#both of them are party animals and are itching to attend a party

[astoldbychae]

Troy aka Super Sperm has autonomously remarried and is expecting yet ANOTHER child. 😩

He is Melo's Best Friend from College. This is his third (and hopefully final) marriage. He met Mercedes at NOIR (a night club she works at, She's a bottle girl).

So far he has 3 children by his first ex-wife, 1 by his second ex-wife, and now however many she's pregnant with. Imma need his ass to get a lil snippy snip when this is all over. IDK if Him, Melo, and Dino are competing for who can have the most babies but chile, I'M TIREDT! One thing the men in my save gon' do is hunch!

[gotnofucks]

My Little Girl

Pairing: dark!Tony stark x reader (ROYAL AU)

Summary: Prince Tony hunts you on the royal hunting trip.

Words: 6.1k

Warning: non-con, yandere, breeding kink, smut, 18+ ONLY

A/N: Why don’t we have more Tony fics?? That man is fire

MASTERLIST

Part 2   Part 3

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When you lived in a monarchy, certain hierarchies had to be followed. A king marries a queen and bears princes and princesses. Similarly, a maid marries a porter boy or servant, and bears kids who work like their parents. You were taught to follow these rules just like everyone else in the kingdom. Your parents were both servants to the king and queen, and once you were old enough you were sent to work in the palace alongside your mother too. Queen Maria Stark was a loving queen and often the soothing balm for her people who bore the stern commands of King Howard Stark. You loved to work for the queen as you got the chance to work alongside your mother and see the royal luxuries. The work was easy enough as there were so many people to help and sometimes when you did something really well you were handsomely rewarded. You took great pride in wearing the gold earbobs given to you by the queen and you stubbornly refused to let your father sell them in exchange for money.

The kingdom was a prospering and peaceful one, much more advanced than their neighbors which made the prince a very eligible bachelor. Prince Tony Stark was a handsome young man and as far as you were concerned, he was a shameless rake. You didn’t serve him directly, but you’d seen a gaggle of girls leave his chamber from time to time and the obnoxious sounds and giggling that escaped through his door made you shudder. You’d heard fellow maids mutter excitedly about spending a night with him and you flushed at how they could allow the prince to compromise them like that. What man would marry them if they got to know of their dalliances with the prince. Your parents were in the process of fixing a match for you in the baker’s family that supplied desserts to the kingdom. As a mere maid, you would be marrying above you and you shuddered to think what your future husband would say if he ever thought you had consorted with other men before marriage. With this in mind, you took special care to stay away from the prince and his lords, always praying you wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye.

You were excited today since you’d be accompanying the Queen and her ladies to their hunting trip. It was also rumored that Princess Virginia Potts - nicknamed Pepper - would also be joining the royal company. Everyone suspected that by the time this trip would be over, Prince Tony’s philandering ways would be over, and he would be engaged to Princess Pepper. Your mother who was not coming with you desperately prayed the royal match would be made, since she hoped that after their marriage your services would be availed by the princess and carry on after she took over as queen. Being a royal’s personal aid was an envied position and those servants who had that honor often had a superior sneer on their faces. Their jobs were more than simply attending to their masters during the day. They would also draw their baths, help them dress and accompany them to every royal event. These were the servants who ordered the other servants around and if you could make that position with the new princess, maybe it would be the baker’s boy who would be marrying above him.

Your mother’s instructions were very clear. Never be rude to any lord or lady and do their bidding without complaint. If you meet Princess Pepper, do your best to catch her eye and make her like you so that when she marries here, she’ll remember you and have you as her maid. More than that, stay away from every other man, be it lord or servant. You didn’t need whispers reaching home about you having a romp in the bushes with a stranger.

The path the hunting party was following was rough and you bemoaned your fate as you walked. The higher up servants travel on mules beside their masters, or in the palanquin with the royals if you were a personal aid. You prayed that Princess Pepper would like you so that in future you wouldn’t have to walk like a common maid. When it was announced that they will be pitching the tents for tonight and will continue deeper into the forest tomorrow, you almost moaned in relief. Your legs ached and your back hurt from carrying stuff on it for most of the day. The only thought you had was serving the ladies as fast as you could so that you could join the rest of the servants in your own tent and get some rest.

Once everyone was fed and you had seen to the comfort of the ladies, you made your way back to your tent that was pitched a little way away from the royals. It had taken longer than expected since every lady wanted extra mesh to keep the insects out or needed you to smoke coal in the corner of their tent to kill mosquitos. By the time you were done tending, almost everyone was in their own tents and only the night guards remained outside. Your tent finally came into your view when you passed the animals that were tied nearby. Walking past you noticed a water trough and paused. Your feet were dirty and itched and pouring a little water on them and cleaning the dried mud seemed like a good way to get better sleep. You approached the trough and lifted your skirt and with one hand splashed water on your feet. The cool water felt like heaven to you and so you poured some more. Between the water splashing and cicadas chirping around you, you didn’t hear anyone approach until their voice startled you.

“And who are you, taking water from my horse’s trough?” Came a masculine voice.

You started and turned around suddenly to the three men who stood behind you. Your movement was fast causing you to stumble on your wet feet and fall face first into the ground. You groaned in pain and three pair of feet rushed forward.

“Are you okay?”, someone asked and taking hold of your arm pulled you into a sitting position. Your breath almost stopped as you gazed into the eyes of Lord James Rhodes. Behind him stood Lord Steven Rogers and – your breath hitched – the prince himself.

“I – I am sorry to trouble you my lord. I am fine, thank you.” You stood up and Lord Rhodes removed his hand from your arm.

“What are you doing here at this time?” It was Lord Rogers who had asked you this and you turned your eyes downcast quickly. His reputation with the ladies was just as notorious as the prince’s.

“I was washing my feet, my lord.”

“You shouldn’t be out in the forest at this time girl. Do you want to be eaten by some wild animal?” Lord Rhodes admonished you and you shook under his glare. “Go back to your tent now and let everyone else know not to wander at night here. You get it?” You eagerly nodded and hoped they’ll leave so you can run back to your tent and die of shame.

Lord Rhodes shook his head and went away, and Lord Rogers followed him. The Prince however stayed and came closer to you.

“You’ve got mud on your face little girl”, and he took out a handkerchief which he dipped in the water and brought it to your face. You stood still, trembling as he wiped the dirt on your nose and cheeks. Once it was clean you slowly raised your eyes to him, and he sucked in a sharp breath as he beheld your bare face for the first time. His lips parted as he started at you and you gulped, taking a few hasty steps away. Your mother is going to whip you for embarrassing the family name by being such a silly ninny in front of the Prince.

“I’ll take your leave, your highness.” You dipped into a curtesy and turned away, ready to run.

“Wait!” Prince Tony said and you stopped, turning to face him again. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n, your highness” You hoped he would not ask your family name. What would your poor paa do if he ever learnt of your mishap.

“Y/n” The prince whispered your name. “Who are you serving currently?”

“The Queen’s ladies your highness”

Tony nodded and you finally turned away. You skipped into your tent, not even bothering to change out of your stained dress before sinking into the thin mattresses that served as your bed and pulling the sheets up to your chin. Your sleep that night was restless, nightmares of being banished from work plaguing you. Despite laying down later than everyone else, you still woke up early and cleaned your dress the best you could. Your supervisor would be about soon with your orders of the day and you had to be prepared.

“Get your asses moving, you lazy hens!” Your supervisor shouted and you cringed. She was a tall woman with a stern face and carried with her a thick stick that she used on the backsides of maids who didn’t work fast enough for her. She gave everyone their orders but when it was your turn for it, she frowned.

“You are Y/n?” She asked and you nodded fearfully. Perhaps she had heard of your stunt last night and was here to whip you.

“You make your way to the Prince’s tent. Your duty is with him until I tell you otherwise.”

Your mouth opened in shock and you gaped at her like a fish out of water.

“W – With the prince?” You squeaked and the supervisor glared at you.

“Don’t you go talking in that voice around his highness and the lords, girl! He has requested you and you are to serve him for the duration of the hunt. You get it? Now run along!”

You stumbled around the campsite and made your way to the Prince’s lavish tent. You couldn’t understand what was happening and you kept chewing on your lips nervously. Reaching the tent, you hesitated before entering. The royal’s tents were better than your quarters back home. The ground was evenly flattened and was covered with a rug. There was a soft mattress on a wooden frame, how they carried it here you didn’t know. The drapes of the tent were velvet and the sheets on the bed were silk. You looked around in awe.

“Ah good, you’re here.”

You jumped and looked at the Prince who you hadn’t noticed in the corner of the tent. You curtsied and he smiled at you. His hair was disheveled from sleep and his robe was open at the top, baring his chest. Head rose unbidden to your cheeks and you ducked your head quickly. Tony walked around the bed to come closer to you and stood in front of you.

“Will you fetch me my garments from the chest in the corner along with my riding gear?” He phrased the command like a question and you quickly nodded, rushing to get what he wanted. The Prince had requested you, but why. You took out his clothes and taking them in your hand you turned around and almost dropped them in fright. The Prince had removed his robe and stood only in his underwear, his hands on his waist with a smirk on his face.

“Well? Are you just going to stare at me, or will you come here and help me dress?”

You walked forward slowly. It was not entirely uncommon for a man to have female servants, but what he was asking you to do was done by personal aids. Those were generally of the same sex. You hesitated before holding open the prince’s tunic for him to slip his arms into. You pushed it on his shoulders and had to reach on your toes since he was so much taller than you. You quickly fastened his tunic and held out his trousers to him. He didn’t take them from you but only raised an eyebrow and you almost started crying. He wanted you to put them on him! You were sure he could see your shivering form as you helped him put one foot in and then the other. He had placed one hand on your shoulder to steady himself and the heat of it was burning you. Thankfully, he buttoned them himself and you fetched his riding cloak and belt.

“You’re very quiet, aren’t you?” Tony asked, and allowed you to don the cloak over him. You took the belt and wound it through the loops before buckling it. Your shaking hands made it difficult and Tony chuckled, his own hands stilling yours.

“You look like a scared kitten, little girl. Do I scare you?” He asked and you nervously raised your eyes to his. He was smiling, his handsome face only inches away from yours.

“No, your highness. I’ve just never done the work of a personal aid before.” Tony hummed and pulled you a little closer by your hands so that his front brushed against yours, only your clasped hands in between.

“You should get used to this now. You’ll be serving me in this capacity from now onwards.” He said. You nodded and tried to get out of his hold, but he held you tight. Your heart kept hammering in your chest and you almost fainted as the Prince started leaning down towards your face.

“Tony, what’s taking you so long?”

Lord Rogers entered the tent and stopped short as he looked at your frightened face inches away from the Prince’s annoyed one. He smirked and folded his hands against his chest. “I’m sorry your highness, did I interrupt something?” His tone was mocking, and you willed your tears away. What must they think of you?

“You have the worst timing Steve.” Tony harrumphed and released you from his hold. You staggered back from him and ducked your head. “This is Y/n, my new personal aid. She was only helping me buckle my belt”

Steve chucked and shot the prince an amused look. You had heard that the prince and lord Rogers were childhood friends, but they had to be seriously close for Steve to call him by his name and without formality. Tony quickly dismissed you then and told you to prepare for today’s journey. You were to travel with the prince’s group. You bobbed a curtesy and left, brushing against Lord Rogers who didn’t move from the entrance to give you way.

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You were living your worst nightmare as you walked with the other servants beside the Prince’s hunting party. You were the only woman between The Prince, his two lords and half a dozen other servants. The forest got darker the deeper you went, and you kept stumbling on long weeds and catching your clothes on low hanging branches.

“Stop!”, Lord Rhodes said raising a hand and everyone came to halt. Everyone felt silent and the eerie sounds of the forest seemed to echo. The horses shuffled nervously, and you looked around for whatever it was that Lord Rhodes had seen.

“There” Whispered Lord Rogers and pointed somewhere in the distance. You couldn’t see what they saw from their mounted height, but you stepped back cautiously. What if it was a tiger? Or a bear?

The men readied their bows and arrows and The Prince took the first shot. Notching his arrow and pulling it taut, he looked utterly determined to get his prey. His eyes were dark and focused, a hunter who wouldn’t be denied anything. The arrow sailed past the trees and you heard the sickening noise of it sinking into some animal who whined. Two of the servants rushed towards the sound and a few minutes later they dragged in one of the largest moose you’d ever seen. It was meters long with horns like spread wings. The Lords cheered in appreciation and clapped the prince on his back.

“Well, seems like you got the largest one right in the beginning your highness. I doubt anyone else will bring an animal grander than this”, Lord Rogers said, and the Prince gave him a smug smile. He looked at the dead animal and then to your surprise at you. His lips twitched and you involuntarily shuddered.

“This animal is too large for just two people to handle. Tie it up and all of you take it back to the campsite. Don’t you dare let it drag on the ground. I want everyone to see it in its glory.”

As the servants got out the ropes and started tying the moose upside down to thick logs, you breathed a sigh of relief. You preferred going back to the campsite than being near the Prince and his friends. Once it was done, the men carried the beast on their shoulders and started walking. You walked behind them, trying not to bump into them.

“Y/n, where do you think you’re going?” The Prince called out and you stopped. Turning to look at him with your hands held before you, you softly spoke.

“You said all of us are to take the animal back to the campsite, your highness.”

“All of the men. Not you.”

Your panic-stricken eyes met his and you saw him grin. Looking at the other men you noticed Lord Rhodes frowning at the prince while Lord Rogers sat on his horse in absolute amusement.

“You can’t help them carry the animal anyway. Come along, we still have to make a round around the clearing before getting back before sundown.”

You followed them in a sort of trance, sweat running down your back. Whatever the Prince had planned, you wanted no part in it. You prayed that Princess Pepper would arrive soon with her entourage so that you could get away from the overbearing presence of the Prince. Walking onwards you saw you’d reached a stream and the men dismounted to allow their horses to drink. You unloaded the flask from the horse’s side and served the men before resting against a tree. You were aware of the Prince’s gaze that had not left your person for hours now. What he found so interesting you didn’t know, but you tried your best to skirt around him without bringing more attention to yourself.

“You seem tired.” The prince suddenly arrived in front of you and jolted you into a standing position. You timidly shook your head. “Yes, yes, you do seem awfully tired. You’ve been walking all this time. But you know, I am nothing if not a benevolent prince. You’ll ride with me”

Your eyes started watering and you tried to step away but the tree at your back prevented you from doing so. The Prince placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed.

“Don’t be afraid. My horse is extremely well behaved, it won’t jolt you.” He took your hand then and dragged you unwillingly to his ride. You tried to dig your legs in the ground, but he persisted. You looked at the other two lords and though Lord Rhodes had a disapproving look in his eyes, none of them said a word as Prince Tony lifted you around the waist and swung you on the horse back. You sat side straddled and before you could make a noise, he climbed up behind you and had his hand under your chest in a tight hold. You sniffled as the Prince pulled at the reins and the horse started moving. As scared of riding the animal as you were, you were more afraid of the man sitting behind you, pulling you tight against his body.

“Your highness, please. I’ll walk” You said, your voice cracking. He was too close. His front was pressed against your back and side and you were afraid to move lest you fall.

“Nonsense. As a kind ruler, why would I allow you to walk when you can ride with me, my little girl.” You felt his head dipping low and then his nose touched your head, moving slowing down until it brushed against the back of your neck. You squirmed in his hold, terrified beyond your wits for you knew there was no one who could challenge him. You felt his breath against your skin and then his lips burned a kiss on your skin making you almost jump out of his arms.

“Be still!” He ordered sternly and pulled you back harder into him. His hand slowly caressed your side before it fondled your covered breast and you finally let your tears fall.

“Please, don’t do this.” You begged and you felt him shift behind you.

“You don’t tell me what to do little girl. The moment I saw you last night, you were meant to be mine. So, shut up and stop moving. You do not want to make me angry.” His command was hissed directly in your ear and your shoulders slumped. You raised your head an inch and saw Lord Rhodes had ridden way ahead in order to avoid seeing you. Lord Rogers however was just a few paces away, his eyes leering at you and roving over your body. Prince Tony followed your gaze and clenched his jaw.

“Steve, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll avert those eyes right now. Don’t let me catch you looking at her again. She’s not to be shared. This one is mine.” He said gruffly and immediately Lord Rogers straightened and urged his horse faster to go behind Lord Rhodes.

The Prince hugged you, resting his chin on your head.

“No one else will have you. I can almost smell your innocence, its so palpable. Only I’ll have you. No one else will defile you. You’re mine. Only mine.”

You returned to the campsite in the Prince’s arms, his slow touches all over your belly and chest. He had pressed his lips on your neck and his beard had scraped against your skin. You had felt his arousal against your back, and you were mortified. You had to escape from here in the cover of the night and go back home. You will tell your parents and run away to some other kingdom.

You had asked to be let off a little away from the campsite so no one will catch you riding with the Prince. He had seemed utterly reluctant but then he let you down and allowed you to walk the rest of the way. Once there you quickly rejoined the other servants while everyone returned. You tried your best to keep yourself busy with the work and assisted others in making beds and collecting wood. You were picking off leaves from the hem of ladies’ dresses when your supervisor charged towards you puffing like an enraged bull.

“You girl! What the devil are you doing here? Didn’t I assign you to the Prince? He’s expecting you in his tent! Leave that dress and scram!” She shouted. You hid behind the dress in fear.

“Please madam, I am sick. The forest didn’t agree with me and I am afraid I’ll get sick before the prince. I cannot do him that disservice.” You said, trying to sound like you really were sick. It wasn’t very difficult since the very moment the Prince put his hands on you, you felt bile rise in you.

“Silly child! Why the hell does palace employees incompetent servants like you I don’t know! Go make yourself scarce! Don’t you dare puke on anything, or I’ll tan your hide with my stick. GO!”

You scampered away as fast as you could, offering to wash the dishes and stay out of view. You were thankful that everyone would be tired after a long day and would retire soon. You’ll pack yourself some meager supplies and run away once everyone was asleep. Come morning when they’ll realize you’re missing, you’d be home and on the run. You will not be the Prince’s plaything. Your mother would understand. She would arrange for some relative to take you in.  

You took your leave early, scarfing down some food and laying in bed so no one would disturb you. By the time the beds around you filled with other maids, they already believed you were asleep. Soon their snoring filled the tent and after waiting for some more time you crept out of your bed. You quickly tied some food and a flask in your satchel and moved out on tippy toes. The night was silent, and you gave a relived sigh because no guards were placed before the servant’s tents. Quiet as a mouse you scurried through the dark to the path you’d taken while getting here. You didn’t want to travel at night but you’d rather brave the dark than let someone ruin you.

You kept to the edge of the path, hoping that if anyone passed by, you’ll jump into the trees and hide. How did your life take this turn? You were supposed to marry a baker’s boy, maybe get the opportunity to serve the new princess. Your life was supposed to be simple. Go to work, manage your house, and husband and give him a few children every few years. Its what your mother taught you. You didn’t wear dresses that showed your bosom like some other maids, you didn’t style your hair or steal cologne from the ladies’ room. You were a good girl, keeping her virtue for her husband like you’d been taught to.

So lost were you in your thoughts that you didn’t notice the figure waiting for you in the dark. You stumbled and fell straight into the arms of the very man you were running from. The moonlight glossed over Prince Tony’s face and you gasped in fear, kicking your hands and legs that he quickly held in his own. His eyes were angry, and rage was clear on his face.

“Little girl, I was told you are sick.” He said in a dangerous voice. His hands tightened around your own while you looked at him with a sense of doom.

“Y – your highness” You whimpered, and he growled. Quicker than you could know what was happening, you were dragged into the trees and pushed against one, Prince Tony’s hands on either side of you. Caged.

“You dare to run away from me, your master, your Prince?” He said through gritted teeth, his hands curling into fists and you trembled. He took your hands in one of his and pushed them above your head, the other hand covering your mouth the moment you opened it to scream. “You going to call for help, my little girl? Who’s going to help you? Hmm?”

Silent tears trailed down your cheeks and the sparse moonlight illuminated them. The Prince breathed deeply, his eyes taking in your delicate form. Leaning down he licked those tears away and you sobbed behind his hand and closed your eyes.

“I’ll remove my hand now. If you scream, I’ll gag you with a cloth. Or would you prefer my cock?”

His vulgar words made your body shudder and heat rise in your face. You shook you head, and he slowly took his hands from your mouth and cradled your face. He kissed you hard, his lips punishing with barely suppressed anger. You struggled in his hold, but he didn’t let up, forcing you to accept his kiss. Accept him.

“You’re mine. You can’t run away from me. I’ll have you and if you dare try to escape, I’ll have you chained to my bed.” He vowed. You gave a pained cry and wiggled your wrists that were bruising in his grip. He let them go and examined them gently, a complete contrast to a moment ago. “You must remember not to make me mad. I can be kind to you. You’re my little girl.”

He kissed your abused wrists and then your fingers. Your breathing returned to normal under his gentle ministrations. He pulled you into his arms, head resting on top of yours.

“When I saw you last night, it felt as if I’d woken up from a dream. I had never seen a girl as beautiful as you. Every pore of you reflected your innocence, just waiting to be defiled by me. You were mine from that very moment. You are meant for me and I will have you. You will stay with me and bear my heirs.”

You pushed at his chest and shoulders.

“Your highness, please let me go. You are meant to marry Princess Virginia. I am just a maid.”

Tony looked at you in disapproval and one of his hand clutched your head and tilted your head so he could kiss you breathless again.

“I will marry whoever I choose to marry. You will be my princess and when I take the throne you will be my queen. You’ll rule by my side and share my bed.”

“Your Highness –”

“Your Prince!”

“My Prince, please. I am a lowly maid. I will marry the baker’s son and you will marry a princess.”

You thought you could make him see reason. You thought he would understand but the next moment you were back against the tree with a hand against your throat.

“Marry a baker’s boy?!” He thundered and you whined under his hold. “I will burn down this whole kingdom and cut open every last man who dares look at you. You are mine!” He bent to look deep into your eyes and your heart stopped. In his eyes was the same look he had when he hunted that moose. He was the hunter and you were his prey. He will not be denied.

He roughly pushed away from the tree and taking your hand hauled you towards his horse. You were too scared to fight, too scared to cry. You kept your eyes downcast and hoped lightening would strike you out of your misery. You rode back to the campsite with him, not saying a word. His hands were steel bands around you, and you thought he would never let go. Once you reached there, he got off his horse and rather than putting you on the ground carried you in his arms to his tent. Lord Rogers stood outside with a torch in his hands and perked up when he saw you both.

“Steve, I want no guards outside my tent. No one enters or interrupts me tonight.” The prince ordered and Lord Rogers nodded. He gave you a sardonic smile as the prince carried you inside, the flap shutting behind you both. Placing you down on his soft mattress Prince Tony finally let you go. He cupped your face and gazed into your eyes.

“You’ll call me Tony from now onwards. When we’re with others, it will be My Prince. Starting from this night, your whole being would be devoted to me and me alone. You will not look at any other man and if any other man looks at you, you will tell me. It that clear?” He asked you and you nodded. He smiled then, the hardness leaving his face. He kissed you slowly, letting you feel him inside your mouth. His hands traveled from your face to your shoulder and then to the buttons on your dress, undoing each. You pressed your hands against his chest and pushed and Tony pulled away with an annoyed frown.

“Little girl, are you denying your prince?”

You shook your head and looked at him pleadingly.

“My Prince” You breathed and then corrected yourself. “Tony, we cannot do this. You are a Prince, no one would dare cross you. But I will be rejected by the society for losing my virtue to a man not my husband. The King and Queen will not accept me, and I would be cast aside. I’ll be ruined.”

Tony’s eyes turned liquid and a look of utter tenderness overcame his features. He sat down next to you and took you in his lap, your head on his shoulder.

“My little girl, my princess, I would not cast you aside. Mother and father will have to accept you. They will, once I tell them you are carrying my heir.”

You wanted to curse and cry but settled for weeping in Tony’s neck. Nothing could be done now. He will have you and he aims to keep you. More than that, he wants you to be with child so that he can marry you. You will never be able to look your mother in the eyes again. You let Tony push you on your back and climb over you.

He took off your dress and helped you unlace your corset and remove your stockings. Left only in your threadbare chemise, you shivered in embarrassment. No man had ever seen you like this. You watched Tony relieve himself of his clothes and when he removed his underpants your eyes widened in shock. If he puts that thing inside you, you will die, you were sure of it. Tony chuckled at your reaction to his cock and stroked it, making it larger and harder and it seemed like you would faint.

“Don’t worry little girl, I’ll be gentle with you tonight. You’ve been a good girl, haven’t you? You’ve kept yourself for me, so I’ll be good to you in turn. It’s your first time so I won’t take your mouth, only your maidenhead. You will be mine in every way possible.”

He slotted himself between your legs and parted your thighs. Cold air hit your quim and Tony took a moment to admire you before licking a straight strip from your entrance to your nub. You trashed at the unfamiliar feeling, and Tony held you down and got to work on you. His tongue swirled in circles over your bud, making vibrations run through your body like lightening. His finger very gently probed your untouched entrance and glided in smoothly because of how wet you had gotten. He ate you out, thrusting his tongue in and out until you released in his mouth with a muffled scream. You didn’t know laying with a man would feel good. Older women often described it as a chore, but you felt like you were floating.

Kissing your thighs and your belly, Tony removed your chemise to stick his tongue in your belly button before laving it on your breasts. He fondled them and sucked your sensitive nipples, making you cry out when he bit on them.

“These will nurse our children, and after you’re done feeding them, you will nurse me.”

His words got you hot and tingles shot through your spine and settled between your legs. Taking your hands, he put them around him, kissing you deep and long and leaving bites all along your neck and chest. He lined himself him your entrance and looked into your eyes.

“Keep those eyes on me, I want to see them when I make you mine.”

He pushed in, stretching you wider and wider, every inch leaving you gasping in pain. He was careful not to rush and when after what felt like forever, he stopped, you looked in his eyes to see them blown almost black with lust. His touch was possessive, and he thrust slowly as first, letting you get used to it and to ease your pain. You let out a little moan when he brushed against your bud and he growled in triumph before he took you like a man possessed. His thrusts were harder and deeper, his balls slapping you in your ass. He kissed you wherever he could and despite how much you hated being caught in this situation, you moaned.

“I’m going to fill you up now and then again and again. I’ll fill you until you’re round with my child. I’ll fill every hole of your body with my essence until you stink of me. You will be my wife, my princess, my queen and the mother of my children.”

Pinching your bud, you came for the second time, clamping down on him and triggering his own release. You felt warmth blossom inside you with his seed and he gave a few more thrusts before stilling. Pulling out, he lay beside you and took you in his arms. He kissed your head and then your lips before resting you on his chest.

“You have been excused from all your duties as a maid. The only thing you’ll be doing from now on is me.”

[pathofcomet]

look at what you taught me

fandom: bridgerton series

pairing: colin/penelope

summary: Colin and Penelope have never been awkward with one another. Except for this one time.  (AO3) (book spoiler ahead)

In the beginning, when he travels, Colin can think of nothing else but the present moment: a ship under his feet, the lull of a carriage, the wide expanse of the world all around him. Whatever destination is coming next, if he is certain enough – if not, he’ll just make it up as he goes. The furious scribbling of his quill against paper, as he races to put down in words all his eyes take not but a second to admire. It feels like everything he never knew he wanted to do so desperately. It feels right.

Then, it becomes more difficult to return home, the more he travels. But soon enough, the travel starts to wear him down. He begins to look forward to when he’ll return home: despite his own mother’s incessant remarks, despite the brotherly arguments, despite having to see another sister married off. Even the most loving mamas trying to marry off their daughters to him seem somewhat adorable, if he is gone long enough. But the need to travel comes back, like an itch that won’t go away unless he scratches it away. He makes promises to his sisters – so that he can stay as much as possible, but he goes insane with anything more than a couple of months. He likes to believe that by now his family simply made peace with his many eccentricities, and simply paid the cook more when he was around.

He treasures the pockets of familiarity he gets when in London as much as the breathes of fresh air he gets when he’s away. He imagines he drives his mother wild, with all his coming and going across the continent. He knows what Lady Whistledown writes about him as well, and he’d strangle the woman himself, for alerting everyone of his return so punctually. Ambitious mamas are hard to fend off when you’re a young man, and it only gets worse the older he becomes, because the expectation of marriage dawns ever closer.

***

“You must agree, Colin,” his mother says, and at the mention of his name, he straightens in his chair, because it’s a terrible thing to be singled out in a conversation by Violet. “Penelope is quite an agreeable young lady.”

Colin agrees, both because he truly believes so, and because while his mother doesn’t need his confirmation, she’s kinder when she has it. Benedict, from the other side of the room, leans closer in his chair, so he can hear better whatever commentary their dear mother is about to impart with them.

“I dare say she’d make quite a suitable bride for you, really.”

All hell breaks loose. Benedict drops his foot to the floor with a loud thud, while Colin drops his sandwich, eliciting a swear for which he’s reprimanded by three of his sisters. And then.

“Mother!” Eloise shrieks, quite offended – which Colin finds surprising, considering that the two of them are best friends. “That is entirely too daring!”

Colin agrees, but he is too busy desperately trying to cough away the piece of sandwich stuck in his throat. Eloise, though still quite shocked, pushes her cup of tea in his hands, just to get him to make less noise. He downs it in one go, grateful to not have died of this particular cause. His heart, quite in override still, might provoke a heart attack soon enough if his mother does not change the subject.

“I believe you misremember your ABCs, dear mother,” he jests, because he does not want to take the idea seriously. “There’s one son for whom you haven’t found a bride quite yet.”

Benedict shifts in his seat, suddenly finding his newspaper way more interesting. But this time around, Violet doesn’t rise to the so delicious bait of teasing her second, not when her brain is so set on match-making her third.

“I don’t see why not. Isn’t she a friend to all of us?”

She stops, waits for a nod from each one of her children currently engaged in eaves-dropping on the topic.

“She’s polite, witty,” she continues listing reason after reason, all to which Colin is entirely familiar and now that he thinks about, has noticed himself, several times over, in Penelope. “And quite darling.”

He imagines darling is what girls who aren’t called beautiful get stuck with by kind mothers. He never actually stopped to even consider Penelope in any of these ways: she’s always been there, ever since he was in short pants – and that’s almost already half their lives. A fixed presence by the side of his younger sister, and a favourite of his mother, despite all the awkward wallflower tendencies in Penelope. But he doesn’t recall ever trying to pick apart her character, find her individual traits, even consider her as a… woman.

Colin is suddenly shamed by his wilful, manly indifference. Violet arches her eyebrow at him, clearly still expecting an answer.

“Mother,” he adds with a sigh. “I can promise you most certainly that I am not marrying any time soon.”

“One never knows,” she murmurs, though she allows him his momentary peace, and returns to her embroidery.

***

Only that his mother doesn’t stop with her comments, and they seem to grow in number each time she meets Penelope, which unfortunate for him, is often enough. The next morning, as she returns from shopping, she comments on how nice she looked in a dress of her own picking, and not her mother’s own distasteful choices. Each time any married sibling sends a letter, or comes visit, her efforts in getting Colin to marry are reinforced. She jabs at him with comments: morning, afternoon and evening.

And suddenly, Colin can find that there’s nothing else much that he can think about, but Penelope, and how exactly this insane idea came to live in his mother’s mind. So he starts paying attention.

He supposes parties would be generally more enjoyable if he didn’t have to attend them with his family, as much as he loves them. He can physically feel Violet’s eyes drawing across the room, and then settling, decisively, on his back, a list of eligible ladies for marriage already compiled in her mind, alongside one for dancing partners. Colin can already guess what her mother is about to tell him.

And he is right. She pokes at his elbow with her fan, nodding to the edge of the ballroom, where Penelope Featheringston stands, card empty and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else but here. Well, at least they do have that in common.

“Colin, darling,” and really, that’s all that Mrs. Bridgerton has to say to any of her children for them to do her bidding.

He makes his way across the room, trying his best to avoid getting roped into introductions by mothers or old friends alike. The faster he’s getting this over with, the faster he can return to the appetizers, and to a reconnaissance of the room of his own.

“Pen,” he says, and she startles, turning around to him with the widest of eyes, and the shyest of smiles. Huh, maybe she does look quite darling.

“Colin!” she exclaims, smoothing down a hand over her dress, and while it’s a gesture driven by nerves, it looks quite adorable.

“Would you do me the honour of a dance?”

He extends out his arm, which she takes – an answer without needing one. And it’s quite a shame, to all the other men in the room, because Penelope is a wonderful dancer, and a most attentive conversationalist during them. She asks him of his most recent travels, destination known through the letters he sent to Eloise, most likely. He’s received his fair share of foot stepping and the occasional elbow in his side, but never with Penelope.

She animates with each step, blushing at his hand around her back, smiling at a spin. He never considered how soft her body feels under his fingers, underneath the thin material of her dress, but now he is acutely aware of her warmth seeping through. He asks of the books she’s been reading, which he knows are plenty.

And at the end of the dance, he finds that maybe dancing with Penelope Featherington is not such a tedious task, after all. And at the end of the night, he’s quite certain she’s been his best partner.

***

Art exhibitions are not really Colin’s thing, really. His interest lays in a world painted in words, not in colours. But considering the fact that one of Benedict’s pieces is to be exposed to the world for the first time, of course his entire family must be present. He is proud of his brother, for having found a path in life, having chased it so full of determination.

Colin’s good at chasing as well. He’s just been proven, more and more lately, that he chases only things that cannot last, which displeases him greatly. It doesn’t mean he is not entirely supportive of his older brother. What other reason he’d have to be present here, at all?

“Penelope!” Eloise shouts, gathering the attention of her friend.

Penelope spins around, red curls jumping with the movement, and she blushes. Colin is pretty sure she’s done this every single time he’s seen her, though maybe he now begins to understand why. She nods her head in their direction, all Bridgertons replying in kind. Eloise lets go of his arm, rushing instead by her best friend’s side, hands entangled in a most obvious display of friendship and affection.

Colin knows Penelope’s family – and so he knows there’s no such camaraderie between her and her sisters, as it can be so easily observed between himself and his own siblings. He’s glad these two have each other then: a friend is one’s most fearful champion.

He walks by his mother’s side, going through the gallery, the two girls just a few feet ahead. Eloise is the taller one, yet both their heads are bent together as they discuss, such an air of ease and comfort about them. His sister says something, and suddenly Penelope turns a bit more to the side, laughing: a sparkle of mischief in her eyes and the loveliest pull at her mouth. Now, Colin finds himself quite taken with her mouth, staring because he finds it impossible not to. The soft pink of her lips, as she’s worried at them trying to come up with a comment about this and that painting. The white of her teeth, as she smiles. Her tongue, wetting her lips, from time to time, as the rooms grow hotter, with all the people passing around.

He’s lucky that the art pieces all around are distracting enough that Penelope herself doesn’t notice. His mother does, though.

“Quite darling, no?”

And she looks at the exact same person that he is, and most certainly not at the painting of a fruit basket in front of them.

“Mother,” he warns, a slight squeeze around her arm.

“Oh,” she sighs. “You can’t blame me for caring enough to try.”

Maybe not. But he can blame her for opening his eyes to something that he, like everyone else – he begins to realize - didn’t really know was right there.

***

So Colin Bridgerton, like a true hero of his days, leaves for Wales. And like the caring gentleman that he also is, he uses one of his friends as his excuse. It helps – it’s quite a useful distraction, for a while, walking over the hills, staring out at the sea, spending evenings eating hearty meals with someone that knows him well enough, but not too much. And he writes in his journal, of his quiet passing days.

By contrast, the nights are not so quiet. While he tries so hard to forget the society back in London, at night there are no distractions: and even so, while asleep, he cannot really control his unconscious mind.

So Colin dreams: at first, the most innocent of shadows, people that he can vaguely make out. Then the visions get clearer, and longer, and more tormenting. It starts with Penelope’s smile, and that mouth of hers, which in a dream he can admit to wanting to desperately kiss. Which, in a dream, he has leave to do. He knows, upon waking, that whatever taste lingers on his tongue from his haze, it certainly has nothing on the reality, and hates himself all the more for it. Then her body, close to his, the press of her bosom hard against his chest, the roundness of her bottom in his palms. The next morning, he is in need of a change of bedsheets, like he is nothing but a horny teenager.

He is sure his mother must have cursed him. The dreams continue, sweet haunting that only makes the guilt rise in his throat. She’s his sister’s best friend, for heaven’s sake, and here he is, conjuring her up in his dreams with no respite! It’s like his body has decided to take an entirely different path from his mind.

Colin is miserable on a travel, for the first time in way too long.

***

Maybe that’s his excuse. He lacks sleep, and for him, the most pressing issue is, obviously, still the one of his marriage. Violet Bridgerton is popular for many things between her children, but her cutting words and sharp mind are not necessarily one of those, especially if used against one of them. Colin has found himself at the receiving end of exactly that for weeks and months now, so he is apprehensive when he is summoned back to London.

But if his mother has need of him, then he must make haste. Of course, the real reason is simply the news of Daphne’s new pregnancy, which is incredibly happy. Colin loves to be an uncle way better than he likes being a younger brother.

Especially since right now, Anthony and Benedict have taken the liberty to pick up with the teasing where their mother stopped.

“You left in the middle of the season,” Benedict remarks, and Anthony clasps his back in a way that only eldest brothers can do, when they require an immediate answer.

“Oh, very well,” and Colin actually scowls. “I needed to get away. Mother has been incessant with this bloody marriage thing.”

And because they’re his brothers, of course they joke and jest more, at his own expense. Everyone in their house knows that his mother has her eyes set on Penelope, and everyone in their house is already tired of her insinuations, Colin most of all. That doesn’t mean that Anthony, or Benedict are going to pass up the opportunity to rile him up on the subject. It’s been a while, after all, since they’ve had reason to laugh at him in particular.

It’s the damn lack of sleep, and all of these comments, which are entirely unwarranted and so overwhelming, despite his protests, that make him throw all decorum out the window.

“I am not going to marry soon, and I am certainly not going to marry Penelope Featherington!”

“Oh!”

The softest sound, really – feminine and delicate and belonging to the single person that he didn’t want to see right this moment. With much slowness, burning red with shame, Colin turns around to look at Penelope Featherington. And he knows: by the expression on her face, the haggard breathing with the desperate rise and fall of her chest, and her eyes, that he just broke her heart.

What he says right there on the spot, he cannot truly recall. A fumbling of stupid, empty nothings, apology too small, too unfulfilling, because Penelope draws herself up and protects the little bit of her dignity left.

And she leaves, so fast that he doesn’t have the time to do what he wants: follow her to clear up things.

Benedict punches him in the arm, quite terribly hard. It still doesn’t feel as bad as the gut-wrenching guilt building up inside himself, or the self-loathe that he so much deserves. Because just as he was beginning to make up his mind regarding how dear, truly, she has grown to be for him, he has done the worst thing a person who cares about another can do: hurt her.

***

He shows up at the doorsteps of her house the following day, surprised to find Penelope alone in the drawing room.

“As you might suspect, Mr. Bridgerton,” she says, when he inquires after her mother and sisters. “Many men before you have made the same declaration, though maybe in more private settings. I am afraid any hope of marriage left in this household falls upon my sisters.”

It is the fact that she doesn’t use his name that stings the worst, and makes him understand exactly how much harm he’s done with his extremely horrifying comment.

“Penelope, I am so entirely sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. You must believe me when I say I did not mean to offend you in any way.”

“Must I?”

He stops, opens his mouth: no words come out. She looks the picture perfect of peace, and maybe this is what should worry him the most. It is his first time seeing her as more than a blushing young woman, and suddenly maybe he realizes why she is Eloise’s best friend: she’s made of tougher stuff than what he’s been led to believe so far.

“What I said, the way I’ve said it. I’ve hurt you… It’s entirely intolerable and I apologize for the situation you’ve been put in because of me being an ass.”

Situation that she handled entirely fine, given the fact that he so singled her out in a market of numerous others undesirable young ladies. She sighs at his curse, something that sounds like Colin, that has the tiniest of fondness in the tone. Something in his chest tightens with fondness of its own, for this woman in front of him, who has been nothing but a most beloved friend, to his entire family – and to him, as well.

“I…” she stops, taking in a deep breath, her hands shaking. “I already told you, no feelings were hurt. You’ve made no remark that wasn’t already obvious to everybody in the ton,” she says, and she waves in the air the latest number of Lady Whistledown.

Of course, even when he misses it, his sisters and his dear mama are quick to fill him up on the happenings of the season. In today’s fresh paper, Whistledown has written down that were the two of them ever to get married, she’d have to give up writing altogether – such an unfitting match never having been seen before.

“You can’t possibly believe those writings,” he says, suddenly offended at the paper, though he’s not quite certain on whose behalf anymore.

“I didn’t, until –”

Until he has reinforced them all the more, with his declaration. Colin suddenly feels himself flush from head to toes, at being so openly chastised. His brother Benedict has already told him, that he has cruelly overstepped most demands of polite society when he lost his temper in that way, in such a public place.

“I really do apologize, Penelope.”

He hadn’t realize how much he enjoys saying her name until now, when he so desperately wants her, needs her to say his own. A sign that things between them can be mended, move from the terrible awkwardness between them.

“Pity doesn’t feel that nice to those who already know how pitiful they are, Colin.” His gaze snaps up at her, and finds her already smiling at him – quite charming, even if so utterly self-depreciating. “Though you are forgiven.”

He bows at her in thanks, lower than he’s gone in months, if not years, just to show how entirely grateful he is. Of course, Colin is yet too young, rich, handsome and charismatic to know the meaning of her words, and too stupid of a man to try and understand where she is coming from.

But he will, in due time.

For now, maybe his favourite sight to see during his travels becomes the shores of England, when returning home. Because home has just started to mean just a tiny bit more.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Taking The Risks Chapter 3 Preview

A Mike Weiss x Reader Series

Read Chapter 2 to catch up

Tugging you to the couch, you were placed among a group of others and your head was tipped back, pills followed by a swallow of liquor before you even knew what was happening. “There we go…” Carl settled in next to you, his hand rubbing at your knee and working on loosening you up. “... That's better isn't it?” Nearby Jen was pulling up to dance suggestively for the others, the room getting more pumped and the music louder. Carl’s hand was getting much closer to the inside of your thigh, you had no idea what you swallowed and suddenly it was too much. You were used to attending smaller gatherings, one on one. Where you and your client just did the transactions and they left after some small talk. Only one you ever were personal with was Mike. 

This, a whole other animal and you untangle yourself from Carl’s touch right when it brushed against the cotton of your panties, making him arch his brow at your sudden departure. “I- uh- freshen up?” You flash a smile, straightening the fabric of your dress. Jen slid over towards Carl to cover for you and he waved his hand. 

“Up the stairs and to the left.” 

You were quick to escape, rushing up the stairs and wandered down a carpeted hallway, going towards the end where a window faced the coast beyond. Below you could hear drifts of music from the party, but other than that it was blissfully silent. 

“How the fuck you get into this mess.” You whisper to yourself as you perch on the lip of the windowsill, propping the window open for the breeze. It was a bit cooler now that night had fallen, and you inhaled it deeply, feeling it clear your head. 

You could feel a rush in your system, either the pill or alcohol you were taken by surprise with. But it wasn't too bad. Thankfully. 

You pulled out a pack of smokes from your clasp and pulled one out, flicking a lighter to light up the end, along with your cell phone. You could see dozens of missed calls and messages. Mike. 

It hurts to think of how you just left, for both of your safety. You stuffed your phone back and turned back to gazing out the window, your cigarettes tip glowing in the darkened window. That break down was for another time. You wondered how long you could be conveniently freshening up before one of them came looking for you. 

Maybe they will forget all about you, wouldn't that be a blessing at this point. Maybe you weren't cut out for some place like Austin. Your fingers itched to place that call, let Mike know how sorry you were. 

[sardinesandhumbugs]

If you're still doing the musical writing prompts, could you do 45, maybe with Mole?

Of course I can! 45 was “Home. I've heard heard the word before, but it never meant much more than just a thing I've never had” from a Very Potter Sequel. Sorry for the long delay, nonny, but hopefully it was worth the wait! It certainly turned out longer than expected.

x

"The important thing about having lots of things to remember is that you’ve got to go somewhere afterwards where you can remember them, you see? You’ve got to stop. You haven’t really been anywhere until you’ve got back home."

The Light Fantastic, Terry Pratchett

x

If someone had asked Mole what home was before that fateful spring morn, his answer would have been easy.

Home was the cosy, still air of beneath-ground. It was the door jamb that stuck and the window that leaked. It was the carols that alighted his porch each winter, the smell of jams being prepared in the autumn, and the dust that made him sneeze every spring cleaning. It was found in solid things that marked the passage of time as surely as clockwork in the sunless tunnels. (Clockwork marked the hours, and seasons marked the year, and everything else between was of little consequence.)

Several months on, and his answer is no longer so sure.

The first hint – at least, the first hint he takes notice of – that it is no longer the clear-cut divide of holiday verses home comes in the fright of the Wild Wood, so far from either.

(If he had been taking notice, he perhaps would have seen the spare glasses that now live at Ratty's riverside residence, the household chores that are shared without comment, or the divide in the larder that Ratty has made for Mole's more species-specific snacks. But he hasn't been taking notice, and such things have passed him by in the comfort of a new normality.)

So Mole is far from home (either, both) when Ratty finds him. They are both scared and shaken, but there is no doubt in Ratty's voice with the question, "Wouldn't you rather just go home?" as if home couldn't be anywhere but the river. Maybe (probably) for Ratty it's true (he had certainly once proclaimed it to be his food, his drink, his company – his world) but for Mole, the word is an altogether more complicated affair.

In that moment, however, he longs for the sunlit riverbank.

It is only later, when they settle into the familiar underground air of Badger's sett, that Mole remembers Mole End at all. It lasts only briefly – they have so many other issues at hand, namely that of the disastrous Toad – but it is enough to give him pause. It leaves him stranded between betrayal and mutiny. Betrayal, for his hasty abandonment of his home, and mutiny as he realises he does not want to give up his newfound riverbank life.

But when it comes to it, it doesn't really matter – not in Badger's sett, nor in his brief yuletide return to Mole End – because in the end, at Mole End, he looks to Ratty and knows that he'll follow wherever his friend goes.

(The feeling, though Mole does not realise it at the time, is mutual. Although in Ratty's case, the stubborn loyalty had made itself known months ago, back when he chose the open road over his river – if only for a passing season. Even so, he has never had cause to doubt (not even on the open road, not really) that his river might not be enough to tempt even the most stalwart undergrounder to linger a while longer – but Ratty looks to his friend, surrounded by his titular home, and realises Mole is as much of the earth as he is of the river and that one day it may reclaim him.)

x

It is the week following Toad's grand party that life eventually settles back to the point that Mole can finally turn his mind to more homeward bound matters. For as life has calmed – as adventures and escapes and daring retakings have made way for the more mundane reality of day-to-day living – he realises another spring is on its way out, a year has passed, and he is in danger of becoming rooted to the riverbank. There is the scent of summer on the horizon, thick and heady, and a strange sensation he hesitates to call homesickness lingers in him. It whispers of dirt and earth and it makes his claws itch until he can stand it no longer and he knows – he knows he must return.

He attempts to casually bring up the subject as they clear away dinner.

"I'm thinking," he says, "of returning to Mole End." Ratty's step falters, if only for a moment. "Just for a few days," Mole adds. "I thought I might get some of that spring cleaning done that I never finished from last year."

"We'll make a trip of it then," Ratty suggests brightly, and if Mole knew him just a little less well, he might believe the forced cheer – but he does know him that well and he reads past the façade. "I've never picnicked underground before, but there's a first for everything–"

"Just me, I think," Mole interrupts. "It's just a little tidy up; there's no reason to drag both of us there."

"Oh." Ratty falters again. There's some unease at the sure exclusion, but there's a trace of relief too; underground is still a discomfort to the riverbank-born animal although, if Mole is being brutally honest with himself, his reason for returning alone is more to do with his own needs than Ratty's.

He is not brutally honest. At least not this time. But he suspects Ratty has him figured all the same, for he lingers by the door, watching as Mole packs up a few choice belongings to accompany him to Mole End. Ratty's stance is nonchalant, but the way he talks of their plans after Mole's return feels like he is eking out a promise he isn't sure Mole will keep.

Mole senses enough of this to hold his tongue when it comes to the strange homesickness that has stolen over him. He has learnt enough of his friend to know the comment, however innocuous, however true his intent to return to the riverbank, will do little to help. And it will recede, if only he can ground himself in the underground existence that has served him well all the years previous – but for that, he must go alone. Ratty would bring with him the reminder of the sunny shore above, of rivers and boats that turned his head in the first place.

And the strange homesickness does settle back in Mole End – momentarily. Beneath the ground, the muggy summer loses its grip and the air is steady, constant. It is a refuge from the humidity that stifles Mole – Mole, who has never considered claustrophobia, but when the air grows heavy and airless in the sway of summer, it is all he can do to retreat to north-facing rooms and wait out the heat. But in the bowels of the earth, the seasons are muted and he sleeps sounder for it.

He oversleeps. He assures himself that it is the comfort of a long-familiar bed, but part of him wonders if he has grown too accustomed to the wake-up call of the morning chorus and the sunrise – if he is not so much an undergrounder as he was a year ago.

His underground instincts sated, he turns his attention to more practical considerations. The door jamb that sticks and the window that leaks is all well and good through the lens of nostalgia, but it is quite another kettle of fish when it comes to tending to them. And as he adds yet another chore to the list (a home neglected, he realises, continues to decay with, or perhaps because of, its owner's absence) Mole End seems to shift from cosy to tired. He knows it not to be as grand as Toad Hall, nor as chronicled in history as Badger's sett, and certainly not as comfortably ship-shape as Ratty's place, but the reality settles in about him as he stands, frozen, with the chore list in paw.

What Mole End is, is dark and dim and shabby.

And, worst of all, that homesickness has returned.

He is an underground animal – or was, once upon a time. Now he is not so sure, for while his burrow calls, so does the bright sun-filled air above... and he doesn't think there is a word for an animal that holds both worlds in their soul.

Home. this place is home, he tells himself, but the definition has shifted, expanded, grown in his year's absence, and he doesn't know what to do with that.

His reverie is broken by a knocking at his door, and he finds his porch crowded by four very familiar animals. Mole gapes for a moment until Toad bounces in.

"So this is Mole End, eh? Naturally, it's not as grand as Toad Hall but then, of course, what is?"

"Toad, be civil," Badger warns.

Mole squeezes out of the way as the large mammal enters. "It's only a small home," he says, apologetic. "I'm afraid it's going to be a little snug with everyone here–"

"Don't you worry about that, pet," Mrs Otter assures as she follows after the others. "Snug is my home with the pups on a regular day."

Mole turns to the last animal yet to enter. Ratty stands at the threshold, hesitant as if wary of a boundary overstepped. "I know you said you wanted to attend to this alone," Ratty says – he shifts the trusty luncheon basket between his paws – "but it's been three days and, well" – a wan smile – "I've seen your attempts at spring cleaning. I figured you might appreciate the help if you were still at it."

"So you brought Toad along?"

Mole's humour seems to mollify Ratty's nerves, for the water rat's smile turns rueful. "Toad brought himself along."

Mole leans in with a conspiring whisper. "Do you think he even knows what a broom is?"

There is an almighty sneeze from Badger as Toad unsettles a layer of dust from the kitchen cupboards.

Ratty grins. "Do you?" The humour, however, is as quick to go as it was to arrive, and as he watches the other animals descend upon Mole End he glances back to his usual housemate with unease. "Of course, if you'd rather we left you to it, naturally we can–"

Mole commandeers the basket. "Stay." He doesn't mean it to sound such like an order, but for all his previous bluster, he suddenly doesn't want the newcomers to leave. For despite the extra shadows they cast, Mole End somehow feels brighter than before in a manner not quite tangible. "And, just between you and me," he adds as he ushers his friend inside, "I hadn't got that far with the cleaning."

There's another sneeze from Badger that sets the lanterns swinging, and a fresh falling of dust scatters down from above.

Another grin from Ratty. "You don't say?"

Badger wastes no time in assessing the undertaking ahead. He settles back into that same role as in the retaking of Toad Hall, distributing the chores with little fuss, and quietly Mole is glad for it, because the task of Mole End has become overwhelming in the past few days.

Regardless of the nature of the housework, it is humour, not tedium, that springs up. And at some point in this collective effort – between the idle conversations and the laughter and the "Where's the duster – I swear I left it here just a moment ago" – Mole End sheds its overcrowded air. Nothing palpable changes, for the occupants continue to fall over one another and Badger still has to duck his head through doorways, but somewhere in the midst of all this it has become cosy, not cramped.

Somewhere in that space, that strange homesickness has quelled.

Mole realises this midway through restoring the peeling wallpaper back to its proper place, teetering on a stepladder while Ratty applies paste to the paper's underside. He falters in his task to take note – to truly take note – of his friends. To listen to the bustle of Mrs Otter as she strips the beds, and the jabbering of Toad as he regales her with some loosely-related story. (Mole believes it is his experiences from the open road; a period in which Toad categorically did not take to the chores like a duck to water, whatever he is emphatically telling Mrs Otter.) Further off, there is something that sounds suspiciously like humming, coming from Badger as he inspects the tunnels for natural wear-and-tear, partnered with his sure steps and the tap of his cane.

Mole lingers too long in thought, and his balance flounders. Ratty catches the ladder before it can tip and his laughter is both familiar and new as it bounces across the earthen walls in an echoing reprise.

Home. this place is home, Mole realises, and the definition has shifted, expanded, grown in his year's absence.

And he's okay with that.

[coupleskitchen]

Stardew Valley

Stardew Valley is a delightful farm RPG that offers countless hours of wholesome fun. The player begins the game by leaving behind the disillusionment of the big city to live on their grandfather’s farm which is rundown and overgrown. Over time, they may build the farm back up and even customise it to their liking. Managing the farm is incredibly rewarding, whether you choose to focus on raising crops or tending to animals, or a mix of both. The routine is relaxing and accompanied by a pleasing and memorable soundtrack.

For those who are concerned that they may tire of doing the same thing over and over, Stardew Valley has plenty more to offer. The player may decide to venture into dangerous mines in search of artefacts and other treasures, or go fishing in one of the game’s many bodies of water. Perhaps they would prefer to complete the museum’s collection, or learn to cook all the recipes the game has in store. There’s even a challenging arcade game at the saloon.

Occasionally, festivals and other events take place, which the town’s many unique and interesting inhabitants attend. While there are plenty of friends to make in town, there are also twelve eligible romance partners that the player may choose to get close to and eventually marry. These bachelors and bachelorettes are not restricted by sexuality, allowing the player to pick their favourite option regardless of gender. If playing with a friend or significant other, the player may even choose to marry their farmhand—which is how Stardew Valley defines co-op parties.

The farming game genre has been well established for many years, but Stardew Valley has taken all the most notable features of these games and improved upon them. It has also avoided the day-to-day pitfall that similar games seem to fall into, as much of the game’s content is spread evenly. It can take a considerable chunk of time to uncover everything there is to see, and with periodic updates that have continued to expand upon the game, it isn’t easy to stop playing. For many, when they think of a farming game, their first thought is Stardew Valley, and there is good reason for that. The game is so lovingly crafted and has had so much attention put into it, that it is rare to find something else that scratches that itch.

[you-can-call-me-wanda]

Tell Me

Pairing: Steve Jones x Reader (Requested)

Author’s Note: The thing about frogs in this is true! I have an abundance of random facts that I know for no reason at all. My parents used to call me “Didja” since I was always asking “did ya know?”.

Steve heard you before he saw you.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He turned to look back at the sound of your voice. You were standing in the alley, talking to a girl and guy in the doorway of the club. He squinted into the darkness and made out the boy to be his mate Sid and the girl he was clinging to, to be your friend.

“Fine,” you said. “Just hurry up.”

With that you turned on your heel and Steve turned away quickly to not be seen watching the interaction. He heard your friend and Sid’s giggles, the shutting of the door, and your approaching footsteps.

You appeared next to him in an instant. Standing at the opposite side of the bench he was sat on.

“Mind if I sit?” you asked, motioning to the other side of the bench.

He shook his head. “Go for it,” he said. He itched to say more to you but couldn’t seem to find any words that made sense.

“What was all that about?” he finally spat out, curiosity overpowering the want to seem as if he hadn’t been listening in.

“Our idiot friends need to get their rocks off before I can leave it seems.” Your tone was bitter and the expression on your face told Steve how unimpressed you were with the pair.

“Oh,” was all he could say in response. Him and you had never really gotten a chance to talk one-on-one before. You were both in the same crowd though and so you both knew of the other. Tonight you had both attended the same show.

“Cig?” he offered, holding his pack out towards you.

You barely spared a glance his way. “No thanks,” you said crossing your arms. “I don’t plan on staying all too long.”

“No?”

“No,” you responded. “Something tells me Sid’s a quick shot.”

At this, Steve threw his head back and laughed. His warm breath could be seen on the cool night’s air.

“You seem pretty sure of that. How do you know?” he asked, tone suggestive.

You rolled your eyes. “Call it intuition.”

You thought back to when you last saw Sid. He was high off his ass on probably multiple substances. His pupils were blown wide, his eyelids half shut, and you were pretty sure he had been drooling. Yeah, there was no doubt in your mind that Sid and your friend would be quick to finish. She hadn’t been in a much better state than him.

You sat in silence for a bit, you and Steve. Him smoking and you sat impatiently waiting for your friend.

“You don’t say much, do you?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Nothing to say,” you said, frowning.

“Bullshit,” Steve said.” “I see the way you work. You float around these joints like a ghost, just drifting through conversations and people. I bet you’ve seen more than anyone else, you must have. I bet you’ve got lots to say.”

His words surprised you, but you did your best to keep your face neutral. Of course, he was right, but you hadn’t known that anyone took much notice of you. Normally, you were stuck in your friend’s shadow, easily overlooked by her party-animal personality and appearance. You were more of a wallflower of sorts.

“I wasn’t aware you were so observant.”

It was Steve’s turn to shrug this time. He let out a long drag from his cigarette before turning fully to face you.

“Only for you,” he said eventually, his blue eyes staring intently into yours.

“What does that mean?” you asked, feeling a shiver go up your spine. You gripped your leather jacket tighter around your torso.

“Eh, forget it,” he said, turning back to face forwards. You noticed the pink tinge his cheeks had to them but were unsure if his blush was caused by the biting cold or something else.

“No, tell me,” you pressed, wanting to know what he meant exactly by that comment. Only for you.

“Only if you tell me something,” he said, looking back at you, biting his lip. He struck you as almost nervous.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“Anything,” he said, smiling slightly around his cigarette.  “As long as it’s interesting.”

You squinted at him before nodding. “Okay. Hmm.” You looked up at the dark night sky while you wracked your brain for something Steve might find interesting. “Alright, I have something,” you said, thinking of some random fact you’d read once several years back.

“What is it?” Steve asked, sitting forward and resting his chin in his hand.

For some reason, your stomach felt tight with nerves. You couldn’t think of why you’d be anxious to talk to Steve, but that seemed to be the issue. You looked down at your lap as you spoke.

“Frogs,” you started, “Frogs can’t vomit,” you said.

You looked up as you finished speaking. Steve was staring at you, head tilted to the side. You found the site to be quite adorable but pushed away the thought as soon as it entered your brain. Steve was not adorable. You did not find Steve adorable.

“Frogs?” Steve repeated.

You nodded, now feeling a bit embarrassed for choosing such an odd thing to share with him. No doubt you came across as an even more socially awkward weirdo now.

Steve didn’t laugh at you though. Instead, he furrowed his brows and nodded, like what you had said made perfect sense. “That is interesting,” he said. “Why not?”

You surprised yourself with a chuckle. “I don’t really know actually,” you admitted. “I just remember reading that they can’t vomit and that if they do, they’ll throw up their whole stomach.”

Steve was barely hearing what you were saying though. He was too busy watching the way your mouth moved and how your eyes lit up when you smiled. He simply nodded along, smiling like an idiot the whole way.

“Your turn,” you said, snapping him out of his staring.

“My turn?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Time to tell me what you meant.”

Steve of course knew what you were talking about but pretended to be oblivious nonetheless.

“What I meant?” he asked, doing his best to appear confused and hoping you had forgotten his previous statement altogether.

“You said ‘only for you’ after I called you observant.”

So apparently you hadn’t forgotten. Steve sighed inwardly. It was quite clear what the comment had meant, but he didn’t want to explain it to you. He didn’t even know where to begin. Did he pretend it meant nothing or did he admit he held feelings for you. You, who had never paid him any mind. He had pined over you from afar for months now, praying that eventually the two of you would run into each other. It seemed tonight was the answer to his prayers, but he was too nervous to make his move.

“Just forget it,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette on the armrest of the bench. “It didn’t mean anything.”

You pouted and Steve had to look away. You were about to press him for an answer, but Sid and your friend burst out of the club doors at that very moment, tearing away your attention from Steve.

“I’m back!” your friend shouted needlessly, announcing her presence to you. She was leaned against Sid and he was leaning on her. Both of them were sporting mussed-up hairdos and disheveled clothes. “And I’m going home with Sid,” she slurred.

You sighed at the sight of her. She was obviously crossed, drunk and high off her mind.

“Are you sure?” you asked, “I can get you home if you want” you said, getting up from the bench to approach her. “That’s why I sat here waiting for you.”

“M’ fine,” she said, waving you away and grinning up at Sid.

Sid just nodded dumbly at you before they both turned and began to make their way down the sidewalk, still desperately clinging to each other for support. You watched them go with a sigh and a shake of the head.

“Well,” you said, turning back to Steve who had just gotten up as well. “I should get going.”

Steve didn’t say anything as you left, just simply watched you walk away into the night. As he watched the darkness swallow up your figure, he couldn’t help but feel like he was losing something forever.

“Wait!” a voice called out behind you. You looked back over your shoulder to see Steve running up to you.  “Just, wait a second,” he said, stopping in front of you. He took a deep breath. “I, I know we haven’t really talked before tonight, but, but, I just want you to know that I really like you (Y/N). I think, I think you’re really something else.” He paused, as if thinking of the words to say. “You’re like this huge mystery and every time I figure out something new about you, I like you even more. I just,” he sighed, “Am I making sense?”

“I think,” you said, “I think I understand.” Your heart was beating rapidly with anticipation and emotion. Steve liked you.

“So, will you go out with me then? On a date?” Steve asked, looking earnest.

“Um yeah,” you said, not-so-eloquently. “I mean, yes, that sounds good, um.”

Steve just beamed at you and you couldn’t help but smile as well.

“A mystery huh?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, holding your gaze and taking his hands into his, “A mystery I’ve been dying to figure out.”

[cordonian-literature]

The Aftermath - Ch. 26

Water Fun

Summary: Everyone does their best to have fun at the Regatta. During the beach party, Liam and Riley spend some time together. 

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings:  mention of character death

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s book “The Goldfinch”)*

Catch up here!

Tags: @captain-kingliamsqueen @gkittylove99 @lovablegranny @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @mom2000aggie @kingliam2019 @queenrileyrose @shanzay44 @cordonianroyalty @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @cinnamonspongecake @kuladekiwi @twinkle-320 @iaminlovewithtrr @charlotteg234 @amandablink @texaskitten30 @tinkie1973 @louiseingram1208 @queencatherynerhys @pens-girl-87 @missevabean @ladyangel70 @sanchita012 @cordonianprincess @liamandneca @cordonia-gothqueen @pink-diamond13 @queenwalton​

I’m not sure if the tags are working or not, but I hope I got everyone down! If you would like to be added/removed, please let me know, I wouldn’t want to annoy anyone with notifications :)

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

- Maxwell - 

When everyone — except Liam — walked out of the palace, they were glad to see Hana coming along. They understood if she would prefer to stay in her rooms instead of attending her cheating husband’s party, but she walked down the steps and into a car with Riley and Olivia, her face emotionless.

Rowan was coming with the Beaumonts in their limo after Maxwell had asked her to. He noticed that Savannah and Bartie were taking a liking to her, but of course there was Bertrand who always gave them a look when he saw them together. 

At the marina, the colorful boats interrupt the peaceful blue waters. The sun warms the tops of everyone’s heads, but not unbearably. In the crowd of people, Maxwell notices Riley and the children, and waves them over.

“What’s up, baby blossoms?” he says to Gabriel and Eleanor. “You two look fantastic.”

“Thanks!” Ella cries. She was wearing a sailor dress, while her brother wore a matching suit. “We’re sailors! Argh!” 

“That’s the sound pirates make, Ella,” Gabriel tells her. 

“Oh... aye aye, captain!” she says instead. 

“That’s... also what pirates say.” 

The girl’s shoulders slump. “Then what do sailors say?” She looks over at her brother, who shrugs. 

“Oh! What about,” Maxwell thinks aloud before crying, “All hands on deck!”

“All hands on deck!” the baby blossom repeats.

“Settle down, you three,” Bertrand tells them in low voice. He jerks his head towards an approaching cameraman and reporter. “We don’t want them to see foolish behavior, do we now?” He says menacingly to Bartie and the baby blossoms. Noticing that the reporter was making a beeline for Riley, he tries to quickly say, “Lady Riley, please remember—”

“Good morning, Lady Riley, it’s lovely to see you!” Ana de Luca interrupts Bertrand’s harsh whispers. 

“Thank you, Ana!” Riley responds. “It’s wonderful to see you as well.” 

“Just like your first Social Season, you’ve made quite a splash on Cordonian headlines! The people are itching to know how your relationship with His Majesty is going.” 

She shoves the microphone in Riley’s face, but she doesn’t flinch and flashes a show-stopping smile. “There is a lot for both of us to catch up on, but our top priority is giving Gabriel a good support system.” 

“Understandable. But... you said there was a lot for both of you to catch up on? Are you suggesting that King Liam didn’t know you, or your son’s whereabouts ever since you left Cordonia?” 

Riley pauses for a second, but quickly catches herself: “Of course not. King Liam—”

“Then how come Cordonia’s heir is only being presented to the people now?” Ana interrupts her, plastering a concerned look on her face. “Surely you know the threats to the country that arise during such situations?” 

Maxwell understood that Ana wanted answers, both for her story and for the people of Cordonia, but she really didn’t have to bombard Riley like that. 

“My relationship with King Liam ended on a sad note,” Riley picks up again. “You know the scandal that surfaced during his Coronation. He was understandably upset, as was I, and our relationship had to come to a close. And since we couldn’t prove my innocence, he had to choose Countess Madeleine, who I know would have made a great Queen. I found out that I was expecting during the Engagement Tour, and to prevent another scandal and for the safety of my child, I withdrew from court and informed His Majesty.”

Maxwell was taken aback for a moment. Riley was saying all these lies so easily. He knew she had to, but he was still shocked. He looks down at the baby blossoms to find them looking up at their mother.

“Was that the reason he broke off his engagement to the Countess?” Ana asks again.

Riley flashes that smile again. “You would have to ask him that question.” 

“So what exactly happened after he broke the engagement?” 

“Accommodations were made for me to return to Cordonia, but King Liam decided that it was better to stay away for a while longer, seeing that there were many threats to the monarchy and his own safety. The last thing we would have wanted was to put our child at risk.”

Before Ana can ask another question, a herald trumpeting breaks through.

“What’s happening?” Eleanor asks up to Maxwell. 

“Liam’s gonna say something,” Maxwell tells her.

They all turn to see Liam on an elevated platform with Prince Leo near him, smiling out at everyone. A crowd forms around him, and Maxwell notices Liam look in the baby blossoms’ direction and smile. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen of Cordonia, I welcome you all to our Royal Regatta!” his booming voice cries. 

The crowd around him begins to cheer and clap. Ana de Luca follows her cameraman over towards the main crowd, and they both disappear between the bustle of people. 

“This day,” Liam continues, “holds both historical and personal importance. Cordonia, for as long as any of us have known is, has prided herself in remaining a generous nation, even when our neighbors are not as benevolent. The Regatta was also a favorite event of my father, the late King Constantine.”  

Maxwell notices a shadow cross over Liam’s face, but it disappears in an instant. 

“In his memory, we celebrate, and hope for the continued prosperity of Cordonia. So without further delay, let the festivities begin!” Liam concludes. The crowd cheers again, then disperse. 

From the corner of his eye, Maxwell sees Drake and Jessica walking in their direction. Jessica’s bright smile and casual dress contrast with Drake’s expressionless face and his usual denim outfit. 

“I heard a few nobles were gonna race before the actual thing?” Drake asks Maxwell. Jessica greets Rowan and the baby blossoms. 

“Yes, I believe Duke Rashad, Landon, and Hakim are some of the main contestants,” Bertrand answers. 

“And, uh...” Maxwell leans forward — taking a look back at Hana, who was in a conversation with Olivia and Riley, neither of which were paying attention to anything the rest of them were saying — “Neville’s gonna participate, too.” 

Everyone makes a face, giving a quick, pitiful glance in Hana’s direction.

Maxwell looked around and noticed people getting ready for the race. He raises his head, hoping to see Liam somewhere, and sees him in front of the royal yacht conversing with someone. 

“Baby blossoms,” he leans down to them. “You guys should go over to where Liam is.” 

“Where is he?” Ella asks. 

“At the royal yacht,” Maxwell tells them. 

Gabriel grabs his sister’s hand, then leads her away from their group. But after a few seconds, they return, and Gabriel says, “Yeah, I don’t know where that is.” 

“C’mon, ya little blossom babes, I’ll show you.” He begins leading the way to where he saw Liam, then turns back towards Rowan and tells her to follow. 

She blushes, and rushes up to them. 

Maxwell doesn’t see Liam anymore, but he still leads the children onto the royal yacht. When Liam hears them board, his face lights up and the baby blossoms run up to him.

“Daddyo!” Eleanor cries, running towards Liam with her arms out. Liam grabs her and lifts her over his shoulders and onto his back.

Eleanor giggles as she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his torso. Liam proceeds to march around the yacht, Gabriel following them and laughing along. 

Maxwell notices a variety of sweets and snacks laid out on the table: fruits pierced with small sticks that had cute animals at the ends of them, and everything from cupcakes to cookies, also in the shape of animals. 

Liam stops when the herald comes onto the boat and tells him, “Your Majesty, it’s time for you to announce the beginning of the races.” 

Gently, Liam helps Eleanor off his back, who pouts. "Wait right here,” he tells her, then follows the herald off of the boat and back onto an elevated platform near the starting line. The herald hands Liam a starting pistol, and he holds it above his head. 

“Racers, ready!” he calls out. Liam pulls the trigger and yells, “Go!” 

The boats take off into the distance, and Liam rushes back onto the yacht to collect Eleanor in his arms again, letting Gabriel enjoy his fresh fruit. 

Liam invites everyone else onto the yacht. While the women engage themselves in conversation, Maxwell, Drake, and Bertrand stand around and talk to Liam, who gives most of his attention to the baby blossoms. 

Maxwell looks around at the activity around him, and is suddenly reminded that barely than two months ago, none of them could have imagined they’d all be together again. Back then, everyone had become accustomed to the boredom that their lives had been put into. But seeing everyone now, Riley talking happily with everyone, a smile on Liam’s face bigger than Maxwell had ever seen — he feels grateful for everything. 

He stares at Rowan for a moment, silently hoping that she would look back at him. When she does, she smiles at him again, and he loves that look in her eyes. She breaks off the stare to glance at the children, and Maxwell is suddenly reminded of Boris. 

He didn’t remember seeing the man anywhere after the Derby. Maxwell stands and looks out towards the docks. There are so many people that he can’t point out any specific person. 

“The boats are back!” Gabriel announces. Everyone walks towards the edge of the yacht. When Maxwell focuses on the two small figures that were beginning to come into view, he tells everyone that it’s Rashad’s and Neville’s boats that are in the lead. 

They all stare at the two boats in anticipation, and they hear cheers from the docks go out when Rashad’s boat passes the finish line first. Maxwell glances towards Hana to see a satisfied smile on her face. She seems glad Neville lost.

Liam walks closer to the shore and begins to applaud, congratulating Rashad. Both men exit their boats and shake each other’s hands, but Maxwell still notices Neville snarl after he turns away.

Once everyone is back on the harbor, Neville tells everyone that his party is beginning, and people begin to board his ship. 

“Aren’t you going?” Olivia turns to ask Liam, who was already walking back towards the yacht with the baby blossoms in tow. 

Liam frowns, then comes back up to the group. “Of course not. I refuse to have such an abhorrent man in my presence, especially one that has—” Liam breaks off for a second to glance down at the baby blossoms “—insulted my children, and a friend, no less. Anyone who doesn’t wish to attend can join me.” 

They all turn to look at Hana, who doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, and stares out at the sea. “Neville said that he expects me to attend,” she tells them in a low voice. 

Riley links her arm through Hana’s. “I’ll go with her.” 

“But, Mama,” Eleanor tugs lightly on her mother’s pant leg. “I wanna go with Daddyo.”

“Go ahead, baby,” she allows, shaking her head and chuckling when Liam smiles at her. The baby blossoms follow Liam back onto the yacht as the rest of them reluctantly pile onto Neville’s boat. 

On the boat, everyone crowds around Neville as he welcomes them. Olivia, Bertrand, Savannah, and Drake (being pulled along by Jessica) break off to mingle. Riley and Hana grab a glass of champagne from a waiter, and Maxwell and Rowan follow.

They go towards the end of the boat and take a seat on the cushions. 

“God,” Rowan comments. Maxwell turns to her, noticing her gaze on Neville. “How did that type of person get married to Hana?” 

They both watch Neville as he speaks to Adelaide, looking her up and down without any sense of modesty.

“Poor Hana,” Maxwell mumbles. 

He watches Neville, whose eyes reach Hana. Still talking to Riley, she seems oblivious when he begins to walk over to her. But before Neville can get too close, Hana stands and walks over to Rashad. She talks to him with a broad smile over his face, and Neville reddens with anger.

They watch the racing boats leave the starting line. After the boats have gone from view, the group walks around to mingle. Once that got tiring — and Hana was tired of continuously walking away from Neville every other minute — they sat back down with new glasses of champagne, this time joined by Drake. 

The five of them sit for hours, Rowan’s head resting on Maxwell’s shoulder, causing his heart to beat faster. Drake watches Jessica in the crowd, while Riley and Hana continue to talk quietly. 

What feels like hours later, Jessica comes up to Drake, her smile gone. 

“I’m leaving, darling,” she tells him. He stands, holding her hands in his.

“Everything okay?” he asks her. 

She shakes her head and lowers her voice. “Papa passed away.”

“What?” Drake breathes. Rowan and Maxwell turn to look, slightly worried.

“He was in the hospital this entire week.” She says nothing else. 

“I... I’m so sorry.” Drake brings her hands up to his lips. “Want me to come with?”

She shakes her head, gives him a peck on the cheek, then leaves.

Maxwell thinks that Jessica’s neutral face is odd, but considers that it would be even weirder to break down in front of the entire court. 

More time passes, during which Maxwell itches to get up and dance. But there was no chance he was going to have fun at a party whose host had hurt Hana so much. He wishes he can apologize to Rowan; he wanted her time in Cordonia to be fun. He never asked her when she’d be leaving to go back to New York, but he feared that it was probably soon. 

When the boats finally come back and reach the finish line, he leads their little group off of the boat, Rowan under his arm. 

“Beach party time!” he cries. 

- Liam - 

Once the races were finally done, Liam leads the children towards the beach. Gabriel and Eleanor were reluctant to leave the yacht, and Liam was glad that they had enjoyed it so much. 

He was worried about them lately, and how they were adjusting into their new lives. Not only that, but Liam was also concerned about them missing Theodore. He wanted to ask them about it, but thought that it was better for him to be a fun distraction rather than bring up things for them to worry about.

Thankfully both the children had on swimsuits under their outfits. They leave their things in the limo and race for the water, where some nobles have already begun partying. 

Liam laughs with the children as he watches them splash around, but then remembers that he forgot to tell them to put on sunscreen. He wonders for a moment if it really matters, then decides to call them back. 

While they get out of the water, Riley and everyone else appears, all of them wearing swimsuits already, except for her and Maxwell. Riley holds a little bag, from which she produces a tube of sunscreen. Once enough is applied to each of the children, they run back into the water towards Hunter and Heather, with Bartie following behind. Liam notices his brother in the water as well, then sees Drake start swimming towards him. 

Bertrand proceeds to talk to other noblemen under the shade and away from the water. Hana and Savannah both find towels and sit on the sand under umbrellas. Rowan walks towards the water, then calls out for Maxwell, who still has his shirt on. 

“Actually, Rowan,” he says to her. “How about we eat first?” 

“Don’t you wanna have some water fun?” she says to him, the water up to her ankles.

Maxwell hesitates, and Rowan grabs his arm to pull him towards the water. 

“I promise we can eat later,” she says to him. “But what’s a beach party when you don’t even have fun in the water?” 

He seems like he wants to pull back, but Maxwell allows her to guide him. 

“You can take off your shirt if you want?” she tells him when they’re almost knee-deep in the water.

Maxwell takes a second to stare at her, then quickly removes his shirt. Once Rowan sees the tattoo, she cries out, “Ohmygod, that’s so cute!” 

“Aw,” Riley sounds, still standing next to Liam. “I’m glad they’re getting closer.”

“As am I,” he says. “Though Maxwell being romantically involved with anyone is the last thing I expected, it’s nice to see my friend happy. Especially after everything he’s done for me.” 

Liam looks pointedly at her, and smiles when she turns to look at him. “And what has Maxwell done for you?” There’s a sense of joy behind each of her words.

He leans as close to her as decorum will allow to whisper, “He was the one who sponsored you to come to Cordonia, and he was the one who planned for us to have moments alone during the Social Season.” 

Liam notices her look at his lips. “Hm,” she mumbles. When Riley looks back at his eyes, her gaze is playful.

“Will you accompany me somewhere?” he asks her.

“Of course.” 

Liam looks around to check if anyone was looking at them, then takes her hand and leads her down a trail. 

After Riley had left, he had returned to the Forgotten Falls multiple times, but only to stare at it. Only to remember the time alone they had spent together. 

He helps her climb up, worried about her leg. When he pulls himself up after her, Liam sees Riley stare at the waterfall. He hoped that the smile on her face was in remembrance of their love, instead of thoughts of what could have been between them — such were the thoughts that were running through Liam’s mind right now. 

“Do you want to go for a swim?” Riley asks him. 

He knew they weren’t going to climb up to the waterfall like last time, and was elated that she still wanted to get in the water. “You don’t have a swimsuit,” he reminds her.

“So?” She laughs at him, then begins to take off her clothes. Liam quickly averts his gaze, then questions why he even did that. 

He takes off his own clothes, but before he can get his shirt over his head, Liam hears a splash. Riley’s clothes are on the ground next to him, and there are ripples in the water. He shrugs the rest of his clothes off in a hurry, then jumps in. 

Liam opens his eyes under the water, and sees her legs swimming away from him. He pushes his arms and legs to go after her, slightly mesmerized by how she gently kicked to keep herself afloat.

He lets himself fall to the bottom, then pushes himself up, grabbing her hips in the process and raising her above the water. She cries out, clearly doing her best not to laugh.  

He holds onto her, keeping half of her body above the water. She holds his shoulder and looks at him while Liam spins them both in the water.

“The court will be going to Applewood tomorrow,” he tells her.

“I know,” she responds. “I don’t need Maxwell to tell me which event is next. Thankfully, I know it all by myself now.” 

He looks up at her, refusing to let her go, and almost brings her down to kiss her, but catches himself. 

“Do you think we could leave for Applewood early? You, the children, and I?” Liam asks. 

“Why?” 

“I want to show them around. It was one of my favorite places growing up. The royal family was rarely bothered at Applewood, as it was mostly kept away from the spotlight. Before the rest of the court arrives, I want them to enjoy that.”

He looks up at her to find Riley staring at him. There’s a smile on her lips, and she slides down to kiss him. 

At first it takes him a little by surprise. Liam felt that he forgot what her lips felt like, but like second nature, one of his hands travels to her hair. He runs his fingers through it and relishes in the warmth that radiates off her body. He wants to bring her closer to him, but she pulls away and gives a little laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks her, expecting an answer. 

She doesn’t give one, but swims over to the edge of the water to pull herself out. He follows her, then pulls her back towards him, pressing their lips together again. When she gently pushes away a second time, Liam wants to almost scold her, but the smile on her face is too contagious. 

She lays on the ground and he sits next to her, wanting to touch her again. For now he consoled himself, basking in her presence. Lying next to him was a woman who was not phased by time; even after ten years she never failed to make his heart race, make him want more of her. 

They stay like that for a while, her head on his shoulder. He tells her that Applewood is where he’ll announce that the nobility will have their belongings searched. Liam says that he’s concerned about their reactions.

Riley tells him how bad she feels for Hana, and how she wants to help her friend get out of that marriage. Liam mentions that Duke Rashad might be able to assist, and Riley says she’ll try to speak to him. 

When Liam wonders aloud how the children may be doing, or whether they ate or not, Riley states that she thinks they should return. 

They put on their clothes and share one last, lingering kiss before making their way back to the beach, where the children had just finished eating and said that they wanted to go to sleep. 

Liam insists that they go back to the palace in his limo, and knows Riley cannot deny the children’s persisting. On the drive over, Eleanor falls asleep. Liam carries the girl to her room, and after putting her to bed, steals one last kiss from Riley before leading Gabriel back to their quarters.

[icarus-the-eternal]

The Raid

Archon Braessath of the Kabal of the Black Fang laughed as the prey ran, animal terror pushing them further and faster in hopes of escape. Standing on the prow of his Raider, he lifted a splinter rifle and fired, dropping one of the beasts in a howl of anguish. A cruel smile danced across his lips as his warriors laughed and jeered at the display, jetbikes swooping past to herd the prey on. This had been a pleasurable excursion so far, no rivals to dispute his claim and plenty of fodder for both the slave pens and torture racks. “Such a nice time for a hunt, eh Ahlseth?” His Dracon barely looked up from where she was sharpening her flensing knives. “Perhaps my lord but they are rather poor sport, no fight in them at all.” Braessath chuckled to himself, lowering the rifle and accepting a cup from one of his waiting attendants, enjoying the pleasant burn of the hallucinogenic liquid down his throat. “Where’s the fun in prey who fights back? The easier the better I say.” Ahlseth simply shrugged, irritating in her indifference, so the Archon turned his attention back to the hunt. These mon-keigh were even more primitive than the rest of their simple race, barely above animals, but he did enjoy them so. Perhaps when they returned to Commorragh he wouldn’t sell all of them but would establish his own private reserve. He liked that idea for surely many would pay for the pleasure of hunting without leaving the comforts of home. His revelries were interrupted by a blaring alert on the communications channel. Irritation returning he opened it, swearing to skin the one responsible for disturbing his pleasure. “What is it?” The panicked voice of Bezial, his distant cousin and second Dracon, came through. “My lord- attack- can’t- by the dark o- AAAAGH!” The channel cut out in a harsh static and gunfire, no response afterwards. Braessath cursed and turned about, fur cloak billowing in the breeze. “Turn is about! Call back the hunting parties! We have uninvited guests!”

Jaego broke the extended arm, ignoring the pained screams of the Kabalite warrior as it dropped the knife intended for his eye lens. He rapped it across it’s androgynous features, feeling the crunch of bone and cartilage beneath his knuckles before he tossed it to his waiting retinue. The slavering mutants fell upon the injured xenos with hungry claws and teeth, Jaego chuckling as it’s screams faded beneath snarls and growls. “Eat my lovelies! Eat your fill!” He moves on through the ruined camp, humming softly as he paused here and there to examine a corpse or extract a sample. This particular breed of Eldar was fascinating, having adapted to sustain themselves on the pain and anguish of other beings. He hoped to take a few alive for future study, his fingers itching with the desire to peel apart their secrets layer by layer beneath his scalpels. He’d been surprised when his presence had been requested but this raid had already provided him with plenty of useful data and a chance to test his newest experiments. The xenos had dared to trespass upon a world considered valuable by the goddess, it’s Stone Age human population worshipping her in some fashion. His Gland Hounds were gone, given permission to hunt and kill as they saw fit, so he strode through the ruined camp alone. The sounds of gunfire and battle persisted somewhere nearby accompanied by the shouts of mortals and howls of mutants. The first batch of enhanced fodder had performed within expected parameters so far, though he could already see the improvements he would make next time. A feral roar tore through the air and he barely sidestepped as an armored body crashed to the dirt just past him. The drukhari in charge of the camp was barely recognizable from the strutting, gilded peacock he’d been. His armor was cracked and broken, his beautiful sword broken in half, his lifeblood pooling beneath him. Drogon strode after, the giant Astartes radiating primal fury. Every breath through his vox gril was a snarl, fists clenching and unclenching, the sharpened horns and arm blades of bone coated in blood from use. The xenos tried to crawl away but it was no use. The daemonically strengthened warrior seized his helpless foe and with a guttural snarl wrenched it’s head free in a crack of bone and wet tearing of meat. Jaego felt his twin hearts beat faster, his mouth go dry in the presence of such beauty. He had met all the champions of his new patron and his feelings ranged from indifference to respect in the case of fellow Apothecary Furio. But only the renegade Black Dragon made his blood race this way. He was a monster, a magnificent being of gene-crafted death and fury. Oh how he longed to put him on the table, to explore every nook of bone, knot of muscle, and twisted genetic strand. The wonders he could work with but a loving touch, surely it would be his finest work! He’d carefully secured a few samples of blood and tissue but it was not enough, barely a drop to wet his insatiable thirst for more. Drogon looked from where he had dropped the head, fixing his red gaze on the Apothecary. “The rest will come. We prepare. You fight with me this time.” Jaego felts his blood sing as he set about his work.

Braessath has expected a raid from another kabal, perhaps a few dead and the slave stock stolen, but nothing like this. The camp was in ruins, structures toppled and burned or burning. The slaves we’re gonna, their pens pried open and empty. The bodies of his warriors were scattered around in various states of dismemberment, some barely recognizable pieces of ragged meat and gnawed bone. The attackers had left a sign of their handiwork, the corpse and severed head of Bezial held aloft by his own tendons like a macabre puppet for all to see. Archon surveyed the wreckage over the lip of his raider. He’d dressed in finest Wargear to greet these guests, a necessity among the extravagant Archon’s always seeking to outdo one another. A crystalline mesh of purple and emerald armor beneath a new cloak of shimmering metallic feathers and a gunbelt of infant leather slung low in fashion. Fingers rapped upon the gilded shuriken pistols in their holsters as he considered what do next. “Fan out! Find me some tracks! And someone take that damn thing down!” Warriors moved to obey, tugging at the corpse on display. The corpse began to shake and buzz, vomiting a swarm of chittering insects. The warriors cursed and swatted was the cloud enveloped them, rising into agonized screams as the insects found gaps in their armor and burrowed into the inviting flesh. They danced spastically, muscles seizing in pain as the bugs sought the delicious meat of organs and brain matter. Braessath felt himself revolted and fascinated by the sight as the warriors collapsed and their killers settled to feed. Jaego had spent decades cultivating and breeding this particular species of beetle to use against the Craftworld Eldar. He hasn’t been sure thwy would work on the dark cousins of the species but would be very satisfied with the results.

Every step through the camp uncovered more and more booby traps. The Black Fang lost warriors to more hungry beetles, buried landmines, filth coated spike-traps, even a vat-muscled slab of aggression amplified mutant. As he forces were whittled down so did the Archon’s temper flare till he was boiling with only a third of his original force left. As he raged and ranted only then did they make their appearance. Drogan and Jaego emerged from the surrounding woodlands, approaching the eldar at an easy pace. “How did you like our gifts?” Braessath stepped to meet them with hands on his pistols and Ahlseth at his back. “How about you come taste my appreciation mon-keigh?” Drogon snarled, the vox amplifiers making his voice sound even more guttural. “You have trespassed on ground sacred to the goddess, hunted her people. These affronts have been paid for in blood. Leave now and perhaps we shall let you keep your miserable lives!” With his words the rest of the force revealed themselves from under the psychic illusions hiding them, a bristling force of mortals, mutants, and Astartes all hungry for more xenos blood. The Kabalites seemed to be co side red their odds as their leader merely sneered. “Come on then filth! I’m going to make myself a new pair of boots for your face as the slave pis-urk..” Braessath never finished his sentence, eyes going wide with surprise as the air rushed from his lungs. Ahlseth twisted the knife in his spine and drew it out, letting her former master stumbling a few steps and collapsing in the mud. None of the other Kabalites moved to stop her, rather watching with interest as she removed the gunbelt and buckled it about her own waist. Then she waved cheerfully to the pair of astartes. “As Archon of the Black Fang, I humbly accept your terms though I think that we could be of use to each other. Perhaps we could work out some manner of a deal?”

Upon return to the Vaults, Jaego immersed himself in his work once more. He was no warlord and preferred to leave the glories and distribution of loot to others as he’d already claimed the samples and specimens he desired. He was gazing at such specimens now, the mash of machinery and wraithbone the one called Ahlseth had provided him for future contact, when a feminine voice tickled in his ear. “Keeping busy I see.” He turned to find Fuuko in her mortal form standing nearby, gazing into a large tank bobbing with organic matter and nutrient fluid. “Ah my lady! If you had told me you were coming I would have tidied up or prepared refreshments!” The goddess laughed and shook her head. “I prefer my visits to be spontaneous I’m afraid. How goes your work?” Jaego brightened and launched excitedly into his theories based on data from the raid and the possibilities it opened. The goddess played the good guest, listing intently and nodding where appropriate. As he began to branch into the increased growth cycles of hybridized cells, she interrupted him. “I am glad you are enjoying yourself in my service. I shall leave you to your work and I look forward to more results.” Then she was gone, leaving only the scent of incense in her wake. Jaego turned back to tank she’d initially been watching. It was barely an embryo right now, a splice of stolen cells and gleaned samples but he could envision it’s future form. Humming to himself, Jaego stepped away from the Drogon clone and returned to work.

@fuukonomiko

[secretsfromwholecloth]

Deadfire, day 7.

Oof, those nāgas. And when it’s not those nāgas, it’s those traps. I had to reload a couple of times, most notably after Serafen died. Properly, four-injuries-in-one-fight died. Ciphers are squishy, I’ve learned that quite well, but damn.

Wow, the rathun sure are friendly to a fire godlike Watcher.

After all this time, I still can’t not laugh when Tekēhu makes his “What a glorious hole” crack.

Talking Jadaferlas down is one of my unbreakable habits. I’m not even sure why, considering that across my various playthroughs I’ve killed both scarier dragons and ones with better arguments for letting them live. I guess because talking her down is so easy and has no negative consequences whatsoever, so I’ve never had to fight her, which would’ve reinforced that the option was there?

This is the first time I’ve brought Pallegina to Ashen Maw, as far as I can remember, and her habit of roasting unspeakably powerful entities that could squash her like a bug is as delightful as ever.

The conversation with Eothas about why the Watcher has accomplished great things, whether because they’re just inherently more capable or because of the situations their life has put them in...gnrf. The latter would be the obvious answer if a. the “strong soul” thing weren’t canonically true and b. there weren’t the whole extra meta-level of the Watcher being the protagonist and having a player behind them, and then I get to thinking about all of it, and, well, gnrf.

Xoti got an approval bump from Pallegina. That’ll be a red-letter day in everyone’s diary.

Why yes, I do have a whole bunch of feelings about Eothas telling Edér to take care of the Watcher, thank you for noticing.

I think Aeldys’ speculation about the afterlife merits another “gnrf”. Just one of those things.

Woedica, your “I <3 eugenics” speech isn’t exactly endearing you to me right now. No, that it’s magical eugenics doesn’t help.

I’ve gotten the second teleportation quest, and my regulars are all level 20, so I think it’s time to take some of the more neglected babies on a jaunt around the Neketaka hinterlands. Right now that means Rekke (level 16, I hope to all the gods I can give him some attention in the DLCs), Fassina (level 15, I’ll be needing her for you know what), and Xoti (already level 20, but I need a specialized healer with this lot, and Pallegina’s tankiness is unnecessary with Rekke to hide behind).

Yes, I’ve left it extremely late this time. I usually don’t eliminate quite so much of the mapping and bounty hunting before Ashen Maw, and sometimes I’ll make the rounds on foot when I get the bounty for Nomu rather than wait for Flaune to send me out there.

Ooh, hello there, Animancer’s Energy Blade. Yes, Anlaf would love a lightsaber to wield alongside Marux Amanth.

I normally make sure I have Pallegina along for Castol’s performance review, but you know what, I’m curious, I think I’ll dive in with the party I have.

Wait, which archmage is meant to be in attendance? Duc Remasi cuts Nirro off before he can say the name, and while there’s a person in a robe standing off to the left, I can’t pick out anything except their hair color (brown, I think).

Well, that’s done, Castol is safe. Unless he tries to come for me on the way to Ukaizo. We’ll see.

“I hear the Huana hate few things more than a food stealer.” Heh, yes, I’ve been to Tikawara.

Oh, hey, I got the box of, er, “beans”. Still no visits from any archmages on dragonback, though.

So Clelia actually saw Furrante hanged, but she didn’t go back to Fort Deadlight to finish the quest, because she wasn’t about to throw in with the Príncipi no matter who was leading them, and she got the epilogue slides for Furrante still being alive and in charge. We’ll see if I can get his death to register this time.

Looking at the Darcozzi oath, I see we have another Vailian name for a god—”Dicenas fiaces” in the Vailian text has got to correspond to “Magran’s flames” in the translation. Elsewhere we see that -s seems to be the possessive suffix, among other functions, so that’s Dicena for the Vailian name of Magran.

And I think this is the part where I turn down the difficulty and start doing the real fun stuff. First up, Splintered Reef, since I’m over here buying a certain ship upgrade anyway.

The additional challenge of Easy/Relaxed difficulty can be fun, but sometimes you just want stuff to die already. And that’s what Story mode is for. :D

Eh, the fuck happened here? Fassina, is there something you’d like to tell your casità?

...nope, I did not mean to disembark in Port Maje with Maia in the party. Nope. Maia, get back on the ship.

The reason I was in Port Maje in the first place was to buy that beautiful, beautiful bow. But who’s going to use it? No one who uses a ranged weapon and doesn’t already have their good one is going to be spending much time in the party. Maybe I can give it to Xoti. It won’t kill either of us to have her switch away from her sickle and lantern. I don’t think. And depending on who else is in the party, she could move from the melee squad to the ranged one. It’d be a way to give Rekke more attention, for one, if the fifth spot goes to someone like Aloth, Fassina, or Tekēhu who mostly does crowd control.

What’s that? My playstyle and taste in companions is tailored to Watchers with good support capabilities, playing a rogue was always going to be a trial, and I must be positively itching to rerun one of my favorites by now? You don’t say.

And now, we go after Concelhaut, because I very nearly forgot about him.

Bweeheehee, Concelhaut is so angry. :D Go on, Edér, needle him some more.

Yeah, his VO is so much funnier here. Something about all those trilled /r/s combined with the sheer indignation in his voice. And the hamminess. There’s hardly a piece of virtual scenery without bite marks in it by the end of the conversation with him.

The sheer speed with which Concelhaut was defeated only adds to the hilarity. I may be somewhat overleveled for this quest.

Oh, and the killing blow? Came from Ishiza this time. Never mind the farmhand, Concelhaut, this time you got taken down by an animal.

Hello, Tayn, and hello again, Llengrath. We’ll talk more later.

And I think Nemnok is up next, because I’m pretty sure I’m down to just that, DLCs, megabosses, and the endgame. And I’d like to get that last blackwood log to finally give my ship its good hull. But I’ll have to actually go after him in the morning, because it’s late.

[ethereousdelirious]

Fandom: Cri\tical Ro\le Cam\paign 2

Characters: C\aleb, M\olly (everyone else appears or is mentioned in passing)

Pairings: Wid\omauk

Tropes: F L U F F, college AU but D&D races are still a thing

Summary: uhh Cal\eb gets sick, M\olly takes care of him. Moll\y gets sick, Cale\b takes care of him. groundbreaking

Warnings/Notes: [Spoilers for episode 26. Description under cut]

UHHH yeah so this is gonna get rambly and it’s really not all that important, you can skip to the fic if you want:

SO my main problem with Widomauk is that Caleb and Molly honestly didn’t even really like each other until right up before Molly died and it so I don’t really find Widomauk believable. So I kinda wrote this as an interpretation of the “Molly gets res’d scenario without having to deal with figuring out where the M9 would be in canon if they ever got to a point where they could res Molly. I wanted to explore the only way I feel that Widomauk could be believable to me; that Caleb gets over is “woe is me I don’t deserve love or kindness complex” and Molly ditches his “swagger swagger I’m so much smarter and better than you all because I’m self-aware” attitude.

LMAO that makes it sound like I don’t like them buT I SWEAR I DO, just at the start of the campaign, NEITHER of them was in a good place to be in a relationship.

Okay that’s enough outta me

OH ONE MORE THING. Literally the only reason I made this a college AU is because there’s SO MUCH canon-compliant Caleb whump that I honestly couldn’t think of something original to write LMAAOO

okay i’m done now Caleb Widogast was no stranger to discomfort. He had endured pain and discomfort both physical and emotional many times over the course of his life and had gotten quite good at functioning through it.

So when a headache started to drum in his temples not 15 minutes before he was supposed to meet his friends at a party, he simply swallowed down some painkillers and headed out.

The house was close enough to Caleb's own accommodations that he could walk, so he did. Summer was only just coming to an end, but the air already got bitter cold at night. Caleb pulled his coat closer around himself and swept his hair back, cursing internally when he felt a drop of rain land on his face. Maybe he should have called an Uber.

The rain got heavier and Caleb walked faster in turn, until fat droplets were pattering on the sidewalk and he was red-faced and out of breath. He was close enough now that he could hear the music, pounding in time with the pain in his head.

Most of the parties Caleb had attended were small things, just a handful of people getting drunk in someone's living room. He had quietly been hoping tonight's party would be the same way, but of course he should have known better.

Molly had just returned from a semester abroad and was throwing himself a welcome back party, and he never did anything by halves.

Caleb reached the door. He dry-swallowed two more painkillers before entering.

He was immediately greeted by a chorus of cheers. "Caleb!

Molly was moving toward him, half-naked and wearing some sort of plastic tiara, and then Caleb's brain shorted out. Molly had him by the jaw, a hand on either cheek and was kissing him so hard they would have fallen over had Caleb not backed into the door.

Molly pulled away, smirking and bright-eyed. "Good to see you again!"

"He did that to Fjord too." Beau materialized by Caleb's shoulder and pulled him away. "And Jester."

"Why are you soaking wet?" Molly called after them.

"I, ah…" Caleb let Beau pull him into the crowded living room and stripped off his coat. "I walked here. It's raining." The music seemed to just keep getting louder and louder. Caleb felt drunk just from the sheer volume, although the heavy taste of rum on Molly's lips probably wasn't helping matters.

"What are you drinking?" Molly asked.

"Oh, um." The thought of drinking alcohol made Caleb's stomach turn. "Mocktail?"

For a moment, Molly cocked his head, obviously confused, but he brushed it off. "I'll have Jester whip you up something nice."

"Thank you."

"Get me something too," Beau hollered after him, her voice fading into the music

Molly flashed her a thumbs up behind his back. Caleb shook his head to clear it. It didn't help.

"You been pregaming?" Beau demanded.

"No."

"You're acting weird."

"Forgive me, I wasn't expecting a tongue down my throat the minute I walked in the door." Caleb ruined the sarcasm by laughing. "It's good to know he hasn't changed."

Beau snorted. "You should have seen Fjord's face when Molly finally let him go. I thought he was going to pass out."

Whatever Caleb was going to say died on his lips, overtaken by a fit of dry coughs. He smoothed his wet hair out of his and cleared his throat. Not liking the look Beau was giving him, he decided to change the subject. "Do all these people know Molly? I don't even recognize half of them."

"Hell if I know." Beau just shrugged. "Hey, drinks!"

They both sat up and watched Molly weave his way through the crowd, a plastic cup held in either hand.

"You could help!" he yelled to Beau. She just flipped him off and laughed

"I don't think you deserve this any more," Molly said when he finally reached them.

"Well." Beau cracked her knuckles. "You can either give it to me or I can take it from you."

"Oh, sure, threaten me." Molly laughed and handed Beau the cup.

"Thanks-- Hey, where's Jester, anyway?"

Molly shrugged. "She abandoned mocktail duty, apparently. Maybe she's putting condoms in people's pockets when they aren't looking."

"Ja, or making balloon animals."

"That seems more likely."

Beau stood up. "I'm gonna go look for her."

Molly sighed and threw himself down on the couch beside Caleb, the contents of the remaining cup sloshing dangerously. "You're sick of me already? I've only been back for a day. Very well, I grant you leave. Go find Jester."

"You're such a dick," Beau said, not bothering to hide her smile. She turned and disappeared into the crowd.

"For you." Molly held out the cup to Caleb. "It's a raspberry lime mojito. With no rum, obviously."

"Thank you." Caleb took a cautious sip. It did taste nice, but the acid stung his throat and made him cough. He turned his head to the side and buried his face in his sleeve until the burning itch finally subsided and he could breathe again.

"That bad, huh? I can make you something else." Molly took the cup back and tasted its contents, clearly confused by Caleb's reaction. His tail lashed figure eights down by their knees.

"Oh, no, it's not that." Caleb cleared his throat and sniffled. His headache had moved from his temples to his sinuses and a sudden realization hit him. "I think I'm coming down with something."

"Oh. Molly's face darkened. "Kinda wish I hadn't kissed you now." He looked down at the cup. "Hm."

"Sorry. I thought it was just a headache, but. Everything's getting worse."

Molly just shrugged. "It was kinda my own fault. So." He stood up and offered Caleb his hand. "Your place or mine?"

"What?"

"Well, I'd imagine you want to go lay down someplace that isn't blasting electropop at earth-shattering volumes."

"It's your party," Caleb protested. "It's fine, I can walk home again. Or call an Uber. I'll be fine."

Molly ignored this. He pulled out his phone and  began to type. "You haven't moved houses, have you?"

"No."

"Great." He typed a few more things, stared at the screen a moment, and nodded. "Okay, let's go."

"Go?" Caleb rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ease some of the pressure in his sinuses, but only managed to tease out a few sneezes.

"Gesundheit." Molly winked at him. "C'mon." He took one of Caleb's hands and hauled him off the couch.

"What are you doing?" Standing was unpleasant. Caleb hadn't realized how tired he was. Unsure of what else to do, he let Molly lead him toward the front door.

"I'm taking you home."

"Molly." Caleb stopped in the doorway. Molly pulled him forward a step and shut the door.

"Caleb." Molly had his arms wrapped around himself and Caleb registered with an uncomfortable jolt that Molly was shirtless. "I want to do this."

"You're shivering. I left my coat inside, let me just--"

"Come on." Molly took Caleb by the wrist. "The car's here. I'll have Fjord get your coat." He led Caleb down the steps.

The car's dimly-lit interior was heaven compared to the constant overstimulation of the party. Caleb let his head fall on Molly's shoulder while the tiefling made quiet conversation with the driver.

Caleb was half-asleep by the time the car pulled up to his apartment building. He let Molly thank the driver and slid out after him.

"Okay, I'm here safe and sound. You can go back now, really." He tapped the cheap plastic tiara Molly was wearing on top of his curls. "I'm sure everyone will be missing you."

"Aha." Molly tapped his nose. "They want me. You need me."

"Cute." Seeing that Molly wasn't going to give in, Caleb climbed the stairs to his door and unlocked it. His place was clean enough, if a little cluttered, so he didn't bother apologizing for the state of things.

"You know," Molly said, "when I pictured taking you to bed, it wasn't quite like this."

"Forgive me for the lack of energy." Caleb coughed shortly into his sleeve and let Molly push him onto the mattress.

"I pardon you." Molly knelt and started untying Caleb's shoelaces.

"Oh, Molly, there's no need; I can--"

"Hush." Molly slipped off one shoe, then the other.

"Thank you."

"You're most welcome. Now get cozy under the covers."

"With my socks on?"

"Well, yes, it's freezing in here."

"You can turn the heat on. And borrow one of my shirts."

Molly's tail swished in excitement. "I can?"

"Ja."

"Excellent." 

Caleb arranged himself under the covers and watched Molly go through his closet with unparalleled glee, occasionally making remarks about what colors Caleb should wear more often.

Finally, he pulled out a navy blue Henley and slipped it on, careful not to get his horns snagged on it. "I hope this isn't your favorite shirt, because I'm never going to give it back."

Caleb laughed despite himself. "It's too big on you."

"Then I'll roll the sleeves up," Molly said, doing so. "Now! That's me taken care of. How about you?"

"I'm already wearing a shirt."

"Very funny. Have you eaten?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Well, good." Molly fiddled with the hem of Caleb's shirt, thinking. "How about I make you some tea?"

"Ah, sure." Caleb couldn't help but blush. It was still hard to get used to the idea of people doing nice things for him with no ulterior motive.

"Perfect. Don't move, I'll be right back." Molly left.

Caleb's head was filled with the image of Molly wearing his shirt. The blue should have looked odd, like bruising against Molly's pale lavender skin, but for some reason it didn't. The way it hung off Molly's frame should have looked ridiculous, but it didn't. It was cute.

Idly, Caleb ran a few fingers through his hair. This wasn't good. Maybe he should ask for the shirt back.

Then he sighed and shook his head. It wasn't the shirt. It was Molly.

He was different now that he was back, more mature. He still teased, of course, but he was even getting along with Beau.

"Fuck," Cale whispered. Maybe he had a fever and his brain was getting wires crossed. He pressed his palm to his forehead.

It was at that moment that Molly reentered the room holding a mug. "You okay?"

"Oh, um, ja." Caleb blushed furiously.

"You sure?" Molly set the mug down on Caleb's dresser and leaned in so he could press his lips to Caleb's forehead.

It was something he'd done a million times before, something Caleb should have been used to, but his blush only deepened.

"You feel warm." Molly pulled away and smoothed Caleb's hair back. "Poor thing. How's your throat?"

"Sore."

"Hopefully the tea helps." Molly stuck his hands in his pockets. There wasn't anywhere to sit down in Caleb's bedroom so he stayed standing.

Caleb watched the steam curl out of the mug and dissipate. "Molly, listen," he said, steeling himself for an immediate protest.

Molly only cocked his head. "What?"

"I really do think I'm going to be okay for the night. You should get back to the party. It's for you, after all."

To Caleb's utter surprise, Molly didn't push back with nearly as much force as he'd been expecting. "Are you sure? I don't just want to abandon you here."

"Come by tomorrow, then. I promise not to die before morning."

Molly smiled. "Alright. I'll be here at 6:00 sharp."

"Don't even think about it."

"I'll think about it a little bit." Molly adjusted one of his sleeves, which had started to slide down his forearm. "Text me?"

Caleb waved his cell phone. "I'll send you pictures of Frumpkin."

"You'd better." Molly started to leave but paused in the doorway. "Really, though. Do text me if you need anything."

"I will. Now get going, before everyone thinks you left the country again."

"Alright, alright."

Molly left.

Caleb sat, almost overwhelmed by the sudden loneliness. He sighed and buried his face in his hands. He was too exhausted to process emotions right now. He'd figure this out later.

--

Caleb woke up the next day feeling much, much worse. He silenced his alarm and coughed into the open air.

He wasn't getting out of bed today for anyone or anything. Certainly not for a Friday morning class. 

After a moment's thought, he decided to at least email the professor. His phone was just barely hanging to life at 12% battery and he had notifications for almost every social media app he was on. They must have missed him at the party.

"Frumpkin?" Caleb called. The cat came running in a few moments later. "Hi." Frumpkin sat down in the center of the room and stared.

It was no use trying to go back to bed now. Caleb decided to text Molly to tell him to come over.

Molly responded with a blurry Snapchat. Caleb squinted at it until his headache got so bad he was forced to put the phone down and close his eyes until the throbbing in his sinuses died down.

This was the worst.

With nothing else to do, he sat back and ran his hands through his hair, combing out the tangles that had accumulated in the night. When that was done, he rolled over and tried to get Frumpkin to jump up and cuddle.

After a moment of teasing, Frumpkin circled up on Caleb's chest.

Then the front door opened and he jumped down again to go investigate.

"If you're a serial killer, be warned, I have so many swords in here," Caleb called.

Molly laughed and poked his head in the doorway. "Damn, I was going to come in a murder you, but I'd hate to get stabbed."

Cakeb sniffled. "I'll give you a pass if you get it done swiftly." He sneezed and pain rang through his head. 

"Bless you." Molly crossed the room and placed several plastic bags on Caleb's lap. Then he turned around and held up his phone. "I promised everyone I'd take a selfie with you to prove you were still alive. Smile."

Caleb immediately pretended to be dead, letting his head loll and sticking his tongue out.

"Very funny. I'm sending that."

"Oh, can you do me a favor, please?"

"Anything for you, dearest." Molly's tail swished like it did when he thought he was being funny.

"Can you get my phone charger from the living room?" Caleb muffled a sneeze into his shirt collar. "Please?"

"Sure thing. There are tissues in one of those bags, by the way."

"Thanks." Caleb began to paw through the bags while he waited for Molly to come back.

"Oh by the way." Molly tossed Caleb the phone charger. "I don't think you'll be seeing any of the others today."

"Why's that?"

"Well, you know, Beau and Fjord got pretty fucked up last night, so Jester and Caduceus are probably going to be tied up looking after them. And you Nott went home, and I think Yasha is dead. She certainly wasn't moving when I left."

"Ja. Two hours is a hell of a commute."

"So!" Molly framed his face with his hands and smiled. "It's just going to be you and me. How ever shall we pass the time?" His coy smile faded when Caleb started to cough, an awful, barking noise that made Caleb feel like his chest was being shredded.

"You could kill me?" Caleb suggested.

"Hold on, I have some cough syrup in one of these bags."

"That will make me all hazy," Caleb warned.

"Then sleep. You probably need it."

"Fair enough." Caleb stretched. "Am I allowed to get up for breakfast, Dr Tealeaf?"

"I'll allow it." 

They walked into the kitchen together. Much like the rest of Caleb's apartment, it was small and shabby, with furniture that was mismatched but sturdy enough.

"Okay!" Molly set the bags on the table and started unpacking them. "From the pharmacy: cough syrup, tissues, cough drops, a thermometer, candy. From IHOP: pancakes, pancakes, and more pancakes."

"You're still wearing my shirt," Caleb noticed.

"I told you I'm not giving it back. I like it; it smells like you."

Caleb busied himself opening the boxes of pancakes, then turned away to fetch some plates.

"Hey, let me take your temperature before we start eating," Molly said.

"Sure." Caleb came back with the plates, satisfied that his blush had faded. He sat down and watched Molly fumble with the plastic thermometer covers. "Do you want some help?"

"I got it. Open wide."

Caleb opened his mouth and let Molly slide the thermometer under his tongue. He must have looked like a mess, still in his clothes from yesterday, not having showered or shaved.

Molly was also wearing yesterday's clothes (sans plastic crown) but hebat least seemed like he'd brushed his teeth and not passed out in bed mid-text message.

The thermometer beeped. Caleb looked at it. "101.3," he said, doing the conversion to Celsius in his head. "Hm."

"That's nothing. Have some cough syrup after breakfast. I'm sure you'll be better by Monday." Molly sat down and began to stack pancakes on a plate. "Speaking of, I can't believe you're missing class today. Since when do you do that?"

Caleb shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. Maybe he had also changed when Molly was gone. "I am sure the professor would not want me there like this." He gestured at himself.

"Well, I'm glad you decided not to go." Molly smiled at him over the table.

Caleb smiled back, warmth spilling into his chest. "So am I."

"Now finish eating so I can pour some DayQuil into you."

"That's not a great mental image."

Molly stuck out his tongue.

Caleb's appetite was always the first thing to go when he got sick. He managed a few more bites of food before yawning widely behind both hands and scrubbing at his face. "I think I'm ready to go back to bed."

Molly poured him out a dose of the bright orange sludge body calling itself 'medicine.' "Bottoms up."

Caleb swallowed it down and staggered back to bed.

--

As Molly had predicted, Caleb was well enough to attend classes on Monday. His fever was gone, though he was still a little tired.

He almost considered ditching his study group so he could go home and sleep, but he decided not to at the last minute. Bleary-eyed, he walked to the library and hiked up to the second floor.

"Hey, Caleb." Fjord nodded in greeting and pulled out a chair for him. "Glad to see you're not dead."

"Thank you." Caleb sat. "You as well. I heard you all had quite the Thursday night."

"I'm never drinking again," Beau declared.

Yasha shrugged. "I will probably drink again. But I had a very bad Friday morning."

"You guys should totally stick to milk," Jester said. "Me and Caduceus had fun and we didn't get hungover."

"Where is Caduceus, anyway?" Beau asked, looking around for him. "I know Nott said she was running late."

"He probably got caught up talking to one of his professors," Fjord said with a shrug. "You know he never checks his phone. What about Molly, anyone heard from him?"

They all looked at Yasha. She shook her head. "No, I saw him this morning, but that's it. I'll text him."

"Alright, let's give it 5 more minutes," Fjord said.

"Ugh." Beau flipped open one of her textbooks and slumped back in her seat. "Can't we just get it over with? I wanna go for a jog before it gets dark."

Caleb stood abruptly. "I think I'm going to go, actually. I'm still a bit tired."

Beau narrowed her eyes at him while the others said their goodbyes. Caleb didn't look at her.

He left the library slowly, bought a coffee, and started the trek across campus toward Molly and Yasha's apartment. Now that he thought about it, Molly hadn't been very responsive all day, only sending a few texts in the morning before going silent. Caleb had a sneaking suspicion where he might be.

Molly's door was locked. Caleb tried him by text and got no response, so he knocked. That also got no response, leaving him standing on the porch like an idiot while he tried to decide what to do.

He'd been so sure Molly would be here.

The door opened and Molly appeared. He yawned and steadied himself against the doorframe.

"Hey, Caleb."

"Did I get you sick?"

"If we want to get into it, I got me sick." Molly looked at Caleb with something like wistfulness. "Guess I should learn to keep my hands off you." He opened the door wide. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yes. Thank you." It wasn't the first time Caleb had been to Molly and Yasha's apartment, although it had been a while. It was mostly clean, save for the pile of blankets on the couch. Molly had evidently made himself a best.

"That's cute," Caleb said out loud, picturing a cozy purple tiefling nestled in blankets. 

"Hm?" Molly wrinkled his nose and sniffed.

"What?"

"Oh, um. Nice setup."

"Thanks." Molly burrowed under the blankets and scooted off to the side of the couch so Caleb could sit as well. He buried his face in the blankets and coughed miserably 

"I'm sorry," Caleb said when Molly resurfaced.

"It's really not your fault." Molly shifted under the blankets, twisting so he could rest his head on Caleb's lap. "Is this okay?"

"Ja." Caleb began to stroke Molly's curls. "Do you have everything you need? Medicine and all that?"

"Ja, ja." Molly smiled against Caleb's leg. "Yasha's good about keeping that stuff on hand. I don't like cough syrup though. Makes me all fuzzy."

"Do you have cough drops?"

"Yeah, but I forgot 'em in the bathroom. Didn't feel like getting up again."

"I can get them for you."

"Don't you move." Molly pressed one of his hands to Caleb's knee.

"Hey. Molly." Caleb shifted until he realized he might be disturbing the tiefling in his lap and made himself hold still. "You've changed."

"For the better, I hope?"

"I think so."

"You've changed too, y'know. I like it."

"I'm glad." Caleb traced the outside of Molly's ear, trying to think of how to word what he wanted to say. "Things were… Not the best between us when you left."

Molly laughed. "We were all assholes, you mean. Well. Jester wasn't." He coughed. "But the rest of us. I think we were just learning how not to be assholes to each other when I left."

"That's a fair point." Caleb sighed. "Molly. I don't want, ah. Well. To be blunt, I do not want to make things weird between us."

"But you realized you were madly in love with me when I was away and now you can't live without me, yes, I know. Jester and Nott have already confessed their feelings for me."

"Ah, well. Not quite that. Um, but, I do think what you said is true. About us being assholes. And I would like to spend some more time with you, just the two of us." Caleb sighed and hid his face behind his hands. "I am royally fucking this up. Molly, I want-- I think--"

"Hey, hey, you're not fucking anything up" Molly sniffled and swiped at his nose. "Let's start here, just like this. You petting me, and me sneezing all over your leg. I think it's very romantic."

Caleb laughed and ruffled Molly's curls. "Okay. Let's start here."

[bigsnzstanacct]

Secret Santa For Creaturedom

Hey @creaturedom! This is your Secret Santa! Hope you enjoy! And I hope I did Corva and Morgan justice. Enjoy!

“Well, buddy, you ready for the big party?” Detective Corva asked, as he and his partner, Detective Morgan made their way towards a pleasant-looking suburban home. The streets were lined with cars—many of them police-issue; technically they weren’t supposed to be using their department vehicles for regular travel, but this was official business, for all intents and purposes. In their precinct, there were few more important activities that happened all year, and that’s why, despite all his wishes for another option—any other option—Detective Morgan could make no other answer than:

“Of course I am! It’s a big party so…” Detective Morgan mustering his usual slightly sly, conspiratorial grin. Morgan’s energy was so upbeat that most people would have been fooled by the smile, the jaunt in his step, the warmth of his energy. But Corva knew him better than that. Corva could spot the pinkness around the rims of his nostrils, the faint shadows of bags beneath his eyes, the slight heaviness to his gait. Morgan wasn’t looking forward to the big precinct party, but for the life of him, Corva couldn’t figure out why. Normally Morgan was, if not the life of the party, certainly in his element around the rest of the officers and detectives they worked with. Perhaps not as open as with Corva himself, but comfortable, and having fun. But something was off this time…

“You sure?” Corva asked again, “You know, if you’re worried about something, you can talk to me about it, it’s no big deal. And we don’t have to go right now…”

“We’re literally at the door,” Morgan said, rolling his eyes and patting his partner on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, I got this.” But even as he said it, projecting confidence as best as he could, there was something Detective Corva knew was off, and he was wracking his brains for reasons why. One of the other offices? No, Morgan seemed to get along with everyone. A romantic fling gone wrong? Surely Corva would know about that. The long-haired man pondered on it, adding up his clues in the moments that they waited for someone to come open the door: the house, the hesitation, the slight pinkening of Morgan’s nostrils…

The answer came to him just as Carla, a fellow detective, came to door… along with her two of her “fur-babies”—a large, hairy cat, and a still-larger, still-hairier dog.

“Oh.” Detective Corva said aloud without meaning to.

“Oh what?” Carla asked, “Oh you better come in here and enjoy this party?” She said, grin on her face.

“Oh yes he will!” Morgan responded, although now that he understood the reason for his hesitation, Corva could spot even better all the signs: Morgan must be lacking energy because he stuffed himself full of soporific anti-histamines, and with Morgan’s allergies, even that might not guarantee an allergy-free day, hence Morgan’s slight recoil at the appearance of the pets, particularly the dog. Morgan’s nose objected highly to dogs. Corva learned that the hard way with his own Akita. Hopefully Morgan would have more luck avoiding these pets than Corva’s—after a valiant attempt at denying his undeniable nose, Morgan succumbed to a pretty alarming fit of the sneezes. But perhaps meds would dull the reaction this time. They could only hope.

They entered the party, and before Corva knew it he’d lost sight of Morgan, as they were drawn into different conversations. For a long while, Corva strained to hear the hushed puffs of air he expected from Morgan, not that it would be particularly audible over the noise of the various officers enjoying each other’s company. He looked for Morgan from time to time, trying to see if his allergies were acting up. More than once he caught his partner looking terribly itchy, nose wiggling, eyes beginning to glaze over. Even from a distance, Corva could tell how Morgan’s eyebrows were arching, his nose running. He saw, more than once, how Morgan would hold the back of his wrist up against his nose, pressing against it, scrubbing back and forth, both to deal with the slight moisture starting to trickle down his nose and to forestall the sneezes that were surely itching at the reddening rims of his nostrils, teasing at the back of his throat, the roof of his mouth.

Still, Corva did have to actually attend the party; he couldn’t just focus on Morgan. And so Corva smiled and enjoyed the other officers’ company. They talked about surveillance, about cases they’d closed, about the annoyances of paperwork… they’d been there for about thirty minutes before Corva caught the first pair of tight, stifled “hhh… hiittscxxxx! G’TScchh!” sneezes. Morgan was hidden in a corner as he sneezed, clearly having wandered away from the party to try to get his nose under control. But these sneezes clearly slipped beyond his control. And slipping away would prove to be a mistake, because Carla’s dog, failing to get attention from the crowds of people talking, clearly decided to try to get some engagement from the one human off in a corner by himself. And so the dog ran over to Morgan, trying to jump onto him and engage him and play with him. Corva’s eyes went wide. This wasn’t good.

Quickly excusing himself from the conversation he was in, he headed over to Morgan. “You alright?” He asked Morgan. “Shoo!” Corva told the dog. He regretted being rude to the animal but he couldn’t worry too much about that now. He looked over at Morgan, who was clearly fighting the urge to sneeze as hard as he could. Corva rolled his eyes and patted Morgan’s shoulder. “You might as well let it out, Morgan. You know you’re going to eventually.”

“If I… hh-huh! if I st-start, I don’t know if I’ll be able to st-stuhh…” and here he wavered on the edge of a sneeze, his hand lifting from its place at his side as though ready to fly up to his nose to try to stifle at the last moment… but some desperate edge of willpower managed to stay the sneeze for a moment. But Corva knew that wouldn’t last too much longer. “I m-might not be able to st-stop.” Morgan said, still feeling the tickle but having somewhat of a handle on things for the moment.

“Morgan,” Corva said, rolling his eyes, “you know how allergic you are. Why didn’t you just tell Carla that you couldn’t make it? Or at least ask her to put the pets upstairs or something?”

“D-didn’t… snfff didn’t w-wanna be rude.”

“Well you might as well just sneeze, you know you want to. And then we’ll get out of here.”

“N-nnuhhh… n-no…”

For a moment, it crossed Corva’s mind to just grab the nearest pet and stick it in Morgan’s face just to get Morgan to finally give in and let himself sneeze, but that’d just be mean at this point. And besides, it seemed Corva wouldn’t have long to wait, as suddenly the dam broke, and Morgan’s hand shot up to his face, and his head tipped back and…

“H’KTtscch! Hehh… hetttcchhxxx! ttcchxxxx!” Three stifled sneezes pummeled their way out of Morgan, albeit typically stifled. But even stifled into relative auditory irrelevance, Morgan obviously in the throes of a sneezing fit couldn’t go unnoticed by the other officers, and as Morgan kept sneezing—“tchxx! ttcchxx! tscchxx!”—a few noticed him and wandered over to see if he was okay.

“You okay, Morgan?” One fellow detective, Jasmine, inquired.

“H’Tcch! G’Tscxxx!” Morgan sneezed.

“Just allergies,” Corva explained, giving his best “this is fine” smile. But of course a few more noticed, and soon it seemed like practically the whole group of officers were watching Morgan succumb to his allergies.

“Is he okay? How many times is he gonna sneeze?”

“Is he still going?”

“Ah, I’ve seen Morgan like this before.”

“I was wondering how long he’d make it with that dog around. Last time I saw Morgan within ten feet of a puppy I thought he’d never stop sneezing.”

“Poor guy, he’s got pretty bad allergies.”

Morgan attempted a few replies, but he could barely get out a few struggling “I’m f-fihhhhh… hihhhh…” before he jerked forward into cupped hands with another “ETtcchxxx!” And another. And another. And another.

Corva grabbed his arm and tried to whisper in his ear between sneezes. “Just let em out man. You keep stifling like that, your head’s gonna pop off.”

Morgan only shook his head and stifled another painful-sounding sneeze. Clearly he was seriousu about not being able to stop once he started. Corva could only imagine how much his nose had been tickling, how hard he’d fought to avoid this very moment, everyone watching him have a seemingly endless allergy fit. And so he made a decision.

“Alright, alright buddy. I got you.” Corva said, and then, putting a hand on Morgan’s shoulder, he gently but firmly guided Morgan through the crowd of officers, towards the front door. “Just a sec, just gonna grab some fresh air.” He said, while Morgan kept stifling sneezes.

When they finally got outside, Corva marched Morgan a few houses down, back towards his car, before he finally told Morgan, “Alright, we’re out of the party now. Now will you please let yourself just snee—”

But before Corva could even finish getting the instructions out, Morgan finally gave into an unstifled, rapid fire fit: “Tisshhhoooo! hahhTTssshh! ttscchh! ittscchh! hhisssh! ittshhh! Hittsshhoo! Isshhhoo! hhh… yehhhh… yessshhHOO!” Corva just left his hand on the other man’s shoulder, offering the comfort he could give in place of the relief Morgan could only provide himself. Well, that and getting away from all those damn pets.

As the fit calmed down, Corva looked at his partner: teary-eyed, moisture flowing freely from his nose, irritation still visible all over his face. And he made another decision.

“Alright, get in the car, Morgan.”

“Wh-whaahhh… uhhh… uttsschhoo!”

“Get in the car. I’m making up some excuse to send Carla and the others, but I’m getting  you out of here. We’re not aggrivating those allergies of yours anymore, ok?”

For a second it looked as though Morgan was going to protest, but he was stopped by another “ettscchhoo!” and then just shrugged his shoulders.

“Great. Now we’re going back to your place, and I’m getting you some more of that Benadryl, if you can take more, and you’re gonna take a nap. You deserve it after all that.” Corva said as they got into his car, and before long they were speeding away, Morgan still occasionally sneezing softly, and Corva gently patting him on the shoulder.

[vivxwrites]

Three Years Later

*not my gif*

Word Count: 1816

Summary: You and Natasha reunite after being broken up for three years.

Warning: Angst (don't worry nothing about Endgame), Cheating

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

A/N: This fic was requested by @xyttara and I hope you enjoy it! 

You had just gotten home from a three month mission and you couldn’t wait to see your girlfriend of two years, Natasha after being away. You couldn’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down during the debrief and you were struggling to pay attention. Fury called you out on your behavior a few times to which you gave him a sheepish look and did your best to focus. Your mind just kept racing and racing with thoughts of Natasha; you had to physically stop yourself from swooning a few times.

“Agent (Y/L/N),” Fury snapped at you. You whipped your head up to look at the commander, having been caught not paying attention again. He sighed, “Alright, get out of here. Go reunite with Romanoff or whatever the hell you’re itching to do.” 

You fought a blush at being caught before you responded to Fury, “Yes sir.” You tried not to flat out run from the conference room in your haste to see your girlfriend after three grueling months. Your mission had been quite simple really, just bust an arms deal, nothing you hadn’t done before during your time at S.H.I.E.L.D, but it had required days of careful stake outs and building up a cover for yourself. You had completed the mission with patience, speed, and ease, as you always did. 

You stepped into the elevator that would lead you to the apartment you shared with your long-term girlfriend. You gave the other occupants a nod and pressed the button for your floor. You were used to spending time apart from your girlfriend, her being an avenger and you being a high-ranking S.H.I.E.L.D agent caused the two of you to be apart more often than either of you would’ve liked. You and Nat had made the relationship work, the love you both felt for the other always prevailing. You supported each other through the stress and trauma of your jobs and you would safely say that you were more proud of your relationship with Nat than your accomplishments as an agent. The elevator dinged softly as the doors opened and revealed your floor. You stepped out and a feeling of giddiness washed over you. You approached your apartment door and smiled inwardly at finally being home. You put your hand on the scanner and the door unlocked and opened. 

‘That’s odd,’ you thought to yourself. You recalled all the other times you came home from a mission, having been met with Natasha flinging herself at you each time. She was nowhere to be seen and you walked through the rest of the house in search of her. When you approached your shared bedroom you found the door shut, which admittedly wasn’t weird in any way, but you felt a nagging feeling deep in your gut that something terrible awaited you on the other side of the door. 

You carefully pushed the door open, excitement pretty much gone all together, and heard muffled giggles coming from the bed. ‘Natasha must be wanting to surprise me’ you thought. You stepped through the threshold and felt your heart drop at the sight that met you. The first thing you noticed about the man on top of your girlfriend was his metal arm. Then you noticed his long shaggy hair and the fact that he and Natasha were both naked, in your bed, together. Your mind sneered at you, ‘She certainly surprised you didn’t she.” it taunted. They hadn’t noticed you and all you could muster up in your stupor was to stand in the doorway and gawk openly at them. You were feeling so many emotions at once that you couldn’t figure out which one you should be portraying in this situation. ‘Anger,’ your brain said, so you went with it. “Honey I’m home,” you taunted. They both whipped their heads to you and you heard Natasha let out a quiet “shit.” 

Bucky scrambled around to wrap the sheet around his lower half as Natasha threw on the first shirt she could find. It was his that she had put on and you seethed at the sight. She walked towards you slowly with both palms up, as if you were some sort of timid animal and that fueled your inner fire even more. You backed up and barked out, “Don’t even think about touching me and do not come any closer.” 

Natasha stopped right in her tracks and met your eyes, which were filled with anger and betrayal. “(Y/N), please baby. Please we can talk about this, it was just sex, babe, please, you have to believe me.” She was pleading with you frantically, but you ignored it. Her words flew all around you but not a single one went into your ear. You were too busy focusing on the sound of your heart breaking, slowly, as the situation finally sunk in. 

You felt like vomiting and tears rushed down your face. You looked at Natasha one final time and said, “Don’t get yourself killed Nat.” With that last statement you walked out of the apartment, continuing to ignore Nat’s pleas as you went. You stepped into the elevator and pushed the tears off of your face. You used the ride to compose yourself before you reached your destination. The elevator pinged again and you walked off in the direction of Fury’s office.

He was conversing with Maria Hill when you approached. “Director Fury,” you called out to him. He turned towards you, clearly surprised to see you. “I’d like to request a transfer, as soon as possible.

*Time Skip, 3 years later*

 You stepped out of the limo that had stopped in front of Stark Tower. The last thing you wanted was to attend some ridiculous banquet that Tony freaking Stark was hosting, you would’ve much rather been throwing yourself into work, as you had been doing for the past three years. You rolled your eyes, smoothed out your dress, and began the walk to the party. The invitation told you that you were permitted to bring a plus one, but truthfully, you had no one to invite. Your life post-Natasha was incredibly lonely and filled with work for S.H.I.E.L.D’s London Branch. At your new workplace, you stuck out like a sore thumb and were kind of an outcast. The agents only gave you sideways glances and you were labeled as the ‘American’ as soon as you had arrived. 

When you stepped into the party room you headed straight for the bar and ordered yourself a drink, already feeling stressed out. Fury had told you himself that he wanted your presence at this banquet, one being thrown for the success of your S.H.I.E.L.D. branch, and you had no choice but to go. You sighed inwardly and gulped down a sip of your drink. You found yourself watching the guests interact with each other and your eyes found those of one James Buchanan Barnes. He looked like he wanted to approach you but you sent him a tired look that screamed, ‘Just stay away from me.’ He listened like the good little soldier he was and you tore your eyes from his gaze, having had enough of looking at him. 

It wasn’t too long before Maria Hill had walked over to you and started up a conversation. You were glad to see her, and the two of you caught up on work things together. Hill had always been a friend of yours and you had actually missed her. The two of you chatted until she was being whisked away by another group of agents and you smiled fondly as she left. She had always been popular. 

You grabbed a refill of your drink and walked over to the balcony to look out at the view. You had your back turned when you heard footsteps approaching and didn’t bother to turn your head. Even after three years you hadn’t forgotten what her quiet yet confident steps sounded like. 

“Hey,” she said as she stood next to you. The air was tense around the two of you and the sight of her sent chills through your body. Three years and she still had the same affect on you. 

“Hi, Nat,” you greeted back. You certainly weren’t going to be the one to clear the air first, always one to be stubborn. She looked beautiful with her lips painted red to match her hair and dress and the sight brought back a ton of memories. Damn Natasha Romanoff and her good looks. 

“I missed you.” She spoke quietly and you could hear how unsure of herself she was in her voice. 

“I missed you too,” you admitted sincerely. Yes, she had hurt you, but you still loved her. The years without her made you realize that and you hated yourself for it. Why couldn’t you just move on like a normal person? You curled into yourself protectively and gave her a small, quick smile that didn’t reach your eyes. 

“(Y/N),” she began and you steeled yourself for the conversation that was coming. She continued, “Sleeping with Bucky was a mistake. I have a history with him and I was too weak to resist temptation.” She sniffled as she looked at you and spoke again, “I feel so guilty for what I did to you. I ruined an amazing thing and I will always hate myself for that. Seeing you again today has made me realize one thing and it’s that I still love you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

You sucked in a breath at her admission as you fully processed her words. She still loved you. “I still love you too Nat.” Your voice broke as you tried to get out your next thought, “But I’m scared. You really hurt me and I don’t think we can just jump right back into what we had. I can’t handle being hurt like that again but I love you too much to just give up and throw all of my feelings for you away.” As you finished, a few tears rolled down your cheeks and you waited for Natasha’s next move. 

She slowly wrapped you into a hug and hid her face in your neck. “I will never do that again. If you’d like, we can go back to dating first and start from the beginning again. Whatever you think is best, we’ll do. We can go as slow as you want, even go see a counselor. I’ll do anything just to be with you again.”

You laughed softly at Nat’s words. “We don’t need to see a counselor, Nat. I think I’d like to start from the beginning though. It’s best that we rebuild our trust.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” she promised, and you were finally home.

A/N: Hi! I don’t really have much to say today. Feel free to check out my stuff, send in requests, or flat out ignore me. Also, I think you’re all awesome. Thanks, Viv. :) (I almost forgot the smiley face)

[victorineb]

New instalment of my occasional series, in which Will and Hannibal are cheating scumbags and Alana deserves better. This one contains water guns, Bev Katz, and Hannibal’s entrancing chest hair...

Also on AO3.

***

To be honest, Alana had never expected Jack to go for her suggestion. She’d been pretty certain he was kidding when he asked what she thought he could do to improve team morale now that Will was out of prison and back working with the BAU. So when she’d told him to take them all to the park for a picnic, it had been in the perfectly reasonable belief that he’d take it in the spirit it was intended – one dripping in sarcasm.

She certainly hadn’t expected to be, a week later, attending said picnic with Hannibal on one arm and a huge bowl of potato salad in the other.

“Shall we add our offerings to the feast?” Hannibal asked, nodding at the long, gingham-covered trestle table with what Alana was fairly sure was a note of facetiousness rather less well hidden than usual under his unflappable politeness. He had, of course, not seen the casual setting as a reason to eschew his trademark gastronomic flair, and held in his hand a gigantic woven basket full to the brim with homemade delicacies. Her potato salad looked pretty frumpy by comparison (and Alana knew it was damn good potato salad, actually). She could only imagine how the usual array of barbecue wings and corn salad would fare. She couldn’t even give Hannibal the benefit of the doubt — he’d deliberately set out to win the picnic and she could already feel the smugness radiating off him.

“I wouldn’t want to deprive the crowd of your gourmet glory a moment longer,” she said, resolutely straight-faced. Hannibal didn’t buy it for a second.

“My dear Alana, can you be accusing me of showboating?”

“My dear Hannibal,” she shot back, “can you have the nerve to claim you’re not?”

He smiled at her, the slightly predatory one that made her shiver. “Why Dr Bloom, I believe you see right through me.” He leaned in, close enough to make her wonder if he was about to renege on his usual rule about public displays of affection, but instead simply deposited a kiss on her cheek and relieved her of her bowl, sauntering off to the picnic table with a triumphant swing in his hips.

Alana hung back a little, deliberately, all the better to take in the sight of Hannibal in his version of casual summer-wear. It was a rare event that he deemed unsuitable for his signature three-piece suits but apparently an afternoon in the park counted amongst them. And so Alana was treated to the sight of her usually formal boyfriend clad in the fewest layers she’d seen him in outside of the bedroom. Slim, rust-coloured pants sat on his hips, a much lower cut than Alana would ever have expected but one she couldn’t help but appreciate, given the way they framed the doctor’s enviable ass. Above the waist, a simple, crisp white shirt would have made Hannibal almost unrecognisably understated, were it not for the blazer carefully folded over his arm, a steely blue offset by wide windowpane check in the same colour as his pants. A different silhouette than usual but still the same elegant loudness that could belong only to Hannibal, not to mention the same sharp tailoring, precision cut to show his form to its greatest advantage.

“Hate to see him leave, love to watch him walk away?” Bev nudged Alana in the ribs, having snuck up while she was distracted.

“Can you blame me?”

“Mmm, nope. Best view for miles around.”

Behind them, someone made a noise of disgust. Both women turned to see Will skulking in their shadows.

“Got a problem, Graham?” Bev raised both her arms and Alana realised that she was toting two impressive looking water-guns in a genuinely horrible neon green. She trained them on Will, along with a wicked grin. “Cos my little friends here are just itching to take care of some troublemakers.”

“Do it and die, Katz,” Will growled. Probably in jest, Alana thought, though it could be hard to tell with Will these days.

“Big words for a guy in such a skimpy shirt,” Bev drawled. She had a point; Alana could definitely see the outline of a nipple poking through the thin cotton of Will’s tee. Shame he wasn’t in his boxers too – Alana would have pulled the trigger herself if that had been the case. She was only human, after all.

Will crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “Ok, all right, what do I have to do to avoid a soaking?”

Bev considered him for a moment, then flipped one of her guns in the air, grabbed it by the barrel and offered it to Will. “Help me take out Preller and you’ve got immunity.”

Will grinned, the kind of evil expression that explained why he freaked so many people out. “Deal.”

He and Beverly exchanged a handshake, both with a kind of wicked glee all over their faces. Alana was, if she were honest, a little jealous – she used to have that kind of camaraderie with Will. Plus, who said she didn’t like playing with (water) guns?

Then Bev pulled a pistol out of her waistband and offered it to Alana. “You want in, Dr Bloom?”

Alana’s hands itched to take her up on it. Visions of smacking Jack Crawford between the eyes with a well-aimed blast of water swam before her eyes. She was just about to take hold of the gun when a voice called out behind her.

“Alana?”

She glanced over her shoulder to see Hannibal sauntering towards the little group, having divested himself of both food and jacket.

“Sorry Dr Lecter,” Bev chirped, clearly not sorry at all, “I was trying to recruit her to our hunting party.”

Hannibal’s eyes twinkled at this, as he glanced around the group, noting the guns in both Beverly and Will’s hands. “Quite the formidable team you’re putting together, Ms Katz. May I ask what kind of quarry you are targeting?”

“Only the most dangerous game.” Will was staring straight at Hannibal as the words left his mouth, a twist to his lips somewhere between a smirk and a grimace.

“Really?” Hannibal asked, delight etched across his face. “Should I be concerned for my safety?”

Will took a step towards him, coming to stand in the space between Bev and Alana, and raised his gun, pointing it directly at Hannibal’s chest. “Scared, Dr Lecter?”

“Will!” Alana smacked him in the arm. “That’s not funny.”

Hannibal waved a placatory hand, clearly amused by Will’s behaviour. “It’s quite all right, Alana; not being a wicked witch, I believe I won’t dissolve from a little water. Besides,” he said, pointedly looking Will up and down, “I’m curious to see what will happen.”

“You smug bastard,” Will snarled, and opened fire.

An impressively forceful jet of water hit Hannibal square in the chest, creating a wet spot that immediately began to grow and spread as Will strode towards him, pumping hard and maintaining a steady stream right up until his tip was pressed directly against Hannibal. Hannibal, who hadn’t moved a muscle, hadn’t even flinched, just taken everything Will had to give with both arms open. Now he stood, watching Will and being watched back, both men panting at each other as Hannibal dripped onto the ground below, his shirt turned transparent and clinging to his flesh. Will tipped his head to the side and pressed a little harder with his gun, almost as if urging Hannibal to-

“What is your problem, Will?” Alana hissed as she and Bev reached him and wrenched him away from Hannibal. “You had better hope someone has a change of clothes so that he doesn’t have to spend all afternoon soaking wet.”

Once again Hannibal stepped in to defuse her irritation, as if she were still that overeager student he’d taken under his wing. It was just as annoying now as it had been then. “It’s no problem, Alana. I believe there’s an American expression that applies in this particular scenario. What is it…” His eyes seemed to linger a moment too long on Will, who looked like he might start squirting again at a moment’s notice. “Ah yes, ‘sun’s out, guns out,’” he concluded, gleefully. With which, Hannibal began unbuttoning his shirt as a speechless Bev, Will and Alana watched, three sets of eyes following the progress of Hannibal’s deft fingers as they travelled down his placket, revealing flashes of damp skin as they went.

Alana, who was by now very familiar with the sight of Hannibal’s torso in a state of undress, was first to recover and turned to the other two, to gauge their reactions. Bev looked mostly amused, a smirk on her face that suggested she was wondering if she had any ones stashed about her person in order to make it rain something other than water. Will, though. Will wasn’t amused, or embarrassed, or even incredulous. Will was actively staring, his already-wide eyes grown to anime proportions, his posture slightly forward-leaning, as if magnetised by the sight of Hannibal’s flesh. And then, as Hannibal finished unbuttoning and peeled off his shirt to reveal nipples slightly peaked by the cold water, Will made a soft noise that Alana would be hard-pressed to describe as anything other than a whine. He even licked his lips as he did it.

Oh. Oh.

“Will?”

No response.

“Will?” Alana tried again, waving a hand in front of Will’s face. Still nothing.

“WILL!” she yelled, which – aided by Bev delivering a smack to the back of his head – finally did the trick, making Will jump a little and come back to himself.

“What?” he asked, voice slightly strangled, his arms twitching as if to cross over his chest before he thought better of it and let them hang at his sides, fingers drumming on his thighs.

“Were you aware,” Alana began, voice clipped and cold, “that you were staring at my boyfriend’s chest?”

Will’s eyes darted from side to side, an apparent attempt to avoid both Alana’s accusing gaze and the sight of Hannibal’s slick skin. “What? No! I… no I wasn’t. Aware of that. Because I wasn’t doing it. At all.”

Alana raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m stupid, Will?”

“No! Of course not. You’re one of-”

“Or blind? Do you think I’m blind, Will?”

“I… no?”

“Ok, then cut the crap. Are you attracted to my boyfriend’s chest?”

“Absolutely not. Under no circumstances. I just…” Will trailed off and Alana had the impression that he was having to try very hard not to take another look at Hannibal.

“Just what?”

“Just… didn’t realise he was so…” His eyes finally lost the battle and snapped back to Hannibal’s torso. “…hairy.” The last word came out on a squeak, causing Will’s cheeks to get even redder, something Alana wouldn’t have thought physically possible. She’d be worried for his brain being starved of oxygen if she didn’t suspect its blood supply had already been diverted elsewhere anyway.

She turned back to Hannibal, almost involuntarily, already wondering how he would spin this awkward situation into something socially acceptable. Instead, she was confronted by her boyfriend staring at her former-almost-lover with a kind of hungry, yearning expression that suggested the last thing he was feeling was awkward. And was he… Was he really…

“Hannibal Lecter are you flexing right now?!” Alana yelled.

Hannibal’s face went briefly blank before he slid on an expression of patronising indulgence, but Bev headed off whatever excuse he was about to come out with. “Definitely. Sucking in his gut too,” she added, clearly torn between disgust for the vanity of men-kind and glee at confirmation that Will and Dr Lecter were hot for each other after all.

“He does not have a gut!”

Three heads turned, in various states of disbelief (and smugness, in Hannibal’s case), towards Will, who looked entirely shocked at the words that had come out of his mouth. “Well, he doesn’t,” he muttered. “Little bit soft in the middle, maybe, but it suits him-” He slapped a hand over his mouth, as if he could trap any other incriminating statements that might fly out of it.

“Why, thank you, Will,” Hannibal purred. “Coming from you, that is praise indeed.”

“Why coming from him?” Alana demanded sharply.

“Well,” Hannibal said, with infuriating deliberateness, “when one’s admirer is blessed with the proportions of the David, it is reassuring to know that one’s own imperfections are not too off-putting.”

Will’s mouth worked as he stared, apparently stunned, at Hannibal. “I- I’m not…”

“My dear Will,” Hannibal said, gliding towards him and raising a hand to cup his cheek, “you are exquisite in every way, you must know-”

At which point he was forced to break off, spluttering, as Bev pulled Alana behind her and then soaked the romantic moment. “Dude, priorities,” she drawled, once she’d finished spraying.

“What the fuck, Katz?” Will yelled, spinning round and spraying droplets everywhere like a wet dog.

“Graham, it is trashy to make out with a guy in front of his girlfriend, come on bud.”

“We weren’t! I wasn’t going to… we weren’t!”

“Weren’t we?” Hannibal purred into Will’s ear from behind, causing Will’s already-rosy blush to deepen into crimson as his hand snaked around his waist. “I must say, I find myself quite disappointed to hear that.”

Bev hefted her gun upwards and pointed it at Hannibal with a threatening expression. “I thought you were supposed to be some classy gentleman,” she said. “Alana, if you don’t dump his admittedly fine ass right now, I’m gonna waterboard the crap out of him.”

Alana watched the exchange with a strange sense of distance, as she realised one very important fact: she did not want one single, solitary part of whatever dumb fucking shit was going on between Will and Hannibal. She stepped around Bev, putting herself in front of the still-dripping Will and Hannibal.

“Ok,” she declared, “since I’m the only grown-up here, I’m making some decisions. Hannibal, we’re breaking up. If you’re very nice I might allow you to continue being my friend in a few weeks. Will, stop lying to yourself. You don’t hate Hannibal, you’re in love with him and you’re not even subtle about it. And,” she continued, poking him in the chest to drive the point home, “if you dare try to deny it after the display you just gave, I’ll… I’ll… I’ll tell Jack you two have been getting it on behind his back. And in his office.”

Will looked utterly horrified at the prospect and even Hannibal gave a small moue of disquiet.

“You wouldn’t,” Will whispered.

“Watch me.” Alana patted his cheek, just hard enough to sting. “Now, since that’s all sorted, I don’t want to look at you assholes any more. I think I could do with a drink.”

“I can help you out there, Doc, my contribution to the potluck was entirely in the form of grain alcohol.” Bev grinned, clearly having the time of her life watching this romantic drama explode right in front of her.

“I…” Will looked all around himself, as if searching for something that would make sense of what had just happened. Eventually, he gave a tiny shrug that still seemed to express total, incredulous helplessness and looked down at Hannibal’s hand, resting firmly on his stomach. “…don’t understand what just happened.”

“That’s ok,” Alana said, “Hannibal does, and he’s just itching to explain it to you.”

“Indeed,” Hannibal said, coming round to Will’s side and taking his hand, “let us find a quiet spot. I believe we need to talk, darling. Thank you, Alana. Miss Katz,” he added, as Bev singularly failed to stifle a snort of laughter at Will’s open-mouthed reaction to darling.

They watched, as Hannibal led a dazed but unresisting Will away from them by the hand. Alana wondered for a brief moment if she’d done the right thing, if either of them was really safe for the other. Then she shrugged and remembered that she really didn’t give a shit.

“Well, damn, looks like I’m out a partner for Preller hunting,” said Bev, and then gave Alana a sly, sidewise look. “Unless you’re up for a little target practice, Doc?”

Once again, she offered Alana the pistol. Alana eyed it, unimpressed, and crossed her arms. “Either I’m an equal partner, or I’m out.”

Bev grinned and switched the pistol for the full-sized shooter Will had discarded. “Atta girl,” she beamed, as Alana grabbed it, “always wanted to see you in action.” Her grin had twisted into a smirk. It was, Alana had to admit, pretty hot.

“Help me take out a hit on Jack after we crush your nerd boys and maybe I’ll show you just how good I am.”

Bev raised a finger to give a lazy salute, her eyes glittering. “Gladly, ma’am.”

A little while later, as she and Bev were hunting for Price and Zeller, who had run like cowards the first time they’d been tracked down, they found Will and Hannibal again. They’d managed to get Will out of his soaked shirt but apparently no further, since Will currently had Hannibal pinned against his car and was furiously making out with him. His hands were, Alana noticed, buried in Hannibal’s chest hair. Then again, Hannibal’s hands were firmly kneading Will’s ass so it looked like everybody got what they wanted. Including Alana, who got her own chance to spray them like a pair of misbehaving cats, secure in the knowledge that Hannibal would either have to get his precious Bentley wet, or allow his skin to make contact with Will’s dog hair covered upholstery.

“Knew you had a bad side,” Bev cackled as they walked away.

“Only when provoked.”

Bev waggled her eyebrows. “I can be extremely provocative, you know.”

Alana bumped their hips together gently and raised an eyebrow of her own. “Promise?”

[blackarmyslave]

Masquerade [IkeRev]

Pairing: Ray Blackwell x Alice

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution

Notes: really trashy writing oof

Pshh dont act so suprised its another ray thing

Alice hated masquerade balls.

She hated them with a passion. There was just something irritating about them... how those disgustings pigs, commonly referred to as men, often tried to lure her into bed; or how, every time she talked to women, their conversations would almost always end up in gossips about her family's riches that were acquired with bloody hands, and how they killed countless people under a single man's orders, not knowing the person they were talking to about it is part of said family. Yet despite her loathing for occasions like these, Alice would still have to attend, for it was the only way she could fraternize with others. Her family was shunned by society for being such a hideous and brutal one. But here, in masquerade balls, she can wear a mask and pretend to be someone else and mingle to her heart's content. Nobody would know it was a girl from a bloody household.

Once or twice, Alice had danced with a few nobilities she considered decent enough for her. Those who weren't pedophiles, she conversed with. Those who were purely sober, she'd bonded with. But it was way past midnight now and she had gotten bored of the ball. A woman can only take so much soulless dancing and meaningless political talks. Not to mention the rough mask that hid her face from bashers, was starting to irritate her sensitive porcelain skin.

With a forced smile, the young descendant of the country's most infamous household excused herself from the festivities and went to the garden. Truly, it was a beautiful garden. The flowers were in full bloom and the breeze was refreshing. Alice stretched, in a way that was very undignified. Yet she couldn't care less. Her muscles were sore from keeping up a flawlessly upright posture all this time, and she was bored beyond measure.

The itch on her face that was long there reached its peak, and Alice couldn't take it anymore. She moved to dispose her mask until a voice warned her, "It's rude to take off your mask in a ball like this."

It was a man's voice, smooth like the waves and light as the garden's breeze. Undoubtedly, it had belonged to a young man... a cool young man. But Alice despised people who dared talk to her so fondly. She swirled around to reprimand whoever it had been.

"I don't recall holding responsibility to oblige," she retorted, her prissy tone leaking with every syllable. One corner of the man's lips slowly curled upwards in an amused smirk.

"Then by all means, go embarrass yourself."

Alice scoffed with irritation. Who does this man think he is? Yes, it's true that taking off your mask is a big no in a masquerade ball, but--

Oh.

She suddenly felt like smacking her forehead. If she takes the accessory off, she's to reveal her identity. And no doubt receive countless ridicules. And Alice didn't want that, especially from a man like him. Her cheeks flushed in realization. Suddenly the girl wanted to keep it on and couldn't feel the itch anymore.

"You're from the infamous Bright household, aren't you? Alice Bright, if I'm correct; twin sister of Edgar Bright, the Jack of Hearts and known as the Gentle Demon." surprise mf

Alice took her time studying the man. How had he known about her? What gave it away? What had she done to inform him of her identity? Most of all, who is this bastard? He was handsome, without a doubt, even with a mask on; black hair and intense emerald eyes, containing a youthful aura, but at the same time holding himself with such composed regality. His body was carved to perfection. He wore a simple yet dazzling dark sapphire mask with round diamonds literring it, the suit on his body looking ridiculously expensive.

Dark and regal... only one name clicked in the girl's head: the popular and widely loved King of Spades.

"I take it you're King Ray Blackwell...?"

The man rolled his eyes distastefully at the attached title. But he made no move to deny his identity, something that's against tradition. 'How hypocritical,' Alice thought dryly.

"Forget the King part, it's too preppy for my tastes," he said. "Just Ray is fine."

Alice rose a thin eyebrow. For a king, Ray Blackwell was too casual. She's always depicted him as cold and dignified, with no intention of fooling around; just like the opposing King of Hearts. Yet here he was: the Black King himself who didn't give a horse's muck whether people found out about his identity or not, speaking informally as if he'd known Alice all their lives.

'Charming-- I mean, preposterous! Ghastly!'

Well... what can she say? It's her first time meeting a man like Ray; someone true to himself and didn't stumble foolishly in a vain attempt of becoming the perfect gentleman.

But no. In the Bright household, emotions were a mortal sin. It was the biggest crime. And Alice grew up all her life believing it.

Naturally, she ignored her fluttering heart.

"So," Alice walked around the garden with Ray. She hadn't even noticed how her irritation with him had suddenly faded after witnessing his genuine personality. "The King of Spades is a fan of balls, then?"

Ray snorted. "Heck no. What makes you think that just because I attend 'em, I like 'em? Isn't everyone only here for the sake of making connections?"

"Probably." Alice would be damned if she voiced her agreement. "And does that rule apply to you as well, sire?"

Ray gave the girl a disgusted look. She only blinked, urging him to voice out what took him aback.

"Okay. One, it doesn't. I'm just here to let loose for a bit. Second... Cut that formality out! It's creepy." "Why so? Do your soldiers not address you that way?"

Ray's green orbs took on a fond light, giving Alice the answer right away, as if his memories of his subordinates were all warm and cozy. One could tell he was a good leader and a true king by just a glance of that. And maybe, she thought, he was a brother, too; a brother to the rest of his army. Alice wondered how they treated each other... did they eat at the same table? Did they disregard ranks and fraternized comfortably? Was it like a home in the Black Army's headquarters?

"They address me as a king during official business, yes," he replied. "But we're just ourselves around one another for most of the time. Parties every week or so, lots of laughter and pranks... it's like a brotherhood."

The faintest trace of a smile ghosted the girl's lips. "It sounds lovely."

From there, it went on and on. Ray asked Alice what was her favorite animal, to which she replied cats for they were elegant and had the cutest little mewls; and much to her surprise, Ray shared her thoughts. She, in return, asked him what he thought about table etiquette, and he laughed at just how preppy Alice was being. Nevertheless, he answered her, saying "I think dining fancily's fine if serious stuff are going on, like funerals or oathtakings. It's a way of showing respect. But people shouldn't be judged by how they act at the table. In fact, class shouldn't even be a social judgement or something. 'Course, this is just my opinion. And I think table manners should be kept to a minimum. People deserve to enjoy their food and time without fear of being critiqued of how classy or polite they are. They should be able to be just themselves in a table, because after all, that honesty's bound to form really tight relationships real quick, no?"

A bit more of talking and before she even knew it, it had been past 3AM now. Alice never thought it would be so fun to converse with the king. He was honest and frank, yet still respectful and even funny. They shared a lot of opinions about several topics, and one's answer changed the perspective of the other. The Bright lady wished to the twinkling stars high above she'd get another chance at talking with Ray in the future.

Now, Alice knew she shouldn't be rooting for the opposition. Her household is a Red through and through. In fact, her brother's the Jack of Hearts himself! At the back of her head, the ever-obedient little prodigy of the Bright family screamed at her to get away and cut off all connections with Blackwell. 'What do you think you're doing?!' a part of her screeched.

But right now, she wasn't really a Bright. She was just Alice. Little ol' Alice, who came to a masquerade ball in hopes of being able to talk to whoever she wants without her status bothering her. And she wasn't ready to throw that away just yet, and return to her uptight lifestyle.

'Just not yet, please,' she pleaded with her own self.

Suddenly, a slow, hopeful, smooth tune took on. It was faint and distant, coming from the ballroom many yards away. Yet she and Ray both heard it, the melody carried by the wind to their ears, and Ray took the cue.

"May I have this dance, Alice?" He asked her, the gentlest, most handsome smile on his lips, offering her his hand, and the girl's heart skipped a beat.

Had it been any other man; a pretentious, try-hard fake gentleman or a drunk bastard, she would've slapped. But no... not this one. He was a bastard, yes, the feisty part of her claimed, but he was a good bastard. A modest, decent, alright bastard.

Alice let her face be lit up by a grin. It had been her first in so long. She placed her hand on top Ray's and they both started dancing to the slow, almost-romantic music, everything else fading and all they could feel was this blossoming warmth in their souls.

And long after the song was over, and all was said and done, they still remained in one another's embrace. Red and Black forgetting their blazing feud for even just a moment; even in just a masquerade ball. They're just Alice and Ray, each silently praying dawn never comes and they'd never have to say theeir goodbyes.

Alice giggled under her breath. She'd decided. Maybe masquerades aren't so bad after all.

[keishiko]

What Gives It Value (Chapter Four)

A lot can happen in five years, and after.

[Chapter 4/?  |  Rated for language, adult themes  |  Angst  |  Natasha x Steve  |  Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3]

[Set during the five-year jump in “Endgame”.  My latest, lame attempt at a fix-it fic]

Extraction in 10 outside yours. Wear the Cap-links :)

Steve stared bemused down at his phone as he absent-mindedly toweled his shower-wet hair. He hadn’t heard from her in a while, not since Morgan’s birthday some months back when she’d suddenly picked him up in the quinjet and neither of them had mentioned how they preferred not to go to the party alone. He had just turned to put the beer back in the refrigerator, still wondering if he should remind her he had retired, when he heard his phone chirp another alert.

Feel free to bring your laundry :p

Headlights glinted off the enameled stars-and-stripes on his sleeves as the sleek silver sedan pulled up to the curb on the dot. The window powered down as he approached, a battered duffel bag of laundry hoisted over his shoulder and contrasting oddly with his crisp black suit.

“Hey, stranger.”

The familiar throaty purr sparked something hot inside his chest. He peered in the open window at gleaming green eyes. “My machine broke down not two hours ago, Nat.”

“I’ve missed you too, Cap,” she drawled. “I’m glad to see you followed orders.”

He grinned at her. She’d given him the cuff links several years ago for Christmas, each designed to look like a miniature shield (official Captain America™ merchandise of course, 100% made in the USA; employee discount, free gift wrapping). This was the first time he’d worn them.

“You know, I had a whole glamorous night in all planned for myself.” He tossed the duffel bag in the back seat and climbed in the front. The car pulled into the street as he fastened his seatbelt. “Couple of beers, pizza delivery, six-hour documentary marathon...”

“Vikings or animals?”

“Anim... I meant Vikings, of course the Vikings—”

“Of course the Vikings.” Street lights glimmered off the sequins on her dress as they turned a corner. “You’ve only done the animals marathon three and a half times already.”

He’d fallen asleep the last time. She looked especially gorgeous tonight, even if she was smirking at his expense. He tore his gaze away from her to look out the window at storefronts streaking past. “Last time I checked, I was retired.” They were heading Midtown.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Sincere underneath the humor, she gave him a sidelong glance. “I’ve got two tickets, but I can drop you off at the laundromat instead if you prefer.”

No doubt she already knew which laundromat was his favorite, even though it wasn’t the nearest one to his apartment. “It’s okay. I suited up, didn’t I?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled in her smile. God, he’d missed her.

They joined a queue of vehicles that snaked glitteringly from the street up into a driveway. “This is ‘Swan Lake’,” Natasha pointed out, although Steve hadn’t missed the huge colorful banners down the front of the building announcing exactly that. “Boy meets girl, girl turns out cursed to be a swan unless she finds true love, boy cheats on her without really meaning to, girl dies. That’s the version with the sad ending, anyway.” Briefing over, her smile turned teasing. “If you don’t fall asleep, I’ll treat you to dinner afterward.”

He’d never attended the ballet before. It had never held any particular fascination for him, but as the curtain finally came down on the third round of crashing applause at the end he found himself wondering how he’d missed it. Already his fingers itched to sketch the long, lean lines of muscle and bone, the elegant lift of a chin, the graceful flutter of a slender hand. Beside him Natasha dabbed at her eyes.

“It was one of my first missions at SHIELD,” she said abruptly, digging into her Chinese takeout at headquarters. She had changed into a ratty sweatshirt, her hair out of its coif and curling around her shoulders, red at the roots. His jacket and tie hung over a chair. Elsewhere in the building, the first load of his laundry tumbled merrily in the machine. “Human trafficking, Eastern Europe. Major revenue stream for terrorists, as you know. Kids mixed in with the adults.” Steve glanced at her, but her face was carefully neutral. “Fury found them places, I’m not even sure where. Not all of them had families. Not all of them had families who would take them back.” There was a faraway look in her eyes as she pursed her lips around her chopsticks. “Oksana made principal dancer a few years ago, but this was her debut as Odette-Odile.” She quirked one corner of her mouth at him. “I didn’t want to miss it.”

He smiled back. “She was amazing. Thanks for bringing me along.”

She shrugged, but looked pleased with herself. “I thought she had talent.”

As she fished around in her takeout box for the last morsels of cashew chicken he strode slowly across the room, his hands in his pockets. Outside the main office the empty complex was shrouded in shadow and, in some places, a thin layer of dust; but inside she had cleared a space for them amidst the books and files, and the lamps threw cozy circles of warm light. Here and there pilot lights glowed green: no urgent notifications. Little had changed in the few years since he’d last been here, watching over the world with her. After Thanos, he remembered, he’d done so with an increasing sense of futility.

In the corner there was still the corkboard he’d put up amidst the screens and monitors, because there was something to be said for actually looking at and holding things that weren’t just electronic pinpoints of light and he refused to be told otherwise. Tony and Clint had noticed right away, of course, and Steve had had to withstand a good thirty minutes of ribbing about his stubborn fondness for index cards. (“So... so analog,” and Tony had shuddered, like it was a fate worse than death.) The photograph he’d tacked up ages ago—“the graduating class of 2015,” Bruce had quipped—wasn’t there anymore; instead he found it framed and hung, with pride of place, on a nearby wall. Natasha’s work, no doubt. The pinhole from his thumbtack was barely visible under the glass.

With an almost physical effort he forced himself to look at the photograph. He didn’t have any photographs at his apartment. It had been the twins’ birthday, and everyone had gathered for a party. Wanda stood smiling up at the camera between Clint and Vision, whose ghastly approximation of “cheese” still made Steve chuckle out loud, even if the sound came out a little strangled tonight. Natasha winked elaborately from behind the bar, both hands full as she mixed cocktails for Maria, Nick, and Pepper. Thor and Tony wore similar broad grins and smears of frosting across their faces, because the cake-smashing would begin in earnest as soon as the picture was taken. Steve himself was off to the side, his smile strained with disgust at the waste of perfectly good cake, and Sam had slung an arm each around him and Bruce while flashing his usual sunny smile. The photo was slightly skewed; Sam had still been trying to get the hang of controlling Redwing.

“I can give you a copy of that if you want,” she said from her seat at the table.

He smiled. Maybe later.

“You’ve really found your place, Nat.” He hefted his bag of clean laundry as they pulled up to the curb outside his apartment building. Inside the car it was heady with the smell of fabric softener. “I’m happy for you.”

“I do what I can.” Her smile softened as she turned to him. “You know you’re always welcome to come back, right?”

He chuckled. “You seem to be doing just fine without me.”

“Steve.”

He glanced at her, almost shy, but she was still smiling. “Tell ‘em I said hi,” he said at last.

She nodded, searching his face. “Will do.”

It reminded him of old times, her looking at him from the quinjet’s pilot seat; sometimes asking, sometimes laughing, sometimes knowing what he needed to see in her eyes even before he did. I’ve missed you, he wanted to say, and more. But then maybe she knew that already, like so much else about him.

“I don’t suppose I could offer you a cup of coffee for the road.”

She knew he was only half joking. Her smile turned wistful. “I’d love that, but I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Right, right.” How many times had they said that to one another, the night before a mission? “You know”—he paused, his hand on the door—“I still have my old keys.”

She grinned. “Well, I did stockpile your favorite kind of laundry detergent.”

She’d looked lovely earlier tonight, in her jewelry and coiffure and perfect makeup; but now he wanted to feel her hair curl delicately around his fingers, her soft mouth open to his. He didn’t want to stare, so he looked hastily away and down instead, to where his cuff link caught the light. “You know all my weaknesses.”

He never did get around to having his washing machine fixed.

  to be continued

The previous chapter seemed a bit too bleak, and the latest MCU revelations have got me down with missing my favorite Avengers, so here's a little bit more of a laugh :)