#ill be fine thoug

[l0gitex]

i kno ive been posting a bunch of diffeerent stuff but i'm not rly done doing naruto art ok o7 i'll return to that sometime.

[whalesforhands]

love LOVE loveyour latest stsg x reader fics.. something about them brings me so much comfort bc i just Knowww those two are constantly up to no good. and when it involves a certain oblivious, unsure, not so confident reader? they are sooo evil and i think so much teasing comes up between them so theyre always coming up with ways to tease her and get her all flustered for them. it probably starts with satoru who she caught his eyes first.. ever since then he probably makes it his mission to torment her and follow her like a puppy. and suguru notices that every time she appeara its like he doesn’t exist to satoru! hes not jealous no… if anything he becomes even More obsessed than satoru! and probably a more quiet eviler person to her!!! cant argue w me that suguru is probably the more cunning of the two!! anyways satoru teases her and she runs to suguru for help but hes evil and indulges in satoru’s playfulness so he doesnt give in!! sometimes he does!!

but oh my shoko… my beautiful shoko my lovely lady i love her. and reader is probably infuriated with her but having two overgrown lizards constantly bothering her.. i bet its hard for shoko to have reader all to herself …but!! reader has the biggest soft spot for her obviously she makes time for shoko and shoko 100% uses that to her advantage to bully the two bullies themselves that she has reader wrapped around her finger hah! reader can wear something really cute and maybe more revealing than most days and shoko will just rub herself over reader and the two boys will frown like kids getting their candy stolen :))) thru all of this, reader is clueless and just believes that shoko loves her!

anyways i love your writing so much!

anon, ur so sexy for being my first ever ask and it’s so detailed and long too. u deserve this fic.

eat up

laundry mishap (gojo x reader x geto, shoko x reader)

warnings: you let shoko grope you (willingly), 17+ rating, gojo and geto are hopeless, shoko is so attractive i’m going to scream, aftermath of my AO3 withdrawals

You steps were unsteady, hand desperately pressed onto the hem of your much shorter skirt, it’s length just hitting your mid-thigh as your unsteady gait made you stumble.

Your thigh-highs did little to cover your more exposed legs, unknowingly showing the zettai ryoiki to the world as the socks clung to your flesh, subtly highlighting the sexiness and shapeliness of your legs.

Your school blazer clung ever so tight to your figure, showing each curve and wind of your body. Much too different from your usual loose, ill-fitting uniform. Usually so baggy, your figure was so… Boxy looking.

“Do you ever get tired of looking like a sloth?”

Gojo inquired, staring you down through his sunglasses as he looked over your form. Your long skirt hung to your knees, blazer hanging off your form. The sleeves were so long they nearly swallowed your hands, stopping just shy of your palm as you crossed your arms protectively over yourself, as if embarrassed of your uniform choice.

“I’m just… More comfortable like this, Gojo-san…” You murmur, eyes casting downwards towards the floor. Did you really look… Bad? Was that why Gojo commented on your clothes? Did they really look as horrible as you thoug-

“Don’t tease her Satoru, I think she looks cute.” Suguru smiled, watching with glee as he watched you flinch, eyes growing wide and your face stance turning shy as your eyes finally left the ground, turning to face his own.

A cute, upwards quirk of your lips, polite and unsure, as if you didn’t believe him.

“Thank you, Suguru.”

Foolish, you were so foolish to trust Shoko with your laundry for the week.

“It only shrunk just a little!”

Your skirt is too short. That’s fine. You have stockings, they’ll cover them.

“Ah. Your… Stockings, you say?” Shoko tapped a thoughtful finger on her chin in mock thought. A hand tucked behind her back as she tapped her foot. She lets out a nervous huff, pulling out ripped, torn, absolutely devastated remains of your poor stockings.

…

…

…

“You can forgive me because I’m cute, right?”

(You did, in fact, forgive her because she was cute. And because she bought you your favourite chocolate milk from that specific vending machine at that very specific timing you claim has the best tasting milk.)

You huffed a little from running through the halls, the clock just about to hit 8:30 as you slid open the backdoor, attempting to make a sneaky entrance and slide into your seat next to Ieiri a quick and easy feat.

If counting how 4 pairs of eyes were solely trained on you for a summer draft accidentally slamming the door closed behind you counted as ‘sneaky’ anyway.

(Two pairs were absolutely shocked at your way of dress, whilst one was gloating with pride as she took in the sight of you before her. The last pair was apathetic and was more interested in trying to finish the class.)

“(last name), how quaint of you to finally join us. Take your seat.” Yaga-sensei drawled out, turning back around to the blackboard.

“Ahem, where was I?” He looks towards his notebook. “Ah, right. So Imperial Japan existed from 1868, the beginning of the Mei-“

You shyly hurried to Shoko’s side, watching her smirk as you blushed desperately, holding down your skirt and not noticing the two gazes basically pinning their eyes to you. Stuck gazes, watching the way your ‘new’ uniform highlighted your now more exposed frame. The way it clung tight to your chest, the fat of your thighs exposed from your skirt, the way your thigh-highs tightened around-

“Ieiri,” You whispered. “I feel naked…” You let out a quiet whine, adding to the two boys’ building frustration and wild imaginations.

“I think you look great.” The girl began. “So pretty.” She placed her hand on you, her fingers traced your sock-clad leg. “I didn’t know you had these.” Her fingers gently traced the outline of the sock.

You giggled. A quiet, cute melody. “Right?” Your voice barely above a whisper as you grabbed her hand to place it directly on your exposed thigh skin. “I got them a while ago, their quality is absolutely unmatched!”

Surprising all three at once as you let Shoko touch and explore to her heart’s content. Gojo audibly gulped as he watched Shoko’s fingers squeeze and play with the fat of your thigh, the zettai ryoiki absolutely driving him mad. He couldn’t possibly look away now.

Oh, how he would die to have his face buried in between the plushness of your legs as your hand tangled in his hair, begging, pleading him to stop because you just couldn’t handle it any-

Why were you looking at him so anxiously?

“Gojo.” The imposing figure of Yaga-sensei stood before his desk. “Since you can’t listen, you can stand outside for the rest of the lesson.”

Dammit.

Whilst Suguru was laughing at Satoru’s plight, he was fading no better at the sight of Shoko groping your legs. Especially not when you so adorably turned to face him, your eyes lighting up with a smile and shyly waving at him in greeting.

How he would love to turn that smile of yours into desperate whines as those legs of yours wrapped around his hips, bouncing and whining for him to let you co-

“Ah, Yaga-sensei. I can answer this one.” He raised his hand, regrettably turning his head away from you to participate in class.

Suguru has a gentleman’s role to play in front of you, afterall.

——

The bell rung, signalling the start of the lunch hour as Gojo finally strolled back into the classroom after getting a lecture from Yaga-sensei.

You caused him to get in trouble with how hot you looked today! (Not that he’s going to use that as an excuse in front of Yaga, of course.)

Compounded by his irritation and his lack of getting to ogle at you, Gojo was pissed. Especially when he saw you giggling at Shoko as Suguru stood by your desk, his arm brushing against your shoulder as you idly chatted with the both of them with the prettiest smile on your face.

Your glittery eyes caught sight of him walking towards you, an even prettier smile making its way onto your face. (Gojo was about to implode from cuteness. He cannot think right. His mind was on autopilot.)

“Ah, Gojo-san, good mor-“

“What, you gonna go to a strip club or something afterwards? What’s with the get-up?”

Ouch. Your smile slowly dropped as the weight of his words stung you. Subconsciously, your hands came around to wrap yourself in a self-hug.

Suguru stepped in. “Satoru, what the fuck? That was rude.” He stood in front of you almost protectively, shielding you from Gojo’s sight.

“What? Is she dressing like that to impress someon-“ Geto shoved the imposing boy.

Shoko’s turn. “Wow, way to impress girls, jerk.” Her stare was narrowed, eyes piercing and cutting into the white-haired sorcerer.

Suguru sighed. “Listen, man, that wasn’t cool. Cut th-“

“Suguru! It’s okay!” You didn’t want them to fight. Not because of you. You let out a little nervous laugh, arms tightening around yourself. “I- I probably look- Bad. I know. It’s a bit too new t-to me as well…”

The three looked at you, two with worry, and the last with regretful dejection. He shouldn’t just kept his mouth shut.

You stood up, still hugging yourself. “L-let’s get lunch, shall we?” Shoko’s arm came to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close to her side as she began to lift your mood, chatting with you as the other 2 followed quietly behind.

Your skirt swished and swayed attractively as you walked, Shoko’s hand now around your waist as you began to laugh again, your voice a little bit more free, less constrained from your creeping insecurities and want to escape.

Did you really look that ugly…? You hope your new uniform order comes soon, you don’t want to be in this getup anymore if it-

You felt Shoko’s hand smack against your ass, yelping as you jumped slightly from the shock. Your eyes widened comically, you definitely weren’t expecting that whilst mid-conversation about clothes of all things.

(The audience behind you was seething in jealously.)

“Ieiri…! That’s in-inappropriate !” Your shy stuttering was so cute to her.

“And you,” Shoko began, her hand curling tighter around your waist. “Are the hottest thing I’ve seen today.” She grinned lazily. “Don’t sell yourself short, pretty.”

Ieiri is so attractive. Your blush encompassed your entire face as you looked away shyly, unable to hold her intense gaze.

“Y-you’re prettier…” You shyly began.

“Hmm? Can’t hear you.”

“Ieiri is the prettiest!”

——

Behind you, Geto was unabashedly tearing into Gojo.

“Real charming move today.”

“She- I- I tried to be funny.” Gojo paused, hands tucked into his pockets. “Saw how you were makin’ her laugh so much.”

“So funny, that nobody even laughed.” Geto let out a sigh. “We’re both gonna lose her favour if you keep that shit up.”

Gojo kept his silence, thinking back to the way you shrunk back into yourself. The way you lost your happy glow almost instantaneously. The way your eyes lost their shine, the shakiness of your hands.

He felt bad. He definitely feels bad. He doesn’t want to be the cause of your sadness.

“Shit. What do I do in these situations, Suguru?”

——

“Hey.” You stopped in your tracks, whirling around only to face the Gojo Satoru.

Holding… A bouquet of roses and a carton of milk.

He cleared his throat, pumping his chest up as he pushed the flowers up towards you.

“You’re… Not a stripper.”

(Hidden behind the corridor’s walls, Geto was facepalming and screaming internally.)

You stare at the flowers, at the carton of your favourite chocolate milk that Gojo had opened and drank from.

“Take them.” He shoved the bouquet in your face. “It’s for you.”

You confusedly accept them, holding them in both your arms as you looked up at the tall boy.

“Thank you… But… Why?” Are you being pranked right now?

“Apology. Duh.” Gojo paused, taking a sip for courage from the milk that was meant for you. “For, ya know… Saying you were trying to impress someone.”

You stay silent, eyes casting to the pretty bouquet.

“You look pretty today, by the way. Prettier than the flowers.”

Your eyes widened. The Gojo Satoru… Giving you a compliment? Your eyes shot towards him, only to find him scratching his head, glasses having fallen down slightly, revealing crystal blue eyes that were avoiding your gaze.

He’s cute.

You laugh. Out loud, free, and without restraint.

“Thank you, Gojo-san!”

Gojo thinks he’s never going to forget this sight.

masterlist

Notes:

You do not have any romantic feelings for Gojo or Geto at this moment, but you greatly, greatly admire them for their strength.

Shoko erupts the closest feeling to ‘being in love’ for you. You think you have a crush on her here.

Geto spent 2 hours teaching Gojo about all the things he knew about you, in order for him to form a proper apology to you on his own.

As Gojo approached you from afar with your favourite drink in hand and flowers, he got too nervous. He drank your milk himself to build courage, completely forgetting it was meant for you.

Shoko thinks of you as a cute existence. Lively, interesting and amusing to her daily life.

Gojo fell for you first, and Geto second, but Geto was more proactive and got closer to you first.

Gojo is insufferable. He thinks he’s cool but he’s just being an ass.

comment more pls, i really like feedback on my writings instead of just likes :(

[silvervioletvalentine]

🖤☠️Sick in love ☠️🖤

Pairing : Max Verstappen x teammate Cherrie!

Word count : 5k

Summary: - @be-your-coffee-pot so i have this little idea where like cherrie is like a driver for redbull right with max and they do not get along because they're both hard headed little shits. but this once before a race shes gets rly sick with high fever and what not and shes almost completely out of it during the interviews and press conferences and max cant help but yk coddle her a little bit. and they're on the couch with the rest of the drivers during the press conference and shes leaning against him and she just falls asleep and max falls in love lmao

Warnings/ AN- just fluff basically. Max and Cherrie are petty little bitches to each other . I hope you like it! @be-your-coffee-pot !! 🦋 I strayed a little tiny bit away from the plot but this is what I came up with in my sleep deprived , who the hell am I, how am I still awake. Oh my god it’s night time , form! So enjoy! It’s not edited because I can’t be bothered and that’s just not me. Lemme know what u think coxo

When Cherrie woke up that morning it was to her skin layered with horrible sweat , feeling like her blood was boiling yet as she wiped at her face with her trembling hand, all she felt was cold and clammy .

Groaning in misery to herself as she sniffled her way through getting ready , only managing to pull on a redbull hoodie before she was stumbling out of her room to see her assistant waiting for her , a look of concern immediately washing over her face at the sight of her driver .

Jenny gasped , taking in cherries pale skin and bright red cheeks.

Looking like a blushing bride despite the fact that Jenny had seen the most hottest of men flirt with her all summer, and not once had her cheeks even tinged with colour .

"You're sick." She stated the obvious in concern , knowing how stubborn Cherrie was and how much she hated being sick.

She liked to go into denial about it whenever she was ill, claiming that she was fine and that the flu and bugs going around never affected her. Like she was some superhero with powers to divert viruses and bugs from kids that never washed their fucking hands before touching things.

It was bound to happen sometime and yet Cherrie refused to admit it, she had work to do after all.

She didn't have time to be sick.

"I am not." She refused to be.

Head feeling heavy and the room spinning slightly as she clutched onto the table , blinking as slowly as she could as she tried to clear her foggy head.

"This is all Max's fault." She croaked out in distain as she let her body fall into one of the chairs heavily , sniffling again. Swearing that she saw the kettle move and dance out of the corner of her eye , but when she glanced over at it again. It had not.

She swallowed dryly , then winced to herself in pain as she felt sharp pin pricks in her throat .

"Fucking bastard." She sniffled again . Sounding like she had out a peg over her nose , barely able to breathe.

Jenny just rolled her eyes, hands on her hips , ready to hear what max had done this time to get the blame. Used to hearing the both of them bitch at eachother and about each other at every chance they got.

You would think that with max and Cherrie being teammates, that they would get along just fine . Both of them world champions and both of them leading nearly every race , always a redbull 1-2. And yet...despite everyone's wishful hopes . That just didn't happen at all.

Instead , Cherrie, with her usual attitude and terrible humour , had taken it up to herself to tell max exactly what she thought of him at the time.

Coming straight from Mercedes , she had not been his biggest fan at all.

But hey, she wanted to be a winner and she knew that redbull was the only way that she would be going fast enough to do so, so when checo was out , she was in without any hesitation.

And it might have went well had she been able to shut herself up. But Cherrie had a problem with keeping every bad thought and opinion in her head, having lacked a filter since the day she could say 'fuck' and 'you' in The same sentence.

Max just happened to be at the end of her target this time around and he was like a walking orange dot for her to focus on, refusing to leave him be. Going out of her way to annoy him, on and off the track.

She just couldn't help herself. It was too easy.

But it wasn't all her fault because max was exactly the same way. Both of them too stubborn and hardheaded , way too blunt with awkward humours that most other people just never understood .

They clashed like the red bulls that they were .

Max gave it back to her just as much as she did. He didn't hesitate in insulting her back, picking at every little thing that she did or said just to see the way she would immediately flare up and glare at him, threatening him creatively each and every time .

It was entertainment to him, he could selfishly admit it to himself . And no matter how much times Christian had tried to force them to bond and just be nice , neither of them would give in. Much too prideful to admit that they were both at wrong and that they were both just bullying each other for the fun of it now.

And maybe max wouldn't have been so bitter and upset if Cherrie hadn't started dating the biggest prick around after a particularly nasty fight they had.

Max , at the time, had stupidly took a low shot at her lack of relationships , telling her meanly that 'no man would ever want to put up with her bullshit'. When what he wanted to say was 'I want to put up with your bullshit but we can't stop bullshitting each other enough to even have a conversation.'

And he should have known that he hasn't won that argument when she just levelled him with a cold look and walked up . He had naively forgotten how petty she was . Because she had taken it up a extra level and come straight back with a brand new boyfriend to shove in his face , far too smug and pleased with herself as she watched the look of anger and annoyance on his face when she brought him to the garage , kissing him right in front of max until he stormed off in a rage .

He had dnf'd that race and things hadn't ever been the same since then. Their bickering and fighting had only gotten worse to the point where her assistant tried to pull her away from max as much as possible.

But only so much was possible at the end of the day . He was literally her teammate , it was in her contract to work with him and be around him. And that included doing videos and joint interviews together , she barely ever not go to see his stupid face. It was irritating.

"Where the ghost?" Cherrie croaked out , head pounding as she looked blearily down at the plate of food in front of her that jenny had made.

Her assistant paused, then blinked slowly "ghost?" She repeated in disbelief "what the hell are you talking about?" She looked around the room with worry as though an actual ghost was going to pop up and scare them.

But Cherrie just frowned back at her, looking equally as confused. "My toast. Jenny." She whined .

Jenny sighed loudly , hand on her face with worry . "You are so sick! Are you sure you're going to be well enough for today?" She worried .

Cherrie sniffled "but I didn't say that." She denied , slowly blinking . "I'm fine."

She then began to slowly eat her breakfast , toast included , in silence . Barely able to keep her eyes open.

Yet she still managed to let out a loud groan of misery when Jenny told her just who she was paired up with in interview today.

"No!" She whined , practically pouting. "Why are you torturing me like this Jenny? Don't you like me?" She turned into a baby when she was sick. Looking like she might cry as she peered over at her with wide eyes.

Jenny just sighed , used to her shit by now. rubbing at her head in stress. "Just play nice okay? Don't make this harder for yourself Cherrie. You're already sick, don't let max give you an even bigger headache than you have ."

Cherrie just groaned again.

Max actually paused what he was doing when he saw her sluggishly walk into the room, his brows furrowing deeply as he scanned her from head to toe. Worry tugging at his chest as he took in her dropped eyes and pale face , looking like a absolute mess.

He told her so "you look terrible ." He stated , shocked .

"What the hell is wrong?" He demanded to know coming over to her .

Cherrie just huffed tiredly , smiling a little because she has taken some strong pain meds right before they left the hotel and she could already feel them kicking in. Her head felt like it was floating away and her chest tickling like she was going to giggle.

But max was there, standing in front of her and looking at her like she had grown an extra head.

So she frowned back at him while scowling . "So lovely." She sarcastically replied "it's a surprise that you're not a virgin if that's how you speak to ladies." She said bluntly .

Max rolled his eyes , crossing his arms over his chest. Not taking his eyes away from her .

"It's a Surprise that you're not single. What kind of boyfriend lets you leave like this, when you're clearly not well?" He threw back at her, annoyed and hating that he felt so damn concerned in the first place.

He shouldn't care at all. She was a pain in his ass and practically loved to annoy him. So why did he want to carry her back to the hotel, wrap her in a blanket and cuddle her like a baby until she was well again?

That was a weird thought . He swallowed a little . Quickly pushing it away.

"I am single now." She let him know blandly as she pushed past him to head over to the couch set up for their interview .

"So I'm going to fuck all your closest friends." She told him with a grin, practically throwing herself down onto the couch. Yawning and sniffling , coughing too.

Max's frown deepened "you are not." Then he realised what she had said and had to fight back a smile . "He dumped you?" He sounded gleeful even to his own ears.

Cherrie glared at him for it "no!" She groaned out "I dumped him. He just wasn't scratching that itch anymore." She complained, giggling. Looped from the meds.

Max paused, then said "get a back scratcher then." Smartly like the ass that he was.

Cherrie just snorted "the itch is not on my back it's in my-"

Max let out a high pitched noise and quickly shut her up. Sitting down next to her. "Shut up! I didn't care. I don't want to hear it." He exclaimed , face flushing.

He then smacked his palm over her forehead , startling her . But his face was cold with concentration .

"You burning up! What is wrong with you?!" He exclaimed , worried. Brushing her hair away from her sweaty face without even thinking about it.

Cherrie slapped his hand away without missing a beat , "it's 'cause I'm so sexy. Like a fire ball. I am fire- so I'm hot- like- like.."she was looped and max didn't know whether to be endeared or scared by her behaviour . "Like the sun." She finished off , sneezing .

Max groaned a little , still frowning at her . Then the interviewer came in and he wiped the Worry from his face , not wanting the cameras to see him looking at her like that.

So he stared straight ahead instead , crossing his arms over his chest so he wouldn't do something as stupid as hold her hand.

"If you get me sick, I will kill you." He muttered.

Cherrie just snorted , coughing. "No you won't. You're too soft to kill me. You'd cry." She replied simply . Believing it .

Max just huffed but didn't bother to deny it. He may have enjoyed winding her up but murdering her was a little too far .

Maybe giving her a good shake  when she was acting up.

"Fuck you." He mumbled instead. Lamely.

Cherrie laughed "you wish. Grow balls first , i like sucking em." She joked.

Max went red , gasping and smacking her leg , flustered by her lack of filter. She had No shame at all. Giggling at the look on his face.

"There's something wrong with you Cherrie." Be hissed at her. Placing his hand over his cheek so that she couldn't see him blush. How embarrassing.

But come on. Hearing a beautiful woman tell you that she liked to suck balls was going to make any straight man squirm.

He was just a man after all. He wasn't immune to her beauty , just intimidated by her lack of charm, it was like dealing with the devil.

"Yeah." She looked at him like he was stupid "I'm sick."

He groaned. "So you admit it! You are sick!" He smugly responded .

But Cherrie just shook her head , sniffling agin. "I didn't say that."

"Yes you did!" He looked incredulously at her, mouth dropping open.

She blinked "no I didn't. Don't lie max. Your Pants can't take anymore fire."

He groaned.

By the time dinner time came around, Cherrie was well and truly sick of max verstappen. And Baffled and so fucking confused. Because he wouldn't leave her the hell alone.

He had taken to taking her temperature every fifteen minutes. Mumbling underneath his breath and forcing her to drink cold water when it didn't go down quick enough for his liking .

Then he was forcing her to tell him what she had been eating and if she had been anywhere that she could have gotten a deadly virus from. Hand cupped over her forehead in her worry , having followed her back around . Like a needy puppy looking for it's owner , Cherrie was exasperated.

She looked up at him in disbelief "I've only been where you've been max! What's wrong with you?" She moaned moodily . Head pounding.

She shoved his hand off her head , again, and stomped straight to the couch, laying on it. Closing her eyes and ignoring him.

He placed his hands on hips and glared down at her . Almost biting his nails out of worry the whole morning . She was clearly out of it , otherwise she wouldn't have even let him into her motor home in the first place.

It literally had 'no max fartstappen allowed' written in marker on the front . Yet here he was, and he was worried and trying to deny why he was so worried for in the first place.

It wasn't going very well.

And now he was making her honey tea and wondering if he could call out a doctor without her realising he had done so.

"Cherrie! You've called me maxie twice!" He exclaimed like that was enough evidence for Him

to be like this. Coddling her like a Damsel in distress.

She just shoved her face further into the pillow, frowning tiredly . "So?" She mumbled.

He huffed "so?" He scoffed while gently pulling her body up so that she would sit up right.

Ignoring her complaining and her glare, he lifted the teacup to her lips. Glaring back at her just as hard when she refused to take a sip.

"drink it Cher. It'll help your thirst. It has

honey In it ." He told her sternly , tapping it against her lips, not giving up.

She eventually gave in with a another stubborn groan, sipping at it while he held the cup up to her lips. Hand on the back of her hand to keep her steady so she didn't spill it. Like it was a totally normal thing for him to do.

It was not.

He continued in quietly "you've called me maxie and you usually call me asshole. So you're clearly dying." He stated. Serious as shit.

Cherrie sniffled, side eyeing him judgmentally . Heart pinching a little as she saw the way he was looking at her , his thumb rubbing soft circles in the back of her stiff neck without even realising it. Trying to make her feel better .

"Why do you even care? This is your fault anyways!" She accused him. Coughing.

He groaned, side eyeing her straight back. He should have known she would rope him into the blame somehow .

"how?!" He raised his voice a little then winced to himself when she winced in pain , quickly lowering his voice again . "How?"

She turned her stuffed nose up at him "you covered me in cold champagne in the rain!"

Max glared at her "because you won! Lando did it too!" He was incredulous .

She just  huffed stubbornly, because when In doubt blame a man . "But you did it with Cruel intention' you wanted me to get sick so you could win!"

He glared at her, taking the now empty cup away from her lips. Then flicking at her chin with his fingers making her flinch , wide eyed .

"I can win with you not sick, thank you! You think that I want to hear you whine about like chewbacca?!" He shot back at her. Annoyed at her stupid accusations. She was just grasping at straws, wanting someone to be annoyed at .

She gasped then , insulted . Wide eyes glaring  at him "I do not sound like chewbacca!" She cried out.

He smirked "you kinda look like him too." He said. Then laughed as she hauled a cushion at his head.

"Get out asshole!" She snapped. Too tired to shout.

Max just rolled his eyes playfully , watching as she laid back down. He placed a pillow in his lap, patting it. Casually

She ignored him.

"No. I'm not leaving." He stated seriously . Patting his lap again.

She side eyed him "I'll Hurt you." She threatened him. Sniffling loudly .

Her nose was red and eyes droopy, max felt his heart soften. She was always beautiful but now she just looked cute.

He stifled a grin. Knowing how much she would hate being called cute.

"What you gonna do? Sneeze on me?" He responded smugly . "Shut up. Come here." He patted his lap again, impatiently this time.

She let out a mocking laugh "fuckoff. I'm Not lying I'm your lap." She muttered, yawning, blinking and seeing three Max's.

She blinked hard again, and saw just one max looking down at her , sighing loudly at her stubbornness .

"I'll fuck off after you've had a nap." He promised her.

"You'll smother Me In My sleep." She let him pull her up and position her so that her head was in his lap instead. Too tired and head hurting too much to fight him on it physically  , but her mouth did.

"Bastard." She huffed.

Max just rolled his eyes , tapping his fingers gently against her forehead . "I'll smother you for real if you keep arguing with me. Just shut your fucking eyes so I can leave you sooner. You're getting on my nerves." He told her, twirling her hair around his finger. In awe by how soft it was.

She punched his thigh, he gently tugged her hair . She closed her eyes, huffing tiredly.

She was asleeep in minutes. And max didn't leave.

Hours later and she was still so sick and so tired and max was coddling her, it was weird and strange and they were getting looks from everybody that saw them together .

But she was too sick too care , just giving in and letting him baby her. She couldn't find it in herself to complain this time.

Maybe when she could finish a sentence without coughing her guts up , she would tease him for his level 100 clinger personality that had suddenly appeared .

The way he wouldn't leave her side, holding a flask of soup in his hand that he had made just for her after searching up a recipe on his phone when she was sleeping . He made her drink it from the small cup as they waited for their next press conference.

"You look like you're dying." He winced as she coughed horribly again "sound like it too." He added unhelpfully  .

She groaned a little, leaning into his side and sipping the soup slowly . Barely able to keep her eyes open.

"You loook like that all the time. What's your excuse maxie?" She weakly resorted back.

She missed the way his cheeks flushed at the nickname falling so easily from her lips, clearing

his throat and placing his hand on her arm to steady her. Just as Daniel saddled up to them, looking far too amused for his liking .

Cherrie paid him no mind but max saw the teasing look on his face and sighed long and hard ,

Knowing just what was coming.

He flushed bright red "what?" He defensively snapped at him already .

Daniel just laughed loudly "nothing!" He grinned smugly , then watched as max made her take some more painkillers. Taking her temperature again like a worried mother hen.

"You a doctor now?" He teased him.

Max just huffed "shut up." He muttered . "She's sick and I don't want to get sick too." He said.

Daniel giggled "then maybe you shouldn't be standing so close to her then. I'm surprised you're not giving mouth to mouth yet." He joked.

Then dodged the empty flask cup flying at his head. Laughing the whole time.

Cherrie was completely out if by the time the press conference was happening, body sagging against Max's on the couch. Not paying any attention and just mumbling her barely there answers , max answering most of them for her without missing a single beat . His media training kicking in perfectly .

Then she eventually went quite and he glanced down at her for a moment , feeling a heavy weight falling on-top of his shoulder. His eyes widening in surprise and cheeks flushing bright red as he noticed that she had drifted off too sleep on him, lips parted with small breaths. Frowning a little still in her sleep.

He gently smoothed the frown from her pretty face away with his thumb. Smiling a little to himself at the grumble she let out, squeezing his arm between her own as she cuddled up against him. Out if it, mumbling nonsense beneath her breath.

Then he looked up and caught Daniels eye,

His friend smirking at him as he held up his phone to take a picture for evidence . The other drivers looking between the two teammates that 'hated' each other in shock.

Charles was blinking at him In disbelief "but she called you a dirty, two faced, lying sloth last week." He was gaping, gobsmacked by the sudden change.

Max just flushed a even darker shade of red .  Not answering .

Then lando was giggling at him Knowingly  "-and you said that she was the most annoying person you had ever met. That you wouldn't touch her even if someone paid you." He pointedly glanced down at his arm around her shoulders and the way he was placing his hand Gently on Her forhead to check her temperature again.

He quickly dropped his hand and cleared his throat awkwardly "that was last week." He muttered , swallowing audibly .

Embarrassed to be caught acting like this in front of his friends. "And I don't need to be paid to touch her." I'd do it for free . Beg if I had to. He thought.

The sudden realisation was shocking and he actually flinched in shock to himself , hissing a little beneath his breath as he froze up just as she startled awake. Glaring up at him dazedly , hair sticking up and face sweaty. Delirious and sick.

"Max! For Fucks sake!" She whined , still

half asleep.

Pushing at his shoulder weakly . "Have you got worms you asshole?" She sniffled. Rubbing at her tired eyes like a child .

Max blushed , heart pounding in his chest as he just Looked at her with wide eyes, mouth gaping open a little bit.

Because what the fuck was this?

"Shut up." He weakly replied. Catching Daniels eyes again, his friends wiggling His brows teasingly .

He was So completely fucked. Oh my god.

The only problem with realising his feelings was that max had a problem with keeping his Mouth shut. The words were practically tearing at his lips as he carefully led her back to her hotel room, not taking no for an answer .

He made her another hot tea , placed a wet flannel over her head and tucked her into her bed without even blinking . Like this was normal, like he did this all the time.

He did not. But he wanted to.

He swallowed thickly as he looked down at Cherrie then , taking in her drooping eyes and red rosy cheeks, hair a mess on the top of her head. He felt his heart pound in his chest.

A year of being teammates  and it was just hitting him now ? Jesus Christ! What the fuck?

His mind raced just as fast as his heart was and he couldn't hold it in. He felt like his brain was going to explode.

"Cherrie?" He spoke up quietly after Clearing his throat awkwardly . Stood by the end of her bed still , hands shoved into his pockets as he looked down at her tired frame in the soft sheets.

She hummed, coughing a little . "Yeah?" She didn't even Open her eyes.

He took a deep breath and then without even thinking about it , his heart opened straight up.

"I love you." He blurted it out bluntly . Cringing deeply to himself as he did so . Face a permanent bright red as he tensed up, eyes wide and feeling like he was a bit to have a heartattack and keel over right in front of her.

His nerves got the better of him and he started rambling . "I mean- it's weird but I am so in love with you and that's why I was so mad when you got a boyfriend. Because I wanted to be your boyfriend and thats stupid because we hate each other-"

"We don't hate eachother." Cherrie simply

muttered. Still not opening her heavy eyes, but there was smile tugging at her lips.

Max swallowed thickly "yeah _ well-I love you. Okay?" He finished up weakly. Feeling sick to his stomach .

He watched as she took a deep Breath , shaking her head a little with a small smile on her face, cracking open one eye to look at him.

She hummed a little "max?"

He exhaled shakily "yeah?"

"Can you tell Me that you love when I can breathe through both nostrils again?" She casually replied. Smiling softly at him. Fondly.

Max rapidly nodded his head, laughing nervously  . Biting down on his bottom lip as he felt a rush of hope and excitement fill him.

"Yeah of course! Sounds good. Sounds like a plan. I like plans. Okay." He nodded his head again. Smiling widely at her.

Then he thumbed over his shoulder and awkwardly shuffled to the door "I should go. You need to rest." He stated , still grinning happily .

He opened the door, heart pounding in his chest. His head quick to snap back over to her when she quietly called to him

"Max??"

"Yeah?"

"I love you." She told him easily , yawning. Then coughed again. Ruining the sweetness but it was more than enough for him.

Max smiled giddily, laughing a little nervously . "Cool. Cool. Yeah okay! That's good- thank you." He rambled on. Giving her a thumbs up.

Cherrie laughed. Then coughed.

Max grimaced to himself at how lame that was , face a dark red by now. He hesitated at the door, about to leave.

"Can I-" he took a deep breath to gather his courage "can I kiss you when You feel better please ?" He asked her quietly, face hopeful.

His grin filling his face when she sleepily nodded her head. "Sounds like a plan maxie."

He sighed happily "cool."

"Now get out. Come tell me you love me tomorrow." She croaked . Already falling asleep again. The meds kicking in.

Max nodded excitedly . Feeling like a teenager in love all over again.

"Cool. Love you." He blurted out , happy. Then he slammed the door shut behind him, fist bumping the air as he laughed gleefully too himself .

Exhaling loudly  , he then held his hand over his pounding chest.

He sighed shakily "holy shit. She loves me." He breathed out. Grinning like a maniac .

Who thought that it would only take her getting sick to get them to admit it?

[mangoguy]

Displacement (2/2)

John "Soap" MacTavish('09) x Reader x John "Soap" MacTavish('22)

Warnings: Mentions of character death (Ghost and Roach), no y/n used, no pronouns other than they/them used a few of times.

You can't help but find it difficult to get used to your new surroundings.

_

It's finally here!!! I meant for this to be out a week after the first part, but school got busy lmao

Read the first part here

There are a few things you have noticed after being thrown in here.

One, the year is 2023.

Two, You are married to John (or Johnny as he likes being called) in this timeline.

And three, you don’t work in the military, you are no longer with Task Force 141.

That third one hit particularly hard. Your task force was a huge part of your life along with John.

You faked memory loss, thinking it was a smart move for now. You doubted they would even believe you if you started spouting that you were not from here. Even to you, that sounded crazy.

‘Because it is…’ you thought bitterly.

This universe wasn't in World War III, you weren't complaining though, that was the mission after all. You still had a hard time adjusting, especially with him around, Johnny. The man who wears your husband's face. Well, you guessed you're even… since technically you were wearing his wife's face? That's how you saw it anyway.

He was worried about you, often asking if you were okay. You could never really answer him, just stare and nod. You felt so foreign here, out of place, and you missed John so much it made you ill. You wondered what happened to him? Was he okay? Something told you he wasn’t. With where your mind was going this was going to be a long hospital stay…

It's been two months since you've woken up. Your mind convinced you it was some weird coma dream.

‘People have those, don't they?’ You thought, staring out the living room window. You felt silly mourning the loss of some older version of yourself and Johnny. It was morbid of your brain to think of how Ghost would die, or mourn the loss of two others you ‘barely knew.’ You found it funny how Price looked in your dream, older, a little unhinged. Gaz was what scared you the most in terms of dream Gaz, you didn't want to think about it.

You met them briefly, Task Force 141, Johnny's teammates, and friends. They all seemed very concerned about you, maybe even a little guilty like they caused the accident. You assured them you were fine and mentioned that the doctors said you were healing quite nicely.

“Aye, but they… have memory loss, can't remember a damn thing… the doctor said it looks severe,” Johnny spoke in a hushed whisper when you went off to fetch something.

“They can't remember anything?” Kyle spoke.

“Yeah, and I'm talkin’ like their whole life, it's like they're a new person… Can't even remember our weddin’ day, our first meetin’, or… anythin’” Johnny could feel his heartbreak just speaking it out loud. A painful reminder of what happened, he thought maybe someone was punishing him. Probably was, for the things he's done. He gave a deep sigh, as Kyle gave him a reassuring pat on the back. Price and Simon both frowned, giving the Scot a sympathetic look, that's when you decided to enter the room again.

“Bonnie yer… are ye okay? Ye've been starin’ out the window for a while…” you heard Johnny speak softly. You turned to look at him, nodding your head softly.

“Yeah sorry, just… I guess I'm reminiscing on some weird dream I had while in that coma,” you admitted.

“Hm? Dream ye say? Do ye want tae talk about it?” John sat near you on the couch and pulled you into his arms. It was comforting being in his embrace.

“Hm, not much to say other than… I guess I just dreamt of a whole other life for us? You were there, though you were a bit older… definitely more handsome in my dream,” you gave him a cheeky grin.

“Looks like I've got some competition,” he paused to chuckle softly. “But older you say? Were ye dreaming of tae future or somethin’?” Johnny asked.

“Hm, you could say that… though there are differences in dream John and you in real life.”

“Aye… and what's that?”

“Well for one he was a bit taller than you,” you snickered.

“Aye!”

“And well he didn't have an arm tattoo, like you do he had one on his neck, a revolver,” you paused to think, your mind was getting a little muddy on details.

“Oh! And your scars are different, that's all I seem to remember at the moment...” you finished. Johnny was silent for a moment, absorbing this new information. It was nice hearing you talk again, even if it was about this mysterious other version of himself.

“Damn, sounds like one handsome bastard…”

“Johnny…”

“What I'm bein’ serious,” he muses.

Something weird was going on, you couldn't place your finger on it. It all started with a pair of jeans. What scared you was that you vaguely recalled wearing them somewhere. You placed them down on the floor and stared at them.

‘Of course, I wore them somewhere they're pants…’ You thought, thinking it was silly you were worried about jeans. You shook your head, grabbing them off the floor but that's when something slipped out from the pocket. One fell with a hard thunk and the other fluttered to the ground. You pick them both up. One was a simple wedding band on it was an engraving, two sets of dates

xx-xx-‘07

xx-xx-‘09

The other item made your heart drop in your stomach. Time seemed to stop as familiar sets of eyes were on you. John Price, Ghost, John “Soap” MacTavish, you. In the corner of the photo were the words ‘OP Kingfish.’

This was it.

The evidence that your ‘coma dream’ wasn't a dream after all. How could you think it was a dream? How dare this world make you think your John was a dream, your world. You assumed it was the universe trying to make you ‘fit in,’ but that begs the question, how did your stuff get here? You shoved the ring and photo in your pocket as you heard Johnny walking over to where you were.

“Hey Bonnie, are you almost done gettin’ ready? Simon texted saying he was at the bar already,” Johnny watched you as you put the jeans back in the closet.

“Yeah I'm ready, can't keep the man waiting,” you smiled though it didn't reach your eyes.

While watching Ghost and Johnny converse you felt the ring and photo through your pocket for the tenth time. You worried they would disappear and yet they never did. You stood up from your seat, getting the attention of the two men at the table.

“Just heading to the bathroom,” you spoke, walking towards the small hallway that housed the restrooms. You entered, taking a quick breather, your emotions were everywhere tonight. It was starting to annoy you, if you were being honest all you wanted was to just relax and enjoy the evening…

Even it felt fake.

Doing your business and leaving the bathroom, you noticed Johnny had a conflicting look. But when you approached he smiled at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you sat down.

“Everything okay?” You asked and he nodded, though you noticed it was stiff.

You ended up drinking, not a lot but enough to get a bit tipsy. You barely remember the car ride home, though here you are, in bed and snuggled into the blankets. You were reaching out towards Johnny’s spot but found he was not on his side of the bed. It’s cold, meaning he was gone for a while. You slowly sat up, groaning from a slight headache. You called out for him but didn’t hear an answer. You got out of bed and walked towards the living room, spotting him sitting on the couch with the table lamp on. He was staring at something, upon closer look it was the photo, your photo with your team. Your John.

You blinked once, then twice.

When did he get that?

Shit.

“What are you doing with that?” You asked, slightly on the defence.

“What am I doin’ with it? What are ye doing with this? What am I even lookin’ at?” He asked, looking over at you his expression inconceivable.

“It's… complicated Johnny, you probably wouldn't understand.”

He went quiet after that, rubbing his face in frustration, he then stared at the photo again. You needed to figure out where to go from here. You bit the inside of your cheek in thought.

“So, are ye from the future or somethin? Because that's what it looks like… we all look older in this photo… Plus why the hell are you in this photo anyway?” Johnny spoke up finally after a long silence.

“No… it's complicated…”

“Then enlighten me!” You could hear him getting frustrated.

“Fine… I'm… not from here, I don't know how to explain it! One moment I was someplace else then the next thing I know I'm here, in Scotland… In a hospital with someone who looks like my husband but isn't!” you didn't mean to sound so harsh, but all your feelings were bursting out.

“But I am yer husband, didn't you tell me ye were dreamin’ while in that coma?” Johnny tried reasoning.

“I lied, at first I thought maybe it was all a dream but how do you explain the photo and this? I know for a fact I wasn't dreaming I had a completely different life,” You pulled out the ring, showing him the engraved dates.

He stared at the ring, at the dates that were engraved then at the photo. He seemed a bit distant, thinking, processing.

“Is that why whenever I look at ye… It feels like I've lost someone… lost my Bonnie,” Johnny lamented. You were caught off guard by that. But you couldn't deny that you also felt a huge loss whenever you thought of John. The two of you stayed silent, grieving but didn't want to think about why. You refused to think your John didn't survive that explosion.

“I… guess you could say I'm from an alternate universe, god… that's even more confusing but makes the most sense” you decided to change the subject. Johnny finally looked up at you, his eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Aye… that sounds crazy… maybe-” he didn't finish his sentence but you knew he was probably still trying to find a reasonable answer. You couldn't blame him and this is exactly the reason you didn't bring it up. You decided to take a different approach.

“That photo was taken on a joint mission with Task Force 141 and Delta force, we were going after this guy named Vladimir Makarov, Intel claimed he was in this facility in Ukraine but he wasn't and it ended up being a trap… That's when John or my Soap, I guess I should say, got injured and Price was captured,” you explained. You were starting to sweat a bit, speaking that mission out loud sounded insane. It sure did catch Johnny's attention though. A dark look crossed his face at the mention of Vladimir Makarov but it quickly faded.

“Huh…” was all Johnny managed to get out, it was a hell of a story. You could tell he needed more convincing.

“Well, one person in that photograph isn't alive… Ghost, along with another member Roach were shot by a man named Shepherd…” Your eyebrows furrowed and you frowned deeply.

“Betrayed by him and his shadow company…” you seethed. That seemed to make Johnny perk up. From the looks of it, that story of yours seemed to hit a little too close to home. He gave you a thoughtful look albeit a concerned look.

“Well, shite… that just all but confirms your theory… But the question remains why are ye here? And how come yer body in yer time stayed there?”

“I don't know… it's not like I have the answers. I was literally on a mission to assassinate Makarov but then an explosion went off behind us and I ended up in that hospital.” You explained.

“Ye know… that sounds similar to what happened to my spouse, well they didn't work in the military but there was an accident that involved both me and them, they ended up taking most of the damage which is why they put you in a coma… but you already knew that,” he mumbled that last part.

“I wonder if that's related… but that still doesn't explain why I'm here…” You crossed your arms, sitting opposite from him on the couch. You stared at your reflection on the TV for a moment, observing your new skin, you often didn't look at yourself for too long. You found it troublesome and dare you say uncanny.

This whole situation was confusing, but you found some comfort now that Johnny knew and seemed to believe you. You did grow fond of him over the couple of months you've been here. It was slow, sure, unfairly comparing him to your John but you quickly came to realize that although they might share the same name and hair- they were different. That also made you realize something else though, something unpleasant.

"Johnny… I understand if you want me to leave, I am technically wearing your spouse's face..." you suddenly spoke. Johnny turned to look at you with a bewildered look on his face, silently asking if you were for real.

“That's a way to put it…” he mumbled with a long pause before speaking again, "...But I don't want you to leave."

"...Why?" It was your turn to be bewildered now.

"Well, is it bad I still want to be with ye? I know you aren't the version of my Bonnie I married but... you're still you whether you're fighting in the big fight or here making the house a home... I loved you in both timelines,” he suddenly proclaimed, bringing a hand over to caress your cheek. There was hope that maybe this could work.

That couldn't be a bad idea.

The universe brought the two of you together for a reason.

Words: 2,337

[gravityskittles]

Chapter 7: The Hands of Time are Fickle Things

Stan fidgeted nervously with the straps on his backpack. He didn’t like airports. He hadn’t been in one since his ill-fated trip to London back in the seventies. Even back then the amount of security had made him anxious. Now it made him feel a little bit like he was drowning.

A quick glance down at his watch told him it was just past two in the morning. Their flight out of Anchorage would be leaving in around an hour and they were waiting at the gate for the plane to arrive. Well, Stan was waiting. Ford had left a while ago to look for some coffee, leaving him alone with their bags.

Every five minutes some form of airport security would wander by, and every single time Stan felt like they were a moment away from grabbing him and hauling him off to some interrogation room somewhere and–No. That wasn’t going to happen, he was fine. He knew that it was okay. Ford had gotten him off the no-fly list, and had double and triple checked their luggage before they left the boat to make sure there was absolutely no reason for them to be stopped by TSA. He’d even made Stan put his brass knuckles in their checked baggage just in case. Stan didn’t think that the sleepy little False Pass airport would have cared very much if he’d had them in his carry-on, but Ford had insisted it was better to be safe than sorry. In the end he’d agreed only somewhat begrudgingly.

Another security guard walked by, and Stan felt his whole body stiffen in response. Cursing under his breath he pulled out his sweater project from his backpack. He almost hadn’t brought it. Their first plane out of False Pass hadn’t left until midnight so they had spent a few hours cleaning up the Stan O’ War II. Mostly they were making sure she was weatherproofed for the potential of at least a couple of months at anchor.

Then, Ford had gone off into the marina to settle up their advanced mooring payment, while Stan packed for both of them. The knitting project had been one of the first things he pulled out, but just looking at it made him feel a wave of fear and grief for Mabel and Dipper. In the end though he shoved it in, telling himself that bringing it meant he believed everything was going to turn out okay. Bringing it along meant he was planning to give it to Mabel. A healthy, living Mabel who was going to make it to her seventeenth birthday.

Besides, at least it was something to do with his hands. He took a deep breath and began to work slowly, doing his best not to drop stitches as he went. By the time Ford appeared with a cup of coffee and a breakfast danish for him, he’d gotten lost in stitch counting and the tinny elevator music playing over the speakers in the concourse.

“Apologies, that took longer than I had anticipated.”

Stan jumped slightly, and then cursed himself silently as he saw Ford take a worried step back.

“No worries. You jus’ startled me is all. Forgot where we were for a moment.” He responded gruffly, shoving the knitting supplies back into his bag and taking the coffee from Ford’s hand. He glanced up at his brother and sighed as he saw genuine fear spark in Ford’s eyes. “I don’t mean actually forgot, Sixer. My memory’s fine today. I just got a bit caught up in stitching, the security was makin’ me nervous.”

“Oh.” Visibly relieved, Ford sank down into the chair opposite him, and pulled out their laptop from his bag. “We should be able to start boarding soon, I just want to see if we’ve gotten any word from Fiddleford.”

Stan shook his head, amused. Someday he really needed to teach his brother to hide his emotions better. He took a sip of his coffee and gave an appreciative hum, it was sweet and light, exactly how he liked it. Back when he was still regaining his memories, Ford had tried to trick him into believing he’d always liked black coffee. He was sure it had something to do with sugar being bad for him or whatever, but he had remembered on the first sip that he hated it. Instead of telling Ford though, he had started serving Ford coffee with increasing amounts of sugar in it. He told him that he remembered one of them liked it sweet, so if it wasn’t him, it must be Ford. The idiot had continued to drink it too, probably feeling guilty about either the mind wipe or the lying. Dipper had put a stop to it in the end, telling them both off like a disappointed parent, and Stan had gotten to go back to drinking his coffee with enough sugar in it to rival Mabeljuice.

He smiled to himself. He wasn’t quite ready to let himself believe that things were going to turn out okay. Up until four summers ago his life had been one long series of bad calls and traumatizing losses. He still wasn’t ready to accept that things were different now. But in the back of his mind, just far back enough that he was able to pretend it wasn’t there, the joy of imagining Dipper and Mabel living with them full time, glimmered.

Ford snapped the laptop shut and the happiness dissipated. Stan knew that to get that future the first thing they had to do was actually find their niblings. From Ford’s annoyed expression Stan assumed that there was still no word from Fiddleford. He glanced at his watch, ignoring the sick feeling as he noticed that the kids time was still stuck on midnight, he said, “Ford, it’s like four am their time. McGucket is probably asleep still.”

Ford sipped at his coffee sullenly. “Soos responded to you when you emailed him.”

“Yeah well, Soos doesn’t have deathbots to distract him in his spare time. Anyway, the kid still has a weird obsession with me. Probably has some sort of alarm hooked up to his computer that tells him when I email him.”

Soos had responded almost immediately to Stan’s email earlier in the night, asking him to pick them up from Portland when their flight got in. They had decided that, since they didn’t know where the kids were, their best bet was to go back to Gravity Falls for the time being and try to figure out next steps from there. Stan had advocated for flying straight to DC and knocking some sense into Mike and Martha, but Ford had talked him out of it, telling him it wouldn’t solve anything for the twins. It probably wouldn’t, but Stan still felt like it would make him feel better. Eh. He still had connections in the American underworld that probably didn’t hate him. Maybe he’d call in an old favor or two once they had the twins safely home.

“Perhaps Fiddleford doesn’t want to help.” Ford groaned. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame him. I did destroy his life, I have no real right to ask anything of him anymore.”

“Ford, stop. You being mean to yourself solves nothing. Also, aside from some of his problems being his own damn fault, he forgave you years ago. The man didn’t kit out our boat in the latest and greatest alien and McGucket labs tech ‘cause he hates ya.”

Ford blinked at him, owlishly. He looked exhausted, his hair stuck up at odd angles, and he had stubble growing in that he hadn’t had time to burn off before they left. His hands were shaking a bit, either out of anxiety or because this wasn’t his first cup of coffee since they had gotten here. Stan suspected it was likely the second option. With the addition of genuine shock on his face he looked a little bit insane.

“I hadn’t considered that.”

“You have,” Stan responded drily, “but you get a lot harder on yourself when you’re tired and have multiple cups of coffee back-to-back.”

Ford winced and set down his coffee guiltily. “I apologize. You’re correct. I know I’m being irrational but truly the coffee was just because I’d prefer not to sleep until we’re safely back in Gravity Falls.”

Stan frowned at him. “Why, Poindexter? Staying awake on a plane where we have no internet or way to contact the kids seems a bit silly.”

Ford fidgeted with his hands, pulling repeatedly at his extra finger, and distinctly not looking at Stan. Almost without meaning to, Stan started cataloging the actions. Learning peoples’ tells had become second nature to him on the road. In some ways it had been even more important in the years he spent running the Mystery Shack. Knowing enough about how people work means knowing exactly which buttons to push to get them to buy overpriced merchandise. Fidgeting meant anxiety, fidgeting with his fingers specifically meant embarrassment, and not looking at Stan could mean a couple things but, in this instance, probably meant whatever was bothering Ford had to do with him.

He sighed. “Spill, Ford. I know you’re anxious about something that has to do with me, but you’re embarrassed to tell me. Probably because you think I’ll tell you you’re bein’ silly or something.”

There was that surprised owl look again. Ford stopped fidgeting with his hands and picked up his coffee instead. “Look Stan, it’s just. You haven’t really been on a plane in years. I’m just worried it might cause memory resurgences, and we aren’t exactly equipped to deal with those in the air.”

“We’ve flown on a plane once today already.”

“It was a tiny plane and a relatively short flight. This flight will be packed and much longer. Also, you’ve been spacey since we got here. That type of derealization tends to occur prior to memory resurgences.”

He took a breath, probably about to continue his anxious ramble, but Stan cut him off. “Look Ford, I’m pretty sure I’ve only been on a plane a couple times in my life and I already remembered the London trip years ago.” Ford opened his mouth again, but Stan continued, talking over him, “More importantly, it doesn’t matter. We have to get on the plane and if I have another memory thingy, we’ll figure it out. Can’t be harder to figure out in the air than it was when we were fighting the Arctic Kraken that one time.”

Ford shuddered at the mention of it. Stan wasn’t too fond of the memory himself; he didn’t like having memory lapses in general, but it’s much worse to suddenly not know who you are or where you are while in the process of being picked up by a very violent squid. He knew he was right though, and after thinking about it for a minute Ford seemed to relax a bit.

“Okay, okay. That’s a fair point. Just let me know if you feel anything coming on, okay? I’m still worried about how out of it you’ve been today.”

The announcement for boarding crackled through the staticky concourse speakers and Stan stood, pulling his backpack on and offering a hand to Ford. “Don’t worry about me, everything’s gonna’ be just fine.”

…

Everything was not fine. Oh, his memory was fine. Absolutely no hiccups there. But Stan had decided he still really didn’t like heights. A ladder was probably fine, hell he’d probably even be fine standing on the water tower too. The first flight had been over water. A dark void that gave no real indication of how high they actually were. He had spent the first flight looking at constellations out the window and pretending they were in a car driving down the highway at night. The thrum of the engines was close enough to tires, and there hadn’t been any turbulence. Now though, they were flying over major cities. Even worse, the sun was starting to rise, making it increasingly clear just how far away from the ground they actually were.

He quickly slid the window shade shut, trying to block out the dizziness that was building in the back of his mind. He closed his eyes and leaned back, trying his best to re-convince himself that this was actually a car. He’d almost managed it too, when Ford suddenly grabbed his arm and hissed “He found them!”

Stan looked over blearily at his brother. Ford had been typing away on their laptop since the plane had reached cruising altitude, but he initially had ignored it. After all it wasn’t like they had an internet connection up here, so whatever Ford was doing was likely not that important. But oddly enough he seemed to have his email open.

“What are you talking about?”

“Fidds got back to us! He found a police report from Page County, Virginia!”

“Ford, there isn’t internet on airplanes.”

Ford waved his hand dismissively. “Things have changed since you were last on a plane, there is internet, you just have to pay for it. It’s a little slow but works well enough.”

Stan shrugged, pulling the laptop towards him, and started to read the email from McGucket, which had a copy of the report attached to it.

At 23:30 last night officers responded to a break-in alarm from the Luray Caverns entry gate. Upon arrival to the parking lot at 23:45 officers spotted two teenagers in a purple Toyota with vanity plate WADDLES. When the suspects saw officers approaching, they left the parking lot quickly and officers pursued to ascertain any potential connection to the break in alarm. The purple Toyota did not pull over or slow down for the pursuing patrol cars and proceeded to speed and drive recklessly, while fleeing the scene. At around 00:00 officers reported seeing a woman in the road, directly in front of the purple Toyota. The Toyota appeared to collide with the woman and then officers lost track of both the vehicle and the pedestrian. No wreckage or remains have been found at this time. Officers are on the lookout for the purple Toyota or any reported sighting of the teenagers or the woman involved in the disappearance.

There was more to the report, something about a picked lock on the entry to the caverns and damage to a national monument. But Stan couldn’t seem to get himself to process the rest of it. The words kept blurring out, and a strange ringing noise was beginning to fill his mind. Officers lost track of both the vehicle and the pedestrian. He shook his head trying to clear it, and tried to push the laptop back to Ford but his hands didn’t seem to be cooperating with him. A woman in the road.

A

Woman

In

The

Road

He felt the laptop fall to the floor, then everything went white.

…

Stan was driving. He wasn’t entirely sure what state he was in currently. He’d started driving in North Carolina but he wouldn’t be surprised if at this point he’d crossed into at least South Carolina if not Georgia. He normally tried to be more mindful of where he was, never wanting to accidentally end up in a place he wasn’t supposed to be, but all he had cared about today was putting as much distance between him and Jimmy as possible.

He absently rubbed at the bruise he could feel forming under his eye. He’d gotten enough of that shit from his father, he didn’t need to put up with from his, well, whatever Jimmy had been, he didn’t need to put up with it from him either. Of course Jimmy had thrown him out when he had said that ‘cause when had standing up for himself ever actually worked out well for Stan Pines. The second he stopped letting himself be everyone’s punching bag or doormat was the same moment when everyone decided they didn’t need him anymore. The worst part was he’d actually thought Jimmy cared, actually thought for a moment there that Jimmy might apologize, might try and make things right. Serves him right for believe people cared about him. That’s what happens when you get attached, he reminded himself angrily, that’s what happens when you pretend to be worth something to people.

The Stanleymobile hit the rumble strip on the roadside and Stan jerked the wheel back center, heart pounding. Fuck, he really needed to stop somewhere. He’d been driving for too long; he was starting to get lost in his head instead of focusing on the road. He knew from experience that meant he was getting dangerously close to falling asleep. He squinted into the dark searching for some sort of exit sign or rest area. All he really needed was a safe place to pull off, it wasn’t like he actually had the money to stay anywhere. His prize money from his most recent boxing match was back in the apartment with Jimmy and he knew he wouldn’t be getting that back.

He rubbed at his eye again. Damn, that bruise really hurt. He hoped Jimmy hadn’t fractured something, that wouldn’t be fun to deal with while it healed.  Suddenly there was a shape in the darkness ahead of him and Stan reflexively slammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt just before colliding with a young woman standing by the edge of the road.

She looked like she couldn’t be any older than sixteen or seventeen. Her hair was dark and curly, with a couple of small braids at the front. Even though it was January she was wearing sandals and a short yellow sundress with a denim jacket covered in patches. She didn’t seem to have a bag with her or anything and as she looked up at him she stuck out her thumb like a hitcher and gave him a gap toothed grin that reminded him somewhat painfully of himself at her age.

While most parts of his mind were screaming that it was a trap, the rest of him felt an intense rage that someone had let a child wander around alone on a highway in the middle of the night. He could have killed her if he hadn’t been paying attention, and he damn well wasn’t going to let anyone else do the same. Anyway, he could use the company, it would stop him falling asleep.

He rolled down the window and unlocked the doors, “Where ya headed kid?”

“I’m just trying to get home. Can you help me?” She gave him another nervous smile and the part of Stan that was longing to ask, “What’s in it for me?” softened.

“Of course, kid. Hop in.” He cleared empty chip bags and cigarette cartons off the seat and surreptitiously shoved a half empty handle of vodka under his jacket in the back.

They started driving again and he glanced over at her, in the weak light from the occasional streetlamp she looked almost transparent at times, and she seemed to be shivering a bit despite her jacket. He fished around in the back seat for his red hoodie and handed it to her, hoping she wouldn’t mind the holes in it which he hadn’t had time to patch up yet. She shrugged it on happily and he was pleased to see that her shivering stopped fairly quickly. “What’s your name?” He asked quietly.

“Daisy. Daisy McAll.”

Stan paused for a moment rifling through his various aliases but something in her face stopped him and he sighed. “I’m Stanley Pines, it’s nice to meet ya. If you don’t mind my asking, what’s a kid like you doing all alone out here at night? It’s dangerous for you to be walking on the side of a highway in the dark, I almost hit you.”

She shrugged, “I know, but you didn’t, so it’s okay. I was at a party with some friends, and they were driving me back home, but they’d had a bit too much to drink.”

Stan nodded knowingly. “So, you told them you’d rather walk? Smart kid.”

She smiled a little sadly. “Yeah, something like that.”

They drove in silence for the next twenty minutes or so before she directed him down a series of small backroads near the town of Woodcliff Georgia. Stan knew something was wrong the moment they reached the house. There was a for sale sign in the front yard that was rusted and bent, and several windows in the old house were boarded up. Weeds choked the driveway and the yard was overgrown save for a spot under the large willow tree near the house which seemed to have a gravestone of some sort next to it and a bouquet of flowers on it, although they seemed old and dry.

“Are you sure this is the right house kiddo? It doesn’t seem like anyone has lived here in a while.”

Daisy stared at the house with an expression of such intense sadness and longing that Stan wanted to reach out and give her a hug. He didn’t because he didn’t want to invite a second punch to the face today, so instead he settled for gently patting her hand where it rested on the center console. It was freezing cold despite the fact that she was no longer shivering, but Stan didn’t pull his hand back.

“Is there somewhere else I can take you? You don’t have to tell me what’s really going on but I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone.”

She turned and smiled at him sadly. “Thank you, I know it doesn’t make much sense, but it helps to come here every so often.” She pulled her hand out of his and ran it through her hair, giving a tired little laugh. “What do you say I get you a meal? I know a great diner close to here.”

Hoping it wouldn’t be an abandoned diner, Stan followed her directions back out of the neighborhood to the highway. At some point there was a weird flash, almost like a car behind him had flashed its brights in his rearview mirror, but there was no car there. The diner appeared around the next turn and he pulled into the lot.

He and Daisy each got a burger, and she ordered him a chocolate milkshake as well. He hadn’t had chocolate in a long time, and it made him think of days spent on the boardwalk with Ford growing up. The memory hurt. He didn’t finish the milkshake.

He must have fallen asleep at the booth, dozing off in the warmth and low murmurs of conversation from around them. When he woke up, it was morning, and he was asleep in the front seat of the Stanleymobile. For a moment he thought he had dreamed it all, until he looked to his right and saw his hoodie folded neatly on the seat next to him. Sitting on top of it was a to-go box of fries and a single yellow daisy.

Later that day he drove back to the house Daisy had directed him to last night. In the light of day the gravestone was easily visible and, after spending a while in his car, waiting to make absolutely sure no one was currently living in the house, he walked up to the grave. It read:

 Daisy McAll 1955-1972  Loved By All, Gone Too Soon.

Something tightened in his chest as he did the math. She’d only been seventeen, and she’d already been dead for three years. He placed the bouquet of daisies he’d purchased in town on the grave stone, clearing off the old one. The florist had laughed when he had asked about it, telling him every few months or so someone would come in asking for one and he had no idea what made them so popular. That had made Stan smile a bit, good for her, hustling people for flowers. She deserved it.

He stood there for a while, in silence. Then he turned and walked back to his car. He didn’t believe in God, hadn’t in a long time, but as he sat in the car before pulling away, he found himself giving a small prayer up to the universe that wherever she was, Daisy could eventually find peace. No one deserved to wander the roads for their entire life – or afterlife as it may be. He headed back out for the highway, and then his vision dissolved into darkness and lots of overlapping voices.

…

Stan was back on the plane again, with an absolutely splitting headache. It was most certainly not being helped by Ford and what he assumed was a stewardess and several passengers having a loud argument next to him. He groaned and slowly uncurled himself from the position he had collapsed into, half on the floor and half in his seat. His bones really weren’t made for airplanes, he decided.

“Can everyone please stop yellin’?”

He hated how fast a hush fell around them. He wanted nothing more than to go lie down for a while and process this information, preferably alone in the dark on a bed. But given that that was impossible, at the very least he wanted to not be made a public spectacle.

Ford gently placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing small circles into the portal scar with his thumb. “Are you okay, Stan?”

A slightly hysterical passenger standing in the aisle gasped out, “Of course he’s not okay, he just had a seizure!”

Stan cast a glance over at Ford who gave a shrug, he was letting Stan take the lead on this one apparently.

“‘M fine.” He cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I’m fine,” he said again, turning on the Mr. Mystery charm and rifling through his head for a suitable story. “I haven’t had a seizure in a while, so it was just unexpected is all. Normally I have a service dog with me, but due to a family emergency we had to fly out on short notice and weren’t able to bring him with us.” He glanced around at the pitying worried faces, and brightened the confident smile on his face, time to reel ‘em in. “I appreciate your concern, but I truly am fine now. My brother has plenty of experience with my condition and it's extremely unlikely I'll have any other issues on the flight.”

Nodding to themselves most of the passengers dispersed. Ford pulled the flight attendant back to ask for water and some aspirin, promising to call her right away if anything else occurred, then turned back to Stan.

“Shows over.” Stan grumbled, massaging his temples with his hands. “Fuck, that hasn’t happened in a while.”

“I told you I was worried about this, Stanley.”

Stan stiffened for a moment, but Ford didn’t sound annoyed or upset with him, and his hand stayed reassuringly warm on Stan’s shoulder. He just sounded worried.

“Well.” Stan looked over at him with a half-smile, “It had nothin’ to do with the plane, so you were at least half wrong. Anyway, it wasn’t a bad memory exactly. More just kind of sad. You’ll probably find it fascinating though.”

“Stan!” Ford sounded reproachful. “I don’t think your sad memories are fascinating! Just because I write them down—”

“Didn’t say you did, Sixer. Now be quiet until the aspirin kicks in. I promise I’ll explain everything once this damn headache goes away a bit.”

He leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes, determined not to look at Ford. It hadn’t been a bad memory. In fact he was pretty sure he’d forgotten that memory long before he’d, well, lost them. That was another part of his memory loss he hated. Some things he’d lost on purpose, long before the memory gun, and at least most of his other bad memories were dulled by distance and time. But regaining them was like living them over again. It felt real in every possible way. Sometimes it was very difficult for him to actually remember that they were just memories, that the here and now wasn’t just a dream he’d cooked up for himself on the run, or in prison. In the end Ford or the kids always pulled him back out of his head and set him right again, but sometimes the lingering wrongness of it all could last for days. After all, this had been his dream for so many years that he’d given up on it ever being a possibility. He couldn’t be blamed for having trouble believing it was actually real.

He was a little surprised he’d forgotten that particular memory though. He’d forgotten a lot of stuff to do with Jimmy on purpose, and the weeks he’d spent on the road after leaving for the final time were still lost to the memory gun. He could feel the holes in the story, burned like long scars into the timeline he had been piecing back together for almost four years now. He truthfully would be happy for them to stay lost, but he could feel them drifting around just out of reach, brought back to the surface by the memory of Daisy McAll. They’d probably start trickling back in bits and pieces over the next week if previous experience was anything to go by. No, he wasn’t surprised he hadn’t remembered leaving Jimmy’s place, what shocked him was forgetting the first truly weird encounter he’d had on the road.

He knew there had been others after that, he remembered not being surprised the first time he chased a gnome out of Ford’s trash cans a few days after the portal incident. So, he knew that he’d brushed up against weirdness enough times to know there was more out there than the occasional ghost and the Jersey Devil. He just couldn’t seem to find any of the memories at the moment, and without anything more to go on than a gut feeling of weirdness, he knew he was unlikely to get them back anytime soon.

The headache faded as they began their descent into Portland. Stan kept his eyes resolutely shut however, until they finally touched down on the tarmac and rolled to a stop at the gate. The headache may have faded but the nausea at the idea of falling out of the sky certainly hadn’t, so he didn’t actually begin to explain things to Ford until they reached a small café near the baggage claim.

Soos had texted letting them know he was around a half hour away due to traffic and the plane landing a bit earlier than expected. Ford had collected their suitcases from the baggage claim, and there was a steaming mug of hot chocolate sat in front of both of them. He supposed he couldn’t really put it off any longer.

He retold the story as accurately as he could. He left out the parts about Jimmy, not that he really thought Ford would care, but he didn’t want to give Ford something else to try and blame himself for today. As if Stan’s poor taste in men or women had ever been anything but his own fault. Everything else he was honest about though, including leaving the daisies on the grave, which made Ford smile at him and mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “softie” into his hot chocolate.

When he finished Ford didn’t say anything but pulled out their laptop and typed away for a moment before turning the screen towards Stan. It was a photocopy of a newspaper clipping on some archive website. The photocopy was grainy, but the headline was still readable. Drunk Teenage Driver Collides With Guardrail, Killing Himself and All Four Passengers. The date on the clipping read April 1972, and the photos of the five victims were printed below the story. Most of them were too blurry to make out much detail, but the final one felt familiar to him, he didn’t have to read the name printed beneath it to know it said Daisy McAll.

Something in his chest that he hadn’t realized was tight, released. He had known this was real, after everything in Gravity Falls, hell, after everything he and Ford had encountered in the last few years, it had to be real. But some tiny part of him had wondered back then if he was going crazy. The loneliness, the years of travel and running away, every time he’d seen something like this, he’d felt just a tiny bit closer to losing himself.

He smiled and passed the laptop back to Ford. “That’s her.” Ford took the laptop then reached down for something in his bag before hesitating. Stan could see the gears spinning in his brother’s head. He knew Ford wanted to write all this down more than anything, but he also knew that there was a ritual to how they did this; Ford may not like the ritual very much but he followed it anyway. The ritual had been established early on, when it became clear the memory recovery was going to be a process and not a quick fix. First, he explains the memory when he’s ready, Ford listens and does not interrupt. When he is finished talking, Ford can ask questions and, if he wants to, Stan can answer. Then, when Stan leaves the room Ford can write everything down, but he has to wait until then. Stan understands the value of recordkeeping, especially when the stability of his memories is still less than solid, but he doesn’t like sitting there and being Ford’s specimen.

Ford sat back up and drums his fingers on the table. “Okay, what exactly sparked this memory, Stan? You’re correct that it doesn’t have anything to do with planes, but I’m not entirely sure what on earth caused it.”

Stan frowned at him, “Isn’t it obvious, Poindexter?”

Ford looked even more confused. “No? I don’t think so anyway, we were just talking on the plane, and you were reading the email from Fiddleford—”

“Correct.”

“Stan, Fidd’s email didn’t say anything about ghosts.”

“Not directly, no.” Stan gazed at Ford for another moment before sighing and tugging the laptop back out of his brother’s hands, pulling up the police report. He handed it back to Ford saying, “Read it again.”

He saw the moment the lightbulb went off. Ford’s eyes widened and he lurched for his backpack, pulling out his journal and flipping through the pages frantically. “You think the kids—you think they picked up a hitcher?”

“Well, not exactly? I don’t really know how these things work but I’m pretty sure that diner I told you about wasn’t exactly a real place so to speak? Like maybe it was a ghost diner? I know that sounds stupid but—”

“That’s not stupid Stanley, that’s brilliant!”

“It is?”

“Yes! The ghost roads are a huge part of American folklore, but I’ve never paid very close attention to them because it always felt too vague to be real. Similar to the myth of the American cross-roads devils, no clear reason they come, no clear way to get to them, just anecdotes passed down through oral history. But with what you’ve just described to me Stan, and the way that the police report describes them just vanishing, I think it's entirely plausible that they managed to use a ghost to pass into the ghost roads to escape the police!”

“Do ghosts make your phones stop working?”

“It’s possible! There hasn’t been a lot of research on it but it's likely that the general aura of weirdness that surrounds things like that would have a strong adverse reaction to more modern technology.”

“Gravity Falls never seemed to have much of a problem with it.”

“Eh” Ford shrugged, “Gravity Falls has been steeped in weirdness since its very inception, I wouldn’t be surprised if the technology just adapts to the weirdness there over time. You said when you woke up you were back on the road right, and it was the next morning?”

Startled by the sudden conversation change Stan paused, sorting through the memory again before answering. “Yes, I think so. Maybe when the sun rises, or when enough time passes the living are forced back into the real world?” He trailed off and stared at Ford for a second, then they both simultaneously checked their watches. Sure enough, their time read 8:30am and the kids time slot read 11:30am. Wherever they were, time was moving correctly again.

Stan and Ford pulled their phones out in sync but Stan got there first, dialing Mabel's number while Ford froze, staring at his phone screen. Stan ignored him, heart pounding as he waited. The phone rang and rang before eventually cutting to voicemail. Stan almost hung up, but something stopped him so instead, he waited through the cheery voice of his niece until the beep. “Hey sweetie, call us back, okay? We love you both and just want to get you home.”

He hung up and glanced at Ford who was still staring at his phone in silence. “You gonna call Dipper or what?”

Ford shook his head then slid the phone across the table. On it was a single notification, unread message from Mabel Pines. It was dated from yesterday afternoon. Ford pressed play:

“Hey Grunkle Ford. It’s Mabel. Dipper is also here but he’s driving right now. We tried to call Grunkle Stan too, but his mailbox was full. We should have called you both earlier, like a lot earlier, and I know you’re probably really mad at me for just leaving and not calling you. We’re really sorry about that, it’s mostly my fault anyway, I was just worried that—Well, nevermind, not important right now.” She took a deep breath before continuing. 

“What is important is we’re on our way to Gravity Falls! Sort of. We’re in West Virginia right now anyway. I’m calling now because we need help. And to be honest I don’t know if it’s something you guys can help us with but, something is wrong with time? Because everything says it's New Year’s Eve, 2015. And it shouldn’t be!!” She was speaking faster now, voice blurring with panic and a slight hysteria that set Stan’s teeth on edge.

“It really shouldn’t be, because yesterday was New Years Eve, and we found a Hide-Behind and a Grimadillo and got chased by the cops and I—I called you! We called you at midnight and then. And then everything went wrong. We don’t know what to do, and our clock is broken as well. And I don’t know that it's relevant, but Dipper said it might be ‘cause he knows you guys put alien tech stuff in it to link to your watches. But it broke last night when we ended up in the ghost world, all the hands stopped where they were at midnight our time.”

There was a long silence and for a moment Stan thought the message was over. Then there was a long sigh and a sniff before she kept talking, it was clear that she was crying.

“We don’t know what to do. We’re going to keep going to Gravity Falls and just sort of hope that we figure it out. I don’t even know if this message will get through but, we love you guys and we’re so sorry for everything.”

There was a click, and the message ended.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Logging off Twitter again. Maybe I should just delete the app. No really there has been discours again where people are answering what their honest opinions on loustat was a couple days ago, and seem to keep going. And while many love loustat there is of course a few that has a problem them and also Lestat. Which is fine it’s not for everyone, but I do am starting to get annoyed by ALL the discourse here, there is just never any room to fully breath.

Not saying that all is negative obvi, but going back to the discussion of loustat/Lestat. My biggest annoyance and I might sound a bit petty are those tagt aren’t aggressive in their dislike but doesn’t seem to understand how important these two things are to the (especially old) fandom. I may personally have a bit of complicated (yet loving) feelings about lousta and Lestat, at the moment, since I am a relatively new fan and has only read “Interview” (thoug I am excited for Lestats redemption). I still understand that Lestat is the deeply complicated not easy main character of the story and that loustat is pretty much the heart of the VC. So I genuinely feel a bit confused when a lot of new fans is just like “they should stay separate” or “Lestat is irrelevant”, like obviously there isn’t any malice here and I understand if you don’t vibe but really? I am honestly a little confused by this….

This makes me understand why many old fans can feel very frustrated. Anne Rice clearly isn’t for everyone, and probably works best in a small community. I mean this LEVEL of discourse that has been going on can’t be healthy right? Art can be discussed, but it‘s also made to be enjoyed.

(I mostly stay off of Twitter these days, I find it a snake pit tbh)

I can understand the new fans that have only seen the show, because some of the articles and press also called Loustat "doomed" etc. And the podcast lady was very... errr... direct in regards to that and Armand, too, for example.

But... that just won't stay that way *laughs*

The first half of IWTV was just that, the first half. The easy half, imho.

If you read the book you know what's coming. I think the first season will likely be remembered as the most harmless. The one to ... separate a few things, maybe, too. The Vampire Chronicles truly are not for everyone.

When "we" (as in old book fans) speak about Armand for example, and Loumand and then the blender, or sexual violence... we are not kidding. Or trying to pitch "ships" against each other. It's much, much, MUCH more complicated than that :)))

The current discourse/drama level will likely be "cute" when we get to the dramatic shift in Paris season 2. However they'll spin it, fans will feel betrayed by what they thought was a cute, loving relationship. And of course Daniel. And of course Lestat will HAVE to show up somehow for season 3. And, then, if they show Claudia's death as Armand tells it in his book.... oy. Incoming *laughs*

Lestat is the anti hero of the chronicles, but he is not even the worst out there. None of them are the nice guys.

Some of the new show-only fans will be ill-equipped for that simple truth I think.

[percontaion-points]

Edible Delectables chapters 1 & 2

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 1

It was December and the city was in full holiday swing. Kara’s best friend, Evalyn McCartney, had driven out to the Wassailfest in New Braunfels, with her husband Eric and his family. They had extended the invitation to Kara as well, and while Kara adored the McCartney’s, she had given the excuse that she wasn’t feeling all that well in order to get out of going. Instead, she’d said she would just go visit with Ryan, her other close friend, and honorary brother. In reality, she was looking forward to just hanging out and drinking margaritas, while catching up with a good friend she hadn’t seen in ages, due to the recent success of her business. 

Edible Delectables, Kara’s bakery, had slowly been gaining in popularity since opening its doors the year before. A booming business was what she had been striving for, but the bakery had yet to earn enough revenue for extra help. The result was limited time outside of work for friends or anything else. 

Kara was determined this weekend would be different, so of course it would be that when she finally got around to calling Ryan, it turned out to be his mother’s birthday. Ryan, ever the doting son, had already planned to take his mother to dinner. Marla Wittman was a widow and Ryan made every attempt he could to keep her from being lonely. He invited Kara along, and while it wouldn’t be the same as hanging out at Ryan’s apartment getting drunk and hearing about his latest conquests, it was bound to be better than polite conversations with the McCartney’s, or worse, staying home alone. We could always hang out after dinner, Kara thought, and accepted the invitation.

I’m fine with establishing backstory, what’s going on, why characters are doing what they’re doing…

But the problem is that this is literally page one. I don’t care about any of this, BECAUSE THE AUTHOR HAS BARELY TOLD US THE NAME OF THE MAIN CHARACTER. 

Only now, just hours later, here she was in the bathroom of Andy’s Steakhouse, sweating and emptying her innards into the toilet of a public restroom…

[...]

Shuffling over to the sink, she washed her hands before she grabbed a paper towel, wet it, and wiped down her face. She looked into the mirror, and cringed at her reflection. Kara had never really considered herself to be stunning or beautiful, but she knew she wasn’t completely unattractive either. Her body was shapely and toned, and her auburn hair, while not all that exciting, was long, healthy and shiny.

The last time I vomited in a public toilet, the first thing I did was to go check out how shiny my hair was in the mirror. 

SAID NOBODY. EVER. 

…Kara’s cell phone began to ring out with Peanut Butter Jelly!, Kara’s ringtone for Eva.

Nothing quite like immediately dating your story. 

 Standing up straight he stretched his arms above his head and popped his neck and back as best he could before heading back into the pit.

Chapter 1 summary: As mentioned earlier, we open on this immense info dump, which never actually lets us get to know the characters before shoving us into the story. What you need to know is that the MC, Kara, is out with her friend Ryan and his mom for his mom’s birthday dinner. The food barely comes when Kara has to bolt to the bathroom to be physically ill. When she gets back, she finds that she can’t eat, and regrets how she rode over with them. Her friend’s mom eats really, REALLY slow, to the point of it being annoying. 

Ryan drops her off at her car, but she doesn’t want to be alone. She tries calling another friend and her husband, Eva and Eric, but they aren’t answering. So instead, she goes over to Eric’s mom’s house, where she lies down for a little bit. When Eva finally calls her back, Kara says she thinks that she needs to go to the ER.

We then randomly jump over to the male lead, Jason, who is a paediatric doctor at the hospital. But tonight is busy, so he’s working the ER. And if you thought that the end of the chapter would be with Kara coming in, then you are clearly expecting something much better than what this book is shaping up to be. 

Chapter 2

“Have you called Paul yet?” Evalyn asked, as they made their way inside the building. She dug in her purse for a hair band and quickly pulled her long strawberry blonde hair into a pony tail. Eric walked beside her, his arm around Kara’s midsection, trying to help ease the discomfort caused by walking. Paul was Kara’s father, her mother had passed away while Kara was in high school, and ever since her father had raised her alone He’d done a fine job and Kara had grown up happy, but he tended to overreact where Kara’s health and well-being were concerned.

The problem with this pulled-to-publish Twilight fanfic is that… When you’re reading the fanfic and the character says “Have you called Charlie?” every reader knows who that is. We don’t need to stop the narration to explain to the reader who Charlie is.

But it’s like the author has no idea how to write something other than pre-established characters. So what was an effortless, throw-away line in the fanfic turns into this bumbling mess that literally stops the narration so that it can explain Kara’s family dynamics to us. 

EXCEPT THAT WE STILL DON’T CARE. 

He'd been a senior and she a junior when they were in high school. He knew her, or rather knew of her, but they’d never actually spoken. She was quiet and kept to herself and a small group of close friends. He'd seen her in the library during lunch on more than one occasion. Jason spent a great deal of time in the library studying. His parents had moved from Seattle to Austin his senior year; he'd begged them to let him stay to finish school, but his parents wouldn't hear of it. They were a family and they were moving together, they insisted. They were convinced he'd make new friends and everything would be fine. They thought maybe he would let go of his determination to head back to Seattle for college, but they had underestimated just how determined Jason had been. 

NOBODY FUCKING CARES. GET BACK TO THE GODDAMNED ER BUSINESS, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. 

Jason. Not Dr. Dietrich. Did she remember him, too?

Chapter 2 summary: Eva and Eric take Kara to the hospital, except every fucking thing is interrupted to explain some goddamned asinine thing every other paragraph. Not really, but it sure seemed like it at times. Kara gets checked in, but it’s busy, so she’s going to have to wait. She eventually tries to ask the intake nurse if there’s somewhere she can lie down, and another doctor says that there’s an empty gurney in the hall, and Kara can have it.

We switch over to Jason’s POV, and he randomly thinks he knows the name of Kara Baker when he’s handed her chart. We then bring the narration to yet another screeching halt so that we can explain that his family forced him to move his senior year of high school, and he ended up at the school with Kara. She was a year below him, and he would have 100% gone after her… if he hadn’t already promised himself to some random third party named Katie. 

He then does an exam on Kara and thinks that she has appendicitis. But to be on the safe side, he wants to do a pelvic exam to rule out something like ovarian cysts. We’re then subjected to THAT exam as well. It’s like the author has no concept of skipping ahead. After he leaves the room, Kara suddenly remembers him from high school. Finally, Jason rules that she does have appendicitis, and that she should get into surgery as soon as possible. 

[sinisterexaggerator]

Beauty and the Bounty Hunter

Chapter 4: The Hunt

Part 5 >>

(Cad Bane x Fem! Reader/OC)

Fic summary: You are Aurora Ordel: the pinnacle of femininity gone wrong. Smart, sexy, but with a sassy mouth. Hailing from Corellia, you live on Coruscant at your career’s behest. You are a “Chief Design Engineer” for The Galactic Empire; inventor of the Onager-Class Star Destroyer - this super weapon is your pride and joy.

Your employer is Palpatine; you answer to Darth Vader; and Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin is always barking up your skirt.

You are also beauty who has met with beast – a surly, ill-tempered bounty hunter who you like to swap spit with. Your problem? - Everyone’s out to kill you for being such a kriffing witch, and on top of that, you’re addicted to that Duros dick. Your solution? – Make Cad Bane your ( on call ) bitch.

*This is a second person POV (reader) fic / OC fic. It's both. I forgo physical descriptions at much as possible, though yes, you/she has a name, and a personality. If that is not your cup of tea, that is fine, but as the story stands it will remain this way. I still have fun writing it. If it pisses you off, oh well I guess. DN read.

This chapter: Our dear reader has found herself in trouble. Cad Bane is quite fed-up with her! Will he bother to come to her assistance, and if so, under what pretense?

Warnings: 18+ for dirty humor, death, murder, reference to fertile cycles and alien biology aka horny old man Bane headcanon, exploding heads, allusions to physical abuse, mention of sexual assault (no penetration), misogynistic/gross men, emotional trauma / other heavy shit, but don't worry. Cad Bane saves you.

Word count: 6.5k

Notes: No smut this time. Sorry / not sorry about that, but the story is definitely progressing in that direction for chapter 5! I apologize for the long delay. Hopefully this chapter will still be entertaining!

BATBH: Masterpost

You are Aurora Ordel and you have found yourself in trouble. Your hired gun had been callous towards you and for good reason. You had annoyed him to the point money did not matter. He was through with you, and you were being held for ransom.

You had lost track of time though hours felt like days. Your kidnappers hadn’t fed you though they were kind enough to let you drink for without water you would die. It wouldn’t do them any good if you were dead – not yet.

Little did they know the Empire did not take kindly to this sort of thing. Perhaps your life was not worth the credits that they required for your release. You had your doubts having heard their plans, even if you were an infamous, “evil” scientist.

This gang of thugs - of miscreants - had claimed to of seen you on the HoloNewsThey assumed you were someone of esteem and influence, and perhaps you were. Just days ago you had the Emperor himself eating from your palm, but only because of your invention. You were unsure that he would bother to send anyone to gain your freedom.

After two days your assailants were growing bored. You wore a blindfold. You had no idea what they looked like or their species, though some of them had claws as they had fondled and caressed your body.

You had choked back tears against your gag. They claimed to love the soft flesh of a human. Their words came out as a hiss. You thought maybe they were Trandoshan or perhaps more Duros.

That thought led you to more unsavory ones - the very thing you did to displease the hunter – that kriffing bet. Your desire for him had overpowered your sense of reason. You were normally so smart yet this blue man caused you to act stupid.

It’s like your brain turned off around him. No man, no alien had ever had that effect on you before. It was unnerving, yet your libido grew and grew to the point you could lose all control. It was no doubt curious though you chose to act instead of question it.

Just thinking about Cad Bane had you sopping wet even as you were bound in binders and blind to your surroundings. You cursed yourself behind your gag though the scent of your arousal had alerted your greedy captors. Whatever was their ilk, they could tell.

“Sssssshe likesssss it. What a ssssssslut,” one of the Trandoshans said. You nearly screamed as his forked tongue flitted against your ear. You kicked your legs though your ankles were bound. One of his large hands easily held them down.

“We got ourssssselvvvvesssss a braaaaaat,” the reptilian creature hissed. There was raucous laughter followed by the overwhelming feeling of being helpless.

You held back tears for they wouldn’t do you any good. Your mind drifted to that damn Duros. He wished you had never slighted him. The only thing that made you finally cry was that he had never fucked you proper.

---

Cad Bane was on the hunt. Your scent had been overpowered, outnumbered by the odors of your adversaries. They had purposely split up, going two separate ways. Perhaps they knew who they were dealing with when they saw the company you kept.

Bane was aware it was in his best interest to leave it be, yet you had paid him quite a hefty sum. Maybe he felt a sense of duty though he had convinced himself to swear you off. It still felt … wrong, seeing as how you couldn’t even see, and that part had been his fault, no matter that you quite deserved what you had got.

Ultimately, if he hadn’t ejaculated on your glasses you wouldn’t be in this mess.

The hunter sighed, running a hand over his long face as he shook his head. He shouldn’t have let your attitude get the best of him. To lose his cool was unprofessional, no matter if he had been balls deep in your pretty cunt, as that was less than professional as well, but he would have to admit he had enjoyed it when in fact his testes resided inside himself.

He hadn’t… finished; he hadn’t let you finish. To die without the satisfaction of an orgasm was a cruel and unjust punishment, especially as your desire for him was downright palpable.

His ego was somewhat elevated despite the events that had transpired. If he played his cards right you might still be alive. If not, well, he at least could say he tried.

Cad Bane stalked the lower levels, having asked anyone in the nearby vicinity about what it was they’d seen. For the perpetrators to have moved so fast dictated they were not human beings. He had smelled a mix of things. Gotals, which was worrisome, Trandoshan, and a subspecies of their ilk. They were just as ugly, going by the name of Saurin’s who hailed from the planet Durkteel.

They all had claws, sharp teeth, or horns: things that you might be afraid of. Yet, as a scientist, Bane wondered if you were perhaps enjoying it.

Oh, but his thoughts wandered to things that were unpleasant. That prompted him to traverse through the Underworld portal in his ship, deeper down than where the Red Rancor sat.

Level 1313 was so aptly named as it was one-thousand-three-hundred and thirteen levels from the core of Coruscant. This place was vile, often forgotten by those above and disregarded, though Cad Bane had visited this undercity numerous times before.

Information was what he was after on your whereabouts. Tidbits, morsels, or even scraps often proved useful when you followed the right tracks. He left the Justifier in the safekeeping of his droid, then slinked through the crowds as he kept an eye out and one ear open.  

Bane canvassed the filthy streets, using the fear of God he put into people. No one dared to turn him down from the moment he’d made eye contact.

His reputation was a boon though he could not prevent denizens from lying to him. He had learned to gauge a person’s body language, their nuanced movements, and the tone of voice they used to tell if they were playing stupid. Most were too afraid to fib though Bane uncovered nothing of grave importance.

A few individuals in particular he thought suspicious; he collected their names and any identifying features. He used his thorough research skills to rummage down back avenues on the HoloNet, picking and choosing where he was led to next on instinct.

After many dead end leads and unsuccessful stealth laden ventures, Bane decided on a place to rest and kick his feet up but also one full of chumps and gangsters, two-bit crooks, and even bounty hunters. He’d fit right in, to most people’s chagrin - Cad Bane’s presence was at the very least intimidating.

Finally, some punk, some wet nosed kid who knew little-to-nothing about subtlety or keeping secrets just couldn’t stop himself from bragging. A heavy flow of ale meant a heavy flow of intel from his end. Bane would often buy drinks for blatherers; the payout was worth the credits, especially if he was not in the mood to cause a scene.

“They caught themselves an Imp with a real nice rack. Wonder how many war crimes she’s committed.”

“Bitch probably deserves what’s coming to her,” some rando commented.

“Wouldn’t mind being the one to give it,” the stoolie laughed. "Then I'd leave her a present to remember me by - all over those perky tits."

The unwitting snitch had just joined ranks with a no-good band of hoodlums, rivals to the ones called Raptors, and they had the inclination to snatch their current captive to take the reward all for themselves.

Some woman - a smart one, from what he had gathered – she held secrets belonging to the Empire. This kid had seen her dragged inside a warehouse; he had overheard a man with green hair explain the details to someone else - the plans they had for you should no one bother to collect.

Cad Bane thought there was more to it than that. He ground his teeth into his toothpick. Upon threat of death should he waste his time, the squealer shed light on this gang’s hiding spot, advising the bounty hunter on where to start his search afresh.

Then, he broke his neck.

“Dhat’s fer bein’ a disgustin’ bastard,” Bane sneered, though he had mostly committed murder so he did not follow in his footsteps; it would have been a bother should he gain advantage, or get word back to his gang.

However, he could not deny the imbecile was accurate: your rack was nice. He found himself annoyed that he was worried about your safety, red eyes squinting as he glared at nothing in particular until he moved ahead, hoping you weren’t dead yet.

The Duros was forced to enter the Crimson Corridor, the even seedier high-crime district that was positioned some ten kilometers from the former Jedi Temple. It was in the Third Quadrant of the Zi-Kree Sector, and not a place for a lady such as yourself no matter your lack of proper manners.

This region was far from your original location; he wondered if this whole charade was planned ahead or just an opportune arrangement. Considering the many talents you seemed to have he wouldn’t put it past this motley crew to know what you were truly on about.

Cad Bane shook his head again; he could hardly believe a gal like you created superweapons. With such a shapely ass, wide hips, and perfect breasts, it was a wonder you had also been blessed with such a brain to boot, one that housed monolithic blueprints for some of the most dangerous playthings in the galaxy, yet you were worse than all those children he had been paid to wrangle; they knew how to listen. You were a walking contradiction!

You talked back, talked smack, running your mouth from here to the Mid Rim with the obscenest things, and you had the nerve to make that bet!

Oh, you had begged forgiveness. But even if he was irritated with you and had admittedly planned to leave, he could not vindicate forfeiting you to the grimy hands of other men.

This time he had brought Todo with him, the droid trying to point out something Bane would not accept; there had been a rise in his reproductive hormone levels and your presence was simply not helping matters though the droid was positive it could.

Maybe it was a mistake to link his little confidant to his life support; he knew the ins and outs of every facet of Bane’s many somatic systems. Todo was aware If Bane were sick or injured before even he did on occasion, but the price to pay was he had become a hassle. He was always badgering and nagging, telling him when to eat, or sleep, or when to brush his teeth so as to practice good oral hygiene.

He was tempted to end the program but he also loved having the upper hand. Should he need him one day, Todo would be a comm away.

Still, at this very moment, the service droid would not stop talking, elaborating on the intricacies of Durosian biology and fertile cycles, reproductive windows, and the horrors and atrocities of aging. If he did not need him to distract that damn Gotal he had smelled, Todo would have still been sitting pretty in the Justifier and Bane could bask in silence.

“It will only get worse, you know,” the little droid stated matter-of-factly as his master listened, a broad sneer plastered on his blue face from crease-to-crease.

“De only thing gettin’ worse a’round here’s yer jabberin’,” the Duros seethed.

“That is not true. Perhaps you have not noticed as you are not the one experiencing it from an outside perspective, but every three months your mood swings are absolutely terrible,” Todo disagreed.

“Maybe ye’ jus’ piss me off like clockwork,” Bane retorted.

“I highly doubt that.”

“Ah don’ doubt it aht all,” the Duros snickered.

“Think of all the laundry I have to do!”

“Perfect task fer’a butler droid.”

“I am not a butler droid! How many times have we been over this? And it’s not just laundry. It’s worse than that, it’s-

“Ferget dhat,” Bane cut in. He did not want to talk about the aftermath of his lengthy masturbation sessions. “Focus. Keep yer optics open, or dhis is liable t’be'uh skank in a scud pie sit'uation.

“What is it that you think we are doing?” Todo asked deliberately.

“Rescue op,” Bane drawled from around his toothpick.

“Since when do you ever do those?” he asked quite flagrantly.

Bane rumbled a warning at him. “Since when d’ye tolk so dang-blamed much?” He thought it over. “Eval! Got him outta prison. Tch.” He failed to mention Obi-Wan or his hand in the whole affair.

“Did ye’ ferget Zziro?” he asked after the fact. “Rescued ‘im durin’ dhat whole ssenate thing. You weren’t dhere fer dat part, but as ye’ very well know, it happened!” he snapped, exasperated.

“I thought those were more like recovery missions,” the techno-service droid argued back with a tad of sass. “Besides, you said you would never take one of those jobs again! And this one you’re doing for free?”

“Ain’ free! S’paid in ad’vhance, an’ Ah meant werkin’ fer de Hutts!” Cad spat, flicking his chewed up toothpick straight into Todo’s shoulder; it bounced off and landed in a puddle, Todo glancing up at Bane as he hovered above the water on his rocket boosters, shaking his large head with an iota of disapproval.

“In advance of being kidnapped? Why, I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

Cad Bane paused, dredging two fingers against his chin. He rubbed softly as he had a thought: was it possible this had been your plan as well? His brow ridge furrowed. He snorted out a scoff; that would have been ridiculous. Not even you would go that far to get attention.

“Why d’ye think dhere’s bodyguards, laa’serbrain? Ye’ hire ssomebody ‘cause yer either a’fraaid of bein’ kidnapped, or a’fraaid of ssomeone killin’ ye,’” he quipped in agitation.

“So, then you mean to tell me you have failed at your job?” Todo asked with honest curiosity. “Your task was to guard Ms. Ordel, yet she has been kidnapped?” Todo’s body language made him appear aghast. “Oh, this is worse than I thought! Your judgement has been clouded to the point it is affecting-”

Cahn’nit! No more playin’ know-it-all! God only knows how’a know-it-all knows ever’ythin’ exscept how annoyin’ dhey are. Gotta too big mouth fer ye’ too big head. We’re here!” he added. “Now, shut up.”

“If that isn’t the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy,” Todo whispered to himself in reference to the size of his large head. Duros were no better off in that department.

Bane ignited the thrusters on his boots without another word, launching himself heavenward. He bounded from roof to roof until he landed atop a structure in much need of repair, Todo not far behind. There was a viewport that acted as a skylight, Bane peering into the dimly lit storehouse that the boy had pointed out; this place was to be his target, and those who tread within.

For now, the hideout was sparsely populated though there was that infernal Gotal and a rather beefy human male, but what was worse was the Gotal already seemed to be aware of Cad Bane’s proximity; it was time for Todo to perform his single task.

Gotals, as a species, could sense their quarry from up to ten kilometers away; they could track a herd for weeks, determining the amount, game type, and fitness level by relying on their cones alone. When close to targets, they could easily absorb information on its mood and state of mind. As such, they numbered among the most sought-after hunters in the galaxy, which in this instance was not to Cad Bane’s benefit – far from it.

Those… things that Gotal’s had - cranial horns were good receptors -  they could sense electromagnetism and varied energy emissions, including auras from other lifeforms and things as tiny as neutrinos. They were the exact opposite of Duros. Their eyesight and hearing was quite weak and their sense of smell almost completely absent, but that did not reduce their other talents.

Droids, as it were, gave off enough emissions to at least annoy one, but Cad Bane had a sabacc card up his long sleeves: electro-magnets strapped to the inside of Todo’s chassis. They emitted emanations ten times that; it should be more than enough to disorient the sentient.

The Gotal had begun to move around the room as if he were looking for something or someone, the human male keeping close watch even as the horned being warned him that something was off. He used his wrist comm to call for back-up; he wandered toward the locked tight doors. This was Cad Bane’s chance. Perhaps he could avoid a firefight if he could rescue you before any new arrivals.

He took a moment to study your appearance. He could see you clearly from this vantage. You were tied up by the hands around a post, your legs stretched out before you. 

“Bet she’s sittin’ dhere wishin’ she ain’ get under m’scales,” Bane mumbled.

Oh, how right he was.

It had been nearly three whole days. You were wearing the same outfit. Your shoes were gone, and your glasses, too. He cursed himself, noticing you looked like you might have been abused.

There were marks and bruises on your arms; your hair was in a disarray. He was sure you had spent more time crying as there were mascara stains, old ones, running down your face.

Cad Bane gnashed his fangs.

“Todo… cut’a hole in dhis trans’paristeel, dhen get down dhere an’ disstract dhat Gotal once he exits de building,” Bane ordered coldly.

“Right away, Bane!” Todo activated a hidden laser, focusing its beam on the glass before him. He cut a large circular shaped hole before Bane rummaged in his tote, withdrawing two suction cups. He implanted them against the plate; he removed the excess then set it off to the side. It was big enough for the hunter to squeeze through, the little droid giving a salute before he zipped down off the roof.

Cad Bane watched, leery, as his little partner flew off to do his job. He reset his intentions, gazing down into the warehouse.

To his annoyance three more beings had joined the man. Two Trandoshan, and one Bith. He snickered, preparing to make his entrance.

He paused. You had made a noise. Your pathetic whimpering had enticed one of the large reptiles.

“Aww, poor thing. What’ssss the matter?” the largest Trandoshan taunted, “Did you missss me?” he asked nastily.

Cad Bane watched as you kicked your feet and twisted against your bindings. He noted there was a gag inside your mouth to silence your response. He supposed you talked too much, and in that moment he could not blame your captors, even though he was now on edge as the scaled being bent down to caress your inner thigh; his claws teased and tormented you as they disappeared beneath your skirt.

You whined against the cloth stuffed in your mouth. Cad Bane’s green blood set to boiling.

“Todo, where’sss de ugly goat man aht?” he hissed into the comm upon his wrist gauntlet. He was trying hard to keep his cool.

Todo 360 returned the comm, floating with his tiny hands upon his hips. He was quite satisfied with himself, the Gotal on his knees before him. The ache in his head was quite apparent; his actions were ones of pain and anguish as he rolled around upon the ground. He was flustered, flummoxed, and all together worthless, having been thoroughly incapacitated beyond his usefulness.

The service droid’s proud voice rang out, “Currently, he is indisposed. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Keep him pinned, got quesstions. Dhis ain’ all o’dhem.” he said, referring to the Raptor gang.

“Yes, sir!” Todo accepted his orders without question.

You screamed though it was muffled. Cad Bane withdrew one LL-30 BlasTech pistol. He took his time, aimed, and fired. He shot the human dead, then the Trandoshan next. The lizard’s body fell across your lap right before Bane dropped down to the warehouse floor like a graceful Loth-cat.

His duster settled; he rose from bended knee. The other lizard creature lifted his weaponry. Cad revoked it and shot him between the eyes; it had all been simultaneous.

His lariat had extended. It had wrapped around the blaster’s grip. He jerked it from the Trandoshan before he even knew what happened. At the same time that this occurred, Bane lifted his own pistol. It was a fluid movement, the heavy carcass falling upon the floor right by your feet.

That left the Bith; Cad Bane cornered him. He tossed the blaster rifle to violently discard it.

As for you, you had no idea what the hells was happening. You jiggled at your cuffs, chest heaving as you breathed in deeply. You were frantic, wondering if you would be the next one to meet your Maker, or if perhaps your comrades had come for you, but that might not necessarily be good.

For one, you could be branded as a failure. You had not avoided capture. Granted, this had been your employer’s greatest fear, though now your project was in its final stages. Surely you were still of utility, why else had they deigned to hire you?

Your thoughts raced; you suddenly wondered if they would believe anything you had to say. Would Tarkin assume you spilled secrets while in captivity?

Surely he would not! But you could hardly put it past the Moff. You felt if you ever made it out alive Wilhuff might decide to ride you raw.

Thankfully, that was not to be taken literal. For Tarkin to get anywhere near your naughty bits nearly triggered your gag reflex. Besides, you had heard that he was gay. The idea suited you – the mighty Moff with a cock shoved up his ass. You would love to tell him to “sit on it and spin.” Maybe if he got his rocks off he’d lighten up a bit.

Though not to diminish your current state, which was one of fear and panic; you started crying at the awful sounds the Bith was making as Cad bane had withdrawn something from his coat’s deep pockets.

Bane held the Bith around the neck; he dipped down low to sniff him with his olfactory organs. This one smelled like you, too. No one would be getting off the hook.

He felt unusually cruel though you were still blind to the goings on. Cad Bane whispered a few simple words, the other struggling to free himself as you strained to hear what was being said.

“When ye’ get te hell, tell ‘em Cad Bane ssent ye’,” the Duros sizzed.

The voice had not been comprehensible; there was a new sound to distract you. You heard the ticking of a timer, one that was high in pitch. It was meant for the tiny Bith who squirmed and squawked in Cad Bane’s grip, the hunter doing the unthinkable when he shoved it between his odd shaped lips.

Bane ignited his boot’s thrusters. He propelled himself and dove into a darkened corner. Within seconds you heard something terrible and shrill, then felt something warm and wet; for a moment you thought that you’d gone deaf.

Whatever had splashed you was thick and sticky, and on top of everything you still could not see or even speak. You thrashed against your stun-cuffs, not realizing the Bith’s head had just exploded, and now the remnants were all over you.

Their senses were highly acute; Bith could perceive tonal qualities of sound unknowable to others. An interesting side effect was in the use of screamers.

Bane only came out when the coast was clear, but you were livid, kicking and jerking as if he were out to kill you and for all you knew it was the truth.

Cad Bane approached you though you still had no idea he was the culprit. You were sobbing, trying to remove the Trandoshan that had fallen across your legs.

The weight was lifted; someone had dislodged the dead guy, finally. This person lowered and touched your knee as they tried to calm you down, not thinking you might take this as a threat though in hindsight it made sense.

Your leg rose; you would have socked Bane right in the family jewels if he were human. It was a good thing his reproductive organs were internal, or he might have killed you on accident.

He halted any further actions, holding both your legs down with one large hand as he contained a growl, the Duros meaning to comfort you but instead yelling, “Ssimmer down!”

It was fruitless; you couldn’t even hear him. The ringing was still present in your ears though you felt you could register things at a distance. It felt like being in a tunnel while at the same time underwater. Your heartrate increased as the being shifted his position.

You screamed again when he leaned in, right as he removed your gag.

Bane fell backward, nearly losing the hat atop his head. He grimaced, barking out more orders once he had recovered from you yelling in his face. “Calm yer tits, wo’man! Yer safe!”

You seemed inconsolable; all you did was weep. Cad Bane crawled forward on his hands and knees; he reached out timidly to remove your blindfold. He acted like one who might be wary of a hound, not sure if they might bite or attack on sight.

You stifled a gasp though your lips trembled. Your eyes were having a hard time readjusting. The luminescence of the room was dim at best, but you had been in the dark for nearly three whole days. Then, everything was blurry. Your spectacles were missing. You did not expect to get them back, you were well past that.

“Wh-who’s there?” you fearfully called out, your words a broken whisper as you waited for the worst.

A face appeared within your vision; it was much too close to recognize. Your shivering got worse though you managed to screech loudly, “Get the hells away from me!”

Cad Bane complained verbally. “Ye’ wanna know who’s dhere, dhen ye’ want me te let ye’ a’lone. Make up yer mind, brainiac!” he scolded you, half-assed.

All you heard was something about ass though your hearing was finally coming back. That did not stop you from throwing a full on fit. You railed against your bonds, not caring that it hurt you in the process.

“L-let me go!” you beseeched, your voice cracking pathetically. You were ashamed you had broken rank only in that you expected more out of yourself.

Four broad fingers and one thumb nestled in against your cheek. It was cool to the touch but the nerve this person had made you even madder.

“Don’t touch me!” you belted out the moment you perceived a movement of his hand. That had not stopped him so you stated your true feelings. “I’m too young, beautiful, smart, and funny to die,” you claimed brazenly.

A thumb brushed against your lips as the Duros shushed you; you inhaled sharply before you sank your teeth in. You recognized the taste, the smell, then you heard his raspy voice. “Says you. Don’ have’a conniption, it’s just me, girl- Ahh!! Karkin’ harpy!!” he hissed, giving your nose a forceful flick.

Somehow knowing it was Bane only made it worse. You cried full-fledged, feeling so terrible about yourself. To top it off, now you had gone and bit him! You should have kept your mouth shut. You should never have made that bet. Your speech was garbled as you petitioned for forgiveness.

“Inevermeantto-” you expelled in a rush, salty tears streaming down your face. You cried so hard you were beginning to hyperventilate, remembering what Cad Bane had relayed. “Your-your services are no longer required!” you stammered hurriedly.

You continued to pull against the cuffs; you were sure to have bruises on your wrists. Bane cinched his fingers around your forearms; they   were small compared to his wide reach.

“Wait’a tick,” he advised you, having recovered from your nip. “Whaddaye yappin’ a’bout- sstop squirmin’ so damn much,’ yer gonna hurt yerself!” he berated, flustered.

Your breathing was erratic. You felt like you were dying! You could only reiterate what you had said in so many words, “I am no longer your client! I don’t need you! You, you left me- and, I-” you stumbled over your confession. “I deserve it looking the way that I do! It was bound to happen, re-remember?!” you asked as more tears crept down your cheeks.

The hunter felt a pang of guilt. “Hush now, m’lil’ hellcat,” he coaxed you gently, though you were mildly traumatized. The gangsters had not had their total way with you, but they had felt you up and fondled all your attributes.

“What the hell’s all over me?! Please, don’t say cum,” you screeched.

“Brains,” Bane answered casually.

“Brains!?”  It was worse than you imagined.

He did not respond this time. His fingers worked their magic on the cuffs. He quickly set you loose. You took to rocking back and forth, drawing your knees up to your chin. “You-you’ve already been paid!” you shrieked as your voice fractured. “G-go away!” you commanded him.

He called you by your name. “Need’te get ye’ outta dhis snake pit, no reason te make it hard. No lady deserves dhis, naht even you.”

“Yes, I do! I’m terrible, I’m the worst. You said so yourself!” you shot back as he moved to wind his arms around you. You bucked and wriggled, borderline ready to throw a tantrum. You were tired and hungry, cold, wet, and somehow slimy. You felt you must smell awful, but worst of all you were full of pity for yourself and covered in some guy’s grey matter.

For once Bane was being sympathetic, yet you were full of trepidation. You threshed against his hold so much he withdrew a tool he had stashed away inside his lengthy coat: his hypnosis orb.

It mimicked a Jedi mind trick. Bane could calibrate it to be stronger and for the effects to last a little longer. He had the thought to knock you out for a length of time, just until he could get you someplace else. You were partially delirious from lack of food and rest.

He could not blame you for behaving crazy, at least not right this second. He assumed he’d just have to wait a smidge for you to return to normal, whatever normal was. It was all the more reason to lull you into a brief sleep; you would be less annoying.

The hypnogazer actuated. He brought it up to eye-level with you. You blinked at first, confused, until he found your sweet spot; the correct distance from your face that allowed you to make it out.

“Sssshhhh…” Bane shushed you softly. “Jus’ relaaaaxxx, lil’ lady…” he whispered in your ear as your eyes partook of the shiny object that held one hundred percent of your attention. You were enthralled and occupied like an intrigued feline until your mind went numb. It was as if all thought had left you. You were a blank slate to be manipulated. There was nothing you could do.

Cad Bane made a suggestion to you. “Close yer eyesss…” he coerced. You complied, no questions asked.

“Drift off’te sssleeeep. No worriesss…” he crooned as if you were a child who needed soothing. But it worked for you did that, too. You were dead to the whole of Coruscant as the bounty hunter carried you.

He made his way across the warehouse, a mite surprised there was no one left to stage an ambush, assuming now might be the time he least expected it. Any possible assailants would have predicted false, though he was happy to avoid the whole damn mess; he comm called Todo, signaling him to open the blast resistant doors.

“Got’m haands full o’dhis tart, get us out,” he dryly directed his blundering droid.

Cad Bane was lashed in the face by the stench of a rat-infested alley. It smelled putrid, like trash and sewage, the Gotal writhing on the ground before him as he held you firmly in his arms. Todo had obeyed his orders. The horned beast of a man was still duly incapacitated. Bane gingerly maneuvered you so he could turn a dial on his wrist gauntlet. It freed the Gotal from his invisible imprisonment.

“Where’s yer boss?” Cad Bane demanded, brandishing his authority by the positioning of a single finger, threatening to increase the power of the electro-magnets at his disposal at a moment’s notice.

“I don’t know!” the sentient replied, knowing Green Hair would have his hide, but he couldn’t decide what’s worse: that, or the effects of the disabling emissions.

“Wrong an’swer,” the Duros spat, making good on his nonverbal threat. He released a wave of pain, the Gotal twitching at his mercy. His kind was not made for this; he cursed the day he joined this gang. He pleaded with the hunter, not knowing what else to do.

“He’ll kill me!” he whined out.

“An’ ye’ think we’re gonna dance?” Cad Bane inquired of him, “looks like it’s gonna be pickin’ between one an’ fourteen, fer you,” he finished flatly. Todo watched from the periphery, his head roving to and fro between who spoke.

“Can’t be sure,” the Gotal panted, still trying to catch his breath. “He doesn’t tell me anyth-!!” He was interrupted by another rousing dose of horrid broadcasts, Todo just happy to be of use as he stood watch.

“Tusken Oasis!! He – arghhh!! He hangs out there-!!” the being howled.

Cad Bane sneered as he gently set you down. He freed the Gotal once again as he stayed put, gasping on the ground. The Duros bared his teeth as he scooped the Gotal up, having dragged him to his feet by the edges of his shirt’s collar.

He took a whiff; the scent of your natural fragrance lingered on the gangster’s clothing. Bane pretended not to notice, forcing the fur covered man to stand up on his own. Cad tipped his hat; bade him goodbye. The Gotal ran, thinking now would be his only chance.

“Hey, fuzzball, “ Cad Bane called out. The Gotal whisked around. He was met with the barrel end of a blaster pistol pointed directly at him. “Enjoy yer last trip home,” he offered, a single particle beam being ejected from its pack. The Gotal dropped like a ton of duracrete flat upon his back.

Bane glanced to you; thankfully you had not stirred. He bent down, then resituated you within his arms. He addressed his droid, firing up his Mitrinomon thrusters. The Duros took to the air, aiming for his hovercar some few blocks off. “We get ‘er back t’de sship, dhen I take care o’dhis Green Hair,” he crisply hissed.

“Shouldn’t we take her to her penthouse first, Mister Bane?” Todo asked presumptuously, thinking that his master was not considering all aspects.

“Naht leavin’ ‘er a’lone dhis way, yer gonna keep ‘er company an’ yer gonna like it,” the Duros stated, sailing through the gaps and spaces between buildings and other forms of real estate. “’Sides, her fancy-pants castle is on de o’der side’a dhis icky menopausilis. Hate backtrackin.’ Al’ready berthed too far as is.”

“Did you mean ecumenopolis? I am afraid I do not understand,” Todo complained. “What am I to do with her?” he asked, nonplussed.

“It ain’ karkin’ rocket science, an’ if it were, ye’ gotta rocket scientist right here,” Bane claimed dismissively.

“With the way she acts I would have assumed she is a xenobiologist on the verge of discovering a new species!” the techno-service droid boldly shot right back. Cad Bane amassed a growl deep within his chest.

“Use yer blaassted logic pro’cessor! Green hair don’ know anythin.’ Wait too long, de traail goes cold, plus’e finds out ‘is pads been compromiised,” the Duros rationalized.

“Yes, that does make sense,” Todo easily gave in.

“’Course it does! S’also why Ah’m de one in charge. Now, get in de pilot’s seat,” Cad Bane demanded tersely.

Bane’s source of transport was an airspeeder. It was a vehicle that could fit right in the Justifier’s cargo bay. His ship was docked in a far off spaceport some thousand sectors over. Zi-Kree was immense. Foremost, he had to get you out of here. He settled you in first, then hopped in afterward. “Fly,” he instructed brusquely.

Todo grumbled to himself and anyone who’d listen. “I am a techno-service droid, not a chauffeur droid! Why is it you never want to drive yourself?”

Cad Bane crossed his scrawny legs, placing one hand daintily atop his knee. He looked squarely at the back of Todo’s head, glaring before his eyes widened like a giddy child as they began to move. Cad Bane loved sight-seeing, and he also loved majestic sunsets. On top of that, he was feeling quite pleased with himself and felt he had earned his God damn credits.

He could have argued, or made up some excuse. Instead he lied, though giving the little droid an ego boost to boot. “Yer betta’ aht dhis part,” he curtly clarified, although it could be said Bane appreciated taking in the scenery when he had the time.

“Oh, well you could have said so… a long time ago,” Todo commented. Bane had never bothered to compliment his flying skills before.

The conversation paused. Cad Bane found himself staring down at your sleeping form as he rumbled a soft sound.

“Sir, are you - are you purring?” Todo asked as he glanced backwards.

Cad Bane coughed, hacked, and otherwise choked on his own spit. “Ain doin’ no such thing!” he angrily declared, “An’ watch where yer goin’!” he crossly shouted.

“I just wonder what it is that made you do so,” Todo mulled aloud.

“God ferbid Ah take’a moment te m’self,” Bane griped in indignation.

Todo kept quiet after that though his droid brain had a few independent thought processes; they were things best kept to himself.

His master was not one to like unsolicited advice, though Todo’s programming would not allow him to give up on what was in Bane’s best interest. It was somewhat a blessing and a curse for this poor Duros; Todo could be a nuisance.

Bane only wanted to be left alone, but Todo knew better – he had a power conduit to couple – it would only make things easier for them, as a team, should his best organic friend sate his innate needs and he knew just the thing…

[connorspiracy]

Santa Paws Is Coming To Town || Connor & Miriam

Timing: After Mim’s Solo Setting: Your normal White Crest neighborhood Parties: @connorspiracy and @meflemming Content: N/A Summary: Connor has an unexpected encounter with a bleeding heart vampire.

After a long night of petting Penny’s fur as the dog slumbered by Miriam’s side, the vampire finally decided that she needed to take the dog somewhere safe. Pets were not for people like her, especially sweet dogs that had it in their stupidly big hearts and tiny heads to be comforted by their owner’s killer. She found the dog’s leash, and led her to the door. It was still early, too early for the sun to be out yet, but Miriam knew it was less than an hour away. She’d need to be quick about this. The shelter was quite a walk away, and she wasn’t as familiar with it as other locations that she’d frequented in her youth. She could only hope that she could make it there in time and not end up stuck under a bush or in the sewers until sunset. Walking along with Penny at her side, Miriam was surprised to see someone else out at this hour. “Hello?” she called out, unsure what someone who looked so young was doing outside at such an early hour. 

The winter night bit Connor with its chill. He wore a padded, fleece-lined panel coat over a cozy hooded sweatshirt, hat, gloves, scarf, and still his hands trembled and his breath frosted on the air. He’d hoped to catch something interesting happening during the winter solstice, but either he was in the wrong place at the wrong time or White Crest had decided to be quiet for once. He’d put his camera away and was getting ready to head to his Jeep when he heard the stranger’s voice. Connor turned, looking towards the voice. “Oh, hey,” he said, a jovial smile on his face. He held up his camera bag for her to see. “Don’t mind me. I was just doing some night filming.” His eyes fell on the beautiful Golden Retriever at her side and he had to hold himself back from gushing. “Gorgeous dog,” he said, smile widening a bit. “Can I pet her?”

The way the boy in front of her was dressed reminded Miriam how ill-fitted her clothes were for the weather, and how she was just as cold on the inside as the temperature was on the outside. Oh, well. She hadn’t expected to have to put up appearances so early. Instead, she gave the young man an easy smile. “Night filming? Do you often do that in below freezing conditions?” Kids these days seemed to enjoy such reckless behavior. Then again, she had been no different, there were, no doubt, videos of her being silly and reckless in college, though they were likely hard to find. Anyone that would have had such videos was long dead. Miriam blinked, looking down at the dog, and then back to the boy. “Oh, well, thank you. She’s not mine, actually, but you’re welcome to pet her. She’s quite friendly.” A bit too friendly, truly.

Connor gave a slightly embarrassed chuckle. “Well, I think it’d be lying so say I don’t. But the below freezing part isn’t exactly ideal. I’m just trying to get good footage.” Of what, he didn’t say, but he wouldn’t lie if she asked. Connor was never one to resist the opportunity to pet a dog, and even his most skeptical brain cells wouldn’t fight this opportunity, so he smiled, leaning in to gently ruffle her ears and scratch the back of her head. “Oh yeah? You pet sitting?”

“Well, do be careful. It’s rather dangerous out so late. It’s always darkest before the dawn,” Miriam said. Then, she raised a careful eyebrow. “Did you? Get any good footage?” She shifted a bit on her feet, watching the young man as he petted the dog. “Her owner passed quite recently, actually.” By Miriam’s own hand, though that wasn’t proper to say. Penny, for her part, seemed to be eating up the young man’s attention, making happy little noises that dogs tended to make. She was the reason this dog would never see her owner again. Miriam was the reason that some family would never see that man again. She was-- “I’m just here to make sure that she ends up in a good home,” she said, stroking one of the dog’s silky ears.

"I'm always careful," Connor lied. Although since he now had both Jasmine and Rio on his case about the whole hospital thing, he'd play it mildly safe, at least for a little while. Or unless something really exciting happened. "Nah, nothing exciting tonight, unfortunately," he said with a shrug. Connor narrowed his eyes sadly at Miriam's proclamation that the dog's owner had recently passed away, and he fussed under her muzzle. "Aw, I'm sorry. Right at Christmas too?" He kissed the dog on her little fuzzy forehead. "Nobody should lose their family right around Christmas.” He looked up at what he assumed was the kind woman trying to find this poor little sweetheart a new home. “That’s really nice of you, to help. Did you have someone already?” 

“I’m sure,” Miriam hummed out. “People your age are always so careful.” Humans. For such fragile creatures, they tended to do the most dangerously stupid things. It was as endearing as it was concerning. She couldn’t remember a time when her bones did not right themselves and her skin did not sew itself together quickly. She did not remember what it meant to have to be careful. “Perhaps that’s a good thing, for a night like tonight.” It would be a cold, miserable holiday for some. “Yes, it’s quite unfortunate.” And she was the cause. Because she lashed out. Because she couldn’t take the thought of someone telling her what to do, even if it had been something she was planning. “I owe her as much,” she said softly, looking at the dog. “I don’t have anyone in mind. I was taking her to the shelter, actually.” She was going to force them to ensure Penny went to a good home. Someone would want a sweet dog for the holidays. She just knew it.

“Well, I’m older than I look,” Connor laughed. He didn’t catch the hidden meaning behind her words, but that was probably just as well. He didn’t really want to know that this nice lady who was so concerned about the poor dog had just spent her night murdering its owner. “That sucks,” he said, pursing his lips. “She’ll be alone at the shelter for Christmas, all confused and upset…” Yeah, she didn’t know it was Christmas but that didn’t make it any better. “Bloody breaks my heart, man. Are you sure there aren’t any family or friends who can take her?”

“You do look rather young,” Miriam said with a smirk, especially when he was all bundled up like a child on a snow day. “It’s-- It’s awful, yes.” She swallowed hard, feeling something wretched knotting itself in her throat before she forced it down. No, stop it. She was doing a good thing. She could at least do a good thing. The owner (Thomas Klein; his name was etched into her brain, now) was inconsequential. He was dead. But she could at least help the dog. She was an innocent. “I intend to do everything in my power to ensure she’s well taken care of and brought into a loving home as soon as possible,” Miriam stated. She’d compel every damn worker in the shelter if she had to. “No, no I don’t believe there is,” she lied easily. The owner had friends, had family, but she didn’t know if any of them would take the sweet dog in. What if they didn’t give her the kindness she deserved? Miriam had to make sure she was taken care of.

“I’m almost twenty-four.” Yeah, it was still young, but most people assumed Connor was in his late teens. Twenty-one at the oldest. He’d been denied beer even with his ID more times than he could count. This really sucked. This dog and the owner had probably been each other’s only companions, and now they were both alone, the owner in one life and her in another. “Do you work for the shelter or something?” he asked, genuinely curious, still fussing the dog while they talked. “I don’t know how they manage it. I’d probably end up wanting to take home every single dog,” he laughed sadly. “I don’t think they rehome over Christmas though. To discourage people from giving them as gifts.”

Miriam’s eyes widened a bit. “I… wouldn’t have guessed that. Sorry, sweetness. You’ve got a bit of a babyface.” She wondered, briefly, if he was fucking with her, but age was a rather ridiculous thing to lie about to a stranger in the middle of the street in the early hours of the morning. The early hours when the sun would be rising, and soon. Miriam couldn’t linger here for long. “No, no, I’m just… a very charming and persuasive person when I’m inclined, and I’m usually inclined. I have no doubt I can make them see my way.” She gave the young man a pleasant smile, but it quickly faded to worry. She hadn’t thought of any of that. “Oh. That’s-- I wonder when they’ll start rehoming. I don’t want her to be alone.” She bit the inside of her lip. “I live a bit of busy lifestyle, wholly unsuited to care for a dog properly, and I have someone living with me and don’t want to burden her with the upkeep of a pet. She deserves better than that. Otherwise I would take this sweet girl in a heartbeat.” One of his, not one of hers. She’d be waiting a long time for that heartbeat, were that the case.

“It’s fine, I get that all the time.” Connor shrugged it off. He made plenty of jokes about his own babyface. It didn’t matter if someone else did, too. He didn’t think to wonder what Miriam’s motive was. Why should he? Helping to rehome a dog was something almost any decent person would have done. He had no idea of her nefarious reasons, of the guilt she was trying to mask, the crimes she was trying to atone for. “I think some time in January,” he shrugged. “I only know because I checked the website recently. I’ve… kinda been thinking of going there, actually.” He almost kept his next words to himself, but it wasn’t like Connor to hold back. He rubbed the back of his neck with a small chuckle. “Do you want… I mean… I could take her.” He immediately shook his head. “That’s stupid. You don’t even know me. Sorry.”

“That’s such a long time,” Miriam muttered, clenching Penny’s leash tightly in her hand as she thought about the poor creature being stuck at a shelter for weeks all because she was cruel. You’re a monster and a liar! Morgan’s voice rang in her head like a damned bell. She was. She was. She should own it. She should… She should find this dog a home. She narrowed her eyes at the boy. “You would take her?” He seemed sincere. He mentioned that he was looking for a dog and had been for sometime. This could be good, but she needed to make sure. “It’s not stupid if you’re sincere. Are you? Dog’s are a big responsibility. They mustn’t be dragged out into the cold to go videotaping things because they might be interesting,” she said sternly.

Her gaze felt penetrating. As if she was the type of person who you couldn’t hide anything from. Connor looked at the dog, a happy, innocent, loving creature who hadn’t done anything wrong, who needed somewhere to call home. “I mean, yeah. I love dogs. I live alone. I work for myself. I make my own schedule, and one of my best friends has a dog, and we go hiking and stuff together all the time.” As much as Connor might not have wanted to leave the dog at home, the stranger was right about taking her out filming. He ran into dangerous things far too often. What if one of those bugs had got her? “Yeah, totally.”

The sun was going to start rising any minute now. Miriam needed to figure this out. Here was this boy, earnest and seemingly kind, standing in front of her and willing to do what was necessary. This was a better option than a shelter. It had to be. She gave a quick nod. “Right.” Smiling charmingly, she compelled the boy. “You will make sure that this dog receives the proper amount of attention, care, and love that she needs to be happy. It is of the utmost importance that she is well loved.” She dug around in her pocket and frowned when she found it empty. “I would give you my card, but I don’t have one on me. My name is Mim. Mim Flemming, owner of Flemming Leather. Should you need anything, you only have to reach out to the store and have my assistant patch you through to me or contact me online. If the dog needs anything, anything, you will let me know, understood?” She should get going. She didn’t even know this boy’s name. “Take care of her. She responds to Penny, but she’s quite young, I believe. I really must go.” She handed the boy the leash and patted his gloved hand. Bending down, she gave the dog a reluctant pat goodbye. Again, she repeated, a bit more gently, “Take care of her. And, well, Merry Christmas, I suppose.”

Connor had always been impulsive and big-hearted, so why should tonight be any different? He was still sort of processing what had just happened when the woman handed him the leash and practically disappeared into the night. White Crest really was a strange place, but this was far from the strangest interaction he’d had. “Uh, okay. Thanks? Bye?” he called after her, turning back to the dog and giving her more pets. “Guess we’ve got some shopping to do as soon as the stores open in a couple hours, babe,” he said, patting the side of her neck. “Okay, let’s go, Penny.” Hm. That didn’t sound right. He didn’t want to disrespect her old owner or anything, but she just didn’t feel like a Penny. But then, what was he going to call her? He started walking her back to his car, securing her in the back and taking her home. He unloaded his things, and as he did so, his eyes fell on the logo of his Nikon Z 50 Camera bag. “Hm,” he pondered, taking her leash again. “Nico, you like that?” he asked, smiling. “Yeah, sounds good. Let’s go inside.” 

[andinewton]

Victor x MC(Reader)  Bake My Way Into Your Heart

Fandom: MLQC

Pairing: VictorxMC(Reader)

Warnings: None I can think of

Summary:  You ask Victor’s advice on baking.  He doesn’t trust you not to screw it up.  He was right.  

MC - 10.47am: Sorry to bother you…do you happen to have a foolproof recipe for sugar

cookies?

MC - 11.02am: Don’t worry, I think I found one!

Victor - 11.03am: What do you mean?

MC - 11.04am: I mean I found a recipe that looks simple enough!

Victor - 11.06am: You’re trying to cook?

MC - 11.09am: I’m not trying.  I’m going to succeed!  I’ll send you pics when I’m

done, and if you’re lucky I might bring you one!

Victor looked from his phone to his schedule and sighed.  He pressed the intercom on his phone and spoke clearly.  ‘Goldman, cancel my appointments for the rest of the day.’

‘Are you going somewhere, sir?’  Goldman asked as he looked over all the important meetings lined up.

‘Yes.  I’m going to stop an idiot in distress before it happens.’

🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

You wiped your hand across your forehead as you looked at the dough in your bowl.  It was supposed to be in one solid lump.  The only way you could describe the mess in front of you was crumbs.  Sighing heavily you resigned yourself to starting over, picking up the bowl only to have it slip through your floury fingers, making you squeal as you preempted the crash and mess to follow.  But, to your surprise, it didn’t happen.  The doorbell rang as you stared at the bowl just hovering in the air just a few inches from hitting the floor and you realised why.

‘Come in, Victor!’  You called before plucking the bowl out of the air and putting it back on the counter.

‘What a mess.’  Victor remarked as he looked over the flour-covered surfaces, his eyes finally falling on you as you turned around.  ‘And I see it’s not just the kitchen.’

Wiping your hands on your apron you wished you had a mirror.  You had hastily caught up your hair into a messy ponytail and thrown on torn jeans and a loose t-shirt, not something you would have chosen if you knew Victor was coming over.  It wasn’t that you had a crush on the man in control of your company’s funding, it was that you were all out in love with him.  But that was fine, you told yourself.  It was a professional relationship, you didn’t see him outside of work…except you did…and more than once he had come to your rescue.  He irritated you enough that you knew it wasn’t hero-worship, but damn if he didn’t look hot with fire in his eyes and ice in his words.

‘I’m trying, okay?’  You replied, clearing up as best you could.

‘I know you are.’  He huffed out a breath.  ‘Show me the recipe.’

You pointed towards the tablet on the side, the screen long since locked as you tried to bring the mixture together.  ‘It’s on there.’

‘Passcode?’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘Idiot.’  He replied as he opened the tablet and read over the recipe.  ‘This is incredibly simple, I can’t believe even you couldn’t follow it.’

‘I think my flour is out of date.’  You admitted.  ‘And I didn’t have the right sugar.’

‘Are you trying to kill yourself or just give yourself food poisoning?’  He put the tablet back down.  ‘What exactly inspired this ill-gotten idea?’

‘I used to make cookies to hang on the Christmas tree with my dad.’  You replied with your head down as you concentrated on wiping down the counter.  ‘I thought it would be nice to make some to give to my friends and colleagues.’

Victor knew you missed your father and he couldn’t fault that your heart was in the right place.  Your strategy and execution of the task, however, were incredibly flawed.  ‘I’ll help you.’

Your eyes shot up to meet his out of sheer surprise.  ‘You want to…help…me?’  You never thought you’d hear those words from him, let alone in reference to baking.

‘Of course.  If I let you perish in some baking-related accident then I’ll have to start training some other dummy.’

‘But I’ll have to go buy more ingredients.  And are you sure you have time?’  You offered him an out, knowing how busy he was.

‘You’re good.’  He walked back through to where he had left a bag by the door, full of high-quality ingredients he had collected from Souvenir on his way over.  ‘So you can throw all of that out of date danger food in the trash.’

You blushed faintly at his obvious-to-you concern.  ‘Thanks, Victor.’

‘Don’t thank me yet,’ he replied, ‘I’m not helping you clean up this mess.’  He waved his hand at the countertops and you blushed harder at him having seen your place in such a state.

‘I’ll get on that right away.’

🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

A little under an hour later, the kitchen was clean, and the dough looked like it was supposed to, coming together slowly but surely.  Victor had supervised, at times having to hold himself back from taking over, knowing this was important to you, but as the mixture began to take shape he could hold back no longer.  His jacket, tie, and waistcoat were long since gone, draped over a chair, and his sleeves neatly folded back above his elbow.

‘Don’t be afraid of it.’  Victor’s voice was suddenly so close to you, the low tone rumbling through you as his arms curved around your body to join your hands in the bowl.  ‘Some things require a more gentle touch, like meringues, but dough can stand a firm hand.  It thrives on it.’

You swallowed hard at the warmth of his body against yours, trying to remember if you had heard him move, if he had made a sound at all, or if you had been too engrossed in your work to notice.  It didn’t really matter which it was, if any of them, but you wish you had had some warning, even as the heat crept up your neck and to your cheeks.

‘Firm hand, got it.’  You nodded to show you were listening, but the movement made your hair brush against him, reminding you once again of his proximity.  And then your mouth spat out what you were thinking without meaning to.  ‘I guess you’d know best in that respect.’

His hands froze in the mixture over your own for a moment before moving it for kneading on the countertop.  ‘And why would that be?’

His breath rustled your hair and your breath stuttered in your throat.  You really hoped he hadn’t heard that.  ‘Because...you know about cooking!’  You replied confidently.  ‘If I had to whip meringue I’d probably give it a good thrashing and completely wreck it!’

Victor swallowed heavily at the image her innocent words brought to mind and he shifted his pelvis just enough to relieve the burgeoning discomfort caused by them.  ‘When are you going to learn,’ he murmured, his voice unusually soft, ‘that if you ever want some pointers I’m more than happy to oblige.’

‘You’re just so busy.’  You replied in an equally hushed tone, making the moment more intimate somehow.  ‘I want to be able to cook better but it shouldn’t be at the expense of your valuable time.’

Victor’s hands slid from the dough to cover yours and you heard him draw a breath, as though he was about to speak, but then he stepped back, his hands withdrawing.  ‘That’s ready to roll out now.’

You swallowed heavily before replying.  ‘Right.’

🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

You made tea while the cookies were in the oven and served it to Victor at the little two seater table that sat in front of the window.  You just couldn’t settle enough to sit as Victor’s actions had both your heart and stomach fluttering.  You had so far asked if his tea was okay, offered him milk, sugar, honey, lemon, and boba; offered to make him something to eat, not that you thought for a second anything you made would be up to his standards; offered to pay him for the groceries he brought with him; and busied yourself clearing up what you had used and preparing the wire rack for the cookies to cool down.  Eventually Victor evidently had enough.

‘Sit.’  He said firmly, and you were in the seat opposite him before you realised it.  ‘That wasn’t an order.’  He smirked before sipping his tea.  ‘Just like this isn’t.  Drink with me?’

‘Sure.’  You smiled slightly before sitting in the seat opposite and picking up the teapot and pouring yourself a cup.  ‘I don’t know if I said already, but thank you for coming to my rescue.’

‘You don’t owe me thanks.’  He rested his teacup down again.  ‘I couldn’t leave you to potentially burn down half of the city, could I?’

‘It wouldn’t have been very responsible of you, it’s true.’

You sat quietly for a few moments when Victor spoke again.  ‘Do you plan on decorating the cookies?’

‘I bought some pre-prepared frosting with a piping nozzle, and some seasonal decorations.’

‘You probably won’t come to any harm doing that.’  He mused.  ‘But I’ll stay and help you, just in case.’

‘If you have somewhere to be, you don’t have to.’  You assured him.  ‘I’m sure I already caused chaos with your schedule because of this as it is.  Goldman is probably sticking pins in a little me voodoo doll even as we sit here drinking tea.’

Victor laughed so suddenly you almost spilled your tea.  ‘He wouldn’t do that.  He likes you.’

‘At least someone does.’  You quirked him a sideways smile.

‘Just because I’m firm with you doesn’t mean I don’t like you.’  He frowned.

‘I think harsh is more the right word.’

‘Sometimes you need a little push.’  He teased.

‘So if it’s only a little push why do I always feel like you’re throwing me into the deep end?’

‘It builds character, and I know you’re capable of more than you give yourself credit for.’

‘I appreciate the fact you have faith in me.’  You said quietly as you stared into your teacup.  ‘But I guess it also makes me feel like I’m not doing a good job if you have to set me straight all the while.’

‘You’re doing a good job, for the most part.  You just need…polishing.’

‘I guess that’s a nice way to put the fact I don’t do a good enough job.’

You didn’t see the look Victor gave you, a gentle one of consideration.  ‘Nobody’s perfect.’

‘You are.’  It was only when the words left you that you realised what you had said, your eyes darting up to meet his as you felt heat rush through you in an embarrassed wave.  ‘That is to say, I mean…’  You stammered, which was when the oven timer went off.

‘Saved by the bell.’  Victor murmured, quickly getting to his feet, and for a moment you thought you saw a pink tinge to the top of his ears.

Swallowing down the panicked lump in your throat, you hurried to grab the oven mitts as you came up with a logical response in your mind.  That logical response, however, turned into a spew of Victor appreciation.  ‘What I meant was you’re an amazing businessman, you can cook, you have an awesome evol, you dress nice, you know your stuff, you’re handsome, you…ow!’

In your rush you lost concentration for a moment and caught the inside of your wrist on the rack above as you removed the first batch of cookies.  You didn’t drop them, thankfully, but your wrist stung like hell.  Depositing the tray none too gently on the stove you shook off the oven mitts and blew on your wrist.

‘Idiot.’    Victor’s voice came from close beside you and you glanced up to find him beside you, his hand reaching for yours.

‘It’s okay.’  You murmured, voice barely above a whisper, but his fingers curved around your hand regardless, pulling you towards the sink where he immediately turned on the cold tap.  You gasped as the cold water hit your tender skin but Victor held you in place, his grip firm yet tender.

‘You need to be careful, pay attention to what you’re doing.’

‘I know that.’  You replied, watching as he concentrated on your burn.

‘I won’t always be there to help you, you know?’

‘I know that too.’  You looked up at him.  ‘But you always are.  Even if it’s with a sharp word or two.’

‘Does it hurt?’  He replied quietly.

‘No more than any of your normal quips.’  You shrugged.

Victor’s lips quirked in a small smile, realising you had misunderstood.  ‘This.’  He tapped your wrist with the damp cloth.

‘Oh!  It tingles more than hurts.’

He examined the mark closer, his fingers warm against your skin.  ‘I think we got water on it fast enough.  It shouldn’t blister.’

‘So I don’t need to dress it or anything else?’

‘No dressing, no.  What’s the anything else you would consider treating a burn with?’  He asked.

‘Uh…I don’t know.’  You replied hesitantly, before thinking of an answer.  ‘A kiss better?’

He raised an eyebrow at how forward your suggestion, realising it was entirely innocent as your cheeks darkened.  ‘You want me to kiss it better?’

‘Oh, no, no, no.’  You shook your head rapidly.  ‘I just meant…’

Words failed you as he looked you dead in the eyes and brought his lips to your wrist, the gentle touch barely noticeable over the burn itself, but it had your heart beating a mile a minute.

‘Did that help?’  His voice was low, impossibly intimate in such close confines.

You swallowed hard and tried to speak twice before any words came out.  ‘It stung a little.’  You whispered.

‘Then maybe that’s not what I need to kiss to make you feel better.’

At that point, you swore your brain melted as you seemed to forget how to function, that or your internal wiring blew a fuse.  Then it blew completely when his palm caressed your cheek, his thumb grazed your skin.  You had a moment of clarity when you realised what was about to happen, then his lips were on yours.  In all the times you had fantasised about kissing Victor, gentle had been the furthest from your assumptions.  Passionate, demanding, fiery, yes, yet nothing about this kiss was aggressive.  He kissed you like you were fragile, as though you could break or disappear at any moment.  Fingers touched your hair like they were the finest silk, lips brushed yours so softly it was barely a touch at all, yet still consistent in their task of caressing yours.  His other hand tentatively splayed on the base of your spine, yet he didn’t draw you closer, rather he kept a respectful distance between your bodies as though he was waiting for reassurance that this was truly what you wanted.  And there was no doubt in your mind that it was.

Your fingers hand found their way to the front of his shirt, grasping the material as much to anchor yourself as to keep him close, and you fought with yourself to keep the kiss as innocent as it was.

His lips left yours on a sigh but you kept your eyes closed for a moment before opening them to find Victor filling your vision.  His eyes flickered from side to side, searching your face for any sign that would clue him in as to how you were responding.

‘That does feel a little better.’  You admitted huskily, making him chuckle.

‘Maybe we should transfer those cookies now.’  He suggested.

‘I think they can wait a couple more minutes.’  You smiled, before closing the distance between you, the smile on Victor’s lips a hundred times sweeter than the cookies you had made.

[doctolka]

The Council of Dembirom

::: This is one of the chapters from my WIP, that I wrote the other day... it'd be nice if people could read through and give feedback... but if you don't feel like it, I do hope you enjoy it :::

A Guide to my world building...

Indistinct voices rebounded off the walls as they approached the council chambers. Vevien had found her knight, and the two walked just ahead of Edlaise, arm-in-arm.

While she did not envy them their attraction—to put it mildly—but she did think it had a time and a place. The fact that her consort was a Menatan was no help. It would be far better, and far more proper, for her to chose a member of their own race.

But, you do have to admit he’s a damn fine warrior, she told herself, watching the large man walk, dwarfing her sister. Yes. He was a good fighter. He didn’t use modern Elatan techniques, so when he fought it seemed foreign, and poor quality. But it certainly got results.

It would do them credit to have two of the fiercest warriors on their side of the argument—and the added benefit or royalty.

“Listen here, Locraou! We don’t need that. It would just see the womenfolk killed and the men demoralized! There’s no need for an army, and most certainly no need for it to incorporate—”

“Ahem,” Vevien cleared her throat. Always proper, she was. Never wanted to get an ill-gotten gain over her political opponents. Even if it would save everyone involved a great deal of time and trouble.

“Ah. Princess Vevien, Sir Halifax. Lady Edlaise. Won’t you come in? We were just thinking of getting started without you,” Tuvaulle said, standing and bowing. The rest of their allies, Montre, Libua, Selette and Jacques followed suit. Their opposition remained dutifully seated, frozen under Bedour’s sharp glare.

“It seems to as though you had already started without us, Mr. Tuvaulle,” Halifax said, helping Vevien into her seat. He knew to allow Edlaise to seat herself, thank you very much.

“Listen here, Menat,” Bedour scowled, “you are a guest, and so have no place here but by our leave. You will hold a civilized tongue or you shall be dismissed!”

“Oh, leave off Bedour,” Edlaise said, cutting of Halifax’s reply, “He was stating a simple fact, based on a simple observation! If you take such offense to fact, then perhaps you would like to explain something that does not offend you, such as the fairyland you live in, in which we do not need a standing army to defend ourselves.”

“I—”

“Enough, the both of you!” Tuvaulle interjected, cutting of the beet-faced Bedour. “This is not our business here today, to call names at each other! That’s what we did all last cycle, and I tire of it. As moderator of this session of the Council of Dembirom, I move that we review the arguments on the topic of the defensive army, and of the power of the crown over said army, and then come to a vote. Mr. Bedour, since you are currently the offended party, would you like to begin?”

“I would indeed, Mr. Moderator,” Bedour said coolly, collecting himself as his face bled down to its usual brown.

“Ahem. As you all know, Dembirom has not had a standing army since our grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather’s time. It has been over a quarter a millennium since last we had need of an armed force besides our own city guard, which is perfectly capable of defending even our most remote of settlements from the predations of the lawless and of wolves. It goes without saying, therefore, that we really have no need of an army, of a military, because we have no one to wage war against, and no one who is waging war against us!

“So why does the most recent generation of the royal family demand, incessantly, that we have grave need of a large force of armed men, who will obey only them? I mean not to sound concerned, gentlemen,” he said, pointedly ignoring the three women in the room, “that the royal family seeks to disband this great council of justice and fair law! I do not mean that in the slightest, since we all know the royals are such firm, just people, with no ulterior motives given into their heads by foreigners! But if someone were to—say—dupe the royal family, through criminal wiles and snake-like charm, why, they could gain control very easily of new army, answerable only to the king or queen, or prince or princess, and turn them against us! Why, such a person could weaken us considerably by disbanding this council by force, and open the way for greedy, foreign dictators to thrust their way into this grand city of light, and desecrate our way of life!

“I mean not to sound hysterical, friends. I beg that you do not take me for some lunatic for my very real fears. But I do fear. I fear what it might mean for us, for our people, if the army is used as a mechanism to displace us! I worry, true, about foreign invasions! But do not let lies of Other-Kin and tales of Twisted Children within the borders of this vale reach your ears! They are mechanisms by which a foreign power might seek to placate us, make us think that we must raise an army for the crown to defend our lands, to deal with this non-existent threat!

“Please, gentlemen. I beg of you. Do not allow this Menatan spy to harry your ears with tales of dangerous monsters from children’s stories. The real danger, the very real danger, is that this man gets an army raised which he can swiftly swoop in to control. He seeks a coup with our own people. He seeks to subjugate us to endless years of slavery under the grip of the cruel Menatan kings. We must not give in. We must not allow our people to suffer.

“That is my plea, good gentlemen,” he said softly, burying his face dramatically in his hands, “I pray to Alimis that what I say does not come to pass….”

“Thank you, Mr. Bedour. Do you cede the floor?”

“I do.”

“Very good. Princess, do you care to submit your claim?”

“I do, Mr. Moderator,” Vevien stated slowly, “but first I would like to call witnesses. Sir Jason Halifax, Knight of the Cloud?”

“That is… acceptable,” Tuvaulle said as the knight took to his feet, Bedour mouthing obscenities. “Sir Knight, do you swear to give not false testimony, upon your honor as a knight and a gentleman?”

“I do, Mr. Moderator.”

“Very good, then. We will hear your story.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moderator, Council of Dembirom,” he started, “I am no eloquent speaker. I am no politician, seeking to do with slight of words that which I cannot do with slight of hand. I would like to state, before I begin my testimony, that I detest the slander which the Honorable Mr. Bedour has lain against me, and were I in a Menatan Kingdom I would ask for justice by the blade, for my honor is cleaner than a fresh slate.

“However, being not in a Menatan Kingdom, and perhaps being unfamiliar with the ways of the Esteemed Elatan people, I will forgive this slight, and pay it no heed. Now, onto my account.

“I arrived here, in this Vale of Dembirom nigh on one year ago, following the beckoning of our Lord, Alimis, king of the Sky and husband of the Earth. I was, you see, following in the footsteps of my ancestors, knights in their own right, who did strive to rid this world of the most vile of Other-Kin. I make no game of it, that I was in ill being at the time which I entered this valley of light. It had been several months of tracking this monster through the wilderness, herding it this way and that, trying to keep it away from Menatan settlements, and the homes of innocent Second Children.

“But imagine my surprise, when I reached the heights of this vale, and saw within the gleaming gemstone that is Dembirom, though I knew it not at the time. What I did know, however, was that before me lay a relic, which must not become sullied by the hands of violent Other-Kin, or extremist Second Children, or at worst a Twisted Child!

“And so I harried no more, but sought to end the foul beast which I was tracking. I am sure that many of you have heard this portion of the story before, and so I shall be brief in its accounting. The beast was, in fact, an ogre, with large, protruding teeth and a stubbed nose, spade ears and a balding scalp. It was several men high, and thrice the weight of a horse, and its hue was a wash-out violet.

“I came upon it as Alimis neared his apex, and as it drew close to your grand city, the many mirrors flashed out in divine light, blinding the creature. This is the moment which I took to strike. There is little honor to be had in striking a fellow man when he is blinded, or when he has fallen, but none—save for the foolhardy or cruel—would pass up such an opportunity when there may be a single innocent life yet to be spared.

“Our battle was furious, despite my advantages—my blade was sharp, my plate and will rock-solid, and not to mention my clear vision. The brute was terribly strong, and its great, sweeping blows rent my armor in places. My ribs, I will freely admit, still ache from that day.

“But my conviction was sound, and though I took many a wound, I finally dismembered the beast, and fell to my knees in the bloodied snow, exhausted. And I felt that surely, this must be the end, for I was in no condition to make the long trek back to my fellow Menatans!

“But lo! Alimis was in a kindly mood, and looking down upon me, he sent out an angel, a woman who I took at first to be one of Aorynan, and she helped me to my feet, ignorant of the chill of the wind and the blood which fell from my rent armor, and she supported me as I entered this haven in the mountains.

“And here, I have remained since. I would not eschew such a grand debt to betray your people. I fear that such a notion would only occur to one who would. I cannot stress to you, most Honorable councilmen and women, the need for a large, well-trained military force, even if it is as small as a simple militia. For you were in luck that day that I arrived, and have been in luck since that these beasts have not returned. Or perhaps I should say, have not returned often.

“I urge you to consider this threat seriously, and my word seriously, though I be not one of you venerable subjects. I finish my accounting, and my plea, Mr. Moderator,” Halifax said, bowing sharply to Tuvaulle, “and I thank the Council for hearing it.”

“Very good, Sir Halifax. Thank you for your testimony,” Tuvaulle said, returning the bow in a short manner, “Princess Vevien, do you now wish to make you claim?”

“If it pleases you Mr. Moderator, I would like the council to hear another accounting, today.”

“This is most irregular, Princess. It would have been prudent of you to notify the council before your opposition made its claim known.”

“Prudent, perhaps, Mr. Moderator. But it also would have been prudent for the council to have waited until my arrival—and the arrival of my entourage—to begin their debating.”

“I… suppose that is amenable. Very well,” Tuvaulle said, with a twitch of his lip toward Vevien—he had to know their plan, now, “your second witness may make their testimony, should they take their vows to honesty”

“Thank you for you curtesy, Mr. Moderator. Lady Edlaise?”

“Of course, Princess. Good Lady, do you swear to hold to the truth on your honor as a Lady and representative of the Royal House?”

“I do, Mr. Moderator.”

“Very good. The council will now hear your testimony.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moderator, councilmembers. As you all know, I am the second-born of our king, Jon Lo’Bourelle, and so am free to pursue whichever career I deem fit, so long as the eldest of us lives.

“I have chosen, in no small part because I enjoy working actively to help our people directly, to pursue a warding career, to keep our borders free of all sorts of dangerous creatures, whether they be ordinary wolves or bears, or Other-Kin or even, dare I say, Twisted Children.

“These past cycles have seen to it that I have been increasingly busy, in this regard. Within the past cycle alone, I have killed six Other-Kin that have strayed into our borders. The first five of these were but Greatwolves—which are not beasts to laugh at—and I slew each of them, though it was no simple task.

“Today, I encounter the sixth of these intruding Other-Kin,” she continued. How many times had she rehearsed this speech in her head an in the mirror and to Vevien and Sir Halifax as they prepared for this meeting? It must have been at least a few hundred. “It was nota Greatwolf, much as I might wish that it was. No, this was not something so simple. Today, I slew an ogre.

“Now I see that some of you gawk, and mutter that a woman could never manage such a thing. In this you are wrong. I would gladly bring you to the corpse later, or send for it to be brought here immediately, if you wish. No? Are you certain? Very well.

“Here I must describe the beast for you. It was much as Sir Halifax has described his own ogre—it was quite large, of course, many times the bulk and weight of a bull, with large, flappy ears and tusk-like teeth which jutted from its jaw—but I must say that I would call its coloring more of a purple-gray.

“Regardless of the description of the beast, I fell upon it in the woods south of the village Giros with a swift array of arrows, which did enrage and confuse it. As it thrashed about in the copse, I jabbed at its face from the brush with my spear. I retreated when it finally saw me, smashing the bushes behind which I had hid with one great paw.

“I danced backward, unafraid of tripping—for I know that terrain well, it seems that is the general area that most of these monsters come from—and continued jabbing at its eyes, slipping about it as it charged my.

“I do believe that I managed to blind it—at least partially—before it managed to bat away my thrusting spear and disarm me. But I did still have my trusty sidearm, this arming sword you see here, and I closed on the beast as it clutched at its face.

“Quickly, I scampered up its frame, leaping from bent knee to the thing’s shoulder, where I took a mighty swing at its long neck, clutching my blade in both hands, and severed its spine with a sharp blow. I must admit that I may have been… hasty in my next actions.

“The beast had collapsed—surely dead—but I was afraid enough that I needed to be sure. So I—and I beg your pardon, councilmembers, for the vulgarity and goriness of this—hacked at its neck until the head departed the body, leaving but a long, ragged stump where once the head had sat.

“Now, unlike the Honorable Sir Halifax, I cannot verify where this monstrosity came from initially, nor can I claim that its intent was indeed to do damage to our people and property. But what I feel I must do is to implore you to take this threat seriously. I was not given this scratch be a child’s fairytale, after all!” she said, rolling up her sleeve and unwinding the bandage upon her arm, “and nor was my spear shattered, nor my armor damaged by one!

“The threat is dire, my friends. Currently, you only have two people who have survived a clash with a greater Other-Kin. Many are our friends and neighbors who have fallen prey to even the least of these abominations on a dark night! With an army—or as Sir Halifax suggested—a simple militia, we could secure our borders, and prevent anyone else from being caught unaware, alone and afraid in the night!

“I feel that it is but a small thing to ask. After all, were you not each elected to see to the best interests of you constituents? To see that they are safe? Unafraid? I urge you all to vote to confirm this movement. I, for one, would rather fight with a friend at my side.”

“…Have you completed your testament, Lady Edlaise?” Tuvaulle asked tentatively. She was known for dramatic pauses. I did that once!

“I have, Mr. Moderator. Thank you. Thank you, councilmembers,” she said, bowing slightly to both sides of the council as she took her seat.

“That was great, Edlaise!” Vevien whispered to her, “You should be the one in politics!”

“Princess Vevien? Do you wish to offer your own remarks?”

“All I wish to say, Mr. Moderator, is that any who do not see the truth in the stories of Sir Halifax and Lady Edlaise are blind fools, and that, despite whatever action they might take, these two exemplary individuals will continue to strive to keep them safe from any and all threats to their wellbeing.”

“Very well then, Princess Vevien,” he said, turning back to the court, “Now that these testaments and arguments of both registered sides have been heard, I must ask each of you to dismiss any attendants or witnesses to wait in the hall outside for the duration of the vote.”

:::

The hallway was perfectly silent as Edlaise waited with Halifax and the rest of the various scribes and advisors. No one so much as coughed, or wiped there nose. There was no sound emanating from the council chambers—the time of verbal debate was over. Now it was time for each member to come to their own decision. According to law, speaking during this time could potentially see the speaker’s vote nullified. Edlaise hoped that Bedour attempted to say something.

But he wouldn’t. As much as she disliked the man, and enjoyed insulting his intelligence, he was no idiot. He was the most important person in the coalition against the raising of an army, and he knew it.

Edlaise stared straight ahead as the rainbows filtering through the prism windows changed, stretching, thinning, rising up the wall as the sun began to sink toward the mountains. She stifled a yawn. When were they going to finish up? Surely it didn’t take hours to come to a decision!

A brief murmur from within the council chambers quieted her anxiety, or least, part of it. Would now the verdict be released? Would it be favorable? Had their statements swayed the unswayable?

“Ladies, gentlemen? If you would like to resume your seats?” Tuvaulle said, popping open one the the large double-doors. “I do believe that we have come to our conclusion. If you would bear witness…” he trailed off as the somber—yet contradictorily excited—crowd of courtiers filed into the chamber.

“Now then,” he resumed, “As you all know, today we met with the goal of deciding whether or not to raise a standing army, and if that was done, whether or not the king would have supreme control over the forces. Well, we have done so.

“Miss Cavette? If you would hand me the first ballot box? Thank you, dear. Now. I will proceed to open this box, and, as moderator, shall read out each declaration. I will be clear and concise in my wording so that there may be now confusion. I ask that each of you keep your own tallies regarding the number in favor of each clause, those being as follows: those against the raising of an armed force, and those for the raising of an armed force. I shall begin presently.

“In disfavor of a military…. In disfavor of a military…. In favor of a military…. In disfavor of a military…. In favor of a military…. In favor of a military…. In disfavor of a military…. In favor of a military…” Edlaise crept to the edge of her seat, keeping tally. So far, they were tied, “In disfavor of a military…. In favor of a military…. In favor of a military…. In favor of a military…. In favor of a military…. In disfavor of a military…. In disfavor of a military…. In favor of a military…. In disfavor of a military…. In disfavor of a military…. In disfavor of a military…. In favor of a military… and…. In favor of a military…” Edlaise almost leaped from her chair. The first part’s done with! Now to just get it away from the bureaucrats!

“By my own count, ladies and gentlemen, that comes to eleven in favor of raising an army, and ten against. Are there any objections?” he asked. There almost never were, especially when Tuvaulle was moderating—the man very rarely made a mistake. “No? Very good then. The second ballot box, if you please? Thank you, Miss Cavette.

“Now for the matter of who is to be in control of this newly levied military of ours, and who is responsible for determining its actions. I will ask that the members of the council place their slips into the ballot box as it comes about—you have all had much more than the requisite amount of time to decide, after all—and we will take the count presently.”

“You can’t do that, Tuvaulle!” Bedour shouted, standing abruptly with another of his flushed faces, “This goes against all protocol! I make a motion that Tuvaulle be replaced by an impartial moderator!”

“Motion noted, and rejected, Mr. Bedour,” Tuvaulle said coolly, turning toward him. “I did remind every member of this court of the time restraints upon the vote for each clause—which we exceeded by no less than two hours and twelve minutes, which in turn is forty-two minutes longer than was agreed upon. Therefore, we have already used the voting time for the second portion of the vote.”

“Well why didn’t you give warning!”

“Mr. Bedour. This is not a schoolhouse. You should not be in need of warnings to be able to tell the time. But if it would please you, perhaps the next vote could be upon whether or not to bring alarm clocks to our meetings in the future,” Tuvaulle said scathingly, “Now, hurry along with the ballot box.”

“I move that this vote be re-enacted!”

“Silence, Mr. Bedour! Once more and you shall not have a vote at all! Or need I remind you of the rules of voting, as well as the amount of time allotted for said voting?”

Bedour scowled, but sat down again, his round face a lovely shade of burgundy.

“Thank you, Mr. Bedour. It seems the box has reached you. Has every councilmember had his or her say? Yes? Very good.

“I shall count off in the same manner as before. The outcomes are clear, once again—pro-royal control or anti-royal control. If everyone would keep tally, so as not to waste time… thank you. Let us begin.

“Pro! Pro! Anti! Pro! Anti! Anti! Anti! Pro! Anti! Pro! Pro! Pro! Pro! Anti! Anti! Anti! Anti! Anti! Pro! Pro! And… Pro! I stand at eleven pro-royal command and ten against. Do I hear any objections to this count?”

“I—” Bedour started, raising his hand, but then stopped. Dissenting simply to attempt a forced recount could see the dissenter barred from voting on the next bill. And even if it was as simple as whether time keepers should be implemented, Bedour wasn’t the type to risk it. “No objection, Mr. Moderator,” he seethed.

“Very good then. Princess Vevien?” he said, turning to their coalition, “Would you like the honor of informing your father of his newest responsibility?”

“I would be honored, Mr. Tuvaulle,” she replied. Now that the voting was over, there was no need to be overly formal. “and I thank you for this honor.”

“Very well, I trust you to it. If you would also extend an invitation for him to come to our next engagement, the council will discuss the manner in which we shall levee the troops, and the limits to the power that the king shall have.”

“Of course I shall do so, Mr. Tuvaulle. And thank you, again,” Vevien said, rising to leave. Edlaise heard the strain in her voice, the readiness to be off and be done with this political wish-wash.

“Well?” Edlaise demanded as they left the chambers, “When do I get appointed Grand-General?”

“You don’t. That’s Father’s job. You can be a… private!”

“What? But that’s the literal lowest rank, right?” she gasped, feigning injury, “How could you do such a thing?”

“Come now, Lady Edlaise,” Sir Halifax said from his post behind them—what he called the ‘honor guard.’ From any of the lechers from the Council, she might have felt uncomfortable. Halifax was too honorable for such vulgarity. “Surely, since you are easily one of the best—if not the best—combatant Dembirom has to offer, you will see yourself attain at least sergeant! Of course, you will also likely spend your time training recruits…”

“What? No, I won’t! And I’ll stuff anyone who tries to make me!”

“Ha!” Vevien barked in a most un-princess-like fashion, “I’d like to see a pig like Bedour try to keep you out of the army!”

“I might just stuff that one, anyhow.”

“I might pay to see that. But come, Father is waiting.”

[lamp-calm-sanders]

Body Diversity In Sanders Sides Fan Creations

Something I’ve noticed in this fandom is that people tend to stick to certain headcanons (HCs) on how the sides look. I mean the Sides looking like Thomas is a given in works that are supposed to take place with them as parts of Thomas, like in the canon universe. But why is it that in a Human Alternate Universe (AU) we rarely to show them looking different?

I’m not saying that if you headcanon them as looking like Thomas or how they are usually depicted in works that it’s a bad thing! You should be able to depict them however you like and I support that! All I want to convey is that we should use Human AUs or other AUs where they are their own separate entities, as a chance to make a diverse cast of characters.

Even if we just change up their body types we could have a way more diverse cast. And I’m not talking about having Virgil be super skinny, Roman be super muscular, have Patton be a tiny bit chubby (which is still rare), and have Logan super tall and lanky like is usual in this fandom. Once again; it’s completely fine if you depict them this way, that’s just not what this post is about!

I mean, why not have more works where the sides are transgender? Why not have them have vastly different body types than canon? Why not have stories where the sides are still considered beautiful without being described as conventionally beautiful? So why not show more body diversity?

Why not make Virgil chubby because he’s an anxious eater? Why not have him be tan because not everyone with anxiety or a mental illness is pale white (well white in general) or stick thin. Why not make Patton tall and muscular? And I mean muscular like broad shoulder big man Patton, not like six-pack Patton. Why not have short Loagan with freckles, and is simultaneously adorable and taken seriously? Why not have Roman who is short and naturally skinny or naturally big or naturally chubby, and can still defend anyone without having to look like what people consider “strong”.

Why not have more body type variations and other descriptions of the characters and still have them described as attractive? And if you want to project things that you struggle with your body or give the sides traits you have that aren’t conventionally seen as attractive you can do that! It’s good if you believe in writing/drawing a diverse cast and characters but it’s more powerful if you actually show it.

Again, if you like what the HC’s for their bodies usually are then that is great! But it would be nice if we showed more body diversity. Because most fics I read/art I see, despite having good intentions, when describing the sides will describe them close to what is conventionally taken a beautiful in order to convey they are attractive.

And I’ll admit I’ve done that myself in my work but I am now trying to show that so many different types of people are beautiful. And I want to be an example of it. Because in real life not just people who are naturally tall and skinny or tall and muscular are beautiful. They aren’t just the only people who exist.  

People of various body types are gorgeous and deserve to be represented. People like me who don’t look conventionally beautiful deserve to recognized as a beautiful part of life. People who don’t look like me but don’t fit conventional standards deserve to be recognized and we can always add more representation.

I would also like to add, and this part may be (understandably) controversial, why don’t we imagine the sides as people of color (POC). As a WOC I have always felt comfortable projecting parts of myself, such as my sexuality (and my struggles with it) or struggles with mental illnesses, and yet I never felt comfortable projecting the struggles I have face as someone who is mixed from many communities and within myself. And I always wondered and feared that other POC might feel this way. So why not, the ideas as the sides being represented as people of color makes me happy because that can get more positive representation. Though if you aren’t for this or don’t feel comfortable doing this, I understand completely.

I feel that we as a community could benefit from introducing more diversity in our creations and I for one am very much for this. I am very much for discussing this further but please be polite! Again, if you like your own HCs for the sides and they are the ones that are typically given, that is valid! But representation can feel really good, especially if it’s in a positive environment.

And now to hear a part from my good friend @ionadh who I have talked about this with.

“The sides are a part of Thomas so it’s understandable to have them all have features like Thomas (even if it’s an alternate universe where they are separate from Thomas) but the Sides could be a part of you as well. We have widely used headcanons about the sides that change how we perceive them even in the canon universe, like for example, Patton with freckles is widely known and used. Why does the diversity between the sides stop there?

Give me Logan with top surgery scars and a man bun. Give me Virgil with beauty marks all over and a chubby tummy.  Give me Patton with stretch marks and heterochromia iridum eyes. Give me Roman with long beautiful dreads and almost non-existent muscles.

When we write, draw, edit, or even imagine these characters we tend to project ourselves onto them. I’m a trans guy and Logan is my favorite side so when I imagine him I put that huge personal piece of me onto him. If you want to write the sides as transgender, or hispanic, or bisexual, or whatever because you want to relate to them more then I say go for it!”

I, personally, have struggled with accepting the different things that make me up and I know a lot of others struggle with that as well and I feel that seeing more good and diverse representation or feeling free to put yourself into a character can help you, and others who have similar struggles, accept themselves. Because from experience I remember times where I’ve read the few fics where the Sides are diverse and one of them looked similar to me body type wise and it made me happy because they were still shown as beautiful and it helped me feel beautiful.

I hope you all consider this! And if you want to discuss this, I am open for discussion, just please keep it polite.

[tierra-arcoiris]

Good vibes: 3 weeks of no soda nor coffe!

It was no diffcult to decide but the rrason to say NO MORE. On October 21st i got a deep and intense pain (not just an ache!) on my stomach mouth so i got in bed from noon to next day. But after some medication i felt better so i could continue my normal life and activities.

The next sunday my family and i went to a restaurant for lunch but while i drove to ,my parents started to discuss and i got all my anxiety and i couldn't anymore so i got my pain again so fast (not intense) so we had lunch and after we rest and came back to home i said my borther "hurry i need a doctor" so we went to emerncies and the doctor say "anxiety and gastrtitis" but dont worry just a nurse will inject you and will be fine.

So in five minutes after got.injected i was as never happened.... Ever. All was fine and i could assist to.my first day of school (work). Not so funny because at the recess i felt kind of dizzy but no so serius becase was almost blazing out there.

The wednesday was another call; i got dizzy again just getting out the door to drive the car... No wait lets got to doctor again:

No one could measure my pressure in both arms and wrists!

My suggar levels are alwasy normal even my father and middle brother got diabetes 17 years ago!

My temp was just 1 grade hotter then normal (not to take actions thoug!)

So lets get ingressed, drugs and blood examination.

The room nurse try to inject me some drugs to level my pressure i ask what he will do and he first meassure my preassure and was nornal even better than his, and try to injext me to calm my "aches or pain" but i hadn't. So i was just liying at bed resting.

The parmacy guy got my god-blessed-and-unique blood... 2 hours after the nurse came to.my bed and said: bro... Are so lucky guy for stay as nothing happen nor feeling dizzyness and nothing.... Your cholesrerol levels are flying with clouds and your uric acid is in big ammount.

Guys i know the coffee and soda have good flavor... But believe me... Don't wait your firs pain, or high illness levels... Drink no more soda, eat clean and meassured, eat more fruits and vegetables, drink your 2 1/2 water litres and so on.

So thanks for be a good man @m0tiv8me and the cap healthy we need your inspiration! Thanks!

[vintagemiserie]

it has been too long since ive posted a drabble >:3 so here one is

Daniel kept his eyes fixed on Mick, if not directly making eye contact. He had trouble with that sort of thing even with people he was close with, let alone the steely-gazed, quiet drummer whom he’d said maybe a word or two to in his life. He took the bottle of beer and tried to hold it steady, even if he was shaking with nervousness.

Eventually he had to look away from Mick and take a sip or three, and once he did that he couldn’t get his eyes to go back. “Thanks,” he muttered into his beer, wondering if Mick was convenient enough to have a gun on hand that he could shoot Daniel with. Or vice versa, that would be fine too. Anything to get this whole hang out thing over and done with. Every breath made the glass hum, at least until he moved it after another sip.

Mick hummed, perhaps considering whether he was allowed to be judge, jury, and executioner, before diving in. “What’re you going to school for?” He asked, a deep knife gouging into Daniel’s chest, turning more and more with every second Daniel waited to answer.

“I’m not,” he eventually managed. He didn’t want to hear another word, no “aw, but why not” like when Heather asked him what schools he was applying to. Unfortunately, Daniel realized with an ill grimace, that meant he had to continue on. “Maybe I will when my dad gets sick of me being a leech, trying to make this work. I can just get into U-Dub and do whatever John did and use all his work, or something.” He didn’t care if it wasn’t a flattering portrait—he wasn’t exactly a pretty face.

“Aw, come on, man,” Mick said with a chuckle, “you’ve gotta have something you’re interested in. What’d you be doing if you weren’t doing music?”

Daniel shrugged. “Missed the boat for hockey,” he said. It was a non-answer, because he hated to think that his answer was nothing, I’d be doing nothing. Saying that meant he could at least sound enthusiastic about something besides making the band work out. “If I could’ve kept at it after my Dad went to Spokane, and played in junior leagues and stuff, I probably wouldn’t even be here. You’d be reading headlines about how some short rookie forward was traded to Edmonton for a million bucks.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Mick took a long sip, himself. “You remind me of Jamison, in a way. Very ambitious.” He sat up and set his beer on the coffee table, turning to look at Daniel.

He hated having Mick’s eyes on him. He utterly hated it. It made him uncomfortable, and it seemed almost intentional. He wanted to ask why the hell he was being put through this. His eyes wouldn’t reach Mick, not by a longshot, but he could at least keep them fixed forward instead of turning away entirely. “What is being a session musician like? Think I’d have a chance at it if this thing doesn’t work?” Daniel stuttered out. He didn’t like the comparison, not when Jamie was such an asshole to him. He didn’t even really like being reminded that Jamie had a full name.

Mick seemed to let it slide. “It’s like any job. You can’t be too passionate, you just have to do what’s asked of you and do it well. I’m not sure you’d like it.” It was a disappointing answer, but Daniel understood why.

Thankfully, sitting there cradling his beer, Daniel kept himself in check. He wanted to get up and leave, or ask why he was being mocked and embarrassed like this. John would hum and take the glasses off of Daniel’s face and tell him that he really overreacted there, if he did do any of that stuff and if John was there with him. He tried to imagine he was sitting against John, tried to imagine his boyfriend’s slender fingers playing idly with his hair. It didn’t really work.

“That’s a shame,” Daniel said, losing energy rapidly. He wanted to lay in John’s bed with his face pressed against a pillow because he could barely go the three or four days a week he saw John without missing him anyways and he just wanted to smell him, as weird and creepy as he felt articulating that thought. With a sip of beer, he leaned back and wondered why he had to be gay and short. He wondered if he’d have ever met John or started dating him if he had ended up in the junior league. He could barely think about the conversation now that he’d set himself on such a different route. “How’d you even meet Jamie, anyway?” He asked, hoping that would get himself back together.

After all, it was weird that a real, professional musician was in some rich kid’s stupid punk band (well, Daniel didn’t know if Jamie was rich-rich, but he was sure as hell getting dough from his parents). “I dated his older sister for about a month in college,” Mick said. Daniel got his gaze over enough to know that he was smiling.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Daniel muttered, deciding that Mick’s explanation was boring enough that he didn’t need to comment on it.

“He doesn’t like that you could break up the band,” Mick said as if it were some sort of clarification. They all knew the truism—it wasn’t like Daniel didn’t know that he was dating a bandmate.

With a sigh, he let his gaze return to the comfort of anywhere besides Mick’s vicinity. He had been too busy staring at his hands to get a look around at the apartment, and for what it was worth he had things laid out pretty nice. There were some pretty shelves with books and records on them, a decent little TV, and a plant of some sort in the corner. There was a rug under the couch and coffee table. He was back to looking at his hands and the beer bottle. “He doesn’t need to make me feel so bad about it, though.” The sort of shame that came with talking about how Jamie talked down to him felt similar in his stomach and on his cheeks to the shame he felt talking about his mom, or about how badly bullied he was for so long. If he stood up for himself then Jamie would have no other choice than to can it with the jokes exclusively at Daniel’s expense.

There was a palpable silence, one that felt heavy. Daniel could feel the blood rush through his ears. “Would you be out if you weren’t dating John?” Mick asked.

“Absolutely not,” Daniel replied. He hated how fast he answered the question, since it seemed like Mick was anticipating he’d have to think about it for even just a second. “It’s basic self-preservation.” Self-preservation which he could sacrifice for a bit of happiness, however fleeting. He couldn’t imagine how desperate he’d probably be if John had rejected him—he couldn’t imagine where he’d even be living.

Based on the tone of Mick’s hum, it seemed he took out of Daniel’s answer an ample amount of unhappiness.

“Thanks for the beer,” Daniel murmured, as if that would relieve anything. He knew he was depressing to be around, angry but too meek to do anything about it. Transient. Stupid as hell and with nothing to redeem that fact. He just wanted to play shows, release music, that whole shebang. He wanted his name out there, he wanted fame, he wanted everything besides having to actually talk to people. This wasn’t some post-game interview he played out in his head, the sort he could bullshit his way through with a grin on his face. He’d have to speak to Mick again, over and over and over, because they were bandmates. Even if Mick made him terrified. “You sure Jamie doesn’t hate me?” Daniel asked.

“Absolutely,” Mick said, setting a hand on Daniel’s shoulder.

He wondered what was going through Mick’s head, if he was actually willing to deal with how flighty and anxious Daniel was in the long-term. Daniel swirled around the beer at the bottom of the bottle, wondering how he’d drank through it so fast, and set it on the coffee table. If Mick’s hand was lighter, he would have almost been able to imagine John was there with him.

[the-firebird69]

I put another apb on these pull them out. Huge epiteths here by these imbeciles.

Your freaking stupidvprestin. Dumb. Hateful mean idiot and a massive priss. Who are you to say a word to us ok you ain't both what. It takes. And are laughable. Piece of shit. Your an adolescent as well. I'm sick and tired of you two big buffoons telling me stupid things trying to harm me. My rep his and hers and my wife your fat obnoxious lost tons of stuff now belly ache . PS where are your saucers at nobody hears about them at all anymore. Why. Are here terrorizing everybody. Fly here to the Atlantic to Australia every day and back. Why is that. Have been doing it for years. Now you don't seem worried about a thing. Nope. Ohhh Antarctica we kick you out still not worried hmm Wierd. Then we raid here nope you don't care. We checked yiur not concerned. No you are only partly. You need your mega computers though they are onboard the saucers. Saw them working on him day in day out last year. We see how they fight too. Slow to arm nope fast. Speed kills. Huge AI ships overhead tonight driving groups of robotic humans around. Found out now by Macs and others due to your enormous attitude.

And we regret yiur giant bothering him nearby spent the night in jail. Fell over backwards when he heard you were looking for him Joe. My name in vane. Laughed in yeh you. Yiur horrid to each other too. They ate him up no but will once they figure it all out and are very uppity it's time they say. Go admirer him now non stop are without humility laugh at his threats until they die and walk out zombified are horrified at our power levels. Horrified. So you see shut down the internet no. These are you but planned to. Had blinders on acted the part if the horse. We used it fully now face arrogant talkers all over huge boasts of energy from old decapitated dying shits. Like you two. Old dying at yiur own kinds hands numbering heehaawing laughing shouting....and mostly insolent. And yet you ppl look very stupid. Hecdesigns our stuff happily joyfully and with vengeance against you. Huge Huge machines are headed this way to while that smile off your face. So tired of your car as indignant act indecent smearing leering jeering ugly pusses and mean talk your inane

We hit you flatten your hot air supply factories.

Thor

What friggin umps you are you act like spoiled mean kids who heck, don't know. You don't. You are so fn full of yourselves and Macs take a few looks find it and start hacking and you are arrogant with them as they whittle you. It's ridiculous. Your mean to me I mean indicates your in trouble. And are jerks. Macs always are but heck you two Biden lots of ugly females sit pestering me non stop. I'm shocked by how lowly you people are. Dirt eating poor folk and your stuff stinks of failure. Then hugely rancid arrogance based on history not mental illness. And oddly not from ruling. From destroying enemies such as Macs using alternate means. I'm not an alternate means I'm a hazard if approached wring as you Mega idiots do each today. Now we body slam you. You will feel it. Yiur eyeballs will pop out of the sockets you fake Irish Macs and followers. What vermin you think my usefulness over need laser designs and so put the pressure up not down. How droll. I mean I'm going I got napalm to wiz on you only you like it....AS YOU HAVE NO FN CLUE SATANISTS STILL. NONE. NOPE. YIUR HOPELESSLY IGNORANT. leave yiur tard alone ok fn fags you see millions of non millions of them hit you a day. No brain on board. I mean I'm surprised I honestly am you fell apart so easily all turned into weaklings sure ok Mac daddy had a plan not to do what you are. Lol. All secret. You advertise it tell all. It's the two who lost it they say. It's Jesus..nope rd by Macs. Make up your mind who shall mine target as you blatantly have me srtip young power. Who are you not to know anything at all about us Mac who just had minexshout that crappy threat who

Zues Hera

Would be assailants I guess. Cantvtake it huh I can. No. This is ridiculous re arm us ok we do. Who is running this joint daffy duck. Found Tommy f snearing at me this am. He's a puke is von Hagen is savalone hrs a huge imp is ultron. So we see who you say he's puny we agree a front again for who. A machine army we agree we see it you hv been screaming about it it's on us. Wow man Biden trump your idiotic blither ridiculous gag ...and it's our plan. Had one just lk you say yes. We are to blame mk ppl us too sound ridiculous. This is it we see your point we are pushed too it's tards. They ate out of thier league admit it now he's far too huge. Saw our demise felt it says you sorry little piece of crap in sorry for you. We learned this has right has been right...he said left. Means you know. Then this sick if us dumb assholes. True too. We are up to our ears with your stuff at bus. I tell ya you have to back off

Mac

Nah. You are at one person an inventor to fulfill a lame weakling fantasy that is in no way founded in reality put savalone up to it and can't fathom your errors. Why not? You lose a kings ran some daily. Thier fiefdom too. What language do you get. Threaten my balls I rip all yours off. Ok. American Band is my race Olympus my home. Your nuts to force us at you nuts. Losers really. You hound me day and night to have me prove you wring. Sounds like suicide.

Zues Hera

Maybe we are else where

Mac2

Some are hudimi some are. You survived won and all the proceeds go to you and today's wedding gifts and all the bride's today. What us this cream dreams are ok to sell to yourself in worse than Stalin seen it of being

To s.

Zues Hera

We don't know What To do a you

Mac2

Prod me like you are little bitch I pull out your teeth give you personal attention as your shallow fatso self needs. Dad had the same clueless yap too said in nothing. I said don't raise your mouth to me. It will come off. Hecdidnt for some time. Then exploded. Yelled yiur nothing like a peevish brat as you ppl do. I said fine I leave you go on your way had said don't come back. I said no I won't. He crawled out messed with me. I said you and your kind are nuts. He smiled and said we have a pointless existence. True but I have a point these piss me off now on purpose non stop. If no clue. You were too. I'm by far not a nobody. Hec says Emperor ok then who am I. We're king not due to Macs. Hec says God we go Emperor. Youvdont know a thing. He smiles let's say I see your work. And left. For good too.

Died a lot harrassing him. You all saw it said why is he doing that. He was doing it as he is one of you is a grouchy couldn't stand my attitude just like you imbeciles. So Mac crap you pushed him to it as you faggots and you pay. And his dad said get them. He is they die now in huge huge numbers tons of Macs. Finally the others rise. Learned it from arnie. He says this is what I taught him to get beaten by a smart group. Left. He says Cali and Florida legs of Macs plan unrecognized immediately as such counter measures deployed systems building revolt growing derision real. And Macs are oblivious. And as for timing it's Gregorian and east to read bible code. By the way Macs the rapture is now. You disappear.

Hec says this I don't care anymore haven't seen it. Don't care

Left harrassed as you do. Continuously. Then that's the plan. I'm astounded as to how lame you are vs Kaiju. Astounded. No gear is gmfine. No weaponsvtgat work. No Thorium at all doesn't matter and no crime and punishmentvthats not a circus act so nobody obeys not fng other aholes.

It's absurd. The dance is very odd doesn't reflect your fight or struggle. We see what yiur going for and why do understand it and heard Tommy say it. And him before it well before. So. Fire up Hoth a ship. Ok. Now we see. The first iron dome tapped in 1997 empty 2009 no nope. More like 2009 to now. Most died. We do see the top has stuff we clear now. All. And see you got it some from Hoth. So. What.

Scream yell salute declare victory blab. Kaiju run it and robots and could be you. You won't know. Don't.

Aim up or down. Ok. We use professional soldiering methods.

We know your argument it is too weak for you to present every 5 seconds. Too weak. Some group if yours thinks they run all the robots are very hostile towards us very rude unstoppable were arrested tonight won't stop blabbing about him. They are big not that big ate very disturbing ppl Dave fills him a hope then nothing. Is vengeful as Macs want Macs small don't care. And you are winning. A few planetoid and planets innaccessable not yours. And you hv no clue like your FAT ASSED YOUNG SATANIST BLACK FEMALES IN THE HOOD.

Used to comecstreamingbin epiteths in hand stopped when they heard you Macs. Mostborhers stopped. Not cork nope. Slows speeds laughs at ppl who think He will stop. But that's what you sound like. Fatass bigger bitches. Look like it too. Corky too.

Zues Hera

Thor Freya

This is odd I'm asked whybwecsaybit sounds enclose started in the low desert. Huge epiteths By them. Nothing then again. We got it out Garth says it's so odd it's not blacks it's the orc. Loud silent loud. In and out. But not huge theft only what then we see what they take odd machines used to kill with. Repeat the mistake you s made try for us non stop are orc or mixed or mixed orc. Tons no but yeh the veep is one. Is a horrendous idiot streams stuff to him. But. Per Macs is unstoppable. Wears reinforced shoes due to her physique is solid. But Macs blither non stop.

So back to Macs we understand your condition we use it your too weak to even see it. We know about it ok. Kidnap scenarios etc. We are much faster now ok.

Thor

Fine we get it can't stop the lot

Mac

Don't. It's a method just hard for me it's inventor ok putz

Get ready to lose stuff and sanity Pinhead is in casa Blanca see. White House

Zues Hera

I can't follow this what white house. There at the club med dildo baggens

Zues Hera

No no you don't McCall me that or say it or say I'm going there

Mac2

Ok I don't. You go there though asswhipe

Zues Hera

Let's be kids you say see what happens. Pinhead happens you threaten him he takes high there you pay or die.

Or Stay in pieces feet from help

Thor Freya ties them up as yiuvtaught ok. Had the three

Fu Cramer your out

Tommyvf

Your in my friend for a night of masochism as you say. Hey you only live once right ibtakevthe deed now from Tommy a

Zues Hera

[emmaswanchoosesyou]

Part of the Narrative (5/17)

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Story warnings: sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, violence, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

Chapter warnings: It gets porny. And a surprise shows up.

Time to smut it up! And just know that your comments and likes and kudos and reblogs have been cherished and squealed over. Thank you to all the wonderful peeps at @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first chapter, which you can check out here. And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better.

[Ch. 1] [2] [3] [4]

Chapter 5

Emma and Killian go on their first date, and Emma reflects on the connection between them. A surprise visitor shows up, but what do they want?

Emma

Emma took a deep breath as she surveyed herself in the mirror. She knew she looked good, and for the price of her red Herve Leger bandage dress, she’d better. She had left her hair down, curling around her shoulders in a way she knew was fetching.

And she needed it. Needed every bit of confidence she could summon. Killian Jones was...a lot. In a good way, and she was excited, but...she was also nervous.

He was good-looking, intelligent, and talented. All of it made him feel a little out of her league, her recent successes notwithstanding. She knew she was smart, talented, and attractive, too. But part of her--a large part of her--would probably always feel like the orphan she was. A lost girl. Unwanted. Alone.

Then it turned out that the connection she’d felt with Killian was based on more than just pure lust or attraction. He was...he was like her. He’d had a brother, sure, but he’d lost him too.

After their first meeting, she had done her homework on him. She’d found out about the accident, about Milah, about everything that was available to the public. In a way, it had humanized him. Plus, Ruby had told her he’d holed up at Granny’s for days waiting for a chance to speak to her. His professionalism and hard work over the subsequent weeks had further softened her enough that by the time they met so she could hand over her initial materials, she was ready to be friendly. It had felt easy.

And then he sent that damn email.

She had already decided a friendship with him was something she wanted, but to see how very much they had in common--well, it changed things. He clearly understood where she was coming from, and his concern over whether he was crossing a line had been endearing. She hadn’t been able to respond right away, lost in her own emotions. Emma had had a restless night of tossing and turning as she tried to figure out how she wanted to reply. As dawn approached, she finally acknowledged to herself how attracted she was to him. That, on top of everything else they had in common, she wanted to explore what was or could be there, if given the chance.

Whatever was between them, Emma hadn’t felt anything like it for the better part of a decade. And even then, it was different from what it had been like with Neal.

Neal. Emma fought the urge to push away thoughts of him as she had for the past eleven years. Killian’s email to her had been bold, vulnerable. He deserved the same kind of honesty in return. If he wanted to be involved with her, maybe she should share...no, she decided with a shake of her head, it wasn’t time.

She felt the uncertainty of a first date rising in her chest. It had been so long since she’d done this, and the last time had been a disaster. And that had been without any feelings of any kind, at least on her end.

How did people do this? Date? Tell others about their lives, about what mattered to them? What was in their hearts? The best way Emma had to express herself was through her books. Writing it down, it made it easier. Sharing her past, her life, was hard. When she had time to mull over what she was saying, though, and how to say it, when she didn’t have to look the person in the eye as they found out what a mess she was--that was easier.

And with as rough a start as she and Killian had gotten off to, it was probably better to play it cool, let him see some of the best of her. Hell, he’d already figured out she had been in the system, she didn’t need to tell him all the dirty details of what had gone down when she was seventeen. At least not for now.

Giving herself a final approving look and tugging on her dress, Emma buzzed Killian up. She took a deep breath and smiled, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach.

&&&

Emma opened the door to Killian’s smiling face. “Hello, Swan.”

“Killian,” she began, pausing when she saw his attire. Jesus H. Christ. His usual trousers and button ups were hot, but this...the tight jeans, the leather vest and jacket over a dark button-up...it did things to her.

His nervous grin morphed into a smirk. “I know.” He held out a single red rose to her.

She rolled her eyes as she took the it from him, teasing him lightly. “So modest.”

“Well, it behooves a man to be self-aware,” he said.

She smiled and stepped back, dropping the rose into one of the little milk glass vases she had out on the console table in the hallway. When she turned back around, Killian was still smiling at her. He shook his head.

“Emma...if I forget to say it the rest of the evening, it’s only because I’m too gobsmacked. You look stunning.”

Her lips curved gently. “Thanks. You ready to go? What’s the plan?”

His eyes trailed down her form, lingering on the way the dress clung to her curves. “Give me a minute to appreciate this dress,” he said, reaching out to her, “and then we’ll head to dinner. I made us reservations at one of my favorite places.”

Emma snorted at his ill-disguised lust. “Cool it, Tiger.”

He met her eyes and feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, right,” she said, taking the arm he offered her.

They made their way outside, and Emma tried to ignore how hyper-aware she was of the way his jacket brushed against her bare arm, the heady scent of the cologne he wore, and, really, just how overwhelming Killian himself was.

She started to head toward the T, but he led her to a black Town Car instead. “This way, Swan.”

“Ooh, fancy. Bringing out the big guns, huh?”

“It was no trouble, and you deserve it. Also, the T smells.” He smiled and winked at her.

She couldn’t help it, she laughed happily as she slipped into the car, Killian sliding in next to her as she moved over. “Okay, it totally does. But it’s really not a big deal most of the time.”

“Is that how you get around the city? I’d think you’d want a vehicle of your own.”

Jeez, was her independent streak that visible to the naked eye?

“Oh, I have a car. My old ‘73 Bug,” she said, hoping the nostalgia and melancholy weren’t completely written on her face. “I’ve put a lot of work into that car, but honestly? Walking or taking the T is easier most of the time.”

“I get that. It runs fairly smoothly, even if it isn’t quite at the level of the Tube.”

She bumped his shoulder where he sat next to her. “Hey, don’t mock Boston. It might not be London, but it has a lot to offer.”

His eyes softened as he gazed at her. “That it does.”

Emma blushed. “Anyway, where are we headed?”

“I read excellent things about SRV. Do you know it?”

“I’ve heard of it too, but haven’t been. Shit, am I overdressed?”

“You look perfect. Just dressed enough, in fact,” he said, winking salaciously.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. It’s a good thing you’re cute.”

He leaned into her space. “Cute, am I? Not dashingly handsome, or a rakish rapscallion?”

She gave him an evaluating once-over. “You may have a whole pirate thing going--”

“Ah! The whole Captain Hook imagery, aye?” Killian asked, holding up his prosthetic hand.

“--but just so you know, I don’t pillage and plunder on the first date,” she said, ignoring his interruption.

His answering grin was nothing short of wolfish. “That’s because you haven’t been out with me.”

“Getting cocky, aren’t you?” She pressed two fingers into his shoulder, prodding him back to his side of the car. “No, don’t even go there, Captain Innuendo.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Low-hanging fruit and all, you know,” he drawled, but his eyes were crinkled in amusement and he was clearly fighting off a smirk.

She just shook her head at him and faced forward.

&&&

Once they arrived, Killian helped her out of the car and into the restaurant. He’d clearly requested one of the quieter tables toward the back, and Emma appreciated the relative privacy.

“This is lovely, Killian. Thank you.”

“I told you I know how to plan a date, Swan.”

“So you do,” she said, smirking at him. “Lots of practice, huh?”

He scratched behind his ear nervously. “I won’t deny that I did back in the day, but not much since I lost my love, or before that, my hand.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. Foot in mouth disease is definitely a problem of mine. Just...ignore me.”

“No, Emma, it’s fine, really. A lot of people seem to know about Milah and what happened, I just don’t always know who. And I don’t mind speaking of it as much now, unless it bothers you.”

She met his eyes, the earnest look in them making her smile turn a little melancholy and wistful. She knew the whos and whats of the story, but not the feelings behind it. “You must have loved her very much.”

“Aye. And part of me always will. I just...I never dreamed I’d be capable of moving on. Not until very recently.”

Equal parts nerves and excitement rose in her at what she thought he was implying, what he might mean. “Recently, huh?”

He reached across the table for her hand and intertwined their fingers. “Well, I won’t deny that a certain fiery lass with a penchant for writing bestsellers has had something do it. But it--you--helped me see that maybe I’m not the only one suffering. I had been rather self-involved in my grief.”

She nodded in understanding, her nervousness abating. “I know what you mean. In the thick of it, it’s hard to remember that other people are just out there living their lives, some of which are filled with just as much pain and shit as your own.”

“Indeed.”

Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “So...you figured out I was in the system.”

“Like calls to like,” he said, dipping his head in acknowledgment and rubbing his thumb along hers.

“I was in it from the time I was a baby. I was found on the side of the road, and while I was almost adopted a couple of times, it never panned out. I stayed until I was about sixteen, when...I just left.”

His eyes softened. “I can’t imagine being in it that long. It must have been....”

“Yeah,” she said, glancing away from the table.

“Well,” He squeezed her hand and she turned back to him. ”If you don’t mind my saying so, you turned out remarkably well.”

Emma shook her head at him. “Is this the part where you get all flirtatious again?”

“I can if you’d like, but I meant it. Lasting that long in the system has clearly made you very resilient.”

She flushed and shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks. I mean, you obviously know how it goes.”

“Differences between our two countries notwithstanding, yes.” He looked thoughtful, his eyes distant even as they remained on her.

A not entirely awkward silence fell between them and the server came by for their orders. Sipping at her wine--a delightful red from a Tuscan vineyard she couldn't pronounce--Emma cocked her head at Killian. “So what brought you here? London is a pretty hopping town for publishing. Not that I'm not glad you're here…”

A flash of something like discomfort crossed his face, but he replied, “Ah, after Milah passed away, I needed a change. I knew August, and things just...fell together.”

His reply felt a little off, but Emma didn't get the sense he was exactly lying to her. Well, if he was leaving something out, that was his business. She wasn't exactly scrambling to tell him the most painful things in her life either, so she ignored the twinge in her gut and smiled at him.

“Well, I'm glad you’re here.”

“As am I, lass. Oh bugger it, Emma. Sorry.”

She laughed at him. “It’s fine, honestly. It’s different now that it’s not so--I don’t know, we know each other a little better now.”

“And I’d like to know you better still.”

She grinned. “Smooth, Jones, smooth.”

He grinned back at her, eyes twinkling. “I try.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” she muttered to herself.

He lifted her hand to his lips and she drew in a breath as he pressed the lightest of kisses to her knuckles.

“It’s interesting, you know? Being successful, fairly happy, in a place like this...with someone like you,” she said, gesturing toward him.

He smirked, cockiness evident in the way he leaned further across the table.

Emma continued, “I mean it. Like, I was always poor, barely scraping by. All the other kids seemed to look down on me. And now I’m here. That little bit of luck, the support of Granny and Ruby, and some hard work. I don’t know, it’s just odd.” She gave a small shrug. “In a good way.”

That indefinable something crossed his face again, but he nodded. “I think I know what you mean. ‘There but for the grace of God, go I’ and all that.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you and Ruby are close then?”

She snorted. “Figured that one out from that visit, did you?”

Killian tried winking at her, a pitiful attempt that was somehow endearing. “Aye, I might have.”

“Yeah, I started working for Granny when I was eighteen…” she said, slipping easily into the story of how she’d come to know the Lucases, and how much they meant to her.

Their food came, and the conversation didn’t slow. Emma was amazed by how at ease she felt around him. She hated that the evening would eventually have to come to an end.

&&&

Hours later, once their meal had ended and they had taken a walk along the Charles River, he flagged a cab for them to take her back to her apartment building. He walked her to the building’s entry, holding her hand the entire time.

Her stomach fluttered the entire walk to the door and she struggled to identify the emotions swirling around her. Giddy. That’s what this feeling was.

“I had a lovely time, Emma,” he said as let go of her hand and pulled the door open for her.

“I did too.” She smiled and took his hand again as she passed. “If you wanted to do this again…”

“I do. Definitely,” he said quickly.

When they reached the elevator, he stopped, looking nervous as he bit at his lower lip. He glanced down at her, seeming indecisive as his gaze drifted to her own lips.

Emma made up her mind for them, and tangled her hand in the open collar of his shirt, pulling him close for a kiss. It started out feverishly intense, and as his tongue met hers, she felt want rising in her. When oxygen became an issue, she pulled back, trailing her fingernails down through the chest hair on display. He shivered, and she took a moment to enjoy how unsteady he looked.

“Do you want to come upstairs for...coffee?”

His eyes darkened and he drew in a shuddering breath. “Aye.”

Killian followed her into her apartment, glancing around at the rather spartan environs as she moved him toward the living room. His eyes fell on her beloved chair, almost as if he recognized it, and he nodded approvingly, seeming ready to comment on it when Emma pulled him onto the couch.

Judging by his silence and the bobbing of his throat, she didn’t think he was about to say anything about the texture of the upholstery. She widened her grin and swung her leg over him so that she was straddling his lap. He gulped as she dragged her lips along his jawline and she hesitated, his seeming reticence making her wonder if he wanted this, if he was ready for it.

(God, she was. Almost embarrassingly so.)

Then the indecision left his expression, and he settled his prosthetic around her waist while he cupped the back of her head with his other hand, pulling her closer to him. Their lips met, and all rational thought flew right out the window.

He kissed her fiercely, hungrily, and she gave as good as she got. He traced his tongue along her lips, and she opened to him. His arms tightened around her as she pulled away and nipped at his bottom lip before throwing herself back into their kiss.

Killian moaned into it, and Emma couldn’t help herself. She rocked her hips against his, the beginnings of his arousal pressing into her and turning her on even more. Normally, this would be the part where she demanded they take off their clothes and get on with it, but this...she didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. Killian would still be there tomorrow, still be part of her life. It was equal parts comforting and thrilling, and she channeled her nerves into further deepening their kiss. She used it to fuel the desperation and passion as she moved against him.

Her dress had ridden up around her hips, and Killian ran his hand down her bare thigh, even as moved away from her lips to trail his mouth along her neck. He nipped at the soft skin, then soothing it with his tongue before moving on. She could feel him straining against her, his erection pressing hard against her core as he thrust up against her.

Just a few layers of fabric, Emma thought a little frantically, and we’d be...She forced the thought to fade, determined to make this last, to enjoy the moment.

She realized that while she had definitely enjoyed his attentions, she had been neglecting exploration of her own. And damn did she want to explore. She shifted in Killian’s lap, and he groaned loudly at her movements.

She shifted and pushed him back so he was lying down on the couch, and she leaned over him, nipping at his ear, tracing its pointed tip with her tongue. His hand tightened around her hip before drifting to her ass. He squeezed lightly, and Emma giggled in his ear before gently biting his stubbled chin.

“God, Emma, you’re a marvel…”

“Mmm…”

Emma was making her way down his neck, pressing lingering kisses to his throat as she drifted down to his exposed collarbones. She had never been more grateful for such an apparent hatred of buttons as she was now, and she sucked a mark into the hollow between his collarbone and shoulder. He hoarsely voiced his enthusiastic approval.

She didn’t stop rubbing herself against him, and he continued to thrust up against her. She shuddered as he did, fairly certain this would be the first time since she was a teenager that she was going to come from dry humping. She was beyond caring at the moment though, because if Killian was this good now, she could only imagine later, when they’d be naked in her bed…

She shuddered in his arms at the thought, pleasure starting to fog her brain as the ridge of his erection pressed along her clit. Then he pulled down the straps of her dress, one at a time. She had to take a breath as the cool air of her apartment hit her breasts.

“Christ, love,” he moaned, his fingers hovering at where the edge of dress hung at her ribs. “You were naked under this dress the whole night?”

She hummed, shifting against him, hoping to encourage him to touch her. “Well, I’m wearing underwear, but yeah.” She had to stop herself from rambling, knowing it would just lead to the mood being killed. And she was so close...

Killian was still staring at her exposed breasts. He looked positively gobsmacked, but Emma wanted--no, needed--more. “You gonna stare all day or actually going to do something about it?”

His eyes snapped up to hers, and he grinned. “Patience, Swan. I like to take my time…” He began a series of light kisses starting at the corner of her mouth, down the center of her chest. “...savor the best things,” he said, nosing along the curve of her breast, his breath warm on her skin, “and make sure we both get what we want.” At that, he closed his mouth over her nipple, biting lightly as he reached up to caress the other with his hand.

She couldn’t hold in her loud moan. Desire for him consumed her, sweeping through her as she clenched her thighs around his hips. “Mmm, Killian, I need…”

“You’re so lovely, Emma. You feel so good. Tell me what you need.”

Instead of answering him in words, she pulled away and made quick work of his vest. She started on his shirt, her movements hampered by the attention he was still lavishing on her chest. She had just succeeded in removing his shirt when a loud knock sounded at the door.

Emma stilled, and Killian pulled back, taking a deep breath. “Swan?”

“I don’t know. If we’re really quiet, maybe they’ll go away,” she whispered.

He chuckled quietly and shook his head against her chest, pressing another kiss to the inside of her breast.

Another loud knock sounded, and she let out frustrated breath as she pulled up the top of her dress, tugging it back to decency before sliding off his lap. Killian sighed, pulling on his shirt and placing one of the couch’s throw pillows in his lap to hide his very obvious erection.

Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long, Emma thought desperately, straightening out her skirt as she walked toward the door.

She looked through the peephole, surprised to see a young boy at the door. He looked oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place him. Knowing her tone was a little rude (but hey, it was late and holy interruption hell), she opened the door and gritted out, “Yes?”

“Are you Emma Swan?”

“I am,” she said cautiously, glancing back at Killian. Who the hell was this kid? A fan? He seemed a little young...

“I’m Henry Mills, and I’m pretty sure I’m the kid you gave up for adoption eleven years ago.”