#7 day shred kit

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of cheating

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 13

Matt joined me two weeks later. Little was said on the night of his return. We exchanged forced smiles. Luckily, there were a lot of familiar faces around and this helped disguise the awkwardness of the moment.

After everyone left, Matt and I finally had to face each other. He walked up to me, took my face in his hands, looked into my eyes, and said, “It’s over, y/nn. I swear to you. It’s over.”

I didn’t speak. I just listened carefully as he continued. “I guess I got caught up in a situation that was out of hand from the beginning. She and I come from two different worlds. I don’t like being exploited. I can’t live like that. Don’t get me wrong. She’s a nice girl, but not for me.”

I didn’t want to hear any more. I looked up at him, half-listening to what he was saying and at the same time asking myself how I could go on, knowing that the future would bring only more temptations for him. Love was much more complicated than I had ever imagined.

The silence between the two of us continued until Matt had had enough and said, “Let’s forget it. Forgive me, please.” Then, with that little-boy look that always seemed to capture my heart, he said, using Flip Wilson’s favorite Geraldine line, “I guess the devil made me do it!”

I agreed.

I would be a little more skeptical now.

And there was still one more matter to take care of. I walked into his bathroom, went through his makeup kit, and pulled out a telegram I knew he’d received earlier. It simply read, i just don’t understand—scoobie. It was from Julia Ernst. I knew it. Scoobie was a name she had given herself, he confessed later. That line was also the title of the first hit record she’d recorded in the early sixties. Obviously, Matt had totally disassociated himself from her, cutting off their ties.

“It bothers me knowing it’s there,” I said. I simply tore it to shreds and with total gratification flushed it down the toilet.

“Not too much goes by you, does it, Little One? For such a little girl, you’re a typical woman.” He was laughing. “I guess I’ve got to keep on my toes.”

I returned his smile but thought: No, I’m the one who has to keep on her toes. After the ordeal with Julia Ernst, I still suspected that there were other women.

Occasionally I’d read or hear about Matt romancing his latest leading lady. I’d see press-released pictures of them riding down Sunset Boulevard on his new motorcycle or hear about a new car he’d bought for a young starlet just before they’d started shooting a picture. There was always room for doubt. It was difficult to differentiate between gossip and fact, and I’d get crazed with worry.

Before I started traveling with Matt on a permanent basis, I discovered notes and cards tucked away on a shelf in his closet, notes that read, “I had a wonderful time, Honey, thanks for the evening.” Or, “When are we going to get together again? It’s been two days, and I miss you.” When I voiced my suspicions, he denied everything and accused me of “imagining things.” He told me I was ridiculous for believing the gossip columnists. Yet I couldn’t help remembering that he’d told me the same thing when I’d asked him about Julia Ernst.

If I really challenged him, I always ran the risk of his threatening to send me home to my parents. He knew this tactic always worked. The first time it happened, he was filming Spinout and we were talking about his costar, Shelley Fabares. I suggested going to the set and meeting her.

“It’d be a good idea if you didn’t,” he said.

“Why not? I’m not doing anything. I could come and have lunch with you.”

I’d obviously said the wrong thing. He shot me a menacing look and said quietly, “That’s it, woman! I don’t want to hear another word.”

It was foolish of me, but I didn’t ignored his warning. “Well,” I persisted, “is there something you’re hiding that you don’t want me to see?” He flew into a rage.

“I don’t have a goddamn thing to hide. You’re getting a little too aggressive and demanding. It might be a good idea if you visited your parents for a while.”

Shocked, I yelled, “Well I’m not going!”

“I think you should. In fact, I’ll help you.” He walked over to my closet and proceeded to throw every piece of clothing I had on the floor, hangers included, along with my suitcase on top of the clothes.

“All right, woman. Start packing!”

I couldn’t believe this overreaction. It was one of four things: He was innocent, or I had made him feel guilty, or he was guilty, and I’d made him feel even more so, or it was simply his ongoing disgust with the inane plot of the film and he’d chosen me as a target for his anger.

Sobbing, I started to pack as he turned and strode out of the room. Moments later I heard him yelling for Nate to make a reservation. “Get her on the next flight out. She’s going back to her parents.” There was a finality in his voice that I had never heard before. Hysterical, I began folding my clothes as he continued yelling in the other room. I packed slowly, stunned by the blowup.

When he came back into the room, I felt humiliated. I continued folding clothes, sobbing uncontrollably. “You’re too goddamn demanding,” he said, staring at me in silence. “Hurry up. It’s time to go.”

I got up slowly and started toward the door. Just as I reached it, I felt his hand on my shoulder, turning me around, and then, miraculously, I was in his arms, and he was holding me tight.

“Now do you understand?” As he spoke, I was sobbing against his shoulder. “Do you see that you need this? You need someone to take you right to this point and put you in your place.”

I was relieved and happy to be back in his arms. Anything he’d have said would’ve made sense to me in that moment. What I didn’t realize until later was that this was Matt’s technique of keeping me under control.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - sorry for the short chapter i just needed to get one out!! ill double post tonight🎀

[krispyweiss]

Pete Best Band with the Cyrkle at Valley Dale Ballroom, Columbus, Ohio, July 28, 2024

Pete Best says his four-show American swing is designed to take audiences “back to the days I played with four guys named John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Stuart Sutcliffe.”

That it did. Though the crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling of Columbus, Ohio’s 1920s-era Valley Dale Ballroom likely didn’t remind Best of the dingy U.K. and European clubs in which he put the backbeat in the Beatles from 1960-’62.

Best made the comment after his eponymous Band’s opening salvo of “Rock and Roll Music,” “What I’d Say,” “One after 909” and “Chains,” which were played on a stage bookended by screens that showed images of the Best-era Beatles together on- and off-stage.

It was the one time on July 28 the 82-year-old, black-clad Best would emerge from behind his white Gretsch drum set, from which he, alongside brother Roag on an adjacent kit, drove the all-Liverpudlian quintet though 23 songs and 90 minutes of authentically rendered, pre-Fab Beatles music.

Recreating Beatles tracks is a ridiculously difficult proposition, as Best’s tour mates, the Cyrkle, demonstrated during their hourlong opening set. The Brian Epstein-managed group, which has two members remaining from the lineup that played on the Fabs’ ’66 tour, offered such selections as “If I Needed Someone,” “Eight Days a Week” and “While My Guitar Gently Weeps;” numbers by the Ides of March (“Vehicle”) and Ohio Express (“Chewy Chewy”); and its own two hits, “Turn Down Day” and “Red Rubber Ball.” The musicianship was shaky; the set list often beyond the Cyrkle’s grasp, particularly on the Beatles songs and McCartney’s “Maybe I’m Amazed.”

But where the Cyrkle stumbled, the PBB soared, reigniting a 60-plus-year-old jumble of energy on Beatles numbers both mostly forgotten (the Lennon-Harrison instrumental “Cry for a Shadow,” Lennon-McCartney’s “Hello Little Girl”) and still-beloved as with “P.S. I Love You” and “I Saw Her Standing There.”

Best’s wisdom lay in his sticking with his era and avoiding songs with which he wasn’t involved. Tony Flynn, who proved his Britishness by praising the virtues of Olive Garden’s Italian food, was particularly adept on throat-shredding numbers such as “Please Mr. Postman” and “Mr. Moonlight,” yet softer fare, including “Besame Mucho,” “Till There was You” and “Like Dreamers Do” fared just as well, sounding right at home in America in 2024.

And by the time the Pete Best Band said cheerio with the pairing of “Kansas City/Hey Hey Hey,” fans could only be grateful Best returned to music in the 1980s and continues to share the fruits of his truncated career with Beatlemaniacs who are better off for his musical generosity.

Sound Bites still isn’t sure what he expected from Best. But it surely wasn’t an exceptional gig such as this.

Pete Best Band setlist: “Rock and Roll Music;” “What I’d Say;” “One after 909;” “Chains;” “Please Mr. Postman;” “Hello Little Girl;” “Mr. Moonlight;” “P.S. I Love You;” “Roll over Beethoven;” “Besame Mucho;” “Cry for a Shadow;” “Till there Was You;” “Slow Down;” “Money (That’s What I Want);” “Like Dreamers Do;” “Ain’t She Sweet;” “My Bonnie;” “Lucille;” “Memphis, Tennessee;” “Some other Guy;” “I Saw Her Standing There;” “Twist and Shout;” “Kansas City/Hey Hey Hey”

Grade card: Pete Best Band with the Cyrkle at Valley Dale Ballroom - 7/28/24 - A/C-

7/29/24

[splitfoxe]

A bunch of Ryley headcanons

I need to write these down before I forget them- just lil titbits of what I think would happen to and with him from living on 4546B for so long

It is most unlikely that he would simply be climbing up the mountains with his bare hands- as much as I acknowledge that this man is a feat of pure strength, I do struggle to believe that he can seriously scale the mountain island with his grubby mitts alone. I think that on the Alterra ship there was likely a few climbing harnesses, likely reserved for maintenance workers or the like, in a part of the ship that we cannot access in the game. As Ryley is essentially a janitor, he likely would have access to these. And when it comes to rope, this would likely be found in the same place. And more of a fun idea- what about if he had little spokes on the back of his heel made from stalker teeth that he could use to slide down slopes! Of course, he likely will need a climbing axe. This he could likely craft from various metal scraps and pipes.

The main hurdle I have with Ryley's improvements to his whole getup is that he needs to be aerodynamic, as he often has to do swimming. He normally wears a whole scuba kit with the rebreather/helmet etc... but if we were to say add useful accessories such as belts, built-in weapons, small pouches, etc.. then suddenly all of those aerodynamics are lost. Though more often he's in like a prawn suit/seamoth in the later-ish parts of the game, so this makes a bit of sense, as the introduction of exosuits and vehicles aligns with the introduction of new inventions and tools. Plus the area of 4546b he is on is a tropical climate, so everything has to be super lightweight and unobtrusive.

Now- considering his diet and lifestyle: Ryley lives on a 13-20% protein diet (considering that fish are 60-82% water and 1-20% fat) and that his daily doings are almost entirely swimming, which uses the entire body's worth of muscles, as well as retaining his breath AND scaling mountains, extreme heat, fighting off deadly creatures, traversing difficult landscapes, and surviving electrical shocks, radiation, overwhelming tropical climates, concussions, brain damage, a deadly bacterial infection, just to name a few. Essentially, he is built different. This means that he will be burning calories, and consequently fat, at an astronomically high pace. This man has to be utterly shredded. It is not until late-ish game that he *might* gain carbohydrate-based fuel (marblemelons and lantern fruit) so by living an INCREDIBLY protein-rich keto diet while practicing strenuous exercise, he is likely to gain muscle mass. Hence, his physical appearance will most likely change from how it was at the beginning of the game. The body is incredibly fickle, and I know it's incredibly hard to show this in a video game! Seeing as he spends at least 7 days on 4564B (including average un-glitched speedruns) this diet is sustained for long periods, which will prove drastic results, for better or for worse.

AND considering that Ryley's PDA at the beginning of the game is completely reset, there are likely hundreds of blueprints missing that would have normally been on his PDA, seeing as the PDA system is one that houses all kinds of tools, both from Alterra and outside sources (Mongolians, sunbeam, etc...) he likely would have even more things to find and build that we, the player, might not be able to. I mean, take the large amount of Below Zero items that aren't in the original game! Goodness knows what's out there... and seeing as he is an engineer/janitor, he likely has experience in handiwork, so upcycling junk he finds is very likely in his DNA! I would imagine him living much like Maida, using bits of junk and handiwork to craft a lifestyle designed to survive the harshest conditions and defend against the worst of the worst.

And also- he most definitely made some panpipes to keep himself occupied, like imagine the soft whistle of panpipes echoing off the two mountains of the floating island at sunset... sweeeeeeet

[residences-of-the-darkforest]

Jackdawfoot's Father

Ok my brain is growing thinking about the tragedy that could be Jackdawfoot's parents.

One of them was abandoned in the woods by their kittypet mother. Whatever the reason, they don't know it (or that she was a kittypet). The only thing that they do know is that they were left to die in a storm that washed away all scent of where they came from, and they have no idea why.

The other was never meant to grow up in the Clan, only stayed because their mother died in childbirth. She had planned to stay long enough to give birth and have them walk, then move on. Now they have to stay. It's the only life they know, but they were never meant to know it. That has to create some internal conflict, doesn't it?

(Using non-gendering descriptions because I don't yet know who was who)

Not every serial killer has an abusive parent, but great number do, and Jackdawfoot was written like a classic serial killer, so why not sprinkle in some classic serial killer backstory?

His mother, we know, was good. He did name one of his daughters after her, so she has to be. But his father, Nightspot? We have no shred of info on him.

Maybe Nightspot wanted to be perfect. He felt like he was constantly being judged for his outsider roots and unusual face, height, and fur. Then Jackdaw came out, the biggest of the kits, and the features that Nightspot was insecure about plain as day on his son, as if mocking him. Too, the son had a weird shut eye, and without knowing it, he piled all those insecurities onto his unusual son (also probably because Jackdaw was the only son, making Nightspot see himself and wanting "himself" to be perfect, like Jackdaw was a doll to shape to his liking).

Some things he would do (possible trigger warning, as some quotes may be familiar to verbal abuse victims):

--Shame Jackdaw. "Loyal warriors would never say that."

--Invalidate Jackdaw's feelings / tell him how he should feel. "Be grateful you were given food at all with the way you missed everything today. You should thank the whole Clan for bothering with you."

--Favour the other kits, and make it especially noticeable when Jackdaw was falling behind to "encourage" him. "Why can't you be more like your sister?" OR say "I'm so proud of you!" to them then ignore Jackdaw.

--Humiliate Jackdaw. He does this both as a way of punishing Jackdaw and to show everyone (who he's so worried of judging him) that he does not agree with what Jackdaw did, and that he's not part of that. (Loudly): "Why don't you announce to everyone what you did? Go on, own up to it like a warrior."

--Make Jackdaw "earn" his love.

Nightspot wasn't like this 24/7. He gave Jackdaw rare moments of being a proud, loving father (when he earned his love). And those rare moments were addicting. Jackdaw craved them, craved his father being proud, craved his father acting like he actually loved him. But it was never enough.

Jackdawfoot felt powerless. Nothing he did was ever right, no matter how hard he tried or how long he worked. He didn't realize he was thirsting for power until he found it while fighting a kittypet while on a patrol.

[rpmtrish]

*NEW* 2024 FORD MUSTANG SUPERCHARGER KITS

Brace yourself for the arrival of the 2024 Ford Mustang ProCharger Supercharger Kits. These game-changing kits are set to unleash unparalleled performance enhancements for your Mustang. Stay tuned for the ultimate power boost—coming soon! BOLT-ON 300 – 1000+ HP TO YOUR NEW MUSTANG! No matter if you are looking for a 700+ HP street car or a 7-second weekend race car…the engineers here at ProCharger have been hard at work designing the most powerful and efficient supercharging kits you’ve come to expect. SIMPLE DIY-FRIENDLY INSTALLATION Get boosted in hours, not days or weeks. Our latest Mustang supercharger kits and systems offer an incredibly straightforward installation process. With no requirement to remove the intake manifold, no need for fuel system upgrades, and no cutting, trimming, or modification of the factory vehicle, it’s as easy as opening the box, bolting the parts in place, loading the calibration, and you’re all set. Certainly, not everyone relishes the idea of spending their time tinkering in the garage. If you prefer to leave the project in the hands of professionals, ProCharger’s extensive network of authorized installing dealers ensures that you’ll easily locate a skilled installer in your local area. PERFECT POWER CURVE FOR 6/10 SPEED TRANSMISSIONS The latest Mustangs are equipped with the ultimate transmission, perfectly suited for pairing with a ProCharger. Offering a selection of 10 gears, including 6 non-overdrive gears and a potent 4.69 first gear, these transmissions ensure an explosive launch and seamlessly integrate with the engine’s power band. Prepare for tire-shredding torque right off the line. If the 10 speed automatic transmission doesn’t suit you, Ford also offers a 6 speed manual transmission that gets you boosting with our kits just as well.   #procharger #rpmmag #rpmmagazine Read more articles here Read the full article

[onlineshoppinguaedeals]

Cultivating Flavor: A Guide to Fermenting Vegetables at Home

In the realm of culinary alchemy, fermentation stands as a transformative process that not only enhances flavors but also offers numerous health benefits. While it may seem like a mysterious art, fermenting vegetables at home is a surprisingly simple and rewarding endeavor. In this blog post, we'll delve into the fascinating world of fermentation and guide you through the steps to create your own tangy delights, such as sauerkraut and kimchi.

The Magic of Fermentation

Fermentation is a natural process that involves the breakdown of sugars and other compounds by microorganisms like bacteria and yeast. This not only extends the shelf life of food but also imbues it with complex flavors, increased nutritional value, and gut-friendly probiotics.

Getting Started: Equipment and Ingredients

Choose Your Veggies:

Opt for fresh, organic vegetables like cabbage, carrots, and radishes for sauerkraut and kimchi.

Gather Your Tools:

Get fermentation-friendly tools like glass jars, ceramic crocks, or fermentation kits.

Salt and Spices:

Use high-quality salt (non-iodized) and various spices for flavor and preservation.

Creating Sauerkraut

Shred and Salt:

Thinly shred cabbage and massage it with salt to release its natural juices.

Pack and Press:

Pack the cabbage tightly into a jar, pressing down to eliminate air pockets.

Fermentation Time:

Allow the jar to sit at room temperature, periodically pressing down the cabbage, for about 1 to 4 weeks.

Taste and Store:

Taste your sauerkraut to determine its desired tanginess, then refrigerate to slow fermentation.

Crafting Kimchi

Prepare Vegetables:

Cut and brine your chosen vegetables like napa cabbage, radishes, and carrots.

Create the Kimchi Paste:

Blend garlic, ginger, chili flakes, and fish sauce (or vegan alternatives) into a paste.

Massage and Pack:

Coat the vegetables with the paste, massaging it in to ensure even distribution.

Fermentation Phase:

Place the mixture in a jar, leaving some space at the top, and allow it to ferment at room temperature for about 3 to 7 days.

Chill and Enjoy:

Once the desired flavor is achieved, move the kimchi to the refrigerator for a longer storage life.

Tips and Considerations

Cleanliness Is Key:

Ensure all tools and containers are thoroughly cleaned to prevent unwanted microbial growth.

Bubbling Activity:

During fermentation, you may notice bubbles and a pleasant tangy aroma—both signs of successful fermentation.

Experiment and Innovate:

Feel free to experiment with different vegetables, spices, and flavors to create your unique ferments.

Fermenting vegetables at home is an exploration of taste, tradition, and transformation. By following the steps to create sauerkraut and kimchi, you'll unlock a world of culinary magic that not only tantalizes your taste buds but also contributes to your well-being. Embrace the natural rhythms of fermentation, and soon, you'll be savoring your own homemade fermented delights that reflect both ancient wisdom and modern culinary innovation.

[day-poems]

7/8

The window screen in our bedroom

where I have my work corner…

where I write, and process photos,

and record my music and youtube

videos…where I read and watch

videos in the evening…where, in fact,

I spend a good deal of my inside

time..was shredded when a limb

fell against the house in an ice

storm last February, so I have not

been able to open that window

yet this summer. Yesterday, after

a runs of days in the 80s, I finally

went to the hardware store and

bought a screen repair kit…new

screen, the rubber beading that

holds it in the frame, and a tool

to put the beading in. It took me

about 2 hours to replace the screen

in the frame…I quickly realized

that I should have bought the more

expensive tool, but I made do and

got the job done, and, surprisingly

got the screen back in the window

from inside without dropping it

a story to the ground below. So

now, as I sit here, I have the window

open, letting in the cool morning

air. I feel it is important to celebrate

life’s little accomplishments.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Mousenose

Aliases / Nicknames: N/A

Gender: non-binary

Sexuality: asexual, grayromantic

Family: Toadbounce (mother), Quailpaw (brother)

Other relations: unnamed mentor

Clan: Shadowclan

Rank: warrior, rogue

Characteristics: kills when overly provoked, kills for fun, kills those who annoy them

Number of Victims: 7

Number of Murders: 8

Murder Method: biting throat, blunt force trauma, breaking jaw, torturing

Known Victims: Nettepaw, Foxpaw, Quailpaw, Elkthorn, Mistlefur, Pebbleskip, Bloomwish, Rainfleck

Cause of Death: impaled by rocks int he jaw, neck, and chest

Cautionary Tale: N/A

Story:

The cat version of the kid in class who drew instead of paying attention, Mousepaw preferred doing things by themself rather than being told what to do by their mentor. They seemed to do better at self-teaching anyways, so most let it be. That is, except for Mousepaw’s brother, Quailpaw.

Quailpaw picked at Mousepaw relentlessly, bothering his littermate at every opportunity, telling them that if they insisted on doing everything alone, then they will certainly die alone as well.

Two sisters, Nettlepaw and Foxpaw, joined in the bullying, perplexed by Mousepaw’s need to be alone all the time and choosing to pick on them for it rather than learn.

More and more, Mousepaw spent time out of the camp, greatening their isolation and worrying the fur off of their mother and other Clanmates.

While hunting one day, Mousepaw heard Nettlepaw approach and attempted to leave, but Nettlepaw was already set on messing up her fellow apprentice’s day.

It was an accident.... sort of. Mousepaw kept asking, begging, Nettlepaw to please just leave them alone, and Nettlepaw only got closer and closer. Everything was red, and before Mousepaw knew it, Nettlepaw was hanging limply by her throat in Mousepaw’s jaws.

When they returned to camp, Mousepaw told everyone that they had been attacked by a rogue, and Nettlepaw died trying to protect them both. Being the sweet kid they were, no one doubted them.

Well....almost everybody. Foxpaw already didn’t like them, so it was to no surprise when she began to blame Mousepaw for her sister’s death. Elkpaw, another apprentice, defended Mousepaw against Foxpaw’s anger, but still her bullying grew increasingly intense until, well, there was another body to be buried.

The guilt Mousepaw had felt with the first manslaughter was noticeably lower. It was almost non-existent. In fact, they kinda wanted to do it again. A hot wave rolled back and forth in their stomach, feeling bigger and bigger with each passing day. Mousepaw knew what they had to do to release the tension.

Quailpaw’s body was found curled at the base of a tree, head split graphically, with a bloodied rock next to him. Mousepaw was so, so upset after all the deaths. At least they had Elkpaw to comfort them, and to give them red flowers as well. 

Toadbounce was devastated. Utterly broken by her kit’s death, she had to retire early, and Mousepaw decided it was best not to kill again. Even if she still wanted to, the Clan had instigated a rule that no apprentice leave camp without at least one warrior escort.

Which also meant that Mousepaw could no longer be by themself. 

Time passed, and Mousenose became a warrior along with the other remaining apprentices, Elkthorn included. Overtly kind around Mousenose, he refused to take the hint, or direct comment, when Mousenose told him that they weren’t interested in taking a mate at the time.

But he kept pushing, apparently thinking being nice to Mousenose when they were apprentices meant that he was entitled to them as a mate, so Shadowclan had another body to bury, torn to shreds. It was suspected that he was killed by rogues. Maybe the ones that had killed the three apprentices had returned.

Mistlefur, Elkthorn’s father, wasn’t as quick as his Clanmates to believe his son’s death was the cause of random rogues. He investigated Elkthorn’s death, going as far as to dig his son’s grave. 

Watching him, Mousenose was confused, until Mistlefur found their fur between Elkthorn’s claws. 

It was spur of the moment, rushed, and Mousenose nearly lost the fight. Winning, though, they shifted the blame of Elkthorn’s death onto Mistlefur, claiming that he had wanted to blame Mousenose for the murder. 

Less warriors believed them. Incredibly skittish and paranoid after they were nearly caught, they were no longer the adorable the apprentice that could do no wrong. 

Still, they managed to add two more bodies to the count: Pebbleskip, a molly who always sat too close and ate too loudly, and who had her jaw smashed in before she died, and Bloomwish, a tom who treated himself as though he were Starclan’s chosen, bragging about even the smallest achievements. Mousenose had some fun with his death, and it was clear that Bloomwish was quite viciously tortured before he died, body nearly unrecognizable. 

But their fun couldn’t last. They were caught in the middle of Rainfleck, an annoying warrior who Mousenose was surprised no one wanted dead. 

Chased out of Shadowclan, Mousenose had just reached the end of the territory when they tripped, falling onto a patch of long, sharp rocks. They were impaled through multiple parts of their body, including the chest, jaw, and neck.

Slowly bleeding out, they died alone. But that’s how they wanted it.

Additional Information:

--Submission by @bvnny-skvllz​ ! My favourite quotes from this include, but are not limited to, “Quailpaw, who was tragically born with massive bitch syndrome,” “gaslight, gatekeep, theyboss,” and “Cain instinct took over.”

--Very big and fluffy, they nearly rival Jackdawfoot in size.

--In the Dark Forest, Mousenose continues to want to be by themselves, and will hurt anyone who sticks around for too long.

--They’re very sneaky for someone so big.

--They’re very pretty, and has a voice similar to that of MLP character, Fluttershy.

[apiratewhopines]

Smoke & Mirrors

Chapter 7/22 (updating daily)

Story Summary: When his brother’s best friend calls in desperate need of help, mercenary Killian Jones will stop at nothing to save the woman from his old enemy. Flying halfway across the world to meet Emma Swan was all part of the plan, falling for her not so much.

Between deadly inventions, criminal masterminds, and his feelings, he soon realizes he may be in over his head.

That’s just the way he likes it, really.

Rating: M

Thanks to @motherkatereloyshipper for making this better!

“I hate to sleep with one eye open”

-Bed on Fire, Teddy Swims

Emma knew she was out of her depth. But like anyone who had lived on the edge of annihilation from a young age, she didn’t let that slow her down.

Killian was surprisingly heavy for such a trim man, perhaps because he hadn’t regained consciousness yet. If they lived through this, she wouldn’t even tease him about fainting since he had used himself as a human shield to keep her from being carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey. His shirt was in tattered, bloodstained shreds sure to draw attention. She threw his jacket over his form, hoping it would keep curious stares at a minimum and stall any questions from concerned passersby.

It took every ounce of her strength, luckily still magnified by adrenaline, to get him out of her building and into her waiting car. Folding him into the backseat, she briefly considered another trip to grab essentials that would allow them to disappear for a week or more.

Before she could make a decision, she saw a figure hurrying toward the building, arm held unnaturally at his side. As he neared, she realized it was because of the sawed-off shotgun he was trying to lug inconspicuously against his leg.

“Shit.”

Stuffing her hair under her dark beanie, Emma hunched down and quietly got into the driver’s seat. Waiting until the man entered her apartment complex, she turned the engine and pulled slowly away from the curb. If someone else was out there, she’d rather know before she got to a part of town she wasn’t as familiar with, so she took the time to turn a couple of squares and double back.

Keeping her eyes on the rearview mirror, she tried not to think about how silent and still Killian was. His jacket had slipped off when she manhandled him into the car, his shirt bunched up to reveal the extent of his injuries.

“Shit.”

She couldn’t take him to a hospital. It would lead to a police report, and she had a feeling the men who were coming after her would be monitoring all channels for calls about a gunshot victim being admitted to the emergency room. Neither one of them would make it out of there alive.

Drifting aimlessly wouldn’t do them any good either. Killian had lost an unknown amount of blood, and he needed attention. She didn’t know if Gold was at the bottom of this, but if he was, he would find them. He knew everything about her, from the type of car she drove to the addresses of the few people she kept in contact with.

She needed to look at Killian’s wounds but she didn’t want an audience for it. Avoiding parking garages and shopping centers, she crept into a neighborhood that had seen better days, the kind where people stayed in their houses after nightfall and didn’t dare look out their windows and doors no matter what they heard in the darkness.

She parked in the narrow alley everyone in the immediate vicinity must have used as their personal dumping grounds. Ignoring the rotting smell of garbage mixed with urine, she reached under the passenger seat and pulled out a tiny first aid kit.

“Nothing like putting a band-aid on a bullet hole,” she muttered as she twisted around to check on her passenger. He remained lifeless, his face pale against his stubble, hair plastered to his head in odd clumps she could only assume resulted from drying blood and sweat.

Read the rest on AO3

@teamhook @jrob64 @kmomof4 @klynn-stormz @stahlop @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @tiganasummertree

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (07b)

word count; 7053

summary; as the tragedy of the chemical fire begins to wind down, the aftermath leaves the entire team in shock, and in need of a little comfort.

notes; this is the second half of part-7, I just know you guys are going to love it by the end.

warnings; minor character deaths, reference to panic attacks, vomiting, chemical fires.

Finally, the dam broke, and you tried to hold in the tears that wanted to release, the boy on the sheet twitching aggressively in his unconscious state as his body struggled to keep functioning. Your hands felt heavy as you pressed your hand over the neat stack of cards, dragging your hand over the pile and spreading it out to display all of the colours, before your fingers were brushing over what you were certain was the first of this colour card to be issued yet today.

A black card, feeling ominous in your hand, the weight of the card feeling more like bricks as you lifted it up, and you allowed yourself to shed the first tear. You didn’t want to tell Thomas, to let him know the real extensions of what you were seeing, but there was nothing for this boy that you could do. He wouldn't make it to a hospital or into surgery, his injuries were far too extensive, and so you let your legs stretch out from in front of you, the black card looped around his neck as you tried your best to make him comfortable.

The wipes you used were soothing instead of antibacterial, cooling skin that had been destroyed by flames, red and bleeding as you tried to soothe him, wiping away the traces of his injuries to try and clean him up.

There was a hope, that family was coming for him, that you were cleaning him up for a reason, helping him to look more presentable as you wiped traces of black ash and dust from his skin, all mattered in brown-red stains and sweat, tears under his eyes, and you removed it all.

It was moments like this that you had to remind yourself why you did this job at all, working along him carefully all the way to his fingertips as you wiped him down, adjusting the torn shreds of his clothes around him to hide the extent of his injuries as best as you could once you’d padded the deep slashes across his torso, bandages already beginning to seep through with red, but you adjusted his shirt down to over them. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it was radically better than it had been.

Tanned flesh was beginning to lose colour and his body motions were beginning to grow fatigued, and once you had adjusted him as best as you could, you were simply left to wait, sitting by the young boy’s side, and whispered reassurances into his ear with every twitch he made, sometimes resurfacing long enough to feel his pain, back arching and screams of pain leaving his lips, and you bit back tears, before letting them flow freely once again when his pain carried him back a state of illusion.

You loved this job, because in 99 out of 100 cases, it worked out. You helped pregnant women escape elevator shafts and father’s life long enough to see their baby born too, and you helped kids escape a life they didn't want to be in, and have the courage to create a new path. You helped nurses of amnesia patients escape burning rooms when they’d given up all hope, and you saved the elderly from suffocation on the gas leaks within their own homes.

You were damn good at your job, but sometimes, there were moments like this one that made it all that much harder.

Making a mental note of where you lay within the chaos, you hauled yourself up onto your feet, families weaving around as they all made to seek out their family members, and you were glad to notice that less and less people were being removed from the building. As you weaved through the channels made in the grass, the green stands worn away under multiple foot and wheel prints into muddy dirty tracks that would take weeks to fix, you made your way towards the ambulance you’d arrived in.

The weight of your body was heavy, every footfall feeling like it weighed you down more and more, your arms hanging by your sides, and you knew that tomorrow you would be riddled with pain and aching muscles, the over-exertions, everything from fixing up simple wounds, to hauling around men who were 200lb of pure muscle to help move them into recovery positions or lift them onto stretchers when they were too weak or injured to do it themselves, workmen who were twice your size, and the strain was making itself known.

You were numb, for now, and it was a sweet and blissful relief to know that the racing of your heart was creating enough adrenaline to dull every pain you had. Well, except for the headache that had been throbbing behind your eyes for hours now and making you feel a little nausea, but you could handle that, as long as you were able to finish this day without anything else. You must’ve dealt with over a hundred people at least, possibly more, the workload doubled with Newt too, and you were ready to crash into your bed, dreading the hours of shift you still had remaining.

The flames were beginning to be tamed, the blue tint to the smoke was fading as the chemicals were burned away, thick clouds of black smoke as the orange glow died down, beginning to be extinguished. There wasn’t much equipment that you had needed before, and yet now, you were grabbing ahold of a heart rate monitor and an oxygen tank, the mask to match it, and one of the stretcher pillows that had been discarded to the front of the ambo’ to make more room on the trolleys.

Hooking the monitor under your arm, you moved it to sit comfortably balanced on your hip, before you were letting out a sigh, your fingers hovering over the drawer of medicines and needles that you hated going into. Newt had stuck a small skull and crossbones sticker over it, one that had an eyepatch and a pirates hat on it, a joke between the two of you after you’d gone through the drive-thru at McDonalds on the way back from a call only a few weeks ago, getting a collection of pirate stickers in a happy meal box.

That drawer was only ever dug into if all options were out, if you were simply trying to relieve some of the pain that a patient was in, because they were in agony, and wouldn't make it to the hospital. Enough to bring down someone's pain levels, to let their heart relax, because once their brain stopped fighting to keep them alive and hiding the pain, they often didn’t drive too long after that.

Swallowing thickly, the jars within rattled a little as they clinked against one another. Shifting through and turning them in your hands, you found the container labelled with the medicine you were searching for, a fresh needle in a plastic packet, and you held both of them in your other hand, adjusting the equipment in your arms as you hopped down from the vehicle once again.

Slamming the doors back shut and waiting to hear them lock behind you, your eyes flickered over the scene. There were still a lot of police officers; operating crowd control, handing out water bottles and guiding members of the family through the crowd. You would give it time, not injecting the poor boy with the medicine until it all became too much for him, giving him the best chance for his family to get here before he passed, but you couldn't wait long.

Your feet dragged a little as you walked, toes scuffing against the muddy grass, and you were beginning to lose all strength, forcing yourself to go on, muscles clenching to keep them tight before you dropped everything you were holding entirely. Arriving back at the scene, the boy was panting rapidly and lightly, eyes moving beneath closed lids and jaw clenched so tight you worried he would crack his teeth, fists clenched by his side as his body remained rigid.

Placing down the kit gently, you let out a little sigh, his eyes cracking open to turn to look at you as he heard the sound.

“I-It hurts!”

You swallowed, knowing there wasn’t much more you could do as his voice cracked. He was covered with burns, and there were clear signs of internal bleeding as the organs beneath charred skin went solid, there was bruising along his body in many places from the broken bones under his skin, and with the wheezing he let out, never quite able to catch his breath, you were certain that the cracked ribs had punctured one of his lungs. “I know, kiddo, I know.”

He cried out again, a wet sound as he coughed, his entire body jerking at the sensation, and you cupped a hand behind his head, fingers finding the sticky wetness of warm blood at the base of his neck as you tried to rock him forwards, letting him cough until splatters of blood were hitting his lap and the plastic, splattering a little across you as he wretched, his entire body trembling.

When he finally managed to stop the movements, he was even more out of breath than he had been, and you lay him back down, using a glove-covered thumb to wipe at the corners of his mouth and clear away the blood and spit mix that had accumulated there. He had wretched, several times, though no bile had risen, his body reacting in every way it could now as organs began to fail and shut down one by one, and you hated that there was nothing anyone could do but sit here on watch.

Minute felt like an eternity as you hooked up the heart monitor, turning the volume down to soft beeping, as not to disturb anyone else, an uneven and erratic rate with a blood pressure concerningly low, and you were glad that the average eye couldn't read these figures, because it read like a horror story in a medical professionals eyes.

Just as you finished hooking the boy up to the machine, an oxygen mask sitting over his face, fogging up lightly inside as he took gasping breaths of the raw source, you felt a shadow fall over you, covering your eyes from the light before you were looking up.

The mother, you could tell immediately, from the sullen look in her eyes, and she didn’t look at you, her gaze sweeping over the boy who lay beside where you knelt, before she was turning, a quick call to her husband, and just like that, you were crowded by family. There were three younger siblings, and he seemed to be the eldest of them all, a pre-teen with tears already in her eyes as she looked at her brother, a child who couldn't be older than eight staring in confusion as they tried to grasp what happened, and a toddler, a fist knotted in their father’s jumper and balanced on his hip.

Sinking to her knees beside her son, she didn’t sob or scream, she simply let out a shaky breath, lifting her hand to brush dark curls out of his face, looking down at her eldest child as he began to slip away again. Setting the youngest down, the toddler wobbled on unstable legs to their mother, sitting down in the grass beside them and reaching a hand out with useless babble to place a chubby hand onto the boy’s arm, squeezing a little and cheering as they lived within a bubble of innocence, unaware of what was happening.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?”

A deeper voice, the father, and you turned, nodding your head to him and shifting yourself to pick up the needle, tearing off the plastic top and producing the needle from inside. “I’m just going to give him a shot of morphine, and then we’ll talk.”

He only nodded, watching as you lifted the container, pushing the tip of the needle through the rubbery covering and drawing back on the syringe carefully to fill the needle with the approximate amount, tapping the tip and checking it over once it had the right dosage within it. Finding a spot on his arm where there was still enough intact flesh to find a vein, you pressed your finger down over the pale skin, the blue vein underneath disappearing for a second, refilling weakly but marking its place, and you lined the needle up.

An uncomfortable pang shot through you as you injected the needle into his arm, pushing the pad of your finger down against the handle of the needle until all of the medicine had been unloaded into his veins. It took a few seconds to travel, and you watched him, studying his reaction to be sure, before all at once his muscles loosened and he sagged with relief into the plastic tarp as the pain finally faded away, fingers flexing around his mother’s as he squeezed with what little strength he had left.

Standing up and wobbling a little, the father followed you a few steps away from the group, and he glanced back over his shoulder to his family, hands sticking into his pockets, before he was letting out a heavy sigh. “My boy, he’s not going to make it, is he?”

“No, he’s not.” You whispered, and the man only nodded, a slow exhale from him as he processed that news, before tears were building in his eyes, and he began to crumble a little. “I gave him a shot of morphine, it’s slowed down all of his functions now, and taken away his pain. He can’t feel it now. I wish there’s more I could have done, I’m sorry.”

“My wife saw the news, saw the explosion. She was so worried, straight away.” A twist of guilt moved through you, making you sniff a little as your own lower lips wobbled, and you tried to choke down tears. “I told her she’d be okay, and that he was just an intern. There was no way he was close enough to the real stuff to be badly injured.”

“My friend found him, carried him out about fifteen minutes ago. Gave me enough time to let you get here to say your goodbyes.”

“You tell your friend ‘thank you’ for me, and for my family.” You nodded, knowing how much it would mean, and he finally let his tears slip free, making it harder for you to contain your own emotions. “He’s the oldest of all four, I don’t do much for a job. I’m just a mechanic, and his mother works at a supermarket, but he was going to college. He studied biomedical science, he was going somewhere.”

You grimaced, an unstable breath sucked into your lungs, before you were blinking quickly and looking away. There was bile rising in your throat, your hand gripping at your stomach to try and contain it. “I’m going to go now, and let you say your goodbyes. I’ll return soon, okay?”

You both knew what ‘soon’ meant, and he nodded, stepping away to talk to his wife, and a look seemed to be all that was needed to communicate between them, before the first of a loud cry was leaving her lips, and that was your breaking point. You shouldered through the people, mumbled apologised on your lips, you did feel bad for pushing through them all, but you could barely choke down the vomit rising within your guts before you were stepping out of sight, hunched over at the waist as you let it go, hand reaching out for supper as you found the tree.

Nails scraped against the bark, the pads of your fingers stinging at the rough pressure, and you shuddered as you heaved, throat stinging and eyes watering as you struggled to even breathe. It felt unending, time warping around you as you realised it had only been a half-hour since the boy had been delivered to you, and that he wouldn't make it to the hour marker.

A hand came down to rub at your back, and you gasped for breath, wiping the back of your hand, covered by your sleeve across your mouth and taking a moment to yourself. When you were finally able to stand back up, stomach feeling a little more stable as you tried not to think about the dying boy lest your nausea return, you twisted to find the person who had come to comfort you.

"Officer Paris." Your words couldn't get any higher than a whisper, and even that cracked, and his hand fell back down to his side as you wrapped your arms around yourself in comfort.

“Saw you take a sudden dash, got a little worried.”

You nibbled on your lower lip, a foul taste lingering in your mouth, and he offered up a water bottle for you, a weak laugh on your lips as you accepted it with a whispered ‘thank you’. As you took deep swigs, forcing yourself not to gulp as you slowed your racing heart, you watched as the fire teams began to load the equipment back into their trucks slowly, all the work they could do having been completed by now, and you knew that there was still a lot of work left for you to do before you’d get to follow after them.

“Everything okay?”

“Not really.” You whispered, screwing the lid of the water back on and holding it to your chest, using the cool liquid within to try and focus your senses. “We’re going to need a coroner down here. I know there’s some up in the building, but we have a kid, he’s not going to make it.”

“I’ll find one for you, okay?”

You appreciated the gentle tone of his voice, lowering your head to rub gently at your temples with one hand. “I should get back, we need to start getting people out of here.”

You could hardly focus as you walked back to your stations, everything seeming to slip from focus into some kind of daze as you tried to focus on what you were doing. You retrieved your bag, scooping it up from the floor and swinging it over your shoulder. There were coloured cards waiting to be collected, torn plastic bases and litters of water bottles in the mud, as well as lost personal belongings that had been forgotten in the rush.

Many people were still crowded around, waiting to be excused and waiting to get rides in an ambulance, the reds fading away into a majority of only green and yellow cards waiting, and you praised your lucky stars that you had only needed to give out one single black card today, because you weren’t sure that you’d even still be standing if there had been any more.

Flexing the fingers of your hand slowly, you focused on the sensation, head rolling from side to side, before your shoulders followed, and you loosened every single muscle you had for a tranquil moment, before setting to work. The sun was already beginning to fade on the day now, moving towards the horizon as the lighting dulled, hours having passed between caring for patients, and your first call was to begin getting people signed off.

Leaving your bag in the flooring of your seat in the ambulance, you collected a stack of forms and papers, as well as pens, taking them with you as you began to make your rounds of anyone who was left. As long as they were sentient enough to fill out discharge forms after you ran a final assessment, you could let them leave on their own as long as they had somebody with them, family or a friend, even just a neighbour or coworker, but it helped to clear out the crowds.

Newt joined you after an hour or so, having done his last assessment with the final patient, all the fire trucks being long since left, leaving police cars and vans scattered around, ambulances coming and going, and you had to ensure not to focus on the black vans with wide embossed lettering that brought a more sombre mood. Newt seemed to sense your pain, because he disappeared for a small while, returning not long after, and as you packed away equipment, the family you’d helped were now gone, the equipment you’d left with them was loaded back into the ambulance, and where words failed you, the look your friend gave you said it all.

He knew how much you’d suffered, he knew it would only cause more pain to go over and gather the equipment once the boy’s body had been cleared, and so he took care of it for you. A crew of policemen were on clean-up, as well as that of volunteers, only the shining lights of headlights and camera crew leftover as the light began to fade into darkness, and the scene was somewhat clean.

Lost belongings were piled into large plastic boxes with the police, and you filled out what felt like a bibles-worth of paperwork with the coroners, signing your name so many time your signature now just looked like a scribble rather than your name, before you were finally collapsing down into the somewhat uncomfortable cushioning of the ambulance’s passenger seat.

Silence took over your both, and as the truck started up, you left your head sway back into the headrest, eyes slipping shut as the rumble of the vehicle lulled you into as much relaxation as you could get.

As the adrenaline began to die down, you were able to feel the ache in your body, the pain that was seeping into every fibre of your body, every nerve and cell, exhaustion taking over. Raising a hand up to cover your mouth as you yawned, Newt chuckled softly, leaning over and patting your knee, before he was changing gears, and twisting on the radio to fill the cabin with the sounds of the classical music radio.

The trucks were parked away neatly within the garage bay when you arrived, the main doors up to anticipate your arrival, but the space was unusually empty, though it was understandable. After cells, members of the team could often be found milling around, sitting at the squad table and chatting, or working over the truck to check and clean equipment, filling the silence with laughter and jokes as they got along, but as you hopped out of the vehicle the second it was put into park, you were met with silence.

The echo of your door slamming shut reverberated around the empty foyer, Newt’s soon following, before he was rounding to your side, a sad look in eyes that normally sparkled brightly, and he let out a sigh. “I’m sorry about the kid. I really thought we were going to make it through the day without a black card today.”

“Did the coroner’s say anything about inside?”

“I didn’t even want to ask. We did everything we could, everybody did.” You swallowed thickly, nodding your head, and letting Newt loop an arm over your shoulders to pull you into his side, your head falling to his shoulder, and dragging your aching feet underneath you as you followed after him towards the locker room. You were stained with dirt, blood and grime, and you hoped the water was hot enough to soothe you and wash away your worries, already thinking about the muscle-relief body wash that you had hidden on the second shelf in your locker. “We could get in touch with the hospital, and see if everybody is okay?”

“You could call that hot doctor.” Newt squeezed you a little, a humourless laugh leaving you as you caught sight of his smirk, little energy to reciprocate the joke, but appreciating the way he lifted the mood nonetheless. “What was his name, again? David, Denny?”

“It’s Derek, and you know that.”

“Derek, that’s right.” He sighed, dreamily as he pushed open the door to the locker room, and the smell of multiple body-washes as well as the lingering heat from steam, signalling that the rest of your team had already been through the room and cleaned themselves up. Grabbing the towel and the bag of toiletries from your locker, you kicked off your boots, flexing your toes as your feet were liberated, and letting your socks follow. You were too lazy to even scoop your clothes up from the floor, stripping down to your underwear before wandering away to the shower, and closing the curtain.

Removing your final garments, you reached a hand back out of the closed stall, dropping them to the floor beside where your towel was hanging up, and twisting on the shower. Across the room, in the men’s showers, you heard Newt let out a loud and dramatic groan, a giggle on your lips as he did.

“I have never appreciated hot water more.”

“Speak your truth, Newt.” You teased, hearing his laugh as you stepped under the stream of water yourself, face tilted up into the spray and eyes closing, letting yourself be ridden of the day’s stresses. You didn’t want to look down, and see the colour that the water would run, you didn’t want to see any of it, the blood or the mud, you just wanted to let it all disappear, without having to acknowledge any of it again. Keeping your eyes closed, you reached for the wash-proof bag, unzipping it and feeling inside, fingers dancing over the bottles within to tell their shape.

Shampoo first, scrubbing through the tresses of your hair to remove the built-up grime, feeling the ponytail you’d put it in all slip away, the dull pain on your scalp soothing as your fingers massaged gently through your hair, pressing into the sore flesh, and you finally let a satisfied noise of your own bubble up. The squeaking of the doors on the other side of the room signified that Newt was finished long before you were, padding of wet feet, and as you moved onto the conditioner, you could faintly hear the slamming of his locker through the water as you washed the strands.

You didn’t hear when he actually left, the thundering of the water as it ran over your heart, the pounding of your own heartbeat inside of your head, but you sensed when he had left, the room feeling a little colder when you were alone. If a few stray tears escaped you to be washed away by the water when you scrubbed down your body and let the herbal soak absorb into your muscles, then nobody had to know, letting them be shed in honour of the boy who’d lost his life while trying to improve it.

You worked slowly and silently, wrapping the towel around yourself, and finding it a little easier to breathe as you wiped a space free in the steamed up mirror with your hand to be able to see. It was like a weight had been lifted from your chest, leaving you able to take your breaths more smoothly, less ragged and strained, and your headache was beginning to fade. You felt better for being clean, your entire body aching but a little more relieved and nowhere near as tense, and you sighed, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

It was hard to forgive yourself sometimes when you lost a patient, it was never easy to watch someone die, but you’d done everything you possibly could to make it easier, and thanks to your team, he’d seen his family before he passed, and that was a blessing that made everything feel easier to bear.

Taking care of your skin and running a comb through the towel-dried strands of your hair, you were almost falling asleep as you dried it. The repetitive humming of the hairdryer was enough to make your eyes close and mind stop spinning, coming to a halt as everything began to slip from consciousness, your muscles feeling heavy for an entirely new reason, and you jerked yourself back away several times.

Following it all, you grimaced at the taste in your mouth, the bitter aftertastes of your physical reaction to the day still lingering, and so you were generous with the dollop of toothpaste you served yourself as you scrubbed lazily at your teeth and rinsed out your mouth. Scooping up your clothes and pulling on your spare set, you shoved everything grubby and used into your bag to take home, swapped with your fresh clothes, but you didn’t get dressed entirely.

Deep down, you knew that Vince wouldn’t mind if you slacked on your uniform just this once, and so for comfort, instead of pulling on another smart button-up uniform shirt, you went for your hoodie instead, the worn logo of your college in the top corner as it faded, a hole in one sleeve that your thumb would fit through, your hair pulled from underneath the collar to sit limply around your shoulders.

You didn’t care for boots, either, two pairs of socks to keep your feet warm, before you were pulling the sleeves down over your hands, and wandering away to the main room, to try and find your team, and seek reassurance and company within their presence. It was unsettling quiet in there too, only the sounds of Newt’s pen tapping on the table as he worked silently on the puzzles in the newspaper, and the sounds of the almost muted television that Thomas was staring at, one of the older ‘Star Wars’ movies playing on the screen, but from the way he was staring at it, you knew his mind was miles away.

There were only seven in the room, including yourself. Gally and Chuck were playing chess at the kitchen counter, Newt doing the puzzles and Thomas watching television, and Brenda was sitting at the other end of the table with Minho, the two of them each with their headphones in and listening to music, but sitting close enough to one another to seek comfort, and your lips flicked up a little, happy for them, taking it at their own pace. You weren’t sure where everyone else was, but logically, you would assume that they would be sleeping the day away.

Moving across the room, you reached immediately for the kettle, ruffling Chuck’s curls as you passed by, and he huffed under his breath, but a smile was on his flushed cheeks as you glanced back at him, a friendly wink for his complaints, before you were filling the tank up under the tap. Once it was clicked on and beginning to boil, you began to search through the cupboards for what you wanted, smiling as the ingredients came together.

Placing a pan on the stove, you flicked the flame onto the lowest setting you could get, and adding milk to the pan to begin to warm through, without boiling over. Opening up a bag of marshmallows, you popped on into your mouth, chewing at the squishy treat happily, and opening up the cupboard filled with assorted mugs, finding your favourite.

As you found the one you searched for, you placed it down on the counter, before another was following, and another, until there were seven mugs lined up in front of you, all mismatching in size and colour, some with pictures, patterns or writing. A generous spoonful of chocolate powder into the bottom of each one, your personal collection of hot chocolate ingredients, but you were willing to share just this once.

With a splash of boiling water, just enough to dissolve the powder, you topped each one up with the milk as soon as it began to froth around the edges, heated all the way through, and leaving a gap at the top. A sprinkle of marshmallows on the surface of the steaming beverage, and a spray of whipped cream into a pretty swirl, you decorated the top of each one with a few more marshmallows and a dash of chocolate dusting.

They weren’t perfect, there were drips of chocolate and cream along the edges, and they certainly weren’t anything you would serve at a restaurant, but as you placed one down in front of both Gally and Chuck, the looks on their faces were more than enough to confirm that they didn’t care about the appearance.

There was surprise on their features, brows raising as they looked between you and the hot beverages, whispered ‘thank yous’ as their fingers wrapped around it, pulling the mugs towards themselves and staring down at them, small smiles taking over. Minho had the same reaction, and Brenda stopped her music long enough to wrap you into a tight hug as you offered one to her, before Newt was sighing out happily, his head rolling back to look up at you when you'd placed a mug down in front of him. He’d given you a cheesy grin, and told you just how much he loved you, before taking a large gulp, and cursing a little as it burned his tongue, but not letting it deter him from repeating the action, and getting a print of whipped cream along his upper lip to be licked away.

Taking the last of the drinks to be given away, you made your way over to the couch. Thomas had seemingly had the same idea as you, a jumper on and the hood pulled up over his head to hide his face, and he jumped as you placed a hand onto his shoulder. You squeezed in apology as he turned to look at you, the sombre look on his face lightening a little bit as he tried to offer you a smile, twisting to face you a fraction more.

Rounding the edge of the couch to hand him the drink, surprise flickered over his features, before he was taking it into two trembling hands, and bringing it up to his nose to sniff lightly. He poked his tongue out, fishing a marshmallow and a scoop of whipped cream from the top, and he hummed contentedly at the flavour.

“Thank you.”

His voice cracked as he spoke, and you hoped the smile on your face didn’t look too pitying, only able to nod your head as he stared up at you, blowing on the steamy liquid as the cream melted, and your fingers rubbed gently at his shoulder where you still held on, before your hand was sliding away, stepping back a little, and his eyes snapped up from the drink to you, brows furrowing, before he was reaching a hand out, wrapping around the wrist that had been closest to him, and bringing you to a halt.

“Will you sit with me? Please?”

“Of course, I will. Let me just go and get my drink, okay?” He paused in releasing your wrist, fingers unwrapping slowly, and he took a sip of his hot chocolate as he settled back into the cushions. Grabbing at your drink, Newt watched as you went, his brows raising as you caught his eye, and you shrugged, the porcelain hot in your hand as you held onto it, almost enough to burn, and you switched to gripping the handle, swirling it a little to mix the melted cream into your drink.

Sinking down into the couch beside him, he shuffled a little closer, your legs folding under you until his thigh was pressing to your knee as you faced him, mug placed down on the table, and he leaned forwards, matching the positions, before he was running a hand over his face, and letting his gaze find your own.

“Are you okay, Thomas?”

“Not really.” He mumbled, looking completely and utterly exhausted, and you felt sorry for him, true empathy surging through you, and propped your head up on your hand, elbow on the back of the couch, as you looked at him. “You know, I think you lied to me. I think you told me what I needed to hear in the moment, but I don’t think it was the truth.”

You sighed, a short exhale as you tried to find words, and his lips flicked up at the sides, head dipping for s second, before he was looking up shaking his head slightly.

“I’m not mad. You knew what was best for me. I needed you, and you didn’t fail me. Thank you.” He whispered, the words just for you, and your lips pursed, feeling a little flustered at the way he stared at you; earnestly, eyes searching your own. “Will you tell me what happened, though?”

“You don’t want that, Thomas.”

“I do. Please, just tell me about the kid.” His request was desperate, and there was a silver lining to the incredibly dark cloud, thunder and lightning swirling within, and he choked down the lump in his throat as your shoulders sagged.

“He went comfortably. He didn’t feel a thing. I promise.” His eyes closed, a shaky breath let out, and his face screwed up a little as he tried to hold in his tears. He sniffled, before letting out a weak sigh, knowing that he was failing, and as he blinked, his lashes came back wet, a large tear falling along pale cheeks, before another was following. “His parents, they saw it on the news. They came right down, and his mother held his hand as he passed. He got to see his siblings, and his mom and dad. He didn’t die alone.”

He let out a weak cry, and you heard the shuffling at the table, the rustling of the papers as Newt moved, but his chair didn’t scrape across the floor yet, clearly waiting to judge whether or not his best friend needed him or not first.

“His dad was so proud of him, Thomas. He was the oldest of four, he was making all of them so proud, and thanks to you, he passed on peacefully.” Honey eyes that were encased with red opened up to meet your gaze, lower lip wobbling a little as he released it from where it was held between his teeth, and in this moment, he was weak. He wasn’t the lieutenant of the team, he wasn’t a leader or a fighter, he was just a man who’d experienced a tragedy. “You saved him, Thomas. You made his last moments something peaceful and meaningful.” You paused, waiting a second longer, letting him calm himself. “He told me to thank you, on behalf of his family.”

“He did?” You nodded, and his lips flicked up at the sides, a hint of a smile. Lifting a hand, you wiped away his tears, brushing your fingers over wet skin, before you were cupping one of his cheeks in your palm, and his eyes fluttered shut, leaning into your touch as he let out a shaky breath. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

He smiled, softly, twisting his head to press more into your touch, and you swept your thumb over his face, tracing soft and damp skin, the pad brushing lightly over the upturned tip of his nose, and his face scrunched up a little at the ticklish feeling. “How do you always know just what to say to make me feel better?”

“I don’t know, it just comes to me, I guess. What you need to hear, it’s always just the truth.”

“Thank you.” He mumbled, lashes fluttering as his eyes remained closed, relaxing into your touch, and the cushions on the other side of you dipped. Glancing over your shoulder, you chuckled a little as Brenda sat down, leaning over to wrap an arm over your waist, her head coming down to rest on your shoulder, and she turned the volume on the movie up, cuddling into you a little as she sought out comfort too, a chuckle on your lips as she did.

You shuffled, sitting to face her a little more, and Thomas moved with you, keeping his face tucked into your hand, before Newt was following. On the other side of the couch, Newt slumped down, patting Thomas on the back lightly, before kicking his feet up on the coffee table, and reaching across to take Thomas’ hot chocolate, the brunette completely unaware of the theft that had taken place. Gally sat in the armchair, and Minho sat on the edge of the couch, arm stretched out along the back of the couch behind Brenda’s head, and Chuck sat on the floor.

Nobody said anything, nobody needed to, as you all simply watched the movie that had been chosen, letting the day be washed away as you served out the rest of your shift, ready to go home, and let a bad day be washed away by many more good days to come. Pulling your hand back for just as second, Thomas let out a noise of discontentment, his eyes cracking open to peer at you, a frown forming on his lips.

Lifting up a little higher, you pushed his hood down, adjusting it around his shoulders carefully, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you as everyone else watched the movie, leaning in just an inch, nothing noticeable, but enough to keep the bubble between you both, and your fingers laced into his hair.

A rumbling of bliss left him as your nails scraped lightly at his scalp, playing lightly with his hair to soothe him, the strands still very faintly damp from his shower, and he simply stared at you, head tipping into your hand as his body began to loosen of tension.

“I got you, Thomas, don’t worry.”

He didn’t respond, the first genuine smile you’d seen since the beginning of the shift being offered to you, his eyes closing, and he lifted a hand to wrap around your wrist delicately, fingers smoothing up along the back of your palm, resting over your hand and holding it lightly as you played with his hair. Turning your head to the movie, your attention was split, between what was happening on screen, and more overwhelmingly, with the intense feeling of belonging that was flooding you, never having felt more welcome than you did right now.

[sekceesimps]

A Rose Made of Chains Ch 4

a/n hey all, thanks for 125 followers! Publishing Ch 5 tomorrow night. Might be a delay for Chapters 6 and 7 because of classes and depression. Hopefully I’ll be able to get that out soon. 

This part will lack Kurapika and dive more into reader’s relationship with Chrollo as well as the Phantom Troupe. Hope you all enjoy! 

sincerely Coffee

Kurapika x Reader x Chrollo - Soulmate AU

Part 1:   Teaser,    Ch 1,     Ch 2,     Ch 3  

Part 2:  teaser,   Ch 5,    Ch 6,   Ch 7

Weeks. It had been weeks of you being left here in the dark damp room. After your initial failed escape plan, the man who came and hurt you everyday, whom you later learned was named Feitan, had begun to bring you a small piece of the morning newspaper. It was your only source of entertainment as well as knowledge about the outside world. Nothing significant ever happened, you just looked at the date and tried to distract your mind with the light read. 

It was getting colder too. You could feel the chill of the outside in your room. There was always a bite in the air that you felt in your bones whenever the door opened and Feitan came in. The nice man named Chrollo had offered you a real blanket once. You had shrugged him off, trying to hold onto your last shreds of free will. Your sensible side always got angry and screamed at you to accept the heat. 

Chrollo came almost everyday and repeated his offer to you. Everytime you would say no, but he would still stay. He was the only form of comfort in the cold darkness so naturally you clung onto it, quite literally sometimes. 

Some days he would stay silently by the door and read. This could be silently or out loud to you, it would vary. He always came in with a different book, always mentioning the importance of reading whenever you asked about it. Other days he would ask you about your life and in turn he would answer perhaps one question that you asked about his favorite things. You deduced that he was probably incredibly disinterested in topics regarding himself. You didn’t mind, he had a smooth voice and you had missed having conversations. Once he had even brought you a set of chess for the two of you to play. You could tell that he enjoyed spending some time with you. 

There was another time when you had visibly shivered due to the cold right in front of him. He let out a little grin and hugged you, simply saying that his warm body could easily give you more heat than your clothes. You had clung onto him for what felt like hours all while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. 

It was one day you were feeling resistant when you asked about his past that he had seemed incredibly off-put. You made the stupid mistake of pressing further and asking about what would happen to you if you kept saying no to his offers. It fueled you to edge him on even if you knew it could lead to your demise. His eyes had held a dull fire as he left and slammed the door shut behind him. Perhaps your taunting had been a little too much.  

He didn’t come back for a week. When he was gone Feitan also stopped bringing the med kit. This made your wounds more aggravated and the torture much more painful. It was slowly breaking down your body and will. The food given to you also was much less nutritious. It was clear that these people, if you could even call them that, no longer cared for your well being. So they’ve decided that they no longer need me, huh, I really am going to die here. 

Surprisingly you were okay with this. The pain was numbing and prevented you from really thinking about anything else. When your injuries had been lighter, you still had the ability to think of rescue and your friends. Now even the thought of your soulmate sent lightning hot flashes of pain through your body. Looking at your soulmark made you want to throw up, since you would have to see the mark of the 12-legged spider right next to it. You sigh and curl up onto the icy floor. Your clothes were damp and bloody, making the chill in your bones even greater. At least when Chrollo came he would allow you to get a new shirt if it had gotten too bloody. You wouldn’t even get to die with your dignity now. 

He had come in rather uneventfully. Quietly closing the door behind him. He came to your room and opened his book. Silent, more silent than usually. It confirmed your suspicion that they were finally going to get rid of you once and for all. 

“Yes,” you voice out weakly. You refused to say more. Your will had given out, but you knew in your soul that if you stayed here any longer then you would die, either from the neglect or from your wounds and the sickness you knew was growing within them. This man could make the excruciating pain go away and all you wanted to do was hope that he would keep his word. Hope was something you had gone dry of. 

He turns back, raven locks slightly obscuring his gleaming eyes. He had the faintest smile on his face, “I’m glad.” He walked towards you slowly, as if you were a wounded animal, which in all honesty you probably looked like right now. He leaned down at your level and gave you a hug. His warmth and smell invade every part of your body. You didn’t mind because now you might survive, “Let me take you to your new room,” his smile grew larger and now more sincere as took your hand, hoisting you up. 

You tried to move, but your legs didn’t seem to listen to your brain and you promptly fell down. You scrunch your eyes close and expect your face to get smashed onto the ground, a final embarrassment. Surprisingly, Chrollo had caught you. You suppose that he decided that you wouldn’t be able to walk on your own so he carried you bridal style. How his lean frame managed to support your entire body weight surprised you. His mellow scent slowly eased you to sleep in his arms. This would be the first night's sleep in a while where you felt genuinely secure. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

Waking up in this new room was bliss. You don’t remember being in as much ease and comfort before. The bed was empty but a window allowed for a single ray of light to come in. You hadn’t been around true sunlight in so long. Your mind briefly wandered to where you could possibly be but that thought was pushed away with a loud growl of your stomach. Oh right, you think, I need to eat something. You got up slowly from the bed and started walking towards the door. You turned the knob slowly, expecting to get electrocuted or something.   

You opened it and padded slowly down the hall hoping to run into Chrollo or at least get to a kitchen-like area on your own. He had probably changed you in your sleep as you were now wearing real clothes in the form of sweatpants and a huge shirt. It was a huge step up from your tattering bloody rags. You kept trudging on and eventually found yourself in what looked to be a common room area. The hallways so far seemed to indicate that this place was an old hotel or maybe a dorm room. You weren’t too sure, honestly you didn’t even know if you were still in York New City. 

The air here smelled damp and sour, like people who sweat and had just exercised lay down on the couches and let their stink stay permanently. I hope I don’t smell like that you thought briefly before you made a left and found yourself in a kitchen. 

Maybe I should have waited for Chrollo, you scolded yourself as you look through the pantry for something good to eat. You had been starved for weeks after all. As you finally reach for a bag of pop tarts on the shelves you hear someone walk in. You quickly grab it and attempt to make yourself as small and non threatening as possible. You take in the appearance of the people who had come into the kitchen, a familiar pink haired woman as well as a short haired blonde woman who had an interesting form of clothing. The pink haired one only chuckled at your meek demeanor and gave you a hand with the food. 

“Paku, this is Y/N, our newest and most gorgeous recruit” she announced lightly and moved to heat up your pop tarts. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” her calming voice was directed at you. You smiled loopily at the blonde, she was hot you think to yourself.  

“All done! Time to go to the meeting,” she called out to you and handed you a plate of your steaming breakfast. Lightly patting your head, trying not to startle you too much. They’re both so hot, you continue thinking. Their stares make you feel overwhelmed, you don’t remember ever being around such beautiful people. 

“Meeting?” you ask weakly as you take a bite. The sugary flavor explodes in your mouth making you let out a soft moan from the happiness of it. 

She and Paku share a smile before saying, “The leader called a few of us to a meeting, just some basic introductions is all.”  you only nod and continue eating. When you finish you hurriedly clean your space and let Paku and the pink haired woman named Machi lead you expertly through the halls of this new home.  

You come across a large empty space with some rubble and chairs where Paku lets you sit in between her and Machi. They had made pleasant small talk with you through the walk and gave you a vague idea of the layout of the area. You were definitely going to get lost but they had put you in so much ease that you felt safe with them leading the way. You had been the first to arrive and sat together in a peaceful atmosphere. 

As time goes by, some people start trickling into the meeting space. You take note of a person wrapped up in bandages as well as a girl with glasses in a cute black turtleneck. A very large man with strange looking ears had come in last. They had greeted your companions and had largely ignored you before sitting down. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that your savior had come in looking quite different. He seemed quieter and more serious, but his entire look had changed. His normally loose raven locks were now slicked back on his head. He seemed less human this way, but if he was really the boss then it didn’t surprise you too much that he looked the way he did. His entire aura simply radiated authority, but in a subtle way. You had noticed how everyone in the room had perked up and stood at attention when he had come in. Even the aloof looking girl in glasses was paying attention.

“Good morning,” he remarked in that familiar smooth voice. You crooned on the inside just hearing it. “As you all know we have our newest potential member here to perhaps take spot number 11,” he stopped briefly as everyone in the room nodded their heads slightly, “and to make sure that she is fit to take that place, I want her to go on her very first mission as a sort of recruitment exercise. It will be a perfect way to test her skills and get her comfortable with the rest of us,” he didn’t look at you but at this point everyone in the room was beginning to glance your way, trying to see what kind of reaction those words would elicit. You remained unmoved by his words, trying to keep a stoic demeanor. “It’s going to be a difficult mission that will only require one other member. Their job is to just assist, but not lead, I want Y/N to do that,” he finished as he looked at you for the first time since he came in the room. His eyes held pride, you knew that he believed you would pass this test. Your lips curved into the smallest and softest of smiles. He continued, “I don’t plan on assigning anybody, so whoever wants to go can just volunteer.”

Machi raised her hand swiftly. She smiled at you and announced, “I’ll go with Y/N,”

Chrollo nodded at her and replied, “Very well, everyone else may leave and go about their business for the day. Machi and Y/N, stay so I can tell you what I want from you two.” With that the rest of the group made their way out of the room. Paku waved at you before also turning and leaving. 

“There’s going to be a museum showing some of the rarest objects in the hunter world. It’s nothing like the auction as these items are more private and are owned by famous pro-hunters. In turn the museum only allows pro-hunters in. I desire one of the rarest nen blades that’s currently being shown off for about 5 billion Jenny. I have the utmost faith in the two of you,” he grinned and left. Your stomach filled with dread, having no idea how you were supposed to complete this task. Machi grins at you too and pats your shoulder. 

“Good Luck, Y/N!” she laughs, “I’ll meet you back in your room in about an hour to discuss plans on entering tonight. I really like you so I hope for your sake that you can get the blade.” she leaves you to your worried deliberations. So this was the life of a thief huh? 

a/n sorry it took so long to get this out, we reached 100 followers much faster than anticipated. Thank you all so much for that we love every single one of you! However, we have gotten some rude comments regarding how long it has taken to publish this series. We assure you that we are trying our best to get this out to you (we're glad you're liking it •u•) but leaving rude comments was unnecessary. Again thank you so much for the support <3!

[alicianyblade]

This year's Beltane dinner: Salad (one of the pre-mixed kits) and homemade tuna noodle casserole. This recipe is courtesy of BrunchWithBabs and it's FABULOUS. Seriously, forget the instructions printed on the egg noodle package and make this instead. Even if you don't like tuna, make this and swap out the tuna for cooked shredded chicken. It's insanely good, due to a lot of things, but mostly because it features CRUSHED POTATO CHIPS on top instead of breadcrumbs. Genius. A bright and blessed Beltane to all my fellow celebrators and to everyone, happy May Day! Babs’ Tuna Noodle Casserole 2 cups (6 oz.) dry wide egg noodles 1 T. butter 1/4 cup diced onion 1 can (6 oz.) tuna, drained 1/4 t. salt 1/4 t. pepper Half a small jar of pimentos, drained 1/3 cup milk 1/3 cup sour cream 1 can Cream of Celery soup 1 cup shredded cheddar 1/2 cup frozen peas 1/2 cup crushed potato chips Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Spray an 8X8 dish with non-stick spray. Cook the egg noodles in boiling salted water for 7 minutes. Drain. Melt the butter in a skillet and sauté the onion until translucent. Remove from the heat. In a bowl, break up the tuna into fine pieces, as small as you can get. Add in the salt and pepper, onions, pimentos, milk, sour cream, Cream of Celery soup, 1/2 cup cheddar cheese, and the frozen peas, stirring to combine. Lastly, gently fold in the egg noodles and pour the mixture into your prepared baking dish. Sprinkle with remaining cheese and top with crushed potato chips. Bake for 30 minutes. #FeedingCreatively #BrunchWithBabs #TunaNoodleCasserole #KitchenWitch #Wicca #WheelOfTheYear #WiccanHolidays #Beltane #MayDay #EasyDinner https://www.instagram.com/p/CdCrnJDL7Q1/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sxfterhearts]

wounded

24. [7:25 pm]

➳ pairing: yugyeom x reader

➳ genre/warnings: slow burn, fluff, slight bad boy!yugyeom, triggers; mentions of violence, injuries, physical abuse

➳ word count: 2,504 words

➳ summary: 24. “Just because,”

➳ author's note: this will probably turn into a two-shot, inspired by new era yugs. all creds for the gif below to @jinyoungot7​, thank you so much 💖 i’ve been sitting on this idea for a bit too long + rewrote it 3 times (bc my dumb self forgot to hit save) so i really struggled to form the right words. i hope you’ll forgive me for this! any form of feedback will be very much appreciated 💕 (also: imo = aunty)

wounded // scarred // healed

A rush of stiflingly hot summer air pummeled through the double doors of your family’s restaurant, disrupting the once cool atmosphere created by the air-cons. Being reminded of this season’s unforgiving behaviours urged you to lift the straw of your cool drink to your lips.

The sip of iced Americano, however, got stuck in your throat when you laid eyes upon the restaurant’s newest patron.

Yugyeom. Kim Yugyeom, with his untucked shirt and loosened tie, took confident strides across the dining area in the direction of the kitchen window where chefs would place finished dishes, ready to be served. Your brain short-circuited for several moments as you did nothing but watch him from your position behind the cashier. His actions were that of a regular’s as he arrived at the window and stuck his head through the opening in the wall, his hand coming up in a small wave to catch the chefs’ attention.

It was then that you registered, quite belatedly, the bruises and splotches of crimson littered across the back of his raised hand, tarnishing the fair skin.

You distinctly remembered that you saw plasters wrapped around his fingers earlier today when you sat beside him in class. His current wounds made the older ones seem like insignificant paper cuts. It wasn’t unusual for Yugyeom to turn up covered in fresh cuts and purple bruises, though. In fact, you had grown so accustomed to this that you started stocking up on assorted Rilakkuma plasters. Since the start of the semester when you were assigned the furthest desk from the whiteboard, you learned how to disinfect open wounds with saline solution and cover it properly with pastel-coloured dressings, all courtesy of Kim Yugyeom.

“Imo, can I please order takeaway? One bibim naengmyeon and one mul naengmyeon, double serving of pickled radishes, two eggs and extra-”

“Yugyeom-ah!” Your mother’s unmistakeable voice pierced through as her head peeked out of the little window, coming face to face with your desk partner. She addressed him with such a warm and motherly tone, which left you surprised and confused. “Oh, oh dear… It’s best if you take a seat, you can have your dinner here. I’ll pack Mark’s in a takeaway container, don’t you worry.”

“But Imo, I need to get back, Mark-”

“No buts, Yugyeom. I already memorised your orders. Sit down, your food will be ready in a second.”

“Imo, I can’t-” Yugyeom protested weakly, waving his hands in refusal, but you knew it was all for nought. Attempting to deny your mother’s orders were an impossible feat.

A short silence ensued. You guessed this was caused by your mother’s signature death stare. Having been on the receiving end countless times during your lifetime, you were well aware that it could make anyone’s skin rise with goose bumps or a chill to run down their spines.

“Okay, Imo…” Came Yugyeom’s resigned voice as his lanky legs dragged himself over to the vacant seat closest to the kitchen.

You took this as your cue to question your mother in detail about how she became so familiar with your class’ bad boy. Unfortunately, you were met with a curt reminder of the first-aid kit in the cupboard under the counter as she busied herself with blanching the buckwheat noodles. When she was in her element, there was no way to deviate her attention from the task at hand.

Rummaging through the cupboard, you fished out the white box with a red cross stuck on the top of the lid. Taking a few moments to steel your quickening heart rate, you were struck by the realisation that this would be the first time seeing Yugyeom outside of school in the entire five years you spent as classmates. He was a quiet boy, never uttering a single word in school, even when the teachers were asking him questions, landing him a semi-permanent spot in detention. Most days, he would plug one earphone into his ear and rest his head on folded arms, taking frequent naps as the class learned about organic compounds or Punnett squares. He was also handed multiple demerits for breaking the school rules, which ranged from getting into fist fights with seniors who bullied students for their lunch money, or wearing one too many piercings (especially the shiny ones), to refusing to get a haircut when his fringe began to grow past his eyebrows, obscuring his eyes.

The most intimidating aspect about sitting next to Kim Yugyeom, however, was that nearly every week you were forced to come face to face with angry gashes and wounds that he seemingly gained overnight. He always turned a blind eye when you succumbed to your curiosity and inspected his injuries from your seat, mere inches away. Wordlessly, you would clean the damaged skin with practiced hands, then patch it up with a plaster. Rilakkuma, you decided, suited him best. The plasters matched his yellow Rilakkuma earphones. You even caught him occasionally staring at the plasters when you stayed in class during lunch, the only period in which he remained awake.

“Y/N,” Yugyeom called as you drew the seat next to him. He stared at the table, refusing to meet your eyes.

Your ears perked up the moment your name left his lips; you were not used to this. It was a rare occurrence for the two of you to speak. Usually you went about your everyday tasks silently, with little words being exchanged. It was a silence that grew comfortable over the semester, and you found yourself appreciating the peace it brought during stressful times.

Conversations between the two of you had only started up recently. This was largely attributed to your father, who worked front of the house, being ridiculed by your classmate’s parents when they visited the restaurant. They complained about your father’s complete lack of competence when they had to wait forty-five minutes for their food to arrive, only to receive the wrong dishes in the end. Furious, they shoved the plate of food off the table and stormed out of the restaurant, not even bothering to settle the bill. Your father was left to clean up the scraps in front of all the other customers, severely damaging the restaurant’s reputation.

The classmate, a snobby, pampered girl, confronted you in school the next day by rudely pushing your books and stationery onto the floor, just like her parents did. You held back angry, frustrated tears as she ridiculed you and your family in front of all your other classmates, tearing you down to shreds. Yugyeom, rousing from his nap, caught the girl’s wrist before she had the chance to slap you across the face with a notebook.

Everyone grew quiet then. The boy had never done anything to gain attention, always preferring to remain behind the shadows in perfect silence. “Keep it down, you’re ruining my sleep.” Yugyeom hissed threateningly. She cowered in fear and backed off, never to provoke you again.

“Look up, Yugyeom.” You instructed, returning to the task at hand. With a concerned gaze, you conducted a thorough examination of his injuries. The cuts on his hands and the bruises on his knuckles were fairly standard – a quick clean and plaster should do the trick. You got to work, pulling out the alcohol-free cleansing wipes and dabbing over the torn skin with gentle fingers. The boy flinched slightly upon the first contact but behaved rather well as you continued to tend to his hands. Your gaze flitted over the two spherical scars on the underside of his left forearm as he reached forward, closing the distance between the two of you. They were cigarette burns, you figured. You could feel Yugyeom’s fingers brushing against your temples as he pushed strands of your short hair back to rest behind your ears, the tips of which glowered pink at his actions.

“What happened this time?” You asked, somewhat rhetorically. You knew full well that Yugyeom would never divulge the events that led up to his injuries, no matter how persistent you were.

He hummed in response, as though that were an appropriate answer, and scrunched up his face slightly to express his reluctance in answering your question.

The wound smack bang in the middle of his nose presented itself as a bit more of a challenge. While Yugyeom was no stranger to facial injuries, often sporting shallow cuts close to his brow or near his chin, this was much deeper; much larger. It drew unwanted attention and tarnished his otherwise handsome features.

A dull thud sounded as a bowl of cold noodles landed on the table. Your mother stood over the two of you, shaking her head as she handed you a warm towel. You accepted it, still utterly clueless about how your mother was so well acquainted with Yugyeom and his injuries. “Y/N-ah, use this to clean the wound. If it’s still bleeding a lot, apply some pressure to it.” She then turned to the boy, tutting in disapproval. “Yugyeom, I’ve always respected your privacy when you show up in my restaurant covered in cuts and bruises, but this is where I draw the line. Your injuries are getting more serious. You and I are going to have a serious talk once you finish your dinner, young man. It’s been two years and I can’t watch from the sidelines any longer, are we clear?”

You watched as Yugyeom nearly heaved out a sigh, but decided against it in the last minute. “Yes, Imo. Thank you, Imo.”

Your mother, with her hands perched atop her waist, nodded gravely before strutting over to the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone once more. A million questions swarmed in your head as Yugyeom took the towel from your hands, pressing it onto his wound as he began to devour the bowl of cold noodles. This has been going on for two years? You wondered to yourself. Two long years, and yet I’ve never even ran into him in the restaurant. There’s no way, he must’ve been here when I worked over the summer. Maybe he was just sitting in a corner, eating in silence… As usual.

“You’ve been coming her for two years?” You asked before you could stop yourself, your curiosity getting the better of you. “But why?” Why didn’t you tell me? You thought silently, the rest of the sentence unable to leave your mouth.

Yugyeom shrugged as he picked out two halved egg yolks from the boiled eggs with his chopsticks. “Just because,”

Because you pitied me? Because you were ashamed of me? Because you couldn’t face me in school without thinking about that incident caused by the girl’s parents?

“It’s not like that.” The boy said flatly, his eyes meeting yours with a resolute gaze when he noticed you withdrawing, getting lost in your thoughts. “This is the only place that sells naengmyeon all year.”

“What?” You muttered in disbelief.

“I have naengmyeon every Friday, even in winter. The food is good and I only live five minutes away.”

You nodded at his explanation. Perhaps you were overthinking the situation.

“I was also trying to hide most of my injuries from you.” He admitted in a low voice, barely audible above the white noise of the restaurant. Yugyeom took another mouthful of noodles into his mouth, chewing appreciatively as the refreshing flavours soothed his senses. “Fridays…” He paused, eyes wandering vacantly around the vicinity of the restaurant. “Fridays are gambling days for my uncle. He’ll gamble, lose, drink and come home for dinner. You know my older brother, Mark?”

“Yeah, I know Mark.” It was hard not to know about Mark. Before he graduated four years ago, rumours about him spread like wildfire throughout the entire school. The one rumour you distinctly remembered as a first-year student was that he maintained good grades by doing, for a lack of better word, favours, for his female teachers.

“Mark would rush me out of the house before our uncle got home. He acted as my uncle’s babysitter by cooking him dinner, and then as his punching bag when he had to take out his frustration. I was home once when it happened, some time last year. After that I made Mark agree for us to take turns.”

Your head started to spin as your brain worked to process this new information. “Wait so, the cuts, the bruises, the burns, all of that…?”

Yugyeom nodded, still staring beyond the double doors. The sun was beginning to set. In the back of his mind, he registered that his uncle would be home soon. “Honestly, Mark had it worse, especially in the first few months after.”

He meant after his parents passed away two years ago. A car accident. They were coming home from their anniversary dinner. It was raining. There was a truck going around the corner at insane speeds, towards their car. It swerved. Their car plummeted off a cliff. They died instantly, the aunties gossiped as they filtered in and out of the restaurant. Poor kids, they would remark, casting pitied looks at the brothers.

“Your mother, she’s really something else.” He said with a small smile while picking up a few pieces of cucumber and radish. “The first time I came in, the restaurant was about to close. She took one look at me and forced me to press a piece of frozen beef on my bruise. She talked to me the entire time she was dressing my wound, I swear my ears nearly fell off.”

That sounded exactly like your mother. She loved to nag, but it always came from a place of genuine concern. “Imagine being her daughter.” You joked, grateful for the slight comedic relief from the heavy nature of the words you shared. It was one of the few proper conversations you had with your desk partner.

“Sometimes I have to remind myself that she isn’t my mother.” Yugyeom said, his tone so broken and devastated that you felt your heart ache within your chest.

You placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder, trying your best to provide him with some form, any form of comfort. “I’m sure she cares for you like her own son. Especially since she’s been making you dinner every Friday for the past two years.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“She even nurses your injuries.”

“But you do that too.” He pointed out without missing a beat, a teasing glint in his eyes as he finally turned to look at you.

“I…”

“Nevermind, forget I said anything.” Yugyeom replied with a knowing grin, returning back to his dinner.

I care about you too, a lot. You confessed silently, resting your heavy head on your palms as you watched him eat. The golden shine of the sun casted upon his pointed features. Despite the old scars and the new wounds, he glowed.

A part of you realised that after so many months, you had finally broken-down Kim Yugyeom’s iron walls. School would be very different from now on.

[renthony]

Betta 101: A Care Guide For the Uninformed

Y’all know betta fish, those cute little fuckers that want to fight anything and everything. These are my tiny assholes, Helios and Mercury:

[Image description: Two side-by-side photos of betta fish. The first photo shows Helios, a black halfmoon betta with yellow fins. He is swimming through the leaves of a plant rooted in colorful gravel. The second photo shows Mercury, a purple and pink veiltail betta, resting idle at the top of his aquarium. End image description.]

Betta fish are some of the most popular fish in the aquarium hobby, and no wonder! They’re cute! They have a wide variety of colors and fin shapes, and each one is truly beautiful. They stand out in any aquarium, especially in aquariums with darker-colored decorations.

The thing about bettas, though, is that there are a lot of misconceptions about how to take care of them. Every few days I see someone else buying a betta that they’re not equipped to care for, and it makes me so sad.

Because bettas are so damn popular, they’re also, sadly, one of the most mistreated pet fish on the market. Since I’ve spent a lot of time both learning about and caring for betta fish, I thought I’d put together a quick 101 guide and resource list for anyone interested in getting a betta of their own!

This’ll be pretty long, so the rest of the post is under a cut.

Rule Number One: Bettas are not decorations!

Because betta fish are so beautiful and attention-grabbing, they’re often thought of, and used as, nothing more than decorations. Betta fish in tiny bowls or cups are used as centerpieces at weddings, bettas get added to vases of cut flowers to add some pizzazz, and bettas get put in artsy glass bowls to brighten up some bank manager’s office somewhere.

None of those are acceptable ways to house a betta fish! Bettas are not decorations, and they need to be cared for by someone who loves and values them as a living creature, not an attention-grabbing bauble.

Rule Number Two: Bowls are bad!

There’s a very persistent myth about betta fish: “they live in puddles, so they don’t need very much space.” It’s why they wind up in things like centerpieces and vases so often. The thing is, just because betta fish are capable of surviving harsh conditions and minimal amounts of water for a while, it doesn’t mean they’re able to thrive.

Betta fish do not naturally live in puddles! They are native to Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam, and live in rivers, canals, and bodies of standing water such as rice paddies and flood plains. If a betta lives in a rice paddy or floodplain and the water level drastically decreases, bettas are equipped to survive those harsh conditions for a short period of time, but it is not a healthy way for them to live their entire lives. They require plenty of space to swim and claim territory.

The suggested minimum amount of water for a pet betta fish is 2.5 gallons, or 9.5 litres. Personally, I don’t like to keep a betta in anything less than 5 gallons, or 19 litres, but that’s just my preference because, on average, the smaller the aquarium, the more frequent the need for water changes and maintenance. Currently, the smallest tank I have is 10 gallons, which houses a single betta.

Rule Number Three: Temperature is important!

Wild bettas live in a tropical environment, which needs they need warmer water! Your betta aquarium should have a consistent, steady water temperature of between 74 and 80 degrees Fahrenheit, or 23 to 27 degrees Celsius.

Some people who live in warmer climates may not need to use a constant heater, but every aquarium should have a thermometer so you can check the temperature. If you can’t maintain a betta-appropriate temperature without a heater, you’ll need to get one.

Some aquarium heaters are pre-set to specific temperatures, which are fine as long as they’re preset to the right one, and some heaters are adjustable -- it doesn’t matter which one you get and is largely a matter of preference. I have both types of heater and find them equally easy to use, though adjustable heaters have the benefit of versatility should you want to keep different fish in the future.

Rule Number Four: Filters are a must!

You need a filter, period. There are many types of filter, and aquarium hobbyists have different preferences for different fish, but what matters is that a filter exists in your tank. The hang-on-the-back style filters that come in most aquarium kits are perfectly fine, though it’s important that your filter has a low flow, because betta fish can be battered around by strong currents in an aquarium. You should also avoid under-the-gravel style filters, as they are largely not effective enough to filter an appropriately-sized tank.

For those looking for a budget-friendly option, many betta keepers love sponge filters! I personally don’t use them, not for any particular reason other than hang-on-the-back filters were what I had on hand.

I personally don’t have a lot of experience with every kind of filter, so if you’re interested in more details about your filter options, I recommend these YouTube videos:

How to Choose The Right Filter For Your Aquarium!

10 Things You Should Know About Aquarium Filters

Fish Tank Filter Basics!

The BEST Aquarium Filter for BEGINNERS?

Rule Number Five: Careful with decor!

Bettas have very delicate fins that can be easily caught and shredded on sharp decorations. Most plastic plants are dangerous to bettas for this reason. The general guideline for betta-safe decorations is that if you can lightly sweep a single piece of toilet paper across the surface of a decoration without ripping, it should be safe for your betta. If the TP rips, it’s not a betta-safe decoration.

If you notice your betta’s fins are ripped or damaged, and it isn’t a case of fin rot*, it could be damage due to a sharp decoration that you need to remove.

You should also be careful not to use any decorations that might leech paint or other harmful chemicals into your aquarium water. When in doubt, err on the side of caution and choose a different decoration.

* For more about fin rot, see this YouTube video: FIN ROT Fish Disease Prevention and Treatment

Rule Number Six: Bettas need hiding places!

A betta fish’s natural environment is filled with plants and plenty of places to hide, so you should provide them in your aquarium!

Live plants such as anubias and java fern, and floating plants such as salvinia and Amazon frogbit, are perfect and typically easy to find in aquarium shops. With betta fish, there really is no such thing as “too many plants.”

Live plants can be intimidating, though, especially for new aquarium hobbyists. If you can’t find or don’t want live plants, you can get your betta some silk ones instead.

You should also provide things like caves for your betta to hide in. These can be whatever you’d like, from natural-looking logs to hollowed-out coconut shells to colorful themed decor. Just remember what I said up in rule number four about sharp plastic and chemicals!

Rule Number Seven: Careful with tankmates!

Betta fish are highly territorial and extremely aggressive. If you put more than one male betta fish in a tank, they will kill each other, full stop. Your betta does not need a buddy to keep him from getting lonely, end of story, and intentionally housing multiple male betta fish together is blatant animal cruelty.

So don’t do it.

Some experienced betta keepers may keep multiple female betta fish together in an aquarium called a “sorority tank,” but it must be done extremely carefully, and may still be prone to fighting, so this isn’t something you should do if you’ve never kept bettas before.

Male and female fish are never kept together except for supervised mating by an experienced breeder. In the wild, female bettas are able to leave as soon as they release their eggs, leaving the male fish to tend the nest of eggs. In an aquarium, a female must be removed immediately after releasing her eggs, or the two fish will fight, most likely to the death.

While betta fish are territorial and aggressive, and can’t be housed with their own species, they can sometimes be kept with other species of fish. Mileage varies depending on the individual temperaments of your fish, though, and you should carefully research any species you intend to house together.

I have experience keeping my bettas with snails and neon tetras, and they all get along just fine, but other betta keepers have had different experience. For more information on selecting potential tankmates, check out the YouTube videos below:

Top 10 Tank Mates For Bettas

7 Most Popular Betta Tank Mates You Need to Try

Betta Fish Tank Mates | Top 10 Most Popular Tank Mates For Bettas

BETTA FISH TANK MATES | 10 More Great Tank Mates For Bettas

Compatible Tank Mates for Betta Fish

Top 4 Betta Tank Mates

Rule Number Eight: Know your aquarium 101!

If you’re an experienced aquarium keeper, congrats, those are pretty much all the basics of betta fish! There’s plenty more information out there about details and specifics that I encourage you to go out and research, but I’ve pretty much covered Betta 101!

For more information, check out these YouTube playlists:

Betta Fish Care 101

Better Know a Betta

Betta Fish Information

Your First Betta Tank

For those who have never kept fish before, there’s a lot to it that you need to know, and would make this post way, way too long.

So! If you don’t know what a nitrogen cycle is, or how to acclimate a fish, or how to condition water, here’s a list of Fish 101 playlists YouTube. Be sure to do plenty of research, and good luck on setting up your first aquarium!

Fish Keeping 101

The Fish Keeper’s Guide to Aquariums

Beginner’s Guide to Setting Up an Aquarium

The Ultimate Guide to Your First Aquarium

Bonus: Have fun!

I know this giant post seems intimidating, but setting up and maintaining betta aquariums is some of the most fun I’ve had in a hobby. I find everything about these little fish to be utterly delightful, and if you do, too, I promise you all the time and investment is worth it.

Go forth and have fun, and don’t hesitate to show me pictures of your betta!

___

Like this post? Reblogs are better than likes! I also have a Ko-Fi profile if you’re feeling generous. Thanks so much!

[thatesqcrush]

Lockdown Lovin’ (or Got a Screwdriver?)

AN: I started this fic prior to the pandemic. I had a hard time finishing it and then suffered an incredible loss. I wanted to finish it more for myself. Forgive me for typos + such. 

AN2: This also fills the birthday-songfic challenge from @thefanficfaerie w/”Hips Don’t Lie” by Shakira.

AN3: Thanks to @madpanda75 & @youreverycolor for the titles.

CW: Smut, so much smut. Language.

WC: 5k

Tags: @youreverycolor @madpanda75 @melsquared79 @tropes-and-tales @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @delia26 @sass-and-suspenders @glimmerglittergirl @dreila03 @mommakat32 @garturbo @lovebennycolon @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @imjustreallynosy @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @sweetsummertime99 @evee87 @scarlettsoldier @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @redlipstickandblacktea @infiniteoddball @xemopeachx @misssirenlove @letty-o @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoollike @trekinthruthestarwars @mormonsinthepiazza @gibbs274 @choppedgalaxynerd-blog-blog @germansarechill @neely1177 @misssirenlove @i-t-s-a-n-d-y @dianilaws - anyone else just ask, xo 

---

August in New York City was always oppressive and muggy. You could almost see the steam coming off the concrete from your top-floor walk up apartment. The sun was beating down at 7:00 A.M. and your air conditioner was on the blink. You sat by your windowsill, desperate for a breeze and drank a glass of ice-cold water in an attempt to cool off. You were in your underwear and a t-shirt, which already felt like too much clothing. However, you had court that afternoon and you had to leave in thirty minutes to get into the city to be prepped by your ADA, Rafael Barba. 

With a heavy sigh, you peeled yourself from your chair and put on your best pantsuit: a black ankle length suit with a double weave blazer and a cream colored button down adorned with tiny black polka dots. You slipped on black-flat slingbacks and wrapped your hair in a low chignon. You clipped back your bangs and sprayed your hair. You layered some gloss and smacked your lips. ‘Oh come off it,’ you thought to yourself. ‘It’s never going to happen.’

Unbeknownst to Rafael, you harbored a tiny thing for him. How could you not? He was intelligent and wildly attractive.

You clipped your badge and grabbed your wallet and phone, before heading out of your apartment.

You had only been outside of your apartment for not even five minutes and you were already dripping with sweat. You hopped on the subway and took relief in the cool, but filthy air that blew past you as the subway lurched to a stop. The subway chugged upwards the Williamsburg Bridge and you could admired the steel infrastructure of the suspension bridge. Despite it being early, the train was packed to the brim from when you got on at Marcy Avenue. As people got off, there was no relief in personal space as more people hopped on. You noted how quickly people forgot about social distancing from even just months prior.

Eventually the congestion eased and by the time you got to the last stop on Chambers Street, the subway had only a few passengers – also in their suits and ready to take on the day.

You placed a coffee order on your phone and by the time you walked out of the subway, your iced latte was waiting for you. Being that you were soon to be in the company of one very cute, but typically cranky ADA, you made sure to also grab him a coffee as well. You had been in Barba’s presence enough to know that he usually took his coffee black but occasionally ordered a piccolo latte with a ristretto shot. And because you knew that for every good lawyer was an even better paralegal, you ordered an extra iced coffee.

Fancy coffee drinks in hand, you made your way into One Hogan Place. The building was quiet and you knew in an hour or two that would all change. You flashed your badge at the security guard and was quickly screened for any weapons of mass destruction before being allowed to pass through. Down the hall you went and you turned into the corner where ADA Rafael Barba’s office was located.

To your surprise, it was empty.

You glanced at your watch and were about to reach for your phone when Rafael burst through, tossing a large duffel bag to the side. You jumped at the sound of the door slamming shut, nearly dropping the drink holder.

“Morning,” you replied wryly, before taking a sip of your coffee. “You seem chipper.”

Rafael glared at you before his eyes settled on the coffee. “Carmen called out; she’s sick with a stomach bug and my shower is busted so I had to shower at the gym.”

You arched your brow. “You work out?”

Rafael ignored you and rubbed his jaw. “Uh, is that coffee?”

You nodded. “I knew you and I had prep this morning, so I wanted to get us started on the right foot.” You handed Rafael his coffee and a small smile twitched across his face. You noticed the stubble that graced his face and for a brief moment, you wondered what it was like to feel that against your own skin. You involuntarily shuddered.

“How could you shiver? It is ten thousand degrees outside,” Rafael replied.

You rolled your eyes. “And how you could drink hot coffee on a day like today is beyond me.”

“Studies have shown that drinking a hot beverage on a hot day actually can cool you down,” Rafael replied. He set down his coffee and walked over to his desk. He opened up his laptop.

You nodded and sat down, making yourself comfortable on his couch. The office was warm and you shrugged off your jacket. “Is the AC on?”

Rafael nodded. “Old building, sometimes it takes a bit to get going.” He banged on the AC unit behind him.

“That seems… very high techy techy,” you quipped. “They let you graduate Harvard?”

“I am a man of many talents,” Rafael returned, a small smile again twitched across his face. “Shall we get started?”

---

Rafael was merciless in his prep. You appreciated how much he care he put in his work. From your experience of watching him in court, he always seemed to anticipate what would be asked before it was even asked.

“You studied your grand jury transcript?” Rafael asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as he paced his office. He went through his papers – you suspected it was his infamous (and bulletproof) answer tree.

You nodded, feeling your cheeks flush. “I did.”

“Are you sure? Do you want to go through them once more?”

You cocked your brow. A bead of sweat rolled down your forehead. ‘Holy hell, it is hot in here,’ you thought. “I’m ready.”

Rafael nodded. He grabbed a kerchief from his desk drawer and wiped his brow. “If you deviate from your statement in any way, it will create reasonable doubt about all of your testimony.”

“I am not going to deviate,” you retorted with a sigh, grabbing your belongings. “I got this.”

“After you detective,” Rafael motioned as he slipped on his suit jacket. He was wishing he hadn’t – it was so hot in his office but he didn’t want it to wrinkle. You walked towards the door and turned the knob but it didn’t turn. You tried again, feeling your heart begin to race. Nothing. You pulled on the door. It was jammed.

“Uhhh, we have a situation.”

“What kind of situation?” Rafael asked, moving past you. He tried the knob but he had no luck, so he tried again more forcefully and then to his chagrin, the doorknob completely came off the spindle, ensuring that the two of you were completely locked out.

“Did you just get us locked out?” you questioned, nervously laughing.

“I – I – I did not. The door knob broke off,” Rafael replied defensively.

“Oh my God,” you exclaimed. “What do you mean the door knob came off? You broke the door?”

“I did not break the door!” Rafael replied trying stick the door knob back on, but failing.

“Good job MacGuyver,” you retorted. “You slammed the door and fucked it all up.  

He tossed the knob towards you and you caught it. You looked at it and then at the jammed door.

“I went to the Academy,” you called from behind. “Not locksmithing school. Come on, use your brain Harvard.”

“Oh, I may have a lens repair kit in my desk,” Rafael exclaimed before hurrying back to his desk. He searched his desk but came up empty. You remembered the bobby pins in your hair and removed your chignon, which sent your hair cascading down in waves.

Despite the fact you had not gone to locksmithing school, you tried to give it a go. You fussed with the knob but nothing worked.

“Any lucky sleuth?”

On close inspection, you could tell the threads were shredding. You swallowed hard. “No. We’ll just have to call security.”

You could hear Rafael on the phone with security.

“Security said they’ll get us out,” Rafael replied. “Twenty minutes tops.”

Twenty minutes turned into thirty. And thirty turned into an hour. No one had come by. “Maybe I should call Carisi,” you wondered out loud.

“He’s in Brooklyn, assisting the DA there on the Boland matter,” Rafael replied. The room had grown exceptionally warmer. Rafael removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

“Where the hell is the security guard? Where is everyone else?” you wondered.

“Everyone is off for summer this week. It’s been pretty bare bones.”

You turned around and watched Rafael as he rolled up his sleeves, exposing his muscular, deliciously veiny forearms. Unconsciously you licked your lips. “Do you have the answers for everything?” you quipped.

A bang on the door interrupted you. “Mr. Barba? It’s Jimmy with security. We’re going to get you and Detective L/N out as soon as possible. We will need to call the locksmith because of the doors. The whole building was built in 1930. We can’t just remove the door hinges with any old tools.”

“That’s great!” you called out, relieved. “How long will it take?”

“The locksmith we are leased with is in the Bronx, so we’re looking at another hour or so.”

Rafael sighed. “Thanks Jimmy.” He looked at the clock and mentally calculated as to whether or not going to court was still realistic and decided there was still enough time. “Might as well go over your testimony once more.”

“Really?” you questioned, before a wave of heat flashed through the room. “Jesus Christ, how hot can this room get? Think you can crank a window open or that AC some more?”

In your fit, you removed your suit jacket and untucked your blouse. You undid two buttons from the bottom and tied the loose ends. You grabbed your hair tie and made a messy bun.

Rafael watched you as you tied your shirt up. He saw the barest hint of exposed skin and his mind wandered, wondering how incredibly soft your skin was and what it would be like to touch it. His eyes trailed over your derriere and he appreciated how your pants fit you so well, snuggly covering your curves. You were oblivious to the sexy sight you presented.

“Well?”

Rafael blinked, bringing himself back to the present. “Oh, yeah, I’ll see what I can do about the air conditioner.”

Rafael banged on the air conditioner one more and let out a string of Spanish expletives. He was growing warm himself – he wasn’t sure if it was the heat wave, half-broken air conditioner, or being in close quarters with you.

Rafael was not sure as to when he first became enchanted with you. You caught him off guard completely. Not only were you pretty, but you were also extremely intelligent. You had transferred over from major crimes. Quickly, Rafael found himself longing to work with you and any time he had a chance to work with you, made his day that much brighter.

After his doomed from the start-relationship with Yelina, Rafael chose to put work over his heart. This hadn’t meant that he was celibate – he had his fair share of women in his bed. Rafael had one rule: to never let matters of the heart affect his work. So instead he pushed down his growing attraction as if he were burying opposing counsel with document production. Nights where he was most restless and unable to sleep, he would give in to the temptation and on release, it was your name that escaped his lips.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling weary from the heat. You plopped yourself on the couch once more, fanning yourself with one of the many legal pads that decorated the office. You used your other free hand to text Olivia about your circumstance.

“I am sorry about this,” Rafael apologized. He walked behind his desk and bent down. He rose back up and came up with a water bottle. “Here.”

Your eyes widened at the water bottle and you eagerly snatched it from his hand. The tips of your fingers brushed against his and you felt a spark shoot. Rafael’s green eyes met yours and you wondered if he felt it too.

You choked out your gratitude and tilted your head back slightly, chugging the water, desperate to relieve some heat. Rafael watched you intently as you swallowed. His eyes trailed from your mouth to the triangle of your neck, settling on the jugular notch. You brought your head forward and some water slipped from the bottle, droplets landing on your lips. Rafael swallowed hard once more as he watched your tongue dart out and catch the stray droplets. His cock twitched in his pants and he exhaled slowly as he sat down next to you.

The AC made a sputtering sound before letting out a whizz. You both looked at one another and you cringed. Rafael let out another string of curses as he got up to check the AC. It officially bit the dust. He pushed up his sleeves and opened the window. You bit your lip, admiring his ass from the distant as he pushed up the window. The sounds of the city filled the office and if you listened hard enough, you pretty sure you heard “Hips Don’t Lie” by Shakira blasting from some car stuck in traffic.

All the attraction, the tension

Don't you see, baby, this is perfection?

You let out a little giggle. How apropos.

Rafael turned to you. Sweat was dripping from every pore. He was going to be a mess by the time you and him got out. He was grateful that he had a spare suit on hand, as most lawyers do. “Y/N, uhh – do you mind if I took off my dress shirt? I am going to sweat to death.”

You did your best to hide a smile and couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Sure thing counselor. By all means.”

Before you knew it, Rafael was standing in front of you in his undershirt and suit pants. You tried to play cool and not gape at him. From the neckline of his v-neck, a tuft of chest hair stuck out and you could make out a gold chain.

‘Goodness,’ you thought to yourself. ‘That’s going to be fuel for weeks.’

“I am sorry I have been so tough on you.”

You shook your head back to reality. “What? Oh, no – you are just doing your job.”

“I know, but I have been riding you hard.” As soon as it left his lips, Rafael felt his face redden. “I didn’t mean – I…”

“I wish you would.”

The words flew out without you thinking and you slapped a hand over your mouth in horror.

Rafael’s own eyes widened slightly. “What did you say?” He sat down next to you once more and gently removed your hand from your mouth.

Your stomach dropped and you willed yourself to not puke. “I am so sorry. That was so inappropriate. Fuck.”

Rafael took a breath. “I’m not.”

You were sure the heat was getting to Rafael. This all seemed like a hallucination. ‘It has to be? This isn’t real – is it?’ you thought to yourself.

Before you could even question him further, Rafael pulled you into a kiss, mashing his lips against yours. You hungrily pushed back, as months of pent up want and desire became reality. His tongue slid against your plump lips, seeking entrance. You opened your mouth wider to allow him greater access. You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, holding him in place. Your free hand roamed his chest, moving to his arm, feeling the muscles twitch underneath.

Rafael broke the kiss to move to your neck and your breath hitched as he quickly found a sweet spot. You pressed against him and pushed down using your body weight against him. You laid on top of Rafael, your body melding into his. You resumed kissing, getting lost in the sensation of his lips on yours.  Rafael explored your body eagerly – his hands were on the back of your ribcage before trailing down the knobs of your spine to your buttocks, where he grabbed and squeezed at your covered flesh. You could feel his erection press against your belly and it heightened your arousal. Finally Rafael broke the kiss and pushed up against you so that you were sitting up once more. “Is this okay? We can stop.” His breath was laborious.

You bit your lip and nodded. Wordlessly you untied the bottom of your shirt and then nimbly unbuttoned it. You pushed it off and tossed it to the side. Rafael opened his mouth to comment but found himself at a loss for words as he stared at your cotton covered breasts. It was the simplest of racerback bras – no fuss, no muss. You unclipped the front and exposed yourself. Your body was flush pink – a rosy hue covered your skin and your nipples were hard and taut.

“How is this for answer?” you asked standing in front of him. You kicked off your shoes, your bare feet against the carpet. Your heart continued to hammer in your chest. You unbuttoned your pants and unzipped them before pushing them down to your ankles and stepping out of them.

“You’re gorgeous,” Rafael replied, taking your form in. “But you really don’t – I don’t want to pressure--”

You rolled your eyes and let out an exasperated, almost irritated sigh, placing your hands on your hips. “Rafael I want this. I want you. How much clearer can I get?”

Rafael smirked and you let out a breath of relief. Rafael stood and quickly undressed as well. You let out a giggle as he stood in his boxers with a very sizeable tent evident and brightly colored striped socks. Rafael took a step towards you and pulled you to him. He captured your lips once more before reaching down to grab you and lifting you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Your foreheads touched and for a moment you both stood still savoring the moment, your lips were barely touching and breathing eachother’s air. You pulled away briefly and winked.

“Now, can you please fuck me before…” you paused and looked at the clock before you looked back at him. “Before security gets here with the locksmith?”

Letting out a low chuckle, Rafael took a few steps back and he sat down, bringing you with him. Rafael cupped your breasts and lowered his mouth over a nipple, causing you to gasp.  Rafael’s tongue swirled over your nipple and used his teeth to graze the sensitive flesh. You arched into him as his tongue licked a broad stripe along your sternum before moving to your other breast. You threaded your hands in his dark hair and tugged as you lost yourself to the magic of his mouth. Rafael continued his oral onslaught, as he dipped his tongue along your collarbone, tasting the salt of your sweat. His hands ran up and down the sides of your body, from the curve of your hips to the swell of your breasts.

“Oh yes, Rafael. Jesus, fuck that feels good,” you cooed. You rose up slightly and took one hand and guided it down. Rafael took your hint and cupped your pussy. He could feel how damp you were through the thin material and he moved the material to the side to stroke your lips. Rafael groaned at how wet you were and he teasingly stroked you, your arousal coating his fingers. You mewled and your hips undulated, trying to get more.

“Pacencia detective,” Rafael husked. “Look how wet you are. You have made quite the mess of yourself. Is this for me?”

Something about his heavy gaze made you feel some type of way and weakly you nodded. The air in the room was charged. Rafael teasingly stroked you more, the tips of his fingers ghosting your clit. Finally, he sunk a long digit in you, knuckle deep. You moaned as he thrusted his finger in and out of you. Without hesitation, another digit slipped in. Your head lolled forward, with your hair covering your face as you gripped his shoulder’s tightly.

“What a tight little pussy,” Rafael growled, as he continued his ministrations, messaging your inner walls. His thumb circled your clit.  “I can’t wait to fill it up with my cock.”

Tension began to build in the pit of your belly. You were dangerously close to coming. You gasped loudly, all the air leaving your lungs. Rafael immediately withdrew his fingers and you sobbed loudly from the lost contact.

“Detective YN,” Rafael warned, his voice low, dark and warning. “You have to be quiet. Next time you can scream as much as you want, but we’re still in my office.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be good,” you whispered. “Please,” you implored. Inwardly you beamed at the idea of there being a next time.

Rafael pressed a soft kiss to your lips and then his face turned serious as realization hit him. “I don’t have condoms,” he rushed out. “I am clean. I was just tested. If this changes anything…”

“I’m clean,” you replied breathily, shaking your head. “On the pill.”

You kissed again, your tongues rolling against one another’s. You sucked on Rafael’s bottom lip so hard you were certain it would bruise. You reached down in between your bodies and pulled out Rafael’s cock. It was deliciously thick and hard. Cum had dripped from the head of his cock and you used that as lubricant and stroked him. Rafael threw his head back and groaned; his desire for you was deep in his bones and never in his wildest dreams did he think this was how his day would go.

You raised your hips once more and slid your panties to the side. Rafael gripped his cock and lined it at your entrance. Slowly, you sunk down on Rafael’s cock. A dreamy smile spread on your face; the stretch his girth supplied was delicious. Rafael sighed as his cock was engulfed by your wet heat, gripping him like a vice. His hands gripped your hips and he brought you down until he was buried to the hilt. Resting your hands on his shoulders once more, you began to bounce on his cock and set the rhythm. Quiet moans and groans filled the office.

Rafael could not believe the sight before him – many nights he would lose himself in the fantasy of you and here it was happening. Your tits bounced with every thrust and he reached up to cup and squeeze. He sat up a bit to take a globe in his mouth.

“Oh God, oh God,” you half-whispered incoherently, the pleasurable sensations over taking you. “Don’t stop. Give it to me.”

Rafael grunted as he met you thrust for thrust, his fingertips digging into your skin. “Turn around,” he panted.

On shaky legs you stood and Rafael, now standing, pulled you to him. He pushed your sweaty hair from your forehead and then cupped your face. “The desk.”

You bent over the desk and spread your legs, in eager anticipation. Rafael positioned himself behind you. Hands ghosted your skin before taking residence at your hips. He rubbed his cock up and down your slit before he pressed himself fully; he withdrew a bit and before you could protest, snapped his hips, fully entering you. You both groaned at the sensation.

“Dios mio, you feel so good,” Rafael moaned out as he began to piston in and out of you. Waves of pleasure coursed through him. “Fuck!”

Rafael leaned down and pressed a love bite against your shoulder.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged. “Give it to me.”

“Take it Y/N; take that cock,” Rafael grunted. He slowed to rotate his hips, teasingly before he continued to fuck you without abandon. Your mewls served as encouragement. He reached around and gathered your hair into a ponytail and pulled. Sweat dripped off of your forehead and splashed down onto a legal pad that you were gripping in futility.

Fire pooled low in Rafael’s abdomen, signaling the anticipation of release.

Your orgasm began to build and you felt the air in your lungs begin to get sucked out of your body. Your walls started to flutter and Rafael knew you were close. He let go of your hair and reached around to rub concentric circles on your swollen nub. “Cum for me.”

You lurched forward and let out a bleated cry as you dissolved into pleasure, coming hard around his cock. Rafael gasped at the sensation of you coming undone and it added to his own release. “That’s it,” he murmured. “So good.”

Rafael’s thrusts were erratic as he pounded upwards into you and you knew he was close.  “Come for me Rafael,” you choked out as air rushed back into your lungs, rolling the R in his name. “Damelo.”

Your words were his undoing and he let out a strangled cry as he stiffened, releasing into you. You could feel his cock pulse and twitch inside of you and you came again, your walls fluttering around. Your bodies slumped against one another. You were both dripping with sweat – partly from the overheated room, but mostly from your frenzied interlude. Rafael stumbled backwards and you mourned the loss. You straightened up and felt his release trickle from your cunt. You stood in front of each other awkwardly.

“That was…” Rafael began, rubbing the back of his neck. His hair was drenched and his crucifix was plastered to his skin.

A sudden banging interrupted him and you jumped. “Mr. Barba, Detective Y/L/N, it’s Jimmy with security. I have the locksmith with me. We’ll have you out of here in 10 minutes tops.”

Your eyes widened. ‘Shit.’ The two of you ran around the office scrambling for your clothes and to get re-dressed.  The door opened as you shouldered your jacket back on.

“Woof, it’s hot in here,” Jimmy announced. “You guys alright?”

You and Rafael looked at each other. Rafael smiled. “Just perfect.”

You smiled back and looked at the clock. “Seems like we’ve got court in 15. We should go.”

Rafael nodded and motioned for you to go ahead. “After you.”

The two of you walked towards the elevator and waited for it to arrive, not another word spoken. Finally, unable to take the silence, you piped up. “So about that next time…”

The elevator dinged signaling its arrival and you both stepped into the elevator. “After court?” Rafael questioned. You noted the hopeful inflection in his tone.

“I’ll see what I can do about getting off early,” you replied staring at the screen marking the descent from the floor to the lobby.

“If there’s anyone getting you off – it’ll be me,” Rafael growled as he backed you into the wall into another kiss.

FIN.

[im-fairly-whitty]

The Witcher Wolf: In Plain Sight

Two years have passed since Geralt was cursed with the ability to turn into a wolf whenever his medallion is removed, a curse that's turned into a blessing now that he and Jaskier are partners in everything they do.

It's no exception when they discover a Nilfgaardian army bearing down on Cintra, headed straight toward a certain child surprise. With Jaskier's help and Geralt's enchanted medallion they must find a way to get into the palace, make sure Princess Cirilla is safe, and get out with her in tow if needed, regardless of Queen Calanthe's orders.

[Chapter 1: Into the Fire]  [Chapter 2: Old Friend] [Chapter 3: Bad Luck] [Chapter 4: So Much for Being Smart] [Chapter 5: Secrets] [Chapter 6: The Beginning of the End]

Chapter 7: Out of Time

As night fell, Geralt could do nothing as the siege began on the castle of Cintra.

As Nilfgaardian troops swarmed the city, burning everything in sight he could only sit by quietly. When Ciri was brought to Queen Calanthe’s deathbed (because Geralt could smell the death on her, it would be her deathbed) he could only stick by Ciri’s side as the girl cried over the news of Eist’s death.

He likewise stayed with her as they watched Mousesack’s doomed attempt to hold the castle gates with a wall of magic by himself at the queen’s orders, listening attentively to every nervous story Ciri told him in an effort to distract them, her distressed over-petting of his fur getting nearly painful as the night crept by. Not that he made any effort to dissuade her. 

When Mousesack’s magic barrier finally fell in the dead of night and the three of them made their way back to the queen’s room Geralt was nearly shaking with furious impatience that they weren’t already all safely out of the city.  

So when only Ciri was let inside the queen’s room, leaving Geralt and Mousesack outside the closed door with Calanthe’s spymaster who was reeking of Jaskier’s fear scent, Geralt could perhaps be forgiven for bodily lunging at the man with a rabid snarl.

“Has the queen given her permission or not?” Mousesack asked shortly, barely managing to haul Geralt back by his collar rather than allowing the wolf to sink his teeth into the royal spymaster.

“She has. She is saying her goodbyes to the princess as we speak.” Wilhelm said, looking altogether far too calm for a man in a burning city, despite the clearly evident exhaustion in his eyes. “The queen has given her official approval to have Princess Cirilla taken by Geralt of Rivia of Rivia. Please tell me that he is in the castle Mousesack, I haven’t been able to find him anywhere and we don’t even have seconds to spare now.”

“He is.” Mousesack said, releasing Geralt’s collar with an ironic flourish, letting Geralt’s front paws hit the ground again.

Geralt shook himself hard, then huffed a sigh as he collected himself, stepping forward and looking up at the spymaster sans snarl. Wilhelm looked down at him for a long moment, then up at Mousesack.

“He’s the Wolf.” Wilhelm said, his voice full of the kind of flat irritated weariness that only comes from solving a particularly complicated pun. “Geralt of Rivia is the wolf that the princess has had at her side for a week now underneath my very nose. Which you of course knew, and kept from me.”

Mousesack grimaced, shrugging.

“Well...all things considered I suppose it ended up being for the best.” Wilhelm said, shaking his head as he looked down at Geralt, already recovering from his shock. “Bravo getting past me Sir Witcher, I only regret the fact that I don’t have the time to hear the story of how you managed it.” He looked back up to Mousesack. “Am I right in assuming his Witcher medallion is what changes him back? Jaskier indicated that keeping the medallion safe was of utmost importance if I were to rely on his help tonight.”

“It is, he’ll also need any gear you seized from the bard. He’s not a Doppler, he won’t already have his armor and swords when he shifts back.” Mousesack said.

“Now there’s a pity.” Wilhelm said, his gaze focusing past the druid, looking as if he were making several calculations in his head before he snapped back to the moment, looking at Geralt.

“The castle has already been breached, we have only minutes to react properly and we will only get one chance.” Wilhelm said, as calmly as if he were explaining the rules of a tournament. He took a key from a hidden pocket in his doublet and handed it to the druid. “Mousesack you will accompany Geralt, Cirilla and Captain Cordova to my office to retrieve everything that was taken from Jaskier when he was arrested. You will find it all in a basket beside my desk, medallion included.

“Once you have retrieved everything you need, get to the back gates of the castle. I will meet you there with Jaskier as soon as I have retrieved him from the dungeon. It’s on the other side of the castle and I am the only one authorized to remove him from his cell, so splitting up accordingly will save us the most time with the most safety for the princess.” Wilhelm said.

They all paused as a distant soldier’s scream echoed down the stone hallway of the castle. Wilhelm looked back to them, drawing his sword from its sheath, a steel beauty Geralt recognized as having igni runestones set in the hilt, a rare sight indeed outside of a witcher’s weapon kit.

“If Jaskier and I are not there when you arrive you are to continue on without us,” Wilhelm continued. “Follow the sewers out of the city and into the forests. Three horses and a handler will be waiting for you. If there are no further questions I suggest we split up immediately. The princess’s safety is the highest priority any of us have and all of us will act in a way that protects her first. Is that understood?”

Geralt nodded grimly, not liking it one bit but seeing no other choice. His ears pricked forward as the door was opened and Ciri was brought into the hallway by a soldier that was presumably Captain Cordova. The girl was crying and threw her arms around Geralt’s neck, burying her face in his fur. Geralt whined softly, knowing all too well the pain of being separated from a parent, despite his relief at Calanthe finally giving in to reason. He only had to hope that she hadn’t given in too late.

“Come princess, we must move quickly.” Mousesack said, nodding to Wilhelm as the spymaster took his leave, moving quickly down the hall in the opposite direction, sword at the ready. “We have to get Geralt’s things, we don’t have much time.”

 ***

 “This is the one.” Mousesack said when they’d reached the door Wilhelm had directed them to. “Captain Cordova, stand guard out here while we get what we need inside.”

The soldier nodded, allowed Mousesack, Ciri, and Geralt into the room behind him. Geralt was glad to hear the druid lock the office door behind them again after they were inside, the last thing they needed was an interruption by enemies halfway through his transformation.

Looking around Geralt saw that Wilhelm’s office was somehow full to the brim with enough fascinating artifacts to impress even Vesemir, while also being so strictly organized that it took only moments to find Jaskier’s packs in the basket by his desk, just like he’d promised. Jaskier’s lute in its case however sat on top of the desk, evidently where it would be safest, a detail that made Geralt dislike Wilhelm just a shred less.

Geralt grabbed the side of the basket in his teeth and knocked it over, spilling the loose contents of their packs onto the ground. He pawed through all his clothes and armor pieces checking if everything was still there, which they were. Even both his swords were still in their sheaths.

He huffed in relief when he found his Witcher medallion, snagged the silver chain in his teeth and bounding over to Mousesack with it. Bit of help, please?

“Ciri, turn away.” Mousesack instructed, checking to make sure the girl was obediently facing the corner before he slipped the medallion chain over Geralt’s head.

There was a flash of light and Geralt was sitting on the floor, restored to his regular form again after days spent otherwise. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his human hands roughly across his human face as he tried to physically recalibrate to bipedal motion as quickly as he could, reaching for his clothing and armor almost before he was balanced. They didn’t have a second to lose.

“That really is an impressive piece of magic, isn’t it.” Mousesack said, whistling in appreciation as Geralt tugged on his socks and pants, helpfully tossing him his boots next. “When you transform can you actually feel your skeletal structure adjusting, or do-“

“Not the time, Mousesack.” Geralt said, pulling on his shirt. “Questions after escaping the burning city.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Mousesack relented, ducking around behind Geralt to help him with the buckles of his armor as Geralt started tugging all the pieces into place across his body as quickly as nearly a century of practice let him.

“Geralt?”

Geralt looked over to see Ciri staring at him, her eyes wide as she watched him buckle his double swords across his back once his armor was in place. He grimaced as he braced himself for whatever her reaction to his imposing Witcher form might be.

“You’ve still got your wolf eyes!” Ciri said, despite everything a bit of a smile making it through her worry and panic as she came right up to him, one hand absently taking hold of a strap on his armor as she craned her neck to look up at his face.

She wasn’t the least bit afraid of him at all. Utterly fascinated, if anything. Geralt couldn’t help the feeling of warmth and relief it kindled in his chest.

“Closer to a cat’s when I’m like this.” Geralt said, consciously narrowing his pupils a bit and smiling at the impressed gasp it got him as he pulled on his leather gauntlets and reached up to tie back his hair into its usual ponytail. “They’ll help me get us out of here in one piece, so stick right next to me, alright?”

Ciri nodded intently, her small hand latching onto his large one as he drew his steel sword with the other, the blade slipping out of its sheath with practiced ease.

“I’ll carry the rest.” Mousesack said, moving to pack up what was left of Jaskier and Geralt’s things scattered across the floor.

“Just take the lute case, leave the rest.” Geralt said, pulling Ciri along as he made for the door. “We’ve already used enough time. We have to move quickly to-”

He froze, pulling Ciri behind him as his hearing picked up commotion on the other side of the heavy soundproof door.

“What is it?” Mousesack whispered, following his stare, evidently unable to hear the sound of the struggle in the hallway, the clash of metal, or the unmistakable fall of a body.

Geralt shook his head, staying silent as he raised his sword.

He felt Ciri jump as the locked doorknob rattled, but she stayed quiet, even as a heavy armored fist pounded on the reinforced wood. There was some more fussing and slamming at the door for several heartstopping moments, but evidently the spymaster had spared no expense in security when his office had been made, the locked door not budging an inch. After a long minute whoever was on the other side seemed to grow bored and Geralt heard them moving on, doubtlessly in search of easier prey.

When the clanking footsteps were gone Geralt took a steadying breath.

“The castle has fallen.” Mousesack said soberly. “We’ll need to take the servant’s passages to the back gate, it will be our best chance at avoiding as many soldiers as we can.”

“Ciri I’m going to carry you so we can go as fast as possible.” Geralt said, crouching down to be at her eye level. “And I need you to keep your eyes closed, alright? We’re going to be moving quickly and passing a lot of things someone your age doesn’t need to be seeing.”

She was going to have nightmares aplenty for years to come after this, no use in adding more if they could help it. Certainly not starting with the sight of whatever was left of Captain Cordova on the other side of the door.

He half expected her to protest, but to his relief she instead threw her arms around his neck and hid her face against him as he picked her up, carrying her in one arm. He took a moment to marvel at how much she trusted him, a trust he would do everything in his power to deserve.

“Alright, to the back gates.” Geralt said, adjusting his grip on his sword and nodding for Mousesack to unlock the door. “We get Jaskier and then we get out of this blasted city.”

 ***

 The castle was already crawling with Nilfgaardian soldiers, but Mousesack had been right in guessing the servants passages would keep them mostly out of the way. They only encountered a few lone enemy soldiers on their way out, all of whom had all been more or less easily slain, even with Geralt fighting one handed.

But once they made it outside the castle and into the night air there was no spymaster or bard to be seen.

“Are you sure this is the back gate?” Geralt demanded, the dark pit in his stomach already knowing the answer as he looked around him.

“It is.” Mousesack said grimly, wiping at the blood that was trickling down his face, the result of a cut he’d gotten above his eye from the last soldier they’d run into. “Wilhelm said to keep going if he wasn’t here by now Geralt, I’m sorry but we can’t stay.”

Geralt felt a snarl rising in his chest as he hesitated, feeling helplessly torn and knowing he had only moments to decide.

The night air around them was dark with the smoke billowing from the burning city beyond the castle walls and yells and shrieks echoed through the night from all sides. The dark corner against the castle that the three were currently tucked into wouldn’t shield them for long from the eyes of the Nilfgaardian soldiers that were hurrying past.

They still had to cross the wrecked courtyard and get to the sewers that would lead them out of the city. The longer they waited the worse their chances got of getting Ciri to safety.

“We can wait for Jaskier.” Ciri said, loosening her terrified grip around Geralt’s neck just enough to look at him. The smell of her fear was nearly overwhelming, despite the brave face she was putting on. “We have to stay to make sure he’s okay too, right?”

Geralt looked at Mousesack but the druid merely looked back at him, waiting for him to decide.

In the near distance there was the booming crash of a battlement falling, followed by the piercing screams of both horses and men. The smoky sky lit up brighter for a moment, as if a burst of flame had grabbed on to new fuel on the other side of the castle wall.

“We’re going on.” Geralt decided, casting a shielding quen sign over himself and Ciri as he raised his sword. “Mousesack stay close, I’ll get you both out safely and then come back for Jaskier after.”

The druid looked as though he wanted to add something, but instead nodded silently, adjusting the strap of the lute case over his shoulder to keep his hands free, sparks of chaos shimmering over his fingertips as he looked warily across the courtyard.

“But what about Jaskier?” Ciri asked, voice shaking.

“He can handle himself.” Geralt said, gritting his teeth against the ill feeling inside him.

He shifted to hold her more securely against him as he started forward, ducking them behind an overturned supply cart, hiding momentarily in the deep shadow it cast in the light of the fires all around them. He grimaced as the sight of what used to be a Cintrian soldier at his feet.

“Ciri, close your eyes again until I say so, alright?” He said, rebalancing himself and checking for Mousesack beside them before moving again.

And she hadn’t closed her eyes a moment too soon, Geralt realized as he darted from behind the cart toward a shadowed corner along the city wall. He muffled a curse as he spotted the crumpled form of what could only be the queen of Cintra on the dusty ground. He glanced up. She must have flung herself from her own bedroom window when enemy soldiers got too close.

Geralt traded a hurried silent look with Mousesack who looked stricken, but to his credit stuck by Geralt as they pressed on. It couldn’t have taken them longer than a few minutes to weave their way across the courtyard—Geralt’s senses and timing keeping them hidden from the scattered troops left ranging about the courtyard, torching everything they could reach—but it was a relief unlike any other when they finally reached the dislodged sewer grate that would lead out of the city.

Geralt heaved the grate aside and nimbly dropped down into the darkness, quickly swapping his steel sword for silver to hold at the ready as he started down the tunnel. Cintra wasn’t known for having monster infested sewers, but for their own safety he had to assume they’d come across at least a few before they reached the outlet on the other side of the city.

“Lead the way.” Mousesack said, voice hoarse from smoke and grief as he rejoined them, conjuring a ball of light tonight their way down the tunnels.

Geralt nodded, trying his very best not to think about where Jaskier was at that very moment, afraid that if he did he’d go rushing right back into the flames after him before the others were safe.

 ***

 Wilhelm had promised three horses and a handler, but when they emerged from the sewers two easily slain drowners later there was only one saddled gelding to be seen. Geralt cast a hurried axii on the nervous animal to calm it, grimly noting the blood stains on its hocks. Human blood. There was no time to figure out exactly what had happened to its handler and the other horses, but Geralt had a pretty good guess.

“Mousesack, take Ciri and head due south for two miles.” Geralt said, grabbing the dazed gelding’s reins and setting Ciri down. “You‘ll hit a crossroads with a hanging tree on either side, and after that a clearing by a stream where I’ve hidden my mare. Get to the clearing and wait for me for twenty minutes. If I’m not there by then take Ciri and ride hard for the Morhen mountains, keep off the main roads and use false names at inns, the empire can’t know you’re heading to Kaer Morhen.”

The druid nodded. “I’ve only been up your mountain once years ago, but I should be able to track the path with summer weather instead of snows. What shall I tell Vesimir if we arrive without you?”

“Geralt, you can’t leave!” Ciri said, clinging to his side. “Please, don’t go back!”

“The truth.” Geralt said, giving the gelding’s tack a quick once over as Mousesack heaved himself up into the saddle. “Tell him everything starting with Pavetta, he can’t turn away a child surprise owed to the Wolf school.”

“Geralt! You can’t go, don’t leave me, please!” Ciri cried, her hands latching onto his armor. Geralt’s eyes widened as the desperation in the distressed girl’s voice edged with enough chaos to make his medallion shiver.

Geralt looked up at Mousesack as memories of Ciri’s mother flashed through his mind, of a scream laced with enough elder blood magic to level the very castle that was now burning in Nilfgaardian flame. Mousesack looked back with a grim silence.

Well, that would have to be discussed later. What mattered now was that Geralt had a twelve year old girl to protect and comfort in a situation that made comfort near impossible, and that he would still try anyway.

“Ciri, Mousesack will take care of you.” Geralt said, his voice softening just a bit as he dropped to one knee in front of her, gently loosening her grip on his armor. “I have to go back for Jaskier, but we’ll catch up with you as soon as we can.”

“Promise you’ll be okay?” Ciri demanded, wiping at the tears on her face.

“Witchers don’t make promises like that Ciri, but I can promise you I’ll do everything I can.” Geralt said solemnly, resting a steadying hand on her shoulder. “I need you to promise me that you’ll obey Mousesack so that he can protect you, alright?”

“I can try.” Ciri said, making a valiant effort to keep her voice from shaking as she threw her arms around Geralt’s neck, just like she did when he was a wolf.

This time however Geralt was able to hug her back, holding her just as tightly for a long moment while she buried her face against his neck. He could feel her trembling.

She had lost so much so quickly. Her grandparents, her home, her city. Of course she would be terrified of Geralt too disappearing forever in the smoke of Cintra if he went back into it, and just when she’d gotten him too. Geralt could still remember the pain of losing his mother and home centuries later, he couldn’t imagine how much worse it must be for Ciri in this moment, but he could guess.

Geralt pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, looking her in the eye, a gentle hand on the back of her head. “I’ll catch up to you as soon as I can, but you have to leave now. I need you to be strong and fast and brave, alright?”

Ciri swallowed and scrubbed tears from her eyes, but nodded.

“Good.” Geralt said, standing and helping her up into the saddle in front of Mousesack who had watched their exchange in sober silence. He knew as well as Geralt did that every passing second lowered the chance of him coming back alive, let alone with Jaskier.

The men nodded to each other and then Mousesack took the reins, pulling the horse around and digging his heels into its flanks. Geralt watched the horse disappear into the night, then turned back to the sewer entrance. He pulled a bottle of swallow and a vial of cat from his alchemy pouch, downing them both in quick succession as he dropped back into the darkness with his blade drawn. Without Mousesack’s enchanted light he’d have to see in the pitch darkness on his own.

He growled as he felt the toxins course through his veins, already sharpening his night vision and eating away at any fatigue he’d already collected that night as he started moving back toward the burning city as quickly as he could.

He’d gotten his child surprise to safety, but he wasn’t going any farther without Jaskier.

And if he didn’t find him alive and well, he was going to find out how to burn a city down twice.

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

For whatever reason my brain was really squirrelly getting this chapter written and decided to write the final chapter before this one, then made me hopscotch backward to write the rest out of order. Regardless of the chaotic approach it's gotten the job done, so I can't complain too much at having been broken out of my usual start-at-the-beginning-then-write-to-the-end writing style.

This also means that I will be publishing the final chapter one week from today, next Tuesday evening. I look forward to seeing you all then, and until then I look forward to reading your comments and tags! Re-reading them between chapters always helps me get back in the writing mood, so thank you all for every one of them. :)