#his hair and beard were fully white and so well groomed

[campirefangs]

I hope the random older man who very politely chatted with me at the carwash knows I haven’t gone a day without imagining dropping to my knees for him

[sadnesslaughs]

Every time you die, you receive points based on your actions while living that you can spend on your next life or save. Your past lives have been saving points for a very long time.

(A response to a writing prompt)

God didn’t expect a knock at his door this evening, especially since a meeting with God costed a mortal one hundred thousand life points. He stroked his wiry beard hairs, grooming the white beard before letting the stranger in. Even if he was God, those omnipotent powers of his didn’t fully extend into the realm of heaven. Sure, he could see and control everything on Earth, but Heaven had its own rules, allowing the angels and citizens a sense of privacy. After all, nothing bad can ever happen in heaven, so God doesn’t need to have eyes everywhere.

He expected to be greeted by an angel. Perhaps a new angel that hadn’t fully learned how to book a meeting with God through their calendar system. Instead, he was greeted by a human, one with greasy black hair and a slack posture. The man looking perpetually tired, still carrying the weight of his Earthly struggles on his shoulders. A weight that would soon be lifted by the comforts of heaven.

“Ah, my child. How nice of you to visit! You must be a devoted believer to use that many life points on me. It’s rare to find anyone that’s saved up that many points. Most use them as soon as they become available.”

“Guess I’m smarter than most.” Alex scanned the room, surprised to find that God’s office looked like a mix of a typical business conference room and a dentist’s office. The pristine wooden table surrounded by a sterile white wall, with only a single window that let in the blinding white angelic light of the clouds outside. “I’m not even really a believer. Well, I believe you exist, would be weird if I didn’t. I mean, in the sense that I don’t believe in the rules you set for humanity.”

God watched Alex groan as he settled into the office chair, body cracking as it pushed against the stiff back of the office chair. After letting the man get comfortable, God spoke. “I’m sorry you don’t agree with my rules. If you wish to propose any changes, you can always ask an angel. They will happily put forward any proposed changes to me. Or, you can tell me about them now. I’m not a tyrant. I will listen to constructive criticism.”

The man smirked. “Yes, because we’ve seen so many changes over the last thousand years.” Alex teased, hanging an arm over the chair’s back. “Don’t be sorry about it. I’ll do a much better job when I’m a God.”

“When you’re a God? How do you intend to do that?”

“With my points. If a person cashes in ten million points, you will make them a god. That’s what it says on the rewards system you implemented. I wish to cash in my ten million points.” Alex saw God freeze, thinking over what the human before him was saying. Quickly, he pulled out a book from a drawer in his desk. The book fluttered open as soon as it hit the desk, landing on Alex’s name.

“Over eleven million points… How did you save that many? It’s not possible to do such a thing. Humans are greedy by nature. How did you resist the other temptations? You could have been a king, politician, or a celebrity. Why do you want to be a god? Surely one of your other lives would have given into temptation.” He slammed the book shut, scowling at him.

“You would think so, but no. I can’t speak for my past lives, but I assume they all shared the same thought process that I did. When they died and saw that massive number, they realized how meaningless the other prizes were. Why settle for the obvious prizes, when you can become a god? What’s another hundred lives in the grand scheme of things? So, ready to make me a god?” Alex rocked back on his chair, only growing in confidence as the God looked more bewildered.

“It’s not an actual prize that people are meant to take. It’s a novelty, something that’s so outlandish that people think it’s unachievable. No one else has ever done this. No mortal can consistently resist the temptations. One of your past lives was meant to give in and waste the points.”

“Guess I’m built different. Which is why I’ll make an excellent god.” The man stood up, walking beside God, leaning over the back of his chair. “We both know you can’t go back on your word, especially since these rewards were written in stone,” the man said, emphasizing the advantage he had in this situation.

“I hope you understand how hard it is to be a god. Directing mortal lives isn’t for the feint of heart. You will see horrors that you can’t imagine. You will have knowledge that will make you wish you couldn’t think. That is the curse of the divine.” God stated, tilting his head up to look at Alex, giving him a look of pity.

Alex pretended to mull over the words before rubbing the bald spot on God’s head. “Can’t be any worse than the curse of mortality. Before you make me a god, there is one last thing I want to cash in.”

“And what’s that?”

“One million points, cut god’s beard.” Alex slid a pair of scissors from his pocket, pulling God’s face forward with a harsh tug. “I’ll be quick.” Dragging the scissors through the beard, he left droplets of white hair all over the table, coating it in the fluff. “You’ve been beaten. I’ll make a world better than you ever could. You’ll become nothing.” After cutting the last hair, he sat himself on the edge of the table. “Now, my ten million points to become a god.”

God stared at the loose hairs, collecting a few of them in his palm. “You wish to become a god? Than a god you shall become.” He said, clenching his fist.

Alex felt a scorching pain through his body. His skin melting down, leaving only muscle. Even with the pain, he couldn’t scream, only falling forward onto his face. The skin quickly repairing itself, getting a red tint to its color. Finally, he could scream, holding his head as horns pushed through his skull.

“A god of the underworld suits you nicely. You can rule those who think they are above my rules and order. No god will ever be above me, for that is a sin.”

Alex pushed through the pain, staring up at the elderly man with a defiant grin. “I’ll be back for you. One day, you’ll regret not granting me my wish. I hope on that day you remember that things could have gone differently if you let me rule my own world.”

“I’m giving you a world to rule. Enjoy godhood.” With that, God cast Alex down into the underworld, giving him authority and power over the lost souls who weren’t worthy of being reborn. These people left to wander the darkness endlessly, with Alex now stumbling with them, still trying to figure out how to control his new powers.

[icaruseater]

Monae

She was being groomed right in front of us. She didn’t really know. None of us really knew. We were kids. That’s just the simple fact of what it was.

Monae was the only other black girl in my Spanish class. She was dark-skinned, wore intense black eyeliner, bright red lipstick, and for some reason I always remember her in a white shirt with black stripes. She sat at the table (which was really just 4 desks pushed together) along with me, Bryan, and Stacy. Bryan was heavy-set with blue eyes and always wore a red shirt, Stacy was blonde with blue eyes and braces, I recall her frequently in pink. We were all 14.

When Monae first told us about her boyfriend and how her parents didn’t approve of him, we of course took her side. I would nod along as Bryan and Stacy encouraged Monae to chuck her parents' opinions out the window. She would talk frequently about running away, and we would all excitedly fantasize about what a parent-free life in the city would be like. That was, until we found out.

Monae’s boyfriend was 28. When she first dropped this information on us, we immediately dialed back on everything we’d said previously. “What? Monae, that’s just wrong and messed up.” Stacy had said.

The big problem was that none of us could quite articulate why, exactly, it was wrong. We knew it was bad, because people (mainly other adults in our lives) had told us that it was wrong and weird and creepy, so we believed them. But none of us could really explain why. So when Monae would respond with “But he’s so sweet and kind to me. He’s even making plans for our future. He loves me and I love him, what’s so wrong about that?” We didn’t know any concrete way to respond except to go back to “It's wrong, it’s bad, Monae, don’t do it.”

Then she was gone. For a week, none of us had seen or heard from her. By the time Friday rolled around, Bryan finally said the quiet part out loud: “Do y’all think she finally did it?”

She hadn’t. She returned to class that Monday. Both Bryan and Stacy were absent, so it was just us two. “Where were you?” I'd asked.

“Well, I tried. Tried to leave. But my parents caught me fast and now I'm in deep shit. Deeper than before.”

The rest of the class went on normally, and Monae even said “see you tomorrow” after the bell rang. But I didn’t. She never came back. Weeks passed. Stacy called her parents and they said they already knew and had reported it to the police. Monae was gone.

It was then that I actually saw her boyfriend for the first time. “See? Isn’t it gross?” Stacy had said, showing her phone to me. It was a photo from Monae’s Instagram page. I was taken aback. Pretty Monae, sweet and fragile as any teenage girl would be, and The Man. An older pale guy with red hair and a red beard to match, his big pasty hand clutching Monae’s shoulder.

That image is burned into my brain, though inevitably it has faded. How crushingly ironic it is that as the picture of Monae dissolves in my mind, the reality of what happened has only become clearer. Monae was being groomed. Her “boyfriend” was a pedophile. Now, almost a decade later, I have no problem listing off all the reasons why a 28 year old has no business “dating” a 14 year old. But we were also kids. Even the most mature teenager is still a teenager. We think we know everything at that age, we lean on each other, we try and fail gloriously. Us not knowing exactly why the relationship was wrong was basically by design- there was no way for us to fully grasp it.

I used to check Monae’s Instagram everyday to see how she was doing, but she deleted it very soon after disappearing. I don’t want to think about what might’ve happened to her. I don’t like to think about the various pathways she could've taken and the number of outcomes she could've had at this point. Even if they’re “the good ending”, I do not care to play choose-your-own-adventure with someone’s life. I just remember her. I recall, with as much accuracy as I can, what happened when I knew her (which is why I omitted the time she came to class with a black eye, I don’t quite remember what her explanation was or if this even actually happened). No alternate scenarios. No epilogues. Just what happened. I doubt she thinks of me, but I think of her. Like an echo that rings out into the night, it’s intense vibration waking me from sleep and filling the room. It says “Remember Monae”.

[let-the-dream-begin]

In Hearts We Leave Behind

Part Two: Chapter 2

Part Two Chapter 1

Read on AO3

John and Jamie sat at their table with their drinks, hands laced together, watching Brianna and all her cousins run around the Lallybroch grounds like wee heathens. Jenny scolded them all for about the twentieth time, threatening all sorts of punishment if any of the children were to muck up their plaids or their beautiful dresses.

Jamie shook his head and met John’s gaze out of the corner of his eye.

“She’ll never give up,” John said.

“And neither will they.” Jamie gestured to the throng of children, his heart swelling.

Brianna’s hair was wild and untamed, fluttering behind her despite Jenny’s best efforts to maintain the beautiful updo the hairdresser had given her to match all her cousins. It had lasted through the church ceremony, but the pins and flower crown hadn’t even made it to the courthouse. Maggie’s hair was of course still impeccable, the wee thing cherishing every second she got to feel like a little fairy, and Kitty’s was somewhere in between her sister’s and her cousin’s.

But none of it mattered a whit to Jamie.

His girl was happy. She was romping around in her blue dress, white shoes and frilly socks discarded for now — blue, because having been offered a pink dress, she’d nearly had a full-blown tantrum. Blue matched the Fraser tartan better anyway, but Jenny had been so certain that all the little girls would just be over the moon to wear matching frilly pink dresses for such a special, magical occasion.

“Well, she doesn’t know our girl,” is what John had said.

Our girl.

Theirs, now officially.

They were each other’s officially, now, too.

Jamie’s entire family, including all six of Jenny and Ian’s children were in attendance. The only notable absences were uncles Colum and Dougal, but given the reason they weren’t there, nobody missed them at all. Even Aunt Jocasta swore up and down that she’d never speak to them again because of how they treated Jamie over marrying a man. A select handful of Jamie and Claire’s old friends were in attendance: Louise and the Abernathy’s. The only Grey family member in attendance was Hal, and he even seemed to be begrudgingly enjoying himself. Isobel, John’s long-time beard from back in the day, was in attendance with her girlfriend.

Jamie completed his visual sweep of the tables and dance floor around them, turning to fully look into John’s eyes, losing himself to the memory of their time at the altar; could it really have only been four or so hours ago?

It had been beautiful.

The wedding itself took place at their family kirk in Broch Mordha upon Jenny’s threat of death to any priest who refused to allow her brother to marry his boyfriend. The ceremony left not a dry eye in the room, least especially the grooms themselves. Jamie had decided Brianna was just a touch too old to be a flower girl, but she was absolutely to be in the wedding party, so she was his “best mate,” as they’d decided to call it, proudly standing right beside her Da as he pledged himself to her new Daddy. She’d never admit it, but Jamie swore he could hear her sniffling behind him as he recited his vows to John. Isobel was John’s “best mate,” or maid of honor, whatever anyone wished to call it. 

“Gay weddings don’t have to make sense, love,” she’d said while they were planning.

When Jamie was told to kiss his groom, he thought he might rocket into the sky. To his shock, John was the one who sprang forward, grabbing Jamie’s face and kissing him passionately.

My husband.

It was so strange to think. Jamie had certainly been a husband before; he was no stranger to marriage. But to be now one of two husbands, married to a man…it was different in such an exquisite way.

Something told Jamie that he couldn’t have married another woman. He couldn’t have felt a woman’s softness or heard a woman’s laugh ever again without seeing or hearing Claire. He couldn’t bear to make Brianna feel like her mother was being replaced. Were Jamie a straight man, he’d remain a widower, plain and simple.

But to feel the sculpted, hard beauty of a man’s body, to hold hands so like his own, to watch Bree open up to him and allow him into her life with no expectations of replacing what was lost…

Jamie deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around him, deliriously happy.

And then, Jamie felt something that he could only equate to a monkey jumping on his back; his monkey.

Bree, ever the unladylike heathen, had managed to use the wedding arch to climb to a height where she could latch onto Jamie's back, wrapping her legs around his waist. Jamie and John's kiss broke with rousing laughter, John reaching up to ruffle her curls — curls that had somehow managed to break free of the hairdresser’s work during the long ceremony. Bree planted a loud, wet kiss on Jamie’s cheek before smiling cheekily at the photographers capturing the moment.

Jamie laughed to himself thinking of all the formal, posed photos they’d taken as a couple and as family, and thinking that despite their abundance, he’d like to have this framed and hung above the mantle: laughing, hands clasped with his new husband, his daughter squeezing his neck with her tongue stuck out at the camera.

It was perfect, because it was them.

Brianna’s adoption ceremony was right after, so the reception was to celebrate both the wedding and John’s brand new fatherhood. Brianna stood proudly in the courtroom like a little grown up, chin held high, holding both of her fathers’ hands. John tearily professed his intentions to be a good father and uphold every duty and responsibility legally expected of him. When the judge proclaimed that John was hereby to be known as Brianna’s legal father, Jamie kissed him with all the pure love and adoration in his heart, and then Brianna was standing on the chair behind her to get herself at their level.

“What about me! I’m the one who just got adopted!”

Then they laughed and each kissed one of her cheeks, causing her to squeal and push their faces away.

The adoption ceremony itself included just the three Fraser-Greys. Jenny had been torn between wanting to witness it and wanting to make sure Lallybroch and all the guests were perfectly content and settled before they arrived as a new family, and eventually the latter won out.

The family of three arrived at the reception when everyone was already settled with horderves and drinks, and they arrived to cheers and clapping. Brianna was bouncing off the walls, more than ready to be through with ceremonies and formalities and to start actually having fun.

“Can I finally go play, Daddy?”

Jamie did not miss how John straightened up, how his eyes shone; that was the first time Brianna had called him Daddy without a second thought, the first time since the ceremony.

“Yes, love, go have fun.”

She tore off with a squeal, and Jamie tightened his grip on John’s arm. Murtagh, who had previously been rather cozy with Aunt Jocasta, made his way over to the wedded couple, his face red with either drink or emotion, or probably both.

“My heart is full to see ye so happy, Jamie.” He gripped both Jamie and John behind their necks. “Ye put the light back in his eyes, lad. I’m forever in yer debt fer that.”

The couple each hugged Jamie’s godfather tearily, and Murtagh lingered with Jamie as John meandered into the rest of the crowd to receive congratulations and show pictures on his phone from the courthouse.

“I’m proud of ye, godson. She’s smiling down on ye, I ken it.”

God, Jamie knew it.

He could feel her all day. Not in a worrisome or foreboding way, not at all. Jamie had already done all of his grieving and letting go while he was still in the process of giving his heart to John completely. Today was not about a parting, it was about a joining. And he could feel her joy for it. He knew if there was some insane timeline in existence where Claire lived and had Brianna and yet Jamie still married John, that she’d be in the front row, weeping with joy for them. It seemed to Jamie that Claire was the very first person to root for him to pursue John, in her own way.

She’d been right, in her letter; Jamie had cursed her name when she told him to find love again. Back then, he’d raged that she’d thought him callous, that he could just toss her away, not even cold in the ground, and move on. He could never, he told himself, not ever.

But she’d been right, too, that his heart was too full of love.

And she’d been right that that love would go to a him.

Jamie could feel her in the courthouse, too, could almost feel her hand atop his on Brianna’s shoulder, could almost hear her whisper:

“He’s going to be such a good Daddy, Smudge. I’m so happy for you.”

And today, Jamie did not weep for any reason besides unadulterated happiness. And everyone around them felt that joy, and it radiated back to him. The time came for their first dance, and they clung to each other, lips hovering over one another, and swayed to “Make You Feel My Love” by Adele.

At the end of the song, Jamie stared longingly into John’s eyes, listening to the final lyrics.

“Go to the ends of the earth for you, to make you feel my love.”

“I would, John,” Jamie whispered solemnly.

“To make you feel my love.”

“I know, darling. I know.”

Brianna joined them next, taking turns standing on each of their feet to sway to Tim McGraw���s “My Little Girl,” eventually ending up on Jamie’s hip, embraced by both of her fathers, surrounded by love.

“You’re my little girl now, Bree,” John whispered, kissing her temple. “Our little girl.”

“I know, Daddy,” Brianna said, kissing his cheek. “I love you. And I love you, Da.”

Jamie muttered in Gaelic, nuzzling her curls with his nose.

“Tha gaol agam ort le mo chridhe iomlan, m’annsachd.”

[apossessionadaybreak]

Father’s Day Special

“Hey dad, I got you something” I announced, barging into the house.

“Hmm? Oh you shouldn’t have, there’s plenty of better things to spend money on than your old man.”

“Dad, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been wearing the same set of clothes every week. It’s Father’s Day! You deserve to have something new.”

He laughed. “Guilty as charged, put it in my room and I’ll have a look at it later.”

I did as he said, smiling to myself. I would do anything to make my dad happy, he had been so strong, so amazing, raising me all on his own. Not once had I ever heard him complain or lose his patience. If only I could do more for him… As my mind wandered, I began to feel a little woozy. Shopping for dad must have taken more out of me than I thought. I had even tried on some of the things I had bought for him. Of course I already knew his measurements but it was just for fun, to see the difference in size. I’m not sure what I was expecting, the pants sagged around my ankles and dropped down the moment I tried to put them around my waist. The belt hadn’t been any better, being way too long for someone like me to even consider. Still, I had earned at least a short nap. Surprisingly I could barely even keep my eyes open as I dragged myself to the bed. I was out in moments.

I gasped as I opened my eyes. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few seconds but something felt… odd. I somehow felt… thicker? Heavier? I shook my head to try to clear it which only reinforced the feeling that I had somehow grown a lot in a very short amount of time. I blinked and even the way my face moved felt strange. Looking down I saw that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. For one there was a lot more hair than I remembered, the thickest region right in the middle of my chest and more covering the rest of the front. I felt rather than saw, lines spanning my torso, defining muscles I had never bothered to develop. They were accompanied by a layer of fat and yet all of it felt, just right. Appropriate for a man my age. That thought gave me pause, I wasn’t sure when I had begun thinking of myself as a man but it certainly wasn’t within the last five minutes. Acting on instinct, I began to stretch. It felt good, better than I had ever known, the way my muscles pulled and tightened all around me. I took a deep breath and inhaled a scent that I knew instantly yet couldn’t place the name of. It was a few moments before I realised that it was coming from ME, it was what I smelled like. I took a few more tentative sniffs to confirm before putting my arms back down. I shook my head, I had hair all over my body in places I didn’t even remember. Everything felt distinctly familiar and foreign at the same time. I looked up to see a mirror, and saw my dad staring back at me.

I had never heard my dad scream before but somehow his deep voice still remained thunderous and commanding. I began to breathe faster, panicking. It was weird to say the least, to see my father, always so strong and stoic, having a meltdown. I swallowed hard attempting to calm myself and figure out just what the hell was going on. I scrambled to my feet, not even remembering having sat down. The weight and strength of this body nearly threw me off-balance even as I tried to stand up. Hesitantly, I looked into the mirror again, and saw my dad once again, making the same horrified face I had in my mind. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, feeling my huge chest inflate as I did so. Without even meaning to I felt blood rush straight to my member. I groaned, as if it wasn’t weird enough being in my dad’s body. I looked around me to confirm my surroundings. I seemed to be in my dad’s room. The shopping bag I had dumped here earlier was lying on its side. Looking down, I saw I was wearing the pants and belt I had tried on earlier except now they sat snugly around my waist, a perfect fit. I thumbed the material, scarcely daring to believe myself. I had shopped at the store so many times previously with no strange effects. Could something as simple as trying on clothes impart such supernatural properties? I wondered if my dad was in my body, experiencing the same weird scenario I was but given the complete silence throughout the rest of the house I was inclined to think otherwise. Somehow, I was possessing my dad’s body, filling out his suit pants. Now that I had gotten over the initial shock, another part of me couldn’t stop thinking how awesome this was, against my better judgment. I was my Dad. I was my own father. “This is crazy!” My dad’s voice boomed out of MY mouth, vocalising MY thoughts. I wanted to laugh, felt a mad urge to laugh and before I knew it was doubling over in the middle of the room, a lovely bass chuckle escaping my lips. My mind raced with all the possibilities that had opened up to me, I couldn’t even begin to describe the insanity of what was happening.

I felt my face with my thick, calloused fingers, feeling the tickle of the short bristles of hair on my head. A beard, I had an honest-to-goodness beard, well groomed and maintained. I ran my hands over the rest of my body, feeling newfound strength in my limbs and appreciated the WEIGHT of this body. It had never occurred to me just how well built, well proportioned my dad was but now I was seeing it in an all new light. I felt a bucking against my briefs as a small dark patch appeared on the trousers I had just bought. I laughed, I had always been a boxers man myself but couldn’t argue with how well the fabric supported my girthy new package. I ran my fingers through the dense pelt covering my chest and belly, taking a moment to circle my nipples, so much bigger and more sensitive than my own. My hands wandered down to my crotch and I began to unbuckle and unbutton, all thoughts of taboo replaced by the white haze of pleasure. However, as I slid the pants down past my knees, I began to feel woozy again, exactly how I felt before… this happened.

Coming to my senses, I quickly pulled the pants on again, the discomfort disappearing as quickly as I dressed. I couldn’t even begin to understand my powers but thought it best not to get too crazy for now. I flexed, striking a pose in the mirror and laughed as my dad obeyed my every command. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted my dad’s wallet. An idea coming into my head, I grabbed and thumbed through the wad of notes and cards stored within. I, my dad had never liked spending money but today was Father’s day and he, I deserved to enjoy myself. I quickly located my car keys and phone, smiling as I unlocked the latter with my strong fingers. I couldn’t recall the password at the moment but with a quick fingerprint scan I was reading through all of my dad’s messages. Details and memories of my life flowed smoothly in, informing my movements, my thoughts. I snapped up a crisp white button-down from the closet, swiftly pulling it on and tucking it in to my trousers. I tilted my head and arched my back as I felt my body a second time through my clothes. The fabric stretched tight as it hugged my skin, my nipples, me.

Panting, I retained the presence of mind to grab a set of my, my dad’s clothes and moved to leave it in my room. Knocking on the door, I swung it open to reveal my body, lying still on the bed. A quick check revealed I was still breathing. Resolving to study my powers later, I laid the pile of clothes on the desk before closing the door behind me.

I wasted no time driving to the local mall where I had purchased my gifts. I walked around the same department store I had been in just hours earlier but failed to uncover anything unusual. The only difference was the way other people looked at me, talked to me. Gone were the glances of disdain and fake smiles for the teenager grabbing clothes far too big for him. Now they were far more attentive, sincerely giving their best pitches, eager for my approval. I smirked and shook my head, my budget had expanded far beyond what they had on display. I strode out, leaving them to gaze at my impressive back. A small grumble sounded from my stomach and I grinned. Following the smell of sizzling meat I sat myself at the fanciest restaurant in the area. I politely declined a menu, I already knew my favourite. “Steak, medium-rare, and a glass of your finest red.” The waiter nodded and retreated as swiftly as he came. I looked casually around the room, easing my bulk into the soft cushions of the chair as I made myself as comfortable as possible. All around me were people who probably never even gave my dad the time of day now shooting glances in my direction. As they should be, despite my usual appearance I was not a man to be taken lightly. I rolled my shoulders and unlocked my phone, studying up on my life as I waited.

An hour later I walked out, fully satiated, having left a generous tip to boot. I felt a small pang of guilt as I saw my face in the glass, my dad would never spend this much money but I consoled myself that it was just for today, he deserved to enjoy himself. I was certainly enjoying myself. I strolled around, exploring stores I had never even looked at before.

“Billy!” I turned around at the sound before I could even process the words, somehow my dad knew this man. I gave him a once-over, he was taller than my dad but seemed just as fit. I felt a smile come to my face and a bulge in my pants.

“Evening Phil.” The words left my mouth as easily as flowing water. This was my son’s, my, best friend’s dad and fellow lawyer. I grimaced a little, the mix-ups were getting more frequent and slightly worrying.

“Looking good my friend, finally using that paycheck of yours?”

I laughed. “Gifts from my son. For Father’s day.”

“Ahh they grow up so fast don’t they? Nicky gave me a tie though I wouldn’t say no to a new belt either, suits you well.”

I glanced down and smiled at my handiwork. “It is nice isn’t it?” I grinned as a plan began to form in my mind. “Perhaps he’s waiting to give you the rest.”

Phil snorted. “Yeah, right. If that ever happened I’ll need to send him for an exorcism.”

I laughed harder than before, he had no idea how close he was to the truth. “Was good seeing you Phil but I must be going. Places to be, errands to run.”

We waved each other goodbye as I stepped in the direction of the tailors. A bespoke suit would do very nicely and Phil would indeed look nice with a handsome new belt around his waist. Might give a new sparkle to his eyes, I thought to myself, grinning madly as I did so. Happy Father’s day indeed.

[wookie92]

The Furry Report: New Trends in Masculine Chest Hair

I am the middle brother of three brothers.  My older brother is quite hirsuit with a thick veldt of chest and stomach hair and hair on his upper back and shoulders.  My own chest is quite hairy, but I keep my shoulders and back clean of unwanted hair.  My younger brother has a center patch, but significantly less hair that the other two of us.  I am sharing that just to point out that among the three brothers our chest hair patterns are all three different from one another and still different from what Dad has.

I started growing chest hair at age 13 and had a fully hairy chest by 15.  I got the nickname “wookie” at school because of my hairy chest.  I was proud of my chest hair, and unless “commanded” to shave it as a part a member of the swim team, I let it grow. In college, it wasn’t an option; we had to shave.

My own experience has been that a clean shaven or waxed chest was very popular from 2000 to 2016, but a more natural look seems to now be returning as a grooming fashion.  That was good news to me.  Shaving is not a good option for those of us with thick fur on our bodies.

MASCULINE CHEST HAIR

Chest hair is hair that grows on the chest of a male in the region between the neck and the abdomen. Chest hair develops during and after puberty along with other types of androgenic hair (hair that develops on the human body during and after puberty). According to the New York Times, for a new generation, the overly groomed body appears to be falling out of favor. “We’re seeing a return to ’70s fashion,” said Tim Bess, an analyst at the trend forecasting agency the Doneger Group. “The late ’60s and early ’70s were about freedom, the hippie movement, having lots of hair.”

DEVELOPMENT AND GROWTH

Although vellus hair is already present in the area in childhood, chest hair is the terminal hair that develops as an effect of rising levels of androgens (primarily testosterone and its derivatives) due to puberty. Different from the head hair it is therefore a secondary sexual characteristic. Men tend to be covered with far more terminal hair, particularly on the chest, the abdomen, and the face.

The development of chest hair begins normally during late puberty, usually between the ages of 12 and 18. It can also start later, between the age of 20 and 40, so that many men in their twenties have not yet reached their full chest hair development. The growth continues subsequently until the end of life.

PATTERNS AND CHARACTERISTICS

The individual occurrence and characteristics of chest hair depend on the genetic disposition, the hormonal status and the age of the person. The genes primarily determine the amount, patterns and thickness of chest hair. Some men are very hairy, while others have no chest hair at all. All ranges and patterns of hair growth are normal. The areas where terminal hair may grow are the periareolar areas (nipples), the centre and sides of the chest and the clavicle collarbone.

The direction of growth of hair can make for interesting patterns, akin to depictions of mathematical vector fields. Typical males will exhibit a node on the upper sternum, the hair above which points up and the hair below which points down. Some individuals have spirals on their upper pectoral regions (several inches from the nipple towards the neck) which run clockwise on the left breast and counter-clockwise on the right.

Considering an individual occurrence of chest hair as abnormal is usually not due to medical indications but primarily to cultural and social attitudes. An excessive growth of terminal hair on the body of men and women is called hypertrichosis. This medical term has to be distinguished from hirsutism that just affects women. These women can develop terminal hair on the chest following the male pattern as a symptom of an endocrine disease.

SETTY PATTERNS

Four areas in the Setty chest hair pattern system: infraclavicular (top), pectoral (left), sternal (middle) and circumareolar (right)

There have been occasional studies documenting patterns of chest hair in men and occurrence of these patterns. A study of 1,400 white men aged 17 to 71 conducted by L.R. Setty in the 1960s defines 15 patterns of chest hair. In this study, four parts of the chest in which terminal hair occurs were identified:

There have been occasional studies documenting patterns of chest hair in men and occurrence of these patterns. A study of 1100 men aged 17 to 71 defined and documented ten patterns of chest hair in Caucasoid men. In this study 6 percent of the men were found to have no chest hair. The largest group, 56 percent, displayed pattern four as shown in the accompanying figure. The remaining 38 percent of the men displayed a lesser quantity of chest hair. Seven percent displayed pattern one, 13 percent displayed pattern two and 18 percent displayed various other patterns.

WHAT PERCENTAGE OF MEN HAVE CHEST HAIR?

74%        (Sternal)  The center and lower part of the body of the breastbone        

63%        (Infraclavicular)    The area immediately below the medial end of the collarbone

77%        (Pectoral)  The breast area, including the area immediately around the areola (nipples)

16%        (Circumareolar)    A small area immediately encircling the areola.

6%        No chest hair.   The pattern of no chest hair may be found predominately in Native Americans, Ireland, UK, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Czech Republic, Poland, Ukraine, Southern Russia, Netherlands, Denmark. Unhairy - Majority of population not hairy (e.g. a lot of men don't have chest hair) Norway, Sweden, Finland, Baltic States, Northern Russia.

Chest hair may occur on each of these areas independent from the others, making for a total of 15 combinations in addition to the apilose (bare) pattern. Hair is said to occur on both the pectoral and circumareolar areas when there is hair around the nipples and on the breast, but these areas are not connected.

What Your Chest Hair Should Look Like

Chest hair can be pretty divisive. You are either really into it, or not. Even if I had to look at it objectively, some of the manliest men of all time had quite a bush. James Bond, Anil Kapoor and Chuck Norris—to name a few. Yet, there are some handsome hunks who can pull off bare-chested look like a boss. Case in point - Ryan Gosling, Ranveer Singh or Salman Khan. The truth is with such a laudable amount of care going into manscaping, I thought it’s only legit to inform you about the top styles that can accessorize your chest. Here goes!

The Rug

It symbolises manliness like no other chest hairstyles. It’s the ‘daddy cool’ style, which is, more often than not, sported by men who’re old enough to be fathers. With celebrity supporters including Tom Selleck, Akshay Kumar and Alec Baldwin, it’s no wonder the style has to be worn proudly. Just keep the look under control with constant quick trims.

The Tree

As the name suggests, this version of the style has moderate amount of hair on the upper torso with a small trail leading south. It’s rather popular among young guys who don’t want to come across too bushy but also don’t want to part ways with chest hair. This evergreen approach, as a result, let boys sport a happy tree throughout the year.

The One Sided Affair

This one is the manscaping underdog, and characterizes a well-trimmed hair on the top half of the chest but a smooth bottom half. Smooth can become stubble but that’s as far the length of the hair on the bottom half can go. As seen on Don Draper, this look is popular and is sported by men of all ages.

Gay Otter: A man with think or thickish athletic build that usually has lots of body hair. Typically, this hair covers various parts of the torso, including the chest and stomach. Some otters also have hair on the arms, back and butt.

Gay Wolf: A man with a lean, muscular build. Usually has body hair on the chest and/or torso region. Almost always has facial hair.

Gay Bear:  Broadly-speaking, a bear is hairy, with a large build and over 30-years-old. They are hunky, chunky, often with bellies, big legs, big butts and almost always with a full beard or facial hair.

[count-v-dracula]

Escape † Pt. 1 of 2

“Go on! Go on you stupid boy! Do that again and you shall get a beating greater than the last!” A deep male voice cried out in vain as boy, about thirteen years old with raven hair that just grazed his shoulders and a face soured with a trenchant look ran angry out of one of many doors of the palace. The one that had been crying out to the child was a court attendant that was at his wit’s end of harnessing that boy. Everyone in the Sultan’s household despised the child that had only been there a month. From smashed property, being spat on, and sneaky tricks to upset servants and others had only caused disruption and discord among all. Sultan Murad himself had sat down with the fair-skinned child, and only temporarily pacified him.  The tutors bore the worst from the prince-to-be, so they accused. Vladislaus, this foreign boy would always be questioning why he had to learn this or that, why their Allah was better than his Almighty, and more baser acts of defiance akin to boys his age that can be imagined.

The air was warm and dry as it murmured, carrying flecks of sand in gusts as the boy marched to the stables, determined to do what he had only dreamt of doing since he was taken here. “Come on, Hadad!” Vlad shouted to his beloved horse, the animal’s silky mane resembled that of his young master’s. “I mean it this time,” he whispered as he swallowed back a lump in his throat, wiping his tears on the sleeve of his blouse until a quiet ‘ahem’ made Vlad turn quickly around to find what appeared to be a stable hand. He was an older man,  his skin was bronzed and his eyes were like black oil. He also had a short white beard and mustache that scratched against the top of his hands that rested beneath his chin as he leaned on the pitchfork, wearing a light smile – a touch embarrassed to have witnessed the boy crying and in his fit.

“You! Servant! Saddle my horse for me, I want to leave here immediately.” Afshin, the groom, smiled wider and gave a slight bow at the waist. “Yes, young sire.” He set the pitchfork aside and attended the demand. Afshin had heard of the untamable one that lived with several others that were kept as assurance that no foul play or understanding would be broken between him and the other party. The other party, for Vlad, was his own father. Vladislaus and his younger brother Radu, had been handed over to the Sultan as a promise that that Vlad Dracul would not dishonor on their agreement between their separate courts. To gain the trust of the Sultan, was to lose the trust, and love of his sons – not so much Radu, for he was younger and still did not fully understand, but Vladislaus felt otherwise.

“Hurry up, old fool!” Vlad strangled a sob and folded his arms tightly as he watched the man prepare Hadad for the saddle. “Forgive me for saying, young sire, but you don’t seem to be in a hurry yourself,” Afshin observed with a light countenance.

“How dare you speak with insolence to me! I am the prince...or--” he began to falter, “I am going to be someday! You all will see and kneel to me! I will crush all of you!” Afshin only smiled, his back to the inflamed youth. “How I see it, young sire, you would have left weeks ago if you really wanted to.” Vlad’s mouth dropped open as he drew in a breath...the groom was right. There were many opportunities where he could have quietly slipped away, with Radu alongside him. And now? Radu was back in the palace, laughing and being adored! They loved him, and hardly gave notice to Vlad. Radu’s face was angelic, to say the least. His round eyes of almond brown, his wavy dark hair and petal lips enchanted the court. Vlad, however, was too pointed, tall and thin and his nose was pronounced by this. It did not stop at physical beauty, though. Radu’s temperament was pleasant and sanguine, he was the child that followed the rules of the house and did not ask impertinent questions like his brother.

“Well – I’m leaving now unless you die before you finish, old man!” Vlad snapped back, knowing he was at a disadvantage. “What if you die before I finish,” he retorted plainly. Afshin had no fear of this noble youth. “What...what do you mean?” Vlad asked, confused and intrigued. “His majesty, if he finds out, will kill you, will he not if you, or your brother did anything so foolish as running away?”

Vlad’s eyes welled with a fresh tears that fell down his burning cheeks, colored a deep red from being distraught and he collapsed into a fresh pile of straw, drawing his knees up as he pressed his head atop them and hugged his legs. “I hate it here! I hate everyone! I hate you!” He lashed out between sobs that shook his whole frame. Afshin finished strapping the saddle down and continued to put on the bridle. “Hate...a powerful feeling, isn’t it?” the groom observed. “Hate, I’ve learned in life, is a veil on top something else.” Vlad didn’t listen, he blurted out, “I hate my father! I hate my brother!”

“Slow down, young sire, or you’ll leave someone out of your hate, for sure,” his smile dimmed as he looked down at the boy. “I know it isn’t my place to speak, but, I think you love your brother and father, dangerously love them. I do not know you, or your family, though I do understand why you and your brother are here and the others, but I should say if you didn’t care, you would not be so upset, young sire.” Vlad rose to his feet, the sand from outside mingled with his tears and dirtied his face, his gemlike eyes sparkled for the tears. “Is my horse ready?” He asked, low and steady, attempting to keep his voice from faltering and from the anger bursting out again. “He is, young sire,” Afshin nodded and stepped back with a respectful nod.

Vlad hoisted himself onto Hadad’s back, took the reins, and coaxed him into a walk. “Young sire!” Afshin said, placating. “Shall you not say goodbye to your brother first? Once you are gone, so will he be.”

~~To be continued...

[punkiepunzyl]

so little note as for the inspiration for this little drabble piece...

My cat Floyd- was feral his first three months of life, and so he is very funny when it comes to excessive affection (even though he’s been with us almost a year now)- and I figured it was how Michael would maybe interact with his S/O

Warning ⚠️: I’m still new at this when it comes to writing about Mikey’s behavior so bear with me if he’s a tad bit OOC.

———————————————————————

Grooming Day~ (RZ!Michael Myers x Reader Oneshot)

It was time again- time to go see if Mikey felt like cooperating today. If I was lucky, he would allow me to talk to him, maybe even groom him a bit...though that would take a hell of a lot of patience on his end. And a lot of unfiltered bravery in mine.

I grabbed the cell keys from my locker (the set of keys that Loomis had given to me begrudgingly after Michael made it clear he seemed to have no intention of killing me...yet) and began to make my way down the depressing corridors to Michael’s too small lodgings.

‘I honestly don’t know how he hasn’t punched through the wall by now, I’m WAY shorter than he is and I even get claustrophobic in there’ I mused as I approached the door.

I paused just long enough to tap out a quiet pattern on the door to let Michael know I was entering his room- none of the other guards could keep up with my patterns so I used that as a code system that I switched out every week, (and I kept doing this no matter how much Loomis scolded me for it.) Slowly pushing the metal slab of steel open I found the behemoth sitting with his back to me at his little desk working on a mask. Michael’s artistic ability never ceased to amaze me, and even though the other staff members constantly talk shit about his masks, I found that if you looked close enough you could find all the small intricate patterns he would paint on the cheeks or forehead of his paper mache creations.

“Michael, it’s me (Y/N),” I slowly crept forward, allowing the man in front of me to process what I was saying before continuing to make my cautious movements to stand beside him- making sure to stand close to his bed. “Nod your head to let me know you understand what I’m saying Mikey.”

The last thing I wanted to do was get in Mike’s personal space without letting him know first- because the last time I made that mistake I ended up with a cracked rib (because I flew into the wall like a rag doll) and very aggravated Michael who had placed his hand in the center of my chest and shoved me away from him- because I was dumb enough to put my hand on him without his permission.

Slowly Michael not only nodded his head; but turned around to look at me his blue eyed gaze stabbing me with its intensity. Even though my interactions with Mikey were harmless for the most part- that didn’t stop his predatory gaze from causing me to momentarily freeze up in fear.

It was only instinct...

“How we doing today big guy?” I said lying my hand in his forearm in a friendly welcome. He looked at where I was touching him then lifted a three fingers to mimic the gentle affection I was giving him on his arm- his long fingers wrapping all the way around my wrist, giving it a testing squeeze.

I was happy to see no one else was really on duty in this corridor today- it would only prove to be a problem if stabby man decided he suddenly wanted to kill me- but other guards was what typically annoyed him on my visits. Their stares and open chatter about he’d never behaved like this with anyone before- it made him feel weak.

So reinforcement in the means of extra bodies wasn’t an option. That just left me and the 6’8” somewhat “gentle giant” by ourselves.

He shifted in his seat and stood up to his full height- Michael did this every time I came to visit him- it was his way of silently reminding me who was in charge here- and it wasn’t me. I knew and understood that very well- I would never be in control of Michael Myers- he tolerated me being around him, and I was grateful to him for even giving me that.

“I want to brush your hair today, maybe shave you a bit- is that ok? I could just keep you company if you don’t want me that close or-“ before I could finish my unintelligible rambling Myers plopped down on his bed and cocked his head to the side as if to say “Well are you going to start or what?”

I gave him a soft smile and climbed onto his bed behind him easing my back to lean against the wall as I began to dampen Michaels mane of dirty blonde knots, and after putting in some oil and leave in conditioner- began gently working through his mats and tangles- ending his first part of grooming by giving his hair a quick trim and putting it in a loose braid.

Now came the harder part- shaving Mikey’s facial hair. He absolutely hated it when I got to close to his jugular- I imagine any strong predator would, it makes him feel too vulnerable.

I scooted my self of the bed and walked around to stand in between Mike’s legs before beginning to speak.

“Hey bud, you did really well with the first part of this, let’s see if you hold still for this. I’ll try to be quick so you won’t be uncomfortable for to long...ok?” I cooed beginning to trim the small beard he’d begun to sprout in the last few weeks.

He twitched slightly as I gently applied the thick shaving cream to his skin making sure to massage it into his jaw line before ceasing to observe my work- and to see how good old Mikey was holding up. I could see how tightly wound up his body was- corded muscle tensing up and shifting underneath his clothes, he was holding himself together as best as he could...but this self restraint wouldn’t hold for long. His knuckles were stark white as he gripped the edge of his bed and I mentally prepared myself for if he were to strike me right now.

I inhaled shakily looking in those blue eyes- their lack of expression making me feel as though I’d been dunked in cold water then left in a icy wasteland. There would be no fire and no fresh change of clothes leaving me doomed to die of hypothermia.

But for a moment I saw something slightly tender, as he read the openly unanswered question in my eyes “can I touch you?”. He suddenly reached out to grab me, and I let out a yelp of surprise...I’d been so caught up in his eyes I didn’t even notice him move, and watched in awe as he guided my hand holding the five blade razor to his jaw.

I let out a relieved huff of air- some would even call the exhalation a very breathy laugh- and quickly got to work on shaving Mike’s face. Especially because he seemed to be in a good mood today, but I still made sure to take my time with near his Adam’s Apple and jugular as to avoid cutting to close or pushing down to hard.

Soon enough the deed was done, as I cleaned off Michael’s face of any excess shavings or shaving cream- and applying some aftershave I simply gawked at the handsome man for a solid minute or two- before I noticed his gaze flit away from mine to shyly pick at some of the sealer he frequently used on his masks that was stuck to his hands.

Because Mikey was clearly in a good mood already, today I decided I could afford to make some rather bold choices such as reaching out to cup Michael’s large head in my small hands and lift his chin to make him look at me- relishing the soft feel of his freshly shaved face against my palms.

“Michael Audrey Myers-I still get the feeling you don’t realize just how handsome you are... you definitely wouldn’t bother wearing those masks if you did.” I said softly, the pads running over his cheekbones.

He looked at me then- his eyes looking a little less glacier like than they usually do. His arms swiftly wrapped around my waist and he allowed himself to flop fully onto his bed, deciding that he was now going to use me like a stuffed animal for the rest of the time that was with him today.

Guess I won’t be moving until shift change...not that I was complaining at all.

———————————————————————

Author’s Note: I had originally posted this fic to a new blog of mine- called gigglemyers (which I have now deleted) but I didn’t like that tumblr kept pulling it out of the tags because my blog was new SOOO I just decided to start using this one again- and let it turn into absolute chaos.

Sound cool? Okay good- because with this much content from different communities this blog is going to turn into a real mess, real quick. Just a heads up! ☺️

[lajulie24]

D for hanleia pre esb!! ❤️

Thank you kindly for the prompt, and for your extreme patience with the long time I took to finally fulfill it! This idea ended up racing past drabble and well into fic rather than ficlet territory, so think of this as part 1 of a two-part fic. Also, this will be a long post since Tumblr seems to deal poorly with “read more” links in asks these days. Title is a reference to a line in Abra Moore’s “Four Leaf Clover.”

D. Subtle kindnesses.

Let go of all the big deals

Damn it. Leia really wished Evaan were still here.

I wish Mama were here, her thoughts continued, before she could stop them. Or Winter, or Aria. Papa. Memily. Even Aunt Rouge, Aunt Celly.

It was easier when she didn’t let herself go there at all, but apparently she’d opened the floodgates simply by thinking of Evaan—who was still alive, just elsewhere with the rest of her people, keeping them safe, leading them in the way Leia couldn’t right now.

Evaan would know what to do with this, this mess that had become of Leia’s hair. She would’ve laughed, wielded the comb, helped her work out the little bits of resin that lingered in the strands. A few washings with Chewie’s shampoo had actually done a brilliant job at getting out most of the sticky sap that had exploded all over them, but it couldn’t work miracles.

Leia worked the comb through her hair slowly, wincing as she hit another tangle.

“How’s the grooming goin’, Your Worship?” Han called from outside the door. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn’t sent out a search party for her, given how much time she’d been at this already, but perhaps he had enough experience with Chewie to understand that this was no simple job.

“Fine,” she called back. “Just great.” She took up another section and began working the comb through it, gradually, carefully. This was honestly the longest her hair had spent fully down in quite some time; normally she took it down, brushed it, and put it into her sleeping braid, or pulled it out of the sleeping braid long enough to put it back up in her familiar crown braids. Now that she had spent so much time with it, she noticed not only the tangles and remaining bits of sap, but the split ends.

She hadn’t cut it since Alderaan. She’d been neglecting it, frankly; it had been this length for years, but regular trims helped maintain its health and texture. When she was home, she and Winter would trim one another’s hair. Or she’d get Memily to do it. TooVee could do it in a pinch, but normally cutting hair wasn’t a task you would give to a droid. It was too personal, too intimate for that.

TooVee would’ve claimed it contrary to her programming, anyway. A stickler for protocol, that one.

“Need anything?” Han called. He was actually being surprisingly considerate about this whole thing; somehow he seemed to have caught on to hair = private and had made sure to keep everyone else out of the crew quarters while she tended to this.

There was one tangle that didn’t want to come out. A little nest of hair that defied her, no matter how carefully she worked to unwind it, her efforts achieving nothing but a sore scalp. Such a sad little knot, she thought. A little snarl of hair and resin twisted all within itself, about two inches from the bottom.

She tried again. Nope. It wasn’t coming out.

Surely Han had something she could use. What did Chewie trim his fur with, anyway?

“Han?” she called. “You still there?”

“Yeah, you need something?”

“Do you have a scissors? I’m going to have to cut this bit out.”

“Sure thing.” Footsteps left down the hall, and Leia busied herself trying the knot again. Just like her, continuing to work at something even while it was hopeless. Optimism? Stubbornness? A little of both?

The footsteps came back, and then the hatch opened enough for Han’s arm to slip in, a beard- and pelt-trimming scissors in his outstretched hand. Leia took it. “Perfect, thank you.”

The door closed again, and after a slight pause—

“Ah, you need any help with that?” Han’s voice sounded tentative.

Leia considered that for a moment. She’d figured she would probably have to just cut out the offending knot for now and figure out how to fix it later, because she definitely was not going to be able to even it out all the way around by herself. But she also knew from experience that having one bit of hair that didn’t match the others would be a real pain. And it did desperately need a trim—

You could ask Han to do it.

“Uh, maybe?” she answered, stalling for time while she thought this through.

She wasn’t sure why she felt so weird about asking Han to help trim her hair; she respected her culture’s hair traditions, but she’d never thought she was personally all that attached to them. Certainly she’d had it down in front of others before. She’d even had it down in front of a man before.

Yeah, a man you were involved with. And it was kind of a big deal when you did that. And that had been before, when her planet and her culture were not in danger of extinction.

But also, that had been before. She had been doing a lot of things lately that she hadn’t done in her life before.

Like asking random men to cut your hair for you?

Except Han wasn’t some random man, not at all, as much as some of her colleagues on High Command might think of him that way. As casual and as brash and as infuriating as he could be sometimes, he was her friend. And he had seen her at some of her worst already—narrowly escaping death by being crushed in a wet trash compactor could do a lot to help you bond, right?

Then she remembered the other thing he’d done that day, the thing that told Leia that there was more to the man than swagger and bravado and a frequently professed love of money. The thing he’d done quietly, and without ceremony.

It was after they’d escaped the TIEs, after he’d scoffed at her assertion that the Imperials were surely tracking the Falcon to Yavin IV, after she’d dismissed him as a mercenary and strode off, leaving him and Luke to gossip or whatever it was men did. They’d all stunk of garbage, so later Han had offered use of the real water showers and the autovalet.

After Han had gotten Luke set up in the ‘fresher (with Luke still both fascinated and terrified by the newness of cleaning with a continuous spray of water), Han had quietly approached Leia.

“Hey,” he’d said, “you’ve had a hell of a day.”

“Yes.” That was an understatement, one she was trying not to think too much about.

He’d beckoned toward the corridor. “We got a medbunk. I c’n help you get fixed up. Might not be much time for that once we land.”

“I’m all right,” she’d said.

“Yeah, I know,” he’d agreed. “But who knows what was in that garbage. Don’t want those wounds to get infected. Really drag down your revolution.”

She’d stared at him for a moment.

“If you want, I can get Chewie to, uh, chaperone or whatever,” he’d said, obviously misunderstanding her silence as mistrust of his intentions. Honestly, she’d just been surprised at his mention of the wounds hidden by her white dress—how did he even know they were there?

“No, that’s all right,” she’d said. “This way?”

It was unexpected, how gentle he’d been as he’d cleaned and applied bacta to her injuries, somehow knowing exactly which spots would have been hit by the droid and other devices. At the same time, she’d been relieved to find him casual and matter-of-fact about the whole thing. No pity or patronizing, just care, like they were comrades in battle. And when she’d asked him—how did you know? he’d answered simply. Used to be one of ‘em. Long time ago. Another life.

“Another life,” she’d repeated.

If she could trust him with the wounds from the worst day of her life, when they barely knew each other, she could certainly trust him with this.

“Uh, yeah, could you come help?” she called, and a moment later, the door slid open.

Thank you for the ask!

[helpinghanikan]

Logan Howlette A-Z

Logan Howlette (the Wolverine) A-Z NSFW

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’s not an overly sensual or ‘romantic’ person after the deed, or really ever. Instead he just goes about the room like any other time. Going into the bathroom and getting a cloth, wiping down anything left over on either of your bodies.

The conversation that happens after is nothing different then other times. Anything new happening? How are the kids doing? Do you wanna get something to eat? All things that can be talked about over dinner, can also be talked about while naked.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s an ass man, there’s no other way to say it.

It’s like the pen you fiddle with without thinking. His hand just naturally goes to your butt when you get close enough. Sliding into your back pocket or cupping under it without even thinking during the conversation.

Taking your hand when he’s already seated in the room. Pulling you into his lap without taking a second thought, or even pausing in the conversation.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Logan has reached that magical age where nothing that comes out of a human really bothers him anymore. War in trenches and fields have made him numb to vomit and shit. Blood just came with the territory of his life. And cum? There was nothing special about it.

It was just another thing to wipe off with a warm towel. Part of the clean-up that happens during conversation. Like another breed of pillow talk. Wipe-down talk.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s had fantasies, but only fantasies, of doing it on a motorcycle. Like in bad music videos he absolutely didn’t watch over one of the kid’s shoulders.

The only reason he hasn’t told you was because you might actually want to do it. And, no matter how romanticized bikes are shown in movies and everything, balancing is a bitch sometimes. Especially with a woman on his lap or while over top that same woman.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Logan is an old, old bastard. From women to sometimes men he’s experienced almost everything. There is nothing you can do, suggest or be ashamed of that he hasn’t seen the worst version of.

F = Favorite Position

Logan has always given off this vibe of being feral. That’s he’s walked the line between wild and city for so long that he just doesn’t care what kinda vibe he gives off anymore.

This could be why he likes to take you from behind. Sometimes your shirt wouldn’t even be off when the strong, but with gentle pressure, pushing on the back of your neck. Pressing your torso down into the bed, the floor or the grass. The fabric of a bra or shirt protecting your breasts from the rubbing against the surface.

Of course he’s always willing to change it up if the situation calls for it. But there is nothing prettier in this world then watching you like this. When your legs starts to quiver and hands are searching for anything to hang onto, there’s no mercy for you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He only really jokes around in his dry humor sort of way. When you ask if the door is locked, worried between kisses, he’ll go: “if they come in, we’ll see if they wanna join.”

“Wait, really?”

“Hell no.” He’ll say, moving things along to keep you from making an actual joke out of it.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Logan has stopped caring about body grooming before you were born. After finding his preferred style of beard, hair and carpet of chest hair there’s been no point in trying out anything else.

The first few times together your hand would slide through his chest hair. He never asked whether you liked it or not. He wasn’t some teenager who would examine his jaw for any new bits of facial hair. But he watched as you toyed with his hair, trying to decipher whether or not you approved of it.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

Romance and sex are almost two entirely different areas to Logan. Being dragged through a hike in the woods to a beautiful view, camping and then kissing under the stars are one thing. Sliding into the same sleeping bag because it’s just “super cold” and hands leading to other places was a whole other thing.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Masturbating is the equivalent of a cooking show to Logan. It’s something to entertain you while the stuff you actually wants to do isn’t available.

Sure, he’d rather having you going up and down instead of himself, but his hand is a decent enough replacement. At least until you get back from…whatever.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Logan is one of the few people on earth with next to zero prejudices. After years fighting, living and just existing with all kinds of people there’s too much difference to make any stereotypes. That being said, almost every woman he’s met has been a strong woman. As tough and take no shit as any man he’s met.

Feminine things; pink lipstick and panties with garter belts. Dresses that twirl and high heels. These were things that were for a special occasion. When everything and everyone is safe.

That’s why he was quiet when he entered your shared room. Closing the door behind him while you showed off the amazing prize on sale. Light pink garter belt attached to white stockings.

“It was my size and more than half off, isn’t it the greatest?” You asked, sticking white foot out towards Logan.

He gently held your ankle. Thumb rubbing over the soft fabric. “Yeah, greatest.” He says, trying to remember if he closed the door.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He prefers a more secluded places. Not specifically your room but just away from people. Really it’s any room that happens to have a lock on it will be fine.

All that matters is the sex itself, not the location. So long as there’s no kids around, or anything poking everywhere that’s not supposed to be poked. This entirely based on one experienced in a supply closet chosen in the heat of the moment.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

The only time motivation really hits him is in the morning. When he presses against you, either on purpose or not, and the only thing between were the blankets and PJs. By the time he’s fully awake your already all over him, waking to the lovely sight of breasts moving freely under a sleeping shirt.

The rest of the time it’s all up to you, Baby. Give him a few seconds, a few kisses and touches, and he’s ready to go.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Pain play, on himself or you, absolutely not.

Memories of scream from horror and pain has made worse scars then any knife could ever make. He has yet to go deep into why he won’t do anything near that area. Instead just giving a sold “No”, in a tone of voice that stops any other mention of it.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to give rather than to get. No offense to your skills but it takes direction and time to teach his partners what he exactly likes and how to do so. By the time you get a hang of it he’s had finished, not the best ever but it’s still an orgasm.

It’s not that he’s an expert of going down on women. The first time he just went at it without thinking. Only slowing down to listen when you tried to suffocate him with your thighs. Although, that wouldn’t be a terrible way to go.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It’s starts quickly before slowing down when your together. Most of your clothing has some sort of stretch or small tear in them from his too fast pace. Usually the clothing had to removed just enough to get to the good stuff. Other times he wouldn’t slow until there was nothing between either of you.

He go slowly after that. Putting more power behind the thrusts and touching, making you come from skill rather then constant friction over and over until the end.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

The thing about Logan is that he really doesn’t have a definition for quickie. It’s to make both of you reach the end as quick as possible, right? That’s what you do with regular sex, so what’s the difference?

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s game to get a little kinky, really just boiling down to difference positions and maybe some tying up. But serious danger like intense bondage or choking or anything like that is a no go.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

His stamina is like his size, something that he doesn’t really pay attention to. Only really noticing when you had mentioned it. After finishing twice you were weak and sweaty and the only thing making slapping noises was Logan continuing to go on.

When you mentioned it he had to take a second to think. Trying to understand whether or not you were saying this to ask him to take it easier or if it was a compliment. Until you said it again, this time laughing and mentioning that it was better than others before him he was still unsure.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Really the only toy he’s willing to ‘play’ with was something to tie up with. Either you or himself. The only constant was aa spreader bar that you had showed him with a silly grin and a closing door. (That grin on you was quickly gone after Logan realized how much he really liked it).

Everything else was just not something that could get him in a mood or keep it there.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Teasing and toying around just wasn’t Logan. Be it a lack of patience or that it just wasn’t fun for him, he never really teased you. Only accidently keeping you over the edge because, like a lot of times, he wasn’t listening when you were giving him directions.

It’s like the car all over again.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

His noises come from his throat; groans and moans that he tries to suppress with a closed mouth. Only coming out louder when you make that then whole point of the sex. Keeping him down and moving over him, kissing around his jaw and tugging at his chest.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He’s had anal before, with both genders, so it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. But just outright saying “Hey Babe, can I stick it in your ass?” isn’t even mildly a romantic way to ask. And he wasn’t the kind of guy to play the “wrong hole” game with you.

This left him with one choice. To wait for you to bring it up instead of trying himself. But, if you’re just as unsure as he was it just wasn’t going to happen.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He’s definitely bigger than the average man. Only knowing this because it’s been mentioned by a few of his partners but wasn’t something he really cared about.

The only difference it made was the cute faces it forced on you. Watching you try to laugh the stretch off while settling onto him. Speaking in a different tone after taking it all in and groaning a little when he begins to groan.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It, like everything in his life, is just another feeling that controls his life. The same that when he has to take a piss will take him to a tree, or hunger takes him to the kitchen, horniness takes him to you.

It’s only when he finds you alone that he does anything to let you know. Pressing up against you while you’re bending over or at the sink. Leading you into a kiss and making it deeper when you think it’s just a simple one. Or he just outright asks if you’re up for a quick fuck.

The last one only works if you’re especially stressed or angry at something other than him. Otherwise you always laugh it off or tell him to try and be more romantic.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He only falls asleep when he successfully has you trapped against him. His eyes stay closed almost every time, as if he was already pretending to be asleep and was trying to trick you.

Unless your voice changes into that tone he’ll still be holding tight. No matter if you argued or tried to wiggle free he’ll be on his own time. His breathing will get slower, and heavier, until he’s snoring against you.

It’s only when he starts smacking his lips in his sleep that you have a chance to sneak out from him. Usually he’ll stir a bit but fall back when you settle his arm down. But sometimes he’ll snap awake, an impossible grip on you and look of panic in his eyes. Giving that same look back only results in an awkward apology. But being calm, telling him that it’ll be okay in a soft voice, and he’ll be back to sleep.

[chrmatiica-moved]

STUDY  :  NEGAN  WILLIAMS

-  B A S I C S .

IS  YOUR  MUSE  TALL  /  SHORT  /  AVERAGE?

     tall  -  6′1″

ARE  THEY  OKAY  WITH  THEIR  HEIGHT?

     definitely,  his  height  has  never  been  something  he’s  got  an  issue,  he  never  cared  that  he  had  been  too  short  to  play  football  in  high  school  because  he  was  always  more  of  a  baseball  player.

WHAT’S  THEIR  HAIR  LIKE?

     his  hair  has  always  been  very  dark,  always  kept  short,  it  used  to  be  thick  but  as  he  got  older,  it  started  to  thin  out  and  when  his  wife  was  diagnosed  with  her  cancer,  he  noticed  that  he  started  to  get  more  grey  throughout  his  facial  hair  and  sideburns,  he  fully  embraced  the  salt  and  pepper  look  though.

DO  THEY  SPEND  A  LOT  OF  TIME  ON  THEIR  HAIR  /  GROOMING?

     not  a  lot  but  he  definitely  makes  sure  to  keep  his  beard  tidy.      he  knows  lucille  likes  it,  so  he  doesn’t  let  it  get  out  of  control  or  ever  get  rid  of  it  completely.

DOES  YOUR  MUSE  CARE  ABOUT  THEIR  APPEARANCE  /  WHAT  OTHERS  THINK?

     he  doesn’t  really  give  much  thought  about  his  appearance,  he  knows  what  looks  good  on  him  and  what  doesn’t,  he’s  not  one  to  spend  ages  picking  out  what  he  is  going  to  wear.      he  also  doesn’t  really  care  what  most  people  think  about  the  way  he  looks,  the  only  person’s  opinion  who  matters  to  him  is  lucille.

-  P R E F E R E N C E S .

INDOORS  OR  OUTDOORS?     outdoors. RAIN  OR  SUNSHINE?     sunshine. FOREST  OR  BEACH?     beach. PRECIOUS  METALS  OR  GEMS?      precious  metals. FLOWERS  OR  PERFUMES?     flowers. PERSONALITY  OR  APPEARANCE?     personality. BEING  ALONE  OR  BEING  IN  A  CROWD?     in  a  crowd. ORDER  OR  ANARCHY?     order. PAINFUL  TRUTHS  OR  WHITE  LIES?     painful  truths. SCIENCE  OR  MAGIC?     science. PEACE  OR  CONFLICT?     peace. NIGHT  OR  DAY?     day. WARMTH  OR  COLD?     warmth. MANY  ACQUAINTANCES  OR  FEW  CLOSE  FRIENDS?     few  close  friends. READING  OR  PLAYING  A  GAME?     reading.

-  Q U E S T I O N A I R E .

WHAT  ARE  SOME  OF  YOUR  MUSE’S  BAD  HABITS?

     angry  outbursts,  mood  swings,  being  unpredictable,  bad  posture.

HAS  YOUR  MUSE  LOST  ANYONE  CLOSE  TO  THEM?  HOW  HAS  IT  EFFECTED  THEM?

     negan  lost  his  mother  when  he  was  thirteen  to  untreated  lung  cancer  as  they  couldn’t  afford  the  treatment,  his  father  than  drank  himself  to  death  and  past  away  when  he  was  nineteen.      losing  his  parents  before  he  was  twenty  caused  him  to  not  really  allow  a  lot  of  people  very  close  to  him,  he  didn’t  make  lasting  relationships  and  didn’t  allow  people  to  get  to  know  him  very  well,  until  lucille  thomas  anyway.      CANON  ;  losing  lucille  caused  a  massive  shift  in  him,  he  completely  hardened  up,  he  didn’t  allow  people  to  get  close  and  just  used  people  for  company  or  resources  as  he  knows  he  can’t  do  it  alone,  became  almost  obsessed  with  saving  people  because  he  hadn’t  been  able  to  save  the  one  person  that  really  mattered  to  him.

WHAT  ARE  SOME  FOND  MEMORIES  YOUR  MUSE?

     playing  baseball  throughout  high  school,  hiking  &  climbing  throughout  the  surrounding  forests,  buying  his  first  home,  meeting  lucille  thomas,  helping  steve  harrington  actually  get  through  high  school,  falling  in  love  with  lucille  thomas,  winning  sports  games  with  some  of  the  best  teams  in  their  high  school,  marrying  lucille  thomas.

IS  IT  EASY  FOR  YOUR  MUSE  TO  KILL?

     yes.      a  part  of  him  wishes  that  it  wasn’t,  but  he  knows  that  it  helped  keep  him  strong  with  the  world  being  like  it  is.      doing  a  show  of  force,  but  making  sure  to  not  kill  if  necessary,  people  are  still  useful  resources  and  without  them,  they  would  all  be  dead.

WHAT’S  IT  LIKE  WHEN  YOUR  MUSE  BREAKS  DOWN?

     he  acts  out  irrationally,  either  being  completely  emotionless  or  overly  emotional,  he  attacks  people  verbally  to  get  reactions  in  an  attempt  to  make  himself  better.      he  tends  to  not  let  a  lot  of  people  see  him  being  overly  emotional,  he  would  rather  shut  people  out  than  let  them  in  on  how  he  is  feeling.

IS  YOUR  MUSE  CAPABLE  OF  TRUSTING  SOMEONE  WITH  THEIR  LIFE?

     yes,  but  there  is  only  a  few  people  that  he  trusts  with  his  life  and  even  then,  he  questions  most  of  them  a  lot  of  the  time.

WHAT’S  YOUR  MUSE  LIKE  WHEN  THEY’RE  IN  LOVE?

     negan  in  love  is  something  very  rare,  he  feels  it  has  only  happened  once  and  with  one  person.      he  would  do  anything  and  everything  for  the  person  he’s  in  love  with,  going  out  of  his  way  to  do  what  he  can  for  them,  he’s  affectionate,  soft  and  gentle  but  passionate  and  charming.      he  would  walk  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  for  the  person  he  loves  and  would  struggle  to  move  past  them  if  they  were  gone.

TAGGED  BY  :     @loyalwife​ TAGGING  :     you !

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Queer Eye for the Cap Guy ~ Part 7

A/N: Hi my lovelies! This story is back too!!! I’m really excited So just as an FYI there will be one more main part of this story. and then I have 2-3 “off screen scenes “ that will come out after the story is completed. I hope you enjoy! 

Summary:  Steve gets to see his new place and the Fab Five get to see the new Steve 

Rating: T 

Warnings; Language, Manly tears, feels, 

Word Count: 3042 

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Fab Five Reveal (Retired, Refreshed, and Ready to Live)

“Are you ready to see the new space?” Karamo asked as they pulled up to the building.

“Yes, I can’t wait to see what Bobby did with the place.”

“Well, we’re here.”

Karamo honked before hopping out of the truck and leading Steve to the side door.

“Boys, we’re here,” Karamo called as he cracked open the door.

“Come on in!”

Steve stopped dead in his tracks as he crossed the threshold.

“Oh my god. Holy – wow.”

He was vaguely aware of the fab five gushing over his new look, but he honestly tuned out as his eyes darted around the room, first, tactically and then in awe.

The first floor was now sectioned off into two areas, separated by a clear fiberglass wall. The side closest to the front of the building was set up as a garage. His bike had already been parked inside and there was a very professional tool chest on wheels set next to a plush couch. He spied a tag from Tony on the tool chest and smiled.

“Holy shit.”

“You said that you loved working on your bike, and I wanted to leave you enough space if you wanted to work on something larger like a car, but I also wanted to do something really fun,” Bobby explained as they walked past the divider.

The other half of the floor had a ton of workout equipment and even a basketball hoop.

“This is great. I had no idea what to do with this space. Just wow. I’ll never get Bucky and Sam out of here,” he chuckled.

“Well that I can’t help you with. Let’s go see some more.”  

Bobby led the way up the stairs to the partial second floor. The room had floor to ceiling bookshelves on one wall and a large mahogany desk, with a leather chair.

“So I decided to make this room your office because it gives you a space where you can work, but when you’re done the papers can stay here and it won’t bleed into the rest of your life.”

Steve nodded absently as he admired the art on the wall. Two large charcoal sketches – one of Brooklyn from his youth and one of Brooklyn when he came out of the ice - flanked the paned window.

“This is awesome. And I like that it’s separate. I’m not the best at balance.”

“I totally get that. It’s really hard, but this will help.”

“Agreed.”

“Now, let’s go see the rest of your space.”

They took the elevator up to the third floor and this time Steve’s knees fully buckled.

“Are you sure this is the same building?” he asked sounding breathless.

“I’m sure.”

“You’re amazing. This is amazing. Thank you so much. I’m not sure how but, you figured out exactly what I wanted.”

“That’s what I’m here for. I wanted this whole floor to be open concept. That way people can be watching TV or cooking or eating and still all be together.”

“Perfect,” Steve mumbled, unable to say much more than the simple words of praise.  

Bobby gently guided him to the right towards the kitchen.

“So, here we’ve got tons of prep space, and you can eat at the counter if it’s just you or it’s something casual. But I also wanted you to have a full dining table and I figured between all of the combinations of Avengers dinner parties could get pretty large so this expands to fit twenty.”

“I guess I’m hosting Thanksgiving this year.”

“You certainly could.”

Moving further into the room, Steve ran his fingers along the smooth mahogany of the billiards table.

“I know we didn’t talk about it, but Bucky and Sam mentioned that you’re a fan of pool so we got you this.”

“It’s beautiful. And I love pool.”

His attention was drawn to the artwork on the wall.

“I love that you got Bucky’s photos properly framed.”

“As we were packing up your old place, I noticed that you didn’t have a ton of things that were you, but you lots of things from your friends and I really wanted to honor that.”

“It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bobby replied warmly.

After a moment, Steve turned his focus to the living room.

“I love this sectional. It’s exactly what I envisioned.”

“Good, and we also have –“

“The wingback chair,” Steve breathed. “This is just like the one my ma had.” He sniffed and swiped at his eyes. “How did you know exactly what to get?”

“Well you gave a pretty good description, but I also asked Bucky to weigh in on the final decision.”

“It’s perfect.”

“Have a seat.”

Steve sank down into the soft leather, wriggling slightly to get comfortable; his fingers knotted in the heavy knit afghan that adorned it. Even that felt familiar.

“It’s just like I remembered it.”

He savored the moment, shutting his eyes and letting himself feel like a little kid again. If he shed a tear or two Bobby didn’t comment. When his eyes snapped open the focused on the wall opposite him which was littered in pictures.

“Are those…”

He was on his feet in moments, striding over to inspect them. All of the pictures were black and white. About three quarters of them were modern pictures taken at parties and hangouts. Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Y/n were featured heavily. But a few photos were of the Howlies and Peggy which was lovely but not completely surprising. What Steve was flabbergasted by were the photos of him and Bucky as children and of him with his mother.

“How could you possibly have found these?” His voice shook and he was crying hard enough that he could not see Bobby let alone the pictures clearly anymore.

“When you went in the ice, the government appropriated all of your belongings. Most of it got sent to the archives of the Smithsonian. Y/n and I worked with a really lovely historian there and got them released.”

“Y/n?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. She wanted to do this and actually she’d already started the ball rolling, I just helped integrate into the place. She flew to D.C. a couple days ago to get the photographs.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Steve sniffled, and reaching out to hug Bobby, who despite being smaller was clearly supporting the super soldier. “I haven’t seen a photo of my mom since I went in the ice. I thought they were all lost. This is everything.”

Bobby held tight as Steve’s body shuddered as he cried before finally gathering his composure and taking a deep but shaky breath.  

“Sorry,” he mumbled, but Bobby was already shaking his head.  

“Don’t ever apologize for crying. It’s completely natural. Now are you ready to see more?”

“I’m not sure my heart can take much more, but let’s do it,” he agreed blowing out a long breath.

The master bedroom took up half of the top floor and was decorated in blues and grays. It was perfectly calm and Steve was already looking forward to spending some time just relaxing.

“Any guesses on what’s through that door?” Bobby teased.

“Not a clue,” Steve admitted.

His normal battlefield evaluation skills were lacking today.

“Go and see.”

“NO WAY!” he practically shouted as he opened the door stepped into his new art studio.

He understood now why you exited the elevator into the bedroom. The studio had windows on three sides, guaranteeing him not only the best light but the best views.

“I was planning to set an easel up in the garage.”

“Well, I think this is a lot better.”

“Oh tons.”

“And if you want to enjoy this view from your bed, you can. The walls are partition walls and you can push them off to the side whenever you want.”

“That’s brilliant. I honestly, I know I keep saying the same things over and over again, but I’m completely speechless. I had no idea what to do with any of these spaces, let alone the whole building top to bottom. If I had it my way, I probably would have been living out of boxes with wooden crate furniture. But this is… home. I haven’t felt at home maybe ever. And to walk into this space and have it feel like me here and now is just so unbelievable. Thank you,” Steve gushed, hugging him again, although without sagging into him this time.

“I’m so glad that you feel this way and that I was able to do this for you. Everyone deserves to feel that their space is theirs. And that it suits them. You deserve a place where you want to come back to and that you want to share with others.”

“And I do.”

“Good. Now, I have one last surprise for you.”

“How can there possibly be more,” Steve laughed in an exhale.

“Well, like you said, I redesigned the whole building from the bottom up. And there’s more level above us.”

“You didn’t.”

Bobby merely pointed and gestured for Steve to lead the way. The super soldier took the steps in three bounds and burst onto the roof.

“Oh my god.”

The roof had been transformed. The lone folding chair was gone, replaced with black wicker patio set with a loveseat, chairs, and a coffee table. There was also greenery along the whole perimeter, and lanterns.

“I know you love it up here. So I wanted to make sure it was –“

“A sanctuary,” he completed.

“Exactly.”

Steve was reluctant to leave his little slice of heaven, but Jonathan brooked no room for arguing.

“So, welcome to your beautiful master bathroom which we have set for all of your grooming needs.”

“Great. Because I’d have no idea what to buy.”

“I gotchu, henny,” he opened the drawer next to the sink to reveal several styling tools. “So we’ve got your razor with guards for keeping your beard nice and neat as well as a hair dryer. You probably won’t use that day to day but if you want to you can. I showed you how to work with that.”

“Yes, the twist and pull technique.”

“Exactly. And we’ve got a beard oil just to keep it soft. So two drops after your shower.”

“Got it.”

And I got you a great pomade. So, take a little in your hands and you’re going to work it in. Once you can feel it grab onto your hair, you can take a little bit of a lighter touch and once your hair is basically where you want leave it.”

Steve fiddled with his hair for a few moments before he was satisfied.

“Perfect,” Jonathan announced. “You are such a dreamboat.”

The super soldier’s cheeks turned pink.

“Seriously. You are so radiant from the inside out. So gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

“And I have one last thing to remind you about. Sunscreen. I don’t care if you’re a super soldier. Sunscreen. Every day. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve chuckled.

“Good.”

“Can I steal him?” Tan asked as he popped into the bathroom?

“Absolutely. He’s all yours.”

“Come on, handsome. Let’s get you into some outfits.”

“Let’s do it.”

Tan led him over to the large closet.

“So we’ve organized your closet in a way that makes sense for you, which means casual to formal. So we’ve got your pants, jeans, khakis, dress pants. And then your shirts, t-shirts, short sleeve shirts, long sleeve shirts, sweaters, jackets. And suits.”

“Makes sense. I’ll just have to move some stuff to make room for my sweatpants,” Steve commented with a grin.

“I know that you’re a super soldier but if you go around wearing sweatpants after all this I will throw down with you.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Tan glared slightly before reaching past him for a garment bag.

“Now, tomorrow is a formal event, so I got you a tux.”

“Wow. This is awesome. And definitely the nicest thing I’ve ever owned,” he admitted when Tan opened the bag. “I love the color.”

“I thought you would. It’s gonna look killer.”

The fab five were sitting on the couch talking when the elevators opened. They’d been strictly instructed not to peek.

“Are you ready for the first look, boys.”

“Yes!”

“Well see for yourself.”

Steve stood with his hand in the pocket of a dark blue suit which fit him perfectly. He looked like a movie star.

“OH MY GOSH. YOU LOOK AMAZING,” Karamo bellowed.

Jonathan let out a high pitched squeal.  

“Tan, that suit is the perfect fit.”

As he walked closer, they couldn’t help but notice the confidence in his stride.

“How do you feel?” Antoni asked.

“I feel great. I think this is the first time I’ve worn a suit and not felt like a monkey in a tie.”

“You look fantastic.”

“I love the color.”

“So we also got him a gray and a black suit so he has them for important events. Press conferences, meetings.”

“Announcing a campaign for presidency,” Jonathan suggested.

“I’d vote for you,” Karamo agreed.

“I don’t see that in the cards,” Steve laughed.

“You never know.”

When the elevator opened the second time, Steve didn’t hesitate before striding over to the couch in dark jeans, a white Henley, and a bluish gray cardigan.

“Yassssssss.”

“I love this entire look.”

“Do you love it?”

One look at the broad grin on his face gave the answer.

“Oh completely. It’s so comfortable, but I feel really good about how I look as well.”

“I wasn’t expecting the cardigan,” Bobby commented.

“Tan had to make sure I looked my age,” Steve joked.

“I told you I’d get you a cardigan that makes sense for you.”

“And you did. It’s nice, I don’t feel restricted at all.”

“Good. And if you do want a going out look, just slide off the cardigan and slip on this jacket.”

“Yas. Sign me up.”

“You look so cool.”

“I kept your classic brown leather jacket. This is just a more modern option.”

“I love a collarless leather jacket.”

“And the black is so sleek. You look great.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, are you ready to cook?” Antoni asked clapping his hands together.

“Yes.”

He followed the food and wine expert towards the kitchen after slipping off the leather jacket.

“So Bobby and I designed the space with a lot of function and a little bit of fun. So we got you a pasta maker, I already have the lasagna attachment on. And this slab of the counter is for chocolate work so you can temper it and make those chocolate curls or anything else that you want. Today we’re going to use it to chop up some chocolate to make, any guesses?”

He looked at the bowl of ice on the counter and the chocolate and shrugged.

“Not a clue.”

“Chocolate mousse.”

Steve blanched.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’d hate to ruin my nice new kitchen.”

“You’re not going to ruin anything. This recipe only has two ingredients and requires no appliances.”

“Alright. I’m trusting you.”

“Good choice. So what you need is chocolate, and you want really high quality chocolate because that’s the only ingredient you’re going to taste. Because the other ingredient is water?”

“Really?” He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

“Yep. So what we’re going to do is chop up our chocolate – which Martin was kind enough to provide for us - into nice quarter sized chunks and add it to hot water and whisk until it’s melted. Once it is, we move it into the ice and whisk until it sets.”

After showing him how to whisk properly, Antoni had him take over.

“One of the other reasons I like this recipe is because if you over whip it, all you do is warm it up again and whisk again. Whereas with a cream based recipe, there’s no coming back. Alright, that looks just about perfect.”

Antoni spooned some mousse into ramekins and handed one to Steve.

“Bon appetite.”

Steve groaned when he tasted it.

“Oh my god.”

“It’s good right?”

“So good.”

“And it’s super easy to make.”

“This is dangerous,” he chuckled after another large bite. “Y/n’s gonna have me making this every other day.”

Antoni simply grinned in response.

“Come sit with us,” Karamo called from where he was sitting.

“Yes, come snuggle yourself right in here.”

Steve settled in the center of the sectional between Karamo and Jonathan.

“So, when we started the week, you told me that you wanted to find a future. Do you feel like you’ve done that?”

He was already nodding.

“Yeah, I do. Since I came out of the ice, I’ve been stuck between two worlds. I was either living in the past or trying to just throw myself into the future. I never felt like I could move on because I was mourning that part of my life. But now, you’ve helped me see that I have a lot to live for now. Not just the fight. And you’ve also given me connections to the past I thought were long gone, so now I feel like I can still love it and remember it without living it. I’m really excited to discover more about what I love.”

“I’m so excited for you to get to know you, because we have all fallen in love with you.”

“You are such a kind, genuine, good man, and you are beautiful inside and out,” Jonathan reached out holding his hand.

“I hope you see the man the rest of us see.”  

“I’m starting to. And I just want to say thank you. At the beginning of the week I never expected to be able to be so open with strangers and really explore who I am. Thank you for coming here to help me.”

“You are so welcome. Now unfortunately, it is time for us to go.”

“I’m going to miss you all,” Steve admitted.

“We’ll miss you too. Enjoy everything. You deserve it.”

“Come on. Group hug.”

They crowded in around him before giving him each individual hugs and leaving Steve in his new home to get ready for his dinner party. He smiled to himself as he looked around.

“Home,” he whispered.

~~~~~~~ 

A/N: Reference pic for Steve’s casual look here (top left) I hope that you enjoyed this part. I really loved writing it, and I won’t lie I cried a couple times. Thanks so much for reading! 

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[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Dawn in Your Eyes Part 6

zaSummary: Alfie has little to no idea why Caroline ever gave him the time of day. The blind woman seemed far too sensible to even speak to him. But soon he finds himself falling helplessly in love.

Part 6: The sound of joy and gladness, the sound of a groom and the sound of a bride

           Waiting the week before one’s wedding was next to torture. Waiting that week without your significant other was even worse.

           “Honestly, mate, who the fuck would care if I went to see her?” Alfie lamented to his assistant.

           “Julia, probably,” Ollie answered.

           His employer gave him a look. “It were a rhetorical fucking question, you git.” He snapped, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “’Course I know she’ll give a fuck.”

           “It’s tradition. Sort of like a buildup to what’s to come. I think it’s nice.” Ollie shrugged.

           Alfie scoffed in response. “Ain’t nice. Life’s a drag without Caroline.” He muttered and stood up. “Tradition, tradition, tradition. I’ll follow these fucking traditions.” He jabbed a finger at his assistant. “But I’m only doing it for her sake, not to please Julia.”

           Ollie couldn’t help but smile. It was endearing to see Alfie so foolishly in love with his bride-to-be. Even in his frustration, Alfie couldn’t go two minutes without showing how devoted he was to Caroline. “You’ve gone a good portion of your life without her.” He pointed out a bit cheekily.

           Alfie’s face contorted first into anger but then into a bewildered smile. Indeed, he’d lived the majority of his life without even knowing Caroline existed. And in that time, he’d managed just fine. Never once complaining about being without a woman. But once he met her, his life had changed so drastically. He couldn’t imagine a week without her. He sighed and shook his head. “You’re right.”

           It was a bit reassuring, at least his boss wouldn’t kick off more. Ollie sat down across from him. “Don’t you think that this week sort of confirms everything? If it wasn’t a good match, then you wouldn’t want the week to pass by quickly. You’d be indifferent.”

           Alfie stroked a hand over his beard thoughtfully and nodded after a moment. “I know I’m making the right choice.” There was no way he would ever question his decision.

           “That’s what’s good about this week.”

           Ollie’s boss sighed and tousled the young man’s hair. “Go on, get outta here. Go home early.”

           He frowned. He couldn't remember the last time Alfie had sent him home early. “Sir?”

           “I’ll close up tonight, go on home.”

           Ollie smiled gratefully. His wife would be so pleased to have him home to help with dinner and the kids. “Thank you, sir.” He reached back to untie his apron and headed out of the office.

           Alfie leaned back in his desk chair and thought about his upcoming nuptials. It was thrilling. Knowing he’d be with Caroline the rest of their lives. Even if forever was a tiny bit frightening, he wouldn’t change it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Alfie was sweating. At least, he felt like he was. Maybe he wasn’t, it was hard to tell. The room was chilly so why would he be sweating? Maybe because he fully expected his bride-to-be not to show up. Maybe she’d skipped town to avoid him. Maybe she decided to elope with another man. Maybe she realized she deserved much better. All erroneous ideas that Alfie’s frantic mind conjured up. He liked to be assured with himself, it’s how he found most of his fortune. But Caroline was such a beautiful creature that seemed too good to be true.

           When Alfie woke up, realizing it was his wedding day, he assumed the worst all at once. Maybe he’d been too cynical for too long.

           Family members were waiting in the room along with Alfie, preparing for the Badeken. Ollie was nearby, trying to calm Alfie down as he paced. Finally, the wait was broken and the door opened. First, Elizabeth came in with a great big smile. Buck led her over to Richard and the two exchanged quiet words.

           But Alfie wasn’t paying attention to them. He felt like he’d been struck by lightning when he saw Julia leading Caroline in. Pilot walked beside her, on her left as always.

           The Jewish gangster’s knees went weak at the sight of her in a modest white gown, A long veil trailing after her. Alfie had to bite his tongue to stop himself from swearing out of surprise. No doubt Julia wanted to keep the moment pure.

           Caroline’s ash-brown hair was curled and pinned up underneath the veil and there was a glow about her that Alfie swore had to be holy. “You aren’t saying anything.” She murmured softly. “Do I look alright?” A hand subconsciously went to the satin skirt of her dress.

           “Oh love, I ain’t never seen such a gorgeous sight.” He murmured back, his voice catching. The emotions were so overwhelming he nearly forgot they were in a room full of people.

           Caroline found his hand. “You’re trembling.” She bit her lip.

           “I’m happy…I just never thought I’d be this lucky.” He replied and lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles.

           Julia cleared her throat, bringing the couple back to reality and back to tradition.

           “Right, sorry,” Alfie mumbled and let go of Caroline’s hand. He carefully lifted the veil and let it hang over her face. A great disservice as far as he was concerned but he knew it would be lifted soon enough. He lowered his head so he could whisper in her ear. “Wanna go get married now, love?”

           She giggled softly. “Of course.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           It had been a while since Alfie attended a wedding. In fact, Elizabeth and Richard’s may have been the last one. He couldn’t recall. Anyway, he had to brush up on some of the traditions. They weren’t all that complicated although he wanted to make sure things went right in Julia’s eyes. She wanted traditional.

           Elizabeth got some say in the wedding too. She insisted it be held on her and Richard’s property out in Surrey. A beautiful plot of land with sprawling lawns and a nice big estate to match. Julia thought it was a little too pompous but decided not to argue. Caroline seemed pleased with the idea of the ceremony being held outside. Even though it was getting well into fall, it was still sunny and warm enough to hold it outside.

           Alfie would’ve made everyone sit out in the snow if it meant Caroline was happy. But instead, they were given a beautiful crisp fall day. Perhaps another indicator from God that the match was meant to be.

           Alfie felt much more at ease once they were both under the chuppah. The nerves he had the entire week previously were subdued and he felt like he could actually breathe again. Caroline made it to the canopy with her aunt’s help along with Pilot. Once she was beside Alfie, Julia kissed her cheek and took the Newfoundland off to the side.

           As per tradition, Caroline began circling Alfie seven times. One hand held up the hem of her dress, the other touched Alfie to make sure she wasn’t walking off course. With each pass, she whispered a soft message of affection to her husband-to-be. He smiled and felt his heart swell with love and pride.

           Once the rite was finished. Alfie produced the ring from his pocket. It was a simple band, seeing as it was against Jewish law to have anything gaudy or showy under the chuppah. Nothing like the diamond he had waiting for her inside Elizabeth’s estate. Carefully locked away in the room they would spend time alone in.

           After the betrothal blessings, Alfie and Caroline listened to friends and family recite the Sheva Brachot. Not that Alfie wasn’t glad to listen to the beautiful blessings. He was just never a patient man and was itching to spend some time with his wife.

           Finally, Alfie had the pleasure of breaking a glass and the lawn erupted with happy bouts of congratulations. The couple would have to refrain from displays of affection until later. Alfie was sure he’d get an earful if he kissed his bride under the chuppah.

           “Mazel Tov, Alfie!”

           “Mazel Tov, Caroline!” The guests exclaimed as the two made their way from under the canopy. Alfie couldn’t get the big grin off his face as he held his wife’s hand. His wife. His perfect, gorgeous, Jewish, wife. The epitome of the woman his mother wanted him to end up with. He would be eternally happy now that he had the love of his life always by his side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Once they were freed from friends and family giving hugs and kisses, Alfie and Caroline escaped to one of the rooms upstairs in the estate. Once the door was closed, he scooped her up bridal style and kissed her. She was breathless, giggling euphorically against his lips.

           “Fucking hell, I thought I’d never get me hands on you.” He growled playfully. “Spend a whole fucking week waiting. Thought I were gonna have a heart attack.”

           Caroline laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck as he sat down on the edge of the bed with her resting on his lap. “Patience is a very good quality to have, Mr. Solomons.”

           “I ain’t ever been patient, Mrs. Solomons.” He replied and pulled her in for another deep kiss. He lost himself in her touch for a moment, completely high off the feeling. It had to be real because he’d never had such a wonderful dream before. Whent they parted, Alfie touched his forehead to hers. “Let’s just skip this reception, yeah? Commandeer a car and head back home.”

           Caroline smiled and shook her head firmly. “We have family and friends who came all this way.” She reminded him. "It would be extremely rude to leave them."

           “Well, they’ve seen the show, haven’t they? We did the ceremony, all the bells 'n whistles, right? They won’t miss us down there.” He drew her in for another kiss.

           She laughed and playfully pushed his face away, knowing he was trying to convince her to leave. “I’m fairly sure they’ll notice the bride and groom missing. It is our wedding after all, silly man.”

           He made a sound of displeasure and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

           “We’ll have all the time in the world together. You can’t put on a smile for one night?” She murmured.

           He grunted but caved in, lifting his head. “If it’ll make you happy.”

           Her gray eyes were shining with adoration. “It will.”

           “Alright, then. I’ll put on a smile.”

           She lifted her hands to touch his cheeks. Her fingers brushed over the creases in his skin as he smiled, the scruffiness of his beard, and the lingering scar across his right cheek. “You’re so beautiful.” She murmured.

           Overwhelmed with love, Alfie couldn’t get any words out. He simply lifted her hand and kissed her palm. He thought it was perfect how he was able to cradle his entire world in his arms. Because that’s what Caroline was from there on out. His entire world.  

taglist: @zazasblogxx​ @thinkingsofamadwoman​

Masterlist 

[intothestarkerverse]

hi, so I would like to request a starker prompt where its about the mummy au! where peter is eve, tony is rick, scott is jonathan (why not) the mummy is thanos, anu-san-mun is death. I just love the mummy and the avengers.

Summary:  So I have chosen to go for the trifecta here!  What follows is a Mummy AU for my lovely Nonnie...a Non Powered AU for @starkerweek, and a Protective!Tony Bingo Square fill for @starkerbingo . 

Non Powered AU  - Starker Week (Day Two)

Protective!Tony - Starker Bingo

1.

The only downside to all of this was that he wasn’t going to get to see Howard’s face when he heard the news.

Well…actually, there were multiple downsides to this, like dying and the rat that was trying to chew through what remained of his shoe leather…but really, it was the whole Howard thing he was most concerned with at the moment.  He’d been livid when Tony turned his back on the family fortune and his bright future to join the French Foreign Legion.  Tony’d lied when he said he was out for adventure.  Oh no, primarily, he was out to piss off Howard and possibly stumble into enough treasure to be able to return home wealthier than his old man…because honestly, that would feel good.

Being hanged in an Egyptian prison wasn’t actually one of the ways he thought this was going to end, but in retrospect, he probably should have realized it was a distinct possibility given his life choices.

Tony rested his forehead on his knees and tried to ignore the sweltering heat, the bugs skittering over his hands on the ground, the loud arguments erupting around the prison beyond his cell door, all of them in loudly spoken Arabic that he could only barely comprehend.  His head was splitting.  It was a shame the prison guards weren’t more sympathetic to a man’s hangover.  He needed water.  Or better yet, a little hair of the dog.  The likelihood of him getting either one was…well, it was slim to say the least.

The sound of footsteps stopping at his cell door surprised him.  Was it time to die already?  He hadn’t even fully finished imagining Howard’s reaction to the news!  “Hey, boys, I guess it’s true what they say about time flying…”  His words were interrupted as he was forced to his feet and dragged out of his cell.  Not towards the gallows, though.  Towards the visiting cells? Who was visiting him?

God, had Howard found him?  Was he about to be rescued by his bastard of a father and taken home to New York, because if he was…he’d rather hang, to be frank.

He was cast without ceremony onto a patch of ground surrounded by iron bars.  Pulling himself up with a grimace, his gaze settled on two figures that did not appear to belong at an Egyptian prison.  Men.  English men if he could hazard a guess based on their wardrobe and the rather stuffy way in which they carried themselves.  English men always had posture like someone had rammed a rod up their ass.

Speaking of ramming something up someone’s ass…

The little one was pretty damn cute.  Soft chestnut curls just visible beneath his sun hat, tiny wire rimmed glasses perched on a pert little nose, plump pink lips that he kept wetting with the tip of his tongue as he stared, wide eyed at Tony through the bars.  He was pretty.  Prettier than the girls back home in New York.  Prettier even than the woman he’d taken to bed the night before…the one who had him facing his death in what was likely a very short time.  Hell, if he’d met this pretty little thing last night instead of the thieving piece of shit accompanying him, Tony would have probably given him the trinket and still be back at his room in the boarding house taking the boy apart instead of swinging from the end of a rope.  The boy seemed to shake himself out of his stupor and stepped forward with a nervous smile.  “Oh, hello, pardon me, I don’t mean to be rude.  You just…you are not what I was expecting at all.”

The little one had a soft tone and a proper English accent that made Tony want to live long enough to hear that gentile voice reduced to a rasping, cursing wail of pure desire…

“Is it true that you know the way to Hamunaptra?”

Wait.  What?  “Hamun…I should have known.” He was never lucky enough to have a piece of ass that fine thrown his way without some kind of caveat.  “Yeah, baby, I can take you to the City of the Dead.  But I might beat you there since I’m about to be hanged…you get me out of here, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Hopefully down on him was going to be at least one stop before their final destination.

The boy looked alarmed, turning to cast a look at the man who had accompanied him, hopefully not a lover…though given the look of the guy, he’d be no competition for Tony anyway.  “Well, I…I don’t know.  That does seem to be quite a predicament…”

Tony laughed, “Yeah, you could say that. But I promise you’ll like me better alive than dead, sweetheart.”  Reaching through the bars he grabbed a handful of that starched white shirt and tugged the boy closer until he could just reach his lips through the bars.  He was a little up tight, but he was English.  Tony had been anticipating that.  He tasted like honey and lemon and after a moment’s hesitation seemed to relax into the kiss, letting Tony tease his lips apart with his tongue and delve deep into the moist recesses before he pulled away with a growl.  

Flushed pink, lips swollen, the boy straightened his cravat and cleared his throat.  “I…um…I’ll see what I can do, shall I?”

2.

“Ugh, to think I ever found that scoundrel attractive!”  Peter grimaced at his own reflection, dropping the fingers he’d had pressed to  his lips.  He really had been stupid to think that the kiss meant anything to the American.  Tony was a dying man desperate to live and he had done anything necessary to prolong his miserable life.

Like a fool, Peter had fallen right into his trap.

“You are far too intelligent for this, Peter.  Chin up, old chap.  You can ignore that American pig long enough to find the Book of Amun-Ra and then you never have to see him again.”

So what if he was rakishly good looking?  Peter hadn’t thought so in prison, but Tony’s hair had been long and his beard had been unkempt and he’d smelled of wet camel and alcohol.  When they had met at the docks later and Tony had presented himself with cleaned and trimmed hair and a goatee so masterfully groomed that Peter was half tempted to ask if he’d found a barber to have it professionally done, Peter had to admit that the man was perhaps the most handsome one he had ever set eyes on.  The kiss…the kiss had been positively sinful, but apparently that devil hadn’t felt the same way.

Well.  Peter didn’t need him anyway.  He was an academic!  He had books and brains and that ruffian was probably going to wind up swinging from another rope the moment they parted company.  Best not to lose sleep over him.

One moment Peter was dressing for bed and the next he was facing the end of a pistol in the hand of a strange man in desert garb with facial tattoos that Peter could almost just begin to decipher.  “Oh dear!  Can I help you? I think you have the wrong room…”

“Where is the map?”

Peter grimaced as the barrel of the gun was pushed into his chest.  “Over on the desk.”

“And the key?”

“Key?  I don’t have a key…”  Peter’s confusion was interrupted by the sound of his door splintering.  There, standing in the rubble of the ruined entry was the very scoundrel he had been disavowing only a moment prior.  He looked resplendent with a gun in either hand, a look of determination on the chiseled features of his too handsome face and his once carefully coiffed dark hair falling in haphazard strands across his forehead.  

“Let the kid go.”

Peter’s gaze was ripped from his rescuer only long enough to glimpse the second attacker attempting to enter through the porthole.  Apparently, Tony too saw that figure and released a volley of bullets.  Really, Peter had never seen anything quite as inherently masculine and impressive as Tony Stark facing off against his attackers.  Never mind that now the boat was on fire and there seemed to be a great many more of the men in black than just the two that had been attempting to infiltrate his cabin.   He didn’t even have a thought to spare for his brother, to wonder where on earth Scott was and if he had gotten free of the ship.

At least, not until they had dragged themselves up onto the shore of the Nile and Peter was watching everything on the ship burn.  He shivered in the night air and bemoaned the loss of his clothes, his books, his tools…although, he didn’t mind the look that Tony was giving him as the American’s dark eyes raked over the thin, wet night clothes that clung to his skin…

3.

“What was that about nothing bad ever coming from reading a book?”

Peter cast the man a weary look.  “Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”

Tony just snorted and grabbed Peter’s arm, jerking him sideways down an alley and a steep but short descent of stairs.  “Okay, so he’s whole and he’s got the book and we’re basically screwed.  We gotta keep you away from him.”

“That is a plan I do rather like, I have to admit.”  Peter let a little whoosh of breath as he was knocked backward into a wall and pressed firmly there by Tony’s rock solid form.  Eyebrows raised, he opened his mouth to question the move, but a hand was pressed against his lips and Peter followed Tony’s gaze to the mouth of the alley where a mass of entranced slaves were beginning to trickle by.  Peter’s eyes widened, but he didn’t make a sound.

As the final stragglers in the crowd edged by, Peter and Tony left the safety of the alley and attempted to race across the square to the next thoroughfare on their way out of the city.  They were stopped by the undulating mass of insects that descended from the sky and formed a living, writhing curtain in front of them.

Peter gulped audibly, following the voice to face the now regenerated and empowered Thanos.  He was large and frightening and ugly.  The boy could not help but grimace, hands trembling slightly at his side.

“Leave the kid alone.”  Tony stepped in front of him.  Dear, sweet, brave Tony.  He had underestimated the American.  He wasn’t a scoundrel.  He was a hero.  A true hero like one from novels and fairy stories.  Peter had no doubt that he would die to protect him from Thanos if that was what it took, but he really didn’t want to see that exquisite example of the human condition die because of him.  It seemed such a waste.  He was, after all, just a librarian and it did not seem that his feelings for the man were at all reciprocated.

Breaking away, Peter moved to join Thanos, his gaze meeting Tony’s for a moment as he passed him.  They were outnumbered.  Thanos had the upper hand.  They couldn’t fight him and succeed.  Not here.  They needed the book of Amun-Ra and one of them had to be alive and free in order to fetch it.  “I have to do this…but…I’m not saying you can’t rescue me if you’d like.  In fact I’d much prefer that actually…if you feel up to it, that is.”

The last thing Peter saw as he was spirited away by the resurrected Thanos was the look of sheer determination on Tony’s face.

Maybe he did have feelings for Peter after all…

4.

It took extreme physical effort on Tony’s part to hold himself back, to formulate some kind of a plan…even a half-assed one, as he took in the sight of Peter chained to a platform alongside a female mummy that had to be the ugly guy’s girlfriend.  Great.  Just great.

Scott had the book.  Scott had been behind him a moment ago but had either been detained or was too cowardly to enter the antechamber with Thanos and the brunt of his legion.

Well, Scott might be a coward, but there was no way in hell that Tony was going to let Thanos sacrifice Peter to bring his girlfriend the rest of the way back from the dead. So, he didn’t have guns.  He’d ran out of ammunition and lost the pistols themselves several mummy hordes ago.  All he had, in fact, was a sword he’d taken from a statue and his own stubborn will to reclaim the boy whose body he hadn’t even gotten to taste yet.

The kid could not die a virgin.  He was way too pretty to die a virgin, and he had to be a virgin.  Stuffy British boy like that…his kiss at the jail had probably been his first one.

Okay, enough planning.  Sometimes, you just had to wing it.

With a yell, he raced from the shadows with the sword held high, swinging wildly at the undead who swarmed towards him, breaking through enough to snap the chain on one of Peter’s wrists before he was pulled back into battle once more.  He wished his movements were a little more refined.  Maybe if he’d taken fencing like his father had wanted.  As it was, he was chopping at the dessicated figures sloppily, watching as pieces of mummy rained down around them and tried to rejoin the fray with whatever means they possessed.  A few disembodied feet were wiggling in the sand, hands crawling like spiders in search of something useful, heads chomping at the empty air.

A scream tore Tony’s attention away from his foes to the dais and the still semi-restrained figure of Peter.  The boy was desperately trying to pull his free arm loose of the chains while the female mummy crawled up his body with a dagger in her hand.

“Leave.  My.  Boy.  Alone.”  Tony broke away from the pack, racing the distance between himself and the Englishman who had stolen his heart.  He dived for the mummy, his head connecting with her chest and throwing them both over the side into the sand as he swung the sword against that last bit of chain to free Peter’s other hand.

“So I’m your boy, now, am I?  I don’t recall having agreed to that…”

“Are we really going to argue semantics now, baby?”  Tony dodged a strike from the mummy and her blade.  “Get that golden book of yours from your cowardly brother in the other room and let’s end this before they end us, hm?  Then I can show you why you really do want to be my boy, Peter.  By the time I’m done, you’ll be begging me…”

“I.  Do.  Not.  Beg.”

“We’ll see.”

“Hmph, we do have to survive this first, you know.”

“Right, so go get the book already!”

“So bossy,”  Peter turned up his nose at the man but still raced back towards the entrance, dodging the writhing parts of fallen mummies as he went.

Tony was just reaching the end of his rope.  There were far too many of these dried out defenders of Thanos and it didn’t help that even when he thought he’d killed them…some part of them came back with a vengeance.  The girl was another problem all together.  If he looked away from her for even a moment, she tried to follow after Peter and he had to charge after her.  “How many times I gotta tell you, lady, the boy is mine?”

He was losing steam.  He didn’t know how long he was going to be able to keep this up.  Truthfully, he might have given up a couple dozen foes ago were it not for the the stodgy little English rose he was trying so desperately to save.

“I’ve got it!  I’ve got it!”  Peter’s voice shouted from the entry and Tony cursed as he dived for the girl again, grabbing her heal and jerking her off of her feet before she could race at Peter and bury the dagger in his chest.  Tony hit the ground hard, breath knocked out of him and suddenly surrounded by a swarm of the disembodied parts of the mummies he had slain.

“Read it, Peter, for God’s sake, read it!”

“Oh, right, yes…”  He slammed the book against the wall, hefting it’s heavy cover open and began searching the golden pages for the proper inscription.

Thanos waved the mummy parts away from Tony with a motion of his hand.  He’d found another one of those daggers like his girlfriend.  He was holding it tightly in his fist and looking at Tony in a way that reminded him way too much of Howard.  Disapproval and disappointment.  His two best friends.  Tony’s fingers closed around the hilt of his sword on the sand, determined to go out fighting for Peter if not for himself.

Peter’s voice rang out loud and clear through the chamber.  Thanos seemed to pause, real fear in his eyes as a  phantasm of ghostly light passed over the room.  But when it was gone, Thanos was still there and he still looked prepared to kill Tony.

“Peter…that didn’t work.”

“It should have worked!”

“It didn’t work.”  Tony grimaced at the figure as he bent over him, dagger poised to strike.  

“Tony?  Tony…no…”

Peter’s strangled cry of alarm was enough to snap Tony’s focus back into place.  He lashed out, kicking the figure with both legs and attacking with his sword.  It was only when the blade had buried itself in the other man’s gut and Tony was covered in blood and thicker, more nauseating things, that he called out a choked.  “Yeah, no, I was wrong.  It totally worked…”

5.

How many people got to lose their virginity in the Egyptian city of the dead to a man who had nearly died to save him?  Not many, Peter would wager.

“Does this I mean I get to keep you…or am I just one in a long line of conquests?”

Tony propped himself up on an arm to regard the boy with a playful smirk.  “You really think I’d go to this much trouble for a conquest?  You’re real pretty, Peter Parker, and the sounds you make when I fuck you are a thing of beauty…but I’d have never gone this far to save someone unless I intended to ‘keep them’.”

“Oh, well that really is too bad, Tony, because as I recall…if anyone is to be property and possessor in this relationship, I do believe that I am to be the one keeping you.”

Tony rolled his eyes but leaned down to peck Peter’s lips once, twice, three times.  “You know what, Kid, that’s just fine by me.”

“Splendid!  Have you ever been to South America, Tony?  I have heard from other scholars that they have mummies there too…”

Tony covered Peter’s mouth with a hand and propped himself up again.  “Scott!  Scott!  I know you’re somewhere around here. Scott, come take your brother back.  I’ve changed my mind.  I want to give him back…”

Squirming free of Tony’s hold, Peter let out an exasperated sigh.  “Oh you!”

[lisinfleur]

The Right Choice

Author’s Notes | This one was kinda hard to elaborate, but I hope the final piece is good for you, sweet @chinduda! Thanks for the request! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Hvitserk x Reader Info | Halfdansðóttir! Reader, No War AU, requested by @chinduda for 5CW5 Words | 1794 ⁑ Warnings: None

The first time you saw each other you had fourteen years old and was following your mother to say goodbye to your father at the docks. He was leaving to The Mediterranean Sea, following the great Björn Ironside, accompanied by your uncle Harald and Björn's younger brother.

Hvitserk.

You remember you thought he couldn't be so older than you, cause from the top of his twenty years old, there wasn't a single strand of beard in his face. And yet, you thought he was gorgeous...

He complimented your mother and smiled at you gently, but everything you could do was a respectful reverence, trying to face the ground so, in your mind, he wouldn't see how burning red your cheeks were in front of him. You remember he giggled, probably thinking you were a beautiful child.

Because of course, for him, you were nothing but a child.

The same couldn't be said now...

Five years later, you felt more confident to look at his face when he came to visit, once again, following his brother Björn and accompanied by your uncle Harald. The fourth of them - adding up your father - were planning to return to the lands they discovered in their maps, now updated by their last visits to those unknown places; for more treasures and gold, maybe more slaves.

He was different. There was a light beard around his jawline and a mustache, giving him an older look, more imposing. His face was also marked with one or two new scars, marks of the many battles you heard he and his brothers had fought together. He surely would have more stories of his adventures to tell...

You couldn't avoid noticing how he gasped at your sight. It brought a smile to the corner of your mouth. You weren't a child anymore, not in his eyes; and it was clear.

"Is this your daughter?" Hvitserk asked, looking at you and your father readily noticed his interest, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes, this is Y/N, Hvitserk," Halfdan answered not too pleased of the way Hvitserk was looking at you, causing your uncle Harald to chuckle in one of those characteristic laughs of his.

"Let the young speak, Halfdan," your uncle said, patting your father's shoulder. "She's 19 now, sooner or later you would have to deal with it, brother." Harald joked, earning a displeased smile from his brother and a laugh from Björn, while Hvitserk just curved his lips.

"It's not my fault you made a beautiful daughter," Hvitserk said, causing your cheeks to become lightly redder and your lips to curve in a smile. "You can't blame me for looking at her..."

"She's kissed by Freya indeed," your mother said, touching your shoulders and getting a smile of yours that faded into a redder face when she continued. "And she's single..."

"Wife!" Halfdan warned at the same time your voice sounded, embarrassed.

"Mother!"

Björn was already taking a seat, probably weakened of laughing that much.

"My brother is also single, by the way," he tried to keep the pace of the idea, causing your mother to smile.

"Husband, your daughter won't be forever the little girl you see. At her age, I already had your son and she was being born, remember?" she called your father's attention, but your eyes were locked on Hvitserk's greens, looking straight at you.

He was so beautiful... As beautiful as you could remember. Or maybe more.

Hvitserk grew up to be a gorgeous man, after all. And somehow, that blue cloak combined with the white fur over his shoulders was only making him look even more attractive. His hair was braided different as well: the four locks you could remember were now attached to each other in the back of his neck forming a single braid, giving him a more mature look.

You were so absorbed in your contemplation that you sighed surprised when Hvitserk's index and thumb touched your chin, lifting your face softly up to look at his eyes. He was smiling again.

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," he said, causing your cheeks to finally go out of your control and burn red again, just like that day at the docks. "She's beautiful, she's your daughter, and I'm past the time to find a good wife and make some children. It would be a good way to approach our families, Halfdan."

"And you won't find another like him, so stop frowning this forehead, husband!" your mother said, causing even Hvitserk to giggle this time. "What? He's a son of Ragnar Lothbrok! A prince and a good warrior! You were speaking good about him not so far from his arrival! Don't deny it!"

"I was, I was," your father admitted, still upset. "But I was talking about how he's a good warrior, not a good husband! I wouldn't marry my daughter to a Lothbrok. They have the bad fame of collecting wives!"

Björn coughed, shrugging towards Hvitserk when the greens of the younger one glared at him sharply. The bad fame of his older brother was disturbing his brand-new plans.

"Björn is already in his fourth!" your father exclaimed, evoking Björn's reputation one more time against your suitor. "Ubbe is not different! Why would you be? First Margrethe, now Torvi. I wouldn't be surprised by a dispute in between you all to know how many wives a Ragnarsson can have!" he insisted, annoyed. "You guys are like your father. Ragnar also didn't sit his butt with a single wife!"

"Well, I'm not my brothers, Halfdan," Hvitserk said, wisely. "Nor my father. I can't earn their glories, dress their cloaks, or pay for their crimes. I had to sink my hands on the battlefield's mud to unbury my own treasures and their gold won't be around me in Valhalla. Nor will be their children or their wives. You said well: My father had more than a wife. My brothers are doing the same. But I had enough women in my youth to be fully satisfied with my adventures, my friend. What I seek now, is a woman to bear my children and stand by me."

You felt your cheeks burning again when his eyes turned towards you. A loving smile in his face as his thumb was still caressing your chin you softly leaned into his caress.

"I'm not a boy anymore, you shall know that already, my friend. We fought together times enough for you to know I'm not the same. I have enough to provide your daughter with a good life, proper to the queen she will become one day, as soon as I settle myself as king of some land I end up conquering." Hvitserk began to speak about himself, clearly proposing your father an arrangement in words that caused his older brother to straighten himself at the chair and your uncle to do the same.

The things weren't a joke anymore and all of them noticed that in the way Hvitserk was showing his feathers like a peacock to your father's eyes.

"I already have lands that are mine, where she will be properly settled in a good house, hers, despite my place in Kattegat's hall is still open. It would be a good chance to merge the halls of Kattegat and Vestfold in a solid alliance we never really established in between our kingdoms. I'm sure my brother and king Björn won't disagree with my words, such as King Harald would also be able to foresee these benefits I speak of. Am I wrong?" he turned his words to the kings at the table and Björn twitched his lips, looking at Halfdan.

"I'm not speaking in my brother's favor, but I have to agree with his words... We always fought together and dedicated allegiance to one another, but the kingdoms of Vestfold and Kattegat had never really bonded to each other."

"It would be a good chance indeed," your uncle said, interested, looking at Björn for an instant. "Not speaking in your brother's favor? Why not?"

"Exactly. Why not?" Halfdan asked readily, seeing in this little observation a small chance to get himself out of that unexpected situation.

But Björn's smile caused your father to feel hopeless of getting rid of that proposal.

"I don't need to. My brother's achievements speak for themselves. None of my brothers need my word to show themselves proper suitors for a woman of our kind. I have to say you're on your own, my friend," Björn patted your father's shoulder and you saw Halfdan sitting at his chair with a long sigh.

"It wasn't what I was expecting when I invited the two of you!" he mourned, causing everyone to laugh again and Hvitserk's charming giggle to reach your heart like a precise arrow. He was so gorgeous when smiling! So natural and sweet...

"I'll bring more mead! Y/N, come on! Go prepare that herb bread you do for our guests!" your mother said, causing your father to sigh once again.

"Wife, Hvitserk eats like a damn goat! She's already catching his attention! If she cooks for filling his stomach then I won't be able to take him out of my heels with this mad idea of marriage!"

Björn laughed harder, looking at you.

"Marry your herb bread with some sour cream and you'll have my brother on his knees for your father to give him your hand, girl," he said, receiving your father's elbow in his ribs, just laughing a little more of Halfdan's annoyed expression.

"Oh, you stop teaching them the ways to each other!"

"She makes the best sour cream you ever tasted!" your mother spat to Hvitserk, causing your father to almost explode a vein in his forehead.

"WIFE!"

"What? Halfdan, accept it! Instead of being so mad you should be establishing a good mundr for the groom!" she said, and you couldn't avoid giggling this time.

For Hvitserk's pleasure since he was hearing your laugh for the first time. His hand softly slid to the side of your face and his thumb caressed your cheek, in a comfortable and warm touch you could really get used to feeling.

"For these sweet laughs? I'll gladly pay whatever you want from me, my friend," Hvitserk got you blushed again with his sweet words your father didn't take long to ruin.

"Oh, you prepare yourself to be poor, prince! I'm losing my daughter here! I'll fucking clean your pockets!"

The men laughed again and Hvitserk smiled at you, caressing your face one more time before taking his place at your father's table.

Your heart was beating like a drum. You never thought the gods would bless you like that. But it seems the sweetest of the Ragnarssons would be your husband after all...

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[thewollfgang]

10 - Lucifer/Chloe

Read part 1

10. The in-laws come to visit (part 2)

Chloe’s adrenaline spikes when the doorbell rings. She smooths her damp palms down the front of her shirt and swallows. Then she musters up her boldness and lifts her chin. She’s Chloe Jane Decker and she can do this.

She opens the door and a man stands there. He’s not as tall as Lucifer. That’s the first thing that strikes her. For some reason she’d been expecting to crane her neck up like she has to with His son. But God doesn’t cut a very imposing figure, less than six inches taller than herself. But there’s a resemblance that strikes her as familiar, the nose, the cheeks, the mouth. He’s sporting a beard—more full than Lucifer’s carefully groomed stubble—that’s grey with a white threaded through at the chin. Curly hair spills from His head that’s just shy of being shaggy. There’s a cluster of flowers wrapped in plastic that crinkle in His grip.

He smiles. It’s like a ray of sunshine slicing through the clouds. “Hello, my dear.”

Butterflies flutter in her belly. She can do this. “Ah, hello. Come on in.” She steps aside and allows Him inside her house. God. Inside her house.

“It smells delicious,” He comments.

“Oh, um. Thank you. I hope you like chicken.” Then it hits her. “Oh, you’re not vegetarian, are you?”

He chuckles, setting the flowers down into a vase that definitely had not been there before. Did… Did He materialize a vase for the flowers? “I appreciate all the creatures I’ve made, but no. I designed the food chain and the various ecological systems, after all.”

“Right.” Chloe muses on that for a moment before deciding to put that in a box labeled Do Not Ask. It’s gotten awfully full after all these years with Lucifer.

“Is…” For the first time, God sounds hesitant. “Is my son joining us?”

“Yes, of course.” Chloe looks at Him, puzzled. Lucifer and He having dinner together is the whole point of this venture.

He sags a little with relief. “Oh, good. I thought…perhaps he had changed his mind. He is fully within his rights to.”

Chloe reaches out and touches his elbow, same as she would if it were Lucifer, her desire to comfort overriding any fear. “Hey, Lucifer wants this to work very much. I’m far more nervous out of the two of us.” Just the admission sends her anxiety jolting.

God smiles, eyes crinkling. “You? Perish the thought. There is none more brave.”

For some reason, His words brings sudden tears to her eyes. Concern instantly creases His face, an expression so similar to the one Lucifer makes when he’s worried that it only increases the sensation, the pressure in her chest.

“Oh, my child, my apologies.” God brings His hand to her arm, His palm warm.

“What have you done?” Lucifer’s voice cuts through the air. He’s furious, moving into the space, shouldering in between her and his father. “What did you say?”

“No, no,” Chloe protests quickly, putting her hands on Lucifer’s tense back, muscles hard and quivering. “He was being nice, I swear.”

Lucifer looks back over his shoulder at her, eyes searching. Then he gradually relaxes. “Are you all right?” He turns, ignoring his father completely to cup her face with a gentle hand. His thumb swipes away a tear. She nods and he dips to kiss her briefly. “Very well.”

Lucifer looks back to their guest and she sees a flash of trepidation on his expression before he smooths it away. “Father,” he greets, caught halfway between cold and careful.

God slowly relaxes. “My son. Thank you for the invitation to your home.” The sincere gratitude throws Lucifer a bit.

“You’re…welcome.”

“I’ve brought a bottle of wine.” He holds His hands out and a bottle swirls into existence. “I hope it suits.”

Lucifer takes it from Him. From the raised eyebrows and impressed look on Lucifer’s face, it must be a very fine vintage, indeed. “Yes, this will do, quite well. Thank you.” It’s more stilted coming from Lucifer, but God takes no offense. He merely bobs on His toes in a small gesture of pleasure.

Lucifer glances over at Chloe, abruptly wrongfooted now that the misunderstanding has passed. Gathering her composure, she falls into host mode.

“Should we eat?” she suggests lightly. Lucifer nods and begins to lead his father to the dining room table. Chloe takes a quick breath and then follows.