#yeah yeah top/bottom is not black and white and is used and constructed differently across people and communities and experiences spare me

[appalesbian]

tops of the world…. give me your wisdom. what happens in those beautiful brains of yours. you are an enigma to me but I wish to learn

[honeymoonjin]

pairing: namjoon x jimin genre: smut, 18+ readers only word count: 5.1k

summary: namjoon has worked as a bodyguard for an upscale BDSM dungeon for long enough to know that jimin is the most sought-after dom there. it only takes one miscommunication for namjoon to discover firsthand why that is.

warnings: unedited, sexually explicit content, power bottom!jimin, sub top!namjoon, unprotected sex, degradation, light pain play, BDSM dynamics, kinda temperature play, i think that's it but i'm so out of practice so i apologise if i missed something

a/n: this piece came to fruition thanks firstly to the @armyadvocates AAPI Justice and Advocacy initiative, and secondly to the kind commissioner @goldenwallsvol6 on twitter who requested this (i'm so sorry for not including everything you asked for, i got a little carried away kdsjfdssk). please check out the AAPI initiative here, consider donating, and check out the resources that come with it.

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Clocking in to work has become such a routine for Namjoon that he often finds himself switching his brain off, preoccupied with half-thoughts as his body runs on autopilot.

He signs in, uses the staff changing room to replace his sweats with the company standard uniform - a tight t-shirt and slim fit jeans, the belt of which he hooks his keys on. He doesn’t actually start his shift for another couple minutes, and so he ducks to the bathroom, chews a breath mint, and stretches before heading out of the office and down the narrow hallway that leads to the den.

In fact, it takes him a few steps into the dungeon before his automatic schedule is disrupted.

It appears Namjoon is entirely alone in the facility.

His steps, taken with heavy-duty boots, echo around the hollow space with nothing but the walls to absorb them. It’s a Thursday night (he consults his phone just to be sure) and he was on the closing shift. On any usual day, he’d be starting work right at the bustling high of the BDSM dungeon, yet he finds himself wandering alone.

Shaped in a rough X, the center of the dungeon is open-plan, with more private spaces forking off. The wing he’s in is generally full of swingers and kinksters making use of costume changing stations and a room full of cleaning supplies and disposables like condoms or wet wipes. It was always the calmest section, but never dead like this.

In a daze, Namjoon glances inside the rooms anyway, half-expecting the place to burst into life at any given moment. But it stays undisturbed, and in no time he’s in the central atrium, weaving through bolted-down couches, benches and racks until he can sink onto a stool at the bar.

Coherent thought escapes him. His brain flails for a reason, but the absurdity of an entirely vacant sex dungeon has him lost for words. After a moment, in restless futility, he stands back up and goes behind the bar, back further into the mini storage/kitchen that he knows features a window.

Outside the narrow, slightly dusty frame is an empty parking lot. His heart sinks, feeling sorely left behind and out of the loop, but a glint catches his eye. Pressing his nose to the glass, he squints and peeks a somewhat familiar vehicle, pulled into the closest park to the entrance of the dungeon.

Namjoon stares pointedly at the Hyundai, racking his brain. God, who was it that had a-

A wooden scrape from behind has Namjoon jumping in violent fright, catching his forehead on the protruding frame of the window. Cursing, he whirls around and glimpses movement further inside. Another drawn-out scrape is followed by a very human-sounding huff.

Heart still racing, Namjoon makes his way out of the storage area and stands behind the bar, seeking out the presence.

“Oh, shit, you gave me a heart attack!” Park Jimin stands off to the left of the room, hands on his hips and head tilted back in relief. “I thought you were a burglar.”

“No,” Namjoon states redundantly, mouth not quite working beyond that. He knew he recognised that silver SUV - every Thursday he watched Jimin hop into it and pull away after a long night of scening. The two had exchanged words often, more than Namjoon could say for most patrons. Being the bouncer for a sex dungeon didn’t lead to that much genuine conversation, but he always appreciated the effort Jimin would put in, hair wet with sweat and lips curved with happy exhaustion but still asking Namjoon if he’d managed to work out whether it was birds or the neighbour’s cat eating his strawberry plants.

He forces himself to check back into the present when current-Jimin cocks his head with a slightly sheepish grin, awaiting an actual explanation. “I, um,” Namjoon stutters, having to avert his eyes to construct anything coherent, “I didn’t realise the club was shut, I’m honestly a little confused.”

Jimin’s smile drops, plush lips rounding in surprise. “Oh, really? Hoseok-hyung said he sent out emails to all the staff. There was a pipe leak so we called off our whole calender until Monday. Did you not get it? We’ve had troubles with work emails getting stuck in spam; something about a sex dungeon really seems to set off the detectors,” the man quips with a jovial lift of his brow.

Namjoon bites down on his tongue, offering up a silent nod of acknowledgement. He’d seen Jimin more times than he could count in black, red, royal purple. In the club he favoured leather, not buckled and studded but sleek and tight, often decorating his lithe body with harnesses, gauntlets and heavy rings instead. More often than not, he’d boast unsmudgable smokey eyes with sharp liner, cheekbones as harsh as they were dewy. It had taken a while, but Namjoon had eventually grown used to the sight, able to prevent chubbing up at the mere sight of his ass as he bent to open his car door.

For some reason, seeing him outside of that whole persona is far more intimidating. Still covered in a light sheen of sweat, that’s the only linker to the Jimin Namjoon is faced with today. He’s got chunky white sneakers weighing down his feet, long overalls rolled up at the cuffs to let some air reach his ankles. The overalls prove particularly problematic to Namjoon, as they don’t seem to have anything underneath. Namjoon can see collarbones, glorious collarbones, and the lean bare sides of Jimin’s torso. If he bent over, Namjoon would probably get a glimpse of his nipples. The thought dampens his mouth with need.

Jimin himself seems unaware of, or at least unbothered by, the way Namjoon stares  him down. Instead, he reaches down to push a cardboard box as tall as his waist across the hardwood floor closer to the bar one shove at a time. “Anyway, you’re welcome to head home. I’ll get Hoseok to add half an hour to your payslip for your troubles.”

“What are you doing here then?” Namjoon asks reflexively, cringing at how loud he’s accidentally pitched his voice.

Jimin’s face is surprisingly round without the stroke of makeup to emphasise dimensions, and when he beams at Namjoon, it softens his whole face even more. “I’m taking advantage of us being closed to install some new furniture. D’you wanna see?” He seems to reconsider, shooting Namjoon a worried look. “It is sex stuff, though.”

“I wasn’t expecting a bookshelf,” he answers honestly, and is rewarded with the bubbling sound of Jimin’s laughter, drowned out prematurely by another shove of the box. “Here,” Namjoon says suddenly, darting out from behind the bar, “let me help.”

At first, Jimin pushes while Namjoon pulls, but after a few grunts of exertion, steps back and lets Namjoon take over, not disguising the way his eyes linger on the way Namjoon’s biceps and pecs flex under his t-shirt sleeve. Obediently, Namjoon lets the bleach-blonde guide him to an open space near the centre of the room, depositing the weighty box there.

With a satisfied hum and a lingering glance at Namjoon’s body, Jimin bends over with a pen from his pocket, using the nib to pop and rip the tape on the box lid, yanking back the flaps with ferocious enthusiasm. He lets out a delighted cry upon lifting a frame of styrofoam out of the box, revealing the goods inside.

One at a time, he takes out oddly-shaped plates of metal, plastic baggies of bolts and screws, and some rubber caps. Kicking the empty box away, Jimin slots his hands back on his hips and grins at Namjoon. “Can you guess what it is?”

Namjoon takes a moment to consider the different sections of stainless steel. The largest isn’t flat, but a rectangle with a slight curve to it, the gentlest arc. The rest come in mirrored pairs, most just for structure, but four of them featuring heavy-duty O-rings. Though he works outside the play area, Namjoon can guess what those are for. “Something for bondage?” he ventures, stomach flipping when Jimin eyes glint with thinly veiled interest.

“A breeding bench,” Jimin explains, squatting to let his fingers trail down the side of one bar, “the metal feels sterile and cold for those that like it. Have you used one before?”

Namjoon feels unsteady on his feet. “No,” he answers, but the softness in his voice betrays his lack of aversion to the thought. But Jimin might think he was a dominant, too, Namjoon worries. Everyone else tended to. “Not yet,” he adds after a moment.

Jimin sucks in a silent but sharp breath, chin lifting. “I could use a hand setting it up. Would you mind…?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, no problem.” Namjoon tries to clear his throat, but the lump of anticipation remains. “Happy to help.”

“Excellent,” the dom beams, fishing around the pieces of styrofoam to locate the printed instructions, handing them to Namjoon. As Namjoon begins to make sense of them, looking over the basic diagrams, Jimin sits down on a nearby ottoman, intended for viewing the other stations, but continuing to face his new help instead. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you more anyway,” he divulges in a honeyed tone.

“Really?” Namjoon glances up from the instructions, feeling the heat of Jimin’s gaze. Even in worn overalls and unstyled hair, the man strikes a gorgeous image, and his posture screams distinguished dominant down to the curl of his fingers. His mere presence has Namjoon feeling off-balance in the most electric way. “There’s not much to know.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Jimin replies immediately, deadpan. “Why are you standing outside every night when you’re just as kinky as those of us indoors?”

“Excuse me?”

Jimin leans forward, legs splayed wide and elbows on his knees. His eyes are intently focused, blazing. “For a while it drove me crazy,” he starts, “you looked so familiar. I saw you every evening and couldn’t put my finger on it. But you used to scene here, didn’t you? Years ago.”

Namjoon’s heart stops beating, sitting heavy behind his ribs instead. “You- You’re not meant to approach people you know from the dungeon outside. It’s against the rules.”

“We aren’t outside,” Jimin counters. “I want to know why you stopped. You don’t look happy, Namjoon, seeing others come and go while you’re stuck to your post. Help me understand.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Namjoon stays silent, opening his mouth seeming too daunting a task. After a moment, Jimin swallows hard and sits back again, giving up the inquisition. Namjoon chooses to continue the task at hand, consulting the instructions.

The bench itself is a relatively simple setup. There’s two long cuts of steel in an X below the main panel for stability, four legs with the O-ring bars at either end, and the rubber caps on the bottom to avoid scratching the floor. As he putters around with the nuts and bolts, using a tiny spanner provided in the baggies to tighten them, he feels Jimin’s curious gaze on him. Silent.

Eventually, the silence has its desired effect, and Namjoon lets his internal thoughts vocalise. “I played here for a while. My partner and I ended up going our separate ways, and I wanted to give him space.” He doesn’t make eye contact, pulse thudding and heating the pieces of metal he fiddles with.

Jimin takes a short moment to reply, but it feels cavernous. “It’s been years, then. Hasn’t he had enough space yet?”

Namjoon’s eye twitches. How many nights had he stayed up with that exact question in mind? “It doesn’t feel right anymore. People would know me for who I was then. And I’m- I’m not that person.” His partner, an eager sub with a need for a firm hand, had asked Namjoon one day if he was sure he was really happy being a dom, and it had entirely dismantled the place in BDSM that he’d cultivated for himself. That sub was right, and he didn’t know how to adjust his course to fit his true desire.

So he’d pulled away entirely, unable to fully leave this world, but unsure of whether it still had a spot for him inside it. He just wants to feel what it’s like to let go in the way his subs did.  And as his hands focus on constructing the heavyset bench, his mind wanders deeper in this vein, loose-lipped enough to confess it all to Jimin.

Jimin listens without judgement, not even seeming surprised when Namjoon admits to feeling more submissive, and the lack of reaction is liberating in a way he couldn’t have expected.

It’s not until the final bolt is fastened in place and Namjoon leans back, slightly breathless, that Jimin stands up and approaches him again. He crouches in front of Namjoon, eyes tender and hesitant, reaching out a hand.

Confused, Namjoon holds his out, palm-up, and Jimin takes it carefully, circling his fingers around the narrowest part of his wrist. Still, it’s too meaty for Jimin’s fingertips to connect. He squeezes lightly, carefully, before locking his gaze with Namjoon again, who swears he’s no longer breathing.

“Do you want to try?” Jimin asks. His voice is low, soft but full-bodied. “Do you want to try to let go? Club rules would apply.”

And Namjoon is nodding, and the grip on his wrist is tightening, restraining, and Jimin’s surging forward, lips on his.

His free hand comes up to hook around the nape of Namjoon’s neck. He’s held there, unforgiving, as the dom deepens the kiss. There’s no space between them, just skin on skin, tongue on tongue. It’s uncoordinated on Namjoon’s part, but so calculated and thorough on Jimin’s, like he knows the exact way to unwind him.

Jimin’s fingers scratch up into Namjoon’s hairline. He’d been growing out the length a little for winter, just enough to cover his ears, and it provides leverage for Jimin to grip on and tug, tug, tug in sharp bursts, timed unevenly enough that Namjoon is never ready. Every pull sends an electric shock down his spine, right between his legs.

He’s hard already, achingly so, and it just worsens when Jimin shifts his weight, bringing a foot forward and over Namjoon’s thigh, half-caging his body flush against his.

Jimin’s body is hot, even through the denim overalls and searing when it’s skin-on-skin. Namjoon can hear himself panting when their mouths split apart briefly, but he can’t stop his head from spinning long enough to care.

Before long, a rumbling growl escapes Jimin’s throat, and his teeth find Namjoon’s lower lip, scraping and nipping at the flesh. It’s not until Namjoon’s hand is shaking in Jimin’s grip that he pulls away, eyes wild and alight.

Namjoon must look utterly debauched, with swollen lips, hazy eyes and rucked-up hair, but his cock is screaming to be touched, and his breaths become infused with pleas for more, begging Jimin to touch him.

“God, you greedy little thing,” Jimin remarks in wonder, and a shudder takes over Namjoon’s body. Jimin quirks a brow. “Good? Bad? I don’t know what you like.”

“Good,” Namjoon insists without shame, “oh my god, good. Say m-more like that.”

Jimin hums with a grin, hand on Namjoon’s neck slipping around front to fist his shirt, yanking it suddenly. “Up, then,” he barks, standing himself, “I want you on the bench you built for me. Thank God that body is good for something; it’s not much fucking use now, is it?”

Namjoon’s breath leaves him in a rush, and he gets up shakily, almost tripping over his own feet as he lowers himself back down on the end of the bench. It’s chillingly cold even through his jeans, and he trembles at the thought of touching it with bare skin. Jimin has no such qualms, however, planting his palm on Namjoon’s chest and pushing him backwards, insistently guiding him down without knocking his head on the metal.

His teeth chatter briefly, but it’s nothing compared to when Jimin clicks his tongue and reaches down to strip the thin fabric of his t-shirt off with one fell swoop, the stitches breaking as they’re forced over the broadest part of his shoulders.

Ice erupts across his back and he gasp, shooting up. Jimin’s hand prevents him from getting far, and his breathing grows loud and sharp, shivering violently as his body fights to warm up the steel. The slight arch of it slots perfectly into the divot of his spine, meaning every inch is flush against him.

“You stay where I put you,” Jimin scolds, flicking at a nipple in punishment. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it? You, lying here, asking to be degraded by somebody half your size? Pathetic. You’re lucky I’m a giving man.”

“Th-thank you,” Namjoon offers up with wide eyes. He doesn’t know the protocol, doesn’t even know how he should be acting as a sub, let alone as a sub for Jimin. He can barely believe the situation he’s ended up in, but he’s never felt so alive. The cold steel is a wakeup call to sluggish veins, his blood rushing faster than ever, most of it going straight to his dick.

Jimin huffs like he’s not quite pleased with the response - even as his eyes crinkle and glint with satisfaction - and simply hooks a finger into the waistband of Namjoon’s jeans, frowning. “Can’t even get undressed yourself. For goodness’ sake.”

Namjoon’s cheeks burn, and he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling so overwhelmed. Though it was years ago, the habit of being in control hasn’t left him, and part of him feels anxious being so vulnerable. Closing his eyes eases that, and Jimin lets him, briefly reaching up to give his upper arm a squeeze, a lilting hum asking the unworded question.

“I’m okay,” he breathes to the darkness behind his eyelids, and the squeeze returns before Jimin straightens up again, fingers yanking impatiently at Namjoon’s jeans, undoing them and yanking them off, taking his briefs with them.

The new level of nudity sends another shock of cold to his system, but this time Namjoon welcomes it with a groan, tilting his hips up so that his cock rests on his lower stomach. His fingers twitch, aching to wrap around himself.

His desire is answered, not with the delicious grip of fingers, but with the hard press of the heel of Jimin’s palm, pinning his hardness down without mercy. A moan dies in Namjoon’s throat as his body tries to curl inwards. A second hand holds him down still, leaving him unable to escape the heavy pressure.

He pants, writhing and toes curling, but Jimin just sighs softly, like he’s more relaxed than ever. “Such a waste,” he drawls, his voice blooming with all the flourishes of a Disney villain, “wanting to be treated like a slut, but what am I getting out of this? Hm?”

“U-uh-” Namjoon has no idea what to say, cracking his eyes open to seek out the comfort of acknowledgement above the level of the scene. His breath is taken away at the sight. Jimin, above him like an avenging angel, golden-haired and glittering with sweat, still fully clothed (as fully as you could call a single piece of denim). He finds Namjoon’s searching gaze and sends him a calm, dreamy smile of encouragement, before twisting his palm against the base of Namjoon’s dick, wringing a strangled groan out of the man. “You can take me,” he pants, filled with the urge to provide, to serve, “take what you want.”

Jimin tilts his head to the side, like this proposition is worth considering. As he makes a show of pondering, he taps his fingers lazily against his cock’s dripping head. Namjoon swallows the whimpers that threaten to bubble up, and forces his hips not to budge. “I’ll be honest with you,” Jimin says finally, “because you don’t deserve sugar-coating. If I was here with a fleshlight or a dildo, I would’ve come already. You’re wasting my precious time, sweet boy. I don’t want you to lay here and simper, I want you to be a good toy for me. So what’s it gonna be?”

Namjoon’s muscles are trembling; from his lips to his toes, he feels like he’s vibrating slightly, restless down to the very atoms that make him up. Jimin is patient, lazily drawing sticky patterns of precum on Namjoon’s abdomen with his pinky finger. Namjoon fights against the primal part of his brain for something coherent, replaying his words. Fleshlight or dildo. Be a good toy. Jimin was offering him the choice to top or bottom, Namjoon realises, and his cock twitches, feeling liberated and thoroughly taken apart with that heady mix of submission and power. He was giving control to Jimin, but never losing his choices.

For a moment, he does consider what it might feel like to let Jimin take him. He’d never bottomed before - at least not for anyone but his own fingers in his experimental years - but if anyone could make him feel safe, he suspected it would be the dom leaning over him. It’s once he really thinks about it that he knows he’s not ready, a thin strand of dread winding around his lungs that won’t go away until he’s stammering to Jimin that he can have Namjoon’s cock if he wants it.

Jimin sucks in a slow, pleased breath, a smile curling at his lips as he lays the weight of Namjoon’s length across the palm of his hand, looking it over. The chill of the steel beneath him is nothing compared to the iced shiver that runs through him upon being inspected in his most private area. Second most private, he corrects. Baby steps.

“I suppose,” Jimin declares finally with a sigh, “this should do. Not winning any awards, though, is it?” Namjoon’s cheeks burn with shame at the comment even as his face scrunches up in disagreement. If there was one thing to be proud of physically, it was that he could always bring his partners pleasure with the equipment he grew into.

Jimin sees the unfiltered reaction on Namjoon’s face and suddenly claps his free hand over his mouth, turning away. The giggle, impish and delicate, doesn’t get as muffled as he probably intended. “Dammit,” he mumbles, “stop being funny, that’s not fair.”

Namjoon blinks, still stark naked and hard as rock beneath the clothed and chuckling dom. “...Apologies,” he says after a pause, “but do you want to- um- are we-”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jimin says, clearing his throat and wiggling the muscles in his cheek to force the smile down. His fingers reach nimbly for the straps that hold his set of overalls on, and undresses down to skin as he takes some deep breaths as if to hype himself back into character. Once he’s done, he swings a leg over the metal bench and straddles Namjoon’s thighs with a swiftness that takes his breath away.

While it may take Jimin a second to slip back into his dom headspace after the break in mood, all Namjoon needs is the feeling of Jimin’s plump ass cheeks settling onto hs lap and he’s being smacked in the face with submission, ready to beg to feel it more intimately.

Jimin doesn’t wait for him to beg, however, rolling his body forward and down, all the way until their cocks are pinned together between their stomachs, and their noses bump. Close enough to kiss, Jimin stays right there, a breath away, and Namjoon freezes, unsure if he’s allowed to close the gap.

Pleased with the restraint shown, Jimin smirks, eyes wandering over Namjoon’s face in pure bemusement, slightly cross-eyed with their proximity. “Most toys can’t kiss back,” he mentions, a hand sliding up Namjoon’s forearm and shoulder to thumb at his jaw, tilting his head back and holding it in place, “so I figure I might as well treat myself.”

“Most?” is the final worried exclamation Namjoon manages to get out before lips are descending on his, and heat erupts.

There’s no way Namjoon could keep up. Not when his face is pressed tightly to Jimin’s, lips nipped at, tongue sucked at, and mouth thoroughly explored. Not when every inch of his front is pressed to Jimin’s, the latter’s nipples hard against the soft, relaxed flesh of Namjoon’s chest. Not when he becomes aware of slow rocking, Jimin grinding their cocks together.

It takes him an unknowable eternity of this to realise that the slow, indulgent groans passed between them aren’t all his, and that Jimin’s shifting motions are brought on by the way he’s reached behind himself with a finger slick with their shared spit, working himself open.

It’s that realisation that becomes the last straw for any of Namjoon’s reserves. He feels so - so passive, not even prepping the man who’s about to take his cock. He’s lying on unforgiving steel, body used as a grinding post and mouth deeply plundered, just a mindless toy, dumbed down to pleasure and need. He isn’t even really aware of his own body where Jimin isn’t touching it; he isn’t too sure where in space his hands are, or what his feet are doing. His lips are for Jimin and his cock is for Jimin and that’s enough to make him light-headed.

When Jimin sits up, Namjoon grunts a bit and fights for some clarity to help line himself up against Jimin’s awaiting body, but the dom just tuts and rebuffs the advances, suiting himself. Part of his weight is on Namjoon’s right shoulder as he props himself up, slowly bearing the rest down so that the head of Namjoon’s cock pushes inside.

The moan that leaves Jimin’s mouth is enough to make Namjoon’s bones shake, wishing he could hear it on repeat, and the dom certainly seems to be doing his best to make it a reality with the enthusiastic way he works his hips down in tight circles, clenching around the intrusion.

Namjoon feels like he’s floating, the hard edges of steel no longer grounding him. He doesn’t lift his hands up to hold onto Jimin, he doesn’t fuck up into him, he’s barely even looking at him with how low his eyes are lidded, but there’s liberation in that inaction.

The pressure to perform is entirely lifted, and he feels the pleasure twofold, once from his own sensation and then again like an echo with every sigh and groan that leaves Jimin’s lips.

The dom has the stamina of an athlete, lifting a leg up onto the metal base beside Namjoon’s hips to gain better leverage, and Namjoon has a front row seat to the way the muscles in Jimin’s thighs flex. They’re corded and thick, such an erotic contrast to the softness of his ass, and Namjoon feels drunk off of it.

He lets Jimin take what he wants, and he feels, and that’s all.

He doesn’t even think, not really, nothing deeper than mindless observation.

Jimin is beautiful, like nobody he’d seen before, and the lack of makeup and unstyled hair certainly doesn’t change that. It’s a reminder that he’s real, and that he’s sharing this experience with Namjoon. He sits up, leaning backwards with a hand on Namjoon’s knee instead of his shoulder, and the first time he plunges down, his whole body is wracked with a violent tremor.

“I’m close,” he pants outs, eyes flicking down to Namjoon, a lazy grin appearing momentarily, onto to be knocked off by an expression of pure euphoria as he swaps the bouncing out for grinding. He rocks his hips back and forth, Namjoon buried deeply inside, and seeks out his own end irrelevant of the body that cock belongs to.

Namjoon doesn’t care, loves the near out-of-body experience he’s having, and wills the pleasure to simmer long enough for Jimin to come first.

When Jimin gets really close, he loses some of the fluidity in his movements and becomes jagged, seizing up more and more until he’s stock still, breaths staccato and mouth wide open. The physical release follows soon after, and Namjoon shudders as hot white paints the underside of his chin and his chest.

Jimin has a hand around himself, tugging out every last drop as he sucks in desperate lungfuls of air, slowly curling in on himself until his burning forehead is on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, chest heaving.

Namjoon reaches his end without even noticing. The pleasure throughout his whole body is so electric that an orgasm is barely a notch higher, more so a spreading warmth throughout his body. Wet where Jimin’s still joined to him, and damp everywhere else with perspiration, but it’s blissful nonetheless.

Jimin heaves himself back upright after a brief interlude, brows furrowed as he glances down at Namjoon. “Did you- oh,” he remarks, shifting a little and seeing the cum that’s split around the base of Namjoon’s cock. He lets out a deep sigh, eyes slipping closed for a moment as he tips his head back. “Okay, bye-bye dom.”

Namjoon’s mind slips back into awareness at a snail’s pace, feeling first the way his throat has dried up a little and his jaw hurts from clenching his teeth. Then his voice comes back to him, and he coughs a little, blinking up at the dom above him. “Does dom have a return date by chance? That was… fucking incredible,” he admits.

Jimin laughs, the action causing him to clench around Namjoon. With playful fingers, he reaches down and lightly pinches the fat of Namjoon’s cheeks. “You’re too cute,” he declares, before lifting himself up and off, clicking his tongue at the rush of wetness that drips down his legs. “Far out, it’s like you haven’t nutted in a year.”

Namjoon feels his cheeks heat against his best intentions. “That’s just normal.”

Jimin sends him a sharp look, searching his face. “Holy fuck,” he muses, stalking over to the nearest station to raid a small drawer of wet wipes, “and you’ve been letting that beast sit out in the cold every night instead of coming in here? Masochist.”

It takes all the energy left in his body to sit up, but Namjoon gratefully accepts a fresh wad of wipes and begins to clean himself off. “The beast doesn’t pay the bills,” he quips, already feeling more casual with Jimin after their intense shared experience.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to enjoy its company on your free time,” Jimin offers up, avoiding Namjoon’s gaze with what appears to be a shy streak as he dresses himself.

Namjoon smiles, appreciating the gorgeous sight of Jimin’s body before he covers up. Appreciating even more the way he feels so comfortable in his presence, enough to let go the way he did. “I’d like that.”

[xxdragonwriterxx]

🔥The Secret Compartment🔥

~~~

“Oh come on, Erwin! I know you’re just as curious as I am!” Hanji whined, leaning with her palms flat against the Commander’s desk, her eyes shining behind her glasses.

“Hanji, it would be wrong,” Erwin said with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Who cares about moral principles? Levi is out for a few hours, this would be the perfect time to do it! You know there won’t be another chance like this again soon, we need to take advantage of it and see exactly what he is hiding from us!”

Erwin met Hanji’s excited gaze, knowing she would not drop this until she got what she wanted. He sighed again, trying to fight off the headache that was forming against his skull. About a month ago, both Erwin and Hanji had noticed a locked drawer attached to Levi’s desk. The pair always knew that their friend was a private person, but it was the only drawer that had a lock on it. There was even one time when Hanji had burst into his office without knocking, only to see him quickly and violently slam the drawer shut with a glare in her direction. They had questioned him on it, only to be met with annoyed scowls and complaints about everyone sticking their noses into his business. 

Erwin would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious, but his anxiety over what would happen if they were caught overwhelmed his desire to see the contents of that drawer. Hanji, on the other hand, had been tailing Levi like a dog with a bone, nearly foaming at the mouth as she continuously attempted to get a sneak peek.

“Come on, Erwin. I can almost guarantee you that it’ll be worth it. Levi could be hiding anything in that drawer. It could be embarrassing things he did as a child, or a secret about his life, or a guilty pleasure he’s hiding. There might even be a diary or journal of some sort in there!” Hanji said.

“I don’t know if I even really want to read Levi’s diary, Hanji. That thing could have anything written inside,” Erwin said.

Hanji threw him a look and Erwin crossed his arms with a frown. Damn, this woman was persistent. 

“We might even be able to use whatever is inside as blackmail if he ever tries to threaten us again. Like when he threatened to tell everyone about the time you got drunk and started going on about creating a new order stating all of the women in the Corps have to sleep with you,” Hanji said, a wide grin spreading across her face at the sight of Erwin’s paled features.

“Fine,”  Erwin said. “But if we get caught, I’ll feed you to your titans. After Levi is done breaking off both of his feet in our asses.”

Hanji squealed in excitement and grabbed the Commander’s hand, dragging him with her to Levi’s office. Erwin fought against the nervousness that was clawing in his stomach as he pulled out the ring of keys he had for every office in the Corps, found the one meant for Levi’s door, and put it in the lock. Hanji pushed past him and into Levi’s office as soon as the door was unlocked, looking around with even more excitement than when she was working on her experiments.

Wasting no time, Hanji moved over to Levi’s desk and bent down, pulling a hairpin from her done up bun. The crazy scientist picked at the lock, her tongue sticking out as she concentrated on moving the pin within the gears until a loud click sounded throughout the room. Erwin shuffled from foot to foot at the sound, the Commander glancing at the door from where he stood awkwardly in the center of the immaculate office.

“You better make sure that everything is put back exactly where you found it or he’ll know,” Erwin said with another glance at the door. He knew Levi was in town for the afternoon but he was still expecting the short raven-haired man to pop up out of nowhere, as if he knew his private belongings were being messed with.

“Erwin…”

The sound of Hanji’s voice, filled with awe and surprise, made Erwin turn to look at her. She was holding what looked like a large, leatherbound notebook, her mouth agape and her eyes wide and sparkling. Despite the anxiety that was still gnawing at his gut, Erwin’s curiosity won and the Commander slowly moved around the desk to crouch beside Hanji.

“Told you it’d be worth it,” Hanji said with a smirk as she tilted the notebook for Erwin to see. Erwin felt his jaw drop. It was a sketchbook, a beautiful sketchbook that nearly gleamed from the tender care Levi had obviously subjected it to. The leather was smooth and cool against Erwin’s calloused hands and the pages were soft to the touch.

“I didn’t even know Levi liked art, let alone that he could draw, especially like this,” Hanji said, her eyes shining as she looked down at the sketches on each page. Some of the pages just had small little doodles while others had full scale scenes and portraits, all of which were immaculately detailed. One page held drawings of kittens playing around, while another was a giant drawing of all of the superior officers standing at attention in a large field.

Neither of them could believe it. All of the drawings were stunning, each mark carefully constructed and purposeful. They probably wouldn’t have believed they were Levi’s drawings if it weren’t for his signature at the bottom of each page.

“Holy shit,” Erwin breathed when he came across an image of Levi’s black stallion, Azriel, the sketch so realistic that he could almost feel the animal’s fur through the page.

“Yeah,” Hanji murmured in response as she continued to flip through the book. Erwin tore his eyes from the drawings for a moment to peer into the unlocked drawer, reaching in to study the wide variety of pencils, paints, charcoals, and colored pencils that lay neatly at the bottom.

He had only been looking at the art supplies for a moment, when Hanji’s breath caught. The Commander automatically looked up at the door, fear lurching in his gut at the thought that Levi had come back, only to find that the door was still shut firmly. Looking down at Hanji, he saw she was grinning like a cat, her gaze flashing with mischievous intent as she looked at one of the pages. Erwin refocused his attention on the sketchbook and grunted in surprise when he saw the drawing in Hanji’s hand.

It was a drawing of (Y/N) (L/N), one of their fellow superior officers. (Y/N) was a Captain in her own right, leading her own squad of efficient warriors that rivalled even the famed Levi Squad. She was a well loved soldier, her compassionate personality combined with her ability to make almost anyone laugh making her a very popular member of the scouts. Despite her vibrant personality, she was also known to be a very talented soldier with a cool headed approach to conflict and a strength that often surprised most people who met her. She refused to take bullshit from anyone, and wasn’t afraid to release the filter on her barbed tongue when necessary, easily putting people in their place.

The drawing was downright gorgeous, by far the most beautiful out of all of the drawings in the book. He had used color when drawing her, one of the very few sketches in which he did, the image coming to life with the splashes of color and detailed features. The image looked as if she could turn her head and wave at them right then, the drawing so realistic it was breathtaking. In the drawing, (Y/N) was laughing, her eyes closed and her head tilted back slightly, her (h/c) hair cascading behind her. Her lips were parted in a wide grin as she laughed, one of her hands just barely touching her chin, as if she had been trying to cover her mouth only to give up when the giggles became too intense.

Hanji and Erwin looked at each other, their eyes wide with shock. Levi had done many portraits throughout the entire sketchbook, even having drawn some of Erwin and Hanji, but this sketch of (Y/N) was by far the most detailed, the most realistic. It was clear that Levi had spent hours upon hours drawing her, each stroke of his pencil done with immense love and care.

The two officers were quiet as Hanji flipped the page, their shock mounting somehow higher as they found more drawings of (Y/N). Hanji ran her finger through the pages once, flipping through the rest of the used pages to find that all of them were of (Y/N). Going back to the page they were on, Erwin and Hanji admired each illustration. Some of the drawings had color just like the first one they found of (Y/N), while others were just black and white, albeit no less detailed.

There were sketches of (Y/N) standing in a sparring stance, riding her horse, shouting down a noble, wielding a sword, reading a book. All of the drawings in the rest of the sketchbook were of her doing different things, each drawing lovingly crafted to make them look as realistic as possible.

Erwin’s eyebrows shot up into his hair and Hanji let out a surprised squawk of laughter when they flipped to one drawing of (Y/N) in a very suggestive position, her (e/c) eyes half lidded and filled with lust, the love in her gaze shining at them even through the page. She was laying down, her hair splayed out on top of the pillow, with her arms crossed over her exposed breasts. A sheet was covering her lower half, but it was hanging tantalizingly low on her form.

Hanji cackled as Erwin covered his eyes and quickly ripped the book from her hands, tearing to the next page, his ears turning pink at the sight of such a provocative image of one of his Captains. Hanji laughed even harder when the next page contained a similar image, this time with (Y/N) leaning back in obvious pleasure, her eyes closed tightly and her mouth open, her palms splayed flat on the ground behind her, her lower half disappearing off the edge of the page. 

Erwin dropped the book as if burned and turned away, his face flushed. Hanji snickered at his embarrassment and grabbed the book again, looking at the few pages of (Y/N) in different arousing positions. Despite the inappropriate theme of the sketches, Levi seemed to keep it relatively modest, never drawing anything that exposed the most private places of her body, merely hinting at it rather than drawing it in detail.

Hanji motioned Erwin back over when she finally got through Levi’s “personal” sketches, finally reaching the last drawing in the sketchbook. The final sketch was a beautiful illustration of the pretty Squad Leader staring out the window, her chin resting on her palm as she watched rain slide down the glass pane. There was a single candle on the table with her, the darkness of the night held back by the small circle of flame, her face accented by the light of the candle, her skin colored with a honeyed glow.

“Wow, Levi sure has been busy,” Hanji said softly as they admired the picture.

“I’ve been busy doing what?” A gruff voice suddenly said, causing both officers to freeze, their eyes wide with terror as an icy feeling of dread shot through their veins.

The pair looked up to see Levi leaning against the door frame, not yet aware of what they were doing due to his desk obscuring his view.

“What the hell are you doing on the floor? And why are you with Shitty Glasses, Erwin? I thought you were busy filling out all of those proposals, which was why you couldn’t come with me into town.”

When neither of them answered, Levi pushed off of the wall and strode towards his desk, a scowl of annoyance on his face.

“Oi, did you two hit your heads or something? What are you doing in-”

Levi stopped dead, his face draining of color when he rounded the desk to find Hanji holding his sketchbook open in her lap, both of them pouring over the pictures inside. He glanced at the drawer and saw the hairpin still sticking out of the lock, the metal bent to jack open the gears.

His eyes flew over the drawing they were looking at, his most recent one of (Y/N) looking out at the rain. Embarrassment washed over him then and he closed his eyes as he realized they had looked through the entire sketchbook. He felt a dark rage bubble up in his chest, boosted by his embarrassment. When he opened his eyes again, they were hard and filled with fire.

Erwin and Hanji both flinched at that look, shame flooding over them as they both glanced down at the book in Hanji’s hands. They knew they shouldn’t have done this. Hanji didn’t regret opening his locked drawer but once they figured out what he was hiding they should’ve put it back. Obviously he had hidden it in that drawer because it was his private book, something he wanted nobody else to see, and for good reason.

“Levi I-” Hanji started only for his nearly feral growl to cut her off.

Levi leaned down and snatched the book out of her grasp and hoisted it under his arm, throwing a deadly glare in their direction. He turned to move the sketchbook somewhere else but paused when he realized there was no other place he could put it without other people noticing it. His locked drawer had been the one safe place for it, the one place where nobody was supposed to be able to reach it.

Levi ended up pacing in frustration as he frantically searched for a place to put it, to no avail. The raven-haired man eventually collapsed onto the couch in the center of the room, sliding the sketchbook onto the coffee table in front of him and putting his head in his hands. He had no idea what to do. He didn’t even want to look at the two people he thought were his friends, not just because he was furious with them but also because of the shame that was hammering against his heart. They had to have seen all of the drawings of (Y/N). There was no way they didn’t if they had reached the end of his filled pages. Which meant they had seen everything.

He had never meant to draw her like that. He honestly hadn’t meant to draw her at all, afraid that if he did, it would be admitting to himself the feelings he had for her. But even though he fought it hard, he eventually succumbed to the urge to draw her when he saw her laughing at a joke he had told her, the moment so perfect he just had to put it on paper before it faded from his mind. He guessed that must have been the moment of his downfall, because after he had drawn one picture, he felt compelled to do more until his sketchbook was filled almost completely with drawings of her.

The more he drew her, the more time he spent around her, his mind subconsciously watching for more perfect moments to paint onto a page, his feelings for her growing until he was completely in love with her. The drawings had gotten more suggestive, his hand moving as if it had a mind of its own as his hunger for her grew. He had never crossed the line of drawing her completely exposed, not wanting to shame her like that, not when they weren’t even in a relationship, but he had gotten pretty close when his hormones started controlling his hand rather than his brain.

Even though he had never been vulgar with his illustrations, he knew what Erwin and Hanji must have thought when they saw it. Knew how disgusted they must be with him after seeing such things in his sketchbook. He feared they might even tell (Y/N), warn her against him so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Levi clenched his fists. He knew Erwin and Hanji had never done anything like that before, they were his friends and had always supported him, even when he pretended to hate it. But that was before they saw everything.

“Levi?”

Levi ignored the sound of Erwin calling his name, keeping his hands cupped over his face in mortification. Levi tensed a little when he felt Erwin and Hanji sit down on either side of him, but still refused to look at them, afraid to see the condemnation in their eyes.

“Levi, look up please. We are genuinely sorry about looking through your sketchbook,” Erwin said softly.

Levi looked up to throw him a filthy glare before he leaned back into the couch cushions with a sad sigh, his eyes closing as he fought the shame that reared up in his chest. He felt like throwing up. Or beating Hanji and Erwin to a pulp. Or both.

“They’re, um, really beautiful, Levi. I didn’t know you could draw like that,” Hanji offered.

Levi scoffed.

“They are! Seriously, they look like you could walk right into them. I didn’t even know you liked drawing but here you are with a book full of masterpieces,” Hanji said incredulously in response to his obvious doubt.

“Oh come on, Hanji,” Levi said, piercing her with his stare. “I know you saw them, don’t play dumb. You saw them and now I feel like a perverted bastard.”

“There’s nothing wrong with drawing (Y/N), Levi. You did a wonderful job, really made her look beautiful,” Erwin said, resting a hand on Levi’s shoulder.

“Sure, there is nothing wrong with drawing her, but there is something wrong with drawing her, like that,” Levi snapped wholly embarrassed.

“Levi, relax! You did it because you love her and it is your personal sketchbook, not meant for any eyes but your own. We know you struggle with expression, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. This was just your way of expressing those feelings, an outlet. We were never meant to see it, I’m sorry that we ever did,” Hanji said, her eyes full of sympathy for her mortified friend.

Levi looked at her, doubt still swimming in his eyes.

“It’s true, Levi. Not only that, but you have real talent. I never would’ve thought of you as an artist but you know what you’re doing. Why did you hide this from us? I think it’s really cool that you know how to draw so well,” Erwin said.

“Because it is a useless passion to have,” Levi said. “I am Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, fighting to save the human race in a world filled with man-eating monsters from hell. Being able to draw pretty pictures is pointless; I can’t exactly kill titans with a pencil. The only reason I ever let myself do it in the first place is because I need to distract myself with something mindless sometimes.”

“What are you talking about!?” Hanji squawked. “This is the coolest thing ever! Can you draw another picture of me? I think I need to have more of an obvious presence in that sketchbook.”

Levi scowled at her but sighed softly at the relief that washed over him as the bespeckled woman lightened the mood.

“No, I am never drawing you ever again, Shitty Glasses. I only did that once because I was feeling sick and wanted something to help me throw up.”

Hanji pretended to act offended, gasping dramatically and placing her hand against her chest.

Erwin chuckled at the pair and patted Levi’s shoulder comfortingly. Levi sent a weak glare in his direction but the Commander knew he was grateful.

“Hey, speaking of an obvious presence…,” Hanji said, a borderline evil grin creeping onto her face. “You have the hots for (Y/N).”

Levi growled something Hanji chose not to hear and smiled even wider.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You know she is one of my best friends, I could’ve set you guys up!” Hanji said.

“That is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Levi said. “I don’t trust you to not do something embarrassing on my behalf.”

Hanji scoffed at him and sent him a playful glare, one that he returned followed by a choice hand gesture.

“Well, now that we know, why don’t you confess to her? From the dates written on all of your drawings, you’ve been dealing with this for a while.”

Levi coughed awkwardly, obviously uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. “I don’t know how,” he mumbled.

“What are you talking about, Levi? You have it easy. Most people would have to buy flowers, or food, or do something else to get the source of their affections to notice them, but you won’t have to do that. You have everything right in front of you. Just give her one of your drawings, and she will surely get the message,” Erwin said with a knowing smirk.

“That’s a great idea! I’m sure she’ll absolutely love one!” Hanji squealed, clapping her hands together like an energetic toddler.

Levi thought for a minute, leaning back against the couch cushions. It could work. He had never purposely shown his drawings to anyone, but maybe trying something like this would be enough to win her heart. Nervousness wormed its way into his gut as he thought about it. What if she hated it? What if she didn’t care, turned him away without a second glance? What if she thought it was creepy or flat out didn’t like the drawing? Levi swallowed.

“Do you really think that would work?” Levi mumbled. “I do not want to fuck this up. Even if we can’t be together, she is one of the few people I call my friend, and I do not want to ruin the relationship I currently have with her because I’m inept at flirting.”

Hanji nodded enthusiastically, her glasses sliding down her nose at the movement. “Oh definitely. She’s going to think they are stunning! And we can be here to help you, if you want us to. Which one do you think you would give her?”

Levi looked at both Erwin and Hanji in turn, rolling his eyes at their identical cheshire grins. He figured he must be crazy, absolutely fucking insane, but he really could use their help, as much as he refused to admit it out loud.

Regardless of his attempts to hide his desperation, Erwin and Hanji saw right through him, their grins spreading wider as Levi scowled at them.

“Alright…,” Levi sighed, getting up from the couch and making his way back to the open drawer, making Erwin and Hanji arch their eyebrows in confusion when he passed by the sketchbook still resting on the coffee table. 

“I’ve had this saved for a while. I didn’t want to put it with the others, it’s my favorite one.”

Erwin and Hanji looked up to see Levi pull out the bottom of the drawer to reveal a hidden compartment. The pair watched curiously as their friend pulled out a piece of paper that was significantly larger than the rest and turned it around for them to see.

“Well? What do you think?” Levi demanded.

____________________________

(Y/N) was walking back from the Mess Hall with her friends when a young scout came running up to her, claiming Captain Levi needed to see her in his office as soon as possible. She smiled brightly at the cadet and thanked him, before turning to her friends and waving goodbye, changing her course to head for Levi’s quarters.

(Y/N)’s stomach fluttered with butterflies as she got closer to his door but she quickly shoved them down and shook her head. She needed to focus. He was probably wanting to talk to her about the upcoming mission and what her plan was for her squad since she had missed the last meeting with the other superiors thanks to an injury she received when she saved a rookie cadet during ODM training, resulting in her crashing into a tree. 

She chuckled to herself at the memory of Levi furiously chewing out the cadet afterwards. She had felt so bad for the poor kid, it had been an accident, but Levi had been no less upset by the fact that she got hurt. The thought sent more tingles up her spine and she growled in frustration, forcing herself to push her feelings to the back of her mind.

Her head finally cleared when she reached his door and knocked, smiling to herself when she heard his deep voice grant her entrance to his office. When she opened the door she found Levi facing away from her, watching something outside his window, Commander Erwin and Squad Leader Hanji standing along the far wall of the room. (Y/N) raised her eyebrows at the sight of them but saluted without hesitation, smiling when Erwin waved her off with a chuckle.

“I’m assuming because the two of you are here that this is about the details of the last meeting I missed?” (Y/N) asked, closing Levi’s door behind her with her foot.

Hanji smiled so wide her cheeks hurt as she shook her head. “Actually, no. Levi wanted to talk to you about something. Erwin and I were just leaving.”

Erwin nodded in agreement and pushed off from the wall he had been leaning against, his own lips twitching as he fought the grin that tried to run across his face.

(Y/N) watched them in confusion as the pair walked around her and left the room, Hanji’s barely concealed giggle echoing in her ear when they passed. Arching an eyebrow at her two fellow senior officers, (Y/N) eventually dropped it and turned back to Levi who so far, had not said a word.

“What’s up with them?” (Y/N) asked, trying to ease some of the awkward tension that had filled the room.

“They’re just idiots,” Levi said, but something about the way he said it seemed off. Maybe it was the lack of conviction. Or maybe it was the quiet, almost hushed way he said it, as if he wasn’t thinking about the odd behavior of their two friends at all, too lost in his own world to pay attention. (Y/N)’s brow furrowed in concern. This was not like the Levi she knew, something was wrong.

“Hey, Levi, what’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself.”

Levi tensed. Damn her for being so observant. He should’ve known she would automatically pick up on his off behavior. She had always been able to read him like a book, it was part of the reason why they were so close, why their friendship worked so well. (Y/N) had always been able to figure out exactly how he was feeling or what he needed at any given moment, why would this be any different?

“(Y/N),” Levi started, taking a deep, shaky breath as he tried to ignore her intense gaze on him. He knew she was worried, but her eyes on him were making him feel nervous. He almost wanted to bail, to claim it was just to help her recap on the meeting she had missed. He even had half a mind to bury his sketchbook, never to be seen again. It would hurt him, to lose that book, and despite what he said, he did love to draw, and having that taken away would be difficult, but at least he wouldn’t have to go through all of this anxiety.

But then he thought about (Y/N). She was standing right there, waiting for him. She had always been by his side, always caring for him, even when he felt he did not deserve it. She made him feel so loved, so strong, so hopeful. He knew that if he didn’t tell her how he felt now, it would drive him to insanity. He had to do this. Clearing his throat, he started again.

“(Y/N), I called you in here because I have to give you something,” Levi said.

“Really?” (Y/N) asked. Now she was really confused.

“Yes.”

“Okay, thank you Levi. What would you like me to do?” (Y/N) asked, keeping her voice soft and steady. It was obvious he was struggling a bit and she wanted to make him feel as comfortable as possible.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” Levi directed.

(Y/N) followed his orders and closed her eyes with her hands held out. She was worried about him, and even a little bit frightened for herself, but she couldn’t deny the curiosity that was gnawing at her gut. What could her fellow Captain have to give her other than reports to finish, or a sword to fight with, or a cup of tea?

She was surprised when she felt something very light and thin land on her opened palms. Her brows furrowed in confusion but she kept her eyes closed, waiting for him. Levi paused once he had rested the picture in her arms. He knew she was waiting for him before she opened her eyes but he couldn’t help but hesitate for a minute. This was it. The moment of truth. Either she was going to love it and his dreams might finally come true, or she was going to hate it and he was going to lose the best thing to come into his life. Taking a deep breath, Levi leaned against the wall as he told her to open her eyes.

(Y/N) gasped loudly when she opened her eyes. In her hands was the most beautiful drawing she had ever seen. It was a picture of her, so realistic she felt as if she were looking in a mirror. In the image, she was sitting bareback on her dapple grey mare, Danika. Danika had her head up and her ears forward, looking off to the side of the page while (Y/N) leaned against her neck, her chest touching her horse’s withers and her arms on either side of the mare’s neck. In the sketch, (Y/N) had the biggest smile on her face, her eyes shining with a brilliant (e/c). Her (h/c) hair looked as if you could reach out and feel it through the page, the strands blowing in the wind.

Levi didn’t say anything as he watched her take it in, crossing his arms and subconsciously biting his lip as he waited for her response. He had drawn this image of her ages ago. It was one of the first few he had drawn of her and it was by far his favorite. He had known that day, when he was striding across the courtyard headed for the training ground, and he turned to see (Y/N) riding Danika, smiling as if she were the embodiment of happiness, that he was head over heels in love with her. 

He had even abandoned his idea of training to rush back to his office, eager to put the picture of her in his head onto paper. It was his favorite one because it captured the exact moment he truly came to accept his feelings for her. It was the one he had always saved for when he was having a bad day, keeping it separated from the others so he could find it easily whenever he needed it, just the sight of her making him feel better.

Suddenly, tears formed in her eyes and Levi felt his panic rise. Oh gods, she hated it. He never meant to make her cry! He had thought it might bring her the same level of joy he got from seeing it, but instead he had just made her sad, or disgusted, or angry. He honestly couldn’t tell which one it was, not that it mattered, it was obvious she was offended by it regardless of the specific emotion it invoked. Maybe she didn’t like the way he had drawn her. He thought she looked absolutely stunning, but maybe he had accidentally accented certain features she was self conscious about? Maybe she hated her smile? Maybe she just didn’t like having her fellow Captain drawing her like a creep when they weren’t even in a relationship?

Levi quickly moved to take it from her, apologies spilling from his mouth like a river. He didn’t even know what he was saying, he was sure he was just blabbering about nonsense at this point, but he didn’t really have the mind to care as he grabbed the drawing from her and moved to put it away. He was even planning on throwing it out after she left. He absolutely adored this drawing but if she hated it, he would not make her more uncomfortable by stashing it for his own desire.

“I’m s-so sorry, (Y/N), I’ll just get rid of it,” Levi said, cursing himself for stuttering. “I didn’t mean to make you upset, I just thought-”

“NO!” (Y/N) shouted, making him look at her in shock.

(Y/N)’s eyes were wide as she looked at the drawing in his hand. She had honestly been rendered speechless when she first saw it, overwhelmed with the tsunami of emotions that had crashed over her. She knew he struggled with expression, so the fact that he had gone out of his way to draw her as a form of confession had brought tears to her eyes, her heart throbbing with her love for this man.

(Y/N) had loved Levi ever since they had become good friends, laughing at his surprisingly funny dry humor, ranting to him when her squad was annoying her, holding him when he had no one else to go to and life just got too hard. But she would’ve never guessed in a million years that he returned her feelings. She had just assumed her feelings would forever be unrequited and forced herself to enjoy what they had, loving him in secret. But here he was, holding his heart out to her, offering her his love and affection in exchange for hers. She almost panicked when he snatched the drawing away, thinking he had offended her with it.

“No…?” Levi asked hopefully, uncertainty sparkling in his breathtaking silver gaze.

“No, don’t you dare throw that masterpiece away,” (Y/N) said firmly, brushing the tears from her eyes.

“So you…, like it?” Levi asked.

(Y/N) finally managed to pull herself together, clearing away the love induced haze that had clouded her brain and striding up to him confidently. When she reached him, she gently took hold of the hand not holding the drawing with both of hers, her eyes meeting his gaze. She blushed at how close she was to him, and had the urge to look away when his intense hues settled on her, but she held firm. She knew he was uncertain, she had to show him exactly how she felt without hesitation, otherwise he would think she was pitying him.

“I love it, Levi. It is one of the most gorgeous things I have ever seen. I can tell it took you hours with all of the detail and color and expression. It looks so real, like looking in the mirror. It is the greatest gift I have ever gotten, from anyone. Thank you.”

Levi sucked in a breath at her words, his eyes wide. She really thought all of that? He had hoped she would like it but he did not expect this reaction at all. In the back of his mind, Levi made a mental note to thank Hanji and Erwin after this was over.

“You really think so?” Levi asked.

“I know so.”

Levi swallowed thickly. “Does that mean…, you accept my confession?”

More tears pricked (Y/N)’s eyes but she nodded enthusiastically, calming his fears and making him release a breath of knee-wobbling relief. He barely had a moment before she launched herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she hugged him. Levi was a little stunned at first, but eventually slid the drawing onto his desk before wrapping his arms around her tentatively, still getting used to the contact.

“Yes, yes I accept your confession, Levi. I have loved you for a long time, I couldn’t be happier knowing that my feelings aren’t one sided.”

Levi’s heart jolted at her confession. “I love you too, (Y/N).”

___________________________

(Y/N) hummed happily as she skipped around Levi’s office, cleaning around the room while she waited for her boyfriend to get back from his one on one meeting with Erwin. Her heart fluttered as she thought about the surprisingly sweet, socially awkward man she was so damn lucky to call her own, smiling widely while she cleaned.

Their relationship was definitely still new and  they were both slowly figuring each other out but (Y/N) had to admit, these past few weeks had been the best of her life. She had been surprised when Levi had confessed to her, but had been even more shocked to discover how long the man had harbored feelings for her, his actions around her telling her exactly how he felt about finally being able to call her his.

(Y/N)’s smile got bigger the more she thought about him and the slightly flustered yet determined way in which he doted on her in an utterly Levi fashion, using his blunt manner and dry sarcasm to fly through his inexperience. (Y/N) moved over to his desk and began to meticulously clean the already polished wood surface as her mind wandered, not really paying much attention to the items on his desk except to gently shift them to give her more space to clean. When she was finally done, she was about to move to another spot when she caught sight of Levi’s third drawer opened just slightly.

With further inspection, it looked as if the drawer had been slammed shut quickly, the rough movement causing the door to bounce back open a little in the process. Under normal circumstances, (Y/N) would’ve just closed the drawer and kept cleaning, but the sight of a leatherbound book caught her attention, her curiosity peaking. Glancing around her to make sure nobody was around, (Y/N) quietly shimmied the drawer open more and grabbed ahold of the book, opening it to lay flat on her lap.

The more she looked through it, the more her face changed from shock, to awe, to wonder as her eyes drank in each stunning drawing in his sketchbook. (Y/N) bit her lip when she reached the middle of the book, her system flashing with heat and surprise at what she saw. Carefully closing the book, (Y/N) slipped it back into the drawer and pushed it closed before standing and making her way to the door like nothing had happened, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she left his office.

_______________________________

Levi looked up when the door to his office opened later that night, a small smile flashing across his face at the sight of his gorgeous lover standing in the doorway. She smiled back at him and sauntered over, her eyes bright as she took in his casual appearance. In (Y/N)’s opinion, Levi looked amazing in everything, but seeing him in a pair of black comfy pants and a loose sleep shirt was hard to beat.

“Are you almost done?” (Y/N) asked once she had made it to him, leaning her hip against his desk.

“Yeah, just finishing up with these last few reports and then we can go to bed. Feel free to head in there whenever you’d like to though,” Levi said.

“Oh, I’ll wait,” (Y/N) said with a coy smile that made Levi pause in his writings. He had never seen that look on (Y/N)’s face before, at least, not in real life. His mind flashed him an image of one of his more provocative drawings of her before he quickly shoved those thoughts to the side, shaking his head a little to clear his mind.

“Do what you want,” Levi said, forcing himself to turn back to his reports.

(Y/N) settled herself on his couch and turned around to face him while he worked, admiring him from over the armrest. Her smile only got wider as she allowed herself to really look at him, his beautiful features making him seem almost painfully attractive.

Levi tried to keep focused on his work, wanting nothing more than to finish up quickly so he could cuddle with his amazing girlfriend, but he kept getting distracted. He could feel (Y/N) staring at him, her eyes on him making the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his nerves tingling. Levi grit his teeth as he attempted once again to read the same sentence he had read twelve times already to no avail, her intense gaze setting him on fire.

‘Focus, idiot! Fucking focus!’ Levi chastised himself despite the hot coil of want that was swirling in his gut. He was trying to be considerate of her and the speed she had set in terms of the physical side of their relationship, but he was finding it harder and harder to appear unfazed when she wouldn’t stop watching him with that expression on her face.

Finally, Levi slammed down his pen and looked up, his scowl deepening when he saw (Y/N) smile innocently at him and his frustration. Forcing himself to take a deep breath and steady his heartbeat, Levi glared half-heartedly at his lover.

“Why the fuck are you staring at me like that, brat?” Levi asked.

(Y/N) smiled even wider and stood from the couch, her hips swaying enticingly as she made her way over to him. Levi could do nothing but freeze in his chair, his breath caught in his throat when she slithered over his thighs, making herself comfortable on his lap. His heart rate skyrocketed when (Y/N) leaned forward, her lips lightly grazing the shell of his ear, her warm breath on his skin making him shiver.

“I saw something, maybe I shouldn’t have…,” (Y/N) said coyly.

Levi froze at her words, panic flooding his system as he thought about his sketchbook. He had no idea how she could’ve found it, but there was nothing else she could be talking about, since he had nothing else he actively kept from her.

“You did?” Levi asked nervously.

“Hmmm,” (Y/N) purred against him. “I did.”

“(Y/N), I am so sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I don’t even know why I drew those pictures of you. I just really love you and I guess it got out of hand but I am so-”

(Y/N) placed a finger to his lips and rolled her eyes affectionately at her lover’s uncharacteristic rambling. Levi immediately stopped talking and waited impatiently for her to condemn him, his face flushing slightly with embarrassment.

(Y/N) leaned in and surprised Levi by capturing his lips, encouraging him to relax until he finally gave in, the tension melting from his muscles as he kissed her back with a quiet groan.  When she leaned back, Levi was looking at her with half lidded eyes, his silver hues sparkling with love and wonder for her. Her heart clenched and she smiled genuinely at him before it turned sultry, making Levi’s heart flip. Leaning forward again, (Y/N) nibbled lightly on his earlobe before speaking.

“Next time, Levi, draw me without the sheet.”

[spiralhigh]

ranking the sdr2 cast by how much their formal wear hits

this is just my opinion, but my opinions are great and i know what i’m talking about! this will be long so it’s under a cut

S TIER:

s tier is reserved for only the best of them all, the cream of the crop, the fit that i would gladly lay down my life for. s tier is the crown jewel. s tier is what everyone else should strive to be... but only one can take the prize.

#1: AKANE OWARI

the undisputed champion. this look is everything to me. EVERYTHING. the red-trim cape with the fur. the contrast of the airy, gathered blouse with those skin-tight shiny (leather? vinyl??) pants. the pumps. the belt that screams disco style. the necklace accentuating the tasteful titty window. the red white and gold color scheme  are you FUCKING WITH ME miss owari this look could bring ARMIES to their KNEES in an INSTANT. whoever drew this deserves full creative control of the danganronpa franchise and i’m not kidding

A TIER:

a tier is for the fits that frankly own bones. they’re not as jaw-dropping and legendary as owari, but they’re still razor as hell and deserve to be met with riotous applause.

#2: KAZUICHI SOUDA

kazuichi, i didn’t know you had it in you, but this FUCKS. the character of the pins on the lapels, the sneakers, and the mispinned tie. the absolute CLASS of the suspenders, watch, and tiny round glasses. the handsome slick in the hair now that the greasy beanie is gone. the tasteful highwater. he looks like the host of the larry king show if the larry king show was exclusively about ska bands and he has never looked better

#3: HIYOKO SAIONJI

tell me this isn’t the cutest shit. the colors here are EXQUISITE. the bright notes from the blue on top, the way the soft pink is a perfect middle ground of the pink + white flowers on her sleeves, the subtle way the green in her bow matches the green in her collar, the white petals breaking up the sky blue that might otherwise look out of place? remarkable. stunning.

#4: PEKO PEKOYAMA

the ELEGANCE is EVERYTHING here. the monochrome is offset by just a splash of red that ties everything together with her eyes and the flower in her hair, the checkerboard pattern is visually interesting but not distracting, and her hair in that loose ponytail with the little white ribbon? ugh. ADORABLE! but most of all, look at those BOOTS. those CUTE LITTLE HEELS on those SICK LACE-UP BOOTS..... QUEEN shit!!!

#5: CHIAKI NANAMI

rounding out our a tier is chiaki in this adorable little dress just LOOK at her!!! she looks like a little rose, a perfect flouncy skirt with a glittery mesh overlay, a fun and fresh over-the-shoulder collar, a fucking big old bow tied in the back?? i can literally feel the way this dress would feel in my hands. it’s simple and perfect and frankly a GORGEOUS color on her this is flawless

B TIER:

b tier is a perfectly respectable place to be. these fits lack the lustre and flavor of the a tier entries, but they’re still dressed to impress and they still look fine as hell.

#6: TERUTERU HANAMURA

say what you will about teruteru (and i do) but this suit is ADORABLE and it fits in with his theme + talent better than any other mfer on this list. the tasteful white/brown/red palette gives it a flashy chocolate cookie look, which is amplified in the fun pattern on the jacket. the chef’s hat switching out for a little top hat and the way the cumberbund looks a lil bit like a chocolate bar is also VERY cute

#7: THE IMPOSTOR

now on its own, the suit is just alright. a vibrant pinstripe blue three-piece with the classic red tie wouldn’t land the impostor in b tier on its own... but that FUR COAT, LUXURIOUSLY DRAPED OVER THE SHOULDERS does WONDERS to pull this look together. not only is it worn with “yeah, it’s real mink, no, you can’t touch it” confidence, but it also ties the otherwise arbitrary white loafers into the structure of the look. it’s subtle and class as hell.

C TIER

c tier is full of looks that are... fine, but ultimately either are boring, lack cohesion, or have a confusing design choice or two that make it hard to get all that amped about. c tier is a passing grade, but nothing more.

#8: NAGITO KOMAEDA

there’s a lot that’s good about this outfit, but there’s also a lot that doesn’t really work. let’s start with the good: the slutty loose bowtie and collar, the tight-fitting vest that ends before the hipbones so you can see the belt, the cute little ponytail? (chefs kiss) exquisite, all of it. but the suit itself is boring as sing, and who the hell decided to put the t-shirt symbol on the sleeves??? was it to add visual flavor to an otherwise bland suit? this does NOT have the black/white/red elegance that peko had.

#9: FUYUHIKO KUZURYUU

the silver and gold mob-boss look, complete with matching shoes vest and fedora, are a nice nod to fuyuhiko’s talent! the plaid is teetering on the edge between fun and garish to me, but the fact that it’s consistent and the only pattern means it isn’t too offensive. quick question though: why are his pant legs rolled up like that?? this isn’t a cute “cuffed at the ankle” look, dude looks like he had to wade across a pond to get to the venue. what gives

#10: GUNDAM TANAKA

out of everyone here, gundam’s suit might be the most boring of all. the scarf is just his normal scarf. the red tie and trim don’t do anything to tie the look together. the only mild point of interest is the asymmetrical vest, and i can’t even tell if that’s intentional. simply put, this “““fancy”““ outfit isn’t even in the same ZIP CODE as the level of ostentatious chuuni that gundam serves us every single day in his casual wear. maybe even worse than being ugly... it’s disappointing.

#11: IBUKI MIODA

now, look. is this dress buckwild and ugly as hell? yes. but you know what else it is? it is IBUKI MIODA’S DRESS. there might not be a single cohesive thing about this dress aside from its color scheme. the huge poofy ruffles of the skirt and arm things with the spiked bow and corset are baffling. the artist somehow managed to draw the awkward, clumping shape of the skirt to make it look exactly like an emergency cosplay sewn four hours before a convention. frankly, i can’t justify ranking it as a c! but i’m doing it anyway, because the sheer level of craftsmanship demands it, and in this house we respect diy queens that are totally off the shits.

D TIER:

d tier is for outfits that aren’t offensive, exactly... but like, they sure don’t look good! d tier is not a respectable place to be. those in d tier won’t be laughed out of the ceremony in shame, but they should really run their outfit by someone else first next time.

#12: NEKOMARU NIDAI

now don’t get me wrong: i have nothing but respect for the titties-out look. keeping the shirt unbuttoned all the way down to where the lapels of the jacket end? that’s sexy as hell. however, this flawless idea has a confusing execution. why emerald green and orange? what’s with the... long-sleeved printed (hawaiian?) shirt? why the red pocket square? and the jacket itself, while fitted perfectly along the chest and midsection, has a weird, unflattering scallop shape flaring out at the bottom. i want to like this fit, but there are just too many bad choices.

#13: HAJIME HINATA

oh, hajime... literally nothing about this ensemble is it. the creamy manila suit might have had potential if there were literally any color variation in the vest (or potentially shoes) to give it a little more shape, or even if you just went with a white shirt underneath it! i could get behind a light, off-monochrome look! but that leprechaun-green shirt is downright perplexing to me. it looks like a mistake! did you get dressed in the dark? did you spill something on your other shirt? this is a mess.

F TIER:

f tier is inexcusable. f tier should never have happened. how does it get this bad. who did this? who’s responsible for this?

#14: SONIA NEVERMIND

y’know, the colors are pretty! i dig the white and teal! but... girl... what the fuck is this construction. the ruffles are all over the place. the bodice looks like it has less fabric than space it needs to cover. the bottom half of the skirt looks like it was sewn on as an afterthought because the top half was too short for dress code. what’s with the weird choker collar detached from everything else. why is the hairband a slightly different shade of green. so many decisions were made here and none of them are flattering

#15: MAHIRU KOIZUMI

yknow, i like the idea behind this. i can see what you were going for! the dress on its own might have worked, even! but everything else about it is just... so ugly. what the fuck is happening with those shoes??? the sheer black tights aren’t the sexy OL look you think they are. the collar of the dress looks like it’s... braided for some reason??? those earrings are so huge for no payoff, statement jewelry with nothing to say, and worst of all... that headband. GIRL. that headband and that belt...... there’s nothing here. also i love orange but it’s not her color.

and finally... the worst.

#16: MIKAN TSUMIKI

what the fuck. what the fuck is this. this is straight up cheap rubber fetish gear. why is the HAT rubber? that skirt ruffle makes this look like fucking polly pocket clothes. why the fuck is she wearing that. the clothes are so bad that it makes her hair look like rubber too. was she dared to wear this? is this some cruel punishment? i don’t even know what to say. this is the worst possible outfit. there is not even one redeeming quality about it.

[andrewmoocow]

Steven Universe: The Fantastic Mutants Chapter 1: Fantastically Uncanny (originally posted on January 1, 2020)

AN: After going back to the past to explore the history of Thanos, we finally jump back to the future with this latest and long-awaited installment of the Marvel Gems Universe in the all-new Heavy Metal Trilogy! I'm your darling author Lightyearpig, and we're finally back in business baby! Just as a disclaimer, this takes place a few weeks after Change your Mind which unfortunately means no references to the movie or Spinel. Tragic, I know. But without further ado, let the return of the Crystal Gems commence!

--

"So nice of you to take us in professor." Rose Quartz thanked a young Charles Xavier as they, along with Garnet, Amethyst & Pearl strolled through his mansion home in Westchester County, New York during the year 1963. "I empathize so deeply with your desires for harmony between humans and mutants. Both your kinds are just so intriguing to me." "And I find Gems a peculiar topic as well." Xavier remarked with a smile. "I have to admit, I find myself endearing to your plights against those Diamonds thousands of years ago. Do you believe they could strike again?" he asked. "I don't think so. Ever since the end of the rebellion, Earth has been in relative peace for millenniums." Garnet responded adjusting her shades. "However, they could strike again if any deeper knowledge of the Crystal Gems reach them." "So Xy, got any cool stuff to show us? Or are we just gonna keep walking around and talking about junk?" Amethyst asked casually. "Amethyst, be polite!" Pearl gently scolded the smaller Gem, but Charles laughed warmly. "No need to be so concerned Pearl." the professor stated. "But there is one thing I've been working on for the past few years. Please, follow me." Xavier lead the Gems to his office, where he pressed a button hidden inside a bust of Martin Luther King Jr. and opened a secret elevator hidden behind a bookshelf. "Right this way now girls." he commanded stepping into the elevator and the Gems followed. The lift slowly creeped down the passageway and then finally stopped at a sub-basement inhabited solely by a helmet and computer-like device, both connected to a large electronic brain hovering above them. "This is what I call Cerebro." Xavier explained. "It's still a work in progress, but one day I can use this to search for mutants around the world and take them in as both my students & future heroes." "Mind if you give us a demonstration?" Rose asked. "I never thought you'd ask." Charles proclaimed sitting down at the computer and putting on the helmet. -- Years later, a far older, wheelchair-bound Xavier took off the helmet in a more modern looking Cerebro room while Wolverine and Mister Fantastic stood by him. "You sure this is still the one Logan?" Professor X asked the Canadian mutant. "I'm sure of it Chuck." Logan replied. "Just say the word and we'll all be there in a jiff." "I would like to research this boy sometime." Reed Richards commented gazing at a video image of Steven Universe conjured up by Xavier's machine. With a press of his temple, the professor telepathically gave out his orders. "To me, my X-Men!"

-- "So what was that Universe child like Logan?" the field leader of the X-Men Scott Summers, aka Cyclops asked Wolverine while the mutant team flew out to Beach City on the Blackbird. "Real energetic little squirt who sees the good in a ton of people, even Thanos." Wolverine answered. "Got a bunch of crazy friends too, like this big square lady who's literally just a pair of tiny girlfriends in a trenchcoat, a purple midget with a whip, some bird woman who had the hots for his dead mom when she was alive, etc." "My stars and garters, what an interesting bunch." the beastly researcher Hank McCoy commented. "Heads up gang, we should be landing in Beach City any moment now." their current pilot Angel, aka Warren Worthington III, announced as the jet got closer. "Please keep arms and legs within your seats as we begin touchdown. Okay Wolvie, where to?" "Just be on the lookout for a beach house jammed into the big statue of a giant woman near the beach, that's all." Logan ordered sitting down in his seat and looking out the window. "See, there it is!" he exclaimed pointing at that very beach house in the distance, only it was very different from when he last saw it. Since he last departed Beach City after the battle with Thanos, the house now had a second floor in construction process connecting to a barely-finished crystal dome, larger windows at the front and two flags outside of it. When the X-Men touched down on the beach close to the beach house, he got a better look at the flags to discover that one of them symbolized Earth while the other was colored yellow, blue, white and pink. "Whew, talk about a chic place!" the cryokinetic Bobby Drake, better known as Iceman, whistled while gazing at the house. "You told us he was just some kid with crazy alien powers!" "Bob, there's so much you don't know about these Gems yet." Logan declared placing a hand on his comrade's cold shoulder when the door opened and out of it came Steven himself. "Hi Wolverine! We weren't expecting you to come back after helping us stop Thanos!" the half-Gem boy greeted the savage mutant. "And are those the X-Men?! Awesome!" "We just need to talk squirt!" Logan hollered back from below the front porch. "And also, WHAT THE F-" -- "You're just worried that I can survive that." Wolverine snarled while hand soap slowly dripped out his mouth. "So you were saying that your dead mom was secretly a space warlord who ditched her home planet for Earth because she was sick of the other Diamonds treating her like shit?" "That's basically it, yeah." Amethyst commented. Also since Wolverine first left Beach City, the Crystal Gems had changed in appearance as well. Garnet's visor had turned orange while the top part resembled a star, the bottom part of her torso was split between red & blue and had copper & tin wedding rings on her fingers. Amethyst now had a black top exposing her gemstone, jean shorts with black stars on them and her boots were white. And Pearl had gained a cyan blazer with shoulder-pads over a teal blue top, indigo leggings and pink flats. But it was the newer members of Crystal Gems that changed the most. Peridot's visor was now a larger butterfly shape, she proudly wore her stars on her chest & knees and her socks were now chartreuse yellow boots. Lapis had doffed a skirt entirely in favor of dark-blue sweatpants held up by a gold ribbon, her top had the upper portion of a star on it and she now had golden sandals on. And Bismuth was now clad in a black vest-like garment over a strapless red apron while her boots & pants remained unchanged. "Well, good to know." Cyclops stated standing at attention before Steven. "Greetings young Mr. Universe. I am Scott Summers, also known as X-Men leader Cyclops." Scott introduced himself. "My team and I have arrived at your homestead with an offer to better your skills under the tutelage of our superior Professor Charles Xavier." "Wait, you mean Chuck?!" Amethyst exclaimed. "Aw, it's been ages since we last saw him! How's he been?" she asked. "Since he last met you Crystal Gems, he took us in as his students before becoming paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair." Cyclops's lover & second in command Jean Grey responded. "I'm Jean Grey." she introduced herself as well. "These are the rest of our graduating class; Iceman, Angel and Beast. And I'm sure you're already familiar with Wolverine." "Anyone wanna tell me who this newbie is?" Logan asked standing next to a green one-eyed Gem with white hair and a pink diamond on her chest dressed in light green coattails. "Forgive me sir, my name is Nephrite." the new Gem introduced herself. "Honorary member of the Crystal Gems at your service!" "She was the first corrupted Gem we fought and as such, one of the first we fully healed." Garnet briefed Howlett. "She's here today because we're in the process of building a place for all former Gem monsters to call home, just like her." "So kind of like our headquarters, where we train mutants from across the globe to become the next generation of heroes." Jean stated. "Wait, there's more of you?" Bismuth asked the telepath quizzically. "I suppose you must've been unaware for some reason." the scarlet-locked mutant guessed correctly while using her mutant powers to read the blacksmith's mind. "Oh you bet I was!" Bismuth replied. "Just a simple case of being bubbled and stuck in a lion's mane due to...disagreements, shall we say." "You mean this creature?" Beast asked observing Lion as he sniffed his blue fur. "How can it be possible? Surely the mane of a normal lion cannot contain anything at maximum length!" Steven however answered Dr. McCoy's questions by sticking his hand inside the mane. "My word, I must learn more!" "Hey Steven, just came by today to help with construct-" Connie announced stepping into the beach house expecting the Gems to accept her help. They were present, but were too preoccupied by a group of mutants investigating them including a blue-furred man holding Lion by the sides. "Not even going to ask." "Am I the only one getting some weird deja vu?" Lapis pondered. "Oh you bet! All we need now is a black hole bomb made out of kitchen things!" Peridot replied with a snicker. "Oh hey Connie, I'd like you to meet the X-Men." Steven introduced his swordfighting friend to the merry mutants. "You must be the friend of Steven I've heard Logan talk about." Cyclops commented shaking the girl's hand. "I am Cyclops. Me and my teammates are here today to test Steven and see if he's got what it takes to be a student of Xavier." "Oh cool! Let me guess, you have a flying machine outside on the beach to take us to your HQ?" Connie asked. "That's how the last few superheroes came to see us." "You are very spot-on young lady." Beast declared opening the door for everyone to leave. "Come now, we have much to discuss in Westchester!" The Crystal Gems exited the beach house where the Blackbird awaited them on the sand outside. "Oh my gosh, your ship looks so cool!" Steven cried out in excitement. "Can I sit in the front?" "Surely. Anything Steven." Scott kindly accepted when they boarded the X-Men's jet and allowed the boy to take one of the front seats closest to the pilot's section while the other Crystal Gems, plus Lion, simply stood around. "Well aren't you just a lucky boy?" Amethyst quipped while leaning against Iceman's seat. "Getting to ride shotgun with the big cheese of the X-Men." "Though I'm not sure if we're ready to let Steven leave Beach City to better his powers." Pearl stated with concern when Beast put a hand on her shoulder. "Do not worry my dear, he's in good hands." Hank declared. "Or maybe not." Garnet announced adjusting her shades. "I fear something bad could happen to him while at your mansion." "Yeesh, Captain Ominous here. Am I right?" Angel snarked as the Blackbird finally took off, heading towards Westchester and zooming away from Beach City. Down below, Greg was ready to drive up to the Temple in his van when he saw the Blackbird flying overhead. "I wonder what bizarre adventures Steven is getting into this time?" he muttered as the jet vanished from sight. -- "And that, children, is how you land a fastball special." the metal-skinned Russian mutant Piotr Rasputin, aka Colossus, declared to a classroom full of young mutants in the Xavier Institute of Higher Learning for Gifted Youngsters. The school was established by the genius to better the skills of the young mutants, build them to be the next generation of heroes and inspire his motto of peace between humans & mutants within them. When the X-Men were not fighting the forces of evil, many of them spent time teaching classes, and Colossus, the leader of the Gold team of X-Men, was no different. "Now then, any questions?" Piotr asked his pupils when one of them raised his hand. "Yes, Mr. Collins?" he stated. "Have you noticed that Kitty's head is poking out of the board?" Russell Collins asked, bringing attention to Rasputin's fellow X-Man Kitty Pryde popping her head out with her phasing abilities, inciting giggles from the class. "Bozhe moy!" Colossus exclaimed in surprise. "I didn't see you there Kitty! What brings you here?" "I came because Emma told me to tell you that Cyclops and the others are coming back." Kitty announced. "Uzhe?!" Piotr muttered before turning to his class. "My apologies students, I have other matters to attend to." he apologized to his pupils as he walked out the door. "Be sure to keep studying everyone!" -- In the foyer of the mansion, the X-Men assembled to welcome back their six famous teammates and gemlike guests. On one side were the Blue Team of mutants. Aside from Cyclops, Jean, Hank, Angel, Iceman & Wolverine, they included the weather-wielding Storm, power-stealing Southern belle Rogue, charming card-tosser Gambit, implike teleporting Nightcrawler, fireworks-tossing Jubilee, the disappearing Shadowcat & her pet dragon Lockheed and the tracker Warpath. On the other side was the Gold Team led by Colossus. By his side were the beautiful telepath Emma Frost, Wolverine's clone daughter X-23, Colossus's younger sister Magik, the fire-wielder Firestar, solar-powered Sunspot, pop singer Dazzler, wisecracking shapeshifter Morph, living rocket Cannonball, lava-generating Magma and the other teleporter Blink. Professor Xavier psychically lifted his wheelchair down the stairs and planted himself on the floor to look at the Crystal Gems. "Today my fellow mutants, we welcome some old friends of mine into our school." he announced. "I'd like to thank Logan here for pointing us in their direction." Wolverine simply rolled his eyes before lighting up a cigarette to smoke. "Without Wolverine, our eyes wouldn't have been opened to the potential of young Steven Universe here as both a student of my school and a potential X-Man as well." Xavier finished his speech with a grin. "Now then everyone, introduce yourselves." "Yo Chuck, it's been ages! How ya been?!" Amethyst excitedly greeted the professor. "Why Amethyst, so good to see you again too." Xavier replied tousling the smaller Gem's hair. "It seems that all three of you have changed quite a bit since we last met." he added looking at Garnet and Pearl. "Along with new additions to your ranks as well." "Astounding! Some humans can choose not to use their gravity connectors!" Peridot exclaimed gazing at the mutant's wheelchair. "And they can also choose to not have hair as well!" Xavier gave a warm chuckle and patted Peridot on her three-sided head. "Quite an observant one, isn't she?" "So what's up with the whole no-hair business?" Lapis asked Charles. "It's just old age my dear." the professor stated while gazing at Steven and Connie meeting the rest of the X-Men. "So you're basically Wolverine's clone?" Connie asked X-23. "Yeah, pretty much." Laura replied deadpan. "And I'm also sort of his daughter as well." "Whoa, you have a pet dragon?!" Steven gasped in amazement while Lockheed perched himself on his shoulder. "Well, Lockheed is more of a weird alien dragon, but you get the point." Kitty replied earnestly. "Which reminds me, can I get a look at your lion?" Without Steven even asking him to, Lion walked towards Kitty Pryde and stared at her for a few moments before bowing his head, allowing her to pet him. "Aw, he's a real cutie." she cooed at Lion. "When and where did you get him?" "It was when I was starting to go on missions with the Gems, I found him in a desert one time." Steven explained. "Ah, sometimes I miss the simpler days when I was just an excitable tagalong to them. Just a new monster with no drama related to my dead mom or other Gems in sight." "Kinda reminds me of when I started out as an X-Man." Kitty regaled. "I was just another student of theirs until I happened to save their lives from the Hellfire Club and that's how I became a full member with both Storm & Wolverine having my back." "Wow, you two are surprisingly pretty similar." Connie observed. "You mean like how we were once eager young sidekicks to more experienced heroes who soon grew into our own?" Kitty responded. "Yeah, that's basically it." Connie replied. "So what can all of you do?" "That's just what I needed to hear young lady." Professor X stated. "I want to see how skilled you and Steven are on the battlefield. Come now, to the Danger Room everyone! Reed and company should be down there waiting for us." "What's that?" Steven asked Wolverine. "It's what we call our training room. Able to simulate any situation that requires any of our abilities." Logan explained. "It's been rebuilt God knows how many times, but it's still the same old room through and through." As the Crystal Gems were led by the X-Men, a female student of the Academy watched them depart and her eyes turned yellow as she eyed Lapis in particular. "Ah, she seems easy to replace." she muttered to herself while her skin slowly turned blue. "Let the mission proceed." -- Happy New Year everyone! I sincerely hope 2020 and beyond brings us more fond memories together, and I also hope I don't procrastinate on every chapter like what happened towards the end of both Secret Wars & Gravity Soul. With that said, just who is that mysterious student and what does she want with Lapis Lazuli?! Well if you know your Marvel, then I suppose the yellow eyes and blue skin should give it away. Anyways, be sure to leave a review and I'll see you next time!

[wildefiction]

Hot Highs

PAIRING: Rob x Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,049

SUMMARY: Reader is on vacation with friends in Hawaii when a rousing game of truth or dare presents the most interesting opportunity

WARNINGS: Swears, Anxiety, Drinking, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Unprotected Sex 

A/N: This was created for @spnkinkbingo. Check out my 2019 Bingo Card.

SQUARE FILLED: Public Sex

Smooth black vodka spilled over the lip of the bottle clutched in one hand, mixing with the pomegranate juice and Chambord already in the shaker. Sprinkling a pinch of edible glitter atop the other ingredients, you fit the top to the device, gripping tightly as you began to shake the drink in your hand.

Pouring the concoction into a chilled tumbler, the only step remaining was to add a twist of citrus. Slicing fresh lemon to accompany the signature drink, these glasses were added to the wooden serving tray already holding bowls of fruit, meats, cheeses and crackers. 

Laughter could be heard from the next room over, the suite you and a few friends had rented for the Hawaii Supernatural Convention had been larger than even the pictures had shown. 

The corner room overlooked the ocean, two of the walls constructed of floor-to-ceiling windows. Backing through the gauzy curtains framing the balcony doors, you set the tray down, joining the others at the patio table.

Several hours passed where your only concern was relaxing and having an amazing time with people you didn’t often get to spend time with. 

Cards Against Humanity soon made way for a rousing game of Truth or Dare. Posting embarrassing videos to social media and screaming their love of Supernatural from the balcony were among some of the light-hearted tests that night. Flopping back into an empty chair, you turned to see your friend Violet’s cheeks flushed with the evidence of perhaps one too many drinks. Sitting forward, her eyes glittered with a fierce clarity as she set her sights on you. 

“So, [Y/F/N], truth or dare?” The challenge in her expression suddenly made you nervous. Taking a deep breath, you nodded, uttering a meager “truth” under your breath. 

“Ahh, yeah...no that’s enough of that.” Laughing to herself, your friend only grinned.

Eyes flicking to the other three people surrounding the table, you tilted your head in confusion.       

“See, the point of the game is to have fun and make total fools of ourselves. Can’t very well do that if you pick ‘truth’ every time.” The exasperated look on Violet’s face finally broke your stubborn resolve. 

“Fine, fine..dare.” Squinting at your friends, you braced yourself for whatever they were going to come up with. 

Looking to the others, who merely nodded encouragingly, Violet turned to face you - a wide smile spreading over her features.

“Okay, so, tomorrow - during autographs, you’re going to give Rob your phone number.”

The patio was silent as you sat staring at your friends. A full minute passed while you waited for them to laugh or something - anything, to indicate they were joking. It never came, their raised eyebrows a clear sign that they were expecting some sort of an answer. 

“You..you’re kidding, right?” “What kind of a dare is that?” 

While you scoffed at the idea on the outside, the heavy thudding in your chest as your pulsed began to race gave way to how you had really reacted to their words. 

“I’m not doing it, pick something else.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you rolled your eyes while you waited on them to reconsider.

“What’s the big deal [Y/F/N]? You’re single, he’s single...and you have a mad crush on the guy.” Lena, who sat to your right, spread her hands out, shrugging as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Yeah, you’re right, he is single - but he’s also a successful actor, a prolific musician and a gorgeous, kind human.” Ticking off your counter-arguments on each finger, it was still incredulous to think that they might be serious.

“Besides, people like Rob don’t date fans, it’s just not how things go.”

“--but..” Violet opened her mouth, ready to defend her argument - only to be cut-off.

“Fine, I’ll do it. It’ll just prove my point.” 

Equal parts annoyed at their insistence and determined to squash the hope stirring in your gut, you pushed back from the table and went inside. 

Saturday morning dawned bright and beautiful, rays of light streaming through the drawn curtains. Rolling to your back, you were in the midst of rubbing the sleep from your eyes when you were reminded of the promise you’d made the night before, the thoughts filtering through to the front of your mind.

Pulling jeans up over your thighs after showering, you could think of nothing but how you were supposed to pull this off. 

Grabbing the paper schedule from the bedside table, you scanned the document, searching for your options. The biggest obstacle was going to be getting the note to him without being intercepted by his handler. While you’d decided that simply handing him a scrap of paper with your number on it was the best way to go, you’d still yet to figure out how to actually get it in his hand. 

The choices were limited, two opportunities presenting themselves to you: Swain had autographs early that afternoon, and you knew from previous experiences that they usually held their signing right after playing the acoustic jam in the vendor room. The alternative would be when Rob had his solo autograph session - almost directly before the concert was due to start. 

Struggling with the decision, you finished getting ready and headed downstairs; the first panels due to start in half an hour. 

Sitting in your assigned copper seat, your heart began to race as Billy stepped on-stage. Norton and Mike followed, busying themselves with checking their instruments and getting into position. The anticipation of seeing Rob had you holding your breath and you didn’t know why - you’d been just fine around him yesterday. You’d yet to follow through on the dare, there was no reason why you should be this anxious. Willing yourself to calm down, you took a deep breath just before Rich’s heavy voice echoed through the ballroom, a wide smile plastered across his face as he flew up the stairs to start the day’s programming.

Autographs with Swain came sooner than you anticipated, the schedule running behind had the boys pushing the acoustic jam to after their autograph session rather than before. Having lined up for their performance early, you were among the first in line for autographs. 

Approaching the table, the knot in your stomach tightened - a fresh dose of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you placed the black 5x7 photo mat on the banner in front of the handler. Passing it to Mike, who sat directly to her left, you held your breath, fingering the note clutched in your tense grip. The man’s reassuring smile and heartfelt thanks as he passed the mat to Norton made you a bit less nervous, and inwardly you breathed a sigh of relief. By some stroke of luck, the boys were arranged differently today, Rob being last at the table. As their signatures filled the black rectangle in silver sharpie, you began to breathe easier. Billy, who’d just removed the cap from his pen, greeted you; “What picture are you gonna put this with?” 

Scribbling his name in the bottom right corner, he looked up in time to see you blush. 

A nervous laugh spilled from your lips as you tried to think of an elegant way to describe the photo in question. 

“Suffice it to say that had I put the picture with the mat, it probably would’ve been confiscated for being inappropriate.”

Billy laughed at that, and passed it on to Rob. Meeting his clear blue eyes was easy enough for you, but a flush colored your cheeks as he lifted one eyebrow in interest. 

“Oh? Well, you should’ve brought it anyway.” 

The smile was probably supposed to be encouraging, but you read it as lascivious. Flicking his gaze to the paper clutched in your hand, he looked back up at you from beneath thick, dark lashes. Finishing his signature, you watched as the gold ink he’d chosen began to dry in the center of the frame.

“Is that for me?” 

Your eyes followed his movements as he extended a hand towards you; long, artistic fingers brushing against the folded paper still clutched in your own trembling hands. You must’ve made some noise that affirmed his question, and you watched, terrified, as he took the note from you. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the person behind you in line inching closer, her glossy photo sliding into place in front of Rob. 

The fear in your expression must’ve been obvious, and you watched as the man before you narrowed his eyes. Picking up on your anxiety, he smiled - placing the folded paper in the front pocket of his white button-up shirt. Sighing in relief, you thanked him again and hurried from the table, equal parts relieved that you’d gone through with it, and terrified of what the outcome would be. 

Afraid of that outcome, you really considered skipping both the vendor jam and the concert. You’d be mortified if people found out you were delusional enough to think he’d react favorably to being so forward. In the end though, it was the reassurance from your friends who’d dared you to go through with it in the first place, that put your mind at ease. 

“There’s no point in staying in the hotel room, all miserable while the rest of us are having fun. He won’t have had time to read it before jam, which starts in--” looking at her phone, Lena grabbed you by the arm, pulling you down the hall at a brisk walk “--now!” 

The thoughts were momentarily chased from your mind as the beginning riffs of Poptart Heart echoed through the room. By the time you reached the crowd, there was no space left at the front, and, seeing Rob immersed in his singing, your anxiety quieted a little. Maybe your friends were right, besides, what’s the worst that could happen? 

Settling in to enjoy the rest of the short set, you fished the kazoo from your jeans pocket as the band shifted into Medicated; the cheap plastic instrument ready for the resounding solo that always came towards the end of the song.

“I knew you could be the kind of girl, that I could talk to..”    

Changing into the long bohemian skirt you’d made specifically for the luau and concert, you took the time to comb through your hair, pinning an orange and magenta plumeria flower behind your right ear and sliding bangles around your wrists. The cropped tank top you’d paired with the outfit showed just a sliver of skin as you reached for your phone. Deciding to forego shoes with the weather being so nice, you took the elevator to the bottom floor, chatting with your friends about your excitement for the show; the embarrassment of earlier now completely forgotten.   

The concert had been amazing, a full luau and the Saturday Night Special taking place right on the beach? It was easily the best performance you’d been to. Strings of hanging lights guiding you back to the hotel, you were surprised when your phone vibrated. The number wasn’t one you recognized, so you sent the call to voicemail and tucked the device back into the pocket of your waistband. 

Back in the hotel room, you were just getting ready to change into something more worthy of lounging around the room in, when your phone vibrated again. 

It was the same number as earlier. 

Glancing at the time in the top right corner of the screen, and, seeing it was nearing eleven-thirty - you sent the call to voicemail once again. The device had just hit the bedspread when it went off for a third time. 

This time, it was a text:

UNK: "Why aren't you answering your phone?"

Quickly typing out a reply, you were stepping out of your skirt and trying to juggle your phone in the other hand. Knowing if you tried to set it down, it'd be only to pick it up again moments later.

[Y/F/N]: Maybe because I don't know who this is and it's almost midnight? I think you have the wrong number…

Almost instantly, the person responded:

Unk: Do you make it a habit of handing out your number to strange men?

[Y/F/N]: I'm almost positive you've got the wrong number, because, no, I don't give my number to jus-- 

A cold prickle blossomed out over the back of your neck, your fingers suddenly still -  mid-sentence.

[Y/F/N]: ...wait…how did you get this number?

Somewhere in the background, the door to the room opened, the scrape of the metal latch distracting you momentarily. 

Your friends, brazenly stumbling into each other amid peals of laughter saw you then, sitting on the floor - one leg still stuck in your skirt.

Perspiration dotted your temples; where moments before you'd been perfectly comfortable. Not wanting to believe who you were talking to, the events of earlier that day came crashing into you all at once. 

You'd only given your phone number to one person today…

Another alert came through. Startled you dropped the phone to land with a quiet thud on the plush grey carpet.

Tentatively, you reached out - one finger tracing your lock screen pattern, the new message filling the available space.

Unk: Pretty sure I pried it from your vice-like grip right around lunchtime today...

"Bullshit! You see?! I TOLD you!" 

Violet had glanced down to read the words about the same time you had, a wide grin lighting up her face. Meanwhile, you were too stunned to say anything, much less respond.

After several minutes, the screen lit up once more - the vibration muffled by the carpet on which it still sat.

Unk: Did you turn into a pumpkin? 

Unk: Oh. It's after midnight…

Unk: Guess I'll leave you alone now. Sleep well, uh...huh - don't know your name either..

Gingerly, you lifted the phone and began to write:

[Y/F/N]: Not a pumpkin, just in shock. 

Apparently Rob had no interest in letting you sleep though, as a new barrage of messages came through.

Unk: Why are you in shock? 

You went on to explain it was all his fault. You hadn't expected him to actually call you.

Unk: Well...I mean, wasn't that your intention? Why else would you give someone your number?

Unk: My thumbs are tired. Wanna get a drink or something? 

A small, helpless noise fell from your lips as the last text came through. Wide-eyed, you looked up at Violet and the others, as if questioning what you should do; knowing full well what they were going to say.

"If you don't accept his offer - right now - I'm gonna do it for you." 

Olivia, the quietest of the trio, fixed you with a stare - her intense blue eyes fixated on yours.

Reluctantly, if only because you were still in complete disbelief, you accepted his offer.

Fixing your skirt as you stood, you weren't completely sure what to do next. Was the bar still open this late?

"Breathe [Y/F/N], you've got this, this is fine.."

Muttering to yourself, you checked your appearance in the mirror. With a final deep breath, you pulled the door to the room open, glancing back over your shoulder at the three people who'd gotten you into this mess to begin with.

One last text came through just then. A simple number the only contents: "2516"

Realizing the man had just given you his room number without so much as a second thought, you began to wonder if this was a regular thing for him. As giddy as you were to be receiving the attention you so desperately craved, it was still a sobering thought.

Rob's room was ten floors above your own, and the higher the elevator climbed, the more anxious you were becoming. Being stuck in your own head likely wouldn't make for a very good time, and you did your best to focus on the present.

The quiet hush of the doors as they slid shut behind you was the only sound on the seemingly abandoned floor.

Straight ahead, a gleaming plaque attached to the wall directed you to the left. As welcoming and well-lit as the entryway had been, the corridors stretching in both directions were lit only with the soft glow of wall sconces. Spaced approximately ten feet from each other, you were lost in their illumination until a quiet voice grabbed your attention. 

"Hey [Y/F/N].."

The way your name sounded on his lips had you stopping short. Barefoot, Rob stepped from his room to greet you. 

"C'mon in for a sec, I've just gotta grab a couple things." 

Holding the door open, you squeezed by him, the space between the two of you a lot less than you'd have imagined. For being a smaller person, his body still framed the doorway almost completely.

Curious as to what the plan was with it being well-past midnight, you hovered quietly just inside the door, watching as the man grabbed his phone and wallet from the dresser, crossing the floor to shut off the light in the bathroom.

The lamps to either side of the king-sized bed were dimmed, throwing heavy shadows around the room as he approached. Smiling, he reached towards you. Bypassing your waist, his fingers closed around the door handle and he pulled it open, gesturing for you to go ahead. Suddenly thankful for the dim lighting, you slunk into the hallway - silently berating yourself for thinking he had ulterior motives. 

"So, [Y/F/N], I figured we'd head up to the roof - have a couple drinks? Should be pretty quiet, does that sound okay?"

"Uh, yeah. That-that sounds great." 

The two of you walked down the hall together in comfortable silence. Or maybe all the questions that swirled through your mind was enough of a distraction that you didn't think to speak.

At the end of the hallway, a stairwell waited behind a heavy, steel door. 

Leaning against the handle, you held the door for Rob and the two of you climbed the five flights to the top of the building; your weight on the cement stairs echoing throughout the confined space. 

A tropical breeze greeted you upon reaching the top and wandering out onto the roof. You'd expected it to be fairly bare, perhaps a couple of benches to sit on and some lanterns. Instead, you were pleasantly surprised. Long sofas were gathered together with chairs and large tables, soft strings of lights hanging gracefully around the perimeter. One corner held a full bar, tall chairs arranged neatly in front of it.

Leading you over to one of the couches, Rob gestured for you to sit while he ambled toward the bar.

Reclining in the corner, you grabbed a pillow and put it in your lap - something you'd always done since you were a kid. Curling your legs up beneath you, you looked up at the canopy hanging overhead; huge swaths of tangerine, plum and sky blue fabric decorating the iron frame.

"So, [Y/F/N], what'll it be?" Rob still had his back turned, but called out over his shoulder as he perused the various bottles.

Shrugging and then realizing he couldn't see your reaction, you told him to surprise you.

Turning to face you with a bottle of bourbon clutched in one hand, he began to chat while pouring the dark liquid into short glasses. 

"This your first visit to Hawaii?" Extending one hand, Rob gave you a glass and sat next to you.

"Mhm. You?" Bringing your lips to the edge, you took a sip of the drink, closing your eyes in bliss as it warmed your insides.

Three drinks in, and you were no longer nervous. 

"So, how exactly did you find out my name?" 

Raising one eyebrow in interest, you stared at the man sprawled out next to you. At some point over the course of the last hour, Rob had reclined on the couch, his legs stretched out and tangled in yours.

Neither of you seemed to care, and it was comfortable enough of a position to be in.

Even at nearly two in the morning, the light breeze coming in off the ocean was warm; playing with tendrils of your hair as it danced around your face.

"I, uh, I might've asked around." "Seems like you frequent these events pretty often Ms. [Y/L/N]."

Shrugging nonchalantly, you went back to sipping your drink. 

"So, I do." "Who told you?" 

"Chris." Rob looked up to gauge your reaction.

Nodding, you made a mental note to thank your favorite photographer the next time you saw him.

Emptying the remainder of your glass, you set it on the table, gripping the edge of the couch to help steady your movements. 

Leaning back against the canvas cushions, you decided then to see if you could get Rob to give you a straight answer about your earlier question.

"And why did you decide to call me?" "And don't say 'because you gave me your number' - cause I can't be the only girl that's ever done such a thing."

Scrutinizing his half-lidded expression while you awaited his answer, you became lost in the color of his eyes and almost didn't hear his response. 

"Actually, pretty much for that very reason. You seemed terrified, and yet you still had the balls to hand me that slip of paper."

"I'd actually forgotten that I had it until just before I called. Everyone had decided to go out for a late dinner, but for some reason - I just wasn't feelin' it. I was clearing out my pockets and remembered it was there."

"Besides, I think you're cute."

Pretty sure you were hearing things, you shook off the small glimmer of hope that immediately sprang to life.

You'd been listening to him talk, just enjoying spending time with him, not expecting anything to come of it aside from some really great stories. 

Feeling a shift in Rob's movements, your eyes flicked to his when he clambered from the couch, stumbling only the slightest amount as he disentangled his legs from yours.

Reaching out to take your hand, he helped you into a standing position. Somehow, likely because you were naturally uncoordinated, you threw your other arm out to catch yourself when you tripped over your own feet. Catching you with one arm around your waist, the other still clutching your hand - Rob stilled, staring at you from the mere inches that separated your bodies.

Slowly releasing your hand, Rob brought his palm up to cup your cheek. 

"Would it be okay if I kissed you right now?"

His words were hushed, the grip around your waist pulling your body to align with his.

Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply nodded.

The kiss was the barest brush of his lips against yours, but as your fingers carded themselves into the fine hair at the base of his neck and moved up to twist in the dark curls, it quickly moved past chaste into something hungrier.

Rob groaned, leaning into your touch - tightening his hold around your waist. 

Pulling back from the kiss, you turned, placing one hand in the center of Rob's chest to push him towards the couch.

Easily getting the hint, he flopped back against the cushions, drawing you down to sit in his lap as his lips found yours once again.

Struggling against the material of your skirt, you reluctantly broke from the kiss a second time, this time standing to adjust the strips of material clustered around your legs. Gripping a handful of fabric on each side, you stepped forward, straddling Rob's lap, the soft layers of material fanning out around you.

"God damn, [Y/F/N]. Are you sure you want to do this?" 

His breath heavy, Rob's hands tentatively rested at your waist, his pupils blown wide with lust.

In response, you rolled your hips into his, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. Heat flooded your body when you felt him responding to your touch; his grip tightening to pull you harder against his growing erection.

Threading his fingers in your hair, he pulled your mouth to his. There was nothing gentle about this kiss - all teeth and tongue and biting, his fingers accidentally caught in your hair, pulling a sharp cry from your lips.

"Shit, I'm sor--" 

Rob's voice trailed off as he realized that the noises you'd made weren't from pain.

His eyes darkened then, a slow smile replacing his worry. 

"Ahh...it's like that is it?" An almost sinister grin spread out over Rob's features while his hand tangled itself back in your locks, the callused tips of his fingers trailing along your scalp.

A sharp intake of breath had your eyes fluttering shut in bliss with the sudden, sharp tug of your hair. Tilting your head to one side, his grip didn't loosen until his lips were moving along the curve of your neck.

Pants straining, Rob broke from your neck when your fingers closed around his thigh. Looking to him for permission, when his hand closed over your fingers and moved them up over his cock, you knew exactly where this night was going to lead.

Moving your other hand from where it rested against his chest, your eyes remained fixed on his while you moved to unbuckle the wide strip of leather encircling his waist. 

Fingers danced along his waistband for a moment, stroking along the sprinkling of hair that disappeared beneath the denim. 

Sliding your hand over his boxers, your fingers wrapping around his generous erection, you grinned to yourself as Rob sucked in a sharp breath, his head falling back in pleasure at your touch.

Shifting down into the cushions a little more gave you easier access to pull Rob from the confines of his jeans, your mouth beginning to water at the thought of him sliding across your tongue. 

"[Y/F/N], you don't hav-- ooh fuucckkk…"

Your mouth closed over the thick head of his cock, humming in pleasure at the velvet texture of him. 

Concentrating on licking circles and careless patterns across his soft skin, you smoothed hands up his thighs, fingers running over the hip bones that had driven you crazy since day one.

"You are so fucking beautiful.."

Rolling your eyes up to stare at him from beneath your dark lashes, you continued to take him into your mouth. Backing off each time before taking him even further on the next pass, soon your nose nestled against the warm skin of his belly, his cock filling your throat. Robs hips rose and fell in time with your ministrations, his hands combing through your hair, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

As his thrusts began to lose their rhythm, his grip on your scalp tightened, you knew he was close. Humming in satisfaction, the vibrations coursing through your body was too much. Pulling you away, the saliva pooling beneath your tongue coated your lips, and a whine of discontent at the sudden interruption had you glancing up to see if something was wrong.

"You keep that up, I'm not gonna last much longer." "C'mere sweetheart."

Rob helped you sit up, his fingers laced in yours as you straddled his lap once again.

Fingers dancing across the thin panties beneath your skirt, he groaned at the dampness coating the lacy material. 

Wrapping his fists in either side, a sharp tug had the seams splitting and he threw them to the side; his hands moving to your hips, the grip bruising. 

Brushing fingers through your soaked folds, he made short work of lining himself up and pushing into your body, filling you perfectly in one long stroke.

Hesitating for only a moment, he immediately lifted and slammed your body back down onto his, your clit brushing against his pelvis as he did so. 

Digging nails into his shoulders, you lowered your mouth to his neck, testing the flesh with your teeth, a heavy groan of pleasure slipping from your lips.

His hands trailed along your ribs, running up over your breasts as he buried his face between them. Setting his teeth in the space of your cleavage, Rob bit down - hard - one hand traveling back down to rub over your clit. Small, sure circles across the sensitive bundle of nerves combined with the increasing pace of his thrusts had you panting with need. 

"Fuck Rob, just..I'm gonna…" rolling your hips against his palm, you could feel the flames in your belly fanning out to lick along the rest of your body, pleasure building in waves.

"What's that baby? Tell me what you want...what do you need?" "Fuck, you look god-damned gorgeous, taking my cock just like that..."

Rob's voice was a growl, the filthy words falling from his lips adding fuel to those flames. 

"That's it, you gonna come for me? Open those pretty eyes, I wanna watch you fall apart..."

Slowing his hips to an agonizingly slow pace, Rob shifted just enough to where you could see as he slid in and out of your body. Breathing ragged, his thrusts methodical, Rob's fingers began to move against your clit, the pressure and speed steadily increasing until you were squirming, right on the edge of falling over that cliff, on the edge but not quite there. 

"Please, Rob, fuck .." 

Leaning in you crushed your lips to his, moving to pepper his neck with open mouthed kisses. Moving from his pulse point up, along the curve of his neck, and around to his ear - a needy string of expletives and nails biting into the muscles of his back had him groaning under his breath. Redoubling his efforts, his thrusts turned aggressive once more, his fingers speeding up. As slick coated your thighs you finally fell over the edge with a shout - Rob following almost immediately afterwards, his warmth filling your belly. 

Collapsing against his chest, his fingers dancing in lazy circles over your back - you closed your eyes and sighed. 

Right now, you didn't need to think about what came next, or what any of this meant. Right now, you were content to just be, the warm ocean breeze bringing with it the smell of the tropics.

TAGS: @natasha-cole @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven

[swanderful1]

Duplicity: Ch 11/?

Summary: Secrets shroud the homes of the idyllic Willow Lane. Its newest resident, Emma Swan is no exception. In a place where perception is everything, the facade begins to crack. And Emma finds herself staring down the deep, dark secrets that the neighborhood was built on and that nothing is as it seems. Not even the blue eyed gardener.

Notes: WHAT’S UP EVERYONE as promised here is Chapter 11. 6000 words of straight DRAMA. Enjoy :)

Per usual shout out to my beta @resident-of-storybrooke , @shady-swan-jones for the amazing artwork and @onceuponaprincessworld for checking in always and making sure I keep going (even though my writing process is spaced out and extra).

The post is too long to have all of the text on here so read the whole damn thing on AO3 and ffnet

Emma woke up Saturday morning with a pounding headache and an emotional hangover. The night before spent lurking in the shadows of the forest trying to catch Neal’s family in God knows what. Even after crawling around the family business complex all Emma had managed to learn was that Neal was in fact and for sure having an affair with his assistant, that his father had a closer relationship with Cora Mills than she had ever known, and that in Cora’s possession was a briefcase containing some sort of something she needed to get her hands on.

Emma tried to think of the times she saw Gold interact with the Mills family. Her perspective was limited, however she knew that Neal’s father was powerful. He had a lot of pull in the town of Storybrooke, he had built most of it - or rather his company had. And Cora was probably just as powerful, what with her daughter being the mayor who was engaged to the chief of police. Yeah. It was too convenient. All of the major decision makers in one town all in the same social circle.

Neal had surprisingly come home after his date with his assistant. Amanda. Now Emma could hear him typing away downstairs in the office. What time was it? 7 am? The sun had barely come up, but what little was in the sky peaked through the blinds on her bedroom windows. She rolled over and wrapped herself tighter in the down white comforter. Maybe if she closed her eyes and went back to sleep she would wake up in a different life. Some days she wished she could just watch from a birds eye view, gain some clarity on her situation, and move forward. Because there was almost no one she felt like she could confide in.

Almost.

Then there was Killian.

The feel of his lips on hers had barely left her mind since the night before. Being pressed up against his rock hard form in the dark, foggy woods was a memory she wanted to cling to all morning. To stay in a bubble where she knew what it felt like to be desired. As she hadn’t felt anything quite like it in some time.

A truck door slammed outside. And in an instant Emma had left her cocoon. Leaving the safety of her bed, crossing the room to the window and pulling open the drapes. On the street below she saw Killian Jones unloading his truck. From her second story window she took advantage of the view. Her own private one. People passed by in cars. The neighborhood began to come to life. But Emma’s gaze was focused on him.

The muscles in his arms pulling at the tight fabric of his shirt as he lifted his tool box down to the sidewalk. The way he bit his bottom lip when he closed the bed of the truck.

The words Jones Landscaping were painted in bold letters on the side of the trailer. Reminding Emma that despite the fluttering in the base of her belly, despite the lingering puffiness on her lips, despite her imagination wondering what it would feel like to have all of him and not just a taste. And the smile that crept onto her face at the very thought.

Despite all of that, today he was her gardener. He was here to work, to do his job. And Neal, for once, was home.

Emma dressed quickly. Throwing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. She opted to leave her watch off until later, as she had last night. It was nice to have the break from it. August didn’t need to hear 100% of her life. If he questioned her on it later she could just say she was… showering.

Before running downstairs she didn’t even check the mirror, her usual desire to come across the perfect neighbor outweighed by her curiosity about talking to Killian. Her hair was still probably matted from sleep, but she wasn’t worried about that. Because this morning when she woke up, knowing Neal was in the home office working away at whatever terrible shit his family was covering, the smallest amount of relief came from knowing Killian was right outside. Emma didn’t entirely know if that was as terrifying as it should have been.

“You’re up early,” she heard Neal say as she walked into the kitchen. It startled her. Though she knew he was down here.

“I’m always up early.” You would know that if you were ever around, she thought to add. But decided against it. The less dialogue the better. “I could say the same to you.”

“Some work came up and I didn’t want to go into the office.”

Emma’s head jerked up from the coffee she was pouring. Was it possible something happened with Amanda the night before? He had come back very quickly after leaving with her. And now he was in the last place Emma expected him to be. Their home.

“Anything important?” she prodded. Though she knew he would never tell her anything.

“Not anything you would understand.”

It took everything she had not to chuck the coffee mug at his wormy head. But instead she opted to sip the steaming cup and swallow her words. The stale kitchen could have consumed her whole, its stark white and gray coloring. Hospital level clean as always. A drip of coffee hit the tile floor and she let it be. Let it stain, she thought. The house could use a bit of character. When she shifted her gaze back up, she stared straight ahead of her. Through the big glass windows that lined the back of the house she caught sight of him.

Killian was moving around the yard, which had really begun to come together, carrying bags of mulch on his shoulder. One right after the other and laying them where the rest of his workers would spread them out. For a moment she just watched him.

“Can you go outside and make sure they lay the brick work today and tomorrow?” Neal said, once again without getting up from his post.

Emma didn’t say anything back, not when she knew she was being set up. It was, however, becoming more and more easy to walk right into it.

When Emma walked outside she found Killian in the front yard making some notes on a clipboard. His t-shirt was dark and tight, still clean as the day had just begun. A piece of his black hair had fallen over his eyes as he wrote. When he didn’t notice her approach Emma (not so) subtly cleared her throat.

The instant their eyes met Emma felt a blush crawl up her cheeks. It was only a flicker, a blip of that electricity before they both remembered they were in public. They had to maintain a level of distance. Like she hadn’t been wrapped in his arms the night before.

“Good morning,” she said first.

“Good morning, love,” he said, privately with a smirk. Just for her.

“Maybe we should um, go somewhere more private…” she realized then just how difficult it would be to pretend like nothing was going on with them.

He followed her into the open garage, back where all of the normal household garage things were kept. Shelves of power tools though Neal had never lifted a hammer. A sink. Some old paint cans.

The remainder of the bricks that had never been used were still in the corner. Emma had been so preoccupied with everything she hadn’t had the energy to deal with them. While the front walkway was still a compromise, the back would be the limestone she had wanted. Plopping herself down on top of the pallet she faced Killian.

“Last night was uh…” He scratched behind his ear, the way he always did when he was a bit nervous.

“Interesting.” Emma finished for him. As much as she absolutely loved diving into her feelings (she fucking hated it) there were some very serious matters to discuss. And quickly. “We know that whatever is going on, Cora Mills is most likely involved.”

“Right.” Killian agreed, if he was irked that she didn’t immediately bring up their romantic encounter, he didn’t show it. “We still don’t know how they’re covering up what they’re doing though.”

“There has to be a way they’re bringing in all of those drugs.” Emma thought back to the mountain of cocaine that was stuffed in her car the day she got pulled over all those months ago. Stuff like that doesn’t just appear, it comes from somewhere. Or maybe something?

“What if they’re bringing it in with the construction supplies?” Emma wondered aloud as she sat atop a stack of unused bricks. “How easy would it be to just fill the center of one of these pallets with contraband and fill in the other space with actual materials.”

Killian looked at her as if it dawned on him at the same time. This had to be it. Or at the very least, it was a start. There was no telling all that family was capable of.

“That’s actually quite brilliant, Emma.” She wasn’t sure why it made her heart flutter when he acknowledged her idea. But that was something to unpack at another time. “But how do we prove that?”

“Emma!” she heard called from the front street. A soft female voice that obviously belonged to Mary Margaret.

Killian and Emma both froze. Listening one by one as the footsteps got closer.

“Oh- sorry to interrupt I didn’t realize…” the woman said as she stumbled upon them. Just the two of them, alone in a crowded garage.

“It’s fine, don’t worry. I was just…” Emma tried to come up with an explanation, but from the way they were positioned it honestly didn’t look like anything super innocent was happening.

“We were just going over some of the plans for the pathways in the yard is all,” Killian offered smoothly. “If you ladies will excuse me I have to get back to work.”

Quickly he smiled and dismissed himself, but Emma had so much more to talk about with him. And he, with her. If she was judging the expression on his face correctly, it looked as though he had so much on his lips. A tiny, unfamiliar pang struck her heart as he rounded the bend of the garage and was out of her sight.

When Emma turned to face Mary Margaret her friend’s face was apologetic, guilty even. But she didn’t want anyone else caught in the crossfires of her life. It was hard enough bringing Killian in, the last thing she wanted to do was burden someone as sweet as Mary Margaret. Her earnest face, kind and calm. The pale blue of her t-shirt against her pale skin. She was like a doll, delicate and dainty.

“What’s up?” Emma tried to ask as nonchalantly as possible when she and her gardener had just been walked in on yet again.

“I should have just called or something,” Mary Margaret apologized. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries, it was nothing important.” Which was a total lie but there was no way she could get into that right now.

“I was just coming over to see if you wanted to come to Ruby’s birthday tonight.”

“Where is it?” Emma wondered if Killian would be there. Maybe they could find a second to talk more about last night when Neal wasn’t in the next room.

[tagsecretsanta]

From Marsmckie

To  @tuupang 

Secret Santa does not own this piece, full credit goes to the creator mentioned above!

It was a small family tradition- it became standard over the years that on a quiet night sometime in December the Tracy Family would all grab some old blankets and make their way down to the beach. This festive season was particularly quiet for them, giving the recent incarceration of their nemesis the Hood into GDF custody, and they indented to take full advantage of it.

Sadly, Grandma Tracy was away shopping with Lady Penelope, though this did mean the food was prepared instead by Virgil and Scott. Virgil provided the barbequed turkey and Scott brought the apple pie dessert. MAX rolled around on the sand handing out dishes while the family lounged out on blankets or camp chairs under the stars.

“John,” EOS whispered. The space monitor had constructed a portable device so that the AI was able to join them for what was her first Christmas. She had coordinated her LED lights so that they alternated flashing between festive green and red as she spoke. “I’m not sure I understand. Campfires and barbeques do not fit in with what my research suggests would be a typical seasonal celebration.”

“That’s because with someone somewhere around the world who always needs to be rescued around this time of year, the idea of us having a ‘normal’ Christmas Day is laughable,” John responded with a smile, pleased with his AI’s development to be comfortable asking questions.

“We take our holiday breaks as they come,” Alan explained. Having crammed down his large helpings of turkey, barbequed vegetables and pie he had moved on to toasting marshmallows over the campfire. As he moved his stick away from the flame, Gordon made a move as he snatched the marshmallow off the end of the stick and shoved it in his mouth. “Hey! Get your own!”

“You’re hogging the bag!” Gordon said through a mouth full of marshmallow.

“Everyone has their own different ways of celebrating Christmas,” Kayo said, continuing talking to EOS as Gordon and Alan squabbled.

“Y-yes!” Brains said. “For example, at m-my University we had a C-Christmas tradition for Secret Santa that whoever could make the b-best seasonal invention didn’t have to clean the lab for a whole month!”

“Is that where your snow machines originated?” Virgil asked. Brains nodded with a smile. “I’d say the year that Brains made it snow on the island will always have a special place in our hearts!”

“We did a Secret Santa at my school too!” Gordon said. “One year I bought Bethany in my year a chocolate snowman!”

“Didn’t you leave it near the radiator and it melted?” Scott grinned.

“Heh, yeah, it looked more like a chocolate thingy!” Alan laughed.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. She was so annoyed when she unwrapped it and I never fessed up,” Gordon grimaced.

“I don’t think we’ve had what you would call a traditional Christmas since we were young,” John said. “When we were still living at the Gran Roca Ranch with mom and dad...”

“Oh, right...” Alan mumbled. His memories from the ranch were few and far between.

“Mom was always the one to organise decorating. I remember her voice as she taught me how to play Christmas songs on the piano and she’d sing along...” Virgil said sadly.

“You and Gordon might be too young to remember,” Scott said to Alan. “But I remember the first Christmas after Mom passed away. Dad hadn’t done anything to prepare or celebrate at all, but then when we woke up on Christmas morning we all went down the stairs together and there were all these twinkling lights we could see under the door. We went in and the whole room had been decorated top to bottom, and Dad told us that Santa had been overnight...”

“And Dad scooped us up into his lap one at a time to give us the presents that Santa had left!” Virgil said excitedly.

“Of course it was Dad getting up early to decorate while we were still asleep,” John explained.

“Well, yeah, we know that now,” Virgil murmured, looking put down by the revelation.

“I do remember that!” Gordon gasped. “There were all these golden twinkling fairy lights; it was like magic!”

Scott sighed. “We were all so surprised. Dad was so determined to make it the best Christmas ever, and it was like we finally had him back after Mom died...”

A sad silence settled over the group as they all watched the crackling of the campfire.

“What about you, Kayo?” Alan asked, determined to fill the silence. “Did you have any family traditions?”

Kayo snorted. “Try anytime we had a family Christmas. By that I mean ~the whole family~”

It took a moment for the group to realise what she meant, before the revelation from earlier that year resurfaced in their minds.

“Oh my god, yeah!” Alan gasped.

“Wow, what would Christmas be like with the Hood as your uncle?” Virgil wondered.

“Please tell me he was one of those uncles who would get drunk and sing rude versions of Jingle Bells?” Gordon laughed.

“I’m pretty sure that was just Uncle Lee!” Scott grinned.

Kayo made a face halfway between a smirk and a grimace as she remembered the last time her uncle had last shown up at the family home at Christmas.

~~~

Tanusha punched her way across the living room floor, shadowboxing inexpertly as she was determined to show off her new Karate uniform (to go with her Christmas present of Karate lessons- something which she had been begging for weeks to get). Her father smiled fondly at his growing girl while her mother prepared a delicious Christmas dinner. They were late to eat together as her father had spent most of the day at work (Tanusha was always dying to know more about her father’s job as Mr Tracy’s security, but he kept annoyingly tight-lipped about it).

As her mother was about to plate the food, there was a knock at the front door. Her mother and father shared an anxious look before her father moved to open the door.

“Uncle Belah!” Tanusha cried, running around her father and into her uncle’s waiting arms.

“Tanusha!” Uncle Belah beaming, sweeping her into a big hug. “My, how you have grown!”

Tanusha had been besotted with her Uncle Belah for many years now- while her father had the strength to lift her over his head and throw her in the air, Uncle Belah would regale her with the most fascinating tales of daredevilry and espionage that kept her hooked all evening. She had relentlessly questioned her Uncle as to what his job was and he would spin many a tall tale as to what he had been up to between visits, but Tanusha -being his favourite niece after all- was quickly able to pull the truth from him-

Uncle Belah was a top secret spy in the Global Defence Force.

Tanusha had gone along with the story when she had been little, thinking it to be another one of his imaginary jobs (he had previously claimed to be a caterer and an airline pilot among other things), but every so often Uncle Belah would produce an item which would tie into his story- a computer tablet, some solar batteries, on one occasion even the metal wings that he had worn while jumping out of a skyscraper. At the appearance of each item Tanusha’s eyes would go wide with wonder.

Such items were for Tanusha’s eyes only, and they (along with the stories) were hers and her uncle’s little secret together from her father and mother.

Uncle Belah stood from hugging Tanusha and the atmosphere froze as he locked eyes with Tanusha’s father again.

“Gaat,” her father said coldly.

“Kyrano,” her Uncle greeted with a small grin.

“And what brings you here?”

“Christmas is a time to spend with family,” Uncle Belah said, spreading his arms wide. “Or am I not welcome here anymore?”

Her father pursed his lips and Tanusha looked up hesitantly. “Daddy?” she asked.

“So long as you bring no ill will against my family,” her father said quietly, stepping back from the door to allow their visitor to enter.

“Much obliged,” Uncle Belah hummed as he stepped inside and took off his wool coat, revealing a black tuxedo jacket, white shirt and black trousers beneath. “It is cold outside.”

“Uncle Belah!” Tanusha cried again, latching onto his hand and pulling him into the living room. “I got you a present!”

From under the tree, Tanusha extracted a small lone present and pressed it into his hands.

“That’s very thoughtful of you!” Uncle Belah gave a genuine smile as he accepted the present.

“I didn’t know if I would see you or not, as you’re always so busy with your job,” Tanusha said. Behind them in the kitchen, her mother and father conversed in hushed tones but her attention was solely for her favourite uncle. “I got it for you anyway, just in case we saw you.”

“May I open it now?” Uncle Belah asked, shaking the box in an attempt to discern the contents.

Tanusha giggled. “Of course!”

Uncle Belah carefully ripped open the red wrapping paper to reveal a black box containing a red tie covered with silver dots. He ran the tie through his fingers, feeling the silk material before tying it around his neck.

“Thank you Tanusha,” he said, smiling. “I shall wear it always to remind me of you.”

Tanusha beamed brightly and pulled her Uncle through to the dining room as her mother announced, “Dinner is ready!”

Tanusha made sure that Uncle Belah was sat next to her at the circular table and throughout dinner they shared secret mischievous looks as they ate. The looks her mother and father shared were filled with concern.

“Uncle Belah?” Tanusha asked loudly as her mother refilled the adult’s wine glasses again. “When are you going to marry?”

Uncle Belah nearly choked on his wine and Tanusha noticed a glint of amusement in her father’s eye at his brother being caught off guard by her question. “I’m not the type to marry, my dear. After all, I am fully committed to my job.”

The look on her father’s face soured again.

“Aww,” Tanusha murmured. “I wanted to have cousins.”

Uncle Belah laughed good-naturedly and the meal concluded with several rounds of Christmas pudding with custard. Tanusha wanted to stay up and talk for longer, but her parents made the decision that it was her bedtime. She sadly said her farewells to Uncle Belah, clinging to him and begging him to say she could stay up late, but he agreed saying the adults needed to talk.

Her mother chivvied her upstairs, but while she was distracted Tanusha slipped back down to listen to their conversation.

“Listen to me, Gaat.” Tanusha heard her father’s voice and paused on the stairs. “If the Hood continues to cause problems for Mr Tracy’s company then I shall be forced to take extreme measures.”

“I assume you have already alerted the GDF to my location?” Her father said nothing in response. “Then I shall be on my way. I will say farewell to Tanusha before I go.”

Tanusha’s heart leapt into her throat at the mention of her name, but her father cut in coldly, “That won’t be necessary.”

There was a pause in the conversation and Tanusha thought her uncle had left, until he said, “You are choosing the wrong side, Kyrano.”

As her Uncle closed the front door behind him, Tanusha rushed back up the stairs to her mother. That night, Tanusha quizzed her father about why her uncle had to leave so suddenly and he replied “Uncle Belah is in trouble with his work.” From this, Tanusha was able to discern that he was in trouble with the GDF and that somehow Mr Tracy’s company was involved. She guessed that she also would not be getting a Birthday present from him for a while.

That was the first time Kayo would hear of the Hood, though it would be several years before she learned who that was.

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 46

A little over an hour later, pleased I’d remembered that Tom and I needed to remove our rings before opening the room door, I was being escorted to the Hokulea Suite by Simon the Loud and Annoying, my hair still dripping wet, dressed in cut off sweat-shorts and my X-files T-shirt. He was gifting me the details of all the fun he’d had last night with Anne, gushing over her wit and demanding that we all head to New Orleans for Mardi Gras 2017 because he needed her to show him her favorite haunts IN PERSON or he’d never forgive himself or me until my stomach rumbled and I felt a rush of saliva in my mouth, wrinkling my nose at the queasiness that followed.

“We need to detour, dude. Bridezilla requires nourishment prior to prettification.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Really? Really? It’s already after one, and…”

I crossed my arms. “And…what? And you want me to dry heave my way through the vows?”

“Ewwww…Maude. So gross.”

“Whatever. Stress plus hunger is not a good combo for me, apparently. Not going to make the same mistake as yesterday. We’ll still have three hours or something, and if that’s not enough, you can just find me a veil somewhere and I’ll wear it all evening long. Problem solved, am I right?”

“Well, since I am, frankly, rather fearful of what will become of me if I dissent, oh yes, right you are.”

“Mmm hmm. And about that whole Mardi Gras business…have you forgotten that you’ll have two screaming, squalling, pooping machines in your midst by then? Sounds like a less than Ideal experience to me, especially the trans-Atlantic flight part.”

His hands flew up to cover his mouth briefly, then extended open, palms out, to either side of his face. “OH MY GOD YOU’RE RIGHT BABIIIEEEESSSSSS…” He inhaled, then exhaled deeply. “So you really don’t think we can just, you know, bring them with us?”

Shrugging, I took him by the arm and began walking toward the lounge. “Truthfully, I have no fucking idea, and though you obviously have vastly more experience in this department than I do, I’m reasonably sure that’s listed under ‘Super Mega Dumbass Scenarios’ in the parenting handbook.”

He stopped short, and when I turned to him the expression on his face was a mixture of jubilation and pure terror. “When Roland was a baby, I was working so much that Lisa handled…well, everything, essentially. Now I’m going to, like, BE LISA, and the question is, CAN I be Lisa? And with double the poop machines?”

I wrapped my arms around him, kissing each cheek in turn. “You don’t need to be anyone but you, Simon. Because you’re amazing, and you know what? If anyone can pull off bringing two infants across the ocean to do Mardi Gras with Anne Rice, it’s you.”

He squeezed me tightly. “Thank you, Nice Maude.”

“You’re welcome. But if we do end up going, you should know that I am absolutely, positively taking a different flight.”

Snorting, he let go of me and took two steps backward, waving. “Au revoir, Nice Maude.”

I was still snickering as we entered the lounge, wherein I voraciously inhaled two waffles laden with raspberry syrup and whipped cream, two scrambled eggs, four pieces of bacon, a toasted everything bagel with butter, half a melon, a tall glass of orange juice and two cups of Kona coffee, which, after trying it the very first time, I knew I never wanted to live without. A giant blech escaped me as I rose from the table, which struck Simon as so hilariously funny that I wound up sitting back down to wait for him to get a grip, and just as he was able to quasi-communicate it happened again, and then we both completely lost our shit. Those moments are some of life’s best, when the most ordinary thing suddenly becomes a source of incapacitating amusement, and when it turns infectious…even better.

It was going on two-thirty when we finally arrived at the Hokulea Suite, and I could hear the faint thumping bass of what I immediately recognized as Lady Gaga’s ‘Born This Way’ through the door. Veronica was a huge fan, attending every show she could manage, occasionally discussing her dream to somehow find herself as the Lady’s stylist, even if only for a single day. And in this particular instance, ‘occasionally’ meant every time one of Gaga’s songs came on. I couldn’t see Veronica when we first entered, but I could hear her singing, so as Simon headed one way toward his dressing area I followed the sonic trail and discovered her behind one of the far screens working on Anne’s makeup. The sight of Anne high up in the director’s chair, hair hidden beneath a shower cap, body wrapped in a black plastic cape and her bare feet tapping on the tiny rest made me smile widely. She’d been through so much in her own life, yet here she was, still going, still enjoying, still loving, still…living. I felt a pang of regret that I’d shut her out for so long…despite all our differences and disagreements, she was the closest thing to an actual mother I’d ever had. If it weren’t for her encouragement and support, I might have never started my own business, and if that hadn’t happened, my path and Tom’s might never have crossed. I blinked, noticing that both Anne and Veronica were staring at me. Anne reached out to pat my upper arm.

“Love ya, kiddo. Thanks for letting me be a part of all this…I always prayed you’d find someone who’d lift you up and…”

I interrupted her sentence with an embrace so strong I was afraid I might crush her. “Thank you for that. I did. He does. I love you too.”

She chuckled, and as I pulled back the smirk on her face alerted me to what was coming next. “Maude Gallagher, has my sense of hearing failed me or did you just thank me for praying?’

I pointed my index finger first at her, then at Veronica. “Never speak of this again, either of you.” I paused for dramatic effect. “So, anyway…where would you have me go, fine friend and Chief Beautification Enforcer?”

Veronica snorted. “To your designated private but not really private at all temporary staging area. I’ll be done with this one’s makeup in a few minutes, then I’ll come get to work on you. Everyone else is done…well, not me, but that won’t take long.”

“Because you’re naturally gorgeous.”

She smiled. “Born This Way.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’d quote a meaningful Gaga lyric back at you but the only thing that comes to mind right now is p-p-p-p poker face and that always makes me think of poke HER face and…yeah. I’m gonna walk away now. Bye.”

The director’s chair taunted me, all tall and spindly, begging me to climb in so it could tip itself over and dump my ass out onto the ground. If I were a director, I’d demand something leather and cushy with wheels so my personal assistant could push me around the set. Sighing, I checked the mechanisms responsible for holding it open, making sure they were on the up-and-up before I slipped off my Birkis and clambered aboard. It wasn’t as bad as I expected, though I forced myself to remain as still as possible, just in case. A few minutes later Veronica arrived, Telephone now cranking at an unreasonable volume. I removed my T-shirt so she could cape-drape me, and while she worked on my eyelids I nodded off for a few seconds. The short spell was broken by her sternly warning me that if she had to start the process all over again because I’d been up late doing god knows what she’d make me look like one of the Kardashian sisters and that was the end of Maude’s Naptime Session. After makeup came hair, which was going to be all drawn up in a large bun that rested just above the nape of my neck, enclosed in a silver wire cage that was fastened in place with six large silver bobby pins. I couldn’t actually see anything other than the components as they came together, though, because Veronica insisted that I wait until I was fully dressed before looking at myself in the mirror. I managed to remove myself from the chair without incident after Veronica took off my cape, and then followed her instructions to strip down the rest of the way. We’d discussed underwear previously, deciding that a thong would be best, so I’d put a white silk one on this morning, not giving a single thought to the fact that my ass might bear bruises that were unmistakably the marks left by grabbing hands. I let my shorts fall to the floor, hoping there was nothing to see, but her snort as she looked my way after hanging the cape on its hook caused me to instantaneously abandon said hope.

“Well, well, well…you WERE up late doing god knows what, weren’t you?” She drew closer for a better look, emitted a low whistle, and I could feel my cheeks flush. “Honey, your man has some huge hands on him. Oy, I feel like I should cross myself or something for where my mind went next. Anyway. Let’s hope they don’t show through the fabric.”

“Oh my GOD do you really think…” I craned my neck in order to see her face, saw a wide smirk upon it, and realized that she was totally fucking with me. “Dude. Not cool. NOT. COOL.”

She grinned. “I know. I also know I should be sorry, but I’m not. Take that bra off while I get your gown out of its bag, please and thank you.”

My phone chirped, and I bent down to fish it out of the left front pocket of my shorts. It chirped three more times before I stood up and unlocked it, and for a moment my heart fluttered, wondering if another bout of ugliness awaited me. Thankfully, what I found were four messages from Melanie.

The Big Day is finally here! – Melanie

Everything is in place and just as it should be. Two videos to follow. See you soon! – Melanie

The first was of the ceremony site, white chairs on either side of the purple carpet facing the ocean and the arbor. We didn’t want an arch so we’d chosen a more minimalist, almost Oriental-style construct. It was rectangular, four thick, squared poles forming the bottom, connected at the top by two flush pieces at the sides, two extended beams across the front and the back. All had been painted white, the front and back beams wrapped with alternating purple and green fabric that draped down the sides. Large square glass containers had been fastened to the front poles using three strips of burnished silver sheet metal and filled with purple orchids, lady’s mantle, and flowering comfrey. More purple carpet lined the bottom of the structure, and she’d started filming at the far end and walked up the aisle and, of course, waterworks once again loomed. I closed my eyes, breathed in, then out, then again and again until I calmed down because, makeup. The second video was of the Paddle Room, and it was…perfect. Exactly as I’d specified, right down to the books specifically chosen for each table. Another message came through, and I exited the file to view it.

PS - don’t be concerned if you notice the cake isn’t included. That needs to be a surprise. – Melanie

I typed out a reply, my shaky hands making it extra challenging.

It’s all perfect. Totally perfect. Thank you so much for doing this. Amazing. Surreal. Everything. – Maude

Another chirp.

You are very, very welcome. So happy you’re happy! – Melanie

I put my phone away, bra still in place when Veronica returned. She rolled her eyes at me, and I undid the hooks and tossed it onto the chair. The mini-dress came first, followed by the silver gladiator sandals, then the maxi-skirt. Veronica sighed heavily, smiling.

“Maude, you are…breathtaking.”

My left eyebrow rose. “In a good way, or in a Seinfeld you’ve-got-to-see-the-baaaaaaaby way?”

“Come see for yourself, why don’t you?” She held out her left hand. “You have to close your eyes until we’re there so you get the full effect. I’ll lead you.”

“M’kay.” I reached for her, closing my eyes once I’d established a firm grip, silently hoping that this was indeed a simple walk to the mirror and not an instance of ‘surprise the bride’ because I was in no condition to handle that sort of fuckery.

After navigating what I assumed was the center area of the room Veronica stopped me, let go of my hand and turned me around, speaking only a single word.

“Open.”

I tilted my head downward and let my eyelids slowly lift until I was staring down into my own cleavage. Exhaling, I began to raise my head, higher and higher, and then…there I was. Maude Gallagher on her wedding day in her wedding dress ready for her wedding ceremony and wedding reception. She was me, but…not me. The woman in the mirror appeared to have just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine spread, and I found myself reaching out to touch her because that woman couldn’t be me, wearer of ancient T-shirts who sniffed items of clothing found on the floor to judge by scent if they were acceptable to wear just one more time before washing them. My fingers connected with the surface of the mirror and I gasped.

“It IS me. Holy. Fucking. Shit.” I heard laughter, but I was too busy studying my reflection to acknowledge it. Veronica had dressed me for my dinner at Daniel with Tom, and there had been some serious wow factor then for sure but this…she’d coordinated my eye shadow with the bridesmaid dresses, a gradient from purple to green starting at eyebrow level with a faint overlay of silver. The liner was black, and my lashes were darkened with black mascara, impossibly long and thick, yet somehow still appearing natural. On my lips was a shade of deep maroon-purple, again matching a component of the bridesmaid dresses, thinly lined with a dark green which should have looked awful but…didn’t. It worked, and worked well. Paired with the style dress I’d chosen and the silver-crowned bun, the overall effect made me feel like I could absolutely, positively land a role in the next Star Wars film as Leia’s progeny and that was right off the fucking charts, man. Right. Off. I turned to the woman with limitless talent next to me, shaking my head back and forth slowly.

“Veronica. VERONICA. VER. ON. ICA. You’re like…you’re a fucking SORCERESS. For real. Really. I can’t…I just…thank you. Thank you.”

She grinned, pointing her index finger at me. “You’re very welcome, dear darling Maude. Now don’t fuck it up before we go out there, okay?”

I snorted. “Listen, I’ll do my best, but you know the face probably won’t last through the ceremony and the dress is doomed to be destroyed at cake time, if not before. Better get some pics for your portfolio while you can, my friend.”

“I will. But first I have to make myself presentable.” She turned to Emma, Sarah, Trudy and Anne, all of whom had gathered behind me. “Ladies, please keep the bride out of trouble while I’m gone.” They laughed, nodding, and Veronica disappeared behind one of the screens just as Simon emerged from behind his own. He screeched at the sight of me, hands raised to shoulder height, palms facing me, fingers spread widely.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! OH MY GOD LOOK AT YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU! MAAAUUUUUUUUUUUDEEEEEEE! SPACE PRINCESSSSSSSSSSS!”

I screeched in return. “I KNOOWWWWWWWWWW! AND LOOK AT YOUUUUUUUU!”

He smirked as he spun in a circle. “I. AM. FABULOUS.”

“YOU ARE! SHOULD WE STOP SHOUTING?”

“PROBABLY!”

He air-kissed my cheek. “Poor Tom. I don’t think he’s prepared for this level of gorgeousis spectacularity.”

The thought that I’d soon be walking down the aisle with Simon at my side, seeing for myself just how prepared Tom was, took its place front and center in my mind, and as I assessed whether or not I’d be able to cope with such a thing, the realization that my father was absent in all of this slammed into me, and hard. My gaze turned toward the floor, and I closed my eyes tightly to shut out everything around me. He’d been gone for so long, and while I thought of him often, it was always briefly, the moment tinged with fondness for a memory, a touch of sadness, and a wish that he’d found peace. This time, it was fury, and a longing so intense it was physically painful. He’d left me alone in this world with a mother who had no love for me whatsoever, and he’d never know me as I was now, the woman I’d become, the things I’d accomplished, and on this day when I was celebrating the love I’d found, he was a corpse in a crypt in New Orleans when he should have been here, giving me away, sharing a father-daughter dance. He’d never know Tom, never know our children…and they’d never know him. I understood the why of what he’d done, but the fact that it, to me, his child, his ONLY child, felt like such a wasteful, selfish act was inescapable. He’d chosen himself over all else, including me, and here I was on my wedding day, with his death on my mind and threatening to override my happiness. Which I was NOT going to permit…too many moments had been stolen from me already. This was MY time now. And my life. And my god, what an amazing, beautiful life it had become. I swallowed, inhaled, exhaled, and then swallowed again, beating the sorrow and rage into submission. I felt hands grasp my forearms and I opened my eyes to find Simon staring at me, his own eyes full of worry, and when I smiled his face changed and he breathed a sigh of relief, his voice soft and low as he spoke.

“Want to talk about it?”

My head shook back and forth slowly. “Ghosts. I’m over it. Thank you.” I twisted my wrists so my hands could clutch his forearms, linking us like a snake eating its own tail. “Thank you for being willing to walk me down the aisle, Simon. It means so much to me, more than words can say. I love you. Like, a whole lot.”

He nodded, acknowledging that he understood, knowing me so well that what I’d been thinking about was perfectly clear to him. “You’re very welcome. I love you too. And bitch, if I cry and get droplet marks all over this very fine suit and ruin your wedding photos, that’s all on YOU.”

We both giggled, and just as I opened my mouth to explain to the women standing around me Melanie walked through the door and announced that we were fifteen minutes from go time.

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

A row of white screens had been set up to one side of the ceremony site in order to block any possible viewing of me prior to my grand entrance. No one had seen the bridesmaid dresses yet either, but apparently no one was concerned about ruining that surprise because they were all allowed to peek around the barrier and comment on how incredibly handsome Tom looked, and also how he was fidgeting more than a kindergartener who needed to use the bathroom but didn’t want to miss story time. As part of his sound system, Sammy had set up a microphone at the far end of the site and outdoor speakers throughout, and I could hear strains of native Hawaiian music, though it was muted by the pounding of my own heart in my ears. Instead of using the traditional walk-in song, I’d decided to go with a version of Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’ that I’d seen on YouTube…any version moved me to tears, but this one made me sob like a baby. Which, in hindsight, might not have been the wisest choice…but it was so beautiful, and the timing was perfect. It was an orchestral performance in a town square, starting with one lone bass player, with additional groupings being added as the piece progressed. The faces of the crowd were full of enchantment and wonder in the video, experiencing the sound of notes put together by someone long ago in the present and amongst other humans, all feeling…well, just FEELING. That was the point. In the moment, in harmony, so ALIVE. As Melanie signaled for everyone to line up, the Hawaiian music stopped, and in the silence that followed I tried to imprint the moment, the quiet, the before…and then the sound of the bass began to resonate, and it was really, truly go time. The wedding party would have the duration of the instrumental portion to reach their places, and Simon and I would start our walk when the soft chorus began, hopefully reaching Tom and Luke, whom we’d decided should remain at Tom’s side since Simon would be with me, just in time for the pause point before the escalating chorus and finale began. Ken and Anne were first, followed by Ben and Veronica, Chris and Trudy, Guillermo and Sarah, then Hugh and Emma. Simon proffered his right arm for me to hold, and I shifted the bouquet of purple orchids and lady’s mantle to my right hand in order to take his arm with my left. We rounded the corner just as the singing began, and all of our guests rose from their seats as I took my first step forward, then froze in place as I witnessed Tom’s knees buckle at the sight of me, Luke grabbing him by the elbow in an attempt to steady him. Simon tilted his head sideways in order to whisper in my ear.

“Don’t freak out, honey. You can do this. Keep. Moving.”

And I did. I don’t know HOW, but I did. Everything and everyone other than Tom was a blur, our guests, the wedding party lined up, Tom’s chosen people on the left, mine on the right, the judge, all of it…except for my husband, who was already my husband, but not yet my husband as far as anyone else was concerned. There he was, in his black suit and white dress shirt with a purple waistcoat I knew I’d see more of later when he ditched the jacket to dance, his silver pocket square jutting out in a perfect triangular point, black patent shoes practically glowing in the sun. I watched him shake his head and mouth the words ‘oh my god’ over and over before he smiled at me, the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over, followed by a hand across his mouth, then a silent ‘I love you’ and a grin that grew ever wider as I drew nearer. And then there I was, with Simon releasing my arm and Tom taking my hand in his, not even noticing that my bouquet had somehow gone missing when I raised my right hand to wave like a child at my beautiful man and managed to squeak out a single word.

“Hi.”

He waved back, voice cracking as he returned the greeting. “Hi.”

I heard a whooshing sound and briefly thought I was dying, then realized the noise had been everyone sitting back down in their chairs. The judge cleared his throat, and we turned to face him, backs to our guests. Today he was wearing a proper suit, which startled me because my addled brain had been expecting the tuxedo T-shirt. It was dark green linen, with a white shirt and bow-tie, and I wondered if it was a coincidence that he coordinated with our color scheme or if Melanie had requested that he do so. He smiled at us, then began speaking.

“We gather today in this place of sea and sky and sand and sun to join the couple who stand before me in matrimony. That word, it’s a significant word, an important word, but what it represents is most meaningful…two individuals who feel a profound connection between them, both physically and spiritually, a connection from which stems a deep and abiding love so powerful that the two seek to become one. To become… a family, not to which they’re born, but one which they choose to create.” He paused briefly, then continued. “Thomas William Hiddleston and Maude Gallagher, is it your wish to marry each other on this day, June 29th, 2016?”

We nodded, speaking in unison. “Yes.” The urge to say ‘absofuckingloutely’ had been overwhelming, and I was super proud of myself for exercising some self-control.

“Then let us proceed. It is my understanding that you’ve prepared your own vows?” Another nod from both of us. “Please turn and face each other. May I have the rings?”

After panicking for several very long seconds because I had no idea how we were handling that bit for this ceremony, I spotted Luke stepping forward and passing them to the judge, who in turn gave Tom’s to me. I sighed in relief, having hoped that’s how it would play out this time around as well. I reached for Tom’s left hand, which I’d released as we’d turned, and grasped it with my own, pretending to wipe sweat from my brow with my right hand.

“Well thank the universe for small favors…I SO didn’t want to have to try and come up with something after this one had a chance to speak. “ I hooked my right thumb in his direction, noting the soft chuckles that emanated from our friends and family as I met Tom’s gaze. “One year ago, I drove out to Talk Story because I, book nerd that I am, couldn’t resist the prospect of maybe, just maybe, finding that long-sought first edition of The Gunslinger. I didn’t…not that time, anyway…but I did find One Hundred Years of Solitude. Which, looking back, is so over the top ridiculous, because…that’s what the life I’d lived before that day feels like since you appeared in those stacks, trying to go all incognito and using a certain bullwhip-toting archeology professor’s name as your alias. Up until then, to me, you were that incredibly talented actor whose social media accounts I used as an example of what NOT to do in my lectures. But in your presence, seeing you, then and there…gotta be honest, I kinda lost the plot for a few seconds.” A round of laughter from our guests ensued. “Which was, you know, totally unacceptable. No thank you, hard pass, Maude is better off alone. But then you followed me outside, and then you KNELT on the sidewalk in front of me…deep down, I knew I was a goner when I let you have one of my Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup peanut butter cookies, but my jadedness persisted. For like, a few hours. And that night, in my hotel room…which is now OUR hotel room…when you tucked me into bed and spent the night…when you stayed…that was that. There you were, the other half of my soul, and finally, I’d been made whole.” I’d managed to not cry, but tears were running freely down his cheeks. “So, Dr. Jones…are you ready for the life-long adventure of being my husband? I don’t have an Ark or a Holy Grail, but I’m pretty good in bed, and I promise to love you with all that I am and all that I’ll ever be.”  

He nodded, wiping away tears with his free hand. “I do love a grand adventure…and I’ve never been more ready for something in all my days.”

I turned his left hand over, opened my right one, then slipped the band onto his left ring finger. “Well then, with this ring, I thee wed. Off we go!”

Tom let go of my hand in order to hold his up high, grinning proudly as he moved it slowly back and forth to show off his new accessory to the crowd before turning his attention back to me, taking hold of my left hand, then bringing it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on my knuckles. The judge placed my ring in Tom’s open right palm, his fingers closing tightly around it as he stared into my eyes, and I knew the vows he’d planned on using had gone right out the window, because he was re-writing them right then, crafting with his heart and soul words that would likely echo my sentiments. Following a slight nod that indicated he was satisfied, he began to speak.

“One year ago, I drove out to Talk Story to pick up a book I hoped would assist me in playing a role. I was in a rush, as Luke had scheduled a meeting I wasn’t expecting. In an attempt to avoid being recognized, which would have slowed me down and made me late for, as I’m sure Luke will confirm, the millionth time, I donned a baseball cap and Hawaiian print shirt as a rather crude disguise. When I walked through the door and saw the staff wearing Loki shirts, I panicked…and then, I saw you. And, like you, I lost the plot. It was as if the heavens had opened up and the sun shone on you and you alone, lighting my way. I followed the path, finding myself standing behind you, thoroughly unable to form words as I watched you choose your books so very carefully. When you spun around I thought you might slap me, but instead, you recognized me, understood my plight, and solved my problem. When you called me Indy…well, how could I NOT follow you outside and beg for your number?” I snorted. “I was completely bent out of shape that I had to leave in order to make that damn meeting, which I had no desire to attend in the first place, because all I wanted to do was be near you, to talk to you, to get to know you. The entire ride back to this side of the island all I thought about was you, and I was telling Luke that this was it, you were THAT woman, MY woman, as we walked into Kauai Pasta and…there you were. You were the person Luke had set up the meeting with. Of all the people in this world, it was you. Over the next few hours, I fell in love with you at least a hundred times, each instance pulling me deeper and deeper until we parted company and…I couldn’t bear it, so I turned up at your door practically in the middle of the night with tea and truffles. And later, when I stayed…I knew I never, ever wanted to leave. In seeking out something to help me play a make-believe role I’d already been cast in, through some miraculous alignment within the universe, here I am stepping into the real-world role of a lifetime, the one I was born for…that of being husband to you.” I’d managed to swallow back my sobs, but hot tears were dripping down and off my nose. “So, Ms. Gallagher…are you ready for the life-long adventure of being my wife? I’ve no Sankara stones or crystal skull, but I’ll always have truffles at the ready, and I promise to love you with all that I am and all that I’ll ever be.”  

I nodded. “You had me at truffles. Plus, you’re really good in bed. Sign me up and let’s roll, baby.”

He turned my left hand over, opened his right one, then slipped the band onto my left ring finger, absent of my engagement ring, which was currently residing on my right hand. “Well then, with this ring, I thee wed. Off we go!”

We looked to the judge, who had placed both hands in front of his chest, palms together. “By the power vested in me by the state of Hawaii, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

There was no waiting for permission…our lips were locked before he even finished his sentence, and if it weren’t for Simon poking me in the ribs we would have missed our exit cue. Ode to Joy’s divinely loud chorale had begun, and Tom and I started upon our first official walk as husband and wife, our guests all on their feet, applauding, cheering, and whistling as we worked our way to the white screen, where we waited for the rest of the wedding party to join us. When the tempo sped up, they ran towards us, and Tom picked me up by my waist and spun me around…it was such an incredible moment, a happy moment, the kind you want to freeze frame and go back to again and again, one you wouldn’t mind having as your very final thought on this earth. And then, it was over in a flash as I desperately signaled for him to put me down, making my way behind the screen just in time to barf on the impeccably groomed green grass.

Just as it had the day before, my stomach purged itself until it was empty, and afterward I felt perfectly fine. Tom surrendered his pocket square so I could wipe my mouth, and while I dabbed at my lips I noticed no one else was around. He placed a hand on my bare back, smiling softly.

“I shooed them back around the screen. Figured you wouldn’t want an audience.”

“Thank you. That was…bizarre. Have I reached that age where spinning makes you puke? But I wasn’t spinning yesterday, that was stress…so, is EVERYTHING going to make me puke now? Or is it a stomach virus? Because I was really queasy earlier before I ate.” I looked down at my dress, and the mess I’d left on the ground. “Well that’s disgusting. Sheese. But, the dress appears to be unscathed so, commence picture time. Though I’d kinda like to bush my teeth or at least rinse, and I guess I could use some more lipstick…”

“Why don’t we go back to your dressing area so you can freshen up?” His smile was still the same, which struck me as odd, and I felt my mind wander into ‘oh my god is there something really wrong with me and I’m the only one who doesn’t know it’ territory. I nodded, and he kissed my cheek. “I’ll go let everyone know we’ll be back in a bit – they can head in to the Paddle Room with the guests, then come back out when we’re ready to do group shots before our session with the media.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

When he returned from around the screen I could discern from his expression that something was absolutely up, which made me freak out even more. He took my hand and we walked the short distance to the Hokulea suite in silence. After we were inside, he went into the kitchen, grabbed a Coke from the fridge, then sat on the sofa to our left and motioned for me to sit down next to him. I did so, as carefully as possible, suddenly dying of thirst and wanting what was in that can more than anything else I could think of. He popped the top and passed it to me, and I drank three-quarters of it a few long, loud gulps then wiped my lips with the back of my hand.

“This is so COLD and so GOOD. Mmmmm.”

Tom’s hand came to rest on my knee, his eyes first staring downward, then lifting to meet mine. “Maude, I’ve…over the past month or so…I...I’ve observed some…changes…in your behavior, and now, over the past two days, there’s been a physical manifestation…” The world started to dim around me, and I could feel my internal temperature rising as panic washed over me. “I just…I didn’t know how to broach the subject, so I haven’t and I still don’t know but…I think need to ask you a question and…well…have you been…are you…you know…late?”

My brow crinkled as my head tilted to the left. “Late? I don’t…what does that…late with, like, what? Or do you mean slow on the uptake or something, to which I’d respond with a resounding yes but I thought it was all the pressure but do you think I have dementia or a brain tumor or something? It’s okay, just say it…”

“Oh no. No, no, no.” He slid closer to me so our legs were touching. “Your period. Have you been late with your period. I know you’ve been expecting it, and it hasn’t arrived, and when I thought back, I don’t recall you having it for quite some time, so…”

Shaking my head, I put my Coke down on the floor. “By a few days, maybe. But my cycle’s been wacky since I went off the pill. Christ, you scared the SHIT out of me.”

He swallowed, wondering, I imagined, how to proceed because he obviously thought differently. I counted to ten silently, because for some reason I was fast on my way to becoming pissed off, then put my hand over his.

“Tom, I know, I can’t stand waiting for it to happen either, but it’s on my calendar and everything. I’ll go get my phone.”  I stood, then walked back to where my shorts were bunched up on the floor and dug the device out of my left front pocket. As I sat back down on the couch, I pulled up my calendar and swiped back to May. “Yep, there it is. May 27th. So yeah, I’m technically late but I went 21 days in March and then 32 in April or something, so…” And then I swiped back to April. And then I swiped back to March, then back to April. Then to May, then back to April. And then, my jaw dropped open and I REALLY started to freak the fuck out. He just sat there, expressionless, while I tried to wrap my head around what I was seeing.

“I…I…I can’t believe this. April. There’s nothing there. No data. Not. There. I think…I think I…now that I’m like, really THINKING about it, it does seem like it’s been a while since I bought pads and I think maybe I put April’s dates on the May grid and that means May was period-less and that means…I’m late. Like late…enough. Wow. WOW. This is CRAZY. Tom. TOM. I thought you were hallucinating or whatever and here I am trying to prove you wrong but you’re like, not wrong, I don’t think. Okay. We can’t be sure until I take a test, right? And I don’t think I can wait until after the reception to know. I need to know. Oh my god. CRAZY. Can I sneak out of here in this outfit and go to the drug store around the corner without anyone recognizing me, do you think?”

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. “No, I don’t think that’s possible. Honestly, I don’t know how we’re even going to send Luke or Simon or someone else we’re comfortable discussing this with to purchase a pregnancy test what with the media lurking all over. Even if they’re dressed in casual clothing.”

We were interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by Melanie Hale’s voice, inquiring softly.

“Maude? Tom? Is everything all right?”

Tom and I looked at each other, and I gave him a double thumbs up. She was a local, not as overly-adorned as the rest of us, and the press had no clue who she was yet since we hadn’t mentioned her on social media as part of our effort to keep the wedding details under wraps. And, since she’d not mentioned a blessed thing either, I had complete faith in her ability to keep a secret. I shouted for her to come in, and when she saw us sitting down she placed one hand over her heart and said some seriously magic words.

“If there’s something I can do to help, anything…please, feel free to ask.”

My face scrunched up as I spoke. “Weeellll…now that you’ve mentioned it, there is this one thing…”

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

After hunting down the lipstick shade Veronica had applied earlier and giving myself a fresh coat, I texted Simon and told him we were ready to have the bridesmaids and groomsmen join us back at the ceremony site for photos. Focusing on the task at hand was nearly impossible, my mind preoccupied with images of Melanie walking into a store, choosing a pregnancy test, paying for it, driving back to the hotel, then sneaking up to our room, using the key we’d given her to enter, and leaving it behind along with what she’d purchased as we’d planned. I attempted to estimate how many more shots the photographer would likely require before this session was declared complete and we were permitted to move on to the next one, all the while attempting to portray myself as a woman who’d just wed the love of her life, which I was…but now I was ALSO a woman who might be carrying his child, and trying to disguise the fact that the anticipation of confirming such a thing was driving me insane turned out to be a wickedly difficult challenge. Finally, it was over, and Tom and I headed to the same room the press conference had been held in yesterday to pose for the media outlets, all of whom had complied with our requests. A large backdrop had been positioned at the front of the room, a medium-grey gradient that was typically the first choice whenever someone specified ‘not the blue one’. They’d structured their positioning and rotation on their own, so all Tom and I had to do was smile and shift around to add some variety. One photog yelled ‘dip her!’ and I held my breath during the act, hoping I wouldn’t throw up at such an inopportune time. I didn’t, and even managed to spin around a little in order to make my skirt flare out without any repercussions. Tom had set his phone alarm, and when it went off, we thanked the group for respecting our wishes, then exited via the side door, closed it behind us, and held hands as we walked to the stairwell and up to our room. He released me to slide the keycard, and I followed him inside, then pushed past him to get to the gift bag on the bed. There was a card attached, written in Melanie’s overly-rounded cursive.

“Got you a few different kinds – that’s what I’ve always done. Fingers crossed for you!”

Melanie’s definition of ‘a few’ was six, apparently, because that’s how many there were, along with three plastic shot-glass sized cups. That she’d thought to use a gift bag to bring it all into the hotel was a testament to her thoroughness, and I stopped to seriously consider offering to pay the entirety of their college tuition for her kids, then decided that if Tom and I got and kept her name out there she wouldn’t need any help with that. At all. Tom’s arms slipped around my waist from behind, and I leaned back into him.

“Maude, I hope you won’t be upset with me if…”

“I won’t be. I’ll be disappointed…BEYOND disappointed…but I’m glad you brought it up. I had no clue. None. It might have been another month or two before I noticed, and this way, if I’m not pregnant and something else is going on, we can address it sooner as opposed to later. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. Let’s do this. I hope I can use those cups to pee in, because the odds of me landing any on the actual sticks are slim to none.”

Four of the tests were supposed to show results in three minutes, the other two in five minutes. And yes, cup dipping was an acceptable substitute for stream-to-stick. Even still, I took off the maxi-skirt and hiked up my dress as far as possible before I went into the bathroom in order to avoid any unpleasantries…as any woman who’s ever endured a urine specimen collection will attest to, at best, you’ll wind up with a little on your hands. At worst, there will be none in the cup when you’re done and you’re back at square one. I was really grateful for that Coke and the length of time that had gone by since I chugged it, because I filled those cups like a fucking champ, handing them one by one to Tom, who placed them ever-so-gently on the counter. I finished my business, washed my hands, and we each dipped three tests, one in each cup, placed them on the other side of the counter in a tidy little row, then went out into the main area to wait. Neither of us spoke as we stood watching the countdown timer on Tom’s phone he’d set for five minutes click off the seconds, and when it reached the two minute marker I reached for his hand, my own shaking so badly I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hold on to him. He grabbed, then squeezed as he exhaled heavily.

“Are you ready?”

“HA – no, dude. No I am not. But I think they can give false results if you wait too long so…”

He nodded, and since we couldn’t fit through the door side by side, we closed our eyes until we were both inside the bathroom. His voice echoed off the walls as he spoke.

“All right, open on the count of three, then…one, two…THREE.”

I counted two sets of pink vertical lines, two sets of blue vertical lines, one grey plus sign, and one ‘pregnant’ that I’d later insist blazed in neon purple showing through the little plastic window. Six tests, six positives. I counted once more to be sure, blurting out the very first thing that came to mind.

“Oh my fucking god, Hiddleston. You did it. You knocked me UP.” I turned to take stock of his reaction, but his face wasn’t where it was supposed to be so I tipped my head downward and discovered that he’d sunk to his knees and was white as a sheet. My jaw dropped, and I put my hands on his shoulders. “Babe, are you okay? You don’t look okay. Talk to me.” His head lifted slowly, eyes blinking rapidly as he started at me, his mouth hanging halfway open, still silent. “Tom?”

He reached out and wrapped his arms around my hips, then pulled me close, resting his head on my lower belly. In which I was growing a tiny human. I felt my body go cold, and as I began to shudder Tom rose, shifted the tests to the side, then picked me up and plopped me on the counter top. He placed his hands on the sides of my face, leaning in so his forehead touched mine.

“You’re pregnant.”

I nodded, his head moving with the motion as well. “I’m…pregnant. Pregnant. Is this real? How can this be real? Who finds out they’re pregnant in the middle of their wedding? Seriously. I mean…I’m pregnant. I…I can’t believe it. I really didn’t think it would happen, you know? And it happened and it’s like one miracle on top of another and I just…” I began to sob, full-body, noisy, grateful sobs. Tom leaned back and gently pressed my head to his chest, smoothing my hair, and I could feel his body heaving as he sobbed right along with me. As much as I needed to be as close as possible to him right then, the desire to see him was greater, so I leaned back and grabbed his lapels, still weeping as I spoke. “We’re having a BABY.”

“Yes. Yes we are.” He smiled through his tears and began to sing. “You’re havin’ my baby…what a lovely way…”

I screeched and covered my ears. “NO OH MY GOD NO TOM NO I HATE THAT SONG…”

He laughed, which made me laugh as well…at least until I remembered we had a reception to attend, and pondered if we should keep this news to ourselves, and, if we went that route, precisely how we were going to do such a thing while surrounded by all the people we’d be dying to tell.

[pkansa]

It was not all that long ago where we brought you word of a curious thing – a big Swiss brand (Alpina) flogging their watch on Kickstarter, of all places.  This was an oddity as we generally think of that platform for launching new brands, for raising capital, and so on.  Things that, ostensibly, Alpina is not (they’re established) and should not have a need of (being part of Citizen should have it’s advantages).  So, why this route?  The word was so that backers could help to finalize some of the design and app features.  From the earlier writeup we did, Eric liked what he saw so much that he backed the project (as did plenty of others).  Today, I’m going to talk with you about the time I spent with with one on my wrist.

When it comes to smartwatches that have from the Frederique Constant family, I’m rather familiar, as I’ve reviewed both the 1st and 2nd generation horological smartwatch.  Alpina has always been the sportier brother of the two, so it makes sense that they’d take that MMT technology in a much different direction.  The Alpina AlpinerX is very much an outdoors watch, one that we would normally classify as an ABC watch. Why ABC? Well, it’s because of the sensors in the case (here, it’s hiding between the lugs up at the 12 o’clock position).  The Alpina AlpinerX has an altimeter, barometer, and a compass.  Along with that, it also brings world time (aka second time zone), calendar, chronograph, a countdown timer, and, something I’ve not seen before, a UV sensor (got to quantify that sunburn).  On top of all of that, we’ve got the functions that the MMT-equipped watches have had all along, namely step and sleep tracking.  Last, but not least, there’s also a GPS-enabled fitness mode (which relies on your phone GPS) that I did not try out.  Oh!  And they hit a stretch goal that should allow a bluetooth heart rate strap to be linked in (I wasn’t able to test that function), for a more rounded fitness watch experience.

So, yeah, the Alpina AlpinerX packs a lot into it’s case.  If this were a traditional smartwatch, you’d expect to drain the battery in a day or two.  Not so with the Alpina AlpinerX.  One really nice thing with the MMT technology is that it’s expected to have a 2+ year battery life.  This is because the watch is not in constant contact with your phone (well, I suppose it would be in the GPS training mode).  Instead, it does what it needs to do on the watch, stores the data, and then syncs it on to the phone (which can then sync things to the cloud if you want, or in to Apple Health for a consolidated view).  While you can get barebones notifications on your wrist, it’ll kill the battery.  So, I’m ok with it not being constantly connected.  If you’re headed off for some backcountry hiking and climbing trip, you don’t want to worry about having to charge your watch every other day.  You do your thing, the watch does its, and then you can sync it up later on.

Of course, you can keep track of what the Alpina AlpinerX is tracking via the LCD display on the bottom.  By using the crown pusher, you can cycle through the functions, and see what it’s recorded.  Interestingly enough, the one thing you can’t see is a step count.  How long you slept?  Sure.  Current elevation or temperature?  Sure.  If you want to know how many steps you took, though, you do need to sync it and view it in the app.  Just an oddity for me, particularly when it will display your sleep duration.  On that note, the Alpina AlpinerX does a much better job of communicating when you’re in sleep mode (or any other mode, for that matter).  The addition of the LCD really shows why super-complicated non-mechanical watches benefit from a digital display of some sort.  Here, it’s clear what mode you’re in, and then you use the chronograph pushers to stop/start the cycle.  You can also set some sleep cycle alarms to try and have it wake you when you’re not in deep sleep.  This I did not try out either as it’s only auditory.  I’ve become rather accustomed to my silent (vibrating) alarm on the Fitbit One, so switching to something with noise has two problems.  One, I’m not sure if a watch chirp is enough to wake me.  Second, if it is, it would likely wake my wife as well, which would just be rude given how early I am generally getting up.

Functionality is only one part of the equation, even though the Alpina AlpinerX is heavily stacked in that direction.  If it’s not wearable, then you’ve got problems.  With a 55mm lug-to-lug measurement, this is no shrinking violet.  Yeah, you need room for all of the electronics and sensors, and it doesn’t feel overly large, or big for big’s sake.  It just is what it is, and will likely overwhelm smaller wrists.  If you’re looking at this as a workout companion, bear in mind that this is heavier than most fitness watches (at 98g), due to the construction of the case (steel + CF is heavier than all plastic).  However, if you’re used to a steel sport watch when you head off into the outdoors, then you’ll be a-ok.  While I may not care as much for the heavy branding on the rubber strap, I do rather like it’s deployant clasp.  They’ve done a clever thing with how you adjust the fit here as well.

Normally, if you’re talking a deployant on a rubber strap, you’re cutting things down to get a good fit.  Here, the Alpina AlpinerX instead relies on spring bars to get the right setting.  This gives you two points of adjustment – one via the grooves set at the end of the strap, as well as the holes in the clasp itself.  In other words, you should get a good fit that then remains consistent, without doing any sort of cutting.  I would not have minded a micro-expansion in the clasp that would give you some quick-adjust room as the day goes on, but perhaps that can be done in the future.

As you can see from the photos, the Alpina AlpinerX we had in on loan is through-and-through blue.  One presumes this extends to the other color options (on the various components), but Alpina really did a good job committing to color on this watch.  The bezel and clasp are of the same hue, and while the blue is not identical across the whole of the watch, they’re close enough to make things feel really consistent.  The only deviation from the navy-and-white combo we had in was the lighter blue used on the handset, but that makes sense as it helps them to stand out.  For telling the time, sure, using the lumed ends would be enough.  When you switch into, say, the compass mode (where the hands act as the needle) then you’ll appreciate the clearly-defined outlines of the hands.

Me, I like blue, so this particular reference of the Alpina AlpinerX worked well for me.  Given it’s size, I found this to be more of an office and casual watch.  Sure, it’s “dressier” than any other ABC watch you’ve seen before, but that’s just a relative thing.  If you’re suiting up, you’ll have a challenge making this one fit in.  However, for any other situation, the Alpina AlpinerX will fit in.  The question that remains then, for buyers, is if this is functionality you’ll want.  While KS backers got a good discount, the anticipated retail for the watch is $895.  For a smart watch, that could be a stretch.  For an outdoors-oriented ABC watch, that could be a stretch.  My take on it is to evaluate it on the outdoors capabilities, and consider the connectivity it has sort of the frosting on the cake.  If it fits with what you’d want from a watch in the outdoors, then by all means, give the Alpina AlpinerX a gander.   alpinawatches.com

[amazon_link asins=’B01N2G26PF,B01L92IGKS,B01NADWQV1,B0158VSDQS,B016A216M2′ template=’ProductCarousel’ store=’wristwatchrev-20′ marketplace=’US’ link_id=’362cfe48-4a44-11e8-a7cc-5fbcae8b3e05′]

Review Summary

Brand & Model: Alpina AlpinerX

Price:  $895 (anticipated retail)

Who’s it for? You want an ABC watch that isn’t screaming “let me tell you about my trail adventures!”

Would I wear it? On the weekends and camping?  For sure

What I would change:  I’d like to see step counts on the LCD, and I’d really like silent (vibrating) alarms

The best thing about it: The addition of the LCD makes for a much, much more usable Horological Smartwatch from the FC/Alpina family.

Tech Specs from Alpina

Reference:  AL-283LBN5NAQ6

Case:  Blue  glass-fiber  and  stainless  steel,  45mm  diameter  with  360°    BI-DIRECTIONAL  TURNING  COMPASS  BEZEL

Convex  Sapphire  Crystal

10  ATM/100m/330ft  Water-resistant

Engraved  case-back

Movement:

MMT-283-1,Horological  Smartwatch

All  connected  functions  operated  by  crown

2+  years  battery  life

Dial:

Black  dial  with  matte  finishing

Applied  silver  indexes  with  white  luminous  and  digital  screen

Blue  colored  polished  hands  with  white  luminous  treatment

Strap:  Navy,  rubber

Functions

Hours,  Minutes,  Seconds,  Date

Activity  Tracking

Sleep  Monitoring

Dynamic  Coach

Worldtimer  (2nd  Time  Zone  +  Local  24h  Time)

Smart  Alarms  (Get-Active  Alerts,  Sleep  Alarm)

Calls  &  Messages  Notifications

UV  Indicator

Altitude

Compass

Temperature

Time  Recorder  (Stopwatch,  Timer,  Workouts)

Barometer

Connecting up with the @AlpinaWatches AlpinerX #smartwatch #connected #outdoors #adventure #under$1000 It was not all that long ago where we brought you word of a curious thing - a big Swiss brand (Alpina) flogging their watch on Kickstarter, of all places.  

[iesika]

This is a companion post for my Hannibal fic What The Water Gave Me which is, as far as I know, the only fanfic ever to need a companion post about flood hydrology. On Saturday, May 14, 2011, while Hannibal was shopping in the French Market, the Corps of Engineers opened one quarter of the gates on the Morganza Spillway and flooded about 4,600 square miles of south Louisiana. In places the flooding reached 25 feet. This was in addition to the previous opening of the Bonnet Carré spillway Sgt. Germaine Grant mentioned in chapter 2, which flooded a stretch of land between the Mississippi River and Lake Pontchartrain near New Orleans. You might even remember Sgt. Grant telling Jack and Hannibal that they were in a record breaking drought at the time. How, you may be asking. Why? You should be asking. It's insane. The Why is such a big deal it might have actually started the Great Depression, reversed the main political parties of the US, reshaped the racial demographics of America's cities and created a musical genre.

This is the watershed of the Mississippi River. Every bit of water that flows from every bright spot on that map, from rain, drains, toilets, crop irrigation, whatever, eventually makes its way, like the world's grossest funnel, down, more or less, to a single point at Red River Landing, Louisiana, where the Red River meets the rest. Not too south from there, the Atchafalaya river splits away from the Mississippi. Over the last few hundred million years, the Atchafalaya and the Mississippi have wiggled all over the place, as rivers do, and at any given time, which one was the major outlet to the sea has changed. Rivers do a lot of predictable but unpredictable things, but the most predictable thing they do is seek the lowest ground and the easiest path. If there isn't an easy path the river will make one.

In 1927, due to heavy rains all over the watershed, the Mississippi River flooded 27,000 square miles up to 30 feet and displaced well over 600,000 people, mostly in Arkansas, Mississippi and Louisiana. Monetary damages were equivalent to about one third of the entire Federal Budget at the time, or, in modern dollars, over a trillion dollars. Crop failures were huge, driving up food prices nationwide. Let me repeat that. 630,000 internally displaced refugees within the US, within the last century. Did you learn about that in school? I took 2 Louisiana History at two different schools, then took three American History classes at a college in the flood zone, and I learned about this because I googled a Randy Newman song in 2005.

200,000 of the displaced people were poor black people from mostly rural areas, most of them one generation removed from slavery. Most of these folks had little to nothing to use to relocate or to live on, so they were herded into refugee camps where they were stuck with nowhere to go and minimal supplies until the water started to recede months later. Racial tensions were sky high, and the racial disparity in aid, rescue and support was extremely clear. As soon as the water was low enough, tens of thousands of displaced black families joined what we now call The Great Migration - they didn't have a home to go back to, so they went to the big cities, both in the south and, for the first time, up north. Anybody you can think of from the classic Chicago blues scene? Probably ended up there after being displaced by this one event. Mahalia Jackson, who I spotlit last chapter, moved to Chicago at this time as a victim of The Great Betrayal (man, the 1920s were Great, huh?)

President Coolidge put Herbert Hoover in charge of managing the camps, where he made a whole lot of promises and ended up president. When he didn’t fulfill any of his promises to the black refugees, the entire black voting block swung, more or less permanently, to the Democrats. Huey P. Long rose to power in Louisiana on a wave of socialist populism and probably would have been president a decade later if he hadn’t been assassinated in the middle of the capitol building. If you don’t know about the Kingfish, look him up, because holy fuck our country was almost really, really different. As for the Great Betrayal I mentioned?

Wealthy (white) businessmen in New Orleans arranged to dynamite a levee in Caernarvon, Louisiana, flooding areas of St. Bernard and Plaquemines Parish where tens of thousands of (poorer) people lived and worked. Reconstructions have shown this was pointless and New Orleans would have been fine, because so many levees had already breached in other locations. Basically no one was ever consulted or  compensated for loss of property and livelihood. So it's no wonder that, during and after Hurricane Katrina, there was widespread belief that the flood protections had actually been deliberately sabotaged to flood the lower 9th ward and save downtown. People remember when you fuck them over and they never trust you again. Every school I've ever attended would have been underwater during the 1927 flood, but I never  learned anything about this, or about how we've stopped that from ever happening again. Sit tight, it's nuts. Prior to 1927 levees were local projects and they were largely homemade by non-engineers. Surely one big pile of dirt is the same as another, right? But levee construction is an art and a science. Alluvial dirt wants to settle; the ground is wet and it wants to move. After the shitshow of the Great Floods, the federal government created the world's largest flood control project. This is what federal governments are for. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, those unsung superheroes, planned and built a carefully planned and, one hopes, carefully maintained series of interconnected levees, dams, floodgates, spillways, canals and wetlands stretching across that whole area in the top image, but mostly along the Missouri, Ohio, Red, and Mississippi and Atchafalaya Rivers. It's known as the Mississippi River and Tributaries Project (MR&T) The Lower Mississippi and the Atchafalaya Basin in particular got a complete makeover.

We'll start at the very bottom, because it's simplest. The Bonnet Carré spillway was built 12 miles west of New Orleans to divert the Mississippi around the city in case of very high water. This spillway controls what was a natural flood route for as long as we've been keeping records and is opened on a fairly regular basis - every decade or so. This was one of the first parts of the MR&T completed, just four years after the flood. It's a mile and a half long and runs alongside of the river. When it opens, a channel about six miles long is flooded, dumping the river directly into Lake Pontchartrain and the surrounding marshlands to save the more populated areas. Lake Pontchartrain is huge (home of the longest bridge in the world!) and it has a wide opening to the Gulf of Mexico, so it can basically absorb as much water as we could possibly throw at it.  Upriver a bit, things are a little more complicated. I'm not going to go super in-depth. There are numerous control structures connecting the Atchafalaya and Mississippi. The biggest and the one most relevant to our story is the Morganza Spillway, located in Pointe Coupee Parish, upriver from Baton Rouge. If the water gets too high, it will overtop and undermine levees, and the force of moving water becomes so great that it would just shred the other existing control structures, even if they are wide open to let the most possible water through. There needs to be another emergency safety valve to take pressure off the system. The Morganza Spillway is about a mile long, and when it's wide open it lets 600,000 cubic feet of water through per second. That's about half the flow of the entire Mississsippi river at moderate flood stage, passing through one man-made structure, under the control of a handful of human beings.

So in the worst possible flooding scenarios, as happened in 1927, in 1973, and in 2011, the ACoE opens a little gap in the weir. They've never opened it all the way - max capacity has never been tested. This is a projection map from 2011 for what the flooding would look like with the system running at one quarter of total capacity (which is the scenario that ended up happening). Because yeah, people live in those areas! The area's also farmed for timber and drilled for oil. There isn't much commercial fishing - that mostly happens in the Gulf - but there's fish farming, including crawfish ponds. Mostly it's protected or semi-protected wetlands occasionally dotted with camps. I'm not sure if that word is in common usage with the same meaning elsewhere, so just in case, a camp is a (usually but not always cheap or rustic) house or structure not intended for full-time residence, where one can stay for access to water or hunting. You actually have to get a lot of surveying and permissions to build anything anywhere on any body of water in south Louisiana, because the balance of flood control and wetland preservation is so important and precarious, so most of the places in this area will have been grandfathered in rather than freshly built. The Morganza Spillway has been opened twice, once in the 70s and once during this fic. There is a huge, eight parish long and wide river moving over land that's been dry or swampy and only sparsely inhabited for 45 years. Think of all the things it might pick up on the way to sea?

[losille2000]

A Saving Grace, Chapter 3

TITLE: A Saving Grace CHAPTER NUMBER: 3/? + Prologue AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH Henry/CHARACTER: Actor!Henry GENRE: Drama/Romance FIC SUMMARY: All press is good press, right? Not if you ask Henry Cavill. After recordings from a disastrous interview go viral, Henry’s life begins to crumble around him. He has no idea how to stop it from happening. Fortunately, he has a new assistant who could be his saving Grace. RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS: None yet. AUTHORS NOTES: Enjoy!

Chapters: Prologue - 1 - 2 . Also on AO3!

A Saving Grace Chapter 3

  They say the way to man’s heart is through his stomach. Grace’s mom never agreed with that adage and made sure that all her children knew the best way to a man’s heart was through the third and fourth rib. However, as of 10:13 AM October 3, 2017, Grace revised it further, having found an even better way to man’s heart—through his dog.  

 The dog was, also, practically the only thing Grace could find in the dossier about Henry Cavill that she could, conceivably, have in common with him. She didn’t like sports, or spending hours at the gym. She didn’t have parents who were still married, or a tightknit, productive family that defined the notion of WASP-y and the moderately wealthy. And she definitely wasn’t as well traveled or cultured as he was.

 She had poverty and an estranged father in prison. A mother who worked long hours at a clothing manufacturer until her fingers bled to support her children. Two of Grace’s brothers worked in construction as skilled carpenters, another had just barely graduated high school and was floating somewhere between becoming a gangbanger like his father, or a stand-up citizen with a legally paying job. Her sister, a high school senior and the designer of the fabulous blouse Henry’s dog had drooled on, wanted to go to design school next year, but Grace still hadn’t figured out a way to make it happen for her.

 What could they possibly have in common with each other, enough to reach some sort of tenuous working relationship? Well, other than their similar enjoyment of dogs. There was nothing. Literally, nothing.

 And yet, Grace thought, as she looked over at him: he wasn’t a different species. He was just a man, flesh and bone and hauteur, in need of a good cover. Something to hide his inability to filter his words and actions before he got himself into trouble. Just like her, really; what she portrayed to the outside world was not who she was. She carefully separated the sometimes-glamorous life of a Hollywood publicist with that of her home life, of the life of a first generation Mexican-American. Her sister and mother helped her hide it and package it in nice clothes, but that’s all it was. A shield. Her PR image, as it were.

 So, maybe, they did have more in common with each other than she’d originally thought.

 A voice, deep and careful, poked through her thoughts. “Are you coming?”

 Grace blinked and looked up at the tall, bulky man in front of her. She’d never been around someone who was large enough to make her feel small and delicate. But Henry Cavill did just that.

 “Yeah, sorry,” she replied. She shook her head, forcing herself to get her head in the game. While this wasn’t the place she wanted to be now, she needed to be present. She needed to wow Dany Garcia so she could make it out from under Dave and Elite PR.

 Grace followed behind Henry’s hulking form, staring straight ahead, watching intently at the way the corded muscles rippled along his back through the sweaty gray t-shirt as he walked.  He was gorgeous as fuck, she’d give him that, but she refused to allow herself to travel down that path. She wasn’t here to fall in love. She was here to work. And from their brief meeting outside, she had a lot of it to do if she was going to save his career.

 No, save him from himself. Also from that mouth that got away from him.

 He directed her into a giant kitchen that was as large as the three-bedroom bungalow she shared with the rest of her family. Dany sat on a stool at a large granite-topped island with papers spread out in a fan around her. Three separate cell phones rang different tunes begging to be answered first. It was impressive to watch her move through her work, shutting down something on one phone line, then talking politely to someone else about some movie deal she was organizing on another. And then, lastly, on the third line, threatening her daughter with punishment if she didn’t return by curfew that night.

 She finally set the third cell down and stood up to greet Grace with a bright white smile. “Graciela! It’s so nice to meet you!”

 Grace had been around this industry long enough to know when someone was putting on an act of happy politeness, but Dany wasn’t. She seemed genuinely pleased to meet her, and opened her arms for a welcoming hug. Even that was real, albeit light and somewhat distant with the knowledge that they really didn’t know anything about each other. In fact, Dany probably knew nothing about her. Grace had the advantage of an extensive Google search the previous evening.

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Ms. Garcia,” Grace said.

 Dany looked over her face, assessing her quickly and stepping away. “Ever call me that again and you’re fired. Just Dany is fine.”

 Grace laughed after she picked her plummeting stomach off the floor. Okay, she could deal with teasing. “Sorry, Dany.”

 “So,” Dany began, “Fred seemed pretty impressed with you after the meeting yesterday. Said you could hold your own against Dave without strangling him, which I admire.”

 Grace chuckled lightly, shifting the bag on her shoulder uncomfortably. Why was praise so difficult to hear, even for something so inconsequential?  She caught a glimpse of Henry out of the corner of her eye, flicking her attention to him for a moment. He had continued deeper into the kitchen toward the refrigerator where he’d procured an ice-cold water bottle.  She heard the snap of the cap seal and watched his perfectly shaped cupid’s bow lips close around the rim of the bottle to take a sip. He didn’t bother to look away from her as he gulped down half the water, his blue gaze boring into her with focused curiosity.

 It was difficult to differentiate the heat in his eyes as either hate or something… else. But she operated on the principle that it was at least dislike, because it’d been made clear to her that he wasn’t happy to have a nanny. She understood that much from the distasteful curl of his lip when they met outside and then when he insisted on dominating her about the stupid blouse.

 She cleared her throat and tore her gaze away from him. “I hope I live up to Fred’s and your opinions of me.”

 Henry can hate me, she thought. Having him like her wasn’t part of the job she’d been assigned. All she needed to do was keep him out of trouble, and maybe find a few things in common with him to make the next few months bearable in a professional sense.

 “I’m sure,” Dany said and pulled a thick black leather folder out of one of her bags. She slid it across the granite-topped island, but didn’t bother to look up before she began packing her other things. “Of course, you have the dossier from your agency, but this is all the nitty gritty information you’ll need. Numbers and security codes and passwords, where to shop, schedules, things like that.”

 Grace reached for the binder and flipped it open. The front page was nothing more than numbers and names, and from her quick glance, it was a literal who’s-who of Hollywood. Her stomach flopped. Even though she worked with these types of people all the time, she’d never been given a list like this and carte blanche to contact them. Her position at Elite wasn’t high enough to warrant it.

 Dany grinned. “Henry will fill you in on all the particulars about what he expects from you as a personal assistant, but he knows you’re really here for PR stuff. Right Henry?”

 A gruff mumble filled the room. Grace glanced in his direction. His lips pinched into a firm line as he focused on some invisible speck on the wall beside him, rubbing a thumb over it before turning back to them.

 “I wish I could stay longer, but I have a fire to put out at Paramount,” Dany said, shoving what was left into a bag. “If you have any questions at all, my information is on the bottom. Here’s your new email information. We can use your regular work one for PR stuff, but personal stuff, please use the Promethean address. There’s a Macbook in Henry’s office that his last assistant used, so you can go ahead and use it while you’re here. It already has the email account and other things set up so really it’s nothing to worry about.”

 Grace nodded, and looked at Henry again. Looking for some involvement from him. His expression hadn’t improved.  Didn’t he want to be a part of this? Why was he standing back and letting Dany handle everything?

 “Great, I think I’ll figure it out,” Grace said, dropping her own bag on the island.

 Dany laughed and nodded. “Of course you will, Grace. Fred was right. I’ve got a good feeling about you.”

 “Thanks,” Grace replied.

 And with that, Dany whirled out of the room, yelling her farewells. A few seconds later, the door slammed shut, leaving them in silence but for the whispering whir of the fridge compressor turning on to cool.  Grace closed her eyes, took a breath, and straightened her back. She had expected more introduction than this. At least a buffer to get to know her charge better.

 But she didn’t. Know him better, that was.

 She turned to him. “So…”

 He sighed. “Let me get cleaned up and I’ll be down to go over everything.”

 Before she could even reply, he disappeared. Henry escaped faster than Dany did, leaving her in a silent kitchen with a panting dog staring up at her expectantly.  Grace looked at Kal. He really was a handsome boy, just like his master. “Aren’t you going to follow your dad?”

 Kal licked his chops, practically smiling.

 “Guess not.”

 Grace turned to her new book and thumbed the dividers along the side until she found the one labeled “Kal” and flipped it open. There were instructions on feeding with the exact amounts, type of food, what sort of treats he liked, complete with photos to make it fool proof.  

 A second page had a list of veterinarians, both his regular vet and an emergency vet, plus a dog daycare, hotel, and groomer. This animal spent more time at the salon than she did, and that was saying a lot because she spent four hours every fourth week in a salon.

 The third page was all about traveling with the wooly bear and Kal’s designation as an emotional support animal. She’d already read about that in the PR dossier, but skimmed the information again; it still didn’t make much sense to her. Why the hell did he need an ESA? This man was wealthy, attractive—on the outside it looked like he had it all. Did he use the designation just so Kal could travel with him, or did he truly need him for support? And if so… why? Surely, he could use Kal’s friendship now, but before? Was he really that socially awkward?

 She grabbed the book and read as she drifted into the sitting room just off the kitchen. Grace surmised he must use the room a lot, based solely on the well-worn indents in the puffy couches and chairs; she understood why the moment she sunk into her seat. It felt like heaven.

 Kal crawled up beside her and laid his massive head on her lap, settling down and quickly falling asleep. Grace chuckled and ran her fingers through his soft hair, lightly scratching behind his ears. He was a good dog.

 Hopefully his owner would be just as good.

 Maybe occasional behind-the-ear scratches would work for him, too.

 The thought made her grin, but she turned back to reading through the information, refusing to allow the rest of her thoughts travel down that path.

  Henry quickly toweled dry and then threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, somewhat eager to return to his new assistant. Maybe he didn’t quite trust her, based on his first impressions, but Dany seemed excited to have her around. And he trusted Dany with his life—she hadn’t steered him wrong yet. So, he figured, he ought to give the new girl a chance. Even though it wouldn’t be easy, not knowing the reason for her new position as his ‘nanny’ and what she must think of him.

 He stopped at the bedroom door, turning back to his bed to look for Kal, where the dog usually slept while Henry got ready for the day. Kal was gone. Or, maybe, he’d never been up. There weren’t even dents or footprints on the comforter after the cleaning lady had been through earlier and made the bed.

 His stomach twisted. That dog and he would need to have a serious talk about loyalty if Kal was where Henry thought he might be.

 And he was.

 Traitor.  

 Henry found both Kal and Grace sitting in the family room. She’d slipped off her high heels and tucked her feet underneath herself in a position that still made her skirt seem ladylike—no small feat considering how closely the fabric clung to her thick thighs. Kal lay beside her, his big head in her ample lap, dead to the world.

 Her long fingers absently massaged the dog’s head as she turned a page in the Henry Bible, as his last assistant had called it, devouring it like it were some brand new bestseller. Maybe it was. His whole life—everything about him—could be found within those black-and-white pages.

 The thought that he could be reduced to a few pieces of paper and anyone else could assume the running of his life, humbled him. All he had to do was sit around and become some passive face. A brand, they tried to tell him, dressing it up and making it seem like it was all a good thing, with everyone else doing his work for him. All he had to do was show up, smile at the camera, say the right things, and he made all the money. It made him uncomfortable. It made him feel empty. Wasn’t there more to life than what could be contained in a few pages?

 Sure, he liked the perks. The money. The attention. The women. The innumerable ancillary incentives. But suddenly, for whatever reason he didn’t yet comprehend, none of it held the same excitement as it once did.

 He wanted to be authentic. To be himself.

 But what had happened a month ago—what that horrible reporter had shown the world—made it clear that the world didn’t want Real Henry. They wanted the brand. They wanted golden-hearted Superman.

 And that pissed him off.

 Grace stirred and pulled her feet out from beneath her, setting them flat on the ground. Kal didn’t bother to move, merely opening his eyes and looking up from his position. She laughed at him. Not only was she beautiful, but she had a dangerous laugh. A throaty, smooth one. It tickled the base of his spine, even, terribly close to a part of his body that didn’t need to be tickled. Not least of all by the woman sent to save his career.

 “What do you say, Kal?” she asked quietly. “Think your dad will mind if I give you a treat?”

 Kal’s ears perked up, suddenly interested.

 Henry cleared his throat to alert her to his presence. She didn’t startle. Instead, she turned to look in his direction. Henry shook his head. “He’s had enough treats this morning.”

Grace turned back to Kal, grabbing his head between her hands. She bent down and planted a big kiss on his forehead; Henry expected a smear of glossy pink lipstick to be left on Kal’s fur, but nothing transferred. When she pulled back, she stuck her tongue out and grabbed at the tip, pulling a bit of hair stuck to her mouth. “You certainly are a shedder, aren’t you?”

 “I have to brush him constantly,” he said. “Doesn’t help we’re changing seasons.”

 “How does that work when you’re traveling and he’s going all over the place?” she asked. “Does he ever acclimate to a location?”

 “Honestly, it doesn’t really matter. There’s still hair all over. Clouds of it floating all over,” Henry said with a laugh, feeling the tension ease in his shoulders. Maybe she wasn’t so bad, after all. She liked Kal. Kal liked her. There was a lot to be said in that. “And you’re covered in it again.”

 She glanced down at her lap and shrugged. “I’ll stock up on lint rollers.”

 Surprising, considering his initial expectations of her snootiness. She really didn’t seem to care about the mess, despite her outward appearance.

 “Fred told me to wear jeans and sneakers,” she said, as though reading his mind. “Don’t worry about it. I like wearing these clothes because it still makes it feel like a job, you know? Breaking down and doing jeans makes it seem like I’m just coming to hang out and I don’t want to get lazy.”

 Ah.

 “I can respect that,” he said, sliding into the chair opposite her. He leaned back and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

 He caught her looking him over, from his thighs up to his face.  It took everything to keep his mouth shut and his face impassive; he desperately wanted to lift a questioning, teasing brow at her to see what sort of reaction he might get.

 She bit her lip and blinked her eyes, clearing her thoughts. “So… should we get started?”

 “Sure,” he replied. “I’ll give you a tour in a bit, so you know where everything is. But first, I wanted to know why you were chosen for this. Are you a junior publicist? Senior?”

 Grace snorted. “No. But I’ve worked at Elite for five years now, since I graduated high school.”

 He guessed she was young, but he hadn’t thought that she was that young. Sure, twenty-three or so wasn’t that young—in fact, he’d dated women younger—but he was surprised to find that she’d been handed this task at her age and with her inexperience. It was a lot of responsibility, but he supposed youth would make the stress easier to handle.

 She continued. “I’m just a lowly social media specialist. Dave hasn’t promoted me yet, despite others promoted before me, but hired after. The reason I’m here is because I’m a woman and he sees me as expendable.”

 Henry frowned and sat forward, pursing his lips together. So they sent someone to him who probably had no experience in handling the very difficult, choppy waters of his fuck up? Lovely.

“Expendable?” he asked.

 “Since I’m also assuming some of your personal assistant’s job,” she said, “he thinks I’m suited for it because I’m a woman. You know, running errands, light cooking, taking care of a dog, catering to the whims of a man.”

 Ah, there it was. The high maintenance feminist coming out to play. “Maybe you were just redundant as a social media specialist so he was looking for a place to put you so you could stay employed.”

 “Or, maybe,” she said, straightening her back and growing defensive in body language, “he knew you were also a sexist jerk and I’d be able to stand up to you because I already deal with it every day.”

 “I’m not sexist.”

 Her perfectly shaped eyebrows practically shot up to her hairline. “Really? I heard a recording that would beg to differ.”

 He smacked his right palm flat on the table beside him, rattling the decorative vase sitting on it. Kal jumped up and looked at him. The dog moseyed over to him and sat at his feet, comforting his owner, doing his job.

 Henry took in a steadying breath. “Look, whatever you may think about me, it’s not true, okay? That reporter simply rubbed me the wrong way.”

 “There’s always an ounce of truth in any jest,” she poked back.

 He grimaced. “Look, I’m a traditionalist, yes, but it’s not like I’m stuck in the 60s or something. I like the idea of being the head of the house, the bread winner, and my mate being equal, but still… traditional. You know? I’ve had a lot of women I’m interested in lately thinking they can just ride my coattails without putting anything into the relationship, whether it’s in traditional gender roles or not. And when I ask them to maybe, I don’t know, meet me halfway through a traditional role—to contribute equally to our relationship and support me—they blow up. It reached a boiling point and I exploded on that reporter when I shouldn’t have. I’ll hate the moment I let those things come out of my mouth for as long as I live. Most of it wasn’t true and I would never, ever talk about women that way.”

 Grace was completely silent and eased back into her seat, folding her hands in her lap, watching him. Almost as though she were trying to intuit if he were being truthful. He hoped she heard his earnestness or saw it in his face. He hated the things he’d said in the heat of the moment, but he figured this conversation with Grace needed to happen if she was ever going to be fully invested in helping him save his career.

 “You might not ever talk about women that way, but that doesn’t mean you don’t think it,” she said softly.

 “That’s not true. Why would I hire Dany to run my business if I didn’t trust women?”

 Grace sighed, pushing the thought away for further inspection later. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. I’m here to do a job. To turn you back into box office gold.”

 He could see he still hadn’t won her over, but he figured that would come with time. As she spent more time around him, she’d learn. And he would try his damnedest to make her see that she was all wrong about him.

 Henry scooted forward in the seat. “How about that tour now?”

 He only hoped she—and the rest of the world—were wrong about him, just as he hoped he was wrong about her.

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Pride

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 4334

Summary: Simon and Baz decide to go to London Pride.

AO3

AN:  In celebration of Pride month, I decided to do a snowbaz Pride fic! Enjoy!

Edit: Earlier readers may notice the fic has changed a bit. I got some constructive criticism and decided to improve it based off that. It's still the same story at heart. I feel like it's better to improve it than leave it in a state I don't like.

Simon

“Baz?”

“Hm?” Baz cracks an eye open.

We’re sitting on the couch, both of us dozing off as we watch The Great British Bake Off. My head is tucked in the crook of his neck, an arm draped across his stomach. He’s got his arm over my shoulders. It’s a familiar, comfortable position we’ve adopted over the past year and a bit, which is probably why I feel safe enough to ask this.

“I was thinking...”

“That’s a first.”

I lightly smack his thigh, making him chuckle. “Stop being a prat and listen to me.”

“Fine, fine. What are you thinking about, Snow?”

I bite my lip. “I was thinking...maybe this year...if you’re cool with it...we could...uh, uh, I-”

“Spit it out, Snow.”

“IwasthinkingmaybewecouldgotoPridethisyear!” It comes out in a long stream of unintelligible syllables.

Baz furrows his brow. “I got none of that.”

I take a deep breath. “I was thinking...maybe we could go to Pride this year...” I wait for him to laugh or hit me over the head and call me a twit. Instead he just stares with wide grey eyes.

“You, want to go to Pride?”

I sit up and nervously rub the back of my neck. “Well, yeah, sorta. I’ve never wanted to go before but that was when I was more worried about the Humdrum than parades. And I didn’t know I was bi before. But it's been over two years since Watford and now I’m with you and I’m feeling relatively normal, so...it might be fun.” Baz keeps looking at me wide eyed. I’m redder than a tomato now, so I look away at the floor. “I-I don’t know it’s a dumb idea, sorry, I-”

“No!” I look up and Baz is shaking his head. “No no, it’s not dumb. It’s just...” He looks down this time. “It’s never something I’ve considered doing before. It’s not like I had much free time before either. Plus I was deep in the closet. Very deep in the closet.” We both chuckle at that.

I reach out and take his hand in mine, rubbing a thumb over the back of his hand. “So maybe it would be fun. You know, a day for being gay.”

He laughs heartily. “I think every day for us is a day for being gay.”

I shrug. “True. But it could still be fun.”

“Yeah, it could be.” He squeezes my hand. “Alright, let’s do it.”

I grin wide. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

I tackle hug him down onto the couch. He makes an “oomph” sound, but quickly hugs me back. I kiss up his neck to his cheek then peck the tip of his nose. He smiles up at me like an idiot, a rare thing for Baz. He usually likes to hide them because of some weird misplaced pride. He runs a hand through my curls, then leans up and kisses me. I melt into it, lightly holding his neck. Aleister Crowley, I love this man.

“Hey guys. I’ve got some cherry scon- oh for fuck’s sake! I can’t leave you two alone for two minutes can I?”

I pull away from Baz and chuckle. He groans and mutters something along the lines of "fucking come on, Bunce". I turn to grin at a very pissed off witch.

“Hi Penny,” I say as sweetly as possible. She has her hands on her hips, which pairs nicely with her scowl.

“Hello, Simon,” she grumbles. “Is there a reason you two are snogging on the couch after I explicitly told you not to anymore? Lest I would unleash a particularly nasty curse?”

I sit up, legs still around Baz’s waist. I throw my arms in glee. “We’re going to Pride!”

Penelope’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. “Really?”

I nod vigorously. She flicks her gaze down to Baz. He nods as well. Penny smirks.

“Well,” she says, “this is going to be interesting.”

It’s a week until the parade and Baz says I’m far too excited. I researched the perfect place for us to stand. I’ve got the date marked on the kitchen calendar with a rainbow sticker. Baz, Penny, and I all got work booked off for that day. Penny even got a little flag to hang on our door.

I’m walking home from work with a smile when I spot something out of the corner of my eye.

I stop in my tracks and pivot on my heels. They’re hanging right there in the shop window. And they’re bloody perfect. I grin like I always do when I have a bad idea.

“Oh Baz is going to kill me,” I whisper.

I go in.

When I walk into the flat, Baz and Penny are arguing over what pasta sauce to use for the penne.

“For Merlin’s sake, Bunce, vodka sauce is better in every situation.”

“Not everyone likes their food to be unreasonably sweet, Basil!”

Baz walks (more like gets shoved) out of the kitchen and over to me. He places a small kiss on my cheek like always.

“Hello, love,” he says, “what's in the bag?”

“I'll show you if you promise not to break up with and/or kill me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I'm scared to ask now.”

I reach into the plastic shopping bag and pull out what I bought. Baz’s eyes nearly bug out of his skull.

“Merlin and fucking Morgana,” he whispers, “you didn't.”

I grin. “I sort of did.”

“Did what?” Penny shouts from the kitchen.

“Come in here, Pen!”

Penny ducks her head out of the room, licking red sauce off her finger. I hold up my shirt. It's a baggy tank top with three thick stripes. Pink on top, purple in the middle, then blue at the bottom. The bisexual flag colours.

“It's wonderful, Simon,” she says with a grin.

“Baz, show her your’s!”

Baz groans and holds up the black t-shirt. In rainbow scribble-like lettering it says “I'm So Gay I Can't Even Think Straight.” Penny doubles over in uncontrollable laughter. Baz glares while I just smile.

“Fuck off, Bunce,” he grumbles.

“Oh I got you one too, Pen.”

I toss the white tee over to her. She lets it unroll and smiles. She holds in front of herself. It reads “Ally” in fancy rainbow cursive.

“Marvelous, Si!” She beams, then goes back to the kitchen.

“Got us all covered, huh Snow?”

I hold my tank top in front of us, grinning with smug self satisfaction.

“Yup. Thought we needed to look the part.”

He holds up his own shirt and sighs heavily.

“I cannot believe you bought me this. It's ridiculous looking.”

“Well, it's gay and sarcastic, just like you.”

He glares at me, and I smile softly, silently telling him he doesn't need to be so serious with me. That he's allowed to loosen up a bit. His face softens slightly and he leans over to kiss my forehead.

“You're so lucky I love you,” he whispers against my skin.

I reach up and brush some of his hair behind his ear, tracing his sharp jaw line. “I know. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

He must’ve drank a lot of blood earlier, because his cheeks turn bright red. I stand on my toes and kiss him softly. It’s a short, small kiss, but it means everything. I pull away to place my head on his shoulder again, wrapping my arms around him to hug him sideways.

He rests his cheek on my hair. “You better make this up to me.”

With lightning speed, I reach down and pinch his arse. He yelps and narrows his eyes at me, but his deep crimson blush betrays him. I just smirk.

“Don’t worry, darling," I whisper. "I’ll make it up to you all night.”

He’s about to make some sarcastic or sexy comment (either would be good), but the smell of burning tomatoes wafts in from the kitchen. He quickly pulls away and runs towards it.

“Bunce! You better not be burning my sauce, you culinary nightmare!”

The two descend into a flurry of yelling and banging metal. I pick up the black t-shirt Baz dropped in his rush to save dinner. I drape it over my arm and walk to my room. Got to put these in safe place before next week.

The sun is bloody brutal today, which makes me glad I’m wearing a tank top. Baz is wearing about three layers of SPF 50 sunscreen just to keep from burning to a crisp.

He looks like a bloody hipster, donning black ray bans and tying his hair up in a loose bun. He’s even got tight skinny jeans. (Not that I’m complaining.) He’s wearing the shirt too, of course. He has his arm draped over my shoulder, and I’ve got mine around his waist.

“It’s starting soon, yeah?” Penny asks.

She has a hand cupped over her eyes, trying to see down the road where the parade is supposed to be coming from. She’s got her Ally shirt pulled up tied with a hair elastic to create a makeshift crop top.

“It's too hot for a proper shirt,” she said earlier.

“Facebook said it was at 2:00,” I say. I look down at my phone, reading 1:58.

Baz sighs and hangs his head back. “It better bloody well start before I’m a pile of ash.”

I lightly smack his side. “Stop complaining, you fucking vampire baby.”

“Yes, Snow, I am a vampire. A vampire who burns very easily in sunlight.”

“I burn too, and you don’t see me moaning and groaning.”

He grumbles under his breath and looks away. I pull the brim of my red snapback down to better block out the sun. (Baz got it for me so I’d stop squinting.) Baz’s head perks up and he turns to his right.

I furrow my brow. “What is it?”

He smiles slightly, one corner of his mouth pulling up. “Here it comes.”

And right on queue, the sounds of shouting and cheering erupts from up the block. (Bless Baz's vampire hearing. ) It’s a massive wall of people walking in the middle of the road. They’re all dressed marvellously, wearing all different mixtures of colours. They yell and holler, waving their flags high in the sky. The crowd around us starts cheering right along with them. I grin wide enough to split my face.

“Whoooo!” Penny shouts. She jumps around and waves her arms. She’s loving this.

I quickly join in, throwing my free arm up in the air, whooping along with Penelope. Baz stands still. Of course the prat won’t join in. He still acts like a bloody statue most of the time, despite my hyperactive influence.

“C’mon, join in!” I yell.

He looks at me behind his shades without turning his head. “I’m not shouting like an idiot, Snow.”

“Everyone’s shouting, Baz. So right now you look like the idiot.” I nudge his shoulder. "C'mon, just give it a try."

He raises an eyebrow, then shrugs.

“Woohoo!” He shouts, throwing an arm up. Penny looks at him in disbelief, then at me. I shrug and join my cheering boyfriend.

The parade is absolutely incredible. Hundreds, thousands of people of all different kinds march down the road. There are floats with everything from drag queens to half naked people to TV stars. One of them tosses bead necklaces down. Baz catches one and turns to drape it gracefully around my neck.

“Looks good on you,” he says, twirling the green string string around his long finger.

I take his hand and kiss the back of it. “Thanks, love.”

He smiles, and he’s about to say something, when a spray of water hits him right in the left side of his face. I burst out laughing, as does Penny from behind me. He sputters and spits the water out. He takes off his sunglasses to wipe them on this shirt.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters. “You didn’t tell me there’d be water pistols.”

“Sorry. Though, soaking wet looks good on you.”

Baz glares and replaces his glasses. He turns away, crossing his arms and scowling. I hold his side tightly again, running my fingers up and down over the fabric of his shirt. He slowly relaxes.

“Thank you, love," he whispers.

I furrow my brow. "For what?"

He puts a possessive arm around my shoulders, pulling me towards him. “You always seem to know how to make me feel better. It's marvellous."

Heat spreads on my face. I feel embarrassed. I really shouldn't after two years, but when Baz says stuff like that, I feel like a stupid lovestruck teenager. (Which I guess I kind of am.)

He chuckles at my blush and kisses the top of my head. "Never stop doing that, please."

I nuzzle into the crook of his neck. He’s a bit warmer under the sun, but he always feels the same. He’s smooth and comforting and familiar. He feels like home. “Will do, love.”

We turn back to the parade. The roar of the crowd is near deafening, but it’s amazing. The air is filled with energy. It’s almost crackling with excitement. I feel accepted, because I’m among people just like me. All of it reminds me of being back at Watford, something I haven’t felt in over two years. And I absolutely love it.

“Hey, want a picture?”

We both turn. A man in a rainbow muscle shirt and very tight jean shorts stands a few feet in front of us, holding up a Polaroid camera. I turn to Baz smiling, and he relents. My secret weapon always works.

“Sure!” I say.

I lean my head on Baz’s shoulder and look at the camera. The device clicks and whirrs and spits out a square picture. The man shakes it out a bit and hands it to me.

“Hey! Leaving me out, huh?”

I turn to see Penny, her hands on her hips. I chuckle and gesture for her to come over.

“Mind taking another one, mate?” I ask.

The man nods. “No problem, bro.”

I sling an arm behind Penny’s neck. We all turn to the camera.

“Everyone say, ‘happy Pride’!” he yells.

“Happy Pride!” we shout in unison.

Another click and whirr and square. Penny takes it though. She shakes it out, then carefully places it in her satchel. I hold out our first picture, and she glares at me.

“I’m not your pack mule, Simon.”

I pout slightly. “Please? My pockets aren’t big enough. And I don’t want it to get damaged.”

She rolls her eyes and snatches the photo.

“Thank you, Pen.”

“Yeah yeah, you’re welcome, Chosen One.”

“Hey,” cameraman says, “there’s an after party later tonight. Feel free to drop in.” He hands me a paper. I give him a little salute goodbye and he runs off back into the crowd.

It’s a flyer for a party alright. “Pride Party” read in huge letters at the top. Then the name of a local club and a time. I look over to both Baz and Penny.

“Want to go?” I ask.

Penny nods. “Looks like fun to me.”

It takes a moment, but Baz shrugs and sighs. “I can’t see the harm.”

“Whoo!” I yell. “We’re going clubbing!”

They both roll their eyes at me.

The club is even crazier than the parade. The thumping electronic music is deafening. Pulsing multi coloured lights fly around the room. On the huge stage, a group of drag queens and scantily clad men and women dance. Baz and I are standing at a table near the bar while Penny gets us drinks. I’m tracing my finger up and down Baz’s arm. His eyebrows are close together and his mouth is a thin line.

“You doing okay, love?” I yell over the music.

“Fine. Just hankering for that vodka Bunce is supposed to be bringing.”

“You sure? We can go if you want.”

He holds my hand. “No no, I want to stay. Just have to get used to the environment, y’know? Loud music and vampire hearing don’t mix well.”

I squeeze him tightly. “Alright.”

“Gentlemen! I bring you booze!”

Penny sweeps in with the smug grandiose confidence I’ve come to expect from her. She holds three shot glasses filled with clear liquid. They have little rainbow stickers on them.

“These are adorable!” I say.

“Yeah, but they’re fucking expensive, so this is all we’re getting, boys,” Penny replies.

She raises her glass, and clink them together.

“To Pride!” We all say.

We simultaneously throw the vodka back. It burns my throat terribly. Last time I drank vodka was a few months ago. That ended up with me trying to dance on the bar and Baz desperately pulling me back down. It’s probably a good thing we’re only drinking one. Plastered drunk Simon Snow is a giggling, singing menace.

Baz whistles slightly. “That’s some strong shit, Bunce.”

“Hey it’s our first Pride,” she says, “we deserve to celebrate.”

“Can’t disagree with you there.”

A thumping techno remix of “Closer” comes on. I gasp and clap like a seal.

“I love this song!”

“I’m fully aware,” Baz replies, “you listened to it on repeat for an entire week.”

I tug on his arm. “C’mon let’s dance.”

He looks at me like I’m an extra special idiot. “Are you serious?”

“Look at this face.” I point at my furrowed brow and pinched mouth. “This the very serious face of man who seriously wants to dance to a Chainsmokers song with his boyfriend. So please?”

Baz glances at Penny, eyes pleading. She smirks and chuckles. “Sorry, Basilton, you’re not getting out of this with my help.”

Baz groans, and takes my hand. “Fine,” he says.

“Yay!” I drag him to the dance floor.

We push through the sweaty bodies to an open spot. I start jumping around and moving to the beat as best I can, (I'm not a good dancer). It takes him a second, but Baz joins in. He swings his hips with his arms raised up. Damn, he looks so good.

For once, I don’t feel completely out of place. In the rare cases we ever go dancing, we’re usually the only gay couple there. If I stand too close to Baz or put my arms around him, people give us strange looks, or worse, outright scoffs and sneers. But when I look around, there are two men without an inch between them, and two women their hands on each other. Baz and I aren’t the odd ones out. We fit in. I really, really love that feeling.

“What’s got you smiling so big?” Baz asks with a smirk.

I reach out and drape my arms around his neck, pulling him close to me. He holds my hips, curling his long fingers around them. I lean forward and tap my forehead against his. I move to the song along with him, swaying back and forth.

“Just happy to be here with you, love,” I reply.

I can feel his breath on my face as he chuckles. He pulls me closer until there's no space between us. His arms circle around me, enveloping me in his embrace, trailing his fingers up and down my back. Though his skin is cool like always, a warmth spreads over me. He kisses the mole on my neck, the one he always treats like a target.  I run a hand through his soft black hair. He kisses me more, trailing his mouth up and down my skin. I push my hips against him. It quickly dawns on me that I’m practically grinding on Baz, something we’ve never really done before, (not in public that is). But with the mixture of Pride excitement and that one shot of vodka, I really don’t care. Baz grinds down on me, lightly biting the junction between my neck and shoulders. I groan, my eyes nearly rolling back in my head.

“Baz,” I breath out.

“Simon.” His face is still buried my shoulder. I feel the vibration of his voice on my skin. It sort of feels like a question

I tug a bit on his hair, still moving my hips side to side. His jeans are rubbing against my cargo shorts and it feels bloody amazing. If he wasn't holding me up, I think I'd fall down right now. Crowley, I’m getting way too into this.

“Simon?” It’s definitely a question now.

“Yeah?”

He stops moving and slumps against me, letting his hands fall down at his sides.

“My head is killing me,” he groans. “Too loud. Can we go home?”

I chuckle and smooth his hair. “Of course, darling.”

We all stumble into the flat after a half hour tube ride. It's a miracle we made it up the stairs. Penny is barely upright she’s so tired, but it’s not like Baz is doing much better. He’s practically is hanging off me. If it wasn’t for my arm around his waist, he’d probably be on the floor. I'm the only one who's mostly awake.

“Crowley, I’m knackered,” she says.

She drops her purse on the couch and undoes her hair. It explodes in a big puff.

“Night boys. No canoodling on the couch, please.”

Baz merely grunts annoyedly in response. I just chuckle.

“Night night, Pen. Happy Pride.”

She flashes me one last smile before shutting her door. “Happy Pride, Simon.”

Baz is falling down, so I hoist him up more.

“C’mon, Pitch. Let’s get you to bed.”

I pull him towards my room. He’s dragging his feet, making my job much harder.

“For Merlin’s sake, Baz, walk! One foot in front of the other. It’s not too hard.”

He groans and starts to lazily walk. It’s like trying to move a very tall overly tired toddler. I kick the door open as quietly as I can. Baz takes the last few steps before flopping face first on my bed. I sigh and put my hands on my hips.

“Anything you need, Sleeping Beauty?”

He lifts his head up enough so his voice isn’t completely muffled. “I could use some water. I’m bloody parched.”

“Very well.”

He grins and flops back down. “Thank you, my prince Charming.”

I roll my eyes sarcastically. I walk to the kitchen whistling "Closer" softly (don’t want to wake Penelope). As I fill a glass at the sink, my eye catches Penny’s purse. The two Polaroids poke out through the top. Before going back, I snatch the pictures up.

When I return to my room, Baz is still laying face first on the bed, his long legs hanging off the side. I sigh and put down the glass and photographs.

“Baz, you’ve gotta move. You can’t sleep like that”

He lets out a muffled groan. “Watch me.”

I hang my head and sigh. “You so owe me.”

I take his trainers off first, tossing them on the floor. The jeans pose a challenge. Damn this man and his sexy unreasonable fashion sense. But soon they join his sneakers, leaving Baz is his grey boxer briefs. I spin his legs onto the bed. He shimmies up rest his head on the pillow.

“I know you love it, but do you really want to sleep in that shirt?” I ask.

Baz grunts and lazily starts to pull the t-shirt off. After getting his arms out, it gets stuck at the neck, and he gives up. He looks ridiculous, face down in a pillow with his inside out shirt covering his head. Ridiculously adorable, though.

“You’re pathetic.”

He feebly attempts to flip me off. “Fuck off, Snow.”

Instead of just laughing at him like I would’ve over two years ago, I do what a good boyfriend should, and finish pulling his shirt off. He smiles sleepily at me and buries his face in the pillow.

“You still want the water?”

“M-hm.”

“Then sit up. Not going to have you spill it all over my bed.”

He moans, but does what I ask, leaning his back against the wall. He lazily takes the glass from me.

I make my way around the bed towards my side. I tug off my sweat drenched tank top and put it on my dresser along with Baz’s shirt. My shorts and sandals quickly hit the ground. I plop down on the mattress in my boxers.

I’m holding the Polaroids. The one with all three of us is great. Penny and I are grinning like idiots. Baz has a slight smile. It’s nothing compared to the other photo. Baz is smiling so wide it nearly reaches his pointed ears. His usual prideful disdain seems to be gone. He just looks happy, holding me close. I wish he’d let himself look like that more often. But I’m glad he at least looks like that with me, especially on a day where we're supposed to be proud of who we are.

I look over as Baz is finishing his water. He lets a satisfied “ah” and puts the glass on the table. He gives me an exhausted half smile.

“Have fun today, love?”

I smile back, nodding slowly. “Yeah, most definitely. What about you?”

He sighs and sinks down onto the bed. “Absolutely. Got to be loud and queer. What’s better than that?”

I put the photos on my side table and sink down with him. “Nothing, obviously.”

Baz hums in agreement.

I drape an arm over his chest and move closer. “We should do this every year, now. ”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I like it. Being out there. With you.”

I smile and squeeze his shoulder. “Me too.”

He turns over to face me. I can see a hint of beautiful grey under his mostly closed eyelids. He’s smiling in a relaxed way, too tired to hide his emotions. He leans forward and gives me a small peck, running a hand through my hair. In this moment, we truly seem like a completely normal gay couple, just resting as we come down from Pride high. Lying there, foreheads together, half naked, completely knackered, and utterly content.

Baz cups my jaw, moving a thumb over my cheek.

“Happy Pride, Simon,” he whispers.

I place a hand on his back and pull him closer. Our noses brush against each other. We grin like two very exhausted, very happy idiots. It feels like the perfect end to a perfect day.

“Happy Pride, Baz.”

AN: Hope you liked that! I'm not from London but I've been to Pride parades so I based this off my own experience. My first Pride, I wasn't even out as queer. I am out now though. Incredibly so. You can ask my lady friends ;) My first out Pride was amazing. I really felt like I was part of a community, surrounded by people just like me. I tried to capture that feeling as best I could. I think Simon and Baz, one unknowingly in the closet and one torturously deep in it, would feel similar to that. Again, hope you all enjoyed it :)

These are shirts I based everyone's off of. (Though I made Baz's a t-shirt because long sleeves at Pride=death)  

Baz

Simon

Penny

[ladytrollfishes]

Daginy: Play Chess

“Chess?”

You look at the purple board that has materialized in front of you, different pieces of different shapes arranged in neat rows in front of you. You know it's a game, a game that's so familiar to you, you're pretty sure you know how to play.

You look back up at Vadaya, whose conjured up a tall enough chair that you can sit level, and a small stand to set the board up. He's looking at you intently, and you think you can read him well enough by now to say, he's excited. As excited as he gets at least.

“I...” you say uncertainly. “I think I know how to play. I don't remember very well.”

“I can teach you,” he says. “What do you remember?”

You sit forward and pick up the purple construct pieces, their names coming back to you as fiddle with them.

“A pawn?”

You set it down in place on the board.

“Moves one square at a time.”

Vadaya nods, then pulls your pawn forward another square.

“Except you can choose to move forward two squares on your first move,” Vadaya says. You nod, the rules unfolding in your mind as he speaks. “And when you capture with a pawn-”

“-you can only move diagonally,” you say. “Except the en passant. Second move of a pawn that's moved forward two squares. Can capture a piece next to it by moving diagonally.”

Vadaya nods.

“An obscure rule,” he says. There's a lilt in his voice that is as impressed as he gets. “I'm surprised you know it.”

You shrug your shoulders and grin sheepishly. “Well I can't say I remember how I know.”

He smiles his small smile, shuffling forward in his seat and leans closer towards the board.

“Start from the outside in,” he says. “We can tune up your knowledge of the rules.”

You do, and you manage most of them. The way the knights move trip you up momentarily, but you catch up very quickly.

“Black or white?” He asks.

The two sides are the exact same color- purple- and you snort. He's made the two sets look different- one of them is a slender set, using curved lines, the other one much bulkier, each piece a block with a letter carved into it.

The board itself is purple too, and you can't tell what square is what.

“Here,” you say, and focus a little, and the board washes out in black and white. You take the slender set it pales to white, the other, black.

It takes a little focus to maintain, but it's not so bad. You glance up at Vadaya, who nods approvingly.

“Good practice,” he says. “Shall we?”

–

“Mate in one,” Vadaya says quietly.

You squint at the board. This wasn't even near the end of the game yet, but he's got a much better position on the board. He moved his queen straight up near the center, pushing near into the center of your flank.

You glance up at his face warily. He's got the bottom half of his face obscured by his hand when he catches your gaze, and raises an eyebrow.

He's up to something definitely. You eye the board again, and note that his queen can thread past your defenses, take your rook and start eating up your pieces from there. It's not the checkmate, but you cautiously shift your rook to the only space you can.

You look back up at Vadaya, whose eyebrow is still all the way up his forehead.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You shake your head quickly.

“No,” you say. “But go anyway.”

He gives you a sidelong look then takes his queen and pushes it in right next to your king.

“Checkmate,” he says and you gasp.

“No!” you exclaim, picking your king and tapping the top of his queen. “I can still-”

“Look closer,” he says, and you do. What's keeping your king from just taking your queen? You look, and a bishop spies on the square from all the way across the board.

You groan, throw your hands up in the air.

“Again,” you demand.

There's a twinkle in his eye, just the hint of a smile as he obliges, the pieces all disappearing momentarily and blinking back into their original places with a bit of psi.

“Black or white?” he asks. You wash out the board accordingly.

–

You squint at Vadaya as you trade queens.

“Are you going easy on me?” you demand, frowning.  

You're picking up the game quickly, but you're not evenly matched. Vadaya set up his pieces much more effectively than yours, and he's using it to good advantage with long lines of sight for his pieces.

You sort of expected him to wreck you in a matter of moves, like he did the first few games, but you've been playing defensively, blocking his range with protected pieces, wrestling for territory.

Vadaya shakes his head, a wry smile on his face, shifting to lean forward and take your queen in return.

“I don't go easy,” he says. “Make your move.”

You manage to drag it out until he's down to only his king, a rook and a bishop, but you only have a knight. He corners you on the board and you groan loudly, cross your arms and pout.

Vadaya actually chuckles- chuckles, and you lose the pout, grinning back at him, delighted.

“You've been improving quickly,” he says. “Perhaps you will one of these games you will beat me.”

“Again,” you say.

“Black or white?” he says.

-

You chew your lip as you examine the board. You had a decent opening game this time, taking the center section of the territory, and the game had played out from there. Vadaya would make encroachments on your territory, and you defended, and the board got locked down.

“You play too defensively,” Vadaya says. “You need to make sacrifices.”

It's true- there are too many pawns on the board. You're not sure what he saw, but you're certain he's seen openings you didn't take.

“Yeah,” is all you say in return, as you stare down at the board, chewing on your thumbnail. You hesitate, then move a pawn outside of the protective chain, leaving it undefended.

It opens up your bishop to actually move, and the loss of the pawn won't hurt you- you're pretty sure.

The game opens up, and when Vadaya moves, he moves confidently to crush all your defenses, worming his way to victory.

You take a long stare at the board, trying to figure out where you went wrong.

“Again,” you say, and he chuckles.

“I am sorry, Daginy,” he says, and the board disappears. “I believe I'm out of time. I must get back to work.”

You sigh, disappointed, but smile wryly at him. You played at least a dozen games and you lost them all. You're going to beat him eventually.

“We'll play more the next time I visit,” he promises you. “You're improving very quickly.”

“I had fun,” you say with a nod.

When he leaves you draw up your own illusory chessboard and play yourself. You need to practice after all. If you’re supposed to be smart- if that’s the reason why you’re here-- well. You’re going to beat Vadaya. 

–

You spot the opening. You grab your chin and force yourself to look contemplative, so you don't give yourself away.

Vadaya moves his knight up into your ranks, taking the bait of the knight fork- you don't need your queen for this-- you grin, moving your bishop into place.

“Check,” you say.

Vadaya glances up at you, and you grin back at him.

“Ah,” he says, moving his king back one square. You take your rook and deposit it on the back line.

“Checkmate!” you crow, throwing your hands up in the air. Giddiness bubbles up into your throat and you laugh, clapping.

Vadaya smiles at you, really smiles.

“Congratulations,” he says. “It only took you three days.”

You gasp, and laugh delightedly. He's teasing you.

“I'll beat you again,” you challenge him, plucking his king off the board and shaking it at him. “This? This is mine.”

The construct dissolves in your hand, and it only takes you a moment to replace it with an illusion. You wiggle your empty fingers at him.

“Nice try,” you say, putting your other hand over your mouth to stifle the giggles.

Vadaya shakes his head with a chuckle and resets the board.

“I see you relish your victories,” he says. “Let’s see if you can claim another one.”

“Black or white?” you ask.

He wins that game-- but you win the next.

[wired-novel-blog]

Chapter one

It had all started out pretty simply. A dead pet, needing a replacement to fill the void of loneliness. So...how was she here?

”Simple. You're here because you need someone to fill that void in your life Mittens left.” Minnie practically beamed.

"You're awfully cheerful, considering we buried my cat this morning. In the rain.” That was me. Minnie's best friend. Only I knew her real name, but she got nicknamed Minnie after it came out she could do a flawless impression of the overly pink clad mouse.

“Mittens was so old even the neighborhood dogs left her alone. She's in a better place, where all cats who scratch people just trying to help them go.” Minnie was overly pink clad herself as well, usually. Today she wore a sleeveless white button up tucked into one of her favorite skirts, a color change knee length that looked like it was made of a flowing metal.

“Min you ever worry that that skirt of yours would turn blue when you fart?” I was trying, my head still hurt from all the crying I'd done at the cat funeral.

Minnie only rolled her eyes and chose not to comment. But if she didn't know I wasn't in the mood to argue, she would have mentioned something along the lines of a lady never farts.

“So explain to me again what your issue with this store is? And why its such a big issue that we're standing outside despite the very threatening rain clouds?”

In terms of the company, this store was small. Just a little shop that sold the old and used, the damaged, the discounted. Androids.

“I think its just another kind of slavery. But this time instead of dark skin light skin, its real skin synthetic skin. It just feels wrong.”

Minnie scoffed, the sound somehow ladylike coming from her. As though it were directed at a cookie that didn't go with the tea she selected, rather than my beliefs.

“You don't feel the same guilt when you open Sirius to ask a question and then shove her back into your pocket.”

“Sirius is a program on my phone that literally everyone has to ask questions. This is different. These things...they have bodies, minds, personalities. It feels wrong to just go and buy one. On top of that, you're asking me to spend the savings I put aside for a car.”

“Lil You're sort of buying a person. I mean not to make the moral aspect worse, but you're paying for a living being that will love you unconditionally. And when you're old and gray, you can turn it it, and get whatever its worth to leave to your kids, or say your best friend.”

“Says the best friend who already has two parents working for the company selling these things.”

“They want me to get a job this summer, I'll be cut off at the end of the school year. Lets go inside, at least look at a few. Who knows, you might meet a cute boy and take him home.”

“You'd better be referring to one of these over-sized barbie dolls.”

“Of course, of course. Come on, its getting windy.” Minnie's expression was one of pure innocence. How did she manage to do that?

The inside of the store was warm in contrast to the brewing storm outside. The smell of coffee from a machine in the back meant to make the business more inviting hit me as soon as we got in the door. It took me back, to old bookstores with free coffee, a live band playing on a stage made by the store owner. People sitting around enjoying the atmosphere, the small town feel that made me feel cozy and familiar anywhere in town.

I was instantly brought back when the door opened again, a couple attempting to get past me bringing in the smell of big business. The reek of smog, which seemed to be everywhere in Angel city. Of course the residents were used to it, always smelling it, taking the smell home with them on their clothes. No one was bothered by the constant presence of asphalt and smoke, they thrived in it like fish in the ocean. I missed the ocean. The pleasant little town on the coast, one I would miss for the rest of my life.

“Lily, you're blocking the entrance.”

“Right. Sorry.” I half slid on the floor trying to get out of the way. The manager shot me a look, mud smeared across the floor where I'd nearly done the splits. That was how Angel city worked. It didn't matter if you fell, only how much of a mess someone else had to clean up from you getting hurt. If not for Minnie I'd never make it here. Before we met I was a mess of walking into bike lanes, thinking people with Bluetooth were talking to me, and even once walking into a club ironically named The Library and finding out there were no books there. I missed the small town friendliness, the way people would just help each other out. They all knew each other, they were all family. Now, feeling the cool air on my back as people came in, pretending to look at product to get out of the rain. I felt a twinge of longing. Why did you have to buy something to stay dry until the storm passed? Why not wave hello to the shop owner, share a laugh about the sudden torrent of rain? I walked around to make the appearance that I was still fully there, not off on the coast somewhere dreaming about warm waves and caring people. The sound of quiet chatter fell away. The dim buzzing lights of the back room drowned it out. The musty smell of cardboard and discarded instruction manuals was almost enough to take me back again, if only the coffee would reach it I could close my eyes and delude myself that I'm home again. As the coffee smell finally reached me I smiled, letting my imagination take over.

I was home, sitting in the bay window watching the bees scuttle about to be finished before the sun would set.

“You know I don't like you sitting in that ramshackle addition, Lily. It looks like it could fall right off the house at any moment.” Mom was always worrying, it was what made her mom.

“I'm not bouncing or anything, and besides if it was going to break it would be creaking. And its never broken before. Dad made it sturdy.”

“Your father doesn't make things study, he makes them quickly. That window is hardly up to code.” Mom was a contractor, she worked for some fancy company up in the city, part of the Ark conglomerate. She left on business trips a lot, it was up to dad and I to keep the house standing while she was gone. Dad did basic construction, that's how he and mom met.

“Okay, I can watch the bees work tomorrow. When does your flight leave?” It was a tradition to make her a nice breakfast before she left, all started on a joke that airport food was terrible and expensive.

“I'm actually driving this time, its only to the border of Angel.”

“What's going on at the border?” The border had been crammed with homes and businesses, everyone trying to get a taste of the city without paying to be close to the center. There was nothing else to cram into the border. Certainly no large businesses buildings.

“I'm actually going to see a doctor there. A specialist.”

And that was the beginning. Ark had failed to provide her with proper breathing equipment when she went to a site, her requests for them finding the bottom of a stack of requests. A simple error in paperwork. When she came back she had a bunch of medical equipment, and doctors hired from the companies she'd worked for in hopes she wouldn't sue.

Of course she didn't sue, my mother was a good soul who loved to help others. Her only condition was a settlement, enough for dad and I to live on after she was gone.

“Excuse me.”

Once again I was yanked back to the present, but not by an angry stranger or Minnie. It was a boy, about my age by the looks of him. He looked grimy and kind of gross, covered in dirt and oil stains. He wore a fair amount of leather, though none of it matched. A faded black leather jacket, cocoa leather gloves, and leather combat boots that might have been dark brown at one point, but looked almost black. With a dirty oil t shirt and equally dirty and oil stained jeans, he looked like a homeless mechanic. And I  was standing over him, staring down like an idiot.

“Yeah?”

“You're standing on my cards.” He was right, my muddy rain boots were on top of what looked like a game of solitaire.

“Oh I'm so sorry, that was all my fault.” I stepped back, some of the cards sticking to the bottoms of my boots.

“Oh no, no need to apologize. Not like I'm a human being or anything.” Where did the sudden attitude come from?

“Look I'll buy you a new deck, there's a corner store near here.”

“Stop. I've got an extra deck. There are a bunch back here, from back when this hole sold little gift shop gifts to advertise.”

“Oh...well. Um, I'm still sorry, is there anything I can do?”

“You can get out of the storage room.” The manager who'd glared at her before for making a mess now loomed over her.

“You're not supposed to be in here, little girl. Especially talking to this defective droid.” It didn't matter if he wasn't a human, though that did explain his rude comment. No one was defective.

“Well I'm interested in buying him.” What? That wasn't what I meant to say at all.

“Uh huh. You want this defective droid you don't even know the model of.”

“I do. I want him. I have an Ark card.” Part of the deal, a card that could be charged without limit, in case of emergency. This was an emergency, right? This kid looked miserable.

“No need, he's not for sale. The best you can do is sign the paper claiming ownership of him. Ark won't sell a broken product.”

“So he's free.”

“Yeah.”

“Then I'll take him.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Fan-freakin-tastic.”

[poeticandvaguelysweet]

Prompt #163 - To Build a Home: Paint

@pawnees : Claire and Owen are painting their new apartment and end up having a paint fight. 

yet another old and long forgotten prompt finally finding time to shine. Some prompts are harder than others and although this was fairly simple, I had no voice for it before now. 

tweaks:  - not really a paint fight - their new house instead of an apartment

AO3 - To Build a Home

PAINT

Claire wasn’t lying when she said she was skeptical about Owen’s ability to finish the house. She knew he was capable of making the changes he wanted to make and if he wasn’t; Owen promised to call in the professionals before anything was broken or anyone got hurt.

He spent two weeks going over the floor plan with her. Claire wasn’t half as interested after the fifth time; she told him what she wanted and knew he would deliver it without disappointing her. He scribbled, making plans as HGTV played on the TV screen in front of him, boosting his ego and simultaneously defeating it.

They had three months on their rent and within that time he had taken the bare bones they bought and padded them with a little muscle. Not everything was complete. Owen jumped between big jobs, ensuring there was enough there that they could live until he finished the rest. He hired help for both the kitchen and all three bathrooms. Owen did the master bedroom on his own, building Claire a walk in wardrobe worthy of murder, as he ensured the office space downstairs was up to scratch. She helped where she could, pre-coating walls, painting skirt boards, ducking in to bring him lunch, or cheering him on. Barry helped when he could, making sure there was no wall left un-plastered and that Owen had the ceiling sheeting in properly. Claire was confident they spent more time cracking open beer bottles than actually working but with two weeks before their rent was up; she was pleasantly surprised at what they had a achieved.

He was shirtless when she walked in the door, swapping her heels for comfortable sneakers; unable to walk barefoot around what Owen still considered a construction site. The dump bin was removed from their lawn the morning before marking the offical end of Owen’s beloved demolition stage. He greeted her with a large smile, chest heaving like he was out of breath.

‘God, I love you.’ His grin widened, eyes zeroing in on the boxes of pizza in her hand, carton of been balancing on top. She smiled, knowing his reaction would make the man putty in her hand. Claire accepted his kiss, Owen clapping his dirty hands together before he slid his grip around her waist. ‘You’re too good to me, honey.’

‘I know.’ Claire followed him to the kitchen, dropping the food onto the kitchen island as she heaved a sigh. Her finger ran a line in the dust that had built up on her brand new counter.

Owen kissed her cheek in a soft apology, his hands already in the pizza box. ‘I’ll get some industrial cleaners to come in ‘ere when I’m done.’ He promised easily, despite knowing they would already have been living in the space for goodness knows how long. He tried to clean as he went, from room to room, wiping down excess dust and shooing it away. Construction came with more mess than Owen was prepared to deal with. ‘Went to the hardware today.’ He grinned at her, Claire offering a small smile in return. There was hardly a day where Owen didn’t go to the hardware. ‘Picked up those paint colours you wanted. Thought we could start on the master tonight - get it ready for next week.’ Long gone were the nights they curled up with a movie. Every spare second was spent on the house. Claire loved it.

There was something simple and pure she adored about working by his side. Owen was a man of few words, but he never failed to praise her. Claire was confident that she could paint a wall without his encouragement, she enjoyed it none the less, happy to listen to the man put her on a pedestal.

They ate their pizza at the island, Claire taking small bites as Owen gulped down one piece after another, mumbling between swallows the improvements he’d made and the plans for the following week. She had already organised for the bulk of their furniture to be moved to a storage facility with intent to sell it or move it into the house once the corresponding room was finished. Everything was falling into place. A few coats of paint and their bedroom was finished. She was giddy with the thought.

‘I know you wanted the grey through all four rooms, but I picked out something lighter for the spare .’ Their colour scheme was basic, grey, white, and black accents on the door hinges and taps. Claire wanted grey on their bedroom walls, white skirting, wood furniture. She wanted the same throughout the house, but the fourth bedroom was making Owen hesitate. She knew why. Grey was too dark for a nursery; not that either of them spoke about it. He hinted, as subtle as a brick to the back of the head, Claire avoided all discussion.

‘We can paint it later.’ She offered, knowing the grey was going to be hard to conceal.

Owen shrugged, pushing away from the kitchen island as he moved towards the small stack of paint tins he had collected. ‘Just thought, I could eliminate some work for myself.’ He smiled, kissing her cheek as he moved past her. They both knew, no matter the outcome, months or years from this moment he would be wearing an old pair of sweats and a ratty tee, coating the spare bedroom walls in baby blue or green.

She followed him, watching the exposed muscles of his back flex as he carried the paint tins up the stairs. ‘Go on, show me the colour.’ She gave in, knowing he would only do as she said. She had to give him a chance.

He deposited the paint tins, smack in the middle of their wide and empty bedroom, free hand reaching into the back pocket of his jeans to pull out the swatch cards. The difference was subtle, when seperate, paired together it was loud. Claire’s grey was dark, brooding and sensual, it struck mood in her heart and home in her head. Owen’s was light, soft, as delicate as a small bird’s feather. It wasn’t white, but it wasn’t her grey either.

Claire hummed, ‘You really want to do that in the spare?’

Owen raised his shoulders. ‘I don’t know, it was an idea.’ It was times like this she wanted to strangle him. He didn’t commit, didn’t take the idea and completely own it. He was waiting for her approval before he surrendered it as his plan all along. ‘Yeah, I mean, I thought it would lighten up the space, make it different from ours. A little more calming. Might work better for the boys’ rooms instead of the darker colour.’

She nodded, rolling the idea around in her head. ‘Okay.’ She handed back the swatch cards. ‘But, not tonight. I want my suite finished first.’ She was itching, bouncing on the balls of her feet to have the paint on the falls finally.

‘Yes, boss.’ Owen teased, on his knees as he popped the first lid open. ‘Go change your clothes, I don’t want paint on your power suit.’ He teased, shooing her away with a hand on the back of her calf, promising there was a change of clothes in their empty closet. ‘Do you want me to do the edges?’ He called out, watching her back disappear.

‘Yes please, your hands are steadier than mine.’ She had already proven to have a shaky grip when the moved from room to room, cutting in the skirting boards in Builder’s White. Claire, surprisingly, made a mess. ‘Ugh,’ She groaned, voice travelling to him from behind the wall. ‘Promise me we can use the bathtub tonight.’ Claire had been near begging since it was installed, time and comfort intervened.

She reappeared in nothing but his shirt hanging a few inches below the curve of her ass. ‘Definitely.’ Slipped from his mouth, without filter, Owen salivating at the sight. ‘You know there are other clothes there for you.’ She nodded, telling him that she preferred to wear his. He wasn’t going to complain, not when her long legs were on show, practically tempting him to give up on the painting game she was desperately looking forward to. Owen slid a tray filled with paint towards her, pointing to the wall behind him. ‘Just paint as far as you can reach, give me a few inches between the top and bottom, I’ll cut ‘em in when you’re done.’ He smacked her ass as she moved past him, accepting her job dutifully.

Claire worked as hard at construction, as she did business. Every instruction was taken on board, the woman readily accepting Owen’s guidance as he instructed her with the paint roller. With his phone connected to a bluetooth speaker, they painted in relative silence. Instead of starting on a different wall, Owen ended up beneath her, man lying on his side to paint a steady line between the end of the wall and the top of their already painted skirting. His face was drawn in concentration, inching across the wall with his favourite brush in hand, as Claire stood a foot above him, on a step stool to help her reach the top of their high walls.

He felt something wet touch his arm, the feeling slight as he tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the very small space he had to work with. Claire’s rolled slid up and down the wall, the familiar sound sticking as it moved. He felt it again, cold and wet, almost as if he had been licked. He didn’t move. ‘Claire?’ The second her name was out of his mouth, she giggled. ‘Baby, did you get me with the roller?’ Her giggle turned into a laugh, Claire trying to suffocate the sound.

‘Yeah, a little. It was an accident, I swear … I just misjudged the space.’ She apologised as he pressed up onto his forearm to inspect the damage. Surely enough, there was a thin grey rectangle about two inches thick and eight inches long pressed to the hairs of his left forearm. He turned his eyes back to the wall, grunting softly as he finished the space before standing.

Owen bent in the middle, stretching his back as his hands graced the tray of paint he had been using. He dipped his palm into the light charcoal pulling it back to rub against the other. He stood behind Claire, admiring her ass in his shirt as one hand found her breast and the other gripped her ass. She shrieked, feeling the cold wet grip of the paint as her body jumped.

‘Owen Michael Gray!’ She yelled as she stepped away, stepping down from the stool as she swung the roller towards him. ‘It was an accident!’ She yelped shock and horror still bubbling in her system.

Owen shrugged, ‘So was that!’

She rolled her eyes, setting down the roller in an attempt to surrender. ‘You ruined a perfectly good shirt.’ She pouted, looking down at her chest where his handprint covered a significant portion of the garment.

‘Not to mention, your ass.’ Owen nodded, cringing slightly at the thought of the paint drying on her bare skin. ‘Better run you that bath.’ He winked at her, not quite waiting for her nod before he turned his back. She moved quickly, Owen barely making it to the bathroom before he felt her hand smack his shoulder blade, pressure remaining there for a second before she pulled away, her laughter in his ears.

‘Now we’re even.’ Claire appeared in front of him, sway in her hips as she leant over the tub and turned on the tap. She peeled her underwear down her legs, tossing them in the sink as she pulled his shirt over her head, making sure the paint remained upright rather than drying, stuck, to her new tiles.

‘Don’t blame me when we have to move in before the house is painted.’ Owen teased as Claire climbed in, water only up to her hips as Owen bracketed her between his arms on either side of the tub, kissing her soundly as he wiggled out of his jeans and joined her.

‘You’re the only one complaining.’ She teased, kissing him back as the water started to rise around them.