#Bar Plaques Signs

[artsignworks]

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[yourcoffeeguru]

Vintage Plaque Olde Ships Pub England Sail Ship Artist Dave Jacobs 1972 Man Cave || SWtradepost

[rainrot4me]

On Unholy Terms

Summary: You’re an exorcist sent by the church to investigate a graveyard deemed to be unholy. After stumbling upon a ‘demon’, your determination quickly falters.

Characters: Eyeless Jack x Exorcist! Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Probably definitely blasphemous, cunnilingus, big size difference, jack fucks you on a tombstone, vaginal, shaming, forceful entry, slight humiliation, biting, some blood, choking, degradation

Words: 3.6k

A/N: There’s slight symbolism of Christianity/Catholicism, please take it lightheartedly. I don’t mean to be rude :’)

This was stupid and you knew it.

You trudged through the overgrown grass, your skirt constantly getting caught on thorns and twigs littering the ground. The rosary you clutched close to your chest was cold, giving you some stability as your fear grew the deeper you went into the woods.

The church had sent you to investigate a series of murders near an old, abandoned chapel that had been left dormant after funding ran scarce. Several years ago, you had visited the church on different occasions, but as you entered the clearing, it looked anything but familiar.

Dense fog surrounded the area, the evening sky casting a dark orange glow through the forest. The rusty flashlight in your opposite hand did little to aid your vision as you stepped closer to the overgrown building. Vines and debris had overtaken the small church, and the beautiful stained glass windows shattered or faded from the lack of upkeep. It felt depressing, the ground looking anything but holy now.

You shuffled around the side of the building, the dark oak doors boarded together, police caution tape decorating the step’s railings. You sighed, shining your flashlight onto the rest of the building, but finding nothing worth interest. You thought the church was idiotic, this was a job for investigators, police or something, not some young exorcist who barely got work as it was. However, the church had deemed this case a holy one considering it was on sacred ground. Nonetheless, if you felt this was out of your pay grade, you would give the cops a call yourself.

You walked around the back of the building, a wide field revealing rows and rows of tombstones and crosses. A cemetery. A small gravel path led to an arched gate, a beautiful design etched onto the iron bars. You signed a cross, kissing your fingers before stepping through the threshold, showing respect to the grounds.

The sun was dipping behind the trees, a dark sky looming as the fog surrounded you making it harder to see. You stepped carefully through the assorted headstones, each reading off a different name you felt too busy to acknowledge. A crow called somewhere in the distance, startling you slightly as you shone your flashlight around frantically. Your nerves were getting to you, the stale air making it harder to breathe. So far, nothing had stood out to you, no signs of life or commotion, let alone dead bodies that were so frequently reported. You felt restless wanting to leave so quickly, but you had to report something back or you would be penalized.

Trudging the gravel path, you stumbled upon a rather large mausoleum. The beautifully designed pillars lead to its gated entrance. You shone your flashlight at the doors, goosebumps running up your arms as you decided to go inside. You stepped onto the marble steps, the rusted gate creaking loudly as you swung it open. You clutched your rosary tightly, sweat running across your forehead as you silently cursed yourself. The tomb was dark and stuffy, with plaques of the deceased marking where they lay in the marble coffins. You angled your flashlight, eyeing the old but stunning design of the interior. You stepped further into the tomb, several dark doorways gained your curiosity. You stepped toward one, shining your flashlight in but seeing nothing except bookshelves lined with what you presumed to be death records and documents of the deceased outside. You gulped, stepping to another one.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your flashlight landed on an assortment of blankets and pillows nestled into a corner, several water bottles and books askew across the floor nearby. Your heartbeat became uneasy, fear creeping into you as you took a step back, the rosary pinching your hand as you clutched it tighter. Maybe it was nothing, maybe some squatter had used the building to camp out for the night. You tried to calm yourself, wiping the sweat from your face with the back of your sleeve. A cool breeze wafted into the tomb, fluttering your skirt around your ankles as you continued searching the rooms. Suddenly, a loud screech filled your ears, sending your blood cold and you stumbling back onto your backside. You screamed as you threw your flashlight up quickly, frantically searching for the noise, panting heavily. Shining a flashlight on a crow desperately flapping his wings to escape the building, screeching again as he flew out and into the night.

You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths in you steadied yourself, blaming your imagination on your jumpiness. It seemed there was nothing but annoying birds and dusty graves, but no sign of any ghostly killer. You hoisted yourself up, reaching down to dust off your skirt before collecting yourself and shining your flashlight up again. That’s when you saw it, a tall figure resting his weight against the door frame of a darkened room. You held your breath, begging your body not to move as you could feel the tears well in your ears. The figure's ragged breaths echoed off the marble walls, his head angled to the side as if he was gawking at you. Your eyes flickered quickly, scanning his moves and praying he by some miracle moved on and let you leave. You prayed you would leave with no story to tell, but now you feared you wouldn’t leave at all.

The man pushed himself off the doorway, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket and leaning in to meet your gaze. He towered over you, a good bit too. You wanted to run, to turn around and sprint out the doorway and never look back, but he interrupted your thoughts. “You’re a pest,” he grunted, looking you up and down as he slid the hood of his hoodie off of his head. He seemed to be wearing some creepy mask, the dark eyes sending your heart pounding in your chest. But his voice was calm, soothing almost, if it wasn’t handing you an insult. You gulped, standing up straight and letting go of the rosary hanging from your neck as you gripped your flashlight tighter.

“Why are you here? Who are you?” You croaked, voice catching in your throat from fear. You didn’t know why you were interrogating him, but this newfound bravery was short-lived as he stepped closer to you abruptly. You gasped, clenching the flashlight closer to you as he towered over you, head cocked and pressed too close for comfort. You whined, tears emerging again as his ragged breaths filled your ears. The rotten stench coming from him was consuming the whole room and your senses alike, making you close your eyes before tears threatened to spill. 

“I think a better question,” he snarled, sending a shiver through you. “Is why are you here?”

You peeled your eyes open, bringing your hand up to grip your rosary again. “I was sent… sent by the church.” You squirmed, knees slowly buckling under you as his presence pressed down on you. “Oh..” He groaned, standing straight again, running a hand through his spikey brown hair. “A holy little thing, huh? Come to catch some ghosts?” You could hear the grin in his voice, his hand leaving his pocket to rub the back of his neck until he caught sight of your rosary. He reached out sharply, taking the cross from your hands and pulling it to him, straining your neck to come towards him. You squealed, throwing your hands out and placing them against his chest as he examined the charm, trying your damnest to keep distance between the two of you. He chuckled, following the necklace up and squeezing the ends together, choking your neck slightly from the tension. “I’m afraid God won’t help you here, little thing.”

He tugged your necklace tighter, pulling you flush against him as his hands landed on either side of your face. He forced you to look up at him, tears pricking your eyes again and again. “Such a pretty thing, though. What a shame some old church sent you away to your death.” He lifted his hand to slide his mask up over his nose, revealing the jagged smile hiding behind. He separated his teeth, a long grotesque tongue slinking out and falling below his chin. It was inhumanly long, your eyes blowing wide at the horror as you began to tremble under his grasp. “Oh, God…”

He leaned closer, passing your face and finding the crook of your neck, sliding his long tongue against the bare skin with a growl. You tensed, a slight moan leaving your mouth at the chill running down your spine from the sensation. The man stopped, retracting his tongue from your neck and leaning back slowly, bringing his face to meet yours. His unsure face turned to a manic grin, his jagged teeth shining in the night light as his hands slid down from your face to wrap around your neck and slowly grip. He squeezed every so gently, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your breath hitch. “How unholy…” He chuckles, sliding his hands down further to sit at each side of your waist. You freeze, embarrassment hitting you as his gaze looks all over you now. “Now that I look at you, you ain’t half bad. Your little church get-up is… rather tempting for someone so ordained.” He purrs. You flush red, your mouth running dry at his lustful comments towards you as you squirm under his grasp. He leans down, mouth inches from yours as he stares directly into your eyes. “You’re not as godly as you let on, are you?” He whispers, tucking the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he taunts you.

Your face blows red, eyes refusing to look at his face and deciding his hoodie is much more interesting. He laughs, standing up straight and sliding his arms under your legs, hoisting you up over his shoulder with your butt sitting high in the air. You squeal, gripping the back of his sweatshirt and pulling desperately as he walks out into the night air, a cool breeze blowing your hair into your face. “I’ve decided to treat myself tonight,” He boasts loudly to you, walking you over to a rather large headstone and setting you on top softly. “Thank you, Lord, for this meal.” He taunts, sliding down to his knees in front of you and sliding his hands up and down your thighs. You begin to panic, gripping the cold concrete under your hands as you try to balance yourself and focus on the man’s movements at the same time. 

“W-Wait! Please!” You beg, bringing your knees to your chest as he tries to slide your skirt up your legs. “I don’t even know your name…” You croak, eyes wide as he stares into your fearful face. He grins, gripping your ankles and bringing them back down to dangle in front of him. “Jack. It’s Jack. And I promise, you won’t forget it by the end of tonight.” He chuckles, gripping the bottom of your skirt and sliding it up your legs, scrunching it up at your waist so he gets a full view of your lacy panties. You shove your thighs together, blocking his view as you shudder a breath. Jack slides his cold hands between your locked thighs, prying them open as he places each leg on his shoulders. He hooks his fingers under the hem of your panties, sliding them down and hooking them on your ankle as he slides closer, his face moving in closer to the apex of your thighs. You hold your breath, your core aching as you feel his hot breath pant against your soaked lips. “Hallelujah.”

Jack grips your thighs tightly as he licks a thick stripe between your folds, a ragged gasp shooting from your mouth as you slam your eyes shut. His tongue circles your entrance, flicking lightly against your clit as you arch your back against the feeling. He groans at the taste, pressing his tongue into you slowly, relishing in every flavor of your pussy he can taste. You moan out, his tongue lapping at the juices leaking out of you as your arousal grinds your hips against his face. Jack chuckles against you, sucking on your lips as he curls his tongue inside of you, making you whine. He grips your thighs tighter, your legs dangling off of his shoulders as his fingers hold onto you so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises. “Ahh- Jack…” You groan, sliding your hand into his hair and gripping tightly to stabilize yourself. You feel the white heat coming over you as you groan against him, hips bucking as his tongue continues to curl and throb inside of you. Your release comes quickly, an unfamiliar ecstasy overtaking you as you come on his tongue. 

Jack groans against you, continuing to slide his tongue in and out of you as his nose brushes against your clit. He’s not stopping, if anything he’s speeding up his movements and driving his tongue deeper into your cunt. You whimper loudly, the sensitivity overriding you as you begin to squirm away from his touch. He only grips tighter, pulling your hips up and off of the tombstone as he presses his face deeper into your folds. Your thighs spasm, gripping tightly around his head while he laps at your pleasure. You begin to sob, gripping his hair tighter and pulling forcefully as you try to pull his head from your core. “Please! Please, it hurts… God- Jack!” You grip your hands in his hair, accidentally knocking his mask back and off of his head as you stutter your hips against his tongue. All of a sudden his movements stop, his tongue slowly sliding out of you as you stop in horror. His face, rather, his eyes. The lack of them makes your stomach drop. His eye sockets are nothing but pools of black tar, dripping down his face and staining his gray-ish skin. It’s like you can’t move, your pulsing cunt still sitting inches away from his face as he glares, or seems to be glaring, into your eyes.

“W- What in hell’s name…” You croak, Jack slowly releasing your thighs and sliding his hands up your legs, pressing against them to stand himself up. He chuckles. “Hell exactly, little thing.” Your eyes hold wide, your fear unallowing you to move. “D- Demon…” You whimper, your legs dropping back down and dangling off the end of the tombstone. He smiles, reaching to unbutton his pants slowly, your eyes shooting between them and his terrifying face. “A demon who just made you cum,” He slides his zipper down, pulling his cock out and slowly stroking it as he looks down at you, the red angry head pulsing as he slowly chews his lip in between his teeth.

“What would God say…? Hm? His holy little thing lusting after a demon spawn?” Jack grins, stepping forward and hooking his hands under your knees, bringing them around his waist. He pushes your skirt back up, exposing your dripping cunt to his large cock as it twitches between your legs. He’s very large, actually, fear striking you as you wonder if something like that would even fit inside of you. Jack notices you eyeing him, sliding his hands around your back and gripping you tightly as he positions himself at your entrance. Jack leans forward, placing a soft kiss against your forehead while he reaches his thumb to slowly circle your clit, a breathy moan escaping your lips. 

You watch carefully as he pushes into you, his tip stretching your entrance open and stopping when you begin to whine, gripping the shoulder of his sweatshirt tightly. Jack presses kisses against your forehead, breathing deeply as he works your clit trying to get you to relax on his length. He’s barely even in yet and you’re already so tight.

Large tears threaten to spill as Jack slowly nudges his dick inside of you. He’s so big, the girth of him catching on your entrance as he’s forced to press deeper and deeper inside. You whine and squirm, his hold on your hips not allowing you to back away from the stretch and sensitivity. Jack’s thumb rubs your clit quicker, his breath becoming labored as he slowly begins to thrust into you. It won’t slide easily, so he becomes contempt with tugging and shallowly nudging his cock-head into your warm core. Tears spill from your eyes, your mouth hanging open as you try to babble your pleas. “S’bigmm.. Shit-” You hiss, whining as you sob through the stretch of your cunt. Jack presses kisses against your forehead, licking your tears up as they fall. He whispers to you, cooing his praise into your ear as he grunts and curses. “You can take it…” He mouths your neck, licking against your skin as his eyes begin to slowly roll. “We’ll make it fit.” He grunts, nudging your thighs open with his legs as he grabs your back. 

Jack shoves his cock inside of you, your cunt pulling him in and throbbing against the stretch and pain of it all. He can’t hold back, your cunt so warm and wet that he moans into your neck, lapping at it before he bites down on the skin, sinking his jagged teeth in and making you scream. He latches on, the taste of warm blood coating his mouth and sending him into a frenzy. He pulls his length out all the way to the tip before slamming in and reaching so deeply inside of you that it makes your breath catch in your throat. You moan loudly, tears streaming down your cheeks as your head lulls back, Jack’s thrusts sharp and deep as you grip his sweatshirt for stability. 

Jack retracts his teeth from your neck, lapping at the blood trickling down as he thrusts into you like an animal. He holds you tightly against him, his fingers gripping into your back as he groans his pleasure into the crook of your neck. “Ssgood.. Mm- fuck! You’re suckin’ me so good..” You grip his hair, hips stuttering against his thrusts and matching his pace. You hook your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in as deeply as possible. The stretch of his cock feels so glorious with each press against your g-spot. 

He kisses against your neck, moving up to your cheek and then meeting your lips, pressing them roughly against yours as he makes out with you. You groan into his mouth, his tongue sliding in and muffling your sounds of pleasure. He slides his hands out, hooking them under your legs and hoisting you up. He holds you against him in the air, fucking up into you like his personal fleshlight. You moan loudly into his mouth, his tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth as you roll your eyes. He slides his hand out from under your leg, gripping the rosary around your neck and pulling it tightly, cutting off your airway. He smiles against your mouth, hearing your labored breathing gasping as he pulls the necklace tighter. “You just love this don'tcha? Little thing milking me so good.” He groans, his hips stuttering faster inside of you, his cock jabbing deeply inside of you.

“Mmcomin- Jack-” You moan, air escaping you as you feel your cunt squeezing tightly around Jack’s length. He grunts, mouth hanging open as he stares into your flushed face, his cock twitching inside of you. He presses his lips against yours again, breathing in your moans as he feels you constrict against him. You moan out, pleasure washing over you as you cum on his cock, squeezing tightly around him. Jack grunts, unable to thrust anymore, he ruts up into your cunt, groaning loudly into your mouth as he spills into you. His thrusts eventually stop, bottoming out into you as he releases your necklace, you gasp, catching your breath again. 

Jack holds you tightly against him, breathing deeply into your neck as you catch your own. He slowly pulls out of you, and you wince from the pull. His seed spills down your legs, a groan escaping your lips at the lack of fullness you regrettably loved. Jack sets you on your feet, reaching to swipe his finger between your folds and sending a jolt through your body. He brings his fingers to his mouth, lapping up his and your juices and sighing at the wonderful taste. He pulls your skirt down, pressing a kiss against your forehead before zipping his jeans back up himself.

You shift on your feet, relishing in the kisses he places on your skin. “Uhm- Tha-” Jack places his hand over your mouth, leaning down to look you in your eyes. “Run along, little thing. Get back to your stuffy old church.” He leans down, picking up his mask and sliding it back over his face, bringing his hood up to completely cover himself again. You clutch your rosary softly, the cool night air blowing your hair slowly as Jack waves you off. “Will I ever get to… see you again?” You cringe at the desperation in your voice, shuffling on your feet. Jack crooks his neck again, shoving his hands into his pockets. “If I ever see you again, I’m afraid I’ll be eating a whole lot more than just that little pussy of yours,” he chuckles. 

You smile at him, turning to walk back down the gravel path as you see Jack make his way back towards the mausoleum. As you pass under the gated archway, you smile to yourself, holding your rosary closely.

What the hell were you going to tell the church now?

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 1

Rare

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Word count: ~5.6k Warning: None [minimal editing/proofreading/formatting]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. I have newfound respect for writers who have mastered group dynamics in their writing.

‘Two weeks,��� Mor whispered, trudging forward with her eyes set ahead in a daze. Her heels hit the cobbled path with soft clicks. ‘They’re closed for two weeks. What am I going to do?’

Feyre looped her arm through hers and guided her away from the closed doors of Rita’s. No one took the disappointment as hard as Mor. Still, they each expressed varying degrees of frustration with their grunts and groans. 

Cassian cursed aloud for it was his idea to enjoy a night like good old times . And he enjoyed a night like good old times every two months. However that night, the rest of the Inner Circle agreed to celebrate the few peaceful months they'd had in a while.

Except for one.

Azriel was grateful for his family’s reunion and their safety. Only he wanted to celebrate it in the quiet of their home. His family didn’t spare him the courtesy of protesting though. Knowing him well, they sent the middle Archeron sister to plead their case. One look at her hesitant eyes and he couldn’t deny the soft-hearted woman. He had one regret for the night—to have not flown off when he sensed Elaine’s presence on the other side of his door. 

When Rita disclosed their misfortune, Nesta pinned him with an accusatory glare as if his ill will had manifested into the burning down of their beloved retreat. She would have calmed if Azriel had stood there with his usual blank stare. Instead, he lifted a brow as a smirk tugged at his lips.

‘At least pretend not to enjoy this so much, you ass,’ grumbled Cass without even looking at his brother. 

‘Two weeks!’ Mor shrieked, throwing her arms in the air as she reeled out of the initial shock. Her blonde hair swayed behind her with every shake of her head. ‘How could she do this to me?’ 

Rhys walked on her other side. Besides Azriel, he was the only one unbothered by the ruin of their plans and his taunting tone was the only sign of his apathy for his cousin’s plight. ‘I’m sure the fire in her kitchen had barely anything to do with punishing you.’ 

Elaine’s voice perked up as Mor opened her mouth again. ‘We could go somewhere else,’ she inched away with each word as if she expected another outburst. ‘It’s not too late.’

And that’s how Azriel came to hate the woman for the night. 

He wasn’t cruel. He loved his family, and he agreed they deserved a break, but it wasn’t something he would sacrifice his peace for. He was ready with his own proposition—go back home, get drunk on faerie wine, and maybe some mirthroot if they resisted too much. His family would have their merriment, and he’d have his serenity.

As they stumbled and meandered through the streets, stopping at one place and the next, vetting out each other’s suggestions, Azriel found himself enjoying the moment—listening to his family’s usual banter, the comfort of familiarity built over centuries, and fussing over triviality instead of wars and courts. If his family chose to spend the entire night on the streets, he would gladly trade his peace for that.

But then, his family arrived at their destination. The last on their list. Another bar. Or at least what it said on the polished plaque that hung above the rusty door frame.

‘This is it?’ Cass spoke first, his words echoing the thought they all had in their minds.

Beyond the worn-out door held in place by a brick wedged between it and the doorframe was a harshly lit long room. Even the open door and cool breeze of the summer night failed to mask the stench of stuffiness from the dingy hole in the wall. Light flickered warning anyone dared contemplate entering the horrid place. Too narrow to hold waiting tables, there stood a sole desk opposite the entrance. Two shelves nailed behind it sloped, the bottles stacked atop them slowly making their way to the edge. Such a place at the centre of Velaris was nothing more than a swamp surrounded by beauty and life.

A woman rotten with age sat behind the table. Her hands jittered with each click of the needles held between her sharp, black claws. Her crooked nose curving past her thin lips and her non-existent ears were the only indications of her faerie blood other than her savage nails. Azriel couldn’t remember the last time he saw a creature that looked so old and fragile, yet with malice in her being, a kind of cruelty that lurked in one’s bones. 

Despite what he witnessed, none of it deterred him that night. His body shook with silent laughter. All that wasted trip, endless stops to pick at the tiniest flaws only for his family to end up there . 

Mother loved him. The complete disbelief on their faces was worth everything Azriel suffered since he opened his door to Elaine that night. Even his shadows seemed to enjoy the irony of their situation, skittering around his shoulders.

Mor turned to him sharply, her eyes alight with fire. ‘As long as there’s wine, this will do,’ she gritted her teeth. 

Pushing his friend, whose only purpose in life was proving a point, was the last thing Azriel wanted to do. Yet it was an opportunity he couldn’t pass. How far would his family go? What would it take to break them? Would they give in and chuck down whatever wretched brew the suspicious creature offered? He merely bowed his head and waved at the door.

Mor swallowed her squeak of disgust as she crossed the threshold. Her eyes ran over the assortment of bottles on the shelves—three filled to the brim with pale green liquid, two half-filled with something that looked awfully like rotten blood, of what Azriel didn’t care to find out. 

‘Do you suppose,’ she brought her eyes back to the woman, ‘you have any wine?’

The needles went silent for a beat, ‘Take your pick,’ and resumed. Not once did the creature glance at them as she jerked her chin to the shelf above her head.

With the seven of them now inside, the air turned hot and suffocating. Nesta pushed past to the front, standing next to Mor. ‘This is Pharus, isn’t it? The bar?’

Finally, the faerie looked up. Her eyes roved over their faces, their bodies, the detailing of threads on their clothes finer than the ones she held in her hands. 

‘Of course,’ she snarled, ‘why else would you be here?’ Her lazy eyes rolled creepily in their sockets to stop at the door beside the shelf. ‘Over there,’ she said and went back to her hideous patchwork of browns and blues and pinks.

In the silence, a steady thrum of beats crept along the floor. A soft murmur lured them to trust the creature’s words and enter the unknown awaiting them behind the burnished wood, a portal out of the creature’s lair.

Mor stepped up to the door, her eyes on the glass doorknob—hypnotised, curious, so bright. As her fingers brushed against it, the faerie cleared her throat. 

‘There’s a price for it,’ she added with a sly smile on her lips, a little thing that didn’t belong in her sagging face.

Azriel fished into his pockets while his family stared between the door and its guardian. His curiosity ebbed and grew to a point of no return. He had to find whatever called to him, whatever called to them . He dropped a gold on the table. It clattered on the wood, its ring echoing for a breath too long. 

The faerie stared at it and then at him, and then his family, studying each of their faces. Her claws left scratches on the wood as she grasped the coin in her palm. She sniffed it once and her eyes widened.

The door didn’t make a sound under Mor’s hand. One by one they entered, and Azriel let the door close behind him. Their heels clicked on the polished wooden floor that gleamed under golden lights.

Soothing warmth enveloped them even on the summer night in a comforting embrace. Fragrance of spices cut through the musk of the wooden furniture. Golden orbs hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow across the space enough to enable their fae sight, but none too harsh like Rita’s. Every plush leather chair, strategically arranged table, and carefully curated decorations contributed to the elegance of the room. 

A band sat on a raised podium at the far end, playing music that complimented their ambience. In the middle stood the majestic bar, a stretch of counter that ran along almost the entire length of the room. Bottles filled with various shades of liquor sat on the shelves behind—each of them, artistically planned and placed. Lights reflected off decanters and glasses set on trays adding a bit of colour to the brown and gold theme of the room.  

Faerie, high and lesser, took the seats without sparing each other a glance of discrimination. There was no stench of tension in the air, only a fragile calmness. Two servers shifted around the room speaking softly with polite smiles on their lips. A female tended to the bar, her hands worked with mesmerising precision. Despite the overflowing liquor, there wasn’t a loud cry, laughter, or chatter. 

Luxury and safety—the words came to Azriel’s mind. His shadows shaded his shoulders, falling quiet as they studied their new territory.

One of the servers led them to the only table large enough to fit them and their wings—close to the band. A bench ran along the wall on one side, and chairs occupied the other. 

Once they settled, he spoke with a rehearsed tone, ‘I’m guessing you’re new here.’ The hitch in his breath told them he knew exactly who they were, and yet his smile remained. ‘We have two rules. One, we ensure the night’s peaceful as much as possible. So, we don’t appreciate misconduct of any kind, and I’d advise you to stay out of trouble. Two, if our barkeep cuts you off for whatever reason, you leave.’ 

The server breathed through his teeth. His shoulders relaxed as though the most exhausting part of his job was done, and his smile turned more genuine. ‘Other than that, you do whatever you want. What would you like to drink?’

‘I’ll have faerie wine,’ Mor waited for no one, ‘Any wine. Don’t care how many.’ Her thigh pushed against Azriel’s as she shifted to her comfort on the velvet bench, her warmth seeping past his leathers. A swift nod from everyone else had the server scrambling back to the bar.

Nesta inspected the ones at the neighbouring tables. ‘What kind of moron expects drunks to follow rules?’

‘The one who doesn’t want to be held responsible for whatever happens when they are broken.’ Nesta’s eyes snapped to Azriel’s, and he merely shrugged. 

Elaine looked between their faces, expecting the inevitable discussion. But the Inner Circle indulged in spying on their night’s getaway. ‘Are we really ignoring what we saw outside?’

‘Oh,’ the server peered down at them as he set a tray with two wine bottles and glasses with a grace unexpected of his thick, manly fingers. ‘That hag is harmless. She just wastes her day knitting. If she bothered you, it’s because you’re new. Easy prey, you know? The regulars are used to her by now.’

Feyre reached for the glass offered to her. ‘Who is she?’

The server didn’t care to meet their eyes, but his words were eager. ‘She came with the building. This used to be her home. The old owner, her son, wanted to sell this bar. He found a better place for his family. But she didn’t want to move. Night and day they fought so much that people were afraid to even walk the street. Anyway, the son couldn’t resist our offer and sold it, and she—,’ he clicked his tongue, ‘she refused to leave with him. And Ayla didn’t want to leave her homeless.’

Azriel didn’t particularly enjoy the conversation as much as his family did. It mattered very little to the server, whose words tumbled out in a single breath. Clearly, it wasn’t the first time he was telling the story to his customers. He would make a terrible spy, Azriel thought. Maybe a decent source.

'Ayla?’

'She owns the place now. She gave the hag that hall. That’s where she and her husband lived before her son built a bar here.’ He sighed. His eyes swept over the rest of the room once he placed a filled glass in front of each of them. ‘It’s not good for business with a front like that. She scares everyone away. But Ayla insisted, and we renovated around it. Most customers don’t set foot inside after the first time. Some take pity and give her a few coppers. Not that she needs them though. Ayla takes care of all her needs.’

Another heavy breath, and he turned to them with a wide smile, with a server’s politeness. ‘Anyway, enjoy!’ He turned to leave. Then he paused, ‘You didn’t give her anything, did you?’

Every pair of eyes at the table fixated on Azriel. He blinked, ‘A gold.’

‘You better stay away from her the next time.’ The server walked away laughing.

In his long life, and also as a spy, Azriel had met enough faeries ranging from the vilest to the kindest. Nothing fazed him anymore. Though it would have made quite a story on any other day, his focus remained on his family. He would rather figure out a way to coax his friends to leave early than uncover more about a hag and her benefactor. After a long night of searching for a bar which offered wine sweeter than Rita’s, he knew it to be almost impossible.

At her sister’s request, Feyre led Elaine closer to the band, both nursing their drinks in their hands. Loose chairs littered the open space in front of the dais, where they took a seat among other patrons. The musicians nodded at them with a smile. 

Cass slammed his glass on the table. ‘I don’t like this place,’ he grumbled, looking at the well-behaved mob, ‘Where’s the fun here? This is not how a bar is supposed to be.’

‘Why? Is this place too classy for a brute like you?’ Nesta smirked, sipping her drink as she surveyed the place. With her usual elegance and simple gown, she fitted in better than the rest of them.

Years of sneaking and spying had ingrained the instincts in Azriel’s very bones, impossible to separate who he was and what he did for his family, for his court. His hazel eyes didn’t miss a thing. His shadows stayed close and whispered in his ears. Careful, calculating. Between the bar and the band stood two doors—one the servers often drifted in and out of with trays in their hands, a kitchen; and the other too pristine to be a back door or entrance to a storage room. An office, maybe. No one entered or exited it since his family took their seats across it. 

His brother was wrong. The patrons enjoyed their time, but not the way people did in Rita’s. Like his family, they bundled together and shared a drink and a laugh with their loved ones. Their glazed eyes and flushed faces proved they indulged in the drinks as much as Cass did. A few cleared the space in front of the band, shifting the chairs around and waltzing to the music. A sense of belonging lingered in the air, unlike the mindless chaos that stained Rita’s.

As warned, the bartender declined drinks to a few. Even the ones who posed the most threat to start a fight walked away without resistance. Not one sound of protest or trouble followed.

Elaine and Feyre returned when the band paused to start their next song. As Elaine settled into the seat across from him, she gave the widest smile to Azriel. He smiled back. Rhys filled Feyre’s glass and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Cass and Mor still disagreed with Nesta on the essence of true bar experience. Rhys took Nesta’s side only to watch his brother seethe with anger. With the remaining sisters returned to the table, it became clear Cass and Mor were losing the battle.

To add salt to their burn, Azriel trailed a finger along the rim of his glass and smirked. ‘I like this place too.’

‘You weren’t on board all night and now you have an opinion?’ Cass waved a hand of dismissal but his eyes burned with betrayal, ‘Go back to your brooding.’ 

Azriel grinned.

Laughing and stumbling, Mor headed to the bar. The bartender blushed so red that it wasn’t a mystery what she was up to. Minutes later, she returned with a bottle of amber liquor and a glass of a blue-green drink. Bottles were emptied, banter was shared, and laughs grew contagious. 

Even though it was harmless, raucous laughter, they attracted the wary eyes of the server. Azriel knew where they were headed. He slid Rhys’s glass of whiskey out of his grasp. His brother turned to him with an arched brow. He mumbled, ‘We’d need more than one ride tonight.’ 

Rhys didn’t argue. He limited his drinks as much as Azriel that night for the sake of his mate. Ever since Feyre, his brother’s usual recklessness waned. He became more attentive and considerate in ways he had never shown before. 

Both his brothers were equally troublesome. Cass with his wildness and brutality, and Rhys with his cunning and sly. And yet, after finding their mates, they were still all that and a bit more, someone better in every sense. 

Azriel looked at Mor pressed to his side, drunk and smiling. The woman he once loved. And then, Elaine, the one he wondered to be his mate. 

Even with the passage of time and endless disappointments, his heart refused to let go of hope—such a fickle thing for an immortal life. An everlasting pain that turned the kindest of souls into a force of cruelty—worse than love, worse than torture, worse than death.

To have heard of and believed in a spiritual bond with another was one thing, but to see it with his own eyes and long for it was not something even a damned soul like him could resist. 

Who wouldn’t want something so precious divined by Mother herself, to be blessed by her, to be born fortunate to have a mate in their lifetime and find them? 

Azriel knew love, he’d felt it. But how was it any different from a mating bond? Would a love be enough to save his wretched heart from himself? Could a love be as profound and sacred as a mating?

He looked at the happy faces of his family. Four of the seven—mated and in love. One with her supposed mate. 

Rare of the rarest.

And there he was. An ordinary rock amongst gems. One Mother didn’t deem worthy enough. Maybe she was right. What was he, after all, but an unlucky bastard? What would it take for Azriel to be one of them? Shadowsinger. Warrior. Servant. Brother. Friend. Survivor. Tortured. Abused. Broken. What more did he need to be to appease Mother to bless him with one miracle? 

What would make him one of the deserving?

He took the glass he snatched from his brother and downed the drink in one gulp. The liquor burned his throat, a good burn, almost as good as the one his hands endured a long, long time ago. 

Rhys turned to him with a blank stare. Azriel checked his mental wards and averted his eyes. It was pathetic enough to long for something he couldn’t have. He refused to warrant pity from his brothers as well. 

His family was together and happy. He breathed in the sweet aroma of the blue-green liquor Mor swirled in her glass. 

It was a good night. 

As he drank a little more, his shadows ventured out weaving through tables and shuffling feet. Azriel allowed it for a while before he reined them back. But they never answered when they returned, only dancing around his shoulders.

Moments later, they tried again, crawling down his back. The tug and pull of control slipped out of his hands as an invisible force stripped them off him. A gentle caress over his shoulders, coaxing him, easing him to let go. And his shadows followed this force, glad and willing, betraying their loyalty to him. Azriel didn’t touch his drink after that. 

As expected, the server approached their table and looked at him, the only one sober enough to be reasonable. 

‘We won’t cause any trouble,’ said Azriel before he could speak.

His shadows swayed around the back of his neck and leaned to peer beyond the man in their path. They stood still, unmoving and observing, and then crashed into his shoulder, turning into a dark mist.

The server watched them wide-eyed. He shook his head and peeked behind him at the once-closed door now open. ‘Maybe they could get something mild. Don't let Ayla see them like this.’ 

With those words, he stalked back to the bartender.

The room in front of him lacked the soft ambience outside with its golden lights and cosy furniture. A desk with a chair occupied the small space, giving a partial view of the bar. A woman bounded down the stairs that ran up from behind the door. She headed to the bar, exchanged a few words with the bartender, and went back inside. The servers paused by the door to greet her before they moved on.

Ayla.

To own a bar for high fae and lesser faeries alike, to have her workers and customers fear her, Ayla was laughably docile. Azriel had spent long enough around women of strength and courage to never judge one by looks, but he couldn’t help it. 

In her simple dark pants that flared at the hem and grey-white shirt, Ayla was underdressed than her workers. She was as tall as Feyre, maybe a few inches taller. Her face held a hint of innocence, not close to Elaine’s, but something about her convinced she was harmless. Unless she had a sharp tongue like Nesta or had someone like Mor or Amren to do her bidding, it was unlikely she managed to keep her patrons in line by herself.

‘Azriel,’ called Mor from beside him. Her eyes were unexpectedly fierce after all the wine she had. ‘You’re drinking, right?’ She waved the empty glass in her hand.

He knew he should have said no. He glanced at the server across the room, but Nesta and Mor had already left for the bar. His attention drifted to the three drunk men who stood too close to a young fae trying to get away from them. She inched closer and closer to Mor who whispered into Nesta’s ear making her laugh. 

The shadows on his shoulders grew restless, creeping up and down his arms. He should have offered to get the drinks himself.

Cass was in the middle of narrating an elaborate plot of his fights in Illyrian war camps from their childhood days to Elaine as she leaned over the table with enthralled horror in her eyes. Rhys smiled smugly at his exaggerations while Feyre looked over at the bar, thinking the same as Azriel.

The crude comments of the three men circling the fae made the bartender stare between them with nervous eyes. The air silenced around them, nothing but their obnoxious laughter echoed. The smile on Nesta’s lips vanished, and Mor noticed. His friends at the table paused their conversation. 

‘Come now,’ one of the men carried on, ‘don’t be like that.’ 

Ayla looked up from the paper in her hand. She stared ahead where the man would have stood if not for the wall in her path. Dropping the papers onto the table, she reached inside a drawer. As she stepped out of the room, she cradled a leather bracelet to her right wrist, pulling its straps taut against her skin. 

The bartender breathed in relief as she eased next to her and took a step back. Ayla gathered her hair, securing it at the nape of her neck as the bartender whispered in her ear. Locks of hair slipped free and framed her face. She swept a glance across the bar, took in the faces seated before her, deliberately shifting over the three men. She stood in front of them, mixing drinks with precision and expertise on par with the bartender. She didn't lift her eyes up again.

The man moved close to the fae who immediately backed away. He spoke into her ear but his words rang across the room. ‘Come on, love. It’s free drink. You should be grateful.’ 

A minute longer, and Nesta would have ripped that fool’s tongue with a shard of her broken glass. Azriel had seen enough bar fights—started a few and ended too many—to know when one loomed around the corner.

Ayla's eyes darted to the man’s hand reaching for the fae and then his face for a second while her body gave no sign of her attention on anything but the tumbler in her hand. 

A smirk tugged at Azriel's lips. 

Maybe it was a bad idea to let Mor and Nesta murder a few in a bar they had never visited before. Maybe it was a bad idea not to interfere with their authority which usually saved time with vermin like the man. Or maybe it was a bad idea to let the situation escalate, putting the fae in danger only to see the bar owner’s reaction.

But Azriel was not above making bad decisions to quell his curiosity. He leaned back and brought his glass to his lips.

‘She’s not interested,’ said Ayla in a voice so soft and smooth. With her eyes on the pink liquor she poured into a tall glass, she added, ‘And she has a drink.’ 

Her eyes met the fae's, gentle yet firm. She pushed the glass with her index finger. The fae heaved a sigh of relief and reached for it.

The man turned his attention to Ayla with a wicked smile. He ran his vile eyes over her and winked. ‘The coins are to shut your mouth, pretty. I’ll come back for you later.’ With a bone-grating chuckle, he returned to the fae who charted for a way to her table. He extended a hand in front of her, ‘So what do you say?’

Oh, how Azriel wanted to tear every tooth from his jaws. 

Ayla finally looked at him. Her eyes were calm and intense, a reassured stillness in them. She straightened and placed her hands on the counter. And it was enough to shift the air around them. The woman who commanded respect from her patrons was in the room instead of the quiet, lingering spirit that drifted in and out moments earlier. The band slowed their music, and the ones who refused to look at the ruckus dared to glance their way.

‘I’m going to ask you to leave.’

The man let out a grunt, mean and vulgar. ‘Shut up, you bitch.’ Gone was his smile as he hissed at the fae, ‘You’re starting to make me angry.’

His eyes widened as a hand grabbed the back of his hand and shoved it face-first onto the wood of the counter. His arms flailed miserably to stop the impact, only to fail. The following crunch made the fae flinch away.

Ayla let go and walked around the bar, her steps calculated and leisured. She slipped her dainty fingers through two gold rings attached to the inside of the bracelet. 

‘You okay?’ she asked the fae softly as she pulled the fingers away, two cords of metal unwinding between the rings and the leather. Once she got a frantic nod from the fae, she diverted her focus to the crying man who swiped at his face and stared at his bloodied hands.

Cass snorted. His drink sprayed through his nose, drenching himself and poor Elaine. Rhys’s eyes gleamed with amusement. Feyre looked between the three women at the counter.

The man screeched, ‘She hit me! That bitch hit me.’ His nose flared and spurts of blood leaked soaking his shirt. His eyes flashed with anger as he lunged forward, ‘You’ll pay for this.’

Ayla sauntered ahead with lazy steps and swerved when his fist came close. Her left hand went around his head once. The man stumbled forward by the wasted force of his body and his neck caught in the cords.

She pulled her hands back to her sides, the cords went taut, and the man fell to his knees. His bloodied fingers pried at the noose around his neck. His breaths grew shallow and raspy. Blood sprinkled from his nose with each strain of his chest. His pained cries echoed in the quiet. Not even his friends attempted to help him.

‘Whining on the floor,’ Ayla curved her wrist around his head again, watching his eyes grow wider. ‘Leash on your neck. You sure you aren’t the bitch?’

Looking down at him, she clawed his jaw open. Her other hand reached for a bottle on the counter, her void eyes never leaving his. She tipped it close to his mouth and his breath left his chest in a painful heave. 

‘It’s free drink, love,’ she said, her voice a lover’s purr. Low and soft. As the liquor filled his mouth and streamed down his shirt mixed with the red of his blood, she gritted her teeth. ‘Be grateful.’

The first emotion she showed.

It was inappropriate.

Utterly inappropriate.

A deep chuckle ripped from Azriel’s throat, loud enough to warrant the glances from his family and the ones beside their table.

When the man choked and his eyes blurred, Ayla stopped. Her fingers released him and slipped out of the rings with a simple flick. The rings whipped spraying drops of amber-red in the air before it latched onto the bracelet again, the cords disappearing between the black of the leather. 

She turned to his friends, ‘Don’t come back.’

They nodded and began to back away. The cries of their friend brought them out of their stupor and they carried him out with his blood staining the once perfect floor. 

Ayla blinked. 

Once they were out the door, she went back behind the counter, and time resumed. The band began their music again. Servers shuffled to clean the floors and check on the fae. The bartender wiped at the splotches of blood off the counter.

Ayla cleaned her hands and continued with her other orders. As she offered drinks to the ones still waiting at the bar, she smiled. Azriel set his glass down.

When she reached Mor and Nesta, she studied their faces and uttered a few words. Mor pointed at their table with a grin, her eyes sparkling under the light swaying over her head. 

Ayla spared each of them a glance. Her eyes paused at Cass and his wings, Azriel and his wings, and finally Rhys and behind him where his wings should have been. The shadows didn’t appreciate the scrutiny. They went erratic around his shoulders and for a moment her eyes returned to the shadowsinger again.

‘She’s judging us,’ Rhys muttered through his grin. The amusement in his eyes flickered and she held his gaze. ‘Rather harshly,’ he chuckled. 

Feyre frowned at him. ‘Stop it!’

Rhys’s smile fell from his lips. He hummed, staring at Ayla for a beat too long before he turned to his mate. ‘It’s not my fault. Her mind called to me,’ he kissed her cheek.

Azriel wanted to ask what his brother meant, but knew better. His shadows quietened around him, still as midnight air, draping over his shoulders with their ghostly weight. They didn’t sing to him much that night.

Mor and Nesta returned with a tray of drinks. Ayla wrapped an arm around the bartender and whispered in her ear, a smile still on her lips. Azriel wondered if there was more between the two. Ayla rushed out of her room at the first sign of trouble and took charge of every responsibility while the other stayed safe and recovered.

‘I like this place!’ Mor exclaimed as she slumped next to him and handed him a glass after taking one for herself.

Cass only cursed under his breath. ‘Because she gave you free booze?’ He stole a drink for himself, ‘But that show was fun.’

‘So was yours,’ Nesta laughed and pointed at his soaked front.

Ayla accepted a sealed plate from the server, with that smile of hers, and headed to her office. Her hand stilled over the doorknob. Crimson spotted her shirt along her torso below her ribs. She ran her fingers over them once, slowly. She blinked and wiped again at the dried stain. And again. Then she closed the door.

Once the glasses were emptied, Mor hated the place again. The drinks Ayla offered sobered them completely. Grumbling and muttering their disapproval at the trickery and betrayal, Mor and Cass walked out of the bar with the others trailing behind them. 

Azriel sneaked a glance at the locked door smiling before he joined his family. 

It was indeed a good night.

Next chapter: Sanctuary

[auspicioustidings]

Devil's Trumpet

AKA the Appalachian horror brain worms would not leave me alone

Summary: You move to small town West Virginia to get your head on straight but the men in the woods start unravelling you instead.

Words: 3.5k

CWs: mild horror, vague reference to mental illness

This is best read while listening to some Southern gothic tunes 🎶 I suggest Big Dark Love by Murder by Death!

Colour leeched out of the world here. There is something almost comforting about that, something familiar. Familiar too is the way this town moves like syrup too thick to be pleasant in your mouth. It was how you moved though the world once. Not anymore though, no, now your mind is your own and not an invading force. Now you can appreciate the drab slowness as something external to yourself, just an environment around you and not a prison closing in inside your head.

There wasn’t much of a plan really. A will reading that left you with not a lot, but enough to get the hell out. Signing with a fountain pen that made your skin crawl with how it scratched. A stiff drink and a dart thrown at a map and tearing a ragged hole in the Greenbrier River as the sharp point didn’t quite sink far enough into the board and tore its way through the paper on the way down. You were never any good at darts.

You aren’t putting down roots. Those were for old growth, not for hardy weeds that broke through concrete and always found another crack through which to grow when killed. Nothing that felt too much like a home, so instead a room at the only inn.

This town is too small to warrant one, but it doubles as a watering hole come evening. It doesn’t seem to have been updated in an age, you wonder idly if the plaque upkept to a gleaming shine declaring the inn to have been opened in 1824 is somehow conveying pride at the fact. The peeling wallpaper in your room was probably pretty once, but the green now seems sick with age and the delicate floral pattern has started to wilt.

There is no routine to your days here until one slowly creeps in as it always does.

Breakfast first. You don’t know if it’s something in the air here, but you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and are eager to drown it in food and mint toothpaste. The inn has a small kitchenette for guest use and you make yourself toast with butter and strawberry jam. It’s a little too sweet but the tea helps, black with no sugar.

You stretch out the back of the inn and enjoy the view of the woods. You don’t call it yoga because it makes you less likely to do it, but you had learned when things were bad that quietly engaging your body in the morning was a good way to quiet your mind. There’s a little tension in the back of your neck you try to work out but it sticks there until you finish up and go back inside to shower. The hot water fixes it you think.

The first few weeks here you just sit and watch the world go by, but then you one day you decide to get up and spend some time wandering the town. It’s small, decrepit. There is the inn, a few sparse houses, one general store. The library, despite being the only venue with any chance of entertainment, is usually empty. You meet Mrs Lela Kaletaws who runs it, although she isn’t always around.

Roads here are barely holding together, but the one main road that runs out of town is at least in somewhat better condition. It runs parallel with the woods at one point, curving off just past old Mr Kleer's house. The man in question usually sits on his porch but he’s friendly enough so you don’t pay much mind to the gun.

After you’ve wandered town you make sandwiches for lunch. It isn’t much exciting, but it is routine and is filling enough that you bunker down for a nap after.

In the afternoon you go for a long walk before returning to the inn for dinner. There is a bar downstairs that opens in the evenings and serves food that while not a delicacy by any means is hot and filling. You retire to your room, read some of your book and go to sleep.

It continues that way. Breakfast, stretch, shower, wander, lunch, sleep, walk, dinner, read, sleep.

At first you only really skirt the edge of the woods, but with each passing dreary day you venture closer to the depths down the packed dirt path. The path through the woods is confusing and unmarked. Where you swore just yesterday it went to the right, today it goes to the left. Even so it must be your sense of direction, because the path always leads you past the jimsonweeds that come up to you chest before spitting you out on the road that leads to old Mr Kleer's house. The flowers are beautiful, but there is some metallic tang to their otherwise sweet scent that causes your teeth to ache.

—

More comfortable with the area now, it causes a fright when you see a man in the woods just in the corner of your eye only to snap your head around and have him vanish. You force calming breathes and keep walking. There is no such thing as ghosts in these woods.

Old man Axell calls to you from his porch as you pass, rifle butt settled on the rickety wood that you worry will collapse and left leg stretched straight out towards you like reaching for something.

“Seeing things in the woods kid?”

“I look spooked sir?”

“Like you’ve seen a Ghost I reckon.”

You give a shaky laugh at that.

“Only if ghosts come in flesh and blood and quick feet. Some man gave me a fright is all.”

“Must be out of towners” Axell says.

You do not like the way he says it. You do not like that he looks at you strangely. But you smile and nod and get on your way. He is only an old man.

—

There is someone in the woods. You feel his gaze on you, feel the dull prickle that rests on your nape from those eyes.

“We really must stop meeting like this” you say.

You have stopped trying to catch him. Now you only speak, eyes set on the dirt path in front of you. You do not think you will get a reply and when you do you shudder horribly at how much closer the voice is than you had anticipated.

“Don’t enjoy the company?”

He’s English and you frown. Out of towner. The old man must know something, but maybe you cannot begrudge him having fun at your expense. You have not made friends here.

“Enjoy company where I can see it if it’s all the same to you.”

The man laughs. It is a confusing laugh, warm and cold all at once as it bounces through the trees.

“Careful what you wish for.”

You resist the urge to turn even as his voice moves strangely, like he is swaying from one side of the path to the other.

“Must have a face like sin to keep hiding away” you say.

The next words you can feel. His breath is right at your cheek, a strand of your hair lifted by his fingers.

“Quite the opposite.”

Your heart is a prey animal running from a predator, beating wildly against your ribs as you turn to find he isn’t there. Only you certainly felt him. He leaves a sweet smell behind.

—

Sleep does not come easily that night. The rain against your window casts the moonlight strangely into your room. You spend hours watching as the creeping vines on the wallpaper seem to twist and shift beneath the moon flowers. When you finally fall asleep, it is almost as if you can smell them. Sweet and slightly metallic.

You wake up with the fading scent of damp earth and something on the edge of rot in your nose and the feel of dirt packed uncomfortably under your nails. They’re clean you find, but you spend the start of the morning cutting them down once you see the fading scratches left on your arms and legs through the night.

—

He is not the only stranger in the woods. You swore you would not go back, but routine takes you there without thought.

The Scottish man likes to walk on your right hand side, just enough steps behind you that you can only see him at the very side of your vision. You think he is handsome, but it is difficult to be sure. What you can be sure of is that he is dressed oddly. You have spoken to him for a while now, discussing yourself mostly. Perhaps it is the eerie quiet of the woods that makes you want to fill the dead space, but you tell him more about yourself than you ever would have thought yourself comfortable with.

“Are you a soldier then?” you ask.

“Sometimes, I think.”

You take a moment to chew that answer, wonder at the taste of it. There is a panic when you smell blood on the air, but it is quickly blanketed by sweetness. You have reached the jimsonweeds. It is too early, you have not walked far enough to be here already. But before you can protest the steps to your right stop and you know the man is gone.

None of them ever come farther than this.

—

You try the next day and the next to get answers from him. He seems to make a decision at one point just as the familiar smell reaches you and you think you will leave with no more information than you had before.

“I’m SAS.”

He is not there when you turn to thank him. He is not there at all when you return the next day.

—

The library run by Mrs Kaletaws is added to your routine. Breakfast, stretch, shower, library, lunch, try to sleep, walk, dinner, read, try to sleep. The small building has the peculiar addition of a cat you never quite see. You hear the skitter of claws on worn wood floor that has started to smell of sickly sweet rot, see fading scratches on the legs and arms of the chair, find hairs on your clothing, feel the prickle of eyes focused on you from the dark running up your spine to settle dully on the back of your neck. You have tried before to get a glimpse of the creature, but it only seems to exist in the very corner of your eye and retreats when your gaze tries to creep around to catch it.

Lela never talks about the cat. She told you once that it is only her and her wife that live in the basement below the library. You have never seen her wife and fear she must have some permanent sickness that stops her from being able to do much. You think they should move above ground so she can at least see the world through the windows obscured by racing raindrops, but you keep it to yourself.

The one computer here is old, the white plastic exterior now yellowed. Still, it is the only gateway to the outside world in this little town and you blow at your tea while waiting for your search results. ‘SAS military bases in West Virginia’ is a shot in the dark, but you need to start somewhere. After a sip you dump more sugar into your cup before looking at your finally loaded results.

There are none. No British military installations at all in the USA. You had hoped at least the results would bring up something about training exercises but it is just pages of useless information about bases around the world. You read about the SAS, fall down a rabbit hole of how they torture their soldiers to train them to withstand it. You go through pages and pages of search results until finally one talks about SAS soldiers in this area.

The link takes you to a dusty website that stopped being updated sometime in the late 90s. It’s some sort of conspiracy blog and you are prepared to close it, but you can’t help but get lost in the story it tells.

The details are unclear which you suppose is the hallmark of any good conspiracy. 40 years ago. There was a team of two, or maybe four or maybe seven. They set up just outside the woods with little to no explanation. There’s an interview from a local, not a name you recognise so one you think is likely long dead. She says two of the soldiers went into the woods first. She remembers something bad must have happened, because there was an argument between the five left outside. Nobody was allowed close, but she watched two more men go into the woods. After that the operation seemed to vanish entirely overnight and nobody heard anything more about it.

Whoever authored the blog has a gift with words because despite your logical mind knowing it was probably nothing but a random training exercise, the hairs on the back of your neck raise.

There is a photo of the alleged unit at the end loading slowly. You stare in fascination as line by line appears from the top. The world stops before it fully loads. At first you are confused as to why your whole body is tense, why your heart is racing. And then you figure it out. Silence. Complete and all together sudden silence. No rain hitting the windows, no scratching of the cat echoing, not even the whir of the computer.

You do not want to look away from the screen. You do not want to turn around. The prickle on your neck goes from dull to sharp.

The computer powers down.

—

He says to call him John. This man does not walk to your right like the Scottish one, or behind you like the first one you met. He walks in front of you. You can see the full expanse of his back clad in a vest. He wears a hat. He only ever turns slightly, enough to see that he has sideburns but never enough to see his face.

You are so enraptured by being able to see so much of him so clearly that it takes you a while to notice there is someone on your left. A few steps behind like the Scottish one does on your right. It takes you by surprise enough that you are about to forget the unspoken rules and turn, but John predicts your move.

“Eyes forward.”

“Sorry” you say automatically, fixing you eyes to his back and letting the other man stay as the impression of a creature just in sight of your left eye.

“They’re pretty, Captain.”

“I’m aware.”

It should not make you blush but somehow it does.

“What’s you name?” you ask.

There is no way to direct it specifically to the man on your left, so you simple direct it to the back of John and hope that the trees will send it where it needs to go.

“Captain?” the man asks, not for permission but as if genuinely unsure of the answer.

“Kyle, your name’s Kyle.”

“Right. Kyle.”

You catch the movement of him touching his chest, maybe rubbing at a name tag there but you can’t be sure.

“You can call me Gaz if you like.”

John and Gaz are your company for weeks. Whenever you ask after the other two, the air turns sweet and bloody and you are left alone among the jimsonweeds.

—

“Got intae trouble for ye.”

You’re not sure where you are but you recognise the voice. Is he in your room?

“We both did. Curiosity would’ve killed you little kitten,” comes the other voice from the first man in the woods somewhere behind you.

You hazily look down at yourself. You are not in the bed at the inn, you are in another bed laid on your back. You feel your legs brush against one another, not clad in the flannel you remembered wearing. Silk, you are wearing silk. Delicate against your skin, not much of it. Were you wearing perfume? Something smells sweet.

As you stare at the bare expanse of your leg a hand sinks into your thigh, squeezes.

“Fuck LT, so soft. Fingers just sink right in.”

You fight the urge to look to the right where the hand is coming from. You can’t look, some primal part of your brain knows you cannot look.

“Stay away from the woods” the man behind you whispers into your ear like a caress as his hands settle gently around your neck.

You do not feel the snap of bone, but you hear it. You taste the blood in your mouth.

You do not manage to fall back asleep when you wake.

—

Breakfast, library, try to sleep, don’t go into the woods, dinner, try to sleep, stare at the wallpaper, try to sleep.

—

You overhear Axell and Lela once. You think they are talking about you.

“You think we’re doing the right thing?” Axell asks.

“I don’t think there is a right thing anymore.”

“It’s been a long time now. Maybe we should let them go.”

“You think we could?”

There is a silence. Neither of them thinks so. Paranoia settles over you that you haven’t felt since back when things got bad. It’s like an old vice settling into your bones, or maybe seeping out of them as if it never truly left. You cannot go back to that place again so you take some aspirin for the rhythmic pulsing behind your eyes and the dull prickle at the back of your neck and resolve to put any thoughts of conspiracy out of your mind. Lela and Axell are simply old, there is not something they know that you do not.

—

You do not mean to walk into the woods again. The man behind you is back. He feels different somehow.

“I could eat you right up” he says against your neck.

Old Mr Kleer sees the bloodied bite at your throat and says nothing as you walk by.

—

You book a bus ticket. It feels too much like there are tendrils growing from you to burrow into the ground, to fix you here. If you don’t rip them out now, it is only a matter of time until the roots are so deep you won’t be strong enough to move. You aren’t eating properly, you’ve hardly slept and when you do you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and covered in scratches. There is still the shape of a bite on your throat and the B&B owners in Pennsylvania look at you with pity as you check in.

The building is charming and fairly new. You stare at the neutral pink wallpaper. One corner of it has lifted ever so slightly. You fall asleep staring at the peek of green underneath.

—

It doesn’t rain as much here, the sun is out and everything seems more colourful. Weeks pass in a haze and you slowly emerge again, eating properly, sleeping through the night. The town on the Greenbrier starts to fade to an unpleasant dream.

—

There is something comforting about the old man who comes to stay and sits by you for breakfast in the mornings. He has the remnants of a Russian accent and laughs frequently and easily. The stories he tells are fantastical, but he’s non-committal about his visit to small town Pennsylvania although he at least tells you that he likes the nature around here. He whispers that his legs aren’t up for much walking anymore, so he has to take the easy paths through small patches of nature.

It takes a week or so more to work up the courage to accompany him on a walk. It seems silly, but the woods make you feel afraid. Maybe a short walk through the small area he spoke of will help you get beyond it. You rub at your neck, feeling the marks faded but still there.

—

He notices your discomfort and tries to ease it with his stories as you walk the dirt path.

“It’s the most important thing I’ve learned you know” he says, the aching grief in his voice causing you pause, “you cannot leave friends behind.”

You turn to him, intending to ask how much longer the path leads since it is getting dark now. He is not there.

“Nik?” you ask, calm at first but increasingly more frantic.

That old familiar dull prickle settles on the back of your neck as you run back down the way you came to get out of the woods. Drooping tree limbs get in your way and you push through, ignoring the scratches. As darkness falls you slow to a walk, unable to see anything in front of you. You catch the smell the sweetness of the jimsonweeds. You can smell blood.

Foot steps that are not your own surround you. A set in front of you. One behind. To the left and to the right.

“Welcome home.”

[lineli225]

Tomura Shigaraki 's abuse and neglect under All for One

I've decided to make this post due to the fact AFO's abuse towards Tomura is often ignored and even denied, so I'll be bringing a collection of scenes that prove he was being severally neglected during the 15 years he lived with AFO

1- Malnourishment and Underweight

At the beginning of the story Tomura used to be very skinny, his spine visible, very accentuated collar bones.

We can't see if his ribcages are exposed too since he's always dressed, but we can tell he is abnormally skinny and thin.

Some theorize AFO's purposefully keeps him in this state so he's more weak and frail similar to Yoichi. Or so it adds to his tiredness and numbness.

He's also been shown randomly struggling before (it could've been the aftershock of Stain attack, i don't know)

2- Lack of hygiene

He literally lives in pure filth, trash bags, old soda cans, paper, boxes, packages of food that seems ordered other than homemade, it lingers all over his floor, he is clearly a hoarder

It's completely different of the kept and clean bar, and now before you say "That's Tomura's responsibility, he's an adult he should clean it himself!" just think for a minute, if you had a son, that you see as your heir, and bets on their future so much,If you truly cared about them and saw they felt into a hoarder mindset, wouldn't you at least help?

Why not even Kurogiri cleans if Tomura was being cared by him? This clearly is intentional neglect, specially to keep his mood constantly down.

3 - His teeth

Tomura canonically has crooked teeth (compare his teeth to the other's in the jump festa art), cavities or at least what looks like plaques or dirt all over his teeth.

For someone raised by someone as filthy rich as AFO, he should've had access to dental care

4- Shaggy hair

His hair looks un-brushed, shaggy and dirty, which had no reason for before MVA when he became homeless, so why even at the start? How long has he taken a bath or a shower?

Look at the blatant difference in this scene after he showered at the PLF mansion

5- Unkept, ragged and broken nails

despite his hands also being very skinny, his nails are also all rough and broken Now, I know Tomura isn't a kid to have someone cut his nails for him, but this implies he was never teached how to take care for himself.

Besides of course his clear symptoms of depression and suicidal idealism, which, are very obvious, All for One IS neglecting Tomura by keeping him in that state /knowing/ he isn't being capable of taking care of himself.

6- His bedroom

First of all: No windows

Second, notice how empty it used to be, he had nothing but a bed and a desk, but right as he committed his first murder he started to receive toys, AFO is lovebombing and manipulating him to kill more

7- The obvious neglect to his pain

Notice how every time Tomura panics or is even wounded, he is just ignored and left on the floor bleeding out, puking or writhing.

Which uh- it isn't normal to watch your kid writhe in the floor while smiling and monologuing

8- 24/7 Surveillance and lack of privacy

There are cameras everywhere, AFO spends most of the time watching Tomura, even in his own bedroom, and even talks to him, Tomura probably hasn't had any privacy ever since he was 5

Which is a sign of abuse and control

His entire childhood from 5 to 20 is often relatable for people who grew in cult like environments, and homeschooled children who grew under controlling parents, despite the abuse not being as "obvious" since AFO never directly physically hurt him, the neglect and psychological torture is still there, that and more all the manipulation, gaslighting and grooming (think of Mother Gothel from Tangled as an example of this type of abuser)

By the way, talking about it

9- Gaslighting

"but wasn't /you/ who desired my power?"

The entire body possession plot is a clear evidence AFO never saw Tomura as anything other than a toy to play with, the same way he saw Yoichi, but so many people say the possession was a retcon because "early afo cleared saw him as his heir, he even said it's all for him!"

Well, argue with the literal "he's the next me", while he is.... weirdly caressing the screen while he watches his kid with no privacy- 100% creep behavior

10- AFO's bizzare behavior towards Tomura

The way All for One's hands are often shown caressing him or encasing him somehow, which yeah, it's part of the symbology of Tomura's character (hands that can both hurt and save)

But knowing AFO represents /hurt/ and, you know, i'ts kinda weird to caress the kid you kidnaped off the streets like that-

Cuz yes! Picking kids from the street even if they are orphan is illegal!! You should take them to a police station instead :D

Tomura was KIDNAPED by AFO, not saved.

11- Proof Tomura doesn't /feel/ saved

During his fight against Bakugou, when he sees him being helped, besides being "broken" he starts to spiral on "why no one saved me even before i was broken?"

The visual including the granny that ignored him on the streets

AFO broke him.

He recurrently thinks back to when he was on the streets, even though he was already traumatized, and had already killed his family, he still had /hope/ he ADMITS he believes he could've been different if it wasn't for AFO

If AFO had truly saved him,he wouldn't think like this

12- AFO gifting Tomura the corpses of his family to intentionally keep him nauseated, uncomfortable and traumatized, so he never heals

Besides their weird placements- On a kid. the gangster's hands being in his chest...

13-AFO's intentional desire for Tomura's discomfort

If this entire thread didn't make it obvious already, All for One benefits of Tomura's tiredness, ill feelings, nausea, depression and suicidal mindset, and over all physical and psychological discomfort

This ensures he's submissive to his manipulations and orders, keep him feeling hatred and anger due to constant overwhelming feelings and makes it harder for him to think of why AFO does all of it at all.

I could go even deeper than this about it, but i've reached thread limit and am lazy, so I hope you enjoyed this thread!

Thank you for reading

[al-the-remix]

BuckTommy Positivity Week Day 1/3 : what they love most about each other/meeting the friends and family

Slowly making my way through the @bucktommypositivityweek prompts! I'm not normally a big fan of shovel talks, but I thought Tommy deserved his own moment where his friends show up for him and have his back (and so does his boyfriend).

The bar was pretty much exactly like Buck expected it to be: plastered with an assorted collection of knick-knacks, military plaques, and wall art that Buck will just call inspired–fighting each other for wallspace all the way up to the low T-bar ceiling. The main source of light came from the ionized glow of the neon beer signs and the stained glass fixtures over the billiards tables that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the 70s. Buck was pretty sure he’d spotted at least three fire code violations just walking through the doors–but that wasn’t what tonight was about. 

A small section tucked between the fleet of pool tables and the dart boards had been reserved for their party, and from his spot at the bar Buck had a clear view of where Tommy was leaning against his pool cue, his posture the most relaxed it’s been since they’d hit Grand Junction as he laughed with the group of men gathered around him. 

Buck couldn’t help but smile. The longer they’d driven, the more tense Tommy had become, and Buck had begun to worry that maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea after all. Now he felt like he could finally breathe; they’d booked it up the 15 and onto the 70 on the way here, and Buck was looking forward to taking their time on the way home, finding the scenic routes and exploring the one road towns and tacky tourist traps they stumbled across. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a week off work that hadn’t been the result of a near-fatal injury. 

“You know you’re the only person he’s ever brought to one of these,” came a voice to his right, one that Buck had only recently become familiar with. 

With great pain, Buck drew his attention away from Tommy to the person settling in at the bar beside him. Dave. He was the only one of the guys here that had been with Tommy since Fort Irwin. He had a wife and two daughters and a boxer named Jones–all information Buck had learned, not from the man himself, but during their three day drive from L.A. to Colorado Springs–which Tommy had used to give Buck a rundown on pretty much everything he knew about his old battalion mates from their rank down to their dental records.

“I’m happy to be here,” Buck said, meaning it. He hadn’t been expecting an invitation, taken completely off guard when Tommy had asked him so casually, as they got ready to head out for work one morning. He’d presented it like it would just be a good excuse for a fun road trip and not what Buck was starting to piece together in his head was actually a monumental gesture. Either way, he’d agreed immediately.

Dave was watching him like he was trying his best to punch through Buck’s skull and peer directly into his brain. Buck had a feeling Dave hadn’t really made up his mind about Buck–yet–and if there was one thing he was going to change by the end of the night it was that.

“Tom said you’re also a firefighter.”

Buck twisted in his chair so they were facing each other. “Yeah, actually I’m at Tommy’s old station, transferred in not long after he left. Kind of funny how things work out, eh?”

“I’ve heard stories,” Dave said in a tone that implied not all of them were good. 

“It’s not like that anymore,” Buck assured. Gerard’s second reign of the 118 had been over for a while now and Buck had been informed by Hen and Chimney that although it had been unbearable, with more eyes on him, Gerard had not been nearly as bad as the first time around. 

“I’ve heard that too.” The corner of Dave’s mouth ticked up. That was the most charitable he’d been thus far. “Tommy has a lot of good things to say about the new crew there, especially you.”

Buck wasn’t above preening a little at that. He knew all about bragging about his partner to anyone that would listen. He was practically a pro at it at this point. If anything he and Tommy had a little competition going on at this point. 

Dave’s eyes flicked over Buck’s shoulder and back. “Listen, I don’t want to overstep here because Tommy will be fuckin’ pissed at me, and I’ll never hear the end of it–but, you seem like a nice guy, and I just want to make sure you know what a big deal this is. These shindigs used to host a few more bodies before Tommy came out. Just don’t hurt him.”

He could hear Tommy’s laugh, the full-bodied, knee-slapping one he only did when you really got him cracking up or he was about three pints in, or both, floating over the din of the bar. Buck could pick that laugh out of any crowd. He could follow it home.

Dave was watching him with a curious expression, and maybe Buck hadn’t totally won him over yet, but he had a feeling they were at least moving in the right direction.

 “I won’t. And I–I won't let him know you gave me the shovel talk if you rat me out either, because he doesn't know this yet and I want him to hear it from me first, but Tommy's one of the most amazing people I've ever met. He's one of the first people I've been with in a long time that makes me feel like I can be myself, unconditionally, and I just hope I make him feel the same way, because I love him.”

“I think it’s safe to say he does.” The corner of Dave’s mouth twitched up in the amused beginning of a smile. “But you should probably let him know that instead of me, just saying.”

Buck rolled his eyes as Dave clapped him cordially on the shoulder. It looked like he wasn’t off the hot seat yet. 

He held out his glass and was pleased when Dave clinked them together. It was progress. 

///

It was 1 am when they finally made it back to their motel, the latest Buck had been out in a good long while. He’d taken the keys from Tommy before they’d even left for the evening and now he was swooping around the cab of the truck to catch his boyfriend as he nearly tumbled out of the passenger side door. 

“Easy there,” Buck said as he tried his best to steady Tommy on his own two feet, a task more difficult than it sounded. 

“I think I lost my keys,” Tommy moaned as Buck grabbed his jacket and locked up. 

“No, see I’ve got them right here.” He jangled them in Tommy’s face and watched him grin before slipping them into his own pocket. “Don’t worry I’ll give them back to you later, here let me help you out.”

He slipped his arm around Tommy’s waist, pulling him a little tighter against his side than was probably necessary.

Tommy’s clutched at his shoulder, melting against him. “You’re so nice to me.” 

“What else would I be?” Buck chuckled as he steered Tommy towards their room. He was just glad that Tommy was a placid, happy drunk–if a little handsy. “Come on big guy, let’s get you to bed.”

It was a struggle to get the door unlocked and Tommy through it with two-hundred odd pounds of boyfriend hanging off him, trying to worm his fingers under Buck’s shirt and breathing hot and damp against the juncture of his neck.  

When they finally stumbled inside Tommy starfished onto the bed, the poor old motel mattress groaning in protest beneath his weight. 

At least he looked like he wasn’t about to try and get up any time soon. 

The soft hum of the window AC unit filled the room, a pleasant contrast to the guitar riffs of the hair bands the bar had played all night. Buck filled up two cups of water, leaving one on his bedside table before settling down on the mattress beside Tommy and nudging him until he sat up. 

“Here, drink this,” he said and helped Tommy tilt the glass up to his mouth without spilling it all over himself. 

Tommy was pawing at him as soon as Evan’s hands were free. “Evan, Evan–” he said, reaching out to grip Buck’s face with both hands, pulling him closer. The special smile Buck was beginning to learn was just for him, creasing his face. “You wanna hear a secret?”

“Of course, anything,” Buck said, letting himself be manhandled and feeling real goopy and affectionate about it. 

“I love you,” Tommy said, with a lot of eye contact and the sort of drunken earnesty that made Buck’s heart just about trip out of his chest. Then Tommy frowned, his gaze going unfocused. “I’m going to be really sad if we break up.”

Buck allowed himself a chuckle at the sudden, unwarranted disappointment in Tommy’s expression. “Me too, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.” 

“Really?” Tommy asked, perking up.

“Really. I love you too, and I’m going to remind you of that tomorrow when you forget all of this in the morning.”

“I won’t forget,” Tommy insisted. 

“Okay, whatever you say, boss.”

Buck went to the bathroom to hit the head and brush his teeth and by the time he returned Tommy had managed to wrestle out of his shoes and his pants, still spread out across the covers in his shirt and socks like a massive toddler. Buck shook his head, ditching his own shirt. Tommy reached out, making grabby hands at him as Buck kicked off his jeans and crawled under the sheets beside him. He was instantly wrapped in an only slightly sticky bear hug. 

He pressed a kiss to the cowlick at the top of Tommy’s head. “You’ve got some pretty great friends.”

With more awareness than Buck expected in his current state, Tommy said: “I hope Dave didn’t bother you too much tonight, I could tell he was giving you the third degree for a bit there.” 

“Dave and I are cool,” Buck assured. “I’m glad you have guys from back then who’ve still got your back.”

Tommy went quiet for a bit after that and Buck was just figuring out how he was going to wiggle out from beneath his boyfriend without waking him to turn off the lights when Tommy muttered, “I’m glad you came with me. I was tired of coming to these by myself.”

“Any time you want, I’ve got your back too you know,” Buck whispered, holding Tommy tight in the cradle of his arms. 

“I know,” Tommy said, and Buck fell asleep to the thump of Tommy’s heartbeat pressed against his own. 

[goldenseresinretriever]

False Confidence: Chapter 7

Pairing: Javy “Coyote” Machado x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: The Athletic named Javy Machado the fifth sluttiest player in the NHL last year. He’s a known playboy who leaves every game with a different girl. As far as he’s concerned he’s living the dream, playing his dream job with the dream lifestyle. Unfortunately his friends and bosses don’t agree. At 33, they think it’s time for him to settle down. You’re a kindergarten teacher at an esteemed private school. You don't expect much when you finally accept your colleague’s invitation to attend her husband’s hockey game but when you accidentally get separated in the post-game rush, you find yourself in a compromising situation with the last person you’d ever expected to meet. When his PR rep suggests a mutually beneficial agreement, your hands are tied. How long will you have to keep up the act? And how long will you be able to?

Chapter CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, angst, fluff, fake relationship, mentions of death, suggestive language, anxiety, school system inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: This one’s kind of quick but it is what it is

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

When you wake up on Wednesday, the shame and anxiety that clawed your heart to sleep last night have melted into simmering anger that licks into white-hot fury as the day goes on. Last night when you’d left the bar, you’d felt so stupid. Stupid for believing that Javy respected you enough to be loyal to your agreement even if he didn’t have to be loyal to you. That’s the thing, the women didn’t bother you. You’d known what you were getting into the second Javy shoved his tongue down your throat the day you met. That and when you’d made it clear that you had no intention of warming his bed, you’d acknowledged that someone else probably would be. You’d just hoped he would respect you enough to have a little discretion. Zam was right, the bar was full of people with phones, cameras, and social media that would have eaten photos of Javy and those girls right up.

This time when you pull into the parking garage at Hard Deck Arena, your hands don’t shake as you hold back the urge to slam your car door as your flats slap against the concrete floors and the sound echoes through the space. You wrench the door to the arena open and trust your feet as they guide you to the door marked with the pink plaque. You knock on the door and thankfully a voice from inside calls out for you to enter. You barely wait for the door to shut before the words are out of your mouth. “I want out.” Zam looks up from her computer, pink lips parting slightly in surprise, though whether that’s due to your unexpected visit or what you’ve just said, you’re unsure. When she doesn’t answer, you enunciate the words again. “I. Want. Out. I’m done with the contract.” That seems to burst whatever bubble she’s trapped in.

“Roadie…” She says and you shake your head.

“No Zam, I’m done. I mean it.” Her lips purse into a thin line and she nods slowly. “Is there something I need to sign or anything? I can’t exactly afford a lawyer right now but I can try and figure out something if I have to.” You’re running out of steam now that Zam’s confirmed that you can get out of the contract. Relief washes cool through your veins, soothing the anger that’s been powering you all day.

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s not like you’re on our payroll or anything. The contract was more of a formality for the legal team in case things went sideways for any particular reason. “Consider it done unless you want to rip the physical copy up for closure.”

You’re surprised when you nod. “Yeah, I think I would actually,” she smiles faintly at that as she nods and gets up to root around in a file cabinet. She pulls a familiar sheet of paper out of a pink manila folder before she hands it over to you. You take a long look at the contract, unable to stop your eyes from wandering to the bottom of the page and tracing your and Javy’s signatures. This is for the best. You grip the top of the paper and rip. The sound seems to echo in the quiet of the room. That is, until the door swings open without warning and Javy walks into Zam’s office unannounced.

“Zam have you heard from-“ he blinks, surprised, as he takes in the sight of you, blinking back at him wide-eyed. “…Roadie.” You’ve moved to tear the contract smaller and you break the silence with the sound before you’re attempting to make it past Javy to the door of Zam’s office. Javy sticks an arm out to grab the door that’s still in the process of swinging closed behind him, effectively barring your path. “Hey Roadie, I’ve been trying to reach you all day.” You blocked his number last night once you got home. Originally you’d planned for it to be temporary while you gathered your thoughts. Now you doubt it’s a decision that will ever be undone.

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes and school your features, pressing the torn pieces of the contract into his chest which he has the sense to grab with his free hand while you duck under his arm, making your escape. You don’t look back as you call out to him. “Goodbye, Javy.”

***

Javy leans on the doorbell with a force that he should be concerned about, but he can’t find himself to care. The sound of a chorus of barks makes him slump with relief until the door swings open and it’s not who he’s looking for. Bugs is standing in the doorway, arms crossed across her chest as Pudding and Taz squirm from where they're sitting behind her legs, no doubt commanded to remain there by their mother. Her brow is furrowed and she’s glaring at him. While Javy’s been on the other side of Zam’s wrath, he’s had yet to cross his best friend’s girlfriend and somehow her wrath is scarier than his PR rep’s. He swallows, hard.

“Bugs,” he acknowledges and her brow furrows deeper but she doesn’t say a word. “Listen, is Jake here?” He asks, scratching the back of his neck, the tension making him uncomfortable. She hums in a way that gives him nothing before stepping back from the doorway and jerking her chin towards the living room, a silent invitation for him to come in.

He steps into the house and Bugs directs the dogs to move for him before she leads them off to where he assumes she’s planning to keep them while he and Jake talk. Javy’s surprised to find the living room is empty when he gets there, however, and just as he’s about to turn around and search for either of the house’s inhabitants, Bug’s voice startles him. “Sit down, Javy.” The firmness of her tone doesn’t leave room for argument so he sits down on the couch, awkwardly. She stands across from him. “Javy, four months ago you were asking me not to hurt Jake and now I feel like we’ve reversed roles here.” Her anger melts and Javy gets a look at the tired woman behind her anger. “What you did was cruel, Javy. I don’t know why you did it, and maybe I don’t deserve to know, but she does, Javy. She deserves closure even if she can’t have your respect.”

The sound of the front door breaks the silence followed by the sound of Jake’s voice. “Bunny, I’m home, are you here?”

“In the living room, babe, we’ve got company.”

Jake appears in the living room a few moments later, hair pushed back and damp with sweat. He looks like he’s just gotten back from a run. “Javy,” he says and Javy nods to acknowledge his best friend. Jake looks between Javy and Bugs before he tilts his head towards the back door. “Come for a walk with me?” He asks and Javy nods again, wordlessly before he stands and leads the way to the back door.

Jake doesn’t say anything until they’ve made it halfway down the beach behind the house. “So, Javy what are you doing here?” He asks like he doesn’t already know.

“Look, man, I…” Javy trails off, letting his eyes follow the water as it laps up against their bare feet. “I fucked up. I know that.” Jake shakes his head.

“You didn’t just fuck up, Javy,” Jake says, and Javy flinches at the bitterness in Jake’s voice. “You made a promise to Roadie. You signed a damn contract, and then not only did you embarrass her, but you did it at an event YOU invited her to. What the actual FUCK, man? What did that sweet girl ever do to deserve that?” He shakes his head. “Hell, Javy I signed off on this, I let this happen, and you went and did something not only extremely rude but it was cruel. And I know no matter what happened between the two of you, she didn’t deserve that, Javy. Not from anyone, and certainly not from you.”

“I know I just…”

“You just WHAT, Javy?!” Jake snaps finally and Javy looks up, surprised. Jake’s genuinely upset with him. “I’ve kept my mouth shut for years man, because no matter what you were doing at least it was mutually understood between you and whatever girl you were fooling around with that it wasn’t serious. No one was getting hurt so I kept my damn mouth shut and let it happen. I thought one day you’d wake up from whatever daydream it is you’re stuck in and decide to grow up even if you didn’t want to settle down because I respect that if that’s not something you want. And then Roadie got involved and I thought maybe it was the start of something new and maybe she’d be the catalyst that got you to change and not only did you not change but someone actually got hurt this time, Javy.”

“Don’t pretend that you understand,” Javy grits out, fists tightening next to him.

“Understand what, Javy? What is there to understand? I’ve been begging you to explain it for years and you refuse to-”

“Because you wouldn’t get it!” Javy snaps, turning on Jake. “And don’t you dare pretend to understand because you don’t!”

“Why, why wouldn’t I-”

“BECAUSE YOU LEFT!” Javy snaps and Jake has the good sense to look surprised. “You left Arizona and you never once thought about how that affected everyone else, about how that affected me!” His chest is heaving as the anvil that’s been sitting on it for years lifts. “And I didn’t hate you for it, I really tried not to. You had a chance to be close to home and you took it and I couldn’t be mad, I really couldn’t. You were amazing and you were destined for greatness and maybe it was childish of me, but I always thought we’d be great together.” He shakes his head, trying to ignore the sting of tears threatening to push their way to the surface. “And then, after I’d finally made peace with it, you got hurt, left Dallas, and came to San Diego, knowing I would be there, and you didn’t even bother to give me a heads up. You were my brother, Jake, I always considered you one. But somewhere along the way, you reminded me that I’m not, not really.”

Jake has the good sense to look embarrassed. “Okay, Javy, I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I didn’t realize me going to Dallas meant so much to you. And I know I’ve already apologized for what happened when I came here and I know I can’t do anything to make up for what I did, but I’m going to work every single day to try and make up for that.” He shakes his head. “But why does Roadie have to pay for my mistakes?” He asks and Javy feels his chest squeeze uncomfortably.

“I never knew my dad,” Javy whispers and he hates how quiet his voice sounds. “You know that.” He swallows, hard. “And my uncle passed when we were in college. The two most important men in my life were gone before I even turned 20. And then you left too. Everyone was leaving and I didn’t know how to cope with it. I didn’t want to be alone. I hated the way it made me feel and I didn’t want to feel that way anymore. I didn’t want to be alone, but I also didn’t ever want to be the reason someone felt the way I did.” He shrugs, lightly. “So I made sure that couldn’t happen.”

“By keeping things casual.” Jake finishes and Javy nods. “The problem is, someone actually got hurt this time.” Javy sighs deeply.

“Yeah, someone actually got hurt this time.”

“If you don’t want to hurt anyone, why did you do it?” Jake asks, but all the malicious ferocity from earlier has left his voice.

Javy shakes his head. “It was supposed to be fake, you know? It wasn’t supposed to be real, but damn it, it started feeling real. Or at least as real as I can remember anything feeling. I didn’t think, I invited her to karaoke without really thinking about it, and then the moment I had a moment to actually think about it, I panicked. Then those girls were there and it was just so easy to slip into old patterns so I did it without thinking.” He takes a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.” He hates how weak his voice sounds. “And I don’t know how to make it right.”

“Do you want to?” Jake asks, finally looking at Javy and Javy forces himself to meet the other man’s eyes.

“More than anything.” He pauses for a long moment. “She told Zam she wanted out of the contract. She ripped it up and threw it in my face.”

Jake lets out a chuckle, “good for her.” Javy finds himself matching the smile.

“Honestly, yeah,” he lets his mind drift for a second before his smile widens. “You know, she threw Josie Fitch’s expensive-ass shoes off the edge of the freeway?” Jake barks out a laugh and Javy chuckles in response.

“Did she really?” Javy nods.

“I think that’s the moment I fell in love with her,” Jake’s mouth drops open slightly before he attempts to school his features but Javy catches it. “If you ever tell anyone I said that, I’ll use your spare key and murder you in the dead of night.” Jake mimes zipping his lips before throwing the invisible key into the ocean.

“So what are you going to do to get her back?” Jake asks and Javy smiles to himself.

“I think I have a plan.”

***

It’s been two weeks since you ended the contract. Two weeks since you’ve been to Hard Deck Arena, and two weeks since you last saw Javy. For the most part, your life has gone back to the way it was. Well, except that everyone still thinks you’re dating Javy, not that you’ve done anything to correct them. In your defense, the conversations have never been directed to you so much as at you as you walk into the teachers’ lounge too quickly for the conversation to die before your arrival, or some people simply feeling shameless enough to quiet their voices in your presence.

Today, however, you don’t have time to worry about the whispers as you struggle to accommodate the horde of adults crowding into your classroom that’s never felt small until this exact moment. You try to push down the feeling of embarrassment that’s been plaguing you all morning. In your rush this morning, you’d opted for a cheerful top and jeans for comfort and ease but now, surrounded by suits and smart-looking dresses that make your classroom smell faintly of starch, you feel severely under-dressed. Both students and parents alike are buzzing with excitement as you try and finalize a lineup that allows for the busier parents to get back to their jobs as soon as possible when a knock at your door makes you look up.

Your heart stops in surprise as you see the faces on the other side of the glass. You wave the unexpected visitors in before you can stop yourself and suddenly your room is even more full as two hockey players make their way into the room. Javy gives you a rueful smile while Jake is full-on grinning as he waves at the kids who are gaping at the players. Jake’s simply dressed in his jersey over jeans but Javy’s fully suited up except for his skates that he’s holding in one hand while the other is carrying an equipment bag.

“Mr. Machado!” One of the kids calls out and you push past a group of parents currently snapping photos of the players.

“Jake, Javy,” you shake your head as you try to wrap your head around the situation. “What are you doing here?”

Javy shrugs. “You asked if I would come to Career Day. I know you the deal is over but since I got dinner and lunch, I thought I owed you at least this. And if not for you, then for the kids.” He adds on quickly and you nod before you can stop yourself. Just because you’ve gotten a little braver in the last month doesn’t mean you’re ready to have a fight with your ex-fake-boyfriend in front of your entire class and their parents.

“Okay, okay. Um, just have a seat over there,” you motion over to where the other parents are gathered. “Oh!” You remember as they’re walking past you. Both boys turn to you. “Are you good with going last or do you need to get back to work?” Your brain is screaming at the idea of having to reorder the schedule, especially when a mom in a pantsuit who’s scheduled to go first is currently glaring daggers at the back of your head for the holdup. Jake shakes his head.

“We’ll go whenever you’re ready for us.” You give him an appreciative look and mouth a thank you at them as you head back to the front of the room.

***

An hour later, the last busy parent has just escaped your classroom after waving hurriedly back at their kid and you let your shoulders slump slightly in relief. Of course, there are a few parents remaining that have taken the day off to be here and they’re chatting amongst themselves. You motion over to Jake and Javy who’ve honestly been holding the attention of your class the entire time. As much as the other parents had tried to sway them, their tiny minds were in awe of the bright jerseys and Javy’s equipment.

The boys make their way to the front of the classroom and the class cheers. “Hey guys, it’s nice to see you all again!” Javy greets them and a chorus rises across the classroom.

“Hi, Mr. Machado!” Jake mimes grabbing his chest in response and they all giggle as he introduces himself and enjoys his own hello. You watch on fondly as the boys explain what they do for a living, Jake using Javy as a mannequin to explain the different parts of hockey gear.

Then they move on to the bag Javy brought and then the boys are handing around hockey pucks, one for each one of your students. They’re emblazoned with the Dogfighters’ logo and you watch as your students turn them over in their tiny hands, eyes wide in awe. Your heart aches at the kindness and thoughtfulness of the gift. These kids will remember this moment forever. Javy and Jake are holding up hockey sticks and showing off how to hit a puck with the stick.

Once the demonstration is over, Javy and Jake patiently field questions from the kids and while Jake’s explaining why they can’t wear their skates in the classroom, Javy turns to look at you and you feel your face heat as you’re caught staring. You give him a tiny wave and the corner of his mouth quirks upward and he gives you a tiny wave back. He turns back in time to answer a question from another one of your students.

By the time the bell rings for lunch, your students are still on a roll peppering the boys with questions and you have to corral them into a line and out the door. When you get back from dropping them off, you thank the parents that are left and see them out before you turn to your surprise visitors, crossing your arms across your chest as you regard them warily, the unease creeping into your mind now that you’re alone with them. “Thanks for having us today, Roadie!” Jake says goodnaturedly, as he collects the equipment they brought with them. He turns to Javy, “You should get changed.” Javy nods and gives you a nod before he heads towards the door.

“Oh! If you want, the staff bathrooms are a lot more private. Here I’ll get you my key-” You reach for your neck, rummaging through the keys on your lanyard as a knock sounds and you turn to see Josie leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey boys, I thought I heard familiar voices in here.” She says as she takes in Jake and Javy. You continue to fumble with your keys as speak up. “They came by for career day.”

“Did they now?” Josie says, a thoughtful look in her eye as she regards you a little too cooly and you abandon your key struggle.

“Actually, I should probably walk you down there myself.” You gesture for Javy to follow you, and you try to ignore the knowing look that Josie gives you as you pass her and she steps into your classroom. Once you’re out of earshot you turn to Javy to kill the silence of the hallway. “Thanks for coming today, I can tell it meant a lot to the kids. They’re going to remember today for the rest of their lives, and the pucks were such thoughtful gifts.”

“We actually wanted to bring shirts, but I wasn’t sure what everyone’s sizes were and Josie could only really just get us a head count.” Your heart squeezes slightly at the thought that Javy had reached out to Josie to ask for her help. “I was thinking, and Jake said we could talk to the front office about it, but maybe we could arrange for the kids to come to the arena for a field trip? They could hit some pucks and maybe watch practice? It could be fun.” Your heart squeezes tighter.

“I think they’d like that a lot. I can talk to our front office too and see what I can do on my end.” You say, giving him a tight smile as you reach the staff bathroom. You unlock the door and hold it open for him and you have a sudden thought. “Are you going to need any help with… any of it?” Javy chuckles and shakes his head.

“Don’t worry, Meep, I do this every day, I’ve got it, but thanks for asking.” You take your lanyard off and hand it to him, trying to ignore the fact that he’s still using that name.

“Here, so you don’t have to worry about rushing because I’m waiting. Just lock up when you’re done.” You show him which key as you place the lanyard in his outstretched hand.

“Hey, Meep?” He calls out as you turn to go and you look back at him. “Do you always worry about other people like that?” You tilt your head to the side slightly, surprised by his question.

“Yes, why?”

“It’s nothing,” he says and then he pauses before he speaks up again as you’re about to walk away again. “Isn’t it hard? Worrying about everyone all the time?” You feel your cheeks heat as you shrug in a way that probably looks more like a grimace.

“I’m used to it.” You say simply before you walk back to your classroom.

A/N: I know that this one leaves off on a bit of a cliff hanger but it was a lot to try to jam into one chapter.

[jgroffdaily]

A few things we learned about Jonathan during the promotion of ‘Merrily We Roll Along’:

1. He’s in therapy. He told Daniel Radcliffe and Lindsay Mendez during a Tonys Instagram takeover that he had therapy that morning, and was feeling “very processed”. Video below.

2. In the ‘Out’ Magazine interview Jonathan said he wants to buy the first bar where Barbra Streisand reportedly first sang publicly, which is now an occupied restaurant.

The actor wants to one day buy a Village restaurant called & Son Steakeasy, which used to be the site of the Lion, a gay bar where Streisand first sang publicly during a singing contest (according to a plaque there, at least). His goal is “turning it back into a gay bar and calling it BARbra.” A neon “BARbra” sign even hangs in his Merrily dressing room as a reminder of this dream.

3. In the same interview, he says he's happy to remain single or be in a relationship:

“I’ve been single now for a couple of years and I’m feeling…ready and open for anything. If that’s continuing with that, if that’s a relationship, I’m cool with that.”

4. At the Out Magazine Pride Cover Party he said:

“I’m single. I’m feeling full of pride. And PrEP.”

Bonus quote from the Buzzfeed puppies interview:

"I’m clearly the single one of the three of because the puppies know. I need love.”

5. In the New Yorker interview, he discussed moving to New York at 19:

The first month that I was here, feeling so lost and confused, I pulled the Bible that my Mennonite grandmother gave me off the bookshelf. She gave me that Bible before I left town. I was alone in the apartment thinking, What the fuck am I doing in New York? Or not even “what the fuck”—I didn’t swear until “Spring Awakening,” and when I would sing “Totally Fucked” I would get beet red. And I remember putting the Bible down and thinking, This is not the answer. This is not making me feel good. And then running to Central Park and standing in front of the Bethesda Fountain. I was nineteen, and I was, like, This feels better—but, like, What? Who am I? What am I doing here? I know I want to act, but I’m so scared. And gay. But it was something—some voice, some passion, some inspiration. Some something brought me here.

6. He's very competitive: asked how ambitious he was on a scale from 1 to 10 he says a 10 (to Broadwaycom at the Tonys junket).

7. He says he's “not really a dog person” in the Buzzfeed interview.

8. He talked more about his relationship with Gavin Creel in interviews with Out and Interview than he has previously, including this quote to Interview:

GROFF: I froze. I hadn’t even thought about coming out as a public person. She [interviewer] was like, “Oh my god, never mind. I’m so sorry.” And then she moved along. And I really remember this moment of looking over to the right and seeing Gavin. He had also just recently come out a year or two before, and seeing him with a bullhorn corralling the people, god, I was so in love with him. I was like, “Oh my god, I am coming out. I’m coming out. I’m coming out.” So I went back over to her and I was like, “Hi, please excuse my hesitation, I’m gay.” And that was how I came out publicly at the March on Washington for Marriage Equality.

9. His 30th birthday alone was a happy birthday (in the New Yorker):

I remember it vividly. We were at the Public Theatre. There was a fire in the East Village, and the show was cancelled that night. I got a cupcake at the deli around the corner from my apartment, on Sixteenth Street, and ate it by myself. I can be a bit of a loner, so that was a happy birthday for me.

10. He said in the Buzzfeed interview the best present he has received from a fan was a signature of King George III, and he hung it in his apartment.

[blueraineshadows]

Yes, Professor

Professor Sebastian Sallow x F!MC 👀🔥

NSFW 🌶 🔞 Part One of MC's University level education experience with a rather familiar Professor. A little spicy to get us started.

As MC walked towards the lecture halls, her eyes swept up over the huge main atrium of the Ministry, dodging the bustling crowds of employees dashing off to their various offices. It was her first time here, and she gaped at the grand scale of everything.

In her hand she clutched the piece of parchment that gave her instructions on what was expected of her on her first day, and after taking a ride in a rather bizarre lift, she found herself in the education department. A kindly looking witch sat at the reception desk, and MC approached nervously. It had been a while since she had sat in a classroom, 3 years to be exact, and she had a twinge of anxiety.

"Good morning, I have a class with a Professor..." MC scanned her parchment instructions to remind herself. "...McNeath, for Magical Ancient Studies."

The older witch smiled up at her. "Ah yes, you're right on time," she said, warmly. She gave MC an apologetic look. "However, Professor McNeath has had to step down from taking the class, for personal reasons, I'm afraid. But not to worry, we have a replacement, and he is highly recommended for the role. You will now be taught by Professor Sallow, and you will be in lecture room three which is just down this hall to the left."

MC stilled, her mouth slightly parted, her fingers clutching a little tighter to her parchment letter. "I'm sorry, forgive me," she said, licking her dry lips. "You did just say, Professor Sallow, didn't you?"

"Yes, that's right," she replied. Her eyes scanned MC quickly and a worried crease appeared on her brow. "Is that a problem?"

Was it? MC felt a flutter of panic as she thought back to when she had last seen Sebastian Sallow, not long after graduation if she remembered correctly - in a bar, and they had got drunk...

They had been quite close at school, and they certainly had some dark history between them, secrets they swore they would take to their graves. But, she hadn't seen him for years. It was quite sad really how they had lost touch. She certainly hadn't known he was a professor now.

But, wasn't she getting ahead of herself here? Surely Sebastian wasn't the only living Sallow in the world, so it might not even be him. It might be some stuffy old man in a moth eaten suit for all she knew.

MC glanced down the hall in the direction the receptionist had indicated she needed to go and took a shaky breath. She managed a small smile and turned her gaze back to the witch's worried face. "No problem at all," MC said. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Oh, good. I can assure you, Professor Sallow is quite the gentleman," she said, relieved. She tapped an open book on the table. "Sign in here and then make your way to class. I hope you enjoy it."

MC felt her anxiety switch up a notch as she approached a pair of black double doors with a brass number three fixed on a plaque beside it. She hesitated and smoothed her palms over her hips, looking down at her smart skirt and blouse. She patted at her hair that was twisted up at the back of her head, a few loose strands softening her face.

She felt ridiculous worrying about her appearance. Why should she care? It wasn't going to be him.

But, what if it was?

There was only one way to find out. She pushed at the heavy, wooden door and slipped into the lecture room.

Immediately, she was impressed with the size of the room, the tall arched ceilings and grand mullioned windows made her think of Hogwarts. Her heels clicked on the stone flooring as she made her way past the rows of tables, students already seated with parchment and quill to hand. One wall was covered with huge, fully stocked bookcases, and nearer the front was a selection of chalk boards on wheels. Front and centre before the far wall was a large wooden desk, and behind it stood her new professor.

MC paused in her step. That was no old man in a moth eaten suit. Oh fuck! MC made a small strangled sound in her throat as her gaze swept over the tall figure of Sebastian Sallow.

He had matured into a fine looking man indeed. His hair was still a little unkempt, brunette locks tumbling above his forehead, but his shoulders had broadened rather fetchingly, and he had a pair of spectacles on as he read from a book on the desk in front of him. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, his shirt a deep blue colour matched with a black vest and tie. He leant a hand against the desk, bending to pore over the book and she had a flash of memory, hours spent in the Hogwarts library with him, often by candlelight.

A memory of soft lips on her neck, warm hands on her hips...

MC cleared her throat and spotted an empty seat a few rows back and hurried towards it. She sat down and busied her hands with getting her notebook and quill ready, her fingers fumbling as she tried to open her ink.

She hadn't gone to his bed that night. It had stopped after some rather passionate kisses against her lodgings door. He had walked her home, ever the gentleman, and she had given in to her secret, desperate urges for him. Luckily, it had stopped before it got out of hand.

Luckily, or regrettably? It was an ongoing debate.

Peering across the room at Sebastian and remembering that rather fluster enducing moment had warmth creeping into her cheeks. Would he remember it? She twirled her quill in her fingers and glanced around at the other students, searching for a distraction.

There were a varied bunch of students of all ages, and MC felt a little more relaxed about that side of things. She had feared she might look out of place, but perhaps not. Her urge to return to her studies had been a strong one after two years travelling. There had been much to discover and it opened up new questions regarding ancient magical practises. She had always felt one step behind her fellow students at school having started so late, and she still felt like she had a lot to learn. Coming here to study ancient history in magic had seemed like a good place to begin, plus, she did have a head start on the subject.

Her eyes were drawn to the front of the class as Professor Sallow called for their attention, his voice a familiar sound that sent a shiver of memory through her.

Oh, for goodness sake, she was not an awkward 16 year old any longer, she was a woman grown. And, he was not a roguish teenage boy anymore with a terrible habit of making her blush, he was her professor.

She took a deep, steadying breath, and tried to focus. She was here to learn after all.

....*....

When Sebastian had scanned through the student roll before taking his first class, he had paused when his eyes fell upon one name in particular. Why was the Hero of Hogwarts taking a class here? Anticipation had thrummed through him.

He was not new to teaching, he had taught classes before, but this last minute step-in had been a great opportunity for him to work at a more advanced level. His ultimate goal was a permanent position, and this would be good experience. So, while he hadn't been particularly nervous, he had felt the tremor of apprehension as he entered his classroom for today. And it was because of her.

He hadn't seen her since she had kissed him goodnight at her door. He could still remember the feel of her in his arms, how much he had wanted more, but he had been a gentleman. He had held back. And then, the next day, she had disappeared without a word.

Now, as he stood before a class of eager students, she was sitting there at her desk, eyes on him, looking as beautiful as she always had. Pushing down the memories of how his sixteen year old self had been under the influence of a ferocious crush, he took a deep breath and got his brain in professor mode.

"Good morning, and thank you for coming to Ancient Studies class today. I am Professor Sallow, and for today's lesson we will be outlining what these classes will cover, and familiarising ourselves with the subject matter. However, let's start things off by introducing ourselves."

A collection of sighs and shuffling seats sounded throughout the room and his lips twitched up into a smirk. It was the standard reaction he had come to find. He strolled around his desk and flipped open the student register. "Let's start with Mr Abbot, shall we? Tell us, what brings you to this class today."

Following through the list, they began to introduce themselves, and it was rather a mixed bunch of people, but they all seemed keen which was a good start. When it came to MC's name on the list, he had to pause for a second to steady himself before he spoke her name aloud. When he did, there were a few muttered whispers around the room. It wasn't surprising really, her name and photo had been all over the Daily Prophet more than once.

His eyes lifted to meet hers, no need to scan the room to see who it would be to stand next. She met his gaze and for a blistering second, it could have been just them two in the room, her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink and he had to force his mouth to stay neutral. Oh, how he loved to make her blush.

"Hello, my name is MC, and some of you may recognise me from the newspaper. I have the ability to wield Ancient Magic, and I have spent the last two years travelling the world and searching out magic hotspots. I was intrigued by other magical cultures and their history, and that is what brings me to this class today."

Hearing her voice made his heart pound a little. To say he hadn't missed her would be a lie. The friendship they had forged as kids had been one he had wanted to hang to, but sadly life had got in the way. He was already intrigued to hear about her travels, his thirst for knowledge and information a constant pull, but he had to be professional. Being her professor came with a set of rules regardless of their age now. It was the department's policy.

He smiled with genuine warmth however. "Thank you, Miss MC. Welcome to my class."

....*....

Her parchment pages were filling up with notes, and she listened attentively to Professor Sallow's lesson. He was good, she realised, assured, and passionate about his subject. Glancing around at the other students, she could see she wasn't the only one caught up in his enthusiasm. She was already looking forward to getting stuck in to his suggested reading list as well.

As the class came to an end, she began to put away her things. The girl who had sat beside her smiled. "This was much better than I thought it was going to be," she said. "I'm Bella, by the way, and I must say, it was rather an honour to sit next to the Hero of Hogwarts. I graduated last summer, I was there when you saved our school."

"Oh, really?" MC smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Bella. And honestly, the whole hero thing is a little over rated. I did have some help."

"I'm sure you're just being modest," Bella said. She glanced towards the front of the class and frowned curiously. "I'm fairly sure our professor went to Hogwarts too, he looks a little familiar."

"Oh, well, yes he did," MC said. "He was in my year group in fact, although not in my House."

Her eyes brightened. "Merlin, of course! You were duelling partners in Crossed Wands! Oh, how exciting! Are you two friends?"

"Erm, no, not really. In fact, I hadn't seen Professor Sallow since school before today," she said. Her eyes skipped away from Bella's at the lie as they stood and moved towards the centre walkway.

"He is awfully handsome," she whispered. "I wish all professors looked as he does, it certainly makes for a lovely view."

"Perhaps," MC said. Her lips thinned a little. "I'm not sure it's very appropriate, though."

"Oh, of course," Bella said, quickly. A blush stained her cheeks. "Still, no harm in admiring from afar, is there? I will see you next lesson, nice to chat with you."

Bella's cheeks remained flushed as she hurried from the class, MC watching her go. The girl's words had irritated her somewhat, and she couldn't help the frown that creased her brow.

"Oh dear, my lesson wasn't that bad, was it? You look positively vexed."

Her gaze swung to meet with warm brown eyes, and an irresistible smirk. Her face relaxed. "Hello Sebas...erm, I mean, Professor," she said. Her cheeks flamed at the stumble.

His smile widened. "It's going to take some getting used to, am I right?"

"Maybe a little," she agreed. Maybe a lot. She glanced around as the students were filing out, the room almost empty now. "I think being a professor suits you. I enjoyed your class."

Seemingly pleased at her praise he held out his hand toward his desk. "Do you have a moment? I would like to show you something."

"Of course," she said.

She followed her Professor towards his large desk, her gaze wandering over his back and down towards his hips as he walked. She clutched her notebook tightly in her hands. Hadn't she just snipped at Bella for being this inappropriate? Fool.

Averting her gaze she stood before the desk as he circled around it. "I came across a book not so long ago that made me think of you," he said. He shuffled some old tomes in a pile and pulled one out. "Ah, this is the one." He held the book out to her. "This isn't on the reading list, however, I think you might find it interesting."

MC looked down at the old leather bound book. 'Ancient Magic, Truth or Myth'. She lifted her eyes to his, surprised. "Where did you get this?"

He gave her his trademark smirk. "I have my ways. You know me."

"I do, or rather I did," she said, taking the book. "It's been a while, but it's nice to hear that some things haven't changed. I shall look forward to reading it."

"Let me know what you think. I'm interested in your views on it, almost as much as I'm intrigued about your travels. You shall have to catch me up when you have the time," he said. His face took on a serious look. "In a strictly professional sense, of course."

MC stared at him across the desk and swallowed, nodding. Was that disappointment sliding through her stomach? Of course it would be in a professional sense. An exchange of views between a professor and his student. It was best to start as things were meant to go on, wasn't it?

"Of course, Sir," she said, politely. "I would be happy to."

While his face remained quietly serious, his eyes flashed with something a little more fiery when she called him sir. He nodded, his gaze flicking away for a moment, and he shuffled some parchment on his desk. "Great, well I won't keep you any longer," he said. "See you next class, Miss MC."

"Goodbye, Professor Sallow," she nodded.

It took everything in her not to look back over her shoulder as she left his lecture room.

....*....

"Ancient Egypt," Professor Sallow said. He wrote the words on his blackboard, before turning back to his class. "A fascinating culture that is filling up the Muggle newspapers at an alarming rate, archaeologists making brand new discoveries everyday while they try to understand what it all means. Has anyone here been taking an interest?"

MC glanced around the room and saw a few nods. She had definitely taken an interest and consumed every news article and pamphlet she could get her hands on. She sat, quill poised, attentive. Beside her, sat Bella, her blouse open at the throat and her eyes fixed dreamily on the professor. MC resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"There are many secrets to uncover in Egypt, and in the magical sense, a whole lot more," Professor Sallow continued. "I'd like you to open your texts to page 227 and take a look at the star charts printed there, for Egyptians were top class Astronomers and the building of their structures is no happy accident."

Once again, MC was completely engrossed in her lesson, her quill scratching out her notes as fast as her hand would allow. She even raised her hand to offer some words of her own, the professor's eyes warming when he invited her to speak.

"There has been much speculation around hidden, secret chambers beneath the Sphinx," she said. "There has been talk of enchantments concealing such secrets below the ground."

As their eyes met, his smile was one of knowing, a teasing glint in his eye as he nodded. "Indeed there is," he said. "What I wouldn't give to go snooping around in such places? Imagine the secrets you could uncover."

MC blushed, memories of sneaking about the castle at night, exploring hidden caves in the Highlands drifting through her mind. She tried to imagine doing similar things with him in the mysterious desert plains of Egypt and it made her heart flutter quickly. In the look they exchanged in those brief seconds, the memories tumbled madly, experiences shared.

As he moved on with his lecture, Bella leant in towards MC. "I thought you said you two weren't close?" She whispered.

"We're not," MC said, quickly. She wouldn't look at Bella, keeping her gaze fixed on her notes.

She heard the girl's huff of disbelief. "That was one hell of a look he gave you. I wish he looked at me like that."

"You're imagining things," she said, sighing.

MC looked at her professor, warmth gathering deep in her belly at the mere suggestion of being close with him. Her gaze lingered on those long fingered hands, the curve of his lips, and the tempting curve of his bottom as he turned to write on the blackboard.

She closed her eyes and tried to refocus. She wanted to learn, she was here for knowledge, but Professor Sallow was becoming a rather dangerous distraction.

....*....

By the fourth lesson, MC realised that she was slipping deeper and deeper into the realms of a crush. She refused to put any other name to it. It was a crush on an old school friend, nothing more.

But, my goodness, was it distracting!

When he walked past her desk, his scent lingered behind him, teasing her senses with that and the way he moved, his hands gesturing as he spoke with passion about his subject.

Her eyes followed him, as did the girl's next to her, and MC hated the bitter sting of jealousy that was coiling in her gut. Bella was clearly equally enamoured with their professor, and she found every excuse to remain after class, or get his attention.

After a lesson on magical Ancient Greek symbols, Bella was up out of her seat, adjusting her blouse just so, before sauntering off towards the professor's desk. MC gathered her things with a sour grimace at the welcoming smile Sebastian offered Bella on her approach. Ever the charming gentleman so he was.

With an assignment to write, MC made her way to the Ministry's library. It was fast becoming one of her favourite places to be. She had adored the Hogwarts library, but this one was a whole other level of perfect. The grand scale of it took her breath away, it was almost on a par with those beautiful religious buildings Muggles built centuries ago, with ornate stone columns and bookcases stretching forever in each direction, combined with intimate study spaces and comfortable seating.

She found her favourite spot and got out her things, burying her head into her books and losing herself for a couple of hours.

At the tread of soft footsteps she looked up, her cheeks immediately warming as Professor Sallow appeared beside her. He leant curiously over to see what she was working on and smiled. "Working hard I see," he said. His voice was low and soft in the quiet of the library, intimate, and it almost made her shiver.

"Well, I do have a Professor to impress," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'm afraid I've gone over the word count you suggested. I'm trying to edit it down, but I'm not having much luck."

"May I?" He asked. He indicated her parchment. She nodded and slid it across to him. He reached to pick it up, his fingertips grazing her hand. MC drew a swift breath in at the touch, her eyes flicking up to his a little alarmed, as she quickly put her hand into her lap. Oh my...

There was the barest flicker of reaction on his freckled face at the touch, before he slipped on his spectacles to read her work. Her heart pounded, cheeks too warm for the cool air of the library, and she tried not to stare at him. Since when did a pair of looking glasses look so bloody sexy?

He lifted an eyebrow, impressed. "You have certainly done your research," he said. His lips quirked. "It's nice to see some things haven't changed."

A call back to her words to him after the first class. She couldn't help but smile. "All or nothing," she said.

"I see you made mention of the great fire of Alexandria," he said. He looked at her. "It's painful when you think about all those lost scrolls, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Oh, absolutely, such a tragic loss. I would have lost myself for hours in such a place."

He gazed at her thoughtfully, something deep and intriguing in his gaze. Her pulse quickened under his stare, and then he was leaning in a little closer. "Would you like to know a secret?" He whispered. As entrancing as his eyes were, her gaze nevertheless risked a peek at his whispering lips. "I'm sure I can trust you with it. It's a Ministry secret after all."

"You can trust me," she whispered. "After all, I've got secrets I've kept from the Ministry."

His gaze held hers, more memories swirling between them. He nodded and continued. "The fire at Alexandria was deliberate, and certain important scrolls and texts were removed by wizards for safe keeping."

Her eyes widened. "Where are they?"

His smirk did delicious things to her insides. "Right here, under your very feet, in the Restricted Section of this library," he whispered. She shivered. Of course there was a Restricted Section. He slid his hand into his pocket. "And the best part is, I have a key."

He pulled out a key chain and held up an ornate iron key. She stared at it, her lips curving into a smile.

"Would you like to go and take a look? I can sneak you in," he offered.

She met his gaze. "Do you really have to ask?"

....*....

They were like teenagers again, casting glances over their shoulders as he led her down a narrow curving staircase. Anticipation thrummed with her pulse and her fingers trembled as they walked quickly, but quietly along a dark corridor. How was it that she was once again, sneaking into dark, forbidden places with Sebastian Sallow? She honestly couldn't seem to help herself.

As they approached an ornate iron gate, the design similar to his key, he paused, a gentle hand on her lower back as he listened for any sound of other people.

"There's not any Peeves type poltergeist menaces down here, are there?" She asked, quietly.

He chuckled. "No, there's that at least," he said. He slipped the key into the lock. "But, we must be quiet all the same. While not forbidden, a student down here after hours is not common practise. I may be accused of favoritism."

"Hmm, very unprofessional, sir," she said, playfully. "It's a good job I'm rather good at keeping your secrets."

To her surprise his cheeks turned a little pink. He cleared his throat and pushed open the gate, it swung open silently and they entered. He closed and locked it behind them, slipping the key back into his pocket.

She was utterly at his mercy, and she realised she was alright with that. He had always meant safety to her, something she had always been grateful for.

He led her through various aisles of bookcases and shelves stacked with various curiosities. Her eyes were everywhere and they exchanged smiles of understanding.

"This must be like your own personal heaven down here," she said.

He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "It certainly keeps me out of trouble."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Why do I find that hard to believe?"

"Come on, this way," he said. Whether out of habit, or not, he took hold of her hand as they walked. His palm was warm, comforting, familiar, and she didn't pull away.

The deeper they went the heavier the silence of the place surrounded them, it was like they were in their own little world. When he showed her the ancient scrolls, she almost cried at the significance of them, her fingers trembling to be able to touch such rare and important items.

"Merlin," she gasped. "I cannot believe it. Scrolls, from the Great Library of Alexandria! I must be dreaming!"

"You and me both," he said, softly.

She looked up at him, the air evaporating from her lungs at the way he was looking at her. Soft, but so very flammable. He reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, and then her lungs seemed to be working double time, desperate to draw in enough oxygen to keep up with her thudding heart.

Her lips parted without thought as his mouth lowered to hers. The softness of his kiss making her eyes flutter closed. He tasted of whiskey and peppermint, he smelled like home, and she melted into his touch as his hands grazed her waist.

As he deepened the kiss, his tongue flicking at her lips, she welcomed him, moaning softly. His grip tightened at her waist and her hands were in his hair, grazing at the tender flesh of his neck.

Their feet were moving and she felt the press of a bookcase up against her back, his mouth found her neck, hot and teasing. Her breaths sounded loud to her own ears but she was powerless to stop herself from sliding down this slippery slope.

"Sebastian," she whispered. It was a plea, an expression of her desire for him.

His face lifted to hers, his forehead resting against her own. "Call me Sir," he groaned.

Heat pierced through her core and her thighs clenched tightly. She stared into those deep brown eyes, drowning in them. "Yes, sir," she breathed.

He devoured her, pressing his hips into her eagerly, crushing her against the ancient books. His tongue fought for dominance and she let him win, his kiss deep, hungry and possessive.

His hands slid lower, gripping her hips, fingers sliding to tease her backside. She moaned into his mouth, her hips rolling eagerly towards him. Gods, she wanted him, all restraint withering under his touch. As she rocked against him, she felt the hard nudge of his arousal through their clothing, and both of them gasped.

He stilled, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Gods...MC..." His voice was tight, strained. "Forgive me," he whispered.

Reluctantly, he moved back away from her, breathing hard. Her fingers dragged over his shoulders, aching as he slipped from her grip. He turned to adjust his trousers, getting control of himself.

"It's alright," she panted.

"I shouldn't be taking advantage of you like that," he said. He turned to meet her gaze. "It could get us both into trouble. I'm sorry."

She bit her lower lip. Disappointment flooded through her, but she understood, no matter how hard it was. Her body ached for him, need so hot and desperate she was practically throbbing with it. She couldn't help herself, her lips lifted into a teasing smirk.

"Look at you sticking to the rules," she said. "I'm impressed...Sir."

His expression was pained. "Don't..."

She straightened, smoothing her hands over her clothing and patting her hair. "Sorry, Sir," she said. She gave him a sweet smile. "I promise to be a good girl from now on."

His eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't do that," he warned. "Don't tease me."

"Whatever do you mean?" She stared at him, her eyes wide and almost innocent. "Now, I thought you brought me down here to see forbidden ancient scrolls, Sir. Shall we continue?"

His jaw clenched and his throat worked, but he nodded. He gestured towards where the scrolls were. "Of course," he said.

As they finished up and snuck back out of the Restricted Section, MC couldn't help the flutter of anticipation for their next class. She would be sure to smile sweetly and call him Sir, knowing what secrets lurked in the dark between them.

To be continued... Part Two

[pineconeherb]

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[artsignworks]

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[portraitsofsaints]

Our Lady of Pontmain (Our Lady of Hope)

1871

Feast Day: January 17

Patronage: Pontmain, France and Hope

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Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase here: (website)

[mayson-jarz-artz101]

Umbrella Academy Rewrite

Episode one: The World We Knew (Over and Over)

April 5th, 2019

The Hargreeves family have just arrived in the brand new timeline. They argue on where to go, with Viktor saying they should try to stay together. The siblings eventually all go their separate ways and the camera fades to black with text appearing on screen saying February 17th, 2028…9 years later.

The camera pans over the city and then shows the siblings living their daily lives with “The World We Knew (Over and Over)” by Frank Sinatra playing.

Luther has a closeup shot when a pencil floats past his face. As the camera pulls away and turns around, he is shown to be floating upside down and wearing a blue suit with a NASA symbol.

A closeup shot of a police badge moving back and forth. The camera zooms out to show Diego running in a police uniform. He then catches up to a criminal and he tackles him to the ground. He places his hands behind his back and handcuffs him. Diego forces the criminal up and puts him into the back of a police car.

Allison is shown on a red carpet, flashing lights everywhere. She then turns and faces the camera, holding a bottle of laundry detergent. She puts on a fake smile and starts talking, doing an ad read.

Klaus walks out of a room and the camera focuses on a plaque that says “Dr. Ryans, psychologist.” It cuts back to Klaus putting on a new pair of blue surgical gloves and a new face mask. He then walks down the street and into another building where the camera leaves him to focus on a sign saying “Alcoholics Anonymous.”

Five is sitting in a car, fixing up his suit and tossing a folder into the glove box. The folder is shown to say “CIA: Confidential” written on the front. He picks up a picture of his husband and three kids. He smiles and puts the picture into his coat pocket. He gets out of the car.

Ben is wearing an orange jumpsuit and sitting down at a table with other inmates, playing cards.

Viktor is playing the violin in a bar called “White Violin.” The song fades out into a violin cover and then stops.Viktor sets the violin down and thanks the patrons for coming tonight. Viktor gets down from the stage and goes over to the bar where his wife, Bella, serves him a small glass of whiskey.

———————————————————————————

Bella: Good job tonight, babe. Everyone’s so happy..

———————————————————————————

She smiles as Viktor chuckles

———————————————————————————

Viktor: Yeah..it feels good seeing everyone smile..thanks for..encouraging me to play again. I kind of missed it..

Bella: Well, of course..you needed something to take your mind off everything else for a bit.

Viktor: “Everything else?”

Bella: Yeah..I see you staring at the picture of you and your family when we went to Five’s wedding. I know you miss them..

Viktor: Yeah..I guess I do. We just don’t see each other as often as we should..we all live in different places and we’re always so busy. But…as long as they’re happy. I think we deserve it after everything..

———————————————————————————

A phone on the bar started to ring. Viktor gets up and heads over to the phone. He answers.

———————————————————————————

Viktor: Hello?

Luther: Hey, Vik! I was wondering if you were gonna head down here for Grace’s birthday party…I know you’re all the way in Canada but…It’s been awhile since the family got together. It..It would be nice if you came.

Viktor: Oh..I-I don’t know if I can, Luther. I mean, I’ve got the bar, we’re still cleaning up after Valentine’s Day..I don’t think I’ll be able—

———————————————————————————

The phone gets ripped away from Viktor.

———————————————————————————

Bella: We would love to come, Luther. Send us the details and we’ll be there. See you soon, big guy. Bella hangs up the phone.

Viktor: Bella!

Bella: What? It’s been 9 years, Vik. Your family wants to see you…and I’m sure Grace wouldn’t complain about seeing her Uncle Vik, hm?

Viktor: I-I guess not. I mean, I don’t think she remembers me. Diego probably doesn’t talk about me a lot.

Bella: Quit being cynical and go start packing. I’ll close for the night.

———————————————————————————

Viktor sighs

———————————————————————————

Viktor:…Alright. I’ll trust you on this, Bella.

———————————————————————————

We cut to the outside of an arcade when a white minivan pulls up. Lila gets out of the car and opens the trunk. Another car pulls up behind her and starts honking. Lila freezes in place. She marches over to the car and knocks on the window. As the woman rolls the window down, Lila leans in and looks her directly in the eyes.

———————————————————————————

Lila: If you touch that horn one more time, I’ll disconnect your brain stem.

———————————————————————————

Lila then reaches into her pocket and pulls out a party hat. She puts it on the lady’s head and says with a strained smile “It’s my daughter's birthday. Have fun.”

———————————————————————————

She goes back to her car and pulls out some grocery bags and a cooler. Her eldest daughter, Grace, gets out of the car with her younger twin sisters and an older Stanley, who is on his phone. They all run into the arcade. Lila struggles to close the trunk but manages to do so. She walks inside and sets the groceries on a table. At that moment, Diego walks in, still in uniform. He walks up to Lila and goes to hug her.

———————————————————————————

Lila: Woah, Daddy Pig, Why’re you still in uniform? I thought you said you were going to be in “civie” clothes.

Diego: Sorry, a 10-31 came up..Dude kept running but I caught him. I had to drop him off at the station..I didn’t have time to change over. But hey, I look cooler in the uniform.

Lila: Yeah, well, your fly is down, cool guy.

———————————————————————————

Diego looks down only to see it is in fact, not down.

———————————————————————————

Diego: Hey—

Lila: Made you look.

———————————————————————————

Lila chuckles

———————————————————————————

Diego: Oh, whatever, you.

———————————————————————————

He chuckles and shakes his head.

———————————————————————————

Diego: Say, did you get the piñata? No party is complete without one.

Lila: Yes, I got the damn piñata..it’s over there, I haven’t hung it yet..

———————————————————————————

Diego looks over. That isn’t the piñata from the store he had asked earlier.

———————————————————————————

Diego:…Is that the one from the east side store? I told you the ones on the west side are better…that one is basically impossible to destroy.

Lila: well…the east side store was closer. It’s fine, it’ll still get the job done.

———————————————————————————

Lila walks off.

At that moment, Luther walks in with his wife, Mallie, and their five kids. Luther walks up to Diego and they bro hug.

———————————————————————————

Diego: Hey, bro! Good to see you again, glad you could make it.

Luther: Oh, yeah! We were really excited to come here. Y’know, Dimitri loves hanging out with Grace so..we wouldn’t pass up the opportunity.

Diego: I can’t remember all of your kids, man. You need to lay off Mallie. I turn around for a second and suddenly there’s two more kids.

———————————————————————————

Luther smiles happily.

———————————————————————————

Luther: Well..What can I say? We’re happy. Maybe we should have two more…bring up the next Umbrella Academy.

Diego: Oh, god…an Umbrella Academy full of Luther’s. I think I had a nightmare about that once.

Luther: Shut up. Anyway…Look who I got out on a day pass.

———————————————————————————

The camera panned over to Ben leaning against the wall, as far from the party as he could.

———————————————————————————

Diego: Dude…you brought that asshole to my kids birthday party? He’s a criminal! He’s…He’s not even our Ben. He’s like the..shitty knock off Ben.

Luther: Hey, Hey..Dad—

Diego: Luther. Don’t.

Luther:…A certain man adopted all of us. Even if it's a different timeline…He’s our brother, in a way. He deserves a chance. Plus…it’s not like he killed someone. He got arrested for doing what you used to do.

Diego: What I did was different. I actually trained. I was an actual hero. Not some diva thinking I was.

Luther: Diego, come on. Let him. Lila was a crazy spy..yet here she is.

———————————————————————————

Diego sighs and rubs his eyes.

———————————————————————————

Diego: Fine. But he stays away from my kids. And the alcohol. It’s my booze. I paid for it with my legal money.

———————————————————————————

Diego walks away. Luther heads over to Ben and hands him a canned soda.

———————————————————————————

Luther: Hey, Buddy. Having fun?

Ben:…Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.

Luther: Sorry…you kinda get used to it after doing it for so long. But, seriously…you having fun?

Ben: Prison is more fun than this.

Luther: Well..tomorrow, you get to go back.

Ben: Either way, you’ll still find a way to bother me.

Luther: Of course, I’m your brother..it’s what we do.

Ben: You’re not my brother. My brothers are dead. The only one here is Jackson and it’s not even him.

Luther: well..yeah. I get it…you’re not our Ben either…but you’re still our brother.

———————————————————————————

Ben scoffs and rolls his eyes.

———————————————————————————

Ben: Whatever…

———————————————————————————

Ben walks away and the camera cuts over to Five walking in with his family.

———————————————————————————

Five: I’ll try to stay as long as I can, Jack…I just got a lead in my case.

Jackson: I know, but your niece doesn’t see you that often and I’m sure she’d be happy to. Also…these are your siblings.

Five: I know, I know.

———————————————————————————

Five kisses his cheek and walks over to Diego. He leans over a railing.

———————————————————————————

Diego: Five, good you could make it…hey, did your boss get my resume?

Five: Uh…I wouldn’t know. I’m not his file keeper.

Diego: I’m telling you, he’s not gonna regret it. I’ve been awesome as a cop.

Five: Yup…so I’ve heard. Y’know how the others have been?

Diego: Well…I’ve seen Allison on tv. Seems like she isn’t doing too bad. Klaus…Jesus, that guys rough. He was an alcoholic druggie…an alcoholic druggie cult leader…a sober idiot…now he’s a massive germaphobe.

Five: A germaphobe?

Diego: Yeah, big time. He lives in Allison’s basement…I don’t know how Beatriz handles it. He’s got a kid now, too.

Five: I’m sure that kid will be just as sane.

———————————————————————————

The camera cuts to Klaus walking in, pushing a stroller. Next to him are Beatriz and Claire. Klaus stops and looks around. He takes out a box of gloves and masks and replaces the ones he’s wearing.

———————————————————————————

Klaus: Hang on, Claire-bear, let uncle Klaus get situated…arcades are known to be the filthiest places on earth..next to dive bars and movie theaters.

Claire: I..don’t know where you get your info from, Uncle Klaus. It’s gonna be alright…I’m…sure your brother knows how weird you are. So he’s prepared.

Klaus: yeah, I suppose so…here, don’t forget your hand sanitizer..and your mask. And gloves! And remember, stay and arms length—

Claire: —away from everyone, I got it..don’t worry.

———————————————————————————

Claire walks away and goes over to Grace and gives her a hug. Klaus panics a little bit but Beatriz pats his back and tells him it’s okay.

Theon walks in with Emme, the Swedes and Fei. The Swedes set some gifts onto a table and Emme walks off, going over to Stanley.

Viktor walks in with Bella. Viktor gives Diego a hug and they start chatting away about life.

A montage starts playing of everyone having a good time at the party.

Stanley and Emme put mentos into peoples sodas, running off and laughing.

Lila goes outside to get something from the car. She notices Allison and heads over, noticing her smoking. She takes it from her and takes a smoke, smiling. They talk a bit before going inside.

Luther helps the kids hit the piñata.

Ben is still standing against the wall, but Five joins him and they have a small talk.

Klaus is happily talking with Lila and Theon’s family, with Theon sitting next to them, clearly embarrassed.

Diego brings out the cake but Luther accidentally bumps into him, causing him to drop the cake. Diego looks up at Luther and stares at him. As Grace lets out a scream of “MY CAKE!”, Lila appears, holding another cake.

———————————————————————————

Lila:…What? This family is a disaster, I planned for this.

———————————————————————————

Diego laughs and he takes the cake from her, setting it on a table. He puts candles on it and Grace blows it out. He helps Grace cut into cake to give everyone slices.

As the night goes on, the party slowly comes to an end, with everyone saying their goodbyes and giving hugs.

Five goes over to Jackson.

———————————————————————————

Five: Hey…sorry, but I can’t head home after this. Something came up with the case…

Jackson: Alright…just be careful, Five. I don’t want you to die in your god awful disguise.

Five: What’s wrong with my disguise?

Jackson:…the fake mustache. The name. “Jerome”…come on, anything is better than that.

Five: I’ll run it by you next time, then. I’ll see you later tonight, okay?

———————————————————————————

Five kisses him and walks out to his car. He gets in and he puts on his disguise. He drives to a building and walks in, looking around.

A woman walks up to him and grabs his shoulder.

———————————————————————————

Lila: Hey, big boy.

Five: Li—

———————————————————————————

He noticed her name tag, “Nancy.”

———————————————————————————

Five:…What are you doing here?

Lila: I’m interested in what they have to say. Aren’t you?

Five: Whatever. Just…stay out of the way.

———————————————————————————

Five leans in and whispers.

———————————————————————————

Five: I don’t need you compromising my mission.

———————————————————————————

Lila leans in too, whispering.

———————————————————————————

Lila: Nor do I.

———————————————————————————

She smirks and takes him over to some seats. They sit down and the lights dim. A projection appears on a screen, showing a picture of an open upside down umbrella being held by a sparrow.

Five looks at the screen, slightly confused. How do they know about the sparrows? The umbrellas?

As he ponders, a man and woman walk onto a small stage and stands in front of a podium.

———————————————————————————

Woman: Welcome to our weekly meeting…it’s so good to see all of you here. We’ve got some old faces…and we have some new ones. For the new friends, my name is Jean…and my husband is Gene Thibadaeu. We study various possible timelines. Now, please, give a round of applause to our newest members, Nancy and Jerome.

———————————————————————————

Applause fills the room and then dies down.

———————————————————————————

Jean: Lovely to meet you both..

———————————————————————————

She gives a warm smile. Lila leans over to Five and whispers.

———————————————————————————

Lila: She seems like a sweet old lady.

Five: So did the handler.

Lila: Touchè…

———————————————————————————

Gene clicks a button on a remote, changing the slide.

———————————————————————————

Jean: As many of you know…we have been collecting relics for a very long time. Relics of other timelines. Most people don’t believe us…they think we’re crazy. But as you see here…Carriages with umbrellas and birds. Little figures wearing similar uniforms and masks, one of which has tentacles coming out of his chest. Two masks, a blue bear and a pink dog.

———————————————————————————

Five whispers to himself

———————————————————————————

Five: Hazel and Cha-Cha…

———————————————————————————

Gene presses the button again.

———————————————————————————

Jean: There have been no records of any of these existing. Anywhere. But today…me and my husband bought a new piece. Some of you may know the movie “Love on Loan.” A romantic comedy, nothing special..but the one we bought stars a different actress. A woman named “Allison Hargreeves.”

Gene: You heard her right. The very same Hargreeves who owns half of this city. We checked all official records…this man has no known children or family, nor does his wife. And this Allison woman doesn’t exist either. So…who is she? Why was she replaced?

Jean: Good question, Gene. We believe…she was from another timeline. One that was destroyed in “the cleanse.”

———————————————————————————

Gasps are heard around the room. Five and Lila look at each other. Five whispers to Lila.

———————————————————————————

Five: what’s “the cleanse”?

Lila: hell if I know, I just got here.

———————————————————————————

Jean coughs and looks at Five and Lila.

———————————————————————————

Jean: Very chatty, Nancy and Jerome. Perhaps you’d like to share?

———————————————————————————

Five stands up.

———————————————————————————

Five: Yes, actually. I’d like to know what this “cleanse” is. I’ve never heard of it.

Jean: why…it’s the very cornerstone of our little group here. We believe that at some point, every timeline that exists…is destroyed. And each timeline will collapse until we are left with the perfect one.

Five: And what is the perfect timeline?

Gene: Not this one, if that’s what you’re getting at. You and I won’t be around to see it…but our other versions will be. They are. They’re living their lives right now, not a care in the world.

Five: How do you know?

Gene: We’ve seen it, boy. Visions…we can’t deny it. And the cleanse is coming…and it’s coming soon.

Five: I..see.

———————————————————————————

Five slowly sits down again. Jean and Gene continue their presentation. As time passes by, the presentation ends and everyone begins to leave the room. Lila and Five look at each other and get up to leave. Gene steps in front of them.

———————————————————————————

Gene: Good to have you two here. So..inquisitive. That’s good around here. Questions give you answers and answers give you satisfaction. I hope we’ll be seeing you at the next meeting…

Five: You will. Don’t worry.

———————————————————————————

Five walks past with Lila and goes to his car. He sighs and gets in. Lila gets into the passenger seat. Five looks over.

———————————————————————————

Five: What are you doing?

Lila: Hitching a ride. I walked here, y’know. Ooh, let’s go to a cafe, I’m starved. There’s a good one just up the road.

Five: No. I need to go home, Jackson’s probably worried…

Lila: It’ll be fine. Just go!

———————————————————————————

Five sighs and says “Fine.” He drives to the cafe and they go inside, order food and sit down.

———————————————————————————

Five: so..wanna say why you’re really here?

————————��——————————————————

Lila has her mouth full.

———————————————————————————

Lila:…because I’m hungry?

Five: No! Why you were at the meeting. You’re…a mom.

Lila:…and you’re a dad? What’s the difference?

Five: Just answer the damn question.

Lila: I was bored, alright? Can’t just “be a mom”…I was something before…at the commission. It’s hard now…I’ve got to do everything for my family…I’ve got no time to myself.

Five: So…you're using it as an escape. I see…well…you should stop. This mission is bigger than you. I’ve got the resources…this is my actual job. You’re playing pretend. You should go back home before this all falls apart..

Lila: Says you. You’ve got your kids and Jackson..

Five: I know. Sometimes I regret taking the job…but it ensures he lives the life he wanted. And that’s all that matters.

Lila: I guess. Well, I’m done…perhaps I’ll see you next week, hm?

———————————————————————————

She smirks and gets up. Five watches as she leaves. The camera pans out to reveal Diego parked in front of the cafe, watching Lila. He narrows his eyes, angry. At Lila. At Five.

Five gets up and walks out to his car. He noticed a little note on his windshield with the number 5 on it. He takes it and opens it. Written on the note are two numbers. What could it mean?

End of episode one

[cloginthedrain]

rooftops and vigilantes (part two) (matt murdock x reader)

summary: reader pays matt a visit at his office, and matt invites himself over. banter and flirtations ensue.

masterlist | previous | next

word count: 1169

notes: lots of banter, back and forth, and flirting. reader gets a little too confident. a bit of a shorter one, but only slightly. hope you like it, i do!!! i've really appreciated a lot of the lovely comments and support. i've been having a lot of fun writing this one.

comments & reblogs always appreciated! <3

—

You stand in front of the smudgy, glass door, and take a shaky breath.

Once you’ve mustered enough courage, you push the door open to the coffee shop, chest fluttering with excitement at the possibility of just seeing Matt. Built, rugged, but put together.

You approach the coffee bar, your usual guilty pleasure before your grocery run.

“Your usual?” Ellie muses, all smiles. Penning your name, this time with a winky face. Your eyes narrowed.

“Please,” you say graciously. You fumble in your hellish bag for the familiar feeling of your beat up, pleather wallet amongst the mess of your bag: apartment keys, wired earbuds, chapstick, lotion, and your expired lip tint. You might’ve left it behind. 

“No, that’s okay.” 

“Ellie. I’m paying,” you say firmly.

She grins. “No, what I mean is that Matt’s got it.”

“Matt?” You flush, shifting your weight. Your limbs suddenly feel heavy. 

“Yes, Matt, he stopped by,” Ellie starts, a gleam of (obnoxious) curiosity in her eyes. “He said thanks for the whiskey. Whatever that means. You just missed him.” 

Your features soften. Last night, sewing kits. Whiskey. Rugged, shirtless, sweaty. Late night, and hell, an early morning. 

“Right,” you said. “Can I have that to go?”

“He got you this too.” Ellie places one of her freshly-baked crumbly raspberry lemon muffins on the counter.

You flush beet-red. Horrific.

You dodge further interrogation from your favorite nosy barista by excusing yourself to your booth to wait for your drink. You’re yet again rummaging in your bag, this time for a book to pretend to read. To no avail, you had left it on your bed-side table.

Chairs were still upturned onto the tables, warm lights illuminating the café. You practically run out of there, with your raspberry lemon muffin to go, as soon as your dirty chai hits the bar counter.

Your eye glimmers as soon as you step out. Across the street, a shiny metal plaque reads: 

Nelson and Murdock. Attorneys at Law.

You figured some time to kill before you had to head back to hold your virtual discussion for a survey course in English Romanticism.

You languidly climb the steps, exhausted from the night before, and pushed the door open. You took in the poorly-lit room. A prim, freckled blonde woman clacking away at her laptop.

She looks up from her work with a soft, perfectly cordial smile. “How can I help you?”

“Uhm,” you interrupt, shyly. “I’m here to see Matt?”

“Oh, Matt? He should be here soon.”

The door slams behind you. 

“He’s right here.” His hearty chuckle is unmistakable, one you could grow quite partial to. 

“Right,” the blonde woman starts. “This is, erm—“ She stops short. She hadn’t gotten your name. 

“Y/N,” Matt finishes. “Y/N, this is Karen. Our receptionist.” 

“Nice to meet you, Karen,” You barely manage. The verbal thing comes and goes. Especially in the intimidating presence of a man, Matt, in a well-fitting suit. You never accounted for that in your streak of confidence. “Just came by to thank you for the muffin. And the chai. And for leaving me defenseless against our nosy, mutual barista. I, uh, saw your sign outside.” 

As you’re blabbering you wonder if you crossed a line, coming into his work. The ball is in your court, right?

“Right,” He refoots. “I heard you’re partial to a raspberry lemon muffin.” 

“Something like that,” you say. You sense some awkwardness. “Anyway, I’ll go. Thanks again.”

You turn to leave. 

“Wait,” Matt starts.

If it was possible, your ears perked up. “Yeah?” 

“I’ll see you tonight?” 

You pretend to think for a moment, but not for a second more— trying to play it cool. You fail. 

“You bet,” you practically beam.

As soon as you leave, Foggy stumbles past you through the door. 

“Hey Froggy,” you say kindly, not noticing your mistake. 

He turns his head to do a double-take as you walk out of the building. “Hey?”

Once he’s in the office, false-outraged, Foggy asks accusingly, “Matt, who was that?” 

—

You did see him that night.

“Maybe you're not a vigilante,” you muse, admittedly a little wine drunk. “You’re a criminal. You’re robbing me, depriving me of my sleep.”

You’re sitting on the couch, legs across Matt’s lap, cradling a glass of wine. Student papers long discarded across your coffee table. You’re looser, a bit daring. You’re wearing your comfiest pair of sweats, heat be damned. Air-conditioning blasting.

“Right, I’m depriving you,” Matt laughs, further encouraging your antics. “You sure it’s not the deadlines you have to meet to sift through hundreds of student papers?” He’d also add guzzling insane amounts of caffeine factored into it. 

“Nope, and I’m prepared to make my case.” 

“You realize who you’re talking to?” 

“I have a leg to stand on,” you proclaim, particularly audacious. You sit up. “I was an English major.”

“Meaning?”

“I also know how to argue,” you slur, tilting your head. A challenge.

Your face inched close enough that you felt his breath, short, tickle your skin. Saw the shadow of his stubble. His plump pink lips.

You lost any sort of nerve right then.

“Let’s get you some coffee, sweetheart,” Matt redirects, and then as an aside, says to himself, “Or get you to bed.”

—

You were horrified the next morning. You wanted to sink further into your bed, to be swallowed under your covers. 

You had woken up late. 10 am. A ceremonious first.

A god awful headache too. Being taken with a night owl had its consequences.

You reach for your phone, and magically it's connected to the charger. Phone battery green, 100%. You peek at the notifications.

A missed call. Could be work, you reason. Blah.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Matt.

“Blegh, stop that,” you groan. “How’d you get my number anyway?”

You wish you could say you were surprised, but Matt’s been a recurring theme in your life as of, well, these past few weeks.

“I have my ways,” Matt pauses.

You don’t say anything, but roll your eyes so hard.

“Let’s just say you really wanted me to have your number last night,” Matt practically gloats. 

“Awh jeez,” you cringe, sitting up. You had forgotten that part.

At this point, you’re upright, just barely, and in pursuit of some sort of caffeine. Then you remember.

“Nooooo,” you moan, helplessly, and you’re back in your bed.

“What?”

“Remember when I, uh, ambushed you at your office?”

“Vaguely.”

“Right, so I was supposed to go grocery shopping,” you babble. “There is nothing in the cupboards, including but especially coffee. There’s some decaf for my mom when she visits. I suppose I can try and microdose the trace amounts of caffeine… That’s a lot of coffee. Nothing I’m not used to—”

“Or, I can bring you coffee.”

“Oh, Matt, no—” you start. “I didn’t mean to suggest—”

“Already leaving.”

You slump further into your bed. “Suppose there’s no point in pretending that I’m not secretly pleased then.”

“Yep, see you soon, sweetheart."

The call clicks off, and you roll your eyes.

You really are pleased.

[jessybarnes]

Shake My Nerves, Rattle My Brain

Chapter Two: Cold As Ice

Pairing: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

Chapter Characters: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Nick "Goose" Bradshaw, Ron "Slider" Kerner, Dick "Jester" Hetherly, and Charlotte "Charlie" Blackwood

Rating: 18+ Only! Minors DNI

Tags: Pining, explicit language, suggestive sexual thoughts, drinking, military talk, Goose is getting suspicious, Ice is possessive, and Mav can't seem to get a handle on his new feelings, maybe slight angst if you squint, and I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,8k

Beta: @winecatsandpizza

Title Card: Yours Truly

A/N: This will feature some of the same dialogue from the movies. I do NOT own the dialogue but am merely putting my own adaptation of the movies. :)

"So, what do you think of the competition?"

Goose asks while he does up the buttons on his dress whites. 

Maverick stares in the mirror continuing to mess with his hair for the umpteenth time. Seriously, he never cares this much, so why is his stomach in knots over going to the O club? 

He sighs and braces himself on the sink. Mav realizes he's probably making a mountain out of a molehill here, but how else is he supposed to take the snide comment Lieutenant pretty boy shot at him after they were dismissed? 

"The plaque for the alternates is down in the ladies' room."

Maverick scoffs. There's no way he knew he was checking him out during class, right? It was probably just a challenge. The typical two alpha males butting heads until one of them rolls over, kind of challenge. Well, if that's what pretty boy wants then that's what he'll g-

"Mav! Hey! You listenin' to me?" 

He jumps at the sound of Goose's voice and turns to look at him. 

"Sorry, I uh…I was just ah…thinkin'."

"You sure you're okay, man? You've been acting weird since class this morning." 

Maverick's heart hammers against his chest. Goddammit, why does he have to be so fucking transparent? Maybe he should just wear a sign around his neck that says 'Hello, my name is Pete "Maverick" Mitchell and I've got it bad for a pilot with blonde spiky hair and blue eyes'. 

"Yep. I'm fine. Let's go. I'm ready for a beer." 

The lively atmosphere of the Officer's Club washes over them as they walk through the wooden doors. 

"This is what I call a target-rich environment." 

Maverick smiles up at his best friend before taking a look at all the beautifully dressed women. Goose rolls his eyes and slaps him on the shoulder.

"You live your life between your legs, Mav."

"Goose, even you can get laid in a place like this." 

Nick chuckles, "I'm tellin' ya, I'd be happy to find a girl who'd talk dirty to me." 

They approach the bar and open a tab, taking a seat on the only two open stools in the place. Goose nudges him and nods to a figure standing across the room. 

"Mav, you wanna know who the best is?" 

He moves his gaze in the direction Nick nodded and nearly chokes on his own saliva when his eyes land on none other than Lieutenant pretty boy. 

Okay, he's electing to ignore the fact that his best fucking friend just referred to someone else, other than him, as the best because how in the fuck can someone look so good?! 

He isn't even doing anything. He's just standing there wearing his stupid fucking aviators sipping some mystery drink with a girl hanging off his arm like she needs him to help her stand up. 

Maverick squeezes the neck of his beer bottle until his knuckles turn white. He's never been the jealous type, but seeing this woman give pretty boy 'fuck me' eyes gives him a bad taste in his mouth. 

"That's him. Iceman. That's the way he flies, ice-cold, no mistakes. Just wears you down. You get bored, frustrated, do something stupid, and he's got you."

Mav opens his mouth to respond, but Goose cuts him off, instead turning his attention to someone else. 

"Hey, hey, Slider!" He grabs at the taller man's uniform where he has his pinned wings, "I thought you wanted to be a pilot, man. What happened?" 

Ron rolls his eyes, "Goose, you're such a dickhead."

Maverick snorts at their back-and-forth banter, bringing his bottle of beer to his lips. 

Before he can even think about taking a drink he sees the so-called Iceman stalking straight towards them. 

He takes a long gulp of liquid courage and swallows as Ice stops directly in front of him.

"Hey, Mother Goose! How's it goin'?"

Nick shakes his hand, "I'm doin' good, Tom. This is Pete Mitchell. Tom Kazansky." 

So, he's finally got a name to put with Lieutenant pretty boy's face. Maverick looks him up and down, takes his outstretched hand in his own, and prays to whatever deity will listen that he gets through this conversation without giving himself away. 

"Congratulations on Top Gun." 

Fuck, his eyes are even more captivating up close. 

Mav smiles softly up at him, "Thank you." 

"Sorry to hear about Cougar. He and I were like brothers in flight school. He was a good man."

Pete raises an eyebrow, "still is a good man."

Tom smirks and pops a piece of gum in his mouth, "yeah, that's what I meant." 

God, this guy is infuriating. "Thought so." 

Ice leans in closer, leaving mere inches between their lips and Maverick feels his stomach flip. 

Yep, he's royally fucked.

"Say, you need any help?"

He chews his gum loudly as he waits for Maverick to answer. And while Mav is more than certain anyone looking in their direction can see the panic written all over his face, he still takes a swig of beer to allow himself a moment to ignore all the explicit thoughts he has rattling around in his brain right now. 

"With what?"

Tom leans down so they're now eye to eye and grins, "You figured it out yet?"

Fucking Christ. 

Maverick feels the panic spread as he tries to make sense of what Ice is talking about. Certainly, he hasn't been that transparent in the last forty-five seconds, but he has had shitty luck before. Nevertheless, he does his best to play it cool and pray his voice doesn't come out as shaky as his hands are.

"What's that?" 

"Who's the best pilot."

Even though his heart is beating like a running racehorse, Mav still sees the split second of Tom glancing down at his mouth. 

Is…is Iceman flirting with him? 

No. No way. He has to be imagining this. 

"No, I think I can figure that one out on my own."

Ice chuckles, "I heard that about you. You like to work alone." 

Whatever response Pete had at the ready dies on his tongue because the way Tom is looking at him right now makes heat pool low in his belly. 

It's almost…possessive. 

Slider clears his throat bringing him back to reality. "Mav, you must’ve soloed under a lucky star, huh? I mean, first the MiG, and then you guys slide into Cougar's spot."

Goose scoffs, "We didn't slide into Cougar's spot. It was ours, okay?"

"Yeah, well,  some pilots wait their whole career just to see a MiG up close. Guess you guys are both lucky and famous." 

Slider takes the shot he's been holding as Ice follows suit and licks his lips, which Maverick definitely doesn't hone in on. 

"No, you mean notorious." Tom deadpans. "I'll see you later." He flashes a perfect smile and sets his shot glass down.

Maverick watches him start to walk away and tries not to stare too hard at the way his ass looks in his dress pants. "You can count on it." 

After a long night of avoiding questions from a suspicious Goose and barely any sleep, Maverick groans as he takes his first sip of coffee. 

"Ugh, I'm never drinking again."

"Yeah, you said that the last time we went out. Nick laughs and jingles his truck keys as Mav winces. "C'mon, we're gonna be late for class." 

Even though they were currently in the shade,  the hanger barely gave them any relief from the heat. 

Jester, their first instructor of the day, is talking about getting intel on enemy aircraft from civilians. At least, that's how Maverick understands it. His head is still currently pounding from the night before though, so he can't be entirely sure what's going on at the moment. He'll just ask Goose later on when he can blink without feeling like he's going to hurl. 

"One of the most qualified is our TAGREP, callsign Charlie. She has a Ph.D. in astrophysics, and she's also a civilian contractor, so you do not salute her. But you better listen to her, because the Pentagon listens to her about your proficiency." 

Maverick slides on his aviators and rests his head in his hand. Thankfully, his headache is finally starting to subside. It's not that he doesn't care about what Charlie has to say, he honestly just wants to get back in the cockpit. 

His ears perk up when he hears her talking about the MiG-28 though. He and Goose are all too familiar with that aircraft. 

"However, the MiG-28 does have a problem with its inverted flight tanks. It won't do a negative-G pushover." 

Maverick snorts as Goose leans in to whisper to him, "Are you gonna tell her?" 

Charlie stops mid-sentence and turns her attention to them, "Excuse me, Lieutenant. Is there something wrong?" 

And so Mav proceeds to explain how he and Goose were in a four-G inverted dive in a MiG-28. And even when Ice calls bullshit, he goes on to explain that not only was he in that position, but he also gave the enemy the bird while his RIO snapped a Polaroid.

Class ends a few minutes later when Jester tells them they have a hop to take with a strict hard deck of ten thousand feet. 

After staying behind to explain to Charlie that she can just read the details of his foreign relations encounter with the enemy, he heads up the stairs to do his preflight with Goose. 

Mav rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks. 

"Maverick."

Fuck! He knows that voice. That authoritative, yet still soft, voice that makes his knees weak. He'd never admit it though. Not out loud at least. 

Ice pushes off the cement block he'd been sitting on and is in front of him in two strides. 

Jesus… does he have to stand so fucking close?! 

"I'm curious," he fiddles with the clasp of his watch until it clicks into place, "who was covering Cougar while you were showboating with this MiG?" 

Pete somehow manages to keep his own voice steady, though he's not sure how since Tom's giving him that look again. The one that makes him want to drop to his knees and take what he's given. 

He doesn't, of course, because why on earth would Iceman be into him? He's just being cocky. Something he'd be doing right back if his heart would just slow down for once. 

"Cougar was doing just fine," he grins. 

"Uh-huh." 

Normally, Mav would have told Kazansky to shut his fucking mouth, but instead, he walks away because he can't trust himself around Ice. 

Not when all he wanted at that moment was to slam him against the nearest wall and shove his tongue down his throat.

Among a list of various other things.