#another teaks story

[tobiasdrake]

~I'm mis~behav~ing! To the volcano I was expressly told not to visit.

There's a strange crystal jutting out of this mountain. I'm sure it's not important.

So this is Torment Peak. Bit of a misnomer since we are at the base of the mountain but okay. We've got a mysterious door that only Solstice Warriors can open.

Pardon, that not even Solstice Warriors can open. My mistake.

Don't really see what the big deal is if everything's locked down. Doesn't really warrant a "STAY AWAY FROM THE DANGER ZONE" command.

Unless he thinks I'm a determined little shit who will keep banging her head against a brick wall until it caves in. Which. Fair.

In any case, I guess we should go check out the Sacred Grove now.

Also, there's a giant tower in the ocean with a crystal. Bet you money that crystal, like, beams light onto the prism and then Something Something.

That is a very large mechanism and I want to see it active. For shits and giggles.

I am ready, at long last to make paths through water. This has to be what my prophecy was about. I'm pretty sure we fulfilled Garl's back at Malkomud and Zale's dragging his feet on accepting lunar supremacy but this has to be my moment. Let's go!

Right after story time.

Is this about the Botanical Horror? I was wondering what the hell that was.

Sounds like Death needs to lower her fucking standards. She has reaped the lives of every living thing that has ever been on this planet and not one of them, not one was ever good enough for her?

Staring at the magnificent beauty of nature like, "EHHHH, 6 out of 10." Needing scientists to fabricate a shape that's impossible to occur in nature before you'll deign to call it pretty is the very epitome of unrealistic beauty standards.

Hold up, why is Death's magic wicked? It's a natural part of the life cycle.

Maybe this was all in good fun. I mean, the botanist was trying to prank Death. Maybe Death pranked back.

Oh goddammit, is this the Celestial Willow again? Does every part of this world have telepathic compulsion flora!?

That has to be a trap. I don't buy that Death would have woven an enchantment that bestows immortality to others.

Yep, that's a trap alright. So instead of counter-pranking the botanist, Death counter-pranked everyone.

Botanist: Let's do an immortality experiment. I'm gonna make a flower so pretty that even Death will refuse to claim its life. Death: Funny. I'll raise you the Instant Regret Rose! You guys want immortality so bad, huh? How much are you willing to utterly destroy yourselves to get it? Let's find out! It's like a contest except that the only way to win is to make peace with mortality and stop trying to cheat me.

But unfortunately, there are others. Some people would take the existence of such a thing as a self-imposed challenge. Not even for the immortality. Once you've put a pain flower out into the world, there are people, especially men in their late teens or early twenties, who are going to make it a contest of pride to see who can hold the pain flower the longest.

Just. Because.

I. Kinda. Want it.

Not for myself. Of course not. But it's an eldritch flower that causes irreversible lasting harm to anything that touches it. If there was a way to weaponize that....

Like, I wouldn't dare wrap any part of my staff in it. Do you know how often you touch yourself with any given part of a bo staff? Both on purpose and by accident? There is no safe location anywhere on this thing for something so vicious as the Instant Regret Rose.

But if we could make. Like. A jabby stick or a club or something with the rose on the end? We could really fuck some people up with that.

See? It was a prank. One that I'm sure must have been absolutely hilarious from her perspective.

"Wicked magic." That's fucking rude, Teaks.

[shushmal]

The latest Family Video customer is barely through the door before Eddie explodes, "Ugh, Tyler."

Beside him, Steve scoffs in agreement, nose wrinkled with distaste. He's so hot. "Yeah, exactly, uugh."

"That should be his middle name. Ugh," Robin chimes in. Eddie's so glad they're in agreement about the bleach-spiked punk guy that graduated three years ago but is still bumming around Hawkins. "Steve, I can't believe you dated that guy."

Seriously, Tyler is the worst— Wait, what—?

"Wait," Eddie says, gaping at Robin. "What?"

"You could barely call it dating," Steve huffs.

"You were together for a month and a half," Robin says. She's got this evil grin on her face and is pointedly not looking at Eddie who is very desperate for Robin to look at him right now, please. "You drove that bum to Indy every weekend. He broke up with you on Valentine's day."

Eddie's weak "Tyler? Tyler Teaks?" gets completely ignored.

"I—" Steve says with haughty emphasis. "—broke up with him on Valentine's day. Don't get it twisted, Buckley."

Robin snorts and finally glances at Eddie. "Steve only broke up with him because the guy blew him off. On Valentine's Day. Which is basically getting broken up with," she tells him, and ignores it when Eddie whimpers at her.

"Yeah, but I'm the one to ended it!" Steve insits.

Eddie, finally, finds his voice, and says, "Tyler Teaks?! Harrington!"

"Ugh," Steve says, slumping against the counter. "I know." He cuts a glare over at Eddie after a moment. "I blame you for this."

"Me?!" Eddie shrieks, incredulous. He's pretty sure he's stepped into another parallel world. Perpendicular world? A world where Steve apparently dates guys—and guys like Tyler Teaks, no less. Eddie's sure he's gone completely batshit insane. "What the hell did I do?!"

Steve stands, cocking his hip the side, and looks down his handsome nose at Eddie. "You wouldn't be my New Year's kiss at Tina's party," he says. "So I had to settle for Tyler Teaks instead."

"What the fuck?" Eddie says, completely lost. "What—? You—? Tina—? KISS—?!"

Beside them, Robin is grinning, laughing, eyes going back and forth between them, munching on a stolen back of skittles—her own personal dramedy on stage before her.

"Yep," Steve says, popping the P. He looks distinctly bitter. "Pulled my best moves on you, and you turned me down."

"Steve," Eddie breathes. He reaches out, places both hands on Steve's shoulders, intent. The eye contact he forces Steve into is desperate. "I don't even remember getting to Tina's New Year's Party." He takes a deep breath. "I woke up in her mom's pantry the next morning with no shoes and no memory of how I got there."

Finally, Steve cracks, a big smile stretching his face. Robin cackles. "Yeah, I kind of figured as much," Steve sighs, wistful now. "You told me, and I quote, 'Steve Harrington, you are very beautiful and I want to have a summer wedding because you'd look beautiful-er with sunflowers'—"

"Don't forget the 'you look so hot in that sweater' part."

"—'But actually, I am a very straight man. So very super straight.' And then you crouched down on the floor and crawled away." Steve is biting his lip now to keep from laughing. Robin is not so nice. "Like I couldn't see you, and the handkerchief flagging in your pocket."

"Oh my god."

"Don't worry, it was really cute," Steve says, grinning. "But, I still needed a New Year's kiss, and unfortunately for everyone involved, Tyler was my only willing choice."

"Oh my god."

"Totally duped me though, he was super sweet the entire night," Steve sighs. His mouth is twisted into genuine regret now. "Plus, the next week, you acted like you'd never spoken to me before, so—"

"OH MY GOD."

Steve and Robin give him twin grimaces. Robin's is a lot more sympathetic. Steve's is confused. "Listen, man," Steve tries to soothe. "I'm sure that's pretty embarrassing, but it was a cute story! No hard feelings, I promise."

Robin's sympathetic grimace deepens.

"No," Eddie says, standing up straight. "I refuse. There is no way I turned down Steve Harrington for a New Year's kiss. There is no way."

"Wait—"

"Eddie, where—"

Eddie marches for the door, digging his keys out of his pockets. "Good-bye friends, I must go see a supergirl about time travel."

[beautification-tales]

The Flight part 1

An Outbreak Story

Holly had always wondered what it felt like to be on a yacht. The white, billowing sails stretched taut against the blue sky, the sea breeze carrying the salty scent of the ocean. As she stepped onto the luxurious vessel, her eyes darted around, taking in the gleaming teak deck, the shiny fiberglass hull, and the well-appointed cabins. She couldn't help but marvel at the sheer extravagance that surrounded her.

She walked confidently on the deck ready to sunbathe her bright blue bikini hugging her curves. As she stretched out on one of the plush loungers, she felt the warmth of the sun on her skin. A cool breeze ruffled her hair, and she closed her eyes, letting the peaceful sounds of the ocean lull her into a state of relaxation. She felt a tap on her shoulder and opened her eyes. Standing before her was the yacht's owner, a handsome, middle-aged man dressed casually in khaki shorts and a polo shirt.

"Hey baby." he asked with a warm smile. "You are looking magnificent as always." Holly smiled as she arched her back looking up at him. “Babe, what did I say about wearing khaki shorts? You’re a millionaire and this is your ship. Now take them off sailor.” He chuckled and started to unbutton his shorts. She watched as they fell to the deck revealing his tan, muscular legs. He climbed onto the lounger next to her and propped himself up on one elbow.

“Did you hear the news about the outbreak?” The man asked in a woman’s voice. “Huh? What outbreak?” Holly shook her head as the man became fuzzy. She closed her eyes and opened them again. A black haired flight attendant was standing in front of her in the galley. She pulled her phone out and showed the story to Holly. Holly sighed as she realized she was no longer in her fantasy but back on her shift on the international flight. Holly held Lucy’s phone and read the article. Holly nervously bit her nails and wiped her uniform off as she read. “It says it’s airborne already.” Holly groaned. “I can’t do another Covid!” She handed the phone back to good friend Lucy.

“Yeah! But it’s like a weird disease. Some people get really sick but others….” Lucy trailed off not knowing how to explain it. “Others.. what Lucy?” Holly asked, her voice tense. “Well they change but it’s like hard to believe what I was reading.” Lucy said nervously, looking around the galley. Holly nodded, feeling a chill run down her spine. They both knew they had to focus on their jobs, but the news was hard to ignore. Holly bit her nails again before asking. “You think it might have reached Australia yet?” Holly asked as they had just left the country on their way to L.A.

Lucy shrugged, looking worried. They both knew it was only a matter of time before they found out. In the meantime, they had to go back to their duties. Holly attended to the first class passengers as she eyed the middle aged man reading from his paper. “Sir?” she said politely, trying to catch his attention. The man looked up from his screen, his blue eyes meeting hers. He smiled warmly.

“Umm, is there anything I can get you, sir? Another drink? A snack perhaps?" Holly asked, trying to catch his attention. The man shook his head, his smile never wavering. "No, thank you, Holly. I'm just catching up on some work here. You know how it is." He chuckled, and she couldn't help but smile back. "Of course, sir. I'm here if you need anything."

Holly brought the cart back to the galley as she found Lucy sitting reading from her phone. Holly wanting to distract Lucy brought up a new subject. “Hey did you see the guy in L6?” She asked, motioning to the business class section of the plane. Lucy nodded, looking up from her phone. “Yeah that’s Brent Book he owns that new tech company. Heard he was a real playboy back in the day. Not bad for his age though, huh? I wonder what he does on these flights...." Holly grinned, imagining the possibilities.

“I bet he still flies commercial because he has a thing for flight attendants.” Holly winked, her cheeks turning a shade of pink. She glanced over at the man in question, wondering what it would be like to be with someone like that. Holly was a sweet competent flight attendant but desired the life Lucy and many of her colleagues had. Holly was a bit average looking and her friends like Lucy got all the attention. Lucy was always glued to her phone because she had over 100 k followers on TikTok. Lucy would brag and show off the hundreds of DM’s she received as Holly read them with envy. Rich businessman and eligible bachelors would take her on amazing dates as Holly spent nights alone in her hotel.

“Oh yeah?” Lucy said as she got up from her bucket seat. “Let’s see if I can get his number.” Lucy adjusted her stockings and breasts as she walked into business class pretending to check on passengers. Lucy reached Brent’s seat and leaned down with a seductive look. Holly looked on with jealousy as Brent laughed and talked with Lucy.

A bell went off and it was a passenger in economy in . “Just great.” Hollly grumbled as she put on her fake smile and went to help them. As she reached the passenger she saw he was shivering and sweating at the same time. His face was pale as he rubbed his shoulders. “How can I help you?” Holly asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “Yes, I’m feeling really cold all of a sudden. Can I get a blanket?” The man asked, his voice barely a whisper. Holly nodded and went to get him a blanket from the galley. As she returned the man coughed in his hand as Holly leaned over to hand him the blanket. The man sneezed violently as fluid hit Holly’s face. “Are you ok sir? Are you feeling sick?” Holly asked, her face now inches from his. “No, so sorry about that. I am just feeling cold. Thank you for the blanket.”

Holly and Lucy exchanged stories when they met in the back again. “So he said he doesn’t go on TikTok but he has one for his company.” Lucy explained. Holly nodded, a little disappointed. Holly continued to wipe her face. “You are so lucky Lucy. You got to flirt with an almost billionaire while I was in the bathroom rinsing snot off my face. Ew I can still feel it. I think some got into my eyes.” She said, rubbing her face with a tissue.

“Yuck…. What if he’s infected?” Lucy whispered, her eyes wide with fear. “ Don’t you fucking go there Lucy!” Holly snapped, her tone harsher than she intended. They both looked at each other, Lucy heard a notification ping from her phone. “Oh my God! His company is following me now! Look!” She showed Holly her phone, Brent Book's company was now following her on TikTok. Holly couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. “Aaagh fuck your TikTok Lucy!” She yelled, throwing her hands up in the air. “Ok? Rude!” Lucy snapped back, crossing her arms. Holly went to her bucket seat as Lucy did the same. Holly began biting her nails as she read about the outbreak on her phone.

The captain's voice came over the intercom, announcing that the flight was halfway over The Pacific Ocean on target for L.A. Holly glanced at the clock, her heart racing. She couldn't shake the thought of the sick man from her mind. Lucy seemed to be oblivious to her friend's distress, busily engrossed in her phone, seeing if any celebrities slid into her DM’s. Holly felt sleepy as she felt her eyes closing.

It was two hours later that Holly woke up in a sweat. She felt her throat was dry and she was shivering uncontrollably. She glanced around and saw that Lucy was fast asleep, oblivious to her friend's distress. Holly struggled to sit up, her head throbbing with pain. As she grabbed a bottle she guzzled it all in seconds. It was then she heard a ping from business class. She forced herself to stand, her legs wobbly, and walked unsteadily to the curtain. Holly felt a bit woozy and heavy. She approached Brent who was deep in his phone. “Can I help you sir?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah Lucy, I was looking at your TikTok and…” Brent finally looked up and adjusted his glasses. “I’m so sorry you’re not Lucy.” He said, his face flushed.

“No, I can get her for you.” Holly said, her voice barely audible. She felt dizzy and her vision was starting to blur. Brent looked at her strangely. He sat up and said. “No, that’s ok but what’s your name?” Holly forced a smile. “Holly sir.” Brent gave a confused look. “Really? I could have sworn there was another flight attendant named Holly on this flight. I haven’t met you. Are you an influencer like Lucy?” Holly felt confused as he noticed Brent looked a bit uncomfortable as his hands were in his lap.

“Umm are you ok Mr. Book?” Holly asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and it seemed to intensify the more she stared. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and she could see his face get red at her question. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine and please call me Brent.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but it came out a little strained.

Holly quickly glanced down at Brent’s hands and could see that he was covering a bulge. She could feel her face heat up and her heart start to race. She knew what was causing that bulge, and it made her even more nervous. "Of course, Brent. Is there anything I can get you?” she asked, trying not to stare at his pants. “Not right now but I have a feeling I might need assistance later.” He winked at her, making her blush even deeper. She quickly looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

Holly walked quickly to the galley. Lucy was still dozing away. Holly rushed into the bathroom and almost squealed at what she saw. The woman in the reflection was completely different. She was looking at this stunning blonde woman in her uniform. The hair was a bit disheveled but her body was slightly bigger. She looked down and fully realized how her bust was more pronounced. She reached and cupped her right breast, feeling the weight of it. "Oh momma like," she thought with a sly smile. She noticed her nail bitten fingernails were gone replaced by red nails that matched her red lips.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She remembered Brent’s reaction at seeing her. She smiled “So this is what it’s like being hot!” she thought to herself. As she continued to explore her new curves, she noticed something else. There was a strange tingling sensation between her legs. She had never experienced anything like it before. She couldn't help but wonder what it was and if it had anything to do with what was happening to her.

Holly left the galley with a bottle of water in her hand. She made it to Brent’s seat and took the cap off the bottle. “Hey, I thought you could use some water. Oh no! I’m so sorry! I’m so clumsy!” Holly had dropped a few drops onto the crotch of Brent. He jumped a little in his seat but smiled at Holly. “It’s ok… not a big deal really. It’s not that much…” he said, trying to be polite. “No this is my fault! Let me help you clean up.” She quickly ran and got a towel as she began dabbing at Brent’s stain. “It’s ok.. I think it should …ungh.” Brent groaned as Holly knelt in the aisle and began rubbing at his crotch. Brent’s eyes widened as he looked at Holly’s sensual focused face. “Don’t worry Mr. Book. I’ll have you cleaned up in no time.” Her words were dripping with confidence. Holly laid the towel down as she continued to rub at Brent’s crotch.

She looked up at him and smiled, "Like I said. It was my fault so I need to take care of it.” Brent’s became red as he realized what was actually happening. He looked down her cleavage and licked his lips. “Oh no. I think it may have reached your boxers. Let me help you.” Holly said as she leaned over even more to get a closer look. She unbuckled his pants as Brent attempted to stop her. “Shhh, let me do my job.” She whispered, seductively. As she pulled down his boxers, Brent gasped, revealing his throbbing arousal. Holly looked up at him with a wicked grin.

She grasped his member as he shivered. He covered his mouth not wanting to wake the other passengers. Holly continued to stroke him, her grip firm and confident. She leaned closer and whispered, "I know just how to take care of this." Brent's heart raced as she increased her speed. Brent grabbed onto the sides of his seat as the pleasure was immense. “Ungh fuck!” He cried as he could feel himself close to release.

As she continued, Brent felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge. He tried to hold back, but it was no use. Holly could feel him twitching and knew what was coming soon. Brent erupted as almost a river of cum shot out of his cock. He completely relaxed as Holly took the towel and cleaned him. She pulled up his boxers and buckled his belt. “There we go. I’m so glad I could assist you. Remember to buckle your safety belt when the Captain turns on the light.” Brent in complete shock of what just happened nodded and smiled. He felt so relaxed that he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Holly wanted more. She had felt something unleashed in her. She was sexy, she was powerful and she was still horny.

-To Be Continued-

[sysakiddo]

here we are, fourth one already 😭 Max is really pushing my agenda with all of his geography knowledge in all the grill the grid videos and the freaking Time interview. all the love to @123pixieaod for her amazing feedback 💓

1, 2, 3

The terrace has a beautiful wooden floor and an enormous swimming pool, both something Daniel mentioned as pros when they were deciding on buying a villa in Èze. Ultimately, it all came down to the three mulberry trees growing on the right side of the garden. Max has never fully explained his obsession with the mulberries, but it was enough for him to buy the villa even without the other positives.

When Charles visited the estate for the first time, he and Max spent hours picking the mulberries and climbing up the trees like little kids. That confirmed Daniel's suspicion it had something to do with Max's childhood, even though it was one of the rare instances when Charles refused to dish out Max's secrets.

The housewarming gift from their friends, the enormous table made of teak, made the terrace look like a paradise. The first evening together, they sit around it with glasses of wine Daniel insisted on choosing. Max is reading and only half-listening to Charles and Alex's conversation at the other side of the table. Seb looks like he is about to fall asleep on the chair beside him.

"That's like you and the mysterious metro guy!" Charles laughs, interrupting everyone with a loud exclamation. He points his glass of pastis in Max's direction, who has no idea what brought them here.

Max, embarrassingly, feels blood rush to his cheeks. "Shut up," he grumbles. "Who invited you again?"

Max did. He sent him a text that only said, 'Eze 12-19 July'. Charles sent back a thumbs up and called Daniel a week later for details he knew Max wouldn't be willing to share.

Daniel looks up from his phone, dripping water everywhere with the movement. He got out of the pool merely minutes before, enjoying the coolness of the water after the long, hot day of travelling they had. Max's blush stuns him. "Metro guy?"

Charles gasps theatrically, smiling so wide his dimples are showing in their full force. "Noo," he drawls gleefully. He basks in any opportunity to make Max uncomfortable. "Max Verstappen, you did not tell your husband about the metro guy?"

Daniel sighs, putting his hand over his heart, getting into the play Charles sets up. "Baby, am I the other man?"

Giggles break out around the table, everybody watching them by now.

"There's nothing to tell you, Daniel. And you-" Max says sternly, pointing his finger at Charles, whose shoulders shake with giggles. "Shut the fuck up before I-"

"When we were interns in Stockholm-" Charles interrupts him, looking at Daniel meaningfully while he starts with the story.

"This is embarrassing, Charles." Max rolls his eyes, but Charles doesn't react. He feeds off Max's despair. When he breathes in to continue, Max takes the precautionary measure and quickly asks him, "Have you told Sebastian who you were with when you broke your hand?"

Charles' smile dims. Sebastian opens one eye and squints at them with poorly hidden curiosity. He asked Charles about the incident many times and never got anything but empty words and white lies. He should have figured out that Max would know what really happened.

"You are no fun, Max. The most annoyingly serious man ever. I don't know how you put up with him." he turns to Daniel with the last sentence, who is still looking at him expectantly.

"I want to hear the story!"

Max huffs, crossing his arms. "I am not that serious."

Charles clicks his tongue loudly, taking another sip of his anise liquor. "You're reading Kissinger on a vacation." Max yelps, offended. He closes the book and cringes at the loud thud. The noise feels incriminating.

"Well, sorry that I'm not creaming my pants over Édouard Louis," He says, scoffing at the book someone sat aside on the table.

"Sick burn, Max." Daniel deadpans. "You were reading The Hunger Games last week." Max, betrayed, frowns at him.

"And you liked Barbie better than Oppenheimer, so fuck off."

Alex looks up from his place on the lounger, basking in the sun. "We were supposed to like Oppenheimer?"

George wants to join the conversation, too. "Kissinger is one hundred years old, there is no way he wrote that book himself. AI is crazy these days."

"You should ask Max about his well-being, they are all buddy-buddy with each other. Right, Max? Having dinner with him every time you cross the ocean?" Alex is laughing, joining the fest of kicking Max while he's down.

Charles smirks, seeing another opening. "Maybe Daniel isn't the only old man Max is fucking."

Sebastian opens his eyes and frowns at the younger man. "Charles, that's enough. Don't be mean now." The look on Charles' face makes Max laugh gleefully.

"Yeah, Charles, don't be mean," he parrots. He never claimed he wasn't petty. Daniel kicks his leg under the table, shaking his head subtly.

Max deflates a little, returning to his book without saying anything else. Sebastian catches Daniel's look and mouths kids.

Daniel has to bring his wine glass to his lips so he doesn't start laughing. "When will the intern arrive?" he asks to change the subject.

"Who?"

"Max wants to adopt an intern."

Seb hums appreciatively. "It's about time you two get children."

"Her name is Anne, Daniel, and she's, of course, too old for me to adopt." Max says sternly. "She's going to come tomorrow morning. And Pierre is bringing an intern, too!"

Charles nods, clicking his tongue. "He's probably fucking her, though."

Daniel gags. "I thought he was dating the model? The one from Vogue?" Max and Charles shake their heads almost synchronically, always ready to gossip.

"What about you, Charles? Are you doing Vogue next?" Alex moves to an empty chair behind the table, cutting a piece of cheese someone laid out on it.

Charles, uncharacteristically, blushes. "No, that was a one-time thing."

In their group chat, his photo on the Time magazine cover worked as a meme by now. Max made fun of Charles for it ruthlessly, but Daniel knew he kept talking about how great it was that Mr Leclerc was finally getting the recognition he deserved to anyone who would listen to him.

Seb stands up and removes his shirt, padding off to the pool. Charles' eyes don't leave him once.

"On the other hand, I'd be willing to do Vogue if it meant getting out of that shithole." Naturally, Charles wanted everything Max had—a career of ages and a much older boyfriend. Alex smiles encouragingly, "Brussels is not that bad."

"Working in the Commission is a great opportunity, Charles," Max says, and Charles scoffs, rolling his eyes at him. He can’t stand their pity. "Seriously! I would if my husband wasn't solar- powered." he points at Daniel. "Two weeks in Belgian weather, and he withers away."

Everyone laughs, Max's words striking even more true now that Daniel is trying to soak up the sun shirtless on the chair next to them.

"Oh, Max," Charles slaps his hand down on the table, disappointed he forgot to mention this sooner. "I'm going to Amsterdam around the 28th. Care to join?"

Max's whole demeanour changes. "I can't, I'll be in Cairo, sorry."

Charles shrugs and tries to sneak away a piece of cheese Alex has cut for himself. Daniel kicks Max's leg, but the other man pointedly doesn't react.

"What's wrong with him?" he points his finger at Seb.

Everyone turns around, the distraction working perfectly. Sebastian is face down on a floatie, beer in his hand. He lazily kicks out once in a while, which just makes the scene even more grotesque.

"Seb? Are you planning on pulling a Kendall Roy over there?" Charles yells out, his eyebrows furrowed behind his designer sunglasses.

And because Sebastian is the only person left in the world who hasn’t watched Succession yet, his only reply is a mumbled, "Was?"

"He has been like this since he transferred to NATO," George says knowingly.

Charles slaps his hand down on the table. "See? Fucking Brussels."

|

Max gets out of the room at sunrise. He likes to run through the village while the other people start waking up. Daniel stirs when he comes out of the shower an hour later but doesn’t make any effort to actually wake up. He is fine with dozing off, naked, under the satin sheets.

"Daniel, me and Charles are going to the racetrack. Do you want to join us?"

Daniel knows they are even more insufferable while competing, but that's not the only reason why he shakes his head no. He can now distinguish the noise filtering inside from the street as Charles revving his Ferrari.

He feels the bed dip beside his hip, and with his eyes closed, he flinches a little when Max's fingers trail lightly over his nose, cheekbones, the soft skin under his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asks, more quietly now.

"Yeah," he opens one eye. "I'm just not feeling great. I think it would be better if I slept a bit more."

"Are you feeling bad again? What do you need me to do?" Max looks frenzied now, worry setting in his features.

Max is not stupid, noticing things about Daniel only the person who loves you can notice. How he doesn't even try sleeping without taking ten milligrams of melatonin and still trashing for a decent hour before he manages to fall asleep, or how he keeps playing with the food on his plate without really eating anything, or how he hasn't returned his mom's calls in a solid month. So, of course, he can tell Daniel is getting bad again.

Daniel suddenly feels like a dick, all of the memories from when he couldn't even get out of bed under the heavy baggage on his shoulders come flying into his head.

Max's hand travels further down his face, eventually wrapping his fingers around Daniel's throat. A muscle memory. That way, he feels his Adam's apple bobbing when he asks, "Why did you not tell me you're going to Cairo?"

"Why would I? So you could come with me?" he asks sarcastically. Daniel huffs, slaps Max's hand away.

"Oh, yes, I think his excellency Verstappen would love to have a lovely lunch with his son's husband."

Max physically recoils on the bed like he's been slapped. Max wasn't fed love on a silver spoon during childhood like Daniel. That's why he learned to lick it off knives.

"I'm not having this conversation right now,"

Daniel speaks again before Max can stand up and walk away. "Your therapist said spending time with him is not good for you." At least that's what Max said when explaining why he did not invite Jos to their anniversary celebration.

"She doesn't know shit."

Daniel sits up, anger spiking his veins with thousands of blades. "Max, mate. Everyone and their mother has read the fucking Guardian interview, so maybe knowing him calling you a failure made it on the front page is enough!"

"Fuck you, Daniel. Seriously, fuck you." If he knew him less, Max would easily believe Daniel had never read the interview. This is the first time Daniel mentions it. "I wanted to tell him about Beijing, so thank you for your fucking support!"

This time, Daniel just watches Max leave.

next part

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Behind the Seams: Part III

Welcome to the first instalment of Behind the Seams! Thank you everyone who has responded so positively to this slightly self-indulgent idea I had. I know I take so long in between chapters, this seems like a fun way to keep you guys in the loop, and also to keep myself motivated and productive while I work by sharing my thoughts as I go.

This time, I'll be rambling about focusing on the characters as I'm still in the thick of developing personalities and interpretations in the Seams universe, and I'd love to put all the thoughts that have been rattling around my brain into words to help me process it.

I will be tagging these posts as 'behind the seams' together with the chapter number 'seams iii' so you can filter this out if you don't want to see them! For those who are interested, let's dive in below the cut!

Current status: 3.2k written, fully outlined rough draft with most of the dialogue drafted.

Initial thoughts: This chapter wrote far more easily than I expected to so far. Each story is different, but I tend to find the 3rd to 5th chapters hardest to write, when you're building up the shape of the arc of the whole series.

I'm still keeping my options open with regards to what Seams is or can be, but I'm still thinking 'loose fit series' i.e. there won't be a solid, overarching story arc or ending to the series since it's not a plot-driven story. It will be interesting to see if my approach changes after a couple more chapters!

The challenge: The first two instalments were so hyper-zoomed in on Joel and Pin, I knew that the challenge for this chapter is pulling back the camera and seeing how they interact with each other outside the safety of the Outfitters, and how they fit into the wider community.

Joel and Pin: I was re-reading Threads in preparation for writing Part III, and what strikes me is that these two really don't know a lot about one another. They've barely had a fully formed conversation despite the forced proximity and some very charged moments in the last two chapters. I've tentatively written most of their dialogue in this chapter, and it's interesting that a couple of times, I've stopped myself and thought - is this too playful for a shy person like Pin? Is it too familiar with two people who are practically strangers, despite their chemistry? It's a balance that I'll have to find as I edit, and I'm excited to see how it turns out.

Tommy: For some reason, Tommy comes fairly easily to me, a testament to Pedro and Gabriel’s chemistry on screen. Without giving too much away, I'm really happy with the angle I found for Joel and Tommy in this chapter. There's a lot to unpack between the two brothers, but the happy occasion means that I can focus on the good part of their relationship for now. However, I am keeping the tensions in their history in my back pocket because I don't want to gloss over the very real and three-dimensional relationship we saw in the series.

Ellie: I've talked about how I'm nervous about writing Ellie. My Pedro boys are all lone wolves - sure they have their best friends (Teak to Palomino!Jack, Santi to Grays!Frankie, Pete/Rebecca to Consent!Dieter), but Ellie is Joel's kid, and she's part of his life more than any BFF is to my other Pedro boys. Luckily, I have found an in with Ellie that I think works well with the story in Part III, and also fits in with the broader direction of the fic. It's going to be nerve-wrecking, but I'm ready to write her into Seams!

Tess: I'm not in a place to say too much yet about Tess, but it's so important to me that she isn't erased from the Seams universe despite her not being there. I've been thinking a lot about Tess lately, about how she will fit into the story, how Joel will fit Pin into his and in relation to Tess. There are no easy answers, and it will be something to mull over in the next few chapters.

Something fun: Ok, all this character stuff is pretty heavy, so I want to end on a light-hearted note - Joel's tummy makes a cameo in a white undervest 😌

And that's it for Behind the Seams: Part III! I feel a lot lighter having found a space for all the things I have been thinking about while drafting the chapter. I hope this was a fun deep dive for you guys as well, I'll be hitting Google Docs hard this weekend to try to get all of the writing done for Part III so that I can start editing next week. My askbox is always open if anyone wants to chat 🥰

[unhinged-summer-fun]

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 13

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger" Warnings: Full speed ahead on fic-typical angst train, choo choo bitchessssssssss

A/N: dividers once again by me

series masterlist

chapter 13: last round

Osha loved her apartment complex. She loved its gym. She loved the gym sauna. And she loved that it was just a little bit too small for her to share it comfortably with Qimir.

Their knees pressed against one another the entire time they steamed, all hot sweaty skin and toned muscles sliding against each other.

Oof. Down, girl.

He had her do breath control in places other than the pool and the gym. The sauna proved most difficult to find any meditative peace, especially when the object of her torment unintentionally whipped her mind and heart into a frenzy whenever he moved too quickly.

So her meditative thoughts weren’t centered on mindfulness and her surroundings—they were centered on the exact spot where his thigh touched hers.

Qimir leaned back against the teak bench and winced, gingerly recoiling from the pain. “Are you alright?” she asked.

Earlier, he had some trouble getting out of the pool. She was aware of what was happening, of course—he’d asked the injured parts of his body to do something simple, and they’d protested violently. It was disconcerting to see the muscles spasming beneath his scars, and it looked incredibly painful.

What was more concerning was the absolutely blank face he made while bearing the pain. His jaw wasn’t even tensed like he was fighting through the it—his mind had gone somewhere else entirely.

At Osha’s concern, that blank mask slammed down like security doors.

“Happens,” was all he said about it, and Osha was about to let it go until his spine spoke up. It gave a few concerningly loud clicks and snaps when he leaned back on the bench, and the sound pulled a grimace out of him. “I just pushed it too hard, too fast today. I’ll feel it for a while, but it typically fades in a few hours. The spasms, I mean.”

Now it was Osha’s turn to control her facial expressions. What an absolutely insane thing to say. It wasn’t like his back issues were a secret between them. There was no way of hiding his scars from her, the way there was no way hiding her scars from him. He’d told her part of the story, but she’d flinched when he described the injury and he’d never brought it up again. There was more she didn’t know—more that added to the reasons he kept himself back from going after Vernestra.

How the fuck do you ask somebody about that?

“If I can, I’d like to help.”

He didn’t take her up on it.

“What happens if someone drops from a fight last minute?” she asked on a different day. She was flicking through a textbook on his couch, and he was foam-rolling his upper back.

“Standby fighters. They’re just as hungry for it as the ones scheduled. Moreso, maybe,” he grunted. “It’s different for me. Idise, too, I guess.”

She wanted to ask so many things at once. “How is it different?”

He gave a breathy laugh, humorless. “The real fight is waiting two weeks for the moon to wane.”

“Do you not talk to Idise?” She’d meant it in a, do you not compare experiences for camaraderie? kind of way. His sharp response caught her off guard.

“Not at the moment.” His teeth bit into consonants like a wolf’s jaws snapping around a neck.

Questions racked up like debts in her head, but his agitation told her to tread carefully. There’s something there, something personal. “What’s the hardest part of waiting? Is it the ‘can’t spar ’til the full moon’ rule?”

He shook his head, bending his knees and rolling a little faster than he had been. “It’s those first minutes after a fight. You need to let the fuck go the moment it’s over. You need to let it go—”

He gasped, face going into that blank numb mask for a half-second before he recovered, gritting his teeth.

“Someone told me you’re supposed to breathe while doing that,” she said, exaggeratedly condescending. She hoped her attempt at levity would succeed. Qimir paused, looking up at her in mild surprise. “Take your own advice,  doctor.”

Her heart raced in the five seconds it took for him to obey. He extended one leg, releasing a slow, controlled breath and re-doing the roll with the slow, continuous pressure he needed. His breath shook as he reached where she assumed his pain was deepest. Then he was past it, groaning in relief, filthy and unrestrained. It didn’t escape her notice that he was baring his neck to her—again.

He set the roller to the side, laying flat on his back with his arms spread wide.

“H-how do you let go?” she continued, watching his belly rise and fall slower and slower as he got his heart rate down. He’d been doing that more and more around her, lately.

“A lot of people just keep busy and focus on recovery—”

“No,” she interrupted. He peeked an eye open at her. “How do you let go?”

He turned his head to look at her, eyes tracing every inch of her curled up on his couch. When he got to her eyes, he hummed, biting his lower lip like he had to roll his thoughts around on his tongue to get the flavor right before he spoke. He rolled up into a sitting position, legs crossed as he leaned back on his palms.

She tried her best to meet his gaze, hitting him with his usual one-brow-raised look. He chuckled, shaking himself out of openly admiring her.

His voice was night-dark and thunder-soft. His eyes matched the sentiment, continuing to wander where they wanted. “Before the fight even starts,” he said slowly, “I think of what I want most, something waiting for me outside the cage. Sometimes it’s a shower. Sometimes it’s a drink. Sometimes it’s…” His eyes flicked back up to hers, hawk-sharp. He smirked, baring his teeth and neck in one. “And then, when the fight is over…” His head tilted to the side, that feral creature he kept leashed showing itself. “I ensure there’s nothing in my way between me and what I want.”

Osha’s tongue wasn’t cooperating. Her mind wasn’t cooperating. How could he just say things like that while looking at her like he was going to eat her alive? Her breath came in shallow pants, and she sure looked wanton and ridiculous.

Before she could do anything stupid the timer for their dinner went off, and they returned to reality.

To humanity, more like.

She’d gotten the job at the bar. Kana trained her after Qimir on the days they came to Unplan. Her shifts in the cafe started to dwindle the closer they got to employee evaluation season—from four full shifts per week to three half-shifts ending in early afternoon. She didn’t inform Sol of her new job, but she’d told Mae not to worry about her half of rent when she asked.

Things with Mae had gotten… better. Comparatively. They still had a lot of issues to work through. Osha didn’t know how Mae could “make up for” two years of deception, but her kitchen-table confession helped a lot. Knowing Mae had the capacity to want to do something in response to Vernestra’s misdeeds helped a lot. Things weren’t perfect, but they were, at the very least, talking to each other again.

Sol was a different story. She didn’t know how to confront him about the new developments in her life—she knew now that Sol had been, at best, peripheral to whatever Qimir had gone through at the Temple. At worst, he’d been directly involved. Osha was frightened of figuring out where he stood in that history. Fortunately, she hadn’t seen him enough to confront him.

The same went for Vernestra. She had been exceptionally absent at the Temple, which wasn’t uncommon during competition season prep. She’d taken Jecki and the other competitors on a road trip to the state Open to get everybody ranked. The road trips were a fact of life to Temple members because of Vernestra’s sensitivity to air travel.

Though Sol and Vernestra’s absences relieved Osha, she still felt uncomfortable in the Temple. Mog had been made acting operations manager while things were in flux. Osha would have expected someone like Indara to take the helm, but despite her quiet confidence and solid decision-making skills, she never seemed to want anything to do with joining Temple leadership.

Osha didn’t dwell too much on it, but she still wanted to do something about Qimir’s situation. Something big enough to stick, big enough to matter. But she didn’t have the whole picture yet, and only that awareness stayed her hand.

“Hey,” her stranger said, interrupting her daydreaming. She blinked her eyes back into focus, frowning a little as she recentered. “Where’d you go?”

“About a hundred miles away,” Osha sighed. She continued doing her warm-ups. “Sorry.”

“Well, if you come down from the stars, I’ve got news for you. We’re sparring today.”

Her jaw dropped. “Sparring?”

“Yeah, ever heard of it?”

Osha’s insecuriity reared its head for the first time in a long time. “Are you sure?” she said on impulse, wanting to kick herself for it. She sighed, wanting to eat the words after she’d spoken them.

But Qimir seemed to expect it. He simply nodded, not bothering to ignore or overindulge her reflexive self-doubt. “You’re ready. We’ll do warmups, some HIIT, get you on a bag for some form work, and then—I want to see you dance.”

“What, was last Saturday not good enough for you?” she shot back, folding herself into a deep stretch and turning her head to look at him. His gaze was dark even in the dim lighting of the dressing room.

“Last Saturday was many things; good enough is at the milder end of the descriptions I’d use.”

After re-taping her leg, he took her hand in his, a familiar length of black fabric in his other hand. “I’ve been looking forward to this, I won’t lie.”

Osha let her hands soften for him as he wrapped her left hand and wrist with slow, methodical motions. She’d seen him wrap his hands before at something approaching the speed of light, so for him to work so carefully with her was… well, different. 

When he finished both hands, he inspected her fists, telling her to flex her fingers a few times to test for good circulation. His eyes bounced up to her face once he was satisfied. “You’re perfect.”

The praise was surely meant for himself, his work with the wraps, but she couldn’t help the silly little smile that came to her face.

Downstairs, he had her use one of the body-opponent bags after the first half of their session. The plasticky face and rubber body wiggled just from their approach. “Let’s test your anatomy knowledge. One-one-two to the solar plexus.”

He stood just behind the bag to watch her strikes come in as he called them. He grinned at her like she’d done something incredible—not something she’d been doing since childhood. He ran her through different combinations, but by the end, he let her do what she wanted, as long as she hit harder, harder, harder.

The force he wanted broke her out of her typical stance. She couldn’t get it right when she held herself so rigid and bladed. Still, he didn’t technically tell her to drop the boxer’s stance she was used to. She had to drop it herself.

And when she did…

When she hit with all the strength she’d been holding back for years…

He nearly lost his grip on the bag.

It tilted dangerously to the side, but he didn’t let it fall. He righted it and shouted in excitement, slapping the rubber head with a burst of energy. “Atta-fuckin-girl! There we go. How’s that feel?”

Osha breathed hard, hands still up in a loose block. “Feels good,” she gasped. “Real good.”

He grinned madly at her. “You’re perfect. Perfect. Let’s go again. Build up to it. Let’s see some kicks, too.”

Osha wasn’t as familiar with using her legs as she was with her hands, but he’d taught her what to do, how to hold herself and channel power into her kicks. The praise came faster now.

Good kick. Same place. Again.

Fuck yes. Don’t stop, show me.

C’mon. That’s it. Good girl.

Ooh, that’s a rib-breaker. Love it. Do it again.

Attagirl. Attagirl.

(And a few times, but it could have been the bloodrush warping it: that’s my girl.)

Over and over until she was drunk on it.

He had an invisible pull on her, one she couldn’t help but follow to the sparring mats. “Alright, let’s see it.”

Facing off against him was a different fucking universe than facing off against a bag. He wouldn’t praise her for getting good hits in on him, would he? She hesitated, the first time he’d seen her do so.

“What is it?” he said, dropping his stance and coming closer. She didn’t retreat from his approaching form but kept her hands up.

“It’s just. Shit, I haven’t sparred in actual months. I’m nervous.”

“I make you nervous?” he said, tilting his head to the side. Even with his silly mouthguard in, his smile was charming.

She narrowed her eyes and swung at him.

After the first few surprised blocks from her quick hands, he barked a laugh and started swiping at her as well. But Osha wasn’t a wet-eared rookie; she won those junior championships from being hard to hit.

They blocked and ducked one another for a while, each assessing the other’s defenses. Osha’s fighting style was limited to boxing and a handful of kicks, but he knew so many fighting disciplines that he exhibited them to college students. If he wanted to defeat her, he would.

It was clear he was toying with her after a while. When he reacted to her stumbling with a pointed little hmm, she swung a messy left hook right at his head—which he caught in his hand.

She was so surprised by his reflexes that she only remembered to react after he’d kissed her knuckles. While the gesture thrilled her, it was equally adept at annoying the everloving fuck out of her.

In her head, a new voice chimed in, hungry and snarling from the pit of a coliseum. It was a voice she hadn’t heard since she was twenty years old, stepping into the ring in Bestine.

Win.

She went on the offensive, practically screaming through her exhales as she attacked. Her knuckles ached from the amount of times she hit his forearms, but then—

Then—

A wicked look gleamed in his eyes, and his leg shot out to try and kick at hers—

She shifted like the wind around a mountain and slugged him in the jaw so hard it rattled her teeth.

The impact stunned both of them—she could feel her own surprise, but he had to blink the dazed expression off his face. It was replaced by something a lot darker, something she was sure he preferred to hide behind that ghastly mask upstairs. “Attagirl,” he rasped.

“Are you oka—shit!” Osha went on the defensive as he came at her, punches and kicks going everywhere at once. Her tiny buzz of victory zipped away, leaving only the mild hum of panic from getting caught on the back foot. He jabbed her in the ribs when she let her guard slip on the left, sending all the air whooshing from her lungs. Bending double, she retreated a few steps, recalculating her strategy.

She focused her attack on his legs. He kept trying to correct his balance, continually going off-center with his chest-thrown punches. Osha struck out like a viper with her right leg, and he was sent sprawling onto his back, arms splayed wide. While she loomed above him, he only grinned. “Thath’ma girl,” he said around the mouthguard—sweet sentiment, lacking execution.

“Are we still sparring, or are you just running your mouth?” she panted, already working to get her breathing under control.

He laughed and winked at her before tapping the mat twice, signaling they were done. She offered him a hand up, and almost fucking dropped him at the sound of applause.

She hadn’t noticed the crowd gathering, too focused on Qimir and trying not to get her shit rocked. The audience seemed to think they were very entertaining, whistling and chattering in excitement. 

Someone would try to step in if they saw the new girl sparring with the scary guy during the down-weeks.

Yeah, well, the new girl just put the scary guy on his ass.

An inkling of pride threatened to seep into her mind. Osha allowed herself one modest compliment: she held her own fairly well, considering how long she’d been out of the game.

“How does it feel?” Qimir asked when they were alone again. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” He was still smiling—hadn’t stopped since she punched him.

Maniac.

She did a quick assessment of herself, now that the adrenaline had somewhat abated. With her heartbeat under control, she could make out the… 

Well, the pain was… 

She frowned.

“I’m… I feel fine?”

“You sound confused. Or disappointed.”

“I feel the soreness and the effort, but—there’s no pain. I think the worst is my hand.”

He rubbed at his jaw, a satisfied smile on his face. “Yeah, your poor hand.”

Something came over Osha, and she reached up to get his hand away from his face. A bruise bloomed there, bright pink and darkening by the minute. “This won’t get you in trouble at the college?”

He stood very still as she looked him over. His eyes were half-lidded and shadowed in the dressing room lights, and she wished they were back in the gym downstairs, where the presence of other people more easily suppressed her do-something-stupid impulse.

“They know I work out at a fighting gym. I don’t sit in board meetings more than twice a year. And the students won’t ask.” He raised a hand to wrap gently around her wrist, as secure as the black wraps had been. “Osha,” he murmured. It made her stop fussing. “I’ll be okay. If anything, I can say someone kneed me in the face while I was doing an assisted stretch.”

How specific. “That happen a lot?”

“You have no idea,” he chuckled. He changed his grip on her wrist. “Now let me see your hand.”

He tenderly unwrapped her right hand. Her knuckles were blushed pink, her middle finger an angry red that she rarely saw with her hands in gloves all the time. He pressed his thumbs into her knuckles, walking them all over as he watched her reaction. “Hm?”

“It’s fine,” Osha said again. He nodded and didn’t look away as he pulled her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her reddened knuckles—just like he’d done a moment before she punched the hell out of his jaw. Osha felt light-headed as he held the kiss. “You…”

“Me?” he asked.

“What about you?”

“You tell me.”

“What?”

His smile curled against her hand. “I don’t think I hit you in the head…”

She rolled her eyes and broke away to change in the bathroom. “You’re obnoxious, stranger.”

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke.

“You can call me Qimir, you know. Out loud.”

His voice was soft, almost too soft for her to hear. She leaned back against the wall, face turned to the doorway. “But do you want to be called Qimir?”

She heard him come closer, and saw his shadow mirror how she was standing, just on the other side of the wall. She was tempted to reach for him around the doorframe.

“If it’s you,” he said.

“You want me to call you Qimir?”

Would you really choose ‘stranger’ as a name for yourself?

No.

“I told you before, you can call me whatever you want. But I hear you pause when you want to say my name. I want you to say my name.”

Her face heated near to feverish. She remembered how Mae had said his name that first time. I need to ask you if all this, all the lashing out, was done on purpose because you wanted to train with Qimir. She’d sounded so hateful, which had been almost as confusing as learning her stranger had a name at all.

“Then I’ll say your name… Qimir.”

To her surprise, his hand came around the doorframe, open and offering. She grabbed it without hesitation. “Thank you,” he said roughly, squeezing her hand once before letting go.

It took her a second to confront her reflection in the mirror, but when she did, she looked resolved and centered.

It was on the day of the new moon that Indara spoke to her.

“Osha, can I have a word?”

She looked up from where she was doing inventory with Tasi. Indara stood on the other side of the counter, having snuck up without Osha seeing.

“I’ve got this,” Tasi said, waving her on.

Yord didn’t give her any grief as she walked a half-step behind Indara to one of the dusty storage rooms at the Temple. Indara could have chosen one of the unoccupied offices or even asked to speak with her outside, so Osha figured this was just a convenient private place for a tense conversation.

She waited patiently for Indara to speak.

“You haven’t been in classes.”

Osha considered engaging in the awkward small talk for a few seconds before she shook her head. “You know why.”

It wasn’t a matter of not having time or availability or even access to classes. Indara knew well that Osha could take her classes at sunrise, but she also knew Osha’s life had shifted pulls—from the unforgiving orbit around a cold sun to a faster, more thrilling one centered on the moon.

“But you are still training? It’s not good to stay away from activity no matter how long it’s been since your injury.”

Ah.

Indara was often overlooked in the training cadre at the Temple. Her classes were the earliest, and according to scheduling statistics had some of the lowest sign-ups of the gym. The people who learned from her were fiercely loyal, however—they’d spent decades at the Temple, training specifically for the sunrise offerings.

Because of that, not many of the competitive and elite fighters had the opportunity to see how truly brilliant she was in the art.

Osha’s childhood memories of taking her classes were warm and welcoming in a time where pain was a more constant companion than Mae. Indara was attentive in a way Sol was not. His frenetic compassion overwhelmed Osha at every turn, but Indara’s quiet faith in her ability to master herself made it easier to accept the bumps in the road.

After Bestine, however, there’d been a switch: Indara began hounding Osha on practically everything—classes, shifts at the cafe, learning to repair equipment. Looking back on it, it probably kept her from being fired or cast out from the Temple. She’d been in a deep depression after the injury, one that most members preferred to ignore. Indara hadn’t let up even after the days got brighter, laying into her for not being on time, for being a good example, for trying her best.

If Indara’s training was one end of the spectrum and Sol’s was the other, Qimir’s style was nowhere close to either. She preferred it.

“I haven’t been inactive,” Osha hedged, feeling slightly hypocritical for demanding Indara be upfront about what she wanted but quailing at the first sign of admission.

“Have you been training on your own?”

“Indara, please just say what you want to say. I know you know something and I’m not going to pry it out of you.”

She looked mildly amused by Osha’s sass until she got serious. “I know it’s not against policy to train at other gyms, but I care about your safety. I wanted to ensure you’re training somewhere safe, with someone safe.”

There it was.

“Mae already tried giving me the spiel,” Osha bit out. “And I didn’t like her doublespeak, either. Be direct or I’m not telling you a thing.”

A stillness she recognized from Qimir’s breathing routines radiated outward from Indara like a beacon. She only now understood what that stillness meant: conviction.

“Qimir Loharne is a dangerous man, Osha.”

Even though she’d asked for it, hearing someone say his name in the Temple was a shock. Indara went on.

“He is a known, proven antagonist of the Temple and carries personal vendettas against most people here, chief of whom are Vernestra and your father.” Something in her voice hesitated around the last word like she hadn’t meant to mention Sol.

Osha stayed quiet.

“In the years since—his departure,” she said carefully, “he was heavily involved in the city’s criminal underworld—the Hutt gang, in particular.”

I got mixed up with people that normally don’t let you leave once you’re in. I did a lot of fucked-up things to get out.

“Your assessment of him is outdated,” Osha said. “And cut the shit about his departure. You all threw him out like garbage after he sustained a horrific injury. You think I wouldn’t empathize?”

Indara’s shame was clear as day. She bowed her head to Osha’s judgment. “You’re right,” she said in a whisper.

“Why paint him as the villain when he’s clearly the victim, then?”

Gathering herself, Indara set her jaw. “When he got out of the hospital, he began harassing members at the gym, calling them and cursing them out until his voice went hoarse. There are recordings of it. There are at least two police reports regarding property damage showing an attempted breaking and entering. There were times he would trespass and intimidate the other members until police were called.”

Osha knew Indara wouldn’t say all that unless she had it on good authority—firsthand or otherwise.

“Vernestra hired a private investigator to keep an eye on him, but after he joined the ranks for the Hutts, she lost track of him. There were reports of more intimidation incidents, larceny and assault here and there. Illegal fighting rings.”

She kept her face very, very still. Did Indara know about Unknown Planet?

“When she told Vernestra he’d fallen off the map, the private investigator didn’t want anything else to do with it. Gave Vernestra the third degree about what she was doing, too. I assumed once things got quiet, Vernestra was satisfied with wherever Qimir had gone.

“I was incorrect. Recently, I found several things that disturbed me. First, that Mae was training with him. You know I reported seeing them together to Vernestra. Then, months later, I found out she’d been encouraged to continue seeing him despite the negative influence a man like that would have on a member of the Temple. And lastly, I found out that Vernestra had attempted to pin the news on you long after the fact.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’ve tried to put a stop to her abhorrent treatment toward you as much as I can. Given the circumstances, I fear further association with Qimir Loharne will only complicate matters—for you, for your sister, for the entire Temple.”

“What circumstances are you talking about?” Osha asked.

Panic flared in Indara’s body language like smoke off a campfire. Osha continued her attack.

“Why are you telling me this? And why now? You’ve had weeks since Vernestra accused me of that.”

Indara shifted, taking a deep breath to center herself. “I know. I tend to overthink matters that I know the answers to in each moment. This was one of them. It was a mistake to hold back this long, but looking back, there was no opportunity to speak to you safely.”

Osha wagered a guess that she meant I couldn’t talk to you without Vernestra getting suspicious, so I had to wait until she was gone.

“Then what were you waiting so long to say? Were you just trying to warn me off of seeing him?” Mae had tried that and earned Osha’s ire for a week. To someone like Indara, that grudge had a lot more potential mileage.

“I’ve known him since he was thirteen years old. He was a very angry child with something to prove, and in his years in the ring, he was a reckless fighter, if skilled and dedicated. He was driven by the need to win, to overpower his opponents. That wrath never abated, and I fear it was only worsened by the events that transpired.”

“And he’s in his thirties now, and doesn’t want anything to do with the Temple.”

Osha was aware she was admitting her involvement, but at this point didn’t care. She wouldn’t stand here and let Indara talk shit about him just because of her decade-old perceptions of him.

“Then why would he want to train with Mae? She wouldn’t have kept it a secret, where her loyalties lie.”

She didn’t have an answer for that. Mae’s paranoia crept back in.

I mean, it makes sense, right? He’d use one of the inside members to finally get his revenge or whatever. And it worried me when he started paying attention to you, and I don’t know what’s going on, but he still might be trying to use one of us to—

“He wouldn’t do that. He has—” too much to lose. “He has a life outside of Vernestra’s influence and wants it to stay that way.”

“Unfortunately, your involvement with him prevents that from being possible.”

She reeled back as if struck. “What the hell?”

“You two are… so alike.” Indara watched her carefully. “And it’s tragic that Vernestra knew that all along.” The regret in her tone unsettled Osha, but Indara moved on before she could explain further. “You asked me why I told you now. It’s because something has to give, Osha.

“Qimir Loharne has the motivation and the capacity to destroy not only Vernestra but the Temple and a whole group of important people involved. Vernestra is aware of that, and has been for a very long time.”

She knows if I exposed what she did, it’d destroy her. It’d destroy the Temple, and probably take down another three dozen conspirators who sought to keep things hushed up.

“She has dedicated tens of thousands of dollars into countless security additions to the gym to protect against him specifically. She’s now convinced your sister to join in her machinations, and I don’t want to see you get sucked into this dark net with the rest of us. You should not play her game, Osha. She would rather break the rules than let anybody win but her. She’s already done so, a hundred times over without anyone knowing.”

“What did she do to him? This isn’t the behavior of someone fearing for their livelihood. This is paranoia. This is guilt. He was just a kid she trained—”

“He… wasn’t.”

“What?”

Indara took a few rough swallows and tried to center herself. “He wasn’t just a kid she trained. He was—she fostered him for almost four years.”

Osha took a staggering step back. The doom felt like it was tilting on its axis. “Fostered him?”

Indara spoke quickly. “After the Padawan program started, Vernestra felt she lucked out with Qimir as her student. He showed so much talent, so much potential—and she wanted then what she wants now. Recognition. Accolades. Awards. Champions. And she fast-tracked the fostering paperwork so he could live here full-time and—”

“Here?!” Osha hissed. “He lived at the Temple?”

“Keep your voice down,” Indara insisted. “Yes. I don’t know how it all happened, but Vernestra has friends in high places. Some, very high.” She gestured to a dusty file box marked, MAYOR’S CUP SIGNAGE.

“No kidding—wait, you’re saying the mayor is involved in this?”

“Not the current one,” she said, shaking her head. “Rayencourt doesn’t like Vernestra. But the previous mayor, the one Rayencourt beat in the last election, he was in Vernestra’s pocket. That’s a different story, though. She only fostered him so she could take him to tournaments and competitions across the state—she wanted to travel with him past state lines and even out of the country, but that would have required her to formally adopt him.”

She took a deep breath. “Did he know that was why Vernestra ado—fostered him?”

Indara signed. “I don’t know. I hope not. But anybody who knows Vernestra knows she’s an ambitious opportunist—a venture capitalist.”

“Yes, but with people?” Osha protested. “This is—how come this isn’t everywhere?”

“There’s… there are a lot of reasons for that, Osha. There were witnesses to his injury, and all of them—all of us,” she swallowed down her pride, “had to keep things quiet or else we’d all go down together.”

Osha was disgusted. “You clearly don’t approve.”

“When I signed that NDA, I’d just gotten back from ten hours of waiting in a hospital room to see if Qimir lived through his surgery.” The flare of emotion beneath her words told Osha she was serious. “They were… they wouldn’t let me leave if I didn’t. And if I ever broke it after… the consequences were and are enough to keep my mouth shut.”

“It’s not shut now.”

“No. It’s not. And I may have made the wrong decision then, but I won’t make it now. Not when I see it happening again—with you.”

“Me? I don’t even compete.”

“Vernestra considers you a blemish on her image. She sees you as a wildcard she can’t control. After your injury, she went through the same motions as she’d done before—scrubbing your image from signage that represented the Temple, doctoring news results of your injury and your involvement in the gym.

“Qimir had much less coverage, which made it easier to erase his name from anything that could come back to her, but not everything.” Osha nodded. She’d found the two news articles. “And I said there were witnesses. But his injury wasn’t in front of a crowd in Bestine.”

Osha flexed her hands in and out of fists on her knees. “What happened, Indara?”

“How much has he told you about what happened?”

Under her watch, a spar went very wrong, and—

T6, T7, T12, L1—

“I know it’s serious enough that it affects him to this day,” she hedged. She didn’t want to give Indara anything that she could use against her—or Qimir.

Osha’s defensiveness seemed to make Indara aware of something, eyes shifting to the door. “We might have been in here for too long,” she said. 

“We’re fine.”

“No, really. The walls have ears and eyes.”

Osha felt like screaming in frustration. How could Indara just cut things off like that? There were so many unanswered questions it felt like she was drowning in uncertainty. “So what do you want me to do? You’re not getting away with telling me just part of the story.”

“I have to be careful, Osha. The NDA is very specific about what will happen to me if it gets out that I broke it. And I have broken it to tell you what I have, even if you think I’ve told you very little.” Indara took a deep breath, looking between Osha and the door. “I’m typically free in the early evenings. You have my number.”

Evenings—when she trained with Qimir. Would she have to keep this from him? Indara sounded like she was there when he was injured—that’d be enough to hold a grudge against her. Perhaps she should wait until she knew more before bringing it to Qimir. He’d been quite upset when she told him about what Mae said last Saturday.

“Alright. But—Indara, I haven’t signed the NDA, and I’d be able to actually do something. To make this right.” Osha came closer. “I want to set things right. I don’t want to destroy the Temple, but if there’s justice that needs doing, then… I need to pursue it.”

Indara’s relief seemed strained. “I know you do. And I was hoping you would. In the meantime, I need you to act like everything is business as normal. I don’t believe Vernestra knows you’re training with him, and we need to keep it that way.”

“I’m—” She was about to deny it, reflexively covering her ass, but stopped. Indara had shared the truth, and she owed it from Osha as well. “I can do that,” she said slowly.

“If Vernestra does question you about him, act like you despise him if she backs you into a corner. Lie as little as possible. Play the game to make it look like she’s winning, Osha.”

She nodded, feeling a little nauseous as a million different ideas twirled around in her head to sell the ruse.

“Another thing—practically every member of the gym over 30 has signed an NDA of some sort. You cannot trust any of them not to report you for snooping around.”

“Not even Sol?” she said, feeling the weight of this responsibility close over her head like the lid of a coffin.

Indara froze, closing her eyes tightly. “Especially Sol,” she whispered. “Especially him.” She left the room without another word, leaving Osha alone in the quiet.

She checked her phone the moment she got in her car after work. She’d done well distracting herself after talking to Indara by doing odd, unwanted jobs around the cafe. It only temporarily staved off the looming dread and anxiety; there was no keeping it away forever.

Kana had texted her four times in a row just a few minutes before her shift ended, most likely knowing she’d see them quickly.

K: last minute but we might need you on swing for fights

K: 2hr before 2hr after 2x pay lots of tips :)

K: you also get free admission to fights :)))

K: it’s short notice but I promise we won’t throw you to the wolves lol

O: 2x pay sounds NOICE.

O: I’ll be there at 7 with bells on :)))

Oh no. Fight night.

She would have to face Qimir after all Indara had said—his involvement with gangs, the other attacks on the Temple he hadn’t disclosed. The fact he was Vernestra’s foster child. There was no fucking way she could keep it together if he asked what was wrong.

She couldn’t tell him what she knew. He had an eleven-month winning streak to defend and didn’t need more emotional trauma following him into the cage.

It’s not healthy to let myself think about returning to that mindset again.

Osha had to do this on her own. She had to find a way to expose Vernestra and whoever else was involved, so Qimir could live the quiet life he wanted.

Speaking of the devil.

?: I know you’re on shift right now, but would you like to ride to Unplan together tonight? I’m there early on new moons, so you might be bored while waiting.

?: But I want to see you.

She felt her heart soar in her chest, a welcome ache after all the despair from earlier. It strengthened her resolve to defend him, to go to whatever lengths she had to in order to help him. He was kind and considerate and—

O: Kana just asked me to work swing shift :(

His response came immediately, like he’d been waiting for her text even though he’d sent his more than an hour before.

?: Did you say yes?

O: Yeah

O: Money’s money

?: Swing still lets you watch the fights.

O: Bold to assume I want to watch u fight.

?: Can you blame me?

O: Yes

O: Often

?: Did you still want a ride?

O: Do u get there before 7

?: I do.

?: About heart hours early to first match.

God damn it. Despite the weight of all that had been said, Osha blushed and leaned back against the door, biting her lip to suppress a smile.

O: That could work……

?: I will wait until your shift is over as well.

O: Go on…

?: And I’ll buy you a drink.

O: What, u need me to drive u home after u get ur ass kicked?

?: If that’s what you want.

“The fuck does that mean?” she whispered, starting her car.

?: I’ll come by at 6:30.

O: I’ll see u then~

?: Attagirl.

CHAPTER 14

[istumpysk]

to bad lady stoneheart will crown arya in robb’s crown leading her to be queen of the north at least sansa can enjoy her life with her two timing husband in the vale 😌

Top 10 Funniest Ship Girl Foreshadowing

10. Gendry's very important question.

He looked dubious. "Did you ever sail a boat?" "You put up the sail," she said, "and the wind pushes it." "What if the wind is blowing the wrong way?" "Then there's oars to row." - Arya II, ASOS

9. Excellent names!

I mean to use your second son as well. He will take Lady Marya across the narrow sea, to Braavos and the other Free Cities, to deliver other letters to the men who rule there. - Davos I, ACOK

x

"Just so. Your father was oarmaster on a galley. When your mother died, he took you off to sea with him. Then he died as well, and his captain had no use for you, so he put you off the ship in Braavos. And what was the name of the ship?" "Nymeria," she said at once. - Arya II, AFFC

8. Hey, what's with this Stark they keep telling us about.

That's a Brandon, the tall one with the dreamy face, he was Brandon the Shipwright, because he loved the sea. His tomb is empty. He tried to sail west across the Sunset Sea and was never seen again. - Bran VII, AGOT

x

It was Bran's turn to tell a story, so he told them about another Brandon Stark, the one called Brandon the Shipwright, who had sailed off beyond the Sunset Sea. - Bran III, ASOS

7. Arya spells it out.

Only Braavosi were permitted use of the Purple Harbor, from the Drowned Town and the Sealord's Palace; ships from her sister cities and the rest of the wide world had to use the Ragman's Harbor, a poorer, rougher, dirtier port than the Purple. It was noisier as well, as sailors and traders from half a hundred lands crowded its wharves and alleys, mingling with those who served and preyed on them. Cat liked it best of any place in Braavos. She liked the noise and the strange smells, and seeing what ships had come in on the evening tide and what ships had departed. She liked the sailors too; the boisterous Tyroshi with their booming voices and dyed whiskers; the fair-haired Lyseni, always trying to niggle down her prices; the squat, hairy sailors from the Port of Ibben, growling curses in low, raspy voices. Her favorites were the Summer Islanders, with their skins as smooth and dark as teak. They wore feathered cloaks of red and green and yellow, and the tall masts and white sails of their swan ships were magnificent. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

6. Arya spells it out again.

Arya bit her lip. She had crossed the narrow sea to get here, but if the captain had asked she would have told him she wanted to stay aboard the Titan’s Daughter. Salty was too small to man an oar, she knew that now, but she could learn to splice ropes and reef the sails and steer a course across the great salt seas. Denyo had taken her up to the crow’s nest once, and she hadn’t been afraid at all, though the deck had seemed a tiny thing below her. I can do sums too, and keep a cabin neat. - Arya I, AFFC

5. Arya spells it out one more time. (Plus one more, because she's so generous!)

It made her think of the sea. Maybe that was the way out. Old Nan used to tell stories of boys who stowed away on trading galleys and sailed off into all kinds of adventures. Maybe Arya could do that too. - Arya V, AGOT

x

"It won’t be so bad, Sansa," Arya said. "We're going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure - Sansa III, AGOT

4. Ned Stark makes a bizarre prediction about the future of one of his children.

"No," Ned said. He saw no use in lying to her. "Yet someday he may be the lord of a great holdfast and sit on the king's council. He might raise castles like Brandon the Builder, or sail a ship across the Sunset Sea, or enter your mother’s Faith and become the High Septon." - Eddard II, AGOT

3. An entire fandom forgets what made Nymeria famous.

He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother's queen, of Nymeria's ten thousand ships. - Sansa VI, ACOK

x

He had not noticed that before, no more than he had noticed the picture on the tapestry, a scene of Nymeria and her ten thousand ships. - The Soiled Knight, AFFC

x

That is Nymeria's star, burning bright, and that milky band behind her, those are ten thousand ships. - The Queenmaker, AFFC

2. They could be like Nymeria, and sail beyond the Sunset Sea.

Lord Gylbert began to speak. He told of a wondrous land beyond the Sunset Sea, a land without winter or want, where death had no dominion. "Make me your king, and I shall lead you there," he cried. "We will build ten thousand ships as Nymeria once did and take sail with all our people to the land beyond the sunset. There every man shall be a king and every wife a queen." - The Drowned Man, AFFC

A marriage is arranged between Arya and Elmar. El mar. The sea.

"Also, if your sister Arya is returned to us safely, it is agreed that she will marry Lord Walder's youngest son, Elmar, when the two of them come of age." - Catelyn IX, AGOT

[willshipanything-blog]

Breaking the Rules- Epilogue 1 of 2

Did I post this on AO3 yesterday? yes. Did I also forget to put it on tumblr? also yes, but it's here now! A cute little added chapter- the first of 2 little epilogues to finish the fic, just some sweet little cherries on top of the traumatic ordeal that was Breaking the Rules. As always, minors DNI (nothing in this chapter, but the story in general) Full fic on AO3 here Full tumblr Chapter Index here

Epilogue (1 of 2) Dear Al and Scout

Since the mail had come that morning, you’d been waiting impatiently, nervously. Amongst the usual junk mail and bills, a surprise letter had your guts twisting as you cooked, cleaned and (tried to) relax all day. The clock in the living must have been broken, you surmised, based on how it seemed to have stood still for most of the day. The hours between Al’s departure and eventual arrival in the driveway had never felt so torturously long. For about an hour before Al walked through the door, you’d been sitting on the couch, knee bouncing quickly and your thumbnail bitten down to a serrated mess through your nervous chewing. 

As you heard the van pulling up, you stood, taking a deep inhale to calm your worry. You needed to compose yourself when Al got here, needed to stifle that nervousness now. If the letter was as bad as the scenarios you’d been conjuring in your mind, Al would undoubtedly take the news worse than you. You’d have to be there to help soften the blow and pick up the pieces of another shattered relationship in his life. 

Al walked through the door with a booming, oblivious “Evening, dove!” before kicking the door closed behind him, blowing into his cupped hands as he shut out the cold December weather. You approached him in the doorway, where his arms reached to grab you, cold hands bringing you close for a deep kiss. As you pulled away with a smile, you thought Al’s own dimpled grin was warm enough to melt the dusting of snow beginning to cover the street outside. And you hated that you might take away that grin. You brushed the snowflakes from the lapels of Al’s shearling jacket as he watched you with a contented look, not noticing how slowly you were working, not realizing you were trying to hold off the inevitable.

Eventually, though, you stepped back, allowing Al to shrug out of his jacket and kick off his sludge-covered boots near the door. When he turned back, already asking what dinner plans might be, he stalled, seeing your suddenly somber expression that you’d been trying (and failing) to hold in a smile. You just couldn’t hide your true feelings, however apprehensive, around this man anymore. It was a blessing, a sign of your true freedom to fully be yourself, but right now it felt more like a curse. There was no point delaying any further.

“A letter came for us today.”

“For us?” he asked, clearly puzzled that the letter would be intended for anyone other than him. You remained quiet, but Al’s gaze followed the path of your outstretched, pointed arm towards the letter sitting propped up on the coffee table. The white envelope stood out against the dark teak coffee table, as stark as blood on snow. Al walked slowly to the table, plucking up the letter carefully, as if handling fragile glass.

“From… Max?” Al asked incredulously as he scanned the envelope, flipping it over in his hands as if some clue might appear on the paper. He’d recognized the handwriting, but was as confused as you’d been at seeing an actual letter addressed from Max to the both of you. A letter just seemed so… un-Max. When Al looked at you for confirmation, you nodded back, biting your lip in worry. 

“I couldn’t reach him on the phone- it was disconnected.”

“Well, c’mere dove,” Al said, sitting on the couch and holding out a hand towards you, “It’s for both of us, let’s read it together.” He smiled as he spoke, but you still discerned the uncertainty, that big-brother worry, in Al’s voice. When you reached him, he pulled you down playfully and thrusted the letter into your hands. Another sign of his concern. After all, Max had left before, leaving Al in some of his worst moments. Was this just another disappointment waiting inside an off-white envelope? You took the letter, making sure to give a reassuring smile, despite your own doubts. If this was bad news, you’d need to be there for Al, if the only other person in his life no longer was. 

Hooking a thumb under the sealed opening, you ripped the top seam of the envelope and pulled out the contents. Just one sheet of paper, and something flat and a little thicker behind it. Unfolding the paper, seeing the formal salutation on the top line of the page, you held the letter between you and Al, and began to read.

Dear Al and Scout,

By the time you read this, I won’t be in Denver anymore. I know you two have been through a lot, but I think it’s all ok now? I hope so at least. So I thought leaving wouldn’t hurt any of you too much. Plus, I’m not leaving for good or anything. I want you to know that for real.

I’m moving down to Austin. I let the apartment people know and I sorted out the bills and stuff by myself. And I already got a job down there- it’s at the same chain of stores I was working here, and they fixed it for me to switch no problem. I got back in touch with an old friend, and I’m gonna move in with him, so I’m all set for a place to stay too. I figured I couldn’t wear my hawaiian shirts in the Colorado winter, so I thought I’d give Texas a go!

AL:

I get that there’s things I don’t know about you. But there’s things you probably don’t know about me either. Maybe one day there won’t be any secrets, but guess we’ll see. I know none of us are good at speaking- especially about the important stuff. 

I just wanted to properly tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for running away all those years ago. I really left you in the lurch- dealing with dad, and then losing mom all by yourself. You were the best big brother, and I thought you were so strong, and that you’d hold it together. At the time I thought you had, but I know now that wasn’t the case. I didn’t realize how much you were hurting, too, and I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me one day.

I don’t say it enough, so I’ll put it here in writing. I’m grateful for everything you did for me growing up, and for helping me these past few months. I’m not sure I’ll ever repay you for everything. I’m glad to call you my brother. And I know for sure mom would be proud of you, of who you’ve become. Before I left, I stopped by the cemetery and put some white tulips on her grave- they were her favorite. But you probably already knew that. Maybe next time I’m around we can go together. 

Don’t see this as me abandoning you- cause I WILL be visiting! I just know that this time, you’re not on your own in that house. 

SCOUT:

Thanks for being such a good friend. You helped me work through a lot of shit while I was staying with you guys. I’ll be forever grateful for that.

I guess things were tough for you in ways I don’t understand, but thanks for being honest with me when you felt comfortable. And for letting me be honest with you about myself too. I’m always gonna be a phone call away if you ever want to talk. So you let me know if Al’s being mean and I’ll be up there in a second to throttle him for you!

I think you were right about being Samson’s favorite too- he’s gonna miss you even more than I will!

I never know how to sign off on these things. I’ll let you both know when I’ve settled and I’ll call or write. I’ll give you my new number and address so you can do the same. Not sure if my living situation will be permanent- I’ll have to see if I get on with Kenny as well as I used to. I’ll keep you updated!!

Even though I’m not there, I’m still right there, ok?

Love, 

Max (& Samson)

p.s I’ll try to come up to Denver in the new year. So I’ll be seeing you both real soon.

Max had written, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as you’d been imagining all day. He was leaving because- you read between the lines in that letter- he needed some space. You’d all been through a lot together, and even now there were secrets that weren’t shared freely. Although some secrets would never be shared at all. Still, at least there seemed some hope of Max opening up to Al about his own love life- his attraction to both men and women. Which, (if Max’s new living arrangements seemed anything to go by) might come up sooner rather than later. 

A small part of you wished Max had said goodbye in person, though you wondered if a ‘real’ farewell and the fanfare that came with it would have been too sad. In any case, New Year’s was only a few weeks away. Max would most certainly come bounding through the door,  Samson in tow, just like they’d come crashing into your lives on his first night back all those months ago. Like Max had inferred in his letter- it wasn’t really ‘goodbye’, more of a ‘see ya later, Scout!’.

The letter slipped from your hand; Al had taken it, handling it with delicate hands as he folded it back up, slotting it back into the envelope with such reverence. A small smile had his dimple coming out, and you didn’t think his slightly flushed cheeks were from the cold anymore. 

“Are you ok?” you ventured, placing a spread hand on his thigh.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking at you with a soft expression for a moment, before winking in his playful fashion. “Just gonna keep this safe, hm? I got it in writing now that I’m the best big brother!”

As Al rose and headed to the bedroom, probably to stash the letter somewhere safe, somewhere important, you realized you were still holding something- the second part of Max’s farewell gift. Between the sheets of the letter he’d slipped a photograph, and you huffed a soft laugh through your nose in recognition. 

It was the photo you’d taken the day Max had moved to his tiny apartment. Your fingertips gripped the edges softly, not wanting to mar the perfect polaroid with your prints. It was of the three of you- plus Samson, of course. You, knelt down beside the huge dog as he picked the most inopportune moment to lick your cheek, turning your smile into an elated shriek as the camera flashed. Behind you was Al, an arm curled around your waist, the other round Max’s shoulder to his side. Max, as usual, was beaming. Your finger delicately hovered over the photo, stopping over Al’s image. 

Al never had the widest grin- and who could compete with you or Max in that regard? But as you admired the quiet smile, the winsome blue eyes, the way he held onto you and his brother in the picture- you thought that, just maybe, Al looked like the happiest person in the world.

[the-starry-lycan]

Sea of Stars Headcanons 02

Yesss more headcanons! Zale's have been finished, and I thought it was only fitting to go for his partner of Solstice, Valere. Here we have some headcanons for our moongirl, the mighty Lunar Monk!

Valere is the second-tallest of the trio, and is the middle between Zale and Garl, being about 5 cm taller than the former and 3 cm shorter of the latter.

She enjoys rainy weather the most, and likes to be out during the nighttime. She's got a good tolerance for the cold, and doesn't like being out in the sun too long.

In the snow, Valere enjoys making snow sculptures.

When it comes to food, Valere prefers sweets, and what she eats generally isn't too strongly flavoured. When Garl was unable to do the cooking for the group and it came her turn, her food was generally quite mildly-flavored, with the occassional odd taste combination from her experimenting.

She naturally took to meditating when she was younger and would do a little people-watching around Zenith Academy, which was considered creepy to some and endearing to others.

Another habit she tended to was long walks in the moonlight, and she'll go out for a walk if she's feeling some strong emotions (though she might just make it a run or training session if she's feeling really intense about it..). She also likes to stargaze and can identify the basic constellations in the sky.

If she is feeling angry about something, she seethes. She, too, doesn't hold grudges too deeply, but she is more wary than Zale when it comes to trust.

When she was younger, she had planned on having the title "Bulwark of the Innocents" rather than "Lunar Monk", something Zale still likes to torture her with to this day.

Valere was closer to Erlina than Brugaves as a child, as their serious, more quiet and intense natures aligned with one another.

She is a night owl, and likes to be out during the night, particularly when it's quiet (good peace for meditating). She likes to stay up late, and if she can, wakes up late (or REALLY late) in the morning.

Valere is a more of a cat person, and feels neutral around most other animals, not minding their presence too much.

When she's hurting or sick, she prefers to take some time to be by herself and recover. She is all right with Garl or Zale visiting her, but not for too long, and can be pretty grumpy when she isn't feeling very well. When she's feeling up to it though, she'll lie in Teaks's lap and listen to a story to help make her feel better or fall asleep.

Valere isn't as physically affectionate as Zale is, but she prefers to use words to show her affection, and will happily give compliments and praise (plus some pretty creative insults to those she doesn't like)

She does not startle easily.. although Zale does, and she very much encourages and helps out the attempts of Resh'an and Seraï to creep him out or scare him (even Teaks too, with a scary story).

She gets along best with Teaks and Seraï in the group. She's amiable but oftentimes Zale can be too much for her, the Alchemist is too detached generally, and she's all right with B'st.

[skybrushus]

Twilight Sparkle's finished writing her signature on the document and then returned the quill pen to its place in the inkwell. Opening a drawer on her desk she retrieved a small ornately carved teak box and set it on the desktop. From a pocket on her deep red satin vest she withdrew a small ring of keys. She selected a particularly fancy key of chiseled steel which had a large, faceted amethyst stone inset into it. 

     The light mauve alicorn's horn glowed slightly and the box glowed in a similar color. There was a brief flash of arcane light then it subsided. Twilight then inserted the key into lock and turned it. The gemstone in the key glowed brightly for an instant and the lock clicked. Lifting the lid of the box she removed a wax seal and stick of violet sealing wax. Twilight's horn sparked for an instant and the wick of the sealing wax burst into flames. She then dripped several drops of the wax on the paper. Quickly she pressed her seal into the molten wax and then carefully lifted the seal leaving an impression of the seal in the cooling wax.  She then placed the document in a large pile of other pieces of paper, vellum, and parchment. 

    Extinguishing the wick on the sealing wax. Twilight returned the seal and wax to the box. She started close it when her eyes settled on another object in the teak box. It was a key. A much simpler type of key that was found on countless key rings across Equestria. The Princess of Friendship looked at the key and then to a bottle sitting on her desk. It was a modest sized bottle of deep pine green,semi-translucent glass. It had a flip-top stopper. Attached to the stopper was a steel shackle that hooked over and held in place by a utilitarian but very rugged looking lock. Embellished on the bottle was the image of an open book. 

     Twilight looked at the key and then to bottle. Then she glanced over to the large stack of paperwork that still needed her attention. She looked back to the bottle, then to the key in the box, then over to papers again. This cycle went on for a few seconds until the mare smiled and she muttered to herself. 

      "All work and no play make Twilight a dull princess." The paperwork could wait until tomorrow. A smile spread across her face. "I guess I can let her out to play for the evening." 

     The alicorn's flared again and the bottle levitated closer to her. The glow of her changed color and the lock and stopper flashed for an instant. Then she inserted the key and unlocked it. Then she removed the lock, flipped open the stopper, and then leaned back in her chair and enjoyed the upcoming show.

     After a couple of seconds a small geyser of viscous, glistening black liquid erupted from the bottle. The liquid hung in the air as more and more and even more of it emerged and hung in the air in defiance of gravity. After a second or so it started forming into the figure of Page Turner. The unicorn mare was wearing a leather ensemble that she called her Adventure Outfit. She twirled in the air a couple of times. Then she looked down at the princess and smiled. 

     "Evening your Highness. What services do you require from me your most loyal and obedient servant?!"

      Twilight steepled her fingers as she leaned back in her chair and looked up at the mare and grinned. "You know. I think you deliberately lost that bet we made. Because you're enjoying this way too much!"

      The Page Turner put her arms behinds back and leaned over and looked down at Twilight. "Is that a problem ma'am?"

      Twilight's grin grew even larger. "No problem at all."

      This is one of the drawings she started during my recent Picarto stream. Link The theme that evening was genies. In both my Equestria and Anthro MLP dreamscape Page Turner is part of Princess Twilight's security detail and the mare is now the princess's lover. This is the story that popped into my head as I was doing the drawing. 

[goodshipskypirate]

Okay, real talk. Resh'an? Aephorul? You two have a reaaaaaaally big problem breaking child labor laws and recruiting minors into your workplace. I'm just saying, social workers are gonna come a-knocking on your doors.

Serai isn't the only one who came from another world, Teaks' story confirms these kids did, too. They made a deal with Aephorul to save their world in exchange for their services. "Save" in this case probably meant, "please don't destroy our home and we'll forever be in your services." That's the feeling I get. This meant sacrifice of their freedom, but at least they got to waste Aephorul's time and successfully got away with it. No wonder the Fleshmancer hired them, Cael and friends have two dangerous skills in their hands: they're both smart AND tricksters. If Resh'an ever found out (and he probably already did), I think he would be very amused. And he would bring it up. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

Actually, it's pretty much a given Resh'an is superior with time manipulation than Aephorul, and I'm genuinely surprised the latter doesn't, say, request for equal exchange in terms of their agreement. I personally think Aephorul is just that impressed (as much as he is envious) that his boyfriend literally invented time travel and reality warping that he's kind of okay with it (well, that, and he has literally countless verses he can fuck around with.) He probably thinks that's the hottest thing Resh'an has ever done ("ohhhh, baby, you get me so hard when you try to beat me in our cosmic game by breaking the spacetime continuum.")

But yeah, shout-out to these little rascals for making the most out of a bad situation.

[tobiasdrake]

And before we move on, another story time with Teaks in this lovely... moist hotel room.

Hey, there's three damp beds and five of us. How are we splitting this? Honestly, there's a lot of logical combinations but the important thing is that I get the bed down there in the corner. I called it. It's mine.

Anyways, story time. Tell me about the Docarri, Teaks.

The Tower of Whatsit? Oh, is that the big spire with the crystal on top of it? Yeah, I do get a "holy edifice" kind of vibe from it.

Lake Docarri's pretty far from the tower though. Did they get lost in the woods?

Hold up. Their visions weren't telling them to come here for any particular reason related to their society or culture, but rather to just. Like. Hang out so they can Walmart Greeter the Chosen Ones?

Is this fucking Mooncradle again? Is everyone on this planet charged with a sacred duty to shine my shoes and make breakfast for me in the morning?

Because I'm a narcissist and even I think that's a bit much.

Well, I just learned a new word.

Are you going to tell me that story within this one? Because I'm down for a two-for-one. What is the greatest battle of the Docarri people's history?

Oh no, I've played Overlord, those things are monsters. You wouldn't expect it but they are. I get it.

...hold up, we get treasure if we kill a giant sea slug? Shit, what are we sitting around here for? How tough can it be? It's a slug.

<.< >.> Right. No, uh. No looters around who can breathe underwater. The treasure is perfectly safe.

Does it say where the treasure is?

I think those historians make a fair point. Like. In order for it to be the Battle of Fate's Guyot, the guyot has to come into play somewhere, right? Wouldn't make sense to have a totally guyot-less story.

But on the other hand, just because there has to be a guyot somewhere, that doesn't necessarily mean it's used in the way you would expect.

Maybe that's what's behind the Solstice lock at Torment Peak. Someone in town mentioned that a great evil was imprisoned there, which is one of the things Elder Mist said we locked away in those Solstice vaults.

This makes me want to take another crack at Torment Peak. But if I can't open the lock, I can't unleash the great evil upon the world. That's a problem.

Okay so probably not the Solstice vault, then. That makes sense. Torment Peak's above water, so it'd be more of a proper volcano than a guyot.

Still. I'm gonna be having slug-guarded treasure dancing across my dreams tonight. As always, thanks for the story, Teaks. When we're stealing mildly slimy Docarri valuables before the merfolk know what happened, I'll be thinking of you.

[zalrb]

Sorry if you were asked this before, tried looking around and wasn’t sure which tag to look up.

What are some ships you ended up enjoying for what they were or unexpectedly enjoyed them and found yourself disappointed in the end even though you knew they weren’t going to work out because they were an obvious wedge between a “main” ship? (Hope this makes sense!)

The first one that comes to mind is Dair.

I didn't expect to like them, in fact I was vehemently against them in real time and then I ended up really shipping them, knowing that it would probably end with Chair but this was still my reaction when it happened

Simone and Chidi is another one

I knew from the beginning it was just an obstacle for Chidi and Eleanor but I was still annoyed when it went back to Chidi and Eleanor because I thought Simone and Chidi had chemistry and a better vibe and from the very beginning I thought Chidi and Eleanor could've just stayed friends.

Tahani and Jason are a little different

because I did really hope that they would make them real and lasting but Janet and Jason were always in the background so that knowledge that it could go to back to them was always there.

Same thing with Olivia and Jake

where some seasons I would be like OK so Olake is going to be it but then other seasons I'd be like so they're just an obstacle for Olitz but because it kept going back and forth, the fact that it was going to be Olitz was always in the back of my mind and I wasn't watching the final season of Scandal but when anons were telling me they effectively erased Olake by having Olivia say that Fitz was the only man she ever truly loved and then Jake ends up in prison and he started falling for Mellie, by that time I was over it so I was just like of course that happened.

So, Teak and Lil Murda in P Valley were just stressful and I really didn't expect to like them, well I didn't expect their relationship at all, it was a reveal. Lil Murda is in love with Uncle Clifford and Clifford and Lil Murda are, in a lot of ways, the central love story, and I really like them! but they were on a break and that's when Teak comes in and Teak and Lil Murda had a loaded history, they met and fell for each other in prison and Lil Murda got released before him but didn't go to visit him because he's closeted and didn't want to risk his reputation so there's just a lot of stuff with them, and I knew it wasn't going to last but the more scenes they had together, the more I liked them because I mean look at this!

and it just ended horribly and it was an ending I expected but it was still A LOT.

I liked Anna and Seth

I was, like, the only one who did and I remember when a friend revealed he liked them too and I was like YAY I'M NOT ALONE. And I knew it was going to be Seth and Summer and I like Seth and Summer but at the time I was like, *sigh* I wish Anna and Seth had more of a chance.

That's all I can think of right now.

[dyemelikeasunset]

How would you describe Dom and Mor's fashion style? What's their main aesthetic (if they have one) and what's your usual process when dressing your Ocs?

(I noticed Morgan's style had changed a ton since you reworked the story).

yeah Mor's style changed a LOT in her recent iteration lol

As for my process, I kinda go through a lot. I start with mood-boarding of course, but I also have a pretty deep knowledge of fashion brands and current trends, so I use those to help get a general aesthetic or direction for my characters.

I'll summarize how I see Dom & Mor's fashions and you can pick up some of the things I have on my long list of "what things I consider in the style for my OCs"

Dom: menswear inspired, androgynous, the occasional luxury brand logo (especially in her belts). Primarily should feel sleek-- even if she's following oversized trends, another part of the outfit should be svelte to balance it out. Very much a Gucci, Chanel, and Yves Saint Laurent girl, but she tends towards all-black or greyer/monochrome palettes. Shoes range from oxfords, smoker slippers, and chunky heels of all kinds (she usually wears a 3-inch). Doesn't really do thin post heels unless it's for work.

She's the type to not have bags often, if she does, it's a handbag or clutch. Wears minimal watches, but doesn't accessorize much outside of that. She has no idea what a futch is, yet she wears luxury men's briefs and cologne (her scents tend towards teak and mahogany and other handsome wooden-to-oriental scents)

Mor: comfortable, somewhere between tomboy and feminine, sometimes sporty but not sports luxe. She avoids "bombshell" or "sexy" looks, and is stylish in a cute street-inspired way. LOVES to layer, winter is her favorite season. Likes brands like Kenzo, Off-White, and Tommy Hilfiger. Picks up on popular trends, and likes whites, light tans, and sedated but rich colors. Uses canvas tote bags and backpacks. Tends towards oversized silhouettes in at least one part of her outfit. She refuses to let the Timberland and chunky sneaker trends die-- she loves her Timbs and a good chunky shoe. In general likes to collect nice footwear but leans towards flat heels, sneakers, and cute boots.

Her main way of accessorizing is through hats and beanies-- doesn't really do belts, jewelry, or perfume. Her scents usually come from lotions and essential oils, which range from floral to oriental

[irisopranta]

3 for the soft prompts!!

((Breathing in your partner's scent while hugging them))

The Manufactory has been going full steam as of late. So busy that even Stephanivien has been more hands on. After finishing work for the day, he arrived at Iris' home. She didn't seem to be around. She must be out shopping he thought. He figured the best thing he can do for now was clean himself up.

Sometime later, Iris returned to her home. She was greeted was freshly washed Stephanivien. She gave him a hug. She pick up a scent of some smokeyness. Probably from his work at the manufactory. However, she was picking up another scent. Something more woodsy. Like a cedar or maybe a teak.

"Do you like it? I figured that you might preferred it over the smokey and grease smells." he smirked. Iris just hugged him tighter. She took a deeper breath to smell him a bit more. He took that as a yes. He lifted her chin and went in for a kiss. She return it in kind.

Thanks for the ask @bnuuywol

want to hear more stories about my ship. Send me a Non Verbal Love You Prompt

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

A Palomino Christmas

Jack Daniels x f!reader

|| Palomino universe oneshot, out of chronological order as I haven't finished the series yet. Can be read as a stand-alone. ||

{ Fuck Yeah Holidays | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: You spend Christmas at the ranch with Jack. You thought the present you got him was inspired until you see him wearing it - the cowboy way.

Inspired by snowsuit anon and this adorable post (and a super cute nickname for a pony) sent to me by @aynsleywalker.

Warnings: !Ski suit action!, drinking, mention of food, gratuitous descriptions of the male bulge body, dirty talk, safe unprotected sex, feelings so fluffy. These holiday fics are for fun, so not as *rigorously edited* as my regular stories, please forgive any mistakes or plot holes!

Word count: 4.5k

Dedicated to @guiltypleasure-girl who I'm so grateful to have made friends with this year and who, imho, draws the best Jack in all the lands. If you don't already, follow her art page @guiltypleasure-art for the most gorgeous fanart ❤️

It’s always busy in the Stateman’s main kitchen on Christmas morning. The smokey burn of firewood warms the cozy space as the radio blares holiday tunes. Poppy presides over the operations at the head of the table - everything is planned down to the T and everyone has a role.

On any other Christmas day, Jack would be her sous-chef, the one she relies on to keep everyone on schedule and in their place.

But alas, today is not any other Christmas day.

The normally put together cowboy ambles around the place like a headless chicken, leaving a trail of half-completed tasks in his wake. Tequila, in uncharacteristic discretion, follows two steps behind.

He turns off the tap that Jack’s left pouring into the already full kettle, draining the excess water and putting it on the boil.

There’s one slice of bread in the toaster, while another lies forgotten on the table, which Teak slides into the free slot and pushes down the lever.

Jack pulls a jar of pickles from the fridge unseeingly, putting it on the table and walking away in search of a mug under three sets of watching, worried eyes. Teak replaces it with his friend’s favourite strawberry jam without a word.

While the oblivious cowboy’s back is turned, Teak motions his hand and forth across his neck in a slicing motion, mouthing nope emphatically at the occupants of the kitchen table.

On his cue, Poppy clears her throat and speaks up, ‘Jack, sweetie, why don’t you go check on the horses after your toast? The stable boys want to leave work early today after doing their morning rounds.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he answers absent-mindedly, staring down into the empty mug in his grasp as if he’s lost his train of thought.

At that very moment, the toaster pops and Jack practically jumps out of his skin, stepping on Jameson’s paw where he’s lying on his rug in front of the fire, prompting an indignant yelp from the border collie and winces from around the table.

‘Sorry boy,’ he apologises and picks up his toast - burning his fingers - and stumbling over his feet to set his plate down. ‘Mornin’,’ he nods to the others without really registering who’s there.

Jack proceeds to butter his toast with such singular focus that he doesn’t notice when Tequila fills his still empty cup with coffee, only to knock it over immediately when a phone buzzes and his hand flies out to grab his. Ginger and Poppy trade concerned looks as he jumps onto his feet with another apology, snatching a tea towel to clean up the mess.

Eggsy, on potato peeling duty on the other side of the table, isn’t so diplomatic. ‘You’re jumpier than Bambi this morning, cowboy.’

Jack grunts noncommittally and chews on his toast, not rising to the bait.

‘Don’t be so nervous mate, we promise we’ll be on our best behaviour.’

Teak snorts from the kitchen counter where he’s making his PBJ. ‘I don’t know about England, but around these parts, lying on Christmas day is frowned upon.’

Eggsy replies high-handedly, ‘Can’t speak for you, Tequila, but I’ll be on my best behaviour.’

Ginger chuckles as Teak sits down at the table with his sandwich. ‘Ha! I’ll believe it when I see it.’

Jack points a forceful finger at the boys, one after the other. ‘I swear to the baby Jesus Christ, if you two don’t behave yourselves, there will be hell to pay.’

Eggsy snickers. ‘Never thought I’d see the day. Ol’ cowboy Jack falls heads over heels for a bird -’ he screeches when the coffee-soaked rag hits him in the face, which sends Teak into hysterical laughter. ‘Oi! What the fuck, man!’

Ignoring the ruckus, Jack dusts the crumbs from his hands and shrugs on his jacket, grabbing a thermos and filling it up with fresh coffee. With a hurried later, he strides out of the warmth of the kitchen and into the frigid morning air.

Thermos tucked under his arm, Jack rubs his palms together, warming his fingertips with his breath as snow crunches beneath his well-worn boots. The ranch is blanketed in thick snow, a picture-perfect postcard landscape as it is every Christmas. The morning mist has yet to burn off, but he can tell by the peek of blue through the clouds that it will be a fine day.

If your flight is on time, you should be on your way by now. He’d wanted to pick you up from the airport, but you insisted that there’s no point in him driving all the way there when you already know the way. Depending on the conditions, it shouldn’t be long until you arrive.

His list of chores isn’t long this morning - the stable boys will be on duty until lunchtime - but still, he wants to tick all the boxes before you get here. Striding into the heated stables, he says howdy to the grooms and whistles, smiling as dozens of faces appear at the doors, ears pointed forwards in attention, snickering and whinnying at him.

This never gets old.

‘Mornin’ ladies and gentlemen,’ he calls out, wandering down the stalls, rubbing a velvety nose here and pulling on a furry ear there. ‘Who’s ready to stretch their legs this fine mornin’, huh?’

Starting at the end of the stables, he unlatches Bourbon’s door and ushers him out of the stall, then crosses the aisle to let out Tanqueray, Champ’s elderly but still supremely poised Friesian, who clops leisurely towards the exit. Zig-zagging back and forth, Jack whistles, jostles and chats to the horses, all smartly dressed in warm rugs, as they file out down the corridor and into the courtyard for a bit of morning exercise while the stable boys mucked out their stalls.

‘No loitering, ma’am,’ says Jack sternly when Poppy’s mare, Pie, idles in the middle of the building. He gives her a firm pat on the rump to get her moving and whistles at one of the cheeky Shetland ponies who’s snuck into someone else’s stall. ‘Half-Pint! What did I say about stealing your friends’ treats? Shoo, now!’

The stables empty, the echoes of hooves on the concrete ground fading, with Scotch being one of the last to exit. Looping back to make sure there are no dilly-dalliers, Jack’s surprised to find the palomino, who would normally be leading the charge towards the grazing fields, still lingering at the barn doors.

‘Whatcha doin’, boy?’ he calls out.

Scotch tosses his head and steps to the side -

And you appear.

With the biggest grin, you run towards him and fly into his arms.

Your cheeks are wet, the spray of snow powder melting when it hits your skin. It drifts all around you as Scotch eats up the white ground, the thundering hooves muted by the soft cushion of the untouched, overnight snow. The mountain air is sweet and pure and stingingly cold, you can barely feel your face anymore - but it might just be from how hard you’ve been smiling.

You feel like you’re in the middle of a Christmas movie. The lush, green landscape you remember so well from your trip months ago is now all coated in wintry glory, but you still recognise the contours of the land and the mountains. It’s your first time in the saddle since - the whistle of the winds in your ear is a song you remember all the words to, the burn in your out-of-practice muscles all over a familiar old friend.

And you’re happy.

Slowing Scotch to an easy trot as you approach the end of the trail, your breath mists in front of your face as you look down over the ranch, a scene straight out of a classic snow globe, thin wisps of smoke drifting from the chimneys of the wooden lodges dotted across the property.

Gently manoeuvring the palomino to a halt and giving him a pat on the neck, you turn to smile at Jack as he walks up beside you on Whiskey. ‘I’ve missed this so much.’

‘Me too,’ he answers, warm eyes on you.

You give him a sidelong glance. ‘You’ve been here the whole time, cowboy.’

‘I know. I’ve missed you being here.’ He reaches over and pulls your gloved hand towards him, presses a kiss to the back. You want to shuck off the leather and cup his whiskered jawline in your palm, push the well-worn hat off and twine your fingers into his hair -

Later. There will be time for all that later, preferably in front of a roaring fireplace.

You break the moment with an eyebrow arched in a challenge. ‘Race you to the stables?’

Jack grins. ‘You’re on, darlin’.’

Christmas dinner is in the main lodge, which you didn’t use during your trip in the summer. The intimate space is exuberantly decorated in red and gold, a huge, freshly cut pine tree stands proudly by the antique fireplace, a merry fire burning. The table is beautifully laid, silverware immaculately polished and fine china sit alongside holidays-themed napkins. A magnificent feast lines the length of the mahogany dining table comfortably seating eight.

But any kind of decorum stops there.

As the hours tick by and bottles of wine and sherry are emptied, the meal has descended into what Jack warned you in advance as ‘typical Kingsman chaos’. According to the cowboy, the whole Kingsman team comes to the ranch every summer for their annual company retreat, but only Merlin, Eggsy and Harry fly over for Christmas. And while their contingent is small, havoc is an inevitable conclusion where any number of the Kingsman are involved.

Desserts are still being passed around the table - sticky toffee pudding, pecan pie and Yule log - when Teak and Eggsy start to raise their voices and slap the table about British and American Christmas songs. They’re currently yelling - not singing - carols at each other, with Jameson barking excitedly in the background.

Tequila throws his hands up in frustration at Eggsy’s rendition of Twelve Days of Christmas. ‘Why is there a partridge in a pear tree? What the fuck is a partridge?’

Champ and Merlin are having a more civilised but no less intense debate about pies - specifically mince pies versus pumpkin pie as a holiday dessert.

‘Next year, old chap,’ declares Merlin. ‘I’ll bring mince pies with me and you’ll be eating your words, just you wait.’

Jack whispers in your ear. ‘He says that every year, but never does.’

You chuckle and turn your attention to Harry, who’s now insisting that they should put Love Actually up on the big projector screen after dinner, whereas Ginger and Poppy are lobbying for Elf.

‘Why not The Holiday? It’s literally the perfect American-British movie,' you pitch in, which launches another furious tirade of debate at your end of the table.

Jack mumbles under his breath. ‘Because they’re idiots and pointless, festive arguing is a winter sport around here.’

His arm is warm around your shoulders as you giggle into your mulled wine. ‘Is it like this every year?’

‘Yup,’ he answers, really popping the P. With a mild touch of embarrassment, he holds your amused gaze and asks, ‘Too much?’

Tipping your face upwards, you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

‘Just enough,’ you assure him as the corners of his eyes crinkle in the warmest smile.

You didn’t have time to drop off your suitcase at Jack’s cottage, which is a short drive from the ranch, when you arrived in the morning. Instead, with Champ’s blessing, you commandeered one of the guest cabins, all empty in the off-season - which is just as well. By the time midnight rolls around, it’s clear that no one is in any state to make their way back to their respective off-site houses.

Harry and the ladies retired to their borrowed rooms a little while ago, leaving you and Jack to round up the stragglers. You check on Teak, lying face down on the sofa, bundled up in his winter quilts in an aborted attempt to leave. A few steps over, you drape a blanket on Champ and another one on Merlin, who are passed out on armchairs which look comfortable enough to sleep in, socked feet up on matching ottomans. Eggsy is cuddling with Jameson in front of the fire, and Jack feeds the logs to make sure it burns till morning.

It’s bleak outside. Jack shields you from the worst of the winds, tucking you into his side as you trudge across the snow, the early start you’ve had catching up on you. Thankfully, the heating is already on in the cabin when you get there, and he starts a fire as well while you get ready for bed.

When you pad into the bedroom in your pyjamas, teeth brushed and makeup washed off, Jack looks up to see you holding a neatly-wrapped present, a shy smile on your lips.

Standing up from the fireplace, he dusts his hands and reaches for you, palms settling on the small of your back, leaning down to graze his still cold nose against yours. ‘Is that for me, darlin’?’

‘Maybe,’ you reply coyly. ‘Do you want to do presents now or tomorrow morning?’

‘Let’s do it now, I have to feed the horses early tomorrow,’ answers Jack, pecking you on the cheek. ‘Give me five minutes.’

The bed is cold, and you have to steel yourself to burrow into the icy cocoon of the thick covers, missing Jack’s warmth. He doesn’t make you wait long, re-appearing in just boxers, and a big box in hand, switching off all but the bedside lights.

Sliding under the duvet, he yelps when your icy feet tangle into his longer legs, making you laugh. His bare skin heats you up instantly as he wraps one arm around you and pulls you into his broad chest. You feel him hum when he asks, ‘You want to go first, darlin’?’

Blinking up at him, you answer nervously, ‘No - you first.’

He pushes the box your way and you sit up, pretending to shake the package to gauge what’s inside. Jack chuckles, his strong forearms dark against the beige quilt wrapped around his middle. Only his fingers give away his nerves, picking at loose threads in the fabric as you carefully unravel the wrapping paper.

Lifting the lid of the box, your lips part and you stare wordlessly at what’s inside.

‘Jack,’ you breathe. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Gently, you pull out the cowboy hat in tan suede, the smell of fresh leather comforting as you turn it over in your grasp, marvelling at the craftsmanship in the dips and swells of the construction.

‘Try it on, darlin’,’ he says, his shoulders relaxing in relief at your reaction.

You do, and of course, it fits perfectly. Shuffling onto your knees, you crawl closer to kiss him fully on the lips, tilting your head to the side so that his face fits under the brim of your hat. ‘Thank you, I love it.’

Jack arches an eyebrow. ‘You might want to check the box again, darlin’.’

Sitting back on your haunches, you send him an almost accusatory look. ‘You can’t give me two presents, cowboy.’

He shrugs with an insolent grin. ‘I’m a grown man, I’ll do what I like. ‘

Your eyes alight on the black velvet case at the bottom of the box, and you draw it out with careful fingers as if it will break. With one last glance at Jack, you gingerly lift the lid, feeling the hinges creak.

Jack watches you closely, his own breathing suspended as you stare down into your hands, thoughts whirring in his head. Is it too much, too soon? Is he comin’ on too strong? Would you even like it?

After the longest ten seconds of his life, you look up at him with soft eyes and brows drawn, a crack in your voice. ‘Jack.’

He gives you a lopsided smile and reaches for the box. ‘I went back to the same silversmith who made my belt buckle and asked him to make this.’

The chain is delicate in his big, weathered hands. It takes him a couple of tries, but he eventually manages to pry open the hinge of the clasp and holds out the necklace towards you in a question. ‘May I, darlin’?’

Turning around, the bed dips behind you as Jack shifts closer, cool silver kissing your décolletage as he fastens the clasp behind your neck. Your gaze drops downwards, the tip of your index finger testing the weight of the solid sterling pendant in the shape of a flask, Statesman emblazoned in delicate lettering -

A much smaller but exact copy of his belt buckle.

His words draw you out of your thoughts. ‘You like it?’

‘I love it,’ you correct him, twisting around to tackle him into the mattress, your knees around his waist as you loom over him, knocking off your hat so you can kiss him properly. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’

The pendant dangles from your neck, tickling him on the chin as he winds one big hand into your hair, his eyes following as it sways. ‘It looks good on you, darlin’.’

The warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest starts to recede as your eyes land on the present you got for him on the bed. The giddiness you felt when you found it is a distant dream, instead, anxiety threatens to take root deep in your head. If you got something from Amazon tonight, is there any chance that they could deliver tomorrow -

‘Darlin’. You’re thinking too loudly,’ says Jack soothingly, chucking you gently under your chin. ‘What’s wrong?’

You shake your head. ‘I got you a really stupid present. Let’s forget about it - I’ll get you something else.’

His brows draw together in concern as he grabs your wrists and pulls you flush against his chest so that there’s nowhere else to look but at him. ‘Don’t say that, there’s no such thing as a stupid present. Whatever you got me, I’m sure I’ll love it.’

You inhale deeply, chewing your bottom lip. ‘You mentioned a few weeks ago that your leather jacket and fleeces are too bulky and it’s hard to move around in all the layers when it's cold.’

He nods encouragingly. ‘That I did.’

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you reach out and drag the package towards him. ‘Well, I saw this at my local shop, and thought it might help.’

Jack gives you a reassuring smile and leans back into the pillows, grabbing the present excitedly. He pulls you against his side, as if he’s trying to squeeze all the self-doubt out of you, the gift draped across your laps as he starts to unwrap it.

You’re a bundle of jitters when he rips off the wrapping paper with impatient fingers, and the lightweight and puffy blue fabric comes into view.

Jack shakes out the neatly folded one-piece. ‘Is it - a ski suit?’

You nod and point out the black contrasting detailing on the front of the suit. ‘It's light and it's warm. Look at the western design with the single point pockets - I couldn’t not get it for you.’

Jack chuckles, the sound warming you as his arm tightens around your shoulders. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. So simple, yet so clever.’

‘You like it?’ you ask in the smallest voice.

‘I love it,’ he grins, drawing you in for another kiss. ‘Thank you, darlin’.’

Finally assuaged, you sag against him, a yawn creeping up on you as the tension in your body recedes. ‘You want to try it on now?’

Tucking you in, he says, ‘I’ll try it tomorrow, it’s been a long day for you, darlin’.

Putting your hat and his ski suit on the bedside table, Jack turns off the light, his body immediately seeking out yours under the sheets, claiming every inch of you with a leg between your thighs, front plastered to your back, palms under your ratty pyjamas top, splayed across your naked skin.

It’s been too long.

Nose tucked behind your ear, his arms full of you - finally here after months of feeling your phantom weight in his embrace - the night slips away as the snow falls outside.

It’s too warm under the covers when you wake up, even though Jack’s side of the bed is empty. You stretch lazily, the clock reads 8am but the fire is still going strong, he must have stoked it when he got up.

You decide to make some coffee and wait for him to come back before venturing to the communal kitchen for breakfast. While the water boils, you smile as you fiddle with the necklace sitting on your chest, warm and reassuring against your skin.

The smell of caffeine fills the cabin as you sip from your mug, and before long, you hear Jack stomping up the stairs, humming a country tune in his raspy baritone as he approaches the door.

Pouring him a steaming cup, you say, ‘Hey, I made you some coffee -’

You trail off when you turn around.

Your morning brain can’t quite grasp the picture in front of you. Jack’s still wearing his cowboy hat, his nose red from the cold. Vaguely, you realise he’s wearing the present you gifted him - and you congratulate yourself on the fact that it fits him like a damn glove.

The ski suit accentuates his broad shoulders and tapers in at his waist in a flattering cut, the zipper drawn all the way up to the hollow of his throat. He’s replaced the detachable belt that came with the ski suit with his own, the flask bottle buckle popping against the blue.

But the bottom half - that you have trouble comprehending. It takes you a beat longer to realise why.

He’s wearing full-length cowboy chaps over it.

Chaps are essentially leather trousers with the seat cut out, and Jack's wearing them with his belt looped through the straps. You know he only uses them when it’s muddy, to keep his jeans clean. He didn’t wear them at all on your pack trip, but you’ve seen a peek on Facetime in the rainy months in between. And now that you're seeing them in person, you decide that like them - a lot.

Your gaze, slow as molasses despite being completely unburdened by shame, slides all the way down to the triangle of blue framed by the negative space in the brown chaps where - for the lack of a better expression - his prominent endowment hangs heavy at the apex of his strong thighs. Not that you’re trying to look, but you can see the very heft of him through the fabric.

Jesus H. Christ. It’s too fucking early to be sinning.

When Jack realises that you’re staring, he says somewhat apologetically, clearly oblivious to the merry tangent your mind has gone off on. ‘Sorry, I know I’m not meant to wear it this way, but I didn’t want to get it dirty -’

You shake your head hastily. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s - perfect.’

Something breathless in your tone catches his ear, and he tilts his head to the side, one large hand coming to rest on his hip, thick fingers spread obnoxiously wide over the side of the chaps. The beginning of a cocky smile lifts the corner of his mouth. ‘Yeah, darlin’? You like it?’

Leaving your mug on the counter top, you bite your lip and give him your best teasing grin. ‘Why don’t you turn around so I can take a better look, cowboy?’

He arches an eyebrow at your boldness, but decides to indulge you. Voice dropping an octave, he rasps, ‘Better take a seat for this, darlin’.’

You grin and do as you’re told, turning the kitchen chair around so that you’re facing him, running your eyes up and down his frame as he steps into your space, narrow hips swaying to a beat you can’t hear. Hooking his thumbs into his belt, he suddenly turns with a dramatic flourish and arches his back, granting you an unrivalled view of his behind framed by the chaps cut off at the top of his thighs, the ski suit tight against his pert bottom.

‘Enjoy the view, darlin’?’ he asks, grinning over his shoulder at you.

You swat him on one cheek playfully, and when he swoops suddenly into your lap in a classic burlesque move, you squeal, ‘Jack!’

Bending his knees, he grinds into your thighs as you laugh, the ski suit soft on your skin while the leather chaps scrape against your bare shins. Turning around, he reaches up to tug the suit’s zipper downwards in a slow, deliberate course, and he purrs, ‘What say you if ol’ cowboy Jack gives you a proper show, hmm?’

You inhale sharply as the white wife beater underneath comes into view, and you reach up to help him push one side of the ski suit off his shoulder, revealing the firm line of his left arm.

‘Thought that was more of Teak’s thing,’ you quip, licking your lips as your eyes skim down his front to settle on the weighty bulge now straining against the front of the suit, your eager fingers pulling him closer by his belt buckle.

Gripping the edge of the table, he traps you into your seat, his stare dropping to the matching pendant resting on your now heaving bosom, taking in your blown pupils as he grins. ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

‘Aren’t I the luckiest girl,’ you muse, taking off his hat and flinging it onto the table, his hungry stare alone pinning you in place when you drag him down to you by his lapels.

Warm lips part yours and he delves into your mouth, kissing you deeply. The promise of more leaves you chasing him as he draws back with a drawl. ‘You’re about to get a whole lot luckier, darlin’.’

The thick material of the ski suit is almost pillowy as your fingers dig into his shoulders to steady yourself. It rubs gently on your nipples as you rock against Jack, arms wound around his neck while his desperate hands cup and knead the plump swell of your ass, dragging you up and down his hard cock.

‘That’s it, you’re ridin' me beautifully, darlin’,’ he growls into your ear, exhaling hot and heavy as he nips your collar bone. ‘Missed you so much.’

His chaps are slippery under your bare thighs from your slick, and you clench at the sensation of being completely naked on top of him when he’s still fully clothed, only his belt and zipper undone so that he can fuck up into you, the rickety kitchen chair groaning under the weight of the two of you.

‘Missed you too,’ you whisper against his lips, crying out when he hits a particularly deep spot inside you. ‘Yes, yes, harder, Jack.’

Leaning forward, he takes one breast into his hot mouth, one eye on your necklace that’s sticking to your sweaty skin before licking you between your tits and over the silver pendant, the salt sharp on his tongue. He hums, ‘You wear it so well.’

‘I won’t take it off, ever,’ you swear, throwing your head back when he scrapes his teeth against the column of your neck, so full of him that your knees quake.

‘Good,’ growls Jack, thrusting harder into you, making your breath stutter. ‘Keep me with you, darlin’ - always.’

You smile, fingers curled into his hair, stealing a tender moment as your noses bump and eyes meet with the easiest promise you will ever keep. ‘Always.’

Notes: Am I allowed to pick favourites? I'm not? I'm doing it anyway -- this is my favourite out of all the holiday fics, no question! I'm so soft for cowboy Jack and his darlin' 🥹 We've been spending time with just the two of them so far in the series, so it was really fun to explore the group situations, especially with the Kingsman involved!

I hope you enjoyed this fluffy interlude. Wishing you all a very merry Christmas and thank you so much for reading ❤️