#gussy…. its a name for sure

[ratatatastic]

thinking about roddy being one of the only guys to consistently call forsy “gussy”

[gilverrwrites]

Idek if it’s cannon but I’m pretty sure the supers are like in the south but anyway the thought of Kons voice having a southern twang to it is highkey driving me up a wall like esp when he’s telling u to do smt during sex

It does it for me too, I always imagine him with a smidge of an accent even if he probably doesn't have one. I'm not American so please correct my geography if its wrong. Warnings: very brief, non-graphic mention of possible choking.

Lois is from Metropolis which is supposed to be in Delaware (Southern), but I think she has more of a fast talking mid-atlantic city accent.

Clark is mid-western; Smallville being in rural Kansas, I believe. Which isn't southern, but is “country” and so there is overlap there. As the 'serious investigative journalist'; Clark Kent, he tones the accent down a lot. As Superman he turns it on a bit, plays it up for the public. At home/with friends he just talks and whatever comes out is what comes out. He also, definitely lays it on thicker for Lois cause he knows it does something for her. (or Bruce, or whoever else you ship him with).

Accents aren't genetic, so Kon probably doesn't naturally have either, however, he's around them enough to pick up a bit of a twang and maybe some key phrases. Usually he just puts it on for shits and giggles, often around Lex because it pisses him off, but sometimes he uses it on you.

The first time it was an accident, you called his name as you approached, planning on asking him something but he was only half paying attention, busy joking around with Bart, so he answers with a distracted; “Yeah, Darlin’?” Whatever had been in your head quickly left the room and so did you.

Second time, he catches you staring at him absentmindedly. He stares right back until you catch on, and then he asks with a sly smirk; “You fixin’ for somethin’, hon?” You quickly avert you gaze.

By now he's catching on. The next time he sees you, he makes an effort to compliment you, asking if that's a new shade of lipstick or if you're doing something different with your hair as he runs his fingers over the feature in reference. “Well ain'chu as pretty as a peach.” He’s testing a theory, one that you unknowingly confirm by staring at your feet and letting out a bashful giggle.

From there he starts using it more and more, pushing your buttons with a half smile and a thick drawl (that the rest of the team will give him shit for later) until he's got you pressed into his mattress. Askin’ if you gussied up just for him as he tears off your clothes. Calls you cute names while he's talkin’ real sinful. “You see what you do to me, darlin'?” With his hand around your neck, desperately grinding his sex against yours.

“Thats it, honey, say my name. Say. My. Name.” While you try to rake your nails down his back, sputtering “K-Kon-onner.” over and over while he fucks you to the edge.

“You wanna cum? Yeah? Go on, sugar, cum for me.” As he holds your face in place, looking right into your pretty eyes as he fucks you through it.

[bloodmoonmuses]

stereo 127 | johnny suh

(for @lovesuhng !!! I hope you like it!!!)

genre: johnny suh x reader, college au, teacher's assistant! johnny, friends to lovers

warnings: none!

summary: johnny is your campus crush. he also happens to be the teaching assistant in your music history class. when you (innocently) ask for help on a project, you end up learning about more than just music.

You’re a bit obsessed with this guy who skates around campus- or the concept of him, more accurately. You don’t even know his name. All you know is that last semester, you (accidentally) memorized his schedule, resulting in you walking to certain classes a few minutes earlier than necessary to catch a glimpse of him. These glimpses were merely a blur, whipping past you like an apparition. He was a ghost to you, and you enjoyed being haunted by him. 

Your friends made fun of you for having a campus crush, arguing that it’s not real since you don’t actually know him. However, you honestly preferred the distance. Then, you could fill in the gaps in your knowledge with your own imagination. Admiring him from afar worked for a while- that is, until the start of Spring semester. 

When you saunter into your music history class, a random elective you took for fun, you’re met with the elusive Skater Boy. You knew he was tall, but he’s even taller than you’d imagined in your daydreams. You glance at him briefly, before going to take a seat at a desk near the back. 

Skater Boy chats with a few of his friends at the front of the classroom, then sits next to the teacher’s desk when the professor enters. You infer that he must be the teacher’s assistant. 

This was a big problem. Surely, you’ll fail this class now. There’s simply no way you’ll be able to focus. The breathy laughs that escape him are already distracting you to the point of being almost unbearable. His smile is so breezy, like a wave catching the wind. He looks just as cool here in the classroom as he does on his skateboard.

The underlying crush that lay dormant in you begins to boil, and you know it will soon bubble over, scalding everything in its wake. You couldn’t wait for the burn. In fact, you aimed to spur it on sooner. 

You make a concerted effort to pay attention to the professor’s spiel, pulling out your notebook to take notes. It's syllabus day, sure, but you want to look studious. The first assignment of the semester is to research the history of your favorite music genre. 

Despite your efforts to focus, your eyes drift to the stickers that adorn Skater Boy’s laptop: Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, an Arctic Monkeys logo and a cartoon surfboard. You want to know everything he likes and commit the list to memory. You want to sew his idiosyncrasies into a quilt and blanket him with your loving knowledge of them.

The professor introduces him as Johnny Suh- a third year music composition major. Now the ghost has a name.

—

You look at the office hours on the bottom of your syllabus. Johnny would be in office in lieu of your professor for the majority of the semester. Would it be so bad to pop in and ask him for help on the first assignment? 

While you admittedly feel silly, walking to the Arts and Humanities building looking a bit too gussied up, you swallow the nervousness. You stand in front of the room, reading the placard:

Professor: Dr. Moon

TA: Johnny Suh 

You knock on the office door. On the third knock Johnny says, “Come on in!”

Meekly, you enter. He’s too real, too tangible, in this small space. You’ve never been within touching distance of him. The prospect makes your fingers tingle. Professor Moon has an insane book collection, two bookcases spanning the walls opposite one another. The rest of the office is cluttered with a slew of instruments.

Johnny is wearing a backwards hat and quarter sleeve sweater. Your eyes graze the expanse of his forearms, then drift upwards. There’s a pen clipped to his collar and another in between his lips. It’s the most tantalizing pen you’ve ever seen. Finally, you make eye contact. 

Introducing yourself, you say, “Hi, my name is _____. I’m in the music history course.”

“Nice to meet you.!” He takes the pen out of his mouth, and your eyes follow it forlornly. That could’ve stayed. “How can I help?” 

Johnny gathers some papers, places them in a neat stack at the center of the desk, then sits on the edge of it.

“Um, I’m a non-major. So, I’m struggling a bit with the first assignment.”

Johnny nods understandingly. “Ah, the dreaded favorite genre assignment. What’d you pick?”

“Pop punk,” you say.

“Fascinating. You don’t strike me as a punk person.”

You shrug. “Grew up on it.”

“Have you been to the record store near campus?”  

You shake your head.

“It’s called Stereo 127. I think it would be cool to listen to some records and base your research on specific albums. Then you’ll have a clearer framework for when it’s time to write the paper.”

“Thanks. Um,” you clear your throat, “Would you mind… showing me?”

“The record store? Yeah, sure. No problem. Does this weekend work for you?” Johnny asks.

“Sounds good!”

—

Stereo 127 is densely packed with all sorts of records, mimicking the state of Dr. Moon’s office. There’s a classmate of yours named Jaehyun who’s keeping watch of the store. He walks around the shop, reorganizing things as he sees fit. As you peruse the albums, you’re peeking at Johnny over the records, trying to catch his eye. Unlike you, Johnny is actually scanning the selection, genuinely trying to help you.

“Let’s get the obvious ones out the way,” he says, holding a Blink-182 record. He’s somehow managed to track down a copy of their debut album, Cheshire Cat.  

“If Cheshire Cat is an ‘obvious’ pick to you, then I’m way out of my depth,” you confess.

“A little pretentiousness never hurt anyone,” Johnny replies. 

So far, you have a copy of Green Day’s Nimrod (which you’re quite excited about) and Paramore’s newest album. As the minutes pass, you get gradually more enraptured by the thicket of albums. Before you know it, you’ve accumulated quite a few records. After a bit, you sidle up to Johnny, peering over his shoulder to check out his picks. You spot a Yellowcard compilation record.

“This is more fun than I thought it’d be,” you pipe, turning to face Johnny. His face floods with fondness when he sees the stack of albums in your arms, caramel eyes warming you from the inside out. 

“Yeah, you have a good eye,” he retorts. “I’ve been meaning to check out a few other shops around town. Y’know. To compare selections.” He’s sputtering now, having fallen into a cough fit.

“You okay buddy?” you say, chuckling. You gingerly pat his back, holding back a full blown laugh as Johnny continues to cough.

He waves you off, but you pat his back once more for good measure.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Johnny says. When he regains his composure, he continues. “I was just wondering… Are you busy on the 27th?”

—

You’re sprinting across campus, eager to meet Johnny outside of the boys’ dorm. It’s been two weeks since you’ve last seen him. He’s leaning against the building as he waits for you, clad in a page boy cap (which he’s wearing backwards again) and tank top. You allow yourself a quick glance at his arms, immediately regretting it as your face heats up. When he spots you, Johnny waves excitedly, the width of his smile making your own double in size.

After your first excursion, Johnny had asked for your number (“in case you have questions on the assignment!” he had said). Since then, the two of you have texted occasionally, mostly about school.

The record store he takes you to this time is called The Boot. It’s less trendy than Stereo 127 and less organized as well. Most of the vinyls are in bins, withering at the edges and clearly sundamaged. Johnny says he comes here to find obscure records to spin during his DJ sets, not to necessarily hunt for additions to his collection. 

“So, you’re a music composition major?” you ask as you crouch down to sift through a box.

Johnny nods. “With a minor in photography.”

“Favorite camera brand?”

“Nikon for sure, but I mostly shoot 33mm film.”

“How pretentious,” you say.

“Oh, you love it.” This is true, you do love it. 

Johnny continues. “I found another record store for us to try out after this one.”

“Yeah, just text me whenever.”

—

You had finished your paper days ago, so the subsequent record store outing was completely unnecessary to a certain extent. Johnny had no choice but to admit that he simply wanted to hang out with you- though, he’s not complaining. 

The final record store you visit with Johnny is called WAYVE. This time, he picks you up in his car to take you there- a dinky pick up truck with a shitty paint job.

“Before we head out- “ Johnny reaches over, opening the glove department in front of you. His hand brushes your leg briefly.. He pulls out a CD case and places it in your lap.

“I made a playlist for you.” He can’t look you in the eyes properly. You’ve never seen him look this sheepish.

Johnny continues. “Not vinyl, I know, but I wanted to decorate the cover.” Taped to the front of the jewel case is a polaroid of you perusing records. In the photo, your brows are furrowed in concentration.

“When did you even take this, you weirdo?”

“A few weeks ago at The Boot. The lighting was nice.”

You’re practically buzzing with excitement when you get home, racing to put the CD in your busted boombox. The first song on the playlist is Going Away to College by Blink-182.

“I haven't been this scared in a long time

And I'm so unprepared, so here's your valentine

Bouquet of clumsy words, a simple melody

This world's an ugly place, but you're so beautiful to me.”

—

You got a B minus on the paper, which is better than you would've done without Johnny’s help. However, the project is the furthest thing from your mind. 

All you can think about is the lyrics of Going Away to College. You’re trying not to read into things, but Johnny wasn’t the most subtle. 

Maybe you should make a playlist for him. Or buy him a record. According to him, Johnny’s not a true collector- that was reserved for cameras. Maybe he’d appreciate it.

Johnny spots you walking to class (though he’s sure your next one isn’t for another half hour). He skates over to you, stopping right at your feet. You shriek, almost stumbling backwards.

“What the hell, Johnny?”

He dismounts his skateboard, holding it under his arm nonchalantly.  “Do you wanna hang out somewhere other than a record store?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

—

The skatepark is overstimulating in the best way. After trying (and failing) to teach you how to do an ollie for an hour, the two of you set up a picnic off to the side of the halfpipe. You eat kimbap off Johnny’s skateboard, using it as a little table.

“Sorry you got a B on your paper, by the way. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t grade it.” 

“It’s okay. I’d rather earn a B from Professor Moon than have your biased ass give me a higher grade than I deserve.”

Johnny places a hand on his chest, gasping dramatically.

“Um, what about academic integrity? I would do nothing of the sort!” he insists.

“Oh come on, you’re obsessed with me,” you say, half-joking. To your surprise, Johnny nods to himself, agreeing with you.

“Only a healthy amount though.”

When you and Johnny finish the kimbap, he scooches next to you. The sun is setting, oranges slowly darkening into a wash of deep indigo. You shiver as the sun dips beneath the horizon. Johnny places his jacket across your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say.

“No problem.”

You place your head on Johnny’s shoulder.

“Um, and thanks for the playlist too. It’s really good.”

“Yeah?”

“It sorta had… a theme to it.”

Johnny suddenly pulls out from under you, leaving you to stumble around for a bit as you catch yourself. When he turns to you, he stares, caramel eyes pouring into your own. You feel warm in spite of the chilly breeze.

“I’ve never really been good with words,” Johnny confesses. “I figured I’d let the music do the talking.”

With that, he takes your face into his hands. He traces your features with the pads of his fingers- running them over your eyebrows, the lids of your closed eyes, your nose and, finally, your mouth. When he’s satisfied, he places a faint kiss upon your lips. 

He pulls back, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m so glad my pretentious bullshit doesn’t give you the ick,” Johnny says.

“Only a healthy amount,” you say through a smile. 

Suddenly, you initiate another kiss, your lips crashing into his fervently. When Johnny recovers from the initial shock, you deepen the kiss further. He’s a patient kisser, never demanding too much or taking more than he’s given. This only heightens your hunger for him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. When the two of you come up for air, you linger with Johnny still in your embrace, his eyes crinkling at the edges with pure joy.

a/n: currently unedited + feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading!

[skippiefritz]

reqs from @idanit and @beetle-goth (sorry for tags I'll untag if asked ^^;)

long rambly post ahead! Unlike what I normally post but its my account so I can do what I want lol

(This probably isn't the most historical thing I’ve ever written but! I will fix as I work on it more lol)

the implications of Bertie's bachelorhood if he were a bachelorette fascinate me endlessly

I read this post and it gave me brain worms and I've been designing an au around it ever since

In this au it's a complete genderswap with all characters, uncle Alistair (aunt Agatha) becomes more old fashioned sexist to Bertie, not thinking she can take care of herself. (sorry Agatha stans)

Which like. She can't. But it's nothing to do with her being a woman.

Bertie keeps her core character traits, but by merely being a woman living alone in 1920s London, she inherently becomes more independent and rebellious.

She's sneakier about her escapades, still stealing hats off bobby's and the like, but tries to be subtle about it. Emphasis on tries, she's still a Wooster at her core, and thus a very

big klutz.

Bertie is just completely and unapologetically her/himself regardless of gender, for better or for worse.

If humble pie is being served, she will surely go back for seconds every time.

I can picture her leaning very hard into the roaring twenties flapper persona, but still being a homebody at heart. Big of heart, dumb of ass.

The biggest issue of course is the engagements, it’s a lot harder for a woman (particularly one whose family wants her to get married) to get out of engagements. THIS is where the fun new plots come in

Obviously there’s the classic setting up her fiances with other women, so they call it off and marry their true loves. And the occasional making herself seem unsuitable to be married. (though, this would usually backfire, that would make it seem like she needed to be married more, so she had a man to take care of her and make her settle down)

Instead of focusing on making it seem she herself is un-weddable, she (and by she I mean Jeeves) concocts byzantine schemes to paint her potential suitors in the worst light possible, or to make them seem negligible so one family or the other would call it off.

I’ve been working on one such story, I haven't ironed out all the details but it ends with Gussie pushing Bertie into a lake. Of course. (I may make  a comic abt it when done)

Jeeves’ character is fascinating too, I see her being the classic “quiet competent woman who gets shit done”. She would be less respected than m!jeeves, but still far more respected than the average maidservant of her time.

I can see her need for fashion clashing with the maidservant outfits of the time, part of me is tempted to keep her design the exact same and make her a big beautiful butch, but…I know that's probably not how it would go.

Jeeves would wear the classic Maidservant outfit of the time, though I can see her styling it subtly to suit her more.

Her control over Bertie’s wardrobe, while still being “God this bitch has no fashion”, also has an undercurrent of internalized sexism. She’s discomforted by the more risque (by those times) outfits Bertie enjoys wearing, like her flashy flapper dresses and the like.

Of course, she’s also uncomfortable by how attractive she finds her in said risque clothes. (drama!!)

And they end up compromising !!! and Jeeves has a lil arc in learning to accept the new fashion wave and embracing bodies and whatnot.

Their dynamic would essentially be the same, homoeroticism, Jeeves being morosexual, Bertie being endlessly impressed by her.

also because of the ridiculous british nicknames most the characters are referred to the same, they just have diff first names, here's a quick cheat sheet

(I tried to keep them similar and also extremely english)

Reginald Jeeves = Regina Jeeves

Bertam "Bertie" Wooster = Bertha "Bertie" Wooster

Reginald Jeeves = Regina Jeeves

Aunt Agatha/Dahlia = uncle Alistor/Dahl

Augustus "Gussie" Fink-Nottle = August "Gussie" Fink-Nottle

Charles "Biffy" Biffen = Charlotte "Biffy" Biffen

Marmaduke "Chuffy" Chuffnell = Marigold "Chuffy" Chuffnell

Stephanie "Stiffy" Byng = Stewart "Stiffy" Byng (the implications of a man being named Stiffy are. different but Wodehouse had to know what he was doing with that name)

Richard "Bingo" little = Richenda "Bingo" Little

and so on and so forth!

Anyway uh, this went on for a while lol

I’m working on designs for them and will gladly share if asked! But they’re nowhere near done dhjdsh thanks for coming to my ted talk.

I don't know if any of this made sense, sorry if it doesn’t.

also for a bonus here's a quick messy collage I made of f!Bertie

[emma-dennehy-presents]

Celebrating Black Queer Icons:

Willmer "Little Axe" Broadnax

Willmer "Little Axe" Broadnax was born December 28, 1916 in Houston, Texas to parents William Broadnax and Gussie Frazier. Broadnax was an American hard gospel quartet singer that gained widespread popularity during the Golden Age of Traditional Black Gospel (1940s/50s). He received the nickname Little Axe from his short stature and as a companion to his brother, William "Big Axe" Broadnax, a popular baritone. By the time of the 1930s census Broadnax was living with his mother, brother, step-father Augustus Flowers, and step-sister Amartha Broadnax*. Broadnax began his career in gospel during his teen years, alongside his brother William. In the 1930s the Broadnax brothers joined the St Paul Gospel Singers in Houston, TX. The Broadnax brothers would later move to Los Angeles and join the Southern Gospel Singers. The group did not tour, and only preformed on weekends. The Broadnax brothers eventually broke off and formed their own quartet, The Golden Echoes. At some point Broadnax's brother, William, left the group and moved to Atlanta, GA where he joined The Five Trumpets. Broadnax stayed on as the lead of this iteration of the Echoes until they disbanded in 1949, after Specialty Records label chief, Art Rupe, decided to drop the group. The Golden Echoes only made a single recording with the label. Pianist Willie Love would go on to say "Little Axe couldn't sing low, because he had a relatively high voice. It wasnt falsetto, it was naturally high. So somebody had to sing the bottom.". Broadnax and the baritone Paul Foster sometimes created the illusion of a multi-octave singer together. In 1950 Broadnax joined The Spirit of Memphis Quartet, recording for King Records, and appearing with them until at least 1952. He would go on to join The Fairfield Four, shortly after, and in the early 1960s served as one of Archie Brownlee's replacements in the Five Blind Boys of Mississippi. Broadnax lead another iteration of The Golden Echoes until 1965, releasing singles through Peacock Records. As gospel's popularity waned Broadnax decided to retire from touring. Broadnax continued to perform and record in some capacity, most notably recording with the Blind Boys in the 1970s and 80s. On May 23, 1992, in Philidelphia, PA, Broadnax was killed by his lover, Lavina Richardson. After witnessing Richardson in a vehicle with another man, Broadnax pursued the vehicle, bumping into it several times with his own. At some point both vehicles stopped and Broadnax pulled Richardson from her vehicle and threatened her with a knife. A bystander disarmed Broadnax, after which Richardson picked up the knife and stabbed him three times. Broadnax died several days later, on June 1st, 1992, as a result of the injuries. Richardson was later convicted of manslaughter. After Broadnax's death it was publicly discovered that he had been assigned female at birth, which created a notable stir in the gospel community. Many claimed "they always knew" but there is no evidence to support anyone other than Broadnax's brother and other close family knew.

*This post by @ubleproject (The Untitled Black Lesbian Elder Project), which served as a source for me and Broadnax's wiki article, speculates that its possible Amartha is the deadname of the singer we know as Willmer "Little Axe" Broadnax, and that Amartha may have assumed the older brother's name to preform. In which case, Broadnax was born in Louisiana in 1922 to Frazier and Flowers. In the 1930 census Amartha's entry was corrected by hand to list Amartha as a girl. The census taker had initially listed Amartha as a boy, suggesting Amartha may have been presenting as such, at the time. Amartha is also, interestingly listed as Amartha Broadnax, despite being listed as Frazier and Flowers' biological child. There are little to no records of Amartha's later life. I have two more planned, but not sure on the order I will be doing them. The last will probably be out in the beginning of March. After that I will be saving the rest of my list for October, when the US is having LGBT History Month, and the UK is having its Black History Month. I will start including cis icons as well, such as Bayard Rustin. As always corrections and suggestions are welcome and much desired.

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Are You Sure About This?

Written for JayDick Week 2023, Day 5: High School/College AU | Fingerstripes | Gotham Knights

Also posted on AO3 (under the name: kishirokitsune)

@jaydick-week

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Are You Sure About This?

It started out as a joke after they all sat and watched the footage of Bruce, stripped down to a scandalously short pair of black boxers, dancing at the Iceberg Lounge while Oswald Cobblepot pleaded for him to get down. If they ever needed a distraction like that, who would be the one to step up in Bruce's place?

Tim, while quite adept at creating distractions as Robin, was underaged and on top of that had presented himself as the hyper-capable teen CEO of Wayne Enterprise. Barbara was too well-known as the daughter of ex-Commissioner Jim Gordon. Dick point blank refused.

Which left Jason.

He hadn't taken it seriously at the time. His little dance had served its purpose to embarrass Tim and get Barbara and Dick to laugh. How could he have predicted that, weeks later, he would be asked to provide a distraction when questions arose about Dick's abrupt return to Gotham and the rise of Nightwing sightings?

“Wouldn't it make more sense for you to do this?” Jason groused as he dug through his closet in search of appropriate clubbing attire. There wasn't much there that wasn't sweatpants or sweatshirts, which came in larger sizes or else were stretchy enough to accommodate his bigger frame.

“Been there, done that,” Dick flippantly responded from where he was sprawled out on his stomach on Jason's bed.

Jason tossed him an irate look. “If you're not going to help, then get the fuck out.”

“But baby, who would help you get all gussied up if not me?” Dick asked, playfully batting his eyelashes.

“Tim will be done with his meeting in an hour.”

“But I have the better fashion sense.”

Jason snorted as he threw a pair of sweatpants at Dick's face. “You wish, Mr. Mullet.”

Dick gasped dramatically and batted away the clothing. “I'll have you know that it was the height of fashion at the time!”

“Wow. You look pretty good for a man who was in his teens in the 70s.” Jason paused as he straightened up to his full height, crimson button-down shirt in hand. “God, what was I thinking by asking for your help. I should have talked to Alfred instead.”

“Do it, I dare you,” Dick said with a broad smile. His eyes glittered with untold mischief. “Can you imagine what he'd say? 'Of course, Master Jason. I would be delighted to assist.'” His mimicry of Alfred was scarily accurate, right down to the accent and dry tone. “'As you may have noticed, Master Bruce was rather fond of a simple pair of black silk boxers, but might I suggest a more suitable shade of red for your escapades this evening?'”

Jason completely stopped his search so he could turn around and stare at Dick in horror. “Please, never do that again.”

Dick laughed loudly and sprang up from the bed. “Let's see what we're working with here. I'm sure you've got something useful, like, uh...”

Jason crossed his arms over his chest and prepared for Dick to make fun of him for his wardrobe choices. As much as he teased the man for his flamboyant style, Dick always found a way to look good in whatever he was wearing.

“Ah ha! Okay, this one... and, oh! Jeans! I know you have a pair of boots that'll work, which just leaves...” Dick cut his eyes to Jason and lowered to the red shirt he was still holding onto. “You've already got the shirt. Excellent.”

When Dick backed out of the closet, he was holding a black leather jacket and a pair of jeans that Jason had stuffed away for being just a little too tight. He shoved both articles of clothing at Jason, forcing him to uncross his arms to keep it all from falling to the floor.

Jason dubiously eyed the clothes. “...are you sure about this?”

“Trust me,” Dick said, laying one hand on Jason's shoulder. “Try it all on so I can see how it looks.”

Jason turned his back to Dick as he walked to the bed, where he set down the clothing before stripping down and redressing in what the other man had picked for him. He was in the process of doing up the last two buttons on the shirt when Dick turned him around, batted away his hands, and undid the third and fourth buttons as well.

“Now the leather jacket,” Dick instructed, taking a step back so he could look Jason up and down.

Jason shrugged on the jacket, enjoying the weight of the supple leather as it settled against him. “Well?”

“Give me a turn,” Dick said, gesturing in a circle with one finger extended.

Feeling incredibly foolish, Jason did one full turn and then flopped his arms down at his side. As he remembered, the jeans fit too tightly around his hips and he was sure the button-down was a little too stuffy for what he needed to do. The jacket was fine – he actually liked that one. He'd picked it up at a thrift store during his first month back in Gotham and counted himself lucky that it'd survived through that period of time.

“Lookin' good, Jay,” Dick complimented. “Now to decide what to do with your hair.”

“What's wrong with my hair?”

What wasn't wrong with his hair? It'd grown out since the unfortunate gum incident that took place right before Bruce's death, but there was nothing he could really do to cover up the persistent white streak that came from his exposure to the Lazarus Pit. Barbara had tried to be nice about it, telling him that it made him look distinguished, but Jason knew the truth: it made him look far older than he was. And when paired with the scar running down the entirety of his face...

Dick's soft laughter brought him out of his morose thoughts and when Jason lifted his eyes, the older man was suddenly much closer than he expected. (Dick's eyes were so blue. How were they that bright?)

“Nothing's wrong with your hair, I just think it would suit your new look if we teased it up a bit,” Dick said, reaching up to do just that.

Jason flinched at the initial contact and then relaxed as Dick did little more than run his fingers through the lengthening strands of hair. He reflexively swallowed as the older man shuffled a smidgen closer. “Dick?”

“Hm?”

“Do you really think all of this will work? I mean... Look at me. I'm not... I'm not like you and Bruce. I can go in and act the part, sure, but that's not enough.”

Dick paused for a moment, his brow crinkled as he studied Jason's face. “What do you mean, not like me and Bruce?”

“Pretty,” Jason said bluntly, moving away from Dick. He just needed a little space. A little bit of breathing room that didn't involve taking in the warm scent of Dick's cologne. “I'm not blind to the way people look at me and move out of the way because I make them nervous. I just... I said it as a joke, you know? Yeah, let's send in Jason to strip down and dance at Cobblepot's lounge so he can get himself kicked out and make headlines! What a riot!”

“Okay, I'm going to stop you there,” Dick spoke up before Jason could take it further. “First, you – no, hang on. First, if you really feel uncomfortable doing this, then don't. Yeah, I'm kind of sick of being the one who goes out and shakes my ass and has to deal with uncomfortable comments about it, but I'll keep doing it if it means no one else has to experience the same thing. Second, there's nothing wrong with the way you look.”

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“I'm serious. Jason, you're one of the most handsome people I know. You are! And I can guarantee that if you go out tonight, dressed like this, someone will take notice in a good way. Fifty bucks says you leave the bar with at least three phone numbers by the end of the night,” Dick said.

“Pretty sure the whole point of this is to cause enough of a ruckus that old Oswald kicks me out,” Jason reminded him.

“That's why you get them before putting on a show. Then you just have remember which number belongs to which person.”

Maybe that had been Dick's experience whenever he went out, but it wasn't the same for Jason. He attracted a specific type – one that he didn't personally care for – and even if he did find someone he thought was handsome, they still wouldn't be someone he'd ask out.

The truth was, he'd been harboring a crush on Dick for years. He didn't like to dwell on it. That would just ruin the easy camaraderie they'd formed since his return and he wasn't going to take a chance with that. It was enough that every now and then he'd become struck with awe over the color of Dick's eyes or the way he's cheeks dimpled when he smiled or how effortless he made his flips across the Gotham sky look when they went out at night.

There was only one person who's attention Jason really wanted.

He put on a brave smile. “So, you think I'm handsome?”

Jason expected a joke. For Dick to laugh it off with some witty statement or compare him to Adonis or some shit like that, but instead he got genuine smile that made Dick's eyes crinkle up at the corners.

“You have no idea,” Dick said softly. He reached up to fix the open collar of Jason's shirt, his fingertips brushing against bare skin. “There. Just pick your favorite pair of boots and you're good to go.”

It would've been easy to pull Dick in closer. To lean down for a kiss. To just hold onto him and express his thanks or even reveal the way he felt. But Jason did nothing as Dick stepped back and began talking about the different things he could do to annoy Oswald Cobblepot – it wouldn't make enough of an impact if he just jumped up on the sculpture and copied what Bruce had already done. It needed to be something new. Something to show off Jason's best assets and moves.

Jason listened to it all, silently mourning the loss of a perfect opportunity.

There was always next time.

[f0xx0rzz]

all odds >:] or ones that end in 3 if you dont wanna do that many xD

ty ilu.

1- chipotle order? burrito carnitas (o asada) con crema, queso, arroz blanca, y frijoles negros. sin guacamole. no me gusta jaja

3- a specific color that gives you the ick? tbh nothing really specific comes to mind. i guess my least favorite colors are like.... desaturated pinks.

5- favorite form of potato? i like potato skins with cheese, bacon, green onion... or just a lot of butter. i love mashed when its smooth but solid, with the skins, salt and butter.

7- what animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium? i like the cuttlefish and jellyfish a lot, but if there's a touch tank FUCK YEAH

9- do you have a skincare routine (and how many steps is it)? sort of, but i cant ever keep up with it. i use a non-comedogenic face wash for oily skin (cerave brand). i also use a prescription eczema cream when it flares up. im looking into prescription acne wash because my acne got so bad on hrt

11- anything from your childhood you’ve held on to? like, material? the only thing i kept on purpose was a cat plush named Tabitha. im sure my parents kept some stuff that idc about

13- first thing you’re doing in the purge? getting gussied up and slaying, obvs

15- rank the methods of death: freezing, burning, drowning idk. i hear the least to most painful is drowning, freezing, then burning, but idk, i think if i had to choose one for myself it'd be burning. drowning is supposed to be kinda peaceful but i loathe being underwater. freezing is probably pretty slow and also i hate being cold. with burning, its definitely not boring and i think youd probably pass out from pain or lack of oxygen in a couple minutes anyway.

17- an anxious compulsion you do everyday? ok so. my entire existence is an anxious compulsion.

19- the veggie you dislike the most? hmmmm.... i p much like them all i think, but i guess peas when theyre overcooked and mushy are p gross.

21- a number that weirds you out? odd numbers with more than one digit that arent multiples of 3 or 5. except 13. best number.

23- do you wear jewelry? short answer yes. long answer, i have my multiple ear piercings and a claddaugh ring i wear 24/7 and occasionally i will throw on a necklace or bracelet. reminds me, i should change my earrings up soon. its been a while.

25- would you say you have good taste in music? objectively yes.

27- what’s your favorite or go-to outfit? black graphic t-shirt, cargo shorts, and boots. if its chilly, a hoodie on top.

29- preferred pasta noodle? cavatappi my beloved (also penne)

[goldenraeofsun]

Day 26: Happy Homemaker

Castiel stumbles on Happy Homemaker’s Youtube channel while trying to clean the grout in his bathroom, already an alarming shade of blackish green. He taps on the clip, and an unexpectedly male voice and a pair of very nice hands show him how to mix baking soda and bleach.

A few weeks later, Castiel has to unearth his suit for a cousin’s wedding, still packed in his suitcase from his business trip last year. Thank god, it still fits, but it’s hopelessly wrinkled. After Castiel borrows an iron from Mrs. Tate next door, he frantically searches for how to iron a suit. Once again, he comes across a Happy Homemaker video with his soothing voice and sturdy hands.

The third time, Castiel wakes up in the middle of the night in a pumpkin-related panic. Everyone on his street who gussied up their houses for the holiday carved their pumpkins into jack o’lanterns. Castiel’s house, with its intact gourds, is a disgrace. So, Castiel looks up how to carve a pumpkin at three in the morning.

After the carving instruction, the last minute and a half offers ways to use the seeds. Hands covered in Scooby Doo oven mitts take the seed-laden baking tray out of the oven, and the camera pans up to the Happy Homemaker himself. And, for the rest of the night, Happy Homemaker’s smile dances behind his closed eyelids as Castiel tries to go back to sleep.

This video starts a Happy Homemaker spiral that Castiel is still half-heartedly trying to crawl out of.

He watches videos on how to sort and clean laundry (helpful), make roast chicken (beyond helpful), clean his refrigerator (also helpful), organize his kitchen cabinets (a godsend), and make five basic recipes in a pressure cooker (Castiel doesn’t own a pressure cooker).

After 148 videos, Castiel knows precious few facts about Happy Homemaker:

His video editor is named Sam (Sammy).

He’d always done housework. Since he was four years old, practically.

He’s married, as evidenced by the gold band on the fourth finger of his left hand.

Castiel finds out Happy Homemaker’s actual name during another bout of sleeplessness (not about pumpkins this time - button sewing). He trawls through recommended videos until he reaches something called a “lets play” of a redhead playing Mario Party with Happy Homemaker.

She calls him Dean.

Castiel starts recommending Happy Homemaker’s channel to anyone who needs advice on almost anything. Dean always has a quip or a quote handy, and Castiel makes a list of all the pop culture references he makes to investigate later.

Balthazar nearly faints when Castiel mentions he watched the Fifth Element and Tombstone over the weekend. He sets down his glass of wine on Castiel’s counter and pulls out his phone. “Does this bloke have a Twitter?”

“I have no idea,” Castiel says as he stirs the tomato sauce (from one of Dean’s recipes).

“He does!” Balthazar crows victoriously. He peers over Castiel’s shoulder. “What are you making? Is it supposed to be that color?”

Castiel grimaces. “Marinara sauce.”

Balthazar snaps a picture as Castiel makes a noise of offense. “Let me guess, this is one of the Homemaker’s recipes?”

“Yes,” Castiel says testily as he stirs the sauce, not that it improves the consistency or color.

“I’m tweeting him,” Balthazar declares. “If I have to put out an apartment fire, it will be his fault.”

“I’m pretty sure the fault would be mine, not Dean’s.”

“Shush.”

In the meantime, Castiel checks on the pasta, which still has a few minutes left to go.

“He replied!” Balthazar says, waving his phone in Castiel’s face. “He says to reduce the heat and add pasta water to get it back to a sauce.”

Castiel shuts off the burner and turns to Balthazar in surprise. “How much water?”

Balthazar frowns at the pan. “Haven’t a clue. I’ll ask.” He taps his phone, and they both wait.

“Around three quarters of a cup, but add more if it needs it,” Castiel reads out loud, smiling despite his dinner disaster because the words come straight from Dean himself.

“Well, you heard the man,” Balthazar says, shooing Castiel back to the stove as he picks up his wine.

As Castiel finishes preparing dinner, Balthazar keeps up a running commentary of his deep dive into Happy Homemaker’s social media.

After they’ve finished eating and Balthazar has settled in with his digestif, Castiel starts, “I’d like to ask you a favor.”

Balthazar sets down his drink. “Since you fed me edible food this time, I suppose I owe you a favor or two. What is it? Are you finally asking for Bartholomew’s number -?”

“No, but I’d like your help in setting up a Twitter account,” Castiel says firmly.

“Oh no,” Balthazar says sardonically, a wry expression coming over his face. “Is it to cyberstalk Happymaker?”

“Happy Homemaker,” Castiel corrects, irritated.

“Whatever,” Balthazar sighs as he holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

The first time Castiel reaches out to Dean himself, he nearly has a heart attack from the nerves. But he’s hungry, frustrated, and tired of sampling rubbery eggs. He films himself pushing unyielding egg clumps around his pan and tags Dean, asking what he’s doing wrong.

Two minutes later, he gets a notification about a new message.

HH @happyhomemaker Lower the heat. It’ll take longer for the eggs to cook, but they’ll be so much better.

Two more tries later, Castiel sends back a picture of a plate full of yellow, fluffy eggs.

He gets another direct message as he’s washing up.

Lookin good! Just missing the bacon. And sausage. Maybe French toast. Or pancakes? Damn I should make myself breakfast soon.

Castiel smiles and replies, Thank you.

An hour later, Dean sends him a picture of what looks like a breakfast for two - a mouthwatering feast of eggs over easy, a small stack of pancakes, a plate piled high with bacon, toast, and a small mountain of hashbrowns.

Dean and his wife must be hungry. Castiel tries not to think about what a couple could get up to until two-thirty in the afternoon to generate that sort of appetite.

Castiel tries not to bother Dean too often. He sometimes tweets him pictures of his more successful attempts at Dean’s recipes, and, once, a picture of his freshly organized closet, based off Dean’s recommendations in his latest video.

In his most pathetic moments, he scrolls through the tweets Dean’s liked to see two of Castiel’s creations on the list.

“You’re headed into dangerous parasocial territory, my friend,” Balthazar says, pointing his fork at him. “But that’s all I’m going to say about it because this shepherd’s pie is delicious.”

Castiel sighs around his own bite of mashed potatoes and ground meat. “I understand Dean is not my friend. I am a… customer, at best.”

“One of a hundred fifty thousand, last I checked,” Balthazar says.

Castiel’s shoulders slump.

“Hey,” Balthazar says, his voice gentler, “This is a good thing, Cassie. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you passionate about something, and, honestly, your home looks so much better.” He waves his hand around, indicating the nigh impeccable cleanliness.

Tidying brings Castiel so much more enjoyment with Dean’s voice playing in the background.

“Much less like a depressed person lives here,” Balthazar adds.

“Thank you,” Castiel says sourly.

Balthazar takes a sip of wine. “It looks like the meds are working.”

Castiel shrugs. “I stopped waking up at two in the morning about pumpkins, so I suppose they are.”

“Pumpkins?” Balthazar repeats, baffled. “What on Earth for?”

Castiel picks up his water glass - alcohol doesn’t mix well with him nowadays. “It was around Halloween. Unimportant now.”

“If you say so,” Balthazar says. “What’s for dessert?”

“More pie.”

“I’m sensing a theme,” Balthazar says dryly as Castiel gets up to clear the table.

“Dean has more pie recipes than anything else,” Castiel says with a shrug as Balthazar gets up, his own plate in hand.

“That explains it then,” Balthazar says as he sets his dish down in the sink and turns on the tap while Castiel slices up the pie. “Seriously, though, Cassie. It sounds like you’ve really attached to this man. You’re clearly opening yourself up. Does that mean you’d like to try dating again?”

Castiel sighs as they move back to the table. “You already have someone in mind, don’t you?”

“I always have someone in mind, darling.” Balthazar takes a bite of his pie, his expression pleasantly surprised.

“Who is it?”

“A friend from work, Ishim. Handsome.”

Castiel resists the urge to sigh again. “Do you know anything else about him?”

“What else matters?”

Castiel rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand, weighing in the pros and the cons. “I suppose one date wouldn’t hurt.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Ishim texts three days later, and they make plans to go to a French restaurant Castiel has never heard of. When he relays the news to Balthazar, Balthazar sends back a heart eyes emoji.

Castiel keeps himself busy through more home improvement and increasingly complex recipes. He attempts Dean’s homemade burritos, but he can’t get the folding technique right. All the filling spills out before he can transfer it from the cutting board.

He’d been snacking while the meat simmered, so he’s not starving - mostly annoyed. He takes a picture of his burrito just before it falls apart and sends it to Dean along with a request for help.

Dean replies three minutes later, with a simple, Hold on a sec.

Castiel polishes off about half of his homemade guacamole in the time it takes for Dean’s response to come through.

But it’s not a message with instructions.

Dean sent a video.

Mouth falling open, Castiel taps on it.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says with a little wave, “You’re lucky I had some tortillas left over from Taco Tuesday.” He grins, flashing the camera a thumbs up before it pans to his counter where a tortilla is laid out, next to what looks like half a kielbasa and four jalapeno peppers. “Sorry that the burrito vid wasn’t clear enough, but here’s the deal. You ready?”

The camera shakes again as Dean sets it down on some sort of ledge that gives Cas the best view of his hands and the tortilla.

“Ignore what I have here,” Dean says, gesturing to the kielbasa and jalapenos. “It’s just so I’m not rolling an empty burrito.” He places all the items on top of the tortilla, clustering everything in the lower half. “First, what you wanna do first is take out about a quarter of the filling you already have in there. You could have the best meat in the world, but nobody’s gonna have any fun if there’s too much to work with. So take it easy.” He bends down so his face is in frame, eyebrows waggling. “See, this is the kind of stuff I can’t say on the channel.”

Castiel turns bright red.

“Anyway,” Dean says, straightening and moving out of frame, “Now, you start rolling until you get about halfway through. Tuck in both sides so all the good stuff doesn’t spill out, and keep rolling. And there you go, a foolproof burrito wrapping technique!”

Dean bends down so his face is back in frame. “Hope this helps, man!”

The video ends.

Castiel rewatches it.

He tries his burrito rolling again, and, mercifully, the personal video Dean made him does the trick, and he transfers his burrito to a plate without issue.

He watches the video again as he eats.

By the time his first date with Ishim comes around, Castiel has lost count of the number of times he’s played Dean’s burrito video. It’s in the low hundreds.

He almost cancels his date a dozen times in the hours leading up to it. But when he pulls Ishim’s number up on his phone, he reminds himself that Dean has no idea who Castiel is, not really. Castiel can’t hold out for someone who barely knows he exists.

Dean posts a video at noon, and Castiel has to shut his phone in the bottom drawer of his desk to resist the temptation to watch it.

Castiel gets to the restaurant twenty minutes early in a bundle of nerves. The hostess tells him (understandably) that his table isn’t ready yet. There’s an engagement party on the second floor, so their seating is even tighter than usual.

Castiel takes a seat at the bar and orders an iced tea. He sips it slowly as he pulls out his phone and navigates to Dean’s channel. It’s drain unclogging day, apparently. Not the best video before eating, but Castiel doesn’t have much choice left.

“Is that me?” comes from directly over his shoulder, and Castiel nearly falls off his stool.

He whips his head around to see the Happy Homemaker himself staring at Castiel with wide eyes. In his frantic effort to end the video, Castiel drops his phone. It bounces off the bar, falling onto the floor, and Dean, who’d been standing behind him, crouches down to grab it before Castiel can get off his stool.

More mortified than he ever has been in his life, Castiel takes his phone back as Dean hands it over.

“It’s cool, man,” Dean says, lips pressed together like he’s trying not to laugh. “For a second I thought it wasn’t mine - but it’s the video I put up a few hours ago, right?”

Castiel nods soundlessly.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “So, how’d you like it?”

Castiel can only stare.

Dean has viewer statistics, not to mention the likes and dislikes, to show him how well his videos are received. What could he possibly want with Castiel’s assessment?

Dean exhales a small sigh, his face falling slightly. “That bad, huh?”

Castiel frowns. “I only watched about two minutes of it,” he says slowly as Dean nods encouragingly, “but I found it as informative and engaging as all your other videos.”

“All?” Dean repeats, his mouth curling into a slow grin as he lowers himself onto the barstool next to Castiel.

Castiel grabs his iced tea and swallows about half of it down.

“Woah,” Dean says, concerned, as Castiel resurfaces.

“It’s iced tea,” Castiel says quickly.

Dean flags down the bartender with a raised hand and promptly orders the same and a refill for Castiel.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Castiel protests as soon as the bartender walks off to fill their orders.

“I figured I owed you for at least one drink if you’ve given me that many views,” Dean says, his expression open and friendly.

“Don’t you get paid a fraction of a cent per view?”

Dean shrugs. “Something like that.” He takes a sip of his drink. “So can I get a name to work with or am I gonna have to call you Number One Fan when I retell my one and only accidental encounter with an actual viewer?”

Flushing, Castiel mutters, “Castiel.”

Dean sets his glass down with a thunk. “Hold on. Castiel? Cas? You’re the one who had trouble with a burrito the other day, right?”

Castiel blinks in surprise. “Yes, that was me.”

Dean leans in eagerly. “How’d it work out?”

“Perfectly.”

Dean slaps the bar with the palm of his hand. “Hell yeah, it did.” He sighs, propping one elbow on the bar as he surveys Castiel with new eyes. “You’ve gotten a lot better, you know.”

Castiel nearly chokes on his drink. “Excuse me?”

“From the eggs,” Dean clarifies.

“You remember that?” Dean hadn’t even liked Castiel’s first tweet about his disastrous eggs.

“Not at first,” Dean admits, “But after the burrito thing, I looked you up again.”

Castiel has no idea what to do with that, so he just drinks his iced tea. He still can’t believe it’s really Dean sitting next to him. The agent of change for so many parts of Castiel’s life, his eating, his environment, his daily routine.

“Thank you,” Castiel blurts before he can overthink it.

Dean rolls his eyes. “You already thanked me for the drink, dude. It’s just iced tea.”

“No, not for that. Your channel,” he pauses gathering his courage, “it changed my life. I’d been struggling… before, but focusing on cleaning, cooking, and things I could all do from the comfort of my own home has really helped me.”

Dean goes fiery red. “I - that’s - I’m not - you’re welcome, I guess,” he stutters.

Castiel nods jerkily, turning to face forward instead of towards Dean. “Anyway, I should let you go back to your wife.”

Dean inhales his next sip of tea. Thumping his sternum with his fist, he forces out, “Wife?”

Castiel swallows. “Or whoever you’re here with.”

“I mean,” Dean says, his eyes narrowing, “technically I’m here with Sammy, but he’s a bit busy with the engagement and all that. But - what makes you think I have a wife?”

“Husband, my apologies,” Castiel corrects, pursing his lips. He should have known better to assume.

Dean throws him a second confused look. “I’m not married.”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “But your wedding ring.”

They both instinctively glance down to Dean’s hand - currently ringless - as Dean chuckles under his breath. “I got it for the channel,” he admits as he tips back his glass. “I thought it made me seem more approachable, instead of a weird, single dude who just likes to clean.”

“I see,” Castiel says, trying to stay realistic. Just because Dean isn’t married, that does not mean he would want to date Castiel or that he’s even interested in men. For God’s sake, Castiel already has an actual date scheduled for tonight.

“I can’t believe you noticed,” Dean says, his mouth twitching.

“Ninety percent of your videos are just of your hands,” Castiel says wryly.

“Touche.” Dean tips his glass in Castiel’s direction. “So what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Married? Single?”

Castiel’s mouth drops open. “Are you really interested?”

Dean’s shoulders hunch, and he mutters something about viewer demographics.

“Because I’m not,” Castiel says, staring at him in amazement. “I’m single - mostly single.”

Dean grimaces. “What’s that mean?”

Castiel checks his phone. Five minutes until his scheduled date. “I technically have a blind date tonight. He’s supposed to arrive in a few minutes.”

Dean nods once. “Right then, I should -”

“But I’d much rather keep talking to you,” Castiel says quickly, “If that’s something you’d like as well.”

Dean swallows. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He straightens to look over to the stairs leading to the upper floor. “I’m technically supposed to be at my brother’s engagement party upstairs, but that bar only had booze.”

“You don’t drink?”

Dean shakes his head, staring down at his half-full of iced tea. “Kind of the main requirement of AA.”

Castiel smiles shyly. “My anxiety meds don’t mix well with alcohol.” He gestures around the restaurant. “I would never have chosen this place in a million years, but my friend’s friend proposed it. Apparently, it has an excellent wine selection.”

“Yeah, it’s not my scene either,” Dean says with a shudder.

Castiel levels Dean a searching look. Eventually, he asks, “Would you like to go somewhere else? There’s a decent diner across the street that makes excellent burgers.”

“Burgers?” Dean repeats, grinning as he gets off his stool. “That sounds awesome.”

Castiel stands as well. “I’ve always imagined they’d taste like yours.”

“You haven’t tried my burgers?” Dean asks as they weave their way towards the door.

Castiel shakes his head. “They’re your favorite, and they look so good in the video - I didn’t see how any attempt of mine would even compare.”

“That’s bullshit,” Dean declares once they’re standing in the cool night air. “Alright, new plan. If you’re okay with it,” he adds with a quick look at Castiel, who nods for him to continue. “We go back to my place. I make you one of my burgers for real.”

Castiel smiles. “And then?”

“That depends if you’re the type of dude who puts out on the first date,” Dean says, biting his lip and looking away, a faint blush staining his cheeks.

“When I said ninety percent of your videos are of your hands, I consider that a good thing,” Castiel says frankly. “I don’t think you can really underestimate how much time I spent thinking about them.”

Dean throws his head back and laughs.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Pawn

Debut: Senet

Welcome to another gameriffic post showcasing some of the most iconic characters in all of gaming! I can’t believe it took us, a blog about games, this long to get to PAWN, though. Everyone knows Pawn, and everyone’s played as Pawn! Even people who wouldn’t consider themselves gamers, and even people who would have sworn they’ve never gamed before!

But what is a Pawn? I, personally, would define it at any basic game piece that’s an ambiguous representation of the player, often vaguely conical in shape, and often lacking in abilities compared to other pieces, if others are present. Chess was far from the first game to feature pawns, and was far from the last to do it!

Pawn has its origins in Senet, the very first board game known to ever exist! Senet was created and played in Egypt some time before 2620 BCE. Sadly, the rules of Senet are unknown, and even in the past, it seems the rules varied, so we may never know for sure. But we DO know that Pawn is here, and this is likely the first Pawn that ever existed!

Chaturanga, played in India around 600 AD, is without a doubt one of the most influential board games to exist, likely to have inspired various games around the world, including Xiangqi, Shogi, Sittuyin, Makruk, and Chess! The Pawn equivalent here had a few names, all referring to its representation of a foot soldier, and had the same abilities as a Chess Pawn, though was unable to move two spaces as its first move...

I don’t need to bother explaining Chess Pawn! We all know Chess Pawn. As we can see with Chaturanga before, the specific Pawn Shape has proven very reliable throughout history. And I’m glad it has. It’s a nice shape, like a little guy. It has a little head and a little body, and some sort of frilly collar, perhaps. Is this even much of a representation of a warrior at this point? Pawn looks like it’s all gussied up for the occasion. In terms of gameplay, Pawn received some buffs in Chess! It can now move two spaces as its first move, and become any piece it wants upon reaching the other side of the board, rather than just taking the form of the piece that originally occupied that space, as in Chaturanga.

At some point, I’m not sure when, Pawn Fever struck the world. People couldn’t get enough Pawns! In a game with battle-ready religious figures, flying horses, and sentient castles, it was the humble Pawn that captured our hearts. Pawn has so much potential. It can be anything. And it’s cute! It’s not just me, right? Pawn is cute. Even cuter when it becomes further abstracted, like the very first image in this post, where it no longer even resembles a humanoid in ANY way. More like, a blob with an eyestalk. That’s how I interpret those ones.

My SECOND most common experience with Pawns is in Sorry!, where they’re the more abstracted form I like, but... hey! That’s not how I imagine the faces! Is this necessary? Is this... canon? I’m Sorry!, but I don’t like them having human faces!

That may be a bit hypocritical of me, though, because I DO love THIS!  On this non-anthropomorphized pawn, we can clearly see that it does have a spine and ribcage. This would contradict the previous face placement, wouldn’t it? Or the other way around, but I think I will accept this one. I’m Sorry! for breaking canon, but look at this! A pawn with bones! It’s a real vertebrate creature just like you and me. That can still be an eyestalk, though. It can have bones and eyestalks! Like a dragonfish larva.

But that’s not all! The Sorry! franchise has further developed the abilities of Pawn with the Slider variant, now outfitted with an Orb in order to slide across the board! They should do this to Chess Pawns. It would be fun.

Also, sometimes Sorry! has Fire and Ice Power-Ups. I don’t know how exactly these work, but... is it possible for a Pawn to grow TOO powerful? As long as it’s responsible, I suppose! 

The shape of the Sorry! Sliders board is not very original... because it is quite a lot like the board of ancient Indian board game, Pachisi, which Sorry! is heavily based on in the first place! Sorry!, Sorry! Your secret is out! At least you’re not as shameful a gentrification as “Parcheesi”, though, at least. 

Clue(do), is a rather notable pawn-based game, by virtue of having each player play as an established human character! More recent versions have pieces that actually resemble the characters, but of course, I prefer the pawns. It’s like a reverse humanization! What if that happened more often? What if they rebooted Seinfeld but all the characters were plastic pawns? Wow!

Also, I just need to say it. If you’re playing a game with pawns, I feel like you GOTTA move the pawn my making it hop from space to space, making that nice tapping sound. I think it’s just how pawns are meant to be.

I don’t want to end the post before mentioning one of the most iconic fictional board games of all time, though! Eels and Escalators is a clear parody of Snakes and Ladders, a game that uses pawns as players, though here the players are represented by simple fish person-like pieces. So, no pawns. Why am I mentioning it, then?

Because in the episode SpongeBob’s Place, where the board game makes a cameo appearance, there ARE pawns! Wowee! I definitely prefer the fish-like pieces here, but I still love pawns. I am happy that I can associate Eels and Escalators with pawns!

[seasonsofeverlark]

Operation Push Katniss Over the Cliff of Love

Author: @mega-aulover​

Prompt: The crunch of frost when the mornings first start to become crisp ❄️❄️❄️  [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T

A/N: There are no games. The districts won the war and the seat of power rested wherever the District Tribute won the candidacy for President.  The current president is from District Eight. Katniss takes Peeta out to see nature on a dare or is it a dare? - special thanks to my beta and best friend @norbertsmom who is more than just a beta, she’s amazing.

KPKPKPKP

The light from the Everdeen front porch spilled outside, lighting the three figures that huddled together near some trees. It was safe enough for them to gather outside and talk about their important subject: getting Katniss Everdeen married. Each one had their own reason for being present. One other member, Delly Cartwright, had sent word she would be late. She was roped into planning a fall festival with Effie Trinket, the district liaison. 

Delly wanted Peeta and Katniss to get together. She was the one who inadvertently brought the group together. Gale wanted to prove that Katniss was human, Rigel Everdeen, Katniss’ father, wanted Katniss to be happy, and Prim, her sister, had her own selfish reasons. She’d recently turned sixteen and she wanted her own room. Katniss was always in her business. Prim loved her sister and wanted her to be happy, so when Delly mentioned Peeta had the hots for Katniss, and that they should do something about it, it didn’t take Prim long to realize there was a way to satisfy everyone’s needs.  

“It’s cold outside,” Prim whispered.

The chilly air indicated winter was finally on its way. They had had an unusually warm fall. It kept the trees from uniformly turning right away. Some trees in the district were now displaying the bright beautiful colors, while some of the trees toward the edge of the district were bare. It was as if nature was warring with itself.

“You sound like your sister,” Gale snickered. 

Prim’s pale blue eyes gleamed in the darkness.  “Mama always said never trifle with an Everdeen.” 

“Careful Gale, Prim is sweet and lightness until provoked,” Rigel said, winking at his youngest. He leaned on his cane.  “Now how are we, as Prim said, pushing Katniss off the cliff.”

All three of them had been trying to figure out how to get Katniss and her secret crush, Peeta Mellark together. Peeta worked everyday at the bakery from sunup to sundown since his sixteenth birthday. His father was slowing down. He had had a massive heart attack last year, and Peeta took on more responsibilities at the bakery. 

Katniss not only traded the game she caught, but she also made it into jerky and sold it down at the Hob. Both she and Peeta were very busy people. 

“If Prim hadn’t clued me toward the Merchants I wouldn’t have figured it out,” Gale said stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I knew she liked someone in the Merchant quarter,” Prim rubbed her arms. “Whenever you guys go to Merchant quarter to sell, she always stops here to wash her hands and change. Katniss isn’t one for dressing up unless she has too.”

“I can’t believe I never picked up on that,” Gale rubbed the back of his neck.

“That’s because you, too, were getting gussied up for all of the ladies,” Prim said. “You take longer than Katniss to get ready. Also, let’s talk about your abuse of the orange extract in your aftershave.”

Gale turned bright red.

“That’s enough Prim,” Rigel admonished. “We’re getting off topic. How are we getting them together?”

A loud ruckus could be heard as Delly speedily walked toward the group. “Sorry I’m late!”

“Shhh…Katniss is a light sleeper. She’ll hear you and want to come downstairs and find out why you are here,” Prim admonished.

“Sorry,” Delly whispered, but in reality Delly didn’t know how to whisper. Her version of whispering was using her inside voice. 

“Okay where were we, how to get those two together?”

Delly shot her hand up in the air. Her blue eyes sparkled and she hopped with barely contained excitement. 

“What?” Prim rolled her eyes. She couldn’t understand why Gale was so smitten with Delly. She was like that annoying little lap dog Effie had. Delly was sweet, but sometimes her exuberance could be annoying. Though Delly was loyal and kind. And if anyone said anything about her, Prim would be the first to defend Delly. 

“Well you know how Katniss hates the cold,” Delly said smiling. 

“Yeah,” Rigel said.

“And you know last week Gale and Katniss were bickering about Katniss being late.”

“She claims she wasn’t late,” Gale said, taking his gloves out of his jacket pocket and putting them on Delly’s hands. 

Delly smiled at Gale.

“I remember. She was spitting mad and she’s made it a point of going to bed early,” Rigel said.

“Well,” Delly said, looking at all three of them as if they understood where she was coming from. “You can use Katniss getting up late to get them together.” 

Prim’s mind worked quickly. “Delly’s right, we can use this to our advantage. Delly, you said Peeta uses nature as one of his inspirations right?”

“Yeah,” Delly responded.

“Well, what if we make Katniss take Peeta into the woods.”

“She can take him by the lake. When it’s cold enough, the water condensation freezes and it latches onto the trees and leaves.” Rigel grinned. “I took your mom up there once when we were courting. She called it a winter wonderland.”

“Peeta would love that.” Delly sighed. “A romantic trip into the woods with the girl he’s had a crush on forever.”

“I can goad her in front of Peeta,” Gale said. “Make her angry enough to fall for a bet. She takes Mellark out to the forest if I win, and I have to do something dumb if I lose.”

“Yeah, you know how to push all of her buttons at once,” Prim snickered. She turned her focus onto Delly. “When is the best day for Katniss to take Peeta?”

“Sunday. Sometimes he closes down early or doesn’t open at all.” 

“Okay, Gale do you think you can switch out one of your days off on Thursday?”

Gale gave Delly a look. 

“Gale!” Delly exclaimed, and the others shushed her. “Sorry,” she whispered, then continued, “You can switch, it’s not like we’re going to do anything romantic other than hanging out with your mom. You can switch your Monday for a Thursday.” 

Haymitch Abernathy from District 12 had won the Presidency after the explosion that Gale’s father caused. One of the things Haymitch did when he was President was make the working conditions in the mines better. He also ensured all miners got two days off, as well as yearly pay increases and a paid time off. They also had paid holidays off and they also promoted within. Gale was poised to move up in the mining company. He was pretty smart and had a lot of ideas. 

“Fine,” Gale muttered.

“Thanks Gale, I am proud of you, son,” Rigel said, patting Gale on the shoulder.

Gale looked up to Mr. Everdeen. They had developed a bond, especially since Gale helped his mom raise his three younger siblings. 

“Gale, you can use that you don’t get up early argument,” Prim said.

“Katniss will fall for that. When she gets angry she forgets about being shy,” Rigel chuckled. 

“Right, but how are we going to make sure Katniss is late?” Gale asked, frowning.

“Easy,” Prim grinned like her cat Buttercup when he’d trapped his prey. “I put sleep syrup in her favorite drink.”

“I will distract her enough to make sure she’s really late,” Rigel said. 

“Great, then next Thursday operation push Katniss over the cliff of love, begins.”

Thursday Morning Katniss was surprised when Gale showed up to hunt with her. He said he switched days with his buddy George, who needed the day off. His eldest was Toasting. 

They were approaching one of their last trading stops. Katniss nervously tugged on her shirt sleeve.

“You like him,” Gale said out of nowhere.

Katniss nearly tripped on the stairs she was climbing up. “Woah…”

Gale easily reached out and caught her.

Katniss straightened up and firmly gripped her game bag. “What are you talking about?”

“You like him,” he pointed to the bakery back door right before he knocked.

Katniss was left speechless, her mouth hung open. Her face felt hot from all of the blood rushing to it. She wanted to refute it, but she didn’t have a chance. The ‘him’ Gale spoke of opened the door. Gah, Katniss thought as her heart thumped against her chest at the sight of his flour covered forearms, and sparkling blue eyes that rivaled the color of the lake in the woods.

There were no words to describe why Katniss found Peeta Mellark so appealing. 

He was freakishly strong, with gorgeous blue eyes, broad shoulders, large hands. She shivered when she thought of those hands. Supple hands that were strong enough to rip apart timber and yet delicate enough to create the most intricate of frosting flowers for the cakes he decorated. Katniss recalled the day she caught him ripping wood in half by hand to take out his frustrations at something his mother did. She had stood by the fence staring at him, her mouth ajar and drooling.

“Hi, Gale and Katniss, here to trade?”

Even his voice did funny things to her. His voice was not soft or hard, it was smooth and she died a little when he said her name. Her palms became sweaty and her ability to think rationally went out of her head. Katniss couldn’t even formulate a ‘hello.’ 

Next to her, Gale cleared his throat. Glancing up at him, she saw his shoulders shake, and his lips formed a mocking grin. She realized what Gale said was a trick to get her to show her true emotions. 

Katniss wanted to punch him in the arm. 

“Yeah, Katniss caught some fat squirrels for you,” Gale’s voice taunted. 

Katniss wished the ground would open up and swallow her. How in the hell did Gale know that she had a thing for the baker’s youngest son?

“Oh, great. You guys want to come inside? It’s getting chilly out.”

“Sure,” Gale said.

No sooner did Peeta turn his back than Katniss punched Gale in the arm, hard.

“Ow!” he grunted.

Katniss scowled at him.

“You didn’t have to hurt me,” Gale said with a grin while rubbing his arm. 

“You deserved it, you big oaf!” 

Ever since Katniss turned down Gale’s invitation to run away into the woods a few years back, he’d been trying to get her to admit that there was someone else she liked. Gale had been methodically trying to eliminate the possibilities. He tried several guys from the Seam, then he turned to their own group, the Covey. 

The Covey lived on the outskirts of the district. When the war began the Covey, a group of traveling minstrels, settled in District Twelve. Katniss and Gale’s families were descendants. One of their own became the tenth President. During her brief stint as President she fell in love with a man from the Capitol and ran off. It caused a huge uproar, thankfully her vice president, Undersee stepped in and took the spot. 

The Covey had a tradition of singing and dancing. They mostly lived on their own. Katniss had family that were touring throughout the other districts singing. Katniss had been invited because of her voice, but she turned it down. Firstly, her family needed her, and secondly, she didn’t want to leave because of him. She couldn’t leave Peeta behind. There was a bond between them, an electrical force that drew her to him. 

It began with the bread.

When her father got hurt in the mine explosion, Peeta came over with a basket of bread for her family. The mining company’s compensation toward the injured miners ran out quick. The only source of income was from her mother’s healing business. But with her father’s medical bills, they were drowning and necessities became expensive. They were living off of meager rationings when Peeta brought them a basket of bread and canned goods. 

Peeta must have done it behind his mother’s back because she hit him so hard he missed two days of school. It was this act that caused Mr. Mellark to petition to divorce his wife. Peeta had risked it all to help her family. Katniss could never forget what he did, nor could she repay him for the kindness he bestowed upon her family. 

Through the years she looked for ways to repay him, but one day it dawned on her, she was keeping track of him for more than just the repayment of the food. The more she saw him interact with other people, the more she liked him. She nearly swooned when she saw him in those darned wrestling tights. 

Katniss thought her secret was safe. Until her sister, the little traitor blabbed one New Year’s Eve that Katniss wasn’t into the Seam look. Gale was surprised, but then began trying to look at all of the men in the Merchant side, including the Peacekeepers. He often said Katniss had a hankering; someone she would give her eye-teeth for, like a miner lusting for a cool breeze in the mines.  

Katniss wasn’t sure what he meant by eye-teeth, but using his analogy made her think it meant hungry for Peeta, which in a way she was. 

“Look, just admit you like him,” Gale whispered, elbowing her.

“Grr,” Katniss growled with all of the fake venom she could muster. 

“Why don’t you get all of those juicy squirrels you hunted for him.”

“Gale,” Katniss whispered. “Stop.”

She wanted to pummel him with her fist but he walked into the bakery. 

“GALE,” she squeaked. “Come back here!”

Katniss wondered why the hell they were friends. He was annoying, angry, petty, and infuriating. His one redeeming quality was that he was a good hunting partner, and those were hard to come by. Before partnering with Gale, she had tried to hunt with another hunter named Jed, but it was disastrous. A lynx attacked her and Jed did nothing. He didn’t warn her nor did he try to stop the lynx from attacking her. Katniss was lucky she was such a good shot. She got it in the eye as it leapt in the air. 

Gale saw her shoot the lynx and approached her about joining up with him. Leery, she wasn’t sure she should. His dad was the reason the mine collapsed. He drunkenly set some TNT on fire, blew himself up and caused many miners to be injured, including her dad.

Her dad told her that Gale’s family was hurting. Katniss didn’t want to give in, but then she saw one of his intricate traps and slowly they became friends. Now she wished she’d never accepted his request for friendship.

“Aren’t you coming? Your bread boy is waiting.” Gale winked at her.

Katniss stomped inside, furious at being found out. Gale was going to pay, she hadn’t decided how, but she was going to make him pay for his betrayal. 

“So I know how much you like our nut and raisin bread,” Peeta said good naturedly. 

“Yeah, she just loves your bread,” Gale said.

“Do you?” Peeta settled his eyes on her and Katniss didn’t know where to look. By the heat that was radiating off of her cheeks, she was sure she was redder than a ripened tomato. 

“Yeah, she loves your buns,” Gale kept on talking and Katniss wondered if a court would convict her for killing him. “Your cheesy ones.” 

“You mean my cheese buns?” Peeta’s eyes brightened. “I didn’t know. I’ll add some into the pack.”

“Delly told me you decorate all of the cakes.” Gale changed the subject and Katniss was grateful.

“I do.” Peeta was busily packing things. Katniss took the opportunity to take out the squirrels she shot for him, and then she added a rabbit. 

His brothers moved away to other districts, leaving Peeta as the sole owner of the bakery. Since his parents were divorced, Peeta lived in the bakery with his dad. His father favored rabbit meat. 

“Some of those cakes are complicated,” Gale said.

“Yeah, a cake can take me up to a week to decorate.”

“When are you and Delly going to toast?”

Gale hesitated, turning pale while looking at a dozen leaves in different shades of red, green, gold, and orange before changing the subject. “Do you get the inspiration for the cakes from nature?”

Katniss noticed Gale never answered the question. This was a bone of contention between Peeta’s best friend and her hunting partner. Gale wanted to marry, Delly wasn’t ready. She wanted to date a little bit more before settling down. 

Gale and Delly were such an odd pair. She was this round faced plush girl. She wasn’t beautiful like Madge, who Katniss thought he would have gone for. Before Delly, Madge and Gale used to flirt. It was a little gross to witness. It’s so funny how life worked. When Gale and Delly were introduced Gale couldn’t stand Delly’s bubbly nature. He said she grated on him like a tone deaf canary. Though slowly her generosity won Gale over. Gale told Katniss Delly crept up on him.

“Yeah. I always walk around with my sketchpad and pencil. Though, as you can tell, ever since my brothers left I don’t have time to walk around and observe as much as I used to.”

“Man, you should go to the woods,” Gale said. “The woods get frosty. It’s unlike anything you’ll ever see.”

“Frosty?” Peeta said with wonder.

“Yeah, the frost in the woods is amazing, like a winter wonderland. Katniss here doesn’t appreciate it.” Gale shook his head. “It’s a struggle to get her up on cool mornings.”

“Gale, the animals are still sleeping when you want to go out there,” Katniss grumbled.

“You know that’s not true. The early bird gets the worm. Nature’s teeming with life. They get busy living while you’re all wrapped up warm in your blanket.” 

“You know I get up plenty early to hunt and make ends meet for my family.” Katniss forgot for a moment she was in the bakery. She was still upset with Gale over his trick. 

“Sure you do,” Gale said. 

“I’m there before you are,” Katniss growled. Gale was a foot or more taller than her, but Katniss stood up to him.

“You want to make a bet?” 

Katniss poked Gale’s chest, “I can handle anything you can dish.” 

“Fine,” Gale said. 

“If tomorrow I don’t get up on time,” Katniss wasn’t going to let Gale get the best of her. “I’ll…”

“Take Mellark out into the woods.”

“What!” Katniss sputtered, disbelieving what Gale was proposing in front of Peeta.

“What, you didn’t hear me?” Gale smirked.

“You guys don’t have to-” Peeta said. 

“Mellark, wouldn’t you like to go out there in the woods, and see nature in its purest form?”

“Well,” Peeta said, sneaking a furtive glance at her.

“See, he doesn’t want to,” Katniss harrumphed. The prospect of having to take Peeta into the woods and talk to him was frightening as hell. Anyone who knew her knew she was awkward with people. District Twelve’s old President, Haymitch Abernathy, claimed she had the personality of a dead slug. 

“I didn’t say no,” Peeta said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“He didn’t say no, so what’s it going to be, Everdeen. If you wake up early and are in the woods before me, I lose.”

“And you have to tell everyone we trade with I’m the better shot,” Katniss said, narrowing her eyes. She knew Gale hated to admit it. He liked to boast how handy he was with a bow.  

She saw the nerve in his jaw tick right before he answered, “Fine! But if I’m right and you get to the woods late, you have to take Mellark here to the woods to observe the frost.”

Confident she wasn’t going to lose the bet, she came home from trading with Gale, convinced she was going to be fine. Yet out of an abundance of caution, she went to bed early after sharing a cup of tea with Prim. Katniss made sure she was dressed so all she had to do was slip on her boots and get out the door. But when she woke up the following morning, the sun was already in the sky. 

“Crap,” Katniss said. She jumped out of her bed, grabbed her boots, quickly combed her hair with her fingers and put her cap over her head.

“Good morning, Katniss,” her father said from the table.

“Hi dad.” Katniss sat down briefly to put on her boots.

“You’re late today,” her father said as he wrote something in his plant book.

“Ugh, I don’t know how. I know I went to bed early.”

Her father coughed. “Maybe you were tired.”

“Ugh,” Katniss groaned. She didn’t catch her father’s smile. 

“Don’t you want some toast, Katniss?” Her father asked. 

“Sure,” Katniss said, taking a slice of bread from his plate. “Thanks daddy. I’ll see you in a little while.” 

“Sure, Kitten,” her father laughed, shaking his head.

Katniss left and headed to the woods, not noticing her sister Primrose hiding in the corner laughing. Katniss was more concerned about beating Gale. She climbed over the gate to the fence. It had a sticky latch and she didn’t want to waste time fidgeting with it to open the gate. She ran to their spot in the woods, pausing only once to grab her hunting gear. She saw Gale sitting on the rock with a piece of grass in his mouth.

“Darn it!”

“You’re late, Everdeen,” Gale said in a singsong voice.

Katniss wished very much she hadn’t let her anger get the best of her yesterday. Now she had a date with the boy she’d fancied since the tender age of eleven.

KPKPKPKPKP

Sunday morning Peeta nervously slipped on his jacket. His hands shook. He was nervous about meeting Katniss this morning. He thought her to be the most beautiful girl in the district. Katniss was also the most courageous and strongest person in the district. When her father was injured, Katniss went out into the wilderness to hunt. There were a lot of qualities that he admired in her. It made him fall deeper for her. 

This opportunity to actually have the time to speak to her was unforeseen. Peeta wanted to make an impression on her. He wasn’t sure what was out there in the woods and he didn’t want to act like a fool in front of her. Peeta didn’t consider himself a tough guy like Gale; he was more of a pacifist. He could fight if he had to, but he preferred to talk things out before resorting to hurting people. His mother had often called him soft.

There was a point in time he was bullied for being pudgy as a boy. Peeta learned how to talk his way out of situations, and in doing so he learned that a physical altercation wasn’t always the right course of action. He was worried he wasn’t good enough for someone as dynamic as Katniss Everdeen. 

“Stop quakin’, chicken legs,” Delly said.

“Dell’s this is Katniss. What if I act like a total doofus and say something wrong and make her not like me>” Peeta said in one breath.

“Nonsense,” Delly said, packing up a thermos. “Believe me, you can’t screw this up.”

“It’s Katniss,” Peeta insisted.

“I know, I know. it’s the girl you’ve had a crush on since the Valley song way back in grade school.” Delly grinned, “Believe me Peet, Katniss has noticed you.”

“I don’t know,” Peeta doubted it. “She’s never talked to me.”

“What if she’s shy?” Delly asked.

Peeta blinked.

“Do you know how hard it is to walk up to a guy you like and say ‘I think you’re cute, do you want to go on a date’?”

“Well…”

“When was the last time you saw a girl do that?”

“Never.”

“Exactly.” Delly said triumphantly. “Now let’s look at the evidence. She went to all of your wrestling events.”

“Yeah, but those were mandatory.”

“You and I both know your brother’s matches were mandatory, and she skipped all of them. She also went with the Mayor’s daughter to see you practice. I’ve caught her hanging around the train station on delivery days.”

“She could be trading,” Peeta said.

“Nonsense,” Delly said. “You and I both know she shows up magically every time you have to unload the stuff from the train station. The girl doesn’t ogle every guy in the district.”

“Speaking of ogling.” Peeta turned to Delly. “What’s going on with you and Gale? I asked him when you and he were going to have a toasting. He looked wounded. He actually turned pale.”

Delly made a face. “He wants to get married.”

“So, isn’t that what you want?” Peeta was confused.

“It is, it’s just…” She sighed. “Gale is such a womanizer. I am the only girl who has refused to sleep with him. I want to make sure he loves me and is willing to settle into a committed relationship. It took me forever to make him understand that intimacy meant more than just sex.” 

Peeta understood. 

“Okay, so I packed a few blankets and the food you made. You are all set,” Delly said.

“Thanks Delly.” 

“Go out there have a great time, and just be yourself.”

Delly watched him leave. She quickly ran over to the Hob where Gale was waiting. 

“He just left,” Delly said, giddy. 

“Great, then it’s all up to Prim and Rigel now.” Gale nodded.

KPKPKPKPKP

In her home Katniss slipped on her warmest jacket. She wasn’t sure if she looked alright. This meeting was more than just a scenic walk through the woods. She frowned and then it melted into a scowl. No thanks to Gale’s big mouth, she had to take Peeta into the woods. 

What could she, Katniss Everdeen, talk to the most popular boy in school about? When they were in high school Peeta was always surrounded by his friends. 

“It’s kind of late for you to be going out into the woods with Gale,” her baby sister said from the bed.

Katniss had hoped to avoid speaking to her sister. She knew Prim would have all sorts of questions Katniss wasn’t sure she had answers for. “I’m…”

Prim sat up, her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders. “You’re not wearing your normal smelly hunting shirt and pants to go out into the woods.”

“Prim, go back to bed,” Katniss said, turning around. She hoped that her sister would listen. At sixteen her sister was strong willed.

“What’s going on here?” Prim walked over to her, her eyebrow shot up. 

“Ah,” Katniss said nervously.

Prim sniffed the air and gasped, ‘You’re wearing perfume!”

Katniss felt her cheeks burn. There was nowhere to hide.

Prim cornered her. “Katniss Everdeen, you tell me what’s going on this instant!”

Katniss sighed, “I’m meeting someone in the woods, okay.”

“You are?” Prim clapped her hands.

“Shhh,” Katniss said, grabbing her sisters hands. “You’ll wake mom and dad up.” 

“Okay, okay,” Prim whispered. Then her face looked horrified. “Katniss you can’t go out into the woods looking like the bride of a sasquatch!” Prim turned to their dresser. “Let me see, what do you wear for a clandestine meeting in the woods. How does one look pretty in the woods?” She muttered to herself. Then began the questions, “What are they like? Are they tall, handsome? Where do they work? Are they young or is it someone older?” Her sister waggled her eyebrows.

Katniss groaned this was one of the things she was trying to avoid. “Prim. He won’t care what I look like. Look I’m showing him the wooda so that he can use it for the bakery.”

“Eeewww,” Prim exclaimed. “You’re going out on a date with Mr. Mellark?”

“What?” Katniss grabbed her sister before she flew off the handle. “No, that’s just ew, no. It’s Peeta. I’m going to show Peeta the forest. I’m ah…going to show him what the frost looks like.” Katniss let her sister go. She looked down. “He’s not, well, he’s a nice person and…”

“And?” 

“And…he’s cute.”

“Cute?” Prim’s eyes danced. Her grin was wider than the lake in the woods.

“Okay, okay,” Katniss said, lifting her hands in the air. She might as well let Prim make her look pretty. Her sister did have a way with clothing. “What do you think I should wear?” 

“Ohhh, this is going to be great. First off those pants are way too baggy. Lets get you into dark jeans, oh and one of mom’s grey sweaters…” 

Katniss allowed her sister to dress her up. When she finished she was wearing one of their father’s old orange checkered shirts underneath their mother’s knit grey sweaters, dark jeans, and her boots. Prim gave Katniss her navy coat instead of her own. Prim was taller than Katniss and it hung loosely around her frame. She had to admit she looked nicer than before.

They both snuck to the door. Once outside Katniss looked to the path that led to the meadow.

“Okay remember, just let the conversation flow. Don’t try to force small talk. You’re not great at that. One more thing, he’s probably more nervous of you than you are of him.”

“Why would you say that?” 

“Katniss, you do know you’re known as the huntress around here right?”

Prim words caused Katniss to take a moment and think about what she was saying. “What does that mean?”

“Besides the fact that you have the ability to shoot someone through the eyes?” Prim joked.

Katniss blanched at the idea of killing someone. 

“It means you’re a legend in our district. Dad’s super proud of you. When he got hurt and couldn’t work, you stepped up and helped out our family. Believe me, he knows you’re not someone who can be easily swayed or impressed with dumb pick up lines. Peeta knows he’s got to work hard to get into your good graces. He probably has a crush on you but is too shy to tell you. Not to mention, you’re always with Gale and he’s pretty intimidating.” 

Katniss hadn’t thought of that. “You think he likes me?”

“Oh Katniss, I know he does.” Prim smiled warmly. “You’re great.”

“Thanks Prim,” Katniss breathed. 

“Now get out there and show him the forest.” 

Katniss smiled and walked away.

“So did you plant the seed?” Rigel said quietly when Prim re-entered the house.

“Yup,” Prim sat down. “She’s going to meet him with the knowledge that he likes her. That should help Katniss warm up to him.”

Katniss reached the meadow in good time. She waited for Peeta to meet her by the gate. It was a cold morning outside. Her breath came out in puffy little clouds. Katniss gazed up at the heavens, the clouds were gathering, a storm was brewing. 

Prim’s words circulated in her head. What if he did have a crush on her, but didn’t know how to articulate it? She could imagine how it looked to Peeta with Gale hanging around her all of the time. 

She heard his heavy steps approaching before she saw him. The crunch of his boots set several sparrows into the air. 

“Hi,” Peeta said. 

She waved shyly. 

He wore a dark orange knit hat. His wavy blond hair peeked out from the sides and he looked adorable. He also had a knapsack with him.

“There’s frost on the ground,” Peeta said, coming up to her.

“A sure sign winter’s on its way.” Katniss looked at the meadow. There was frost on the ground. It was pretty, but it was nothing compared to what lay in the woods. It was colder today than in the past days.

“Ready?” 

“Sure,” Peeta said.

Opening up the gate they made their way inside. They stopped only once to get her bow and arrows from their hiding place. 

As they walked deeper into the woods, she couldn’t help but smile. The woods was her home, she felt alive here. In the woods, Katniss did not have to worry about society’s demands. Often people found it strange that at the age of 20 she hadn’t married or had a boyfriend.

Her close-knit family and friends accepted her decision to stay alone. Those outside her circle often talked behind her back. Everyone was expected to have a companion. Everyone would be shocked to know Katniss did have someone in mind and he only walked a few feet away from her. 

She snuck a quick look at him and her heart fluttered and her stomach flipped. There could very well be someone that Peeta Mellark was seeing and kept quiet about it. Yet even as she thought this, her sister’s words played in her head. People also gossiped about him. Katniss couldn’t understand why he wasn’t taken. Peeta was compassionate, smart, funny, and selfless. He was perfect, but none of the women in 12 wanted him, and that was okay by Katniss. Peeta never had a girlfriend and by the looks of it, he wasn’t going to get married anytime soon. Maybe he did like her in secret. She wished there was a way for her to know for sure.

“It is very cold out here. I can understand why you want to stay in bed a little bit longer.”

Katniss shrugged. she didn’t intend to talk to him, but then it dawned on her this was the perfect situation for her to get some answers about questions she had. “Gale is so over dramatic. I’m usually awake before he is and waiting for him. What about you, how early do you get up?”

“Well to be honest, I’m downstairs in the bakery before four in the morning. Ever since my dad had his heart attack, I’ve had to do the morning prep work.”

Katniss whistled. “Why don’t you take on someone, an apprentice?”

“Because it’s expensive. We were finally making a profit when my dad had his health scare. His medical bills cleaned us out.”

Katniss understood where he was coming from. “When my dad got injured we had the same thing. Thankfully my mom was his caretaker. I can’t imagine what you must have gone through.”

“I had to hire a nurse to help my dad recuperate. Thank goodness your mom helped out, with all of those free resources and the menu for a lower salt diet.” 

“I’m glad my mom could help.”

“She did it for next to nothing, for that I’m eternally grateful.” Peeta stopped walking, he took a look around the forest.

“I’m glad to hear your dad is feeling better.” Katniss stopped moving. “It must get really hot in the bakery. How do you deal with the heat in the summertime?”

“I sleep with the windows open.”

“Oh,” she said. Katniss didn’t imagine it would be such a simple solution.

Peeta stopped walking. “Wow! Look at all of these colors.”

Katniss saw a tree with red, gold, and yellow leaves. It was warmer closer to town, and the woods that surrounded the perimeter still had some of their leaves. The heat from the mines and the factories warmed the area. The further they got away from the district the colder it got. 

“I can see why you love it out here.” 

They were having an unusually warm autumn. 

“What’s your favorite color?” Peeta asked her.

“Green. Why, what’s yours?”

 "Orange, not like an in-your-face-orange, but muted, like that leaf over there, or your orange checkered shirt.“

Katniss couldn’t help but smile. It occurred to her that talking with him was easy. She thought whoever Peeta dated was a lucky girl. Her curiosity about whether or not he was with someone grew. They walked some more. He asked various questions about how she knew the direction they were heading, and other things that to her came naturally, but that someone who had never been to the woods would be curious about.

“So,” Katniss was working up the courage to ask if he had a girlfriend. 

“Yes?” Peeta asked. 

“Ah…” Katniss closed her eyes momentarily before blurting out, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

She watched him turn red before answering, “I don’t.”

“Really?” The word slipped from her mouth before she could stop herself. 

“You sound shocked.”

“It’s just that,” Katniss stopped to face him. “In high school you were so popular, I was sure there was a girl that you fancied.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, then shyly said, “There is this one girl I like.” He looked her in the eyes. “She’s amazing and I draw her constantly. But I’ve never had the courage to tell her anything. There was a time I thought she liked someone else, but it turned out they weren’t a thing. I guess I chickened out after that.” He shyly said, “I don’t think I’m good enough for her.” 

Katniss felt like she was suddenly a fire that was doused with torrential rain. Of course there was a girl he liked, an amazing girl he held a torch for. “Oh. Okay.” 

“What about you, is there anyone you like?”

Katniss couldn’t smile, she couldn’t even formulate words. Mutely, she nodded.

“Are you thirsty? I packed some hot chocolate for us.”

She looked toward the path. “We really should get going.” Moving was the only thing she could do. Katniss kicked herself the entire route. Of course there was someone special. Why did she have to listen to her sister? Prim was sixteen. Prim knew nothing about affairs of the heart. Katniss wanted to cry for the loss of hope. She held it together the rest of the trek. 

When they came to the lake Katniss stopped walking and Peeta gasped.

Everything was coated in little ice particles. The cold breeze here was noticeable. The condensation from the lake had frozen and latched on to the areas surrounding the lake making it look like freshly fallen snow. Ice crystals hung from the branches, crawled up the tree bark, coated the tall grass. A mist floated up from the center of the lake making it look mystical. 

“It’s beautiful, amazing.”

Katniss smiled watching Peeta get up close to a tall blade of grass. “It’s like they’ve been brushed with ice. It has little ice particles.”

“My dad calls it silver thaw.”

Peeta examined the fallen leaves on the forest floor. His face was flushed and his eyes glowed with excitement. “I never get to see this. I mean, I am sure this happens on the inside of the fence, but I’m inside the bakery most of the time.“

“My dad says no two snowflakes are alike.” 

“Wow,” he said. Peeta whipped out his sketchpad and pencil, and quickly drew what he saw. Loose papers were sticking out between the pages of his sketchpad.

Katniss was amazed by how quickly and accurately he could draw. He was unrivaled; there was no one in the district like him, and she quietly mourned for the loss of what could be. His curiosity and childlike glee at the majestic picture nature presented him would be one of her favorite memories. 

“Do you think we’ll get snow soon?”

“Possible,” Katniss shrugged looking up at the sky. “It’s getting colder out. When it gets really cold out here the lake makes snow. It gets pretty dangerous out here. The snow can accumulate quickly.” 

As he stood up, pages fell from his book. Peeta tried to contain his sketchbook, but various pictures fell down. One of them floated over to her. 

Peeta dived to get it, but was too late. The drawing fell at Katniss’ feet.

Picking it up, she was curious as to whom he had drawn. What she found drawn stole her breath away. The girl in the picture was gorgeous. Then Katniss saw the long braid, the cap she wore on her head. She looked to the other pictures and they were all of her. Peeta had drawn a picture of her, as if she was beautiful.

“You drew this?”

Peeta tucked his sketchbook under his arm and stuck his hands in his pockets and couldn’t look up at her. He shyly gave her a nod.

Her heart thundered in her chest. “Is this me?”

Peeta’s eyes widened and his mouth hung slightly open. He cleared his throat. “I ah…”

She picked up another one. There were pictures of her laughing, others of her eating, one of her sitting by Madge in school. Another showed her with Prim, another with her dad. It dawned on her he said he drew the girl he liked constantly. But she needed to be sure. She didn’t want to make assumptions. Maybe this girl looked a lot like her. 

“Katniss,” Peeta said. 

 “Can I keep it?” she asked.

Her questions seem to baffle him because he gave her a look of wonderment and at the same time puzzlement. “You want to keep it?”

“I mean, if this isn’t me?”

Peeta walked up to Katniss and stared longingly into her silver eyes. As if he was looking for something. Finding it, his face broke out into one of his legendary smiles. “Of course this picture is you. You’re the only girl that I’ve…well…liked.”

“You like me?”

“Ever since we were in kindergarten, when you sang the Valley song. I was a goner then and I’m a goner now. You’re the girl I was describing. I just didn’t know if you felt the same way about me. I was afraid I was projecting what I feel on you. You don’t have to feel any which way about me. I’m okay with that, I just can’t help the way I feel.”

Katniss didn’t know whether she wanted to jump or laugh or run. Instead she took his hand, leaned up on tiptoe, and kissed him on the cheek.

His smile was crooked and his cheeks were flushed. “I think we better get you out of the cold.”

Katniss nodded. It wouldn’t have mattered to her if it was 30 degrees below zero outside. All she knew was she was on cloud nine.

Together, hand in hand, they made their way back to the bakery. They sat down in front of the fire to snack on the cheese buns and hot chocolate he packed for them. They talked and laughed, and for Katniss it was like finding a kindred spirit. It was the start of a beautiful relationship. 

As she left the bakery Peeta held her hand, “When can I see you again?”

“Silly I’ll be back in the morning to trade with you.”

“No I mean,” he shyly gave her a smile, his fingers brushed over her knuckles and Katniss thought she would melt. “When can we spend more time together.”

“How about we have lunch tomorrow? We can meet here at the bakery.”

“Great, we can stroll in the meadow afterwards. It’ll be nice to see the daylight. I’m always stuck inside of the bakery.” He smiled and kissed the back of her hand, and Katniss knees wobbled at the contact of his warm lips brushing up against her skin. Katniss couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow.

When Katniss finally came home she was grinning from ear to ear. Her mother was out attending a birth with Prim.

“Hello,” her father said. “Where have you been?” He was carving a cane for one of her mother’s patients. 

Katniss froze. She wasn’t sure what to say to her father.

“You look like Buttercup when he gets a bowl of cream.”

The heat rose to her face. There was no way she could keep this away from her father. “I was meeting with someone.”

“Oh,” her father said, putting his knife down. 

She sat down. Katniss and her father were close and if she wanted to see Peeta, she needed to sit down and talk to her dad about the boy, no, scratch that, man, she’d had an unbreakable bond with since forever. Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Dad, I was with Peeta Mellark. I took him to the woods and we had a fine time.” Katniss sighed. “We spent the rest of the afternoon at the bakery talking. His dad was an earshot away.” Her eyes pleaded with her father’s matching silver eyes.

“You were with Buck Mellark’s youngest son?”

“Yes.”

“And do you like him?”

Katniss didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Her father smiled. “I have only one piece of advice Katniss. Just follow your heart as you take the metaphorical leap off the cliff of love. If your heart tells you to stop or you have doubts, just walk away. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“Thank you, dad,” Katniss smiled and walked away. She didn’t know her father gave her baby sister a detailed report on their conversation. Nor did she know Prim was determined to make sure her sister took that final leap and toasted with Peeta Mellark.

Prim and Gale were on chaperon duty, to make sure the lovebirds stayed in love. Katniss for her part went to lunch with Peeta. Each time she and him were together, she did just as her father said. She and Peeta took it slowly. As she and Peeta grew closer Katniss fell deeper in love with Peeta, while the relationship of others cooled.

Katniss stood with Peeta watching Delly slap Gale in the face.

“Delly, I swear I didn’t kiss her!” Gale ran after Delly.

“I saw you!”  Delly cried and ran inside. Her brother stood by the door arms crossed not letting Gale enter the house.

“What can we do?” Katniss whispered.

“I don’t know Katniss,” Peeta answered back. Gale rushed past them in the direction of the meadow. Peeta held her closer. “What we can do is promise each other to be honest and talk to one another.”

Katniss nodded, what Peeta said was true. Delly and Gale weren’t communicating with one another. Her parents talked all of the time, even about trivial things. Communication, as Prim pointed out one time to her, was the key to a successful relationship. She vowed she would talk to Peeta. And so she did, when she got angry at him, she let him know why. When they didn’t agree, they still talked.

It helped them get to know the other. Adversity could do one of two things, draw couples apart or bring them together. The intimacy between their words caused her hunger for Peeta to grow. They abstained and strained from physical intimacy but it was getting harder for Katniss to walk away. Peeta always seemed to be able to hold himself in check, it was Katniss who craved more.

It was hard for her to keep her hands off of Peeta. It was during this time Katniss decided to take the leap. Though she waited for the right moment, it never came. So she contented herself with simple things like taking long walks. There were many trips to the lake. Many trips to behold the wonder of the woods and it’s majesty. When it got cold and the snow coated the earth they walked hand in hand together facing each new adventure together. Slowly, the cold air became warmer and spring kissed the earth. The snow melted and Katniss and Peeta’s relationship heated up.

They were at her father’s cabin, lying in each other’s arms. 

“Are you okay?” Peeta asked.

Katniss was warm and blissful. Her body still coming down from the flight of pleasure she had within Peeta’s care. “Yes.” 

Peeta pushed tendrils of hair away from her face. “I love you,” he whispered.

Words of love and adoration were no longer hard for her to express. “I love you, too.”

He sat up and reached into his pack. He took out a small necklace that had a silvery gem on it. “It’s a pearl.”

“It’s beautiful.” Katniss had never seen such a beautiful thing before in her life. 

“It reminded me of your eyes.” Katniss sat up and he slipped it around her neck.  As he fastened it he said, “Marry me, be my partner in life. I pledge my love and loyalty to you. I promise to honor, obey, and love you with my heart and soul. I know there will be hard times, but I’ve found that when faced with things together, the burden becomes easier.”

Tears streamed from her face. “Of course I’ll marry you!” She rushed at him and they fell back into bed, a tangle of arms and legs.” 

On the day they married, Peeta made a cake that looked like the wintry wonderland of the forest.

It was as they toasted that Prim and Gale and her father were looking all too much like the cat that got the cream.

“What are you three grinning about?” Katniss asked.

Her father coughed, but said nothing. Gale avoided looking at her. It was Prim who spilled the beans.

“Katniss, don’t get mad at us, but we were tired of seeing you make moon eyes at Peeta. So we came up with a plan. Gale was supposed to get you to make a bet to take Peeta out into the woods. I was in charge of slipping you sleep syrup that night, and in case you woke up on time, dad was in charge of making sure you were late getting to the woods.”

Katniss couldn’t believe what Prim said. She wasn’t sure if she should be angry, but then a strong pair of arms wrapped around her middle and she didn’t care. This, after all, was the happiest day of her life.

When Gale walked away Katniss turned to Peeta and together they asked, “Okay Prim, how do we get Gale and Delly hitched?”

Prim grinned, “Well I have a plan…” 

The End….well maybe? 

[pikemoreno]

denying, admitting

part 2 of the ‘pretending’ universe

pairing: jack “whiskey” daniels x f!reader

word count: 5.2k (hahaha whoops. the longest single piece i’ve ever written)

warnings: canon typical violence, mildly gruesome death of a bad guy, some bad words, idiots to lovers

a/n: here it is finally, the continuation of the drabble pretending. the link to it is below. enjoy the best yeehaw man. we ignore canon here.

wanna join a taglist?

pretending | masterlist

“Your name is?” 

“Erica Shields.”

“And your boyfriend’s name is?”

“David Wells.”

“What does he do?”

“He is the CEO of a new weapons manufacturer called Co-Tech.”

“And when they ask what he really does?” 

“He is the CEO of Co-Tech… And all of their offshore accounts holding millions of dollars from the sale of illegal bio weapons.”

“And, just so we’re clear, the targets tonight are?”

“Mr. Lucas Mora and Mr. Grant Levin. Lead dealers of an illegal weapons ring known in the inner circles as IWE. They are the primary targets and any known-associates can be subdued as secondary targets.”

“Good,” Champ nodded, looking quite confident in your ability to keep to your fake identity, “You’re good to go, Agent Brandy. I’ll call up Agent Whiskey now and you can go ahead ‘n head down to get ready.”

You froze as you stood to leave. “Get ready, sir?” Air left his mouth gruffly in a way akin to a laugh as you looked over the pantsuit you were wearing. His eyes were knowing where yours were markedly confused.

You were already ready… You thought?

“Just go meet Ginger Ale downstairs. She’ll explain. Good luck tonight.”

“No luck needed, sir. We’ll take ‘em down tonight. Maybe a couple of their other dealer friends if we can prove they’re in on it.”

“Not that, Agent.” 

“What--” Agent Whiskey knocked on the half-open door at that moment.

“Ready for me, sir?” 

“Yes, please come in. Agent Brandy was just leaving.” His cheeky smile directed between the two of you told you nothing and everything all at once.

What did he think he knew about this? This was nothing. Just an agent with a miserable crush on a senior agent. You excused yourself from the conference room quickly, ignoring Jack as you brushed past him. 

Ignoring how intoxicating he smelled-- was that a new cologne for the occasion? 

Ignoring how nice he looked-- wine-colored velvet suit jacket, white button-up, dark dress pants, the usual hat abandoned in favor of his dark hair, immaculately styled for the occasion. 

Ignoring the fact that you could feel his eyes boring into you and you were not going to be giving him the satisfaction of playing into his flirting.

You did as you were bid, making your way to the staging area to get your weapons and other effects for the mission to find a high-low red satin dress, black heels, and obnoxiously large jewelry hanging along with your knives and the “upscale” version of the Statesman glasses. Your face must have dropped quite visibly because you heard a laugh from Ginger Ale next to you.

“Absolutely not,” you groaned, “I thought ‘Maybe a tasteful pantsuit with some flats?’ Maybe some boots? How am I supposed to work in this, Ging? Where are my knives gonna go?”

“Unfortunately this crew you’re going to be dealing with is-- well-- Unapologetically misogynist under the guise of being ‘traditional’ is probably the best way to put it,” Ginger shook her head. 

“So they’re afraid of a girl wearing pants?”

“When they look as independent and secure as you, absolutely,” she laughed. “The other women at the party are gonna look like this. You would’ve blown your cover before you even spoke if you were in your regular attire.” You sighed. You guessed it was a pretty hot look, if not a little unruly to complete the mission in. It’d get you to walk three inches taller in newfound confidence and you guessed that couldn’t have been anything but helpful in this scenario.

“So do I get my knives or am I just playing the part tonight?”

“Not at all. What better way to take them out then doing it by the hand of someone they don’t respect? They’ll never see it coming.” She presented the thigh holster that had been laying on the table next to her.

“Oooh, now that’s sexy, Ging,” you gawked, admiring the piece and absolutely filling it to the brim with the best of your knives from the wall of weaponry in front of you, as well as your trusty vial of poison.

“I know someone else who’ll think so too.” You stopped cold and turned to face her as she looked particularly smug

“Oh, not you too. First, Champ was acting weird about this and now you too? What exactly do you guys think is going on here? It’s Jack. He flirts with everyone.”

“It’s not just Jack that I’m talking about. I mean this with all the love in the world, but you can’t possibly be that dense, Brandy. Stop playing coy.”

“Playing coy how?’ Your anger bubbled in your throat, not at Ginger Ale or tonight or even Jack. Just yourself. Yourself and your dumb affections. It made your words come out a little more venomous than you intended, but Ginger took it in stride. “Pretending I don’t have a ridiculous crush on a senior agent and my partner in this tonight? Pretending that I won’t be heartbroken when tonight means nothing in the grand scheme of things?”

“You should probably go ahead and get ready. Your partner should be done with Champ any minute.” She gave you a tight-lipped smile and ushered you off to go change.

By the time you made it outside, Jack was already waiting, leaning coolly against the sleek black town car-- no Bronco for tonight; a CEO could only show up in the best.

“Look at you, all gussied up,” Jack smiled as you walked towards him. You rolled your eyes, and avoided his in doing so. It was all a part of the charm. Jack was a serial flirt. You’d seen it. And you’d seen too many before you fall for it, take his having fun too seriously. You couldn’t let his words fluster you or start thinking they were something they weren’t. But still, you couldn’t hide the playful smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth as his eyes stayed on you.

“After you, my sweetheart,” he opened the door to the elegant car for you.

“There’s no one here, Jack, you don’t have to start with that yet.”

 If only you saw the way he had to bite his tongue as you settled into the passengers’ seat.

You were really starting to make him question how good he is reading the signals. It had been seeming so obvious that you were into him; and so he reciprocated, making it more than clear that he is very much into that idea. And now you had taken the coy act so far that he was wondering if it was an act at all. Of course, he wanted to tell you how he felt about you. He’d wanted to tell you tonight. After a night of him “pretending” to woo you, showing you off, and kicking some criminal ass, he would tell you that the pretty things he’d said to you were real, that he would love to take you out for real and definitely not to an illegal weapons party this time. 

But he didn’t want to do that if you really weren’t interested. He didn’t want to put you in that uncomfortable position of having to reject someone you were going to see and work with everyday. Until he got a good read on how you really felt, he’d have to keep it to himself… While still making it so painfully obvious-- in a non-committal way. 

The drive was largely silent as you both thought far too hard about the messes you’d put yourselves in. The thick cloud of it was only interrupted by occasional questions and confirmations about the plan, the targets, and the escape.

Mr. Lucas Mora’s mansion was absolutely breathtaking as you pulled up to you: all light stone with a tiled roof, big windows, a grand driveway featuring a roundabout winding around a glamorous fountain that sparkled in the night lights. You found yourself trying to hide your awe as a valet took the black town car away and Jack led you by the arm up the marbled stairs to the front door that must’ve cost more than your entire apartment. You kept your voice low as you spoke to Ginger Ale over the com. She’d hacked into their security cameras like the damn genius she was and had eyes on the whole affair.

“What do we see, Ging?” 

“Levin and Mora are in the lounge. A lot of foot traffic in there. You should get them out of there before engaging”

“We have to get them separated. Less chance of one escaping.” Jack put his hand over his mouth, pretending to scratch at his mustache so no one could read his lips. You walked in the direction of the lounge, arm in arm. The way the knuckles of his other arm ran lightly over your arm was far too distracting for its own good, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I’m not seeing a lot of weapons for a weapons dealer party. Should we be worried, Ginger? Anything hidden?” you asked, talking into a flute of champagne you picked up to keep your words hidden.

“Of course not. Their weapons are far too dangerous for their own use,” she laughed,  “I don’t see anything, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Copy th--” You didn’t get to finish before the two of you were intercepted by Levin, the younger of the two leaders. He had a strong jawline featuring a smattering of well-kept stubble, slicked back greasy hair, and a smile so smugly charming it surely sealed him a few deals. 

“Where do I know you from?” he had an oddly ambiguous accent that you couldn’t quite pin and you wondered if that was on purpose. This man had to be a chameleon. “I pride myself on never forgetting a face. It would seem I’ve missed one.” He talked solely to Jack-- of course.

“David Wells. CEO of Co-Tech.” He held out his hand to be shaken. Levin only looked at it. “And this,” he put an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer, “is my girlfriend Erica Shields.”

“Never heard of you.” Jack let his hand fall back to his side, not dropping his eager smile.

“We’ve had several dealings with IWE. Often sell to--” Levin’s eyes lit up.

“Oh none of that code here, Mr. Wells, we’re all friends. Glad to have a loyal associate here with us.” He gave Jack one solid pat on the shoulder and then continued on to talk to someone else. You noticed for the first time how tense your shoulders had been and Jack rubbed a hand over one soothingly. How did he always know?

“Alright, let’s re-group,” you shrugged his hand off lightly, turning to face him. “I’m gonna tail Levin. You try to schmooze Mora. Take this.” You placed the poison vial in his hand, disguising the gesture as a hand squeeze-- which you couldn’t say you were mad about doing-- and stalked off to find your target.

It was a half hour before you saw him again. You were walking the pool deck and listening to Jack’s poor attempt to give Mora a poisoned drink. He was incredibly uninterested and you internally groaned at how obvious Jack was being with trying a little too hard to get it to him. The thought was interrupted by a voice coming from the pool below.

“And who might you be? I think I’d remember a gem like you.” You looked down to find none other than Levin, and staggered a moment, unsure of what to make of the comment.

“Erica Shields. We met a few minutes ago? With my boyfriend David Wells?” you responded in your sugary-sweetest voice.

“Right, right, of course.” You nodded awkwardly and there was a long beat of silence.  What game was he playing? Or was he really just that dismissive towards women? “Well, are you coming?”

“Coming?”

“You don’t have to play dumb with me, sweetheart.” It was the same term Jack had used with you earlier, and yet this one went down like poison instead of honey. “Come on down here with me.” He rose to float on his back in the water to emphasize where exactly he was wanting you to go. “Your boyfriend may be making millions, but I’m making billions.” He winked. You had half a mind to take a knife out right there and plant it directly into his chest, unconcerned with the consequence of the on-lookers, but then you realized you had an even better opportunity. 

Let’s turn this Ms. Shields into a gold-digger. 

You played along.

“Oh I don’t doubt it, but I’m afraid I didn’t get the memo about swimsuits.” You cocked a hip, tilting your head at him. 

If you could just get him alone.

He practically leaped out of the pool and climbed up onto the deck, coming to stand almost nose to nose with you. 

“Brandy, I know what you’re trying to do and I can’t recommend this. Rendezvous with Whiskey and you can figure out another way,” Ginger Ale’s voice came into your ear. Levin’s voice cuts back in.

“Well, we don’t have to stay here, angel.”

“Ginger, what’s she doing?” Jack’s panicked voice followed, “Brandy? Where are you? I’m coming to find you.” You’d never heard him speak so urgently. It made you freeze for just a second before you spoke to Levin

“Lead the way,” you smiled, watching as Levin quickly dried off before leading you with a hand on the middle of your back. You leaned into it despite wanting to put one of your knives through it. What a pig. 

It was at that moment that you met eyes with Jack, just briefly, just long enough to see his face fall. You turned away before Levin noticed your staring, missing the seven stages of grief cross Jack’s face as you walked away. 

His first instinct was jealousy. He, of course, knew you weren’t going anywhere with a worm like Levin for any reason other than your job, but he couldn’t help the knee jerk reaction from seeing someone else with an arm around you. His second reaction was worry. You were the most capable agent he knew, but that sort of situation was a particularly dangerous one. He didn’t miss the possessiveness of Levin’s grip; and he didn’t want to think about what he was going to try to do when he had you alone. His third reaction, then, was to follow you. It was his fault you were in this mess with him anyway-- so much for “wooing” you. There was no way he was going to let you suffer for it.

In that time, Levin had pulled you into the first of ten bedrooms in the upstairs corridor of the mansion and promptly pinned you against the opposite wall, an arm on either side of your shoulders. You responded in kind, the way anyone would respond to an unwanted advance by a sleazy billionaire: by stabbing him in the neck. About that time is when Jack finally caught up to you, slamming the door open, lasso at the ready, eyes wide in fear. He relaxed visibly as Levin crumpled lifeless to the floor. You watched Jack crack a smile.

“Guess I should’ve known you wouldn’t need any rescuing,” he reeled the lasso in, returning it to its place on his belt. You smiled back.

“You should’ve. But it was sweet of you to worry, so I’ll forgive you. Let’s get Mora and get the hell out of here before anyone finds the body.” 

***

You made surprisingly, anticlimactically quick work of Mora once you found him again. You snagged a tray of drinks from where a member of his extended wait staff had set it down. Jack added a dash of your little secret ingredient to one of the glasses and you presented it to him as he lounged on the couch. He gave you one singular nod, took the drink from you, and continued laughing with his guests. One sip would be plenty to have him on the floor within ten minutes, and you watched him take that first deadly sip with pride.

So now the targets were either dead or dying and you knew instantly you were going to have to book it out of there because once Mora keeled over, it wouldn’t take very long for anyone in that room to figure out the culprit. The issue, of course, was remembered once you made it outside the doors: your ride back was in the hands of the valet: a valet that was overcrowded with guests trying to leave. It’d take far too long to get the keys and peel out of there. Mora would be long dead before then. 

“Ginger, how long before we can get an extraction? We can’t get the car back in time.” Jack mumbled lowly as you made your way out of the mansion, walking with Jack hand in hand as though you were a couple going to look at the front gardens

“I’m not sure. All other agents are out. There’s a small town about a mile away if you can get there. I’ll send someone to you with a ride as soon as possible.”

You looked at each other. 

“Guess we’re walking darlin’.” Screams sounded from the house and you both jumped at the sound. “Quickly,” Jack added, eyes wide.

It was about a quarter of a mile of walking down the roadside before the terrible heels really started digging into your feet, leaving blisters and arch pain in their wake. No one had trailed you so far, which was good because your feet couldn’t handle moving any faster than their current trudging pace.

Jack must’ve noticed your limping, because he stopped and grabbed your hand to stop you as well, eyebrows knitted in a frown.

“You alright?” He looked you over, as if checking for injuries.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, Jack. Don’t worry. It’s just the shoes.” He looked down at them, noticing the angry red rub marks. He didn’t waste a second in kneeling down and starting on removing his right shoe.

“What are you doing? You don’t have to do that, Jack. I’ll just go barefoot.”

“Nonsense.” He finished removing the right shoe and started on the left. 

“Well now you’re gonna be barefoot. What’s the difference?”

“I still have socks. You don’t know what kinda weird stuff is on the side of the road out here, Brandy.” He removed them and then gestured to your shoes, looking up at you. “May I?”

You worried at your bottom lip for a moment, looking down into sparkling eyes you’d thought about too often. They were now so close, so earnestly looking into yours. The care and concern sent a little spark up your spine. You nodded and joined him in undoing the little buckles on each shoe. He held out a hand for you to grab onto for balance as you slid out of the heels and into his much-too-large dress shoes. The strange, casual intimacy of the act was odd, but not unwelcome.

“Well, it’s certainly not a perfect fit, Cinderella, but it’s better than whatever the hell Statesman gave you,” he smiled and you returned it. He stood back up and your hands parted as you continued your trek to the town Ginger had found, shoes in hand and the promising lights of it gleaming up ahead.

Actually arriving to the little town of Speake was less than spectacular. The shining lights you’d seen came from the neons of a gas station and a 24 hour dive and the flickering street lamps in front of a long-closed post office, and a quaint but not horribly sketchy motel.

“Ginger, we made it,” you called, “What’s the ETA?” She hesitated.

“Is there a place there you’d feel comfortable staying at a while? 

“I guess,” you sighed, afraid to ask again, “What’s the ETA, Ginger?”

“First thing tomorrow morning.”

You looked to Jack. “Motel it is, then.”

***

Jack couldn’t help but feel he’d won the lottery as you dragged yourselves up to the second floor of the motel. There was only one vacant room with one king bed. It was a little too perfect, like he’d set it up himself, but he hadn’t. Well, he guessed he had, actually, but just the part where you joined him on the mission as his fake girl, not that you’d get stuck out here and have to share a motel room. Sure, he hadn’t gotten the chance to charm you quite like he’d wanted to: having you on his arm, complimenting you to others at the party, maybe getting to fake-- real-- kiss you. And he definitely regretted putting you in danger. But all of that sort of fell away from his memory now that he was getting so much more alone time with you than he’d initially bargained for. He wouldn’t dream of trying to share the bed with you, of course. He’d rough it out on the chair or find a way to make something up on the floor. But still, he couldn’t help but be a little giddy at the prospect of spending this much more uninterrupted time with you. 

Jack might’ve been incredibly enthused with the scenario, but he hid it from you well. He didn’t want to seem overeager and come off as though he was excited about the arrangement because of the off-chance that you might sleep with him. He knew what his reputation could be around the workplace. Hiding what he was feeling from you, though, meant that you had no idea what to think at this point. It all looked very different and incredibly confusing on your end of things. 

First and foremost, you’d settled it in your mind now that you would be sharing a bed with him. That was fine. You were friends, pretty good ones at that. And both professionals to boot. The unsettled part came in you knowing how you felt, but becoming more and more unsure of him. The fact of the matter was that any flirting that occurred before tonight was unreliable as proof that he might be attracted to you. He flirted with far too many other women for you to be able to take it seriously. Then there was tonight. He was clearly panicked about your safety and willing to give up his shoes for you. Hard to say what it meant. He might be a bit of a stubborn asshole at times, but he cares deeply about people. It’s what put him in Statesmen in the first place. Given that, would he have acted similarly with other agents out of the simple goodness of his heart? Maybe. But then again, it had seemed that he was catching onto your crush based on the day in the boardroom when you got this assignment. “You keep saying that we’re friends but you look at me for a moment too long for that to be true,” he had said. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Obviously, he was getting the idea. So assuming that he truly was acting differently around you, was it because he felt differently in and of himself? Or was it because he had caught on to how you felt and knowing someone had given into his charms made him automatically more interested in them?

It was hurting your head, going in circles like this. And by the time you gave up on your spinning, cycling thoughts, you’d reached your $35 room for the night.

It wasn’t… Terrible, you guessed. About what you’d expect for a $35 room in no-town Kentucky: beyond basic, subpar comforts, and flickering fluorescents. But it looked clean enough, that was a relief.

Relief ended as you looked in the bathroom mirror, mentally getting ready for bed as it now reached 1am. Relief ended when you realized you had nothing to sleep in other than the sweaty, itchy, puffy dress on your back. A long night was about to be even longer as you stared at the ceiling uselessly, sleeplessly waiting for the extraction. 

You stepped out of the bathroom and stopped as you watched a long-legged Jack trying to squeeze himself into a small armchair in the corner of the room.

“What are you doing?” 

“What does it look like? I’m getting ready for bed.” 

“Yeah, sure.” You hopped onto the bed. “C’mon, there is more than enough room to share this miserable little bed here.” You spread your arms across the bed for emphasis. but he hesitated. Of course he really didn’t want to spend the night in a lumpy old chair, but he didn’t want you to say that it was ok just because you felt bad for him and have you be uncomfortable.

“Ah-- Well, only if you’re comfortable with that, darlin’. I don’t want to overstep. I’m fine here, really.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Get over here.”

“Oh, thank God.” He practically ran and jumped next to you on the bed. 

“Liar,” you grinned, “I thought you said were fine over there.”

“Who wants to spend a night on a chair like that? I’m not crazy.” He crinkled his nose at the realization of your bed attire. “But I’m thinking you might be. Are you really gonna be sleeping in that?” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to be sleeping in?” He sat up and started unbuttoning his white button up shirt before you could utter another syllable. “What--” You began, but it was obvious he wouldn’t hear it. You were too distracted anyway, unable to look away from the exposed, tanned skin of his shoulders down to his soft belly. You’d always assumed him to be the type that took immaculate care of his body and wouldn’t settle for less than perfectly toned abs. The realization of the truth was a happy one, if you were honest. It was endearing, imperfect. It made him a little more human and less Agent Whiskey. 

“It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s probably a lot better than that.” He held the shirt out to you and promptly turned around for your privacy when you took it with gratitude. 

“No peeking, Whiskey,” you teased as you changed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sunshine.”

You flopped back onto the bed when you’d finished and touched his shoulder to let him know it was ok to turn back around. 

“Better?” he grinned.

“Much better. Goodnight, Jack.”

“Goodnight sweetheart.” He flipped off the light and you both retreated to your edges of the bed. 

Both out of respect for the other.

Both kind of wishing that this was happening under other circumstances that didn’t require you both to separate like two magnets of the same pole. 

But instead you repelled apart until sleep took you both.

Waking up in the morning was another story. Both of you had migrated toward the other in the night, meeting in the middle. You were facing each other, noses almost touching, his arm draped over your middle. Both of you coming to at about the same time led to an awkward dance of moving away and arms jolting away and mumbled sorry’s as you both laid there for just a moment more.

And he didn’t mean to say it, he really didn’t. This was not how he’d want this come out, but he was just admiring the way his shirt laid against your skin and the way your eyes glittered even in this grungy lamp light. And it just… slipped out.

“When I’ve imagined you wearing my clothes this definitely wasn’t what I was expecting.” You sat up so fast you felt a touch of vertigo. 

“I’m sorry, what?” His eyes widened in panic. Did he say that out loud? He wasn’t just thinking that? Damn was he tired still. 

“That came out wrong I—“

“What does that mean, Jack? Why would you be imagining that?” Your heart rate was picking up to dangerous speeds, your tone was more clipped than you intended, fear seeping into it.

“You know,” he mumbled, hands covering his face now, regretting every choice that led him to this moment.

“No, I don’t,” your voice softened as you crawled over and gently removed his hands from his face. “As a—,” you gulped, “A conquest or a… Something else.” He sat up, horrified, sitting directly across from you. 

“A conquest? Of course not! I talk a big game, but I don’t do that shit anymore.” He sighed. “I recognize that I flirt around a lot, but it really never goes anywhere honestly. I don’t let it. But even then, of course you were different.” You gawked, but you couldn’t hide the way your mouth twisted upwards on the corners. 

“How was I supposed to know that, Jack? You said it best, you flirt with… Everyone. How was I supposed to tell the difference?” He took your hands softly, giving you the space and permission to take them away if you wanted. You didn’t. You let him thumbs run over the knuckles soothingly as he spoke.

“You think I’d give just anyone my shoes to walk in or my shirt to wear? Hell, do you think I’d generally offer to take the floor when presented with a gorgeous woman and a motel room? No, Lord knows a younger me would’ve been all too happy to share the bed and hope something more came out of it. But it’s all different with you.” 

“Oh,” you whispered, looking down at the interconnected hands between you.

“Oh?” he chuckled, “That’s all I get?” 

“Jack I-- I’ve liked you since I met you on my first day. Do you remember?” He nodded. “Swept me right off my feet. I was so upset when I realized you were like that with everyone.”

“It was different then too. I just didn’t know how to make that obvious. It’s been a while since I’ve had to actually try to woo somebody, I guess.”

“You didn’t even have to try. I wasn’t so good at showing that either, I guess. Afraid I was just another name on a long list.”

“No lists. If there was, you’d be the only name on it.” You outright giggled in embarrassment and glee and exhaustion and pure dumbfoundedness all at once. Then your downcast eyes met Jack’s fully and next thing you knew your lips were on his and you really couldn’t have told who initiated it, but now his hand was on your cheek and your lips moved soft and slow against his, just getting used to the brand new feeling that was sending sparks through your stomach. It was over too soon, but you smiled at the prospect of that being your new normal, that you would have the opportunity to get used to the feeling: the feeling of his lips on yours in the morning light and the feeling of his hand in yours as you walked to meet the agent outside for the extraction.

Well, maybe you wouldn’t need another extraction again at least.

permanent taglist: @acomplicatedprofession @hdlynn @makaela27 @space-floozy @catfishingmorales @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @princessbatears @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @findhimfives @mistermiraclee​​ @marydjarin​​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​​ @miss-leto​​ @spacegayofficial​​ @winters-buck​​ @phoenixhalliwell​​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​​ @mrpascals​​ @aerynwrites​​ @jigglemiwa​​ @manda-not-lorian @dindjarindiaries​​ @pancakepike​​ @huliabitch​​ @sammiesweet​​ @randomness501​​

[spartanguard]

even death won’t part us now (2/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | part 1 | AO3 | 3.9k words

A/N: I was going to post this update yesterday but *life*. We really get into the story, though—I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again to @optomisticgirl​ for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair​ for her amazing art; and to @kmomof4​ and @cssns​ for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

say what you will about Glee, but Darren Criss’s version of this song is amazing

part two— the air is humming, and something great is coming...

2020

The sun was setting on another day, just like it had for the last 5000-plus. At least, Emma figured the number was up there; she’d stopped counting around day 4,588. Which was really an absurdly long time to count considering her days were no longer numbered, but old habits died hard, even if she never would.

She’d accepted that fact somewhere around day 4,040, which ironically was her 40th birthday. But instead of dealing with gray hairs and wrinkles and aching joints, she was still in her 28-year-old body, fairly spry and with exactly one white hair blended into her blonde. (Not that she could see it in the mirror anymore—or, you know, anything—but she knew it was there and that was all that mattered.)

She knew she’d finally settled into her new life when she was looking forward to drinking the deer blood she had at home and not longing for chocolate cake like she had the past several birthdays. Well, she still wished she could eat it—real food didn’t digest properly anymore—but the blood sounded just as good.

“It probably took me about that long to come to terms with it, too. Longer for your dad,” her mom had told her about the revelation.

That had been another epiphany: that the kindly undead couple she’d somehow ended up on the doorstep of—David and Snow Nolan—were her parents. Her actual birth parents. You know, the ones she’d been looking for her entire mortal life? (Had once dreamed would save her from one shitty foster home after another until she finally gave up hope, and instead turned to counting the days until she moved again?)

As it turned out, they’d been attacked and turned shortly after she’d been born—which apparently had been in a backwoods cottage in Maine that her grandparents had owned—and were taking her to the hospital for checkup after the fact. They didn’t trust themselves to face their new reality while also in charge of an infant (an infant with delicious-smelling blood, no less—creepy, but true) and so finished the journey to the hospital, but left her there alone.

Coming to terms with that had taken 1,187 days. There would have been lots of tears, were any of them able to cry; but instead, there was just a lot of emotion, which Emma had never dealt well with. But she was getting better. Who knew the kind of personal growth one could achieve after death? And it was a good lesson in how to handle (or not handle) things should the son she herself gave up ever manage to track her down.

(She looked—once, before she was turned. All she’d been able to find out was that he ended up in the foster system, too. She just hoped he was having a better time of it than she did. Well, had—he’d be an adult by now, wouldn’t he? Damn.)

So. Anyways. Sunset. Which Emma was watching from the roof of their building, which had become something of a refuge for her over the past 15 years. She had her own bedroom, but after so long on her own, being an adult suddenly under the same roof as her parents (who, despite being physically younger than her, still acted like her parents) was a bit stifling at times.

It wasn’t much, but it was her own space: she’d cobbled together a tent with some reclaimed tarps, filled with gently-used cushions, and on nice nights, would bring out a sleeping bag and let the lights and sounds of the city wash over her. It had been overwhelming at first—she kind of envied that her parents only had to deal with forest smells when they turned, and not the incredible everything of New York—but it had dulled over time, which she probably should have expected; it had only taken her a week or so to get used to the smell the first time, right?

That’s to say—the overwhelmingness did; she learned to tune things out and let them fall to the background. But her senses themselves were the sharpest they’d ever been, consequently making her even better at her job than she’d been pre-death. Having ethereal beauty compared to a mere mortal easily drew in most of her targets; her preternatural sight, hearing, and strength made it pretty simple to track them down and subdue them (she loved it when they ran); and she’d found out they were extra willing to comply with her demands when they were down a bit of blood. (It probably was connected to the whole your-sire-can-control-you thing but it didn’t last once they’d recovered from the blood loss and it kept her from murdering random ne'er-do-wells on the street; the lower a body count a vampire kept, the better.)

On a normal night, she’d be getting ready to catch another skip: either gussying up for a honeytrap, revving up her old Bug for a stakeout, or trying to track them down on Tinder while binging Netflix in the background (they kept up on technology...for the most part; she still wasn’t sure what a TikTok was). One thing a lot of the stories leave out is that it takes a long time to build up the kind of wealth and decadence you see with old vampires; even Emma’s parents still had to work, 40-odd years into this thing (David was an after-hours vet and Snow taught night school) and their townhouse was not rent-controlled. 

Of all the vampire media out there, their existence was far more What We Do In The Shadows than Twilight.

(Emma had always preferred comedy anyways.)

God, she was really getting sidetracked tonight. Anyways. No one was working because it was the anniversary of her being turned—her rebirthday, so to speak—and her mom was very much Leslie Knope when it came to anniversaries, but especially this one, given that it marked them finally coming together as a family.

That, and they were all going to get drunk.

“My class is a bunch of assholes this semester—I need this,” Snow had gushed earlier that week, grading papers behind their blackout curtains. (Vampires didn’t sparkle, thank god—at least, not without the help of glitter—but they were dangerously susceptible to sunburns, so the whole pale thing was accurate.) “And David—you’ve worked every weekend the last month; they can definitely operate without you for one night.”

“I put in for it a month ago, dear,” he tutted as he gathered the laundry, placing a kiss on her cheek as he went. 

They were definitely one of those nauseatingly cute couples, so it was a good thing Emma’s gag reflex was dormant. And, though she’d never admit it, she was a bit jealous that they’d been able to find—and keep—something that had evaded her her entire mortal life, and likely would for her afterlife, too.

Every now and then, a flash of blue eyes blinked into her vision; the same pair she’d seen on the night she transitioned. She still wasn’t sure they were real, and her parents genuinely knew nothing when she’d asked, so she never did again. The fact that she hadn’t ever seen them again, despite knowing just about all the vampires in this part of town (for better or worse), had her pretty convinced it was a mania-induced hallucination. But damn, was it a good one.

“Emma, are you ready?” Snow’s voice pulled Emma from her daydreams (nightdreams?). “It’s time to go,” she shouted—not loud enough to annoy the neighbors, but enough for Emma to hear.

“Coming,” she replied, then took one last glance at the night sky. Maybe there was something different in the stars? She didn’t know; she just had this feeling that something was going to change tonight. 

She brushed her hands down the skirt of her light pink dress; it wasn’t what she’d usually wear, but since this wasn’t her typical honey trap, she’d borrowed a dress from Snow. It was definitely sweeter than her taste, with its pastel color and A-line skirt, but just cut low enough to not be demure. Her high ponytail fell somewhere in between. Her fangs would probably take it in another direction, but it’s not like she was going to pose for photos—she only just showed up in those.

In a moment, she was back in the house, grabbing her purse and joining her parents (who equally straddled the line of sweet and seductive; it was a vampire thing). 

Out of nowhere, a flash of light blinded her. “Seriously?” she cursed, blinking away the temporary blindness, only to see her mother holding a Polaroid camera. That was the one thing that could document them; thank god the hipsters over in Greenwich Village had clung to them.

Snow just grinned and shook the picture while David lectured, “It’s not like we got to see you off to prom or anything.”

“Yeah, but are you going to do this every year?”

“Yes,” Snow stated matter-of-factly, smiling at the photo before setting it aside. “Now come on; there’s a bloody mary calling my name.”

“Where are we going?” 

“That new underground club at 43rd and 10th. Figured we should try it, and it should be trouble-free.”

‘Trouble’ meaning the Aurum coven. Emma still hadn’t figured out the reason for this centuries-long blood feud, but she did know that she’d been dragged in on the side of Coroza, under a woman named Cora; turns out Walsh had been one of her cronies. And it normally wouldn’t affect her, save for the fact that her parents were turned by someone in Aurum (led by the mysteriously mononymed Gold) and that had dangerous implications, not to mention the rising tensions between the two groups as they began to encroach on each other (and each other’s feeding grounds) on the Upper West Side. 

“You sure? That’s awfully close.” 43rd had become an arbitrary border between the two factions, and there had been more than a few skirmishes while people were on the prowl for a midnight snack. She’d had a couple close calls of her own while tracking down skips in the part of town, but had somehow managed to evade notice.

“It’s on our side of the street,” her mom shrugged in response and grabbed her purse.

(Why one side couldn’t just move to another part of town, Emma didn’t know, but she was definitely aware of how stubborn vampires could be. And she wasn’t going to move; there’s no way they’d be able to get a place like this anywhere else for a reasonable price.)

She’d hardly gotten out the door when a familiar scent caught her nose—and not necessarily a welcome one: Graham.

“Uh, hi, Emma,” he stammered, while giving her a shy yet adorable grin.

“Hey,” she answered back, not meeting his eyes—and instead finding Snow’s, who was intently studying the sky. Snow had been trying to get the two of them together for at least 10 years, and while Graham was a great guy, a good friend, and handsome to boot, Emma had never been attracted to him like that. A fact that seemed to keep falling silent on Snow’s ears despite her enhanced hearing. 

(His blue eyes were pretty, but they weren’t the pair that kept haunting her.)

Given the sudden awkwardness that settled over the group—because that was apparently something you had to deal with whether you were dead or alive—it was up to Emma to break it. Not that she had any skill in that department.

“Alright, uh, let’s go,” she said with little confidence, and set off towards the club, with the others falling in behind her; Graham stayed close and if she wasn’t mistaken, attempted to put an arm around her, but she walked a bit faster to avoid his reach. The bar was only a few blocks away, which they could normally cover in less than a minute, but they had decided to blend in with the crowd tonight; it was nice to be normal every now and then.

But still—every now and then, the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck rose, and it had nothing to do with Graham’s proximity. Something was coming; she just didn’t know what. 

That wasn’t for her to worry about tonight, though. Tonight was for fun and drinks and dancing. And once they got to the darkly-lit club, that’s what she focused on for the next hour or so—

—Until her gaze locked with the blue eyes from her dreams.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Killian took a deep breath as soon as he exited the jetway—and immediately regretted it. He didn’t know why he expected LaGuardia to have changed at all in the past 15 years. Despite all the reconstruction, it still smelled the same: of old coffee, questionable sushi, and stale humans. (The latter was a double-edged sword: despite eating shortly before he got to Heathrow, there had been a few delays before takeoff and he was feeling rather peckish now, although nothing here seemed appetizing. Which was probably something he had in common with mortals at the moment.)

He didn’t know why he’d assumed that he might have been routed through JFK this time—why would he think Gold would care enough to properly welcome home his best operative from abroad after 15 years?—but he tried to push that ire to the back of his mind as he summoned an Uber.

At least the delays meant he landed just as the sun was setting; his previous plan had been to hang around the terminal until dusk, so at least this prevented any awkward encounters with some overtalkative Midwesterner on their way back to Cleveland. Signs pointed him to the ride share lot, and a gentleman named Marco was waiting to take him home.

On the ride into the city, he marveled at how New York always seemed like a living, breathing thing, constantly evolving and changing. He could still sharply remember the dusty bustle of the town more than 200 years ago, the sound of carriages running over dirt and cobbled streets. He’d watched as the city grew, sprawling both across and beyond the Manhattan island and up into the sky, the smell of horses and people and sweat replaced by the acrid stench of exhaust (although, even his extra-sensitive nose had gotten used to it in short order). 

So it was both surprising and not to see how much the city had changed even in the last 15 years, most noticeably in the skyline: the Twin Towers were still fresh in everyone’s memory when he’d left, so to see the new One World Trade Center in their place was a bit jarring. But the sun still glinted golden off the skyscrapers the same way; pedestrians still hardly waited for the crossing signals to give the okay to go; and though he wasn’t in a yellow cab, a language barrier still lay between him and his driver. 

Cash tips were understandable to all, though, which Killian handed over once they’d arrived at his apartment building on 34th—the Chelsea side. He’d owned his flat since the building was constructed, which was fairly impressive, but did require him to occasionally change the name on the paperwork lest anyone notice anything suspicious. 

(Someone had figured out at some point that it was helpful to have an ally in both the Social Security office and the DMV; Archie and Jefferson traded off every 20 years or so in order to help create revolving identities for the members of the vampire community. The name on his ID at the moment was Kyle Johnson, and during the past 100 or so years since he’d been required to have one, he’d also been Killian James, Ian Joseph, and—though he had to admit, he’d picked this one just to see if he could get away with it—James Hook.)

And thankfully, he’d had a reliable roommate for the past 80 years. “Honey, I’m home,” he called out after braving the still-shaky lift to the top floor.

“About bloody time,” Robin called back from the couch. “You know I had dinner ready for you before you left?”

“Ha,” Killian answered. “I’d hate to see what that looks like after all this time.”

“Oh, I let him go. And good thing, too—he ended up writing Hamilton.”

Killian had barely poked his head into his musty bedroom before he returned to the living room. “You didn’t actually have Lin-Manuel Miranda in here, did you?” To most people’s surprise, Killian was a bit of a theater nerd; the West End was great, but he was looking forward to catching up on Broadway again. 

“No. But maybe that’s a good strategy if we want to get tickets.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

His stomach grumbled in agreement.

Robin chuckled. “There’s a bottle in the fridge you can have; figured you’d be hungry when you got back.”

Killian tossed his luggage in his room and emerged again. “Have I ever mentioned that I love you?”

“Maybe a few times over the past several decades.”

He downed the bottle quickly; the black blood market never gave the best stuff—considering the type of mortals who would be willing to sell their blood for money and didn’t qualify to sell plasma—but it hit the spot in a pinch, and every now and then had something good. This definitely wasn’t, but it sated his thirst long enough to take a shower and wash the airplane off of him.

As he stared at the fogged mirror with nothing looking back at him, rubbing his palm over his permanently well-trimmed scruff, he realized he hadn’t yet checked in with Gold. Even if he’d spent the last decade-plus doing the man’s bidding from abroad, it was still easy to forget about him.

Well, mostly—until he glanced back down at his blunted left wrist. Then it just brought ancient memories to the surface, as fresh as the day they’d happened, no matter how many centuries had intervened.

Which reminded him: he was still missing something. He shot off a quick missive to Gold as he pulled some clothes out of his depressingly dated closet (having left anything more modern in a consignment shop in London), managing to put together something vaguely timeless. But before he dressed, he turned his attention on the nightstand drawer.

He slowly pulled it open, though he knew what would be inside: his hook, as sturdy and sharp as ever, with its well-worn leather brace. Sure, he had a fairly modern prosthetic hand—one that TSA didn’t mind so much—but the hook had come first, and was definitely his preferred artificial appendage. He hadn’t meant to go so long without it, but then again, he hadn’t expected his London assignment to take so long. 

(Although, 15 years to him was roughly the same as 2 or 3 to the average mortal.)

Slipping on the soft leather was like greeting an old friend (well, another one, albeit he’d known this one longer than Robin). And snapping in the hook settled a part of him that he hadn’t realized had been adrift all these years. It didn’t fully still the odd sense of anticipation he’d had ever since he landed, but he definitely felt more at ease.

With that settled, he finished dressing and then headed back to the living room and flopped on the sofa next to Robin. “When did we get a new couch?” he asked indignantly, inspecting the unfamiliar upholstery.

“As soon as you left.”

“And what was so wrong with the previous one?”

“It was from the 70s! It was hideous and uncomfortable and you know it.”

Killian could only sigh; Robin was completely right. 

“Anyways,” Robin continued. “We’ve plenty of time to argue about furniture but very little to decide what we’re doing tonight.”

“Why? What’s tonight?”

“You arrive back in North America for the first time in a decade and a half and you think that’s not a reason to celebrate?”

“Well, I was in Toronto a few years ago.”

“Still the Commonwealth. Doesn’t count. What do you want to do? There are quite a few people anxious to see you.” 

Well that’s good for them, he thought, but he wasn’t so sure of the same. The time away in the UK had definitely made him reconsider some of his connections back here in the States; getting away from the drama with Coroza had made him realize how petty he found it all. Though he’d never be completely extricated given that Gold was his sire, he’d definitely be alright with staying distant from the other frivolous disputes.

(And after spending a bit too much time in Brighton—particularly with some headstones bearing the name Jones and some rather divy taverns that were still somehow open all these centuries later—he wished more than ever to be free of Gold’s influence. Alas.)

He supposed he could placate them for one night, though; it’s not like he was going to sleep anyway. “Are there any new clubs to check out?”

“For you—plenty. For all of us...aye, there’s one that’s just opened up about...10 blocks away? Ish?”

“In which direction?”

“Up, but kind of midtown so it should be in the clear.” Meaning no one from Coroza would be there.

“Sounds fine, then,” he replied; after so many years, every club started to feel the same, but he was willing to give it a shot.  

It wasn’t long before he found himself dressed in a waistcoat and slacks that were trendy a decade ago, hoping his hair was styled appropriately (he stopped caring about 130 years ago), and waiting outside the apartment building of Robin’s girlfriend Regina.

“Jones, it’s the 21st century; why do you still have a fish hook on the end of that arm?” she greeted when she emerged from the tower, with a young vampire behind her. 

“It’s nice to see you too, Regina,” he tossed back. They’d known each other for well over a couple hundred years and this was just how they communicated. Nodding at the young man, he continued, “Who’s this?”

“This is Henry; he’s new.” The statement was matter-of-fact enough that Killian knew she wouldn’t say anything else. But he seemed friendly, albeit nervous, and Gold never complained about new vampires on their side—just Coroza.

It didn't take much for him to immediately think of Emma. His thoughts had drifted to her more than he cared to admit over the past years, wondering if she’d acclimated or if she’d burned out. It was definitely odd that such a brief encounter had left such a lasting impression, but at the same time, it had taken him well over 250 years to get over his first love; he was a romantic at heart, even if that heart no longer beat. 

He of course said nothing about it as they continued on; if no one had discovered what he’d done that night by now, he was content to leave it that way. There were other ways of him finding out if she was still around, such as—

—Such as the green eyes staring at him from the other side of the club, barely a minute after he’d entered it, freezing him in place.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading, friends! let me know if you want/don’t want a tag! @kat2609​ @xpumpkindumplingx​ @shipsxahoy​ @amortentia-on-the-rocks​ @mryddinwilt​ @cocohook38​ @annytecture​ @shireness-says​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @wingedlioness​ @word-bug​ @distant-rose​ @wellhellotragic​ @welllpthisishappening​ @let-it-raines​ @pirateherokillian​ @bleebug​ @its-imperator-furiosa​ @fergus80​ @killianmesmalls​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @ineffablecolors​ @laschatzi​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​ @nfbagelperson​ @stubblesandwich​​ @lenfaz​ @phiralovesloki​ @athenascarlet​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook​ @lfh1226-linda​

[kingfallsamtranscripts2]

King Falls AM Episode Twenty: Referencing Aladdin Don’t Make It Right

King Falls AM Transcript

Episode 20: Referencing Aladdin Don’t Make It Right

Run time: 22:17

First Aired: Feb 15, 2016

Summary: Sammy & Ben get a quick update on the little ones off Route 72 and learn live on-air that not everyone had a great evening on the night of the Valentine’s Day Dance.

(For a list of characters and references from this episode see the end of this post)

[King Falls AM theme plays]

Troy: Hey folks, if you or anyone you know has any information on these hybrid werewolf slash human baby thingamagigs-

Sammy Stevens: Is that a technical term, Troy?

Ben Arnold: Can you please let Troy finish, Sammy, this is important!

Troy: Heh, thanks, little buddy.

Ben: Go on, Troy.

Troy: Well if you see those little beasts or have information on them you just got to let us know. Don’t harbor them, they could have the rabies and or the colic. And please don’t try to adopt while it’s in its human form, cause that ain’t gonna end up well. Just use your common sense and be safe.

Sammy: Thanks for calling in officially with police business and alerting the public to the issue.

Ben: Yeah, nice hearing from you on the job, Troy.

Troy: Whilst I’m still on official police biz, I’d like to make one more little statement if I could, fellas.

Ben: Dude, of course! The floor is yours!

Troy: Well the sheriff is a real foul mood regarding these hybrid wolf babies and what have you just running amok, and he wants to make it completely, perfectly, crystal clear that if anyone should have these animals or any other illegal animals in the city limits of King Falls, they will be apprehended and exterminated on site with extreme force of malice. King Falls is a zero tolerance town for any illegal animals of any kind, up to and including wolf-human hybrids.

Ben: So… uh (clears throat) you’re saying that anyone listening that may have access to a cute and cuddly but illegal animal should do… what?

Troy: Now I’m not talking to no one in particular, I mean this isn’t a warning, it’s just a fact. Sheriff Gunderson is making it a personal project to bring down any and all animals that shouldn’t be in town.

Sammy: But cats are fine, is that right, Troy?

Troy: No doubt about that. Ain’t nobody gonna get any cats while I’m patrolling the streets, friends.

Sammy: There you have it, folks. If you or anyone you know has any information on the werewolf puppies last heard from around Route 72 or any other illegal animals not allowed in the city, please contact the sheriff’s department at once.

Ben: (sounding strained) Thanks for the info, Troy.

Troy: All you listeners, you stay safe out there, alright?

Sammy: Thanks, Troy. We’ll talk to you soon, sir.

Troy: Roger that, Sammy.

[The sound of a phone hanging up]

Ben: (clearing throat) Well… that’s good information there, huh?

Sammy: Are you okay, Ben?

Ben: Yeah! You know, I’m just… I’m not a fan of the idea that Gunderson is sending out gangs of thugs to dispatch animals, man! Aren’t there real issues for law enforcement in this town? Last week, I saw old lady Turner jaywalking in front of the grocery store.

Sammy: So you’d rather Gunderson take down the organized jaywalking underbelly of King Falls?

Ben: No, I actually helped her cross the street, but the point is that this werewolf issue seems like an animal control issue! Let Ralf Harkins take care of this! Why are the police even involved, man?

Sammy: Your guess is as good as mine. Moving forward-

Ben: Yeah! Yeah, uh, moving forward we’ve got about thirty minutes of open calls lined up before acclaimed ebook author Kirk Sycamore- don’t judge this, Sammy- will be joining us to talk about his new book Dead Tom Turkey: The Perils of Uncooked Poultry.

Sammy: I’m sorry, what now?

Ben: I mean… it’s a thing. Undercooked anything can’t be good, right?

Sammy: I would assume, but seemingly that one sentence just covered everything you need to know. Cook it longer.

Ben: Then it might get dry. I don’t know man! Don’t look at me like that! Merv emailed and asked to book this guy. His book topped Beauregard’s King of King Falls, it’s got to be worth something, right?

Sammy: The perils of uncooked poultry.

Ben: In thirty minutes.

Sammy: I don’t know if I can hold this excitement in for thirty minutes, Ben. You must be bursting at the seams! Surely you’ve waited your entire journalistic career to talk about under-broiled birds.

Ben: Uh, if it makes this any better, apparently this is a novel, not an instructional guide.

Sammy: (outraged) That actually makes it worse! This is a fictional piece of work?!

Ben: Merv emailed this to us, Sammy.

Sammy: Listeners, please immediately stop what you’ve got going on and mark this down: I’m going to do my damndest to get you the info on Merv’s book of the month club. I’m on your side and I am fighting for you.

Ben: Merv, if you are listening, I do not need to be cc-ed on the email you are penning. 

Sammy: (laughs) You heard it folks, that’s coming up quickly, but until then we are taking your calls, King Falls. What would you like to talk about this evening, Ben?

Ben: Whatever’s clever. 

Sammy: Talking about whatever’s on your minds before what is sure to be a Pulitzer winning interview. 

Ben: It’ll be good- you’re making fun- but it’ll be good. 

Sammy: How could it not be? You heard our story, King Falls, now let’s hear yours. 

Ben: Give us a call at the station- 424-279-3858, or hit us up at the tweet machine!

Sammy: That’s @ kingfallsam and @ kingfallssammy respectively. Line seven you are on the air with King Falls AM. 

Pete Meyers: You’re saying to yourself: I don’t think Pete Meyers would listen to a show of this terrible quality, as handsome and as smart as he is. He’s probably watching Big Bang Theory or something. 

Sammy: That is exactly what I was thinking, Pete. 

Ben: Word for word, almost. 

Pete: Look, I don’t like talking to the two of you either. 

Ben: Yet you continue to call! And listen! And show up at events!

Pete: Ben if you don’t drop a little bass out of your voice I will roundhouse you right in the gullet the next time I see you. You hear me? I will skullf-(beep) your mom.

Ben: So now you’re threatening me? Do you hear this Sammy?

Sammy: (annoyed) Just hang up. 

Pete: (stammering) Whoa, wait, wait, alright? You know, I’m sorry. I’m a little emotional right now… I would never intentionally try to scuff up my lugs on your face, Ben. I apologize. 

Sammy: I don’t think that-

Ben: What’s the matter? Got a vampire not appreciating the hedge art you’ve been clipping into the bushes?

Pete: Well it’s kind of about him- did you say vampire?

Ben: (triumphantly) Knew it! Man, just fess up and tell everyone that your boss is a vamp!

Pete: Ben Arnold, I just bought domain to your name. And you know what? I’m going to fill up all the pages with babies and donkeys. What’s the world going to think of you? Some weirdo guy, making an internet site about babies and donkeys? Yeah, that’s right-

Ben: (all riled up) Oh yeah? Ooooooh, Pete! Why don’t you come down here, look me in the eyes, when you’re saying this huh? Huh?!

Sammy: Guys. 

Ben: Meanie!

Sammy: Guys! That’s enough. Pete, state your problem or move along. 

Pete: Alright, fine. I messed up big time. Worse than the time I dressed up as Edward Scissorhands for Halloween and ruined Mr. B’s hedges. Apparently I pushed a button or didn’t-really-push-a-button on a fancy thing… that’s beside the point. What I really want to know is- did you guys hear something funny on your station a week or two back?

Ben: Um, um, I’m hearing something stupid right now but I don’t know if that’s-

Pete: Come on, Ben! Be serious. I take you seriously- I almost respect you! Now, I heard a little something like maybe you guys got hijacked or something like that and I just wanted to know… you know, what’s up.

Ben: This again?

Sammy: Wait, Ben, we’ve heard this a few times actually. The shotgun guy said it, we’ve had a number of tweets about it. We don’t know anything about this but apparently another feed cut into ours about a month or so ago. 

Pete: Oh sh-(beep).

Ben: Watch your language, Pete.

Pete: Watch your… face, Ben.

Ben: Wait, what the hell are you and Beauregard up to? 

Pete: None of your damn business. 

Beauregard: (from the background of Pete’s call) Yard boy, what are you doing in this chamber without supervision?

Pete: Uhhhhhhh what? Uh, Mr. B, uh nothing!

Beauregard: Don’t act like an ignoramus around the transmorgrifier. 

[There are metallic clanks and scrapes in the background and the sound of metal pipes moving around. A whirring humming sound begins like a machine turning on which grows steadily louder]

Sammy: What the hell is going on over there? Pete?

Pete: You made me mess up again you butt smackers. 

Beauregard: Don’t just stand there all slack-jawed and drooling. Turn it off this instant. Celestia!

[The whirring cuts off and there is the sound of a call ending]

Ben: What the hell?

Sammy: Well, folks, this is a first for me that I believe an on air failed attempted felony will lead us right into break.

[Cheerful music starts as a commercial begins]

Ernie: Hey there! Ernie Salsado’s leather bound books ain’t your normal bookshop. Maybe you’re asking yourself: Ernie, whatever do you mean? What I mean is that Ernie Salsado’s leather bound books is more than just a hipster reading book nook. We don’t carry none of those cheap-ass paperback books or harlequin novels here, plus you sure as hell ain’t gonna find nothing to read on your I-pad kindle whositswhatsits. For what I understand it’s only first edition leather bound books and (???) up in this joint. Maybe you’re thinking you need to gussy up your place to impress some broad or you have a real need to make people think you got a bigger vocabulary than some Johnny come lately. Either way, Ernie’s got you covered. That’s a book joke! Ernie Salsado’s leather bound books- we got fancy books! F-(beep) you, pay me.

[King Falls AM rock music plays then fades out as the commercial break ends]

Sammy: Ernie Salsado’s leather bound books? There’s two of these stores here? I’ve never even heard of one of them until Rich McGuff! I don’t know what’s more surprising, Ernie’s entrepreneurial rise in the community or him almost making me forget what happened before the break…

Ben: I’m literally afraid to comment one way or another on this. 

Sammy: (amused) He is an intimidating specimen. 

Ben: (carefully and slowly) If he… likes to hear that, then, yes, you are right. If not, please don’t slander that gigantic human!

Sammy: Ha, no slander intended. We’re taking calls and counting down the seconds before we get a riveting interview with the man who some call the Dan Brown of bird related mysteries. 

Ben: Wow, they say that?

Sammy: No, they don’t! (laughs) The phone lines are still lit up, let’s take some calls.

Ben: Good evening, you’re live on King Falls AM. 

Greg Frickard: (smugly) Well look who decided to pick up the phone. 

Ben: (quickly) Um, let’s take another-

Greg: Hey, Sammy! I’ve got a topic of discussion. Let’s talk about how that co-host of yours is just gonna sit there all quiet and not even mention the fiasco he caused earlier this week at Granny Frickards!

Sammy: Greg? Is everything okay?

Greg: Oh, it’s not okay, Sammy. That- pardon my French- moron, that he would even-

[the sound of a call ending]

Ben: Whoops!

Sammy: Ha! 

Ben: Line five you are on with Sammy and Ben!

Sammy: Wow, it looks like you learned a thing or two from Chet, I see. 

Ben: Don’t know what you’re talking about!

Caller: Hello?

Sammy: So what happened at Frickard’s?

Caller: Are you talking to me?

Ben: Nothing happened to… let’s just-

Sammy: Not only are you my broadcast partner, I thought we were friends! 

Ben: Hey! We are friends! I just didn’t think to tell you that I happened to have dinner at Frickard’s earlier in the week.

Caller: Hellooo?

Sammy: Uh huh. This wouldn’t happen to be the same night Emily was on a business meeting with Greg, would it?

Ben: I really don’t recall but it might have been… that’s a good question. 

Sammy: You don’t recall going to your least favorite restaurant in town, which you never eat at, on the night of the King Falls Valentines Day Dance where your main squeeze-

Ben: Watch it.

Sammy: Where the girl you pine for-

Ben: Watch it!

Sammy: Where Emily Potter-

Ben: Thanks.

Sammy: Happened to be roped into a business meeting with Greg Frickard.

Ben: My mortal enemy. 

Sammy: Paid sponsor of King Falls AM. 

Ben: Whatever. 

Sammy: You don’t recall if that’s the night you dined at Granny Frickard’s?

Ben: Ehhhh it’s not really ringing any bells! 

Sammy: Maybe we should call Emily. 

Ben: Don’t do that!

Sammy: Things coming back to you now? 

Ben: Did- ugh… can I fill you in at break and not on the air?

Sammy: You’d better! You know, I’m a little sore that you didn’t tell me to begin with! And this was days ago! 

Ben: I’m sorry, man, it’s just it’s not the best story. Believe me.

Caller: Hello? Can we talk now?

Sammy and Ben: No!

[The sound of a call ending]

Sammy: The turkey guy is not sounding so bad right now.

Ben: Ha, why don’t we try… lucky line one, you’re on King Falls AM. 

Greg: Hey Ben Arrrnold! Why don’t you tell the whole friggin town about you showing your butt and ruining my business meeting with Emily Potter!

Ben: Greg, I really don’t wanna get into this. 

Greg: Ohh, you can’t talk in front of Sammy and the whole town- what’s the matter? Frog got your tongue?

Ben: That's not a saying. 

Greg: You sure didn’t have a problem causing a ruckus at the restaurant! In front of Granny no less!

Ben: Can we take another call, Sammy?

Sammy: Is this true, Ben?

Greg: You can’t deny it, Ben Arnold! I’ve got it on camera from multiple angles! You are a heathen.

Ben: Why do you have me making a scene on camera?

Sammy: Multiple angles?

Greg: I’d like to say it’s just the security cameras… but, if you must know, I hid a few cameras around the Froggery for my big night. 

Sammy: You call a business meeting your big night?

Greg: With Emily Potter I absolutely do! She is the most beautiful creature in King Falls!

Ben: So you admit that it was a date?

Greg: It was a business meeting with a gorgeous woman! Take it as you will!

Ben: You’re so creepy! God!

Greg: Oh, so it’s creepy. Wanting your gramma and your future children to see the moment their future mother and I fell in love? Recorded for prosperity forever. Probably. Classily edited to voice a man and everything. 

Ben: Yeah! It’s creepy!

Greg: (singing) I’ll make love to you! Like you want me to, oh baby hold me tight I will love you all through the night…

Sammy: That is really creepy, Greg.

Greg: You’re just a heathen. You don’t know what love is. What do you know? Tell them what you did, Ben!

Ben: I’m not getting into this on the air, Greg. Let’s just-

Greg: I am a paying sponsor of this show, Ben Arnold! Fess up, right now!

Ben: What are you gonna do, Greg?

Greg: So help me I’m gonna ask Granny- real nice- to pull your sponsorship money!

Sammy: Greg... are you crying?

Greg: (in a high pitched voice) No...

Ben: Hmm, so you’re threatening the show over a personal issue?

Sammy: Greg, we appreciate what you and Granny do for the show and the station-

Greg: I’m glad to see one of you does.

Sammy: But I’m not about to let you threaten taking money away from the station to pressure Ben into talking about something he doesn’t want to. Do what you got to do. 

Greg: Ha! Don’t think that I won’t wake up Granny right now!

Ben: You want to talk about this on air, Frickard?

Greg: Tell the people what you did. Just tell them!

Ben: Ugh, okay. So, I made a reservation for myself at the King Falls best f-(beep)-ing Froggery the same night as your video taped date with Emily. 

Greg: Keep going.

Ben: Jack-In-The-Box-Jesus, this is ridiculous. Sammy, I made a reservation and I made a scene! The end.

Greg: Details, heathen!

Sammy: Details would be nice here, Ben. 

Ben: So, uh, (clears throat) I got there right as Emily was sitting down. 

Greg: At a table right next to ours! He requested it!

Ben: That is also true. 

Sammy: Ah.

Ben: And that’s that! I watched Greg lose his mind. Nature took its course. 

Greg: He ordered every single flambé frog special on the menu.

Ben: Yeah? So?

Greg: Everybody who’s anybody knows that that’s the most romantic frog dish in the world! And you cleaned us out!

Ben: So what? You don’t need romance on a business meeting!

Greg: You ordered twenty of those things just for you!

Ben: And I paid for twenty! What’s your point?

Greg: My point? You didn’t even eat them! You brought in Chipotle!

Ben: Yeah, man! Cause frogs are gross!

Greg: You… you’re gross!

Ben: Oh yeah?

Greg: Yeah. You’re gross! A gross heathen and I… I hate you! I hate you! Ha! I said it. I hate you.

Sammy: Guys…

Ben: I’ll do you one better- I never liked you to begin with. You creep me out. 

Sammy: Ben…

Greg: Well, heh, that’s not what your mom says.

Ben: Don’t you bring my mom into this.

Greg: Your mother things I am a fine, upstanding, entrepreneur, and model citizen!

Ben: She’s an idiot then! Sorry mom.

Greg: Heathen!

Sammy: Guys! (Clears throat) Okay so you disturbed Greg’s meeting with Emily. You ordered food you didn’t eat. I-is that it?

Ben: Basically! He lost it because I was probably in the shot of his candid camera date!

Greg: I lost my temper, but you had it coming! You get Emily whenever you want and I schedule months in advance!

Ben: Yeah, and you did it during the Valentine's Day Dance. Just real messed up, man. You’re a stalker. 

Greg: Who showed up at whose date, Ben?

Ben: I was just having dinner at my favorite sponsor’s restaurant.

Greg: You don’t even like frogs!

Ben: Nobody does!

Greg: Why don’t you tell them how you got escorted off the premises?

Ben: You just did, idiot!

Sammy: If you were just eating, or not eating as the case may be, how did they have the grounds to toss you out of Granny Frickard’s?

Ben: Ugh. I- I may have started throwing tiny hush puppies in Greg’s general direction.

Greg: You, you, you may have? Pah-lease! You were pretending to be Nolan Ryan while you’re lobbing them at my head.

Ben: You had no right to kiss Emily’s hand!

Greg: Well you wouldn’t have even known if you weren’t, you know, stalking us to begin with!

Ben: Yeah? Well, uh, stay away from Emily!

Greg: Well I won’t have a problem doing that since she hates us both.

Sammy: I’m sorry, what’s that, Greg?

Ben: Can we move on… please.

Greg: Emily left in a huff and said she wasn’t a prize to be won. Totally thought she was roleplaying and I called her princess Jasmine… Which she also didn’t appreciate… 

Ben: Nice touch, dumbass. Referencing Aladdin don’t make it right.

Greg: It’s kind of ludicrous when you think about it. I mean, she is a prize to be one. She’s the trophiest of trophy wives to ever be trophy won!

Ben: She’s pretty mad, Sammy.

Sammy: It sounds like she kinda should be…

Ben: She probably hates me now, man. Stupid stunt…

Sammy: I’m sure she doesn’t hate you, Ben.

Greg: Oh yeah, she hates him big time. I mean, she hates us both, but it’s basically a win for me. She was only lukewarm to my intentions but she can’t stand Ben now. She’ll eventually come back around to the Frog Prince if, uh, he’s out of the picture.

Ben: Greg.

Greg: I’ll take your apology on air, Ben. But I would also like it written on a nice piece of cardstock so I can show it to Granny.

Ben: I sincerely hope that you catch a frog-based STD and die.

Greg: And I hope that you find another perfect woman to fall head over heels in love with, Ben, because you just struck out. You stuck out big time.

Ben: You’re an imbecile! Nobody likes eating frogs! It’s 2016, Greg! You’re gross!

Greg: Ha! Shows what you know. Some cultures consider frogs the poultry of the pond.

Ben: Literally no cultures say that!

Greg: Oh yeah? Well ask Kirk Sycamore when he comes on, he’ll show you.

Ben: I’m not asking anybody anything.

Sammy: Greg, I think it’s best if we part ways for the night.

Greg: Fine! No skin off my bubble butt! Later haters!

[The sound of a phone hanging up]

Sammy: I think-

Ben: Can we just go to commercial, Sammy? I just- I can’t right now.

Sammy: D-do you want to? Is that on schedule?

Ben: No! And, no… Ugh, just take a couple more calls before the bird man pops in.

Sammy: Lucky line one you’re live on-

Caller: Hi, Sammy. Hi, Ben…

Sammy: Good evening, Emily. I assume you’ve been listening.

Emily. I’ve been listening.

Sammy: You know what, let me put you on hold so you can talk to Ben off the air.

Emily: No! I’d like to talk to Ben on the air, if you don’t mind, Sammy.

Sammy: You know, I uh… Ben?

Ben: Uh, whatever you want, Emily.

Emily: Okay, you know I don’t hate you, Ben. Far, far from it.

Ben: I’m so sorry Emily. I just, I lost it sitting there, thinking that you were all alone with that creep and-

Emily: You acted like a real ass.

Ben: I know I did!

Emily: I’m not a child, Ben. When I told you that I would love to go to the dance with you, that was the truth. But when I also told you that I was a woman of my word and was going to honor my prior engagements, as stupid and contrived as they were, I meant that too.

Ben: I just-

Emily: You acted like an ass!

Ben: I know, but-

Emily: There’s no explanation that will make this better, Ben! You acted like a jealous boyfriend and I’m not sure if you know this, but you aren’t my boyfriend.

Ben: Can I just say-

Emily: Even if I wanted you to be before, you aren’t. So you have no right to act like this!

Ben: (Pausing) You wanted me to be your boyfriend?

Emily: Before the incident there was no doubt about it.

Ben: After?

Emily: I- I- uh- I can’t let my feelings override the fact that you treated me like a kid, Ben. I am a grown woman! I am a professional woman. I don’t need some white knight to save me from the likes of Greg! And while I appreciate the idea behind it, like I said to you and I said to Greg, I am a person! I have feelings! I’m not a prize to be won! 

Ben: I really messed this up, I’m… I’m sorry. Emily if you’ll just-

Emily: I just- I need some time to evaluate what the next step is. 

Ben: Because you hate me.

Emily: No! Bec- because I lo- I strongly strongly like, probably definitely on the verge of more. I mean, I was scared to death that you were hurt or worse during Lincoln’s revenge! But I was scared even more when I saw you acting like a high school bully during that meeting. 

Ben: You strongly strongly like me?

Emily: I do. But it’s, it’s gonna be a little bit before I can trust you to be okay with that.

Ben: I understand. 

Emily: But I… I wasn’t going to let another minute go by of you think that I hated you. Cause I don’t. But you really need to fix this.

Ben: And I will. I- I promise.

Emily: I hope so. (pause) Ah, goodnight, Sammy. Ben.

Sammy: Goodnight, Emily. We will talk soon.

Emily: I’m sure of it. Ah, I actually wanted to talk to you about being one of the library’s spring break speakers soon. I’ll send you an email.

Sammy: Oh, please do. Anything to get the kids back in the library after, you know, Lincoln’s revenge…

Emily: Thanks, Sammy. Goodnight, guys.

Ben: Hey- hey, Emily?

[The sound of a phone hanging up with a beeping that slowly fades out. The King Falls outro music and credits begin.]

References:

Nolan Ryan: a baseball pitcher.

The Big Bang Theory: A television show.

Edward Scissorhands: a charactor from an old fantasy movie by the same name about a man who had scissors for hands.

Harlequin novels: a trashy romance story.

Characters:

Sammy Stevens, Ben Arnold, Troy, Greg Frickard, Emily Potter, Pete Meyers, Beauregard, Ernie Salsado.

[the-satellite]

Hello friends and welcome to ☆Hateful Nostalgia☆. I was exposed to the mob talker mod WAY too young bc I was an unsupervised child on the internet watching mod showcases and SkyDoesMinecraft. Looking back these sucked, the stories were often bland and the designs were milk toast at best and tits out at worst. So for the sake of procrastinating on working on anything substantial I grabbed the main 6 I remembered and gussied em up. Redesigns, rewrites, better names, all that bullshit. If your interested in better photos, design notes, story details and rambling hit the basement, otherwise here's a line up you should click for better quality.

Also I wrote all this once before already but I deleted it like a dumb bitch. On the night Unus Annus was murdered in front of my eyes no less. Was a rough fuckin night.

The Creeper- Kupa. An explosive pyromaniac with a habit of making empty threats and yelling. She protects what she believes to be her territory with a suicidal passion, but if you manage to get her to cool down and soften up she's pretty sick to hand out with. Hard of hearing, has at least one bout of head trauma at all times, and deathly allergic to cats.

Because the creeper is kinda the og I wanted to reference AT2's design more than the others, but I'm p sure the only thing I actually kept was the red hair and brown gloves. Otherwise I was doing whatever. I really wanted to lean into the explody bit of creepers, so I gave her some bite and dressed her in clothes referenced from Irish railroad workers. This may also be why I keep imaging her with a very heavy Irish or Scottish accent, whichever would be most incomprehensible when angry. Every color but her skin was color picked from one of the references, with some minor alterations for makes my eyes happy reasons.

With Kupa I imagine a story line with her would largely be about her as a character and her development than like an actual adventure narrative like everyone else. She starts off ready to blow up both you and herself in a misguided attempt to defend what she sees as her's and opens up and learns not everyone is out to get her. Lots of time taken to understand her childhood and how she ended up how she is. Very simple, probably the default or tutorial run people would go through.

The Zombie- Bee. The ill husk of a missing explorer suffering from a less than conventional appetite. She wallows in her self imposed loneliness, believing herself to be an irredeemable monster doomed to hurt those around her. What she really needs is a buddy and some clue to who she used to be. Rough voiced, chronically fatigued, and prone to spontaneous combustion in sunlight.

 I definitely consider this one the weakest for design sadly. I imagined Zombies as humans who went into strange caves and caverns and didn't come out for years, only to pop up as completely different people. I just tossed AT2's design. The first thing I did was make her a bit of a genderbent Steve and tinted her green bc Zombies in game are just Steve but green. Tore up her clothes, colored picked the darkest colors I could from the clothes on the in game and boom, Bee. I do vaguely regret not making her eyes pure black but I also still wanted her to be human enough to fit with the other overworld mods.

 Ok so Bee actually has a basic story. When you meet her she's aggressive, but as a warning. She fears the possibility she may hurt somebody so heads for threats immediately. Going back and forth between her cave and village for a while you learn more about the situation with the missing folks who come back and Bee as a person. After a bit you pick her up off her depressed ass and start a nocturnal adventure of refinding your past, adapting to who your becoming, overcoming self destuction, and slow burn babey!!! 

The Skeleton- Ulna. One of the few surviving warriors of a now destroyed kingdom and dead culture. She spends most of her time now traveling alone, hiding in trees and shooting anything see sees as a threat- which is everything- in the face with homemade arrows. Very much suffering from loss of her home and a bad case of lost purpose. A woman of few words, very antisocial, and naturally nocturnal.

 I came in with the Skeleton wanting to make her seem mysterious, so my first thought was immediately a cloak and a mask, but I wanted her face to like be visible so I went with the face paint. I didn't actually know that I wanted to do under there so I went with wraps that are reminiscent of the original outfit but still not tits out bc it's so fucking easy! Gave her a quiver, color picked the cloak and face paint from the in game model and the wraps from AT2'S art. I did like. Subconsciously draw her eyes the way I do Asian characters but I didn't have anything specific in mind so like go nuts with what you think she is.

 Ulna's deal is very much her lack of purpose or home and the entire thing is about finding that again. She's found sitting up in a tree during a storm pointing a bow and arrow into your face. She eventually let's you stick around until the storm is over and theres some bonding into deep night until the rain stops. You ask if she wants to come with on your little travelling sword for hire business, she says sure, sleep schedule shenanigans, backstory angst, and road trip bonding happens and she eventually decides that helping people is her new purpose and you're her new home

The Spider- Park. A young adult experiencing the world for the first time through her tribe's rite of passage. She's really just trying to figure out how to live life outside of the cave she's been stuck in her entire life and aggressively trying to be an independent adult despite not knowing anything about being an independent adult. Its projection. Blind in the daylight, naive and excitable, and taken to refusing help at her own risk.

 Ok so. I don't know who looked at the spider and said "purple haired loli with puffy pants" so I once again yeeted the whole thing, only really keeping the kinda cutesy and childish bits. Spiders are a tribe of humans what live in caves unless they've broken off to live on the surface. Kids are kept inside until they hit a certain milestone, where they come up to explore at night. They're usually small and pale, but are pretty kickass when necessary. Again picked the colors off the in game model, played with the lightest gray for the skin, and bc I couldn't figure out anyway to use the stripes so they're on the patches lol.

 Park's meeting is probably the funniest and most meet cute one here, in that she accidentally drops on top of you from a little cliff drop off. Cue loads of apologies and an explanation about the spider deal and being blind in light. She asks for some help getting around and bam babey friendship and emotional attachment! What follows is kinda a buddy of coming of age story with the obligatory goes home and is miserable scene. Generally it's just about being a scared young adult and having someone to fall back on and why that's important. Also crushes and young people being bad at that.

 The Blaze- Amber. A demonic entity who would let the world burn and the sun die if it meant she'd get her soul back. She's known for being ruthless, taking souls through force instead of making deals like other Blazes. Keeps this forceful nature even once she's become friendly, makes you do dump shit. Territorial, eyes glow and dim with her life, and runs remarkably warm.

 Amber here is the first one I actually did! I was just. Really tired that she was in a bikini. I decided early on I wanted overworld mobs to be human and everyone else was decidedly not, so Blazes are demons who gave up their souls under false pretenses to other Blazes. Because of how little clothes AT2's design wore I had essentially free reign and my thought was immediately to lean on golden knight bc of how Blazes are found protecting fortresses. The gold isn't picked from anything bc I was looser with the colors, but everything else is, and the hair is supposed to represent the smoke. Also the sticks in her hair are blaze rods bc I don't like them just floating around her.

Amber is found in the Nether obviously, protecting a fortress and immediately trying beat your ass and either incinerate you or make you give up your soul. During you prove yourself a p damn good fighter and she makes a deal to show you how Blazes exist and pursade you to give your soul up willingly. Bonding happens and she explains where the souls go and what happened to her. Insert line about how she dug in the sand for her soul until her fingers bleed bc I'm an Arcana freak lol. In general I'd just like her to learn to adapt to who she is now and learning to live life well instead of letting her anger burn her up from the inside out.

 The Enderman- Violet. A confused but sweet young bit of void created by and connected to the Ender Dragon. Her relationship with reality is tenuous at best and abusive at worst, making stable existence rather difficult. She doesn't know a name, age, gender, anything about herself aside from that she likes sweaters. Communicates primarily through psychic connections, docile and sweet, and melts like a witch in water.

 Violet was incredibly easy, so this may be way short. Endermen are decidedly human shaped void from the End with varying sentience. They're direct extensions of the Ender Dragon, and nobody knows how they're made or where they come from, not even they do. Adventurers who escaped The End say they seem scared of it though. Violet in particular is pretty damn new and extraordinary nonconforming, and I tried to show that with her sweater and ponytail. Once again, literally all colors picked. Definitely the simplest but one of my favs.

Violet is the sweetest meet up I think. As your traveling between villages you notice a strange enderman watching you and plant a little flower in front of her. She picks it and you hear a happy little trill come from you and a pretty voice say thank you in your head. Now you have a tall dark teleporting travel buddy! After a little bit of back and forth she tells you in some broken English that the Ender Dragon made her but she doesnt know how, and that it's bad and needs to be killed for the sake of Endermen and that's the new goal. Spoiler they're the corrupted souls of those that died fighting it, with it gone Endermen are free to exist as their own being and do whatever, hurray!

[charlie-sloane-art]

The Fair Play 3

Summary: You finally meet Oberyn on the way to your lover’s funeral.

Here it is guys! It’s Oberyn, baby!

Read Chapter 1 and Chapter 2

“Fuck off.” You had told Jaime with the ghost of a laugh on your lips. You’d gone through so much, it seemed a shame to let marriage ruin it.

“I meant what I said, Cubby.”

Your smile fell, just like his “No you don’t.” 

“Yes, I do.” He suddenly got the courage, the same feeling in his chest like when he’d dive off the cliffs of Lannisport. He took your hand and kissed the back of it, the softest touch being the most familiar. “I-”

“Don’t say it.”

“Why not?”

“Because if it isn’t true it will haunt the both of us. And if it is true, I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“But don’t you?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Of course I do, but marriage? For what? Pleasing your father? No. I won’t accept being corralled into a union. Not with you, not with anyone.” You shook your head and pulled your hand away from his.

“I see.” Jaime nodded, his feet shifting in place “I should leave.”

“Jaime,” Your voice softened and you walked a step closer to him before he could leave.

“Yes?”

“I’ll have an answer for you by the time I get back to King’s Landing for the wedding.” It was a middleground compromise. Part of you knew you couldn’t stay unmarried forever, after all. And you weren’t exactly in the right position to be turning down such lucrative offers.

“I can take a simple ‘no’, you know.”

“It’s not a ‘no’. It’s a...give me time. I still wake up thinking today’s the day they capture us for good. I’m not ready to give you an answer.”

Jaime could understand that. His nightmares about the forests of Westeros hadn’t subsided either. “I do, though.” He murmured, looking you up and down.

“I know you do. So do I.” You walked over to him and put a hand on the back of his neck, feeling the now completely clean and cut blonde hair. Jaime stared at you so longingly that everything went quiet for him. You leaned up, bringing his head closer to yours, to rest your forehead against his. He nudged his nose against yours and in return you pressed your lips to his. Another familiar touch.

A week into the ride to Hightower a voice spoke from behind you, a Rhoynari accent clear as day in your ear “You seem preoccupied, Lady Mormont.”

You turned around, looking the stranger up and down “Just lost.” You responded, looking among the vast sea of tents set up for the night in the middle of this expansive field.

“You are going to sleep so soon?” The stranger was tall, leaned and muscled with tanned skin and the same dark eyes your once-lover had. 

“Pardon me, but do we know each other?” It wasn’t likely, but still it was better than demanding a stranger explain their presence.

“Apologies, Lady Mormont. I know of you from my nephew’s correspondences.” He bowed and took your hand in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles.

“Oh.” Your blush could be seen through the dark, illuminated by some torch light and whatever sliver of the moon had shown its face. “Prince Oberyn.” You should have known, really, that the Dornishman adorned in bright orange vests and silks was the prince of Dorne.

“Lady Mormont,” He smiled, standing up straight “We finally meet.”

“He used to talk so much about you.” You blurted out, not sure what else you could have said.

“He wrote about you frequently. The only way I knew it was you was from the portrait he’d sent me of you not long ago.” Oberyn nodded, smiling down at you. The North star twinkled in his eye with a scandalous glimmer. 

“I wondered where that portrait had gone.” You smiled, relieved in the sharing of memories of a mutual loved one “He told me all about how you helped raise him into knighthood. He was always very proud to have learned from you.”

“He was like a son to me.” Oberyn nodded, “Dorne was always his place. He should have never gone to the capital.” He sighed “Well, in any case, I shall see you tomorrow, Lady Mormont. Something tells me we have lots to talk about that shouldn’t be spoiled in one evening.” He bowed.

Before he could leave you told him your name, the one you would be most comfortable with him calling you, and he smiled crookedly, giving you a polite nod “Before I do walk away,” He swaggered back carefully “I should escort you to your tent, no?”

“Oh.” You didn’t have a tent. Just the horse tied to a cherry orchard close to the barrack tent where the guards slept. It was safer closer to an armory.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, I just prefer to sleep under the stars.”

“How romantic.” He smiled at you and offered his arm “Come, show me where.”

You lead him to the small tree that should give you cover in case the clear night turned on its head and rained on you.

“You were not joking.” He said, a little more seriously than usual.

“I don’t have attendants and this is what I could manage-”

“This is unacceptable for a lady of such beauty, sleeping in the dirt.” You felt embarrassed and shuffled your feet, but he said it more like this was an injustice done to you, not by you. “You will sleep in my tent.” He decided.

“What?” You turned on your heel to face him and gave him a harsh look up and down “Who do you think you are, propositioning me like that?”

“My Lady, I was not propositioning you. I did not mean to offend. I can sleep on the rug in my tent and you may take the bed. It is what Caspian would want for you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and shook your head “The sky’s clear tonight. I should be fine. I’m used to it anyway.”

“So am I. On my travels to Essos with the Golden Company there often was not enough lodging for us. I slept on the floor multiple times. It is good for your spine.” He walked over to the roots of the orchard and kicked his foot gently against it “But this? It’s hard and jagged. You won’t sleep well and riding tomorrow will be difficult. At the very least, if you sleep here I should offer you a seat in my carriage. I get so lonely on the day ride and my thoughts tend to go morose when left to themselves.”

“Fine.” You nodded and brought your blanket from off of your horse’s hind, both a loan from Jaime “I will take a seat in your carriage, Prince Oberyn, in exchange you leave me be about my sleeping circumstances. We weren’t all born for feather beds.”

Oberyn put his hands up as you settled your back against the tree and placed the blanket over you “A fine trade. I shall come back by here tomorrow and wake you.”

There was no need, in the end. You were awake, ready, and fed off of dried meats and a piece of a loaf of bread you’d packed far before Oberyn came to get you.

“My Lady.” He bowed to you. You noticed he hadn’t done the same for the other ladies or lords around the camp. His house words came to you Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. Unbowed. 

“What’s a prince like you,” You started, making him raise an eyebrow “bowing to a lady like me for?”

“From what I’ve heard of you and your adventures,” through Caspian, no doubt “I hold you to a station far above mine, my Lady.”

You smiled a little and nodded, folding your blanket to put back on your horse but Oberyn stopped you “That won’t be necessary. I have space to put your trunk and belongings. Your horse will ride with the others pulling the carriage.”

“It’s a loan.”

“And it will be returned to you. You have my word.”

You nodded and placed the blanket in your trunk “I’d like to hear of your adventures. It’s only fair since you know so much of mine.” You couldn’t help look the prince up and down. Did he recently tweeze his eyebrows? They didn’t have the same shape last night. And his facial hair was far more trimmed and straightened. Had the Prince of Dorne gussied up for you?

“And yet I have so many questions about yours.” He smiled and offered his hand to take your valise, which you lugged into his arms with a simple thanks. Untying your horse from the tree, you took the reins and followed Oberyn. He was right. Your lower back felt sore and cramped. You were thankful for the cushioned seat he had offered.

“Like what?”

“How did you escape in the first place? How were you so sure you could trust a Lannister of all people?”

“Mutual gain. He knew he couldn’t escape on his own and the lands were still sympathetic to the northern cause. He didn’t have the right vocabulary not to be caught. And I needed to escape.”

“How did you set him free?”

“I brought him dinner the night before and stuck a dagger in the bread. He killed the guard on my signal and I opened the door for him.”

“He could have slit your throat.”

“He was not that stupid, fortunately.” You smiled up at Oberyn and he shook his head.

“It’s all so hard to believe, and yet...my nephew mentioned a knight catching you. You were caught multiple times, yes?”

“Yes. About seven days in, we were intercepted by Brienne of Tarth who had the mission to bring Jaime to King’s Landing and me back for execution to the Starks.”

“And the second?”

“By Lord Bolton’s men who cut off Jaime’s hand. They had it in mind to do awful things to both Brienne and I. Jaime made sure it didn’t happen. I owe him my life.”

Oberyn sighed “Must be a strange thing, being in debt to a Lannister.”

“They’re funny about debts, those ones.” You smiled and found yourself looking at a beautiful carriage, carrying the orange and red banners of house Martell. It was painted yellow with orange trimmings, every edge curved to look like the sun. Carved into it were small stars along the doorways and wheel rims. The closer you got to it the better you could smell the inside. Oberyn opened the door for you after hauling and strapping in your trunk to the back. Oranges, basil, and sweet mint wafted towards you like it had been burned as incense. Sure enough, he had a stick of it burning by the window, a special hole in the window frame to hold it in place.

“The country smells awful.” He made a comment as he climbed in after you, sitting across from you and getting comfortable with his legs apart and his arms on either side of the backs. “I much prefer the smell of home.”

“This is what Dorne smells like?”

He nodded “In my age, I’ve grown more homesick.”

“Pardon me,” Oberyn shook his head and swatted his hand to tell you to drop such formalities “but didn’t you recently just spend three years in Essos?”

“Caspian told you?” Oberyn rose a brow and smiled, tilting his head to the side. You sat so conservatively, like you wanted to fold in on yourself. The dress wasn’t helping your case either. “I spent five years in Essos.”

“Homesick the entire time?”

“No, moreso homesick because of it.”

“I don’t think I could ever understand.” You had been born on Bear Island, yes, but your father Jeor Mormont had soon left to take the black and become the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch- a position he never returned from. Your mother, old as she was when you were born, died of sepsis soon after your birth. Your brother, Jorah, had been exiled a year into your life and it left your cousin Maege the Lady Bear had still been young when she was given control of the island. She sent you away when the Starks offered to raise you as a ward. You had been just a baby and up until two years ago, Winterfell was all you knew.

“You do not miss Winterfell?” Oberyn asked curiously, scooching on the seat to be more directly in front of you.

“No. It wasn’t really my home, anyway. Everyone made sure to tell me that whenever I got too comfortable.” You weren’t sure why you were oversharing but Oberyn didn’t seem to mind. He did, however, notice your discomfort.

“Your clothes are not made for riding.” He noticed “When we station for the night I shall find you more appropriate ones.”

“That is kind of you.”

“I only assume you would not want to be beholden to my presence twice.” Oberyn laughed and leaned back, reaching for a bowl of berries in the carriage. Fresh, you noticed. How had the man gotten fresh berries delivered to him in the middle of the Stormlands?

“I appreciate that.” You quipped and he laughed. You swore there was nothing that made you feel more like a grown woman than when you made him laugh.

“May I ask a personal question?” You ventured, leaning forward.

“All questions are personal if they require a truthful answer.” Oberyn nodded

“Is it true you have eighty children?”

“Eighty bastards, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to say it.”

“It’s not a bad word, Y/N. You can call them what they are. Bastards. And no, I have eight daughters...that I know of. Maybe more. Definitely more. At least five more, I suspect.”

“Doesn’t that haunt you?”

“Haunt me? How?”

The carriage stirred to life and began rolling down the path following the others.

“To be beholden to at least eight other lives, eight other people you hold responsibility for.”

“I suspect,” He leaned forward to mirror you. “It may be different because I am a rich man. I can make as many children as I like with little consequence. For you to have eight children would be a different matter than for me to have eight children. I do not have to grow them, as much as I try to participate in the process, the burden does not fall to me. I do not hold the stained mark of a consummated woman for nine months and years after. A woman does not hold the same luxury.”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. You’d never heard a man speak like that before. Then he ruined it by saying: “You are very beautiful so deep in thought.”

-

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[thethistlegirlwrites]

I was TRYING to get a start on my Whumptober prompts but I clicked on the wrong playlist in my YouTube and this song came on, so instead we got fluffy found family. 

John’s never been a fan of getting all gussied up for publicity shindigs, as Momma would put it. He’s well aware that his blueblood status obligates him to make the expected appearances, or, heaven forbid, give an actual speech (Everyone seems to think he’s his father).

But this is different. Kira’s being presented with the Van Helsing Medal for her new prediction modeling system. He can’t not be here to support her, so penguin suit and stiff shoes it is. He’s so proud of her, standing up there on stage sharing her work with the hunter world, her hands moving animatedly as she speaks, signs enthusiastic and clearly full of joy. And she’s absolutely beaming when the head of the National Huntmaster’s research division holds out the palm-sized silver medallion on its navy blue ribbon.

When it’s done, John congratulates her with the raised, shaking hands that he knows are the Deaf equivalent of clapping. She fixates on him in the crowd and smiles, he and the rest of her team are the only ones who remembered the fluttering hands gesture. She joins them at the table, and all of them congratulate her again. John’s glad to see her work being recognized for the absolute breakthrough it is, she’s so incredibly talented.

Robin holds out the paper napkin he folded into a model of an eagle. It’s his special origami creation for Kira, a nod to both her keen eye for detail and the eagle that represents Chimera’s science division. She takes it with as much careful delight as she accepted the medal only minutes ago, and then reaches gently for his arm, the closest to a hug he’ll probably accept in such a crowded, noisy setting.

The kid’s probably going bonkers in this kind of setting, he doesn’t like crowds and John can tell that he’s working hard to keep the glamour up on his host fangs. The crackly ozone scent has a bitter edge to it, the way it does when Robin’s pushing himself to the breaking point.

Clearly Kira’s seen it too. WANT GET-OUT HERE? she asks in small signs half-hidden by her body. SAW FOOD HERE, TINY. Her face squinches and her fingers are held close together, emphasizing the miniscule size of what she’s describing. NOT SURE ABOUT YOU, BUT I HUNGRY.

YOU NOT WANT STAY? EVERYONE WANT TALK TO YOU, Robin signs back. I FINE, TRUE.

YES, THEY WANT TALK. Kira nods around the room. NOT KNOW SIGN. MY EARS HURT FROM ALL THE NOISE. ONLY PEOPLE I WANT SPEND TONIGHT WITH? MY FAMILY.

Robin smiles and nods, and Kira kicks her high heels off and scrunches up the hem of her long black and maroon dress. NEED RUN. BEFORE THEY UNDERSTAND WHAT WE PLAN.

Ten minutes later, they’re in John’s car, no idea where they’re going, but it’s far from John’s first late-night drive in search of a place to eat. He’ll know the right place when he sees it, he’s sure of that.

Kira pulls her hearing aids out and leans back in the seat between Robin and Cody, her hair loose from it’s carefully tamed bun, grinning.

John glances at Maira in the passenger seat, she’s looking out the open top of the car at the night sky, speckled with the stars that are always invisible in the glare of L.A. Robin starts pointing out constellations with the fae names for them, and John thinks Kira’s absolutely right. The best place to be tonight is with family.

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