#this stupid fucking lug of meat.

[fiapple]

...the "nothing happened" scene has caused my brain to latch on to zoro with a vice grip. send help.

[parodyofnature]

OM Characters As Things My Friends and Family Have Said

Lucifer- "Why are you getting plastered? IT'S FUCKING WEDNESDAY"

Mammon- "You have to stop calling me shawty in public spaces"

Leviathan- "Ben 10 is sacred"

Satan- "I was thinking about how Victor Frankenstein purposefully made his monster hot just now and the sentence I said to myself, in essence, was, 'he crafted himself a spicy new fleshsona out of body parts he stole from the poor'"

Asmodeus- "They're very phallic. You sure you don't want two?"

Beelzebub- "Who is stopping me from eating plastic? My digestive system? I have nothing to lose but my chains"

Belphegor- "'She's warming up to us!' Frankly, Phil, I dislike you more than ever but I see no reason why you should be privy to that."

Diavolo- "This humongous, big, stupid boy looks like he belongs in Metalocalypse… and I wanna top him"

Barbatos- "The human mind, generally speaking, is a slut for a good carb"

Simeon- "ARE YOU TRYING TO WITNESS JEHOVAH?"

Solomon- "You guys wanna go splash around in the leech water?"

Luke- "Protestant cringe compilation"

Raphael- "If I'm not autistic, God has some fucking explaining to do"

Mephistopheles- "Get thee to some bitches"

Thirteen- "Lord, you're lugging around a garbage pail full of your own meat self"

[frogsandfries]

I'm so exhausted.

Okay, look, I know I seem to be expressing a lot of physical exhaustion lately, but this is more in regards to my increasing exhaustion with what the internet has become: One giant, inescapable, smothering advertisement.

I probably only want to cry about it right now at this very moment because I'm so tired, but I mean, honestly, if I'm not crying over it, I'm seething over it.

So you, a corporation, you don't want to pay your employees fairly or properly, and you then expect people who can barely afford their rent, never even mind their stupid health insurance or any of the other expensive life necessities, you really expect them to turn around and spend every last of their five remaining dollars on your piece of cheap shit instead of a cheap loaf of bread which will at least allow them to get through the next few days??? Unlike your stupid foot soak boot things, hey epsom your tired feet while you clean your apartment after work--multitask, grind, hustle!! But also, treat yo'self and self-care.

There's no fucking point in having fucking adblock, because when I go to research how to get better at my hobby, google wants to shove a dozen more products that I neither need nor want down my throat. The only way to improve a fucking smart phone is to make it a better shopping device. "Hey look, do you see something irl, maybe during your vacation or just out and about for the day, and you need to buy it right fucking here and now?? Buy our fucking phone because it will help you have fifty afterpays instead of the usual five that you're constantly balancing at any one fucking time."

As someone who used to be curious to learn, I still remember when the internet was seen as a way to exchange knowledge and information, and sure, if you're really, really good at using the internet, or if you're incredibly resourceful, and lucky, and maybe find a group on like Discord or Reddit or maybe Facebook, full of people who share your general interest, and maybe they have the knowledge you're asking for readily at hand.

But it's bullshit. The more and more ads in a row, video after video, song after song, that I have to wade through to get to the information that I came here for, the less interested I am in things like Youtube for information and learning. I really have cut myself off from learning, because increasingly for years, it's been harder and harder to actually use the internet to learn anything.

The internet has become a giant screaming relentless bright flashing fucking billboard advertisement and I'm just so.......done.

Look, frankly, I miss having books in my home. Books aren't very reasonable for lugging about the country to your next couch. But that lifestyle is behind me. Books don't constantly advertise at me. The index in the back of the book doesn't make me watch a fucking ad to figure out how I'm supposed to be doing this next part of my project or how I can up my skill at this thing I'm trying to learn or improve at.

And whenever the hell I decide to leave my meat-suit, donate my books to a library if no one in my family wants them.

I'm just so fucking exhausted. I'm doing relatively financially okay right now. I have money to pay my bills and feed myself and still grab a couple things most paychecks. It is currently often a choice between improving my household or taking care of my physical body, or taking care of my emotional well-being, but that's fine. A privilege, really, compared to the places that I've been.

But I don't have the buckets of disposable income that the internet seems convinced that I do.

The internet was supposed to be a beacon of information sharing and a new fucking era of communication.

I don't think anyone foresaw it being a capitalist hellscape. It feels like I can't move through reality or cyberspace without being screamed at on all sides to spend out every last dime on things I don't want, don't need, and am extraordinarily NOT interested in.

I'm so exhausted. I'm so sick to my bones, my guts, my soul.

The thought of escaping into the mountains, becoming a hermit, never to be seen again, becomes increasingly appealing.

[obsessedasusual]

A Beautiful Day In the Neighbourhood - Tig Trager x Reader

Pairing: Tig Trager x Reader

Warnings: Talk of sex, swearing

Summary: Tig lives next door and your son is a very big fan of his.

Note: Listen, Tig is my favourite Son I had to write something for him. And yes I write in the Queen's English and use 'ou' - I never realised how often it comes up until Word insisted I had a page full of spelling errors.

By the time Tig turned on to his street that evening he was ready to drop on the couch and sleep for a week. He’d been away on a two-day run, and while that was by no means a long run, he was exhausted. As tempting as a night drinking at the club with his brothers was, the only place he wanted to be was home. At his house, in his bed.

He smiled to himself as he pulled into his driveway seeing that, as usual, you had been kind enough to make sure his bin was out in time for rubbish collection while he was away.

It was a rhythm you had both fallen into since you moved in next door six months ago. If your bin was still out when he got home at night, he’d make sure to lug it back next to your house, and you’d make sure his bin was out on time if he was away in turn.

Your son’s eyes bulged as he abruptly sat up from his position on the sofa hearing the familiar roar of the motorbike pulling in next door, “Tiggy’s home, Mama! Can we go see him?”

He had really taken to Tig since you had moved to Charming. It was definitely the motorbike. When Alex first heard it there was no stopping him as he ran out the door following the rumble. At six years old the little shit was fast. Luckily Tig was harmless, to you at least, and was more than happy to show him the ins and outs of the bike. One time he’d even sat Alex in front of him and, under your close supervision, had taken him slowly up and down the street. You didn’t hear the end of that for weeks.

Still, you were glad Tig was so good with your Alex, you were pretty sure it was because they had the same name. A fact that Tig made sure to put in your face at every opportunity.

“Not today, squirt. He’ll be wanting to rest after his trip. If you’re good you might see him tomorrow.” You smiled as you ruffled his hair, heading to the kitchen to continue dinner. Your son huffed behind you and turned back to SpongeBob in defeat.

SpongeBob should release a podcast, it was a stupid thought but you found yourself easily engaged and able to follow the storyline without seeing the cartoon as you cut up the capsicum.

Another of Plankton’s attempts at stealing the secret formula had failed by the time you had finished combining the vegetables with the meat, “Al,” you started, heading back to the living room, “go wash hands ready for din…ner. Man I love talking to myself.”

Turning on your heel again you headed down the hall to Alex’s bedroom, “Hey kid, go wash up.” Poking your head through the door your son was no where in sight, where the fuck…

Pacing quickly back up the hallway you felt your stomach turn slightly, Alex knew not to leave the house like that unless someone was with him and you weren’t currently with him.

Noticing the front door was ajar you went to pull it open and rush outside and as you did you let out a short, surprised scream.

“Hey, doll… you missing a kid by any chance?” Tig Trager stood on your porch ready to knock with your son in tow, one hand nervously clutching the older man’s kutte.

“Jesus Christ you scared the shit outta me.” You muttered feeling your heartbeat return to its normal pace.

He let out a breath of laughter, “Me or the kid?”

At the same time Alex decides to pipe up, “That’s a naughty word!”

“You don’t get to tell me off right now, get inside, Alex.” Your son went to move past you into the house, “Say thank you to Tig for bringing you home.”

He smiled slightly at Tig, “Thanks Tiggy.” Dragging the words out as he did.

“Go wash your hands, dinner’s almost ready. We’re having a talk later too.” Alex groaned before heading to the bathroom, “I’m so sorry Tig, he knows not to leave the house without me. I guess he just couldn’t sit still after hearing your bike pull up.”

“Don’t sweat it, doll. He’s a good kid. He only came out because he knew it was me. Not that that’s a good enough reason to leave without telling you.” He quickly added. You nodded slowly.

“I guess. Thanks for bringing him back. How was your trip?” You knew Tig was a part of SAMCRO, it was hard to go anywhere in town without hearing about the outlaw Sons, but that didn’t mean you had any idea what these ‘trips’ he was often going on actually entailed.

He let out a deep sigh, “Uh, not bad. Glad to back.”

You nodded deciding not to probe any further, “You wanna join us for dinner? It’s just a stir fry but there’s plenty to go around.” The offer was met with a smile.

“You know what? Sure. Beats beer and whatever old takeout is left in the fridge.” He toe-d off his boots and followed you into the kitchen.

“Ah yes, beer and takeout – the two main food groups.”

“Are you mocking me, Y/N? That’s not very neighbourly of you.”

“I’m taking you in and making sure you have a full belly before sending you off to dreamland, tell me again how I’m not being neighbourly?” you pointed the spatula at him, raising your eyebrows to say ‘try me’. Tig held his hands up in surrender and watched as you danced around the kitchen setting the table. He’d been over for dinner a couple of times before and knew better than to get in the way and try to help.

Tig took this time to take you in. Unbeknown to you his eyes were glued to your figure. Tig thought you were gorgeous. He also thought the man that left you a single mother five years ago must have been a fucking idiot. And if he ever saw him in person – it was on sight. You hadn’t actually told him the whole story, or much at all really, but he could piece it together pretty easily with the snippets he had picked up.

“When’s the last time you went on a date, doll?”

You glanced over you shoulder confused, “Who wants to know?”

“The guy that’s asking, obviously.”

Leaning back against the counter, humming in thought, “Like, four, five months ago maybe? Not long after I moved here. Some guy from work, he was nice enough. Just didn’t click I guess.”

“You haven’t had sex in five months?” Tig looked almost offended for you.

You let out a small giggle, “You misunderstood, Tiggy. It’s been five months since my last date, it’s been like…” you did a quick count in your head, “shit, it’s been almost a year since I got laid.”

If he had been taking a sip from a drink you imagined it’d be spat all over you now with the way he reacted.

“No way. You’re fucking with me, right?” his eyes widened when you shook your head, “Y/N. Come on. You’re hot. And women have needs, right? Just like us guys. It’s only right to meet those needs.”

“Don’t you worry about my needs, Tig. And as a grown man I don’t feel I have to explain that to you.” You smirked, how the fuck did we get to this conversation?

“Baby, I mean properly take care of your needs.” The way he looked at you was comical, like he pitied you.

You couldn’t help but grin at him and shrug, “I don’t know what to tell ya, Tig. It is what it is.”

“It is what it is? This is sad. I can set you up with someone, actually no, everyone I know are assholes,” the thought of you with one of his club brothers really rubbed him the wrong way, “what about me, huh? You know me, you trust me, and quite frankly I’m good at it, you’d have a great time.”

You shoved the dish of stir fry into his open hands while chuckling, “You are unbelievable, Tig Trager. I open my home to you and you try to open my legs? Go put that on the table.”

“I’m just saying, doll. It would be an honour to break your dry spell.” He offered with a laugh as light footsteps ran towards the two of you.

“Are you staying for dinner, Tiggy?!”

“Yeah, champ. That okay with you?”

You smiled at the two of them going back and forth over dinner. It’s crazy how becoming a mother can alter what you’re attracted to. A guy entertaining and genuinely laughing with your son? Damn you, Tig Trager. He caught your eye at one point and shot you a cheeky wink before quickly returning to his conversation with Alex about how hippos were better than rhinos – have you seen how a hippo demolishes a watermelon?

You walked Tig to the door after the festivities of dinner and dessert. The apple crumble had gotten you a marriage proposal from the biker. While Alex got excited, you were quick to shut it down with a, “In your dreams, Trager.”

“Hey, thanks for dinner. I appreciate you taking me in like a stray dog.”

“You know you’re welcome for dinner any time, and sorry again about Alex earlier. He just really likes you. I can’t have him fucking running out of the house at every motorbike he hears, I’ve taught him better than that.”

“He’s a good kid, and you’re a good mom. Maybe you should just put a bell on him.” You laughed at that.

It was quiet for a beat before he spoke up again, “I meant what I said earlier, ya know. This isn’t me trying to use you and lose you. If you find yourself bored of that robot friend of yours and Tinder isn’t doing the job, you know where to find me.”

It was a weird moment, but the look on Tig’s face was genuine, “I know, Tig. If I run out of batteries, you’ll be my first port of call.”

He nodded and leaned forward to give you a light kiss on you head, “Night, doll.”

“Night, Tiggy.”

You watched as he walked down your driveway, mind wondering to what it might be like, to be with Tig like that. You had no doubt it’d be good, to that you bit your lip lightly and went back to the last of the dishes.

Tig was having similar thoughts, but not of having you in bed. Having more nights like this, relaxed, light. Nights filled with laughter, home cooked meals, telling stupid stories to Alex, he imagined coming home. The thought of all of that brought a wishful sigh to his lips. He stole one last look at your front door before closing his own and locking himself in for the night.

[heuristicallyinclined]

SPF Five Million or Whatever

Summary: Mspa Reader figures they need some sunlight and recruits a few friends to help them get it.

Rating: T for language

Notes: I haven't written any of the jades before and I really love them and tried my best to capture their dynamic. I really love imagining Mspa Reader's adventures between Friendsim and Pesterquest. I feel like the games were really just scratching the surface of their shenanigans.  

(AO3)

You are pretty sure that people need about twenty minutes of sunlight a day to stay healthy. 

Or at least that is what you think it is. You never really thought about it too much to be honest. Having spent a decent amount of time outside walking, you figured you were getting your daily dose in without much effort, and maybe you just didn’t realize how good you had it, not living on a planet that even passively was trying to kill you. Because right now, you know for a fact you’re getting the ideal amount of sunlight on Alternia, which in your personal experience is fucking ziltch.

You tried it once and learned pretty fast that what might leave you with a healthy glow on Earth, would leave you well done on Alternia, a disgusting state for any piece of meat to be in, let alone your body. So that was clearly an Earth exclusive recommendation. 

Still, you think some sunlight would do you good. 

Especially since you were starting to feel this constant exhaustion after a few months on Alternia. After ruling out your questionable diet and semi existent sleep schedule, you were left with the fact that you were likely getting a vitamin D deficiency. 

Frankly, you have not survived your various trials and many tribulations here on Alternia to let rickets be what finally kills you. Absolutely not. No. You’re too proud to die in the lamest way possible on a planet with significantly more respectable and less preventable ways of dying. 

This does mean you’ll have to face off with the Alternian sun, which really isn’t that much better on the lame death scale. Last time you got caught out during daylight, you got really lucky. You aren’t counting on a second time where a gorgeous cowgirl, alien Lassie, and a lot of dumb luck would happen to rescue you from your own poor life choices. 

So this time, you were going to try to be smart about doing something this monumentally stupid. You were going to get water, a floppy hat, and some ice packs. Now you just had to not do this alone, especially when you knew someone who touted the merits of the buddy system. 

Luckily, you also know a few people who could withstand the sun’s rays. 

Finding out that jadeblood sun resistance was in fact a real thing and not just the latest in fucking with the local alien made this a whole lot easier and left you with a few options to consider. You figured Wanshi was too young to be kept up that late and that you’d rather not traumatize her if this went sideways. Bronya mentioned being busy with a new brood hatching and managing the herd of lusii they attracted to the caverns so that was a no go. Lanque would likely be otherwise occupied or at least claim to be and you’d rather him not see you like this if you could help it. That left you with Daraya, who you knew would be up and likely be down for some alien shenanigans. But most importantly, Lynera.

One massive check in her favor is she already had experience inconspicuously carrying your injured body through the caverns unnoticed by literally anyone else to a secondary location So discretion was clearly already a strong suit of hers. The context for how she even got that much experience in the first place is none of your business, especially now that you’re friends. And you’d say you two were actually pretty close after all the time you’ve spent hanging out with her in the caverns and going out on little cafe trips.

Really, she was the ideal candidate for this by every observable metric. Well, almost.

While she is loyal enough that you knew that she would help you hide a body if asked, she has also threatened enough people for perceived slights against you that she would very likely be the reason there was a corpse hanging around in the first place. So having Daraya be there too was probably a safe move. 

Oh it’s all coming together now.

You were feeling really good about this. Your confidence in yourself, your friends, and your planning abilities carried you through two difficult conversations. One with a veneer of apathy trying to conceal some very real concern, the other incredibly loud and extremely worried, but you got through them and that’s what matters. 

So here you are at the brooding caverns, tucked away inside the turn just before the mouth, clad in some cool guy shades from Cirava, a sun hat from Charun, some shorts from Remele, and a Xoloto brand tank top complete with strategic ripping that makes it basically impossible to wear anywhere in public without a layer underneath. 

Your friends are right here with you. Lynera is alternating between pacing and fretting over the placement of your sun hat for the seventh time to really make sure your hair doesn’t ignite. You know it won’t and you told her it won’t, but you let her fuss. She just needs to do something with her hands to stay calm. You can at least let her have that with what you’re about to do. Daraya checks her palm husk again for the time as dawn steadily approaches. You take a deep breath in, psyching yourself up. 

So you never actually figured out what the Alternian sun equivalent to twenty minutes of Earth sun is. But you think a minute should be enough to do it and not pass out. It feels about right. You have based this off of no math whatsoever, but you’ve done worse with less prep, so you’re not going to let some nerd shit stop you. Especially not now, when you hear Daraya sigh. You know that it’s show time. 

You look at her to confirm as she pockets her device and you see some light begin to stretch into the cavern’s entrance. She looks at it too, frowning as it approaches.

“▲▲ try not to fry your pan ▼▼"

You give her a reassuring smile and run up through the mouth of the cave, and stop just past the entrance, arms up wide and outstretched, like you were doing the YMCA dance and lost rhythm just past the first letter, ready to receive that sunlight you so desperately craved. The sun hits your skin and there is a comfort in feeling’s its warmth after living in eternal night.

You really missed this.

...

Actually, you know what? No you don’t. Fuck this. 

That “gentle warmth” quickly became a scorching blaze and to your credit, you made it a solid ten seconds under the full wrath of that relentless bitch they called a sun before you decided to quit while you were ahead and conscious. You dash back towards the entrance, uncomfortably aware of every step you take. Lynera stops nervously pacing and stiffens when you reenter the shade and runs towards you. Daraya is ready and quickly hands you a water bottle. You struggle to open the cap because of the condensation making the bottle slick and it exacerbates the painful tingle you’re feeling all over your hands. And your face. And your everything actually. 

You continue struggling until you finally succeed in twisting the cap off, but your victory immediately proves to be a hollow one, as your tight grip on the bottle has water going everywhere. 

God. Damn. It. 

You’re vaguely cognisant of a screeching sound somewhere behind you, but you have more important concerns right now. By some absolute miracle, a decent amount of the water seems to have gotten on you and saturated your top, soothing the skin under it. You feel less like you’re on fire and more like you had marinated your entire body in icy-hot for a few hours before getting deep fried. 

You’d like to believe that that is a much more manageable situation. Your skin can’t tell much of a difference though so you waste no time and pour the rest out all over your face like you were a champ who just scored the winning goal instead of a dipshit speedrunning skin cancer. 

Daraya mercifully cracks a cold one with the boys and pours the contents of another water bottle on you like you were a plant she forgot to water. The cool sensation on your skin causes you to sigh in a relief that doesn’t last long, before you lose contact with the ground. Lynera has you thrown over her shoulder and starts quickly making her way back into the caverns to her respiteblock. The physical contact takes that previous painful tingle and absolutely fucking floors it, bringing you to a familiar world of pain that your ass was very content not revisiting. Daraya keeps pace behind the two of you with her arms crossed the face of someone who is totally not panicked.

You try to calm them, telling them you feel better already. Really, you mean it. 

This just causes Lynera to speed up and Daraya to grimace down at you instead of giving you an actual response. 

While, yes, you resent having flesh, you actually feel really awake right now. 

Daraya narrows her eyes. “▲▲ you mean from the pain? ▼▼”

No. No. That's different. And way more familiar. 

God. Despite looking like a freshly hatched octogenarian, Lynera can really book it. 

She carries your limp, increasingly dizzy body with ease. You knew she was deceptively strong and fast first hand, based off of her being able to immediately able to knock you the fuck out and lug you back to her combination study block murder dungeon. Honestly, being able to do anything with an alien discreetly deserves commendation. Commendation up and out the wazoo. 

You’re about to attempt to try to verbalize that thought, but just before the turn to get to Lynera's study block, she suddenly stops. She nervously glances between this hallway and another adjacent one one. Daraya almost bumps into her but stops herself just in time. 

"▲▲▲ what are you doing? We said we were just going to put them in a spare recuperacoon ▼▼▼" Daraya whisper yells. 

"They're a new color Daraya !!!" Lynera whisper yells to the point of negating the whisper part of the whisper yell and more just using a normal speaking volume with a hiss. “-they need !!! A medicull kit !!!”

Oh. You glance down at one of your dangling arms. That happened fast. In retrospect, you should have mentioned that was a thing that would potentially happen. How did you forget that?  

“▲▲▲ and do what? A medicull kit could make them worse. We don’t know shit about aliens ▼▼▼”

“-!!! well how would you know all of their injuries were taken care of! that we didnt miss anything!”  

“▲ they’re fine. We just, I don't fucking know? Rotate them in the slime? ▼”

“-like some sort of !!! rotisserie cluckbeast !!!” Lynera indignantly whisper shrieks. 

"▲▲ No!▼▼" Daraya quickly defends. The way her eyes quickly glance to the side seems to imply that's kind of exactly what it's like. 

Just like them rotisserie chickens. 

The longer their arguing went on, the more uncomfortably aware you were getting about the fact that you had a body and Lynera's clothes felt like steel wool grating against your poor skin. That and describing what they were doing as “whisper arguing” was becoming more and more of a stretch as it went on and started to get louder. You were worried you were going to attract unwanted attention. 

It is as soon as you have that thought, that a door opens, and you see an irritated Lanque groggily peek his head through to find the source of the commotion. 

His face remains still at first, blinking tiredly as he takes in the fuckery and only opens the door wider when the other two turn at the sound of his door opening and he registers you slumped over Lynera’s shoulder with a single raised brow. 

You smile and wave at him, despite how lightheaded her turn had you feeling, and Daraya quickly pulls your hand down and stands in front of you like there was nothing to see here. You let out a weak, “ow,” as she did, your flesh protesting at the touch. She glances back at you quickly, before exasperatedly turning to look back at Lanque with her arms crossed.

“▲▲ what? ▼▼”

He measuredly looks at the scene before him. Really taking in all of the bullshit before side eyeing Lynera. 

“You threW the alien into broad daylight? EVen for you, that's crazy.” He almost sounds surprised, before smiling sweetly, “NoW Who’s going to tolerate you?” 

Lynera sputters something, clearly offended, but Daraya cuts her off with a groan, 

“▲ they literally need sunlight to live Lanque ▼”

His face twists. “Are they a fucking plant?” 

“-no!!!" Lynera considers for a moment before yelling again just as loud. “-most likely not!!!”

He looks from your trio, to the small puddle of water forming under you, and glances back to the trail of water you apparently had dripping from you this whole time. 

You know, you’re really starting to see the plant angle here. 

“▲▲ look they just needed some stupid sunlight and we hung around to make sure they didn’t just get too cooked or whatever. What, are you going to tell Bronya on us? ▼▼" Daraya half mocks, half asks.

“No, of course not.” Lanque almost seems offended. “I don’t see any reason to inVolVe myself With you tWo Watching the alien give themselVes sun sickness.”

You ask no one in particular what sun sickness is.

“-can aliens get sun sickness???” Lynera asks with a newfound panic.

Lanque irritatedly replies, “HoW Would I knoW?” 

You feel briefly dejected that no one answered. Until another thought crosses your mind. It wasn’t related to anything occurring at the moment, but it was weird enough that you don’t know how this was the first time you had ever really thought about it. Maybe the events of this morning were what it took for you to even be able consider this quandary. 

Why do they say troll before a name? Like troll Will Smith? Doesn’t that imply there is another kind of WIll Smith? Like if they’re all trolls, why say troll? Oh shit, is that why they do it? Did you tell them about human Will Smith or would that be like human Whillh Smithh? Human Willhh Smyyth? 

You rack your mind for other ways of making Will Smith a valid troll name, concentration evident on your face. 

Lanque looks at you like you’re an idiot. “What the fuck are you talking about? You're just repeating the same name.”

The spelling? You narrow your eyes as you consider the spelling. It is the clearest thing in the world right now to you. It’s spelled different Lanque.

“I can’t hear how it’s spelled.”

Daraya’s eyes widen. "▲▲ They fried their fucking pan ▼▼ " 

You still don’t know what sun sickness is, but you strongly suspect you may have it, especially since most of what happened afterwards was kind of a blur. 

What you think you can remember is the sound of someone coming. Quick, determined footsteps that you couldn’t recognize, but Lynera clearly could as she stiffened first. She maybe said something about Bronya doing a curfew round? You think? Either way, it had everyone else on immediate edge and was enough for Lanque to decide this wasn’t worth staying awake for. He made a final comment and you heard a door shut, leaving your trio behind. 

Daraya and Lynera exchanged words, finally remembering the “whisper” part of whisper yelling. They came to an agreement of some sort with Lynera nodding and heading to her studyblock and Daraya going off in the direction of what was probably Bronya.

Mentally, you are pressing F to pay your respects. Physically though, you register your orientation rapidly shifting. While you weren’t crazy about your position over Lynera's shoulder, what with her sweater vest grating against your torso and all, it turns out you enjoyed being moved out of it even less. The blood running away from your head had you feeling woozy in a whole new way.

To her credit, Lynera did not just immediately dunk you into the recuperacoon a la Space Jam like you’re sure she wanted to. She instead carefully lets you sink into it with a gentleness that starkly contrasted her worry. Normally, you would say that being put into a vat of slime is not an experience you would be looking forward to. Right now though, you’re loving it. It is an absolute godsend as it acts a cool balm against your skin.

Lynera continues and gingerly removes your shades and places them on an end table next to your sunhat. You were about to thank her and let her know she was in fact “a real one,” but you got cut off by her grabbing a handful of slime and smearing it on your face. 

You sputter and instinctively try to move away, but you’re no match for her. She’s dealt with fussy grubs with sharp teeth for way too long to actually be deterred by your feeble efforts to resist. You don’t know how you’d rate the experience between, “children haphazardly covering you in slick grease paint” to “alien clay mask ensuring you don’t have enough skin to even entertain having clogged pores,” but you aren’t in a position to be opposed to it. It actually feels kinda nice when it’s in a smooth, even layer and not a huge fucking dollop on your face. 

When she’s done, she wipes her hands while saying something to you. You don’t really register it, so you just kinda smile and nod. It’s your usual go to when you aren’t quite sure what is happening around you and it hasn’t led you too astray in the very many times you’ve done it. You’ll just ask her what she said in the evening.

Lynera seems pleased and starts moving to turn off the lights. Before she does, you thank her. She smiles at you, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and glances back at you as she goes, leaving you feeling warm inside and out for two extremely different reasons. 

You settle down, trying to get cozy. You're not going to pretend you know much about sopor slime. You assumed it comes from a plant and haven't tried to confirm that little theory of yours because you need to believe that for your own sake. It's plant goo. From some kind of alien aloe vera or something. An extremely fleshy plant just ripe with goo for the taking. If you ever learn otherwise, no you didn't. 

After you wake up and wipe off the slime, you find that you’ve healed surprisingly quickly. You’re still very tender to the touch, you find that out real fast, but your skin looks a lot less irritated than when you last saw it. This bit of good news and vitamin d that you assume you now have coursing through your veins that hopefully was not mostly used up on healing your skin, puts a little pep in your step as you get ready for the night. Before you exit the caverns, you feel a pang of hunger.

You can practically hear Bronya reminding you how breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so you walk into the meal block, figuring that no one would mind too much if you grabbed a breakfast bar or two before you left. Maybe you’ll even get lucky and find the ones that kind of taste like peanut butter and are crunchy for reasons you’d rather not identify. You aren’t alone when you enter. Lanque is there, sitting at a table. He looks up from his palm husk and eyes you.

“Did you change color?”

Yeah. Humans being exposed to sunlight makes them create a protective pigment so they're more able to be exposed to the sun.

“I’m fascinated.” he says, anything but. “So you're going to turn jade?” 

No, more of a slightly darker version of what you are now. 

He hums, now totally disinterested and looking back down at his chittr feed. Guess the limits of your rainbowdrinker like attributes have worn off on him. 

Anyways, this just means that this will be easier next time you go out during the day. 

That statement gives him pause. Lanque looks up from his palm husk, looking out before glancing at you dubiously. 

"Next time?" 

[nanoland]

new chapter (supernatural fic)

(earlier parts are here; whole thing is here) 

Clean Hands, part 3 

Crowley/Castiel/Dean Winchester, warning for violence and spn demons being spn demons   

0   

Another day, another assassination attempt.

“Congratulations, sir,” said Paula, bustling in with his coffee and daily planner. “That brings it to eight, yes? I recall your making some remark about throwing a small office party if we hit ten before the end of the month.”

Lifting the corpse off the row of retractable spikes he’d installed in his desk, Crowley grunted, “It was a joke. On the other hand, maybe it would be good for morale. Make the blighters less determined to snuff me.”

“I’ll add it to the calendar. Sir, your ten ‘o clock is waiting in the lobby. Should I send him in?”

Technically, ‘ten ‘o clock’ didn’t exist in Hell. Time didn’t exist in Hell.

But by God, it did for Paula.

Infamous among Crowley’s minions, she ruled his appointment diary with an iron fist (well – iron talons, more accurately) and kept a horseman’s pick tucked neatly under her workstation for anyone who was more than five minutes late.

She’d been the most competent corporate PA in the business when Crowley had purchased her soul in exchange for a medical breakthrough that had beaten down her cancer and allowed her those ten precious years. It would, in fact, have allowed her a normal human lifespan, if not for Crowley’s hounds.

(Her wish was among his favourites and her contract had pride of place in his trophy cabinet. She could have just said ‘cure me’; she’d dreamed bigger. Ambition! Now that was what Crowley liked to see. Very few people who sold their souls managed to leave the world a better place than they’d found it.

Truthfully, arranging the breakthrough had taken an amount of power on his part that, ordinarily, he’d have objected to. Ever since the Zuckerberg Incident of 2004, Crowley had maintained a policy against granting wishes that fundamentally altered the pace and trajectory of human scientific development. But he’d wanted her. Reliable PAs were like gold dust and they almost always went to bloody Heaven. “And for what, I ask you?” he’d said to Dean once. “How much admin is really involved in keeping people locked in a lotus-eater machine?”)  

“The ten… oh, piss. It’s Alan, isn’t it? Yes, yes. Let’s get this over with. Send him in.”  

Another day, another fucking workplace harassment mess to sort out. How many more sodding seminars was he going to have to host before they all got it through their heads that biting off a co-worker’s arm was not a viable long-term conflict resolution strategy?

Sigh.

It was only after four meetings and sixteen calls that Crowley remembered he’d not yet disposed of the assassin.

“I suppose I should make an example of you,” he huffed, already imagining it.

The hassle.

The bother.

Getting an apron on.

Finding the hammer.

Lugging the stupid bastard up a ladder and nailing him to the office noticeboard by his scrote.

He could always ask Paula to do it. But, bless her heart, she’d only been a demon for six years and arranging a corpse for maximum intimidation was just as much a matter of practice as talent.

As Crowley was fetching the ladder, Gwen from Legal arrived whey-faced and dogged by two dozen assistants and interns.

“Sir, it’s a catastrophe,” she wailed.

Five minutes later, Crowley was back at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Avoidable. Utterly, pathetically avoidable. All you had to do was amend the contract to state that the phrase ‘ten years’ refers solely and specifically to Earth’s orbital period, not the orbital period of the contractee.”

Gwen hung her head. “I don’t know what to tell you, sir. Finding qualified staff to manage this sort of deal is tricky. When people with, you know, science degrees and stuff die and are damned, the assholes over at the Experimental Punishments Department always snatch ‘em up first. It’s a real problem.”

“I’ll have a word with them. Ugh – alright, alright, let’s try and sort this out. How long is a Martian year?”

“The internet says six hundred and eighty-seven days.”

“Damn. Almost twice as long,” Crowley grumbled, pouring himself a drink. “What did he even want from us? He’s a billionaire. The list of things they can’t get without our help grows shorter by the day.”

“He wanted to guarantee that he’d be the first man on Mars, sir; that none of his competitors would get there before he did.”

“Wait. Hold on. The thing he wished for and the mechanism by which he’s attempting to fuck us over are one and the same? Oh, no, no, no. I’m not going to take that cheeky bollocks lying down. Get the head of Research and Development in here, now. We’re going to find out how to crash a spaceship.”

Gwen’s gaze flickered to the assassin’s corpse. “Um.”

“Fuck,” Crowley muttered.

At which point Paula tapped on the door to ask if he wanted to reschedule his next five meetings, because unless he could deal with them all in a grand total of twelve minutes, he’d be late for his call with the NRA’s chairman.

When Castiel arrived – without an appointment, as per usual, but Paula had standing instructions to let him through – he found Crowley resting his head on his desk, fantasising about being a paperweight.

“I’ve come for more sex,” he explained.

Dragging himself from despair’s depths, Crowley slurred, “T’riffic.”

He instructed his meat suit to sit up and turn on the winning smile. Unlike more reliable vehicles, possessed bodies didn’t have dashboard lights to indicate an exhausted battery; instead, it announced its displeasure by growing three new tumours.

Castiel stepped back, confused. Displeased. “You’re usually more enthusiastic than this. Why is your desk covered in diagrams of rockets? Is this a ‘new hobby’?”

Exaggerated finger quotes. Damn him to the pit, he was precious.

“Kitten, rest assured I have only two hobbies and they both dress badly.”

He expected retaliation for that. Castiel hated being reminded that Crowley regularly dallied with his favourite human. It came as a surprise, then, when the angel simply reached out and firmly gripped his shoulder, declaring, “You need to rest.”

Wings flapped. Suddenly, Crowley was standing in front of a wide, glassy lake, surrounded by dense forest, and in the distance…

“Is that Mount Fuji?”

“Indeed,” said Castiel, smiling briefly. “She’s a childhood friend. I first visited when she was little more than an unusually picturesque bump in the ground.”  

There was no one around. There was nothing around. No boats on the lake, no fishermen, no families on holiday, not even the distant roar of traffic. Just them, the view, the water, and a – huh – a bright orange tent pitched nearby.

“This is where I come to relax,” Castiel informed him, opening up the zipper.

“Whose is it?”

“Mine.”

“Huh. I wasn’t aware that you…”

“That I what?”

“Owned things. Or even grasped the concept of owning things. Don’t give me that look; you’re the one who’s worn the same socks ever since you slipped into that God-bothering flesh puppet.”

Castiel sniffed. “Materialism is a disease. But I’m not a child, Crowley. For your information, in my time on Earth I have owned many things.”

Always fun to ruffle the pretty bird’s feathers. “Yeah? How many of them were hand-me-downs from the Hardy Boys?”

“Most of them,” he said, levelly. “With the exception of this tent and your ass, demon.”

A pin drop pause.

Castiel maintained unblinking eye contact for exactly twelve seconds, then turned and crawled into his neon den.

Practically vibrating with adoration, Crowley followed.

It was evident that Castiel, despite his laudable efforts to create a space for himself in a world that had no space for him, didn’t entirely grok camping.

There were no sleeping bags. Instead, the tent’s bottom was covered in duvets, dozens of them, soft and fresh as if they’d come directly from the shop – or, more accurately, Crowley suspected, someone’s washing line.

“I cured her dog’s foot infection,” Castiel said, somewhat defensively, settling into his cotton and fleece nest.

“Ah. And she was so grateful she said you could make off with all her laundry, hm?”

“She… did not say those words, precisely. But it was heavily implied.”

Thank sin this was only a meat suit. Thank sin, thank everything that Castiel couldn’t see the expression of hopeless, pitiable fondness that would have adorned Crowley’s true face at that moment.

It was a relief when Castiel, without further ado, started undressing. Crowley, copying him, took the opportunity to talk sense into himself.

Come on. Grow up. Get it together. You know what you are. More importantly, you know what he is. Ageless. Unfathomable. Demons, at the end of the day, are just distilled human nastiness, but him? He existed before humans. Before microbes. He’s nice to babies and bees and pot plants and Dean and that makes it easy to forget that… that…

Oh, yes. Remember when he came to Hell? The first time he saw Dean; the start of their epic, eternal, infuriating romance? And where were you? That’s right. You were with the others, standing there slack-jawed and helpless, like dinosaurs watching the comet hit. Like children gazing up at a mushroom cloud.

Twelve thousand. That’s how many demons he burned out of existence, without even trying. Twelve thousand.

Do you think he ever thinks about them? Do you think he even noticed?

Twelve thousand.

Do you think he knows how close you were to being one of them?

Do you think he cares?

He’s nice to babies. Bees. Pot plants. Dean. You, even, sometimes. He’s sweet. He’s got big, soft blue eyes and hair that aches to be tussled. He’s a top-tier, world-class fuck. And at any moment, for any reason, he could end you, easy as blowing away dust, and you can’t say for certain he would even remember your name in a month’s time.

“What? No,” Castiel protested when Crowley kissed him. “We’re here to rest, Crowley.”

Drawing back, Crowley leered. “That’s what you want to do, is it? Rest?”

Perpetually thirsty tart that he was, Castiel bit his lip and looked torn. “I… yes.”

Crowley pouted.

Firmer now, Castiel said, “We will rest for a while first. Then we will have sex. Is that satisfactory?”

No sooner had Crowley resignedly nodded than Castiel seized him and finished undressing him, tossing his undershirt and socks out the tent. When they were both naked, the cold air coming off the lake making Crowley shiver, Castiel burrowed into his pilfered pile and dragged the demon down with him.

“Rest first,” he ordered him. “Sex afterwards. No, no – stop that. Afterwards, I said.”

Crowley groaned and whined and fussed, but obeyed.  

And bugger him gently if it wasn’t actually pleasant, very pleasant, to lie there with Castiel’s strong arms locked around his torso, toasty warm under layers of wool while, outside, the lake lapped at its bank and wind rustled through the trees. No assassins. No paperwork. No blood. Everything nice and quiet. Everything calm and clean.

Then Castiel sighed, a hot puff against the back of Crowley’s neck, and said, “You know, the thing that vexes me most about Dean is the way he…”

[shortythescreen]

come over chapter 3: the party.

Warning(s): Dysfunctional family dynamics, Octavio’s parents being assholes, misuse of stim, kind of abrupt ending, fem reader, NSFT/18+.

Relationship(s): Octane/ Female Reader. 

Author’s Notes: Last chapter you guys! Thank you so much for sticking with me through this. I’ve had so much fun writing come over and hope to write for Octane again soon <3 

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3. 

The rest of your ride to Psamathe is smooth. You and Octavio sip at that Aguardiente but about a half an hour before you two are due to arrive, you make him put it away. He protests, trying to tell you that in order to deal with his parents, you were going to need to be at least kind of buzzed. You two stash the drink anyway, drinking water all the way over, and Octavio eyes you up in the silence that follows.  

Octavio probably could’ve given you head right after you finished with him but you were insistent about not looking sex ruffled – which would be a lot harder to hide with your hair fucked up, and that dress you’re wearing.

This is technically a job for you. He bats the thought away, trying to tell himself you came out as a friend. As your ship lands, though, and you lug your giant camera tote he told you that you didn’t need to bring out of the ship…

It’s not discouraging. There’s nothing to be discouraged about.

Which is what Octavio tells himself as you two approach his childhood home.

You react like most people do to the sight of where he grew up: your jaw drops, your eyes widen, and you take the time to look the manor up and down. Ma always complained she’d wanted a bigger mansion. Considering she and Pa had only had him, that had never made a lot of sense to Octavio. Their room was empty most of the time, let alone all the other ones that he or the housekeepers didn’t occupy.

“Holy shit,” you mumble to him and he offers you the crook of his elbow. You turn your head to look at him and blanch. Octavio stares at you, foot beginning to tap impatiently. “What are you doing?”

“Offering you my arm. You’re my plus one. This is what rich people do, amiga,” he tells you. He distinctly leaves out the fact that he had etiquette training from the time he could walk until he was thirteen and purposefully jumped off the top of the stairs mid-lesson. His arm was broken, and he was in a sling which meant he didn’t have to go through which spoon was the right one again.

“I forget you’re a rich person,” you say.

“Makes one of us. Take the arm, mami, c’mon, let’s get this over with.”

You raise an eyebrow at him but slide your hand into the crook of his elbow anyway. You two stroll up to the way too big, double doors of the mansion and a large man Octavio doesn’t recognize opens one of them.

Inside the foyer, there’s a line of men in black suits, clearly some kind of security detail. Your heels click across the porcelain floors and when he chances a sideways glance at you, he sees that you’re unable to flush your face of the awe written across it – the vaulted ceilings and the crystal chandelier glittering in your eyes. You turn your head, looking up at the portrait of him, and ma, and pa, and he tugs your arm a little closer, trying to take your attention off of the grim looking little boy he didn’t see himself in.  

He turns his gaze ahead and instantly his arms tense. Mami stands in the threshold of the ballroom, eyes stabbing through his.  

Last he’d seen her, she’d had the beginnings of grays at her temples. Predictably, she’s dyed it back to its original brown, and stands with her back poised straight, hands folded in front of her. When you two are close enough, her pinkened lips pull upwards, into a smile that shows her teeth but doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Mijito,” she says, opening her arms. She wraps them around him, and they press their cheeks together in a brief kiss. “This is your photographer?”

“Si mami,” he murmurs, using the hand you don’t have captive to gesture your way. He tells Mami your name and how every piece of media that’s come out of Apex’s headquarters has been yours. “She’s incredible at what she does.”

“I should hope so. We expect nothing but the best,” says Mami.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Silva,” you say, offering your hand out. Mami’s smile doesn’t fade but if it didn’t reach her eyes before, it definitely doesn’t now, anger flaring in them.

“Ms. Silva, cariña,” croons Mami, and Octavio cringes away from the way her voices oozes, thickened by sweetness she doesn’t truly have. “I divorced from Octavio’s father a long time ago.”

“Oh, I-” you begin, probably going to apologize for information he hadn’t given you. Octavio doesn’t want you to do that. As a matter of fact, he kind of wants his mom to apologize for looking at you so coldly when she hadn’t publicized her and Pa’s divorce to begin with. Octavio jumps in, cutting you off.

“She didn’t know, ma, back off,” he bites. Ma’s blazing eyes turn on him and he glares back. Before she can say more, Octavio is hauling you into the ballroom.

“She can set up in the corner, near the bay windows!” Ma calls after him in Spanish and Octavio’s nostrils flare. He doesn’t feel like playing translator for someone who speaks English just fine tonight, but he has a feeling she’s going to rope him back in, make him play the dutiful son just for talking back. The bar’s already set up and kitchen staff are putting out a long buffet table of food. In the corner that Ma said you could set up in, there’s a long drape rolled out with Silva Pharms logo all over it – in bright, stim green.

“Oc,” you say, catching his attention as you two pull up to where you’ll be stationed for a majority of the evening. The hand on the inside of his elbow squeezes and he turns his head to look at you, at the little furrow between your brows, at your other hand moving around to squeeze his. “Hey, it’s okay. Some people don’t like to even think about being married to someone they divorced. I get that.”

“You don’t know her like I do,” mutters Octavio. “She was a lot meaner than she seemed.”

“Well, I didn’t notice. So, it’s fine,” you say. Your hand encompasses his and he watches your tote fall to the crook of your elbow instead of your shoulder. You don’t try to adjust it though, focused on him, and that makes his shoulder relax as much as it makes his pulse rapid. “It’s okay, Oc, seriously. We just got here. No one’s here yet. Help me set up and then we’ll grab some food before your parents’ guests arrive, okay?”

That… Sounds like a good plan. Octavio tries to shake the nervous energy from his limbs, remind himself that at least you’re here, but he can’t quite get rid of it. He feels like a dog backed into a corner by handlers with sticks but instead of beating him, none of them are moving.

To take his mind off it, he rapidly puts together your camera. You scold him several times, reminding him to be careful with your equipment.

“Octavio, you have to screw that in, not push it-”

“I knew that!”

“You did not!”

Octavio only cackles when you tell him the right way to set up your camera, but he does do it the way you tell him to. Once your camera is put together and placed on its little trifold, you and Octavio meander over to the buffet.

Whoever Ma hired to cater (because Ma always does all the organizing for these things; Pa just shows up) likes colorful dishes, bright blue and reds staring up at you two. There’s some leviathan meat in the corner that Octavio will definitely getting his hands on before the night is over, cooked medium rare with some kind of garlic and herb butter spread over it, the juice pooling in the plate beneath. More important than that though is finding the chicharron that Octavio knows is here.

It only takes him a minute to pull up the rind, with large, square knots of pork along it. He grins at you, coming closer, the meat recklessly flopping with every step.

“You gotta try this,” he says as you bend over the other edge, eyeballing what he’s pretty sure is some kind of cheesecake, placed just beneath the chocolate fountain. You twist around with an empty plate, hovering it just beneath the chicharron before it can drip onto the floor.

“You need a plate,” you reply and Octavio snickers. Despite your words, you lean in, biting the edge of one of the protruding cubes of pork. You sigh at the taste and Octavio grins, showing all his teeth. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, baby!”

You and Octavio eat before the guests arrive and as people begin to filter into the ballroom, you take your place at the corner where you’ll be taking pictures. Octavio isn’t too far away, pacing the big, empty space just beside the tarp with all the Silva Pharm logos. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until someone he doesn’t recognize comes up to him, laughing about how Octane can never sit still, huh?

Octavio smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he agrees. That’s one of the things he’s always hated about these stupid fundraisers or events or whatever the hell this thing is. He usually doesn’t know half the people there, or even a quarter, and they all walk up to him like they know him. Even more so now that he’s made Octane.

“Octavio,” someone says, and he glances up to see his Ma fast approaching. She doesn’t look angry, though. Maybe a little annoyed but Octavio has learned that she always looks like that, one side of her mouth pulled up a little further than the other, brows low on her face. At least, she always looks that way around him. “Come and say hello, the photographer isn’t going anywhere.”

Octavio sputters, though Ma places her hand on the inside of his elbow and without thinking, Octavio bends his arm to meet her. Octavio doesn’t think a lot anyway, but it feels like a low blow to use you to make his brain work a little less. He glances back at you, standing with your back straight, waiting for someone to come get their photo op. You smile at him. He smirks back.

It makes sense that mostly old people invest in a pharmaceutical company but that doesn’t mean Octavio doesn’t find them totally, completely boring. They talk about things like their most recent vacations, or something silly their butlers did, and Ma laughs along, placing a hand over her chest as though these stories are the funniest things she’s ever heard.

Maybe they are. Octavio wouldn’t know. He stopped finding the staff’s misfortune funny around the time Señora Luz told Pa she was pregnant, and she suddenly didn’t have a job anymore. He wasn’t allowed to open the door for her either.  

Ajay’s parents approach and Mami greets them warmly, pulling them into big hugs and giving them kisses on each cheek. On principle alone, Octavio is a little less familiar, waving their way, and they all laugh about how they’d never known him to be shy.

They didn’t know the first thing about him anyway.

“Oh, but where is his blazer?” Ajay’s mom asks and Octavio grunts. Ma turns her cold eyes back to him, calculatingly sizing him up. She must not have noticed when he walked in that he wasn’t wearing one. He’d almost gotten away with it, too.

“It’s so hot in here, don’t you think?” Ma smoothly covers and Octavio taps his fingers soundlessly against his thigh. He’ll hear about it later.

Octavio finds himself getting restless. His fingers itch and his toes curl in his overpriced shoes. He wants to run. Maybe even turn and jump out the bay window. Or go out back and see if Ma still has horses on this property or if she finally got sick of the memories of Pa in these halls.

He glances your way, finding you hunched over your camera. The couple at the other end of it smiles and you snap three shots, back to back. He wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them, but you’d know if the angles were different, or if one had flash and another didn’t. When they walk off, you stand upright and catch his eye.

Your wink sends a powerful burst of something through his chest. It makes his blood pump faster but also makes his shoulders relax and fuck. He’s so, totally fucked. You’re the one thing keeping him from doing something stupid. Which means he’s fucked.

“Mijo,” he hears, though this time it isn’t Ma, and Octavio curses to himself. Yeah. He’s fucked.

He turns, not bothering to paste on a smile. If nothing else, amongst themselves, the Silva’s aren’t fake. Ma is busy with the Ches and a group of people that like to laugh at other people’s expense. Octavio hasn’t seen his Pa in awhile but he looks just like Octavio remembers – his thick eyebrows are trimmed, arched like he’d spent way too much time having someone do them, his dark hair graying at the edges. Unlike Ma, he doesn’t dye it though, claiming the silver makes him look more refined, that his most recent wife likes him gray. He’s surprised she’s not clinging to his arm, in something way too tight and tiny that would piss Ma off if she saw it.

“Where’s Gloria?” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. Gloria’s young, grossly so, closer to Octavio in age than Pa. She’s nice, though, and last Octavio heard, she and Pa’s marriage was going swimmingly.

“Who knows?” Pa asks back and Octavio subtly rolls his eyes. Leave it to Pa not to know where his wife is. He doesn’t outright berate her though, which means they must still be together, so she’s somewhere around here. Octavio should say hi. He’d be happier to see her than Pa, or Ma. “You look nice tonight, hijo. Thank you for bringing a photographer – you know your Mama won’t let anyone I hire work.”

Octavio does not know that and doesn’t really care to, but he nods along anyway. His eyes keep flickering over to you, eager to go make stupid faces in the background of your pictures or tickle your sides so that you lose focus.

“Ah, I see,” Papa says. Irritated, Octavio turns his gaze back to him.

“You see what?” He asks.

“You’re fucking her?” Papa asks and Octavio feels his shoulders jump up to his ears. His whole body braces, like he’s about to jam stim into his thigh, like he’s about to take off in the middle of a firefight.

“What the fuck, papa?” He hisses back, not even realizing they’ve switched to Spanish until a second after he’s speaking it. “Why would you ask me something like that?”

“C’mon, son, you wouldn’t be the first one to fuck the help,” sniffs Papa, and the way he says help makes Octavio bristle all over. “It’s okay. She’s cute!”

“That’s none of your business,” seethes Octavio, practically baring his teeth. “Don’t compare her to Luz. This is different.”

“Luz? I wasn’t talking about Luz,” says Papa. Then, his eyes narrow, and he looks a little bit more hostile, stepping into Octavio’s space. “What do you mean different? Octavio, did you get her pregnant? You know we can’t afford that kind of a scandal-”

“Oc!” You suddenly chime from his right and he and Papa both jump. He spins to face you and you look at him, bug eyed, hands risen like you’re trying to declare a cease fire. “-Tane. Octane. Buddy. Some people are asking you for a photo-op… Am I, uh, interrupting something?”

“No, no, not at all, sweetheart,” Papa says, moving forward to introduce himself. Somehow, it’s worse than Mami not doing it at all, especially with the sweet smile you give him as you shake hands. “Go, Octane. The people want you. Here, take a vial with you, get into character.”

Pa hands him a vial of stim and Octavio’s fingers close tightly around it, knuckles white with frustration. You jam your hand into the crook of Octavio’s arm and drag him away. He’s still fuming, hot all over with his rage, and you move a little closer to him as you guys stroll across the ballroom.

“You okay? That looked kind of heated,” you say, and Octavio looks down at you, doing his best not to fixate all that fury on you.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s-it’s fine- did someone really want a photo-op or did you just sneak me out?” He asks, realizing that you must’ve seen that something was going on between he and his papa. The sheepish smile that tugs your lips confirms it. Octavio laughs, trying not to bend at the waist so he can keep walking. “Bad girl.”

“Sorry,” you say, but Octavio kind of wants to kiss you for it, “but I can keep you for a little while with that photo-op thing. These people won’t turn it down.”

Okay, yeah, Octavio really wants to kiss you. Not only did you save him from an exchange with pa (about you, but he pushes that part to the back of his mind), you’re now offering to keep him from him indefinitely.

“You’re the best,” murmurs Octavio. His lips barely brush your ear and he doesn’t miss the little stutter of your breath. Oh yeah. He’s definitely going to repay you for earlier on the ride back to the Apex City.

Octavio lines up and that really seems to get people wanting to come over for pictures. Two old men he doesn’t recognize give him a cigar and he wedges it and the stim vial between his teeth, pointing at the camera with two of them. When a woman walks up, he dips her low, cackling while she swoons. More people come and Octavio makes stupid faces at the camera, even getting one old timer to throw up horns with him. You make the shoot fun and for once, he thinks he might have to pat Ajay on the back. Or apologize for lying. Maybe both.

“Mijito,” Octavio hears in the middle of another picture with two women. One has her hands on his chest, her leg swept up, and the other presses against his back while he holds up his arms in some silly superman pose. He peers over the head of the one in front of him, seeing not only Mami, but Pa standing at the very edge of the tarp. Fuck.

The picture’s taken and you lift yourself from behind the camera, glancing between him and his parents. He shoos away the two women, who thank him for the time and then swarm you to get a look at the picture. You fumble with your camera, clearly preoccupied with making sure his mami doesn’t bite his head off. With no other option, your gaze turns to the photos, and Octavio tries his best to keep his chin held high as he walks over to his parents.

“Your papa has told me something interesting,” says Mami first. Octavio’s jaw clenches and whatever tension he’d been accumulating earlier returns full force. The urge to run or fight hits him hard but he stands his ground. “Is that photographer pregnant?”

“No,” groans Octavio, reaching up to scrub at his face. “God, what is wrong with you two? Why is it if I look at someone you have to tell me to not get them pregnant? Or assume I will?”

“You haven’t been responsible with anything else. Why would we expect you to be responsible with sex?” Mami demands. If he weren’t already seething, Octavio might be embarrassed at this conversation. He is, though.

“I was responsible with Navi. And with every other pet you got me. And with my stim. I’m here, aren’t I?” He growls out and Mami holds up a finger instantly, drawing a little closer to try and hide the look she’s giving him.

“Don’t speak to your mother that way.” Pa says and Octavio whips his head to look at him, instead of his mother’s icy glare.

“What way? I’m just telling her the truth. I’m here when I didn’t want to be. I brought you guys a photographer,” growls Octavio.

“For no one else’s benefit but your own,” hisses Mami, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t do something like this without an ulterior motive. Does she have something on you Octavio? Is that why you brought her here?”

“No! She’s a good photographer and I needed someone other than you two here!” Octavio snaps, the words rolling off like venom and Mami’s chin tilts down, eyes flashing.

“Oh, of course, bringing a chew toy to a PR event must make you feel so much better,” Mami scoffs. He reaches up, pushing a hand through his brightly colored mohawk, nostrils flaring.

“Don’t talk about her like that,”

“I’ll talk about whoever I want however I want, and-”

“Not her!”

“God, you are just like your father, Octavio. We cannot afford to have you in trouble with the Games, and certainly not for some-”

“Ma, I’m not doing this with you. I’m here, I’m promoting Silva, and unless you want me to leave, you will not speak about her the way I know you were just about to. You will not.” Octavio outright barks and this seems to draw the attention of those strolling by them. Mami’s face slackens, her eyes flashing. In them, in the clench of her jaw, the curl of her fist, he sees something. Something like recognition.

He doesn’t care, too busy fuming about the fact they’re even having this stupid fucking argument. Octavio barely notices Pa, standing off to the side, looking as useless as he always does when he and Mami argue, or the short, porky man that hurries up to Mami’s left.  

“Excuse me, Señora Silva,” the butler says, cutting their staring contest short. “There’s something requiring your attention in the kitchen. A wine shipment hasn’t arrived?”

“Hijo de gran puta,” snarls Mami, throwing her hands up. She turns away from his glower and it feels good to have won one of those standoffs. Even if it was technically a foul. Mami stomps into the distance and that leaves Octavio and Pa.

“Son, you know it’s not a good idea to-” begins Pa, but Octavio doesn’t let him finish. He hates when he does things that remind him of Mami but he turns away from him anyway, looking out at the rest of the ballroom as though he’d just gotten into an argument with everyone in it. He wants to run. He wants to jam the stim into his thigh and carry himself all the way back to the ship port, maybe roll in some mud to get this stupid crisp button up dirty. He wants to-

“Hey,” your voice chimes gently. He feels your fingers on his cheek and you turn his head, making him look at you. Your face is soft, and vulnerable, and open, and he’s so fucked. “C’mon. Show me to the bathroom.”

Octavio snorts. He offers you his elbow, but you don’t take it, instead interlocking your fingers and pulling him towards the exit. He notices your camera is still set up on the way out, but you’ve draped something over it to signify your booth is closed for a little while. Realizing he’s supposed to be taking you somewhere, Octavio pulls you up the stairs, down the hall, and into one of the many rooms of his childhood.

Being the son of preoccupied billionaires with too much on their plates to bother handling a rambunctious little boy, Octavio had a lot of rooms growing up. He had a game room, and a homework room (which was supposed to function as an office, when he got old enough to take over some of Silva Pharms mountains of paperwork). This room was always his favorite though. He slept in it most nights and even when he moved out, he hadn’t changed anything about it.

The full-sized mattress in the corner has racecar sheets. Octavio can’t drive for shit, but he always liked to watch old movies when it was common for everyone to use cars. The noises of engines rumbling with motor oil, of rubber on pavement… When he was a little boy, he told Luz he wanted to be a race car driver when he grew up. She laughed but on every holiday from then on out, she bought him a model race car.

All of them are lined up on the very top of a shelf, which has a bright red racing strip painted down the side. He’s got posters of old Nascar drivers on the wall, people who have been dead for centuries but who got to do super cool, fun things. Who sometimes even wrecked their cars.

“Hope you didn’t actually need the bathroom,” mutters Octavio, locking the bedroom door.

“What if I did?” You ask. He looks over his shoulder at you, checking to see if you’re serious, only to see you lounging on the edge of his mattress, peering around the room.

“Your room’s really cute,” you say, and Octavio snorts as he joins you, collapsing onto his old bed. It was way too big for him as a little kid, and even now as a young man, his slight frame doesn’t take up much of the larger beds offered to him. “Who even likes cars anymore? No one drives them.”

“We have a Bugatti in the garage.”

“Of course you do.” You two sit in silence for a while, the sounds of the party downstairs just barely reaching you. “So… you wanna talk about it?”

Not really. Talking about it means telling you what it was that got him and his parents into an argument in the first place. “My parents are just… The worst.”

“I got that.” You say. He glances your way, appraising you, and you hold your hands up. “Hey, we call them like we see them here.”

“They just, um.” Octavio frowns. Should he tell you? He feels like he shouldn’t. “My dad kind of saw me looking at you and asked if we were fucking.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you says anything, unsure of how to proceed. Octavio’s knee begins to jiggle, and he huffs out a big breath, dragging a hand down his face.

“I told him it was none of his business, so I guess he decided to tell my mom. Which was… What that was about,” explains Octavio, waving his hand noncommittally. “They thought you were pregnant.”

“Ouch,” you say, and Octavio giggles. He peers over at you and you’re smiling, eyes soft, shining in the low light from his stupid race car lamp. Your make up has smudged a little, the vermillion on your lips mostly gone after you two had your share of food. Yet he can still see the remnants of it, especially as he sees the little upwards curve of your lips.

Fuck.

Without thinking, Octavio reaches up, hand cupping the back of your neck so he can haul you into a kiss, trying to take the remnants of that pretty red you’d been wearing. You go willingly, matching his vigor, his speed, and that’s one of the things he loves about you. One of the things that’s been driving him crazy, keeping him up until ungodly hours as he tries to figure how someone could affect him this way. You always keep up, even if you’re not ready to run into the line of fire.

You rest your hand on his chest, tilting your head, and Octavio instantly wedges his tongue between your lips. You part them readily and you still kind of taste like whatever chocolatey something or other you’d gotten your hands on earlier. His other hand settles on your hip, and he wants to pull you on top so badly, wants you to scream so loudly that they know what’s going on downstairs. He wants you to look at him like you just were but maybe forever.

He wants to tell you. He wants to tell you what he said to you that night, what’s had him so bugged out. The thought alone feels like a rush.

You pull away from him pressing kisses across the taut flesh of his jaw. He sighs, head moving away, and your teeth clink against the black studs he has in his ear lobes. His blood pumps in his veins, the hand on your neck gliding down the length of your spine.

“Te adoro,” he murmurs between kisses. You pause, pulling away to meet his eyes. Your hair tickles his cheeks and he reaches up, tucking it behind your ear. “Eres en mi vida todo mi tesoro.”

“What?”

“Quiero decirte. Pero tengo miedo,” continues Octavio, fingers slipping into your hair. He tugs you down, catching your lower lip between his teeth, and you shudder in his grasp. You’re half on top of him, your body hot, your mouth swollen, and he wants. “No quiero perderte.”

“Oc, I don’t understand,” you breathe. Rather than telling you, though, he kisses you hard, lips moving across yours, and you melt into his arms.

“Jesús,” groans Octavio as his hand slides beneath the high cut on the side of your dress. He grabs at your panties, trying to yank them down your thighs. The twist of your torso to lean over him makes it hard. “Get those things off.”

“What did you say?” You huff out, though you obediently rise, dragging your panties down.

Rather than answering you, Octavio grabs you by the waist, pulling you back on top of him. He doesn’t stop you at his cock, though, half hard and tightening his pants. Instead, he helps you up, hooking your legs beneath his shoulders, your thighs on either side of his head and you whine, burying your fingers into his soft hair as you realize what he’s doing.  

His hands travel up your naked thighs, to your ass, gripping it tightly. He looks up at you, at the dark look in your eyes as you pull the fabric of your dress aside, spreading your legs wider, clit even closer to his mouth. He huffs a breath against your cunt, damp but not wet, and his cock demands that he rectifies that right now.

With no further warning, Octavio’s mouth finds the shape of your cunt, molding against it, wetly kissing the pretty pink flesh. You quietly gasp, fingers wrinkling your dress, and he swipes at your slit with gentle flicks of his tongue, letting the musky taste of you linger on his lips.

That doesn’t feel right, though, not for the urgency at which he feels the need to move, so he flattens his tongue, sliding it through your slickening folds and up to your clit, slowly peeking out. The minute he feels it, firm and juicy and wet beneath his tongue, he sucks it between his lips.

The unhinged moan you let out is only emphasized by how you tighten your grip on his hair. You try to spread your legs further and Octavio fingers dig into the pillowy flesh of your ass. Octavio helps you fuck your clit against his tongue, using his grip to make you grind against him, and the moan that leaves you sends a painful jolt to his dick.

His eyes flutter briefly open and if he wasn’t hard before, he is now, Dios. Your hair frames your warmed face beautifully, mouth open to heave in desperate little pants. Your clit is needy, twitching against his tongue, and your hands are fisted into the fabric of your dress, partly for leverage and partly to give him access to you.

His tongue slips down to your hole, the tip of it pushing, pressing it apart to gather up even more of your taste. You shudder above him, trying to roll your hips forward, and Octavio quickly takes the hint. His tongue moves back up to your clit, flicking back and forth, moving swiftly, and he feels your thighs tense, ass cheeks clenching in his hands.

“Oh, Oc, don’t stop,” you whimper, and he sucks as you thrust forward, uncaring of the way his chin drips with you. He’s going to smell like pussy. “God, right there, right there, Octavio, yes, yes, yesyesyes-”

You cum with a noiseless gush and Octavio groans at the sensation of your juice trailing down his chin. He doesn’t care that you slacken in his grip, that he’s momentarily suffocated by your cunt, just wants you to grind against his face as much as you can, try to ride out that orgasm you just had. You shudder, pushing at his head. Octavio pulls away, letting you scoot back down the length of him. The second he can reach you he kisses you, open mouthed and dirty, letting you taste the salty cum on his lips.

“Fuck.”

“Si, I’m trying,” he says, pressing your hips against his slacks. The noise that leaves you is half laugh, half moan, your clit hypersensitive against the fabric. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Yes,” you say, “please, yes. Yes, let’s fuck.”

“Yes, good, okay,” Octavio babbles. He taps your ass with two fingers. As you roll off, he undoes his belt, tossing it to the side. He unzips his pants, thumbs hooking into the waistband, only to find you reaching down to help him. He raises his eyebrows up at you and you smirk, seemingly having caught your second wind. “Si?”

“Si?” You taunt, reaching down to tug his pants down. You only pull them just enough that his cock can spring out, erect from eating you out, and you sigh at the sight of it.

He grins, trying to scoot his pants down a little more, only to pause at the sensation of something cool in his pocket. You climb on top of him, parting your dress again, and he watches you carefully.

With one hand, Octavio rolls that sweetheart neckline down your shoulders, to your elbows. It puts you in an odd position, unable to move your hands, but your tits fall out and, fuck, if that isn’t the sexiest shit he’s seen.

“I’m gonna ride you.”

“Oh, I thought you were sleeping.”

You snort. Unable to move your arms, your dress caught around your biceps, Octavio has to reach down to position his dick beneath your wet cunt. It opens beautifully for him as he drags the blunt tip along your lips, drenched with your earlier orgasm, and when it bumps your clit you jolt. Finally, gratefully, he finds your hole, and without further teasing, you sink all the way down onto him.

Your mouth falls open and you both groan in unison. Octavio’s thighs clench, trembling, because it’s only been a few hours since he’s cum and he’s not sure how much it will take for him to do it again. You feel so good, though, your pussy pulling him in.

“God, Oc,” you groan, falling forward, and your hands find purchase on his firm abdomen, tits squishing together as your index fingers touch. Before he can say something back, you’re moving, breasts jiggling with every bounce of your hips.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he whines, tips of his fingers digging into your thigh, and he’s pretty sure you can feel his pulse thumping through his dick. He bucks up into you, making your tits bounce harder, and you gasp as the tip of his cock thumps against something that feels different than the rest. “God, there?”

“There,” you moan back. As your eyes flutter shut, he slowly, carefully, pulls the neon green vial from his pocket. You’re lost in your own bliss, only sliding halfway up his cock. He waits, waits for your eyes to flutter open and when you finally look at him again, eyes heady and dark with lust, he jams the stim into his thighs.

Your jaw falls open, eyes widening as his veins bulge green, eyes brightening. He grins, wolfish, heart pounding. In the games, the stim makes him want to run, to shoot something. Now, all it does is make him eager to fuck you harder, faster, faster, faster.

 The vial rolls out of his hand and he seizes your hips, holding you in place. You whine, desperate and he’s quick to oblige you. He thrusts up, cock disappearing and reappearing in a blur, tirelessly fucking you from the bottom, his thighs tensing at the tight squeeze of your walls on his cock.

 The soft hair around his cock is already slick with you, worsening as he fucked into you with all the energy he saves for the ring, saves for when he’s Octane. Your chin drops against your chest, and he devours you with his eyes. He catches the way your teeth sink painfully into your lower lip and something primal comes over him, an animalism for your noises to overpower the ones from the party downstairs.

 One of his hands shoots to your stomach, thumb blurring down to your clit. He fondles the hard, wet nub, and groans at the sensation of your pussy muscles clenching hard around his throbbing cock.

 You borderline scream, trying your best to smother it with a scramble of your hand. It doesn’t help, the noise choppy with every powerful thrust of his hips into your cherry red cunt.

“Oh! Octavio! Oc!” You cry, the fingers of your opposite hand digging into his button up, grasping for purchase. He doesn’t know whether you lose your balance or just can’t keep yourself upright, but you plummet into his chest. He doesn’t flinch, just uses the angle to fuck you down the length of him, panting into your ear. Your pussy makes wet noises as he pounds you down onto his cock, tongue flickering out over your ear.

“What did you say?” You suddenly whine. It startles him and his rhythm stutters with his surprise, breath hitching in his throat. He holds it until he’s lightheaded, staring past your head at the ceiling. You weakly grind against his cock and he realizes he’s practically stopped moving, body only moving because of the stim being force through his veins like adrenaline.

“Oc,” you huff out, turning to press your brow against his throat. He can feel his pulse hammering in his jugular and he can’t tell if it’s because of the stim or because of you. “Please.”

Octavio abruptly sits up beneath you. His hands wrap tight around your waist, lips placing wet, open mouthed kisses along your collarbones.

“Te amo,” he murmurs into your skin, lowly, like maybe you won’t hear him if he speaks quietly enough. Recognition flashes in your face. The arms of your dress slide back up your shoulders as you suddenly wrap your arms around his shoulders You use him for leverage to lift yourself up and down his cock, your wet cunt squeezing, hugging. Sloppy noises make their way out and he vaguely recognizes that his pants are going to be ruined.

“Say it so I can understand you,” you demand and he’s helpless, a slave to your desires, every sweet roll of your hips sending bolts of lightening through his gut. He grunts, fingers digging into your lower back.

“Fuck,” he hisses and you twist your head, biting into his throat. He moans, the noise low, strangled, drawn out as you continue to raise and drop your hips, only moving part way up his dick as you do. “Fuck, fuck, baby, porfa, I need-”

“Say it!” You gasp, the friction of his pubic bone against your clit sending you into a frenzy, making you use your grip on his shoulders to raise yourself up higher, until only the tip is inside. Your thighs work to keep you up but you slam back down and Octavio shudders.

“I love you,” he finally whispers, and you turn your head into his hair, wailing near his ear. He whimpers at the noise, trying to roll up. In this position, though, he’s at your mercy, and you fuck yourself onto him once, twice, three more times until you’re shaking into a wetter, softer orgasm.

He hisses at the sensation, at how your cunt clutches him, trying to keep him inside even as you continue to drag your body along his dick. He presses his face to the space between your breasts, smelling your sweat, and your perfume, and he pulls you all the way down so you’re sitting on the very base of his cock, rocking you along it. Almost there, right there, yes, mierda, so good…

“Fuck,” he hisses out loud as he cums. It’s weaker than the one in the ship, little spurts gushing out of him instead of erupting. He keeps his forehead on your chest, catching his breath, your cheek resting on top of his head as you do the same.

“So…” you say, softly, and your voice is hoarse, even though you hadn’t been doing a whole lot of noise making. Shame flushes through Octavio, the last of the stim ebbing from his system. He’ll need to get his dialysis machine to wash away the shreds of it but he can’t focus on that, can’t focus on anything but what he said to you.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m,” he says, grabbing your hips, trying to push you off. You clutch him tighter and your fingers cup his chin. You bring his gaze up to yours and his breath hitches at the way you look at him, at that soft, gentle look that he wanted you to give him forever.

“I love you too.” You say. The world freezes. The noise from downstairs fogs out of his ears, the wet, sticky sensation of you on top of him gone as he stares up at you. You, who has been here for him this whole night, who started off as a hook up.

He moves quicker than lightening, quicker than he’s ever moved, yanking you into a kiss. Your lips move together, hurried, passionate, making up for all the time he didn’t know. He pulls away, lips making a wet, popping sound.

“I could listen to you say that all day,” he huffs out. You giggle and he holds you tightly to his chest for a long, perfect minute, your fingers carding through his short hair.

Octavio hurtles back onto the bed, arms flopping above his head and you snort, still sitting in his lap, his dick inside of you. You don’t seem in a hurry to get it out though. Octavio strokes your thigh. “I really wish you would’ve told me that before this. I could’ve come as your girlfriend.”

Octavio’s lips twitch up in a little smile and he reaches up, placing a hand on your cheek. You make a face at the sweat there, but you don’t move away, your eyes a little softer, a little more open than he’s seen them before.

“You could’ve told me. Ever thought of that, chica?” Octavio asks. He throws his head back, laughing when you lean away from him, climbing off his lap to flop next to him in bed. You loop an arm around his shoulders, interlocking your fingers and nestling against the one closer to you.

“You’re insufferable,” you say, and he kisses the top of your head, humming.

“You love me.”

“I do. I do.”

[charlie-sloane-art]

The Fair Play 3

Summary: You finally meet Oberyn on the way to your lover’s funeral.

Here it is guys! It’s Oberyn, baby!

Read Chapter 1 and Chapter 2

“Fuck off.” You had told Jaime with the ghost of a laugh on your lips. You’d gone through so much, it seemed a shame to let marriage ruin it.

“I meant what I said, Cubby.”

Your smile fell, just like his “No you don’t.” 

“Yes, I do.” He suddenly got the courage, the same feeling in his chest like when he’d dive off the cliffs of Lannisport. He took your hand and kissed the back of it, the softest touch being the most familiar. “I-”

“Don’t say it.”

“Why not?”

“Because if it isn’t true it will haunt the both of us. And if it is true, I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“But don’t you?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Of course I do, but marriage? For what? Pleasing your father? No. I won’t accept being corralled into a union. Not with you, not with anyone.” You shook your head and pulled your hand away from his.

“I see.” Jaime nodded, his feet shifting in place “I should leave.”

“Jaime,” Your voice softened and you walked a step closer to him before he could leave.

“Yes?”

“I’ll have an answer for you by the time I get back to King’s Landing for the wedding.” It was a middleground compromise. Part of you knew you couldn’t stay unmarried forever, after all. And you weren’t exactly in the right position to be turning down such lucrative offers.

“I can take a simple ‘no’, you know.”

“It’s not a ‘no’. It’s a...give me time. I still wake up thinking today’s the day they capture us for good. I’m not ready to give you an answer.”

Jaime could understand that. His nightmares about the forests of Westeros hadn’t subsided either. “I do, though.” He murmured, looking you up and down.

“I know you do. So do I.” You walked over to him and put a hand on the back of his neck, feeling the now completely clean and cut blonde hair. Jaime stared at you so longingly that everything went quiet for him. You leaned up, bringing his head closer to yours, to rest your forehead against his. He nudged his nose against yours and in return you pressed your lips to his. Another familiar touch.

A week into the ride to Hightower a voice spoke from behind you, a Rhoynari accent clear as day in your ear “You seem preoccupied, Lady Mormont.”

You turned around, looking the stranger up and down “Just lost.” You responded, looking among the vast sea of tents set up for the night in the middle of this expansive field.

“You are going to sleep so soon?” The stranger was tall, leaned and muscled with tanned skin and the same dark eyes your once-lover had. 

“Pardon me, but do we know each other?” It wasn’t likely, but still it was better than demanding a stranger explain their presence.

“Apologies, Lady Mormont. I know of you from my nephew’s correspondences.” He bowed and took your hand in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles.

“Oh.” Your blush could be seen through the dark, illuminated by some torch light and whatever sliver of the moon had shown its face. “Prince Oberyn.” You should have known, really, that the Dornishman adorned in bright orange vests and silks was the prince of Dorne.

“Lady Mormont,” He smiled, standing up straight “We finally meet.”

“He used to talk so much about you.” You blurted out, not sure what else you could have said.

“He wrote about you frequently. The only way I knew it was you was from the portrait he’d sent me of you not long ago.” Oberyn nodded, smiling down at you. The North star twinkled in his eye with a scandalous glimmer. 

“I wondered where that portrait had gone.” You smiled, relieved in the sharing of memories of a mutual loved one “He told me all about how you helped raise him into knighthood. He was always very proud to have learned from you.”

“He was like a son to me.” Oberyn nodded, “Dorne was always his place. He should have never gone to the capital.” He sighed “Well, in any case, I shall see you tomorrow, Lady Mormont. Something tells me we have lots to talk about that shouldn’t be spoiled in one evening.” He bowed.

Before he could leave you told him your name, the one you would be most comfortable with him calling you, and he smiled crookedly, giving you a polite nod “Before I do walk away,” He swaggered back carefully “I should escort you to your tent, no?”

“Oh.” You didn’t have a tent. Just the horse tied to a cherry orchard close to the barrack tent where the guards slept. It was safer closer to an armory.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, I just prefer to sleep under the stars.”

“How romantic.” He smiled at you and offered his arm “Come, show me where.”

You lead him to the small tree that should give you cover in case the clear night turned on its head and rained on you.

“You were not joking.” He said, a little more seriously than usual.

“I don’t have attendants and this is what I could manage-”

“This is unacceptable for a lady of such beauty, sleeping in the dirt.” You felt embarrassed and shuffled your feet, but he said it more like this was an injustice done to you, not by you. “You will sleep in my tent.” He decided.

“What?” You turned on your heel to face him and gave him a harsh look up and down “Who do you think you are, propositioning me like that?”

“My Lady, I was not propositioning you. I did not mean to offend. I can sleep on the rug in my tent and you may take the bed. It is what Caspian would want for you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and shook your head “The sky’s clear tonight. I should be fine. I’m used to it anyway.”

“So am I. On my travels to Essos with the Golden Company there often was not enough lodging for us. I slept on the floor multiple times. It is good for your spine.” He walked over to the roots of the orchard and kicked his foot gently against it “But this? It’s hard and jagged. You won’t sleep well and riding tomorrow will be difficult. At the very least, if you sleep here I should offer you a seat in my carriage. I get so lonely on the day ride and my thoughts tend to go morose when left to themselves.”

“Fine.” You nodded and brought your blanket from off of your horse’s hind, both a loan from Jaime “I will take a seat in your carriage, Prince Oberyn, in exchange you leave me be about my sleeping circumstances. We weren’t all born for feather beds.”

Oberyn put his hands up as you settled your back against the tree and placed the blanket over you “A fine trade. I shall come back by here tomorrow and wake you.”

There was no need, in the end. You were awake, ready, and fed off of dried meats and a piece of a loaf of bread you’d packed far before Oberyn came to get you.

“My Lady.” He bowed to you. You noticed he hadn’t done the same for the other ladies or lords around the camp. His house words came to you Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. Unbowed. 

“What’s a prince like you,” You started, making him raise an eyebrow “bowing to a lady like me for?”

“From what I’ve heard of you and your adventures,” through Caspian, no doubt “I hold you to a station far above mine, my Lady.”

You smiled a little and nodded, folding your blanket to put back on your horse but Oberyn stopped you “That won’t be necessary. I have space to put your trunk and belongings. Your horse will ride with the others pulling the carriage.”

“It’s a loan.”

“And it will be returned to you. You have my word.”

You nodded and placed the blanket in your trunk “I’d like to hear of your adventures. It’s only fair since you know so much of mine.” You couldn’t help look the prince up and down. Did he recently tweeze his eyebrows? They didn’t have the same shape last night. And his facial hair was far more trimmed and straightened. Had the Prince of Dorne gussied up for you?

“And yet I have so many questions about yours.” He smiled and offered his hand to take your valise, which you lugged into his arms with a simple thanks. Untying your horse from the tree, you took the reins and followed Oberyn. He was right. Your lower back felt sore and cramped. You were thankful for the cushioned seat he had offered.

“Like what?”

“How did you escape in the first place? How were you so sure you could trust a Lannister of all people?”

“Mutual gain. He knew he couldn’t escape on his own and the lands were still sympathetic to the northern cause. He didn’t have the right vocabulary not to be caught. And I needed to escape.”

“How did you set him free?”

“I brought him dinner the night before and stuck a dagger in the bread. He killed the guard on my signal and I opened the door for him.”

“He could have slit your throat.”

“He was not that stupid, fortunately.” You smiled up at Oberyn and he shook his head.

“It’s all so hard to believe, and yet...my nephew mentioned a knight catching you. You were caught multiple times, yes?”

“Yes. About seven days in, we were intercepted by Brienne of Tarth who had the mission to bring Jaime to King’s Landing and me back for execution to the Starks.”

“And the second?”

“By Lord Bolton’s men who cut off Jaime’s hand. They had it in mind to do awful things to both Brienne and I. Jaime made sure it didn’t happen. I owe him my life.”

Oberyn sighed “Must be a strange thing, being in debt to a Lannister.”

“They’re funny about debts, those ones.” You smiled and found yourself looking at a beautiful carriage, carrying the orange and red banners of house Martell. It was painted yellow with orange trimmings, every edge curved to look like the sun. Carved into it were small stars along the doorways and wheel rims. The closer you got to it the better you could smell the inside. Oberyn opened the door for you after hauling and strapping in your trunk to the back. Oranges, basil, and sweet mint wafted towards you like it had been burned as incense. Sure enough, he had a stick of it burning by the window, a special hole in the window frame to hold it in place.

“The country smells awful.” He made a comment as he climbed in after you, sitting across from you and getting comfortable with his legs apart and his arms on either side of the backs. “I much prefer the smell of home.”

“This is what Dorne smells like?”

He nodded “In my age, I’ve grown more homesick.”

“Pardon me,” Oberyn shook his head and swatted his hand to tell you to drop such formalities “but didn’t you recently just spend three years in Essos?”

“Caspian told you?” Oberyn rose a brow and smiled, tilting his head to the side. You sat so conservatively, like you wanted to fold in on yourself. The dress wasn’t helping your case either. “I spent five years in Essos.”

“Homesick the entire time?”

“No, moreso homesick because of it.”

“I don’t think I could ever understand.” You had been born on Bear Island, yes, but your father Jeor Mormont had soon left to take the black and become the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch- a position he never returned from. Your mother, old as she was when you were born, died of sepsis soon after your birth. Your brother, Jorah, had been exiled a year into your life and it left your cousin Maege the Lady Bear had still been young when she was given control of the island. She sent you away when the Starks offered to raise you as a ward. You had been just a baby and up until two years ago, Winterfell was all you knew.

“You do not miss Winterfell?” Oberyn asked curiously, scooching on the seat to be more directly in front of you.

“No. It wasn’t really my home, anyway. Everyone made sure to tell me that whenever I got too comfortable.” You weren’t sure why you were oversharing but Oberyn didn’t seem to mind. He did, however, notice your discomfort.

“Your clothes are not made for riding.” He noticed “When we station for the night I shall find you more appropriate ones.”

“That is kind of you.”

“I only assume you would not want to be beholden to my presence twice.” Oberyn laughed and leaned back, reaching for a bowl of berries in the carriage. Fresh, you noticed. How had the man gotten fresh berries delivered to him in the middle of the Stormlands?

“I appreciate that.” You quipped and he laughed. You swore there was nothing that made you feel more like a grown woman than when you made him laugh.

“May I ask a personal question?” You ventured, leaning forward.

“All questions are personal if they require a truthful answer.” Oberyn nodded

“Is it true you have eighty children?”

“Eighty bastards, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to say it.”

“It’s not a bad word, Y/N. You can call them what they are. Bastards. And no, I have eight daughters...that I know of. Maybe more. Definitely more. At least five more, I suspect.”

“Doesn’t that haunt you?”

“Haunt me? How?”

The carriage stirred to life and began rolling down the path following the others.

“To be beholden to at least eight other lives, eight other people you hold responsibility for.”

“I suspect,” He leaned forward to mirror you. “It may be different because I am a rich man. I can make as many children as I like with little consequence. For you to have eight children would be a different matter than for me to have eight children. I do not have to grow them, as much as I try to participate in the process, the burden does not fall to me. I do not hold the stained mark of a consummated woman for nine months and years after. A woman does not hold the same luxury.”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. You’d never heard a man speak like that before. Then he ruined it by saying: “You are very beautiful so deep in thought.”

-

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[fuckinuchihas]

Cut The Love You Pieces Out of Me

KONOHAMARU X READER

NOT RATED-WILL PROBABLY END UP EXPLICIT

PART TWO

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS:

Injury to Reader, Embarrassed Reader, Uzumaki relation implied of Reader, more to be added later I’m sure.

If I’ve forgotten anything be sure to let me know!

PART ONE

You’re cut heals over the next day or so, your leg still isn’t in any kind of running condition but you can walk on it without crying so you push forward. The quicker you get back to Konoha the better. 

He doesn’t know he’s doing it but fuck, Konohamaru is a goddamn tease and for once you wish you had Kunochi friends to vent with about him. He’s doted on you for the better part of a week now and as if that wasn’t enough to get your heart to do funny things, he seems to have also adopted the civilian clothing thing and it’s...well it’s not unflattering. 

He wears a number of pale shirts so of course the universe decides to smack you in the face with rainstorms that mean his clothes are clinging to him like a second skin. His muscles flex through the material and your eyes track it no matter how many times you force yourself to look away.

It’s a wonder he hasn’t already looked at you with those big sad eyes and told you it’s never going to happen. He’s probably waiting until you get back to Konoha so that it’s not even more awkward than it has been for the rest of the trip. 

Ugh, you’re worked up and frustrated and you can’t even let it out by sparring because of your stupid leg.

You finally start to give out, your leg was done a mile back but you pushed ahead anyway. Now you’re paying for it so you tug on his sleeve and he nods in understanding.

It’s easy for you to set the barriers now, your chakra is nearly full capacity given that you haven’t used it for much except dealing with your injury. So you quickly send up the sealing jutsu that you crafted into a specialty all your own, and you will rest easily knowing you’re safe.

After the fire is built and the bedrolls are in place you feel a little tingle in the back of your neck and you smile sadly. “How do you feel about venison for dinner?” 

He looks at you and grins, wide and open, “That would be amazing, I haven’t had- 

*CRACK* 

You drop your hand that had been making a twisting motion just a moment earlier and close your eyes, “Thank you for your sacrifice, rest in peace.” 

“Did you just-” 

“It’s a quarter mile that way, if you want to lug it back I can prepare it but with my leg as bad as it is now, I can’t go after it,” you say, pointing in the direction where the young buck gave its life. 

He nods happily and takes off through the trees. 

You turn your head and let the tears you’ve been holding in finally fall.

You don’t like killing, not animals or ninja, but you’ll do it when the job calls for it. 

These tears though, are a little bit of everything. Sadness over the last moment of holding that buck’s neck in your hands, petting it softly with your chakra before twisting its neck. Then there’s the emotions you’ve been holding in for the past few days that also escape out with the rest.

You’re able to track every movement within the barrier so you make sure there’s no evidence of your tears by the time he makes it back to camp. Instead you put on a bright smile and welcome him back with gusto. It probably sounds a little fake but for all that he is, and he is quite a many wonderful things, Konohamaru can still be pretty oblivious on the day to day. So you hope he doesn’t see it and comfort yourself with the reassuring truth that a lot of more obvious things have slipped his notice. 

He’s more than happy to do the grunt work on preparing dinner so you nod in agreement and mention lying down for a nap.

He stands guard as he works even if he doesn’t really need to.

You can’t sleep despite the monumental effort you’re putting in. Your mind keeps wandering back to the way he picked you up so effortlessly. You shiver at the memory of his biceps curled protectively around your thighs and back. You bite back a moan when your brain draws up the way his jaw clenched as your arms wrapped around his neck. 

It’s enough to drive you to distraction and beyond. You want nothing more than to get some alone time but if you ask for it while in camp it would be suspicious. Potentially you could send him after water when he finishes with the deer but then you’ll have to cook the meat and watch the fire so there’s little opportunity for you to take care of yourself in those following moments either. 

You doubt he’ll let you use the bath in the lake excuse again, not with how it ended last time, which is fair but still frustrating. 

Maybe if you’re really quiet… 

No, no… you can’t. He’s a ninja with excellent hearing and no matter how quiet you attempt to be, it is practically impossible for you to stay completely silent.

You groan in annoyance. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, softly whispering your name as he moves closer to your bedroll.

“Fine. I’m just having a little trouble sleeping,” you say, hoping he will back away and leave you alone. With as worked up as you’ve managed to get yourself, one look from those big bright eyes and you’ll be lost.

“Oh, I see. Well if there’s anything I can do just let me know,” he says, and you could choke on the sincerity. 

Instead you let out a strangled laugh and rub at your tired eyes. “I’ll be sure to let you know if any ideas come to mind,” you lie, because you know exactly how he can help you sleep but you refuse to ask it. Not that it would matter much anyway, if he did it you’d only be able to add it to the neverending list of ways you’ve been a burden to him on this godforsaken mission. 

Three years, countless successful assignments, nearly every moment you were a consummate professional and yet less than a week by his side and you’ve proven to be nothing but another useless kunoichi. 

You don’t buy into that whole women are useless in the field ideology but there are always a couple that prove the stereotype true, it’s never you, has never been you before. 

You absolutely hate that it’s you when you’re with him. 

It’s not like you imagined things turning out in some daydream fantasy, that would be stupid and a waste of valuable time. However, the moment you saw his potential, the fire in his eyes, the raw something that he held above all others, you wanted. You ached with it in ways you’d never experienced but since that moment you’ve done nothing but cause him trouble and how would a man like that ever look at you twice if he had to spend the days you have together playing nursemaid. 

“You seem to be miles away...homesick?” he asks, coming closer still.

He’s snuck up on you while you were reliving your self loathing spiel. 

How rude of him. 

“Sort of,” you say, because you certainly can’t tell the whole truth. Though it’s not exactly a lie, you miss the you from before you knew him.

“Ah, I know what this is. You have someone special waiting for you back home that you miss, right?” he asks, smiling brightly. 

He’s completely unaffected by the idea of someone waiting for you. 

It shouldn’t hurt, but it does.

It hurts bad, the pain in your chest feels like a boulder sitting on top of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it..” You lie, and turn over to keep the tears from falling where he can see them. “Don’t forget to keep the organs. We’ll leave them to feed some of the local animals before we move on.” 

You swallow hard, grateful that you kept your voice steady and even despite your emotions.

Thankfully he takes the hint and leaves you to your depression burrito. 

At least you don’t have to worry about the sexual frustration anymore. 

~~~~~!!~~~~~

When you wake up to cook the meat, Konohamaru is quiet. You’re almost concerned that something happened but when you ask he just waves you off and says he’s just looking forward to the meal. You offer him a granola bar and a couple food pills, to your surprise he actually takes them and then thanks you politely. 

He goes for a swim/bath and gathers some fresh water from the lake. It’s quiet without him but when he gets back that doesn’t change and you start to feel a little on edge. 

He must realize he’s acting weird when you pass him a bowl because he smiles and tries to keep conversation but you can see that it doesn’t reach his eyes and it makes something slimy slither around in your stomach. 

What could have possibly happened while you slept? 

“I know you say everything is okay and I believe you, I do but if you wanted someone to talk to...well I’m your very own one woman captive audience,” you grin, teasing him a little as you try to poke at his cracking facade. 

He leans back on his hands, arms flexing as he stares off into the distance, oblivious to your eyes tracking the clenching of his biceps. 

‘Fuck, no...focus bitch,’ you tell yourself in your mind. 

“Oh I forgot to mention that you don’t owe me another question,” he says, as if it just randomly occurred to him and also as if you hadn’t just spoken to him before. Did he miss the interaction entirely? 

“Okay, how did I manage that...you didn’t ask me anything in my sleep did you,” you say, eyeing him skeptically. 

“No no, I uh, it’s just you answered the other question I had, that’s all..” 

You frown in confusion and your feel your mouth pull to a slight pout. “And when exactly did I answer your big number three?”

He’s turned away from you, reaching for his bowl that he’d sat down to warm his hands by the fire, “I was just going to ask if you were single, but of course you’re not. That wouldn’t make sense at all..I guess I should have thought of something better huh?” he says, scratching his head as he turns back, the slightest pink tinge on his cheeks. 

You blink at him.

He’s not-surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying…

You must have misheard. 

But what if…?

You clear your throat, nerves fluttering wildly in your belly. “Why would you care about that?” 

“Oh no reason,” he says, stuffing his mouth full of venison as he looks at anything that isn’t you. 

“I’m not, you know...I um, I kinda lied earlier,” you admit, because you just can’t let yourself take the chance that he was actually interested and you let him believe a lie to get away from it. “I just didn’t want to explain where my mind was at, y’know? It was kinda personal and I reacted. I’m sorry...you deserve the truth.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I get it,” he says, and this time he looks at you wide eyed and the smile on his lips grows wider until it actually reaches his eyes and you can’t help the way your heart goes rabbit fast against your ribs. 

“What about you… do you uh, have anyone waiting back in Konoha?” you ask, because you’re a glutton for punishment. If you’ve read this entire situation wrong you’re going to be mortified and the chances are still slim that he actually wants you, for more than some fun anyway. 

“Not really, there’s not very many kunoichi who are my type,” he says softly, like it’s kind of a secret. 

You laugh. “Oh? And what’s your type exactly?” 

You assume whatever he’s going to say next will be laughable. You’ve heard that phrase a million times over but they all still end up wanting something you’re not. Blonde, brunette, skinny, short, smart; hell even strong, which you actually managed to convince yourself you were, at least until he showed up. 

“Comfortable,” he says, and you’re thrown. 

Surprised would be an understatement in the moment.

“Comfortable?” you ask, cause clearly you’re confused. What kind of girl would be ‘comfortable’ to him? 

“I don’t really know how to describe it, I guess it’s just something I know when I see it,” he answers, and nods his head as if he’s affirming it to himself. 

“Oh that clears it up,” you say sarcastically. Are you his type or not? You’d like to think you’re ‘comfortable’ but mostly only because he hasn’t heard your internal monologue. “Like...comforting?” you ask, because that’s so not your thing, not really. 

“I mean, that’s nice too I guess, but it wasn’t what I meant...I could- I could show you,” he says, rushing through the rest of his dinner as if it's his last meal. 

“Umm...sure I guess,” you say, ‘I have a pencil and some pages..” 

“No- I,” he starts, swallows and tries again. “Just...can I come a little closer?” 

He looks nervous and that should probably put you on edge but you trust him implicitly. After everything he’s done for you over the last few days, it's the least you could give him in return. “Sure.”

He smiles directly at you over the flickering campfire and you feel your heart thump thump irregularly. You chuckle to hide the awkwardness when he moves closer. 

He sits down beside you where you’re leaned against the tree for support and he’s so close, his face is right there and your hands itch to do something, anything. 

You stop yourself before they can actually reach up, thankfully. 

But then the next thing you know his head is cradled in your lap and he’s smiling up at you. 

“Like this...comfortable.” 

You narrow your gaze but there’s no heat in it, “Someone who’s fat?” you ask, and immediately regret it. 

His face scrunches up, “I don’t like that word and you’re not, for the record; not even by civilian standards,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re strong and healthy.” 

It’s impossible to hold back the snort and you grin down at him. “You sure you didn’t hit your head back there somewhere?” you ask, because he’s obviously being ridiculous and if it were anyone else you’d be worried about hidden agendas, but Konohamaru is like the most sincere, most kind person you’ve ever met. No way would he betray the bond you’ve started. 

“You got injured, that happens to all of us. It doesn’t make you weak- Actually if it weren’t for you I might not be here,” he says softly. “That ninja...he was a lot stronger than I am. If you hadn’t sealed him I don’t know that we could have won that fight.” 

You find it hard to swallow, but you force down the lump in your throat. You breathe out a shaky exhale before you slowly start to card your fingers through his hair. “Thank you, I-I know I  haven’t been of much use since the fight but I am grateful that you recognize my strength anyway.” 

He shakes his head but when you pull your hand away he takes it gently in his own and puts it back on the soft, still damp strands of his hair. “That wasn’t meant to be discouraging...this is nice,” he says, back in that softer tone before he goes to a normal speaking voice. “You’ve done twice or three times what most shinobi would in your place.”

You don’t know how to take his compliments. They make you feel warm and flush all over but you don’t want to let on so you go back to your comfort zone. “Yeah, well that’s not exactly a compliment. Most men are useless when they’re injured,” you say, a small laugh escaping your lips after the words tumble out. 

He laughs along, “We really are..” he says, and you’re both pleased and surprised he agrees with you so quickly. 

You lay there in lazy, quiet comfort for a while before you finally speak up again. 

“So when you say comfortable…” you start, biting your lip a bit as the nerves flutter wildly under your skin. “You mean someone like me?” 

Konohamaru just nods, you can feel his head move in your lap, feel the direction of it under your fingertips but you need more. 

“I need more,” you say, unable to hold it in any longer. “If this is-If I’m someone you want, I need more than a type. I want you to think about it, Konohamaru because I don’t want to scare you or add pressure but if that’s what you want, you should also know that I need more than tonight.” 

He sits up and you start to pull away but he grabs gently at your wrist to keep you from getting too far. “Hey,” he says, pulling you back making sure to lift you gently off the ground so there’s no added pressure to your leg. He whispers your name softly as his thumb brushes against your lower lip. “I’m willing to work for it, to prove myself to you.” 

“And what if I think you are unworthy,” you say, your lip trembling under the tip of his finger. You’re also particularly convinced you’re dreaming and scared he’s going to disappear right in front of you. 

“Oh I have no doubt you will, but I’m hoping that won’t stop you from accepting me.” 

Definitely dreaming….was the venison drugged?

“Okay, well...I uh, I should get to bed. You take the first watch, okay?” you ask, but don’t give him time to answer before making a mad dash, or as close to one you can get on one leg toward your bedroll and quickly fake being asleep. 

“We’ll reach Konoha tomorrow, I intend to take you out after you’ve recuperated. I would really appreciate it if you’d clear some time out of your schedule for that,” he says, with all the confidence and cockiness you’ve come to love.

You let out a fake snore but it’s not convincing if the way he laughs at you is anything to go by. 

Your cheeks burn inside your bedroll that’s pulled over your head as you quietly smile a soft, excited grin. 

You really hope this isn’t a dream, but if it is...you don’t want to wake up.

-UPDATED- READ ALL 4 CHAPTERS ON A03

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.8

Shopping with Shiro was god awkward. Being a local, everyone was too damn cheerful as they did polite thing and say hello, some asking who Shiro was, and another pondering the question which would lead to rumours at a later date. Lance didn’t like to brag, but he was pretty well known in Garrison for making a “haunted house” his home. There weren’t any ghosts there, only the long dead skeletons of rats and mice, and the occasional spot of mould. He was also well known as being a bit “odd”, 26 with no partner struck some of the older community as a bit strange, as did the fact that he’d live in such a large home alone. Still, Lance blended himself in as seamlessly as he could. Earlier in the year he’d thought about picking up a few shifts at a local bar, only to change his mind over the fear of somehow cutting him and cursing the local drunks. Plus, people really sucked when they were drunk. He was more than likely to blow a fuse if he had to be flirted with every single damn shift simply because he looked at the peak of his youth.

Sticking to his usual routine of picking random things that he knew he could make a meal from, he found himself schooling Shiro in the ways of bulk savings, and discount brands. Shiro didn’t know how to process that he was a vampire who ate garlic... other foods in general. He really wasn’t living up to his role as a vampire at all, yet, despite how hard he tried not to, part of him decided it had to go and like Shiro as a person, despite the fact he’d clearly vandalised his own car and lied through his teeth when they’d met. Buying way too much food, the dude at the check out pretty much had bug eyes when it came to loading up the belt, because Lance never brought as much he was right then, then paying for it as Shiro insisted on placing the bags back in the trolley, as it was “the least he could do, all things considered”. Lance kept trying to consider him a pain, but now he was actually wondering if this had been how his family felt when he’d suddenly come back home different to the rest of them. He wanted to ring his Mami and ask her advice over the whole matter, but the idea of her baby boy living with two men who kill vampires for a living would send into a fit of hysterics over his safety.

Taking his keys from him, Shiro was good at insisting things. Insisting he needed his rest, and that he should cover his face so the sun’s rays wouldn’t burn up his skin. Shiro was fast feeling like a big brother that Lance had desperately wanted, but denied he needed. The fact that Shiro didn’t seem to want to murder him left him with all kinds of conflicted feelings that were too muddled to sort out. He was a vampire, Shiro was a hunter, that was the black and white of it, those damn shades of grey in between were making all of this far more difficult than it needed to be.

A tad too proud of an inanimate object, his bronco was a good girl, not starting for Shiro until the third time he tried to turn over the engine. Not used to the closeness of the H on the clutch, Shiro ground the gears more than once, then proceeded to bunny hop over that damn ditch in Lance’s driveway. Forget Shiro being the older brother, he was giving Lance’s younger self a run for his money, though his problem had been that even at accelerated speeds things seemed slower than the normal speed limit. His glasses helped with that, as had keeping the one car for his adult life. Bunny hopping to a stop in front of Lance’s house, Shiro shot him an embarrassed look, Lance quick to reassure him he wasn’t about to tell anyone over the mistreatment of his beloved girl.

Getting the shopping inside was a whole other drama as he wasn’t allowed to help with that either. Sent to his living room, he found Shiro had made himself at home, cleaning up the trashed remains into something more put together yet nowhere near Lance’s high standards. He still needed a new coffee table, provided he’d be living long enough to enjoy it. With that room not needing dire attention, Lance found himself in his kitchen, not trusting Shiro to be near any open fire unsupervised. The clock already read 4:30pm, a little, lot, later than he would have liked the time to be. Lugging the last of the shopping bags in, Shiro hefted a sigh of relief before dropping himself down in the first available dining chair. Boy, if the man thought things ended there, he was in for a tough ride.

Waiting all of thirty second for Shiro to start relaxing, Lance clapped his hands, earning himself a groan

“What are you doing sitting down?”

“Wha...?”

“The real work starts now that we’re home. We’ve got a dinner party to cook for, and don’t think your lack of kitchen prowess is getting you out of it. You’re staying under my roof, which means you’re helping out. Besides, “Sleeping Beauty”, is gonna wanna eat sometime before he expires of old age”

Shiro sighed as he rose to his feet

“You’re right. You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“If you’re asking if I’m serious about my friends enjoying themselves, then yes I am. If you’re asking about Keith, he’s got a nice enough face, but that’s as far as it goes. He won’t eat what I cook, unless you want to lie to him about it. So, you’re helping, that way you can tell him the nasty blood sucker didn’t taint his precious food”

“That comment... it, um, it really got under your skin, didn’t it?”

“It’d be like me slandering all you hunters as wild beast killing Barbarians. I’ve come across them before, it’s kind of hard not to when you’ve been around a while, they usually prefer to be more direct with their kills”

Shiro nodded, his left hand moving to grab above his elbow on his right arm, as if Lance’s words had triggered him to remember some deep self-conscience secret

“I guess it is. But for the most part we are”

“Touché. I don’t want to admit this, but I don’t think I hate you as much as I should”

“For a vampire you’re not that bad”

“I could have told you that. Now, what does Keith like eating?”

“Something quick and easy”

“Thanks for that. Let’s put it this way, is there anything he’s allergic too?”

“He’s a bit iffy when it comes to milk... I was going to try make him some soup”

Lance couldn’t count the number of ways that could have gone wrong

“I can do soup. I got chicken today, so we’ll do chicken and vegetable for “Madam Dramatics”. You’ll be in charge of slicing things. I assume you’re skilled with a blade enough to know not to stab the vampire with pointy end”

“I’ve been around a blade or two”

“Good. Wash your hands then wash the vegetable”

Shiro stared at him blankly, Lance groaning

“Okay. I’ll wash the vegetables. You can work a peeler right?”

“I don’t know...”

Lance cast Shiro a serious frown. Vegetable peelers had come a long way since Lance was a child, but there were now easier than ever. Noticing the minute movements of Shiro’s lips, Lance wanted to smack him, yet instead he did the adult thing and used his words

“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little”

“You know what, I take it all back. You’re not like an older brother, you’re like a dead beat father. Get to work on the vegetables while I start on the rest”

Having Shiro in the kitchen nearly ruined the joy of cooking forever. Lance didn’t really enjoy cooking the way Hunk did, but giving up on human food wasn’t an option when he was just another normal human being. He felt he’d be giving into his curse to give it up completely, and if he had the money, why not spoil his friends with some really good food? Asking Shiro to use the bones to make a chicken broth resulted in the bones being burnt. Then Shiro left the tea towel a fraction too close to the stove top and that started to smoulder. By the time the clock struck five, and that big beautiful best friend of his, also known as Hunk, walked through the kitchen door, Lance was nearly crying tears of frustration. He’d tasted Shiro’s soup, then promptly rushed to the kitchen sink to throw up, tiny flecks of metal stared up at him and Lance cursed Keith again. Walking up to Hunk, Lance wrapped his arms around him

“Thank god, you’re here”

Patting Lance’s back, Hunk laughed nervously

“Um, thanks, man. Hello, Shiro. Nice to, um, see you again”

“Keith left his camera behind, he’s bad in the morning without his caffeine. Lance offered to let us stay for dinner. We came to collect it. You know how it is”

Hunk knew how unhappy Lance was about house guests. His friends knew that staying in his house wasn’t an invite just any old random got, unless it came from Pidge

“Man, it’s lucky that you left it here and not somewhere else. Not everyone is as kind hearted as Lance”

With his face so close to Hunk’s neck, Lance could hear Hunk’s heartbeat. He could see the veins that carried that fresh blood to and from Hunk’s brain. He’d never feed from him, but Lance was definitely having control issues. He needed blood, he needed to bring himself back under control. His body felt like he was wearing the meat suit of a stranger

“Man, are you okay? You’re totally bundled up”

“I’m fine, Hunkeroo. Just a bit of a sniffle, probably from that window breaking. Shiro’s volunteered to be your sous chef for the evening, thought I wouldn’t trust him with anything other than the chicken soup”

Hunk nodded, Lance stepping back out of his hold. Thank god he was so thickly padded Hunk couldn’t feel him shivering

“Wait, if Shiro’s here, where’s Keith?”

Lance opened his mouth, but it was Shiro’s voice that piped up

“Keith doesn’t like to admit it, but he gets pretty bad car sickness. He needed a nap before dinner to sleep it off”

Hunk nodded sympathetically

“I get that too. It’s horrible. I’ve got this new medication I’m on that really seems to help, I can give him the name if it’ll help”

“I don’t see the harm”

Shiro lied so naturally that Lance wondered if Keith did get car sick. Keith’s bad arse image was in tatters now. The next time the idiot tried to pick a fight him, Lance wasn’t going to hesitate in teaching his ego a lesson

“Right, well. Shiro’s here to help, he can’t be left unwatched. This one has the skill of burning water in an off kettle. I need to check my work phone, and I want to check in with Miriam”

Shiro questioned

“Miriam?”

Hunk nodded, already slipping into chef mode

“That’s his grandmother. Sure, dude. Take your time, but you know, not too much time...”

Hunk was taking a leap of faith, taking Lance’s “trust” of Shiro to mean he could take those tentative steps too. Hunk’s naturally loveable and huge hearted self didn’t need much of an excuse to love somebody. He prayed that whatever happened, Shiro would spare Hunk the pain of a broken friendship.

The door to Lance’s office had been left ajar. Making the most of it, Blue was curled up on his office chair, Lance softening immediately at the sight of his princess

“Blue... hey, baby girl”

Blue let out a “rowrr”, rolling over and stretching herself out in the chair, her head turning his way as it bobbed a little, like she couldn’t quite focus. With her precious little toes reaching towards him, Lance smiled down at his girl, not wanting to lift her off the chair where she was so comfortable. Walking over, he knelt down, scratching between Blue’s ears as she nudged up into the pats

“So this is where you’ve been? Daddy’s sorry. I left you all alone, my baby”

Laying his cheek on Blue, her fur tickled his nose, still too hypersensitive, but finding peace in Blue’s strong heartbeat. What was happening to him? All of this was strange, all of these heightened senses were scary. Disgruntled over being reduced to his pillow, Blue moved from beneath him, sticking her butt in his face in a half kind of squat as she licked her back, an accusing glare cast in his direction

“You’re the one who moved. I didn’t want to disturb you”

He swore Blue understood every word, his girl quick to jump off the chair and strut away out the door.

Sighing as he was left alone, Lance hadn’t actually wanted to call his Mami. He didn’t want her knowing he was sick or stressed, but his list of go to people were short. With his body changing, he figured he should reach out to Coran for answers, but was scared off at the idea that Shiro or Keith might have bugged his office. Vatican sanctioned hunters were no joke. God’s love was found in the light, while his species were seen as unworthy night freaks that should be decapitated at the first opportune moment. It wasn’t like him to be so depressed, he needed to get his shit together and keep strong, so why was he letting himself spiral like this? He’d met hunters before, forced to flee long ago and barely in his late 20’s. He thought he’d done such a good job of blending in, of being likeable to everyone. Now he was just too damn scared to think of his next move. A truce between him and Shiro could surely not last longer than tonight. Shiro only agreed not to kill him due to his human friends. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to drink Keith’s blood in the first place, so why did he have to be punished when he’d pretty much saved Keith from himself.

“Freeze, bloodsucker”

What happened to Keith being in bed? So weak he needed his big brother to fend for him? Turning his head, he rested his other cheek on the chair as he looked to Keith. Keith looked sleepy, yet unamazingly alive. A proper nap would fix up much of his appearance, as would a series of face masks to help with the whole “black bag panda” look he was rocking. Pointing a gun in his direction, Lance couldn’t even be surprised by it

“Just so you know, Shiro and I have a truce at the moment because there’s a human in the house”

“You think I care? You fucking turned me”

Lance moved his head again, flipping back to the other cheek and staring at his desk

“You’re not a vampire”

“I am too! You bit me”

“You punched me in the teeth”

“You still turned me!”

“Keith, fuck off. You’re not a vampire”

“I am! I received a vampire’s bite”

“Nope”

“I’m turning. I can feel it. My body feels different”

“That’s because you’re a dumbarse. Relax, you’re still human”

“I’m not! You ruined my life, the least you can do is die!”

Before Keith could react, Lance was standing in front of him. Grabbing the muzzle of the gun, he held it up to his chest in line with his undead heart

“You’re not a vampire. Fucking shoot me if you want to, but I never fucking turned you”

It was interesting to hear Keith’s heart begin to race with fear. His eyes were something else, Lance staring him dead in the eyes, feeling like those eyes could steal his very soul

“You turned me”

“I didn’t turn you. Now, either you shoot me right here, or you go back to bed like a good little boy. Shiro’s worried enough about you as it is”

“You have no right...”

“I have no right mentioning his name? Is that it? Sorry to break it to you, but until tomorrow morning, and my friends have all gone home safely, your stupid arse is stuck here. Now, I’m going to have a bite to drink while you go back to bed. Neither of us are going to tell Shiro you pulled a gun on me while a human was in the house, and you’re going to get through you think mullet covered head, you are not a vampire”

Letting the gun go, Lance turned and walked back to his desk, making a show of calmly pulling down a wine glass and opening his safe. His blood supply had been fucking halved, probably by Keith, and Lance kind of hoped that the idiot would have taken a sip by now and see he was still the stupid human he’d always been. Feeling Keith’s eyes remain on him, Lance sighed

“Can’t a man get a moment of privacy in his own home?”

“How can I trust you? How do I know you aren’t planning on pulling out your own gun”

“Because you fucking tossed my office already. If there a gun in here, your dumbarse would have found it. Now, shoo”

Keith did not “shoo”, either the whole encounter had taken so long Shiro got worried, or Hunk had mentioned Lance was headed to his office, whatever it was, Shiro didn’t take long to interrupt the one sided staring match

“Keith! What are you doing out of bed?”

With Shiro finally there to break the tension, Lance poured himself out a third of the blood bag

“I’m not human any more, Shiro...”

“Keith. I get that this change is hard for you, but we’re going to get through this together. Lance has people over tonight, we can’t make a move until they’ve left”

“He’s a vampire and he fucking turned me!”

All Keith needed to was start stomping his feet and he’d have impersonating a cranky toddler down pact

“Keith, please. Whatever he’s done to you, I won’t rest until we have a cure. Right now, Lance is only source of information. I know it hard, but you need your rest”

Lance’s opinion of Shiro’s intelligence dropped. He’d told Shiro that Keith wasn’t a vampire. Yet there Shiro was, assuring Keith they’d find a cure. The only cure was death. The whole “kill the sire” thing didn’t work, the two who’d sired Lance had to have been killed off by now... unless they were born into the vampire way of life. Lance actually hadn’t the first clue about how a vampire was “born” and not from being bitten and turned. Perhaps blood in the infants milk? That was the only reasoning he could some up with. Maybe if he hadn’t clung to his human roots, he would have ventured out to learn more about the beast he was.

“Fine. Tonight, and only tonight, I’ll let you off, but come tomorrow, you better tell me everything I need to know before I kill you”

Whooo hoo. One last dinner, at least it’d be with his friends. Keith’s carrying ons were enough to make his headache increase tenfold, bitter as he muttered

“Go away already”

[lady-divine-writes]

Need for Speed: New York - Chapter 3 (NC17)

Summary: It's been years since high school graduation, and Kurt and Blaine are living the lives of their dreams in New York City alongside their best friends, Nick and Jeff. Car racing behind them, they're working towards the future - Kurt and Jeff at NYADA, Blaine and Nick at NYU. But soon after moving from their tiny apartments to a bigger loft, bits and pieces of Ohio start to weed their way in to their lives - along with some New York grown angst, causing rifts that hopping behind the wheel of a Mustang might not be able to solve.

Read on AO3.

“Kurt? Are you doing all right over there?” Nick asked, straining under the weight of their new sofa - the sofa Kurt picked out and was infinitely proud to have found on clearance. The guys had decided collectively to give Kurt carte blanche with regards to decorating the communal rooms of the loft because - they had to face it - interior decorating was more his forte than theirs. If he didn’t become a Broadway star, he would definitely end up a designer.

Kurt’s eye for detail was exceptional.

If Blaine had his way, he’d bathe the entire place in leather and chrome. He’d even suggested it to Kurt once while he was sitting in bed mulling over fabric swatches. Kurt scolded him, told him to excel beyond his stereotype.

Blaine accused Kurt of being a philistine.

And then they fucked.

Jeff, on the other hand, would forgo the stress of furniture altogether in favor of maintaining the empty space. He wasn’t opposed to eating on the floor and often said that all he really needed to be comfortable was a bed and his boyfriend … and the bed was negotiable.

So with that and the chili pepper lights he bought for his and Nick’s room, he considered himself set.

If given the chance to decorate, Nick would probably end up making their loft look like Dalton Academy. Not on purpose. That’s what he was raised with, what home looked like - hard wood everything; tartan fabrics declaring fake provenance; fine China and collectible figurines locked behind glass; anything soft and comforting, like the couches and recliners, wrapped in plastic. Sanitized.

Protected from human touch.

Besides, between Blaine, Nick, and Jeff, not a one of them had the time nor the patience. So they pooled their money together, gave it to Kurt, and told him to have at it.

And he did.

Kurt ordered the sofa first because he said it would be the heart of the room - the thing that would bring all other design elements together. But placement was key. He’d already had Nick help him move it twice. He wanted it in the spot that got the most mid-afternoon sun, and seeing as it was delivered at eight in the morning, the movers put it in the wrong place.

Before the rest of the living room furniture arrived, this needed to be rectified.

“I’m alright,” Kurt replied, nudging his end forward, signaling Nick to move his end a little more to the left.

“Then what in the world are you grinning at?” After a third consecutive peek over at his friend, Nick noticed Kurt beaming at him like a proud parent watching their kid star as a tooth in a middle school play.

“Oh, nothing,” Kurt sang in that way that indicated it definitely was something. “It’s just nice to see you guys come up for air after violating our new loft for the past three days.”

Nick grunted, prepared to drop his end and call it quits if Kurt insisted on poking fun at him all day long. He’d made a comment when he woke up (Look who finally decided to join the land of the living!), before breakfast (Now tell me, before I plate, do I have to bleach the table first?), after breakfast (Must be nice eating something other than tube steak for once …), then just before his shower (I considered putting a black light light bulb in there, but I haven’t had the chance to steam clean and I’m afraid the place would light up like a Christmas tree!). It was all in good fun, Nick knew. He’d done the same to Kurt about a hundred times when they’d spend the night over at their place. He just … wasn’t in the mood.

He couldn’t say that to Kurt, though. He’d be walking right into the remark that would follow and would have no one to blame but himself.

But in a blink, Kurt’s smile dipped, and he became serious.

“Out of curiosity, in between all the screwing that was going on here, did you guys ever get the chance to talk about what’s been bothering you?”

Kurt stopped walking and lowered his end, and Nick took that as his cue to put his side down. He sighed in exhaustion. Not from moving the sofa. The sofa wasn’t that heavy. But this conversation might be. “Not exactly.”

“Nick …”

“There never seemed to be a right time.”

“Of course there’s never going to be a right time if you use sex to stall! Jeff takes his cues from you, and you know he’ll choose jumping on you like a trampoline over a heart-to-heart if that’s what he thinks you want!”

“It’s … it’s not just that.” Nick side-eyed the sofa, missing a few minutes ago when he was lugging it around and didn’t have to talk about this. “It’s that … I know what I’m feeling is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, Nick.”

“Yes, it is!” Nick flopped onto the closest cushion, resting his forehead on the heels of his hands. “The things that I’m feeling, they’re more about how I see myself than about how Jeff sees me! I know that! But I can’t stop myself! Even before we started going out, I was always afraid I’d lose him to someone smarter … more talented … better looking ...” Nick’s eyes darted Kurt’s way after each superlative and Kurt felt them tug at his heart. There was a time after Kurt and Jeff became friends when Nick assumed Jeff liked Kurt. Like liked Kurt. Kurt knew that, felt guilty about it, and for a while, he was sure they might never become friends because of it. But look at them now. “And I’m afraid that if I talk to him about it, he’ll think I’m having doubts about him. A-about us. But it’s not about him or us. It’s about me. My sucky internship and my boring-ass classes and how absolutely uninspired and stuck I feel. I mean, that right there is the height of stupidity! Who the hell feels stuck in New York City? It’s the city of dreams! New York is supposed to be the place where anything can happen! It’s happening for you and for Blaine, and definitely for Jeff. So why isn’t it happening for me?”

“I don’t know, Nick,” Kurt said, sitting on the sofa beside his friend. “And I wish I could be more help. But I do know that Jeff loves you. All he wants to do is make you happy. It’s what he lives for! He talks about you like you’re the smartest, kindest, hottest thing on two legs!”

“Really?” Nick chuckled. He knew that Jeff did already, but he still found it difficult to believe.

“Yeah. And it’s super annoying!”

“Thanks.”

“I also know that if he found out that you’ve been harboring fears and doubts that you’re not talking to him about, he’d be hurt.”

“I know, I know. I owe it to him. That doesn’t make it any easier.”

Kurt put a hand on Nick’s knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m not trying to pressure you. Think it over, then talk to him when you’re ready. And I know it’s hard, but please, don’t make him wait too long. You might think you’re stealthy at keeping secrets, but I can’t help feeling he knows something’s up.”

And there it was. The thing Nick had been trying to avoid. But Kurt saw it, which meant Jeff had to have. If Nick could get his self-absorbed head out of his ass, he could put this to rest once and for all. “I’ll talk to him,” he said, putting a hand over Kurt’s and holding it. “Soon. I promise.”

***

“Settle down, settle down! Ladies! Gentlemen! We have a lot of ground to cover today so … shut up!”

The dancers laughed as Madame Dufraine marched into the room, the square heels of her dance shoes clicking against the smooth floor.

“We need to discuss semester projects!” she continued, shrugging out of her coat and handing it to her TA. She didn’t look before she let it go, knowing he’d be there to catch it before it hit the ground … or else. “Chester, Chad, Lonnie, Michael, and Jeff are our contestants today. Let’s shake things up and start from the end.” She peered into the wall-length mirror, tucked a stray brown curl underneath her plum turban. Then she turned to her class, tapped the floor with her cane, and announced, “Jeff? Darling? You’re up.”

“Okay.” Jeff popped to his feet straight from his seat on the floor and took the teacher’s place at the front of the class. He clapped his hands in front of him, pausing to get his thoughts in order. The smile glowing on his face was distracting. It earned him several giggles from the girls who knew who that smile belonged to. “My semester project is very special to me,” he began, voice quivering with excitement. “It’s a modern take on a classic pas de deux. I’ve been planning this for a while, and I was originally hoping to dance it with Kevin.” Jeff paused to shoot a look at the man sitting on the only chair in the room, his left leg locked in a cast that ran from his foot up to mid-thigh. “But he took himself out of the running when he broke his leg.”

“More like a Dodge Charger took me out of the running, my man.”

“If that’s the story you’re going with,” Jeff teased. The giggling returned. “Anyway, my semester project isn’t only about dance and what it brings to us in this room. It’s about how dance influences life, how it brings people together.” Jeff’s cheeks turned red as he approached the meat of the matter. “My project wasn’t choreographed by me alone. It was choreographed by me and my best friend while we were in high school - my boyfriend Nick.”

A chorus of ooo’s accompanied his revelation, and his cheeks got redder.

“Dance didn’t necessarily bring us together, but it’s always been a huge part of our lives. Even now, while he’s studying to become a lawyer, he helps me practice.” He bit his lower lip thinking about dancing with Nick, dressed in their pajama pants and t-shirts, taking a turn around their living room wrapped in each other’s arms. “He doesn’t need to study dance to be a dancer. No one does. He’s a dancer because a love of dance lives inside of him. And to be honest … his love inspires me. I wanna use this project to show him how much.”

The dancers in the classroom awww’d in unison, then clapped in support of his plan … all except for one man hunkered down in the corner of the room, out of sight, rolling blue eyes.

***

Nick wrapped his coat tight around his body and bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting outside NYADA for his boyfriend to appear. Students dribbled through the doors dressed in stylish clothes, talking excitedly about art and music and theater. All of the beautiful people seemed to reside in NYADA’s halls and his own wickedly talented boyfriend was among them.

One of the elite.

Nick was just Nick - law student. Nick, with mousy brown hair and wearing sensible shoes. Nick  … soft and meek and utterly uninteresting.

His heart stuttered when he saw Jeff walk out the doors, blending seamlessly with the other ballet gods and goddesses, almost all of them with an eye for his man. And why not? If Jeff was stunning as a teenager, he had grown into an absolute dream. His body had become even more defined through hours of practice and working out and discipline. He had more strength in his forearms alone than Nick had in his whole body, or so Nick imagined. With his innate charm and natural grace, no one would ever guess that Jeff was anything other than a New York socialite instead of coming from a working class family in Ohio.

Nick came from a much better-to-do family in Ohio, but the difference was that, regardless of having more money than Jeff’s family, Nick looked like he came from Ohio.

He and Jeff no longer matched, and Nick didn’t know how to fix that.

Jeff stopped outside with a pack of ballerinas, and one particularly friendly man sporting a black up-sweep and piercing blue eyes, whose fingers seemed to find a way to brush along Jeff’s arm no matter where he moved; whose lips lingered around his ear a little too long. Nick didn’t interrupt even though the urge to strut over and wedge his way between them overwhelmed him.

That’s what Kurt would do. He’d part them like the Red Sea, declare his superiority, and have everyone bowing at his feet.

But Nick couldn’t, no matter how much sass of his own Jeff claimed Nick had.

Maybe Jeff belonged with them. And Nick … well, Nick should find somewhere else to call home.

***

“Can you believe how many times Erik fell during that jazz combination? I thought Ms. July was going to put him through a window!”

“Now there’s a man with two left feet! And he’s a contemporary dance major! I can’t imagine what his knees are going to look like tonight!”

“The same way they look every night, I imagine.”

“Keisha! Don’t say that! That’s rude!”

“What? If you don’t think that man doesn’t spend every night on his knees, then you’re delusional!”

“And so what if he does? Have you seen his boyfriend? I don’t think Erik’s getting the short end of the stick by any means.”

Jeff laughed politely when the other dancers did. Man but the ballerinas at NYADA gossiped more than Kurt, and they didn’t pull any punches. Most of the time it was amusing to listen to whether he agreed with it or not, but today he was eager to get home. He hadn’t been this excited since he graduated high school. He felt like everything in his life was starting anew - new semester, new classes, new loft, and his project which, if he played his cards right, might lead to something else new.

Something he’d wanted for a long time.

He just needed to find the man that would make that happen.

His man.

He lifted his eyes and glanced around, searching the crowd impatiently for his boyfriend.

It took only a single sweep of his eyes to find him.

As if Nick had called out his name, Jeff spotted him standing awkwardly off to the side, looking oddly uncomfortable. Jeff smiled, breaking through the crowd of dancers mid-sentence to greet his adorably clueless man.

Nick, with the sharpest wit of any person Jeff had ever met.

Nick, always so oblivious to how amazing he was.

Nick, the man Jeff swore he would someday marry.

Jeff greeted Nick the way he always did, by grabbing him around the waist and lifting him in the air, spinning him and kissing him breathless. It didn’t matter that they were on a busy street in the middle of the afternoon. It didn’t matter that a whole gaggle of people stared at them. Either way, whenever Jeff laid eyes on Nick, the rest of the world melted away until the only person that mattered was in Jeff’s arms.

“So, Mr. Handsome Law Student Extraordinaire,” he said, taking Nick’s hand and sticking it in his own jacket pocket, “how was your day?”

“Same old, same old,” Nick replied, staring down at his shoes as he walked through the slush.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah. And it got me thinking …” Nick swallowed hard “… actually, I may have been thinking about this off and on for a while now …” He didn’t enjoy broaching the subject of moving, especially when those plans didn’t necessarily include Jeff. Not that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with Jeff. He could see himself easily giving up law and spending the rest of his life traveling the country with Jeff, driving from one end of the continent to the other in Jeff’s 300ZX, concerned with nothing more pressing than where they would eat and what sites they would see. But he couldn’t ask Jeff to leave his life in New York. He loved Jeff, more than he loved himself. Asking Jeff to uproot his whole life just for him? That wasn’t something he could do. “You know, I … I don’t think I’m doing so well here.”

Jeff looked at Nick, eyes wide with surprise. “What do you mean?” he asked, guiding Nick through a crowd heading toward the subway.

“I don’t know … school kind of sucks, my internship is worse, and most of the time, I don’t feel like I fit in.”

“But I thought you were doing great in school.” Jeff led the way down the steep steps to the subway, paying their fare as they walked through the turnstile. “And didn’t Mr. Ryerson say you were one of his best interns?”

“Yeah, because I can walk five cups of coffee from the elevator to his office without spilling anything.”

Jeff found a bench and sat on it, pulling Nick into his lap. Nick looked around, self-conscious of who might be watching, but no one seemed to notice them.

“If they don’t appreciate you, fuck ‘em. Their loss.” Jeff took both of Nick’s hands in his and kissed them, warming Nick’s skin with his breath. “So if you don’t want to stay in New York, where should we go, Nicky?”

Nick stared at his boyfriend in disbelief, so nonchalant in the face of a total life change. “Wh-what do you mean ‘we’?”

“Well, if you’re moving away, I’m going with you.”

“But you have a life here,” Nick argued. “You’re top of your class. You’re making a name for yourself.”

“Nicky …” Jeff looked at Nick with hurt and confused eyes, his boyfriend clearly missing the obvious “… I chose a life here because you’re here. I can dance anywhere. There’s only one Nick.”

Nick’s gaze drifted slowly to their linked hands. “But … what if we weren’t meant to be together?” he said, remembering the dancers gathered around Jeff, the statuesque women, straight out of a Degas painting … and that one handsome man. “You and I, we’ve become so different really. I think that maybe, sometimes, we’re a little too different.”

Nick was afraid Jeff would get mad. Jeff didn’t usually get mad about anything. He had the heart of a pacifist. Still, Nick half-expected it. But Jeff looked at him calmly, ready to impart his sage Jeff wisdom that somehow managed to keep Nick sane during times of incredible self-doubt.

“Nicky, we’ve known each other since elementary school, and you’ve always been my best friend.”

“I know,” Nick said, giving in and resting his head against Jeff’s shoulder.

Jeff held Nick tighter against him. “Have you ever wondered why?”

“Wondered why what?”

“We barely ever fight, we always see eye to eye, we like the same stuff, we’re really hot in bed together …”

Nick blushed red to the roots of his hair but he couldn’t disagree. “I … guess I never really gave it any thought.”

“Because you belong with me, Nicky,” Jeff said, rocking his boyfriend in his arms. “You always have. And I belong with you. There isn’t anyone on heaven or earth who can do anything about that. So, if you’re leaving New York, I’m going with you. Got it? Unless …”

“Unless …?”

“Unless you … you don’t love me …” Jeff’s voice went hoarse, the words a struggle to say, his heart lodging itself in his throat to keep him from finishing “… and you don’t know how to tell me?”

Nick jerked up so quickly, he nearly knocked Jeff on the chin with his forehead. “No! Oh, Jeff! God, no! I’ve loved you since forever! Since before forever! And I always will! That’s not what this is about! I swear! Please don’t think for one minute …”

“Okay …” Jeff put gentle fingers to his boyfriend’s lips to stop his anxiety-fueled explaining. “That’s all I needed to know.”

Nick nodded, smiling as Jeff leaned in for a kiss, chaste and sweet. But when Jeff’s tongue slipped between Nick’s lips and the hard metal ball of his piercing danced against Nick’s tongue, he moaned.

That sound of bliss might have turned a head or two, but Nick didn’t notice.

“So,” Jeff said, “why don’t we head back to the loft and see how many times we can get our new neighbors to call the cops?”

Nick grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

***

“So, no lab partner yet?” Blaine slid onto the bench at the lunch table Sebastian occupied alone, every book he needed for the semester spread out in front of him as he worked at playing catch up.

“Nah. Seems like the class is all evens and I’m the odd man out.”

“What are you going to do? That lab is half the grade.”

“It’s no biggie. Professor is going to let me be my own lab partner for now. Sort of academic masturbation.” Sebastian moved his plate closer to Blaine when he noticed him coveting his sweet potato fries. “Here. Have at it, tiger. I don’t need you drooling all over my homework. I don’t think I get extra credit for that.”

“Thanks.” Blaine wasted no time snagging a fry and dipping it in ketchup. “Well, that’s good. About the lab partner thing. It’d be awful to have your grade cut in half in the first few days after you lucked out with late admission and all. It’d be like they set you up to fail.”

“Yup. And I would have paid thousands for the privilege.”

“Brutal. So, are we on for Friday night?”

“Yup.” Sebastian snickered. “You and Kurt both texted me about the party at the same time. Now I know how he must have felt in high school – caught between two devastatingly handsome men.”

Blaine frowned at Sebastian’s attempt at humor. “Funny. That might not be the way he remembers it.”

Sebastian nodded to himself - a private note to start curbing his tongue … if he can remember. “I’m sure he doesn’t. I don’t either.”

Blaine picked up another fry, tapping it absentmindedly in the pool of ketchup on the plate. “And just so you know … I invited the study group.”

Sebastian arced an eyebrow his way. “And you’re telling me this why?”

“Because I may have noticed that you and Paul don’t exactly get along.”

“Was it that obvious? Because I was really trying to be subtle.”

“You may have missed the mark on that one by an inch or two.”

“Pity.” Sebastian grabbed a fry, deciding to join Blaine in the feeding frenzy to give his hands something to do. “Hey, just a question but have you ever told Kurt about Captain Pincushion?”

Blaine shrugged. “I must have.” He stopped munching a moment to give it some genuine thought. “Huh …”

“What do you mean huh?” Sebastian asked, squirreling another fry away before Blaine could lick the plate clean.

“To be honest, I don’t think he ever came up.”

“That’s convenient.”

“It’s not like that, man. We’re the leave work and school at the door types. That way we don’t spend the whole night rehashing the stress of the day. We just focus on each other.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Sebastian said, fidgeting his pen as the remainder of the fries made a hasty retreat into Blaine’s mouth. “But you guys do talk eventually, don’t you?”

“Of course we do,” Blaine said, looking only mildly offended. “We don’t keep secrets. Never have.”

“Well, I really think you should.”

Blaine’s head snapped up so quickly, Sebastian heard something crack. “You really think I should keep secrets from Kurt?”

“Tell Kurt about your lab partner!” Sebastian groaned.

“Okay, but I don’t know what you think there is to tell.”

“For one thing, that man has some serious eyes for you. He’s going to make a play for you, if he hasn’t already.”

“Paul?” Blaine snorted, the thought ludicrous. “What makes you think that?”

“Because …” Sebastian paused, managing to swipe the last stunted, overcooked fry, narrowly missing having his fingers bitten off “… it takes an asshole to know an asshole.”

[freezing-kaiju]

a stupid stubborn sort of vow

an AsuRei fic, 1.5k words

Summary: After an emotional confrontation between Asuka and Hikari over the latter’s moving away, a confession goes badly and  Rei finds herself having to comfort a miserable Asuka, her sworn rival. Vows are exchanged, of a sort.

(au detail: modern au, set during community college, no evangelions, au to be named soon)

It was precisely 7:32 PM, Friday, a mild September night. Rei left her window open, as ever. She didn’t have a particular fondness for the night air; she was indifferent, as she was with a laundry list of things.

That list was waning, though, thanks to the person who was now occupying her thoughts, as she did jarringly often nowadays.

Asuka Langley Soryu. Her rival. Nemesis. Adversary. Enemy, opponent, opposite... match, even. The first time Asuka declared she hated her, Rei had expected their petty rivalry to stop in a month. Asuka’d move on to the next annoyance, the next thing to be furious on, and Rei would be left behind as ever, ready to proceed on her way.

But Asuka stuck. Through third grade, fourth, fifth, all of middle school and now two years of high, Asuka was a thorn in Rei’s side, and Rei a thorn in hers. Rei supposed Asuka was, aside from her brother, the closest thing she had to a friend.

And Asuka loved to argue.

So the duo whiled away the nights over the years making up a host of feuds. Any topic that came to mind, Asuka’d take a stand on, Rei’d pick something opposing and stick to it as much as Asuka stuck to hers. 

Asuka loved pop music, the kind she could dance to. Rei picked classical, the only kind she listened to. Asuka preferred magical girl anime, Rei decided she prefers shonen. Asuka argued the best fruit was apples, Rei countered with pomegranate. Sometimes they’d spend a whole evening trying to come up with what to fight over and end up dozing off side by side on Rei’s bedroom floor.

Tonight though... well, tonight, Rei hoped Asuka wouldn’t come. Not that she didn’t look forward to another bout with her, of course. But, well...

She put her book down for a moment, marking it with one of Monday’s completed worksheets, and picked up her phone. No texts from Asuka. She tapped the contact regardless, and stared at their brief exchange from that afternoon.

Asuka: sayin googbye 2 hikari 2nite Asuka: *goodbye, FUCK Rei: Ah. Asuka: leave the window open ncase i fuckup Rei: I will. Good luck. Asuka: fuck u wonder girl Asuka: dont need ur luck Asuka: seeya, h8 u 4ever Rei: You too.

Rei treasured those interactions. But she knew Hikari was more important to Asuka. Sometimes, when they went on hikes to out-endure each other or exploring abandoned buildings to see who chickens out first, Asuka’d ramble about how long she’d had a crush on her best friend. How much she wanted to kiss her, hold her hand, how she was sure Hikari’d be the one to always stick with her, the one she could spend the rest of her life with.

Needless to say, Asuka had been pretty pissed about it. And paranoid, and stressed, and panicked, and above all sad. Rei knew by now how to tell apart the various shades of anger on her emotional palette, but the past week had seen a roiling blend of all the worst.

Rei placed her phone back down on her desk, an island in the void of mostly empty space, and picked her book back up. The Horse’s Song, another in her carefully organized shelf of nondescript books. So far it failed to provoke anything, but the clipped pace and strange dialogue kept her attention well enough. Asuka would tear the book a new one, if Rei convinced her to read it. She’d save that idea for another topic-less day.

Seven pages further in, a sound split Rei’s concentration. The clang of someone tripping over that bucket Shinji still hadn’t found a place for. A scream of “FUCK!” Hard footsteps on the grass.

Rei put aside her book, turned her chair to the window and placed her hands on her lap.

After a few moments and a series of loud slams, Asuka’s hands slammed onto the windowsill. The paint on her nails was chipped. She groaned and slowly lifted herself up, eyes fixing right on Rei’s. Her expression twisted into her customary glare, but wavered, unable to stick in its natural state. Her makeup ran like a storm drain down her face, blue eyes red from crying, hair clips barely holding on. Her cheek bore an unexpected bruise.

“I’m here.” Rei softened her monotone, hoping that the sentiment overcame her blank expression. Evidently it passed muster; Asuka’s glare shifted slightly, her grimace twisting into a sweet sneer.

“Yeah, I can— Ugh,” Asuka grunted as she clambered the rest of the way through the window, “I can see that, Wonder Girl.” She kicked off her shoes and flopped back-first onto Rei’s bed.

“Your makeup’s running.”

“I know.”

“You were crying.”

“I know.”

“You have a bruise.”

“I KNOW!” Asuka snapped, bolting upright. “God, you really are a robot, you know that? ‘Scanning rival, injuries detected, initiate snide remark protocol’. Ever thought about talking like a person? Asking what’s wrong?! Or hell, maybe I’m lucky you’re a robot in a meat suit, any rational human would’ve slammed the window on my goddamn hands so thanks for being a freak I guess!”

Rei paused for a moment, weighed her responses, and settled on, “I trust you too.”

Asuka took this about as well as a sucker punch. She gaped, eyes wide, balled fists going slack.

“You— wh, what even, I’m— what?!”

“The bruise,” Rei veered the subject ninety degrees, “where’d it come from?”

“Wh— oh.” Asuka covered her cheek with her hand, staring pointedly at the nothing on Rei’s walls. “...Hikari.”

“You fucked up?”

“No!” Asuka snapped. “...well, I did, sure,” she admitted with a glower, “but so did she!”

“How.”

A miserable smirk cracked across Asuka’s face. She spread her hands as if to announce exactly what wasn’t up her sleeve. “So, picture. Me, helping lug all her stupid luggage into her dad’s car. Hikari sticks behind, looking up at me, class-prez poise and a shy little grin on her, okay, gorgeous face. I’m trying not to cry. Turn to her, about to ask if she’s gonna keep in touch.”

Rei nodded, eyes focused on Asuka’s. 

“And...and, like a stupid jerk, she fucking— she kissed me!” Asuka said, with the same level of incredulity as someone discovering they’re an elf. “She kissed me, and she said that she l...lov...lo...” Asuka sputtered, “liked me!”

“Oh no.” Rei could already tell where this was headed.

“And being me, I just had to panic. I don’t remember everything that happened, it was kinda a blur! But I remember...my hands were on her shoulders and I was...god, I think I was begging her not to go.” She tch-ed. “Pathetic of me. Disgusting, really. No wonder she clocked me.”

“Liar.”

Asuka gave Rei an utterly withering look, but Rei continued. “You aren’t pathetic. Or disgusting. You’re Asuka. Those words aren’t compatible with Asuka.”

Asuka’s look softened instantly; Rei could see the beginnings of tears prick her eyes again. “Goddamnit, Wonder Girl. No, you know what? Get over here.” Asuka patted the spot next to her on the bed. Rei obliged, leaving her chair to nestle in just close enough to not upset Asuka. To her shock, though, she felt Asuka’s fingers ghost along her palm... then grasp it like a lifeline to her last hope of salvation.

“Wonder Girl. Ayanami. ...Rei,” Asuka began, and Rei could tell her teeth were gritted. “You and me. Our whole...our whole rivalry. How the fuck long are we gonna keep this up?”

“When you stop caring,” Rei said instantly, the response one of the few she never thought she’d need but prepared for the sake of it. “When I’m no longer useful. When it doesn’t matter to you.”

Asuka’s answering laugh was the hollowest Rei’d ever heard.

“Right then. Then... then I’ve got an idea.”

Rei tilted her head and Asuka took it as her cue to continue. “What if... what if we swear on it?”

“How?”

“Easy, stupid. Here, I’ll go first.” Asuka scoffed, then put on her most arrogant affectation and proclaimed, “I, Asuka Langley Soryu, promise to forever be your rival, your foe, your most trusted enemy, to hate and to keep. I swear to follow you, Rei Ayanami, to the end of the world, through thick and thin, of spite and sheer devotion.”

Rei hummed for a few moments in response. “...I, Rei Ayanami, promise to forever be your rival, your foe, your most trusted enemy, to hate and to keep. I swear to follow you, Asuka Langley Soryu, to the end of the world, through thick and thin, of spite and sheer devotion,” she parroted back, meaning every word with her whole, dull, robotic heart.

Rei knew Asuka would never let her see it, but she could feel her smile radiating out at her. 

The two girls laid there, for what could have been a minute or an eternity (but was precisely eighty-seven seconds). 

It was a vow they both intended to keep.

[slaygentford]

this is why every Time ... this is so niche but there's this whole school of thought that's like where do you FEEEeeeeEEel writing in your BOdy, where in your BO dY is your WRiTInG like stop asking me this in seminar. my body is this dumb little chronic illness noodle I have to lug around with me so I can look at cool stuff. I write to ESCAPE this meat sack which hurts all over all the time for random dumb reasons cuz of my wack lungs and stupid heart issue and weird kidneys and dumb carpal tunnel and fucked up immune system! fuck! writing isn't in my body bitch!!! i am not this shitty body! FUCK! ok im done thank you 

[cheshiresense]

And here’s the other thing I wrote on discord. Still a ramble but shorter.

AU where Tsuna listened to his intuition more (even with his Flames sealed, his intuition was powerful enough that it helped him avoid bullies or just gave him a nudge whenever Hibari was headed his way or there was a quicker route to wherever he was going; he's learned to rely on it even if he didn't know what 'it' was before Reborn showed up) and was also a little more proactive post-Kokuyo arc.

I still headcanon that Tsuna and Mukuro formed a Flame/Guardian bond after their battle. So after one too many times of Reborn scolding him for sympathizing with an enemy or flat-out telling him that they'll probably be locked up in Vendicare forever whenever Tsuna asks what's going to happen to Mukuro and co., he decides to try and figure it out on his own. Locked up forever isn't a good enough answer for him.

Shamal is generally an unreliable pervert in Tsuna's opinion, but he's also a professional assassin with years of mafia experience under his belt (Tsuna can't believe his life has reached the point where he can say this stuff with a straight face), so he stammers and nags an answer out of the distracted doctor when Reborn isn't around under the guise of needing to learn more about the mafia, and Shamal, who's a little more helpful when Tsuna isn't asking him for a cure, grudgingly delivers. Tsuna finds out Vendicare procedures - what crimes are too much even in the mafia world, under what circumstances the Vindice would cut in, even their trade policy - and by the time they part ways, Tsuna feels ready to throw up but also knows how to contact the Vindice and even a vague idea of what he's going to have to do to get Mukuro released into his custody.

(Some part of him can't believe he's doing this at all. But the sliver of Flame that's always flickered like a candle at the back of his mind and in the depths of his chest drives him on with more fervour than Tsuna's ever felt for anything, and even just the thought of Mukuro spending the rest of his life in the horrors of Vendicare that Shamal painted for him makes him feel sick to his stomach. He can't just not do anything.)

So basically Tsuna rings up the Vindice and is all like whattup im the future vongola decimo (because his word needs weight) and that's my guardian you have in your custody (because invisible spiritual connections made of soul fire apparently mean a lot in the mafia world), what can i do to get him and his minions back.

And the Vindice are like we'll trade you criminal for criminal, and they pull out their Most Wanted list and be like Do You Have So And So like the world's most illegal game of Go Fish.

And I just want Tsuna to go out there and kill someone for Mukuro. Like, he obviously doesn't have anybody on the Vindice's list, the only people he's fought so far are the ones Reborn forced him to fight. But the Vindice gives him names of criminals hiding in Japan, people even they haven't been able to find, but Tsuna with his Intuition can. He just needs to get his hands dirty.

But he does it. He accepts the deal the Vindice offers him - two of the world's worst criminals in exchange for Mukuro and both Ken and Chikusa. Preferably alive but dead is fine. He won't even have to lug the bodies all the way to Italy. The Vindice needs proof but they'll go to him when he calls.

Tsuna disappears for two weeks. In the end, it's not that hard. Reborn's stopped following him every minute of every day now that he has Gokudera and Yamamoto constantly hovering around him, but it's easy enough to ditch them both when they get into another one of their shouting-laughing arguments at school. He has some money and food, and he has his gloves but they won't do him much good without one of Reborn's bullets so he also pickpocketed a silencer from Reborn's bafflingly large arsenal. That turns out to be pretty easy too because Reborn's been trying to teach him how to assemble and fire various weapons for weeks.

(Half his friends flip the fuck out when they finally realize he's missing. Hibari is mostly just irritated because one of Namimori's students is skipping school. Reborn retraces Tsuna's steps with all the ruthless determination of a hurricane and within three days tracks down Shamal and gets him to spill everything he unknowingly told Tsuna about the Vindice. The only problem left is they don't know who Tsuna is hunting down for the Vindice, and not even Reborn is quite ready to dial them up to demand answers. Reborn would be impressed with Tsuna's new display of a spine if he wasn't doing it for Rokudo Mukuro what even is his obsession with that Mist honestly, did Mukuro do something to him in their fight??)

Fast-forward a couple weeks and Tsuna's done it. Sure, he almost got killed once or twice, but the truth is his targets have been keeping their heads down for years, and they've grown complacent, confident in their ability to evade the Vindice and go about their lives without constantly looking over their shoulders.

They still dabble though, from time to time. The Vindice were helpful enough to give Tsuna everything they had on them. The first has a partiality for baby-faced teenagers. Tsuna is exactly his type, and it's not hard to walk past the guy's shop a few times before luring him down a dark alley one afternoon. He doesn't even realize he's been shot until Tsuna's put a hole in his head ("Headshots are your safest bet for a fast kill, Dame-Tsuna, are you paying attention?"). Tsuna also spends the next two minutes heaving up the contents of his stomach. He's not that bothered by the blood, if he's honest; he's seen his own blood often enough that he's more or less desensitized to it. But he's just killed someone, and he's never done that before, and for a moment he regrets - fiercely - what he's set out to do, for a boy who might as well be a stranger and probably won't ever thank him for this.

(But Mukuro isn't a stranger, is he? Somehow, even though he hangs out with Gokudera and Yamamoto practically every day, even though he lives with Lambo and I-Pin and Bianchi and Reborn, even though he interacts with Hibari and Ryouhei, Tsuna still feels like it's Mukuro he understands best. His motives, his goals, his reason for living and fighting and killing, his hatred and his anger and his fears - somehow, when it comes to Mukuro, he knows it all.)

So he keeps at it. The regret fades, his resolve surges, and he's pale but steady when he calls the Vindice for them to pick up the body. And then it's on to the next target.

The second criminal - a black widow responsible for slaughtering three whole Famiglia down to the last child after marrying into them - gives him more trouble, mostly because Tsuna misses his first shot and alerts her to Tsuna's presence. They end up cat-and-mousing halfway across the country, clashing in a warehouse and resulting in Tsuna finally lighting his Flames all on his own out of sheer desperation after the woman shatters two of his ribs and has her hands around his throat and a wild gleam in her eyes before Tsuna bursts into Sky Flames that consume her before she can scramble away.

She screams and screams as Tsuna's Flames devour her, hot and hungry and relentless, and Tsuna doesn't think he's ever going to get the smell of overcooked meat out of his nose again.

By the time he figures out how to put it out, the woman is very dead, but at least she's also still recognizable. Tsuna doesn't throw up this time, mostly just numb and cold and fucking exhausted. Everything hurts, he's bleeding from a head wound, and he's pretty sure he won't be able to talk without sounding like he's been gargling gravel.

Still, he might as well finish this, so he calls the Vindice, and he gets the distinct impression that they're actually impressed with him, which is just fucked up, nobody should be impressed by murder, especially when Tsuna is committing it. It's not like he even did it well. Reborn would probably sneer at the shoddy execution. Tsuna's a mess and about to keel over, and he really just wants to go home and sleep for a week or possibly forever.

He does end up falling unconscious, so he misses the Vindice cleaning up the evidence of a murder before leaving through their portal, only to come back with a truly confuzzled Mukuro and minions. They give him the bare bones of it - they're free but under Tsuna's custody because Tsuna was the one who traded for them; if they break one of their laws again, even the future Vongola Decimo won't be able to save them. And then they leave.

Mukuro is left with a baffled Ken and Chikusa and an unconscious bleeding mess of a boy who was his enemy and now his saviour, and...

He should just go. He's free, and Tsuna's in no state to even try and stop him, let alone succeed. He should take Ken and Chikusa and book it out the door while he still has the chance. Who knows, Tsuna might even bleed out without medical attention soon, and that won't even be on Mukuro.

But something in him rebels at the very idea of taking even one step away from this stupid boy. He hates to admit it but fighting Tsuna - and perhaps even the way he lost to him and all that glorious burning resolve - gave him more than a decent idea of the kind of person Tsuna is. And he hates it because he wants to think Vongola Decimo and associate it with evil, with the trash of society, with Estraneo, except he can't, because this is Sawada Tsunayoshi, who fought for his friends even though half of them didn't give a damn about him when he was growing up alone, who even then - beaten and bruised - protested when the Vindice came to take Mukuro away, who freed him and very obviously doesn't expect anything in return, and apparently Mukuro isn't completely heartless after all.

AND TL;DR MUKURO MISTS HIS WAY INTO AN UPSCALE HOTEL AND PATCHES TSUNA UP, AND WHEN TSUNA WAKES UP, HE HIIIEEES AND MUKURO SMIRKS AND THEY DANCE AROUND THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM WITH VAGUE THREATS AND HAND-WRINGING AND SOME BACK AND FORTH SNARK BECAUSE APPARENTLY WHEN TSUNA ISNT SCARED OF HIM, HE HAS A VERY DONE-WITH-EVERYTHING MINDSET THAT MATCHES WELL WITH MUKURO'S DARKER HUMOUR.

AND THEN TSUNA GOES BACK TO NAMIMORI WITH THREE CRIMINALS IN TOW, AND THEY PROBABLY PICK UP CHROME ALONG THE WAY BECAUSE TSUNA IS A BLEEDING HEART AND MUKURO RECOGNIZES HIS LONG-LOST SEVERAL TIMES REMOVED TWIN OR SOMETHING, SO THEY TOTALLY STEAL HER FROM THE HOSPITAL THEY FIND HER IN THROUGH A COMBINATION OF TSUNA'S INTUITION AND MUKURO'S UNEXPLAINABLE CHROME-SENSE.

REBORN TOTALLY FLIPS HIS SHIT WHEN HE REALIZES TSUNA HAS EXACTLY TWO GUARDIAN FLAME BONDS NOW, AND NOT ONLY ARE BOTH OF THEM MISTS BUT ONE OF THEM IS ROKUDO FUCKING MUKURO AND EVEN HE KNOWS BETTER THAN TO ATTEMPT TO SEPARATE A GUARDIAN FROM THEIR SKY, BUT THAT ALSO MEANS REBORN'S GOING TO HAVE TO PUT WORK INTO ACTUALLY HELPING TSUNA FORGE REAL GUARDIAN BONDS INSTEAD OF JUST THROWING FLAME POTENTIALS AT HIM THE WAY THE VONGOLA HAS DONE FOR GENERATIONS. TSUNA KNOWS THE DIFFERENCE NOW AND HE'S NEVER GOING TO ACCEPT ANYTHING LESS.

AND BASICALLY WHEN THE VARIA/IEMITSU/VONGOLA COME CALLING, TSUNA HAS ONE VERY POSSESSIVE MIST AND ANOTHER VERY DEVOTED MIST, AND THEY ABSOLUTELY DON'T TAKE ANY SHIT FROM THE MAFIA.

[oozmart]

Here’s another oneshot about Dahlia and the Sawyers!  Hope yall enjoy :)

_______________________________________________________________________

Dahlia plopped down on the couch, took a deep breath, and let out a long sigh.  She just danced like she’d never danced before to her favorite mix tape.  She might as well, she was home alone for once.   The house was her ballroom.

It wasn’t often Dahlia was home alone.  Although no one could ever really be home alone in the Sawyer house, Grandpa was always there.  Fortunately he didn’t say or do much.  He just sat in his chair and watched her go to town on the make-shift dance floor that was the Sawyer’s underground living room.  

Dahlia was grandpa-sitting while the boys went hunting.  Drayton went with them to help spot decent prey.  The pickings have been a bit slim lately, but thats just how it is this time of year.  Its slow season.  Drayton was always the crankiest around this time of year.  “WE’RE LOSING MONEY EVERY DAY,” he’d yell, “IT’S BAD ENOUGH YOU BOYS AREN’T BRINGING HOME ENOUGH GRUB!  NOW I’VE GOTTA DO THE WORK OF 3 MEN!”  It was nothing new to anyone who lived under the same roof as him.

Dahlia may not have been hunting, but she thought she worked hard enough taking care of the house.  She was the only person, besides Drayton, who had a real job and earned any income for this family.  Even on her day off she took the time to clean the house, do the dishes, do the laundry, sort the leftovers in the fridge, feed grandpa, AND bake 2 pies.  Those boys could barely do one chore on a good day, let alone all of them.

These acts weren’t simply out of kindness or obligation, however.  Dahlia was itching to get on Drayton’s good side, because she had some special plans for her and her favorite Sawyer brother, Chop Top.  The tense energy and busy schedule Drayton created left them little to no wiggle room for alone time as a couple, despite their many attempts.  She wouldn’t fail tonight though.  She was feeling extra frisky.  

The small lady wasn’t sure why, but her heart yearned for her lover’s arms more than ever.  She wanted him to hold her, pin her down, tie her up, bite her, cut her…  Nothing was off limits tonight.  Dahlia flustered herself over the nasty thoughts.  She fanned her face, still sweaty from all the dancing.  She thought about how Chop would beg for her when he wanted to have her.  He would do anything just to get in her pants.  She wondered how he would react when the tables were turned.  What would he do if he saw her beg for him?  Would he like it?  She placed her hand on her leg, and slowly slid it up to her pelvic bone, thinking about the night ahead of her.

In the midst of her fantasy, she heard a small moan.  She looked to grandpa, who was wiggling a bit in his chair.  Dahlia sniffed the air.  Smoke?  She gasped, “MY PIES!!!” She leapt from the couch and ran to the kitchen.  She frantically slipped on a pair of oven mitts and opened the oven door.  She sighed from relief, “A bit well-done, but still good!  Phew!  Thanks, grandpa!”  She pulled the tray out of the oven and set it on top of the stove to cool.  

“YOU TWO COON SHITS CAN’T DO ANYTHING RIGHT!!!” The sound of Drayton’s complaining echoed through the dirt walls.  Dahlia turned sharply, realizing they were finally back from a long day’s work.  She threw off her mitts and bolted for a mirror.  She bumped a skeleton sitting at a small vanity to the floor to fix her hair.  She took it down from her ponytail, and shook out all the sweat.  She smiled at her reflection, cute as usual.  A little wet, but it was kinda sexy.

“Aw, come on, bro!  I- It wasn’t that bad!  We got oooooonnnneeee!!!”  

Dahlia’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing her lover’s raspy voice.  

Drayton was the first to enter the living space, “I told you once, I told you a thousand and ten times!  ONE WON’T CUT IT!!!”  Dahlia skipped over to Drayton with a chipper attitude, much to his dismay, “Whatdya want, girly?” he spit out that nickname like it was a disease.

Dahlia gestured to the room, “Notice anything?”  Drayton looked around a moment, as she waited in anticipation for some gratification.  

“You, uh, you knocked over that there skeleton.” He pointed to the skeleton on the floor beside the vanity.  “You oughta pick it up.” he ordered, making his way to the kitchen.  Dahlia rolled her eyes and huffed.  She stomped over to the skeleton and sat it back up on the stool, its head rolling off in the process.  Ignoring the decapitated head, she proceeded to follow behind Drayton.  “I cleaned the house!  In fact, I did all the chores.” she boasted, hoping he might give her just a sliver of praise.  

“You did the dishes?” he asked.  She nodded proudly.  “Well,” he continued, “looks like you’re gonna have to do more once those pies get eaten.”  He continued to go about business as usual, as if she didn’t work her ass off all day for this very moment.  She sighed and shrugged it off, that was the closest to a thank you she would get out of him for today.  His mind was obviously in other places.

Bubba came into the kitchen lugging a chunk of meat he shaved off of some poor idiot who got caught.  Despite being covered in blood, he grabbed Dahlia and pulled her in for a hug.  She cried in disgust, “BUBBAAA!!!  You’re gonna get blood in my hair!!!”  She pushed herself off of him, and gave him a cold stare.  He looked down in shame, wiping his hands on his apron.  As if that did anything, the apron was blood-soaked too.  Dahlia gave another exasperated sigh, “You boys are going to be the death of me…” she muttered, and patted the big-little brother on the arm. 

“H-H-Hey, cook!  Whereya want this???” Chop Top shouted from the entrance holding up a bucket of gouged out eyeballs.  Drayton shouted back, “Where the fuck else would I want them?!?!?  Bring’em here to the kitchen, ya dumbass!!!”  

Dahlia’s eyes became hearts as her man hobbled across the room like a goblin.  She threw herself against a large pipe and struck a seductive pose, only for him to pass her right by.  This girl just about had enough of the Sawyer’s for one evening.  The boys hadn’t even been home for 10 minutes and they seemed to be going out of their way to make a fool out of her.

Chop Top set the bucket on the counter next to Drayton.  Once this small task was complete, he set his sights on Dahlia.  He creeped over to her, and stood over her unnoticed for a moment.  “H-H-Hey lil mama.” he said softly.

A chill went down Dahlia’s spine.  He called her by her pet name.  This set off all those feelings she had when she was sitting on the couch mere moments ago.  She quickly turned and jumped up into his arms, smacking a big kiss on his lips.  

Losing his balance, he fell to the ground with a thud.  “AH!” he shrieked, “You stupid bitch!!! Jumpin’ like a spider monkey all over me!”  Still on top of him, she continued to kiss him all over his face.  The average person may find him grotesque, but she thought he was a hunk.  Chop Top knew better though.  This behavior was weird, even for Dahlia.  “W-W-What’s wrong with you?” he couldn’t help but smile when he asked.  As odd as it was, he did enjoy the physical attention.

“Ooh, I just REALLY wanna listen to the radio tonight, big daddy!  Can we? Can we, please?!?!”  That was their little secret code term for “let’s get our groove on.”  While his pet name for her was Lil Mama, she called him Big Daddy.  She didn’t say it often, but when she did it meant she wanted it bad.

Chop Top’s pale white face turned red like a cherry.  He never saw her so eager before.  It was he who usually initiated everything.  It was very different throwing yourself at a girl than having a girl throw themselves at you.  It made him a bit nervous, he could feel a sweat start under his arms.  All he could mutter out was a small stutter, “Y-Y-Ya?”

Drayton stomped over, and grabbing Dahlia by the arm, yanked her off his lap.  “No one’s gonna listen to nothin if we don’t get any work done!!!”  Still having a grip on her, he tossed her towards the kitchen.  He then proceeded to grab Chop Top by the shirt and lift him onto his feet.  Chop Top didn’t say a word, which was very unlike him.  “Whats the matter with ya boy?” Drayton asked, mildly concerned but mostly annoyed.  Chop Top just stared blankly in Dahlia’s direction, his heart beating like he just ran a marathon.  The old man had no time to waste, so he just shook his head and left him there to stare.  “Well, i’ve got 2 other sets of hands that aren’t completely cuckoo shit yet.” the old man muttered under his breath, but still loud enough that everyone heard.

Bubba continued to haul meat back and forth from the cutting room to the kitchen.  He passed Chop Top with his blank stare and stopped.  He was worried about his big brother.  He was usually loud and obnoxious, but he suddenly seemed dumbfounded.  Bubba tapped his arm as gently as he could.  He continued to give little nudges until Chop Top finally shook out of the trance.  “BUBBA!” he shouted, “You ever feel like your hearts gonna explode and your body is shakin and your mind is goin CRAZY OUT OF THIS WORLD?!?!”  

Unsure how to properly respond, Bubba simply shrugged his shoulders.  He stayed by his side still, worried his brother was falling ill.  The middle Sawyer realized his little bro wouldn’t understand, and quickly brushed him away.  The big man sighed, hoping everything was going to be alright for his favorite brother.

Chop Top moseyed to the kitchen and stood next to his little woman as she began cutting up the pie.  He wanted to speak, but he found himself unable to open his mouth.  Once again frozen in time.  He watched her as she casually worked like a little housewife, enamored by each motion she made.  Her fingertips carefully graced the crust of the pie, as not to crush it inward.  Her eyes, so soft and yet so laser focused on the task at hand.  Her lips at a slight curve, not quite a smile, but still ever as content.  He watched on as she used the knife to scoop up a slice and plop it onto a plate, the berry filling spilling out of the sides.  Dahlia looked up at him, dead in the eyes.  She lifted the knife up to her mouth and licked off the red cherry goo.  

He just couldn’t look away from her, how could this small creature have this much power over him?  What did she have planned?  What was she going to do to him?  Licking that knife got his hopes up that she might slice his neck or stomach.  She usually refused to hurt him like that, despite him being an outspoken masochist.  What changed in her that made her so…… horny?

“Chop Top?  Hello?  Are all the lights on upstairs?” Dahlia tried to get his attention by waving her hands in his face.  “You’re starting to make me worried!”  The tall man blinked himself out of a trance once again, and stammered out a small response, “I-I-I’m ok.”  

She smiled into a sigh of relied, “Well thank goodness!” She picked up the plate of pie and a fork, “You gotta taste some of my delicious cherry pie!  I made it just for you!”  A small blush showed on her cheeks as her smile grew wider.  She scooped up the tip of the slice onto the fork and held it up to her lover’s mouth.  He opened his mouth and the fork slid in.  He took the bite and slowly chewed, enjoying the sweet taste of the berries.  Dahlia was still smiling like a lovestruck fool right up at him.  “If you’re not in the mood to eat right now we could always do something else.” she bobbed her head from side to side to help insinuate her sexual intentions, “If you’re in the mood?  I know I am.” She continued bobbing her head, waiting for a response.

Drayton butted between the two of them to grab two plates and the knife.  “You oughta stop that weird head shit you’re gonna snap your neck.” he shook his own head in frustration before going to the other side of her to cut up some pie for him and Bubba.  Dahlia gave a huff.  Drayton seemed to love getting between the two of them.  He didn’t exactly approve of what Chop Top and Dahlia did behind closed doors, so he pretended like he didn’t know.  Although Dahlia was sure everyone in the house knew based on how loud they’d turn the radio up certain nights.

Chop finally came to and spoke up, “Listen babes, did you- uh, do something different?  With your hair or your eyes or something?”  

“My eyes?”  She tilted her head in confusion.  How does one change their eyes, she wondered.

“I just feel like you’re different today.  Its makin me nervous!”  he admitted.   Dahlia turned on her bedroom eyes, and took a step closer to him, “I think you’re nervous because for once I want you, rather than you wanting me.”  She placed her hands on his chest, rubbing up and down sensually.

A chill went up his spine when she touched him.  Despite the shift in their usual dynamic, he was extremely turned on.  “Oh, I want you!  Don’t make no mistake about that, lil mama!”  He took her hands and wrapped them around his waist.  He rested his arms on her shoulders and began to sway from side to side.  The nerves melted away into his typical horny energy.  She giggled as she followed his rhythm.  He lowered his face down to hers and placed his forehead against hers, with a wild, toothy grin plastered on his face.  

Dahlia was still smiling like an idiot too, as she whispered, “I love you, Bobby.”   

Chop Top chuckled.  He was once again nervous, but he had a better handle on himself now for some reason. “I love you too, lil mama.”  He took a step back and grabbed her by the wrists, letting out a laugh like a deranged hyena, he started to dance to music only he could hear playing in his head.  Dahlia joined in, whipping her head around and letting her hair fly everywhere.  

Drayton and Bubba watched on from the kitchen table.  The eldest Sawyer shook his head disapprovingly, “Buncha idiots….” He turned to his littlest brother, “Bubba, don’t you ever get yourself mixed up in that bullshit.”   Bubba stayed quiet as he watched the couple dance.  All he saw was a happy couple.  He wanted to have something like that.  He wasn’t sure how or why, but it was a nice thing to want.

[mai-stories]

The Florist and the Mercenary - Chapter Three:  Getting Ready

"I take it we need provisions? Can you cook?" Irvine asked her, starting to steer her towards the road back to Woodmoore.

"I can cook a few things." Lily said, looking up at him as they went back. Hard labor didn't sound too bad, as she could use her water to push heavy things around and pick things up since she had very little upper body strength. "What about you?" The mermaid asked as she walked alongside him, tilting her head some as he was still a considerable height above her.

"Not at all. The closest I've come to actual cooking is frying rabid animals with my magic, for contracts. And those two jackasses." Irvine replied.

He glanced down at her, noticing Lily's face was one big open book with the word "worry" written over, and over, and over. "The whole point of me training you is to toughen you up for that sort of thing, to deal with slavers and backstabbers like Ernest. I won't be by your side twenty-four seven."

Their travel brought them back to town, to the market place where the mermaid had earned her coin purse and Irvine turned to his shorter companion.

"Buy things. Food. Whatever. I'll cover some expenses and be here to make sure they don't rip you off. Only essential." He told her. "We'll only need few minor supplies," He told his charge as his lone eye also searched for the places he had in mind,

"Ration boxes. A tarp and pitons for when it rains.. Its not like you and I have camping equipment, but we don't need much. It'll be coppers at best, I'm not trying to screw you over." She still needed to pay him his daily fee after all. "Non-perishable foods for the road are essential. Vendors and traders cross every road daily so shopping for food won't be difficult.." Turning his head, Irvine peered over his shoulder with a half-lidded eye, his gaze holding a sort of bored and indifferent glance. Not cold or mean, more or less checking that his charge was still there and had not been distracted by something shiny. "I'd like to visit an apothecary too. For medicine, stuff for poison... That would be such a stupid way to go for you and I just can't abide by that." He told her, much to her dismay.

This guy was so blunt in his words! Her slate blue eyes scanned the area as she slowly relaxed, more comfortable with so many people around, as odd as it sounded in her head. Surely nothing bad would become of her in broad daylight, out in public, so why worry? When he explained the things they would need, she understood, having never really put much thought into that sort of thing. Lily pulled her wallet out, ready to make any purchases so long as he oversaw the spending. She'd buy what he suggested, taking his word for it as he seemed to have better knowledge of the supplies.

"Rations.. Tarp and pitons.." She repeated to herself over and over under her breath, beginning to head towards a large stall.

If she didn't remind herself, her attention would easily slip away, gullibility made her an easy target for shady dealers! Lily bought a bag to carry their supplies in for only two silver, then began to purchase the goods he had suggested. Dried meats, wrapped cheeses, and enchanted bottles of fruits that wouldn't rot were what she bought, as well as a couple of loaves of bread. All of this seemed non-perishable to her, and would make meals easier than having to hunt. As for medicine... She had no idea where an apothecary was, as there was no stall around with such wares. "I got us some food, and water shouldn't be a problem." She reported back to him, lugging the bag with her. It did have straps, though she was careful not to get it snagged on her hair. It took her many years to reach the length it was, and she wasn't about to lose a single strand to some brass buckles and leather straps. "About the medicine, though.. I'm not sure where to look." Lily explained, turning her attention up at his face, though she didn't make eye contact.

Her eyes would avoid his, a habit she'd need to break soon. Irvine eyed his companion for a moment, not a word said as his lightly scarred hand reached toward Lily and he gently urged the pack off of the girl's petite shoulders. He slung it onto one of his own without issue or a word about it, rolling his unlit cig from one corner of his mouth to the other and then back.

"I've got a different place in mind. The owner and I have.. a rapport." He nodded his head again in that manner that encouraged her to come along. Without a word, she continued to follow him, adjusting the bag to make sure nothing fell out or off of it as he took it with him.

On the way they picked up the few minor camping supplies like their tarp, some feet of rope and pitons to anchor the tarp in case of rain. He liked the rain, the moody season was upon their lands and he could feel the first of the clouds brewing while the sky outside was a cloudless blue. That kind of clear weather sucked for hangovers.. it was far too bright. He also helped himself to a couple packs of cigarettes. His traveling buddy was buying, after all. It was a few copper in all plus, a map, because what kind of idiots went out into the world without a map? Food and fresh water were in good supply, he had a flask of booze on his person should another sort of thirst need quenching, and their general camping supplies were set. Lily was a bit surprised he just took the pack without a word, letting him do so, freeing her arms a bit to pick up anything else. After buying the tarp and pitons, it was a bit obvious on her face that she disliked having to buy cigarettes for him. She had never really liked the idea of smoking narcotics, as it ruined lungs and skin, as well as teeth and other vital parts of the body! Sure, magic could undo and erase it, but magic was not always available. That left the apothecary and the building he was headed toward was... obvious. A single floor building, the outside was once a vibrant magenta, surely, but the elements had dulled the color and made it chip and crack. the shutters to the windows outside were a fresher shade of bright green, akin to jade. The window glass was dirty, murky with dust. The door seemed brand new, but one could only imagine why such a rundown hovel like the Red Weaver before the pair needed it. Opening the door released an air of stagnant and stale smoke mixed with sweeter aromas like honey and vanilla. Both mingled in a fashion never meant for such extremes of scent, the inside had a light smoky haze, and the smell was surely overbearing for the poor untrained lungs of a nonsmoker. Irvine, however, was like a fish in water and as straight-faced, unperturbed as ever. As they entered the building that seemed stained with time, Lily was immediately off put by the strong aromas and overwhelming smoke. She coughed a good bit before settling, using her bandanna to cover her face. It was dark, candlelit, where the dirtied windows, and other that could not be seen from their initial view that were boarded up, let little actual light in. There were shelves lined with jarred oddities, free floating or packed into liquid. Shelves of vials, candles, sacks of herb and some were sitting around stuffed in crates. A bell chimed above their heads and from out of sight walked a woman. She wore several long scarves, sequined and shimmering on her body in the dim light, fashioned around like a rainbow shawl that hung down over her stomach. They even wrapped over her head to hide her hair from view. Her skin was dark tanned, wrinkled with a bit of age, and her nose longer than most and hooked. Her magenta robes, glowing in comparison to her building, dragged along her floor as she glided up to Irvine, standing roughly Lily's height in comparison. She looked up at the one-eyed lad through eyes so narrowly squinted that little more than the slight shine of her eyes could be seen. Her rather bony hand brought her smoking pipe to her lips where she took a deep drag and exhaled a steady stream of lavender smoke right into Irvine's face. Seconds of it, where his head was positively lost in the haze before she was even done. Lily waved smoke away from her own face, drawing the bandanna down as the woman promptly blew smoke directly into her bodyguard's face.

"Excuse me.." She managed to squeak out, holding back a cough. "Do you have medical supplies for sale? We just need a few things." She finally coughed up, eyes starting to water at the sheer amount of smoke and fumes surrounding the room.

Madame Zara turned her narrowed gaze to Lily, jewelry jingling about as she tilted her head and gazed at the girl for a few wordless seconds.

"Anti-toxins mostly. Cheap, for snakes or spiders. And my usual, old woman.." Irvine said in the lingering haze around his head.

"Got more business, worthless?" She asked in a grating voice from years of smoking. The colorful and chiming woman turned and plucked vials and herbs from her shelves without looking. She went behind her front desk and brought up a small back, glass clinking inside. "Three gold for all of it. Take it or fuck off.." She told them, setting three neatly wrapped packets of herbs and three vials down of a murky green substance with what looked like some sort of algae clinging to the glass, before taking another long drag and filling her lungs.

"Best deal I've ever gotten. You must be lucky." The newly appointed bodyguard said to his charge as he ushered Lily forward to pay.

She nearly jumped when the woman looked at her, eyes averted once more until she heard Irvine speak. A part of her was relieved he knew what they needed, though she was not as pleased to hear such vile language float about the smoke. She gave a soft whimper when he urged her to pay, money jingling in hand as she put the money on the desk. Already, three gold was gone from her previously thirteen, and after buying provisions and equipment, she was left with even less! She only had about eight gold left now, striking anxiety back into the mermaid's heart. She truly hoped she'd be able to pay him for the trip.

"Is this really all we need?" She asked quietly, reaching up to tug on his sleeve, wanting Irvine to know she was speaking directly to him.

He waved off the lingering haze and looked down at his charge, giving her a nod. "Mm.." He grunted as he took what as paid for, packed it away and nodded to the proprietress, whom exhaled a stream of the same lavender vapor in reply. "We've got the bare necessities. We could use a bit more of maybe something to help replenish mana. The old bat probably has a healing potion or two," to that, Irvine received a rough grunt as confirmation, "but you have to pay me. Start light and we can always get more. Like I told you, there are merchants and caravans moving all across Elestrona."

He had Lily lead their way out with a hand gently placed on her back, "I appreciate the deal." He told Zara.

"Keep her safe. You could use the company." the old smoker told him in her time ravaged tone before the door to her shop shut and she was left alone in the gentle glow. Irvine sighed. He checked the one sack meant for him and nodded.

"Six vials. Old hag was being damn generous today." He murmured to himself as the left the Red Weaver.

Lily huffed a small sigh of relief, glad to be out of the hazy building. Her lungs weren't quite large to begin with, as breathing required two sets of passages for her. She tucked away the packets and fastened the bags before turning to him, curious about what exactly she had just purchased for him. Still, it was none of her business, though she would ask eventually. She needed to trust him more, and that would take a little longer.

"If that's all, then we should start heading south. I recall Port Hollifern being at the southernmost peninsula." She said, turning those grey-blue eyes to him, a smile gracing her lips. "Thank you, by the way." Lily added as she walked a few steps, wondering which direction was south. She hadn't moved ten feet and was already lost again. Irvine's hand came rest on top of Lily's head and her bodyguard oriented her on the right path. Lily's body swiveled into the right direction, cheeks warming at the feeling of his hand on her head.

"No problem. Seems like I made the right choice.." He patted the girl's head silken locks and set off towards the southern gates with her.

They were out of Woodmore, officially on their way to Hollifern Bay with a substantial distance to cross on foot. That would be a lot of days to get paid. Their journey beginning, she found herself more at ease now that she had someone big and menacing to call a bodyguard.

"So, can you use magic or what?" Irvine asked his petite charge, bringing up his hand with fingers curled and spread, making a slim bolt of electricity dance between his finger tips before creating an electric circle across them. As he asked about her magic, her face lit up, that smile returning.

"Yes, I can. It's.. not strong, but I'm trying my best." She said as she pulled out her leather water pouch, popping the lid open and commanding a stream of water out, floating up into a ball in her palms. She wasn't quite able to change its state, but could make it into shapes and control a decent amount, up to half her body weight.

"Hm.." He nodded. "How lucky. All you have to do is soak whomever decides to mess with you.. and I can zap them a little harder." Irvine said with a smirk. It was the first time his lips had turned up into sort semblance of a smile. "Your most useful tool is going to be a whip. I've met a couple water magi before. I'll teach you how control it a little better." Better his charge knew how to defend herself. It made for less for himself worry about.

Lily listened to him, looking down at the water in her hands as he spoke. A whip? She had used water as a prehensile tool before, able to grab things from far away and bring them to her. She hardly thought about using it as a weapon, though. Testing out the idea, she spun the water into a long, thin strand, about as thick as her thumb before letting the base of it cling to her hand.

"Like this?" She asked softly, showing him the liquid weapon as it glistened in the noon sunlight, a light smile on her face. She liked seeing him smile, as it made him just a tad less scary. Anything to lighten the mood around this guy.

"Already got the hang of controlling it like that, I see.." He said with a nod. "I've seen water magi practice by keeping water as a blob and extending like a whip from that. Might be a bit advanced for you." It was just a thought, however. Any form she could use defensively was useful. "As long as you can actually defend yourself if you need to," Irvine told his charge, "it's less hassle for me and I can keep on getting paid." His single eye drifted to the sky and simply watched it as they went down the often beaten path.

"My magic isn't that strong yet. I have to keep it in a reserve, otherwise I wouldn't have any." She said, opening her pouch back up and putting the water back inside. She, too, looked to the sky, then back down towards the road out before them. It seemed this journey would be long, and silence would make it just uncomfortable. "If you don't mind me asking.. What kind of work do you usually do?" She asked quietly, looking up at him now. It didn't seem like he was always a bodyguard, offering lost and defenseless young women protection from one place to another.

"I hurt people." He said, so casually at that.

This was a book, this man, whose cover was bruised and beaten and cracked with words written across the front that were crisp. That could be judged from first glance, his bloody pages held a factual story.

"People who hurt other people, mostly anyway.. I was a bouncer for pubs, threw out mostly drunkards and a few blokes off their asses looking for a fight because they're just mad at the world.." He lit his cigarette finally and took a long drag. Slowly, let the smoke inhalation burn before he blew. "Was a long time before I knew I could get paid for hurting people too.." He smirked to himself. He eyed Lily out of corner of his one, up and down. "What did you do? A maid, gardener?" Irvine questioned, noticing her get up. Not quite fit for adventuring.

The girl's first initial instinct was to take a step to the side, just a bit further away. She couldn't hide how terrified she was of that thought, but she was paying him to protect her. What would he do if she said she didn't have money, just abandon her at some pub or inn for others to pick off? Paranoid thoughts sprung up in the back of her mind, though she brushed them off as just that--thoughts.

"I.. Yes, a gardener.. I grew a field of flowers, and sold them to get the money I needed for this trip." She explained, forcing herself to relax. He seemed blunt and logical, and would have made it known what his intentions were from the start. There was no reason to be afraid, she told herself over and over.. But why was she still so skittish? "I guess I do look kind of like a maid, huh?" She said with an awkward giggle, looking down at her clothes, the plain brown skirt and white blouse covered with her apron, the bandanna holding her hair out of her face and her knee high boots, waterproof and made to walk through deep puddles and streams.

"A bit... I would wager a bad one at that," Irvine told her, blowing another stream of gray vapor from the corner of his mouth away from the shorter girl. "You strike me as the clumsy type.. You try and all that but make a bigger mess than when you started." He said bluntly, not even concerned with any sort of slight his words might cause. He just kept looking up at the sky. Her bit of distance taken did not go unnoticed and he uttered a simple detail. "I don't mess with women like that. You look like you'd crack if I stared too hard, even." He said on behalf of her worried demeanor.

A small huff came from the young woman at his side, a slightly smug smile on her face.

"I'm not as clumsy as you think." She said with a nod, a bit proud of herself that he misread that tiny bit of information about her. Though, she was a bit top-heavy, given that her hair did weigh her down in some cases. Bundling it all up into a braided bun would only make it worse, so she left it down for even distribution of weight. His next comment, though, stung a little. Could he really blame her for being so scared? She didn't exactly fit in with the tough crowd scene. Hell, she'd fit the bill if placed in a dollhouse, not a bar! "Sorry, I'm just nervous. I hardly meet new people, so meeting the right ones isn't always easy." She explained, fingers idly fiddling with a long indigo lock of hair. "You're not all that bad, though." She added with that same smile, glancing up at him. Irvine only shrugged his shoulders.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me. I've known a couple others like you. Hell, I wouldn't take offense to you being afraid of me the entire time from here to Hollifern." He dropped his nearly spent cigarette into the dirt and stamped out half burnt tobacco. He looked down at his charge and their eyes met.

"But you're safe." He told her.

This would be an uneasy partnership, but he had an obligation uphold as Lily's hired bodyguard and would not let her down. Lily did her best to relax more, as his words calmed her after a few minutes. His intentions were right out there, this blunt but honest man, so she could let her guard down around him. Another deep breath, and the tension dropped in her shoulders, steps becoming less rigid and more natural. Just as she began to relax, a crack of thunder boomed from the sky, making her jump and cling to his coat sleeve. The storm was beginning to roll in, rain pattering in sprinkling drips across the glades and forest. Irvine, however, was unperturbed. The gradually intensifying patter of drops across his face and eventually his shoulders was pleasant, but then it stopped. Lily reached a hand up, using magic to prevent water from touching them so long as she didn't break concentration. He could see the rain parting, just a touch, around them. Around an invisible force more like, and his gaze drifted down to Lily. Was she concentrating...? or pouting? The trees up ahead would provide some protection before it got any heavier, so that was their safest bet right now.

That tarp would come in handy sooner than she thought! The pace he took toward the small cluster of trees was leisurely, the lightning mage able to set up their tarp to stay dry. He was in no rush. Lily did her best to keep rain off of them for as long as she could manage, her arms dropping as they settled in a small cluster of trees. The sound was at least a pleasant one, even the beastly rumbling of thunder over head that followed every snap of lightning. The flashes danced across his face, his eye drifting to each one before they appeared in the dull gray sky. The storm brought a small smile to his face. Lily had become somewhat fatigued from her mana usage, though as they rested, she noticed him smiling. She was about to ask him if he liked the rain before something odd caught her ear. That didn't sound like wind or rain, though it did have some familiarity to it... Just what was it? Little did they realize the danger at their backs.