#get brandish out of here i’m so serious

[azriaann]

wow shocker lucy is alive and the easy way out was taken! no stakes or consequences at all! i never could’ve seen this coming!

[steddiealltheway]

One thing that sucks about fighting monsters from some weirdly dusty and gooey parallel universe to your own… is going back to school. Specifically going back after telling all your friends that they’re actually trust fund assholes and your girlfriend - ex-girlfriend - ends up with the one guy she swore up and down was just a friend.

Not that Steve really blames Nancy for that. Jonathan’s a good dude. Plus, it’s not like Steve was the perfect boyfriend or anything. He tried, but maybe it just wasn’t enough.

Maybe it’ll never be enough.

Steve takes a sudden right, making a detour from all the student rushing into the lunchroom in favor of being anywhere but there. He barely registers walking out of the school until he notices the woods in front of him. Why does everything always lead him back to here?

He doesn’t know why, maybe it’s what Dustin call his “mother hen” instinct, but Steve continues walking into the woods, wondering if maybe there are more monsters lurking about that he can spot early this time. God knows he would do anything for those kids - not that he would tell them that. Dustin especially does not need the ego boost.

So Steve wanders, listening closely for any unusual noise.

And then he hears one.

It’s just the thud of something metal sounding against maybe… a tree? Something solid. Then a crunch of leaves. And…

Singing?

Steve slowly peaks around a tree and finds the source of all the noise.

Eddie Munson.

Steve nearly rolls his eyes but finds himself fondly watching the boy as he drums on a wooden picnic table singing some song Steve has never heard. It’s when Eddie does some type of ridiculously uncoordinated twirl that Steve ends up snorting. It’s loud enough that Eddie ends up hearing it, startling mid turn and head bang that has him misstepping and landing right on his ass.

Steve tries to let some sheepishness bleed through the amusement in his expression. “You okay, man?” He asks, stepping forward to offer him a hand.

Eddie eyes it wearily. “Depends. What are you doing out here?”

“Just…” Steve stares at Eddie for a moment, trying to find a normal answer, but instead he shrugs and sighs, “I don’t know, man.” He takes another step closer and pointedly looks down at his offered hand.

Eddie narrows his eyes at him before taking it carefully. Steve is caught off guard by the cold metal rings but hauls Eddie up easily who wobbles when he gets to his feet. “Thanks,” Eddie breathes out, lingering in Steve’s space.

Steve just nods and wonders if Eddie Munson’s eyes have always been so big and brown.

“So, Steve Harrington,” Eddie starts, drawling out his name while taking a step back and brushing dirt off his pants, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Steve raises an eyebrow.

Eddie marches over to the picnic table and gestures dramatically at his lunch box. “I’m assuming you’re here for the goods?”

“The what?”

“Drugs, Harrington. Are you alright?” Eddie asks with a tilt of his head leaning forward as if assessing him.

Steve shrugs. “Fine. And no. I’m not here for your drugs which you evidently keep in your lunch box for any teacher to find.” Eddie’s brows furrow. Steve rolls his eyes. “I know you sell, but Tommy usually does this part.”

“I know,” Eddie replies as he hops up on the bench and crosses his arms. He faces Steve and bends at the waist - Steve ignores the urge to reach out and steady him so he doesn’t fall again. “So what are you doing out here? Are you here to… beat me up?” Eddie asks dramatically, hopping onto the table and pretending to brandish a sword.

Steve simply raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms.

Eddie’s arms drop. “Okay. Surprising but I guess you would’ve already taken a swing if you wanted a fight.” He squats down on the table until he’s eye level with Steve. “You’re not here because of the rumors, right?” Eddie asks, dropping his voice and appearing weirdly serious.

As for the rumors, Steve’s sure he’s heard more than he can count - including one about Munson being a vampire - so he’s not sure what he’s talking about. He’s also not sure if he wants to know which rumors he’s talking about. Steve runs a hand through his hair and settles his hands on his hips. “I just needed to clear my head. I didn’t know you were out here.”

Eddie squints at him. “You’re clearing your head by taking a walk in the woods?”

“Yes.”

They hold eye contacts for a few moments, and Steve can’t really tell what they’re silently sizing each other up about. Eddie reluctantly stands up and jumps off the table. “Fine. What are you clearing your head about?”

Steve stares at him.

“What?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Eddie steps closer to him and obnoxiously twirls a piece of hair around his finger. “Because you’re Steve Harrington, and I must be the luckiest guy in all of Hawkins since I’ve got you here alone with me.”

Steve laughs loudly and gently shoves Eddie away. “Shut up.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush pink, and Steve can almost see him biting back the words “make me.” Then he’s reminded of the rumor that Eddie bats for the other team, and Steve suddenly wonders if it’s true - not that he would mind.

Steve pushes the thought away as Eddie smiles sincerely and pushes some hair in front of his face. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind the company. Plus,” he turns and sprawls back on the picnic bench, “You can tell me anything. I’m great at keeping secrets, and even if I wasn’t, it would be your word against mine.”

Steve considers what he’s said before asking, “And how crazy of a secret would you not only keep but believe?”

Eddie smiles almost manically. “Try me.”

Steve looks around wondering if the government people or whoever they were can hear him out here. He’s not sure if it’s been long enough to guarantee there’s not someone keep track of each of them, waiting for them to slip up. He also wonders how cruel it would be to unload all of this onto Eddie. Steve knows life was much simpler before he knew that demogorgans existed.

“I’ve been fighting… some monsters recently,” Steve settles on, hoping Eddie doesn’t take it so literally.

“Yeah?”

Steve nods and takes a step closer to where Eddie is sitting, gesturing at nothing as he continues, “It started when I was an asshole to Nance and then she ran off with Jonathan and the rest is history there but… they really dragged me into some heavy shit.”

“I can imagine. It’s not every day that your girlfriend runs off with another guy. Which is a shitty thing to do by the way.”

Steve tries to steer the conversation away from his failed relationship without setting off Eddie’s alarm bells. “It’s not that I really blame them. I mean you’ve seen them, everyone has, they’re kind of made for each other. Who am I to get in the way of that? Especially since I was a shitty boyfriend. But that’s not the point. Before Nance left, I was pulled into helping some…” he pauses, trying to think of a way to talk about the kids out of context without sounding like a creep. “Well, there was this guy who needed help and so… I helped him and his friends out.”

Eddie fixes him with a carefully blank look. “Helped this guy out… how exactly?”

Steve shrugs and sits next to Eddie as he figures out how to phrase things. “He… well. His cat… di- escaped! It escaped. And I was helping him find it, and we actually grew pretty close.”

Eddie knocks his knee against Steve’s. “So… you and this guy grew… close.”

Steve nods and smiles. “Yeah, he’s this dumbass genius k-,” he cuts himself off before he can say kid. “Anyways, then his friends needed help, and I helped them fight… their monsters.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at him. “So you helped… multiple guys… fight their… monsters?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. But that’s over and now I have to go back here and pretend that none of that ever happened. It just… sucks, man.”

Eddie nods. “Uh. Yeah. I can imagine pretending for so long is... exhausting.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve says with a laugh.

A silence falls between them and Eddie glances over at him. “You know… you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Steve smiles and wonders what not pretending means now, but it’s sounds good nonetheless. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Eddie softly smiles and his eyes move down to Steve’s lips slowly. “Yeah?”

And oh. Oh. There was definitely a miscommunication somewhere along the way. And… okay. Fighting monsters and helping guys fight their monsters is maybe not the best phrasing. But Steve thinks he likes Eddie remaining so blissfully ignorant.

So, Steve kisses him.

And yeah. Maybe there are quite literally hundreds of different ways he could’ve let Eddie remain oblivious to the whole vague Upside Down retelling, but Steve can’t really complain when Eddie kisses him back, finding the scrape of stubble against his face surprisingly pleasant.

And Steve finds himself taking his time thoroughly allowing Eddie to believe this story that Steve wishes were true rather than the real thing. It’s only when Eddie’s watch beeps that they finally pull away for longer than a few seconds.

“Shit,” Eddie mumbles, resting his forehead against Steve’s, “Time to head back in.”

“Can’t skip?” Steve asks, wondering why he’s trying so hard to solidify his false story.

Eddie sighs and pulls away. “Unfortunately, if I skip anymore, they’re not going to let me graduate. Although right now I think spending more time with you might be more important than my diploma.”

Steve laughs and feels himself pleasantly flushing. He nudges Eddie’s shoulder with his own before standing up and offering his hand to him again. “Come on. We can’t have you not graduating again.”

“Again? Harrington, are you keeping tabs on me?”

Steve raises his eyebrows at him as Eddie takes his hand and pulls himself off the bench. “And what if I am?” He flirts easily.

Eddie smiles giddily and grabs his lunch box. “Then I really must be the luckiest boy in Hawkins.”

Steve doesn’t say anything when Eddie doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk out of the woods toward the school. It’s only as the school slowly comes into sight that Eddie drops Steve’s hand and shoves his hands into his pockets. He stops in his tracks and turns to Steve. “Hey, thanks for not pretending with me.”

Steve glances at the school before moving in to give Eddie one final kiss. He lingers in it before breaking away to say, “Thank you for listening.”

They wordlessly separate as the head back to the building, knowing that even with the few weeks of school left and both of their tarnished reputations that they can’t truly risk it all.

As Steve makes it to his class just before the final bell rings, he’s left to wonder if maybe he really does have some other type of monsters to fight. And he really hopes Eddie Munson can be there to help him with those ones again.

[steddielations]

It's just another boring day running the store, even more boring than normal since Robin’s out sick. There’s not any kids around either, the beanbags by the bookshelves have been empty all day.

Steve’s working his shift alone. It’s all very mundane, just waiting for the clock to run out. That is, until the door flies open.

It’s just a flash of black clothing and the clinking of metal accessories as the figure suddenly barrels right over the counter. Steve shouts and immediately reaches for the nail bat— yes the nail bat— he keeps behind the register. He brandishes it menacingly as the person stands upright.

It’s a man, with crazy wild hair and even crazier eyes, widening comically at the bat and holding his hands up. He squawks at Steve.

“Whoa, hey! What is that thing?! What the hell, man!?”

“Don’t ‘what the hell’ me, I’m the one what the helling you here!” Steve snaps back.

“What!”

“Just tell me what you think you’re doing here, punk!”

Something like disbelief comes over his face, and he lowers his hands to gesture over himself, “Dude, I’m clearly a metalhead.”

“I’m gonna put some metal in your head if you don’t start talking,” Steve snarls, gripping the bat tighter.

“Okay, okay!” His hands flail, shifty eyes bugging out the front windows before he suddenly crouches down behind the counter, “Just let me hide out here for a minute, there’s— people after me that I can’t deal with right now.”

“Oh yeah, what 'people’?” Steve narrows his eyes at the expensive looking chain dangling around his neck, some kind of red pendant on it, “Did you get caught stealing from the jewelry store next door?”

Again, he gives that look, not the typical guilty look when Steve chases down the usual petty thief, he just looks like he can’t believe he’s in this situation, as if he’s not the one that hopped over the counter.

“I didn’t steal anything, alright? I just need to wait here until it’s all clear.”

“Mr. Simon is chasing you, isn’t he?” Steve groans, lowering the bat to rub his hand over his face. He hates that old jeweler, always complaining about Steve taking his parking space when he doesn’t even have a car to use it. “Christ, okay. He might have a war flashback and actually kill you, and I already have enough shit on my conscience. You got two minutes.”

“Five?”

“One and a half.”

“Okay, Jesus. Two please and I’ll let you have a picture after, whatever you want.”

Steve thinks it’s a weird thing to offer at first, then it clicks.

“Yeah, I do want a picture ‘cause your ass is going on the banned wall,” Steve points the bat to the array of photos on the back wall, right up there with the little pricks that kept asking what shelf the skin mags were on, and the asshole that was rude to Robin once.

The guy looks over and he… chuckles, “Starting to think I picked the wrong counter to hide behind.”

Steve glares when he’s met with the stranger’s smile, “You think?”

“The rainbows in the window caught my eye, thought they were pretty cool,” he gives Steve a kind, but measured look, “I’m assuming the bat is for people who don’t?”

That rocks Steve a little. The subtle touches of rainbow decorating the storefront were Robin’s idea, just a welcoming sign for those who know what it means, who need it. Which, apparently, is this guy too, dark eyes watching as Steve makes the connection.

Plus, the kind of kids that get off the bus and hang out in the beanbag corner of the bookstore, also tend to be the type that bullies flock to, but not here, Steve makes sure of that. Not with the nail bat, that’s for things more serious than school bullies.

“Is that who’s after you?” Steve asks, shooting a look out the window. His gut starts to twist in some form of empathy for the guy, it would make sense why he hurtled inside so quickly.

“No, nothing like that, but I still need to lay low for a second.”

Steve squints, empathy gone.

“Okay well, the bat is for thieves too, then. You know, Mr. Simon might be a mean old shit, but he doesn’t deserve to be stolen from. He’s got a family, dude.”

“Well, isn’t that admirable. Look, I appreciate what you’re doing here, the whole local protector, vigilante bat-man thing, it’s pretty badass,” A pun. This would-be thief really just made a damn pun about Steve’s would-be murder weapon. “But I didn’t take anything from anyone, Stevie boy.”

Pun forgotten, Steve grips the bat tighter, demanding to know, “How do you know my name?”

Another annoying smile as the guy gestures to his chest, where Steve’s name tag is. Right.

“Tell me yours,” he counters, noticing how the guy’s smile falters, looking hesitant, crouching lower, hiding. Steve sighs, “I’m not gonna go to the cops, man. Your face is going on the wall and your name is going on the list.”

This guy is just smirking way too much for someone in his situation, “Wow, I must be real special then. It’s Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

“Okay then, Munson,” Steve narrows his eyes at the necklace again, “If you didn’t take anything, then where’d you get that chain, huh?”

This Eddie looks caught off guard, his mouth already formed into some excuse that Steve cuts off.

“Just hand it over,” he flourishes the bat this time, satisfied with how Eddie looks both impressed and intimidated. His eyes stay on Steve as he removes the necklace, dark and alive with something, like he’s enjoying this somehow.

“Okay fine, easy with that thing, big boy. You can keep it for now as collateral for letting me stay.”

He passes Steve the chain, and Steve doesn’t want to fuss with his jean pockets so he just slips it over his head, Eddie’s eyes tracking where it falls around his neck. He sees it’s not a pendant like he thought, it’s a red guitar pick resting against his chest. Not Simon’s usual merchandise, but the chain definitely is, it’s expensive, Steve can tell.

“But, as good as it looks on you, I’m gonna need it back when you realize it’s not stolen.”

Annoyance. That’s the flare of heat Steve feels, it has to be, this whole exchange is getting him hot under the collar. He obviously knows Eddie’s hitting on him, not the first time he caught someone up to no good, and they clocked the rainbows and tried to flirt their way out of it. And this guy isn’t bad looking, maybe under different circumstances in a nice bar somewhere, Steve would flirt right back, but he’s not falling for it now.

He’s glad the couple minutes are up, doesn’t know why he checks out the windows to make sure it’s all clear for Eddie.

Bat still in hand, he makes Eddie stand while he fishes out the polaroid camera behind the counter.

“Don’t you want to get in the photo?” Eddie asks.

Steve’s free hand snaps to his hip, “And why would I want that?”

“Right,” Eddie grins, sticking out his tongue when Steve holds up the camera, throwing up that same hand sign that Dustin keeps making nowadays when the flash goes off. “No fun kissin’ a picture of yourself. Or, maybe it is when you look like you do.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Playing cute with me isn’t gonna get you off the hook,” and sits the newly printed polaroid on the counter, ignoring the way his cheeks feel hot. It’s just the adrenaline coming down.

He finally puts the bat away, still watching warily as Eddie comes closer, picking up a pen and scribbling what looks to be his phone number on the photo.

“Gotta say, this was nice, Steve. I’d love to do it again sometime,” he smirks, hopping back over the counter the same way he came, “I mean it though, give me a call about that necklace. What kinda rockstar would I be without my lucky guitar pick?”

“Yeah right,” Steve snorts, “I don’t wanna catch you around here again. I never forget a face, Munson, especially not yours.”

“I’m flattered,” he pats his hand over his heart, then throws Steve a wave as he pushes open the door, “Keep that up and you can call me anytime.”

One last wink that sort of makes Steve’s chest flutter and he��s gone. It’s nothing, just some crazy guy that annoyed him half to death, and he hopes he never sees again.

When his shift ends later that evening, he goes next door to try and return the necklace to Mr. Simon, but he insists that it wasn’t stolen from his shop.

Steve’s starting to think he may have accidentally robbed someone at nail-bat-point. But it’s not possible because that’s not possible. How do you accidentally rob someone? What crime would he even be charged with? A little oopsie burglary? Ridiculous.

No, the old man is just out of his mind and doesn’t recognize his own shit. It’s the only thing that would make sense in that whole bizarre situation. Who else would Eddie have been ‘hiding’ from? Why else was it so urgent that he handed over the necklace without much fuss?

It’s not until days later when Dustin hops onto the counter that Steve really realizes.

“Steve,” Dustin says slowly, “Why am I looking at a picture of Eddie freaking Munson on the banned wall?”

Steve looks around, “That guy? You know him? I caught him stealing from Mr. Simon the other day.”

“You— He— What!? He was here?” Dustin sputters, “Steve, I’m 1000% sure he wasn’t stealing shit! What did you do to him?”

“I did my job, Henderson. I banned him from the store and got back the necklace he took— What— Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Steve.”

It’s over the course of the next conversation, getting completely chewed up and spit out by Dustin that Steve learns he didn’t just accidentally rob someone.

“STEVE.”

He accidentally robbed a world famous rockstar.

Steve spends the next few days so deeply embarrassed that he can’t even dare to pick up the phone. He gave Eddie such a hard time when all he needed was a place to hide out so he didn’t get mobbed by fans and paparazzi.

Looking back on it, knowing what he knows now, Eddie handled it with such grace. Steve’s even more ashamed, not because of the whole rockstar thing, but because it's shitty to hurl accusations and a deadly nail bat at anyone, and take their stuff on top of that.

He finally bolsters up the courage to dial the number. As soon as he hears ‘what’s up, it’s Munson’ on the other line, he lets loose a string of apologies and a promise to give the necklace back as soon as he can.

It gets cut short with that same chuckle that still gives him a warm chill even down the phone line.

“Keep it. Looks better on you,” he can hear the smile in Eddie’s voice, “But that means you’re gonna have to come to my show tonight. Can’t play without my lucky guitar pick, can I?”

[ythankucaptainmccoy]

The Cowgirl and The Aviator Ch7

Next chapter baby! @smoothdogsgirl Warnings: Mentions of Death, Scene with a gun, Stalker, Stalker Behavior, Abusive Behavior and mentions of pregnancy

The squad was gone longer than a month, but you received word from Penny they would be coming in on Saturday. You only had four days until you could see the squad again, and you spent those four days making sure the apartments were spotless in between going to work and sleeping. Friday night you sat on Jake’s couch watching a movie when there was a knock at the door. You walked to the door and looked out the peephole, but didn’t see anyone so you opened the door. 

You looked around not seeing anybody there, but down on the ground was a picture laying face down with writing on the back of it. ‘YOU LOOK SO BEAUTIFUL. YOU NEVER WORE ANYTHING LIKE THIS FOR ME, BUT YOU WILL WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!’ it read, and when you flipped it over it was a copy of the photo you had sent to Jake. You slammed the door and started to panic. How the fuck did he find you so quick. You should call the police, but that would mean handing over that photo.

You were torn and didn’t know what to do so you triple checked that the door was locked and crawled into Jake’s bed. You pulled his pillow to your chest and sobbed into it wishing he were here with you. You fell asleep like that and when you woke up you got dressed for the day. You went about your day like normal and then to work. “(Y/N) are you okay you seem out of it”, she said. “Yeah I’m okay just missing the squad”, you replied. “They’ll be back before you know it”, she tells you.

The next couple of days you are on edge constantly watching your surroundings. Any car that follows behind a little too long has you paranoid. At the grocery store while checking out constantly looking to see if you spot your ex. You continue trying to figure out how he found you, but no matter how many times you think about it you hit dead end after dead end. Then you think about who would have known you had come out this way.

The only person you knew was your brother as you had told him you were leaving. If he had threatened your brother's kids which he had done before your brother probably told him anything he wanted to know. You didn’t blame him, you would do anything to keep your niece and nephews safe. He was just doing this to get back at you for leaving him. He didn’t have power over you anymore and damn it if you were going to let him take your happiness. 

After Friday night's shift at the Hard Deck you grabbed your pouch from the front seat of your truck and walked into Jake’s apartment. A knock on the door and you opened it and there stood your ex. “Get back in your car and get the fuck out of here Jackson”, you seethed. “(Y/N) I just want you to come home with me. We were gonna’ get married”, he said. “I told you it wasn’t going to work. I’m not going home with you”, you hiss.

He grabbed the door as you went to shut it in his face. “I’m serious (Y/N) you’re coming back home with me”, he growled. “No I’m not, I have a boyfriend and I am happy here now get out of here!”, you yelled. “Listen here you ungrateful bitch”, he started. You reached for your pouch that you hung up by the door and brandished the .40 caliber sig in his face. “I told you no and I meant it Jackson, and if you ever threaten my brother's family again I’ll make sure you stay gone”, you declare. 

His eyes go wide, but he can tell you mean it and he lingers a moment longer. “FINE!”, he shouts. You watch as he high tails it to his car and peels out of the parking lot. You close the door locking it then sink to the floor as you try to catch your breath. You had hoped you never had to ever point a gun at someone, but you knew what Jackson was capable of and you weren’t going through that again.

You couldn’t sleep and you had to pick Jake up anyway so you sat watching tv and started a pot of coffee. Penny had told you when they should get in so you left the apartment at nine in the morning to get there by nine thirty. You parked in the spot where you had dropped Jake off and waited for what felt like forever when you saw Phoenix and Bob come out to the lot. You waved them down and they came over each giving you a hug. 

“Where is Bradley and Jake?”, you panic. “They are being assessed, it will probably be a few more hours”, Bob explains. “What do you mean assessed are they injured what happened?”, you asked. “We lost Banshee and Fluke”, Phoenix whispered. You were glad to hear they were okay, but saddened to know that they had lost two men. “I’m so sorry”, you whisper. “Are you all okay?”, you ask. “Yeah just like with anything it will take time, but Jake seems to have taken the blame for what happened”, Bob said.

“What do you mean?”, you inquired. They explained what had happened, how Banshee and Fluke were killed, and that Jake had been their wingman. You thanked them for telling you then after a while you let them go so they could go home to decompress and unpack. It was two hours later when Bradley emerged and you ran to him and hugged him. You could tell he was wearing the guilt of what happened and reassured him he had done all he could, but when Jake stepped out two minutes later your heart broke.

Jake had dark circles under his eyes and looked exhausted. Bradley waved you on as he left to go back to the apartment. You approached him like you would a wounded animal slowly and quietly other than your boots clacking on the pavement. “Jake”, you gently called. He looked up as you came to stop in front of him. He took you in to make sure this moment was real as you tilted your head at him. “Let's go home”, you whispered. He didn’t say anything as you took his bag from him and walked to your truck. 

“Do you want anything to eat?”, you asked. He only shook his head no as you drove back to the apartment. You grabbed his bag and headed up to the apartment as he walked behind you seeming to still be in a daze. When you got him into the apartment you sat his bag down and kissed his cheek then led him to the bedroom where you grabbed sweatpants and a shirt for him to change into and left to fix breakfast. He changed then joined you in the kitchen where he pulled you into his arms. You let him hold you for as long as he wanted.

“I’m sorry about Banshee and Fluke”, you whispered to him. “It was my fault they died”, he breathed. You pulled back and looked up at him as you took his face in your hands. “No, don't ever think that Jake. Baby none of what happened was your fault. Bradley told me what happened and there was nothing either of you could do”, you soothed. His eyes were shining with unshed tears, but he was willing himself not to cry in front of you.

He releases you so you can finish fixing food and he did eat a little, but you assumed he wouldn’t eat a whole lot after what he had been through. “When was the last time you got any sleep?”, you ask. “What day is it?”, he questions. That’s all you need to hear as you go to lead him to the bedroom. “No I’d rather watch TV”, he tells you. You relent but go and grab a blanket from his room as you sit down on the couch. 

You coax him into laying down on the couch with his head in your lap. You run your fingers through his hair as you put a comedy movie on. You continue to glance at him every so often and a third of the way through the movie he is asleep. He wakes up periodically, but you both don’t really move from the couch until dinner time rolls around. You get up to make dinner and this time he eats all of it. He seems to be settling and that makes you feel better as he tells you he is going to go shower. 

You clean the kitchen then pop next door to check on Bradley. He seems to be faring better than Jake, but you can tell he isn’t a hundred percent okay. “Are you going to be okay?”, you ask him. “Yeah Lilly is coming over to stay the night”, he tells you. “So what exactly are you two?”, you inquire. “Well I’m not dating her if that’s what you're asking” , he tells you. “I swear you give Jake shit, but you're just the same way apparently”, you laugh.

“I’m going to stay at Jake’s for quite a while. I came to grab some of my stuff”, you tell him. “That’s fine we were all given four weeks leave and Lilly is gonna be crashing here”, he explains. Jake hadn’t told you they were on leave, but with the events you figured it would be for the best. When you made it back to Jake’s he was still in the shower so you decided to slip in with him. He was leaning against the wall letting the water fall over him. You gently called to him and he acknowledged your presence, but you jumped when you felt how cold the water was. 

You reached for the knob and turned it to where the water was comfortable. Then you turned him to face you. “I’m here for you Jake”, you explain. He smiles weakly at you, but he leans down to steal some kisses from you. You both help wash each other and by the time you finish up it’s around eight at night. He follows you to bed and he pulls you into his side as he relaxes for bed. Sleep doesn’t take long to find either of you, but it doesn’t last long. 

You wake to find the bed empty and it’s late judging by how quiet it is. You get up and go into the kitchen where you see a figure sitting with their back against the fridge. When you flip the light on Jake is sitting there his chest heaving and you see the tears streaming down his face. You waste no time in kneeling beside him and pulling him into you. He automatically buries his head where your shoulder and neck meet and his hands grab fistfulls of your shirt. 

“It’s okay Jake, I’m here”, you soothe, holding the back of his head with one hand while the other rubs his back.“I’m sorry I shouldn’t be crying”, he says. “No Jake it’s okay to cry for the ones we have lost. It’s part of grieving and yes, real men cry. I won’t think any less of you baby I promise”, you whisper into his hair. You stay there letting him cry until the tears slow. “It’s the first time I’ve lost a wingman”, he whispers. “I remember when my dad lost his first wingman. He was devastated, but he learned that if you flew long enough it was bound to happen”, you tell him.

“What matters is you did all you could and I bet that Banshee and Fluke wouldn’t want you to be upset with yourself for it. You know the risks of flying right?”, you asked. “Yeah it’s never guaranteed you will make it back”, he says. “Exactly and they accepted that risk same as you do. They loved flying as much as you or any other pilot does. Remember them that way instead of how they died”, you told him. It seemed to help him as you asked if he wanted to go back to bed. 

This time you pull him into your side and he lays his head on your chest. You run your fingers through his hair until his breaths even out. You follow soon after and this time you both sleep through the night. The next couple of days Jake seems to be doing better as he goes in for evaluations at the base. He tells you that they deemed him ready to return after the four week leave was up. “Darlin’ do you think Penny would give you a couple weeks off?”, Jake asks out of the blue one morning. 

“I don’t know depends on what it’s for”, you reply. “I told my sister and her husband about my leave and they invited me to come stay at their ranch for a couple of weeks”, he explains. “What are you saying?”, you ask. “I want you to come with me”, he blurts out. You sit there in stunned silence for a minute before saying, “I don’t know if your sister will want a stranger staying in her house”. “Well technically it would be their guest house and I already asked her if I could bring you along which she said yes to”, he smiles devilishly.

You stare at him incredulously as he pops a cherry into his mouth from where you were making a cherry pie. “I guess I could call and ask Penny. What day were you thinking about packing the truck up and leaving?”, you ask. “Truck? Oh no darlin’ I already got the plane tickets” he boasted. “Jake what if Penny says no!”, you exclaim. “Won’t know till you ask her”, Jake laughs. “What day would we leave and when would we be coming back?”, you ask, pulling out your phone. 

He tells you the dates and you call Penny right away because it’s two days away. Penny doesn’t seem bothered by it and pretty much tells you to go and keep Jake out of trouble. You swear that Jake had already somehow told Penny his plan, but how he got her to agree to it you have no idea. The two days flew by and you had packed a suitcase full of clothes to where it looked like if it were opened it would explode. 

You’re nervous because you had never flown commercially on a plane. Every time your family moved it was always a moving truck and the old van. Jake took your hand when you started to fidget at the gate for boarding. “Why do the movies always make this part look so easy”, you state. “Well that’s because it’s a movie darlin’ and it doesn’t work that way in the real world”, he chuckles. He is loving watching you try to school your nervousness. “Why are you so nervous? You weren’t nervous when I took you up in Mav’s plane”, he states. “Because you were the one flying and I trust you”, you reply.

You watch as his smile widens and you know you just fed into his ego. “I’m glad you trust me so much”, he tells you as he places a kiss to the top of your head. Once boarded you make it to your seat and realize you have the window seat. You sit down and strap in as Jake takes his time. He buckles in once he is comfortable then leans back in the seat waiting for the rest of the passengers to get seated. 

Once the plane is ready they start taxiing to the runway and Jake can’t help but notice you bouncing your leg. He takes your hand in his again and grabs your attention. “Just keep your eyes on me”, he tells you. You do but it still doesn’t help and he seems to notice this. “When we get there do you want to go to one of the rodeos? I looked up the dates and I found one we could go to”, he tells you.

“Yeah I’d like that”, you tell him as the plane picks up speed. When the wheels leave the ground and the weightless feeling you get makes your stomach roll you grip Jake's hand tighter. He winces but you start to relax when the plane reaches optimal altitude and levels out. After that Jake notices you watching the landscape and how it changes. “How long is this flight?”, you ask. “Around three hours”, he responds. You end up reading your book you brought with you and Jake can’t help but notice the cover and title. 

Ideas start popping into his head at the shirtless cowboy on the front holding a saddle and rope. When you put your book down Jake leans over and kisses your cheek. “I’m glad you decided to come with me”, he tells you. “Like you gave me a choice, but I’m glad I get to see the state you grew up in”, you tell him. When the plane lands in Austin, Texas you immediately want to get to the ranch. “How far from here is the ranch?”, you ask. “Well it’s about two hours away”, he states. 

Once you pick up your bags Jake takes you in search of his brother in law. He isn’t hard to spot as you take in his tall and broad stature. He makes Jake look small in comparison, but you soon learn he is very sweet as he introduces himself as Colton. He takes your suitcase from you and carries it all the way to the truck and on the ride to the ranch you let Jake and him catch up. The landscape is so different from what you were used to back home, but you enjoyed it and couldn’t wait to see what a ranch in Texas was like.

When you pull up to the ranch your eyes go wide as you realize how large this ranch truly is. You could ride in any direction for what seemed like as far as the eye could see. Jake turned to look at the wonder on your face and smiled. “I bet you ain’t seen nothin’ like this back home huh”, Colton said. “No we had cattle and things like that, but nothing on this scale”, you replied.

“Question is, do you think you could live here on a ranch like this?”, Colton asked. Jake’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t say anything as you pondered the question. “Yeah for the right person I could and hell I’m sure a couple of kids wouldn’t hurt either”, you responded. Colton gave Jake a smug look, but Jake just rolled his eyes. When you all pulled up to the guest house it was beautiful. It had a wrap around porch with a swing with beautiful big windows. Colton helped you both into the house and handed Jake the keys. 

“Supper is in another hour and Evelynn is making your favorite steak. The guest truck is out back and the keys are hanging up by the back door”, Colton told Jake. “We’ll be sure to make it in time”, Jake replied. Colton took his leave and headed home while you marveled at the inside of the house. It was a cowgirls wet dream here and now you were hooked. Jake smiled as you took in your surroundings, but had to cut it short so you both could unpack.

There was no time to rest after you unpacked as you and Jake got into the guest truck to head to the main house. It was a fifteen minute ride but when you arrived you swore you were in heaven. There was an A-frame ranch house and it was absolutely gorgeous. “Holy shit your sister and her husband live here”, you gasped. “Yeah for the past ten years with their two kids”, Jake responds.

As soon as you both get out of the truck a little girl comes running. “UNCLE JAKE!”, she yells. “Annabelle”, Jake says. She jumps into his arms as he spins her around. Then like a flash of lightning a second kid much smaller collides with his leg. “Unc Jake”, the second child says. “Hey Georgia”, Jake responds. He places the older girl in one arm and picks the youngest up in the other. “Who’s that?”, Annabelle asks. The younger girl cocks her head at you and smiles. 

“This is my girlfriend (Y/N)”, Jake says. You introduce yourself and the youngest who looks to be about four reaches for you. Jake looks at you not sure if you want to hold Georgia, but you take her in your arms right away as she giggles. “It’s very nice to meet you Annabelle and Georgia”, you say. “DINNERS READY GIRLS AND YOUR UNCLE JAKE BETTER BE HERE”, someone who you guess is Evelynn calls out. “That’s our que”, Jake says as he takes your hand leading you into the house and to the dining room. 

“Oh well I see you have met my children and you already met my husband. I’m Evelynn”, a woman says as she places dishes down on the table. When you look at her you definitely see the family resemblance and as your gaze travels lower you notice she is heavily pregnant. “Nice to meet you I’m (Y/N)”, you reply. You sit down as they say grace then start to eat as Jake talks with his sister. “So you never did tell me if you're having a boy or girl”, Jake says. “Well you're getting a nephew this time”, Evelynn replied.

“I knew it”, Jake boasted. Colton talked about how he was excited to show him all the ropes and how to play football. The rest of the night went like that as they asked you about your family and you told them everything. By the end of dinner Colton made mention to his wife that Jake and you were technically here on vacation and that she could talk to you all tomorrow. She sent you back to the guest house with homemade apple pie that was to die for. The day was catching up to both of you as you got into bed. Jake pulled you back against his chest making you the little spoon as you both fell asleep.

[differentpostrebel]

Lost and Found: A Pirate's Promise

These guys stay bickering lmfaoooo

A/N: We are back at it again with a Chapter 3!!! Yall writing this was so much fun, and you guys will find out why (wink, Wink). Our beloved Sanji really needs to confess his feelings to Y/N. Now chapter 4 is currently being written and will be posted tonight! That Chapter is going to be filled with angst! Like always the stories will be linked as well. So without further ado, here's Chapter 3. 

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 (Here),

Word Count: 5.3K 

Sanji X Reader, OP x Reader, 

Chapter 3: A Captain’s Resolve

  Luffy comes rushing down the steps, eyes wide with concern. “Y/N, are you alright?” he asks, his voice laced with worry. “Sorry guys… I might’ve complicated things by punching that Celestial Dragon.”

You smirk, trying to shake off the pain. “I’m fine, Luffy. Don’t worry about me.”

Pappag waddles over, his little eyes wide in disbelief. “I can’t believe you took a bullet for Hatchi!”

Hatchi, who is now by your side, looks down, his expression filled with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. This is all my fault.”

You wave him off, trying to ease the tension. “It’s fine, Hatchi. We’ve got bigger problems to deal with. We need to figure out how to help Camie.”

Just then, Luffy’s gaze sharpens as he notices movement in the far corner. Guards are coming from all directions, ready to attack.

“We’ve got company,” Luffy warns, his voice turning serious.

One of the guards sneers, “What kind of idiot would risk their life to save a damn fish... and a girl?” 

Luffy’s eyes narrow as he notices guards in the far corner, swarming in from all directions. Without hesitation, he springs into action. “Gum-Gum Whip!” he shouts, his leg stretching out and sweeping through the crowd of workers, sending them flying.

Zoro, with a smirk, unsheathes his swords. “Looks like I’m getting in on this too,” he says, slashing through the attackers with swift, precise movements.

You try to get up, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Damn it, if only I had my weapons…” you mutter, scanning the chaos around you.

Sanji notices your struggle and springs into action, kicking away anyone who dares come near you or Hatchi. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this covered,” he assures you, his eyes sharp and focused.

Nami, meanwhile, is sprinting down the stairs when she suddenly trips. But instead of panicking, she seizes the moment. “Thunder Tempo!” she shouts, releasing a burst of lightning that strikes the oncoming enemies, electrifying them.

“Nice shot, Nami!” you call out, impressed.

As the chaos unfolds, Saint Roswald, watching from a distance, begins to shake with anger, his eyes fixed on Charlos, who was left beaten and humiliated. Saint Shalria screams at the remaining guards, “Do something! Kill those pirates!”

As the chaos unfolds, Saint Roswald watches, his anger boiling over as he takes in the scene. “Why can’t you guys just accept your fate!” he roars, his face twisted in fury.

Luffy, still in the heat of battle, launches into another attack. “Gum-Gum Battle Axe!” he shouts, smashing through the guards with a powerful blow. He then turns, his gaze locking onto Saint Roswald. “Back down! My friends are not for sale,” Luffy declares, his voice full of resolve.

Saint Roswald recoils, taken aback by Luffy’s fierce determination. But before he can respond, Usopp, who had been above, suddenly falls from his perch and crashes directly onto Saint Roswald, knocking him out cold. “Oops… didn’t see that coming,” Usopp mutters, rubbing his head as he scrambles to his feet.

Luffy, turning around from the commotion, spots Usopp, Brook, and Robin making their way through the chaos. “Usopp, Brook, Robin! Glad you made it!” he exclaims with relief.

You look around and see the remaining members of the crew all together. Happiness fills you, knowing they’d all come through. Before you can shout out anything, a guard starts advancing toward you. “Get back here!” he growls, brandishing his weapon.

You quickly begin to slide backwards, narrowly evading each attack he throws at you. Using your good leg, you kick out and send him stumbling. “Come on, is that all you’ve got?” you taunt, trying to keep your footing and maintain distance.

Luffy, catching sight of the struggle, shouts over, “Usopp! Camie is still in the fish bowl, but we need to get rid of those collars first!”

Nami, glancing around nervously, adds, “We better hurry or the Navy might get here any second!”

At that moment, a voice with a chilling edge cuts through the noise. “It’s too late. They’re already here.”

Everyone freezes. Luffy, eyes narrowing, demands, “Who the hell are you, and what’s with the polar bear?”

Bepo, the bear, blushes slightly at the mention. You look up, your eyes widening. “No way… it’s…” you mutter in shock.

As the realization dawns, Robin finishes your thought with a calm certainty. “Trafalgar Law,” she says, her gaze steady. “Luffy, they’re pirates just like us.”

Luffy, glancing at the imposing figures around them, raises an eyebrow. “Even the bear?” he asks, pointing towards Bepo.

“Yeah,” Robin confirms. “The guy standing in the back is Eustass Captain Kidd.”

Brooke, always ready with a bit of trivia, chimes in. “You mean the one who has a higher bounty than Luffy?”

You mutter under your breath, your eyes widening in recognition. “So that’s Kidd?”

Trafalgar Law steps forward, his demeanor serious. “The Navy has had this place surrounded since before the auction even began,” he says, his gaze sweeping over the chaotic scene. “You’re not getting out of here easily.” He pauses, his expression softening just a fraction. “Not sure who they’re trying to capture, but I gotta say, I’m quite impressed. You put on a good show, Straw Hats.” The crew looks at each other with a look of worry. 

Law's eyes then lock onto you, and his gaze feels almost palpable, sending a shiver down your spine. “Especially you, Y/N,” he says with a strange, unsettling intensity.

Before you can react, Law’s fingers move with precision. “Room,” he announces, and a blue orb envelops you.

Sanji’s voice cuts through the chaos. “What the hell?”

The orb expands and contracts, and with a quick “Shambles,” you find yourself teleported. You look around, disoriented, and see that Sanji is no longer next to you. Instead, Law stands before you, his gaze unyielding.

Sanji’s frustrated shout echoes in the distance. “You bastard! What did you do?”

Law ignores Sanji’s outburst, his focus entirely on you. You stand firm, meeting his gaze with a determined look. “What do you want from me?” you demand, trying to keep your voice steady. 

As Law moves closer, he suddenly reaches out and places his hand lightly on your shoulder. The touch is unexpectedly gentle but electrifying, sending a rush of warmth through you. The proximity of his body and the intensity of his gaze make your heart race uncontrollably. It’s a calculated gesture, not just physical but also psychological, designed to unnerve you.

His fingers brush against your skin, and with a flick of his wrist, you feel a strange, tingling sensation that seems to emanate from the point of contact. This move is part of his Devil Fruit powers, creating a brief but intense link between you. The touch leaves you momentarily paralyzed, caught between confusion and a deep, unsettling awareness of his presence. His lips curl into a faint, enigmatic smile, adding to the effect.

Law continues to hold your gaze, you find yourself struggling to maintain composure, the blush on your cheeks betraying your internal turmoil. The combination of his touch, the intensity of his eyes, and his close proximity creates a powerful, disconcerting moment that leaves you shaken. 

Brooke and Sanji, catching sight of what’s happening, prepare to intervene, their expressions tense and ready for action. But before they can act, you notice a figure approaching rapidly from the corner of your eye.

Without warning, you’re shoved into something hard, the impact leaving you dazed and momentarily stunned. You look up to see a shadowy figure standing over you, their features obscured. The suddenness of the collision leaves you reeling, struggling to regain your bearings as you try to assess the situation and find a way out. You begin to shake your head and, as you’re about to move away, hands grasp you firmly in place.

“You’re not going anywhere, doll,” the voice is laced with a menacing energy. Slowly, you turn around to see Eustass Captain Kidd, his eyes glinting with a predatory gaze.

Usopp, from across the chaos, yells out desperately, “Y/N! Snap out of it!”

You shake your head vigorously, trying to dispel the disorienting effects of Law’s earlier move. The power still lingers, making it hard to think clearly. "That’s some power," you mutter to yourself, trying to steady your nerves.

Kidd’s smirk widens as he holds you in place. “Struggling, are we? Not so easy to escape from me, doll.” He lowers his head, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, his tone laced with menace and seduction. As his tongue traces a teasing path along your earlobe, you moan involuntarily, a shiver running down your spine. Kidd smirks triumphantly as he continues to hold you firmly. 

You grit your teeth, struggling to free yourself from his grip. As you do, you notice Shalria, holding a gun trained on Camie. “Oh no, Camie!” you shout, panic rising in your voice. Everyone turns to assess the dire situation. 

Nami’s voice cuts through the chaos. “We’ll never make it in time!”

Just as Shalria cocks her gun, she is immediately stunned along with the other guards, their bodies collapsing to the ground. “It’s the same power as before,” you recognize, feeling a surge of hope.

Seizing the opportunity, you kick Eustass hard, breaking free from his grasp. As you make your way down the stairs, your heart pounds in your chest. A loud explosion echoes nearby, causing you to stumble. You open your eyes to see the same man who had helped you with the explosive collars and the giant walking out of the smoke.

The old man looks at you with a knowing smile. “My, what do we have here?” he says, his voice carrying a sense of calm authority.

Luffy, breathless but relieved, steps forward. “Who are you?”

The old man bows slightly. “I’m Rayleigh, and I’ve been eagerly waiting to meet you, Monkey D. Luffy.”

You step forward, your eyes locked on Rayleigh. His warm smile reassures you. “Good to see you reunited with your crew,” Rayleigh says, turning to you. “Now, let’s get your mermaid friend free.”

He turns to Camie, who looks nervous. “Trust me and don’t flinch. I’m going to remove your collar.”

Pappag and Hatchi shout in unison, “No, don’t! It’ll explode!”

Tension grips the crew as they look on in worry, but both you and Luffy trust Rayleigh’s expertise. With one swift movement, Rayleigh removes Camie’s collar. The expected explosion happens, but it’s controlled and nothing more than a flash.

Franky emerges from the chaos, waving a set of keys. “Hey! I got the keys! What the hell happened here?”

He tosses your weapons toward you with a smirk. “And Y/N, I found your blades too.”

You catch them and feel a wave of relief. “Thanks, Franky!” you exclaim, examining your weapons. Your joy turns to disappointment as you notice one sword is damaged beyond repair.

“These bastards must have been toying with them,” you mutter, assessing the damage. “No worries. Once we get to Fishman Island, I’ll get a new one made.” For now, you have one good sword and two small blades.

Rayleigh’s presence has left Law and Kidd stunned. Law, his eyes widening slightly, says, “Rayleigh? I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Kidd, equally shocked, mutters, “That old man... he’s the Dark King?”

Rayleigh chuckles softly. “Indeed. Now, let's focus on getting everyone out of here.” 

Franky, with a decisive gesture, throws the keys toward the remaining slaves. “If you want to escape, now’s your chance!” he calls out, his voice booming with authority. The keys scatter,the free slaves begin to unlock their collars and start rushing toward the exit, desperate to escape their tormentors.

Franky then grabs Camie and Pappag, making sure they’re safely with him. Rayleigh, ever composed, reaches for Hatchi, pulling him away from the chaos.

Suddenly, a loud voice booms through the auction house’s remains. “This is the Navy! We have this place surrounded, pirates! Step out and surrender!”

Luffy, brimming with determination, starts moving toward the exit, ready to face whatever the Navy has in store. However, Kidd and Law step up beside him, their faces set with equal resolve.

Kidd, with a confident smirk, steps forward. “I’ve got this,” he says firmly. “Law, Luffy, you two stay back. Let me handle the Navy.” 

Law raises an eyebrow, his tone clipped. “Just stay out of my way.”

Luffy scowls. “You’re the last people I need to deal with right now.”

Nami, watching the bickering, shakes her head in disbelief. “Are all captains this childish, or is it just ours?”

You chuckle, your gaze shifting to Zoro, who’s smirking and readying his swords. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a challenge,” you say, your excitement palpable.

Zoro’s grin widens. “You bet.”

Sanji grabs your wrist firmly, his usual flirtatious demeanor replaced by a deep concern. “Y/N, you’re still injured. I can’t.. lose you… 

Sanji POV.. 

Grabbing Y/N wrist, I try to get her to understand my point of view. She just got out of an injury she is in no condition to fight. “Y/N, you’re still injured,” I said, my voice strained and trembling. “I can’t… lose you…

I look up and watch as her determined gaze meets mine, a fierce resolve in her eyes. “Sanji, I’ll be fine. I promise. I’ve got this.” 

But that still wasn't enough, I'm scared something else might happen,“You don’t understand. You’re important to us… To me… If something happens to you... I don’t know what I’d do.” my hands tremble as I cling on to her, trying to steady myself. 

Y/N’s touch on my cheek is warm, comforting, and for a moment, it eases the panic I felt inside. “Sanji, I promise I’ll be careful. Just trust me, okay? I need you to stay strong for the crew.”

Taking a shuddered breath, struggling to keep my emotions in check,I mentally say “Now’s your chance, tell her how you feel”. But instead I said “Alright, but if you get in trouble, I’m coming for you. I swear it." My voice is firm but laced with vulnerability.

You offered me a reassuring smile, and your fingers gently squeezed my hand. “I’ll be safe. And when this is all over, I’ll be right here with you.”

I nodded, my face etched with anxiety “Be careful, Y/N. Please.”

As you prepare to leave, Chopper approaches with a small vial in hand. “Hey, I’ve got something to help with the pain. It should last about 45 minutes.”

You take the vial with a grateful nod. “Thanks, Chopper. I’m going to need this.”

Y/N POV… 

You take the vial with a grateful nod. “Thanks, Chopper. I’m going to need this.”

Opening the cap, you drink the liquid, and begin to feel a bit better. You move your injured leg to see if you can add weight to it. 

Smirking you say “Ok, now i'm ready” 

As you prepare to head out, Bepo, looking a bit nervous but determined, steps up. “I admire you, Y/N. I hope you can stay safe.”

You smile at the cute bear, touched by his words. “Thanks, Bepo. I’ll do my best.”

Bepo looks up at you with a mix of shyness and determination. “Y/N, can I... can I have your number? Just in case something happens, you know?”

Penguin and Shachi exchange glances and shake their heads. “Bepo, what are you doing? What about Captain Law?”

Bepo lowers his head, clearly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make things awkward. I just... I really admire you.”

You smile warmly at Bepo, finding his nervousness endearing. “It’s okay, Bepo. I appreciate it. Here, you can have my number.”

Bepo’s face lights up with relief and gratitude. “Thank you, Y/N! I promise I’ll keep it safe.”

Giggling, you turn to Bepo with a playful smile. “I’ll see you out there, Bepo.”

You then glance at Penguin and Shachi, giving them a mischievous wink. “And as for your captain,” you say, looking them up and down with a grin, “I’ve got something special planned for him.” You give a final wink before turning on your heel, heading out with Zoro by your side.

Zoro smirks at you, his sword ready. “Looks like we’ve got some fun ahead.”

You grin back, feeling the adrenaline rush. “You bet. Let’s show them what we’ve got.”

Outside the Auction house….

As you and Zoro head out, the battlefield’s chaos unfolds before you. The clash of steel and the shouts of combat fill the air. Just as you’re about to engage, you notice someone standing nearby. Without turning to face him, you smirk and call out, “Nice of you to stop by, Killer.”

Killer, his mask revealing only his intense eyes, looks at you. “Didn’t think I’d miss this,” he replies, his voice muffled but serious. His grip tightens on his weapon, ready for action.

The first cannon shot is fired, but Luffy quickly reacts with his Gum-Gum Balloon, deflecting the blast and sending it crashing into a group of navy soldiers. “Gum-Gum Balloon!” Luffy yells, grinning as he lands among the enemies, his infectious enthusiasm lighting up the scene.

You watch in awe as Kidd’s powers come into play, metal bending and twisting around him. The sheer force of his abilities is captivating. You can’t help but feel curiosity. "What’s it like to wield such raw power?" you wonder silently, watching him with a mix of admiration and intrigue.

Law’s powers are equally impressive. You’ve seen him use his “Room” ability before, but witnessing the precision and control up close is something else entirely. The way he manipulates space with a flick of his fingers is mesmerizing. You can only imagine the extent of his abilities.

Zoro and you both shout, “Luffy!” in unison. Luffy turns, his face lighting up with his trademark grin. “Hey guys!” he responds, clearly thrilled to see you both in action.

As the battle rages on, Kidd’s voice cuts through the chaos, calling out, “Nice moves, doll!” The term stings, and you see Law’s expression darken. He turns to Eustass with a snarl, “Don’t you dare call her that. She’s not some object to be tossed around!”

Luffy, charging in with a determined look, adds, “Yeah, she’s not just a doll. She’s my crewmate!”

Killer, on the other hand tries to advance, his eyes locked on you with an intent that suggests he’s about to flirt, even amidst the fight. Before he can make his move, you spot a cannonball hurtling towards him. Without hesitation, you leap into action.

With a swift, acrobatic maneuver, you land on top of Killer, your legs securely around his waist. The cannonball explodes harmlessly in the distance, sending debris flying. You find yourself in a striking position, your eyes meeting Killer's with a playful smirk.

Killer’s eyes widen in surprise as you land securely, your position giving you the upper hand. You sense a faint blush behind his mask. Your gaze briefly meets Kidd’s and Law’s, then you lower it back to Killer. 

Leaning in close, your lips brush just above Killer’s ear as you whisper, your voice low and sultry, “It’s a shame there’s such an audience, don’t you think? I rather enjoy having you beneath me like this.” You press your body closer, your breath hot against his skin as you continue, “Tell me, Killer… wouldn’t you agree that this position suits us perfectly?”

Your words drip with dominance, each syllable meant to tease and unnerve. You feel the slight shiver that runs through him, the tension in his muscles betraying the effect you’re having. The power dynamic is unmistakable—you’re in control, and you both know it.

Killer’s breath hitches,the playful glint in your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed as you hold his gaze, letting the weight of your words linger.

You lean in even closer, your lips just grazing the edge of his mask as you purr, “Too bad we’re not alone… I could show you just how much I enjoy this.”

Your teasing smile widens as you feel him tense beneath you, your words clearly hitting their mark. From the corner of your eye, you catch Zoro’s knowing smirk, fully aware that you’re playing a dangerous, thrilling game, and you’re winning.

Sanji, who’s been watching the entire exchange, can’t hide his irritation. He’s seen this trick before—you’ve pulled it on him more than once. His eyes narrow, burning holes into Killer as he watches him pinned to the ground beneath you. With a frustrated sigh, Sanji pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with a flick of his lighter. “Does she really have to do all that?” he mutters under his breath, unable to tear his gaze away.

Robin, catching his reaction, smirks and leans in slightly. “Is someone jealous?” she teases, her voice soft but laced with amusement.

Sanji grumbles, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Yeah, yeah… Let’s just get out of here so we can make our quick escape.”

As you glance up, you see your crew making a swift exit toward Grove 13. “Perfect,” you think, watching them disappear into the distance. They’re making their move, just as planned.

Kidd, who has been silently observing the entire interaction, feels a surge of possessiveness boil up inside him. His eyes narrow dangerously as he lashes out at Killer, his voice sharp and accusatory. “What the hell are you doing, Killer? We’re in the middle of a fight, and you’re letting yourself get distracted?”

Killer, now pulled out of his daze, looks up at his captain, realizing the predicament he’s in. “Captain, I can explain—” He hesitates, his usual calm demeanor shaken. “I think… I might be in love.”

The absurdity of his confession hangs in the air for a moment, and you can’t help but chuckle softly. With a fluid motion, you gracefully rise from your position, leaving Killer lying there, flustered and bewildered. You cast a final, teasing glance his way before turning back toward Zoro.

Zoro, still grinning, shakes his head as you approach. “You sure know how to stir things up,” he comments, his tone admiring.

You shrug playfully, adjusting your grip on your blade. “Just keeping things interesting. Now, where were we?”

Luffy, still laughing at the scene he just witnessed, dodges effortlessly as the Navy soldiers fire cannonball after cannonball at him. He weaves through the explosions with ease, grinning as if this were nothing more than a game. The Navy soldiers, growing increasingly desperate, switch to firing bullets. Zoro and you move in sync, your blades flashing as they deflect the incoming rounds, the sharp clang of steel on metal ringing out.

In the midst of the chaos, you notice a Navy soldier charging toward you, blade drawn. With a swift move, you sidestep, slashing through the soldier’s defenses with precision. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of another threat—a soldier poised to strike Law from behind.

Without a second thought, you shout to Zoro, “Cover me!”

“What?” Zoro mumbles, momentarily confused by your sudden request.

“Just do it!” you yell as you sprint toward Law, determined to intercept the attack. Your heart pounds as you close the distance, ready to strike the soldier down before he can harm Law.

But just as you’re about to make contact, Law glances at you, his eyes sharp with concentration. With a swift gesture, he uses his ability, switching your body with the soldier’s in an instant. You barely have time to register the change before you find yourself tumbling forward, only to land squarely on Law’s chest.

Law’s arm wraps around you instinctively, holding you close as you both catch your breath. His usual cool demeanor cracks slightly as he looks down at you, his expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement. “You really need to watch where you’re going,” he mutters, his voice low.

You smirk up at him, your face inches from his. “I had it under control. But thanks for the save”

Before Law can respond, Bepo comes bounding down the steps, followed closely by Penguin and Shachi. The sight of you lying on Law’s chest doesn’t escape their notice. 

“Captain, looks like you’ve caught something interesting,” Bepo teases, his voice a mix of admiration and embarrassment.

Penguin snickers, nudging Shachi. “Hey, Shachi, think the captain’s finally met his match?”

Shachi grins, adding, “Or maybe he’s just found a new way to ‘switch’ things up.”

Law’s grip on you tightens slightly, his eyes narrowing at his crewmates. “That’s enough out of you three,” he snaps, though there’s a faint blush creeping up his neck.

You can’t help but laugh at the banter, the tension of the battle momentarily lifted by the playful exchange. “Careful, Law,” you whisper teasingly, “wouldn’t want your crew to get the wrong idea.”

As Law helps you to your feet, you take a moment to brush yourself off, your eyes lingering on his for just a second longer than necessary. A playful glint sparkles in your gaze as you step closer to him, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Thanks for the assist, Law,” you purr, your voice dripping with flirtation. Before he can react, you lean in and press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek, leaving a faint blush on his usually stoic face.

Law freezes for a moment, clearly caught off guard, his cool demeanor slipping. “What was that for?” he mutters, his voice a little rougher than usual as he tries to regain his composure.

You smirk, stepping back with a teasing grin. “Consider it a thank you. You know, for keeping me from getting skewered.” Your tone is light, but there’s a sultry edge to your words that leaves Law momentarily speechless.

Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi, having witnessed the whole thing, burst into laughter, unable to resist adding their two cents.

“Oh, Captain, you’re really moving up in the world,” Penguin teases, his grin wide.

Shachi chuckles, nudging Bepo. “Guess our captain’s got some charm after all.”

Law’s face darkens as he glares at his crewmates, though the blush on his cheeks betrays his usual composure. “You all really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he grumbles, clearly flustered.

You can’t help but laugh, thoroughly enjoying the effect you’ve had on the normally unflappable surgeon. “Don’t worry, Law. I’ll be around if you need another ‘thank you’ later,” you say with a wink, your voice teasing.

As Luffy’s voice echoes outside the auction house, you feel the weight of the battle and the urgency in his call. “Hey Zoro, Y/N! Let’s head out! The coast looks clear! Right!” Luffy’s voice is full of determination, but before you can make a dash for it, a marine manages to grab you from behind, pulling you down with a strong grip.

You struggle against him, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “Luffy, don’t worry! I’ll stay for a few more minutes! You guys go ahead!” you shout, trying to keep your voice steady despite the situation. “I’ll yell out when you pull me, got it, Luffy?”

Luffy hesitates, his wide eyes full of worry. “I can’t leave you!” he yells back, torn between his loyalty and the need to keep moving.

“Just do it! Trust me!” you command, grabbing the marine by his uniform and slamming him to the ground with a forceful move. “Go now!”

Luffy grits his teeth, torn but knowing he has to trust you. With a reluctant nod, he dashes off, joining Zoro as they make their escape. It’s not long before Luffy catches up with Sanji’s group, but the tension is palpable.

Sanji’s eyes darted around, his heart pounding with anxiety. “Luffy, why is Y/N staying behind?!”

“She’s only staying for a few minutes, but she’ll signal me when it’s time,” Luffy explains, his voice tight with worry. “Damn it!” Sanji curses under his breath, his fists clenching in frustration. He can’t stand the thought of you in danger, especially when he’s not there to protect you.

Back at the auction house, you fend off wave after wave of marines, your movements becoming slower as the effects of Chopper’s medicine start to wear off. “Damn it, I only have a few good minutes left,” you mutter to yourself, feeling the exhaustion creeping in.

Suddenly, a marine captain looms over you, his blade raised high, ready to strike. “You’re mine now, pirate!” he snarls. But just as his sword begins to descend, something strange happens. The blade slips from his grasp, clattering to the ground. The captain’s eyes widen in shock as he watches all the metal around him, including the armor of his men, get sucked away by an unseen force.

You feel your own blade tugging in your hand, but your strong grip keeps it in place. Before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, a flash of movement catches your eye. Suddenly, you’re being lifted off the ground, strong arms holding you securely.

Kidd’s power repels the metal toward the marines, knocking them out one by one with a relentless force. You look up to see Killer holding you tightly, ensuring you’re not hurt. His presence is both comforting and protective.

Kidd hovers over Killer, his gaze intense as he kneels down to check on you. “I got you, Doll. You’re safe now,” Kidd murmurs, his voice surprisingly gentle as he caresses your cheek and hair, his fingers lingering a bit too long.

With what little strength you have left, you reach up, your hand resting against Kidd’s chest. You smirk, your voice low. “You know, Kidd, you’re not so bad up close. Maybe next time, we’ll skip the battle and get straight to the fun.” You let your fingers trace lightly over his chest, enjoying the way his eyes darken with a mix of surprise and desire.

Kidd’s grin widens, his possessive side flaring up as he leans closer. “I’ll hold you to that, Doll. The New World’s gonna be a lot more interesting with you around.”

You chuckle softly, but before things can get any further, you yell out, “Luffy! Now!”

In an instant, Luffy’s stretched arm wraps around your waist, and you’re pulled away from Kidd and Killer’s grasp. As you’re being drawn back toward your crew, you blow them a playful kiss. “This was fun, boys. Can’t wait for a repeat in the New World,” you tease, your voice carrying a flirty edge that lingers in the air.

Kidd watches you with a heated gaze, his hand still tingling from where you touched him. Killer’s eyes, though hidden behind his mask, seem to follow your every movement.

As you’re pulled back toward safety, a sudden bright light flashes from your left side, catching your attention. Your eyes narrow as you try to discern its source, wondering if it’s another enemy lurking in Grove 13. The light grows brighter, and you feel a new wave of tension rising within you, knowing that whatever’s coming could change the course of this chaotic battle once again.

.

.

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.  We Got another long chapter! What can I say I love the details and this was very fun to write. Looks like Sanji got himself some competition with Law, Killer and Kidd. and Y/N cant help but flirt with these men! cant complain cause id do it too lmfaooo!!! This next chapter you guys don't want to miss! Thank you guys for following, liking, and reblogging the story. Chapter 4 will be written tonight and posted tonight! 

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER SIXTEEN: CHAMPAGNE

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, suicidal ideation

Read after the cut

-

“Hannibal’s hosting a soirée tonight,” you say to Will as you stand lining your eyes with a black pencil before your bedroom mirror. “Did you know about it?”

Will sits in a nearby chair, looking at you from behind his glasses. Having come fresh from a lecture he has not quite shaken off the mask with which he conducts public business, working through a measure of whiskey clutched in one restless hand with an eagerness to cut through to comfort again.

You think of method actors unable to ease out of an accent learned and feel a tail of ice switch your shoulder blades.

This man you'd once thought a victim struck down and made wary of society. Now you see in this slow adjustment of self that while this is not entirely untrue, Will dresses himself in shying gestures so as to keep the world at a purposeful length from him.

You wonder if his spectacles are fitted with prescription lenses, or if they’re formed of ordinary glass. Perhaps his Virginian hermitage is equally constructed, as much to discourage him from seeking dangerous connections as to ward unexpected company from his doorstep.

This man suspires for touch, for love; through each exchange you sense the pull of it, and the ground-heel stubbornness of his restraint.

“Hannibal’s been organising some kind of event for weeks,” Will says, abruptly. “He does this, now and then.”

“Aren’t you coming?” you ask, pausing in your work to glance at his reflection.

Will laughs shortly, the sound scoured rough with scorn.

“It’s not really my scene. Champagne and social climbers— I’d rather stay home with my dogs.”

You envision Will in a sea of wriggling animals, the iron fortification of his false self come down in open laughter, and you see something in this obscure pretender to like beyond superficial things.

“I wish you were coming,” you say, and again Will laughs aloud.

“Don’t kiss my ass.”

“I’m serious. I need you. Hannibal says he wants me to go downstairs for a couple of hours tonight.”

“And what did you say?” asks Will, watching you finish the adornment of cosmetics with the interest of having never before witnessed the process in motion.

“I said, ‘no thanks, Dad,'" you admit. "But here I am, getting ready to go anyway. I figured I’ve pissed Hannibal off too much lately to turn him down. Did he tell you what I did?”

"He didn’t go into the details. All he said was that you stepped out of line, and that he had to do something about it.”

He sets his whiskey glass on the floor, an act that would likely have your older jailer cringing in pernickety affront.

“You insist on butting heads with Hannibal,” Will continues, “even when you don’t like where you end up. Or maybe you do.”

You whirl round, brandishing an indignant hand in his direction.

“I do not!”

Will takes off his glasses, his gaze beneath both cynical and toying. You recall his fingers investigating your arousal post-spanking and look away again, itching beneath three tiers of lavender and ebony lace.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” says Will. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

“Yeah, well,” you retort. “I’ll bet you’ve done that already. If you can get inside the Lover’s head then mine shouldn’t be a problem.”

Moth like, Will’s eyelids flutter towards the window’s fading light.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Still haven’t cracked the case?”

“Not yet. The investigation into the factories and the vendors using them is going way too slowly to be viable. Jack thinks the dolls were purchased years ago, likely under a false name. We can’t rely on that to find the killer. He planned this more than a decade in advance.

“At this point he’s either waiting for the perfect chance to abduct his true target or he’s lingering to enjoy the thought of her being afraid. It could be both. He’s a cruel lover.”

Will blinks, and his brows close together in a frown.

“You’re changing the subject, Little One.”

You jolt to hear the moniker in full, and now with an accusatory edge.

Twitching, you say, “Yeah, I am. ‘Cause it’s embarrassing.”

“Hannibal doesn’t think so.”

Shoving your makeup bag aside you round on Will again, unimpressed. There is something of his old jealousy under the amusement, the stirring of a sleeping and cantankerous god. His attraction to you still does not change that he seethes to think of you and Hannibal alone together, of the nights he and his friend had once committed only to the other.

Will ultimately relishes that you were degraded, a consolation in his displeasure.

He brings his chair towards you, eager to chase the conversation further with his proximity.

“Hannibal knows it’s embarrassing,” you say. “That’s kind of the point. You’re both so smug about this.”

Will reaches out to pull you gently into his lap.

“Maybe just a little," he says, and you squirm against him, suppressing the silt of disgust in learning to win him this way, for wanting the affirmation of his desire upright against you.

Will adjusts you to straddle his thigh instead, a knowing participant in your game.

You turn on his knee, putting your arms about his neck to look into his face, close enough to see your silhouette in the rock pools of blown pupils.

“Will,” you say. “Do you think Hannibal loves me?”

Will starts, all the humour absenting itself from him at once.

“Do you want him to?” he asks, quite incredulous.

You dither over your answer, which is no longer as distinct as it once was. Hannibal’s adoration is a statement of lasting security, yet to be the darling of a man willing to orchestrate a killing in the name of therapy is a thought like venom in the blood; should you concede you too will die in all but physical form.

Aloud, you only say, “I could ask you the same thing, Daddy. What if Hannibal felt that way about you? Would you like it?”

Before Will can confirm, deny, or deflect with some pithy comment your bedroom door opens, and the moment is knocked through like a stoned pane of glass.

“Sorry to be abrupt,” says Hannibal, mildly. “Staff will be arriving soon to help prepare for my guests. If you’re not staying, Will, then you may wish to make yourself scarce.”

The younger man rises from his seat with a haste that surely does not go unnoticed by the other.

“Sure,” says Will. “I’ve got papers to grade, anyway. I’ll try and make the time to visit tomorrow.”

Your captors exchange glances, Hannibal with his usual, unshielded ardour, Will with a curiosity that, in other circumstances, might amuse you. Somehow, in all of this, he had not consciously entertained a belief in Hannibal’s attraction to him.

Now, through your question, he considers it, but says nothing, taking leave of you both with his opinion on the matter an enigma.

*

Like an enchantress at her oriel you observe as the workforce arrives, shaking rain off their umbrellas at the front door. Some hours later the vision is repeated with the expensive and largely beautiful attendees of Hannibal’s party, some glancing up at the house and nudging one another as they notice you above.

You feel a lurch of anxiety to think that you are expected to go among them, to smile with saccharine manners and pretend to them that you’re no more than a patient to the venerated Dr Lecter.

All this, surrounded by canapés and flowing drinks that will tease and taunt with scents and flavour— your stomach bellows in anticipation of it, for though you’ve eaten it is, as ever, not enough.

It seems a fickle thing to find yourself so oppressed while living with a man that has offered to help you maim and slaughter another, and yet between the horrors of illness and this it is satiation that you fear the most.

Still, you fear Hannibal also, this creature in his costume of human flesh and pleasantries.

That he has not spoken of Leland or Amy in two days only underpins the intelligence of his evil, a thing that he can fold away into himself just as he likes. You’ve continued your act as daughter-wife only in that to display your horror of him openly will mark you as not of his ilk but as prey, a delicacy procured from the forest.

Thus, with effort you brush the pounding of your heart and the agony of the cane under the rug of memory and watch the glittering people under a marquee of rain clouds until they’ve all entered, leaving the night empty again.

You listen with one cheek to the floorboards to the clink of glasses and droning conversation below, the instruments of hired musicians at their haunting work.

Surely you will not meld easily with such company as seethes beneath, even gowned as you are in grey silk and lace from a fashion house few can afford. Your mouth will open, and you will reveal yourself clumsy-tongued and unsuited to their guild.

The terror of it has quite gnawed you through by the time Hannibal ascends from the soirée to collect you.

“Are you ready to meet my guests, Little One?” he asks, taking your clammy hand with its nails bitten down to their ends.

“Not really,” you mumble. “Not sure I’m one of them.”

Hannibal lifts your arm to kiss your inner wrist where a vein strums with lurching adrenaline.

“You’re beginning to resemble Will in your attitudes,” he says, his voice a vibration on your skin. “But I disagree. My friends and acquaintances will find you as charming as I do.”

There is an implicit and unworded warning not to embarrass him in the compliment, a flash in the peat dark of his eyes. Gulping thickly, you fasten yourself to Hannibal’s side as you take the stairs, poised to wince under the observation of the many gathered below.

Hannibal’s house is made a palace by their decoration, men in crisp suits and women in forests of jewellery stepping from room to room, their chatter like another kind of music. Servers go about with trays of extravagant food and champagne, and in one corner a band plays a rendition of some famous classical piece whose name you don’t recall.

Overwhelmed, you glance back up the stairwell, ushered on by Hannibal’s hand upon your arm.

“I understand your reservations,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been in the presence of so many people at once.”

Yet is not the quantity that perturbs you, but the agony of inevitable comparison. You feel like some vast and bloated airship amidst the slenderness of so many of Hannibal’s peers. Placing a hand across your stomach you attempt an awkward smile as you’re introduced to each guest the doctor approaches, thinking of the front door—surely locked, now, or guarded—through which you’d take flight, had you the chance.

A familiar voice anchors you amidst your desperate thoughts.

“Well, now, look who it is.”

Turning, you gasp with delight.

“It’s nice to see you again, Jack,” you say, going eagerly forth to shake his outstretched hand. “I like your suit.”

Jack grins, holding out the arms of his jacket in a playful gesture.

“Why, thank you. I’ll have to tell Bella you said so. She bought it for me a few years back.”

Hannibal subtly brings you closer to his side, keen to intercept in case, as before, you attempt to communicate your struggle to Agent Crawford.

“Bella has excellent taste,” he says. “In suits, and in her companions.”

“You know she does, Doctor,” says Jack, and turns to peer into the crowd. “Hold on a moment. I’ve just seen Chilton over there. I’ll be back.”

As he wades through the throng you gaze after him, yearning to give chase. He, of all men present, you trust entirely with your safety, myopic though he is to the evil around him.

Steering you in the other direction, Hannibal says, “Perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself to my guests independently. It’s important for you to develop confidence in your social abilities.”

You start violently at the suggestion. To be left alone at this event is a risk that shrieks of Hannibal's deiform arrogance; they know, these guests, of your madness, the sympathetic injury that may well twist you against your caregiver.

The staff, too, are likely prepared, told you’ll lie to them or feign hysterics so as to be led away from this place by any that would believe in your performance.

Should you betray your attacker you would find yourself amongst enemies, yet it does not cross your mind even to attempt it.

For the first time you find Hannibal an ally: he has always regarded your weight with a neutral disinterest that even your disorder cannot twist into derision. The women that eye you up and down, however, reinforce that you are a failing thing to be judged, and so you read into even the most innocuous look a malice.

“Can’t I stay with you?” you ask tremulously. “I barely know anyone here.”

A little smile graces Hannibal’s lips, and he leans in to speak softly at your ear.

“We mustn’t provoke any more speculation about us through unorthodox proximity. Miss Lounds is likely no longer alone in thinking us lovers. For now we must suggest that we are not.”

“But—"

“Hush,” says Hannibal. “Be a good girl and do this for me.”

You think acutely of his mouth upon your cunt earlier that morning, taking you fresh from the shower against the bathroom wall as you’d bitten your fist against weak and hopeless cries. He had not hurt you, not threatened, merely knelt and pushed your leg over his shoulder, relying on your startled fear to keep you pliant.

He’d made you come with sensation like the taste of sparks, a sudden, pulling burst around him. You’d taken it like a morsel from his fingertips; a gift from him, making things up to you after your whipping, so that you can never think him only cruel.

This pressure now upon you to be grown: it is not mean for meanness’ sake. He desires evidence that you are capable of bearing his secrets without lapsing into betrayal, for only then will you be worthy of his love.

“Okay,” you say, at last, and Hannibal lets you go off in your silver dress like a piece of loose smoke whipped away by the wind.

You watch him through the crowd—sleekly handsome, and effortlessly entertaining—in defeat. He has worked to make you dependent on him, but you are ashamed of the success with which he’s so quickly achieved that very goal.

A woman attempts to speak to you, a gallery owner of the eccentric, elderly type; a young man, a scholar, comes at the other side of you with a question you don’t quite hear. Bewildered, you utter what vague answers you can summon at a whim and excuse yourself, cupping a hand at your eyes to blinker yourself against a passing tray of confections.

The lights, the noise, the bodies that press about you like a rising flock of pigeons disturbed on some night street— overcome by panic, you find yourself up against the stupid urge to weep.

Another server edges by you with a battalion of golden champagne glasses on a teetering plate. Thinking of the warmth of Will’s Irish coffees you take a glass in hand and look at it, paused only by the immediate calculation of figures wrapped about your brain like a band.

Seventy calories on top of the four hundred from this morning, then the three hundred of what you ate of dinner, the one hundred and eighty in fresh juice—

Guilty as a murderer you sip the champagne to its end, ducking out of Hannibal’s view as you take a second measure from another member of his staff. The day is already ruined beyond salvaging, you reason; whatever calories you drink no longer count.

As with the whiskey you feel yourself warm, adrift from the cutting mouth of your perpetual nerves. The vast rooms soften, taking on the glazed appearance of a gala in a dream. By the time you sneak your fourth glass it is almost easy to return a hundred curious smiles, to answer shallow questions with equal shallowness.

“Yes, it’s a beautiful house. Yes, I’m doing much better now that I’m here. Yes, Dr Lecter is awfully kind. Oh, Will’s really a great guy once you get to know him.”

Gradually you see the guests accept you as they might a quaint exotic pet, certainly not their equal, but pleasant enough to understand their host’s affection for. That he, the saint they fawn over, has forced his mouth upon your soaking cunt that very morning makes you laugh now that you’re drunk enough.

Such idiots this man pulls about him, art curators, literary critics, the blood of old money, all equally duped as you never were, not once. These friends of his know only a character he plays, fanatics following a myth.

In this, at least, you are superior, the child Antichrist groomed by devilish fathers for a coronation in evil.

Caught between this grim lucidity and a certain gloating you stumble into a red-headed woman in a Verdigris gown like copper made lovely by deep water. Muttering an embarrassed apology you turn away, stayed only by her small hand at your elbow.

“Well, hi,” she says. “I didn’t think Hannibal would let you out for this. I heard he keeps you under lock and key. I’m Freddie Lounds, by the way.”

Stupid with drink, you attempt to gather yourself in the face of this revelation.

“I know you!” you cry. “I’ve read your stuff. Some of it, anyway. And yeah, I was surprised he let me come, too.”

Your eyes meet Freddie’s, searching for the same thing she hopes of yours: an understanding between you. The union of a shared opinion.

“I take it you’re not thrilled to be under his care,” she says in a lowered voice. “I have my own professional opinions about Hannibal and Will Graham, and I’m not the only one. That’s partly the reason I came. I had a hunch I’d find some answers here.”

In bilious regret of the champagne you list against a nearby wall for support.

“Answers? What do you mean?”

Freddie leans in conspiratorially, blocking you from Hannibal’s sight should he glance in your direction.

“Not long ago I received an anonymous email from someone claiming to know you,” says Freddie. “They were hoping to secure an interview to set the record straight regarding a recent article published on the Tattle Crime website. I never turn down potential information, so I said I’d do it, but they never responded.”

She pauses, alert to the change in your expression.

“Last night a young woman was abducted in the same way all of the Lover’s victims were taken. My research seems to point to her being an old school friend of yours. I was wondering if you’d heard anything about her disappearance.”

Horror bowls you down as though from the uppermost step of a spiral staircase.

“What... what happened?” you stammer. “Please, I need to know.”

Freddie's eyes—the clever blue of a Collie bitch—cup your face in their keen hold.

“The victim was abducted from her home after opening her door to someone at around 11pm,” she says. “There was a struggle— furniture was overturned, and police say it’s likely the kidnapper sustained some kind of injury, although no blood was found at the scene. I imagine Will Graham performed one of his infamous recreations to figure that out.”

The room seems to rotate around you like hell’s carousel, sickening, searing.

“The victim,” you say. “What was her name?”

You know before Freddie speaks her answer, have known it from the moment you’d placed your hand upon Hannibal’s telephone, as though fate itself by psychic puppetry had directed your hand.

“It’s Amy Glass,” says Freddie, and she makes a hunting gesture, as though searching for an invisible notepad. “So can you confirm that she’s a friend of yours?”

Shaking your head, you jerk away from the wall, swerving out from under Freddie’s arm as she reaches out to you, her face almost soft with concern. She calls you back to her, but you are already striding across the room to the beast in his mortal attire, deaf to all but him.

“Hannibal!” you shrill above the music. “Hannibal, I need to talk to you!”

People turn, startled and intrigued, anticipating a spectacle, the lunatic girl in full bloom.

Hannibal glances about, rapidly assessing the danger you threaten. An emotional scene could sully his reputation, an indelible stain on his house.

Addressing you by name, he says, “What’s wrong? Has someone upset you?”

“Yes,” you say, through gritted teeth. “You.”

Hannibal’s eyes shift, finally interpreting the length of rage and terrified abjection unreeling within you.

“Come with me, then,” he says, quickly. “Let’s discuss this upstairs.”

Your mouth opens, and you imagine instigating a scandal, screaming of the abuse and other foulness invoked upon you.

Then you think again of flesh and killing and nod your head coldly, allowing Hannibal to guide you to your bedroom with a murmured excuse to his guests.

Once alone, he sits you down on the bed, his tight jaw easing as he feels the violence with which you shake at his light touch.

“Tell me what happened,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

Your fists squeeze as one in your lap.

“Amy is missing. Freddie Lounds told me. What did you do to my friend? Where did you take her?”

Hannibal’s visage changes subtly, the humanity in it retreating to reveal that other self, the stag of putrid dreams.

“I didn’t take Amy,” he says, flatly. “I assume Freddie informed you of the details of her abduction. Amy injured her attacker, and I don’t bear the mark. You saw nothing upon me this morning.”

Indeed you had not; his nude body, knelt between your legs, had been as fresh parchment, white and clear, but still he is no innocent.

“You must have told the Lover about her,” you insist. “Left some sign for him somewhere. You did this. I know you did. You did this to punish me, or to see how I’d react. Well, congrats, Dad. This is it. I hate you.”

Your breath rips in and out of your lungs like the proboscis of some terrible drill, and as you lean into Hannibal’s face you see your own spittle jump the air in the force of your emotion.

“If you let her die I’ll starve myself,” you say. “I’ll go on hunger strike. You can do anything you want to me, I don’t care. I’ll do it. I’ll kill myself.”

“I won’t let you,” says Hannibal, calmly.

“I’ll find a way. I’ll make you regret what you did.”

He shifts back from you a fraction, and you comprehend in that subtle motion that he believes it.

“You care so strongly for this old friend, then,” he says, simply.

“Yes. You feel the same way about Will. If Amy gets hurt or dies because of me— I couldn’t handle it. I can’t. I can’t. You know what the Lover does to people. How could you send her there? How could you do this?”

Your voice wavers, threatening sobs, and you curse yourself for your fragility, the little girl you cannot help but be. Hannibal finds a handkerchief and touches it to your face, his previous compassion returning, and with dismay you accept that while your anger will not move him entreating him as your father will.

“If you ever want me to trust you and your way of living then bring her back, Daddy,” you whisper. “Please, Daddy. Please. Please.”

Hannibal's head turns aside, examining you with a renewed interest.

“You believe me to be such a God as to be capable of this.”

“Yes. You can do anything you want to. You can help her. I know you can. If you don’t you’ll ruin everything you want with me and Will. This is all I’ll think about when I see your face.”

Your jailer doesn’t answer, only reaches out to take your sweat-damp dress down from your shoulders. On a repulsed and foolish instinct you slap his hands from you.

“I can do it myself.”

Hannibal snatches hold of your wrists, and for a moment you see him consider violence, his eyes blackly wild, like Will’s, as though absorbing his lover’s approach.

“I’m sure you can,” he says, at last, and he lets your hands fall, unharmed, into your lap. “Please stay in your room until my guests leave tonight. I wouldn’t like you to upset them or yourself any further.”

“What about Amy?” you ask. “Are you going to find her?”

Without answering Hannibal turns to re-join the party, pausing in the doorway to impart his final direction.

“Please don’t mention what has transpired to Will. He doesn’t know that you and Amy are still so closely connected, and so it should remain. Obey me and you’ll receive no punishment for disturbing the festivities. The fault lies with me for allowing you to encounter Freddie Lounds while unattended, after all.”

You want to scream after him, tear at his carefully ironed shirt collar and rend from him an answer to your request. But he only leaves you alone behind your locked door with thoughts of Amy cut apart to fit the body of a doll. Defiled, as you've frequently been.

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

Heart of Gold (5 Times Gale's Heart Gives Out And +1 time Ken's Does) Barbed Wire Hearts Universe - Chapter One

God I can't believe I can finally publish this after so many problems preventing me from both writing and editing it, it feels like it's been too long! But here's the next instalment in the BWH universe. Only one chapter written and edited so far, but I'll be updating when I can with more. This is to add some much needed little details and lore for upcoming plot fics in this series.

For now though, enjoy! This chapter is only a short one, just to give the general start to the fic, but following chapters will be a little bit longer as the story continues (and don't worry, the big plot fics will be longer as always haha)

@swifty-fox @onyxsboxes @stoneinyourshoe @carnevol @trashbag-baby666 @slowsweetlove

Ken stared at the little box that Curt was brandishing in front of himself with a raised brow, taking in the self-satisfied smirk behind still fading clown paint from the day before on the other man’s face. He let the exasperated sigh escape him from where it had been building since Curt first showed him the box.

“You can’t be serious, Curt.” 

Curt wiggled the box at him, the item inside rattling gently in response as Curt’s smirk grew. “Oh I’m deadly serious,”

Ken eyed him, judgment clearly written across his own expression as he snatched the box from Curt’s fingers. He looked down at the box, eyes scanning over the words with another sigh, albeit gentler than the one before. 

“You’re gonna give Gale a Fitbit, because you wanna, and I quote ‘record the uptight bastard’s stress and heart rate because it would be funny’?”

Curt shrugged nonchalantly, reaching out and plucking the box from Ken’s fingers with the tip of his tongue caught between his front teeth.

“Yes. I think you’re missing the whole point here, Kenny. Have you seen the guy? Man is one big walking ball of stress, especially around Bucky and his bullshit, and all he says is that he’s ‘fine’.”

“So you just wanna prove him wrong so that you have something to brag about, basically?”

Ken raises one eyebrow at Curt and watches as the other gapes slightly, expression turning chastised but no less mischievous underneath Ken’s scrutiny. A hand comes up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Basically,” Curt affirms, looking slightly sheepish, and Ken can’t help the knowing smile that curves his lips. 

“Uh-huh,” Ken hums. He stares down at the box again where Curt is starting to peel the edges of the tape holding it closed with the edge of his fingernail. 

Curt pauses and glances up at Ken through his lashes, scanning over Ken’s face before his shoulders sag and he rolls his eyes.

“Look, I’m not trying to be a dick. Call it genuine curiosity and slight worry for the sake of one of my best friends and his well-being.”

“With bragging rights,” Ken tacks on with his own answering eye roll.

Curt laughs, goes back to picking at the tape again with a wide grin. “Exactly! See? Now we’re getting on the same page here, Kenny my boy.”

Ken breathes out through his nostrils, watching Curt work away at the tape until he flicks the opening flap upwards and starts to extract the packaging holding the little black watch from its confines.

Curt holds it up, like a prize dangling from his thumb and pointer and looks at Ken with no less pride on his face. “You can even hook it up to your work phone so you have 24/7 access to Gale’s heart rate. Just in case there ever is actually cause for concern. It’s got a little alarm setting and everything.”

He waggles the device towards Ken’s face, eyebrows rising and falling in a suggestive gesture until Ken once again snatches it from Curt’s hold.

The little watch is cool in his palm, and he turns it over to observe it before glancing up at Curt again, lips pursed.

As much as Ken wouldn’t put name or face to it, he couldn’t deny that there had been a few times through the course of getting to know the men in their circuit that he had observed and noticed that Gale, in particular, had a bit more weight sitting on his shoulders in comparison to most of the others. 

When he had first met the blond cowboy, all done up in his roping get-up with his stoic steel-hard expression and sizeable buckle sitting on his belt, Ken could admit that even though he wasn’t a competitor himself, that he couldn’t help but be a little bit intimidated by the air that Gale often exuded. Especially when in competition mode.

Despite only being a rodeo EMT, it was hard to come by anyone involved in the circuit that hadn’t at least heard of the great Gale Cleven and his achievements in the arena. Coupled with the known talk that the guy was ‘all work and no play’ and advice of ‘just don’t get in his way and you won’t have to worry’, Ken had truthfully dreaded the day that he would have to meet the man and have him under his jurisdiction of care and medical expertise. 

The day he had met him, Ken felt like the world was trying to swallow him whole as he was faced with meeting most of the crew that he would be looking out for and tending to if any of them sustained injuries in the arena. He had shaken hands and introduced himself a number of times, friendly smiles and warmth being directed at him as easy as breathing before the group had all but parted in the tail end of their greetings and Ken was faced with Gale.

The blond cowboy had walked up to Ken with his shoulders straight, blue eyes questioning while also exuding an air of careful scrutinization as he’d looked Ken up and down, and Ken had felt like he was about to be snapped up like a bird between the jaws of a cat and crushed between sharper than needle fangs. 

He’d stared at Gale, not game enough to break eye contact as the other thrusted his hand out in Ken’s direction, still adorned with worn but expensive looking brown leather gloves. The strength and power behind Gale’s grip alone once he’d taken his hand in to a firm handshake was enough to have him shivering in his sneakers. 

But as Gale had introduced himself, Ken had watched as a slight look of warm fondness had broken through Gale’s expression, lips curving upwards in to a perfect smile full of straight white teeth directed at him, and felt his shoulders relax from their timid posture.

“Welcome to the crew, Ken,” Gale had said to him, words soft and sweet and dripping with unintentional charm. “Heard you’re one of the best we could possibly ask for. You might have your work cut out for you though, with this band of hooligans.”

Ken couldn’t help the smile that had slowly crept its way on to his own face in answer to Gale’s obvious attempt at easing his nerves, and he had felt his shoulders sag as Gale had dropped his hand, but feeling no less welcome. 

It was from that point forward that a sort of easy friendship had blossomed between Gale and himself, the terrifying tales of strict and hard-faced Gale Cleven all but melting away in his mind until any time he heard Gale’s name whispered with unease from the mouths of any of the other competitors from different circuit teams made him smirk knowingly. 

The guy was all bark and no bite, as far as Ken was concerned. At least when it was towards his own team, and he had come to realize that whenever Gale would be the first one to comfort or build up the confidence of the other boys without a second thought. 

It was all a structured hierarchy, and Gale had been appointed the unquestioned leader of the group and the overseer to most of the happenings and organizing both between and during the rodeos that they travelled to and from over the course of the season.  

It was with that unsanctioned leadership, though, that Ken could also see the immense strain heaped up on top of the cowboy’s shoulders in the thick of it all. And he would be unhesitant to admit that there had been a few times that he had observed Gale in the quieter moments where the weariness and need to keep on a brave noble façade was obviously eating away at him. 

Especially once Ken realized that the group’s main bull rider John Bucky Egan was more than just a friend to Gale, and every time the man went in to that arena and sat on one of those great muscled animals, Gale turned a few shades whiter every time Bucky’s dismounts were a little less than graceful. 

Ken had also noticed, through several different interactions both with himself and with other members of the group, that as much as Gale would unthinkingly dole out support and softness and strength, that when it came to himself, it was a completely different story.

He had noticed on more than one occasion the cowboy shying away from support directed at him, waved it off with a strained smile or an off handed comment that left Ken with a sour taste on his tongue and a worry settling in deep in his bones like a festering flame. 

As much as Gale gave it, receiving it was a whole other ball game, and was met with such a conditioned resistance that Kenny often wondered what was laying in wait underneath Gale’s carefully composed surface. What scars were carefully concealed under a strong expression.

He was thankful for John in those moments, seeing Gale respond to Bucky’s carefully extended supports more than anyone else, but even then it was barely a sliver of open acceptance to the gentle touch, cards still close to his chest and roped back against him and away from prying eyes.

Ken looked back up to where Curt was still standing in front of him, now holding out the charger for the Fitbit and Ken’s work phone that had been sitting on the counter being waggled in his direction underneath an imploring look. 

He stared at it for a few seconds, mind running through all the pros and cons and the precarious thought of ‘what could possibly go wrong’ cycling through his head, and let his shoulders sag with an exasperated sigh. He tried to ignore the gleaming smile Curt shot him as he took the charger and phone from his hand. 

“Fine,” Ken gave in, switching on the phone and opening up the app store to download the accompanying app that would sync with the watch. “But I’m doing this purely for Gale’s well-being, and to give myself some piece of mind.”

Curt laughed, a smug but joyous lilt to its tone as he walked up to Ken and patted his shoulder. “Yeah you keep telling yourself that, Kenny.”

Ken rolled his eyes, a small smile working its way on to his lips as Curt pressed a loud smacking kiss against his cheek as the other made his way to the door of the trailer, swinging it open and stepping out to leave Ken to hooking up the devices. 

“You’ve still got paint on your face, by the way!” Ken called out behind him as an afterthought before looking back down at his phone. 

He could hear Curt’s laugh echo back to him from a small ways away outside. 

“All part of the charm, baby!”

–

Surprisingly, Gale had accepted the watch from Ken without so much as a second thought, albeit a small look of question directed at him as the watch was passed into his hands. He had turned it over in quiet observance a few times, lips pursed and brows furrowed before he’d carefully pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and fastened it to the surprisingly delicate circle of his left wrist.

Ken couldn’t help the way it lifted a nervous air from his body and mind at Gale so trustingly taking the watch paired with Ken’s words of professional reassurance, and had to remind himself that as much as Curt had palmed the whole endeavour off with the pretense of it being a joke, it also gave Ken some peace of mind to now have a bit more of an insight into the medical signs of one of the most important cowboys in the team. 

He also couldn’t deny that Curt’s curiosity had bled into him as well in the face of the act.

“Can’t say I ever really put much thought in to actually using one of these things,” Gale confessed to him, eyes still curious as he looked down at the face of the watch with interest. The time flashed back at him as he turned his wrist, experimenting with the movement of it a few times. 

Tapping the face of it, the small screen cycled through his steps, distance travelled, energy burned, and finally the rate of his heart, which Ken couldn’t help but notice was currently sitting at a steady 89 as they spoke.

“You can thank Curt for that,” Ken chuckled, pointedly and casually adding in Curt as the culprit as well so he wasn’t the only one being thrown under the bus. “He figured it’d be a good idea to keep an eye on you fellas, your health and what-not seeing as how you’re all meant to be tip top athletes. And you’re one of the only ones who doesn’t actually have one.”

Gale looked up at him, a knowing smirk on the blonde's lips as he quirked one brow. “You mean Curt’s morbidly curious and just wanted something to brag about to John when I blow my top at him.”

Ken couldn’t help but laugh at Gale’s words, the sound punched out of him in surprise as Gale hazarded the guess and got it as close as he possibly could. He had had a feeling long before he’d even set up the watch that Buck would be clued in to exactly what was happening, especially once Ken name dropped Curt in the scheme. 

“It’s alright Ken,” Gale assured him, smile still colouring his face as he winked. “I won’t let him know I’m on to him if you don’t.”

“Sweet,” Ken grinned, holding out a fist towards Gale in a silent ask for a fist bump which the cowboy gladly reciprocated without a second thought. 

Gale gave another small look down at the watch as he let his hand fall back to his side, carefully pushing his sleeve down over it as it went to hide the little device from view.

“I’m actually a little curious myself,” Gale added on as an afterthought. “Might actually come in handy.”

Kenny nodded, casting his gaze over his shoulder towards the arena where Brady and Rosie were currently trotting their horses around in circles around a fake practice rig shaped like a steer. He could hear them laughing good-naturedly as they threw their ropes over it, joking amongst each other in friendly competition as Brady missed and Rosie whooped in triumph, arms coming up high in celebration. 

Jack, Benny and Everett were perched up on the rails watching with smiles on their faces and chatting amongst themselves, Meatball at their feet chasing something in a patch of tall grass against one of the posts. 

Ken pointed his chin in their direction. “This lot seems in a good mood today.”

Gale looked up to where Ken’s gaze was directed, and Ken couldn’t help but note the small fond smile that slipped on to Gale’s expression. Likened it to that of a proud parent looking at their unruly bunch of teenagers.

“Yeah it’s a lazy day today. Figured with more than a week until the next rodeo I’d back off and let them have their fun. Don’t need me breathing down their necks 24/7.”

Ken looked back at Gale with a questioning expression that he hoped Gale didn’t notice. Underneath the pride, Ken could sense a sudden hint of doubt mixed in Buck’s words, smile still evident but more muted as he stared over at the others. His blue eyes were slightly distant, and Ken felt his chest constrict just a little at the sight.

“I’m sure they’ll need your instruction sooner or later with how that’s going,” Ken tried, grinning as he turned to watch Brady expertly lasso Rosie around the middle with the other cowboy’s laughing squawk of offense. Brady’s replying laughter reached them seconds later with a shouted insult barely audible, and Ken could see the fond smile return to Buck’s expression. 

Buck rested his hands against his hips with a gentle sigh, smiling up at Ken before dropping his eyes towards the ground. “Yep, yeah, I’d say you’re right.”

Ken saw a suddenly questioning frown pull at Buck’s brow as the other looked back up towards the arena, eyes scanning over the expanse of it, the stands behind and then flickering around. “Speaking of, you seen Curt or Bucky anywhere since earlier?”

Ken felt his eyes slightly widen in realization as Buck’s words sank in and a pit of innocent fear started to curl its way in to his gut. 

“I can’t say I have, and I don’t know how I should be feeling about that,” Ken confessed to him with a grimace.

Buck blew out an exasperated breath, shoulders squaring as he tipped his hat at Ken with a smile before making his way past him. “Terrified, would be the correct term, I reckon.”

Ken couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him at Buck’s words as he watched the blond walk casually over to the others. 

–

The sounds of the crowd spectating the rodeo from a small distance away reached Kenny as he took a long drag of his cigarette, smoke curling its way out in to the air on his exhale in a wispy array of patterns before disappearing into nothing. He adjusted his seat on the step at the back of the med van, the back doors open to reveal the sterile and organized inside, medical equipment stored carefully and tucked away ready at a moments notice if needed while the current rodeo was in full swing. 

This one had been going on without so much as a hitch so far, which Ken and a few of the other EMTs were thankful for, leaving them meandering around outside the van without much to do to occupy their time besides talking amongst themselves or scrolling on their phones to pass the time. 

They knew at some point they’d probably need to patch up a knee or do the mandatory check over for concussions or other types of damage, but they were taking the peace while they could and being lax in the moments they were afforded. 

It left some room for a tiny hint of boredom to thread its way through, but Ken would rather feel that unconcerned drag of time over doing vital signs on a bull rider that got too big for his chaps or be knitting together another cowboy’s split open brow while trying to stem blood flow with a stern hand and hint of exasperation. 

The audience noise crescendoed in to a flurry of whoops and hollers by a few octaves, but being where he was Ken couldn’t quite see what event was currently happening around the edges of the towering bleacher seats. It was only still halfway through the rodeo so he knew that nothing truly spectacular was happening at this point, and he was content to sit, sneaker propped up on the tow-ball of the van and scroll for a few moments on his socials while sucking down the last few dregs of what he guessed was his third cigarette of the day. 

Thought on the disapproving glance that Curt would be sending his way if the other wasn’t currently out behind the bull chutes painted to the nines in clown makeup and baggy shorts and suspenders waiting to run in and save the day once the bull riders were performing.

Also thought on the way the other would tut in disgust but still pluck the still burning cigarette from his fingers before stealing a drag in the face of Ken’s knowing smirk. 

Almost too lost in the depths of his thoughts as he brought the cigarette up towards his lips for another inhale, Ken couldn’t help the way he jumped, startled and nearly losing grip on the burning stick as a sudden continuous beeping blared at him from the pocket of his jacket.

Frowning, he propped the cigarette in between his lips and reached down to clumsily fish what he realized was his work phone from the deep pocket and pull it out. 

It was only when the bright words of warning that the current connected device was picking up irregular rhythms did he also manage to look up in time to see Buck, pale faced and looking a little worse for wear stumbling from somewhere over towards the camp grounds in the distance before leaning one shaking arm up against a telegraph pole.

Distress was obvious in the tense line of the cowboy’s shoulders, shuddering on a deep inhale and face pointed towards the dirt with tightly squeezed eyes, and Ken quickly stubbed out his cigarette in to the grass by his shoe and flicked it away as he half rose, alert.

“Buck! You okay, man?” Ken called out, worry tainting the tone of his voice, hand that was holding the still beeping work phone tightening until he could feel the plastic creak underneath his grip.

He kept his eyes trained on Buck’s figure, worry seeping even further in to his awareness when the other only managed a haphazard glance in Ken’s direction, a gloved hand waving out in dismissal before he turned his eyes back to the ground at his feet, arm falling back against his side.

With a groan of effort, Ken hoisted himself up off of the step of the med van and started in Gale’s direction with purpose. He turned off the work phone, silencing the noise and shoving the device back in to his pocket without a second thought. 

The closer he got to Buck, the more he could hear the ragged exhales the blond was attempting to get under control and see the trembling shudder wracking the other’s taut shoulders.

Ken reached up one hand, resting his palm on Gale’s shoulder and leaning down to try and catch Gale’s line of sight where it was currently still trained downwards, brows furrowed in obvious distress.

“Talk to me, buddy. What’s happening here?” 

The professionalism that bled into Ken’s voice in the situation finally reached through to Buck, blue eyes glancing up to Ken’s face with a blank look that morphed into a humourless smile for a second or two before falling again. 

“‘m fine, Kenny,” Gale huffed, shoulder trembling more violently underneath Ken’s hold for a fleeting moment. “Don’t gotta get all serious on me, now.”

Ken chuffed out a laugh, a bit disbelieving as his eyes raked over Gale’s shaken form. “You sure? Because from where I’m standing your words aren’t exactly hitting home for me, Chief.” 

Gale flicked a dismissive hand in his direction again, body straightening marginally like he was trying to put Ken’s mind at a little bit more ease if he showed less weakness. It made Ken frown in reply, the minute beeping originating from underneath the cuff of Gale’s shirt where he knew the watch would be reaching his ears amidst the ambient sounds of the rodeo around them.

Gale sniffed, eyes flickering towards Ken again in what he could only name as chastised. 

“Was wondering though,” Gale started, tilting his chin towards his sleeve as he brought up his other hand to pull it back and reveal the Fitbit. “That ain’t normal, yeah?”

Ken gave Buck an exasperated look before turning his attention to the face of the watch, and felt his eyes widen marginally but managed to conceal the sudden unease in his expression so that Gale wouldn’t pick up on it.

Knew he had failed when Gale shot him a frown with accompanying worry reflected in his own eyes.

“I’m guessing no,” Gale grinned, forced and fake as he swallowed underneath the scrutiny of Ken’s expression. 

“No, not so much, man.” Ken answered, simple and direct. He adjusted where his hand was on Gale’s arm, moving it more up underneath in a concealed attempt at support as he tugged slightly. He was still very aware of the shudders wracking through Gale’s frame, the beads of sweat sitting on the cowboy’s upper lip and across his brow underneath the brim of his hat on an ashen pallor. “Why don’t you just come over to the van with me and I’ll give you a quick look over, yeah?”

Gale shot him an unreadable look, but allowed himself to be guided back to the open back of the med van thankfully only a short distance away. 

Ken helped lower him down so that the blond was occupying the seat against the low step that Ken was only on a few moments before, movements a little bit stiff and uncomfortable and made sure that Gale was comfortable before he stepped up in to the van. 

He glanced back at Gale’s figure, reaching out and getting the vitals pack hooked up on the far wall and snatching the blood pressure cuff off of the built in bench as he turned.

Jumping back down onto the hard packed dirt, Ken knelt down in front of Gale who was still looking pale but not as frantic as the younger man started retrieving different equipment from the bag that he sat in front of him.  

Gale eyed everything speculatively with that ever present frown still evident on his face. “I’m fine, Ken. Really.” 

Ken glanced up at him with a strained smile as he pulled the velcro of the blood pressure cuff apart with a stark ripping sound, reaching up to secure it around Gale’s upper right arm with perfect and practised precision. 

“Just taking precautions.” Ken assured him. He started manually pumping the small decompressor attached to the cuff. He unlooped the stethoscope from where it was draped over the back of his neck and lifted Gale’s sleeve up enough to be able to press the cool metal against his inner elbow gently. “Alarm went off for a reason, Buck.”

Gale rolled his eyes at Ken good-naturedly, but Ken could see the hint of worry reflected in the blonde's eyes as he flickered his gaze down to where Ken was listening to the thrum of his blood underneath his skin, wincing at the tight restriction of the cuff around his bicep. 

“Dumb is what it is, I don’t even feel that bad any more.” Gale grumbled. 

A few moments of silence went by as Ken listened intently to Gale’s pulse, holding his breath but allowing it to pass back out in a gentle exhale as everything seemed to be normal at least as far as blood pressure went. 

Pulling the stethoscope away from Gale’s skin, he rolled the cowboy’s sleeve back down to cover cool but clammy skin and ripped off the cuff from further up. “Yes, well, as true as that may be right now, I just want to check you over in case. False alarm or not. I don’t particularly feel like having to explain to Bucky why you keeled over dead from a heart attack on my watch.”

Gale let an amused snort escape him at Ken’s words, lips curving up into the semblance of a smile as he kept his focus on Ken’s rummaging around in the med bag below. 

“Point taken,” Gale mumbled, and Ken felt his own lips quirk up in reply. 

The next few tests went by without so much as a suspicious blip or reading, and as much as Ken was confused, he was also incredibly relieved that Gale didn’t seem to be suffering from anything life threatening. As a small after thought, he reached out and gripped Gale’s wrist wearing the watch gently and turned the face of it towards himself, eyes scanning over the lit up surface and feeling satisfied when no warnings or alerts glared back at him. The heartrate had also gone back to a steady pace, and he let Gale’s hand drop with a sigh.

“Well, whatever was happening, you seem to be fine now,” Ken informed him. He looked up in to Gale’s face from where he was still crouched in front of the other, taking in the now more normal looking complexion and clear blue eyes staring back at him in curiosity and their own brand of confusion. “It might have been just a false alarm.”

Gale sighed, peeking down at the watch hidden back underneath the sleeve of his shirt with a blank look, posture relaxing that small increment more so he was slouched in a lazy lean, an elbow propped up against his knee.

“Fat lot of good a false alarm is,” Gale grinned. One of his hands came up to wipe the remaining perspiration still sitting against the ridge of his brow underneath the rim of his hat. That same hand then rose up to point an unthreatening finger in Ken’s direction, a mock expression of seriousness moulding on to his features. “But not a word of this is to be spoken to Bucky, under any circumstances.”

Ken chuckled, pushing himself up to stand and wincing at the ache that accompanied the movement from being crouched down in the same position for so long. He stretched out his back with a groan. “For once, I do agree with that statement.”

Gale looked affronted, mouth gaping slightly as Ken’s words but Ken could see the humour reflected there. “For once?”

Ken raised his hands in mock surrender, feeling something in his chest warm at the sight of Gale’s barely concealed amusement as he reached out a hand in Ken’s direction for help. Ken gladly accepted, gripping the other cowboy’s hand and pulling him easily to his feet until the other was standing tall and firm in front of him. The other did sway slightly, and Ken held out a hand in concealed readiness in case he needed to keep the other balanced, but in a blink any tilting had disappeared.  

The sounds of the rodeo pierced back in to both men’s awareness, and Ken watched as Gale’s focus turned out towards the arena with a sharp turn of his head, the small smile that was there slowly slipping back into something that Ken couldn’t quite put his finger on. He allowed his own gaze to wander over in the same direction as Gale’s before pursing his lips and glancing back towards Gale’s face. The other looked lost in thought, blue eyes far away amongst whatever was running amongst his thoughts as the sound of cheering echoed across the grounds in a muted distant roar. 

Licking his lips, Ken hesitated for a few seconds before parting his lips and letting the words that were sitting on his tongue escape in to a more simple question than the true ones he had. 

“You sure you’re okay, Buck?” 

Gale seemed to come back to the present at Ken’s words, face whipping back to look at Ken with a blank numb expression before his lips pulled up in to a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Though they were soft as they looked at the younger man.

He reached up and let his hand fall in a friendly comfort against Ken’s shoulder, patting it twice before allowing his arm to fall. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. You don’t gotta worry, Kenny, promise.”

Ken let himself smile back in reply to Gale’s words, but he knew that it didn’t quite reach his own eyes either as the image of Gale only a small time before all but hyperventilating and looking moments from death leaned up against that telegraph pole flashed through his mind in vivid technicolor. He could almost hear the ghost of the beeping of his work phone buzz behind his ears. 

He almost asked again, taking in the way that Gale had suddenly started gnawing at his bottom lip between perfect white teeth until the plush skin was red and looked moments from breaking apart underneath the ministrations, but something squeezed in his ribcage and he swallowed the words down. 

[lulublack90]

Prompt 26 - Delivery

@jegulus-microfic January 26 Word count 962

Previous part First part

It had been about a month since that first dinner. James remembered it fondly. The look on Sirius’s face when they walked back into the kitchen. He’d choked on his beer and had to be thumped on the back by Remus to get his breath back. 

“You had better not have defiled my bathroom!” He coughed, wiping his mouth on a paper napkin. 

“Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies.” Regulus had teased. “And I think you’ll find it’s my bathroom.” That was the night Sirius’s head had nearly exploded. 

Since then, James and Regulus had spent nearly every free minute together. Regulus had all but moved in. His excuse for not going home was to give Sirius and Remus some time for themselves. 

“That and Sirius is a screamer. There are only so many times I can hear him getting off before I’m jabbing a pencil in my ear.” Regulus had grimaced when James asked why he hadn’t been home in a week. James hadn’t minded, not really. They got along so well. He still didn’t understand why it had taken him so long to notice Regulus. He supposed it was because he’d always seen him as Sirius’s little brother. Well, now he was Sirius’s little brother and the man who did unspeakable things to him. 

He hadn’t broached the subject of labels. He wasn’t sure Regulus would respond well to being called his boyfriend. He thought he’d leave it for a bit and see where they went before he scared him off. As far as he knew, Regulus had never had a serious relationship, just a few dalliances here and there. 

James was busy in the kitchen making dinner. Nothing special, just pasta and sauce and a ton of grated cheddar cheese for him and a block of Parmesan for Regulus. —“Heathen.” Regulus had called him the first time they’d had pasta.— When there was a soft knock at the door. He put down the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the pasta sauce and went to answer it. 

Regulus was standing on the doormat, bottle of wine in hand.

“I heard a sexy dark-haired Adonis was living here.” He said as his eyes ran up and down James’s person, taking in the bikini-clad headless lady’s body printed on the apron he was wearing. “But clearly, that information was incorrect.” He bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing. 

“Oh, shut up and get in. Dinners nearly ready.” James huffed, turning his back on Regulus and returned to the kitchen to check that his sauce wasn’t burning.

Regulus came up behind him and wrapped his arms around him as he reached up on his tiptoes to kiss James’s neck. James tilted his head to the side to allow Regulus’s mouth more access. He moaned gently as Regulus sucked little marks into the delicate skin. 

“Reg, dinner will be spoilt if you continue.” He groaned, knowing exactly where this was going. Regulus moved to the other side of James’s neck and began sucking and kissing there as well.  

James’s breathing became ragged. “Reg,” He whined as he pathetically stirred the bubbling pan. 

The timer on James’s phone went off, startling Regulus and giving James a second to clear his head. “You,” He growled, brandishing the dripping wooden spoon. “Sit down and behave.” He waited until Regulus did as he was told and began serving their dinner. 

They were tidying up the used plates when there was a knock at the door. James went to answer it, Regulus following closely after. 

“Hey, dickhead. I’ve bought you some clean clothes seeing as you haven’t been home in a week. Oh, and you had a delivery this morning. It was signed for, with the angry beeps and everything.” Sirius stood in the doorway holding out an A4 packet. It was thick and looked important. Regulus froze as he stared at it. Sirius wiggled it in front of him. “Earth to Reggie. Come in Reggie—Oi Regulus!” James put a hand on Regulus’s shoulder, snapping him out of his stupor. 

With shaking hands, Regulus carefully took the packet from Sirius and, without a word, walked past James into the office, shutting the door behind him. 

“Do you know what’s in that?” James asked, looking confusedly at the closed door. 

“No idea.” Sirius shrugged. “Gonna invite me in for a cuppa then? Instead of leaving me standing out in the cold.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, yeah, sure, come in.” James moved aside, letting Sirius pass.

They left Regulus alone. He’d come and tell them what was up when he was ready. James made him a cup of tea anyway. 

It took Regulus over half an hour to emerge from James’s office, the now open packet still in his hands. 

He sat down at the kitchen table opposite James. James hurriedly made a fresh cup of tea and slid it across the table. Sirius pulled a hip flask out of his pocket and poured a liberal amount of whisky into the tea. 

They sat and waited in silence. Finally, Regulus took a sip from his scalding tea and inhaled loudly. 

“That was a job offer for my dream job.” He told them, his voice quiet and not at all excited. 

“Wow, that’s amazing, Regulus, congratulations.” James beamed at him, his eyes crinkling at what he thought was good news. Sirius, on the other hand, knew his brother better. 

“What’s up, Reg?” He said, watching his brother’s reactions through narrowed eyes. 

“It’s a three-year contract.” He told them, swallowing audibly. 

“So, what’s the problem?” James was worried now, cottoning on to the tension that had taken over Regulus’s body. 

“In New York,” Regulus said almost apologetically. All the air escaped out of James’s body. 

“Oh…”   

Next part

[ninjaneonleon]

(last seen at the tmnt au comp u _ u )

Mikey almost fell over backwards when the frantic looking Leo counterpart appeared in his vision. Casey, of course, was no help. She just laughed as he stumbled over his own feet and tried not to fall. In the end he just floated back to his feet properly with a small pout.

“Oh, sorry,” the Leo (Leon? Yeah, that worked for now) said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I just really need to find my Donnie, he’s, uh, not very stable with others.” He held up the photo he was brandishing a little more for emphasis.

The photo in question showed a version of Donnie that was very different to the brother Mikey knew and loved. Not only was he notably paler, his usual jade colouring going almost pastel, he was softer somehow. Rounder. He was also wearing a beautiful feathered tutu, had small white wings and was en pointe. That Donnie looked like he was all set to dance in Swan Lake, maybe even as Odette considering the feathered crown he had in place of a headpiece.

“No, I haven’t seen him. Hey, why do you say he’s unstable?” Casey asked, her eyes lighting up with excitement. Eugh boy, if Casey got it in her head that she wanted to try sparring with this unstable ballerina Donnie, there would be very little Mikey could do besides try to hold her back. Maybe if he got the Donnie back with his Leo, he’d be calm enough to not take Casey up on her obvious excitement.

“He’s, uh, well he’s very much got a swan brain?” Leon offered with a sheepish laugh. “Half the time he’s fine, the other half…”

“Oh, he gets violent and territorial?” Mikey had a few encounters with swans in the past. They were dangerous bastards who can and will mess you up. “Eugh boy, that’s definitely not someone who you want to leave alone. Leave it to me, I can help you find him.”

“Wait, you can?” Leon lit up with a relived grin. “How?”

“Like this.” Mikey held his hand out towards the photo and got a feel for Swanatello’s (heh, Swannie, that was a perfect name for him) energy. Once he as sure, Mikey plucked that very unique feeling chain from the air. He studied it curiously. “Huh. This is a very old feeling connected to him. Well, anyway, I can track him for you. Just follow me, we’ll get your Donnie back,” he promised, not letting go of the chain.

“Thank you so much,” Leon said enthusiastically. I’m worried he’s either gonna freak himself out or hurt someone.”

“Has he got memory problems or something?”Casey asked, following after Leon and Mikey. “Our Donnie can be violent but he’s very good at directing that away from people. Most of the time.” She shuddered, probably remembering the sago pudding incident. Mikey didn’t want to dwell on that.

“Yeah, he’s sort of been claimed by this mystic lake to be its guardian?” Leon offered with a shrug. “It means that he barely remembers anything before, and on his bad days, he doesn’t recognise us at all. He might look small but he’s just as strong as ever.” Based on the way Leon rubbed his arm, he clearly knew just how strong Swannie was.

“Claimed by a mystic lake? I might be able to help keep him calm for a while, if you wanted,” Mikey offered. If he could make sure Swannie could still sense the lake, he might stay calm enough to not hurt anyone during this whole thing.

“Anything would be helpful, thank you Mikey.”

They walked together for a little while, following the pale coloured chain, until Mikey spotted Swannie. He was looking around frantically, his feathers all puffed up from how worked up he was getting. Okay, Mikey totally had this.

“Casey, wait here. Leon, you too. Let me see if I can calm him down.” As he spoke, Mikey let a wave of magic wash over him. When it cleared, he was in his own tutu (orange, of course) and had his pointe shoes on. Oh yeah, that was awesome, he totally nailed the dramatics there. It might have been a while since Mikey had done any serious dancing but luckily, his body remembered exactly what to do.

He called for Swannie’s attention by putting a spotlight on himself and on Swannie, one only they (and Casey and Leon) could see. Then he let some music start to drift around, again, done so it didn’t bother anyone who was want involved.

Swannie looked over immediately, but when he heard the music, he seemed to relax. Perfect. Mikey made his way over, travelling in time to the music and throwing in some of his own choreography, warming himself up slowly. He and Swannie met in the middle and for a moment, they danced together.

It was simple enough to weave in some magic to their dance. A nudge to the mystic hold on Swannie’s soul, finding the link back to the lake, a touch of mental magic in the form of white smoke gathering around them to make sure he could feel the lake and feel it was safe, and tada! One fully conscious and aware Swannatello.

“Mikey?” He asked slowly as Mikey let the illusions die down.

“Not quite. I’m a different Mikey, buuut your Leo is right over there.” Mikey gestured over his shoulder to where Casey and Leon were waiting.

“Leo!” Like a bullet out a gun, Swannie shot over to Leo and clung to him, getting an awed hug in return. Oh yeah, Mikey was good.

“Nice going, Mikey,” Casey said with a grin. She clapped Mikey on the shoulder. “Wanna stick around with these two for a bit?”

“Yeah, if they’ll have us,” Mikey said, watching the twins get quite emotional as they hugged. “I think they could use some familiarity here, and besides, I wanna dance more with Swannie.”

————

@tmntaucompetition

[weaveandwood]

The Bard and The Blade Chapter 1: What a Day

Wyll/Named Tav | Slow Burn | Read on AO3

Summary:

What if you met your favorite hero and they fell in love with you?

He stuck out his hand to shake hers for an introduction. “Wyll Ravengard, Blade of -”  “- Blade of Frontiers, I know. Big fan here.” Rosalind interrupted as she shook his hand, actually shook his hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted, that was rude. I’m Rosalind Sunlark,” she introduced herself. She thought she saw a flash of recognition cross his eyes, but it passed in less than a moment before their minds connected, which meant The Blade had also been on the mindflayer ship.  “Seems like we’re in the same predicament,” he said, his smile replaced with a serious countenance.

AN: I had a lot of fun writing this! I hope you enjoy my new fic!

Rosalind Sunlark was having a weird as hell day. 

Waking up on a mindflayer ship? Having a tadpole in her brain that will turn her into a mindflayer? Somehow surviving a fall out of a crashing ship that should have killed her if not for some magical force? 

Pulling a wizard out of a rock?

Fine - just another day on the Sword Coast, if she was being honest. Weird things happen here on the daily. She had sung about most of them, it felt like, when she performed at her favorite coffee houses and taverns in Baldur’s Gate.

But seeing The Blade of Frontiers? It was too much. Her brain was having trouble reconciling what her eyes were seeing. She recognized him immediately, and even if she hadn’t, he did that thing that folk heroes do and introduced himself to his enemies while brandishing his rapier. He was the folk hero she sang about the most, the subject of stories she wanted to pass on to everyone in her vicinity whether they wanted to hear it or not, the person who legends should be written about. He was The Blade of freaking Frontiers.

In front of her. Wielding a blade. Taking down goblins without getting so much as a scratch.

She needed to sit down. 

An arrow shot past her, the draft causing strands of her hair to rustle as it flew by. She shook her head and blinked twice, remembering she was in the middle of a battle, helping the Blade of Frontiers. She aimed her crossbow at a particularly ugly goblin and amplified her voice. 

“Pernicious, putrifying pissant!”

The goblin winced and was distracted as her crossbow bolt found its mark, taking the goblin down completely. 

“Nice shot!” she heard from across the clearing. From The Blade himself. She smiled and gave what was potentially the most awkward wave she had ever given. She was going to pass out.

What a great day Rosalind Sunlark was having. 

******

“Nice shot!” 

Wyll did a double take when he saw who shot the bolt that took down a goblin in one fell swoop, having to stifle a chuckle at the vicious mockery the bard uttered from across the field before shooting. The bard looked familiar, somehow. Something tickled at the back of his mind, and he was positive it wasn’t his brain’s new houseguest, courtesy of the mindflayers. Was that…surely it couldn’t be The Sunlark? Not all the way out here. She was a firm fixture of the Baldur’s Gate music scene. And yet…

Clang! The sound of his steel against a goblin’s brought him back to the task at hand. He needed to focus, the Blade of Frontiers didn’t get distracted by a pretty girl who was a good shot. 

He saw the flash of bright, almost white-blonde hair as the bard assisted one of her party, a wizard from the looks of it, with a healing spell then rammed a shortsword into the nearest enemy’s stomach with a shout of desperation. 

He smiled to himself as he ran his rapier through the last of the goblins. He most definitely would get distracted by pretty girls who were good shots and absolutely brutal in battle, even if her fighting skills were a little raw. 

Especially this one, if she was who he thought she was. 

He was transported back to Baldur’s Gate on a warm summer evening when he was almost seventeen, walking through the streets with a few of his friends, sons of other nobles. He didn’t get much time to himself after his studies - his father, newly promoted to Grand Duke, thought his time was better spent training with the sword to eventually take his place as a Flaming Fist, then as Grand Duke in the future, so he relished the time he got to spend with them, being as normal as sons of nobles could be - swimming naked in fountains, wandering about the lower city, participating in minor mischief that only sons of men with privilege would be able to get away with. If he was being honest, though, they were mostly looking at pretty girls and talking about adventures they wanted to have outside of the city.

Strolling down one of the larger plazas in the lower city, they were all laughing and joking about some prank they had just pulled when he heard the faintest melody of a lute, a soft mezzo soprano voice drifting over the din of the crowd who were all absorbed in their own conversations and cups of wine. He looked around and saw a bard sitting at the far side of the plaza. The dancing lights surrounding her cast a warm glow, like she was illuminated by fifty candles. Her light white-blonde hair was practically incandescent as she sang, and her voice made him want to move closer and closer. There was a small crowd, maybe twenty or so people, standing around her, watching and swaying back and forth to the music. 

He was transfixed, even at that distance. A hand waved in front of his eyes, drawing his attention back to his friends. 

“Wyll, you there, man?” He said with a laugh. “We’re going to go get some drinks at the Elfsong, you in?” 

He looked back at the bard. “You guys go on without me, I think I’m going to stay here a little while longer. I’ll meet up with you there.” 

******

“Wow, that guy was a prick,” Rosalind remarked, reaching out a hand to help Zevlor to his feet after getting clocked by Aradin despite her attempts at defusing the situation. “You okay?” 

Zevlor affirmed he was fine and started talking about the tensions in the grove between the tiefling refugees and the druids. Rosalind tried to pay attention, she really did, but when she looked over Zevlor’s shoulder, she saw a glimpse of a training platform with small tiefling kids being taught how to swordfight. It looked like they had a guest teacher - it was him. Now was her chance to introduce herself. Gods, what if he - 

She startled as Gale elbowed her in the ribs, bringing her attention back to where it should have been. Zevlor looked at her, confused. She definitely should have been listening instead of daydreaming.

“I’m so sorry, what was the question? I must have gotten hit in the head during that battle,” she laughed, trying to play off how rude she was being. 

“I asked your name,” the tiefling said, smiling warmly at her. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I’m Rosalind. And this is Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion,” she smiled as she made introductions. Gale was the most exuberant of all of them, eager to learn more about the tieflings and their journey out of Elturel. Normally, Rosalind would be eager to learn more too, to add to her lore as potential material for future songs. The journey of the tieflings would actually be pretty epic, but…him. She felt her gaze drifting back to the training session.

Astarion leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Have your eye on a certain handsome hero? It looks like Gale has this under control by not shutting up so now is your chance - go.” She nodded and slinked off, attempting to be discreet about it. She smiled to herself. She knew it was a good idea to invite the pale elf on their journey, she liked him already. 

As she got closer to the platform, her heart started beating faster and faster. She hadn’t felt nerves like this since her first paid performance in that large plaza in Baldur’s Gate all those years ago - gods she must have been only seventeen. She shook her hands and exhaled, trying to calm herself before stopping a few feet away to watch for a minute. 

“You don’t have to be as good as me, you just have to buy yourself enough time to be able to run,” she heard him tell a child. Such a frightening scenario for one so small, but a strategy she knew all too well from her own childhood. 

The Blade of Frontiers noticed her standing near the platform and smiled at her. Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, she thought. 

“You had some pretty great shots out there, any advice for these kids?” He said as he beckoned her to come closer with a nod of his head. After looking around to make sure he wasn’t talking to someone else, Rosalind stepped up onto the platform and put on her cool, calm, and collected face, even though inside she was a storm of nerves and excitement. 

“Alright,” she crouched down to be at eye level with the kids. “Be sure to back up your friends. You’ll only get through a fight if you stick together. And then you can tell all your other friends stories about your heroics. Then they tell their friends, and they tell their friends, one of whom happens to be a bard, and that’s how legends are started.” The kids cheered and raised their wooden swords before their instructor urged them to take a break and get a drink of water, leaving her alone on the platform with The Blade. She smiled as she stood up. 

He stuck out his hand to shake hers for an introduction. “Wyll Ravengard, Blade of -” 

“- Blade of Frontiers, I know. Big fan here.” Rosalind interrupted as she shook his hand, actually shook his hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted, that was rude. I’m Rosalind Sunlark,” she introduced herself. She thought she saw a flash of recognition cross his eyes, but it passed in less than a moment before their minds connected, which meant The Blade had also been on the mindflayer ship. 

“Seems like we’re in the same predicament,” he said, his smile replaced with a serious countenance.

“Indeed it does.” She took a deep breath. Now or never. “I know you’re The Blade of Frontiers and all, but my party all has the same affliction. We’re looking for a healer and you’re welcome to join. If you want. If not, that’s alright. Totally fine. I’m sure you’re busy.” She was rambling. Why did she ramble when she got nervous? Singing in front of hundreds of people was easier than talking to him. 

“Actually -” The tadpoles connected their brains again, interrupting Wyll. The image of a devil’s advocate flashed through their linked visions. Wyll laughed softly, “As I was saying, actually that sounds great, but I am currently hunting down a devil who will lay waste to the Sword Coast if not dealt with.”

“Hmmm…two big problems at once. How about you join us and we can help you hunt this devil down? We may not be seasoned heroes, but I do have a wizard that seems to know what he’s doing most of the time. That has to count for something, right?” She smiled at Wyll. Why did that name sound familiar?

He gave her an easy smile. Gods, that smile already made her weak in the knees and she only knew him for five minutes. “That sounds like a plan. I have some things to take care of, but I will meet up with you in a few hours. Until then, please, explore the grove and speak with these tieflings. I imagine their stories would provide a bard with plenty of material. Maybe help spread a kind word about the refugees.”

“How did you know I was…right! The violin strapped to my back,” she laughed. “Obviously.”

“And your fighting style. Very impressive insults - I almost felt bad for those goblins. Almost.”

“Well, growing up in the Outer and Lower Cities of Baldur’s Gates does wonders for one’s vocabulary,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion attempting to haggle with the merchant at the entrance of the caves. Poor guy. “I better go see what they’re up to. Meet outside the grove in a few hours?” 

“Absolutely. It was a pleasure meeting you, Rosalind,” he smiled at her and gave a half bow with a funny little flourish and walked away. 

She exhaled deeply, puffing out her cheeks as she watched him leave. Not only was he handsome, compelling, and good with the blade, he was kind, a good teacher, and going to join their party?

Oh, she was in trouble.

Big trouble. 

Worse trouble than the tadpole.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

*points a microphone as if i was a news reporter*

“monsieur rollo, monsieur rollo! a moment of your time please~ is this school exchange teaching you some things? mind telling us your thoughts, let us in your head awhile~?”

*shoves the mic further into his face annoyingly — definitely on purpose too, to see his reaction.*

The way TWST EN localized some of Rollo’s non-punny JP lines has made me think he’s a fan of dry humor and/or makes the worst puns possible but says it in a super serious tone 😭

Like Fire, Hellfire.

The cold metal of the microphone pressed uncomfortably into Rollo's cheek, in the area right between his chin and the corner of his mouth. The infamous handkerchief won’t be coming to his rescue anytime soon, you snickered internally. A devil on your left shoulder, and a second devil on your right.

You were in the mood for making mischief today.

“Excuse me, you’re a bit too close for comfort…” He tried to gracefully put distance between you and himself—but his back hit the wall of the main school building. To Rollo’s annoyance, you only advanced, further encroaching on his space.

Wearing a dumb, broad smile, you twisted your mic, intentionally digging it further into his skin. Goading him. Your voice was a steady whine as you repeated your questions.

His reaction—would it be as explosive as you had hoped? Would he just grimace and shoo you away? You so desperately wanted to push his buttons and get your answer (or, as Ace so poetically put it, "fuck around and find out").

Realizing he was effectively cornered, Rollo clenched his teeth behind closed lips (you noticed a little muscle in his jaw feathering) and straightened his robes. Pressing a finger to the mic, he lowered it from his face and pushed it back toward you. The entire time, his expression was the picture of calm, relaxed.

But his eyes—oh, his eyes—told an entirely different story. They smoldered with the flare of an intense emotion. The longer you look, the more powerful it grows, swelling into a raging inferno of hatred.

He must be thinking about exploding me with his mind or something!! you thought excitedly. Now if only you could coax that reaction to the surface—

“… You must be a member of the school’s Newspaper Club,” he said. Polite, discreet, calculated. Clearly considering his public image. “I’ve seen you in walking around campus and thrusting a camera in students’ faces as well.”

“Kinda! My unofficial job’s to record all the interesting happenings on and off campus—and you’re of great interest to us and our reader base, Monsieur Rollo!” You rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet. “C’mon, the people are dying to know! Spill the tea. What’s shakin’, bacon?

Rollo took one look at you, then at your waiting mic, which you wielded like a weapon.

“… Your appetite, clearly,” he said dryly. Then, weaving his fingers together at your lack of a reaction, he continued, “There is not much to tell. Quality instructors and facilities… Night Raven College is just as excellent of a learning institution as they say it is. There is good reason for it to be considered the highest standard for other arcane academies to follow. Anyone fortunate enough to attend this school is sure to have a most charmed education.”

He’s just saying the generic nice things he thinks everyone wants to hear! It’s like he’s reading off of a NRC school brochure…!

“Oh, I’m sure there’s gotta be something juicy to share! Maybe you have an old score to settle with some known faces on campus?” you asked, wiggling you brows suggestively. “You know, a heated rivalry? A blood feud? Sworn vengeance?”

Rollo deadpanned. The angry fire in his eyes hissed. “I’m not certain what you’re referring to. I have only ever encountered gentlemen here on campus.”

It was, perhaps, the biggest lie Rollo had ever uttered.

How many times had he brandished his handkerchief to disguise his disgust? How many times had he turned the other cheek when he wanted nothing more than to unleash his fury upon some miscreant mage? How many times had he snapped, like crackling fire?

You stared at him doubtfully.

“Hmmm. Maybe I’m not asking the right things,” you mused, rolling your next inquiry around on your tongue. “You’ve told me about your general experience and your feelings on your classmates. What’s the biggest takeaway from this whole school exchange?”

There was a pause.

Fire, assuming a new form.

When he speaks again, his voice is solemn yet resolute. Like the toll of a great bell.

Each word carefully selected, only the ripest and most ready of grapes plucked from the vine which they hung. (He imagined flattening you like one for your insolence, for forcing him to speak positively of NRC, and the gruesome image granted him fleeting solace.)

“… I am now cognizant that there is a vast difference between myself and the students of Night Raven College. Truly, this experience has been most humbling.”

Rollo thoughtfully rubbed at the red gemstone set in his ring. The motion seemingly placated the fire scorching in his expressionless face.

It wasn’t an untruth, he reasoned. Indeed, this whole charade had been a wake-up call, exposing him to the full extent of the evil brewing at this institution. Observing the enemy up-close had been extremely enlightening.

He had so much farther to go if he wished to extinguish it all.

“More than ever, I realize I must dedicate my efforts to closing that gap. As student council president, it falls upon my shoulders to lead my peers. Noble Bell College will not lose in its endeavor to live up to the spirit for which is stands for, and in educating the youth of tomorrow.”

He expels a puff of air—as if he had been holding it in all this time. “That is all I have to say on the matter. Then, if you will pardon me, I must be on my way to my next lecture…”

Before even waiting for your response, Rollo started to briskly walk away.

“H-Hey, wait!! Get back here!! This interview isn’t over yet…!”

“Really, you ought to not stick your nose in others’ affairs. A reputable reporter knows when to not press their interviewers,” he tuts.

“I haven’t even gotten HALF of my scoop yet!! Quit holdin’ out on me, will ya?!”

You hurried after him, your protests and pleas wafting up into the crisp day.

[lyzelky]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Tagged by the lovely @atsadi-shenanigans! A pleasure as always!

A snippet in which Tav shows mercy, and Astarion can't understand why.

When she returns to the others, she finds that not only has the campfire been lit, but that Wyll has already started on dinner. “Least I could do,” He says when she thanks him, “I’ve always heard the quickest way to people’s affection is through their stomachs, and I had some leftover provisions that were going to go to waste, otherwise. I hope you all don’t mind some mushroom and rice porridge?” As Gale wanders over to offer his advice on cooking, Tav finds that Mattis, the tiefling child from earlier, at her elbow. “ ‘Scuse me miss,” He says, grinning, “I think you owe me a coin.” She blinks down at him, then remembers. “Oh!” She laughs, “You lit the fire first then, I suppose?” His tail swishes eagerly as she reaches for her coin purse. “Sure did!” He says, “Wyll saw me and everything. Honest!” “Don’t worry, I believe you…Hold on,” She frowns, “What in the…?” Her purse, having been bolstered after their escapade in the Wither’s temple, now barely has two coins to scrape together. “Something wrong, miss?” Mattis asks. She’d figure it out later— she did promise the kid a gold, after all. “Nothing,” She lies, and goes to hand him a coin, “Don't spend it all in one—“ Mattis holds out his hand, beaming, but before she can drop the coin in his palm, a pale hand reaches into view to snatch him up by the collar. “Astarion!” She gasps, “What in the hells are you doing? Put him down!” “Get off me!” Mattis screeches and flails about, but Astarion shakes him roughly and says, “I was going to let your little ruse go, sloppy as it was, but going back a second time? Now, that’s just greedy.” Mattis stops flailing and glowers up at Astarion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says, petulantly. “Astarion,” Tav pleads, “Put him down, whatever it is, we can talk about it.” “Not a chance,” He sneers, “I put him down and we’ll never see him again. Here.” There’s a flash of a steel as Astarion brandishes his dagger, and a coin purse falls from within Mattis’ vest to the ground. Several dozen coins tumble from the bag’s opening, along with three very familiar orange gemstones; The gems Astarion had given to her just this morning. Tav picks up the pouch and feels her face flush with embarrassment. Tricked by a child— How stupid could she be? “See?” Astarion gloats, “Nothing but a dirty little pickpocket. This is why— What are you doing?” He goggles as she carefully returns the stolen coins and gems to her own pouch, and holds out the remaining amount to Mattis. “Let him go,” She says gently to Astarion, “There’s no harm done.” He stares at her. “You can’t be serious.” She lifts an eyebrow. He scoffs and incredulously and drops Mattis to the ground. The child stumbles, regains his balance, then eyes her warily. “Go on,” She says, holding the coin purse aloft, “I figure you’re doing this to look after your sister, so I’m not mad. Though, might I suggest a different avenue of business in future?” Mattis shoves the coin purse back into his vest and cracks a tentative smile. “Sure, I’ll uh, keep that in mind. Bye!” He takes off up the path without another word, and vanishes into the gathering darkness. “You know he’s going to rob the next person he sees, don’t you?” Astarion sniffs, “Letting him go won’t solve anything, miscreants like that need discipline—“ “It’s fine,” She says quickly. She has an idea of what he means by discipline, and it makes her chest tighten strangely. “And anyway, you seemed pretty chuffed over Arabella stealing the Druid’s Idol. Why the change in attitude?” “Oh yes, well, that was entirely different,” He smirks, “That was funny.”

Thanks again for the tag! Now I tag... @again-please @starryheavenstos @dwarfsized @gilded-glitter @kittenintheden and anyone else who wants to join in!

[claudeng80]

Brains and Hearts

Garrack Gazelt/Lata Forzeno, "Theft"

(Possibly a prequel to Absence Makes The Heart)

Lata Forzeno has no need for any more reasons to avoid Wistal and the entire south of Clarines, but the weather is giving him a new one. Thankfully, the front room of the Wistal pharmacy is shady, a necessary respite from the summer heat. Even over the cheerful chiming of the door bell, he can hear the slam of a drawer somewhere in the back, followed by the patter of boots. It’s quieter than the Lilias pharmacy, but that’s not a bad thing. It always reminded him of a beehive, scholars coming and going at all times.

Thankfully, it’s a familiar face who rounds the corner. “Shirayuki,” he says, as brusque as always because if he let on that it was nice to see her, Obi would never let him live it down.

“It’s been a while,” she says back, not bothering to conceal her smile. “Do you need the services of the pharmacy, or did you just miss the smell?”

“That knight of yours is a bad influence,” he says. “You used to be so polite.”

“If you’re looking for politeness, the court meets on the other side of the palace.” Shirayuki looks as startled as Lata by the newcomer, who’s leaning in the door of a side office. She’s wearing a lab coat like it’s a fur cape, elegant from the crown of her blond head to the tips of her shoes. “Here we deal in facts.”

Before he’s even realized it, Lata’s folded into a court bow, and the sardonic smile on her lips accepts it as her due. Whoever this is, she’s interesting. “First words of sense I’ve heard all day,” he says.

*

Somehow his polite visit turns into an invitation to lunch, but the three of them have only just sat down to eat when a quiet shadow blocks the light. Lata scowls, anticipating an insolent smirk and a slouch, but instead the interruption is a tall, clean-faced man he doesn’t know. Or he doesn’t know him personally; even a recluse such as him recognizes the prince’s aide.

“Now?” Shirayuki asks, and the man murmurs another sentence in her ear. All the while he watches Lata and Garrack out of the corner of his eye, with the air of someone for whom orders have trumped courtesy. He knows he’s being rude, but it’s an inevitability. Shirayuki sighs, and he freezes; she pushes her chair back and he relaxes fractionally. “I’m sorry to leave you, but this is the only chance-”

She leaves her sentence as unfinished as her drink, following the knight out of the cafeteria and leaving Lata alone with a beautiful woman he’s known for a whole fifteen minutes. He’s heard of the legendary Garrack Gazelt, of course; one doesn’t spend any time in company with either Suzu or Ryuu without hearing the name regularly. He did read a monograph of hers once, just to get Suzu to stop begging, and her writing style was both clear and precise. He’s inclined to approve. However, he had pictured someone rather older and not so stunning.

“Ryuu said he asked you for advice,” she says, and it sounds more like an accusation than thanks.

“A time or two. He has a good head on his shoulders.” They both nod, united for a moment. “A little too serious, though.”

“Lilias has been good for that.” She stirs her drink; he’d thought at first it was alcohol from the way she sipped it, but from closer it smells like cold Lilias tea. Funny that the supposedly-exclusive recipe has caught on here as well. “I’ll grant you that it was a good decision for him to stay. You can’t have Shirayuki, though.” She brandishes her spoon, and he could laugh.

“I’m a geologist. What use do I have for herbalists?” Garrack cocks an eyebrow at him, and he can’t help but bristle. “They chased me all over the North. I had a veritable infestation of them. Besides, I’m not the one you should be worrying about. There’s no reason to accuse me of stealing her when that prince exists.”

“That’s the truth.” They both look at the door Shirayuki had followed the knight out, then she sighs and downs the rest of her tea. “You’re more my time than hers, anyway.”  She leans back and eyes Lata again, and this time he’s not sure whether he should admit to the scratch on his shoulder (courtesy of an overhanging branch on the ride down) or the way his heart is pounding in his throat. She probably already can tell, by the look on her face.

“Are you staying long?” she asks, lightly.

He has a couple of appointments over the next few days, and at some point he needs to go make his bows to his mother, but as much as he is an idiot when it comes to women, he knows that’s not what she’s asking. He’s attracted to her; inexplicably the feeling appears to be mutual. “Long enough for whatever you have in mind. I am at your disposal, my lady.”

@ans-arcade

[nine-of-words]

Something Borrowed (Part Ten)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 5127

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup

The horrors have been numerous and persistent for me lately, so this part took its sweet time getting written. Not much else to say about this chapter, other than I’m very excited to write the next one!!

It seems that things are determined to go sideways today. 

“Sorry to drop all of this on ya so early, but I knew you’d be awake.” Your sister’s voice comes through the speaker of your device.

You are indeed awake. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, despite it feeling like what you do the most these days- no idea why that would be- so you were already up and slowly trudging through your morning routine. But now you’re distracted with the call, going through making yourself a desperately needed cup of coffee mostly by feel in your dimly lit apartment kitchen.

“It’s okay- So, how exactly did this happen?”

“She took a wee tumble down the stairs. Got up in the middle of the night to get water, fell ass over kettle.”

“Oh, spirits. But you said it wasn’t serious, right?”

“Eh. Fractured her wrist, or so the doctor says. Right, Ma?” You hear a bit of noise in the background that sounds remarkably like your mother being quietly muttering in a displeased manner. “She’ll be right as rain soon enough. But she’s going to be in the cast for a tick.”

“Do I need to book a flight?”

“Hmm. You know we love to see ya- but nah. It's really not all that dire. Think she's tired of all the fuss by now, really.” She explains, before immediately switching into compulsory older sibling teasing. “Plus won't your new fella miss you? Unless you want to bring him along to meet what he's got to look forward to joining up with.”

“Haha… Yeah, you’re right. I suppose you’ll just have to wait…” You haven’t told them he’s not exactly your fella at the moment. What would you even say?

After a bit more conversation, Emer puts your mother on, and you speak to her for a short while. It assuages your worry a little, but not nearly enough to take the edge off. Though she's adamant you don't let her little mishap scare you into making sudden travel plans, you can't help but let it add to your ratings worries.

Maybe… you should go home?

You hang up your voci and look down at the brewed coffee that’s just started to drip through the filter. In your absent minded state, you’ve managed to put the exact mug you’ve been avoiding into the machine.

But there it is, the pink and white curves of ceramic reminding you of everything you're trying to push out of your mind.

You let out a long, frustrated sigh, pausing to stare vacantly at the mug.

Maybe putting an ocean between you and here will help you forget what you could have right now instead, if you weren't cursed.

You have all day to sit on it, you suppose, and can make a decision later. But you do have a business to run in the meantime, so you return to the process of adding your usual milk and sugar. 

It doesn’t help the bitter taste at all today.

Things don’t really go much better for you the longer the day progresses. 

“This is too sweet,” The older woman across the counter says, brandishing the mostly eaten cupcake in its paper lining. “I want a refund.”

“Well, it's a cupcake, m’am. It is mostly sugar…” You don’t even have the energy to muster your usual level of pleasantness. You barely keep from grimacing as you ring up the refund, just to get this person out of your hair.

Your customers are usually not this problematic, but you’re beginning to think that no one is having a good day today. You can deal with grumpy or picky people, but usually they’re not quite so many of them in a concentrated blast. Every little interaction is finding its way under your skin, and that’s not even taking into account how hard it is to concentrate and get any meaningful progress done.

Though, this is a task you’ve been pointedly avoiding that you’ll have to start sooner or later, today.

You’ve got to finish putting together Devin and Trevor’s cake- if you want it to be solid enough to put flowers in before delivery tomorrow night, which is rapidly approaching the longer you dawdle.

As in, nearly can be measured in hours instead of days soon.

It was different when it was just… anonymous cake layers you were cutting out and leveling. That could’ve been for anyone’s cake! But the more personality that goes into it, the more the subtle, nagging grief makes it difficult to work on.

You sigh and glob a stabilizing dollop of the vanilla buttercream- Trevor's choice- onto the base with your offset spatula.

It’s not as if you’re jealous that your ex is getting married at this point. You’re far past the stage of wanting him back by now. It just… all seems so unfair. Hopeless. He was able to wound you so deeply when he left- and just when you thought you had healed and moved on, carved out some new happiness for yourself- that got taken away, too.

Why should he get to be happy when you’re on the short end of the stick again?

You center a cake layer, then slather some more buttercream, spreading it out to make a glue for the next layer to adhere onto.

You’ll just have to think about it as Devin’s cake. It’s for your friend. That’s how you’ll get through this. You’ll do a good job, for your friend. Even if she’s marrying your ex, she should still get the best cake you can make for her, like you’d do for any other client.

Another layer of cake. A layer of elven berry compote that you made fresh yesterday- also Trevor’s choice, naturally. Another layer of cake. Then, repeat it all again.

As much as you try to rationalize that to yourself as you work through applying the crumb coat, you can’t help but realize you’ve been white-knuckling the spatula handle by time you’ve finished applying the buttercream.

Eventually, you have all of the crumb coated tiers ready on cake boards, to be given another coat and assembled after they’ve firmed up for a bit.

You mercifully shut the disassembled cake in the cooler, relieved that you don’t have to look at it for another few hours. Though, you have to hand it to yourself, even when your life is falling apart, you can make a bang-up gorgeous cake.

The demands of your business don’t stop just because you’re having a bad day and have other things to do, unfortunately. You’re not sure what portal to Hell has opened nearby, but it seems like all of the most awful customers have all decided to come to your shop today to take out their anger on you.

“No, we don’t do tiered pies here. I don’t even know if you’d be able to do that without making a mes- Well, okay. Have a nice day-” You say, though the person on the other end of the line has already hung up on you.

You turn to face the customer waiting at the counter, but before you can even greet them, they interrupt you with a snapping of their fingers.

“Where’s our waiter? I put our order into the kiosk twenty minutes ago and no one has even been by to so much as pour our water!”

“Oh, well, you can eat-in here, that’s what the seating is for, but we’re not a full service-”

“Ugh, fine! Just get me my order already, then.” The customer barks and you have to bite your tongue to restrain yourself from snapping back.

By time you reach another lull in activity and get back to work on Devin’s cake, your jaw and shoulders are fully tensed.

Since it’s slow, you take out the gumpaste. You have another tray of roses to sculpt so they can dry on time to place them tomorrow, so you might as well knock it out sooner than later.

Maybe none of this would be getting to you so much, but the full weight of the wedding being tomorrow is bearing down on you. The one saving grace is that Kirby will be there to distract you- at least you won’t be alone. You’ll deliver the cake, you’ll get through the ceremony, you’ll stay for a brief yet socially acceptable amount of time at the reception, and then you’ll go home and this whole excruciating ordeal will be over.

You just have to finish this cake and get through tonight first.

Only a few more hours until close. 

You can do this.

You make it another hour, rolling thinned pieces of sugary paste into delicate petals, before the bell door rings, and the person you see walk through the door gives you pause.

It’s not Carlyle, as you’ve been hoping it was every single time you hear the shop bell jingle since the last time you saw him. But it certainly looks like him, in everything but personal styling, and of course, the shape of the quartzose horns protruding from his brow.

Today it seems he’s left his body glitter at home, however. He’s dressed in relatively casual clothing; a hoodie (midriff still intact), untied slim joggers, immaculately clean sneakers. The difference is so staggering you might not have even recognized him as the same person, compared to his last visit, if he didn’t have Carlyle’s face; which you can now see clearly underneath his loose brown curls, this time not covered by the shadow of his hood.

“Hey.”

He gives you a tilt of his chin in acknowledgement and smiles an uncannily similar, fanged smile to the one you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. It’s a stab of pain, how sorely you miss it right now, and seeing it again, but just different enough to not be it.

“Uh. Hi, Marcus?” You say in a stilted manner, not really sure how to proceed. “You are… looking less gilded today than last time.”

“Hahahah, yeah. I didn’t have work last night, dude. No hangover!”

“Hah. Right…”

“But good to see you again, man! …I was wonderin-”

“Listen, if you’re here to deliver a message or something, I really can’t do this right now.” You cut him off, begging more than anything at this point to not have another thing go wrong or a twist of the knife today. You scrub at your face with your forearm to keep your hands sanitary, the deep pit of frustration starting to bubble out of you unintentionally. “And he knows to not-”

“Hey, no man, listen! It’s nothing like that.” He pats his curls down, the same way that his brother occasionally does with his dreadlocks when he’s smoothing out a misunderstanding. “He’d be PISSED if I knew he was here, hahah. He told me never to come here on my own after last time!”

“Well, maybe you should follow his instruction on that matter.” You say dryly and continue to roll the soft substance in silent judgement. “He usually knows what he’s talking about.”

Marcus seems to take this as a bad sign, his face twisting into a look of exasperation.

“Fine! Gimme a dozen cupcakes then. Fuck, make it any flavor, dude, I don’t even care.” He starts rifling through his pants pockets, finally pulling out his wallet, and then a card that he puts on the counter. It’s got his name printed on it, rather than Carlyle’s, so you suppose he’s gotten it replaced since the last time. “You’ve gotta talk to me if I’m a customer ‘n shit, right?”

“You know I do have the right to refuse service to you…?”

“Yeah man, but I don’t think you’re gonna! You’re too nice, from what I’ve heard.” Marcus says with the sort of shit-eating grin on his face that absolutely makes you want to refuse service to him, but with a vengeance.

“Well if you’re not here on your brother’s behalf…” You sigh in your own matching exasperated look and set down your gumpaste project to start boxing a dozen cupcakes. “Why are you here, then?”

“I’m gonna be totally honest with you, dude. He didn’t send me, but it is about him. I’m like, super worried about him.”

“Oh…” You can’t help yourself, you have to ask. “Is he alright…?” 

“Hell no! He’s all fucked up, man! The other night, I left at 8pm and he was still in the same spot at 11am when I got back in. Same book, same fit, same stale cup of coffee. He had sat still in the same place reading whatever nerd shit he was reading for so long that he deadass went half solid.” 

You can’t find the words to respond to that. The guilt gnaws at you like you gnaw at your bottom lip, but in a strange way, you feel validated that he’s still as messed up about things as you are.

“Look, whatever he did, it can’t be that bad, right? It’s Lyle!! He like, never fucks up like that.” He leans over the counter, talking with his hands in another show of familiar, yet foreign-in-this-context expression. He taps his chest with the fingertips of a spread hand for emphasis. “And I would know, ‘cuz I’M the family fuck up here. So, maybe you could like, just forgive him and junk? Make up or whatever?”

“It’s not…” You take a second to steady your breath. You’ve been trying to suppress these feelings for weeks, and now they’re getting dragged up so suddenly. “It’s not something he did. It’s… outside circumstances…”

You hesitate for a brief moment before you pick out the last of the random assortment; an orange and mixed spice flavor you found yourself trying out.

“That’s it? There’s no gettin’ around it, huh?”

“No. I'm sorry. It's complicated. I just can't.” You say with weakened conviction as you tape the box up, and then hoping to persuade yourself once again, add; “It’s better this way.”

“Right-” Marcus straightens up and rocks back and forth on his feet, his sneakers squeaking slightly against the tile with the motion. “Sorry if pushing was out of line, dude.”

“Don't worry about it- honestly, I'm sort of glad you showed up.” You smile, bittersweet. “It’s good that he has someone looking out for him.”

“Yeah.” Marcus smiles a conflicted smile back, then takes his cupcakes to go. “See you ‘round, dude.”

You find yourself having a silent argument with yourself as you finish the rest of the roses.

There’s the guilt, of course. Are you a bad person if you know that this separation is hurting you both, and yet you’re continuing to enforce it? Maybe you should have just let Marcus convince you to reach out?

Seeing someone with such familiar features has only made your heart ache that much more for what you’re missing.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you don’t have any customers in the shop at the moment, because they’d be able to clearly see you sneering at empty air and grumbling to yourself.

By the time you finish the last petal on the last rose of the tray, you’re no closer to having resolved your internal disagreement.

You put the roses away, and pull out your fully set, crumb-coated cake. Now just to put the final layer of frosting on, and then you’ll be done for the night.

As you set the tray down on the counter, your voci starts ringing in your pocket. You remove your gloves and answer the call, seeing that it’s Kirby. They’ve been checking in on you a lot more often lately, like you’re a sickly pet needing constant supervision. They're not entirely wrong.

You greet them as you put them on speaker. Then you wash up, and reglove as their voice comes through on the other end.

“So! How is your day going so far?”

“Oh, you know. Typical weekend customers. Ma broke her wrist.” You say flatly, smoothing out the buttercream on the top of the lowest cake tier with a spin of the stand with well-practiced motions.

“Oh no! That’s terrible! Is she okay??”

 “She’s fine, but it’s still stressful that I can’t be there to help out.”

Once you’re finished getting a perfectly even, level surface on the lowest tier, you begin the process again on a slightly smaller scale on the next largest cake tier.

“Mmm. Yeah, it must be, being so far away.”

“And Carlyle’s brother came into the shop earlier.” You continue, now lathing more buttercream onto the sides.

“Whaaaat??? No!! Glitter Boy?! Oh my SPIRITS you’ve gotta tell me all the details right now!”

“There’s not a lot to say, really. Told me Carlyle’s not taking it well either, and now I feel like a villain.”

“You’re not a villain,” Kirby sighs. “Sometimes things are just. Y’know. Messy.”

You continue to make your way through doing the final coat on the cake tiers, each one going progressively faster as they diminish in size.

“Oh, and how could I forget- I’m making a cake for my ex’s wedding that social pressure is forcing me to attend. So you know. The usual.”

“Hahah- Ooh, bummer. Well, when you put it like that, it does sound like, toooootally miserable! You’re having a pretty horrible day, and I’m… definitely not about to make it worse, hahah!!”

“Oh no.” You hiss through gritted teeth. “Something’s wrong, then?”

They laugh nervously, a little giggle-whimper that you can’t possibly be irritated with.

You’re silent as you begin to fill a piping bag with buttercream, waiting for Kirby to divulge their information.

“I MAY have some bad news.”

“Oh. Lovely. Just grand! More bad news is exactly what I need at this current moment.” You say, dripping with sarcasm.

“I know!!! Believe me, I know! But I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out.” Kirby sighs. “I just got out of a meeting with my boss and they’re sending me out of town on a case. I have to get on a red eye in a few hours.”

“But… the wedding is tomorrow…”

“Yeah, that would be the problem! But I can’t exactly tell my boss to fuck off and still have a job, y’know??? Soooooo. We are in. damage. control. mode!”

“It’s okay.” You say, it not really being okay at all, but not wanting to lash out at your friend who’s only ever tried to help you in any given situation. You’re simply too stunned to even start to panic.

“Nope! It’s ABSOLUTELY not! But I’ll be there in like, an hour!! I’ll bring dinner and we can totally figure out a plan B, okay? Or I guess plan C or D by now- But bestie, I don’t care if I have to HIRE an escort to take you to that wedding, you’re not going alone! Especially not because of stupid work interference!!”

“Hah- A-Alright.” You laugh weakly and speak through a sharp intake of air, but manage to not sound like you’re about to burst into tears, even though you desperately want to. “See you soon.”

The call ends, but you continue working, despite the rapidly expanding pit of terror in your gut and the sting at the back of your eyes.

This news, surprisingly, does not help your ability to finish this cake.

You keep going, but not without roadblocks. Your eyes screw closed in frustration and pain. Your teeth grit. Your hand clenches around the bag, nearly squeezing the frosting out of the back end of it.

As a small mercy, closing time finally comes and you turn off the light, though you leave the door unlocked, given you’re expecting Kirby sometime in the next hour or so.

You need to move on to piping some of the finer details- But you can't even think about piping an even line right now, not with the way your hand is trembling.

Still, you persist, pushing the bag back taut and re-twisting the open end. 

“Stop. Shaking.” You hiss out loud at yourself, your body refusing to obey even your own verbal instructions.

You just need to get this cake done. Is that so much to ask?

Kirby is coming over and you’ll find a solution for the wedding. You won’t have to go to your ex's wedding alone. It will be fine.

The tremor in your hand nearly causes you to stab through the layer you’re working on with the piping tip, so you take a moment to straighten up your posture and try to loosen your locking muscles. You take a few calming breaths, then go back in and manage to finish the last few filigree details on the tier you're working on.

Your hand is already shaking again. You ignore it. You’ll get through this. You have to.

But every time you regain focus, the thought of Carlyle as a miserable and inert statue keeps creeping back unbidden into your mind.

It’s all too much. Too much. Too much.

The lights above you flicker. A buzz of energy ripples through the room.

The pressure on your chest is unbearable now. Blood rushes in your ears. 

You can’t deal with this anymore.

You can’t even think-!

POP-

In an instant, something cold and cloying splatters across the side of your face and the bridge of your nose, the front of your shirt, your clenched hands and outstretched forearms.

You bring a hand to your face in shock, blindly testing the sudden change in texture.

Your fingertips come away coated in sticky, sugary goop, and bits of shredded vanilla sponge cake.

And where the cake tiers were sitting on the counter, there’s a conspicuous absence of a cake, only the sparse large chunk of shrapnel- a bloodless crime scene, the mostly empty, frosting smeared cakeboards evoking the essence of a chalk body outline.

Well. You’ll be damned.

The cake exploded.

Hoarse, incredulous laughter escapes your throat- first in disbelief, then in bitter resignation. No other reaction really seems to suit this situation more.

Because your life is a joke. A bad joke.

Your laughs thin out, turning into choked sobs. You sink down until you’re sitting on your cold shop floor with your back against a cabinet, and bring the lower clean edge of the apron up to cry into.

Eventually, the unrestrained weeping quiets into silent tears Time has passed, as evidenced by the sky beginning to darken outside. 

“Heeeeellooooo~! I’m heee-” You hear a familiar voice call out and then equally familiar hoof falls on the tile. There’s a rapid change in their tone, making a 180° turn into hushed concern. “Oh. Well fuck, that doesn’t look good-” 

After a few moments, Kirby rounds the counter, an inquisitive look on their face.

You can’t even muster the embarrassment to be seen like this, too tired and emotionally drained and just simply done with it all.

You expect a look of pity or maybe some awkward fussing, but instead, Kirby simply gives you a knowing smile.

“What a mess!!” Kirby shakes their head, curls tumbling as they assess the damage. “You’re not hurt, are you, honey?”

You shake your head weakly, rubbing at your eye with your inner wrist.

“Good! Well then, let’s get this all cleaned up!” They chirp and reach out their hand, palm up.

After the moment it takes to recognize the gesture, you take their hand. Kirby’s grip is surprisingly strong for being such a petite faun, and they easily manage to help you to your feet.

“You don’t have to-” 

“Well I’m NOT going to let you sit here and cry covered in frosting all night.” Kirby laughs, beginning to roll up the sleeves of their work shirt. “So. Yes I do~”

“...Thank you.” You sniffle.

“Don’t mention it!!” They laugh. “You go get cleaned up and I’ll start tackling this absolute disaster zone!”

You trudge upstairs and debate on the benefits of a full shower before deciding that it’s worth it, even if ten more cakes explode. You’re uncomfortably sticky down your neck and arms. 

Maybe you can wash this day away, while you’re at it…

Before long you’re redressed and coming back downstairs- if not feeling completely refreshed, you at least now have it in you to face the (suddenly much longer) list of tasks ahead. Kirby has gotten most of the cake into a trash bag, and is wiping down the counter.

“There, you look much better! Now, come tell me what was happening when this happened, will you?”

You join them, grabbing a sanitizer rag and beginning to help wipe down the closest surface. You describe as best you can exactly what you were doing, feeling, and thinking about when the cake exploded, just as you’ve explained to them about the previous incidents that you weren’t physically present for.

“Hmm.” Kirby hums quizzically. “Well, the good news is I’ve got a potential solution for the wedding dilemma.”

“Oh?” You’d be lying if you said that the promise of a stressor being removed didn’t sound divine.

“Actually, I’ve already convinced Rosario to go with you, if you want, while I was on the way over. Did you know that she’s surprisingly easy to bribe?!” Kirby giggles. “But to be honest- I didn’t even need to bribe her!! She agreed before I offered anything in return. Apparently wedding cake and an open bar is enough reason for her to turn up, or so she said. But I think it’s because she likes you.”

“That’s… very kind of her.” She wouldn’t be the worst companion for the event- you’ve grown quite fond of her presence in your shop, prickly attitude and all.

“Yeah! She’ll easily make your ex just as uncomfortable as I was planning to, all on her own merit, hehe!! BUUUUUT, I think you know what I’m about to say-”

“Don’t…”

“You should call him!” Kirby says in the most obnoxiously sing-song sweet tone they can, and you wince hard.

“I can’t-”

“But you can~!!”

“But I don’t think I should-”

“Well, maybe you should think again, sweetie!! You absoluuuuutely should! Because if this-” Kirby motions to the partially cleaned up buttercream splatter still coating the vicinity. “Isn’t proof enough that it’s not a him problem, I don’t know what would be!!”

You drag a palm across your face, overwhelmed, and heave a sigh.

“At the end of the day it’s your choice! I can’t make you call him. But you miss him, and he misses you! I know this for a fact! And SPIRITS is he being SO insufferable about it!! And so are you!!!! And it’s just a BIT silly to keep drawing this out like this.”

“But… I don’t want him to get hurt…”

“Listen. We know there’s something attached to you- Rosario’s exorcism attempt confirmed that much. But there’s no like, actual indication that any of that is related to what’s happening with the curse. It’s just not how this kind of magic works. We’re almost certain we’re dealing with two unconnected, non-standard issues complicating each other at this point- some sort of spirit attached to you, and some sort of ley-based magical compulsion in play- but we don’t know the source of where either of those things are coming from. Yet.”

“Right.” You say, pausing your cleaning work to take in the new information.

“Though, someone has some very promising ideas about the later being some sort of messed up geas, and Rosario seems like she has a hunch on what is in the shop.”

“But… it just feels like it’s getting worse. Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, of course…”

“I know it feels that way. But I am good at my job! And I’ve been keeping track of the numbers this whole time, y’know?? I’ve got the DATA. Do you know what I’ve noticed the most as a trend over the time I've been working your case?”

You simply shake your head to give them time to build dramatic tension before they continue.

“The cakes explode more when you’re upset!! Like, a whole, whole lot more! And quite frankly at this point, in my professional opinion, you being separated from him is making it WORSE!!”

“...You really think it’d be okay to ask him-” To go back to how it was before, to be with me again; you want to say, but end up continuing instead; “to come with me to the wedding?”

You have the feeling Kirby understands what you wanted to say, anyway, based on their pleased expression, like they’re finally getting the message through to you.

“You’re my friend!! And as your friend, I am HEREBY giving you the permission that you’re not giving yourself! I wouldn’t be suggesting this to you if I didn’t think it was safe.” Kirby squarely lays their hands on you on the shoulders, though they need to reach up slightly to do it. “If anything, having him there might keep you from getting bent out of shape at your ex and blowing up the second cake, like, at the actual wedding.”

“That would be horrible.” You rasp and find yourself genuinely smiling for the first time all day, trying to blink back the sting of more tears threatening to spill, though this time more out of a sense of appreciation than despair.

“It. Would. Be. HILARIOUS.” Kirby says with a mischievous grin, patting your shoulders with each word for emphasis. “And if it were to happen, I would hope you were recording it. Y’know, for data collection purposes, hehehe!! But it would also be, let’s say: bad for business.”

You manage to finish getting things looking clean, as if nothing bad had happened at all, Kirby has called their ride to the airport.

“Now, I have to go or I’m going to miss my flight and my boss will probably-actually-literally murder me.” 

“And I have a cake to remake.” You quietly lament. “If you want, I can get on the plane and you can make the cake…”

Kirby lets out a string of giggles, picking their carry-on bag off the seat at the counter they stashed it on..

“Hahah- No thanks!! But- Call him.” Kirby repeats as they give you a squeezing hug goodbye. “Or Rosario, if you must. But don’t make yourself go alone. And keep me updated!! All of the juicy wedding gossip, please. I’m definitely going to be bored out of my mind otherwise, hehe!!”

Then they release you from their grip to head out the door with one last wave and a jingle of the shop bell. 

You, on the other hand, let out a long, withering sigh and pull out another set of white cake layers from the cooler.

…It’s going to be a long night.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

[samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires]

BELOW THE SURFACE: CHAPTER ONE: A Petal's Decay:

A/N: Hello hello hello! Thank you to those who participated in the poll of if I should cross post: the most answers were for yes! So here we are...and THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 200 FOLLOWERS!!! That is a HUGE HUGE HUGE blessing to me. Seriously, I cannot thank you enough for how happy this makes me feel. So now, as a thank you for your support through my rambunctious posts and chaotic DMs, I present to you...

Below the Surface: A 2023 Lackadaisy Fanfiction...now posted here, there, and NOW on Tumblr. Enjoy!

"His voice means to deceive you...my voice just wants to lead you...Below the Surface."

-🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹-

The smell of cigarettes was heavily sticking in the air. An overwhelming warmth accompanied it in the suite. The night was muggy, hence why she locked up all the windows. It was a warm Missouri night: yet Lacrimosa Ambrose was far from tired, despite how late it was. 

She was in her lavish flapper dress, consisting of pigments of indigo and black. She had toed off her shoes and let the feather boa around her slip down, softly and caressing her arms. Tonight was a rather eventful night for the jazz singer: she really brought the blues out in her sultry voice. She was fawned over by many men, and she adored the attention secretly: yet she never wanted anything serious with anyone, as she was a lone wolf in the relationship department. However…no one ever asked about her… side hustle, regarding her occupation in the Rose Brigade: she was the boss after all …

That’s good: if people became suspicious, she would end up shooting some people in the head with her Colt M1911 pistol…she’d thank her husband for that lovely gift…if he weren’t dead.

She got up off her couch, sauntering over to her phone as she spun the dial numbers slowly and deliberately, and she put the phone to her ear. She sighed sharply, her pointed ears perking downwards slightly, and she took another hit from her cigarette to calm herself down.

“Mei deliciae, this is getting old…I get you’re in Hotel Maribel, but at least speed up this process.” She told the other person on the phone.

“Of course, of course! I’ve just been…under the weather.” He reassured her: Silas Tueuse, a French actor visiting Missouri with his sister Raquelle, was far from innocent…just like Ms. Lacrimosa.

“If you mean you were busy being at a damn juice joint and getting sick from drinking too much giggle water , then you are surely a fool to think you can fool me with this excuse.” Lacrimosa chided, as if she was talking to a child: from her perspective, she might as well be. She was almost twice Silas’ and Raquelle’s age, and her beauty slowly dimmed as more wrinkles showed from stress.

“Ah, shucks,” Silas hissed a bit, snapping his fingers, “that trick never works, dunnit?”

“Use proper grammar in my presence, Tueuse. I will not ask you again.” Lacrimosa twirled with her pearled necklace with a finger, and her claw retracted. 

“What’s the problem with the way I speak, ma’am?”

“You and your sister come from wealthy parents, I highly expected some elegance from you.”

“Ma’am, I come from a French mother and an English father, as does my little sister: we have different ways of speaking: she’s like mother, I’m like father. So expect a bit of slip ups and slangs from us…~”

Lacrimosa internally cursed him. She sucked in a sharper breath, brandishing her cigarette. “Silas, do me a favor and get yourself in line…I won’t hesitate to lodge a bullet in your pretty little skull.” She glanced over towards an ebony desk, seeing a slightly rusted revolver, glinting a little in the soft lighting.

“...yes ma’am.”

“Are you about to go down from your room to…do the task?”

“In a few moments…after all, I am a good actor~” Silas pulled out a small vial of cyanide, playing with it. “After all, I could always slip it into a drink or two.”

“You remember the target?”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll get it done as soon as I can.”

“I want you to go immediately after we finish this call: is that clear?”

Silas grimaced: “Yes, that is crystal clear, Ms. Lacrimosa.” Oh lord, what was he going to do? His sister was conked out on the hotel bed in Hotel Maribel, after drinking too many dry martinis and throwing up on herself in a not–so elegant fashion. She had changed out into something much more comfortable to sleep in.

“Good: that’s my left hand man~” Lacrimosa teased, smiling with feigned sweetness. She then hung up abruptly, the smile drooping into a deep, frustrated frown. She rubbed at her temples, leaning against the table and sighing. Her tail thumped against the wood, and she walked over to the window, opening it. The smoke and smell of cigarettes wafted out of the apartment complex, and she pressed her elbows on the windowsill, hands under her chin. Her amber eyes dulled, watching the cars, the people, and everything else slowly drift by. She craved some form of entertainment, something different from the dullness. St. Louis was a hit or miss sometimes…but soon there will be a good story: a good dose of entertainment, all thanks to the French actor Silas Tueuse. She smiled, flicking off some ash and ember, and it landed on her rose plant…the flame ate at one of the petals, and it shriveled up: she didn’t feel too bad. The poor plant was dying anyway…

Her ears flicked at the sound of a violin. She sighed almost gently, shoulders dropping. She extinguished her cigarette onto the ashtray, put her shoes back on, and grabbed her feathered boa again, wrapping it around her: the violinist lived in the exact same apartment building as Lacrimosa, and boy did she love her like a daughter. She grabbed her keys and left her apartment, locking the door and leaving. She began treading down the hallway, tail slowly swishing in sync with the violin’s notes. She hummed along to the tune. She knocked on the door at the end of the hall, and the music stopped. There were footsteps, and the door opened. 

An older Sphynx with a left glass eye and scar marks stared at her, an eyebrow raised. Her cold, stern features softened slightly. Her ice blue eyes dulled, and she backed away, beckoning Lacrimosa to enter.

“Your playing is soothing, Mandisa. I enjoy it.” Lacrimosa walked into the darker apartment, and she put her arms at her sides. She gazed around with a bit of a sleepy–eyed look to her.

Mandisa smiled slightly: despite being wrinkly, she was still a bit in her youth: thirty–five was still rather young. “I’m doing it for the kids.” She told her.

“They’re asleep, yes?” Lacrimosa raised a brow.

“Both Cassandra and Malachi, yes.”

“...what about the other one?”

“Don’t you recall? He’s living with his father.” 

“My condolences.” 

“It’s quite alright.”

Their conversations were light, but filled with calmness and respect.

“I have another job for you, Silas, Raquelle and the others.” Lacrimosa fluffed up her boa.

“So soon?” Mandisa straightened herself up.

“Yes…Silas is already after the target. He’ll be done rather soon…but that’s not the point. We’re going after Marigold’s head honcho.”

“...really? Asa Sweet?”

“Bold, isn’t it?”

“A little tempting, but much more dangerous: don’t you remember his little shadow? James has that divot in his ear thanks to Heller’s bullet!”

“Damn…that’s right.” 

“Certainly, we can’t go head on.” 

Lacrimosa then grinned deviously. “Lure Heller away…as well as his little posse. We could also ruin some lives in the Little Daisy Cafe~”

Mandisa sat down, her tail curled next to her thigh. “This is…interesting.”

“In due time, everything will work out~” Lacrimosa grinned sharply, crossing one leg over the other. “Lure them all away…that way, we pluck away everything they love.”

…and this is the beginning of how things become twisted.

-🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹-

Aaaaand here's chapter one! I'm going to post a chapter or two on here a day, but once I really write more in the future, the posting process fic-wise might slow down. Either way, hope you enjoy!

[scarletgemstone]

death and puss meet again

(Puss gets ready to brandish his sword but doesn’t)

puss”I know you’re there don’t be afraid “

death “I’m not afraid “

puss”then come out”

death “then you’ll be afraid “

puss”me? Afraid please (beat) alright though i’m serious I won’t be afraid “

death “hmm? Alright “

(Death steps out of the shadows and they both look at each other)

puss”I know who you are “

death “do you?”

(Puss gives him a small smile)

puss”your my fairy godfather “

death “what?”

bug”huh?”

perrito”aww”

puss “fairy godfather you been watching over me my whole life I’ve always known you were close by your shadow it’s been following me ever since I was small where ever I want your shadow was always there”

(Death looks confused puss starts talking and death puts him to sleep)

(Death looks at perrito who is smiling and then at the crikite who looks shocked)

death “relaxe I just put him to sleep “

perrito”this is so …. Incredibly we have a new friend to visit us “

death”no he can’t stay here “

perrito”aww why not?”

death “you know why”

bug”well if I may interject I think puss visiting the forest would be good for us”

Perrito”yeah I like him share that other guy did hurt you but puss is different and he did call you his fairy godfather since you mostly took care of him so maybe it would be best to let him visit the forest to live up to your name “

(Death thinks about it and sees perrito giving him the puppy dog eyes he sighs )

death “don’t make me regret this “