#i just want to be a feral loon

[finalgirllx]

fate said that i was too powerful this week so now im on hour 10 of laying in bed with the most crippling pain i’ve felt in years

pls send flowers and ice cream

and yes i know i’m being dramatic i’m very bored

[butyou-callmewhenyourebored]

This Must Be My Dream - Ross MacDonald Imagine

Summary:In which you meet the bassist of your childhood best friend's band at a wedding and pretty much fall head over heels for the handsome musician.

Warnings: None really. A few swear words. If you'd like a warning for them!

Author's Note: I love Ross. I literally go feral every single time I've seen him in the flesh for the past seven years! We don't get enough Ross love in this house. (fandom) Whilst you've all been thirsting over Healy for the past ten years. I've been over here falling in love with Ross and scraping the barrel for Ross content for the past decade! So I've taken it into my own hands! I hope you enjoy! p.s already writing a part two!

2.2k words

The first time you met Ross Macdonald properly was surprisingly not through your mutual friend Matthew but rather the day before your friend from university’s wedding. When she had called you up several months ago and asked you to be one of her bridesmaids, you couldn’t turn down the offer. After all she essentially kept you sane during your time at university. She was your best friend during those three years and although it had been a good few years since you really got to hang out due the nature of life. Rachel still classed you as one of her nearest and dearest.

During your time at the University of Manchester studying fashion marketing, you knew quite early on that you would need to find an extra curricular activity that wasn’t drinking your own body weight in cheap vodka. You needed something that would stimulate your mind but also keep you fit as you were sure that the further you got into your degree, the less time you would have to time to go the gym.

So you stumbled across cheer at the activities fair during your first year and you had seen Bring It On! It looked fun and it was would keep you in good shape, plus you were already a dancer from a young age so what could go wrong? Ohhh a lot could go wrong! You had to be strong mentally and physically to be a cheerleader, you had once watched a girl from an opposing team fall from a great height and break her ankle during competition one year and physically drag herself off the mat so she didn’t get trampled on by the rest of her team. It was brutal!

Going to practice twice a week whilst you trained in the gym was something you really enjoyed and looked forward to after a long week in lectures. It was there you met Rachel. The two of you instantly clicking from the first time you met. The decision to sign up to cheer led you to the woman who encouraged you to keep going when your degree was getting on top of you, stop you from wanting to strangle your idiotic housemates and drank her body weight in wine with you when you got fucked over by boys that weren’t worth your time in the first place.

You owed her your sanity. So when she asked you to be one of her bridesmaids, you just couldn’t refuse. It was the very least you could do for her. You went with her to every wedding dress appointment, beaming with joy when she found the one. Cried with overwhelming happiness when you both got too drunk on her hen do, about how you were so happy she had found David. 

You of course had met David over the years she had been with him and loved him to death too but you didn’t know anything about the men he had chosen for his groomsman. All you knew was that they were called James, Mike and Ross. What your friend had failed to mention when you turned up at the wedding venue the day before was the aforementioned Ross was an international musician and bandmate to your childhood best friend Matty.

You didn’t of course disclose that you had a mutual best friend and had essentially followed his career from the beginning upon first meeting. You didn’t want to overwhelm him and have him think you were an absolute loon who was an obsessed fan because he seemed so sweet and you didn’t want to give the handsome stranger the wrong impression. So you introduced yourself with your best smile and flick of your long brunette hair over your shoulder and told him it was great to meet him before moving along to greet the other groomsman.

You had all spent the evening before the wedding eating dinner, drinking wine, laughing and conversing with the rest of the wedding party and discussing the itinerary of the wedding day. Guessing what their first dance was going to be to and who was walking down the aisle with each other. You had been partnered up with the tall, handsome brunette currently sat opposite you.

The next time you saw him was the morning after as yourself and the other bridesmaids made your way towards the hall in which the wedding ceremony was taking place. Greeting all the gentleman with a warm smile as you got ready to walk down the aisle yourself, to watch your best friend get married to the love of your life.

You stopped in front of Ross. Your breath catching in your throat a little as you drunk in the sight in front of you. He looked devilishly handsome in his suit, a bright smile on his face as he leant down to greet you properly. A soft kiss to your cheek. Goosebumps prickling up your arms as his hands pressed against the small of your back.

“You look beautiful.” He whispered before pulling back. Standing up straight and offering you his arm, just as the welcome music started to play and you were making your way towards the groom who was waiting for you all.

It had happened so quick, you didn’t have time to melt into a puddle on the floor as the words replayed in your head because now you had an audience as your best friend was now walking towards the alter.

The next time you got to speak to him was whilst you were getting your photographs taken before the wedding breakfast. Naturally Rachel wanted the bridesmaids stood next to their partnered groomsmen whilst they took their group photos. You couldn’t help but laugh as he whispered, “I feel like we’re going to prom!” into your ear, as he hands sat loosely on your waist. It took everything in you not cackle like a witch, like you usually do whilst you tried not to ruin the photos for everybody.

Rachel had seated you right next to Ross for the duration of the wedding and the more the day went on and the more you learnt about the man next to you, the more comfortable you felt by his side. You weren’t sure if it was all the wine talking or if it was the fact he was the sweetest (and incredibly handsome) human you had ever met but being next to him just felt right.

During the speeches; you had felt yourself turn naturally into him, leaning against his arm that was lying across the back of your chair as you listened to their family tell their favourite stories about the couple. Your hand even slipped onto his thigh as the room laughed along. It was in the way he didn’t flinch but pulled your chair closer to his without batting an eyelid, you knew that it was okay.

Your hand stayed comfortably on his thigh even as the desserts came out. This angel of a man even letting you try some of his because you had ordered something different and his just looked insanely good. Anyone that didn’t know the two of you would have watched him feed you a spoonful of his dessert and think that you were a couple yourselves and not having met twenty four hours earlier. And you know what you’d let them because you hadn’t felt this giddy around a man in so long, you didn’t care. There wasn’t a moment throughout the day that you didn’t feel fully submerged in happiness caused by him.

When he spun you around the dance floor, the two of you beaming as you sung along to the Backstreet Boys’ As Long As You Love Me together without a care in the world. When he didn’t think twice to pull you into his warm body, his large hand pressed against the small of your back, holding you close as the DJ asked for everyone to join the bride and groom on the dance floor after their first dance and you swayed in his arms to the love song that was playing with a warm blush flushed across your cheeks. 

You were happy and you didn’t want to think about if Rachel and David paired you up with another groomsman or they hadn’t invited Ross to the wedding at all because in your hectic life and with too many fuckboys than you can shake a stick at. Today was honestly the happiest you had been in so long, it made you feel dizzy thinking about how this had even happened with a guy you had only known from afar in less than twenty fours.

Pulling him up to the bar for more drinks. After successfully (and very easily) convincing him to do a tequila shot with you. You finally told him that you had a confession to make. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed in anticipation of what he thought was you confessing you already had a boyfriend back home. You automatically reached out to rest your hand on top of his before letting him in on your secret.

“You know I said earlier that I knew of your band and I was a fan?” You watched him nod silently. “Well the reason is not because you’re the biggest band in the world right now. But I’m actually a friend of Matty’s.”

You had watched his face immediately fall and with the fact that the two of you both knew Matty as well as you do. You knew exactly why a frown fell on to his face the way it did and you needed to put his mind at ease because you also didn’t want other people to think that of you.

“No. No! Not like that. Christ no! Matthew is gross!” You chuckled, shaking your head at him as you looked at him with a soft smile. “Tim and Denise are my god parents!”

You watched Ross’ shoulders drop with relief, letting out that glorious laugh of his that had been making your heart flutter all day. Amongst over things. After explaining your reasons for not wanting to seem like a crazy person by dropping you knew his bandmate really well within ten seconds of meeting him and that you wanted to get to know him by yourself. Ross nodded appreciatively, a content look on his handsome features as he smiled back at you. He wasn’t weirded out. Thank God. 

Holding out your hand, he instantly wrapped his hand in yours as you dragged him through a throng of people as you headed back to the dance floor to dance with the bassist. He naturally pulled you into his arms to slow dance along to A Million Love Songs by Take That that was nearing its end and transitioning into a song they both knew all too well.

The opening bars of The Sound echoed through the reception hall. A few people made a noise of appreciation on the dance floor, some got up to dance along. Ross immediately entered flight or fight mode in an attempt to escape the dance floor. You knew he was going to do this so your smaller hand wrapped around his larger one, instantly tugging him to a halt, you looked up at him with your best doe eyes.

“Please.” You begged softly. “I love this one.”

Sighing over dramatically. Ross made his way back to you, the smile you had grown accustomed to throughout the past eight hours you had been by his side was back on his face as you sung the words obnoxiously loud to try and make him laugh again. Succeeding pretty quickly; you wrapped your arms around his neck, hanging off him as you danced goofily with one another. His hands around your waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

The pair of you stayed on the dance floor, avoiding the smirk on Rachel’s face as she glided on past you during another slow song until all the guests were called outside for the fireworks. Without hesitation; Ross slipped his suit jacket around your shoulders before you naturally leant against his chest; his chin resting on top of your head, arms wrapped around your shoulders as you watched the firework display together.

After the rest of the wedding guests started to disperse either back inside or off home. The two of you stayed there under the stars, just basking in the last of the warm summer air before you called it a night yourselves. It felt like kismet that you two were to meet. Maybe it was today. Maybe it ten years ago. Maybe in another life time. But turning in his arms; arms already tucked round his middle as you looked up at him to catch his gaze. Ross ran a hand down the side of your face, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as he cupped your jaw. Your heart thumping as you longed for what you hoped was about to happen.

“I can’t believe Healy has kept you from me all this time.” He chuckled softly.

“Believe me. I’m going to be having words with him.”  You told him with a smirk.

“I’ve had the best time with you today. I’m glad it was you.” 

The grip on your jaw tightened ever so slightly as the oxygen hitched in your throat at the action. “Yeah, I suppose we should thank them at some point.” You mumbled; pausing a moment before pushing yourself up on your tip toes as he leant down and met you in the middle. Your lips connecting in the sweetest kiss. The pair of you pushing up against one another as your kiss got deeper causing you to groan into his kiss before pulling back for air.

“Fuck!” You let our a breathy laugh; forehead resting against his. Staring into his glistening brown eyes, he responded with his infectious laugh. 

“Yeah" Ross sighed against you. "Fuck!” He grinned before pulling you into another deep kiss.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

do do doooo i give sneak peak for the future of teeth and cards because i love these two. gambit and sabretooth are such a dynamic

Creed taps the kid’s hands. 

“Your punches are better than most, but your blocks need work cub.”

“I use my bo-staff to block most of the time in close quarters. I dont tend to fight up close. Cards make for good long range.”

“Doesn't mean that you should not try to learn.”

“I am trying! You just be big big kitty! Hard to block a boulder!”

The complaints remind him of his brother when they were both much younger. Creed chuffs and ruffles the complaining teen’s hair. He had been genuinely surprised when Remy had asked to spar with him. He had thought that Remy would be resistant to fighting him. But the kid had flatly stated that he was more comfortable with fighting touch compared to more casual touches. Which…. Made Creed a little sad. 

“It's why we practice kitten. So you can block this boulder.” 

Remy laughs and adjusts his stance. In all honestity, there is not much for him to do in ways of teaching the kid. The Guild had hammered all sorts of moves and skills into the kid's skull. He had never met a bo staff user quite so proficient. He attacks again, careful of his own claws. The kid dances away, and blocks pretty decently. Then the cub launches himself up and over Creed, flipping and twisting away from swiping paws. The kid dodges more than he blocks, but it seems to be his strategy. Wear an opponent down till he can take them down. Unfortunately, that won't work on everyone. 

The kid kicks his leg and Creed fights back on the urge to crumble and pretend to be hurt by the strike. He pushes past the urg and sweeps his hand at the kid who dodges, moving like water and shifting away. Another block, another flip, another punch that really has no effect on him. But this time his instinct take over, as holding back his claws made his brain register this whole fight as playing. Something he had not truly done since… the 1800s. Huh. 

He goes down from a punch to his arm, whining and crying out in false pain. Remy freezes eyes wide with terror. He drops down to his knees and is right beside Creed’s head. 

“Kitty! Creed!! Mon ami!! Oh no. Desole! Nonnononon.”

Creed immediately sits up and holds his hands out to the cub.

“Kid! Remy!! I'm alright.”

Remy blinks at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. He reaches forwards a little more. Remy launches himself forward and clings tightly to him. Creed purrs out comfort and slowly and carefully nuzzles his neck. Remy presses into him and clings tight.

“Hey. Remy. It's fine. There is nothing that you can do to me that can keep me down. I have a strong healing factor. I… we were play fighting. And sometimes in playfighting I go down with fake cries. Its… instinct. I havent had a pack member in a long time that would play fight with me. I did not mean to scare you.”

“‘M not scared.”

The kid says petulantly while clinging tightly to Creed. Creed gently pets the cub’s hair.

“Of course your not. You just wanted a hug.”

“Yeah. That be the truth.”

There is a soft sniffle. 

“We done fighting for the day kitten?”

Creed asks while still gently rubbing his scent into Remy’s neck. Remy hums and then pushes himself back. He boops Creed’s nose and grins like a loon. 

“Aw, mon Kitty, you not gonna get out of fightin’ this cajun that easy. Come on! I want to use my bo-staff.”

The kid’s eyes are clear and Creed lets him slip out of his arms easily. The feral cracks his back and croons.

“As if Id ever try to get out of a fight! Do you even know me, kitten?”

Remy laughs brightly.

“I know you homme. I know.”

[arcielee]

💜POSITIVE WORDS GAME💜

Tag five moots that you admire, love, and adore - and type out why you love ‘em so much, too! Let's say a nice word or two about those in the fandom and genuinely spread some good vibes!

Tag five people when you're done💜Let's spread some good vibes!

💜 Thank you my darling Tumblr kindred spirits who tagged me: 

@fan-goddess You gave me the sweetest comment on my first ever fic I posted and even asked that I tag you in my future pieces. My heart was so full, I was blushing like a slut. That kindness has always remained consistent with our every interaction and I just adore you.

@lovelykhaleesiii I feel like I have always followed you, like you and Dais were determined to draw me into the Aegon cult, and every time you came up on my Tumblr dashboard, I would like, “Damn, she is nifty. Fuck it, I am going to bother her,” and I am so glad I did. You are one of the kindest individuals I have met on this hellsite, you are talented, wickedly witty, and I just adore you so thoroughly. 

@ilikeitbetterangsty I adore you. You allowed me to just bombard your DMs with my narrative of your brilliant story 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝘆 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝘀 and I never left. I just adore you more and more with every bit of yourself that you share with me. 

I came to Tumblr years ago when Matt Smith was the doctor, returning when he took the role of Daemon Targaryen, him singing my siren call. I watched that show and had this feral adoration for everything in it, and thought, “Where can I go that this feral adoration would be welcomed?”  

This hellsite has allowed me the fortune to come across so many wonderful, talented individuals. This sat in my drafts because I did not want to forget anyone, like I know I did 😭  

💜  @itbmojojoejo I was so late to the TLK fandom and only bothered because of HotD. You fed my Finan fixation with your brilliant piece, and I just love watching your talent branch into other facets.        Because of you, I was able to meet @gemini-mama @bhxrdy, whose threads always have me in a fit of fucking giggles. If any of you post this banner (created by the darling mojo), I will be there 🦝 This is our equivalent for the beacons being lit, and you can just call me Gondor.  

💜  @hamatoanne Your stories were some of the first I came across and I just fell in love with your prose. You have been so lovely to talk to and I just adore what a muse you have been for me. I have Tumblr notifications for your work so I can stop whatever I am doing and read whatever you post! You are just amazing. 

💜  @squirmhoney You had such a profound impact on the way I wrote my Aegon. I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to give me feed back on my lucid dream story with him. You have always been so kind, so thoughtful with your advice given and I just adore you. 

💜  @watercolorskyy You asked to be a part of my taglist, making me feel like what I was writing and posting was actually nifty. Thank you for that confidence. Your comments, your reblogs brighten my damn day and you always served as a muse. You are just so lovely. 

💜  @dustylavatentacles You were one of my first anons and you expanded the modern!Aegon husband drabbles in a way that is engaging, sweet, and so perfectly Aegon. 

💜  @assortedseaglass You are one of those people who are beautiful through and through. You have such a kindness, a consideration that seeps onto my dashboard and makes my day, as well as this raunchy humor that has me cackling like a loon. Thank you for always being such an encouragement when I need it the most. 

💜  @inthedayswhenlandswerefew Each week is just a new countdown to Sunday for me. Thank you for introducing me to your brilliant writing, your engaging conversations, and the new Tumblr kindred spirits I have met because of our Sunday trauma bond.  

💜  @namelesslosers [See above] We are trauma bonded and I love having someone I can talk to every time Maggie posts a new chapter. I feel our comments complete each other’s sandwiches. 

💜  @babygirlyofthevale You are a wonderful writer, a wonderful human being. You will always persevere 

💜 @lonnson​ I adore you, I adore your creations, I adore your insight to so many fandoms we share and the ones you are slowly introducing me too. 

💜 @babyblue711 This is for you, with love.

💜  @lovelykhaleesiii & @f4ll-for-you & @amiraisgoingthruit & @st-eve-barnes​ You lovelies have been slowly, but surely converting me to be an Aegon girlie. Hel, I truly enjoy every interaction we share. You always make my day, no matter the time. Dais, you literally gave me the confidence to be where I am today and I can never repay that. Mira, you have a beauty that shows inside and out, a talent that has no ends, and just an overall kindness that makes my day. Eve, you feed such a niche for me and I just adore you for that. Thank you for being your wonderful selves and my tag “reblogging for my aegon girlies” definitely is catering to you all. 

💜  @annikin-im-panicin You were my og follower, my og Tumblr kindred spirit. I literally was struggling to get into the swing of things and you just reached out and were so lovely. I always try to pay your kindness forward.

💜  @theoneeyedprince My darling, I was shy to reach out and you were just so kind in response. Sometimes you meet a soul and it feels like you have always known them, and I feel that with you. Thank you so being so lovely.

💜 @theromanticegoist Your conversations, your advice offered, your writing and your presence on this hellsite has been such a godsend. I just adore you are a person and everything you create. 

💜 @bucknastysbabe & @aemondsgirlfriend Ladies, you have been such a breath of fresh air, I cannot thank you enough for your presence, your kindness, and your unhinged comments. 

💜 @barbieaemond & @aegonx & @myfandomprompts Your creations are both absolutely wonderful and unhinge. You keep the sister wives fed.

💜 @sylas-the-grim I think I spammed every chapter posted on ao3 and you were kind enough to respond to my every thought I typed out. Since then, you have become one of my dearest friends and I just am so grateful to have you in my life.

💜 My other Tumblr kindred spirits: @lauraneedstochill @theold-ultraviolence @chattylurker @aemondx @aemvnd @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @devthlyangels​ @ice-dragon​ and so many more!  

💜 I apologize for how long this is and how long it has sat in my drafts. In truth, I did not want to post it and miss someone. It isn’t that I do not hold you near and dear, but I consider myself lucky enough to have met so many wonderful people on this hellsite. I overuse the tag “i love my tumblr kindred spirits” but that is what I was fortunate enough to come across after diving into one fandom and coming out with so much more. 

Thank you all. Truly. 

[adleryoung]

"My lord," Rebecca blinked in confusion. "Is something wrong?"

I nudged Burnside with my free hand, but she hung on tenaciously.

With a shrug and a sigh, I prepared myself for the unpleasant tale I would have to tell. "Rebecca… Bunkirk is gone."

"Gone?" she repeated. "What do you mean gone? Where did it go? Did you apport the entire village away?"

"That's purty dang impressive, even for you," Burnside sighed as she nuzzled against my neck.

I took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy. "Rebecca, something terrible happened … A vicious Unseelie lunatic burned it down."

"No, that can't be right," Rebecca insisted, shaking her head in disbelief. "That lunatic beaver firestarter died a long time ago after she burned her husband and sister alive."

"Remember how I was looking for an elf noblefemme?" I pressed on reluctantly. "I needed her to crown me so I could lift the geas that was keeping me imprisoned. Well, I found her… but she turned out to be an irredeemable criminal, multiple murderer, and a callous manipulator who treats people as mere pawns to use and throw away. My time with her showed me that she has no empathy for anyone, and cares only about herself. She even traded her soul to a demon in order to gain immortality!"

"That's … pretty hardcore," Rebecca murmured in awe.

"And to top it all off, she's a liar too! Her Elfmind is broken and she can't hear the Voice of the Forest! I was obliged to mate with this monster because I needed an elf of noble blood to free me. After that, maybe it was spousal instinct, or maybe it was some insidious Wile that got past my defenses, but I naively thought that I could tame her and turn her onto a better path. During our time together we became very close, and we conceived a child; a daughter. I didn't want this witch anywhere near our child until I was sure she could be trusted. While she was asleep, I placed my daughter in the care of a childless family in desperate need of some good fortune. When I returned to my bride, she accused me of being a child killer and stormed off, where she immediately ran afoul of the residents of Bunkirk. They thought she was a witch; coincidence? I think not… Nevertheless, at great personal risk, I donned a disguise and infiltrated the village in an effort to intervene on her behalf. The people of Bunkirk could have been convinced to let her go, but instead of helping her cause, the psychotic loon just hissed and snarled like some kind of feral animal. There was no saving her after that, and the townsfolk hanged her at a crossroads."

"Okay, but … why is Bunkirk gone?" Rebecca asked, perplexed.

"The story isn't over. Remember how I said she had made herself immortal? Well, hanging didn't stop her. It only made her cranky. Later that night, instead of simply leaving like a sane person, the sadistic wench stormed into Bunkirk and started indiscriminately murdering people."

"She sounds purty bad-ass," Burnside remarked.

"She killed EVERYONE," I continued. "It didn't matter if they had taken part in hanging her or not. She slaughtered mels, femmes, even innocent children. No amount of pleading or begging for mercy could slake her bloodlust. I witnessed the horror from my scrying tower, but there was nothing I could do. Before I could even process what I was witnessing, she had set the town alight. Bunkirk burned to the ground in a matter of hours. By morning it was a smoking ruin, and she had the gall to act as if the whole incident was my fault."

Rebecca swayed dizzily and dropped to her knees. To my surprise, Burnside let go of me and rushed to her side.

"Elves don't lie," Rebecca mumbled, seemingly in a daze. "Everyone in Bunkirk is dead? The town I grew up in .. burned down? I admit I've been out of touch with them for a long time, but I had relatives living in Bunkirk, the descendants of my siblings. The people there weren't evil, they were just misled by lying charlatans. They were getting better! In another generation or two I could've opened their hearts and minds to Fuma. I often dreamed of someday going back as a missionary of Fuma's word and leading Bunkirk into a new era. And now they're all gone."

"Who done this dreadful deed?" Burnside snarled, brandishing a large knife. "Tell me the varmint's name, and I promise she'll suffer tenfold for her crimes."

[valeffelees]

@youarenevertooold OMG HEY, YEAH, you may absoLUTELY see the potato frittata scene. 😄🖤 ok so, this comes from a zero draft of mine called The Malaise of Jealous Men and it is one of my absolute favourites, the writing is kind of rough 'cause again: zero draft, and the actual plot of this fic is a lot to explain, but the need-to-know leading up to this scene is just that at the beginning of eighth year Simon and Niall get assigned a project together and end up inadvertently becoming friends.

"Who was that?" "My sister." "You have a sister?" The corners of Niall's eyes crease—brown today, natural. Large and dark on his face, honeyed at the edges by the lights in the dining hall. "I have a twin, Simon." "You what?" "We're not close," he says, flapping his hand. Dismissive. Like Niall not being close to his sister explains how Simon could've missed the fact that this boy he's known for almost seven years has a twin he didn't know about. Simon asks, "Does she avoid you or something?” Then realises how shit that sounds and adds, “I mean, just. You know.” He shrugs. “I never see her in class with us." Niall pulls his wand from his sleeve and spells away the mess on the table. An ice-cold breeze bites through the room with it, the smell of salt and cold water, river weeds, ocean air. "We pick our schedules accordingly,” he says. “Signe was in all our first year classes with us but you were prob'ly too busy trying to tie Basil's shoelaces together to notice." Simon folds his arms. "We aren’t that bad." Niall quirks both of his eyebrows up. "I mean,” Simon says, “not first year." "You sure as shit were," he snorts, and his smile is back. Long and narrow, sharp enough to cut glass. "First year was the worst—no, wait. I take that back. Fifth was fucking awful. You’re a loon, by the way." "Oh fuck off, mate, Baz is the one who—" Dev slams his tray down on the table. An apple bounces off the corner. It rolls forward, slowly. Bumps up against the side of Simon’s teacup, then sits and wobbles there for what feels like an impossibly (and, frankly, unnecessarily) long time before Niall reaches over and sets his hand on it. His fingers curl a ghostly shade of pink around all that bright green skin. Simon lifts his gaze, moving joint by joint from Niall’s wrist to his elbow, from his elbow to his shoulder, from his shoulder to his face. He’s grinning at Dev like a cobra, that razor-blade mouth of his turned downright feral. “Oi,” he chirps. “Fuckin’ cat drag you in or what?” Dev doesn’t look like Baz much. They’re cousins—or, Simon’s pretty sure they’re cousins. Cousin-adjacent, maybe. Probably something stupid like fourth cousins twice removed with two sugar and chips on the side or however the fuck families work when you’re rich and posh. But where Baz is all sharp and tall and cold, Dev is... just, not. He looks like Baz with a tablespoon of honey and splash of milk stirred in. Short and bird-like, warm. His hair is a dark shock of feathery brown and his skin is the deep, blushless golden tone of a dry grassland. He’s glaring across the table at Simon from beneath heavy, black eyebrows like he wants to shove him down a flight of stairs. (That might be the one thing he and Baz do have in common.) "Hi," Simon says, awkwardly. Dev sneers. (Make that two things.) "Look," he hisses, pulling out his chair. He sits with his elbows spread to the sides of his tray, leaning forward on them, "this is weird and I hate it, but I'm not sitting across the dining hall alone while you two cunts cuddle up over fucking tea and biscuits or whatever the fuck this is, so let's just skip the part where we make a big deal out of it." Simon looks down at his plate with a confused frown. “This is potato frittata.” Dev’s face does something funny. Twists a bit, like he's in pain. Or smells something rotten. Or like he's in pain while smelling something rotten. He says, “Niall.” “Well,” Niall replies, and takes a loud, crisp bite of Dev’s apple, “he’s not wrong.” “Niall.” “Are there biscuits?” Simon asks, glancing over at the serving station. He stands up. “I didn’t see any biscuits.” Niall nudges his shin under the table. “Sit,” he says. “There ‘re no biscuits.” Simon does. “Niall!” “He does this sometimes,” Niall tells him. “Just give 'im a sec, he'll get over it.”

[rottingcheng]

ZhanCheng Day 5: Treacle

Prompt: LZ and JC secret relationship and gets sneaky when they're alone 😌. Suggested by Eruri. ao3 link. Slight NSFW

"What a bunch of loons, am I right?" Jiang Cheng grins. He's slightly breathless from running to the kitchen in order to avoid his family stirring up any more trouble with him and Lan Wangji. Flushed.

Wangji thinks Jiang Cheng's beautiful like this, the way his sharp brows are slightly drawn and a bit of colour lightly dusts his cheeks. The way his shoulders heave and a lock of hair falls from its place tucked behind his ear. The pink of his lips wrapped in a rare toothy smile.

He'd told Wangji last winter, under the cover of darkness and a fluffy blue quilt, that he hated his smile when it showed his teeth – someone had told him it looked weird when he was a child and he never quite forgot it.

It's these tiny shames of the world that Wangji mourns daily. How his lover absorbs every word others say, lets them seep deeper than Wangji can reach with his lips. He wishes Jiang Cheng can see himself through his eyes right now, the pleasure that rings in them with the sight of a handsome happy man with the prettiest smile.

Unable to contain the overwhelming satisfaction with such a sight, Wangji steps forward in the tiny kitchen and captures that perfect smile in his with a warm, candy kiss. Pecking at the man's lips after, Wangji tells him: "What lucky loons, to have spent their lives with you."

Jiang Cheng snorts. He always gets awkward whenever Wangji says something sweet, starts staring at the ceiling and laughing nervously, deflecting it as if he didn't know where to hold sweetness in his hands.

"Hah! We're all laced with misfortune, actually, the lot of us. Just one after the other...ha..."

If only he could know his hands are sweetness themselves. If only he could know his body is sweetness. If only he could know his heart is treacle, and Wangji is drowning in it; the luckiest loon of all, perhaps.

He kisses his lover's lips again. "Shall I put some of my luck in you then, Jiang Cheng?"

Jiang Cheng’s eyes grow wide. His face flushes pink. Oh, he's even prettier like this. Sweet, nervous thing, trembling in Wangji's wanting hands.

"D-don't say dirty things when my family's in the room next door..."

He's averting his eyes again, so Wangji takes the opportunity to slip a hand around his waist and push him against the kitchen counter.

"I meant nothing dirty, A-Cheng. Were you thinking something dirty?"

The way that Adam's apple bobs forces a soft growl from Wangji's throat, and Jiang Cheng seems to shiver with it.

"Don't be a bastard," Jiang Cheng chastises, though Wangji knows the threat carries as much strength as two matchsticks tied together. He gently presses his cheek against Jiang Cheng's, the hands on his waist moving him side to side so they're both swaying from foot to foot; a little dance as he teases more.

"I could get on my knees and suck you right here. Your family are so focused on Cluedo they won't look for us until you've climaxed at least twice."

Wangji had never been the type to talk so dirty. Jiang Cheng brings it out of him somehow, with his rose-tinted skin and sweet stutters, breaking from the usual stern air he tries so hard to carry. It's always so satisfying, seeing Jiang Cheng act so strictly towards his students and knowing how quickly the man crumbles before a few naughty words; before his own desire.

"You're so bad, Lan Wangji. Who taught you such obscenities, huh?"

The question quickly devolves into a cut-off moan when Wangji kisses Jiang Cheng's neck, trailing the kisses up his lifting jaw.

"No one," he breathes into hot-flushed skin. "You simply inspire such obscenities to spring from me, Jiang Cheng. You must be the dirtiest one of all, filling a pure Lan heart with such lust and desire." Jiang Cheng's aborted breaths only spur Wangji on. The moaning of his name coming after makes him go nearly feral.

His hands slide under his lover's thighs and lifts him onto the counter. There's a little wince of surprise and Jiang Cheng's arms are wrapping around Wangji's shoulders for purchase.

"Wangji," he says sternly, still breathless, still turning Wangji on. "We are not fucking in my parents' kitchen right now."

A few more kisses along his lover's jaw and Wangji meets his lips again, brushing their noses against each other.

"How about in thirty minutes?" he asks, and Jiang Cheng slaps him on the shoulder with a toothy grin.

There are footsteps, and Yanli's head pops out from the doorframe. Her eyes scan the two of them, and she smiles a smile very familiar to Wangji, making him feel at home.

"Watcha lovebirds up to?" she says, lilting her words.

Wangji leans his head against Jiang Cheng's.

"Nothing much, jie. Just admiring your didi's lovely smile."

Written for Milk's 30 Days of ZhanCheng! Ao3 Collection.

[prolix-yuy]

Thanks Tumblr for burying this chapter so far in my drafts I forgot about it entirely. For shame! Let's get some cowboy summer on!

Cee I am already emotional at them looking at the ranch together, this is gonna hurt me isn't it?

Ahhhh all the boys coming to greet her has me grinning like a loon, I love the camaraderie and how at home she feels.

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead.

Ughhhh I love this imagery, so stunning!

Oooh, a little spicy smoochin in the stables, you're hitting all my favorite cowboy tropes!

Oh poor sweet thing worried Jack is only courting her because of the proximity. That man has taken lots of women on this trip, but is he dating? Is he married? NO! That's all you gurl!

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

SHOULD WE GET THE SOCIAL MEDIA god Champ you adorable old man.

I would also like to come to this cookout and enjoy a cowboy's sausage...just sayin' ;)

TEAK YOU SCAMP stop trying to out them you rascal!

Oh they're going to "take their time" in the whiskey cellar, I see...

That protection talk was way too fucking hot Cee, I am not going to last this cellar tryst.

FILTHY FERAL JACK FILTHY FERAL JACK YESSSSS CEE I am drooling from not my mouth, sorry not sorry

‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

You started it Teak, they just finished is!

And this is so gorgeous it makes me swoon:

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

YAY THE SILVER PONY MAKES AN APPEARANCE!

‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

Ohhhh the photo, my heart! I'm happy crying over her letting him talk about his wife and him feeling happiness about it.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Stop making my heart hurt so much Cee! This was gorgeous, sexy and so heartfelt as they figure out how their last days are going to go. I'm sending you all the hugs and love for sharing another wonderful part of this series, I adore you!

VIII ║ Silver Pony

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, grief, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.5k

Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️

P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.

Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker. 

A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.

Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s. 

You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’

He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’

It’s not too late to back out, you know.

Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage. 

He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’

Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley. 

It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.

Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’

Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.

‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.

You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.

Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’

‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’

‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’

Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’

A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’

Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’

You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.

Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’

Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’

The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you. 

When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’

The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -

Get a grip, woman.

You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’

Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.

You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’

Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’

The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’

Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’

The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’

He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’

You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.

‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.

You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.

Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.’ 

Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’

‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’

You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’

His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’

‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’

Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -

If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.

Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind - 

You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.

You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.

But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.

You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.

A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.

Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.

One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.

What if -

What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?

What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?

What if -

You startle at the knock on the door. 

It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.

Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.

You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’

‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.

You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’

Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.

Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper. 

Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.

Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’

‘You want the short answer or long answer?’

‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’

You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.

You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’

A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’

You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.

Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.

‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.

‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile. 

Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’

She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’

Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’

‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’

Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’

You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’

Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’

There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen. 

On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.

It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.

Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.

By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.

Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.

You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -

You look away in case you do anything rash.

You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.

‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’

Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’

‘Did Jack show you a good time?’

‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’

With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’

With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit. 

Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’

Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’

Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’

Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.

‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’

‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’

Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls. 

You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.

You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’

‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.

‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’

‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’

He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’

You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’

Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.

‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’

Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’

The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.

It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’

Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.

Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’

Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’

The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.

Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’

Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’

‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’

When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -

With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.

He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’

You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -

He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’

Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’

With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’

Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’

You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’

He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.

There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.

Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.

Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’

You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’

He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’

‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.

‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.

The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’

The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’

‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.

The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug. 

‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’

‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.

Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’

His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity. 

Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.

Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’

You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’

‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’

Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.

He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’

Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.

Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.

Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat. 

You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar. 

Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’

You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.

The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.

Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’

Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights. 

It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.

Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.

Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’

‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.

‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.

He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’

His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours. 

You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’

Then don’t. 

The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.

So he says nothing.

Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes. 

‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’

He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.

Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -

You look like you belong here.

‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.

He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’

‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.

‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.

His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.

But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.

You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’ 

He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It’s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust. 

Untouched.

His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’

His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’

‘Was this taken at your wedding?’

He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’

‘At her parents’ ranch.’

‘Under this magnolia tree?’

He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.

His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’

At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion. 

‘What is it, darlin’?’

‘Tell me about her.’

Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’

His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’

You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’

‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’

He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.

But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.

So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’

Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’

You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.

Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.

And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.

He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio. 

You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late. 

He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.

Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.

It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.

Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️

[eihwaz-y-d]

Twin Skeletons

Part IV

Beginning Previous Part

People who wanted to be tagged: @queenieofsouls @my-mom-calls-me-rat @daemonlogical @crystaldrops20

Again: I know nothing and do what I want.

The petty criminals were quickly dealt with, Jason just needed to walk in the alley and as soon as the wannabe muggers noticed the Red Hood they ran like a dog with its tail between its legs. 

Suits him just fine, now he just needs to deal with the teenagers with zero Self-preservation. Turning around he found himself facing the from the museum. The boy is hunched into himself and rubbing his temples as if to prevent or fight a bad headache, he pays no attention towards his surroundings at all. On closer inspection the kid does not look good, maybe he needs medical attention? 

"Hey kid, are you okay? Are you hurt somewhere?" the boy does not react at all. That is not a good sign, reaching out Jason tries again. "Hey kid?" 

But as soon as his hand makes contact with the tens shoulder the teen reacts immediately. 

The kids eyes flyes open -later Jason would swear his eyes flashed a toxic (Lazarus) green for a moment-, with one arm he beats Jason's hand off his shoulder and with the other he throws a punch towards his throat, then something like recognize, understanding and fear flickers other his face. He tries to pull his punch and let it land somewhere other than the throat, literally anywhere else.  Everything happened in a matter of seconds, Jason didn't have the time to react at all. The punch hit him just under his throat where his neck goes into his breast. Jason staggers back, a breathless cry /groan leaves his lips and for a moment it's difficult to breathe again. The pit shrieks and wither in fear and tries to hide deeper before it goes eerie quiet again - It nearly feels like it is gone and never was there in the first -. It takes a moment before air fills Jason's lungs again, he rubs his throat before sitting up again. 

A feral grin spread across his lips and Jason is glad for his helmet overwise he would look like a maniac. But Damn, possibly dangerous person or not, the kid is like a freaking messiah for Jason. One look and the pit trembles in fear and goes quiet, one punch and the pit disappears like it was never there. 

He feels jittery and happy but also at peace. It's like he got dosed with Dopamine, serotonin and Endorphin all at once. He can't remember the last time he feels this good. There was pain he did not notice till it was gone. It feels like heaven. He is high on the best drug and probably already addicted to it. 

" Damn kid, that was a mean punch." Despite the voice modulation his voice still sounds a little hoarse. 

The black haired teen seems almost panicked in his worries. " I'm so sorry, by the Ancients, I didn't mean to punch you. Are you okay? Do you have difficulty with the breathing? Do you need a Doctor? Where do one find a doc-"

A low chuckle - the red hood does not giggle and if anyone would say so, Jason will call them a liar - cuts the rambling short. " Relax, kid, you didn't punch me that hard. I wasn't expecting it and you just caught me off guard. "

Danny narrows his eyes suspiciously, his whole body language screams mistrust. "Are you sure?" 

"Yep." he answers way too cheerful for Red Hood's reputation as a crime lord but Jason simply did not care. He is still grinning like a loon under his helmet. 

After a minute of silence and awkward looking around from Danny and open staring from Jason - who is here to call him out on it? Nobody, he can look all he like-, Jason decides to break the ice, Danny looks rather uncomfortable. 

" Hey, you are the kid from the museum, aren't you? Did you get to see the exhibition you wanted to visit? "

" No."

" A shame, it's really good." 

" just rub it in, will' ya?" 

And Red Hood laughs again while Danny sulks. 

" Whatcha name kid?" 

"Danny" 

" Alright Danny, what are you doing out here in the Narrows at this time?" 

" I got out, then I was attacked by some kind of ninja. I ran and got completely lost but at least I think I lost the ninja dude." 

" lost you say? Why are out and about anyway? Shouldn't little kids like you already been to bed? "

" I have no qualms with punching you again. Can you tell me how to get to the museum from there on I would probably find my way back. "

" I could take you directly to your hotel." 

" Thanks but no thanks. Have you heard of stranger danger? You are not really easy to read with the helm and the voice modification. This doesn't really inspire my confidence in you. I don't fancy being kidnapped again. Just tell me what way to go and I'm not your problem anymore. "

So Damian kidnapped Danny and the boy got away? That is surprising. 

Danny was once again holding his head and was breathing forcefully controlled, like he was trying to breath away pain. 

And the moment of silence was back, then Jason reached for his helm and pressed the mechanism before pulling it off. Luckily he still wore his domino mask underneath the helmet. He did it without thinking and the bat would not approve but who cares about the bat anyway, not Jason, thats for sure. 

"You don't look quite alright, let me help you?" 

" it's just a headache, I'll survive. So? Which way now?" 

Sighting, Jason pointed in the right direction. "That way." 

 Danny slowly moves towards the end of alley. "Nice. Thanks Mr Hero dude."

That brings a little smirke on Jason's lips. "You don't know who I am, or?" 

Looking back other his shoulders Danny replies with a little grin. " No! But with hair like yours I'm pretty sure I would recognize you out of your hero outfit." 

Shaking his head, Jason snorts. "Cheeky brat" 

"At your Service." the Teenager has the nerves to bow mockingly towards him and than he was gone.

As Danny got back at the hotel, it was nearly half past four in the morning and neither his core nor his mind had settled and he didn't believe he could sleep without some nightmares so he would better not try to sleep. Sneaking back in was easy. 

He took his sketch pad from his backpack and did was away does best after a nightmare, he let the memories take hold and just draw till his mind was quite again.

Soooo..... Fun fact. How Danny deals with his overwhelmed mind (and after nightmares) is how I deal with nightmares. I draw them and then they don't haunt me anymore. And one of my head canon of Danny Phantom is that Danny is really good at engineering. (in the Fenton household it is a necessary survival skill for Danny to be good at engineering, he needs to know how his parents technology works, how to manipulate the technology or straight up sabotage it so he dies not completely) but being good at engineering also means to know how to read the blueprints correctly or draw some himself, I think. And I assume one needs at least a little bit of drawing skills for that so for this fic Danny is decent at drawing and sketching.

And also. Someone once told me as I hit puberty if I am in the need of defending myself I should always goes for the soft parts like the throat and than run. So it becomes a habit of writing punching someone in the throat rather than punching in the face.

I hope you all enjoyed reading!

Edit : Next Part

[slashingdisneypasta]

The Evil Queen Reacts: To the Other Disney Villains

As the first, she is The Queen and she reigns over all the other Disney Villains (Sans, like, Hades and Pete but she's mean and squashes them down).

I tried to include them all (Sans non-animated villains and Pixar's.) but some slipped through the cracks I'm sure.

(The two with an asterisk are canon opinions according to Disney's Once Upon a Halloween)

~

*Pete: A jovial fellow, for sure. She likes Pete, though she doesn't think much of his villainy (A bit of a goof). He's been around longer than she has- so they're most unlikely close friendship of the whole group.

Chernobog: What is there to think? The man's a big rock!

Honest John and Gideon, The Coachman, and Strombolli: She doesn't mind Honest John in small doses (Very small doses), Gideon's a little twit and she has little patience for that, and the Coachman is an old fool. Strombolli on the other hand is alright, as well as ugly (Not a threat), and she can appreciate that.

The Headless Horseman (1994): He doesn't have a head... which means he cant talk and irritate her- so she can live with it.

Anastasia, Drizella and Lady Tremaine: Finalyyy, someone around here Hilda can talk to! Lady Tremaine is poised, full of hate and has a step daughter she wants to kill- clearly, they were meant to be friends. Anastasia and Drizella though... are idiots. (Bestie knows that though, so its okay)

The Red Queen: As the other Queen around, Hilda often struggles with the woman. But honestly- how legitimate is the Red Terror's claim?? She's just Queen of some fever-induced nightmare place and Hilda very honestly seduced her way into a King's bed chambers. Clearly, she's the true ruler here. The Red Queen does give Hilda a good headache every now and then though.

Captain Hook: ... Bit of a loon, and she doesn't mind saying so. But she does respect his tenacity, if nothing else. And the fact that he at least attempts to act like a gown up around everyone else *Pointed eyeroll at Morgana and Ursula*

Maleficent: Why do miserable commoners get us confused??? Hilda is a glamorous, beautiful, rich Royal- and Maleficent is a puke coloured feral woman that lives in a crumbly castle in the woods. Her mind is boggled, and she's quite displeased. Also?? Mal is constantly throwing jibes at Hilda?? Honestly the woman is walking a very fine line with her. One more comment about her being old and she's getting an apple.

Cruella De Vil: Oh... an artist... *Eyeroll*... Wonderful... Hilda is less than thrilled about Cruella's eccentricities. Like, kill all the innocent household pets you like-- but stop demanding salad water in the meetings, its not going to happen! No one knows how to make salad into water. Other than though, she can at least stand Cruella more than she can Mal.

Madam Mim: Hilda is one of the only people around that can stay straight faced and seemingly unbothered with Mim popping all over the place creating chaos, and its a secret amusement for Hilda to have the little witch trying so hard to get a rise out of her while the Queen just sits and drinks her tea.

Kaa and Shere Khan: As long as Shere Khan doesn't shed on the floor or eat her servants, they're cool. And as for Kaa, snakes are honestly kind of her thing, so she has a sweet spot for him- in fact, Kaa gets to hang out on her throne.

Edgar Balthazar: At first she didn't realise he was an actual villain- she thought he was there to fetch her her morning tea- and to this day she struggles to take him seriously. (And he does, sometimes, fetch her things for her. I mean are you going to say no to the Evil Queen???)

The Sheriff of Nottingham and Prince John: Oh that Sheriff is obnoxious, trying to get into her good books. And the Prince is just such a whiner, she cant take it!

Madam Medusa: ... Hilda likes Brutas and Nero.

The Horned King: These two kind of have respect for eachother. He can have a throne at lunch- but only as long as he sits at a side with everyone else. Only she and Hades get ends.

Professor Ratigan: ... A rat? *Deeply unimpressed* // A rat that can talk? *Still unimpressed* // A rat that can recite Shakespeare? *Alright fine get him a highchair but he better not be carrying disease*

Bill Sykes: She doesn't think much of Sykes, though she does pay attention- there will be no smoking in her dining room.

Ursula: *Rubbing her temples* ... Can we have one lunch without you acting like a horny teenager, octopus woman?... // Hilda generally doesn't actually mind Ursula, they're able to work together when it comes to sorcery, but good lord is the woman dramatic.

Percival C. McLeach: "Who is this hobo? Here, sit next to Maleficent, I think you two feral's will have a lot to chat about."

Gaston: "Hm... " *Looks at him for the first time* ... INSTANT NEMISIS SPOTTED. And it only got worse after he opened his mouth.

Jafar: Hilda is a firm believer that just because Jafar is tall, doesn't mean he's smart. That just means that he'll be the first to know if its raining. They are pretty on par when it comes to being psychotic, though, not that Hilda acknowledges that...

Scar: Oh good, another cat she has to keep Cruella from making a coat out of. Joy. // She does admit, to herself though, that she and Scar have the prettiest eyes of the land.

Governor Ratcliffe: He tries to get in her good graces and propose to her for her riches, and she's very offended about the whole ordeal. Her?? Get married again?? To someone below her station????? She was very close to letting the Red Queen behead him.

Judge Claude Frollo: Oh what a sad, pathetic creature... she'd pity him if he kept his mouth closed more. She and Ursula may or may not have a plan to slip something in his drink to quiet him a bit.

Forte: She likes him, he creates beautiful music and she agrees on his philosophy on love. They could develop a friendship.

Hades: These two have their issues with each other (He's too loud for her tastes and she's too up tight for his) but they have an understanding. Often its them against the rest of the 'children'.

Zira: " ... Just go sit with the other animals. Cruella sit down- "

Shan Yu: This man is a brute... a decidedly attractive one, but a brute all the same. At least he's quiet though, as long as he doesn't traipse his whole sweaty, feral club in with him.

Clayton: Alright so the 'Manly Man' club is growing... Damn, Hilda is going to need more wine. Edgar, wine, chop chop!

Morgana: Hilda feels like a mother again, having Morgana and Ursula under the same roof... its terrible, and if one of them steps out of line one more time we are having apple pie for dinner. She may be dead and in hell, but at least she's had an empty nest- don't you dare take that away from her!?

*Yzma: *Cough* Grandma Hilda *Cough* Believes she sees much of herself in Yzma when she comes around. They're both beautiful and intelligently dangerous women after the throne.

Lieutenant Helga Sinclair and Commander Lyle Rourke: Helga has potential to join her badass bitch club. Rourke on the other hand is a pig-headed American man and... yeah that's it.

Long John Silver: ... Similar to Pete, she can appreciate his good nature. He's a little flirty for her tastes but considering he actually has quite a few worthwhile things to add to the conversation- she can tolerate him.

Captain Gantu and Dr. Hämsterviel: Captain Gantu actually surprised her (Which is not easy!!), and Dr Hämsterviel almost makes her laugh (Also not easy!!).

Alameda Slim: " ... Please, never sing like that near me again. Now sit down."

Michael 'Goob' Yagoobian: She thinks he's disgusting, that's all.

Dr Facilier: By god- its taken 72 years but finally a gentleman's ended up here.

Mother Gothel: "You may be young, but you aren't as beautiful as I... " *Secretly threatened*

King Candy / Turbo: First of all what the fuck is a video game? And second of all- this woman has seen a lot. But whatever that thing is... (Cybug Turbo)... is disturbing.

Prince Hans: Oh, fresh meat- Marvellous. Ursula and Yzma are going to be thrilled. And Hilda has no problem at this point, throwing him to the sharks for a little peace.

Dr Callaghan: Seems reasonable... what's the catch?

Assistant Mayor Bellwether: Hilda cant take the fluffy little sheep in a pantsuit and pearls seriously, no matter how hard she tries.

Tamatoa: ... we're going to need a bigger dining room.

[eddiemunsonsmiddlefingers]

I just hit a follower milestone. It doesn't actually matter which one at this point, but I decided to take the opportunity to procrastinate yell about some fantastic people I know/still know because of this hellsite:

@archiivael says what she means but she isn't nasty about it (even when she thinks she is), and has a wicked sense of humor to boot. She's also the most even-handed, inspirational, no-bullshit leader I've ever had the pleasure of working with in fandom. She runs an 18+ Destiel Discord server that I help mod and the culture there is A+ phenomenal, in very large part because of her leadership.

@unforth is a talented author in her own right, but the thing I am scandalously inspired by is how she looked at queer fandom, and looked at the publishing industry, and looked at queer fandom again, and said "what if I gave all this talent a place to shine?" And then she did. She made a real, actual company called Duck Prints Press which helps fandom creators get published, with a big focus on vibrant representation of all types of humans, identities, and sexualities. Go check it out!

@skyisverybored started sending me asks a little after Heartstopper came out, and then we started DMing, and now I'm like "What even was life before Sky fell on my head?" They're compassionate. They're intelligent. Their sense of humor is a 10/10. They see through the bullshit. They're resilient. They're fucking brave. Every day I get up and go check to see what they're up to / how they're doing, and I am so inspired by their journey.

@kazshero isn't super active on Tumblr, but we see each other every day elsewhere. She's been in my life longer than she hasn't...which still doesn't feel quite real given I met her when I was 17. She's kind but no bullshit, organized but understands chaos, gets my niche Wheel of Time references, and has the most amazing accent. This only scratches the surface, tbh. Love you, K. <3

@leafzelindor is on my GISH team as well as the Discord I hang out on every day. I could go on about her for days, but I admit I'm not sure how much she shares with the public so I'm going to stick with the fact that I'm just so glad she's been in my life for the years I've known her, and I hope someday we get to meet for real.

@pallasperilous went from "a published author, how intimidating??" when she first popped into my life to "gossiping about the feral peacock that lives in our city" and incoherent "help I can't remember the name of this Photoshop tool" (that'd be me, not her) shockingly quickly. There are so many little things I could put in here, honestly. I can't believe we're friends. Okay, I'm gonna go now.

@jemariel and I have known/known of each other for a long time, and the more I get to know them, the more I want to know. They're such a great human and they're talented in so many different ways, but for the purposes of this post, I'm going to focus on the fact that their writing is mind-blowingly good. Seriously, if you haven't inhaled Jem's entire library of works on AO3, what are you even doing with your life? Go. Read. Enjoy.

@slytherkins is someone I don't talk to one on one all that often, but they're constantly in my notes and I'm in theirs fairly often as well, and I just super appreciate their presence in my life. They're also an EXTREMELY talented artist; every time their art floats across my dash I am so, so impressed by the life they breathe into the characters we all love.

@sapphirecobalt-1 and I didn't talk much before Heartstopper and ST4 came out, but since then we've been batting likes and comments back and forth like cats with smol fuzzy toys. They've become one of those people that I'm like "I bet saph would like this" when I'm reblogging something, and then I giggle like a loon when it turns out that I was correct.

@ao3soidade wrote one of my favorite Steddie fics (Are You Flagging?) and opened the door to a Stranger Things community that I simultaneously deeply enjoy and am occasionally intimidated by (affectionate). I enjoy her/our ST rambling and rants on Discord and the stuff she shares on Tumblr, too. The moral of this particular story is: leave detailed comments on fics you like, friends. You never know what might happen.

@eddiemunsonlives I have no idea if this blog is a single person, or a group, or what, but they reblog an absolutely incredible amount of quality Eddie and Steddie content. Whenever they pop up on my dash I know I'm about to enjoy a god damn Thanksgiving feast. Also somehow we're mutuals, which blows my fucking mind. I'm not sure what I did, but I'm glad I did it? :P

@itztigress3 and @northofantastic are two people I wish I knew better because they're up in my notes all the time and seem like great humans. I sometimes catch myself grading the quality of my original posts based on whether they interact with them, which is kind of hilarious. Perhaps I shall begin an affectionate bothering-them-about-everything countercampaign. *squints*

@taimproblem hasn't updated in years and faded off Discord as well when life got busy, but I can't make this kind of post without giving a nod to what a powerful impact he had on my life. We used to write together almost daily and he introduced me to one of my favorite artists (iamx). He also cracked the closet door that led to me being where I am today by simply existing, and that's...that's far from small. I hope you're living your best life, Aaron. You deserve everything good.

I am definitely missing people who deserve love and attention, but my kid is yelling at me and my cats are yowling and my house is still a disaster so I'm cutting off now. If we talk/interact regularly and I didn't mention you...I'M SORRYYYYY I promise I still love you @_@

[phantomphangphucker]

Round 2

Danny gets up from his desk and slowly walks up to the front, “okay, so you’re telling me-”, Danny gestures erratically to Vlad, who's tied up on the floor and in ghost form, “-that you overshadowed ClockWork-”, gesturing even more erratically at ClockWork, who’s just sitting on a desk and inspecting their nails, “-so you could travel to the future, to team up with your future self and bring him back here-”, Danny points both hands at the floor a bit aggressively, “-so you could tag-team pulverise a teenager-”, Danny gestures at the future Vlad, who’s glaring bloody murder at normal timeline floor Vlad, “-but said future you instead assaulted ClockWork”, glaring at floor Vlad harder, “so you used ClockWork’s powers at random and just came back to this timeline?”.

Kwan adds in, “through the ceiling”.

Floor Vlad manages to spit out his gag, “well they somehow tossed me out of their body immediately after! I mean the audacity! And this Cheesehead-”, jerkily attempting to nod or point at the scruffy-looking future Vlad, “-gets more pissed and assaults me, ME! Instead of you”.

Future Vlad kicks him and snarls, “it’s been two years in this timeline! TWO! I stopped with the stupid fiddlediddling after six months!”.

Dash snorts, “why would a ghost even want to assault Fentit”.

Danny meanwhile, throws his hands out to the side, “of course that happened!”, then gesturing toward ClockWork, “you can’t overshadow ClockWork, that’s not even possible! They literally had to have allowed you to”, actually turning to glare slightly at ClockWork, “why, I haven’t a shot-glass of pennies close to a clue”.

Floor Vlad looks to future Vlad, “you can’t judge me, you fudge-bucket of a hypocrite”.

Danny rolls his eyes and snorts, “that’s not even pot calling kettle black, that’s a wad of chewed gum calling a fork an unchewed stick of gum, and actually expecting that insult to stick”. Danny then squints and turns to ClockWork, “wait”, pointing emphatically at future Vlad, “how does he even exist?!?!?”.

Future Vlad squints at him, looking affronted, “why wouldn’t I?!?”.

Danny turns to him and waves his hands around wildly, “THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU UNRAVEL TEN YEARS OF TIME! THOSE THINGS AND PEOPLE GO POOF!”.

ClockWork sticks up a finger, “that’s not how time works”.

Danny and both Vlads’ turn to ClockWork, both Danny and future Vlad pointing aggressively, “YOU STAY OUT OF THIS! THIS DOESN'T CONCERN YOU!”.

Nathan mutters, “or the rest of the class apparently”.

ClockWork smirks, “pretty sure the author disagrees on that one”. Everyone squints at them but goes back to bickering. Danny throws his hands up before gesturing at floor Vlad, “plus! You’re still here! And still A CRAZED UP FRUITLOOPY DICK!”.

Floor Vlad, looking a bit insulted, “language my boy”. Danny just looks down and knocks a desk over onto him.

Mr. Lancer coughs, “um? There are other people here you know”.

Floor Vlad glances at him, “no one but us and dear Maddie qualify as people”.

Danny sputters incredulously while ClockWork points at floor Vlad, “and that is not how classifications of species and words work”.

Future Vlad throws his hands up and walks around, “this me’s insane! Wonderful!”.

Valerie snickers into her hand, “I want to get involved but...”.

Danny snorts, “you hadn’t already figured that out when he decided to abduct and control the body of the dude who controls time itself and oversees everyone’s futures. A literal living legend and basically a god?”,

Floor Vlad screws up his face and wiggles in the bindings some before squinting at Danny, “wait a biscuit buttering second, how do you even know about the ghost from the clocktower?”, sputtering and squirming, “how do know their name?!? Even I didn’t! Daniel what in the name of Gouda?!?”.

Danny deadpans, “oh don’t you use that tone with me, mister. You’re not my father”, gesturing at ClockWork, “and of course I do! They’re my Time Daddy!”.

Everyone goes silent immediately and you could hear a pin drop. Instead, a different voice breaks the silence, “wow! Didn’t know you had another dad, son!”.

Both halfas and the ex-halfa turn slowly and look at the doorway, where one Jack Fenton is standing and munching on fudge like he’s engrossed in an intense tv show.

Danny blinks and sputters, “how long have you been there?”.

Floor Vlad also sputters in utter disbelief, “this, that, THIS IS NOT HOW ANY OF THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO GO!”.

Future Vlad blinks at Jack, “why are you not freaking out over the ghosts?”.

Star sighs, “are they really just ignoring that none of us have been freaking out?”.

Jack shrugs, “one’s tied up and the other gave me fudge”. Floor Vlad just shrieks in frustration and disbelief. While Danny gives a dramatic thumbs up to ClockWork, even going so far as to use a little ecto-energy to make his thumb sparkle like some anime bullshit.

Future Vlad kicks floor Vlad but speaks to Jack, “well if it’s anything, I’m not a ghost or half of one”.

Multiple people mutter, “half ghosts are a thing?”, while Valerie grins like a loon.

Floor Vlad shrieking, “WHAT?!?!?!”.

Future Vlad looks down at him but points at Danny, “he ripped out and ate Plasmius”.

Danny blinks and gestures wildly at his dad, “are we just ignoring the uniformed third party?!?”.

Mr. Lancer glares, “the class has been here the whole time”.

ClockWork smirks, “Vlad’s the authors' bitch right now so...yes”.

While floor Vlad gapes at Danny, “YOU DID WHAT NOW?!?!?”.

Danny throws his hands up exaggeratedly, “NOT IN THIS TIMELINE!”.

Valerie gets up and smacks both Vlads’ over the head, which just turns into an all-out fistfight. Well okay, floor Vlad is just squirming in his bindings and kicking like a feral rabbit, but still.

Valerie steps back and nudges Danny, “who you wanna bet on to win?”.

Danny snorts, “future Vlad, based on sheer tenacity”.

ClockWork smirks and points a finger to the ceiling, “that’s my bet”, another portal opening up and yet another Vlad falling through and landing on the two others in a heap; knocking all three out, floor Vlad finally transforming back human. Danny looks to them, “the fuck is wrong with you?”.

While Maddie’s voice mutters from the doorway, “oh my Zone, Vlad?!?!”. Standing next to yet another interviewer from Genius Magazine: For Women Geniuses, By Women Geniuses; who slowly lifts up her phone and snaps a photo, while patting the pocket where her recorder is.

[letsallsleepoverwork]

Mei’s Tony Stark (non-winteriron) fic recs

I would like to preference this with I currently have 138 bookmarked ao3 fics with Tony Stark in them. I know that doesn’t mean he’s a main character but considering I usually read fic with Tony as the main pairing... :) I’ll make a seperate one of my WinterIron fic recs cause wow i have a lot of fic recs guys ^^;;;

This is for @podonthesuit​‘s celebration for Tony Stark’s birthday!

Canon Divergence

Stark Raving Mad by miniongrin

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Tony Stark & IronFamily, Tony Stark & Avengers

Canon: MCU - IM1,2,3 & Avengers

Tony didn’t make it out of Afghanistan in one piece. (In fact, he left a couple important pieces behind.)

Mei’s Note: There’s something so satisfying about Tony going absolutely feral but still so soft and loving to those around him. As crazy as he gets, you feel his self-hatred and how much he cares about his loved ones.

when i run out of road, you bring me home by  quidhitch

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Canon: MCU - Endgame fix-it 

“Oh, I won’t bother you.” The tone of Steve’s voice implies that he definitely will be bothering Tony, aggressively and frequently. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep to my farm, you keep to yours. Solitude together.”

Tony opens his mouth to argue that that’s not how this works, but he snaps it shut at the realization that Steven Grant Rogers is fucking with him. That twinkle in his eye has accelerated into a full-on glimmer, and the ends of his lips are twitching. Jesus, he hates this man. Or maybe he wishes he did. Tony can’t really tell the difference anymore.

Mei’s Note: This one is... surprising. I’m not much for MCU Stony (especially in later movies) but there’s a weariness and softness about this that strikes a chord with me. Just two people who are finally taking the time to settle into their bones.

the edge of a life (in the present tense) by notcaycepollard

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark

Canon: MCU - post-Endgame

Hey, Iron Man, Natasha says, and Tony wants to hug her or weep, he doesn't know which. 

Mei’s Note: OH MAN. This is an oofer. Major spoilers for those that didn’t see endgame. Basically after the events of endgame, Tony finds himself right at the beginning of post- Afghanistan. I HIGHLY suggest the first of the series which is Natasha’s post-endgame journey into the past as well. As a huge Tony Stark MCU fan, Nat’s was the warm up to this one and oh boy was I bawling all through this.

AUs

I'll See You When I Fall Asleep by citsiurtlanu

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

AU:  616 AU inspired by Kimi No Na Wa / Your Name

It's 1989 when Steve wakes up and realizes he's in the body of a stranger.

Half a century earlier, Tony wakes up and realizes the same thing.

As time passes, they continue to switch with each other at random. And despite the decades separating them, they become close - until Steve signs up for a top-secret project, and Tony realizes the truth of who he's been switching with.

Mei’s Note: This one is a beautiful build up of Steve and Tony throughout their youth that I feel I haven’t read much fic that dives, to this extent, in the fandom. Absolutely gorgeous writing that had me tearing up and smiling like a loon throughout.

An' Harm Ye None by LinneaKou

Rating: Mature (Graphic Depiction of Violence and Major Character Death)

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

AU:  Urban Fantasy/Witchcraft

Toni Stark, small-town witch, has served as the head of the Cravenswood town coven for a decade all the while assisting the police in occult-related crime. Between her and Detective Steve Rogers, nothing that happens in Cravenwood is too big to handle - not even the reappearance of her estranged brother... that is, until someone starts ritually murdering townspeople.

As the death toll climbs and a conservative religious group begins to cast blame upon the town witches, something monstrous begins to stir up Craven’s Woods. Faced with an unknown Craft and drawing the suspicions of the citizens she swore to protect, Toni must put an end to the killings before whatever is haunting the woods comes out into the light.

Fear lives in a small town.

Mei’s Note: There’s a few transphobic digs from other characters throughout, as this is a fictional small town in the middle of Illinois in 1988. Please be sure to read the tags and notes. Rule 63/Genderbend Tony Stark. But OH man was an amazing high fantasy story. The depth and suspense you feel throughout is brilliant. There’s a whole bunch of twists and turns in this murder mystery that has it as one of my all time faves.

The Dawn Will Break Before You by thepartyresponsible

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Jason Todd/Tony Stark

AU:  non-powered, crossover DC & Marvel

“Okay, heartbreaker,” he says, “how much to put the tires back on the car?”

Jason rolls his eyes and gestures at him with the lug wrench. “Why don’t I just beat you up and steal your money? Is this the first time you’ve been to a bad part of town? Don’t show me your wallet, asshole. Come on.”

The man heaves a heavy, aggrieved sigh and starts pulling out bills. “Five hundred?” He tries. “Six? We can go to an ATM.”

“You are mugging yourself,” Jason says, oddly impressed. “Holy shit.”

Mei’s Note: This one is cheating a little because it’s all from Jason Todd’s POV but really the story is their relationship and how it grows and develops as they get to know each other. Jason Todd is a huge asshole but he also is fiercely protective of others. Tony Stark is sort of a lost lamb that doesn’t know how to let people love him and tends to just... let people use him. You see where I’m going cause I don’t. kidding. A great short overview of a beautiful relationship between two of my all-time favorite characters of DC & Marvel.

Things You Learn In the Kitchen at Night by BuzzCat

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Darcy Lewis & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

AU:  MCU - Soulmates

When Darcy went into the kitchen that night, she didn't expect to meet her platonic soul mate or Tony Stark, let alone have them be one and the same person.

Mei’s Note: I love soulmate AUs and specifically non-romantic soulmate relationships. PLATONIC SOULMATES FOR THE WIN. This one is soft and sweet and I hope how these two work as friends. Platonic Cuddles are a Necessity. Also Darcy Lewis is an underrated character whom I adore.

[splat-dragon]

Evan was never gone for so long.

 Flaco scowled, skimming his knife along the block of wood.

 He was only worried because she was a good employee, of course. Not for any other reason. Only because she was very loyal, jumping as high as she could when he said jump instead of asking ‘how high’, bolting out the second he gave her the information she needed, coming up every week or so to sniff around for work.

 Of course he was worried! She was his best asesina, would go out and kill entire gangs for him! No other reason…

 And she’d been gone for over two months, where she’d never gone two weeks between visits before. Even if he hadn’t any work for her, she’d come up and he’d send her hunting for a bear or something. A bear that ‘wouldn’t stop watching him’ (it was a load, of course, except for the first. How many bears watch a man shit?) So of course he worried for his best employee.

 And no, he is not being overly defensive. He’s just worried for his pequeña asesina, she’d be impossible to replace! Who else would come up into the freezing, snowy, goddamned Grizzlies to visit a washed up old outlaw?

 A too-big chunk of wood hit the ground, rendering his carving block useless.

Three months, and he was sure she was dead.

 He’d half a mind to go down and see if he could find mention of her in the newspapers - they’d print anything these days, even mention of the hanging of a two-bit outlaw or the finding of some girl’s body, The Adlers - a fool couple that had, despite all odds, managed to start up a small steading further up the mountain - hadn’t heard anything, but they weren’t much more up to date with things than he was.

Four months, and he almost shot her.

 The door banged open in the middle of a nasty storm, and he saw only an oddly shaped silhouette - thin and lanky and somewhat familiar, but with what he was fairly certain were animal ears atop it, and too tall.

 He dropped his carving block and jumped to his feet, drawing his gun and yelling “What you want!” only to nearly have a heart attack when she spread her hands wide and he made out a familiar face, and he started cussing a blue streak at her in English and Spanish both.

 She had the good graces to look sheepish.

 “Where you been!” he barked, shoving his gun in its holster before he could start waving it around, “It’s been four months perra! You been una rata?! ” and she was quick to shake her head, ‘no, no’.

“Worked with a loon,” she spoke up, and that was a surprise. She seldom spoke unless she was made to, “didn’t have time.” and he almost barked that she could have written - his pequeno asesino couldn’t even be bothered to write to tell him she was alive? but then he remembered - he was fairly certain she was illiterate - and felt the fool.

 His eyes rose, and took in the fox hood that sat on her head. Oh. Wow. That looked… more appealing than it should have. It fit her, he realized, and though he was still furious he was also trying not to laugh at the sight; he’d always thought her to look feral, like something that belonged in the wilds, and now he could finally put a finger on it, say that she looked foxish. The grey-orange fox-pelt that melded into a jacket looked almost natural.

 Evan looked down, following his gaze, and grinned sheepishly, shrugging. “She nearly shot me for this.” reaching up to rub at her eyes, and he hackled - this was su pequeño asesino, and they’d dared to lay a finger on her head? It was natural that she’d get hurt in their line of work, but the fact that she’d gotten hurt while not doing work for him….

 and she must have seen the look on her face, as she spoke up, “a gift,” then, seeing the way his eyebrow rose, “I have… a gift,” her voice was starting to croak in the way it did when she spoke too much, so he nodded, shivering when she vanished back outside (And he wondered what, exactly, it was, considering she was wearing her satchel) before coming back inside, arms behind her back.

 And wasn’t that a show of trust? She couldn’t reach for her guns if he tried anything, was completely helpless.

She grinned at him, and whipped her hands out from behind him, presenting…. Something in her hands, and he could practically hear the dun-duuun!

 He accepted it, carefully unfolding what he was surprised to find was a coat similar to hers, but made of a wolf’s coat - a very handsome one, thick and lush and amber, and god but it would be so warm he could tell.

 Looking at the pride on her face - how could he stay mad?

[thefvrious]

Iggy’s got a complicated relationship with emotions in general, particularly positive ones. He didn’t get to see a lot of that growing up, only saw the bad side of what love could do, and he’s feared that ever since. He’s never let anyone get close enough to him to fall in love, always like a feral cat ready to bite the fingers that feed him. It’s been safer that way. Love hurt. It left ugly fucking scars and irreversible damage. He didn’t want that for either of them, least of all Aven who seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve.

Ignacio’s whole body tenses up, he doesn’t know what he’s expecting but that little expression on Aven’s face is the cutest fucking thing he’s ever seen. It softens him, and the tension releases from his body like air out of a balloon. He sighs. “No, I suppose I don’t need to get it. And the last thing in the world that I want is for you to try and fuckin’ remind me of why every single day of my life.” The only person who had ever loved Iggy before had been his mother, and that had been complicated, hadn’t it? Maybe, in his own way, Armando loved Iggy, too, but that was also complicated, hard to gauge, and nothing at all like whatever was going on between himself and the blond Irishman. “I don’t need anything, I just don’t get it. I don’t think I’m very lovable, and, before you get any ideas, I don’t need you explaining to be me why that’s not true. I’ll just accept it for what it is.” If he was capable, that was.

When Aven moves in closer, Iggy’s first reaction is to move away, but he doesn’t. He sits firmly rooted to the spot and regards the other with an unreadable expression. He’s entirely still as his face is kissed until those lovely lips meet his, and then Iggy purses his own, kisses Aven back very gently, his arms draped around the back of the sofa. He lets one fall around Aven’s shoulders and scoops him in closer, their bodies pressed together now so he can fully feel Aven’s warmth. He says nothing about how far they’ve come, finds it hard to look at head on, and, instead, moves onto the next comment. “I don’t doubt it. You strike me as a fuckin’ loon.”

If given the choice to turn his feelings off, Aven would do it without hesitation. His love for Iggy has done nothing but cause problems for both of them. He loathes how much he's changed, how pathetic he's become for a fucking man, of all things. A man that pushes him away at every opportunity. A man that isn't as expressive or reciprocal as Aven would like. A man that doesn't want to be loved. And yet that makes Aven love him more. Funny how that works.

The silence stretches between them, making it hard to breathe. The blond tries to brace himself for an explosion that doesn't come. Instead he's met with a shocking glimpse of vulnerability as they lock eyes once more. His lips fall into a small 'o' as he blinks at Iggy. The silence before he answers is the shortest yet. "Do you need to get it? I can try explaining better. Or, like, reminding you every day that I love you and why I do. If that's what you need." Was it love in general that Iggy didn't get? Or why Aven loved him in particular? Either way, Aven hoped Iggy would understand eventually.

He takes the love declaration as an invitation (because of course he does). Aven shifts closer to Iggy, making himself at home in the other man's personal space. A smile brightens his features as he presses a gentle kiss to Iggy's cheek, then his jaw, then finally his lips. His eyes are sparkling as he pulls back, leaving only a few inches between them. "I'll never get tired of hearing you say that. Look how far we've come - how far you've come. I'm so lucky. Try to wrap your head around the fact that I'm not going anywhere. If you run I'll chase after you like a lunatic and that's just not a very good look for me."

[weeping-petals]

Days Return

 Word count - 2,874

Amethyst is late as usual for training, and Spinel goes out into the inhospitable weather to locate her.

The months rolled by. The Crystal Gems accepted the only known survivor of the Corruption Song, though a cheater Spinel claimed she was for not even coming into existence until the war was all gone. Anyway, the Amethyst required some work to come into a being that was more of a gem and less of a feral robonoid. The group had time to spare, alternating duties of training and team choreography, this alongside dealing with corrupted gems and gathering the remnants of shards they could manage to locate throughout ancient battlegrounds. Maintaining team synchronization was essential for fusion, and staying busy distanced them from darker tasks.

 Today, clouds hung thick above the temple and poured a suffocating layer of down across the sea cliff. Everything was white, and the waters rolled lazy and blue against the glistening shore. Flurries swirled through the caverns entrance, dusting the glossy floors and warp pad with sleet.

 Spinel stepped carefully off the slate and hopped her way down to the more tractable surface of the beach. She shook the drift piles forming on her shoulders and surveyed the coast. It was unbearable to look at, blinding and bright. Days like this put her in a sour mood. Yet she grinned; it was more of a grimace.

 “Amethyst!” she called, forming her hands into a large megahorn. “Amethyst!” The gem could hear her. She was nearby. Just refused to emerge. “You won’t beat me at my own game.” She trudged through the thick drifts, ankle deep. If not for the expanding sea, it would be easy to lose track of her position in relation to the Crystal Temple. Miles up one side of the beach, no Amethyst. Miles around the point and into the fields, no Amethyst. She climbed to the peak of the coastal cliff, surveying the contrast of bleach to azure.

 “Better not find out she was hiding somewhere in her room.” She bounced down the rocky face and marched up to the shore. Slush and silt formed glittering crystals, she gazed down on her marred reflection when sheets of glacial water wheezed in. “Heh. An improvement.”

 The search resumed, halfheartedly she hiked this and that way calling, “Amethyst!” Spinel didn’t bother with the megahorn. “AMETHYST!” Sometimes, she stalled to peer at the perfect sheet of white stretching for miles that way and this. Too much white.

 “‘She’s outside,’ she says. ‘Playing in the snow,’ she says.” Spinel kicked at the snow cap of the shallows, carving out a furrow in the crust. “Couldn’t give me a lil kiss?”

 A stifled sound at her backside sent her whirling. Nothing in the drifts. She was certain that was a giggle. A childish, immature sound.

 Spinel sighed and rolled her eyes. “I need to stop hanging with—” Impact caught her side, and she pitched sideways nearly into the water. “HEY!” It was….

 Pearl?

 “Now-now Spinel, yammering on like that is so…. So… a smarty word for not elegant.” Ahha. An Amethyst parading as a Pearl.

 Spinel shook the residual frost from her face. “You’re late for training. Either go inside, or I’ll haul you in. I prefer the latter, actually.”

 “Can you just go in, tell them you never found me? I got lost in the desert. Tell them that.” Amethyst reverted to her typical shape and plopped down into the white puff. Within seconds, her legs vanished beneath a layer of white.

 Spinel dragged her frozen legs from the shallows and crouched beside the other gem. She began scooping handfuls of the white fluff up around Amethyst’s waist. “Training is important. And it can be fun, if you’re working on showing up a certain stuck up loon.”

 “Bah! You never train.” Amethyst flopped to her backside and helped Spinel cover the rest of her face.

 “I do. Just not when you’re around.” She winked. “Gotta protect my trademark super-secret techniques.” Only Amethyst’s eyes were visible. Somehow, that seemed physically impossible. “Seriously, they’ve been waiting a day for you to show up. They got nothin’ better to do.”

 “They can wait another, or two. Look at this stuff!” Amethyst wriggled about, and kicked her featureless booties into the air. In another minute, she’d be buried again. “This is great! It’s getting everywhere. It turns everything white! Where’s it coming from?”

 Spinel sighed. “The sky. The clouds. You’ve seen snow before.”

 “But not falling! When it’s on the ground, it’s so boring!” She rolled over into a sitting position, and skid her legs sideways through the drift. “It keeps comin’ and comin! Look! You got piles on your head.”

 Spinel shook her shoulders again. “Last chance, Lil Amethyst. I’m not— HEY!” She ducked the snowball thrown at her face. “If that’s the way you want it!” She pounced.

 But Amethyst was gone.

 Spinel crouched on her feet and hands, sifting through drifts. How’d she do that?

 Right when she realized she was way open for an attack, she snapped her face up in time to receive another projectile. And went down in a splayed mess, creating the perfect impression in the white blanket.

 Amethyst dropped to her backside, sinking into the snow. “The look on your face! WHAP!” She was laughing hard, beating at the frozen ground. Up until something beneath the snow snaked around her wrist, then she was cartwheeling through the air. She gave a shout, barely catching a glimpse of Spinel’s sinister grin.

 “Ooh! Challenge accepted!” She let Amethyst bound through the snow uncontrolled. Her limbs recoiled, and Spinel stooped to gather up large handfuls of slush. “You’ll rue the day you thought toppling me would be easy. Hah!” Before Amethyst lost momentum, she heaved the large frost block. It flattened against the top layer like putty. “Let me know when you’ve had enough.”

 Amethyst managed to emerge, kicking off layers of ice and dirt. “Never!” She chucked a half-formed snow clump, which Spinel dodged with a sway of her body. “What are we calling this contest? Snow… clash?”

 Once more, Spinel was hoisting together a lethal amount of snow. “Catchy, but wrong theme. How ‘bout a snow… brawl?” She hefted up the ridiculous mound of snow—

 Amethyst put power behind the snowball and beamed Spinel in the snout. The snow mound toppled and buried the gem completely. “I win! I win! I WIN—”

 “Not a CHANCE!” A jagged etch of pink and magenta sprang from the core of the mound, an armful of snowballs in one arm, the other already swinging them out. “Admit defeat! Go inside! Garnet is more merciful than I am!”

 “NEEEVER!” Wailed Amethyst. She ran for it, the whole barrage clinging to her back made her look like a gem abomination. Then there was Spinel giving chase, another impractical lump of snow held high-high above her head. She lunged at Amethyst, and managed to let the mush plunge onto them both. Maybe it was meant to be that way.

 “What are you two doing?” Rose Quartz peered up at the monstrous heap.

 Spinel emerged from the top first, shaking ice patches off her pigtails. It clung to her form, giving her a candy, frosted appearance. She dug around in the heap beside her, and produced one Amethyst.

 “A snow clash!”

 “Snow brawl,” Spinel grumbled. She leered down at Rose. “Wanna play?”

 Rose blinked, taken by the snarky grin. “Uh, well… Spinel. Amethyst.” The latter was already gathering up a wad of snow. Miniscule, but there was plenty of heart in it. It would also have a powerful trajectory behind it. “I’m not really into playing… games. Right now.”

 “No?” Spinel stuck out her tongue. It was very childish, and reminiscent to the oldest of old days. “The mighty and great Rose Quartz, scourge of Home World, leader of the rebels, can’t be bothered with a game of—”

 “Snow Cla—” Amethyst was in the process of reforming her shape, but Spinel shoved her back under the icy heap.

 “Spinel.” Rose backed away. “I’m warning you.”

 Spinel dragged her lanky body from the snow, already gathering up muddy frost between her large hands. Another outrageous snowball, as per her specialty. “Oh RooOOOooose,” she crooned.

 Rose gave a yelp and began running. “Don’t you dare! Spinel!” She grabbed at handfuls of snow and flung it backwards, but wasn’t managing anything intimidating aside from casting flurries to spiral. Like tossing petals at an enraged tigress. “This isn’t fair! I’ll— I—” She dodged the projectile, and countered with one that was more suitable of the contest. Spinel collapsed backwards, but was still hoisting together frost to hurl.

 With a mighty battle cry, Amethyst charged from the base of the snow mound and fell upon Spinel, before the gem could slither away. Rose Quartz rushed in to assist, but Spinel somersaulted backwards.

 “Got me a hostage!” She sat up to her torso in trounced ice, limbs coiled around Amethyst in bundles. The threat was not so impactful, with Amethyst’s own arms wrapped about her neck.

 “I’m the hostage!”

 A large snow ball hit Spinel square in the face. The frost clung there, and Amethyst poked in two eyes, a nose, and an upward curve for a smiley.

 “Just WHAT are you two doing out here?” Pearl sidled up beside Rose, looking her leader over. She cast her eyes upon the goofy masked Spinel and Amethyst in her lap. “I should have guessed. Diverting our new and impressionable teammate with inane activities, such as this worlds insufferable weather conditions.”

 Rose sniggered. “Lighten up.”

 “Oh PeeAArlll….” The snow flaked off Spinel’s face, revealing a snide grin.

 “Spinel! No! Don’t you dare,” snapped Pearl. She backed away, as the Spinel uncoiled from Amethyst and began a threatening approach. The limbs didn’t coil back in, but stretched as Spinel hunched forward. “You know I hate it when you do that!”

 “Come and play with us Pear—” A shadow doused out the intensity of light, and Spinel looked up. Pearl booked it as the rose embroider shield loaded with ice dipped over Spinel’s head. The shield vanished and an estimated truck load of snow fell atop the gem.

 Pearl wiped a patch of ice from her shoulder. “Well. That is one way to dispatch that nonsense.”

 Amethyst hid behind Rose, cackling her head off. “Oh no,” Rose uttered, clasping hands over her mouth. “Do you think that poofed her?”

 “Doubt it.” Pearl managed a mere five steps from the two, when the ice erupted. A spiral of snowballs rained out from the stretched figure, all the while it cackled manically. Snow went everywhere, gems ducked or stooped at the mercy of the barrage.

 Rose summoned her shield and managed to block the volley, but Amethyst lobbed her own icy missiles and caught the side of Rose’s wild curls. Pearl ducked and weaved, evading the first few spheres. The next twelve hit their mark, and she was soon a snow figure poised rigid.

 “Ahh!” Rose was screeching, but it was full of mirth. She was racing away from Amethyst, trying to block cold projectiles pitched by the smaller gem, or from Spinel. This she was failing, due to Amethyst curling into a ball and zipping this or that way to exploit all openings. “Amethyst! That’s enough. Defeat! I concede!”

 “I’ll save you!” Spinel tackled Rose, plowing her down.

 “Not helping!”

 “Spinel!” Pearl shook the thick case of ice off, the coating layered on her legs she knocked away with a spear. “Unhand Rose! Amethyst! Y— Where’d she—” The zipping lilac ball mowed Pearl down. The buzzing shape cut through the ice, changing course erratically and heading right for Rose and Spinel.

 Rose knelt and was about to summon another shield, but Spinel ducked forward shaping her arms like a ramp. “Up ya go!” Amethyst went airborne. “And for a bit of calculation….” Spinel trailed off, as she plucked up enough snow for a typical orb. She launched it, hit Amethyst square in the side, and the gem plummeted. Pearl was barely recovering from getting run over, when Amethyst crashed on top of her.

 Spinel puffed out her chest. “HAH! I W—” Another truck load of snow, compliments of the shield.

 Rose knelt beside the heap. “My hero.”

 “Can someone please explain to me, what is going on?” Garnet crossed the beach, hands behind her back. “I’m inside, clearly aware that this was the most likely scenario. But you Pearl?”

 Pearl shoved Amethyst off her backside. “It wasn’t my intent to get involved. Rose approved this!” She aimed an accusatory finger.

 “No I didn’t.”

 “No she wasn’t!” Amethyst barked. She heaved a snowball.

 Garnet caught it. And revealed, she already had one hidden behind her back. She crossed her arms, flinging the projectiles at Pearl and Amethyst respectively—

 Spinel exploded like a spring from the snow at Garnet’s feet. She smashed a handful of frost into the stoic face. “Oh… GaaaAAArrrneee— UCK!” Garnet locked a gauntlet around Spinel’s shoulders.

 “You win. I’ll play.” She rolled the Spinel up in a snow heap and flung that at Rose.

 “Garnet! You— how could you!” Rose bolted summoning her shield, albeit too late. The packed frost hit the top edge of the forming shield and an icy sheet collided with her face, Spinel in tow. Both gems went down in a tumble of limbs and clumps of slush. “Spinel!”

 “Sorry! I’m stuck!”

 Calmly, Garnet gathered up more slush, while Amethyst pelted her head with packed missiles. Pearl ended that quickly by pelting Amethyst in the face, only to receive another snowball to her own.

 “GARNET! I’m trying to assist you.”

 “Do I look like I need it?” The snow was already melting off her shoulders.

 This went on throughout the day. Cackles of laughter and loose goose threats shooting back and forth, given wings on the frigid missile’s participants tossed. In the midst of nonsense, even Pearl began to show hints of her competitive side and humor. She tossed lame one liners, built a small fort of ice, and did not poof when one of her snowballs smashed into the back of Rose’s head.

 When the light began to fade and the pastel blues became rich purples and pinks, the snow fighters sat at the edge of a frozen shore staring out to sea. Frost clung to their forms, adhered fast as if welded there. None of them had the urge to expel the crust. Except Pearl.

 “So much for training,” mentioned Pearl. There was no annoyance in her tone, but she seemed preoccupied. “So much for getting anything done today.”

 “There’s always the next cycle,” Garnet offered. “When the earth rotates. No great loss.”

 “Who cares?” Amethyst mumbled. The snow was still falling, covering up the rabid fissures and barriers built across the beach. It also covered her, as she lay at the down’s mercy. “S’not like we’re gonna go and do anything else, aside from train and go off scouting. Why can’t we have some times when we don’t have to do anything important? Why we always hafta be going someplace, somewhere, and say we done something?”

 “It’s important,” Rose offered. “We’ve told you how it is. Why we are doing these things. Since the war—”

 “Yeah-yeah.”

 “Amethyst,” Pearl hissed. “Don’t interrupt!”

 “It’s fine.” Rose turned her attention to the Amethyst. “We’re the only ones left. We’re the ones responsible for this.” Amethyst humphed.

 “If it wasn’t for our scouting,” Garnet began, “we wouldn’t have found you. We keep hope that there are others out there. You want to meet other gems, like us?”

 “I guess….”

 “But…” Spinel hummed in a sing-song tone, “it was nice not having to do anything important. Not so grim.” She grinned up at Rose, eyes bright. “It’s been a long time, I can’t recall when it was I had this much fun.”

 Rose smiled, and brushed some of the snow off Spinel’s hair. “Better days will come. We won’t always be able to stop and enjoy the best ones, but the time will come back to us, and we’ll be able to just… be.”

 Spinel melted under the gentle caress. “Forever.”

 “Forever?” Pearl pondered, mesmerized in the glimmering refractions dancing across the waves.

 “Forever.” Amethyst echoed.

 “Forever… is a long time,” Garnet declared. “But we’ll have each other. If that’s how it is, then we can tackle the improbable and eventual. But only if we look after each other, and depend on one another.” She reached over and ruffled Amethyst’s frost tangled, mop head.

 “Until the sky tips and the Earth splits, and the plates cease moving,” Rose followed. “We’ll find our own existence here. Our own lives. Our own freedoms, and pathways, our own private destinies. That’s what we have now. Each other, and what we want to become in this new world.”

 The sky darkened, purples became velvety cobalt’s, the depths of space came forward to peer in on the planet it surrounded. A little slice of home to observe the gems, marooned on the world they fought and sacrificed to preserve. They stayed out there for hours longer, until eventually, the group returned to the Temple to begin preparing for their next course of action. The following hour. The coming event. The inevitable of time turning around them.