#i need to order a few new scratching posts for the old tree

[vashti-lives]

philosoverted replied to your post: Tumblr is on fire but the new cat tree came today...

holy wow that is the most cat tree of all cat trees, good job

The ridiculous thing is that its actually giant cat tree number two… the baby cat (apparently) developed anxiety a few months ago and we’ve been trying to combat it so she’ll stop peeing on stuff. 

We cleared off top shelves to give her more high spaces and put more feeding stations around so she doesn’t have to compete with the other cats… its worked a little (she isn’t peeing so compulsively she’s giving herself bladder infections anymore) but it hasn’t completely stopped so… second cat tree. Hopefully having a second tree will allow for more territory and make her feel more secure? 

[bastart13]

I’ve had a lot of fun recently coming with with female mercenary characters for TF2. I really liked where the concept art was going with making them all individual characters rather than simply “if the characters were women”

The design style is fantastic for distinct simplicity so I tried limiting myself to basic colours and shapes to make these

and I’m pretty confident they pass the silhouette test!

Character names/bios under the cut!

Heavy

Name: Marie Jarrett

Age: Mid 30s-40s

Height: 6’5

Nationality: American (Hawai’i)

Bio: Raised in Hawai’i, growing up she developed more and more drastic measures to fend off the tourists swarming her home. Land mines, electric gates, guard dogs, none could stop them for long until she picked up her trusty minigun to send her message. But even still, she hears the click of cameras in the night.

Eventually, she left her home to explore the world. Enthralled with the image of seeing different wonders across different countries, she’s always disappointed. She’s travelled every continent and still finds nothing that lives up to her expectations. No place, no person. She’s outgoing and open to new experiences, only she usually hates them.

Mercenary life is a great opportunity to earn money, see sights, meet new people and kill them after they don’t meet your expectations. She hates New Mexico and takes every opportunity to destroy the buildings and insult her employer’s tastes. She finds some people she tolerates within the mercenaries as she hasn’t yet visited where they live. However much she hides it, she has a deep, instinctual fear of the Engineer.

  Soldier

Name: Linda Smith

Age: Early 40s

Height: 5’10

Nationality: Canadian

Bio: Canada’s perfect woman… or so she claims. The star of war propaganda posters and clearly decided for the role because of her great tactical assets. She’s there to motivate people into the fight. To spread the glory of Canada and inspire her allies. She believes she has higher orders than anyone else she’s working for (ignoring the fact she hasn’t heard from them for a good few years) and is determined to follow them to the letter. She may have lost the letter but she remembers it good enough.

She represents the ideals of Canada: polite, friendly, apologetic, and pacifistic. None of these are contradicted by how she throws around rockets. That’s not what Canada means. She’s superior to everyone around her and graciously educates them on how to improve through example. She loves her French and British allies and will kindly tell the Americans how to be better.

She’s motivating and actually fairly competent, it’s just that competency might be misdirected. She’s damn good at rocket jumping, shooting her shotgun, and supporting her team, it’s just that you really need to get it in her head when she’s meant to be doing it.

Scout

Name: Patricia “Pat” Herald

Age: 50s-60s

Height: 5’4

Nationality: English

Bio: In her years, Patricia has learnt fear… and she’s learnt to laugh in its face. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, ready to leave at the drop of a hat, boots polished and laced the night before. Her years have taught her that with a gun and Jeremy by her side, she can survive!

The postal route of Appleby-in-Westmorland.

She’s been chased by geese, dogs, cows, elderly ladies, and when her postal route had her delivering post during the war, she developed a taste for blood. Nothing will stop her from delivering her post on time. Every day before 6am, every postbox will have their letters and parcels. One chucked across barbed wire, another house jumped over a river, another house miles into the country with dogs on her heels, she WILL get there and she’ll get there FAST.

But after a couple of decades, she needs a change of scenery, and the Gravels wars are just the holiday she’s needed. With her trusty black and white cat by her side (ignoring the yowling and scratches) she reckons it’ll be great time to enjoy herself.

Quotes: “Oh, hello, Human Jeremy.”

“Bloody fucking Ethel! Building her house out in the country… surrounded by bloody hills and rivers!”

Pyro

Name: Nikephoros Papadopoulos

Age: Late 20s

Height: 5’11

Nationality: Greek

Bio: Survival of the fittest. Nature gives and nature taketh away. If you’re not prepared for that, well, Pyro is more than happy to teach you the lesson. They embody the old values of the Greek gods: f*ck or fire. She indulges her every whim and unfortunately for the people around her it often involves arson.

One year for the Olympic games, she was given the noble title of torchbearer. On complete coincidence, the Olympics shifted to primarily water sports. Underwater sprints became the hot new trend!

She’s merry and chatty, never missing the opportunity to talk to other people about herself and her world view. She can’t wait to spread her gospel to help other people improve themselves (though she always gets a laugh out of those who go out screaming in the flames). She can’t help it if she has a sadistic side.

Engineer

Name: Mikawo Kojima

Age: Early 20s

Height: 5’0

Nationality: Japanese

Bio: Japan’s early-rising industrial revolutions in technology are best exemplified in Mikawo, a young upstart determined to rise to the top, learning everything she can and building the best of the best. Unfortunately, she’s never been the most creative but when you happen upon other people’s blueprints and happen to construct them first, what does it matter who came up with the “concept”?

At first, she appears to be every bit the quiet and demure young woman people expect, only when silk hides steel, that steel is a massive automatic sentry gun. She’s motivated by a distinct contempt for the people who get in her way. Especially those who try to be better than her. She enjoys the flexibility of English, especially the cusses, and she has no reservations about swearing up a storm, even if she still refuses to give a straight rejection, preferring instead to give a small “I’ll think about it.”

Quotes: “This GUN is fair use on your head!”

Demo

Name: Qingzhao Zeng

Age: Late 40s

Height: 5’3

Nationality: Chinese

Bio: The Zeng family has a long-standing family trade in demolitions and explosives, traced down the line all the way to the Song dynasty. Luckily, Qingzhao has sisters so, you know, it’s not all that important. She doesn’t even have to stop smoking and drinking. She hasn’t blown herself up (that much) so clearly, it’s working. Precision is for other people to worry about. She’s apathetic to a T, having seen everything. Measurements come from the heart. A pinch of gunpowder there, a splash of paint there.

Her family has a deep-seated rivalry with the DeGroots. Long ago in ancient China, a Zeng matriarch woke up in a cold sweat, a message from the stars to let them know of their Scottish rivals. Due to being a continent away from each other, the families have actually met each other only a handful of times, but the hatred needs to be kept up because, what if?

Turns out, Qingzhao has met Tavish even before finding employment under the Mann brothers. One drunken night, the two of them had a short, whirlwind friendship, sharing secrets and declaring each other to be their best friends. Luckily for them, they both forgot the night, merrily hating each other as tradition dictates. However, headaches and flashes of this terrible night haunt them both. Could they really get over centuries of hate and become friends?

Absolutely not.

Sniper

Name: Ansa Aaltonen

Age: 27

Height: 6’2

Nationality: Finnish

Bio: Snow. Sugar. Cocaine.  Her life is run by many white powders. Ansa is a professional sniper, with a sharp eye and a steady hand… when she isn’t also high as a kite, lost in the snowy wilderness of Finland and screeching to the sky. When you’re up in the dark and cold, you need something to give you a little pep in your step. It just so happens Ansa liked having a bit more pep than most.

She’s there for a THRILL. There’s nothing better to get your heart pumping at 200 beats per second than a good headshot, embracing the chill, and a hit of sugar. She no longer feels the cold or heat or even pain, shrugging it off until she collapses. It just makes her feel alive. She’s efficient, fast, and determined to get her kicks.

She has an unusual taste, living off fermented fish and tree bark. To most people around the Finnish wilderness, she’s nothing more than an urban legend, but she’s very real and she’s looking for some excitement, happily found in employment in the Gravel wars.

Spy

Name: Yvonne Pleshette [Real name N/A]

Age: 30s

Height: 5’8

Nationality: American (California)

Bio: The silver screen calls to his woman and she’s happy to answer. She trains herself to act in every possible role she can, having a wide range of accents, body languages, and backstories. To truly test herself, she gave up her identity long ago. Lately she’s been going by the name “Yvonne.”

The world of Hollywood is cutthroat and full of backstabbers so she learnt to cut throats and stab backs. While some people tell her the terms are metaphorical, nothing else has given her more roles. Living the mercenary life is simply gathering research for her roles (and earning some much-needed money in the process).

She presents herself as a classic film star, despite being a minor name at best, mostly because she’s always changing it. She has high standards but a cheapskate personality. She’s a bit of a bitch, happily criticising others, especially if they’re working with her. What can she say? She’s a diva.

[Slutshames other spy]

Quotes: “Ugh, actors these days, they know nothing about getting into character. They still have names.”

“’AHHHHH—’ Wait, no. Once more from the top. Scream in agony.”

Medic

Name: Susan Monks

Age: 30-40s

Height: 5’7

Nationality: American (New Jersey)

Bio: The American Healthcare system. Is there a more glorious sight? The exploitation of pain. The money. The debt. The fear it strikes into the entire population it’s designed to help. To Susan, there’s nothing better. She squeezes every last drop from the people she helps, working on a purely transactional lifestyle. She’ll never help someone unless she has all of their insurance information and the payment secure in her bank, and god forbid she ever accept help. It’s not like she can afford her own prices.

She’s very self-aware of her own corruption and proud of it, though she refuses to be exploited in the same way, suspicious of anything “free” but also doing her best not to pay for anything.

That said, she doesn’t much care for how good a job she does. In her eyes, asking for surgery is one thing. Asking for successful surgery is another. She has a variety of skills in both cosmetic and military medicine. She just wishes the license board would stop sending her “malpractice” letters. Ugh, stick to your own business. “Disappearing” all their messengers is becoming a pain.

Quotes: “Why get someone else to do something for you when you can scrounge a way to do it yourself?”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 15) - Trouble In Paradise

Summary: The reader is enjoying settling into her newfound children’s book career and shares how important the bracelet she gave Jensen is to her. A rainy day allows the reader to enjoy her shift into motherhood despite all of the bumps that go with it. But not everything is smooth sailing for the happy couple...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 5,600ish

Warnings: language, angst, mention of past abuse, nightmares, major angst

A/N: Uh oh. Big uh oh. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

________

Two Weeks Later

“Honey bun,” sang Jensen as he stepped into your home office you’d set up in the small reading room in the house. “Must you work today?”

“I do occasionally have to work on that drawing thing,” you said. He pouted and laid out on the daybed, picking up a copy of the third book. “Give me another hour to finish with these pages.”

“Can I hang out and watch you draw?” he asked.

“Knock your socks off,” you said. You picked up your stylus again and went back to your pad, Jensen sitting up and watching from the other side of the room. “You can sit closer if you want.”

He got up and pulled over a chair, crossing his legs in it.

“I basically draw using my stylus and this pad and it shows up on my laptop screen,” you said.

“We could get you a better screen, like your own separate work computer. I know your stories are picking up a lot of steam.”

“I’m okay for now. All I need to do is finish illustrating this book and my five book deal is done and ready for print,” you said.

“Can I make a request?”

“I would love to put in a giraffe for Zepp but the story takes place in the woods,” you said.

“Baby giraffe? Maybe just in the background?” he asked.

You backed out of your current page and went to the last two where the foxes and wolves were playing with their friends. You tapped on a tree and erased it, sketching out a loose shape.

“Look up a giraffe for me?” you asked. He tapped away on his phone and pulled up a picture. “Thanks.”

You drew a picture of a rough giraffe, softening it some before adding colors.

“You’re really good at that,” he said.

“The characters are easy. Backgrounds can get boring,” you said. You went back to your original set of pages and worked quietly, Jensen watching carefully. “Yes?”

“Just wanna spend time with you is all,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Okay, baby,” you said. You worked for another hour, Jensen asking the occasional question but mostly staying silent and close by. After you sent off the pages for review you turned to him, Jensen offering a soft smile in return. “All set with work for the day.”

“Awesome,” he said.

“Where’s the munchkins?”

“A movie,” he said. You ran your fingers through his hair and he leaned into it. “Tell me a secret.”

“A secret? I don’t think I have too many of those left from you,” you said. He opened his eyes and looked at you through his lashes. “What?”

“You said you got this on vacation,” he said, holding up his wrist, the bracelet you’d put on him two weeks ago still there. “When we were down there, I was talking to Ray and he kinda implied it wasn’t just a souvenir.”

“I was upset that day when he bought it for me. It meant I was safe was all,” you said.

“How long after did your mom…”

“A few months. She went on bed rest after that trip.”

“Y/N, I know when you’re holding back, honey. I would never judge or tell anyone anything. You know that.”

“You got hurt because you lost someone and you got hurt and it sucks right? But it’s kinda like something happened and then you heal from it right?”

“Yeah…” he said. “What don’t I know?”

“You know how anxious you were to get in the car and drive down to the beach?” you asked as he nodded. “You’ve never been afraid of a person, Jensen. It’s like that feeling...but everyday and you’re expected to live your life normally when you constantly have that over your head.”

He was quiet, glancing past you as the room grew darker from some passing clouds outside.

“Canada wasn’t the first time you saw your father since you were adopted, was it,” he said.

“You wouldn’t believe what a good lawyer and shitty laws will do for a piece of shit like that,” you said.

“You were a kid.”

“With zero physical evidence. Everything was circumstantial. So he got out and he came to apologize or some bullshit and Ray decked him.”

“The more I learn about Ray, the more I like him.”

“My mom kicked him in the nuts.”

“I really like that woman,” he said. You smiled and he moved his chair closer, pulling you into his lap. “I don’t mean to make you talk about your dad. I was curious was all.”

He went to take off the bracelet when you put a hand over it.

“I don’t want to remind you of something bad, sweetheart.”

“Like I said, I was upset. Very upset and in public and I went down to the beach to try to hide away. Ray bought that for me and told me I was safe when he put it on me. All it means to me is that you’re safe.”

“What about you? What do you have?” he asked quietly. You cocked your head and moved your hand to rest over his chest. “Alright, sort of a dumb question.”

“Not dumb,” you said, trailing your fingers down his chest.

“Guess you’ll just have to stay as close as humanly possible.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” you said.

“Do you have a restraining order against your father?”

“No but that’s only because Ray managed to get him kicked out of the country. He found some loophole law. He was born in the Yukon so technically he’s not American and he got him kicked back.”

“Scratch that. Ray is my new favorite person,” he said. “If only we could send him someplace we’ll never visit like...a deserted island. Or Hell.”

“I appreciate the thought but I’m not scared of him anymore,” you said. “I am however afraid our plans of lunch at the brewery are going to get rained out.”

“We can enjoy ourselves right here. I’ve never heard a complaint yet about my grilling.”

“You know what? I got the perfect idea.”

“Okay,” said Jensen, sliding the foil packet off the grill and onto JJ’s plate. You’d decided to have lunch on the grill, sitting out under the covered back patio off the playroom. It was pouring rain but you were plenty dry there. “Chicken, marinara sauce and cheese. Then we got chicken, ketchup and baby carrots for Arrow. Zeppy wanted to try barbecue sauce and onion which sounded good to me and then Y/N went for the salmon and lemon.”

You helped the twins open up their foil packets and get their food on their plates, dicing up the chicken for them before going to your own plate.

“Daddy,” said Zeppelin while he chewed on a big piece of chicken. Jensen hummed and worked on his own food. “Can we play race cars after lunch?”

“Sure,” he said, JJ shaking her head.

“I don’t wanna play cars,” she said. Zeppelin stared at her and his bottom lip wobbled. “You’re a cry baby.”

“JJ, that’s rude,” you said, Jensen glancing at you and nodding. “Apologize to your brother.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. 

“We’re gonna play cars after lunch and you’re welcome to join,” said Jensen. “Your brother goes along with what you girls want to play quite a bit so I think you can do the same for him.”

“I still don’t wanna play cars,” she mumbled.

“You play cars with the Padalecki boys all the time,” you said.

“Not little kid cars,” she said. “He doesn’t know how to play right.”

You saw Zeppelin getting upset again and sighed.

“There’s no wrong way to play,” you said. “Zepp’s littler than you. You gotta be the big sister and do what he wants sometimes.”

“Mom would have played dress up,” she grumbled. “Not stupid cars.”

“Enough,” said Jensen. “You’re old enough to know better.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Your brother wants to play cars. We played horses all morning long and you barely let him have a turn at that so like I said, we’re gonna play what he wants and you are welcome to join us but if you don’t want to, you can play something else,” he said. 

“Baby,” she said under her breath. Jensen didn’t catch it but you did.

“JJ you’re in timeout after lunch. Ten minutes,” you said. 

“I didn’t-”

“You just called him a baby. You want to make it fifteen?” you asked.

“You’re not my mom! You can’t give me timeouts,” she said.

“Half an hour now,” said Jensen. She stared at him and he shook his head. “Eat your lunch.”

Zeppelin spent half of it crying quietly and JJ barely touched hers before she was following Jensen inside. You threw your head back and sighed before you went inside to get some tissues. When you came back out Arrow was hugging him tightly.

“Let’s clean you up, buddy,” you said as you squatted down beside them. She let go of him and you wiped off his face and helped him blow his nose. “Feel better?”

“We can play dress up,” he said. You picked him up and hoisted him on your hip. 

“We’re gonna play cars. Arrow, do you want to play with us?” you asked. She smiled and nodded. “Hey how about you go wash your hands and then you can bring out the bucket of cars and we’ll play out here. How’s that sound Zepp?”

“Okay,” he said. Arrow went inside and you carried him around as you collected the trash and threw it in the bag you brought out. You tied it up and left it in the corner to put in the bin later before you you walked to the edge of the covered patio, rain coming down at a decent rate. “Y/N you’re my mom right?”

“I’m one of your moms,” you said. “I’m gonna adopt you that way everybody can know I am though.”

“Cool,” he said softly, resting his head on your shoulder. “Mom can we play in the rain?”

“Hear any thunder?” you asked. He shook his head. “See any lightning?”

“Nuh uh,” he said.

“Then we can play in the rain all you want,” you said. You walked out to the grass and spun around with him, getting a giggle out of him. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” he asked. You spun around again and he laughed.

“There it is again!” you said. He giggled and you spun around a few times until you were dizzy and took a seat. He hugged you and kissed your cheek as you noticed Jensen leaning against the post of the patio. He was smiling and you hopped up with Zeppelin, waving him around in the air until you were back under cover. You set him down and he ran over to Arrow, picking out his favorite cars from the bucket and handing her some. 

“Well that might have been one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen,” he said. 

“You took a picture, didn’t you.”

“Oh several,” he said. He glanced back at the twins and then at you. “It clicked for you just now didn’t it.”

“Being a mom? Yeah.”

“You didn’t look to me on how to discipline JJ and you made him feel better and you made him laugh. You went full mom there and I’ve kinda been waiting for that.”

“I know it’s just playing they’re arguing over but I just hate...there is so much of you in him,” you said.

“I know and that feeling will never go away but it means you love ‘em and loving them is my only requirement for us working so this was actually a really good thing.”

“Those two are so sweet,” you said.

“It’s the twin thing. Oh what fun we have to look forward to when they are teenagers and they lie to us for one another,” he chuckled.

“Yeah but I’ll take it. Did you really give her a half hour timeout?”

“Fifteen minutes. She needs to share more and he doesn’t like confrontation so he goes along with what she wants but it’s not her road or the highway.”

“She’s been a little…”

“I know. Since we told them about the engagement,” he said. “We gotta talk to her on her own.”

“Let me take a crack at her first?” you asked.

“You got a hunch?”

“I don’t think having a mom again is a problem. I think the idea of losing a mom again is.”

“That makes sense considering she was attached to your hip before all this.”

“I’m gonna go see if I can get to the bottom of this. Now go play cars,” you said. He kissed your cheek and you headed inside, drying off some with a towel in the laundry room before you went up to JJ’s bedroom. You knocked and cracked open the door, catching her splayed out on her bed. “JJ. Can we talk?”

She rolled and put her back to you. You sat down on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath.

“You know your brother did what you wanted all day. You have to share,” you said. She didn’t say anything and you lay back on the bed, turning your head. She rolled back the other way and you sat up. She rolled again and you tilted your head back. “JJ do you want me to be your mom?”

“No,” she mumbled. 

“Are you lying?” She didn’t move and you sat back, her face scrunched up. “Are you scared if I’m your mom something bad will happen to me?”

“I don’t want two dead moms,” she said. 

“I have two dead moms,” you said. She blinked her eyes open and sat up. “My first mom, I never met her. She died giving birth to me.”

“You only had a dad when you were born?” she asked. You nodded and pulled her into your lap. “Did he get married again?”

“No. My dad was very mad my mom died. He took that out on me. He was a bad guy. He went to jail and I got adopted by my mom when I was your age. Ray was her boyfriend. He acted like he was my dad in a lot of ways. I was sixteen when my mom died. I understand it hurts, sweetie, and that it’s scary and you don’t ever want to feel like that again.”

“I thought if I was bad you and daddy wouldn’t...and then I don’t have to feel bad again.”

“I am so sorry honey but you can’t stop that feeling from never coming back. The only way you could not get it would be to not love anyone or anything and that’s not a life at all. It’s the price you pay for loving someone. Your mom was an accident. But Daddy is young and I’m even younger and I promise you will not have to feel that way about me for a very, very long time.”

“How long?”

“How about fifty years?”

“Fifty years? That’s forever,” she said. 

“I’ll give you fifty years if I can be your mom and you stop picking on Zepp. Deal?”

“Okay. I’m sorry I made him cry.”

“I’m not the one that needs an apology,” you said. “Now do you want stay in here all by yourself or do you want to come play with us?”

“I can play?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” you said. You got up and carried her down on your back, setting her down to let her run off out to the porch. Jensen got up from his seat and held up a finger, ducking back inside to where you were.

“That’s what I like to see,” he said as she gave Zeppelin a hug and he handed her a car.

“I did have to promise not to die for fifty years.”

“Fifty? You got off easy. I had to promise a hundred after the accident,” he chuckled. “I should have noticed she was scared.”

“I have more experience being a scared little girl than you do. I got experience with letting people get close again too,” you said.

“How’s that working out for ya?” he smirked.

“He’s lucky he’s hot,” you said. He threw his arm over your shoulders and grinned. “Do you want to get married in the fall?”

“This fall?” he asked.

“Can we pull it off that fast?” you asked.

“Yeah. We don’t have to book a venue which is the hardest part. I don’t see why not. What’s the rush?” he asked.

“It’s easier to adopt them if we’re married,” you said. “I don’t really want to wait longer than we have to if that’s alright.”

“I’d say let’s go drive down to city hall and get a justice of the peace right now if I knew my mother wouldn’t kill me for it. How about I call up the lawyer and ask him to start prepping the paperwork as if we already were so it’s all set to go,” he said.

“You have a lawyer?” you asked. “They’d do that?”

“Y/N, honey. My taxes alone frighten me not to mention I own a business with employees and what qualifies as a business write off still confuses me and wait you don’t have a lawyer for your book deal?”

“Should I have one?” 

“Greg is your lawyer now,” he said. “He’s good. He’ll do all the paperwork for us.”

“Oh good cause all the forms online were confusing the hell out of me,” you said. He shook his head and pulled you in close. 

“Silly goose,” he said, a loud boom of thunder shaking the house. “Let’s get the crew inside before it pours.”

“Who wants to build a fort?” you asked that afternoon. JJ jumped up and down on the couch and Jensen walked in with an arm full of blankets and sheets. Three little hands shot up and Jensen lazily tossed the blankets on the couch, covering the three of them.

“Hm, where’d those three munchkins run off to…” he said, Arrow ducking her head out first, hair all in her face. Jensen giggled and she rolled her eyes, the other two climbing out. “Alright. I’m gonna grab clothes pins and a few more things. You guys start designing.”

You stood back and let JJ organize, figuring out her first choice of blanket for a roof was too small. Jensen returned with a bag of clips, some twine and the step ladder, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

“How they doing?” he whispered.

“Picking out the roof,” you said, Arrow rushing over and grabbing his hand as Zeppelin climbed on JJ’s back and held up a sheet over the two of them with one hand. You smirked and she let out another eye roll.

“Daddy, can you pick up Zeppy so then he can put the blankie up? I told them they’re too small,” she said.

“Sure,” he said. “Tell me where you want it to go.”

Twenty minutes later the family room was covered with sheets, tied off to the stairs, chairs, the ceiling fan after Jensen broke out the larger ladder to get up there and assured you it wouldn’t bring the whole thing crashing down. 

“Can we sleep in here tonight?” asked JJ. 

“I don’t see why not,” you said. “There’s plenty of room on the couch. We’ll bring down your comforters when it’s bedtime,” you said.

“Can we watch Cars?” asked Zeppelin, glancing at JJ. 

“Okay,” she said. She gave him a hug and picked him up, Jensen smiling to himself as he looked on.

“Can we get pizza for dinner like a real sleepover?” asked Arrow. 

“We did cook up all the chicken at lunch,” you said, giving Jensen a side eye.

“Yeah we’ll get one,” he said. “Why don’t you turn on your movie okay? We’ll be right there.”

You let Jensen pull you into the kitchen, smirking as he picked you up and sat you on the counter.

“Seems like today’s crisis has been averted,” you said.

“I’m sure they’ll go back to tormenting each other tomorrow but I’ll take it,” he said, reaching into the drawer next to you, pulling out a menu. “So. You interested in pizza?”

“Oh that looks interesting,” you said, taking the pamphlet out of his hand and tapping at a special. “One cheese, one speciality, boneless wings and garlic bread? My little carb loving heart is in love.”

“She’s not the only one,” he said, leaning up on his tip toes and kissing you. 

“Are you coming?” groaned JJ from in the fort. You shook your head and Jensen kissed your neck, even nibbling before he pulled back. You smacked his chest and he set the menu down, giving you a wink.

“We’re coming in right now. Don’t wait for us kiddo.”

You woke up sweating, Jensen shushing you, arms wrapped around you. You took a deep breath and caught the clock said it was almost three. You turned in his arms and buried your head in his chest, his hand rubbing up and down your back.

“You’re okay. Bad dream is all,” he said softly. You nodded and started to relax, flinching when there was more thunder. “Hey, it’s okay. Nothing’s gonna get ya.”

The thunder shook the house and you tensed up. Jensen pulled the covers over both your heads and you crammed in as close as humanly possible when more thunder hit.

“Honey look at me. Please look at me.” You lifted your head and saw a horrible face in front of you, a scream ripping out of your throat.

“Y/N,” you heard as you woke up absolutely drenched, Jensen’s hands on your face. “Honey, talk to me. Can you hear me?”

“Night terror,” you said quietly. 

“Yeah, JJ used to have them. I didn’t know adults could get them,” he said. 

“Can I have a cold washcloth? And some water?” you asked. He got out of bed and padded into the bathroom in his boxers, settling back into bed and handing you the water. You drank it down while he wiped off your face and neck, running it over your head. “Thanks.”

“You okay?” he asked. 

“Mostly feel embarrassed.” He frowned and you put the glass on your nightstand, staring down at your sweaty shirt. 

“Should I call Ray?”

“It was a stupid nightmare. I’m fine,” you said.

“You were sat up eyes wide open and talking and shouting and I couldn’t wake you up,” he said. “I know adults really shouldn’t be getting night terrors so maybe something triggered you or something during the day.”

“I know my triggers and I know when it’s just a stupid nightmare. Back off,” you said. You got out from under the hot covers and went outside to the balcony, the air nice and cool from the storm earlier. The slide of the door was loud in the the quiet and you rubbed your arm. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve seen you have nightmares. That was a lot worse,” he said.

“I thought I saw someone watching the house earlier.”

“What?”

“It was the neighbor’s kid, the teenager. It was his friend and he came over late but I thought...it freaked me out. That on top of thinking about the fact my father is not rotting in a jail cell most likely sent me over the edge,” you said. He walked in front of you, resting his hands on your arms. “I’m okay. Needed some air was all.”

“Alright. Tell me if something like that happens again?” he asked. You hummed and he gave you a kiss. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s head on back to bed.”

“What do you mean?” you growled into the phone the next evening. Jensen lifted his head from his book in the family room and you walked away, stepping out to the private patio area on the side of the house. “That’s not possible.”

“It’s been fifteen years. He has every legal right to be in the country.”

“In the country! He got an apartment seven minutes from where I live!” you said. “I have little kids here, Finn. Tell me there’s something I can do.”

“I can get a restraining order-”

“That doesn’t mean shit to him. I need him fucking deported. I need him gone.”

“Y/N, you know me. I have never agreed to it but he paid his debt as it was assigned and he quietly followed the law. He did what he was supposed to and I’m sorry but until he does something, I can’t do anything besides help you and your fiance’s family get a restraining order.”

“So until he does something horrible again, I can’t do anything about it.”

“Y/N.”

“No Finn. I appreciate the heads up but...I have to go.”

You hung up and squeezed your phone tight. He knew where you lived. He was minutes away and there was absolutely zero help until something went wrong. You sat on a bench and bounced your leg. Nothing could go wrong. You couldn’t let anything go wrong. Who knew what the son of a bitch would do to any one of them.

You stopped bouncing your leg just as you heard the door open. You lifted your head and stood, spinning around to Jensen standing there.

“Everything alright?”

“Actually no.”

“Who was on the phone?”

“My ex,” you said, swallowing. You crossed your arms and thought of the things Jensen had told you about acting and getting in character and all that. You were gonna destroy him. Fuck you were going to end up shattering him into a thousand pieces he’d never put back together. 

You couldn’t really lie just to keep them away from him, could you? 

You saw Arrow run past in the house and made your face hard. Broken heart but safe kids was worth it.

“I thought you didn’t talk to him anymore,” said Jensen. You turned up your chin and he smiled. “You are the worst actress in the world. Who was it really?”

“I think we’re moving too fast and I want to take a break and I would appreciate it if you gave me my space to figure this out on my own.”

“Uh, what?” he said. You brushed past him and he followed you in, all the way up to your bedroom. You got out a bag and he flipped it shut. “What the hell is going on? Who was on the phone?”

“My boyfriend,” you said. He stared at you and you sighed. “You’re a great guy but I’m sorry. I can’t do the house and kids thing. I want to go see the world and not be tied down and you’re just...you’re too damn old for me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Maybe you should have trusted your first instincts when you saw me and Doug,” you said. He stared at you while you shoved some clothes in a bag. You slung it over your shoulder and he caught the backside of it. You took off your ring and put it on the table by the door, Jensen dropping his hand. “I just can’t do this anymore. It wasn’t you. I’m sorry. I really need to go.”

______

A/N: Read Part 16 here!

[ghirahimbo]

beginnings

a non-specific take on how the Link and Ghirahim master/sword AU might come about. I probably won't post this one to ao3 yet in case I decide to use it in a story someday, but I liked it enough to put it here, at least :)

--

In the Sealed Grounds where the demon hordes had trampled the earth so recently in their violent rampage, the transition to silence was complete. The whistling chirp of birds, the buzz of insects… even the wind through the trees had gone deathly still, all caught up in breathless waiting. Only the pool of inky darkness at the center of Demise's broken prison seemed to breathe, pulsing slowly in and out with uneasy life. Small though it was compared to the spiraling pit containing it, the darkness pulled at the cloud-covered twilight as if its strength alone might dim it. Consume it.

At last, the dark pool recoiled in agitation, and from its churning depths emerged a boy in a green knight’s tunic that had certainly known more pristine days. Bloodied and bruised, yet swaying triumphantly as if standing itself was a triumph, Link stumbled out of the pit’s embrace, adjusting his wet hat to fit more firmly over the mess of hair still dripping from his watery battlefield. The sky above seemed to captivate him, and he craned his head back to stare at the darkened clouds, half in wonder, half in disbelief. Then the hilt of his sword flashed, and a shimmering blue woman emerged to float in front of him.

“Master,” she said, catching his attention. “With the defeat of the demon king Demise, there is a 95% chance that your friend Zelda has already regained consciousness.” Her voice softened almost imperceptibly. “I believe I can say with 100% certainty that she would like to know you are well.”

Link stared at her for another moment, scrubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Of course,” he murmured, and for the first time, he grinned. “Let’s go.”

Strengthened by his anticipation, Link broke into a limping run, eager to put the forsaken pit behind him—but before he could take more than a few steps, a new voice froze him in his tracks.

“Wait.”

Heart sinking like a rock, Link whirled around, one hand hovering warily over the hilt of his sword as a new figure emerged from the retreating darkness. Ghirahim’s skin glimmered like polished obsidian in the fading light, smooth and unmarred except for where fiery cracks split his chest, and a glowing diamond at its center pulsed an erratic, angry red. Cradled against his shattered core was an enormous black sword, its sharp edge not even scratching the skin where it rested against Ghirahim’s hardened arms.

Milky white eyes met tired blue in a silent clash, as if neither had the strength necessary to put words to their feud. Then, without warning, Ghirahim hefted his sword, driving it point first into the softened earth and falling to one knee before it.

“Take it.”

Link blinked, and took a wary step back.

“…What?”

“Take it.” Despite his clear exhaustion, Ghirahim’s voice had that same teasing bite to it as always, coupled now with impatience as he gestured towards the sword. “You defeated my old master Demise, which means his sword is yours to claim. Take it.”

Link stared at him, dumbfounded, and a slow smile curved across Ghirahim’s thin dark lips.

“Let me put it this way,” he said pleasantly. “This sword belongs to you whether you wish it so or not, but things will go much more… smoothly… if you take it now.”

Link shook his head as if to dismiss the notion, fixing Ghirahim with a glare.

“I already have a sword,” he said coldly, starting to turn aside, but this time a light chime from Fi made him stop.

“Master Link,” she said, her cool voice strangely gentle. “I’m afraid that I was not created to remain by your side forever. The demon king’s remaining essence is now sealed within my sword, to be carefully guarded until it is eradicated. The time of our parting will be soon.” She hesitated, and added, “Very soon.”

The first drops of rain began to fall, scattered and sparse. Link stared at Fi incredulously.

“You’re not saying I should trust him,” he said, not really a question, and Fi shook her head.

“Such judgments are not mine to make. I can only report that I sense no immediate intent to do harm from Lord Ghirahim, though whether he hopes to deceive you is less clear. Any further statements would be mere conjecture on my part.”

“Would you mind conjecting then?” Link asked, pursing his lips. After a moment, Fi nodded.

“Master Link…” Her words came with slow reluctance now. “Despite the foreordination of our partnership, I was still given the privilege of choosing you as my master. If what Ghirahim says is true and his sword has passed ownership from the demon king to you, I must surmise that he was not granted that same privilege of choosing Demise.”

“If what he says is true,” Link repeated, sparing another glare for the still-kneeling demon lord. Ghirahim had so far watched their exchange in enigmatic silence, not quite smiling, though he half raised an eyebrow at Link’s scowl. The steadily increasing rain slithered unnoticed in rivulets down his face, striking against his arms with short, metallic plinks.

“I stated that I could not discern whether he hopes to deceive you in some way, and this is true. However…” She paused in consideration. “I do sense a newfound connection between you and that sword, as well as between you and Lord Ghirahim himself. My opinion is that he is telling the truth, in this regard, at least.”

Link stared at her in dismay, and Ghirahim laughed softly.

“Your robotic guide is right, I’m afraid," he murmured. "I’ll have you know that you were not my first choice either, but I think we both know better than most how little control we have over the whims of destiny. Never in this sword’s history has it passed to a human, but it appears our thread of fate has some twists that even I could not predict.”

“There is no thread—“ Link started to say hotly, but let it go with a sigh. Even he could see how pointless finishing that sentence would be. “I suppose you come with the sword, then?”

“I am the sword,” Ghirahim said, his pale eyes glittering. Link paused only a second before nodding. After bearing Fi for so long, he understood how that worked, at least.

“If…” Link took a deep breath, glancing again at Fi. “If I take you with me… what’s to stop you from trying to kill me still?”

“I am physically incapable now of even harming you,” he said, and Link’s eyebrows shot up. A possibility much easier to disprove than prove, but…

“What about Zelda?” he demanded, and Ghirahim’s grin widened.

“On your orders, I would go so far as to guard her from harm, and catch her each time she stumbles,” he said smoothly. Link’s face darkened.

“What about—“

“Master, must we really go through every order that I will or will not obey?” Ghirahim cut him off irritably. “I will obey them all, insofar as I am able. Was it not the same with…?”

He gestured vaguely towards Fi, who looked at him.

“Fi is the designation I was given,” she said, prompting a tight grin.

“Wonderful! I didn’t need or desire to know that.”

“Wait,” Link interjected, his mind spinning slightly. “...You called me master.”

“Is he this slow all the time?” Ghirahim asked Fi incredulously. “How do you put up with it?”

Link let the insult slide, still reeling as he tried to gather his thoughts. Would Ghirahim really debase himself so far just for a chance at revenge? There were other, easier ways to go about it if that was his aim, ways involving less personal humiliation. Fi thought he was telling the truth—about some things, at least—which maybe meant…

“What am I supposed to do with that sword, anyway?” Link said abruptly. “It’s too big for me to even…”

The protest died in Link’s throat as for the first time he really looked at the sword, and licked his lips. Without his noticing, the sword had shrunk in size, though it managed to appear no less menacing despite that. If Link were to hold up his Master Sword in comparison, he doubted that there would be a hair’s difference in length.

“I told you,” Ghirahim said, and Link had to fight down a shiver that he told himself was from the rain. “My sword belongs to you now, Link. Take it.”

Once more he looked at Fi, silently questioning, but if she had an opinion on the matter her blank face gave no voice to it.

“Zelda is waiting for you,” was all she said… and somehow, that was enough.

“Fine,” Link sighed reluctantly. He didn't want to find out at that moment how Ghirahim might try to force him if he refused, and Fi was right. It was time to go. “I accept your sword.”

Trudging forward, Link grabbed it by the hilt, thinking that if worse came to worst, he could still throw it off a cliff somewhere—and felt a terribly familiar warmth surge through his palms as he pulled it free, traveling up his arms to settle somewhere in his chest. A tightness fell from Ghirahim’s face that Link hadn’t noticed until that moment, and he bowed his head forward, pressing a hand delicately against his mangled chest.

“The bonding process is now complete, master,” he said, and despite the formality of his words he had a mocking twist to his lips. “Link… my master.”

Thunder boomed overhead as lightning forked viciously across the sky, the rain falling down in sheets. Link, staring at his own black sword, noticed none of it.

[imagineteamfreewill]

Imagine Robbing Dean’s Cabin

Pairing: Robber!Reader x Dean

Word Count: 1,510

Warnings: None

Square Filled: Robber!Reader

Summary: The reader finds what she thinks to be the perfect hit, but it turns out to be less than perfect.

A/N: This is a submission for the 2020-2021 SPN AU Bingo (@spnaubingo​). Please let me know what you think, and enjoy!

X

_______________

“Perfect,” you murmured, and you shifted on the tree branch to get a better look at the cabin. It was empty, just like it had been for the past three months, which made it the perfect hit. You’d been craving a good robbery ever since you’d gotten into town. You were supposed to be getting out of the life, but old habits die hard.

Silently, you climbed down from your perch and slipped between the shadows of the massive fir trees. The ground was blanketed with fallen pine needles and you sent up a prayer of thanks. They kept your footsteps quiet, making it easier to sneak towards your mark, not that that mattered when the cabin hadn’t been used in months.

You were halfway through the kitchen window in the back of the house—some idiot had left it unlocked—when the light flipped on. A man was standing in the doorway, and he had a gun trained on you. It had been a long time

“How do you feel about cops?” he asked, his voice low.

You inhaled sharply, frozen in place as you frantically tried to figure out the best way out of this. You could back out of the window and risk being shot while you tried to escape, or you could climb the rest of the way in and face the man head-on.

“They’re not my favorite,” you finally responded after he raised an eyebrow at you. Slowly, you lowered yourself onto the kitchen counter.

“Me neither,” he replied. He cocked the gun and you glanced towards the nearby door. It led out onto the back porch, which was a straight shot into the thickest part of the forest. If you could only make it there, you had a pretty good chance of coming out of this unscathed.

He gestured with the gun towards the plain kitchen table nearby. When you didn’t move, he took a step towards you and his upper lip curled as he growled out, “Sit.”

Your mouth grew dry and you swallowed hard as you crossed the short distance between you and the nearest chair. It creaked when you lowered yourself into it.

“What’s your name?” the man asked. When you didn’t answer, his jaw clenched and his eyes flickered dangerously. “What’s your—“

“Amy,” you murmured.

“Bullshit.”

You stared at him, pressing your lips together. Who did he think you were, an idiot? No one with any common sense would give their real name after being caught in the middle of robbing a house.

“Listen, I’m not in a good mood, so you’d better stop lying to me. I’m not a person you want to make angry,” he ground out. Though the kitchen was well illuminated, his face was still half in the shadow provided by the hallway, and you suppressed a shiver as fear slid into the back of your mind.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you or anything,” you told him. “I was just gonna take a look around, see if there was anything of value. If you let me go, I promise I won’t come back. You’ll never see me again.”

“There’s nothing valuable here.”

“Great, then let me—“

“No. Stand up,” he ordered. You stayed in your seat until he stepped closer and held the gun to your head.

“Whoa, hey!” you cried, but you got to your feet. This was not turning out the way you’d hopped and your heart was thundering in your chest as the man led you towards the living room. He turned on that light too, then prodded you towards a faded couch against the main wall. You sunk down onto the middle cushion and stared up at him, holding your breath.

“I’m not gonna hurt you if you cooperate,” he told you, and you nodded weakly, exhaling heavily. “Do you do this often? Rob people?”

You shook your head, then thought better of it and murmured, “Not recently.”

“Explain.”

Taking a deep breath, you clutched your hands together and tried to keep your voice from shaking as you told him about the man who’d first coerced you to help him rob someone, and then how it had become something of an addiction. You hadn’t been able to go more than a few days without sneaking into someone’s house or a business to find something that would give you the same adrenaline rush. After a close call that left you in the hospital and your partner six feet under, you’d moved to the tiny town of Evergreen Falls, Montana. You’d been hoping it would be the perfect place to recuperate and find a new hobby, but you’d been wrong. You’d seen this cabin and it had only worsened the itch that nothing seemed to scratch.

“So what was your plan, exactly? You’d just rob me and then go back to living your cute little life in town, and everything would be great? You wouldn’t feel the need to steal anything else ever again?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were an expert,” you scoffed. If you were being honest, that had been the plan, but when he put it the way he did, you realized that you’d been stupid. Of course you wouldn’t have been able to go back to living a normal life after robbing this place. You would’ve gotten the buzz of adrenaline back and never wanted anything else ever again. Nothing could replace it. You’d tried.

The man stared at you for another moment before the corner of his lips quirked up in a smile. Silently, he uncocked the gun, flipped on the safety, and tucked it under his shirt.

“What if I told you I had a business proposal for you?”

“I don’t typically do business with people who hold me at gunpoint,” you said, keeping your arms crossed over your chest. “And definitely not after they mock me. I know I don’t make the best life decisions, but I don’t need people making fun of me for them.”

He kept silent and stared at you intently, and you shifted uncomfortably under his steady gaze. Finally, you uncrossed your arms and got to your feet.

“Can I go or are you gonna shoot me if I try to leave?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Don’t tell me you aren’t at least curious. You rob places for the adrenaline, right? I can promise you that the rush is ten times better in my line of business, and you actually help people.”

You hesitated, glancing between him and the front door. He was right—you were curious. Quietly, you sized the man up. He was broad-shouldered and he stood tall, and the way he moved stealthily as he walked proved that he was used to sneaking around. You hadn’t even noticed his presence in the cabin until he’d announced himself, and you’d been watching the place on and off for months now. A big part of you wanted to know how he’d managed that, even if you didn’t end up doing business with him. You were an observant person and not much got past you.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll bite. What is this business proposal?”

“I need someone to help me take something,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously, or you wouldn’t be talking to the person who just tried to rob you. What exactly would you need my help with and why should I help you?”

He glanced towards the kitchen and you waited patiently. Clearly, the man was caught between telling you some sort of lie and telling you the whole truth. 

“My brother and I need to break into a museum and steal a painting.”

“Is it a money thing? A kinky thing?”

His ears turned red. “What? No!”

“Then what is it? Are you thieves? Is someone paying you to bring it to them?”

He shook his head and sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We have to destroy it. If we don’t, more people are going to get hurt.”

You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms over your chest again. This guy was crazy. “Right.”

“I know it sounds bad—”

“Oh, do you? Good, I was worried you didn’t!”

He sighed again. The man looked up towards the ceiling for a long moment, mumbling to himself before finally saying, “Sit down. I’ve gotta give you the talk if you’re ever gonna take this seriously.”

“I’ve already had the talk, thanks. My parents were pretty specific when it came to the whole birds-and-the-bees thing.”

“It’s a different talk. Just sit down, alright?” He gestured to the couch behind you. 

After a moment of thought, you reluctantly lowered yourself back down again. The man took a seat in a worn green chair that faced the couch and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning towards you.

“Promise me you’ll wait until I’m done to ask any questions,” he said, and you stared blankly at him in response. “Just promise?”

“Fine, I promise.”

“Okay. So my brother and I, we work together…”

_______________

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[darriness]

Klaine Fic: Premonition

Author: darriness

Word Count: 1179

Summary: A vampire meets a boy.

Author's Note: Hello! So last year I wrote a fic entitled Care where Kurt was a vampire and Blaine was a werewolf. This year I decided to go back and fill in some of the blanks in that story (and it's October so I thought it was fitting!). I don't know how many parts this one will have (I'm part way through writing part 2) but I have been stalled in my writing for the last few months and this has been the first piece since July that I've felt like posting. I hope you enjoy it! You don't have to have read Care in order to read this but you may want to after it's done! :)

AO3 Link

Kurt quickly drops the pencil in his hand and smoothes his features into a neutral expression. He stares forward, trying to ignore the eyes he can feel on him, but eventually (probably quicker than he would have two months ago - his reactions have been on a hair trigger since that night) he can handle it no longer and glares across the room.

The eyes that had been on him widen slightly before they turn back to the front of the room.

Good. Kurt thinks with a nod. The less attention he draws toward himself the better and if people are afraid of him? That can only help.

Kurt’s attention swings back to the front of the room. He tries to focus back on the teacher currently lecturing about the Civil War, but...he can feel that nagging sensation creeping back in. The temporary distraction of the curious onlooker had been just that - temporary.

Kurt almost growls as he tries to use his tongue to ease the sensations in his mouth. It’s almost a...tickle. It feels like an itch he just can’t scratch. The pencil had been doing an okay job, but clearly it drew too much unwanted attention.

God, he’s had these things for two months, why are they just NOW starting to itch?

Kurt wouldn’t say the adjustment to being a vampire had been, or is, an easy one. Since getting bitten two months ago, just after his eighteenth birthday (GREAT birthday present, Uniserve), he’s had to deal with heightened senses, a thirst for blood, a desire to murder every living creature, a decrease in the need for most human bodily functions, and now...itchy gums.

Out of all the things he’s had to get used to in his new life (or rather un-life?), this one is pretty far down on the ‘fuck shit crap’ scale, but it’s also super annoying. His urge to murder things is rising the more his gums itch.

Mercifully, the bell rings to end the period. If becoming a vampire weren’t bad enough, he still has to contend with finishing his senior year of high school. Only he would end up with the only father in history to have a son turn into a vampire and still insist he complete his education…

Kurt tries to leave the classroom as slowly as possible, but the less time he spends in a group of people the better for everyone involved. He’s got his lunch period now and he figures he’ll spend it under some secluded trees in the courtyard - soak up some of that early May sun.

He had been quite pleased to discover that, unlike all the stories he’s ever heard, the sun does absolutely nothing to him. He figures he won’t tan much, but he never did before. He was also supremely glad to discover his skin doesn’t glitter in the sun (he hadn’t REALLY thought that would happen, but it had been in the back of his mind).

He’s almost to his favourite tree when his ears pick up movement behind him. He instantly tenses. He never encounters anyone at lunch. He’s new to the school, transferring to this county following his month-long ‘hospital stay’ (re: discovering and dealing with the fact that he was now a vampire) after he was attacked. He and his father thought it would be best to leave his old life behind and while Kurt had thought he’d feel some sort of sadness leaving his old friends behind, he found his new nature left very little room for such feelings.

He’s on alert as he hears the footsteps getting closer and even though he’s never once felt like prey since becoming a vampire, he senses the person coming toward him doesn’t feel very much like prey either. The person making their way toward him has no idea they are coming upon a predator…

“Hey!” A voice calls and Kurt whirls to face the sound.

Coming toward him with bounding, exuberant steps is the boy who was staring at him in class. Kurt hadn’t really been paying close attention to him in class (and can’t recall seeing him before today), but he notices the gelled brown hair, polo shirt, bow tie, and chinos now and when the boy settles in front of him with an easy smile, Kurt notices a pair of disarmingly attractive hazel eyes.

Kurt is immediately on his guard. It’s a strange sensation - one he hasn’t had to deal with in two months - but this feeling isn’t tied to fear or the need for protection so much. He’s instantly attracted to this boy, in a very real and visceral way. This has never happened to him before.

He doesn’t know what to do.

“You’re new, right?” The boy asks.

Kurt blinks at him like he’s just spoken a different language. His blood, which pumps sluggishly normally (as long as he keeps a healthy diet of blood, his body functions more or less like a human’s) is now racing through his veins and the itchy feeling in his gums intensifies.

He still doesn’t know what to do.

The boy’s easy smile falters, slightly, at Kurt’s lack of response and Kurt’s body aches that he’s caused this boy any form of discomfort.

He shakes his head to clear it before coughing, “Um, yeah. Yes, I am new.” He says, marvelling at the breathy quality of his voice.

The boy’s easy smile returns, “I’m Blaine!” He says, sticking his hand out.

Kurt thinks touching the boy, Blaine, in Kurt’s current state probably isn’t smart, but he’s already been rude enough and, unlike 99% of his life right now, he doesn’t WANT to be rude to Blaine.

He slides his hand into Blaine’s and tries to control the sharp intake of breath the move triggers. He doesn’t even BREATHE anymore (unless he wants to talk), so the fact that his body would have this reaction is insane.

“Kurt.” He remembers to say before it’s too late and things get awkward again.

Blaine drops his hand and nods with the same happy smile. Kurt tilts his head a little, curiously. Blaine kind of reminds Kurt of a puppy…

“I notice you tend to eat lunch by the trees by yourself.” Blaine says before putting his hands out in front of himself in a calming gesture, “Not that that is a bad thing!” He defends quickly and Kurt almost giggles, “But I was wondering if I could...join you today?” He says it with a little shrug and Kurt is immediately charmed.

His answer should probably be ‘no’ and if anyone else had asked (no one else would have asked) he would have said ‘no’, but he finds himself unable to do so with Blaine.

He nods and feels his cheeks blush slightly (he wasn’t even aware they still could) when Blaine’s eyes light up, “Sure.” He says, tilting his head toward the trees and turning to make his way over. He hears Blaine follow and he takes a deep breath he doesn’t need, preparing himself for whatever this is.

[livinghostly]

the way you said i love you

zuko x reader

not my gif!

words: 2660

request/summary: all the times zuko said he loved you, without actually saying it.

prompt: this post inspired me

warning: some angst, mostly fluff

a/n: this is my first time writing zuko and i'm kind of in love with him :') feedback is much appreciated

as a hello

"hello, zuko here." there was a slight smile on his face as he waved gently.

your breath caught in your throat and you found yourself taken aback, expecting anything but that. he greeted you with such familiarly, as if you were old friends reuniting. the way he reminded you of his name– as if you could ever forget the identity of the person who'd been hunting down you and your friends for nearly a year.

zuko didn't try to fight, he didn't prepare himself in a stance to even protect himself as your friends readied for an attack. he simply stood, as if he posed no threat.

he looked to you– the only one who hadn't brought your hands up and prepare whatever defense you had at your disposal. you were stunned, as you tried to analyze the firebender in front of you, until sokka nudged you with his elbow. only then, did you unsheathe the sword kept in the holster at your side.

"hey, i heard you guys flying around down there, so, i just thought i'd wait for you here."

and then, the strangest thing happened– appa licked him.

over a cup of tea

sweat beaded upon your forehead and fall to flow down the sides of your face as you writhed in the sheets of your bed. you weren't hot, you were freezing, but no amount of blankets could help you maintain any warmth. you bunched them around your shoulders and threw yourself on your side, looking for some comfort.

the blinds to your room were closed, creating a stuffy environment. they had been shut since that morning when you'd woken up feeling as if you'd been a victim of bloodbending, again. your muscles were tight and aching, it felt like a great weight on your limbs as you tried to move.

katara's healing didn't have the power to take away the fever or the strain, it wasn't a physical wound to be stitched back up. there wasn't much your friends could offer, besides leaving you alone to wallow in your own helplessness.

suddenly, the door opened. instinctively, your head turned towards the figure. he entered shyly, as if hiding behind the tray in his hands. you narrowed your eyes in curiosity, and propped yourself up against the wall. you moved to get off the bed, but his voice stopped you.

"don't get up." it was an order, but zuko's voice was soft.

he pulled up your desk chair next to your bed, his knees pressed against the soft fabric of your comforter. he laid the tray in his lap, a bowl and a cup, both full of tea, sitting on top.

"hey, zuko," you smiled.

"i, uh, i made your favorite," he offered, handing you the cup.

you took it gratefully, glancing inside the cup. the concoction was murky, with scattered bits of leaf left inside he apparently had paid no attention to. you grimaced, but it fell when you looked back up at him to see a hopeful grin on his face.

offering a tight smile, you brought the cup to your lips. you couldn't bring yourself to face his excited expression as you struggled to keep your composure. oh, spirits, it tasted much worse than it looked. as if it was mud, but acrid. it was hard to ignore the pungent smell as you brought it closer to your nose, tipping the cup as far up as you could to let the liquid run down your throat as quickly as possible.

"how does it taste?" zuko raised his eyebrows, clearly nervous as he found your expression unreadable. "is it okay?"

"yeah!" you said, a little too joyously. for a moment, you forgot how people reacted to good tea. you reminded yourself of iroh, but took it down a few notches. "it's– it's great, zuko."

"do you want any more?"

"i'm okay, actually," you squeaked, placing the cup down on his tray before he could try to insist.

zuko nodded, setting the tray on your desk before turning back to you. he was unsure of himself, what to say or how to react. he just wanted to be there, with you. his eyes lit up with a realization and, hesitantly, he brought the back of his hand to your forehead.

"what're you–"

"my mom used to do it when i got sick... i don't think your fever is going down, you're still warm."

he began to pull his hand away, but you stopped him by pulling at his wrist.

"actually, i'm freezing," you corrected. the longer he kept his hand against your skin, the better it felt. the contrast of his warm hand against the coolness you felt blanketing your body came as a relief. you placed his hand against your cheek, and for a moment, your eyes fluttered shut.

zuko's eyes widened, and he rubbed his thumb against your cheekbone experimentally. his touch was gentle, offering comfort in his warmth.

the moment between the two of you lasted a few seconds, and zuko leaned closer. but the sudden, obnoxious knocking on your bedroom door tore the two of you apart. he quickly ripped his hand away back to his side, and the two of you turned towards the entrance.

sokka pushed open the door with a careless expression, that quickly turned into a wide smirk as he observed the scene before him. he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

"zuko, aang's asking for you down on the training grounds. something about some jerkbending practice," he shrugged, ignoring zuko's glare that could burn through him, if he so desired.

zuko stood from his place and pushed your chair back into it's place, then picked up the tray. he cast a glance back towards you. "feel better y/n."

"thanks, zuko," you said softly, already missing the feeling of his hand against your cheek.

he left the room quietly, knocking his shoulder subtly against sokka's. the water tribe boy held back his yelp, and his eyes followed zuko as he disappeared around the corner.

"so..." his grin was smug. "how was the tea?"

"shut up, sokka," you grumbled, sliding back underneath the blankets.

"no, really! i narrowly avoided being the taste-tester, and that's a fate worse than death."

as an apology

watching zuko firebend had become part of your daily routine, his body moved so effortlessly as he trained, it was hard to tear your eyes away from. it started as passing through the day, taking a quick break to pause and look through the trees. but now, you happily took a break from your duties and watched– sometimes joining in for some sparring.

at first you thought he didn't notice, too focused on his bending and quite eager to ignore whatever nonsense was going on around the camp. but, then, he spoke up.

"are you going to stare the entire time?"

you fumbled the laundry basket in your hands, feeling your cheeks warm up.

he stopped his bending, turning to face you. a blush dusted his face as he scratched the back of his neck. "you can sit down– you know, if you want."

a few weeks passed and you couldn't bring yourself to drop the tradition, no matter how much katara begged for a girls day out or aang wanted someone to show his new tricks to. it was nice for you and zuko to be alone.

sometimes, when he would train, he would rant. talk to you about the things weighing down on his shoulders or insulting the very specific way sokka would get on his nerves.

you sat on the bench of the training grounds, your knees drawn up to your chest and your back against the armrest. you were knitting a sweater, once finished it would be for momo. you listened absentmindedly as he punched through the air, every few moments averting your gaze back to him.

a plume of smoke whizzed past your head and your eyes widened, looking up. "watch where you're aiming, zuko."

"sorry," he mumbled half-heartedly, catching the teasing tone in your voice. but he complied, turning his back to you as he continued to practice. "i'm trying to get used to this whole not-angry-bending thing."

"i think you're doing pretty well there, handsome."

the nickname slipped out before you could stop yourself, surprising both of you. your eyes widened and you stopped knitting immediately, snapping your gaze up to him.

the firebender spun around mid-flame, his shock disrupting his bending abilities. the fire whizzed out towards you like a crescent wave, swarming the air.

you had a split second of reaction time. fear washed over you, and you brought your arms up to protect your face, there wasn't anything else you could do. the fire singed your skin, your forearms and all the way to your hands.

"i'm sorry, y/n! i didn't mean to!" he apologized frantically, dropping his arms to his sides, the fire died with that. he made his way over, towering over you with worry. "i– i just lost control! i don't– i don't know why, i–"

your face was contorted in pain as you brought your arms to your chest, the friction against your clothes only making the sensation worse. "it's– okay, zuko," your voice was strained, and stood up. "i just have to get to katara."

though you brushed past him, he followed at your heel. "i'm sorry, y/n," he said again, ignoring how you dismissed him.

you found katara on the patio with aang, both concentrated on their poorly done game of pai sho (they made the rules up as they went). their attention was drawn to you when you skidded to a stop, zuko running into your back.

before you could even sputter it out, or katara could ask what was wrong, he spoke up.

"i– i was bending, and i lost control. i burned her– but i didn't mean to!" he fumbled with his hands, leaning forward as if pleading for them to believe him. "it was an accident!"

"it'll be okay, zuko. calm down," aang stood up, gently facing his palms outward as if zuko was a wild animal he was approaching. he needed to calm down. "katara can heal her."

you walked forward towards katara's open arms, she coaxed you towards the beach. you closed your eyes tightly and ducked your head to the floor, the pain is was excruciating. you didn't want them to see you cry, you didn't want zuko to feel more guilt than he already was.

"i'm so sorry."

stepping off the patio, you glanced over your shoulder. "it's not your fault, zuko."

aang tried to usher him inside the building, but his feet were stiff, as if he was stuck in concrete. he was hesitant to follow, his sad gaze following you as you reached the edge of the beach where katara could heal you. then, he left with aang.

"i've never seen him like that," katara whispered to you.

with no space left between us

the moon was full, and hung high amidst the deep blue hugging every inch of the sky. your eyebrows furrowed subconsciously as you glared up at the stars, lost in thought. the grass was itchy against your skin and the wind brought a cold sweep through your hair.

there was a campfire on the beach you'd pulled yourself away from not too long ago. in the distance, you could still hear sokka's painful singing as he danced around the flames with momo as his partner (after suki refused).

zuko was somewhere over there, fueling the fire and probably shooting the occasional flame at sokka's feet for his and toph's entertainment. you knew you were right when you heard sokka's squeal and then accuse him of sabotoge.

for a brief moment, your attention was drawn away from the sky and you looked over. your expression softened. zuko had a proud smile on his face, doing his best to keep it down. it alerted a fleet of unruly butterflies in your stomach, begging for you to return to your friends.

you wanted to sit beside zuko again but you couldn't, too busy mulling over how to handle whatever it was you felt for him.

he met your gaze, and you offered a soft smile in return. it didn't reach your eyes and faded when you looked back at the sky.

almost immediately, zuko got up from the log he was sitting on and made his way towards you. you wouldn't have realized, if toph hadn't called out: "where ya going, sparky?"

he settled in the grass next to you, mirroring the way you kept your hands clasped over your stomach. there was no room left between you, his arm pushed up against yours comfortably.

"uh..." zuko started out. "you can talk to me, you know that right? about your feelings?"

"yeah," you said, your voice quiet. but you didn't want to talk to him. in fact, you'd rather talk to azula about you were feeling, than him.

silence followed.

"so, why'd you walk away from the fire?"

"i just needed to think."

"about what?"

you turned to face him with a raised eyebrow, only to find him staring back at you. you blushed, but felt a smirk creep over your features.

he sighed, looking up again. "sorry."

zuko was content, laying there with you, looking as if he had not a single thing in the world to worry about. as if next to him, you didn't have a voice in the back of your head screeching for you to do something already.

but you just looked– your eyes followed his facial features and noticed how each time he blinked it was longer than the last, you wondered if he would really fall asleep next to you.

"the stars remind me of you."

you were caught off guard. "what?"

"the stars are... bright, they light up the sky. even when things are dark, and you can’t see clearly, they’re there to show you the way. they're beautiful, and create incredible constellations. i can't look away from them."

whatever you were going to say, died in your throat. you didn't know how to respond. he spoke so casually as if his words didn't light every one of your nerves on fire. the flurry in your stomach only became more extreme. it felt too good to be true, it couldn't be real. the boy you were laying with under the stars told you possibly the most romantic thing you ever heard.

you'd been staring for so long, you forgot you had yet to actually say anything.

zuko faced you, a worrisome expression clouding his features. "was that weird?"

"no!" you squeaked. unwilling to meet his eyes, you looked away. "no, it was really nice. i just didn't expect it, at all. no one's really ever said anything–"

he leaned on his side and placed a hand on your cheek, and feeling that you missed. he didn't give you much time to process as he directed your chin to face him again, and then he kissed you. it was desperate, but soft, not wanting you to pull away but not being demanding. you kissed back with surprise, raising your eyebrows. it lasted a few seconds before he pulled away.

"was that weird?" he pulled his eyebrows together.

"not at all," you smiled gently, sweeping a hand through his hair.

in the distance, toph made herself known. "hey, are you two done over there? you're giving my feet a headache!"

"isn't that a feet-ache?" sokka chimed in, followed by an instantaneous groan as a rock slammed against his head.

[a-n-conrad]

Cat and Mouse (PS4! Felicia Hardy x Reader)

[Summary: Being a new hero in New York was hard. It was even harder when all of Spider-man’s old villains broke out of the raft. You had worked with him enough, so when he called and asked you to help with a side project while he was busy, you agreed. Little did you know, the game of cat and mouse would end a lot differently than you expected. (She/her pronouns)

Warnings: Technology that I don’t understand, Cops, mentions of sexual themes, swearing

Request: From my request survey (https://forms.gle/37LyBcqSDHttv2Da9)]

You back hurt. Your chest hurt. Everything hurt. You had been out late at night, helping Spider-man stop a string of simple robberies throughout the city. You were still new at the whole hero thing, so you took quite a few hits. 

You had just started your hero work recently, after discovering that you had the power to summon a pair of wings to appear on your back out of nothing. They were nearly bullet proof, and after a bit of practice you could fly pretty fast. You were still getting used to actually using the wings in combat, though, and they weren’t much help when it came to anything stealthy. So there was still quite a bit of work for you to do.

But your rest was cut short by a familiar ringtone, “Uuuugh. What do you want, Spidey?”

“Sorry to wake you up, Angel,” It was odd to have a hero name like that, one that sounded like a pet name. He always said it so formally, though, which you appreciated, “I’m a little busy at the moment, but an old… friend of mine is in town, and I was wondering if you could help me out.”

“I’m not dealing with any of your big villains,” You said. A lot of them had broken out recently. You understood that it was a lot of work for him, but you really weren’t ready to deal with any of them.

“No, no, it's not that,” He sounded exhausted, “Blackcat might be back in business, and I was wondering if you could just check out what’s going on? I’ll send you the address she told me to go to, just check it out and see what’s up, so I have time to deal with everyone else?”

You had heard of Blackcat. She was good at what she did, but she wasn’t exactly dangerous. She played games, but she wasn’t likely to try to murder you, “Yeah, okay. As long as I don’t have to deal with any of your weird homicidal arch enemies.”

- - - - -

Maybe you were stupid to think this would go well. Finding the message she left for Spidey was pretty easy. Using the camera to find her little cat robot was pretty easy, too. What made it a lot worse, was the second you hung up the call with the police captain that Spidey had been working with, your phone pinged with an influx of notifications. Your map app had lit up like a Christmas tree with new addresses that Blackcat wanted you, or, well, Spidey, to go to.

You were pretty surprised, though, when your phone started ringing with a call from a number you had never seen before, “Hello?”

“Well, hey there, birdie,” You hear a voice purr from the other side, “I wasn’t expecting Spidey to send his pretty new sidekick, but I won’t say I’m upset.”

“I’m not a sidekick,” You say, trying to sound tough. Though, you couldn’t help but blush a little at the word pretty, “Did you need something, Cat? I thought you had retired.”

“Maybe I just want to play a game,” She purrs, “Won’t you play with me?”

- - - - -

She didn’t seem upset that it was you instead of Spider-man. She really seems to just be playing games, so you thought after she realized it was you instead of her boy-toy, she’d get bored. But she still seemed to be having fun. She had set up all the clues, and you could tell they were new, since the recordings were addressed to you instead of Spider-man. 

She seemed to be getting more and more flirty with each recording. You were starting to regret your choice in name every time she said it. You were really trying not to be so much of an idiot that you’d let a beautiful woman with a soothing voice convince you to let her off the hook just because you had a crush on her. But it was a bit of a challenge.

After a while, you were pretty sure that you had reached the end of the trail she had set up for you. It was a lot of flying, and a lot of taking five-minute breaks in order to stop yourself from losing focus. You had seen pictures of her, and at some point you started to wish you hadn’t.

Felicia Hardy was gorgeous. Her hair was white, and it always looked perfectly and shiny in the pictures. Her eyes were bright blue, nearly the color of the sky. She was tall, and surprisingly thin for someone who seemed so fit. And her costume itself seemed to add to her flirty nature. It was perfect for her job, but it also really gave off dominatrix vibes. 

You were landing on a rooftop in order to take a break when you got the phone call. The police captain. She didn’t call you usually. Something was very wrong, “Do you remember all those little cat statues at all of the places you reported Blackcat robberies?”

“Yes…” You drew the word a bit. You remembered. They weren’t really statues. Spidey had told you about them before. They were electronic. They had some sort of radio signal. You figured that the NYPD knew that, though.

“They set off some sort of signal when we put them all in evidence and Blackcat was able to break in and take all of her old gear,” You held back a string of insults. How were they so incompetent that they didn’t realize to block the signal those things put off? But you were sure it wasn’t her fault. It was likely that she just had some street cops deal with it. They didn’t really get a lot of training on mastermind burglars. 

“Alright, I’ll figure it out,” You sigh, still biting back a few snarky comments. You hang up, taking a deep breath before loading up a program on your phone that Spidey had set up. You just needed to find a trace of the radio signal and you’d be able to trace it to a specific location.

You flew up as high as you could, hoping it could pick up something. If there was anything relating to Blackcat in the area, you should be able to trace it. Otherwise, you’d just fly across the city until you could.

Luckily for you and your tired wings, your phone pinged in just a few minutes. You were pretty quick to make it over to the are where your phone marked. Nearby was a subway tunnel that was condemned until it was repaired. And it the theme Blackcat had going, she had marked it with a mural. She was theatrical. 

You ducked into the tunnel, running a hand along the wall to see if you could find anything odd. About halfway in you found a slight gap in the wall, about the same as a few of the other cracks in the wall, but it was too clean. It all seemed a little sloppy for Felicia, so you wondered if it was possible that she was leading you into some sort of trap. But of course, you didn’t think about that until you were already opening the door.

The room behind the moving wall was full of expensive things. Things you were pretty you couldn’t afford if you worked your whole life and spent nothing. Paintings, expensive wine, money. You knew Spidey was too much of a goody-goody, but you couldn’t help but be enchanted by the wealth surrounding you.

“An angel among her heavens,” a voice purred behind you. It was close. Closer than you thought it was possible to get without you noticing. 

White hair, blue eyes, and the signature black mask was all right in front of you. The smirk on her face was much more intimidating in person. Everything about her told you that if she wanted to, she could pin you to the wall with very little effort. And you were kind of into it?

“Cat, what exactly are you planning? Don’t you think that game was a little much?” You ask, trying to sound uninterested. 

“Aw, come on, Angel,” She pouts at you, and your heart flutters, “Maybe I just wanted a bit of attention. You know, I've been neglected lately.”

“Felicia, you stole your gear back. I know you’re planning something big. What is it?” You could tell that she could see that you were breaking, despite how tough you thought you were acting. 

“Hmmmm,” She hummed, shifting a bit closer to you, “Perhaps there’s a way I can convince the pretty little angel to let me slide for just a little while. You can even come catch me in a day or two if you really still want to.”

Her hands were on your shoulders, sliding down your arms. Her eyes were inches from your own. They really were as blue as you thought they’d be. Icy, like a frosty winter breeze. She was sliding her nails down your arms, lightly scratching your skin. God, she was gorgeous. Fuck, you were an idiot.

“Come now, Kitten,” She purred, leaning into your ear, “Let’s have some fun, and then we’ll continue our game.”

You knew it was stupid. But you couldn’t stop yourself. Before you knew it, you were pressed up against a wall, your mouth against hers. She smells like catnip and expensive perfume. Beautiful and floral. Your hands were wandering before you could even think about it. And before you knew it, you were in this far too deep.

[A/N: Btw, if you want to keep on on me with some more personal things, check out my tiktok @ al3x13l where I share my opinions on things, and sometimes post art when I’m feeling up to it. Also, I don’t know this character super well, so I’m sorry if this is ooc.]

[ayamari-no-goshi]

A Leap in the Dark | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary:  AU. Daniel "Danny" Fenton tried to distance himself from anything that could possibly tie him to magic. However, his world begins to unravel when the powerful Vlad Masters brings charges of witchcraft against him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, descriptions of death

Warnings: Witch trail interrogation and execution by hanging

Parings: none

Notes: Cross-posted to AO3 and ff.net

This entire fic was inspired by a conversation I had on Tumblr

A Leap in the Dark

The old cart creaked and rocked as it slowly moved towards its destination. With the exception of the occasional instruction to the donkeys from the wagoner, the only sounds from its passengers were whispered prayers and weeping.

Daniel (Danny to friends) Fenton closed his eyes as he waited for the inevitable. No amount of crying or pleading would save him now, and he’d come to terms with it. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Several days prior, town guards stormed his home and pulled him into the streets. He demanded an explanation only to be punched in mouth and knocked to the ground. Some of the guards grabbed him and forced him into a kneeling position as another took out a scroll.

“On behalf of his majesty, we the guards of Amity Park arrest Daniel Fenton, son of Jack Fenton, on suspicion of practicing black magic and soliciting with the devil.”

He tried to argue with them. The charges were insane. Sure, his parents liked to experiment with alchemy which often seemed like magic, but he’d done his best to keep his nose to the ground once he moved out of their home. What did he do to get someone so upset with him that they falsely accused him?

His words fell short as someone hit him in the neck.

The next thing he knew, water fell on him, jolting him awake. Glancing around, he found himself in a cell. Trying to stand, he found shackles binding his arms and legs. In front of him, a guard with an empty bucket sneered.

Soon after, he found himself brought before the hallmote. A representative of the town stood before those gathered and explained what the accusations against him were. The other villagers yelled and hissed. The representative waited until they calmed to provide the evidence which involved reports of him meeting with a dark someone in the middle of the night at the outskirts of town.

Danny jolted as he realized someone saw him meeting up with Samantha. She and her family were fairly new to the area and affluent. Her parents didn’t approve of him, and there was an issue of different religious backgrounds.

When he had a chance to speak, Danny explained just that. “I just wanted to spend time with my dear friend without worrying about the judgement of others,” he pleaded to them.

The crowd’s anger softened some. Another rose and asked if any further evidence could be provided. Hope welled within Danny. If no further false evidence existed against him, he might be able to walk away from this relatively unharmed.

The crowd shifted as they waited for someone to speak. When no one did, Danny sighed in relief. He’d be able to go home and live his life. He might have to let Samantha know they would need to move their meeting times to make it safer for both of them, but if that was the only thing he needed to do, he could live with that.

The sound of walking broke the silence. Everyone turned to see Vladimir Masters, another recent addition to the town slowly walk into the room. Danny didn’t know what to make of the man. He had more influence due to his merchant money then the local lord which caused some tensions between them. However, he’d managed to charm most of the villagers and the church with his donations and public improvements. He also seemed to have an unhealthy interest in his parents, particularly his mother.

“Ladies and gentlemen of this fair town, I bring you one final piece of evidence,” he announced as he opened his cloak to produce a large leather-bound book. He waited for the whispers to stop before he continued. “When rumors first started, I could scarcely believe the son of my two dear friends could possibly be involved in such things. So, I decided to follow him to one of his supposed meetings with the Dark One.”

Again, he paused for effect. “I watched as young Daniel meet with a strange man who appeared on a dark mist. Afraid for my life, I didn’t dare approach and instead hide behind a nearby tree. While I couldn’t hear their words, I did see the stranger hand the boy a book before disappearing back into the mist. The boy glanced through it before heading further outside of town.”

“Concerned, I followed at a safe distance. He eventually came to the hang man’s tree that grows at the crossroads and buried it before heading back to town. I waited until I believed he would no longer be able to detect my presence and dug up the book. Lo and behold, I found a tome written in a language I could not read. Images of death and sacrifice littered its pages. Horrified, I returned to town with it in my possession to report it to both the guards and the Church.”

“Are you so enraged that you can’t have my mother that you need to frame me?” Danny spat at the man. “Everyone knows the crossroads are dangerous at night. I have no desire to risk encountering the vengeful and dark spirits that make such a place a home. Besides, don’t we all know the Dark One is more likely to appear at the crossroads? Why would I go there after supposedly meeting with Him?”

Masters just gave him a sickly-sweet smile. “How is a simple man like me supposed to understand the logic of such evil? Besides, you have not denied ownership of this book.”

The rest of the crowd erupted. Even through the symphony of voices, he could tell many of them cursed and condemned him. His heart sang as the shouts grew louder. Everyone knew the if the crowd believed your guilt, your fate was sealed. He would be handed over to the Church. If he was lucky, their interrogation techniques would kill him before he would be hanged.

After the official ruling was given, officials from the church entered and took him. The last thing he saw before being knocked unconscious was Masters’ smug expression.

He came to in another cell. Sore and aching, he took stock of himself. Well, as best as he could due to the chains. He didn’t seem to be injured which the exception of a few bruises. The pain appeared to be from resting in the uncomfortable position. Shifting, he tried to find a position slightly more comfortable and warmer while he waited for his fate.

An unclear amount of time later, a couple guards came to retrieve him. They removed him from the chains in the cell and placed more compact shackles on his wrists. Once they were certain he wouldn’t be able to fight back, they led him to a different chamber.

He figured he’d see the vicar and maybe a deacon. Instead, Vlad Masters and some men dressed entirely in black greeted him. “I don’t… I don’t understand…” he stammered.

Masters clapped his hands. “My dear boy, I don’t expect you to, but I should explain, seeing as you are my most recent guest.” He closed the distanced between them after a few strides and began circling him as if he was a predator. “I’m one of those tasked with seeking out who have made unsavory deals with the Dark One.”

An icy chill raised through Danny’s chest. “Are you telling me you’re one of those moon touched under that Hopkins guy?” While Amity Park wasn’t part of any of the large cities, the stories of the sudden upsurge in witch hunts had reached them. Hopkins was the most prolific of the hunters.

“We have crossed paths on occasion,” Masters responded as he continued to circle. “However, we disagree on some methods and share little more than a profession. While Hopkins believes those he prosecutes are truly evil, I do things a little differently.” He closed the gap between them so he could whisper, “You see, I believe people need to fear evil, and to do so, I need to remind them of its existence, whether it exists in that location or not.” For a moment, Danny could have sworn the man’s features warped into something inhuman and evil.

Danny swore as the man moved away. “You… you monster! How many innocent lives have you destroyed?”

Masters just chuckled. “Not enough. My friends, could you please silence the boy? We need to begin our interrogation.”

The men in black quickly gagged him before ripping off his clothes. They gasped and muttered darkly when they spotted the large birthmark on his chest. When they found no other mark of interest, they poke and prodded the mark. They started lightly before beginning to scratch and jab. Eventually, they brought out a small knife and drew his blood.

“He bleeds,” the one muttered. “Surely this is no brand.”

“Perhaps it is an illusion, or his brand is one of those normally unseen,” another replied.

The first one nodded. “If that is case, then we must locate it.” He then made a series of cuts on Danny’s arm. “No evidence here. Please try his back.”

They continued this investigation for some time. Slices were made up and down his arms, his chest and back, legs, and even his face. All of them bled. All of them hurt. Displeased they could find no sorcery mark, they ordered the guards to take him back to the cell.

The cool stone of the dark cell gave him some relief from the stinging cuts. If any one of them refused to heal cleanly, it could mean the death of him. One of his uncles died from a cut that refused to heal, and it was not one he would like to repeat.

After that, the attempts to get some form of acknowledgement or confession from him worsened. The beat him with their firsts and with whips. They burned him with hot iron. They even tried to throw him in the nearby river, but someone interrupted that one. While it wasn’t much, he silently thanked the unknown stranger for the act of kindness.

While he never confessed to any of the false accusations, he did openly curse Masters. That apparently was enough for him and his cronies. The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of the Hallmote again with Masters announcing his confirmed guilt. As a result, he was sentenced to hang.

Danny spent the next few days in the prison’s cell. In a different cell across the hall, a few more condemned prisoners also awaited their fates. He heard they would meet their ends on the same day he would. One of the others tried talking to him, but he decided not to respond. Whatever the man did to deserve his fate, he didn’t need a chance to make it worse by speaking with someone accused of magic.

When the day finally came, the guards came to retrieve them. After their hands were bound behind them, they were led to the wagon to be transported to the location of the gallows.

While some of the other men prayed and wept, he just stared at the sigh. He’d made peace with his awful fate. As much as he wanted to blame the Lord, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He learned at a young age that while the Lord could work miracles, He couldn’t always interfere with the evil acts of men. At least he knew he’d be welcomed in Paradise.

Once the wagon reached its destination, Danny allowed himself to glance at the crowd. Many of them were celebrating the day. He almost forgot how an execution could excite the townsfolk. Some were even taking bets on how long he and the others would last.

They were marched into a line underneath the scaffold. After the nooses were placed, the executioners gave the other men the chance to say their final words first. Then came Danny’s turn.

He glanced around in hopes someone might be brave enough to save him. No one stepped forward. Instead, most of the faces visible to him appeared to laugh and jeer. Except one, he spotted Sam who appeared to be weeping.

“I hope that you who falsely condemned me are haunted by your choices,” he stated while trying to keep his voice as even as possible. I know what awaits me on the other side, but can you say the same?” The crowd shouted obscenities at him as his words came to a close, but he didn’t care, not anymore.

With him being the last to speak, the executioner and his assistants began the process of covering his head with the characteristic hood and kicking the supports out from under their feet. Even though he was prepared for death, he didn’t want to die. His weight forced the rope to press harder against his neck, making it harder and harder to breathe. He struggled to free his hands in hopes he might be able to save himself, but with each passing moment, he seemed to be drain of more and more of his strength.

His last conscious memory was to hope Sam wouldn’t be targeted for her show of tears.

... … …

Consciousness came back to him slowly. Feeling groggy and stiff, he slowly sat up. As dirt fell away from his body, he realized night had already fallen. Why had he fallen asleep outside? Had he been stargazing again? After the first time, he decided to use his roof for that purpose as it was safer than sleeping outside the village.

“Danny?”

He jolted at the soft voice. Turning, he found Sam kneeling a couple feet away with her friend and servant, Tucker, standing behind her with a lantern that had an unusual intensity. Both of them watched him carefully. If he didn’t know any better, he would have guessed they were apprehensive of him.

“Thanks for waking me up,” he told them cheerfully as he stood and brushed some of the dirt off him. His voice didn’t convey his feelings though as it sounded gravely even to him. He must have slept much longer than he originally figured.

Frowning as he realized his feet were buried in the dirt, he glanced behind him to find what appeared to be a shallow grave. Disturbed soil with an arm of an unnatural bluish color sticking out of it could be found only a few feet away. He’d been buried.

“Danny?” Sam called out again as she slowly stood and approached him. “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up?”

As he thought about the odd question, flashes of his interrogation and the gallows came to the forefront of his mind. Scared at the implications, he rubbed his throat. The skin felt rough as if it had been injured and pain blossomed at his touch. He had been hanged. Falling to his knees, he thanked the Lord for a chance at a second chance at life.

Standing again once he finished, he glanced at his friend. “I’m glad you came when you did. I don’t know what I’d do if I woke up alone out here. Let’s get you home before something bad happens. Only one of us needs to be accused of practicing magic.” He gestured to the lantern. “You didn’t need to break out the good candles just for me. Actually, they might be too bright if we want to sneak back into town.”

Tucker glanced at Sam, who bit her lip. “Danny, they just seem bright to you. The candle in there is the dimmest I could find. We could barely see where we were going while getting here.”

She wouldn’t look directly at him. Instead, she kept her gaze lowered which was unusual for her. That by itself clued him in something was wrong.

“Sam, look at me. What’s going on? You’re not telling me something.”

“My lady, err… I mean Sam,” Tucker floundered as she turned to stare at him. Even though her parents bought him to be her personal servant, Sam refused to have him call her by an honorific. She wanted him to consider her his friend first and foremost. “Should I bring out that mirror?”

“That might be best,” she agreed as he hesitantly handed her the lantern while he dug through the sack attached to his belt. When he finished, he brought out a black stone and traded the lantern back for it.

“I thought that was supposed to be a mirror,” Danny joked as Sam took a moment to polish it.

“It is… It’s just a special type of mirror. Difficult to come across.” She held it up to him. “It’ll be easier to show you.”

Not sure what to expect, Danny stepped forward until he could see his reflection in the stone. However, whatever person it reflected, it certainly wasn’t him. The stone showed a creature with hair of moonlight and eyes of an unearthly green. Its skin reflected as the bluish pallor of death. Dark bruises were visible around the neck.

Cursing, he stumbled away. Grabbing at his hair, he found stuffs of whitish silver. The skin of his hands matched the color of the creature’s skin. “What happened? What did you do to me?”

“I was trying to summon your soul.”

“I get accused and executed for witchcraft, and you turn around and preform it?” Danny gave a hollow laugh. “Was my death not enough of a warning? And what did you plan to do once you summoned me?”

“I wanted to take down Masters, okay?” she snapped at him. Her gaze fell when they locked eyes. “Not all magic is evil. I just wanted to see if there was anything you could provided to help me make sure he didn’t take any more victims before your soul became beyond reach, but something went wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if I did something wrong.”

“Don’t say that,” Tucker scolded as he placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “The crossroads hold strange powers as its one of those places where mortal and immortal can meet.”

Danny gulped at the implication. He forgot criminals tended to be buried at the crossroads. And even though he wasn’t as superstitious as some, he knew such places could be very dangerous. “So… what did the combination of this good magic and the crossroads do to me?”

“That’s something I don’t really know. It seems to have reanimated you, but you are clearly not as you were.” She fell to her knees as tears began to roll down her cheeks. The Sam Manson crying! Sam never cried.

Hesitantly, he crouched down in front of her and used his fingers to lift her chin. Her skin felt so warm to the touch. “While I can’t say I’m comfortable with what happened, I can say it’s not your fault. You had no idea this would be the outcome. You’re also right about Masters… There’s something wrong with him. During the interrogation, I could have sworn I saw the shadow of evil on him.”

Instead of responding, she lurched forward to embrace him. Not sure what else to do, he rubbed her back in a soothing manner.

“Sam, you’re going to get dirty. Neither of us will want to risk the wrath of your parents.” Tucker spoke softly as he tried to gently pull her off of Danny.

She didn’t respond. Instead, she buried her head deeper into Danny’s chest. Not sure what to make of it, Danny shared a look with Tucker. Eventually, she stated, “I can hear your heart beating. Danny, I can hear your heart! You’re alive.” She looked up and gave him the biggest and purest smile he’d even seen.

“But how? How is that possible? I couldn’t have survived the gallows, and my appearance is of some specter… What the?” As he spoke, a blinding light washed over him. As his eyes adjusted, everything seemed much darker. If it wasn’t for the faint light of the lantern and the visible sliver of the moon, he doubted he would have been able to see anything. Wait, he’d been able to see just fine moments ago.

“Tucker, the lantern!”

Seconds later, the lantern appeared within inches of his face. “Whoa! Watch it! Those metal ones hurt when they hit you.”

“Danny,” Sam’s smile somehow grew wider, “you look like you again! “

“Is that why I suddenly can’t see?” When she rolled her eyes, he quickly added, “I mean, that’s wonderful!”

“I doubt it’s that simple,” Tucker noted as he watched the two of them stand. “You touched death, and that always leaves a lasting mark.”

Sam brushed the dirt off her skirt before she began to walk. “That’s true, but for now, we should return to town. We can figure out what happened to Danny as we work on destroying Masters. He can stay at my place for now. It’s big enough we should be able to hide you for a few days.”

Danny acknowledged that would work for now. Even though he didn’t want to put either Sam or Tucker at risk, it would be easier to discuss the future once they rested.

Perhaps he could even stagger back into town in a day or two just to see how the townsfolk would react. Maybe they would consider his return to life as the will of God. Or, if he could take the form of that creature again, perhaps they’d consider him a vengeful wraith. The latter made him smile. Oh, Masters didn’t know what type of revenge he unleashed.

End of story notes. There are a lot:

Firstly, if anyone would like to expand upon this idea, please feel free. I have no desire to extend this. The plot bunny, now that it’s fulfilled its goal, has run off.

Now for the historical notes.

The hallmote is a court held in a Justice’s hall. In medieval England, this is the lord’s manorial court. For the lord, this primarily functioned for fees and land ownership. However, when it came to issues regarding laws, the villagers acted as prosecutor, legal authority, witnesses, and judge. The lord of the area rarely had anything to do with legal issues.

I know that when it comes to magic, usually that fell under the church’s domain, but I wanted to mention a trial first before he was handed over to them as the accusations against Danny were fabricated.

Moon touched is being used as a euphemism for being crazy.

Vicar is a term primarily used in the Anglican church for parson/minister.

Also, witch hunts and trails did still happen in the 1600s in England – they peaked again in the 1640s and the 1650s due to the English Civil War and the rise of the Puritans.

I did review the interrogation techniques of this time period. While they existed beforehand, the specific ones I mentioned were championed by a man named Matthew Hopkins, who flourished as a witch hunger during the English Civil War. He and his colleagues are believed to be responsible for 20% of the total people persecuted for witchcraft in England between the 15th and 18th centuries. His book is also considered a contributing factor in how the trials in Salem, Mass. played out.

The accused often had their bodies searched for marks which were said to be proof of their pact with the Devil. This was often a birth mark, mole, or other skin manifestation. The area was believed to be unable to bleed or feel sensation.

Hanging. The gallows with trapdoors (drops) weren’t invented until the 1760s. So, Danny is experienced it the old-fashioned way where they put the noose on and cover the head with a hood. Depending on the gallows, the condemned might stand on stools or be on the wagon at first. Then those were removed. Unlike modern hangings which were designed to break the neck upon the sharp drop, the original version had people die by suffocation. Most loose consciousness within 5-10 minutes and death occurs soon after. The title actually is a saying believed to have derived from being hung.

There are some instances where people simply lost consciousness and revived at a later time after they were cut down. Some considered that a pardon from God. Others thought the person made a deal with evil.

Executed criminals were traditionally buried at crossroads. Normally, they couldn’t be buried in a church graveyard, and there were concerns the dead could come back to haunt the town. Being buried at a crossroads helped confuse angry spirits.

Crossroads were considered liminal places where one could meet all manner of supernatural creatures. Some traditions state it’s the best place to contact the dead or conduct spells.

Sam is still Jewish (although secretly since this is the 1640s) in this fic. There are old Jewish spells, which fall under a specific type of mysticism, that call allow one to call forth the dead to ask a question. This is what she was trying to do.

[justlookfrightened]

24.   “Did you just hiss at me?” ZIMBITS!!!

From this prompt list: 24. “Did you just hiss at me?”

Jack bent over at the waist and sucked wind.

Running was not supposed to be this hard.

Especially not when he was a professional athlete, and he was just going for an off-season recreational run with his non-professional athlete fiance.

Really, were cookbook authors/baking-moguls-in-the-making supposed to be so fast?

But about a mile into their -- up until then easy and pleasant -- run, Bitty had looked around, seen a relatively empty path ahead, and said, “Race you to the coffee shop!”

Then Bitty took off, Jack eating his dust.

Jack sprinted to catch up and overtook Bitty, but he only maintained his lead for a half-mile or so. By the time they got to coffee shop, about a mile and a half from where Bitty started the race, he was struggling to keep up with Bitty’s long, loping strides.

It didn’t help that most of Jack’s conditioning was aimed at explosive strength, balance and joint stability. Sure, a three-mile run was no big deal for him, but he wasn’t used to doing it top speed. And Bitty, if anything, had gotten faster on his feet since his season ended.

His new fitness regimen included running at least a few times a week, while weights were down to once or twice a week.

“If I’m going to be taste-testing all these recipes, I have to do something!” Bitty said. “And this gets me out of the house at least.”

Somehow, Jack had envisioned Bitty jogging along at an easy pace, not turning into a speed demon who would be threatening for medals at neighborhood 5Ks.

Bitty had run straight on the coffee shop door, while Jack ducked into the alley behind it to try to recover before going inside. He didn’t want anyone to think he was dying after a Sunday morning run.

He straightened up as Bitty ambled back to check on him.

“I thought we were racing to the door,” Bitty said, his breath almost back to normal and an attractive pink flush on his cheeks. “Not the dumpster.”

Jack contemplated cursing at his fiance, but settled for a glare.

“What?” Bitty said. “Did you just hiss at me?”

“Huh?” Jack said, because something was hissing. “Not me.”

Bitty was already stepping past him to the dumpster and bending down. Jack joined him.

There, half hidden behind the wheel of the trash container was a scrawny cat. It wasn’t a kitten -- at least not a baby -- but it might not be full grown. It was hard to see much but the luminous green eyes and the wide open mouth which was hissing again.

“Get back,” Bitty said, following his own advice and scooting away as a paw, claws extended, swiped out at them. “Poor thing feels threatened.”

“Should we get it some milk or something?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Bitty said. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to give milk to adult cats. It’s probably hungry though.”

“Maybe tuna?” Jack said.

“Or, y’know, cat food,” Bitty said. “I can run to the market on the corner. You want to go in and get coffee?”

“For the cat?”

“For us,” Bitty said. “But maybe they can give us some water in something like a dish? Like a to-go container or something?”

“Okay,” Jack said. “But what then?”

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t just leave her here.”

“Her?” Bitty asked. “How do you know?”

“Her or him,” Jack amended.

“What if it wants to stay here?” Bitty asked. “Back in Georgia, the families who lived out of town all had barn cats.”

“This isn’t a barn,” Jack said.

“No, but it’s shown no signs of wanting anything to do with us,” Bitty said. “We can feed it and get it water and then see what it looks like it wants to do, okay? We’re not going to force it to come home with us if it wants to be here.”

With that, Bitty trotted off down the street towards the corner store.

“Wait here,” Jack said softly to the cat. “I’ll be right back. We’ll help you.”

When he got to the counter, he ordered his black coffee and Bitty’s sugar and cream concoction, then explained about the cat in the alley.

“Can I have a bottle of water, too, and maybe something to pour it in?”

The barista handed over a shallow styrofoam dish with the water. Jack found himself tapping his food while he waited for her to make Bitty’s coffee. He hoped the cat didn’t disappear.

It was still under the dumpster when he returned, lying in the shadows, grooming its fur with its tongue.

Jack poured some water in the dish and pushed it just under the edge of the trash container before settling back on his heels a few feet away.

The cat’s ears pricked up, and it stared at Jack for a moment before creeping forward to sniff at the dish. Then its pink tongue darted out to taste the water.

Once it decided the water was safe, it started lapping, one eye fixed on Jack.

Bitty approached so quietly that Jack didn’t even notice him

The cat did, rocking back on its haunches, ready to flee.

Bitty stayed on the far side of Jack while he knelt down and opened the can of food. It looked disgusting to Jack, but when Bitty placed it next to the water, the cat came back almost immediately and started eating.

When the can was close to empty, Bitty opened a second can and set it on the ground halfway between the dumpster and Jack. The cat -- black, with white paws -- crawled out cautiously and ate a bit more.

“Hungry little thing,” Bitty said.

The cat looked up when he spoke, then went back to eating.

“What do you think, kitty?” Jack said. “Want to stay here or come home with us?”

He held a hand out and waited for the cat to come closer. When it approached, he sat stock still while it sniffed his hand, not daring to try to pet the cat until it rubbed its own head under his hand.

“I think it likes me,” Jack said.

“How could it not?” Bitty said, fingers dancing over his phone screen.

“What are you doing?” Jack said.

“There’s a vet that’s open today a few blocks away,” Bitty said. “They can check to see if there’s a microchip, and tell us about how old it is and all that.And we’re gonna need a litter box and litter, at least. Food and water dishes. Maybe if she doesn’t have a home already she’d like a cat tree. A scratching post. Toys.”

“We can’t wait for that to be delivered,” Jack objected. 

“What do you take me for?” Bitty said. “They’ll get it ready for us at the pet store and we can pick it up on the way home from the vet. Oh, a cat carrier too.”

“Bitty?” Jack said. “What if this cat does have a home?”

“Then we reunite it with its person,” Bitty said. “And we go to the shelter. Can’t let all this cat stuff go to waste, can we?”

[maevesdarling]

Take me home tonight

Sooo, I decided to post chapter 1 of the story @unicorn-cloud and I have been cooking up for a while. This plays post series in an alternative universe. There’s mentions of gore and canon typical violence in both this and the second chapter, basically Walt is not dealing with things as good as he thought... I’m not sure how many chapters this story will have, probably around 3 to 4, also please be kind to me it’s been a long time since I uploaded my works to Tumblr, thx!  

Chapter 1: The Call

Later, after he put his gun and badge down and moves further away from the border, Walt gets a call from an unknown number. He contemplates not picking up. It's been years since Kiki's death and operation Leyenda. He thinks, for a moment, that it could be Miguel Angel, calling him from his jail cell to taunt him, but no, he's not important enough to that man and besides, Miguel Angel doesn't wield as much power as he used to.

There are others. New players in this fucked up game, Walt knows that. He saw them rising on the horizon like a looming thunderstorm, ready to destroy the earth in it's path. But for now, he decided to enjoy his peace. His back's been bothering him more as of lately and he's got a few more grey hairs. He quit smoking about a year ago, after his doctor told him to do so. He's had a few setbacks since then, a half finished pack is always hidden underneath his kitchen sink, just in case he needs a fix. But overall, he's trying to stay away from the cigarettes and eat more healthy, even though the microwavable dinners at the supermarket look damn tempting, especially since it's only himself he's cooking for.

He's up in Colorado these days. The DEA was kind enough to leave him with a nice sum of retirement money, probably to shut him up after all the shit he pulled of during his career and to be fair he doesn't blame them.

He buys a nice enough house on the outskirts of town, with some additional property, a rundown barn and an old apple tree orchard that he has no plan on using. The weather's less hot, and there's a few lakes where he can fish, but otherwise, it's pretty much like any other town he's lived in. The dark red sandstones dotting the farmland remind him of Mexico. Of sitting in the hot sun and watching a small airfield in the distance, with a pair of binoculars in his hand. Sal's voice next to him asking about their next move. It's nostalgic in a way.

The first day, after he finished dropping off his stuff in the small, rundown house, he sets off to drive around, get familiar with the place. He finds a shabby bar, a small supermarket, a post office, a family owned diner and a few farms, with cows and hundreds of chickens roaming the surrounding fields, that sell local products. Over time, he ventures out further and discovers some more bars, supermarkets and, to his surprise, a gay club.

It's well hidden, two cities over, wedged between an antique bookstore and a barbershop. It looks nothing like a club from outside, and from the inside, it's hardly distinguishable from any other bar Walt has ever set foot in. But he knows where to look, it's something you learn over time.

The first time he orders a drink, his eyes fall on a guy sitting on the other end of the bar. Dark hair and dark eyes, with a bristly moustache. He's wearing a black cowboy hat and a jeans jacket, it's not what he would have worn. Plus he only looks a slight bit like Sal, his face is much older, more weathered from years of hard work in the sun, but it's enough for Walt to give in to his yearning.

He buys Not-Sal a drink and they fall into an easy chatter. Two hours later, Walt is driving him back to his house. Not-Sal is more experienced than Walt had thought when he starts undressing him with steady hands, his fingers touching in all the right places, he's already prepared, as if he'd been expecting this to happen, and doesn't mind it when Walt accidentally let's Sal's name slip at the height of his pleasure.

They lie together afterwards, sharing a cigarette between them, neither of them ready to leave yet. Walt is slowly falling asleep to the feeling of another person combing their hands through his hair. When he wakes up the next morning, the house is empty. There's a note on his kitchen table, a short thank you message, that's it. Next time he's at the club, Not-Sal is gone. He finds someone else. A different man, with dark hair, dark eyes and a friendly face, and then another and another. Some of the men he brings over are kind, they'll stay the night and sometimes even the morning, to share a quick meal with him before they move on, others leave almost immediately after they finish. Some of them yell out Walt's name as they come, others don't. And some yell out another man's name, but that's okay because so is Walt.

He's careful with the company he keeps. Always making sure that no one sees him leaving the club with another man, driving different routes back home and of course he's always stocking up on enough condoms because he's not stupid, he knows how important protection is.

Even though he's had a few men over, none of them return for longer than a couple of times. Its fun, to fill the mornings with senseless chatter, and to fall asleep in another person's arms. But they're not Sal.

He's longing for him. Even after all those years he's still longing for him. It's been three, almost four years since he last heard from Sal. He was moving to San Francisco. The DEA wanted someone new up there and Sal was growing tired of the shit hole they had placed him in after Mexico. They had called each other almost everyday, sometimes they would even meet each other, for a quick chat and an even quicker fuck. There was never enough time.

Sal wanted to call him back, he promised, once he was in San Francisco, to call him every day. Write a postcard. But nothing came. The telephone was silent for two whole months and Walt was desperate. First, he checked the newspapers for any missing or recently deceased people, when that search came up empty, he started to search the phone book for Sal's new address but of course that came up empty as well. He kept buying new phone books, just in case and by now, there was a small bookcase filled with old phone books in his house, and not a single one held an address for Sal Orozco. It was almost like he never exited. Only Walt's memory kept him from going insane. The fading photos on his wall, the one he kept in his wallet, next to a picture of Greg and his family. One of Sal's shirts he forgot in Walt's apartment in Texas, it had long stopped smelling of him, but nevertheless, Walt would pick it up and inhale deeply, thinking that the ghost of Sal's smell was still there, etched into the fabric. He slept with the shirt, on those nights when he woke up drenched in sweat, screaming and with a thundering heart. He wrenched his eyes open but he saw them anyway, Amat, Ossie, Danilo, sometimes even Kiki. He saw them die, he saw their bodies, bruised, burned, riddled with bullets, standing in front of his bed, he could hear them calling out his name. "You killed us, Walt." They'd point at him, blood dripping from their fingertips onto his bedsheets. Those nights were the worst. Sometimes they could only be stopped with an entire bottle of whiskey.

The dreams had gotten better since he found the dog. The dog didn't have a name. He was a stray, with dark, golden fur and dirty white paws. He picked him up on his way home from an unsuccessful night at the club, the dog was covered in ticks and fleas, one eye had been badly bruised and he was tied to a tree by the side of the road. Clearly abandoned. He expected the dog to bark at him, or worse, bite him, when he kneeled down beside him to untie him, but instead, it sat down in front of Walt and started wagging it's tail, as if he'd known Walt all his life. He took the dog in and gave it a bath, making sure that no ticks or fleas survived, before driving him to the vet the next morning to check out his eye. The vet couldn't save it and so Walt decided to take him in, just another broken thing keeping his company.

He put a collar on the dog and called him his, they slept in the same bed and sat on the couch together, watching football games and stupid action movies. The dog went fishing on the lake with him, even though he was no big help in catching the fish, he also liked to run around the orchard and sit on the front porch to sleep, and Walt liked to sit beside him and think, scratching behind his fluffy ears. Sometimes he wondered if Sal liked dogs. What he'd say if he met his dog.

The other animals were intentional. Walt bought a couple of chickens to sell their eggs at the local farm, and to keep himself busy. Then he renovated the old barn as best as he could and bought three goats to sell their meat, but once he saw them in their pen, he decided they weren't going to the slaughter house and kept them for their milk instead. He also fixed up the orchard as best as he could and started collecting the apples. Soon the onslaught of apples was too much for him to handle and so he collected them in a few boxes, along with the chicken eggs and sold them to the nearest farm. Surprisingly, the people around town started knowing him once he started visiting the farm more frequently. He would have regular conversations with some of them and at some point, even started looking forward to see them. He didn't go to the town hall meetings, or to Sunday mass, and the people had been weary of him, but once they saw him with his dog and the boxes of apples in his trunk, they warmed up to him.

He enjoyed his new life. It wasn't luxurious, but that wasn't what he wanted for himself anyway. He was no Miguel Angel. He didn't need a fleet of private planes and a couple of hotels to be happy.

The phone rang again and reminded him of his current situation. The dog had stopped wagging it's tail on the couch beside him and was looking at him with his one eye, almost as if he was saying "what are you waiting for?"

And so Walt picked up the phone, fully expecting Jamie or Ed or someone else from the DEA to yell at him to get his ass back to Mexico.

"Hello... is this Walt Breslin?" The phone slipped from his grasp and fell, he caught it in his suddenly sweaty palms, pressing the shell back against his ear. Three years silence could not erase the memory of that voice. Hushed conversations between them, hiding behind a parked car as they watched over a suspect, a gasp and then a low moan, while Walt kept hitting that one spot inside him, that set Sal's body on fire, a chatty conversation over two mugs of steaming coffee in a diner that ended with both of them laughing hysterically. Walt had enough memories for an entire lifetime with that voice, he would recognize it anywhere.

"Sal-" He breathed, rearranging the phone against his ear.

"Is- Walt is that you? Oh my god- fuck- I found you!" There was a short pause on the other end of the phone and for a moment Walt thought he was imagining things, then Sal's voice returned. "I- I'm sorry, Walt. I'm so sorry-" He sobbed, apologizing over and over.

"Sal- How did you find me? Wh- Are you alright? Is- do you need help?"

"No, no, I'm fine, Walt. I am. I just- fuck- I missed you so much. Where are you? I called you're old address so many times- I thought something happened to you…"

"Shh, I'm okay. I'm in Colorado. Small town near Denver. I'll give you the address… That is… If you want me to…"

"Yes! I mean... yes I want- I want to see you. If that's okay. I need to- need to know you're okay."

He contemplated with himself wether to ask this or not, but in the end, Walt did it anyways. "It's been three years, Sal. Why did you never call? What's changed?" Another sobb from the other end of the line. "I'll tell you. In person. Friday? Is that okay for you?" Walt squinted at his calendar. Friday was in two days, he needed to clean the house, buy some groceries and pack the car for Sunday's apple delivery.

"Yeah, Friday works."

"Alright. I'll see you on Friday… Walt… I missed you."

"… Missed you too Sal."

He put the phone down slowly, feeling like he was still in a dream. The dog had noticed something was off about his behavior and was staring at him in concern. " 's alright bud, I'm just… surprised, is all. We'll meet a friend of mine on Friday. I hope you'll like him…"

Lost in his thoughts, Walt began his evening routine, closing the chicken pen, checking on the goats and refilling the dogs food in case he got hungry during the night, only when the brown cibbles hit the kitchen tiles did he notice his thoughts slipping off. The only thing on his mind was Sal. Sal with his kind face and the warm, dark brown eyes, Sal wrapping an arm around his hips and pulling him closer, Sal whispering into Walt's ear. A hushed love confession neither of them dared to talk about. So, so many memories they shared between them, how was he supposed to wait any longer to see him again?

Friday couldn't come soon enough.

[sodalitefully]

Santa Slash is coming to town...

This fic is the Christmas-themed spiritual successor to my Easter Bunny AU.  Special thanks to @slashscowboyboots for supporting all my holiday nonsense! 

Four snapshots from Slash’s Christmas prep marathon through the years:

🎄🎄🎄🎄

Jingle bells.  

Fucking jingle bells.

There were FIFTEEN of them on the stupid-fucking-candy-colored costume he had to wear at this godforsaken excuse for a seasonal job.  “Earn some extra cash,” they said.  “It’s easy, you barely have to do anything,” they said.  "You'll be perfect, you already look the part!" they said.  

"They are about to find a size-ten jingle-toed bootie up their ass,” Axl said – to himself, as he rushed into the storage room turned "dressing room" and buttoned up his itchy red and green vest with one hand while sipping an Orange Julius from the food court with the other.  

“Hey, Axl! You’re barely late today, awesome!”

And then there was this weirdo.

Axl could not for the life of him explain why a shopping mall in Indiana elected to hire a skinny dude in his 20s with a dark complexion and a nose ring to portray Saint Nick himself, but whatever the reason, Axl was stuck working with this fruitcake until Christmas Day.  Sure Slash was nice enough (oh yeah, and his name was Slash, or at least that's how he introduced himself without offering any explanation or even a last name), but he was way too enthusiastic about getting paid minimum wage to let strange kids sit in his lap at a grimy old shopping mall.

Uh, not in a weird way, Slash was good with the kids, really.  But sometimes... it seemed like he was taking his role a little too seriously.  

"How come you don't have a beard?" the first customer of Axl's shift, a little girl in a Tweety bird sweater and blonde pigtails, asked suspiciously.

"That's a good question,” Slash said, scratching at his bare chin. The neck of his Motörhead Beyond the Threshold of Pain Tour T-shirt was visible over the faux fur collar of the Santa costume, and his shiny black boots clearly came from a military surplus store. “I get asked that a lot but the truth is, it just isn't a flattering look, trust me.  I tried it once, and the elves could barely look at me in the eye." To Axl’s incredulity, the girl actually accepted that answer.  "Now tell me, what would you like for Christmas this year, sweetheart?"

As usual, Axl tuned out at this point.  Fake a smile for the overprotective parents, take the painfully awkward commemorative photograph, try not to look like he would rather die than hear Slash try to gently explain that Santa will probably not be delivering a pony this year one more damn time, rinse and repeat – until about an hour later, when the unthinkable happened.

The less said about about the incident, the better.  Suffice to say, one of the darling angels tossed his Christmas cookies, and some of the resulting mess wound up soaking into the front of Axl’s elf costume.  As if he needed another reason to hate his job; this was just adding insult on top of injury (that is, the injury to Axl’s pride as a result of being forced to wear the most ridiculous-looking costume he’s ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on). 

“That’s it. I quit.”  He grabbed the elf cap off his head and slammed it on the ground, then stormed through the exit gate past the sign wishing customers a "Holly Jolly Holiday Season," the bells on his costume ringing merrily as he stomped his feet.

“Hey, wait!”

“No,” Axl growled, but he did turn around to look back at Slash, still sitting in the plastic candy-cane throne unbothered by the mess or the sniffling child now mostly placated by a peppermint candy.  "What."  

Slash offered him a bright, beguiling smile.

"What do you want for Christmas, Axl?" 

-----

Nothing said "holiday cheer" like wandering the tinsel-adorned labyrinth that was a Walmart superstore a week before Christmas, with Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime" echoing through the tinny PA system and surrounded by other last-minute vultures hopelessly scavenging the picked-over aisles.  

In Izzy's defense, he actually finished all his shopping early this year, for once.  But then his two little brothers begged him to drive them around town to find the perfect gift for a girl at school that they apparently both had a crush on, and like a fool he agreed. 

He was regretting it now.  Anything would be better than subjecting himself to nearly an hour of top-40 Christmas music.  The jingle bells were jingling, the carolers were caroling, the B-list pop stars were spitting out god-awful covers of Christmas classics, and don’t even get him started on the commercials. 

He wasn't about to walk around in public with his fingers shoved in his ears (at least, he wasn't that desperate yet), but he did squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to force himself to relax.  Just take deep breaths and think of The Rolling Stones... 

"Hey, uh, you doing okay?"

Izzy opened his eyes reluctantly.  In front of him was a young man wearing a concerned expression and a Santa hat, stuffed onto a massive pile of dark curls.  

"I'm fine.  Just finding out if it's possible to die from overexposure to Christmas music."

"Ahhh."  The man nodded in understanding.  "It's not, unfortunately.  I've tested it, trust me."

"Do you work here or something?" Izzy asked.  A leather jacket and ripped jeans didn't look like an employee uniform, but his hat matched the store decor and he didn't have a cart or shopping basket.  

"No, I'm actually a seasonal distributor.  Just checking in to make sure everything's in place before that last holiday rush, you know? Shit always gets crazy at the last minute."

"Tell me about it," Izzy responded, as if he knew a thing about marketing as a cynical 16-year-old.  But he had first-hand experience with last-minute crises, and as if to prove it, his brothers came running up to him at that moment.

"Jeff!  We can't find anything good, what should we do?"

"What's the problem?" the stranger in a Santa hat asked, looking genuinely concerned.  

"We don't know what present to get for a girl at school," the boys explained.

"Hmm..." He tapped at his chin.  "Why don't you just – oh wait, you're underage.  Well, how about you bake her some cookies or something?  That's what everyone does for me and I have no complaints."

Desperate to remove himself from this musical hell, Izzy jumped on the idea.  "Yeah, you could do sugar cookies!  And decorate them like horses, she likes horses right?” The boys had only mentioned that a dozen times; Izzy was starting to wonder if this girl even had any other personality traits.  

To his relief, a spark lit up in his brothers' eyes.  Cookies were a perfect idea, and suddenly they were dragging him away to look at cookie cutters and sprinkles.

Izzy turned around to shoot the helpful stranger a grateful look, but when he looked back, the man had disappeared with no trace, leaving not even a furry white pompom behind.

-----

Slash glanced out the window and grimaced – it was cold as a witch’s big bouncy tit outside, nothing but snow and ice as far as the eye could see. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and took another swig of hot Irish coffee.   Damn the North Pole, there was a reason he took his summer vacations in Malibu.

But despite the miserable work conditions, Slash was nothing if not dedicated to his job.  In front of him was a sack overflowing not with toys but with the most recent letters to Santa, straight from the North Pole's post office.  With Christmas only a few days away, his daunting task was to go through the whole mountain of letters as quickly as possibly in order to take their special requests into consideration before it was time to start loading up the sleigh.  

Well, there was no time like the present to get started.  Slash stretched his back and got comfortable in his coziest armchair (by throwing his legs over one armrest and slouching until his head rested on the other), absentmindedly tapping the end of his peppermint stick on the edge of an ashtray.  He grimaced when he brought the stick back to his lips and realized his mistake. 

With a sigh, he dropped the peppermint stick back in the ashtray already full of cigarette butts and ruined candies, and unfolded the first letter.  In barely legible green marker, the message read: 

Dear Santa Claus,

My name is Steven and I'm 5 years old.  Please give me a skateboard for Christmas.  My brother has one and he won't let me borrow it to learn tricks.

Hmmm.  Five years old was a little young for a skateboard.  Knowing Steven, he'd probably knock his teeth out by New Year's...

...Slash shrugged.  Why not?  All things considered, he would have killed for a skateboard when he was five, so who was he to say no?

-----

Duff was seven years old when his older brothers cornered him in the backyard and gleefully informed him that Santa Claus was a fraud.  It was all a lie made up by parents to convince their children to behave during the year, they explained, and the toys were made on factory lines not by magical elves.  Their mother gave them a hell of a scolding afterwards but it was too late, the deed could not be undone. 

He tried to play it cool, but the truth was, Duff was very distraught as Christmas Eve inched closer.  Could his siblings be right?  He didn't want to believe it, but if he was being honest with himself, he'd suspected as much for some time.  He braced himself to accept the hard truth come Christmas Eve – but only if he was presented with definitive proof.

When the fateful night finally came, Duff and two of his brothers laid out their sleeping bags behind the couch, where they'd be hidden from view if anyone tried to approach the Christmas tree.  They all swore not to fall asleep, not even for a second until Christmas morning... And it wasn't until his brother started snoring that Duff realized he was the only one still awake and silently anticipating the moment of truth.  

It was imperative, of course, that he stayed hidden and didn't make a sound, or else risk giving their plot away.  But... it was past midnight, dinner was hours ago and Duff's empty stomach was starting to distract him from the task at hand.  He couldn't stop thinking about all the food he would get to eat with his family on Christmas Day: the glazed ham, mashed potatoes, apple pie and Christmas cookies... 

In the dim light, Duff could just barely make out the plate of cookies for Santa, waiting in front of the tree.  The cookies were still there untouched, all six of them... Surely no one would notice if Duff ate just one?  

He tiptoed over his sleeping siblings, as silent as the snow falling outside, making his way around the sofa to the plate on the coffee table.  But just as he reached out to pluck a gingerbread man from the assortment, he saw a shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye.  There, beside the Christmas tree in the flickering glow of multicolored string lights, was a mysterious figure in a fur-lined coat and a red cap.

Duff stared at the intruder, slack-jawed.  The cookie clattered back onto the dish, and at the noise the stranger whirled around to face him. 

"Duff!  What are you doing still awake?" he demanded.  Duff took a breath to answer – or more likely to ask how the man knew his name – but before he could, the man peered over the couch, narrowed his eyes and frowned.  "Oh I see what this is. You thought you would catch your parents pretending to be me!" he accused.  "Well, here's the real truth: adults are always wrong and you should never do what they say!" 

The man – could he really be Santa Claus? – he planted his leather-gloved hands on his hips as he scolded Duff.  "And don't even get me started on teenagers..." he griped, casting a stare over Duff's shoulder where his older brother's leg was sticking out from behind the couch, tangled in a blanket.  

Tears started to well up in Duff's eyes.

"Please still give them Christmas presents!  I know they said they don't believe in you, but they've been good, I promise!" he begged.  Santa's expression softened.

"Aw, I know, kid.  I promise they'll still get their presents, alright?  Let me just finish up here and then maybe you can help me out with those cookies, sound good?"

Placated, Duff sniffled and nodded, scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. He hopped onto the sofa, swinging his feet and watching with awe as Santa pulled beautifully wrapped gifts out of seemingly nowhere and stacked them around the tree, one after another until all eight of the McKagan children were represented. He took a step back to take in his handiwork, made a few minor adjustments, then turned back to Duff: “Voila! That’s the magic of Christmas. Now pass me that plate, would you?”

Santa sat down next to Duff and propped his boots up on the coffee table. When Duff held out the plate of cookies, he selected one decorated to look like Santa Claus, white beard and all, and promptly bit its head off. 

“I love my job, but delivering presents is exhausting,” he sighed, accepting a glass of milk from Duff’s outstretched hand. “I’ve already covered Asia, Africa, Europe, and most of the Americas, so I’d say I’m due for a break.  Cheers, Duff.” He held up his glass and Duff tapped it with his half-eaten cookie. 

“To a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!”

🎄🎄🎄🎄

[razorblade180]

Rumble

It was just another day in Vacou. Hot temperatures, clear skies, and Carmine getting into trouble. Ruby paced around her home on the phone with the girl’s teacher. The fifteen year old wasn’t where she was supposed to be. “What do you mean she hasn’t showed up for class again? Is she in the school at all?” Ruby tapped her foot like a rabbit. She loved her daughter but the amount of anxiety caused whenever Carmine went off somewhere alone was a thing Ruby would never shake. She didn’t need another Dustin. Nobody needed another Dustin. Though at this point, Carmine wouldn’t have the luxury that child was given. She would no doubt be dead. The thought made Ruby hang up the phone and dial Sun’s number.

“Yellow?” The cheeky man answered. “Carmine wouldn’t be with you by any chance? She’s not at school. I’m about to start looking around town.” She heard a bit of rummaging over the phone. The man was climbing a tree to get a vantage point of his surroundings. “Haven’t seen her, but you know Carmine. She’s probably sticking her nose into some crime to stop it. The police authorizing her to do citizens arrest and intervene with organized crime was probably the most chaotic decision.”

Ruby walked up stairs to peek in on Jaune putting Garnet down for a nap. “I’m heading out.” Jaune gave a thumbs up. “Godspeed.” Ruby gave him a kiss then dashed out the house. “Do you mind helping me out Sun? Vacou has too many nooks and crannies.”

“I think I have a better idea. Aero could speed things along.” Ruby’s face went through varying emotions. “Why isn’t he in school?” She asked. “He kept complaining about it. This gives me an excuse to put him to work though. The two of you together can cover Vacou in now time.” That was true. Vacou didn’t feel so big with help like his. “Can you put him on the phone?”

Sun looked around for his son. It was no surprise to see him on the roof. He was fortunately dressed already. The typical black combat boots with khaki cargo pants that had purplish sash around the waist that matched his shirt. His short brown hair was slicked back and he put on his black windbreaker. He turned his head to see Sun trying to get his attention.

“Yo! Ruby wants to talk to you, bird brain” Sun blinked and Aero was already hovering over him. His massive black and white condor wings spread out. Aero took the phone. “Let me guess,Carmine?” This wasn’t the first time he had to find the girl. Ruby sighed, “you guessed right. Do you know why she isn’t at school?” He had to think about it for a moment, then he had a pretty good idea why. “I could be wrong but there’s been talk about this back alley gang that’s been harassing students. Money, catcalling, forcing people to join, making those people get more people; the typical shtick. Carmine would definitely know about it.”

Great, Carmine was definitely doing something about that. Ruby picked up the pace. Gangs aren’t the worst thing to be dealing with. Vacou spawns Them constantly, but there are a few that are way too big and will take more than her. Carmine was good, but not untouchable. “Aero can you help me look for her and let me know what you find? I know you two are pretty fickle with each other but…”

“I’ll keep you posted. Not like I could refuse anyways.” He grunted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to make you all the pasta you can eat.” Ruby said as she hung up. Aero gave Sun back his phone. “I’m going to borrow your arm bracers. Back alley brawl, you know those go.” Sun gave him a nod and gave him the ones he already had on.They weren’t what he used to but these bracers were the best quality. “Your mother is going to kill you if you lose.” Aero chuckled nervously. Truer words had never been spoken. He gave his wings a good flap and shot off towards the rest of town. The wind from his take off nearly knocked Sun over. “I hope he finds her in high spirits.”

xxxx

“FOR THE LOVE OF GODS! SHE’S ONE GIRL!” Shouted a man with a greasy mullet, aviators, and a cobras tattoo on his arm. He had just watched another one of his men get their face punched into a brick wall by Carmine. “WHY IS SHE STILL STANDING!?”

A man grabbed Carmine from behind to restrain her while another ran at her from the front with a knife. Carmine kicked out with both legs to hit his chin, then flung her weight forward to flip her captor forward; landing on top of him. “Fight me yourself if you think I’m easy to beat, you rock band reject.” She looked around at the dozen upon dozens of brutes that laid on the ground, writhing in pain. “Clearly your men need help. More came rushing in from back alley doors and fire escapes. The quality of the people weren’t too bad. It was the quantity that was a pain in the ass. Carmine had to admit she came here unprepared and unexpectedly; on uniform day no less. Her clothes were soiled with dirt and blood. Some of it being her own.

A slow stream of it ran down her face and over her left eye while her left forearm was an unhealthy mix of red and purple from blocking pipes. Even her face was a bit bruised and bloodied by scratches. Carmine was confident she looked like a complete badass right now. It was the only pro in this situation that kept the pain in check. That and adrenaline. A schoolmate cowarded behind a city dumpster where Carmine ordered the boy to stay. He had been targeted by the gang and came to school scared out of his mind. He also was a little beat up. “You okay back there?”

“No!” He shouted. He poked out from his hiding spot. “Why’d I let you talk me into taking you here!? We’re gonna die!” Carmine could understand that mentality, but why her classmate had it after all the bodies she’s knocked to the ground was beyond her. Her appearance had to be the reason why. Carmine kept up the assault, roundhouse kicking two more guys and uppercutting some chick with green hair. Another girl came running at her with a knife aimed for her face. Carmine back stepped then grabbed the wrist of the opponent, flinging her into three more people. Carmine ran at the leader but was hit in the back with a bat and stumbled into another brute that gave her a meaty left hook she couldn’t see coming. Her body hit a brick wall. Having her weapons would be nice right now was all she could think about.

The one with the bat went in for another swing to the head. Carmine grit her teeth and blocked it with her already broken arm. “This will do.” She yanked him forward and head butted the weapon out of his hand. The bat was lighter than what she used to. Carmine kicked off the wall and swung it across the other brutes face, knocking him out cold. More came rushing in to dog pile her but Carmine was too quick. She weaved in between the bodies and had their ribs become acquainted with her new weapon. “I have to be honest with y’all, getting really close to just beating you within an inch of your life.” The threat was all too real and they could tell.

Some of them started approaching slower and with far more caution. They’d be damn if some kid was about to win. Their boss wouldn’t allow running away anyways. Carmine growled, getting annoyed by the herd mentality of weaklings. “If you know what’s best then stop hanging around schools and dealing to children if you know what’s good for you.” She vanished from their line of sight before appearing several feet closer with six more gang members face down on the ground. “Or we can keep roughing it? Either way works for me.” Carmine was really hoping to catch her breath. Her limbs felt heavy.

They kept advancing, step by step. The hard way it is. She felt bad for them really. From the moment Carmine entered the alleyway, they forfeited their right to leave quietly. She only gave them an out so they couldn’t say she didn’t. A twinge of excitement and anger crept onto her face in the form of a smile. Her red eyes shimmered eagerly. “Bring it on, fools.”

“Well look at that, a face of a predator in her element. You’re a real freak show, you know that?” Called Aero from above. Everyone looked up to the man with his phone out. He zoomed in on Carmine and took a picture for Ruby. “Your mom is searching for you. She’ll flip seeing you like this.” He already got a message from Ruby saying she was five minutes away. “Who the hell are you!” Cried the leader.

Carmine grimaced. “Aero…” she looked to her right to see the boy next to her while the others took a minute to notice he wasn’t in the sky anymore, gasping when they finally did. “I don’t need you here. I got this covered.” Aero looked Carmine up and down. “You look like shit. That’s not new though, but I’m here as a favor l. You may not need my help but that kid over there is the reason this is happening right? He looks like he’ll take all the help he can get.”

“I would!” He shouted. Carmine rolled her eyes and approached the group of gang members, her bat twirling in her hand. “Handle the small fry while I teach their leader a thing or two. If you think you can handle it.” A grunt ran at Carmine but was met with a wing slap across the face that sent them to the ground. Aero smiled and dashed towards another grunt, striking their face hard enough to break their nose and push a few more back. The leader got a good look at the young man. His heart sank when he realized both of these troublesome kids had a colored sash. The girl’s scarf and the fabric on the boy’s waist. To make it worse, the gray eyes and majestic wings. Started looking familiar. “You...live on the outskirts, to the north, right?”

Aero cracked his knuckles. “Oh, so you know who I am? Then you know today is the day your gang gets run into the ground. Don’t feel too bad though. Losing to a rival group is the natural order of things. Carmine, we have four minutes before your mom steals the show.” Carmine did nothing but rush past him with her bat at the ready. Words waste time after all. It was time for a beat down.

xxxx

Ruby darted around the tight corners of shabby buildings that hid all kinds of secrets. That photo really sent her into a panic. Being battered and bruised was nothing new to see. That was the sad part. Why couldn’t she go school for a full day for once! Ruby didn’t even care that Carmine was a C student. Yes her grade in math needed to go up next quarter and literature class may need work. But Ruby wasn’t going to hassle her about it! She just wanted her safe. “Carmine! Where are you!?” The area was dead quiet to the point it was unnerving. Ruby turned one more corner. “CARMINE?!”

“Hmm?” The girl heard her mother and turned around. There she stood, teary eyed and out of breath. All while Carmine sat on a pile knocked out goons. Her scarf pressed against her head to stop the bleeding. She bit her lip, feeling a little guilty now that she sees the worried look on her mom. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Just don’t hug me tight. My ribs took a beating, also my arm. Good chance I’m also concussed-” Ruby gently wrapped her arms around her.

“I’ll yell at you later. Just do me a favor and tell me the crazy shit you’ll do?” Carmine turned flushed and hugged her mother back. “You’re lucky everyone is knocked out. It would be embarrassing for common thugs to see this. Would you believe me if I said I had full intention on going to school. Then that guy over by the dump walked by all frazzled, hassling people out of fear. Protecting peers is part of being a good student, right?”

Ruby looked at the boy. Aero was helping him up. She didn’t know how many people he had to fight. There wasn’t a scratch on him but the bracers were riddled with fresh blood. He didn’t even look tired. Typical Aero, he’s a wild one. Forget silver eyes. That silver tongue and calm attitude was all the weapons he needed. It was still sweet of him to lend a helping hand. Ruby didn’t even have to pay him this time! Perhaps his parents got on him about such a thing. “I’m going to drop this guy off at school. I’d stick around but you know, fuck that noise. You can deal with paperwork work and authorities. I want that pasta with meat sauce by the way. Later Mrs Rose, Little Flower” He said to Carmine. He spread his wings and took off.

Carmine scowled at that nickname. “I can’t believe you sent him after me. Of all the people.” Ruby chuckled lightly, he’s the only one in all of Remnant who might completely enjoy your chaos.” Ruby had a point. For all the years they’ve known each other, Aero seemed to invite controversy. It was incredibly irritating. Why couldn’t he thrive off a peace like a normal person? “Wait, you promised him pasta?”

“Yep, your punishment is helping me cook for him.” Carmine looked at her arm. “Uh...one handed? Even with dad’s help I am going to need a cast.” Ruby shook her head. “Extreme choices require extreme punishments! Do your best!” The enthusiasm didn’t match just how cruel that statement was. Carmine held her head down and sighed, “Fine…he better like it, or I’ll stab him.” Ruby frowned. “This is why your friend bubble is as tiny as a soap sud.” Carmine’s jaw dropped. “Hey!”

xxxx

Carmine sat on the couch covered in bandages while Jaune wrapped her broken arm for the second time. Aero sat at their table comfortably eating pasta and tried to stop himself from choking out of laughter. “Amazing on the battlefield, stumbles in the kitchen. Oh the pitfalls of Carmine Arc-Rose never stop being entertaining.

“I will beat you with my ca-aaah!” Carmine winced. Jaune wasn’t pleased. “You’re pulling your stitches!” The three of them kept going back and forth while Ruby fed Garnet along with Sun and Ilia. “Why are they like this?” They all said silently as they ate. At least they had a reason to eat together. All in all, a pretty good day.

[queerpyracy]

I hope it's ok to ask your farmer expertise for writing purposes? if a farm was abandoned for c. 2 weeks, with no one to care for the animals, how would the ones you are familiar / have experience with fare -- starve, break out of barns/enclosures, etc? I'll drop dollar in your ko-fi if u answer thx

i'm gonna put this under a cut both bc it's long and bc some of the content might be upsetting, general content warning for animal death and injury

so, what kind of farm infrastructure you have/how it was left is going to matter here

animals with outdoor access are going to have a much easier time getting out than those closed up in a barn, though if they are closed up they'll push on anything they can get to move and doors can come off tracks/hinges, a big enough and desperate enough animal will break a chain on a gate or break a latch on a door. (bulls, especially, are great for fucking up gates for less desperate reasons than thirst. we had a mature bull jump over a gate for horny reasons, and there is now a permanent bend in the top bar.) sometimes they even lift gates off their hinges, which isn’t a perfect way to get out bc cows don’t like walking over that kind of stuff but they will if they have to.

chickens aren't great fliers but they can get over fences pretty easy if there's not a roof in the way, so if they're penned but not in a coop, they'll get out to look for food and water. they'll have the easiest time food-wise (unless it's winter) but will also be the easiest for smaller predators (hawks, raccoons, foxes, skunks, coyotes, etc) to pick off. this'll depend on whether or not your hypothetical farm was abandoned during the day with chickens outside or at night when they were shut up in the coop for protection, in which case, unless your birds have access to two weeks worth of water, they're fucked. mine made it about 8 days on the water provided them when we had to evacuate because of wildfires, but they were topped off knowing we might not be able to get back to them and given extra water because of it. we're talking a 2 gallon covered water can + a coffee can for seven hens, it wasn't too hot, and they were almost dry when i was able to come home.

chickens might be able to make it without food for two weeks, but they might also start cannibalizing each other. this would probably start with a bird at the bottom of the pecking order getting injured and then the situation escalating from there. (this, by the way, doesn't happen unless chickens are under a lot of stress. like chickens are fucked up but i feel the need to be clear that this is not Normal chicken behavior. they will give each other minor injuries but cannibalism happens bc of extreme stress.) chickens will also kill small snakes and rodents.

chickens that are outside without being able to get back in their coop will find a tree or other elevated place to roost at night. chickens that are outside with access to their coop might choose to roost in their coop or outside. laying birds will also start to pick fun new secret places to lay their eggs, under bushes and such. even fed chickens will sometimes eat their own eggs, hungry chickens are absolutely likely to become routine egg eaters. extremely hungry chickens will stop laying.

roosters might be able to fend off skunks and raccoons, but hawks drop out of the sky* and anything much larger than a raccoon is going to devestate an unprotected flock. chickens that are outside in winter and can't get out of the cold are going to be vulnerable to frostbite, particularly their toes and combs. also: if a chicken gets wet down to its skin there is a very high likelihood it will get sick and die.

*hawks will kill a chicken but chickens are also generally too large for them to carry off, so they’ll leave most of the chicken where they found it.

a note on predators in general: you'll have to decide how aggressive they were before the humans were no longer around. where i am, the coyotes are pretty good about keeping their distance, but that's not true of every place, and if they were already a problem, they'll definitely increase their hunting in the absence of humans to keep them at bay. larger animals like cows and horses might be able to drive off or kill a coyote/dog or a small bear, but if they're contending with mountain lions that'll be more of a problem for them. not impossible to drive off/kill, but much more likely to successfully kill livestock.

i don't have much experience with sheep but a problematic dog can kill tons of them in a relatively short time so you can extrapolate from there. i can't think of anyway people tend to keep rabbits that wouldn't leave them dying of dehydration after a few days, unless they manage to pop a latch on their cage/hutch, but they too are going to be extremely vulnerable to predation, being small, unaccustomed to wild conditions, and possibly a highly visible color. domestic rabbits also can die of fright very easily. (my sister's rabbit, who survived a cow sitting on her cage and lived many years after, is an outlier and should not be counted.)

what kind of fencing you have is going to matter: cows don't give much of a shit about barbed wire fences even when they aren't thirsty and hungry, so that won't be much of a problem for them either. if the fence is old, they might push over a rotting post and get out that way. downed wires (barbed or otherwise) might result in an animal getting tangled up--they might be stuck or they might have a horrible ankle bracelet which will cut into them and get infected. they might break the wire from the fence, have a horrible ankle bracelet, and get stuck/tie up their back legs somewhere else.

electric fences are going to be a bit more problematic unless the power is down. cows (and i assume most other livestock) will go through an electric fence if the voltage is compromised in some way, which can happen just from having tall grass/weeds that get wet and short out the fence. if an animal gets tangled up in a hot electric fence and there's no one there to free it, then it's fucked. an electric fence isn't going to be hot enough to kill it fast, is the problem, just enough to make it harder to escape. (i had a rather frightening experience this last summer with a heifer getting her back legs tangled in a temporary wire. she's fine but she wouldn't have gotten out without my help and her legs didn't work for a couple of minutes, and she seemed kind of Off for weeks after that. you wouldn't know anything had happened to her, now.)

wire mesh fences are going to be the hardest to get out of. cow/hog panel fences can be busted where they're tied together/stapled to a post (especially, again, if the fence is old and the posts are decaying.) wooden fences they will just knock over or break through. hedges will be eaten and used for shelter. if for some reason this farm has stone walls that could be a problem for everything except maybe goats and chickens.

goats are escape artists anyway, as long as their horns to get stuck in anything/their feet don't get tangled up, they'll be out and roaming. they are smaller and thus more vulnerable to predators than larger livestock.

access to water is going to be the primary motivator in the short term and the thing that will kill shut-in animals the fastest, as for whether or not anything that manages to get outside will starve in two weeks time, that's going to depend on the season and place. the middle of winter in a place with snow and ice is going to be very hard, obviously, but if we're anywhere between spring and autumn and there is food to be had somewhere, then hungry animals will try to get to it. if they can't get out of fences, hunger might drive them to eat toxic plants they ordinarily avoid. how deadly that is to them depends on how toxic it is, how much is available for them to eat, and how big the animal is. a large cow can probably survive a few stems of tansy ragwort but not a field. (sheep, weirdly enough, can apparently eat young tansy ragwort plants without issue? again, not much experience with sheep but this fact has haunted me since i read it. tansy ragwort causes liver damage in almost everything but sheep, which die at the drop of a hat, Fine, I Guess.)

they'll also start chewing on things that aren't toxic but they might avoid for other reasons, like risking scratching up their nose by eating blackberry leaves, or lower branches of conifer trees. any branches of deciduous trees they can reach, if in leaf, will be one of the first things they go after. if they're regularly pastured under these trees, they'll already have pruned up the bottom branches to however high the tallest animal can reach. if it's autumn or after and there are apples or other fruit on the ground they'll absolutely clean those up, no matter how old--tho after two weeks anyone who finds the place will probably have missed the period of time in which there were drunk livestock. goats will also strip bark off trees, girdling and ultimately killing the tree.

if they can get out of fences they'll wander however far they need to go to find more food. how lucky they are again depends on the season and location. steep hills will provide more danger, especially if it's wet and slick. how regularly they return to the farm itself probably depends on where the water is and if there's better shelter there than anywhere else. (depending on how isolated your hypothetical farm is, wandering livestock might be the indicator that something is Wrong.)

if there are stores of grain laying around that ruminant livestock get into and gorge themselves on, they could get bloat and die that way. they'll also eat bedding straw if hungry, which isn't really nutritious, as long as it isn't covered in urine or feces. in a mixed species group of animals they're more likely to graze closer to/around the feces of other species than in their own. don't ask me why this is just something i've observed.

under severe stress like dehydration or hunger a lactating animal will dry up, which could have consequences for their offspring. if they're old enough to eat solid foods this isn't necessarily lethal, but could stunt their growth in the long term, or leave them more vulnerable to hypothermia bc of the decrease in calories.

some bullet points bc this is A Lot:

animals that are closed up in a barn/coop/etc are at a much higher risk of dying in under a two week time span than animals that aren't

thirst and lack of shelter will kill them faster than hunger

winter is going to in general be the most dangerous season for them to go two weeks without care

most livestock find ways to escape their holdings even when they aren't desperate

small and very young animals are going to in general be more vulnerable to weather and predation

that's about all i can think of off the top of my head, if you have any more questions i'm happy to help.

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 8

Buster woke the following morning feeling like hell. His nostrils were so stuffy he could barely breathe out of them, his nose was on fire, and his mouth still tasted like blood even though he’d brushed his teeth twice before bed. He stumbled to the bathroom to look at the damage. Two small purple bruises underscored his eyes and the bridge of his nose was swollen to twice its size. His appearance confirmed that canceling filming had been the right decision. He swallowed some aspirin, cleaned his teeth again, and took a shower, letting the steam open his clogged sinuses. 

The aspirin barely touched the pain. He toweled off and pulled on a dressing gown, then poured himself a breakfast whiskey to go with the steak and eggs he ordered. Once he’d eaten, he called Nate. To his relief, he was patched over to her line; she hadn’t left for Sunday brunch at Dutch’s yet. 

“Hello?” she said.

“Hi, how are you?” he said.

She told him that she was well. 

He said, “I broke my nose in the game last night.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. How?”

He explained the eighth-inning fastball to the face. “But we won the game. 9 to 6.”

“Did you?” she said. “That’s too bad about your nose though. I’m sorry, darling.”

She sounded suitably sympathetic, but he craved more. He wanted the soothing, the I’ll-be-right-there, the kissing and canoodling. 

“How are the boys?” he said.

“The usual,” she said. “Full of the devil.”

“Good,” he said. “I won’t be filming for a few days because of my nose. You should really consider bringing them up. They’d love the steamboats and I’d like you to see the set. They say the shopping is good in Yolo, too.”

“Oh Buster,” she said, her tone telling him the answer was already a big fat no. “You know I’d love to, but six hours on a train is too much for them, don’t you think? I know you’re disappointed, but we must think of what’s best for them. And wouldn’t they be in your way? I’d have to bring Connie to mind them, and I think four is getting to be a crowd. I don’t suppose your suite would hold another four, would it?”

“Nate, you don’t have to bring the governess. I think you’re perfectly capable of managing them for a few days, don’t you? We can get a second suite or even a third, if that’s what has you concerned.”

“I’m flattered by your faith in me,” she said with a little laugh, “but you’ve never traveled with three- and five-year-old boys! I know I’m letting you down, but it’s only another month, isn’t it? Five weeks tops? That’s really not so bad when you think of it.”

“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” he said, echoing her hollowly.

“I miss you dreadfully,” she assured him, before launching into a story about the picture Dutch was filming and the party she intended to throw with her sisters at the Villa next weekend. He listened with only half an ear. He wasn’t surprised about her answer to his proposal, but he still felt lousy.

Since Bobby had been born and Nate had booted him out of the bed, he’d accepted that his needs would have to be satisfied by other women. He knew that Nate hated him for it, even though he’d stuck to his original promise and been the soul of discretion. In spite of her rejection, he still desired her and wanted to win her back, but the most she would ever permit was necking and light petting. If he so much as thought about taking things further, she’d squirm out of his grasp. He just didn’t understand, even three years since he’d last made love to her, why he couldn’t have both a wife and the rights that other husbands were entitled to. He’d gone over it in his head a thousand times. Was he a bad lover? Was it her upbringing? Peg’s sermonizing? Her religion? Could she be a lesbian? He didn’t know and God forbid he even try to broach the topic. She’d give him such a withering look before she stalked out of the room that he felt like he ought to be thrown in jail on charges of sex depravity for even mentioning the idea. 

Divorce was out of the question, naturally. There were relationships to preserve: the one with Joe for starters and those with his famous sisters-in-law. He didn’t trust that Nate wouldn’t try to keep the boys from him, either, if he tried to end it. He could just hear her saying to some attorney, ‘Well, he doesn’t see them much anyway.’ In the meantime, all the saphead could do was to keep trying vainly to find that opening in his wife’s affections. Casting her as his leading lady hadn’t worked. Building her a little love-nest, then a great big love-nest, hadn’t worked. He’d recently decided that maybe a real honeymoon instead of the post-nuptial cross-country train trip that had masqueraded as one might work on her. He figured deep down it wouldn’t change her mind, but still he had his foolish hopes. 

When Natalie was done prating, he told her he had to get ready for lunch with Joe and said his goodbyes. There wasn’t any such lunch, but he no longer wanted to talk. 

He ended up spending the afternoon at the new zoo, disguised by a fake moustache, a tweed cap, and jumper vest that constricted him in heat on what was already a sweltering day. It worked, though. No one looked twice at him. The zoo was a disappointment. To begin with, it was extraordinarily tiny, but more importantly most of the animals featured—deer, wild turkey, raccoons—could be seen if you just sat in a Muskegon tree long enough. The most exotic offering consisted of some listless-looking monkeys in cages. A pack of adolescent boys thumped on their wire enclosures and screeched at them to perform. “Pick on someone your own size!” he yelled at them, and they scattered. The monkeys blinked back at him, not seeming to care one way or the other. 

He did have dinner with Joe that night at the Italian Restaurant in the Julius Hotel. As Buster tucked into his truffle tagliatelle, Joe dropped the bomb. 

“We can’t have the flood sequence.”

Buster laughed. “It sounded like you just said ‘We can’t have the flood sequence,’ Joe, but I don’t think I heard you right,” he said, and took a bite of tagliatelle. “Good one, though.”

“I’m not kidding. Think about how it’ll look. You’ve got a river that’s supposed to be the Mississippi—”

“Sacrasippi,” Buster said, lifting his eyebrows.

“Cut it out,” said Joe, frowning. “I’m trying to be serious. You’ve got a river that’s supposed to be the Mississippi and it’s supposed to flood. Well, you know as well as I do that hundreds of people just lost their lives in the Mississippi floods.”

“Since when do you care?” said Buster. If there was one thing he’d always liked about Joe, it was that he let him alone and let him make the pictures his own way. Something about this smelled fishy.

“It’s in poor taste. It’s not going to get laughs, it’s just going to bring bad publicity. I don’t want it to flop. There’s too much money in it.”

Buster set down his fork. Two words had stuck out: publicity and money. “This is Harry, isn’t it?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

Joe gave a slight wave of his hand, dismissing the comment. “Now don’t go blaming Harry. I happen to agree with him. It would be a risky thing, and God knows what it would cost to pull it off anyway.”

“Well that god damn bean-counter,” said Buster, anger flaring. “We’ve already got everything set up for a flood! The entire god damn picture is about a flood. That’s the entire point!” Joe looked at him with a firm expression. “I’ve made up my mind. We can’t do a flood.”

“Well, we may as well can the whole picture then,” Buster said. “All my best gags are built around the flood. I can’t just start from scratch.”

“Look,” said Joe, continuing to eat his own meal. “We’re talking about lost lives here. You can see that, can’t you?”

“Horseshit,” said Buster. “Remember Chaplin’s picture Shoulder Arms? The ink wasn’t even dry on the Armistice when he released that. I remember ‘cause it was the first thing I saw after I got back from France. Everyone loved it. No one was thinking about how many soldiers had just gotten their heads and legs blown off in the war, they just knew a funny picture when they saw one.” He clenched his left fist in his lap. 

“Why not try another disaster?” Joe said.

“Like what?” he said. He stabbed at the pasta with his fork and took a bite without pleasure.

“I’m not the brains here.”

“What, like a cyclone? Joe, I bet you tornadoes and hurricanes kill more people each year than floods. Sure we wouldn’t get bad reviews and angry letters from folks whose families have been killed by tornadoes?”

Joe waved his hand again. “A cyclone sounds just fine. Anything that’s not a flood, you can do.”

It stunk to high heaven as far as Buster was concerned, but he knew Joe well enough to see when he’d made up his mind. He finished his tagliatelle in silence and didn’t even pretend he was willing to pick up the tab when Joe went to pay. He took a taxi back to the Senator and went to bed early, tossing between the sheets and stewing about his lost flood. There were butter cookies in the brown paper sack making dark greasy spots on its sides. Nelly stood outside Buster’s dressing room, her heart racing with the memory of what had happened last time she’d stepped inside it. Before she lost her nerve, she tapped on the door. 

“Come in!” called Buster. 

She slipped through and closed the door. He was sitting at his table again, not in costume today but wearing dark slacks and a long-sleeved blue jacquard shirt with faint stripes.

“Hi, it’s Nelly,” she said, by way of greeting. 

“I haven’t forgotten your name,” said Buster, one corner of his mouth quirking. “What do you have there?”

She stepped a few feet forward and extended the bag. “I made you cookies.”

He looked from the bag to her as he took it, surprised. “What did I do to deserve such an honor?”

“I heard you broke your nose,” she said. Indeed, she could see up close that his nose was swollen near the top and there were small faded bruises beneath his eyes, not noticeable unless you were next to him.

“So you baked me cookies.” He peeked inside. 

“Yes. I wanted to thank you, too,” she said, feeling the full ridiculousness of her gesture. “For taking care of me last Friday night.”

“No one’s ever made me get-well cookies before, not even my own mother. I’d just get cod-liver oil, even for sprains.” He sounded pleased.

“How’s your nose?” she said, as he bit into a cookie. 

“Hurts like the dickens,” he said, chewing. “I’m hoping the swelling will go down by Friday so I can start filming again.” He didn’t remark upon the cookie as he finished it, but she noticed he pulled another out of the bag. “We’re doing the night scenes soon.”

She was still a little fuzzy on Steamboat Bill’s plot, but this week’s filming had involved hundreds of local extras, and the grander of the two steamboats was piloted up and down the river, belching out huge plumes of black smoke. She’d taken a break to watch the spectacle. The crowd’s enthusiasm for the steamboat seemed real. The whole set certainly looked real thanks to all the props down by the riverside, the small boats, the large pennants reading KING, and the patriotic bunting draped on storefronts. Buster had been on hand near the cameras helping direct, but hadn’t noticed her in the throngs.

Buster went on. “I’ve got this publicity man who says I can’t have a flood because of the lives that were lost when the Mississippi flooded, so we’re changing everything up for a cyclone.” She marveled a little that he was telling her anything about the production, but tried not to show it. “I wondered what those airplane propellers and big motors Bert had me order were for,” she said. 

“These are good,” said Buster, pulling a third cookie from the bag. “Remind me to get hurt more often.”

“Or rescue foolish girls from themselves more often,” she said. 

“It was nothing,” he said. 

“It was something to me.” 

He considered her as he started on the third cookie. 

“Anyway, I already took lunch. I’ve got to get back to the shop,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. 

She had her hand on the door when he spoke up again. 

“Why that Shrew play, anyway? Why not Juliet?”

She turned back and looked at him, thoroughly confused. She had no idea how he knew about one of her dearest and closest ambitions.

He noticed her puzzlement and clarified. “You said your dream was to star in that Shrew play. Why? Why not Romeo and Juliet?”

“I don’t remember telling you that,” she said, feeling abashed

“Well, don’t get bent out of shape about it, I was just asking,” he said, a little defensively. 

“No, I’m not bent out of shape, I’m surprised,” she said, as she faced him. “I don’t remember saying that. I’m afraid of what else I, uh, might have said that night.” She cringed to think of what else might have come out of her mouth. “I hope I didn’t beg you for a break or anything.”

He regarded her with a calm expression. “You didn’t. I’d still like to know, though.”

“Well, Kate has a mind of her own. She wants to control her own fate. Marriage isn’t for her,” she said, conscious of how clumsy her words were. “She’s fun to play. Romeo and Juliet is a little boring.”

In truth, it was Katherine’s spirit which she loved, the rebellion against her father and Petruchio, and hang the end of the play. In her experience, the audience never remembered the end of the play, only the beginning and middle where Katherine was at her most defiant and fiery. 

Buster nodded, elbow on the table and finger sliding absently under his lip. The silence stretched on for long enough that Nelly said, “Anyway, I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks for the cookies,” Buster said.

Note: It’s easy when writing a fiction about Buster Keaton to cast Natalie Talmadge as a villain. I prefer to listen to Buster’s granddaughter Melissa Talmadge Cox who points out that the divorce is ancient history and that fans should get over it! Even though I’m writing a story that is obviously canon divergent, I always remember that Buster lived happily ever after with Eleanor Norris Keaton and considered himself to have had a lucky life with very few dark spots. Why did Natalie put a end to her sex life with the gorgeous, winsome Buster Keaton? I think the likeliest explanation is that she just wasn’t attracted to him or simply didn’t like sex. I do think Buster really loved her too and wanted things to work out, which is why their marriage lasted as long as it did. I’ve tried to convey that with this story. Also, I’m with Natalie. Trying to travel hours on a train with two young rambunctious boys sounds like a nightmare, even with a governess.  And yes, the Keaton governess was also named Connie, not to be confused with Constance “Connie” Talmadge, who was also frequently called Dutch. Finally, with a lot of digging through newspapers I learned that the date Buster broke his nose was July 30th, 1927! So the first scene takes place on the 31st. The second occurs on Wednesday, August 3rd.

[shhhhyoursister]

okay im gonna post this right before i go to bed because i havent posted new stuff in a while and its like AHH but okay so here is the first of the unfinshied/unedited things ive written, and the first of the two lets say..... niche aus i have.....very niche and very exposing of how much of a loser i am!! 

i mentioned this one a few times and before everything got bad in the world i had so many ideas but here yall go here is my beloved davenzi pokemon au i hope all you other losers enjoy

(also please excuse all the brackets i write things out of order but always need to make notes of what happens in between)

Matteo pushed the door open, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and let out a loud yawn as he stretched an arm over his head. He raised the glass of Pinap juice to his mouth and took a sip, smiling around the rim as he looked out at the large meadow behind his house.

The berry trees were growing tall around the perimeter of the fence, patches of grass at various lengths sprouting out of the ground. The large pond off to the side had its own waterfall, a feature his mother was extremely proud of, and he could admit that it added a little something special to the space

It wasn’t much, but they  did what they could with what they had. It was enough for the Pokémon they cared for, at least. 

At that thought, he felt something tugging at his pants, and he glanced down and smiled at the Vulpix at his feet. Its teeth were caught in the fabric but he reached down to pat it on the head anyway, knowing that was just its way of greeting him. It let go and stood next to him, like it was expecting something.

“What do you want?” he asked, poking it lightly in the side with his foot, and laughed when it rolled onto its back and latched onto it with its paw, and tried to secure its hold with the leg that was missing one. Matteo got it off easy and it sprung back up, ready to play.

He rolled his eyes, and walked further out into the meadow, the Vulpix trotting along happily beside him. There were a few Pokémon that he needed to check on before breakfast for himself or the rest of the Pokémon roaming around the property, and he wanted to get it done fast because the Tauros with the bandage over its eye was snorting at him from over in its usual corner. He quickened his pace.

He was looking for the Luvdisc that his mother had found a few days before, alone and hungry in shallow water, and his eyes scanned over the mostly clear water, trying to catch any sign of the pink water-type swimming around. He saw it just as it darted around a Buizel and behind a rock, seeming to be in much better shape than the day before. He was about to turn and head to the small shed in the back where they kept some of the Pokémon in more serious condition, but he looked up when he heard the door slide open, and his mom call his name.

“Matteo, Jonas is here to say bye!” She yelled out, and he turned and started making his way back.

“I didn’t get to look at the Pachirisu yet.” He said, jogging up to her. She was smiling softly at him, her long brown hair pulled back in a bandana. She was holding a bowl in her arms, no doubt the breakfast she had been making for the Pokémon when he had come downstairs that morning

“Don’t worry about that, go see your friend, and wish him luck!” she said, walking out the back door, “He’s going to battle his next gym leader!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Matteo muttered as he walked past her, setting his glass down as he went. 

He found Jonas by the front door, six Pokéballs attached to his waist, and a large bag on his back. He had his Jigglypuff out of its ball by his side, and it started bouncing when Matteo got closer.

“Hey, Luigi!” Jonas exclaimed, pulling him in for a hug, and Matteo squeezed his arms around his backpack. The hug was bittersweet, and he almost didn’t want to let go. He didn’t have many friends in his little town, and his responsibilities at the Pokémon Sanctuary made it difficult to go too far.

“You feeling ready?” Matteo asked, knowing what Jonas was going to say. He had always been confident, and was getting through the gyms at a rapid pace.

“Of course, bro,” he said, grinning and punching Matteo in the arm, “I feel ready to battle anyone after beating that ghost-type gym leader. That was rough, it took me four fucking tries!”

Matteo nodded as Jonas went off. Matteo had heard the stories many times, not just from Jonas, but similar ones from other trainers in his town; the gym leader that happened to be the closest to them also happened to be one of the toughest. His Pokémon were strong, he was strong, but most importantly his connection to each of them was strong. He was admired, envied, and heavily respected.

Nobody knew anything about him, though.

The gym was off deep in the woods, off of one of the random routes running through their town. It was not only hard to find, but hard to navigate, as once one entered it was quite clear that the house was designed to keep people out. There were traps and dead ends and looping hallways that all just led back to the beginning, and Jonas said it took him hours to even find the staircase that led to the gym leader.

“I should be heading off if I want to get to the city before it’s dark,” Jonas said, and extended his arms for another hug. Matteo squeezed him again, and said his own goodbye before Jonas ruffled his hair and went out the door, the Jigglypuff following close behind. Matteo let out a sigh, and walked back through his house. 

“Matteo, can you come here a second?” he heard his mother call from the kitchen, and he sighed again and poked his head into the room.

“Yeah, mama?” He asked, itching to get back outside. He had been making progress with the skittish Ponyta that hid whenever anyone else came near it, and he had been wanting to see if it would eat out of his hand that morning.

“You seem sad,” she said, and he stopped himself from rolling his eyes and walked further into the kitchen as she continued, “you’re not usually sad when Jonas or your other friends go off to battle.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to miss him,” he said, knowing that wasn’t all, “last time he left he didn’t come back for a month. And I haven’t seen Abdi or Carlos in longer than that, and I don’t even know where Amira is right now.”

His mother nodded. She had heard him say that before, note that as the reason he was upset anytime the idea of gyms or badges or battling was brought up. She walked over to him and put a hand on his cheek, and smiled gently.

“You know, if you want to take a break from this and train,  you can.”

Matteo closed his eyes. It was something she had offered before, and he knew that there was almost no way he would be willing to take her up on it. The sanctuary was too important to him, no matter how much he might’ve wanted a party of his own. He didn’t need his own Pokémon when there were dozens that needed him right at home.

“I’m not going to stop helping you here, mama,” Matteo responded as usual, “this is more important than winning a few gym badges.”

“You wouldn’t even have to stop if you don’t want to,” she said, patting him on the cheek and moving back over to the stove where she was cooking their breakfast, “if you want to do both, find some Pokémon from the sanctuary. I’m sure some of them would be more than happy to battle with you.”

Matteo laughed sarcastically, and then actually thought about what his mother said, and his mouth drew into a line. He didn’t know if he wanted to put that burden on any of the Pokémon that they were caring for, even though he knew in the back of his head that some would be willing and able. He thought about that little Vulpix that would follow behind him and nip at his heels, and the Butterfree that would always swoop over his head and chirp happily at him, and even the Tauros with the eyepatch liked him as long as he was fed.

“I don’t know,” he settled on, and then turned to the door, “I’m going to check on the rest.”

****

Later that night, Matteo was sitting out on the roof outside of his room, after climbing through the window. It looked out over the entire sanctuary, but it was too dark for him to see much. He could see some small ripples in the water in the pond, but beyond that the only thing he could make out were sounds. He could hear something, probably a Rattata or Sandshrew, scratching and digging around the grass, and the melodic chirps of a Kricketot. He heard the same Noctowl as before cooing quietly in one of the trees, and he closed his eyes as a breeze blew by.

They were the sounds he had grown up with. Matteo was raised out in the sanctuary more than he was inside his own home. His mother and father had opened it soon after getting married, had built it into something highly respected in their community. They had a large staff working with them and they would get multiple calls each day from people finding injured Pokémon out in the wild.

There were photo albums full of him as an infant being stared at by a confused Pikachu, being (very carefully) held by a Kangaskhan, laughing as a Ledyba flew overhead. Once he was old enough he started working alongside his parents, and everyone in town loved the Florenzi’s, the couple that would save wild Pokémon with their wild son by their side. 

When Matteo was around twelve, things went a little sour. His dad started talking more about battling, and gyms, and how cool it would be to go out and see the world beyond their small town. He tried to convince Matteo that they could go off and battle together, father and son, and when Matteo refused, his father had gone quiet. A few days later, he came down for breakfast to his mother crying, his father’s stuff gone, and six of the Pokémon from the sanctuary missing as well.

He took a deep pull from the joint in his mouth, remembering the fierce promise he had made to himself that morning; he would never, ever, leave his mother like his father did. Battling and gym badges weren’t worth it.

But there was something in the back of Matteo’s head that was starting to get louder as he sat there. Something saying that just going to one gym wouldn’t be the same; he could work at the sanctuary during the day, train with (willing) Pokémon at night, and in a few weeks make the short trip to the ghost-type gym. He wasn’t expecting that he’d win, no matter what gym he went to, but the desire for something more was unfortunately undeniable. Matteo hated what his father did, but could understand the urge to run away. 

He stubbed the joint out and took one more look at the sanctuary before going back inside and getting ready for bed. As he climbed under the covers, he realized he made up his mind. His first task for the morning, alongside his usual morning chores, was to see which Pokémon wanted to, and were able to, battle. 

****

[Matteo makes a party and its kind of a mishmash of misfits but it’s the best he can do because he doesn't want to go out and catch wild Pokémon especially when he has some that want to battle with him]

[He spends a few weeks training and it's really tough and they aren’t amazing but they're better than he expected, and he doesn't really get why they love him and listen to him the way they do]

[One day he decided that he's ready and he promises his mom that he's gonna be back that night and he goes off to find the ghost type gym]

[He finds the gym and it looks completely abandoned and he has to climb over a gate to get in but he does it and then he has to walk through this super creepy dark place and he's having a rough time and he's getting more and more scared and worried that he's in the wrong place and that what he's doing is a bad idea and that he should just turn around when-]

And then finally, a staircase.

Matteo saw it at the end of the hall and sighed in relief. He was exhausted, glad that his Pokémon were in their Pokéballs so they weren’t as tired as him. He wiped the sweat off of his brow, and then tied his bandana around his head to keep his hair out of his face as he walked towards the stairs. He placed his foot on the first one and winced at the loud creak that came from it. He walked up the stairs carefully, seeing a door as he got closer to the top.

He finally reached the top of the stairway, and his shoulders dropped when he saw the door. There was a board across it, blocking it off, and Matteo felt anger start to bubble up inside him. He had spent hours trying to find the fucking place, had banked on Jonas mentioning a staircase, and had gotten so hopeful when he saw it. He huffed and, like a child, kicked hard at the door. His jaw dropped when it swung open.

He carefully made his way inside, his eyes scanning around the large room, too dark for him to make anything out. There seemed to be a fog making it even harder to see, and he waved his arm in front of him to see if he could clear it away. He took a few steps, and then a few more, and was about to take another when he heard a quiet, “I’d stop there if I were you.”

Matteo’s head snapped up and he froze, unable to tell where the sudden voice came from. He could feel his breathing pick up, and he could even hear it in the silence that followed the voice, and was about to turn and bolt when he heard, also quiet but with a bit of a laugh under it, “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just didn’t want you to fall in.”

Matteo whipped his head around, trying to figure out what he was about to fall in, when it seemed like the fog seemed to thin. He looked around the room as details became clearer, the blueish-green tiles on the walls and the white, chipped paint, and he looked down at his feet and stumbled back a few steps; he was standing right at the edge of what seemed to be a huge, empty, swimming pool.

Well, almost empty. As the fog cleared, Matteo could make out a figure on the other side, who seemed to be sitting on the edge, their feet dangling into the empty space below. He watched the figure kick off the edge and land with a quiet sound a few feet below in the pool itself, and then they started coming closer.

Matteo felt himself get nervous. Not scared, like he had been initially getting to the building, and wandering around in the dark, and when he had first come into the room and seen the fog. He was nervous, because there was no way that this person wasn’t the gym leader, which meant that he was about to battle a gym leader. 

“Are you going to come down here?” The voice asked again, definitely coming from the approaching gym leader. 

Matteo took a breath before looking around and spotting a ladder that led down into the pool. He made his way over on shaky legs and got himself down as carefully as he could, landing hard on his feet and stumbling a little. He righted himself just as he heard the gym leader stop, and he took another deep breath before looking up.

And he huffed out that breath, because the man standing in front of him had to be a dream, or maybe there was a Pokémon there that had some kind of power that was making him hallucinate, because there was no other explanation for how he was so beautiful. And Matteo knew that he shouldn’t have been focusing on that, but he was only human, and he was very, very gay.

“You’re quiet,” the gym leader said, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling, “you are here to battle, right?”

“Yes, I am,” Matteo said quickly, grabbing a hand around one of the Pokéballs around his waist, “my first one.”

He wanted to slap a hand over his face for saying that. He didn’t think that was good information to tell the person that he was about to battle if he wanted to seem confident, not that that wasn’t already out the window with his obvious panic. He watched the gym leader smile bright, and he wished it didn’t make his stomach jolt the way it did.

“Aw, you chose me to be your first?” he asked, placing a hand over his heart, “I’m honored.”

Matteo smiled. He was funny at least, even if he was going to beat Matteo and his Pokémon within six rounds probably. 

“Mostly just out of convenience, this is the gym closest to me.” he explained, not really knowing how much he was supposed to be talking. He had no idea what he was doing, at all, but the gym leader didn’t seem to be rushing anything along.

“That makes sense, I’m not usually the first gym people come to. I don’t know why that is, though,” he stepped back and threw his arms out, “I try to make it nice, you know?”

Matteo snorted, “Yeah, that fence you have to hop to get in is really welcoming, and the board across the door really makes me feel at home.”

The gym leader laughed, and Matteo let himself laugh with him, losing a bit of the nerves he had coming in.

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” he said, and then grabbed a Pokéball seemingly out of thin air, threw it up and then as he caught it turned to Matteo and asked, “so, are you ready for your first battle? I’ll go easy on you.”

He said it was a slightly patronizing grin, so Matteo grabbed his own Pokéball in his hand, tilted his head with a sweet smile and said, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to.”

David looked happily surprised and nodded, and before Matteo could react he threw the Pokéball into the air, and a Mimikyu landed on the ground in front of him. Matteo looked at it in shock.

“You have a Mimikyu?” he asked, wanting to get closer to look. The Pokémon was looking at him, or at least the disguise part was, gently flopping around on top of the Pokémon it was concealing inside.

“Yeah, it was one of my first,” the gym leader said with a small smile, and then shook himself out of it and grinned cocikly, “which means it’s one of my strongest.”

Matteo nodded, and threw his own Pokéball into the air, Vulpix springing onto the ground in front of him. It looked ready, stanced and nose pointed at the Mimikyu in front of it. The battle started when the gym leader called out his first move.

And Matteo lost. Badly, and quickly, and if he wasn’t so worried about getting home so he could tend to his Pokémon he would've been more embarrassed. He dropped to his knees next to his Sandshrew as it trembled on the ground from the last attack laid on it by the gym leader’s second Pokémon.

“That was pretty good for a first try,” he heard echo through the room, and he looked up and pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“It wasn’t good. I wasn’t meant to be a trainer, and these Pokémon weren’t meant to battle. I should just give up.” He sighed, and held the Pokéball out so the Sandshrew could return to it and rest. He got up and dusted himself off, and saw the gym leader standing much closer than he had been.

“It’s not that you weren’t good, you just weren’t ready. You have a connection to these guys. I can see it.” the gym leader said earnestly, reaching his hand out. 

“That doesn’t mean they should be battling,” he sighed, “they’re all from the sanctuary me and my mom have. I shouldn’t have made them do this.”

“You weren’t making them do anything,” the gym leader said quickly, “seriously, you can tell they’re enjoying it because they’re doing it with you. I’ve been a gym leader for a while, you should trust me on this. I know Pokémon.”

“Well, so do I,” Matteo said with an angry huff, making his mind up again, “and I’m done battling.”

He turned, ignoring the disappointed look on the face of the gym leader, and climbed up the ladder before hurrying home.

****

[Matteo really doesnt think hes gonna go back but the pokemon were having fun and he kinda wants to see david again so he starts training again, gets a bit stronger and goes back]

He found it easier the second time, and made his way through it easier the second time too, as if he actually remembered the way through the crazy maze inside. When he got to the top of the stairs and saw the boarded up door again he snorted, and took a deep breath before pushing his way into the room again.

He was greeted by the same thick fog, the same tiles around the walls, the same chipping paint, but he knew to not take too many steps in. He figured the gym leader knew he came in, as the fog started clearing again once he was in the room, and he saw the same figure seated in the same spot on the edge of the pool.

“Oh, the boy from the Pokémon sanctuary!” the gym leader called out as he jumped down onto the pool tiles, “I’ve been expecting you.”

Matteo laughed and said, “I didn’t think I was coming back, how could you have been expecting me?”

“I could see it in your eyes,” the gym leader took a few steps closer, “you want to win. Or you want to prove something. No matter what it is, you have a reason to be here.”

Matteo smiled before making his way down the ladder and into the pool. His feet hit the tiles and he turned around so he could the gym leader, who he was getting very tired of only referring to as ��the gym leader’.

“What’s your name?” he asked quickly, before he could think better of it, “Like, I know your whole thing is being mysterious but I have a feeling I’m going to be coming back here again.”

“Oh, so we’re already on a first name basis?” the gym leader asked, spinning around and a few steps towards the wall he had been sitting on, and he leaned his back against it, smiling.

“I just figured it’ll save us time later. Easier to do it now than in a month when it’ll be awkward.” He shrugged, offering a half smile. He tried to play it off as a joke, but he wanted to know.

He watched the gym leader smile, and then bite his lip and look down at the floor. He tapped his foot on the ground a few times before kicking off the wall and saying, “Okay, then. I’m David.”

Matteo smiled, nodded, quietly responded, “I’m Matteo,” and took a Pokéball off of his belt.