#~Rotund Sir : Whisper~

[fanaticsnail]

You're Angry at the Tall Men

Masterlist Here

I have two very dear mutual creators on here that are struggling with the flu. Hopefully yelling at the tall men of one-piece will help you both out: @feral-artistry & @sordidmusings

Word Count: 200-400 per gentleman: Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Corazon, Doflamingo

Warnings: anger, violence, suggestive spice for a few, angst, afab!implied but not overly mentioned, height difference.

First time writing for Cora, Croc and Doffy - mainly going off small clips and overall vibes. Apologies if I didn't do your blorbo justice.

(Apprehensive tag list: @gingernut1314, @writingmysanity)

He knows what he did to earn your wrath; your fury ignited in your eyes and the flames physically tangible and searing the room with your scorn. Your brow was furrowed, your lips curling into a snarl to bare your pearled teeth at him.

Buggy: 6’3

“Sit your tall ass down!” you roared at him. The clown shrieked back, immediately reaching his stuttering hands towards the back of a chair to unceremoniously fall back onto the wooden base. Unfortunately, as his ass barely grazes the base; his weight proceeds to fall from its intended target, plopping down onto the cement ground instead of finding comfort on the chair.

“Ah, fuck!” he cried out alongside his wince, his red nose creased as he felt the pain shoot up his coxic bone and tingle up his spine. This moment of failure breaking a small crack in your iron fury, a giggle attempting to break through your anger. He winces his beautiful teal eyes up at you, cringing through the pain and gritting his teeth in an attempt of a smile.

“You are so pathetic,” you growled at him, extending your hand out and collecting his chin within your thumb and index finger. You were held captive by his sparkling eyes beneath his lengthy blue eyelashes as he looked up at you in awe.

“It’s why you love me, right?” he whimpered at you, his crooked smile drawing you in closer to him. You stooped, pressing a small kiss against his rotund, red nose.

“Yes,” you again growled at him, pouting with your brow falling low in the center of your forehead, “but I’m still angry at you.”

“I know,” he grumbled in response, his eyes upturning and almost pleading, “but I can fix that, right?”

Shanks: 6’6

“Woah, woah, love!” he cried out, backing away from your approach with his wide smile plastered to his cheeks. He was still smiling, even when you backed him against the wall with your forearm horizontally pressing him back into the wooden banister behind him.

“You absolute stupid, ridiculous, drunken-,” one look into his loving eyes rendered you immediately defenseless to his aura. He looked at you with such love, his brown eyes holding only softness and adoration within them. He brings up his arm, choosing to caress your cheek and lace a loose strand of your hair to hook over your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into you, leaning his head down and moving his lips against your forehead to murmur into your skin, “forgive me, I didn’t mean it.” Inhaling a deep breath, you feel the rage falling away from you as he continued murmuring sweet nothings into your ear.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re angry,” he breathed his raspy voice into your ear.

“And you’re so handsome when you’re not the one making me angry,” you growled back at him.

Mihawk 6’6

“Mihawk!” your rumbled growl echoed in the high ceilings lifting the light in the large dining room. He was stooping, fingertips halting their descent to grasp the back of his dining chair. He huffed out a sigh, rotating his neck and removing his hat from his head. He placed the hat on his dining setting, and prepared himself to receive your wrath.

As soon as you saw him preparing himself to receive the scorn you were about to bear down on him, you decided to switch it up. Something about how smug he was did not satiate your fire from erupting further. You had every intention of taking him by his wrist and leading him to the impressive steps of the foyer and taking a few steps up to bring you to the appropriate height to maintain eye contact as you reprimanded him.

But his ear was right there, no longer shielded by his broad hat to halt your action. Immediately, you pressed your index and middle finger against the overly sensitive shell of his ear and began dragging him towards the archway leading to the foyer.

“Not quite so hard, dear,” he winced as his steps stuttered behind you. You allowed a sinister smirk to rise on your lips, gaining a sickening amount of joy from knowing you were paining him a little to satisfy your wrath. As your feet found the steps, you relinquished your hold on his ear and turned to face him, your eyes first glancing at the raven curls atop his head that you rarely are accustomed to seeing these days. His head was bowed, his hand drawn up to cradle his ear and sooth over the throbbing shell. At this, your anger ceased and you immediately sought out his eyes by cupping his cheeks and elevating his face.

“I’m sorry, my love. Did I hurt you, are you okay?” you hastily spoke, eyes checking over his face for any semblance of hurt or pain.

“Only my pride, dear,” he replied in a soft grumble, continuing to keep his eyes from joining with your own. You sighed in relief before shaking your head to remind yourself why you brought him here in the first place. You furrowed your brow and slunk your hands from his cheeks to fall them against his chest.

“I’m-,” you began, your angry words halted by Mihawk taking a step forward and pressing his forehead against your own.

“-I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he whispered into your face, his eyes half lidded and sorrow falling over his face, “I never meant to hurt you, and I’m willing to spend all the time it takes to make it up to you.”

Sir Crocodile 8’3

Clutching his cigar in his index and middle fingers, he flicked the ash into the glass and gold tray on his desk. He could hear the fall of your feet outside the door, his jaw falling slack in bored frustration. 

“You devious bastard,” you growled as the door to his office flung open. He inhaled deeply, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out another cigar to clench his teeth onto. As your eyes met, his brow arched while his eyelids hung half-lidded. He sat back against his armchair and uncrossed his legs from their join of the knees. Remaining wordless, he fished around in his pants for his lighter, to find nothing but his golden pocket watch and a few rolls of berry within his leatherbound wallet.

“Be a dear and find me a light,” he dismissed your anger with the wave of his hand as his eyes searched his desk for his capped lighter. This seemed to engage your fury further, making you immediately lunge at him and crawl onto his lap. You drew your claw-shaped grip up to his jaw, snarling into his face as you did so.

“You think I care about your lighter right now, you arrogant lizard,” you spat at him. His eyes widened in surprise, initially being taken off guard by your presence atop his thigh. Immediately after processing the shock, his eyes darkened as he used his large, golden hook to circle around your thigh; trapping it within the metal and drawing it closer into him. Your kneeling position atop his lap was now made ever more dangerous than it had been, not knowing how he would truly respond to your anger. Both of your tempers began to flare as he snarled at you.

“Lighter first,” he growled at you, looking up into your enraged eyes as your hair cascaded down over his face, draped almost intimately over his forehead. You scoffed, flicking the hair over your shoulder and grimaced at him in response. 

“And why should I do that after what you did?” you gnashed your teeth, baring your rage in your now untested situation. The tense air now growing thick and dense as your bodies pressed closer together. He gripped your hips with his hand, his golden hook scraping over your thigh and placing your knee over his waist as he drew you closer. 

“Lighter first,” he began to snarl at you, “or I will channel your rage in another way.”

“Try me, Reptile,” you snarled at him, clenching your teeth as you stooped lower into his face. He immediately stood, his tall body hoisting you up against his hips and slamming your back atop his desk. He hovered over your body, leaning his face down and snarling into you,

“You should’ve just done what you were told,” He growled into your neck.

“You shouldn't have pissed me off,” you gnashed your teeth once more, your eyes widening as you felt his teeth bite down hard on your clavicle, soothing over the new injury with his tongue. 

Corazon 9’7

“Donquixote Rosinante!” you shouted, walking around the halls and tracking the stupor of his step. You immediately heard a thud, followed by several crashing booms reverberating within the hallway. None of these sounds halted your descent, your rage and fury propelling your steps further towards him.

When your eyes fell over his body, he was hoisting himself up from his entanglement with several cleaning products; a mop over his head and a bucket circling over his left foot. He looked ridiculous, his coat hanging limply from his shoulders over his open heart-stitched shirt.

As he rose to his feet, you were taken aback at how truly tall he was; his body towering over your own. You lost your nerve slightly at his stature, but still the edges of your body remained singed with the fires of rage within your soul.

“Cora-!” your words were halted by the man drawing such anger from you wordlessly holding up his palm to silence you. Your brows fell further down your face, your frown deepening as you watched him silently search his surroundings. His eyes widened first, before softening as he stooped down to collect the bucket that was once wrapped around his foot. He blew over the base of the bucket with a small puff of breath, placing the brim on the ground and dusting the base with the back of his hand.

He turned his painted face up to you, a tight smile pulling at his mouth as he extended his hand to you. You sucked in a breath through your nostrils, pouting as you took his hand. Stepping up onto the bucket, you still remained short to his great height. Still holding onto your hand, his smile softened as he bent at the knees to crouch in front of you, looking up into your face with eyes baring great sorrow at how angry you were with him.

Relinquishing the hold against your hand, he gestured for you to bare your soul out to him with a simple swipe of his hands. He was so willing to have you share your emotions with him, it almost made you want to cry with frustration at how truly loving he was to you. 

“You’re just going to sit back and take it? Say something, Cora. Anything!” You screamed, the sting of tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. He continued to watch on, never once rising from his crouch, nor bringing his eyes away from searching your face. It was only when a hot, frustrated tear fell from your eye down your cheek that he rose up to his full size once more. 

He wordlessly drew his palm up to claim your cheek, his thumb brushing the tear away from its descent down towards your mouth. 

“Please,” you whimpered while searching his eyes, “please say something.”

He leant forward, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, circling the other arm around your shoulders and holding your chest flush with his own. His lips found the crown of your head, pressing a soft and careful kiss against the top of your hair.

“Calm,” he uttered, the room circled around him by the spark of his devil-fruit power. You looked at him confused, your nostrils flaring at him while still expressing your anger. 

“Why use the devil-fruit powers now?” you asked him, shaking your head at him as all else in the hallway was silenced. No taps of feet, no drips of taps, nor the sounds of breeze through the trees outside the room could be heard within the silent barrier. 

“Because I want everyone to know how angry you are with me,” he uttered, his nose lovingly brushing against your own, “And I want to be able to scream how much I love you with no consequence.” He pressed his lips against your forehead, smearing his red face paint against your skin as he trailed a flurry of gentle kisses against your nose, cheek bones and the corner of your lips in an attempt to smother the flames of your anger. 

“This doesn’t make up for what you did,” you spat at him, your narrowed eyes looking at him through your eyelashes remaining dark with fury.

“I know,” he admitted, unwrapping his arm from circling your shoulders. He grazed his arm down and collected your hand once more within his, lacing your fingers together as he uttered, “I’m so sorry, my darling. I’ll never do it again.”

Doflamingo 10’

He was immediately expressing joy at how riled up he had managed to make you, his lips curling back into a sinister smile. He darted his tongue out over his mouth to dampen his chapped lip before he allowed a rumbly chuckle to exit from his chest.

“Doflamingo!” You screamed, rage and fury overcasting your usual stoic state with their venom. He rose to his feet and was almost bursting at the seams with how happy getting a rise from you was making him.

“How dare you?! How dare you do that to me?!” You roared, not halting your approach in any way. He towered over you, his lanky build condescendingly casting his feathered silhouette over your body.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he shrugged, speaking quickly with a broad grin continuing to polish his cheeks. His eyes remained hidden by his glasses, your own eyes beginning to prick at the corners with a frustrated rage.

“Wipe that horrible grin off your face before I rip it off,” you spat, your hands demonstrating how truly violent your thoughts were.

“Only if you do it with your teeth, Princess,” he bore his teeth down at you. His smile widened further up his cheeks, your urge to claw out his eyes not satisfied in the slightest. You impulsively swung your hand at his face, your wrist caught within his circled grip. His laughter erupted over his chest at this small demonstration of violence, so easily stifled by his hands.

“Ohh, you’ve got some fire in you today,” he chucked his taunt at you, leaning down further into you; his nose almost brushing against your own with how close he drew himself down to you, “What I’d give to see that demonstrated with your body wrapped around my- AHH.” You halted his words within his mouth by clamping your teeth down against his nose hard enough to draw blood. After tasting the metallic flavor roll over your tongue, you withdrew your teeth from his flesh and bore your red-tinted lips at him.

He reached up to clutch the scruff of your neck, pulling you closer into him and purring a roar of his own into you:

“Mmm, Harder.”

[aquadestinyswriting]

Titan Modern AU- Prologue

Summary: Meredith is called into her commanding officer's office to explain what the hells happened the day before. She complies and gives a full oral report.

Words: 1,385

Tags: @druidx, @sparrow-orion-writes @warriorbookworm, @thesorcerersapprentice, @blind-the-winds, @philosophika, @the-down-upside-finch, @hippiewrites

Warnings: Mentions of fictional politics, violence, guns, bombs.

Notes: quick worldbuilding note, the Clan name is used in formal settings and when you're in Trouble. Most people of Fangthane use their given name instead. Also, the ranks are a bit of a mixture of the RCMP and RMP(UK)

“Ironforge!”

The voice bellowing from the office at the back of the station was enough to make several officers clap their hands over their ears. The Sergeant Major was pissed. More than usual. 

A short, stocky woman looked up from her paperwork, wincing. She slowly stood, tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear,

“Aye, sir?”

“Office! Now!” snapped the reply as the rotund, middle-aged man stormed back into the office, leaving the door open. Several officers, of varying ranks, immediately began avoiding the gaze of their colleague as she marched stiffly between the desks and piles of paperwork. She grimaced as she heard the whispers trailing behind her,

“What the fuck did she do?”

“Got the front of the Houses of Parliament blown up apparently.”

“Moradin’s beard! you reckon they’re gonna –?”

Meredith ignored them, keeping her face as neutral as possible as she approached the door of her commanding officer’s office. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her and stood at complete attention, her hat held firmly in her hand at her side. She said nothing as she watched Sergeant Major Ragnarsson glare at her from behind his desk.

“D’ye mind telling me what in all the hells happened at the Houses of Parliament yesterday?!” he snapped, pulling open the top drawer of his desk and lifting out a large bottle of cheap whisky. 

Meredith cleared her throat, looking over the older man’s shoulder, not daring to move as she replied,

“Sir, my team and I were chasing down the suspects of the Sonefort murder case as they attempted to flee. The suspects fled towards the Houses of Parliament, shot the guards on duty and continued to flee into the cellars, whereupon they shot more of the security on duty at the time. We were simply attempting to apprehend them when we became aware that the cellars directly under the Royal Court had been rigged with explosives.” she explained.

Ragnarsson heaved a sigh, pouring out a generous shot of whisky into the glass on his desk,

“So why didn’t you call in the bomb squad, Gruksdottir?” he asked plaintively, “You know the standard operating procedure is to do so.” 

Meredith simply switched her gaze from the poster on the wall behind the Sergeant Major to his face instead,

“We didn’t have time, sir. The suspects running into the room set the timer going,which was set for less than five minutes. I had to act in the best interests of both my team and the people still in the building, sir.” 

“Then why not simply evacuate?”

“Because the suspects we had been trying to apprehend were taken hostage by the individuals who had set the explosives, sir. It seems that, while they had previously been allied, those that had been setting up the explosives were a bit peeved at their friends bringing the Guardian Corps back with them.”

“Is it possible that they were also ‘a bit peeved’ at their friends setting off the timer for the explosives, Gruksdottir?” Ragnarsson sighed, running a hand down his face.

Meredith returned her gaze to the poster behind him,

“That is indeed, also a possibility, sir.” she agreed. Ragnarsson clucked his tongue and picked up a manila folder, stuffed with papers. He opened it and regarded his constable with a flat expression.

“Your written report mentions that, while you did send Constables Gurrissdottir and Firiksson off to evacuate the site, you and Constable Kiruksson insisted on staying in the cellar to, and I quote, ‘do whatever it took to save as many lives as possible, including those of the suspects’.” He shook his head, “I take that to mean that this included encouraging Kiruksson to attempt to disarm the explosives?” he asked.

“He insisted on trying, sir. Kiruksson had recently received bomb disposal training and was confident that he could at least detach the primary bomb from the rest of the rigging.”  Meredith replied, “I am fully aware that this was a break in protocol, and placed Kiruksson in what is deemed to be unnecessary peril. However, it was the best option we had at the time, sir. As established, there was no time to call in the bomb squad.” 

Ragnarrson’s face fell into a deep scowl. He threw the folder onto the desk,

“‘Deemed to be’?!” he roared. The Sergeant Major stood, slamming both hands on his desk, “Both you and Kiruksson are extremely lucky, or Blessed by Moradin Himself, that he was not killed when the bomb went off in the lobby!” The older man straightened his back, sucked in a breath and placed his hands behind his back,

“Now, as the commanding officer of the squad in question, I’m sure you’re more than aware that you are being held entirely responsible for this debacle?” 

Meredith only slightly nodded her head, and stood even more at attention than before,

“Aye, sir.” she stated firmly. Ragnarsson shook his head,

“You’re very lucky that the Field Marshal likes you as much as he does.” he sighed, “There were plenty of calls to have you stripped of rank and kicked out of the SGC altogether.” he paused a moment, watching for Meredith’s reaction. When he received none, he carried on,

“As it is, due to your previously impeccable record, Field Marshal Vanskleig was able to twist some arms and merely get you demoted back down to the bottom tier and a field transfer out of Fangthane until things simmer down.” That got more of a reaction. Meredith didn’t move, but she did set her jaw, though she continued staring at the poster instead of at her Sergeant Major,

“Aye, sir. Where am I being transferred to, sir?” she asked, somehow managing to keep her voice level. Ragnarsson grimaced,

“The consulate office in Toreguarde.” he replied, “Apparently Lieutenant Starhammer needs more officers and the Field Marshal offered to send you. Something about only needing one good officer instead of five or six freshly-graduated cadets.” The Sergeant Major relaxed a little and placed another tumblr on his desk, pouring out another shot into it,

“You can stand at ease now, Constable.” he sighed, picking up his glass and downing the whisky in it. Meredith slowly allowed her posture to relax a little, finally looking at her commanding officer,

“Permission to speak, sir?” she asked. Ragnarsson waved a hand as he sat back down in his seat,

“Granted, you may be as candid as you wish, Gruksdottir.” he sighed. Meredith nodded and allowed herself to relax entirely. She twisted her Shanter nervously in her hands,

“Toreguarde, sir? I understand a transfer is necessary but why not to Firetop, or even Stonebridge?” she asked. Ragnarsson shrugged,

“Field Marshal Vanskleig seems to be of the opinion that it will be good for you.” he said, “Something about your talents being wasted in areas of the Kingdom that are already adequately staffed.” 

Meredith groaned, walked over to the desk, picked up the tumblr and downed the whisky in it, grimacing at the afterburn in her throat,

“How soon do I need to leave?”  she asked, already dreading the answer. Ragnarsson poured out some more whisky as soon as she placed the tumblr  back on the table,

“By tomorrow evening. There are a few Members of Parliament and Lords and Ladies of the House that are very upset that you’ve not been brought up on charges yourself, so it seems wise to send you off sooner rather than later.” he leaned back in his seat as Meredith downed the new shot,

“I’ll be honest, I’m sad to lose such a fine officer, but politics is as politics does. We’ll get a message sent to Khull to inform Forhoksson of what’s happened as soon as I can manage it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Meredith sighed. She shook her head, “Permission to leave, sir? I need to inform my family and get packed.” 

“Permission granted, Constable. I hope we can work with one another again at some point soon. Just keep your head down and nose clean, aye?” 

Meredith stood briefly to attention, saluted the older man, waited for his return salute, then turned and walked out of the office. Ragnarsson watched her leave, then, as soon as the door closed behind her, poured out a full glass of the whisky with a grumble.

[impulsivemaiden]

Chapter 1: The Fool and The Princess

The jester had been at court for nearly a year, and though he had quickly learned the intricacies of pleasing nobles with his antics, there was only one person whose amusement he truly sought. Princess Violet. From the moment she had bumped into him in one of the castle’s long, winding corridors—entirely by accident, her mind clearly elsewhere—he had been ensnared. She had barely acknowledged him, offering a distracted murmur of apology before continuing on her way, but he had not forgotten the way the soft fabric of her sleeve had brushed against his arm, nor the brief glimpse of her eyes, cool and unreadable. From that moment, he had been lost. 

He spent months stealing glances, memorizing the way she carried herself—so composed, so untouchable. He learned which books she favored, the kind of music that made her close her eyes as though lost in another world, the small flickers of emotion she allowed herself to express when she thought no one was looking. And so, he performed, not for the court, not for the King, but for her. Each jest, each exaggerated fall, each foolish antic was a love letter written in laughter, meant for her and her alone. And yet, Princess Violet remained unmoved. Regal, sharp-eyed, distant. 

The great hall was alight with candle glow, warmed by the hum of noble chatter, the clinking of goblets, the droning voice of the King’s advisor as he read through endless decrees. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine, but for the jester, there was only her. 

She sat at the King’s right hand, poised and still, her expression unreadable as she listened to the dull business of ruling. Her gown, a deep indigo, caught the flickering light, the gold embroidery a delicate contrast against the coolness of her demeanor. Her long, silken hair rested like halo on her head, shining like spun gold in the light thrown by the sconces and fire places. She was like a statue carved by the gods—flawless, distant. 

And he was a fool who could not help but orbit her. 

With a dramatic tumble, the jester burst into the open space before the dais, the bells on his cap jingling as he rolled into a theatrical bow.  

“My noble lords, wise ladies, and esteemed King,” he declared, spreading his arms wide. “You’ve suffered through an evening of talk—endless, mind-numbing talk! But despair not, for I bring you relief in the form of sheer, ridiculous nonsense.” 

Laughter rippled through the hall, but his eyes flicked only to one face. Princess Violet did not laugh. She merely watched, as she always did, with quiet detachment. He felt it like a blow to the chest. 

Still, he persisted. He juggled fruit from the banquet table, slipping a pear from the plate of a rather rotund nobleman, who guffawed at the audacity. He mimicked the advisor’s droning voice, his exaggerated impression earning chuckles from even the stony-faced knights. He pulled a dramatic face, leaping onto one of the lower banquet tables and striking a gallant pose as though he were a knight about to slay a dragon. “And lo! The noble Sir Pearbottom faces his greatest foe yet! A beast so monstrous, so foul, that even the bravest warrior dares not speak its name.” He turned, whispering conspiratorially to the nearest noble, “It’s Lady Henrietta’s dreadful singing.” 

A loud burst of laughter echoed across the room, nobles chuckling behind their goblets. Even the King smirked. But the princess? Nothing. 

And then, when he had all but lost hope— 

A smirk. A barely-there, fleeting thing. But he saw it. 

His stomach flipped, his pulse stuttering like an unsteady flame. A reaction. A sign that he existed in her world, even if only for a moment. He wanted more. 

He straightened, pushing his luck. “Ah, my princess, you wound me! Not even a chuckle? Surely my suffering is worth a smile.” 

Princess Violet arched a single brow. “Perhaps you should be funnier.” 

The room burst into laughter at her quip, and the jester’s lips parted in a grin. “Ah, a challenge! My lady has a wit sharper than any blade.” He swept into a deep bow, peeking up at her through his lashes. “I shall endeavor to be worthy of it.” 

She said nothing more, but there was something in the way she tilted her head, something thoughtful. Or perhaps he was imagining it. 

But before he could chase it, the King sighed, waving a hand. “Enough, fool. If I wished for more nonsense, I’d summon the court poets.” 

The laughter faded, nobles shifting in their seats, the evening returning to its usual dullness. The jester straightened, bowing deeply, but his gaze flickered once more to Violet. 

And then, the miracle happened. 

“He amuses the court, Father,” Violet said, her voice smooth as aged wine. “Let him stay.” 

Let him stay. 

He nearly dropped to his knees at the sound of her words, at the acknowledgement that he had mattered, even for a breath of time. 

The King, disinterested, merely waved a hand. “Fine, fine. But if he becomes tedious, you may throw him to the dogs.” 

Laughter followed, but the jester barely heard it. He was looking at her, searching for some meaning behind her intervention. But Princess Violet had already turned away, as if she had forgotten him entirely. 

He knew better. 

As the evening wore on, the court began to thin, nobles filtering out in pairs and groups, murmuring their farewells as they drifted toward their chambers. The hall, once brimming with light and laughter, grew quieter, the clinking of goblets and rustling of silk becoming sparse. The jester, ever the performer, entertained those who remained—a final joke, a flourish of his cape, a last exaggerated bow. The echoes of amusement lingered even as the night swallowed them. 

At some point, Princess Violet, without a word or a glance, had vanished. He caught sight of her slipping through one of the side doors, the faintest whisper of silk trailing behind her. His heart clenched. He could not follow—not yet. Not without raising suspicion. And so, with a final flourish, he twirled his cap, offered the dwindling audience a last jest about the King's snoring habits, and swept into a deep bow. As the nobles chuckled and bid their goodnights, he edged toward the door, his pulse quickening. He would find her. Even if just for a glimpse. 

Slipping through the side door after her, he moved with the careful grace of a shadow. The corridors beyond the great hall were dim, candlelight flickering against stone as if holding its breath. He spotted her ahead, her steps measured but unhurried, the careful poise of a princess still clinging to her shoulders. But then, when she reached a quieter passageway, the transformation began. 

She exhaled, a slow breath as though shedding the weight of a crown that had never left her head. One hand lifted to undo the pins in her hair, letting the heavy locks tumble free. Her shoulders sagged ever so slightly, the regal mask slipping, revealing something more human, more tired—more real. The jester stood motionless, entranced by the rare sight, by the unguarded moment she believed to be hers alone. 

His fingers curled at his sides. He should not linger, should not watch. And yet, he could not bring himself to turn away. 

She moved to one of the open stone windows, the night air stirring the loose strands of her hair as she gazed out at the gardens below. The moonlight softened the sharp angles of her face, painting her in silver and shadow. For a moment, she was not the princess of the court, not the untouchable figure seated beside the King, but simply a woman lost in thought.  

Then, as she turned to continue her path, her foot caught on a crack in the stone. She stumbled—just slightly—but it was enough to make him react. His hand shot forward on instinct, fingers brushing her arm, steadying her. She froze. So did he. A single heartbeat of stillness passed between them before she pulled back, her cheeks warming under the dim torchlight. She did not speak, but in that brief moment, she looked at him—not as a fool, not as an entertainer, but as something else entirely.  She flustered by his touch, but she reached a hand up to feel the velvet of his motley for a moment, not meeting his gaze but exploring for her own pleasure. The jester hummed, tilting his head slightly.  

"Careful, Your Highness," he murmured, voice low. "The night is full of unseen dangers." 

She snapped out of her daze, snatching her hand back as if burned. "Then you ought to be mindful of following me," she replied coolly, turning sharply on her heel. 

Violet strode ahead, her fingers still tingling from where they brushed the fabric of his sleeve. Foolish. She should not entertain such distractions. Yet the warmth lingers, unsettling in its persistence. She had spent years cultivating her composure, forging a mask that no one—not her father, not the court, not the countless noble suitors who sought her hand—had been able to breach. And yet, a fool in bells makes her falter. It is unacceptable. 

She clenched her jaw, willing herself back into the role she was born to play. This is nothing. He is nothing. A momentary lapse, already forgotten. 

The jester, however, could not so easily dismiss it. He remained frozen in place, staring at the space where she had stood, his heart pounding a rhythm he did not quite understand. She had touched him. Not in jest, not in passing, but deliberately. He could still feel the ghost of her fingers against the velvet of his sleeve, the hesitant press of her curiosity. The princess—always so poised, so distant—had lingered. Had indulged in the texture of him. And then, just as swiftly, she had retreated, her voice sharp, her spine straight, as if she could will the moment out of existence. 

But he would not forget. He could not. For all the games he played, for all the laughter he spun from nothing, he knew a truth now that he had only suspected before—she had noticed him. Perhaps she had always noticed him. And that knowledge burned like a secret against his ribs, something wicked and wonderful all at once. 

That night, in the solitude of his chambers, he lay on his small cot, staring up at the wooden beams above him. His room was modest, tucked away in the servant’s quarters, but it was his—a narrow bed pushed against the stone wall, a wooden chest at its foot, and a rickety desk cluttered with ink-stained parchment and half-finished sketches. The air smelled of old paper, wax, and the faintest trace of lavender from a bundle of dried herbs someone had tucked near the window to keep the draft at bay. 

His heart still thundered against his ribs, the weight of the evening pressing into his skin, hot and unbearable. Her touch had been fleeting, yet it burned. The warmth of her fingers, the soft glide of her hand over the velvet of his motley—it had been indulgent, deliberate. Not the touch of a princess granting favor, but something exploratory, something forbidden. He could still see her, standing beneath the moonlight, hair tumbling free, fingers grazing the velvet of his sleeve. The way her lips had parted in that brief moment of shock—the unguarded hesitation in her breath, the way her fingertips had traced over him as though committing the texture to memory. If he had dared to step closer, to close the space between them, would she have let him? Something unspoken. 

His pulse refused to settle. He exhaled sharply, pushing himself upright, hands running through his hair as if the motion could erase the memory. But it was useless. It clung to him like a curse. 

He had to draw her—capture the way her lashes had lowered, the pink that had bloomed across her cheeks when she realized what she had done. The tension between them, heavy and aching, begged to be put to parchment. His hands trembled with the need, not just to recreate her, but to relive the moment, to bring it closer, to hold onto the sensation of her touch just a little longer. His fingers, ink-stained and trembling, traced over the beginnings of a portrait. 

A woman in indigo. A smirk on her lips. 

And a fool who had already lost himself to her. 

[sciencestyled]

The Tale of Louis XVI: A Prequel to Pudginess

Ah, my dearest compatriots of the internet! Lend me your ears (and perhaps your taste buds), for I, Louis XVI, former monarch of France and now humble purveyor of musings on modern maladies, am compelled to recount a tale most unexpected. The tale of how I, in a fit of royal curiosity and culinary consequence, came to pen a treatise on a topic as weighty as the very throne I once graced: obesity.

The story begins on a sultry summer afternoon, as I sat ensconced within the lavish confines of my château, the opulence of which could only be matched by the girth of my midsection. My dear wife, Marie Antoinette, was busy concocting yet another elaborate pastry, the likes of which had already contributed to my considerable corpulence. Ah, but those pastries! Layers upon layers of flaky, buttery goodness, each bite a testament to the decadence of the French court. Yet, as the days of feasting wore on, so too did the not-so-subtle expansion of my royal waistline.

One particularly sluggish afternoon, as I lounged in my study, contemplating the numerous ways to avoid an uprising (both political and gastrointestinal), a most peculiar missive arrived. It was a letter from none other than Sir Mac of Donald's, an esteemed purveyor of gastronomic delights from across the sea. Sir Mac, it seemed, had a proposition: a partnership to bring his culinary marvels to the courts of Europe.

Intrigued, I summoned Sir Mac to my court. He arrived with a retinue of advisors, each more rotund than the last, and a selection of his finest creations. The pièce de résistance was a marvel known as the "Big Mac," a towering edifice of meat, cheese, and bread, slathered in a sauce so secret even the Inquisition could not uncover its recipe. As I took my first bite, I was transported to a realm of culinary ecstasy, the likes of which even Marie's finest confections could not rival.

However, it was not long before the consequences of such indulgence became apparent. My robes grew tighter, my gait more ponderous, and whispers of "the portly king" began to circulate among the courtiers. It was then, in a moment of rare introspection (and perhaps a hint of desperation), that I realized the dire need to understand the very nature of my expanding form.

Thus, armed with the dual lances of curiosity and cholesterol, I embarked on a journey of scholarly inquiry. I delved into the annals of medical science, consulted the finest physicians, and even engaged in clandestine correspondence with the most esteemed scientists of the day. What I discovered was both fascinating and alarming: a burgeoning body of knowledge on the phenomenon of obesity, a topic as complex and layered as the pastries that had led me to this state.

Inspired by my findings, and with a quill in hand, I resolved to pen a treatise that would illuminate the plight of pudginess, not just for myself, but for all those who, like me, had succumbed to the siren call of sumptuous sustenance. And so, my dear readers, it is with a blend of regal rumination and a touch of sardonic humor that I present to you my humble missive on the weighty matters of obesity. May it serve as both a cautionary tale and a beacon of hope, guiding you through the adipose abyss with wit and wisdom.

Yours, in ever-ponderous pursuit of enlightenment, Louis XVI

[13thalcoragent]

My Stepmother and Stepsisters Do Not Pick On Me VIII

~

Cinder: Despite being an orphan, the Glass family has adopted me.

~

The Characters:

Cinder Fall-Glass – Our Heroine who was adopted

Amanda “Ama” Glass – Older Stepsister with Curly Hair

Lenalee “Lee” Glass – Older Stepsister with Straight Hair

Laura Glass – Stepmother and Madame

Rhodes “Rose” Glass – Pet Dog and Bodyguard

Amina Faye – Head Maid for the Glass Unicorn

~

Cinder: I thought I’d sweep the hallways since I woke up so early

Cinder: *walks pass the parlor*

From The Parlor: *noises and voices*

Cinder: Oh, are those voices in the parlor? We have a guest this early in the morning?

Male Voice: Like I said…At that time, didn’t you…take that girl in for your own convenience?

Cinder: That girl…Is he talking about me?

Laura: Even so…changing your mind after everything’s been decided is…

Cinder: *knocks on the door* Mommy? May I come in?

Laura: You may.

Cinder: Excuse…me. *walks in to find a rotund middle-aged man in a business suit*

Cinder: *hesitant* Good Morning…Sir.

Laura: *exhales slightly* Cinder. Allow me to introduce you to Amoncio Glass, my husband…and your stepfather.

Cinder: My stepfather…

Amoncio: Girl…It’s time for you to leave.

Laura: Dear, we haven’t seen each other since you left for your business trip. I am glad to see you doing well…However, why are you trying to overturn what’s already been decided?

Amoncio: At the time…I was overwhelmed with work…I now realize how irresponsible it was to just give you blanket approval on the matter of adopting this girl. For starters, there’s no way a commoner can adapt to the life of such a prominent family. Should anything happen, it’ll tarnish the Glass name.

Cinder: He’s right…If an uneducated person enters their ranks…it’ll surely embarrass the Glass Family…If my existence will prove troublesome for my sisters…surely it’d be best if I left!

Laura: What is your wish, Cinder?

Cinder: I…

Lee: *barges in with Ama* No Way!!

Cinder: Huh?

Lee: You’re probably thinking stuff like, “The Glass Family’ll be embarrassed,” or, “I’ll cause trouble for my sisters,” ain’t cha? You’re hiding your true feelings! It’s written all over your face. I can tell!!

Ama: No tears, now. There’s nothing to be sad about.

Cinder: Umm?

Lee: There’s no need to hold back to the point of crying!

Cinder: What?

Ama: You don’t have to worry about how Cinder is doing in the family, Father. We’re looking after her. Just look at how much her writing has improved.

Amoncio: I…Huh?

Amoncio: *hesitates slightly* I…I want to hear the girl’s opinion!

Ama: *whispers* You’re asking her because you know she can’t refuse if you say she’d cause trouble for us, right? You’re quite the talker for someone who’s not around, aren’t you?

Laura: Amanda, don’t be rude to your father.

Ama: Mother.

Laura: As you can see, Cinder has been diligently adapting herself to the Glass Family day by day. However, it’s true that her feelings on the matter are important. Cinder…What do you wish to do?

Cinder: I…

Cinder: There’s been a lot of things that have confused me since I arrived here…but…that ones who helped me every step of the way…

Cinder: I…want to live in this hotel! I’ll work hard on my studies, so please…

Laura: Incorrect.

Cinder: Huh? Did I get it wrong?

Laura: Cause as much trouble as you want!!!!

Cinder: Mommy?!

Laura: Troubles are inevitable when one interacts with other people…be they related by blood or not! Even so we want to stay by the ones we treasure. Now that the issue has been put to rest, I’m sure your father would still like to see his stepdaughter���s face. Please do try and come home more often, Dear.

Amoncio: But…!

Laura: Or is there some special reason why your need to drag Cinder off with you? For instance…promising one of your “business partners” that Cinder would become an indentured servant?

Lee: Indentured servant?

Ama: Oh…as in. if she promises to work for a set number of years…you can get her wages in advance?

Amoncio: No…that’s…I’ll be taking my leave now as I have business to attend to… *whispers* Girl. Even if Laura and the girls are fine with this…There may be other people who won’t look favorably on you. Come to me if things become too much to bear. I’ll be sure to find a proper place for you, where you’ll be more comfortable. *departs*

Cinder: Stepfather?

TRANSITION

Cinder: Um…Once again, I hope you’ll take care of me from now on.

Lee: Huuuh? Is that really the first thing you should be saying?

Cinder: Should I have apologized for causing them trouble first…or maybe thank them?

Cinder: Um…

Lee: You haven’t said…”Good Morning” yet!!!

Cinder: Huuuuuuh?

Lee: Have you any idea how we felt waking up to your empty bed?!

Cinder Ha…

Ama: Our Sister simply tore through the hotel in search of you.

Cinder: Ha-Wha…

Lee: Look who’s talking, Miss Still-In-Her-PJ’s?!

Cinder: Ha-Wha-Whaaaaa!

Ama: W…Whaaat?! Well, you haven’t even washed your face yet!

Laura: Girls, you’re being far too loud.

Lee: Mama!

Ama: Mother!

Laura: Another normal day is about to start. No need to kick up a fuss.

Lee: Sorry.

Ama: We got too excited...

Cinder: That’s right…I have to be at my best today, too…

Laura: After all, we should prepare for Cinder’s welcome party today! One can never have too many fun events!

Cinder Whoaaaa!

Lee: You’re gonna love it! Miss Faye makes some of the best food around!

Ama: *take Cinder by the shoulders* Come along then, we need to get you ready for your big day.

Cinder: Mother. My new family…is a really warm one.

[pagetreader-archived]

If Moira were any other damsel in distress, she might be grateful for Benjamin's intervention, but she wasn't a delicate starry-eyed filly awaiting a rescuer to intercede on her behalf. She was a harlot and this was her place of work, where she was used to dealing with outraged and unreasonable men.

There was no husband to solve her problems, no man she could belong to, which was why she felt a sense of embarrassment to have this occur. Fellow callgirls that lingered nearby stared and whispered and she felt disconcerted by it.

Benjamin's hand moved to touch her in a protective manner and her shoulders tensed, unused to the idea of a defender, but at the very least, he'd ensured that Lucy was safe. That's what was most important to her.

"What seems to be the issue, sir? Surely, it's a matter that can be settled without raising your voice like some snarling blaggard?"

His face reddened and puffy with fury, the rotund man, standing perhaps only slightly taller than Ben, stepped forward with intent to intimidate him.

"Unless you've taken up management of the place, this isn't your business, boy. This hussy stole from me and I either want back what's mine or be given what I'm damn well owed."

"Ben, please," she interjected, placing a hand on his chest, the situation far too urgent for her to call him by the nickname she'd conjured, "Let me handle this."

"I wouldn't worry, boy," the man said, "There'll be plenty left of her when I'm through. In the meantime, why don't you freshen that flask of yours? Judgin' by the smell, of ya, it's long been empty."

Moira didn't meet the eye of either one of them. She appeared to be somewhere far away, detaching, steeling herself out of habit.

"Carver," she finally said, ignoring his crude implications, "You paid upfront for my services and then promptly fell unconscious. You know Madam Rouge does not issue refunds when a client spends the night, conscious or otherwise. It's out of my hands."

"That so?" Carver grumbled angrily, "Then I want my money's worth from you plus consolation for your failure to keep me entertained."

"Maybe if you weren't such a slovenly pig, you wouldn't sooner fall asleep than get your cock blown, you miserable shite."

"Why you dirty little whore!" he growled, lashing out to grab her by the wrist and forcing her to her knees in one fell swoop, to which Moira cried out in both shock and pain, "I'll have you beggin' for mercy on your knees with your mouth full of me!"

The look in Lucy's eyes warmed Benjamin from deep within, much like dozens of fireflies illuminating the horizon. Her infectious cheer caused him to chuckle, and accepting her hand when she extended it, he grinned once she practically dragged him toward the back corridor.

"Do you even know where we're going?" he teased. "You seem awfully determined..."

"Oi, O'Shea!"

Almost instantly, the brightness in Moira's face was doused once a tall, robust man emerged from behind the toiling womenfolk. Lucy squeaked and dove behind Benjamin, causing him to instinctively place a hand over her shoulder, holding her against his leg as she clasped onto him in fright.

"Ben, please take Lucy to the entrance of the courtyard. I'll be along in a minute."

Brow creasing, he denied, "I will not. If that man is insistent upon having a word, he can do so with me present." Although he was certain Moira would deny it, Benjamin recognized the fire in the other's man's eyes -- he knew he had the intent to harm and intimidate.

"Go, now."

Benjamin hesitated, but only for Lucy's sake. Frowning, he lowered toward the girl and encouraged, "Can you ask one of those nice women to walk with you to the courtyard?" Noting the tears in the girl's eyes, he quickly reached out and took her hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Ask the one you trust the most, all right? And wait for your mother and I until we arrive. I promise it'll only be a moment."

The girl was clearly reluctant, so he reached into his pocket and fished out a few coins. "Here, sweetheart," he entreated. "Take these. I don't have much, so I'll have to come back and can fetch them. That's how you know I'll return."

Lucy finally seemed more acquiescent, and took the coins before rushing off towards the other women. Straightening again, Benjamin frowned and returned to Moira's side, his hand moving almost protectively against the small of her back.

"What seems to be the issue, sir?" he asked the other man. "Surely, it's a matter that can be settled without raising your voice like some snarling blaggard?"

[perfectionyokai]

Uh oh, seems a certain other butler had spotted Whispers failed bat swing. Silence, before some small chuckling, which grew to much louder degrees. As much as he liked to keep his composure he had to be honest, that Swing? Sucked. The yokai continues to laugh at Whispers attempt, rising into the sky he was finding it that humorous. Even with the ghost cheating (yokai weren't exactly invisible to other yokai yknow) he still failed, oh wait till the yokai council for applied butlering heard about this!

[soft-bellied-tannies]

SBT Little Bite #13

"That was the last group, sir."

Namjoon shared a confused glance with the rest of his team.

Yoongi looked completely unimpressed, likely still lingering from the previous groups of auditioning models who gave them absolutely nothing to work with.

Hoseok was writing in his notebook as he often did when groups he disliked were leaving the room and it was hard to keep his smile on his face.

Jungkook was staring right back at Namjoon, his brow raised as if he was thinking the same as the other alpha.

"Um, Hana, our list says five groups of three omegas. That was only four," Namjoon countered, already dreading the new assistant's answer. He hadn't liked her from the jump, but he was trying to give her a chance.

The beta paused at the doorway, looked out into the hall, and then stepped back into the room. "Well, sir, they...the last group is not fit for their campaign so we were not going to waste your time."

All four alphas stilled before looking directly at her.

"And when did that become your decision to make?" Yoongi asked, making the assistant shrink slightly from nerves.

"Bring them in," Namjoon instructed, not wanting to waste another minute with the frustrating situation.

The assistant paused again, surprising the alphas with a rather idiotic double-down. "Sir, they are...these omegas are not fit for a lingerie campaign. I'm not entirely sure they are fit for modeling at all."

Jungkook let out an involuntary growl, hating the judgmental tone in the woman's voice. "Tell us why then since you know so much."

Her eyes widened, caught off guard by the demand, but she recovered quickly, stepping a little closer to them.

"It's just...they are plus-sized..." the assistant whispered as if she were using profane language.

The group of alphas stared at her in various states of exasperation and anger at her words.

"Bring them in, now," Namjoon demanded, his voice taking on a dark timber that was clearly enraged.

She scrambled to the door and called in the last group.

As the three omegas crossed the threshold, the alphas were grateful that they were wearing scent blockers because the room could have sent someone into heat or rut with the instant attraction.

Namjoon couldn't take his eyes off the first omega in line.

He had dark hair that covered his forehead and beautiful, symmetrical features. For an omega, he was quite tall with broad shoulders and a long torso.

He had wide hips and a soft belly that was highlighted by the figure-hugging slip dress all auditioning omegas were dressed in that day, his weight distributed proportionally across his body below the silk fabric.

The second omega was nearly just as tall and caught the attention of both Yoongi and Hoseok.

With sharp features and an intense gaze, it might be easy to assume he was actually an alpha. He had plush arms and legs that made his skin look velvety and a plump midsection that pulled the fabric tight against him.

He radiated confidence, sending the alphas an interested expression that had Yoongi and Hoseok ready to offer him anything to come home with them.

When the third omega entered the room, Jungkook was ready to drop to his knees to give him anything he wanted.

The blonde was more traditionally omegan in his looks - shorter than the other two but no less striking. He had plump lips and sultry eyes, his facial features almost feline.

His mile-long legs led up to an impressively round, perky ass that was challenging the slip dress with each swing of his hips. The soft plane of his belly led into a trim waist that only further emphasized his rotund lower half.

Without speaking a word between them, the alphas knew they had found the main models for their campaign and possibly their future mates if they had any say in it.

Namjoon looked up at the omegas with a smile before turning his attention to his assistant, expression instantly dropping into one of pure disdain for her.

"Hana?"

"Yes, sir," she responded, having the nerve to look a bit smug as if she thought she was right in her earlier assertion.

"You're fired."

Her eyes grew wide and she stumbled slightly as she physically recoiled from his words. "What? Sir, I don't understand."

"You heard me, Hana. You're fired, pack your things. I want you gone by the end of the day," Namjoon said firmly, a touch of alpha pride bleeding into his voice when he saw the amused expressions on the omegas' faces.

The beta scrambled to leave the room, huffing in confused anger at her termination.

Namjoon turned back to the omegas with an excited smile. "Would the three of you be interested in getting lunch? You know, discuss the project and such?"

The three omegas shared looks of pleased interest - the younger two, later introduced as Jimin and Taehyung, nodding to who the alphas would find was the oldest named Seokjin.

"We would be honored, alphas."

[hailbop1701]

ReaperXFemaleReader

Doom: To Hell And Back

Chapter 1: Leave is Canceled

Hi everyone! I've been thinking about this for some time and I finally decided to do it. This is my first fanfiction in years and my very first reader insert. I hope this does Doom justice I truly do.

“In the year 2026 archaeologists working in the Nevada desert discovered a portal to an ancient city on Mars. They called this portal the Ark. 20 years later we’re still struggling to understand why it was built and what happened to the civilization that built it. “

A shrill beeping broke the silence of the room. Groaning you swatted at your night side table looking for the object of your extreme annoyance. Which you undoubtedly flung to the floor; hissing you peeled your eyes open and rolled half your body off the bed to look for your damn phone. Picking it up you jabbed the green button and put the device to your ear. 

“H’lo” you cringed slightly at the sound of your own voice. You immediately stiffened at the sound of your commanding officer's voice.  “ Yes sir, no sir. I’ll be at the strip in an hour sir.” 

You sat up and hissed at the sudden altitude, sighing you look at the time and flipped your blankets up. Moving around your room in the semi-dark was almost routine by now. The only light was a red blinking open sign from the dive bar below you; it seeped through your blinds like a bad omen. Dressing quickly you scanned the room and grabbed your phone and keys. 

Rushing out the door you passed by the bar owner. You gave him a courteous wave before hopping on your bike. The man grunted at you and examined your ass; as he always does. Sighing and rolling your eyes you revved the engine and were off to base. You were in RRTS unit 4, which is based in Washington State. 

It took very little time to drive up the coast; slowing down to a stop at the heavily guarded gated entrance you balanced your bike and gave a smile to the guard. “Hey Mike,” you said lifting your helmet visor.  “Hey (Y/N), I thought you were on leave?” came the voice of a kind rotund man. You gave a sad sigh, “Oh you know; I love my job so much I just couldn’t stay away.” you said with a laugh.

Mike snorted and shook his head; he pulled a retinal scanner from his belt and held it up to your eye. After a moment the little machine whirled and gave a happy beep of approval. The gate to the bridge slid open and you flicked your visor down again. “Tell Mina I said hello! Oh and that I hope she aced that Chem exam!” you called out over your bike’s engine. Mike grinned and gave a slight wave in response. You then sped across the three-mile-long bridge to the man-made island that housed your unit. Parking close to your barracks, you hop off your bike and take the stairs two at a time. Pulling off your helmet, you tug the door open and walk straight into your commanding officer. 

Gunnery Sergeant Edward Cayden call sign Hunter. “Oof, Jesus Hunt. Hi.” you said rubbing your nose. “(Y/N), my girl, right on time! Come on I have a debrief for you.” he said with a lopsided smile. The man turned and you followed him relaxed as can be. “What’s going on Hunt?” you asked closing his office door.  Hunter sat down at his desk and plugged in a data chip. 

“Union Aerospace has requested assistance to contain a Level 5 breach at their Olduvai facility.” 

“This is Dr. Carmack, Classified Research, Olduvai, ID 6627. We’ve had a level 5 breach. Implement quarantine procedures immediately. I repeat. This is Dr. Carmack, Classified Research. Olduvai, ID 6627. We’ve had a level 5 breach. Implement quarantine procedures now.” 

“Gunnery Sergeant Mahonin requested a specialist medic. One who has been in the shit and one who can handle their weapon. He requested you by name (Y/N); and I guess it helps you have experience in quarantine situations. And all those fancy medals." Hunter said with a proud smile. You roll your eyes but return the smile. “Careful your face is gonna split in two, old man.” 

Hunted scowled, “I’m not old.” 

You snorted and moved toward the door, “(Y/N)” you looked over your shoulder with a raised eyebrow. Hunter frowned, “Be careful kid. I got a bad feeling about this one.”  he said and you give him a grin. “When am I not careful?” 

The man sighs and shakes his head as she leaves his office to grab her gear. Tapping his desk with his knuckle, Hunter calls up Mahonin. “She’s on her way.” 

“Good. We’ll rendezvous in Nevada; thanks again Ed for lending her out.” came a terse reply. “She better come back in the same-” Hunter was cut off by a laugh. “If she is as you described’ there won’t be a problem. Mahonin out.” the line went dead. The feeling in the pit of his stomach became more pronounced.

It took a solid hour for the transport to land at area 51. You checked and double-checked your gear. Medkits, ammo, testing kits, knife, belt knife, boot knife, rifle, handgun. You shifted in your seat, your vest perfectly tight around your ribs. You pressed your thumb into the scanner of your rifle, 

“ RRTS Special Ops clearance Verified. Handle ID: Crow” 

Smirking you glance down at the black tattoo on your wrist. “Pray for war,” you whisper as the transport touched down. Sliding the door open you look over to see another transport dropping down. Grabbing your pack you head toward the facility entrance to wait. Eight men exited the chopper and jogged toward you. You were already getting some looks; moving forward a few steps to meet a rather large man in the center. He held out a hand towards you, “ Sergeant (Y/L/N), good to finally meet you. I’m Gunnery Sergeant Mahonin. Call me Sarge.” you nod and shake the man’s hand. Sarge turned toward his men and waved a hand toward each one “ We’ve got Mac, Goat, Destroyer, Portman, Duke, Reaper, and the Kid.” 

You nod at them all and waited as Sarge continued, “Men this is Crow our borrowed Medic and quarantine expert. She comes from RRTS Unit 4.” 

Portman leered at you and licked his lips. You rolled your eyes and glanced over your shoulder as the elevator began to rise from the sand. “Move in,” Sarge commanded and all nine of you crammed into the elevator. “Hey, Sarge I thought Reaper was our medic? Not that I’m complaining.” Duke asked sending you a charming smile. 

“Just because I have an understanding of first aid, doesn’t make me a medic.” Reaper said lowly. That’s when you suddenly feel fingers dance across your ass, gritting your teeth you expertly grab the hand and twist it so it was at an odd angle. Portman cried out in pain. “Listen, Portman was it? I’m only going to say this once. Touch me again, and I’ll make it look like natural causes. Am I clear?” 

Portman yelped when he didn’t answer as you brought a finger to a pressure point in his wrist. “Am. I. Clear?” you asked again slowly. The elevator was quiet and watching with amusement. “Crystal.” Portman gasped and you let him go. Portman held his hand to his chest and glared at you.  Sarge gave you a once over and nodded his approval; he didn't have the time or patience to hold hands. He seemed happy that you could take care of yourself.

“I think I’m in love,” Duke said with a grin, you rolled your eyes and faced front again with a smirk. Destroyer’s laugh boomed in the small space and Reaper’s lip twitched upwards into a ghost of a smile. The elevator slowed and came to a stop, the Ark was dead ahead. Hunter’s bad feeling fluttered in your own stomach now. 

@thottiewithashotgun

@dw-writes

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING ch 54

WARNING: This chapter contains brief mentions of gore and themes that some readers may find disturbing or alarming. 

Nenani could not stop thinking about the strange boy in the tree. What did he mean that she smelled like fire? They all had been sitting around a fire the night before, so should they not all smell like fire? Why only her? Or did he mean that he could smell her magic? Did magic have a smell? And if Haiyer did have magic, as the stranger boy insisted, why had he not bloomed yet? Had her mother put a seal on him as well? No, that did not make sense at all. Their mother ran from Aidus out of fear that he would kill Haiyer for not having magic.

She suddenly had a lot of questions for Maevis once they got back to the castle. And perhaps a few for her mother as well.

They did encounter a number of other bodies as they walked, forever sleeping among the tangled roots, but they did not stop to inspect them as they had the others. Keral’s eyes studied them as they passed, but he kept a steady pace that Farris matched. The kitchen master did not even look at them, and Nenani was growing concerned that he might find them upsetting. There wasn’t much Farris could not face, and the sheer practicality of his manner made it all the more worrying to Nenani. She hated the idea of him being upset. Not mad, she was quite accustomed to that. But the idea of Farris being upset was disconcerting. His eyes seemed to dart away the moment a body came into view, his shoulders tensing up, and there was a subtle shift in his breathing. He didn’t want to see them. 

She couldn’t blame him.

 ………

It was barely an hour passed mid-day when they finally came across a road. It was made of white and grey gravel, pounded flat over years of heavy use, with neatly spaced gouges down the center marking the path of cart wheels. The road looked like a long pale scar carved into the forest, cutting through copses of trees that had stood hundreds of years before there was ever a road. Ten minutes following it and they happened upon the first gate.

Two obelisk-like pillars stood sentry on either side of the road with an ornate iron gate strung between them. The metal bars had been shaped and pounded into elaborate twists and curves. Though it was clearly meant to be a display of wealth, there was something dominating and commanding about it.

Atop each of the obelisks were marbled granite spheres with trees carved into them. Keral rearded the gate with a scrutinizing eye. 

“For a man with the reputation for being very hospitable, his garden gate sure don’t look it.”

“Doesn't matter the man’s reputation,” Farris replied. “All gates are meant to keep folks out. Be a lot more suspicious if it looked more welcoming. Besides all that, a gate means we’ve made it. So we can get on with the rest of this madness and get back to the castle.”

The gates themselves were locked tight by a severe-looking padlock, but Keral still gave it an experimental jiggle that sent the iron works screeching and moaning in protest. A few moments later, as though having rung a bell, a figure emerged from behind a bend in the road. He walked quickly, but his short stature and portly middle made his walk more of a waddle. And if the flushed complexion and puffing cheeks were any indication, he was not very pleased. His eyes looked between Farris and Keral’s faces and then to Jae and Nenani, who both were peeking out from behind the brothers’ heads. His eye narrowed and he flung his arm out to his right in a manic gesture.

“Deliveries are to be made at the red gate,” the man said, waving his arm. “How many times must we tell you bloody...”

The man paused, suddenly taking note of Keral’s coat and its color. A little of the blood in his cheeks drained away. Keral’s easy stance straightened and his muscles and tendons tightened as he assumed a more commanding presence.

“Deliveries?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. “We aren’t here to deliver anythin’. We’re in need of some assistance as it happens.”

The man swallowed thickly.

“W-well, if you’re needing food, you’ll have to come back later,” the man said. “Alms are only distributed on Fridays. And His Lordship isn’t in residence just now.”

“I know he ain’t here. And we’re not looking for alms either,” Keral said. “My name is Keral Athair, Captain of His Majesty’s Rangers and I’m here to claim quarters for myself and my companions.”

The man balked, and a condescending scoff was just at his lips when his brain reminded it whom he was speaking to and he disguised it behind a cough. He readjusted his stance to match Keral’s, but his shorter stature and more rotund figure did not quite make the effect. “To claim quarters? Sir?”

“Aye. I’m sure you're familiar with the practice, ain’t ye? A man in service to His Majesty may call upon the lords of the kingdom to – ”

“Yes, yes. I am aware, sir, of what claiming quarters means. We just don’t see many rangers up this way and so it has been quite some time since we’ve had...the honor to host,” he said. “And may I ask why you’re here to grace us with your presence?”

“On business for His Majesty,” Keral replied and supplied no more.

Nenani watched the exchange with a mixture of confusion and anxiety. She had never seen anyone talk to Keral the way the sentry did. In her experience, he commanded a great deal of respect. It was a new proposition to witness anything to the contrary. And if Farris’s expression was any sort of a tell, he felt similarly. She wondered if it would be better for him to say who they and Jae were. If a captain of the Rangers did not merit an immediate invitation inside, then perhaps the king’s adopted son and the two heirs to Silvaara would. But Keral remained tight-lipped.

The sentry looked very uncomfortable and ill equipped to know what to do, and it was clearly annoying Keral, who snorted with impatience.

“So then might we be brought up to the house?” he asked shortly. “I’ll need to make use of your falconer to send the king a message. It is of some importance.”

The last part was said with an exasperated inflection. Finally the man seemed to understand well enough, and he stumbled forward to open the gate. But his expression was curiously dour. The iron gates were pushed aside with the screaming of their hinges as the man stepped to the side and waved them in.

“Follow me, if you please.”

The sullen-faced man said nothing as he led them down the long drive. There was a stark contrast between the trees inside the gated property and those outside. While winter had ravaged the foliage of color and leaves, the manicured and pruned trees of the Brennan estate looked as though it were still midsummer.

They were lush and full of leaves, and there was only a splash of autumn colors here or there. The rest were all a verdant green as though suspended in perpetual summer.

“Does he have men tie the leaves back onto the tree?” Jae whispered to Keral. The ranger’s eyes remained steady and he only grunted noncommittally.

“Lord Brennan must be mighty proud of gardeners,” Farris said to their guide. “To be able to keep color like that in this cold.”

The sentry’s head shifted as he answered. “His Lordship takes great pride in his family’s estate and heritage. Maintaining Blythe trees takes a delicate hand and firm knowledge for them to keep evergreen.”

“So it’s not their natural state fer ‘em to be green like that this time ‘a year?” Farris asked.

“Those trees were cultivated by His Lordship’s ancestor more than eight hundred years ago,” he said. “It is a symbol of his house and is believed that so long as the Blythe trees stand, so shall the house of Brennan. So yes, sir, great pains are taken to keep the trees healthy and prospering. Their coloration is a consequence of the superior care they are given.”

Nenani was surprised at just how long it took for them to reach the house. The road took them though two more locked gates before the house came into view at last. Even then, it still took the group another ten minutes to transverse the long drive and arrive at the great stone entryway of the house.

It was easily the largest house she had ever seen. It wasn’t a castle in any sense of the word, but a grand house.Tan and dark stone stacked together in a very pleasing way to make tall strong walls topped with sloping roofs. A single large dormer overlooked the property. For a house, it had many windows and did not appear to have been built with defense in mind, unlike the Vhashallan castle. A vast meadow spread out behind the manor, and she could see the mountains in the distance.

And yet, the nagging voice in her head was buzzing again, much in the same way it had when they had first ventured into the forest. But she was quick to shake the feeling away. This house belonged to Lord Brennan. Her recollection of him was that he seemed very amiable and friendly. Her mother had taken such an immediate liking to him at the dinner. But his house, much like the forest that surrounded it, did not feel welcoming at all.

But then, she had to admit, how something looked upon first meeting did not always reflect the truth of it. She had experienced such a phenomenon time and time again since coming to Vhasshal. Farris and Keral were both such examples. And they were not in any state for being overly critical. So she ignored the little nagging voice. Looking to Farris and then to Keral, she felt secure enough to know there was nothing to worry about. It was nerves, she told herself. She was merely eager to return home.

……………….

A tall, thin woman giant waited for them at the front door. The sentry rushed ahead of them to whisper something in her ear, and she had to bend herself over for him to reach. Her expression did not change, and she merely nodded.

“I shall take it from here, then,” she said to him. “Please return to your post.”

In stark contrast to the sentry, the housekeeper was calm and composed, as though she had been expecting them all along. She was dressed all in a mottled black and dark green fabric and wore her large, hawkish nose proudly. Her small brown eyes stared down along its length. It was almost comical the way she held her head so far back, as though she were going to sneeze at any moment and wanted to be prepared.

“I do apologize, my lords,” she said. “But His Lordship is away at court on His Majesty’s invitation. But the hospitality of this house is at your disposal. I am afraid, though, you have caught us in a bit of an awkward time, however. Most of the rooms are under renovation and are not decent enough for occupation just yet. I have a few small rooms upstairs we put you up in.”

Keral did not meet the woman’s eye but instead gazed around at the house behind her. “We don’t need nothing fancy. A single room will do for all of us. And I’ll be needing to speak with your falconer as soon as possible.”

She dipped into a polite curtsy. “I shall send for him immediately. We also have accommodations more appropriate for the humans, sir, if you wish.”

Keral shook his head. “No. They’re stayin’ with us, ma’am, thanks all the same.”

The woman’s lips pursed tightly. “Of course, sir. I only meant that...”

“They stay with us. We don’t plan on intruding for very long and they’re tired from the journey. If you could show us to a room, we’ll sort it all out ourselves.”

The woman dipped again and made a vague gesture to follow her.

Through the main entry, they spilled out into the atrium. The floors were a dark-colored wood, polished to a high sheen, as were the walls. Marble pillars drew the eye to the ornate wooden ceiling and the carved stone statuettes at the corners, like little stone spies. Tapestries were hung along each wall leading to the main staircase. It too was made of the same dark wood. However, the housekeeper led them down a smaller corridor off to the side, a servant’s entrance, and they followed her to a much more humble set of narrow stairs that led them to a modest guest room. There were three beds lined up along a wall close to the only window. There was a small table on one end of the room and a simple fireplace at the other.

“I shall send the maid up to light the fire for you gentlemen,” she said. Farris went to one of the beds and helped Nenani down from his pack before slinging it from his shoulders. Keral did the same with Jae but did not pulled Haiyer from his pocket. “Shall I send up some supper for you as well, my lord?”

“You’re most kind, ma’am,” Keral replied. “If it’s not too much trouble, could ye have some brought up fer the humans as well?”

She gave the smallest of smiles and inclined her head. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“My name is Miss Embrews, if you should need anything else. Once the falconer has arrived I shall send a footman to inform you.”

“I would appreciate it,” he replied. And with that, Miss Embrews turned and shut the door behind her. Her footsteps faded away and only then did Keral’s stance relax. He turned to his brother. “That was odd.”

Farris snorted. “That sentry was a prickly lil’ bastard.”

“He was,” Jae agreed, bouncing experimentally on the bed before flopping back. “Why did you tell them who we were? Wouldn’t that have...I dunno, put more of a fire under their arse?”

Keral’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in all the details. “Hm. Eh, might have. But I have a funny feeling. Better play it safe and not say anythin’. Fer now.”

Nenani’s ear tingled. Keral’s senses and intuitions were sharp and well honed. If he was picking up on something just as she was, perhaps he was right and they needed to proceed carefully. Lord Brennan may be genial and kind, but that was no guarantee that his servants were anything of the sort.

“It feels weird here,” Nenani admitted. “The forest felt that way too. Like...something saying we shouldn’t be here.”

Farris nodded. “Aye. Have to agree with ye two. Somethin’s off. Don’t smell right.”

Keral had been walking the room, assessing it and poking at the walls experimentally. He kicked one of the bed’s legs and upon Farris’s comment, he spun on his heels to face his brother, eyes alight with inspiration. “Ye know what it reminds me of, Farris? When Mum would get worked up over something and she’d spend two days washing and polishing everything in the house until it sparkled.”

Farris’s eyes widened. “Fuckin’ hell, yer right. Even smells like it.”

“Everything’s too clean,” Keral said. He looked around the room again with new eyes. “Even the castle ain’t this clean.”

“If there’s no one living here,” Jae said, pushing himself onto his elbows. “Doesn’t it make sense that it’d be clean?”

“Might be. But ye remember when Warren had the Queen’s apartments renovated before the weddin’?” Keral asked. “All the hullabaloo and all?”

Jae nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“Ye remember how filthy the place was all the while? With all the supplies and dirt being tracked everywhere from the workers?”

Jae’s lazy expression widened with clarity. “Yeah. I do remember that.”

Keral nodded. “Aye. She says they’re renovatin’ most ‘a the rooms? Where’s the evidence of it? Where’s the supplies? Where are the workers? The dirt?”

Farris made a displeased rumble. “We need to send that message out quick and get outta here.”

Keral nodded and reached into his pocket to fish Haiyer out and set him down next to Jae. The little boy sprang up to his feet and spent several moments happily celebrating his freedom by frog hopping in circles around the other boy.

“I’ll send the message and we can rest here for the night. Just gotta keep our eyes open fer anythin’ off. And we’ll move on tomorrow with some supplies and maybe a cart. Whatever they’re doin’ up this way, I’ll need more than a funny feeling to inspect further. My position gives me a lot of freedom to dig around, but I’ll need more that to do much of anything. Right now at least.”

“He was really nice at the dinner,” Nenani said. “Mama really seemed to like him.”

“No surprise,” Farris said. “He has a good reputation at court. The king likes him.”

“Haven’t ever spoken with him myself,” Keral said. “But he always seemed a friendly enough man. Not one to show off or bring attention to his person. An odd trait in a courtier.”

Jae snorted. “You mean like Colem does?”

“No one does it like Colem,” Keral laughed. “But say what you want of the man. Personally, I find him to be quite amusing.”

Jae glared up at the ranger. “You only say that because you know how much he annoys me.”

Keral grinned but did not deny the accusation. “Believe it or not, there’s a lot more to that loony bastard than ye might think.”

Jae looked as though he wanted to reply, but they were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Farris, who had sat down on the bed, reached out to coax Nenani closer to him. Keral motioned for Jae and Haiyer to remain where they were and then turned towards the door. He cracked it open and asked, “Yes?”

“I’m here to build the fire, milord,” said a young and high pitched voice. Keral pulled the door open to reveal a young maid with thin mousy brown hair tucked up under a simple cap. She, like the housekeeper, was very thin, with a hawkish nose. It was painfully obvious there were shared relations. She hurried inside, awkwardly carrying a load of firewood and some flint. “It won’t be but a moment, milords.”

She made quick work of setting the logs inside, but as she worked with the flint, striking it repeatedly to bring up a spark, her eyes darted to the side every so often. Jae, who sat on the bed nearest to her, watched and did not miss the quick glances his way or the pursed lips. Looking to Keral, he shared a bemused look. The ranger only gave a small nod and Jae got up from his spot, taking Haiyer’s hand, and they moved further up the bed and closer to Farris.

The maid rose to her feet as the fire began to burn properly and she gave a small bow. “The footman should be here shortly with your food, milords.”

Keral nodded. “Thank you.”

As the girl departed, a tall middle-aged man crested the stairs carrying a tray. The maid stepped gingerly aside as he moved into the room, and she gave him an amused grin before dashing off back down the narrow stairs. The same smile graced the footman’s face, but dropped the moment the maid was out of sight and he turned to the room. He sat the tray upon the table and turned to Keral.

“Will there be anything else, milord?”

“No, this will do fine. Any news of the falconer?”

“He lives in a cottage away from the house, sir. But Miss Embrews has sent for him. Shouldn’t be much longer, sir.”

Though displeased, Keral nodded. “Good.”

“If it pleases milord, I could take whatever message you may have and meet him halfway with it.”

“No, I will wait for him. Thanks all the same.”

The footman looked disappointed but gave a short nod and quitted the room. The food he had brought consisted of an iron pot and two bowls with a loaf of bread. Farris went over to it, taking the bread in his hands and scrutinizing it.

“Their ovens run too hot. Bottom’s burned,” he said as he dropped it back onto the tray. “I’d kick Quin in the arse fer tryin’ to serve that t’ anyone.”

“Not every baker can be as amazing as yers, Farris,” Keral replied, looking at it for himself. “Looks perfectly fine to me.”

“Say the man who eats dirt,” Farris quipped back. He pulled the lid off the pot. Inside was a cream colored soup with various vegetables and hunks of pale meat. “Looks under seasoned.”

Keral rolled his eyes.

“Gods forgive anyone who under-seasons food around you,” Keral grunted. “Just ladle it out and complain later.”

Farris merely grunted and took up one of the bowls to ladle in the soup. As he filled the first bowl and went to grab the second, a sudden flash of gold light filled the room, startling the lot of them.

“Wait!” cried a familiar voice. An orb of transparent gold hovered over Keral’s head, making quick circles around him. Startled, Keral shied away from it but frowned when recognition hit him.

“Ellis!” Haiyer cried out in delight, getting to his feet and rushing to the end of the bed. “You came back!”

Annoyed, Keral resisted the urge to swat at the fairy. “Oh, back already are we? Where’s that mage ‘a yer’s lass? Don’t suppose he’ll be turnin’ himself in, eh?”

Her voice was frantic and quick and no one could make out what she was saying. She flew away to fly laps around Farris’s head.

“Gods piss on it, girl!” Farris barked. “We can’t understand a word. Slow down.”

The fairy’s golden light took on a red hue as though manifesting her frustration. She flew to the soup pot and slammed the lid back onto the pot and stood on top of it.

“Don’t eat the soup!” she said, breathless.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Keral asked, the annoyance turning to anger.

“Poisoned?” Farris asked, his expression matching his brother’s.

“No!” she said. “People! There are people in it!”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[aquadestinyswriting]

Last Line Tag

I was just tagged by the lovely @hippiewrites, and since I've started working on the prologue for the modern AU, have a snippet of the start of it. Under a cut because, swearing. Making this an open tag as I've recently hit the tag list with this game already.

“Ironforge!” The voice bellowing from the office at the back of the station was enough to make several officers clap their hands over their ears. The Sergeant Major was pissed. More than usual.  A short, stocky woman looked up from her paperwork, wincing. She slowly stood, tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear, “Aye, sir?” “Office! Now!” snapped the reply as the rotund, middle-aged man stormed back into the office, leaving the door open. Several officers, of varying ranks, immediately began avoiding the gaze of their colleague as she marched stiffly between the desks and piles of paperwork. She grimaced as she heard the whispers trailing behind her, “What the fuck did she do?” “Got the front of the Houses of Parliament blown up apparently.” “Moradin’s beard! you reckon they’re gonna –?” Meredith ignored them, keeping her face as neutral as possible as she approached the door of her commanding officer's office. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her and stood at complete attention, her hat held firmly in her hand at her side. She said nothing as she watched Sergeant Major Ragnarsson glare at her from behind his desk.

[bluefirewrites]

Sky High Mall!AU Part 2

Hey this is another excerpt from the Sky High Zach x Magenta WIP that I never finished (hence WIP). 

It’s a Mall!AU where the characters are kids with summer jobs at the mall. No powers and it’s set around the time the movie came out- 2005. 

Part 1: https://bluefirewrites.tumblr.com/post/636284063233327104/sky-high-mallau

Would be Rated T and there’s excessive use of language throughout. 

This excerpt would be Zach’s perspective working at the music store at the mall. Enjoy!

_____________

Zach booked it down the mall, zooming past the crowd gathered at Sonic Boom, the music store

The music store he worked at.

The one he was supposed to be at right about now.

He pushed through the crowd, getting to the front where his coworker was working the register, seeming to throw the albums at the customers because it was that busy.

Zach loved his job... on any other day. He was a total musichead and he thought it was a long shot to even snag the job, considering it was common knowledge that it was run by Boomer who was a total hardass and pretty unforgiving to those who he deemed had shitty music taste.

He had seemed to wow him enough during the interview, which had been merely them talking about the music he listened to. Thank god, he had just enough of an eclectic music taste that he was able to keep up with whatever soft rock ‘80s classic question that Boomer threw his way.

The Black Eyed Peas album just dropped today and everyone had been clamoring to get in to grab it, so it meant all hands on deck. But only the hands that Boomer could afford to pay right now, so it was only Speed there at the moment.

Zach leapt over the counter, shedding his jacket to reveal his shirt already sporting his name tag, “Yo, is Boom here yet?”

“Cutting it close, freshie,” The senior looked like he wanted to throttle him for leaving him hanging longer than he should have. But it was only like 5 minutes, and Zach had been rushing from summer school to make it home, get ready, then come straight to the mall. He did the best he could.

“You know you can stick a hat on it right?” Speed ruffled his hair while tapping his own cap, messing up the gel that he had put in there before he came to the store and greasing up his hands in the process.

“Hey!” Zach cursed him out for deflating his hair as well as making him pick up the slack while Speed wipes off the hair gel.

Speed always pulled shit like this on him. He hated having shifts with a guy who loved to pick on him, and not in the friendly-joking way that he was used to.

For the next couple of minutes, the two of them were able to go ring up the crowd quickly, even shrunk down the amount of people in the store to half of its capacity. It was still busy, but it was more manageable than before that it actually freed up Speed to do his laps around the store, trying to quell the crowd and mitigate whatever problem came up that would have resulted in calling in the manager.

20 minutes later, they both had a lid on the situation. Only because they were pretty much no more copies of Monkey Business. Zach was about to check if they had more when he realized that the store was eerily quiet. He had just noticed that the TVs around the place were turned off and no music was playing in the store.

Zach went for the sound system dial towards the back of the store but Speed came from behind and beat him to it, “You snooze, you lose, freshie.” His coworker sliding in a Snoop Dogg CD he had snagged from earlier.

He groaned. Zach didn’t mind Snoop, but Speed would play it almost nonstop every time Zach can’t reach the dial fast enough. Speed had almost no taste, always playing chart toppers and whatever cute girls would request (which usually would be chart toppers).

Speed waltzed over to the records, getting high-fives from a couple of customers on the way over, “It’s what the people love!”

“Not Boomer,” Zach pointed out, whilst walking over to the main displays up front. The crowd had kept bumping to the table so he had to make it look tidy.

“But Boomer ain’t here. He’s never here,”

Zach looked up and caught a glimpse of his hair on the main monitor that was supposed to feature the Black Eyed Peas music videos. Shit.  It was sticking out in weird places and looked deflated in others. He ran his hair through it and tried to zhuzh it up with his fingers but nothing seemed to be staying.

“Aww.You’re still pissy about your hair? Did you a favor, dorkwad,”

Zach rolled his eyes. Normally, he would try to steer clear of Speed and try not to notice him. But his co-worker seemed to be in such a talkative mood today, “It was fine the way it was, Speed.” He finished resetting the table cloth and arranging the display how it was supposed to look before turning around to help a customer find a Celine Dion CD.

“Stop being such a tryhard,” Speed said to him as he passed with the customer, “The ladies like it when you’re chill.”

“How would you know that?” A new voice added. Once Zach successfully helped the customer, he whirled around to find his buddy, Will. He took notice of the blue shirt and gray khakis and figured he had work today at Champs. He barely saw Will anymore due to Zach having summer school and their schedules never seemed to match up.

“Shut the fuck up, Stronghold,” Speed sneered at the newcomer.

Will paid him no mind while he shook Zach’s hand before bringing him in for a quick hug, “Zach-Attack!”

“Will, like it’s not great to see you, cuz it is. Great. To see you, that is,” Zach kept on the lookout for Boomer while walking towards the register because Speed had left it unattended, “Kinda not a good time right now, man.”

Will greet a few other people he knew around the store. He scanned the big displays and the cardboard cutouts on the front, “BEP?”

“BEP,” The blonde confirmed, “And I’m already on Boomer’s bad side for fucking up with the Mariah Carey launch.”

His friend clicked his tongue, recalling that certain incident. Zach remembered that Will had been working his shift downstairs when he heard Boomer let him have it. He had heard Boomer all the way from down there- that was how bad it was.

“How were you supposed to stop a bunch of nimrods from defacing her cut out?”

Zach shuddered at the thought of all the obscene Sharpie marks all over Mariah Carey’s cardboard figure, “I swear, Speed had something to do with it. That guy has got it out for me ever since I started working this joint,” he whispered.

“It’s because out of everyone here, you’re the customers’ favorite. You actually know your shit,”

Zach figured that it was somewhat true. They would get regulars pretty often and they always seemed to gravitate towards him. Zach did enjoy making connections with everyone no matter what their music taste was.

One time, this one guy came in, all in orange, who had been tentative in asking where the classical music selection was. Luckily, Zach got to him first before Speed could roast him. And good thing too, because that guy became one of his favorite regulars. He might be working at Radio Shack, the last he heard from him.

“Thanks, man,” Zach really appreciated it. Sometimes he couldn’t help but get all up in his head at his job. He wanted to do really well and hopefully one day he would have worked enough hours to save up for a car. He had been getting real tired of having to rush on his bike everywhere and being constantly late.

“But seriously, scatter. Don’t make me have to kick you out.” he joked to his smaller friend.  

“Yeah, Stronghold. Go back to dealing with smelly feet all day,” Speed yelled from his side of the store.

“You’re just jealous because I got the job and you didn’t,”

Zach had to hold back a laugh seeing Speed getting worked up so quickly. He had heard Speed bitching about being passed over the job at Foot Locker constantly. The guy had been a total sneakerhead so it had been a crushing blow to his ego that a freshman got the position while he was stuck working for cantankerous Boomer.

“Whatever, man. You probably got it because you’re a Stronghold,”

Will shook his head, the jabs of his dad being the Mayor never really fazing him much anymore, “Remind me again, how did you get the name, Speed, again?”

The rotund bully growled. Everyone knew that there were two stories that could have explained how Speed got his infamous moniker. One was because  all the joyrides in his Jeep that resulted in property damage. The other well… had to do with distributing contraband. Bringing up either, was cause for a beatdown.

Speed advanced towards Will, ready to punch him square in the face, no matter how many onlookers in the store gathered around to watch the debacle. Zach had to vault over the counter, to get in between the two when all of the sudden a resounding yell broke through the clatter that made all parties involved wince and cover their ears.

“Ladies, enough!”

Boom strolled in, aviators perched on his crooked nose, commanding the attention of the room- as if his voice didn’t do that already. He came up beside Zach, poking at Will to step backwards until he was out of the store,“Shouldn’t you be downstairs, Stronghold?”

“Yes, Boomer,” He shouldered his bag before throwing a passing glance at Zach. Good luck, he seemed to emote.

Rightfully so because all of the sudden Boomer marched over to him, “Why if it isn’t Superstar, here to grace us with your presence,” His eyes landed on the BEP display and noted the dwindling number of albums, “Restock those will ya? And Speed” he turned to the older boy, “you’re relieved of your post.”

Speed looked up to the heavens, “Thank fuck.”

“Language!”

He straightened up, “Sorry, sir,” Then he ducked for the back, switching off Snoop Dogg as he did so. Zach followed suit to where they did inventory and found another box of the albums and hauled ass back out to replace the albums on the display.

“Now, get to that, will you,” Boomer ordered while counting up the till to see if everything was where it should be, “And if I see a hint of Sharpie on either of those cardboard figures, your ass is mine, kid.”

Zach almost let out a laugh but remembered it was Boomer. He meant everything to be a threat, “O-okay,” he managed to get out without laughing. Then he saw Boomer closing up the register and heading for the door, “Wait? You’re leaving already?”

“Yeah. I’m the owner. I can do what I want,”

“I mean, since I’m like the only guy here and it’s a pretty busy day- I thought-”

“You thought what? That you need help?” he seemed to project the full force of his voice at him that Zach cowered against his better judgement.

“Listen, I started this shop to fill it with music,” His boss went off, “Real music. Not what passes off as music these days. Those hip grinding degenerates are showing up by the boatloads today and I don’t wanna be here when they do.”

A little boy approached the man, tugging against his cargo shorts, “Excuse me, where are the Eminem CDs?”

Boomer looked at the kid with disgust and shimmied him off, “That’s my cue,” He scrounged his pockets for the keys and tossed them Zach’s way, “Here, you’re closing up today.”

“What the-?” Zach nearly fumbled with the keys, “Again?” He had been closing every night this week, despite not actually being allowed to, with him being 15 and all. But Boomer had an arrangement with Ron Wilson, security guard who patrols at night.

“Don’t mess this up for me, Blondie!” His boss yelled just an influx of people arrived at the store, hungrily grabbing the CDs off the display he had just finished restocking.

“I’ll try,” he responded, knowing full well that Boomer could not hear him. Speed sped by, sticking his tongue at him on his way to freedom. The line of people had started forming and Zach cracked his knuckles- no choice but to face them on his own.

[giogio-gucci-gangstar]

Bonding Time with Dr Phil

DIO takes Hol Horse and Vanilla Ice to therapy.

Thx @iggybestdoggo for the absolutley CURSED reccomendations

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hol Horse and Vanilla Ice had been instructed to drive DIO into a recording studio in Cairo. Neither particularly knew why, but DIO had insisted it would be a bonding experience.

When they finally arrived, Enyaba greeted them, telling DIO that everything had been set up and “he was ready.” Hol Horse wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but most of the time he wasn’t sure what DIO meant so he went along anyways.

“Master DIO, May I ask why we are here?” Vanilla Ice was equally as confused as Hol Horse.

“I have arranged a meeting with the great Dr. Phil from the color box I had installed in my room. He helps people deal with issues like ours.” DIO explained as if that was a sufficient answer.

“Other people want to kill the Joestars?” Hol scrunched up his face, worrying that they would have to go up against more stand users.

“Mm not particularly. More of an issue with ‘partnership’.” DIO responded vaguely.

Oh shit, Hol Horse thought you himself, DIO didn’t have the best skills in matchmaking when it came to Hol’s previous partners...

The trio entered the studio only to find an empty audience but a rotund man tied to a chair in the center.

“Phil, I am sure Enyaba has filled you in on our... little predicament?” DIO was towering over the man who was visibly sweating through his tacky clothes.

“Uh. Yes sir. But I’m afraid I can’t work with hookers. Against studio policy.” Dr. Phil tried explain.

“There are no ‘hookers’ here,” DIO sneered down at the man.

“Well. I’m afraid that one over there in the leotard needs to cover up his ass cheeks or we won’t be able to get anything accomplished.”

“Hmm I suppose you’re right they are quite distracting. Vanilla Ice put one some tights.”

“Yes master.” Vanilla Ice scurried off trying to find sake thing suitable.

“Actually Vanilla-“ Hol started, but was interrupted by DIO, “No no, you’ll be staying here.”

“Well,” DIO sat down and crossed his legs, “let’s start things shall we?”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to start but-“

“SILENCE” DIO screamed at Dr Phil, turning instead to Hol Horse.

“Darling Hol, do you like being eaten?” DIO nearly whispered, leaning into Hol’s seat.

“Uh sir, I think if I had been eaten I wouldn’t be sitting here.” Hol stuttered.

“Ohh, so you wouldn’t even be able to sit let alone walk if you had? Isn’t that delightful.” DIO purred.

“I mean sir I feel like that’s kind of a life or death sort of-“

“Oh it’s that significant for you is it?” DIO was practically frothing at the mouth when Vanilla Ice jogged back in, dressed like he had just finished Jazzercise.

Dr. Phil looked between the three gentleman skeptically, “So you three are-“

“Partners. We’re partners.” DIO declared looping one arm around Hol and the other around Vanilla.

“Uh. Okay whatever you say yellow man-“

“HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT ME LIKE THIS YOU INSIGNIFCANT PEASANT-“

“I think you lot need to calm the fuck down. And to find some god.“ Dr Phil was going to say something pithy about thier outfits and male strippers but DIO was getting just a smidge infuriated.

“Phil. I am the closest thing to god you will ever see. And if you don’t want to spend an eternity under my thumb I suggest you get on with it.” DIO snarled close to the porky man’s ear.

“Uh alright then. Uh Sir. Um what exactly brings you into me today?” Dr Phil stuttered as the sudden reality of his situation hit. Sure he had had some really weird people in his show, and of course he had dealt with egomaniacs, people with god complexes, and the occasional BDSM tie up. But never all three at the same time. And certainly not with a giant beefcake of a man with two whorish lackeys.

“Simple. Ibe brought you two here because I want a threesome.” DIO stated, as if it was the only logical conclusion to this scenario.

Vanilla Ice hurled himself out of his chair and at DIO, “WHAT am I suddenly not ENOUGH for you? I bleached MY ASSHOLE for you!”

“And it was delicious,” DIO patted Vanilla Ice’s head, “but I desire more...” And with that open ended statement he threw a lustful look at Hol Horse.

“Oh... OHHHH!” Hol finally caught on to what DIO was saying. He stood up slowly and walked over to DIO.

He leaned in close to whisper in his ear, “I didn’t really peg this piggy over here to be your style, but go at it. I won’t stop you guys!” Hol threw a wink to a stupefied DIO and a disgusted Vanilla Ice before strolling out.

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Mini prompt-Anti having a good day and treating the bois nicely

“Okay, that’s it!” shouts Anti. “Get into the fuckingcar!”

The hot grip of the terror around its bones loses a little of itsstrength as Trick registers belatedly what he said.

“Wait - what?”

“You heard me! Get in the car! Goddamn! Go! Get in the car!”

Shaky already, Trick rubs at his watering eyes and slips behindRed, who holds him carefully at his back.

“Anti, I know we should have been more careful with the ball,but we didn’t mean to break the window,” sniffles Trick, buryinghis face in Red’s sweatshirt. “Please don’t dump me in theocean, I’ll be good, we were just playing. We’re just a littlecooped up, we - ”

“Yeah, I can goddamn tell,” snaps Anti, grabbing his hair andmaking him go “ack!” Trick gets obediently out from behind Redbefore Anti even has to tug or yank. “I hear you throwing that ballaround every hour of the day, all Dok does is sleep, Red has beensmacking his stupid head against the floorboards - ugh, I can’tstand the sound of you all anymore! I’m sick of this house! Dapjust stares at the wall all day, probably hallucinating, and Bluekeeps singing to himself… you all drive me mad, you know that?”

“Yes, Anti,” answers Trick and Red in morose tandem.

“But I thought we were hiding from the bad men?” Red proffersanxiously.

“Yes,” Anti puffs out a sigh. “We are. But you all need out.You’re acting like wild animals.”

Anti’s body is fizzling irritably, consumed all over withrunning lines and curves of rainbow-shifting glitches, his eyesflickering from black to green to blue to brown, stamping hisbarely-corporeal feet.

Ah, realizes Trick, picking at Red’s sleeve. So we’re not theonly ones feeling a little cooped up.

“Go get your brothers,” orders Anti, snapping his fingers infront of their faces and making Trick startle. “Now, I’m notwaiting. We’ll take the car… somewhere. Whatever. Come on! Fiveminutes or I’m leaving you behind!”

Red leaps to his feet and darts off towards his bedroom. PoorTrick is still red-faced and trembling in the expectation of somekind of trap, but Red, for his part, is not about to miss whateverthis day is about to become.

“What about a movie?” suggests Blue timidly.

Anti leans back farther in the passenger seat, shrugging, and Doksquirms behind him as his legs begin to get crushed. Trick looks upin the rearview mirror and giggles at his twin’s discomfort,earning himself a pointed glare. Anti’s eyes flicker over to Trickand he immediately tries to get the amusement off his mouth, butAnti’s already seen it.

He only grins and turns his head about, winking at Dok.

“Anti,” scoffs Dok, blushing as he realizes he’s beingteased, pushing at the car seat crushing him. Anti snorts and leansit all the way back, making Dok yelp and Dapper slide off of Blue’slap and onto the floor beside him, shaking his head at the laid-backchair, pushing at the side of it playfully.

“A movie, huh? I don’t know if we got fifty bucks lyingaround. Not if we want lunch.”

“We want lunch,” whispers Trick, growing bolder with everymoment that passes. He knows Anti isn’t mad now, right? He even lethim drive. He let Trick drive. Trick gets to take his familysomewhere. Trick gets to be in the front seat and Anti gets to bebeside him, beside him, beside Trick and nobody else.

Anti pushes the side of his head, playing with his soft brown downas the streets of the city pass them by in a rush of gold. Tricktries to keep his eyes on the road.

“We could go actually see some of the country,” suggest Dokplaintively. “The natural landmarks are - ”

“Who guessed he was going to say that?” asks Red, putting hishand in the air. “Blue, you - ? Yeah, and, oh, Trick’s got hishand up - Dap?”

“I thought he would ask to go straight to the library,actually.”

“Hey!” cries Dok, shoving himself into Blue’s shoulder topress him into Red and bapping Dapper’s head. “I’ll have youknow that seeing the sights is a perfectly normal tourist activity -”

“Don’t tease him so much,” laughs Anti, reaching back to patDok’s thigh. “Somebody has to be the nerd of the family, that’swhy all you assholes are still alive. Dappy, what about you? Tell bigbrother where you want to go.”

Dapper becomes obediently simpering, tilting his head with wideeyes and reaching up to put his fingers gently on Anti’s arm.“Anti, I want to go to the zoo.”

“Okay, could have guessed that one too,” says Trick.

“The zoo, huh?”

“I think it’s free in the city,” shrugs Blue. “We passedby that poster the other day, didn’t we, Dap?”

“Baby lemur,” replies Dapper emphatically. “Baby giraffe.”

Anti pauses, stroking Dapper’s hair, gazing out at the sun.

“Red?” he says.

Red blinks and looks up. “Yes, sir?”

Anti frowns, turning to shoot him an exasperated look. “Chillout. So?”

Oh, fuck. This is him not understanding again, right? Everybodyelse gets it and he doesn’t. He should, but he doesn’t. Thesignals are there for everybody else to see, but he’s missed them,again, and Anti’s going to look at him like he’s an idiot, andall his little brothers will snicker behind his back, and then -

“Red!” laughs Anti, slapping his knee and making him jolt.“Space back in, please, you’re a million miles away. Where do youwant to go?”

What, him? Where does he want to go? His brain, already kickedinto a gear too high for the hill he’s rolling down, only picks upits pace. In the city? In the country? In the world? Between theproud bodies of shadow-strong trees wheezing ever upwards, throughmountains shouting towards the sky, coated in icing, across oceanswide as infinities, great blue waves leaping with the dolphins,coming to crash like old dead gods onto the grainy gold of ancientbeaches -

“Red.” Blue’s voice is as soft as his hand on his thigh.“Ro.”

“The beach,” spills Red’s mouth frantically.

Anti watches him carefully. His eyes are brown today and he seemsmuch younger than Red, his hair curled on the top and a pair of bigfriendly glasses sitting on his small nose.

“The beach, if you want to,” Red re-attempts, straightening inhis seat and adjusting his black hood, feeling Blue’s hand withdrawfrom his thigh. “But just a suggestion.”

“Yeah,” says Anti musingly. “You did like to swim, huh?”

Everyone falls into silence. It is a remnant of their mutuallyforgotten past, one of the rare, secret pieces of reality long sincestripped away from them. It is a very small detail, and it awakenssomething in Red the same way a smell might awaken the faintest,fondest, most fleeting deja vu, and brings nothing concrete to hismind, but Trick, Dok, Blue, and Dapper all stay quiet and solemn -ode to that which we have all forgotten.

Red catalogs the fact in his brain like someone wrapping dishes intowels instead of bubble packaging, hoping they won’t shatter thenext time they go to pull them out of their boxes. I like to swim.

“Well,” says Anti, clapping his hands together. “Zoo’sclose. And free. And Dap’s been ill.”

Dapper always seems to be ill, and, as such, in need of a greatdeal of fussing and spoiling and looking after, but nobody questionsit. And nobody minds either, truly. They’re out of the house. Allsix of them. The sun is shining. The world feels kind. There are babylemurs at the zoo.

“Hola,” says Trick.

The parrot’s pupils shrink and enlarge, shrink and enlarge,tilting its head as it considers him.

Trick grins. A small group of children and a couple of adults areholding their breath, waiting for him to try again.

“Hola,” he says clearly.

The parrot bobs once, twice. “Hola,” it croaks.

“Ohhh!” cries a small child, bouncing up and down. “Hola!”

“Hola,” says the parrot, playing along now. “Hola.”

A chorus of hellos bursts up around Trick and he laughs, bobbinghis head and making the parrot bob in return. The kids crowd tightaround him, staring up at the bird and chattering in Spanish, tryingto make it talk.

“It likes you,” grins Dok.

“I’m a parrot-whisperer,” says Trick.

They laugh and Trick slips away from the pack of kids, brighteningunder a couple admiring glances from small, chubby kids with smilinglion ink prints pressed onto their hands. When was the last time hegot to be around kids?

“Ahh, baby,” he breathes, as they pass a particular rotundbaby hanging off his mother’s shoulder, slobbering on his fist.

“Is this an animal zoo or a small child exhibit to you?” asksDok, brushing mussed hair, glowing in the afternoon sun, out of hisvivid eyes. Slightly sun-burned and bright with a little exercise, helooks like nothing has ever hurt him in his life. Trick’s mouthsoftens and he lets out a warm hum, closing his eyes and tilting hishead up to the sun, wrapping an arm around Dok’s ribs and walkingforward towards the others again.

“Little bit of both,” he says, and makes his twin laugh.

Blue and Red are leaning over a sign in front of the condorexhibit, Blue translating the extinction prevention discussion outloud to his twin, their color-coordinated heads tilted towards eachother while the condor parades itself in front of them, pausing onlyto groom its heavy wings. Across the way, Anti is holding Dappergently, one hand on his waist and one hand holding his, trying tokeep him from getting too over-excited and faint. It’s not unusualfor him to over-emote when Anti’s making obvious attempts to spoilhim, and he hasn’t been out of the house in weeks - maybe a month,Trick can’t remember. It’s almost too much for him, especiallygiven his passion for zoos, exploration, and tiny animals.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he is babbling, pointing and signing andgrabbing Anti’s hand over and over again. He seems to buzzunderneath Anti’s hands, rocking on his dress shoes. “Baby birdbaby baby baby.”

“All okay,” soothes Anti, and Trick sees a small, fond smilesitting on his mouth, carefully holding back their youngestbrother. “All okay. We’re okay. Dapper, my Dapper.”

The quail chicks in the pen before them bop along on tiny sticklegs after their big fat mama, cheeping weepily for attention andpoking around at the dirt.

“Apparently there used to be like, thirty of these left in thewild!” Blue runs his fingers over the informational again. “Butthey’ve really made a comeback. One of few endangered species thathas…”

“Poor sucker.” Red clucks his tongue, shaking his head at thebird. “It’s almost as ugly as you are, Blue.”

“Red, we are identical.”

“Yes, Red, don’t say that.”

“See, Dok-Dok agrees.”

“Oh, I just meant the condor doesn’t deserve to be calledugly.”

Red cackles and Blue has Dok in a headlock, pressing him into theinformational. Trick stops his own hackles from rising - they’rejust playing, Dok is laughing, and Red and Blue are bigger than himanyway, so even if Blue was actually hurting him, it would be betterto sit back quietly and be ready for the aftermath than to try andintervene.

Trick turns back to the quails and finds Anti looking back at him,a rare smile on his mouth. He softens to meet Anti’s eyes and Antilets go of Dapper’s waist to reach a hand out towards him,beckoning. Trick’s heartrate picks up and he hurries towards him,grasping his hand tight before it can be pulled away. Anti laughs andsqueezes his palm tight, pulling him and Dapper off towards the nextexhibit.

Red uses the last of his sols to buy Blue a handful of bird feedand he glows with laughter as the birds converge on him, pecking athis filled palms. Dapper continues to buzz and whistle and click andsign through the big cats, the ungulates, the penguins, and themonkey house, including the baby lemur, but he stills when they reachthe hyenas just in time to see them being fed, his big eyes fixed onthe moving bodies of the cats, his head tilted, calmed as Antistrokes his back. A butterfly lands on Dok’s nose inside thebughouse. Anti pulls out his phone and takes a picture.

The reptile exhibit is a long line of darkened tunnels, bodieswrithing across stone and tree and little cups of water. The smell ofsnakes is over-sweet and reeks in the air.

“Very cool,” says Trick, lead by Anti.

“Very edgy,” Anti replies, and Trick snorts. Dapper puts hispalm on the cool glass of a snake cage and watches the body move,nodding slowly like they’re speaking to each other.

“Look how fat he is,” mumbles Blue, entranced with a very fatfrog.

In the dark hallway, they are all close and slowed by the smallcages, each one deserving a moment of admiration. Anti pulls Trickand Dap to the tarantula at the end of the hall and humsappreciatively, staring at it.

“Don’t let your twin see that, huh, Trick?” says Anti,swinging their hands back and forth. Trick looks up at him, warmed.

“How’d you know he doesn’t like spiders?”

“I know Dok.” Anti turns to him, frowning a little. “I knowall of you.”

“Excuse me?” says a young boy in broken English, pausingbeside them before Trick can answer. Anti startles and drops theirhands, turning to regard the kid, probably about twelve or thirteen.

“Yes, bud?” asks Trick, grinning at him.

“Are you Jacksepticeye?” he asks Anti, beaming through gappedteeth. “Can I have picture?”

In the lowlight, Trick watches the color drain from Anti’s face.Even if he couldn’t read Anti’s warning signs himself, he wouldknow the sudden danger from the way Dapper distances himself fromthem, pushing his back into the glass of the tarantula exhibit andhis fear into the back of his head, leaving him small and contriteand dull in the eyes, the easiest mental space when big brother isangry.

“No,” says Anti, too soft. The snake cage behind him flowswith slithering movement as a python shifts. “Estas confundido.”

The boy’s face falls. “No eres Jack?”

Anti steps forward, his boots striking stone. The kid jumps,startled by the look on his face, and, with one glance at the tattoosburned into Anti’s forearms, turns to rush back to his parents.

Anti stills, staring at the cold floor, rubbing the circle on hisupper arm, his mouth slightly open. He can hear Dapper’s breathingpicking up beside him and he sees his youngest screw his eyes shut,rubbing at his head.

“Anti?” mumbles Trick. “Who’s Jack?”

Anti grits his teeth. “Go get the fake halter,” he hisses.“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have wornthis…”

Trick breathes in and out shallowly, trying to diffuse whatever’shappening before it happens. “I thought you said you were comfiestlooking like this.”

“Go get my halter,” snaps Anti, rubbing at his face. And then,softening: “Please, Trickster, and don’t say that name again.”

“J - infected eye,” signs Dapper aggressively, nearly strikinghimself in the face. “J - infected eye.”

“Go get Blue too,” murmurs Anti, turning to grip Dapper’sshoulder.

“You make - forget.” Dapper is frantic, gripping at hiswrists. “You make - steal him from me -  I want - I want - mybrother -”

Anti shoves him into the corner, taking his chin firmly in hishands and making him meet his eyes. Trickshot rushes back towards theothers.

“You didn’t hear anything important.”

“I - I - I did.” Dapper is suddenly shaken, blinking,heart-racing. “He said - ”

“You didn’t hear anything important.” His dark eyes boreinto him.

“Anti, too much, dizzy, please - ”

“You didn’t hear anything important.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t…”

“Ah, there you go, sweetheart.”

Dapper’s eyes are glazing, drifting back to Anti’s, his mouthparting dully. Anti holds his head securely to keep him fromdrifting. “Stay with me. You didn’t hear anything important.”

“I didn’t… hear anything important.”

“There you go. There you go. Hey, don’t close your eyes, stayconscious.”

Blue is at his side, gripping at his shoulder. “What happened?Is he okay?”

“Probably just a hallucination. Right, Carve?”

“Right…”

“Oh, here, Dap, I’ve got you.”

“I didn’t hear anything important. I didn’t hear anythingimportant.”

Blue leads Dapper away, his little brother clinging woozily to hischest. Red is left behind with Anti, pulling the halter out of hisbag, Trick hovering nervously behind them while Dok hurries afterBlue and Dap.

“What really happened?” asks Red.

“Bad name,” Anti mumbles.

“Fuck.” Red glances around, trying to make sure they’rehidden. They need a better spot than this. He puts his arms aroundAnti’s shoulders and leads him towards a shadowed water fountain.

“I’m fine,” growls Anti, low, his eyebrows furrowed and hiseyes closed, letting Red lead him.

“Anti, you’re glitching.”

Anti grits his teeth and lets Red press him into a corner by thewater fountain, hiding his color-burn stomach with his body. Trickhurries towards him as he begins to dissolve at the seams, breathingharshly through his teeth.

“Anti,” Trick says, patting his chest. “Just calm down, man.Hey, breathe with me, okay?”

“Get off me,” heaves Anti, pushing at his hands. “Trick, Idon’t need - ”

“Anti.” Trick steadies his hands on his shoulders, helping Redshield him in the corner while Dok and Blue guard and hold Dapperbehind them, glancing warily around and keeping their heads down low.“You’ve done this for me before. It’s alright. Breathe in,follow me.”

“Don’t even need to breathe,” chokes Anti, but a secondlater air is sliding in through his teeth as he watches Trick’schest rise.

“And out…”

“Not scared,” pants Anti, trying to keep the breath steady asit leaves him.

“I know, buddy,” says Red softly, patting his back.

“In…”

They rise like mountains.

“Out…”

Fall like waves. Anti ripples with power and distress, but hisdissipating stomach is coming back together.

Time shakes past them the way it always does when panic is high,cold and swift and slow and still. Anti lets his head fall down onTrick’s collarbone and they breathe in sync. Rise and fall. Riseand fall.

“I’m fine,” grumbles Anti.

“Better to be safethan sorry,” says Trick.

“It’s my faultanyway,” hisses Anti, and the words startle Red so bad he seems toreboot for a second, blinking hard at the sky and looking around like he’sjust woken up. “All of us being in public is stupid. I didn’teven pick another form. Anyone could be tracking us right now. Thiswas a bad idea. We shouldn’t have ever left the house. Why did Ibring even the little one, fuck…”

Red breathes a longsigh out from his teeth, nervous. It can be hard to work with Antiwhen he’s upset – all his emotions seem to lead to anger eventually– but he wants so badly to comfort him.

“We can’t juststay in the house all the time,” he soothes, almost touching Anti’sshoulder, drawing back uncertainly. “You were restless too. Andwe’re having a good time, Anti. We are. Maybe Dapper got upset for amoment, but how excited has he been today? Happier than he’s been ina long time.”

Anti hums, tiltinghis head back and forth, and glances up at Blue and Dapper, wanderingoff arm in arm. “I guess.”

“It was just onemoment. Tell you what – ” He holds his hands gently out and putshis head down a little. Just suggesting, not ordering. Justsuggesting. “How about we go see that last exhibit Dapper wanted tosee and then we’ll head out and get lunch like you said. Let me picksomething up for you and everybody and then we’ll find somewherequiet to go to eat. Just the six of us. And you can wear whatever youwant, and no one will look at us or follow us or hurt us or say badnames. How does that sound?”

Slowly, Anti’s mouthcurves into a small smile. Something warm unravels in Red’s stomach.

He leans forward andshoves their foreheads together. Anti giggles and knocks back.“Dumb-ass,” he sings, pushing Red’s shoulder, avoiding his skin.“Head full of air.”

“Guilty,” saysRed, making him laugh again. “Okay, you want the halter?”

“Yeah. And Trick,put your hat back on. Too many of the same faces walking around, andapparently I always fade right back to his… Okay, hide me.”

Red glances aroundfor eavesdroppers yet again and blocks Anti’s body off with his ownin the corner. A moment later, a knee-high black dog slips in frontof him and he leans loyally down and puts a halter labeled “servicedog – DO NOT TOUCH” around its chest. Anti bites his teeth at himonce and Red jumps hard and then laughs loud, reaching out to strokehis brother’s ears.

“Okay,” he says,getting up and tapping Trick’s hand. “Let’s go see a baby giraffe.”

“Baby baby baby!”they find Dapper signing, held back from the ledge by Blue, laughingand wrapped around his waist. “Baby, baby, baby.”

The giraffe racesaround on its wobbly knock-knees, its mother trying earnestly tocatch and lick it. Dapper falls back, laughing hard, letting himselfcollapse against Blue’s chest, heaving with the joy of it. To be outof the house, to be convinced that you’re free, to be laughing atbaby giraffes!

The black dog swirlsaround his legs and he clicks his tongue, turning his face up in thesun to bask in it. Anti returns to Red’s side and Trick returns toDok’s, and wraps, once more, a safe arm around his safe twin, andholds him while the sun gets low.

Red gets themchicken from a KFC – Lima is coated in them – and brings it backto the car, where the shiny black dog has finally returned to a youngman with mousy brown hair, big round glasses, and a neck wrapped inbandages.

And that’s it,that’s all, he expects, that was nice enough and now they’re goinghome to eat and think about the day and feel okay and safe and happyfor once.

“Hey,” saysAnti, glancing back at Dok. “You said you wanted to see the sightsor something?”

Dok perks up, eyesflickering around in case of a trap. “Yes, maybe.”

Anti pats Trick’sshoulder and gets in the driver’s seat in his stead. “Come on,let’s find somewhere to go to eat.”

Trick leaps intothe hot wet sand of the beach and hollers aloud, racing along theline of the water. A white wash of foam comes pouring across hiscalves and thighs, soaking into his bare feet and retreating again,leaving him cool and clean, laughing as he runs. He scatters a groupof seagulls and spins around, turning his face to the sun and lettinghimself crash onto his back.

“Careful, Trick,”warns Dapper, putting his hands around his sandcastle tower.

“Yeah, careful,Trick,” says Dok, and pours sand all over his bare white chest.Trick yelps and gets up, flinging sand at his twin and making himsplutter. Dok picks up another handful of sand and Trick turns to runeven as Dok rises to his feet, chasing him down into the tide anddumping the sand all over his hair while he shrieks and laughs hisprotest, trying to grab Dok and throw him to the ground.

“No, no, Trick,wait – ” cries Dok as he is lifted up and dragged farther intothe water, gasping with laughter.

“No way,dummkopf, this is what you get!” shouts Trick, and dunks his twinunderneath the water, snatching his glasses off his face and puttingthem on his own in victory.

Dok comes upspluttering and shoving at him, his eyes bright with mirth, and amoment later he is wriggling free and chasing him again.

Dapper turnscartwheels on the beach around his sandcastles, knowing better thanto play rough with his big brothers – Anti hates that, except forpractice fights – but entertained nevertheless. Blue, Red, and Antiare coming down the hill of the private beach they’ve broken into,carrying plates and cups and more food and even wine stolen from thehouse at the top of the hill, empty for months while the owners areaway on vacation in a wealthier part of the world.

But what could bebetter than this, wonders Red, staring out at the shoreline.

Gold light and thesetting sun. The glass shine of the blue water, rocking itself tosleep across soft brown sand. Little crabs scurrying around Dapper’sfeet as he steps curiously around them, water cooling his twinsiblings as they play, Blue singing a song behind him, distant andcontent, his eyes fixed on the horizon, the warm wind sighing throughhis hair. Fried chicken and sand in their socks and broken glass froma break-in. Nothing’s perfect. But this is good. This is good, andsometimes good is the best thing for something to be, good and pureand real and true.

“Dumbasses,”laughs Blue, breaking off his music as he watches them lock arms andpush against each other, Trick threatening to dunk Dok over again.“Come get some dinner, come on.”

Dapper comeslooping loyally back towards his big brothers, but Dok and Trickdon’t seem to have even heard them.

“Let them play alittle,” laughs Anti. “Look how Dok still fights even though he’snot as strong. He knows he’s the big brother. Just by a little. Theyplay well these days. Don’t they fit like puzzle pieces?”

Red turns to glanceat him in time to see Anti dart away to join his brothers in thewater, pushing the both of them into the ocean. Indignant coughingand laughter follows as Dok and Trick flounder and pretend to resist,though neither of them would really ever dunk him in the water.They’re smarter than that. Anti presses kisses to their hair andRed’s heart picks up from the relief of it – to see Anti holdingthem gently again, and Dok softened and smiling, and Trick lookingsafe and happy, flushed with joy.

“This is toosoft,” decides Blue aloud, shoving wine and chicken into Red’sarms.

“What?”

Blue races downinto the water. Red scoffs and turns to pull Dapper under his arm.

“Let’s watch himget dunked til he’s dizzy, you think?”

Dapper shyly slinksan arm back around Red’s waist, pushing his head into his shoulder,smiling. Everything is good and right and then –

Blue wraps his arms around Anti’s stomach and shoves him into theocean.

Dok startles so hard he tumbles back into the water. Trickshotstares open-mouthed, clutching his hair, and Dapper, with a littlegroan, turns around, curls down on himself, and hides his face in hisarms like a black and white hedgepig.

Anti spasms apart into coding in the water and leaps up again onthe beach, spluttering.

Red is shaking toomuch to move, staring at the sand.

“Ass!” yellsAnti, and then he bursts into laughter and leaps up onto Blue’sshoulders, and then, laughing so hard he can barely breathe, Red iswatching Anti riding piggyback, pushing and pulling at Blue, tryingto make him fall and take them both into the water. And eventuallythey both go crashing down, and the water is sloshing over them likeit’s laughing too, and they start a bonfire and eat chicken on thebeach and drink stolen rich man’s wine, and then Anti goes back tothe car and gets his laptop and they watch the movie Blue wanted tosee, pirated in HD, on a beach in Peru.

“You didn’t goswimming,” says Anti.

Red pauses,glancing over at him. His little brother looks back, brown-eyed,mousy-haired, sopping wet and lying on the sand beside him, Dapperasleep against his tummy.

“Oh,” saysRed. He didn’t think he’d remember. “It got dark so quickly.”

“Hm.” Antiturns back to stare up at the oncoming stars and Red mimics himwarmly, listening to Blue breathing as he sleeps beside him, andTrick and Dok sitting by the crackling fire and whispering to eachother, hand-in-hand.

“I thinksometimes,” says Anti, and then he pauses.

“Yes, Anti?”

“I thinksometimes you look after the others so much you forget to look afteryourself.”

Red turns to him,confused.

“I know, Iknow… kind of your job. But sometimes I need you to be well too.And when everyone else is okay, Red, you have to… kind of… blah.I don’t know.”

Anti shrugs,furrowing his heavy eyebrows, and turns back to the stars.

Red breathes inand breathes out.

“It’s kind ofscary,” he says. “When you tell me about the person I used tobe.”

Anti is turnedback to him. Brown eyes. Deep and dark and lovely. Red loves him.

“Because Ijust… don’t want to be that person again.”

Anti softens likea bud unfurling.

“So even littlethings start to seem serious… things like swimming. What if I tryto go swimming, and then I remember so much it makes me feel like adifferent person again, and that different person can’t be who I needto be?”

“Who the othersneed you to be,” Anti replies.

Red shrugs,feeling a prick in the back of his eyes. “I guess.”

Anti’s mouth opensand closes. Opens and closes.

“You have tobe… Red, you have to be more than what other people expect you tobe. I learned that a long time ago. Kind of fucked it all up, but Idid learn it. And I know I need you to be a lot of things, and sooften, too, so I know that seems hypocritical, maybe, butsometimes… when I give you the chance… I just need you to be whoyou need you to be. It’s why we have… nice days. Breaks. Holidays. To be who you all need to be.”

Red wants to belying on his chest instead of Dapper. Red wants to be held by him.Red wants to be laughing in the water with him.

“I… Anti, Idon’t think I know how to do that anymore.”

And if regretflashes across Anti’s face, well, Red doesn’t see it, and if Antiremembers, with guilt or with sorrow or just one dash of longing, theman who Red used to be, well, you will never hear him admit that outloud.

“How about youstart with a swim?” he suggests, pulling away from Dapper andgetting to his feet. He reaches out his hands for Red’s.

Red laughsnervously, letting himself be pulled up. “Sorry, lil bro, but allexistentialism aside, it actually is too dark to swim. Right?”

“Well, not ifyou’ve got a rescue dog,” answers Anti.

And this isn’t Redmisunderstanding, this isn’t Red not getting it. Anti is pleased withhim, Anti is gentle with him, Anti wants to see him happy to, wouldchange into the form of an animal just to let him swim one nightmore.

“It’s dark out,”admits Anti, glancing around. “But we don’t need the light, notreally. I don’t think we ever did. I’ve got you. You’ve got me. Come on. Come swim with me.”

“What – you’dreally do that for me?”

Anti smiles.

Fangless.

Brown-eyed.

He looks so much like someone Jackie loved a long time ago. The differences between them are small. You can miss them if you blink. And Red only ever stares at Anti. Red has learned to miss them all.

“Yeah. Course.For my big brother? Come on. You love to swim.”

His body shiftsand glitches and the black dog is racing towards the nightfall water,the stars shining up above them. And then, with a shout of laughter,Red is off after him, and crashing into the water.

He is afloat. Heis a part of this. He rolls and races and dives and curls. Heavy coldwater, the healthy joyful beating of his own heart. Starlight on thewater, and the strong black body of the dog beneath his hands when hegets lost, always waiting, waiting to bring him back to shore, to thesafety of his family, so he does not get lost in the darkness alwaysaround them.

“I love you,”says Red at three in the morning, half asleep in the shallows, laidacross the back of the dog and stroking at its fur.

Anti sets his headon top of his and closes his eyes.

[akoumi]

“You wait outside, love,” Jesse says with an easy smile at Casey. “Guard the horses for me, won’t you? They get spooked easy, but they like you, you know that.” He tightens his grip on the barrel of the gun, eyeing the large house up in front of him. 

Casey swallows. He reaches out and takes Jesse’s face in his hands. “I - I don’t like this, Jesse,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against the mask over Jesse’s eyes. “I know it’s a masquerade ball and - and all, but…” His voice trails off, and he lets his hands drop from the wolf mask. It was a work of art - dark gray, its snout artistically rendered with silver brushstrokes. That paired with the impeccable gray suit that Jesse wore…it was beautiful. 

“You ain’t gotta worry, darlin,” Jesse murmured, his lips twitching. “I can take care of myself, you know that.”

“I know,” Casey answers, his voice tinged with desperation. “But you’re the most wanted person in this country, Jesse. I don’t think a mask over your eyes is going to keep you anonymous. I mean - I mean, just look at this!” He trails his fingers over the bare skin of Jesse’s nose, mouth, cheeks and jaw - everything that the mask doesn’t cover. “No amount of money is going to be worth your life.” 

Jesse chuckles softly. He tilts his head slightly and sneaks a kiss from Casey, then leans back. “Don’t worry, darlin,” he says. “I’ll be in and out with the gold in no time.” He adjusts his hat, kisses Casey once more, and then turns and walks up to the doors of the mansion.

One knock, two knocks, three knocks. 

The doors open, and a servant lets him in. Jesse doesn’t look back. The mansion is huge, displays of wealth everywhere that he can see - the paintings on the walls, the red rug on the floor, the sheer amount of guests. 

Delicate masks cover every face, but they’re all like the one Jesse wears. Small, covering just the eyes and leaving the bottom half of the face exposed. Women with red lips and white gowns pass by, men with black suits and slick hair nod to him as they pass. Jesse can’t help but chuckle. 

The main room in the mansion is just as opulent as the hallways are. Jesse weaves through the crowds, scanning the room for the staircase that leads up to the bedrooms. The large table is set with food and wine, and servants wander through the room and offer jellied meats to the guests, but Jesse couldn’t care less. 

He spots the staircase a second later - there it is. On the far end of the room, almost blocked by the heavy curtains on the window next to it. He slips past a man in a green suit and begins to walk towards it, but someone grabs his wrist. 

Jesse glances back, to see a port-bellied old man with a lion mask over his eyes smiling at him. A woman holds onto his elbow, a young woman with a fiery orange dress and a fox mask. Her lips are bright red, like her hair. The mask does nothing to hide who the man is, though, so Jesse inclines his head in greeting. 

“Howdy, sir.” 

The man laughs genially, and extends his hand. Jesse shakes it, noting the many gold rings weighing his fingers down. 

“Well, hello there, young man! I ain’t seen you before, I don’t think, and I make it a point to know everyone who attends my balls!” 

“Robin Dabank, sir,” Jesse lies smoothly, his lips twitching in a silent joke. “It’s so wonderful to meet you, Mr. Pickett, I’ve heard such wonderful things about you.” 

Pickett laughs again, and pats the arm of the woman next to him. “You as well. This is my wife, Jane.” 

Jesse kisses her hand, and she smiles at him, her eyes lingering on his own. “Pleasure, miss Jane.” 

“All mine,” she answers, her voice sultry and deep. 

Pickett opens his mouth to speak again, but all three of them hear a voice calling his name - a man, calling him away. “Oh - I can’t leave Bill hanging! It was good to meet you, Mr. Dabank. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the ball - have you tried these jellied meats? They’re wonderful. Come Jane, come.” And with that, he wanders off. 

Jane, however, doesn’t follow him. Jesse raises his eyebrows at her. “Shouldn’t you be with your husband?” he asks, amused. 

She shrugs one elegant shoulder, adjusting the fox mask with her red gloved hand. “I’ll catch up.” She lets her eyes trail over him, something that Jesse most certainly does not miss. 

“You look a little…young,” he says. “To be Mr. Pickett’s wife.” 

“Oh, he’s fifty-two, and I turn twenty-three this year,” she murmurs. “It don’t bother me none, so what’s it to you?” 

“Nothin’ at all, ma’am,” Jesse answers. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I do have some business to attend to.” 

“Robin Dabank,” Jane says softly, as if tasting the name in her mouth. “That’s quite an interesting name, sir.” 

Jesse inclines his head in acknowledgement, then turns and begins to move through the crowd like water. She was an interesting woman, certainly, but he wasn’t here for women. Not now, not any time soon. 

He makes it to the edge of the staircase, but a thought occurred to him suddenly. Instead of going up it, he lounges against the side of it, plucking a glass of wine out of the fingers of some hapless servant as he scans the room for that red hair. 

And there it is. She hasn’t moved. Her green eyes meet his, and her crimson lips twitch up into a smile. He raises his wine glass to her, not looking away as he smiles. She’s used to people looking away first, Jesse can tell. Her gaze is sharp, cutting, amusement running through it all as she waits for him to look away first. 

But he doesn’t. Jane is the first one to look away, finally, and Jesse catches the surprise in her eyes as she makes her way back to Mr. Pickett. Smiling to himself, he takes a sip of the wine as he heads up the stairs. 

The noise of the party quietens as he goes upstairs. He adjusts his wolf mask, and runs a hand through his hair to make sure he still looks presentable. Any other criminal might have spent hours looking for the master room, where Pickett kept his safe, but Jesse was not just any other criminal. 

He finds the master bedroom in under ten minutes. All rich men were the same, Jesse muses as he pushes the door open and looks around. The safe isn’t even hidden - it sits on the mahogany chest under the window. Pickett hadn’t even bothered to get one of the good locks. 

Jesse rolls his eyes as he slides a lockpick out from under his sleeve and gets to work. The lock is picked in a matter of minutes, and Jesse pulls the door open. A sack sits inside, gold coins spilling out of it. He smiles and reaches out. 

“I always told him to be more careful with his money,” says a voice lightly. Jesse freezes, and glances up. Jane Pickett leans against the door frame, her dress stretched tight over her curves. Slowly, she pulls one of her long red gloves off and tosses it on the bed as she comes in, hips swaying. 

“Miss Pickett,” Jesse says, voice low. She stops a few feet in front of him, playing with the hem of her second glove. Jane slips the fox mask off and lets it fall to the floor. 

“Robin Dabank,” she says again, but this time it’s not so quiet. “You came here to take my husband’s money?” There’s no accusation in her voice. In fact, Jesse wonders if he hears…eagerness. 

He doesn’t say anything; he straightens up and lets his hand fall from the safe. Jane laughs gently, and closes the remaining distance between them. 

“He always thought his position was enough to keep any no good criminals away,” she says, trailing a finger down the lapel of his coat. “I reckon he was wrong.” She tugs off her final red silk glove and lets it fall onto the bed. 

“You don’t seem very interested in calling security,” Jesse says lightly, leaning back slightly. 

“That’s cause I ain’t.” She grabs him and pulls him close, so close that he can see the hazel in her green eyes. She pulls his mask off and throws it over her shoulder. “That’s cause I ain’t, Jesse.” 

Jane presses her lips against his, breathing heavy. Her slender fingers snake through Jesse’s hair, keeping him in place as she slides her tongue inside his mouth. Dim moonlight flickers over them, casting deep shadows over the planes of their faces. 

The door is flung open. Jesse and Jane jump apart, but the rotund, pot-bellied man in the doorway freezes. Quickly, Jesse notes the wine in his hand, the flush on his cheeks, as Pickett squints at the two of them. Realization dawns over his ruddy features. He steps in and slams the door behind him.

“Robin?” he asks, his voice slurred. “Robin Dabank?” He steps in, wobbling. “And Jane?” His features grow dark with rage, and Jesse curses this whole turn of events quite spectacularly in his mind. “Oh, I should have known not to let you near any young man! Women!” spits Pickett. “Never in control of themselves around a handsome face!” 

Jane’s eyes flick to Jesse’s, then the money, and then the gloves on the bed. Jesse can see the wheels turning in her head - and then she swoons. “Oh, darling! Thank the Lord you found me!” she cries, her voice high and shaky. 

Pickett pauses in the doorway, clearly confused. “Er - what?” 

“I was just coming up here to lie down, darling, y’know, women and their weak nerves - and - and -” she blubbers, an artful tear falling down her cheek. “And I found Mr. Dabank here, stealing money!” She gasps theatrically, pushing her bottom lip out. “I was about to run back down and call you, darling, but then he grabbed me and kissed me!” 

Pickett’s face darkens even further, and he steps forward again. “I’ll have you know, Dabank, that I don’t tolerate any of that business! And - and the money! Christ!” He begins to stumble forward.

Quick as a flash, Jesse grabs Jane with one hand and the pistol in his pants in the other. “You wanna play games? Fine, let’s play games,” he whispers in her ear as he puts the pistol against her head. “One step further, Pickett,” he calls out. “One step further, and this bullet gets buried in your pretty wife’s brain.” 

Pickett stops, and Jane’s breathing goes shallow. His eyes dart to Jane’s, the gun, and then to Jesse’s. And just like that, he loses all his bravado. The wine glass clatters to the floor as he whips around and hurries to the door. 

Three shots ring out, and Pickett freezes. Three holes ring his head in the wall behind him, perfect shots. Jane seems to have fainted against him, and Jesse shifts his grip on her so she doesn’t fall. 

“I may be a gentleman, sir, but I assure you that I am quite comfortable with violence,” he says to Pickett, who seems to have wet himself. His eyes dart to the gun, and then to Jane. 

“Please.” 

The open window lets in a breeze, the curtains fluttering and letting the moonlight fall on Jesse’s face. Pickett goes positively bloodless. 

“Jordan,” he wheezes. “Jesse Jordan. My god.” 

“That’s right, old man.” 

“Please. I’ll do - I’ll do anything. Just let me leave.” 

Jesse raises his eyebrows. “And you don’t want your wife?” He props her up a bit higher on his shoulder. 

“Have her. You can have her - you can do whatever you want with her,” Pickett says panickedly, his breath coming in short gasps. “I swear. I swear. Young - young men like you - you can have her.” 

Jesse stares at him for a long time, then sighs heavily. “Alright, Pickett, now you listen to me. You’re going to stand there. You ain’t gonna move.” 

Pickett nods quickly, heavily, perspiration glinting on his brow. Jesse shakes Jane slightly, until she moans and shifts. 

“Up you get. Up, now.” Jesse pushes her onto her feet, the pistol still pressed against her head. “Now, if y’all wanna live, you best listen closely. Jane - give me that bag of gold, won’t you?” 

Her breathing shallow, she totters off towards the safe. Jane grabs the bag and holds it out to him, her green eyes bright. “Please - please don’t hurt me. I know - I know you’re - Jesse Jordan -” Her voice breaks. “But please don’t use - use me -” 

Jesse shushes her quietly, taking the bag of gold. He grabs her and pulls her close against him. “I can take you with me, if you’d like,” he whispers quickly into her ear. “Take you somewhere else. Just say the word.” 

“Yes,” she gasps quietly after a moment of stunned silence, and that’s all Jesse needs.

“Play along,” he mutters into her ear and then looks up at Pickett. “Now, Jane. Break the window, please.” 

She glances back at Pickett briefly, then takes the poker by the fireplace and slams it into the window. It shatters, glass flying everywhere. Jesse takes her by the arm. 

“You know what, Pickett? I reckon I’ll take you up on that offer. She’s a pretty young thing, ain’t she?” He lightly pinches Jane’s arm. “And I reckon I’ll be a better fit for her than you, you wrinkled ol’ fossil.” 

Color flushes Pickett’s cheeks, but he’s silent, as Jesse wraps an arm around Jane’s waist. He lifts her up easily with one arm, and then gives Pickett a mocking salute. He aims the gun at Pickett’s head and fires - the bullet grazing Pickett’s head and shaving a groove into the side of his hair. 

Jesse grins - let the old man have a souvenir to show off when he tells everyone about how Jesse Jordan stole his money, his wife, his dignity. 

And with that, one arm secure around Jane’s waist, he leaps out the window and slides down the roof easily. Behind him, he hears Pickett screaming for security to “stop that man! Quickly, before he gets away!” 

“Casey!” Jesse screams. “We need to get out now!” 

Two horses appear below him, Casey on one of them. Without hesitating, Jesse jumps off the roof and lands on the other horse’s back with a grunt. The horses are already moving as the house erupts into chaos behind them - all the lights turning on, Pickett shouting, the doors being thrown open. 

Jesse quickly adjusts Jane behind him, with a brief “Hold onto me, darlin’.” He throws the bag of gold to Casey, who catches it easily in one hand.

And with that, they’re off. “What happened to slipping in and out?” Casey yells from behind him, the wind whipping his hair as the horses gallop. “What happened to them never knowing?”

“Change of plans!” Jesse shouts back. 

“And who is that?”

Silently, Jane holds on tightly to Jesse, her face pressed into his back. Is she crying? He can’t quite tell. 

“Someone important,” is all he says as the woods come into view in front of them. “Someone important.”