#Trusted locksmith

[britishbusinessonline]

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[h-s-moonshadow]

The Mystery of Healing: Story 2 - Part 1

Kylantha worked on the lock that had been presented her with a careful focus. Tools inside as she tried to slip the broken key fragments out of the lock. She pursed her lips in a gentle frustration as she continued to try to get the fragments out. They were twisted however, and stuck in a manor she’d not yet seen before. Frustrated she set her tools and her lock down. Running a hand through her hair.

Of course the flowers that grew in her hair, tulips and violets for the springtime, fell and hit the floor before new flowers grew in their place. She looked at the small mess she had just made and let out a sigh.

“Being dramatic are we today?” The deep feminine voice of her grandmother asked from where the elder elven woman was seated a few feet away reading a romance novel with a handsome elven man on the cover. “Or has the key finally beaten you?”

Instantly Kylantha looked down. Dark green eyes finding the floor. A gentle shame flooded her. “No Grandmother, I’m not,” She said in that voice that did not feel like it was meant to be hers. The one that so often felt like she spoke and another said her words for her. She did not wish to speak more, yet there was the other question. “It has not.”

Her grandmother hid her wince well, but Kylantha had been around her long enough to tell that it had happened. She did not have to look up to see the look of gentle pity that she was being given. A look she always felt guilty for. She did not deserve pity. Everyone else made that quite clear. Everyone who mattered anyway.

“If you need a break take one. You’ve already gotten most of the key out. Today’s a slow day and there’s no rush on fixing any of these locks” The warmth of her grandmother’s voice felt wrong. Kylantha was failing in her task. She wanted to rip her locket off, the beautiful gold masterwork with the moonflower silver inlay. The one her grandmother had gotten her not but a month ago for her seventy-sixth birthday.

She did not, indeed she took a breath and felt her shirt press the locket against her sternum. There was some comfort there against the metal warmed by the contact with her skin. She looked up at her grandmother. Dark green eyes finding the woman who had taken her in.

“Do I have to?” She asked softly, almost hopeful that she would have an excuse to not take a break. That her Grandmother would change her mind and tell Kylantha to keep working on fixing the lock.

Her grandmother looked back at her and smiled. Looking at Kylantha and then the rock. Considering the options she had given her grandaughter. Kylantha saw warmth in that gaze. The warmth of a hot mug of coco. Her stomach tightened at that.

“Yes. Go outside, take a walk. Come back after an hour has passed. No sooner, though I do not care if there is a much later.” Kylantha’s grandmother sood and stretched, yawning gently. “I need some rest myself,” She winked.

Kylantha blinked at her grandmother. She needed, then she took a moment. Her mind focusing. Her grandmother’s finger was still in the book marking the page. She had not put the elegant wooden bookmark she usually used inside of the book.

“Are you just standing up so that I feel better about leaving?” Kylantha asked, tilting her head to the side- jossling the flower that had grown in her hair, though none had fallen out.

Her grandmother smiled. “And what would give you that idea Kyl?” She asked, gentle and kind amusement infusing her tone.

“Your finger is still in your book,” Kylantha pointed, speaking almost instantly after the questionm was asked. “And you have not grabbed your bookmark yet. That indicates that you are not going anywhere and will simply sit down and continue to read once I leave.”

“Very good observations,” Her grandmother said with a smile and a nod. “I’m proud that you made those, astute as always,” The elder elven woman walked over to the workbench where the lock that Kylantha had set down was. As well as the tools that she had not put up yet. “What could you also infer?”

The wheels in Kylantha’s mind turned as she considered the evidence. They were in the workshop, and that generally meant that they would be there for most of the day. However the seats in the workshop were not meant for comfort.

It clicked. She walked over and grabbed her grandmothers bookmark. A beautiful think peace of mahogony wood, with an eatching of a young elven woman with a rapier fighting off a hundred men with swords.

“If you’re going to the living room to be by the fire,” She murmured softly. “You’re still going to want this right? In case something comes up quickly.”

Her grandmother smiled. “I am,” She said taking the bookmark. “Now, go enjoy your mandatory time off granddaughter. The locks will still be here when you return.”

[abbeylocks123]

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[dunmeshistash]

Is Kabru blackmailing his party? While they respect and trust him, they don't seem to like him and even fear him at times. So I was wondering how his team formed and what keeps them together.

I thought about not answering cause that's kind of a mean phrasing, my boy kapru isn't that bad!

But anyway, Kabru isn't blackmailing anyone, the ones we know why they joined are Rinsha and Dia, Rin is his childhood friend, he helped her survive when the elves took her in and she has a crush on him so ofc she joined the party. Apparently she's also worried about him

Dia ran away from her original tribe and was looking for a party to join, the "shadow governor" was a distant relative and introduced her to Kabru so she decided to join his party on her own.

Kuro is there because Mickbell is there and we can assume Mickbell is there because Kabru is paying him as any locksmith would be (Mickbell is probably what Kabru can afford since he's not in the union)

Holm is a mystery! but he's always a mystery and also an ex-convict so maybe he couldn't get a better party

Anyway the way they "dislike" Kabru is about the same way Laios' party "dislike" him as in "man this guy sure is a weirdo" but they believe in him and consider his weirder side just a quirk, I think there's a reason Kabru was open enough with them and let them realize this side of him, since we know he puts on a mask in front of most people the fact his party knows his flaws I think is a sign of trust.

Besides all that I thought it was pretty obvious they have faith in him. If they actually disliked him do you think they would stick around as he continues to go to floors more and more dangerous?

[puckinghischier]

Locksmith - Nico Hischier

nico hischier x fem!reader, jack hughes x platonic!reader, luke hughes x platonic!reader

summary: reader has been friends with the hughes brothers for years, and when she finally arrives in Jersey to move in with her best friends, she finds herself locked out and stuck in the hallway, with only the neighbor to save her

notes: this is my first time ever writing ANYTHING, so this could be terrible. BUT it’s really only a peek at where i want the story to go so possible series if anyone actually wants to read it??? 🫣

part 2, part 3, part 4

[2.4k]

~

You know, three suitcases didn’t seem like enough when you were packing, but trying to roll three suitcases down the long, carpeted hallway is proving to be one of the most difficult tasks you’ve ever had to do in your life.

Seriously, the building didn’t look this long from the outside.

After a trek that felt like miles, you reach the door you’ve been scanning for, only to find it locked tight. “I swear to god I’m literally going to kill them,” you said to yourself, out loud. “They tell the doorman to let me in, have me bring all this luggage up by myself, only to leave the fucking door locked. Why did I expect anything less?”

Grabbing your phone, you dial Jack’s number, silently begging him to pick up. You know he’s at a charity thing with Luke, but surely he’s allowed to answer his phone, right? Wrong. His phone goes straight to voicemail, twice. Classic Jack. You know there’s not any point to calling Luke, he always leaves his phone during charity events in order to connect with the kids better. Usually you find that endearing and admirable, but right now you wish that he was maybe just a bit more selfish.

“Well, I guess I live in the hallway now. Hope the carpet is plush enough to sleep on.” You’ve always had a habit of talking out loud to yourself when you’re nervous or, in this case, annoyed. It helps you work through your thoughts and not dwell on anything for too long. Purges your emotions a bit.

“Trust me, it’s not. Speaking from experience here, you’d be much better off sleeping on the couches in the lobby” a voice startles you.

“Oh my god,” you jumped. You turned around to see the door to the apartment behind you wide open, a dark haired man leaning against the doorway, smile on his face.

“I- how long have you been standing there?” you asked, hand on your chest trying to calm your racing heart.

“Long enough to know you’re thinking about sleeping on the carpet, not long enough to know why,” he states, humor lacing his tone.

“Well, if you must know, my roommates left the door locked, no spare key, and won’t answer their phones. So, until they get home, the hallway is my new bedroom,” you surveyed the stranger.

He was tall, much taller than you were. He wore a simple white t-shirt, black sweatpants, and a backwards hat on his head, hiding what looked like hair that was in need of a trim based on how much it was spilling out the sides of the hat. But what made you stop in your tracks were his eyes. You don’t think you had ever truly understood the phrase ‘warm eyes’ until now. They were the most spectacular shade of brown you had ever seen in your life. And they were filled with amusement. Amusement directed towards you, since he had just heard you talking to yourself like a madwoman.

“Ahh, you must be Y/N! I thought Jack said you weren’t coming until tomorrow?” He asked, understanding washing over his face.

“I caught an earlier flight and was going to surprise them. However, Jack texted me earlier this morning and told me he and Luke had to go to a charity skate, so I had to tell them I was coming early. He told me he’d leave the door unlocked so I could go ahead and settle in, but, as you can see, they did not,” you explained, only slightly shocked Jack told his neighbor about you. That boy sure liked to talk, yapping anyone’s ear off who would listen.

“Well, lucky for you, I happen to have a spare key you can use,” the stranger tells you, walking out of your view for a brief moment.

“Should I be concerned that the neighbor has a spare key? Does he just go around handing out spares left and right?” you ask, starting to feel a bit awkward standing among all of your luggage.

“No, not exactly,” the man laughs. “He gave me a spare after one too many nights of me hauling him home from the bar only to realize he didn’t have his key with him.”

He walks out of his apartment, a small golden key in hand. The stranger, whose name you forgot to ask, unlocks the door and stands back with a warm smile on his face.

“There, you just got upgraded to a real bedroom,” he recalls, standing in the now open doorway.

“I would say thank you, but I’m still a little concerned that a strange man just had to let me into my own apartment,” you (semi) joke, attempting to gather your suitcases.

“I’m Nico,” he explains, taking the suitcase you were struggling to heave into the apartment.

“Oh, you’re the captain!” you exclaim, recalling all the times Jack and Luke had talked about their beloved leader to you. “Jack never mentioned you lived next door!”

“That’s me. I only just moved in about a week ago. Was looking for a place closer to the rink and Jack told me about his previous neighbors moving out, so I decided to move in. Nice having them just across the hall. They’re like the little brothers I never had,” Nico pronounces brothers like ‘brudders’. You nearly forgot Jack had mentioned he was from Switzerland, too distracted to have picked up on his accent before now.

“Yeah, they seem to have that effect on people, huh?” you understood the sentiment behind Nico’s words all too well.

You’ve known Jack, Luke, and Quinn since you were all kids. Your family owned the lake house next to theirs when you were growing up. You spent every summer with them up until Quinn got drafted to the Canucks a few years back. Then Jack to the Devils, then Luke following Jack. Your families grew incredibly close to one another over the years, though. Trips to visit the other outside of the summer months became a regular occurrence. Trips to watch their hockey games, traveling to watch Luke play college hockey, and attending their drafts. These three were the brothers you never had but always wanted. They treated you like their own sister from the very start.

“They especially have the annoying aspect of younger brothers perfected,” Nico replied, both of you fully inside your new apartment now.

“God, don’t I know it,” you laughed.

Looking up, you finally took in your new home. Geez, this place is nice. It shouldn’t surprise you, really, with how much Jack and Luke both make, but the apartment is like, really nice. Definitely out of your price range, by likely a couple thousand dollars. You suddenly feel bad that Jack refused to let you pay any share of the rent. You had fought him on it, several times. He insisted that they had the spare bedroom anyways, and they had no trouble making rent as is. You demanded that you contribute in some way, so you were now tasked with grocery shopping and cooking for two professional hockey players. Honestly, after seeing the meal plans the team nutritionist gave them, it might be a fair trade.

It's only as you look over towards the kitchen at the thought of having to go grocery shopping soon, you realize Nico is still there. He’s just standing there, watching you take in your surroundings, lost in your own thoughts.

“Well, thanks for not letting me waste away in the hallway. And helping me with my luggage. I think someone from TSA filled my suitcases with rocks or something. I swear it didn’t seem like I had that much stuff when I left home,” you explain, not knowing what else to say to the stranger.

“No problem, seriously. I feel like I’m over here more than I’m at my own apartment, anyways. Jack is always calling me to come over or insisting that we have to watch game film together after practice. It’s a little concerning how obsessed he is with hockey. I mean, I’m the captain of the team and I feel like I spend less time thinking about work than he does,” Nico chuckles, not seeming to want to end the conversation just yet.

“God, don’t even get me started. I’ve had to listen to him ramble on and on about hockey for years. I’m just glad someone else finally understands my pain.”

“You know, the only other subject he seems to talk about as much as hockey is you. And his family, but according to him the two are one in the same. Every time I’ve seen him this week, which is nearly every day, he’s updated me on the countdown to when you were set to arrive. He’s seriously excited to have you here. They both are. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” Nico reveals.

You and Jack had always been the closest out of the three brothers. With your age falling directly in-between Quinn and Jack, you and Jack had the most common interests as a kid. Quinn was always trying to be the grown one, not concerning himself with whatever you and Jack were interested in while growing up. As teens, Quinn was always training or going off by himself to do who knows what. Luke was still slightly too young to go off with you and Jack alone, so it was usually just the two of you embarking on your own little adventures on those summer days. Once Jack got his boating license neither of your parents would let Luke go out on the water without them. So, more often than not, you and Jack would take the boat to God knows where in the middle of the lake and spend the whole day there, not returning until after dark. Those days were your favorite to think back on. The conversations between you and Jack never ceased to flow. From hockey, to your boy troubles back home, to whatever girl Jack wanted to impress that summer, to what your lives would look like one day, to always vowing to be in each other’s lives, even if he became a big shot hockey player that lived on the other side of the world.

“Yeah, well, he always has been the sentimental type, no matter how hard he tries to deny it,” you chuckle, a fond smile finding its way onto your face.

“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, Y/N. If you ever find yourself faced with sleeping in the hallway again, you know where to find me,” Nico drops his eye into a wink, walking over to the door and opening it once again.

“Thank goodness someone around here understands the severity of the situation at hand. Me and my back thank you,” you wave your arms around for dramatic effect, walking to take hold of the open door as he steps into the hallway and back into his own doorway.

“Welcome to Jersey. We’re glad to have you here,” Nico turns to face you after he’s back in his own apartment, a genuine smile settled on his face.

“Thanks, Nico. It’s good to be here,” you respond, matching his smile, thinking of how well it suits him.

———————————————————————————

“Y/n!!!! Where are you!?” you hear, currently elbow deep in suitcase number two, trying your hardest to unpack everything. You really don’t know how you managed to fit so much clothing in three suitcases. Or how you ended up with so many clothes to begin with. You stand up and start making your way to the door of your bedroom, hand on the doorknob as it flies open, revealing a very excited looking Jack and Luke. You suddenly feel your body flying forward, face hitting a clothed shoulder.

“Ow! Jack, that was my nose!” you tried to say, but everything was muffled because of how tight your body was being held in place. Seriously, he acts like he hadn’t seen you in years. You were literally here a few months ago to visit and arrange plans to move in. Leave it to Jack to always bring the dramatics.

“Just a few more seconds, I missed you,” he mumbles, squeezing even tighter, if that was even possible.

“Jack, no fair! Quit hogging her, I missed her too!”

“Luke, please save me. I might suffocate soon if he doesn’t let go,” you beg the younger brother.

“Oh my god, will you two quit being dramatic? Can’t a man be excited his best friend is finally moving in after months of waiting?” Jack whines as he releases his hold on you.

“No one said you couldn’t be excited, Rowdy, but suffocating me two minutes into living together might not be the best way to show your excitement,” you say, smoothing out your sweatshirt and making your way towards the open arms of the younger, yet much larger, brother.

“Oh Moose, how have you been? Have you been getting enough sleep?” You question, always worried about his wellbeing, especially these past few weeks.

“Yeah, m’alright. A little tired, but we have some home games lined up soon. I’ll catch up on sleep then,” he responds, squeezing you a little tighter at the end of his sentence.

Luke’s rookie year has been a rollercoaster not only for him, but for you as well. You worry about the youngest Hughes, having such a soft spot for the boy. You know he’s talented, and you know he’ll do well, but you can see the exhaustion on his face and in his actions. You know he carries the weight of the foul comments he receives about his gameplay, and you try your hardest to take some of it off of his shoulders.

“Alright, but now that I’m here just know I’ll be holding you to that,” a stern look on your face.

Turning back around towards Jack, you find him surveying your room, looking over the mess you created in the few hours it took for them to return home.

“So, are you going to spend the rest of the day unpacking, or can we go have some fun and celebrate the fact that you live in New Jersey now?” Jack spoke, looking at the pictures you decided to display, most of them pictures of you and the brothers throughout the years.

“I mean, I was hoping to get as much done today as I can, but I’m guessing you’ve already made plans, huh?”

“You would be correct. We’re leaving at 8, be ready,” is all Jack says, before dragging Luke out of your room.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

III ║ Edgestitch

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part II: Threads | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: M

Summary: You wear those jeans for Joel when you see him again at the baby shower at Tommy and Maria's - like he asked you to.

Warnings: Spicy thoughts but not explicit, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, flirting, mention of food and drink, some language, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7k

Notes: It's here! This one was a long and winding road as I mentioned in Behind the Seams, I'm so relieved and excited when it all finally clicked and fell into place! I'm absolutely blown away by the love you guys have shown Joel and Pin so far, thank you, there's no greater motivation for a writer ❤️ I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

‘Damnit, Lucy,��� you mutter under your breath, this close to stamping your foot and pouting at the door that refuses to lock up. 

Lucy may be your best friend, but you’re not blind to the fact that she literally cannot be trusted to get anything done around the shop. It’s been two weeks since she promised to get the locksmith to come in, but here you are on Friday evening, wrestling with the key that refuses to turn the last quarter of an inch in the faulty lock.

‘Hey, Pin!’

Glancing over your shoulder, you force a wane smile at Tommy, who has his hands full with a cardboard box at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Need some help?’

‘Yes, please,’ you reply sheepishly.

You nod at the bottles of wine that clink delicately against one another as he sets them down. ‘Getting ready for the party on Sunday?’

Tommy steps up to the door and wriggles the key left and right experimentally. ‘Yeah, you comin’, right?’

‘Yes, with Lucy.’

‘Good, the more the merrier!’ He makes a face at the door lock, which is not cooperating with him either. ‘You should get someone to look at it. Probably time for a new one.’

‘Lucy was supposed to get Andrew to fix it, but you know Luce.’

Tommy yanks the door knob backwards hard as he twists the key. There’s a grunt of metal, and a triumphant aha! when it finally turns, the internal mechanisms of the lock sliding into place with a satisfying click. 

You nearly fall onto your knees in relief. ‘Thank you so much, Tommy. You’re a lifesaver.’

He grins and deposits the key in your waiting palm. ‘You can ask Joel for help, you know. He’s handy with this kind of stuff.’

You blink, blindsided by the seemingly random mention of his brother - but his dimpled smile tells you otherwise.

His brother, who was so solid and broad under you on the studio floor, just a few days ago. His brother, who you can still feel pressed between your thighs, in your bed in the dead of night. His brother, who has taken up residence in your mind, waking or otherwise, since he sauntered out of your shop with that infuriatingly attractive confidence when he asked you to to wear those jeans for him again on Sunday.

Joel has existed solely and safely in the parameters of your workspace for the past fortnight and a half, with only Lucy bearing witness to whatever it is between the two of you. Having to suddenly deal with any mention of him outside of it, especially with that knowing arch of Tommy’s eyebrow, has you completely flustered. It doesn’t help that his eyes are uncannily like Joel’s, a gorgeous deep brown, expressive and sharp, though the mischief sits a lot closer to the surface in the former’s.

Mercifully, your brain unscrambles long enough for you to reach the conclusion that of course, Joel must have told Tommy that he invited you and Lucy. It’s their party, after all. Surely, he doesn’t know anything else -

Or does he?

You’ve been quiet for too long to say anything about it now, so you clumsily change the subject, stumbling over your words. ‘I, uh - I was just wondering what I could bring on Sunday?’

Tommy graciously lets you off the hook. ‘We’re a bit short on sweets, actually, if you bake.’

You latch on to that gratefully. ‘I do - what kind of cake were you thinking?’

‘Do you make a carrot cake?’

You perk up. ‘It’s my favourite!’

He flashes you a cheeky grin. ‘What a funny coincidence, it’s Joel’s as well - the only way to get carrots in him.’

Your pulse spikes with adrenaline at the unexpected tidbit Tommy drops in your lap, and you greedily squirrel that little fact away, slowly colouring in the Joel-shaped space in your head.

With a wink, Tommy bends down to pick up the wine. ‘See you in a couple of days, Pin!’

At least you have the decency to wait until he turns the corner - once he does, you sprint across the road to the Jackson Grocer’s and clear out their stock of carrots for the day.

There are many things about Jackson that throw Joel. 

The plentitude after years of rations. The safety, which comes off more jarring than comforting.

But most of all, it’s the sounds. The kettle on the boil and the pop of the toaster in the morning when Ellie gets ready for school. Friendly chatter on the high street. Laughter. It still makes him jump when he hears playful shrieks in the neighbourhood playground, blood rushing in his ears and sending him halfway across the house for his rifle before he remembers where he is.

Where he is not.

It was always loud in the QZ. Loudspeakers blaring, alarms wailing, the indistinct hum of conversation and radio through paper thin walls in the slums at all hours of the day. And he was always listening - for danger, for trouble, and everything in between.

And then all that noise had blown up, literally, with the State House. With Tess.

Joel finds it hard to remember those first few days after leaving Boston behind. Mostly the raw cuts on his knuckles that wouldn’t heal and the ring in his right ear from the explosion, lingering like a pesky fly. 

But he knows it was Ellie who broke that silence first. And once that door was kicked down - 

‘Fuck no, dude!’

His face snaps up and he scowls across the lawn, the stern reprimand rolling off his tongue like second nature. ‘Ellie!’

She’s sitting with her friends, crowded around her most prized possession of the moment, a boombox she found in the thrift shop a couple of months ago and begged him to buy and fix up for her. 

Not that she needed to do much begging, he caved far too easily. It plays a bit wonky - the bass too heavy - still, it does the trick.

The teenagers around her cower immediately, but she defiantly stands her ground. ‘What?’

‘Watch your language,’ he barks, no real bite behind it.

She rolls her eyes so hard her head falls back, and he has to press his lips together to not smile.

It helps him sleep better at night seeing Ellie fit right in - at least one of them has. She doesn’t hate going to school half as much as she pretends to, the routine of homework and chores anchoring her to small town life. She’s even volunteered to help out at the farm, spending most afternoons in the stables with the horses.

There are times when he wonders to which extent all this is a coping mechanism. But well, at least she’s coping.

And while Joel still hasn’t made up his mind about Jackson, its townsfolk seem to have unilaterally made theirs up about him. The wary whispers and watchful stares have given way to cautious gestures of acknowledgement, some even bold enough to throw a good morning in his general direction as he walks down the street. 

They nod at him now as they file into the garden party, still keeping their distance, but not as much as he would’ve liked.

The expectant parents have gone all out for the occasion. Several tables are lined up end to end in the middle of the garden, filling up with potluck dishes as guests arrive. Tommy lords over the barbeque, the brisket having been smoking since dawn, with chicken, bacon and homemade sausages sizzling on the grill. Maria is in her element, flitting from well wisher to well wisher with a protective hand over her rounded belly, making sure everyone has a drink and a loaded plate in hand.

Joel hovers in no man’s land, dodging the crowds and sipping on beer that has long gone flat, trying to remember the last time he celebrated anything. 

Well, he supposes dinner parties at Bill and Frank’s count, as far and few in between as they were. Not that they ever celebrated anything specific, per se - they didn’t need a reason beyond the fact that they were all still alive and kicking. Bill, bless his soul, did make a mean roast, and Frank used to host with enough flair for forty instead of four. Tess had a black dress she stowed away at the back of her closet for these parties, and a red one that she saved for the really special occasions -

A strong hand on his back jolts him forward and out of his thoughts, spilling lukewarm beer over his fingers.

‘Havin’ a good time, brother?’ asks Tommy jovially, cheeks stretched with joy.

‘I was just now,’ he grunts pointedly.

Tommy grins. ‘Lighten up, man. Get drunk, be merry! You’re gonna be an uncle.’

‘Don’t try to butter me up. I ain’t babysittin’ for you.’

Thumping his chest in mock hurt, he asks, ‘What about all those times I babysat Sarah, man?’

Joel gives him a long-suffering side stare. ‘Please. You used to hire that college chick ‘cross the street to babysit whenever you were supposed to. Then you’d hit on her all night long.’

Tommy chuckles. ‘Damn, your mind’s in better shape than I give you credit for, old man.’

He can’t help a smile. ‘But for all your devious plans to get into her babysitter’s pants, Sarah did love her Uncle Tommy.’

He goes quiet for a beat and takes a sip of his beer, his eyes softening. ‘I think about that girl every single day, y’know.’ 

Joel nods, staring into his own beer, and it suddenly strikes him that he’s missed the shape of her name on his lips. ‘I know.’

Tommy nudges him on the shoulder. ‘I can only hope my kid will love their Uncle Joel just as much.’

Eventually, he harrumphs, ‘If they do - I’ll think about the babysittin’.’

Tommy chortles just as the backdoor to the porch swings open with a loud creak.

Joel spots you easily, trailing one step behind Lucy. You’re holding onto a cake on a round wooden board like a security blanket, shoulders tense and eyes wide at the noise of the festivities. Spotting Maria, Lucy bounds down the stairs, leaving you hesitating at the landing, and -

You’re wearing the jeans he asked you to.

Something primal swells in the cavity of his chest, between his ribs - a pride that is distinctly male.

Tommy shouts, ‘Pin! Over here!’

Joel shifts on his feet, swallowing thickly as you approach. If your shy smile is anything to go by, he’s not the only one feeling the nerves.

His brother gives you a careful hug around the cake and plants a kiss on your cheek. When he steps aside, Joel hesitates, uneasy with having an audience, his palms suddenly clammy with indecision.

Does he… hug you? He can count on three fingers who he’s hugged for the past twenty years, and he’s sorely out of practice. A kiss is an option, but the way his eyes dart to your mouth, it’s dangerous even entertaining that thought - 

Tommy elbows him in the ribs and puts him out of his misery. ‘Why don’t you kids catch up, I think the brisket’s burnin’. Have fun tonight!’

Joel can feel the tip of his ears turning red as he stands there with his drink, one hand shoved in his back pocket, not knowing how to do this. How to entertain. Clearing his throat, he stammers, ‘Uh - can I get you a drink or somethin’?’

You give him a small smile, lips moving in an answer too quiet to reach him over the music. Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, he admits, ‘Sorry, I can’t hear you. I’m uh - a bit deaf in my right ear.’

You look apologetic, speaking up, ‘I’m sorry - I didn’t know.’

With a shrug, he jokes, ‘It’s ok, I’m a bit broken all over.’

You pinch your lips, and he recoginses that face - he knows that you want to disagree with him. But you hold your tongue, skirting around him to his good ear, and he stoops to close the distance, even though he doesn’t need to.

Your breath brushes his ear. ‘I’d love a drink, but I want to put this cake away first.’

‘Yes, of course - sorry, don’t know where my manners went.’ He puts his unfinished beer away and takes the cake from you despite your protests. The potluck table is packed to the brim, so he gestures towards the house. ‘It might have to go into the kitchen for now.’

You follow him, side by side with one polite body width between you, past bands of neighbours and friends catching up, the fairy lights catching your eyes and the well-kept lawn crunching beneath your soles. Unsurprisingly, you feel the weight of curious stares on your back as you go - Joel is still very much a novelty around town. Neither of you speak until he holds open the backdoor for you to slip inside.

It’s quiet in the kitchen, the muted conversation outside a low hum through the double-glazed windows. The free-standing island is already chock full of all kinds of baked goods and pudding, and Joel has to move an actual jelly castle (which wriggles precariously) to free up space for your contribution.

Dusting his hands, Joel turns to you. ‘That carrot cake?’

You nod, keeping mum.

‘It’s my favourite.’

‘I know - Tommy told me,’ you confess with a bashful half-shrug.

His warm eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘Talkin’ about me behind my back, sweetheart?’

Your breath quickens at the sweetheart, and you wonder if the thrill of the nickname will ever wear thin. Emboldened, you tilt your head to one side and tease, ‘Why? You like the attention?’

A smirk on his lips, he steps into your space, the very proximity of him stealing the air from your lungs. ‘I might if you’re not careful.’

And there you are again - with nothing more than a dozen words exchanged and even more unsaid - on the brink of something, right where you left off on the workshop floor.

‘Wanna grab a bite to eat?’

Tucked away in an intimate corner of the back porch in a wicker chair, Joel surveys the party with a seriousness that is borderline comical. 

The strategist in him clearly favours the higher ground the porch affords him so he can keep an eye on everyone and spot whoever approaches from a distance. His seat is an easy three steps to the door, an escape plan in his back pocket. For all his stillness, the intensity is unmistakable, if slightly out of place in a baby shower.

Two dirty plates licked clean are stacked on the coffee table between you, piled high with bones and leftover gravy, the delicious food sitting warm in your stomach.

‘They’re comin’ closer,’ Joel complains, taking a long gulp of his beer.

‘I guess they figure if I’m talking to you, it means that you don’t actually bite,’ you quip.

‘Will they back off if I make you cry?’

Your shoulders quake with a chuckle. ‘I think you’re too much of a gentleman to do that, Joel Miller.’

You’re taken aback by the flash of heat in his answering glance, as if there’s something he wants to say. But then, he changes his mind and leans back in his chair, one palm resting on his spread thighs, and he nods towards a couple standing close to the barbeque.

‘Who’s that over there? He lives on my street.’

‘That’s Andrew. He owns the only hot tub in Jackson.’

Joel splutters, ‘A hot tub?’

‘To be fair, it came with his house, but he managed to connect it to the water a few months ago.’

He snorts. ‘Not very communist of him to divert public resources for a private hot tub.’

‘Let’s just say Jackson is a commune with American characteristics,’ you say diplomatically.

He arches an eyebrow at you. ‘A cynic, sweetheart?’

You reply matter-of-factly, ‘We all know how communism ended.’

Fuck. He takes a swig of his beer and swallows hard. A woman after his own heart.

‘You want to keep him on your good side though. He’s really handy with electrics and the like.’

He shrugs. ‘So am I.’

You turn to him, surprised. ‘Oh?’

‘I was a contractor in another life.’

He notices your attention flicker to his hands, before you catch yourself and look away bashfully. ‘That’s good to know.’

‘You need things fixed?’ he asks, and promptly wants to kick himself for sounding so hopeful to be of service.

‘Here and there,’ you say with a dismissive wave. ‘It’s not important. It’ll hold up.’

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip thoughtfully. You have to work on asking for things, but it’s ok - he doesn’t push you. He files that away for later.

Glancing across the yard, he catches Ellie’s eye, who’s arching an inquisitive eyebrow and pointing straight at you with all the subtlety of a flying brick. He knows he should probably introduce you at some point, but he’s not ready to share your attention with someone else just yet, let alone the nosy teenage loudmouth.

Joel gives her a firm shake of the head, to which she responds with a disgruntled I’m watching you gesture.

Ignoring her for now - and knowing that he’ll pay for it later - he asks you, ‘And who’s that in the red dress?’

You crane your neck until you spot her. ‘Ah, that’s Patricia. She’s the dance teacher down at the school.’

‘Why’s she starin’ at me?’ he mutters.

You shoot him an amused grin. ‘Why, it looks like you’ve caught the fancy of our local femme fatale.’

He scoffs. ‘Should I be worried?’

‘Well, she’s been married and divorced three times since she arrived,’ you answer with a straight face. ‘The last one just disappeared. Never found his body.’

Joel stares at you in stunned silence, until you let out a poorly contained giggle. He grumbles, ‘Havin’ fun pullin’ my leg, sweetheart?’

‘Just a bit,’ you tease.

‘I liked you better when you were shy,’ he ribs.

You shrug. ‘Too late. You don’t scare me anymore.’

Glancing the other way, Joel sits up in alarm at the flutter of crimson fabric. ‘Shit, I think she’s comin’ this way.’

‘Time for carrot cake?’ you prompt.

He’s out of his chair quicker than you’d expect his knees would allow him to. ‘Let’s go, sweetheart.’

The state of the kitchen island stops you in your tracks, while Joel lets out a low whistle behind you. ‘Jackson really turned out for this party, huh?’

‘Well, your brother and sister-in-law are pretty popular around town,’ you quip.

You didn’t think it was possible, but every square inch of the kitchen island is now jam-packed with sugary confections, stacked on top of one another.

‘I can’t even find the bloody cake,’ you laugh, literally searching high and low as you skirt the parameter.

On the other side of the island, Joel tosses a dry good luck in your direction and puts the dirty plates and cutlery that he brought in into the sink with a clatter, turning on the hot water. You stutter to a stop opposite him, gawking at how his broad shoulders fill the frame of the window that sits in front of the sink, before your gaze inadvertently trails south - over the nip of his waist and the hem of his shirt skirting the back pockets of his jeans. You find yourself wishing he’d tucked the tails in.

Rooted to the spot, you watch him unbutton the cuffs on his flannel shirt and push up the sleeves to the crease of his elbows, baring his strong forearms. Your mouth goes dry despite the wine you’ve been sipping on all evening, peering at the sinewy muscles flexing and straining as he lathers the plates with an offhand familiarity, his thick fingers dwarfing the sponge in as he works the grease stains. 

Making quick but thorough work of the washing up, Joel dries the plates and then runs the tea towel over his big hands and wrists, catching you staring as he turns around. If he knows you’ve been watching all along, he lets it slide. Tossing the towel to one side, heat prickles under your cheeks when he sidles up to you with the clean plates.

The sight of this man doing something as mundane as dishes really shouldn’t get you this hot and bothered.

‘Is that cream cheese?’ he asks conversationally with a nod at your cake, which you have found sitting on top of a tall plastic caddy, a chocolate cake inside.

Having to consciously unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, you’re surprised your voice doesn’t shake. ‘It’s not carrot cake without it.’

‘Where did you get the cream cheese? Never seen any ‘round town.’

Almost bashful, you admit, ‘I made it.’

His eyebrows shoot up. ‘You made cream cheese? How?’

‘It’s not that big a deal. It’s just milk, lemon and salt,’ you say, trying to downplay it. Your arms are definitely not aching from the hours of straining and beating and whipping.

‘And the walnuts?’ he asks.

‘Someone I know grows it,’ you say vaguely.

Joel hums doubtfully. ‘Ain’t seen any walnut trees in town.’

Biting your bottom lip, you can pinpoint the exact moment he figures it out, brows drawing together in a frown. ‘The only ones I’ve seen are outside the walls, ‘round the north side of the gates.’

Knowing for a fact that you’re a terrible liar, you don’t even try. You choose to ignore him, idly smoothing the frosting on top with a clean knife, trying not to flinch at the weight of his gaze on you.

‘Sweetheart, please tell me you didn’t go outside just to get walnuts for me.’

‘Not for you,’ you shoot back unconvincingly, flustered. ‘I made the cake for Tommy and Maria.’

Lies. You know it. He knows it.

His shoulders stiffen, the fabric of his shirt bunching with the movement. ‘You can’t just go outside like that, y’know, there could be infected ‘round -’

‘Joel, I’ve been living here for years, I know what I’m doing,’ you argue huffily, not expecting a lecture, of all things. ‘I’m not stupid.’

He shakes his head. ‘Ain’t what I’m sayin’, Pin -’

‘Just leave it, ok?’ you reply sharply and, signalling an end to the conversation, you slice into the cake with an aggressive stab - not noticing that it is hanging over the edge of the caddy below. 

You squeak when it flips unceremoniously, and on pure impulse, you pitch forward to stop its upward trajectory, meeting it mid-air with an ominous splat.

‘Fuck!’

To his credit, Joel barely skips a beat, quickly but calmly grabbing hold of the cake board and pulling it off you, setting it down on the counter, while you gape in dismay at the damage done. 

The side of the cake that made contact with you is smushed in, most of the thick frosting now painted all over your front, from your neck down to the lovely, thin cashmere top that Lucy picked out for you for the party.

You really hope there’s a big guy up there watching, because someone might as well enjoy this mortifying brand of comedy you keep dishing out around this man.

Two seconds more, and you’re pretty sure you would’ve burst into tears for lack of knowing what else to do - but without another word, Joel takes the lead, wrapping a firm hand around your wrist and pulling you out of the kitchen. 

You gratefully let him.

It’s none of your business really, but it comforts you that Joel’s obviously here often enough to know his way around the house.

You glance around the dimly lit room where he deposited you on the edge of a neatly made bed, water trickling in the adjoining ensuite. When he returns, he has a small, wet towel in his hands. Towering over you, the low lights don’t quite reach his face, but you can see the way his gaze slips downwards, carefully, as if he’s afraid to startle you.

But he doesn’t - not even when he slides the crook of his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up and opening up your throat.

His lips twitch wryly. ‘What a waste of perfectly good cream cheese.’

Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you at the absurdity of the situation. ‘Must something always go wrong whenever we’re in the same room?’

The corner of his mouth teases a smile. ‘Never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.’

You smile back, but it falters when his eyes burn in a quiet but unmistakable smoulder. 

‘May I?’

You’re not even sure what he’s asking. But he can ask you anything in that raspy, low baritone, and there will always only be one answer.

At your nod, Joel drags the tip of his index finger down the column of your neck, and your lips part when it glides over your windpipe - pressing just hard enough for you to feel the pressure - collecting the velvety frosting as it goes. 

Then, holding your eyes, he sucks the cream cheese off his fingertip, a hum deep in his throat. ‘Delicious, sweetheart.’

You’re sitting down, but somehow, you still feel your knees give way at how he smacks his lips at the sugary aftertaste.

He looms closer, bending at the waist and for one moment of madness, you think he might lean down and lick your neck clean. 

At the prospect of those plush lips and the burn of his silvered, patchy beard on your skin, your head tilts further back invitingly. His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, like he’s picking up on what you’re thinking, and his eyes dip to your mouth.

But he doesn’t.

You don’t even have time to be disappointed before Joel carefully gets down on one knee in front of you, one palm landing on the mattress next to your hip for balance. Knowing the state of his joints, you want to ask if he needs a pillow, but instead of your mouth, it’s your thighs that part to make room for him. His chest keeps them splayed open, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his ribcage with each breath through the denim. 

You try to focus on your own breathing as Joel presses the wet towel to your skin and mops up the sticky mess, his face set seriously as he cleans you up inch by inch. But all you can think about is how you can feel the imprint of his fingers through the thin fabric, and how the span of his hand can easily fit over the column of your throat -

You don’t realise you’re leaning into him until he draws back when he’s done, and you tip forward, chasing his touch. His knee groans as he stands up to his full height, and he nods towards the bathroom with a wait here in his eyes.

The water is scalding as Joel washes out the frosting from the towel, but he keeps his hands under the tap, longer than he needs to. Wringing it dry, he takes a moment, wet palms gripping the cold porcelain edge of the bathroom sink, shoulders hunched over as he tells himself to calm the fuck down.

Except, he is calm. He’s held back, even when you looked at him with such straightforward, honest want that has him grinding his teeth.

Thing is, he knows you would’ve let him nudge you backwards into the mattress and crowd you between his arms, switching places the two of you were in under your sewing desk in the workshop.

He knows you would’ve let him wrap your legs around his hips, sliding his palms up the back of your thighs in those skin tight jeans - the sight of which is enough to make his head spin - and he knows you would’ve let him nip, suck, lick the tangy buttercream off your very neck. 

Not only would you have let him - you would’ve trusted him to do all those things to you.

That last realisation awakens something he’s not so sure he has a handle on. But he knows for a fact that with the whole of Jackson milling about downstairs, in the middle of his brother’s baby shower, is neither the place nor the time.

You’re where he left you when he steps back into the bedroom, your palms planted on the bed, your shoulders relaxed. The neckline of your blouse gapes loosely, teasing the soft skin of your cleavage.

Joel breaks the loaded silence with a bit of common sense. ‘You best get that top off and soak it in the bath before the stains really set in, sweetheart.’

You bite your lip hesitantly. ‘I - I don’t have anything to change into.’

‘You can have my shirt,’ he offers.

You sit up, attention piqued, when his hands move to the top of his flannel, thick fingers sliding each button out of the holes one by one. You know he’s just taking off his shirt, but you can’t help the way your jaw goes slack, watching shamelessly, the comforter twisting in your grip as you scrabble for something to hold onto. 

Joel doesn’t understand why you’re looking at him like that, but it’s so flattering to watch you watch him, eyes hooded and your tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip, like he’s giving you a fucking strip tease or something. 

Goddamn if it doesn’t go straight to his head.

A white undervest comes into view, inch by inch, as the shirt falls open, the thin fabric pulled taut at the seams over the broad stretch of his chest. When the last button is undone, he shrugs the shirt off with a smooth roll of his arms, and your jaw drops.

The undervest barely contains the bulk of him, and you’ll be damned if you know where to look first - the lean, solid line of his arms, or the effortless ripple of muscle in his shoulders - but it’s lower where your attention makes landing, and it takes you a second to realise why.

He’s not sucking in his tummy.

The swell of his abdomen sits above the top of his jeans, where the vest is neatly tucked in. You remember too well the brush of that soft strip of skin against the back of your hands when you were on your knees, cutting him out of his jeans; and then beneath you, straddling him under the sewing table. 

While there’s an undercurrent of self-consciousness in the way he holds himself, conspicuously missing is the self-deprecation that drew your ire the day he walked into your shop with a broken zipper. A tentative confidence has taken its place, which is at the same time so endearingly vulnerable, as if your reaction to the little show he gave you just now isn’t enough to assure him of what you’re thinking.

Your fingers twitch, yearning to reach out and tug him in by the front of his jeans, to untuck that vest and push it up and off. You want to snake your hands around his waist, hold him to you by the small of his back, and starting with his tummy, kiss your way across the soft belly - maybe with a cheeky scrape of teeth - up to his firm chest, his strong neck and to his lips. 

Or maybe, the calling southwards will win out. You’ll push him back to make room for yourself at his feet, nudging your way down his front with your nose, breathe him in, your hands finding his belt buckle and tugging it out of the loops instead. Never mind you've lost count of how many years it's been since you've wanted to do that, or if you remember how at all -

‘Pin.’

Your whole body jolts backwards when his voice pierces through your addled haze, low and raspy, snapping out of your sordid stupor almost grumpily - how rude of him to interrupt? - only to find him peering down at you with a lopsided smile. 

‘Get changed, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.’

Leaving your top to soak in the sink, you pad back into the bedroom in just your bra, and you stare down at his shirt laid out neatly on top of the bed.

You press your palm over where his heart would be, the flannel still warm. For one indulgent moment, you pick up the shirt and hug it to you. It smells like him - the outdoors, a crisp spring day, with a whiff of the barbeque smoke from downstairs. You bury your nose into the soft fabric, eyes closed, imagining the weight and shape of him in it. 

Even as you put your arms through the sleeves to button it up, you already know it will be hard giving it back. You leave the last three buttons undone and you’ve just tied up the too-long ends in a double knot when there’s a polite but firm knock on the door. 

‘You decent?’

‘Yes.’

You hope your face doesn’t fall too obviously at the sight of Joel wearing a shirt again, probably one borrowed from Tommy. He leaves it unbuttoned though, which is small consolation. The air hums between you with stolen glances and words unsaid.

‘You wore those jeans for me,’ he says suddenly.

The for me rolls off his tongue coated in his delectable Southern drawl and a heady satisfaction.

You decide to be brave and shrug one shoulder in a show of attitude. ‘It was the only thing I didn’t have in the wash.’

His grin makes your heart swell. Stepping out of the open doorway, his eyes trailing heat where they linger over you, he says, ‘You look good in my shirt, sweetheart. Real good.’

You bite your lower lip at the compliment, replying shyly, ‘I like this look on you too.’

‘Used to be Tommy’s uniform during our contractor days,’ he reminiscences. ‘I’m just missing the utility belt.’

Oh. You actually find it offensive that the fleeting mention of something as banal as a utility belt should get you going like this. You try to palm off a non-committal hum, but your body betrays you with a strangled choking sound that gives you away.

Joel arches an eyebrow and closes the gap between you with three long, deliberate steps, one finger skimming where his shirt meets the waistband of your jeans. He teases with a smirk, ‘What’s that, sweetheart? This contractor look doin’ somethin’ for you?’

Your cheeks grow hot as both his palms latch boldly onto your hips, and you swear you can feel the burn of his fingertips through the denim, a moan gargling in your throat as your ability to form words abandons you.

‘That a yes?’ he prompts, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops in your jeans and tugging your body flush against his, his stubbled chin brushing the sensitive crook of your neck as he speaks into your ear.

‘Joel,’ you whine, which is the best you can do right now, grabbing onto the open flaps of his shirt just to stay upright.

You feel the rumble that goes through his chest under your palms when he purrs, smiling down at you, head cocked to one side with a playful condescension that’s going to be the end of you. ‘Yes, Pin?’

Your mouth opens, but you’ll never get to find out what you intended to say, because you hear it first - his right ear is to the door - the thunder of rubber soles on the stairs, and you're lucky you manage to stumble two steps back before a deafening (no pun intended), drawn-out call of his name follows.

‘JOOOOOOELLLL!’

Ellie crashes into the doorway with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, slightly out of breath like she’s been running all over the place searching for him, already in the middle of a sentence, as usual. 

‘- also Maria says they’re doing a speech now and you’re not getting out of -’ she breaks off abruptly when she spots you, eyes wide and brows - all one and a half of them - reaching for her hairline. ‘Oh shiiiiiit.’

Running a tired hand down his face, Joel’s sigh sounds a lot like surrender. ‘Ellie, this is Pin. Pin, I’m sorry.’

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh at the resignation in his tone as the teenager wrinkles her nose. ‘Pin? That’s a weird name.’

‘Ellie!’

You smile. ‘It’s ok. Pin's just my nickname. I’m a seamstress at the Main Street Outfitters.’

Her face lights up excitedly, an open book if you’ve ever seen one. ‘No shit! I’ve been bugging Joel for a leather jacket for ages. Can I get one?’

‘Please,’ he interjects.

Ellie tucks in her chin and juts out her bottom lip at you. ‘Please?’

You demur. ‘Well, it depends on what you can trade in for it.’

‘My boombox!’ she volunteers without skipping a beat. 

Joel scoffs. ‘Good to know those three weeks fixing that piece of junk for you was time well spent.'

‘Sorry, man, but I can’t wear a boombox can I?’ she argues.

Giving Joel an amused look, you come to his rescue. ‘I’m sorry, Ellie, but we only take clothes in exchange.’ At the way she deflates, you counteroffer, ‘Or, you can come work at the shop on Saturdays for the next couple of months. Lucy always needs help out front, and you get a staff discount.’

He turns to you, protesting, ‘That’s very kind, but it ain’t necessary -’

Ellie cuts in, rushing up to you to shake your hand before you can take it back. ‘Deal! When can I start?’

‘There’s no rush,’ you reply with a chuckle. ‘I’ll get back to you next week.’

Stepping back, Ellie winks, ‘So - let’s put a pin in it for now?’

Joel groans at the terrible pun. ‘Get outta here!’

She cackles, firing triumphant finger guns at you as she retreats. ‘What? Pin liked it, she laughed! You’re no fun old man!’ 

She then pauses by the door, her eyes narrowing as she zeroes in on something smeared on your jeans. ‘Wait - what’s that white stuff on your leg?’

‘It’s cream cheese, you little shit!’ Joel snaps as your ears burn in embarrassment. ‘Out!’

She scampers out of sight, but then reverses into view, sneakers squeaking. ‘ - Are you wearing Joel’s shirt?’

‘ELLIE!’

She throws her hands up. ‘Alright, I’m gone, I’m gone! See ya Pin!’

Joel is the very picture of an embarrassed dad, rubbing the back of his neck with a wince. ‘Sorry, she’s a handful.’

You grin, ‘She’s just a teenager.’

‘You can say that again.’

The quiet seems louder after Ellie, and you restlessly pick at the sleeves. Lifting your eyes shyly, it seems the moment has passed - but Joel has other ideas.

‘C’mere,’ he hums, drawing you close again with one hand on your waist, peering down at you through his lashes. ‘This ok?’

At your nod, he brushes his thumb on your bottom lip, catching the soft plump skin, and your tongue darts out to taste him, his eyes darkening.

‘Can I kiss you, sweetheart?’ he asks, voice hoarse.

It’s been years. Years since anyone has cared enough to kiss you, let alone cared enough to ask if they could. And it’s as if he knows - you don’t know if you’ve somehow given it away, or maybe it’s just him. 

‘Yes, Joel.’

He coaxes you closer so that you’re pressed along the whole length of him. His big palms are warm and solid on the small of your back, holding you to him like he intends for you to have trouble standing after he’s done with you. 

The tip of his nose bumps into your cheek, nudging its way across and down, and your eyes slide shut when his shaky exhale grazes your gently parted mouth. Your breath hitches at the sweet burn of his beard on your jaw, fingers grabbing onto the scruff of his neck when he finally, finally brushes his lips against yours.

For a man as hardened as Joel Miller, he sure kisses soft. He steals a whimper straight from your throat with nothing more than the clever angling of his lips, the slow drag of tongue on tongue, and a growl deep in his windpipe that you answer with your own moan.

You don’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed when your shins knock into his, breaking the kiss with a laugh as Joel hauls you up into his chest, looking very much pleased that he’s literally made your knees buckle.

‘Sorry,’ you squeak, beaming despite yourself.

‘You really know how to flatter a guy, sweetheart,’ he answers, his voice warming you like a smokey campfire, steadying by his hands on your hips.

‘We should probably go before Ellie comes back for us,’ you say reluctantly.

Joel huffs, ‘Ain’t gonna hear the end of it if she does.’

‘Something tells me you won’t be hearing the end of it tonight anyway,’ you tease.

He chucks you gently under the chin, his eyes soft. ‘Let’s go, sweetheart.’

‘You’ve made yourself scarce,’ remarks Lucy as she ambles up to you with a glass of wine running low. ‘Where you been, hon?’

‘Had some trouble with the cake,’ you answer vaguely.

‘Sure,’ she winks at you, unconvinced. ‘If we’re calling him that.’

Right on cue, Joel strides across the lawn with three plates to join you. ‘Thought you might want some of Pin’s carrot cake.’

‘Such a gentleman, Joel Miller,’ chirps Lucy, making what can only be described as a 'thirst face' at you when his back is turned to her.

‘Thanks, Joel,’ you smile at him, letting your fingers graze his deliberately when you take the plate from him.

Saluting you with a forkful of cake, he says, ‘Thank you for bakin’, sweetheart.’

You watch as his lips close around the fork, dragging the cake clean off the slots, cream cheese smearing the corner of his mouth. He frowns, as if in deep pain as he chews, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows.

‘Okay?’ you ask nervously, your slice still untouched.

‘Perfect,’ he declares, already having a second, bigger bite. Knowing he doesn’t have a superfluous bone in his body, your chest warms at his words.

‘Wait a second,’ Lucy interrupts, bringing up her plate to inspect it closely. ‘Why does the cake look all wonky?’

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, Luce,’ you answer coolly, taking a bite yourself.

Humming around a mouthful of moist crumb, the sweet carrot balanced out by the tangy frosting, you meet Joel’s eyes in the soft glow of fairy lights, and he flashes you a conspiratorial smile that makes you grin.

More notes: On Ellie - I was so so nervous about writing our resident teenage badass. I hope I've done her justice, I certainly had a lot of fun writing her introduction to Pin! If you're interested in a detailed deep dive into my process writing this chapter, I do recommend you read the Behind the Seams for this part ❤️

I also went back and forth on the tone and style of this chapter a lot. I wasn’t happy with the way it read, probably still not 100% happy. I like the way Seams and Threads were written better, but the fact is that this chapter is a very different setting and narrative compared to the first two, so I’m trying to be too hard on myself.

So, I have some ideas for where the story will go from here, but nothing concrete. As I've mentioned, I see this fic as more of a loose-fit series, so there's no overarching plot per se, but there's definitely a lot of room for future episodes of these two - I mean, they haven't even done the deed yet 😉

Comments, asks and reblogs are greatly appreciated as always! Thank you so much for reading, I'm so excited to hear what you guys thought of this chapter 😘

[messy-gemini1]

Incorrect shit i think Hellsing characters (and reader) would say cause mamas bored

Alucard: *holds a gun out to Reader* Reader: I-I don't believe in guns. Alucard: Well, trust me, they're very real. Now take it. ______

Reader: I still have no idea how I’m attracted to you... Alucard: Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me, and no take backs, honey. ______

Reader: I’m doing what I can to jog your memory. Seras: It’s jogging, I guess. Its tiddies are jiggling a little. Reader: Nice. ______

Reader: Go fuck yourself. Alucard, smugly: Sure, but only if you watch Reader: GET OUT! ______

Reader: Come to dinner tonight. I can’t cook, but I’ll bring plenty of free Blood packets. Alucard: Marry me. ______

Integra: We'll talk about this later. Alucard: Fine, I won’t be listening. ______

Reader: *about Seras and Integra* They make a cute couple, huh? Alucard: They certainly are standing next to each other. ______

Integra: Seras, you'll be working with Reader and Alucard. Seras: Alright! My fantasy threesome! Everyone else: *blank stares* Seras: ...Of people on a team. ______

Reader: Bad news—Seras locked herself outta the manor Reader: Good news—we didn’t have to wait around for a locksmith. Reader: Bad news—Integra finds it very concerning that I know how to pick locks, and tried to unlock my Tragic Backstory(TM). I was too embarrassed to admit that the reason I learned it was because, at thirteen, I figured that was the kind of skill that would impress cute guys/girls/enbies. Reader: Good news—a cute guy/girl/enby saw me do it. Reader: Bad news—it was Alucard, and since they’ve already seen me fall out of several trees, cry because I saw a fawn that was just too damn small, and knows I can ride a unicycle, they’ll never think I’m cool no matter what I do. It’s too late. They know. ______

Alucard: Reader! I can't do this stupid math! Reader: What’s the math problem? Alucard: Well, we have to add the bed, subtract the clothes divide the legs, and hope we don’t multiply. Integra covering Seras' ears, while Reader smacks Alucard upside the head: Not going to lie that was hella smooth. ______

Alucard: We have a problem. Reader: No, YOU have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps making them.

[myun-saidthoughts]

4TH House Intimacy VS 8TH House Intimacy

With these two houses, deep feelings accumulate, and you can't help but feel close and drawn to the person who ignites themes related to your 4th or 8th house.

I wanted to make a post about how similar yet how profoundly different the type of intimacy that is felt between the two types of synastry. Especially if you both share more conjunctions with the IC/DC/South and North Node/Vertex/Neptune and soft aspects with Sun-Moon/Mercury/Venus/Jupiter

8th House Intimacy:

With this type of synastry, you feel so drawn and accepting of this person. You'll just look at them and their eyes alone will tell you how they feel; you'll know what they're thinking without them having to say a word. Their soul touches parts of you that you hide, suppress and ignore. Their eyes bring you this sense of wholeness you never thought was plausible. You want to showcase your emotional side and be vulnerable towards them. The type of intimacy and desire is so present, and so obvious; strangers can look at the both of you, and they'll feel that tension, they'll feel that type of desire that is sparked between both of your guys's gazes.

This intimacy that is created is more intense, sensual, lustful and more obvious, you just want to look into their eyes and fully accept their being. You're not afraid to fall in love and with that brings the desire to give a part of yourself to them. You feel this underlying risk of what it would mean if they left and yet the only thing that matters is their presence. You know their absence would unleash this deep rooted pain that you've never felt before but all you care about is that longing and want that they ignite in you. They allow you to give and receive such deep passionate love, the threshold of emotion that they create is so high no one else can reach it, not even you.

Deep conversations about each others souls are likely to take place, you want to be open and honest about the "darkest" parts of you since their presence elicits this acceptance in you that you can't feel alone. There's this lustful desire to kiss them and it could be overwhelming, the attraction reaches levels you never thought you'd be able to feel. (This is more accurate if both people are very attracted to to one another and willingly want to deepen the connection; sometimes the depths that can be reached may make them feel uncomfortable or uneasy).

You'll look at them and just feel this emotional deepness between the two of you and all you want to do is make them feel that emotional closeness that you've never felt before.

In all of it's essence, this synastry brings a longing for you to show them a part of yourself that you hide,

and with that you want them to accept your undeniable love.

Songs That Relate:

Is There Somewhere by Halsey

I'm Yours by Isabel LaRosa

Locksmith by Sadie Jean

All I Want By Kodaline

Iris by Goo Goo Dolls

Addicted by Kelly Clarkson (sums up the shadow side of this type of synastry)

Dark Side by Kelly Clarkson

If I Could Fly by One Direction

Sober by Selena Gomez

The Heart Wants What It Wants by Selena Gomez

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart by Ariana Grande

You Say by Lauren Daigle (more so how you gain value and worth by their reassurance and treatment towards you)

Bad Omens by 5 Seconds of Summer (more so represents the dynamic and relationship that can become)

My Dilemma by Selena Gomez and the Scene

Round and Round by Selena Gomez and the Scene

Your Love Is My Drug by Ke$ha (with more intense attraction aspects + 12th house synastry)

4th House Intimacy

With this type of synastry, the intimacy that is expressed is the safe care you've always wished you felt. Their eyes bring you this sense of comfort and trust that you never knew was possible. You just want to be next to them, you want to support them, and you wholeheartedly want to focus on their needs. You want to give them the type of love that your inner child never received.

Their presence brings you this sense of ease that you can't shake. You can't help but smile when you look at them, you can't help but want to share to them the most private parts of your soul that you're afraid to show others (especially if you have 8H/Scorpio placements).

When you're with them, their presence unlocks a part of your character that you typically hide away, because with them you feel this sense of reassurance just by their eyes alone, and if you're not one to be completely comfortable with showcasing your truest self to others, a part of you won't be able to let them go.

The feelings that will become evident is an overwhelming sense of trust. You'll have the desire to hold their hand and be close to them, and when you're together, everything will feel perfectly aligned. Conversations from your childhood are likely to resurface, and you may find that similar themes or experiences have occurred for both of you.

Explaining how you feel is not needed, there's just a given understanding that emanates between the two of you.

Their presence alone allows you to unlock a trust within that you won't be able to feel towards another.

This type of safeness feels so deep, it creates a tangible stable bond that feels undeniable, their soul becomes your anchor and you become theirs. you both will feel like each others home, and without their presence; that home will feel like it's missing.

Songs That Relate:

Older by 5 Seconds Of Summer

Look After You by The Fray

Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol

Control by Zoe Wees

Best Years by 5 Seconds Of Summer

Naturally by Selena Gomez

All at Once by The Fray (To me this depicts someone with a broken attachment style that struggles with holding onto safety, so therefore you would question and wonder if the feeling you are getting from them is enough, you wonder if someone out there would be "better," but the best person is right in front of you)

Heavenly by Cigarettes After Sex

(These songs and this 4th house description is more evident if you have more attraction based aspects/desire on your end, some may prefer more lust or passion; especially if neither planets conjuncts your IC)

Both types of intimacy delve beneath the surface, yet 4th house synastry can appear more grounded when compared to the intensity of the 8th house. In 4th house connections, there's a strong desire to share the most private parts of you since there is a sense of safety and comfort that's unparalleled. Conversely, with the 8th house, there's a urge to reveal your darkest and deepest parts of yourself that have been long suppressed. You want them to see every facet of your being, and for once, this doesn't bring you fear.

(Although for both initial desire and fatal attraction are also needed to cause intense feelings that can cause a shift)

All in all, with the 8th house your soul automatically cuirasses and holds on these feelings that they bring out in you, and so if one is unhealed or afraid of accepting the depth of this intimacy, fear will seep in, forcing you to self sabotage or ruin a connection your soul wants.

With the 4th house, there isn't this innate intensity that floods within you, but if you struggle with accepting your own character, you'll start to feel so comfortable and dependent on this individual. And without them you won't feel secure enough within to act, be or do things your truest self desires.

With both you can easily become so accustomed towards their presence and energy that they ignite in you; so much so you'll hold onto these undeniable desires to the point where without them, you'll be unable to feel like you.

[kakairu-bigbang-2024]

🗝️TEAM LOCKSMITH NO JUTSU 🗝️

Artist: @lildraws, Writer: @tucuxi

Title: Meet Me At The Intersection Word count: 25,688 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Disability, Physical Disability, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-CanonChronic Pain, chronic disability after traumatic injury, Stubborn Umino Iruka, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt, civilian shinobi relations, Shinobi Politics (Naruto), Shinobi Culture (Naruto), Anbu Root (Naruto), Anbu Hatake Kakashi, Trauma, medical bias, systemic bias, Denial of care, Ableism, Medical Gatekeeping, Canon-Typical Violence, Medical Jutsu, Original Jutsu (Naruto), Mobility Aids, Past Child Neglect, Minor Character Death, Canonical Character Death

Summary: Umino Iruka regarded the man standing before his shop counter with what was probably poorly-veiled irritation. "Yes, thank you," he said. "I know how a triple-layered chakra lock works." Long years of experience kept Iruka's tone even: losing his temper meant losing customers, even if there weren't very many people in Konoha who did what he did. * * * The canon-divergent au in which Iruka graduates the academy, does 3 D-rank missions, and then retires, because his leg was badly crushed in the kyuubi attack—so he re-trains as a locksmith and makes chakra-manipulated locks. A story about systemic structural power imbalances between shinobi and civilians and the various ways in which expectations of physical strength and implicit ableism are detrimental to community trust. In which Iruka finds himself stuck between worlds, all because Sharingan Kakashi demanded the impossible, and Iruka made him a quadruple-layered chakra lock.

🗝️Read this Kakairu Big Bang Collaboration on Ao3! 🗝️

[bridgeportbritt]

Willington Palace | Sage, SimDonia

Friendly chatter

Diana: Hello everyone. Thanks for joining me here today. I'm sure you're all wondering why you're here...

Spencer: I hope it's not because we're all in trouble!

The group laughs

Diana laughs dryly: Well, not exactly. But there is a serious matter that I need to speak with you all about.

Silence

Diana: As you know, there have been quite a few changes taking place within the monarchy. New rules, new procedures and such. One of those changes included regular visits with a monarch physician. While we were ensuring that all family members were healthy and receiving the best care, there was another reason why everyone was required to do this.

Diana: You see, we've known for quite some time that there is something affecting this family - an illness. Previously, we've only focused on monarchs and heirs and how they were affected. But this approach proved ineffective. So, we began testing other members of the family to get better results. You're all here because the testing we've done shows that you or your children or spouses are affected.

Surprised and concerned murmer

Lydia clears throat: Let Her Majesty continue!

Diana: I know that this is concerning, but there is good news. The testing has not only helped us discover who is affected and why. But we've also discovered a short-term treatment. The goal, of course, is to find a cure, but this is a step in the right direction.

Ian: May we speak, Your Majesty?

Diana: Of course.

Ian: What exactly is the illness and what is the cause you discovered?

Diana: The illness is actually a genetic defect passed down from King William ll likely due to his time as a locksmith before the war. What happens is certain cells in your body are attacked especially when under chronic stress. That is why so many monarchs were tested and treated most as the stress of the job often triggered the illness causing other issues. My father included.

Sarah: Is this the illness that killed King Parker?

Diana: ...Yes. It has caused a lot of harm to this mainly to monarchs and heirs. My father, brother and I included.

Spencer: This has caused a great deal of harm to our family. It is the reason Elizabeth and I were never able to produce an heir. My brother the late King William lll was also affected. Abdicating early was likely the only thing that prolonged his life even for the short time it did.

Emmitt: My grandfather... What about my father?

Spencer: As far as I know, he was not affected, but there is no way to know for sure as he was never tested since he wasn't a monarch or heir.

Bria annoyed: Okay, let me get this straight. There is some secret family illness that has been literally killing people, you guys have known about it, started testing on us and our kids without our knowledge, and know you have some major treatment that we know nothing about, and we're just supposed to trust this?

Diana: I understand how this sounds, but this is something that could not have been widely known. Especially when we didn't have all the information.

Lydia: And Your Royal Highness, it's 'Your Majesty' when you address the Queen!

Diana: Lydia, it's alright. Bria, please understand that the last thing I've wanted to do is keep this from all of you. But if this got out, it would reflect negatively on the royal family.

Bria: No, Diana. I don't think you understand. You're telling me that you have withheld medical information from me about my children. As a mother, I'm sure you can understand how that crosses a line!

Diana: Bria, your children are a part of this family, this monarchy. That information was only withheld due to the damage it could cause the entire family including them.

Bria angry: I don't care about this monarchy! This institution is clearly why my kids and husband could be sick!

Spencer: Okay, I think we all just need to take a breather. Everyone in this room is affected here. Bria, you have to know that it was not up to Diana to keep this secret. Even she didn't know until recently. Previously only monarchs held this information and that's only if they were affected.

Bria: Ugh, this whole place is insane! Don't you see how crazy that is? You people care more about the monarchy than the people in it!

Diana: That's not true, Bria. I care...

Bria: No, it is true, Diana. I know very well. You care only when it serves you. That's how this whole monarchy game serves works. And I've played it long enough! I will not let me kids be victim to this machine.

Diana: Bria, what are you saying?

Bria: I expect all my family's medical records to be sealed and sent to us personally. We will be finding our own outside medical care. And as far as I'm concerned, my kids are done with whatever this is. Emmitt, Ella, let's go.

[atinycelery]

This is one of those posts I wish i can do in anon lmao

Tbh i can see how Chilchuck can be the hot dad of the month in the local half-foot magazine, like

bro if my brain isn't so very attached to my eyes I'd be able to instantly see how he's the local sarcastic hot dad with trust issues but soft heart

this is gonna annoy or disgust the long time manga readers and I can't believe I'm saying this but that half-foot is a dilf. Not me. But someone else

I'm headcanoning some of the local girls just wanna comfort him but they do stay away because of his foul mouth, it's giving divorced local inspector with trust issues except this one is a locksmith

"how's if the case going, inspector?" bartender asks as Chilchuck took a seat in front of him

he grunted. It wasn't a good week. There were fewer leads in his case fewer calls from his customers as it was snowing.

and this wasn't a good time to drink. he's still on shift for the next two hours, he needs to get home and get a pair of his suits for the funeral was a good time to drink since he's a locksmith so he can drink any time, except maybe it's a little frowned upon to do so in broad daylight. Last he checked, it was daylight about 8 hours ago

I'm noir-ing divorced locksmith detective inspector Chilchuck here

No wonder he's annoyed and cagey with the others; Chilchuck's a full-time blue-collar union leader with divorced dad genre from a serious tv show, and here comes the others thinking he's come from a children book series

Edit : someone said he's not the stereotypical attractive guy. I never said he's attractive. Yh I said hot in that he exudes the tall guy pls hug me vibe but listen I looked at David Tennant in Broadchurch as the divorced miserable detective and I did not think he was attractive in there either. I just thought that I wanted give him a hug, maybe date him to see him smile

I never thought he was hot attractive but that's just me, looking at a middle aged guy

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Locked Out (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+, explicit sexual content, language, mentions of blood Word count: 4.2k

Summary: When you find yourselves locked out of your house in the middle of the night, Anthony has some ideas for how you can kill time.

Author's Note: Inspired by true events that involved all the frustration but none of the fun 😜 This was just an idea that rooted itself. A silly little fic outside my usual style. Thanks to @faye-tale for chatting with me while I waited for a locksmith. 😊 And thanks to @colettebronte who always has the right JB pic for the job. 💜

You knew this would happen. You had never trusted the smart lock ever since Anthony had installed it. Either some criminal masterminds would hack the whole network of them, or the battery would die and leave you precisely where you were now, standing on the stoop in the chilly air as midnight approached, the moon and your phone as your only light sources. Again you wondered what was so bad about traditional locks as your phone flashed the error message. But Anthony had to get his way, as usual. One news story about a burglar three towns away and the next day he had bought every ‘smart’ home security device on the market.

Well now the stupid lock didn’t work. The first time you had pressed the button you assumed you had tapped something wrong, given how distracted you were. Anthony was crowding against you, one hand slithering over your backside while the other moved to wrap lightly around your throat. He was breathing heavy in your ear, licking your neck with his untamable tongue, a move that always made your eyes cross a bit. But now you had tried three times to unlock the door and it clearly wasn’t working.

“Anthony…”

He just rumbled in response, biting your lobe.

“Anthony!” You nudged him back with your hips, trying to snap him out of it. “The damn lock is broken.” 

“What?” Of course he then had to inspect it himself for a full five minutes, trying every trick on his phone that you had, to no avail.

You stood with your arms crossed. “Where’s the spare key?”

Even in the dim light you could see his jaw set with aggravation. “Inside.”

You scoffed, “You didn’t hide it outside like you said you would?”

“I don’t want to leave a key to our property lying around for anyone to find. This thing was supposed to be top-of-the-line.” He growled.

You couldn’t help your eyes from rolling. “Anthony, that’s why you hide it…”

“Let me try the back.” He jogged off the steps and around the house through your garden gate. You both knew full well that he had rigged your back door with the same space age lock as the front and wasn’t likely to have any success. All you wanted was to get inside, to get warm and have a glass of wine. You looked up at the glare of the full moon. That must be to blame for your misfortune.  

You weren’t going to wait forever and searched the number for a 24-hour locksmith. You were just about to dial when the sound of shattering glass echoed over your lawn followed by a loud curse. Oh good lord…

Before you could even detect which side of the house it came from, Anthony stepped out of the shadows, holding a forearm aloft.

“Anthony Bridgerton, what the hell did you do?” You hissed as loud as you dared, mindful of disturbing your neighbors.

But you knew exactly what he had done when he drew closer and you could see the bloody pulp that now constituted his knuckles. More alarming was the long, jagged tear in the sleeve of his shirt through which you could see the matching slice on his skin, blood already seeping out to darken the fabric.

“Broke the side window,” he grumbled. 

“And how did that work out for you, genius?”

His eyes flashed. “The damn latch is too high. I couldn’t reach it inside.”

Excellent. Now you would need to replace your window as well as hire a locksmith. Your simple date night was turning into quite the misadventure. The cold was starting to seep in. Not expecting to spend time outside, you wore only a dress and no coat. You were so tired and irked you were bordering on a tantrum. But your husband was bleeding, quite a lot, and you couldn’t bring yourself to ream him out while he was injured.

“Jesus,” You huffed, taking his good arm and pulling him over to your car in the drive. Fortunately this piece of your property had a keyfob, making it your only form of shelter at the moment. “Sit down,” you ordered, opening the driver’s side door and pushing him into the seat. You crouched next to him and turned his wrist to inspect the damage. It was ugly, the whole sleeve from the elbow down stained red already. 

Before you even suggested it, he tugged the cuff of his other sleeve with his teeth, slipping his whole shirt up and over his head until it hung only on his bloodied limb. 

“Haven’t you ever watched movies?” You chastised as you began to wind the fabric around the gash. A gorgeous knit shirt ruined forever. “You wrap your arm with your shirt before you punch through glass.”

“Well I’m sorry for trying to solve our problem.” He snipped. You responded by pulling a tight knot, causing him to hiss. 

But your frustrated energy threatened to redirect into something else entirely as you surveyed him. Even after all this time together, you went a bit speechless whenever you saw him shirtless. It really was obscene for someone to be so attractive. Broad-shouldered and muscular, with the most perfect patch of soft hair across his chest. Running your hands over him had reached the level of compulsion, beyond mere desire. Seeing as his torso was streaked with blood from his haphazardly bandaged arm, you gave in under the pretense of tending to him. You drifted your fingers up his carved abdomen and onto his chest where his movements slowed under your palm, his breaths deepening. 

“I don’t have anything to clean you up with.” You were more agitated than apologetic. How fast were you going to devolve into naked, bloodied neanderthals all because you didn’t have a house key?

“It’s fine.” He laid his good hand over yours, holding it in place. You could feel the strong thrum of his heart. He knew what he was doing. Trying to dissipate your anger by turning himself into a distraction. But you wouldn’t let him. Someone had to remedy this situation. 

You quirked a brow. “Should I call the paramedics or the locksmith?”

His pursed-lips look of annoyance was one you saw often and always relished. It was usually the only way he admitted you were right in a spat. Nudging him a few inches, you perched next to him on the seat.

“How long will they take?” he asked when you hung up.

“Half an hour.”

“What are we supposed to do until then?” You knew that silky edge to his voice and turned to look at him. His eyes, always dark, glinted most dangerously at night. Darkness suited him much more than daylight and even though you knew your husband was putty in your hands, one flash of those eyes made you feel like prey.

You shivered, due to him as much as the wind. “Whatever we do, I’m staying in here. It’s too cold.” You wouldn’t give in that easily. You stood and moved to walk to the passenger side but an arm curled around your waist and tugged you back onto his lap, then the door was pulled shut beside you. 

“Imagine how cold I am without a shirt on.” His low voice reverberated through the enclosed space and soft lips landed on your shoulder. His arm was still banded around you, holding you tight. The devil. 

You twisted to face him again, already knowing you would lose this battle. He smirked, just a glimpse of teeth in the blue glow of the fading dash lights lending fangs to your predator. Wasn’t he the wounded one? How did he gain the upper hand so quickly? You rested your hands on his chest again and knew he was lying. He was warmer than you and heating up by the second, his breath gusting over your forearms as you stared each other down. Each time you touched one another in places otherwise typically clothed, it brought out your animalistic tendencies. But seeing him like this, cast in shadow and roughed up, was causing something especially carnal to simmer inside you.

“We can turn the car on for heat.” You argued, never wanting to grant him the last word.

But then he pressed himself against you, hands spreading wide to grasp your bottom as he nuzzled his jaw against your cheek. He knew all of your buttons. One pass of his short beard across your skin and it was over. 

“Mmmm…” he hummed in your ear, the baritone he reserved to devastate you. “Bad for the environment. We can keep each other warm.”

Then his tongue resumed its journey up your neck, leaving you gasping until he traced it into your waiting mouth.

Damn him. You hated and loved how easily he made you go to pieces. If you were being honest, the feelings worked in tandem. It was often when you were the most aggravated with him that you reached the highest peaks in your lovemaking. As your tongues swirled around each other, you knew this would be one of those times. But you’d have to be quick unless you wanted to put on a show for the locksmith. This was reckless, juvenile, but you didn’t care. 

“I suppose you’re right.” You murmured over his lips then pushed him roughly back against the seat. His eyes lit with excitement as you maneuvered to straddle him, hiking your skirt up your thighs, kicking off your heels and underwear as you went. His splayed hands ran up to your back and crushed you to him for another hungry kiss. You moaned into one another, overcome with the rush of it all, with the risk you may be seen. As you held his jaw possessively, you wormed a hand down to the seam of his trousers.

“Do you have enough blood left to power this thing?” You smirked, nipping at his lower lip.

“See for yourself,” came the husky reply. Pressing down, you felt the bulge and rocked your palm against it. His responding noise caused a familiar jolt of desire to shoot through your every cell. You knew you were already soaking, aching and ready for him. In a flurry, the two of you fought off his belt and buttons and shoved his clothes down his thighs until his cock sprang free, rigid and hot in your hand. Positioning yourself, you swiped the head across your entrance, gathering the slick then swirling it around your throbbing clit. Anthony groaned, biting his lip and gripping you tight by the hips as you lined up and sank down onto him, your cry seeming all the louder in the small, insulated cab.

There was a reason you had given him the private nickname ‘Logsplitter’. Getting far too candid over too many drinks one night, you had told him how fantastically split open he made you feel. Had described that meniscus seal between pain and pleasure and how his body drove yours to it perfectly and kept you dancing upon it until it fractured and plunged you into liquid bliss. The next day you had been mortified but he eased your anxieties by making it the most enduring joke in your relationship. The bastard had even woven it into his wedding speech, announcing that he would still find joy in life’s mundane tasks with you, whether it be laundry, dishes, or log splitting. Public mentions of it sent heat rushing to your cheeks, but in practice behind closed doors it sent heat rocketing under every inch of your skin. He was so stiff and formidable, stretching you so splendidly. You began to move so that you could savor every inch.

Planting your hands on his shoulders for leverage you began to ride him at a steady clip, reminding yourself that you couldn’t dally. His fingers pressed deeper into your hips as his breath turned staccato with whispered curses. You gave a passing thought to the fact that his injured arm was probably streaking blood across your dress, but thankfully it was black and therefore might be saved. 

As much as you were enjoying yourself, this was still a ridiculous situation. Bleeding and rutting in the driver’s seat of your car like you were criminal lovers on the lam and not just idiots who hadn’t kept a spare key to the house. And you were on a timeline. Fueled by a potent blend of frustration and arousal you began to move faster, pistoning on your knees as the leather squeaked. There wasn’t much extra space on the seat for your legs and your increased pace made you slip, pitching forward as one shin fell off the side.

Anthony caught you, hands moving up to your ribs as he chuckled. “Woah. Do I need to strap you in, baby girl?”

You could have slapped him. He only used that name for you when he really wanted to get you riled. Clearly he was enjoying your little tryst, finding the fun in this mess that he caused.  You’d like to see him try and fuck you in the front seat. Glaring, you stepped on the recline controls and he stuttered in surprise as he sank backward until he was supine beneath you. Steadying yourself again you doubled your efforts, riding him hard as you held him pinned at the chest.

“You’re enjoying this too fucking much.” You ground out.

“What?” He played the innocent.

“We could be inside,” You panted, every word bouncing with your movements. “In bed. Uninjured. If you had just hidden the key…” Your breath caught as you tilted your hips and felt him strike against the deepest part of you, a twinge that increased your ache. “...and not changed the stupid locks.”

“So this is my fault?” His voice was all seduction, no remorse to be found. His eyes, what little you could see of them, gazed up at you as a hand moved to knead your breast.

“Yes.” You moaned, starting to climb the ladder as his fingers and his cock simultaneously found all the right spots to make you mindless. 

“And you’re mad at me?”

“So fucking mad.” You gasped, leaning forward into his palm and angling yourself just so, feeling the ridge of him deep inside start to massage your center of sensation.

He craned his neck to ghost his lips over yours and whispered, “How can I apologize?”

Then his hand moved below your skirt and his fingertips found your clit. Pierced with sensation, you screamed some garbled syllables of his name.

He chuckled, warm and dark. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

Oh, he was awful. Driving you to delirium even when you were the one on top. You had found your rhythm, rolling your hips to sink him perfectly into place over and over. Coupled with the press of his circling fingers, you were shooting up the ladder, your blood beginning to hum with anticipation. Maybe you could pull this off in time after all. 

“Fuck you…” you hissed.

“You certainly are.”

“Anthony, shut up!” You clamped a hand over his mouth, bringing the other to claw into his shoulder. You had assumed Anthony Bridgerton, man of refined tastes, would have found this all as debased as you did, but he was evidently having the time of his life. Maybe the laugh riot was precisely because he knew you were so flustered, which just made you angrier. But the anger was consigned to your mind only, as your body delighted in him. Warm and firm beneath your palms, he started to move with you, thrusting ever so slightly while his mangled hand pulled you down at the hip, slamming your bodies together as tight as he could on your every descent. His fingers swirled faster, just where you needed them, and soon enough you reached the top rungs, everything surging within.

Anthony mumbled something against your fingers, his breath hot and short, matching yours as you hovered over him. You released him, your mind too clouded with pleasure to fight him anymore. Your thighs began to quake while the rest of you started to tense.

“It feels like you’re about to forgive me.” He purred, and all you could do was whine, squeezing your eyes shut as your hips bucked against him desperately. “Come on then,” he coaxed. “I think I’ve earned it.”

One more thrust and circle of his fingers and you peaked, crying out as your nails sank into the flesh of his shoulder and your other hand scrabbled for purchase in his thick hair. Release radiated out from the epicenter of his touch, spasms clenching around his cock which now felt impossibly huge, fanning out through every muscle. You writhed, circling your pelvis against his as you rode it out and moaned.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he growled from the darkness. “That’s my girl.”

Gasping, you collapsed on top of him, basking in the warmth of his bare skin and the caresses of his hands across your back as aftershocks curled your spine. As you floated, you trailed your fingers into his chest hair. You contemplated extending your forgiveness verbally too, but when you propped up to look at him you saw a flash of headlights through the back window. A truck was turning down your street. 

You cursed under your breath and glanced a kiss across Anthony’s lips before pulling yourself off of him and opening the door, stumbling out into the driveway, your mind still swimming. You tugged your skirt down and tried to smooth your hair as Anthony scrambled to hitch his clothes back over his stark erection. 

“Stay here,” you cautioned and closed the door.

The truck was indeed the locksmith, a very beatific fellow named Lumley. He didn’t cast any judgment as you explained your situation. He professed to having seen it all and you believed him. But you might have been added to his list of unusual encounters after he deftly popped the door lock and let you in to turn on your lights. That’s when his eyes widened and he asked if you were alright. You looked down and realized he was gesturing to the blood streaks on your exposed arms. The way he fixated on your chin, you suspected you had a streak there too.

You laughed to calm him, explaining that your husband had cut his hand (you elected not to tell him how) and that you were both perfectly fine and would clean up now that you could get inside. A little shaken, he politely wrapped up your transaction and drove away. You were too relieved to be embarrassed and went to collect Anthony from the car.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” You swung the door open to find him still reclined. His trousers were back on thankfully, but he was slumped, eyes closed, cradling his raggedly wrapped arm. “Anthony?” You put a hand on his shoulder. “You alright?”

He blinked his eyes open and looked at you blearily. “Feeling a bit woozy.” He mumbled.

Fantastic. Not only had he lost blood, he had sent whatever remained shooting down to his cock and now there was none left in his brain. You didn’t think you were strong enough to carry him indoors if he collapsed, but you wouldn’t leave him in the damned car any longer. Tugging him by his good arm to slowly stand, you then draped it over your shoulders and steered him inside. He could walk just fine even if his head was drooping a bit. 

You kicked the door closed behind you and walked to the sofa, easing him onto it.

“Aright, sit down. I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

You turned but were immediately halted by a hand around your wrist.

“There’s only one thing that’s going to make me feel better.”

The next you knew, you were on your back on the sofa, Anthony pressing you down as his lips consumed yours. He vocalized his want down your throat as his beard rasped against you. What happened to woozy? Maybe being horizontal was the only way he could function at the moment. He rocked his hips between yours, his unsatisfied stiffness insistently seeking entry. Within seconds you were ignited again, helpless against the weight of him, the taste of him, the smell of him. 

“Anthony, if you stain the couch too, I swear…” You mumbled as he sucked at your neck. Tallying the cleanup that remained between the shattered window and your ruined clothes, you would not sacrifice your plush upholstery too. Reaching behind your head, you dragged the throw blanket from the arm of the sofa and quickly bunched it under his blood soaked shirt bandage. He didn’t seem to have heard you, or perhaps he just didn’t care, as he balanced on that elbow and used his other hand to tear open his trouser buttons. You lifted your skirt and helped him, as eager for this as he was. 

You groaned in stereo as he sank into you once again, the sensation more overwhelming now that he was on top of you. His tongue dove into your mouth as well, the most delicious parts of him penetrating you as deeply as they could simultaneously. Vanilla as this position may have been in comparison, you loved it. Being completely underneath him, crushed, consumed and controlled by him. You had taken your pleasure and now you wanted to be a ragdoll in his arms. You didn’t know if your desires were romantic or perverse, but you didn’t care. The feeling of being filled and surrounded by the man you loved made you wildly aroused. 

With no pretense, Anthony went to work pummeling you, chasing his release as urgently and selfishly as you had chased yours. You opened your legs wide, locking your ankles around his back and letting him plough even deeper. You still found this entire ordeal comical, but the man deserved some relief. In the span of an hour he had been chastised, injured, exposed and now blue-balled. This was his only reprieve until you had to undertake the ghastly business of dealing with his wound. And he was bringing pleasure to more than just himself. Predictably, his every thrust teased your clit, his sizable cock pulling all of you so tight that every feeling was heightened. While he panted harsh in your ear, you ran your nails down his rippled back and pert bum, leveraging with your wrapped legs to push up into him, the two of you grinding into one another as you whispered encouragements.

He was splitting you, sending you back to that place where all of your focus zoned in on the feeling of him inside, the relentless pounding of his body into yours that promised to quell every need of your flesh. Your whispered filth turned into small cries and then into silence as he drove harder and harder, his movements frenzied as he started to growl, pushing for the finish. All you could do was hold on as your whole body shifted beneath him, wearing tracks into the upholstery under your shoulders. You held your breath as your mouth fell open, unfailingly stunned at how he could propel you to the edge so easily. He shifted to look down at you. His hair was growing damp with sweat, a chestnut curl falling beautifully across his forehead.  His dark eyes locked into yours, molten. You could read it in each other’s faces - you would come undone together.

Sparing Anthony the balancing act, you brought your hand between your legs and in seconds were breaking, tossing your head back as you succumbed. While the rest of you trembled, you clung to him with your limbs, luxuriating in all the hallmarks of his orgasm, triggered by your own. The way his back arched under your hands as his hips stuttered between your thighs. You loved how his whole body went rigid just before you felt the pulsing inside. He made the most beautiful gasping sound, so contrasted with his animalistic growls leading up to it, his mouth hanging open against your cheek, hot breath stirring your hair.

Absorbing each other’s tremors, he melted into you, resting his head in the crook of your neck and going full dead weight. You tightened your hold around him before he rolled onto the floor. You wound a hand into his hair, tracing patterns across his scalp as you both caught your breath. You looked over at his maimed arm and grimaced. It was a bloody mess. How he had been in the mood for not one, but two romps without a single complaint about an open laceration was a level of stubbornness and libido possessed only by Anthony Bridgerton. Now playtime was over. You had to be adults and handle this.

You kissed the top of his head. “Anthony.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even grunt in acknowledgement.

You felt a stab of alarm and shook him lightly. “Anthony?”

Then he groaned, nuzzling closer into you. “I think you’re right,” he slurred against your neck. “I need stitches.”

You rolled your eyes but rubbed his back reassuringly. It appeared the adventures of the evening would continue. You just hoped he could still stumble back to the car.

“Okay. I’ll get you another shirt and then drive you to the hospital. And we are taking the spare key with us.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp

[siboom777]

The Salamander's family lore

Warning: English not my first language so there can be mistakes!!

I decided to finally write down some Sally's back story so when i put some details from the past in her future lore no one will be confused.

Alright, so it all started with Bernard Salamander, who at his young age (20-25) was working as an Auror. He showed himself as pretty capable employee so he was trusted with serious missions and dangerous dark wizards.

One little fact, his nose is slightly crooked due to the fact that when he stood up for Lara(his future wife), some drunk guy was trying to reach to Lara and Bernard stood up. It was muggle man so he couldn't use his magic, and due to his pretty weak body end up with broken nose. He refused to heal it with magic and wanted to let it heal itself, so it will remind him to pay attention on his physical form.

Lara Salamander. She met Bernard at the work, when they were forced to work in pair for some time. She was clumsy, pretty shy but really loyal to her work, and all of that made the heart of grumpy Bernard melt with every day. Especially her green warm eyes.

After their marriage they gave birth to the girl Maria. Bernard always wanted a girl who will look just like Lara, but even if Maria was literally copy of Bernard in girls body, it didn't stopped him from loving this child dearly. After 10 years their son Nash saw the light of the world. Due to not having really good experience with his father, Bernard didn't really knew what to do with the boy, But Lara was always there to keep the family together... until one day.

On one of the missions, Lara and Bernard wandered into the territory of the dragon, and because the dragons are very overprotective to their territory, the dragon attacked everything that moves.

Lara died in that incident.

After this, the whole Salamander family experienced loss very hard.

Bernard dismissed the children, Maria immersed herself in the study of dragonology, they do not believe that a dragon killed her mother. Dragon cannot be punished by law, and because her father nurtured in her a keen sense of justice, she could not just let her mother go until the "villain" was punished.

It was hardest for Nash, because he was so young at the time and didn't understand why everything suddenly became so bad, why everyone acted so cold and... why mother didn't visit them anymore?

Bernard will leave his job as an Auror and before Sally's birth would have worked as a locksmith at a factory to distract himself with hard work from problems and from magic world, after Sally's birth and the persuasion of friends, he begins to make toys to order, after which he opens a shop with homemade toys.

He changed his clothing style from dark for a brighter one. He read that children perceive such colors better and it is useful for them to stare at bright things. Plus, this style was better suited to the image of a person who makes toys

Maria won a grant after she finished Hogwarts and when she grows up, became one of the leading dragon scientists, so Sally won't see her until she graduates from Hogwarts due to her expeditions to learn about dragons. She will participate in the lore, but it will be close to the end of 7th year of Sally's education.

Before the incident, she planned to be an Auror just like her parents, but refuse to go here after all that happened.

Nash suffers from an inferiority complex, constantly being surrounded by the shadow of his father or the shadow of his sister and begins to work hard for the Ministry, using various dirty methods to get to the top.

He falls in love with a "night moth" named "Ruby" and makes Sally on the side, thinking that here he will have an outlet, then he will make a man out of her.

But her green eyes trigger trauma in him, this is superimposed by the fact that the friend who gave him a promotion was against of concepts like culture, love, beauty, and after learning that he is in love with a woman, throws him down his career.

Ruby, Sally's mom sees that Nash has no money and disappears to nowhere, asking him not to look for her, what Nash is also suffering from.

And out of anger, he brings Sally to his father and says to Bernard: " If you want to throw it away, do so, if you want to leave it, I don't care."

And he leaves to rebuild his career, but this time on hi own, so that no one will say a word to him.

Well, Bernard couldn't leave a small copy of Lara, so he didn't even think about leaving her.

By the way, Ruby was afraid that Sally was not from him when she saw her green eyes. But when Nash said that she looked like his mother, she calmed down and did not even check.

Ruby named her daughter Sally because it is consonant with the word - silly, referring to the fact that this is exactly how she considered Nash, who so easily fell for her "game of love" with him.

Despite everything, not all so clear there. On the one hand, she was looking for a better life at the expense of men, using them and living not better life if you can say. And on the other hand, although not very well meaning, she gave the child a name and took care of it for a couple of months until she decided to run away. And she ran away without Sally because she knew that the Salamander family had people with a good reputation and funds for child maintenance, even if it will not be Nash then someone else.

I thought maybe when her father got out of Azkaban(little spoiler bu i will not give you more :3) she would meet him and maybe they would try again to live together.

Sally's father won't remember her until she turns 10, because at 11 she would have gone to Hogwarts in theory, so Nash visits the store just to check.

He visited the shop under the guise of a stranger a couple of times, but then loses interest in Sally when she does not enter Hogwarts immediately. He will come to talk to his father Bernard again when he heard how she suddenly became hero of Hogwarts. Bernard wasn't watching news about magic world so he didn't know about it, and Sally wasn't telling him, afraid that he will be too worried. After he pick her up from the train, they will have long, long talk.

Nash will show up again in her 7th year after the incident (that i will write in future).

Therefore, do not be surprised that he is a scum and i don't like him not like person and not like father. I will not try to make him a good person, but there will be some development in his character, and I hope i will manage to do it right.

But one thing i will say for sure, they may not be the most insensitive people, but as parents they are a complete 0.

I'm still leaving a lot of things behind the scenes, because I want to slowly throw a lop on all the characters so that everything grows evenly. I hope you will like to know about my funny girl a little more! Now this is time for some memes :3

I still think it's funny how Sally don't care where her parents because her grandpa ultimate parent for her.

And the thing that Seb maybe slightly but looks similar to her mom. I can see how Maria gets really suspicious towards Seb and put him through trials before approving him as a date for Sally. But he still need to meet Bernard. Good luck Seb!

[sexynetra]

16 for a ship of your choice <3

16. "Why do you know how to do that? Nevermind, don't tell me."

How do we feel about some Arrilana tonight :) (as always, crossposted to ao3!)

It was too early in the morning for this shit. Lana punched the door of the rental car before sagging against the brick wall behind her. Why this stupid city necessitated cars, she would never understand.

She should call a locksmith -- or the rental company. She wasn't a AAA member, but maybe they could help. Still, when she pulled out her phone, there was only one number her hand moved to type.

"It's 6:30 AM; you'd better be dying," Arrietty's voice was groggy, and Lana grimaced.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

She heard shuffling on the other end, followed by a few muffled swear words. "Sorry, accidentally tripped over the dog since it's, you know, still dark out."

"Arri," Lana whined softly, sliding down the wall.

"I'm kidding. What's up? Do you need something?"

"Ilockedmykeysinthecar." It all came out in one mumbled breath, and Arri didn't respond for a moment.

"Sorry, was that supposed to be English?"

Lana groaned, taking a deep breath. "I locked my keys in the rental car and I have no clue what to do. I hate cars; this would never happen with the subway."

Some more shuffling on the other line, then Arri's voice, sweet as butterscotch. "Where are you? I'm on my way."

Lana felt the tension leaving her shoulders. She didn't know how, but she knew Arrietty would make everything better. "Outside Elliott Bay. Thank you. I'll buy you coffee as a thank you."

"You were going to do that anyways," Arrietty pointed out, and Lana could hear the smile in her voice.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get cocky. I'll see you soon?"

"Give me 15 and I'll be there."

"I owe you my life."

Arri laughed, warm and bright. "I'll see you soon," she murmured, followed by the click of the line disconnecting.

~~~

If it was anybody except Lana who had woken her up, Arrietty would have given them a piece of her mind before blocking their number for the rest of the morning while she slept in.

But -- it was Lana. So Arri pulled on her warmest hoodie and defrosted her car as quickly as humanly possible.

Arrietty spotted Lana before Lana spotted her. She was shifting back and forth on her feet, a coffee in each hand. Her well-fitted maroon blazer was too thin for the early morning chill, and she could see her shivering.

Parking, Arri was already tugging her own hoodie off as she walked over. "You're gonna freeze out here," she murmured, snagging one of the coffees before draping her hoodie over Lana's arm.

"And you aren't? You're in a t-shirt, take this back!"

Arrietty just laughed, taking a long sip of the coffee. "I'm stronger than you." She winked, kneeling down in front of the car. "So the keys are inside?"

Lana knelt down beside her, pretty lips twisted into a grimace. "Am I going to have to break the window to get it out?"

"Do you have a bobby pin on you? And maybe some gum?"

Lana wrinkled her nose as she pulled a pin out of her carefully styled updo, a few strands of soft brown curls falling in front of her face. "Gum? With coffee?"

"Just trust me; I know what I'm doing." She held out her hand, palm up.

Lana waffled for a few seconds before depositing the bobby pin and a stick of gum from her purse.

Arrietty gave her a wink and a bright grin before turning her attention to the car door in front of her. "This shouldn't take long -- the car is pretty old; it should be easy enough to trip the lock."

Lana blinked slowly, sitting back on her heels and tilting her head. "Don't love that you know how to break into a car. Why do you know how to do that?"

Arrietty opened her mouth to reply but Lana put her hand up quickly. "Nevermind. Don't tell me. Just get it open."

Arrietty closed her mouth and raised one eyebrow, crossing her arms and staring at the woman beside her.

"... please," Lana tacked on finally, at least having the decency to look ashamed.

With a soft laugh, Arrietty turned her attention back to the door. "I spoil you too much. I should have told you to call AAA and rolled over to go back to bed."

"But you didn't," Lana hummed happily.

"You're so lucky you're pretty," Arrietty mumbled under her breath, poorly disguising her smile as she got to work on the lock.

[ceilingfan5]

🔒 blupjeans? :) 

🔒I broke into your car to impress you when you locked your keys in and now I have to construct an elaborate lie to explain myself 

“Huh,” Barry says, after Lup breaks into his fucking car. “Thank you, so much, honestly, I mean, I was going to be fucked, the locksmith quoted me like $300-”

“Yeah, no prob,” Lup says, so forcedly casual that she thinks she hears something important pop in her jaw. 

“But uh,” Barry looks at his car, a very, very sad blue Honda Civic belovedly named Crunch, and then at Lup, who is struggling with the knowledge that she is blushing hard enough to burn herself at the stake here. “That’s a pretty impressive skill you’ve got there?”

The how the fuck do you know that, and for why, specifically, is implied. 

“Thanks,” Lup says, opening her gumball machine mouth and letting a tasty, shiny lie ricochet through the spirals and tubes of her fucking idiot central and right out into the air, where she will now be responsible for it. “I learned it in the circus.”

“The circus?” Barry is wearing his stupid sexy strap on sunglasses, which are tentatively attached to his regular glasses, and thus make his eyes a little harder to see. He is, however, obviously having some kind of reaction to this information. Lup grimaces. 

“Yeeep. The circus. You know, the uh, the giraffes loved to steal keys.” 

“Giraffes?” Barry is incredulous. “That’s amazing. What for?”

“Oh, they’re mischievous fuckers,” Lup is just fully in it now. “Never trust a giraffe, I’m telling you. Elephants either, they’ll throw your keys right down a storm drain just to get your attention.”

“Golly,” Barry says. With his human fucking mouth. Lup wants to kill him and keep his soul in a jar. She promises she’ll poke holes in the lid. “I have to imagine you’d hide your keys after that happened once or twice, though?”

“The problem is, you see,” Lup is ascending, to live with the angels. Shame they’ll evict her as soon as possible, for all the lust and gluttony and wrath and so on. She can have another thing lined up. It’s fine. “Circus outfits never have pockets.”

“Really? Never?”

“Total design flaw,” Lup says, nodding, and also sweating so hard she’s afraid it might be audible. “Pockets would pull them down. And when you’re just wearing a leotard, you don’t want it gettin’ pulled down, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Barry agrees, looking dreadfully impressed at all this. “But then what about the keys, did you just hold them?” Him and his goddamn followup questions. Lup could grind him into a paste and study him under a microscope. 

“Yeah, or put them on a chain around our necks. But mostly we had a key boy.”

“A keyboy?” Barry’s eyes go way up. “One keyboy, to hold all the keys in the circus?”

“It was an illustrious job,” Lup says, with her lying, lying ass. “Everyone wanted to fuck the key boy.” 

“Wow,” Barry says. “Because of his access?”

“Because of the jingles, Barr, keep up!” Lup folds her arms. “Also, he was a pretty good juggler. Not as good as me, though.”

“You can juggle?” Barry grins at her. “I’d love to see that.” 

“I’ve been banned from juggling forever,” Lup says solemnly. “Because of the incident.” 

“The incident?” Jesus, can he just do this all day? Doesn’t he get tired?

“Yeah,” Lup says, and winks, and smacks him congenially on the back. “It’s a curse. Shame, cause I love juggling.” And before Barry can ask her another fucking question, she heads back in to work. 

God. It’s been years since she juggled. She cannot fucking believe she’s backed herself into a corner again about this shit. She should have just admitted to being obsessed with lockpicking youtube. 

[spiral-cut]

DecembHyur 2023 Day XII: Companions

The Swift Gale; Firefoot - When left hanging by a noose in the woods courtesy of fellow brigands ( who also absconded with his sword he pilfered off another he claims to be enchanted ), it was this wandering mare who approached the flailing bandit so his feet may find purchase atop her road-weary saddle. Be their meeting happenstance or ordained by fate, this intelligent beast of burden- aptly dubbed Firefoot, remains ever ready at its rider's beck and call. Gyoku of the Deft Fin - This flailing fish was meant to fill the belly of a visiting Ul'dahn dignitary as an exotic "catch of the day" when Theralt chanced upon the namazu, nigh-desiccated and flopping erratically on a chopping board in the kitchen of the Bismarck. Liberated from the culinary doom which awaited him, Gyoku swore, with the eyes of the Kami upon him, to lend fin and whisker to his rescuer's thieving ways. A burglar by calling and locksmith by trade, Theralt is hard-pressed to find a more suitable accomplice to aid with his banditry. Ratscal - A wharf rat of seemingly ordinary remark who remains a permanent fixture at the highwayman's side. Be it nestled within the inside pocket of his jacket or nipping at the heel of his boots- this rapscallion has braved more peril and committed more felonies than what zoologist deemed its ilk capable of. Owing to its diminutive stature and mischievous personality ( alongside unfounded claims of its ability to sense fear ), Ratscal has broken into goals and treasure vaults, chewed through countless rope and bindings, and wantonly distressed the squeamish sort by its presence alone.

I feel as though I could make a whole Disney movie based around the adventures of these four.

Other Decembhyur2023 Prompts:

Day I: Journey/ Adventure

Day II: Job/ Craft

Day III: Home

Day IV: Rain/ Sun

Day VIII: Market

Day XIII: Trust

Day XIV: Water