#this shirt is MASSIVE ive had it for years i got it from this box of stuff my friend had for pulling apart for sewing material

[willgrahamsbecoming]

channelling will graham to stay in my house and Not go trick or treating on this night

[taeyohonic]

Just a Taste – Chapter One

Summary: Being asked to take a blood test just to work at a merchandise booth should have been the first read flag for you. But you just gave them a sample of your blood in exchange for a very much needed paycheck and a summer job during BTS’ world tour. After the youngest member of the popular kpop band finds himself in a difficult situation, you come to realize that this wasn’t the last time you shed blood for your idols. or: You becomes the new donor for seven bloodthirsty idols, who seem to be way too interested in their new food source.

Pairing: OT7xfem!Reader

Genre: Fantasy, Smut, (Fluff)

Warnings: blood, they aren’t very nice to you...

Words: 2.7k

Chapters: Prologue, Chap. I, Chap. II, Chap. III, Chap. IV, Chap. V, Chap. VI, Chap. VII

“What do you mean ‘all the bags are gone’?”

Your supervisor does not look amused. The girl with an abnormal amount of glitter on her face does not look amused. Hell, even you don’t look amused. The stadium hasn’t even begun to let the fans in and your merch booth ran out of the official “speak yourself”-bag ten minutes ago.

This job is in the top three most gruesome things you had to do for money. But money was tight, and you didn’t want to survive another summer on ramen and cheap wine. The job ad was harmless at first glance. Just another sales job. But they promised good pay and international traveling, which was enough to let your eyes linger. There was no company mentioned, just a post box.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when BigHit responded to your application a week later. With Bangtan’s rising popularity and the massive size of their tour, extra staff had to be hired. Still, the ARMY in you couldn’t contain her excitement. This was a big deal for you. Touring with one of your favorite kpop bands, traveling to Japan and getting first dips on all the merchandise? This was a no brainer. Hell, you would have even paid them to tag along. So you dressed to impress when you attended the interview, keeping your giddiness locked behind a professional smile.

“You want what?”, you ask – disbelieve coloring your voice.

“A blood test”, the interviewer repeats nonchalantly without looking up from her questionnaire.

Was this normal procedure? You had only ever worked in your aunt’s bookstore during senior year of high school and at a fast food place all through undergrad. Neither asked for your freaking bloodline.

“What? Do you discriminate certain blood types?”, you say in mock humor. A laugh disguised as a cough rings through the room, as the cute guy in the back of the room tries to hide his amusement. His eyes are locked on your features.

“We just want to make sure all our employees are healthy. You’ll be travelling to a foreign country, working long hours.”, the woman in front of you replies, ignoring your bad attempt at a joke. She continues: “You don’t have to – of course.”

“But then I won’t be asked back for a second interview, am I right?”

The woman looks you in the eyes for the first time since entering the room. She doesn’t look as evil as she sounds. “No”

So, you guess you’ll leave with a bit less body fluid than you anticipated.

There wasn’t a second interview. The test results came with a pre-signed contract.

***

“What the fuck is up with this boy today?”, Joo-Won swears as his eyes are glued to the screen in front of you. Your shift is officially over. Most of the merchandise is packed up, all the sold-out item IDs are sent to the head quarter and you already got a notification that the next delivery will be arriving first thing tomorrow morning. Now you’re sitting together with some crew members, a half-finished soju bottle in your hand and an empty carton of take-out on your lap. The guy at your job interview turned out to be quite fun.

Joo-Won introduced himself during the briefing on your first day in Japan. He is responsible for the ARMY Bomb stands, which seems to be a very big deal around here. This is his third tour with Bangtan and he seems to know nearly every henchmen in this operation. So it came to no surprise when a stage assistant invited you both to watch the concert from one of the twelve monitors backstage. Of course, you didn’t look too out of place with your name badge and the Love Yourself-hoodie you may or may not have purchased with your employee discount.

The stage assistant, whose name you can’t remember, is fuzzing with screen number five as you take another sip of your afterwork drink. You stare not really focusing on anything. Just blank nothingness.

“You did see this as well, right _______?”, Joo-Won asks breathlessly.

You can only nod. The Fake Love performance just ended. And even though all seven idols were on fire, the youngest was just out of control.

“What did we just see?”, the boy continues.

“Rudeness”, you answer and empty the bottle with a hefty swing. You knew Jungkook would lift his shirt. You were prepared as you had seen their comeback stage more times than you’d be comfortable to admit. This was not news to you. But the aggression in his stare, how dark he growled his verses, the hard edges on his mouth, not even hinting a friendly smile, was making you uncomfortable.

Before your new friend can respond his headset beeped. Joo-Won answer, his eyes still on the screen.

“Yeah?” After a beat his eyes flash to you. You squirm uncomfortably in your seat.

“_________ is with me”, he says and you need a second to register your role in the conversation.

Joo-Won’s stare lingers on your face – a silent question in his eyes.

“Sure, sir. I’ll bring her to you right away.” Then he ends the call sifting, so your knees are brushing against one another.

“Care to explain, why Bangtan’s prime management wants to speak with you, _______?”, your friend asks, no judgement in his voice. What?

***

“So, I have to sign another NDA?”, you ask the manager in front of you, trying to swallow your nervousness. This is the Sejin, Bangtan’s right hand advisor. Every fan knows him from countless Bangtan Bombs and can easily recognize the fathering care in his work.

“This one… is more specific”, he explains and moves the stack of papers to you. You try to calm your excited fingers as you grab at the legal document, flipping through it.

“And it’s time sensitive”, Sejin adds and searches your eyes for attention. You give it to him.

“Time sensitive?” The papers abandoned on the table. “Is something wrong with the boys?”

There will come a time and place when you reflect on the choice of calling these men “the boys” as if they were your closest friends. But it’s not today. Today you just see a glint in his eyes.

“Yes, it’s Jungkookie”, Sejin starts and your memories flash to their concert an hour prior. How Joo-Won and you both discussed how beastly the youngest looked – how aggressive.

“Wh-what?”, you answer in question. The manager’s hands move on top of yours.

“He is ill and … you might be able to help him. We can’t transport him. And we are not sure he’ll survive an ambulance ride.”

Your brain blanks as you stand up in a swift move. This is simple: One of your most cherished idols is ill and his trustworthy manager tells you that you’ll be able to help. This is a no brainer.

“Take me to him”, you order, not even caring that Sejin’s words are not making any sense. How can a twenty-four-year-old college dropout help the golden maknae? What even is his illness?

Sejin’s smile should have been another red flag. “Slow down, _________”, he sooths and moves around the table so he is standing in front of you. “This is important. You have to sign the documents. You’ll have to transfuse blood to him.” He is handling you a pen. “There are health risks. This isn’t … the most optimal environment for a blood donation.”

Jungkook needs your blood – memories of your job interview come back.

You sign the contract, not even reading all the small-printed clauses on the pages. Before the ink is even dry, Sejin is moving you through a long corridor. His hand rests on your neck – squeezing reassuringly. A glimmer travels across your body and you try to ground yourself. Of course you are nervous. This is reasonable. You’ll donate blood to one of your favorite idols. Maybe you’ll see him, when he gets better. Hell, maybe he’ll even thank you in person! Meeting Bangtan is the closest form to aspiration you have at the moment.

“When is the nurse coming?”, you question the logistics as you move towards the farthest door labeled “BTS”.

“Which nurse?” You look at Sejin in surprise – if not a nurse, who’ll take your blood?

“Then a doctor?”, you ask and Sejin shakes his head, a humorless chuckle escaping him while you both come to a halt in front of the door.

“There is… no time I’m afraid”, he answers – with remorse in his voice. There is a sinking feeling in your stomach, some of the fog lifted. How the hell should you give Jungkook your blood if there is not even a transfusion station here?

Sejin knocks at the door, ignoring your thumbing heartbeat and opens the door, softly pushing you into the room. “I’ll explain everything; I promise.”

***

The starving vampire smells your sweet blood as soon as the door opens – Sejin a mere decoration in his vision. Jungkook’s whole body turns towards you while your eyes nervously shift across the room. Time slows down as the maknae swiftly moves straight to you. His muscles ache and he cannot even recognize his swallow breathing. His stare is fixed on the nap of your neck – deliciously soft, milky. Not even the slightest imperfection in this human before him.

You do not even sense Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s presence as your eyes take in the predator advancing towards you. The older ones seem frozen as their youngest stops just a breath away from you. You look mouthwatering – clad in one of their merchandise hoodies, hair pinned in a mess at the top of your head, some bold eye make-up, but otherwise barefaced. You look… just right.

Before Jungkook’s grin spreads across his face, Jin takes action – trying to move between the sarved vampire and this … girl. What the hell was Sejin thinking just throwing her in here? Did he want this human dead so badly?

But the oldest is too late – Jungkook growls aggressively as he snatches you against his firm chest. All the air leaves your lungs – your breasts pressed painfully against solid muscle.

“Ahh”, you groan. As soon as the noise leaves your mouth, his lips descend against the white of your neck. The maknae hisses in pleasure; and then he is biting – hard.

Your scream misses the volume and you feel tears on your cheeks as you gaze into Seokjin’s overwhelmed eyes – hands outstretched.

Blood flows freely into Jungkook’s mouth and you hear a sickening slurping sound. The pain is blazing against your skin, every fiber of your body vehemently trying to get away from the maknae. But your fingers don’t push him away. No, the curl around his biceps – acting against every rational though inside your brain. You cling to the man sucking your blood as if he’s merely leaving a love bite.

The pain in your body slowly ebbs and you feel a bright bliss surrounding you. You’re not even sure if you are still standing at the door. There is no room – just lips against your neck and whimpers in your throat… and Namjoon’s voice far, far away.

“Jungkook stop now.”

“This is an order.”

“Jin, help me.”

“Let’s lay her down.”

“Is there a pulse?”

***

“How do you take your coffee?”, Yoongi asks while starring at you with such indifference in his eyes you’re not sure your answer even matters.

“Uhm- I” His sigh interrupts you as he makes his way from the couch across form you to the kitchenette. The whole room is dimmed in a soft light, the furniture a clean white. You feel your head spin as you try to recall what happened. Weren’t you backstage? Didn’t Jun-

“Jungkook”, your voice more of an accusation than a whisper. Yoongi’s back stiffens, but he continues to brew hot water over a ceramic filter and soon a soothing smell of coffee drifts towards you on the white leather.

“Jungkook sucked m-y – he su”

“-cked your blood. Damn girl, how hard did you hit your head when you fainted?”, your favorite rapper asks – his body finally turned towards you.

Slow, leisure steps are taken and then he sits in front of you, taking you all in. You must look like a mess; grease and sweat from your shift in the booth, plus the incident with the youngest vocalist in the band. All the blood. Your stomach turns around uncomfortably.

Yoongi is looking into your eyes and for a split second you see something other than complete boredom behind his stare, but as soon as you try to pinpoint the emotion, it vanishes.

“That’s what vampire do”, he continues and you heart reacts before the triggering word even registers in your brain. Vampire. No way.

“Go-ood one, Yoongi-ssi. This… this isn’t – some romance novel for teenagers”, you scoff, disbelieve in your voice while your heart beats hard against your chest. Without missing a beat, the idol is in your face – literally just millimeters away. The air is stuck in your lungs as you try to calm yourself.

“You know what I hate, dumb human?”

His fingers draw lines across your face – just a feathering touch, barely more than an illusion. You can only shake your head; afraid your voice will give out if you try to answer verbally.

His face moves down to your neck as his hands frame your face – no longer brushing but locking your head into place. Then his mouth dives into your neck, just resting against your pulse. You can feel the sinister smile against your skin as you shiver.

“Talking to dumb people”, his lips vibrate and you feel goosebumps traveling across your body.

“You have all the proof, but your silly little brain still doesn’t – connect the pieces”, Yoongi trails small kisses across your collarbone; a stark contrast to his insulting words.

“Do you really think our little maknae just has a blood kink?”

He moves to the other side of your neck, while titling your head forcefully to the left. You can’t move your body – muscles frozen into place. You’re just passively… enduring what your favorite idol does to you. Now his teeth are grazing your right earlobe, as his voice drops another octave into a threatening growl.

“That we just hire a college dropout because of her work ethics?”

His words hurt, but you’re more concerned with the information behind them. They know about you, must have read your file. Shame colors your cheeks and Yoongi’s nose inhales deeply against the red of your skin.

“You smell fucking delicious”, he moans and places an open mouth kiss against your rosé cheek. You can feel his saliva on your skin and a whimper of your own escapes your throat.

“You like that, dumb human? Knowing I’d love… nothing more than to bite in your flesh? Drain you dry?”, he slurs. You both know that this is nothing more than a rhetorical question – your heart, your breathing and the wetness between your tights enough evidence.

But before he can act on his words, a searing pain flashes through your brain.

“Argh”, you groan pressing your head against his cold hands with virgo. The dead skin of his fingertips sooths the throbbing in your brain temporarily. But he knows that your time is nearing its end.

“Human, listen to me”, he whispers, his previously threatening tone making place for urgent whisper.

“When you wake up” What? His hands still a vise to keep you grounded, while the pain in your head expands to your whole body. “Damn human, focus!”

He searches your eyes for recognition, but your stare moves around the room – now noticing how alien the light looks, how… clean the colors are. Is this? Are you still sleeping? How?

“When you wake up”, Yoongi’s voice nothing more than a vibrating hum in your ears, “Say no to Namjoon.”

Now he is shaking you. “Say no”

***

“Good morning, sleepyhead”, Namjoon says after you open your eyes – the morning sun blinding you momentarily.

“I made you coffee”, he adds as he pushes a steaming mug in your hands. The familiar smell takes you back to your dream, to Yoongi, his words, his plea – and you gape at the leader in front of you.

“I thought we could talk?”

_______________________

A/N: What do you guys think? I am so thankful for the feedback you guys sent me. It means a lot! I hope you like this chapter as much as i do! I’d love to hear from you again! love, dana

taglist: @m0chilattae @gali-005 @fangirls94 @dinopowa @toddsgirl27 @littlemanismoon @dkck99 @slutkoo @subtlepjiminie @coffeebeanismylife @iloverubberduckiez-blog @geminidrawsstuff @olivialovemason88

[maviemesregles]

Once I was an Eagle

Aaaaaand, I'm back! I know it's been bloody ages since the last update but I needed a break. I also had been busy with other ficlets so OIWAE was put on pause. But the story is back and I do hope you like this instalment. I really, really like this chapter.

I am absolutely horrible at answering the comments (which I'll fix, promise) but I do see each one of them! I LOVE reading what your thoughts are, whether you liked some moment or a particular turn of phrase, I appreciate it all. No matter if it's one word, emoji, or a big analysing comment. Thank you lovies for staying here with me. <3

Anne, you’re my gem  💜 @eclecticstarlightconnoisseur​

Read on AO3

     Chapter I: The beginnings

Chapter II: Sassenach

Chapter III: Catharsis

Chapter IV: Lovestruck. Part I

Chapter V: Lovestruck. Part II

Chapter VI: Flecks of Sun

Chapter VII: Mince pies & baubles

                                           Chapter VIII: Home

Blood pounded in Claire’s ears muffling the music and the howling wind outside. Jamie’s face blurred as the tears gathered at the brink of her lower lashes. She inhaled deeply, blinking furiously to get rid of the swell of moisture in her eyes. Closing them Claire could feel Jamie moving towards her, gently touching her arm, voice concerned.

“Claire, was it too early? Did I-”

He could not finish his sentence because she dissolved into ugly crying. Clinging to him, gasping for air and in general being an awful mess.

“Shh, mo graidh. Shh. Tis alright.” His hands wrapped around Claire in a familiar way, thumb circling the tender skin at her nape softly.

“I.. I’m going to ruin your shirt.” Sniffing, voice muffled by his aforementioned shirt Claire leaned back to look at the mess she created. Her running nose and damp cheeks imprinted a mascara-black wet blot on green fabric. She could hear Jamie chuckle as he picked her up and sat down with Claire curled on his lap.

“I dinna care one bit about the shirt, lass.” Lips gently pressed a kiss to her forehead. Claire sighed though still gasping for air. The comfort of Jamie’s warmth made her body become limp.

“I’m not crying because I am sad,” Claire whispered, hand cupping the back of his head. “I... I’m crying because I’m happy, Jamie. Happy to live with you.”

Dropping a kiss on the bridge of her nose, he smiled.

“Aye. Me too, my Sassenach.”

* * *

It was the beginning of what seemed like an endless hunt for what would become a perfect flat for us. We spent about three weeks chasing an ideal place, checked at least ten flats scattered all over Edinburgh but none of them was quite what we were looking for (not far away from my work; with a park nearby to allow Jamie to go on his morning jogs. And it needed to have a large living room and be pet-friendly.)

Jamie (bare-chested, skin still flushed from the shower) was performing his magic by preparing the scrambled eggs I loved so much while I sat on the windowsill, feet in fuzzy socks propped up the wall. As I scrolled through rental ads on Jamie’s iPad I felt the pressure of upcoming headache from all this searching. And suddenly, there it was. The place that we were looking for.

A stone-built ground floor house had a spacious kitchen and a huge living room adorned with an old fireplace. The ceilings were so high I thought there is no end to them. “Canna wait to hear yer voice inside these walls” Jamie smirked at me as we followed behind the agent chirping away about how great this flat is. “Whatever do you mean?” I quirked my brow at him. He leaned closer, whispering into my ear, his warm breath tickling the little hairs on my nape. “Weel, those sounds ye make when I-” Giggling, my elbow pressed into his ribs, stopping him before any dangerous and inappropriate (for the agent) revelations could occur.

Grand windows allowed the sun to slip into every little corner of the flat and made it breathe with light. There were two bedrooms with hardboard wooden floors and a small study fully equipped with bookshelves. French doors in the kitchen opened to a garden with a southern exposure was the last deciding straw for me. It had everything we needed. Adso would be welcome to live here, it was a fifteen minute drive from my work and there was a park just across the street. Although it was rather pricey, Jamie ignored my hissing remark “Almost four grand quid? Fucking insane,” and said that we should sign the rental agreement. I kissed him senseless allowing the feeling that this is us now, our own place fill me up.

The rental price had changed our plans a little bit. Forcing us to spend a couple of days moving small furniture and other possessions Jamie and I owned to our new accommodation by ourselves. At the end of it all, sweaty and tired, we sat on the boxes in the empty living room, watching the snowfall outside the huge windows.

“Are ye happy, Sassenach?” Jamie gently pulled me by the wrist to his side. My hands cradled his face as I stood up and found myself a prisoner between his thighs.

“Of course I am, James Fraser,” thumb caressing the apple of his cheeks I glanced around. “Only I have no idea how we are going to organize this mess.” It feels like between the two of us there are millions of boxes and bags, packages. I’ve brought the plants I owned (the only three I managed not to kill), a box full of uncle’s Lamb belongings, an enormous contemporary art painting Geillis got me for my 30th birthday two years ago. Adso had his belongings too, a scratching post, litter tray and his own little blanket. Adso himself was being babysat by Geillis while I and Jamie tried to sort out our moving. Jamie was currently sitting on a stash of my medical books destined for the study.

“We’ll manage, a nighean ” His hands patted my hips, bringing me closer. Planting a soft kiss on the washed fabric over my sternum, Jamie looked up. “We canna do more than our best.”

My stomach had the quite opposite opinion of doing our best and rumbled loudly.

“God, I’m starving” yawning I reached for the cellphone.

Later, full and warm with chicken ramen, curry with prawns and wok-fried greens we had just enough strength in us to unpack most of the carton boxes that said “Kitchen”. In that hour and a half, we managed to laugh, listen to Jamie’s Dire Straits playlist on his phone and argue over ridiculous things. Putting away a bitty family of my mugs and cups Jamie dropped my favourite mug Frank bought me a very long time ago and I never could get rid of it. It was massive and bright yellow, with Friends on it. It was my all-time binge-love TV show. It shattered in yellow pieces atop the counter and floor. I didn't mean to snap. But we both were bone-weary from a long day of moving back and forth, of a week packing before, exhausted from all the searching catching up with us. Suddenly I felt my chin quiver at the sight of my beloved, now broken mug.

“I’m sorry, Sassenach.” Jamie bit his lip, trying to reach me with his hand over the island counter but I shrugged away.

“Why are you so bloody clumsy, ” I mumbled, kneeling to pick up broken ceramic bits. Jamie rubbed his face, clearly wanting to say something, but instead he bent to help.

Annoyed just by him breathing next to me at that moment I dropped collected pieces straight into the bin. When he tried to sweep the floor from the dusty mug remains I snapped.

“Oh, please, just move away, or you’re going to break something else.”

I regretted the words right after I’ve said them but blood was already pounding in my ears and there was no way back.

“I said I’m sorry,” Jamie muttered, looking visibly irritated himself now. “It’s just a mug, I’ll buy ye a new one.”

The tension crackled with its force.

“I don’t want another bloody mug! ” I barked at him trying to busy myself opening a new box. “Frank gave it to me. It was my favourite one.”

Time seemed to stop for a second as Jamie slowly licked his lips looking me straight in the eyes.

“Frank?”

Unable to hold his gaze anymore I turned my back to him staring out of the window.

“Don’t you start playing a jealous boyfriend on me,” I grunted, telling myself to calm down. You know he doesn’t mean it bad.

He grumbled and I could hear him retreating to the living room.

“Why are ye bitching about it, Claire?” He hissed and I thought I could feel his words crawl inside me like a poisonous snake.

“What?” I followed him to the room (aka the mess) full of boxes.

“Nothing.”

“Repeat what you just said,” I demanded.

He didn’t. Instead, we spent the next hour in different rooms unpacking. Or pretending to. I wasn't able to do a proper job and stopped on one box. As the sweat cooled off on my skin and the urge to cry faded away I plodded down the hallway towards the bathroom. Passing the living room I caught a glimpse of Jamie placing my candles (that he hated) on top of the fireplace. The sight gave my heart a painful (and guilty) squeeze. Deciding that taking a shower, putting fresh PJs on and making us both a nice cup of tea would make both of us feel better.

I turned on the hot water. It was blissful and caused me to go limp. Engrossed as I was I did not hear Jamie come in. Shedding his clothes wordlessly, he stepped into the shower behind me. Cupping one breast, he dropped a kiss on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry I snapped, Claire. And I’m sorry for ye wee mug.”

Turning to face him, I nodded and kissed his jaw softly.

“I am sorry, Jamie. I was unreasonable and acted like a jerk.”

Our earlier argument was mended when his lips sealed on my neck, leaving me breathless. Moments later I cried out as I sagged against the tiled wall, him still inside me.

We slept on a makeshift bed that Jamie constructed from his mattress and two blankets just right in front of the fireplace. We laid, limbs entwined, among the boxes and bags, hands lazily tracing hills and valleys of each other bodies. “I love you,” I whispered before my mind drifted away into the realm of Morpheus.

* * *

Weeks later our flat finally started looking like somebody really lives here. With all our mismatched furniture, collection of books (mine mainly botany and poems, and Jamie’s classics and fantasy), with a horrid motorbike engine of Jamie’s (the one he used to drive in his uni days). No matter how much I asked him to throw that away he squealed like a girl protecting her virtue, not letting me come near that metal monstrosity. We agreed to put it away in the second bedroom which initially became a storage room.

One evening as I rocked my hips atop of him Jamie smirked that we marked each room in this flat. “ Aye, we did” I said mimicking him as I yanked my scrub top off over my head. Jamie made my body go limp against the shower tiles; he drew mewling sounds out of me on the kitchen table; my moans bounced off those high ceilings in the living room; his laboured breathing filled our bedroom and crawled up the walls. I gasped at the feeling of him in the storage room when Jamie announced his evident desire for a quickie; and he groaned “Oh, Claire” following his meandering Gaelic cursing as his hands tangled in my curls while I kneeled down unzipping his jeans.

Every time I showed up at work Geillis would never forget to ask me with a wink “So, my darling, how’s yer wee ginger? Loves ye well? I TOLD YE. Yer fucking glowing like a candle, Claire.”

Living with Jamie was a whole new experience. Now I had the luxury to wake up to his sleepy face and mussed curls every day. He would make the most miserable facial expression as I switch on the table lamp, grunting and burying himself under the layers of blanket. James Fraser was definitely not a morning person. “Five in the morning is torture,” he mumbled sleepily as I pressed a goodbye kiss to his forehead. “Normal people sleep at this time, ye ken. Go, save yer humans, Sassenach.” Squeezing my hand he turned to snooze immediately. But as soon as I got to work my phone would beep with his text message every morning “Have a great day, a nighean. Love ye.”

Any other morning I had a chance to stay in bed longer he’d wake me up with his hands, his mouth and his body molding into mine much like matching puzzle piece. I could not remember life without him anymore. Without his perfect morning coffee for me; without our banter or seriousness full talks in the darkness of the night, his hands on my hip, thumb carving the shape of my pelvic bone; without lazy evenings on the couch with Netflix and takeaway, my head resting on his chest, Jamie’s hand wrapped around my waist, and Adso curled on his lap.

Every day I had a pleasure of observing his fucking gorgeous post jog body. But like any other couple, we shared our bit of things that drove us crazy. Jamie had this annoying habit to turn the TV on so loud I had to scream like a banshee from the kitchen to get his attention. He also seemed to be very dedicated at the task of leaving the puddle of water on the bathroom floor after showering. I would not even want to mention his morning cologne spraying session that left a suffocating smell in the hallway. But, I myself was far from perfect. I had to endure him rolling his eyes at me and making disgusted faces as he plucked my hair out from the shower drain. Also, Jamie was patient with me and my attempts to cook and never protested eating ordered food. He would often volunteer for the task seeing me struggle with slimy spaghetti. But all those things did not matter as each night I fell asleep saying “I love you” lulled by his steady heartbeat beneath my cheek.

It had gotten to the point where I found that I could not live without him. So when Jamie had to leave to Inverness for three days I cursed at his business the whole day. Without him, I felt like the part of me was torn away and even Adso purring by my side couldn’t remedy the feeling. That’s why now I shamelessly found my place on Jamie’s lap, sparkling rosé in my hand. Our kitchen was filled with laughter, chats and instrumental indie playing from Google Home speaker Jenny and Ian gave us as a gift. The food was rich and tasty, the wine was pleasantly chill and Jamie’s left hand on my hip too much to handle. We haven’t made love for three days and I was positively flushed with desire. My skin was on fire - a mix of alcohol, laughter and Jamie.

“So, Claire, I do hope ye like yer wee rug?” Angus tried to wink at me sipping his red. I rolled my eyes and looked over my shoulder to have a look at his present again. It was a door rug in a bright green colour with a white cat on it that said: “Don’t forget to pet my pussy-cat”. He shoved it into my hands grinning. I was taken aback and did not know what to say. Meanwhile, Jamie broke into almost hysterical laughter, as I stood mouth agape. “Ye do have a cat, no?” Angus snorted and I only managed to nod as he welcomed himself inside our flat.

“Very thoughtful present,” I said, saluting my glass to Angus.

Untangling myself from Jamie’s embrace I excused myself to the bathroom. I washed my hands and caught sight of my face in the mirror. Cheeks pink coloured I splashed cold water on my face, feeling the drops run down my neck. Hair drawn back in a sweaty knot. When Jamie opens the door there is a trail of loud raucous laughter coming from the kitchen follows him.

“I’ll be right back,” I said thinking he came to get me. But the next moment the latch on the door clicked closed. His lips sought mine and he tasted of whisky leaving the burning sensation on my lips. His hands reached under my sweater, tracing the small of my back and then soft skin on my belly.

“I love them all, but I swear if they dinna leave soon, I’m going to have to kill all our guests” Jamie breathed out heavily as my hands fumbled with his belt, tugging at the stubborn zipper of the jeans. He cursed something in Gaelic that I did not understand when my fingers found his hot flesh.

“I might kill them myself,” I agreed, gently biting at his earlobe. My mouth fell open when Jamie snaked a hand between us, curling and tasting me with his fingers exactly right.  

“Christ, Claire” He muttered under his breath, fingers damp from his exploration. But our moment was rudely interrupted by Murtagh unceremoniously knocking on the door. “What are ye doing there, ye wee beasties? We need more booze.” Grunting in annoyance Jamie slid his belt back in and reached to pull my rolled sweater down. Kissing him chastely, we made it out back to our guests.

Over the next several days, we both were swirled into the routine business of life seeing each other mostly in the evenings. I’ve been extra busy at work and Jamie still had to finish important tasks at the brewery. Both of us exhausted, we barely managed to order takeaway, with me falling asleep on the couch as soon as the food was finished as a new episode of Peaky Blinders played. Jamie would carry me to the bedroom. He crept in beside me covering us both with a quilt. We would touch fingertips and sleep holding each other until the sun came uninvited, crawling inside the room. There was a silent agreement between us and the sex was at bay. There was a day when Jamie’s hands glided over my hips, finger drawing patterns at the panties waistband. Sleepily, I mumbled that I’m gross and disgusting and in need of a shower and shave. The other day I managed to pull off my sexiest face and slowly pull down my knickers I turned to find Jamie had fallen asleep soundly, mouth slightly agape. Chuckling, I picked my discarded underwear and slid under the blankets next to his starfish sprawled body.

Standing in the locker room at the hospital I’ve snapped a photo of myself. I turned myself provocatively displaying my ass to look as if I spent days in the gym (I did not of course) but nonetheless Jamie seemed more than fascinated by this body part of mine. Sending him the picture with capslock text “TONIGHT FRASER” I retreated back to work. All morning and lunch I spent thinking of the upcoming evening. Geillis took me out of my thoughts by grabbing my hand in the hallway.

“Claire, are ye alright?” Her eyes examined my face worriedly. “Ye look as pale as the wall behind ye.” I shook my head, reassuring her it’s nothing but a bit of nausea.

“I’m fine, Geil.” Running a palm over my clammy forehead I felt the imminent need to vomit. “It’s probably that sushi I had for lunch with Joe. I told him it did not look good.”

Giving me judgmental-mother look and shaking her head Geillis still made me sit down and close my eyes.

“Ye work too much, lass. Jamie needs to take ye on a holiday.”

The perspective of vacation sounded like an unreachable luxury at the moment but under Geillis’s superior look I agreed to go home earlier tonight. It started to rain hard outside when I crossed the threshold, dropping the bags of groceries down. Deciding that I might as well cook today instead of having takeaway again I strolled down the kitchen feeling slightly wamble and dizzy. After taking Pepto-Bismol and hoping it’ll help calm down my disgruntled stomach I opened a can of cat food, summoning Adso. But my cat was nowhere in sight. I’ve checked every nook and little corner, under the bed and couch. In the storage room as last time Jamie closed the cat in there by accident. My furry baby seemed to have vanished into thin air and I felt an oncoming wave of worry mixed with nausea. The open window in our bedroom hit me with a realisation. Eyes swelling with tears I dialled Jamie.

“Christ, Sassenach, I must have forgotten to close the damn window and the cheetie ran away.”

He promised to find him. I spent the evening googling stories of cats running away and cried some more thinking of my poor Adso alone in the cold rain, scared and hungry. I was sure I would not see my cat again. It was around midnight when the front door opened, Jamie’s footfalls startling me from my broken sleep on the couch. I rubbed my puffy eyelids as Jamie stepped inside the room.

His clothes were soaking wet, face painted with tiredness. But the smile on his lips was an encouraging sign. Unfolding his jacket Jamie stroked Adso’s grey ear who was nestled against his chest.

“Jamie! Oh, I can’t believe you did it.” I jumped up, taking Adso into my arms. He was wet and dirty, paws leaving marks on my skin. “Where did you find him?”

Taking off the jacket, Jamie leaned down to receive my kiss on his cheek.

"Here, you must be freezing cold." I reached for the bottle of whisky, pouring him a glass. When he gulped it down and his cheeks turn into baby-pink he told me.

“Ye’d never believe it. I spent hours just driving over the neighbourhood, mistaken at least three cats for him, but he was nowhere. And then I had an idea, it was crazy but possible.” Jamie ran his hands through his damp curls. “I drove to yer old place. And there he was, sitting in front of the door of yer old flat.”

“Oh, my poor baby,” Cradling Adso I reached for the towel I had just in case Jamie managed to bring him home. “Why did you run away, you silly?”

“I’m sorry, Claire. 'Twas my fault, I left the window open.” Jamie patted my thigh gently, looking guilty.

Lening in to kiss him, I traced his cheekbones with my fingers.

“You found him, Jamie. It’s all fine.”

* * *

Jamie woke to the sudden absence of Claire in the bed, her side of the blanket looking like a messy ball at the end of the bed. He could hear the water running in the bathroom. Glancing at the clock that showed three in the morning Jamie called out her name. When no response followed, he swung his legs down the bed, worry caused a cold feeling in his stomach as he walked to the bathroom.

“Sassenach, are ye al-” The words stuck in his throat seeing her small figure, curled on the floor next to the toilet. “Christ, Claire, what happened?” He kneeled down, cradling her head into his lap. His heart was pounding away in his ribcage, fear filling every fiber of his being. She looked pale as a paper sheet, sweaty curls stuck to her skin. Shaking her head weakly, she mumbled as quiet as he ever heard her “I’m okay.” But she was decidedly not okay. Her eyes closed then. Jamie picked her up, rushing to the car outside and mentally thanking all existing Gods that the hospital was just fifteen minutes away. Jamie was there in precisely seven minutes.

[artificialqueens]

star-uncrossed [jackie x jan] - pinkgrapefruit

A/N - this is a prologue of sorts to ‘i do like you’ but it’s mostly just more jackie and jan fluff featuring my favourite dialogue ive ever written. hope you enjoy it! <3

*

They meet on their first day of college and fall in love. Okay it’s not that simple but they do meet on the first day of college and they do fall in love.

Jan didn’t read the email properly.

(She’s from Jersey, screw it, she knows New York and she doesn’t need to read some stupid instructions to find her way around.)

She didn’t read the email properly so she ends up outside the Lillian Verge school for International Relations even though she enrolled in Tisch and quite frankly she’s just incredibly confused. And then she meets a sweet girl with dark brown hair and a loosely Canadian accent and she finds herself feeling a little bit less lost.

“You okay?” The stranger asks with a kind smile. “You seem lost.” And Jan smiles because goddamn, only she could be a damsel in distress in a city that she’s known for years.

“Just a little,” she admits as she stares at the name on the buildings signs - hoping maybe they’ll transform and she can just walk into her 10 am seminar on Performance Movement.

The pretty lady chuckles and bows her head. “What school are you in?” She asks, “you don’t strike me as an international relations student.”

Jan wants to be indignant, play the can’t judge a book by its cover card but she’s dressed in tight leggings and a pair of worn Nikes with a hoodie from her last regional theatre performance and a dance bag slung over her shoulder. She takes a second to look over the brunette and realises that if Jan doesn’t look like an IR major - she most certainly does. She has a white button-down tucked into a pair of light-wash-straight-leg jeans with a beige and red silk bandana in her hair and a leather satchel.

“Tisch,” Jan responds, doing a little twirl for emphasis because if she’s going to be seen as a ditsy blonde theatre major she might as well do it right but the response isn’t what she was expecting.

“Damn, you must have real talent.” The brunette says with genuine sincerity.

Jan decides she wants to marry her on the spot.

The woman pulls out her phone and fires off a quick text before she looks at Jan again. “I was just letting my friend know I’ll be late for brunch,” she states quickly as if it is normal to adjust brunch plans for someone you have never met before and then she grabs her wrist and starts walking.

It’s a fourteen-minute walk down ninth street followed by a three-minute walk down the second avenue in which Jan learns both everything and nothing about the stranger. She learns she’s supposed to be meeting her old pen-pal for lunch near Parsons because she’s an international student from Paris, that she’s fluent in French and Farsi and that she’s lived alone in New York for two years since she turned sixteen because she values life experiences over possessions.

In return Jan lets her know that she’s allergic to shellfish, will do anything for a smoothie and is gay as all hell prompting an in-depth discussion about the rights of LGBT people across the world, a topic that Jan was vastly underprepared to discuss at 10:03 on a Tuesday.

They arrive at Tisch with a start and out of breath but Jan has to stand there a minute longer before she can brace herself to go in.

“You look like you carry a pen,” Jan says, causing the Brunette to raise an eyebrow (although she reaches into her back pocket and produces one anyway). Jan grabs her hand and scrawls her number on it in a veritable chicken scratch before she hands it back.

“I’m Jan,” she says with a smile and an open palm.

“Jackie,” then non-stranger replies.

(Jan starts her first semester at Tisch on a negative grade. It’s worth it.)

*

Jackie texts her at three in the morning asking if she’d like to go for a smoothie tomorrow and Jan replies asking if it will be postponed due to her inhuman kindness.

(Jackie responds not to bite the hand that feeds you but she’s delirious and there is definitely a french word thrown in there somewhere.)

The brunette is laid across the end of Nicky’s bed waxing poetic about Jan’s blue eyes as she had been for three and a half hours and the Frenchwoman is getting very close to kicking her longest friend out of her dorms and forcing her to walk to her own apartment for the night but she knows there would be no point.

They’ve been pen pals since they were seven having long rambling conversations in french through decorated envelopes and sticker-covered letters. As they got older the letters for longer and they evolved into care packages too. Boxes would arrive full of foreign candies and stationery and a book here or there. One year, close to Jackie’s birthday, Nicky sent her a pair of fluffy socks and the letter she received back was tear-stained.

Nicky runs a hand through Jackie’s hair and sighs.

“”This sounds remarkable simple you know,” She offers up with a wry smile and exasperated tone.

“Yeah but it’s not,” whines Jackie in response as she rolls onto her front and lets out a dramatic sigh. “She’s cute and blonde and knows about gay rights.”

“I’m cute and blonde and know about gay rights,” Nicky reminds her.

“Yeah but you’re french,” Jackie responds with her tongue stuck out.

“God. you’re like Romeo and bloody Juliet, what was it - Star crossed lovers?” Nicky grabs a shirt out of her draw and tosses it so it lands on her friends head. “You’re making it so fucking hard for yourself. You’re basically star-uncrossed lovers. There is literally no issue.”

Jackie presses her face into the duvet and moans. “That made no sense you french son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, but you understood me.”

(She did and she’s not happy about it. The whole thing is refreshingly uncomplicated and that makes her very nervous.)

*

Jan wakes up and texts Jackie that it is raining. It’s not that she’s never encountered this before - she just feels the need to share it with someone and Jackie seems appropriate.

Jackie sends back a smiley face and a request for the address of Jan’s dorm and when Jan responds, she tacks on that she will meet her in the lobby at eleven.

Looking at her purple alarm clock, Jan has the realisation that it’s ten am on a Wednesday and she is yet to leave her bed so she rolls out of bed, hits her hand on the drawer of her bedside table, yanks her phone off the charging cable and takes herself to the bathroom she shares with the rest of the floor before deeming that her hair does not need a wash.

(It probably does but it’s dyed a much lighter shade of blonde than it is naturally so she doesn’t want it to fade and she’s not feeling a cold shower this morning.)

By the time she has dressed herself the rain bounces a few inches off the ground and the roads have turned into rivers which is why it is all the more adorable that Jackie meets her in the lobby with a massive black umbrella. She holds her hand up (she’s written Jan on it in black marker) and waves like she’s in an airport which only makes the blonde scrunch her face up in happiness even more.

“Morning!” Jan exclaims with a huge smile and an enduring positivity.

“Morning Jan,” Jackie smiles back, linking their arms and settling the umbrella above their heads so they can walk through the automatic doors and onto the still busy streets.

They banter and bicker the whole way through smoothie bowls whether it’s over the best Disney film (Jackie says Beauty and the Beast but is entirely willing to watch them all with Jan to make sure), guilty pleasure foods (Jan waves her EpiPen as she raves about cocktail shrimp) and their respective majors.

By the end of it, Jan’s learnt her fingers fit perfectly between Jackies and she’s just about ready to put down a deposit on a three-bed two-bath house in Harlem.

They wander home in the early afternoon sunshine, fingers loosely intertwined and Jackie realises quickly that they could count quarters together and she’d be entertained.

They kiss in the lobby and Jan watches the way Jackie’s eyes flit from her lips to her eyes and back down before going in for a second. And then a third. And her mouth tastes like cherry and somehow cinnamon and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to get a smoothie again without recognising the taste.

*

“It’s so easy,” Jan moans with her head on Gigi’s lap. The taller girl is paying very little attention to the blonde but still cards her fingers through her hair occasionally as she sketches a blazer.

Gigi goes to Parsons but her accommodation got messed up so she ended up next door to Jan and they became friends rather fast. Gigi would define friends as someone she tolerates and Jan would define friends as her heart and soul so they both get everything they want out of the situation.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an emotionally distant bitch,” Jan asked over pot noodles the day they first met.

Gigi smiled and said thank you and that was that so now Jan is disregarding any requests for personal space and is quite happy to just exist in Gigi’s gorgeously decorated dorm room and pilfer the french candy that she gets from a ‘friend’ who Jan happens to know is very loud in bed.

“I really don’t see the issue,” Gigi replies, looking down at the blonde with a raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t expect you to,” Jan states passively. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now stand up so I can measure your proportions.”

*

‘Did you know that in the war, Oscars were made of plaster?’

‘Did you know that the gestation of the Indian Elephant is 22 months?”

‘Did you know I love you?’

*

Turns out it’s absolutely that simple.

[eph-em-era]

beach days

@brokenwoodfanpage​‘s fic week day one - prompt was the beach.

this fic is also available on the ao3, so give it some love!

--

Mike Shepherd is on holiday. Resoundingly, absolutely on holiday. 

It’s mid-January, he’s had a busy and violent year - culminating in being held at gunpoint - and he’s at the beach to relax. Not to work. 

To relax.

He’s got a bach, he’s got a box of good wine and some books, and he’s going to live out his two weeks of leave doing nothing more than drinking his wine, eating well, and reading.

He hopes.

It’s a nice and sunny day, so he decides to take himself, his book, and his sunscreen down to the beach for a few hours. He doubts, but he might just come back with a little bit of a tan.

The beach is fairly empty when he gets there, so he sets out a towel, lathers himself liberally in his sunscreen, and opens his book.

Maybe 20 pages go by when he’s interrupted by a pair of short legs walking into one side of his peripheral vision, and kicking the sand about a bit. 

A bit of it gets in his mouth. 

He coughs, closes his book, and sits up, to find a girl, clothed in a rash shirt and swim shorts - who’s probably about six or seven - kicking the sand about next to him. Her blonde hair is wet from the sea, and she’s got a pair of massive green sunglasses perched on her head. 

She’s also staring him down like he’s got the answer to life’s most poignant questions. This is a… worry. Mike is not necessarily great with kids.

“Mummy says you were in the… newspaper.” She says, looking down at him, almost accusingly. “And that you’re a police- off-offi- policeman.”

Well, Mike can absolutely blame the Brokenwood Courier for this one. He hadn’t wanted them to run the story - but ‘local policeman gets held at gunpoint’ was apparently big news. They’d put a picture of him on the front page.

Both Breen and Kristen had mocked him for it, which was honestly, fair enough. 

“I am.” Mike says, shading his eyes with one hand. “Does your mother know you’re talking to me?”

“Yeah.” The girl pouts, and points off towards a woman sitting on a fold-up chair under a sun umbrella about twenty metres away. The woman waves, absentmindedly, in her daughter’s direction. “She’s boring. And she doesn’t care about me.”

“Really?” That, without any other context, is a little worrying.

Mike really doesn’t want to have to get CFS or anything down to the beach today… He’s supposed to be on holiday.

“Yeah.” The girl pouts even more. “Someone took the flag from my sandcastle, and it was really cool. Mum doesn’t care though. She wants to read her book.” 

Her and me both, Mike thinks, but he levers himself up on one elbow, and tries to muster up a look of shock. “That’s… very sad… uh - what’s your name?”

“Clara.” Clara says, and wrinkles up her nose. “‘Cause you do police… stuff… can you help me find it? I bet it was Sammy. He’s real mean. Mum says that you’d know what to do, like you could find it and stuff, cause you’re a real de-detect-ive(?)”

Mike heaves a heavy sigh, and hates the woman sitting in the distance, just a little bit. But, he’s nothing if not good at adapting to change, and he’s fairly sure if he says no there’ll either be tears - or annoyance - on his hands. It’s probably just easier to help. “I can, Clara. When did you last see the flag?”

In the end, they find it about ten metres down the beach from the sandcastle - probably picked up by the wind. Clara’s mum thanks him, and even offers him a couple of ornate pastries from a fancy-looking cake container.

He mightn’t be good with children, but honestly, the whole endeavour is almost worth it.

[defiblover27]

Wedding Night

Warning this is a graphic story with a good amount of blood, Enjoy!

*******************************************************************************************

Molly is a 23 year old female who worked as a dog trainer.  Molly is a skinny 5 foot 3 female with long brown hair and a summer tan.  Molly was getting ready to marry her high school sweetheart Phil after they had been together for 6 years.  Everything from the flowers to her dress were perfect.  The ceremony went off without a hitch and they celebrated the night at a local reception hall.  When the newly married couple left Molly voiced her concern that Phil had a few drinks.  “Oh don't worry that was hours ago and the hotel is only 15 minutes away.”  Molly was hesitant but agreed and the two sped off.  As they drove to the hotel the night was dark and starting to get cold.  They had a fall wedding since they had meant during the school year.  As Phil took a turn a little too fast the car ran over a small barrier in the middle of the road.  The car flipped onto its side and skidded down the road.  The car then flipped onto its roof as the car came to a stop.  Molly and Phil had thrashed around the car from the impact and the broked glass flew around in the car.  Phil had smacked his head on the steering wheel and was knocked out.  Molly had multiple lacerations on her arms and face, the air bag slammed against her chest, and her legs became wedged between her seat and the glove box.  The couple had crashed in front of a twenty four hour diner and the hostess called 911.   Molly was in a state of shock and tried to wake up Phil but was unable to.  She was hanging upside down in her car.  Multiple fire trucks and an ambulance arrived as the dark knight was lit up with flashing lights.  The crews worked to pry the doors off with the jaws of life and try and extricate the newly weds.  The crews were able to get off the drivers side door and snipped off Phil seat belt.  The got Phil out and strapped him onto a backboard and gave him a c-collar.  The crews out him a distance away from the car and let the paramedics work while they focused on the passenger side.

Dave and Sara were on scene and took over Phil.  He had a large laceration to the front of his head and his right arm was broken.  When they cut away his blood stained white tuxedo shirt there was large bruising on his chest.  “His breathing is shallow”  Dave said as he listened with a stethoscope.  Sara started an IV in his left arm and then attached the electrodes to his chest.  Dave placed a ET tube down his throat and secured it with some whit tape.  Dave took out a penlight and shined I into his eyes.  “His right pupil is blown and his left is sluggish.”  As Dave finished talking the monitors went flat and Phil went into asystole.  Sara put her knees closer to his chest and placed her hands on his chest and began CPR.  Dave took out the defib pads and placed them on his chest.  After three minutes Phil was still in asystole.  Dave took over CPR and Sara pushed epi and adrenalin into the IV.  After another two minutes Phil converted into V-fib so the defib was charged to 300.  The first shock caused his arms to bounce off of the cement and come back down.  The shock had no effect and was charged to 360 as violent compressions continued.  The next shock sent his chest off of the backboard slightly and then came crashing back down.  The shock sent Phil back into asystole as CPR was continued.

The fire crew was struggling to get Molly out of the car since her legs were pinned in so tight.  Molly was crying and her mascara ran down her face.  Molly tried to move her head to the side slightly but was immobilized by the collar.  She was able to look far enough to the side to see her newly wed husbands body bounce off of the ground and then paramedics resume CPR.  Molly called out to him and became hysterical.  

The third shock left Phil in V-fib and Sara once again took over compressions.  After the fourth shock Phil fell back into a flatline and Sara continued compressing his bruised chest.  Dave took one of his hands and felt the back of Phil’s head.  “There is brain matter coming out of the back of his head. I'm gonna call it Time of Death 21:45″  Dave said as he detached the ambu bag.  The machines were turned off and a white sheet was draped over Phil’s body.

The fire crews were finally able to get Molly out of the vehicle and secured her on the backboard.  Dave and Sara took over and put her onto the gurney as they knew that her massive blood loss from her leg injuries would cause major issues.  Dave was in the back as they sped away from the scene.  Molly’s skintight bloodstained wedding dress was snipped away leaving her tan body completely nude.  The electrodes were attached and Molly went in and out of consciousness.  Dave tried to control the bleeding from the large wounds on her legs.  When he felt for a pulse on her feet he couldn't find any.  Dave knew that her injuries were so severe that she would likely never walk again.  Dave decided to intubate Molly and secured the tube with a blue holder.  Five minutes into the ride Molly went into PEA so CPR was started.  Her small breasts jerked from side to side as her blood covered body laid dying on the gurney.  Molly quickly went into asystole as her heart stood still inside of her chest.  Dave pushed a round of epi that was able to convert her back into V-fib.  Dave gelled the pads and placed them on her bare chest as they charged to 300.  Her body twitched on the backboard as she was constrained.  The next shock was given at 360 and her head went backward slightly against the collar that immobilized her.  The shock was able to restore a regular rhythm.  

As Molly was wheeled into the trauma unit she once again began to rapidly deteriorate. Her tan complexion began to fade in her face and her BP began to drop.  They transferred her over to the trauma bed and Dr. Michael and his team took over.  They took x-rays of almost her entire body as they found that both of her legs were completely shattered and likely beyond repair.  As they worked to control the bleeding from the open fractures Molly went into v-fib and CPR was started.  The monitors beeped in sync with each compression as her chest caved in.  As the defib was charged Dr. Michael took the paddles in his hands and gelled them.  The cold paddles were placed on Molly’s bloody chest which twitched with the shock.  The shock sent her into asystole as her start went completely still.  CPR was continued as Dr. Michael listened to Molly’s lungs.  It was discovered that Molly’s left lung wasn't inflating so a chest tube was inserted.  Molly remained in asystole with no change for three minutes before converting back into v-fib.  The paddles were placed back on her chest as she bounced off the table and crashed back down.  The shock had no effect so CPR was continued along with more drugs.  Dr. Michael used a cardiac ultrasound to find her heart twitching with large amounts of blood surrounding her heart.  A cardiac needle was taken and inserted just to the side of her breast as Dr. Michael removed some of the blood around her heart.  The gelled paddles were then placed back on her chest and she was shocked again.  Her arms fell to the sides of the bed as she was shocked.  The shock sent Molly back into asystole so in a last ditch effort to save her Dr. Michael cracked her chest open.  Blood spilled onto the floor as her massaged her heart with his hands until she converted back into v-fib.  The spoon shaped paddles were placed into her chest cavity and she twitched with the first shock.  There was no response so she was shocked a second time.  The shock caused her hands to twitch upward as her heart went still again and she went into asystole.  A nurse continued the cardiac massage as Dr. Michael took a penlight and found that her pupils were fixed and dilated.  At this time Dr. Michael decided to pronounce her dead.  “Time of death 22:53″  He said as the monitors were turned off.  The ambu bag was detached as the nurses began to detach the leads.  Molly’s battered body was finally covered with a white sheet the same way her husbands was just over an hour before hand.  A toe tag was placed on her right foot.

Molly’s autopsy revealed that a bone fragment had ran through her veins and caused her cardiac arrest.  Molly and Phil were killed on the same night and pronounced with in just over an hour of each other.

[darkredehmption]

Rough And Tumble

#SL #RoughAndTumble

Written by @DamagedBrother and @OfFeatherNFang

***

Malachi:

I wanted to groan at the feeling. As the final rays of sunlight caressed me, the shards peaking over the horizon, I filled my lungs and sighed. After days of trying to sneak past the diligent staff, the Brothers and the Chosen, I’d finally taken a moment to flip my switch, go invisible, and creep out to catch the last of a sunset. Even these precious few minutes fuelled me like no food, no blood, could alone. 

The relief was acute and sweet. I smiled as the last of the light glittered and twinkled, before turning into a twilight glow. It wouldn’t be long before the shutters of the building slid upward, before the household was wide awake and active, and my stream of visitors began. 

Not for much longer, though. As it was, I’d ditched the IVs, the oxygen, and just about anything else that could hobble me to the suite. Free of those, it had been that much easier to ghost my way up to daylight. After all, can you imagine an IV walking itself toward the exit? Yeah. No thanks.

Another plus were the doggen. Once they’d gotten the gist of me, and somehow taken my measurements while I friggin slept, I’d woken to fresh clothes, new boots. My old clothes had been pressed and neatly folded into my pack, which sat on a table in the PT suite, waiting for me. After checking in with my mahmen and reassuring her that I was fine and had, somehow, become a temporary resident of the Brotherhood, she’d said she would think about a return. Phury was tickled pink.

But I digress.

With my healing all but complete - and a little boost from that five minute tan doing wonders - it wouldn’t be long before I was, more than likely, politely asked to vacate the premises. Which was fair. I didn’t live here. I didn’t belong here. I was a hunter, and I needed to get back to the hunt. 

Even if some part of me ached and cringed at the prospect. 

Hitting the tunnel, I mulled over the ache, tried to feel out the cause of it as my brand new and astonishingly comfortable shitkickers hit the floor. It wasn’t like I didn’t have my own band of brothers out there; we were tight knit and if one called? The others answered. I was grateful that the messages on my phone hadn’t been bad news, or a desperate call for aid that I couldn’t provide. For the most part, everyone had been checking in. I’d relayed my status, and the state I was in, and if anything came up nearby, I’d be tapped.

So why did these Brothers, this band of warriors, give me the twisty gut feeling when I thought about leaving? And one specifically…

I stopped dead as I felt eyes on me, and belatedly realized I had not, in fact, gone ghost to return to the PT suite. Hiding a wince, I looked up from my musing into golden eyes. They narrowed ever so slightly, and I could see the question there: what was I doing out here?

“Hey. I was uh… gonna check out that gym you apparently live in,” I managed, my smile lopsided as I lifted a hand to ruffle my hair. “I mean, I’m feeling pretty good now so I figure I’ll be outta here soon. Gotta get that rematch in at some point before I go, right?”

Zsadist:

[I couldn’t help but think about the male in the PT suite. Our last conversation was cut off short and I had made an escape before it continued on. Though suddenly now I wanted to see him. Wanted to ask him more questions. There was something about him. He also didn’t seem to judge me like most do when they meet me. His eyes didn’t stare at the imperfections of my face constantly. He listened when I spoke and even spoke up about himself. Though I definitely felt like there was something big he was hiding. Which seemed to puzzle me. Hell as long as he wasn’t secretly working with the Omega we would be good. Which I find that hard to believe after he just risked his life to help save the Chosens. So what then? My thoughts drift to the shifter. What if...Malys was hunting them? Maybe that was the big secret. I paused when I heard footsteps, lifting my head to see said male walking down the tunnels. The fuck was he doing out of bed?! My gaze locks on his own when he catches me staring.] 

You should be resting. [I mutter as my eyes roam over him. He did look...better. Which causes suspicion to form. This male has been healing for days and now all of a sudden he’s looking better then ever. I raised a brow and tilts my head to the side as my eyes met his again.] You are keeping something from me. From my brothers. I don’t like it. [My distorted lip twitches as I incline my head towards the gym.] But anyway...by all means let’s check it out. [I eyed him up one more time before I turned to enter the gym with Malys close behind. Once inside I start to give a tour of the facility. It’s almost like he was a trainee.] 

So right when you come in there is this door to take you to the locker room. Inside is lockers, benches, a place to shower, and a steam room. The doggens always have fresh towels stocked as well as water bottles. [Points to the refrigerator. Then blinks. Why was I acting like he was staying? Maybe because I wanted him to, but why? What was this…thing causing me to act this way? Shaking the thoughts from my head as I start to move again.] 

We have treadmills…[Blinking I see a broken one that looked like someone ran it into the ground.] Rhage…[I mutter under my breath then snorts as I show you all the weights and different machines.] Just your normal gym. [My shoulders lift in a shrug as my eyes land on the mats. Beside them was a few punching bags.] I stay in this area a lot. I like to do a lot of boxing and what not. [Lifting my gaze to the male, slowly my eyes lowered.] Rematch huh? Not really fair with you being still hurt yeah? Or did you heal miraculously today? [I take a few steps forward, my eyes never leaving his.] Care to explain? 

Malys:

The male was looking at me with every lick of suspicion he possessed, and I honestly didn’t blame him. Earlier in the day I may not have been attached to every machine in the PT Suite that beeped, but I still looked pale and tired and like a good breeze might blow me down. Now? I looked like I’d just missed a good night’s rest. 

His declaration, that I was keeping something from him and the Brothers, punched through the attempted bravado I was conjuring, and for a moment I felt the weight of my confession on the tip of my tongue. Then he was pushing through the door, leaving me with the weight and beginning what sounded like a tour. I followed, my eyes tracking what he indicated, amused when I saw the destroyed treadmill. No surprises there. The males were massive and ran at life head first. Treadmills stood no chance. 

As we got to the boxing bags and equipment, I paused when he turned to me. All questions. All enquiry. I didn’t flinch, but I felt the desire to tell him. I wanted him to know. Even as every instinct continued to shout I had to protect my secret. 

“I think m’ doing a lot better,” I say calmly, glancing down at myself. “Maybe it was psychological? Maybe the Chosen blood finally kicked in?” I shrugged. “But I do feel better. No miracles required.

Stepping closer, I looked from the punching bag to the male and arched a brow. “If I’m not at full strength what would you like to do? Maybe you could show me a few things,” I suggest. “I’m pretty decent at disarming moves. Hand to hand.”

Looking across the room, I took in the mats that they had to be using for close quarters, hand to hand training. I took a step toward it, then another, a small smile of delight on my face. It’d been years since I’d done any training like this. It brought back my younger years, the times spent wrestling with human hunters and all of us drinking as we watched the stars after.

Turning my gaze back to Zsadist, I smiled, the words leaving my mouth before I could think about it. 

“I’m not at full strength, no, but if you’re in the mood I’m keen to stretch a little?” 

Zsadist:

[Snorts at the male. Was he serious? Did he think I was that stupid to believe that bullshit he just spewed. Something was not right here, but I ignored it. For now. Shaking my head as I eyed him up.] Slow your roll. We should start slow. I may be fucked up at times, but I’m not about to put you back into the hospital bed. Besides...I think my twin wants you to introduce your Mahmen to him. 

[Nodding as I move towards the punching bag. I give it a few good punches before I pull back and takes in a deep breath.] I mean…I know you probably have a life to get back to. The hunters...and what not. But...if your Mahmen moves in with the other Chosens. [Tilts my head towards the male.] Then what? [Slamming my fist into the bag, watching as it swings back and forth.] Those hunters...do they really need you? I mean…[Gritting my teeth as I curse under my breath. Why was I being so fucking stupid in front of him? 

I started to hit the bag a few more times, turning to face him. My hand grabbing at the hem of my shirt, tugging it up to wipe a bit of sweat off of my forehead.] What I’m trying to say is that you should join the trainee program. Fight with us. You clearly hate lessers just as much as we do. [My lip twitches, hand moving over my skull trim as I circle him slowly. From hitting the bag around I had an adrenaline rush going. Maybe a little bit of wrestling wouldn’t be so bad. He looked pretty healed to me. Stopping behind him, my eyes roam his body slowly]

Though you do seem to be pretty knowledgeable on taking down lessers. Let me ask you...what kind of weapons do you use when you hunt? [Slowly I take a step forward, calculating each move I make in my head beforehand. Fuck. Why was I so drawn to him? Why did I care if he stayed or not? Pushing the thoughts out of my head as I crouch slightly. Keeping my eyes trained on the back of his head.] 

Mal:

I fought the initial lick of tension; the idea of my mahmen returning to live in another man’s household irking me. But my mahmen hadn’t become the strong woman she was by retreating to another’s household. She’d built her home, her hunters lodge, and she ran it. Hunters respected her. Protected her. In turn, she cared for them. Patched them up and fed them. She would never walk away from that… right?

Watching the male lay into the bag, my eyes rake over him to take in his form, his skill, the force of his punch. I remembered it well enough - my face remembered it acutely. Listening to him, I bit back on my initial snarling reaction. Of course the hunters needed me. We were a family. A team, even when we operated alone. Yet I could see the male struggling with every word. 

“My mahmen created a life for herself away from here. She may visit,” I conceded softly, “but I doubt she will return. As for the hunters…” I took a breath, holding it and then letting it out slowly. “Even when we hunt alone we are a team. If I called, they’d come.”

It might not be the Brotherhood’s version of fighters, but we dealt with the monsters in the dark no one wanted to face and we did a damn decent job of it. Could I leave that, to stay here? The Brothers’ suggestion that I join the trainee program provokes so many reactions in me I struggle to grab onto just one. Then the male decided to flash his abs at me and my thoughts threatened to derail all over again. As the male paced around me, my senses seemed to heighten, my awareness of him acute. I didn’t bother turning to follow him, instead bracing myself, ready for whatever he threw at me. 

“Not to sound rude… but I’m not a ‘trainee’. I don’t need a babysitter,” I murmur, fighting the need to look over my shoulder, to track him with my eyes. “I’ve been hunting worse things than lessers for most of my life… and I hunt them with whatever works against them. Silver blades. Silver bullets. Rock salt shells in a shotgun. Whatever it takes,” I manage, the tension around us building. I wanted him to reach out, to try something. I wanted to show him I was no trainee. 

Zsadist:

[When his head turns I catch his gaze. Locking our eyes with a wide smirk, flashing my fangs. I dematerialize only to take form in front of him.] I know you aren’t...like the trainees we’ve had in the past. You are…[My eyes move over him.] Well past your transition. But sometimes it’s not always so easy with lessers. It’s not more so you learning to fight. It’s you learning how to fight with us. My Brothers and I are a well oiled machine and we face lessers like the other night constantly. Some nights are worse than others. [With that said I disappear again. Only to appear behind him now. 

Quickly I move forward. Lunging at the male to take him down. But it wasn’t as easy as I thought. He was quick. Faster than a lesser that was for sure. When he moved, I did. When I threw a punch he blocked and vice versa until I land a blow at his side. Though he was right there to hit me back with one. My eyes flashed an ever deeper golden hue. 

This was completely different then sparing with my Brothers. Sure, they didn’t hold back. But it wasn’t this intense, and not just in a fighting sense. There was this weird thing that seemed to linger around us and I didn’t understand it at all. None of this made sense but didn’t want it to end. I wanted more. So much more. For the first time in a long time I felt alive. 

When I feel a punch to my face I couldn’t help but let out a powerful growl. My fangs were fully elongated and out on display for him to see. His scent was all around me. Sounds of us panting fill the air mixed with the thumps of his heart. I lick my fangs before I land another blow to his side, one hand gripping at his arm. Holding him in place as I repeat the hit. My head snaps up to lock our eyes. He was looking at me with the same intensity that I was. Who were you Malys? Fuck. Why was this happening to me? To us? Nothing made sense right now but I knew one thing was for sure. I didn’t want him to leave.]

Mal:

Something about having the male’s golden gaze rake over me makes my skin hot, everything tingling in anticipation, though of what I still didn’t know. As he demats back and forth, I can’t help but feel a pang of envy. It’s the one vampiric trick I wish I possessed, but no matter how much my mahmen coached me as a child, I’d never succeeded. 

“Sure, but your trainees here aren’t just learning how to work with you, are they? They’d be learning how to hold a gun and fire it. I don’t need any of that. I don’t need a rehash of my life.”

Since the race had only ever relied on the Brothers for protection, unless self taught, almost every trainee that applied would be learning everything from scratch. Hand to hand combat, knife combat, firearms - all of it. Meanwhile, I had all that, and I wasn’t about to sit in a classroom or stand around a boxing ring relearning shit I knew. 

I felt his presence at my back as he moved again. It was like energy, charged and electric with its intensity. As Zsadist moved, I moved, and the last few days of lying in a hospital bed were forgotten as I made my body react to every hit he delivered. Fighting with the male was different than fighting with anyone else - my heart pounded, my body moved like it never had before, and I was grinning again. Grinning at taking hits, grinning at the feel of his body moving in sync with mine. We’d gone from the prospect of mild disarming to no holds bar.

His hits struck home, the breath almost knocked out of me, and then his eyes were meeting mine. As lightning leapt down my spine, I moved. I seized the wrist of the hand that’d been laying into my ribs and twisted, drawing the male in a swing over my shoulder that took him to the floor. I followed, locking the wrist, my body weight on his as I grinned down at him.

The spark leapt between us again. My heart skipped. For a moment we lay there, panting, the warmth of him searing up into me as every part of me wanted more. I felt relaxed and supercharged all at the same time. His golden eyes were hypnotic as I stared into them. 

My back muscles spasmed. I jerked away from the male, releasing him from the wristlock as alarm replaced the grinning joy of the moment. I fought the surge of my wings from coming into existence. Looking away from Zsadist, from the brilliance of that gilded gaze, I felt my own eyes flickering, the divine threatening to emerge at being so relaxed. What was this Brother doing to me? I’d never struggled with the control of my divine nature. Yet it wanted to emerge now? Fuck!

“Sorry,” I managed, taking a deep breath and pushing it back, pushing everything down. “Something’s aching. You got a few good shots in there. Nicely done…”

This male… what the hell was he doing to me?

Zsadist:

[When I got taken down by the male my eyes went wide. Fuck. Gasping for a breath as I stare up into his intense eyes. What was going on here? And then I felt it. That spark that I had felt before with him. It was a weird feeling. A tingling all over my body before a warmth spreads through me. Everything was on fire and I somehow wanted more. But just as I was about to lean in he pulled away and brought me back to reality. 

I watched as he gave an alarmed look. Like he didn’t want what just happened to happen. And of course why would he? I was disgusting remember? My demons laughed at me. Surrounding me in a circle as they all just pointed and laughed like I was only a few inches tall. Shaking the thoughts from my head, lifting my gaze to the male for a brief second.] 

It’s fine. [I manage to get out. Avoiding his gaze now as I look around the gym. Lifting my shirt once again to wipe the sweat that had taken resident on my forehead. I needed to get out of here and fast. But I couldn’t just ditch the male. Not yet at least. Not after that. It would be awkward as hell.]

Weapons. [I blurt out. Keeping my gaze away from him as I move us out of the gym and over to the room across the hallway. Once inside I take in all the guns wishing I could just take one to my head right now and end all this. Ha. Yeah I was fucked. Scrubbing a hand over my scarred face.] 

Here is where we keep everything. Um...there is a shooting range too if you wanted to try anything out. Guns are handy but I enjoy using my daggers the most. [I was rambling. Scribe make it stop. Pinching the brim of my nose as I let out a breath. I wished another Brother would come in. Please. Hell I’d take Rhage right now over this. Making my way over to the wall of weapons. I opened a few drawers to show him the countless bullets we had on stock.]

There is also throwing stars and some knives. Though the ones that the Brothers and I wear on our chests are different. Vishous hand makes all of them. He is...very talented when it comes to that shit. Getting a weapon made by him is an honor. [Nodding as I lift a hand to rub at my own chest. It was hard to focus on anything right now. Fuck I hope he would take one of these weapons out for practice and I could just leave. Not deal with him ever again. Just completely avoid him until he left the property.]

Mal:

Fuck me. Can we say awkward? I could feel my skin tingling, the muscles twitching in anticipation of flight, as I fought back the urge to fly and followed on two feet. Giving the weapons room the cursory once over, I resisted the urge to pick up a gun, a clip, and vent some of my current frustration right into a target. 

Side eyeing the male as he led me around, I felt a flash of guilt at having turned the tables on him so abruptly. By the set of his shoulders, the way he avoided meeting my gaze, he was probably rightly ticked off with me. I wanted to curse anew as I struggled to find that easy camaraderie we’d had minutes before. But really, what was I going to say? How were our lives even remotely similar to find a common ground conversation?

This compound with its huge facilities and endless supplies was nothing I’d ever experienced. Sure, I could pick up these weapons and shoot them with deadly accuracy, but no gun I’d ever had had been shiny and new, gleaming chrome and black with an endless supply of bullets. My daggers had never been black, or made by a centuries old vampire with a knack for weapons crafting. Hand-me-downs, and pawn shops and sharpening the oldest blades until they could cut like a katana instead of a chainsaw… that was the life I knew. Not this… mansion of expensive tech.

“So crystal eyes makes things that are sharp and pointy,” I said instead, my voice miraculously even. “Seems fitting to his personality type. Do you all have something like that that you do? Some kind of talent?” I wonder, looking around and pulling at my shirt, running a hand over the nearest weapon, before stuffing the wandering digits back into my pants pockets. 

“Did I smell chlorine as well? I mean, not that I should be surprised. If it turned out you guys had your own space station I wouldn’t really be shocked,” I muttered, shaking my head and lifting a hand to rake through my hair, looking down. “You guys are… a far better equipped operation than anything I’ve ever been a part of. I’m pretty sure these clothes the doggen got me are the first time I’ve ever worn something that wasn’t a hand me down or from an op shop.”

Forcing a laugh, I shrugged and turned toward the door. “Oh well. The cards we’re dealt right? Maybe I should go take a swim…”

And hope to fuck it was cold water. Maybe that’d clear my head, help me cool off. Because being around Zsadist wasn’t making things clearer; if anything, I was more confused than ever about who I was and where I was supposed to be. 

Zsadist:

[When he mentions a pool, I raise a brow.] Yeah there is a nice pool. An indoor one and one in the backyard. But it’s closed right now for fall. Though I do believe the ah...hot tub is still running. Yeah. [Scribe, I was so awkward around him. What the fuck just happened in the Gym just now. Why did I have to scare everyone away from me? Scrubbing a hand back and forth across my scarred face before I clear my throat.] 

I think it would be best if you got some rest. Probably should head back to the PT suite. You don’t want to overdo it. True? [I let my eyes meet his one time. One last time. Cause after this I knew that it wouldn’t be smart to continue to see him. He probably was going to leave soon and that would be the last of this male. He had a family and a job to do elsewhere. Holding his gaze for a heartbeat before I peel my eyes away. I let out a soft breath before I turn and practically ran out of the room. 

I head down the tunnels quickly. Hoping that he didn’t pop his head out to say something or try to call me back. It was done with...whatever it was and I needed to focus back onto the Brotherhood and not some random male. Once I make it into the supply closet I pause. There was an ache in my chest. I didn’t understand what was doing with me. What...was this? Lifting a hand to rub my palm over my chest. Leaning against the wall my eyes crack open wide as I hear a door open. Shit no. My eyes rest on bright teal ones. Rhage. He looked at me with a frown. “Z…? You okay?” I quickly nod my head.]

Yeah. I’m good. Um. I think I worked out a little too hard. Speaking of...did you break a treadmill? [I needed something to get the conversation off of me and on to him. Rhage’s cheeks turn slightly red then he grins. “Guilty. But in my defense Mary followed me to the Gym and was looking sexy as hell as she entered the room.” Of course. His mate. Most of the Brothers had mates to come home too. Not me. Nope. And I was completely okay with that. It wasn’t in my cards. Wasn’t meant for me. Even though Phury still tried to push for it every chance he got. Nodding my head at the Brother as I push my thoughts away.] 

That’s fine. Just don’t break anymore, yeah? [He blinks then smiles slowly. “Okay Z. Don’t work yourself too hard.” His large hand landed on my shoulder and I didn’t expect it. I wasn’t prepared for it. My whole body stiffens and I felt the darkness started to consume me. He blinks then quickly removes his hand. “Z...I…” Slowly he frowns and before I can speak. Before I can tell him that it’s not his fault. That I’m the one who is fucked up. I run. Moving quickly out of the room, disappearing to my bedroom where I would spend the rest of the evening.]

Mal:

Zsadist met my eyes again. I felt my heart skip a much needed beat. Then he was turning away and leaving, his feet pounding the pavement to carry him out of the weapons room and back into the tunnel. In seconds, I knew he was gone. 

I didn’t doubt it was thanks to me. My weirdness had definitely rubbed the male the wrong way, and I couldn’t blame him for wanting to get as far from me as he could. The one person in this manse I actually liked to see, and I’d made sure the guy wouldn’t want anything else to do with me. 

Well fucking done Malachi. God damn divinity. 

Shaking my head, I forced myself to walk out into the hall. A stir of the air had me glancing sideways to see Rhage coming toward me. The male was huge and beautifully so; almost unfairly attractive with all the hair and blue eyes and white teeth. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I inclined my head on the male’s approach. Rather than say anything, he fell into step beside me as I made my way back to the PT suite.

“Taking the tour?” he ask as we reached the door.

I gave an absent nod, still thinking of the last look in those golden eyes.

“Zsadist was showing me the firing range. And the gym. I told him I wanted a rematch,” I managed a rueful smile, one hand on the door as the other went to my ribs. Thankfully the stitches and everything else had come out, only a faint pink line remaining. Z’s hits had left an ache though. One that seemed to stretch up to my chest as well. “The male certainly packs a punch…”

Those teal eyes looked at me, and it was a different kind of look than the one Z had given me. Something considering and curious as a stunning smile curved his lips. Then he was clapping me on the shoulder. 

“Yep. That’s Z. Glad he was showin’ you the place. Glad you’re back up on your feet too. You’ll be just about ready to head out soon, yeah?”

I paused for a moment, then gave a short nod. 

“Most likely, yeah.”

Rhage tilted his head, blonde falling before the blue of his gaze. “You don’t sound keen.”

“No, it’s not that~”

“Maybe,” he interrupted, smiling as he half turned to head back to the gym, “you should talk to Wrath. I mean, incase you want to stay in touch. Help out. Consider the program?”

He gave me a look, and I suspected it was the kind of look that made lesser creatures swoon. And hey, don’t get me wrong, if golden eyes weren’t still taking up ninety percent of my brain space right now, I’d have been more into it. But right now, it just made me pause… and actually think about what he said.

“...yeah,” I said finally, nodding slowly. “Maybe I will.”

[khaosk]

No More Roses Please

Alright peeps! I was scrolling through pinterest on my phone and saw the “say fuck you in flowers post” for a flower shop au. and for some reason because it was 2 am and Ive been drinking I got sudden inspiration. I wish I could put a link as a thank you for the creator of that post @demisexualmerril they may have changed that name now and for @koscheiis (once again probably changed by now) for describing what flowers you would need.

Anyway here’s a Bakugo/Kirishima one-shot

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

He loved the flower shop. He really did. Kirishima had grown up in the rows and rows of flowers following his mothers as they filled massive orders for weddings. He loved helping mom lift the heavy boxes into the white van with the company logo. It was so manly how she could get everything to the venue, get it all placed, and usually deal with an aggressive anxious family members. All while smiling. 

That’s what Kirishima thought he would be doing while he was a break before summer term started; heavy lifting. But when he got back from college his mothers informed him that they had decided to take a vacation. It made him happy that they were finally taking time for themselves. They hadn’t taken a vacation since he had been little, and he knew their relationship had been under stress recently. Of course he had assumed that they would just close the flower shop while gone. But that wasn’t the case.  

No one had any imagination. In two days, that’s what he had determined. Roses, everyone wanted roses for mothers day. Of course being in the business so long his moms had gotten plenty for the occasion. It wasn’t like they didn’t usually keep them heavily stocked. It was the go to flower. Even though there were so many more beautiful ones to choose from. After years of watching mama carefully make bouquets and arrangements in vases he knew the ins and outs. He knew he could make something better something worth remembering.

But they all wanted roses.

Closing time was in fifteen minutes, and Kirishima couldn’t wait to get out of the mind numbing zombie state the roses had put him into. Roses? How many would you like? A dozen? What color ribbon would you like? Are you sure you don’t care? Would you like anything else? Cash or card? He used to like them, the roses, with their deep dark color. Now Kirishima could say that he hated them. 

DING! The doorbell echoed loudly through the shop.

Oh god, not another one. Kirishima let out a soft sigh before looking up to see the next rose order, only to have his next breath catch in his throat. Storming towards him with boots thumping aggressively on the floor was a man that looked like he was about to blow something up. It wasn’t the anger that had Kirishima freezing. It was the instant attraction he felt as this man stomped toward him. 

Blond hair reminded Kirishima of a dandelion sticking out in all directions from his head. Red eyes that matched almost matched his own stared him down. A black shirt with a skull hugged the mans chest and shoulders only to bag around a trim waist. 

Before he could look closer the man made it to the counter and slammed down a wade of cash. “How do I passive aggressively say fuck you in flower?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Kirishima asked not believing what he had thought he heard.

 The customers scowl darkend before he relied. “The old hag has been a real bitch this week. So how do I passive aggressively say fuck you in flower?”

Kirishima’s mind started spinning. fuck you in flower, fuck you in flower

“Oi, shitty hair! Can you do it or not!?” 

This pulled Kirishima from his thoughts as he brushed his fingers through his bright red hair that he styled meticulously every morning. “Yeah I can do it,” Kirishima turned to walk to the large flower case “and my names Kirishima.”

“I prefer shitty hair.” 

Kirishima ignored him as he began looking for what he needed and soon he was pulling different flowers compiling a bouquet. His first one in days that didn’t involve roses. 

“So which flowers say fuck you?” The question caused Kirishima to jump as the voice was much closer. Spinning around he saw that the man had moved behind him and was eyeing the flowers he had grabbed.

“Well,” Kirishima started while moving back to the counter “these geraniums are for stupidity, foxglove for insincerity, meadowsweet for uselessness, yellow carnations a very specific “you have disappointed me”, orange lilies for hatred.”

As he spoke Kirishima had been pointing to each flower while he placed them each one in a way that complement each other. He couldn’t help but smile as he finished the striking bouquet purples, yellows, and oranges were a wonderful change from the constant red roses.

“That’s fucking perfect.” The man said with a smile that made Kirishima’s heart skip a beat. “She’ll love them and never even know.” 

Kirishima let out a small laugh as he handed over the flowers. As there fingers brushed he saw how the other man’s eyes swept over him, taking in the muscles Kirishima knew strained the fabric of the company shirt he wore. When he pulled back the man met Kirishima’s gaze and smirked as if he knew just what Kirishima was thinking.

Not wanting to kill the moment but also do not know what to do Kirishima panicked and slipped back into customer service mode, “Cash or credit Mr…?”

The man let out a sharp laugh before pointing to the cash that he had slammed onto the counter. Kirishima quickly broke eye contact to grab the money and deal with the cashregister as he felt his face heat up. 

“It’s Bakugo and you can keep the change.”

“Oh uh, thanks?” Kirishima said as he gained some confidence back at learning the man’s name but continued to focus on the counter after he finished putting away the money. 

“You free tonight shitty hair?” 

Kirishima jerked up once more meeting Bakugos hard gaze. “Yeah, I’m free.”

“Good, meet me at the UA bar a block over in an hour.” With one last smirk and a heated look that left Kirishima the slightest bit turned on Bakugou swung around and left the shop.

As the ring of the bell faded away Kirishima let out his breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. Quickly he went through the motions of closing the shop, even more excited than he had been earlier to leave.  

[maggotmouth]

        hi i’m nora ( 23. gmt. she/her ) and it turns out i really miss playing bridget ! i wasn’t feeling frida bt i wanted to explore som of her backstory more so ive kind of fused bits of her into bridget..... sue me.... for those of u who didn’t know her before i dropped her, bridget grew up in a trailer park in texas, she’s an angsty socialist leftie who gets fucked at the pub and goes off on one about capitalism.  film nerd. got in on a partially subsidised scholarship and works in a bar and a fast food place to pay for her accomodation. here’s a pinboard !! everythin else is below this cut, like this post n i’ll (probably forget to) smash that im button for plots x

application template.

( cis-female ) haven’t seen BRIDGET MATUSIAK around in a while. the MARGARET QUALLEY lookalike has been known to be GARRULOUS & CANDID, but SHE can also be FICKLE & ERRATIC. The 21 year old is a JUNIOR majoring in FILM. I believe they’re living in AUDAX but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door.

aesthetics.

thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, roller blades, grazed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes. piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you.

connection to tatiana & did they choose her name during the watershed?

knew each other from the cheer team in bridgets freshman year and tatiana’s sophomore year. had a competitive friendship to start with but then they got into a discussion about politics at a party one night, and maybe hooked up a few times after tatiana had jst broken up w someone. they were sort of seeing each other very casually for a bit, but…. they came from vastly different circles n it didn’t really work. they were in a bad partch at the time of the reaping so to speak, and bridget picked her name For A Giggle but now regrets it big time obviously

tw drugs, teen pregnancy

BACKSTORY TIME.. her mother was from the wrong side of the tracks, was chucked out of home pretty young after a teenage pregnancy, wanted 2 go to art school and started working as an erotic dancer to pay for college but then jst…. ended up staying there. one of those girls u see in the documentaries who had Big Plans but ultimately never got to pursue them n jst got…. sucked in by the money 

her mom n dad met in high school at a parents evening. alice was fourteen, toby was thirty-one. bridget’s mom alice was a roman catholic – uneducated in matters of safe sex, mother mary around her neck, bras hanging over wooden crucifixes – and willing to give it to the first boy who seemed interested enough, gift-wrapped or not. toby was the father to a girl down the road who alice knew nothing of besides her name and the few encounters in the corridors facing a stoney stare that screamed homewrecker. it only happened once, but once was enough. alice was out of the house as soon as her parents knew a child was growing in her womb.

bridget n her mum alice were more like sisters growing up, probably because of the closeness in age. alice should’ve known that you couldn’t have a thirteen-year-old-daughter at 27 without everyone knowing you’d been one of those girls who gave it away fast as a hot potato, and maybe bridget should have known that she’d inherit more than her mother’s wide eyes, that things have a way of circling back to us --- that at fourteen she too would lose it on the floor of a swimming pool changing room, soggy back, polka-dot nylon of a swimsuit pulled down to her ankles.

she grew up in a trailer park just outside of orlando resort, but she was raised in dressing rooms surrounded by sparkly costumes and nipple pasties and leotards and the like. as a kid she’d try to trot about in her moms heels n yearned for the day she’d be able to be on stage. 

if you’ve seen the florida project its a bit like tht.... just kids left to do their own shit.... mother’s a bit all over the place... made money by stealing wristbands off orlando theme park visitors, and bridget was p much raised by the community, to be honest. most of her youth was spent scurrying about half naked in cowboy boots and glasses too big for her face. a smol feral child

gilly (referred to as junior) was born four years after bridget, the son of a carpenter and sculpture artist named gilbert “gilly” senior, her moms latest squeeze. whenever she wasn’t at school bridget would be in gilly’s workshop doin her homework surrounded by parts of furniture or hanging out with the kids who were visiting disneyland but couldn’t afford the hotels on the resort

like her mother, bridget fell pregnant barely out of her gingham print dresses, hair in two plaits down her back, teddies still lining her bed. unlike her mum, she was not box-shipped out to a home for fallen women but rather booked into a clinic, given a pill, just like taking your vitamins.

her mother flaked out when bridget was around fifteen and junior was eleven. they were in the system for a while, before gilly was finally granted custody as legal guardian. the three of them moved to marfa, texas so that gilly could run classes in sculpture and woodworking at the art institute. they’re not sure where their mother went. some say she rededicated herself as a virgin and joined the convent in penance for her sins. some say she works in a las vegas strip club and sells pills to minors. bridget likes to believe that she’s an actress, her name in newspapers and her face in a star-spangled dressing mirror.

bridget used to do sponsored silences and hunger strikes for kids in developing countries. was that kid in school who was always raising money something. i mean its kinda cute but also she just wanted the acclaim and attention so…. and most of the time it didn’t even make it to the disadvantaged kids she was raising it for cos her mom needed rent money or to buy the kids new shoes n they could barely afford much themselves

she’s a strident feminist, an activist for human rights and animal rights, a vocal vegetarian and an all-round soapbox sadie. catch her in the quad shouting about human rights through a megaphone. will most definitely have quizzed your character on institutionalised racism whilst inhaling nos at a party and snacking on a big bowl of cheesy wotsits

aesthetic: big military or leather jackets over tiny little sundresses. always in docs or creepers and a beret with an anarchist symbol painted on it. wears a long green trench coat covered in badges for alt punk rock bands or a red denim jacket that she hacked into a crop jacket with a pair of kitchen scissors. cuffed jeans, thrifted or stolen. white converse, more grey tbh through years of wear. crop tops and plaid shirts tied round her waist. smudged mascara. glitter smeared over cheekbones from the previous night. cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson.

an aspiring screenwriter. she has a very image-based view of memory and experience. always doing a screenplay or shooting film. her style has a lot of catholic iconography (think virgin suicides style or baz luhrmann’s romeo + juliet if it was done on a super 8 camera) bcos catholicism is one of the few things she remembers about her mother. she’s never actually tried to find her mum / find out about her, jst…. occasionally channels that energy into her work.

struggles with self-image and the need to be Loved By All a lot. uses sex as an affirmation of her worth and also kinda manic-depressive (though not officially diagnosed) bcos her upbringing was a bit unstable, she was a looked after child for a while when the adoption papers were still going through… struggles a lot with feeling unwanted, especially since her grandparents refuse to acknowledge her existence cos she was born outside of marriage….. so she craves feeling wanted,, like despite being a real women’s rights activist and hating objectification, at the same time to bridge there’s nothing better than someone sizing you up with hunger in their eyes

she’s queer, but i guess she favours women, and is incredibly vocal in her support of the lgbt+ movement. often at rallies. has done a face-sitting protest. really is that bitch

there’s a degree of anger for anger’s sake in bridget. she likes passionate, angry music – particularly garage rock, punk and riot grrrl. she loves the slits and skinny girl diet. viv albertine inspired her to take up bass guitar.

back at lockwood she was working two jobs to pay for uni !! at the bowling alley polishing the shoes and fixing the bowling lanes, and also as a burger flipper at mcdonalds. in amsterdam she’s managed to secure a part-time bar job at one of the hendrix university bars

massive film buff. is majoring in film at uni also spends a lot of time at the movie theatre n probably has like a season ticket. is one of those pretentious film nerds who’re like “what do u think of goddard’s work?” but also just really into shitty horror movies

she spends her evenings in downtown bars willing away her boredom, trying to find something that’ll jerk her out of apathetic lethargy. she toys with the idea of becoming a stripper — it certainly pays better than flipping burgers — but she lacks the energy to dance for several hours a night.

she loves b movies and slasher flicks. at parties, she’ll occasionally try to make a horror of her own, on a super 8 camera in someone’s basement, very paranormal activity, but she’ll inevitably get bored, or too drunk and give up, like she does with most things in her life. she lacks drive and motivation. she’s bright but there’s no hunger in her.

she’s fickle and enigmatic. one moment she could be your best friend, the next, she’ll behave like a total stranger. bridget’s unpredictable because she’s still unsure of her own identity, frequently flitting between different characters, like snake skins, before she grows bored of being bubbly and eager and becomes spiteful again. her core personality traits are probably forthright, impulsive, restless, thrill-seeking, selfish, gregarious, easily bored, childish.

SOME ?MILDLY AMUSING? FACTS

writes shitty poems on the back of napkins and quotes dead philosophers she’s never read. romanticises herself a lot. like will be standing there in a ripped t-shirt and her undies smoking a cig like “hmmm… i bet someone is falling in love with me right now”

is vegetarian for environmental reasons but snorts coke at parties like that isn’t shit for the environment ?? sis, it don’t add up

loves dirt. ate a worm once because someone dared her too. shamelessly disgusting.

she’s slightly obsessed with true crime, up late watching documentaries on the manson family murders.

favourite drink is cherry coke

a lot of her time is spent in the record store, plugged into a set of headphones, head-banging in the corner to a scratched record. music, for birdie, is a form of escapism. that and dropping acid in parking lots lmao.

sells nudes on twitter. whenever she gets low on cash she contacts one of the seedy old men who used to visit her mom’s club to venmo her $500 in return for pictures

that girl who’s always harping on about body positivity on instagram while wearing cute underwear and looking absolutely bomb

really good at rodeo bull riding. the club in marfa had one so as a youth she got really good at it bcos she was constantly tryin to outdo her friends on who could stay on for the longest. a video of her staying on one for like 4 minutes after downing several jager bombs went viral once.

micro-doses acid for mild depression bcos she didn’t believe in “that CBT bullshit”, thought that therapists, like her, were jst con artists so always a bit spaced out

volunteers at one of the local galleries but mostly just rants to old white dutch men about how cis white men have dominated art for years :/ is one of those SJW-types , like.... have a day off, jameela jamil......

has a pet rat called popeye

takes photographs of dead animals to use in her art and often posts them side-by-side with stills of women in porn to show the shelf-life of female sex workers in a patriarchal-dominated industry or some bullshit idk

big into spoken word poetry, even if its shit. likes savage depictions of femininity

wrote a thesis on art as an act of masturbation that got published

this bitch HATES capitalism and LOVES karl marx

time isn’t real. nothing exists. the self is a social construct. finger guns.

an awful person, really

plots i want that i mostly stole from the tags

muse a tries to stand up for muse b in a bar but unfortunately cannot fight for shit.

muse a (prob bridget cos works in a bar) works somewhere that’s open late and muse b comes in to take shelter from the storm.

‘I got in my car and you were sleeping in the backseat who the hell are you and how did you get into my car’ 

 umm a wlw plot isnpired by san junipero ! esp this post. could have been a former fling that ended sourly !! cos i dont like ship forcing but still?? give me wlw stuff

 “i just decked you in the face because i’m drunk and you were pissing me off but ow my hand really fucking hurts i think i might have broke it and oh look your nose is bleeding and now we’re both sitting awkwardly in the hospital while i glare at you from across the room. but wait are you giving me sex eyes?? stop that i’m supposed to mad at you??”

“platonically sharing a bed until i wake up and you’re curled round me and my nose is buried in your hair so i’ll pretend to stay asleep to keep this for a little while longer” plots

 “highkey want a ‘someone wrote your phone number on the wall of a bathroom in my dorm with ‘call for a good time’ and i just texted you to let you know that i scribbled it out and oh wait you’re actually funny and easy to talk to and now we’re talking every day and i might have a tiny little crush on you even tho  i don’t even know your name’ plot”

 goddamn its another shippy wlw plot apparently that’s all my tag is but this post

“known for being rebels without cause, MUSE A and MUSE B are synonymous to their fast cars, nights out beneath the stars, empty bottles of alcohol, and loud music. they meet by chance one night and immediately click, and embark on a careless adventure after it despite not knowing each other. it’s them against the world: after all, what could go wrong ?”

any of these sad sour unrequited love plots

‘we take the same elevator every day and due to a misunderstanding I assumed you didn’t speak english and I’ve been talking to my friend about how hot you are for three weeks and apparently my friend has known from the start but you agreed not to tell me bc you both think its hilarious what the fuck’ au

‘I accidentally dropped you while you were crowd surfing and you broke your ankle and now I feel responsible so I’m carrying you out of the moshpit’ au

walked in on my roommate and you screwing except i know you from class and i freaked out a little

i was hustling you in pool for money but you were hustling me for free drinks so who’s the real winner here?

bridgot goes to strip clubs n peep shows like every day, cos she’s writing about the history of pornographic film n its basically research for her, so if ur characters would be into strip clubs they might see her there

i feel like she’d be on student council if they had one of those. shes that kind of bitch, turning up like elle woods with a big feather pen or a light-up heart marker, slamming down some truths before upping and leaving to go for her 11am chai latte break

som1 who attended the art institute in marfa for a summer n maybe knew her when she was a bit younger ??? idk

drama. angst. horror. also nice bike rides in amsterdam please

feel free to im me if u wanna plot, or, like this post and i’ll hit u with a message!

[b1ipblip]

In Too Deep

Chapter 4:

Mafia! AU

Warnings: cursing

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: WOOOO BOY. This school year as not been kind! I’m sorry for such sporadic updating, I hope and pray to get on a more regular schedule. Fell free to leave comments and asks ~Admin OG <3

Next ->

From the conversation you had with RM, you have concluded three things.

1. Your parents weren’t who they said they were.

2. They’re also dead.

3. You aren’t going back to your former life anytime soon.

4. You have a massive headache.

You were wondering why they didn’t contact you when they left. Guess the whole being dead thing will do it. Your parents weren’t a large part of your life as much as you hate to admit it. You felt as though you weren’t sad enough. However, after all the lies and secrets that they withheld from you for “your safety” came to light, you realized you didn’t know your parents at all. Is that mean? But apparently, they trust RM with your life. If you weren’t so exhausted, you would have pressed him for more answers. Sleep sounded like a more desirable state.

You drift off to sleep and when you wake, he wasn’t there. Not really a shocker. You’re quite boring when you’re asleep. The bed next to you was currently empty and an eerie silence filled the air. Then it strikes you.

You really need to use the restroom.

Your legs weren’t in too much pain, so you yank back the blanket and set your bandaged feet on the reflective tile. That was a lie, you were just telling yourself it didn’t hurt. You pull the IV out of your hand, as one does, before beginning to walk. Blood bubbles in the crook of your arm. Your legs were unsteady but you could hold yourself up with the aid of the wall under your palm. Your small feet pad along the perimeter of the clinic until your hand reaches the doorknob. 

You were wearing an unfamiliar t-shirt but the same sweat shorts that you left the dorm with. You wonder how long it’s been since you left the dorm. You poke your head out of the door to find someone who knew where the hell the bathroom would be. A tall figure slumped onto the couch in the same living room you saw down the hall last time you were here. His head leans back and faces the ceiling.

“RM?” You hold the door frame with your feet turned inwards as you inch your way into the hallway. His head pokes up.

“Wah, You’re not supposed to be walking around,” he scrambles off the couch and starts towards you. “Jin! She’s up now!” he calls out over his shoulder.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he stops midway and sighs. “What?” you say defensively.

“Second door right of the clinic,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and turns back around. You smirk at his reaction.

As soon as you open the door to exit the bathroom, Jin blocks your way out with a glare. “You’re supposed to be in bed,” You sigh loudly, making it known that you were annoyed.

“Sorry but I’d rather not piss myself just because I have a couple bruises,” you state bluntly.

“And did you rip out your IV?!” he pulls you by the wrist to take a better look at your exit wound.  His eyes bore into yours before he falters his gaze and huffs. “Let’s get you back to bed,” he supports you as you walk to the infirmary. The harsh white lighting greets you once again. Despite this only being the second time you woke up in here, you were already tired of it. So sterile and cold. You missed the homey feel of the crowded dorm room you shared with Jennie.

“Since I’m here might as well check the swelling and bruising,” You hold your torso up with your hand pressed to the bed. He bends your knee and lifts your leg from the mattress. You watch him as he gently unwraps the gauze and reveals red and purple skin covering from your knee down. “The swelling around your ankles seemed to have gone down,”

You hum in response, but your thoughts were elsewhere. RM said earlier that now you are on the underground radar as a person of interest. If anyone finds who your parents are, you’ll become a target. So it’s in your best interest to stick close to people you can trust. Or at least your late parents could trust.

They always went on ‘business trips’ and left unannounced. They’d skip town for upwards of a year and then one day greet you when you came home from school. You didn’t even know they died until this morning. It wasn’t the best family situation but it wasn’t the worst. You learned how to be independent pretty quickly. “Hey, are you listening?” a voice brings you out of thought.

“Hm?” you ask.

“I said if you need to move around, you’ll need to do so on crutches,”

You flop your head backward and sigh. “Oh don’t give me that. Your three-week recovery will only be longer if you don’t use them,” he shoots back.

“Jin Hyung,” V walks through the open doorway and rests his arm on Jin’s shoulder.

“What do you need. I’m trying to bandage her up again?” He grabs a roll of bandage and began wrapping it tightly around your ankle.

“Namjoon hyung got dinner,” Jin hums in response.

“I’ll be there in a second,” he looks up from his work and at you. “Want anything?” you shake your head, rejecting his offer. You wanted to be alone so you could think. “Fair enough, I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” he secures the bandage and follows V out of the cold room, closing the door on his way out.

You pull your sore legs to your chest and rest your chin on your knees. Would it be worth it to try to run away? They are a form of protection and with your recent abduction, it seems like you need it. You weren’t sure how large the gang that kidnapped you was. But the fact that they found you in your safe place, on campus, makes your stomach feel sick. You know what those people will do to you if they caught you again. Then again, RM and his gang could be after the fortune your parents have accumulated. They probably have it stored in some off shore account.

Your head keeps spinning with thoughts until it finally shuts down and leaves you staring at the wall with a blank stare. You zone out somewhere between the spectral plane and reality, quite a popular tourist attraction.

~~~~~~~~

A gentle knock disturbed your peaceful disassociating. When the door opens in reveals Jungkook with a Styrofoam takeout box. “Figured you’d be hungry,” he sets the box in your lap. Inside was barbecued meat, kimchi, and japchae with chopsticks wrapped in paper. Your mouth twists up into a small smile at the delightful sight and smell. You pull your legs in and pat the bed right in front of you.

He simpers before taking a seat cross-legged on the bed as you urged. The two of you don’t talk much at first. You quietly enjoy the company as to munch on dinner or lunch, you weren’t sure what time of day it was. Jungkook can’t seem to take his eyes off the kimchi residing in your meal and you can’t help but smirk. “You keep staring at the kimchi like it’s going to run away,”

His thoughts are broken up by your sudden remark. You pick up a wad with your chopsticks and hold it out. “Take some, I won’t be able to eat all of it,” almost immediately he bites into it and drags it off the chopsticks. He covers his mouth with his hand as his eyes turn to crescents in delight. You snicker at his animated reaction.

“You can have the rest of it. I get sick if I eat too much kimchi,” you offer.

“Thank you~” he says. mouth still full. He runs out of the open door momentarily. 

You overhear him talking to someone. “She’s letting me have her kimchi!” he exclaims to whomever. When he comes back, he is clicking a pair of chopsticks together. He hops back on the bed and crosses his legs. He looks hungrily at your plate.

“Pork belly is off limits though. I can eat it all day,” you warn before taking another bite. You hear someone else pad into the doorway and skid into the room.

“I heard there was extra kimchi!” V scrambles over in his socks.

“Ah- mine,” Jungkook duels V’s chopsticks away with his. V wines in disappointment and continues to dodge Jungkook in attempt to get some of the red gold.

“Share,” you rebuke. V looks down at Jungkook with a victorious smirk.

“See even (y/n) said to,” he turns to you. Jungkook grumbles but ultimately follows the order. “Thank you Jungkookie,” V smiles innocently. You contently eat your food with Jungkook sitting on your bed and V in a chair beside it.

You all eat relatively quietly a few words being exchanged every once in awhile. School comes us somehow and Jungkook asks you about the grade you got on the chemistry test. “I got a 96, what about you?” 

He looked down with a pout, “A 70,” V smirks and leans forward in his chair.

“Looks like our college boy has some catching up to do.” he wiggles his eyebrows.

He scoffs in response and stuffs more food in his mouth. “Not like I need to for computer science,” V covers his mouth and snickers. “By the way, what’s your major?” he asks.

“Chemical engineering”

Their eyes widen, “That must mean you’re smart right?” V asks. You shrug. 

“Maybe, I always thought I was just slightly above average,” you offer in return. You had this habit of brushing off any positive remarks.

“Speaking of college, what am I gonna do about it now that I’m here?”

“RM hyung’ll probably move you out of the dorms. You’ll still go to classes but you’ll live here,” V reasons. That’s not too bad you think to yourself. But you’ll have to say goodbye to your room mate. Your heart skips a beat when you remember a key detail about your life.

You shove the takeout box out of your lap and scramble for your phone that was charging on top of the counter of medical supplies on the right wall. “Crap! I haven’t texted my boss for two days!” You lunge for your phone and scramble back before your legs can even think about giving out on you. You begin typing a long-winded apology text.

“Where do you work?” Jungkook inquires, setting the takeout box back on your lap.

“At The Rusty Nail,”

“Really? That’s quite the hole in the wall bar,” V pipes up. Jungkook’s lips formed a line, clearly not pleased by whatever you just said.

“I’m just glad that my boss loves me. He’s the big brother I never had,”

“Shownu?” You nod in response to Jungkook. “The right hand man to one of the most ruthless mob boss in Korea?” His voice was harsh. V looked at him in alarm.

“No way,” You drop your phone on the bed.

“You can’t go back there. At least for now. The X’s are allies but who knows what they’ll do when they find out you’re on the radar.” You shake your head.

“There’s no way. Even if there was, he would have no way to find out unless one of us told him,” you reason. You’ve been working there for almost five months now. You look to Jungkook to see if there is any shred of doubt in his eyes. There wasn’t, of course.

“Trust me. You don’t know him like we do. He treated you like he does now because he just thinks you’re not tied to anything related to the underground. And if it is the job you’re worried about, RM owns a few bars that you can work at that are much closer to our offices and base,” You prop your head up with your fist and looked blankly at the takeout tray. 

~~~~~~~~~~

In the following days, RM submitted your withdraw from student housing. He refused to let you do anything physical so you had to hand your key over to Jungkook so he could pack up your things and move them over to their base which is further out of Seoul from where you originally were. You told Jennie that your parents wanted you to move in with your uncle who lives in Seoul.

Surprisingly the place you have been cooped up in was not where they lived. Rm said that despite running a mob, they are still businessmen. He said that the ‘professional’ front was handled in the offices, while more personal matters were handled at their home. For instance, Jin runs a clinic in the office building, which is where you have stayed.

After Jin deemed you well enough to move around more freely after a daily checkup, you are led to a sleek black car and ushered inside. Jin follows closely behind in an identical car. You were left in the presence of the silent chauffeur.

The lavish mansion sat outside of Seoul in a grove of trees. Your eyes sparkle with curiosity as you exit from the back seat. Carved Roman columns line guard the grand entrance that stood atop a flight of marble steps. The pristine black and white exterior gave the home an aura of harshness and prestige. 

At the top of the steps where you stood, you looked up at the massive door. It reminded you of something you’d see right before you entered a boss fight in a video game. From behind, Jin reaches past you and pushes the door open.

The interior begins with a marble foyer and a chandelier hangs overhead. However, the deeper into the new home you go, the more lived in it feels. It still holds that sophisticated feel but you no longer feel the need to watch every step you take in fear of breaking something.

The living room floor is covered in a gray shag rug and populated with darker gray couches that looked like they could swallow you whole when you sat down.”Your stuff should be in your room if I’m not mistaken. Third floor, fourth room on the right,” Jin breaks your thoughts.

You nod slowly, taking in everything you could as you ascend the black marble stairs. Very minimalist, very chic. You follow Jin’s words and walk silently to the fourth room on the right, at the very end of the hall.

What greeted you inside was a room fit for royalty. Your jaw drops as you flit over to the giant bed. Dark red velvet tops equally red silk sheets on a canopy bed. Cherry wood furniture was so dark it could be mistaken as black decorates the room.

And just as Jin had said, your suitcases sat in the center of the room. You unpack your minimal amount of personal items and clothes. You keep yourself occupied well into the night judging by the light diminishing from your tall window. You do finish up some homework and organize your things until you got bored. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it was around eleven at night.

You decide that a shower sounded good so you gather your necessities and open the door to the en suite. The monochromatic color trend continued with the white counters, shower, and tub. As you look around, you failed to realize until now that there was a second sink and a door on the other side of the bathroom. So who’re you sharing it with? You shrug it off and set your things on the counter before making sure the other door is locked. 

                                                           //

When you shower, the delicate floral scent of soap fills the room. On the other side of the locked door, Yoongi lounges on his bed with his headphones on and phone in his lap. He catches a whiff on the foreign smell, breaking his concentration he held on the repetitive bass booming in his ears. He takes off his headphones and goes to investigate the source.

He follows it to the bathroom. He tries the handle, but it is locked. When he presses his ear to the door, the hears running water and finally connects the dots. That girl’s room must be next to mine, he thinks. Namjoon didn’t tell him much except for the fact that her parents entrusted her to them, and she’s going to be staying here for awhile at least. How long awhile was beat him. He didn’t have a problem with her as long as she knows her place and stays out of the way.

But he had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case.

[stunudo]

Infiltrated: Part 3

I couldn’t find this gif while searching the Tumblr-loaded ones, but it is watermarked. Thanks to @spencerhellareid for the sly Hotch side-eye. xoxo

Featuring: Hotch x Female Reader/ Foyet x Female Reader

Setting: Season 4

A/N: I got an unsub fmk-type ask. So this came from that. This is going to be darker than any other series I have done. Hope you guys like it! The reader character has a name because she is protecting her identity. xoxo Stu

Warnings: Moral repugnancy and general unsub behavior. Also smut.

Series

Your name: submit What is this?

George had left the morning after the tenderizer with little fanfare. He relished in your wincing steps as you saw him to the door.

“Alright, Y/N, I’ve got some things in the works, but look out for a meet up in a week or two.” George watched you process the instructions, ensuring you were worried just enough to make his leaving a loss.

“If you need anything you know where to find me,” You held his gaze.

“Y/N, please, I don’t need anything.” George laughed in your face. “Ditch the burner, I’ll get you a new one.”

“Anything else?” You shifted with your hands in your back pockets, the skin still warm through your jeans. He didn’t say anything, but grabbed your chin, holding it centimeters from his face. He watched your eyes focus, listened to your breath hitch and became satisfied with his effect. He turned to walk away.

“Be safe.”

He didn’t even look back, but you could hear his guffaw bounce around the solemness of the drab apartment hallway.

A week after the midnight phone call, you finally crossed paths with the BAU again, in the flesh. Your team had been in the field on cycling twelve hour surveillance shifts, leaving your hours of mindless desk duties to be done at unlikely times. It was seven in the evening and you passed the sand-eyed profilers stepping onto the elevator.

“Going up?” Agent Morgan held the door for you and you gave him an appreciative tight lipped smile.

“How’s it going Turner?” Prentiss asked as she peered around Reid and Rossi.

“Have they developed an IV caffeine drip yet?” You joked, glancing over your shoulder to Hotch in the corner.

“Actually, Neonatalogists give Cafcit intravenously to premature infants to treat apnea.” Dr. Reid pointed out.

“So, can I get an adult dose then?” You asked.

“Oh, I’m not a prescribing doctor.” Reid grimaced at you. “But, it is just a different form of NoDoz.”

“Ah, well, I know that one well enough, it got me through my sophomore year of college.” Prentiss chuckled.

Their floor dinged and you leaned back to let them pass. You wondered what kind of horrors they had left behind their latest jet ride. Hotch was the last one on the elevator and something pushed you in his direction.

“Hey--” You caught his gaze and a witty smirk brought a sudden warmth to your cheeks. You bit back the pinching in your cheeks, “You got a minute? I want to go over something with you upstairs.”

He nodded, “Hey guys, I’ll meet you at dinner?” He called back out to his team. Rossi’s concerned stare bore into you as the metal doors closed. The atmosphere of the elevator had reached the summit of a roller coaster, your stomach fell as the doors parted on your floor. You nodded down the hall, leading Hotch through an unmarked door.

“Turner, what’s this about?” Hotch didn’t flinch at the surroundings. He seemed to think you had brought him here for discretion and not true privacy. You couldn’t exactly say why you were doing this, but slowly your body pulled you closer to him. He had a spicy aftershave that lingered on his collar. He froze at your proximity, but the lack of verbal explanation needed no follow up once your breath ghosted over his neck. His hand came out to clutch at your waist, protectively. You took in a ragged breath and knelt in front of him.

You found his belt as he let his shoulders fall against the storeroom door. Despite the looming stress of his last case and your waiting busy work, he responded quickly and impressively. His thighs were muscular and his butt clenched nicely beneath your finger nails as you took his cock into your mouth. He groaned a deep and pained sound; it had been awhile since he had such attention.

“Easy there,” Hotch gasped, stroking your hair from your eyes. You looked up at him, waiting for further instructions. His face was darkening with need and you improvised when he couldn’t form words. You built a steady yet lavish pace, swirling your tongue over his head with every few dips. You were getting incredibly hot knowing how wrong this was and how very much you enjoyed doing it anyway. This was not planned on, something that had gotten you into trouble in the past. Fuck the rules.

You hummed against Hotch’s length and puckered with the vacuum you had created, driving him further along.

“Oh Christ!” Hotch groaned, his knees bending as he added to your rhythm, he finally felt comfortable taking what he wanted. You enjoyed his pleasure more than you thought and his head fell back as he came down your throat. You finished draining him quickly, his hands fumbling with your hair and shoulders, unsure yet gracious.

You stood, as he put himself away. You leaned in before he could say anything.

“You don’t have to say anything, Aaron. This is doesn’t have to mean anything. This was--,” You locked on to his dark eyes, a smug smile creeping up your lips. “This was fun. Just friends. Releasing tension.”

He grabbed your upper arm before you could slip back into the hallway, his hot breath coating your ear. “I pay my debts, Y/N.” He never used your first name, it was almost a threat.

“And I collect on mine.” You replied, leaving the promise of future rendezvous  heavy on the air.

Hotch hadn’t sent you confused or suggestive texts, like most guys would have. He simply carried on working the case as you continued to consult whenever your unit could spare you. There was a big case in the works and your team was in the field or scrounging for leads with criminal informants day and night. You had learned what the phrase ‘dead on your feet’ truly meant. You gave up your night time shifts of tailing profilers at random. They were rarely in Virginia as it was and sleep had grown scarce.

When you dreamt you were always running, the air stolen from your lungs. You would pass indistinct people from your past as if you were running the Boston Marathon. But they weren’t cheering you on, they were mocking you. Hemmings was about ten paces ahead of you, smirking over his boulder of a shoulder. Then George’s voice was in your ear and the whole scene froze.

He was behind you, but off somewhere else there was an interrogation going on. Hotch’s voice was low and level and you didn’t want to hear what he had to say or the responses of his unsub. You knew who he was talking to, but you didn’t want to see their face. Suddenly your skin would burn and you would wake up.

You saw him waiting at the bakery down the street from your apartment while you went for a morning run. The bruising had lessened enough that you could run outside without drawing attention to yourself. It was a pain sparring in the gym, but the longer pants and baggy shirts kept your teammates none the wiser. When he had warned you it would be two weeks, in reality he had made it three. You knew better than to approach him outright, so you circled back on a usual path of yours.

He was sitting on a bench in a park, some place much too common for someone with such darkness inside him. He seemed unimpressed with the birds as he tossed day old bread at the hordes of flying rats. You stopped to stretch with the aid of his bench. You knew you looked appealing in your running shorts, cat calls were a hazard of the hobby. Having him appraise you felt intimate, like he was stroking you with one of his blades instead of just undressing you with his eyes.

“Everything pan out?” You asked, not making eye contact.

“It’s fine. How’s Boy Blue and his team of misfits?” George pelted a chunk of crust across the sidewalk to a massive goose.

“Overworked. They haven’t been home longer than two days since, we, since last time.”

“Since I fucked you raw?” George clicked his tongue and leaned back. He wore aviator sunglasses and a mean grimace. “Yeah, well, times ticking on Hotch’s clock, Y/N. Your new phone is in your car’s glove box. I’ll text you the details when we can, catch up.”

He stormed off as you held your knee to your chest, keeping your focus at a ninety degree angle from his departure. If you were being tailed, the two minute conversation could have only been seen from the way you had come. He was too calculated to be caught shooting the breeze. And you were too much of an exhibitionist to stop stretching as he walked away. You took a longer loop than normal to burn off your anticipation about his cryptic hints.

After a shower and a Hungry Man’s instant dinner, you strolled down to your car in the apartment building’s underground lot. On your passenger’s seat was an elegant shopping tote with a note inside. ‘FOR NEXT TIME’ in scrawled capitol letters. Inside the bag were leather straps, some bits of lace that may have been lingerie if there was more fabric and an empty knife sheath.

You almost forgot the real reason you came outside. You popped the latch on the dashboard. Inside, there was a black plastic bag with a prepaid cell phone and a pack of gum. He liked to keep the purchases less noticeable by putting multiple things on the receipt. You grabbed the bags and headed back inside. The phone hummed to life as you climbed the steps.

There were six text messages of incoherence before a date and time. It was the night before your next day off, sonofabitch was really keeping tabs on you. After two more messages with no discernible importance he gave you a location. He wanted to meet at the train station. What the hell was he doing?

“What the fuck Hemmings?!”

The rookie was late on the shift change and you had only an hour to get to the rendezvous spot to meet George. The newest agent on your team was a lot of things, but tardy was not usually one of them. You tried to keep your breathing regulated as the clock on the dashboard of the surveillance van ticked another minute. He was thirteen minutes late. Fifteen and you would have to check in with Headquarters, something could be wrong. But you weren’t that optimistic.

Your partner’s shift was over four hours later so that changeover wasn’t done in expected patterns. He just shrugged when it was seventeen after, you huffed and called into your Unit for a back up.

“This is Turner, Hemmings is a no show for his shift, is there a contingency in place?”

“Hang on Turner, let me talk to the Chief,” your SSA put you on hold. Great. The smuggling ring you were staking out was quiet and it was the middle of the day, what was keeping the idiot?! “Alright, Hemmings called in and said he is en route, sit tight.”

“Well, can I take the last twenty minutes out of his ass at least?” You were never late, it was one of your very few rules.

“Be my guest, but film it will ya? I want to keep that for posterity’s sake.”

“Maybe next time, when I don’t have somewhere to be,” you mumbled.

“Alright, check out when you can. Thanks.”

“Ten-four.” You gave an unnecessary sign off and proverbially sat on your hands.

Hemmings banged on the backdoor at precisely twenty four minutes after he was originally supposed to. You checked out of your detail and made your way across town to headquarters to get your personal vehicle as all Bureau issued cars were low-jacked. The extra trip was fraying your nerves at both ends. Better to be safe than sorry.

You hopped into the elevator and headed to your floor, it opened on six. Suddenly you were faced with a concerned looking Hotch talking to an annoyed Chief Strauss, you weren’t really in the mood to eavesdrop, but someone had called the elevator. “Going up?”

Hotch and Strauss both stared at you like an insect before their faces retracted.

“Keep me posted, Aaron.” Chief Strauss cut him off, stepping in beside you. She was back to a blank slate before you could ask her what floor she needed, but she said seven was fine. Sure lady, whatever that meant.

The doors closed on Hotch’s apologetic bafflement.

@a-unique-girls-heaven @gummiishark @rottendaisies @sunnygubler @lovebodymindstuff @archaic-zugswang @darkheartednerdwithglasses @mikri-oneiropola @princesswagger14 @justwinchesterme96 @profiler-in-training @kennybud @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @conversations-with-you-61065 @dontshootmespence @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown @cynbx @cherry-loves-fanfic @hotchnerfuckmeup @illegalcerebral @omallieallie @creativecody16 @kandii395 @tiny-potato-lives

[sweetcatmintea]

Atlas meets Ivan - Drabble

So, I haven’t got any new pictures for you guys, have a short drabble instead. It was a gift for @babydollneko but she said I could upload it here too :)

Moonlight filtered through the thin clouds overhead illuminating speckles drifting through the late-night air. Hard shingles stole the warmth through Atlas’ shirt, prompting shivers. He lazily took note of his leg dangling over the musty gutter pipe. A clean was long over due but the negligence was understandable, it was no simple task to clean the top of a three-story house. Hoisting himself into a sitting position, Atlas stretched his arms in front of him until there was a satisfying crack.

He wasn’t sure how long his nap had lasted but he felt refreshed enough. It was late afternoon when the summer heat left him lazing about, but that didn’t mean much to him. He had also been sprawled on Lady Clara’s ornate lounge, enjoying the firmness of the well-maintained upholstery and the gentle breeze tussling his bangs.  To find himself waking on the roof of an unknown building in an unknown street was not how he expected the day to go. Surprising as it was, there was little mystery. Many an adventure in his youth was prompted by accidentally teleporting somewhere in his sleep. It was kind of like sleep walking, but with more stress for Lady Clara. He glanced at his wrist only to remember he had taken off his stylish purple gloves and accompanying compass cuff earlier in the day. This was going to make things more difficult. Oh well, no use sitting around worrying. Scaling down the building with relative ease, he decided to just explore for a little while. It’d be a shame to waste the opportunity. Lady Clara was forever scolding him for roaming around like some tom cat. ‘Come home straight away!’ she’d say. ‘You’re never where you’re supposed to be! Disappearing to who knows where whenever the fancy takes you! Honestly, it’s a wonder I haven’t locked the doors by now!’ Translated roughly, she meant ‘I worry when you disappear, so I want you to come straight back.’ Atlas grinned into his knuckles. She was a funny lady, but certainly good quality. He was an adult now – more or less – and she had relaxed some. It helped that he wasn’t under her constant care and supervision anymore. Still, he’d just have a little look around, then head back. Or, at least, a little look, then try to work out where he would be coming back from. His current location was less important than where he wanted to be, but knowing it would probably help.  Music pulsed faintly in the distance, a faint throb indicative of a nightclub type place. Given the back-alley vibes he was getting and the apparent late hour, the club would probably be inhabited primarily by drunks. Atlas sighed. He didn’t want to go amongst drunk people. It was probably the best bet for finding someone to ask his location. Ambling away, he put his money on the opposite direction. Going for the easiest route? Where was the adventure in that?

He must have been a fair way away from Lady Clara’s house. The wind carried a bite more tenacious than that of a summer. Atlas lamented the absence of his favourite dark grey coat. The fur trim, purple of course, was luxuriously soft and oh so fluffy. He really couldn’t complain though, years of waking up in unusual places ensured he was always reasonably covered when he rested. As funny as it would have been, he would not have appreciated exploring in only his boxers.

It wasn’t until the music had faded entirely, replaced with a cricket orchestra more suited to the country than such a populated area, that Atlas finally saw another person. A man, not much older than himself, busied himself opening the large roller doors of a … warehouse, maybe? The mechanisms made such a racket he didn’t notice Atlas approaching him. It was at this point Atlas realised he probably should have tried reading one of the street signs, he had no idea what the common language was here. Hoping it was one he knew, he cleared his throat, immediately catching the other man’s attention. Fabric spun and metal flashed. The knife stopping a mere finger’s width from Atlas’ skin. The two men appraised one another momentarily. This man, decidedly less harmless then Atlas first assumed, was slightly taller than him. His dark hair spiked from his head in organised chaos, complimented by a dark hoody and calculated grin. His teeth were clearly sharp, more so than Atlas’ unusually animalistic ones. Offering a placating smile, Atlas raised his palms to the man. He meant no harm. The switchblade returned to it’s hiding place in one smooth movement but remained at hand. The man’s posture relaxed, replaced with an easy confidence. Most reasonable people would be put off, intimidated even, by a man exuding danger and standing in front of a gaping maw of black. Unfortunately, Atlas was not a terribly reasonable person at times. ‘Foolish’ was almost a nickname at this point. He wasn’t stupid, but, out in the open as they were, he had many escape routes should things go sour. He lowered his hands, resting one in the pocket of his tailored shorts, and waving a greeting with the other. “What are you doing out here?” Ah, English. He knew that one. Lucky~ “Hello,” More accent than he would like, but good enough, “I got a little lost. Would you mind helping me? My name is Atlas, Atlas Mao.” The man tilted his head, lips pursed. “You’ve got cat ears.” It was a question in the form of a statement. “Yep.” He wiggled his ears for emphasis. The man’s grin grew. “Tail too. It was a matching set situation.” Even though he had kept it politely low, he was pretty sure the man had already noticed. The man’s hazel (maybe? It was hard to tell in the dark) eye’s glittered with excitement. “You don’t have … cat people here?” A shake of a head said no. That was unusual, he’d never been to a place where there were no Tainted people. Maybe he was even further than he thought. “Can I touch them?” “P-pardon?” “Your ears. I want to touch them.” The man reached out eagerly. There was a child-like enthusiasm that dampened the automatic ‘no’. Sighing inwardly, Atlas relented and nodded. That’s how he ended up being pet softly in the middle of the night by a very strange man. The plan to wait until his novelty had run its course and then find out where he was, was a bust. The enjoyment the man got appeared to be endless. Being told he was adorable was something he had gotten used to, it becomes necessary when your face becomes a brand, however having someone coo at him in the middle of the night was a bit much. An embarrassed flush crept up his neck as he put some distance between himself and the man. Luckily, he didn’t seem too disappointed, instead pointing out another of Atlas’ peculiarities. “You’re floating.” “Yeah. I don’t want to walk. The floor is really dirty, and my shoes are at home.” He wasn’t that high. Maybe a few inches off the ground. The man narrowed his eyes, considering Atlas again. “You’re not from here, are you?” Finally. He didn’t mind this man, he didn’t know him well enough to decide that he liked him yet, but it felt like some kind of backwards Alice in Wonderland scenario. Given he was the floating cat and all. He really couldn’t stay much longer, he’d promised Lady Clara he’d be in her photoshoot tomorrow. “No. I’m lost. Do you have a map and a compass I could borrow, uh…” “Ivan. You can call me Ivan.” He leaned in closer “I mean it call me.” Atlas didn’t know how to respond to either the wink or the playful nudge. “I’ve got those back home, but I gotta do something first.” He entered the abys of the warehouse, calling over his shoulder. “My cat got out, so I’ve gotta find him before we go back.” Nothing else to do, Atlas followed him in, offering to help search.

The deceptively small light on Ivan’s phone lit up a large chunk of the building. How did the phone have a light in it to begin with? Atlas knew there were some technological leaps lately, but wow! Debris was scattered all over the place. Leaves piled wherever the broken roof permitted. A dry, dusty smell filled the air, clinging to the backs of their throats. With all of the shadows and hidey holes, the chances of finding a cat were slim. Even with his sensitive ears, Atlas couldn’t detect anything other than the scuttling of bugs avoiding Ivan’s light. He strained his eyes but there was neither hide nor hair of any mammal. He was about to tell Ivan that he might want to look else where, but the man cut him off, bellowing “KING CRUNCH!” Evidently, Atlas wasn’t the only one to jump out of their skin. The boxes in the far corner began to rustle in response. Ivan ran over, letting out a proclamation of triumph. “I found my cat!” He dragged an angry, hissing creature from it’s nest, returning to Atlas with a massive smile. Beady eyes glared venomous hatred at Atlas. Little round ears were slicked back and grabby hands scrambled in the air, desperate for a victim. The grey-brown fur bristled like needles. That wasn’t a cat. The raccoon seemed to accept its fate, slumping in Ivan’s arms and chattering murder under its breath. Ivan was positively beaming. “Alright, I got my cat, we can go back. Somehow, he always get’s out when the Bae’s there. It’s weird, I know he likes King Crunch. Who wouldn’t?” Atlas couldn’t help but find Ivan’s clear affection towards his ‘cat’ very sweet. “Why’s he in a jacket?” The fact that the studded leather suited the raccoon was as undeniable as the ridiculousness of addressing raccoon fashion. What an interesting night it was turning out to be. “Oh, that. I tried to put a collar on him, so no one steals him, y’know, but he just kept getting it off. Neal got the jacket made for him so I would” he air quoted “stop moaning about the stupid collar. Good thing King Crunch is so fat, he can’t get his jacket off. No one’s going to mistake him for a stray cat now. I’d have ta kill them if they did though.” He laughed jovially.  

If you’re curious -> Atlas Ivan 

Ivan was created by, and belongs to, @babydollneko

Atlas is my character

Feedback is appreciated!

[aramis-dagaz-imaginarium]

Animal Crossing/NITW/Undertale/Aggretsuko Crossover

This is why you shouldn’t give me worldbuilding ideas, because this brand of insanity happens:

So, that pit deep in the abandoned coal mines near Possum Springs where it’s rumored that an alien eldritch being might exist?  That’s actually the entrance to the Underground, right outside the ruins of Home.  Mt. Ebott is not so much a massive mountain as it is a tall hill in Pennsylvania.

Anyway, after the events of NITW, Mae continues to be plagued by strange dreams, which doesn’t help the difficulties she continues to face as a college dropout with few prospects in a economically dying town.  She ends up wandering in the mines again, hoping to find some answers to why she keeps having these dreams, and ends up falling down a pit.  Thankfully, at the bottom of the pit is a bed of buttercups that breaks her fall, and there she meets Toriel.

Not too long after Mae goes missing, Gregg, Angus, and Bea go looking for her, and find the pit she fell down.  However, they are prepared, and set up some ropes to climb down.  Needless to say, Toriel is rather surprised to find three more people from the surface in the ruins of Home so soon after Mae left.

The story of Undertale plays out as normal, with Gregg, Angus, and Bea catching up with Mae, some “criminal” shenanigans happening, and the monsters of the Underground finally making their way to the surface and looking forward to starting a new life.

Admittedly, making Mae their ambassador might not have been Asgore’s smartest decision, but Bea, being no stranger to thankless work and suffering, manages to keep her mostly out of trouble.  Mostly.

First order of business is deciding where to settle on the surface.  Several options are considered, but in the end they decide on an island in the west Pacific a few hours flight from Japan at the recommendation of the Royal Scientist, claiming that it would be perfect for her research into surface culture.  Several citizens of Possum Springs emigrate to the new country (probably named “Sunny Home” or something like that), as job opportunities are certainly a hell of a lot better there.  Several other people from around the world also move to the new country, including a bright young woman named Isabelle, who becomes Asgore’s chief assistant.  Well, calling Isabelle “chief assistant” would be underselling it, as she pretty much handles just about every government position imaginable because she’s a workaholic.  She’s instrumental in getting the government of Sunny Home up and running, but even Asgore is worried about her, though he has no idea how to talk to her about it because she says she’s perfectly fine.

Let’s back up a bit at this point: in the years before the events of NITW, there were two sequels to Demontower.  However, Demontower Part IV, which was the game in NITW, was the last Demontower game to be released in North America.  Part V and Part VI were Japan-only releases.  Part V introduced two player co-op play where player two controlled a palette-swapped Palecat, dubbed Mailcat because it looked like she wore a chainmail shirt under her cloak (debates on the Internet over whether it’s “Mailcat” or “Malecat” are, as you can imagine, quite vicious, especially since the character never got an official name because she only existed as a Palecat doppelganger for the second player to control).  Part VI took things further, introducing two new characters with different appearances and abilities, making Mail/Malecat canon (she was called “Doppelcat”, but nobody calls her by that name to be honest), and allowing for up to four players to play at once.

Enter Retsuko.  She was a fan of the Demontower series growing up, and when she rediscovered it later after she got her accounting job, she decided to buy a copy.  Eventually she started joining online co-op games, and that was how she met and developed a friendship with Angus, who got himself a copy of the game when he discovered that there were two Japan-only sequels.

(I also imagine the Demontower games is partially responsible for why Retsuko is a fan of heavy metal.  The box art for one of the earlier Demontower games was more or less a ripoff of a heavy metal album cover, and when a younger Retsuko found said album in a music store, she bought it out of curiosity and found herself really liking it, and the rest is history.)

Back to Sunny Home, it’s only natural that one of the first countries Asgore tries to develop friendly relations with is their closest neighbor Japan.  While he does all of the pomp and circumstance well, he also has a nasty habit of slipping away and rubbing elbows with the local citizens.  One night, he and Undyne (an entire battalion of Secret Service agents in one angry fishwoman, let’s be honest) are enjoying the sights in Tokyo, and long story short, they met Retsuko and end up at her usual karaoke haunt (Asgore is probably not all that great of a singer, but he’s bad in a charming way.  Also, it probably goes without saying that Undyne likes Retsuko’s raging metal spirit.  A couch probably had to be replaced at some point that night).  It’s at this point where Retsuko tells Asgore what her job is and how she feels like the stress is starting to get to be too much for her and she would love nothing more than figuring out a way of her job.  Asgore practically offers her a job in the Royal Treasury on the spot, as he figures this could be a way to reduce Isabelle’s workload and maybe get her to relax a little.  He even goes so far as to offer her friends jobs as well if that would help convince her.

After thinking about it for a bit, Retsuko accepts, and ends up as an accountant in the Royal Treasury.  Though technically Isabelle is her boss, it certainly doesn’t feel like it.  Not that it slows Isabelle down at all, much to Asgore’s dismay.

And that’s how you get a quadruple crossover.

[get-a-new-lease-on-life]

“A New Lease on Life” -  #55

55: Absolutes Part IV - The Dead Do Not Rise 

Warning: Kimber was a little shit in her last life and she's still a little shit in her new one. At least now she's a little easier to understand. BIGGER WARNING: This chapter has a massive SHTF cliffhanger at the end which will be resolved with the next chapter. If you're cliffhanger sensitive, you might ought'a put off reading this one until the next one's out, which will likely be at least two weeks. The good news? So far that's the only 'probable-cause-for-murder' grade cliffie you should find for a while. It's not just coming out of nowhere, either, it's been in planning since planning for this part of the story began. (FYI: read "since the story first began")

Honestly, I'll be pretty disappointed if no one leaves any angry-reader comments or 'how dare you?!' flames—it would mean I've failed to twang y'all's heartstrings sufficiently. That said, please don't kill me. I have kitties.

All Time Low "Old Scars / Future Hearts," Fireflight "Unbreakable," Survivor "Ever Since the World Began," Three Days Grace "Time of Dying"

Willsdale, Missouri, Aaron Willis' trailer

Day 3, evening

Dying sunlight filtered through the treetops, scattering patchy shadows across the half-dead yard. In the driveway, two women squared off – one tall and svelte with immaculate makeup and neatly styled auburn hair, and one mid-height and curvy with suspicious grey-green eyes. "Kimber Bryant?" the shorter woman demanded of the taller, who nodded. "Glad you could make it. Come on in." Without another word, Amber ducked through the front door of Aaron's home, letting the screen door close behind her.

Out in the yard, Kimber hesitated, clenching one hand painfully on the pair of battered metal dog-tags dangling around her neck. She turned back to her old run-down car—a relic too young to be a classic but too old to be anything but junk—contemplating making a run for it. She well remembered the mess she made of her life before checking out of it, and she remembered just as well the feeling of her own knife being held at her throat. Could she really trust these people? Could she really trust the woman who now lived her life? 'What choice have I got?' she asked herself, shaking her head in aggravated disbelief. Without another moment's hesitation, she stalked up the creaking wooden steps, through the screen door, and into a small, dark parlor that stank of cat-boxes and cheap cherry air freshener.

Behind her, the front door shut with a bang; it took all the courage she possessed to keep from bolting like a spooked cat. Again, she snatched at the dog-tags, forcing herself to meet the eyes of the three others occupying the room. One person was familiar if only in passing—Raphael's twin brother, Donatello, the lanky brains to Raph's brawn. The second was familiar as well, though not nearly as familiar as his counterpart—Aaron Willis, a rough and rugged local with a startling resemblance to Daron Williams. The last face was one she knew as surely as her own. After all, the face was her own, albeit with a new owner…an owner who shared the name she tried to disappear with.

"Kimberly Jane O'Bryan," Donatello greeted as she shifted on her feet, "or should I say, Caitlyn Marie Russel?" Even after two years, Kimber's birth name made her grimace and the name of her new used body made her throat catch.

"Don't call me t'at,"^ she snapped stalking over to the sofa to make herself at home, "or I swear, I'll deck ya. It's Kimber or not'in." Aaron's eyes volleyed back and forth from the three people engaged in a tense standoff, completely lost.

"Is this national talk over the rube's head day?" he demanded with a shrug. "Who's Caitlyn Russel? Who's this? What's she gotta do with anythin' an' why's she here?" Amber rolled her eyes and turned to remind him, but a husky, smoggy voice beat her to it.

"Yer Willis, right?" Kimber asked; Amber exchanged a concerned glance with Donnie over her shoulder. "Kimber Bryant. I'm from Donnie's world, dead an' brought back in a corpse like t'at one." The last was delivered with a sharp thumb-jab in Amber's direction. "T'at's my bawdy^ she's wearin', give or take~ a few pounds. She let it get skinny."

"You call this skinny?!" the other woman demanded, gesturing to her wide hips and full rear.

"I call it depressin',"~ Kimber retorted eyeing the brunette derisively. "Back when I was wearin' t'at, I had an ass t'at could kill an' the kinda hips a guy could really grab onto. How much pukin' did it take ya to lose'em?"~ Amber sputtered in disbelief, struggling to formulate a reply. "So guess ya got my temper but not my smarts, huh?" Donnie dove between them, latching onto the raging brunette before she could dive at the smug redhead.

"Ladies, please!" he protested even as his furious girlfriend seethed—seethed, fumed, and snarled, but made no move to approach her ill-mannered counterpart. "This isn't helping anything!"

"Actually, brain-trust," Kimber contradicted, her tone now surprisingly civil, "it helped jus' enough. If t'at was me, I'd'a~ been at my t'roat by now. T'a bawdy-snatcher's got a better head on'er shoulders t'an I ever did." Amber stared back at Kimber, stunned; the redhead shrugged. "What? First time I ever approached ya I gotta knife at my t'roat, can ya blame me fer bein' a lil' cawtious?"^

"You followed me to the bathroom!" Amber snapped back refusing to meet Donnie's horrified eyes. "From the first day I woke up in your life, I've been harassed, stalked, threatened, beaten, an' nearly killed by yer old pals!" She yanked at the modest neckline of her tee shirt, hissed in pain when she snagged a healing blister on her nails, and showed off a portion of the half-faded and mostly blistered tattoo. "Even now, people see this damned lizard an' wanna beat my arse just for wearin' it! Fer all I knew, you were gonna shank me or something!"

"…I'll go order pizza," Aaron mumbled shuffling out of the room. Donnie gaped after him a moment, turned back to scrutinize the two counterparts trading glares over the coffee table, then came to the same conclusion: they needed some time to clear the air and having company might not help. The genius made his way over to Kimber and tugged her to her feet; amidst sputtered protests, he impersonally patted her down to check for weapons, then pocketed her can of mace.

That done, he turned to repeat the process with Amber but found her voluntarily surrendering arms—or, rather, digging out all her hidden self-defense mechanisms and laying them out on the coffee table for him, all with a betrayed scowl. When she stopped, she smacked her sides, hips, then rear pockets to double check, then crossed her arms in defiance. He wasn't fooled. After dumping her assorted weaponry—a wallet of Donnie-exclusive throwing knives, a can of mace, and a rather dull utility pocket knife—into his cargo pockets, he held out one hand expectantly.

The recognition on her face melted into fear then into defiance—he wiggled his fingers, arching a chastising brow at her—she snorted in refusal. Finally, rolling his eyes at her, he bent down, snatched her by the ankle, and retrieved the final weapon from her boot sheath: the Buck knife she never went anywhere without. When he took his feet again, her scowl was well beyond betrayal and into threats of bodily harm. "Confiscated," he warned pointing the knife handle at her and swept into the kitchen with the women's loot.

"Dang," Kimber muttered staring at his retreating shell. "T'at one was my favorite."

It took the better part of an hour, but finally, the two counterparts were able to communicate with a somewhat civil tongue. Soon after, Donnie and then Aaron drifted back into the parlor armed with pizza and sodas, both watching the spectacle with a mix of morbid curiosity and trepidation. At first, Donnie pulled Amber onto his lap in the expectation he might have to restrain her; soon after, it became clear that the animosity was gone. Even without the threat of spontaneous violence, though, he felt more comfortable with her enfolded in his arms. It helped distract him from the facts that Kimber screwed his brother and that he was unable to save her life.

"To be honest, Kid," Kimber remarked to Amber after all the hashing out was through, "I'm surprised ya ain't after my head. I know what a shithole I made out'a~ t'at life, an' I know what a mess t'at left ya to wake up to." Now that her temper had cooled—or was it Kimber's temper?—Amber had no threats or biting accusations to hurl back.

"Takin' it out on you wouldn't do any good," Amber pointed out without emphasis. Why did so many people insist on calling her kid? She was in her thirties when she died! "We cleaned up your mess—Hun's never gonna walk again an' he's behind bars. Northpaw's dead. Lefty's locked up too, unfortunately…he insisted on taking the fall for Hun's injuries an' he won't see anyone who comes to visit. The Purple Dragons're officially disbanded, sans a few stragglers, an' the jack-wads on Hun's payroll have all been turned in. Daron Williams is in the clear, too, an' workin' off his hacking sentence." Kimber nodded gravely but said nothing. Amber hesitated, wary of overstepping. "Your death wasn't in vain, Kimber…we made sure of it. Everything you fought for, we finished."

For a time, Kimber seemed unsure of what to say; she held her silence tightly, staring a hole through her empty soda can and searching for something, anything. "Ya gotta prawmise^ me somethin'," she said when she finally found her tongue. "Keep an eye on Lefty fer me…Nort'^ was a maniac, but he was also Lefty's brother—he was all Lefty had, especially after Truman…" She trailed off, shook away the memory—a horrifically vivid memory of Lefty showing up on her doorstep still covered in his lover's blood, haunted, empty-eyed, and completely silent. "He's all alone, now," she continued shoving aside the memory. "He needs ya more'n he'll admit…an' Daron's the same…he's prob'ly a mess."

"I promise," Amber replied softly, chancing a weak smile. "Lefty an' Daron have been good to us…good to Mercy an' me, especially. We'll keep watchin' out for'em." The other returned the smile, though hers was more sad than faint.

"Since we've got all that ironed out now," Donnie started, "there's something that's been bothering me about the whole 'new life, new world' bit. Amber, Mercy, and you all received second chances after death, and Mercy's told me a friend of hers has a relative who experienced the same."

"Don't tell me," Aaron grinned, "her mother's father's sister's uncle had a puppy who came back as a goldfish?" The blond got a throw pillow to the face.

"Don't strain yerself, Willis," Amber snarked. "Mercy's workin' for a florist now, an' the owner's daughter has a cousin who got the same thing we did—he died an' someone else woke up in his body." Aaron grinned over at Donnie.

"See? Mother's father's sister's uncle." This time, he ducked the pillow thrown at him. "So yer lookin' fer similarities?" Fist poised to chuck something else at the smartass blond, Amber paused, considered his words, then lowered the empty soda can back to the table and looked to Donnie for confirmation. The mutant nodded.

"Well," Amber recalled aloud, "Mercy an' I remember some similar stuff—the smell of dust, ticking clocks, brightening an' dimming lights, an' a creepy whirring sound…"

"I heard a voice sometimes," Kimber grumbled. "A really frickin' annoyin' one, always whinin' about somet'in. —an' let's not forget t'at freaky empty void," she added in a grumble. "I must'a~ spent a year screamin' into t'a darkness wit'out any response—I din't^ wanna second chance. Not only did t'ey gimme one anyway, t'ey stuck me in some bitch who was cheatin' on'er reserves husband^ wit' a married cab driver." The other three cringed, and Kimber shot Amber a scowl. "Next time ya feel like bitchin' over t'a lizard in my cleavage, remember how bad cabbies stink an' try not to feel too lucky."

"I take it those are her husband's tags?" Aaron asked eyeing the twin metal tags dangling just above Kimber's rack, then purposefully letting his eyes drift a little lower. "Why're ya wearin' 'em? Ya never knew'im."~

"Two reasons." Kimber avoided his eyes, sure her cheeks were pinking underneath her powder. The blond resembled her childhood friend, Daron, to an extent that was disturbing, but already she could tell they had more in difference than in common. Daron would never have openly eyed her like that, and if he had, she probably would've busted his teeth in. Strangely she felt no urge to punch Aaron Willis…she wasn't sure what to make of that. "People expect a widow ta mourn, even if t'is one prob'ly wouldn't'a cared less; wearin' Jordan's tags makes people t'ink twice about askin' me about'im, an' since I hardly know a damn t'ing about'im, t'at's a lifesaver. T'at's only t'a excuse, t'ough."^

She fidgeted, finding herself again drawn to clutch at the tags and rub her thumb over the worn embossed lettering. "I don't know if anyone else is gawnna^ get stuck in t'is body when I leave it…an' I don't know a damn t'ing about what anyone else might be dealin' with." Finally looking up again, defiantly, she held the tags aloft in a pointed gesture then let them fall again. "T'is reminds me ta be mindful—to fix all'a~ t'a ways I used to screw up an' conquer all'a~ my old faults."

Amber winced, leaning into Donnie's shoulder for comfort. After all the time she spent cleaning up Kimber's messes, she never would have expected the other woman to have that much insight or that much heart. Clearly recognizing the brunette's reactions, Kimber sneered at her and lurched to her feet. "Ya may wear my face now, Scotty," she reminded Amber gruffly as she stalked to the front door, "but ya don't know jack shit about me an' ya never will. Stawp judgin' me an' staht cleanin' up yer own messes a'ready."^

"We came here to tie off her loose ends," Donnie warned her, one hand gripping Amber's hip to steady her; she didn't seem to be upset, though, so maybe he was the one who needed steadying. "We came to make sure her family and friends are alright. You know nothing about Amber, either, Kimber, so don't judge her either. She's already made great progress in conquering her faults, and in less than a year; how long have you been here?" Kimber halted, her fingers slipping away from the door handle.

"Two years now," she admitted quietly. "T'at's two years I never wanted."

"Maybe we could get you home for a couple days," Amber offered, leaving Donnie's lap to approach the other woman. "If we could get me here for a few days, surely—"

"NO." Kimber's answer, delivered in a sudden, harsh snap, made Amber step back a pace. "I wasn't s'posed~ ta come here anyway—Dead is dead, ya got t'at?!"

"But—"

"Dammit, I din't wanna come back!" Kimber burst out. Underneath the anger, however, something else came through…hurt. "I din't wanna second chance, not when I fucked up my first one t'at badly! I ain't gawnna screw up t'a natural order'a t'ings any more'n I a'ready have!"^ Even as Kimber seethed, struggled to control her outburst and staunch the burning in her eyes, Amber didn't back down; instead, she reached out, took the other by the shoulder, and uttered a single question.

"What about Raph?" That one question sucked all the hot air out of Kimber in one fell swoop. She turned away, opting to stare through the front windows rather than chance anyone else seeing her brimming eyes.

"What about'im?" she demanded hoarsely, her words thicker than ever. "I'm dead in t'at world, an'e din't want me even when I was alive. T'at's t'a end of it."^

"You might be surprised," Amber countered. "He's…he hasn't handled this well…he blames himself for your death." Kimber snorted in disbelief. "He knows the truth now, too…he knows you…loved him…" This time, Donnie urged Aaron to vacate the room, though they hovered in the kitchen listening in.

"Love." The response confused Amber, and she asked for clarification. "I still love'im, ya bleedin' heart. I never stawped lovin' 'im."^ The admission physically hurt; Kimber choked up. "Not t'at it makes a difference. I just wish…" Before something even sappier could sneak out, she steeled her nerves. "Ya said yer livin' wit' t'a brothers, right?" she demanded, and Amber nodded. "Well…when ya get back, when ya see'im again, just…I guess just…" She trailed off, torn between saying too much and saying too little. A hand on her shoulder startled her back to herself.

"I'll tell him you're safe," Amber promised, "and that you're thinking about him and hope he's well." Unable to even speak, Kimber nodded, gingerly patted the hand on her shoulder with one of her own, then shrugged it off. Amber followed her out to her car, noting absently the stars peeking through the evening fog and gathering clouds.

"Are ya gawnna tell Bert—I mean Bart?"* Kimber's question caught her off guard. "He—he took a big risk hirin' me…t'is gal wasn't qualified, an' I ain't either, but I need t'is job…" She sighed, leaning on the cold hood of the car; Amber joined her, but she didn't argue. "Bitch-face wasted all'er money on'erself an'er stanky cabbie, an' all'a Jordan's money was wiped out by hawspital bills…by t'a time I was released, t'is ol' heap'a junk was all I had, t'at an' t'a lil' bit I could fit in t'a back."^ A sniffle broke through but neither acknowledged it. "I'm livin' in t'a—t'a hotel outside town…an' most'a what I'm makin' is goin' ta pay off t'a homewrecker's debts. I ain't what I used ta be…I'm tryin'a~ straighten up, but…it's just…"

Amber considered the other's words silently, staring up at the night sky overhead. She well-remembered how hard it could be to make it in Willsdale; she remembered struggling to make ends meet even with a decent job and fighting to pay off the monstrous medical bills intent on crippling her the rest of the way. Do we expect these things to change by wakin' up, an' suddenly, there they are? All I need's a starting place an' nothin' ever seemed so hard.* "It's hard," she admitted aloud when it became clear Kimber couldn't. "You put everything you can into doing things right, an' you fight to conquer your own weaknesses…then every now'n then,~ you find out you haven't really made as much progress as you think…an' you wonder when yer going to screw up again." Another choked sniffle snuck through the silence; shiny trails split Kimber's cheeks, running her makeup and gleaming in the moonlight.

"I'm sahrry,"^ Kimber blustered scrubbing her cheeks dry. "Apparently t'a bitch I'm wearin' was a crier. T'at ain't me! I ain't a crybaby, I'm a hothead! I just can't get used ta t'is…"

After almost a year of living in Kimber's body, walking in Kimber's hoochie-boots, and seeing first-hand what Kimber's life was like, Amber was relatively sure she had a solid idea of who Kimber was. Kimber was rude, ill-mannered, obnoxious, and abrasive, and by all rights, was surely not the sort of person anyone would enjoy being with. Still, one thing made no sense…if she was so horrible, why did her friends consistently take her side? Why did Daron defend Kimber when Amber called her callous? Why did Lefty nearly fall apart when he found out Kimber was dead? Why, if Kimber was so horrible, did Raphael tear himself apart, even now, and hold himself accountable for her death?

At that moment, Amber saw a little of herself in Kimber—she saw the heart behind the tattoo and the soul behind the snark—and she was speechless. If she was Mikey, Amber would probably have given his characteristic 'mind blown' gesture; because she was Amber, though, she offered a figurative olive branch.

"I'm not gonna tell Uncle Bart," she promised quietly. "I have a feeling he already suspects it, though, so you may not need to tell him, either. He's…" She paused, searching for adequate words and searched the heavens for familiar patterns. "He's always seen more than most people do," she settled for, "whether something we couldn't believe or couldn't understand. If he hired you, he did so because he knew you needed the job an' you could be trusted."

"Ya sound so sure'a~ t'at," Kimber mumbled, refusing to meet her eyes.

"I am sure of it." Amber winced, scrunched her eyes shut, and reached up to clutch her forehead; all the stress of the day must have triggered a headache. "Listen, Hon, this town's not easy to make it in an' a lotta~ people can't hack it. Even so, a sickly kid who sees things, a crotchety immigrant most people can't understand, an' a half-crippled college dropout all made it in this town…an' if Uncle Bart, my Gran'da, an' I all made it," she grinned at the surprised glance Kimber shot her, "then so will you."

"…half-crippled?" was the only thing Kimber could get out.

"Apparently," Amber teased nudging the other in the side, "I got a wild hair an' jumped in front of a bus. Unless ya ask people who really know the story, though, they'll tell ya I was clipped by a drunken frat-boy in his mama's minivan." Kimber cracked a smile at the joke, although it was a weak one, and slid off the hood. "Talk to Bart," Amber urged following suit. "Tell'im yer livin' in Methlab Motel an' you need'a pick up extra hours to get out.~ He won't let ya down." Let her down? Please. The man would most likely clean all his junk out of the loft over the pub an' insist on renting it to Kimber for peanuts. If Amber knew her family, too, they were sure to take the other woman under her wing, and in a small town like Willsdale, a support circle was everything. At one time, the thought would have horrified Amber; now, however, she realized the truth. If Bart Devon saw Kimber as worth his time, then she wasn't about to hurt their family.

After the two counterparts bid their goodbyes, Amber stood in the yard watching the dust trail from Kimber's car fade in the distance. Again, another twinge of pain lanced through her head; again she clutched the tender skin. Some aspirin was surely in order.

Day 4 – Not long before Dawn

By the time Donnie and Amber woke again, the night's rain was long gone, leaving only mud and fog in its wake. Perhaps because of how long Donnie kept her just on the verge of exploding last night while the rain pounded on the rooftop - the reason for which he never really explained to her - Amber's head was absolutely splitting. Even with that headache, she felt relieved—calm and full of hope.

Once the first pot of coffee was brewed and half-drunk, she gathered a few items together and led Donnie to the back porch. "Come walk with me?" she asked him. He hesitated, glancing back into the kitchen. Already he could feel the fog condensing on his skin in cold dew that slithered down his neck like an unwanted grope. And the coffee…they'd be leaving the coffee behind! Granted, it was lousy coffee, but still…

"I don't know," he admitted tugging at his neck and fighting the whine halfway to his lips. Coffee… "It's still dark and it's pretty marshy…we really need to start working on heading home anyway." She blinked at him, lost. "You only got a week off, remember? Your family's safe, Aaron's safe, and Kimber's not going to be a problem…why risk staying any longer? Wait…why are you smiling like that?" The soft smile was followed up by a chuckle; her smaller hand caught one of his and tugged him down the steps. With every step away from the coffee pot and comfortable kitchen, his heart broke a little more.

"It'll be fine," Amber promised leading him across the yard to the edge of the treeline. "One more day won't hurt." '…especially if I can get rid of this farkin' headache,' she added in her own head. "Dee, you've never hesitated to show me your world." She tossed a teasing grin back at the mutant trailing helplessly behind her. "Now, let me show you mine."

At first sight, the hill she led him up seemed just like any other hill in the area—just a tall, grass-strewn mound of rock and dirt looming over the fog-strewn hollers. The top, however, was nearly vacant of life—no trees, no shrubs, nothing but grass, weeds, and tall dolomite crags. Together, the odd couple lay out a tarp and old horse blanket and settled in to watch the horizon, one listening with half an ear and the other telling him everything she could about the world she called home. Little by little, the sun rose, gleaming pale through the fog; moment by moment, the world below them came to life. By the time bright morning light painted the treetops and burned through the haze, the couple on the bald knob were silent, their words and breath stolen by the sight before them.

"I've seen this before." Donnie's words, delivered in an awed half-whisper, were never meant to pass his lips; even so, they were true—as true as the birdsong awakening all around them, and as true as the warm solidity of the stone beneath them. He scanned the world below—searched for something he couldn't name and found it straight east, just beyond the far edge of the locust grove bordering Aaron's land. A…a pile of rubble? No, that couldn't be right…it was… "That's where your house was, isn't it?" he asked gesturing to the ruin half-taken over by the surrounding land. "You had roses...roses and…dead grass?" That made even less sense, but he remembered it clearly—recalled in great detail the crunchy brown turf set off by lush rosebushes.

Amber was already stunned that he correctly pegged her old home turf. To hear the rest—a reminder that the only flowers she ever managed to grow were roses and her yard was chronically neglected—sent her blood cold. She glanced off in the direction he stared; she couldn't see any roses remaining and the whole area was already becoming overrun by locust saplings and weeds. "Aaron told you?" she attempted, but the genius shook his head, visibly frustrated and reaching for something he couldn't quite see.

He knew what he remembered—he remembered seeing that very view, countless times in countless dreams. He remembered teasing Amber about her perpetually dead yard and fooling himself he could smell her roses a mile away. So many dreams happened here, on this very hill. Childhood games of hide-and-seek amongst the craggy rock formations…lazy summer afternoons sunning themselves on the grass…rainy days stretched out on that same old crazy quilt, bare to the sky and tangled beyond hope…he knew this place.

"So no one told you," Amber summed up startling Donnie from his thoughts. "You must've figured it out on your own—yer bright like that." She cast a wary smile at him. "Course, yer also talkin' to a dead gal. Stranger things have happened, right?" She sobered. "The school's been rebuilt," she admitted. "Aaron's takin' me by later to see it…I'm afraid of what I'll find, but I've gotta go…I just have to." Donnie had no answer; he couldn't break himself from the thoughts spinning through his head—memories, dreams, hopes and wishes and fears…

"Do you believe in destiny?" The question came in a near-whisper but struck with the impact of a scream.

"Huh?" The moment it was out, Amber cringed; so much for effective communication.

"Destiny," Donnie repeated leaning back on his palms and taking in the scenery below. "You know, the idea that some aspects and events in life are predetermined and out of our control…like…" His throat worked around the words trying to stay behind his teeth. "The odds that we would ever meet—two people from entirely different worlds—was it pure chance, or do you think it could be—"

"Fate?" Amber finished for him with a slight frown; his eyes rolled aside, meeting hers askance. "I don't believe in chance or coincidence," she admitted. "I've always believed everything happens for a reason even if we never know that reason…but on the other hand, I don't believe in fate or destiny either. With fate, there's no free-will; with no free-will, what's the point in ever aspiring to anything beyond your lot?"

"That makes no sense," Donnie deadpanned. "If everything happens for a reason, there has to be a predetermined reason for everything – that's an argument for destiny. If there's no preset path we follow, then everything's just up to the roll of the dice and may not have a purpose. You contradicted yourself completely."

"Maybe," she admitted with a teasing smile and turned to lean back across his legs. "Maybe not. Some folks look at life like reading a novel, some see it like writing a novel, an' some of us see it like one of those crummy choose-your-own-adventure books." Donnie blinked down at her, thought it over, but still didn't follow. "I believe that we write our own stories but they can sometimes take us in directions that make no sense to us until after we've passed them. In the moment, we may see no further than 'the market pays better than the gas station' or 'the gas station is closer to home' but those decisions will shape our futures. If you're working at the market, you won't be working the gas station when it's robbed, but if you're working at the gas station, you might meet a hot trucker an' get hitched in Vegas."

"You're a nut," Donnie teased ruffling her hair.

"Takes one to know one," she retorted with all the maturity of an eight-year-old, then her eyes softened. "Besides…if meeting you was my destiny, that would take out all the impossibility—all the wonder and mystery. No matter whether I died in utero or died in a nursing home with my knockers at my knees, we would have found each other no matter what." The genius shuddered at the visual but said nothing. "We were a shot in the dark, Dee," she reminded taking his hand. "We weren't just a checkmark on some celestial to-do list…we're a miracle." A slow smile crossed his face and his eyes softened—proof she managed to calm whatever nerves were bothering him before. "What brought that up anyway?" she asked. A streak of muddy brown followed the smile; he avoided her eyes.

"N-No reason," he insisted to no avail. "I was just…just thinking about…uh…string theory?"

"Whatever ya say, Speccy…whatever ya say."

Day 5 – after Noon

The back door drifted shut with a bang. In the parlor, familiar racket emitted from Aaron's TV; onscreen, some nameless boss resembling an unholy amalgamation of Jabba the Hutt and The Incredible Hulk stomped around a battered landscape in pursuit of…a little girl with pink pigtails? Donatello scratched his head. Gamers were an odd bunch.

"Where's Amber?" he asked Aaron. Before the mutant left for the hike he just returned from, Amber was still asleep—trying to sleep off the headache she never kicked the day before. "Still sleeping?" Aaron's character exploded into a spray of blood and gore, triggering a frustrated groan.

"I guess," the blond answered as the loading screen cycled. "She never came inside, so I figure she's probably still sleepin'. Why?" Donnie glanced pointedly at the clock by the TV on his way to the back door. "Shit, I'm s'posed to be leavin' for work in an hour…lost track'a~ time." Resigned to tackling the boss again later, Aaron saved, quit, and shut down his Playstation, and ducked outside to check on Amber. Instead, he found the shed door standing wide open, Amber motionless on the mattress, and Donatello frantically trying to rouse her. "What's—"

The question fell short—Amber wasn't just still, she was too still—too still and too pale—stranger still, a dark, nasty bruise sprawled from her cheek up to the loose hair fallen over her face.

One man frantically checked her vitals—BP dropping, pulse faint, temperature below normal—the other scrambled back against the wall, refusing to believe what he was seeing. Amber was sleeping—she was just sleeping, she had to be! Frustrated and afraid, Donnie yanked his goggles down for a closer look…

He stilled, falling back on his heels his face contorting in open horror. "What?" Aaron demanded, rushing to his side. "What'd'ja—"~ Donnie lifted a hand to her face, gingerly pulling her hair away from her forehead. Aaron's stomach lurched—he bolted out the door, retching onto the grass.

In the shed, Donnie stared through the impossible sight previously hidden—a compound fracture, bleeding and bruised. Fractured—the parietal plate was visibly crushed inward—shards of gleaming white perforated her skin. Donnie's fists clenched, his knuckles pale against the canvas of his trousers. Her skull was fractured…her brain was hemorrhaging…this was surely the wound that killed her once, the fatal injury that brought her to his world. This…this couldn't be happening… Heedless of the blood slicking her skin, he tenderly brushed a fallen lock of hair—a blue streak purpled from blood—behind her ear, tracing along the edge of the injury…an echo of the injury that killed her.

Just like it was yesterday, he remembered the day he brought her to his father—remembered how the slightest touch to her brow made her hiss in pain even with no injury there—remembered his father relating to him and his brothers the sudden, grisly way she died—remembered her confessing she often woke with a throbbing pain, a psychogenic echo from her previous life. She died in this world…the dead do not rise…he should never have brought her here.

'We write our own stories.'

At the time, he was distracted by other things—memories of dreams, knowledge he shouldn't have, sunlight highlighting the curve of her jaw and shimmering in her eyes…

'We're a miracle.'

Maybe…no surely…perhaps…

Right as Aaron shuffled back into the shed, Donatello went unnaturally still—his trembling stopped and his eyes hardened. Hands steady, supporting her head on his thigh, he eased Amber onto her side, tugged at the waistband of her night slacks, and exposed a small, blotchy patch of brown skin—a faint birthmark right under the waistband of her briefs. For whatever reason, that mark seemed to give him answers—answers and determination. As though in agreement, her eyelashes fluttered, her eyes shifting behind their lids—a sign of brain activity if he ever saw one. "There's still time—Need chalk, charcoal, something I can draw with!" The demand spewed out at twice his normal pace sparked an equally rapid response. In a matter of moments, the seals of the portal sprawled along the inside wall in messy vivid spray paint; another moment of incantation and they gleamed with unearthly light. Without a moment's waste, Donnie hoisted Amber into his arms, carefully cradling her head; without ever looking back, he bolted into the emptiness.

Completely lost and even more afraid, Aaron stared blankly at the yawning portal in the wall of his shelter. It seemed familiar—he saw something like this before, perhaps years ago on TV… With a shout of frustration, he smacked himself on the back of the head for wasting time and took off in pursuit. Fuck it…he lost Amber once, he wasn't going to just give up on her again! Even as he sprinted toward the faint light at the end of the tunnel, he broke a long-held conviction—he gave in to a habit he always believed pointless…

For the life of a friend, he prayed.

...and with that I’m going to sit back, relax, and wait for the angry-reader comments to come in. Really lookin’ forward to it, don’t let me down!

UP NEXT: The Choice Between Darkness and Light

Chapter List

Notes:

* Bert Devonne / Bart Devon – Recall that though Amber and Kimber are essentially the same person in two different worlds, Kimber's family and Amber's family are markedly different. Kimber recognized Bart Devon, as he's the counterpart of her estranged uncle Bert Devonne.

** "Do we expect these things to change by waking up and, suddenly, there they are? And all I need's a starting place and nothing ever seemed so hard." – from "Whatever I Fear" by Toad the Wet Sprocket. That tune is a pretty good depiction of the mistrust and wariness Amber and Kimber have for one another.

WORDS

^ Jersey/Backstreet, ~ Midwestern Twang or general

^T'— in a word – this word has a th- in it but she's dropped the h. ^T'a – the ^Ta – to, note the lack of an apostrophe. ^Bawdy – body ~Words ending with -in' – this word ends with –ing. ~Lose'em – lost them. (no, Amber's not really skinny, she's somewhere between curvy and overweight. Kimber's just intentionally being an asshole. ~I'd'a – I would have ^Firs' time I ever approached ya I gotta knife at my t'roat, can ya blame me fer bein' a lil' cawtious? – The first time I ever approached you, you stuck a knife at my throat – can you blame me for not trusting you? ~Out'a – out of ^Prawmise – promise ^Nort' – Northpaw, or rather, Norton Jackson. ~Must'a – must have ~Din't – didn't ^Cheatin' on'er reserves husband – Caitlyn was married to a man in the army reserves and was having an affair behind his back. ~Wearin'em / knew'im – wearing them / knew him ^People expect a widow ta mourn, even if t'is one prob'ly wouldn't'a cared less; wearin' Jordan's tags makes people t'ink twice about askin' me about'im, an' since I hardly know a damn t'ing about'im, t'at's a lifesaver. T'at's only t'a excuse, t'ough. – People expect a widow to mourn even though this widow wouldn't have cared; wearing Jordan's dog-tags makes people reluctant to ask me about him, and since I hardly know a thing about him it's a lifesaver. That's just the excuse, though – there's another reason, too. ^Gawnna – going to ~All'a – all of ^Stawp judgin' me an' staht cleanin' up yer own messes a'ready. – Amber honestly kinda deserves this. "Stop judging me for my faults and start fixing your own." ~S'posed – supposed ^I ain't gawnna screw up t'a natural order'a t'ings any more'n I a'ready have! – I refuse to screw up the natural order of things any more than I already have! ^I'm dead in t'at world, an'e din't want me even when I was alive. T'at's t'a end of it. - I'm dead in that world, and he didn't want me even when I was alive. That's the end of it. ^I still love'im ya bleedin' heart. I never stawped lovin'im. – I still love him, you sappy moron. I never stopped loving him. (Did you really see that going any differently? Raph's a heartbreaker, really.) ^Bitch-face wasted all'er money on'erself an'er stanky cabbie, an all'a Jordan's money was wiped out by hawspital bills…by t'a time I was released, t'is ol' heap'a junk was all I had, t'at an' t'a lil' bit I could fit in t'a back. – Caitlin wasted her money on herself and the cabbie she was cheating with. All of Jordan's money was spent on hospital bills. (Recall that Kimber was in the hospital and woke from a coma to be told 'your husband didn't make it.') By the time I was discharged, this crappy car was all I had to my name, just the car and what little I could fit in the back. (Kimber spent a good while living out of her car.) ~Tryin'a – trying to ~Every now'n then – every now and then, occasionally ^I'm sahrry – I'm sorry. You can see especially here that Kimber still has a long way to go before she's completely eradicated her assumed accent; since she developed it at a young age, she may never be able to completely get rid of it. ~Sure'a – sure of ~A lotta – a lot of ~Tell'im yer livin' in Methlab Motel an' ya need'a pick up extra hours to get out. – Recall Casey, April, and Amber's visit to New Willsdale, when Amber argued against them staying at the motel in Willsdale? This is what she based it on. Basically "tell him where you live and ask for more hours—he'll help you out." What Amber’s not saying, here, is that Bart’s likely to increase Kimber’s wages as well as her hours. ~Track'a – track of ~What'd'ja – what did you

[cyrelia-j]

[Fic] Deuces IV: Heartbreaker (Garak/Bashir)

(Apologies if #1 this has weird characters and #2 it doesn’t cut. I’m about to melt down trying to get this to work and on every device I use it looks wrong in a different way so I’m at a loss)

First off, MASSIVE thanks to @eilupt​ @ladyvean​ @noxziconsortium​ @valkyriesews​ and anyone else I forgot to mention for your input on Cardassian fair food. Also, I wanted things to be a bit different but don’t be alarmed by any snags in the road because this is ultimately definitely a garashir universe :) Previous parts are here:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: AU (no Dominion also kept some other characters alive like Bareil because this world is a happy place) Garak and his surrogate daughter Ziyal find themselves on Deep Space Nine on a stopover to Bajor. While Major Kira shows Ziyal around DS9 Garak and Julian have their date. Julian is optimistic. After all, he’s got this down to a science

Keiko O’Brien is an absolute gift from the Prophets, Julian likes to say making use of local idioms, and if Miles doesn’t treat her properly Julian is totally going to steal her. That’s what he likes to tease, but she really is an intelligent and infinitely creative woman who has been invaluable in the success of what Julian likes to call his infallible first date sure thing holoprogram. Jadzia had at first referred to it playfully as “Julian’s Lizard Daddy Trap”. Keiko had then told the both of them about gairaigo and how a lot of Japanese products to this day bear strange sounding names because of the fascination with borrowed words . She then showed them an old “family heirloom” that was something called a “bento box” with the odd combination of words “Crunky Ball Nude” elegantly scrawled across the top. She then said with a perfectly straight face that if Julian wanted to truly thank her for her contributions to the menu that he would call it nothing less than “Julian’s Delicious Lizard Delight Circus.”

The program now bears the innocuous file name of “JDLDC1”

The program in question is the ultimate product of love and devotion- and if he’s being frank, Julian’s attempt to streamline the “first date” into a happy efficient guarantee of success. It had taken the three of them – Jadzia, Julian, and Keiko – two years to complete with some degree of trial and error but it’s a masterwork. Julian had built it off of one of Recreational Station Hidalgo’s old modules of an exotic carnival and the three of them worked to modify every parameter to meet a certain taste; namely a certain Cardassian male taste, though Julian didn’t see that it wouldn’t appeal to most Cardassians as a whole with some modifications.

Quark certainly seemed to think so. Going off Julian’s impressive track record in fact, he thought if Julian would let him copy it that it would net them both a tidy profit with the steady influx of Cardassians passing through the station. Julian wouldn’t hear of Jadzia and Keiko being left out but in the end he decided that he still wanted to get use out of it before it became public.

Quark had asked sourly exactly how many more Cardassians he really needed to entertain as many as he had already. So perhaps Julian had developed a bit of a reputation- amazingly over the course of his time on station he’d gone from Deep Space Nine’s resident Ladies Man to resident Lizard Queen- but well, he still hadn’t quite found the one who he could really fall for. Well, alright, perhaps Julian had fallen for several dozen going by Miles’ count but they just weren’t quite it. There was still something missing there. And thus came in the holoprogram that made the entire process easier.

Jadzia had contributed to the majority of the attractions, the exotic animals on display, the rides, and the shows. Of course they’d been honed and refined over time with new data to account for Cardassian musical preferences, hearing, exceptional eyesight, differences in equilibrium, adrenal responses and the like and it was absolutely magnificent. He’d also managed to- with Miles’ persuasive help initially- “sweet talk” Gilora Rejal from the Science Academy into further assisting them during her periodic visits for research. She’d thought the idea was completely ridiculous at first, but as he laid out his ambitious plans and designs, she couldn’t help but throw in corrections where she saw improvements were needed.

By the end of it, both she and Jadzia had engaged in some fantastically heated debates on adjustments and turned out a marvel of engineering. Jadzia may have also slept with her which Julian was a tad envious of since Gilora was a stunning woman. She’d warmed to Julian’s company once he’d finally stopped being so circumspect and polite and he corresponded with her regularly with her now to keep abreast of the latest news and current events on Cardassia Prime. She had a completely wicked and unforgiving wit and she also helpfully provided him with the best and most heated topics of debate that he took full advantage of using on his dates. Julian still wondered on occasion if he might not have a chance, but Jadzia was certain that it would never work.

Her associate, Ulani Belor had been curious as to their “secret” conversations and meetings though Julian didn’t know if she’d have an interest he’d explained the project to her as well. Their “colleague” Dejar had little interest in any of it and thought the lot of them were allowing themselves to get distracted by nonsense. Well, that was Julian’s introduction to the Obsidian Order and its operatives and he could say he’d be perfectly happy to go his entire life without dealing with another one of them. Ulani had taken interest in the food that Keiko had been working on. Julian hardly fancied himself a culinary expert- Miles once said he was pretty sure that Julian would ingest anything for the purposes of getting laid. But between the two of them they seemed to reach a perfect accord and marriage of both Cardassian and Earth tastes.

Or rather it turned out that the Cardassian taste was particularly receptive to a lot of Japanese and other Southeast and East Asian foods not often represented in most Federation cultural exchanges. Both scientists declared after tasting the dango smothered in yamok sauce that if the Federation actually brought some real food with them, they might find more Cardassians to be receptive to their proposals. Keiko then wondered if the Vietnamese balut that some back stalls still sold had would carry well over to regova eggs. It absolutely did and Ulani was happy to share some other Kardasi festival delights such as W’sai, Kori balls, and Nurot. Well, lacking a sense of taste or not, Julian was completely sold and it turned out, so was Legate Turrel when he was on the station during negotiations with Kai Winn and Vedek Bareil. Not that Julian is bragging, but he doesn’t think that Vedek Bareil had anything on his negotiating skills.

Julian wasn’t sure how he’d felt about Captain Sisko subsequently designating him official head of the Cardassian welcoming committee, remarking with a perfectly straight face that he was pleased Julian had overcome his initial difficulties with showing foreign dignitaries around the station. Julian was sure there was some look that passed between him and Jadzia just then which made him pout just a bit before ultimately accepting incredibly graciously. He could hardly look a gift horse in the mouth.

And he was good at it, he found, his social life aside. Julian had grown quite adept at reading the necessary cues to avoid any embarrassing incidents (Kira still seemed crushed that Gul Dukat had no interest in him whatsoever though Julian was hardly crushed by that realization as he found the man utterly insufferable) and learned which subtle ones to throw out when off duty to get a feel for the atmosphere as Keiko liked to say. Julian saved those little tricks for his dates though; no need to let on too early just how good he was at this game. Most of the men he dated seemed to prefer his “vapid twink doctor” bit anyway and he only employed the most subtle use of his Cardassian routine. He was terribly good at it.

According to Quark as he enters the bar tonight, they were taking bets on which of the newest station arrivals Julian had his eye on. Quark informs him a bit sourly that he’d lost a good bit of latinum when he bet on the older doctor from Lacoria City. Rom on the other hand had picked the Tailor Garak right off the bat and is counting his winnings rather loudly at the bar. Quark snaps that they aren’t his winnings since “his woman” had to pick the candidate for him. Julian just smiles and shakes his head as he looks for Garak to make an entrance. Leeta knows his tastes so well.

Julian had arrived exactly on time, neither early nor late knowing how Cardassians value punctuality. And what an entrance he makes. Garak looks absolutely luscious in the dark red silk shirt wrapped around him magnificently, showing off those broad shoulders and delectable thick waist. And speaking of thick… Julian is sure he must be drooling, looking at those impeccably tailored pants hugging thick thighs and Julian finds himself catching a discreet glimpse to the burnished old Bajoran sculpture that he’d donated out of generosity.

Of course those in the Federation were renown for stupid gestures like that though Julian admitted to Quark that if he would be so kind as to perhaps place it say along the one wall near the first floor entrance where Julian might make use of it for “observational purposes” he might say that he owed Quark a favor during one of Odo’s subsequent “witch hunts”. Quark hadn’t needed more than a month before he called that favor in and Odo hardly seemed amused by his accidentally spilling a drink on the “Odo in a jar” that he’d assumed the guise of to replace Quark’s actual one. Julian loves the sculpture.

Especially now that the flat, reflective surface is giving him the most stunning view of Garak’s ass that he could have imagined. Julian usually prefers bottoming but for an ass like that he’s more than willing to be flexible. …In more ways than one.

“The house takes two! Place your bets now!” Quark yells out the code as every eye on the bar turns to Julian for just a moment. He smiles a bit self-effacing at that, the 2 references the two hours Quark thinks it will take him to bed the humble tailor. Julian certainly hopes so. A few bets go for 1 and some for a half- Julian mentally rolls his eyes at that bit of optimism- but he trusts Quark, really. The house is rarely wrong. Julian meets Garak with a few steps, seeing the curious look.

“They’re taking bets,” Julian explains with a disinterest shrug. “I couldn’t begin to guess on what but I have to tell you, that you look absolutely fabulous.” Julian gives a casual but hopeful brush of his upper arm. “I love this shirt,” he says, sure to keep his flirting completely human for now. He can let the fun begin once they’re inside. Garak’s smile in return is brilliant. It’s a wide pleased grin and Julian can see the hint of tongue poking the air, tasting, scenting.

He was sure to shower and apply the deodorizing oil that he and Jadzia had developed after his second date had informed him rather bluntly that he had a delightful time but didn’t think he’d ever be able to adjust to the human scent and taste. Julian never thought he particularly smelled but Gilora had said there was a very strong musk that he would get when perspiring that had quite a salty and at times bitter taste to it. Jadzia didn’t have it and neither did Keiko and he thought it might be a male thing until Keiko reminded him (which he really should have remembered being a doctor) that humans of East Asian descent tend to have fewer apocrine sweat glands and so there began the great experiment to develop an oil that could effectively eliminate that issue. After much trial and error he realized everything Federation produced left an odd lingering taste on the Cardassian tongue even if it was supposed to have no odor.

It took months but in the end it worked with the final approval from both Gilora and Ulani he had an effective oil which sat over the skin until it wore off naturally over a few days’ time but until then reacted exactly as needed to produce no odor but a faint trace of sandalwood and root from the north renowned for it’s mild aroma. They both informed him that they’d scented him more than they cared to and he absolutely owed them both big time. He figured it couldn’t be worse than any other deals he’d cut with them.

There’s a curious glance from Garak at that but he refrains from commenting on it instead complimenting Julian’s outfit. Julian can see a linger of eyes to his bare neck, bare collarbone and he almost wishes that he could bet on himself. One. Definitely one.

“You’ve no idea how excited I am to show you what I have planned for this evening,” Julian says practically vibrating. The Midway. Julian definitely is going to start there with this one. One hour if that and he’s got this. He shoots Quark a wink holding up a finger watching as the patrons erupt in another frenzy of betting as they make their way to the second floor. Julian’s got this…

Garak doesn’t know that he’s ever been more bored in his life. He smiles politely as Julian drinks the broth out of the boiled egg his head timing out just when he imagines that Julian is going to accidentally spill some down his neck because it’s “terribly messy” and there it goes, a few inviting rivulets of the clear broth running down that nicely tanned skin.

“And I take it that’s how I’m supposed to enjoy this delicacy?” Garak asks already knowing the answer because he’s already known the answer to every insipid contrivance that this evening has brought him. Guls, if Julian wasn’t so gorgeous… but even that’s starting to wear thin. Julian smiles- wait for it- inviting tilt of his head just so, to the right, another flash of his neck and Garak knows that he should have long put a hand on Julian’s shoulder to show his interest but it’s just so obvious he can’t bring himself to give in to such egregiously blatant cues even if it drags this miserable date out further.

That and actually every dish that Julian has tempted into his hands has been completely to die for.

The teriyaki, the sweet and sour sauce covering the fried pop beetles nearly brought him to another plane of existence. Julian had gone on about the work he and Chief Engineer O’Brien’s wife had put into the food in the program along with on Ulani Belor who he’d only chanced to hear of due to his former colleague’s amateurish bungling of a simple sabotage mission. Naturally he told Julian he wasn’t familiar with her. Right about now he’s almost wishing he was on a date with her as Julian begins another “conversation starter” that he has to be fishing off of a hidden list somewhere.

“Yes, you’ve got it, you do that brilliantly,” he says in a fawning compliment that would be nice if it wasn’t immediately followed up by a predictable air scenting and an enthusiastic “flirty” draw of his finger in the air and by the state did someone print Cardassian dating manual in the Federation since the end of the occupation because Garak feels he could sit here with a list and check everything off in order.

The Regova balut is also heaven. The sprinkle of the furikake that Julian suggests is masterful. Julian then asks his opinion on the proposed changes to the household registry next quarter that the council meets and Garak nearly wants to weep. Garak is sure that Julian will present the most uninformed opinion imaginable and allow Garak to “educate” him while he tries to debate a careful but ultimately poor position. Guls, if he wanted to have a date with a vapid holoprogram he’d just run the thing without Julian and just enjoy the food and the ambiance.

How long has it even been? Garak is certain he’s lost all sense of time being trapped in this miserable mobius continuum of bad date. Perhaps he’s in fact died and this is some Faustian iteration of eternal torment for a life poorly lived. The most delicious food in the galaxy in exchanged for company so poor it would drive a man to want to take his own life. Alright, so perhaps the newly opened Federation archives have only given him a larger plethora of work with which to reference when he wants to seem smart- at least that’s what Parmak had said to him the last time they had corresponded. He’d sooner die than admit it but there’s actually some Earth derived literature that he enjoys and he’d been hoping for more interesting cultural exchanges and debates like he’s enjoyed with some of the more frequent human visitors vacationing on the Morfan Providence but…

“Is something the matter?” Julian asks and Garak can’t believe that he’s been driven to actually show any of his anguish outwardly. Ironically in a rare moment of veracity he has no clue where to even begin to itemize the obscenely long list of everything single “something” which has grown fed by Julian’s obviousness into a “matter”.  My, where to even start… perhaps the scent is the most difficult to reconcile. I definitely scented you in the Replimat and it was a touch strong but very human, very alluring and it was quite nice. But here tonight it’s like tasting a pleasure doll engineered to be inoffensive which may appeal to some but it’s quite boring. You were charming in the replimat and here charm has given way to some series of contrived scripts you’ve been following exactly like a carefully choreographed routine. Which makes perfect sense of course given the interesting conversation I’d had in Quark’s but still I’d hoped for something a bit different.

He’d in fact as was his custom gone to Quark’s earlier in the day to make a discreet study of the area, check for escape routes, hazards, observe the atmosphere. He hadn’t noticed anything untoward as he ordered a drink and kept his ears and eyes open. It had allowed him to relax a bit and it wasn’t long before he started catching snippets of conversation about the “infamous” Julian Bashir which was quite a curiosity. He certainly wasn’t going to involve himself with anyone who could pose a possible danger to himself or Ziyal but then in striking up a conversation with a fellow named Morn who couldn’t shut up for the life of him he learned several interesting things.

The first being that the young doctor was infamous for the number of Cardassian men he’d bedded- primarily military men and a handful of freighter captains. The second was that his reputation was so large that the entire bar got in on serious betting whenever a “fresh wave” of Cardassians were on the station and third… Third being that he never fails to “bag his lizard” with this very program. Which Garak supposes he could see if he was feeling particularly charitable but he’s been gamely going along with this for the past hour now and he’s sure he’s put in enough time.

He went along with taking the lead in winning Julian some nonsense trinket from a target shooting booth, earning much praise from a “strength tester”  that was definitely doctored, to a boat ride with just the right ambient sounds to create pleasant complimentary reactions in one’s nervous system and on and on to Julian himself who clearly has mastered the fine art of appealing to a very specific segment of the Cardassian military population. It’s a wonder they haven’t invited him back to give him his own holiday. Which Garak supposes would be all well and good- Yes, doctor, I’m so pleased with your obvious love of civic duty that I’ll gladly put a hand on your shoulder and tell you what a good boy you are- except he isn’t some authority obsessed soldier who gets off on these bland deferential power games. He wants passion, he wants a challenge, he wants there to be a reason for him to bring discipline, to lead, to bring Julian to heel. Perhaps he is getting old because Julian clearly has done this dance so much he could go through the motions unconscious but is it really asking too much to have something more than just a pleasing body to jam his prUt into?

Still, he has to bear in mind that cause embarrassment to the station CMO might prove unwise. Yes, a lie is definitely in order here, though he needs to make sure it’s not a medical one. He supposes Ziyal will have to be it. It’s uncreative and stupid but frankly, Julian doesn’t deserve his good stuff and the sooner it gets him out of here the better.

“I’m sorry, doctor,” he says a touch dramatically. He might not be getting more than Julian’s usual routine but he likes to think that even if he’s returning in kind that his routine is much more convincing. “I’m afraid I’ve been terribly poor company but you see I’ve just been so terribly concerned about Yaya. Oh, I know she’s a grown woman and I trust Major Kira to be showing her the same consideration and hospitality that you’ve shown me-“ Guls, he hopes not “-but I just haven’t been able to give you the attention that you deserve and it’s such a pity after all the trouble that you’ve gone through. It’s only my hope that we might do this again sometime.” Perhaps after he’s long dead and Julian gets some new material.

Garak wears sincerity brightly and reaches across the table to put his hand over Julian’s. He intends the gesture in the human way but sees Julian’s curious look at the display of dominance. Maybe he’ll get lucky and a fleet of Klingon birds of prey will crash into the station. But it seems to do the trick and Doctor Bashir is ending the program mercifully. Garak could kiss him, he really could. Except that would certainly make him try for a second and Garak isn’t too keen on remembering the first. He wonders if anyone ever actually bets on the doctor to fail. Judging by the expression on Julian’s face somehow he doubts it.

And it’s with that sour taste in his mouth that Garak finally gets back to his quarters determined to hack the station computers and never again eat in the Replimat when Julian isn’t on duty. He sees Ziyal laying sprawled on the couch looking about the way that he feels right about now. He opens his mouth to ask, the two of them exchanging a look before he does.

“Kanar?” She asks sympathetically already sitting up to go get it.

“Kanar,” Garak agrees with a sigh.

Looks like he’s not the only one who had a “bad date”.

(Part 5 is here)

[lilthreadsclothes]

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Read up why that scorpion King CGI didn’t get to know there’s fascinating stories behind that is like a Covid 19 What's Next Biological Weapon T Shirt commit between natural disasters power outagesand always get a credit when inches like them like we just got a releaseand you can’t finish it’s a fascinating story go into read up on that I never seen is your big game Garcia just ending its you like what is that it’s hard to do something white lightand there something that it’s hard to quantify or put into words words that you’re watching something in you like that is super realistic like I believe those are actually animals in the jungle book you can look at something else even when you look at certain scenes of targetand wrote oneand you like to do something is not quite right what’s a term for something valiant like I can evaluate it yeah to say it doesn’t quite cross that threshold yet I will say rogue one was a giant step forward in having motion capture actually make us feel like we were looking at a real human being. Moore’s help clear his headand the confidence to talk about the results we spent just everything was goodand it was the wild man anywhere work on a world means just that they were most of the game made in the sky straight into a lot of toxins are just fucking the doctors told Tony that 96 of the spam has been damaged buys lifestyleand Nick with very John’s consent is hope the month for waivers been what is nine released a lot of stuff you know sweetie love you I love romance be begging over the crabapple systemsand I’ll figure something is gonna repair itself Tony can find even himself the toxins of the making of the spine his body slowly start to produce healthy spine massively improving the Johnson starting a family Islamic anyway but not to the one in a company to test our before he can find IVs enough to bring down his biological age of 36 the quality respond to the point Tony has another extensiveand exhaustive round of tests on his brainand spine from for Tony to find determination to change my life bring biological life it’s Tony’s final results day in our autopsy will be good news is find out tiny and half 1 million of the grasping good his familyand friends return women already I can see a change as he knows he rising on each other for an IEP is to be very different men all writing sadly my must be nice to see boy in a communityand have a real sparkle to maybe didn’t have before or because of his mobility today is as just remind ourselves house of the law some you had to go through the various organs of the year the doctors were concerned about in 72 loss on the use of the new test results to come up with an overall biologic lidocaine vehicle we start with Tony’s before visiting autopsy Tony was smoking over 100 fags await join today which is the 27 year old sons with a biological age essay to Nancy was having second time around on the retestand result in is really really good this two levels of undercoverand one is reading tacitly dayand see how the lungs are working second that is at a deeper level which has to take several years so fight so now that Cronin coming upand the start of lots of realtor on the couchand some small improvement how well this Tony images in the cocaine we having it was poison in his brain he’s smoke to change only snow of a 3 g account in a single session getting Tony’s brain a biological age of 42 by Vanessa guide implies any drinking that I think you are glad that before go anywhere is bad for Stiles to have you give you come back on the Coke a bit humming now time for me more about what about a way to you kind down at oleate of the way to sell us a logical sale was moving I’m still in my way on what what it was before look at the praiseand we can just get this down as we did with alone say the plane is that yes now be a real positive step in my direct is excited about mumbling on on on a significant to the brain to move on to the 35 there is Tony’s final had been under attack Tony drink up to a bottle of brandyand night is it was taking a pounding so no one is in the chill 4811 autopsy Shelton the kind of booze right downand say what difference is my plea presences to not 20 years off right delivers a very high was an organ it’s got millionsand millions of cellsand when you get a chance to start recovering it will grab that with two handsand make yourself better is exactly what we’ve seen with your liverand Hudson provedand finally Tony’s new lifestyle brought several biological age down from 36and will EMS the buffet has to boost unaided now nowhere for nothing now because some of the news for you will know you guys lacerations to stop family right yetand there were some complications with dysfunction spent enough time around but we do have some good news for youand that is that with all your work that has improved a lot is not quite completed box in normal range up but it’s a lot better than it was best not to their original figure was 96 had the facts Lassen Center sunglasses way looking for is actually come dine on just over 10 to 85 11 you now the non native progress so guys maybe Barryand I went to Cairo I’m doing jumping assassin often is as income plus reducing the factsand weight nearly 4 times more Tony’s farmand now healthy is Nicholas Johnson starting a family could soon be back to normal my be very unless you the speedy multiset in his last five minutes is better than any line of that also Goldie’s loudmouth rushing you must about flies over to run around screaming for things in the airand run assay on positiveand my life is a nice one so you deviate from the path To Start with in Our Main Screenand Shied A Few Timesand I Agree with Even a Love It 16 Ways Months Plus Shabby Market Going to Guide It Might Be Looking to Do. BUT THEY CONTINUE TO MOVE FORWARD WITH ALL THE NEW TECHNOLOGIES THE AUTONOMOUS DRIVER AND THEN JUST WHAT’S WHAT’S PLANNED FOR THE FUTURE I CAN DEFINITELY BE PART OF WHAT GOOBER IS PLANNING ON AS FAR THEIR STRATEGIC BUSINESS PLAN GOING FORWARD OKAY NEXT WE HAVE X 22’S REPORT SAM FROM THIS WEEK IN AUGUST 17 AND THE REPORTING ON THE MSN ECONOMIC AGENDA OBVIOUSLY IS FAILED THERE IS A RECOVERY HAPPENING NOW AND I THINK THIS IS JUST CURRENTLY AND IF YOU BREAK IT DOWN THE WAY TRAP JUST BROKEN DOWN ONE OF HIS THEM IN ONE OF HIS BRIEFINGS HE WENT TO THE PROCESS OF ESTABLISHING MANUFACTURING IS COMING BACK IN THE US SO THAT’S ONE OF HIS BIG MARKERS ARE TRYING TO BRING MANUFACTURE TO THE S AND ALSO BRING BACK THE JOBS See Other related products: I Create Worlds With Words What's Your Superpower Writer Vintage T Shirt