#and I just checked and she changes into equally high heeled boots

[empress-hancock]

Okay actually in reference to that Leon post w/ Lara Croft’s outfit someone should also do him in Jill’s outfit from the original RE3 to point out how ridiculous that is too. They actually improved it in the remake, fortunately she’s got jeans and two layers of tank top now. I get that she just rolled out of bed and immediately got chased out of her apartment by a monster, but who wears jean shorts to bed anyway? That’s already unrealistic on its own they could’ve just made it pants! Who wants to be running around a city filled with zombies, running from a massive monster targeting you specifically, falling off of buildings, and trudging through sewers in shorts and a tube top?

Also while I’m on it, Ada, I love you, but a short tank dress & heels (RE2 OG & R), a cheongsam & heels (RE4 OG), thigh high heeled boots (RE4R), business suit with heels (RE6), and a pencil skirt with heels (RE film: Damnation) are all ridiculous. SHE is the one character that goes in fully prepared for everything she does. She’s a mercenary. She wouldn’t be dressing in a way that would hinder her. They’re trying too hard to go for “sneaky double crossing seductress” with her. She’s smarter and more practical than that she would not dress that way

[merryfortune]

Why isn’t it... the Red Eagles?

Written for Femslash Friday | @femslash-friday-prompts

Prompt: Red

Title: Why isn’t it… the Red Eagles?

Ship: Bernadetta/Edelgard

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,213

Tags: Canon Compliant, Academy Phase, Humour, Meet Cute, Mutual Attraction, Crushes

AN: Receiving my gift in the fe3h femslash exchange got me so hyped I had to write more fe3h femslash and so, the March 31st Femslash Friday prompt beckoned

   “So why isn’t it the… Red Eagles?” Bernadetta asked.

   Edelgard blinked, “Pardon?”

   For one, Edelgard was surprised that Bernadetta von Varley was talking but was even more surprised that she was talking to her, future Emperor of the Adrestrian Empire. Edelgard did her research, of course, on her future classmates and hadn’t exactly heard wonderful things regarding the daughter of the Varley estate.

   She had heard that the future countess didn’t exactly have the charm or charisma befitting her noble title. That she was a tiny, squeaky, mousy little girl who could do with some better posture and from just standing beside her, Edelgard could confirm all those things. She was hunched down and bitter faced, holding herself like, well, a mouse or maybe a hedgehog in paranoid displeasure.

   However it appeared, if Edelgard had to guess, that Bernadetta did not do her own research which made sense given she was all anxiety driven id and not much fact to back it up. But still. Given that they were strangers despite being of the same House and Empire, Edelgard was surprised that Bernadetta was in a chatty mood. She seemed ready to head for the hills as soon as all these first day of school formalities were over and done with.

   The formalities of which were so dull and tedious that even Edelgard wasn’t exactly pleased with them. Of course, her displeasure expanded past the normal eye rolls that were to be expected of a cohort of this age group. The grandeur of it all was just a little bit much, it got underneath Edelgard’s skin. Though she liked the equality forced over them, she treated the same as a noble of lesser standing treated the same as a peasant. The only dividing range which mattered for these speeches was that all the students were to be separated by gender and then again by height.

   Hence why Edelgard had ended up in the courtyard next to Bernadetta at all. They were about the same height, boots with high heels notwithstanding.

   “Why is it the Black Eagles, huh?” Bernadetta said and Edelgard was still somewhat certain she was being talked at and not talked with.

   Edelgard kept to herself but not in the same way that Bernadetta kept to herself. She held onto herself, ears pricked up as she kept checking in with Bernadetta’s squirrely demeanour. 

   Still, it made more sense to Edelgard that she was being talked at and not talked with based on what she knew of Bernadetta von Varley. However, Edelgard could not rule out the possibility that Bernadetta was fully lucid as of right now and was entirely aware of whom she was chatting with. Edelgard wanted to hope that it was the latter but alas.

   If the adolescent girl was known to be reclusive, as well as an anxious little freak, then it was entirely possible that Edelgard did not exist to her. Not as a person, let alone as the future Emperor to to be, not even in her peripheries. She very well could just be talking aloud like eccentrics were prone to do.

   “I hear that the favourite colour of the future emperor is red. Red, red, red, though everyone wears black and gold, she likes red. So. Why isn’t it? The Red Eagles? I would think that such a princess would love to change it. Like, I hear the other House Leaders' favourite colours are blue and yellow, so fitting to the Blue Lions and Golden Deer.” Bernadetta rambled.

   “That’s true,” Edelgard giggled, still feeling very talked at but it was amusing to Edelgard, it was charming to be treated so uncommonly yet so without etiquette, perhaps there was something to be said about having no proper poise, “their favourite colours do seem to be that way, doesn’t it?” She agreed.

   Bernadetta half-glanced at her. Only quickly, only a flash and Edelgard greeted her with a polite smile. And she simply could not help herself thereafter. She did agree. The gossip that had somehow made it to this hermit’s doorstep was correct. Her favourite colour was red. 

   “However, do I truly seem so vain as to rename a long established tradition just to fit my whim?” Edelgard asked.

   “Huh? Wah-What?” Bernadetta squealed and Edelgard continued to giggle at the poor girl’s expense.

   Bernadetta stiffly turned her head. Not a half glance no more but rather a very uncourteous, eyes bulging stare as her mouth dropped agape and she gawked at Edelgard. Looking her up and down, confirming the red tights and white hair. Edelgard did her best not to feel either way about how Bernadetta eyed her up. She meant no ill-offence given her following actions in their embarrassing sincerity and earnestness were to go by.

   “P-Princess… Edelgard? Oh my gosh, Princess Edelgard! I’m so sorry! I did not realise you were there.” Bernadetta shrieked.

   Edelgard’s ears were shredded by the high notes that Bernadetta was apparently capable to reaching despite her scrawny, compact little body. Edelgard’s brain rang with the echoes and for a moment, she was stunned and then for several moments more, she was barraged with yet more apologies. And bowing. And curtsies.

   Until Bernadetta’s little ticker just gave out.

   She was red in the face. Utterly humiliated, albeit more by her own devices than anything Edelgard had provoked. And then Bernadetta fainted. The red colouration to her face drained away in the blink of an eye until she was white as a ghost and her body slumped.

   Luckily, Edelgard had good reflexes and so, caught the girl before she could fully faint. She held Bernadetta tight and muttered to herself. A blush to her own cheeks as she admonished the theatrics. Despite being rathered humoured by them.

   Edelgard craned her neck up whilst Bernadetta blanked against her breast, “Excuse me! I require the infirmary, it seems my classmate has fainted!” She yelled for attention but not loud enough to hurt Bernadetta’s ears - a courtesy that had very much not been extended to Edelgard a moment ago.

   Fuss began to spread through the crowds as gossip immediately materialised amongst the fellow academy goers. They began whispering amongst each other whilst the matron of the infirmary, one Maneula Casagranda Edelgard recalled, began to make her way through the crowd. She was cutting through them as they stood and gawked, as they wondered who that girl was, where did she come from, what happened to her. All that sort of thing. 

   Edelgard honestly felt bad for Bernadetta, being the centre of such attention, she was likely not going to be pleased if what Edelgard had observed of her remained consistent and true. She sighed. However, for now, she was sleeping… with both eyes open, glazed over, as she limply leaned on Edelgard, no sensation in her legs, barely keeping her upright.

   It was bound to be an interesting year with a classmate like this, she thought and that wasn’t even counting her. She planned to be quite interesting, as well, but this, Edelgard considered, was far simpler and to her, a quaint sweetness as well.

   It was peculiar but Edelgard found herself savouring this moment of confusion and commotion but Bernadetta von Varley was a peculiar girl, she supposed with a budding fondness for her.

[anauthore]

If the Rumours are True... (Kenny McCormick x Reader) {SERIES | Three}

Summary: The party at Wendy’s is more of a romp than you’re used to. The aftermath, also, is equally as unexpected.

Pairing: Kenny McCormick x Reader (she/her pronouns) - South Park

CW: implied sexual content / implied sexual content while intoxicated

NOTE: Every part of this series can be read as stand-alone, or as part of the series itself! If you don’t want to read each part on Tumblr, feel free to check out links to the work on the below websites:

Wattpad | Quotev | AO3

Fic Below the Cut | Previous Part | Next Part

South Park High, a school just as brutal (if not more) than any other high school peppered across the United States. There were cliques, clubs, boys, girls, and anything else you could imagine roaming the halls, ready to pounce.

You were luckier than most; you didn’t stand out at all. Sure, you had a small group of friends equally as normal as you, and sure, you turned in all of your assignments like a “goody-two-shoes”, but you blended in like camouflage in the forest.

At least, you did.

Your life has always been in the process of falling apart. You were used to the constant yelling and belittling of yourself, mostly from your parents. If anything, you’d used school- as hectic as it was- as an escape from all the shit in your day-to-day. You’d walk in, get noticed by no one, and stand in the corner, sit in your chair, get your work done, and leave. That’s how it’s always been, and the silence you’d brought along with you was always welcomed.

Today was different. Hell, last week was different. You weren’t one to go out and party, yet you took up the opportunity nearly as soon as it had fallen into your lap. You also didn’t ask for handouts or sleep in a stranger’s home, but when it was offered to you, you didn’t refuse. How could you? You needed help- Right?

You pushed open the double doors and breathed in the warmth from the heating system. You half-stomped, half-walked inside the building, getting extra snow from your boots before you found your usual waiting place; right around the corner of your class, conveniently in the front of the building just down the hall. You leant against the painted brick walls, trying to get your phone to connect to the school’s wifi before you gave up out of frustration- you understood why only teachers were allowed to connect, but that didn’t mean it didn’t piss you off some when you couldn't listen to music before class.

You took out your earbuds and wrapped the wire around your phone, shoving it into your pocket. You looked up just in time to make very brief eye contact with someone passing in the hall, and they snickered. Your brows furrowed, and you watched them slow down and whisper something to their partner before they pointed a thumb back in your direction. 

...What?

What could they possibly be talking about?

You didn’t do anything that would warrant gossip. You scoffed to yourself before a sinister thought crossed your mind: What did you do at the party? 

Anxiety built up in your chest as you racked your brain for any clue of something embarrassing you might’ve done. You just drank! You remembered playing beer pong, you remembered being really bad at it, but no instance of you completely embarrassing yourself came to mind.

You tapped your foot, waiting for the bell to ring and save you by ushering you and others to class. You wanted nothing more than to surround yourself in papers, work, and the silence that you’d grown to know as a friend, but you couldn’t. You, for the first time in a very long time, didn’t feel safe in the High School.

* * *

You sat in your seat- back corner, half-hidden by a structural mistake in the room that was a protruding wall. You leaned your head against your palm, leg bouncing as you tried not to stare at anyone that walked in after you. You heard mumbling and idle talk- it was Monday, and it’d been at least a few days before most people had had contact with their classmates. Greetings floated about before the teacher coughed and began his lesson.

You obediently pulled out a notebook and pencil, scribbling in the margins to distract yourself. You drew bottles and cigarettes, random circles, and a horrible rendition of a person. Before you knew it, class was over, and it was time to get up and leave.

You were the last one out of the room, and for good reason. The halls were crowded with people trying to get both here and there, but there was something else that you couldn’t put your finger on. You bumped elbows with some, and definitely were the subject for a group of laughing girls. Your blank expression didn’t change, but your pulse quickened, as did your pace. When you found a way out, you darted to your next class, ignoring anything and anyone that would possibly try and contact you.

It was like that for most of your day. Head down, dart to the next class. Do your work, turn it in, hide. You wanted nothing more than to be home right now- or at the very least, outside and away from everyone else. 

The period before lunch was the thing you were most looking forward to; Wendy Testaburger sat two seats down from you, and though you didn’t talk much with her, you knew she was at the party. You knew she had answers. She had to.

You left your stuff at your seat and waved to Wendy as she walked in. She smiled and waved back, as usual, but didn’t say anything important to you. You didn’t like to speak up when it was so quiet, but this was important.

“Hey, Wendy,” you called her quietly, hoping that she heard you.

She turned her head around and raised her eyebrows, letting you know that she heard you. “Yeah?”

“Uh, I need to talk to you. About the party. Did-” you quieted down some more, now that you knew she could hear you just fine, “did anything happen? Like, anything I should know about?”

She shook her head before she stopped herself, and started to laugh. “Well, actually, there are a few things you might not remember. Nothing bad though! I promise.” Her unfaltering smile calmed you some, but it could only give you so much comfort.

You nodded, waiting as she told you things you already knew. She told you just how much you sucked at beer pong, and how Stan- that was the black-haired boy’s name- made you drink every time you missed instead of every time you made a shot in. She laughed about how drunk you’d gotten, stumbling over and then nearly falling into Bebe when you realized you’d finally scored a point for them.

You nodded, but none of this helped. “So, I just got shitfaced and then went to sleep on your couch? That’s all that happened?”

She started to nod, but then stopped herself. “Well, no.”

When she didn’t elaborate, you pressed further. “Well, what? Seriously, Wendy, there are groups of girls I’ve never seen before laughing at me in the hallway. This is important.” You pled with your eyes and she bit her lip, giving in.

“Okay, but you didn’t hear this from me. Bebe didn’t want me to tell you. Girls’ oath, okay?” She stuck out her pinkie for you to take in a pinkie promise, and as childish as you thought it was, you humoured her and did as she asked.

When it was over, she nodded and leaned in, her voice now just a whisper. “Okay, so you already know you were very drunk. You had trouble walking up the stairs to go sit down and sober up, so I tried to help you but it wasn’t working out. Kenny- you know him, Stan’s friend who always wears orange?- Yeah, he took you upstairs and took care of you. He has more experience than anyone else in that matter, so it was better for him, you know?”

You blinked. Kenny helped you, again? You didn’t think he’d want anything else to do with you after you literally slept on his floor, but, as per usual, you were completely wrong in that regard.

“Wait, so Kenny ‘took care of me’? As in, gave me water and stuff, right?” Your intense gaze never once parted from hers, determined to scrounge up every piece of evidence you could on this case.

“Well, yeah. I don’t know exactly what he did, but I know he didn’t hurt you or anything. At least, not really.”

Confusion once again weighed on your eyebrows. “What do you mean, ‘not really’?”

She opened her mouth and then thought better of it, swallowing her words and looking to the side, as if she were being watched.

“Well, you know him. You know what he does.”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t know Kenny. You know him, and all of Cartman’s friends. I’ve only heard of him, and until the party, I haven’t really had anything to do with them!”

She seemed taken aback by your sudden outburst. “Jesus, (Y/n), you know what I meant. He’s a player. You know what they do- they sleep with girls and brag about it.”

Your stomach dropped and you could feel the butterflies of anxiety flutter through every part of you. “But he didn’t sleep with me.”

Wendy shrugged. “He didn’t have to. All he had to do was say he did.”

Your face scrunched up and you plopped back into your chair completely, Wendy turning back to face the front of the room. You had never been so angry, nor felt so used. You’d also never felt so forced out in the open.

Fuck it, you thought, endorsing your impulses for once, if he’s gonna push me out there, I might as well be out there.

* * *

The lunch bell rang and you practically leaped from your seat, fueled by anger and adrenaline. Maybe you were feeling excitement, too, but you couldn’t tell with the rising anxiety that accompanied your other feelings.

You walked past the lunch line and sat your bag down at your usual table, reserving your seat before you spun on your heel and searched for that orange wearing fucker. He was easy to spot, especially considering your town was small and the school even smaller. You stormed toward him, your feet flying across the cafeteria tile to meet him before he sat down.

Cartman was the first to notice you coming at them, his confused expression turning to one of annoyance before the others noticed you as well. You didn’t give anyone a chance to speak, however, before you opened your mouth and spat pure venom at your perpetrator. 

“What the fuck, McCormick?”

You grabbed his shoulder to make him look at you, but he must’ve sensed you coming because he was already staring you dead in the eye. He had one eyebrow raised, a dumb look on his face like he did nothing wrong at all.

“Hey, who the fuck are you calling McCormick?” Annoyance laced his words.

“You! You can’t just go around telling everyone we had sex! What kind of douchebag does that?”

Cartman snorted opposite you and Kenny looked at him for a brief moment before he turned his attention back on you. “Look, can we talk about this later? I-”

“No.” You interrupted him, tired of hearing his voice. Maybe he was right- everyone knows his name, everyone knows his game; everyone but you, apparently. “We didn’t sleep together. I’ve talked to you a total of two- two!- times, and you tell everyone we fucked? There’s gotta be something wrong with you in your head. Does your mom not give you enough attention?”

You could tell you struck a nerve with him, because his face got red and he clenched his fists under the table. At this point, the surrounding tables got quiet. No one was laughing now- just wide-eyed stares and confused glances from one friend to the other.

“Dude, don’t talk about his mom.” The ginger spoke up, his tone about as serious as the air in the room. Kenny didn’t even comment on his friend trying to back him- instead, he clenched his jaw to keep from saying something incredibly stupid.

“Maybe he should’ve thought about that before he spread rumours about me! Kenny-” you softened, suddenly overcome with a wave of emotion. Fuck, not now, please, you thought, damning your inner waterworks. “you let me stay at your house when my mom kicked me out. I don’t even know you, and you put me to bed so that no one else would take advantage of me when I was intoxicated! And- and now, come to find out, all you wanted to do was tell everyone you tricked another girl into giving you some pussy? What kind of fucked up person does that?”

Tears pricked at your eyes and you finally looked away from him. You sniffed, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands before anyone else could comment on them.

You were too late, though. Cartman piped up, as usual; “Fuck, no one cares, lady. So, you slept with Kenny, big deal. Don’t think you’ll get famous for it or anything. Jesus.”

You scoffed, shaking your head before muttering to Kenny, but mostly to yourself. “I thought you’d be better than this. I just- fuck, nevermind. Fuck you.”

You walked away, leaving him to do whatever he did while you had your back turned to him. You didn’t know, nor did you really care. You picked up your pack and rushed to the bathroom, locking yourself in a stall and crying as much as your body was able to. It wasn’t fair- life wasn’t fair. You knew that, but God you’d thought Kenny was a good guy. You thought maybe that deep down, he was just misunderstood. 

And your heart broke, because it was so obvious that you’d thought wrong.

[fullmarvelheart]

Crossing Lines (1/?)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x fbi!mob!Reader

Word Count: 3,322

Series summary: A sudden and unsettling event rocks the underworld, and Y/N is immediately called in to prepare for what’s to come. What she isn’t prepared for is James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, also known as the new head of the Brooklyn mafia clan. When these two get shoved into a world of danger and deceit, will they ever learn to trust each other? Or will they be doomed from the start?

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, little bit of angst, slight swearing, slow burn (more to be added as the series progresses)

A/N: I’m finally able to post this today! I’ve been counting down until I could get this out😂 This is the first story that I have written and posted on my Tumblr account. I’m a bit nervous but very excited. I have not entirely proofread this story. Though, I would like to thank my beta reader, Lauren, for all the help and motivation she gave me. The GIF is not mine, credit to the original creator! And a big thank you to the @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ for hosting Mob!Bucky Appreciation Day and inspiring me to post this story.

Series Masterlist

The sharp clicking noise of my heels, followed by the dull thud of several boots, echo on the wooden stairs leading to the basement of my childhood home. I follow the along the long stretch of the twisting hallways until we reach a door that's muffling the slaps and punches behind it. 

One of the men that had met me in the foyer, and had followed me down, knocks twice on the door as I tuck my hand into the back pocket of the curve-hugging black jeans I wore for the day. Moments later, the steel door swings open with a low whine from the give of the rusted hinges. The scent of blood and sweat is the first thing I notice followed by the image of the room. 

Five men stand beyond the doorway. The man who opened the door stands near the edge of steel, gun hanging loosely at his side. Two bodyguards stand in adjacent corners of the room, making sure it’s possible to guard the others with in. Two others, the two most trusted of the household, including the right hand to the leader of the Manhattan Mafia Empire, stand imposingly in front of a man bound to a chair in the center. By the amount of fresh blood dripping onto the floor, this wasn't just some petty offense against the leader. Which draws my attention to the final man, leaning carelessly on a table filled with painful weapons. Nicholas J. Fury, the leader of this mafia clan, and my adopted father. 

"You summoned me from my apartment, Boss?" I say with a smirk while jutting out my hip. 

Phil Coulson, father's righthand, gives me a smirk in return while Maria Hill, his enforcer, just sends a half-hearted glare my way. However, father's face remains neutral.

"I did." He spares me a one-eyed glance. "Tell me what you see?"

I hum in thought to myself as I stalk my way around to see the captive's face. The top half of his once light-colored shirt is now hanging open from being cut by a knife or something similarly sharp. But it's cut open enough to view a tattoo resting on his right breast. 

A red skull surrounded by a halo of octopus tentacles. 

I grunt in distaste. "HYDRA scum."

The man lifts up his bloodied and beaten head to snarl at me. He twists his mouth before lobbing a spit ball at my feet. The glob of mixed spit and blood lands inches from my black, closed-toe heels. 

I scoff at the action and brush my hand into the waistline of my jeans. When I feel the slim metal hilt, I maneuver the object into my palm. With the push of a small button the knife of the switchblade extends before I quickly drive it into his thigh. He screams out in pain as I keep the blade firmly in place. When his screams turn into tired wails of agony, I turn towards my father. 

"Who is he?" I ask, motioning my head towards the man.

"We believe he's behind the hit on George Barnes. Or at least, is attempting to put the blame on us." He explains in his no-nonsense tone. 

My eyes widen in shock, my lips parting slightly. 

"George Barnes was shot at? Is this why I've been called in?" The prisoner painfully chuckles, quietly enough for only me to hear him. 

"He's dead, sweet cheeks." He whispers with a smirk of victory.

I growl at him before twisting my knife and yanking it out while I stand.

"So, why am I here? I assume it's not to attend the funeral because you know I can't. It was just a risk just to even come here." My father gives me a pointed look.  

"I need you to go with them to the warehouse with the prisoner while your siblings and I attend the funeral that's being held in a couple of hours. After the funeral, George's son and I will discuss some business about our alliance with the Brooklyn clan. I'll call you with the details." I nod at his instructions. 

"You know the FBI is going to have me all over this case once they receive word of Barnes’ death, right?" He nods. 

"I'm counting on it." 

"I'll be waiting by the van." I tell him before wiping my knife on the man’s already dirty shirt and tucking the now closed switchblade into the band of my jeans.  

I'm escorted back up the stairs towards the side of the house where the cars sit waiting in father's massive garage. Though the reason for the escort is now clear. My safety. My personal bodyguards, some of my father's most trusted men, meet back up with me to continue through the house. The sounds of nearing footsteps draw my attention to another hallway. My siblings, the twins, round the corner with their own group of bodyguards. 

Wanda, the youngest, according to her brother, is dressed in all black. Appropriate for a funeral. Her brown hair is in casual waves while her makeup is mostly minimally visible. Her natural eyeshadow pairs well with the red lip tint she chose. Her normal red leather jacket is replaced by a similar black one that's draped over a black dress which is cinched at the waist. Her normal array of colorful and seemingly mismatched jewelry has been changed into a long silver chain necklace and a simple dark color bracelet. And to top off the outfit, she put on a pair of high heeled ankle boots. A surprised gasp leaves her lips when she spots me and soon, she's running to me as fast as she can in those heels. Her brother, Pietro, follows not too far behind her. 

Pietro is dressed in a similar fashion. His silver dyed hair is brushed into gentle waves. A black leather jackets lays over a black dress shirt while matching pants and shoes. He also wears a small silver chain with a blue pendant on it. A gift from his twin.

Wanda pulls me into a tight hug with an excited squeal and I laugh, returning her hug with equal excitement.

"Y/N/N what are you doing here?!" She giggles as she pulls back. I laugh while Pietro pulls me into a similar hug. 

"What? Can't an older sister stop by and see her two favorite siblings?" I gasp in mock offense once I'm released from the hug.

"We're your only siblings." Pietro reminds with a roll of his eyes. 

"Besides, being undercover doesn't really allow time for social visits." Wanda points out. I only sigh. Sometimes she's too perceptive. 

"It has to do with Brooklyn doesn't it?" Pietro asks while crossing his arms. As the only male heir of our father, Pietro is often included or informed of current affairs. Again, I sigh in defeat, though I shouldn’t be surprised he knows.  

"Yeah, father called me in. This is a real shit show and I have a feeling this is just the beginning of it." I mutter distastefully.

They both nod in understanding, but Wanda looks equal parts sad and disappointed. But this is our life, we're used to it by now. Even though it's not always what we wish to have.

I gently smile before pulling them both into a big hug. 

"Promise me you two will be careful out there?" Wanda tightens her grip on me. 

"It's not us," She begins slowly. "Who you should be worried about." I chuckle dryly, knowing she's right, as I squeeze her back before pulling away from both of them.

"I suppose not. Still, I do. Now, I need to be going soon. I will see you both later." Pietro nods in acceptance, but Wanda let's her head droop slightly. I give her hand a tight squeeze before me and my bodyguards resume our way to where the cars are. 

I climb back into the car that I came here in, and wait patiently for the driver and everyone to clamber in. The car is started but we remain idling sitting. As a way to occupy myself, I reach into the side door and feel for what I hid in there before I went in. When my fingers brush over the leather holster, I grab it and attach it, and the gun it holds, to a pocket on the inside of my leather jacket. When it's secure, I fold the jacket back over my chest, concealing the firearm in the process. 

A muffled struggle echoes through the once silent garage.

"You want me to take care of that?" I ask the men who sit with me in the car, my fingers brushing over the spot in my jacket where my gun rests. 

"Nah, I'll go check it out." One of my bodyguards, Mackenzie, or Mack as he's called, replies from the passenger seat. 

"Of bloody course you'd be the first one of us lot to check it out." The driver, a Brit, by the name of Hunter scoffs.  

Mack just shakes his head before he opens the door and leaves. When there's a few moments of silence after the car door is shut, that’s when Hunter speaks again. 

"What are the odds of him bringing up something about needing that shotgun-axe again once he gets back in here?"

I chuckle and I see the shoulders of the person next to me move slightly. 

"High." May, the bodyguard next to me and the one that I trust with mostly everything, responds with a slight edge of humor in her voice. Then she turns to me. "Boss, I was going to wait until we cleared the property,-"

"A good idea, May. I don't know much as of now, I can tell you that, but I'll tell the rest once we’re on the move."

She nods and the front passenger door opens at the same time. 

"You'd think the men would know how to handle prisoners, like that one, by now." He grumbles as he settles into his seat. "I swear, one look at a shotgun-axe would scare the life out of those boys. Maybe they'd actually listen to simple instructions at that point."

We all the chuckle as the caravan of cars begins its trip out of the garage and to the warehouse. As we pull down the driveway, I reach into the pocket behind the passenger seat and pull out the object I stashed there and clip it inside my jacket, not too far from my gun. The gold of the badge reflects the light onto the side door while I begin to put on the mask that's essential for my survival out there in this scary world. The letters of F, B, and I revolve in my mind as I stare out the window at my former home. My life is a dangerous one and every aspect has a devastating risk with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The warehouse is a dark place. Even if there is daylight present, streaming through the dirty frosted windows, a dark and dangerous feeling surrounds the place. It clings to it like the smell of a cigarette on clothes. For newcomers, like the prisoner that followed us in another van just a few behind our own, it's daunting. It's certain death. To me and my bodyguards, only our hairs stand on end in anticipation of what is to come.

I informed my guards of what I knew about the situation on the way here. A reverent silence filled the air at the mention of the late George Barnes' death. He treated his men well, was honest and loyal to his allies, and was a good man. Brooklyn and all of New York will miss him.

I stand in the empty warehouse floor, several paces in front of the unconscious prisoner, who's slumped against his restraints. Turns out the men are really in an impatient mood today. I cross my arms while I zone out observing him. Why did HYDRA do this? What did they gain? What's the bigger picture that I'm missing?  

The faint sound of gravel crunching under tires drags me from my head and has me turning towards the opened garage-looking doors. Three black vans drive in and come to a stop not too far from the entrance. Father and Coulson are the first to step out from the center van. My siblings then file out from the one on the right. The rest of the men who were in the cars climb out and seem to form a barrier between the front entrance and the four people headed straight for me.

"I thought I would be receiving a phone call first." I give father a weary glance, noticing his seriousness about something.

"Change of plans." He answers swiftly, and rather seriously. I begin to grow uncomfortable.

The sound of more approaching vehicles has my eyes widening as I turn my curious and nervous expression on my father who gives me a reassuring nod. 

"Fury." I hiss under my breath, not liking the idea of going into a situation blindly. He simply ignores me.

My focus is drawn back to the entrance as car doors closing harshly sound in my ears, though my gaze never wavers from my father's profile. A cadence of footsteps march across the unpaved driveway and into the warehouse, only pausing in front of the line of father's men. It's only when the footsteps draw nearer that I finally look at the party joining us.

My eyes widen, ever so slightly, at the sight of three imposing men nearing closer to where I stand. The man on my left is tall and broad-chested. His shiny blond hair reflects the dim light of the warehouse. His jawline is clean and sharp like a knife, adding to the dangerous air around him. The man in the center is just slightly shorter than the one on his left. A few strands of his long brown hair frame his face while, I assume, the rest is pulled back. However, the stubble on his face and those piercing blue eyes that I can see, even in the dim warehouse lighting, gives me an idea of who I’m dealing with. James “Bucky” Barnes. A man whose reputation for being a cold-blooded killer and a ladies’ man is very well known. However, any idea of seriousness is completely forgotten when I notice the man on my right, James’ left, who’s giving me a hard scowl. The familiar sight of the deep chocolate brown skin, hard eyes, and black hair puts me at ease. I could almost laugh at the situation.

“Samuel T. Wilson.” I chuckle when I see his eye twitch at the sound of his full name.

The trio stops not too far away from my father’s group and me. The sight of those two chocolate brown eyes, that look like they want to murder me, have me smirking.

“Special Agent Y/L/N of the FBI.” He growls, and I feel the tension in the room immediately spike. “I thought I saw the last of ya when I was let go.”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way.” Wilson scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. I also notice Barnes shifting in my periphery and sigh to myself as I think of how to reword things. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been let go so easily. There wasn’t any substantial evidence against you, but the other agents were going to keep you locked up to send a message. I let it slip to our boss, and he had a big problem with what they were doing. You were let free not too long after. So quit looking like you want to kill me, and maybe offer a ‘thank you’ instead.”

He goes to speak, but that’s when father decides to step in.

“Gentlemen, we came here to discuss a business transaction, not hash out the past. If you three would, follow me. Agent, you too. Son, keep the rest of our guests some company.” There are a series of soft grumbles and complaints, but ultimately, everyone listens.

When the three Brooklyn boys pass the now awake prisoner, his face turns a scary shade of white. And that’s considering the fact that he was already pale due to blood loss. I feel a shiver begin to creep down my spine, but I suppress it. I tell myself it’s because of the type of fear these men can instill, but deep down, I know that it was a low growl I heard somewhere over my shoulder.

Father takes us to one of the few offices in the warehouse and has me shut the door. Barnes sits in the chair across from Fury with both his men flanking either side of him. The only person at my father’s side is Coulson on the right, until I walk up to the vacant spot on my father’s left.

“I think proper introductions should be made before we begin talks.”

“I agree.” Barnes cuts in. “I didn’t realize this meeting would include a dirty Fed.”

I scoff but am interrupted before I can make any smart remark.

“This, gentlemen, is my eldest child. Y/N was the first I adopted and raised in this life. The only reason she is in the FBI is to help us deal with HYDRA.”

“HYDRA is everywhere.” I start explaining. “Like cockroaches in an old building. The only way to make sure every loose end has been tied up is to have all the information. There’s no better way to do it.”

“Hold up. I thought your last name was ‘Y/L/N’.” This time, Wilson interrupts.

“A cover, obviously. If the FBI learned of my ties to the Underworld or to my father, it would be worse than if they thought I was just corrupt.”

“The point is that Y/N will be passing on any information she learns about HYDRA and their plot.”

“I’ll also be keeping a very close eye on anything that may have to do with what happened to your father.” At the mention of him, I see James’ lips twitch slightly while the furrow of his brow deepens. “I am sorry for what happened to him. Your father was a great and very well-respected man.”

The only sign of acknowledgement I get from the new leader of the Brooklyn clan is a slight nod of his head, and I begin to grow uncomfortable in the silence that follows. Luckily, a phone ringing stops the awkwardness from becoming worse. However, it’s not just any phone. It’s my phone. I quickly snatch it from one of the pockets of my leather jacket and glance at the screen.

“It’s my boss.” I inform before answering. “This is Y/L/N. Yes, sir. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” He hangs up. “I’m being called in. Send me the rest of the details later.” My father nods as he motions for me to leave. Before I do, I look over the three new faces and say in the most professional tone I can gather, “It was nice to properly meet you, gentlemen. I look forward to working with you.”

Without waiting for a reply from one of my father’s, hopefully, new allies to say anything, I hurry around the desk and out of the office. Once Hunter receives the word to get the car ready, I tuck my phone away again.

As I leave the warehouse, goosebumps prickle my skin. Not because it’s cold, or because I’m scared, but because of the pressure that’s suddenly fallen around my shoulders. This attack, this changes everything. HYDRA has always threatened the clans, carried out small or petty attacks, but they have never directly attacked the families. The death of George Barnes is only the catalyst. 

A war is coming, and blood will be spilled. But how prepared am I for what I expect to come?

Part 2

[auroraawrites]

enlightenment (fred weasley x reader)

gif not mine! all credit goes to the owner

requested by anon: I always love to read some Fred Weasley if you’re up for it. Will literally read anything but how about some overprotective Fred? Bonus points if it’s some kind of Order mission that either just you or both of you go on? Thanks!

warnings: slight angst but mainly just fluff about an overprotective fred

author’s note: i’m! in! love! with! fred! weasley! there i said it. i love him with all my heart. i hope you guys don’t mind that i used she/her pronouns here! i got a bit carried away writing it so it's a bit long but enjoy :)

(everything on my blog is my own writing. please do not plagiarize my work nor repost it anywhere else without my permission. all rights reserved)

---

you’d always known that being a member of the order of phoenix meant being willing to put your life on the line for the betterment of the wizarding world. you had entered the group well aware of the risks you faced ahead, willing and ready to die fighting for the cause you believed in. however, some individuals, namely your best friend fred weasley, had apparently failed to understand the risks that came with the job as he stood there now, arguing with moody on your behalf, “this is ridiculous! you can’t have y/n do this mission alone! what if she gets hurt?” 

moody had just assigned you your first task as an official member of the order: tailing corban yaxley, one of lord voldemort’s most valued death eaters. according to trusted sources of the order, yaxley had been seen conversing with a group of shifty ministry officials and moody wanted you to follow him and ensure that nothing was going on with them that may interfere with the order’s current plans. 

zoning back to reality at the sound of your name, you stared incredulously at the back of fred’s head, a streadying rush of anger building in your stomach. it was hard enough having to spend every minute of your day actively trying to hide your feelings from your best friend, but now, when the one opportunity came for you to relieve yourself of your unrequited love, fred had decided that it was just too much of moody to ask from you to go about this mission by yourself. 

“-she’s only just joined the order-” ignorant to your anger, fred had continued on with his attempt of trying to change moody’s mind. 

“she is right here. she can talk for herself. SHE doesn’t need anyone to tell her what she can and cannot do,” you said, cutting off fred, who had now turned to you with a disbelieving look. stepping in front of him with a scowl, you met his eyes with a defiant stare. “i don’t know what has gotten into you but you’re being a downright git!” you seethed, stepping forward so that you were now nose-to-nose with the ginger. despite your anger, your heart gave a painful flutter at the close proximity that you two were now in. 

your traitorous heart only fueling your anger further, you whirled on the spot and looked up at moody with a determined look, “i’d love to take on the mission. in fact, i’ll start in the morning.” 

not bothering check if you had gained moody’s approval, you spun on your heel and dashed out of the room, taking the steps two at a time and slamming the bedroom door shut behind you. 

everything’s going to be fine, you thought as you lay in bed, trying to convince yourself of what you had just agreed to. truth be told, you were a little frightened at the prospect of having to face one of voldemort’s most valued death eaters by yourself. but fred- oh fred. you honestly didn’t know why you had reacted as you did. you knew he meant no harm but you couldn’t stand watching him speak on your behalf, acting as if he was your boyfriend when you knew that was something he would never be. 

turning over in bed, you stared at the moving picture of that sat on your nightstand. the photograph you sat lumped between fred and george, waving green flags high in the air in support of the irish quidditch team. the memory seemed so long ago. letting out a small sigh, you turned again and pulled the covers over your head and drifted off into an uneasy sleep. 

---

you woke early next morning, and hurried to get ready, packing as much as you could fit into a small, brown suitcase before trying to make your way downstairs as quietly as you could. it wasn’t that you didn’t wish to see anyone before you left, on the contrary, you really wished you could make things right with fred before you went. however, having been friends with him for the past seven years, you knew that he would try his very best to convince you to stay and you didn’t think you could handle another argument so early in the morning. 

so, when you arrived at the bottom of the stairs, it came as quite a shock to you to spot the sleepy figure, who stood leaning against the wall next to the mantle, fully dressed and a similar suitcase parked at his side. at the sight of you, fred had jerked awake now and stared at you with a look you couldn’t quite read, “i’ve been assigned to this case too.” he said wearly, eyeing you as if you would soon boil over with rage. 

he was quite right to be expecting for such a reaction for when the words left his mouth your features twisted into a disbelieving scowl, “frederick weasley, you did not!” you cried hotly, grip tightening around the handle of your suitcase. you and fred. alone. living together while you tailed yaxley around europe. your heart was pounding in your ears and you couldn’t quite tell if it was because you were so angry with him that you wanted to throttle him or if it was the idea of spending so much time with the weasley that had caused it. 

not a single ounce of regret evident in his features, fred crossed the room and grabbed your free hand in his. goosebumps rushed up your arm as you stared down at his hand, tightly clutched around your own before turning your eyes back on his. “there’s really no use arguing about it. moody decided it after you left.” 

decided my arse, you thought, full well knowing that he had volunteered. 

apparently spotting another fit of anger within you, he pulled you towards the middle of the room and pushed you into the fireplace before following after with a fistful of floo powder. his arm wrapping around you as he squished in beside you, he shouted the name of the safehouse and the two of you were suddenly engulfed in flames and disappeared. 

---

when you arrived at the safehouse situated across from yaxley’s current place of residence, you were both surprised to step out into a small room, sparsely inhabited by a lone bed, small kitchen unit, and a door that led to an even smaller bathroom. the safehouse had been designed in mind for one inhabitant and fred being courteous of your sour mood, had offered to take the floor beside the bed so that you could have it for yourself. still angry, you hadn’t rejected his offer. 

the first two days at the safehouse were spent in silence as you refused to acknowledge his presence, only talking to him at meals when you asked him to pass you the pepper. but sure enough, by the third day, your anger was ebbing away as you found yourself muffling small laughs at the antics he played to get your attention. fred was your best friend and you had never found it in you to stay mad at him for long.

staring out the shutters of the windows that faced yaxley’s residence, you tried to ignore the small bubble animals that fred had now enchanted to mock fight. you were nearly about to let out a slip of laughter at the sight of two rinosaureses that had been charging at one another, when the sight of a hooded figure coming out of yaxley’s house caused you to inhale sharply. immediately, fred was beside you, staring out the window with narrowed eyes. spotting yaxley’s figure disappear into a dark alleyway, you spun and hurried towards the door, determined to find out what he was up to. 

“where are you going?” fred asked incredulously from across the room as he watched you pull on your boots. “we were told to report to moody if we saw anything suspicious,” he said. 

shooting him a smirk, you pulled your arms through your coat, “and when did you ever follow the rules fred weasley? besides, we don’t even know who that was. we need more information if we’re going to report back.” you said, turning to yank open the door. but before you could do so, an arm reached forwards from behind you and slammed the door shut, effectively trapping you inside. 

"are you mad? you’re not going to face a known death eater alone!” fred responded, his voice rising with every word. 

“oh come off it.” you scoffed, trying not to let it show that you were flustered at his close proximity. you were still pressed against the door. “you wouldn’t have objected if I was george or lee for that matter! in fact, you probably would’ve been the first out the door!” you shouted, matching his volume. 

“yeah, but you’re not lee or george now are you!” he roared

“then what am i fred? please enlighten me because i am ti-” your words were cut off sharply by fred’s lips as they met your own roughly. shocked, you stood perfectly still as his lips moved upon yours, a sense of desperation conveyed in the way he held your face between his hands. his lips were soft and his body was hard against your own. slowly, he pulled away, a red flush creeping up his cheeks, “I like you, you bloody idiot” he professed almost angrily. both of you were breathing hard. 

you couldn’t have been more shocked at the confession. for years you believed your crush to be one-sided. still shocked, you stood silently against the door, struggling to find the words. fred, mistaking your shock for rejection, backed away slowly, “sorry, i didn’t mean to. i just-” 

finally finding your voice, you smiled up radiantly at the red haired boy with an equally red face, “you don’t know how long i’ve waiting for this.” stepping forwards, you pulled his face down to meet your own, returning his earlier kiss with a sweet one of your own. 

after reporting yaxley’s movements to moody as instructed, the two of you had returned to the burrow, red faced and hands gripped tightly between them. spotting their embarrassed faces appearing out of the fireplace, george had let out a shout of triumph, turning to bill with his palm outstretched and met with a small pouch of coins from a reluctant bill. laughing, you looked back up at fred, another smile forming upon your lips. you were home. 

[serararku]

Aria: Trial by Fire

S’era stood at the iron gates in awkward silence, staring up at the two story mansion stretched out before her. The harsh dusty winds of Thanalan did little to hide the lush garden encircling the estate, and the blinding sun overhead reflected off the stained glass windows. The building itself was white- whiter than anything she had ever seen, with the walls covered in hanging vines and black rose bushes. The pathway was paved with polished black cobblestones, with red paper lanterns guiding visitors straight to the door; whoever lived here was clearly rich.

“Are you sure this is the place?” She was reluctant to ask, unsure if someone this wealthy would even entertain some backwood savage like her. “This seems too… too…”

“Upper class?” K’thalen finished, sneering at her. “Very few swordmasters survived the sacking of Doma- even less live here in Eorzea.”

“Fewer.” S’era mumbled under her breath.

“Anyroad... this is the only one that hasn’t changed his name or gone completely into hiding. It’s either him, or you try your luck tryin’ to get a pirate or bounty hunter to teach you.” He gently nudged her forward. “OR, you can forget this whole thing and get a real job to help pay these-”

“Alright, alright… just give me a moment…” S’era brushed his hand away and took a few tentative steps forward; the gate was completely unlocked and left wide open- shouldn’t he be worried about thieves or assassins sent here to finish him off? Why is his mansion seemingly unguarded? She sucked in a sharp exhale, swallowed her nerves, then stormed off toward the door. 

“I’ll be out here, lass.” K’thalen called out, standing next to her chocobo Kwehzimoto. “Oh by the way- his name’s Hadriel Isenhart. Try not to mispronounce it, aye? Domans hate that shit.”

“Doesn’t sound very Doman to me…” She bit her lip before knocking on the door. Almost immediately the door was unlocked from the other side and swung wide open, causing her to nearly leap right out of her skin.

“Can I help you?” The Hyur man asked as he slowly eyed her over. He was sharply dressed in a jet black tux, with a polished cane in his right hand; judging by the wrinkles on his face she assumed this man had to be old for a hyur- but most importantly, he was unarmed. 

S’era ran her bristled tail through her hands to calm herself down before reluctantly asking, “Um… a-are you Hadriel Isenhart?”

“No.” His response was surprisingly curt. “Do you have an appointment with Lord Isenhart? Or…?”

“No appointment. I was hoping I could speak with him…”

“Hmn.” It was the most unimpressed huff S’era had ever heard. He leaned a little to inspect K’thalen- he didn’t seem to pass the test either. “Well, come on in. I’ll take you to him.” The man paused to stare at her muddy boots. “Ah… leave those here by the door. We just had the floors cleaned.”

Inside the estate was unlike anything she had ever seen. White marble floors shined with a polished mirror finish, and everything else in here looked like it cost a fortune. “Wow…” S’era couldn’t help herself. “How many tribes did he conquer to get… all of… aahhh…”

“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” The man opened a door and gestured down the hallway. “Follow the path down the stairs, and you’ll end up at his bar. Treat him with the utmost respect and choose your words carefully, stranger. He doesn’t have much of a temper these days, but he annoys easily.”

“Aren’t you going to check me for weapons…?” S’era asked once she remembered her weathered daggers were still strapped to her waist beneath her coat. The man simply scoffed at her before returning to his seat beside the main entrance.

“Well? Go on… He already knows you’re here.”

Walking alone through the hallway helped put her mind at ease, but the sudden change of scenery didn’t help her feel any safer; instead of the white marbled floors and the beautiful paintings adorning the walls, S’era found herself walking through what looked like an industrial construction zone, complete with brown pipes covering the walls and ceiling that hummed and vibrated softly. Steam rose from the iron grating beneath her feet that smelled faintly of potable water, tickling her toes as she followed the harsh iron lights lining the hall; if she was expected to climb into a garbage chute or step through a rusting door, she would sooner give up and turn around to avoid being captured for some perverse psychopath. 

Suddenly her ears perked up and faced forward once she heard the faint sound of a piano. As she rounded the corner she stepped into what had to be the basement; black marble tiles were the first to catch her gaze, before the soft light from the lanterns lining the walls cast an orange glow on the tables and chairs adorning the room. Servants as sharply dressed as the door greeter glanced in her direction the moment she appeared, giving her a welcoming smile before motioning her to approach. Halfway down the stairs she noticed a Miqo’te patron sitting at the bar with messy black and orange hair dressed in a long black coat. His pale blue eyes drifted over to her the moment she looked at him, and he gave her a reassuring nod before returning his attention to his drink. The source of the music came from the woman at the piano, who was perhaps the most gorgeous Miqo’te she had ever seen; cream blonde hair as clean as a summer shower draped over her slender shoulders, her bright green eyes flashing up at S’era for a split second before she went back to playing her song. Never before had she felt so underdressed in her dusty cloak and patchy armor.

Yet sitting on the couch had to be the one she was looking for. A tall Hyur man in a suit swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand, with a patch covering his left eye. His raven hair was cut short, barely reaching the nape of his neck. Burns disfigured his hands and forearms, vanishing up into the cuffs of his jacket, and thin scars ran criss-cross over his lips and cheeks. Out of everyone in this room, he was the only one who didn’t bother pausing to look up at her.

“Come in.” He commanded, startling S’era. “I trust you took your shoes off before soiling my floor?”

“Y-yes, sir…” Was all she could manage while she took meager steps deeper into the basement lounge. “I was hoping I could ask you to-”

Hadriel raised his hand to stop her from speaking, but his attention never left the crackling fireplace beside the two couches. “Get yourself something to drink if you’re thirsty, then come join me by the fire.” It was hard to argue against getting a free drink, and alcohol would certainly help calm herself; without question she stepped to the bar beside the patron, and the barkeep gave her a gentle smile.

“What’ll it be, honey? First glass of anything you see behind me is on the house.” S’era gave all the bottles a once over, but none of the symbols on the labels were recognizable; now wasn’t a good time to mention she couldn’t read.

“Try the Summerset.” The patron suggested, grabbing her attention. “You seem like you would love a classic wine.” 

The barkeep didn’t waste any time the moment S’era smiled at them both. She spun on her heel and plucked the crimson bottle off the shelf, popped the cork out with just the flick of her thumb, and finished by pouring a modest amount into an unusually large crystal glass. “Drink it slowly. I have a feeling you might be here a while.” She smiled, handing it over to S’era.

“Thank you.” S’era graciously accepted the drink before turning to smile at the patron. He was the only one out of everyone in the room that didn’t make her feel so small; he didn’t seem to mind the mud clinging to her armor, the dust and dirt clumped in her hair, or the smears across her face. Just by his calm and welcoming demeanor S’era felt like this man regarded her as his fellow kin- perhaps even his equal. After all the peculiar and curious stares she’s received since leaving her tribe, it was a welcome breath of fresh air. “Thank you both!”

Clink!

Hadriel set his glass down on the table before gesturing toward S’era. “Sit down and tell me your name.”

“S’era Rarku, sir.” She reluctantly answered, plopping down on the couch adjacent to the fireplace. “I’ve traveled a long way to finally meet you.”

“There’s only two reasons why a stranger would come all this way to seek me out.” Hadriel ran a finger along a particularly prevalent scar along his cheek. “You’re ill suited to cut me down with those daggers, and I’m not in the mood to stain my new rug. So tell me… why exactly are you here?”

The wine burned down her throat and into her stomach, but the warmth helped soothe her nerves. “I’ve searched high and low for a man who was banished from my tribe. His name is S’tage Tia, a man robbed of his destiny. But you see… he is in terrible danger, and I need the help of a wise swordsman such as yourself to-”

“Give me the condensed version.” Hadriel sighed, reaching for his glass again.

“R-right… sorry.” S’era took another sip before continuing. “I need you to teach me how to use a sword so I can rescue him and bring him home.”

“I won’t.” Hadriel’s response struck S’era in the gut. “You seek a teacher to help rescue your… friend? Brother? Any mercenary can help you with that. My lessons would be overkill in that regard.”

She furrowed her brow before leaning forward in her seat. “A common sellsword can’t help me where he’s being held captive. And… he’s not my friend, or my brother. He’s my… was my Nunh.”

Hadriel paused mid sip of his drink to turn his head toward the woman at the piano. “A noon? I’m not familiar with what that is.”

The woman never broke her rhythm with her song as she answered. “A husband with many wives. It’s a Miqo’te tribal thing.”

“I was supposed to carry his children, but he was defeated before I was old enough to be recognized as a grown woman in my tribe.” S’era further explained.

“That means that victor is your new… nuhn?” Hadriel asked, genuinely curious.

Another sip of her wine gave her the courage she needed to continue. “My tribe’s new Nunh cheated. Poisoned his meal before the duel… I don’t recognize him as a legitimate successor. That’s why I left my tribe to search for S’tage.”

“And this lover of yours…” Hadriel paused to wave his glass in the air for the barkeep to fill again. “You mentioned he is being held captive. Where?”

"He is in a Garlean prison, in Mor Dhona. They have been using him for hard labour for… who knows how long, and-"

"Where?" Hadriel repeated, his tone revealing his dwindling patience.

S'era suddenly felt reluctant to answer, but she couldn't risk lying to him if she wanted his help. With bated breath and another burning sip of her glass, she hesitantly answered with, "Castrum Aeternium, sir…"

He finally looked at her for the first time since her arrival. His deep brown eye seemed to stare through her, cutting through clothes, flesh, and soul. But to what end? What could he be looking at? What was he searching for? “Do you have the slightest idea what you would ask of me? Of that which Aeternium is capable of doing? Return to your tribe, girl. What you seek is suicide; I will not help you kill yourself.”

“Please…! I must rescue him and bring him home!” S’era pleaded, setting her empty glass down on the table. “The strength of my tribe depends on his return!”

“Aeternium is the primary source of all magitek heavy machina in Eorzea- the backbone of Garlemald’s military presence here. If your Nunh is in a labor camp inside that castrum, then he is already dead.” He leaned forward while staring at her. “Even with my lessons, it would be folly. You would need years to master the Way of the Blade, and that’s time you simply don’t have. And even if you did, you would still be throwing yourself to your death. One woman cannot assault Castrum Aeternium alone and survive, not even the Warrior of Light, and especially not you. It’s hopeless.”

Anger boiled in the pit in her throat. Blinking away the tears swelling in her eyes, S’era clenched her teeth and took a few sharp breaths to steady herself. “I will save him from that castrum…! W-with or… without your help!”

“Are you not listening? You would need a decade of training, and an army of the world’s bravest heroes to even consider storming Aeternium. And for what? Some boy that makes your heart throb? Some nobody?” Hadriel’s features hardened into a scowl. “You have no friends, no gil, no influence, and no time to gain any. It is a hopeless, worthless endeavor, that will only get you killed. Are you so eager to throw your life away for him? What of your family? All you will gain is a painful death, a reckless waste of life. There’s no shortage of fools willing to give their lives for a cause, and too few that can do so and actually make a difference. You are the former.”

“You’re wrong!” S’era shouted, leaping to her feet; she was loud enough to draw the gazes of everyone else in the room, and the woman behind the piano finally stopped playing her song to listen in. “I will save him from that terrible place! I will leap feet first into the hells and wake him from whatever nightmare that ails him! I will fight and kill anyone who tries to stop me! And I will come back here and prove you wrong once and for all!”

“She has fire, milord.” The barkeep sighed, leaning on the counter. “That’s not something you see very often.”

“It is not enough.” Hadriel pinched the bridge of his nose before settling back against the couch. “Determination alone won’t save him, girl, or you.”

Her gauntlets strained and whined when she tightened her fists- it looked like she was about to leap across the table and punch him in the face, before she asked, “Is there no way to change your mind? What do I have to do to prove my plight isn’t folly?!”

Hadriel’s gaze met hers again. “You think doing chores will help your cause? Or do you seek some sort of test?” He paused only to take a few deep gulps from his glass. “You are a stubborn girl, I’ll give you that.”

“I’m willing to do anything to learn from you…! Anything!”

His scowl remained steadfast, for a time. But eventually his visage softened, revealing how exhausted he was from… all of this. “Stick your hand into the fireplace.” He commanded, catching S’era off guard. “Do this, and I’ll consider it.”

“What…?” Her gaze slowly drifted to the crackling fireplace. The bright orange flames cast a soft glow on her face, sending the shadows cast to dance and flicker behind everything the light touched. “My hand…? In the fire? You’ll train me for that?”

“I said I’d consider it.” His gaze stayed fixated on her face. “I need to see how far this determination of yours will carry you. Considering you haven’t a snowball’s chance in the hells of paying for my lessons even if I were taking commissions, I’d say this exchange is still severely in your favor.”

“For how long?” S’era asked, fidgeting nervously. “U-until you say so?”

Hadriel slowly blinked, before setting his glass down. “Talking won’t convince me otherwise. No more questions, no more stalling. Do as I command or get out. These are your options.”

All she could think about was S’tage. His vibrant silver hair flowing in the Thanalan summer heat, his deep orange eyes burning brighter than the sun. The way he danced with that golden blade, the way it sang through the air, all of it- just reimagining that fateful day caused her heart to pound against her chest, and she needed to see him again, now more than ever. Slowly she removed the gauntlet from her right hand, stirring her audience to gawk at her in shock. All but Hadriel, whose gaze returned to his drink. An awkward silence came over the room as people watched with bated breath.

“S’tage… I will save you. I swear it on Azeyma’s name!” S’era’s eyes flashed with fury before she took her position kneeling beside the fireplace. She placed her gauntlet into her mouth, glanced down at her tingling hand one final time, sharply inhaled a few breaths to psych herself up, then thrusted her arm into the flames.

“Shhhnnnghh! Hhnnnghuuuhhhh! Grrrnnnnnnngh!!!” The fire licked at her flesh to sample a taste before digging in! Agony ripped the Miqo’te woman into pieces with a growing intensity too great to bear! She had to fight against her most primal instincts that screamed for her hand to be removed, but she dared not look away; partially blinded by tears her face twisted and contorted while she watched her flesh melting before her very eyes! Her other hand gripped her forearm near the elbow to keep her arm steady, but everything else trembled against this insanity. “NNNGH! HAAANNNNGH!” Her glove fell out of her mouth once she could no longer resist screaming. “AAAAAGH! AAAAAAGH!”

“Enough.” Hadriel barked. S’era didn’t understand what he said under her delirious agony, but simply hearing his voice was all she needed. She stumbled backward, crashing against the corner of the glass table to send it collapsing into countless pieces. Still clutching her arm, she stared at the grisly remains of her right hand; the flesh was almost completely stripped from her fingers, cooked black and crisp in just a short amount of time she had spent doing something so foolish. Yet every second she endured felt like it lasted an hour, and her sense of time was currently in shambles. Gasping for breath she finally settled down enough to speak, snot dripping from her nose as spit ran down her chin.

“E-eehh…!” She stuttered, her gaze finally ripping away from her wound to peer longingly at Hadriel. “I-is… d-d-did I pass…?!” He glanced down at the shattered mess that once was his table, before he met her gaze. After what felt like an eternity of him internally debating with his own thoughts, he slowly opened his mouth and spoke his answer.

“No.” He slowly brought the brim of his glass to his lips before adding, “You’re too reckless. Blindly following whatever I tell you… what were you thinking? S’mira, tend to her wounds before she leaves.”

The woman at the piano slowly rose from her seat before stepping to Hadriel’s side; she leaned in to whisper something, but S’era was too much in shock to hear it. “My hand…” She weakly thought, helpless to stop the tears now streaming down her cheeks. “What am I going to do now…?!” Hadriel huffed incredulously before closing his eyes. 

“There’s nothing I can do to help this girl.” He argued, swirling the glass in his hand again. “She’ll die, with or without my lessons. A naive fool and nothing more.” He glanced up at S’mira and caught the sharp glare in her eyes, but she remained silent. Hadriel’s scowl returned, his free hand waving her off as he shifted in his seat. “You really think she’s worth training? She can’t even properly hold a katana now- not with those burns.”

S’mira cleared her throat- loudly- while she made her way around the pile of shattered glass to sit beside the wounded stranger. “Give me your hand.” She calmly ordered, pulling S’era out of her disoriented stupor. Reluctantly she offered the woman her forearm, unable to look at her new burns, nor could she meet anyone’s gaze; she was ashamed and humiliated, and worse- these wounds could easily cripple her hand for life. She couldn’t return to her tribe like this. She couldn’t bear the thought of arriving back in her mother’s embrace, empty-handed and crippled.

Hadriel caught the daggers S’mira glared in his direction, caught a whiff of the burnt flesh of S’era’s potentially useless hand, and eventually sighed. “Fine…” He paused, lifting his cup to take another drink, only to find it empty again. “... I’ll train you. BUT. Under certain conditions.” The sudden wave of relief washing over her was almost enough to cause her to faint. “You will follow my regimen. You will not complain. You must keep up with your studies. And you will never blindly follow my orders without question again. I am not training some mindless drone. I aim to turn you into a capable swordswoman.”

Focusing on S’mira pouring soothing magica over her burns was just about all she could do to prevent herself from fainting from the pain. “Come on, let’s take you to the clinic.” S’mira gave S’era a warm smile, but she barely noticed. All she could think about was her hand, and what it would look like after it had fully healed.

Mentions: @smira-asah-xiv​ @rzevi-tia-ffxiv​ @hadriel-ffxiv​

“Let this be your first lesson.” Hadriel indignantly called after them as he crossed his arms. “Actions have consequences. Your new scars should remind you of that.”

---

[sylvanwool]

The Pirate/Royal Navy Taakitz AU That I’ll Never Continue But Is Still Fun To Think About

The high moon filters weakly through the clouds, reflecting off the choppy waters of the southern sea. Debris floats all around, remains of a battle not an hour completed.

The Raven Queen sits idling in the water, sails drawn and anchor lowered. Soldiers scamper across the deck of the ship, checking for damage and tending to the wounded. One single body lays covered by some spare canvas, waiting to be buried.

Kravitz surveys the flat, grey waters from the helm of his ship with unblinking focus. The winds have picked up considerably and while they’re not going anywhere without lowering the sails, they’re also expecting a squall within hours. If the caps on those waves grow any larger, he’ll have to call the majority of his crew below.

Not ideal conditions for a recovery mission, if he’s being honest.

“Captain?”

Kravitz turns, hand going reflexively to the revolver at his hip even as he recognizes the familiar, high voice above him. “Yes, Angus? What is it?”

The small boy waves from his perch in the rigging. He indicates a spot in the water with his spyglass before tossing the instrument below.

Catching the cylinder of brass in one hand, Kravitz handily extends it and trains the device on the spot Angus pointed to. As the lens focuses, so does his vision. There, bobbing in the water, is a figure. Small, blond, and slumped over a bit of driftwood.

Kravitz doesn’t hesitate. Taking only a moment to shuck off his coat, he climbs up on the rail and dives toward the sea. The cold water shocks his system, but he pushes through to propel himself forward and back to the surface. He comes up on the makeshift raft quickly enough and catches his breath with one hand on the edge.

The figure doesn’t stir at all, and for a second Kravitz fears he’s jumped overboard to fish out a corpse. But he lays his hand on a narrow shoulder and feels movement, and warmth, and he knows they’re still alive. He hears Angus yelling for someone to drop a rope ladder into the water. Smart boy, as always.

The waves start to get a little rougher, inhibiting Kravitz’s progress, but he manages to haul the unconscious body to the side of his ship. He wraps one arm around the drifter’s waist and finds a hold on the ladder with the other, hanging from the end as his crew pulls the ladder up. Icy saltwater drips from his clothes and the ends of his hair, and Kravitz winces at the sharpness of the cold the ocean wind brings.

Waiting hands pull them over the side, and Kravitz goes rolling onto the deck with his arm still fixed tightly to his catch. The impact of hard wood finally seems to jostle them enough to wake them, and they instinctively shove at Kravitz’s chest. Kravitz lets them go easily in favor of finding his footing.

“Whoo boy,” they rasp out in a voice choked by salt and fatigue. “You’re a clammy one, aren’t ya?” They push themselves to their knees and grunt with pain, trying to push their soaked hair from their eyes and get their bearings. In the end they seem to settle on studying the wood under their hands, too weak to hold up their head. “Shit, what-?”

Several of Kravitz’s able bodied men move to help them up, but Kravitz holds up a hand. Sadly, information comes first. “We’ll get you a change of clothes. Something warm,” Kravitz promises. “For now, I’d count yourself lucky to be alive. What port did the Starblaster take you from?”

“The what now?” Their voice is becoming clearer now as they continue to speak, a lilting but decidedly male tone rife with confusion. “I understand the words you’re sayin’ but the order is doin’ a number on my noodle, my man.”

Angus trots up then, Kravitz’s abandoned coat in hand. He breezes right by the captain and crouches next to the newcomer to drape the warm black fabric over his back. Kravitz feels equal parts pride in Angus’s hospitality and concern for the shivering man- his long, pale fingers can barely grasp the hem of the garment.

“The ship you were imprisoned on,” Kravitz repeats slowly. “The Reds would have captured you at port, probably along the Sword Coast. If you give us your information, I’m sure Her Majesty will have a vessel dispatched to return you to your family as soon as possible.”

The man shakes his head. “I don’t know about any ship. I…” He bites his lip, still staring blankly at the deck. “I don’t remember a port,” he says finally. “I don’t remember being captured.”

The soldiers mutter to themselves, a thread of dissent that oh, Kravitz needs to snip right this moment. It’s silly superstition, nothing more. “Surely you remember something,” he says, urgently but not unkindly. “What’s your name?”

The man finally looks up and meets Kravitz’s eyes, and Kravitz finds it hard to look away. Even drenched and cold with his hair hanging limp, the man is heart achingly beautiful. He frowns. “I’m Taako. You look like you’re made of salt?”

Then, without warning or preamble, he faints.

Angus is still close enough to catch him when he slumps to the side. He shivers but holds himself steady enough to keep them both mostly upright. “He needs urgent medical attention, Captain. Hypothermia, deliria- the dehydration alone is-“

Kravitz snaps his fingers at the soldier closest to him and the woman snaps to attention. “Killian, get him belowdecks. Angus knows what to do from there.”

“Sir!” She snaps off a smart salute and crouches down. With Angus’s help, she wraps the unconscious man in Kravitz’s coat and throws him over her shoulder. It’s not exactly gentle, but then again it hasn’t exactly been a gentle sort of day. When they’re out of sight, Kravitz addresses the rest of the crewmen pretending not to eavesdrop.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” he says. “I know there are rumors about the Reds, about what they can do to a man’s mind. You know it’s nonsense.”

They shuffle their feet, chagrined. “He doesn’t even remember being on a ship,” someone says in a trembling voice. “They have to have-“

“There are simple, natural explanations for everything,” Kravitz corrects. “You heard Angus- the man is delirious and tired. I’m sure once he’s well again he’ll recover his senses and we can send him on his way.” He turns on his heels and stalks toward his cabin. “Now back to work. I want us ready to weigh anchor at dawn, and the oncoming storm won’t give us much time to prepare. We’re going to catch the Starblaster one way or another.”

“Aye, Captain!”

Kravitz walks down the narrow wooden staircase and listens as the sharp sounds of boots running overhead fade into the soft creaks of the ship. His crew are still nervous, he can tell, but he’s sure everything will be fine. They’re the finest men and women in all Faerun; a few head games won’t incapacitate them so easily.

He makes his way down to the sick bay, where the newcomer has already been given a cot and a dry change of clothes. Angus gently dries the man’s long hair with a towel and watches intently for any sign of consciousness. All Kravitz can see is a worried looking frown.

“Are you taking over, Captain?” Killian asks from her place in the corner. Kravitz didn’t see her before, but he notes her defensive stance and the hand on her bow.

Kravitz raises an eyebrow at her caution and takes another glance around the room. The only other occupants are some of their own soldiers, casualties too injured to walk. They’re all blissfully knocked out by the herbs their medical officer surely administered, but Lucas himself is notably missing from the room.

“He’s helping topside,” Killian answers his unspoken question. She jerks her chin at the boy carefully tending to your guest. “I know Angus can take care of this but… I didn’t want to leave him alone.”

At that, Kravitz lets go of a breath he’s been holding since the afternoon’s battle. The adrenaline rush of the fight, the rage at their quarry escaping, and the worry about his crew all rushes out of him at once and suddenly Kravitz is just tired. Tired and unspeakably glad to have such good people at his side so he can let himself feel this.

“A good call, certainly. Please consider yourself relieved of guard duty and go… Go check on Carey.”

Killian gives him a wan smile. “You don’t have to coddle me, Cap. But thank you, I think I will.” She holsters her weapon and exits, clearly eager to touch base with her wife.

Kravitz sits on the next empty cot and watches Angus work. The boy has barely looked up the entire time, completely focused on his task.

“Will he live?”

“Oh, definitely.” Angus tosses the towel away and starts crossing the room in trips, fetching any spare bit of fabric he can find from blankets to dishrags to pile on the frozen man. “He’s not seriously injured, just freezing cold. There’s some seawater in his lungs, and he won’t enjoy getting that out, but other than that he’s just got a bump on his head.”

Kravitz sees it now, a bandaged lump just behind the man’s left ear. It explains Angus’s excessive gentleness with his hair, at least. “Do you think that hit is why he’s so confused?”

“Lucas told me that a hard hit to the head can affect memory,” Angus confirms. “We won’t be sure until he wakes up.” He throws one last blanket on top of the cot and Kravitz swallows a tired chuckle. The man is cocooned and the frown on his face is less severe now that he’s warm. The shivering has stopped completely and the color slowly returns to his cheeks.

Angus must see the same improvements, as he looks quickly up to Kravitz with a defensive look on his face. “I’ll take care of him,” he promises. “Lucas needs to focus on the injured, let me watch out for this one.”

Kravitz laughs. He reaches out and ruffles the boy’s hair in spite of his indignant grumbling. “He’s not a new pet, you know. But yes, I’ll entrust his care to you for now. Let him rest, but if he wakes the first priority is to get some food and water in him. And Angus?”

“Yes?”

“Get my coat back from him once he’s stable. I’m going to be needing my compass.”

[lesbianlovelanguage]

i don’t wanna talk about it (i don’t wanna think about it)

Billie walks her pride and joy down the silent Old Cherry Lane at 2 am, just far enough that it won’t wake up her mom or step-dad. Once she’s cleared the block, she hops on the back of her bike and speeds through a sleepy Hawkins towards Steph Harrington’s house. She would head to the abandoned quarry, but she can practically hear Steph’s insistence that Billie shouldn’t hide out at the quarry at night because there are bears or some shit. Billie thought her warning was ridiculous, but she was trying to be nice now, and straight up laughing at Steph, when her face was pinched in worry and her tone serious, was probably not very nice.

Plus, Steph had beer, which is exactly what Billie needs right now.

So she speeds across the tiny town of Hawkins, Indiana to the Harrington’s big, empty house in the middle of the night. Which was probably incredibly stupid, considering she and Steph weren’t friends or anything. Sure they had gotten closer after Billie had apologized about beating her face in last fall, but they weren’t friends. More acquaintances who got stoned together at parties.

Between Billie’s manic speed and Hawkin’s empty streets, she makes it to the Harrington household in record time. When she gets there, she pulls her bike around to the side of the house, and heads towards the back doors. She freezes up as soon as she rounds the corner though, because there in the pool, was Steph Harrington herself, swimming lazy laps in the pool.

Billie was transfixed. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen Steph swim- Steph had invited her to all her meets, and Billie had actually gone, once- but there was something so personal about this moment. Steph wasn’t swimming for a medal or a trophy, just swimming for herself, stretching her lithe body with every stroke, before diving under to flip over and kick off the wall.

Billie stood there, mesmerized, for a couple minutes before she came back to herself. She shook her head, as if to clear it, and walked forward to break the tranquil laps.

“Harrington!” Billie barked to get her attention. Steph stopped her gentle strokes and ducked under the surface, popping back up a second later and shooting a glare towards where Billie was leaning against one of the big glass windows, her short brown locks plastered to her face in a way that resembled a drowned kitten. Cute, Billie thought.

“What the fuck, Hargrove? You scared the shit out of me.” She quickly disappeared back into the water, emerging just as quickly, now with her hair slicked back against her head.

“I could ask you the same question, princess. Why are you swimming in the middle of the fucking night? I thought there were bears in the forest.” She couldn’t help but mock Steph a little for the irony of the situation. Just because she was trying to be nice didn’t mean she couldn’t tease Steph, right?

“It’s my pool, I can swim whenever the fuck I want. Now, what are you doing here?” Maybe Steph’s prissy tone would suggest otherwise. Oops.

Billie withdrew a little, her smartass smirk being knocked off in the face of Steph’s crankiness, replaced instead with a deep frown. Her eyes go from studying Steph’s face, illuminated by the pool’s underwater lights making her look almost ethereal, to studying the concrete below her combat boots with equal focus. She notices a new scuff on the toe.

“Forget it, I’m just gon-“ she spins on her heel, preparing to fuck off and go to the quarry despite Steph’s warnings. She knew this was a stupid idea.

“Wait!” Billie heard the sloshing of Steph pulling herself out of the pool, but didn’t look up at her as she called out, “You don’t have to leave, I just wanna know why you showed up at my house at 2 in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Told me it wasn’t safe or whatever at the quarry, so I figured I’d come here.”

“Oh, okay. In that case, you want pizza rolls?” Just like that, the annoyance in her voice was gone, replaced with a casual nonchalance.

Billie’s eyes shot up from the ground, looking skeptically at Steph, who had grabbed a towel she had laid by the pool. She was absently drying herself off, looking over and waiting for Billie’s response.

Billie was momentarily distracted by the sight of Steph in a black one piece, accenting the soft curves of her athletic form, from strong shoulders down all the way down to her narrow hips. She must have taken too long to respond, because Steph cleared her throat, impatient.

“What? You’re just gonna roll with me showing up at your house at 2 am, and offer me pizza rolls?” Scrambling for something to say, Billie fell back on her standard biting retorts. Damn it, she was trying to be nice now.

“Well, yeah. Everyone likes pizza rolls.” Steph shrugs, wrapping herself in the towel.

“Okay, sure. Fuck, let’s go eat pizza rolls.” And with Billie’s acceptance, Steph turned and walked through the open sliding door into the house, either not noticing or not caring about the small puddles she was leaving in her wake.

Billie trailed behind Steph as she walked through the massive living room into the kitchen, mindful of the water on the hardwood floor. She arrived in the kitchen in time to see Steph pulling out the small box of Jeno’s Pizza Rolls and going to preheat the oven.

Setting the box next to the stove, Steph tossed a casual, “Give me a sec, I’m just going to go change real quick.” Billie nodded and she hustled up to her room to change.

Billie studied the kitchen while she waited. It was oddly sterile, only the couple of dirty dishes suggesting that someone lived here, and it wasn’t just a kitchen in a magazine. There were no magnets on the fridge or pictures on the wall to break up the weird patterned wallpaper.

Steph came running down the stairs into the kitchen a couple minutes later, dressed in an oversized t-shirt that fell over her running shorts, making it look as if she weren’t wearing any pants. Her hair was still dripping water, creating small water marks in the fabric covering her shoulders. Billie kind of missed the swimsuit, but this wasn’t too tragic of a replacement.

Steph continued over to the stove, and popped the pizza rolls into the oven, setting a timer for 8 minutes. Afterwards, she turned to face Billie. An awkward silence fell over the two girls.

“So, uh. Got any beer?” Billie asked.

“Uh, yeah. I think we have a couple. Let me check.” Steph walked over to the fridge and began digging around, pulling out two Corona bottles. She grabbed a bottle opener from the drawer next to the fridge and popped both of the caps off. She handed one to Billie and took a long pull from hers, settling against the counter across from where Billie had decided to lean against the wall, just studying Billie’s face with an intensity that made her shuffle her feet. I really should have just gone to the stupid fucking quarry.

“Ya know, I’ve never had a Corona before?” Billie remarked, hoping to break the weird tension.

“Shit, really? It’s all my dad drinks.” Steph taking another pull from her bottle, finishing it. Billie noticed how her soft, pink lips wrapped around the opening and her delicate hands, so unlike Billie’s scarred and calloused hands. She quickly squashed that particular thought process as Steph grabbed another beer from the fridge, returning to her original place, and continued to study Billie’s face.

“Yeah, usually it’s just the cheapest beer I can get. This shit’s fancy.” She then took a long drink to stop her nervous rambling. Steph in her pajamas, looking so comfortable and still fucking studying Billie’s face, was really throwing her off her game.

They lapsed back into a stilted silence, as Steph just kept staring at Billie and Billie stared right back, a challenge in her eyes over Steph’s sudden fascination with her face. She resolutely ignored the chills that shot up her spine from meeting Steph’s big, brown bambi eyes.

The timer broke them out of their weird showdown, and Steph turned to pull the pizza rolls out of the oven. She pulled down two plates, and split the pizza rolls evenly onto each plate.

“You, uh. You mind if we head back outside? It’s pretty nice out.” Steph asked, even though it was decidedly not nice out. The Indiana summer, with all its disgustingly sticky humidity, had decided to start up, even though they had only just entered May.

“Sure, it’s your house amigo.”

They took their plates and beer back out to the pool, and Steph settled on the edge, dipping her bare feet into the water. Billie sat next to her, opting not to dunk her feet in, unwilling to get her fishnets wet. She does take off her heavy combat boots though in an attempt to get more comfortable, and settles in, stretching her legs out to where they were almost touching Steph’s bare thigh.

Steph picked at the plate on her lap for a minute before looking up at Billie.

“What happened to your face?” She asked in a quiet voice, as if hesitant to break up the ambiance of crickets chirping and the gentle waves she made from kicking her feet in the water.

“Eh, you know. Some asshole jock couldn’t keep his hands to himself and his girlfriend got pissy. She definitely looks worse though.”

“Was it Tammy? She can be a bitch; I’d love to see her get smacked for once.”

“Um, yeah. You know how she is about Carl.” Steph chuckled. Tammy and Carl were the reigning Prom King and Queen, both assholes in their own ways. They had tried to get Billie to join their little cheerleading squad, but Billie couldn’t give a fuck less about school spirit, so they eventually left her alone.

Steph stopped picking at her pizza rolls and turned towards Billie, a mischievous glint in her eye. Danger they seem to say.

“Hey, you wanna play 20 questions?”

“What are we, fourth graders?”

“I mean, it’s better than sitting here in silence all night, and besides I barely know anything about you except you love your bike and you’re really giggly when you’re high.”

“You’re never gonna let that go huh?” Billie remembered the moment Steph was referring to, when they had both been at Cherry or Sherry or whoever’s party and snuck upstairs to share a joint and Billie had started giggling at something stupid Steph had said. It had been a good night.

“Nope,” Steph said, popping the p. “That was some funny shit. Big, bad Billie Hargrove rolling around on the floor and giggling? Amazing. The highlight of my high school years. So you want to play or what?”

“Sure. What’s the worst that can happen?” Famous last words.

“Ok, starting easy. What’s your favorite color?” Billie snorted.

“Blue. What’s yours? I bet it’s like Barbie pink or some shit.”

Steph looked mock offended. “I’ll have you know, it’s actually purple.”

“Ah, going for the royal aesthetic. Classic princess. Your turn again.”

“What? You can’t ask the same question, that’s cheating.”

“How is that cheating? We’re playing fucking twenty questions, you can’t cheat.”

“Whatever. Fine.”

She smirked, and Billie felt anxiety begin to pool in her stomach. “What was your first kiss like?”

Shit. She’s definitely not telling Steph that her first kiss was a girl named Melissa in sixth grade, who wore strawberry lip gloss and always smacked her bubble gum in history class no matter how many times their teacher scolded her, even if it was fucking spin the bottle. “Um, I don’t really remember.”

“I call bull. Everybody remembers their first kiss. Come on.”

“Oh yeah? Then what was your first kiss, Queen Steph?” Billie deflected.

“Easy, Nick Johnson in fifth grade. We were playing spin the bottle in Viktor’s basement.”

“Really? You kissed Nick? The red headed douche bag?”

“Hey, he wasn’t as much of a douche bag back then, alright? And it was spin the bottle, no one takes that shit seriously.” She says as she knocks her thigh against Billie’s foot, oblivious to the irony of her statement.

“Right,” Billie says skeptically. “I bet he still dreams about it. ‘Oh Steph, you’re so pretty’,” Billie begins to dramatically moan and make vague sexual hand gestures.

“Oh fuck off Hargrove. I told you mine, so what’s really yours?” Billie drops her hands and racks her brain for a lie. Somehow, her bullshitting ability fails her, and she comes up empty handed.

“I really don’t remember Harrington,” her tone icy.

“Fine, whatever. Don’t tell me.” She pouts, sticking her bottom lip out. “You know that means I win right? Since you won’t answer my question”

“You can’t win 20 questions, that’s not how it works.”

“Oh, excuse me. I wasn’t aware I was playing with a 20 questions expert. I still say I won. What do you wanna do now?”

“I don’t know.” Bille taps her chin, pretending to think, before pulling out a dangerous smirk. “Oh, i know, how about this.” She says as she reaches the short distance and pushes Steph into the pool. She breaks the surface to glare at Billie, looking like a wet cat again.

“Oh fuck you Hargrove, really mature.” Her tone wasn’t pissy this time, more over dramatically pouty as she moved toward the wall to climb out.

“Maybe not, but your face was funny.” Billie states as she reaches out her hand to help her out, a shit-eating grin on her face. The cockiness is wiped off her face quickly though when Steph uses Billie’s outstretched hand to pull her in. She pops back up with a gasp and a deadly glare.

“What the fuck Harrington, these braids took forever. Goddamnit.” She laments, reaching up to touch her wet hair, praying the braids don’t completely die.

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?” Steph lounges with her arms thrown over the side of the pool.

“I’ll show you what doesn’t feel good,” and Billie proceeds to swim over and dunk Steph underwater, leading to an all-out water brawl, the two girls wrestling each other for the upper ground.

They both stop eventually, out of breath and smiling. Billie finally notices how close they are, Steph practically panting in her face. She feels the weight of her daisy dukes and knows they’re going to be unbearably uncomfortable once she gets out, but she currently couldn’t find any regret in her. If the price of feeling Steph’s warm, firm body pressed to her, she would happily walk around with sopping wet denim every fucking day.

Billie hazards a guess that Steph isn’t wearing a bra underneath her oversized t-shirt, can feel her nipples through the soaked material.

Steph must notice how close they are too, but neither making any move to pull away. Minuteshoursdaysyears pass by with them holding onto each other, and Steph tries to keep looking at Billie, but her eyes dip down towards Billie’s mouth every couple of seconds, and finally she whispers, “Let me try something?”

Billie can only nod her head, caught up in the tender quietness of the moment as Steph leans down and catches Billie’s mouth with her own.

It’s just a soft peck at first, but Steph quickly gains confidence when Billie doesn’t immediately move away or push her under the water again, dipping back down to give her a longer kiss. It quickly turns heated, teeth and tongues battling for dominance, but before they can move past kissing, she feels Billie shiver against her.

Steph breaks away, panting, and suggests moving inside. Billie nods again, can’t believe this is happening to her, and can only watch Steph as she climbs out and walks back into the house, taking off her shirt before she steps in to the house and tracks more water inside.

Billie was right. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

[kingluvsyou]

He was doubting himself. Was this even the right building? Would they even like his work? God, what if someone gave him issues because he hated mess. His grip on the leather steering wheel tightened though it made no difference with the fabric enclosing his slender hands. While resting his head on the steering wheel, he left out a quiet sigh that quickly devolved into a noise of frustration. He sat up,

"You're a grown man, Tomo. You can do this. Are you really going to let the possibility of mess affect you?"

He knew talking to himself was weird but it didn't matter. At last, he got out of the speckless car with his bag in one hand and phone in the other.

He tried to tune out any excessive noise, only hearing his own footsteps until the increasingly loud clicks of heels could be heard from behind him. Tomo slowed down, intending to turn around but the small woman ran passed him. A faint saint of roses intruded his nose. He quickly recognised her as his next door neighbour. She slowed down and swung open the glass door quickly but was polite enough to keep it open for the tall Japanese man behind her. He said nothing, sure that if he did, it wouldn't be acknowledged. However, he did get to hear the tail end of the receptionist greeting the young woman.

"...Duckie!"

Was all that he heard. So that was her name? It suited her though. It seemed that she hadn't gotten a car yet, instead walking to make up for the difference though this time she had been sprinting - showing through her clothes and hair being ruffled. It was his turn to talk to the receptionist,

"H-hey"

Damn it. He stuttered. Clearing his throat, he tried again,

"Hello, I'm Tomo Suzuki. I was hired here recently, is there somewhere Im supposed to be specifically?"

All he got in return was a blank stare from the woman in front of him. Pressing his lips together briefly, almost ready to speak once more but he was interrupted by her finally speaking.

"Ah.. New hire from Japan?"

She asked then nodded, seemingly answering her own question. Even if she sounded bored, he took no offence. Silence fell between the pair before she said something.

"Third floor. Door with the director on the name plate, should have your boss inside."

The loud clacks of her lengthy nails hitting the keyboard started up. Her unenthusiastic tone suited to bleak reception area. There wasn't much too it, a desk for her to work at, a couple couches that looked rather uncomfortable and firm.

He took a step back then stopped, staring at the double doors leading to the staircase then at the elevator. Which was cleaner? Elevators or stairs? Checking the stairs first resulted in the man scrunching up his nose. There were more overflowing rubbish bins that made him visibly cringe. The smell unsettled him too. Elevator it was, it seemed.

It was definitely smaller than he had expected but at least it he didn't have to slouch so much to avoid hitting the top of his head. Tomo fiddled with the hem of his silk glove again, repeating a small mantra for himself.

"Things are okay. I am okay. I have gloves. Things are okay. I am okay. I have gloves."

He muttered under his breath up until he heard the last ding, indicating that he arrived at the third floor. He stopped fiddling with the glove and let his hand drop to his side. Tomo fixed up his posture as he got out of the elevator, hoping that he hadn't just embarrassed himself by ending on the wrong floor. Despite it taking a while due to his constant hesitance, it didn't take him long to knock on the wooden door.

By the second knock, the door swung open. Tomo was met with a large black man, slightly shorter than he is with long locs tied back. He looked like the epitome of kindness despite his face being aged by stress. Tomo couldn't figure out his age but it's not like he was going to ask regardless. That would've been rude of him especially if he was his boss.

The room was somewhat cramped but fit in two mahogany desks, a midsized bookshelf and various drawers seemingly filled with various physical files. One desk was littered with flower themed stationery. The other desk was quite plain, not much taking up the space aside from the black stationary and a couple small family photos. Sitting at the flower desk was Duckie.

'Hm. Coincidence'

He thought to himself then turned his attention back to the man in front of him.

"Salutations!"

The black man first said. His voice was deep and sounded friendly too. It made him relax slightly but it wasn't visible.

"You're Mr Suzuki, yes? I remember your interview"

He held out his calloused hand for Tomo to shake. Hesitance filled him again but he shook his hand anyway. He was wearing gloves, it should be fine, right? The man had a firm grip, opposing his gentle smile. Lucio! That was his name. It was buried deep in his mind, seemingly buried underneath the piles of things he stressed over. The name on the plate helped too, with the mans first and last name.

"This is Ti-"

Lucio was cut off by the intense stare coming from Duckie.

"Duckie. My apologies"

"I've been here for as long as you have, Luci, and you still can't ge-"

It was her turn to be cut off but it was cut off by her short squeak as her head fell towards.

"-Get it right"

She continued. Her head tilted to the side as she got back to what she was doing.

"As I was saying, this is Duckie. We'll both be your boss but she won't always be in this room. It's temporary until the person she is replacing is completely gone"

Lucio explained. A noise of disgust came from Duckie,

"Replacing sounds mean. I didn't do it intentionally"

"T- Duckie. You gave him flowers as an apology"

She rolled her eyes. It wasn't one of her tics and Lucio could tell.

"Don't roll your eyes at me. We may be at the same level but I am still older than you"

Lucio scolded. He headed out with Tomo, taking him to his new desk. Lucio went through what he had to do to get set up properly, going on about training videos that he could access and where he could go for help.

The walk to his desk wasn't long but the tall duo manage to lengthen it with Lucio taking the time to explain things. The desk was bare aside from the basics; a computer with a keyboard, pot of pencils and a company notebook.

"Have fun!"

Lucio said and patted his back. Tomo suppressed expressing his cringe from the touch to try not offend his new boss. He could hear the man retreating to his office. After briefly staring at his other coworkers, he spent a couple minutes to sanitise his area then pushed the notebook into one of the equally bare drawers underneath his desk to collect dust. The minutes he spent lightly cleaning garnered a couple stares from his colleagues.

Work wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. Aside from his constant rearrangement of his desk, wanting to keep it speckless like he tried to keep everything else. Throughout the hours up until his lunch hour, he hadn't been bothered by anyone and he hadn't bothered others. Tomo was fully prepared to skip out on eating at lunch to avoid the massive crowd but that plan fell through when he heard the familiar sound of the Duckie's boots come towards him. He stared at her, saying nothing.

"You're my neighbour, aren't you? I remember seeing you three this morning, with your girls. They're both cute"

Duckie started out, earning a quiet thanks from him. Her hand hit the side of her hip then her collarbone.

"Well, want to have lunch with me? It'll be fun to be friends with a neighbour!"

The blonde offered.

'Miki did say I needed friends... hopefully this is a good start'

He thought then nodded in response. Tomo got out of his seat, easily towering over the girl.

"Dios mio, eres alto"

She stared up at him in surprise. They hadn't gotten so close to each other to really understand the difference between them. The midsized woman turned on her heel and headed towards the cafeteria, making sure he was coming with. Tomo had to slow down repeatedly after overtaking the woman.

The cafeteria was crowded, definitely more than he could handle. He should've brought his mask with him. His body tensed up at the thought of being so close to so many people at once, especially since they were all strangers.

"I'll pay! What would you like?"

She chirped before walking confidently into the crowd. He opened up his mouth to say something but she was gone as soon as her sentence finished. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he mustered up the courage to head into the mass to get her. He gingerly took small steps which eventually lead to the woman who was happily chatting away with a coworker like she hadn't essentially ditched him. It really didn't take her long to be spotted with her fruity blouse and black blindfold that matched her high waisted black pants and boots. Even if it wasn't his intention, he had intimidated the coworker into cutting their conversation short and leaving.

"There you are! Why didn't you come with me?"

She spun around to face the Japanese man.

"I.. don't like crowds"

He admitted with a mild blush dusting his cheeks. It was almost unnoticeable, enough that she didn't mention it. Confusion etched itself onto her face before it turned into recognition.

"Oh! Are you a germaphobe?"

She asked, earning a shrug from him. Tomo changed the subject and picked out some food for himself. He didn't want to pick too much i. case it turned out to be expensive.

"Wait over by the entrance. I'll meet you there"

She directed after counting her money in Spanish. Tomo felt relieved that he could finally escape from the lines. Too many people for him. 10 minutes later, Duckie joined him and handed the food over. She took the lead again to find a quiet spot for them to eat at. The pair ended up by a wooden bench with various flower beds along the bath. There was the occasional passer by that neither acknowledged.

"Is this place okay?"

He simply nodded.

"A man of few words, hm? That's fine!"

Tomo let her talk. It was easier than doing it himself. While he was eating, he mostly listened to her talk about flowers. It was rather interesting even if he wasn't going to use the information. Maybe his kids will like the facts?

Duckie was frequently interrupted by her squeaks or the sound of her hand hitting parts of her body. He was certainly curious but he couldn't tell what to ask in case it was too rude. Thankfully, she noticed the blatant staring.

"Is it about what I'm doing?"

"Yes. Are you sick?"

"I'm not sick.. probably. It's just tics but no proper diagnosis. To be honest, I'm afraid of going in case I get immediately dismissed by the specialist."

"What are tics?"

"Hmm.."

She started, trying to figure out how to explain it.

"Chronic, involuntary movements or noises. I think that's part of the definition. I've had it since I was 14 so many years of this"

She shrugged and threw her rubbish away.

Lunch wasn't long but it was enough for Duckie to consider him a friend. Tomo didn't often contribute to the conversation but he did listen.

"Thanks for staying with me!"

She happily exclaimed, followed up by a squeak.

"We should hang out outside of work! There's a cafe I like going to, it's not too crowded during the morning and afternoon"

He stared at her in return as she got up, heading off to wherever she was needed. Duckie seemed to speed walk wherever she wanted to go. Tomo didn't rush, not like he needed to anyway with his long legs. He threw away his trash in the emptiest bin he could find to avoid touching anything he deemed gross.

He was a little late when he got back to his desk. A minute or two at most. He wasn't as tense as he was this morning but there seemed to be no change in how he carried himself.

It was inching closer to the end of his daughters' school and the start of an after school club each joined. They were used to doing after school activities and they wanted to keep it up but Tomo let them choose the club this time. Kyoko chose for them, picking the ones that gave them the best option to be out of the house the longest. It meant nothing since Tomo had to pick them up to come home to an empty home and missing cash.

Once he checked the time, he stood up - fast enough for the chair to roll back a metre or two. He apologised and moved the chair back then collected his things. He notified his bosses anyway, even if he had talked about it during the online interview. He was more than thankful that the job was flexible with his timings.

The drive over to the school wasn't too far and he managed to arrive on time. Tomo decided on parking further away to avoid any crowd. His kids were understanding enough to not question him about it yet. He joined the group of parents, talking in between themselves as they waited for their kids to come out. Aoi came first since her club was shorter.

"Hi daddy! My teacher is really nice! I like the club. I think I made a friend too!'

She started to talk, lightly tugging on his pant leg. It usually meant that she wanted a piggy back. Tomo crouched down and let her climb up while holding onto her bag in his hand. Aoi continued to talk about her day while they waited for Miki to come. The next club was let out, his other daughter in the crowd of children. She was quiet and held out her hand, wanting it to be held. His concern wasn't too obvious though it did start to grow when she stood close by with her grip on his hand tightening. Miki usually wasn't that affectionate in public while Aoi was the complete opposite. Aoi's talking filled up the silence on the walk back to the car. It was nice to hear her happy chatter instead of silence from her.

He carefully placed them down and made sure they were both buckled up before he was starting to drive home.

"Do either of you have homework to do?"

A 'No' came from the both of them.

"Mmm, wanna help daddy cook tonight?"

Another no.

"Can we play hair dresser?"

Miki meekly asked. Tomo thought for a moment then nodded. He was going to move any sharp objects further from them so neither child decided to give him a physical haircut. Despite his hatred of messes, it was common to see him putting up with it for the sake of having fun with his kids.

[takadasaiko]

Love Me Twice: Chapter Four

FFN II AO3

Chapter Summary: An op pits Jacob against an old enemy, but when a client will only take the best, Gina volunteers him for the job.

Chapter Four

April 2020

The squeal of the train's breaks sounded their approach to the platform as a prim voice announced their imminent arrival and warned commuters to mind the gap. Jacob Phelps adjusted a leather messenger bag on his shoulder, the opposite arm occupied by a pretty young woman with dyed blonde hair and striking green eyes. "Don't be nervous," she said, her tone so light it was almost teasing. "Daddy's going to love you."

Jacob let a small, hesitant smile quirk his lips. "I'm not nervous."

"You're such a bad liar," she laughed as the train pulled up to the platform and the doors opened.

"I am," Jacob lied, risking a glance at his mark. Emily Atwood, thirty-years-old and the only child of the aging CEO of a British conglomerate that he'd been hired to steal data from. It had taken nearly a month of groundwork, but only a couple of weeks once he'd actually made contact with her. She thought he was Jack Tallert, an accountant that had recently been transferred to his firm's London branch.

She was an easy enough mark. Trusting and head over heels for the man she thought he was. It would have been enough to almost make him feel guilty if he ever got invested enough to feel much at all on an op. He let the part he was playing take over and natural charisma and training did their equal parts to get him where he needed to go. He'd always been good at it, even before St Regis, but Bud had helped him hone a skillset that had put him at the top of his class. Thankfully a decade's worth of missing memories hadn't dampened that too much, even if it had left him with a desperate need to fill in his gaps of knowledge that anyone around him would know.

Emily tugged him forward from the train and they started up towards the street above. She chattered away about their dinner plans and if they should see a movie that weekend. Or a play. She'd prefer a play. They had a lovely cast for…

Jacob nodded at all the right moments, picking up on key words but otherwise focused on the plan as they stepped out into the cool spring afternoon. The client that had hired him needed a set of plans that were being tightly guarded by the company's security. No one under the fortieth floor even knew that the product was on the horizon, and no one under the fiftieth had access to the details mapped out to make it happen. Emily's father would have them on his computer, certainly, but that was risky. Daniel Atwood's personal assistant should have them too. She had been Jacob's original in for direct access, but it didn't take a lot of research to find out that he was nother type. She would be out to lunch - a very nice lunch with her girlfriend that Jacob has pulled a discrete favour to make happen - so no one would be there to watch her computer. His cell phone was already set to connect with her laptop from the office next to hers, so all he had to do was keep the conversation going while the tech did the heavy lifting. If he played his cards right he'd be on a flight Stateside in just a few hours.

"What do you think?"

The words pulled him out of his thoughts and Jacob blinked hard. "That's a…. good idea?" he tried.

Emily smiled sweetly at him and reached forward, adjusting the collar on his overcoat. "I promise it's going to be just fine. Don't believe everything you hear about him on the telly."

"I've got you with me. What could go wrong?"

"That's the spirit." She tipped up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before letting her hand slide down into his and tugging him into the building after her.

                                                   -------

McCready had always had a strict radio silence rule. No contact until the op was finished. If you broke that rule, it better be mission critical or he'd burn you faster than you could start stuttering out your excuse.

The reasoning behind the rule had been proven time and again over the years, and it was one that Gina hadn't seen any benefit in changing during her four years that she had been leading St Regis now. Funny, even after she'd proven she wasn't someone to be trifled with, there was always the one idiot that thought he was different. That thought he could push her around. That's what brought her to moments like this one.

April in New York City could bring snow or sun, but that particular Thursday morning it was somewhere in between. She sat at a table in Union Square Park, tablet in hand. Jacob would have teased her for it, saying that if she were a spy worth her salt it would have been a newspaper. She couldn't fully blame him. It wasn't his fault he was a decade behind the times, not that he would have made the choice if he wasn't. He'd always been a fan of old spy tropes.

A scream for a doctor drew Gina's attention and she looked up to see what the crowd around her saw: a congressman home from DC's walk in the park with his wife turned dangerous as he clutched at his chest, hunched over to the point that he was melting towards the ground. She watched as people circled around, finally closing off her view. People were on their phones. Some were calling for help, others hoping for their five seconds of fame once they uploaded the video to whatever platform they thought would get the most views or get snatched up by one of the 24-hour news networks to play again and again until something more interesting came along. The congressman would never make it to the hospital, though. That's what he got for breaking protocol.

She put her tablet to sleep and leaned down to fit it back into her bag, ready to make her exit. When she straightened, though, she wasn't alone at her table. A woman had claimed the seat across from her, utterly unphased by the drama taking place a few yards away, and her icy blue stare was fixed on Gina.

The woman was thin, red hair fighting the grey that should have stolen the colour at this point in life, and well dressed. She tilted her head a little to the side, studying Gina carefully. "You don't look bothered."

"Neither do you," Gina answered, slipping easily into a New York accent.

A very small smile tilted the corners of the newcomer's lips, amused, but her gaze remained sharp. "Your accent's good."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do. Let's not waste time."

Gina felt a nudge against her boot under the table and she risked a glance down to see that the woman had pushed a backpack towards her. "They don't like unattended bags here. Makes people nervous."

"I'd say you better check it out then."

She was playing a game, that much was obvious, but something in Gina could respect that. It wasn't just anyone that could sneak up on her, especially on high alert. This woman had been in the game, even if she wasn't currently. She knew what she would find in the bag even before reaching under the table for it. Her fingers ghosted along the stacked bills and she let her own lips quirk upward, her accent slipping back to her own. "Are you trying to propension me?"

"Absolutely. I want your best man for a job."

"I don't know you."

"You don't know most of your clients. That's why you vet people." The woman held a card between two fingers and Gina read the name Brigitte Tremblay in scrawled text. "Take a look - deep as you want - and give me a call."

"What's the job?"

"Protection. That's all I say until we have a contract in place. Do your due diligence and give me a call at the number on the other side of the card. I'll get you the qualifications I'm looking for so that you can choose your best operative."

Sirens sounded and Gina risked a look on instinct. When she turned back, Brigitte Tremblay was gone, her card and bag of money the only sign she'd ever been there at all.

                                                  -------

It was exhausting playing the boyfriend sometimes. Bud had loved putting him in those roles. He'd said Jacob was born for them. Gina was less interested, but this job had needed a skilled operative that could manipulate many moving parts and make sure that it all came together quickly. Two months was their limit. Jacob was managing it in less, even if he would be due a bonus for having to deal with the nonstop droll of suckups that followed Emily Atwood around hoping to get a good mentioned to her dear ol' daddy. She wasn't bad, but the people that surrounded her took every ounce of skill he had to smile at rather than snap their necks. With the way things were going, he'd be lucky if they made it up to her father's floor by next week.

"I'm so sorry, Alistair," Emily said, the grip she took on his hand pulling Jacob out of the stupor that Alistair's story had put him into, "but Jack and I were supposed to meet Daddy twenty minutes ago. Do say hello to Martha for me."

Jacob offered a small grimace that was supposed to be a smile as Emily pulled him away and towards the elevators. Once the doors were closed she sank back against the far wall. "They're exhausting."

"Least I'm not alone in that," he chuckled.

The lift wouldn't budge an inch until she swiped her badge, entered a code, and pressed her thumb against a reader to take them all the way to the top. Jacob saw the small signs of worry and reached out, his touch against her arm soothing. "Hey. Don't worry about them."

"It's hard not to. They're vultures. Everyone wants something from him. From us. It's hard to know what's real."

Jacob offered a reassuring smile and shoved that irritating tickle in the back of his mind away. It had been with him for the last couple of years. Since the op that stole his memories. He didn't know what it meant or why it happened, but it cropped up at the most inconvenient of times.

The elevator dinged and emptied them into the hallway. Emily led them around the corner and towards the CEOs suite at the end. The office next to it - Atwood's personal assistant's office - was already dark, meaning she was likely gone for lunch. Perfect. Jacob waited until Emily had fully passed the empty office before casually slipping his hands into his pockets, deft finger working to set his phone to send the signal. He caught the light from the computer waking up out of his peripheral, no one the wiser of it. The only thing he had to do now was keep the conversation going until the files had transferred and he could be Stateside again in under twenty-four hours.

Emily tapped on the frosted glass door as she pushed it open. "Sorry we're late. We...oh."

Jacob followed up behind her to see what had stopped her. Daniel Atwood stood tall and as imposing as he appeared in press releases, but he wasn't alone. With him was a smaller man. Persian. Asal Younes. Not that that would be the name he would have given Atwood. It looked like St Regis wasn't the only one after the intel.

He hadn't seen the man in years, but they had certainly left an impression on each other. Younes had gotten an upper hand on him and managed to leave Jacob with a broken collarbone and cracked ribs, but Jacob had returned the favour with a bullet lodged in the other man's chest and a second to the gut. As far as he knew they hadn't seen each other since, but grudges like theirs didn't dissipate with time. They festered.

"Sorry, love. This will only take a moment," Atwood said and turned back to his conversation.

"Alex Sharif," Emily said very quietly. "He handles Daddy's security."

Well that was interesting. Either Younes has found an in through security- a risky play - or he'd given a cover name to Atwood when he hired him to protect the intel, which didn't make sense. Either way, there was no question he'd been recognized, only how it played out.

He stood frozen in his place, mentally calculating every exit available to him, when he felt Emily's hand slip into his. "Let's wait outside."

She led him out and nodded as he made an excuse to slip off into the restroom to check the status bar on the phone. At ninety percent completion, this might just work. Whatever Gina was paying her new tech guru, it wasn't enough.

The door to the restroom opened and Younes' lips quirked up into a dangerous smile, gun already in hand. "I had heard a rumour that you'd gotten out of the game, either by choice or by force, but here you are. Hands on the counter."

"You've got it wrong."

Younes snorted and motioned until Jacob turned and placed his hands facedown on the counter as instructed. "Not even you can talk your way out of this. What's this?" He pulled the phone out of Jacob's pocket.

"Just downloading some tunes," he answered flippantly.

"Corporate espionage is a crime, my friend."

"So's trafficking, murder, and a half dozen other things you specialize in, so what's your point?" He risked a glance out of the corner of his eye and saw his moment. Jacob kicked out, heel of his boot connecting with Younes' knee with a sickening crack, and he spun to go for the gun. He caught the other man's wrist in time to throw the shot from it wide and shoved Younes back hard against the wall. He dropped the gun as expected, but then slammed his head forward to send Jacob reeling back. Definitely not expected.

Jacob staggered, struggling to blink through black spots that were dancing in front of his vision, and pulled himself around in time to block the next blow. Arms up, a fist collided with his forearm rather than his face and he swung around with his elbow to clock Younes in the temple. The other man crumpled hard and Jacob grabbed the gun from the floor and stuffed it in the back band of his slacks.

A couple of curious people were already at the bathroom door as he stepped out, the commotion gaining their attention. Jacob motioned behind him. "Two guys just went at it in there. Someone should call security."

He pulled his phone out, making a beeline for the elevator and hoped beyond hope that he had what he needed. His lips quirked up at the corner at the sight of a completed status bar and he slammed the heel of his hand into the down button for the elevator. It didn't immediately open for him and he risked a look up to see some asshole had taken it down to the ground floor.

The bathroom door slammed open behind him and he turned, finding Younes stumbling his way out. There was no way that the elevator would make it in time and if they had it out in front of all of these people, someone was bound to snag a photo for identification. The stairwell it was.

Jacob took the two flights up to the roof rather than the fifty-some-odd flights down. At least there wouldn't be cameras up there.

He burst through the door to the roof, and dialed a number. "It's Phelps. I have the intel. Have the plane waiting at Luton Airport. I'll be coming in hot." He reached for the gun and pressed his back against the brick wall of the outer stairwell, eyes squeezed closed and he waited.

The door opened and he leapt into action. He swung around, but Younes was ready for him. He knocked the shot wide just as Jacob had done before, but Jacob used the momentum to swing him around. The two men slammed hard to the gravel roof, rolling and punching and fighting. "You really don't let things go, do you?" Jacob growled, from his place pinning the other man down.

Younes slammed his knee into Jacob's left side and threw him off. He landed hard enough that it took a half second longer than it should have for him to regain his bearings. Younes was on him when he did and he kicked up, catching him in the middle and vaulting him over.

He heard the startled yelp before his mind registered just how close to the edge they were. Jacob rolled to his stomach and pushed himself up, feeling the damaged muscles in his left side pull painfully as he shuffled his way to the edge of the roof where Younes was hanging by his fingertips. He peered over and tilted his head curiously. "Just not your day, is it?"

"You son of a bitch."

Jacob snorted and turned. "Always sucks to see you, Younes," he called over his shoulder and heard another yelp as Younes finally lost his grip.

                                                  -------

He hadn't slept on the flight. Between verifying that the data made it to the intended recipient and coordinating with the cleaning crew to wipe all physical traces that he'd ever come into contact with the Atwoods, there hadn't been time. He'd just put his phone down to slouch deeply in the comfortable seat when he felt the rumble of the gears coming down and the pilot reminded him that they'd be landing soon. He must have missed the first announcement.

Both landing on the private airstrip and the drive back to the St Regis compound were a blur as exhaustion started to really set in. He needed a shower and maybe a very long nap. Food could wait.

Hot water poured over knotted muscles. Jacob leaned forward, palm pressed against the shower wall to keep him on his feet as watched as red-tinged water circled down to the drain, rinsing the remaining blood from his skin and hair that he hadn't been able to scrub off from his fight with Younes.

The shower door opened behind him and Jacob nearly lost his footing as he turned. Gina gave him a playful, dangerous smile as she barred the door. "Hello, handsome. How was London?"

"Successful. The data's been transferred and will be released as soon as the funds are."

"Just what I want to hear."

Her gaze traveled him up and down and he snorted a laugh, shaking his head. "You planning on joining me?" There was always the crash at the end of an op. It had never been something he'd dealt with particularly well, but the last couple years had proven even more difficult. He woke up at all hours with whatever he was dreaming about - or remembering- just out of reach and the strangest sensation that something wasn't quite right. The job usually helped distract him. Sex wasn't bad either.

Gina frowned. "As much as it pains me to say, you don't have time."

"I just got back from a two month job. I think I've got time," he countered, but her look said it all. Okay. That was a quicker turnaround than normal. "Guess I don't, huh?"

"Everything we have for you is in the file on your bed. Your meeting with Brigitte Tremblay in the City at eight. I'd wear more than that."

"What's the job?"

"Don't know. She said she'd only tell our best."

Gina turned to leave and Jacob pulled in a breath. He was going to need a cup of coffee.

                                                  -------

Jacob had always liked New York City. Violent homes as a child had taught him to read situations to survive, but as a teenager on the streets he'd sharpened those skills. New York had been a training ground in watching a wide range of people and mimicking every inch of their visible personalities. By the time Bud had picked him up by fourteen he was well on his way to fitting comfortably into any other skin but his own. Now, years later, he'd managed to turn it into a lucrative career.

The file Gina had given him was thin with only the name of the client - Brigitte Tremblay - along with the brief background run on her and her list of requirements. She had deep enough pockets to dictate terms, from the sound of it.

Brigitte Tremblay sat alone at a table just outside of a bakery, red hair peeking out from under a hat and over the scarf around her neck. She was a striking woman in her late 50's, her sharp blue gaze discreetly watching every person that passed by. She was good. A professional of some form or fashion, which left Jacob curious why she'd decided to hire out. There was only one way to find out.

"Ms Tremblay," he greeted as he circled around, but nothing about her reaction signaled that he had startled her. Just the opposite, her thin lips quirked up ever so slightly at the corners as if she'd won a bet Jacob wasn't privy to.

"Brigitte, please," she answered and motioned to the chair across from her. The file Gina had given him indicated that she did business in Canada, but there were hints of other locations in her accent. "You must be the top operative I was promised."

"From the little information you were willing to provide, yeah," he answered as he took the seat.

Her smile didn't fade as she studied him. Those piercing blue eyes lingered on him long enough that even Jacob felt the impulse to squirm under the observation. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"The best, like I told your boss." She leaned down and pulled a file from her oversized purse at her feet. It was thicker than hers, but she didn't hand it over immediately. Instead she held it up as if it were a prize to be earned. "I expect full confidentiality in this operation. Once you take the job you will speak to no one about me, about what's in this file, or anything connected to it. Not even your boss, do you understand me?"

"I got it."

She held his gaze. "Do you? I don't accept failure."

Jacob held that intense gaze without budging. "There's a reason my boss sent me rather than any number of operatives. I get the job done. No matter what. Your secrets are part of that job."

There was a beat of silence between them as Brigitte seemed to consider what he'd said. There was a shift, so small that Jacob almost missed it, before she said, "I'm glad we understand each other," and handed over the file.

Jacob opened it to find a photo of a young woman staring up at him. "So what do you need from Elizabeth Keen?" he asked, the name striking an almost-memory as it left his tongue. A hospital bed, everything around him blurred, and a denial. He didn't know any Keens.

"Are you alright?"

Jacob blinked hard, finding Brigitte staring at him. He mentally shook it off. "Sorry. Jet lagged. You were saying?"

"I was saying I want her protected."

"Protected? Why? From who?" He flipped through the notes. "She's a fed."

"Yes she is."

"So what's the connection?"

"She has something of mine. Until I'm ready to retrieve it, I need her out of harm's way. You'll find a number of potential threats I've already uncovered. My guess is there are more."

Jacob flipped through the dossier. The files contained notes about a task force she was a part of, outstanding cases that might pose a threat, and one name that caught his eye. He looked up at his new employer. "Her CI…"

"I'd suggest you stay off his radar. No one should see you. You'll be her shadow. You'll report any new or evolving threats to me unless they put her in immediate danger. I've rented an apartment for you to work out of under the name Thomas Henderson."

"I develop my own covers."

"Not this time." She tilted her head a little. "You do look like a Tom," she mused and stood. "The details for your cover are in the back of that file and this-" she reached for her bag, pulling a burner phone from it - "is for you to contact me. Remember, Tom, she's not to see you."

"That won't be a problem."

"It better not be. Good luck."

Jacob watched as she walked away, a strange and uneasy feeling settling over him as he turned his attention back to the file in hand, Special Agent Elizabeth Keen staring up at him.

                                                  -------

TBC

Notes: Bonus points to anyone that recognizes the name Younes from canon. Hint: Tom mentions the name a whopping one time with another name as someone that might be after him. If you guess you will earn the author's eternal entertainment and virtual cookies.

Also, for those that have been worried about Gina being an issue... please know this is short-lived and only because Gina's taking advantage of the situation. Deep breath, my friends. The Keens will actually cross paths quicker in this story than the last Tom Lives! AU that I wrote.

Next Time: Liz works with Katarina, Red gives the Task Force a new Blacklister, and Jacob tries to figure out who Maddie Tolliver is and what her connection might be to Elizabeth Keen.

[galaxystiel]

Fate (AO3)

Summary:  “C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Dean tugged Castiel towards the storefront. “Don’t you want to find out who your soulmate is? Who you’re fated to be with?”

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1,338

Tags: AU, Human AU, Anti-Soulmate AU, angst with a happy ending

Written for the Writers of Destiel server ‘Weekly Words’ challenge, with the prompt ‘rise from the ashes’.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Dean tugged Castiel towards the storefront. “Don’t you want to find out who your soulmate is? Who you’re fated to be with?”

Castiel dug his heels in, refusing to be coerced towards the sketchy-looking store front. He didn’t know why Dean had gotten it into his head that he wanted to try and go to a witchy-wicca-hybrid store, but Castiel wasn’t getting involved.

“Absolutely not. At least, not at the expense of giving some charlatan my money. And honestly, I suspect my soulmate might be a bit of a jackass.”

Dean rolled his eyes and slid his arm around Castiel. “So, I’m a jackass now? Gotta say, I’m starting to feel a little unloved here, Cas.”

Castiel scowled, refusing to be baited. “You know I love you. But I thought we agreed that we didn’t want to find out if we were soulmates. That the way we felt about each other was enough.”

“It is,” Dean averted his eyes and scuffed his boot along the floor. “I just wanted… forget it, it was a stupid idea anyway. Let’s go.”

“What were you going to say?” Castiel dug his heels in once again, now refusing to let Dean drag him away from the store. He might not want to go in, but he knew if they left, he’d never find out what Dean was about to say. “Tell me.”

Dean still wouldn’t look at him, so Castiel narrowed his eyes as he waited patiently for Dean to speak. “You know what my dad is like. I just… wanted proof so I could stop him needling at me to find a girl to settle down with.”

Ah. That same old song and dance again. Castiel was tired of having John Winchester belittle their relationship. It wasn’t even the worst kind of homophobia – he’d been truly supportive of Dean’s bisexuality all through high school and college, by all accounts. He just didn’t like the idea of Dean finally settling down with a man.

“Right,” Castiel’s voice came out harsher than intended. “Come on then.”

Before Dean could react, Castiel had guided them both inside the shop. It was surprisingly warm inside, for a cold night, and it smelled strongly of herbs. Spots of light danced along the ceiling, as the low candlelight reflected in the hanging crystals that swung in the breeze. The outside had looked dingy and in need of repair, so Castiel was surprised by how clean it was inside.

An enthusiastic redhead greeted him from behind the counter. “Good evening. Can I help you guys find anything?”

Dean cleared his throat and approached her. “Hi. My brother said you sell this… packet of herbs that you burn that helps you identify your soulmate?”

Castiel, who had been looking around the shop with suspicion, now focused his attention on the owner, noting the name badge that identified her as Charlie. She didn’t look like his idea of a charlatan, but then, if it was so easy to identify a finagler then nobody would ever be duped.

“We do. They’re fifty dollars each. Please be aware that we cannot be held liable for any damages from separation, divorce or bankruptcy fees incurred by the results of this test.”

Castiel would have snorted at the legal jargon if he wasn’t floundering at the price. Fifty bucks?! Finagler was too sneaky a term, this was daylight robbery.

But Dean looked disheartened by the price so Castiel reluctantly handed over a couple of folded bills, already readjusting their bills for the month in his head. They should be fine, as long as he was frugal until his next pay check.

He tuned out all the instructions for how to burn the herbs, knowing Dean was paying close attention. Castiel couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a big mistake. That their relationship was going to suffer no matter the outcome. But he was equally as tired of Dean being constantly harassed by his family to look for his soulmate. If there was even a chance of putting an end to that, Castiel would take it. For Dean.

The ride home was quiet, both deep in contemplation. Castiel was antsy, half wanting to throw the small package out the window but also a little curious in himself. When they pulled up at their small apartment, Castiel was jolted out of his thoughts by Dean’s fingers entwining with his.

“This won’t change anything,” Dean promised.

Castiel smiled weakly, nodding, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. “Did you want to do it now or wait until after dinner?”

“Now’s as good a time as any,” Dean shrugged. “If that’s okay with you?”

Castiel shrugged in response. “Sure.”

Dean talked him through it, how the herbs would burn to ash, and a subtle scent would rise from the ashes and trigger three distinct memories that would help them identify their soulmate. It was a novel idea, quite romantic, Castiel supposed. But he didn’t need to know that Dean was his soulmate to know that he loved him with everything he was.

He pulled the coffee table towards the couch, taking a seat on the right side as Dean sat on the left. They placed a small bowl in the middle of the table for burning the herbs, just as a precaution. They didn’t want a house fire.

Dean lit a match and Castiel’s hand grasped his arm, stilling it for just a moment. “I’m scared.”

“Me too.” Dean admitted, and lit the paper on fire as Castiel’s hand slipped away.

Castiel screwed his eyes closed, waiting for the scent of burning to hit his nostrils. It did, but it was quickly followed by a strong scent, of oregano, sage, lavender, lemon notes. His mind began to wander, transported back through his life, first to elementary school, then to high school, then to freshman year of college.

He opened his eyes at the same time as Dean, numbly.

“So…” Dean cleared his throat.

“We’re not soulmates,” Castiel whispered. He wasn’t sure what to even do with that information.

Dean shrugged. “Apparently not. I kinda already suspected. So, who’s your soulmate?”

Castiel felt a lump rise in his throat, tears stinging his eyes. “She died. Overdosed at a frat party in freshman year. Yours?” He didn’t even try to disguise who he was talking about. Dean would know.

“Meg. Yeah, you two were always close.” Dean nodded, averting his gaze. “Mine’s Benny. He went back to Louisiana in junior year of high school. He didn’t ever believe in that soulmate crap anyway. Least my dad has to accept my soulmate is a guy now. Nothing he can do about that.”

Castiel nodded, not sure of what to say. What he even could say. They weren’t soulmates. They weren’t meant for each other. They were meant for other people, but life had gotten in the way and fate clearly had other designs for them.

“So, do we break up now?” He asked, eventually.

Dean’s head snapped around to look at him, mouth falling open. “What? No! Unless you want to?”

“No, I don’t want that,” Castiel shook his head, and lifted his hand. Somewhere during their memories, their hands had met and entwined. Even amidst the knowledge they weren’t destined to be together, they had clung to each other. Comfort, familiarity, love.

“I love you.” Dean told him, quietly. “I do.”

“I know,” Castiel replied, fiercely. “Just as I love you. I don’t need you to be made for me, Dean. I never needed you to be my soulmate. That’s why I never wanted to know. I’m happy with you. We might not be a perfect fit, but we fit perfectly enough. That’s good enough for me.”

Dean smiled. “It’s good enough for me too, Cas.”

Castiel leaned against him, closing his eyes and feeling himself relax as Dean pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Fate might have other plans for him, but he never really believed in fate anyway.

[seromreven]

Pretty weird and its 5AM and my phone is at 3% so excuse me if I type poorly or the concept is too weird but would you be willing to do a story where Paul gets into an car accident or something that makes him essentially forget 1965-1969? I moreso want to see his reaction from learning that John and him split. Basically just Rubber Soul era Paul learning what becomes of The Beatles. Sorry again if this whole thing was weird I can barely type tbh.

oh! it’s perfectly written. especially considering it’s 5AM (what’re you doing up, hon?) and the stress of 3% battery.

it is an interesting challenge and one i’m more than willing to partake! though i didn’t do it as amnesia as such and rather, uh, unexplained time travel. as you’ll see here;

—

January 1st, 1970,

Paul woke up with a massive throbbing headache in stark white sheets with blue horizontal lines. He didn’t have sheets like that, he recalled as he sat with his head pounded as if his life depended on it. A shiver went through him and he shot up in the bed, hizzing at the sudden sharp pain it caused in his head and blinked as his vision slightly blurred for a short excruciating moment.

Once his sight was regained; he looked around the bright room. It quickly became clear to him it was part of a hospital. A private room, he guessed, as his bed were the only one in the quaint room. The radio was playing at a low volume and he could barely make out a song he did not recognise.

What was he doing here? He had just been in a minor accident. And on a moped of all things. He felt only slightly banged up, with the headache to boot, and he could feel his chipped tooth poke sharply at his tongue as he felt his upper row teeth with his tongue.

He heard a small constant beeping that had first begun when had woken up and he groaned at its sharp ear piercing tones. He desperately wanted it to stop as it did no wonders in stopping his damning headache but he had no clue as to where it was coming from and he yelled out towards the open door in hopes of attracting the attention of any nearby nurses.

Quickly came the familiar tapping of high heels on hard flooring and in the open door entrance appeared a young looking nurse. She stopped suddenly on her way into the room as her eyes met his. She looked shocked, but not the way Paul had grown familiar to from… ecstatic fans. Rather, it looked like genuine shock. Like she was taken aback, but not from excitement but rather confusion. But not a moment later; she shook her head and continued ‘till she stopped just short of his bed.

“You called, Mr McCartney?”

Her well-manicured hands were neatly folded together on the back of a clipboard as she looked down at him, politely though creases lined her brown reminding him of the appearance she made only seconds earlier.

“Yes, uh… where I am?”

He was embarrassed to ask but he had to for he had no clue as to his whereabouts. Last he remembered was him looking at the moon as he carelessly rode on his moped with his good friend Tara Browne close behind him on a moped of his own. And then losing control and smacking his face down unto some pavement. Hardly the worth the trip to the hospital, right?

“…,” she hesitated and he felt a rush of warmth reach his cheek at the apparent stupidity of his question, “London Hospital, sir.”

“London?” he asked in a volume louder than what he had meant for it to be. And with a frown he stated to the young nurse, “but I crashed in Liverpool.”

Her confusion equalled his as she looked down at him. Certainly, he wasn’t wrong? Had been visiting his family in Liverpool for Christmas and crashed on his moped one of the nights he was there. That was what happened!

“…I,” she started but was soon interrupted as the door to the room (that she had closed upon entering it earlier) suddenly opened and in it appeared a moustachioed man with shaggy hair that reached his jaw. Paul narrowed his eyes in disbelief as he looked at the man with focused concentration; it was Ringo! He looked vastly different from when Paul last saw him.

Paul whispered his dear friends name as he came to stand next to the nurse. The next thing Paul noticed about his friend was that he looked so tired. Had he not slept? What had kept him up? Surely not Paul. His injuries weren’t so severe to cause insomnia in people, right? He felt only bruises and a slight cut on his upper lip and brow.

“Oh, they shaved you,” Ringo said with a slight smile as he looked down at Paul who still sat in the hard hospital bed. He was getting pretty restless. He felt only slightly worse for wear and not at all like he should be stuck in bed for the rest of the day. And, what? They had shaved him? For what purpose? He didn’t have a beard. Not even a moustache. His hand subconsciously came up to touch his jaw. It was stubble free.

The nurse had gone to the door and stood watching the two for a short second and, in her mind, she probably thought she wasn’t perceived, before finally leaving.

“Ringo,” he whispered. He was still confused. But he was starting to think that maybe it was a side effect of his accident… or something. It wouldn’t be uncommon to be confused after a crash, right? But some things just didn’t add up. He knew for sure he had been in Liverpool. And would Brian really have let Ringo grew out of the mop top and have a moustache too? It looked too different from the rest of them.

… The rest of them. Thinking of John and George, he suddenly got nervous. If Ringo had changed appearance; wouldn’t they have too? Paul would be the odd one out. And where were they?

“It’s good to see you awake,” Ringo patted him gently on the hand that rested in his lap, “I’ll go tell the others,” and then, with a smile that Paul thought to look rather sad, he left.

Paul waited for the door to close completely before he crawled out of the bed. His legs wobbled slightly as he stepped out on the cold floor with his bare feet and he quickly supported himself on the edge of the bed with an unsteady hand as he waited for balance to return to him. He did not know he was supposed to be out of bed or not but nothing was connected to him (IVs and the such) and he felt well enough to walk. So that’s what he did.

He first went to the window and parted the drapes to look out. It definitely was London. But several things made no sense to him. There were fashion and cars he did not recognise. He felt a rush go through his head as he looked down at the streets and stepped back from the window.

When did he last had something to drink? His hands were shaking.

He went to the small sink that stood near the door and, seeing no cups or anything like it, he bent down to drink directly from the small faucet head. It was wonderfully cold and just exactly what he needed. He continued to drink with an eager need and pulled away from it with a sigh of relief. He still felt slight pain stinging the front of his head but getting out of bed and having had something to drink relieved the tight tension a little.

He looked up from the sink and his eyes met his tired reflection. He looked as he had half expected. A visible cut on his lip. A slighter one above his right brown. And he opened up his mouth and was met with the chipped tooth he had felt poking around. Nothing he felt was worth a hospital check-in but maybe he was worse for wear internally than he was aware of.

The door opened again and Paul turned to face whoever would enter the room. He was beginning to feel slightly self-conscious now that he stood out of the bed with no protection from the blanket. The hospital gown would leave little to the imagination if he turned his back to anyone.

It was a long-haired man, somewhat the same length as Ringo had been but with a lot more volume, and he was facing the bed Paul once had been in. He felt a sense of calm looking at the man though he could not see who it was as his back where facing Paul. The man’s body tensed and he turned around and with a frown finally saw Paul.

It was George! Though Paul almost hadn’t recognised him. He looked much older than how he looked last Paul had seen him. His hair too wasn’t a mop top and he also had a moustache. So his worry had been confirmed; if Ringo and George had changed their appearance too so would John, right? But it made no sense. He could hardly imagine Brian liking this look.

“What’re you doing out of bed?”

He was asked by a worried George who stepped over to him by the sink. Paul was too overwhelmed by all that seemed to go and just shrug at George who now stood at the side of the sink, his hands resting on its cold metallic edge. Paul swallowed deep and finally got himself to ask, “what day is it?”

His moped accident was on the 28th December and all signs pointed to the fact that time had passed. Ringo and George had grown out their hair and moustache. How long would that have taken? Could he have been in a coma? Surely not! It hadn’t been that bad of an accident!

“… the 1st,” George said with a furrowed brow and a rather concerned look about him.

“Of January?”

George nodded and stepped closer to Paul to gently place on his shoulder, “are you feeling well?”

This time it was Paul’s time for his brows to knit close together. So he had only been out for a few days. Past the new year which would make it 1966 but that was hardly enough time for Ringo and George’s hair to grow as it had obviously done.

“Yeah… I think. ‘m just confused, y’know.”

He lightly shook his head and went to sit on the edge of the hospital bed. It was then he finally noticed the calendar that hung on the wall. It was pin up one of various American ‘bombshells’. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find out if John had been the one who had brought it here. But what really stuck out to him was the year of that stood next to December written in bold, fat, text. Who shot back up from the bed and tore off the calendar from the nail that it hung on.

It said 1969!

He very quickly turned to face George and waved the calendar at him as he muttered words he could not properly connect in his panic. Was this correct! It couldn’t be! It should say 1965! Not bloody 1969!

George looked at him in what could be pity as he continued to wave the calendar at his old friend. He stammered and sighed and sat back down unto the bed’s edge and looked at the calendar as he held it in his lap. The month’s bombshell was a blonde woman dressed in a rather skimpy Santa Claus type dress. It felt mocking and he placed it next to him on the bed.

He burrowed his face into his hands, willing away tears as his fierce headache returned. The bed dipped slightly and he removed his hands to see George sit next to him. He seemed to be studying Paul. A look was in his eyes that Paul just couldn’t quite place.

“You’re not from this time, are you?”

Paul blinked at what George said. His friend seemed wiser and much mature than what he had known of him. And not the twenty-two year old he had been. But how could he not be from… ‘this time’? He just had a slight crash on his moped. Nothing pointed to him having been in a coma for well over four years. Especially not with what George just had said. So the only thing Paul could think of doing was a mix of shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head in complete silence.

Nothing of this made sense. Nothing of this should be possible. How did he miss four years?

He licked his lips slightly and looked at George. Their eyes met and Paul blinked. It was going to take time to get used to George’s different appearance. But it suited him well. Paul nodded slightly to himself and finally asked a question that had pushed and pushed to get out;

“Where’s… where’s John?”

He dreaded something had happened to his great friend. If four years had passed; was else could have happened?

“On his way, most likely. Ringo left to get him and Yoko from the airport.”

Paul frowned in confusion at George and he continued;

“Oh, Yoko’s his wife. He and Cyn divorced two years ago.”

Divorced? He supposed that in a way made sense. John’s relationship and feelings for Cynthia seemed unstable at best. But, divorce? What about Julian? And what had Brian’s thoughts been about this? He arranged their marriage to begin with. And a divorce would certainly go against the Beatles brand.

“And… and was that okay with Brian?”

He was hesitant to ask but the situation was just puzzling. The entire bloody situation felt like a dream. He was yet to see if it was a bad one.

George visibly hesitated and looked away.

“He’s, uh… he’s dead. Died before John even met Yoko.”

Oh. Oh.

“He’s… dead,” Paul repeated in quite a monotone way and nodded slightly to himself. Tears welled up and he swallowed hard and rushed to the sink. He shook. He was shaking. Fuck… fuck! Brian was dead? What… “how?”

It came out to barely a whisper. George didn’t hear. Paul had no idea how to react. How could he? How do you react to something like that!

Paul felt sick. More so than before. He turned to find George staring down at his hands… Right, the hospital gown. Probably had given him quite a show. He turned back around. He drew a heavy sigh and stared hard at his own reflection.

In the mirror, he saw George stand back up and come to stand near him, a hard pitying look in his eyes.

“This can’t be easy for you. And I don’t know how to help you,” he said in a calm voice and Paul nodded carefully as they looked at each other in the mirror. “John will be here soon. I’ll let you be alone,” he said and patted Paul’s back before leaving.

And he was right. Almost as soon as Paul had sat back down on the bed, his hands still shaking as he breathed heavily still trying to make sense of the situation; John entered the room alone.

He too looked vastly different from the John he knew in 65’. Skinny. Long hair. Longer than the two others. He wore small round glasses and had a full beard. A wild look in his eyes as he neared Paul on the bed. “Paul!” he yelled out on his way through the room and stopped just short before bumping into his knees.

“George told me everything,” he said and looked down at Paul. His hair almost covered his face completely as he leaned forward.

“And you believed it?”

He shrugged, “had no reason not to,” and he sat down next to him. The same place as George had.

“You’re not the Paul from last week. Or last month. It’s visible to the naked eye. You’re two different people.”

Huh. Paul wasn’t sure he completely understood what he meant. This was all just… heavy. A heavy situation. There was no sense in any of this. How could he have gone through four years? This wasn’t Doctor Who. Not some H.G. Wells novel. And where did George intuitive ability to just… kinda sense all of this? Brian was dead. John divorced and married again. What else was different?

He swallowed deeply as he realised the question he had to ask, “how’s… how’s the band?”

He looked to John who was fidgeting with his hands as they quietly looked at each other. Paul sensed the news would be bad. Of course, it would. Nothing else had seemed to be right within this predicament he had come into.

“We’re done, Paul. Finished. No more.”

Even if the answer had been expected; it stung. Hard and painful. That it had come to this. Brian dead. The Beatles having ended. What was he to do in this strange universe he was somehow in? God, he knew it not to be a dream but, oh, how he wished it to be.

It was useless to sit and cry. But what else was there to do. The intricate downfall of his personal life couldn’t possibly be the only thing to have gone through a major change. The world, from the small glimpse he had given himself, was unfamiliar.

But this was home now, it seemed. The long relationship he had with John was done if The Beatles was. He knew this much. That it wouldn’t have taken something drastic for them to have come to such a point.

He sighed, deep and hard. Acceptance of this would come slowly, he knew.

He resisted the hard urge to yell. To cry. To throw a fit. Instead; he laid back on the bed, John staring down at him in silence. And breathed in the air of the year he didn’t belong in.

[fathertaurus]

Kitten ~ part 3

this isn’t absolute trash?? suddenly I can write again. I hope you guys aren’t to upset with the end 😳. enjoy!

A few weeks have passed, during this time you brought a camera and officially joined the vlog squad. Your welcoming surprised went as expected, you were absolutely terrified of the giant snake David brought in. So scared you cried for about 10 minutes and then shot him with the paintball gun. You also filmed with Carly, Erin, and Kristen a lot while the boys went and did stupid stuff. You brought them to the club you worked at, Amber Rose’s, and you introduced them to your friends and even made them honorary Amber Roses. All the girls have seen you practice and perform a dance and you even started teaching them some moves. You met Trisha and bonded over dancing which struck up a sister relationship between you two. Your YouTube channel was doing really good thanks to your friends and fans, you had more friends than you did last month and over all life was going good for you. You were practicing a little bit for tonight when your phone started going off, text messages from the group chat coming in:

Friday Oct. 12, 2018

Vlog Squad

Toddy: what’s the plan for tonight?

Carly: thought we agreed Monday, going to the club.

Corinna: I literally just told him

Zane: he just needed confirmation

Heath: trust issues

Erin: 😂😂😂

Corinna: that’s not funny cause it’s true

Dom: aye can I smoke at the club?

Kristen: no, no smoking allowed

Dom: DAMNIT

Alex: I thought you weren’t going?

Dave: yeah I thought you had a date.

Scott: Dom a date?

Jason: she’s probably 17

You: let’s not make jokes about Dom dating underage girls

Alex: oh look it’s the controversy police

Carly: you guys are on mute yet still annoy me

You: club opens at 9

Kristen: me, Carly, Erin, and Corinna are coming to yours

You: kk

Erin: okay

Toddy: wait why do they get to go to yours?

Corinna: because she likes us more and you guys would drink all her vodka

You silenced your phone and started stretching, once you were done you started doing pole warm ups. You climb the pole and slide back down, twirl and other things. You put on the song you were performing to tonight, and after about an hour of practice you heard knocking at the door. Opening it you find the girls and open the door wider for them.

“Geez dude, you’re sweaty” said Corinna walking straight for the couch.

“Yeah, just finished practicing. I’m gonna take a shower, make yourselves at home.” you quickly make your way to the bathroom and take a shower, you wash and shave everything. Once you get out you moisturize your whole body. You decide to get dressed here that way you aren’t fighting for room in the club. You wrap yourself in a robe and take all your makeup to the living room and start your makeup. You guys talk about the song you’re dancing too, what you’re wearing, about Todd and Corinna, and Scott and Kristen. When you start talking about relationships you think back on David, how you two almost kissed. You started thinking about why you were so willing to kiss this guy you barely knew, wondered what he felt about the whole thing. You quickly finished your makeup and went back to your room to get dressed, you slip on a black lace lingerie set. You throw on a random shirt and pair of shorts over it and put on your thigh high leather boots, you grab a random black fur coat from your closet and walk back out.

“Alright ladies, shots!” you shout towards the living room while making your way to the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of vodka and some shot glasses.

“I’m the D.D.” said Erin, you nod and pour shots for the rest of the girls.

“To y/n, we hope you make at least $20k tonight.” says Corrina raising her shot glass, making you laugh.

“I’ve never made even close to that much, but hey let’s hope, momma wants a new car.” you take the shot glass to your lips and toss it back and slam the glass back down pouring another one. Once you’ve all finished taking your shots you grab your duffle bag with a change of clothes and you phone and charger.

“Okay let’s go.” says Kristen heading for the door. Soon enough you’re all in Erin’s car heading to the club, singing loudly to music and posting each other on your instagram and snapchat stories. You open snaps from Zane of the boys filming and drinking and send him some back of the girls singing in the car. You arrive at the club and go straight for the locker rooms while the girls go and get a table big enough for everyone and order drinks. You make rounds giving people quick lap dances, shoving the money in your bra. You’ve been there for about 30 minutes and just finished giving a bachelor a lap dance when you see the boys walk in, Jason and Trisha trailing behind. You walk over to the table and start dancing on Trisha and she tucks a hundred dollar bill under your bra strap.

“This is such a cute outfit, oh my god!” she yells over the music and you laugh along with everyone else. You go back to dancing for other people. You have about 20 minutes before you’re supposed to perform and then give private dances and then you’re done for the night. You make your way back to the locker room to freshen up and count your money, you’re about halfway through counting when Ms. Amber walks up to you.

“Hey, we need to talk.” she says sounding serious.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, your body tenses as you sit up already thinking the worst.

“Well, there’s a guy out there? He’s offering to pay triple for all 6 slots for your private dances? It’s fine but i want to make sure he’s not some crazy stalker or anything before I agree because that’s unusual.” she says, laughing a little. You relax but then tense again wondering who the hell it could be.

“Uh, where is he?” you ask, she motions for you to follow her. You stand and walk out the locker room and peek around the corner. Standing at the end of the hall is David, you let out a huge sigh.

“You know him?” Ms. Amber ask turning towards you and you nod.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna kick his ass.” you say turning back to the locker room, “Give it to him, round it off to $6k. He can afford it.” you walk back into the locker room. You change into a different outfit, a crystal studded bra and white lacy panties and diamond covered thigh highs. You walk towards the stage and wait for your cue.

“Alright! Ladies and gentlemen, I want you to put your hands together and scream for Amber Rose’s one and only: Kitten!” the DJ shouts the the mic. The beginning of ‘Money’ by Cardi B started and you walked out towards the stage going straight to the front towards the pole.

‘Look, my bitches all bad, my ni**as all real I ride on his dick, in some big tall heels’

You wrap a hand around the pole walking in a circle and lifting up one foot. ‘Big fat checks, big large bills. Front, I’ll flip like ten cartwheels’

You lift your other foot, your back against the pole and swing your legs back and forth then drop to your knees. ‘Cold ass bitch, I give broads chills. Ten different looks and my looks all kill. I kiss him in the mouth, I feel all grills. He eat in the car, that’s meals on wheels’

You whip your head around and crawl towards the edge of the stage as the chorus starts. You sit up on your knees and run your hands up and down your body, you allow people to put money in the band of your bottoms and straps if your bra, money is being thrown through the air on the stage. You stand up and make your way to the pole, you look into the crowd noticing that the group has now moved closer to the stage, all of them have their phones or cameras out and are cheering for you. You blush deeply and smile at them, you  wrap your legs around and climbing up the pole. Once you’re halfway up you start doing flips and twirls. As the second verse ends and the chorus begins again you drop into a split on the floor, the song fades out and you stand. The crowd cheers and more money goes flying through the air. You collect the money from the stage and rush back to the locker room.

You shove all the money into your duffle bag and freshen up once again, you throw on your coat and grab your bag and go back out to find Ms. Amber.

Once you find her by the bar she hands you an envelope of money, “Room 210, good luck. Brody will be just down the hall, scream if you need him.” she says.

“I’ll be fine, I know him.” you say giving her a smile. You walk up stairs and make your way to the room, you open the envelope and count the money making sure all of it’s there. You stop right in front of the door and open it, finding David sitting by the window.

“Well, I guess you really can afford me for a whole night.” you say, walking in you close the door and drop your bag on the floor.

“You know, $1,800 times three, that doesn’t equal $6k.��� he says looking up at you.

“Yep, comes out to $5,400. But since you can afford me- 'every night for a year’ was it? I figured you wouldn’t miss a few hundred.” you say walking closer to him.

“I won’t, but I don’t appreciate it.” he say, he sits up straighter in his seat, his hands reach out and grab your coat pulling you closer to him. You follow his pull and he slides his hands from your coat to your hips and guides you to straddle him. You wrap your arms around his neck, hands going to play in the back of his hair.

“Want me to make up for it?” you whisper, leaning forward. He leans forward to, your lips barely touching.

“Mhm, and I think I know how.” he mumbles, he presses your lips together in a soft kiss, but the softness doesn’t last long. It quickly turns desperate, teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance. One of his hands leaves your hip and wraps in your hair pulling back, he kisses down your neck biting and making you gasp out.

“Let me dance for you.” you whimper. You’ve thought about putting on a show just for David ever since that day, you wanted to show him what you could do.

He hums, still kissing your neck. “I have a better idea.” he pulls away and stands up, your legs wrapping around his waist. “I’m gonna keep kissing you, because you taste fucking amazing, and then I’ll leave, back to our friends. You wait here until the 30 minutes are up and then I’ll get my money’s worth back at my house. Sound good?” he presses your back against the wall and starts kissing your jaw.

“Wh-what about everyone else?” you moan out, hands coming back into his hair and tugging.

“Mm, they’re still partying, I have to edit and you’re tired so I’ll take you home. Natalie’s at a friend’s tonight so we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.” he mumbles against your jaw.

“O-okay.” With that, he smashes your lips together once more, his tongue slides past and imediately takes control. You start grinding against him trying to get some relief. He growls against your lips and presses into. He quickly pulls away and drops your legs, helping you stand on your feet, his hands come up and cup your cheeks and he presses soft kisses to your lips.

“I’ll see you in ten minutes.” he says with one last kiss, he walks to the door and leaves. You stand there, collect yourself and thinking about what just happened. 'Am I really going to go to David’s and dance for him? Did we really make out right now? This is really happening!?’ you think.

You eventually calm down and fix yourself up, you rub lipgloss on your lips so no one would notice that they’re red and fix your hair and clothes. You grab your bag and make your way down back to the main floor, you navigate your way to your friends table. Once they see you they start cheering and you can’t help but let a smile break across your face, but remember to play like you’re tired.

“Look at our little Kitten!” shouts Heath.

“You looked so fucking good up there baby!” Zane yells right after. Soon everyone is yelling over each other, giving you praises.

“How much did you make?” asks Trisha, you shrug your shoulders.

“I haven’t counted everything, but at least $5k.” you say, your eyes shoot to David’s and he bites his lip.

“Jesus I make that in a week.” says Alex, making everyone laugh. You lay your head on Trisha’s shoulder.

“Tired?” says Kristen and you nod your head.

“We can go?” offers Erin, but David jumps in.

“I can take her. You guys are enjoying yourselves and I need to edit anyways.” he says, waving around his camera. Erin nods and turns back to Carly.

“Take care of my baby!” shouts Zane.

“Yeah, if she’s not home safe, I’m gonna make sure you don’t have kids.” adds in Kristen, making the group break out in laughter once again and David roll his eyes. You both say goodbye to everyone and rush out the club to David’s car. Once at the car he presses you against your door and kisses you, you moan and grind against him, hands curling in his hair. He pulls away and leaves wet kisses down your neck.

“You gonna be good for me tonight?” he asks in between kisses.

“Yes..” you whisper.

“Yes what?” he asks, lips stopping and hands gripping your hips.

“Yes daddy.” you whine, he groans and goes back to your lips, kissing you hard.

“Good girl. Get in the car.” he pulls away and opens the door, ushering you inside. He goes to his side of the car and gets in and turns to you, “Are you sure about this?”

“David.” you say, and he looks at you waiting for you to continue. You reach your hand up to his cheek and pull him down to give him one more kiss. “Drive.”

He nods his head and starts the car, pulling out of his parking space and speeding to his house.

[aratorejke-blog]

Marco Aratore

https://hotmyfreecams.comJessica looked in the mirror and sighed, she hated her long brown hair. It cascaded down to just below her shoulders, still smooth and shiny from her shower this morning. Jess grabbed her yellow scarf, which she had slung over her chair on her return from college that afternoon, and draped it over her head. Pulling it down with her hands either side of her head covering her awful brown hair. She posed and pouted like she had seen the movie stars she idolise do, imagining her hair was a golden blonde.

At 18 Jess had never dyed her hair, her mother was very strict and wouldn't allow this. As her mother would say, "I will not have you dying your hair like the other Harlots in your class."

As Jess stood there in front of the mirror looking quite ridiculous with this bright yellow scarf on her head she sighed again. Suddenly her peace and quiet was interrupted by the voice of her father calling up to her.

"Hun, what was the name of the film you and Kim are watching again."

"Shit." Jess murmured "Uh, The Hunger Games dad, it's based on the books I read last summer."

"That's the one." Her dad hollered back. It was Friday night which meant Jess was off to the movies. One of the few pass times her parents permitted.

Jessica's parents were very strict and she knew if she was honest with them over the real film the girls were going to see this evening they would never let her out of the house. Jessica was a blossoming young woman, exploring her sexuality and she had a bit of a crush on Channing Tatum. Jess would often think about his ripped body while in the shower, he really turned her on, and tonight the girls would be going to see the male stripper film Magic Mike. But before Jess could go to the cinema she needed to choose an outfit and quick. She wanted to be the one greeting Kim not her prudish parents.

Kim had been Jessica's best friend since primary school. They stayed best friends when they moved up to secondary school even a brief falling out over Kyle Golding in year 9 couldn't derail their friendship. When Kim left school at 16 Jess feared they would drift apart. Luckily for Jess, Kim put a lot of effort into their friendship, Kim would even sometimes be waiting for Jess when he came back from college. https://bestpornever.me

Checking the clock on her dressing table Jess realised Kim would be pulling up her drive shortly. Instead of choosing an outfit, Jess was day dreaming about changing her hair colour. Jess still hadn't picked out an outfit, she moved to her wardrobe and stood looking at her frumpy outfits. None of these would do and Jess grabbed her neck in frustration and started to massage herself hoping inspiration would strike.

As Jess stood there in her white lacy bra, which pushed her 34DD round globes together creating a mouth-watering cleavage. Her matching white thong disappeared into the crack of her pert tight ass. Jess took one last look in her wardrobe hoping her clothes would miraculously change into something a normal girl would wear. As Jess scanned her wardrobe a large plastic bag on the floor of her wardrobe caught her eye, she swore it wasn't there this morning. As Jess pulled the bag out and started to rummage through it, Jess realised she has her hands on a goldmine of revealing outfits.

When Jessica was younger she went through a typical teenage rebellious phase, which only lasted a summer. Jess would go out with Kim, buy skimpy outfits and hide them at the back of her wardrobe. Realising the change in Jessica's attitude her mother would monitor Jessica's wardrobe and remove any clothes she didn't think were suitable. After clothes started to disappear from her wardrobe the arguments started. Jess felt her privacy was being invaded. A few groundings later and Jessica's rebellious side disappeared. She realised fighting her mother on her wardrobe was fruitless and expensive.

But now as If by magic the clothes had reappeared. Jess had grown up a fair bit recently, filling out in some noticeable areas, it just meant the clothes would be even more revealing. The thought of her body being on display coupled with the knowledge these outfits were forbidden excited Jess. Her right hand instinctively reached up and cupped her firm left breast. The gentle pressure her fingers placed on her boob comforted Jess like only her security blanket could when she was a child. Jess also started to pinch her nipple through the thin fabric on her lacy bra.

In the bag Jess saw short skirts, tight shorts, revealing 2 piece bikinis, skimpy tops... It was a smorgasbord of outfits but knowing she was pressed for time Jess settled for a pair of bright blue jeans and a white tank top. Jess pulled the tank top over her head. Being 3 years old the top was tight and it was a bit of a stretch getting it down over her tits. Jess would not be denied though and pulled hard as the material expanded and clung to her body. The bottom of the tank top came down to just above Jessica's flat navel and the bottom of the tank top hung loose away from her body. Jess glanced in the mirror, the top had stretched nicely over her firm breasts showing a good eyeful of cleavage.

Next came the jeans and Jess quickly realised these were the £200 Versace jeans her dad bought for her birthday a few years ago. She actually got to wear them a few times as being Versace and costing over £200 trumped any comment Jessica's mother could make against them.

"Only a Harlot would wear such tight jeans!" Her mother said when she saw them for the first time.

"A Harlot wouldn't be able to afford such expensive jeans." Jess retorted. For a time this was enough for Jess to keep the Jeans. However Jessica's mother wasn't stupid and she knew Jess only wanted them because they almost looked painted on and soon they too disappeared from her wardrobe.

As Jess poured herself into the tight jeans she glanced in the mirror her hour glass figure was quite a sight. At 5, 7" and being a size 10, Jess would catch the eye of most men in bin bag. These tight form fitting jeans nicely accentuated her thin legs and tight pert round ass. They were low cut and left plenty of stomach on show. Unfortunately Jess would have to cover her stomach for now so she could leave the house.

Jess grabbed a pink shirt to cover tight body and firm tits. The shirt was a little loose so didn't show off Jessica's fantasting cleavage, which was fine for now. Jess had a plan to alter her outfit later. She knew how to show off her body and planned to untuck the shirt and tie it off exposing her newly pierced belly button. While at the same time undoing the top 3 buttons of her shirt to ensure her fantastic 34DD tits were on display for anyone to see.

Just as the doorbell rang, letting Jessica know Kim had arrived, Jess finished applying a hint of makeup. She had only just been allowed to have a small makeup kit since she turned 18, little did her mother know Jess had been applying makeup for years. Jess would steal and borrowing what she needed from shops, friends and her own mother. The light eyeshadow and pink bubble-gum flavoured lip-gloss Jess applied didn't do a lot. She still looked younger than her years, but it gave her a small boost in confidence.

Jess grabbed her pink Gucci purse and slipped her black velvet choker in the inside pocket. Another small change Jess would be making to her current outfit when she was out of the view of her parents. She slipped on a pair of flats, heeled shoes where strictly forbidden. Finally after one last quick glance back in the mirror Jess was bouncing down the stairs to open the door for her waiting friend.

Kim was a bit smaller than Jess at 5, 5" with equally round mouth-watering breasts, they were also 34DD's. Kim had a toned, stomach and round ass which she worked hard on to keep tight. Kim could be a bit of a fitness freak at times. Jess knew Kim didn't have the same dress code set by her parents so wanted to reach the door before Jessica's parents could see what Kim was wearing. No doubt it was much sluttier than Jessica's current outfit.

Jessica's heart sank when she saw her father had not only beaten her too it but was in quiet conversation with Kim. While her father wasn't as strict as her mother he was no fool. He knew girls matured faster than boys. So letting his little girl out with another, acting older than she was, wouldn't be permitted. Jess couldn't make out what was being discussed but from her view on the stairs it looked intense. Suddenly Kim's face came into view over her father's shoulder "Hey Jess!" Kim Shouted.

Kim's had golden blonde shoulder length hair and while Jess had an angelic face, largely owning to her sparse makeup, Kim's face was much sexier. This in part was due to her naturally thick red lips and Cindy Crawford style mole. Kim also used more makeup than Jess often wearing too much eyeshadow in Jessica's opinion.

As Jessica's father moved aside Kim's outfit came into view and Jess suddenly had a pit forming in her stomach. Kim had black knee high boots, black stockings (Even though Jess couldn't see the stocking tops Kim never wore tights). A flared black skirt stopping halfway down her thigh, with a tight blue boob tube, which barely contained her large cleavage. A short black leather jacket rounded out the outfit. Jess figured the jacket was new, as she had never seen it before. Fear crept across Jessica's face and she felt panicked, there was no way Jess's father would let her out with Kim dressed like this.

"Hi pumpkin." Jess's father said smiling at his daughter. Jess moved next to her father, he was 6ft and kept in good shape, this owed to the fact he was only in his late thirties. He and Jessica's mother had Jess when they were quite young. Kim noticed the panicked look on Jessica's face but her father was seemingly oblivious. https://hotmyfreecams.com

Jessica's dad threw his arm around her shoulder "You kids enjoy the Hungry Games movie tonight." Jess was in shock that her father had no opinion on Kim's clothes. Deciding a quick exit was the best option, she didn't even correct her father about the name of the movie, they weren't even going to see.

As her father bent over to kiss Jess on the forehead Kim grabbed Jessica's arm pulling her away from her father's embrace. Leading her down the path and into her car. Jessica's father stood in the door way beaming and waving to his little girl. Jess was in shock, it was only 3 months ago that her father had forbidden Jess from ever seeing Kim again. The row erupted over the way Kim dressed and acted.

It was decided Kim acted far to grown up and Jessica's father believed Kim was a bad influence. While her father relented in the last month Jess was sure Kim's current outfit would send him round the bend, but it didn't.

"How are you Jess." Kim's words snapped Jess back to reality. She dragged her eyes away from her father, now disappearing as the car reversed off the driveway into the street. The look of panic had disappeared and was replaced by a smile on the teenagers beautiful face.

"I'm great now I'm out of the house." Came the jubilant response from Jess. It's not that she hated her parents but with all the rules Jess felt a sense of freedom every time she was out with Kim.

Both girls laughed and chatted on the drive into town. On the way Jess modified her outfit. Untucking the pink shirt and undoing the top three buttons. Jess then took the bottom of the shirt and lifted it up so she could pull it through her neckline. This caused the material on her shirt to pull tight against her firm chest. Jess tied the shirt off showing plenty of cleavage and stomach, giving her a schoolgirl style look. Next came the black choker from her purse. The choker always made her feel sexy. There was a slight tingle in her panties after she finished changing her clothes.

"Tadah! What do you think Kim." Jess was very pleased with herself and wanted the adulation which normally followed an outfit change.

"No no no that won't do at all." Came Kim's response. Jess felt let down by this as she put a lot of weight in Kim's opinions.

Kim continued, "Don't get me wrong you look hot as hell but we need to change a couple of things. Don't worry I brought my makeup kit and a spare pair of pink pumps for you." Jess was confused, makeup and high heeled shoes? They were only going to the cinema, who would see them?

That's when Jess realized they missed the turn to the high rise carpark by the multiplex cinema and where headed back out of town. "Kim you missed the turn!" Exclaimed Jess.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Not So Happy

Summary: Dean and the reader have to pretend to be married to work a case. The only thing is they aren’t getting along...

Square: Fake Married

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,300ish

Rating: teen (some language)

A/N: Written/created for @spnaubingo

“Sam,” you said, standing outside your car, hand on your hip. “Don’t get me wrong, Dean’s great. But you want me to pretend to be married to him?”

“It’s a couples only resort, Y/N. Dean and I can’t exactly work this one ourselves. Not without killing each other ten seconds in,” said Sam. “You guys work together great. What’s the problem?”

“Well that makes two of us that don’t want to kiss your brother,” you said, cocking your head. Sam rolled his eyes, putting on puppy dog ones when they returned to look at you. “No!”

“Please? I know you guys can figure this thing out,” he said.

“I’m not his type, remember? I’m too much of a ‘tomboy’ in his opinion,” you said, Sam sighing.

An after hunt celebration out had quickly turned sour when Dean let loose that it made perfect sense you were single. No one wanted a hunter. No one really wanted a hunter that dressed like a guy all the time.

“He said that as a joke, Y/N,” he said.

“Well guess who’s still single as ever Sam,” you said.

“We’re all single!” said Sam.

“But you would never date me,” you said.

“You’re not my type! You’re like my sister I didn’t ask for,” said Sam.

“Told you!” you said. “If I was walking around in a skin tight tank and boots with heels or a push up bra, things would be different.”

“Why would you want a pushup bra? Aren’t bras annoying enough? Or so I’ve been told,” he said.

“That’s not the point Sam. It’s that a guy who can’t find one positive thing to say about me while drunk, isn’t going to be able to act like we’re some in love couple that can’t keep their hands off of each other. You need to go find a prettier hunter,” you said, opening up your car door.

“Y/N, please-”

“I can’t do this Sam. I’m sorry.”

“Alright,” said Dean, bursting into your motel room a few hours later. “Cut the whiny crap. You’re the best chick hunter we know. You’re doing this whether you like it or not, Y/L/N. Pack up your bag, get your shit together and you’re gonna follow us to the resort or so be it I’ll drag you out of here myself.”

“Sure you will,” you said, laying on your bed, turning your attention to the TV.

“You asked for it,” he said. You scrunched up your face as he walked over with a scowl. “Last chance.”

“Get out of here before I kick your- PUT ME DOWN!” you shouted, find yourself face first with Dean’s backside, your body thrown over his shoulder.

“Nope,” he said, grabbing hold of your hips with his free hand when you squirmed, already moving for the door.

“Winchester I swear I’ll-”

“It’s a five hour drive. Plenty of time for you to change your mind,” he said, moving you outside, tossing you in the backseat and locking it shut behind you. 

“Huh,” said Sam from the front seat. “He wasn’t kidding when he said you were coming on this hunt no matter what.”

“Like hell I’m pretending to be married to him,” you said, climbing over the bench and out the drivers side, just in time for Dean to walk out the door with your bag.

“Get in the car,” said Dean. “Now.”

“Or what? I don’t want to work this hunt. Find someone else,” you said, walking to your car, Dean tossing your bag in Baby’s trunk by the time you’d ripped under the front dash to hotwire it.

“You’re really acting like more of a brat than usual, Y/N,” said Dean, pulling you out of the seat, putting you in the back of Baby like you were nothing. “Weaker than I remember too.”

“Sam, I told you I don’t-”

“Y/N. We need you. We’ll owe you one. A big one. Just one little hunt, please?” asked Sam.

“Fine. But I want Sam to be working this with me,” you said.

“Best news I’ve heard all day.”

“Sam,” you groaned in the motel room not too far from the resort you were supposed to be checking into in thirty minutes. “You can’t call and say you gave them the wrong name?”

“I told them Dean and Y/N Jones. Besides, Dean wants a free massage,” said Sam.

“Dean fucking Winchester wants a massage?” you said. “Do I look stupid to you?”

“Y/N. Just work with Dean on this one. I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” said Sam.

“You better.”

“You look weird,” you said, Dean wearing a polo and sneakers as he stepped out of Baby.

“You’re telling me. You’re wearing a fucking dress,” he said, glancing around. “Grab your bag and let’s get this done with.”

“Maybe my ever so loving husband can get it for me?” you said, cocking your head with a grin.

“I believe in equality. Get your own shit,” he said, grabbing his bag, leaving yours behind. You grumbled and pulled it out, tugging it behind you as he spun around. “And by the way, what the fuck did I do to piss you off? You’ve wanted nothing to do with me for months. I thought we were friends.”

“Nothing. Just got tired of running with you guys,” you said.

“Funny. Sammy doesn’t get the cold shoulder,” said Dean.

“Sam’s not a dick,” you said.

“Whatever. Try not to look like you hate me in there,” said Dean, holding out his hand with a groan. “You gonna hold it or what?”

“Yes, sweetie,” you said, grabbing hold of it, his hand warmer than expected and enveloping yours easily.

“Just make it to the room and then we can start investigating.”

“I got nothing,” you said hours later, flipping shut your computer. You heard Dean’s close as well, neither one of you coming up with any ideas on what was killing the couples here. “It’s getting late. We should grab a bite and hit the sack.”

“Last time I was at a resort and ate something, I got drugged,” said Dean.

“So we’re supposed to starve?” you said.

“PB&J,” said Dean, going to his bag and  pulling out a sandwich for himself, tossing another over to you.

“Dean,” you said, holding out your sandwich. “I can’t eat this. I’m allergic.”

“I thought that was shrimp you couldn’t have,” he said.

“Shrimp and peanuts,” you said, tossing the sandwich back. “It’s fine. I can not eat for a few days. I can stand to lose a few anyways.”

“From where? You’re skinny,” he said. “You need to eat something, Y/N.”

“I’ll be fine,” you said, walking past him for the bathroom. “I’m going to use that soaking tub as long as we got it. I’ll shout if something tries to kill me.”

Your bath was relaxing and you decided you needed to spend more time in hotels with nice rooms from now on to give yourself this luxury. Your stomach growled as you pulled on your pajamas though, a heavy sigh leaving you.

Back in the room Dean was in the lone, King size bed. It was big enough to share but your gaze falling on a fast food bag by your side of it was currently drawing your attention.

“How did you...” you asked.

“I told them when I came back you’ve been dying for a burger since you cut them out to fit in your wedding dress,” he said, tugging the covers up. “I ran to a minimart quick too and hid some snacks in the bag. It’s buried under my clothes in the suitcase when you get hungry. Figured you could handle anything if it burst into the bathroom.

“Thank you,” you said, opening up the bag, unwrapping the burger.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Two Days Later

“Y/N!” you heard Dean hissing in your ear, something grabbing your arm. You blinked open your eyes, no longer in your room. “Wake up! I gotta get you out of here.”

“What?” you asked, as he pulled you to your feet, your head swimming as he caught you.

“Blood suckers. Not vamps. Some sort of leech people. You’ve lost too much blood. I have to get you away before they come back,” said Dean, wrapping his arms around your torso, half-dragging you out of the room.

“I can help,” you said, resting your head against his arm.

“You’re gonna go hide in Baby while I barbeque these bottom dewlers,” said Dean. “I got this, Y/N.”

“How’s she doing?” asked Dean a few hours later, your body groggy as you laid in Sam’s motel bed.

“Sleeping it off. I made her chug some sugary drink to get her blood sugar back up. She’ll be off a day or so I’d guess. We’ll keep an eye on her but let her sleep and make sure she eats and she’ll be fine,” said Sam.

“You know it’s my fault she got caught,” said Dean, sitting down on the other side of the bed. “We got in a fight because I told her to stay put when we knew it was better to not get separated. I should have let her come.”

“Y/N’s a big girl, Dean. If she really wanted, she-”

“She’s different now. She either hates me or won’t look at me. I don’t even know what I did and she won’t tell me so I can’t try to fix it,” said Dean.

“Fix it?” asked Sam.

“Come on Sam. You know I’m not one for attachments. Y/N was my friend and I fucked something up. I’m not used to losing friends because they didn’t die. I thought being fake married might sort of help show I’m not the dick she thinks I am but that went horribly wrong. All we did was argue,” said Dean.

“You honestly don’t remember that night in Montana? At the dive bar?” said Sam.

“Not a clue,” said Dean.

“You...hit her self-esteem or confidence or that sort of thing. You said it as a joke but you kind of told her she wasn’t pretty...and would forever be single because no one wants that kind of girl,” said Sam.

“Sammy! That’s bull and you know it!” said Dean, running his hands over his face. “Did I really fucking do that? I had to go and get all shy?”

“Shy? What are you talking about?” asked Sam.

“You remember when I was in tenth grade and that girl, Sara, the one with the super long hair came up to me when I was grabbing you from the junior high? She asked me on a date? I said no because I froze up since I liked her and got real shy about it and your twelve year old ass gave me shit about it for three weeks straight?” asked Dean. “History repeated itself.”

“So you’re saying you like Y/N so you insulted her?” asked Sam.

“I didn’t say I was smart! Fuck. Sam, literally every woman we’ve ever had relationships with has ended up dead. How am I gonna apologize without telling her the truth?” asked Dean.

“You could do the easy thing you know and just tell her the truth,” said Sam.

“No,” said Dean. “It’s easier to just let her think I’m a dick. I swear if you bring this up to her Sam-”

“Still as scared as a sixteen year old, Dean. Don’t blame me when she doesn’t answer one of our calls ever again.”

Dean kept his word and didn’t say anything to you, neither of them knowing you’d heard their late night conversation. You thought about bringing it up but Sam had a point. Dean needed to decide for himself if he wanted to own this.

Not that you really forgave him for his reasons behind saying what he did anyways. Not until he could truly come to you on his own.

You didn’t hear a word from them for months after that, not until a text from Sam saying he was in the area and asking if he could stop by for a drink came your way.

“Hi,” said Dean, wearing one of his fed suits when you pulled open your front door, Sam nowhere in sight.

“Is Sam alright?” you asked. Dean nodded, a few flakes of snow outside landing in his hair. “Come in before you freeze.”

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out actually,” said Dean, glancing quickly at his feet, pursing his lips. “We had a hunt last week that...that made me think of some stuff and how I’m terrified of being alone when it comes down to it. People like us go through enough as it is and I’m sorry for ever making you feel like there was something wrong about you because you’re all right. I’m the one that’s wrong and can’t grow up to save my life. I’m sorry.”

“Dean, come inside,” you said. He stepped into the small older home you used on occasion when you were taking a break from hunting, glancing around at the space, shaking his head. 

“Can we try being friends again?” he asked. “I promise I won’t screw it up this time.”

“Yeah, Dean. We can definitely try that.”

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[thejoeywright-blog]

YEAR IN REVIEW : Film 2018

Good evening/afternoon/morning,

A few notes on the breakdown on my year at the movies. I saw a grand total of 134 films released in 2018. A fair amount thanks in great part to MoviePass and various streaming services. If you are a fan of comic book movies, I would like to extend to you a personal thank you as you kept the movies theaters afloat this year. However, with the exception of Black Panther, I was located in the auditorium just down the hall. Full disclosure: I did actually try and see Avengers : Infinity War, but two four year-old’s were not being parented correctly and I ended up walking out. I hope they enjoyed seeing their favorite heroes turn to dust. I also most notably missed Mary Poppins Returns, Aquaman, Ant-Man and the Wasp, Spider-Man:Into the Spiderverse, Oceans 8, and Fifty Shades Freed. One film I did have the privilege of seeing and would surely be in my top ten, Under the Silverlake, is technically not scheduled for release until the Spring of 2019. So look forward to hearing about it next year. All that being said, here is how I saw the movies this year. Enjoy.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

Black Panther, Bodied, Boy Erased, First Reformed, Hearts Beat Loud, Hot Summer Nights, If Beale Street Could Talk, Isle of Dogs, Minding the Gap, Mission Impossible:Fallout, A Quiet Place, The Rider, Thunder Road, Tully, Won’t You Be My Neighbor

THE TOP TEN

10. The Miseducation of Cameron Post

This is the “other gay conversion camp” movie that sadly was overlooked in place of Boy Erased. I saw both, and while the latter packs some excellent performances, judging by my exposure to Christian camps, this was the one that rang most authentic.

9.  Suspiria

Coming on the heels of Luca Guadagnino’s masterpiece Call Me By Your Name, there was no other film I was looking forward to more in 2018 than Suspiria. I also wouldn’t believe they had the same director. This heavy on style remake of the 1977 horror classic of the same name is truly made in Guadagnino’s image. It was vile, erotic, funny, beautiful, and captivating often in the same breaths. The buzzed about “contortionist dance sequence” from CinemaCon lived up to its vomit inducing hype reminding me while I liked the film a great deal, it’s not for the squeamish.

8.  Vice

Some are saying it lionizes former Vice President Dick Cheney. Others are saying it runs his name through the dirt.Part biopic, more parts political satire. It is definitely more Dr. Stangelove than Lincoln in terms of story and tone.  In a somewhat packed theater, those looking for a straight biopic, who I imagine missed director Adam McKay’s previous works Anchorman and The Big Short were seen heading for the exits due to the amounts of silliness. Amy Adams gives a downright diabolical performance as Lynn Cheney often overshadowing that of her on screen husband. 

7.  Annihilation 

Alex Garland’s follow-up to Ex Machina is much bigger film which in his hands is not a bad thing. Natalie Portman plays a biologist looking for answers after her presumed dead husband suddenly returns from secret military assignment.Your typical “journey into the unknown” story is enhanced with amazing visuals, intriguing scientific concept, and chilling horror. I’m still haunted by the sounds coming out of that, uhh, lets just call it a bear.

6.  Burning

An American remake of Burning would clock in at 92 minutes and be forgotten immediately upon leaving the theater. This is why I’m glad this was in the hands  Chang-dong Lee, a director who focuses greatly on the human condition. Large amounts of the run time of Burning is dedicated to the emotions, reactions, and exploration of our characters. The Walking Dead’s Steven Yeun gives the supporting performance of the year as the mysterious Ben. A love-triangle, a missing girl, and burning greenhouses amount to the most rewarding cinematic experience I had in 2018. 

5.  Roma

Roma is a film that asks of its viewer to almost meditate within it. Those familiar with director Alfonso Cuaron’s other films, Children of Men and Gravity, will find a more reserved and personal picture. The story of a maid and the middle class family she cares for in the Colonia Roma neighborhood of Mexico City is the most relatable and touching film of the year. First time actor Yalitza Aparicio gives one of the most award-worthy debut performances in recent memory as Cleo. Scenes have lingered in my mind since my viewing almost a month ago now, particularly a single-shot sequence of a family swimming into the ocean with no realization of how powerful the surf can be. 

4.  The Favourite

This cheeky period COMEDY, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, had me laughing harder than any other film in 2018. The story of Queen Anne’s two most trusted advisers battle for her commendation is delicious and diabolical at every turn. The film relies strongly on the equally grand performances it’s three ladies Olivia Coleman, Rachel Weisz, and Emma Stone, but DO NOT, I repeat do not sleep on the duck races.

3. A Star is Born

A Star is Born has been a social and commercial juggernaut with hefty box office sales, record sales, music award nominations, and memes beyond galore. However, it’s also an excellent example of Hollywood at its nostalgic best. There are easy avenues director, star, screenwriter, songwriter, catering manager Bradley Cooper could have taken with the thrice revamped story, but he plays it very close to the chest. It’s well known within my circle of friends and family how much I truly adored Cooper as the burning out rock star Jackson Maine.. Or Jack as you told me at the bar you wanted to be called... Every line of dialogue. Every smirk. Every caring gesture to Allie, Lady Gaga in frankly the best thing she’s ever breathed life into. Everything works here. See it the biggest and loudest way possible. 

2.  BlacKkKlansman

Here is my pick for Best Picture at the Academy Awards. It checks all the boxes. Great performances, screenplay, and direction with a great message tied in. I used to hold issue with Spike Lee’s political and social statements book-ending his films, but here it really works. Ron Stallworth, the excellent John David Washington, is Colorado Springs first African-American police officer, who on whim manages to infiltrate the local chapter of the Ku Klux Klan. He works as the voice on the phone while his partner is the nice upstanding wh-ite man they are seeing. What follows is a wild, funny, thrilling, and cautionary tale that rings truer in 2018 than its setting of the 1970s.

1. Sorry To Bother You

I saw Sorry To Bother You on July 16, 2018. It has held my number one spot for almost seven full months. Leaving the theater I had a feeling I have not had in a movie since 2003, “Well I’ve never seen anything like that before!” That alone holds a lot of weight after watching 133 other films this year that I could compare to something previous. The feature film directorial debut from The Coup musician Boots Riley ten years from now, much in the same way Pulp Fiction and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind are viewed, will be seen as “the norm” and a turning point in the way movies in its genre are made. I realize that is high praise, but risks are taken here where lesser films have flown off the rails. Somehow Riley takes what many would deem “absolutely insane” and makes it work. The performance of Lakeith Stanfield has been grossly unmerited all award season and is one of the best of the year. No other performance this year is asked to navigate the varying levels of despair, satire, and rage than Stanfield. Sorry To Bother You arrives without training wheels or a brake, possibly even handle bars. Enjoy the ride because you’ve never been on one like it before. 

YEAR END AWARDS

BEST FILM: BlacKkKlansman

BEST DIRECTOR: Alfonso Cuaron for ‘Roma’

BEST ACTRESS: Olivia Coleman for ‘The Favourite’

BEST ACTOR: Bradley Cooper for ‘A Star is Born’

SUPPORTING ACTRESS: Amy Adams for ‘Vice’

SUPPORTING ACTOR: Steven Yeun for ‘Burning’

ADAPTED SCREENPLAY: ‘Burning’

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY: ‘Sorry to Bother You’

CINEMATOGRAPHY: ‘Roma’

BEST SCORE : IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK’

BEST ANIMATED FILM: Isle of Dogs

BEST DOCUMENTARY: Minding the Gap

BEST FIRST FILM: Boots Riley for ‘Sorry To Bother You’

BREAKTHROUGH PERFORMANCE: Jim Cummings in ‘Thunder Road’

SCENES OF THE YEAR:

“Shallow” from ‘A Star is Born’

“Breaking the Waves” from ‘Roma’

“What’s On the Menu” from ‘Vice’

“Eulogy” from ‘Thunder Road’

Final scene from ‘If Beale Street Could Talk’

“The Contortionist” from ‘Suspiria’