#and to this day (like maybe three hours later if that) it’s the best phrase I’ve ever come up with

[padawansuggest]

Obi-Wan: Cody. Oh sweet sweet, good man Cody. I just don’t think we could be together.

Cody: Oh. Um. Is it because I’m a clone?

Obi-Wan: *trying not to admit that he would literally go insane and either try and steal the whole army, or kill the chancellor if he admitted to his feelings* Well. It’s… a conflict of interests.

Cody: *well versed in Kenobi speak, which is why he knows that doesn’t add up* What?

Anakin: *taking out his headphones ten feet away* He said you guys have conflicting mental illnesses.

Cody: That’s not-

Obi-Wan: No no, that fits the situation pretty well, actually.

[whorefordean]

wear the hat || d.w

i read exactly one cowboy romance so enjoy (fake)cowboy!dean and the cowboy hat rule

wc: 1.9k

cw: raw dogging, semi public sex, use of petname (sugar), the cowboy hat rule

taglist: @the-last-ry

mdni 18+

you can’t help yourself. dean looks so goofy in the outfit, and you can’t refrain from teasing him about it. on this hunt, for whatever reason, dean thought it’d be best if he poses as a cowboy. 

“to get more information from the locals. they’ll never talk if i look like a city boy, sweetheart,” dean says with a simple shrug. there’s a smile playing on his face, and you cann’t help but to roll your eyes. 

“dean, you’re from kansas and you wear flannels every day. nobody thinks you’re a city boy. the hat is most definitely overkill,” you tell him as you cross your arms over your chest. 

“i’m not taking it off,” dean huffs, matching your pose. you glare at him momentarily. he doesn’t look bad. in fact, he looks hot as fuck, and maybe, that’s why you need him to chill out on the disguise. 

you toss your hands up in defeat and follow him into the bar. the two of you split up rather quickly. you’re working your charm on the drunken men for any information you could pry out of them about the missing people while dean made his way to a group of women to do the same. 

almost an hour later, you finally manage to get the information you need, and you’re off to find dean. it’s nearing eleven pm at this point and you are ready to go. that is, until you see dean sitting at the bar with a girl who is entirely too close for your comfort. 

you and dean aren’t an item, per se, but the two of you have been a little more than friendly on more than one drunken occasion. 

you tap on dean’s shoulder lightly in an effort to get his attention. nothing. the girl he’s talking to is shooting you glares every chance she gets. you roll your eyes and decide that there was only one way to get his attention. 

so you snatch the cowboy hat off his head and slip it onto yours. dean whips around to face you. you’re expecting him to snatch it right back, but instead, dean just smirks, seemingly forgetting all about the blonde he was talking to a minute beforehand. 

“i’m ready to go,” you huff, adjusting the hat on your head. your hands finally rest on your waist, hip popping out. dean doesn’t say anything. just kept staring and grinning. 

“dean, seriously? what?” you puff, annoyed at his behavior. 

“you know the cowboy hat rule?” dean muses, leaning back to get a good look at you. his gaze rakes over you, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“the what?” you ask evenly. dean’s grin grows wider, and you are half tempted to slap it off of him. 

“the cowboy hat rule, sugar. wear the hat—” dean trails off. he leans forward until his hand rests against your waist, and his mouth is brushing your ear. 

“—ride the cowboy.” your eyes widen as he finishes the phrase. he pulls away just enough to watch your expression change from shock to compliance. he smiles proudly, knowing that you're more than willing to obey the rules. 

no words leave your mouth as you nod, allowing dean to drag you through the mess of people in the crowded bar. the cool summer air bathes both of you as dean pulls you through the exit door and ushers you to the impala. 

his rough hands in yours had your mind racing with thoughts of what they'd feel like skimming your body. in the three times that you and dean have slept together, both of you were too wasted to remember much about it the next morning. you'd wake up with those delicious bruises on your thighs or hips and hate yourself for not being able to remember what the hell went down the night before. however, you aren't ballsy enough to ask him to fuck you when you’re sober, so you settle for forgotten nights. 

your senses snap back to reality when you hear dean clear this throat. that shit eating grin is back on his face when he realizes that you'd been staring at his hand. 

"what is it, sugar? got a thing for hands or just mine?" dean teases relentlessly. you roll your eyes at him, shoving his shoulder lightly. he catches your wrist before spinning you around until you're bent over the hood of the impala. 

"dean," you gasp, bracing yourself against the black metal. dean laughs behind you and leans down until his chest is flush against your back. his lips brush against your shoulder, and you breathe out a sigh, dropping your head against the cool metal when dean starts to lift the hem of your dress up. 

"tell me what you want," dean says softly in your ear, pressing a kiss against your jaw. you have never been more grateful to be parked at the back of the lot. 

"you. need you," you whimper, reaching behind you to grasp at any inch of dean you could reach. 

"mm, 'm right here, sugar," dean says playfully as he hums against your skin. you groan, shaking your head and letting your hand slip down to dean's wrist. you grab his hand and lower it to your aching core. 

"need you here, dean," you say breathily when dean starts toying with your panties. you can hear him inhale sharply behind you, and you arch your back slightly. 

"fuck, sugar," dean groans. without warning, dean rips your underwear down your legs, helping you lift one leg at a time until the fabric is completely off your body. the cool air makes contact with your exposed cunt, causing you to hiss in pleasure. the cold doesn't last long because dean is shifting onto the ground behind you. his hands grip at your thighs, nudging them further open before he dips his tongue into your waiting pussy. 

you mewl as dean laps at you like a man starved. he hums something against your cunt, but you're too lost in the pleasure to listen. that is, until he slaps your ass. hard. you wince, lifting your head to look back at him. 

"answer me when i'm talking to you. being nice enough to eat this pretty little pussy," dean growls, but he doesn't mean it. he'd gladly get on his knees for you, and he'd stay there forever if you'd allow it. 

"what?" you whine, eyes rolling as dean sucks your clit into his mouth. 

"thought you were supposed to be ridin' me?" dean hums again, clearer this time. he doesn't give you time to answer before slipping a finger into you. you cry out when he adds another almost immediately after. 

"yes! yes, i will," you ramble, dropping your head to rest against the car again. your release is so close, and you clench around dean's fingers, his tongue still lapping away. 

before you can cum, dean withdraws his fingers and pulls away completely. you jerk your head around to meet his gaze, eyes wide with need. 

"no! please!" you beg pathetically, desperate for release. dean grips your chin lightly and pulls you back until he can kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. you moan into his mouth before he finally pulls away. 

"come on," dean orders, and you nod compliantly as he pulls you up from the hood of the impala. dean slips into the back seat first, pulling you in behind him. you barely touch the leather seats before dean is tugging you into his lap.

his hardened cock strains against his jeans, and you can’t stop from rolling your hips over his clothed bulge. you tug at his shirt impatiently. dean doesn’t object, tossing the fabric off his body and into the front seat.

his hands grip your hips as he leans in to kiss you again. he guides your hips, the two of you groaning at the friction. your arms are wrapped tightly around his shoulders. 

“fuck,” dean grunts again. he taps your ass lightly, so you pull away with a huff. your pout quickly dissolves when dean lifts you up just enough to undo the button of his jeans, allowing his cock to spring free. 

“oh my god,” you mumble as you stare at his dick. dean smirks before pulling back onto his lap. dean settles your cunt over his cock, but he doesn’t push himself inside of you. not yet. instead, he opts for getting his cock wet with your slick first. 

your eyes roll as you slide your pussy against his hardened dick. you grind your teeth when the head of dean’s cock slips against your clit repeatedly. 

“please,” you pant. dean hums, watching as your movements get more erratic. 

“dean, please. let me ride your cock,” you beg again. your eyebrows are knitted together with your eyes clenched shut. 

“go ahead, sugar. take it,” dean grunts before settling into you completely. you inhale sharply when he grips your ass, pushing you even further onto himself. 

you brace your hands against his shoulder, dropping your head to rest against one of them. dean gives you a second to adjust before he grabs your hips, urging you to move. 

so you do. 

you bite your lip, trying to keep your moans and mewls in as you ride dean. you couldn’t remember a time you felt so fucking full. dean’s dick was fucking perfect, hitting every spot that made your  vision blur with ecstasy. 

you lift your hips repeatedly before settling on grinding against him. you writhe in delight as dean drops his head back against the seat, hands gripping at the sides of your thighs as you continue to bounce and grind against him. you lower yourself to kiss against his neck before burying your face in his shoulder. 

“right there,” you whisper repeatedly, nipping at dean’s neck as your hips start to stutter. dean grips your hair in one hand, tugging your head back until your neck is on full display for him. his arm wraps around your waist, holding you flush against his chest. dean groans as he adjusts the two of you until he has the mobility to drill his hips into yours, cousin you to cry out in pleasure. he doesn’t relent as you finally come around his cock. 

deans sucks a deep bruise into your neck when he finally comes, muttering curses under his breath when his hips finally settle. the only sound in the car now is the two of you panting against each other. you lift your hips, whining as dean’s cum drips down your thighs. 

you look up at dean, but he’s distracted by the sight. his cheeks are reddened, and his eyes are hazy as he watches his cum drip out of your cunt. 

“dean–” 

“fuck, sugar. gonna have to let you steal that fucking hat more often if it means i get to watch you take my cock like that. you look so fucking pretty like this, sugar,” dean grunts, swiping his thumb through the mess on your thighs. he swipes his thumb up further, pressing against your clit before finally bringing his thumb up to your mouth. without speaking, dean nudges your lips open, making you taste the two of you. 

“goddamn it, sugar. can’t wait to use that pretty mouth next time.”

[wonderwolffs]

Only Have Eyes For You

A/N: Toto only has eyes for you… short and sweet but pure fluff 🥰

Proudly, you’ve stood by Toto’s side for the last three years, a whirlwind romance from girlfriend to fiancée and most recently his wife: Mrs. Wolff. He knew from the minute he laid eyes on you that you were the one.

You couldn’t help but beam with pride every time something or someone, written or verbal made reference to your last name, or being struck in awe by the rock on your finger daily, everything reminding you of the man you were grateful to share your life with. Not just together but as a family unit, being there for his elder children, Benedict and Rosa, whenever they needed you. It was perfect.

Both having high pressured jobs, attending races together was tricky but the ones where you could be in his company for a full weekend, were the best ones, especially on home soil: Austria.

Not loosing sight of each other day after day, entering the paddock, cuddled close and everyone knew you both were the ‘it’ couple, a term you’d gladly accept. Planting kisses to your temple, your head resting on his shoulder, reaching the garage.

“Laters, baby” uttered as a whisper leaving both of your lips, heading your separate ways as Toto and the rest of team prepared for the race. Fifty Shades certainly wasn’t either of your favourites, but the phrase held meaning.

You occupied Toto’s office for a couple of hours until a few minutes before the race, always punctual giving yourself time to head back and set sorted before ‘lights out’. Sitting in the VIP enclosure, sat right across from your man, a mere few feet away is a view you’d never tire of - a very good excuse to admire him from a far, arms crossed, shirt sleeves rolled up showcasing his toned forearms with a few buttons undone while he concentrated on a various screens in-front of him and in your mind, you’d take him right then and there but of course imagination was different from reality and you quickly cleared your throat to pause those wild thoughts for a wee while longer.

Mercedes finished mid way in the points, which was a positive result given an unfortunate start to the season. Toto wrapped his arms around your waist “Just a few press interviews and that’s me finished for the day, darling”.

You smile and look up to him in response “Take all the time you need”.

As he leaves for his final duties, it gave you the perfect moment to tackle your cunning plan. A few weeks prior, you’d enlisted the help of Rosa, Toto’s PA to make sure you had everything you needed. Counting each item, you headed upstairs and into the bathroom. Undressing yourself, then into the appropriate attire. Timing it just right as you see Toto set up for his final interview, it’s go time.

You exit the garage and walk by the media pen, all heads turning when they see you head to toe in Dirndls - traditional Austrian clothes, for women. Toto couldn’t believe it when he looked up as you patiently waited for him beside the team signage - it took everything it his power not to run to you then and there, rather composing himself to complete the final question… quickly.

“So, tell us Toto what does it mean to be here in Austria? Not only is it home for you but we see your wife is here too, which must be lovely”

“It means everything and now I can go home and unwind, maybe even celebrate. As for my brilliant wife, when she’s with me, it’s like my good luck charm and today proved that as we’re in the best form yet”. He says with a light chuckle. “If you’ll excuse me, that’s who I’m going to see right now”.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hi, I am currently slowly writing a story about Danny Fenton being a mall Grinch in gotham and later fighting a Batman rouge (think mall Santa only the Grinch instead). I got a few chapters up and some art.

Do you got any advice on writing? I would love to hear it.

Also I really enjoy seeing you on Tumblr all the time,it has made my day happier many a time.

I hope you have a good year despite your haters.

DANNY AS THE GRINCH!? That's honestly so perfect. Please send me the link I love to see Danny just decking people with all his "I hate Christmas" energy.

Thank you for reading all my random dabbles. I really enjoy seeing people react to them. And no worries, I'm used to people hating. My HP and HP blog fics have been getting a lot of messages. Some people just have a lot of free time.

As for advice,

I always pick a character and write their POVS because I like exploring a character's narrative compared to what the audience knows.

You must know the character's mindset to write how they react to things. Know their backgrounds, likes, dislikes, habits, pet peeves, and favorite foods.

Knowing what the character would "see" first is also important. Like when describing settings. Most people (not all I know) do not spend three hours counting the grass stands or how many buildings are on the street, but they will usually spot one thing first - maybe the sunset looks really nice? A group of kids is playing, and screaming to the side? maybe they smell something good?- and their mind launches on to that before noticing other details.

Sprinkle into how they interact with the world makes them see real and more three-dimensional. Show not tell is one of my favorite methods to get that across.

For Example Tim,

He grew up wealthy but neglected. He is externally book smart and even has a good grasp of street smart, but emotionally intelligent, he's not the best.

To tell would be something like:

"Tim is a great CEO. Despite being young he can run a business great, can keep up with the Batman and can even find the time to date."

To show would be something like:

"Tim prides himself in organizing his schedule for a well balance work and private life. His duties as CEO were easier to manage due to his training as Drake Heir. He knew how to smile, charm, and persuade the upper crust of Gotham long before he was running on roofs with Bruce."

Both work well for any situation but showing lets people know why the character is the way they are without making it sound like a list of facts.

I hope this makes sense.

Oh also here are some really reference I like to go back to

Words to say instead of said

body languages phrases

How to build romantic relationships

[imagionationstation]

I wanna make a dumb au where the turtles have powers (maybe from the mutagen)

I really wanna make Raph and Donnie’s powers based off the phrase “See no evil” and “Speak no evil” cause o think it’s cool lol

for Raph was thinking clairvoyance. “See no evil” Idk dude.

I don’t got any ideas for this and wanna share like lol

No such thing as a dumb AU.

Silly AU? Yes. Crack AU? Absolutely.

No such thing as dumb, tho. I will not hear such blasphemy.

Okay, okay, okay- lemme see.

The full phrase is “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” and that means we get three powers. But that leaves a brother without super powers. And we can’t have that. SO, I propose a different approach.

I meet your demands.

Raphael and Michelangelo: Clairvoyance

Donatello and Leonardo: Telepathy

They are quadruplet brothers, but twin supermutants.

What does this mean, you ask?

SO YOU SEE-

They share similar powers, but they use them in different ways.

Raphael (see no evil) is able to glimpse future events, but he only sees good ones. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t predict the bad. He saw that they’d get to leave the sewers for their Fifteenth Mutation Day, but he didn’t know that they’d see April get kidnapped or get dragged into battle. And he can’t see the good that comes to far into the future. Splinter says won’t be able to do that until he learns to embrace the possibility of good when things seem dark.

Michelangelo is his opposite. He can only witness the bad, no matter how much he tries to see the good. It terrifies his family when they can’t tell the difference between his predications and his nightmares. (Their lives are too insane for them to question giant purple squirrels.) The nightmares all seem real to Mikey. And he doesn’t have a prediction and then it automatically comes true hours later. It could be minutes, hours, weeks, or even months. At five years old, he has a nightmare about Leo getting beaten by large animals and a man in armor. He forgets about it until their days in the farmhouse.

They can’t see the future at a whim, though. Only through random dreams/nightmares or during intense medication (which they hardly ever do because of how much they hate it).

They both wish that they had the powers of the other. Raph, because seeing the dangers are the best way to protect his family, and Mikey, because he hates never knowing which horrors will come true. But neither of them dares to admit it out loud.

Leonardo (hear no evil) can hear people’s thoughts, but he only listens when they’re loud or clear. Very few people (Shredder, Splinter) can block him. He can’t read animal minds, but he does get a general sense of emotions. Forcing himself into another person’s thoughts is extremely harmful, especially when they can’t fight back. They aren’t sure how, but he tried once when he was just learning to adapt to his powers, certain that Raph was lying to him. It was once and very brief. Raph had as splitting migraine for a week. It’s very effective when it comes to missions, though it can get annoying. He can only safely pick up on strong thoughts near him, which means that while he can’t hear the entire city, he can hear a legion of Footninja’s thoughts clearly. It can get overwhelming. He has to manually make the choice to stop hearing, and it can get distracting to shut them all out while mid-battle. Despite their initial challenge, he’s grateful for the day that they begin to use Footbots.

He respects his brothers right to privacy… Mostly.

Donatello (speak no evil) can broadcast thoughts and emotions to others. It can be done as an unconscious and a purposeful feat. When he was a toddler, his family always knew the minute that something upset him. It started as a general feeling of needing to be by his side, and as he got older, it transformed into words, subconscious calls that Donnie swears he never gave. He can broadcast over a certain distance, but it’s strongest when the minds are close by. He learns, as a teen, on complete accident, that his power to broadcast is also the power to manipulate. It’s more dangerous for him than it is for others. Even the smallest compelling suggestion drains an intense amount of energy, so his brothers are firm in keeping him from doing so. At least until he’s able to do it without potential deadly consequences.

These brothers are closely connected at all times. Not only because they prefer to be pared in the battlefield (If Leo picks up on a new danger or comes up with a change in the plan, Donnie can broadcast to the others immediately), but they can always sense one another, no matter how far away either is. It terrifies Donnie the day that Leo enters a coma and he doesn’t feel him again for months.

There is no A-team or B-team because they’re too busy trying to figure out which “twin team” is the more powerful. Neither of them takes the comparison too seriously, until the day they do, and Splinter makes them spend the week completely separate so they learn why having more than one kind of duo is important.

I deem it the ✨No Evil AU✨

Not a dumb AU. I adore this. This kind of concept fuels me.

Putting these AUs into words is an excellent reason to be alive.

[theweirdestroller]

Crime Time!! Now With Actual Crime!

I have been on a roll when it comes to writing!! More criminal AU, more Bite-Sized, I'm feeling unstoppable!!

Anyyyyway, here's more of my AU of @cubbihue's AU! Hope y'all enjoy!!

Mugsy knew he couldn’t afford to house an entire other person. But Peri had nowhere to go. Mugsy wasn’t even sure the guy had any living family. He asked about it once and Peri got so miserable Mugsy was afraid to ask again.

Yeah, he’d love to keep Peri around until he could reasonably move out, but it wasn’t possible. Not unless he started making more money and fast.

The majority of his funds on any given week were typically from thievery, and Peri didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be okay with that. If Mugsy asked, if he phrased it right, maybe he could get Peri on board.

There were a couple issues that came with employing Peri as a literal partner in crime. For one, Peri wasn’t the best at walking. Mugsy had snagged a cane, not from anyone using it, no, from a store, and handed it to the guy. It took some trial and error, but Peri was getting the hang of it. He still wasn’t the most mobile person out there, but he was getting better. For two, Peri could not navigate. Dimmadelphia was a huge city, not the biggest out there, but still a bustling metropolis. One that Peri had gotten lost in twice already and they’d known each other for only a couple of days. And three, Peri really didn’t seem like the kind of person who would want to commit crimes.

Welp, Mugsy would never know if he never asked.

Peri was setting up a space on the couch so he could sleep there tonight. He had gotten the apartment tour the day prior, when the two of them arrived home from the cafe. Apparently, Peri really didn’t have a single thing on him. Not a phone or wallet, not an id. It was mildly concerning, but Mugsy let it slide, if not for anything else, than for nearly mugging the guy.

“Hey, Peri?” The purple haired man looked up, setting down the pillow he was fluffing. “Uh, you think you could help me out with stuff, moneywise? Since you’re going to be staying here,” Peri tilted his head like a confused kitten.

“Sure. But what did you have in mind?” Mugsy took a deep breath. “Oh. Please don’t make me mug people!” Peri’s voice took on a bit of a whine as he said that.

“No! No. Uh, not mugging. But, stealing in general. Expensive stuff left... Unattended. And food and stuff. Pickpocketing maybe?” Peri looked thoughtful for a moment before he smiled and nodded.

“Sure! I can do that! I think... I haven’t stolen too much before, and it was a while ago, so I might be rusty,” And what? Peri’s stolen stuff before? It was probably when he was a teenager and in a rebellious phase. But hey, at least he’s still open to it.

“Great. We can get started on that as soon as you're settled.” Peri shot Mugsy a thumbs up before returning to his work on the couch.

–

A couple hours later, Peri and Mugsy wound up inside a walmart. Peri isn’t as nervous as Mugsy thought he’d be, but he was fidgeting with his hands quite a bit. Though whether that was nerves or something else was up for debate. They needed clothes for Peri, and that was simple enough. As well as perhaps another cane, definitely a phone, and maybe one of those water flavoring drop-things. In the last 48 hours or so, Peri had only drank a coffee, and a single sip of water. He had a concerning sweet tooth, it seemed.

Mugsy had his backpack, which had plenty of space for anything Peri might want, and was leaving it with his new companion. It was very much divide and conquer, and Mugsy could only hope that Peri wouldn’t immediately screw this up.

–

As it turned out, Peri was not the one to mess things up. It was Mugsy. Apparently he looked too sketchy and acquired a stalker watching him from in between the aisles.

This is exactly how Mugsy ended up booking it out of the store with Peri draped over his shoulder. The purple haired man was struggling with the zipper of the backpack as they made their getaway.

Despite the extra weight of a whole human, Mugsy managed to escape whatever security might have been chasing them. The duo ended up in a nearby park, showing off their spoils at one of the many picnic tables in the area.

Just about every article of clothing that Peri had snatched was purple. With the exception of some pink and green accessories. The guy certainly seemed to have a theme. He had somehow found a pair of dark purple pants that he insisted were ‘aubergine.’ Mugsy did not recognize the word, so Peri must have made it up.

Mugsy’s haul was much smaller, given that he had been caught, but he did manage to get the water flavoring, which meant Peri could properly hydrate. He did not, however, get a phone. But that could wait for another day. At the moment, Mugsy was likely the only person Peri could call. He had also scored another cane, this one a purple-y color, which Peri was calling periwinkle and claiming that he loved it already. So, mission success!

The two started their way home at a leisurely pace, Peri testing out his new cane and sporting a pair of bracelets pink and green, both with crown and star charms.

[im-am-not-a-weenie]

Loved the period comfort hcs!!!!! How do you think our forge husband Dammon would be in this situation?

🍓omg it's been like forever, being an adult is hard. but im finally getting to my inbox🍓

I'm going to include Zevlore and Rolan bc like I love all three of them dearly. shorter than normal but I'm working on a longer fic with these 3

no beta and lots of grammar and spelling errors <3

🍓Dammon

this man is the sweetest, he's so gentle and caring

Doesn't really know what he's doing but is trying his best. he listens to your wants and what you need. hungry? he's ready to make you something or go get whatever you're craving. he makes sure you stay hydrated and offers you water like every hour.

cuddles galore, he'll rub your lower tummy and give you forehead kisses

while spooning, his tail will wrap around you too

"why are you giggling love?" "Dammon you know why" You couldn't help but giggle as his tail lazily swiped along your side. "it's not my fault you're so sensitive

expect soft touches like that the whole night, he'd sit there and play with your hair, maybe even put in a few braids if you let him

would definitely take the day off if you asked him too

🍓Rolan

Rolan would be the type of guy to act like he didn't want to take care of you the phrase "I suppose if I have to" is said so many times

"Rolan I'm fine really" "No no if you're going to keep complaining I might as well do something, it's the only way I'll get some peace and quiet around here"

he kinda knows what he's doing. he has a sister. him and cal took care of Lia when she was cramping so he knows a few things

wouldn't let you out of bed. but would never admit to fussing over you. or loving the cuddles

"I'm just holding you until you go to sleep. I have work to do" Spoiler alert he spends about 30 minutes just watching you sleep. he smiles to himself and brushes hair out of your face. stroking your face lovingly letting out a small chuckle because you subconsciously lent into his hand. he pulls you closer and falls asleep himself

🍓Zevlore

this man definitely knows what he's doing. he's been around for a bit and knows how to treat a person right.

the moment you mention cramps he's drawing you a nice hot bath and making chamomile tea.

so many kisses. on your face, arms, and hands. nowhere goes untouched by his lips. I mean nowhere. this man earned his red stripes (or is it red wings?)

"ew, Zev that's gross" "You could never be gross to me my dear"

gives the best massages. will rub your back or your feet. he just wants to make you feel better. especially during the most uncomfortable time in your life

he holds you tightly against him. whispering sweet things in your ear. "I love you, I love you more than any god. more than the sun and moons and stars. you are mine and I'm never letting go"

you fall asleep on him with a smile. knowing he means every word

HEY! im back! At least I'm trying to be lol. imma try and post a long fic every other week and will do short post like this randomly. or I might not stick to a schedule and disappear for a few months again who knows. anyway

see you later alligators - Rhys 🍓

[whipitgod]

I Panicked

Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham

oneshot - wc: 2.3k

summary: post fall hannigram, fits in the same universe as ‘pushed in’ but its not necessary to read that to understand this one. Hannibal gets a bit introspective as he thinks about how his life turned out, Will just really wants Hannibal to stop stabbing him

warnings: canon typical violence though non-graphic (will gets lightly stabbed), somewhat crack-ish as per usual, and a decent helping of some tooth rotting domesticity

a/n: YOU GUYS ARE ALL SO AMAZING!!! thank you for all the love on the destiel fic! this was fun to write because I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while so it was good to finally flesh it out, i hope you all enjoy it!! if you like this remember to leave a like/reblog! maybe even follow me :D! Happy reading!!

!!!!REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!!

All things considered, Hannibal had never expected his life to turn out like this; he had been, for lack of better phrasing, well and truly domesticated. They had settled into a small home in rural Argentina after pulling themselves out of the raging water Will had thrown them into, the nearest town no less than 30 minutes away; which Hannibal had initially taken issue with before seeing how at peace the younger man had been in the countryside.

Will had flourished in the new environment much to Hannibal's delight, the ex-profilers joy making it hard for Hannibal to be upset about their living situation. The home is nothing like how his home in Baltimore had been, the one they reside in now was single story and unassuming. White in color and surrounded by trees with a lake a couple hundred yards back behind the house, the home reminded him more of how Will's home had been in Wolf Trap. Hannibal found it difficult to complain about the home when it was shared with the younger man, whenever he felt the need to his mind would supply him with memories of Will walking through the back door after spending all day down by the lake fishing, the dog Hannibal had got him when they had first arrived at the home following close behind him.

Hannibal really had never pictured his life ever being anything like this, the concept of finding a shelter and choosing a dog for someone would have made him laugh a decade ago. He reasons that he had never had anyone to do it for before, because when they had arrived in Argentina almost three years ago Hannibal had barely batted an eye while he made quick work of locating a shelter about an hour away from the home to find a dog for Will.

Despite all this he still has his moments, he reminds himself sometimes that nobody is perfect; everyone has moments of weakness and lapses in judgment. Hannibal tries his best to maintain his composure and not let himself do anything too impulsive but sometimes the flood of emotions he gets in the face of the domesticity he and will now shared got the better of him; he had never been good at reacting rationally and it was apparent in how he tended to handle his emotions.

His most recent lapse in judgment had surprised even him, even now a week later he’s still a little unclear on why he had reacted to the emotions he shared with Will the way he did. He really had no reason to do what he did but Hannibal had never been a very reasonable man despite how much he tried to claim he was.

2 Weeks Ago

“Jesus Christ Hannibal, why did you stab me!?” Will’s hand presses against the wound made by the small paring knife Hannibal had been using to prepare dinner.

Hannibal, to his credit, feels at least slightly bad about the turn of events and responds with a flustered, “I'm not sure, I panicked,” the cannibal reaches to move Will's hand so he can inspect the wound, “my sincerest apologies Will.”

Will lets out a disbelieving sound akin to a laugh, “Panicked about what!” His tone is sharp, and he lets out a hiss as Hannibal prods at the wound, “We were just talking about our plans for tomorrow!”

Hannibal freezes momentarily at the words; why had he stabbed Will? The man honestly isn't quite sure, he supposes it might have something to do with the domesticity of the situation and the overwhelming rush of emotions he got whilst listening to Will talk about their plans like they were an old married couple.

“I believe I had meant to kiss you,” Hannibal meets Will's eyes briefly as he says this, “again, I sincerely apologize.”

Will just sighs at this, “It’s fine Hannibal, just help me stitch this up,” he shakes his head muttering a frustrated, “I can’t believe you stabbed me.”

“Of course, dear.” The older man pulls his hands away from where he had them still pressed against the wound, turning slightly to turn the stove off; Hannibal can’t believe he stabbed him either. Will begins walking towards their bathroom, hand clutched to his side and his gait a little uneven betraying the pain he was in; Hannibal really isn’t sure how he was going to make up for this one. The cannibal trails behind him, instructing him to remove his shirt once they had reached the somewhat small room.

“You’re unbelievable,” the words leave Will with a surprising amount of fondness, “Remind me to stop standing so close to you while you make dinner.”

Hannibal lets out a light chuckle at this, shaking his head slightly, “I will try and refrain from stabbing you going forward,” He inspects the wound on Will's lower stomach, sighing softly, “You don’t need stitches dear, but let me clean and bandage it.”

“Little victories,” it’s said with a teasing smile, “and I've heard that before Hannibal, it feels a bit hollow when you keep stabbing me.”

The older man huffs an affronted sound at this, lips curling down a bit, “I haven’t stabbed you in four months.”

“It’s fun that you keep track,” Will spots the guilty look gracing the cannibals features and sighs, he reaches up and places a hand on the man's cheek feeling the slight stubble there, “I know emotions aren’t easy for you, and for what it’s worth I'm proud of you.”

Hannibal scoffs quietly at this, shaking the man's hand off, “Don’t patronize me Will.”

“I'm not,” urged Will, “I really am proud of how well you’ve adapted to our life here; I know it wasn't easy for you.”

The cannibal offers him a small smile at this before patting the bandage that now adorned Will’s abdomen, “Good as new.”

Present day

Hannibal shakes his head at the memory, all things considered, Will had gotten over the man's slip up with a surprising ease; Of course nothing is ever truly easy with Will. The ex-profiler had a tendency to hold onto things to use them as leverage, bringing up Hannibal's misdeeds whenever the couple would argue. The most recent incident had been used to strong arm Hannibal into a fishing trip, the younger man lamenting how Hannibal never partook in the activities that he enjoyed; saying that the cannibal owed it to him to join him on the fishing trip after the older man had stabbed him.

Hannibal had decided not to argue, having learned that with Will he had to pick his battles carefully. The fallout of the cannibal denying him would be worse than a day sat on a boat under the hot sun; at least that's what he had thought up until he had seen the life jacket Will was insistent on having him wear. He thinks back on the argument the life jacket had caused with a huff of retroactive annoyance.

1 Week Ago

“Good lord, what is that?” Hannibal chokes out whilst looking at the neon orange life jacket that Will is holding out for him.

“You’ve never seen a life jacket?” Will's tone is sarcastic as he waves the life jacket in front of the cannibal's face; the older man staring at it like he’s trying to set it on fire with his mind.

“Of course I've seen a life jacket William, don't be ridiculous,” Hannibal waves a hand in its direction, “but why in god's name is it that color?”

“In case emergency search and rescue has to find your body in the lake.” The younger man says this like it's the most obvious thing in the world and Hannibal finds the statement a bit unsettling.

His brows furrowed as he finished processing what Will had said, “Do you plan on me ending up dead in the lake?”

“Depends,” Will shoves the life jacket to Hannibal's chest and the older man lets it fall to the floor without sparing it a glance, “are you gonna be this irritating all day?”

“Very funny dear.”

“I’m not laughing.”

Will, deciding the conversation is over, turns away from Hannibal to finish organizing his tackle box and assorted fishing gear, not sparing another glance to the man even when he starts grumbling quietly to himself; Will only picks up on some of it, not really paying attention.

“We’ll see who ends up in the lake,” there's rustling behind will and the sound of the life jacket being picked up off the floor, “could call it payback for the dress shoes I lost in the ocean.”

Will looks over his shoulder at the man and sends him an annoyed glare, effectively silencing the cannibal.

Present day

Hannibal hated that life jacket; he hated that Will hadn’t worn one as well even more. The fishing trip wasn’t all that bad, though he’d never admit that to the other man; he had complained too much to then turn around and say that he had had a good time. He had found fishing to be rather peaceful, the calm waves rocking the boat accompanied by a comfortable silence, well partial silence. Once Hannibal had stopped complaining there was a comfortable silence, and even though he would never admit it to Will, he knew that he had complained for quite a while.

Hannibal startles slightly at the sound of the back door banging open and the thud Will’s boots made as he entered their home, he hears the paws of the dog following shortly after, the dog never far behind will.

“Honey I’m home!”

Another thing Hannibal would never admit to was how much he enjoyed when Will would enter the house like that, finding a lot of pleasure in hearing Will call the place they resided ‘home’, the phrase always implying that it was their home; a space that they shared. The younger man enters the kitchen, setting the fish he had caught during his trip on the small island, before shifting his eyes to where Hannibal sat and sending the man a smile, eyes crinkling in the corners with the force of it.

“How was your trip dear?” Hannibal stands walking over to where Will is standing at the island starting the process of cleaning the fish. His hands reach out landing on the counter each side of Will’s waist as he peers over the man's shoulder at the fish in front of them, “By the looks of it, it went well.”

Will cranes his neck to look briefly at the man, eyes softening before he leans in and steals a chaste kiss; Their affection had become startlingly domestic compared to how it was when they had first arrived. They had behaved like touch starved teenagers for the first couple months, every kiss turning into something more. The two, now a few years into living with each other, expressed more casual intimacy than Hannibal had ever thought he was capable of. Quick kisses in greeting, or the gentle kisses Will would press to his cheek before he would rush out the door becoming a part of their routine; Hannibal frequently pressing kisses to the top of Will’s head when he would walk behind where the man was sitting, inhaling deeply as he does, taking in the smell of their shared shampoo.

The memories as well as the current position they’re in is horrifically domestic and Hannibal kind of wants to stab him again, though he stamps the thought down as quickly as it comes. Emotions swirl inside of him and he’s unable to pinpoint all of them though he’s able to pick out happiness fairly easily, the emotion had become commonplace after their years of living together; Hannibal had never thought it would be possible to feel as deeply as he does now.

“It was good,” Wills hands now working with a skill that had taken decades to acquire as he guts and cleans the fish in front of him, “how was your day? Do anything fun?”

Hannibal pauses for a moment considering, “It was good, though rather uneventful.”

Will let out a curious noise urging Hannibal to continue, “Oh yeah? Why's that?”

“The day somewhat slipped away from me; I haven’t even begun preparing for dinner.”

Will snorts at this, “Oh no, how will we ever survive,” his tone is teasing, and he laughs a bit as the words leave him, “we’ll starve before you manage to get dinner together.”

“I know, what a horrible twist of fate,” Hannibal presses a kiss to the side of Will’s head before continuing, “we managed to elude the FBI’s grasp for years only to succumb to hunger.”

Will’s shoulders shake with silent laughter before he sets the knife in his hand down, wiping the fish viscera off of his hands before turning in Hannibal’s arms, the man having yet to move them from the island, keeping Will caged. Will doesn’t attempt to touch the man, very familiar with his obsession with cleanliness, instead he leans his head forwards and rests it against Hannibal’s chest. The man's hands move from the counter then landing on the small of Will’s back, fingers toying with the waistband on the back of the younger man's pants.

Will heaves a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as the tension releases from his body now that he’s wrapped in the other man's arms. They stay like this for a few minutes, Hannibal rocking slightly, a soothing gesture that makes Will’s shoulders slump even further.

The ex-profiler starts to laugh, the sound vibrating against Hannibal's chest prompting the cannibal to pull Will back slightly to look at his face, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I'm great,” more laughter leaves him, “I was just thinking about stabbing you.”

“Excuse me?!”

[leifygreeens]

Hi moot! Hope you're doing well! <:)

Can i request about pilot harvey meeting the farmer (GN) ? (Those HCs about the bachelors archieving their dreams is living rent free in my head for a while )

Maybe harvey taking a break from aviation after an accident and spending some time in pelican town to rest ? 👀

It could be HCs or a little oneshot, whatever you're comfortable with!

(If Anything just sorry in advance)

Hey moot! This one was a monster, and it took me fucking ages(sorry abt that), but I hope you like it all the same!!

Bachelor/ettes Achieving Their Dreams is here.

3296 words, mentions of scarring, burns, fire, some swearing, and Pierre's relationship with Abigail is pretty... not nice. GN!Farmer, Pilot!Harvey. Half edited, so excuse any awkward phrasing or typos. I tried my best. :') This one is pretty lengthy, so it gets a cut. Enjoy!

When the creatures of the valley are sleeping, and the streetlights lining the town square still glow faintly, Harvey wakes up and starts his day.

Like clockwork, he rolls out of bed to wash the sleep out of his eyes and shock his body awake with a shower. It’s a routine he picked up in the early years of his career, when he was lowest in seniority and always stuck with the longest and earliest flights. Sixteen years later and he still does it, even though there’s no reason to wake up early anymore.

Hopping out of the shower at half past five, he wrings the water out of his curls with a towel, and plucks his glasses from where he left them folded neatly on a washcloth. He wipes vapor off of the lenses with it, holds them up to the light to make sure they’re dry, and then settles them on his nose.

The world turns clear, and a flash of pearly white at the front of his bangs catches his attention. Harvey frowns.

He’s lucky his hairline isn’t receding just yet, but he scowls at how his age is starting to show in the streaks of white, in sharp contrast against the rest of his chocolate brown hair. He flicks a dangling curl away from his brow, and leans in close to the mirror, eyeing his jawline in disappointment. He runs a palm over the curve of his cheek, and sighs.

He needs to shave again.

Well, need is a strong word, because he doesn’t—not anymore, anyway. But old habits die hard.

That takes at least ten minutes, and he’s been shaving every other day for half of his life, but he’s still nursing a nick under his jaw as he walks into the kitchenette. The apartment is cool compared to the sauna he’s made of the bathroom, and his skin blooms with goosebumps when he opens the fridge.

He drags out the almost empty carton of eggs from the back of the top shelf, and pulls a pack of bread from the other side. There are two slices left, not counting the ends. He sighs, and knows he’ll have to pick up groceries from Pierre’s in a few hours when the shop opens. Harvey digs the last of his coffee grounds out of the cabinet above the stove. He’ll need to pick up another bag of those as well, and his head twinges at the thought. His grocery list is getting longer the more he thinks about it.

He shakes the thoughts away. Coffee and food first, before everything else.

He fries up the last of the eggs, toasts and lightly butters the bread, and sits at his tiny dining table with a full mug. The window beside him is closed and the curtains are pulled, but the cloth is sheer enough that he can look outside and see the world slowly start to wake up. There are chittering finches in the tree branches, a brown rabbit hopping through the underbrush of Jodi’s backyard, and if he straightens up enough, he can see pure white gulls gliding over the deep stretch of blue beyond Pelican Town’s beaches.

He eats slowly, gazing out the window as the sun finally rises above the mountains and bathes the valley in soft yellow light. 

Harvey smiles and pulls the curtains back. It’s still too cold to slide the window open—the valley is just three weeks out of winter, and you’d have to be a madman to subject yourself to the early morning chill—but the warmth of the sun should reach him through the glass just fine. He picks up his mug and takes a swig, settling in for his breakfast overlooking Pelican Town.

The peace is short-lived, however. By half past 8, his dishes are empty and clean in the rack adjacent to the sink, and his computer is on the table, open to a 3-day-old email from Steph, his coworker. He scrolls up to the beginning of the message and skims over it again.

Hey Harv, just checking in again. How are you doing these days? How are your arms? Has your back healed? I’m sure you’re following doctor’s orders, but I wanted to check in to be sure. By the way, I talked to Ricky yesterday, and he says he’s doing good, but he hasn’t heard from you in months. I don’t mean to pry, and you know I don’t mind the radio silence, but he’s your best friend, Harv... Reach out to him, will you? He misses you. We all do. Even the trainees have been asking about you (I think they just miss getting drinks on your dime though). Take care of yourself, maybe go outside for a bit, you old fart. I’ve heard the weather in the south is lovely this time of year. Send me some pictures, okay? Talk soon.

Harvey sighs and runs an exasperated hand over his face. 

How is he doing?

His back still aches occasionally, but Caroline’s aerobics class helps with the worst of the pain, and the burns on his arms healed a long time ago. The scars are a nasty reminder, sure, but his skin doesn’t feel tender to the touch anymore.

Point is, he could schedule a physical tomorrow, and his doctor would clear him for flight by the end of next week—but that’s kind of the problem.

Harvey looks at his coat closet. In the farthest corner, hidden under his uniforms, his model kits collect dust. He threw everything in there when he first arrived in the valley, and he’s pretty sure he’d have to lean all of his weight back just to get the door open. He goes tense when he hears an engine in the sky, but he doesn’t look up anymore. 

Harvey pauses. 

When did he stop?

He glances at the time, and closes his computer with a sigh. His chair makes an awful screech against the tile as he stands, and he beelines for his dresser, yanking the top drawer open to grab the first barely presentable thing he sees. An old university t-shirt; one of the few with no holes. 

He tosses it on his bed, swipes the top pair of jeans out of his hamper, and unravels his robe.

Harvey gets dressed quickly and only spares himself a quick glance in the mirror to check that everything is sitting fine. It’s certainly not the picture of professionalism expected by his employers, but they’re not here, so as long as he doesn’t look like he’s just rolled out of bed, that’s good enough.

Harvey slips on his most comfortable pair of shoes, shoves his wallet and keys in his pocket, and steps outside.

The sun assaults his pupils as he makes his way down the stairs, and he squints against the glare until his eyes adjust. It’s nicer out now, and he breathes in the sweet smell of tulips—Evelyn’s flowers of choice this year for the planters lining the square. The dogwood trees are also blooming, leaving the cobblestone littered with white and pink petals. Harvey closes his eyes and inhales slowly, feeling peaceful.

“Shit!—”

Harvey jumps, his eyes flying open in surprise at the sound of wood thunking against glass, heavy like a gong. A few birds leap from their perches in the trees, and a squirrel dives under a bush. He turns to Pierre’s, searching for the source of the sound, and finds a stranger with a giant crate in their arms, fighting to balance it as they reach for the doors. 

Harvey realizes that it is not one, but two crates. 

Stacked on top of each other. 

One of them is starting to tip over.

“Woah, woah!” They yelp, and Harvey moves without thinking.

The grit of the wood presses against his palms as he heaves the top crate out of their arms, and he looks at the stranger with a smile.

“Uh, hello,” Harvey says. They blink, perfectly silent, and he grimaces. “Sorry, you looked like you were going to lose it.”

It’s not as smooth as he’d like, but it does snap them out of whatever trance they were in.

“Oh, no! Thank you for saving it, it would’ve been bad if I lost that one. It’s, uh.” They smile, and there’s an anxious edge to their voice. “That one’s full of eggs.”

Harvey blinks down at the crate, and then the pavement. “I can’t imagine the mess that would’ve made.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Pierre would ever buy from me again.” They wince. “He probably wouldn’t let me near his shop at all, actually.”

“That man does know how to hold a grudge.” Harvey glances at the doors, the glass glinting and reflecting the bright morning sun directly in his eyes. He blinks hard, willing the after images away. “I’m just here to pick up some groceries, but would you like some help bringing these in?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to, but I’d be very grateful if you did, stranger.” They smile. Something warm settles in his gut at the invitation.

“My name is Harvey,” He says sheepishly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Harvey. I’m the new farmer.” Harvey doesn’t bother mentioning he never met the old one. They nod at the dirt path leading to the bus stop, and he glances over his shoulder. “I moved into the farmhouse down the road a few weeks ago.”

His eyebrows wrinkle a bit. “You moved in a few weeks ago and I’ve only just met you?” 

“I’ve been pretty busy. The farm wasn’t in the best shape, so I’ve been clearing the land, and trying to raise enough money to restore the farmhouse.” The Farmer lifts the crate in their arms a bit. “Hence the crates.” 

Harvey looks down at the crate in his arms. “How many chickens do you even have? There’s like fifty eggs in here.”

“I started off with two, but I’ve got eight now. They make a lot.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Harvey readjusts the crate, a burn building in his arms. He’s surprised it took so long, though. Maybe the aerobics class is doing more for him than just fixing the back pain.

Harvey nearly topples backward as the front doors swing open, but rights himself at the last moment. The crate of eggs remains safe in his arms, even though the glare that Abigail fixes him with makes his knees weak, and the sword strapped to her hip doesn’t help, either.

“Harvey,” she grits out, and he thinks it might be a greeting? 

He doesn’t have the opportunity to reply, though, because she levels the farmer with an even nastier scowl, and storms off toward Marnie’s. Pierre appears just then, keys in hand and a matching scowl on his face. Harvey doesn’t have to wonder where Abigail got it from.

“Fucking brat,” Pierre spits, jamming the keys into the front doors to unlock them as Harvey and the Farmer share an awkward look.

“Uh, rough morning, Pierre?” The Farmer asks.

“That would be the understatement of the fucking century, Farmer.” Pierre waves them in, and Harvey follows dutifully. The general store is always warmer than it is outside, and in the winter that’s a boon, but right now Harvey can already feel sweat clinging to the nape of his neck. He rolls his shoulders back, and that helps only marginally. “What have you got for me today?”

“One crate of eggs, one of produce.”

“Good. Set them both on the counter. I’ll get my scale and ring you up.”

“Yes sir,” The farmer heaves their crate onto the counter beside Pierre’s register, and Harvey sets the eggs beside it as gently as he can. When he looks up, the door to Pierre’s home is swinging shut.

“Wow. This spat must’ve been really bad if Pierre is cursing,” The Farmer muses, crossing their arms and leaning against the counter. 

“I've never seen him this angry.” Harvey heaves a breath. “I wonder what happened this time.”

“I'm not close with either of them, so I couldn’t guess.” The Farmer shrugs.

“I didn’t think you were,” Harvey whistles. “Certainly not Abigail, with the way she looked at you. What did you even do?”

The Farmer sighs. “Lewis thinks it’s because she wanted to buy the deed to the old farm, and is pissed that I got it through birth.” 

“And what do you think?” Harvey asks.

They shrug again. “I’m not about to hunt her down to find out.”

“She’d probably cut you down if you did,” Harvey says grimly, shuddering at the memory of the sword gleaming on her hip. The Farmer chuckles. 

“She could certainly try.” The Farmer rolls their eyes, a smug smile playing on their lips, and Harvey suddenly gets the sense that he is very, very out of his depth. They look at him curiously after the silence stretches for a few moments longer than necessary, and Harvey swallows hard.

“Groceries.” He says intelligently, and the Farmer’s eyes slowly crinkle at the edges. 

“That is what you originally came here for.”

“I should go do that.”

“You should.” The Farmer nods, their smile unmoving, and Harvey stiffly makes his way to the end of the first aisle.

He can feel the Farmer’s eyes on him the whole way, his eyes skimming the shelf as he tries very hard to ignore the prickling heat climbing up his neck. He slips out of sight, rubs the back of his neck as the feeling disappears, and starts looking for his coffee.

The door in the far corner of the shop swings open again, and Pierre waltzes back into the store with an easy smile on his face. Harvey really should be used to the mood swings by now, but when Pierre’s entire personality changes with the breeze, the whiplash is enough to leave everything spinning.

“Sorry for the wait, Farmer. My scale wasn’t where I left it.”

“Oh, no worries, Pierre. I’m in no rush.”

“No offense, but I don’t believe you,” Pierre jokes. “You’re always in a rush.”

“Not today, thankfully. I’m spending the rest of the day at the beach.”

Harvey hears Pierre clunk his scale on the counter. “The beach? It’s still a bit too cold to take a dip, isn’t it?”

“Oh no, I’m not going swimming, I’m fishing.”

Harvey’s never been the type to eavesdrop, but the store is small and they’re not even ten feet away, so he doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter, does he?

He frowns. It’s a poor excuse and he knows it.

He refocuses on the bags in front of him, and sighs. Pierre has a small selection of coffee, and it’s expensive, but it’s better than Joja. Harvey shudders. He would rather pour hot wax on his own tongue than buy coffee from Joja.

Harvey grabs two bags of beans, stands up, and plucks one loaf of plain white bread from the top shelf. He glances down at everything in his arms. He probably should’ve grabbed a basket.

“Alright, that's the last of it!”

“Thank you, Pierre, I appreciate it.” Harvey perks up.

“Oh no, it’s no trouble at all. Your farm is already doing a lot of good for the local economy, even with that cursed Joja Mart across the river.” Harvey nearly snorts. No one in town is as vocal about their hatred for the big blue building as Pierre.

“Give it time, Pierre. It’ll close down eventually.”

“In a perfect world, it never would’ve opened in the first place.”

“Have a good day, Pierre,” The Farmer calls over their shoulder, and Harvey tenses when he realizes the sound of their steps is getting closer. Harvey looks up, and the Farmer is smiling at him, half concealed by the rack as they peer around the corner. “Hey.”

“Uh, hi again.” Harvey manages a tiny wave past everything in his arms, and the Farmer’s smile widens.

“Just wanted to thank you again for the help,” The Farmer says warmly. Harvey opens his mouth to reply, wanting to say something about it being no trouble, but they’re already dipping out of sight. Regret sours in his throat. 

But then they’re reappearing a moment later, still leaning past the corner of the aisle like they’re in some goofy movie poster, with a basket hanging from their hand. “Need a basket?”

Harvey wonders if the twitch of his lips is visible under the fluff of his mustache, and walks up to them. “I do, thank you.”

“I think this is the least I can do, considering.” The Farmer holds it out to him, keeping the handles out of his way as he dumps the bags of coffee and bread into the basket. “I would’ve lost a lot of income if you hadn’t lent me a hand when you did, so thank you.”

“It wasn’t any trouble.”

“Maybe not, but I appreciate you all the same. It’s nice being out here, surrounded by people who actually give a damn about each other.” Harvey stares at them in surprise. “Even the nicest people in Zuzu wouldn’t have given me a second glance.”

“You’re from the city?”

They nod. “Not by birth, but yeah. I was living in Zuzu for a few years until now.”

Harvey takes in their sunkissed skin, and the sturdiness of their arms. They look like they’ve been in the fields for years. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“That’s probably a good thing.” They hold his basket out again, and Harvey takes it.

“Thank you, Farmer.”

They smile, and the flecks of dirt on their face catch his eyes like diamonds. “You’re welcome. Have a good day, Harvey. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Harvey mumbles as they finally leave, the bell above the doors cheerily punctuating their departure. 

It takes him a long time to shake himself out of it, but he manages eventually. Harvey plucks a few extra things off the shelves, and when his basket is appropriately heavy, he makes his way to the counter where Pierre is busy separating eggs into cartons.

“Morning, Harvey,” Pierre greets him familiarly, and Harvey nods his head.

“Morning, Pierre.” Harvey clunks his basket on the counter. “Can I get two cartons of eggs too, please?”

Pierre checks him out quickly, and Harvey is out of there two minutes later with his arms full and his wallet a little lighter.

He climbs up the steps to his apartment, and pauses at his door. He looks up toward the bus stop; squints hard to see past it. The trees block most of his view, but he can still make out the hint of open farmland between the branches. Harvey blinks and turns to his door, his keys jingling obnoxiously between his fingertips as he unlocks it and steps inside. He’s being weird.

He sets his bags on the kitchen counter and starts unloading his groceries.

Later, just past noon, Harvey is sitting in front of his computer, once again failing to type up a worthwhile reply to Steph. He gets a sentence down, maybe two, and then he’s grumbling to himself and deleting everything again. And again. And again.

And again.

Harvey thunks his head against the tabletop in defeat, and groans loudly.

“This isn’t working,” Harvey mumbles, as if the world needed any confirmation. 

He sits up, his forehead aching faintly, and looks out the window. Beyond the square, beyond the thick line of trees, he can see the ocean glittering under the sun, deep blue and endless.

All it takes is a tug in his chest, and Harvey gets up, puts his shoes on, and walks out the door.

[doctorstethoscope]

Sink or Swim || Bonus Blurb

Hi besties long time no talk <3 This little blurb fits into September!

series masterlist

contains: discussion of sickness and doctors/medical appointments, mention of food

wordcount: 1.5k

When you’d first started with the BAU, a three-day case nearly felt like a vacation. In and out of a place before the work week was done? It was like you barely even left, your routines completely unaltered. If the timing was right you wouldn’t even miss a workout class. 

Your life is so, so different now. With kids to think about, you felt every hour you spent at work after 5pm in your bones. The kids don’t think anything of it, which usually helps to soothe you, but when Bridgette called you on the second night and said that Lexie had been fussy and in pain since she finished her course of antibiotics right before you left, the weight of every hour since had felt like torture. By the time the jet touched down at Quantico, your skin was crawling. It was around 7; you knew that most of the team would stick around to finish their after-action reports, and Aaron would likely stay even later to review them, but you just couldn’t take it anymore.  After settling the things at your desk, you walked up to Aaron’s office, entering and closing the door behind you without knocking.

“Babe?”

“Yeah,” he answers without looking up at you— he’s not trying to be dismissive, just focused on the task at hand. 

“D’you think it would be okay if I went home? I just keep thinking about Bridgette and Lexie cooped up these past couple days– it seems like maybe the antibiotics didn’t work, and I’ve been torn up thinking about her in pain,” you say, feeling a little silly. You know you don’t need to explain it to your partner, but you feel like you owe your boss an explanation. “I can bring my after-action report home, or I can get it done first thing tomorrow—”

“First thing tomorrow is fine,” he says, looking up at you now, but he’s still all business. He rises from his chair when he makes eye contact with you and crosses the room to wrap his arms around you.

“She’s okay, hon. She’s sick, but she’s okay. The first time Jack caught something while I was away I was a mess.”

“So it gets better?” You sniffle into his chest, and you feel his half-chuckle more than you hear it. 

“Not really, no. You just get better at managing it,” he tells you, dropping a kiss to the crown of your head. “Go home to our girl, she needs you.” 

“Love you,” you tell him. 

“Love you too,” he says. “I won’t stay too late here.” 

“See you at home,” you say before you leave his office, quickly gathering up your things and leaving Quantico behind for the night. 

You can hear Lexie’s cries through the front door before you’ve even fished your keys out of your purse and you physically crumple. Your poor baby. You rush in, and Bridgette’s face washes over in relief when she sees you.

“Oh, honey,” you say, and you’re not sure which one of them you’re talking to. Alexis is making her displeasure clear, but Bridgette looks a lot worse for the wear. You cross the threshold and take the baby from her.

“I was going to take her to the doctor tomorrow morning, I made an appointment. She had Tylenol about two hours ago, I’ve been doing my best to keep her comfortable but—”

“Honey, relax,” you tell her soothingly. “She’s sick. Her discomfort is not a personal failure,” you remind her, parroting a phrase Aaron’s said to you in your less confident moments. Lexie quiets at the sound of your voice and the sensation of being in your arms, although her face is still twisted up in pain. It just about breaks your heart.

“Thank you,” Bridgette smiles. “Can I help you with anything else?” 

“God, no. You’ve been here for days. Feel free to grab something to eat before you go; I’m sure this one has kept you occupied all night, but you’re off the clock. I’ll plan to take her to the doctor in the morning and you can get some sleep. Jack was okay for you?” 

“He was an angel as always. I left him in bed, told him he could finish the chapter he was reading and that he should shut his light off and go to bed after that.”

“Thank you,” you smile. “We could not do this without you, truly.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she smiles back, grabbing her things and leaving you alone.

It’s not the first time you’ve been solo with the kids, not by a longshot, but you’re a little intimidated, and thoroughly exhausted from a tiring case. Lexie still in your arms, you head to Jack’s room, finding him asleep with the lights on and his book splayed on his chest. You smile fondly at him, gently maneuvering the bookmark into the book and the book onto the nightstand with one hand before switching off the light. 

“Alright sweetie. Do you think mama can get changed into her pajamas?” You ask Lexie in a little hush as you bring her into yours and Aaron’s bedroom, placing her on the mattress briefly as you reach for more comfortable clothes. Lexie makes her displeasure known immediately, squawking out a cry. 

“Oh, Lexie-loo, I’m sorry,” you coo. “I know you don’t feel good,” you say, reaching out to place one hand on her stomach as you use the other to shimmy out of your work pants and into a pair of pajama shorts. Your touch calms her, but only having one hand doesn’t exactly make undressing easy. You manage to change with minimal incident, scooping Lexie back up as soon as you’re done. 

“You’re tired, my baby. So, so tired,” you say, more to yourself than to her, as you bring her into her dark nursery and settle into the rocker. “Shhh, shhh,” you attempt to soothe her to sleep. She fights it every step of the way, stubborn girl, but her droopy eyelids win out eventually– you rise gingerly, attempting to transfer her to the crib, but she senses the loss of you in sleep and lets out a renewed, piercing cry. You’re overwhelmed and overstimulated, and willing Aaron to come home by the sheer force of your mind. 

“I know, sweet girl,” you say to her, leaning your body over the crib so that you can reach in and rub her back. “It’s okay, my girl, just rest,” you tell her, continuing to rub circles over her soft skin. “Shh, shhh,” you comfort her, even after she stops crying. She’s not asleep yet, you’re sure of it. You’ll just have to rub her back a few minutes longer. 

The house is quiet when Aaron makes it home later that evening, but the lights in the kitchen and the living room are still on, which is unusual. He takes his usual route through the apartment, setting the alarm and checking on Jack, who was sleeping peacefully. Lexie’s room is next, and he’s surprised to find you there, bent at the waist and halfway in the crib, sleeping as soundly as the baby. He smiles a little, coming up behind you and placing a hand on your back, where he was certain there would be soreness tomorrow morning. 

“Honey,” he whispers.

You wake with a jolt. “What?” You whisper out urgently.

“You fell asleep with the baby,” he orients you. 

“Oh, sorry,” you squint against the sliver of light from the hallway.

“It’s fine, angel. Is she okay?” He asks. 

“Bridgette made an appointment for her. It's her ear, still, but she’s grabbing at the other one now.”

“The infection probably spread before the antibiotics kicked in,” Aaron tuts. 

“We should get out of here before we wake her.” You say, stumbling towards the door. Aaron just chuckles, reaching out to stabilize you with a hand at your waist.

“How long was I like that?” You ask him once you’re back in your own bedroom. 

“Not sure. I left work about an hour and half after you did.” 

“Need a sick day,” you muttered into your pillow, but Aaron’s able to make it out. “I told Bridgette I’d take her. I think the past couple days were tough.” 

“She’s good to us,” Aaron says. 

“Our baby’s in pain,” you frown.

“Her mom’s home, so that helps,” Aaron reminds you. “She fell asleep in her mom’s arms, and she’ll see the doctor in the morning. The best thing we can do for her right now is make sure she has rested parents in the morning,” he says as he hurriedly changes into his own pajamas so he can join you in bed, clicking off the light before he does so.

“G’night, Aaron. Love you.”

“Love you.”

tagging: @spacecowboyhotch @honeybrowne @angelfxllcm @rousethemouse @infinite-tides @gspenc @anlin2058 @zetasaturno99 @realdirectionx @witheldclouds @sbeno22 @el-vs94 @hausofwhores

[waugh-bao]

what’s the lore about voodoo 👀

@agentidiot 1993-5 was…wild.

The origin of the album, according to Charlie:

“We spent three months there [in Barbados]. Mick and Keith were there first and then I joined them and we just played. So by the time we got into the recording studio, we could play something and you'd go, ‘Oh, I remember that... I did this and that on it.’ You're already a third of a way to getting it together by doing that."

Which all sounds pretty benign, they’ve done albums in a particular place away from the UK pretty much since Exile. But the outtakes from those sessions are downright insane (so much so that I can only mention a handful here, there are many more I didn’t even have room for).

Probably best example of this is a song called “Alteration Boogie.” It’s 5 straight minutes of Keith singing about Charlie’s clothes and his body, which starts out with him making fun of how old fashioned his taste in tailoring is (in a very detailed way) and ends with two comments about Charlie’s ass and a comment about how “cute” he looks in blue.

Then there’s “Sparks Will Fly.” That song actually did make it to the album, but in a radically different form than it started out. So Keith wrote it:

“We had a big bonfire going one night out in Ronnie’s garden. I was throwing all these logs on it, and these sparks started flying. I started running backto the studio – ‘I’ve got one! Incoming!’ Charlie was the only guy there, and he and I played the thing. “

And he and Charlie were the only two who worked on it until it was completed:

"Sparks Will Fly was actually eyeball-to-eyeball with Charlie Watts more than anybody to start with, because we would not let anybody else play on it until we'd honed down that rhythm track thing dead right. You know, it was like, three's a crowd for a minute, until we'd worked it out. And then we let everybody else in. It all has to do with the rhythm and the guitar, and after that the rest of it fell into place. Charlie's laying down the law on that one. You've got to know a guy so well to play that tight together. It's unspoken, because it's all going by in front of you in 3 seconds."

The lyrics of that song, especially when you consider the context in which it was written, are somehow maybe even more crazy (and suspicious) than “Alteration Boogie.”

Mick ended up completely overhauling the lyrics, but his weren’t any better. Of particular note at the time was his decision to include the line “I’m gonna fuck your sweet ass”, which he claimed after the fact he didn’t even remember doing.

Oh yeah, and Keith’s thing about Charlie “laying down the law” was pretty literal. Charlie was playing him every night during album recording and rehearsals to the point of actually being on his knees, which Keith bragged to the press about.

“According to Don Was [their producer], Charlie was the driving force behind these rehearsals. They started each night around 10 p.m. and finished 10 or 12 hours later, whenever Keith collapsed, but Charlie was still going strong.”

“To me, it was all tied in with Charlie. If Charlie Watts is willing to experiment in the studio, then I’m the happiest man in the world.”

Coincidentally, Keith was also very eager to tell everyone about Mick’s private practice sessions with Charlie (who also bragged himself about his closeness to the drummer in this period and some of the songs they collaborated on):

“The more that Mick plays [the harmonica], the more differently he sings. Suddenly he starts to sing the way he's playing the harp, phrasing differently, instead of thinking of it as two separate entities, you know...And he played all year. He would do 2 hours a day with Charlie just playing harp, before we'd even come into rehearsal or whatever. And I can hear it paying off a lot in his singing too.”

And another one of the songs which made it onto the album, “Suck on The Jugular”, which Keith was dying to credit to Charlie (he literally credits Charlie with the success of every song on this album):

“Mr Watts again. I mean, it's all drums. The arrangement is all to do with the drums. Charlie laid down that beat and I said, 'Well, if you can keep that up for several minutes, we've got a track! 'Hey, no problem? And he always makes it look like it isn't.”

Has these lyrics:

The fun didn’t stop when they finished the album, though.

They made a music video for the song “I Go Wild” which can only be described as steampunk Marie Antoinette meets geriatric gay BDSM. (Mick is literally in some kind of chain link sex swing for part of it, Keith seems to have a gag in his mouth at point, and they’re both dancing around Charlie. He even goes so far as to bend down in front of the kit and mimic giving oral s*x).

The band has since disowned the video, it appears on none of their official sites or YouTube channel, but you can find it here.

In the interviews which surrounded the actual Voodoo Tour, Keith was very adamant about how close the “trio” were and how much they were enjoying each other’s company:

“Even when we’re not touring or recording we stay in touch. We’re all so close - like a family. In fact, we’re probably closer than a lot of families are.”

There was a video game released on CD-ROM to support the tour, which includes a section where the player enters a bathroom where Keith makes a variety of sexual comments, screams, and then comments on Charlie “peaking”: here.

A documentary about the album and tour made by MTV has also since been memory holed and only promos for it can be found any longer.

Other than that, I suppose I should mention that this was also the era of Keith kissing Charlie on stage and both of them giving him flowers:

As well as the return of the “nipple pincher” bit:

But, more than anything, it was truly a period, despite occasional disagreements, of real closeness and sweetness between those three:

[broodybuck]

In Another Timeline... | Series Part 3

Series Summary: The soldier must switch with his variant in another timeline to study the weaknesses of Steve Rogers to ultimately defeat him. But the soldier is unprepared for the relationship his variant has built with Steve and must act unsuspiciously as a committed boyfriend.

Series Tags: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes | Rated E | Tags: 18+ explicit smut, top Steve, bottom Bucky, multiverse, alternate timelines, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes

[Masterpost] // [ao3 link]

[PART 1] [PART 2]

Bucky uses the time while Steve is asleep to google the two words from the journal.

The first word 'pouting' mainly has to do with pushing one's bottom lip forward. Then it delivers mixed results as to whether it means the person is upset, annoyed, or trying to appear sexually attractive. Either way, his variant wrote that Steve is a sucker for pouting. Therefore, the soldier must execute pouting in front of Steve going forward.

The second thing the soldier types in is 'getting blown: slang'. The results all agree this phrase means precisely what happened today when the soldier put Steve's cock in his mouth and replicated every motion Steve had done to him the night before.

The soldier finds himself smiling at this discovery because he quite enjoys this act. 'Blow jobs' is what the internet calls it and if 'getting blown' is one of Steve's favorite things, then the soldier is elated to perform the task much more often.

The soldier sneaks back into bed after his research. He's very happy with his results. Although, there's something troublesome in his head that he can't fully grasp.

He knows his mission and technically, he has found two potential weaknesses to stop Steve Rogers. It should be a victory in his book but the soldier has also been introduced to many new sensations on this trip. He's endured more pleasure in the past thirty-six hours than he ever remembers experiencing. And if he uses these weaknesses to defeat Steve Rogers, he will never receive this pleasure again. If he returns to Hydra to complete his mission, he loses all of this.

The soldier has failed missions before, very few, but he has returned unsuccessful. But he has never purposely sabotaged a mission. It's unsettling, the thoughts swarming in his mind right now. The idea of not going back, of not completing the mission. Because that's what he... wants. He wants to stay here with Steve and never go back.

Maybe it's possible, the soldier thinks. He's not used to thinking positive thoughts, he's so unaccustomed to wishing for anything at all. It feels strange and unwelcome.

Steve's arm twists around the soldier then. The blond man is still asleep but manages to hug the soldier's chest and pull him closer. A smile lets loose on the soldier's face.

Yes, he decides, he will not leave.

The next morning is full of wonderful things. Warm clothes, warm food, warm coffee, a warm shower, and sex — which also becomes warm since the soldier's skin tends to sweat during it.

The soldier likes warmth, he decides. Everything warm is so lovely especially when it comes packaged with Steve.

And Steve is so nice, the soldier thinks. He's always so tender and playful with the soldier. Today, he even slaps the soldier's behind and laughs. The soldier is surprised when he doesn't feel the harsh sting he normally does when he's slapped. He also hasn't been slapped on his ass before.

So the soldier decides to do what he knows best and copy the subject's actions. He steps over and slaps Steve's ass too. A smile stretches across his face after he does it. Possibly because it feels freeing to be able to hit back — or maybe he is just happy to get to touch Steve's ass. The results are inconclusive as it stands.

The soldier slaps Steve's ass three more times this day. Then later that evening, Steve slaps his bare ass cheek during sex and the soldier keens.

In addition to ass slapping, there are other things that would typically cause pain but don't when Steve does it. The next afternoon, they're watching a movie on the couch. The soldier keeps absentmindedly touching his ears. He's still not used to them being so exposed. When Steve notices, he pulls the soldier's wrist away and drags his teeth over the soldier's earlobe. It doesn't hurt. It's like a playful bite. The soldier didn't know biting could be playful.

"Where else do you bite?" the soldier asks, curiously.

Steve looks heavily affected by the question, the soldier's not sure why. But then Steve takes off the soldier's shirt to show him how he bites nipples. There's no pain either. Only a little stinging and then licking as if to apologize for the sting. The soldier quite likes it. It makes him hard and Steve seems excited about that too.

Steve also uses his teeth occasionally when they kiss. He drags the soldier's bottom lip down with them. The soldier's okay with this too. He's discovered he's beginning to like kissing more. The more it happens the less he has to focus on copying Steve's mouth. It's becoming more natural. His lips have learned to go with the rhythm and time of Steve's and just... enjoy it.

The lip-biting reminds the soldier he needs to integrate pouting into his daily actions. The following day, the soldier finally dares to pout and oh, it's fascinating what he can get away with. All he does is push his bottom lip forward and Steve crumbles. The soldier has never seen anything like it before. Usually, if he needs an enemy to cave, he elicits a lot of pain to make it happen. Who knew a bottom lip was just as powerful.

The soldier asks for many things, mainly in bed. He asks Steve to slap his ass more, to fuck him more, and for more coffee. He gets all these things. So easily.

It's strange to say this but the soldier thinks he might be... happy. And because of this, he definitely does not plan to return to his timeline.

Unbeknownst to the soldier, the decision to return to his timeline is not his to make. Thinking about it now, the soldier realizes he was given no instruction regarding how to travel back.

And so when he very suddenly disappears from Steve's arms and reappears in the dark, cold interior of the Russian base, the soldier is instantly distraught.

His handler paces around the soldier in the same rigid way he always does.

"Mission report," his handler commands.

But the soldier is too shell-shocked from going from warm, perfect Steve to this dungeon that he can't bring himself to speak.

"Mission report," his handler repeats.

The soldier feels a rage building, an uncommon anger he's not used to feeling toward his handler, toward these people. They took him away from Steve. He wants to go back.

And then for the first time, a thought enters the soldier's mind that he doesn't remember ever thinking before: Fuck you.

Fuck these people and his mission. He's done with this hell-forsaken place. He's done with handlers and pain and uncomfortable clothes.

And then it hits him, there's a Steve Rogers in this timeline. One that they want him to eliminate. But he's not going to do that.

The next sequence of events is a blur to the soldier. He doesn't remember it happening and at the end of it, he finds himself on his knees, panting. There's blood on his hands, the floor — everywhere.

He looks up and sees seven dead bodies lying before him. The soldier stands and peers at the destruction before him.

Perhaps Hydra should have anticipated that all the skills and training they forced upon him could be used against them. But they didn't think.

The soldier moves to a computer where he researches his location and how to find Steve Rogers. The Steve in this timeline. The one that belongs to him.

He marches out of the base and starts on his way to find his Steve.

Finding Steve Rogers is not difficult.

It takes one flight and a train ride — the soldier sneaks onto both without purchasing tickets. There's one mishap on the train when a man checking for tickets finds him. The soldier knocks the man out and stores him away in the overhead luggage department. He's proud of himself for not brutally murdering the man which he considered momentarily.

He stands in front of the address designated for Steve Rogers and for the first time, he can remember, the soldier feels self-conscious. He didn't think to shower in the past fourteen hours, so he may smell. His hair is most likely greasy as well. And he's still wearing the same clothes with dried blood stains on them.

But he didn't come all this way to turn around. Besides, the men who used to take care of him are all dead. So who else does he have? And the thought that Steve is right inside this house sparks renewed excitement for the soldier. He wants his Steve.

He knocks on the door even though he could have easily broken in without being detected. However, since his training videos on how to be human, he has learned that knocking is a normal courtesy.

The man who opens the door looks identical to the Steve Rogers he had just spent a week with. Butterflies swarm in the soldier's belly. He smiles even though Steve looks absolutely shocked, standing with his mouth agape.

Finally, Steve gathers himself enough to utter: "Bucky? Oh my god."

"Hi, daddy."

Steve's expression goes completely wide and he turns pink all over.

He stutters, "What? Um, hi — who now?"

"That's what you like to be called," the soldier informs him. "Can I come in?"

"Of course, of course, please," Steve stammers and stumbles to the side, still blushing immensely.

The soldier steps into the home. It's a different house in this timeline. Still nice, though. The soldier is sure there's a bed here. Even if there's not, sex can be accomplished.

The soldier smiles again. "I found you."

"Um, yes, wow. This is so unexpected. I mean, I'm so happy to see you, Buck. But I just found out you were alive and where you were being held yesterday. How did you get out?"

"I killed them."

"Oh, okay. Well, that's... good? I guess."

"Yes," the soldier agrees. "And then I came to find you after I met your variant in another timeline. The other you fucks me very well."

Steve appears to choke on nothing. His face grows a bright shade of red.

"He... what?"

"He is boyfriend to variant, Bucky, there. They sent him back so I came to find my Steve in my timeline."

"Ah, oh, I see," Steve nods many times, very fast. "So wait, you want me... like that?"

"Very much," the soldier confirms. He's getting antsy now. "Can you fuck me now?"

Steve's eyes bulge wide, his mouth drops again. The soldier's not sure what is so hard to understand.

Then Steve starts to laugh.

"Um, I... god, I just can't believe this. God, Buck I've been dreaming forever about getting you back."

"I'm right here."

"Yeah, you are," Steve says, incredulously.

Then he steps close to the soldier. Close enough to kiss but their lips don't meet. Maybe Steve is shy in this timeline, the soldier thinks. The soldier will have to show Steve how to kiss and teach him playful biting as well.

"If you show me the bedroom, I can take it from there," the soldier states.

"Um, sure. R-right this way."

The soldier slaps Steve's ass when he turns around. Steve actually leaps forward with a yelp. But he turns back with a blushing smile, biting his bottom lip.

This Steve wears a lot more color on his skin, the soldier realizes. It's on his cheeks, his ears, and all down his neck. The soldier likes color on his Steve, he decides.

He plans to see where the rest of that color has spread when they get to the bedroom.

[webbo0]

*Cowboy voice* “I Ain’t Quitting You”

Holland March x Jackson Healy

AO3 link

Length: 2,183 words

Summary:

"In my psychology class, we talked about something called an Oral Fixation; Freud made it up. Maybe you just need to have something else to like, chew on and stuff." "Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this —" "Oh my god, Dad, just get some gum or whatever!" AKA 7 things Holland March tries to help him quit drinking, plus the 1 time Jackson Healy helps him out. AKA Holland does NOT have an oral fixation, Thank you very much

Content/Warning: Idiot to lovers, Oral Fixation, Kissing, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smoking, Sobriety, Quitting Smoking, Post-Canon, chosen family, 5+1 Things, technically it's 7 + 1 things, slight angst, Mature Content, implied/referenced sexuality

Authors Note: This is actually the first fic I ever published back in September '23, but I never posted it to Tumblr, so here ya go!

Original Notes:

Welp. I finally did it. Almost a decade in fandoms and it was Ryan fucking Gosling that made me cave and finally write fanfiction. Shoutout to the Goosecord for the motivation/encouragement to write this and for the feedback, especially @sandpapersnowman for helping me format this for AO3!! Y'all are the best!!

Anyways enjoy!!

***

"March, we gotta talk."

Holland jerks up and immediately regrets it when his head pounds and everything tilts about 270° too far to the left. He groans and falls off the bed. Bed? He doesn’t remember getting there. Or undressing, apparently, because looking down, he quickly realizes he’s wearing nothing but some embarrassingly old boxers. And Healy’s standing above him. Holland scrambles back into bed and covers himself in a blanket.

"Stop pretending I haven’t seen you half-naked before. You’re acting like a Victorian duchess."

"A man must preserve his — hrrk — dignity," Holland retorts back in a bad British accent, having to pause and suppress a wave of nausea halfway through his sentence.

Healy scoffs

"Dignity, my ass! Holly found you passed out on the diving board. You could’ve gotten hurt! Again!"

Holland feels suddenly defensive. "And why do you care? What are you, my fairy drunk-mother?" Not your best comeback there, March, he thinks.

"You’re my business partner; I have a vested interest in having an income, so forgive me if I want my co-detective alive to work with me. You need to stop drinking."

Holland rolls his eyes. "I’ve got it under control, Healy. I’m a big boy, y’know?" God, he wishes he could take a nap right now.

"March, I’m serious; you’re going to do permanent damage to your liver. Plus," Healy hesitates as if he’s trying to figure out a way to finish his sentence without sounding like an asshole, "it’s not fair to Holly. You’re the only family she’s got left; you have to be there for her. She’s a teenager now and needs someone to guide her through adolescent idiocy. You’re her dad, you owe it to her."

That wakes him up. He’s always pushed down the guilt he has over his behavior, but when Healy lays it all out in front of him like that? He knows he’s deluded himself for years into thinking Holly wouldn’t notice, but she’s not a kid anymore. And the thought of her as an impressionable teenager following in his footsteps makes him nauseous for a whole different reason.

He sighs.

"Alright, alright, cut my balls off, why don’tcha? But fine, I get it."

"Thank you," Healy looks relieved.

"I can’t just quit cold chicken, though, withdrawals can be dead—"

"Turkey"

"Hm?" "The phrase is cold turkey."

"No, I’m pretty sure it's chicken."

"Why would it be — never mind. And yeah, it would be pretty dangerous to just stop altogether. What if we cut it down to one drink a day?"

"One? No way, pal, three a day minimum."

"Three?! There is something seriously wrong with you, March."

"Hey!"

An hour of negotiations later, they settle on a begrudged compromise.

That was a month ago, and Holland was regretting ever saying yes to the whole stupid plan. To substitute for the flask he always took a swig from whenever he needed to calm his nerves, he kept an extra pack of cigarettes, so he was smoking twice as much as usual. And Holly isn't a fan of his new habit. It’s a Monday morning, and Holland sits at the table, sipping his coffee, while Holly gets ready for school. Healy had stopped by to drop off some paperwork for their latest case, and now, for some inexplicable reason, is making them all pancakes. He bites back a comment about him making a great housewife and instead turns to Holly, arms out for a hug. She had a big test today and has insisted on the Mandatory Good Luck Hug before tests since kindergarten. She makes a face at him.

"Ugh, Dad, you smell gross!"

Tchk. Teenagers. "Holly, it’s rude to say that to someone’s face."

"It's true, March, you smell like an ashtray had sex with another ashtray," Healy comments from his place in front of the stove, not even turning around.

"Yeah, and then their house burned down." Holly adds, "You do know those will kill you one day, right?"

"Pfft, no way! Doctors used to give these to you! My own father had a prescription for a pack a day!"

Healy turns around. "Didn't he die of lung cancer?"

"Yeah, why?"

Healy pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks like he has a headache brewing.

Holly waltzes into the kitchen and steals a pancake from the ever-growing stack.

"In my psychology class, we talked about something called an Oral Fixation; Freud made it up. Maybe you just need to have something else to like, chew on and stuff."

"Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this —"

"Oh my God, Dad, just get some gum or whatever!"

She still leans in for a half hug while wrinkling her nose, because tradition is tradition. As she walks to the bus stop, Holland considers her words. Was he obsessed with things in his mouth? He took a sip of coffee before anyone could notice his face flushing a lovely shade of magenta.

The first thing he tries is Holly’s initial suggestion: gum. He gets a shit ton of flavors to try to find one he won’t get tired of. He settles on Bubblicious watermelon wave. The idea is largely effective, and Holland's smoking is cut down to what Holly decides is a "normal amount."

Unfortunately, Holland has the manners of a barn animal, so after only nine days of chewing with his mouth open non-stop, Healy is about to strangle him.

"March, buddy, I’m glad this is helping with your ‘mouth thing’," he starts. Holland opens his mouth to protest before Healy quickly cuts him off to finish. "But we have to figure something else out before I make the ‘arm incident’ look like a harmless prank."

Holland shuts up. No problem, he’ll find something else. He was getting tired of the gum sticking to his teeth anyway.

Holland’s next plan; a toothpick. More similar in shape to a cigarette and they last much longer. Bonus points: Holly thinks he looks “far out”. This plan lasts about 3 seconds before he gets a splinter in his gums. Toothpick is out.

Plan C is to just chew on the end of his pen as he works. Holland thinks it makes him look distinguished. Healy’s just kinda grossed out. Everything is fine until he finds a break in their case, jumps up in excitement, and promptly inhales the pen cap. Healy has to use the damn Heimlich maneuver on him, frantically grabbing him and squeezing harder than Holland thinks is necessary. But what does he know? And, wow, he definitely isn’t thinking about how Healy's strong arms feel around him.

When Healy silently hands him a teething ring meant for fussy toddlers, Holland almost punches him (attempted sobriety has him more on edge than usual). But hearing Holly’s muffled hysterics around the corner instantly dissolves his irritation. Something about Jackson and Holly working together just makes his heart flutter.

And sometimes, when he’s sure no one is looking, he’ll hold up the ring on a chain around his neck to his mouth. Softly, not biting or chewing, just letting it rest between his lips. And no matter what Jackson softly asks him one night, tears are not falling down his face. Those are the nights he really regrets cutting down on his drinking.

It’s when he starts keeping a lollipop in his mouth most of the day he notices Healy acting… Different. When Holland’s doing his work, going over papers and poring over phone books, he lets himself loosen up. Often he’ll tap his pen in random patterns, or jiggle his leg up and down (which drives Healy crazy), or more recently, he’ll hold his lollipop between his fingers like a cigarette and slowly lick circles around it. It’s a mindless behavior that helps him concentrate, but for some reason, Healy doesn’t like it. March can tell. He notices Healy glance at him and then darts his eyes down as if it weirds him out just to witness it. It hurts; Healy knows how much Holland is trying to be better, why would he judge him for how he’s coping? He tries to brush it off, wondering why it bothers him so much; he should be used to people not getting him by now.

They’re sitting next to each other on the couch in Holland’s living room, working on their latest case. It’s late at night and Holly is sleeping at a friend’s house for a birthday party. Holland is losing himself in the details of this case (who kidnaps a pet snake??) when he senses Healy’s attention on his mouth, which he currently occupies with a new blue raspberry lollipop.

After the fifth time Holland catches Healy staring at his mouth he snaps.

“I know I’m a fuck-up and everything but can you at least try to hide how much you —"

He’s cut off when something covers his lips. Oh. When Healy covers his lips. With his mouth. Oh. Holland’s brain takes about three seconds to catch up with what’s happening. Jackson’s kissing him. Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Jackson must’ve taken his frozen state as rejection because he quickly pulls back. Holland almost whines from the loss of contact.

“Fuck. Fuck! I shouldn’t have done that, I’m so sorry, Holland,” Jackson runs a hand through his hair, clearly panicking, “You’ve just been such a goddamn tease with the fuckin’, whatever it is you’re doing with those lollipops and I couldn’t hel—”

This time he’s cut off from finishing his sentence by Holland grabbing his face and kissing him so hard he’s distantly worried about breaking Jackson’s nose. Holland’s hands rest on the side of Jackson’s face and cup the back of his neck, bracing himself in a desperate attempt to hide how much he’s shaking. Jackson’s lips are firm and his 3-day-old stubble is rough against his skin; one of his hands automatically threads into Holland’s hair, and the other hovers over his side before settling on his hips. He squeezes and the feeling goes straight to Holland’s dick. He lets out a wet groan into Jackson’s mouth who responds with a deep rumble.

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Jackson growls, pulling away from Holland to let him catch his breath.

“Tell me,” is all that Holland responds, dipping his head and latching his mouth to Jackson’s neck, drawing out a strangled gasp.

“Since the day you fell asleep on my shoulder during that stakeout, and grabbed onto me like a fucked-up koala. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you,” Jackson is visibly struggling to keep his composure as Holland's fingers move to the buttons on Jackson's shirt, frantically undoing them and pushing his hands under the cheap cotton. Holland moves his mouth down his neck, biting and sucking and doing things with his tongue that must be good because Jackson is making sounds that frankly should be illegal.

“Maybe Holly’s right, you really have a fixation on —”

Jackson yelps before he can finish his thought because Holland bites down hard into the soft skin of Jackson’s shoulder.

“Please don't mention my daughter while I’m giving you hickeys, it’s weird,” Holland mumbles while sucking what is sure to be a large dark splotch into Jackson’s collarbone.

“What I’m saying,” Jackson starts, as he grabs Holland's hair and jerks his head up to look him in the eyes, pupil’s blown. Holland would’ve whined from the loss of contact if he wasn’t moaning from Jackson’s hand tugging against his scalp.

“What I’m saying, is that maybe you just need to be doing something useful for once with that pretty little mouth besides drinking and talking non-stop.”

“And smoking, can’t forget all the smo—” Jackson shuts him up by shoving the thumb of the hand not tangled in his hair into Holland’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue. He moans around his hand in a way he knows must sound obscene. Jackson curses as Holland simultaneously starts sucking his fingers like it’s his job and fumbling with the buckle on Jackson’s jeans.

“God, you are something special, Holland,” he murmurs softly, and Jackson says his name with such reverence that if Holland doesn’t get the other man’s pants off immediately, he might explode.

He drops to his knees between Jackson’s thick thighs, because if everyone and their mother were so insistent he has this ‘mouth fixation’ or whatever, he might as well blow their expectations out of the water.

Heh, blow. Good one March.

He stares at the crotch of Jackson’s jeans, already starting to drool.

___

After that night, Holland sticks with the lollipops (now sugar-free, because his dentist nearly had a conniption when he last went in for a cleaning). No longer worried about Healy’s judgment, he loosens up and allows himself to fidget weirdly in peace. And if he and Jackson are alone on the nights when needs a little help with his mouth thing (because fine, yes, he might have a little fixation. Sue him), and he’s having a particularly hard time not turning to his vices? Well, that’s between him, his gag reflex, and Freud.

***

Hope y'all enjoyed!!! You get bonus points if you find all the other Ryan Gosling movie references Again, this is the first full fic I've written so any and all feedback is welcomed!

[running-tweezers]

~ Pictures of You - Part 4 ~

It’s been weeks, and Zephyr is over the moon for this Mercutio guy. Maybe it’s just petty jealousy, but Nate can’t quite shake the feeling that something here feels off.

1807 Words

Rated T

CW: Alcohol, Manipulative Behavior

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

~ June 2, 1989 ~

Fucking Mercutio.

Every time Zephyr brought up that name, Nate felt a lead weight drop in the pit of his stomach. But he couldn’t put a finger on why. Was it really just jealousy? Just some part of him that wished Zephyr was spending their Saturday nights with him instead? Or was it something else? Something worse? He hoped he was wrong, but something about the whole situation just seemed icky.

Zephyr seemed to be having the time of their life, though. The last three weeks, they’d been raving about this guy with stars in their eyes. Nate went from barely knowing his name, to learning more than he ever wanted to know.

Mercutio owns the biggest and most exclusive goth club in the city. Mercutio is practically an A-list celebrity when it comes to the local scene. Mercutio has a lot of influence and a lot of friends who follow him everywhere. Mercutio hung out backstage with Peter Murphy once. Mercutio drinks imported Shiraz and smokes Djarum Black clove cigarettes and smells like Drakkar Noir.

Ok, maybe it was a little jealousy.

“But anyway, when the club shut down for the night, we hung around until the sun started coming back up. Just us and a couple of his other friends who work there. I drank way too many Midori sours. I barely remember those last couple hours or so.” Zephyr laughed as they continued their story. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that drunk before. But I mean, he kept getting more rounds, and what am I gonna do, say no?”

Alarms started going off in Nate’s head. Back when he first started watching, they told a story about the first time they got drunk. They’d bought a bottle of cheap vodka on their 21st birthday and their cousin offered them $5 for every shot they took.

“I had just blown out the sole of my good boots the week before, and I needed $25 to get some new ones. I wasn’t gonna turn that down,” they’d said. “So 5 shots later I puked in her kitchen, tripped over the corner of a rug, hit the counter, and gave myself a black eye. She had to drive me home and we both got an earful from my grandma the next day. I swore I’d never drink like that again.'' Nate remembered laughing when they kicked their feet up on the desk in front of them, showing off a pair of well worn pointy toe buckle boots. “But these have lasted me a couple years now, so I say it was worth it.”

Nate smiled at the recollection, but that sour feeling returned quickly. They said they’d never drink that much again. That they didn’t drink much when they went out.

“I don’t even know how I got home, honestly. Had a nasty hangover when I finally woke up, but it was worth it. Best night ever.” Zephyr was practically swooning. “I don’t remember much, but I do remember him saying he wished he could do this with me every night.”

Something here was very wrong.

Nate’s arm reached for the phone like a reflex. He didn’t know what to say, he just knew he needed to talk to them. He didn’t even need to look at the number on screen anymore, his fingers pressed each button guided by muscle memory. He was about to press the final two numbers when the familiar phrase echoed through the speakers.

“Oh, we have a caller!”

Dammit. He set the phone back down on the end table. Someone was faster.

“You’re on the air.”

“Guess who?” A low, smoky voice snaked through the speakers, and Zephyr sat up at attention.

Nate’s face twisted in disgust as soon as the words hit his ears. Just those two words were enough to send Zephyr into a state somewhere between elation and panic. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind who this was.

“Oh my god, Mercutio? You’re watching?” Zephyr asked in flustered disbelief.

“Of course I am. I wanted to check out your little show. Since you talked so much about it Saturday night.” His voice was velvety smooth, but it was a thin cover for a thick layer of condescension. “I like it. It’s very… stripped back. A little DIY. Underground. It works for you.”

“Th- thanks. I just kinda threw all this together. I know it isn’t much.” Zephyr was clearly struggling to strike a balance between their nonchalant apathetic mask and the fact that they looked like a teenager kicking their feet over their crush. Their eyes darted around their barebones set, looking suddenly very aware of how low budget things appeared. “I’ve only been doing this for about a year now, I’m hoping to invest more into it as soon as I can.”

“I’m sure you'll get there,” Mercutio said. “We all start somewhere, don’t we?”

“Right.” Zephyr’s cheeks flushed a little redder. “I just wish I would’ve known you were gonna watch. I would’ve planned something more interesting.”

Mercutio’s laugh felt just as fake as the rest of him. “It’s alright, Zephyr. I’m enjoying hearing about our night all over again.”

The dull unease he felt, for a brief moment, flared into something stronger. He hated the way their name sounded coming out of his mouth.

“Good to see you’re doing alright now, by the way,” Mercutio continued, dripping with smug amusement. “Last time I saw you, you could hardly walk on your own.”

“Oh god.” Zephyr buried their face in their hand, embarrassed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry I was such a mess.”

“Aw… it’s ok, Zephyr.” His words were cloying, like the pitying voice you’d use with a pet. “You make a very cute drunk.”

That flame of hatred ignited once again.

Stop saying their name like that.

“And I can answer your question, by the way. How you got home? I called you a cab. Paid the driver upfront. Plus some extra to make sure you were taken care of.” Something in the way he spoke made it clear he was expecting effusive praise for revealing this. “I assume you were taken care of?”

“Yes! Or, I think so at least. I don’t remember anything bad, so I guess it was fine?”

“Good,” he said matter-of-factly. “If you remembered any differently, I’d have to hunt that taxi driver down. Show him what happens when you mistreat my Zephyr.”

Zephyr visibly melted on screen and Nate had never felt so close to punching one of his couch cushions.

They are not “your Zephyr,” stop fucking saying that.

The swift realization washed over him. They weren’t his Zephyr either. He leaned back into the couch, defeated as they continued their flirty conversation. He had no right to feel the way he did. This was childish. Mercutio was definitely obnoxious, but he was making way too many assumptions about his character from secondhand stories and one phone call. This was obviously the kind of guy Zephyr wanted. Not him. They were more Mercutio’s than they’d ever be his.

“So, um, since you’re here,” Zephyr shifted the subject, fidgeting with the rings on their fingers. “I wanted to ask you something. I meant to ask the other night but… you know.” They trailed off, half laughing about the obvious reason they would’ve forgotten.

“Hmm?”

“I just— I wanted to know if you might want to come on the show sometime in person? Do an interview. We can talk about you, and the club, and stuff like that?” They asked cautiously, already on the defensive. “I mean, I know it’s just some stupid little show, but it could be fun maybe?”

“I don’t see why not.” Mercutio answered. “I’d love to help you out. Get some eyes on your work.”

Zephyr grinned. A real one. Nate debated turning off the TV.

“That would be awesome! Are you doing anything next week? If you are I get it, that’s soon, and I’m sure you’re really busy, but if you’re free I’d lo—“

“Anything for you, my dear.” Mercutio interrupted. “We can talk more about it on Saturday.”

Nate’s finger rested on the remote’s power button, but something kept him from pushing it.

“I wish,” Zephyr lamented, resting their chin on one hand. “I can’t be there Saturday.”

“What?”

Mercutio’s voice turned on a dime. The sweetness and affection were gone in an instant, replaced with sharp indignation and authority.

Nate lowered the remote.

Zephyr also noticed the shift, tensing a bit. “Yeah, I have a family thing.”

“You told me you’d be there.”

“Did I?”

“You did. You told me you were coming to see the band Saturday.” Mercutio grew more agitated with every word.

“I’m sorry, I— I must’ve forgot.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” Mercutio shot back, voice biting and thick with sarcasm. “I just thought you’d want to get backstage with the band. I hear they’re about to sign a record deal. You could be the first to get them on your show. But I guess you don’t care about that.”

“No, no I do! I wish I could be there, but I can’t miss this it’s been planned for months—“

“I’m going out of my way to give you all these opportunities, you know?” He was more frustrated now, just on the brink of yelling. “And you seem to be taking them for granted.”

The bigger Mercutio got, the more Zephyr seemed to shrink. “I’m sorry, it’s my grandma’s birthday, I have to be there…”

Nate watched the exchange, sick to his stomach. There was something in Zephyr’s eyes that Nate had never seen before. An anxiety and fear that made his skin crawl. And to think he’d just tried to convince himself that maybe this guy wasn’t so awful. He should've trusted his gut. He’d never felt so terrible about being right.

The airwaves went silent for an agonizing few seconds, Zephyr stiff with the fear that they’d upset him further. When Mercutio finally spoke, he softened a bit. “No, it’s ok. I understand. It’s just—” He let out a heavy sigh, now sounding sadder. Hurt, almost. “I told you last week I wished I could spend time with you every night. I’m just so busy all the time, I don’t get a lot of nights like that. I don’t know… I’m sorry I snapped at you, Zephyr. I just really wanted to see you again.”

They let out a breath. “No, I’m sorry.” Zephyr apologized. “I’ll be there. I said I would. I’ll find a way. I can probably sneak out early or something.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.” Zephyr smiled weakly.

Nate switched off the TV and headed back to his bedroom for the night, the phone still left abandoned on the end table. He couldn’t watch any more of this.

( @pinksparkl @definetelynuwonhere @phantasmechanical )

[not-a-space-alien]

K&J x MMSS 3: Kane & Valen Part 6

Chapter 6 of the third crossover with @whumpsday!

REMINDER THAT THIS WILL HAVE A HAPPY ENDING!  I promise it will be ridiculously fluffy and happy! (eventually  - this one is pretty rough but we are getting pretty close to the happy part. darkest before the dawn and all that.) (although maybe that's not the best turn of phrase here...)

K&J masterlist

MMSS masterlist

K&J x MMSS crossover masterlist

SERIES IS 18+ ONLY.

Warnings:  Death wish/suicidal ideation, nonconsensual bondage/restraint, gag/muzzle, torture, vivisection, burns, discussions of rape and accusations of lying about rape, misgendering of a trans character, “it” as a dehumanizing pronoun

To be added to the taglist, contact @whumpsday

It's a few hours later when Kane smells humans nearby. He's not quite sure how many, but he can tell it's more than one.

Terror floods him: it's daytime. There's nowhere to run if they're found.

"Valen." Kane whispers urgently, shaking him awake. "Humans. Be alert."

Valen is instantly on the verge of panic. "Kane. Kane, we have to run. If they find us--Kane, if there's more than one I'm not sure if I can use persuasion on all of them at once. I'm out of practice."

"Run where? It's the middle of the day and I'm nearly naked. I'll be burned to the point of immobility instantly." Kane's breaths come short with panic. "Valen, please, please, just, just tell them t-to go away."

"You're right," Valen says, on the verge of tears. "You're right. Okay." He grips Kane's hand fiercely. "I'll tell them to go away. You got us this far. I'll try." 

He peers out of their little blind to see if he can spot where any of them are.

The second Valen peeks his head out, a gun goes off and a silver bullet lodges itself directly between the eyes.

Kane screams, clutching Valen’s limp body tight. "NO NO NO! PLEASE, WE JUST WANT TO GO HOME!" he cries. The hunters- three of them- draw closer, and Kane can see with utter horror that he recognizes them. "NO NO NO! PLEASE SIRS, PLEASE NOT AGAIN! PLEASE DON'T TAKE ME BACK!"

"If you thought it was bad before, you just wait. You killed one of our own, you disgusting fucking parasite."

Kane sobs. "No no no no no, please, you d-don't understand-”

Wait. He’s not helpless this time, he has the stake. He grips it tight, his salvation. He won’t go back, and neither will Valen.

He doesn’t have long. He can hear the hunters getting closer, footstep by footstep.

Kane positions the stake over Valen’s heart. He just has to kill Valen, then himself. Then neither of them will have to feel pain ever again.

The point of the stake touches against Valen’s chest. All he has to do is plunge it in.

In a moment of weakness, he hesitates.

A second shot rings out, and everything goes black.

-

Kane wakes up back in his cell with a throbbing headache. His cell. His cell. He looks wildly around, quickly spotting Valen slumped on the floor. Her back looks somewhat better: he realizes they've likely been out for days. But the new additions look so much worse.

Valen's new muzzle is silver. He can see the edges of the skin it touches burning underneath. A silver lock in back keeps it securely in place. It's my muzzle, Kane realizes. He hasn't seen someone else wear it before, but that's definitely his own muzzle. As if that wasn't enough, her throat is a bloody mess. They've ripped out her vocal cords.

Kane shakes with terror. He's back, and now Valen's here too.

He decides to let Valen sleep, sitting next to her and waiting. He knows she's going to be in for a world of pain when she awakes.

But a couple of hours later, surely enough, Valen wakes too. He hurts so badly when he wakes up. Everything hurts, but especially his general head area. A throbbing headache --he's been shot, that must have been how it ended--a ragged hole in his head, the bullet wound. If it's just the bullet wound, why does his throat hurt so badly?

The worst is the burning on his face. It takes a moment to figure out what it is, but after his hands fly to his face to confirm his horrified suspicions, he feels the metal burn his fingers and knows the muzzle has come back on. No, not the muzzle. A new one, this one is bare silver and it burns and burns and-

It's never going to come off, because he's dangerous, it's never going to come off and it's going to just burn forever.

He looks up, waves of fresh terror and panic lancing through him, and they don't stop--he sees Kane, looking horrified, they are together on the floor of some jail cell. 

These were Kane’s hunters, his original ones, the ones with their endless cruelty, weren’t they?

No, no, this is worse than being recaptured by Nick's hunters, this is so much worse.

Kane can see the pain and fear in poor Valen's eyes, and it suddenly hits him that Valen was almost out. The death he's longed for so badly, for years, Valen almost had. But he hesitated, and now Valen is here too.

Valen scrambles over to Kane seeking comfort, and tries to put his head against Kane to nuzzle like he'd done in the past, but the metal on his face burns Kane and he pulls away, horrified.

The muzzle burns him quickly, and if there's one good thing about their current situation, at least they're able to be together. He winces with a yelp at the burn, then wraps his arms around Valen to hold her close, careful not to touch the muzzle.

"I'm so sorry," he says, his voice thick with tears. "I sh-shouldn’t have hesitated. I should have staked us both. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You were almost free, you needed me and I let you down, I'm so sorry."

Valen shakes his head. He doesn't want to die. He wants the pain to stop, but he doesn't want to die yet, not before getting to experience all the good he knows life can offer. He's horrified by the suggestion that Kane thinks he's done Valen a disservice by not killing him.

It's only been six months for him. He hasn't lost hope yet.

He starts to lose it now, though. Because Kane and Valen had made such a warm connection, and now have such a fondness for each other, and Kane is saying I should have killed you. Kane would rather see Valen dead than here. Kane would rather be dead than here.

Kane had thought Nick's torment to be relatively light compared to what he was used to. Valen could tell. All signs point to the possibility that there are horrors in store here that Valen can't even imagine. And Kane had said he'd always been afraid it would go on forever, because the hunters turn over here.

Valen tries to scream, overwhelmed by the horror of the situation, but he has no vocal cords, nothing with which to even make a muffled sound. He clings to Kane even harder, tears streaming silently down his face.

Kane is, selfishly, relieved when Valen shakes her head, presumably indicating she didn't want to die. His hesitation was driven by pure cowardice, but it had been the right choice. Maybe. Assuming Valen doesn't start wanting to die after a few years here.

The muzzle had always come off, for him. It would sometimes stay on for days, tearing the skin away from his face when it was finally removed, but it always came off. The hunters like hearing him beg and scream.

It wasn't going to come off, for Valen.

"I'm sorry they used my muzzle." Kane says. He tentatively runs fingers through Valen's hair, trying to impart comfort. "I'm sorry you're here too. Um, there are some things that are better here, even if... even if there's other things that are worse. At least we can be together. It might be okay, since, that's one good thing here now. And, and there's no- none of Nick's night visits. There's no rape."

It occurs to him that he does not know that for sure. He was never raped. But he's a man. "...I was never raped." he amends quietly.

It seems like a very bad sign that the best Kane can come up with to comfort Valen is saying that maybe Valen won't be raped here. Valen knows how to handle being raped. It's not pleasant by any means, but Valen built up those defense mechanisms long ago. He's used to his body not belonging to him. His body always seemed to belong to someone else, from his theoretical future husband growing up, to Priscus, then for a brief shining moment to nobody but himself before it belonged to Nick. And now, apparently, to these hunters. 

Kane seems to feel like being raped is a special kind of torture, but to Valen, it doesn't even hurt sometimes. It's dehumanizing, but it's just another way his body doesn't belong to him, among the nightmarish repertoire that has been added recently.

He'd take it over wearing a bare silver muzzle any time, he decides instantly.

Valen slowly lowers himself onto Kane's lap, desperate for whatever scraps of comfort are available. He carefully maneuvers himself so the silver muzzle is only touching the parts of Kane that are clothed--this has the effect of him essentially lying in Kane's crotch, facing upwards to look at his face, but Valen has no shame. He slowly raises a hand and places it to the side of Kane's head, wiping tears away with the pad of his thumb. 

There was a time when Valen laying there would have mortified Kane, especially now that he's aware Valen is not devoted to a husband, but the two of them know each other intimately by now. He only blushes a little bit. "They're not all the same. Just like at the other place." Kane continues, holding Valen in his lap. "Some are crueler than others. Um, the worst things here are... being left out in the sun all day, and when they leave silver inside you, and... being cut open and having your insides messed with."

"The least-bad are humiliation- some just want me to repeat things like that I'm lower than dirt, I'm a disgusting leech... I guess you couldn't repeat stuff. Or they'll make me roll over and bark like a dog or something. Or sometimes, there's just regular beatings. They're not too bad. So it varies. It's not all... the worst things. And some hunters will go easier on you if you beg. You can't use words, obviously, but I'll beg for you, and you can still use your eyes. It's... it could be worse,” he concludes half-heartedly.

He's trying so hard, Valen sees, he's trying so hard to make this as bearable as possible. Valen loves him for that. It's such an impossible task, but he's trying anyway.

He wants to ask if they will go easier or harder on him because they perceive him as a woman. He thinks about unbuttoning his shirt. He's been told his breasts are nice, so maybe the hunters will just fondle him.

Maybe Priscus will come save him. Maybe that would be all right. Priscus seemed convinced that Valen would come to his senses and return to his loving embracing any day, and would occasionally try to check on him, so maybe he'll eventually notice Valen is missing. Maybe he already has. But who knows how long it would be before Priscus thinks to search human territory. But there's always the possibility. Valen could probably convince him to take Kane home as well, and then once they're safe again, Kane and Valen could leave Priscus together. Priscus wouldn't be thrilled about Valen's intimacy with a new man, but he wouldn't hold it against them. Well...he might hold it against Kane. But probably not enough to abandon him to be tortured.

Valen closes his eyes as Kane plays with his hair, imagining they're in a better scenario, that they're lying playfully together on Valen's couch back home, safe and worry-free. 

They're allowed a few hours of peace before a hunter comes down to check on them. Kane knows this one, though he doesn't know his name. He's one of the very bad ones. Kane pushes Valen off his lap and into the corner, sitting in front protectively.

Valen's stomach drops in dread as Kane moves in front of him. That means there's something to be protected from, and he knows it likely won't work. They are almost completely helpless.

"Looks like the leeches have woken up." the hunter sneers. "Aw, does that hurt?" he mocks Valen. "It's not coming off, so get used to it. The vocal cords are coming out every time they regrow, too, just to be safe. Can't be too careful after that stunt the two of you pulled."

Valen lets out a choked sob when the hunter confirms his fears--that the muzzle is not coming off, and that he has this new thing about his vocal cords. Or at least, he tries to sob--the motions for sobbing happen, but the noise he makes without his voice box to vibrate is more like a gurgle.

"Sh-she's not at fault, sir. It was me." Kane says meekly. For one, it's true. And for another... he wants to protect Valen as much as he can from his hunters. His selfishness is the reason Valen's here in the first place, and she's so new. He has to protect her.

"Oh, I know it was you. You were the one who was fed. It was all in the notes." He taps on the cell bars. "Not that yours was quite as convincing."

It dawns on Kane that the hunter thinks he was lying to try and make his actions look justifiable. "I was t-telling the truth, sir." he says quietly, tears in his eyes.

"Bullshit. Who would wanna fuck a damn vampire?" He rolls his eyes.

Holy shit, this guy thinks no human would want to fuck a vampire. Why? Because they're unattractive? It was never about attraction. It was about power and humiliation. Valen thought it had been obvious, but maybe not.

The hunter continues, "We're gonna leave you for a little bit to get all nice and starved again, and then believe me, you'll be punished for what you've done. If you thought a week in the sun was bad, just wait." He turns his gaze to Valen. "Get over here and let me take a look at you."

"She d-didn't do anyth-"

"Learn from your friend and shut the fuck up, leech." the hunter snaps.

Valen presses himself further into the corner. He is suddenly grateful for Kane being in front of him, and he balls up behind him, the exact opposite of let me take a look at you.

Oh no, Valen is being disobedient. "It's going to be worse if you're disobedient." Kane whispers. "Go, it's, it's, there's nothing we can do. Just do what he says. I'm sorry."

"Now." the hunter says, getting impatient.

Valen is completely unused to the idea that his behavior will impact how severe the torture is. Nick hardly ever cared what he did in response to the torture, either in the day or at night. His animalistic brain is only capable of telling him how to deal with pain and threats that are right in front of him, and right now it's blaring alarm bells that he needs to stay away from this man, not get closer to him. He's locked up, frozen, unable to activate any of his higher brain functions. They'd never saved him, only made things worse. He can't make decisions. Decisions never saved him. He stays where he is.

"Ooh, looks like we've got another bad leech. Remember when you used to be disobedient?" the hunter asks Kane with a cruel grin.

"Yes, sir. She, she's not bad, she's just scared, sir. P-please, mercy, she's just scared." Kane knows it's useless. This one doesn't bend to begging.

"It should be fucking scared. Bring it here."

"Yes, sir." Kane looks at Valen apologetically and helps her to her feet. "I'm sorry." he repeats quietly. He promised he'd protect Valen, and he's handing her right over to this hunter. Valen doesn't realize that this is protection. It's going to be so much worse if she keeps being disobedient. He'll explain later, when they're alone.

Valen is stiff as a board as Kane moves him closer to the hunter. He has to practically be dragged. He doesn't struggle, he just stays frozen. He makes tearful eye contact with the hunter. He's never wished more than he does now that he had practiced using persuasion more, learned how to do it through eye contact.

What would I ever need it for? he'd so foolishly thought. I don't want to hurt humans. I'll just talk to them. Besides, they're too weak to really be a threat, right?

The hunter backs away as Kane approaches. As if I'm going to reach through the bars and hurt him? What would that accomplish? He gives Valen's hand a gentle squeeze, then backs away.

The hunter approaches, grabbing Valen by the muzzle and pulling it forward so it grills into Valen's skin, forcing him to move right up inches away from the silver bars of the cell. "Yeah, we'll get that defiance out of you soon enough. At least you're a little more well-trained than this one when we first got it, you've got that healthy fear. You should've seen it, mad as shit, ranting about how it was gonna slaughter us all as soon as it got out of here. Guess it finally got one. It's not gonna get another, and neither are you. So you'd best learn to behave."

The hunter reaches in with his other arm and grabs Valen by the back of the neck. He wrenches Valen's head up to expose it, then pushes his injured throat against the bars.

Valen tries to scream, but he can't. He can't even open his mouth very far. The hunter's words roll over him, he's barely listening, head swimming with terror.

Defiance? Behave?

That's not how it works. That's not how it's supposed to work. Valen doesn't have enough freedom to do anything meaningful, to either behave or misbehave. What fucking difference does it make if he sits on the floor for a few extra seconds instead of snapping to attention and running over? Nick is going to pull him up off the floor when he wants to use him. There's no punishments, there's no rewards, there's just the protocol, or being a chewtoy. It was flat out incorrect and stupid to assign defiance as the motivation for any of his behavior. 

Nick is-

Nick isn't here. This isn't Nick. This is some other man, and he's just shoved the gaping wound in Valen's neck into the silver bars. Pain explodes down his body. He hadn't thought it was possible for the neck wound to hurt any more than it already did, but it hurts more. He writhes, trying to scream, and brings his hands up to the man's wrist around his neck, grabbing it to try and pry it off, sinking his nails in-

"Valen, don't!" Kane cries, full of dread.

The hunter throws Valen to the ground hard. "Oh, we can't have that." He examines his wrist, not too injured, but bleeding. Luckily, both vampires have had their fill relatively recently. "Looks like you're gonna get a little sunshine too, then."

"NO!" Kane knows this is different: the hunter isn't talking about Nick's 30-minute sessions. He's talking about a full day at least, possibly more, with their faces exposed to the sun. "Please, sir, please! She didn't mean to!"

"It's gonna learn the same way you did. I'm not giving it a fucking grace period. It better learn quick, or it's gonna be crispy a lot." He leaves for now, planning the punishment for Valen's transgression.

Kane rushes to Valen immediately. "You can't, you c-can't do that, you can't." he says, tears streaming down his face. "I should have warned you, I'm sorry."

Valen knows now he's made a horrible mistake. He is too used to the way things worked before. He hadn't realized he could make things worse for himself, ever. He's used to clawing against an unyielding wall. He's not used to having to scrutinize his behavior. To make decisions. He's not sure if he can do it. Not even if he's punished. He's not sure if he can force himself to be that present. To override his animal reflexes to danger. They were all he'd had in the past few months, before Kane came.

Valen crawls forward, sobbing silently, clutching whatever part of Kane is closest.

Kane scoops Valen up in his arms, cradling her against his chest, mindful of the muzzle. He carries her back to the corner, sitting cross-legged with Valen in his lap.

"It's different here." he says softly. "You have to do what they say. Always. Disobedience is harshly punished. They didn't let me breathe for days when I hesitated to come close for the silver collar, that was the last disobedient thing I did before Nick picked me up, and that had to be- months before, maybe even a year. You have to obey. No matter how horrible obeying seems, it always gets worse when you don't. It's not like with Nick." He takes a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry. I wish I could do more, I wish I could really protect you. I'm so sorry."

Kane knows how to stay safe, Kane knows how to make it as bearable as it could possibly be. Valen knows he needs to listen. But it's going to be so hard to do so. His body is trained to strain against restraints. To try and save himself, as impossible as it may be. He probably wouldn't even bother trying, except that it's Kane telling him to try, his Kane.

He nods, clutching Kane's hand. I'll try. Thank you.

"It's... it's not okay, but we'll get through it. We have each other, now. So that's, that's always going to be one good thing. When I got here, I was... you know. You heard him. And I learned. You'll learn too, and then it'll be a little easier."

You'll learn too. That is terrifying to Valen, not comforting. Learn what? Valen had always thought Kane was referring to learning that hurting others was wrong, learning that compassion was a value and not a weakness.

Valen already knew that.

What is he going to learn?

-

The vampires are mostly left alone for the next few days, as they're waiting for Kane to get a bit weaker. Hunters come by often to take a look at the new vampire, and some to taunt Kane about his failed escape, and each time, Kane shoves Valen behind him and sits in front. After a few days, four hunters come down with both boards.

Kane can hear the thunk, thunk, thunk of the boards being dragged down the stairs. "Valen," he says urgently, holding tighter as his heart pounds with dread. "They're going to put us in the sun, face-up. Keep your eyes closed. And, and when they drop us back in, if you land on your front, try to flip yourself over. It hurts so much worse to peel yourself off the floor if you let your skin dry there than if you do it right away."

Valen drinks in Kane's instructions, knowing his hard-earned experience will lessen the misery just a little. It's so hard. He wants to drift away, to imagine himself somewhere else. But he has to be here. He has to pay attention, and make decisions, and not act like an animal.

The sun was his least favorite thing. But Kane was right. They would both get through it. They have no choice.

Valen obeys the hunters this time when they give him instructions, although it's very hard to do so, and he's not very good at it. He scrambles with clumsy motions.

Both vampires are ordered to get on the boards. One small mercy is that they didn't bother with the effort to replace the now-steel cuffs back with silver. At least Nick did that one thing.

But instead of being dragged outside, Valen is propped up against the wall of the cell where he can watch, while Kane is laid out on the floor.

"I want you to remember this, leech." A hunter grabs him by the chin. "This is the punishment for killing a human."

"Yes, sir." Kane shivers in his bonds.

"You're gonna be a good example for your little friend, aren't you?"

"Yes, s-sir."

The hunter pulls out a knife and cuts Kane open in a Y shape. Starting at his shoulders, meeting in the middle, and going all the way down to the bottom of his abdomen. He starts to cry, letting out a strangled scream. The steel knife is swapped out for a silver one, and the hunter starts indiscriminately hacking away at Kane's insides, a sickening sizzle almost inaudible behind Kane's agonized wails.

They tell Valen they’ll make him watch if he tries to look away, but he doesn’t.  Valen is having flashbacks, all the way back to before he was married. The class. Vertebrate morphology. The dissections. Frogs, sharks, cats, rabbits, fetal pigs. Being knuckle-deep in preserved guts. His mind drifts, watching the situation from a dispassionate, disconnected view.

You're doing it wrong. That's not how you do a dissection. That knife is far too large for delicate work. You're tearing the abdominal membranes. You'll lose points for that. The Y shape isn't even the best option for the initial cut.

He fades back in to Kane's screams. His Kane. For some reason, it's so much worse now that they've had a few conversations, shared a few hours free together. Maybe it was because Valen had had the opportunity to imagine what the future could be.

He wants to beg them to stop. There's no need for this. We can talk like civilized creatures. All he can do is swallow, and cry. He cries a lot.

The hunter is not dissecting Kane, he doesn’t care what’s optimal. His only goal is to be as painful and damaging as possible. When he's satisfied with the amount of damage he's done, he waves one of the other hunters over. Valen's shirt is ripped off and tossed on the floor of the cell. Kane and Valen are both carried upstairs, where they're given the first indication of time they've had since coming here: it's nearly dawn, the edges of the horizon just starting to blue.

Kane's breaths are ragged and strained as his body struggles to function, eyes wild with terror. "N-no." he begs weakly, dreading going out in the sun with all his viscera exposed. "Please. I'm s-sorry."

Valen is left on the porch, propped up against the building. "You'll sit the first hour out. You can take a look at what happens to disobedient parasites."

Kane is placed out in the open, and he shuts his eyes and mouth tight, muffled sobs barely held back. As the sun rises, they turn into muffled screams. The sight of his exposed guts burning in the sun is almost as vile as the smell of it.

Valen isn't here. He's physically watching, which is what the hunters seem to care about, but mentally he's elsewhere. The sight of his Kane in such terrible pain, in such an unthinkably cruel situation, is too much to watch. After his initial bout of crying and fruitless efforts to beg, his face goes lax, his eyes blank. He looks at Kane's guts, burning in the sun. Falciform ligament. Liver. Gallbladder. Lesser omentum. Spleen. Stomach. Duodenum. Ligamentum teres. Transverse colon. Ascending colon. Sigmoid mesocolon. Mesentary. Greater omentum.

"Alright, your turn." The hunter still left there grabs Valen's board. Kane has quieted to sobs and whimpers by the one-hour mark, but begins making more of a fuss at overhearing this, making urgent little sounds. Remember what I told you, Valen. I'm sorry. Please please please don't do this to my friend.

Valen is dragged next to Kane and left there.

Valen has not been subjected to the sun nearly as much as Kane, but he knows he will never get used to it. It's enough to snap him back to the present, to blast him back down into his body. The pain is far too overwhelming to ignore, to escape even mentally. It's everywhere, it's everything. Valen closes his eyes, closes his mouth, closes his fists. It makes no difference whatsoever.

To his dawning horror, Valen realizes quickly that these hunters intend to leave them out in the sun for far, far longer than Nick ever did. There is no time limit they have to abide by. They could leave them out here forever if they wanted to, both of them strapped there, unable to save themselves, unable to escape even in death. And he understands instantly now why Kane wanted to die. Why he apologized for not killing Valen.

Kane had been here for years. Subjected to this for years, with no end in sight. And now that's Valen’s fate as well.

Valen is not going to survive this. He knows that in his heart. His body will survive, but everything that makes him Valen will die, burned up under the cruel, relentless sun. It already feels like it's burning up. Whatever other side of this exists, the creature that comes out the other side will not be him.

It had already happened to Kane. Kane had been transformed into an entirely different person. But Valen is not going to turn into a kind, gentle version of himself. He has no idea what he would become. What could possibly be left, what charred remains the hunters will be pulling in from the sun when, or if, they decide it's been enough burning, he had no idea.

He has no ideas at all. There is no room in his brain or body for anything except this all-consuming burning.

A day passes, the sun sets, and the only sound that can be heard is Kane's soft crying. Valen cannot see, speak, or move. He is dragged back inside and dumped on the floor of the cell, facedown, Kane still out there.

Valen remembers Kane's words, and makes the Herculean effort to flip himself over so he's face-up. He has no desire at all to make this any worse for himself.

It's hard to be certain, but it seems like he is alone. That makes it so much worse. He desperately wants to grope blindly forward and find Kane's hand.

He's left alone like that for days. It's hard to say how many. The blood he consumed from Nick a few days ago helps him heal a little faster than he might normally in a starved state, and while the burns won't fully heal for at least a week, he can see and move again after the first day left in the cell.

When he's healed enough to be cognizant enough to look around the room and confirm that he is, in fact, alone, he curls up in a ball and cries. He wants Kane to be here with him so badly. Kane must still be outside. His Kane, left outside like that, all this time. The thought is unbearable. He would do anything to be able to drag Kane back inside, away from the sunlight. Someone comes to whip him during this time period, to make sure his back is in pain as well, but he barely even notices it. He is inconsolable, trying with all his might to beg them to bring Kane back inside to him, but even if he could move his mouth, no sound would come out.

Valen had thought he'd been in Hell before, but even then he'd still been naïve, unaware of the true depths of cruelty life could conjure up. There had been a basement under Hell, a place you went to when you died in Hell and were wicked and deserved to be punished.

He puts the shirt back on, eventually, though he knows it probably won't last. Kane had arrived with barely any clothes, so he imagines Valen won't be afforded this luxury permanently either.

When Kane is finally returned, dumped on the floor and making no effort to move, Valen's initial thought isn't relief, but what is that thing they're throwing onto the floor? The shock when he realizes what–who–it is makes his stomach drop. He crawls over, hands shakily touching Kane, then retracting when Kane makes pained sounds at the touch.

But it's his Kane. He's back. Remembering what Kane had said about flipping over, when the hunters leave them alone, Valen gently gets his hands under Kane, trying to avoid the burned flesh as much as possible, and flips him with what little strength he has. He wishes he could care for Kane the way Kane had cared for him when Valen had been burned, back when they'd tried to escape. Back when a life besides this had seemed possible.

Kane screams when Valen flips him, though it's muffled by his sealed lips. He breaks off into whimpering after, but now he knows Valen is here. The simple fact of not being alone makes it just a little bit better. If he could move, he would reach out for his friend desperately.

Someone comes to freshly cut out Valen's healing vocal cords the next day.

Kane takes about the same amount of time as Valen to heal, having been more consistently well-fed than at the time of the escape, but damaged worse. As soon as he can speak again, he tells Valen in a raspy voice, "Th-thank you. I love you."

I love you too. Valen wants to say it, but he can't. He's not sure if he'll ever be able to. But hearing it from Kane is enough. He tenderly brushes his hand against Kane's face, being careful not to exacerbate his burns, tears falling down his cheeks. He smiles as much as he can.

Maybe he'll make it through this after all. Even here, there is love. He feels like as long as he has that, he'll survive. As long as he has love, he can hold on.

***

K&J x MMSS crossover taglist:

@barebarb

@cc1010foxy

@emcscared-whumps

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@pigeonwhumps

@secretwhumplair

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@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

[nickcarr-scoutstories]

It’s 9:30pm. I’m watching TV. My phone rings. A number I don’t recognize. I’m about to let it go to voicemail, but at this hour, I’m curious. I answer. “Hello?” I say.

“Well, congratulations! You cased the joint!” says the elderly voice on the other end. Angry and sarcastic, it sounds a lot like Estelle Getty catching a cat burglar in her kitchen.

I pause. A long pause. “I’m sorry. What?” I say.

“Oh, I know what you were up to,” she says. “Well, you did it. You’ve got pictures of everything. Congraaaatulations. You cased the joint.”

I sit up, trying to figure out why I’m suddenly involved in a conversation from a 1930s pulp noir.

I think I’ve heard this phrase before, but I want to be sure. I grab my laptop and look it up. “Case the joint.” As per Wikipedia, “to thoroughly observe or examine a place, in order to familiarize oneself with its workings in preparation for criminal activity, often robbery.”

Then I realize the voice sounds familiar. In fact, it sounds a lot like the elderly woman whose house I scouted earlier in the day.

“Maude?” I ask with surprise.

“You know who it is,” she says bitterly.

And then I put the pieces together and I know exactly what’s going on.

Most of the time, when I “cold scout” houses (i.e. go door-to-door hoping to find a house open to the idea of filming), I just leave a flyer with all the pertinent information about both the show and myself, and let the homeowner call me back at their own convenience after they’ve had some time to think it over.

But once in a while, there’s an emergency situation and you have to work a lot faster. This is the situation now. We had a midcentury home drop out of filming at the very last minute, and we are scrambling to find a replacement by the permit deadline.

In these situations, I’ll typically knock on the door and talk to the homeowner directly in the hopes that I can scout on the spot. Some homeowners will ask for time to think about it. Others will welcome you right in.

Maude had done just this. She had ushered me right in to her exquisitely period living room, and even offered me tea. She talked about how long she’d lived in the home, how she’d raised three children here, and how she was excited at the idea of having some excitement again.

I scout a lot of homes in which an older person lives alone, and this is common. What should be a five minute scouting appointment will often extend to fifteen or twenty minutes as I hear stories about family, work, illness, death, grandchildren, past loves, and so on. I’ve come to realize that for many, I’m a rare interruption in a life where each new day tends to be a carbon copy of the previous, and I very much value the stories and histories life these homeowners opt to share with me.

When I left Maude’s home earlier in the day, the scout had gone wonderfully, and she couldn’t have been more excited at the prospect of having filming. But there is a very different woman on the phone. And I think I know what happened.

After I leave, she calls someone. Say, one of her children. She gushes about how a movie location scout just showed up at her door, and how her home might be featured in a big TV show, and that she might even get paid thousands of dollars for it.  

And then, that person reads her the riot act. “How could you be so stupid, Maude!” they yell at her, making her feel like an old fool. “There’s no TV show! He’s a crook! He was taking a pictures of everything so he could come back later and steel it all! He was casing the joint!”

Maybe Maude says no, that the scout showed his credentials. “They were fake! You really think someone out of the blue is going to knock at your door and pay you thousands of dollars to film a TV show? They were casing the joint!”

And Maude hangs up from the conversation, feeling foolish and scared and hurt and angry.

I hate that this has happened, knowing that her fake tough-guy attitude is actually her doing her best to deter me from carrying out the terrible plans she imagines I have cooked up.

“Maude, it’s me! It’s Nick, the location scout. Everything I told you is real! In fact, it was the director’s top choice!” This is true. There’s a very strong likelihood we will film at her home, with a fee approaching $10,000 for just a couple days.

But she refuses to believe me. I beg her to do a Google search for my name, or call my union, or call our production office, but none of it makes a dent. She just keeps saying, “yeah, right,” very sarcastically.

Finally, I realize there’s nothing I can say that will convince her. I tell her not to worry, that she won’t hear from us again, and that I’ll delete the pictures. “You better,” she says, and hangs up the phone.

I learn a very important lesson from this encounter. Now, when I’m cold-scouting and a homeowner invites me in on the spot, I stop them in their tracks. I tell them that first, it’s very important to me that they are sure I am who I say I am. I give a list of ways to verify my identity, and I encourage them to check before letting a total stranger in their homes. Most thank me later, saying I’d opened their eyes to just how easily they could have made a very bad decision if I were actually a criminal.

I’ve never had an interaction like my encounter with Maude since. And I also realized it explained a lingering mystery from my earlier years of scouting.

Back in New York, we were always under the gun to find locations as quickly as possible, and I became an expert at talking my way into homes to scout on the spot. But midway through, as I was taking pictures, I’d consistently notice the conversation suddenly take a noticeably awkward and uncomfortable turn. I could never put my finger on why that was.

Now I realize: it’s the moment the homeowner suddenly realized they had let a total stranger in their home, and that he just might be casing the joint.

--

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