#hes got a bald little patch on his stomach from night time pulling. they all also started from fur falling out due to

[c-kiddo]

bestowing upon caduceus a nervous habit (to be casual about it lol) of pulling out his fur when he's stressed. in a slow, quiet, self-soothing neurodivergent way

[foxybananaaaz]

A Solstice Surprise

• If you have not yet read, click 《 HERE 》 for the entire work •

Authors Note :: I can feel the end. Two more parts. Just two more parts. I can feel the end. I’ve just got to figure out how to wrap this up now.

It had only taken a week to have the two of them healed. In that week, neither Elain or Lucien were comfortable with the idea of anyone but the healer coming near the rooms they were in. Elain only got really anxious, fearful. But a glance over to Lucien, anytime the healer would enter, Elain would see how Lucien would try to push himself up, despite still being incredibly weak from the lack of eating, and nearly dying.

She knew he was trying to push himself up to try and cover her, keep her safe, but she didn’t fully understand it. She had a feeling it was whatever new was between them, something deep had changed. She couldn’t really explain it, because she didn’t really feel any different, she wasn’t thinking different, but there was something different.

Like when the healer, favoured by the Night Court would come in, and would check on Lucien, after checking on her. The healer would check Luciens bandages on his eye, and make sure he was keeping his food down. Elain didn’t like it. She found that she really did not like the female healer checking in on Lucien. Injured herself though, all she could do, was look away, and try to keep her anger from showing.

with Luciens metal eye having been cut out, and broken, there was nothing in the socket any longer. So the healer had healed the wound, and sealed Luciens eye shut, before placing bandages over his eye, as well as a dark patch, to keep the socket clean, for when they did have a replacement eye to put back. He was also on a controlled diet, to make sure he was getting his nutrients, but not to overload his stomach, after going so long from not eating anything at all. Each day he would eat a little more.

Elains injuries were slightly more complex. It took a bit more work for the healer, as Titus had stood there dragging his bald over her time and again before Lucien had lit up, and then the final time, the worst of her injuries, from the right side of her neck, to just a over her heart, to taunt him. There were many cuts for the healer to heal, and after Lucien had been given the clear, that he was alright to leave, it had still taken a few days before Elain was able to leave.

Lucien had stayed in the room, refusing to leave, until Elain was healed enough to be able to leave herself.

After Elain was able to move with little pain, and was okay to leave, was when she saw her sister. It was the first time anyone came by after they had gotten back.

Elain moved as quickly as she could, before she felt pain bloom in her chest, and when she reached her Feyre, she carefully pulled her into a hug, unaware of Rhysand also there, until she felt a hand land on her shoulder gently, as if pleased that she was back.

She didn’t hear him, but she felt the shift in him. His anger, his need to protect. Elain could feel Luciens need to keep Elain away from the male who had touched her, and the anger that had come from that, which had just kept building, and building, and building-

“Back down.” Elain was pulled back into her own self again, as she heard Rhys say.

Slowly, Elain pulled back, and took a step away, looking back at Lucien, to see him, looking like a completely different male. Someone she almost didn’t recognize.

Feyre? She reached out, hoping her sister could hear her.

Yes? Elain? Elain heard her sisters answer in her mind.

Relief swept over her, as she briefly, quickly explained, continuing to look at Lucien. I can’t explain it, and couldn’t even begin to try. But something is different. Something changed down there Feyre, inside. It feels different. I had to give him food in order to save his life down there, and yes, I know, and knew what it meant when doing so. But this- this, I don’t- it’s different. I don’t understand why he’s acting like this now. As she was done explaining, Elain looked back at her sister, and saw realization begin to dawn on Feyre’s face.

Within moments, Elain watched as Feyre had turned briefly to Rhysand, and vocally come up with some random excuse to have him leave the room. Elain knew though that Feyre would have immediately explained whatever Elain did not know to Rhysand, because he had put up no argument whatsoever, and had calmly left the room.

After Rhysands departure, it had barely taken any time at all for Lucien to calm down himself, which had only confused Elain more. She wasn’t frightened. After seeing how his brother was, Elain decided that there was very little Lucien could do that would frighten her.

“I take it, the two of you would like to, stay close?” Feyre had asked, looking between Elain and Lucien, without waiting for a reply, before continuing. “I’m going to bring Elain to the other end of the room, and Nesta and I are going to sit and speak with her. We have been waiting to speak with her, wanting to make sure she is okay. Lucien, your mother has been waiting to see you.” Feyre said, with a quick glance to Elain, before looking back to Lucien. “We all will be in the same room. Elain Nesta and I will be over there, and your mother, you and, you guys will be closer to the door.” Feyre explained.

That was when Elain noticed that Nesta, was waiting at the door, as well as a female she assumed was Luciens mother, as well as ... Helion?

I will explain, when they will not see your reaction written clearly on your face. Elain heard Feyre explain to her in her mind.

The next thing she knew, she was being pulled into a hug by Nesta.

*** ***

After a few hours, of tense, emotional, and awkward conversations, Elain understood the differences a bit more, and her sisters had now known what had gone on while she and Lucien were held captive.

And as it was growing later, everyone else had taken to excusing themselves, leaving just Elain and Lucien in the room.

"Stay?" Elain found herself asking, before she was aware she had even asked.

Lucien turned to look at her, shock clear on his face. "I don't think that is entirely a fair request to ask. We are both well enough now. What happened back there, happened under extreme circumstances. I wouldn't blame you for regretting it, or wanting to pretend it didn't happen." Lucien explained, though it seemed as though as he was saying it, it was breaking his heart to do so. "I assume you want to go back to how things were? Before?"

Certainly before, hearing Lucien say this, Elain would have agreed. It was before Elain learned what she did. It was before Elain watched as Lucien had chose to starve himself, so he would not leave her with being stuck in a mating bond unknowingly. It was before she learned a little more of who he was. What he had been through.

Certainly before Elain would have agreed with Luciens assumptions. She would not have walked forward, and grabbed Luciens wrist, to stop him from grabbing his things that had been brought into the room over the last week. She would not have found herself getting choked up, finding it difficult to speak, to respond when he looked at her, and she could see him trying, yet failing to conceal the pain.

Before, Elain was a different person. Before, Elain was ignorant. Naive. Now?

"I don't regret it." She found herself whispering. "I'll have to get used to it," she continued. "Which will take some time. But don't think for one second that I regret it." She said, looking up at him, letting go of his wrist, and lifting her hand to rest it over his heart.

"You have no reason to believe me. I have given you every reason not to, in the past. But I do hope you believe me when I say that I do want to start really getting to know you. Start from the beginning, and get to know each other. Properly." Elain continued, bringing her other hand up, to rest just below his new eye patch.

"Elain." Lucien had whispered, closing his eye, and moving his head, to lean into Elains hand.

"Please." Elain whispered. "I don't understand it. But please, just, stay. Don't go."

The two of them stood there like that for a minute, before Lucien slowly moved Elains hands out of the way.

Feeling utterly dejected, Elain took a few steps back, feeling her heart breaking.

"I heard you." Elain heard Lucien whisper. "As I was dying, begging for me to stay, how you needed me to stay. I don't know how, but I heard you." Lucien paused for a moment, looking over at Elain, before continuing. "If we're starting over. If you are serious about wanting to try," he waited, as Elain slowly, nodded her confirmation. "Then that is all I could have asked for and more." Lucien finished.

He took the two steps forward, and gently pulled Elain into a hug, one that made her feel as though he never wanted to let her go. One that made her feel safe. One that felt like home.

[pressedinthepages]

Beneath Each Other's Bones

My fic entry for @eskelbigbang <3

Please also check out @drachedraws two amazing pieces of art that they made for this fic!

Relationship Tags: Eskel/Geralt

Character Tags: Eskel, Geralt, Lambert, Vesemir, Lil' Bleater

Other Tags: smut, established relationship, oral and anal intercourse (m/m), some very soft smut. what can i say.

Summary: Winter at Kaer Morhen can be brutal. But Eskel and Geralt find warmth in each other in an effort to stave off the cold.

The stones of Kaer Morhen sighed as the sun rose over the winter-frosted valley. The birds and harpies had long since traveled south for the cooler months, and the draconids had nestled themselves in the depths of the mountains around the aging keep. The castle itself was full of its Witchers, who were patiently waiting for the first snowfall to blanket their surroundings in layers of quiet white . With the last witcher having finally arrived a few evenings prior, the pack were all finally able to rest peacefully with the knowledge that all were safe.

The first thing that Geralt felt was cold. His nose, the tips of his ears. The rest of him was encompassed in warmth, but the chill rudely nipped him awake, undaunted by his furry woollen fortress. He squinted one eye open with a grimace, finding his bedroom washed in the cool sunlight that streamed in from the window. It was still early. The morning sun had barely breached the horizon. Lambert would still be snoozing away, cocooned in the safety of a warm and familiar bed, but Vesemir would likely already be down in the kitchen preparing for the day.

Geralt’s ears, barely poking out from under his blanket, picked up the steady thunks of wood being chopped, and he grunted as he sat up, letting the blanket pool around his waist. His chest was bare, pale, scarred skin reluctantly exposed to the early winter air as the witcher roused himself. Still sitting in his bed, he turned and scooted to the windowsill, peering at the courtyard below.

Ah, fuck. Geralt’s morning arousal became actively invested in the sight that met him. Eskel had a stack of freshly chopped logs at his side, with one propped up atop a large stone. Geralt could see his muscles strain against the thin linen of his shirt as he swung the sharp ax high over his head, its honed edge glinting with the emergence of the sun as it met its apex, only to fall again with breathtaking force. The log split in two, and Eskel gathered the halves off to the side, stacking them neatly with the others on a long piece of thick canvas with handles on either end.

The ax found a resting spot for a moment as Eskel wiped the sweat from his brow. Geralt set his chin in his hands and his elbows on the edge of the windowsill and held in a low groan. Eskel had reached for the neck of his tunic and lifted it up over his head, revealing the olive-toned flesh of his stomach and the dark curls of hair over his chest that drew a delicious line below the band of his trousers. It was clear he’d been the first to return to Kaer Morhen. A comfortable roll of belly fat protruded from the confines of his belt, proof he’d had plenty of time to rest and indulge over the past weeks. His skin shone with perspiration and his thighs flexed and pushed at the fabric when he lifted another heavy log onto the chopping stone. Hells, the haphazard seam of one of the trouser legs was coming loose as his thigh threatened to free itself.

Eskel breathed in and swung again, driving the ax all the way through the thick log in a single stroke. As the two halves hit the ground he turned, dropping the ax and facing the little patch of green that remained before the frost. Lil’ Bleater was happily bounding through the grass, pouncing off of crates and rubble like it was her sole duty in life. Eskel smiled wide as Geralt did the same from his perch. The sun glinted off of Eskel’s back, dancing over the drops of sweat that dripped into the hollows of his muscles. Geralt swallowed thickly, unable to look away when Eskel’s arms came up to sweep the hair out of his face. The muscles of his shoulders and down the line of his spine flexed and shifted beneath his olive skin as he moved his hands to his hips.

“Alright, Bleats,” Eskel laughed as she came bounding over to his feet. He leaned down and offered a few sweet pats to the top of her head, “Think we’ve given Geralt enough of a show?”

He glanced over his shoulder with a cheeky grin to where Geralt was watching from the window, jaw agape and gobsmacked. The goat bleated as Eskel turned back and waved, and Geralt truly couldn’t help the smile that crept up his face if he tried.

“Fuckin’ tease,” Geralt grumbled half-heartedly as he watched Eskel drape his tunic back over his head. He was picking up the straps to the carrier for the firewood when Geralt finally tore himself away from the window, willing himself calm.

It only took a moment of deep breathing and a lifetime’s worth of practice, but Geralt soon found himself presentable to pleasant company. He threw on his usual winter attire, soft trousers and an even softer loose-fitting tunic tucked into the waist of his pants, his lined boots, and his cloak thrown over his shoulder. He tied his hair back off his face and let the rest hang on his shoulders in long silver waves. Finally, Geralt grabbed his swords and scabbards before heading down the stairs to the small kitchen space.

As expected, Vesemir was there with a steaming mug, poring over a book that was almost certainly older than Geralt himself.. He grabbed an apple and plopped down on the bench next to Vesemir, the both of them wordlessly grunting a greeting at the other. Geralt ate in relative silence for a bit, only the latent thrumming of the older Witcher’s heart and the crackling of embers in the fire accompanying the crunch of apple between his teeth.

That is, until Eskel butted open the doors to the hall and dragged his firewood haul in with him. Lil’ Bleater was riding the pile of wood like a pirate would her ship, the stack being almost as high as Eskel’s shoulders. Speaking of Eskel’s shoulders, Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away from the visible line of sweat that trailed its way down his back, darkening the linen of his shirt and making it stick in all the most tempting places. He felt his mouth water at the sight and the piece of apple still in his mouth felt thick and hard as he choked it down.

Eskel grunted as he got close enough to the fireplace to relinquish his load, letting the heavy pieces fall haphazardly as he dropped the canvas sheet. The apple slipped from Geralt’s hand and bounced on the table before falling to the floor. “Dammit,” he growled, pointedly ignoring the disappointed sigh that escaped Vesemir’s nostrils.

He picked the fruit up and dusted it off, slicing off another piece as Eskel approached the table. Eskel smelled...like he needed a bath. Salt and sweat clung to his skin and wood dusted the strands of his hair, but he still carried that deep, musky, earthy scent that shone with a hint of citrus. It was the scent that kept Geralt awake at night, kept him sane on the Path. It was everything.

Eskel reached over and plucked a handful of dried fruits and nuts, as well as the jar of honey. He dropped the fruits and nuts into a bowl and carefully swirled a generous portion of honey over top. His fingers shone with the golden, sticky sweetness as he grabbed a dried grape and popped it between his lips. The scar turned his mouth upwards at the edge and pulled oddly at his lip while he ate. Geralt remembered how long it took for Eskel to be comfortable eating in front of him again after he got that scar, and he treasures every moment that he gets to see.

“Geralt?” Vesemir peered over his mug at him.

Geralt hummed in response, already dreading the day’s assignment.

“Oh don’t give me that. I need you to go out and put salt on the training grounds before the dirt frosts, and freshen up the wards around it. I don’t need the goats going in and licking it all up again. After that, the day’s yours.”

“And me?” Eskel asked around his mouthful.

“You can be done, you’ve already chopped enough wood to last us a good few weeks. I’ll get Lambert to-”

“NO. Don’t go giving my assignments before I even get to the table, old fart,” Lambert called down the stairwell.

Vesemir blinked slowly and sighed once more. “I’ll get Lambert to do SOMETHING ELSE today, though if you want something to keep busy, I’m sure there are some books that need rebinding.”

Geralt watched Eskel nod and swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Yeah, alright. I may take some time later and see what I can do about those books. Lay them out for me?”

“Of course.”

Eskel smiled over at Geralt, his deep amber eyes meeting Geralt’s sunrise gold. Geralt’s moon and stars rested in those eyes, a whole universe tucked away in the depths of Eskel’s soul, bared just for him. They smiled at each other before Geralt tore himself away, draping his cloak over his shoulders and striding quietly towards the door.

Eskel watched him haul the heavy bag of salt up onto his shoulder with a grunt. He shook his head with a smile and polished off the last of his breakfast. The stool scraped on the floor as he pushed away from the table, ready to go fall into a warm bed somewhere. Eskel heard the door shut from Lambert’s room as his feet pounded down the stairs, so he made haste in avoiding that breakfast discussion.

***

Why’s Geralt back outside?

Eskel rounded the corner of the staircases, following the fresh scent of Geralt trailing out to the courtyard. It was far past noon by this point, and Geralt had already taken care of the training grounds. He had come back in right as the sun reached its highest point in the sky, climbing the spiral stairs in search of a snack.

Eskel shouldered open the heavy wooden doors and turned to the east, following the light footprints over the balding grass. He smiled to himself as he heard soft whispers coming from the stables, low and not meant for anothers’ ears. Well, another human’s ears.

He stopped just short of the doors, now close enough to make out the words being murmured.

“-n’t give me that look, I was just wanting to braid your mane.” Geralt’s honeyed tenor drifted over the heartbeats and huffed breaths behind the stall. “I know Eskel doesn’t normally do it, but it’ll help keep it from matting over the winter. I bet you’d hate for our big softie to have to cut off old chunks of your mane, wouldn’t you?”

Eskel heard Scorpion huff heavily from his nose and he chuckled, pulling on the cool steel handle and closing the door behind him. The whispers stopped as Geralt peered over the short wall between the stalls, his hair shimmering golden with the light of the fire roaring in the fireplace. He held a hardy brush in his right hand and had his other resting lightly on Scorpion’s flank, and his hair was tied up high and away from his face.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Eskel rumbled, crossing to where he could see into Scorpion’s stall. He let his back hit the wall behind him and slid down, his bottom thumping audibly onto the ground.

“Just gonna sit there and watch me?” Geralt grumbled, resuming his brushing of Scorpion’s mane. The great warhorse stamped his foot impatiently, butting his head into Geralt’s chest.

Eskel quirked his brow and nodded, “Figured you wouldn’t mind after you ogled me this morning.”

The tips of Geralt’s ears flushed a pretty pink as he hummed noncommittally in his chest. Not denying it.

“Your man’s a smartass,” Geralt mumbled to Scorpion, and the horse fucking snickered, I shit you not.

“Ay,” Eskel laughed, watching a little smile threaten to pull at Geralt’s lips, “no need to turn my horse against me, I’ll need him come Spring.”

“Don’t wanna talk about Spring,” Geralt sighed, carefully running his fingers, long and delicate, so unlike Eskel’s, through the wispy strands of Scorpion’s mane.

“Me neither.” Eskel pulled up his knees and rested his elbows atop them, his eyes drifting down Geralt’s body. Gods, but he’s so gorgeous.

If you asked him, Eskel would say that he couldn’t pick a favorite part of his Geralt. Everything was his favorite, it was impossible to choose. But Eskel did have a favorite, and he very well kept it to himself, thank you very much.

That damned waist. The way that Geralt’s shoulders, broad and sharp, sloped in and down over his stomach and into a glorious handful for Eskel. Nothing about Geralt was dainty, not in the slightest, but Eskel loved that he could wrap his arm over the soft line of his waist in the dead of night, or grasp desperately onto it while lost in the throes of passion.

Eskel sat there quietly, listening to Geralt mumble to Scorpion while he busied his hands. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the idle sounds of the castle and nearby woods overtake his mind and senses. He could hear Lambert’s heavy footfalls from beneath the castle, down in the labs. A pack of wolves patrolled the treeline past the castle walls, jaws snapping as they called to each other under the low afternoon sun.

He heard Geralt’s footsteps grow close to him, stopping just where Eskel’s hips met the floor. Geralt’s fingers brushed gently through Eskel’s thick, dark hair and Eskel couldn’t hold back the quiet moan that spilled from his lips. Geralt chuckled and knelt at his side, running his hand down Eskel’s cheek and thumbing over the line of his brow.

“I know you went down to the springs and got clean earlier,” Geralt rumbled lowly, “but maybe you’d want to join me for a bit?”

Eskel smiled and opened his eyes, two golds meeting and melding into one. He nodded and Geralt leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. Geralt reached and grabbed onto Eskel’s hand, pulling him to stand and brushing the stray bits of straw from his backside.

Eskel chuckled as he batted Geralt’s hand away, though not before he got a solid squeeze in edgewise. “Hey, if you wanted to touch my ass, all you had to do was ask.”

Geralt shrugged as they walked through the doors to the castle and down the center spiral staircase that led to the hot springs, “I always want to touch your ass. Doesn’t really matter.”

Eskel shook his head and laughed heartily as he felt the air change. It felt thick, musty, warm with minerals and moss that grew in sharp brushstrokes up the walls. His lungs filled with the comfort of home, the air that was unique to this one spot of the castle, and only ever really meshed with his soul when Geralt was around to share in it.

He watched Geralt peel his shirt from his body, his pale skin a stark contrast to the dim caverns lit only by the stray candle or two sporadically placed in the cracks of the stones. Eskel reached out, his hand guided only by the raw urge to touch, to feel Geralt’s skin yield under his fingers, and he felt the warmth before he even made contact.

Geralt’s sigh tingled under his fingertips, vibrating through his bones with a summer long lost. Eskel stood flush to Geralt’s back, his hand resting over Geralt’s heart and his neck bent to rest his forehead at the nape of Geralt’s neck. He invaded Eskel’s every sense, every fiber of his being, just by existing in the same space. He smelled of sweat and horse and hay and happiness and home, and Eskel just wanted to...breathe him in. To take him into his lungs and never let him go. He felt Geralt’s fingers intertwine with his where they rested on Geralt’s chest, long and thin and pulling him up to Geralt’s lips. His lips were cool and chapped from the chill outside, but Eskel felt the warmth being pulled from his soul into the sweet press of Geralt’s lips.

“C’mon, let’s get into the baths,” Geralt mumbled, his lips still pressing into the pads of Eskel’s fingers. Eskel hummed noncommittally, honestly fine with just standing here, Geralt in his arms and close enough to finally feel. Geralt turned and stepped back, just out of Eskel’s reach with a grin as he reached for the ties on his trousers. “I’d like to get clean before I die of old age, so you best get naked.”

Eskel smirked and shucked his own shirt to the side, undoing the bright ties on his codpiece and letting the thick leather fall away. His trousers fell and were kicked away with his boots and the air embraced his skin with a welcoming grasp. He padded towards the pools, slipping into the water with a grateful sigh that one would expect from the sight of a long-lost friend.

He peeked over his shoulder and found Geralt standing where he was left, mouth slack-jawed and his hands hovering with his trousers half-undone. Geralt blinked and cleared his throat, adjusting himself through the leather of his trousers before untying them the rest of the way and letting them fall away. “I...it always surprises me just how much I can forget…”

Eskel crooked his head as Geralt stepped into the water beside him, rippling the waves over and up the stone sides. “What do you mean?”

“Just...you,” Geralt murmured, dipping under the water to soak his hair, “you are always so much more...real than I can ever keep in my mind. Whenever I think of you, it always pales in comparison to actually seeing you in front of me.”

Eskel felt his cheeks flush and he smiled, running his damp hands through his hair before lounging back into the edge of the pool. “I can never really get how you feel right. I know how good it makes me feel, but actually touching you? Or hearing your heart? My brain can’t replicate that. Not well enough, anyway.”

“Exactly. And it always is a bit of a shock. But a good one.” Geralt soaped up his hair quickly, batting away Eskel’s hands when he tried to help. “No, I want to get this part out of the way so we can relax. We can do that next time.”

Eskel thought back to a couple of winters prior, when Geralt had requested that he wash his hair for him. Albeit, with a bit of a caveat. Eskel spent an hour washing Geralt’s long, thick silver locks with his cock buried to the hilt in Geralt’s ass, the both of them gasping and clinging onto each other by the time his hair was rinsed. Eskel smiled at the memory as Geralt ducked back under the water, leaving his hair dripping wet and free of suds.

Geralt peered over at Eskel with a smirk playing at his lips as he reached his hand for Eskel’s thigh. He felt the muscle tense briefly under his fingers as he moved up slowly, his other hand sliding up and onto Eskel’s neck. Eskel sighed gently, a pull of air from deep in his lungs as Geralt played with the little curls of hair on the nape of his neck. Geralt’s hand moved over his hip, warm and soft and just a tad squishy beneath the water, and splayed over his stomach, tracing idle swirls through the hair that led down to his groin. Before he could get far, though, Eskel caught his errant hand with his own and brought them to his lips.

“We should eat first,” Eskel rumbled, his lips brushing the sensitive tips of Geralt’s fingers with every whispered word, “then I’d like to take you to bed properly.”

“Hmm,” Geralt traced down the scars on Eskel’s cheek and into his lip, watching the tiniest little shudder shoot over his nerves, “Lambert cooking tonight?”

Eskel nodded and ran his hands down Geralt’s spine and the swell of his backside. Not pushing or pulling with any direction, just feeling the skin that he so craved, even in his sleep. Geralt bent down, just barely pressing his forehead into Eskel’s and brushing their noses together. “You’ve kept me waiting all day,” Geralt sighed with a smile, “I suppose I could wait a bit longer. Not much though.”

Eskel chuckled and pecked Geralt on the cheek, “I promise. Once we’re both warm and comfortable and full, then I’ll take you upstairs and show you just how much I’ve needed you.”

“If you don’t let me go now, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop myself,” Geralt growled and nipped at Eskel’s chin. Eskel laughed and playfully shoved him back, watching the crystalline water drip down the dark hairs over his chest and into the dip of his waist. He had been feeling the stirrings of arousal all day, but it was getting more and more difficult to ignore.

Eskel followed Geralt as he clambered out of the springs, his hands and feet striking roughly against the weathered stone beneath them. He smirked at the quite obvious state of arousal that Geralt was in, his skin flushed and his cock straining upwards from between his thighs.

Geralt could feel Eskel’s eyes on him as he strode towards their pile of clothes and drying sheets. He peeked over his shoulder at him, finding Eskel hauling himself out of the bath with his arms, the muscles dipping and pulling as he rose to his full height, soaked to the bone and sporting a very pretty erection of his own. Geralt’s mouth watered as he wrapped a sheet to hang low on his hips before gathering his worn clothes into a bundle in his arms.

Eskel followed suit, feeling the drafty air whistle through his legs and cool the drips of water that still wore their path down to the floor below. They traveled through the halls together, still shoulder to shoulder even though the walls were just a tad too close together to accommodate them both comfortably. They didn't mind though, drawing their warmth together and letting their souls mingle in the approaching evening.

As they climbed the spiral staircase that led back to the main level of the keep, Eskel could smell the dinner that Lambert had been working on, something with chicken and hearty vegetables, along with bread and fresh butter and citrus chutney. They continued on up the stairs until they reached the door to Eskel’s chambers. They did typically end up sharing the room over the winter, but Geralt still liked to have his own little private space for himself. Eskel knew how loud the world could feel, and he liked having his own space too sometimes.

He kissed Geralt sweetly on the shoulder as he moved to continue up the stairs to his own room, leaving a tingle of his lips to keep him company. Geralt shook his head with a light hearted huff and slowly climbed up the spiral, and Eskel waited until he heard the heavy thud of his thick wooden door to open his own. He threw his clothes onto the chair by the fireplace before flicking his fingers out and up in the sign for Igni, feeling the warmth from the fire bloom from his palm and onto the wood, bathing the room in a pale glow.

Eskel dressed quickly, throwing soft trousers over his underthings, followed by a knit shirt that stretched across his chest and held tight. He left his swords propped by the door next to his boots before padding back down the stairs into the dining area. The three fires roared beneath bubbling pots and sizzling pans, sending rich scents swirling softly around the room. Lambert stood over one, giving it one last stir before grabbing onto the handles. Eskel lowered himself onto the bench at the table just as Lambert set the steaming cauldron down onto the nearly-black wood.

Vesemir grabbed the other pan and brought it over, lifting the lid to reveal several chicken breasts that had been seared and seasoned to perfection. Lambert began to ladle some of the stew from his pot onto his plate and tore a chunk of bread for himself before tossing the loaf to Eskel. It was warm in his palm and he smiled, the bread soft and yielding as he tore off some for himself as well. Vesemir declined, so he set the rest of the loaf in Geralt’s spot and began to heap his own plate with Lambert’s delicious looking dinner.

Geralt joined soon after they began to eat, dressed comfortably with his silvery hair pulled up and away from his face. Geralt swung his long legs over the bench and sat down next to Eskel, humming as he picked up the bread.

“Yeah, pretty boy, saved that bit for ya. Dig in before it all gets cold.” Lambert chucked the ladle down in Geralt’s direction, sending stray bits of stew flying to the walls. Vesemir rolled his eyes as Geralt caught it without looking and gave it a spin, rotating it flamboyantly around his fingers before plopping it straight into the great pot.

The four of them ate in relative silence, only the gentle scraping of utensils or grunts of acknowledgement breaking the fragile quiet. Vesemir was the first to be finished with his meal, leaning back in his seat and breathing in deeply. “Delicious as always, Lambert. Thank you. I'm headed to the library, gonna try and go through some of the old tomes.”

Lambert nodded and the others hummed, no one willing to part with their plates quite yet. Eskel wiped his plate down with the remainder of his bread, sopping up the stew and downing it all in one satisfying mouthful. Geralt watched with a raised brow and a smirk.

“Alright lovebirds, I’m off. Try to keep it down, at least a little, huh?” Lambert winked as he stood and wandered off, likely back down to the alchemy labs for more of his...experiments. Eskel chuckled as Geralt lobbed an old apple at the back of Lambert’s head, more for effect than anything else. Lambert batted it away into a corner and Eskel sighed. He stood and retrieved it, knowing that it would be long forgotten if he didn’t. He set it back onto the table before stretching his arms up above his head and turning to the door that led to the staircases.

Eskel held his hand out to Geralt, who looked at it through hooded lids. “Join me?”

Geralt smiled and lept to his feet, the last few bites of his dinner instantly forgotten. “Fuckin’ finally, you tease.”

Eskel laughed as the two of them bumbled up the stairs and into Eskel’s room. Geralt could feel the warmth emanating before they even swung open the door, his cheeks flushing and his arms shivering with the welcome change in temperature. Eskel shut the door behind him and led him to stand before the fireplace, his olive skin glowing in the flames.

Geralt sighed as he felt Eskel’s hands on his hips, his fingers toying with the hem of Geralt’s shirt and just glancing to the skin of his stomach beneath. Eskel slid his hands up and pulled Geralt’s shirt with him, lifting it over his head and letting it land with a soft thud in the cushy armchair in the corner.

Next Eskel moved to Geralt’s trousers, sliding the ties open and letting them fall to the floor. He gave Geralt’s bum a little pat and nodded to the bed. “Go on, I’ll be just behind you.”

Geralt reached to push down his smalls but Eskel caught his hands and dropped them back by his side. “J-just wanna hold you for a bit...that okay?”

Geralt hummed, pressing his lips to the junction between Eskel’s neck and shoulder, “Of course, Wolf. Don’t take too long though, gonna get cold without you.”

Geralt smiled as he climbed onto the wide bed draped in thick furs and soft knit blankets. Eskel loved textures, and tried to surround their bed with as much comfort as he could find. His golden gaze found Eskel once more as he too stripped down to his smallclothes. Geralt leaned back onto the soft pillows as Eskel slid up next to him, resting his head on Geralt’s chest and breathing in deeply. Geralt wrapped his arm around the breadth of Eskel’s shoulders and held him close, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against his side. Geralt could see out of the little window cut into the stone, revealing the sun setting in bright oranges and deep purples between the craggles of the Blue Mountains.

Eskel ran his hands down Geralt’s chest, tracing those same swirling patterns as before while he peppered kisses up and down the line of Geralt’s neck and over his collarbone. Geralt could always feel the little crook in Eskel’s lip from his scar as it traced over his skin, grounding him home in warm arms and soft eyes that held endless love and patience.

Geralt threaded his fingers into Eskel’s hair and gave a little scratch at the nape of his neck, chuckling a bit when he felt the full body shudder that Eskel granted him. Geralt felt the gasp of hot breath ghost over his collar when he tugged gently on the handful of hair that he had, and a possessive kind of growl erupted from behind his teeth. Geralt didn’t often let this part of himself show, this need to hang onto every thread of his partner, but with Eskel, it felt safe, known, instinctual.

Eskel pushed himself up and pressed his hand firmly in the center of Geralt’s chest, breathing with the steady thuds of the heart that rested just beneath his fingers. Eskel’s eyes were dark with lust and hunger and something so deep and innate that it escaped such a simple name. Eskel slid his hand up and wrapped it gently around the back of Geralt’s neck and leaned down, pressing their foreheads together as he climbed between Geralt’s legs.

Geralt lifted his leg and wrapped it around Eskel’s hip in an attempt to get him to maybe speed things up a bit. “Eskel,” Geralt hummed, “Gods, you’re killing me…”

Eskel smiled and ran his nose down the line of Geralt’s jaw and into the hollows of his neck. His lips traced along the tendons and veins and his teeth just barely glanced over his pulse point and Geralt felt his cock thicken and throb where Eskel pressed into him.

“Can I have you like this?” Eskel asked, his voice still muffled in Geralt’s neck, “Just wanna be able to look at you…”

Geralt swallowed thickly and nodded, turning his head in search of Eskel’s mouth. He finally, finally, slid their lips together, breathing each other in and holding onto each and every piece that they could reach. Geralt wrapped his arms around Eskel’s waist and stroked up and down the hard lines of his back, tracing the scars he knew better than his own.

“Lift-nng” Eskel tried to say, though Geralt nipped and tugged at his lower lip to keep him in place, “Lift your damn hips, you great oaf.”

Geralt chuckled and did as he was bid, letting Eskel run his fingers through the ties keeping his braies on and loosening them. They slid down his thighs and Eskel let him rest his bum back on the bed. Eskel shimmied himself backwards and fully pulled the smalls off of Geralt, sending them careening through the room to land somewhere in the shadows. Geralt’s cock lay hard and flushed and weeping on his stomach and Eskel took a deep breath in through his nose, grounding himself in the lust on the air and the taste of Geralt already on his tongue.

Eskel stood up and turned to face the fire as he undid his own smalls, pushing them down quickly and without any dramatics. But Geralt found himself drooling over him anyways, seeing the beautiful bronze skin revealed inch by glorious inch, the swells of his backside just begging for his teeth to sink into. Again. He then grabbed the little vial of oil that spent most of the year gathering dust on the mantle, but in the winter found a new home atop the little table next to their bed.

And oh fucking shit I’ve missed that so much, Geralt thought as Eskel turned back to him with his cock hanging heavily between his thighs. Eskel crawled onto the bed and prowled over top of him, his chest already heaving and pressing into Geralt’s. Eskel sat up on his knees and Geralt braced himself on his elbows, watching Eskel uncork the oil and slowly drip a generous amount of the cool liquid onto their cocks where they rested together. Eskel’s hand was warm when he reached down to rub the oil around, wrapping around them and tugging and pulling and-

“-Fuck, Eskel,” Geralt spat through grit teeth when Eskel just barely thumbed the slit of Geralt’s cockhead. “If you’re gonna do all that shit, I need you in me now.”

Eskel laughed breathily and kissed Geralt hard, all teeth and tongue and rushed whispers of affection. “Alright, alright. I’ve got you, Geralt. I’ve got you…”

Eskel poured some more oil between Geralt’s legs and Geralt felt it slowly trickle down to his entrance. Eskel’s fingers followed soon after, languidly rolling his balls around in his palm before trailing down between his cheeks. Geralt sighed as Eskel started pressing around his hole, not pushing in yet, just massaging and loosening the tight muscle.

“Gods, Geralt,” Eskel murmured, dragging his free hand down Geralt’s flank and across his stomach, “you’re so tense…”

“No one’s been back there since Spring, Esk…”

Eskel blinked up at him and Geralt could taste the new wave of arousal that poured off Eskel. “You’ve not had anyone? All year? Geralt, I...you-”

Geralt’s head hit the pillow and he sighed, trying desperately to put the words together in his head. “I-fuck, Eskel, I just want you. You’re...you’re the only one who I can...who I can be comfortable with.”

Eskel surged forward and captured Geralt’s lips between his own, tasting of salt and honey and fucking unending love. “Geralt. Fuck. You can’t just say shit like that out of nowhere. Fuck, I love you so much it hurts. It fucking hurts, and then you just go and say that? You’re gonna put me in an early grave-”

Geralt’s world twisted and turned as Eskel’s hands gripped onto his hips, his fingers digging into his skin as they rolled and shifted on the bed, winding up with Geralt laying on his stomach and Eskel’s lips pressing into the skin at the nape of his neck. Eskel dragged his mouth down, leaving hot wet kisses down Geralt’s spine and over the swell of his bottom.

Eskel’s breath ghosted over Geralt’s skin as he slid his finger back down to press against his entrance, finding only a gasp of resistance as he pushed in to his knuckle. He worked Geralt open slowly, kneading and licking and nipping the soft flesh of Geralt’s ass while he slid in another, and then one more finger. He relished the little noises that clawed their way out of Geralt’s chest unbidden, gasps and moans and keens that he felt more than heard.

Meanwhile Geralt was warring with his own mind, torn between wanting so desperately to grasp into Eskel’s hair and haul him back up to feel his lips cover his own, trailing down over his jaw and neck and chest, but also needing to feel more of him, deeper, harder-

Their words broke off between gasps for air and fisted sheets and Eskel quietly continued his task of working Geralt open on his fingers. Geralt’s breath hitched in his throat when Eskel crooked his fingers inside of him, warm and slick and hitting up against that devastating bundle of nerves. But all too soon it was not so nice, his fingers sliding in and out and not being close to enough for Geralt. “M-shit, more, Eskel.”

Eskel hummed and bit down into the tender flesh of Geralt’s bum, feeling the fluttering of his walls play at his fingers. He looked down and watched his fingers slowly slide in and out, stretching him in preparation of what was to come. Eskel had his own wars inside of his head, his need to shower Geralt with soft touches so rarely afforded to his battle-worn skin clashing against the feeling tugging behind his belly to find the breaking point nestled so deep inside of Geralt’s body.

Geralt’s hips thrusted softly against the bed beneath them, chasing the release that had been teasing at them both all damn day. Eskel chuckled when a particularly hard thrust made him bonk his nose into the crease of Geralt’s asscheeks, and he shifted himself to sit up with a sweet pat to the swells of muscle.

“Roll back over, wanna look at you-”

Geralt sighed when he felt Eskel’s fingers slip out of him, leaving him oddly empty and aching and wanting. It took him a moment to find his bearings, but he flipped over soon enough to meet Eskel’s fiery eyes. Eskel hovered over him, his chest heaving with hot breaths and his medallion clinking against Geralt’s. Geralt ran his fingers through the soft dark hair over Eskel’s chest, pressing his fingers into the yielding flesh over his heart and giving it a squeeze. Eskel growled with a sinister grin and moved faster down his body than Geralt had anticipated.

Eskel leaned down and lapped his tongue up the underside of Geralt’s cock just as he slipped his fingers back into him. Geralt shook when Eskel wrapped his lips around the tip and sunk down, teasing and licking while his fingers hit that precious bundle of nerves nestled so deep inside of him. Eskel’s mouth moved with his hand, pushing in and out and up and down and humming against him and Geralt could feel the pearly arousal dripping onto Eskel’s tongue with every slick slide of his lips.

“Ah, ah, Esk-g...gonna-fuck...”

Eskel only hummed, low and hard from his chest, and Geralt arched up off the bed in pleasure when Eskel zeroed in on that spot within him, holding there and sucking and slurping every bit of spend that Geralt had to give. It just kept coming, shooting down Eskel’s throat and spilling out the sides of his lips messily. Eskel felt the haze of his own pleasure tease at the edges of his eyes as his hips thrust lazily against the bed, his free hand holding tight to Geralt’s hip.

Geralt sagged back onto the bed in a haze, tender and sensitive and already craving more. He pulled Eskel back up to him and ran his thumb over the corner of his mouth, gathering his own spend onto his finger. Geralt slipped his thumb between his lips and licked it clean as Eskel watched with great gasping breaths and eyes so dark there was only a little ring of gold shining in the night.

“Geralt, fuck, c-can I-” Eskel stuttered over his words, his hands running over Geralt’s shoulders and down his chest, his cock dripping down into the hair above Geralt’s own half-hard cock.

“Yes,” Geralt breathed and fit his hand up onto the nape of Eskel’s neck, his fingers pressing firm while Eskel shifted on the bed to line himself at Geralt’s entrance.

Eskel gasped into Geralt’s skin as he just barely pushed into the rim, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist to hold him as close as possible. Geralt’s fingers tightened in Eskel’s hair as he started to gently thrust inside of him, Eskel’s chest rumbling with a low purr as he smothered Geralt with his body.

“G-Geralt,” Eskel murmured, his hips already losing rhythm, “I’m, fuck you’re so-”

Geralt hummed and nodded, running his hands down Eskel’s shoulders and back up again around his neck. “Go on, Eskel. You’ve been on edge all day. Give it to me.”

Eskel’s voice went high and strained, tight mumbles escaping from between his teeth as he ground his hips deep against Geralt’s, spending inside of him. Eskel rubbed his face into the tender skin of Geralt’s neck as he finally, gloriously released into him, feeling the way that he fluttered and flexed around his cock. He saw great stars shooting behind his eyelids as his climax tore through him, unrelenting and all-encompassing.

Geralt kept his hold firm on Eskel as he went limp in his arms, Eskel’s mind blanking and blind for a blissful moment. Geralt felt the pressure of Eskel everywhere, on top of him, around him, inside of him, leaking out of him. The only thing that could ever gather him enough strength to move was Eskel himself, and he didn’t really seem up to that quite yet.

Or, well, maybe he did. Eskel didn’t even soften a little bit in Geralt, his hips already rolling deep and slow inside Geralt. His bones sang out to Eskel in ecstasy, yearning for him, craving him.

Geralt’s cock rested hard once more on his stomach, steadily dripping his arousal into a little pool. Eskel’s hands tightened on his hips and pulled him into each and every thrust, slow and hard and deep and addicting. Eskel couldn’t keep his hands still as he dragged his cock inside of Geralt, only just barely shifting back and forth as he tried to stay buried in his tight, wet heat as much as possible.

“Ger-nnng,” Eskel gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as he felt the pressure of Geralt around him clench and smother every last bit of him with every soft move of his cock. Geralt smirked and bore down farther, tightening his hold on Eskel’s arm and around his neck as he pulled him down so that their faces were held with only the space of a breath between them.

Geralt could feel the tight coil of release draw taut as he dragged his hands down Eskel’s chest and to his own cock. Eskel’s eyes followed him, branding his skin with the fire behind them, watching as Geralt took himself in hand. Geralt shuddered as his climax came closer and closer into view, only needing just a little more, a little something to push him over the edge-

“Fuck, Geralt, I...I can’t hang on much longer…” Eskel ground out, brushing his nose down over Geralt’s and pleading with his eyes.

“Let go, Eskel. I want it, please-”

And then he did. Eskel thrust hard and deep a handful more times as he hit his peak, his cock pressing against that devastating bundle of nerves nestled deep inside of Geralt each and every time. Oh, and then when his release finally overtook him once more? Gods, his cock flexed and spilled and hit Geralt like a punch in the gut over and over and over, until finally Geralt too climaxed with his cock in his hand. Long stripes of spend spilled and painted his chest while Geralt groaned from low in his stomach.

The two of them laid there for Gods know how long, just lingering in each other, the scent of their combined arousals making them feel almost drunk from the heady way it went straight through them. Eskel was the first to move, slipping from the tight embrace of Geralt’s body and flopping down onto the bed at his side. Geralt reached out and tangled their fingers together while their chests heaved in great gulps of air, their minds still addled and off-kilter.

Eskel swallowed thickly and focused his mind on the feeling of Geralt’s thumb running over the back of his knuckles, back and forth and back again… “Gods, Geralt,” he murmured, peering over at him, “I’ll never get tired of that.”

Geralt chuckled without opening his eyes, already feeling the threads of consciousness being steadily pulled from him. “You better not. I plan on getting fucked like that until I die.”

Eskel hummed and reached out blindly with his free hand, groping for the spare scrap of cloth that he kept by the bed. Once he found the soft fabric he gently swept it up over Geralt’s stomach and chest, feeling the vibrations of his hum beneath his fingers. Eskel reached back between Geralt’s thighs and cleaned there as well, knowing that although Geralt would never really say anything about it, he wouldn't enjoy being sticky in the morning.

Eskel tossed the rag away and shifted underneath the blanket, reaching out to pull Geralt into his chest. “C’mere, you. Wanna hold you.”

Geralt grunted and rolled over onto his side, burying his face into the hair on Eskel’s chest. Eskel wrapped his arm around Geralt’s waist and held him close, pressing his nose into the silver hair atop Geralt’s head. Woodsmoke, spice, pine. Home.

Geralt sighed into him and wrapped his own arm around Eskel, snuggling in and quickly letting sleep take him away. Eskel felt the shift, the way that Geralt’s shoulders relaxed and his hips fell further into the bed, his mind finally quiet and his hands still. He pressed his lips softly to the crown of Geralt’s head and held it there for a heartbeat or two, pouring everything he could into those soft moments before he himself fell into the warm embrace of sleep.

[skinks]

I would just like to say Bongo Smugglers killed me. I’m sitting in class giggling thinking about a Losers movie night where they have a dramatic showing of the movie. Audra and Richie are less embarrassed then they should be. It becomes an annual tradition to play a bongo smugglers™️ drinking game at Christmas.

AHH this is amazing, I just shoved two words together that I thought were funny and suddenly it’s this whole ugly 2002 sex comedy fully formed in my head. Glad it killed you during class. And yeah, they’re definitely not embarrassed, everyone’s heckling the writing and the early 2000s fashion more than anything else anyway.

Richie happily provides commentary the whole way through even though he’s only in the sex scene, waving his tortilla chip in Eddie’s face because he’s got his arm around his shoulder, hugging him close into Richie’s side. Eddie keeps snapping bites at it so often that Richie just ends up hand feeding him chips.

“Aaaaaaand... that’s the first time I touched a boob, right there!“

“Glad to help,” Audra winks.

“The exact moment I realized I was totally lying to myself. I’m having an entire existential sexuality crisis right there on camera, but can you tell? Does my fratty façade crack an inch?”

“I could tell, because you spent fifteen minutes before the scene pacing around set and chanting you can do this, you can do this, don’t throw up, you like girls, but not too much, because you don’t get paid if you pop a boner, c’mon Richard, c’mon—”

“Like I said,” Richie shouts, over all his stupid friends laughing at him, “no one can tell, ‘cus I’m a pro—”

“You call yourself Richard during pep talks?” Stan’s grinning at him sharp-beaked, like a vulture. Has Richie seen him blink even once since he came back from the dead? Not sure, not sure, make note to ask Patty to spy.

Onscreen Audra is shimmying down her low-rise stone-wash boot-cut jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club was in fact lookin’ at her. What the fuck was anyone thinking back then? Richie privately blames the Bush administration, and continues.

“You’re a great scene partner, Audra-my-deah, and I respect you for cougaring not one but two of our little balding Brady Bunch here, but you were kinda the reason I figured out I’m gay. Like, big time gay. Well, the second reason.” He rubs tortilla-salt fingers through Eddie’s hair and feels his stomach go fuzzy when Eddie kinda thrums out a low noise against him. Oh, he’s purring. Some deep down part of Richie’s caveman psyche, lodged right in the hungry reptilian nub of his central brain wants to bear-hug Eddie to a pulp, wants to Lenny him like a mouse until they both stop breathing at the same exact moment from the pressure.

Yeesh, dark!

He smooches one of Eddie’s Easter Island eyebrows instead, keeps his lips mushed there. Smooches again. “Biiiiiiig time.”

“My wife,” Bill whips around from his seat on the floor at Richie’s feet, cheeks bulging with wontons, “my wife did not cougar me.”

Eddie shushes him. Everyone else is exchanging Looks, including Audra, because she totally did cougar Bill. Good for her!

“My wife,” Richie mimics, all sing-song and bugling. “Who the fuck are you, Borat?” Eddie snorts, hard. “Turn around and watch me make sweet love to ya woman, Bill.”

Onscreen Richie is struggling out of a giant hockey jersey at the sight of Onscreen Audra’s nubile charms. Everything is lit terribly, to a Smash Mouth deep cut.

“Oh man, check out that figure.” Richie whistles at himself, twenty-six years old with muscles like long ropes. “These were the pre-gut days. Even though my diet was just Adderall and instant ramen.”

“I like your gut,” Eddie murmurs, squidging at it with the hand not shoved up the back of Richie’s shirt. He’s already looking pretty tipsy, because he told everyone loudly and at length that he’d have to be what he deemed, shithouse drunk, to cope with whatever 90 minute dick jokeathon he was about to endure for the sake of two minutes of Richie-ass. “You’re hotter than him.”

Richie preens. “I am him, dude.”

Eddie’s hand lands clumsy on his cheek, pulling Richie’s attention away from his own foregrounded bare ass and Onscreen Audra’s shocked expression, to face him. Eddie’s all unfocused, flushed in the cheeks. “You’re both hot. Him and you, I’d fuck you both. I’d let both of you fuck me at once.”

“Um,” says Ben. Mike keeps slorping up noodles, but his eyes are saucering at Bill’s giant TV.

“Hhohkaaay,” Richie breathes.

“Is this when you saw it, Audra?” Bev asks. She waggles her eyebrows at them from the muscular nook of Ben’s arms. “The famous Tower of Tozier? You mentioned in the group chat.”

“What group chat,” Richie croaks, wrenching his eyes from the sight of Eddie’s slick tongue pulsing gently against his lower lip, hanging open like he wants Richie to see inside his mouth. Yowza-yowza-yowza, this is so much better than movie-nights back in the 90s. “I never saw anything about that? And I monitor you all on WhatsApp twenty-four-sevs. I literally have nothing better to do while Eddie’s working.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Beverly dismisses him with a flick of her wrist.

Audra is nodding vigorously while Onscreen Audra tilts her head comically far to the right. “That’s when I saw it,” she says. “They couldn’t find a modesty sock that fit you, Richie, remember? I didn’t have to fake that reaction. And that’s with them blasting the A/C on high so my nips would poke through my shirt.” She nudges Eddie’s shin gently and stage-whispers, “Well done.”

Eddie growls hot miso breath into Richie’s neck. Snarls, really. That’s the only word for it. Richie’s not embarrassed—he’s been telling people about his donkey schlong for years, not his fault nobody ever believes him. It’s a boy who cried wolf situation, perhaps, if the boy was actually telling the truth every time and just wanted to brag to everyone about seeing a really big, thick wolf.

“Honey,” Bill says, visibly distressed, “this is already weird enough for me, please don’t say nips.”

“Nips, nips, nips.” Audra tickles into Bill’s ribs, and Richie joins in the chant, they all do. It’s a hailstorm of sesame toast raining on Big Bill’s protesting head. “Stiff nips! Stiff nips!”

“Shut up, I’m, uh’wanna see Rich fuck!” Eddie roars, wrestling the couch cushions for the remote and stabbing the volume obscenely loud.

Moans fill the air. Rice sprays from Mike’s mouth, between his hasty fingers. Patty is laughing so hard into Stan’s shoulder Richie would be kinda worried about her, if he wasn’t so distracted by the way Eddie’s leaning forward, hand on Richie’s thigh and eyes locked to Onscreen Richie’s bare bucking hips. He remembers this part horrible and clear, preserved behind glass in his mind like the embarrassing ninth grade school photo his mom still won’t remove from the mantelpiece. Braces like train tracks and his eyes squinted up small and moleish because his mom said she wanted to see his handsome face without his glasses for once. Eddie laughed at it for five whole minutes the first time Richie brought him up to visit mom and dad as his—as his, at last, before snapping a careful picture of the photo with his phone and muttering, so cute.

It’s the noises.

“This was the day I learned women really can, uh, fake orgasms,” Richie says. He coughs. Eddie’s fingers tighten on his thigh and he looks back at Richie over his shoulder, eyes all drunk and dark and dilated like a shark’s to the backdrop of Onscreen Richie and Audra’s plastic din. Richie’s head thumps dizzily, sliding his hand secret under Eddie’s shirt to the damp small of his back, watching his neck go pink. This, now this is familiar from 90s movie nights, how sweaty they’d get, tangled together like pocketed earbuds the longer the VHS spun. Always on the same couch by unspoken agreement, kicking and left to do so by the others, like the clubhouse hammock flirting was more RichieandEddie status quo than behaviour tethered to any one location. Feeling your heartbeat in your ears and everywhere your limbs are shoved between another sapling boy-body, and the couch.

Richie can see exactly what Eddie’s thinking, in that darkness. That’s not how you sound in bed with me.

“This is revolting,” says Stan, mildly, but Richie holds up his hand like a stop sign, pulled roughly back to the present.

“Wait, wait, here comes my line!”

“Thought you said it was a non-speaking—”

The camera cuts from Onscreen Audra’s bouncing breasts to Onscreen Richie’s slack-jawed face, his ill-conceived soul patch. He was asked to remove his glasses for the scene, he remembers, and was glad of it, feeling useless and young and stupid and exposed enough already just by virtue of needing the money, he didn’t need to see this perfectly nice and reasonable actress pity him for not even knowing how to pretend at being with a woman. Onscreen Richie tilts his chin up, and Bill’s entire rec room holds its breath. There will be bruises on Richie’s thigh tomorrow.

A grunt, a groan. An unsubtle trumpet fanfare musical cue on the soundtrack, but hey, neither of them ever claimed Bongo Smugglers was a masterpiece. “¡Ay, chihuahua!”

Richie throws his arms up in triumph. “All my own improv, folks! And they kept it in the final cut!”

Eruption. He’s pelted with howls of disgust and prawn crackers. Eddie grabs one of his arms and just shakes him, ragdolls Richie’s laughing body around until he tips over and sprawls into Eddie’s lap, shielded from assault. Eddie chews his insistent teeth into Richie’s shoulder, and finally, the scene ends with Onscreen Richie leaping a naked escape from Onscreen Audra’s balcony.

“Worst,” Eddie mumbles against Richie’s nape. “Worst thing’ve ever seening m’life.”

He’s so drunk, sweet thing. Richie sits back up, still wheezing. He rests his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder and gazes starrily up at his plastered little face. Steel-cut jaw softened with laughter and stubble, un-gelled hair curling around like a chestnut lamb’s. “Worst ever-ever?”

“No,” Eddie says plainly, and that’s true, “but it’s up there. Woulda rented the shit out of this at Blockbuster.”

Richie flings his leg over Eddie’s knees, kicking Bill in the process. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, gathering up all Richie’s loose ends in a big circling cuddle. “Every week. Woulda worn it out. Broke the disc.”

“Got your ‘Lil ‘Busters membership card revoked for being a creep.”

“Worth it.”

“Aw, Eddie-baby.”

“Would you two stop, you’re making the rest of us look bad,” Bev says, smiling fondly. The movie’s moved on, and none of them are really paying attention now that the main event’s over, but everyone’s still coming down, dismounting from belly-laughter and landing ankle-deep in giggles. “That was inspired.”

“He made me laugh so hard on that take,” Audra sighs, leaning against Bill. “I remember thinking, shame he’s a closet-case. I always knew you were a good guy under all that fake stand-up.” She rolls her head back on her neck to look at Richie, upside down. “D’you remember right after, too?”

“Ah,” says Richie, tensing up. Eddie must feel it, because he makes a lowing noise of concern and turns the volume down.

“What you did to those guys?”

“Ahaha, uh.” Richie struggles to sit upright with hot embarrassment tugging at his stomach. “They don’t need to—Audra, it’s not, anyone would’ve done the same—”

“No, actually, you were the only one who ever did,” Audra says, sharp-eyed, and Richie remembers that too. How much surer and in control of herself she was than him, even back then, when they were both just simple bottom-feeders on L.A.’s sludgy floor.

“What happened?” Patty asks. They’re all looking. Richie stares at the wall beside the TV’s garish over-saturation, scratches at the back of his neck, until Eddie takes his hand softly back to hold in his.

“I was pretty much always the only woman on set,” Audra explains. “Par for the course on a movie like that, it was whatever. It’s nothing like real sex, obviously, you have to stop and wait for lighting changes, new set-ups and stuff, you’re surrounded by crew. But you’re the only ones naked, and pretending to fuck, right? It can be a little.” She pulls a face, tilts her palm back and forth. “Degrading.”

Richie snorts, humorlessly.

“Anyway, that scene wrapped and they called cut, and a few of the guys in the crew said some stuff. About me. The director ignored it, the producer ignored it. I was used to it,” Audra says. Richie can see the edge of Bill’s jaw clench and re-clench like a fist as he watches his wife speak. Audra smiles widely, then, and jerks a thumb at Richie. “But this guy?”

They’re grinning, they’re all grinning, because they know him. Richie squirms under it. He can feel blood pounding behind his ears, across the surface of his scalp in pulsing waves of embarrassed heat, because it’s one thing to spend your life running your big fat Trashmouth to distract the bullies’ attention onto you, but it’s another for people to treat you like some kinda hero for it. Like it’s not just something friends do.

Bev’s eyes go all emerald-shiny with delight, like the quarry in sunlight. She covers her mouth. “Oh, Richie.”

“Knocked the first one out cold,” Audra crows. “You tried your best after that. It was three against one and he had a black eye before the rest of us could separate them, but he had the element of surprise at first. I mean, he flew at them, if you can imagine it—you’re what, six-one, six-two?”

Eddie’s trembling ever-so-slightly against him. Richie screws his eyes shut. “Six-two.”

“No wonder the asshole shit himself, you came at him all six-foot-two naked inches, pissed as hell, with a massive—”

“Alright!” Richie yelps, because if there’s anything more embarrassing than his brief Bongo Smugglers cameo, it’s the fact that he left set that day with a black eye and no money. Who cares. His closest friends are alive and they’re cheering, and Eddie is shoving himself into Richie’s lap just like it’s movie night in 1991 but with 100% more enthusiastic frenching, seating his drunk ass in Richie’s startled hands and hissing god, you’re such a crazy dumbass, I love you so much, Richie, even back then with that soul-patch I’d have loved you so much, god, sexy, Rich, wanna see you with a black eye, can I give you one, can you give me one, Richie, I’m gonna fuck you so good for this later, ay chihuahua—!

[lets-play-gwent]

Some Canary

Well, here it is! Thanks so much @chaotic-bard for the lovely prompt. I changed it just a smidge, but I think you’ll enjoy the final product. I plan on continuing this fic for at least a couple more chapters, that is, if people are interested :)  Complete story under the cut, soon to be on ao3. If you enjoyed it, please reblog! 

Chicago, 1932-- High profile mob families run almost every joint in the city, speakeasies launder money and sell bathtub gin through prohibition. Geralt Rivi is a lowly footsoldier for one of the most powerful bosses around: Tommy Morano himself. What is Geralt to do when he swoons for the son of rival gang leader Frank Pankratz?

The routine was so remarkably monotonous that the two men could almost rely on muscle memory alone. Approach the target, sit leaning slightly forward with hands clasped on top of the table. Do not remove hats or coats—this isn’t a permanent conversation. Keep eye contact with the target. Allow them to break the silence, subtly reminding them who has the power. The less chinning, the better. Let the reputation, and fists if necessary, do the talking. Once the target gets the picture, settle up or square up—no negotiating under any circumstances. Leave that to the big guys up top.

It was simple. A well-trained hound could do it. Why should tonight be any different? Geralt, none the wiser, was about to find out just how much his world could change in a night. His only warning? A few words from the night’s host and bandmaster.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and friends, now comes the time in the evening you’ve been waiting for. Without further ado, put your hands together for the lovely, the gorgeous, the sensational, Buttercup!”

It’s raining too hard for a cigarette, Geralt thinks to himself, reaching for the plain case in his pocket and carefully rolling a strip of tobacco and paper into a slender white cylinder. The paper dampened and drooped. Dammit. Turning up his collar against the wind, he walked towards the nearest dry patch of pavement he could find, a drugstore two blocks down. Ducking under the overhang, he lit his cigarette and took several long drags.

“Hey! Bum! Get outta ‘ere!” A short and rather lanky man was leaning out of the doorframe of the drugstore, shaking a broom and shouting. “We don’t want any trouble with the likes of yous!”

Geralt straightened his shoulders and grimaced hard at him. Despite the darkness of an autumn Chicago night, he could see the blood rush out of the man’s face, who quickly stammered an apology and slammed the door shut.

A rickety Ford pulled up to the curb. Geralt threw a quick glance up and down the street, stamped his cigarette butt into the gutter and climbed in.

“Where to tonight, boss?” His voice was gruff, hardened by years of smoking and a churly demeanor.

“The Passiflora. There’s a little fuckin prick there trying to weasel out of another payment. Collect 160 or take him out back and break his thumbs. Got it?”

Geralt gave a grunt and a curt nod in affirmation. He focused his gaze on the raindrops pattering against the window, toning out the superficial chatter of the three other men in the car. He hated the way they preened and boasted relentlessly at each other, always about some new broad or bar fight, sometimes both. He couldn’t stand the men he usually took shifts with, could barely keep their names straight, except for Lambert. Currently he was engrossed in recounting his latest run-in with cops—complete with obscene gestures and impressions—but when separated from the rest, Geralt found him tolerable, even funny at times. Yet, no matter how irritated he was, or how clever his jokes could be, Geralt knew never to rag on one of the Captains. Bottom-of-the-rung soldiers like him only needed to make that mistake once, and he had the scar on his jaw to prove it.

The brakes screeched in protest as the car slowed to a halt in front of an imposing brick warehouse. Lambert and Geralt climbed out, easily slipping into the ‘intimidating’ demeanor they carried for jobs like this. Lambert rapped on the door and waited. A small panel at eye level opened with a sharp crack, and a surly woman with a cigar and frizzy hair glared at the two men from behind the door.

“Who sent ya?” she said, puffing rank smoke directly into Geralt’s face. He cringed and turned away.

“Fat Sammy Morano and his cat,” Lambert replied, equally surly. The panel slammed shut, and almost simultaneously the door to their left creaked open a few inches.

Inside, Geralt’s eyes watered as his senses were assaulted with the bitter stench of bathtub gin. “I hate these fuckin places,” He rolled another cigarette. “Whose our guy?”

“The chrome dome with the green vest up by the stage. Let’s just get this over with and then we’ll get some grub, yeah?”

“Hmm,”

They wove through the tables together, trench coats occasionally brushing against a patron or chair. An irascible-looking waiter stopped them with a snide remark about wearing hats inside, and tried to seat them, but apparently one look from Lambert was enough to convey ‘don’t fuck with us’ because he quickly turned on his heel and attended to a nearby booth.

The routine was so remarkably monotonous that the two men could almost rely on muscle memory alone. Approach the target, sit leaning slightly forward with hands clasped on top of the table. Do not remove hats or coats—this isn’t a permanent conversation. Keep eye contact with the target. Allow them to break the silence, subtly reminding them who has the power. The less chinning, the better. Let the reputation, and fists if necessary, do the talking. Once the target gets the picture, settle up or square up—no negotiating under any circumstances. Leave that to the big guys up top.

It was simple. A well-trained hound could do it. Why should tonight be any different? Geralt, none the wiser, was about to find out just how much his world could change in a night. His only warning? A few words from the night’s host and bandmaster.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and friends, now comes the time in the evening you’ve been waiting for. Without further ado, put your hands together for the lovely, the gorgeous, the sensational, Buttercup!”

The curtain rose to reveal a lean man in a dazzling pigeon gray pinstripe suit. Humbly waving down the audience’s raucous applause, Buttercup began to pluck at the delicate strings of his guitar. His voice—silvery and saccharine, yet somehow still mellow—rang clearly through the now silent room.

Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’

Birds singing in the sycamore tree

Dream a little dream of me

Geralt was suddenly thankful for the chair next to him and quickly sat, trying to catch his breath. Years later, every time he told this story, he insisted that his Buttercup stole the air right out of his chest.

Say ‘nighty-night’ and kiss me

Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me

While I’m alone and blue as can be

Dream a little dream of me

Gone was his sour expression, gone was the rank smell of moonshine. The scratched wooden floor and sticky tables of the speakeasy seemed to fall away, leaving only two men, one guitar, one spotlight, and a long-forgotten smoldering cigarette.

Stars fading, but I linger on dear

Was it Geralt’s imagination, or was the singer… looking at him…?

Still craving your kiss

His hair, slicked back and shining underneath the stage lights, reminded Geralt of a Clark Gable movie poster he once saw. Had he ever noticed someone’s hair before?

I’m longing to linger ‘till dawn dear

His eyes, his face, his hands, were the most beautiful Geralt had seen in his life. Those lips, soft and pink, shaped so delicately around the words of the song, he found himself staring at them, wondering how they’d feel…

Just saying thi-is…

A sharp smack upside the back of his head brought him sailing down from the stars back to the speakeasy. Back to the job, where Lambert and the target were staring at him, the former’s face covered in bewildered rage, the latter’s face still shaken, albeit slightly confused.

“As we were saying—” Lambert emphasized the last two syllable’s in Geralt’s face, who cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders once more.

“You can se—ttle up now, or we’ll take it out back,” All three men at the table tried desperately to ignore the voice crack that took every drop of intimidation out of his words.

Nevertheless, the target fell into the familiar routine, terrified of Lambert if nothing else. “Aw jeez come on boys, you know I always come through, I just need a little more time is all, just until next week I pro—” he was suddenly on top of the table, Lambert’s fist pulling his shirt collar far too forward for comfort.

“Out back it is,”

The two men stood and strode quickly towards the side door, the target scrambling to keep up with the fist still clutching his shirt. Geralt took one last glance back at Buttercup, who to his utter surprise, was glaring at the group as they left the hall.

…

A dull crack echoed down the alley as Lambert’s fist left the target’s face. He groaned and stumbled to the side, bracing himself against damp bricks. “Pl—please, my wife—”

“I don’t want to hear it. 160 today, or we come back and fuck you up for real,” He dealt another blow, this time aiming for the target’s stomach. Two more hits and he was coughing and sputtering.

Geralt stood to the side, keeping watch on the street for any unlucky passersby. Keep your cool, focus on the job, he thought to himself, rolling another cigarette, thankful that the rain finally let up. The rattle of a doorknob and sudden burst of light, however, startled the paper and tobacco right out of his hands.

“Why good evening fells, waiting at the stage door for me? My my, a bit forward isn’t it?” Buttercup draped himself carefully against the doorframe, but his smirk faltered as he took in the blood dripping down the bald man’s face and the imposing nature of the trench coat cornering him against the wall. “Is there some sort of problem here?”

“Scram, kid, this doesn’t concern you,”

“Why, sir, don’t be so shy! I’m sure we can come to an… understanding…” he winked at the two bewildered racketeers and sauntered gracefully down the stairs. “I’m Julian. Aren’t you two a coupla tall glasses of trouble? Might have my hands full tonight,” Geralt carefully controlled his expression, trying to ignore Julian’s intoxicating smile and the fluttering in his chest. “What’s your name, hon?” He was addressing the target now.

“Eu—Eugene” A quite preoccupied Eugene held his bleeding nose in one hand and wrapped an arm around his midsection. “P-please—mister, I don’t-t have it all now, j-just just give me until next week, hey? N-n-next week, I promise, sound reasonable fellas?”

“Shut up!” Lambert barked.

“Now now! That’s no way to treat a faithful patron of the Passiflora, now is it? Eugene here is a friend of mine—” Julian strode over to the wall where Lambert was towering over the target and nudged his way between the two men. “Tips well and brings friends in whenever he can. Lord knows I owe him some money, why don’t I settle up?”

Lambert’s face darkened. Straightening his shoulders and looking down, he towered over the performer. “Don’t make me say it again, kid. This doesn’t concern you. Go back to your dressing room.”

Julian only laughed, seemingly impervious to the serious threat levied against him. The sound—so musical, even gentle—made Geralt’s breath catch in his chest.

Shock, confusion, and then comprehension quickly flashed across Lamberts face as he found himself with a fistful of cash. Counting it quickly, he grabbed Geralt’s arm and pulled him towards the street. “Let’s get out of here, before I do something stupid,”

“Toodeloo, sweethearts!” Julian called after them, helping Eugene stagger back into the building.

…

The car was quiet except for the rumble of the engine.

“Some canary, huh?”

“SOME CANARY? SOME?? CANARY??” Lambert’s voice was shrill with fury. “YOU FALL HEAD OVER GODDAMN HEELS FOR THE SON OF MORANO’S WORST FUCKING ENEMY, AND ALL YOU CAN SAY IS SOME? FUCKING? CANARY? JESUS CHRIST GERALT WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR HEAD?”

“You mean that’s—”

“You guessed, it bub. That’s Julian Pankratz, of the Pankratz crime family. You know, those German pricks who’ve been trying to take down Morano for the past FIFTEEN YEARS??”

Geralt coughed out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, some canary…”

************

I hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it!! Here’s a link to the song jaskier sings :)) 

[bush-viper-cutie]

“The Leaky Cauldron” || YEAR 3 – Ch.6 (HP au)

                              Chapter List

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Day posted: 7/28/2020

Word count: 3,206

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Heather paced Harry’s room looking at the stack of books on his bed while he yawned and slouched over the headboard. She dragged her quill down the list she had made and checked off each box as she read the textbook names.

“Looks like that’s almost everything,” Heather smiled and folded up the parchment.

Harry sighed, “What are we missing, and can we go get it now? I’m bored.”

“We need the Divination book,” she headed for the door, “So let’s go.”

Harry jumped out of bed and ran in front of her, heading out the room first. Heather ran after him, taking the stairs two at a time and nearly passed him a few feet from the door. They touched the back door at the same time and gasped, trying to catch their breath.

“I won.”

“No you didn’t!”

The bricks were extra red that morning with the sun shining brightly on them. Harry tapped the bricks and they moved quickly, letting in to Diagon Alley where the morning bustle was filled with extra chatter as more students visited the shops for their materials.

As they walked to the bookstore, they looked over the bobbing heads to try to spot bright brown bushy hair or outstanding orange hair. Hermione and the Weasleys were nowhere to be seen yet. Heather had spent the last week helping Harry with his essays and now this last week was spent looking for their friends among the crowds and purchasing their materials extra slow in case they saw them.

The bookshop was not as busy as the other stores yet and the manager came over quickly to offer them help. Heather took out her list and looked for the missing book they needed.

“Er, two copies of ‘Unfogging the Future’ by – ”

“Cassandra Vablatsky, yes yes,” he led them to the divination section and pointed out the books on the shelf.

She took two and turned to follow the manager back but Harry stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Look,” he stared at the misty image of a black dog with sharp black eyes.

“‘Death Omens: What to Do When You Know the Worst is Coming’?” She shook her head. They were definitely not purchasing that. Harry would probably carry that book around everywhere pointing out a bunch of death omens.

The manager chuckled, “Oh don’t worry about ever needing that. Those books always just scare people and very rarely do anything good.”

They followed the manager to the register and paid. They had been in Flourish and Blotts for a total of ten minutes and the rest of their morning, afternoon, and evening were now completely free. They walked back to the Leaky Cauldron and up to Harry’s room with the rest of their materials to be packed away in their trunks.

Harry sat down on the bed and tapped his fingers on the cover of his divination book, “Heather?”

She was closing the door after dragging her trunk into his room from hers. “Yes?”

“D’you think… What we saw that night was a death omen?”

“Saw what night Harry?”

“That thing coming out of the bushes before the Knight Bus arrived.”

She had a hard time recalling it but did remember something about a black blob-ish creature, “Oh… Well it was just a dog or something. A stray, Harry. Now please pack your things and forget about that omens book.”

The next few days were spent walking around Diagon Alley and looking through shop windows. She had forbidden Harry from taking any of their money with him and had to refuse his beggings for a new broom. On the last day they decided to go for some ice cream and sit outside watching as people went by with their bags filled with goods.

“Heather!”

“Harry!”

Hermione and Ron came running down the stream of wizards to hug them. They got some more ice cream and the four of them sat down.

“We heard why you were staying at the Leaky Cauldron,” Hermione crossed her arms.

Heather and harry looked at each other and then frowned at Ron.

His ears went red, “Dad mentioned it and I… might have let it slip.”

“I CAN’T believe you two blew up your AUNT!”

Heather pointed at Harry, “He did. Not me.”

Harry pushed her finger away, “I didn’t mean to. It just sort of… happened.”

“Ron stop laughing! This is serious! You could have gotten expelled Harry!”

Heather turned to him as well, “Actually apparently he could have gone to Azkaban.”

Ron snorted, “No one would send Famous Harry Potter to AZKABAN. Get real. Everyone else though would be mad to do what you did. I’d definitely be sent to Azkaban for that.”

Heather flicked Harry’s ear and turned to Ron, “Can we go home with you? Since it’s the last day?”

“No need, we’re staying at the Leaky and so is Hermione. Dad’ll take everyone to King’s Cross tomorrow.” Ron’s eyes widened and he almost reach in his robes with his ice cream hand. “Look at this!” he pulled out a long wand with his other hand, “My very own wand! Brand new too.”

Heather looked down at the large lumpy bag next to Hermione, “What’s all that?”

She patted it happily, “Oh, well I’ve been approved to take several more classes. Took all summer owling back and forth with Professor McGonagall. Apparently, it had to be approved by the school governors.”

Heather felt very ill suddenly, like her heart had dropped to her stomach and the flush on her face felt closer to embarrassment than anger but neither of those words described the feeling very well. “But-what-How did… How many new subjects? I don’t understand. Did they pick you? Did you ask?”

Hermione nodded, “Professor McGonagall talked to me about it after I asked if I could take them all.”

“How many more? Which classes?”

She shrugged, “All of them. Let’s see,” she started counting on her fingers. “Divination and care of magical creatures like you guys, plus Study of Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies, and Arithmancy,” she smiled.

The three of them just stared at her with annoyance.

“And when will you be blocking in sleeping and eating?” Harry laughed finally, half hoping it was a joke for her sake.

Ron still stared at her, “Heather I’m glad you haven’t decided to turn into a school zombie this year.”

Heather glared at him and quickly finished her ice cream, “Let’s go already.” She should have asked Professor Snape about taking more classes. Why did she think Hermione wanting to take them all was somehow a joke? Maybe she could still come in first in the classes that were the same…

Hermione jumped up, “Oh! I’m allowed to get a pet for school this year! Early birthday present from my parents.”

Ron wiped his hands on his shirt and pointed over to the top of the winding cobble street, “Magical Menagerie’s over there.”

Magical Menagerie was a small shop made even smaller by the dozens of cages covering the walls with squeaking, squawking, rattling, and hissing. Heather and Ron went immediately to check on the treats and snacks for toads and rats while Harry helped Hermione pick an animal.

“I don’t think any of these will help Scabbers,” Ron sighed and looked away from the assortment of magical treats.

Heather leaned in and squinted her eyes at Scabbers. He was looking very ill, with bald patches in odd places. “Ask the witch. She might give you something specific.” She followed Ron up to the register.

“Miss? My rat’s ill. He got like that a few days ago after we came back from Egypt.”

She took out thick round glasses that made her eyes as big as the sugar coated fat toad flies and took him in her hands. “Have you tried banging him a few times?”

Ron nodded, “But he won’t perk up.”

The witch held him upside down by his tail while he wriggled around, “He looks ancient. How old is he?”

“Er. Old. Very, very, old, I think. He’s been in my family for twelve years.”

“Well there are many reasons why a rat might do this. What powers does it have?”

Heather and Ron looked at each other and shrugged.

“None, I don’t think. He just is.”

She pointed at his bitten ear and missing toe, “Run him through the wash?”

Ron’s ears went pink and looked at both the witch and Heather defensively, “No! I’m not that forgetful. Percy gave ‘im to me like that.”

“Well, no normal rat lives longer than five years so it must be a mix. Don’t worry there’re hundreds of these things living throughout the cities. No ordinary rats but certainly not as hard-working or hard-wearing than pure wizarding rats.” She placed Scabbers on the counter and kept him trapped under her hand as she pulled out a cage from under the counter, “Like these. I can get you a discount on a replacement if you’d like. Pick from one of these.”

Ron shook his head and took Scabbers back, “No. He works just fine for now.”

“Is there nothing else he can do?” Heather watched the rats in the cage skip rope with their tails and show off their little furry arms, “Like a shot or pill or something?”

The witch sighed, “Here.” She produced a little red glass bottle from under the counter, “See if that’ll help.”

“Thanks – HEY!”

A giant orange cat with long matted fur jumped down from the tall shelf above the witch’s head and onto Ron’s. Ron threw his head forward and the cat landed on its back on the counter and swatted Scabbers out of Ron’s grip.

“CROOKSHANKS! COME BACK HERE,” the witch pulled on the cat’s tail as it jumped off the counter and chased Scabbers out the open door.

Ron and Heather ran after them, following the bright orange fur between people’s feet. Crookshanks had pinned Scabbers down between its paws and was about to bite his neck when Ron and Heather dived for them. Ron pulled Scabbers out while Heather picked a very heavy Crookshanks up like an enormous baby.

Huffing and puffing they made their way back to the Magical Menagerie to find Harry and Hermione waiting by the counter with no owl picked out. Heather placed Crookshanks back on the counter and held him down for the witch.

“Well. Here he is,” the witch said to Hermione.

“He’s perfect!” Hermione tried picking him up and groaned, “Oh! You made it look easy, Heather.”

“What do you mean he’s perfect? For what?” Ron looked to Hermione and the coins on the counter, “Whose are those?”

“Mine,” the witch took them and dropped them in her apron.

“Harry asked where you guys went and she told us about Crookshanks and about how he’s been here for YEARS so of course I had to take him,” Hermione hugged the floppy cat tightly.

“Yeah? Did she tell you how he tried to murder my rat just now?”

Hermione scoffed, “It’s just his instinct, Ron. It’s not murder.”

Ron looked to Heather and Harry but they just shook their heads, refusing to take sides. They walked out together but Ron refused to walk next to Hermione and Crookshanks. They made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron.

Mr. Weasley was sitting at the bar drinking and reading the Daily Prophet when they walked in. He smiled and waved them over, “Harry! Heather! Good to see you two.” He looked down at Crookshanks and nodded at him, “And your new friend.”

Hermione nodded and lifted him up higher before giving Ron a look and heading up the stairs towards her room.

“Black’s still on the loose?” Harry pointed at the man screaming on the front cover.

Mr. Weasley pressed his lips together, “Yes. Unfortunately. A lot of wizards have been tasked to assist in his capture. I’m even doing some patrols here in Diagon Alley.”

“Hope we’re the ones who catch him. The reward money’s big, isn’t it?”

Mr. Weasley shook his head, “No, no. He’s far too dangerous. If I find him I’m supposed to sound the alarm. He’s too dangerous for any Weasley or Potter,” he looked at the twins, “to catch. The Azkaban guards will do that. Understand?”

The three of them nodded and Mr. Weasley went back to smiling.

Mrs. Weasley came in followed by Fred and George, Giny, and Percy. Mrs. Weasley greeted them with a hug and Giny said hello to Heather but could barely look at Harry when she greeted him after. Percy stepped forward and extended his hand to each of them.

“Heather. Harry. How very nice to see you both,” he gave them a quick nod and straightened his shirt.

“Hello, Percy.”

“Hello,” Harry turned to Heather trying not to laugh.

“I see you are both doing well,” Percy motioned to them generally with his hands and folded them behind his back.

Heather nodded awkwardly, “We are – ”

Fred and George pulled Percy back and took his place.

“Mr. Potter, how very splendid a coincidence to see you in this exquisite establishment,” Fred bowed and tipped his fake top hat.

George followed suit, “Miss Potter, how have you spent this marvelous evening? I trust the day has treated you well?”

Everyone but Percy and his parents laughed.

“Alright, boys, move along. Harry! Heather,” she hugged them both really tight. “Did you get our presents? Can you believe we got to spend the summer in Egypt? How were your birthdays?”

“Yes, yes, and good,” Harry smiled.

“And Percy made Head Boy! Oh, another one in the family – ”

“The last one,” Fred interrupted.

“I’m certain,” she frowned at him.

Heather, Harry, and Ron went up to join Hermione for an hour before they all came back downstairs for dinner. The innkeeper had put several tables together for all seven Weasleys, Heather, Harry, and Hermione to fit comfortably. They enjoyed eating the special for that night, rotisserie chicken and biscuits, and enjoyed hearing about Egypt and Hermione’s week in France.

“How are you taking us all to the train tomorrow?” Fred looked at his mom, “You still have time to teach us how to apparate.”

“You’re not of age,” Percy scolded them.

“The Ministry is lending me cars, we’ll all fit just fine, don’t worry,” Mr. Weasley interrupted before another fight broke out.

“It doesn’t have to fit us all, Percy can apparate himself to school. He’s ‘of age’,” Fred took first scoops into the chocolate pudding.

Percy moved the pudding bowl towards Hermione right beside him, “Guests first.”

“We’re all guests,” George mumbled.

“Thank you, Percy dear. Fred. Enough of that,” Mrs. Weasley wagged her finger.

Percy gave Fred a winning smile and turned away, “Why are we getting cars?”

“Because we don’t have our old one anymore,” Mrs. Weasley turned to Ron who looked down at his pudding.

Percy turned to Ron too, “All your stuff is on my bed so you better pack before we sleep, Ron.”

Ron scowled at Percy who only rolled his eyes.

They passed around the bowl of pudding and everyone enjoyed second and third helpings. After dinner everyone went to their rooms to go to bed, and while Ron packed, Heather, Harry, and Hermione kept him company.

“Has the rat tonic done anything yet?” Heather poked the lump in Ron’s shirt pocket.

“No,” Ron jammed his clothes into his trunk and sat on top, trying to shut it.

“It’ll fit if you fold it,” Hermione pulled him off and started showing him how to fold.

“Fine then, everyone take a shirt.”

Harry and Ron folded while Hermione and Heather organized his trunk better, pushing all his books to one side and leaving the other side for clothes and other materials. Heather lifted a lumpy hat and a Sneakoscope fell out, twirling fast and glowing bright with a high-pitched whistle.

“It’s broken,” Ron grumbled. “Did yours stop spinning?”

“When we got them, they weren’t glowing or moving at all. Not like that,” Heather stuffed it back in his magenta hat.

“They probably got tired on the journey,” Ron stuffed the rest of the shirts in the empty spaces making Hermione sigh and place her hands on her hips.

“Percy was probably right about them being a rip off.”

Ron shut his trunk, “No he wasn’t. The man said they really work.”

“Yes, of course he would Ron. He was trying to sell them to you.”

Heather stood up and dusted off her knees, “Well maybe its relative to Ron. Is there someone here you don’t trust?”

Ron put his hands on his hips too, “Yeah. Percy to not remind Mum and Dad about the car and your bloody orange beast to not eat Scabbers.”

Harry stepped between Hermione and Ron before Hermione could respond, “Have you seen that book Hagrid got us?”

“Crookshanks is just a cat. He did something any cat would do. If you keep Scabbers in your room I’ll keep Crookshanks in mine and then there won’t be a problem. Will there?”

“‘The Monster Book of Monsters’ I think it was called?”

“Sure, until it gets loose and sniffs Scabbers out.”

“How do you even read it?”

Percy came in and set his Head Boy pin on the nightstand, “Alright, get to bed everyone. We’ll be up early.”

Hermione scoffed at Ron and turned to Percy, “You’re right, Percy. It IS time for bed. Also, congratulations on being Head Boy.” She turned and marched out of the room.

Harry and Heather waved goodnight to Ron and exited the room.

“You couldn’t have helped me?” Harry grumbled to Heather.

She shrugged, “They both kinda have points.”

They went to Harry’s room and both got to work packing his trunk. It was easier to help Harry because he wasn’t so picky about where things were going, not like Ron.

Harry picked up his unglowing and untwirling Sneakoscope, “It was definitely a rip off. I don’t trust Fred and George not to pull a prank on one of us on the last night here.”

“If I wake up with color-changing goo in my hair I’ll hex them,” Heather laughed. “If I were Percy, I’d lock the door.”

“Do you think our family would have been like them?” Harry rolled the Sneakoscope on the floor in front of him.

Heather tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it wouldn’t go down. She stared at her hands for several minutes and stood up, kneeling on his trunk and shutting it tight. “Night, Harry. We’ll get to go home to Hogwarts tomorrow.”

Harry nodded and walked her to the door. “We’ll be home tomorrow.”

She watched him close the door slowly and quickly stopped it and hugged him, “You’re all the family I need so stop almost getting expelled.”

He smiled, nodded, and closed the door. She left to her own room, packed her things and fell onto her bed before remembering her nightly routine. She dropped to the floor and started doing her Quidditch exercises, barely reaching a fourth of what the book said and laid back down on the bed, exhausted.

“I WILL make it on the team.”

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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[dust2dust34]

idk if you're taking prompts but i've been really wanting to read something like this: felicity shaving oliver's beard/face bc he broke his hand or idk whatever you want and oliver's really turned on by it. bonus points if its an established relationship/married life. and i wouldn't be opposed to smut so let your muse run wild :) thank you!

King and Queen, Part 2 (Olicity Bratva AU, Mature)

A/N: Sequel to King and Queen (Chapter 4 of my You’ve Gotten Into My Bloodstream fic collection). Prompt from LiteraLi. Written for the Fic for Food Drive I took part in for April.This does not take place directly after the previous installment. A couple years have passed.

Summary: Felicity helps Oliver shave.

(read on AO3)

*

Oliver Queen cursed.

He struggled to hold the pearled handle of his straight razor with as little pressure on his thumb as possible. His hand started shaking, but he managed to hold it. Angling his head, he pressed the blade’s edge to the lengthy stubble on his jaw. But the second he pressed down, pain spiked through his wrist, sharp and white hot. With a harsh, “Fuck,” he dropped the razor, sending it clattering onto the vanity where it bounced right off the edge. Oliver caught it with his left hand, agilely flipping it with an ease that pissed him off. He thought about trying to shave with that hand again, but it had nearly led to a bald patch on his cheek.

Fucking useless.

Both his hand and him.

“Damn it,” he breathed through gritted teeth. He turned his right hand palm-up and glared at the swelling in his wrist, remembering that bastard Bertinelli slamming a metal door on his arm. Scowling darkly, his fingers curled into a fist at the thought of punching him in the face as hard as he could. But all that did was set his wrist on fire, which only pissed him off more, which made him want to punch Bertinelli’s face and a wall. “Goddamn it-”

“Here.”

Oliver looked up into the bathroom mirror as his wife took the razor from him.

The tension in his muscles drained away and he sighed, moving when she nudged him to make room for her between him and the counter.

She stared up at him with a patient, but annoyed look.

His agitation instantly flared back to life.

“What?” he huffed.

“You’re being stupid,” Felicity Smoak told him. She set the razor down and grabbed the brace he’d tossed aside. “Put this back on.”

“I’m not wearing that-”

“Tonight,” she interrupted sharply. “You’re not wearing it to the dinner tonight, but you are wearing it right now.” Oliver clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring, and he leveled her with a hard look. It was a look that usually had grown men pissing their pants, but not her. She just raised her eyebrows. “Give me your hand, Oliver.”

A war of wills filled the space.

Not that it mattered. They both knew how this was going to end. Even though Oliver wanted to shred that fucking brace and toss the remnants in a fire, he knew he was going to give in as much as she knew she was going to put it on him, and that he was going to be pissed the entire time.

It took a full minute, but Oliver finally growled out a curse and gave her his hand.

“Stop being a baby,” Felicity said as she slipped it on and strapped it in place.

“I’m not being a baby,” Oliver groused, unable to hide his pained winces. He fought to only let out a breathy grunt when she turned his hand over delicately to tighten the brace around his forearm. “I’m pissed I have to play nice to that asshole tonight, as if I didn’t catch him trying to sell more of those goddamn guns to the Mayor.”

“I know,” his wife said softly. “You’ll get him. Well, Arrow-you will get him and then Captain-you will turn his businesses inside out while he rots in jail so this never happens again.”

Oliver just grunted.

Yes, in an ideal world that was exactly what would have happened, but they’d been ready for the Arrow at the docks last night. His nighttime reputation had long ago preceded him and the Families were getting smarter, bringing more firepower, no longer interested in wasting their time trying to kill him, but giving their boss enough time to evade him.

And slamming the Arrow’s goddamn hand in a goddamn door when Oliver Queen had to have dinner and play nice with his “business partner.”

Oliver snarled and tried to flex his hand in the brace.

All it did was make him grimace and scowl and curse.

“Stop it,” Felicity said, smacking his bare chest.

“I need to shave,” he snapped.

“No, you need to lose the attitude,” she bit back. “Now, and not just because you’re talking to me, but because we need to play nice tonight. Got it?”

“I…” He closed his eyes on a ragged sigh. She was right. And just like that the anger receded into a dull ache. He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

Felicity softened. “I know this isn’t easy-”

“It’s just… It’s always something,” he breathed, his voice dropping into an agonized murmur. “First it was the Triad, then it was Kovar, now it’s Bertinelli, and if it’s not something with the Arrow, then it’s this fucking deal Anatoly got us into. I want to spend one night - one night - with my wife and daughter without feeling like the entire fucking world is hanging in the balance, because that… this…” Oliver smoothed his hand over her stomach, but the damn brace got in the way, and he couldn’t feel enough of the bump her silky nightgown hid. With a growl, he shifted so his left hand palmed her growing belly. It was so firm and prominent already, even at this early stage. The doctor had mentioned that was common after the first pregnancy. Frustrated tears burned his eyes and he angrily blinked them away as he clutched her stomach. “I want to be here for this. I missed so much last time, with you and Mia, and all I want is… I want a life where I get to enjoy this, I get to enjoy us. God, but if we… Mia’s only three, and already I’m terrified she’s too close, and if we want them to have anything other than this shitshow of a life… to get them out of it-”

His voice choked off.

“I know. But we chose this,” Felicity reminded him, cupping his cheek. “You and me. For them. We didn’t run so they never have to make a choice like that.”

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut. “I know.”

“And you are here, Oliver. Look at me. Hey, look at me.” When he did, she smiled softly. It was hard not to see the sadness in her eyes, but it had nothing on the certainty he saw there, too. “I get to sleep every night with my husband by my side. And Mia gets to grow up with her father. You are always with us, Oliver. And you remind this one of that every night, too.”

Felicity’s hand covered his over her stomach.

Oliver stared at their hands, at their wedding bands catching the bathroom light, at their fingers tangling together. Hers was so small compared to his, so delicate, so fragile, but it only appeared that way. She was anything but. She was his rock, his foundation, his strength, the guiding light in the darkness he knew he would never escape. She was the voice in his ear, the key to his heart, the anchor steadying his soul. His wife, his partner, the mother of his children. The reason he hadn’t burned the entire world to ash just to get it over with.

“And when you aren’t here,” Felicity continued softly, brushing her other hand over the elaborate tattoo on his left shoulder, “we’re with you.”

Her fingers followed the path she always took. He sighed, savoring her touch, following her mentally as she swept across the rising sun over the open field inked into his flesh. His wife and daughter’s names were etched into the sun rays, and there was plenty of room for more. For their new baby. For any other children they might have.

Oliver bit the tip of his tongue hard enough to draw blood as the struggle he always faced rose inside him - between growing his family with the woman he loved, and wanting to spare any and every innocent being from the shadowed world they lived in.

The only way he survived any of it was because of her.

“Today was a setback… on top of about fifty other setbacks,” she admitted, “but we’ll handle it. Like we always do.”

“Like we always do,” he repeated.

“Like we always will.”

Oliver pulled her into his chest. He pressed a kiss to her temple, her name a soft litany on his lips. Her arms snaked around him, gripping him just as tight. He buried one hand in her hair, his other slipping over her back, underneath the strap of her nightgown…

He found the scar on the back of her shoulder.

He had spent so much time touching it that the previously raised flesh was nothing more than thin, pink lines now.

The mark - his family crest, seared into her flesh, a physical seal of the promise of her family to his, payment in the form of their daughter for the debts her father had incurred with the Bratva - was always a reminder when he needed it. When the world crumbled around him. When the weight of what they battled became too much. When the reality that this would bleed onto their children if they didn’t dismantle it as much as possible smacked him in the face again, and again. The very last thing he wanted was his kids to endure what they had. And they would, if they didn’t succeed.

Oliver rubbed rough circles over her scar like a worry stone and Felicity hugged him tighter.

It wasn’t a miracle that they had fallen in love. It was in spite of their circumstances, their arranged marriage, their contractual obligation to procreate, their dues to the Family to keep the legacy going, to grow it. It was only after surviving months of horror and blood and pain and almost losing their first baby that they managed to scrape away enough of the walls they’d built around themselves to plant the beginning seeds of what they were now.

All of it could have gone up in flames, so many times. But it hadn’t.

They hadn’t.

“Together,” she whispered, pulling back to look at him. “Right?”

“Right.” Oliver’s forehead fell against hers. “How did you get to be so strong?”

“I take my lead from you.”

He shook his head, because there was no way that could possibly be true.

“C’mere.” Felicity stepped back just enough to hop up onto the counter and tugged him between her spread legs. She picked up the razor, pursing her lips as she sized up his beard. And then her face fell. “You aren’t going to make me shave everything, are you?”

Oliver chuckled. It felt so good that he leaned into the feeling, letting it turn into a deep laugh.

Their lives were so complicated, perpetually stuck between a rock and a hard place, and yet they still had simple moments like his wife reminding him how much she disliked him clean-shaven.

She was right. This life wasn’t what they could have, but it was more than either of them had expected, more than they ever thought they would get.

And it was more than enough.

“No,” he told her, settling his hands on her thighs. “Just a trim. Bertinelli got close last night.”

“Ah.” Felicity tugged on the longer hair on his chin. “This goatee thing caught up to you, huh?” He snorted. “What? It’s not exactly inconspicuous, Oliver.”

“It gets the job done,” he said, a little too defensively if the way she bit her bottom lip to stem a smile was any indication. He rolled his eyes and she huffed out a giggle before cupping his face. As she moved his head back and forth, he felt the rest of the tension slipping away. “I thought you liked it.”

“I liked it when it was a casual beard,” she replied, slicing the length off his chin. “Then it started becoming this thing-”

“It’s not a thing-”

“Hush,” Felicity interrupted. In quick, efficient motions, she had the hair trimmed back on his chin and then she moved up his jaw line, angling his head where she wanted it as she went. “The last thing we want to do is cancel this dinner because you wanted to argue about the virtues of goatees and I end up cutting you.”

“I wouldn’t complain.”

“Yeah, well, making you bleed isn’t on my itinerary today, and I really don’t want blood all over my bathroom. So no, that’s not happening. Now stop talking. And stop grinning like that. Just don’t move.”

He couldn’t hide one last smirk and Felicity sat back to glare at him. With a quiet, “Sorry,” he did as his wife told him.

Oliver closed his eyes as the seconds passed in peaceful silence. The only sounds were their steady breaths and the gentle rasp of the razor as she trimmed his jaw, then his cheeks, then the extra growth on his top lip. She mumbled something under her breath about pornstaches that had him chuckling, and she immediately smacked his cheekbone with the flat end of the razor. He stopped, but he still had to fight a smile as she continued.

It would never cease to amaze him how easily she brought him back from the edge of darkness.

Or how much he had grown to trust her, to love her. How important she had become to him in every way possible.

He knew from experience what people thought when they first saw her. A slip of a woman who could not possibly yell at a dog much less pose any actual threat. But underneath that diminutive frame was a backbone of pure steel. It wasn’t his growing up in the life, or learning the family business under his father’s tutelage, or the hellish years he’d spent on that goddamn island that made him the leader he was in the Bratva. It was her. She was the voice of reason, the logic, the definitive force that led the Family more than any other person. She guided him at night when he was under the hood, and she was by his side when he stood before the Bratva. And as if that weren’t enough, she did it all with a flawless grace and strength that took his breath away.

She commanded the Bratva, the Arrow, the Family.

And him.

Oliver hummed, swaying closer to her.

“Stop. Moving.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a tick of a smile, never opening his eyes.

Slowly but surely the burdens of their life fell to the wayside, and he became more and more aware of his wife.

The hint of shea butter lingered on her skin, but underneath that was the clean scent that was all her, reminding him she hadn’t showered yet. Gentle waves of heat radiated off her, warming his fingertips where they still rested on her bare thighs. She cradled his jaw with ease, and all it took was the tiniest nudge for him to turn to wherever she wanted him. It was that more than anything that had him yearning closer to her as she scraped the razor over his most tender areas. Anyone else in the world would use this as an opportunity to remove him from the equation. But not her. Never her.

Felicity huffed out a little laugh.

“Hmm?” Oliver asked as the corner of his lips ticked up. He loved that sound.

“I see you’re enjoying this.”

He furrowed his brow, and then opened his eyes in time to see his wife’s gaze drop. He looked down to find his sweatpants tented. His growing erection twitched at the attention.

“What can I say…” Oliver’s smile turned salacious as he slid his hands up her legs and underneath her nightgown. Smooth skin caressed his roughened fingertips, and for the first time he was glad for the brace because the silky edge of the gown caught on it, exposing so much more of her heated flesh to him. “I like being at your mercy.”

A secret smile that was all for him curled her lips.

Oliver slid his hands around to her ass where he stopped on a playful gasp. “You’re not wearing underwear.”

“No,” Felicity agreed, lifting her legs up, her knees grazing the band of his sweats. “I’m not.”

Oliver pushed his hands up to her hips, lifting her nightgown out of the way completely as he pressed his growing hardness to the soft heat waiting for him between her thighs. Her breath caught, but he wasn’t nearly close enough. He didn’t yank her across the counter like he wanted to, knowing that wouldn’t feel good on her bare skin, so he pushed up onto his toes, looming over her and getting the proper leverage to rub against her core.

“Ah ah, I’m not done.” Felicity pushed him back and he pouted. “Keep it in your pants.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Too bad,” she countered. “Stand still.”

His pout didn’t go away, but he did as she told him to. Well, part of him did. His arousal jerked under his sweats, a painfully vivid mixture of eager anticipation and disappointment.

And then there were his hands still under her nightgown.

Oliver was careful not to distract her too much, but he couldn’t stop touching her. And she didn’t stop him. He dragged his fingers over her hips, up her sides, featherlight, creating gooseflesh as he went. He ventured up even higher, as high as the silk would allow him. He avoided her ribs, not wanting to tickle her, but instead moved to her front, ghosting over the underside of her breasts. He watched his hands moving under the silk before glancing at her face, craving her reactions. Her concentration was sound, save for the parting of her lips, the color warming her cheeks, the growing shakiness in her breaths. He kept watching her from under heavy lids as he moved back down, down… down…

“Oliver.”

“What?” he asked with a teasing lilt.

“Get your hands away from there.”

Oliver bit his lips together and removed his fingers from the soft tuft of hair covering her mound.

She took a deep breath and then focused back on his jaw…

He didn’t give her the chance.

Oliver pressed his left hand to her sex and slid his fingers down her cleft. She was already damp with arousal. He knew her inner walls would be even slicker and that they would only get wetter when he buried himself there. The thought had his erection straining against his sweats.

Felicity froze, her eyes slipping shut, and he didn’t wait to tease her. Oliver pressed the tips of his fingers against her entrance and moved them in tight, little circles.

“Oo…h,” she moaned on a shudder. “Oh…!”

“I’ll take that,” he whispered, removing the razor from her hand and dropping it on the counter.

“But I’m not done,” Felicity said. The last word came out on another moan as he pushed his fingers inside her. Her hands flew to his shoulders, her eyes fluttering shut when his thumb found the little pearl at the top of her folds. She arched her hips up, opening herself to him, to the pleasure he could give her. Would give her. That didn’t stop her from arguing with him. “Oliver, I’m not done-”

“Finish later,” he offered, pressing his fingers in further.

She was all needy whimpers as she told him, “You look ridiculous.”

Oliver didn’t bother glancing in the mirror because he didn’t care. Not right now. Not with his wife in his arms, melting further into him even more with each passing second, her sex sucking his fingers in deeper, her growing wetness making each pass over her clit more and more slick. Her nails dug into his shoulders. His hand with the goddamn brace wound around her back and he picked her up, just enough to set her on the edge of the counter where he pressed his thickening hardness against her supple inner thigh.

“You…” she managed, opening her eyes to look at his jaw. “Let me just…”

“Finish later,” he repeated. He buried his face into her hair, breathing her in. He swept his thumb over her clit and started thrusting his fingers in and out. Her inner walls clenched around him and he pushed in a third finger, earning a delicious groan from deep inside her as he stretched her wide.

“But…”

“Please.”

That got her. It was such a simple word, but it was so loaded after everything they’d been through, meaning more than either of them could possibly put into words.

A rapid nod was her response and then she grabbed his face, her lips finding his.

Oliver’s fingers left heaven to grasp her under one thigh as he gripped her waist with his braced hand. And then he was picking her up and spinning them around. Felicity barely got out, “Oliver, your hand!” before he pulled her into another kiss. She kept talking against his lips, but then they were at their unmade bed, and he was falling back on it and she was moving to straddle him fully. She wasn’t done - “Why can’t you do things the easy way?” - but all he did was huff out a laugh as they both pushed his sweats out of the way, freeing his erection. She grasped him tight, making him groan. Her other hand found his jaw and she forced him to meet her gaze as she pushed the slick head of his cock to her entrance. “We are so talking about this when we’re done.”

“Yes,” he started just as she thrust down, taking him deep inside her, leaving only a strangled, “honey,” to fall from his lips.

“And,” Felicity added breathlessly, “the fact that you only have half a mustache right now.”

He chuckled, but it quickly turned into full-blown laughter when she sat back to look at him and a wild grin covered her face as she snorted at the sight he must have made.

The giggles followed them as they made love.

It was the absolute opposite of everything else in their lives, proving how much they were each other’s harbor in the storm. Their love fueled them, giving them the strength they needed to live the double lives they led, to keep going, to keep building the future they wanted for their children. That future was still years off, and neither of them were stupid enough to think it was going to get any easier, but as long as they had each other?

They could survive anything.

And they would.

(They proved this later - much later, after she helped him fix his unfortunate facial hair issue - when they were at dinner, and all Oliver wanted to do was ram his fist in Bertinelli’s face until he was a mulchy pulp. But he didn’t, and not just because of his hand, or because it could potentially open the door to connecting him to the Arrow. But because she asked him not to. And if it was her asking? Anything.)

*

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it - reviews literally feed the soul and muse.

[long-bodyswap]

Projection

Man, I fuckin’ loved taking control of my son; he has a hot little body, sculpted but not too muscular, a baby face, and I got to try on all the cute clothes that I bought for ‘him’. I chuckled to myself, my son Jeremy, was totally straight, and he’s quite popular with the ladies, but I had my eye more on his hot little stud friends that he hung out with. I could especially see how his ‘little’ friend Hank fuckin’ drooled over him; practically falling over himself to jump to do whatever Jeremy wanted. But I’m side-tracking a bit; I bought tons of cute underwear and other… kinkier stuff for Jeremy but as I previously mentioned, being the straight kid he was, he’d never wear any of it; he’d probably be appalled if he even knew I bought it for him… Too bad he doesn’t know he wears this shit regularly and is quite popular at the local gay clubs. All the bartenders know him quite well; or should I say they know ‘Matt’ well? That’s the name I go by when I slip into his hot little body and go out. ----------------------------------------------------------------- It happened one night when I’d come home late from work and I was extra exhausted, I barely took loosened my tie and dropped my suitcase at the door when I plopped in front of the tv on couch; too tired to even move. I began to drift off when I remembered that I still had to feed Jeremy, he’d be getting home from soccer practice soon, but I just couldn’t bring myself to move; in fact, I felt almost… paralyzed. I began to freak out and struggled to move and I fought to sit up; and with a sudden ‘pop’ I finally managed to do it. I decided I’d better change into some more casual clothes, and I made my way up the stairs and to my room. My closet was slightly ajar so I just stepped right in and casually glanced around looking for something more comfortable to wear; my eyes caught the underwear I’d boughten but were too small for me. I let out a sigh, I knew I wasn’t in as great of shape as I used to be and I could never fit those. I finally decided on some sweat pants and a plain white T but as I tried to pick them up my hands went right through! I rubbed my eyes, this couldn’t be right, I tried again and started panicking when my hands passed right through again! Even stranger, I was naked! I got really embarrassed and ran around the house trying to figure out what was happening. I arrived back at the living room again and I tried to scream; I could see my body still lying there. I didn’t know what to do, I just sat on the ground and repeated “This can’t be happening” over and over to myself. I looked at my body again and I noticed it was still breathing. This had to be a dream, I knew I was still alive if my body was still breathing… So what was going on? My thoughts were interrupted when I heard the front door open and close. “Hey Dad! I’m home!” Shit. Jeremy was here, and I didn’t know what to do. I wondered if maybe he could hear me. I walked to the entry way “Jeremy?” I let out a call, he didn’t seem to notice as he continued removing his shoes before walking upstairs to the bathroom—He always had a shower after practice. I followed and tried knocking on the door but my hand just passed through again. I heard the water start running and I began to wonder if maybe I could leave a message on the mirror from the fog or something like in the movies. I felt a bit weird because I knew I’d see my son naked, but after changing his diapers so many times as a baby, I figured it was fine as it was nothing I’d never seen before, so I walked through the door and began to wait for the steam to gather. I tried my hardest to keep from looking, but I got bored waiting for the steam. I finally just looked over and I became so envious; he still had a tight little stomach, his arms were sculpted, and he still had all his hair… A hand instinctively ran to my head, rubbing longingly at where my hair used to be. I wished I could go back to my prime, back to Jeremy’s age. I continued watching and forgot all about what I was doing when Jeremy stepped out and walked to his room. Shit! I missed my chance, I followed him hoping to find something else to catch his attention but he just lay on his bed and fell asleep. He must have been exhausted because after a few seconds he fell asleep and I could see his chest rising slowly, and falling gently. He looked so innocent, I was so proud of him, he always worked so hard in school, and he won a lot of sports trophies, he was such a good boy… I never noticed before, but I could see his aura a lot more relaxed, moving at a slower pace; A sly smirk crept across my face as I got an idea… I walked over to his bed and slowly laid down on top of him, I could feel his body give in, as it started to pull me in, the feeling of his flesh wrapping around my essence was so erotic, I wasn’t completely in but I managed to let out a moan from my new vocal chords. Fuck that was hot. I felt myself falling more and more into him before finally I was completely in. I let out a gasp. I looked down and saw… abs? And my body felt so tight… I felt my hair tussle and I ran a hand through my hair… Oh how I missed having hair… I sat up, “Wow…” apparently I was really excited being in this body because Jeremy’s cock was so fucking hard! Damn! Even in my prime I was never that thick! And it was so long! I bit my lip, and he still had his foreskin… I couldn’t… could I? Would this be wrong to do this with my own son’s body? I mean, it’s basically masturbation, since I was in control… Damn… all these hormones… I couldn’t fight it as I finally gripped my new rod; I shuddered, I barely even rubbed and this felt so fucking awesome! I tried to rub it up and down slowly, but the pleasure, I was vibrating in pleasure, a gentle purr escaping my lips, damn, this fucking foreskin… It was so sensitive… Suddenly this body’s instincts took control and damn… I was in for a fuckin’ wild ride, this body was working its shaft like a pro, I started to moan, I bit my lip to try to keep from being too loud, but then I started using my other hand to feel this body’s muscles and this was so erotic, my moans began to increase in volume, I finally said fuck it and I was moaning so loud, fuck… fuck… I was about to cum, I didn’t want this to end but this body’s instincts were still in control as it kept rubbing and I pinched my nipples a bit, I fought as hard as I could to keep from cumming but with how sensitive my new package was it was a losing battle as with one final rub I let out one long, deep, moan, as load after load began shooting out. I tried to catch as much as I could, not wanting to leave a huge mess. Jeremy didn’t have any tissues in his room and I didn’t want to dirty any of his clothing so, shrugging my shoulders, I raised it to my lips and lapped it up, playing with his cum in my mouth… Damn that was delicious… I licked up the rest off my hands then lay there basking in my wonderful afterglow of orgasm rubbing my softening cock, I closed my eyes and looked up at the ceiling, damn I wish this never had to end… Jeremy’s body began violently spasming; I could feel him waking up, I was being pushed out, I fought so hard to stay in, but with one final shake I was thrown out, I felt his flesh un-envelop me. Jeremy had a look of shock on his face, when I was thrown out I was still licking some of the cum off his fingers, he removed his finger from his mouth and he could see the cum on his finger I saw a look of disgust cross his face… I could also see a bit of cum I’d missed on his chest… Fuck I wanted back in so bad… I slammed against him, I felt his body release for a moment as some of my soul pushed through but it was thrown back out. He looked like he was just punched, the color drained from his face as he sat down before falling over and passed out. I smirked, I figured I must only be able to be inside when he’s sleeping; when his consciousness is dormant. I laid on top of his body again and I shuddered as I felt that familiar feeling of that tight body welcoming me in again. I grabbed a towel and wiped off then I remembered that underwear... I went to my room and grabbed that underwear and through it on… I gasped while a cheeky grin crept across my face. The material was so nice… I could feel my cock stiffen a bit but I wanted to take go find a mirror. I found one in the dining room (I had to walk passed my sleeping body, I smirked, definitely an upgrade as I could see my love handles through my suit, and I was disgusted at the bald patch. I looked in the mirror, strange… Jeremy never looked this groggy, and he had a moustache… He never had a moustache. He despised body hair and kept himself shaven, strange… Apparently even though it’s his skin, my essence still shows through a bit as my body did wear a moustache… I tried a few poses in the mirror; fuck Jeremy was hot… I wanted a few photos and I remembered my phone, it was in my pocket on the couch. I walked back in, disgusted at seeing my body, I reached into my pocket with disdain, feeling around for my phone, and I accidentally rubbed my package, I jumped. Even though I wasn’t in that body I still felt it, but it felt like someone else doing it… I found my phone and went and took a few photos… When I finished I set my phone down on the table beside my body, I remembered the feeling when I was looking for my phone; I shuddered again. A devilish grin crept across my face… I couldn’t… could I? I climbed on top of my body and began grinding my package, I could feel myself; or my body anyways, hardening, this only turned me on more as I grabbed my hands and ran them across this body, grinding our dicks against each other’s, I leaned down and sucked my ears the way I liked, fuck this was so hot, my happiness began showing in Jeremy’s body too as it was now sporting a massive erection, but I didn’t care, I was more worried about masturbating my old self, I began to pick up the pace in grinding and not being totally in my own body, I could still tell it was going to cum soon but I couldn’t stop it, and with one final thrust against my own package I felt it; that glorious orgasm… I could feel the cum seeping through my clothes, and this cute little underwear, I could feel it against my dick… I moaned, this was so erotic…Jeremy woke up and I was flung out of his body again but being so close to my own I was pulled right back in, I took a deep breath in and I saw the look of shock and horror on his face and he could see his own hands were guiding mine across his chest muscles, and I could still feel that he had an erection. “Son…? What’s going on? Are you okay?” I said feigning concern, knowing full well what had happened. “N-nothing, can we just… pretend I wasn’t doing this?” “Sure thing bud, I’ll go cook dinner.” “O….k..” He sputtered out slowly. He began walking towards his room and as I watched him walk away, I remembered the wonderful feeling of his cock and I was wanting to touch it again and I saw him stop in his tracks and his hand went for his package and gently rubbed it through the underwear. I was surprised… Maybe some of me had stayed inside his body? I made him go get changed (I decided to just order pizza), then I had him replace the underwear where I’d kept it, then after he had put on his actual clothes, I decided to see how far my powers would go as I decided to try to alter his memories. I could feel his eyes rolling back in his head as I was tweaking around in there, I changed his memories to that he took a nap, then he’d worked on a bit of homework then he’d gotten dressed and he remembered me calling out that we were having pizza. Then with one final tweak, I made it so that he would fall asleep whenever I said a code word to him…. Oh the things I had planned with this new ability of mine….

[fc5holidayexchange]

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 FIC

----------------

Title: Gävlebocken

Deputy Mattie Covington/Sharky Boshaw- Mattie and Sharky reunite after a failed trip to burn the Gavle Goat

@ma-sulevin

Hi Kate! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, wherever you are and however you're celebrating! Hope the festive season is full of joy and magic! I had a fabulous time writing Mattie and Sharky together and I hope you enjoy reading it! xxxx

----------

“All I’m saying, shorty, is never leave a man behind. Marilyn Manson and Carly Rae Jepson wanted to go torch some Gävlebocken butt too, y’know? And who was I to deny them their Bejeebus given right as Incendiary-Americans?”

Mattie cuddled the red-cheeked pyromaniac closer into her chest as she eased his sorrows on the couch. He hadn’t stopped blushing since she’d collected him from Missoula International Airport, where he’d been marched from the building between the firm grip of two unforgiving, no doubt underpaid TSA officers, cuffed at the wrist and short two of his beloved (and musically christened) flamethrowers.

“... you know, they probably sell flamethrowers in Sweden. You could have got one when you got there. Or matches. Shit, there’s plenty of sticks you could have rubbed together too.” She mused, trying to make light of the situation.

Sharky Boshaw was having none of it.

“Nuh-uh, no-can-do. Had to be them, babe.”

“Only the best for the holy grail of goat effigies, I guess?”

He nodded and crushed his face into her.

She couldn’t tell if the residual ruby tinge on his face was from the trauma of his ordeal (though he was hardly a stranger to arrest), from the abundance of alcohol still in his system, or from where the ravenous teeth of a cold winter beast had nibbled at him. December had fallen, and the snow was up to their knees. The smell of evergreen firs and smoky chimneys and roasting meat and fresh gingerbread permeated across the county. Even the sickly scent of Bliss had subsided, the cold-sensitive Georgia peaches known locally as the Seeds having retreated indoors for the season.

Christmas was coming.

Boshaw Manor’s festive decorations were tacky and yet, made with love. The Christmas tree was a little scorched on the edges, and adorned with homemade ornaments that were just beer tops looped onto string. They twinkled rainbow in the glow from the string lights, and tinkled as they clinked against each other. Paper chains and worn tinsel in emerald and silver shades hung from every available surface, and though he had no fireplace, he’d dragged a metal bin into the centre of the living room so they could roast chestnuts and make smores through the long winter nights.

However, Sharky’s favourite holiday accessory was a slightly dusty Santa figurine. He had, at some point, made the toymaker his own little flamethrower from aluminium foil, and the rotund, bushy bearded fellow still clung to it with his moth-eaten mittens, ready to chargrill Rudolph. But truly the highlight of Santa’s unusual skillset, the crown jewel in his sleigh full of secret talents, was the voice recording feature.

From the depths of Santa’s cookie filled belly, Sharky’s voice echoed:

“Burn baby burn… CHRISTMAS INFERNO”

And now, the jolly figure danced laboriously by the door, Boomer resting beside him, snoring along to the increasingly demonic rasp (Mattie made a mental note to replace the batteries).

Of course, this year, Mattie had put her own little touches on the place.

When he’d first taken her in, Earl had given her a little archangel statue, with beautiful, expansive wings, and a majestic flaming blade in it’s right hand, and her name engraved upon it. ‘Matilda means mighty in battle’ he’d explained, pulling her into a hug to assure her of just how strong she was. And last year, Nancy had knitted her a little yellow star, gold flecked through it, to sit atop the tree, and now it sat pride of place, shimmering like the true holy light.

It was slightly overwhelming, to see her things, however few, amongst Sharky’s.

To know that now, she and Sharky could make Christmas memories together.

That was the best gift of all.

And normally, snuggled together on a winter’s night like this, she’d be teasing him, slipping her chilled hands down the back of his shirt, or tickling his neck which made him squirm and giggle the most, or even sticking an icy naked foot into his face when he wasn’t paying attention. Or she’d be letting her hands wander into his pants, and they’d be making love and basking in each other’s glow until the sun came up.

But the sheer misery welling in his eyes, Christmas dreams obliterated and Hall of Flame pedestals empty, like a baby bird beak without a worm to sate it’s hunger, sent a pang of guilt ricocheting through every inch of her. One that made her stomach squirm and her lip quiver. He was her family, and though her dad back in Challis hadn’t exactly been the model of perfect, or even the model of good, she knew with all the certainty in her heart that families weren’t supposed to look so despairing at Christmas.

“What were you thinking, Shark?”

“I, uh… I wanted to surprise you.”

“And you thought running off to Europe to go burn down a giant goat was the best way to do that? I’d have taken socks instead, you know. Or a John Seed's head on a spike.”

She moved to hold his hand, fingers intertwining comfortingly, and he sniffed loudly in appreciation. Mattie felt so complete when her hand was nestled in his- who needed gloves to when you had a hand to hold?

"Just because Hurk nearly got Wicker-manned out in Europe, doesn't mean you have to."

He mumbled in reply, sheepishly resigned to his deeper urges- "I'm a Khaleesi. I go where the flame takes me."

She chuckled softly and teased:

“I know, babe. I know. Who do you think is the one who prints the posters? The whole station is more like a groupie's bedroom."

Mattie cursed the day she’d so catastrophically put her foot in it. A late night drinking and feasting up in the Whitetails, near Fort Drubman, out under the stars and the bleak winter moonlight. A slew of cultist corpses were ragdolled along the path behind them, definitely not having a Merry Christmas, and a skinned Judge or two had fallen prey to Jess’s hungry trapper knife. The pelts would make a fine coat for next year’s snowfall and the burgundy branding of Jacob’s chosen mutts was simply an added trophy for Mattie’s slightly feral friend.

There they were. Mattie, Sharky, Hurk, Jess, and Staci (who'd called in sick from his night shift), with Boomer and Cheeseburger at their heels.

Munching on fish from the iced over rivers.

Getting drunk out of their minds and trying to forget all the shit that the past months had wrought.

The topic of conversation had turned to (what else) fire. They’d just proudly set alight to the old lumber mill, and watched the Peggies scatter like roaches from the scene. Merry on Whistling Beaver beer, Mattie had hiccoughed and giggled after her umpteenth bottle, snuggled under Sharky's arm, and announced loudly:

“Did you guys know there’s a huge ass wicker goat in Sweden? They put it up for Christmas every year and it keeps getting toasted.”

Well, it’s not like she’d expected him to take off a week later towards the airport… after he’d downed probably somewhere near a keg's worth of homemade eggnog… all rum, barely an egg or a nog in sight.

But Charlemagne Victor Boshaw’s eyes had illuminated with possibility, and so had the eyes of the airport security officers at the sizable lethal and flammable weapons he’d packed into his luggage. Having the fuzz for a girlfriend, who could come flaunting an arrest warrant and claim jurisdiction over the prisoner was an absolute saving grace, it turned out. The TSA had handed him over with very little resistance.

And now, here they were, back home in the depths of the county, almost definitely up a couple of places on the ‘no fly’ terror watchlist.

Sharky sat up suddenly and rubbed at his slightly runny nose, a sudden determination taking root in his chest. Spring coming early as a flower bloomed there, petals of fury and vengeance and abject loyalty to his cause.

"We gotta get Carly and Marilyn back. We gotta Ocean’s Eight, Sandra Bullock the airport, po-po. You and me, Hurk, sure we can get Nick and Kim on the crew too, what are we up to, five, Boshaw’s five, Sharky’s five-?“

Mattie nuzzled her face into the top of his head. She was a hell of a lot shorter than him, but he’d sunk into the couch so deeply that she could now smell the scent of his Old Spice shampoo and see the bald patch where he'd thought wearing a crown made of sparklers at Thanksgiving fireworks was a good idea.

“Yeah, I’m sure a woman heavily into her third trimester is gonna really be up for a heist-“

“Kim? Fuck yeah, she can kick butt with a bump, her centre of gravity’s probably on kung fu master levels here. Ooooh, maybe the baby’ll come early and kick some airport ass too.”

“I think it’ll be more like she’ll kick your butt for not inviting me along to go torch the goat."

It was crazy, knowing that next Christmas, there would be a Baby Rye for Santa to visit. And that maybe, in the Christmases to come, there'd be a brood of Baby Boshaws too, ready to tear the tree down and hurl food at each other, giddy in their festive hysteria. She thought about sharing such a fanciful idea with him, and went to murmur a few sweet suggestions in his ruddy ear. Maybe they could make some new dreams tonight...

Sharky wasn’t listening though.

“Maybe we go Die Hard 2 instead… be in keeping with the ol’ time of year?”

“All the guys who break into the airport die in that movie, Shark.”

She sighed and stroked his cheek.

"I think, maybe, as much as it sucks, we just have to let this one go."

He went to open his mouth to protest or beg or maybe come out with another heist movie to take inspiration from, but the words seemed to fizzle away on the end of his tongue. He knew it was futile. She was right. His visions of making the headlines in every Swedish tabloid evaporated, his name destined not to be heralded by enthusiasts of the Gävlebocken legacy. His shoulders sagged and he seemed to want to disappear into his worn green sweatshirt, like a turtle burrowing back into its shell.

"Hey, y'know, who wants to go smoke the goat anyway, much better things to burn here. Seeds and shit."

He settled into moody, reflective, uncharacteristic silence and Mattie knew not to push the subject any further. And while searching her thoughts for a way to soothe his wounds and bring the hope and joy of the festive season back into his heart, she casually leaned over to the table and picked up his abandoned plane ticket, also slightly singed like everything else the man owned (what had happened this time, Mattie couldn’t even begin to guess). 

Her stomach dropped.

The rollercoaster was taking an unexpected plunge deeper into irony.

There it was, printed neatly under DESTINATION.

A final foil for the Sharknado that had sought to wreak havoc across the fjords of Scandinavia.

“Shark, babe…”

“Yeah?”

“The big ass goat is in Sweden, right? You know, next to Norway?”

“Home of the dancing queen an' the smorgasbord. Oooh, and the chef.” He proceeded to spit out a garbled string of vowels in poor imitation of the Swedish language.

Mattie sighed and for a moment, debated whether to just keep her mouth shut. To let his Christmas dreams, however shattered, maintain some form of dignity. But laughter pulled at the corners of her mouth, from the singsong Muppetry in her ear and the ridiculous error before her eyes and she just knew it would make him laugh too;

“... Shark, this ticket is for Switzerland.”

He gave her a little confused frown and she wrapped her arms around his neck, to press her forehead, and then her lips softly to his.

“God, I love you so much.”

He returned her kiss, sharing her warmth and the sweet taste of hot cocoa and a sprig of mint and melted marshmallow, running his hands through her wind-swept hair. They lost themselves in each other, forgetting the snow falling fast outside, and the bodies across the county buried deep amongst the icy grass, and the slowly fading tire tracks from their long journey home.

And wrapped in the comforting embrace of her best friend, Mattie’s imagination shone. 

A flame taking to the tinder, spreading until it burned so strongly, it could never be extinguished.

---------- 

"My extremities are getting real cold, chica, an' I'm too young to lose my junk t’ frostbite."

"Don't worry, you'll be warm soon enough."

"Heh heh, sounds like a party."

Mattie had led Sharky through the dark forestry, the trees naked and sparse like a threadbare patchwork blanket. They'd walked for some time, boots snapping the carpet of fallen branches and crunching in the deep snow and squeaking over patches of icy oil spills across the roads, until they'd reached a pasture south of the Henbane.

And now, in the early hours of the morning, he stood blindfolded, Mattie's hands protectively on his shoulders (although she'd been tempted to mischievously let him wander into a patch of shrubbery or two, but decided she didn't want to be pulling thorns and thistles out of his ass all night).

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

A few more steps, up a slight incline, the frozen grass snapping underfoot. 

“OK, you can look now.”

Sharky tore off the blindfold in childlike impatience and his eyes widened at the sight he beheld.

Before them, silhouetted by the amber light from surrounding torches and the staring full moon, stood a large wicker goat.

A Gävlebocken… well, a Hopebocken.

A warm earthy brown, as though the trees hadn’t perished weeks before, with bark flaking from it to make the fur seem shaggy, thick, truly like a majestic beast from the hills of Scandinavia, with fleece enough to shroud a Viking king. Horns magnificent upon its head, red and gold Christmas ribbons adorning them like Roman wreaths. His nose was round and his face was long and he stood watch upon the hill, noble, a guardian, a protector.

And at his feet were gathered the artists of this crudely fashioned idol. Nick and Kim, Hurk and Adelaide and Xander, Dutch and Jess, Jerome and Mary May, Virgil and Wade and Eli and Tammy and Merle… it seemed the whole county, faces beaming and hands willing, had stepped forward to play their part in Sharky's Christmas miracle.

Mattie watched Sharky take a stunned step forward.

"I wanted to surprise you." She whispered into his ear, taking his hand and giving it a little squeeze.

And there was that smile she loved so much. His eyes crinkled in the corners and a laugh catapulted itself from deep in his throat into the night air. It rose like a ball of light, and exploded into a thousand stars to light the county and every county beyond it.

"I… I…" He stammered, pupils dilated, entranced, and he turned back to face the love of his life, choking on the wonderment and the realisation of just what she had done for him. “I can…?”

“You bet.”

“And I ain’t gonna get arrested?”

“Like that’s bothered you before?” She grinned and watched as he jumped and whooped, punching the air. Overwhelmed with adrenaline. Crying her name to the heavens, unabashedly proclaiming how much he loved her and all who had come to give him this gift.

“Shark… Shark?”

His head spunt to gaze at her.

An almost breathless gasp escaped him.

And the look on his face made Mattie want to throw herself upon him and never let go.

In her outstretched arms, lay a new flamethrower, blue and purple disco graffiti emblazoned on the side, and a big red bow ornately tied along the neck. She carefully placed it in his hands, and he weighed it, mesmerized, feeling the perfect balance of the full canister of fuel, and the soon-to-be warmed steel. Tears bloomed in the corners of his as he grasped it. As he readied himself for the greatest bonfire of his life.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

She placed a careful kiss on his lips.

“Now… go toast that goat.”

[brainsdivided]

Shattered Hearts and Broken Dreams - Chapter 4

13 September 2293

The Colorado river flowing between the carved cliffs with Hoover Dam holding back Lake Mead was a sight to behold. The final frontier of Legion territory.

Despite Joshua’s unfortunate history with the Mojave region, he was thankful to be back. Ezekiel’s condition had quickly collapsed within the days it took to reach the Mojave.  No longer able to walk much anymore, the boy had to be carried most of the day. To help free his arms, Joshua made a makeshift harness that strapped the boy to his person. On his back, the boy suffered quietly from his illness.

Having approached a ferryman on the river, he handed him a few coins before they got to move across in the dead of night. As the raft slowly moved across the river, Joshua softly whispered to Ezekiel, "It isn't far from here anymore, son." Genuine concern about the boy's deteriorating health was visible in his voice. He reached behind him and clasped Ezekiel’s blistering hand in his own.

"It hurts so badly." He whispered, his energy so far gone that he could barely muster out a cry. Blood stained his clothes and his skin was discolored in patches of red and his skin seemed to radiate heat from the fever that was brewing.

Joshua nodded and turned his head to the side to look at Ezekiel, "I know, son. I will do whatever I can to help save you. The clinic is less than a day from here and surely they will be able to help you, God willing." Despite the bandages covering it, Ezekiel could tell that the face was one of desperation.

Weak and exhausted, Ezekiel’s speech began to slur, “Those stories… the ones from your book and your teachings… God led me to you, right? That makes you my blessing. Remember when I said that uh...." He thought out, trying to string together his words so that they didn't come out botched, "You bein' my blessing and helping me, you'll have your answer? Maybe you'll get something out of this, as God intended, right?"

"I already got all I need out of this, Ezekiel. The only thing that matters from here on out is that you get to live to see another day." Joshua acknowledged that Ezekiel had become more willing to listen to Joshua’s teachings. Though he tended to mix up information and wasn’t entirely able to retain some lessons, he knew that the fear the boy felt was valid. The lessons were a way the pair could feel a little more comfortable should the boy not survive the trip. 

Ezekiel smiled weakly and sighed, resting his head on Joshua’s shoulder. “I’m not ready to die.”

"You won't die, don't forget about that. As long as you have hope and the Lord on your side you will survive.”

The boy’s optimism was dwindling, and he couldn't think of much else to say. He could only think of the things he used to do when he lived in Goodsprings. He merely mumbled out in his feverish state, "You're the greatest godfather an orphan could have."

Joshua gave the boy a pat on the head and leaned the side of his head against Ezekiel’s. Some strands of Ezekiel’s hair had begun to dull and cling to Joshua’s hand.

The balding and blistering scalp was gently groomed by Joshua, who did his best to comfort and soothe the child until they arrived at the other end of the river.

When the raft reached the other side of the river, the older man exited the raft and continued to walk up the banks and into the Mojave.

Ezekiel hesitantly picked up his head and stretched his arms. He gazed at the distant neon lights of New Vegas brandishing themselves against the night sky. He knew he was so close to sanctuary but it felt so far, as death lingered around him.

Coughing and sputtering could be heard from the boy, nothing unusual. Ezekiel's stomach pooled blood and he refused food and water now too sick to eat or drink. As he spit up blood, his body blistered from the terrible combination of radiation and whatever other diseases he might’ve picked up. Every now and then he'd pick up his head only enough to spit off to the side of Joshua. Even still, he’d occasionally make a mess of himself and Joshua’s vest.

Joshua knew there was very little he could do. Whenever Ezekiel fell ill, he’d do what he could to comfort him. Very soon, this would all be over... one way or another.

After wiping his mouth on his arm, Ezekiel’s voice grew raspy "I know it's obvious but man... I feel like I look like shit. And feel like it."

"Don't give up yet. The clinic is not too far. Just try to rest for now."

"Josh, the day I give up is when you give up on me. You're all I have left." His little voice croaked from behind.

"And I won't give up on you." Joshua looked straight ahead and sighed. "We're coming by Camp Golf soon."

It was often difficult for Ezekiel to breath. They come out raspy and strained, "I feel so tired, but I can't fall asleep. What if I don't wake up?"

"You will wake up. Just sleep. The doctor will know what to do, son."

There was a bit of silence before he whispered, "Have you ever seen someone die right in front of you? How do you think they felt?"

"Of course I have. I could see what they felt in their eyes. Regret. Every time it was just that, regret. And some... some pleading to know the answer to the one question they always ask... why?" Joshua looked down and sighed

"Should I feel regret? Should I feel the need to know why? I don't feel those, but I feel grateful and scared. Also a lot of pain, but otherwise alright."

"Everyone I saw die was in battle, son... you won't die that way. I will make sure of it."

"I just don't know what to expect to feel if the implant doesn't work. When do I know when I should stay close to you even when the doctors tell me not to move?"

"It will work. I promise. And I will always stay close to you."

Ezekiel smiled until his head felt fuzzy. When part of his body drooped in Joshua’s arms and went limp, he raised his voice in alarm, "Joshua? My arm and leg… I feel numb.”

"You’re having some sort of seizure, like the doctor said. It will be okay. I promise."

The static within his limbs subsided within minutes, but it left a twisting pain in Ezekiel’s limbs. He groaned in pain.

"We will be there, soon. For now, I will be on the lookout for chems to help ease your suffering... I am sorry, son." Joshua hurried up.

The pain in Ezekiel’s body spread to his chest and head and he sobbed softly. His cries were weak and his lips quivered.

Joshua pushed on as much as it hurt him to allow this boy to suffer. Still, he tried talking. "You know, in my tribe, in my home, we used to say that of all people, those who face their challenges and work through them end up being the happiest and become better people. I believe in it and I know you will turn out well when you grow up."

"I'm gonna kick the Legion's ass for this.” 

"See? That's the kind of motivation I want to hear! You're not letting radiation kick your ass, you have shit to do!" 

Ezekiel’s hazy eyes widened with shock and he smiled. 

Not too far ahead a campfire flickered with figures walking around nearby. Joshua knelt down onto the ground and removed the harness, setting Ezekiel onto the cool pavement. As Joshua promised that he’ll be right back, he wrapped a blanket around the boy to keep him warm.

Ezekiel watched his guardian walk up to the figures with ease. He could hear Joshua speak, too quietly to understand what was being said though.

The talking turned into arguing. Arguing turned into shouting. Shouting turned into a man drawing his firearm. The man, the only one of the four properly visible, was wearing makeshift armor made from gecko pelts. Raiders. It had to be.

The boy's heart rate quickened and he fumbled with his own pistol as he cried out for his uncle. 

Joshua raised his hand to tell the boy to quiet down as the man slowly walked closer to him. "He the one who has the caps? In that case.. I don't need you anymore." The gun was raised and pressed to Joshua's head. In one swift motion Joshua moved aside, aimed the gun at one of the men's comrades and forced it to fire, knocking the man over and the gun from the other's hand, allowing Joshua to pull out his own and start blasting. In mere moments he turned the one that had just threatened him into paste. A moment later, the two behind that one were shot as well. Four bodies were on the floor with two shots each. When the deed was finished, Joshua made his way back to Ezekiel picked him up, carrying him to the campfire. 

"You were right, the NCR doesn't take care of their land. Are you hurt, though? I saw them put a gun to your head." Ezekiel checked over Joshua's bandages to be sure.

"I'm okay. I've killed men much more competent than these rookies. Let's see if they have any med-x to help you. They are often on chems."

While Joshua searched the bodies and duffel bags for medicine, Ezekiel clung onto his guardian. "I have to worry about you."

"No, you really don't. I just-" Joshua froze in place, pulled out his pistol and shot behind him. One of the bodies' heads splattered open. "One was still alive."

Ezekiel stared in awe. "You really don't leave any survivors. I thought I had seen something. I could've shot it" he pouted. He drew out his own gun, determined to fire again at an enemy before Joshua does.

"Put the gun away. You can't shoot in this condition."

"But I have to protect you too. You've done so much for me"

"I can take care of myself, son."

"No one should worry about their own survival when you have someone else and yourself to care for. I have to care for you too." He looked at him with determination in his eyes as he holstered his gun and rested his chin on the vest.

Joshua gave his head a gentle rub for a few minutes, then he continued looking for items to use. Shuffling through a bag resulting in some much needed success as a couple med-x syringes fell out onto the ground. “Alright… The pain will be gone for a while."

Ezekiel perked his head up. With the adrenaline from the encounter wearing off, the burning pain in his body began to flare. He braced himself for the needle.

Joshua set the boy down on the ground between his legs and prepped Ezekiel’s arm. With one quick plunge, the needle was pushed into his frail arm, releasing the strong pain killer.

He sighed in relief as the pain melted away and he glanced over at Joshua and gestured to the city. "Bet you never thought you had to feel like the city of sin would be our holy grail, huh?"

"Oh shut it, you." Ezekiel could hear Joshua laugh a little.

Ezekiel smiled and gave a lighthearted laugh as he tried to stand on his own. Using his guardian as support, his knees were wobbly and his stance was poor. "Oh, you liked that joke?”

Joshua smiled and picked Ezekiel up, holding him close to his chest. The change would give the older man’s back a break and it gave the sick boy a greater sense of comfort, provided they didn’t run into any more danger. 

Resting his head against Joshua’s neck, Ezekiel inquired softly, "Will they ask if you're a ghoul, too?"

"Of course they will. And I'll tell them what they want to hear. The NCR would kill me if they knew who I am, and who I was. Caesar's Legion would do the same."

"Maybe they wouldn't kill you if they knew you were playing caregiver to the Courier's kid."

"They don't care about the Courier. He was merely a tool for them to get where they need to get. This world... it is not as nice as you may think, boy."

Ezekiel looked at him with confusion. Such a naive child thought the world of his father and thought that the Mojave loved his father for all of his deeds. "But... What did he tell you about himself? About the things he did?”

"Oh, he did those things. But you need to understand one thing: here in the wasteland and out there in Shady Sands, none of it matters. They are just out to get what they want and they will walk over corpses for it. They are the other side of the coin of civilization, the corruption of man personified. It matters not what you do, they will take what they need and leave you to the crows."

"Maybe some people would care though..." Ezekiel looked sorrowful at the thought of his father's work being taken advantage of and taken for granted.

"There are good people, yes, but you still cannot trust them. Behind a facade of gold the devil may hide. It takes a long time to see the true nature of a man, the soul reveals itself only when you are dying or when you are free to kill others."

Ezekiel contemplated the cryptic words and tried his best to make sense of them in his own mind. He nodded as though he fully understood but Joshua knew that he was too young to truly understand. 

Joshua held the boy close to him, his determination to repay the courier who helped him long ago drove him to walk through the night. Ezekiel drifted off to sleep in his arms and Joshua silently prayed that they wouldn’t run into any more trouble. For he didn’t know how much longer the young boy could hold onto life. Every day it seemed like Ezekiel was getting worse. Every day as Joshua watched Ezekiel grow weaker and lose more of what made him human hurt him. Never before had Joshua experienced being so close to a child in a way that made him feel like he had been missing out on something his whole life. He tried to shoo the feeling away, knowing this is no time to become attached. If Ezekiel dies, he thought to himself, he believed that he would see the world a bit differently. Tonight, Joshua pushed through the soreness in his body to continue without rest if it meant that Ezekiel had a higher chance of living. Tonight, he promised he’d continue to repay his debt.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Tell Me More

Pairing: Mark Tuan x reader

Genre: fluff with a bit of angst

Warnings: none

A/N: Happy Easter everyone! I came up with this idea randomly one night before sleep. I really love bunnies and frogs so I felt like Easter was the best time to share this idea! I really hope you enjoy this.

Word count: 3686

This is part of a mini-collab, An Easter Collab To Dye For. From Good Friday until Easter Monday @this-song-thats-only-for-you and I will be sharing two stories each. Please check out tomorrow for the final story!

“Read us another story, Aunt Y/N!”

Looking around yourself, you smiled at the twins in bed beside you and then held up your empty hands. “There’s no more fairytales to read, guys. I think it’s time for bed.”

“Nooooo!” your nephew cried, and your niece shook her head adamantly. “There’s got to be another story you could tell us!”

“Yeah, can’t you tell us a story, Aunt Y/N?!” your niece chimed in with her brother and you stared at them both before letting a smile cross your lips.

“There’s one story I could tell you. But you mustn’t tell another soul about it, okay?”

Their little heads bobbed up and down energetically as you leaned in closer. “Once upon a time-”

“It’s a fairytale!” your niece shrieked, clapping her hand together. You gave her a warning look and she covered her mouth dramatically, a muffled sorry soon slipping through her chubby fingers.

“Once upon a time, there was a hard-working bunny. She wasn’t the best bunny in the fields. She wasn’t very pretty nor was she slim. But she definitely was productive. She was so good at collecting forage for her colony that she would work very hard day and night for the best produce.”

“She was a good bunny!” your nephew stated and you nodded your head at him.

“Of course, she was very kind and wanted to help all those around her live their best lives. But no one really thanked the bunny. She would work day in and out, and she would work long hours too. When the other bunnies were socialising, she would make lists of how to become more productive in her way of work.”

“She sounds a lot like you, Aunt Y/N.” You looked at your niece and merely smiled.

“Because this bunny liked to do things right, she wasn’t always aware of what the colony was doing. And so when the colony decided to move on without her one day when she was collecting the best carrots, they didn’t even think about her. When she returned home, there was no one left and all the food she had worked hard to collect was gone.”

Their little gasps filled the room and with eyes wide, the children leaned in, hoping for good news.

“Did the bunny cry?”

“Did she find her family again?”

“Oh no, the poor bunny was alone.”

You held up a hand and continued. “The bunny did cry. She didn’t understand why everyone had forgotten about her. She had worked so hard, and not even a thank you was ever said to her. She realised that she hadn’t been respected by the other bunnies. This was her fault too, she was so busy working that she didn’t stop to get to know the others. The bunny didn’t know what to do and for the first time in years, she stopped working. She just sat in the field, unsure of what to do next. She was clever, but the other bunnies were too far gone and she would never catch up to them even if she tried. And then one day, she met a frog.”

“A frog?!” they chorused and you nodded generously.

“He had seen how sad the bunny had been and wondered why. At first, the bunny didn’t want to tell him anything.”

“But why not?” your niece asked curiously.

You raised an index finger and smiled. “He was a stranger! She didn’t know whether she could even trust a frog. Over the next few days though, the frog came by the entrance to her burrow and left her a carrot. And that was really hard for him to do, considering he had slippery hands and a carrot wasn’t the easiest of things to pull from the ground. Yet the frog did so every day.”

“Was he a frog prince?” your nephew asked and your smile grew wider.

“To the bunny, he became her everything.” The kids swooned and rolled around in the bed giddily. You playfully took a hold of both the kids and then winked at them. “Do you want to know more about the bunny and the frog?”

“YES!”

“Well, you need to get in this bed and go to sleep. Tomorrow, whilst we bake some Easter cookies to surprise your parents with, I’ll tell you more of the story. Deal?”

“Deal!”

The children both plucked themselves out of your arms after kissing your cheek and laid down in the bed, closing their eyes immediately. You smiled as you wished them a good night and turned out the light as you shut over the door.

And across from the bedroom was your husband Mark, leaning against the wall with a smile playing on his lips. “Really? I’m a frog?”

“It suited the storyline,” you told him, running an affectionate hand across his stomach before walking back into your living area, slumping down on the sofa tiredly. You loved those twins dearly, and even though you felt ready for a child of your own, you sure weren’t prepared for having the two children around for an entire weekend.

“You got something wrong,” Mark told you as he sat down beside you and you instinctively moved towards him, nestling into his side as you tucked your legs up onto the sofa. “The bunny I know was always beautiful. That’s why the frog fell in love with her.”

“I’m squishy,” you pointed out and Mark even poked your belly gently.

“I like you that way. I’m too skinny.”

“I don’t mind that you are,” you replied and shared a smile with him before placing your head over his chest, closing your eyes.

“Don’t go to sleep just yet, I want to hear more of this story.”

“Can’t you wait until tomorrow?” you asked with a yawn and felt Mark prod you again. You sat up again. “Really?”

“I want to know what happens next.”

“You already know.” Mark shot you a dramatic pout and you groaned loudly. “You’re almost as bad as those kids in there with their charms. Fine, I’ll continue the story.”

You stopped in the doorway of your apartment, the exhaustion from studying and working all night long evaporating when you noticed how bare everything looked. The green sofa that normally sat right in front of you was missing, only the darkened patch of carpet and imprints of where the legs had pressed in remained behind to show furniture had sat there for some time. Your eyes slowly swept around the room, finding several other items all missing from their places. Your legs felt as if they would give way, yet they managed to carry you into your sister’s bedroom, finding it completely vacant.

“No,” you breathed, your mood now desperate as you took off around the rest of the apartment, soon screaming that same word over and over until you dropped to your knees in front of where the coffee table once resided.

You were all alone and had never seen this coming. Truthfully, you had been too transfixed on your work and studies that the signs of your sister and her boyfriend moving on without you had gone unnoticed, much like you had within their plans.

What was worse was they had taken a lot of your things with them. You had bought that television when she had protested that she was bored when she had been fired from yet another job. And you had purchased the sofa as well when you very first took on the place from the little old lady who was moving out. It had been in this apartment longer than both of you had and now it was gone.

You didn’t know what to do anymore.

For days, you slept, cried and barely ate. You had screamed when you found your hidden savings stolen, and you had raged into the voice message of a phone that you knew your sister would never answer again. She had always lived her life thinking of herself at the forefront, and of you as the second mother she relied on when she followed you from home to the big city. You had always been her security net and you knew it. But it hurt too much all the same. Couldn’t she have told you she was moving on? Let you know that the rent money she owed you would be paid in the very least before going? Asked if you wanted to come along too? You were used to looking after yourself, but you weren’t so capable of living alone. Soon, you missed the sounds of her laughter that used to go on all night long when you were trying to study. You longed for someone to share a meal with you. You even missed arguing with her over doing chores around the house.

It was too quiet.

By the start of the new week, you had managed to leave the house. You needed to get back to work, back to your studies, back to, well, life. It felt daunting to step out of your front door that first time, even more so when you were met with a new face.

He smiled cheerfully and lifted a hand at you. “Hi, I’m Mark your new neighbour. I was hoping I would bump into you soon.”

You merely stared at him before walking off again.

Yet Mark didn’t give up. Every time you bumped into each other, he would attempt to make conversation, even when you weren’t very forthcoming with your own. You could see he was struggling with being so vocal, the frequent awkward rubs to the back of his head sometimes made you wonder if he was creating a bald patch there. And yet, you were broken goods. You didn’t need a cheerful neighbour. You didn’t need to chat on a surface level with some stranger, who had no idea that you were barely struggling to function each day in and out. You were exhausted. Tired from living all these years supporting your rotten sister, and then her boyfriend, and now just yourself. You couldn’t lend precious energy to Mark your new neighbour.

When he started bringing your mail to your door, you had a bit of a problem with that, storming over the hallway and banging on his roughly. “Oh, hey Y/N, right? That is your name?”

“Please don’t touch my things.”

“Your mail?” he mentioned softly and rubbed his head for the umpteenth time in your company. “Well sure, but it was spilling onto the floor and I didn’t want you to miss anything important so-”

“I’m already struggling enough, I don’t need this,” you cut in, nodding curtly before returning back to your apartment quickly.

The next evening you returned home to find a small crock pot sitting against your door. You picked it up and read the note on top of it. “I made too much and didn’t want it to go to waste. Maybe this will help you a little. If not, I’ll not do it again.”

It smelt divine and you hadn’t eaten all day, your survival needs taking over from your usual standoffish ways with Mark, that you took the pot into your house and went to heat it up a little on the stovetop. When you sat down to eat, you smiled, he had been so kind to give you this. Taking your first bite though, you retreated away from the meal; aghast that something that smelt that good could taste that bad.

You laughed then. You laughed so hard that it even brought tears to your eyes. It was the first time you had found yourself experiencing a pleasant emotion in the past few weeks of being alone. And despite the awful taste, you managed to eat everything, washing the pot off completely and leaving it outside Mark’s door with a simple thank you note.

His meal warmed you up.

Because you ate the first meal, another was there for you a couple of days later. It was just as bad and yet it made you happy to eat Mark’s food. By the fourth time, however, you needed to let him know how bad it was despite your gratitude towards his efforts.

You knew now that this was his way of checking that you were okay.

He opened the door to his apartment and then stepped back, a little hesitant from when you had last knocked on his door. But still, he smiled. “Oh hey, Y/N.”

“Can I be honest?” you wondered, holding out the pot you had just freshly washed to bring back to him. He nodded and you smiled. “You’re a terrible cook.”

He blinked a few times and then grinned. “Well, I kind of only just learned how to cook.”

“When?” you asked and Mark rubbed his head again. You couldn’t help but reach over and stop him from doing so. He seemed surprised by your reaction, and you were as well, quickly retreating your hand away. “Sorry, it’s just… you do that so often and I am worried you’ll lose hair.”

“So you do worry about others,” he stated and chuckled. You frowned at his statement and he leaned in a little close to you. “I thought you hated people or something.”

“No, I was … just in a bad place,” you worded carefully, not wanting to unload your baggage on someone who had been so generous towards you so far. “I’m sorry if you ended up seeing a pretty negative side to me.”

“I mean, that side of you did help me out. I learned how to cook because of it.”

Your eyes widened. “You started to cook because of me?”

“I was kind of worried you weren’t eating with how low in energy you were, I know it’s not my place to even be concerned about you since we’re strangers and all but-”

“Thank you,” you managed to say, blinking back your emotions. “Your meals, as bitter or as spicy as they’ve been, made me feel human again. I’ve really appreciated it.”

Mark’s face lit up as if he had been given the ultimate compliment. And perhaps you had given him something special. He stepped aside and welcomed you inside off his doorstep. “Maybe you could teach me how to improve my meals? I have this cookbook that I found online but it’s not very clear on measurements.”

You followed him over to the laptop on his desk, trying not to be nosy and take in his belongings too much. Your gaze moved to a recipe he had up in a browser and Mark shifted aside so you could read it. You giggled when you realised what the problem was. “Mark, these standards aren’t the same as we use here in this country. Some places overseas have different metric units and ways of calculating measurements.”

“Oh man, so that’s why it didn’t always make sense.”

You smiled at him warmly. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow night? I’ll cook you something to say thank you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose on you or anything.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

Though when you returned to your apartment soon after wishing him a good night, you realised your home wasn’t visitor-ready. You hadn’t really cleaned up from since your sister left, and well, there were huge gaping holes from where your belongings ought to have been. You were thankful that the next day was your only day off this week, but even so, it wasn’t enough time to make the house look improved. You decided that you were grateful that your sister hadn’t seen any need for the table and chairs so you actually had one spot to entertain Mark in.

When he arrived, he didn’t say a thing about the emptiness of your apartment. Instead, he was eager to learn from you in the kitchen and you were both laughing and having a good time together making the food. Once served up at the table, you sat down across from him and chewed at your bottom lip lightly. “I hope it’s good.”

“It’ll be a hundred times better than what I created,” he replied and took a mouthful, moaning with appreciation. “A thousand times better.”

“You helped make this so don’t be so hard on yourself. With the right instructions, you’ll be just as good as I am in the kitchen.”

“Do you like cooking?” he asked after a couple more mouthfuls and you shook your head. “Really?”

“I just always had to do it. I guess you get good at something with repetition. My sister never knew how to cook or wanted to learn, so I would have to so I knew she ate properly at least once a day.”

Mark was silent for a moment and then glanced around your home. “Is your sister the reason things got hard?”

You hadn’t wanted to load your neighbour up with your problems. It was meant to be a thank you meal, after all. Yet you spilled the whole ordeal. You told Mark about how your parents had begged you to take in your baby sister, and you had grown accustomed to caring for her. You mentioned how you had worked and studied so much that you weren’t home enough to really know what your sister was doing. And then you informed him of what you had come home to that fateful day. Before you knew it, you had tears in your eyes and you wiped them away hastily. “Silly, isn’t it. I should have just gotten back up and carried on like I always do.”

Mark shook his head. “What were you working towards?”

“What do you mean?”

“This whole time you’ve been here, what was your goal?” he asked and you merely stared back at him, the answer not forming. He smiled sadly. “You were so busy living for everyone else, you lost sight of yourself.”

“Well I mean, I just had to.”

“No, you didn’t. You had goals at one point in life or else you wouldn’t have moved away from home, am I right?”

You nodded, vaguely remembering your excitement of finally moving to the city as a freshly graduated eighteen year old. Yet you failed to remember what your younger self was eager about back then. You certainly didn’t find joy in your current regime.

“You don’t need to have someone rely on you to be of worth, Y/N. You lost yourself because you fell into a routine of living for your sister.”

“I guess you’re right,” you murmured, the ache within your chest growing immeasurably. You started to mourn for the lost youth and years you had wasted living for making ends meet so you could keep your sister housed and fed. You hadn’t once given a thought to yourself during that time, apart from how to carry on to get to the point in life where things would get better.

You realised now that you were alone, you were finally at that point. Smiling over at Mark, he reached out for your hand and gave it a small squeeze. “Time to live for yourself and what you want, right?”

“Right.”

“So the frog helped the bunny realise she didn’t need to collect things for others every day. Though it was a pretty hard habit to change. But it was okay because she had the help of the frog when she got lost along the way. Slowly, she learned what she was really good at and soon she got a different job. She found activities to do during her free time, and she often invited the frog along with her.”

“Like on a date?!” your nephew asked and you smiled, nodding once. “Did the frog and the bunny fall in love?!”

“Of course they did,” Mark’s voice interrupted the story you were telling as you helped the children frost the cookies. You looked up at him and smiled warmly. “Though the frog had always loved the bunny. He knew she was very special from the first time he saw her.”

“Even though she looked like a mess from all her crying,” you added on and Mark shook his head.

“A beautiful mess.”

“That he helped make feel better. And so, the bunny who had always dreamed of one day marrying another bunny and living with all the other bunnies, working day in and out, fell in love with a frog instead. And they lived a different life. Both doing their own things some times and then doing everything else together,” you told the children and Mark leaned down to bop your niece on her nose playfully.

“And they got married and rumour has it that they’re living happily ever after right now.”

“But you never know what might happen in the future,” you warned lightly and your husband grinned, shrugging lightly.

“In the future, the bunny and frog will still be living happily ever after too. With their own little family that they made together.”

The children squealed with delight at the ending of the story and you tried to blink away your tears. Mark brushed his lips against the side of your head before lowering his mouth to your ear. “I love you, my bunny.”

The knock at the door interrupted anything further about the story and Mark went to let Jackson inside. The twins ran to hug their father. “My babies! Did you have a good time staying with Uncle Mark and Aunt Y/N?”

“We did! We just baked cookies!”

“In the shapes of frogs and bunnies!” your niece pointed out and you shared another smile with your husband. “Can we stay again soon?!”

“Yeah, we want to hear more of Aunt Y/N’s stories!”

“I don’t know if I have many stories left,” you chuckled and hugged the children tenderly. “You took the best one out of me! But maybe Uncle Mark will tell you his own story.”

Mark grinned and ushered the twins close. “I happen to know this pretty awesome frog who might have something to tell you all about next time.”

_________________

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[olivay-official]

Red: The Untold Story of a Reluctant Hero

Synopsis: This is the story of Red, a normal college student with superpowers, though her friends call her Jay... and none of them know about the whole superpower thing. Sarcastic, chronically sleep-deprived, and always hungry she's the happy in-between of Deadpool and Spiderman that you never knew you needed!

Prologue: Oliver

I can say with confidence that one of the best and worst things to happen to me happened all in the same night. It's funny how something horrible can lead you to something… amazing.

It was the night I had met her. Our city’s own local superhero. Well, I guess superhero was kind of a stretch. No one really knew much about her and the media couldn’t figure out what to call her. She had a variety of names most of which seemed to pick out the color she always wore: Red. She was called a vigilante by some, a menace by others, it really depended on who you asked. The media often chose to report on her fashion choices rather than the actual criminals she helped put away. Her costume did, however, lack a certain flare you might find in a comic book or movie. She most often wore something you’d go to the gym in, though the colors were always consistent. There was only one resource of decent coverage on the superhero/vigilante, a blog called ‘The Red Underground’. It was the only real resource I had to go off of for what went on in the city. It exposed a lot of real stuff going on that the news hardly ever talked about including the Bone Crew, a nasty gang that the cops and media would rather pretend didn’t exist.

It was all of this that had led me to her.

I had been looking at colleges. It wasn’t so much that I even needed to go to college. My father already had a job lined up for me and I was more than capable of doing whatever I damn well pleased without taking the extra four years. But college to me had always been more about independence. A way to get out from my father’s overbearing thumb. I mean the guy meant well but there comes a time when a kid needs to get his own life and mine had been seriously lacking in the last 18 years. So I snuck out to visit a local college on the other side of town. I had even called and set up a damn tour for myself. 

The school itself wasn’t exceptionally impressive but the location was nice, close enough to home that my dad wouldn’t completely freak and far enough that I would need to get my own place. It was practically a dream come true.

The sun had gone down by the time I finally headed back home. In an effort to enjoy my newfound freedom I decided to walk home. I had hardly made it off campus when I noticed two men following me which wouldn’t have been alarming except for the fact that both men had skulls tattooed to their face. One man was completely bald the details of the skull printed across the shiny skin. The other had a notable crew cut with a strong fade- probably to show off the markings on the side of his skull. I could feel my heartbeat pick up and my palms begin to sweat. Not that I was particularly afraid of them but clearly their proximity wasn’t a good thing. I picked up my pace and noticed the immediate increase in their own. There wasn’t any doubt in my mind that they were following me. In an attempt to lose them I began taking quick turns onto streets I didn’t know very well- not my best move… I ended up making a poorly chosen turn into a dark alleyway. Turning quickly on my heel I ran straight into the two thugs blocking the entrance. I backed up slowly body tensing as it recalculated my fight or flight instinct. The two men smiled wickedly at me sharing a knowing look before pouncing into action. Their moves felt choreographed, the two moving in perfect sync both grabbing a shoulder and shoving me into the concrete wall. I grunted as my back slammed hard against the surface of the building.

“Now pretty boy why don’t you tell us where you keep your wallet?” The bald one hissed as he gripped the front of my shirt tighter. I felt the situation was a no brainer- give them the cash, what did an empty bank account matter when a cut throat was on the line?

“Right back pocket,” I answered dutifully. The bald man smiled as he reached his hand back to slide the leather wallet from my pocket. The man flipped it open greedily with the one hand.

“You got your cash, mind if I have some fun with this one?” Crew cut asked his partner all the while keeping his eyes steadily trained on me a dark glint in them making me swallow hard.

“Do what you want with him, not my type anyways,” Bald boy snickered. My eyes widened at his words, suddenly I didn’t think my cash was all they wanted… Crew cut pressed close to me a sinister grin playing on his lips. He slid something from his pocket and with a flip of his hand a blade was pressed to my throat.

“Try to fight me and I’ll slit your throat,” He cooed moving close to my ear. I could feel his other hand moving down my body. I was in a word: petrified. It’s never talked about, either because it doesn’t happen as often or because the victims are too afraid to admit what happened to them, I idly wondered if I would fall into this same category. After all it was either suffer the traumatic event and its lasting effects or lose my life. There was only one way to find out and I was quickly barreling towards one of the two options. I squeezed my eyes shut as if that could block out the horrors of what was to come.

“I have to admit, he does have a nice face but I don’t think that’s a good enough reason to excuse rape,” A girl’s voice sounded boisterously from above. I opened my eyes to find a small girl sitting on the lowest rung of the fire escape across from us. Her dainty feet dangled over the side as she surveyed the scene. Both men stood frozen staring angry daggers her way. My mouth hung open. This is the vigilante?! The girl was so much smaller than I had imagined. She looked to be about half my size maybe less. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail and her clothes were tattered and stained with blood. Bruises speckled her skin even dotting her pretty round face. She grinned down at the men as she awaited their answer.

“Get out of here little girl before someone gets hurt, and believe me you don’t want that someone to be you,” Bald boy quipped.

“Let me just tell you how this is going to go, I’m going to kick your ass first because well that knife just has to go, and then I’m going to kick your ass while your rapey friend over here watches. And if you two are really lucky you’ll stay conscious through the whole ass kicking ordeal. Hell, I’ll even throw in a pretty black eye while I’m at it!” The girl taunted as she wistfully kicked her feet back and forth. She approached the entire situation more like it was a nice evening stroll with friends than a gang’s mugging and violation of humanity. The two men looked at each other with bewildered looks on their face before turning to the questionable hero with a snarl.

“I think what you need to do is shut-” Crew cut had turned his knife towards the girl but before he could finish his reply the girl had swung off the handle bars flying feet first through the small space. Her feet collided with the mans face knocking him into the concrete next to me with a sickening crack. The knife clattered to the ground. Her feet pushed off his skull and she flipped gracefully backward onto the ground in front of me. She gave me a wink before swiveling towards her next opponent already poised for his attack. He charged her, arms extended as if he were going to take her out by the legs. At the last second, she side stepped his move her hand bolting out to take Bald boy by his neck. Using his momentum against him she sent him headfirst into the concrete wall following his friend’s path on the collapse down. She dusted her hands off placing them on her hips and clicking her tongue.

“I so wish the two of you had stayed conscious long enough to see how pathetic you look,” She sighed before pulling a handful of zip ties from her pocket. I watched as she dragged the two bodies to a storm drain and promptly tied their hands, multiple times, to the railing. Finally turning back to me she smiled apologetically. She strolled over to me and picked my wallet up off the ground.

“I believe this is yours.” She offered me the worn leather wallet. I nodded and hesitantly took it from her. Her hands went back to rest on her hips as she regarded my state. Her eyes were striking, a bright gray I had never seen someone wear before, thickly rimmed with dark lashes.

“Any chance you know where the nearest phone booth is? I gotta call this in.” I blinked in surprise at her words- she was going to take care of everything for me- no statement from me whatsoever, and no chance my dad found out about this or anyone else for that matter (so maybe it really was that men were afraid to talk about being the victim). My previous assumption of her size had been correct, the girl stood nearly a foot shorter than me, and though fit verged on the thin side but that didn’t stop her from single-handedly kicking two guy’s asses as if it were nothing.

“I- I don’t,” I stammered out. The girl frowned a beautiful pair of full lips. Before I could stop myself I found my eyes surveying her. A colorful patch of purple marks about the size of a fist decorated her stomach, a few fading scrapes appeared along her chin and arms. She smirked as she observed where my gaze had gone.

“The rumors aren’t true,” She told me.

“Huh?” My face suddenly felt hot as I met her piercing gaze once more.

“I don’t starve myself, I just have a killer workout routine,” She chuckled and to my surprise I found myself releasing a nervous laugh alongside her. She nodded towards the alley’s opening.

“Try not to run into any more trouble on your way home,” She ordered me. I nodded following her instructions to the mouth of the alley. Before I could completely leave though I turned back around to face her.

“Hey-” I called voice uneven. Her head looked up from the crooks she had saved me from. “Thank you- for saving me,” I finished awkwardly. The girl grinned as she looked at me.

“It’s just what I do,” She said with a shrug but the smile didn’t leave her face. I found myself smiling as well.

It was then that I decided I would do anything I could to help her.

She was a hero.

Chapter 1: Red

Some might say I’m a superhero. Me? I prefer local badass but superhero is good too. And I guess I kind of was a superhero. I wore a mask and stopped crime. Hell, I could do things that shouldn’t be possible.

Yeah screw it I’m totally a superhero.

“Earth to Red, are you in there?” My tech whiz of a sidekick shouted in my ear.

“Yeah yeah I hear you,” I grumbled. He normally only communicated to me through an earpiece. He handled the details of crime-fighting so I wouldn’t have to. Don’t get me wrong the guy could kick some serious ass if he wanted to but it was a rare occasion for him to ever need to.

“Kind of a slow night,” Napster noted.

“Yeah it's boring-” I froze, body tensing as I heard a scream. Finally something good! I ran towards the sound. They were easy to find only two buildings over from the rooftop I had been perched on. A woman fought for her bag from a kid with a green mohawk. I smiled, it was almost too easy. Silently I slid down the drainpipe on the side of the building. On the ground lay your usual alleyway muck and trash. I opted for a sturdy glass bottle. Giving it a light toss it hit its target. Upon impact with his head, the boy let go of the bag and the woman took off running. The boy turned to me growling.

“Sorry man but that purse just totally clashed with that outfit,” I said leaning casually against the brick wall of the building.

The boy glowered at me and without a word his entire left arm morphed into a crystalized blade nearly the length of his body.

“Well, that’s… new,” I said trying to keep my mouth from hanging open.

“Holy shit!!”Napster shouted. Not helpful.

Blade boy came at me fast.

“You know just because you can give yourself a haircut,” I said ducking under his arm as he swung at me, “doesn’t mean that you should!”

The boy bared his teeth and took another literal stab at me. I jumped over his attack plowing my feet into his face and kicking off him. The force knocked him on his back as I did a backflip onto my feet.

“Uh, Red we might have a problem,” I heard Napster in my ear. I groaned in response.

Blade boy snarled as he scrambled to his feet. I scooped up a bent lead pipe off the ground. Taking my own swing this time I went for the arm and his galdamn arm cut through the pipe! He grinned at me. I did not care for that.

“The girl with the purse was working with him, they robbed a jewelry store two blocks over, the purse was full of the loot,” Napster told me.

“WHAT?!” I practically screeched. Distracted I didn’t move fast enough when Sparkles swung at me. A shallow slice split across my stomach.

“Ah!! Fuck- it must be a bitch to wipe with that thing!” I shouted. He sneered.

“Classy,” Napster commented.

“I’m busy can you just handle this?” I asked annoyed. In response, I heard Napster’s bike rev into the earpiece. Blade boy gave me a confused look.

“Voices in my head, they just demand to be heard,” I quipped with a shrug. The boy scowled.

“Don’t you ever hear voices?” I asked as I came at him swinging. He dodged easily and I nearly lost my hand when he came up to block my next punch.

“Fine don’t talk, I like the strong silent type anyways!” I took a couple of steps back and came at him running. He went for the attack but my target was lower. I let my body fall sliding clear under his crystalized blade and through his legs to the other side. I jumped to my feet running up the side of the brick wall to the top of the dumpster. One foot touching down I quickly pushed off crotch slamming into the side of his face as I used my forward momentum to twist and flip him onto his back. Disoriented, I took a moment to punch him in the face… hard.

The blade receded back into a human-looking arm as he fell unconscious.

“Strong silent type huh?” Napster chuckled as he appeared in the alley-way dragging the struggling woman behind him by her handcuffs.

“Better than street-naive tech geek. What the hell are you doing?” I asked eyeing the still very aware girl next to him.

“Well it seemed a little extreme to knock her out,” Napster snorted. Without hesitation, I punched the girl straight in the nose and she went limp, Napster caught her giving me an incredulous look.

“What, don’t tell me you’re afraid to hit a girl in this line of business. Besides if she started screaming someone could be dumb enough to let her go,” I told him.

“How are you going to tie him up. Zip ties aren’t going to work with that arm,” Napster asked as he half dragged the girl over to a drainpipe to secure her to.

“Yeah his arm looked like crystal, could probably cut through anything…. So I have to make sure he won’t want to use it.” I smiled to myself.

Five minutes and 48 zip ties later and I had successfully zip tied the boy's hands into his pants.

“See this is what happens when you try to shish-kabob someone- karma’s a bitch,” I said to the unconscious boy as I finished off the last zip tie. “Alright, Napster you can call it in to the cops. Let ‘em know about the whole arm thing if you can,” I said admiring my handiwork.

“Your problem-solving skills concern me,” Napster muttered.

“Well, he’s not cutting his way out now! This whole super-powered villain thing is getting out of hand. I don’t even know what the cops can do with this guy once they remove the zip ties,” I shook my head.

“Are you sure you can’t tell me more about how you got your powers? It could help me figure out where all these suped-up villains are coming from,” Napster said as I began pulling myself up onto the fire escape.

“You know everything you need to know about how I got my powers,” I said taking a look at him.

“That you have them?” Napster’s sarcastic tone was clear. His dark eyes sparkled with a hint of humor and curiosity as he looked at me. For a moment I wondered what he was like in the real world.

“Precisely!”

I climbed up the fire escape shaking my thoughts of Napster, it was about time for me to return to the real world as well and he had no place there for me.

[incoherentbabblings]

First Date (4/9)

Tim has one more test to pass before Bruce will allow him out as Robin. Like Dick and Jason before him, he has to avoid being caught by Batman for one night. He has already failed once, and is determined to succeed this time. Determination which might not count for much when Stephanie Brown is on the run from the mob. Her mother kidnapped as a way to threaten her father, Stephanie manages to escape and run into Tim. Unable to leave Stephanie alone when she is in need, Tim decides to try and multi-task. All he has to do is rescue Stephanie’s mother, take down the mob, avoid Batman, and get Stephanie to agree to a proper date all in one night. Absolute anarchy ensues.  Ao3 link here!

Bruce wasted no time on the screaming man thirty stories up above Gotham’s streets.

“What do you want with Crystal and Stephanie Brown?”

The man did not seem suitably composed to give a response and continued to screech like a bat out of hell.

Batman dropped him ten stories, then yanked him on the cord back up.  The man was by then crying, tears flooding down his balding head.  His trousers were also wet but Bruce tried valiantly to ignore that issue and repeated his question.

“Arthur Brown owes Ibanescu a loooooottttt of money.”  The man sobbed.   “He had time to pay it back when he got out of jail back in June, but he’s taking too long…” The man began to whimper, and the wet patch grew.  Batman grabbed his hair and shook his head.

“And where have your friends taken Crystal?”

“I don’t know!  We were supposed to call when we had them!  Somewhere in the Narrows I’d guess!”

“How many are out looking for her?”

“Last I knew fifteen?  But there’s maybe more now that the daughter’s gone… We’re not gonna hurt them before Arthur turned up…honest!  They’re just bait!  I nearly had the girl but some kid punched me out and I don’t know where either of them have gone…”

“You know where you’re going?”

“Prison?”

“Hmm.”

And then the man was dropped once more.  Like a yo-yo, he was then tugged up, straight into Bruce’s waiting fist.  The knocked-out man was left for the police to pick up on a nearby rooftop, with more than enough evidence for attempted murder and kidnapping in his shooting efforts towards Stephanie.

“I’m taking at look at what Dragos Ibanescu has been up to recently,” stated Oracle.

Bruce moved up high, getting ready to rooftop hop away from the city centre towards to quieter areas.

“More trafficking I suspect.  Catwoman and he tangled recently.”

“Don’t know what Brown could possibly get from this guy.   Cluemaster just wants his ego stroked right? That’s why he does what he does, so why Ibanescu?”

“…Any luck with the car?”

“Not quite, but if this guy thinks it’s heading to the Narrows that… well it narrows it down a bit.”

“When you find Crystal, Oracle, let me know.  I need to speak to Tim, make sure he goes home.”

“Ah.  About that.”

“What?”

“He and Stephanie left the hospital five or so minutes ago?”

“Which direction did they head in?”

“…Dunno.”

“Oracle.”

“I am busy!  Black cars and Romanian gangsters aren’t going to find themselves.  You’re the detective, track him down yourself –”

“Oracle do not –”

“Okay bye.”  She teased and cut the line.  Bruce was left standing awkwardly atop a pillar, trying to reconnect the line, but Barbara would only be contacted if she wanted to be spoken to.

She was ensuring Tim got a second shot, but he was being pursued by up to twenty men, all fully armed, whilst he had nothing but a backpack filled with energy drinks and a wallet.

Bruce looked down on the crowds.  If they were heading to the Bristol safehouse then they would have gotten on the subway across the Avenue.  He couldn’t follow them down there, but he could access the subway systems, and see who had bought tickets, who had gotten on, and who had gotten off.  He would start there.

Batman jumped off the building, and moved towards the central hub.

Stephanie wasn’t safe with Tim, even if he was taking her somewhere safe, the route to the one safehouse Tim had access to was anything but… Batman needed to track them down, and quickly.  Tim was in over his head, and Stephanie was probably terrified out of her mind.

***

“I need to pee.  Can we use your staff bathroom?”  Stephanie asked.

“No.”  Said the boy, once he’d caught his breath.  He sounded quite certain of his response.  “It’s a staff bathroom, not for customers.”

Tim and Stephanie burst into the empty convenience store with such a bang that the young man behind the counter jumped a mile.  He shuffled whatever magazine he’d been reading under the counter, face red with embarrassment.

Tim sighed and marched up to the counter.  The boy took a nervous step back.

“How much?”

“What?”

“How much will it take for you to let her pee and wash her hair?  One hundred?”

He pulled out his wallet and slammed two fifty-dollar bills down.  The boy stared suspiciously.

“We have CCTV here you know.  If I get caught taking money…”

“Then just let me pee!  Be a good Samaritan!”  Stephanie interjected.  The boy looked increasingly uncomfortable.  He no doubt saw her blood-stained jeans and her messy hair and makeup.  He was right to want to have nothing to do with them.  Stephanie decided to jump to drastic measures.

“Look man, you tell me which is worse: letting a customer pee all over your floor – which I will do if I don’t get my way – or allowing them to pee and clean up in peace.  I have had a hell of a night and I just want to freshen up.  I’m not a druggie, I’m not dangerous… there just aren’t any public bathrooms in Gotham and I’m really far from home still. “

The boy grew green at the thought of cleaning up some teenage girl’s urine, and acquiesced.  

“Okay fine.  Five minutes.”  He lifted the counter to let her through.

“Wait, Steph.”

Stephanie jolted at him calling her by her nickname.  She turned back, eyebrows raised.

Tim had his arm held out.  “Let me hold your bag.”

“Oh!  Thanks, sweetie.”

Tim smiled lopsidedly, but the cashier was unamused.  He refused to give her the key and herded her through to the back.

He returned to find Tim piling high food, drink and other items.  Tallying it up, the cashier eyed Tim suspiciously.  Tim looked up at him and smiled awkwardly.

“I’ve had better first dates.”  He joked.  The cashier did not find it heart-warming and instead scanned the goods aggressively.

“You’re going to get me in trouble.  Thirty-four sixty-nine total.”

Tim laughed uncomfortably and put down one fifty bill.

“You can keep the change.  Honestly.”

The man harrumphed and cashed it in.  Stuffing his bag full, Tim pulled out Stephanie’s phone, and put in the battery once more.  He waited until it switched on, then moved towards the entrance of the shop.  Looking through her contact lists, he saw she didn’t have that many.  Her mother was one, but her father was not, and there were people who were probably a school mate or two, but the entire list fit onto her screen, no scrolling required.  He looked back towards the door, wondering if she were lonely in her day to day life.

Taking a breath, knowing in the back of his head this was going to maybe be a mistake, but it was a risk he needed to take, he dialled for Stephanie’s mother.  At the very least, Oracle would pick up the call, no doubt she would be watching for any activity from Crystal or Stephanie’s phone.  If this risk didn’t help Tim and Stephanie, it would certainly help Barbara and Bruce.  The call rang for a long while, but eventually was picked up, and a man’s voice answered, to which Tim immediately hung up.

Now it was a waiting game, someone – or several someones – would show up soon.

Tim’s stomach started to grow cold.  He was missing the point of the assignment.  He was to stay hidden, to only help others if absolutely necessary, and now he had invited trouble to him.  He could handle himself, he was sure of that, but he still felt naked without his bo staff.  Stephanie he was more unsure of, but he had been on the receiving end of her slaps, she wouldn’t go anywhere without a fight.

Five minutes passed and Stephanie and still had not emerged from the bathroom.

“Can I check on her?”  Tim asked, becoming anxious that the cashier was going to be danger so long as he was out front of the shop.

“If anyone pinches anything whilst I’m in the back with you…”  The boy threatened.

“Sounds fair.”

And he was led through.

Stephanie meanwhile had gone to great efforts of sticking her hair under a tap, running hot water and the sad bar of soap on the sink to get out the vomit which had been haunting her for hours.

She was probably going to get a cold now without any way of drying if, but she grabbed a tea towel from the tiny kitchen and rung out her tangled hair as best she could, running her fingers through then giving up when they’d hit a knot.

She looked in the mirror and wet a paper towel, dabbing her cheeks to clear off the runny eyeline and mascara.  She had had to scrub a little, so her cheeks looked red and sore when she was done, but at least she didn’t look like such a mess anymore.  More like someone who had just come from swimming practice rather than a shooting casualty on the run.

Speaking of shootings…

She worried about her leg.  The glue might not have held up under the pressure of leaping and running and jumping that she had done.  She couldn’t feel the blood flowing down her leg anymore, but the bandage just might be doing its job.

Rummaging through various cupboards in the back, she found the first aid kit, went into the bathroom and shut the door.  Pulling down her jeans and plopping herself down on the toilet, she tentatively unwrapped her bandages.

Sure enough, at one end the skin had started to split apart, and blood was oozing out.  Steph breathed out a curse, then rummaged through the kit, hoping to find something that could close the wound.

It would be messy, and she was bound to have a gnarly scar, but she needed to get it closed whilst the skin was still numb.

She was actually quite good at sewing, for one reason or another.  She found a needle and thread and some disinfectant wipes.

It would have to do.

She set to work when Tim burst in.

“Jesus!” Stephanie shouted, nearly stabbing herself in the wrong place.  “Knock first!”

Whatever he was going to say didn’t come out.  Instead he shut the door and knelt next to her.  Her embarrassment at being caught in her undies faded at his concerned look.  Tentatively, he touched her leg, and she suppressed a shiver.

“It’s opened up?”

She sighed and looked down at her sliced leg.  “It’s okay, I can stitch it.”

“I can help?”

“No.  No, it’s quicker if I do it myself.  I wanna just get it done before my leg’s not numb anymore.”

He watched her concentrated expression as she began stitching.  Her fingers quickly grew bloody, but she was right.  She was quick at sewing, and fairly neat at it too.  She wiped away the blood with some wipes, and Tim helped her hold the bandage tight and she reapplied it.

“You’ve done this before haven’t you?”

“…Once or twice.”  She replied reluctantly.

“I heard, back at the hospital, about your forehead –”

“It’s fine.”  Her tone was short, but not rude.  Her defensiveness made Tim feel like his heart was frozen.  A jagged lump grew in his throat, and he realised he’d made a mistake.

Tim stayed knelt on the floor as she shimmied her jeans back on and washed her hands.  She turned back to Tim, who had a slightly haunted look on his face.

“What’s wrong?”  She asked, voice soft.

“I made a mistake.”

“What?  Tim…”

“We need to go.”  And he rose, opening the door to reveal the cashier far too close to have been doing anything but listening in.  Tim tried not to make a face at him.

“Call the police.”

“What?”  The boy sneered at them.

“Bad men are following us.  They’re heading here.  Hide back here and call the police.”

He didn’t move, and Tim felt his temper rise.

“Do it!  This isn’t a joke!  How do you think she got the blood on her?”

The boy looked at Stephanie, and seeing the utter lack of humour in either of their expressions, he pulled out his phone.

“We’ll get out here.  Thank you for letting us rest up for a second.”

And Tim pulled Stephanie past the cashier, heading back out front to leave.

“Wait wait wait wait wait.”  She puffed as they exited the store, zipping her coat back up.  “What’s going on?  You said we were going to find out where my mom is?  We need to interrogate one of them ‘cause unless you –”

“I got in over my head.  It’s too dangerous.”

“What?  No-one’s even here!”

“But they will be!  You’re too badly hurt and I didn’t think it through!”

It was the first time he had really shouted at her, but it wasn’t from anger, rather from fright.  She could hear how scared he was.  She stared him down, not moving with any of his tugs to her arm.  An uncomfortable moment past them by.  His free fist clenched around something, but she couldn’t see what he was holding. Something he’d bought in the shop probably.  She briefly thought he might hit her with it, but she quickly quashed that thought.  She had to constantly remind herself, Tim wouldn’t do that.

He wouldn’t.

The sound of a car racing around the corner made both of turn to look down the street.

“No.”  Muttered Tim.  He pushed Stephanie behind him then, uncomfortably aggressive, and she stumbled with a cry.  A big black SUV pulled up and the pair were met by two men, a gun pointed at them each.  Tim began pulling Stephanie into the alleyway.  They’d reached a fair way down when a warning shot whizzed past their heads.  Tim instinctively grabbed Stephanie, pressing his body in front of hers.

“Don’t try anything!”  One of the yelled.  “Turn around.”

Keeping Stephanie behind him still, they both turned to face the men, who stood at the entrance to the alleyway.  The other, the fatter of the two, pulled out his phone and rang a number, confirming that they had Stephanie in hand.

Tim shakily held a hand up, trying to deescalate the situation.

Stephanie is seemed determined to do the opposite.

“Where’s my mom?  Where’s my dad?”

“Get in the car and you’ll be with both of them.  Out of the way, kid.”  The man indicated for Tim to step aside, out of range of the guns.  Tim supposed he was being kind.  He shook his head.

“Look kid move!  We’re sick and tired of chasing this girl down, and I get it, not your fault that your dad’s a massive fuck up Stephanie, but we have a job to do.  Get in the car.  We need you in one piece.”

One of the men crept forward, getting closer and closer, gun held out, level with Tim’s head.  Tim didn’t say anything, and just glared at the man, like he was waiting for something.  The hand that was clenched behind his back twitched anxiously.

The man clicked the gun.

“Don’t!”  Stephanie throw herself forward, knocking over both Tim and the man.  The other guy, further back, fired a shot that went wide and bounced off the metal pipes that stretched down the damp walls.

Tim swung out from the floor, knocking one man off his feet.  Rising up quick, he threw whatever he’d been holding at the other man.  With a swear he flinched, and Tim rushed over, knocking the gun out of his hand.

Stephanie rolled over to the man who had threatened Tim and punched his face.  Hard.  His grip on his gun loosened, and she managed to wrestle it away from him.  She opened it up and scattered the cartridges.

Left with an empty gun and a lot of adrenaline, she began to pound the guys face in the pistol.  She only got so far towards knocking him out, as he managed to tug her hair so painfully she felt strands be ripped out.  She screeched and jolted upwards, kicking him before he could rise.

She looked over at Tim, who had pinned the fatter man to the floor.  The arm was twisted at an awful angle, and she could see where blood was starting to spread on the dirty floor.  He was yelling something at him, more full of anger than she had heard from him so far this night, but she couldn’t make it out.  Her ears were ringing from the echoing gun shot, and her breathing was so laboured and heartbeat so loud her head felt like it was throbbing.

A sharp, stabbing pain made her leg give out then.  The man she’d been standing over punched her in her shot wound, and the nerve endings vibrated the pain through her calf.  She cried out and fell down.  Her head was then picked up and smacked against the unforgiving floor.  Vision blurring and sparking, she flailed, kicking the man straight in the groin.  He gasped and leaned forward, giving her enough leverage to smack him hard again.  His head connected with the wall, and with a sharp snap, he fell still, chest rising in short puffed out breaths.

“Tim?”  She instinctively called out, rolling on to her stomach.  The pain in her weak leg prevented her from getting up on her feet just yet.  Tim was still perched over his foe.

“Who’s your boss?”  Tim bit out.

The man writhed, not willing to give up his pride to a teenager.

“Fuck you.”

Tim smashed the guys head against the floor, to which he swore once more, even louder.

“Tell me!”

“Ibanescu!  God fucking…”

Stephanie managed to crawl over to their pair.  Tim took his eyes off the man, but not for too long, to see how hurt she was.  She looked betrayed and horrified, but Tim couldn’t understand why.

“Why was my dad working with him?”  She asked.

“More like for him.  Your dad’s got a massive debt kiddo.”

Stephanie’s eyes grew wet, and Tim pressed his knee on the man’s neck.

“Where is her mother?”

“Told you,” The man choked out.  “Don’t know.  You or the police won’t find her.”

“Batman –”

“Batman has bigger problems than your mom.”

She didn’t argue, and Tim watched from the corner of his eye and she seemed to retreat into herself.  She believed this random guy, and not Tim’s constant reassurances.

Tim felt his anger spike at her self-perception of unimportance.

“How many more are searching for her?”

“There’s twenty.  All across the island, looking just for her.”

Tim’s muscles froze.  God he’d messed up.  Two he could deal with, maybe even four.  But he wasn’t Batman, he was just a kid with some training and an injured girl to protect.

He needed to end this conversation and get her hidden once more.

“Tell your boss he can’t have her when you wake up.”

“What?”

And Tim gave such a hard punch Stephanie saw the man’s nose crunch, the cartilage shattering.

He pulled himself off the ground, then leaned over to Stephanie, raising her from the floor.

“We’re gonna pinch their car, okay?  Get down the road a bit.  I wanna check your head.  But we need to leave.  Now.”

“One more second.  Okay?”  She said.  Limping, Stephanie rummaged through both men’s belongings, looking for anything of use.  Both of their phones were locked, but she could see their more recent messages on the screen when or if they came in.

“Don’t bother with taking them, they’ll be tracked.”

“One second Tim.”

The phone’s screen was shattered as Stephanie ran her thumb over it.  

A message was popped up on the locked screen.  The entire text wasn’t visible, but she caught the jist all the same.

“Mom’s in the Narrows!”  And she dropped the phone, the back breaking off as she did so.  "Don’t know where but…“

“It narrows it down.  Hah.  That’s good.”

Tim poked his head into the driver’s seat of the car, seeing that the keys were still present.  He snorted a laugh at how easy it was.  He turned off the GPS and Bluetooth, and gestured Stephanie to get in as well.

She looked back, only to see the cashier from earlier was staring at them through the glass of the shop window, his mouth wide open.  She blushed and quickly turned away, crawling into the passenger seat.  Before she had pulled the door shut Tim was pulling away, heading  in the opposite direction that the men had arrived.  He took a few random turns here and there, always heading towards their original destination.  Stephanie gripped the dashboard tight, unable to even put on her seat belt.  She tried to calm down, but found she couldn’t.

Eventually he pulled up in a dark corner of the city and switched the car off.

They sat in the dark, still breathing heavy.

Stephanie’s breathing wobbled, and became shallow.  Tim reached over and cradled her face.

“Steph…”

Stephanie began to cry softly.

“I can’t do this.”

Her breathing spiked, and her tears fell faster.  “My dad has been working for a human trafficker.  I didn’t think he could go so low and I don’t know where my mom is I don’t know what to do and I’m trusting you but I’m scared of how much I liked that violence and what if I’m just like him,”  Her tears made her voice wet and slurred, and she sniffed, undignified and distraught, as the reality of what her father was doing sunk in.

“Steph.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this, you don’t deserve this, god I’m sorry…”

“Steph.  It’s my choice.  I want—”

“But it’s not mine!” She cut him off.  “I didn’t choose any of this, I’m just getting pulled around and hiding!  I’m not getting a say in anything!”

She was becoming hysterical, Tim could see, and he frantically wiped away large tears from her red cheeks.  She looked at him then, the affection being all too much for her.  Tim watched as her eyes widened a fraction, like an idea had suddenly occurred to her.

“Stephanie…”  He muttered once more.  She seemingly made up her mind with a huff, and Tim looked her quizzically.  Almost as if from a third-party perspective he watched, practically in slow motion, as she leaned forward and kissed him.

Oh.  Okay.  This is definitely what I wanted.

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

can i req an autistic joger fic where one accidentally harms the other while having a meltdown and tries super hard to make it up to the other? kinda reflecting here, sorry

There’s fire everywhere and I can’t breathe and I can’t feel but I feel everything and it all hurts and everything hurts. It hurts it hurt it hurt it hurts. 

There’s blurs of lights and crashes of thunder and there’s so much pain in the air I can smell it and there’s a sea on my face and it stings. 

I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!

Red. So much red! Like fire. Fire on my arms.

There’s so much of everything and nothing at all! My throat is frozen and nobody is helping me!

Nobody at all.

♚

John took in a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he steeled his nerves. He let go of the puff of air, eye’s opening even though he wanted them to stay shut. 

Before him was a volcano. He first took in the screams that fell like ash around him. Deep guttural screams that were dark and clung to his skin, making it crawl. 

Next was the lava, slowly pooling onto the ground. Strands of blond littered the floor, burning into the carpet of their bed room, making an ever growing puddle around the volcano himself in the middle of it all.

Roger sputtered and shook, paced and thrashed. He squealed and howled as he threw the bedside lamp onto the floor, the glass shattering making John jump.

A fist pounded onto his chest, his red, tear streaked face letting out another wail. Before his mouth could close, it latched onto his scarred forearm, teeth sinking into the flesh with a chilling squelch. 

John had no idea what had happened. He didn’t know what triggered this. He’d went out to get some groceries, buying Roger his favorite brand of crisps and when he came back, all he heard was ear curdling chaos from upstairs. 

He thought he might have stepped on those crisps when he dropped everything to run to their room.

It was a sight he rarely ever saw. 

Of the two, John was more prone to melt downs. Roger for some reason was able to handle most things with nothing more than a smile. It was something John admired. It wasn’t something either of them were able to control, but John thought it must be nice to never lose control. 

Losing control every blue moon meant things built up, though. Roger’s meltdowns were intense and most of all, dangerous. 

There was blood smudged around Roger’s mouth, his arm trickling with some more. He didn’t notice. 

He had hair fibers all over him and a bald patch to show it. 

John bet that once this was all over and he was in the bath, he’d find bruises on his battered lover. 

But how to make it end was the question John had to deal with now. It wasn’t like he dealt with this often enough to consider himself an expert. Everyone’s meltdowns were different. The off switch was like a snowflake. 

Roger screeched, fists flying to his black and blue forehead, smacking against them. 

John had to act quickly. There was absolutely no letting this run it’s course. Roger was in pain. The thought made his stomach shrink.

“S-Sweetheart. Roger. Do you hear me?” John said, taking cautious steps closer to Roger. He didn’t want to startle him. He knew when he had a meltdown, every movement terrified him. He wondered if Roger was the same. 

♚

Brain’s on fire. Burning. Burning. Smoke everywhere.

I’m drowning. I can’t think I can’t see I can’t do anything.

I hurt so bad. Everything is pain. 

I can’t stop myself.

I’m not myself. I’m not myself.

Make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop

♚

Roger didn’t notice John’s approach, yelling as he tore off the bedsheets and crumpled them to the floor. 

John swallowed hard. He’d never done this alone. He hoped he was strong enough. Physically and mentally. 

“Roger, please. Y-You need to calm down. I can help. We can go somewhere else. To the bathroom. You like the echoes, remember?” he said, skirting even closer to Roger. 

John knew during meltdowns, most people couldn’t process speech. And he wasn’t sure if sound was the reason for Roger’s meltdown. But what else could he do? He could only try to diffuse this. Before Roger would need stitches. 

Roger hunched over, arms wrapped around himself in a hug, sobbing so hard he gagged. John took this as the only opportunity he’d get to overpower Roger. 

He closed in, hands hooking around Roger’s waist. Maybe if he could drag him into another room, change the scenery, the environment, he’d start to settle down. Maybe.

But Roger was much stronger than John, Much stronger. 

His skin cringed before he ripped John’s arms away from him. The only thing John remembered was how Roger’s blue eyes looked so scared. So lost and confused. Like a little kid who’s just lost their parents in a store. 

He didn’t even notice Roger’s mouth latching onto his hand, ripping into the flesh of his palm until his brain caught up to what was happening. With a small gasp, he yanked his hand away, Roger’s saliva making the wound immediately start to sting. 

John stared down at his hand as Roger stalked off to continue going through possibly his worst meltdown.

To be honest, John wasn’t a fan of pain. 

To be honest, John didn’t know how to handle pain.

If we’re being honest, John panicked.

He walked stiffly into the master bathroom and locked himself inside. 

It was clear he didn’t know what to do. If anything, he agitated Roger more. He felt miserable for leaving Roger alone when he needed his help the most, but his brain froze. 

At least in the bath, he could still hear Roger. Make sure he was safe. That was all he could do and he felt horrible. 

It was an hour before things quieted down. John heard very soft crying and whimpering, and panting that eventually slowed. 

John opened the door just a crack and then all the way.

The pillows were torn at the seams, feathers coating the floor and bed. The bed was pushed off the bed frame. There was a hole in the wall by the door. And amongst it all was Roger curled up into a ball, face pressed into the carpet.

John crossed the room, making his presence known to the other as to not spook him.

With his hand throbbing, he knelt by the pile that was his boyfriend and said,

“Roger, honey. You’ve done so well. You’ve gotten yourself out of that so well. You’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you now,”

Roger shakily looked up, wet lashes and glassy eyes breaking John’s heart. John wiped away a tear and kissed his forehead gently.

♚

John poured a cup of warm water over Roger’s tender head as the blond sat in the tub, knees hugged to his chest. John hummed softly, massaging away the dried blood, kissing each bruise and washing every cut. It was all he could do. He kept thinking that.

“You can sleep after this, Rog. I’ll make you some dinner for when you wake up. Bought you your favorite crisps. You deserve them,” John said, making small talk as he scrubbed Roger’s back of all the sweat. The tub water was soapy and pink. 

He used his other hand to lean against the tub and it skidded over some soap. The open wound on his palm stung when it touched soap, causing John to pull back and hiss. He inspected it for a moment, knowing he’d have to go to the hospital eventually, but hid his hand, not wanting Roger to see it. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t have to know.

But Roger was sharp. Even in this state. He snatched John’s hand into his own, pulling it close to himself. His words were still jumbled and coming back, but he was able to squeak, “Me?!”

John pulled his hand back, shaking his head. “No. Not at all,” he said, eyes falling towards the floor. He was a bad liar. Roger knew that. And he didn’t believe him. He hugged his knees closer to his chest, bruised forehead resting on his knees. He couldn’t hide the little cry that escaped his lips.

♚

“Does it hurt?” Roger asked as he held John’s hand, calloused fingers soothing down the wrinkled bandages. 

John shook his head, scooting closer to Roger on their bed. The sheets smelled like detergent. 

“Nope. The doctor cleaned it up, gave me a shot and bandaged it. Can barely feel it,” John said, his eyes crinkling into a smile. 

That was another lie. When John hurt, that’s all he could think about. But what good did it do to tell Roger? As long as he himself didn’t have a meltdown over this, it could be his little secret. 

It’d been a day since the incident. Roger was still recovering, barely able to leave the bed, so John joined him whenever he could.

“How are you feeling?” John asked, freeing his hand so he could brush some locks out of Roger’s face. 

Roger bit his lip, staying quiet for a moment. His mind raced with answers but he only said, “It doesn’t matter,” before resting his head against the new pillow, pulling the covers over his chin. 

John sighed. Roger wouldn’t let this go. He’d been apologizing all night and all day for the bite. He couldn’t get over what he’d done.

And although John didn’t hold an ounce of contempt for what happened, Roger kept beating himself up. He couldn’t be consoled. 

John slunk down so he was face to face with Roger.

“I always hurt people during my meltdowns. And I feel bad, but, I know I didn’t mean it. I..have to be kind to myself,” John said, reflecting on how sometimes he’d lunge at people unknowingly when he was in that state. 

“Yeah, but you’ve never left a mark. You slap like a girl,” Roger said, the last part a slip of the tongue. 

John would ignore the insult and continued.

“And? I’ve hurt the people I love. Whether it scars, it’s all the same, isn’t it? And they forgive me. You forgive me. Every single time. You say you’re not even mad. And that makes me feel so much better. So good. Like sunshine in my tummy. Why won’t you let me do that for you?” John said, a finger from his wounded hand stroking Roger’s still reddened cheek. 

Roger’s eyes fluttered shut, leaning into the touch. 

“I don’t deserve it. You,” he said, leaning more and more into John’s hand.

 “You do,” John said, Roger’s warm breath tickling his nose. 

“I forgive you. Forever. For always. I love you, Rog,” John added, closing the gap between them with a soft kiss to the lips. 

Roger resisted at first but eventually melded against John’s plush unbruised lips. 

“I love you, Deacy,”

“I love you, Rog. And I don’t slap like a girl,”

“Shh, shh, we’re kissing,”

[deeafrotailmisstress]

Not Enough

((A flashback oneshot that displays Jazz’s relationship with her mother; I wrote this before the news about Wildstar but honestly, better I post this now than sulk and just hide it forever. Sorry guys but this one’s a bit of a sad one <3))

She tried to rub away the blood on her lips, but there was no hiding the bruises and the busted lip. The last kid was let off a long time ago with a warning, but Jazz wasn’t surprised. Kids with a bad track record like Jazz usually don’t get early leave, even if your father was the celebrated Commander Marcus Abernale. Once celebrated.

She looked down past her scabbed knees and to her bare sooted feet, dangling above the grated ship floor. Jazz tried to bribe one of the other kids who was placed in the detention cell with her to get her out once his parents picked him up, even handed him her shoes and her last stick of gum, but all she got was one response.

“Not good enough.” He shrugged. He shoved her down before he ran away with her things anyways because of course he did. Being stuck at 3 feet when you’re already 12 usually entailed that kind of disadvantage.

Jazz scowled down at her feet before simply tucking them under her as she tried to get comfortable in the very large plastic chair. Her dad used to promise that she’d grow if she continued to eat her vegetables. Jazz hugged her own knees as she contemplated how maybe when dads die, the promises they make usually die with them.

Her train of thought was interrupted when the door was finally opened and Jazz’s heart dropped to her stomach. There awaited Ms. Abernale, her face permanently sketched into a frown. Her eyes narrowed down at the small child curled in the waiting chair before nodding her head out the door.

“Come.” She ordered and immediately started to march out, not even waiting or looking behind to see if her daughter managed to hurry out the chair to follow her. Thankfully she did.

Not a word was exchanged as they walked down the corridor until they reached the tutor awaiting them.

“I’m sorry fo’ da mess.” Zayna nodded politely, her hand placed gently on Jazz’s shoulder, but it only made the child look down to the floor.

The teacher, a stout woman with a bald patch, sighed, “This is the third time this month Zayna…”

“An’ it won’ happen again.” Zayna stated with a final nod before pulling Jazz along. Once she made sure Jazz was still following her, Zayna placed her hands behind her back and resolutely stared ahead as they walked.

One could tell from far away that Jazz’s mother was a woman of professionalism, her posture straight as an arrow and she walked like a woman who knew exactly where she wanted to go and how to get there. It contrasted heavily with Jazz’s clumsy shuffling as she tried to keep up with her mother’s walking.

But she wasn’t tall enough. Perhaps it was for the best anyways that she maintained her distance. Jazz knew that when her mother walked this fast, it meant that she was letting off steam to control her temper. There was a long tense moment of silence as Jazz continued to hang her head in shame, until her mother finally addressed her.

“Lemme guess. Ya started it again.” Her mother looked down coldly as she observed her daughter’s reaction. The way Jazz sunk her head into her shoulders and looked to the side only confirmed her assumption.

Jazz meekly spoke up, “Dey wuz makin’ fun’ o’ me mammy…”

“An’ ya t’ought fightin’ dem four boys would’a been enough huh.” Zayna scolded, her eyes went back to glaring ahead as she yanked out the key code before opening the door to their abode and storming in. The little child rushed to try and hide her bruises with her baggy sleeves and hood.

But she wasn’t quick enough. Her mother pointed a warning finger with a narrowed stern gaze, “Ya nuh hide dem bruises from me Jasmine.”

Jazz’s fists clenched but she glared down at the kitchen floor and pouted. She didn’t dare sass her mother, especially when she was the one who always helped patch her up after her fights. But it still annoyed her when her mother made a fuss and continued to lecture her.

As predicted, Zayna sighed and looked for an ice packet in the freezer as she grumbled, “Weh di ice deh...Gal, ya know why Jaxon never ge’s hisself inta dem fights? ‘Cuz he don’ dignify schoolyard taunts wid a response. Ya too violent an’ emotional.”

“Baba said I is perfect da way I am.” As soon as Jazz had let that statement escape her lips, she knew she made a terrible mistake.

She could feel the anger radiating off her mother as the older woman slowly took out a bag of ice, with a low hiss, “Well den. Accordin’ ta ya, he must’a had some low standards. But I know bettah.” In less than a second Zayna aggressively slammed the freezer door shut and whirled to Jazz snapping, “So don’chu /dare/ blame ya fathah fo’ how ya turned out!”

As if she physically felt that statement cut deep in her, the little girl wrapped her arms around her stomach slowly. Jazz tried to focus on the kitchen tiled floor, but her vision grew blurry as she already felt her eyes welling up. She tried to hold it in, tried not to prove her mother’s accusation right with her tears and keep quiet. Perhaps if she held a hand against her mouth and nose...

But it wasn’t enough. Zayna’s face dropped immediately however as she turned around and inhaled shakily with a horrified glance to the side, ashamed of what she had said. To her own daughter no less. The older woman placed the bag down with a painful sigh, her heart breaking every time she heard her daughter sniffle.

Jazz picked up her small backpack as she prepared to leave. It seemed like everyday Jazz found it more and more difficult to avoid upsetting her mother. But then again, it was always difficult ever since her father passed away. She learnt at that moment to never mention him again in front of Zayna.

As she was about to shuffle away, she saw Zayna’s knee bend on the floor beside her feet, but Jazz didn’t dare look up in case her mother would still gaze at her with angry eyes. Finally she had no choice but to look up when her mother gently pulled her closer for a hug.

“...’m sorry baby.” Her mother softly shushed and rubbed her back as Jazz’s tears continued to fall, but the little girl refused to let out a sound as she bit her lip harshly.

Zayna continued, “Ya know I don’ mean dose t’ings. Ya fathah...it harder now dat he ain’ here. I miss him suh much, da’z why I get upset. An’ I kno’ ya upset nowadays too ‘cuz he ain’ here, but ya can’ be pickin’ fights wid every boy who disrespec’ ya. But I’m sorry I shouted at ya. Ya forgive me?”

Jazz admittedly took her time letting her mother hold her since it wasn’t a feeling she was used to. The warmth of two big comforting arms around her was one of the biggest things she missed from her dad. She squeezed her arms around her mother, as if committing the feeling to memory one last time, before she finally nodded with a sniff, “Mhm.”

Zayna sighed, “...good. Bettah we resolve d’is now dan ya carryin’ on fightin’. I’m glad ya got it outta yer system.”

The older woman stood up with a resolute nod and went back to picking up the ice bag. Jazz stood there for a moment with her arms still held up imploringly for an embrace. But she quickly put them down with a nonchalant nod; it was understandable. After all she was still in trouble for the fight she got into.

“Ya said ya wanted ta show me some test papers today?”

Jazz blinked before gasping excitedly, “O-oh yeah!” The little girl hurriedly opened up her bag and pulled out a datachron with a page already open on a math set. She was particularly excited on how well she did yesterday.

The little girl waited as her mother gave her an ice patch for her bruised eye and medi-plasters for her cuts. Even after Zayna finished and was packing away the items, Jazz shuffled right behind her and was bouncing on the tips of her feet, excitedly waiting.

As Zayna turned around, she blinked when she saw her daughter still behind her, “What’re ya-OH oh.” She picked up the chron and swiped open the file with an emotionless glance. Despite her stoic demeanor as she read the results, Jazz still awaited her review eagerly with a big smile.

Zayna responded. Jazz’s smile froze. The elderly woman casually placed the datachron onto the counter with a tired sigh before rolling up her sleeves. She made some comment about going up to her office to work, but Jazz was barely listening as she watched the open datachron with a pensive, dejected stare.

As her mother passed by her while rubbing her eyes, grumbling about late night hours, Jazz despondently shuffled up to the counter and pulled down her chron, her mother’s review left her feeling numb. Even as she left to take comfort in her own room, the statement followed after her like a bad smell stagnating in the air.

“...Not good enough.”

[thinkingagain]

Lucky moved leisurely across the classroom towards the computer podium in front.

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter 28, Part One

On the morning of the attack, a light rain began falling not long before dawn. Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest, still asleep, snuggled further under a bed of protective leaves in the soothing hum of the shower. When dawn came, only a little lighter than the night which it struggled to put behind it, the Sir stood up and stretched and saw the others doing the same.

The Beast had slept in the Beast vehicle undisturbed, since the parking lot was not often patrolled by the Beast police. The Madam and her totem friends had slept in a small tent which she carried along with her backpack and sleeping bag. Busterella, Love Frog, and Sir Henry had helped her put up the tent the night of their arrival, the Sir commenting on the excellent way it provided protection while keeping one outdoors.

Muffin hauled the grouchy Beast out of the Beast vehicle. He propped the Beast under a tree whose heavy leaves provided shelter from the still lightly falling rain.

Scruffy, Jack, Lucky Blue and Leo came out from their various sleeping spots. The Madam and her animal team put away their tent rapidly and joined the group.

“I think the rain will help,” Jack said. “Beasts don’t like to be out in it. It makes them slower to respond even in serious situations.”

“Do we all know what we have to do?” the Sir asked.

Everyone signaled that they did.

“Then after each of us has done our several tasks, I will meet you all later today at the field beside the Alumni House, near the campus entrance.”

The animals dispersed to begin seizing the university. ---------------

When the morning’s first classes started, Jack entered one of the classroom buildings. He had made up his mouth a bright red with drops of red makeup along his chin. His mouth dripped with foamy toothpaste. He leaped up and turned the knob of the first classroom door he reached. He darted into the room and jumped on the first available desk, growling his deepest growl at the young male Beast sitting there.

“Oh my God.” The young Beast stumbled out of its chair. “What is that?”

The other Beasts in the room were all looking. “It’s just a rabbit, you idiot,” another young male Beast said. Jack jumped, bringing his teeth close to that second Beast’s neck but missing on purpose and landing smoothly on another desk. “It’s got blood all over its mouth!” the Beast shouted, scrambling backwards. “And some disgusting white stuff.” It rushed towards the door, tripped over a desk leg and fell to its knees before dragging itself to its feet and going out.

Other students were shouting and shrieking, pushing past each other and knocking each other down as they fought towards the door.

The older male Beast professor at the front of the room was shouting, “Be more orderly please. Hurry now, hurry. This animal must have rabies.”

The Beasts kept shouting and pushing their way into the hall. Soon the classroom was clear of them.

Jack followed them out the door at an easy pace. He saw other doors opening along the hallway.

“What’s happening out here?” said a male Beast professor from one of the doorways while several other Beasts looked on.

“Rabies!” shouted several of the most panicked young Beasts.

“What?” The Beast professor stepped into the hallway. Its shoulder was grabbed by the Beach professor from the first classroom.

“A rabbit with rabies in the building,” the first professor said. “Lock everyone in your classroom or lead them all out.”

“A rabbit?” the second professor said. “Are you kidding?”

Jack jumped up on a small table at one end the hallway, growling and showing his bloody teeth and white frothy lips.

“Everyone out now,” the second professor shouted to the classroom behind him. “There’s a rabid animal in here. Hurry.”

It didn’t take Jack long to clear the building. He had only several more classroom buildings to clear. Then it would be time to clear the gymnasium.

Lucky Blue walked into the science building and opened the door to one of the large classrooms. A PowerPoint lecture was in progress. Lucky moved leisurely across the classroom towards the computer podium in front. He called no significant attention to himself but didn’t try to hide either. A few students, almost all young female Beasts, noticed him and began pointing, unsure whether to laugh. He reached the podium.

The female Beast professor, who had been standing next to the film screen talking, was walking back towards the podium and hadn’t yet seen him. Lucky jumped up on the podium and started operating the PowerPoint screen. The professor gasped and froze. Lucky moved the pictures back and forth rapidly, as if in a random pattern, while he plugged in the little flash drive he had brought with him.

Some student Beasts were looking around confused, still not knowing what had happened. Others had seen Lucky or were seeing him now. “It’s like that rabbit walked right in here to use the computer,” someone was laughing. Other students were standing up, nervously, at the idea of an animal, no matter how small, loose in the room. “Why is it blue?” somebody asked.

“Maybe it’s a frat prank, like they do over at Danford,” a young Beast female said. “Painted that rabbit and set it loose in here.”

Lucky flashed the word “rabies” in large letters on the screen and clicked quickly through a number of online photos showing rabid animals attacking.

The professor stepped backwards, away from the computer.

The students were now milling around, initial amusement now giving way to anxious shouts and questioning asides. “How can that be happening?” a young woman shrieked.

“It’s just an accident,” another woman shouted. “Rabbits can’t operate a computer.”

The next photo on the screen was one of a snarling collie, teeth bared, mouth foaming. “Does it have rabies?” a third woman yelled.

The word “rabies” swept across the room faster than rabies could have. In moments, everyone was headed for the doors. -------------------

Scruffy looked into the dining hall where breakfast was being served. A number of Beast students, most young but a few full adults, sat at tables eating or had their heads in books or down on them, napping before their first classes. Others strolled unfocused from here to there or stood in the food line. Behind the food counters, the Beast cafeteria workers in light blue uniforms took orders or served food slowly but efficiently, some friendly, others indifferent, a few glaring. Scruffy took in the whole scene and moved forward.

He nipped at the feet of a few student Beasts. He tore holes in a few shoes and sent the Beasts wearing them them into shrieking panic. Then, zigzagging, gnashing his teeth at feet and legs, he hurried to the cafeteria line. He jumped onto the top of the long glass window behind which the cafeteria food sat in metal bins. From there he dropped down to the bins themselves and started sampling Beast breakfast options. He spat out most of them but enjoyed bites of the breads and cereals.

“There’s a yellow rat eating the food,” one male Beast in line was shouting. “That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. They make us pay for this food.”

“That’s not a rat,” a female Beast said. “It’s a small rabbit. It looks sick.”

“There are rodents in the food,” another female Beast student was shouting. “Gross gross gross.”

It was the food that was gross, Scruffy decided. Beasts polluted themselves with this junk for years on end and didn’t notice it was disgusting until a rabbit tried a few bites? He spit out some scrambled eggs.

One of the cafeteria workers came up with a broom and tried to smack Scruffy into a bin of what Scruffy saw was warm grits. Scruffy leaped away and nipped at the worker’s wrist, missing it on purpose, tearing open a shirt sleeve and jumping away. The worker dropped the broom and darted backwards.

People were already leaving the cafeteria. Some rushed out frightened and others moved away disgustedly from their food trays. Some, though, still watched fascinated as Scruffy went back to sampling more cafeteria food.

“Somebody should be sued for this,” said a full grown Beast male starting at Scruffy from the other side of the long glass window guarding the food.

Scruffy took a bite of hash browns, smeared some across his face and dipped his nose into a small ketchup bin. With the food and condiment dripping down his face, he stared at the Beast male, then jumped back up on the top of the glass window.

The Beast, horrified and disgusted but unable not to look, began slowly backing away. Scruffy scurried to the floor and ripped the Beast’s pants. The Beast tried to kick Scruffy off and Scruffy jumped away, biting at people’s feet, again and again.

Soon the last few Beasts in the dining hall were hurrying out shocked.

-----------------

Two security Beasts walked out the door of the Campus Security building and across a lawn, headed obliviously towards Muffin. Muffin set his own Beast on a patch of grass behind a bush where it wouldn’t be disturbed. He tied its rope to a nearby bicycle rack. The drizzly rain had stopped, although the air was still heavy and wet. Muffin finished the tying before the security Beasts reached him. He darted away to hide behind another nearby bush, just to the side of the path they were walking up.

“What say we get a beer after work?” the younger guard Beast said to the older. They were both large, lighter-skinned Beasts, the older one balding and with a big stomach. Both were carrying bags full of Beast objects. “I’m going to want one after a really tough day handing out parking tickets.”

The older guard laughed a moment. “You going to the range late afternoon?” it said in a phlegmy voice. “I could pull off a few rounds. Haven’t had time to do any hunting for a while. Looking forward to ducks this fall though. Gonna bag me some good eating for sure.”

“I’d like to,” the younger one said, “but I don’t have the time. Maisie wants me to take her and her kid for some dinner and mini-golf. I’ve got a few minutes for a beer before, but that’s it.”

They reached Muffin’s hiding place in the bushes and he scurried out, getting under their feet and dancing around. He tripped the older Beast easily. It went down shouting “Agggghhh” at the top of its phlegmy voice. Its walkie-talkie bounced across the sidewalk before landing in the wet grass.

“You all right?” the younger Beast asked. Muffin kept jumping around, back and forth, up and down, making the younger Beast look at him. “What’s this rabbit doing?” The younger Beast’s eyes grew wide and confused. It reached into its carrying bag and pulled out a heavy stick. Before the younger Beast could use the stick, Muffin slipped behind the Beast, kicked the back of its legs behind the knees and knocked it down.

While both Beasts struggled to their feet, Muffin dashed in the direction of the Campus Security building. He looked to see that they were watching him. He jumped up on the door handle, opened the door and went into the building.

He found a female Beast on Campus Security phone duty and jumped on her desk. He pulled the phone to the floor and yanked out the plug, then bit at her. She fled the room. He began breaking all the available computers, pulling out wires, smashing monitors. He saw a mop and a large bucket full of cleaning water. He dumped several walkie-talkies into the bucket, jumping back from the sparks.

The two security Beasts entered the room and looked around shocked at the damage that Muffin had already done. They tried to grab him but he dodged them. From a table he sent a computer screen crashing at their feet. “There’s something wrong with that rabbit,” the older Beast said. “I’ve shot a few in my time and I never seen one like this. It’s sick or crazy or both. We’ve got to kill it and get it out of here.” The Beast began opening, with a key, a black box where Muffin guessed a locked pistol was kept.

“You don’t have authorization for that,” the younger Beast said.

“Present danger here,” the older Beast said. “Communication is gone. If that doesn’t meet the recs, I don’t need this job. Grab some extra rounds, will you?”

Muffin dashed past them, into the hallway and towards the back door. He pushed the door open and headed out. He crouched down in some bushes just to the side of the door.

The security Beasts came out the back door, the younger one with a bag on its back. They passed Muffin and moved some feet up the sidewalk. “Outside or not, if it’s rabid, we need it dead,” the older Beast said. It was carrying the pistol. It struck a tough posture, arms folded, chest out. It looked around not seeing what it was looking for.

Muffin scrambled out of the bushes, took a quick sprint and aimed a full kick directly at the older Beast’s back. The Beast jolted forward grunting and fell, the pistol flying out of its grasp. The younger Beast lunged at Muffin, but Muffin got away easily, onto the grass near where the pistol had landed. He stepped into the pistol grip with one of his back legs and spun it and himself around, faking a deranged snarl.

“That sick rabbit got itself tangled in the gun,” the younger Beast shouted.

Muffin spun the gun with one back paw and slammed a shot into the security building wall a few feet to one side of the younger Beast, which continued shouting. The older Beast regained its feet. Muffin took another purposefully wild shot in its direction. The Beast lumbered away across a field that led to a hill and the edge of campus. The younger Beast followed. Before it picked up speed, Muffin kicked it behind the knees and sent it down. He pulled the Beast bag from its shoulders. The Beast lurched to its feet, but made no effort to regain the bag before following the older Beast across the field.

Muffin scooped up the Beast bag, checked to see what was in it. Much of it was junk but there was also some ammunition for the pistol. “A bunny who knows the fundamentals gets the breaks,” he said. He picked up the pistol lying a few feet away and stuffed it into the bag too, then went around the side of the security building, back to where he had parked his Beast. He untied the Beast from its bicycle rack and stood it up.

“Okay, Beast. Here’s your moment. If you run, I’ll have to come get you. You won’t like that, you hear me?”

The Beast grunted what might have been acknowledgment.

“Then you know what to do.”

The Beast stared, confused.

“We practiced this for an hour.” Muffin jumped up and rapped the Beast firmly on the nose.

The Beast faked a small attack but immediately gave up. “Rabid animals,” it said quietly. “Run.”

“Louder,” Muffin said, “or I’ll have to smack you again.”

“Rabid animals!” the Beast shouted. “Run!”

“Keep that up awhile, and I’ll come back to you and bring you lunch.”

“Rabid animals!” the Beast shouted again. “Run!”

It shouted several more times. When Muffin was sure that it would keep shouting, he hurried off to meet the Sir near the Campus Drive for their next task.

--------------------------------- Stay tuned to this blog for the conclusion of Chapter 28, coming one week from today.