#Very first time I drew a smoking character I drew it backwards and I never got better at it

[cartoonsbyandie]

Fun fact literally every time I draw a cigarette I have to google whether it’s the white end or the orange end that goes in your mouth

[megsironthrone]

Meg's Game of Tales: Tale 18

*Here we are! FINALLY! The final tale in our Game of Tales! I am so sorry it took so long! Any familiar characters are NEVER mine. And the original story of "The Singing Bone" was written by The Brothers Grimm!*

Warnings: The Singing Bone AU. Angst: death of a wild animal(I know this is triggering for some), betrayal, murder, execution. Fluff if you squint at the end. POV switches.

Pairing: Tormund Giantsbane x prince!reader

Once there was a king who ruled over his kingdom with a kind and just hand. The king had two heirs, a son and a daughter, both of age for marriage. The king ensured his children and his people had everything they could ever need. So, when reports of a monstrous boar reached his ears, the king wasted neither time nor expense in finding someone to take care of the creature.

"Let it be known throughout our land that the person who manages to put an end to the boar and bring me the proof, will be rewarded handsomely in both gold and…in marriage to one of my heirs." Many people tried and failed on numerous occasions to kill the boar, but none succeeded. It wasn't until months later that the problem would be solved.

Tormund and another of his brothers-in-arms were visiting the castle when they too were told of the monster that lurked in the forest as well as the prize for killing such a thing. While Tormund didn't care much for gold, he did care for something else. The prince.

From the moment Tormund set foot in the castle, there was a spark between him and Prince Y/N. To Tormund, it didn't matter that they were both men. He wanted who he wanted. And Tormund wanted him. And Y/N, though he tried to keep it secret, wanted Tormund as well. To that end, Tormund decided to hunt the boar. He set out with his brother-in-arms , only separating when they reached the very edge of the woods. They would have a better chance of catching the boar by surprise if they split up.

Tormund entered the woods from the opposite side, hoping that he would come upon the boar first. While he wanted the best for his brother, Tormund wanted the prince's freedom more. If Tormund killed the boar, the king would have to keep his word and let the prince be with him and Y/N wouldn't leave without his father's consent.

Tormund had only traveled a little way when a strange person appeared before him. Tormund drew his weapon, but the stranger merely smiled and held up a hand. "You will never succeed with an ordinary weapon. Use this instead," he offered, showing Tormund a spear of black. Tormund could practically feel the magic radiating from it. "With it, you shall not miss your target." Tormund slowly reached for the spear, asking why the stranger was handing it to him.

"Your reasons for slaying the animal are pure. You are acting from the heart. The other…he is not. His motivation is greed. Such a person cannot be allowed to wed a royal heir. He would lead to our destruction." Tormund's brow furrowed, but he didn't reply. He knew the stranger was right. His brother had always been one to covet power and placed his ambitions before all else. "Stay true," the stranger whispered before disappearing in a cloud of smoke, leaving Tormund to try and sort out his confusion.

He didn't have long to contemplate what had happened though for, the very next moment, he saw the boar in his line of sight. The beast seemed to see him at the same time and the animal charged. Without waiting a beat, Tormund aimed the dark spear and threw it. It sailed through the air, sinking into the boar with ease. The animal didn't suffer, for which Tormund was thankful.

He approached the animal and nearly fell backward. This thing was MASSIVE! It was nearly the size of Tormund himself. It was no wonder the people feared the beast. With great effort, Tormund hoisted the giant boar up onto his back and began his trek back to the castle. He couldn't fight the smile on his face. He knew Y/N would be so pleased.

Halfway to the castle, Tormund stopped to catch his breath. The boar was heavy. He set the boar down next to him just before a bridge. The smile was still on his face when his brother-in-arms came out from the forest, a frown on his face. Tormund greeted him happily, but felt his brows draw together when he saw the look on his brother's face.

"You killed it?" Tormund gave him a look that said, "obviously" but didn't reply. Instead, he turned to look at the beast and breathed deeply. That would be a mistake. The moment he turned around, Tormund felt a stinging pain in his back. He glanced over to see his brother right behind him with his sword in Tormund's back. "In the back, Brother? You have less honor than a Crow." Tormund never heard his response.

Third Person POV

Once Tormund was no longer breathing, the older man took it upon himself to bury him at the bank of the creek underneath the bridge. Then, he grabbed the boar and began hoisting it up onto his own shoulders. He slowly made his way back to the castle with a devious smirk on his face. Finally, he'd get what he deserved. Wealth, power, and marriage to a beautiful princess. Everything he could have ever wanted.

*time skip*

Years passed. The elder brother married the princess while Prince Y/N fell into despair. He missed Tormund with ever fiber of his being. Tormund had been the love of his life and instead of a life together, he had been skewered by the very boar he'd been hunting. At least that's what everyone had been told. But our secrets always come to light eventually. And this was no different.

As it is made to do, the ground shifted over time, and one day, as he was walking home, a villager(a shepherd to be exact) noticed a white bone sticking out of the ground. Thinking it was an animal bone, he picked it up. Smiling to himself as he thought of what a good mouthpiece the bone would make for his horn, the villager began carving the bone.

Once he finished, he smiled at his handiwork. What he didn't expect was for the bone to begin singing. It was not a beautiful song by any means, but it sang nevertheless. It sang a tale of betrayal and of deceit and of treachery. A tale of murder. And the murderer was none other than the man who would be crowned king should something happen to the prince or princess. Without waiting a moment, the villager ran to the castle to inform the king.

When the king heard the bone sing, his heart broke for his son. The man he had loved was not dead by the boar's tusk, but by the hand of his own brother. In order to see the truth, the king ordered the ground around the bridge be dug up. He would know before the day was out. And sure enough, upon digging up the ground, the rest of the remains of Tormund were found.

The king told his son. To say the prince was upset would be an understatement. He was enraged. The proof was there and it could not be denied. He ordered the elder brother be thrown into the dungeons to await execution. Once Y/N had given Tormund a proper final resting place, he would demand justice.

As Y/N was deciding where to bury his love, he was approached by a strange man. He looked to be a wise man. "My prince, wait. What if I told you that your love could be returned to you?" Y/N merely stared for a moment before laughing in disbelief. "Do not give me false hope, old man." The man quirked a brow, but did not respond to the comment. Instead, he said, "The man, Tormund, was pure of heart in his pursuit of the boar. If he had not been, I would not have allowed him to find it at all. And because such a pure soul was struck down by deceit and betrayal, I can bring him back. But you must let him decide upon the justice to brought on his brother. It is only right."

Y/N agreed instantly. If this man was right and he could truly bring Tormund back, Y/N knew he had to try. "Do it if you can." The man, or rather, mage nodded and raised his hands above his head. Only then did Prince Y/N noticed the black spear. He stared at the weapon, hardly hearing the words the mage cried. Although, quiet a crowd of the palace's inhabitants had gathered, including the king himself.

Y/N and the others watched in horror and amazement as the bones began forming human tissue, muscles, organs, and skin. After a moment, Tormund stood before them, alive and well once more. Prince Y/N threw all propriety out the window as he lunged into Tormund's arms, catching the large man by surprise.

Once Tormund had been caught up on that had happened, he was shown to the dungeons where his brother waited. The man in question shook in his boots when he saw what he thought was the apparition of the brother he had slain. "It is true what they say, Brother. Our secrets, particularly murder, have a way of coming back to haunt us."

"What should we do with him?" Y/N asked. He had refused to leave Tormund's side for fear he would disappear again. "He left me on the creek bank with the hopes of washing his sins away. I think he should receive the same treatment. It is only fair."

At Tormund's command, the elder brother was sewn up in a sack and tossed in the nearest river to drown. The king was true to his word and granted his blessing for Tormund and Y/N to marry. The two spent the rest of their lives side-by-side. When death came for them in old age, they were buried the same way. Side-by-side, together for all eternity.

(a/n: So I couldn't leave Tormund dead like in the real story, so I came up with a happier ending. Thank you all so much for making this follower celebration so wonderful! And I appreciate you all following me in the first place! There will still be a 2nd part to both "A Hound-Shaped Helm" and "Three Days?". Meg's Game of Tales will have its own Masterpost so will not be part of my main masterpost or the Big Book of AUs.)

[dinthehottotty]

Cultural Differences - Part 1 - Din Djarin

Summary: Din proposes and you have no idea that you said yes. Not that you'd say no but you don't have the heart to tell him when you realize.

A/N: Before ya ask, yes, I do play assassin’s creed. I’m shamless, I don’t care.

Warnings: Fluff, maybe a sprinkling of angst, part two will have all the smut for @buttercup--bee​.

When you'd met Mando, you thought the same thing as everyone else from a glance. You believed him to be cold and dangerous. Very quickly did that entire idea go up in big, black smoke. It didn’t take long to watch this man ask for compliance rather than immediately demand it. He always did please and thank you’s when necessary and it was a surprise when that only got you hot and bothered.

Love was not on your radar when you joined his crew. Even now, months after you'd been working with him, you felt like you were pining for the man. That would imply that the awkward Mandalorian would ever foster the idea of a relationship with you. So instead you'd happily day dream your way through the days.

It was easy to do. There was no resentment at unspoken affection. You just loved both Mando and that little green bundle of wrinkles with everything in you. It always made you smile at how much he was an overprotective dad with his 50 year old baby. Even if he tried to deny that he was a dad now.

You found it too easy to tease him about it and your cute aggression reared it's ugly head. You were a person who's love language was physical touch. Constantly touching the bounty hunter surprised him in the beginning. But now it had no effect on him. You probably should have asked him more about Mandalorian culture because that would be your down fall with him.

It was a joke the first time you'd kissed his helmet. Planting a big, obnoxious kiss right on the top of his helmet when he was in the pilot seat and had maneuvered the razor crest out of quite the spot without killing you both. Now it was second nature to peck his helmet's cheek. A warm, friendly greeting when he'd returned from a hunt and when he departs for supplies. A quick smooch to his forehead and a pat to a pauldron as a thank you. Nudging his knee under the table at cantinas to tell him to calm down. A reassuring rub to his strong arms when Peli stresses him out too much. He even let you grasp his arm or thigh when you get excited about something. You were physically affectionate, you didn't think twice about gently bumping your forehead to his helmet when you were purposefully being annoying.

The last thing on your mind when doing this was actually whether or not Mando even thought much of it. He didn't tell you to stop, he never spoke about it, how were you to know.

One day, while Mando was on the floor trying to wear the kid out to go to sleep, you found teasing him all you could do. A light laugh bubbled up from you as his attempts failed repeatedly.

"Hand him over, Daddy." Squating down next to him. He turns his helmet towards you.

"I can handle it. Just go to bed," he orders, with no bark in his voice.

"Not a chance. Give 'im here." He heaves one of his heavy sighs before allowing you to scoop him up and into you. It was routine that you took the kid to bed most nights, Mando was okay with it, but he gives a frustrated sigh when the kid looks quickly like he's getting sleepy.

"Why is that so easy for you?"

"He's just used to me putting him to bed, Mando." You throw him a wink and bounce hip to hip as the kid jabbers sleepily.

There's a silence that feels a little heavy and the Mandalorian shuffles awkwardly. "I... I kind of wanted... nevermind," he cuts himself off, turning away.

That catches your attention very quickly. "No, no! Tell me, it's okay." Your hand darts out as he turns to leave and you catch his arm. He pauses even though he can easily push through it.

"I mean... you're like his mom. Kids like their mothers more. They sooth their children better and women are instinctivly better with kids." That startles you. Mando had never once referred to you as anymore than the kids nanny at any point. You weren't even originally hired to watch the kid.

You're cheeks flair up at that, burning uncomfortably and you feel... giddy perhaps? Did he think of you as a mom to his son? It catches you off guard.

"He definitely doesn't like me better," you reply softly and move closer. "I just put him to bed more often and it's close to bed time, that's all. Come here," you coax, your voice lowering to a warm tone. The bounty hunter twists reluctantly back towards you with slumped shoulders. The kid, who's half dozed in your arms, blinks up at him.

"He adores you, Mando, just take him."

"You don't have to-... its not a big deal."

"Take him," you insist. Finally he lifts the kid into his arms which makes the kid blink up with bigger eyes, a confused coo rising from him.

"Hes waking back up-"

"Shhh." You press forward, against Mando's arms as you run the pad of your thumb along the big ears. Softly you hum, no song in particular, and prompt the Mandalorian to sway with you both. It's a soft, intimate moment, that you never want to end.

It takes a few moments for the kid to settle back down and you hope it doesn't take to long but part of you longs for it not to end. The man-droid calling you his sons mother, or comparing you to one at the very least, is enough to fuel your longing for you employer with out a name for months.

At some point you glance up, expecting him to be watching his son. It paralyzes you when you find his visor trained on you. Gently you clear your throat, blush raising more on your cheeks.

"I didn't mean to overstep. I-"

Thunk.

The Mandalorian tilts his helmet forward and it knocks against your forehead suddenly. If you're honest, it actually hurts a bit with how hard he crashes his head into yours but suddenly the bunk feels so much smaller with him blocking the doorway. "You didn't." Is all he says, in his softest voice.

This was purposeful. He wanted to lean his head to yours. Not to be annoying. There was nothing practical about it, but he was doing it on purpose. Maybe he was feeling playful, you think. 

The both of you stay like that for a while, as you allow your eyes to close. It could have been seconds or hours but finally he shifts away to gently put the kid in his hammock.

"I have something for you." He admits.

"For me?" You repeat, a little dazed. He nods.

"You don't have to accept." You arch your eyebrow as you both exit the room and you watch him mosey over to his weapons vault. Your curious as you attempt to guess what it is mentally. You didn't need anything.

But then he drew out a bundle of fabric and brought it over with both hands. He doesn't say anything, instead he just holds the bundle. You pause, hesitantly taking it. It was heavy and solid with plenty of ridges. When you peel the fabric back, the beskar gleams and a surge of emotion rushes forward as you twist the gauntlet. As you look to the inside you see it, the hidden blade attached to the bottom, something you explained to him before.

A rite of passage from your assassin training on your home planet. Yours had long since broken and you couldn't wear it anymore and it had been two years. You’d only really brought it up to him once, cursing that you would of had the bounty he’d only had the chance to capture after he slipped from your grasp. Mando had given you a short, “I still got him,” and carried on until you were both in the safety of hyperspace. The bounty had been sealed away and you couldn’t even remember who it had been.

“Like a knife?” He prompts in a way that made you both confused and suspicious. 

“Knife? What knife?” you asked.

“You could have won the bounty if you had your blade?” he responded, he partially tipped your way. It was a bit odd of him to focus on that, a little out of character. You brushed it off, especially because he had previously explained that Mandalorians were religious about weapons. 

You hadn’t known much about them (really anything) before him. You just pegged him as having an unhealthy fixation about any type of new weapon.

“Oh, my hidden blade,” you hummed and leaned back, making a face. “It broke a while back. I was apart of an assassin’s group on my home world, they had a few initiation practices. The important one was when you get your hidden blade. It’s like a gauntlet without the hand and the blade sits on the inside of the wrist. When you flex your wrist, the blade extends. My safety broke on it, nearly lost my ring finger.” You’d wiggled your finger that had a deep scar on the inside of it. “Then the blade snapped clean in two and I haven’t found anyone to fix it. I have to go home, since the mechanisms are broken. There are so few of my people left, however, that I’ve just put it off.” Was your response. 

After that he’d never brought it up again. 

"Mando," your voice cracks as you glide your fingers across it. "Mando, it's beautiful." You slide it on. It's heavier than your used to, but it fits like a glove. A quick click and the blade shoots out with a flex of your wrist. "Thank you," you murmur before sinking the blade away and launching into a hug with him.

"Din." He says, making you peer up. "Din Djarin is my name." Your heart skips a beat against his chest. You gaze up at him for a moment, before smiling back down at it. You turn, switching the safety off, before twitching your wrist. The mechanism was backwards from what you were used to, but the shiny blade jutted out as fast as your original had. It’d take a while for you to adjust to the weight of it, but it’s like having a working prosthetic after missing a limb for years. 

“Din,” you test, “how did you get it to fit so well, my old one had straps I could adjust,” you ask. Drawing you eyes back up to the helmet, you let the big smile grow on your face. 

He clears his throat a bit and twists to look at the blade that slinked away almost soundlessly. “I... I would measure your wrist when I grabbed your arm. To move you or stop you while we were out.” You grin at him, switching the safety on so that you didn’t accidently stab him.

“I didn’t even notice!” You quickly, jerk forward and hug him. He squeezes you back eagerly but a thought occurs. “Wait,” you draw back to look at him. “This beskar, right?” 

“Yes.”

“I’m not Mandalorian, though. Won’t I get in trouble?”

“No, it’s given by a Mandalorian. There is no issue.” He promises and that’s the end of it because he thunks his helmet a little too hard against you again.

...

It goes on for months. Din suddenly being more physically affectionate with you. It makes you feel like you can have the softness that comes from a domestic relationship, the kind you never thought you could have. He called you something in Mando’a which seemed to change all the time. It was always at times you weren’t focused on what he was saying so you could never listen and try to look it up later. 

You had found a short list of terms people had translated from the lost and secretive language. Most were mean ones, and you’d only heard him use a couple of those, but never toward you... well... maybe one. But that’s not the point! You were so lost with him. 

It wasn’t until after nearly dying on Hoth, and then again on whatever water disaster of a planet this was. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And when Din dove in after those fisherman launched the kid in to be fed, you ripped those black market trades apart in sheer rage. Fortunately, or un fortunately, Mandalorians arrived and slaughtered more. You were happy to not have Din or the kid drown, but your want of revenge was exponential.

In short, it was a really rough week. One of the worst since the kid had arrived. He wouldn’t stop eating the frog lady’s kids that you were transporting. Not that your really surprised, but you were at the end of your rope.

Sitting in a warm little bar was nice. Between the kid warming himself in your arms and Din’s casual hand on your knee, you were simmering down. You were pressing yourself into din’s side, hoping to leach some of your warmth between his armor. He wasn’t even shivering anymore.

After quite the shock for the both of you when the other three took their helmets off, you had now been stunned into an exhausted mode. Anger had disappeared and replaced it’s self with the same distrust you felt radiating off Din. Shock seems to be the trend on this planet because one moment you’re ready to hear about the fall of Mandalore and the next Bo Katan is twisting to look directly at you. 

“I find it strange that you’re wearing beskar at a black market beskar port.” She throws at you. Everyone glances at your wrist. 

“It’s a gift.” Your rumbling response is the first words you’ve spoken to her from your sour mood. She lifts a condescending eyebrow at you. 

“From you I assume?” She asks Din. 

“Yes.” Is his response. 

“Why a gauntlet?” Bo Katan makes a face. A flick of the wrist and the blade makes and appearance. Eyes widen. “Ah. An engagement gift.” Your brain stuttered in your head. 

“How romantic,” her sidekick, Koska chirps. You were waiting for Din to deny it, all the while rushing through the encounter of when he gave it to you. Had Din proposed? Were you engaged to him this whole time? You weren’t even sure if he saw you in a romantic light, nevermind him actually wanting to marry you. 

“I’m surprised you accepted a proposal from a watcher. Can’t be easy to love someone if you can’t see their face.” Bo Katan remarks. Din’s head turns a little towards you, he’s trying to read you right now. He’s waiting for your response. Had he done this on purpose? He wouldn’t do it out of malace, that you’re certain on. You wouldn’t put it past him to go this long into a relationship and not talk about his feelings. 

“Hardly.” Koska smirks towards Bo Katan and you feel Din slowly let out a breath from beside you. You gently nudge his side. 

“But to never kiss, to never see his face, might be harder than you think.”

“She can see me once were married.” Those words shock you more than the actual announcement that you were engaged. It sealed it for you as well. This surprises those sitting across from you. The ring leader grins suddenly. 

“You really should communicate better with your partner. I don’t think she realized that you were even engaged to begin with.” Din swivels his head and you bite your lip as you’ve been caught red handed.

“You didn’t?” He asks, more of a demand. You wince.

“No, but even if I did know, I still would have accepted.” Din sighs, next to you, clearly frustrated. “In my defense, the only thing you asked me was, ‘Do you accept,’ which granted is a little cryptic, if I’m being honest.” Din takes a deep breath, shaking his head at you. 

“What normally takes place on your world? A gift, correct?”

“Yeah, a ring! Not a hidden blade, you dork. I will say, I prefer this, it’s much more practical.”

“You don’t know anything about Mandalorians, do you?” Bo Katan prompts.

You pass her a look. “I’d never even heard of a Mandalorian before I met him.” All three of them have amused reactions and Din just sinks more into your side. You drop your hand down to his knee. 

The conversation takes a new direction after that and your thankful to not have the attention on you anymore. 

It’s not until you have agreed to help the three of them that the both of you decide to take the oldest (and smallest) clan member to the frog lady’s house.

“If you don’t behave,” you murmur, bristling in the cold ocean breeze rolling through the streets, “I will allow the frog lady to eat you, okay?” you promise the kid. Din pulls you to a stop and the kid perks his tucked ears up, prepared for your betrothed to deny that promise.

“Were you pulling their leg in there? Did you really not know we were engaged?” 

“I mean, I suppose you were pretty forward with me, but I had no clue.”

“You think I was forward?” he demands. Uh oh. You were not expecting that response.

“What... what did I do that was forward?” You hear yourself ask when your not sure you want the answer. Din shakes his head at you. 

“The keldabe kisses?” 

“The what kisses? You mean me kissing your helmet?” 

“That too. Obviously, I’m not able to kiss you the way you’re used to. I won’t be able to until were married, so what Mandalorians do instead is the keldabe kiss.” His hands are placed on your shoulders to hold you in place and he leans down, thunking his helmet against your forehead. “This.” 

You’re eyes go wide as you think about the many times that you basically laid a big one on Din. “Did... did you consider us being in a... romantic relationship before you proposed?” 

“I believed we were, you didn’t?” What a question. Mortification filled you and you could feel your cheeks burning despite the brisk wind. “Do... do you love me?” Your chest aches deeply at the insecurity in Din’s voice. The sound that rumbles isn’t like his warm and gentle tone he usually has. It’s brittle and frail.

“Of course I do! I just... I thought we were just really close friends, that you didn’t see me in that way so I bottled it up and hid it away. I mean... I wanted to mean more to you, but I just... maker, I feel so stupid.” The kid coos with confusion in your arms as you pull away. “Din, I’m sorry.” 

“Do you want to marry me?” He asks so softly it’s almost taken by the wind. You find yourself immediately folding into his arms.

“Yes, Din, yes, I want to marry you. I love you.” You murmur the last part against his cape, feeling to shy to look at him when you say it. His rigid body soften around you and suddenly you’re clutched tightly to his chest. Tighter than he’s ever held you. Ironically, for the first time all day it feels like you can actually breathe. 

“Good... good.” He breathes near you. 

“Can we get out of the wind for a bit?” you prompt.

“Yes, let’s go.” Not how you were expecting your day to start... or end. But there are worse endings to bad days.

Tagging:

@lxdyred​, @boliv-jenta​, @amidjarin​, @buttercup--bee​

[hopelikethemoon]

Room Service (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: Room Service Rating: Explicit Length: 2500 Warnings: Smut (bathtub sex) Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set May 22nd, 1998 after “I Do”. I had a lot more planned for today, as it’s the 100th update of MTMF, but my brain was like “boo you suck” all day so HERE WE ARE. Summary: Reader and Javier celebrate after their wedding. 

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale  @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand​ @historynerd04​ @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl  @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque @theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps

You traced your fingers over your name and Javier’s as you stared down at the marriage certificate that legally bound the two of you together. Marriage used to feel like a restrictive societal construct that was used and abused by people. The thought of getting married used to fill you with dread — you could still remember how anxious you felt after Lance had offhandedly mentioned his own desires to get married and have a family. 

And then there was Javier. 

He wasn’t particularly old fashioned, but you had known for awhile now that he wouldn’t mind marrying you. Hell, he wore a band on his left ring finger that was meant to look like a wedding band. 

You tucked the certificate in between the pages of the travel map you had brought, before stowing it in the interior pocket of your suitcase. You’d have to get a protective sleeve for it when you got back to Miami — and update whatever needed to be updated to reflect that you were married. 

There was a knock at the door and you rose from the bed to open the door. 

“Room service.” Javier said with a put-on voice as he walked inside, brandishing two bottles of champagne. 

“Oh, I don’t remember ordering room service.” You teased as you shut the door behind him. “I think you have the wrong room.”

“I believe your husband ordered these.” He winked at you, his lips drawn into a grin. 

You bit down on your bottom lip as you leaned in to him, ruffling your fingers through his hair as you lean up to kiss him. “I do have one of those now.”

You took the bottles from his hands and walked over to the counter where the coffee pot was. “Champagne from a plastic cup or a coffee mug?”

Javier moved in behind you, his arms snaking around your waist as he rested his chin against your shoulder. “Plastic cup.” He kissed the curve of your neck, “I thought we might utilize that fancy tub in the bathroom.”

Your brows quirked upwards and you caught his reflection in the mirror in front of you. “What are we celebrating again?”

He cupped your jaw and turned your head so he could kiss you. You turned in his arms, draping them over his shoulders. 

You smiled against his lips, brushing your noses against his as you pulled back to meet his eyes, “I swear Javi, a five minute ceremony in the city hall has taken five years off of you.” You traced your finger down the side of his cheek, before curling it around the back of his neck. 

Javier chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m just happy. Real fucking happy, baby.” 

“Me too.” You whispered as you kissed him again, letting it linger before you pulled back. “Go get the water running and I’ll pop the corks on these.” 

Javier stole another kiss before he reluctantly released you and headed into the bathroom. You grabbed the small hand towel that was sitting beside the coffee pot, covering the neck of the bottle as you twisted the bit of metal that held the cork in place. You leaned it to the side and worked the cork out. 

Somehow celebrating your wedding in a hotel room in San Francisco, with two bottles of champagne and plastic cups screamed perfect to you. 

Nothing about your relationship with Javier had been particularly flashy. Even the details of it had been intentionally downplayed for the news. No one needed to know. 

Only your family — Monica, Nadia, and Steve and Connie — knew the truth. And you were content with keeping it that way. 

You placed the cups over the open bottles of champagne and followed Javier into the bathroom. 

“I’m glad we’re finally getting some use out of this thing. Right before we go home, of course.” You grinned as you sat the bottles down on the broad side of the tub. It was clearly designed to be entertained in. 

Javier swept his fingers through his hair, flashing you a grin. “Better late than never.”

“The theme of our lives.” You quipped, snapping your finger and shooting finger guns at him. “You should feel very proud of yourself.”

“Yeah?”

“Steve always jokes that I domesticated you, but in reality you domesticated me too.” You tilted your head as you met his gaze, a warm smile playing over your lips. “You loved me just enough to convince me to pop the question.”

You took a step towards him, reaching for his left hand and bringing it to your lips. You kissed the spot just above the ring on his finger. 

“You sure I can’t tell Chucho?” Javier questioned as he curled his fingers around yours. 

“Javier!” You laughed as you rolled your eyes. “I guess you can tell him. Just him.” You warned him. “If I find out you’ve told Steve I will be forced to divorce you.”

“Baby.” Javier’s hand curled around your hip, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. “It’s our secret, save for pops.”

You rested your forehead against his, playing your fingers over the back of his neck. “Let’s tell him when we go there for Thanksgiving.”

He nodded, “I don’t know if he’ll believe us.”

You laughed, “I barely believe it.” You tilted your head, brushing your lips over his as your hand moved downwards to work at his belt. “The water’s going to get cold.

“We wouldn’t want that,” Javier said lowly, catching your bottom lip between his teeth and applying just enough pressure as he drew back to make your body throb with want. 

He reached around behind you, drawing the zipper of your dress down your back, letting the red fabric fall around your feet as he stepped forward, causing you to step backwards towards the bathtub.

You pulled his belt loose from the loops, making quick work of the button and zipper — shoving his jeans down his hips. 

“We’re celebrating.” You reminded him, giving his cock a brief squeeze through his boxers before you slipped out of his grip and finished undressing by yourself. 

Javier fixed you with a ravenous look, his gaze raking over your bare skin like it as the first time he’d seen you. “Baby, you’re gorgeous.”

You grinned, watching him undress the rest of the way as you poured the champagne into each cup. “You’re pretty easy on the eyes yourself.” You remarked, biting down on your bottom lip as your gaze flickered to his hardened cock resting against his belly. 

You held out the cup and Javier took it from you. “We gonna toast?” He questioned. 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “To a long life together.”

“To a long life together,” Javier echoed as he tapped the rim of his cup against yours, before you both took a sip. “We’ve got, what? Another good forty years together.”

You sputtered, “Aim high, babe. Let’s say fifty.” The thought of spending a single day without him in your life made your heart ache. You sat the cup down on the edge of the tub as you stepped in, sinking down into the warm water. 

“Think I’ll make it to ninety-seven?” Javier questioned as he moved to sit across from you in the tub. 

“You only smoked for what? Thirty years?” You scrunched up your nose. “Maybe you’ll make it ninety.”

He shook his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “I used to think about this shit, you know? Figured I’d end up on the ranch. Alone.”

“Funny,” You started somberly. “I always pictured myself alone too. Living in a small apartment in a city, married to my work. I don’t even think I saw myself having a pet.” You took another sip of champagne. “Now I have everything besides a white picket fence and… I can’t picture another life.”

Javier scratched at his jaw, “Me neither,” He mirrored you as you both took another sip of champagne. “All I see is you.”

“I always used to say that I could do all of this without you. With Josie, at least. But, I don’t think I would’ve really wanted to. You’re part of what makes this life perfect.”

“Aw, baby. You sound like you might want to marry me someday.” He teased, nudging at your leg with his foot beneath the water. 

You flipped him off.

“There’s my girl.”

“Fuck off, Javier.”

“You’re stuck with me.”

You feigned disgust, “What have I done?”

“You were already stuck. You have two kids with me.”

“Touché.” You pursed your lips as you turned to grab the bottle of champagne and moved across the tub to join him. 

You sat the bottle and your cup on the edge as you settled down beside him, leaning back against the edge of the tub. “I can’t wait to see the girls grow up. Josie’s going to be such a spitfire.”

“The older she gets the more obvious it is that she’s your daughter.” Javier remarked, curling his arm around you beneath the water as he took a sip of champagne. 

“She’s a character alright,” You laughed. “We need to get her back into ballet.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, “What? Not threatened by the dance moms now?”

You slapped his chest playfully, “I was never threatened, buddy.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “And we’re not going back to that dance studio.”

“She enjoyed gymnastics.” Javier mused, finishing off his cup of champagne before grabbing the bottle and refilling. 

You took the bottle from him and drank straight from it, “Sofía is totally you. She’s such a cranky little baby.”

“Oh, trust me. I know.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “What are we doing for her birthday?”

“Something small on the Sunday before.” You took another pull from the bottle before passing it back to him. “I did set up a family photo session for the weekend after.”

Javier leaned over and kissed your temple, “Think we can pull Monica into the photo this time?”

“Oh yeah,” You grinned. “She’s got to this time.” You shifted closer to him, your leg pressed against his beneath the water. “Hey, Javi.”

“Yeah?” He turned to look at you. 

“We got married today.”

Javier’s eyes lit up as he met your gaze. “We did. Baby, you made me the happiest man alive today.”

You maneuvered yourself into his lap, straddling his thighs as you leaned in to kiss him. The water lapped at your skin at the wake of your movements. 

“You made me pretty damn happy today too.” You told him, your words muffled against his mouth.

Javier ran his hand up your back, his other hand curling around your hip as he shifted beneath you, his cock pressed right against the apex of your thighs. 

Today truly had been one of the best days of your life. Everything about it had been perfect. From the early morning decisions, to Javier’s vows. To this moment right here. 

You loved him. With every fiber of your being. Against all odds. You were both more than a little broken and yet, from those broken pieces you had created a family for yourselves. 

Javier’s hands dragged up your sides as you rocked against him, sliding your cunt against his cock beneath the water. 

He ran one hand up, fingers tangling in your hair as he grasped at the base of your head and pulled you in for another kiss. 

You grabbed at his shoulder for leverage as you worked your other hand down between you to grasp at his cock. You held him steady, rising up on your knees before lowering yourself onto him. 

Your name spilled from Javier’s lips as you rolled your hips downwards, seating him fully within you. He ran his hand over your lower stomach, sliding his hand around to grab at your hip. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“So do you.” You whispered, scraping your fingers through his hair as you leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his. “Husband.” You teased, cupping his jaw. 

Javier moved beneath you, leaning forward to brush his lips over the valley between your breasts. He ran a hand up your stomach, skimming his fingers over your ribs before he grasped at your breast. 

He trailed his mouth down the curve of your breast, catching your nipple between his lips and swirling his tongue around the hardened peak. 

A moan rose up the back of your throat and you clenched around him in response as you ground your hips against him. 

He cupped your other breast, teasing the other nipple in tandem with his mouth. He left a row of open-mouthed kisses over your skin, before biting softly at the tender flesh.  

You inhaled sharply and tugged are the soft strands of his hair, drawing his head back as you looked down at him. “Making up for lost time?”

Javier smirked, “You know how much I love your tits, baby.” He drawled out, cupping them both as he palmed them roughly. 

“Forever a tits man.” You laughed, reaching behind him to grab at the edge of the tub, angling yourself so the bounced right in his face as you moved atop him.

He groaned, a low sound that rumbled in his chest as he thrust upwards. He grabbed at your ass, certain to leave bruises there as he left kisses on the soft skin of your breasts. 

You were close. You could feel the tight bind of desire pulling within your belly, threatening to snap. “Fuck. Fuck.” You hissed out as you rotated your hips, trying to get just the right angle. 

Javier dragged his mouth along your collarbone, his tongue sweeping out to taste your skin as he grasped your breast, stroking his thumb over your nipple. 

“Are you going to come for me, baby?” He questioned, his lips coming to rest close to your ear. “I wanna feel you. Wanna feel you come for me.”

The band snapped within you. 

Javier’s released your hip, hand delving beneath the water to the point where his cock was buried within you. He stroked his thumb over your clit, pushing you straight over the edge. 

You cried out, louder than you should’ve, as your body pulsed around him, your release burning hot through your veins. 

Your name was heavy on his tongue as your nails dug into his shoulders, his own release coming quick on the heels of yours. He bucked upwards, holding you tight as he came, his cock pulsing as his seed spilled from him. 

“Javi. Javi.” You whispered as you sought out his lips, kissing him almost desperately. You ran your fingers through his hair, sinking forward against him as little trembles of your release continued. 

Javier curled an arm around you, keeping you pressed to him as you both basked in the moment. 

“Holy… shit.” He laughed, pressing his lips to the side of your head. 

“Keeps getting better.” You mumbled, tracing your finger down the curve of his shoulder. “I love you.”

He gave your hip three squeezes as he trailed his lips down your cheek. “Forever and always.” Javier promised, “Wife.”

You snorted, “Get that out of your system before we get home.”

“I’m never gonna get you out of my system, baby.”

[eirian-houpe]

Storybrooke’s Best Kept Secret

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Past Abuse, Angst, Romance, Eventual Smut

Summary: Ruby has a secret, even though she doesn't know she does, until one day she bumps into the one man who can carry the secret out of the cottage in the woods - though not literally. Now that he know the secret, however, what will Jefferson /do/ with it, and what would it mean for Storybrooke if he were to tell Gold? Is Gold even awake... And what might happen if the Dark One discovered the truth?

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 2 - To Live the Lie...

“I’m going to follow this track,” Jefferson told her.  “Either you can come with me, or go home.  It’s your choice, but I’m going.”

Ruby stood, caught in indecision as she watched Jefferson’s retreating back, his coat almost flying out behind him as his strides grew longer; adopted his own, usual, gait. Something about his determination finally broke through the fog that was gathering in her mind. They’d been talking about something, hadn’t they… someone?

“Wait!” she called out; watched his steps slow again and found herself almost trotting to catch up to him.

When she reached his side, he turned to her with an expression of intense suspicion on his face, sparking in his eyes, then he asked, “So… Ruby… what will we find at the end of this track, pray tell?”

Ruby frowned.  Why was he so interested in reaching the end of the track? Why was he asking her what was at the end of it when she’d already told him she didn’t…

The track turned a bend, and Ruby felt a shiver go through her, and she tipped her head up, staring at the gap in the trees ahead where wisps of smoke were drifting through the air, from Belle’s fire.

Belle!

She would hate that Ruby had brought another person; never forgive her.

She suddenly hurried ahead of Jefferson and turned around, trotting backwards as he strode forwards, a sheepish look on her face as she said, “Actually, I’ve just remembered. Scatterbrain, me. There’s nothing at the end of this track except the creek, a-and… the path to the well, so—”

She stopped, as Jefferson abruptly stopped walking.

“You said,” he began, and then seemed to change his mind as he reached out to take her shoulders, gently, but his grip was uncompromising. He leaned down to look directly into her eyes and said, “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not, I—”

He moved her out of his path, and hurried on ahead, his strides long and determined.

“Oh,” Ruby grumbled, and hurried to try and catch up to him. “Please don’t.  She won’t want to see you, and… and she’ll think it’s my fault, and—”

They broke from the wooded pathway and into the clearing, occupied by the tiny cottage, with its fenced in garden, beautifully tended, and the figure kneeling in front of one of the flower beds, a tiny little hand rake in her hand.

As Jefferson came to a sudden halt again - and Ruby almost collided with him again - Belle leaped to her feet, a look of… Ruby couldn’t quite decide what exactly, surprise, horror, surprised horror at her friends betrayal?

“Belle, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— He… I… I bumped into him on the road, and he insisted.”

Belle shook her head, and then, first looking between them, she appeared to fix her gaze on the man that had put them both in this position.

“Jefferson!” Belle said, almost breathless.

He felt as though a giant fist had just gut punched him, and all the air flew from his lungs as Belle called his name. He had no idea what he expected to find as he followed Ruby along the track into the forest, but this was about as far from anything he could have imagined as anything in all of the realms.

“Belle,” he managed hoarsely when he had gathered enough of his senses to speak, by which time Belle had pulled off the gloves she was wearing, hurried to the gate and threw it open. She was running toward him with a mixed expression of disbelief and relief, and— 

“Jefferson,” she repeated, and threw herself at him so he had no choice but to catch her, wrap his arms around her and hold her almost as tightly as she was holding him. He realized then, as the tears gathered in his eyes, that he had never been so happy, and so angry both at the same time, as he was in that moment.

“I’m here,” he said, ridiculous even to his own ears, as his mind raced. He couldn’t imagine what lies Regina had put into Belle’s head, but he doubted it would be anything pleasant.

“I thought—” Belle began, drawing back but still clinging tightly to the lapels of his coat. “I never—” she drew a breath. “You’re… alive.”

Jefferson frowned, beginning to get a knotted, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Of course I’m alive,” he said softly, his voice full of his dread and confusion. “So this is where she’s been keeping you.”

“Keeping me? She?”

“Regina,” he all but spat the queen’s name.

“No, no Jefferson, you have it all wrong,” she all but sang, and his sinking feeling sank lower as she cupped his cheek in her hand and told him. “She saved me. She was the one who freed me, brought me here and gave me this cottage, a place to live.”

Jefferson felt as if the world were spinning sideways. He knew the truth of course - remembered as he remembered everything - well, almost everything - how Rumplestiltskin had sent her away, that part he didn’t understand, and how Regina had captured Belle just as she would have returned to the Dark Castle. It would have lifted the despair into which his friend - and sometime employer - had fallen. He knew that the queen had kept Belle in her tower until she had cast the curse, and then… then he’d lost track; tormented by more important, more personal, and painful things.

As if she were reading his mind, Belle sharpened his focus, but blurred some very intentional, very important lines, as she asked almost desperately, “Paige… is she here? Our little girl? Did she escape too?”

Jefferson’s gut lurched again as her question spoke volumes of the twisted, evil machinations of the queen. Worst even that he could ever have believed. He knew Belle couldn’t help it; what she believed was what Regina wanted her to believe, but it made him feel sick with worry, with confusion, with indecision and with anger. How dare she do this to them, to him.  Wasn’t Grace enough leverage to ensure he fulfilled her every wish and whimsy?

“Paige…” the name felt like ashes in his mouth, but he forced himself to go on - for now at least. There was no telling what else Regina had worked into the curse, that he might fall foul of triggering if he didn’t… play along. “…is fine. Living in town.”

Belle frowned, “With you?”

“No.”

The question, and his answer stabbed him like hot needles through his heart, and he fought the sob that caught in his chest, and not to lean in to the very real, human caress that Belle brushed against his cheek, where her thumb, her hand, still rested.

“Why not?” she asked softly.

“It’s… complicated,” he managed, and then reached up to lift her hand away from his face and hold it gently in his own. “When you’re… better,” he said, thinking there would be hell to pay when the curse broke and everyone awakened, “you’ll understand.”

“I… trust you,” she told him, “but… I… miss you.”

“I miss you too, Belle,” he told her, and that at least was true. He missed her smiling face, the way she would chuckle at his playful, only-half-serious antagonistic banter with Rumplestiltskin. He missed the cold nights when he and Grace would stay warm within the castle. Missed teasing her about her love for her ‘beast.’ If only he could somehow awaken Rumplestiltskin, bring the truth to him. He would know what to do. Oh, how he would turn the tables on Regina then; hoist her with her own petard.

“But… darling,” if he were going to do that, he would have to keep it as much of a secret as Belle’s presence here in the woods that he and she had met, had spoken; that he knew Regina’s sick and twisted truth. So, he tried the endearment, tried to imagine what he might have called her, if she had truly been his love, “you must tell no one that you’ve seen me. I wasn’t supposed to come, and they’ll be angry.”

“But—” she said and he face creased in sadness.

“They warned me that it might hamper your recovery,” he told the lie that he imagined might be the truth if this madness were truly the circumstances in which they found themselves. “Too much, too soon.”

She took a deep breath then, and he could see her push back her sadness and gather her resolve even as she lifted their joined hands to her cheek, and nuzzled at his fingers. He fought not to snatch his hand away, instead he lifted their hands to his lips and bestowed a chaste - and appropriate to their friendship - kiss to her knuckles.

“I have to go,” he told her.

“I won’t tell,” she assured him. “I want to get well, so that we can be together again… all of us.”

“I want that too,” he said, and it was truthful. He wanted nothing more than for Belle and Rumplestiltskin to be reunited, and for him and Grace to once again spend evenings by the fire with their dearest friends. “More than you can know.”

[ivanshatov]

trespasser

wc: 2.7k

i wrote this in january so it’s kinda bad and stilted and a bit ooc for the character development i’ve done </3 but it also comes slightly after the fic i just posted and i feel brave so i’m posting both xoxo gossip girl

Sujani knew the theatre like the back of her hand. After all, it had been her home for the last few years, and she’d grown accustomed to Edel’s labyrinths and corridors littered throughout the seemingly endless building. She knew every exit, entrance, nook, cranny, and section, the patterns and details burned into her mind. Just proper for a stage manager, even moreso for a familiar. Through her familiarity with the theatre, however, she had been acquainted with their newest trespasser rather quickly. It was Mia who had first spotted him lurking around the grounds in the weeks prior, just as dusk settled in. “Friend of yours? Friend of Luca’s?” she asked, masking the last hours of daylight with a paper fan.

“Certainly not,” Sujani insisted, peering out through the intricate windowpane at the suspicious figure. “I’ve never seen that man in my life.”

“Engländer,” Mia muttered. “A Briton. It must be. Donning his tourist fare and all. See?”

That was the first incident with the trespasser, until he became one frequent arrival on the security cameras and outer sidewalks. He had evaded interaction with Sujani, keeping his distance from the realm of the theatre, and she kept his lingering presence to the back of her mind.

During the daylight hours, Sujani took the liberty of drawing the curtains, allowing brilliant sunlight to enter through the theatre’s majestic windows. Edel often griped over open curtains and loosened blinds, but as Sujani was busy tending to the theatre’s auditorium and proscenium, the extra light was of use to her. It was also much more useful in exposing any pesky breathers trying to enter where they were not invited. The stray tourist or pedestrian could be turned away easily and handed a pamphlet with a gleeful smile, but it was seldom a breather entered the theatre with bad intent. After all, the theatre’s always been a place to relax and unwind. The new trespasser was certainly not a theatregoer, though, as his ruckus could be heard from the lighting booth where Sujani sat.

Finding her pocketknife and hiding it drawn behind her back, she crawled over the pit and glided over the stage, skirt bouncing behind as she pulled back the curtains. She hummed a light tune, scanning the dark area of the wings and backstage for any movement. Drawing her eyes from the fly weights to theq leftover debris from the last season’s closer, she at last spotted the trespasser.

He was staring at the portrait of Edel. Her symmetrical face, round cheeks, hypnotic stare. His hands were folded behind his back, crucifix held loose in one. It reminded Sujani of her own personal souvenir, and she unsheathed her pocketknife. Then, taking a silent step closer, she cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”

The trespasser flinched, remaining in his position for a fleeting moment before turning to meet Sujani’s eyes, crucifix raised. “I-It’s daytime.” 

Despite hiding behind sunglasses and heavy clothes in the peak of summertime, like a true coward would, Sujani recognized the trespasser. Mia’s Engländer, the one on the cameras, the one with the hat. He had evaded capture those last two times, narrowly escaping a meeting with Sujani as she observed the security cameras from her vantage point in the mezzanine. But, at last, she had caught him red-handed, in the midst of his favorite and only activity. She smiled, eyes shimmering with irony. “You’re mistaken.” This was no theatregoer and certainly no tourist, if the sharpened crucifix and silver rosaries told her anything. 

Sujani held her forced smile. Keeping one hand behind her back, she drew a hand up to her face, pulled back her lips, revealing two sets of straight and dull human teeth. “See?”

The trespasser didn’t relent, keeping his grip on his homemade crucifix. “A daywalker.”

“You amuse me, but no. I’m a breather like you. After all...” Sujani began, stretching out a hand to the crucifix and clutching the intersection. She released her hand, holding it up with a growing smile. “You see? No injury in sight. Not the smell of smoke, either. Proof enough for you? Good. Now.” Sujani waved a hand, waiting for him to lower his arm, and then continued. “I know who you are. You’ve been sniffing around for the past week. Not very subtly, might I add. If you don’t want to give away your penchant to destroy all vampirekind, perhaps don’t carry around wooden stakes and crucifixes everywhere. It alienates the locals, no?” she tilted her head to the crux.

“You are American,” he said, in a tone somewhere in between a question and a statement. His expression had not trembled or changed once, and he kept the look of utter disinterest firm, exacerbated by his shaded eyes. Yes, Sujani thought, this man is certainly suspicious. Undoubtedly up to no good.

“Yes, yes, I am. And you must be from some obscure bit of the United Kingdom nobody’s ever heard of. Rest assured, I do not care from where you hail. Rather, I’m graciously extending you the offer to leave, you know, before my boss flies down and shreds you to utter pieces,” Sujani continued, pausing to observe her nails. “I know what you are here to do. I don’t know your reasons, but I’ll politely ask you to leave under threat you may become drained of your blood and left a cold corpse in the bottom of this theatre.”

The trespasser— no, the Engländer, the Englishman— let out a sullen sigh. “A familiar,” he said in that deadpan tone.

“Yes, that is I. Now, will you accept my other? Kindly leave us alone? Return to whence you came from, and never disgrace us with your presence yet again?” She gestured to the door to the balcony, still ajar and weighted by a flyweight.

The Englishman glanced at the floor, then back at the portrait. Edel, in their ballgown, cheeks red with dye and falsified life. He turned back to Sujani and said, “I can’t do that.”

She scoffed. “Sure you can. What’s your name, young man? Don’t you have a life? A family? People you care for in this world? You’ve really chosen to resign your life to the slaughtering of beings you know nothing of?” She frowned, shifting her weight and waiting for another deadpan response from the trespasser.

“I know much of vampires,” he replied before turning his back once again, scanning the portrait. “My name is none of your business. If you allow me to do mine, you can be free from her bidding,” he declared, lifting a finger to the portrait.

“I am not looking to be freed by the likes of you,” Sujani snapped, running a finger over the blade of the knife. “I quite like my life, and my overseer.” He lowered his gaze, but did not turn to look at her. “You must go,” she pleaded. “For your own safety. You are still young. Why are you out here, concerning yourself with affairs of other people?”

“You are not people,” he snarled, whipping around with the crucifix in hand. “You’re the farthest thing from a person.”

Sujani stared at his cold expression and heaved another exasperated sigh, then pointed the pocketknife. “I suppose I’m going to have to force you to leave, then? You wouldn’t dare hurt another human being, now, would you? A breathing, bleeding, living human being.” She stepped forward, attempting to look menacing as she could in her frilly shirt and buckled shoes, knife drawn and eyes narrowed. “Much like yourself, young man.”

He scoffed and began to walk backwards, crucifix still dangling from the tips of his fingers. Sujani continued forward, knife drawn as he lifted his free hand, searching in the darkness for an exit into the corridors of the theatre. Between them, in the silence of the backstage, she could hear only the frantic pounding of her heart in her ears and the short  breathing of the trespasser as he searched for an egress.

Above them, a catwalk creaked, and then, descending from the second floor of the stage, still tying her corset, appeared Edel. “Do we have a trespasser on our hands?”

The Englishman stumbled forward, crucifix outstretched, before Sujani grabbed his arm, pulling him backwards, further into the darkness of the theatre’s left wing.

“You should be sleeping, Ms. Veice!” Sujani exclaimed, surprise evident. The Englishman’s glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose to reveal two olive eyes filled with dread.

Edel’s haughty laughter filled the stage, and she appeared above Sujani’s head, red eyes piercing the darkness of the wings. “Nonsense. He’s been bothering you, hasn’t he? No longer. Come on, now, I could use a midday snack.”

It only took a few words and a swift movement to break him from his trance. Sujani grabbed both his arms, slamming him against a door leading to one of the many corridors of the theatre, and it swung open. “Left, right, first door to your left. Run,” Sujani hissed, releasing him and watching as he stumbled out into the darkness. Edel landed on her feet and streaked past Sujani down the corridor, leaving behind a homemade crucifix clattering on the floor. The sound of panicked footsteps continued down the hall, and Sujani followed, leaving the door to the wings ajar. As she stepped across the resistant hardwood, she heard the familiar sound of a creaking door swinging open, followed by a light hiss and a fearful set of feet exiting down a fire escape. Edel appeared back in the hall, glum and undoing their corset as they floated above the floorboards. 

“Well, you just scared the living daylights out of the man,” Sujani commented, hiding the homemade crucifix behind her back. 

“That was but the intention, my darling Sujani.” Edel rolled their eyes, returning to the floor and picking up the edges of their petticoat as their corset went slack. “I gave him quite a fright! He won’t be coming back for a while now. That’s the one, is it not?”

Sujani peered over Edel’s shoulder, as if he would appear again in the hall as they talked, stake drawn. She blinked, averting her gaze back to a gloomy Edel. “Yes. Yes, I believe so. But, I must say, I do have a feeling we will not be seeing the last of him for quite some time.”

Edel bobbed her head and then raised a delicate hand to mask her yawn. “Why say you such things?”

“Suspicion,” she replied, offering a placid smile. “Do not worry, he will get nowhere near you, nor any of the others, let me say,” Sujani insisted, allowing the crucifix to clatter to the ground as she took Edel’s hand. “You must head back now. I wouldn’t want you to grow weak. Why were you out anyways? It’s unsafe these hours, especially in...”

With a wave of her hand, Edel cut Sujani off. “No need. I had a feeling. This theatre is but an extension of myself, my darling Sujani, and I know when there is something afoot.” They relaxed their shoulders, pressing their hands to their chest with a sigh. “And you must dispose of that, my darling, before someone is to be harmed.” Edel’s eyes touched the crucifix, burdened with nostalgia, before she lifted a hand to her face. “I do feel rather weakened by the light. I don’t suppose you will escort me back, and then do draw those curtains in the auditorium?” Edel folded their hands, turning their nose up as they continued. “I would rather my entire cast not be incinerated by sunlight.”

Sujani pursed her lips and held out her hand to Edel, kicking the crucifix to the side. “Certainly, Ms. Veice. I’ll attend to that right away.” 

Leading Edel through the dimly lit halls, then down the staircase to the hideaway, Sujani’s rising anxiety melted away and the corridors and patterns returned to her mind. “Goodnight, my darling Sujani,” Edel said as they disappeared into the shadows of the room, a faint candlelight outlining the cover of their coffin.

“Goodnight, Ms. Veice.”

The crucifix remained where Sujani had left it, right beside the open door back to the stage. Sujani sucked in a breath as she lifted it up, twirled it in her hands, and smashed it upon the floor. The wood buckled and split as she slammed it again, again, and once more for good measure, until her palms were streaked red and she had received a splinter in her index. Splintered pieces of wood now decorated the floor, and nobody on would ever be aware there was a crucifix to begin with, Sujani thought, as she swept away the pieces. Crossing the stage to the disposal and feeling the warmth of the summer light on her face, Sujani watched as it disappeared among the broken sets and discarded scripts.

[limited-practice]

Communications Expert 1

Every now and again I get an intense amount of love for secondary/background/unpopular characters, the more uncool they are the better, and after seeing a drawing that @shapeofmetal drew (all my thanks to you for creating that), I couldn’t stop thinking about writing a thing with Hubcap in it.

Highly intelligent overlooked underappreciated awkward nerds with minds filthier than a sewer who could kill you in a second with no remorse are 100% my type. 

3003 words of explicit Hubcap/female reader are under the cut.

Movie night started ten minutes ago and Hubcap still hasn’t shown up.

So being the good friend that you are, you offer to go check in on him. You’ve seen this movie before and don’t mind missing the first part of it, which is boring anyway. You’re not concerned that something’s happened to him, but you are disappointed and more than slightly irritated at him for not showing up. You did an excellent job manoeuvring everyone around so that the only empty seat left for him to take would be next to you. And now he’s going to insist that you take the seat while he sits on the floor, meaning that you’ll have to sit next to someone who eats too loudly or talks too much and who doesn’t sneak glances at you when you think you aren’t looking.

This distracting train of thought might be why you open the door to his hab suite without knocking first, and why you don’t notice that the door’s keypad is outlined green for open instead red for locked.

“Are you OK?” you say a bit too harshly as you stride into his room. “We’re all waiting for you and since you didn’t show up on time I’ve now got to sit next to someone who- OH. Oh shit, shit I’m sorry.”

You whip your head to the side but it’s too late. You’ve seen him and he’s seen you and now you know why he wasn’t at movie night.

He was laying on his bed, one arm behind his head to use as a pillow as his other hand pumped his dick, legs spread wide and eyes half-closed in bliss. Then you spoke and his eyes widened and you both made a sharp hot flash of horrified eye contact and now you can hear him scrambling upright and transforming part of himself away.

“I’m really sorry for disturbing you,” you say in a rush. 

He’s perched on the very edge of the bed, frozen and rigid and looking like he wants to die. He looks mortified.

You’re sorry you’ve embarrassed him, but you’re not sorry enough to leave. You should be halfway down the corridor now, but you’re not. Instead you’ve been possessed by the fleeting image of how you saw him - relaxed and enjoying himself, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He was taking his time with himself, and that expression on his face… You feel a swooping sensation in your stomach as you remember it. He must have been so wrapped up in his fantasy that he had no idea how much time had passed. You wonder who he was thinking about, and that feeling in your stomach twists painfully. 

“Um, I’ll go now,” you say, suddenly deflated. You want to ask him who he was thinking about just as much as you never want to know. It could be someone you don’t like, or someone you’d never stand a chance against. It could be literally anyone but you. 

You take a step backwards and this rouses him.

“No, don’t,” he says quickly without thinking about it. “Please don’t. I mean-just. I’m sorry. But please don’t go, I was just thinking of- Um.” He closes his eyes as his mortification sinks deeper. 

You should take this chance. Bite the bullet and just ask him. If you don’t like the answer then you can both be horribly embarrassed and you never have to speak of this again. So you should do it. Do it now while you have the nerve.

You take a deep breath and gabble out on the exhale “Who were you thinking of just now was it anyone I know or was it me or not me I just want to know especially if it was me.“

You didn’t mean to say more than those first five words and now you’re blushing furiously and want to die alongside him. Before you can close your eyes you make eye contact with him again and find that you can’t look away.

“Yes,” Hubcap admits in a brave whisper. “I was thinking of you.”

You’re pretty sure the two of you are giving off enough heat to set the fire alarms off, even though you know they’re activated by smoke not heat. But there’s a hammering in your ears and it’s difficult to think straight.

You’re not sure how long you stand immobile and he sits frozen. One of you should make the first move. 

“So, uh,” you begin. “That’s good. Thank you. I mean- yeah. That’s nice. Good.”

You should write these words down and submit them for a place in the history books.

Hubcap smiles and shifts in place where he sits. He’s not making any move to stand up or lay down, but he is thawing out. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Er, yeah. Yes. That is nice. Was nice. Is nice.”

He’s adorable when he’s flustered like this, but you don’t want to get into a never ending loop of banalities with him. You want more than that. You want more of him. So you’re going to have to take another deep breath and ask another brave question that could knock you flat on your back in the worst way.

“Can I come and sit next to you?” you say in a rush.

Hubcap immediately stiffens. That’s it, you’ve blown your chance, you should never have done that and now you’re going to have to avoid him for the rest of your life until you get a transfer to another ship.

But he also immediately recovers, seemingly aware of how his reaction is being interpreted. You sense him take the cybertronian equivalent of a deep breath himself, and hear gears whirring softly from somewhere deep inside him.  

“Why don’t you sit on me instead?” he blurts out.

Hell yes. He offlines his eyes as his bravery is wiped out, and doesn’t see you smile widely. Hell yes that’s what you want to do. But first you should lock the door in case someone else checks up on him.

“How do you lock your door?” you ask him.

Hubcap opens his eyes and looks at the door. He puts two fingers to the side of his head, and after a moment’s hesitation that has nothing to do with the door, he looks back at you. “It’s locked now. Properly this time. ”

You smile wider at his Outlier abilities, and smile even wider as he tries not to smile back at you. You cross the room to where he’s sitting and look up at him. Even though he’s a minibot he’s still so much bigger than you. 

“Help me up?” you ask him.

With big gentle hands he lifts you up onto his lap, so that your back is against his chest and you’re facing the same direction. Maybe he doesn’t want his courage to desert him by looking at you. Or maybe he’s putting you in the best position so he can watch what you’re going to do to him. 

You feel a gush of heat between your legs, and start to stroke his large metal thighs. He makes an appreciative noise but then cuts himself off sharply. He hadn’t closed his interface panel after you walked in on him, and now that you’re sitting in his lap and touching him his dick has sprung back out.

“Hubcap,” you start to reassure him that he has nothing to be ashamed of, but the moment the second syllable of his name has left your mouth a low moan escapes from his. 

You wonder how many people have spoken his name like that to him - softly and slowly and full of rich promise of things to come. Probably no-one. 

You stroke his legs again, slowly and surely with the full length of your flat palm, and watch his large dick in front of you twitch in response. You do this again and again, the tips of your fingers almost touching the base of it but sliding back before they do. You continue stroking him like this to try and put him at ease, to make it clear that you want him. You’ve waited for a long time to be with him like this, and you’re not going to ruin it by making him even more nervous than he already is, despite how much faster you want to take things. You can feel him fighting a conflicting battle to relax into your touch and stay tense and alert for your inevitable rejection of him to occur.

“Can I touch you?” you ask, knowing that he’ll know what you mean. 

You think you feel him nod in agreement, but it could just have been another nervous twitch. He’s so tight and repressed. You stroke him again, up and down as much of his leg you can cover. You could do this all night to him. 

“Can I?” you ask again. You’re not going to do anything more until he makes it clear to you that’s what he wants. 

“Yes.” His voice is a low slow grinding of gears and shifting metal plating in your ear. “Please.” 

You put a hand on either side of his dick and he moans at the contact. Encouraged, you move your hands up and down it. Your movements are slow and your pressure gentle. 

Hubcap wraps one hand around your waist as if to hold you in place, but you’re pretty sure it’s so he can steady himself. You glance down to see what he’s doing with his other hand, and see that he’s gripping the edge of the reinforced metal berth so hard he’s denting it. The hand that’s on your body is feather light. 

You increase your pressure and stroke him. Your flat palms run over every ridge and dip of his dick, from the wide base all the way to the smooth tip. His living metal plating is warm and smooth and leaking. 

Hubcap moans again, and you finally feel him relax. You’ve convinced him that you want him and want this, and you’re not going to run away screaming or trip over yourself laughing and pointing on your way to tell the others.

Fluid is leaking out of his dick, and you coat your hand in it and rub it all over him. His hand tightens around your waist and he leans down and into you to press his face up against yours. It’s sharply angled and smooth and vents a steady stream of warm air onto you.

In the safety of his dimly lit room and the delusion that this could all just be a dream, Hubcap lives out part of his fantasy and talks to you. 

And Goddamn if his voice doesn’t do things to you. His usual stuttering and fragmented sentences have been wiped away and replaced by a voice that is darkly mechanical and smoothly certain. 

He drips his secret desires into your ear like he’s leaking hot oil. Each word is rich and dark and meant to burn. You can’t help but stroke him faster as he describes the things he wants to do to you and what he wants you to do to him. You whine, your underwear now a soaking mess, and feel his lips pressed up against your ear curl into a small smile at your reaction. He does not stop talking. 

You had no idea his imagination was this vivid or his vocabulary this obscene. But he is an Outlier with an invisible skill set, and has kept dark secrets for most of his life. There is a dark core running through him and he is sharing part of it with you.

“Please,” you whisper in encouragement and selfish pleading. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. But I need-… I need…”

Hubcap obliges immediately. You didn’t tell him what you want but he knows that you need something more, anything more, and so he rucks up your skirt and slips a finger under your underwear. 

You inhale sharply at the feel of warm metal against your hot entrance and then you moan as he slides that finger inside you with a confidence that makes you even wetter. He does not stop talking. 

You rock into his hand, encouraging his finger in deeper, and squeeze his dick and that’s what finally makes his smooth voice stutter. You squeeze it again and his voice hitches. He’s leaking steadily now. You coat both of your hands in his fluid and stroke his dick up and down and up and down. 

He makes an indecipherable noise at that and you buck into his hand, wondering if he can interpret what you want. He can. Using just one hand he snaps your underwear off, angles his wrist so that his finger sinks in deeper, and uses the flat of his thumb to rub circles into your clit.

It takes only seconds of this treatment before you gasp and grip him tightly and come hard around him.

He hisses and stops rubbing you to let you recover, but doesn’t remove his hand from you. You slump back into his chest and don’t remove your hands from him. 

After a few moments you start stroking his dick again, this time with only the the tips of your fingers, and he immediately responds by circling his thumb on your clit and pumping his finger inside you again. You’re relaxed and wet and that finger feels fantastic inside you. You spread your legs wider. 

You wonder if his dick would fit inside you. It would be a tight squeeze but you think you could take some of him. With your charge building back up again and without thinking you lift yourself up to try it, but Hubcap stops you and gently sits you back down on him.

“Another time,” he tells you softly, reading your mind. “You need to be prepared first. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you say. But you don’t try that movement again. You’re frustrated but grateful for his consideration and patience.

“I might.” His voice is now serious. “I would rather offline myself than hurt you, even accidentally. I would rather melt my brain module down into sludge and carve my own spark out.”

You bend your head and curl down and lick the tip of his dick. 

His cooling fans roar, and his moan is loud enough to be heard over them. You lick it again, a long slow languid lick all over and around it. You collect up as much fluid as you can and swallow it slowly. You lick him a final time and sit back up.

“Please,” Hubcap whines, his soft metal lips up against your ear as he bucks into you for more. “Please.”

“Another time,” you tell him innocently.

You continue stroking and squeezing him, and can sense he’s nearly there. 

“Please,” he says again, except this time there’s a stuttering edge of fear in his voice. “I’m gonna- I mean I can’t- I mean I’m going to…”

His confidence has burnt away and been replaced by the realisation that this is all actually happening, and that any moment now he’s going to come all over you unless you stop touching him or get up from his lap. He doesn’t want to subject you to anything you don’t want, but he doesn’t want those things to happen either.

“Good,” you tell him tightly. “Good.” 

You want to reassure him further and tell him that you’ve fantasized about this happening for a long time, but your own orgasm is approaching fast and you don’t have the ability to formulate any more words. You stroke and squeeze him and he rubs and touches you and you’re gasping now, your open mouth pressed up against his open mouth, and you’re both making the most desperate noises as you pleasure each other. You grasp his dick hard and he sinks his finger as deep it will go and grinds his thumb against you and you both cry out and jerk and come together.

Transfluid splatters down your front. Some of it sprays upwards onto your neck and into your mouth and it’s so much warmer than you’d thought. 

You don’t know how long it takes until you both return and relax but you do, and you slump back together. Hubcap removes his hand from you and turns it over to examine it. It’s wet and glistening. You remove your hands from his dick and hold them up for him to see. He’s venting hot air against you.

“Help me clean up?” you ask.

You feel him nod. He starts moving his hand up to his mouth but you stop him. You take his finger and then his thumb into your mouth and lick them clean. They can’t both fit but you do your best. He vents even harder against your flushed skin.

When his hand is clean you don’t release it - you guide him into using it to clean up your front. He works slowly, and uses a finger to scoop up the fluid that’s covering you. When it’s full you put it to your mouth and suck it clean. The next finger load to clean off is his. Then it’s your turn again. Then his. By the time you’re cleaned off you’ve got a steady heat between your legs again and his dick is getting thick. 

“I think we’ve missed the movie,” you say. 

He takes a second to adjust to this new line of conversation. “Er, yes. Um. Definitely. But- but worth it.”

“And probably missed the start of the second one.”

You feel him smile against you as he catches on. “Yes. Probably. Definitely. So we shouldn’t…rush to get over there?”

You start to unbutton your shirt. “We shouldn’t rush anything.” 

He finishes unbuttoning it for you and puts it carefully to the side. One of his hands slides up towards your chest and the other crawls down between your legs. “Agreed.”

[glowstickhaloboy]

y’all were really kind to take my personality quiz based on characters from my unpublished novel, so i thought maybe i’d drop the prologue? I realize that’s a whole different ask tho, and a bunch more time to sit down and read, so don’t feel obligated! but if you are interested and want to see what i’m working on, i’d appreciate it immensely <33

it’ll start beneath the cut

prologue—

July 7th, 2008

 Stars are large.

That is one of the first unlikely truths a child learns. They just look small, ardently burning themselves to death billions of miles out of reach.

And Peter looked small, too, as he jammed his skinny body through the middle of an old, juddering tire swing. The swing was the only thing in Uncle Miller’s backyard that the animated little blond boy could play with without needing the help of his imagination. Even at his own house, Peter was accustomed to stick-swords and tree stump obstacle races. A real toy was a novelty. He almost didn’t feel he was allowed.

Once inside, Peter waddled as far back as he could, then paused, possessed by an odd, un-childlike patience. The phrase be good was internalized in him. Wait a little longer, enjoy a fuller reward. Be good. Sit still. Be good. Whenever he visited his grandparents’ old house, however, his uncle purposely turned him loose. Peter became a downright flare of energy. His young, green muscles could not cling tight enough to the tire rubber.

All at once, with a deep breath and a spring of his knees, Peter let the world go. 

The sky pitched backward and forward, whooshing by as he clutched his tether. Every faraway star streaked by in perfectly straight, mesmerizing lines of white. Cold wind. Insect noises. Washed out yellow light spilling down the hill from the windows of the house. A young boy’s pumping heart big enough to fit the world inside and understand it, and understand itself, and all without a word, all with his breath held tight…

He dragged heel marks into dirt dry as cocoa powder, withdrawing from the tire as soon as he had the legs to, and flopped backward into bony summer grass. He ignored the impulse to rip fistfuls out, instead just holding the clumps absently in the sweaty gaps between his fingers, filing away its quiet hum of life. Memorizing. He realized he had missed it.

The rest of the long lawn sloped lazily off, like a map unraveling down a staircase. At the base of the hill stood all the trees of Parchdack. The same ones here lined countless other backyards. They bound the distance between parks and sports fields. They married crumbling fast food restaurants to an iron-gated cemetery. The heart of the town Peter had come to think of as home: everywhere and always right here.

He was so satisfied in his solitude, he’d failed to notice something was wrong, something obvious: one bright star swam adrift in the purpled dusk sky, a wandering flake of yellow ash. 

It was dropping down. Coming closer. It was not very large at all.

The starflake did not blink or dim. Its arhythmic, bug-like bobbing—the way it changed course if it floated too close to a tree or seemed to want to stay within sight of the yard—gave the impression it was aware of its surroundings.

Peter stared. Every thought approached slowly, shyly.

Maybe it was a shooting star? Those would have to land somewhere, after all. Or maybe it was a special small star, undiscovered up until now because small stars were clever and dodged out of the way of NASA’s telescopes. Maybe it was something that knew Peter by magic. Maybe it was going to let him make a wish, a reward for being a good kid.

The starflake drew nearer. Peter, not scared in the slightest, hopped up to look it in the eye. Since it still seemed like it was just light, looking at it should have hurt. But it didn’t. And, it was the strangest thing, but Peter thought he could sense what it was thinking. It certainly wasn’t his own sadness he felt. He felt excited, fascinated, greedy. A miracle of his very own!

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered encouragingly, trying to gain its trust.

The starflake hovered as if troubled. Then it... whispered. It whispered his same words back to him in an airy, miserable rasp: “Don’t be afraid.”

The previously summery wind blew distinctly cold on Peter’s bare arms, re-awakening his senses. He could feel the very straightness of his spine. His eyes stung with tears from not blinking, and a misplaced thought wandered to the forefront of his mind: did they reflect gold?

The thought of calling for his uncle did not occur. The regular world had fallen away.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Peter said, then paused to seriously consider. If this creature could talk, albeit stiltedly, what else might it be capable of? But it was too late now. The thing’s attention was fully on him—and this time, when it spoke, its words seemed to be its own. 

“Don’t… give up… on me…”

Peter’s heart winced with confusion and sympathy. He was reminded of his mother’s shoes clicking sharp on the floor after a bad day at work. Of nights when she gave one-word answers and passed the hours smoking cigarettes in her bedroom. If Peter was extra good, if he cracked a joke to cheer her up, if he sat quiet and unobtrusive—she didn’t lose the anger, exactly, but she might make the effort for one smile. Peter had gotten good at paying attention to even the smallest cues, always quick to find the right thing to say, to do, to be.  Even now, he was sure he just had to figure out what the starflake needed to be happy again.

The starflake’s light was fading little by little as it slipped closer to the ground, its descent sagging like a man overburdened. Peter’s hand jerked forward on instinct, but he held back. What if it wasn’t safe—for his sake, or for its? Like how you shouldn’t touch moths’ wings. 

It did not matter. Seeing Peter’s outstretched hand, the creature dove madly into his palm.

And it scalded! Peter flung the creature away on instinct, even if he felt shame as he did. The creature was hurt, panicking… But his hand burned with this heat unlike any pain he’d ever endured before. It had happened so fast. He gasped and managed to keep some air down, watching as an angry red welt bubbled up in the space where his thumb jutted out of his palm. The creature, growing darker by the second, sank smoking into the grass.

With just enough presence of mind to contain the damage to one hand, Peter hastily lunged for it, snatching the creature between two fingers. In the single second before his screaming nerves forced him to let go, he all but threw the dying starflake on top of the tire swing. There its light pulsed weakly, like a wounded chest weathering its last lungfuls of air. 

The rubber tried to burn, but only produced an acrid smell. Peter, meanwhile, stifled his sobs and rocked over the inflamed tips of his fingers, blowing on them to ease the pain. He’d earned three fierce burns: one from catching it, and two from pinching it.

The light went out unceremoniously while Peter was not looking.

It left no remains beyond an inch of mutilated rubber, which tomorrow would look like nothing more than a random blotch on a piece of junk. And Peter’s hand would be okay, too, because injuries healed with time. 

Again, the thought of telling Uncle Miller went ignored. Peter was a good kid who never started trouble or stressed anybody out. He was fine, and it was finished now anyway. It would just be a secret, that was all. Soon, Peter would be the only one able to read the signs that anything strange had ever happened there.

[wordywarriorwrites]

Chapter 10: Behind Enemy Lines

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Story Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration with the prompt, “Why did you do it?” & @sherrybaby14 Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge with the prompt, “Show me. Prove that you can handle me.” Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities. *Re-blogs are welcome. Plagiarism isn’t. *

There had been too many close calls and Steve knew it was well past time to get out of Brooklyn.

Fury had managed to incite enough fear to scatter the Families, and in less than six months, he’d infiltrated their city and obliterated generations worth of hard work by using a combination of violence and propaganda. He’d essentially given them just enough rope to hang themselves with, and as a result, the Families had lost their authority and credibility, and would soon lose their livelihoods.

Blood had been spilled, and if they didn’t take the fight to Fury, he would continue to push in. If anyone resisted, bodies would continue to drop, and if it went on for much longer, people would either turncoat or tuck tail and run. It didn’t take much to convince Bruce and Natasha that they needed to go on the offensive, but The Boss, per usual, had not been so easily swayed.

Precious time was wasted because Bucky squabbled about everything and nothing. When Natasha pointed out that arguing and delaying would only serve to give Fury even more opportunity to do further damage, Bucky finally conceded, and agreed to get out of dodge for a while.

Once the decision was made, it was only a matter of retrieving their passports and booking a flight. They decided not to tell anyone where they were going, didn’t bother with luggage, replaced their cellphones with burners, and only used cash. It wasn’t until they were in the air and flying over the Atlantic that Steve felt like he could breathe again.

They arrived in Jamaica and got out of the airport without any problems. Since it was the only island in the West Indians Fury had yet to infiltrate, it was the best place to lay low, recuperate, and do some recon. Montego Bay, located on the north coast, was home to a major cruise ship port. As a popular tourist destination, there were plenty of resorts available to hide away in, and the crowds made it easier for them to blend in.  

While Bruce, Natasha, and Bucky focused on plans for taking back their city, Steve spent his time healing, and it took weeks for him to start feeling normal again. White-sand beaches; long, unobstructed stretches of ocean views; jerk food; Mento music; the freedom to go where he pleased; not having to look over his shoulder all the time; the kindness of the hotel staff – it all aided in both his mental and physical recovery, and when he felt ready, he set about making contact with the team he used to run with.  

It took a few days to get the word out, but with Bruce’s help, he managed to do it without drawing attention or raising suspicion. Steve chose a restaurant on Gloucester Avenue for the meet and the outdoor seating offered just enough privacy and ambient noise to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard. He selected a table that offered a full view of the street, and made sure to sit at the end so nobody could sneak up on him. The scent of pimento wood and authentic, local cuisine wafted through the air, and though he was the first to arrive, he wasn’t alone for long.

Maria Hill, Scott Lang, Carol Danvers, and James Rhodes were an A-list squad of thieves and baddies. They made it appear as if they were meeting up with Steve for dinner, calmly took their seats at the table, and perused the menu. They kept their features schooled, but their furtive glances suggested they were truly shocked to see him, and after the waitress served them their drinks and took their food orders, they immediately started talking.

“Nick said things went sideways in Brooklyn,” Scott voiced after taking a long pull on his beer.

“You pissed off the Families,” Maria stated bluntly over the rim of her wine glass. “Went rogue.”

Carol toyed with the umbrella in her drink, “Your actions got a man killed.”

Rhodey sat back swirled the whiskey in his tumbler, “And your Boss put you down for it.”

Their assertions, however misinformed, were not at all surprising. Fury was cunning and knew how to maneuver and coax people to his way of thinking. If he couldn’t connive, cajole, or get something credible to use as leverage, he resulted to wild accusations and downright lies. People in their line of work were hardwired to look for betrayal in all forms, and expect it to come from any direction, and because Nick was their leader, he was never second-guessed or questioned.

It was difficult for Steve to come to terms with the fact that someone he had worked side-by-side with for four years could so easily turn on him. He knew Nick wasn’t a good man, but then again, Steve himself wasn’t exactly a choirboy, and that probably explained why Fury had hooked and reeled him in so easily. Nick had saved his life. Gave him a job. Helped him and guided him when he was at his most vulnerable and least deserving. Perhaps he’d been naive, or maybe it was just a flaw in his character, but Steve had trusted him.

He believed they’d been friends.

“Steve, what the hell is going on?” Carol prodded. “Why would he tell us you were dead when you’re clearly very much alive?”

Pulled out of his internal self-loathing, Steve just sighed, and shook his head.  

“Fury’s good at what he does,” he told them. “He sent me to Brooklyn and it went pear-shaped, but I swear to you, I didn’t sabotage anything. It was all him.”

The declaration made everyone fall silent, and during the moment of quiet retrospection, servers arrived at their table with heaping plates of food. The grub was so good, they didn’t start speaking again until after the dishes were cleared and another round of drinks were delivered.

Maria furrowed her brow and crossed her arms over her chest, “He wanted a foothold in the States. When the Senator fell through, you were his ticket in.”

“Which means he set you up and got you pushed out,” Rhodey said. “And since he doesn’t like to share, he’s decided to take it all.”

“And he hung me out to dry in the process,” Steve finished.

“So, what’s the next move?” Scott wondered.

Steve swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair, “Fury drew first blood and the Families aren’t going to let it slide. They have the numbers, and no matter the cost, they will fight to the last.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” Carol asked.

“That despite your best efforts, war is coming,” Steve declared gravely. “And whether you like it or not, you’re going to have to pick a side.”

Rhodey held up his hands, “Look, what Fury did to you was bad, but he’s been good to me – to all of us. We did what we could for you, but none of us signed on for a fight.”

Steve sat forward and rested his forearms on the table, “Treaties don’t work unless all parties stick to the arrangement, and Fury has no intention of upholding his end of the bargain. It may not be your fight, but he will sure as hell make it your business.”

“For the sake of argument, let’s say we switched allegiances,” Scott countered. “How can you guarantee your Boss won’t do exactly what Fury did?”

“Yeah, what’s to stop him from taking all we got?” Rhodey inquired.

“Or putting bullets between our eyes?” Maria tacked on.

Their interrogation, ignorance, and constant referral to Bucky as his “Boss” lit his fuse. Unable to stop himself, Steve let out a sound of frustration, and slammed his fist down hard on the table.

“I should’ve better than to think any of you would step up,” he snapped sharply.

In the wake of his outburst, the restaurant fell quiet, and more than a few heads turned in their direction. Hands shaking and heart pounding, Steve apologized loud enough for all to hear, and once it was clear to everyone that a fight wasn’t going to break out, they returned to their meals.  

Carol cleared her throat and rubbed her arms, “We trust you. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t.”

Steve arched an eyebrow, “But?”

“We looked into James Barnes,” Scott confessed. “And we don’t do what he does.”

He snorted, reached into his pocket, and tossed some cash onto the table, “Yeah, you do. You just prefer not to get your hands dirty.”

“We do what we can do avoid conflict,” Rhodey reminded him. “Your Boss doesn’t. In fact, he seems to enjoy mayhem and violence.”

“And I came up with him, so, you think we’re the same,” Steve fumed. “Because deep down, I’m still just a two-bit, gutter-rat thug like the rest of ‘em. So, fuck me, right?”

“Steve, you’re not being fair,” Maria argued.

“No, you want to know what’s not fair?” he snarled lowly as he got to his feet. “It’s not fair that one of my oldest friends is dead. It’s not fair that I keep getting fucked over. It’s not fair that I keep getting stabbed in the fucking back. It’s not fair that I’m being left to shovel the shit that every, goddamn one of you has dumped on me.”

Scott stood up, “Steve, come on, man. Let’s just talk about this.”

Without another word or backward glance, Steve stepped away from the table, and onto the street. Even though he could hear Maria and Carol call after him, he ignored them, and pushed onward. His rage carried him all the way out of the downtown area and back to the hotel, and as soon as the room’s door shut behind him, Steve reached for the chair tucked under the desk, lifted it above his head, and slammed it down as hard as he could onto the floor.  

The stream of expletives that flew out of his mouth was punctuated by the sound of snapping wood. The little chair didn’t stand much of a chance; it was pulverized in seconds, which prompted him to drop what remained, and send his fist sailing through the drywall. Steve was gearing up for another swing when the sliding door that connected to the private patio slid open.

“I take it your meeting didn’t go well?” Bucky taunted as he stepped inside.

Steve flipped him the bird, but said nothing.

“Well, as entertaining as your tantrum was to watch, you had better not continue,” he ordered. “If you do, someone will call security, and we don’t need that right now.”

“Thanks for the lecture,” he gritted out as he moved into the bathroom. “Now, fuck off.”

Steve waited until he heard the patio door shut before he stepped up to the sink. He cranked the water too hot, and the sting of it as it ran along his raw knuckles hurt like hell. When he glanced into the mirror, the reflection that stared back at him was all too familiar. Flushed face and hard-lined mouth; eyes full of something that bordered on madness; a wildness and furor that hadn’t been let loose since he was a too-angry, closeted, punk-ass kid.

It was this face – these feelings – that he’d been running from for so long. Steve had been on everyone’s side but his own and he was sick of it. Sick of the constant, nagging fear. Sick of being taken for a fool. Sick of the blame always being left at his feet. Sick of the orders, the lies, and the whole god-damn circus his life had turned into.

Disgusted with himself, he turned off the water, and dried his hands. He had every intention of packing what little he had and making a run for it, but when he stepped into the room, Bucky had returned, and that brought him up short.

Curtains drawn. Shoes lined up neatly by the dresser.

Box of condoms and a bottle of lube on the nightstand.

“Take off your clothes,” Bucky commanded lowly. “And get on the bed.”

Chapter 11: Strange Bedfellows 

Everything: @jennmurawski13​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth​ The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard

[thewhumpstuff]

You and I, Me and You [5]

@badthingshappenbingo​ [Original content and characters for - Collared and Chained category]

[Teaser and Master List] [Archives of our Own] (You and I, Me and you: Chapter 6)

[<– Previous] ~ [Next –>]

Bound by choice.

A metal door was opened, its hinges creaked. Not the same door, this was a different room. She drew in a breath, and it smelled different too, damper. Though she could not see, the warm trapped air perpetuated a sense of claustrophobia. This felt like a smaller room. Subconsciously, she instantly wanted out. Instinct won and she turned away from it, towards him.

He’d been firm in the way he manoeuvred her, but not unkind. Not so far. He shoved her backwards with a certain violence. His push, coupled with the inability to see, had her tripping. He almost reached out to catch her, but did not. He was glad that she did not see.

She fell, ass-first. Her tied hands broke the fall. There were pieces of glass beneath her. It was fine enough to not cut through fabric. But it did scratch her arms and palms. “Careful… The previous inhabitant was prone to breaking things,” he said wryly. Her hands were streaked crimson, a cursory glance let him know that the cuts were not too deep. Regardless, he had to fight the urge to tend to them. He noticed a piece missing from the floor.

She sighed and wriggled onto her knees and then crouched to stand. She clenched her fists, squeezing a drop of blood into the crease, the piece of glass remained wedged between her palms. Her arms were still bound, but maybe with this…

He closed in on her, his proximity was enough for her to back up. More glass crunched under her as she ventured in backwards. He crowded her; into the spot he wanted her in. Her back was against the wall. The surface was damp, she could feel the moisture. The back of her hand skimmed it with an exploratory interest... and found a chain. A thick iron collar hung from the chain. Though she did not get a chance to feel that. She was unceremoniously turned to face the wall as Jared lifted the medieval device, wedged it open and slipped it over her slender neck. The smell of rust permeated her lungs. Her mind drifted to a very different clink of a very different collar… That birthday night after the celebrations and the offer.

~~~

He’d changed course and led her back to his room instead of her own. She eagerly waited for the blindfold to come off. It did not. He led her to the carpet in front of his couch. The textile was slightly abrasive. She felt his hands press on her shoulders gently, coaxing her to kneel, facing the seat. She allowed it and sat back on her heels. “Don’t move.” The commanding nature of his voice was truly rare and so precious. “Mhmm.” “This is what you wanted right? For me to… take the lead?” She could hear him rummaging for things. She wasn’t sure exactly how to respond. He didn’t sound light-hearted as she’d expected. Which made her pout, at the void since he wasn’t looking at her. I can do intense! “Something like this… yes. Can I see you?” “No.” “Well, I can make requests right?” Her question was a little tentative this time, she was trying to establish rules for her for him to make her follow. “No, not really.” There was some dry humour in his voice, which was pleasing. Apparently, he did not really need the help. Not that that realization stopped her. Her breathing grew slightly shallow with anticipation. She could not believe this was happening. “Do you want me to like… call you sir or something?” Jared paused. It rarely took him long to find things, he was very organised. But she was distracting and delaying this makeshift arrangement. “Do you want to?” “I thought I didn’t get to make requests…” She teased, he huffed. “Touché. You’re right. Go ahead. Call me sir, let’s see how long that lasts.”

Shira had a painful disregard for hierarchy. He did not mind and luckily most in SpecSyn usually didn’t either. But that was not going to sit well if she went through with her stint at the Quantum Brigade. The reminder left him rejuvenated. He had to get her to see reason somehow.

“Will you punish me if I don’t?” Her sing-song voice lingered in the room. She was so blissfully unaware of the whirring gears in Jared’s mind. She taunted with abandon, still riding the high of the celebrations and the offer. He looked at her in time to see the smirk split her lips again and shook his head. He was glad that she couldn’t see him. Then, she would have recognized his ulterior motive. He could see that on some level, this was manipulative and exploitative… But it really was for her own good. “At this point, I’ll punish you if you keep talking. Do you want me to gag you?”

She wasn’t fond of blindfolds, but she hated gags with a passion. “See you tell me not to talk, but then you ask me a question, so what is it you want, sir?” He thought had a good idea of how arrangements liked these worked, in theory anyway. He had never envisioned taking on this role in such a capacity. He reiterated the rules she had wangled out of him. “You call me sir, stop asking me questions, stop making requests and I won’t gag you. OK? Ok.” He answered his own question and didn’t give her a chance to interject this time.

Upon finding the things he was looking for, Jared collected everything he wanted. Drawers were closed, cupboards were shut and she could hear his footfall grow closer again. He sat on the couch facing her. She was close enough to be within his reach. He tousled her hair. “You did a good job of staying still.” “Am I going to be rewa-” His fingers walking up her collarbones and to her neck made her fall silent. He fumbled with something thin and metallic till it clinked shut around her elegant neck. She recognized it. “I-is that what I think it is?” He hummed and did not reply. Jared reached over her, like enveloping her in an embrace, she leaned against him, offering more access. A pair of matching cuffs cinched her wrists together. Her breathing quickened. Both the cuffs and the collar were capable of shocking her. He wasn’t messing around. “Don’t worry. I won’t use it…” He promised, and she believed him. Grudgingly he reached for the prod-baton. He placed it against the crook of her neck. She sat up straighter. These tools at his disposal were a lot more domineering than she had expected.

“Sticks and stones, huh?” She asked softly. The baton glided over parts of her, as though wielded by someone absent—which Jared was most certainly not. He pressed it against her acnestis, somewhere just above the small of her back. “Bow.” She resisted. “Pfft. What, like you are god or something, sir?” “Shira…” he warned, tiredly. “What? I didn’t say I’ll make it easy!” He struck the side of her arm, not too hard, but it was likely to bruise a little. She almost lost balance but caught herself in time. He could see her face contort in a wince and was amazed that despite it being sudden, she didn’t make any sound. She exhaled slowly, like she was taking the time to make friends with the pain. “Ow.” She spoke, that was not a reaction. There was defiance dripping from the syllable.

“We try again?” He sighed and pressed down again, she still resisted. He struck the other arm, with the same measured force. She hissed and her exhale this time was a soft whistle. Then she laughed and explained her decision to remain disobedient. “Sorry, I’m a sucker for symmetry and I know you are too.” He rolled his eyes. It felt cruel to make this more serious than it had to be, but he had a goal. When he pressed against her again, she let her spine curl forward and flattened her chest against her thighs.

“Shira… Do you know what happens when the enemy truly finds you?” She drew a ragged breath; her forehead was against the floor. So we’re roleplaying. “You can’t help but make this a lesson can you?” She didn’t sound disappointed, she was merely stating facts. “I suppose we can no longer afford to stop training you, can we?” He wasn’t convinced by his own words, but he could see her literally swell with pride. She was lapping up any indication that reminded her of her impending relevancy. Slightly frustrated, he got up to grab a cigarette When she heard the lighter click and the air carried the dregs of the smoke, she sat up and stiffened. He thought she was triggered, which left him feeling hollow and haunted.

Then, she did something odd. She tilted her head, exposing the unscarred side of her neck. “Symmetry?” She asked, in a way that made it impossible to know if she was joking or not. Jared wished she was. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” She was… so unpredictable. “Or maybe, we can leave that for later. It can be a sample for the next training batch. The shock value should work well on the new rookies, I promise, I act well!” She twittered, relishing the idea of playing assistant in that capacity. He took a long drag. She still doesn’t even take the training seriously. “If we get any…” he replied with a certain sadness, it was getting harder to recruit candidates. “We will!” she exclaimed with her unusual optimism. Nothing could bring her down today. “I don’t remember saying that you could sit up, Shira.” She felt like testing his boundaries, to push a little, but the last time she’d done that, he went to war with some demon of his past in his nightmares. Demons he would not talk to her about. She did not want to be shut out. If he was willing to explore this side with her, she decided that she’d have to be a little gentle too. She folded against herself again. Arms behind her, head buried between slightly parted knees and her forehead inches away from the floor.

He sat down again and methodically tapped the baton against the floor. There was silence, except the baton’s tap. He contemplated a more straight-forward approach. “Shira… Do you lov-like me, or this?” “Do I have permission to speak, sir?” “Yes!” He rolled his eyes at the theatrics; it reminded him of someone who would have loved it, a ghost. “I love you because you’re you. You’ve… done whatever it took in the face of terrible odds… Sir.” The way she emphasized love did leave him feeling warm. It was an alien feeling. “Do you love me more like this though? Does it change anything between us?” She didn’t respond immediately. She could not deny that she liked the concept of being able to surrender to someone like him. Someone who could drive her to be the best she could be. That she could crave the discipline he could offer… Was that wrong?

“Shira?” “I… I can’t deny I envy you for your drive, I wish you could… share that somehow. Sir” He narrowed his eyes; it was easy to extrapolate her expectations. It did not leave him any real agency. “So, this would be entirely for you. My wishes don’t really matter.” She could hear the bite in his voice. Instead of allaying her, it only sparked an acerbic retaliation. “If you’d ever make your wishes known, maybe they would!” Though it hurt, he did not feel any anger towards her. She was right. He had rarely been afforded chances where his wishes mattered. The choices he made were rarely his. They were a product of an unfortunate situation.

“Fine. I wish for you to not take their offer.” He folded his hands. That was unexpected. She should’ve seen it coming but she’d been woefully ignorant all this time. That added to her rankled state. “What? You know I can’t do-” She started to get back up. He put his foot on her. She wanted assertion, he felt very inclined to give it to her. “Just to be clear, my wishes don’t matter then?” She wriggled under him. “They do! But why the fuck would you want me to give up my shot at glory? Do you want to be the only hero or something?” The nerve. She was so juvenile sometimes. “You think that’s what this is about?”

He reached for the controls that allowed her to use the implements and dialled them up. High enough to hurt, low enough to avoid permanent damage. A cry rose in her throat and muscles strained from the shock, killing the sound. Her arms and spine straightened with a tense contractility as the buzz of electricity surged within her, ever so briefly. This was not out of anger. This was to make a point. The electricity left and it left her limp. He held her by her hair. Jared was glad he could not see her eyes. He could wager the world that they looked right about murderous right now.

“You promi-” He pinched her face in a grip that interrupted her. “Remember, I asked what would happen if you got caught, Shira? This. They won’t play by the rules.” She struggled against him, mostly so she could get her words out. “I’ll just…” “What… swallow some carefully hidden serum? You think they’re not smart enough to look for it.” His fingers probed her mouth, to drive the point home. “Everywhere,” he emphasized. The thought of other fingers in other places darkened his own thoughts.

He shoved her away. She fell to her side, with a thud and tried to sit upright again. Crouching over her curled form, he kept her down with his arm pressed against her bruising side. “You won’t be kneeling for me, Shira, or someone you know and like, it won’t be like training.” He spoke through grit teeth. How could she not see what lay ahead? How could she just allow them to throw her into the deep end like this? Something about her mannerism softened, she stopped fighting and just lay there as he painted a grim picture, with the ink of fear. She could hear the concern now and felt petulant for thinking his intent was rooted in holding her back. His jarring reminder did serve its purpose. She realised how real things could get and bile rose in her throat. Her heart fluttered at all the hypotheticals that streaked through her mind, it left her nauseous.

“It won’t be fun and games.” He reiterated. He could see the effect of his words as her skin paled. He eased up. She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist and with surprising strength, toppled him to lay beside her on the carpet. He did not counter her move as they tangled into one another. He sighed and cradled her head with his arm. His frustration could not carry him through this. “No… I know it won’t be…” Akira steeled herself and replied. She threw herself against him, still cuffed and still blindfolded. She hoped her body could radiate the reassurance she wanted to couple with her words. “So, I’m going to need all the help I can get. I promise to take the intensive training seriously and we’ll just have to hope that it won’t come to any of that...”

He hid his face in the crook of his elbow. There was no winning against her. Not without squandering her very sense of being. Not without telling her that those outcomes are often the certainties and success is the outlier event. “If they have come to me, my Red Knight… Clearly they’re running out of options.” As appealing to his sense of duty almost always worked. Today, it still left him uneasy. He could see he had lost though. She was not going to budge. The only course of action was for her to work hard.

“You’re going to be wishing you didn’t take the offer when the intensive training actually begins, Shira.” There was a promise there, but it was not a threat. He’d just have to see how far her sheer will could carry her. He flicked her nose playfully and undid the blindfold. “Congratulations, I guess. And Happy twenty-first...” Acceptance was still hard. “Yay? Sir?” She grinned. “You’re one baffling vixen, I’ll give you that.” In a fell swoop, he picked her off the floor and took her to his bed. The cuffs and collar were still in place. “Is training starting now?” she grinned. “You bet,” he replied, only half-joking. The thunderous storm that brewed between them, only left a drizzle.

~~~

This collar felt heavy against her shoulders. She instinctively pulled against it to check its give and the length of the chain. He nudged the back of her knees with his own to make her legs buckle. Falling onto her knees hurt, she groaned through grit teeth. At least there was no glass under her here, thankfully. Resigned, she sat down on her ankles.

She heard something being twisted next to her, like a faucet. The chain attached to the collar began rolling backwards into the wall. It first pulled Akira upwards, forcing her back onto her knees. The chain continued to reel till her face was flush against the wall. Satisfied, he left and closed the door behind him. She was alone with her thoughts. Solitude beckoned tears and for the first time she was glad for the blindfold. She let out a soft growl of frustration and began chafing at the twine holding her wrists with the piece of glass she had retrieved from the floor. It was hard, given the angle of her body. But she needed something to do, to feel like she was trying. [Category: 2/3] [Tags: @simplygrimly, @cashieeetime​]

[deepbluexsea]

A Boy Named Molly

Rating: PG-13. Relationships: Johnny and Joan (pre-romance). Recurring Characters: Johnny, Joan. Warning/Notes: Drugs. Language.

1993

The heavy beat of the music seemed to bump deep within Johnny’s chest. A thin sheen of sweat made his skin glow in the flashing lights. Purples and oranges and pinks, all seeming to s l o w down by the second and languidly melt together like caramel in heat. Every blink drew longer, every touch somehow pressing impossibly deeper into his body as he danced between two people in the middle of a stranger’s living room. 

Alive and warm. The sensation of laying naked in the sun with the weather at sixty-five degrees. Perfect.

Johnny didn’t know the man in front of him, but he could feel Joan behind him. People were so jam-packed into the small space that it seemed difficult to move at all, but with every grind and dip and caress, he felt more and more free. Weight, dense as a freight train, gradually lifted from his shoulders. It took forever and yet seconds. Time had ceased to exist here in this foggy paradise.

I love everyone in this place. I love this song. God, I love Joan Lourd. I love the way her fingers feel on me. I love this man’s chest on mine. I love her breath against my back. I love his eyes on me. I love who I am. I love this universe. It loves me, too. Fuck, I want more. More. More. M o r e.

They called them designer drugs for a reason. Even the uppity rich kids at Harvard were doing them. Bright colors with crystalline designs, they easily drew in the masses of college students desperate for a weekend release of any sort – a way to find themselves and find each other. A way to rid their brains of the mass amounts of information they’d packed into them during the week.

If you asked him on a Wednesday morning while he sat in Criminology 302, Johnny would say he fell victim to all of this too quickly. He’d given up. He’d given in. He’d begged for something to provide him with surrender and he’d taken the first opportunity – the easy one, the one that came in the form of a simple invitation from Joan. She told him it was a chance to feel unbound, unconfined, and to meet new people... people like him. In other words, people who liked people of the same sex. Maybe even another guy. For real this time.

He’d hesitated at first, though in the end it was just too tempting to resist. If you asked him right now, headlong into the moment, Johnny would say he would choose this path over and over again. He’d say he felt like Christmas morning, without reservations, the most raw and pure he’d been since his birth.

“You’re gorgeous,” the man with the brown eyes spoke, and despite the drums taking the place of his voice, Johnny knew exactly what he’d said. “Kiss me.”

The fear that would normally arise on occasions like this never came, though Johnny knew very well how it felt. I can’t kiss a man. I can’t kiss a man in public. I haven’t kissed a man in so long. I can’t. It’s not right. It just doesn’t happen.

He kept waiting on the adverse emotions to accompany those thoughts, but instead he just smiled a smile that soon turned to bubbling laughter entirely against his will. Desire and a deep sense of cherishing this human being in front of him were the only feelings that arose. His soul felt fuzzy in his core, and he thought that maybe he was falling – no, no... gently floating – backward. Until Joan wrapped her arms around him, he hadn’t been sure. 

Joy cascaded over him as if he stood under a balmy, strong waterfall. “Kiss him,” Joan encouraged, a breathy voice in his ear, and everything around him suddenly seemed heart-wrenchingly beautiful. 

Time was gone again, and the three of them were in an empty hallway. The lights of the party trickled in from the room at the exit end of it. Johnny was certain he could see through the dark, could see the way the brown-eyed man’s fingers gently unclasped the buttons of his shirt. The cool air finally spread over his skin as he peeled his own shirt from his body. When his pen-calloused hands cupped the other man’s neck, he could feel every tendril of his hair as he slipped his fingers into the thick of it. It seemed like Johnny was memorizing every long, dreamlike millisecond as they analyzed each others’ faces – no uncertainty, just the impact of a deep yearning finally at manifest. Finally coming true. Relief and excitement and bliss all rolled in one. 

Brown Eyes moved first, drawing Johnny in like a pliant magnet. Unexpectedly, whereas Johnny usually held tight to the reins, he now felt like putty in the other man’s grasp. He was instantly thirsty, so thirsty that when their mouths met, he was instantly aware of what flavor meant... Like putting a name to the way water tastes. 

Lips and tongues and teeth and wayward hands and backs to the wall eventually evanesced, dissipated into the air like the smoke of the frat boys’ hand-rolled cigarettes. Their little indistinct sanctuary in the corner of the sage-colored hall was abandoned, replaced by the ill-lit Cambridge streets that led back to Joan and Johnny’s apartment. 

“Are you going to see him again?” Joan asked, grinning ear to ear as she twirled gracefully along the sidewalk.

Johnny paused suddenly in his weightless stride, the details around him becoming less and less clear starting the minute he was pulled from his head. Everything grew leaden once more. The night was just dim now, dawn hovering on the horizon – no aspects of mystery or wonderland or galaxies to behold. 

With his fingertips to his lips, Johnny exhaled slowly. “I don’t even know his name.”

[hollandsmushroom]

Loving You Is Like A Fucking Job

Word Count: 1700(I know its short, but I have never written this character before) 

Reblog Goal: 20???

Come Shout At Me 

A/N: I am well aware of just how shitty this is, but I wanted to give writing for Peaky Blinders a whirl and i really really enjoyed it, so if you want more please for the love of Cillian Murphy let me know. Enjoy the read!

Being Thomas Shelby’s wife was no easy thing, though you loved the man with all your heart sometimes it seemed like more of a job than anything else, though you would never say this to his face at the beginning of your relationship now as you sat in bed after waiting for your husband for 5 hours after he was supposed to be home, that filter was wearing very thin. 

A cigarette dangled from your lips as you crossed your legs at the ankle, your silk nightgown falling to the side across the bed. Todays newspaper sat in your lap as you scanned the words, having already skipped over the many articles about gangs and Peaky Blinders, purely because it was nothing that you didn’t already know, seeing as you married to the Ringmaster of the Shit Show. Anger bubbled inside of you as you sat in silence, but it wasn’t just anger, it was fear, he hadn’t called, hadn’t sent a Peaky Boy to let you know that he’s alright. So you sat in your anger, anger of lack of contact from your love, and fear that the reason he hasn’t contacted was because he was fucking dead. This is why loving him was like a job because it caused you immense amounts of distress but you got paid in the most valuable of ways, because you see, he loved you with everything that he had. 

You heard the door open downstairs and promptly close as soon as to heavy foot falls sounded through the house. You flicked the ash off the end of your cigarette as you sat up even more, your face set as stone as the anger you had been stewing in boiled over the brim, your eyes catching on the door swinging open into the room and revealing your bloodied husband, a cigarette dangling from his lips just like yours. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” you bit at him with a venom laced voice, your hands pushing off of the hard mattress as you stood up and walked towards the injured man in front of you, his eyes avoiding your gaze as you were the only person in the world that Thomas Shelby was scared of. Laying your hands flat against his chest, finger tips digging into the red stained shirt, you looked him dead in the eye willing him to meet your fearsome gaze. “Thomas,” you whispered, your voice suddenly softer, making him finally deem it safe to look you in the eye, “You had me so fucking worried,” you reached up, stroking his cheek, avoiding the cuts on his jaw. 

Two sides of you were showing, the worry of a wife who didn’t know if her husband was coming home and the anger of constantly being left in the dark. 

“I’m sorry,” he spoke very clearly, smoke fanning across your face as he exhaled a sigh at your tender touch, leaning into the palm of your hand. 

“Sorry isn’t good enough this time, Thomas, I am fed up with this shite, I deserve to know if you are coming home and not to have to sit home alone festering in my worry and anger towards the man that I am supposed to love with my whole heart,” as soon as whisper slipped past your lips something flickered in his eyes, the weight of your last  words settling into his bones and scaring him more than any rival gang ever had.

“What the fuck are you saying? You don’t want to be with me anymore?” he spoke firmly, though his voice broke mid-sentence. You shook your head as you grabbed his hand and brought him to your vanity where a basin of water sat, your fingers slipped from his as you reached towards a cloth that sat next to the basin. The water reaching your wrist as you fully submerged the clothe in the water before turning back around to face Tommy, whose face continued to bleed.

“Sit,” you ordered as you pushed him back towards the bed and for the first time in all the time you had known Thomas, he listened, falling back onto the mattress as he let you take control of the situation. 

Thomas cringed back as the cool cloth made contact with his abraded flesh, the white of the towel turning a brilliant pink as it absorbed the coagulated blood. 

“Stay still,” you mumbled, your hand running along the shaved side of his head until your fingers laced through the hair on the back of his skull, holding him in place in one tender motion. You continued to dab away at the cuts until a hand wrapped around your wrist, a motion that drew your eyes to meet that of your husband. His gaze was serious and in a sense sad.

“You never answered the question,” his voice was soft, an edge of anxiety tainting the normal harsh lilt of his Birmingham accent. 

“No, Thomas, I am not saying that I don’t want to be with you anymore, would someone with packed bags be standing here cleaning up the mess you made of yourself? No they wouldn’t, all I am saying is that loving you is a fucking job and sometimes, even if its for a split second, I feel like quitting and then I remember how much I love you and how lost I would be without you and I realize that it is the only job I want,” you whisper as you spun the clothe in your hand, the red tinted water cascading back into the basin as you set it back onto your vanity. 

The sound of the slats of your bed settling reached your ears moments before a pair of arms slid around your waist, pulling you back into a firm chest you knew all too well, lips brushed the shell of your ear. 

“I think I owe you a reminder why you are with me,” spinning in his grasp, you faced him, cupping his cheek like you had minutes before. 

“I don’t need a reminder, I know why I am with you, I’m with you because I love you, but that being said, it would be rude to turn down such an offer,” his blue eyes looked at you intensely as he leaned down, his supple pink lips enveloping yours. As soon as you felt the brush of his tobacco tainted lips against yours, your eyes floated closed as you felt the anger that had previously resided in the tenseness of your muscles faded away as you leaned into his touch. His hands that had been cupping your cheeks made there way to your shoulders, thumbing at the soft flesh at the juncture of your neck.

Pulling away panting his lips kissed your forehead, your hands working down his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt and vest, pushing his blazer off his shoulders, letting it slide down his arms and down onto the floor, doing the same with his vest and shirt.

Reuniting your lips with his you waked him backwards to the bed, the joint of his knee bent when the edge of the mattress met with it, sitting back onto the bed, you on his lap. His hand slid down your back, hiking up your nightgown as his hands slid into the back of your panties, grasping at the flesh of your ass causing you to gasp and pull back, your finger tips dancing down his chest as you both sat panting, pushing your hands under his under shirt you felt his muscles flex underneath your touch before you pulled it over his head and seconds late he had done the same with your nightgown, drinking in the sight of your bare breasts his cock twitched as it remained in the confines of his pants. The both of you fell flat on the bed, as he lifted his hips, undoing his plants and sliding down his legs as he kicked them off, the only thing between the two of you being your under pants, but that was not long lasting, he quickly pulled them down your legs before sitting back up.

He gripped you at the hips and lifted you up, allowing you to position yourself before he let you slide down, slowly rocking up into you as his hands stayed from your hips to your lower back and you butt. 

Short pants escaped his kiss swollen lips as he thrusted into you, you threw your head back into the palm of his hand, his fingers tangling in your locks as you bounced against his thrusts. Your lower belly clenched as your felt something build up inside of you, and you could tell by the clenched look on his face that he was feeling the same way, his hips were jerking up even harder than they had been in the beginning, burying his face in your hair, he reached in between the both of you, thumbing at your clit to push you to an orgasm and it worked perfectly as you felt a fire burst in your belly, letting out a string of expletives as you released around his cock while he released with in you, his thrust slowly coming to a halt as the both of you finished your highs.

You rolled off of him and sat on the bed next to him, collapsing back as your head hit the pillow as he did the same thing, he reached over and grabbed his pack of cigarettes and box of matches and lighting it, is cheekbones sucking in as he inhaled the nicotine deep in his lungs, your rolled over and plucked it from his lips and placing them in the grasp of your own, laying your chin on his pec so you were looking dead at him and him down at you. 

He reached down and brushed some hair from your face before taking back the cigarette.

“I hope loving me is a job you never want to quit because I would be lost without you, love,” he mumbled, showing the soft side of himself that no one in Birmingham would have thought he had, no one except you. 

Come Tell Me What You Thought

[bardicfoxes]

[Warhammer 40K] Lucina Galadriax - Adeptus Sororitus

In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war. I like writing characters who overcome challenges, be it through the circumstances of their birth, brought on by their own actions, or through the machinations of the world around them. The world of 40K is full of challenges, every character in the series has to deal with the very world they live in trying to trick, betray, and destroy them. Lucina is no exception to this rule. Despite all this, members of the elite Adeptus Sororitus are required to stay resolute, pious, and strong, even in the face of mind breaking Chaos. I hope you enjoy the arduous tale of Sister Galadriax, Hospitaller of the Adeptus Sororitus.

The forge world of Selinax was home to a shining example of the Emperors faith, one of the largest Titan manufactorum's in Askellon. Here, under the watchful eyes of the red robed mechanicus, and with the hard work of the Imperiums faithful, huge machines of war were crafted, and housed. The manufactorum network was owned by a noble family, the Galadriax's, who ensured that everything ran smoothly, like the mechanisms of a pocket chrono. Of course for most, growing up on a forge world would be a life of machinery based accidents, and various airborne ailments. However for Lucina, the youngest daughter of the Galadriax family, this was not the case, instead she attended classes, home taught by her family in the day, to day runnings of the manufactorum, how to deal with the tenacious adeptus mechanicus, and all other helpful lessons for the day Lucina came into ownership of the manufactorum. When Lucina wasn't in lessons, she would spend her time helping where possible, normally with a detachment of the Sisters Hospitaler, who made the forge world of Selinax their base of operations. The sisters initially disliked Lucina's inquisitive nature, how she would ask questions as they tried to reattach limbs of workers, or how she thumbed at their notes as they tried to staunch the blood loss of a driver who had paid far too little attention, but they began to warm to her as they discovered the sheer amount of information she retained, answers to pointless questions she had asked months ago, the tiniest note about the most insignificant of processes. Before long Lucina was spending the majority of her time with the Hospitaler's, lending aid where possible, learning more, and more about the ways of the Chirurgeon.

Anthony Galadriax, father to Lucina, and owner of the manufactorums noticed the time she spent with the Hospitaler's. He realised what a fine accolade it would be to have a child of his seed be recognised as a daughter of the Emperor. He spoke with the Hospitalers, and convinced them to take his daughter on as a member of their flock. At first the matron was uneasy, as eager as Lucina was to learn more, it was rare for them to take on members as a favour, Anthony argued that willing hands are far, and few between in this sector, which swayed the matron to his side. She agreed to take the sixteen year old girl with her, as a fresh member of the Sisters Hostpitaler.

It was soon after that Lucina experienced her first taste of warp travel, flown off world to Juno, where she would attend formal training at a large Adeptus Sorotius Monastery. She picked up certain aspects of this lifestyle very quickly, the hustle, and bustle of a hive world was similar to the whirring, and clanging of a forge world, she enjoyed studying as part of a class, and showed exceptional prowess with the art of medicae. However combat training was an unfamiliar, rigid experience that took some getting used to, she was inexperienced when it came to firing a weapon, or taking a direct order, with her inexperience came a contempt for those who ordered her around, and with her contempt, came punishments. Cleaning, prayers of apology, cooking, all the distasteful chores normally left to lower members were used against her. It wasn't until combat training gained a new teacher, a gnarled older woman who wore the armour of the Sisters Of Battle. Lucina no longer got punishments such as cleaning, or cooking, no, now she would be forced in front of the class, and made an example of. Failure to strip, and rebuild her Autogun? Fifty push ups in the dirt of the training ground. Failure to follow drills? Ten minutes of silence, as the class screamed obscenities at her. Muttering back chat under her breath? A personal sparring session with the new instructor. Slowly, but surely, like a rolling press forcing an Adamantium plate into shape, Lucina began to finally accept her combat training.

In three short years, Lucina had changed from a privileged daughter of a manufactorum tycoon, to a loyal, subservient, daughter of the Emperor. A short, humble ceremony was held for her class, before they were near instantly dispatched across the Imperium. On her travels Lucina saw many things, she saw victims of forge world accidents, served briefly aboard a rogue traders vessel as it carried pilgrims to a death world, walked through fields of green grass on feral worlds, each new experience more evidence of the Emperor's glorious work. While she worked, she would sing hymns, and prayers to the Emperor's, her voice a comfort to those she worked on. Her first year of work within the Hospitalers was almost to an end when they were dispatched to the death world of Yanth, where an Imperial Guard force were in desperate need of more medical hands.

Somewhere, in the vast swamped jungles of Yanth, lay a Chaos cult, battling hard against the guardsman who were attempting to exterminate them. The guardsman had come from the planet of Cadia, and fought harder than any guard regiment Lucina had witnessed yet. Being so close to the front lines of combat was a new experience, time stopped for no man out here, Lucina had taken to leaving the safety off on her weapon for the amount of times an hour she would have to pick it up and lend a fighting hand, be it during a mug of recaff, receiving a medical shipment, cleaning a weapon, or wrists deep in a man's intestines, every Guard, Hospitaler, and body on the front lines had to be prepared for combat. It was after one of these firefights, Lucina was put in charge of the care of a young officer, he'd received a nasty stab wound which had gone unreported for far too long. As Lucina worked on the officer, they talked, she was glad for the company of someone of a similar age to her, they talked about where they had come from, where they had traveled, what they had seen, in truth she began to grow quite close to the officer.

He lay under her care for a number of weeks, try as she might, she couldn't get his wound to stay closed, bandages became sodden with blood, sutures popped out of their position, and even attempting to graft the skin proved ineffectual. Had Lucina not been so enamored in the officer, she would have seen the clear evidence of chaos taint about the officer's wounds. Lucina kept trying to treat the man, almost happy for the excuse to keep him in her treatment. A full moon was casting ethereal shadows across the fortifications as Lucina did her rounds, she had many patients to tend to, but one was not in his bed... The officer had gone missing... Searching around the camp she found him heading towards the command tent. Lucina stopped him, mouth open to ask what he was doing over here, that's when she saw the chain blade in his hands, scoring deep scars into his flesh, his body now a tapestry of Chaos runes, and sigils. Lucina went to cry out a warning, but her cry was caught, as the Officer plunged the chainblade into her throat, the teeth of the blade whirring, and biting, she could feel the noise of the teeth bouncing off the top of her spinal column resonating into her brain, her throat filled with crimson, and the acrid taste of oil, and exhaust fumes poured up from the base of her tongue. Summoning every ounce of focus she could spare, she pushed the acidic panic away, clutching him firmly she braced, and drew her side arm, firing three times into the stomach of the Officer, causing him to stumble backwards, something tearing off in Lucina's hands as he stumbled, though she was more preoccupied with the blade now shuddering softly in her throat. Fortunately, Cadians never treat gunfire as something minor, and before Lucina even had the time to fall backwards, her, and the officer were surrounded by soldiers. The Officer hissed a threat, but before he could finish, he was drowned out by the deafening cracks of lasfire.

Lucina was sad, the smoke from the battlefield had obscured her vision of the stars...she had wondered if she would be able to see holy Tera from here. She could feel people around her, she tried to give them instructions on how to remove the blade from her throat without any further damage, but despite moving her mouth, she heard no words come out. As she processed this new information, a rather forward guardsman tried to help her, with a swift tug, he pulled the vibrating chainblade from her throat, tearing flesh, and sending a spout of blood over her, he apologised to her, before yelling for a Hospitaler. Lucina's mouth moved wordlessly as she lay on the damp earth, she raised her hand and found what she had torn off the Officer, a rather ornate silver pocket chrono, it had cracked, and stopped in the fall. She tightened her grip on it as she felt the ice cold glare of death upon her and promptly passed out.

It would seem the Emperor was smiling upon her that night, as it was not her fate to die, through no small miracle, the Hospitalers were able to aid Lucina, and close the wound on her throat. For three days she lay on a gurney, listening to the combat around her, sh

e was visited by one of the Cadian sergeants, who commended her bravery, telling her if she hadn't have stopped the tainted officer, he would have had a free shot at the command tent. The praise was bitter to Lucina, she knew that had she been paying attention, rather than romanticising the officer, she would have spotted the signs earlier. Her throat ached, a constant pain every time she moved her head, or swallowed, when she tried to talk, it felt like she was trying to wretch sandpaper.

The campaign on Yanth lasted another month, with Lucina being active for only the last week of that, she was finally up, and moving again, though she was still plagued by the gnawing, burning in her throat, everybody told her she was lucky to be alive, and that she must be on of the Emperor's favorite daughters to afford such luck. In truth she simply wanted to forget about it, she felt like she had failed her role as a daughter of the Emperor. Wordlessly, Lucina continued her tasks, until Yanth was declared 'safe' as she, with the rest of the Hospitalers were moved offworld, back to the monastery on Juno. Lucina became a shell of herself, no longer did such joy emanate from her, and the delicate hymns of praise that used to pour from her mouth were now gone, a Deacon offered to provide payment for surgery to install a bionic voice box, but she craved penance and refused, she had failed the Golden Throne, and had her voice taken as punishment.

The remainder of the year would not be quiet, while she had been away, a hive gang known as the "Sons" had grown rather active, even going as far as managing to secure a series of armoured vehicles, which they were using to harass, and attack their rivals catching a detachment of the Arbites in between, some said they wanted more territory, others said they simply wanted to spread some anarchy. The local PDF had got involved and were in way over their heads, calling for aid from the Hospitalers to cover the vast amount of wounded being caught in the crossfire. If trying to perform complex medicae on the frontline's of Yanth had seemed difficult, performing in the no man’s land between the two gangs was even worse, nothing was permanent, for fear of coming under fire the Hospitalers had to carry everything with them, and were ordered to perform at double time, each new street was a fresh hell. The Sons had been shelling their rivals for four days now, and all the time been executing anyone who looked official in the crossfire, be they PDF, Arbites, or even Hospitalers. Once again Lucina got used to keeping her weapon ready at all times.

Now communicating via an Imperial taught sign language, Lucina found new challenges in trying to talk to her colleagues, often having to resort to crude gestures when bullets whizzed overhead. It was on the evening of the fourth day, when Lucina, three Hospitalers, and a small detachment of PDF were caught within an old school, pinned down by fire, with wounded around them, they called for backup, where they were told rather callously, that there were far more important lives to be saving, and that their safety was their own. They had no chance to hunker down, and try and push away the advancing tide of gangers. Slowly, both sides began sustaining casualties, and it was beginning to look like a stalemate until the plasteel sides of an armoured vehicle rolled into view, it was mounted with two heavy stubbers, and a port for launching grenades. The first grenade hit hard, dismantling their cover, and sending a few of the PDF scattering, the second hit even harder, exploding above them, showering them with shrapnel, which sliced through the Hospitalers around Lucina. There was one saving grace, one of the PDFs was armed with a melta gun, a device tailored to take out vehicles like this, Emperor only knows where he got it. Lucina moved up, pointing to the Melta, then the armoured vehicle, after a short back and forth, the PDF understood her, shaking his head and protesting, citing it would be suicide to go out there. Lucina tried a new tactic, she pointed at the Melta, then to herself, gesturing a swap of weapons. Once again the PDF soldier refused, telling her it was his, and to find her own weapon, at the end of her wick, she raised her autogun, and shot him, turning to the other soldiers, as if to ask 'anyone else?', with no further complaints, she hefted the Melta into her arms.

It was a short sprint to the vehicle, but the issue wasn't the distance, it was the open ground leaving no safety from the bullets, the two heavy stubbers mounted atop the vehicle were also an issue. Lucina took a breath and gestured to the soldiers around her, hoping for covering fire. Waiting for a the two heavy stubbers to begin reloading, she darted out from the torn up rubble around her, already feeling the heat of a dozen weapons trained on her, thankfully, the PDF, inspired by her actions, and maybe a little fearful of another commissar-esk friendly fire incident opened up. Lucina counted the steps left, closer, and closer she drew to the vehicle, the heavy stubbers now finished reloading opened up, bullets striking the floor around her, every fiber of her being screamed at her to fire now, but she knew the closer she could get, the more effective her shot would be. Five meters is where she pulled the trigger, a stream of scalding hot gas, she saw the stream collide with the side of the vehicle, turning the plasteel to liquid before her very eyes, as the steam cleared she saw the inside of the vehicle, and the righteous carnage she had unfolded, undeterred by the pleading of the scalded gangers inside, she pulled the trigger again, filling the vehicle with spray, melting all souls inside. Something within the vehicle caught, triggering an explosion that lifted her off her feet. As she went to regain herself, she felt the sharp punch of autogun rounds hitting her left side, she fell again, stranded in no man's land. Once again, death would not find Lucina here. Instead of gunfire, she heard deep phwooshes, and felt the air around her grow very hot, she saw streams of fire, and heard the screams of gangers, set alight in their holes, Lucina felt a hand grasp her by the scruff of her neck, and drag her backwards to safety.

Once back on safe ground, she got a chance to see her rescuers, the shadowed black, and deep crimson of the Adeptus Sorortius's own Sisters of Battle. The sight was so beautiful Lucina could have wept, medics were ordered and once again, she found herself being taken away from battle by stretcher. The coming days were not so alien for Lucina, a flurry of Hospitalers, providing her with the medical attention necessary, it would seem she caught more bullets than first thought, a total of seven bullets were removed from her left side over the course of the next week. While in the care of her fellow Hospitalers, Lucina received a visitor, her instructor from the Monastery, and saviour on the battlefield, the grizzled Sororitas, Lady Agatha Harmonas. Lady Agatha praised Lucina for her actions, her quick thinking, and her determination to stick to her mission. She offered Lucina an opportunity, leave the Hospitalers behind, and join the selection process for the Sisters Of Battle. Given time to think on this opportunity, Lucina pushed herself to recover. In a short month she was given a clean bill of health, and sought out Lady Agatha for entry to the Sisters Of Battle.

Selection was nothing but an arduous slog, the Sisters Of Battle prided themselves on being some of the very best the Emperor had to offer, Lucina spent her Mornings, Evenings, and Nights training, testing, and learning, she found comfort in shock weaponry like the Melta gun, and used her prior experience in the Hospitalers to put herself ahead of the other applicants. Her hardest challenge was communicating with other applicants during mock missions, as the Imperial standard sign language she used, was not common knowledge, she compromised by using her knowledge of the Tactica Imperialis to communicate via militaristic hand signals. As the selection process drew towards its end, the numbers of applicants dropped from Fifty, to Eight, Lucina spent her final week proving herself, she performed excellently in mock drills during the day, and spent entire nights awake in prayer to the Emperor. When the time came, only her and two other applicants were chosen to go forward onto the blessed position.

Lucina could have silently wept during the proceedings to her enrolment as a Sister Of Battle, she felt a sense of belonging, as if the Emperor had given her the uncanny luck she had experienced to get to this position, when she was measured for the holy red, and black power armour, a sense of duty crashed over her, last time she had let her personal feelings get ahead of her, she had her voice taken as penance, she reminded herself that a Sister Of Battle had a duty to the Emperor, and his people. Lucina never forgot the lessons that her time in the Hospitalers had taught her, she never forgot how actions, no matter how small could have cataclysmic consequences, and she told herself, that while she still drew breath, she would make every action she took, a praise unto the Emperor himself.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Heaven and Earth - Ashes

Title: Ashes.   Summary: The first time Ernesto stopped Héctor from going home, it was to save his life. [If I’d returned home with them, this wouldn’t have happened.] Characters: Héctor Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Imelda Rivera

Other fics from the series can be found here.

A/N: It's been... months since I last posted anything for this series, but I finally got there. Better late than never. I think. Art by Dara!

***

The Revolution did not end in July 1914.

The Federal Army would keep going, aimless and weakened, for another month before disbanding. That didn’t mark the end of it, either; too many factions, too many factors at play; unrest and violence would continue to cause ripples throughout Mexico for years to come. 

But in Santa Cecilia, on one bright July morning, no one knew that. All they knew was that something was over at last, that Huerta was gone - fucked off abroad, they said, and to hell with him and his mano de hierro - and that was good enough reason to celebrate. 

Oh, did they celebrate.

There was food, there were drinks, there was music and dancing. Everyone with an instrument had brought it out, and Héctor and Ernesto were right in the middle of it, guitar in hand and singing their heart out. Héctor had never felt so much relief at once; it was almost like being drunk, while knowing there would be no headache to follow the wonderful sensation. 

He sang, he played, and occasionally caught sight of Imelda, who was dancing around with other girls, laughing and sometimes looking back at him, her smile so wide. 

We won, that smile told him, and Héctor smiled back. 

There were fireworks, too - Ernesto’s father had brought the ones he’d made to the plaza, giving them around for free so that they could  celebrate properly. And he’d stayed, which was new: Héctor had never seen Estéban de la Cruz joining the rest of them to celebrate anything. 

But the Federales had shot him in the shoulder, tried to take his son, burned down his old house; that would make anyone want to celebrate. He had something in his ears - soft wax, maybe, to tone down the explosions of the fireworks, so that he wouldn’t go into a panic again - so he couldn’t hear much, but he was laughing, already well in his cups, an arm around his wife.

Adela had drunk as well, just a glass or two, but it was enough to turn her cheeks all red. She laughed, too, talked with Héctor’s mother… until, of course, his father went to grab her hand, to get her to dance with him.

“Ricardo!” Emilia laughed, stumbling after her husband. They were both tall and gangly, the way Héctor was already turning out, all knees and elbows and with… nearly none of their son’s practice when it came to dancing. They were uncoordinated, stumbled more than they danced as they laughed, and when Héctor turned his gaze away from Imelda to see them, his smile widened. 

“Hey, Héctor! Go teach them how to dance, they’re awful,” Ernesto laughed, elbowing him while strumming his guitar at the same time. It made all the notes come out wrong, but the girl he was smiling at from afar didn’t seem to notice at all. 

Héctor scoffed. “I don’t see you trying to show your parents how to dance!” he said, remembering only a few moments too late that Estéban had a lame leg. Ernesto didn’t seem to take notice, and laughed. 

“Hah! You’d have better luck trying to teach a bear than my old man, but at least he has the sense not to try.” Ernesto gave another strum and twirled, getting back to the spot where he’d been standing before approaching - which, Héctor couldn’t help but notice, had a heavier female presence than anywhere else in the plaza. 

Not Imelda, though. She wasn’t looking anywhere in Ernesto’s direction, dancing with her brothers who were just as bad as Héctor’s parents, and it was a relief. He was tempted, for a moment, to approach - to dance around with her, like they had at the party for her fifteenth birthday - but then he turned back to his parents, and made a different call.

Later, he would be glad he did; he and Imelda would get many more dances together, if not as many as a kinder fate would have allowed them. With his parents, that was to be the last. He’d leave his life behind too early and with many regrets but that, at least, wouldn’t be one of them.

“Papá!” he exclaimed with a laugh, stepping up to them and strumming his guitar again, voice loud to be heard through the playing and singing and laughter, the clinking glasses and cheers. “What are you trying to do? Pull her arms out of her sockets?”

“Hah, listen to him!” his father laughed, pulling his laughing mother into another clumsy half-turn. “Come back after you have danced with a girl!”

I have, Héctor thought, but did not, because it would have led to… a lot of questions, none of which he felt ready to answer right now. Besides he and Imelda had danced around each other, but never touched in the process. Not like Ernesto had danced with her, when they had to take time and keep soldiers distracted.

No need to think of it again. No more soldiers, and… and no more Imelda dancing with Ernesto.

In the end, Héctor ignored his father’s comment and just kept playing, circlings his parents and making his mother laugh. There was so much joy in that laugh, so much relief - the kind that comes from the end of a nightmare, the realization she would never again have to fear Federales would come to take her only child for their war. “Is this a three way dance now? Like when you were little?”

“Can’t see why not,” Héctor grinned, and when his mother threw her arms around his neck to kiss his cheeks he almost toppled backwards. His father steadied them both, arms around them, and for a few moments they stood there in a tight hug. The music and cheers all around them were distant, like it all was happening very far away. Then they broke apart, danced and sang some more, and had a good time. Héctor would remember that evening fondly. 

And forever wish he could forget the night that followed.

***

“I think he did, you know.”

“Did what?”

“Dance with a girl.”

Ricardo, who’d placed the oil lamp next to the window for Héctor to better see when he got back home - it was dark outside - turned to glance at his wife. He was so taken aback he didn’t realize the latch hadn’t closed properly. “He did? I mean-- do you know something I don’t?”

Emilia chuckled. Her hair was dishevelled, her nose a little red; they’d both drank quite a bit more than usual, which was part of the reason why they had decided to leave the celebrations in the plaza and go home for what would probably be the first truly restful night in years. Héctor had seemed about to follow, but Ernesto had called for him from the other side of the plaza and it was clear that the boys were not done celebrating just yet. 

It was all right. They had every reason to celebrate. 

“I just know how to read him, mi amor. It was plain on his face,” Emilia was saying, and tapped his nose when he walked up to her. “A mother knows. Our boy is growing up.”

“Ay, so fast,” Ricardo sighed, then he leaned in to give her a peck on the lips. They were speculating over who the girl in question might be - neither of them thought of Imelda - when they stumbled upstairs and to the bed. Soon enough they were asleep in each other’s arms.

When a gust of wind threw open the window, knocking down the oil lamp, neither stirred.

***

“Hey, what…?”

“What is that?”

“Fire?”

“Fire!”

“Something’s burning!”

At first, Héctor didn’t really hear the alarmed cries. There was still so much noise all around, laughter and jokes and some drunken singing even now that they were too tired to keep playing. He was sitting on a bench, laughing at a joke someone had made, when suddenly Ernesto seemed to really hear the cries of alarm, and looked up. 

He’d been laughing, too, but suddenly all amusement disappeared from his face at once; it made Héctor think of a guitar string snapping, bringing the music to an abrupt half. The next moment his best friend had jumped on his feet, eyes wide. 

“Madre de-- isn’t that where your house is?”

What?

Héctor turned so fast that his neck hurt, but he hardly even noticed. He felt numb, staring at the column of smoke that he could see now, against the moonlit sky, behind the houses immediately around the plaza. 

Ernesto was right. That was where his home was.

There was horror, probably, but if asked later on Héctor wouldn’t be able to recall what he thought, what he felt. The next moment he was up and running, getting the guitar off his shoulder and throwing it on the ground to go faster, unable to think of anything but one simple thing - he had to get home.

“Héctor! Héctor, wait!”

Ernesto’s voice, usually so powerful, sounded incredibly small, so very distant. Other voices joined in, but Héctor could barely hear it through the rushing blood in his ears, the beating of his own heart, his panting breath as he kept running. Everything around him was a blur. It was such a short distance to run, it only took minutes, but they seemed to last hours.

It’s not my house. It’s not. He was wrong, Ernesto was wrong, it can’t be--

And then, after one last turn, was his home, engulfed in flames. Héctor stopped in his tracks so abruptly the momentum made him almost fall forward. He staggered and managed not to fall, leaning against the wall of a nearby house, staring at the scene with wide eyes.

Before him, there was roaring inferno; the wind was carrying all smoke the opposite direction, towards the hills. Smoke, ashes, and sparks that flared brightly against the night sky before dying down, taking away everything he’d ever owned except for the clothes on his back and the guitar he’d discarded on the way. 

But it was all right. It would be all right, they could get through it. Héctor drew in a deep breath, and turned to search for his parents in the gathering crowd. 

They were not there. 

No. No. No. No. “Mamá! Papá!”

“Héctor! No! Stop!”

He didn’t listen, he couldn’t listen: all he could do was scream so loudly his throat hurt, scream for his parents and run towards the house, towards the flames, towards the burning, yawning mouth that had once been their front door. 

They’re in there they’re in there I have to get them out I have to--

“STOP!”

Ernesto’s scream was suddenly louder than his panicked thoughts, louder than the flames. A pair of arms grabbed him, impossibly strong, yanking him back, away from his house.

Away from his family. 

“No!” Héctor let out a scream like that of a wounded animal, and struggled to break free with raw, manic strength that he’d never had before, and would never have again. Later - much later, when they’d be able to talk about that night at all - Ernesto would admit he’d barely managed to hold onto him, a haunted look on his face.

“Stay back-- stay back, you can’t go in there! It’s suicide!”

“Let me go!”

“It’s too late, you’ll get yourself killed! Come he--”

“NO!” Héctor screamed, and half-crazed with terror that threatened to turn into grief if he allowed himself to think, for even one moment, that it truly was too late. He threw back his head to hit Ernesto in the face; it was something he’d done before while they wrestled, but never with such violence. There was a cry, Ernesto’s grip slackened, and Héctor broke free. 

“Mamá! Pa--”

“I SAID COME HERE!” 

Ernesto’s voice was closer to a roar than to anything human. Something struck Héctor’s back and suddenly he was on the ground, Ernesto on top of him, holding onto his midsection again. He was thrown back, away from the flames, landing painfully on his shoulder; he wouldn’t feel it until the next day. He struggled on his feet and Ernesto was before him, face bloodied and teeth bared in a snarl. He screamed something Héctor ignored; he tried again to run, to get past him and to his home, to his family, he had to--

A sudden blow to his stomach cut off his thoughts and breath, leaving Héctor to gasp and struggle to draw breath, knees folding. His ears buzzed, and suddenly everything was so far away. He groaned weakly when he felt someone grabbing his shirt, dragging him away. He got one last glimpse at the burning house, of his own hand stretched out towards it, then his vision began to go dark. The blaze dimmed, and faded into nothingness. 

“Apologies, my friend,” was the last thing he heard. “I can’t let you do this.”

***

  ***

They were found still in bed, doctor Sanchéz told him. Side by side, no sign they had even tried to get up, to get away.

“The smoke got to them before the fire did,” he said, his voice soft, a comforting hand on his shoulder. “They went in their sleep. They never knew anything was wrong. They didn’t suffer.”

Héctor supposed he should be thankful, because it would have broken him to think his parents had to burn alive, that their last moments had been filled with terror. They had been spared that, but they were still gone and oh, God, it hurt so much, it was so unfair.

And maybe it had been his fault.

The oil lamp. They left it out for me, they always left it out for me. If I’d returned home with them, this wouldn’t have happened.

The thought was maddening, and he cried out, tried to stand, screamed he had to go home. He was held down, a needle was pushed in his arm, and for a time he knew now more. 

***

Héctor’s guitar was broken when Ernesto found it. 

He’d known it was probably at least cracked; he’d seen the moment Héctor had taken it off his shoulder and thrown it on the ground while he kept running, discarding it like it was nothing. Ernesto had almost stopped to pick it up, and the thought of what may have happened if he had made his blood run cold. He’d caught up with Héctor just on time. 

If he’d been only a few seconds late, if he hadn’t been there to grab him when he had…

With the mind’s eye, he saw his best friend running into the flames and disappearing from sight. Face still blackened and throat scorched from the smoke and the screaming the previous night, Ernesto chased the thought from his mind. It didn’t matter now; he hadn’t stopped and he had been there at the right time, to keep Héctor from doing something suicidal.

Later, on the nights when he’d awaken in cold sweat after dreaming of a limp body hitting the cobblestones, Ernesto would think back of those moments and think that, at least, he hadn’t died burning - that he’d saved him from a worse death than the one he’d had to deliver.

But those nights were still years away and, for now, Ernesto focused on the guitar.

The neck had snapped almost clean in two, hanging on only by some splinters and the strings. Maybe it could be fixed, Ernesto thought. Héctor couldn’t be without a guitar, it seemed so wrong. And besides, it was the only earthly possession he had left, aside from the clothes he’d been wearing and the songbook tucked in the guitar’s cover, back in the plaza.

And me. He still has me.

Ernesto ran his fingers over the break. Maybe he could fix that; his father did the odd carpentry job from time to time, and he’d taught him the basics. It wouldn’t be like new, but if he could fix--

“How’s Héctor?”

Ernesto recoiled, and glanced up. Imelda was there, looking down at him with a somber expression, long braid whipping in the wind. Lucky for them that the wind hadn’t been that strong the previous night, or the flames may have spread, made more damage to houses nearby. He shrugged, looking back at the damaged guitar. 

“With doctor Sanchéz. They had to sedate him again, he said.”

“Did you see him?”

“No one can yet.”

“I see. Can you let me know whenever it’s possible? I’d like to give my condolences.”

You didn’t even know them, Ernesto thought, but nodded instead, saying nothing. He expected her to leave. She did not.

“Padre Edmundo wants to hold the funeral in three days.”

“... No open caskets, I assume.”

“No. Better not.”

Ernesto swallowed, and made an effort to focus on the guitar - only for her to speak up again.

“How are you?”

Ernesto looked up again, taken aback. “What?”

“I heard you were at their home almost all the time, since you were little.”

“Ah. Right,” Ernesto muttered, and looked down at the wrecked guitar. No one had asked him how he felt - all the focus had of course been on Héctor, left orphaned by the fire. Ernesto still had both parents. Or at least, one and a half. And a home where he spent as little time as possible. Where would he go now?

“Make sure Héctor doesn’t get in trouble, will you? And be back by sundown!”

“That’s a nasty cut, let me have a look…”

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“You can stay for the night, I’ll tell your parents you’re here.”

“Ah, there you are! You’re staying for dinner, sí?”

Ernesto’s grip tightened on the guitar, then he let out a long breath and forced himself to slacked in. “... I’m holding up.”

Imelda nodded, and didn’t prod any further. “I heard you saved his life.”

“So I can strangle him for trying to get himself killed,” Ernesto muttered, but he did smile a little, and looked back up at her. “But he’ll get to be around for a little longer.”

Imelda gave a faint smile of her own, but it lasted little. “Does he have no other family? Anyone he can stay with?”

Ernesto frowned, a little annoyed by the question even if he could think of no logical reason to be. “He has me.” And I’m more than enough. “He’ll stay with me, for a while.”

“I thought you said your father doesn’t like him.”

“My father doesn’t like anyone. I’m not asking his permission,” Ernesto scoffed. There was another moment of silence, then Imelda sat next to him. 

“Is that your guitar?”

“Héctor’s.”

“I might be able to have that fixed.”

Oh. Ernesto hesitated, glancing over again. He was tempted to tell her not to bother, he could get that done, but truth be told he wasn’t entirely certain he’d be able to fix it. He hadn’t learned much carpentry from his father, in the end; he didn’t especially enjoy having to pull splinters out of his palms and fingers every damn time. Someone else to fix it may be ideal, but…

“I don’t have much money.”

“They won’t need payment, no worries. They’ll be happy to help.”

“They?”

“My brothers.”

“The Bobos?” Ernesto scoffed. “What do they know about guitars?”

Imelda rolled her eyes. “A lot, according to them.”

“... And according to you?”

“Next to nothing, but they learn fast.” She reached to take the broken guitar from his hands, and Ernesto let her. “Besides, I doubt they can damage it any worse than this.” A pause, and she wrinkled her nose. “... They might, really. But it’s not likely.”

He laughed a little, catching her by surprise. Nothing about what she said was that funny, but he was unable to stop himself for a few moments. “Hah! So, it’s a gamble,” he chuckled, and nodded. “All right, I’m ready to be amazed. One way or another.”

Imelda chuckled as well. “I’ll tell them the stakes are high,” she said, and stood, guitar held in her arms as carefully as one would hold a child. “Will you let me know when we can visit him?”

Ernesto stood as well. “Of course.” A pause. “... Gracias,” he added. Whether it was for the guitar or for asking him how he was doing, he wasn’t sure. 

She accepted his thanks with a nod and left without another word, walking fast as she always did, Héctor’s guitar cradled in her arms.

***

The funeral was a long, torturous nightmare.

Padre Edmundo prattled on about resting in peace, about basking  in the light of the Lord and whatnot, but Héctor hardly listened. He just stood there, clad in black clothes that were too big for him, staring at the two caskets before the altar. Closed, of course - they had stayed closed during the wake, too. He could imagine the reason why, if he allowed himself to, but he did not.

Two closed caskets. May as well be empty. Maybe they were, maybe his parents were not there and would turn out to be all right. Maybe he would wake up in his bed, realize it had all been the worst nightmare of his life. He’d go to his parents, hug them, never let them go. 

But then the mass was over, the caskets were taken to the cemetery - Ernesto went to help carry his mother’s - and Héctor knew he was never going to wake up. He followed and stood before the grave, mind blank of anything except bleak despair; some people spoke to him, some patted his shoulder or his back, a few women hugged him - it was all a blur. 

And then there was Imelda, standing by his side, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. No words spoken, only that silent presence and warm hand; Héctor swallowed back tears, and squeezed it back. She had come see him while he was still in the doctor’s house, but he’d hardly even looked at her; even Ernesto’s attempt at making some music to distract him hardly got a reaction out of him. He’d just stared at the wall until they left. 

Knowing neither of them held it against him was a relief, cutting through the bleak despair - and yet, even then, he couldn’t manage to cry. 

***

“Come in, come in. Sit, dear - Ernesto, do get him something to eat. I’ll prepare a bed upstairs.”

Ernesto’s mother was kind as always, and Héctor managed to smile at her, to murmur a ‘gracias’ that was barely audible to his own ears. He followed Ernesto into the kitchen and sat; instead of getting him food, Ernesto sat by him and put an arm around his shoulders. 

“It will be all right, sí? We’re going to be all right,” he said, and ay, if only Héctor could believe it. If only--

“So, he’s staying here?” 

Estéban de le Cruz’s voice was a rumble, as always. The mere sound of it used to make Héctor feel on edge; now it barely registered. He turned to see him in the doorway, leaning on his good leg, arms crossed. He felt nothing. He thought nothing. He didn’t even try to say anything; if he’d grabbed him to throw him out, he’d have stayed limp and silent in his grip like marionette without strings. 

It was Ernesto to speak up, and he sounded fired up enough for them both.

“He is,” he snapped. “You’re welcome to sleep outside if it doesn’t suit you.”

Normally, Héctor supposed, there would have been anger - an argument, they had plenty of arguments and there shouldn’t be, no one should waste time with their parents with arguments   - but at first there was no reply at all. Ernesto’s father just limped through the kitchen, lame leg dragging over the wooden boards, to the cabinet by the table. 

“How old is he again?” he asked, gruffly, like Héctor wasn’t even there. 

Ernesto blinked. “Er… fourteen.”

A shrug. “Old enough.”

Something was placed on the table, causing Héctor to to recoil - a glass. Two glasses, and a bottle of tequila that was still half full. He stared in silence as the glasses were filled, and only glanced up as Estéban sat heavily, uttering a curse when he had to push his ruined leg under the table. He grimaced, and pushed one of the glasses towards Héctor. He took it without thinking. 

“Drink,” he said. “It helps, for a time. Just don’t be a the idiota who doesn’t know when to stop.”

“Don’t be like him, is what he means,” Ernesto muttered, but he took the glass. Héctor swallowed, and took his own before glancing over, wondering if he should start a toast to his parents’ memory and knowing he wouldn’t be able to do so without going insane. Estéban stared at him a moment; in his hand, he was holding the bottle with all the remaining tequila. 

“Out of all the cabrones in this village, I guess they were all right,” he grumbled, looking down at the table.

“What the-- listen here--” Ernesto sputtered, face turning red with anger, but he trailed off when something came out of Héctor’s mouth - a choking noise that sounded almost like a laugh. The closest to one he could manage, anyway. As his best friend turned to look at him like he’d gone loco, Héctor sniffled and wiped his eyes with his free hand. The corners of his lips were still curled upwards faintly when he spoke. 

“I think that’s the nicest thing I ever heard you say of anyone, señor de la Cruz.”

A snort. “Well, don’t get used to it,” Ernesto’s father grumbled, not a single hint of humor in his voice, and lifted the bottle in a silent toast. Ernesto lifted his glass and so did Héctor, hand shaking a little, struggling to hold back tears. When they tossed back the tequila, so did he. It burned his throat, made his eyes water, but it warmed him up - did something to loosen the icy knot his stomach seemed to have turned into. 

And finally, finally, he managed to cry. 

***

“... It’s not the prettiest of repairs, but it should hold up.”

Taken as he was looking at his guitar - the only thing he had left from before - Héctor didn’t even realize that Imelda sounded remarkably nervous for someone who had faced off armed soldiers without flinching. He swallowed, and gave the guitar a soft strum.

“It needs tuning,” Ernesto pointed out, throwing a stone into the stream. It skipped across the surface, but he didn’t bother to count how many times: both he and Imelda stared at Héctor’s fingers as he tuned the strings, adjusted the guitar on his knees, strummed again. 

And, at long last, smiled.

“Perfecto,” he said, and played a few notes. No, it wasn’t the prettiest of repairs; the guitar was damaged, would never be quite be the same, but the sound was still there. It could still make music, the kind his mother loved to listen to for hours and hours on end. He could still make music. He looked up, trying to keep his voice firm. “Gracias, Imelda.”

She smiled. “It was my brothers to fix it. And it’s the least we could do,” she said. Héctor was about to speak again, but suddenly Ernesto was holding something out before his face - a red songbook. His songbook. He’d completely forgotten he’d had it on him that night, that it hadn’t burned with… everything else.

“It’s good to have you back, hermanito,” Ernesto said, and smiled. “Don’t lose this again. There are plenty of pages yet to fill.”

Héctor swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded, taking it. He opened it, got to the first of the blank pages - do clean, so white - and he let out a long breath. 

He would fill those pages, all right, and he already knew who his next song would be for. He had nothing left of his parents, not a single thing, but he had memories and enough talent to put the into music, so that was what he would do.

So that they could be together, at least, when he sang.

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

A Tough Act to Follow

Characters: Ryker Grimborn, Viggo Grimborn, Trader Johann

Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: T

Words: 1, 774

.....

Chapter 1: Rescue Me and I’ll Never Be the Same

The Submaripper rammed into the Shellfire with tremendous force, knocking the colossal dragon backwards. The chains keeping the ship strapped to the creature’s back buckled and snapped, sending the ship plunging into the churning waters.

It happened so suddenly that Ryker had no chance to get clear—he couldn’t even brace for the impact. He screamed his brother’s name out of anger, frustration, and even desperation as the ship slammed him into the water at full force.

He felt his ribs break and his lungs lose all the air they held in a mere instant. The ship sank quickly, mercilessly dragging him down with it—somewhere in his clouded mind he knew that was just as dangerous as outright drowning.

His hope fading and his vision rapidly growing blurry and grey, he clawed at the rough metal and kicked with all his might, fighting to get free, to get to the surface, to get air, to live.

Disoriented and already too deep in the frigid water, he couldn’t figure out which way to swim and his body was too dense with muscle to float. Lungs frantic for air but resisting the urge to take a breath, he searched all around for a sign to guide him upwards. A few stray strands of weak light caught his attention and he poured every last ounce of strength he possessed into swimming towards them.

Unable to help himself, he gave in and took a breath before he completely broke the surface. His lungs immediately rejected the salt water, forcing him to cough it out as he struggled to find something to hold onto to keep him from sinking back down.

Blindly, his arms found and wrapped around a broken piece of timber from one of the many ships destroyed that day. Numb and utterly exhausted, he just held on and focussed on breathing, completely unconcerned with the water carrying him who-knows-where.

Eventually, he raised his head and tried to get his bearings but there was nothing but a scattering of wreckage to break up the miles upon miles of sea stretching out in every direction. The only landmark he could make out was a plume of black smoke peeking over the horizon, presumably rising from the reawakened volcano on the Edge. He thought he could hear snatches of voices carried by the wind over the water but he couldn’t find it in him to care any more.

Defeat overrode his desperation. His grand scheme to wipe out the Dragon Riders and their allies had failed horribly. It wasn’t simply that he had lost a game (though his brother probably would’ve written it off as such without changing shade)—no, he’d lost so much more than that: he’d lost men and the respect of any that remained; the debris littering the dark waters around him was all that was left of his empire and his livelihood; and he’d failed to save Viggo.

From the start, he knew it was risky inciting a mutiny and going ahead with Project: Shellfire before it was entirely ready, but just the mere hope that he could end the war, restore their way of life, and save his little brother all in one fell swoop was more than enough reason to try.

Viggo’s grasp on reality had always been rather slim but his obsession with besting Haddock had pushed him well over the edge. As the game went on and the stakes rose ever higher, Ryker watched his brother rapidly lose what little regard he had for his own health, ignoring basic needs like sleep and sustenance as he focussed solely on outmanoeuvring his greatest opponent. No, the game had to end, and—for Viggo’s sake—it had to end soon.

And now, as the current pulled him further and further away from the cursed Outpost Island, Ryker realized the game had ended... just not in the way he had so fervently hoped it would...

The cold seized him rapidly, sadistically sapping sensation from everything but his broken ribs. What little daylight remained faded quickly from then on and he resigned himself to a night adrift in the water, clinging for all he was worth to a scrap of split wood.

A part of him still longed for a rescue and his arrogance promised him he’d get one but he believed that less and less with every hour that passed. Still, his tired mind insisted that every sliver of debris around him was a ship on the horizon and every gust of wind was a voice calling out to him.

At first, the imaginary voices sounded like those of his men directing him to a nonexistent shoreline, then it turned into Viggo telling him to just hold on a little longer, and then his subconscious decided to really play dirty and convinced him it was Olina and the girls begging him not to give in to the cold or the exhaustion, to keep fighting, keep breathing, and come home.

As his bleary eyes fixed on a patch of moonlight glinting on the unsteady surface of the water and his mind decided it was yet another ship, something inside him caved and he let himself believe it. And, while he was indulging the fantasy, he may as well have it that it’s his wife and his daughters on the deck waving to him. Why not? He was going to die out here anyway; what was the harm in pretending that the woman he loved and the children he adored were the last faces he saw?

The illusion drew nearer, its shape morphing from the sharp, sturdy, squarish design of the Hunters’ vessels into the more rounded form of a typical Viking ship. Ryker couldn’t figure out why his mind would pull such a cruel trick on him now; there wasn’t a single fibre of his being that wanted to see anything at all related to those wretched Riders, even if it was only imagined. No, until his last breath, he wanted to see Olina and Daleia and Fallon and Norell; he had to see them.

Try as he might, he couldn’t change the ship’s shape, couldn’t see his family on board, couldn’t even hear their voices anymore. The ship stubbornly kept its round shape and its slightly goofy dragon figurehead and it just kept coming closer and closer and a man with a very distinct accent kept calling and—

Oh.

Oh.

Crazy, intoxicating hope reignited as he realized the ship carving across the pitch black water wasn’t a figment of his imagination. He could see it; he could hear it; he could even feel it.

Ryker thrust his arm high in the air and waved wildly, forcing out the loudest yell he could muster to snatch the attention of whoever manned that ship—friend or foe, at least it was a chance...

“Oh, what good fortune this is!” the man on the deck exclaimed as he adjusted the sails to slow the ship. The warm glow from the lanterns onboard conflicted with the moonlight reflecting off the water, rendering him as nothing more than a silhouette, but that hardly disguised his identity: the entire Archipelago could recognize that eccentric but weak-willed merchant by voice alone. “I saw all that depressing debris dirtying the waters and was about to reset my course when I could’ve sworn I glimpsed a man desperately clinging to the wreckage! And, apparently, I had! Come aboard, friend! Come aboard!”

Ryker abandoned the broken piece of timber that had saved his life for a good few hours and swam closer to the old ship as the other man hoisted a heap of coiled rope up and over the side of the ship, grunting and panting as if it were some great exertion. With numb, shaking hands, Ryker grasped the rope, wrapping it up one arm to ensure he didn’t slip as he somehow scraped together enough strength to pull his battered and bruised body up the side of the ship.

The merchant who came to his rescue made no move to assist; rather, he stood back and watched with an overly anxious expression as Ryker heaved himself up over the side and came tumbling onto the deck, just barely managing to keep himself from collapsing in a heap on the weatherbeaten wood.

“You look utterly exhausted!” the man—Johann—remarked and scurried off to rummage through some nearby crates. “You must’ve been drifting hither and thither for hours! If I hadn’t been passing by this very night...” He shivered dramatically. “Well, best not to dwell on the what-if’s, I suppose.”

“Leaves you barren.”

“Pardon?”

Ryker shook his head. “Nothing. Just... something my brother used to say.”

Johann paused in his search and turned to peer at him with measured scrutiny. Despite his jovial face and his colourful person, there was something critical and almost cold hidden behind his eyes as he examined the Hunter. Whatever it was, it faded away in an instant. “Ah, you must be the elder Grimborn brother!” He pulled a woollen blanket from one of the crates and shook it out before draping it over his newest passenger’s shoulders. “Why, yes! I had heard about some grand commotion in these parts regarding you and your brother. I, personally, prefer to steer clear of all the violence; my heart is quite frail—I fear it wouldn’t tolerate such horrors!”

Ryker scoffed, earning him an indignant glare from the trader.

“Laugh if you must! Some day you’ll be nearing my age and it won’t seem so silly anymore!”

“Ha! I’d be surprised if you were even old enough to be my father!”

Genuine anger flashed in the trader’s pale eyes but, again, it faded quickly. “Well, at least all the commotion seems to be over for the time being,” he said, fishing a canteen out of another nearby crate and holding it out the Hunter. “I have business to conduct with a peculiar fellow in the far north—the far, far north. I don’t imagine you’d be much inclined to accompany me all that way, not after all these harrowing experiences...” he trailed off and raised his eyebrows, very obviously prompting an interjection.

Ryker ignored him for a minute, much more interested in gulping down water until he was almost sick. He handed the now empty canteen back to the trader and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, waiting till the brief spell of nausea passed before he spoke. “Will you be passing the Northern Markets?”

“Of course! I need to procure more wares for my trade and—”

“Johann?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

[saiilorstars]

Dhalloweek Day 1: A Hunting We Will Go

*** This is part of DearDescendants’ Writing Week. ***

Day 1 Prompt: Vampire

Rating: General audience; minor cursing

{The following OC is of my creation, everything else is part of the Descendants/Disney world.}

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

"What the hell is...Halloween?" Elle couldn't possibly be more confused, which really only made her more adorable in Ben's eyes. He'd just told her that Auradon Prep was going to host its yearly Halloween week-long fest.

She had no idea what he was talking about.

Ben couldn't help but laugh. Elle didn't appreciate it.

"You may be King of Auradon but I will not hesitate to kick your ass," she promptly said, hoping that'd be enough to stop his laughter.

Ben sobered slowly, much to her dismay. He straightened in his desk chair, eyes looking directly into Elle as if still considering that she was just playing with him and that she did in fact know what Halloween was.

She did not.

"How did you not celebrate Halloween?" he leaned forwards on his desk. "You used to live on the Isle of the Lost - Halloween is all about scary things, tricks and just scaring people."

"That's an everyday thing, Ben. Why would we only do it one time per year?"

"Alright," Ben raised his hands, indicating he'd get serious and explain to her the holiday. He pushed himself out of his seat and moved around the desk barring him from his girlfriend. "Halloween is the one day a year where everyone dresses up as something they like - a vampire, a ghost, a werewolf-"

"-basically anything but themselves?"

"Yes, although Audrey might not be celebrating Halloween then," Ben said in a thoughtful manner. The pink princess always went as herself for Halloween. "Anyways, there's some people who go trick-or-treating which is knocking on people's homes asking for candy."

"And then they play tricks on each other…?" Elle raised an eyebrow. Okay, that last part may sound more like the Isle of the Lost but she didn't understand the whole 'asking for candy' bit. Why would you do that? Why wouldn't you just steal it?

"Well, kind of...no one really does tricks here in Auradon. It's not nice," Ben smiled awkwardly. That was just too Auradon.

"Of course," Elle playfully rolled her eyes. "So then what else happens for Halloween?"

"The trick-or-treating and then a good old Halloween party is pretty much it. Auradon Prep loves Halloween too much to let it be just for a day. We have it the whole week."

"And what do we do during this week?"

"The first day we go as vampires. Bring your favorite vampire character to life."

"Sooo...all day we just go about pretending to be vampires?" Elle tilted her head, considering how foolish the idea seemed to her right now. Actually, if Mal was here she'd say…

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

"That's stupid," the purple-haired girl was crinkling her nose in disdain. She scooted backwards on her bed, until she could rest against her bed's headboard.

Elle was leaning against their dorm's door and was actually amused by her friends' different reactions.

Evie promptly pushed one of Jay's legs in order for her to sit on the edge of her own bed. Jay often liked making himself comfortable on the girls' beds with the excuse the mattresses were more mushy than his. "I don't understand it either," Evie admitted to Elle, but the dreamy smile on Evie's face indicated she was more open to it than Mal. "But if it means I get to design a vampire costume then I'm all for it!"

She got up from her bed and dashed for her sewing machine at the edge of the room. With a grin, Jay repositioned himself on her bed, hands behind his back and his back against the headboard.

"Sounds kinda scary," admitted Carlos who sat on the ground, back pressed against the chest of Elle's bed. He had Dude in his lap, one hand petting the dog.

"It's all fake, Carlos," Elle rolled her eyes at him.

"Sounds boring," Jay said in a tone that meant he was clarifying the truth. "Can you imagine what this soft Auradons are going to do for this holiday meant to be about scaring and tricks?"

"Oh, you know about Halloween?" Mal raised an eyebrow at him, shooting him a doubtful gaze from her bed.

Jay smirked. "When a subject interests me, I excel in it. And believe me when I say that we-" he made a gesture at their group, "-could make this vampire day a whole lot better."

"You got some ideas?" Elle pushed herself off the door and walked up to Evie's bed. Like Evie, Elle pushed Jay's legs further to the side in order for her to sit down.

"Yeah," Jay's smirk was widening. Oh yeah, he'd given this some thought. "It's just too bad I don't have any magic…"

Elle looked back at Mal, the purple-haired girl already rolling her eyes, then looked over to Evie who'd turned on her sewing chair. The girls all knew what they would eventually end up doing for this idea.

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Without even trying, Evie was the sensation of Auradon Prep's first day of Halloween fest. She'd fashioned herself a black leather outfit meant to be her vampire costume. It consisted of black leather one suit with a plunging neckline. There was a glittery white blouse underneath, its ruffles poking through the plunging neckline. What really took people away was the long, brilliant red cape that flowed in her confident strides. Her blueberry-shade of hair was tied into a side braid with a couple curly strands left to frame her rosy face. Her lips were painted a brilliant red.

"You seriously had to dress up like that?" Mal was not the least surprised to find Evie completely engrossed with the costume ideas.

"Who said I couldn't have my own type of fun?" the blue-haired girl merely shrugged and smiled with red-stained lips.

"She looks good," Elle complimented as she, Jay and Carlos met them. They were being careful to look natural by Mal's locker.

"So are we doing this or not!?" Jay could care less about costumes. He'd done the bare minimum with his own costume, only going as far as slipping on a short black cape over his back and painting red streams at the corners of his lips to resemble blood.

"I'm not sure we should," Carlos admitted, once again appearing to be the only one out of the group to have some reservations about the idea.

"It'll be harmless," Mal assured him, though there was a wicked glint in her eyes when she yanked her spellbook out of her locker.

"I don't think it will…" Carlos mumbled, but no one paid him attention.

"Alright, so here's how this is going to work," Mal gave a light pat to the front cover of her spellbook. "It's quite simple, really. So simple that Evie didn't need to get her own grimoire and Elle doesn't have to use her necklace."

"So it really will be okay," Elle smiled at Carlos. They would never endanger Auradon...at least not anymore.

"Do it, Mal," Jay was eager to see the spell through. Wicked party here they come!

"I'm so ready," Evie set her hands on her hips and raised her head. She always loved a good party.

Mal skimmed through her spellbook until she found the page she needed. She pressed a finger to the required line and began to say out loud, "On Hallows' Eve there's always tricks, now give us a wicked vampire party, quick!" Her finger raised in the air and did its usual flicks side to side, commanding her powers to do her will.

Purple smoke shot down from the sky, enveloping the entire Auradon Prep land. The force of it - which wasn't planned at all - threw the group to the ground.

"Ooow that hurt," Evie was the first to groan. She had landed on her side and the cement was no place to fall so hard.

"Mal, what the hell?" Elle was rubbing the side of her head. She got herself a good smack against the cement too.

"Sorry, sorry," Mal sat upright and immediately sought out to find her spellbook.

"At least tell me it worked," Jay re-adjusted his beanie before getting up.

However, Carlos had beaten them to it. He was gazing out at the school's yard, eyes wide. "Uuh...guys…" His tone of voice drew the group's attention to what he was looking at.

And it was totally unplanned.

The sun was no more, for starters. It was dark out, night time when it was only noon. The bright green grass had died and turned an ugly yellow with some patches even missing. Fairy Godmother would never allow for such neglect of the school. There was an eerie light purple glow in the air.

But the worst part was the fact the students - their friends - had turned into the very thing they'd made fun of earlier.

"Did we just...turn everyone into vampires?" Carlos gulped.

Evie's mouth gaped as she came to stand next to Carlos, in front of the rail.

"Wicked!" Jay exclaimed, nearly laughing.

"Mal!" Elle quickly turned on the girl in question. "What happened!?"

"I don't know! More power than I thought, I guess," Mal awkwardly smiled. "Oops?"

"Just out of curiosity...what was supposed to happen?" Carlos asked.

"You know, the usual stuff," Mal shifted on her feet. Now that she was thinking about it, maybe the spell did exactly what it was supposed to. "It gave us a good vampire party…"

"With actual vampires!" Carlos flapped a hand at the yard.

"I thought they were just going to be like realistic vampires but obviously not vampires!" Mal exclaimed and stuck an index fingernail between her teeth. "Oops?"

Elle's eyes widened when she remember something - or someone - important. "Ben!" she cried and dashed for her boyfriend's dorm.

It took the others just 2 seconds more to realize what Elle had just thought of. They ran after Elle, though Carlos lingered behind to continue looking at the other students. However, one of the students spotted him and hissed, making Carlos flinch and jump backwards.

He ran then, as fast as he could.

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Elle burst into Ben's room, calling his name over and over until he saw a figure by the window. "Ben, I'm glad to see you," she sighed in relief and walked towards him...only for him to hiss at her with prominent fangs. "Ah!" Elle jumped back, bumping into the incoming Mal.

"What - ah!" Mal had only a second before she saw the menacing Ben at the window.

"You turned my boyfriend into a vampire!"

"I didn't mean to!"

"Fix him!"

Before the two started to argue, they each felt a grip on their arms that yanked them back into the hallway.

"Real vampires mean real death," Evie reminded them both.

"That's kinda cool, though," Jay said, still smiling excitedly.

"No, no it's not," scolded Carlos. "I told you we shouldn't have done this! Now everyone here is a vampire! How do we turn them back?"

Mal raised a hand to stop them while she searched through her spellbook. She went back to the page where she'd gotten the spell in the first place. "Okay, so there's no real counter spell-"

"-what?" Elle's sharpness was enough to make Mal wince.

"But there is a way to reverse it. And I can make them no problem," Mal's grin was nervous as hell which, in turn, made the others a bit nervous. "C'mon!"

They followed Mal through the school, careful to avoid the lurking vampires who wanted nothing than to drink their blood. Once they bumped into Fairy Godmother herself and were scared to death by the woman's sinister grin.

Mal led them to the nearby forest just beside the tourney field. "We need to collect bark."

"Bark? What for?" Evie gazed at the tree trunks with a crinkled nose. She didn't want to peel any of that off.

"We just need it! Now do it!" hissed Mal.

Between the five, they collected bark from tree trunks and from the ground. They made just enough for each of them to have two pieces. Mal then used her spellbook again to fashion the bark into daggers.

"Are we...are we supposed to stab people with these?" Carlos raised an eyebrow at Mal. He would definitely not be stabbing anyone.

"They're enchanted," Mal rolled her eyes. "You throw them at any vampire and it'll just go through them as if they were ghosts. Then, it'll boomerang back to you so you can use it again."

"I like it," Jay tossed one of his daggers into the air, catching it swiftly with one hand. "Can I go first?"

"What if we're not good throwers?" Evie was examining her own daggers with a visible doubt on her face.

"Just aim it at a vampire and it'll go to them," Mal said, assuring Evie it was a simple task even if one never played a sport of any kind.

"And this will make everyone go back to normal?" Elle raised one of her daggers.

"Hopefully, yes," Mal nodded.

"Fine, let's get to it. I'm starting with Ben," Elle took the lead back to the school.

They crept back into the front yard and sure enough counted several vampires in the area.

"I think that one's Lonnie," Jay realized when he spotted a familiar brunette rounding a table with fencing gear left carelessly on the edge.

"And I think I just found Jane," Carlos sighed. Yeah, he'd been hoping he wouldn't have to see her like that.

"So what do we do?" Evie looked at Mal. "Are we supposed to just-" but Jay drew back an arm and threw a dagger at Lonnie. It went right through her back, freezing her for a minute until a purple smoke took her over. It cleared off in seconds and revealed a normal Lonnie. Jay caught his boomerang with no problem.

"It worked!" Mal beamed and was immediately subjected to her friends' collective looks. "I mean...of course it worked...cos I knew it would work…" Mal looked away to hide her expression.

"Alright guys, let's do it," Elle exclaimed.

"YEAH!" Jay charged forwards and chucked his daggers at two more vampires, getting them easily.

"What is going on?" Lonnie was left demanding as the group zipped past her.

"Just go hide!" Evie told her.

Carlos closed his eyes to throw his dagger at Jane, the menacing vampire already coming for him, and luckily got her through the chest. Like Lonnie, she was enveloped by purple smoke then reverted back to her normal self. Her blue eyes winked wide and fast.

"Why did I suddenly want to drink...blood?" she scrunched her face in disgust.

"Don't even think about it, just go to your room and stay there," Carlos ushered her towards Lonnie. "Go!"

Mal yelped when a vampire - whom she was sure was one of her art club friends - tried lunging on her. She threw her dagger and covered her face before he would reach her. When she heard a snap, she spread her pinky finger from her ring finger to see the boy landing right at her feet, back to normal.

"...hey Mal," he rubbed his forehead. "What happened?"

In another part, Jay laughed loudly when he daggered none other than Chad Charming. "I love Halloween!"

"JAY!" Elle roared from her spot. He was enjoying this too much. She shook her head and continued fighting her way towards the inside of the school. Ben was still inside and she needed to get there.

A prissy pink vampire jumped in front of her, scaring the hell out of Elle for a moment.

"You really do go as yourself," Elle blinked at Audrey's fluffly pink dress. All the princess did in return was hiss, as was her vampire nature. "Sorry Audrey." She threw her dagger at the girl's chest and had her back as Audrey in a minute.

"What the hell is going on?" Audrey looked around with fearful eyes. Her hands reached up to her face, fingers touching her lips. "And why did I really want to drink your blood?"

"Audrey, just go hide, please!"

Audrey didn't have to be told twice. Soon as she saw another vampire coming for Elle, she screamed and ran in the opposite direction.

Before the vampire got to Elle, Evie daggered it. She beamed when she saw the normal student in its place. "Yes!"

"Thanks, Evie!" Elle called before running off.

Elle fought her way into the school, taking mostly teacher vampires down in the hallways. She even had the honor of bringing Fairy Godmother back, though she ran away as soon as Fairy Godmother began to demand answers about the chaos.

Unfortunately, she wouldn't be able to return the students and teachers to normal if she had no idea what spell Mal used.

Finally, Elle made it to Ben's room again. She crept in quietly and looked around for her boyfriend. "C'mon Ben, I know you least of all want to be some scary monster."

She heard a hiss behind her and whirled around to see Ben lunging for her. She cried and threw her dagger as hard as she could. It crossed his chest and trapped him in purple smoke. Just as she caught her dagger, he returned to normal.

"...Elle?" his hazel eyes blinked wide, much like everyone else who was reverting to their regular selves. "Did I...did I just attack you?"

Elle dropped her daggers and rushed to hug him, though before she did she checked him for those fangs. "All clear!" she happily exclaimed then threw her arms around his neck.

"...did I have fangs!?"

"Yes, but it was an accident," Elle promised. "And I can explain everything just as soon as we finish getting everyone back to normal."

"How about we do that right now?" Fairy Godmother's presence was enough to scare Elle even more than the vampires threatening to kill them.

"...we're so sorry," Elle almost whimpered.

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

When Fairy Godmother learned the spell that Mal had used, it was easier to revert everyone back to normal in one go. Though if the group of teens had anything to say, it'd be that they'd gotten most of the students and teachers anyways. Although once Fairy Godmother threatened them with detention for their awful misuse of magic, no one dared to say a thing about their excellent daggering skills.

"Fairy Godmother, don't punish them," Ben came to the group's aid as he always did. The woman 'tsked' behind her desk, but she let the King continue making the argument. "This is their first Halloween ever. They didn't know what to do."

"It does not excuse the magic spell they cast over Auradon prep," Fairy Godmother gave the five teens in question the hardest look the woman could muster. "They put themselves in grave danger-"

"-that they also helped clean up," Ben reminded her. "And besides, it was definitely in the Halloween spirit. A lot of the students can't stop talking about it. They got to be actual vampires."

Fairy Godmother sighed. "We...we just can't let this happen again."

"Completely understood," Mal spoke up. "I'll have to study my Halloween spells a bit better."

"Or maybe not use them at all," the headmistress countered, but Mal hummed.

"...or maybe just study them a bit more."

If Fairy Godmother wasn't from Auradon, she would've rolled her eyes. "And Elle," she looked at the brunette girl, "You realize I'm going to have to call your parents about this."

"...yeah...I figured as much," Elle bit her lower lip. She was fairly interested in how her parents, the Queen and King of Avalor, would react to her Halloween scheme.

"Go on," Fairy Godmother made a gesture for them to leave her office. "And be safe this Halloween."

"Of course!" the entire group chorused as they filed out.

"Man that was wicked fun!" Jay said almost as soon as Ben shut the door to the office. "We hunted vampires! I love Halloween!" he laughed as he went on his way.

"He won't be talking about anything else for a while," Mal smirked, a tad proud in the end.

"You guys…" Ben sighed but there was a clear smile on his face. "What possessed you to do even try that spell in the first place?" he was close to laughing.

"Jay had the idea," Carlos said, shaking his head. "All to make Halloween more fun."

"It was supposed to just make the vampire costumes more realistic," Elle explained. "But the spell sort of went...in a different direction."

"Totally not my intention," Mal raised a finger as she clarified. "But it was kind of fun in the end, wasn't it?"

"It really wasn't," Carlos said his last words before leaving.

"I'm tired," Evie glumly said as she looked down at her heeled boots. "I need to go change my shoes."

"Are you all still coming for the party later?" Ben asked just as she and Mal were getting ready to leave too. "It'll be completely normal, though."

"I think that's the best thing right now," Elle patted his arm. "And you know what? I better enjoy it because once my parents hear about this...I'll be grounded until I'm 30."

"I guess I'll take you on our last date until you're 30, then," Ben kissed her cheek. She smiled and rolled her eyes.

Yeah, she better enjoy it.