoke, walking around to the front of the room, locking the door and flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed.’  He leaned against the doorframe as you swiveled your stool around to face him, wiping the sweat from your forehead.  You winced, scrunching your face up.

“How the hell do you survive in this place, Benny?!  It’s so damn hot here!”  You pouted, only to receive a hearty chuckle from him.  He stepped closer to you, closing the distance.  You still had to look up at him from where you were sitting, huffing a little as he laughed at your antics.

“S’not that bad, shug.”  He stepped closer, leaning down, placing one of his hands on the counter, half trapping you in.  You could feel him breathing in.  Was he smelling you?  Why did you think this was kind of sexy?

“Maybe it’s the heat talkin’ or maybe I jus’ can’t take it anymore but…and you can tell me if I’m outta line, and we can pretend I never asked…”

You found yourself blushing, becoming very aware of the heat rolling off of his body, your own forming a thin layer of sweat from the sweltering heat.  You swallowed hard as he bent down even further, his other arm trapping you in completely, his mouth so very close to yours, his voice low and rough.

“…do you want me?”

Never know how much I love you Never know how much I care When you put your arms around me I get a fever that’s so hard to bear You give me fever when you kiss me Fever when you hold me tight Fever in the mornin’ A fever all through the night

“Yes.”

Benny grabbed your hand, pulling you off the stool, dragging you into the back.  He opened a door, taking you into his living space.

“Make yerself comfortable, cher.  I’ll be right back.  Jus’ hafta close up the kitchen.”

You looked around the room, taking in the dimly lit space, nearly jumping for joy when you spotted a fan.  Well…at least it will blow hot air.  You turned it on, then making your way over to his bed, your heart already racing.  Was this really finally happening?!

Sun lights up the day time Moon lights up the night I light up when you call my name And you know I’m gonna treat you right You give me fever when you kiss me Fever when you hold me tight Fever in the mornin’ A fever all through the night

You fiddled with the hem of your tanktop, the fan providing only a miniscule amount of relief as Benny padded back into the room, a pitcher of ice water and two glasses in hand.  He placed them on the shabby, makeshift nightstand as he sat down next to you, his gaze unnerving as you hoped that he would break the silence.

“…you done gone all shy on me now, shug…”

“I, uh…I never thought this would be happening, to be honest.”

“We don’ hafta do anythin’ ya don’t wanna, (Y/N)…”

“Oh trust me…I want to.”

You clamped your hands over your mouth, instantly turning red at your admission.  Benny just chuckled, standing up, pouring water and ice into both of the glasses.  He stared at you thoughtfully, bringing one of the glasses to your lips, his other hand running up and down your arm as you take large gulps of water.

“Ya know…we’d be much cooler in here if we took our clothes off…”

You laughed, the tension and apprehension dissipating as you stood up, Benny following suit as you turned away from him, facing the bed, your fingers again at the hem of your tanktop, this time more sure of their destination.  Benny moved to stand behind you, tutting, clicking his tongue.

“Oh no, darlin’…please…allow me.”

His fingers felt cold from the glass he was holding as he made for the hem of your tanktop, peeling it slowly up your body as he pressed his lower half to your ass, nearly grinding into you as he flung your top across the room.  His lips pressed to the back of your neck as you jumped, not realizing that he has an ice cube in his mouth.  You could feel your nipples hardening from the sensation.

“Didn’t mean ta startle ya, cher.  Jus’ tryin’ ta cool ya down…”

“Somehow…I don’t think that is what you intended.”

He chuckled as you could hear him pulling his own shirt over his head, his heated skin now pressed against your back, his arms surrounding you, hands reaching to cup your bra-clad breasts.

Everybody’s got the fever That is somethin’ you all know Fever isn’t such a new thing Fever started long time ago

Romeo loved Juliet Juliet she felt the same When he put his arms around her He said, “Julie baby you’re my flame” Thou giveth fever, when we kisseth Fever with thy flaming youth Fever I’m on fire Fever yeah I burn forsooth

Benny turned you around, facing him as he drew you in for a searing kiss, nearly knocking you back onto the bed as you scrambled up into a sitting position, your hands working to get your shorts off while Benny was taking care of his own clothing.  You were about to help him when he shook his head at you, his smile predatory as he lowered you back to the bed.  You laid there, your thighs parted and bent slightly at the knees as you watched Benny lean back over to the nightstand, plucking an ice cube out of the pitcher.  You groaned as he straddled your hips, his thick cock pressed against your stomach as he rubbed the ice cube against your lips, shivering a little under his touch as he dragged the ice lower, his lips following the wet trail in its wake.

You let out a hiss as he grabbed another ice cube, dragging it along your nipples, your back arching off of the bed as you felt his lips at the valley between your breasts, pressing cold, wet kisses to your heated flesh.  Benny popped the ice cube into his mouth, his tongue swirling into your belly button as you shivered.  His eyes darted up to meet yours as his face went lower.

“I think ya need some coolin’ off down here too, darlin’.”

You groaned, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you felt the ice pressed against your heated pussy, the muscles in your thighs tensing and twitching as he sucked your clit into his mouth, pressing the melting ice cube against the sensitive bundle of nerves.  Your eyes popped open, hands grabbing at his head as you tried to push him off of you.

“Enough!…Benny, please!!…I need…”

“Shhh, easy does it ‘lil baby…I know what ya need…”

Captain Smith and Pocahontas Had a very mad affair When her daddy tried to kill him She said “daddy oh don’t you dare” “He gives me fever with his kisses” “Fever when he holds me tight” “Fever, I’m his misses” “Daddy won’t you treat him right?”

Benny gave your pussy one last kiss before getting up on his knees, grabbing at your thighs and wrapping them around his waist, his erection grinding into your pussy.  You gasped at the pillows above your head as you watched him lean down; careful to not let your torsos touch (It was too damn hot for that.).  He grasped your hands into his larger ones tightly, pinning you down into the bed as he eased himself into you, the both of you groaning in unison as he was finally seated inside of you.  You dug your heels into his muscled ass, encouraging him to move any way you could.

“Please….Benny, please…”

“M’always happy to help.”

He snapped his hips, his pace immediately changing as he thrust himself into you, rocking the entire bed as you could do nothing but take what he wanted to give you.  You could feel sweat dripping off of his skin to mingle with yours.  While normally this would probably gross you out, you couldn’t care less right now as long as he kept pounding into you.  

You could feel your build up reaching its peak and you could tell that Benny would soon be following you.  You clenched around him tightly, trying to urge him to cum with you as your vision started to blur, seeing stars as you convulsed beneath him, knowing that he was following you over the edge.  He collapsed next to you, just as worn out as you were.

Now you’ve listened to my story Here’s the point that I have made Chicks were born to give you fever Be it Fahrenheit or centigrade They give you fever when you kiss them Fever if you live and learn Fever till you sizzle What a lovely way to burn What a lovely way to burn What a lovely way to burn What a lovely way to burn

Despite the heat, he dragged you over to his side, humming happily when he brought the ice cold glass to yours lips, the feeling of the ice water was pleasurable as it hit the back of your throat.  After putting down the glass his hands found your hair, surprisingly plaiting it back for you.  Was there anything he couldn’t do?! “So…tell me ‘bout them werewolves you were goin’ on ‘bout before…”

“Hmm…?”

Benny chuckled, turning on his side to get a good look at you, sleepy and sated.  He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Mmm darlin’, you’re burnin’ up again…might need ta cool ya down som’more.”

You giggled sleepily as he rolled back over on top of you.

What a lovely way to burn.

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Kulindadromeus zabaikalicus

By José Carlos Cortés 

Etymology: Runner from Kulinda

First Described By: Godefroit et al., 2014

Classification: Dinosauromorpha, Dinosauriformes, Dracohors, Dinosauria, Ornithischia, Genasauria, Neornithischia

Status: Extinct 

Time and Place: 173 million years ago; in the Aalenian of the Middle Jurassic

Kulindadromeus was found in the Ukureyskaya Formation of Southwestern Siberia, Russia 

Physical Description: Kulindadromeus was a small, bipedal dinosaur, built well for running on its hind limbs, while its forelimbs remained available for grasping food. Kulindadromeus had a squat body, a long tail, long legs, short arms, and a small head. It had a small, triangular snout that ended in a beak which was used to snip off plant material. It was about 1.5 meters long from head to tail, making it around average size for small bipedal herbivores at the time. Compared to an average person, it only would have come up to their knees and lower thighs in terms of height. It is distinguishable from its closest relatives primarily due to differences in its skull, namely having different sized holes in its snout, having a somewhat differently shaped upper jaw, and more slender bones in its hips. The differences in its head potentially aided in keeping its head cool, or in eating freshwater plants that it would have specialized in. In addition, it had more extensive muscles in its feet, which would have aided in running, along with the differences in musculature in its hips. 

Coloring by the author; line art by Diane Remic 

The most notable feature of Kulindadromeus is its extensive network of feathers and scales, which were preserved in great detail in the many fossils found of the species. Single-stranded protofeathers (meaning, precursors to feathers found in modern birds) are found all over the main body, neck, and head of Kulindadromeus. These protofeathers, usually reaching up to 3 centimeters in length, resemble those feather precursors found in dinosaurs more closely related to birds, such as Sinosauropteryx. In addition, there were groups of up to seven long filaments extending from the same location in the skin, extending down along the upper arms and thighs and reaching up to 1.5 centimeters in length. Finally, the last type of feather present on Kulindadromeus were bundles of ribbon-shaped feathers, up to two centimeters in length, extending in parallel along the lower legs. 

Kulindadromeus features a variety of scale types preserved as well. Overlapping hexagon shaped scales are found on the lower legs below the ribbon shaped feathers. Round, non-overlapping scales are on the hands, ankles, and feet. The top of the tail has five rows of rectangular scales, arched and locked together with only a little overlap. Small spurs jut out on the middle of the tail, giving a bumpy surface to the midline. These scales then taper off to small, round scales at the end of the tail that no longer overlap.

Color in these structures is not known at this time. 

By Ripley Cook 

Diet: Herbivorous; primarily a low-level browser of freshwater plants such as horsetails and moss, as well as potentially some coniferous trees (though these were rarer in the region). Kulindadromeus would have used its beak to snip off this plant material, which it then chewed with its teeth (a unique behavior for the group of dinosaurs Kulindadromeus belonged to).

Behavior: Given its small size, adaptations for running, and lack of adaptations for defense, it is likely that Kulindadromeus would have been fairly skittish, running at any sign of danger in its environment. As in other dinosaurs, it was probably warm-blooded and active. Preserved as it was in a large bone bed with many individuals (including adults and juveniles), it is likely it was somewhat social; probably living in groups to aid in protection from predators or other sources of danger. Most dinosaurs are known to have taken care of their young, including those most closely related to Kulindadromeus; as such, though there is no direct evidence of parental care in Kulindadromeus, it is likely that it took care of its young in some capacity.

By Ashley Patch 

Ecosystem: Freshwater lake environment near an active volcano system, filled with freshwater plants and invertebrates. Given the high position of Siberia at the time, it probably would have been no warmer than subtropical climates today; potentially even reaching temperate climate conditions, with seasonal changes in water and temperature. At least one other kind of dinosaur lived in the region, a theropod of some sort - probably a Coelurosaur (a group of dinosaurs that includes birds, Tyrannosaurs, and everything in between) - that may have preyed upon Kulindadromeus. Other herbivorous dinosaurs were probably present as well, though they have not been studied yet in great detail.

By Scott Reid 

Other: Though Kulindadromeus is fascinating in its own right due to the adaptations it shows for running compared to its relatives (which were already very fast on their own), as well as what it can show us about Middle Jurassic environments (which are not very well known compared to the Early or Late Jurassic), Kulindadromeus is most notable for what it tells us about the evolution of feathers in dinosaurs.

Prior to Kulindadromeus, the only confirmed feather remains in dinosaurs were in the group that included birds and their closest relatives - the Coelurosaurs. These dinosaurs showcase the evolution of feathers from single-stranded structures, sort of like hair in their shape, to the branched and barbed structure we’re familiar with in modern birds. Though single-stranded filaments were known from two dinosaurs distantly related to this group - Psittacosaurus and Tianyulong - they were poorly understood and not easily connected to feathers, as opposed to, say, just being another sort of fluff evolved in dinosaurs separate from the feather line.

By Sam Stanton 

Kulindadromeus, on the other hand, not only showed extensive fluffy covering nearly identical to that found in Coelurosaurs, but it also showed a diversity in fluffy covering not seen in dinosaurs outside of the Coelurosaur group before. This diversity matched many of the ideas proposed as intermediaries in feather evolution. This, combined with increasing evidence that the fluffy covering found in closely related pterosaurs is also a form of protofeather, indicates that feathers not only were ancestral to dinosaurs, but to the group of animals more closely related to birds than to Crocodilians. This indicates that fluffiness was one of the things that set early bird relatives apart from other reptiles, as reptile evolution exploded in the wake of the end-Permian extinction.

This fluffy covering would have helped small dinosaurs in general to keep warm, as well as aid in display and other social cues. Kulindadromeus, living in a slightly cooler environment, as well as being small in size, would have definitely benefited from the fluff in keeping warm. In addition, small warm-blooded animals such as Kulindadromeus utilize fluffy covering in maintaining their internal body temperature - most cold-blooded animals don’t really require fluff in this way.. Studies indicate that most smaller dinosaurs probably had such covering, and feathers were primarily lost in the larger dinosaurs that no longer needed them to keep warm. 

Thus, though Kulindadromeus is not much to look at in terms of spikes, horns, teeth, and other monstrous structures; it does provide an important clue in our understanding of how birds evolved, as well as what dinosaurs looked like in life. This makes it one of the most important dinosaur discoveries of the 2010s, as well as one of the cutest! Hopefully, as it is studied further, we can glean more about how it looked and lived. 

~ Article by Meig Dickson 

Sources under the cut 

Bolotsky, Y., A. V. Sizov, S. M. Sinitsa. 2015. New data on theropods (Dinosaur: Theropoda) from Transbaikalia. 12th Symposium of Mesozoic Terrestrial Ecosystems. 105 - 108.

Cincotta, A. C., V. Debaille, A. Gerdes, S. Sinitsa, S. Reshetova, K. Pestchevitskaya, M. McNamara, J. Yans, P. Godefroit. 2017. Age, Sedimentology and Paleoecology of Kulinda, an exceptional Middle Jurassic dinosaur locality from Siberia. Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology 37(3a): 98.

Godefroit, P., S. M. Sinitsa, D. Dhouailly, Y. L. Bolotsky, A. V. Sizov, M. E. McNamara, M. J. Benton and O. Spagna. 2014. A Jurassic ornithischian dinosaur from Siberia with both feathers and scales. Science 345(6):451-455

Horner, J. R., R. Makela. 1979. Nest of juveniles provides evidence of family structure amongst dinosaurs. Nature 282 (5736): 296 - 298.

Lovelace, D., S. Hartman, B. J. Linzmeier, W. P. Porter. 2018. Deep-Time Application of Linked Microclimate and Biophysical Models Constrain the Thermal Ecology of Two Late Triassic Dinosaurs (Coelophysis, PLateosaurus). Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology Abstract Book: 171.

Sinitsa, S. M., L. Bolotsky Yu, P. Godefroit. 2015. Taphonomy of the Late Jurassic Kulinda Lake. 12th Symposium of Mesozoic Terrestrial Ecosystems. 159 - 161.

Yang, Z., B. Jiang, M. E. McNamara, S. L. Kearns, M. Pittman, T. G. Kaye, P. J. Orr, X. Xu., M. J. Benton. 2018. Pterosaur integumentary structures with complex feather-like branching. Nature Ecology & Evolution 3: 24 - 30.

[thetriggeredhappy]

49-"Take off your shirt.” for SniScout?? :3c

bet yall think i’d get saucy, joke’s on you, instead i got sad. (post-comics in the tf2 timeline, warnings for traumatized boys)

49.) “Take your shirt off.”

Sniper didn’t previously hang out in the watchtower so much. He was more used to hanging out in and around his camper. But a lot of things changed when he went home and found his parents dead. Maybe too many.

The watchtower, though, it was nice. He’d gotten quite a few things up there for the sake of comfort. A cooler, a mattress for when he couldn’t stand sleeping in the camper, a shoddy table and some empty crates for chairs, blankets and tarps. A stack of magazines (both ammo and reading material), one of the dimestore books he’d picked up however many years ago that he could practically recite cover to cover, and a few packs of cigarettes as well as a lighter. He hadn’t smoked much back Before—always thought it was terrible sniping etiquette. The glowing end of a cigarette was a dead giveaway to the position of one’s head. But he’d picked up the habit around the same time he realized the phantom pains in his chest probably wouldn’t be going away any time soon.

He liked it up in the watchtower. Closed space and all. Quiet. The addition of the various furniture and the like just gave him a good excuse to keep staying up there.

He probably couldn’t have dealt with getting all those things up there alone. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

Scout took to hanging out with Sniper, and was happy for the extra work to do. He said he needed to be kept busy, even more than he had Before. Sniper didn’t question it. They’d all developed habits. He didn’t call out Scout on the way he’d started crossing his arms more, sitting with his back to the wall. The way he clearly didn’t enjoy being alone, always perched himself near the window. In return, Scout didn’t ask why Sniper hardly slept in his camper anymore, why Sniper stayed away from water.

They didn’t talk about it. They just didn’t.

There were a few things they’d broken silence about, at least a little bit. Mainly their shared complaints about having to do the whole routine Medic assigned them with each of their wounds, a salve that needed to be reapplied every day to try and help fade their scarring a little bit.

They took to something of a routine. An excuse for Scout to not be left alone for too long. A reason to make Sniper talk to someone for a period of time; he knew he’d gone back into his shell over the course of all of those months alone in that too-empty house, and probably needed the human interaction, or else he’d end up right back in his hermitage. Scout was nice enough to inform him that he appreciated his company fairly regularly, so at least there was that. Unless Scout was just trying to be polite. Sniper tried not to think about it too hard.

Regardless.

Generally the routine would go about the same. But today, Scout was a bit late. It only took a few moments to understand why.

“Hey,” Scout said, pulling himself up from the ladder in the same way he always did, favoring his right side as he crested the edge. “Sorry I’m late. Got some chips.”

Sniper caught the bag when it was tossed to him, and Scout settled on the windowsill as he looked them over. “These all for me?”

“I mean, if you want. Not that hungry,” Scout shrugged.

Sniper nodded, put the bag on the ground by his leg. He wasn’t that hungry either. He was never sure if it was for the same reason as most of the others.

“Well, seein’ that I’m late an’ all, wanna just cut right to it?” Scout asked, half a sigh.

“May as well,” Sniper shrugged. “Take your shirt off.”

Scout started pulling himself free of his shirt as Sniper went to pick up the tube of balm from the table.

Sniper could pretty well handle treating his own scars, what with them all being on his front and the underside of his biceps. But Scout could only handle some of his own, given how it curved awkwardly around his side and a bit up his back. And he added that since he couldn’t really feel much of the area around where the worst of it was, it was hard to do the application of the scar treatment… stuff. So he’d asked Sniper, nervously, eyes averted, if he could maybe help. So he did.

Even now, a good few months after What Happened, a good two months after he’d started the little routine of helping Scout, Sniper was still taken aback by the scarring, the wound. It left a nasty pit in Scout’s side, his ribs poking out abruptly beneath his skin from the wound in a way that made Scout look almost sickly, starved. Were they the types to talk about it, Sniper might’ve chided Scout about how visible the ribs on his non-wounded side were, would’ve told him to try not to skip meals. But they weren’t the types, and Sniper wasn’t a hypocrite regardless, so instead Sniper was left to bite back the worry that crested in his chest every time he caught sight of the progressing visibility.

“Okay,” Scout said, lifting his arm and tilting himself so that Sniper could set to work. “My question of the day.”

“Shoot,” Sniper said, warming the lotion-like substance between his hands. This was the other part of their routine—Scout would always bring Sniper a question, something to try and get Sniper to open up a bit. The questions were never invasive, always lighthearted, sometimes even joking. They worked well.

“Do you believe in paranormal and supernatural stuff?”

“Dunno,” Sniper replied, setting to work on the backmost part of the scarring, making sure to try and get the lotion in the worst of the pitting. “Not really sure what counts.”

Scout hummed. “Okay, then what about UFOs and stuff? You believe in those?”

“Yes. Because anything can be an unidentified flying object. That’s just a classification of object. Not somethin’ to be believed in,” Sniper replied.

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“That’s what UFO stands for. Unidentified Flying Object.”

“…Oh. Well, okay then wise guy, how about aliens an’ stuff? You believe in those?”

Sniper started working his way slowly around to Scout’s front, where Scout could probably handle doing this himself, but Sniper did it anyways. “Infinite universe. Assumin’ we’re the only place where life’s happened would be awful cocky.”

Scout huffed a laugh. “Okay, like, smart aliens, though,” he elaborated further.

“Intelligent life?”

“Yeah, that.”

Sniper shrugged. “Hard to say. Probably a good chance of it.” He paused for a moment, putting a hand on Scout’s shoulder to tilt his torso a bit. It was hard for him to doubt much of anything these days, after he’d visited the lost land of New Zealand. “Doubt it’s ever been here, though, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”

“There was this one just batshit dude I met,” Scout started, the ‘in jail’ modified remaining unsaid. “He kept goin’ off about like, how aliens made the pyramids, and stone hedge—“

“Stonehenge.”

“Yeah, that. And all this other stuff too. Kept sayin’ there was no way anyone could’be built all that stuff, and started goin’ off about Area 51 and all that.”

“What’d he say about Area 51?” Sniper asked, smearing the last of the scarring, the minor stuff near Scout’s navel that was already fading fairly quickly.

“Dunno. That’s around when Spy killed ‘im.”

Unprompted, Sniper got more lotion on his hand, eyeing up the other scar on Scout’s chest. “Lunatic.”

“Who, Spy or the dude?”

“Both.”

The other scar on Scout’s chest, he didn’t talk about. Sniper knew the one down on his side he knew was what left Scout dying in a hallway alone, but this one he was fairly sure was more recent. Shortly after Scout had started visiting Sniper every once and a while, before he asked for help, there’d been a few days where Scout had his upper chest wrapped in gauze and didn’t come by.

It was large, spanning in a wide circle about the size of a dinner plate, right across the middle of Scout’s chest. It had discoloration across parts, crinkled like a burn, pock-marked from Scout picking at it.

Sniper started on that one, and Scout’s gaze fell to one side, aware that Sniper had kind of a thing about eye contact sometimes.

“Uh,” Scout started to say, and Sniper’s fingers tickled with the vibration of him speaking. “Engie was sayin’ somethin’ weird today.”

Sniper hummed in question.

“About…” He hesitated. “About… us all maybe bein’ dismissed. Sent home.”

Sniper faltered, but kept his expression stoic. “Hm. Why?”

“Miss P…” And there was another hesitation, as had been happening pretty much every time Pauling came up in conversation. “…We were kept here because there weren’t much of anyone left except us. But I guess she’s bringin’ on new people.”

Sniper frowned. Hummed again.

“I dunno. He just… mentioned it.” Scout kept staring off to one side. “Where would you be headed?”

“Dunno,” Sniper said. “Home, I suppose.”

“Alone again?”

Sniper hummed in confirmation.

“Think there’d be room there for a friend?”

Sniper looked up at him. Somewhere along the line, Scout had shifted from not looking at him to not looking at him.

“You’ve got folks,” Sniper said, not sure how else to say it.

Scout hung his head. “I… I can’t go back there,” he said quietly. “I… I just can’t. I even think about lookin’ my Ma in the eye after all that and I just… I can’t, okay? Just figured it was worth askin’. Not good for you to be out alone like that. Two birds, y’know?”

“You really ought to go see your mum,” Sniper said carefully.

Scout laughed humorlessly. “And tell ‘er what? That her youngest son died and… and…”

They didn’t talk about it. They just didn’t. They didn’t.

“And what?” Sniper asked.

“Doc said it wasn’t real,” Scout managed. “That none’a it was real.”

“Said the same to me,” Sniper replied.

They didn’t talk about it.

“I’m gonna sound fuckin’ insane,” Scout half-laughed, hanging his head further, cradling it in one hand.

“You won’t,” Sniper assured. “C’mon. Tell me.”

Scout didn’t lift his head. “I saw God.”

Silence. “What?”

“I saw God, man. I…” He shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fuck, I don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”

Silence. Silence. They didn’t talk about it.

“I saw my parents.”

That got Scout to lift his head, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“My mum and dad. I saw ‘em. Talked to ‘em. Made peace.”

Scout just stared at him.

“There…” Sniper’s eyes fell to Scout’s chest scar. “There’s plenty of room at the house. Back in Oz. You’re welcome to stay there if that’s where I wind up goin’.”

“And if it’s not?” Scout asked, voice as raw as his scar looked.

“Then you’re still welcome to head out with me, if that’s really what you want.”

Scout’s eyes fell, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Thanks,” Scout said quietly.

It was quiet between them for a few seconds. Sniper capped the tube, setting it aside. He picked up a box of cigarettes, pulling one out and setting to light it.

“.I don’t know how long I was layin’ there,” Scout said. “I kinda thought nobody was ever gonna find me. I’m gonna be fuckin’ annoying, I ain’t gonna hardly ever leave you alone.”

Sniper managed to put up a smile. “That a promise?”

Scout laughed. It almost sounded real this time.

Almost.

[i-got-these-words]

for the qiucheng... how about something pretty porny eh? ;D

Yes, how about ;)

The soothing melisma in an R&B melody.

The savorous scent of spices, grilled chicken and roasted sweet potatoes.

The strain on his knees, the stiffness in his arms, the sensation between his legs.

He Cheng shivered as the sweat between his shoulder blades slid south, cooled by the fan behind him. The whirring hum was hypnotic, the perfect backdrop to the music swirling in the apartment, to the soft sizzling and the muted shuffling in the open-plan kitchen.

The marble flooring was unkind to him, but he’d trained for this. And, although he couldn’t tell how much time had passed, he knew he could carry on for much longer; he also knew he could stand and put an end to this whenever he wanted. He only had to say.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t want it to end.

Not ever.

So he continued to kneel, right hand clasping the wrist of his left behind his back, the burning in his knees a protest he ignored, the cloth around his eyes a promise of things to come.

Rasp. Rustle. The swoosh of slippered feet.

A warm hand caressed his cheek, fingers skimming the line of his jaw, smelling of coriander, cumin and smoked paprika.

“Dinner’s almost ready. How you doing?” Qiu’s everyday voice was gruff, bordering on grizzly. But when it was just the two of them, when He Cheng was naked and on his knees, it was the growl of a Pagani Zonda R ripping asphalt in an unsanctioned race. And it made He Cheng’s dick melt.

Leaning into the hand, He Cheng swallowed audibly. “I’m okay. A little thirsty.” The hand stilled. “Sir,” he added, a deliberate afterthought. Because the threat of punishment was just as sweet as the punishment itself.

“I’ll get you something.”

The warmth against his face withdrew as Qiu wandered back to the kitchen.

Swish. Clatter. Slosh.

As a sure hand curled around the back of his neck, He Cheng felt a straw prod his lips. He opened up and took a long sip, quenching a superficial thirst while the strong, sturdy fingers massaging his nape spurred a familiar, deeper hunger.

“Mmm,” he hummed, the subdulcid liquid fizzing on his tongue. “What is that?”

Qiu stroked a callous thumb across He Cheng’s bottom lip. “A new mocktail recipe I’m trying. It’s got grapefruit. You like it?”

“Yeah,” He Cheng replied, his tongue darting out to catch the flavours on Qiu’s thumb. Mint. Lemon. Man. “I like it a lot, sir.”

A single, sharp clink as glass was transferred to marble.

The hand around He Cheng’s neck uncurled to scratch at the short hairs at the back of his head, while another hand – cooler, wet, but just as sturdy – slithered down to his crotch. Snaked around the silicone. Cupped his balls.

“How’s the fit? Still good?” Qiu asked, cold fingers inspecting the cock-and-balls ring.

Hissing as chilly skin met hot, heated flesh, He Cheng stuttered. “P-perfect, sir.”

“You’ll tell me if it gets too tight?”

“Always.” He Cheng quivered as Qiu swiped a thumb against his slit. Once. And then again. “Ahh, f-fuck.”

The hand around his junk disappeared. A wet sound. A meaningful moan.

“Dessert’s ready,” Qiu whispered into He Cheng’s ear, breath hot and heavy. The sudden proximity made He Cheng jump a little, and his cock jump a lot.

Biting back a whimper, He Cheng bowed his head. Slumped his shoulders. Spread his knees further apart. “Please, sir. Dessert before dinner.”

The hand at the back of his head slid down, tracing a titillating path over the locks of his spine, the teasing a stark contrast to the tightness in his calves.

“We wouldn’t wanna spoil our appetite,” Qiu murmured, his hand already curving around an ass cheek. Gripping. Squeezing.

“We can –” He Cheng gasped as a wandering finger brushed against his hole “– work up an appetite.”

A pause. An R&B singer hitting several notes on one vowel. The tick of a mechanical timer in the kitchen.

Bereft of Qiu’s touch, He Cheng sighed with relief when he heard, “At ease, lover.”

He released his wrist. Brought his arms forward. Slumped onto his left side to take the weight off his knees. “Thank you, sir.”

He waited to see if the blindfold would be removed, but instead Qiu asked, “Do you need a minute?”

“No, I’m okay.” Or, as okay as he could be with a throbbing cock, silicone snug around his shaft and around his nuts.

“Good.” Qiu leisurely swept sizzling fingers down He Cheng’s arm and took him by the hand. Helped him up. Waited a beat til He Cheng was steady on his feet. “Walk with me.”

It was awkward – not because he was in his birthday suit and Qiu was fully clothed, or because he couldn’t see jack shit and Qiu was privy to all his nakedness, but because each step made his hard-on swing, tugging painfully at the restrictive binds around each ball.

Marble soon gave way to rug.

Qiu led him towards one of the couches, but didn’t ask him to sit down. Instead, He Cheng waited as Qiu took a seat, the anticipation making his face flush and the short hairs on his arms stand on end.

The telling clunk-rasp-clack of a belt being unbuckled.

He Cheng’s mouth watered reflexively as he heard a zipper being undone.

“Yield,” Qiu commanded.

Chin to chest. Hands braced behind his back. Feet spread apart.

“Sir,” He Cheng breathed, his hot, heavy cock twitching and leaking, leaking, leaking. “How may I serve you?”

“You can start by showing me your ass.”

[o-captain-elcapitan]

Steel Horses - Chapter Two

Title: Steel Horses Author: ElCapitan Game: Dragon Age Characters/Pairing: M!Adaar x Dorian Disclaimer: All recognizable content belongs to Bioware

Summary -

Valo-Kas M.C. is not a 1% motorcycle club. The security work that they do is above board, legal and licensed, squeaky f*cking clean. What their clients get up to, however, is none of their business. And their strict “look the other way, ask no questions” policy is what keeps them in business. That is until a new Tevinter client puts the MC in federal cross hairs. Ozet Adaar wants to protect his sister and save his club. When a Tevinter ambassador knocks him on his ass his heart is pulled in yet another direction and there’s nothing more terrifying than knowing that he can’t protect them all. His twin, Ozena, might consider herself “barely a mage” but that’s still enough to damn her if the wrong people find her out. Federal scrutiny is the last thing they need. Maker only knows if they can shake it with their lives in tact.

Read on Ao3

[Prologue]

Ozena

Pulling her attention from Zet’s back, she left her twin to his confident forward march and focused on the shipping containers stacked like building blocks around them. As the MC strode toward the waiting humans, Ozena did a mental rollcall of the heat she was packing. The nervous energy that had been cycling through sailor knots with her intestines now had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, too. The rusted jumbo blocks were piled high, a towering mazework of mismatched storage units forgotten and left to rot on Seagrave’s restless coast. Salty sea air was winning the fight against the metal containers, devouring them slowly. 

Her passing curiosity on the contents of all these shipping units was an afterthought, irrelevant. Ozena’s only and immediate concern had to do with their surroundings and the blaring warning bells of her instincts on edge. She had the sense that they were being watched by more than the humans anticipating their arrival. 

When Ashir caught her gaze and dipped his chin, Ozena was already moving, ready for the wordless command and eager to act on it. She peeled away from Valo-Kas to check the perimeter, the east most containers her responsibility while Nysris investigated the west. An odd choice if only her officer’s patch was considered. But almost everything Ozena knew about weapon handling and close quarter combat she’d learned from the half-vashoth. Nys was the club’s treasurer, but she could have been Sergeant just as easily. Her training was as extensive as Ash’s. Unlike Ozena, who’d picked up everything she knew from the club’s other members. 

She removed the 9mil from the holster under her cut and the hunting knife from the sheath strapped to her thigh. The hand gripping the knife steadied her gun hand as she slunk into the shipping yard’s shadows. They should have done a perimeter sweep before meeting these Ferelden wannabe tough guys. Ashir had said as much, but there hadn’t been time. Now she wished that he’d insisted, because the time and location of this meeting were all the right components for an ambush. 

Resisting the urge to light up the night, Ozena searched the darkness gathered between each stack of shipping containers. She didn’t want to give away her position with floating orbs of sourceless light, not if it’d cost her the advantage of sneaking up on someone. Behind her, at the meeting she’d left to cooler heads, came the deafening discharge of firing guns rat-tat-tatting into the night. She glanced over her shoulder, pausing her search to gauge the sound. Ozena had seen the human remove the rifle from the case Zet had been holding, she knew it had to be him, taking the thing for a test drive. But she held her breath and strained her ears anyway, as if she could interpret the tone of the gunfire and identify its intent. 

Just a kid with a new toy, taking it out for a spin. 

She’d all but convinced herself of her club’s safety when something moved out of the corner of her eye. Ozena aimed her gun at the shifting shadows, too late. A forceful energy slammed into her and threw her into the shipping container behind her. Her muscles went taut on impact and the barrel of her gun illuminated, lightning and thunder that was followed by a pained shout. She was the first to gather her bearings and flung herself into the fight, lowering her gun and raising her knife as the figure ducked to the side then stepped in closer, their fingers glossy as they held their limp arm. 

Something primordial rippled in her, a radiant energy that flexed; like recognizing like. Ozena reached for that effervescent glow. A drop was pulled from the shallow pool and manifested along her surface. Just as the figure hurled themself at her, brandishing a shard of ice that gleamed as sharp as her own knife, a layer of bark formed on her skin. 

Ozena lifted her arm as they moved. The added layer of oaked armor deflected the ice shard the hooded mage flung at her. She side stepped their tackle and raised her knee to catch them in the gut before they could tumble past her. When they doubled over, gasping for breath, she slammed her elbow into the back of their neck. The mage collapsed to the ground and Ozena re-holstered her gun before she flipped them onto their back. 

Lifting her palm, she tapped again into the small pool of primal power. A small globule of pale green light took shape in her hand, a floating orb that shone weakly in the dark and only gave off just enough light to see by as she crouched down on top of the mage and yanked their hood back. One hand was held up in surrender while the other pressed down on his bleeding shoulder. Her hunting knife on his throat kept him still as she scoured his human features. 

She ripped down the collar of his coat then peeled his bottom lip away from his teeth. “Who sent you?” demanded Ozena, still searching him for colors. 

“P-please,” coughed the human, raised hand trembling. 

No. Not trembling. Moving. 

Too late she noticed the glif he’d subtly drawn into the air. The now glowing sigil pulsed and Ozena was flung back again, thrown fifteen feet like a damn ragdoll as the mage scrambled onto his feet and disappeared into the shadows before she could think to mark him with her magic. She slammed hard into another storage unit. The collision punched the air out of her lungs. Ozena caught onto the container’s rust roughened exterior to keep from falling while her brain did a hard reboot and tried to get the breathe-in-breathe-out cycle going again. Distantly she registered the deafening exchange of gunfire cracking nearby. 

Ozet. The club. This was an ambush after all. 

Coughing, she pushed away from the cargo container and stumbled toward the sound. Every step closer was surer, more steady than the last. There was a clarity to her heartbeat, a certainty to her desperation. Ashir called it a battle calm, and the other once-soldiers in Valo-Kas agreed that it was a real thing. Time slowed, darkness lifted, Ozena’s mind was suped up on NOS. Her instincts took hold and everything else moved onto the back burner. 

She only realized that she’d freed her gun when she lifted it with steady hands and squeezed the trigger. The hooded figure on top of a crate stack fell from his perch. His wet thump landing went unnoticed as Ozena lined another shot. There was another figure behind Valo-Kas, another mage casting a barrage of spells at their backs, as if they were pulling each attack from the tome levitating before them. She squeezed the trigger, unloading a rattle of gunfire and each bullet slammed into a shield they’d erected around themself. 

Stepping forward as she shot, she knew her clip would be empty before she could get that barrier down. There was hope, though, when she noticed the cracks in the forcefield. The magic was crumbling under the assault. Fissures spider webbed over the bubble and, when he finally turned his attention onto her, Ozena’s barkskin deflected the glowing missiles he hurled her way. 

The shell encapsulating him disintegrated in a burst of light and Ozena lowered her head before charging him down. She rammed into him, horns first, and knocked him off his feet. Before he could gasp for breath she sat on his chest, grabbed hold of either side of his head, and beat it into the cement. Once, twice, again and again, until his body went limp beneath her. Until blood pooled like ink and his head came away lighter from the ground, if stringy when she pulled it back. 

“Pull back, pull back!” Shokrakar sounded the retreat and it was the near panic in her voice that snapped her out of her battle calm. 

The world slid into focus with screaming and exploding weapons. She scanned the scene as she moved for cover behind a shipping container, scouring the slaughter ground for her club. They were easy to locate in the chaos, an organized unit, a localized tempest. Shok and Zet were guarding their client, the small Tevinter woman tucked under Zet, between him and the crate they were both ducked behind. Shokrakar and the client's body guard were behind a nearby stack of crates, each peeking from cover whenever there was an opening to offer cover fire as the other members worked their way back from the gunfight. 

By the dead humans splayed near the docks, she knew that this business meet was a bust. All Valo-Kas cold do now was get the client out alive. And, more importantly, themselves. 

Ozena slid the empty magazine from it’s compartment, letting it fall to the ground in a clatter. A fresh metal jacket glided into place and locked there by a bump from the heel of her palm. She leaned out from behind cover, barrel first, and added to the cover fire. They needed to get to their bikes, but she wasn’t going to go anywhere without her brother. 

One by one, Valo-Kas drew back. Between reloads they found cover further away from the docks, within the walls of shipping containers. She kept her weapon trained on the elevated shooter. Before she could wish that she had a deeper pool of magic, or a more refined hold on the magic she did have, blood misted from his chest as two shots hit home and dropped him out of the fight. She was better with a gun anyway. 

Nys touched her shoulder as she passed, instructions in a squeeze she barely felt. But Zet was still out there and she wouldn’t budge. With the rest of the club retreating a safe distance away, Shok and Zet finally peeled away from their crates after giving their client and her driver coverfire. Once the two were safe, Valo-Kas’ president and vice president slunk between the containers before they could get pinned down. And with them on the move, Ozena also made a mad dash for their waiting bikes. Gunfire and shouting still sounded from behind them, but none of them looked back. 

As she sprinted through the shipping yard toward their motorcycles, the roar of several engines joined the night’s deadly cacophony. She was racing toward her own bike when a scream stopped her in her tracks. Ozena turned back to watch the driver fall face first to the ground. His back was a mess of mangled flesh and shredded fabric. Their client struggled from Zet’s holdas he half dragged her toward the SUV. She managed to slip his grasp, ducking under his arm to race toward the fallen elf. 

Ozena’s focus left the screaming woman and panned over to the hooded figure who’d picked up one of the heavy weapons their client had brought for show and tell. Her heart stopped and blood chilled to ice as she watched him lift the weapon to his chest and line up a shot. Zet lurched forward, arms outstretched, ready to throw himself between the client and a spray of bullets. 

‘NO!’  she screamed from the depths of her soul, unsure and uncaring if the word managed to claw up her throat and tear through the night as well. Arms thrown out, hands splayed in front of her, Ozena emptied all that remained of her magic into protecting her twin. She imagined a second skin, not of bark like hers, but something otherworldly, impenetrable, pure hermetic power as unbreakable as their bond. 

Ozet’s skin flashed with a vibrant blue glow that dimmed as her magic settled over him. 

The moment it did the maelstrom was unleashed. The machine gun’s barrel sparked white. A ceaseless cracking cut like a machete through the night, vicious and deadly. Zet threw himself in front of it just as the hooded figure sprayed the night with a flesh shredding volley of lead. There was a squelching sound of pierced skin and blood spray, and Ozena screamed in horror, convinced her too shallow pool of magic had failed her, failed him, had damned them both. 

But Zet’s skin flashed blue again and again, a strobing light that was followed by the clatter of bullets falling to the concrete around him. 

Before she could process the heaving breaths of his curled form protecting their client, a replying crack shot from behind her. The machine gun slipped from the hooded figure’s hands. His hood fell back with his head, revealing a hole between his eyes. He collapsed to the ground and Ozena was moving before his body made impact, racing for her brother as Shok shouted commands. 

“Get her the fuck out of here!”

Ozet stood from his crouch with the human in his arms. He saw her running his way and issued his own orders. “The keys.”

“On it,” she said, sprinting past her brother toward the dead elf. She skidded to a stop beside his body and turned him onto his mutilated back to reveal a front that wasn’t much prettier. Patting his pockets down, she found his keys just as more hooded figures appeared from between the shipping containers. She didn’t wait for them to unleash their guns or magic. Ozena shot back onto her feet and scrambled for the same SUV Zet was running toward. 

“Zet,” she shouted as she neared him. When he turned she said, “Trade me,” and tossed him the keys.

He caught them in the hand under the human’s knees, who he slid into her arms once Ozena had stopped in front of him. Zet opened the back passenger door and she climbed in with the human in tow. The door slammed shut before she was fully settled. Outside Ozet shouted, “Go, go, go,” and the roar of revving engines met his command, then the crack of gunfire popped in rebuttal. 

Zet slammed into the driver’s seat. The engine started with a soft rumble, the machinery too expensive, manufactured for silence and elegance that could never match the bassy roar of a motorcycle’s V-twin engine they were used to. When he stepped on the gas it shot forward without a gurgle of protest. He didn’t look away from the night darkened road ahead when he asked, “How’s she doing back there, Zen?” The question was followed by the scraping sound of bullets cutting through metal and shattering glass. 

She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Ozena stared desperately at the human bleeding all over the luxury leather seats. She was choking on it. Crimson dribbled from her mouth, it stained her teeth as she coughed it up. Ozena moved her hands from where she was holding them to her middle. 

A murmured, “Fuck,” left her as she looked up from the human’s abdomen to her tearful brown eyes. 

“Well?”

She cut him off with a harsh, “ Shhh ,” and placed her hands where the woman’s had just been. To her brother, she instructed, “Let me concentrate,” and shut her eyes to do just that. 

Taking deep, slow breaths, she reached again for that ever glowing ember, but it was dim, so fucking dim. All that was left was the smoldering glow of a candle starved of air, all but extinguished if not for sheer stubbornness. She harnessed it anyway, gathering the dredges of magic she still had left and poured it into the human. Thinking mending thoughts, of flesh stitching together, blood receding, smooth, unblemished skin, her hands glowed with a white, purifying energy. The light speared dimly between the cracks of her fingers, from the tight space between her hands and the woman’s middle. It was healing magic, and it wasn’t enough. 

The wound was stitching together too slowly. She’d lost too much blood. There was too much damage. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes and into her dark hair. Long lashes fluttered and she groaned, sobbing, still choking on her blood. Her near black eyes were on Ozena’s face. She tried to speak but the effort looked like agony. It took too much out of her. The woman blinked and her gaze was past Ozena, distant and unseeing, the life draining from them with every second. 

“No, no, no, no. Come on, you Tevinter bitch. Don’t you die on me.”

“Zen.”

Ignoring her brother, Ozena moved her bloody hands from the woman’s middle to the space between her breasts and started doing chest compressions. “Don’t. You. Dare. Die. You. Stupid. Fucking. Bitch.” Each word was punctuated by the forceful press of her stacked palms to the woman’s sternum. After she breathed into her mouth, she started again.

She barely noticed when Ozet pulled off to the side of the road, just kept doing chest compressions to the unmoving body staring blankly at the ceiling. The passenger door opened to let in a wave of cold air, and Ozena didn’t look up to see her brother standing there, staring. She already knew what he was going to ask, what he’d suggest, as if she hadn’t already considered it. 

“I’m tapped,” she grunted between clenched teeth, still not looking up from the Tevinter woman that had almost gotten them all killed. “There’s nothing left.”

Zet’s hand settled on top of both of hers, stopping her from another round of compressions. “Enough, Zen,” he said gently, pulling both her hand and her attention away from the dead woman in the backseat until her gaze met his. “She’s dead. It’s over. There’s nothing you can do.”

He held his hand out to her and Ozena hesitated just long enough to glance down at those dark, vacant eyes before she put her hand in his and let him help her out of the SUV. She gulped down fresh air then doubled over with her hands on her knees. The wave of nausea and exhaustion that hit her wasn’t because she'd seen a woman die right in front of her. She was drained and her body was punishing her for it. There was nothing left and if she tried to force it she wouldn't be able to keep her dinner down. 

Ozet rubbed her back as she gulped down the cold night air. It wasn’t long before the rumbling of motorcycles closed in on them and she’d rather not be hacking up the whole of her stomach while the club deliberated their next move. 

Ozet

He was rubbing circles onto Ozena’s back when the rest of the club pulled up to the SUV and dismounted their bikes. A breath of relief eased out of him after a quick head count confirmed that all of Valo-Kas was accounted for. Prepared as he’d been for the night to go to shit, he still hadn’t anticipated casualties, and maybe his relief made him a bastard, but he wouldn’t apologize for being glad that his people weren’t counted among them. His gaze dropped down to his twin, who still had her hands braced on her knees as she breathed through her nausea. 

It’d been a close thing. Too close. This couldn’t happen again.

Shokrakar approached, gravel crunching under her motorcycle boots, her gaze on their faces before she glanced toward the open back passenger door. “The girl?”

“Dead,” he supplied with a shake of his head.

“Shit,” grumbled the president as she rubbed a ring covered hand over her mouth and jaw. “Shit!”

Zet agreed with the sentiment. This was bad for them. Dead clients weren’t the best representation of the quality of their security work. Not to mention the mess they’d been left with. A body and his and Ozena’s prints all over the bloody, bullet hole riddled vehicle that was probably a rental and would be reported stolen sooner or later. 

What a fucking shitshow. 

Patting the front of his leathers, Zet reached into his cut’s inside breast pocket and pulled free the pack of cigarettes and lighter he kept there. He tapped the cigarettes to his thigh a few times before lifting a butt to his mouth and holding it between his lips as he offered the pack to Ozena. She pushed off of her knees with murmured thanks and, while she picked one out for herself, he thumbed the flint wheel behind the shield of his hand. The flame was joined by an exhale of smoke, and he kept it burning long enough for Zen to light the tip of her own cancer stick before he flipped the lighter shut and returned everything to the pocket he’d pulled them from. 

Around them, others were also lighting up. Apparently they weren’t the only ones that needed a nicotine bump. After the night’s many close calls he knew that more than a few would want to drown the tension with Sword Swallowers and alcohol, and there’d be plenty of both waiting at the clubhouse for their return. But first there was a mess to clean up. 

To Shok he said, “I’ll get rid of the car and the body, but Zen’s and my bikes are still at the shipping yard.”

She glanced over to the elf, a command in the question posed as his name. “Ash?”

Dark eyes shifted between him and his twin. Thoughtfully, he supplied, “Four of us can double up, ride back to the wharf and bring your bikes home.”

Zen shook her head. Flicking the butt of her cigarette with her thumb, she knocked the ash from its tip and argued, “That’s a lot of unnecessary back and forth that might draw attention. I’ll go with Zet to deal with this,” She motioned vaguely at the SUV. “We’ll pick up a car and drive back to the shipping yard for our bikes. After everything that just happened we should lay low. The fewer of us on the streets, the better.”

“She’s right,” Ashir agreed, but Zet didn’t like her part in this new plan. 

He observed her wan skin and hollow eyes. She looked sallow and exhausted, and he didn't like the idea of walking her back into potential danger when she looked dead on her feet. “I’ll take Vercer,” he said, exhaling a plume of grey, still watching his sister closely. “You should go to the clubhouse and get some rest.”

As always, she was quick to argue. “Like fuck you will. I’m going.”

“Zen--”

“She’s fine,” Shok interrupted his argument, arms folded in front of her chest as she also observed his sister. But if she was willing to let Zen charge back into a fight, she clearly wasn’t seeing what he was. Moving her gaze onto him, she said, “Get rid of the body and wipe the car clean. I don’t want anything to trace back to us.”

On a sigh, Shok’s gaze took in the MC and she shook her head. Heavy eyelids slid shut and she pressed the heels of her palms into them. When she dropped her hands from her face she gave them all another once over, then the SUV they’d be getting rid of, then sighed again. “We’ll deal with the rest in the AM.” She sounded as exhausted as Ozena looked.

Cigarettes were smoked down to the filters then flicked across the pavement, into the dry, roadside shrubs, except for Ashir’s; which was pocketed to be properly disposed of later. Brief goodbyes were made, embraces exchanged, along with promises to meet back at the clubhouse before they went their separate ways. The club got back on their motorcycles and drove into the night as he and Zen slid back into the SUV and drove in the opposite direction, back toward the coast. 

It was a quiet ride and he might have been thankful for it if it weren’t for the tension blasting off of his sister in a heatwave. She was angry with him, the razor sharp silence a dead give away that she was stewing in it. If he had the energy to lock horns with her, he’d have asked what was up, but it’d been a long night and Zet really didn’t want to fight with her. 

It’d been a good long while since she’d tapped herself out like she had tonight, longer still since they’d had this close a shave. Anger was how she coped, but thirteen hours of sleep would also do the trick; which was why she should have gone home instead of climbing into the passenger seat and exhausting herself that much more. 

One hand on the steering wheel, the other softly tapping along the edge of the center console dividing them, Zet’s gaze was trained on the headlight illuminated road and strips of yellow paint that zipped under the SUV like they were going lightspeed. A heavy sigh flattened his chest at the thought of the body in the back seat. 

Livia Herathinos had left them with quite a mess, but he was more interested in the trouble she’d been getting  herself  into. 

From what little of the business meeting had actually gone down, Zet had gathered that she was selling guns. More than that. She’d been selling military grade heavy weapons, or at least had that level of firepower in stock. Face time with her buyers had been short, but they’d seemed small time, with neither the funds nor need for that kind of arsenal. So what had that meeting  really  been about and why had they been ambushed? Had the hoods come for Livia, or her buyers?

Fuck. They were knee deep in it now, with no idea what the fuck they were wading through. 

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and took a slow, steadying breath. They’d deal with one thing at a time. First the body and the car had to disappear. Everything else could wait until after a hot shower, big meal, and some much needed shut eye. 

Shok had said it best: they’d deal with the rest in the AM. 

The SUV came to a stop in front of a canal not far from the Seagrave coastline, a ways away from the shipping yard, at a dock that saw so little traffic that the signs had all rusted over and the dock itself had collapsed with rot. There was an incline where one might back a boat into the water, and the advisory posted nearby suggested that doing so was a bad idea. This was so far off the beaten path that it’d probably be years before the SUV was discovered and, by then, there wouldn't be a scrap of evidence left to link Valo-Kas to this crime or anything else that had happened tonight. 

He pressed the start button to kill the engine, muttering, “Come on,” as he pushed his door open and stepped out of the vehicle. The door was left open as he moved for the back passenger seat. They’d have to move Livia into the driver’s seat before they wiped the whole thing down. 

While he hooked his hands under her arms and dragged her body from the backseat, Ozena felt under the seats and searched the compartments for the emergency roadside kit. It took a few minutes of impatient grousing and some frustrated snarls before she yanked a lumpy red satchel from a compartment in the trunk. Zet knew better than to comment and instead focused on situating the body in the driver’s seat and strapping it in. 

When Zen tossed him a pair of clear, latex gloves, he squeezed his fingers into them, watching as she did the same. She’d found a bottle of some hydrogen peroxide and tossed it to him, along with a packet of gauze. He tore it open for the woven pads inside and began to spray down anything he might have touched. 

In the back and the rest of the SUV, Ozena was doing the same. Since they had the time they did a thorough job of it, emerging nearly half an hour later confident that neither of them had left a trace of themselves behind. He glanced sidelong at his twin and frowned as what he saw made him turn his face to really look at her. 

She was covered in blood. Her hands, her clothes, even her face. She’d need to wash off before they hit the road again, would probably need to lose her shirt, too. The blood on her pants wasn’t as easy to spot on the dark wash denim. 

“Give me the gauze,” she growled instead of the ‘ what the fuck are you looking at? ’ he saw burning in her eyes. 

Zet handed it to her, along with the rest of what she’d given him, and watched her stalk over to the patchy shrubbery to kick up some dirt. Zen dug a shallow hole in the earth then dropped all their steril smelling and blood stained trash into it. Shrugging out of her cut, she held it out for him to take before pulling off her tank top to toss onto the pile. When she held out her hand it wasn’t her cut he placed into it, but his lighter. 

She lit up the last square of gauze and let it fall into the hole. It wasn’t long before everything inside was on fire.

This time when she held out her hand he returned her cut, watching wearily as she shoved her arms through the holes and adjusted its fit on her shoulders. Watching the fire burn away the evidence of their ever being in the SUV, Zen peeled off the latex gloves and tossed them into the flames. 

“Do you want to explain to me what that was earlier,” she demanded, still not tearing her scowl away from the small, makeshift fire pit at their feet. 

He folded his arms in front of himself. Nothing he said would be the right thing, but he tried a tenuous, “You’ll have to be more specific,” on for size and immediately regretted it. 

Zen’s flaying glare snapped onto him. She turned away from the fire to face him fully and hiss, “You almost died tonight, Ozet. For  her .” She threw a hand toward the SUV, gesturing at the dead body strapped in the driver’s seat. 

A deep breath filled his lungs and it he let it out slowly. He wet his lips before he dared to answer. “Sometimes the jobs we take are dangerous, Zen. You know that. It wasn’t a big deal.”

She shoved his chest then got in his face, teeth bared as fury flashed in her violet eyes. The same eyes as his. “The jobs we take aren’t worth your life.  She  wasn’t worth your life. You threw yourself between her and a machine gun and the  only  reason we’re not pushing you into the canal right along with her is because of me.”

Staring down at his sister, Zet searched her outraged expression for the fear he knew was behind it. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “What do you want to hear, Zen?” He shook his head in a curt side to side. “That I’m grateful? You know I am.”

“I want you to fucking think! For once just consider that your life is worth more than the paycheck that Tevinter bitch had cut us. You could have died tonight and it was almost for her. For  nothing .”

All he could do was shake his head again. “That’s the job, Zen.”

Again she shoved him, harder this time, and Zet forfeited a step to her anger. “The job is security, not pointless self sacrifice, you fucking idiot!” The fire flared brighter in her eyes and he thought that she might take a swing at him, but her jaw ticked and her nostrils flared and, after a second, all she did was shut her eyes, drop her chin, and shake her head, bumbling, “If something had happened to you…”

“Zen--”

Before he could try to comfort her, to reassure her that he was fine, they were both fine, the screeching howl of sirens tore through the night. They looked at each other and cursed as they moved, Zet to push the SUV into the canal and Zen to wash off as much of the blood as she could from her hands, forearms, and face. They’d also need to wipe down and get rid of their weapons, and their clothes were still bloodstained. 

There wasn’t enough time and he barely managed to push start the engine and throw the gear shift into neutral before a team of headlights closed in on them with a flash of red and blue lights. They didn’t even have time to run, not with how many cars had converged on them; they wouldn’t make it far if they tried. 

When a voice came on a megaphone, he and Ozena shared a look. He wanted to scream at her to run, but knew they’d just shoot her down before she could make it two steps. One look at the horns, at the blood covering them, and their guilt was decided. If they found out that she was a mage…

He stared pleadingly into her fearful eyes as he slowly lifted his hands and begged her to do the same. Maybe cooperation would buy them some good favor. The odds were stacked tall against them, but he couldn’t let anything happen to his sister. He’d do whatever he had to. They weren’t going to take her. He wouldn’t let them.

___

I hope you’re enjoying the read. Likes and reblogs would be -*chef’s kiss*-

[harryandmolly]

i could write it better than you ever felt it - three

summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth – 2007 Warped Tour style.

warnings: Language, underage drinking, Merriment (TM)

word count: 3k

Val woke up with a boy on her mind.

She bathes in the feeling of it, the comfort it brings her. She has a crush. After the year she’s had, she wasn’t sure she’d be allowed another. It feels like a little gift.

A little gift in a big, perfect, 6’2” package.

Speaking of package…

Val sinks her orthodontist-perfected front teeth into her bottom lip to tamp down her filthy smile. She closes her eyes and imagines the way he felt underneath her last night when they were rolling around in the dirt. His whole body was hard, and not in the way she’s used to. He clearly takes excellent care of himself, which is always sexy. He was all firm muscle wrapped in strong tendons and ligaments under a curtain of surprisingly soft skin. And, when she got a hand up under his shirt, moaning into his open mouth as she traced the defined lines of his abs, she found a nice dusting of chest hair that got her even a little wetter than she already was.

So yeah, he was hard in more ways than one. And Val can’t stop thinking about it.

She fell asleep in Pomona after a romp with her bounding bunny and woke up in Ventura for another round. It didn’t even occur to her until after her third orgasm of the past 24 hours that this is the first time she’s gotten a full eight hours of sleep in… oh, no, she refuses to think about how long it’s been.

What she’d like to stop thinking about, what she shouldn’t really be so impressed by, is how willing he was to stay put under her and let her explore him, drifting his hands over her body as he liked without demanding, without pushing any limits. I mean, really, how low are her standards that she’s actually charmed by respect and consent? That thinking about it makes her blush?

Well, Val cut her teeth on the boys of Warped Tour. So. Those standards? They’re pretty fuckin’ low.

What a nice thing, though, to have a crush. A nice little summer crush. A boy that makes her heart flutter when he skates by, a face to watch in a crowd when she’s had a few and is simmering for him under the cool June moon. A gift, indeed.

She’s pondering possibilities of flirtation, of stolen kisses, of pink cheeks and bashful glances when her bunk curtain flies open and something crawls inside.

Bea burrows her face into Val’s neck as Val wordlessly scooches further into the bunk to make room. Not that they need much. Bea is the size of a peapod.

“Honey bunch,” Bea greets, nuzzling Val’s hair which still smells faintly of bonfire smoke. It’s so signature Warped, it makes Bea grin.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Bea looks up at Val in wonder. “Did you sleep through the night?”

Val wears a proud smirk and tips an eyebrow at her. “I did.”

“Shit, that’s new. The Mendes kid must’ve really worn you out,” Bea yawns, feigning casual. Val chuckles, bouncing Bea against her side.

“Mmmm, what a man what a man what a man…” Val begins.

“What a mighty good mannnnnn,” Bea finishes, laughing.

The girls giggle together until Bea stops, kicking her bare foot at something brushing against it from outside Val’s bunk curtain.

“Guys, it’s Naveen,” a voice calls, making them both smile and settle, “Val, could you… I mean, I’m sorry, I know it’s early…”

Val makes a pitiful face and drags the curtain back, squinting at her friend.

“Naveen, only you could make it sound like you’re inconveniencing me by asking me to do my job. Bless your heart. I’ll be right out.”

Naveen sheepishly stumbles away probably to start unloading Val’s boxes, which she should be doing herself. She just wanted to… bask a little longer.

“No, so really, how was it?” Bea prompts.

Val shrugs. “We made out for almost an hour. I bet my lips are still swollen. It was… in a word, delicious.”

Bea groans and rolls out of the bunk, landing on her feet like a cat somehow. She shoots Val a displeased look. “Seriously? No fucking? You had a body like that at your disposal and you didn’t let him fuck you?”

Val crawls out behind Bea in Soffe shorts and a My Chem shirt that once belonged to an ex-fling. Her joints creak slightly. Maybe she’s getting too old for this touring junk after all.

“I was craving kisses. You ever get that? Where the only thing that will satisfy you is kissing? I’m talking about good, long, hot, full body kisses. The kind that swallow you up and never seem to spit you back out again,” Val muses, leaning back against the wall rattling with the overworked AC unit.

Bea stares at her, deadpan. “I only crave dick.”

Val sighs and nods, seeing her point. She shoos her friend off the bus to change and reluctantly greet the day.

And reluctant she is because it’s 100 in the shade on the second day of Warped in Ventura, California and Jesus Christ, how do people do this for a whole summer? How did she do this living in a van? She’s gone soft. Throughout the morning, she closes her eyes and thinks of England. She imagines sprinkling rain, warm Scottish wool sweaters, mugs of builders tea by the fire in student housing.

Those thoughts don’t make her any cooler though. Neither do the periodical rushes of teenagers flooding her tent to throw their babysitting money at her in exchange for American Apparel tees and hoodies.

Val isn’t Bea, but she’s a damn good merch girl. She stays cool under pressure, she’s well organized, well prepared and knows when to call for back up. Which is why, when it’s 1pm and her line is 20 deep at least and the girl in front of her is insisting she handed Val 20 ones for that beanie hat and Val must’ve just dropped one, she’s never been happier to see her stupid brother.

Raf swings out to greet his minions like he’s Freddy fuckin’ Mercury, doling out cheek kisses and hugs and Sharpied autographs on various body parts. It gives Val a second to breathe, to regroup, to take care of a few straggling merchgoers before his work is done and he can turn back to her triumphantly like a hero or some shit.

She slumps into her chair and makes a face. He imitates it back flawlessly.

“Thanks, or something,” she sighs, tilting her nose up in the air. He falls into the chair next to her, sweaty from their set.

“How’s it been this morning?” he hums, picking at the fraying holes in his jeans. Raf likes to think of himself as old school – he doesn’t buy holey jeans. He buys jeans and lets them get holey by sheer force of rockstar will.

“Fine. It was nice this morning; I started a sing-a-long with the girls in line who knew every word to Yellow Pages.”

Raf looks impressed. Yellow Pages was an unreleased demo, one of the first solo songs Raf ever wrote. Only the Youtubiest Youtubers have hunted it down. They can both respect that hustle.

They’re quiet for a moment, enjoying the lull, when Raf perks up.

“H-hey, look who it is,” he chuckles, nodding across from them to an extraordinarily tall figure behind the Bayside merch tent looking sweaty and a little lost. Val winces.

“Raf, come on—”

“HEY! SHAWN!” Raf barks, holding up one long dark arm to wave him down. Val groans low out of her nose but shows no indication on her face.

Shawn flails for a second as he spins, not terribly graceful on those big feet of his. He spots where he’s needed and goes white as a sheet. Val smacks her lips.

“You know, he probably thinks you’re going to try to fight him for my honor.”

Raf keeps a friendly, welcoming gaze on Shawn, waving more insistently, “That ship has long since sailed. SHAWN!”

Val holds her head high as Shawn walks over, a little slower than what’s normal, looking extremely hesitant. Raf is eating it the fuck up.

“Hey, buddy, how was your first barbecue?” Raf laughs, feigning ignorance.

Val lifts an eyebrow. Shawn’s eyes snap to hers in a panic.

“Uhm, fine—good, yeah, it was good. Great, even.”

“Great!” Raf repeats, too much vigor in his voice. It’s giving Val a headache, “Great, that’s so great. I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself.”

Shawn nods solemnly, eyes wide, waiting to be scolded by one of the Moreno twins. Val sighs.

“I need to pee, come walk with me,” she insists, shooting her brother a look. Raf smirks and holds his hands up in surrender, staying at his post.

Shawn keeps up with Val’s enormous steps quite handily. He doesn’t even seem to notice how fast she walks, but it’s the first thing a lot of people notice about her.

“So… last night…” Shawn begins.

Val tilts her head, looking at him expectantly. He’s clearly waiting for her to step in and make a comment. Whenever boys start a thought like that, it’s what they want.

Maybe Val’s a little more like Raf than she realized. She likes making him squirm.

“Hm?” she prompts, nodding.

He huffs a gentle breath. “Last night was cool.”

She can’t say she’s surprised. Was she expecting song lyrics to come flooding out of his perfect, soft mouth that she knows very intimately now?

“Last night was cool,” she agrees, stepping a little closer to them as they walk back toward the port-o-potties.

“Are you… uhm, do you think you’re going to the one tonight on the beach?”

She drowns in the sweetness of it for a minute, feels like a cute boy is walking her to her locker and asking her if she’s going to the malt shop after school. She should be wearing a poodle skirt and swooning to match the look on her face right now.

“The Ventura barbecue is always one of the best of the year. What happens on the beach stays on the beach,” she teases, elbowing him playfully. He loosens up a little, chuckling.

“Cool, yeah,” Shawn says, “Maybe we can hang out again, then.”

Val tamps down a smile and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. He watches it get hooked away and watches it fall back into place against her cheek. He scrubs the back of his neck with his hand as they arrive by the maze of port-o-potties.

Not the most romantic setting, but…

Shawn suddenly tucks a hand against Val’s neck and kisses her. It’s quick, he only lingers for a split piece of a moment to suck a little at her lower lip before he pulls back. His eyes are dancing and he’s got color in his cheeks that can’t be attributed to the heat of the California morning.

“See you tonight,” he says, walking backwards for a few feet before turning and jogging off toward the Forefront van. She watches him go with an amused chuckle and a glance at the seat of his pants.

+

Val tips back and forth with her arm around Steve from New Found Glory and Bea on her other side. She’s filled to the brim with tequila, salt and lime eagerly fed to her by the NFG boys, some of her oldest scene friends.

“I don’t care what you think, I like that new Hannah Montana song,” Val yells into Steve’s ear over the boppy rhythm of “We’re At the Top Of the World” by the Juliana Theory.

Steve rolls his eyes, feigning disappointment. “You’re better than that, Moreno.”

“I most certainly am not!” she laughs, knocking her Corona against his in a lazy, drunken cheers.

It’s 9pm and it feels like the sun has only just set. It’s a little cool so close to the beach so she’s snuggled into Steve for warmth even if he’s more of a brother to her than her own brother sometimes. Her fuzzy brain reminds her to look for Shawn and the Forefront boys again because they haven’t shown up yet and she finds herself feeling a little girlishly eager.

A raucous behind them makes her turn under Steve’s arm. She feels Bea poking her arm but ignores her, smiling smoothly.

Francis has launched himself onto Shawn’s back as they stride down the hill from the vans and buses in a phalanx of men in women’s jeans. Seth is laughing with his hand on his stomach. The others are ignoring them as though it’s something that happens at this same time every day.

Shawn screams, laughs as he kneels and flips Francis over his head to slam into the ground. The barbecue goers all “oooooooh” in sympathetic pain as Francis coughs and tries to regain his breath. Shawn rolls his eyes and helps him up. As soon as Francis is on his feet, he’s leaping onto Shawn’s back again.

Val licks a drop of beer from the corner of her lips and shrugs out from under Steve’s arm, shivering a little. She stumbles past Bea’s clingy arms and “no, noooooo!”s in favor of walking straight into Shawn’s path as he resigns to his new cling-on.

“Hi,” she blurts with a grin, cocking her head at him. Shawn skids to a stop. Francis bounces against his back with a muffled groan.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tightening his grip around Francis’s knees. Francis drunkenly laughs, cheek resting against Shawn’s shoulder. Val looks over at him with a smirk.

“You boys look a little worse for wear.”

“No one came to our set,” Francis sighs.

“That’s not true,” Shawn argues.

“14 people came to our set,” Francis corrects, wrinkling his nose.

Shawn shrugs. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

“We all play to empty rooms sometimes,” she reminds them, nodding past them to the Streets boys throwing Raf into the ocean. Shawn follows her gaze and laughs.

“Can he swim?”

She shakes her head. “Not when he’s more vodka than boy.”

She looks back at Shawn and smiles. He’s a little sunburnt and doubly flushed from whatever booze they pity-drank after their meager set. He smells like a fresh shower and Val can’t help but wonder if it’s for her.

She thrusts her chin in Francis’s direction. “Ditch your sloth boy and come drink with us.”

Shawn unceremoniously drops Francis, who hangs around his neck for a second before thumping into the sand below them with a groan.

“Us?” Shawn asks.

Val nods to NFG and Bea. Shawn’s eyes go comically wide.

“Oh shit,” he breathes.

“C’mon, celebrities are just like us,” she teases, taking his big, warm hand in hers and tugging him toward her friends.

Shawn wants to protest, wants to dig his heels in and shake his head like a toddler, but he thinks after last night he’d follow this woman straight into a wildfire. He pastes on an anxious smile as she introduces him to everyone. The tiny merch girl, Bea, seems especially interested in him, elbowing Val every chance she got like a middle schooler. It makes Shawn wonder if maybe Val has been talking about him. He shivers at the idea.

Shawn and Val sit together in the sand. As the hours grow later, Shawn gets chattier, bonds with Chad and Jordan while Val watches and occasionally moves curls out of his eyes like a total girlfriend but she doesn’t care because she’s lit. A joint is passed around and everything slows down a little.

Shawn is leaning back on his hands, one of which is behind Val so they’re almost, just ever-so-casually intertwined. She leans into his ear to talk sometimes and he feels the hair on his neck stand up from her hot breath on his skin. Her fingers sneak toward his and brush against each other in the sand. Shawn’s skin prickles with need. He chews on his lower lip until Val nudges him.

“I’m ready to go,” she announces quietly. Her eyes look molten and black in the beach bonfire light. His stomach churns. He nods quickly and stands despite all the liquor in his system. He takes her hands and pulls her up with him.

She loops an arm around his waist as she makes her goodbyes. He feels awkward holding her like this, like they’re wearing a sign together that says “we’re leaving to fuck now, have a good night.” But when she slides her hand in the back pocket of his jeans, the worry is gone. He grows antsy as she waves goodbye. When he finally has her leading away from the barbecue, away from the rushing crash of the Pacific and the dull drone of Good Charlotte on the stereo, he places his lips by her ear to speak.

“Your place or mine?”

He’s a little proud of that line.

Val curls into his body and rests a hand on his stomach through his black t-shirt.

“Yours.”

+

Val blinks. It’s quiet. The bluish tint of dawn comes in through the windows.

She tries to lift her head too quickly and finds her cheek is stuck to his bare chest. She winces as her skin peels away from his. She plants her hands on either side of him to push herself up and take stock of the situation.

It’s early, but buses haven’t started leaving for the next stop in Mountain View yet. She is wearing her t-shirt and skimpy pink panties. Her jeans are pooled on the floor of the van next to her. Shawn is deeply asleep beneath her in a pair of boxer briefs. The Forefront boys have all returned to the bus and have therefore seen her in this state of being, passed out on top of their lead singer. Their tour manager Andrew is elsewhere.

Val looks down at Shawn. He looks younger, somehow, as he sleeps. She sweeps some cherubic curls off his forehead and drags a hand down his chest appreciatively. As quietly as she can, she gathers her shoes and jeans in hand and opens the sliding door to the van.

Like a thief in the night, she steals back to the dark silence of the Streets bus, crawls into her bunk and falls into a fitful sleep.

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn​ @alone-in-madness​ @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway @accioalena @randi-eve @shawnitsmutual

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 4X08 - Smash the Mirror

Am I reviewing two episodes at once, or is this just a MIRROR-age?!:?! XD

...Told you I was funny. 

Okay, I’ve said it before, but the best thing about this rewatch are the little surprises you find along the way while watching. This is one of them and I had a LOT to say about just how good it really was. So, if you want to join me under the cut, maybe we’ll have some fun!

Main Takeaways

Past

I love how this episode holds to the spirit of “Frozen” in that Anna and Elsa’s love is more powerful than Ingrid’s manipulation. I think it was a great writing decision that allowed for the actual story of the episode to go in a much cooler (pardon the pun) story with a much more tragic twist to take place as a result. Additionally, the reveal scene of this story twist is such a fantastic moment! It’s beautifully orchestrated for the intense mood the scene starts out with. And the acting as Elsa plays the guards is just so real and hysterical in hindsight! Even still, once the ruse was revealed, I was grinning like a fool.

Really, Anna and Elsa are the heart of this segment (Favorite Dynamic was next to IMPOSSIBLE for this two-parter). Literally EVERY scene that they share bathes us is their love for one another. In every scene of this flashback, these two were either holding each other close, goofing off, throwing bits of wit at each other, or some combination of the three. We see their post-”Frozen” sisterhood and because “Frozen” ended just as they reconciled, that’s something we didn’t get to see a lot of at the time of this episode’s airing. But here, their dynamic is celebrated and given a giant fireworks display!

And I LOVE how this extends to the tragic ending of the story. Elsa, faced with so much anger and resentment from Anna and Ingrid egging her on, fucking REFUSES to betray her sister. Even as this is an ultimate loss, it is still a triumph! And that’s because Ingrid basically had to cheat to win. It took what basically amounted to Deus Ex Machina’s next door neighbor to split these two up and that’s just too beautiful!

Present

There’s a real solid heart to this episode that for me, was somewhat lacking in the past few episode, either due to a lack of focus or just a lack of understanding of what was needed to do with their characters for the stories they wanted to tell.

Now, I’m going to talk about what I found to be the two biggest aspects of this segment, but first, I want to take some time to address some of the smaller bits.

First off, a relatively minor moment, but something that was important to me was Snow’s call in Part 1. I really appreciate that not only was Snow the one to answer the phone, but she wasted NO time apologizing to Emma for her behavior in the last episode. That was so necessary and upon seeing this episode again, it really restored a lot of my love for Snow. And the way Snow insists that this apology matters when Emma says it doesn’t was incredibly heartwarming! AND the way that this attitude prevails throughout the episode is even better!

Second, also from Part 1 is the conversation Snow and David have in their bedroom about whether or not Emma should give up her magic. It’s a scene like this that makes me happy that this episode was done in two parts. It’s allowed to be a slow, semi-detailed, character filled conversation. David and Snow can be fleshed out in regards to their thought processes. Snow is so full of regret and really wants to learn from the mistake she made in the last episode. For her, taking the opposite approach to Emma’s magic is that (And rightly). And David cares about Emma’s autonomy, showing support for her choice. Both approaches are done out of love, well meaning, and supportive, and while Emma doesn’t give up her magic, the validity and love from her parents on display in this scene. And I also love how Elsa becomes a third party in this scene. Elsa knows as someone who has powers that they can be something that makes someone special and more importantly can be controlled. She doesn’t want Emma to give up her magic because she knows that this is just as much an act of self-loathing as much as it is a means of protection for those she loves. And that determines her to, upon hearing the conclusion Snow and David reach, take fate into her own hands.

Third, ALSO from Part 1 (And sort of Part 2), while I hated “The Apprentice,” I LOVE the resolution to it. Killian’s voicemail apologizing to Emma is something that’s so amazing to me. Killian holds nothing back as he exposes how he knows what Rumple’s capable of thanks to that hat. His remorse and regret is so strong and sincere and it shows how despite Rumple’s claims, he really does want to be and is becoming a better man. And as further evidence, Killian tries to actually morally persuade Rumple not to hurt Emma. He’s not just spewing threats at him, but is actually starting to use his heart to convince even his greatest enemy not to hurt someone. As for the rest of this scene, I’ll see you shortly to talk about that. ;)

Fourth, now onto Part 2, I want to do something different and combine two scenes: Regina and Henry’s talk upstairs and Regina’s subsequent takedown of Snow and David. I find that these two scenes are deeply connected and while talking about them apart would be great, talking about them together might be better! Regina’s words about denying Henry his specialness is made so much better because of the Regal Believer scene it soon follows. You see how Regina has come to not only respect that specialness of Henry’s, but to adore it and regret shunning it before. This is some fantastic evidence of all of Regina’s growth and fills in an important piece of the Regal Believer puzzle. You see her criticize that past action and Lana sells that calm regret that Regina has so well! And then Regina passes the advice along to Snow and David. This might be one of my favorite instances of Regina reflecting her teachings onto another because the specific circumstances of the situation she’s relating are a lot more domestic in their origins and yet equal in a sense between the points of comparison. I’ll illuminate my point a bit better in the next spot, but it’s important when making comparisons for common ground between two characters to be common in both substance and impact and the impact of Emma giving up her magic is painted with an urgency that brings that and Regina’s behavior towards Henry in Season 1 to a point where that commonness is felt.

Fifth, we gotta talk about Snow and Regina’s talk on the road. First, I wish Regina’s line about whether or not doing good things in order to be redeemed truly has the value of doing good been expanded on more. It was the most interesting thing to come out of Snow and Regina’s conversation and just like the conversations and scenes I gushed about above, I think it had the potential to be just as good a diving more into Regina’s redemption arc. Second, ”You know how selfish and shallow I could be as a child.” ...I hate this line. Being a pain in the ass child is not in the same legion as Regina’s crimes and in a conversation that has so much more potential for depth, I hate that this was the narrative point they decided to go for. Hell, why didn’t Snow instead vaguely allude to what went down with Maleficent? We’d have gotten better foreshadowing and an example of evil from Snow that would serve to put them more on the same level, making the conversation so much stronger. BUT that all having been said, I really like how the conversation ends. It’s not that deep, but it does touch upon the point that while change isn’t happening as fast as Regina wants it to, her choice to make good decisions rather than poor ones is how she’ll change her life for the better.

Finally, sixth, the heart stealing. You KNEW I was gonna talk about this and YES! Let’s do it!!! In many ways, the start of this scene feels very much like an ending. Killian’s celebrating Emma’s safety and looking to free himself while Rumple mourning his loss. BUT I love the sharp turn this scene takes as Rumple slowly reveals what’s next to come, namely for Killian. @lillpon did an AMAZING analysis of this scene that I can’t find, but does SUCH justice to the slow and methodical way Killian’s realization and subsequent horror plays out. Seeing Killian wiggle around terrified, panicked, and desperate is a horrifying experience to watch, but not a narratively poor one at all. It’s the real star of the Golden Hook arc of Season 4 for me and the best chunk of narrative that they get throughout the series (I’ll have some explaining to do in season 7, won’t I? Not saying it’s bad, but not as good as what we see now). There’s such menace in Rumple’s voice with every line spoken and unlike in “The Apprentice,” the promise of this scene is completely delivered on and that’s why I love it. We see the torture Rumple inflicts on Killian’s body and morals over the course of the next few episodes and it hurts because we see how Killian tried to change his ways. But it doesn’t matter. Because he’s Rumple’s puppet now.

Okay, now onto the big points about this segment, namely, our two real mains: Rumple and Emma.

Rumple is amazing in this episode. His villainy blossoms in such a spectacular way that it’s really something to behold! First off, let’s start with his introduction. I LOVE the reveal of Emma’s presence in Rumple’s shop. While it’s a slow moment and honestly probably could’ve been cut from the episode, it’s nonetheless a COOL moment. I love how all of Rumple’s baubles slowly go off one by one as we build to the reveal that not only is Emma in the shop, but that Rumple’s not at all surprised nor freaked out by it. He knows what Emma’s up to and he uses his knowledge of Ingrid’s scheme as well as the story that Emma tells him about Henry to his full advantage. Rumple presses just the right buttons as to maximize Emma’s fear and get her to agree to whatever it is that she needs to in order to protect those that she loves. His most every move is sinister, whether he’s gloating at Ingrid, manipulating Emma, or torturing Killian. Scary Rumple is honestly my favorite Rumple we get this in droves. When Rumple CAN reveal his plans or intentions, he becomes terrifying and Robert Carlyle sells every terrifying chuckle, word, and sneer and when he needs to play it cool for Emma, the shift to acting like someone not entirely unselfish but not entirely selfish either gives this story a perfect pinch of dramatic irony.

It’s sickening, but in the absolute best way. Rumple’s the Iago of this story and while not entirely bereft of nuance, the narrative makes no qualms about that fact.

There’s this great moment in the mansion where for all that Rumple’s manipulating Emma, he’s also being so honest with her about who he is. Perhaps it’s because he believes she’s gonna die soon or just because of the dynamic they’ve had so far, but Rumple is refreshingly honest and praising of Emma and how she’s different from him. And it’s a risk on his part. It’s possible his words might convince Emma to be selfish or that Ingrid’s words might still play a part in her decision over what to do or that Emma might just ask too many questions, but he’s confident she won’t and he has this self loathing that for better or worse, does need to come out to someone inconsequential. And he chooses Emma. That “thank you” that she gives him guts me, as does his response. It’s a scary scene that is also full of soul.

And Emma...just Emma. For all the talk of Emma running away, I feel like this is just as much about Emma not wanting to run and doing what she can to not have to. She keeps her family posted about what’s going on with her, regularly expresses her love to them, and makes a decision about her magic so she can go back to them. Her love for her friends and family is made so evident by Emma’s every move and Jen’s acting here is fantastic in showing that balance of love and fear, giving an extra layer of nuance to the character.

Finally, let’s talk about Emma and Elsa’s talk. The speech is so well nurtured by who these two characters are. Their understandings of fear, rejection, powerlessness, and sense of being overpowered by themselves are big parts of common ground between them, making Elsa the absolute best person to relate to Emma’s troubles. Additionally, the conversation discusses self love in this fantastic and tangible way. When it comes to themes, this is the most an episode can give me. Elsa points out the personal responsibility in loving and accepting yourself. Loving both the good and bad parts of one’s powers and destiny is a hard thing in the universe of OUAT, especially when those things can risk causing real harm. But it’s something that can be done and for yourself and all those that love you, must be done. This scene emphasizes this and Elsa and Emma’s bond raises everything to new heights.

That woosh of acceptance and control that results of this conversations is BEYOND earned. It feels like another hurdle that Emma’s overcome and her pain throughout the episode makes it such a strong accomplishment. Emma and Elsa are True Friendship and True Love!

All Encompassing

This is such a dynamic episode in terms of aesthetics, too! We see cool effects like the mirror lakes reappear, and great bits of editing and cinematography that enhance the writing by showing things like distance and loneliness through camera and even prop angles. And the cuts and usages of lighting, particularly as they pertain to Emma’s rampant magic are really exciting! They leave a constant tension and sense of danger across the span of the episode and really bring the entire experience of watching this two-parter to life.

Stream of Consciousness

-It’s always a sign of a fun time when you have a motherfucking mirror lake of editing goodness!!!! Hell yeah!

-Ingrid, when you need someone’s help and you can’t threaten them, it doesn’t do you well to insult them by calling them “past your prime.”

-”Especially those that have succumbed to the darkness…” Ingrid hasn’t really done anything like that. Killing Helga was an accident, defeating Hans’ guards was self-defense, and while imprisoning Anna was dark...I mean, have you MET the people in this universe?! XD

-”Do you think I was foolish enough to bring it with me?” RUMPLE, TAKE NOTES!!!

-”My sisters could never accept who I was because they were...ordinary.” Helga accepted you and Gerda did too until she falsely thought you murdered her sister!

-Damn, Sean rocks that tank top! <3 Like, I want him in that tank top in a remake of “Die Hard.”

-”Hey, this isn’t your fault.” Well, it’s more her fault than it is yours.

-Now I just want to know just what that spell Rumple threw out actually WAS!

-”I will never take this off again.” I teared up at this fucking line. Anna loves Elsa so much and I’m LIVING for it!

-”You may want to finish buttoning your shirt first.” This moment had me laughing HARD!

-THE MIRROR LAKE SHOWS UPPPPPP!

-Speaking of mirrors, I ADORE the shot of Elsa and Anna looking into the shattered sight mirror for the first time. They’re in the same shot, but because of the way the mirror is shattered, there’s this sense of distance created and it’s reflected in the main shot of the two sisters too. The editing team did a GREAT job here!

-”Unless...you simply like watching me.” Did Ingrid just make a pass at Rumple?! XD

-I love how Anna and Elsa, while being sneaky, are just having the BEST time on this mission and Elsa can’t even fully hide her amusement at Anna’s quip.

-Opening hours until 10? “Very generous” indeed!

-I really love the Regal Believer scene we see! Regina’s speech to Henry about his usefulness and contributions is really heartwarming and connects with Henry in a loving and intelligent way!

-Going back to my point about Ingrid and Rumple, the Netflix still for Part 2 is Ingrid and Rumple getting all up in each other’s business!!! XD I feel like other people need to start shipping this!! Golden Frost?

-Ingrid’s “surprise” was so adorable!!!

-When we see Rumple walk to meet Emma in the mansion, it looks like he’s in a freakin’ church! XD

-I’m HC’ing that Rumple turned on all of those lights as to spook Emma even further.

-I know it’s more of a matter of convenience, but why didn’t Rumple just go for the fairies’ first? Like, he says basically that Emma’s not his first choice to die for the hat, and he HATES the fairies, so why not?

-Elsa offering Anna all the chocolate she can eat is the most beautiful thing in the world!

-”Eventually, everyone sees me as a monster.” YOU LITERALLY JUST FORCED ANNA TO TRAP HER SISTER AND KRISTOFF SAID HE WOULDN’T HURT YOU IF YOU LET HER GO! FUCK THAT NOISE!

-I like that Ingrid apparently spent hours playing what basically amounts to Patty Cake with the magical barrier, all the while probably never sitting while standing in heels! XD

Favorite Dynamic

Swan Believer. While there were SO MANY good dynamics in this episode and Emma and Elsa’s dynamic especially is a really great moment of understanding for Emma’s character and a great heart to the episode, I feel like that moment is only as great as it is because of how well it was set up by Emma and Henry’s opening scene. I love that they chose Henry as the person to find Emma and be injured under her powers. It’s not only an organic and really heartbreaking scene as Emma freaks out about how she hurt Henry, but it really does make Emma’s mood throughout the rest of the two-parter make so much sense. It’s a hard scene to watch, but I mean that in the best way possible. Emma is doing everything she can to explain how she can’t be with Henry at the moment and Henry, the believer, of course, will not bend down so easily. The scene, like Emma’s rampant magic, is pulsing with love and danger. And the moment where Henry finds blood on himself is so crushing because it erases any hope that even Emma’s biggest source of support can turn her around right now. And this moment between them creates a tragic and urgent tone that follows the present segment of the episode throughout its run. Emma’s desperation and panic all comes from that moment between the two of them. I only wish that their reunion was a liiiiiiiiittle stronger, but I do find it forgivable. Given how happy Emma and Henry are and their hug, it works well enough.

Writer

David Goodman and Jerome Schwartz are a fucking dream team here! The name of the game in this episode is strength. These two took advantage of every second they had in this double episode to give each of their dynamics the strength they needed to support the story. The stories in both the past and present are actually so simple in their broad strokes -- Emma tries to give up her magic and Anna and Elsa work together to stop Ingrid -- but the simplicity of the narrative allows for much deeper conversations to take place. And they’re all given the time to reach that organic conclusion and as a result, I love each and every one of them.

Rating

DOUBLE GOLDEN APPLE!!! WHAT AN AMAZING EPISODE! I’m not gonna lie. I GROANED at the thought of covering this double episode because of its length, but this episode kept my attention and love practically the ENTIRE time! We get two fantastic stories that really involved their present casts, superb conversations across the span of the episode. I was floored by just how much I ended up liking this one, but it really touched me in just the right way!

Flip My Ship - The Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness”

Captain Swan - I love the two second shot of Killian when David says that they need to pour the locator spell over something of Emma’s! XD Yup that’s accurate! Golden Hook - Rumple chains Killian up and literally takes his heart. Jenna’s very happy now and that’s really all I need to say about that! XD

Golden Frost (Ingrid/Rumple) - When I woke up today, I didn’t expect to end my day shipping Rumple and Ingrid, but it fucking happened and I love it! Seriously, Ingrid and Rumple all but dry hump in this episode. They constantly get all up in each other’s businesses and the threats don’t take me out of that as much as you’d think!!! XD

Outlaw Queen - I love the bit of banter Robin and Regina have at the library where Regina points out that Robin stole Henry’s book from her and Robin says “you knew I was a thief when you met me.” I know it’s such a small thing to point out, but I LOVE that bit of wit exchanged! It’s cute, flirty, and fast!

-----

The best part of doing these reviews is finding episodes like these. They’re episodes that I don’t remember that well apart from a few scene and expect to not find all that much apart from said scenes, but end up doing so much for me emotionally. This, while an exhausting review to write for its meatiness, was so worth every exhausting second of it.

Thank you SO much for reading this if you did! This review was a pleasure to write! And thank you to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales and @daensarah for being the coolest human in existence! (And hey, if you want to be on the tag list for these reviews, hit me up!) Anyway, I can’t wait to see you all during “Fall.” TTFN!

Season 4 Total (69/230) Tee-hee! XD

Writer Scores: Adam and Eddy: (16/60) Jane Espenson: (10/40) David Goodman and Jerome Schwartz: (30/50) Andrew Chambliss: (14/50) Dana Horgan: (6/30) Kalinda Vazquez: (14/40) Scott Nimerfro: (6/30)

*Links to the rest of my rewatch will no longer be provided. They take posts with links outside of searches and I spend way too much time on these reviews to not give them that kind of exposure. Sorry for the inconvenience, but they still can be found on my page under Operation Rewatch.

[mystisnykoto]

The Outsiders - Chapter 23

Demon Rising

I was scared. I knew what had happened, that I had been infected with the botting script. I had hoped I was still being transported out from The Net, despite what we had been told about data mingling. I felt my body slowly dissolve, which had raised my hopes for a moment, but when a new location, a darkened room filled with all manner of glass tubes and mechanical implements.

I had been stuck inside this room, inside a tube of sorts, for what felt like days. That was when I saw him, Zeffer, walk in and observe the many other tubes.

“Well well, what have we here...” spoke Zeffer, tapping on the glass in front of Iris. “I was intrigued to see some of your data pop up in my database, but this makes things all the more fun...” Zeffer giggled to himself, lightly touching over the glass surface as he stepped away. “Just you wait Iris, oooh just you wait...”

                                                                                                                        I was terrified. Zeffer was, well, you know how he had been. I didn't know what to expect from him, but the following days consisted of him, forcefully at times, extracting more and more of my data for use in... something. It hadn't been until several days later that I saw what he had been up to, as a cavalcade of red-lined clones stepped in. There had to be at least a dozen of them, of me... It had me worried that I was no longer the real me, that there could have been some moment with memory copying and the like, where the real me was converted into one of those Reds, and I was another hapless copy...

Over several months... Gods it could have been years even, the only remaining copy was the last one created, calling themselves Zericks. The others went mad, deleted themselves when it seems my personality surfaced in them. Not sure what made Zericks so special, but they seemed to be different that the others, having a personality all their own.

“Hey, Iris...” spoke Zericks, tapping on the glass. “I need you to wake up, right now!” Iris slowly opened her eyes, gazing up to the red copy of herself.

“Wha... what is it?” Iris groaned, groggily waking from her slumber.

“He... Perraux... he is coming and he has something planned for you. You won't be trapped in this tube for much longer, but I warn you that what awaits you is far worse than this!”

“P-Perraux... he's a-alive?” Iris questioned, as Zericks held a small device against the glass.

“He comes for you now, and he seeks to usurp your body. He will download his data onto yours and will take over your body, even taking it back to the real world and... doing whatever he wishes there. Please, I... I don't wish to do this, I never wanted to even consider this. But if he gets control over you... There is no telling what he might do with you!”

“What... Ruri... Please don't l-let him...” Iris started as tears dripped from her eyes. “I... don't wish to... t-to die...”

“I know, believe me I know... I don't...” Zericks spoke, pausing as she heard several noises from outside the room. “We need to move fast if we are to-” Zericks spoke quickly, interrupted by Iris as she cut in.

“No... I... I don't want to die... but...” Iris spoke, thinking over her current situation. “Please... there... m-must be something...”

“I would if I could, but there is no time! He's-” Zericks shouted as the door to the room quickly shifted to white and vanished in a flurry of pixels. Perraux stepped inside, the elezen walking tall as his eyes fixed upon Iris.

“Ah good, you woke her for me,” spoke Perraux. “Wouldn't want her to miss out on the experience.” Perraux stepped closer, softly shoving Zericks out of the way. “Remember... when we last met, at the bar. Well, looks like you should have slain the monster when you had the chance...” spoke Perraux as a wave of pixelization rippled from his hand and across the rest of his body. “Now it's your turn to become the monster...” Perraux's body fully pixelated, swirling around the glass tube and flowing inside. Iris screamed, feeling as each pixel began to overwrite her mind and senses.

“AAH! S-STOP IT!” she screamed, each additional pixel flooding inside causing her mind to haze further. “I D-DON'T... DON'T M-M-MAAA-” Iris shouted, her voice echoed and mechanical as the last of the pixels entered into her. “Mmm... I will make you mine, Iris...”

                                                                                                                        He did... things to me. I wouldn't dare wish to speak on the specifics of them, but he also... he used my system administrator access to modify his data with me to force my body into becoming stronger, made it into this power hungry abomination that would suck up aether and convert it into direct strength. Gods I was a fool, should have let Zericks end me there... With each passing into the Net, he grows in power; with each passing of an aether current, he grows in power... And, the only way to stop him... is...

“... kill me, Iris.”

                                                                                                                        The android wept, pixel tears falling from her eyes as she crawled forward and slinking over top of her former self.

“I... I don't...” Android Iris spoke, her hands trembling as they searched for the original Iris' throat. “I don't want to... I-is there any other way?” The android held out he hand, trying to ready her beam saber. Soft whirring noises moaned from her arm, leaving her weaponless as her blade refused to ready itself.

'Warning: Extreme heat levels have raised system cooling to maximum levels. Please seek a cooler climate. Warning: Extreme cooling levels may cause lowered battery efficiency. Warning: Battery levels at twelve percent. Combat protocols disabled.' The android's breathing fluttered, as her hands instead found their way to Iris' neck, firmly clasping to her.

“I-I... please don't m-make me... I-I c-can't...” the android stammered.

“I... I know...” spoke Iris, crying as well.

“Is there... t-truly no ther way?” the android questioned, her fingers quivering, almost tickling to Iris. The original let out a small laugh, looking longingly up to her android self.

“I would if I could, but there is no time...” spoke Iris, softly smiling as she touched the android on the cheek. “You are the real me. You've been through more than I could have imagined in my slumber. Please... look after Ruri, a-and Trix... Omi...” The android smiled back, her fingers clenching tightly as she began to strangle her other self. “Please... k-ki-ill me m-m...m...” The android sniffled, shutting her eyes tightly to not want to look at her other body.

“J-just... die...” Android Iris cried out softly. “Please... please sleep... I'm sorry...” The original Iris began to quake and spasm, doing what she could to keep herself steady. After a minute had passed, her body fell motionless, her pulse vanished from her neck. The android slumped over, crying hard against the original's cheek and cradling her limp body against her chest. “I'M SORRY! PLEASE!” she screamed, regret flowing over her mind as she clutched the body tightly.

                                                                                                                        Several minutes passed, and Iris softly rested her body back down to the sand. A weak smiled tried to force out across her lips, her right hand softly petting her the cheek of her old body.

“I'll... I'll not fail you... I-I won't let you down,” Iris spoke, as a jolt of pain washed through her arm. Her eyes went wide, watching as her old body had come back to life, with a blazing fast swipe of their hand, cutting through and smashing her right arm to pieces. Iris stumbled back, off the chest of her former self, and tried to scramble away.

“Yooou...” her old body growled, black smoke and flames oozing out from their mouth. Malice coated their voice as they stomped closer to Iris. “You killed her, and tried to kill me... I will make you suffer for your transgressions... I WILL MAKE YOU PAY!” Iris scrambled to her feet, holding the shattered remains of her arm dangling down from her shoulder.

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(Other Tales)

[tryagainmv]

ad nauseam (part two)

part two: two lonely people we were

➷ you had never known the meaning of lovesickness until you had crossed paths with na jaemin.

part one: strangers in the night ❧ part three: up to the moment we said our first hello

warning: cursing, violence.

you’ve been in this town for one day, and you’re already dreading the concept of spending a summer like this.

in a town where everything mirrored the life you had just left, with the exception of the familiar storefronts and neighbourhoods and faces strolling down the sidewalks. you had worked yourself up, your oh-so-big jump, to leap a puddle and land in the corner of the muddy water. you still had the same coast, but different shops. you still had the same red brick buildings lining the main streets, but different names. you still had the same loft apartments over every single business, but with different numbers. you were living in a strange, but parallel universe.

you didn’t know if it was because you had built up your first taste of self-sufficiency, your first taste of the freedom of living away from parents and from the same cracks in the road you had caught your shoe toe in, or if it was because you had unfinished business from the night before, if you can even call that business. it felt more like comfortable anarchy, the wild beat of your heart against the steady beat of the drum fighting the smooth beat of your lips against his.

you didn’t deny that whenever you closed your eyes, you could almost picture yourselves, his arm holding you against him, your heads cradled together, silhouetted against the raging sunset orange fire, blending into one shadow as the orange flicker outlined you. between the crackling of the fire behind you two and the connection of your hearts, you didn’t know what created the sparks that floated in the night sky among the stars. however, you refused to admit that when you had driven past the cliff on your way out, you had spared a glance towards the field where your softly swaying feet had worn another sparse patch into the rocky earth.

you refused to admit that the boy named na jaemin held anything over you but a memory.

but you felt yourself wanting to reverse time and catch him before he slipped away, before he sent you that last glance and molded into the night crowd so seamlessly that made you wonder whether the boy was a human or a figment of your imagination. a guilty conscience trying to hold you back in the place that you had been so relieved to part from.

whoever jaemin was, you refused to admit that the stranger in the night had put another pair of shackles on your rubbed-raw wrists.

but for now, you’d make do in the parallel universe you lived in.

as your feet crossed the threshold from sidewalk to linoleum, you felt the cold push of the frozen air and the sweet wave of ice cream collide with your senses. you inhaled the cream-filled air and walked up to where your new coworker was waiting, his brown hair visible over the cash register as he made eye contact with you and gave you a soft wave, beckoning you to the false countertop which he swung open.

“you came ready in your uniform! i have your apron and name tag in the back, they’re folded just beside the cooler room door,” he said, pointing you down the narrow hallway lined with extra cones and napkin containers. “i’m renjun.”

he pointed to his green and pink name tag, wiggling it and shooting you a toothy smile. he had a small snaggletooth, and you felt yourself smiling back at the soft boy.

“i’ll be y/n, once i get my name tag,” you laughed back, walking past him to grab your apron and name tag and put them on, renjun coming up behind you to tie the top strap of your white cloth covering.

you thanked him and slid the pin of your lacquer name tag onto the thin white cloth, and you presented yourself to a renjun who gave you a thumbs up and another smile. he showed you the ropes quickly, the cleaning of the scoops and how to work the new electronic register. you learned that his dad owned the shop and that him and his older brother ran it now that his father was getting older. his older brother was named kun, and he was the manager that only worked the night shifts while renjun worked the days. it was obvious how much he knew about this shop and the way it had been run for years, that it was both ice cream and blood that flowed through the sweet boy’s veins.

“one more thing,” renjun says, only after he’s decided your scooping is satisfactory.

“yeah, shoot,” you respond, taking a bite of your final cone product so that the ice cream wouldn’t go to waste.

“uh, because of our… location beside the beach, we draw a pretty sketchy crowd around the early afternoons. don’t let them phase you, okay? they’re harmless, mostly.” he rubs the back of his neck and you smile, biting the rest of your sugar cone and throwing the paper shell into the trash below the counter.

“renjun, don’t worry. i’ll be okay,” you smile, giving him a thumbs up as you go to open up the shop.

renjun had told you that it was the newbie’s initiation to flip the paper ‘open’ sign and officially start their first workday at green rose ice cream parlour. you appeased him, despite your complete disinterest in the small rituals that he seemed to value so highly. you didn’t want to make your boss think of you as flippant, as disrespectful or uncooperative, and you didn’t want to make the soft looking boy upset. so you flip the open sign as the clock hits ten and immediately spot a few groups of people make their way towards the cute shop perched a street away from the tourist-filled beach.

you slipped into your place back behind the glass walls and tubs of ice-cream and took your position at the cash register, ready to ring up the first customers of the day while renjun crafted his beautiful cones. you fell into a rhythm for a while, the soft jingle of the radio a backing track as you called out order after order to the boy who whipped the cream into the wafer and passed it to the waiting customer, over and over again.

until the next ring of the door’s bell signified something so much more than another customer you’d have to serve.

they didn’t come to the register or browse the flavours, not even take a peak at the menu. they slid into a table that had remained unoccupied, almost as if they owned it, and burst into a jubilant conversation. they looked so out of place in their dark attire amongst the green tables and pink chairs, yet they blended into the scene as if they had been placed there purposefully by a hand designing a piece of art, so stark of a contrast, so different of people from who you would see in a parlour with twice playing from the loudspeakers. and yet here they were.

you stared at them, black paint splotches on a pastel canvas, until one of them flicked his eyes to you and you averted quickly, staring at the green and pink background of the desktop cash register. you didn’t even notice the single jingle of the bell echo through the shop, the racing of your thoughts creating a maelstrom in your head that blocked out the small sounds.

“uh, hello?” a voice called out, and you could have sworn you had heard that timbre before.

you flicked your eyes up and your mouth gaped. you quickly shut it and took a breath in through your nose. na jaemin, tattoos clear as day against his tanning skin, stood in front of you, gaze hooked on yours and his eyes the width of someone who was shocked yet trying to bury that surprise under a layer of confidence and nonchalance. you scoffed and plastered a thicker version of that on your face, a version of that meant for someone who had screwed you over without even knowing he had done anything, who had caused a snag in your heart that you refused to acknowledge as more of a fondness for a memory.

he’s just a stranger, after all.

you owed nothing to someone who treated your heart like it had strings.

“hi, what can i get for you?” you gritted out, shifting on your feet and starting a new order on the screen.

“a single scoop of pralines and cream on a sugar cone, please?” he asked musingly, drumming his fingers on the top of the glass.

you nodded and hummed, inputting the order and hovering over the ‘complete’ button.

“will that be all for you today?” you responded, not wanting to bring your eyes up to meet his again, not after the first time.

“no, actually. i know it’s not on the menu, but i would like a fresh order of ‘explanation’,” he laughed out, and you leaned back and crossed your arms, bringing your gaze up to his again.

“what do i need to explain to you, na jaemin?” you spat out, huffing. “it’s not like you really were interested in what i had to say about anything.”

“what are you doing here?” he pressed, and you laughed dryly before completing his order and calling it out to renjun, who watched you two interact, enrapt.

“i’m working. now, if you’d go collect your cone down with renjun, that would be swell,” you grumbled, gesturing for him to move along.

he simply looked at you and leaned further over the table, and you caught the roman numerals along his collarbone when his tank top dipped further down.

“i thought you lived a few towns over,” he questioned, more suspicion climbing into his voice than before.

he was cracking.

“yeah, well, a lot of things can change in such little time,” you shot back, tilting your head and nodding towards renjun. “your cone is melting.”

renjun hadn’t even taken the cone out yet.

“y/n, listen, if you’re mad about —“

he used your name.

he knew.

“i’m not mad about anything,” you gritted out. “i’m just swell. go pick up your cone, thanks for coming.”

“y/n!” he hissed out as you turned around, slamming his fist on the top of the glass.

you spun around, and you saw the hurt in his eyes. but you also saw two of the boys from the table behind him slide back in their chairs and climb to their feet. one of them pulled off jaemin’s baseball cap and tossed it to you, and jaemin’s carob locks flopped down in a haphazard pool on the top of his head.

the other boy grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward, leaning in and pushing him closer and closer to the wall.

“leave the girl alone,” the first boy grunted. “or i’ll make you.”

he sneered. the other boy did too.

“she’s obviously not into you and whatever you guys did together, and honestly? looking at you, shrimp? i can’t blame her.” the second boy laughed and placed his hand on the first boy’s shoulder as he held jaemin in an iron grip. “she’s cute, right? the way she stands is so confident, so detached, i’d like to tame her for a night. i’d treat her so good, she’d forget anything you two did toge—“

you absently let out a cry as you watched jaemin’s fist swung up and connected with the first boy’s nose, the crack filling the tense air of the room. you heard renjun drop the cone in his hand, and jaemin didn’t stop. he swung up and hit the second boy, jab after jab until the other two boys from the table were on him too and he was kicking and grabbing collars and snapping noses. you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but watch as the boy you had kissed two days ago beat the ever-loving shit out of four grown boys. when the first punch was landed on his face, he snapped back and the tables turned. the boys launched themselves on top of him, and he was swallowed by a pile of flying arms and kicking legs and brutal sounds of broken skin breaking skin. you screamed again and slid out under the counter, hearing renjun’s cry of dismay and fright, and you yelled out at the top of your lungs for this to stop, stop, stop.

it only stopped when you put yourself into the fight, pulling one of the boys off of a bloody jaemin who was curled on the ground, who spit out a shot of blood as the other boys backed off slowly. you slid yourself in between jaemin and the retreating boys, and you wiped off the smudge of blood you had gotten on your hands.

you stared at your hands, then up to the four boys with bloody noses and bruised eyes. they all stared back, some with confidence, some with fear and all of them with mirthless contempt.

you imagined you looked the exact same, your hands balled into fists at your sides and your eyes set in a glare.

“get out!” you yelled, and the boys didn’t move.

“get the hell out, you creeps,” renjun shouted, voice enthusiastic with a slight twinge of adrenaline. you didn’t expect that.

that’s when the boys nodded and picked their bloody faces up, running one by one out the door, taking the jingles of the little silver bell with them.

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and dropped your head into your hands, sighing shakily before turning back to jaemin who was pulling himself to his feet.

“uh, y/n, do you — uh, do you want to patch him up in the back break room? i have a lot of first aid stuff, there was an accident with a scooper and someone’s eye a while ago that we don’t talk about,” renjun asked, and you heard the concern in his voice.

you looked back to jaemin, who was on his feet and limping to the table where he rested his body weight on his leaning hand. his eyes were already bloodshot and swelling, and you felt your heart climb in your throat as you catalogued every visible injury on the boy’s body.

he was defending you, your heart called out. he fought the creeps because they talked about you.

he was violent, your mind called out. he was impulsive, but you knew that already. he was just like you.

no matter how many times you tried to repeat it to yourself, you knew. when your heart spiralled, so did your head, and you had always been irresponsible when your feelings and thoughts didn’t sync up. you had always been impulsive, always been someone who had never totally understood your heart and your head. you’d always had one foot in love and the other in logic.

your feet were getting further and further apart.

you nodded to renjun and grabbed onto jaemin, pulling his arm over your shoulder and bringing him back into the break room. renjun followed and opened the first aid cabinet, and you thanked him as he ran back out to the front to go greet customers. you set jaemin down on the foldable chair that sat beside a matching table, and he laughed as you pulled down a kit from the cupboard.

“why are you laughing?” you asked, dragging another chair beside him to rest on as you began to dab a cotton ball with peroxyde on it onto his open cuts.

“i don’t know,” he laughed out, and you huffed as he continued to laugh when you put bandaids and steristrips on his face cuts.

“then stop,” you growled.

he stopped, raising a hand gingerly to tilt your chin up and meet his eyes.

“i really fucked up, didn’t i?” he said, more to himself than you. “i really fucked up when i walked away, i fucked up when i didn’t ask your name. to be honest, i didn’t think i’d see you again, and i was so ready to have my heart broken by you if i had asked. but i didn’t, and that was so smart of me, and i felt so bad that i was weak and told you my name, because now i’m someone to you, and i disappeared and i hurt you. so i really fucked up not asking anything, but i think i’ve fucked myself over so much more now that i know, now that we’re not strangers in the night.”

you didn’t dare break eye contact, and you dropped your hand from where it held the cotton ball on his shoulder back to your lap. you felt the rough skin of his knuckle turn under your chin as he rolled his lips over his teeth and sighed.

“just tell me how i can make it better,” he asked, and he pulled your head a bit closer with the crook of his finger under your head.

you weren’t going to stand down, you weren’t going to admit to anything, you weren’t going to admit a boy who was a stranger in the night became someone who you know. someone who you allowed to know you, someone who you allowed in past your walls and into your head with the reckless, destructive, confused thoughts that filled it. you would not let the boy who disappeared into the fog of pot and cigarettes and god-knows-what to have any say over what you felt, not when he turned his back on you.

one foot in logic.

“can i make it better? can i fix this?” he asked, and you let him.

you let him move closer to you and press his lips to yours, and you let the cotton ball that was pink with his blood drop to the floor. you let his lips find that rhythm again, let him cup your jaw and tilt your head to slot your noses together, and you let him kiss you and map out every corner of your lips. you didn’t stop him, and you didn’t want to, your heart didn’t want to remove your lips from his in fear that he’d turn his back on you again.

one foot in love.

you kept your hands in your lap, you twiddled your thumbs and ran your fingertips over the ridges of your nails, you kept them everywhere but on him. you thought that if you had kept your hands off him, had kept your hands away from the smooth feeling of his skin and away from the ink of his tattoos that you felt you could rub off with the pads of your fingers even though you knew that wasn’t true, you wouldn’t get yourself connected to him. you wouldn’t let a boy with a bloody taste on his tongue leave that on you, that memory, that imprint, if you didn’t let your hands wander or climb the stalk of his neck and trace the bumps of his spine like you had already. if you didn’t let him hold you by the waist and run his fingers where your shirt had ridden up and your soft, warm skin had hit the air, you wouldn’t connect yourself to the boy who had turned his back on you.

things didn’t work that way, not anymore, because it didn’t take one kiss to fall in love with someone. it took two and you had so foolishly stumbled into his trap, his lips and his gaze and his charming voice pulling you into him and refusing to let you go.

you broke it off a few seconds, minutes, hours later and drew back, standing to pick up the soiled cotton ball and walk it over to the trash in the corner of the room.

you had a pit in your stomach, because you knew that if you turned your back on the boy, you might never see him again. you might never feel him again. you might never taste the iron on his lips again. but you turned. you turned your back on the boy who was watching you from the foldable chair and you walked away, walked to the corner instead of throwing the ball. you turned your back. this time, you turned your back.

why did you turn?

when you spun back around, na jaemin had taken a handful of bandages, the cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide, and he was gone, chair empty and the air he had occupied empty. the baseball cap that you had brought in and set on the cabinet ledge was gone too.

you were convinced na jaemin was no more than a shadow who haunted you, a figment of your imagination.

was he just a stranger?

if only you could predict the future, read the cards it held. you’d be so much more worried. you were already sick to your stomach.

a/n: grammarly won’t LEAVE ME ALONE (this is a let down)

[thesoftdumbass]

Wild Blooms

FDR Foster X Reader (This Means War)

I Gift Thee Chris and Karl || @goingknowherewastaken Birthday Challenge, Flower Shop AU

Word Count: 3.2K

Characters: Franklin “FDR” Foster, Alexus (OC), Nana, Tuck, the kid with a bucket on his head from the movie.

Warnings: I think like one cuss word?

Summary: When FDR’s florist moves away, he is forced to find another person to buy flowers for dinner on Saturday nights at Nana’s. Luckily he found you.

A/N: Hey, you guys! I wrote this fic for Katie’s birthday challenge! Sorry it’s a day late, but i’m suck at finishing things on time. I hope you had a fun day and that you like this fic!

This is my first time writing FDR, and I’ve only seen the movie like once, so I hope it’s not too OOC for ya! So without further adieu, let’s get into it!

masterlist 

The shop is relatively empty for a Saturday afternoon, but you don’t mind much. You bob your head to the music playing over the loudspeakers as you gather some freesia blossoms to add to a bouquet that’s being prepared for a client’s order. The only other people inside your corner flower shop is a couple looking for flowers for their wedding reception, browsing through a book of your arrangements.

You check on the couple, Tom and Jess, you remember as you’re walking away, to make sure they don’t need anything from you before going back to your task. You’re just wrapping up a group of flowers a few minutes later when you hear the bell above the door chime with a new customer arriving.

“Just a minute,” you call out and receive a “no rush” in return. The bouquet you were finishing up now in the cooler and waiting to be picked up, you make your way back out into the main area of the shop. The buckets that line the shelves are full of beautiful blooms and you take a moment to appreciate their scents on your way to where you heard the man’s voice come from.

“Hi, welcome to Wild Blooms. Can I help you with anything today,” you ask in your pleasant customer voice.

The customer is looking at a bucket of pink carnations with mild interest but turns around at your voice. When he turns his eyes to you, the bright blue blue color stuns you for a moment, his light brown hair falling onto his forehead. Breaking out of your trance, you await his response.

“I’m just looking for some flowers to take to dinner,” he replies, his voice smooth as honey.

“I can help with that. Would you like a custom bunch, a vase, or there are pre-made bouquets that you can choose from,” you offer.

“I may get a pre-made one for today.”

You nod and lead him back to the glass-front cooler where you keep the already made arrangements, some of them made just this morning. “This is what we have for right now. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“I just want it to be special, can you recommend something?” The man looks at you for your opinion, and he brushes a piece of blond hair from his forehead.

“Well, roses are usually safe. Or if you want something different, this one is pretty special,” you say, pointing out a particular arrangement. It’s beautiful, anemones and blue ranunculus interspersed with Alister roses and sprigs of greenery. He smiles brightly at the colorful flowers.

“These are beautiful! I’ll take them.”

“Alright, I’ll get these and check you out. Come with me,” you nod toward the counter in the back where the register sits, already grabbing the flowers from the cooler and heading in that direction. You pull some brown paper from a roll on the wall and wrap the bouquet neatly, tying red twine across the stems when you were done and ringing the man up. When he’s done paying, you give a large smile to the attractive man. “All done here, I hope you enjoy them…” you trail off, hoping to get his name.

“FDR. It’s nice to meet you…Y/N.” He trails off, looking to your name tag. “Thank you for the flowers, she’s gonna love them,” he smiles, looking down at the arrangement sitting on the counter.

Your face falls at the realization, but you cover it quickly with a smile. Of course a man as handsome as him isn’t single. You pick up the flowers, handing them to him. “Have a nice day,” you wave before getting back to work.

For weeks, almost like clockwork, FDR would come into the shop on late Saturday afternoons and buy a bouquet, leaving with a flirty comment and a parting wink, so you’re not expecting it when the man shows up on a Friday. You’ve just removed yourself from the storage room with a new shipment of flowers, your hands full of bright sunflowers when you see him. He’s making his way to the back of the store, to the cash register stand.

“FDR,” you say with slight confusion in your tone. He turns around at the mention of his name and smiles when he sees you, his bright blue eyes lighting up. “Y/N, hey!”

“You’re a little early,” you say lightly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know that the man you have a slight crush on would be in today, so you’re just wearing jeans and a tank top with your hair up in a messy bun. FDR thinks you look good though, running an appreciative eye down your figure as you’re distracted, sitting down the container of flowers you were previously holding.

“Yeah, I am. I am here to pick out a bouquet but I have to go into work tomorrow, so I thought I’d come in today and have them delivered. As long as that’s okay,” he trails off. You nod, perhaps a little too quickly, and that is confirmation enough for him. “I really wanna do something special this time. Do you think you’re up for helping me put together an arrangement?”

“Of course,” you exclaim, and FDR chuckles at the way your whole face lights up at all the possibilities. “Where would you like to start?”

“I wanted something a little different, maybe something I haven’t gotten. I was looking at those last time I was here.” FDR points to the corner filled with peonies, the large blooms having caught his eye before. The two of you walk over, where FDR cups one of the peach blooms softly in one hand.

“You like these? I just got this batch in yesterday.”

“They’re gorgeous,” FDR says and you get to work. He tells you that he has something big in mind, so you pick out some blooms on the larger side.

With the peach peonies in your work bucket, you make rounds around the shop picking out complimentary blossoms, the container full of orange, white, and bright pink roses respectively, baby’s breath, begonias, and small tufts of yarrow.

You bring FDR to a workstation and he sits down the bucket that he had insisted on carrying as it was filled up. You take a break, grabbing two cold water bottles from the fridge and handing one to him. You sit on a bench for a few minutes, looking around.

“You know I opened this shop almost two years ago,” you say in reminiscence, distracted by the memory of receiving your first customer.

FDR turns his head to look at you from where he’s sitting beside you. “Really? I didn’t know you owned this place,” he hums.

“Yep,” you say, popping the p. “My mom loves flowers. Our house was surrounded by them growing up and I would always look up the names so I could remember them later. I guess that stuck with me, flowers are my passion now. I like making people happy too, seeing a smile on someone’s face as they receive a bouquet, that’s why I make my own deliveries sometimes.”

FDR watches as you talk and look back, the smile on your face coming easily to you as his own lips stretch into a matching grin. The overwhelming urge to kiss you comes to him, and not since the first time he’s met you. As soon as he saw the enthusiasm that you approach your work with, FDR was hooked and knew that he wanted to know more about you. Thinking back on it, Franklin Foster is so happy that his old florist moved away.

His attention is drawn back to you when the sound of your laugh reaches his ears, fingers snapping in front of his nose. It’s a sound that he hasn’t heard nearly enough, and the corners of his mouth turn up instantly.

“You still with me,” you ask through giggles.

“Always,” he chuckles.

“Let’s get to work, you goof.” You sit down your water bottle and turn to the table, looking through the bucket of flowers and deciding on a game plan. “You said you wanted them in a vase, right?” He agrees and you help him pick one out from the shelf along the wall before getting to work.

Two sets of hands work quicker than one, and soon enough you’re finishing up, wrapping a pretty pink ribbon around the vase to be delivered tomorrow. You try to get the bow just right, absolutely /not/ trying to stall. When you’re done, FDR will leave and you’ll be left alone with your work and a skipping heartbeat just like many times before. As you’re adjusting one of the rose blossoms, making sure that it’s turned right, you feel more than see someone coming up behind you.

“Perfect,” a low voice murmurs next to your ear and you smile. Lifting your head from examining the arrangement, you turn your head to meet your gaze with FDR, a soft expression in his eyes.

You smile and giggle softly, looking back at the vase. “Yes, well, I can’t take all the credit. You did help.”

“Right, the flowers,” he clears his throat, “yeah, they look amazing.” A crease forms between your brows as you try to figure out what he means by that, but he’s talking before you can think too much about it. “Can these be here at seven o’clock tomorrow night,” he asks, handing you a slip of paper with an address written on it.

“Yeah, of course,” you say, and your voice comes out less than enthused, so you put on your customer service smile to try and make up for it. FDR looks at you with scrutiny, recognizing the look on your face.

“You don’t have to do that, put on a fake expression. You can be you around me, I hope you know that, Y/N.”

Your eyebrows draw upwards in surprise that he noticed, but you soothe your face back down to normal. You clear your throat and speak, your voice coming out quieter than you expected. “Thank you, FDR. You too,” and you mean it, a small smile lifting your mouth. He leaves not long after that, promising to speak to you soon.

The next day you’re going through some papers in your office when one of your delivery people Alexus sticks her head in the open doorway. “Hey boss, I’m about to head out for my evening run. Is this everything,” she asks, gesturing to the line of flowers waiting to be loaded into the van. You look over them, nodding your head and then stopping when your eyes land on the peony bouquet that you and FDR put together the night before.

“Yeah Lex, I’ll take this one though. Let me help you load these up.” You help Alexus with the flowers and make sure the vase is secure in the car before checking yourself over. You may not even see FDR, but your minimal makeup, casual white and black striped dress, and flats look passable with your hair down in waves. It’s better to be prepared, right? You check the address slip that’s attached to a vase and get ready to head to the house outside of town.

When you pull up to the address, you think that it’s not what you were expecting. The farmhouse and the surrounding land is beautiful, but you were surprised by the number of vehicles parked outside. There must be an event going on inside, you think to yourself.

You pick the vase up and carry it carefully to the front door lest it break, and make sure to pocket the address and billing information so the person on the receiving end doesn’t see it. There’s a card attached that you hadn’t seen before, FDR must have written it while you weren’t paying attention. You ring the doorbell by the front door and hear the chimes sound throughout the large house. While you wait, your curiosity gets the better of you and you peek down at the card that reads

Happy birthday Nana, you’re a Saint for putting up with me for all these years.

You barely have time to process this new information when the door opens in front of you and you bring your lips into a shy smile. You come to face an elderly woman, her white hair tucked back into an elegant updo, a dress and heels adding to the air of sophistication. She looks to you and her red lips pull into a bright grin when she spots the flowers in your hands.

“Oh my, such lovely flowers,” she says excitedly in a British accent. “Are these from my Franklin?”

“Franklin,” you mutter confusedly, tilting your head, and before you can open your mouth again to ask who that is, you hear your name being called and you turn around.

“Y/N! I didn’t know you would be here,” FDR says as he walks closer to you, having just arrived.

“I told you that I make deliveries sometimes,” you say sheepishly, shrugging a shoulder.

You glance uneasily back to the front door that’s still open and FDR smacks himself on the forehead, walking over and embracing the woman, who is still standing there.

“Nana, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my Nana. This woman raised me, and I can’t thank her enough.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, and I’m guessing these are for you,” you say with a genuine smile this time.

Nana accepts the flowers readily and pulls them up to her face to smell, taking the time to appreciate their beauty.

“Thank you for bringing these,” FDR puts a hand on your back and leans a little closer to you as Nana is otherwise occupied, though she doesn’t miss the exchange.

“Of course,” you reply, suddenly bashful.

“We are having a little celebration out back, would you like to stay for the party? You can keep Franklin company,” Nana speaks up.

FDR groans inwardly at her meddling, but he still smiles when you look to him for reassurance. “That sounds nice.”

The two of you follow Nana inside, your shoulders brushing as she leads you through the impressive house to a fenced-in area of the backyard.

“Look what this sweet girl brought me,” she announces to anyone listening and you hear back a few praises on the arrangement.

“Thank you, Nana, but FDR helped me,” you didn’t want to take all the credit for the flowers.

“Oh please, all I did was point out one flower. You matched the rest and put them together beautifully,” he replies affectionately. You bite your lip at the compliment.

After a few minutes of chatting between the two of you, you are interrupted by a loud voice nearby speaking in a British accent. “Look who finally showed up,” is heard before a shorter man comes over to FDR and wraps him in a warm, albeit rough hug.

“Collins had me come in today, I told you that yesterday.”

“Yes, well, you failed to mention that you would be bringing a date to Nana’s birthday.” The man turns to you, putting out a hand for you to shake and you do. You can’t help but notice that FDR doesn’t correct him about you being his date. “My name is Tuck, I’m his brother,” he says with a thumb pointed towards your companion.

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you, Tuck. So I’m guessing you could tell me a bunch of embarrassing stories about Franklin,” you say, putting a teasing emphasis on his real name. FDR groans, and is that a blush painting his cheeks? You giggle at this.

“You have no idea, love. There was this one time, in Bangladesh-” Tuck starts but is cut off by FDR interrupting him.

“Let’s not do this right now, Tuck. Another topic please, any other topic?” You smirk at how flustered this confident charmer has become.

Tuck laughs before turning the conversation. “So how did you meet Frank?”

You tilt your head to look up at him with a smile, thinking to the first time you met him. “I’m a florist, I own a flower shop in town. FDR came in one day, clueless about what to buy, so I helped him. He’s come in every Saturday since. I actually brought an arrangement here today.”

“Oh you’re the cute florist he’s always going on about. It was getting annoying, but I can’t say I blame him.”

You hear a strangled sort of noise and look beside you to where it seems to have come from. “You okay,” you question, concerned but still amused.

“I’m fine.”

Tuck leaves after this, going off to sit with his wife and son, leaving you to your own devices, promising to tell you all of Franklin’s terrible and funny stories. You plan to take him up on it.

FDR walks with you over to an empty table that’s been set up, and you sit down, him following. He looks at you, a shy smile on his face. “I’m sorry about my family. They can be a little much, at times.” FDR shakes his head affectionately.

You laugh, looking over at him with a smile. “I like them, they’re fun.”

He shrugs, watching a little boy run by with a bucket over his head. A laugh escapes his lips at the boy’s antics. “Yeah, sometimes.”

After a little while, dinner is served and you sit with FDR, chatting about your lives, learning more about each other. “So Nana raised you?”

“Yeah, yeah she did. What that woman must have went through, I was a bit of a troublemaker growing up.”

“I don’t know, I think you grew up pretty well,” you say with a faux thoughtful smile, teasing. FDR rolls his eyes good-naturedly and you giggle. “No, but really. It’s great of you to get her flowers every week, that’s so sweet. Not many people do that lately. I make my living off of people trying to make up for mistakes, and the occasional wedding. But not you.” You duck your head as you realize that you’ve been talking for too long. You shrug, “I don’t know, I think you’re pretty special.”

FDR reaches a hand out to touch your cheek, his thumb running over your cheekbone, and as you lift your head up, your eyes are met with his brilliant blue ones.

“I think you’re pretty special, too.” You feel your cheeks flush and lean into his touch, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. “I don’t know if I’m reading this wrong, but… can I see you sometime, outside of Wild Blooms?”

You can’t help but giggle, nodding your head happily. “Of course you can.”

“Good,” FDR nods. “How about dinner tomorrow night, I’ll pick you up at your place?” The hopeful look in his eyes makes you melt inside, and suddenly you can’t wait for tomorrow night.

Feeling brave, you lean forward quickly and confidently, placing your lips on his cheek and lingering before pulling away slowly. The goofy grin that takes over FDR’s face makes your expression match, his happiness infectious.

From across the yard, Nana stands with Tuck, watching the two of you with fondness. “I think Y/N is good for him,” Nana observes.

“Yeah, she is,” Tuck nods, and then laughs. “Now we’ve just got to break it to her what he does for a living.”

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