#So tempted to just draw a pile of dust glaring up at them

[cryptidtumbleweed]

Okay okay so this but of odd request BUT

Like can you draw Giovanni (natm oc) being turned into dust (like the cave man ) and Jed (who’s properly has to much trama from gio) and oct watching happily

There kind like watching a house on fire of that help 👹

Honestly don’t take this seriously, cause like pls don’t.

Ask and you shall receive

[copias-thrall]

There’s Something About Mary

A day in the life of our crusty Mr. Goore

Mary POV chapter bc I want to and I can.

⬅️ Previous

*public masturbation, kinda*

Mary wakes up horny.

He must have been having a pleasant dream, because his cock is hard and throbbing where it rests heavy against his thigh. He shoves a hand down into his undone jeans to give his cock a squeeze—just for a moment of relief—and, as the touch wakes him up fully, he realizes he can hear the distinct sounds of sex from one of the rooms. A thump thump thump and a squeak squeak squeak, all punctuated with blatant moans.

Fuck it, he thinks, and he begins to jack it to the sex orchestra going on, not 10ft from where he lies on the couch. Once a place they sometimes took turns on, the couch has become Mary’s de facto room—a subtle punishment for his supposed defection. So, he has no qualms about masturbating in his room, and if any of the other guys have an issue with it, Mary has no problem making his display more public, just for spite.

He pauses only to spit in his hand when his dry palm begins to chafe. It doesn’t even matter when the noises from the other room cease (and later Mary will have to tease them about their staying power), Mary just scrolls through his mental Rolodex until he brings up the memory of his dick in between Suey’s tits, how they jiggled despite being held together, how shiny they became once covered in his jizz, and how she looked up at him as she contorted one to bring it up to her mouth to lap some off.

“Shit, shit,” he exclaims as the memory of her pink tongue lapping up his cum causes him to release. Some shoots up his bare chest, but most of it lands and pools in his belly button. Eyes still closed, his free hand shoots out and fumbles for the box of tissues on the table, encountering instead a stack of thin takeout napkins.

As he does his best to clean himself up with the napkins—whose integrity is suspect—he can hear the low rumble of male voices and a high, feminine giggle from the sex room. Just to be a jackass, he gets himself up so that he can have first dibs on the bathroom.

Making sure to lock the door behind him, Mary turns on the hot faucet, willing the water to warm up sooner than later. He takes the opportunity, while he waits, to piss in the toilet; it’s already open—toilet seat up—even though it’s supposed to put it down when they have guests. They’re out of TP again, so a roll of paper towels rests on the lid of the tank.

Once the water is warm enough, Mary uses a couple pieces from the roll to clean off the jizz drying and to give himself a brief wipe down. His face is still half crusty with makeup, and he’s tempted to just add to it, but he’s learned from hard experience how that can fuck up your face, so—even though it’s a goddamned pain—Mary washes his face. He even uses the harsh Dial hand soap, even though the acrid smell will get up into his nose for hours.

He thinks of the nice-smelling scrub Suey has and her drugstore face cream he sometimes rubs into his skin.

In the soap- and toothpaste-speckled mirror, he starts to apply his “Day Face” (as Suey calls it) from the communal box of makeup (his better stuff is in his backpack): a light dusting of white powder; some eyeliner all the way around; a dull, red lipstick; and black shadow on his cheekbones.

He’s just starting on his hair when there comes a pounding on the door

“Fucks’ sake. C’mon, Goore.”

Mary turns his head upside down in the sink basin so he can haphazardly splash some water into his hair.

“Fuck off, douchebag.”

He starts to work his fingers into his locks, coaxing the glue already in it to activate.

“She’s gotta pee, man.”

He fluffs his forelock in the mirror as his other hand searches for the blood tube in the box.

“We have a kitchen sink.”

A small voice tells him not to take his annoyance with his friends out on the girl, and he sighs.

“Stop being a di—”

The voice cuts off as Mary swings the door open. Brendan's angry face smooths into one of minor irritation. The girl—Lisa?—stands, thighs crushed together, in an oversized kitten t-shirt. She looks at Mary, wide-eyed; her gaze darts to his bare, wet chest before snapping back up.

“Lis,” he says, winking as he saunters out.

Her face crumples a little.

“Lizzy,” she says, and Mary’s stomach swoops a bit when he realizes he’s probably slept with her before.

He makes himself smile as she moves past him to the bathroom.

“That’s what I said: Liz.” He shoots her a finger gun at her as Brendan scowls at them both. When the door closes and Brendan is still glaring, Mary lets out a “What?”

“You sticking around for breakfast, man?”

Mary rolls his eyes. “I’m here, ain’t I?” He starts to paw through the plastic shelving drawers next to the couch for a shirt.

Brendan shrugs. “Thought your pussy-whipped ass might need to get back to that uptown princess of yours.”

He glares at Brendan. “Stop being dick.”

“She’s fucking slumming it, dude. I’m warning you.”

It’s not a new argument, so Mary just ignores him, instead trying to apply a bit of blood to the tip of his forelock using the heart compact Suey gave him.

Titus emerges from the shared room, yawning, in his terrible leopard print robe that’s way too short.

“Morning, asswipe,” he says to Mary as he walks by. “What’re we bitching about?”

Brendan says “uptown girl” as Mary says “nothing.”

Titus sighs.

“Jesus, Brendan. You gotta get over that. That’s Mary’s mistake to make.”

“You know what? Fuck this shit.” Mary starts getting his backpack in order.

“That’s right! Blow off another band meeting!” says Brendan, and Mary spins on his heel to stomp back.

He jabs a finger into his chest. “I’m here all the goddamned time, more than I am at her place. I come to every meeting you tell me about.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you about anything. You should just be here. You should be committed,” hisses Brendan.

“I’m going to make some toast,” says Titus as he swishes toward the kitchen.

Mary rifles through his plastic draws and slams a notebook and loose papers onto the table.

“There’s mine, dude. Lyrics. Composition. Where’s yours?”

Donnie and Jamie wander out of their room.

“Not this shit again. It’s too fucking early,” says Donnie.

Brendan vibrates. “What about funds, man? A social media presence? You think all that happens by magic?”

“So I’m supposed to write, and compose, and do the budget?” snarls Mary.

“Guys,” moans Jamie.

“And our Insta is shit, by the way.”

“Fuck. Can we not?” moans Donnie.

Mary again jabs a finger at Brendan. “Then tell him to can it. I’ve already been exiled to the couch. I don’t need him picking fights because he doesn’t like my girlfriend, who—by the way—has never fucking done anything wrong.”

“You haven’t been exil—” Jamie starts.

“We were supposed to fucking share those rooms,” Mary hisses as he gesticulates. “I pay the same amount of rent, and yet I come home one day to find all my stuff in a pile in the living room. I have to wait for you guys to stop playing video games because ‘this is shared space’ to fucking sleep.”

“We all agreed—”

“No. You guys agreed. I didn’t get shit to say about it. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not too fucking keen on being pleasant.”

They all stand there, glowering at each other until Donnie says, “I need to take a goddamned piss,” and finds the bathroom door locked. At his soft The fuck? the lock clicks, and Lizzy opens the door cautiously.

“I’m sorry. It just. Seemed like you guys were getting into it.”

Brendan sighs. “C’mon, babe. Let’s get your stuff.”

The fight isn’t a new one, and—with no resolution in sight—they all drop the subject so they can get on with the breakfast of eggs on toast Titus brings out and the subsequent band meeting. The Brick—a cheap, overworked laptop—is brought out so they can go over band business: the budget; the van maintenance and parking costs; the gig and practice schedule is outlined so that they can align their work shifts; new merch ideas are bandied about; and they talk about how to improve their digital sales.

Mary’s leg jiggles impatiently.

The meeting breaks nearly 5hrs later; Jamie goes back to sleep because he’s got the night shift at the Quik•Mart; Brendan heads out for his afternoon shift at Target; it’s Donnie’s day off, so he cues up Mario Kart; and Titus decides he’s going to go pound on the drums in the practice space they rent, since his dad pays his bills.

Mary has been saddled with stopping by the local record stores to see if any of their physical CDs have sold to prove he’s “committed,” even though he’s got the closing shift at Sixes & Sevens.

As he’s leaving the building, he encounters Brendan, who is leaning against the brick, smoking a cigarette. Mary’s fingers twitch.

“So you’re not coming back tonight, then.”

“We have band business?”

“No.”

“Then, no.”

Brendan lets out a puff of smoke.

“You think I’m being a dick, but that girl does not care about you. She’s a tourist. Us—the band. That’s what’s real, Mary.”

Mary knows he should keep walking, but even after counting to 10, he’s still pissed, so he spins on his heel.

“You don’t know anything about her or her goddamned life.”

“Neither do you.” He finishes the smoke, then tosses it to the pavement to grind under his combat boot. “We’ll be here when it all explodes in your face, Goore. But you’re going to have to rebuild a lot of bridges.”

And then he’s off down the sidewalk. Mary stands there, seething, waiting until Brendan disappears round the corner since he’s also headed in that direction.

He’s not really in the best of moods when he hits up the first store, but by the 4th, he’s back to his plucky repartee. The owner of his favorite shop intimates that a vinyl version of their LP might sell much better than their DIY CD, and Mary enthusiastically thanks the dude as if it’s the first time such a concept has been considered.

The whole route honestly doesn’t even really take that much time at all—maybe 2 hours—so he chances stopping by Suey’s. Worst case, he’ll take a nap; best case, she’ll be there to bitch at him.

Like everything else today, however, circumstances are just not on his side, and he opens the door to her tiny fucking apartment to find it empty. The mail is bad again, and he rifles through it, plucking out anything that’s obviously junk to toss and anything that looks like a bill to put on her counter. There’s only a bowl in the sink, so he leaves it.

He’s hoping that she comes home before he has to leave—maybe she’ll even give him a blow job—as he wraps himself up in the afghan that smells slightly of her.

She doesn’t.

His alarm wakes him up at 4:15pm for his shift at 6. Groggily, he stumbles to the fridge to see what there is to eat, and finds a pot crammed in haphazardly amongst the other food items. Mary’s not really sure what he’s looking at—Suey tends to just throw shit together when she can’t be bothered, but most of the time it’s edible.

It ends up being some sort of cheesy potato stew and actually isn’t that bad. He eats the whole thing out of the pot before scrubbing it and the lone bowl clean. He waits as long as he dares to watch her come clomping tiredly through her door, but he really does have to leave. He leaves a kiss on her mirror after he reapplies his lipstick. (He should probably redo his face but: eh.)

Work is work. It starts slow—with Mary taking down the chairs and wiping off everything with the disinfectant spray. Sometimes Mary finds this kind of Zen—a time to hum out chords and roll around lyrics in his head—but today he’s just tired. It gets a little better when Mickey and the other bartender show up to do citrus prep. It’s a weekday, so there’s only a moderate crowd, and Mickey leaves them to it so he can do business manager-type things in his office.

And then there are the girls. Most of the girls who come to Sixes & Sevens aren’t the type to be put off by Mary’s whole shtick—and there are obviously the ones who come here expressly to flirt with him—so he has no qualms turning on his charms. Mickey lets him do it because customers are customers, and if girls want to come and spend money on drinks while they purr at Mary, who is Mickey to stop them? Len or Mika don’t give a shit because tips are pooled.

Used to be Mary could have his pick of a warm body for the evening—some girl (or occasionally some guy if Mary deemed him beefy enough) who’d take him to her nice-smelling, clean apartment … who’d let him spend the night on her soft, downy pillows after he pounded her into next year, before kicking him out at dawn. But now he’s got a girlfriend—one who makes sure he eats and yells at him to wash his face—waiting for him in her stale apartment with her flat, polyester pillows, and Mary hopes he’s not fool enough to fuck that up.

Not that his dick has gotten the memo.

No matter how many times Mary tells that fucker that he’s not going to fuck any of these women, his dick still twitches in interest whenever plump lips are wrapped around straws or fingertips trail over his hand. Tonight is especially bad for some reason, and Mary has to stick close to the walls of the bar so that no one can see his semi. A girl in a furry, white shrug seems particularly on his dick, and he does his best to flirt just enough for a good tip, but not enough for a proposition.

When he gets his break, Mary takes it out back in the alley by the dumpster. The air is chill, but it feels good after the humidity of the bar. He was hoping maybe his dick would go down, but it’s like it’s trying to spite him. Leaning his head back on the wall, he can’t help but close his eyes and run his palm lightly over the outline. It’s a fool’s errand—it’s not like he can get off without it showing on his pants—but that doesn’t stop him from touching.

A voice clears, and Mary startles. He’s out here by the rancid garbage so he can be alone, so he wasn’t really expecting to find anyone else.

“I can help you with that,” says the girl with the white fur that may or may not be real. She’s standing across from him, and he can see that she’s in a dress so simple that it must be hella expensive. She’s holding an unlit cigarette.

Mary jerks his hand away from his crotch, shifting so that he can surreptitiously adjust his jeans.

“The fuck are you doing out back here?”

She shrugs. “Needed to get away from my bitches. I love them but: drama city. You got a light?”

He knows it’s a ruse, but he still fumbles out his Zippo because he’s a goddamned gentleman. She, shockingly, takes the opportunity to move in closer to his body as he holds out the flame … close enough to blow the smoke of the first drag in his face.

“So,” she says, eyes darting down to his semi. “You want me suck that?” She gesticulates with her chin, posture nonchalant but eyes hungry.

His dick gives an answering throb, but he shrugs. “Nah. I got a girl.”

She looks at him, assessing, before half crossing her arms and taking another drag. Smoke pours out her nose.

“She’s not here.”

Mary doesn’t respond immediately, not knowing how to get out of this. She hasn’t said anything untrue. He’s horny, Suey’s not here, and she wants to suck his cock.

He reaches his hand up and taps his breast where he thinks his heart is.

“She’s here,” he says, and he’s glad Suey’s not present because hoo boy would she give him shit for that winner.

The girl just tilts her head at him, this time blowing smoke out the side of her mouth after she inhales. It occurs to Mary that he wants her cigarette more than his dick wants to be sucked. If she thinks this is some kind of elaborate game of hard to get, she’s sorely mistaken.

“You got a picture?”

“A … what?”

She gesticulates impatiently. “A picture. Of this girlfriend.”

Mary thinks, then pats around for his wallet, even though he only ever puts it in his back pocket. When she sees the wallet come out, she laughs.

“An actual picture? That’s old school.”

He shrugs as he rifles. “I’m on my break.” He doesn’t tell her that his ancient flip phone doesn’t take pictures. Well, not good ones.

The photo of Suey he has is relatively new—slipped in behind the old, worn one of his mum—but its edges are starting to soften. In the image, Suey stands, hip popped, as she gives him the finger with a snotty look on her face. She’s in one of her weird 90′s outfits—a micro mini and tied up band tee—and the cute pudge of her belly hangs over her waist band a little. Her hair is pushed back from her face because she’s just lifted up her sunglasses—there’s still a little mark on her nose where they were resting.

She hates this picture, but her attitude makes him smile.

“You gonna ogle it all night, Mary?”

Mary’s attention snaps back to the alley. He ignores the intimacy. Carefully, with a stern look on his face that he hopes conveys how much the photo is not to be fucked with, he hands the picture over.

White Fur looks at the picture for a long time. Then she looks up at him. She gives the image one more glance before handing it back to him.

“Yeah, ok,” she says as she crosses her arms again.

Mary tucks the photo back into his wallet.

“The fuck does that mean?” he scowls. He’s just about had it with people insulting Suey today, and some random-ass girl in a back alley is the last person he’d let get away with it, even if she is a fan.

She takes her last drag before flicking the stub in the direction of a dumpster.

“Dunno. You seem like the type to have some scene girl with more legs than brains hanging off your arm.”

Mary thinks that’s a little uncharitable: he’s always been an equal-opportunity lay.

“She seems legit though,” the girl continues. “Makes sense.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

“Yeah, no problem.” She heads for the door, but stops to smirk at him. “Looks like I helped after all.”

As she swings back inside, Mary looks down to realize his hard-on is gone.

Mickey doesn’t cut him early, but he doesn’t make him stay past closing either. Even so, it’s still after 3am when he gets to Suey’s. The bills are gone from the counter, but there are no new dishes in the sink. He opens the fridge to find a pizza box crumpled into the top, balanced precariously on the other items. Mary takes it out and inhales the cold pizza right from the box; he knows they’re all for him because Suey fucking hates pepperoni. (Though it doesn’t escape his notice that she’s put one piece of pineapple in the center to mess with him.)

He leaves the box by the trash (he’ll flatten it tomorrow), and then makes his way to her bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, lest he incur her wrath.

When he finally wiggles into her twin bed in his boxers, he’s bone tired. His dick still kinda wants some action, but Mary thinks he’d probably just fall asleep in the middle, and Suey really would bite his head off if he woke her up for no reason. He wishes she’d just sleep nude, but finding her in one of his well-worn shirts is the next best thing. He doesn’t mean to wake her up, but he can’t help himself from running his hands all over her—this girl who sees him and not his “image.”

“Mare?” she says in a quiet, sleepy voice.

He kisses her head.

“Go back to sleep, baby doll.”

She doesn’t speak again, but she squirms around until she’s sprawled across his chest. He’d prefer to have her caught up in a little spoon, but having her pressed into him—body sleep warm—is nothing to wave a stick at.

This is all he wanted, anyway.

Next ➡️

[writingsofmyimagination]

Instinct |6|

Levi x Reader

Summary: An unwelcome(ish) blast from the Captain’s trainee days comes back to the Scouting Regiment and old habits die hard.

Instinct: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

So I decided to carry on with the series. Bit of a time jump... now around Chapter 72 time :)

tags: @nefelimalfoy​ @beautifulimperfections13​ @pjimochi​ @submissive-bangtan​

Enjoy :)

Words:3232

Warnings: Swearing (Obvs), Smut, Smut -Pretty Sub Levi…..Like Oooof!

“Sooo, how did it go with Erwin, I assume you tried again to convince him to stay” Levi and you merged to walk the same direction in the dusty courtyard. Green cape briskly swept over your shoulder as the wind nipped at your forearms; little pin pricks of cold. The temperature measured equally in Levi’s dark face; hair half drooped over his forehead. The orange hue from all the lamps casting a shadow covering a scowl which quickly came into view.

“That good huh?” you added, trying to coax blood out of a stone.

“Those two brats just don’t stop” The stone completing dodging the question.

Oh

“Again!?” Eyes rolling.

“You should just let them go for it; they’d tire themselves out eventually”

“Ugh… if I didn’t need to make sure his energy was fully preserved for tomorrow I would” Levi unburdened you of the large unopened bottle of vodka from under your arm.

“Corporal YL/N” Erwin called as he added another walking body to the courtyard.

“I’ll catch up” You offered Levi as he’d already turned his back to you and walked off. The trio of Mikasa, Eren and Armin bundled out of the canteen hall in a cheery ball of jest.

“Hey suicidal maniac!” Jean called propping the canteen door open with his foot, hand gripped around a green survey corp jacket.

“You forgot this” Jacket launched quicker than Eren could react. You rushed over before Eren had finished screaming ‘You little…’. Your fist tight around Eren’s. You twisted his arm manipulating him to the ground before he could strike.

“Aaah” Eren wailed as he picked himself up from the dirt.

“Jean, extra clean up duty” His face shadowed with annoyance; Eren’s on the other hand brightened.

“Eren after this mission cleaning duty with Levi wherever he chooses”. It was now Eren’s turn for his face to drop and Jean’s to brighten in a balanced 360.

“Yes Corporal” They both mumbled heads down. Jean disappeared back to the canteen and Eren slumped down on the steps next to Mikasa and Armin.

“Sorry Commander” Returning to where you were called.

“It’s quite alright, ready for tomorrow?”

“As ready as you can be” Your response was still yet polite.

“Oh come on Y/N, I know your pumped, no need to be restrained for me. Anyway, I just wanted to assure you that I will be commanding tomorrows mission Despite the chattering going through the core at present”

“Sir, honestly,  I wouldn’t expect anything less, this is your dream too”

“Levi tried to convince me otherwise, to his failure of course”

“He did mention it, mostly in the form of him being quieter and slightly grumpier than normal”

A slight knowing smile crept minutely onto Erwin’s lips.

“I thought as much, anyway, enjoy your night. I assume the bottle Levi stropped off with was for you”

“Most definitely more for me. Good night commander. Rest well”.

The trio were still sat perched on the steps. Armin, the forever motivator of life beyond the walls exciting the others. The glimmer of hope sprinkled on their expressions light bright fairy dust a refreshing view. Even on Mikasa it was a sight to behold.

Entering the archway something black and still in the corner drew your attention. Head dropped down, his sullen gaze lightened, a few creases less on his face when the confusion struck yours.

“Didn’t know earwigging was your thing” You said, quieter to not alert the three kids. Levi shuffled himself off the floor and vigorously brushed himself down, slight creases grew in his forehead at checking his hands. He gave one more rushed wipe down before you both made your way to his office

“I wasn’t earwigging… I was listening to the brats be hopeful and dream about the future” There was slight distaste scattered through his words.

“Sooooo earwigging…. And is that a bad thing?” The over-dramatic roll of his eyes was heard like a sassy echo in the bare office he liked to squirrel away in.

All that was scattered on the wooden table to the back of the room was a few sheets of paper with diagrams, drawing, indecipherable scribbles that only Levi could understand.

He slumped himself down onto the armed wooden chair, scowl still present staring blankly down at the desk.

Jeez he really is in a grump.

“Okay captain scowl!” You began.

“Erwin needs this, I’m sure he is more than aware that this could potentially be his last mission. He’s not the type to sit back the same way you aren’t” Your arms now folded, strength firm in your stance.

“But his loss would be detrimental to humanity, guy is a damn genius”

“Yeessss he’s a genius, will it be a huge hit, course it will, but he wouldn’t be going if he knew that the Corps wouldn’t be in good hands if something were to happen” He shuffled the papers into a somewhat neater pile and placed them meticulously down in the centre of the table.

“I suppose your right” He conceded twiddling a pencil through his fingers.

“Aren’t I always?” Whisky frosting half of the small tumbler a golden brown which soon disappeared when the glass touched your lips.

“Now....” hanging onto the word diffusing into something much more sultry

You waltzed over to his desk, fingers already teasing undone the buttons of your blouse.

“Can you please stop thinking about work, it’s going to be a challenging day tomorrow as it is” you pleaded leaning against his desk facing him. The final button undone, sight teasing him away from his concentration. Holding the sides of the shirt like curtains to a happier Levi.

“Understatement” He mumbled, his finger finding its way through a belt loop, corner of his lips turning up to a wicked smirk, just how you like them.

“It’s also an understatement that you’re such a tease” he added, the shimmering glaze of mischief reflecting in his eyes coaxed a raised eyebrow with the victorious tinge of your lips.

“Oh Soo I am tempting you then?” his leg now in between yours, his hand resting on your sides

“Perhaps” He tugged at your bra with strong determined hands freeing your breast for his teeth to lightly toy with. Your only was response to hum in approval.

“LEEEVVIIII!” A high wailed cry barely muffled by the dark wooden door.

“Shit!” the pair of you breathed unanimously. You didn’t have any time to fix any of your clothing predicament before the door crashed open and Hanje burst in. To her you were just lent up against Levi’s desk with your arms folder; Levi remained in the chair stoic as ever.

Don’t come round!, don’t come round!

Panicked thoughts spun through your mind like a pin wheel.

“What do you want Hanje?” Annoyance slipping over Levi’s voice coating of distaste thoroughly embedded through it.

“I just wanted to let you know everything is ready for tomorrow”

That’s oddly calm considering her entrance.

Hanje looked mildy uncomfortable, her cheeks were slightly puffed, eyes were wide and flitty. Thankfully she’d not move from where she stopped on the right side of the desk.

You and Levi both waited a beat

“AREN’T YOU BOTH SOOO EXCITED!” She finally burst, her body fully exploding with movement. High pitched; almost intolerable. Levi’s eyes rolled. Obviously.

There we go.

“We’re going to THE BASEMENT!” she continued, her hyped up voice became distant as it was drowned out by the concentration of your fingers being sly in trying to do your buttons up. Levi thankfully battered no eyelids at your miniscule movements. Your shoulders dropped, reveal crisis averted.

“I’m aware” Levi droned

“Is Levi not too much of a damn stone to be spending all this time with? If I didn’t know Levi had such a small capacity for emotions, I’d say you two are a thing”

Hilarious. He may not have the massive heart…

“Can you actually imagine?” You laughed competing with her hysterics.

“Jesus Christ Ladies!” Levi complained tutting.

“I’m sorry Levi” Hanje managed still trying to control her laughter turning and leaving humming way too loudly on her exit.

“Can you not encourage that damn woman” He whined, stood out of his chair encroaching on your personal space, stealing a hard kiss from you.

“I thing you’ll find I’m helping our cover.” The two of you quickly became absorbed into each other again. As cold as he could be, his body never failed to be the warmth pressed against you that you needed.

“I think you’re a pain in my ass” he quipped back.

A pain in his ass he couldn’t let go of

“If you take me upstairs, I will be” You tested. His smirk against your lips was matched, pupils growing pools of craving.

Door clicked shut on the rest of the world, his shirt racing to the floor before you could tussle the buttons of your own shirt back open. The back of your legs hitting the rough surface of the table, the contact not disrupting the soft pressure of his lips dancing with yours; his bottom lip catching numerous times between the gentle tug of your teeth. The harsh pillows didn’t linger on your lips for long. The nips at your neck quickly ached with desperation, impatience crying through the hands fumbling at your trouser buttons. Your trousers pooled at the floor; strong grip at your waist encouraging you half onto the table. You placed a stern hand on his chest in halt.

“What’s wrong?” He breathed through staggered breathes. You answered with movement grabbing the towel from the dresser and coating the table.

“I’m not getting splinters for you. On your knees” You ordered sliding up onto the table after slipping of your underwear in a seductive swoop. Levi on his knees focused glistened eyes zoning on your every small movement. His glare ran ablaze with your foot firm on his shoulder, drinking in the view of soft pale skin. The thighs he knew looked so pretty with blossoming red flower bruises. The way he loved to make them quiver; you whimpering his name.

“Always so patient” you praised. His insides were clenched, teetering on the edge of desperation. Dying for your call. He swallowed hard, with the insatiable thirst had ravaging over him. This may have combusted when your hand dipped between your own thighs. Humanities strongest kneeling desperate on the floor beneath you trying to harness all the will to stay put.

“Tell me what you want” you offered your hand, foot sliding of his shoulder.  His mouth enveloped round the wetness of your fingers; a deep hum vibrated through his throat.

Your legs now parted with him snug in-between. He was making you wait for his answer.

“Well?” He stilled for a moment completely faking to ponder. Hands ghosting up your lower leg, your soft skin only imploring him higher. Your index finger stroking come hither under his chin

“Mmm” The pair of you mumbled, white knuckles gripped his shoulders. Even with your lips pressed together you could feel the wicked way the edges of his lips curled upwards.

“This” he managed, drowning out your whine. Already feeling the controlled digits inside pressing to your walls.

“Be more specific or you get nothing” pleasant strain and held back whines hidden terribly in your voice.

“Ugh” Levi complained.

“Did you roll your eyes at me?”

“On the chair!”. Your tone snapper quicker than a whip.

“You can’t tell me what you want, then I’m just going to keep giving until I’m finished with you”

“Hands behind your back until I say otherwise” you added, hands prying his thighs wider.

“Eyes on me baby” He tried not to blink. Forcing himself to look down, refusing his eyes to roll upward as you’d dropped to your knees. Tongue licking a slow stripe on the underside of his member. His bottom lip catching between his teeth. He could only enjoy the sweet warmth of your mouth for a few blissful moments before his bottom lip puffed out in hardcore sulk mode. You turned from him, sweeping your hair to the front of your shoulder carefully balancing your weight as you lowered yourself onto him; not how he’d like. You’d sat on his lap purposely avoiding him. Your hips circled, your head back resting the side of his neck, his low whines now right at the shell of your ear.

“Oh did you think I’d give it up that easy?”

“Don’t think so ….”

You thumb teased over the tip of his cock before honing your attention to focus on the movement of your hips”

“Please” He whined

“I’ve hardly done anything” You toyed. Knowing full well it didn’t matter; not with the fact the pair of you had had little time over the last week or so. It was all just too easy to get to him.

“Mmm…no. You can sit there and feel me.”

Frustration began seething though his controlled breaths, hips trying to match your movements under your weight. Your skin was heating up, but yet you could almost shiver with how sparked your nerve endings were. His lips stuttering soundlessly

“Something you wanna say?”

“Please just cum on me…”

//

Pale milky wax in droplets solidified on his chest. Each one earned a hiss past his lips with the occasional curse chucked into the air for measure. Moisture gathered where his hair met his skin and shone in the flickering candlelight

Small red flower patches blossomed so prettily when the wax dropped of his skin. Your lips followed the beautiful field to the buds on his chest. His desperate groan elicited at the grip of your teeth his hips couldn’t help but buck up into you.

“Levi…Fuck!” Finally allowing yourself to sink down onto him, exasperated pants omitted by both of you in solace.

“Please let me have you now, I need yooou” Your hands still at his chest, hips circling at a painful pace. Torturous eyes hand in hand with the unforgiving smirk beaming.

“But I love it when you’re so desperate, you’ll be begging me to stop when you’re too sensitive”

“How many times can you cum before you can’t take it anymore?” Levi had a damn near ridiculous refractory period, in addition to his extraordinary strength and healing speed. You loved it and saw it as a fun challenge to push it.

//

“Had enough? More?” You asked the writhing body under you, smirk still strong on your face. Moans choked in his throat. His stomach drizzled with himself, the rest of him you wiped away from around your lips. The veins in his neck jumping as he turned to you, his chest rising and falling in steadying moves. The unmistakeable moisture filled eyes, water gathering at the corners in frustrated droplets. His muscles quivering under your touch, so flooded with sensitivity.

“You” he whined, voice becoming dryer and crying with desperation with each passing breathe.

“Oh you think you can go one more with me?” You’d allowed yourself very little. Your walls were throbbing against nothing. The tension that had filled your muscles the tightly wound fibres needed an outlet.

The exhausted body beneath you moved with a sudden refilled confidence and stability knocking you back. Your hands locked behind his neck; you were half sat up and supported through his hand at your lower back. A fresh accelerated fire fight raging behind the dark orbs of his eyes, you’d pushed him, he’d had enough. Your cry had the hint of a giggle finally having him inside you, cheeky smile under your bit lip.

“Stop being a tortuous brat, ride me, make yourself cum around me or swear to god”

“Swear to god what?” you challenged clenching around him. His response; hissing with regret. Over-sensitivity pained in his features; brows knitted together as yours widened with your smile.

“Mmm” the pained hum melted right in your ear. Melted chocolate dripping of a soft pink marshmallow. Unwavering stable hand still solid supporting you. Your weight cradled into him, fingertips digging into his shoulder blades. Finally allowing your hips to spiral, unwinding all the patience you’ve exercised. Currents of heated heavy breaths washed across your chest. He ceased to challenge with any more words. Chest pushed against his; heat gathering in moist droplets between you.

You stole as many messy kisses in-between your moans and whines as you could; Levi had resorted to mostly grunts, his hips movements becoming staggered, each thrust becoming harder but seemingly more exhaustive. You shifted your weight forward. You’d felt his muscles begin to shake.  Levi was now on his back hair falling against the pillow as beautiful black spikes.

“God you feel so good” You whined rolling your hips. Hands planted cupped around his thighs, gripping hard nails leaving crescents in the muscled flesh. With your back arched, chest bare and vulnerable to the dragged out firm knead of Levi’s hands. His arms dropped to cradle your hips slowing them down.

“Too much for you baby?” You cooed sliding your hands to his chest, one creeping further to sit at his throat.

“Mmmhm…Don’t ……” He warned. You were never going heed his warning; you tightened your grip disobeying the pressure at your hips and rocking him freefalling off that cliff. His head rolled back harsh against the mattress. The intoxicating chimera of blissful pain bled into relief. Hearing the beautiful stuttering sounds and pants of Levi falling apart had you equally calling out his name with jaggged breaths.

//

You were gently coaxed out of sleep by floating plump kisses at your shoulders, a wandering breeze of his hand cloaking round your waist.

“Why does time go so fast” you mumbled, shifting onto your back. The cotton sheets were fresh against your exposed chest, cooled by the crisp air flowing in through the open window. High positive chirps from the birds living un-unbeknown to the burdens of the day ahead.

“Wait how come you’re not up and dressed and kicking me out of bed earlier than necessary?” The pleasant surprise had you smiling more sweetly than you’d like him to see and you felt more peace than you’d normally allow yourself.

The peace went to full blown serenity like a spring morning trickling stream when his lips half turned up followed by a soft chuckle oozing with acknowledgement.

“Jeez you moan when I up and leave and moan when I stay, am I ever going to get a break with you?” Levi huffed way to animatedly to suit him; he kicked off the sheets and went to lug himself out of the bed. You tugged him back towards you just off balance to get him on his back to secure your thighs at his hips.

“Do you honestly wanna break from this?”  Flicking your hair up in your grip allowing it to trickle loosely out of your hand. You fought his weight trying to push you off, which when he actually re-calibrated his balance he managed. One hand weakly holding your wrists together above your head. You were met with silence and a smirk worthy of the first ring of hell. He bounced off and slid his white shirt on. Neither of you spoke again until you dragged yourself to the bathroom.

“Annoyingly even when you act a brat I still can’t stay away. I’d would be weird without you now”

“Exactly”

Wait what?

[pigeontheoneandonly]

The Price of an Afternoon

Part 3 of my Dragon Age / Mass Effect crossover. I also threw this up on AO3 if that’s more convenient. (Part 4 here.)

Several days later, when Nathaly’s turn to go into town came up, Kaidan met her at the bottom of the hill and declared his intention to tag along.

“No.” Her answer immediate, and expected. “It’s not a good idea.  You could have fled in any direction, but sooner or later, templars are going to search north, and this is the first significant settlement they’ll reach.”

“I understand,” he said, with fraying patience.  “I didn’t let you boost me from the Circle Tower just to wind up staring at cave walls instead.”

“It’s just for a few weeks.  Until we figure out if it’s safe to move.”

“I’m not going to walk into the town square and summon a firestorm.  I just want to…”  He struggled with the words.  “I haven’t seen people in a decade.  Not living real lives, instead of something premeditated and scheduled and assigned before they were born.  I haven’t smelled an apple that wasn’t cooked since I left my parents’ land for the last time.”

She shook her head, stubborn as he remembered.  “Kaidan…”

“I’ll keep my hood up.”  The weather was turning chill, and it would raise no suspicion.  “I won’t even say a word.  I just want to soak up the crowd.  Maybe eat a pie, or something.”

Everything on her face said this was a horrible idea, and she was probably right, but her eyes had softened.  Even in this short-lived reunion, he’d already learned they told the real story. He really liked that about her.  

“Fine,” she said, at last.  “But you’re going to take Ash’s cloak.  It’s far less noticeable than that blue thing of yours.”

She said this dressed herself in a forest green shirt and burnt orange breeches. Even her armor was covered in tooled designs, and he caught her working on more embellishment at odd hours, waiting for the next thing to happen.  That was a revelation.  He never expected her to care much for ornamentation.  

“Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to notice me next to all that.”  He gestured at her, grinning.  

She scoffed, but also seemed rather pleased that he’d noticed.  “Get the damn cloak.”

It was about an hour’s walk into Crestwood proper.  A large village or a small town, depending on particular preference, it bustled in early autumn, the harvest just starting to come in.  Alongside the grain and vegetables in the market were fresh catches from the lake, scales shining silver and green and rainbow-hued, eels, mussels, and even a species of crab.  He’d only seen them in drawings.  Their home village of Kinallen was strictly land-locked.

Fish was naturally a staple of Kinloch Hold, surrounded as it was by a lake.  But he rarely saw it whole like this, still wet, freshly gutted.  Never knew it could smell oddly fresh, clean like the crisp water that bore it.  

Nathaly caught him gawking and laughed, but not at him.  More like she was enjoying his enjoyment.  “Wow, you were going stir-crazy.”

“Only for thirteen years.”  And it was amazing how fast that became a joke.  He’d held himself so tightly for so long that any margin to relax had him spilling all over the place.

She grinned back.  For a moment, he thought she might grab his hand again, like she had on the boat, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted it.  But she walked on.  And then he wasn’t sure he wasn’t disappointed.  Kaidan had worked with lightening as part of the standard curriculum. Standing in her presence felt like summoning a shock, the mild buzz tingling over his skin as he held it ready in his hand.  Exhilarating, but also dangerous.

One thing was sure. He still liked her every bit as much as when they were younger. She still made him laugh and put him at ease with almost effortless aplomb.  And Nathaly hadn’t changed a bit, either.  More confident, maybe, more sure of herself, and definitely ready and able to use that sword.  But still careless and wild.  Like nothing could stop her doing as she willed.  Her father used to call her “our little whirlwind”, because like the dust devils that occasionally raced across their plains, Nathaly rarely gave consideration to anything in her path, tumbling forward for the sheer joy of it.

And sure enough, they’d barely arrived before she was distracted by a different booth, one displaying bolts of cloth and buttons and embroidery floss.  He couldn’t imagine her with a needle in hand, but she bought several skeins.  As she tucked them into her pack, she caught his skeptical stare, and snorted.  “I taught myself leatherworking.  How much harder could this be?”

He rose to the bait.  “What kind of pattern are you thinking?”

“Maybe a little border going around a cuff.  A band of words.”  Delighted by her own idea.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, in a big circle.”

He laughed, hard enough that the hood started to slide back.  She caught its edge just in time.  “Careful, there.”

“Yeah.” It cast pall over the afternoon, reminding him that he wasn’t truly free, not yet.  Not until the templars had given up hope of finding him and he could walk in the open air without tempting fate.  But this was better than nothing.

She seemed just as eager to not ruin the day.  “Help me figure out what we want to eat.  This needs to last at least four or five days.  Garrus wants to scout west, see if there’s something more permanent for us to move into.”

“Sounds good.”  They wandered back towards the food stalls.

In the midst of picking through a fruit stand, trying to resist the raspberries in favor of something that wouldn’t spoil almost overnight nor get crushed in a knapsack, he felt Nathaly go stiff beside him.  He glanced up.  And then immediately back down to the fruit, trying subtly to pull the hood lower over his face.  A gaggle of Chantry mothers had arrived at the far end of the market.

She bent towards him, urgently.  “We need to finish up and leave.”

“Agreed,” he whispered back.

Then, as he started to move away, snagged his cloak.  “Slowly.  Don’t attract attention.”

A thousand years passed as he waited for her to finish selecting fruit.  Another century or three as she paid the man running the stall. The Chantry mothers roving ever closer, their gossip growing louder.  Kaidan tried not to stare.  But it was next to impossible when it felt like the thread of his life was hanging taut, just waiting for one of them to trip and snap it.

Nathaly piled the remainder of their purchases into his knapsack.  “Walk,” she whispered, as she put her arm around him and steered them towards the western road out of Crestwood.  Then, when he involuntarily tried to look over his shoulder, “Eyes front.  We’re almost in the clear.”

They walked through the stone arch and out of line-of-sight.  Kaidan drew a huge breath.  Nathaly dropped her arm and rubbed her eyes.  “Well, that was something.”

“Yeah, I—”  His eyes went wide.  His throat closed up.

“This was the worst idea,” Nathaly went on, oblivious.  “We’re never doing this again.”

He tried to wet his mouth.  His voice a weak croak.  “Nathaly—”

“And don’t you even start with the ‘I was trapped in a tower for thirteen years’ crap while I’m trying to keep you alive for the next thirteen—”

“Nathaly.” He spun her bodily.

Three templars had paused on the road east of them.  Staring the pair of them down, heads cocked to the side, still confused, focused on him.  Kaidan estimated that would last another moment or two and then they were both dead.

“Shit,” said Nathaly, eloquent as always.  “Maybe they haven’t noticed.”

The templar in the lead put his hand to his hilt and started forward.

Kaidan took a step back.  Wondering why in the hell he let her talk him into leaving his staff in the cave, giveaway or not.  “I think that ship’s sailed.”

“Double shit.”  And then she actually walked towards them.  The blood drained from his face.

She stopped a few paces from the templar group, forcing them to stop also.  “Can I help you?”

One of the templars in the back sniggered.  The leader shot him a tempering glare.  “Are you aware that you are traveling in the company of an apostate?”

Nathaly rested her hands on her hips.  Not retreating an inch.  Kaidan’s guts tried to turn themselves inside out.  “Dunno.  Are you aware that you’re about to make a terrible decision?”    

Outright laughter, unchecked by the templar in charge, who couldn’t suppress a smile himself.  “My dear woman, this… mage is our charge to return to the Circle from which he has fled, as Andraste bid us.  If you insist on standing in our way, we will be forced to remove you.”

“You can damn well try.”  She drew her sword, steel ringing in the autumn afternoon.  Her eyes shifting to each of them in turn.  “But if you do, I’ll kill you all.  There won’t be a final moment’s mercy, letting one of you run off and regroup.  One mage means nothing to you.  You’ve got hundreds.  Is this mage worth your three beating hearts?”

[scullyy]

Best Surprise

Title: Best Surprise

Pairing: Clementine x Louis

Word Count: 2134

Summary: It's Clementine's birthday, so Louis and AJ attempt to make it a great one. 

A/N: I need to redeem myself after the last few sad fics I wrote. Enjoy :)

-

AJ put his plan into motion by slowly climbing onto the edge of the bed, being incredibly careful as to not wake Clementine or the snoring mess beside her, Louis. Part of him was tempted to jump on Louis instead just to get him to shut up, but he was a kid with a plan and nothing could distract him. AJ pounced onto Clementine like an animal, landing on her stomach with a thud.

“Happy birthday Clem!” He shouted, ripping her out of a peaceful sleep, had it been anyone else she would have already pinned them to the ground.

Clementine felt winded, AJ weighed a lot more than she remembered. “What the hell are you doing AJ?”

“It's your birthday! We have to do something.” He seemed much more eager than she was. Her birthday was never something she went out of her way for, there was no true point. AJ always tried to make it a big deal when she taught him what birthdays were.

“What’s going on?” Louis croaked, rubbing the crap out of his eyes. “What is weighing down my arm?”

“It's me,” AJ didn't take into account Louis's arm that was draped around Clementine's stomach, he'll have to live with it for now. “I'm not moving.”

“Alright then little dude.” Louis slammed his head back onto the pillow, he wasn't a morning person and as far as he was concerned this was going to be another slow day.

“He's just excited cause it's my birthday,”

Wait, WHAT.

Louis shot upright, hitting his head on the top bunk. The pain wasn’t phasing him, not when there was something more important at hand. “It's your birthday?”

“She's eighteen,” AJ wiggled slightly, unable to keep in his excitement.

“And yet I let you sleep in on your birthday,” Clementine slowly pushed AJ off her stomach and sat against the headboard, her little boy resting comfortably in her lap. “What makes this birthday so special?”

“Well, usually your birthday makes you upset, but you haven't been sad lately and now we have Louis and I think he should celebrate with us.”

Clementine started blushing but Louis's heart began to flutter. He leaned over to AJ, ignoring the eye roll from Clem. “So what's the master plan?” There were so many things to do, so little time. Unfortunately, most of them would only be plausible if there were no walkers. It would be impossible to write ‘Happy Birthday Clementine!’ in the sky now.

Clementine shot him a deadly glare. “There is no plan, you guys don't have to do anything.”

“No can do Clemmy-”

“-Don't call me that-”

“-AJ and I have things to discuss,” He swiftly bounced off the bed and grabbed his coat. “Come on little dude, we have work to do.” AJ rolled off of Clementine and followed Louis outside, almost bounding out the door with such glee Louis thought he was on the cusp of exploding. He gave Clem a brief wink before shutting the door, leaving Clementine alone in bed with wide eyes.

“What just happened?”

-

“So, any ideas?”

AJ shrugged. “Not really, last year I gave her this flower I found and the year before that it was a hug.”

It's the thought that counts.

“Well it's time for Team Fun to up the ante,” Louis stretched his fingers dramatically, in the same fashion as when he’s about to play the piano, making AJ laugh. “I like the flower idea, we’ll keep that in mind. Have you done anything else for her birthday?”

“No, I didn’t know what a birthday was.”

“What has Clementine done for your birthday?” Louis was trying his best to milk out as much information as possible, but it’s hard when the child in question doesn’t understand social concepts.

“She would give me extra food and we’d spend the day playing games.”

God, she's such a good mom.

“Alrighty, so games are also an option. I’ll go and search the basement, there’s a whole pile of old stuff there that might make for a decent present, how about you go to Tenn and see if you two and draw up a cool birthday card.”

“What’s a card?”

“He’ll explain it to you. We’ll meet up at the flagpole when we’re done.”

The boys split off into two different directions with different goals. The basement wasn’t Louis’s favourite place to be, it hadn’t be opened in a few years, there was so much clutter down there it was pointless to try and clean it.

The basement was stationed near the nurses' office, it used to be a storage unit for the classes, all the spare equipment was kept down there. “Fuck, I hope there's no weird ecosystem growing,” The door squeaked as Louis slowly opened it a crack, sticking his head through. “Hey potential walkers, please don't jump out and eat me.”

The stairs were blanketed in dust and creaked as Louis made the descent into the dark that scared him as a child. He and Marlon would dare each other to sneak down there during the night and bring back something. Marlon once brought a box filled with spare guitar picks, Louis beat him with a spare hockey stick that he used to chase Violet during lunch.

The teachers kept an eye on him from that point on.

The small window didn't provide much insight, the majority of the room was hidden in shadows, not having seen daylight in years. Thankfully the rays of light shining in revealed a cardboard box labelled ‘Photography and Digital Media - Mrs Bryant’.

“Ah Mrs Bryant,” Louis sighed as memories of her trying to teach the rule of thirds and David Moore entered his brain. “You never did forgive me for cracking the lens of your Kodak.”

He began to dig through the box, hoping for a diamond in the rough. His wishes were answered when he came across a Polaroid camera somehow in working condition. “I won't even question it.”

Louis quickly ran back up the stairs, his childhood fears giving him adrenaline. He slammed the door with relief. “Fuck that place.”

He ran out to the courtyard, peering down corridors to look for Clementine, the one time he didn't want to run into her. AJ was sitting by the flagpole as instructed, a folded piece of paper in his hand and a few freshly plucked flowers in the other.

“Hey AJ, card ready?”

He opened it and showed Louis his and Tenn's masterpiece. “Does it look good?”

Louis smiled, impressed by the little cartoons drawn along the bottom of the card. “She'll love it.”

“What the fuck are you two doing?”

Louis quickly hid the camera behind his back as he turned, expecting an angry Clementine. Luckily it was just Violet.

“It's super secret Vi, it only involves the members of Team Fun.”

Violet rolled her eyes, something she often did in Louis's presence. “Come on don't be a dick. Tell me.” She tried peeking behind Louis's back, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Fine. It's Clementines birthday and AJ and I have prepared a little surprise,” He brought the camera around slowly. “I found this in the basement, not entirely sure what to use it for but it’s somehow in working condition.”

“You went into the basement? Damn Louis, this is serious,” Violet eyed the camera playfully. “I think I know what the gift can be,” Within a flash, she yanked the camera from his hands and took a photo of herself giving the peace sign. Slowly the photo emerged from the gap in the camera. “You can give her something to hold onto forever.”

“That's actually really sweet Vi. I knew beneath that rough exterior there's a kind girl wanting to break free-”

“No fuck off.”

Soon the other kids gathered around to see the contraption in Violet's hand and everyone wanted to be featured in a photo. Violet took one of her and Louis poking their tongues out, AJ got one of him and Tenn smiling, even though half his face was out of the frame. Louis even captured one of Aasim in the midst of laughing, a truly rare sight. It took ten minutes to develop, but as each one unfolded it brought laughter and created excitement over Clem's potential reaction.

Clementine had been watching the commotion through the window, never had she seen any of the other kids act so excited. “What's going on?” She called as she jumped down the stairs.

“Happy Birthday Clem!” Ruby called out, causing a cheer amongst the other kids.

Clementine slowly placed her hands on her hips as she stared down Louis and AJ, who tried to look as innocent as possible.

“We tried to surprise you, so we organised a gift,” Louis was hoping he wouldn't get beat for this as he tidied the pile of photos and slid them inside the card. ”We all grant thee, Princess Clementine, the greatest of days.” Louis got down on one knee and presented her the card, AJ in tow, handing her the flowers.

She took her gifts gently from their hands, a little afraid of what was inside the card. But there was no reason to be, there was a long message on one side of the card, written from AJ, with a couple of drawings of flowers, cartoon monsters and her hat. On the other side were little messages from everyone, wishing her a happy day and Louis saying that he loves her the most, with AJ's writing beneath it going against Louis's claims.

“This is... “ Her heart began to beat faster as she looked through all the photos. “Incredible.”

Louis and AJ let out a sigh of relief.

“How long did this take to plan?”

Louis playfully swatted the air. “Not long at all, the brain power of Team Fun goes beyond the cosmos,” AJ nodded in agreement, he understood none of that statement but assumed it was good.

Clementine closed the card and ran to the group, enveloping them all in a hug. “Thanks guys.” They all eagerly hugged her back.

-

Clementine immediately went to work on placing the pictures on the wall by her bed. It definitely made it more like home, everyone's smiles were genuine, it made Clementine feel warm in her heart. The flowers were lying neatly by her hat on the desk, they certainly brightened up the place.

“Did you enjoy today?”

Clementine jumped slightly, Louis's voice bringing her out of her thoughts. He was casually leaning against the doorway, toying with the camera in his hands. “I did, I haven't had a birthday this fun in a long time.”

“I'm glad, it was fun to plan it with AJ,” He invited himself into the room and sat next to Clementine, the bed sinking a little under their weight. “He cares a heck of a lot about you, we all do.”

AJ had opened up to Louis in a way that genuinely shocked Clementine. Whenever they were together it reminded Clem of her relationship with Lee, it always brought a smile to her face. “He gets very determined sometimes.”

Louis agreed, not taking his eyes off the camera. “Your birthday isn't over yet, there's still one photo missing,” He motioned for her to come closer which she did, any chance to get close to Louis was a chance taken. “I haven't gotten one with you today. I need this as photographic evidence.”

He positioned the camera in front of him and Clementine, ready to take the shot. “Evidence of what?”

“That I was as lucky to have someone like you.”

Clementine burst out laughing, hiding her face in his thick coat. Louis frantically captured the moment, hoping that he didn't lose her smile. “You know, the whole point of a photo is to take pictures of people and their faces. You hiding yours defeats the purpose.”

“Well, you caught me off guard!” She plucked out the photo with ease and placed it onto the dresser. “If I look like an idiot I'll blame you.”

“I'm confident in my photography skills, despite the fact the teacher hated me.” His smile makes Clementine die and come back to life all at once, even the missing tooth is something she finds endearing.

“Whatever, thank you for reminding me that birthdays can be fun,” She laid a swift kiss to his cheek, catching him off guard. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I usually like my birthday to slip under the radar, no point in making a fuss.”

Louis smoothly slipped his hand around her waist. “Ah but you are worth the fuss my dear,” He repaid the kiss with one to her forehead. “But like I said, your birthday isn’t over yet. Come on.” Louis stood from the bed, leading Clementine out the door. “There are games to be played!”

[themurphyzone]

World’s Greatest Dad Ch 4

Ch 4: Dads and Daughters

“Are you sure you don’t have any Mary McGuffin dolls in the back?” Heinz asked the harried clerk, who was trying to gift wrap an action figure at breakneck speed. Vanessa clung to his leg, refusing to let go. Heinz let her stay there. 

If it made her feel better, so be it. 

The clerk glared at him. “No! For the last time, we ran out! Either buy some other doll or get out!” 

“Yeesh. Great customer service ya got there, lady,” Heinz snapped, making a mental note to add mall employees to his steadily growing list of people to get revenge on. “Is it really that hard to call someone to check for you?” 

“Keep it up and I’ll call security to check you outta the mall!” 

“That’s it. We’re leaving,” Heinz scowled, leading Vanessa to the exit. She didn’t say anything, though Heinz wished she would just ask for another toy. That would’ve made it so much easier. Then he paused at the doorway. “You better remember the name of Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, because someday I’ll be your supreme leader!” 

A tiny giggle broke through the sniffles. 

Despite his annoyance, Heinz couldn’t help but smile. “Didn’t catch that,” he told Vanessa. “I think you’ll have to make that noise again.” 

“Dad!” Vanessa whined. Though several tears streamed down her face, she sounded somewhat like herself again. 

“Kidding!” Heinz said. “Clean your face in the restroom and let’s get out. They just keep playing the same five Christmas songs on loop, and it’s driving me insane.” 

Vanessa hurried into the restroom, never missing an opportunity to assert her independence. 

Heinz slumped against the wall, his own childhood disappointment towards a certain toy resurfacing. 

Rocks, rocks, and more rocks. In some far off land, maybe claw machines would be filled with smiling, colorful animals and delicious candy. He could always dream. 

Pretend the rocks were round candies that tasted of doonkleberries. Pretend that the brown lump was actually a smiling teddy bear that awaited its new owner with outstretched arms and-

Wait a minute. 

That was a teddy bear. 

Sure it wasn’t smiling, but it was an honest-to-goodness stuffed animal. 

Heinz stared in disbelief at it, pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. There was no way. He couldn’t be that lucky. 

He waited several minutes, but the bear didn’t disappear. 

It had to be real. It just had to be. 

Heinz dug around in his pocket, finally coming up with the 3-cent coin that served as his year’s allowance. He slid it into the machine, heart pounding in trepidation as he moved the claw around the perimeter. 

Feeling a sudden surge in confidence, Heinz moved the claw above the teddy bear. 

He had to get this right. He wouldn’t get another chance. 

After adjusting the claw several times so it would be dead center above the teddy bear’s tummy, he was ready. Biting his lip, Heinz pushed the button. 

The claw descended.

Heinz leaned against the glass, suddenly not so sure about the angle. Maybe he should’ve put it more to the right? 

The claw opened and snatched the teddy bear up. Then it moved above the prize slot, relinquishing the bear to Heinz. 

He released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

He’d done it! The bear was his! 

Heinz pulled the bear out of the slot, relieved that his allowance hadn’t gotten to waste.

His allowance. Mother had given him that coin. 

It was only fair that she should get the prize, because he never would’ve gotten the bear without those 3 cents! 

He rushed home, keeping a tight hold on the bear so it didn’t get muddy. 

Mother and Roger were playing kickball in the front yard. For once, Roger’s presence didn’t damper Heinz’s spirits. 

They were floating too high for a little jealousy to reach! 

“Mother! Mother!” Heinz yelled. “Look what I got from the claw machine! I won it just for you!” 

Heinz stood on his tiptoes, depositing the bear into her arms. 

Mother smiled.

Heinz grinned back. She was proud of him, and he didn’t even need to kick a ball correctly! All it took was a stuffed bear!

Now he just needed to figure out where to find more!

Then Mother gave the bear to Roger. 

“Thank you very much for the gift, Mother,” Roger chirped. 

Heinz became acutely aware of the empty pocket his 3-cent coin used to occupy. He earned that bear. 

With his allowance. 

Not Roger. 

Roger produced a big red marker and scrawled his name on the bear. Mother was so impressed by his penmanship that she asked Roger to write his name on her apron too. 

And Heinz could only watch. 

The next morning, he woke up to an apron being thrown in his face. Mother demanded that he wash it out in the tub.

And his scribbled message ‘I Love You, From Heinz’ melted away. 

“Dad?” 

Heinz jolted, realizing that his vision had blurred while flashbacking to his childhood. 

“Oh, hey!” Heinz exclaimed, quickly ridding himself of the moisture that had built up. “So you’re ready now?” 

Vanessa looked better now. Her face was freshly washed and her nose wasn’t running anymore. “Are you okay?” 

“i’m fine. Nothing to worry about. Feeling better now?” Heinz asked. 

Vanessa frowned. “A little. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Stubbornness was both a blessing and a curse. Heinz had learned that quickly. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Heinz said. “C’mon, it’s getting way too stuffy in here and I have a few ideas for evil I’d like to write down before I forget. You’d be surprised how often that happens.” He ushered her out of the mall. Since they both had to concentrate on fighting their way through the hordes of holiday shoppers without getting separated, that left little opportunity for Vanessa to pry further. 

The rest of the weekend passed by too quickly for Heinz’s liking after their unsuccessful trip to the mall. Charlene was picking up Vanessa at six in the evening per the routine. 

Heinz had broken out the Kleptocracy game board in the hopes of getting Vanessa’s mind off the doll. It seemed to work for a while, but Vanessa lost interest after they’d made six rounds across the board. 

“Steal $20 from little Penny Lane’s backpack,” Vanessa read a game card dully. Instead of taking $20 from the bank, she began putting all the game pieces away. “I don’t wanna do this anymore.” 

Heinz waved her off. “Eh, it was getting boring anyway. You pick the next activity.” He gathered all the play money, sorting them into the right piles. It took several minutes to get everything to fit into the close to bursting box. “Ugh, why does the cleanup take forever on this thing? They need automatic folding pieces or a mechanical hand cause people have stuff to do.” 

“I don’t really feel like doing anything,” Vanessa admitted. 

“So, TV then? Maybe there’s a good cartoon on.” Heinz suggested. “You like that Ducky Momo show, right?” 

Vanessa wrinkled her nose. “That’s for babies. How come he can never see a bridge right in front of him?” 

“Who knows? Maybe they don’t have eye doctors in his universe. Or everyone is affected by a complete lack of depth perception.” 

Vanessa giggled at his theory, then her face grew serious again. “Can I try to say sorry by myself to the girl that got mad at me on Monday? I don’t wanna go talk to the teacher with Mom.” 

“Don’t worry. I think she’d be glad you’re practicing conflict resolution or whatever they call it these days,” Heinz said, somehow both happy and sad at Vanessa learning to solve her own issues. He glanced at the time, realizing that it would be time to let Vanessa go soon. “Charlene’s gonna be here any minute. You’d better pack up.” 

Vanessa went to her room to grab her backpack, and Heinz busied himself by putting Kleptocracy away. He really needed to organize the cabinet by the TV. It was overflowing with games that he’d bought for Vanessa with the alimony he received. 

The doorbell rang. 

Part of Heinz was tempted to not open the door, to pretend nobody was home in the hopes of Vanessa staying just a tiny bit longer. She was the only person who made his lonely, drafty penthouse feel like a home. 

But Charlene loved their daughter too. It was a fact of life. 

“So what did you find out?” Charlene asked before Heinz could completely open the door. 

“She accidentally upset a classmate and wants to apologize on Monday. Oh, and she doesn’t want you to call a conference,” Heinz explained. 

“That’s all?” Charlene raised an eyebrow. “Is there something else you’re not telling me?” 

Heinz shrugged. “Look, I’d explain it more in-depth if I could, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around the questions she asked. Besides, I’m totally gonna save the explanation when I have more time to work it into a monologue. This could totally go into a backstory.” 

Charlene rolled her eyes at the mention of evil schemes. Now he knew where Vanessa got that habit from. 

Five minutes later, Vanessa was ready to go. She clutched her backpack’s straps with both gloved hands as Heinz took his time fussing over her jacket. 

“Cover your ears,” Heinz cautioned. “You don’t wanna catch cold. Or dust bunnies. That was possible when I was a kid cause everything was just super dusty all the time.” 

“I’m fine,” Vanessa mumbled. 

Heinz knelt down to her level, drawing her close for a goodbye hug. “See you in two weeks,” he whispered. 

“You’re still gonna be here?” Vanessa asked, her voice tiny. 

“Course I will,” Heinz replied. “Someone’s gotta let you eat candy before dinner around here.” 

Vanessa giggled, and they finally broke apart. 

“Thanks, Dad.” 

Heinz smiled back, figuring that a little reminder for Vanessa couldn’t hurt as she grew up and inevitably forgot her innocent request for a doll. 

Years later, when Heinz discovered a little doll with a green dress and brown curls at a suburban garage sale, he knew he could finally become the World’s Greatest Dad to his little girl. 

[iamartemisday]

Lokane Week Day Two (The World and The Sky)

A/N: Quick context just in case. This takes place around the time Jane had her plan to use pig Latin to try and trigger a subconscious reaction in Jacobine and prove there was a way to bring other people to awareness of the time loop.

Day 57

Loki Laufeyson

She never. Shuts. Up.

Loki had a toy once as a child, a miniature model of a warrior which moved, fought, and spoke as a real fighter would. Loki enjoyed it for all of a week before it grew clear that the spell which granted it speech didn't come with any sort of 'off' switch. In his desperation to keep the infernal thing silent while he slept, Loki found a muting charm in one of the books he wasn't supposed to read and ended up burning the toy to cinders by accident. That same dignitary who first gave it to him never offered another gift to the second prince, but it was just as well.

If only he could silence Jane Foster as easily.

'Ood-Gay orning-may acobine-Jay. Ow-hay are-hay ou-yay? Ou-yay ook-lay ine-fay-"

Two hours she's been doing this. Walking up and down the beach, hair whipping across her face, undeterred thanks to the heating spell he'd foolishly cast around her. He should've left her to freeze. As always, he's far too compassionate for his own good.

"I-hay am-hay oing-day… that doesn't sound right."

"Nothing you've said sounds right," Loki drawls, drawing a circle in the sand with his foot. "Not now, not ever. I must commend you for being the most talkative person I've ever met to say absolutely nothing of interest."

"Bite me."

"Except that."

"Kiss my ass."

"And that."

"How do you turn everything into a sexual innuendo?" She rounds on him. "Is it some secret talent of yours that I should know about?"

He blinks lazily. "Who says I meant it sexually? Perhaps you should refrain from such base assumptions. Aren't you a rational thinker?"

She's oddly lovely when she's ready to kill him. The only other person to ever look at him like this was Thor, and there are innumerable reasons why Thor is the last thing on his mind. He steps away from the wall, feeling the wind on his face. He hasn't cloaked himself. There's no need. Cold is nothing to him. It never was, and when he thinks about it, that should've been an obvious sign from the start that he wasn't quite right...

He makes a quick amendment. Thor is the second to last thing he wants to think about.

"Ood-gay orning-may, acobine-Jay." She's loud enough to almost be heard over the crashing waves. "Ow-hay are-hay ou-yay?"

"Ored-bay I-hay ust-may ay-say." Loki grins at her. She glares back.

"Oki-lay is-hay a-hay ickhead-day."

"Now that's just impolite."

"Ut-shay up-hay."

"O-nay."

She glares. If she had magic, he's certain he'd be a pile of dust carried off with the wind by now.

"You won't think it's so funny once I've found a way out of this." She kicks sand in his direction. It flies back at her legs.

"Is that what you tell your colleagues when you beg them for money?"

"I do not beg for grants. They are awarded to me." She speaks as if this is something to be proud of. Some might say it is, but Loki is not 'some'. "And I'm awarded said money because the school board believes in what I am studying."

"Are you sure they aren't merely offering you a pittance to keep you out of their hair?"

"You really want to get thrown into the ocean, don't you?"

Loki lets out a full belly laugh that would make Volstagg jealous. Jane is walking away from him and stumbles when he appears in front of her. He folds his arms, digging his feet into the earth. He doesn't need to make himself look bigger. She's a wisp of air next to him.

"Go ahead. Throw me," he says.

She swerves around him. Whatever she wants to say, she holds it in. If she gets too good at that, he might need to change tactics.

It's nearly night and the moon is rising. Soon the stars will come out, and maybe then she'll be at peace. He sits on a bench which creaks under his weight. It barely reacts to hers and he shakes his head. There are children on Asgard more robust. She plays with her fingers, mouthing stranges words he can only assume to be more pig Latin.

"It's a silly idea," he says, though at this point he's just repeating himself.

"Lots of good ideas were silly at first," she replies.

"You mean to say this is one of them?"

"I mean to say shut up."

"How many times will we go around in circles like this? Has it not grown tedious?"

He supposes it has. An hour goes by and she still hasn't answered him. It's an incredible view of space from here. He can see why such a location was appealing to her for a summer abroad. The stars in Asgard are, of course, better, but that is par for the course and he's not in the mood for another runaround. Maybe he'll bring it up tomorrow or the next day.

She stretches her arm, pointing at the single red dot amid the millions of twinkling white. "That's Mars."

"So it is."

"NASA is talking about sending manned missions within the next fifty years."

"Do you wish to go?"

She snorts. "I'll be old by then. Might even be dead. Not that it wouldn't be the chance of a lifetime, it just won't be my lifetime."

"Not with that attitude." He crosses one leg over the other and observes the red pinprick. "You know, we do have ways of granting mortals extended lifespans equal to that of our own. It is an honor reserved for only the strongest of your kind but I could sneak you an apple if you like."

"Tempting," she says, licking away her dry lips. He finds himself following her tongue. "Pretty sure that would mean spending an eternity close to you, though. Not sure I'm emotionally prepared for that."

"That's not necessarily true," Loki says. "The cosmos is limitless. There's no end to what you can find, and knowing you, you'd spend the majority of your five thousand year lifespan tracking comets. You won't have time to think of me, let alone seek me out."

"Well, that's not untrue."

Loki furrows his brow. Her quick agreement strikes him as a dismissal. Nobody dismisses the god of mischief.

(Not anymore…)

"Are you saying you wouldn't miss me?"

She pretends to examine her nails, but when he listens, he can hear her heart race. "Would you miss me?"

They are both good questions, though he is decidedly not fond of the latter. He decides he'll only answer if she does first, and so he has nothing more to say. She has her back to him and her fingers trace lines across the stars. It would be an acceptable (if not very fun) way to end the evening-

"Ood-gay orning-may, acobine-Jay. Ow-hay are-hay ou-yay?"

-but she still won't shut up.

[no-shxme]

Wander Closer (Complete)

McHanzo | AU + Dragon! Hanzo | NSFW | AO3 Link

shame’s note: this is a one shot from a longer story I want to write. got some fresh dragony hanzo and McCree. enjoy! 

He’s lucky to have gotten this close, McCree knows. He can’t help but think that it’s because Hanzo likes him, or at least tolerates him enough to allow him near. Even now the dragon-man glances back to make sure he’s following. He catches his gaze for just a moment before he slips back into the darkness ahead, silent as dust save for the click of his claws against stone.

He could easily be going to his death. Maybe Hanzo is luring him to a trap, deep within his lair. McCree isn’t one to take death lying down but the dragon he’s following is what keeps him moving forward, going deeper into the mountain ruins he’d set out to explore.

“Where’ya leadin’ me?” He asks after the silence has become too stifling. It’s unsettling him, making him wonder if he is wandering towards his death.

The dragon stops moving, he can tell because the clicking quits as well. A moment later he’s there, in front of him so suddenly that McCree’s breath hitches. In the lantern light, his beauty is even more apparent. A strong jaw, long mottled blue ears, the curve of long ivory horns that jut out above his hair, McCree could probably stare for hours, just drink it all in. He barely looks a day over twenty-five but Jesse wonders how old he really is. Wonders about this situation entirely.

As it is, Hanzo lays a careful hand flat against his chest and McCree stops breathing altogether. The dragon’s fingernails are sharp—but not as sharp as he would have guessed—as they trace the seam of McCree’s button up. Hanzo’s looking up at McCree almost like he’s waiting for something, anything. The faintest trace of a sly smile creeps across his face, a hint of fangs.

“Goddamn,” he croaks, finally finding his voice. His free hand, not holding the lantern, is hovering at Hanzo’s side, almost conflicted, aching to touch. “You’re gorgeous, know that?”

Hanzo small smile widens into something more approving. He pulls away from McCree, snatching the cowboy hat off his head with a quick movement.

“My hat—” Jesse’s voice dies out as he watches the dragon slot the Stetson over his horns. He glances back at McCree, arching one perfect brow and tweaking the angle of the hat on his head. He tucks his hands into the sleeves of his robe and disappears back into the darkness ahead.

It takes his feet a few seconds to catch up to his brain before McCree stumbles after Hanzo. He can’t hear him anymore and for a minute he’s wandering through the dim hallway on his own. The hallway’s cold drafts tickle his ears and the tip of his nose but he keeps walking, a bit faster now, boots loud against the cracked stone.

“Where’d you run off to?” His words come out hushed, the silence smothering his usual loudness. The foreboding feeling is returning, settling in his bones like the chill.

There’s a doorway to his right, covered by a hanging layer of thin fabric. McCree brushes it out of the way and steps inside, raising his lantern higher.

“Oh.”

It’s a bedroom, old and drafty but a bedroom nonetheless. Half melted unlit candles dot the walls, surrounding the futon in the middle. It’s low to the ground and lined with dark pillows, stark against the paleness of the mattress. Clearly, the area had been refurbished. It’s a bit messy, mismatched sheer fabric and blankets draped every which way, colorful pebbles piled on the floor, and cups of wildflowers positioned at random, but—it’s enchanting.

A strange word, but fitting, considering the dragon on the bed. Jesse’s arm sags and the light dims as the lantern swings. Hanzo’s in the center of the room, among the pillows and old decor. Sat down on the bed away from him, pulling the golden ribbon loose from his long hair. It sways as he relaxes his shoulders, probably as soft as it looks.

Jesse swallows. “Goddamn.”

Hanzo looks at him over his shoulder and his eyes are sly but his grin is almost wicked.

He quickly lights a few of the candles, just enough to help the lantern. His hands are shaking but he doesn’t think about it. Instead, he sheds his bag and kicks his boots into the corner. This might be a big mistake. He doesn’t know anything about dragons, maybe this is how they eat people, lure them in so they can’t escape.

But then he looks up at the creature, sees his strangely appraising glance, and all rational thoughts fall by the wayside.

“Can I?” He asks, hushed, hopeful as he crouches at the edge of the futon, sturdy boots crunching on the stone floor. He can’t be reading this wrong, can he? He was literally led to Hanzo’s bedroom.

Hanzo seems to consider his words. Jesse wonders how he sounds. Maybe deep, maybe light and airy. Perhaps he can’t speak at all.

McCree watches the stranger’s head jerk down in a nod, eyelids fluttering shut for a moment. That’s all the answer he needs, surging forward, hands sliding up Hanzo’s waist.

“Gorgeous.” He presses his nose against Hanzo’s hair, lips against his temple. “God—damn, you’re so gorgeous.” He pulls away so he can see his face. “I could look at ya’ for hours.”

The dragon under him seems to preen, a faint hum filling the air. It sends a chill down Jesse’s spine.

“You’re Hanzo, right?” McCree asks as he takes off his jacket. “I didn’t just misinterpret wrong? My Japanese ain’t that great.”

Hanzo nods and pulls off his hat, tossing it across the floor. It’s the first definite sign that he understands him. McCree runs a few fingers through his hair and finds it just as silky as he’s imagined.

“I’m Jesse,” he says, and watches as Hanzo’s mouth silently forms the name. His eyes are burning, alive with heat.

Deft hands make quick work of the buttons on McCree’s shirt and a moment later it hangs open. He smooths his thumb over an ivory horn as Hanzo’s palms map the expanse of his scruffy chest. Jesse knows he’s a looker, known ever since he was young. He chuckles at the dragon’s approving expression.

“Like what’cha see?” His attention turns to Hanzo’s own clothing, still very much on. “C’mon I wanna see ya’ too.” He tugs at the sash around Hanzo’s waist and it loosens, slipping off and pooling on the futon. Sharp fingers latch onto McCree’s bandana, tugging him forward into a biting kiss. Hanzo’s lips are warm against his, and one of his fangs catches on McCree’s lower lip, drawing out a grunt of pain. Jesse pulls the dragon’s robe down, exposing more tempting skin. He leans back onto his knees and breaks away from the kiss, Hanzo’s mouth chasing his backwards.

He whistles, a short breathy thing, because Hanzo is just full of surprises. His skin is unblemished except for spots of scales on the shoulders, dark in color. And the tattoo, Jesse would love to examine it closer. A winding dragon wraps around Hanzo’s arm, vibrant and detailed. He follows it up to Hanzo’s chest, enthralled. Was he born with it? Did he get it done?

A warm hand palms his bulge and focuses his attention back on the task at hand. He dips his head down and latches onto a dark nipple. Hanzo whines and he relishes in the sound, wonders what other noises he can pull out of him.

“Spread your legs for me,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Lemme see what we’re dealing with.”

Hanzo’s legs part easily, robe opening even more. McCree slips the rest of it off, laying the dragon bare. He whistles again, taking in the toned body below him. Hanzo is lithe and muscular, and basically looks human but—

He’s not. The horns, the fangs, the scales, and now the pink slit between Hanzo’s legs. McCree hums to himself thoughtfully.

“You a lady?” Jesse asks, rubbing the inside of Hanzo’s thighs with his thumb. He doesn’t know dragon anatomy. Maybe this is what a girl looks like.

A sturdy knee collides none too gently with his chest. Hanzo’s scowling.

“Okay, not a lady,” McCree chuckles apologetically. He shifts himself backwards. “Scooch up? I’ll make you feel good.”

Hanzo shuffles backwards clumsily and McCree immediately ducks down to lick a long stripe up the dragon’s sex. He’s rewarded with a quiet gasp. Another sound to add to the collection. He dips his tongue even lower, exploring. Hanzo is already deliciously wet. It’s easy enough to slide two fingers in and feel how tight he is, throbbing around the intrusion. Jesse prods curiously at a nub at the very top of Hanzo’s entrance and he revels in the way the creature jolts. He prods it again and fingers find his hair and pull hard.

“Alright alright,” he half hisses, going where his head is pulled. Sadly up and away from between Hanzo’s legs. “Would be helpful if you said somethin’.”

Hanzo glares at him shrewdly. In one swift movement, he unbalances McCree with his knee and swings him under him. McCree’s head hits the stiff mattress none too gently. He blinks at the dragon now sitting on top of him.

“Jesse.” Hanzo speaks like he’s testing the name out. His voice is deep. Deeper than Jesse would have assumed. Not bad though. Not bad at all.

“You’re—” he wants to say gorgeous, but he’s already repeated himself too much so his words catch in his throat. Hanzo doesn’t wait for him to finish, grinding down on Jesse’s trapped cock.

He chokes. “Fuck, hang on sweetheart.”

Hanzo gracefully lifts himself up to his knees to allow McCree to fumble with his belt. He manages to unbuckle it and forces his pants and underwear down in one rushed movement. The cold air hits his now bared cock and he winces. Hanzo looks at it carefully as he settles back down on McCree’s hips.

“It’s big, for a human,” Jesse reassures, a bit embarrassed by the staring.

Hanzo raises an eyebrow. He reaches down and grips the base of Jesse’s cock, running his palm up the shaft. It’s almost like he’s weighing it in his hand. Jesse jolts as the dragon’s curious thumb dips against the end of his cock.

“Careful darlin’,” he croaks, voice shaking just a little.

Hanzo looks at him and his eyes are dark with lust. He tosses his head up haughtily as if being asked to be careful is a disrespectful challenge.

The dragon raises his hips and lines up Jesse’s aching cock with his entrance. The scales dotting his body glimmer in the candlelight and his tattoo almost seems to glow. McCree can’t help but wonder—once again—if this is real. Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe he got lost in the mountain snow and this is his one respite before he dies.

McCree doesn’t really care either way. It feels real as Hanzo sinks onto his cock. He watches as Hanzo slides down slowly, huffing and sighing as he takes inch after inch till he’s fully seated. It’s impossibly hot and tight and Jesse props himself up on one elbow to admire how Hanzo trembles.

“That’s it,” he encourages breathily. “You’ve got it, you’re perfect.”

The dragon’s face is flushed but the extra compliment still shows as his expression breaks into a hazy smile. He begins to rock himself on McCree’s cock, starting at a tempo that has them both groaning. Jesse grips Hanzo’s thighs to steady him, brushing his fingers over the smooth skin. The room is still cold, candles offering little to no heat, but Hanzo is so warm around him. He clenches around his dick suddenly and stills, chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut.

“Feel good?” McCree asks, in a voice like the rocky hills he’d climbed to get here.

Hanzo looks at him through half-lidded eyes. He knows it does, but McCree isn’t quite done yet. He slaps Hanzo’s hip gently.

“Off for a sec.” He groans as Hanzo pulls off of him with a whine.

He eases Hanzo onto his back and spreads his legs wide, rubbing the head of his still hard cock against the dragon’s cunt.

“Jesse—” the blessed name leaves Hanzo’s lips as he claws at Jesse’s arms.

“Easy there darlin’,” Jesse grunts and pushes inside again, feeling the blissful heat once more.

McCree starts a pace then, a fast but gentle pace. He wants to take his time. He wants to savor this gorgeous dragon and let this last because he knows it won’t last. Leaning down, Jesse sucks a mark onto Hanzo’s neck. The creature underneath him keens, back arching high off the mattress.

He continues, pressure building in his gut and Hanzo’s loud. He’s loud and so hot as he whines and groans. Eventually, it becomes too much and Jesse releases with a shout, voice echoing across the room. Maybe across the ruins entirely.

    Hanzo’s chest heaves below him as he pulls out, breath heavy. McCree watches a bead of white bubble out of Hanzo’s rosy slit before he shuffles up next to him on the futon.

“Don’t talk much?” he asks brushing long hair from the dragon’s face. He grazes his fingertips over a horn again, admiring them.

Hanzo says something in Japanese, too fast and mumbled for Jesse to comprehend. He rolls fully onto his side and presses his face against McCree’s shoulder.

They tangle their legs together and Jesse buries his nose in Hanzo’s hair knowing it won’t last.

And it doesn’t. When morning comes and Jesse wakes alone in the ruins, he knows some things are too good to be true. He doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, he dresses and packs his things and if he picks a long golden ribbon off the floor and ties it onto his belt then it’s unimportant.

Because he’s still got an adventure to finish, and good things never stay.

[skywalkerchick1138]

Across the Stars - Chapter 2

AO3

Prologue - Chapter 1

Okay guys, just a warning, I'm posting this chapter un-beta'd, but I'll probably have it edited at a later date. I just wanted to get this chapter out before "The Last Jedi" was in theaters, because I know I haven't worked on this in months and even though I've got most of this fic planned out, TLJ is still bound to affect this fic going forward.

Also, I edited the prologue a bit to tweak Mabel's backstory and some of that will be mentioned in this chapter, so please go back and re-read the prologue if you haven't already. Otherwise, you're gonna be a little confused.

As always, credit for this AU goes to the ever lovely @kerbabbles

--

A piercing shriek of metal scraping against metal broke through the entombing silence of the wreck. Mabel tried not to wince at the sound grating against her eardrums as she slid the panel out. She made a mental note that she ought to add some sort of ear mufflers to her protective gear.

A gust of old stale air and dust followed in the wake of the newly opened panel, briefly clouding her goggles. But if confirmed that her suspicions were correct and excitement pooled in her chest. This section had somehow gone untouched until now. These panels were bound to be full of good, useable tech that could keep her fed for weeks! So long as she didn’t blab about it to everyone and only took small bits of it at a time. Best not to draw suspicion from the other scavengers. The jagged scar on her calf bore testimony that she’d learned that lesson the hard way.

It was tempting to overstuff her bag, though. Grabbing only the pieces she’d need today, she carefully maneuvered the panel back into place, somewhat crookedly so it would look like someone had already disturbed it. Not many people ventured out this far into the Graveyard, believing these ruins to be picked clean ages ago. But you never knew who was desperate enough; who was hungry enough.

Sighing contentedly through her muffler, Mabel drew a grappling hook from her utility belt and secured her bag across her shoulder. She fired the hook across the gap and swung over, making her way back to the entrance that was spilling into harsh sunlight. She was almost reluctant to go back outside, as the gutted innards of the ship was marginally cooler than outside. But her parched throat and empty stomach demanded that she leave. She’d run her canteen dry a half hour earlier.

Her sled full of scrap greeted her as she removed her goggles and muffler. She was panting, but grinning. This was one of her favorite parts of the day. Placing her bag on the sled before her, she climbed on gingerly and then kicked herself down the dune, laughing giddily all the way down. Take pleasure in the little things, that was her motto.

The landscape around her was dotted with the effigies of long dead ships half buried in the sands. The Graveyard of Giants, they called it. It stood in testament to a grand battle that no one in Jakku’s living memory could recall. And it was all being whittled away, bit by bit. The Graveyard had stood for decades, maybe even centuries as far as Mabel knew. But one day it would have no more scrap to give.

Mabel didn’t think that even her grandchildren would live to see that, though.

Reaching the bottom of the dune with a dusty smile, she clambered to her feet and quickly piled her scrap into her speeder.

Today was shaping up to be a good day.

Dipper gave out a strangled scream of frustration as he tossed his wrench away, where it clattered across the deck. The engine, still emitting some waffty smoke, hissed silently back at him.

This was an absolute disaster. This was supposed to be a simple mission – just get the parts and get back to the freighter – Stan and Soos kept telling him there was nothing to worry about.

But then the First Order got involved. He’d gotten a harried, static-y message from Grunkle Stan about a Star Destroyer in orbit before it’d been cut off. And then soon after his ship’s engine had started to sputter smoke.

Dammit, this was something Soos should’ve caught during pre-flight. He was no good with mechanics and they all knew it, but normally he had Soos with him so normally this wasn’t a problem.

Now? He was stranded in the middle of the desert with an overheated engine (and nothing more, he hoped), only 3 days worth of food and water rations, and a Star Destroyer in orbit, which potentially meant Storm Troopers making their way to the planet’s surface, if not landing already.

He didn’t know for sure. The transmission between him and Grunkle Stan got jammed.

A shiver ran down his spine. His breath sped up and hitched. For all he knew, Stan and Soos might be dead now. For several minutes he knelt in the cockpit with his hand clamped over his mouth, trying to just calm down, dammit.

Surely the First Order couldn’t be here for him, right?

Once, when Dipper had just been a child, he’d been captured by the First Order. It had been the most horrific time of his life. They’d tried to recondition him, make him a Storm Trooper, had put him through intense physical and psychological training.

By the time Grunkle Stan rescued him, he’d barely remembered his own name.

You are MN-0618…No, I’m Dipper.

His life before capture was a jumbled mess of flickered half memories. If he’d had parents once, he couldn’t remember them. For as long as he could remember, Grunkle Stan and Soos were the only family he’d ever had.

Even so, there was an odd ache that didn’t go away. There was a nagging thought that something was missing. Sometimes he had vague memories of a small girl; or rather impressions of her. He couldn’t remember her face but he could just faintly remember the high-pitched sound of giggling or the smell of sugar. And it didn’t help when Stan looked at him with a certain kind of pity. The kind one might give to someone missing a limb.

It did no good asking about her, though. Every time he asked, Stan would shrug it off, change the subject, or when that didn’t work, he would just say “Some things are better left forgotten, kid.”

He’d tried asking Soos as well, but the usually chatty wookiee was just as tight lipped as Stan.

It was frustrating, Dipper didn’t like taking “no” for an answer, but the only two people who knew anything had sealed their mouths tighter than an air lock.

His head snapped up as he heard the sound of speeder bike engines. Or maybe just one? His hands fluttered anxiously as he wiped stray tears from his cheeks. He had to fight the urge to re-activate the cloaking shield – or the poor excuse of one anyway – while the engine was still recovering. He’d taken cover behind an old wreck of a Pelta-class frigate. If he was lucky, it would be enough.

Today was not a good day.

“What do you mean, a quarter-portion?!” Mabel screeched. “Last week these parts were a half-portion each!!”

Gideon Gleeful’s large, pudgy face twisted into a saccharine smile at her glare. As a child he had been tiny, smaller than Mabel even, but as the years had gone by he’d proven to be his father’s son and he had grown significantly into a hulking, top-heavy figure. Even sitting in his seat behind the rations counter, he towered over her now.

“That was last week, darlin’, but I’m afraid there’s not a demand for these anymore.”

Mabel scowled. That was the biggest load of bantha crap she’d ever heard. These couplers were always needed and she knew for a fact that no one had salvaged any in as good condition as hers. Not for at least a year.

Gideon rested his pale, freckled cheek into an equally pale hand, staring down at Mabel condescendingly. Her scowl only grew. Honestly, the Gleefuls had no right being so pale while living in the middle of a barren desert. Or so fat. (Perhaps that wasn’t entirely fair of her; she knew that half of Gideon’s pudge was pure muscle mass. Still it was no secret he was eating far better than anyone who worked for him, herself included.)

“I keep tellin’ y’all, Mabel darlin’. If you want more to eat tonight, you can install that fuel pump on the ship for lil’ old me.”

The ship in question was a rotting old freighter that hadn’t flown in years. It’s exterior name plate had mostly faded away with nothing more than a few letters spelling out “Th My Sha”. There was nothing wrong with wanting to get it running again, really. The problem was that Gideon was insistent on installing the stupidest modifications known to anyone. The ship, referred to by the locals as The Mysha for lack of it’s full title, was full of an odd patchwork of mods and fixes, and Gideon’s additions would do nothing to help. If anything, it would make the ship that much more likely to blow up on take-off. He apparently thought that, just because his father owned the scrap yard, he knew about ship maintenance better than anyone. Including those who spent their lives rooting through old ships instead of getting fat off of others’ labor.

But she couldn’t afford to go hungry again tonight. The last time Gideon tried to wheedle her into this and she’d refused, he’d thrown a fit and taken her rations away entirely. She needed to keep her strength up if she was going back for those other parts. “Fine.” She growled.

She didn’t like the way Gideon’s face lit up at that. Ever since they’d met as children, he’d taken an intense and rather creepy infatuation with her. She supposed that that, more than anything else, was why he strong-armed her into working on that decrepit freighter. True, she did know her way around a ship, but certainly there were better mechanics at this outpost.

“Perfect!” Gideon exclaimed. “Go talk to Daddy, he’ll give ya the parts y’all need. I’ll come check on your progress in an hour.”

Mabel made to grab the rations lying on the counter window between them, but Gideon got to them first, slapping a hand down on them just as her fingers brushed the rough plastic packaging.

“Don’t worry, my dumpling.” Gideon crooned. “You’ll get paid once you’re done.”

Mabel drew her hand away dejectedly. She turned on her heel, her back facing Gideon and paused. She’d really like to have spat some choice words at him. Her shoulders tensed, the words rising in her throat like bile. But she couldn’t. And he knew it. She could feel his smug gaze on her as she reluctantly walked away.

Well, there was something to be said for mechanics as a distraction. At least this way she wasn’t paying as much attention on her desperately gurgling stomach. Mabel wiped the back of her hand across her brow and pulled a faded pink bandana from her belt. She tied it up into a makeshift headband, pulling her growing bangs out of her face, and continued with her work. Installing modifications that she knew would do no good and repairing any damage Gideon had done.

He certainly had been through here today, too. She found his shoddy repair work everywhere she turned, it seemed. Sometimes she wondered if he broke things just to have the excuse to make Mabel fix them.

Not that he would’ve found that task difficult. The Mysha was older than Mabel and Gideon combined, and at least twice as old as Gideon’s father, Bud Gleeful. And it was showing its age, too. She surmised that very little of the freighter’s original hull remained, the rest being a patchwork of scrap and questionably legal installations collected over the decades.

She rather liked it. It had a lot of personality.

Sometimes, Mabel thought about taking The Mysha for herself - it had a rather long and proud history of trading hands through theft – but she always stopped herself. She…she couldn’t just leave.

“We’ll come back for you, Mabel! I promise!”

She had to stay put. She had to.

That was when she heard it; just the faintest, indistinct whisper. Her head jerked up. The dimly lit corridor before her was empty and still.

“Hello?” She called out.

No one answered. Cautiously, Mabel directed her attention back to the power couplings before her. Now, she just had to rewire this one, maybe some electrical tape to hold over the other one. Bud hadn’t given her enough couplings to replace this one…

…Ma…

There it was again. She pushed her goggles up to her head, trying to inspect the gloom before her, but again the hall was empty.

“Who’s there?” Mabel called out again. Again, no one answered. But something felt…different. She couldn’t describe it. The air was still and growing tense around her and yet at the same time…

…Ma…el…

There was a small, pinpricking sense of…light? Serenity?...coming from the passenger hold. She didn’t even quite know how she knew which direction it was, she just did. Slowly, as if in a trance, she got to her feet, her tools lying on the deck forgotten.

The closer she got, the feeling got stronger by just the barest degrees.

Mabel

The passenger lounge was dim and empty when she reached it, and yet there was a small but strong hum of that peaceful feeling in the room. She took a small cursory glance around. Nothing seemed out of place; an old pilot’s helmet here, some sort of training remote there…that hydrospanner she’d misplaced last month was on the dejarrik table. Huh. Other than that, nothing seemed really…

A small glint of metal met her eye from under the game table. Getting down on her hands and knees, she reached down underneath the table and pulled out a small object.

It was a strange little cube. She’d never seen anything like it; it was just a small, palm-sized cube, colored maroon and gold -was that real gold?- and as she turned it in her hands, she found a golden six-fingered hand on its face with a black number 2 etched into it.

This. This was what was emitting that weird feeling. She could practically feel it pulsing in her palms. But stranger still, she couldn’t find any emitters or energy outputs on it. It was…just a pretty box.

She’d never seen it before; it certainly hadn’t been here yesterday. She’d been through every cabinet and closet and compartment the old ship had to offer, and she was sure the Gleefuls had done the same before she’d ever set foot on the ship. So where had it come from?

The box was still humming in her hands, like it was waiting for her to do something. Slowly, almost unconsciously, her eyes began to flutter closed…

“Oh, Mabel!” Gideon’s voice rang sharply through the corridor. Her eyes snapped back open. Her hands clenched around the box and it had stopped it’s humming. The peaceful air that had been slowly enveloping her was now gone, as if shattered by the other’s presence.

“Mabel, darlin’! Where’d you go?”

“I-I’m in here!” She called back automatically. She snapped the satchel on her belt open and quickly shoved the cube into it. She’d just barely managed to snap it back shut just as Gideon’s towering form came in. Suspiciously, his eyes narrowed just a fraction, giving her a quick once-over.

“What’re you doing in here, dumpling?”

“I…” Mabel’s mind scrambled for an explanation. “I was – was short a few power couplings. Just trying to see if there were any spares in here. Yeah.”

Gideon was silent for a few moments longer. “Daddy should’ve given you all the parts ya needed.” He said finally. “I’ll talk to him about getting you ‘nother tomorrow.”

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief and followed Gideon back down the corridor to inspect her work. He deemed it satisfactory despite being incomplete and within 30 minutes she was perched atop her speeder and headed home.

Well, three quarter portions was better than nothing.

Just as the sun began to set, the familiar sight of her shelter came into view. It was an old AT-AT walker that was laying on its side, half buried in the sand and hollowed out like the corpse of a long dead beast. A ratty tarp was spread across its sprawled limbs, shielding the entrance from the sun’s harsh light. Nestled near the AT-AT’s half buried head-shaped cockpit was her moisture vaporator, still clunking away despite all odds.

Quickly, she parked her speeder beneath the tarp and crawled through the passageway into a small living space. The walls were littered with tally marks counting her days on Jakku scratched into them, along with the occasional graffiti reading “Lee wuz here!” or the image of a muffin-shaped cloud; one which Robbie had insisted many times was meant to be an explosion. More than once, Mabel had wondered how she had once managed to share this space with four older and larger teens when she barely fit the space now on her own.

It was also short of one lizard by the name of Craz. Mabel tried not to be too disappointed by this, it was only natural for him to look for food elsewhere.

Silently, she prepared a make-shift pan and set to work. Two of the portions she received were placed in the pan to be cooked, but the third was stored away in what passed for a cupboard. Just in case she came home empty handed again. She poured some water from her canteen into her only plate and mixed in a beige powder. Her lips quirked up in a little smile as she watched the powder quickly form and rise into a small loaf of bread. It never tasted that great, but she couldn’t deny it was just the tiniest bit cool to watch.

Soon she was outside, propped up against one of the walker’s feet as she licked the last bit of her meal away from her plate. Stuffing the last bit of bread in her mouth, she tossed her plate in the sand beside her and gazed up at the sky. Today had been…well, it’d been weird. She hadn’t gotten as much portions as she would’ve liked, and then there was that cube to consider.

Reaching into the satchel on her belt, she pulled the cube back out. She turned it over in her hands a few times as she considered it, but the weird peaceful energy it’d been giving off before didn’t come back. Maybe she’d just imagined it?

She shook her head. There had to be something more to it. It couldn’t just be a bit of décor.

“Well, come on,” she prompted it. “Do something.”

Silence.

Annoyed, Mabel shook it for emphasis. “What the hey-hey?! You were pretty chatty earlier!”

Still nothing.

Mabel groaned in frustration. What’d happened earlier that would make the thing call her name and make her feel calm but it wouldn’t do it now? It’d stopped when Gideon barged in, so she knew she had to at least be alone. But she was alone now and it wasn’t doing anything. Maybe there was something more on her part that she needed to do?

She brought the cube to eye level and tried to focus all her attention on it, willed it to open. When that didn’t work, she clamped her eyes shut and focused harder. A few moments went by and she peeked one eye open. It still hadn’t moved or done anything.

She sighed and dropped the cube back into her lap. Maybe…she was just trying too hard? The cube had made her feel calm and peaceful earlier. Maybe she needed to be calm too. Gently, her eyes slipped shut and she just tried to empty her thoughts. Just clear your mind, she thought to herself. Focus on your breathing…

Within a few minutes the peaceful energy creeped back into her awareness. She let it in and it slowly enveloped her body like a warm embrace.

As her eyes were shut, she didn’t notice how the golden corners began to turn opened. The cube began to glow a gentle blue.

Suddenly a mechanic warbling broke out across the silence of the desert and Mabel’s eyes snapped back open. She shot up, only barely remembering to shove the cube back into her pouch. The warbling noise sounded off again and this time she heard an aggravated voice following it. They were close by and whatever had made the noise sounded distressed.

Quickly, she grabbed her grappling hook in one hand and ran out across the dune towards the noise.

Several hundred miles away, a lone figure stumbled aimlessly across the barren dunes. Wendy Corduroy had finally shaken off her pursuers in what could only have been described as a ship graveyard, but her speeder had gotten destroyed in the process. And now she had been wandering all day, trying to find a settlement.

Her throat was parched and if it hadn’t been for her hat, she was sure her face would’ve been sunburned to hell and back. Her knees were quaking, her legs threatening to give out from under her.

As she crested another dune, she came across the wreck of a Pelta-class freighter. And behind it…was that the wing of a shuttle? She squinted. Yes it was, and…there! There was someone trying to work on it!

“Hey!” She called out hoarsely. The figure’s head turned in her direction and she shakily ran down the dune as fast as her aching legs would carry her. She waved her empty hands in the air. “Help!”

The figure – a brown-haired boy wearing a tan and red jacket, who looked to be only a few years younger than herself – hesitated for a moment, but seeing that she was unarmed, began to sprint towards her.

They reached each other at the bottom of the dune and she collapsed to her knees. He caught her before she could fall on her face.

“Are you alright??”

“I’m…” she rasped, trying in vain to wet her lips with saliva that just wasn’t there. “W-water, pl…please.”

The boy nodded, shrugged out of his coat and draped it across her shoulders. Helping her to her feet, he said, “Come on. I’ve got some rations on board.”

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 17)

This is PART 17 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 17 is written by @jeanie205.

[Part 16]

As soon as Dick rips off his mask, Veronica gasps as she takes in the identity of the man who not only shot Ruby Jetson but may well be one of the big bosses in this whole dirty business.

“Hey, I know you,” Dick says, staring at the gunman, his pretty face screwed up in concentration.  “Um…”

“Ah, Casablancas.  Clever as ever, I see,” the man snarls nastily, wincing as Logan pulls him roughly to his feet and twists his arms behind his back.

“We all know this asshole,” Logan says with barely-suppressed rage.  “He’s the creep that started the chain of events that ended up getting Carrie killed.”

Dick’s brow furrows as he searches for the right name, until finally his eyes light up with success.  “Hey, that’s…”

“Mr. Rooks,” Veronica says, the loathing clear on her face and in her tone as she steps forward into the man’s personal space.  “Given up on seducing high-school girls, have we?  Moved into the big leagues now?  Mad scientists? Apocalyptic bio-weapons?”

“Veronica Mars.”  Rooks fairly spits out her name.  “Don’t you have anything better to do than to screw up my life?  You and that bitch, Carrie Bishop.” He sneers. “I cheered when I heard she bought the farm.”

A high-pitched shriek suddenly shatters the air.

Ruby Jetson has heard that last bit and cannot allow it to pass unanswered.  Blood dripping down her arm from the gunshot wound, broken ankle wrapped untidily in Logan’s shirt, blonde wig askew, Ruby half-hitches, half-crawls along the ground with a speed that belies her injuries.  With a savage cry, she launches herself at Rooks, seeking to avenge the desecration of her idol’s name.

Unfortunately, from her position mere inches above the ground Ruby can only reach Rooks’s feet.  Boosted by righteous anger and adrenaline, however, and with near-miraculous precision, she uses one of her two remaining working appendages to sweep those feet out from under him.

Rooks goes down in a heap, the momentum carrying Logan with him, as Veronica leaps back just in time to avoid the fray.  Ruby herself lies panting, face down on the ground, only inches from the men’s tangled bodies.

“Logan!”

Veronica’s worried cry rouses Dick to action.

“Dude,” he says, crouching down and beginning to slap ineffectually at Logan’s face.

“Dick!  Knock it off!” Logan sputters, sitting up and swatting his friend’s hands away.  “I’m okay, Veronica,” he adds reassuringly, “but it looks like Rooks is out cold.”

“Oh, great.  Just when we might have been able to find out what the hell is going on.  I know Rooks lost his teaching license, but how did he get mixed up with the Van Vliets and Frankenstein’s monster?”

“It’s The Hulk, babe,” Logan reminds her. “Nothing to do with Dr. Frankenstein.”

Veronica gapes at him, incredulous.  “We’ve been dropped in the middle of this pile of pink poo and this is what you choose to twit me about?  My erroneous pop culture reference?”

Logan shrugs.  “I know how much you like to get things right.  And anyway, what makes you think Rooks was going to tell us anything?”

Veronica smirks.  “I was looking forward to figuring out ways to make him talk.”

Logan laughs.  “Of course you were.”

Dick shifts impatiently.  “Hey, I know you and Ronnie could spend all day flirting, that is when you’re not too busy doing other, hotter, things…”

“Dick!”

“…but right now, maybe you could spend just a little time figuring out what the hell we’re gonna do next!  We’ve got one guy out cold, and, uh, whatsername over there crawling around on the ground, and that big pink thing could come back any time.  And who knows how many other guys with guns are gonna start jumping out from behind some bush or something…”

Veronica hears the edge of hysteria in Dick’s voice and prays for a distraction.

“Dick!  I get the picture!” Logan says, and is about to say more when they all detect a sudden faint whine coming from the direction of the service road.

Three heads turn, and at first they see nothing but a cloud of dust in the distance.  A cloud which seems to be getting bigger and bigger until finally…

“No, no, no!” Dick cries, his hands clapping the top of his head in horror.  “Not the Merc!”

And indeed, Dick’s SUV roars into view, bumping towards them through the tall grass and around the long-dead grapevines.  Soon they’re able to see the look of mingled terror and relief on Mac’s face as she pulls to a stop beside them.

“Mackie!  What are you doing? You’ll ruin the transmission,” Dick moans.

“Oh, piffle,” Mac says, sliding out of the car.  “What do you think four-wheel drive is for?  Besides, I was beginning to think you were all dead.  What’s more important, Dick, the car or your friends?”

Dick’s gasp of protest draws a chuckle from Logan.

“You were just complaining we had no options, Dick, and now here’s Mac with the car giving us our best option.  So put a sock in it.”

Mac takes in the scene, finally noticing the man lying supine and unmoving on the ground.

“What’s he doing here?” she asks, her eyes widening in surprise.

Veronica chuckles.  “You know, I tried to convince myself that when Rooks left Neptune High he’d evaporate into thin air like he deserved, but I always knew that would be too much to hope for.  Instead, he seems to have got himself mixed up with this bunch of bio-terrorists, or whatever the hell they are.”

“You don’t know his connection?”  Mac squints at Veronica in surprise.

“Ruby knocked him out cold before we could question him.”

“Ruby did?”

“Long story, Mac.” Veronica smiles wryly.

Logan bends to check on Rooks then and winces involuntarily.

“Logan?” Veronica observes the tiny movement, and for the first time notes the deplorable condition of his naked back. Not only has his pale skin become ruddy from overlong exposure to the sun, but the sunburn is now overlaid with dozens of small cuts and scrapes from the fall.

“You need to get your shirt back,” she insists, glaring at Ruby, apparently forgetting that it was she who engineered Ruby’s injury in the first place.

But it makes no difference anyway.  Ruby hasn’t said a word since her assault on Rooks, but now she’s clutching at Logan’s shirt like it was the Shroud of Turin.  Veronica understands that the only way she’s getting that shirt away from Ruby is by pulling it from her cold, dead hands.  And while she’s tempted…

She sighs, turning to Dick in frustration.  “I can’t believe you don’t have an extra shirt in your car.  You, who might end up anywhere for the night.  I can’t believe you don’t have a damn suitcase full of shirts in that car!”

Dick nods and shrugs.  “Did.  Been a busy month.  Used ‘em all up.  Sorry, Ronnie.”

Veronica’s mind spins as she contemplates the various potential locations of Dick’s soiled shirts

“Wait!” Dick’s says suddenly and his eyes light up.  “I forgot about the emergency stash!”

Soon he’s pulled a flat box from beneath the back seat and is rifling through it, tossing items onto the ground as he goes.  Condom packs and bottle openers are flying, and Veronica thinks that the heavy rubber thing might actually be an inflatable mattress.  She shudders, not really wanting to know.

“Aha!”

Dick pulls from the very bottom of the box a piece of cloth that essentially looks like someone vomited up a paint store.  But when he unfolds it, it turns out to be the most garish shirt Veronica has ever seen.  There are fruits, and flowers, and…pink donkeys?…splashed all over it.  Just looking at it makes her dizzy.

“Where the hell did you get that?”  Mac asks, eyeing the shirt with distaste.

Dick thinks for a moment before his eyes begin to sparkle in remembrance.  “Yeah, well, there was this one night in Tijuana…”

“Never mind!” three voices command in perfect unison, while Mac slaps him upside the head.

“Hey!” Dick protests indignantly.  “You wanted a shirt, I found you a shirt.”

“Not a shirt I’m wearing,” Logan announces firmly.  “I mean, pink donkeys…”

“Oh, yes, you are,” Veronica rounds on him. “Better pink donkeys than a pink ass, which is what you’ll be if your skin gets any redder.”

Logan sighs and shrugs into the shirt.  Having learned which battles to pick.

They put Ruby into the car first, laying her across the third-row seat.  Dick does have a first-aid kit, so Veronica sticks a bandage - none too gently - over the point where the bullet grazed Ruby’s arm.

Rooks is propped up in the middle of the second seat, between Logan and Veronica.  Dick has declared that he’s taking back the wheel of his own damn car, so he and Mac are sitting in the front.

Veronica sighs with relief as the car begins to move across the field.  They are finally on their way back to civilization.

And then three things happen more or less at once.

Mac gasps.  “Oh, shit, I forgot!  What with Mr. Rooks and everything…”

“What, Mac, what?”  By now, Veronica is a touch impatient.  She’s had a tough couple of days.

“Your dad called back, Veronica.  There’s been some kind of terrorism threat in San Diego, so Leo can’t get here.  Keith’s still going to come, but he’ll be alone.”

Veronica nods.  Bad news, she thinks, but it could be worse.

And that’s when it does get worse.

Because there on the horizon, appearing as if out of nowhere, and standing squarely between them and the safety of civilization, stands the Pink Hulk.

Dick slams on the brakes.  “Now, what?”  he asks, his voice cracking.

Maybe it’s the jostling from the abrupt stop the does it, because it’s at that exact moment that Rooks moans, his head lolls against the seat, and his eyes flutter half-open as he looks straight at Veronica.

“Is he awake?” Logan asks, pulling the man’s arms behind him securely, thinking he’d give anything for a rope.

“Barely,” she shrugs, as Rooks moans again.

But then his mouth begins to move, and it looks to Veronica like he’s trying to say something.

“What?” she says impatiently.  As she bends towards him, Veronica feels like she may have reached the edge of her very last nerve. “The pink guy is out there, Rooks, and I don’t have time for this crap.  So what’s so important?”

Rooks only manages to say a few words before he faints again.

Veronica wishes she hadn’t heard them.

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by… @heavenli24. Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to  vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, August 23rd.

[agentmarymargaretskitz]

Where We Started Chapter 7

For four thousand years, Priestess Chay-Ara and her lover have been killed by Vandal Savage two hundred and six times. Life two hundred and seven begins a different story for the battle Lyla Michaels faces with her fate.

AO3, Fanfiction

               Chay-Ara wanted nothing more than to stay in bed with the man she loved, but a small voice in her head reminded her she couldn’t. She was due at the temple soon. Being late was something she couldn’t afford, even before she had begun her relationship with Khufu. Maintaining the temple of Horus was her duty, and she could not neglect it.

Slowly, she started to rise from the bed and Khufu’s arms. Her movement made him sit up beside her.

“Stay a little longer,” he murmured.

“I’m due at the temple soon,” Chay-Ara reminded him, pressing a kiss against his lips.

Khufu smiled. “You can be a little bit late.”

“The offerings need to be made to Horus,” Chay-Ara climbed out of the bed and put on her robe. “The augers have been predicting more sky rocks to fall. We need protection more than ever. I shouldn’t let Hath-Set deal with the offerings alone.”

“That snake can do it himself,” Khufu remarked, drawing a smirk from Chay-Ara.

“Such a compliment from you,” a new voice sneered.

               Chay-Ara whirled around to see Hath-Set standing in the entryway to her chamber. She had no idea how long he had been standing there for. He must have heard and seen enough to figure out the nature of her relationship with Khufu. This was not a good sign.

“I believe it is forbidden for a royal to lay with one of the clergy,” Hath-Set said, a nasty smile creeping across his face. “The penalty for such an infraction is death, no?”

Khufu bolted up to stand beside her. “Get out now.”

Hath-Set tilted his head mockingly. “You think I fear you or your father, when an end is so near?”

“I think you’re a fool not to,” Khufu scowled, taking hold of Chay-Ara’s staff.

“I would not bat an eye killing you,” the priest said calmly, stepping towards Chay-Ara. “And then I will take Chay-Ara as you have.”

He raised a hand to stroke her cheek, but she snapped her wrist up to grab his before he could.

“I am not some prize to be won,” she spat. “And I shall never be yours.”

               Khufu charged forward at Hath-Set suddenly. The two grappled as Chay-Ara scrambled to find a weapon. She caught sight of the dagger Khufu had given to her and grabbed it before running at the priest of Horus.  Hath-Set and Khufu’s struggle prevented her from getting in a kill blow, but she was able to drive the blade into their opponent’s side. Their foe howled in pain before yanking it out. A moment later, the dagger was in Khufu’s chest.

“No!” Chay-Ara screamed, grabbing the fallen staff and running at Hath-Set herself.

               When he saw her coming at him, the man pulled the dagger from Khufu. Chay-Ara fought Hath-Set until he grabbed a hold of her staff. Once he had it, he used it to pull her forward and impale her upon the dagger. Chay-Ara gasped as her organs were ripped through by the metal. Once Hath-Set removed it, she fell to the floor beside her lover. She turned to look at Khufu as the ground began to shudder.

“The end has come,” Hath-Set laughed in triumph.

               He began to make threats to follow both of them into every life and hunt them down to bring death upon them again. Chay-Ara met Khufu’s eyes through all of it. Reaching out, she grasped his bloody hand.

“Horus,” she whispered, praying to the god who she had been serving since she was a child. “Your children need protection. We need your blessing.”

“Chay,” Khufu rasped.

Chay-Ara smiled at him. “I will love you for eternity.”

“As will I,” he vowed, giving her hand one last squeeze. “Come back to me.”

“Always.”

Around them, objects began to glow, including the dagger they had been stabbed with and the lid of a vessel that was shaped as the head of Horus.

               Over four thousand years after her first death (and many more since then), the two hundredth and seventh reincarnation of Priestess Chay-Ara, Lyla Michaels, was standing outside a warehouse with her soulmate. For years, she and John had been running, searching for something that could defeat Vandal Savage once and for all. They’d tried to do this before in previous lives, but this life had new twists. Vigilantes and metahumans were now a part of this world. A group of them had crossed Lyla and John’s path, and became allies in the quest to vanquish Savage.

               The final showdown was imminent after Savage threaten to destroy Star City, Central City, and many others if Lyla and John were not handed over to him. Laurel Lance did not want to cower and comply with the evil immortal’s demands, but also didn’t want her city to fall into destruction. Her husband and the others assembled agreed with her, and a plan was soon developed to put an end to Savage once and for all. Lyla and John would not have to face Savage alone in the battle, but would fight alongside heroes.

“Are you ready?” Charlie Snow, the Firebird, asked her as he and Tommy Merlyn took positions on either side of John and Lyla to bring them into the warehouse to meet Savage.

“For four thousand years of madness to end?” Lyla nodded, rolling her shoulders a little. “Absolutely.”

Tommy was looking at his wife, the Snart siblings, and Mick Rory. “You know when to come in.”

“We’ve been paying attention,” Leonard Snart said. “We know what to do.”

“And we’re keeping a close eye back here,” Eddie Thawne’s voice said through the comms. “But you might want to get in and make that deadline first.”

               John looked at Lyla and smiled briefly as Tommy and Charlie lead them into the warehouse where Savage was waiting. Lyla’s blood boiled at the sight of the man who had killed them two hundred and six times. He leered at her as the two men stopped them a few yards from the immortal. Lyla could see John clenching his fists, and that he was itching to draw his blade. She didn’t blame him, as she was just as tempted to make use of her mace. But they needed the plan to play out as it was supposed to if they were to succeed.

“I see you have brought what belongs to me,” Savage sneered, the staff of Horus in his hands.

“You have what you want now,” Charlie said coldly.

               Savage stepped forward, which was just what they had wanted. A streak of red that was Leonard Snart raced into the room, bringing Mick Rory with him. The pyrokinetic placed his hands on the ground, summoning up a wall of fire separating them from Savage. He stepped back from the flames quickly to stand beside Charlie and Leonard. Lisa Snart entered with Laurel in a blur of yellow, taking a place besides Tommy. Savage was glaring murderously at the assembled heroes. The encounter wasn’t over yet, but Lyla felt a smug sense of triumph.

“You think you can trick me,” Savage snarled, raising his staff.

               Mick summoned a fireball and hurtled it at the staff, hitting right where Savage’s hand was. He released it with yell as the fire and newly heated metal burned his skin. Lisa darted forward to snatch it up as Savage threw two daggers towards Mick. Leonard caught them before they could do any damage before turning back to Tommy. Lisa passed the archer the staff as Leonard gave him a thumbs up.

               Knowing what was to come, Lyla opened her wings and flew upwards. John followed her example as Laurel stepped forward now. They were supposed to leave while the others dealt with Savage, but Lyla was going to stay. She had to see him ended for herself.

               The Black Canary opened her mouth and directed the full force of her cry at Savage. The immortal fell to his knees, unable to block out the shrill screaming. Tommy leaped forward then, wearing the gloved that Mick and Sara had developed for the staff, and turned it on its owner. A burst of light came from where Savage was struck. When it faded, Tommy was still standing, but there was a pile of dust where Vandal Savage had been.

               Lyla flew down to land beside Tommy as the rest of the fighters gathered around what was left of Savage. She let out a long breath as she stared at the dust. For centuries, he had killed her and John, orphaned any children they’d had, and murdered or ruined the lives of anyone who had tried to help them. Now, he was finally gone. She and John were free of him.

“We did it,” she sighed, turning to the man she loved. “We’re free.”

               John removed his helmet to kiss her properly. Lyla felt even more in love with him now that they didn’t have someone trying to kill them. They could do whatever they wanted to now. The dreams they’d had for this life could now be made into reality. Together, they could actually live a life, and it was all because Savage was gone.

Neither of them knew that the threat to their lives was not gone, but had only been temporarily set back.

[cyclinginaskirt-uk]

The vast and desolate beauty of the desert has inspired some of the greatest writers and thinkers of all time. Or, if you’re me, it inspires the corruption of some very catchy song lyrics …”I’m riding through the desert on a bike with no chain….”

Chilean Adventures Part 1:

Having arrived in Chile just a few days ago and with the briefest of nods to Santiago I was eager to catch a flight northwards to stay in the heart of the Atacama desert in the dusty little town of San Pedro.

San Pedro de Atacama has undergone a bit of a tourist boom in the preceding years, evident in the overwhelming number of hostels and travel agencies jostling for position in its narrow, dirt streets. Tourism is most definitely the main currency of the area, bombarding the mass of dread-locked twenty-something back-packers with excursions to the local salt flats, horse riding, sand-boarding, star gazing or trekking, providing year round income to this once sleepy little town.

Forming part of the non-gap-year minority myself, and my partner in crime (PIC), are also there to swell the population and to check out the mountain biking. Happily there’s no shortage of mountain bikes for rent although after a hot and weary few hours checking out the myriad of hire-centres it seems like finding one in any fit state to be ridden isn’t going to be so easy. These are obviously well-used bikes and I’ve long since stopped looking for immaculate, lowering my sights to something which has either tread left on the tyres, functioning forks/brakes or non-buckled wheels. More than one of the above will be a bonus.

We finally find a couple of serviceable red Trek hardtail bikes in reasonable condition with 27.5inch wheels, disc brakes and passable forks – their dubious functionality being demonstrated by the 100kg shop owner whose entire weight it took to compress them.

We’re ready to go though and for the next 4 days PIC, myself and the Trek (whom I’ve very originally nicknamed Red) will be exploring some of the finest sand and dirt this little part of the Atacama has to offer.

The first day we plan small and head off for what’s anticipated to be an easy, acclimatizing ride across the desert to a salt water lake – Laguna Cejar.

What I hadn’t taken into account was the altitude which, at nearly 2500 metres above sea level, meant that I was feeling the effects.

A fairly flat looking 20 km on the map soon turned out to be harder work than anticipated. Being surrounded by snow-capped volcanoes of the Andes did help to draw focus away from my rather grumpy legs as did the more immediate scenery.

Having failed to read any of the guidebooks I was less than clued up about the area. At first I genuinely thought I was seeing snow as the ground around me starting turning white, that or I was hallucinating but no, these we salt-flats (the start of the Salar de Atacama) the like of which I have never seen before. Everywhere you looked a thin crust of white covered the sandy earth, like cake frosting which has started to melt.

I was entranced for the first few kilometres although after a while the glare from the flats reflected the sun even more intensely, that combined with a strong wind which whipped up dust devils, spectacular in the distance like mini-tornadoes but blinding up close. This was distinctly hard work.

As well as the altitude, other things I also hadn’t taken in to account:

That the desert is hot. At 8:00 in the morning it’s deceptively and beautifully cool, but an hour later when the sun has lazily yawned over the tops of the mountains the air becomes super-charged reaching temperatures of over 30 degrees Celsius. There is no shade as nothing is stupid enough to grow here so the sun is relentless

If you ever want to know what a roasting chicken feels like my advice would be to try cycling in the Atacama.

It was with some sense of relief that we reached the salt lakes, the thought of a refreshing swim managing to push out thoughts of the long slog back.

Laguna Cejar is managed as a national park and swimming is permitted but in only one of the three lagoons there. These startlingly blue lakes are surrounded by desert grass and white salt-sand against a back drop of volcanoes and made every effort of the ride worthwhile.

What also greeted me were stern warning signs not to put my face in the water. Slightly disturbed but longing for a swim I practically ran across the salty-sand surface and waded straight in to the strangest water I have ever been in as it tried to spit me straight back out.

It was literally anti-swim water. Every time I tried to submerge a limb it would float right back to the surface. Trying to swim on my front was almost comical as arms and legs popped out the water leaving me looking like an extreme sky-diver. In the end, the only way to move about in this viscose liquid was to paddle bolt upright in a funny kind of swim walk. It was hilarious and surreal.

  Anti-swim water at Laguna Cejar

Laguna Cejar

Laguna Cejar

Jumping out to dry off any refreshment offered by the liquid evaporated immediately leaving skin coated in a crust of prickly salt. Fortunately the on-site showers dealt with the worst before facing the sticky, salty, wind-blown ride back to town. Never have 40km felt so long. Fortunately, back in San Pedro, the influx of backpackers means that beer is plentiful supply and comfortingly cheap. It felt well deserved that night.

Back on Red the next day and we were aiming to explore the valleys and mountains beyond the native settlement of Catarpe, a short 8km ride up the trail.

The area had been recommended both for its stunning views and excellent mountain biking. As it turns out we weren’t going to be disappointed.

Heading out of San Pedro’s dirt roads we quickly headed uphill on stony, sandy trails punctuated by the odd river crossing and the odd large herd of goats

2500 pesos (or roughly £3.00) per person gave entry to the national park and a veritable mountain biker’s paradise.

First climb of the day was up to ‘El Tunel’ (The Tunnel), what it says on the tin, a tunnel built in the 1930’s through the mountain which tops out a once much-used pass. Now however a crumbling dirt track of barely or less than a car’s width winds up the side of the mountain. The trail is only a 4km detour from the main valley track but they were 4 hard, vertical km up sandy, rocky terrain. It also necessitated much weaving around on the bike to avoid disconcertingly large potholes, potholes in which you couldn’t see the bottom, or worse still you could see daylight, revealing both the drop below and the overhang on which you were riding.

The road itself used to connect San Pedro with the city of Calama over 100km away until sensibly replaced by a tarmac alternative in a not too dim and distant past!

As the tiny, crumbling road rose through the mountains, I certainly wouldn’t want to be the person navigating a car around its decaying narrow edges.

The tunnel itself was cool respite and perched so high up offered fantastic views to the river valley below, a startling green amidst the arid landscape.

A quick obligatory out and back through the sand-filled tunnel where the road peters out and then time to make up for all that climbing with a rapid, thrilling descent, also trying to avoid the worst of the abyss-like potholes.

  El Tunel

El Tunel

Picking up the main (and only) track through the park we crash through a river crossing. My heart picks up speed when, in gung-ho mood, I offer to go first and it turns out to be much deeper than anticipated. Pedaling madly and breathlessly out of the flow, I’m drenched, exhilarated and laughing like a loon.

The plan now is to take the main 4×4 dirt road to the church. It’s an easy ride alongside the river valley and the scattering of green farms that sprout along it making a pleasant ride, all encapsulated by high red mountains. The day is hot but, cooled by the river soaking, it feels good. Twice we park up the bikes and go exploring on foot, tempted by signs to Inca ruins and burial grounds a short (but hair-raising climb) from the main track.

The final short, steep climb to the pretty white church of San Isidro at the base of the valley reminds me of the altitude as my lungs struggle to gain oxygen in the depleted air.

We’ve been told of a well-used mountain biking route from here which makes a circuit back to the river crossing only, having reached the church, there are a distinct lack of signs.

In fact the only thing we find are intermittent little man-made piles of stones and the ghost of tracks that could belong to humans or goats leading off into the jagged teeth of mud moraine-like flows, some hundreds of feet high.

I’m a bit uncertain about heading off in to the moraine-field but the thing that decides it is spotting some tyre tracks. We head off. Over the next hour or so it feels like we are riding round in circles, we may very well have been. The bike tracks and the stone piles come and go intermittently leading us deeper into the mud-moraines. Every time they run out we debate turning back and then we spot another – possible-looking tail, and we head off with renewed confidence, albeit in a different direction.

Scaling and descending the moraines there are some amazing natural trails with berms, loose sand and drop offs, it’s exhilarating riding but also concerning.

Forming the side of the valley the mud is hardened but still soft and crumbly in places, with salt deposits crusting its surfaces. Cycling across its surface is surreal, especially when the crumbly mud cracks into soft sand. I constantly have the feeling if I stray too far off-piste I will disappear under the quick-sand like surface.

The moraines too, tower above us forming a crumbling maze. It’s hard to tell anymore which way we should be heading. In fact we can only head where the trails lead us, forcing unwanted turns and constantly throwing up walls which force us to lift the bikes over or dead-end after following promisingly wide paths.

We could be feet from the road for all we know but the 100 foot crumbling mud walls deny any access. It’s hot too, the stifling air being trapped within this maze and broiling us. With water running low and a tinge of anxiety starting to take hold we make the decision to retrace our steps. Not as easy as it sounds in a landscape where everything looks the same. After what seems like too long we finally stumble out onto one of the open flats and see the ragged stand of trees which marks one of the farm properties, beyond which is the road.

I apologies in my rough and ready Spanish as we haul ourselves and the bikes past 2 surprised farm workers, through the dense scrub-land and back to the main track. Never have I been so pleased to see a dirt road before.

  Lost in Catarpe

Deeper than anticipated

Cracking it

You may be thinking that now would be a good time to find another place to ride next but the mud-moraines, and the promise of this circular route have taken hold. Despite the scare of getting lost the terrain is addictive.

We return a day a couple of days later to tackle the route from the other end by the river crossing. This time PIC’s done some more scouting whilst I’ve been off horse riding and, after a check on Google maps we’re pretty confident!

The track is definitely easier to find from this direction, winding up past Garganta del Diablo (either the Devil’s throat or his shaft, depending on how you translate it!), a cave mouth high in the cliffs.

After that, although a little elusive in parts, the route is much more clearly visible and so worth it.

Sandy berms (corners) and single track wind up and down through the mud-moraines, we squeeze through narrow gaps, around rock falls and climb and swoop before ascending high on to a plateau. Skidding and sliding down this sandy trail we come across the salt flats where we took our exit from the previous ride. How close we were had we but realised it.

Helpful stone arrows also point out the trail in this direction, in fact we even meet a volunteer out there repairing them.

It’s become noticeable that both of the chains on our less that road-worthy bikes are now complaining vociferously, the combination of many kilometers in sand and water having nearly seized them. With no oil and no spares there’s little we can do except spin on in a low gear whilst helpfully humming the America song from the title…”riding through the desert ….mmm… bike with no chain…mmm” crossing my fingers they don’t break entirely!

The final climb up towards the church is a lung-busting push up near vertical terrain followed by the most amazing natural single track descent sweeping through gullies and rock gardens until we arrive breathless, high on adrenaline at the little white chapel. We did it! And the only thing that could top that ride……is to reverse the route and go back again. So we do. Whooping and sailing up and down the moraines, taking the berms at breakneck speed, the muddy walls now feeling friendly as they speed past.

The river crossing arrives all too soon and the ride back is a welcome cool down and a calm down.

I’m sure I could ride here for a long time and not get bored, with terrain that tests both fitness, navigational skill and technical ability, what’s not to like? The surface, the features and the natural trails providing endless variety. I also learn later that this trail forms part of the route of the infamous Atacama Crossing a 7 day desert marathon which sees runner tackling 250 km through just this terrain.

Sadly though it’s time to say goodbye to the desert as there are other parts of Chile to explore and other cycling adventures planned but I leave wanting more and who knows…..

  Laguna Cejar

Laguna Cejar

Laguna Cejar

El Tunel

Inca ruins

Mud-moraines

El Tunel

Lost in Catarpe

Another kind of riding

      Cycling in Chile: Riding through the desert on a bike with no chain…. The vast and desolate beauty of the desert has inspired some of the greatest writers and thinkers of all time.