#Bess Strode

[abyssleaves]

The letter:

(/jk)

[exquisiteagony]

Bess’s warehouse was down at the end of a graffitied alleyway near the modest dockyard. It was a cheerful place, at odds with the dreary trash-riddled alley and the grim buildings that surrounded it; five warehouses that had changed hands to become two apartment buildings, one abandoned one home to rats and squatters, the trashiest bar Johnny had ever seen, and a nightclub named Mist who’s owner Johnny was sure was running a drug dealing and smuggling ring from the back of it.

Or at least Johnny had never seen a Mist patron who wasn’t high on steamfire or other drugs.

Talking of steamfire and clubs… He frowned, thinking. He’d heard from Middy about the hacker A.M., about how they’d deleted the data from a bunch of Castor’s biohacking experiments. Taz’s hypothesis was that they were a pissed off body-modder, or the friend of one. It didn’t really make sense, because that lot were mostly pretty chilled out, but if they’d discovered something…

Johnny snorted at that. They were all on steamfire, so they were usually discovering things. Most often it was each other’s bodies. He strode past the club, hood pulled up, and tried not to look around furtively for people watching him.

And this was why he rarely left the Workshop. The Workshop was a space he could control, but outside he felt horribly vulnerable. There were too many unknown factors, even on the main station of the Hangar. However much he dreamed about the day he could travel and not live in fear of God’s End, he’d shut himself into a cage of his own paranoia.

That paranoia wasn’t helped by the narrow alley. The buildings rose up on either side; great squatting giants that seemed to long to encroach on the alleyway, to gobble up its space and claim it for themselves. He shuddered, glancing up at empty windows like gaping mouths, and picked up his pace.

In the open doorway of one warehouse - Johnny wasn’t sure if it was one of the apartment buildings or the unclaimed one - two figures sat smoking from a pipe they were sharing. He caught a glimpse of sunken cheeks and hollow eyes watching him with disinterest as he passed, the smell of unwashed bodies reaching his nose.

Then he was past them, and raising his hand to knock on Bess’s door.

Rain dripped from the eaves as he waited - HSS-3 was always inexplicably damp, like it attracted all of the moisture from the Hangar - plinking into little puddles on the tarmac. The duo in the other doorway muttered to themselves, but then Bess was opening the door, welcoming him inside warmly with a beaming smile on her face.

“It’s good to see you!” she exclaimed, pushing the door shut before she wrapped him in a fierce hug. Johnny smiled, hugging back. His dark mood sloughed away from him.

“It’s been too long,” he said.

“You didn’t get too damp outside, I hope?” she said, checking him up and down. “It’s been extraordinarily wet today.” Her dark hair shone in the low light as her head moved.

Johnny shrugged. “It’s been fine,” he said. “I stepped in some puddles, but that’s it. Did it rain earlier?”

Bess nodded, turning to lead him to the kitchen. “First thing. Turned the whole station into a cloud. I could barely see a metre beyond my windows.” She gave a little shudder that made him smile again, opening the kitchen door.

He could tell from the rest of the place that she’d shut up shop for the day. There wasn’t much point in being open past red hour, as after that the buses were less regular, and very few fancied being out and sitting in the open waiting for the next bus.

Then she snapped the kitchen light on. He blinked, walking into the brightness after her, and took a seat as she went to retrieve her teapot and teas.

Now he was sat down again, relief flowed through him. He wasn’t out in public anymore, worried about the gaps in his network and knowledge, and he wasn’t rattling around in a horrible bus. Bess’s kitchen was still a little dark despite her turning the light on, but the darkness was soothing, calming. Her warehouse was secure and peaceful, safe, and he could relax again.

She returned to the table, a tray containing teas and the pot and two teacups in her hands. The tray was rather bulky and industrial looking, almost ugly but sturdy, whilst the cups and pot were delicate porcelain printed with flowers. She set it down and took the seat opposite him, unloading it. “So, to what honour do I owe your visit to?” she asked, sliding the empty tray aside and moving to go and boil some water.

Johnny sighed. “I got into a little argument with Samy,” he said. “Its - there's a lot going on, and this was just a bit too much.”

“You want to talk about it?” she asked carefully, returning to the table and letting him select which tea he was in the mood for. He indicated one tin, and she opened it to fill the infuser.

About Moreau? No. Bess was innocent to it all, and he knew it was selfish, but he needed to have someone he could trust who didn’t know about it all.

So he sighed. “Archie’s back,” he said. “He came to the Hangar to refuel, then went off into the Grey three weeks ago. He doesn’t look the same, and so no-one knew who he was until he introduced himself to Arttu and Mirko. They told Samy, and he told Middy and Taz, in case he turned up on Tortuga. But he never told me. I only found out today.”

“He was trying to keep it away from you so you didn’t get distracted from the other stuff?” she asked, putting the tea tins away in their cupboard before dangling the full infuser into the pot. She delicately draped the infuser chain over the side of the open pot then sat back down.

Johnny gave a wry smile. “He was trying to protect me, but that’s worse.”

Because it meant he hadn’t recovered from Dante-8, not really. It meant he hadn’t regained what the prison ship took from him, and that it was plainly obvious to everyone who saw him. Samy had tried to do the right thing, and maybe it had been, but Johnny didn’t have to like it.

And Bess got it. “You don’t want protecting.”

“I want to know there aren’t gaps in my knowledge. Archie hit my blind spot, and in Sal’s, of all places. If I have blind spots in territory like that, what else am I ignorant to? And is anyone using that? Is Rouge using that?” And that was it, wasn’t it? He swallowed. “Arttu got Swallowtail out of the Butterfly House.” Bess’s eyelashes fluttered as her eyes widened. “But how safe can I keep her if I don't know what’s going on?”

Bess nodded, silent in thought. “I haven’t heard anything,” she said. “I’ve had some of her lot come through in the past few days, and they’ve said nothing.”

“She’s canny enough to not tell her people much,” Johnny countered mildly. “Mauve is her only confidante, and she rarely leaves the Butterfly House.”

And why would she? If she was passing information onto the Complex, a brothel was the best place to do so. It was the perfect alibi for an official, and it kept her in safe, protected ground.

“But she’d have to tell her people something,” Bess said. “She doesn't leave that place much, either. It’s a big thing when she does. She’d need some of her ring to do her dirty work for her, so if she made a move against you, it would be one of them instead. Unless she’s somehow found a new supplier for them, and they’re talking with that one, you're safe.” She still scowled, but Johnny knew it was about losing out to some unknown supplier.

“I haven’t heard about any new suppliers,” he said. “I’ll ask Middy if he or Taz have noticed any weird things going on with goods, though.”

Bess smiled again. “That would be great,” she said.

Then the kettle whistled, and she started and stood to retrieve it before it could boil over. She filled the pot, slipping the lid on to let it infuse before she replaced the kettle on its burner base.

“This stuff that’s going on,” she began slowly, sitting again, “is it to do with Joel? I haven’t seen him for a few months, and there were some officials nosing around after him. I gave them nothing, don’t worry. I just said I recognised the name, but not the man, when they showed me a picture of him.”

Johnny was quiet for a few seconds. He didn’t want to tell her. He didn’t want this whole mess to take over every aspect of his life, but he’d come out here to talk to Bess, and he was drinking her cherished tea.

“It’s to do with the Scarm,” he said. “It’s explosion wasn’t an accident.”

Bess sucked in a breath. “Those poor kids,” she said, face twisting into sadness as she stared into the distance. “What could they have run into?”

“Something they shouldn’t have,” Johnny replied sadly.

Then the tea was ready, and Bess poured it.

who wants 1500 words from the third skydweller fic?

[cjbeaumontpnr]

Under Pressure - Nace Fanfic Fragments, #2

Start at the beginning HERE.

The Case of the Broken Barometer

Across town at the Historical Society, Bess Marvin was finishing up the cup of tea Addy had brewed for her. She smiled to herself, savoring the tea’s delicate and perfectly un-scorched flavor when her phone’s text tone chimed.

Addy was perched on the arm of Bess's chair, and she was stroking her fingers through Bess's hair in an almost hypnotic, soothing rhythm. Bess was almost tempted to ignore the text, to allow herself to get lost in this blissfully quiet, contented moment.

Her gut, however, had other plans. She couldn't resist reaching out and picking up her phone, turning its screen face-up so she could check and see who'd texted. She blinked down at the message preview on her screen, a gasp catching in her throat.

Ace Can you come over? Could really use my platanchor right now. Something weird just happened with Nancy.

"What's up?" Addy trailed her warm fingers down Bess's spine in a warm, intimate caress that elicited a shiver and a whisper-soft sigh from Bess. She let her eyes flutter closed for just a moment, drinking in the effervescent warmth that lingered in the wake of that unassuming touch.

One day, Bess thought, I'll be able to enjoy moments like these without my heart aching with guilt and longing for Odette.

"Ace needs me. You don't mind if I go and check on him, do you?"

"Of course I don't mind, Bess. The guy is your best friend. Go do what you need to do, and we'll catch up later." Addy leaned down, brushing a whisper-light kiss against Bess's lips before pulling back with a smile and a mischievous twinkle in her warm brown eyes. "Tell your platanchor I said hi."

"I will." Bess stood and gripped the lapels of Addy's coat, pulling her close for just one more heated kiss before she turned and strode out of the Historical Society, pausing on the front porch just long enough to unlock her phone and type out a reply to Ace.

Bess

Be there in a couple of minutes, bestie. Now, are we talking *normal* Nancy weird or...?

Ace

What just happened definitely wasn't normal Nancy weird. It was bad weird.

Bess

Hang tight. See you soon.

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

A rhythmic knock sounds on the door of my loft and I jump, half hoping I'll find Nancy on the other side of the door, even though I know it's going to be Bess. My heart rate goes erratic just to spite me as I tug the door open and wave Bess inside.

She pales the second she lays eyes on me, her lips parting on a gasp as she takes in my appearance, the expression on my face. I know Bess can read me like a book, and there's no point trying to put on a brave face with her, so I wince.

Bess shakes her head and pulls me into a fierce hug. I return the embrace with a halfhearted squeeze and try to swallow the lump that's been sitting in my throat ever since Nancy walked out and slammed my door behind her.

"What happened, Ace?"

I can feel my expression crumpling with the effort it takes to get the words out. My eyes burn like I used ghost pepper hot sauce for eye drops, and I look away, blinking furiously as I explain what happened between Nancy and me.

When I get done, I motion helplessly at the shattered barometer hanging on the wall. "The second my barometer shattered, Nancy did a complete one-eighty. I don't know what's going on, or why that set her off, but it doesn't sit right. She was so... cruel, Bess, and that's not like her at all. Not really."

My chest feels like somebody hollowed it out with a melon baller, and I clench my hands into fists at my sides.

Bess slides an arm around my waist and leans her head against my shoulder in a wordless show of sympathy. "So, obviously, there are things Nancy isn't telling us, and we need to find out what. Do you want to send out the proverbial bat signal to the rest of the crew minus Nancy, or...?"

"More like batshit signal at this point, but no." I heave out a sigh, shaking my head. A wave of restless energy bubbles up in me, and I pace as I continue, trying my best to explain. "My guess is we need to tread carefully while we try to uncover clues. I love our crew dearly, but I don't want to show my hand just yet. And I don't want our friends to go on some well-meaning but ultimately meddlesome and doomed crusade to fix things between us before we've figured out what's going on with Nancy. You know how she is, Bess. If she even suspects that we're looking into whatever the broken barometer means, she's going to fight it and pull away even harder than she already has. Better to lie low and stay off her radar for now."

Bess plants her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes at me, looking an awful lot like she's ready to argue. "You know George wouldn't meddle if you didn't want her to, Ace—"

"No, George wouldn't, but Ryan and Mr. D? You know them, and you know Ryan means well, but he's putty in Nancy's hands and he'd blab in a heartbeat if he thought it would help. Same goes for Mr. D. And Nick has a lot on his plate right now. I'd like it if Operation Barometric Pressure stays exclusively a platanchor thing... at least for now."

"All right." Bess nods. "So, I'm guessing you'd like me to look into the archives at the Historical Society and see if we can find any similar incidents in the archives, right?"

"Bingo." I hold my hand out for a fist bump and Bess automatically bumps her knuckles against mine in response.

"What are you going to do while I look into the shattered barometer? And do you mind if I take it with me?"

"Honestly?" I shrug and chew on my bottom lip for a second. "I have no idea. And yeah, you're more than welcome to take the barometer with you if you think it'll help. Besides, it might be a good thing to get that reminder out of the loft."

I reach up and rub at my breastbone, as if it'll help the ache that's wrapped around my heart and squeezing my chest so tight that it hurts to breathe.

"I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'm not just going to sit here and pretend that I believe Nancy isn't in some kind of trouble."

[ndfan3]

“Raaaargh!” the male guttural growl came echoing down from the gangplanks surrounding the abandoned studio. Nancy leapt up the metal steps two art a time, her flashlight beam urgently searching the strange noise. Suddenly she saw a terrifying sight. Clearly picked out by her torchlight, Nancy saw Ronnie, a look of crazed fury on his face as he expended every ounce of his considerable strength to hoist something aloft and hurl it from the metal platform. And that something was Marcy Robbins, talk show host! Nancy didn’t hesitate but rushed to confront Ronnie who paused, the silent but plainly terrorised Marcy still aloft when he saw the girl sleuth. “Ronnie!” she called out. “What are you doing? You love Marcy!” The big man hesitated. His forward momentum slowed. His mouth began to pucker. “But she doesn’t love me!” he wailed. “Put Marcy down, Ronnie,” Nancy urged soft,y, “this isn’t the way.” An anguished look still on his face, the man nonetheless lowered his arms and slowly lowered the terrified young woman to the floor.

“Ron, you fool - do it!” came a high pitched male voice. “She’s been using you!” Nancy moved the beam from where Ronnie, now collapsed to his knees and sobbing, to the broken man’s left. It was Marcy’s sidekick, weatherman Lewis Mackay. But Ronnie wasn’t listening - he was weeping, his face in his hands. Lewis’ angular face contorted with rage. “Why, you interfering…” he began, “I’ll have to do both of you!” He lunged at Nancy, hands reaching for her throat. Involuntarily,the young detective let out a scream of fright, but Lewis never reached her: Marcy’s foot shot out and Lewis went flying onto the floor of the gangway. At that instant the cinfused Nancy heard a familiar voice, “Nance! What’s going on?” She looked up to see the reassuring figures of George and Bess, incongruously clad in the grey open necked knee length dresses and pantyhose of diner waitresses. Despite everything, the girl sleuth laughed. “What are you…?” she asked. “Oh this!” grinned Bess indicating her uniform, “we are working as extras here in our spare time. I think we look quite sexy!” George frowned at her friend then strode over to the scene of Nancy and the three prone or collapsed figures. “Now will you please tell us what’s happening?”

*

“Lewis preyed on poor lovesick Ronnie,” Nancy explained later, “he wanted Marcy’s job and was furious when she withdrew her resignation. He told Ronnie the camera man that she never liked him really, and that she was dating the producer, Ryan.” “Which was true.” added Bess. “Yes.” agreed Nancy and continued: “Ronnie was heartbroken and angry, but he would never have turned to murder - that was Lewis’ idea, along with the kidnap and the cliff edge scene I just witnessed.” Now safely on the ground, the girl detective looked over to where Ronnie and Lewis sat, propped against the wall, their hands tied behind their backs and their ankles bound together, waiting for the arrival of the police. Grey clad George stood grimly over them, on guard. Ronnie was still sobbing to himself, his head bowed, but Lewis looked furiously around him at his three female captors, straining at his bonds. “I’d have got away with it too if…” There was a hoarse laugh. Marcy, seated on a low stool, sipping coffee and looking exhausted, smiled crookedly at the bound and fuming man and said: “Lewis - surely you weren’t going to say “if not for you meddling kids”?”

My interpretation of the story behind the cover to Let’s Talk Terror, the Nancy Drew Files # 86 (1993)

[brokenbutnotquiting]

Say My Name

A Nace Oneshot where Nancy *really* loves the way Ace calls her name. (Because Alex Saxon makes it sound so damn enticing that I couldn't help myself)

I had always liked my name. Nancy Drew. Not so much Drew anymore, but it sounds better than Nancy Hudson. Or maybe that was just my habits talking.

In any case, I like my name. Nancy.

With the ever-growing confusion regarding my last name, it suited me better to opt for – what I call – the Ace option. Just casually dropping my last name until and unless it's an official or legal requirement.

For the very common folk of Horseshoe Bay, I am Nancy.

Just Nancy.

It was only after I realized and accepted my intense feelings for my best male friend – my partner-in-investigative-work – Ace, I often found my heart skipping a beat at my own name.

Purely because of the way he called it. Nancy. With that adorable lilt at the second 'n'. He probably never even realized that he did it, which made it all the more enticing.

But I would never tell him that.

__________

I ignored the screaming soles of my feet as I locked up the Claw. It was date night for George and Nick, and despite my best hopes, I was the one left in charge of closing up the seafood restaurant.

How had I ended up here tonight, I wondered sarcastically before a face flashed in my mind.

Ace.

How was it that most of my stupid impulsive decisions nowadays were because of him? 

He had opted to lock up for the night, claiming to be happy to do it only if George allowed Amanda to stay with him.

"We haven't seen each other much since we returned from our road trip, and she has been asking me if we could just talk for a while without either of us running off for something or the other," he had said with a shrug.

Now, normally I am not a goody-two-shoes. Or a masochist. But seeing Ace with that utterly adorable little pout made my heart melt, and I jumped in to sacrifice my sanity to let him leave early. To be with his girlfriend, no less. 

What can I say? Sometimes, I am just that much of an idiot.

Bess had side-eyed me so hard when I chimed in, I wondered how transparent I had become regarding my feelings for Ace. How did no one else notice?

But then, maybe everybody had noticed it at some point in time and had chosen not to comment on it.

Everybody except Ace. A sigh heaved out of me at that particular thought.

Ace was blissfully unaware. And thank God for that. I didn't need him to hate me for ruining his chances with Amanda. As much as I had rolled my eyes at his dopey smile that first time he had accepted his crush on her—almost endangering George in the process—I did want him to be happy, even if it wasn't with me.

Even if watching him fall for her tore my heart out every time, I thought about it.

Even if I was wrecking myself over him. Every. Damn. Day.

I looked around aimlessly. I only had to mop the floors one last time, and then I could leave. So I got the mop and the bucket— put on some music, and let my mind daydream about a life where I wasn't the girl one-sidedly crushing on her best friend as I let my body move on autopilot.

I didn't even realize that I wasn't alone until I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise, pulling me out of the daydream just before I got kissed.

I whirled around towards the door leading to the locker room to find him standing there.

Ace.

He looked angry. Really angry. 

"Ace? What are you doing here? What's wrong?" I asked worriedly. Was someone in danger? Was there an accident or something?

"What's wrong is that I cannot fucking stop thinking about you," he snapped, his soft blue eyes flashing with barely concealed anger.

"What – what are you on about?" I stuttered with surprise.

His nostrils flared delicately. "There I was, with my girlfriend, finally spending some much-needed time together, and my mind kept reminding me that she is not you. That you are you. And that you are here. And I was so distracted by the thought of you being here alone with no one to protect you, should something happen, that I completely missed her telling me that she loved me."

He strode over to where I was standing, grasping onto the mop as if my life depended on it. The weight of his words, the complete and utter disaster of it all hit me at the same time he stopped barely half a foot away.

"Ace— ” I started and stopped. What was I supposed to say? Was there anything I could say that would help? Anything at all? It didn't seem so.

"There she was, looking all hopeful as she told me she loved me, and all I could think of was whether you were safe. Whether I would see you tomorrow." His voice held an undercurrent of fear. And I understood that.

After the Aglaeca and the Wraith and Everett Hudson and the threat of the Road Back still lingering, all of us felt overprotective of each other.

"I am not a marshmallow, Ace. I can take care of myself. At the very least, not drop dead while locking up the Claw," I joked half-heartedly. I admit that I might have intentionally ignored the part where he said he barely paid attention to his girlfriend. Or how my heart skipped several beats at it. I didn't need him more antagonized over my feelings for him.

"That's not the point, and you know it," he snapped. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, before he continued, "my girlfriend told me she loved me, and not only was I distracted enough to miss it, I couldn't even say it back."

He shook his head, eyes still closed, as if he could somehow forget everything that happened. I understood that feeling as well. Sometimes, I wished the same.

"Why?"I asked him softly because I knew that was the part he wanted me to stress on. I knew him well enough to know his cues. I could play along.

He opened his eyes at my question.

"Because, as much as I like Amanda, I don't love her. At least not as she wanted me to. I tried, God knows I tried so damn hard, but I just couldn't," he explained.

I didn't ask him the question on the tip of my tongue again. I merely kept staring at him. Ace knew my cues as well as I did his. If he wanted me to play along, he could as well.

Why? 

"She broke up with me, rightly so. She deserves someone who isn't already in love with someone else," he whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the music, "what kind of a pathetic person does that?"

Even then, my heart beating fast enough to rival that of a marathon runner, I stayed silent.

"Nancy." He whispered almost pleading, for what I didn't know.

"I love the way you say my name, "I whispered back as if in a thrall. Completely inappropriate? Perhaps. But a kernel of truth nonetheless.

He raised his hands, cupping my face so softly as if afraid that I would break under his touch. He touched his forehead to mine, his eyes closed again.

A slight tremble shook me at his touch. His breath ghosted over my face. "Say my name again," I whispered to him.

"Nancy."

He shifted his face a tiny bit and kissed my cheek. I closed my eyes at the onslaught of feelings his adoration elicited.

"Nancy," he whispered before kissing my other cheek.

"Nancy."

A kiss on my chin.

"Nancy."

A kiss on my forehead.

"Nancy." 

A kiss on my brows.

"Nancy."

A kiss on one eye, and then the other.

"Nancy." 

A kiss on my nose.

"Nancy," his voice took on an almost worshipping quality as he whispered my name but didn't lower his mouth to mine.

Tell him, I chided myself. Tell him that he isn't wrong in his feelings for you. Tell him that if he felt condemned about his feelings for you, then you shared the damnation with him.

"I love you, Ace," I said, tears escaping me, my throat raw with emotion, "I have loved you for a while now." 

There was so much I wanted to tell him and couldn't. So much he needed to know. Another day, I reasoned with myself. I would tell him another day when we were both far more clear-headed than we were at the moment.

"I know, Nancy," he said softly, nodding his head, "I love you too."

And then he closed the gap between us.

His lips were soft against mine. Unhurried. Moving with a languid assurance that he knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to claim it any longer. I played along with him, slow and steady, our form of normalcy until the heat growing in my body took over.

The kiss turned frantic as soon as I bit on his lower lip. His tongue was in my mouth, claiming me. He wanted everything, and I wanted to give it all to him. My tongue followed his, teasing him to a sensual dance of their own.

His hands, which were previously cupping my face, slid lower until one of them was grasping onto my neck – positioning my head as he wanted – the other grabbing onto my waist, pulling my body closer to his.

I let go of the mop, and it fell on the floor with a clang. I placed my hands on his chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady, if not galloping at a faster pace, under my fingertips. I moved my hands on his body, feeling his muscles flex subtly until one of my hands took a life of its own and decidedly wandered over to his hair, tugging on it as if he could come closer than he already was.

I don't particularly know how long we stayed like that, devouring each other like the last meal, but when we did eventually come up for air, I knew I wouldn't be able to let him go, and I told him as such.

His chuckle was like music to me. I opened my eyes just in time to see his smirk, "after a kiss like that, I should hope not, Nancy."

"Jesus Christ, Ace," I swore, "the way you say my name is my favorite thing."

His used laugh vibrated through me at that, warming my core but you know what? I didn't care.

"That's all?" Ace asked me playfully. No more stoicism. It was almost as if he had pulled back another layer of his surprisingly dazzling personality. I smiled at him in answer.

His answering grin almost knocked me right out. Damn! I really did love this man.

I didn't know what my face showed him, but the grin dropped off his face as he asked, "what's wrong?"

Ah. I must have been emoting the pent-up sadness I had repressed for so long.

I shook my head at him, smiling again. I combed through his hair with my fingers and let all of my affection pour into my voice as I said, "I didn't think I would ever get to do this again."

"Touch my hair?" Ace asked amused, quirking an eyebrow.

"Just be with you. Touch you without having to worry about offending anyone," I explained.

He placed a soft kiss on my forehead, pulling me into a hug, "You never really had any sense of personal space when it came to being near me, Nancy. That was just so you, I never really questioned it further. I was so scared of you putting up defenses against me that I purposefully ignored all the signs. Even when they were glaringly obvious." 

He kissed my cheek and said, "I shouldn't have tried as hard as I did to deny my feelings creeping up on me for over a month. And I definitely shouldn't have chosen the easier way out with Amanda."

I shook my head at that. "You did what you thought was right for you," I said, somewhat sadly, "I remember your smile. You told us that she made you bloom."

"She did. For a while."He said. There was a trace of sadness in his voice. It would take time, I knew, for him to stop blaming himself for everything that happened with her.

"Take your time before you move on, Ace. Both of you deserve that respect," I told him.

"I will," he said, a small smile gracing his lips again, "but not tonight." I nodded my acceptance of his decision. Whatever he needed.

"Nancy," he whispered my name in my ear a heartbeat later.

The groan that escaped me was obscene, and I rightfully snapped, "Stop saying my name like that, Ace, if you want to keep your clothes on."

His answering kiss made my blood heat up and my toes curl in my shoes in an instant. I kissed him back with equal fervor. His hands started roaming, and I gasped into his mouth as he cupped my ass. He chuckled in response. A challenge.

Very well, I thought to myself. I dropped my mouth, kissing his neck softly before biting on it. An obscene groan escaped him. I smirked.

Two can play this game, Ace. And I barely got started.

I licked the spot I had bitten.

"I won't be able to even see straight if you keep doing this," his warning rang. I ignored the moan accompanying the statement.

I took half a step away from him and said playfully, "You need some space, Ace?"

"Nancy," he almost growled before yanking my body flush against his again and dropping a searing kiss on my lips.

Dear God, in the heavens above! I loved the way he said my name.

Nancy.

[quill-pen]

@rom-e-o Laughing and clapping as he strode back across the dance floor to his girlfriend, Adonis felt relief at the bright camera flashes strobing throughout the room. His brother and Bess were effectively safe for the time being. "Well done!" he boomed as he slipped an arm around Connie's waist and held out his hand to take one of Ethel's in it. "Very well done, Ladies!" He pressed a kiss to Ethel's fingers then handed her off to Bob, who had also come back to collect his wife, then turned to kiss Connie's cheek. "Further tabloid scandal averted," he murmured into her ear. "Although I'm sure there will be some rather interesting shots of you and Ethel in the papers tomorrow."

🎄🎄🎄

It was all Bess could do to return the man's fervor and keep up with him in the kiss, wrapping her arms tight around his waist to anchor herself. Even in his gentility, Wolf was so dominant and overpowering in the best possible way: Bess felt completely intoxicated. "I'm yours," she breathed as he planted kisses on other parts of her face. She'd never felt so wonderful. "I'm yours, Wolf--completely. I have been since the moment we met." She knew that sounded crazy, as if she'd fallen in love with him at first sight, but crazy or not, it was true. Perhaps love at first sight wasn't just in fairytales.

Bess had no time (or brainpower) to ponder such a thing, as suddenly the man of her dreams was pulling her along into an almost tropically warm place, and then was kissing her again. She much too easily surrendered to his control, letting him trap her into a corner--something she normally never would have allowed with any other man. But this wasn't any other man--this was Ebenezar Scrooge--her beloved Wolf, who would never harm her, never make her feel unsafe; he could do just about whatever he liked. Which was why, when she felt the wetness of his tongue gliding along her lips, Bess eagerly parted them to allow him in. Her own tongue tentatively swiped out to meet his. She moaned at the lingering taste of mincemeat spices on his palate and let her hands drift up to cup his jaw and pull him further into the kiss.

"I'm real," she panted when they parted, stroking his cheekbones and gazing into his eyes to reassure him. She pressed her brow to his and nuzzled her nose beside his. "I'm real." Angling her head, she nudged his red-stained lips with hers to coax him back in. "Promise me that you are too."

@rom-e-o

In Timeless, Adonis has invited Connie as his date to the Lord Mayor's Christmas party. Wolf was encouraged (in the end, more like dared, because brothers be brothers) to invite Bess (as merely close friends, of course) and she accepted.

Let's dress our guys and dolls up and rp a little!

Wolf:

[hailbop1701]

Phone Blurb!

Caffeine Cure

Keywords: Coffee, Truck, Grass

Kennex X GNReader

Been a while since I wrote a Kennex X Reader. I hope you guys like it! Phone blurbs mean typos!

-H❤🖖

John felt as if he had been hit by a truck. Tugging open the door to a little cafe he grimaced. His reflection in the spotless window told him that he looked like he had been hit by a truck. He paused for a moment contemplating whether or not it was worth it to go in.

"Fuck it," he muttered the ache and pull for caffeine was deep. He was on a double shift at the precinct and if he didn't get a fix now he'd have to suffer through Valeries coffee, not coffee shit.

The bell above the door chimed and the smell of pastries lovingly assaulted his nose. Sighing he strode up to the counter and thanked the universe for his luck. There was only one person ahead of him. 'Cute ass,' he thought as his eyes wandered.

The person in front of him laughed lightly as they grabbed their coffee and muffin. Thanking the barista they turned and almost ran into John.

They stumbled as they tried to stop and not dump what smelt like hot mocha and cinnamon coffee on him.

~oOo~

"Woah,"

You gasped as the man you almost ran into reached out a hand. You breathed a small sigh of relief when your hot drink didn't spill all over the cute stranger. And by the looks of him, he didn't need that tonight.

"I'm so sorry!"

The man held up a placating hand a slight smile gracing his lips. "No worries," he said quietly. You cocked your head to the side, 'he looks exhausted,' you thought. Blushing you realized you had been staring. The man raised an eyebrow questioningly, but you simply smiled cheekily back and whipped back around to face the counter.

There was a mild sound of protest behind you as you cut in and faced your friend Bess again. She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Bess, his order is on me,"

The sound of protest got louder but it was easy to ignore. Bess winked and pulled up your tab.

Turning to leave you grinned at the dumbstruck handsome man. Giving him a little wink, you raced to the exit. Your break was almost up and you didn't want to be late. Again. Looking over your shoulder you tossed a -

~oOo~

"I hope your night gets better!"

John smirked still mystified at what happened. Clearing his throat he moved up to the counter where the barista waited with a knowing grin.

"Caffeine Cure, please"

The barista - Bess according to her nametag - nodded in understanding. "Long night?" She asked pulling a jumbo to-go cup from underneath the counter. John chuckled humorlessly and nodded.

"You have no idea," he muttered his mind flashing to what happened not even two hours before. Getting into a tussle with androids was not what he imagined his evening to turning into.

A large cup was set in front of him with a thunk bringing him out of his waking doze. Huffing he picked up the free coffee and saluted the girl in "Thanks"

Upon doing so he saw a and written phone number on the paper that prevented him from burning his hand. Bess shrugged her eyes twinkling. "I figured you'd want their number," she confessed with a chuckle.

John grinned as he sipped his caffeine-saturated drink. "My night is definitely beginning to look up," he said exciting the cafe. The rest of his shift wasn't going to be so bad now that he had someone to talk to. Well, someone who wasn't Dorian.

'Where is that nosy bastard anyway?' He thought in a mix of irritation and affection.

"If you keep drinking that stuff you're going to have a heart attack," a voice spoke up from behind him. Cursing John swung around and glared at his partner.

"I need it." He growled trying to keep the childish whine from his tone. The android rolled his eyes and shook his head but didn't comment. John without his caffeine was a bad time for everyone.

"Come on or we're going to be late,"

Dorian leisurely followed John to the car. Humming annoyingly he leaned forward,

"Are you going to call-"

"I fucking knew you were listening!"

Tags:

Everything: @thottiewithashotgun, @lauraaan182, @chickadee-djarin, @stileslover13-blog, @cowenby2, @bluesclues-1234, @sayuri9908

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Things I Have Learned During This Episode

1. Dean has a strength kink

2. Dean Winchester is a Disaster Bisexual

3. Sam has no idea how to cook like a normal person

4. That badass scene in 15x08 where the Winchesters strode through the door? Totally fake

5. Garth and Bess are into BDSM

6. Dean could give less of a shit about his precious baby, but will take his grenade launcher with him into the bathroom to throw up? Don’t get me wrong, I love Sweetheart the Grenade Launcher, but come on. GIVE BABY SOME RESPECT

7. The disgruntled bitchfaces aren’t enough. Sam now has to verablize the tension between Dean and Cas

8. Dean can dance

9. Dean can tap dance

10. Dean can tap dance extremely well

11. Dean can dance lovingly with a lamp so I’m pretty sure he’ll dance even better with a partner

12. On a completely unrelated note: I bet Misha can dance super well. (just throwing that out there)

13. Dean can Macarena

14. Hey @bisexualdemondean can you Macarena? Like, well?

15. Neither of the boys can hold their spice, which is personally hilarious to me, because I can hold my spice extremely well

16. Garth does the weirdest face when turning into a werewolf

17. Bess freaking jammed her claws into her idiot cousin’s wound wow we stan

18. Any version of Cas will have astoundingly blue eyes

19. So, destiel is canon now? Like, for real canon? Text canon, not subtext?

20. Can I ballroom dance with Dean please?

21. Dean’s little fast routine at the end that made me gasp outloud: I see you jensen, learning a whole new skill for this and absolutely killing it. Overachiever in the best way possible, as usual

22. Chuck’s a dick but I actually like him for giving us this episode

23. GARTH IS A FUCKING HERO I LOVE HIM SO MUCH HE DESERVES EVERY SINGLE OUNCE OF AFFECTION AND ALL THE HUGS I CAN GIVE HIM EVEN CHUCK LOVES HIM BC HE HASN’T MESSED UP HIS LIFE YET AND CHUCK DOESN’T LOVE ANYONE

24. This list has gone on way too long

[saxxxology]

BITTEN  - Ch.2

After getting bitten by a werewolf, Sam finds himself trying to adapt to a brand new lifestyle that brings him closer to the girl he loves, but threatens to tear him apart from his family for good.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~1700

WARNINGS: non-consensual werewolf bite (not sexual), a/b/o dynamics: heat/rut, knotting, claiming, breeding kink, angst, time hop (season 9 to 12), and more.

NOTE: Edited by @kayteonline and @kittenofdoomage - please heed all warnings and enjoy! This is NOT intended to be a dark fic, but if you read something that bothers you, it is your responsibility to stop reading, keep scrolling past it, or contact me for content clarification.

Buy Sam’s scent from my Etsy shop

Read the entire series on Patreon for just $3

Series Masterlist

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

Your head ached terribly. Scratchy ropes were wrapped tightly around your wrists, binding you to something hard and cold. You struggled, only to feel your shoulders twist and pop with the strain. Tied… the last thing you remembered was pulling carrots in the garden with Sam when something hard cracked down on the back of your skull.

Your vision blurred when you tried opening your eyes. You tried pulling at your restraints again, felt the fraying ropes dig harder into your skin.

“Look, the bitch is awake.”

Russ?

A hand twisted in your hair and yanked your head back, hard enough to make your skull slam into the object you were fastened to. Pain radiated through your whole body, and you fought to restrain a groan from leaving your throat.

“Russ…” you looked up and saw the fire-eyed man towering over you. Turning your head, you could see Joba leaning against the metal pipe. “Joba? Hey, guys, what the—”

You coughed when Joba aimed his foot at the dirt, spraying your face with dust and bits of rock. “Guys, what the hell are you doing?”

The men stalked away from you towards another crumpled figure, bound to the tractor.

“Sam?”

You shifted, fighting the strain in your arm as you saw your two best friends bound across from each other. Garth was standing stock still, his eyes fixed on his wife, who was collapsed on the floor, blood trickling from a cut on her cheek. She was crying and looking up at someone outside your range of vision.

“Mom? What is going on—?”

Joy? What the fuck was she doing?

Bess gasped loudly as Joy struck her across the face. A few feet away, Garth struggled violently against his bonds.

“First off,” Joy snarled, “I’m not your mother.”

Garth let out a choked shout. “You leave her alone! You want to hurt somebody, you hurt me!”

Joy laughed sadistically and strode into your view, looking between you and Garth. “Oh, that is so sweet. But I am going to hurt her. And him.” She gestured to Sam, who was still unconscious. “But especially you, for bringing these hunters here.” Her gaze fell on the two men, who were restlessly pacing back and forth. “Boys, go wait outside. Don’t want any more visitors.”

She slapped Garth hard across the cheek. He grunted with pain and lashed at her. “Please don’t do this. Not to Bess. She’s your daughter—!”

“How many times do I have to say this? Stepdaughter! I’m the last of my bloodline!” Joy turned to Sam, who was beginning to stir, his long legs stretching out in front of him. “Thanks to you and your kind out there!”

Sam’s eyes flickered open. His nose was bloody from there he’d been punched, and he tensed when he realized that he was bound. When he saw you, his eyes widened with panic. “Y/N?” He looked up next to you. “Garth… Bess…”

Joy chuckled and walked over to him, bending down so she could stare him directly in the face. “Well, don’t you just look good enough to eat.”

You whimpered and jerked against your bonds. “Joy, don’t—”

Your words broke off as the woman straightened up, aiming a small revolver at your chest.

“Silver bullet in here, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Don’t test me. I’ll put you down before you can start begging.”

“Why are you doing this?” Sam attempted to distract Joy while he worked his fingers along the knots in the ropes. “I mean, killing me, I can understand, but these people are your family.” He accented the last two words. “Your pack.”

Joy swallowed, and her hand trembled as she pulled the gun away from you. “Last winter, my little brother, Charlie, was killed by a hunter. My husband counseled patience, restraint. Just as when he took over our beloved church, he preached a new direction; lycanthropes and man would co-exist. Peace was more important than dominance.” She scoffed as tears welled in her eyes. “I tried so hard to make his way work… to be a preacher’s wife. But then… Charlie was murdered. And I couldn’t help remembering my daddy’s sermons. And, by golly, turns out he was right!” She paced around waving the gun at each of you in turn. “As long as there is man, there can be no peace. Because man destroys. And I, for one, am sick of it!”

Sam nodded and let his eyes briefly flicker back to yours. “I get it now. Why co-exist when you can rule?”

Joy grinned maniacally. “Bingo! But my husband doesn’t see it that way. See, he was bitten, not born into it, like I was. He still holds on to his humanity. Which is why I am so pleased it will be his claws that start Ragnarok, not mine.” The corners of her mouth turned down, and for a split second, you could see the murderous look in her eyes. “You and your brother coming here was a blessing from Fenris above. The two of you cornered Garth here, and then when little Bess came running in to see what the fuss was about…” She gasped for dramatic effect and grinned down at Sam. “You killed her.”

“No!” Garth screamed from next to you. “No, Joy, please don’t do this!”

You struggled harder against the ropes that held you as Joy double-checked that the revolver was loaded. Sam kept talking, in an effort to buy both of you time.

“You’re gonna frame their murders on me.” He assumed. “Gonna say that a hunter came in here and killed your whole pack.”

“Mmm… no.” Joy turned to him. “Not a hunter. Just a freshly turned lycanthrope who couldn’t control himself.”

Your heart sank as she began stalking towards Sam, who began struggling violently at the ropes that held. She was gonna turn him…!

“Joy, no! He doesn’t have anything to do with this! Leave him alone!” You screamed at her as she ran her fingers through Sam’s hair.

“Shut up!” Joy turned on you, crossing the space between you and Sam and slapping you hard across the face. You felt her exposed claws tear into your cheek, then the hot, wet feeling of blood running down your face. “This would have been so much easier if little Omega bitches like you could control themselves. You think mating with a human—a hunter—is a smart decision? He’ll turn around and kill you the moment he sees you as a threat.”

Helpless, you started crying. “Sam, please, I’m so sorry!”

Joy struck you again, her palm now coated in your blood. “I said shut up!”

She turned, went back to Sam, who kept his eyes fixed on you. “This won’t hurt a bit, sweet cheeks.”

“No,” Sam muttered, pulling his head back as Joy stepped closer to him. “No, don’t! Get away!”

He kicked at her hand, and the gun went flying through the air, landing ten feet away on the straw-covered dirt. Joy snarled, gripped his hair, and tugged his head back.

You didn’t see her sink her fangs into Sam’s neck. You only saw his eyes squeeze shut as the pain of the bite took place. He screamed, a guttural sound that resounded through the entire barn, and you screamed with him, tears spilling down over your cheeks, stinging when they wet the gashes in your face. When Joy pulled away, fresh blood was coursing down over Sam’s shoulder. His eyelids fluttered, and you wondered if he was going to pass out.

Then a gunshot rang out, and Joy toppled backward, a smoking hole over her heart.

Dean had joined the fray.

With a wild cry of pain, you broke free, feeling the thick ropes scratch into your arms as you used every ounce of strength to break free. You worked Garth’s bonds loose in a matter of seconds, and then you were by Sam’s side. He was still conscious, and he was holding the bite on his neck, his jaw clenched in pain.

“Come on, Sammy, let me see—!”

Sam slapped his brother’s hand away. “No! Don’t touch me, Dean, I’m bit!”

You watched Dean’s face go slack as the realization hit him. “Sam—”

“She bit me,” Sam repeated over and over again, “she bit me, she bit me…”

“Sam, let me see.” You gripped his wrist, pulling his palm away from the bite on his neck. It was already healing, skin turning pink over the deep bite. You turned back to Dean. “He’s been bit, Dean, we can’t do anything.”

“No way in hell,” Dean grabbed your arm, dragged you back and away from Sam. He pushed you back against the tractor, his hand on your throat. “There’s gotta be a cure out there, Y/N, you tell me right now or I swear to God I’ll—”

“There’s no cure!” you shouted tearfully, “there’s no cure, Dean, it’s a one-way ticket!”

“Bullshit!” Dean clicked the safety off on his gun, aiming it at your chest. “You’d better be telling me the truth!”

Garth spoke up from several feet away. He was on the ground, cradling a sobbing Bess in his arms. “She’s not lying, Dean, please believe her.”

For a second, you thought Dean was gonna shoot you anyway. But then he pulled the gun back and tucked it back into his belt. “Okay… okay, so what do we do now?”

You were speechless. This wasn’t what you’d expected. Sam was supposed to go off with his brother the following morning, all safe and happy and human… then everything had gone wrong and for some reason you felt like it was all your fault.

Sam looked up at you, reaching for your hand with bloodstained fingers. “Y/N, what do we do?”

You breathed hard, ignoring the strong, coppery scent of human blood in the air. “Garth’s house, the, uh, the basement—”

“Basement?” Dean looked between you. “What the hell do you have a basement for?”

“It’s a safe zone, we’ve had to use it before.” You fought to pull Sam from the ground, and he slumped weakly against you. “C’mon, we gotta get him there as soon as possible.”

TAGS FOR THIS SERIES ARE OPEN

If you want to see chapter 3, reblog and leave a comment! Feedback is my fuel!

Forever tags: @atc74 @becaamm @bamby0304 @crispychrissy @crashdevlin @curly-haired-disaster @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @kittenofdoomage @kayteonline @kdfrqqg @littlegreenplasticsoldier @lunarsaturn88 @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @manawhaat @mereka18 @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @oneshoeshort @percussiongirl2017 @serpentbaby @spnwoman @smallgirlbigpersonality @shaelyn102 @thelittleredwhocould @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @zombiewerewolfqueen @85natalie @81mysteriouslyme

“Bitten” tags: @linki-locks11 @lez-boatz-writez

[winterscaptain]

welcome home, brother

After the final standoff at Beecher's Hope, John rejoins his family.

note: i loved writing this, and it’s very wholesome. 

warning: spoilers for the end of rdr1

tagging: @softarthurmorgan, @pixieresque, @notursdutch, @feiwel, @shyeehaw

find it on ao3 here

He saw the shots. He didn’t feel them at first.

John didn’t process which breath was his last, but the searing, overwhelming pain blinded him all at once to anything beyond experiencing it.

And then it was gone. Replaced with a painlessness he hadn’t experienced since youth. His joints were loose, his muscles unwound, and his body whole.

He opened his eyes, and he startled, hands flying up to his chest and face, not finding holes where he expected about forty. The scars on his face were gone, replaced with the smooth skin of his childhood. He was on his back, on a bedroll, somewhere in a room he didn’t recognize, but familiar nevertheless. When he settled, he breathed in deep and his heart pulled. Abigail.

“How many times will I have to bury you, John Marston?”

He sat up and sighed, dropping his head in his hands. He'd failed. Arthur left him to live with Abigail and Jack, and he ruined it all. All that strife. For nothing. Goddamn it all, Marston. The door in the corner, which he hadn’t noticed prior, opened. He looked up, and the air was pulled from his lungs and he rose to his feet all at once.

Arthur Morgan stood before him, well and able-bodied, breathing soundly and with a small smile on his face. He looked a little older than when John met him but not as old as he was the last time John saw him. Maybe twenty-eight, or so. John couldn’t tell how old he himself was at all. He’d have to figure that out at some point.

“Little Johnny Marston,” he said.

The nickname that bothered him in life drew a smile from him in death. “Hey, brother.”

Arthur removed his hat and strode to John, wrapping him in a crushing hug.  “You did well.” The smell of him hadn't changed. Whiskey and gunsmoke, with something John could only describe as desert.

“You’re alright, then?” John stepped back, hands on Arthur’s upper arms, looking him over.

Arthur smiled. “Just fine.”

“Where are we?” He looked around once more, taking in the bare room that seemed inside and outside all at once. It was warm, but not uncomfortable. The plank walls looked aged but freshly built. He recognized the bedroll as his own, but nothing else, what little there was,belonged to him.

He shrugged. “Not sure. Just seems like after. Some of us find it, others don’t.”

Odd answer. “Who’s here?” What did Arthur mean, some don't? Was he supposed to look for this?

John was full of questions, but then again, weren't they all? He certainly had questions for Hosea when he arrived. “Who do you want to see first?” Arthur’s eyes seemed to twinkle, and John knew he had more than one trick up his sleeve.

John thought for a moment, looking at his feet. “I don’t know.” Of all the dead people he knew, there was nobody that immediately came to mind. He'd been so numb to death for so long...

“I know of someone who wants to meet you, bad.”

John’s brow furrowed, and the door opened once more to reveal a little girl with dark hair and dancing eyes. He knelt to the floor, and she ran into his arms. He lifted her, numb with the revelation of it all. She was maybe six or seven, her hair intricately braided down her back. It reminded her of the way Susan would braid Abigail's hair when they traveled from camp to camp, keeping the flyaways out of her eyes.

“Hi, Pa.” She leaned back in his arms and smiled at him, her little hands on his cheeks. He saw Abigail in her smile, and his heart pulled again. Her eyes were his own, dark and deep brown. There was a sweetness in them that reminded him of the dark chocolate Hosea brought him once as a teenager.

“Hey, Rachel.” He peppered her hands with kisses, moving a hand from her back to her hair and holding her close. He looked over her head at Arthur.

“I can’t believe you knew my own kid before I did.” John's jab lacked heat, but the truth behind it kept the smile from reaching his eyes.

Arthur laughed, but his eyes carried the weight. He couldn't resist though, getting one in himself. “That’s happened twice now.”

John rolled his eyes and Rachel giggled. “Shut up. Who else?”

“Everyone.” Arthur held out a hand, and John stepped forward to let him lead him between his shoulder blades, through the door, and into what looked like the Valentine saloon, but cleaner. Rachel curled into him, laying her head in the crook between his neck and shoulder. Her small hand fiddled with the collar of his shirt. He’d never felt warmer. He only missed Abigail.

Hosea sat at a table, Bessie in his lap, laughing at who he could only assume was Annabelle across from her. A shock of red curls fell down her back. She leaned back in her chair, happy and relaxed. Her left hand was outstretched, her pinky and ring finger linked to Susan Grimshaw’s thumb, who was drinking and smoking with none other than Dutch, seated in a chair beside them. Molly was hovering about in better humor than John had ever known her to have in life. 

John stilled when he saw him. He looked the same as the day he met him, in his mid-thirties. Swallowing thickly, he tightened his hold on Rachel. She curled her fist into his collar, and he slowed his breath. It’s over now.

Arthur watched him take it in, his family whole, save for Abigail. “It took a while for Dutch to find us.”

“You’ve forgiven him?”

Arthur’s lips twisted up, half smile half grimace. “Depends on the day, but there’s not much to worry about here.”

John nodded, his eyes stuck to Dutch. Molly’s eyes found him next, and she offered a smile. Dutch’s eyes followed soon after, dipping his head in a respectful nod.

Hosea noticed him first, his icy blonde hair shining in the warm light of the saloon. He put a hand on Bessie’s waist, drawing her eyes to him as well. “Our boy made it, Bess.”

She rose and crossed to him, arms open. She met him with her hands on his arms, looking him over much like he had with Arthur minutes prior. She smoothed a hand over Rachel’s hair with a fond smile before meeting John’s gaze.

Her smile was warm and kind, and he suddenly understood more about Hosea, and the warmth in his smile after her death. “John, darling. It’s good to meet you.”

“You too, ma’am.”

“Oh none of that,” she waved him off, “Bessie is just fine. Come join us, John.”

She took him by the arm, and he threw a look at Arthur over his shoulder, who just shrugged and laughed. A woman, with a delicate face and dark hair, took his arm, and he looked at her fondly. She kissed his cheek, and he closed his eyes, soaking her in. A little boy trailed at her feet, with Arthur's hair and the woman's eyes. Eliza. Isaac.

Lenny and Sean wandered over, drinks in-hand, and clapped John on the shoulder.

“Good to see you, John.” Lenny greeted him with a smile.

“Welcome home, brother!” Sean crowed, raising his glass and taking a large sip of his beer.

John was at peace, his family around him.

Three years later, when it was Abigail’s turn to wake up disoriented, John was there, holding her hand. She’d kissed him desperately, and they both cried.

“I missed you,” he said.

“I love you,” she replied.

He led her to their family, and Rachel was waiting for her in Arthur’s arms.

“There she is!” Arthur’s smile was warm.

Abigail embraced them both, wordlessly.

They were home.

[your-raifu-is-shit]

I have not seen one person try and roast the Brown Bess. Do it, faggot.

The Brown Bess was the standard-issue weapon of the United Kingdom from 1722-1838. 

116 years.

During that time the British strode across the entire globe, bravely slaughtering the natives of every land their encountered and laying the foundations of the largest empire to ever exist. With this weapon they deposed kings, toppled civilizations, and pillaged entire continents.

And not once during this entire process did they feel the need to add PROPER FUCKING SIGHTS to the damn thing, because apparently being able to actually hit what you’re aiming at just straight-up did not occur to the British.

[abyssleaves]

Ooh, better be wise and don’t believe his lies

[exquisiteagony]

@lnights here’s some from the next fic

He strode past the club, hood pulled up, and tried not to look around furtively for people watching him.

And this was why he rarely left the Workshop. The Workshop was a space he could control, but outside he felt horribly vulnerable. There were too many unknown factors, even on the main station of the Hangar. However much he dreamed about the day he could travel and not live in fear of God’s End, he’d shut himself into a cage of his own paranoia.

That paranoia wasn’t helped by the narrow alley. The buildings rose up on either side; great squatting giants that seemed to long to encroach on the alleyway, to gobble up its space and claim it for themselves. He shuddered, glancing up at empty windows like gaping mouths, and picked up his pace.

In the open doorway of one warehouse - Johnny wasn’t sure if it was one of the apartment buildings or the unclaimed one - two figures sat smoking from a pipe they were sharing. He caught a glimpse of sunken cheeks and hollow eyes watching him with disinterest as he passed, the smell of unwashed bodies reaching his nose.

Then he was past them, and raising his hand to knock on Bess’s door.

Rain dripped from the eaves as he waited - HSS-3 was always inexplicably damp, like it attracted all of the moisture from the Hangar - plinking into little puddles on the tarmac. The duo in the other doorway muttered to themselves, but then Bess was opening the door, welcoming him inside warmly with a beaming smile on her face.

anyone want a skydweller extract and if so do you want it from the current fic or the next one?

[whoinwhoville]

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler Additional Tags: john smith x jane smith, Human Nature, UST Lite, perhaps pre-UST, or subconcious UST Series: Part 4 of FoundVerse, Part 5 of Whoville's Follower Milestone Celebration Summary:

Everything is just fine. That's an understatement. Missing scenes early on in Found & Forgotten.

Written for @toppbanana, who won the Whoville Milestone Celebration John x Jane (Foundverse) ficlet. Prompt was UST or flirty banter. UST-lite, but lots of pining, blushing, doesn’t-know-what-do-with-herself Jane. I hope you like it!

“Good morning, Miss Smith. How was your weekend?” John Smith asked the shy typist.

“Fine, Mr. Smith,” Jane answered quietly. She pushed her glasses up her nose to give her nervous hands something to do.

“Good. I’m glad it was fine. Have a good morning, Miss Smith.”

“You too,” she almost whispered.

John strode down the corridor to his office, and closed the door quietly.

Jane could hear the flirtatious laughter of Priscilla Bootkins from twenty feet away through the thin walls. She balled her fists, and then shoved a piece of typing paper behind the roller, unsuccessfully trying to straighten it against the paper guide.

“What’s got you all in a tizzy, Janie?” asked Betty Anderson.

“Nothing. Can’t get this ridiculous piece of paper to go in straight is all.” It was crooked and wrinkled and just wouldn’t do. The gears whirred as she yanked it out, balled it up, and dropped into the bin under her desk.

oOo

“Quick, Miss Smith!” John planted his hands on her desk, and leaned into her until they were almost nose to nose. “I need the name of a device that takes over someone’s mind and controls their actions!”

Jane gasped. “That’s a bit terrifying.”

“Of course. It wouldn’t be an adventure without a bit of a scare now, would it?” He leaned even more closely.

Jane closed her eyes and chewed on the corner of her mouth. “Mind… Mind… Mindthief. Mindrobber. Thought-Thief.” She paused and shook her head. “No. The name shouldn’t sound like a machine. It’s more frightening that that.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “The victim’s mind is controlled by a Puppeteer.”

“Puppeteer,” he whispered, furrowing his brows, his dark eyes unwavering from hers. “Fine job, Miss Smith.”

oOo

“Good afternoon, Miss Smith. How is your day coming along?” John asked Jane.

Jane quickly swallowed a bite of the snack she’d been eating, and cleared her throat of the crumbs. “It’s fine.” She held the half-eaten piece of shortbread so tightly that it was about to crumble.

“Do you like shortbread, Miss Smith?”

“Yes. It’s fine, Mr. Smith.” She smiled shyly.

“What a coincidence! I like shortbread, too! We’re full of coincidences, aren’t we? First John David Smith and Jane Donna Smith. And now we both like shortbread!” He nabbed a piece, and pushed the whole thing into his mouth. “But then again,” he said, mouth full, “I think it’s a rule that I like shortbread. I’m Scottish. I have to like it, don’t I?” He took a second piece, and a third. “Oh, this is very good. Very good. First chance I’ve had to try it. I brought it in this morning. There’s a fantastic little bakery near my flat. They make the most delicious banana nut loaf, too. I’ll have to bring that in next time. Make sure you take a piece or two before it’s all gone.” He winked. He turned on his heel as he shoved a third piece into his mouth.

Jane’s cheeks turned a delightful shake of pink. “He bought it.” She checked for onlookers before she daintily picked up a second wedge to savour later.

oOo

John Smith ambled down the hallway at an unusually slow pace. He passed Jane’s desk, but then halted, and turned around.

Jane’s stomach lurched as out of the corner of her eye she could see the handsome man approaching. She fought to focus her attention on the keyboard, but her fingers slipped, and she misspelled miss as kiss. Her desk lurched as her foot slipped, kicking the desk leg.

“Everything all right, Miss Smith?” Mr. Smith asked kindly.

“Fine. Everything’s fine,” she stuttered.

“It’s two minutes until five o’clock on a Friday. I think it would be all right if you left two minutes early, don’t you?”

She shook her head and bit her lip. “I couldn’t do that, Mr. Smith. I—“

“I give you permission. That is my manuscript you’re working on after all. I recognize my scrawl on those notes.” He looked at his watch, and tapped it. “It’s now one minute until five!”

Mr. Smith reached in front of Jane, flipped the paper release, and pulled the paper out. “Have I ever told you that you do fine work, Miss Smith? Of all of the typists, you are the most accurate.”

Jane squeaked as she watched Mr. Smith scan the page. His eyes stopped on the last line. “Hmm. I don’t remember this sentence going this way.” He cleared his throat. “Iris looked up at the Professor with longing. ‘I’ll kiss you, Professor. I’ll never stop.’” A slow smile appeared.

“I’m sorry for the error, Mr. Smith. I was about to correct it when you happened by. My fingers slipped, and—“

“It’s fine, Miss Smith.” He leaned closer. “But there isn’t kissing just yet. You’ll get to type that word soon enough. Where’s the fun in rushing things?” He winked at her.

Jane pushed her glasses up her nose.

“Well would you look at that. It’s officially five o’clock. Off you go! Have a good weekend, Miss Smith.”

You’re going to be fine, Jane Smith. Just fine. She dropped her face into her hands.

oOo

Bess slipped on a stylish black coat and tugged on a pair of red kid driving gloves. “What are you going to do on this dreary Saturday, darling?”

“Nothing special.” Jane looked out the window and took a sip of tea. Rain pelted the pane.

“I’m afraid I won’t be back until early evening, darling. Luncheon with Mother always turns into dinner. I hope you won’t be terribly lonely.”

“I’m never lonely when I have a something to read. I’ll be fine.”

As soon as the door closed behind Bess, Jane rushed into her bedroom and pulled out her favourite book. She clutched it to her chest and sighed in anticipation. “A whole day with the Professor and Iris,” she said to herself. “And John…”

She was going to be just fine.

oOo

John paced the length of his flat. He’d been wearing a hole in the hardwood for at least fifteen minutes now. He groaned. This arrangement with Priscilla wasn’t working. At all. He was not fine. He’d lost his ability to write. He was constantly in need of help. Thank heaven for Jane Smith — his very own Muse. Without Jane, he wouldn’t have been able to get anything on paper.

He couldn’t shake that sentence from his thoughts. Iris looked up at the Professor with longing. ‘I’ll kiss you, Professor, and I’ll never stop.’

“But it isn’t time yet. She’ll miss him. Right? Just miss him. No kissing.” He ran a hand through his hair and dropped onto the black leather sofa. “But why does it feel so right?”

“It’s going to be fine. It’s going be fine.” Maybe if he repeated it enough, he’d start to believe it.

[vsplusonline]

Lightning Bolt, Trafalgar, Adjudicate, Cosmos, Awesome One and Consigliori excel

New Post has been published on https://apzweb.com/lightning-bolt-trafalgar-adjudicate-cosmos-awesome-one-and-consigliori-excel/

Lightning Bolt, Trafalgar, Adjudicate, Cosmos, Awesome One and Consigliori excel

Lightning Bolt, Trafalgar, Adjudicate, Cosmos, Awesome One and Consigliori excelled when the horses were exercised here on Tuesday morning (Feb 25).

Inner sand:

1000m: Knotty Ash (S. John) 1-6.5, 600/39.5. Pleased.

1400m: Brave Lady (Arshad) 1-33.5, (1,400-600) 52. Eased up.

Outer sand:

600m: Cosmic Feeling (A. Imran) 43. In fine trim. Rudram (Vivek) 43.5. Moved freely. Star Citizen (Nazerul) 43. Shaped well. Track Striker (P. Mani) 44. Moved well. Apthamitra (rb) 46. Easy. Southern Ruler (Ashok) 43.5. Strode out well.

1000m: Musterion (Ashok) 1-15, 600/42.5. In fine nick. Mighty Red (Ashok) 1-15.5, 600/43.5. Stretched out well. Cosmos (Irvan) 1-13, 600/41. Moved fluently. Golden Vision (Mark), Amazing Skill (rb) 1-15, 600/43.5. Former finished eight lengths ahead. Subah Ka Tara (Srinath) 1-14, 600/41.5. Worked well. Silver Dew (Chetan G) 1-14, 600/42. Pleased. Awesome One (Srinath) 1-9.5, 600/42.5. Impressed. Desert Combat (Arshad) 1-14.5, 600/41.5. Strode out well. My Vision (Rajesh B) 1-14.5, 600/44.5. Moved freely.

1200m: Brown Bess (Gnaneshwar), Excellent Sorrento (Naveen K) 1-29, 1,000/1-14, 600/44.5. Former finished three lengths ahead. Ashwa Raftar (rb), Estella (rb) 1-31, 1,000/1-13, 600/42.5. They finished level. Temple Dancer (rb) 1-29.5, 1,000/1-14, 600/45. Easy. Shaktiman (Shiva K) 1-31.5, (1,200-600) 43. Eased up. Industrialist (Naveen K) 1-29, 1,000/1-13, 600/43.5. Shaped well. Incitatus (R. Manish) 1-30, 1,000/1-14, 600/44. Moved well.

1400m: Wizard Of Stocks (Neeraj) 1-46, 1,200/1-30.5, 1,000/1-15, 600/44.5. Moved freely. Trafalgar (David Allan) 1-40, 1,200/1-24, 1,000/1-9, 600/40.5. A fine display.

1600m: Consigliori (R. Marshall) 1-55, 1,400/1-40.5, 1,200/1-26, 1,000/1-12, 600/45. In fine trim. Adjudicate (Srinath) 1-51.5, 1,400/1-37.5, 1,200/1-24, 1,000/1-11, 600/45. A pleasing display. Lightning Bolt (Irvan) 1-55, 1,400/1-37, 1,200/1-23, 1,000/1-9.5, 600/41.5. An excellent display.

Gate practice — inner sand:

1200m: Garamond (Vaibhav), a 3-y-o (Whatsthescript – Anahi) (S. Shareef), Affermato (Anjar) 1-26.5, (1,200-600) 43.5. First two named were the pick. Highland Nectar (rb) 1-32, (1,200-600) 45. Jumped out well. A 3-y-o (Win Legend – Conceptual) (S. John), Compliance (Jagadeesh) 1-23, (1,200-600) 43.5. Former finished four lengths ahead. A 3-y-o (Top Class – Hallelujah) (Arshad) 1-28, (1,200-600) 45. Took a good jump. She’s Superb (Shiva K) 1-21.5, (1,200-600) 39. Jumped out smartly. San Bernardino (Rayan), Green Channel (rb) 1-24.5, (1,200-600) 44. They jumped out well. Bloom Buddy (S. Shareef), Amazonite (Vaibhav) 1-21, (1,200-600) 42. Former showed out. Exaltation (Mark), Tarini (S. Hussain) 1-26, (1,200-600) 41.5. Former finished five lengths ahead. Starry Wind (Irvan) 1-20.5, (1,200-600) 41.5. Took a good jump. Buscadero (Sai Vamshi), A 3-y-o (Air Support – Cool Jazz) (Gnaneshwar), Countrys Pailwan (Naveen K) 1-27, (1,200-600) 43.5. First two named impressed.

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