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casspurrjoybell-33 · 8 months ago

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Taming Arrogance - Chapter 6

*Warning Adult Content*

With three martinis sloshing around my empty stomach, I manage to sleep throughout the rest of the plane ride and through the landing.

By the time the two of us make our way to the luggage vestibule, my temples are throbbing.

Normally I can handle my liquor with ease but hard liquor with no water?

And no food beforehand?

And on a plane?

That's a headache just waiting to happen.

Blake walks over when he sees my suitcase coming around the corner.

He picks it off the belt and sets it to the side.

His luggage follows only a few feet behind mine and he lifts it off the belt as well.

"Our ride is here," Blake says handing me my luggage.

He leads the way without waiting for me to respond and in all honesty I'm far too hungover to protest.

The coolness of the air conditioning cuts off abruptly when I step outside the mechanical doors.

In its place a sticky warmth clings to my skin.

Despite it being so late into the night, the Floridian heat is brutal.

One of my buddies recommended we go here for spring break next year.

If this sweltering heat is any indication of how it will be during the day, I'm going to give him a resounding 'hell no' when I get home.

"Welcome to Florida," Blake says.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the moist, heavy air.

A lone convertible is parked alongside the curb of the airport and Blake waves his hand at the driver.

The man immediately steps out of the car and comes over to greet us.

He shakes Blake's hand in a respectful manner and takes each of our bags of luggage to put in the trunk.

"Safe flight, Mr. Benson?" the driver asks congenially.

Blake opens the passenger side door for me, pushing the seat to a forward position to let me through.

I swing my backpack off my shoulders and step into the flashy vehicle.

Blake gets in a second behind me and sets his carry-on luggage to the right of him.

It forces him closer to me and suddenly this spacious convertible doesn't have enough room in the backseat.

"It was wonderful, thank you Todd," Blake responds to his driver.

"Todd, this is my assistant, Mr. Greene. Callum, this is my dear friend and one of my longtime employees, Todd."

Todd gives me a friendly wave from the rear-view mirror.

I give a curt nod in return.

There's no reason for me to be acting like a prick but I refuse to allow myself to enjoy the company or the conversation of anyone who seems to be under the 'Blake Benson' trance.

Todd turns off his flashers and flips on his left blinker to get the car away from the curb.

"Where to, boss?"

"We have a reservation at the Hilton," Blake responds.

"The one in town?"

"Yes."

Todd pulls the car onto the main highway with ease.

"Need me to stop anywhere for a late dinner or a drink, boss?"

Blake turns to me and raises a brow, as if waiting for me to weigh in my opinion.

I shrug and lean back into the leather seats.

"I wouldn't turn down a few slices of pizza," I admit.

"Pizza?" Blake repeats slowly.

"Yea, pizza. You know, that shit that has dough with sauce and cheese on top of it? Sometimes people even go crazy and add a topping or two."

Blake chuckles and shakes his head.

"Oh to have the metabolism of an eighteen year old."

"Nineteen," I correct him icily, though I don't know why the mistake bothers me so much in the first place.

"Todd, would you mind ordering up a thin crust pizza for Mr. Greene and myself? Let's do half with green peppers and mushrooms and the other half will be..." Blake looks over at me, waiting to hear my topping preference.

I slide my tongue over my teeth.

What are the odds he likes the same exact toppings as I do?

One in fifty?

One in a hundred?

I could make up a different set of toppings but at the mere mention of my favorite pizza, my stomach growls with hearty approval.

"Green peppers and mushrooms are fine for my half too."

Blake looks surprised but finishes giving Todd the order anyway.

The two of them amicably debate back and forth on where the best pizza is in town and while they do so, my attention shifts to new sights coming into view.

City lights are becoming brighter, casting shadows over the looming and tropical looking palm trees that line the sidewalks.

There are a few bars and night clubs we pass along the way.

Each one seems to have drunken men and women stumbling out of the doors in search of a cigarette reprieve.

The night life here looks fun.

I wonder if Blake will let me go out for a night to try out my new fake ID at a club or two.

I frown at my thoughts.

I wonder if Blake will let me?

What kind of sappy shit is that?

He doesn't own me.

He's just my boss, after all and I'm the one who rearranged all of my plans to be here in the first place.

"What time will we get done with work tomorrow?" I ask Blake once he and Todd settle on a pizza place.

"The latest would probably be around eight or nine," he responds.

"Why?"

"Perfect. I'm going out tomorrow night. The night life here looks fun as hell." Blake's nostrils flare at my announcement and the heat behind his gaze is one I haven't seen before.

There's a strained silence that settles throughout the car.

Even Todd shifts uncomfortably in the driver's seat.

Then I notice his eyes flicker to the rear-view mirror.

His gaze meets mine,and in a single look, I have the sinking suspicion that I'm barking up the wrong tree.

When Blake doesn't respond, I decide to push my luck even more.

"I hope you got us separate rooms," I say with a daring grin.

"If I get lucky I'll need a place to fuck."

There's no reason I should be spurring on Blake's quickly downward spiraling mood.

He's a professional guy and I'm sure hearing me talk so casually about my sex life is yet another issue that'll bring me one step closer to being fired.

Plus, Blake knows I'm straight.

I'm sure picturing me touching another woman is making him cringe with gayness.

Blake's jaw works itself into a tightened clench.

Wordlessly he reaches into his pocket, retrieving his cellphone and swiftly dialing a number.

He puts it up to his ear and stares straight ahead.

"Luke," Blake snaps in a quiet tone.

"What are the room arrangements at the Hilton?"

Silence.

"Call again please and cancel both of our rooms. Request the penthouse instead for the two of us to share."

Silence.

"Then book another hotel. Text me when it's done."

Blake hangs up the cell-phone and stuffs it back into his pocket.

Did he seriously just cock-block me?

Just because I'm on a work trip doesn't mean I'm on the clock 24/7.

There's no reason for him to prevent me from having a bit of fun just so long as during work hours I remain professional.

"What the hell?" I start to ask but Blake cuts me off.

"Todd, our room isn't quite ready yet. I'm sure there's still a pizza place open at this hour where we could dine-in. Would you find one and drop us off for a bit?"

I stare at Todd incredulously.

Surely he realizes how interfering Blake's behavior is and will have something to say about it.

Instead, however, Todd nods at the request and keys in a new location on his GPS.

"Sure thing, boss," Todd says quietly.

"Closest one is about fifteen miles away."

"Thank you, Todd."

I'm too dumfounded to say anything more.

It's evident that Todd is not on my side with this one.

Blake is always an asshole when it comes my manners and acting professionally whenever we're at the office but this is a whole new level.

He's never tried to play interference with my personal life.

What an uptight ass-hat.

Despite it being only fifteen miles away, the drive to the pizza place takes far longer than expected.

Or maybe that's just due to the awkward silence that's continually permeating throughout the car.

Either way, by the time Todd pulls up to the restaurant, I feel like an hour has passed.

"Thank you Todd," Blake says, opening the car door and climbing onto the sidewalk.

"'Course, Mr. Benson," Todd says.

"What time would you like me back here?"

"Half an hour. This won't take long."

The way Blake answers Todd's question sends a shiver down my spine.

I suddenly feel like a child who is about to be scolded.

Todd pulls away from the curb a moment later and Blake watches him disappear into darkness.

Ever so slowly Blake turns his focus to me.

"Mr. Greene," he says quietly.

"I'd appreciate it if you joined me inside for a slice of pizza. I have a few things I'd like to discuss with you..."

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bekalawson · 1 year ago

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WALLS CLOSING

October 5, 2023

“How was it your fault?” he asks, sympathy dripping from him like sweat.

The day grows short. The October night-air chill sends its warning of the cold to come. You finger at your sword belt, tracing along until you find your hilt and grip it. You have to make sure it's still there. That it hasn't gone anywhere.

It's the same type of night as that one. How was it my fault, she asks. Had she been there, there’s no doubt in your mind she would’ve thrown blame at you. She didn't see. She didn't see what you did. If she had, she’d cut you down right now out of principle.

Down the way, the new moon nestles behind the clouds past the spiral building. Where it all happened. It's as if the moon herself hides her face from you. Another chill pushes you back a month ago, helping you recount your sins.

Your head grows number by the second as your family's screams fill your head. This one looks different, you think, but they don’t all look the same. You could tell most of them apart if someone lined them all up in front of you. Although, if these things managed to form any type of collaboration, this world would be finished. It's already gone halfway to hell. No, they're all different, but there’s something about this one that feels different to you.

Just like the others, this one towers over us. It has to be over seven feet. Its grimace promises a vicious onslaught. You, your mother, and your sisters refuse the fear that boils in your bellies. You have slain a few of these kaiju already. More of them, you have strategically retreated from. More often than not, you’ve been forced to watch people get swept up in these kaiju attacks and ripped apart.

The beast you fight now slips and dodges every attack. In fact, it has you and your family on the defensive. You dip into the crumbling remains of a house, attempting to steal a breath.

But the kaiju appears right in front of you. Its fist drives through the wall where your head was a second ago.

You dash throughout the house. Up the stairs, crushed now as it smashes them with two giant fists. You slide beneath its vapor beam and leap over the banister, back down to the first floor. Through the hole it just created, your mother, from outside, releases a clip into the beast's belly. It lets out an ear-rumbling growl. You run out to meet your mother and sister, preparing for another strategic attack.

The beast stretches its arms wide, destroying the rest of the house as it grows in size. It emerges utterly unscathed, rubbing its belly where it's been shot, and you realize the growl was more of an annoyed grumble. If you and your family are to take this one down, you're going to have to use the power you claimed from the last kaiju you defeated. At the instruction of your younger sister, the three of you ate the heart of the beast, granting each of you a different ability.

You set up in formation around the block, but it's quickly broken when the beast scoops your mother up, dragging her by the ankle. It swats your sister like a fly. You watch the breath leave her lungs as her back cracks against a stone. You can hear it snap from here. As much as you wish for it not to be so, you don't need to be a doctor to know that's it for her. Your sister will not be coming back with you.

Your mother’s bloodcurdling cry breaks you from your stasis. You swallow the scream that threatens your throat and draw your blade. Scanning the area, you find all you need. It’s like taking note of all the exits at a function, in case you need to high tail it out of there. An old highway sign sits behind the head of the beast. You read out the scratched-up paint: “Twenty-five.”

You warp from where you were to the green sign, feet already propelling you forward as you grip the hilt of your sword, grit your teeth and aim for the kaiju’s nape. Too bad for you that the beast isn't brainless like a lot of the others. It turns to backhand you, but you seek another number. Quickly now. “Fifteen!” you shout, and you find yourself smashing against a black house door. Again, you spring from the door and over an upturned car. You aim for the ankles, but faster than you can react, the foot rises and comes falling over your head.

A blast, and black smoke throws you to your back. Your ears ring, your eyes burn, but when they clear, you see the beast's foot clear of the black smoke and you wheeze through it all. On the far end, your sister's last hurrah: she lies, stiff, up against the stone that broke her. She’s unable to move, but that's no problem for her. She was granted the power of homing. A twitch of her right index finger is all she needs to send another freeze grenade right into the beluga’s chest.

When the dust settles, you find that your sister only made it angry. It grunts an annoyed growl and sucks your mother into its flesh.

You reach for your sword again, only to find yourself grasping at air. You search and search, but all that's left is the sheath.

You watch your mother sink further and further into the beast, wailing for freedom, all while your sister sits barely conscious, with a broken back and who knows what else. Your chest becomes tight, like someone placed a rag over your airway. You don’t know what to do.

Helpless, all you can do is drop to your knees, hyperventilating as you watch the last of your mother disappear. You watch the beast stalk over to your sister, finish her off. Likely its last meal of the night.

You’re brought back to the present moment. “The next thing I knew, I was kneeling alone. In the same spot as the night before. My sword sheathed at my waist. So yeah, it was my fault,” you tell him.

#halloween #writers on tumblr #black writers #writing prompt #black writblr #days of halloween #fifth of halloween #no thinking. just write.#i've fallen so far behind i dont know if i can still call this the 31 days of halloween but you know. i do what i want.

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peopleplanit · 2 years ago

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How can the city of Cincinnati emulate Paris's revitalization and the Plan of Chicago?

Paris and Chicago are two of the world’s most recognizable cities and are staples of the City Beautiful movement at the turn of the 19th century. Through the Renovation of Paris and the Plan of Chicago, these cities’ urban cores were transformed with pockets of expansive green space, more communal areas, boulevards to provide direct travel, and mixed-use buildings, to create a harmony of urban life. From these city’s renewals, Cincinnati can learn from and emulate these elements into their city, to strengthen its urban fabric and be a more inviting place for people to live.

There are many aspects of the plan of Paris that Cincinnati could Implement to improve itself. Paris's plan was transformational in many ways but one of the main things it accomplished was the construction of urban boulevards, these roads allow for the flow of many people and or cars while also not becoming a huge barrier in a city. Cincinnati could build more boulevards to replace its overbuilt highway system or as an alternative to new highway Construction.

Another aspect of the plan of Paris that Cincinnati should implement is mixed use development. In the plan of Paris the bottom floor of almost every building is dedicated to retail space and while some neighborhoods in Cincinnati such as Over the Rhine have this, most of the city does not. If Cincinnati were to implement more mixed use development it would create more walkable vibrant neighborhoods all throughout the city.

Lastly Cincinnati should strive to create more mixed income housing. Mixed income housing allows for people of all classes to live together in one neighborhood providing the best amenities for society's less fortunate while also keeping crime rates very low. If Cincinnati were to implement these aspects of Paris's plan it would change the city for the better.

Cincinnati can also find inspiration from the success of the Plan of Chicago. A vital part of the Plan of Chicago was the implementation of a connected park system surrounding the city. This was because the city had a rapidly growing population and David Burnham, the creator of the Plan of Chicago, anticipated a rapid expansion of the city. Pictured below is a map of the parks acquired for the Plan of Chicago.

While the city of Cincinnati and Hamilton County has many parks already, many are within the outskirts of the city, closer to the outer belt than the heart. Additionally, many of the parks are accessible primarily by highway, with few options to walk or bike to them. Pictured below is a map of Hamilton County parks.

Therefore, an increase in parks, especially those that are more accessible to everyone through location and ability to get there safely, would be beneficial to the city of Cincinnati as they increase the quality of life. Additionally, while in the Plan of Chicago the parks system had the individual parks connected to each other, the city of Cincinnati should stray away from this. Due to the geographical limitations of the area and the already heavily developed city, connecting its parks is less than practical. It would require large quantities of time, effort, and money.

Another aspect of the Plan of Chicago that made it so successful was that the plan was a list of specific public improvements, rather than vague, lofty ideas. This way, it was easier to explain what was going to happen, and why it should happen. Formatting the plan this way made it significantly more palatable for the general public and increased support for it as people understood why it was happening. Cincinnati should emulate this same formatting as they go about revitalizing and improving the city. It is never a bad idea to ensure public support and understanding of changes that will impact people’s lives.

Lastly, Cincinnati has already begun emulating some lessons from Chicago and Paris. For example, Cincinnati’s improvement of Smale Riverfront Park reflects Chicago’s plan to improve its lakefront. Pictured below, Smale Riverfront Park connects downtown Cincinnati to the Ohio River and other riverfront parks.

This newer urban park includes many pedestrians path and green spaces, water and interactive features for kids and adults alike, gardens, and even an indoor carousel. Another great example coming soon to Cincinnati is putting a cap over the top of Fort Washington Way. Fort Washington Way is where I-71 cuts right through downtown Cincinnati, cutting off the entire downtown from the banks and Ohio River. The plan to put a cap over the highway will help reconnect the city with the banks and create a better sense of community within downtown Cincinnati. Pictured below are the current state of Fort Washington Way and the graphic of what the city of Cincinnati hopes it will look like after completion.

Similar to Paris, Cincinnati has had a push for increasing mixed-use development; this is especially seen in the Over the Rhine (OTR) area. OTR has a great story of neighborhood revitalization. The addition of Findlay Market and the main strip along Vine St., which is home to many small shops and restaurants with family housing complexes above, are some of the examples of additions to the neighborhood to help revitalize it. In conclusion, Cincinnati is making a great effort to emulate some of the lessons from both the Chicago plan and the renovation of Paris.

#urban planning #revitalization #urbanism #cincinnati ohio #paris #chicago

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mulderist · 3 years ago

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Everglow

Rated: NC17 || Smut/RST/First-Time || Words 2k+ || tagging @today-in-fic

Unspoken communication results in a less than standard night at a hotel after an assignment. Non-sexual touching leads to first-time sex. (Written for the XF Fanfic Smut Exchange)

A comfortable silence. It was strange to feel so at ease and, god-forbid, actually feel happy. White lines zipped along the dark road in front of them and a tandem of headlights raced down in the opposite direction. They illuminated the interior of the rental car just long enough for her to see him smile. The radio held onto one of the last stations before they left the county and pushed further into the dark.

Hold me closer, tiny dancer

Count the headlights on the highway

Lay me down in sheets of linen

You had a busy day today

“Well, I’d say that’s pretty appropriate wouldn’t you?” Mulder asked while he adjusted his hands on the wheel, flexing his fingers as Elton continued another chorus. Scully grinned and shook her head then thought about how it felt to twirl and sway with him in that small club. Cher sang out about walking in Memphis as Mulder’s arm circled Scully’s waist, innocent like a high school dance. The megawatt smile that could have powered the whole room as he held her hand.

“Maybe the universe is sending us a message,” she coyly replied.

“You mean like our story isn’t over yet?” he playfully countered while turning down the volume on the radio. She hummed in response and shifted in the seat. Another set of headlights swept past, white lines continued their march to the horizon. She placed her left hand on the bench seat of the sedan and slid it across the rough microfiber closer towards the center. He reached his right hand down and linked his little finger around hers. She softened against the back of the passenger side, savoring the small connection. It felt different than so many of the other handholds and caresses they bestowed on one another. With this chaste gesture she realized he wasn’t there as a desperate lifeline; he wasn’t pulling her out of the dark into safety. He was there, simply sharing the same tender moment with her on a quiet highway.

----

Minutes passed by. The cool glass of the window against Scully’s cheek roused her; the radio had lost its signal miles ago resulting in the low drone of tires on the road. Mulder slipped his hand from hers to stifle a yawn.

“I think I might find a place to stop for the night. I’m getting a bit of road hypnosis and you look like you could use some rest.”

“That might not be a bad idea.” She caught his yawn while brushing her hair behind her ears. The green highway signs offered little refuge for several miles, but eventually Mulder spied something of interest and pulled the rental over to the offramp. The first available hotel was a step up from their usual digs while on assignment. Scully offered to wait in the car while he went inside to check-in. She stared at her hands then knitted her fingers together. Her mind wandered back to the quiet moments on the drive. Snippets of conversations, Mulder’s chuckle when she offered a humorous comment about comic book monsters. The feeling of his finger wrapped around hers as their hands rested comfortably on the center seat.

The tide of arousal pulled at her center. She placed her hands between her knees and chided herself for feeling so eager so quickly. Her thigh muscles twitched as she squeezed them against her fingers. Not since their trip to Florida had she felt like this. Although, that night she only found satisfaction by her own hand, fantasizing about his touch as he traced the curves of her body. Scully let her eyes close briefly, remembering the need and desire to be with him that night; conference be damned. And now here she was again, in another rental car, another road trip, and another hotel.

What was taking Mulder so long? Maybe there are no vacancies.

Right on cue, he left the front desk and walked around the front of the car. Mulder got in and started to slowly drive away.

“The room is down on this side of the building. I’ll see if I can get a spot out front.”

“Glad they had something available,” Scully said after clearing her throat. Mulder parked the car and cut the engine. The night air was crisp with a gentle breeze rolling down from the highway. They retrieved their well-travelled overnight bags from the trunk and headed for the door. Scully presented her palm to accept her room key, however Mulder stalled then dangled a solitary key from his index finger. She cocked her head and started to say something but he beat her to it.

“I used my credit card. Didn’t want this little side trip to show up on the Bureau expense report.”

“Mulder, I ��” Her voice trailed off. That high level of unspoken communication was making its presence known.

He entered first and turned on the light to survey the modest room, she followed close behind. He tossed his bag on the second bed and she set hers down in the same spot. Mulder stood dangerously close then suddenly reached for her cheek. The topography of Scully’s face could be charted if he was blindfolded. He adored the angles of her cheekbones, the slope of her nose, the bow of her lips. Even in the glow of a harsh yellow hotel lamp she was radiant.

Scully felt her cheeks flush and she leaned into his hand. A ragged exhale surprised her but he didn’t seem to notice. He continued his journey down along her neck, along her shoulder, and ending at her wrist. The brush of his fingers across the dorsum of her hand caused her to hold her breath. Mulder traced the lines of her delicate metacarpal bones with the pad of his middle finger ending at the space between her thumb and index finger. On instinct she turned her hand over and let him draw a line down her palm, charting a course over the heartline. Her skin felt electric under his touch. He then took her hand to his lips and slowly, tenderly, kissed each knuckle. Eyes never left hers, a lust-laden blink was the only thing that separated the connection. She uncurled her fingers from him and brought her hand to his cheek. Without hesitation, Scully pulled him close and firmly kissed his surprisingly soft lips. She had imagined how they would feel against hers. She wanted to be kissed to feel alive, to feel something other than fear and pain. She was tired of the kiss on the cheek, the traditional goodbye kiss, the one that was all too common when she was at the hospital. Now, she wanted to be kissed to feel renewed and loved.

“Wait, Scully, wait,” Mulder said breathlessly as he rested his forehead against hers. She held onto the back of his neck, smoothing the short tufts of hair.

“Why?” The question came fast and her eyes squeezed shut, focusing instead on the tight lines of his neck under her fingertips.

“If we do this... “ he whispered as he blessed her furrowed brow.

“I want nothing more than this; than you,” she answered with both hands framing his face. He pressed back to look at her, the glimmer of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Her thumbs moved to his lips and he pursed against them. Her chin lifted and she pulled him close, kissing him firmly. Oxytocin flooded her brain when his tongue danced with hers. His choreography was on point with subtle twists and turns. She felt like she was floating. She wanted more and boldly started to loosen his tie.

Suit jackets were hastily discarded. Mulder tugged at her ribbed shirt to release it from the waistband of her pants. She gasped when his hands slipped under the material and skimmed her waist then moved up her back. She worked to catch him up, fumbling with the buttons on his dress shirt but he pushed back, quickly pulling the stubborn garment over his head. It fell to the floor along with his tie. She removed her shirt and for a moment had a pang of modesty standing in front of him in a basic bra, wishing she had worn something with a little more lace. Her gaze washed over his torso, admiring him without the physician’s veil. Short fingernails traced the tracks of his abdominals and her soft downward gaze took notice of the generous hard-on straining against his pants.

Time slowed down as they embraced, lips met over and over. His fingers twisted lovingly in her hair. He leaned down and sucked on the side of her neck, the tip of his tongue caressed her throbbing pulse. His right hand cupped the soft fabric of her bra, the sweep of his thumb resulted in a perfectly puckered nipple. She felt a wonderful heat surge between her legs as he tasted her collarbone and nipped at her shoulder. Her knees quivered and her head rolled to the side, allowing him to guide the bra strap down her arm. He was rock hard against her lower abdomen. A mere breath was between them. She moved her hands to his hips though they didn’t stay long and instead ventured to stroke his cock.

“Ooh Scully,” Mulder sharply inhaled. He languidly licked his lips as she undid his belt and unzipped his fly. A well-trained hand caught him and teased the moist head. The ripples of his shaft graced her palm while she stroked, working like a fine-tuned piston. Soon she broke her rhythm thanks in part to his warm fingers pressing into her newly exposed left breast. Her stance wavered and she had to move to the bed, pulling him with her. Finally skin to skin. Lips had to connect once again. He brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek when he pulled away slightly.

“Touch me, Mulder,” she whispered. He gave a wry grin and eased her other breast out of the bra, watching her nipple stiffen when the cool air of the room hit her skin. She hummed sweetly while he toyed with the puckered skin of her areola, pinching the firm bud. He suckled and flicked her nipple with his tongue as she writhed underneath him. Her arms stretched overhead and gripped the bedspread, back arched slightly as he teased. His erection pressed into the valley of her hip and thigh. He echoed her subtle gyrations. Scully could feel the wetness spreading in between her legs. She desperately needed to undo her pants. Mulder took the hint and sweetly kissed her again before unfastening the small hook and working on the zipper.

Her belly hollowed as his hand slid down the front of her damp cotton underwear. Fingers brushed over her curls and dipped into the dewy slit.

“Yes…please touch me.”

His fingertips swirled, one became two when he found the button nestled in damp soft folds. She held her breasts, kneading the soft skin like a kitten. A gasp escaped when his pace quickened and his attention focused on plunging in and out of her pussy. Her hips rolled, the sound of slick skin, the musky perfume of her sex.

“God yes...” she exclaimed, trying to keep her ass pressed into the mattress while a shudder travelled down her core. She knew the buzzer was about to go, her back tingled and her clit throbbed. Her knees wanted to spread further. He reached down to stroke himself for a moment; high on desire. She would have taken over but sparks were collecting at the corners of her eyes.

“Come honey,” he cooed, “Come for me.”

“I want to…make me come,” she replied, “Make me…oh!” The alarm sounded and she let go; hips bucked against his hand as he tamed the hurricane. Moans of pleasure were stifled with her shoulder. She came back down to earth. He kissed her and rubbed his cock with her arousal. Her pants lowered further to give him room to enter. Lips parted, muscles twitched. He filled her up so well; as full as she could be.

“You feel amazing,” he exhaled. She hummed and her eyes closed heavily. He thrusted gently and she joined his rhythm. They drank each other up. Another wave was ready to crash. So many nights she had wanted this exact moment; a simple fuck on a hotel bed. Being half-dressed was even more sensual than if she was naked. Their clothes bunched and bundled, she dug her nails into his hips coaxing him to go faster. He gave a warning.

“I’m so close. I don’t want to…”

“It’s okay. Do it…god do it…”

That was all he needed to hear. He buried himself to the hilt, fucking her hard and deep. She held on as long as she could while he cried out and released. A final tremor sent her over the edge and she tumbled into a screaming orgasm. Her voice sounded different in her ears after hitting that plateau of pleasure.

Mulder smoothed her hair and traced a sweet caress along her cheek while they caught their breath. Slowly, he shifted to her side, soft and spent. She adjusted her pants and lay her head on his chest, arms tucked in close. He embraced her; always the safety net, the light in the dark, the hand to hold. Scully felt a deep vibration against her ear as he said something to the top of her head. She lifted slightly.

“What did you say?” a weary voice asked. He swallowed then said after a beat,

“I said…god, I love you.”

“Mulder…” She felt her cheeks go hot and her heart beat faster

“Just wanted you to know,” he said with a stroke of her freckled shoulder. She untucked an arm and draped it across him, burying her head further in his chest, pulling him closer. With a content exhale she replied,

“And I love you.”

#i wrote this #smut #msr #xfsmut2021 #XF fanfic exchange #season five #first time #friends to lovers #my fic #writing prompt

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silvercrystalwhump · 4 years ago

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Silence and Milkshakes

TW: dehumanizing whumpee, General bbu warning, implied past noncon, tired and stressed boy

The engine of the old, filthy truck hums with a low drone; something clicks around in the hood. It could be nothing, or it could be something terrible. Flynn isn’t planning on checking it now. It is a nice distraction from the aching throb in his side. Silently, he rubs his fingers on the worn leather steering wheel, just barely cooler than the surface of the sun. When he first bought this car, he hated the way the leather stuck to his hands and made driving a lifetime commitment, but now it only resonates warmth through the calluses of his fingers.

The radio is turned down; it broke and is now stuck on an old jazz station saturated in static. Flynn can tell what the artist is through the grinding of the static, he thinks it’s Miles Davis, but Flynn was more likely to guess the winning lottery numbers than guess the song currently playing. Flynn taps lightly on the brake as he approaches a light. Yellow lights glare down at him from its pole. As the car rolls to a stop, Flynn glances at his passenger seat.

Kai is sitting there. Yesterday, Flynn gave him one of his hoodies for comfort while he was at school. Unfortunately, the high school hoodie permanently acquired the faint smell of cigarette smoke years ago. Kai sits as straight as a nail, eyes at his feet. His hands are perfectly still on his lap.

Position 3.

Flynn presses on the gas, and the car lurches forward. His eyes go back to the road, but his thoughts stay on the box boy. He had read up on some information about box boys from WRU’s website. They are people who signed over their rights to get better, happier lives. Flynn keeps himself from scoffing at the thought. Happier lives, Kai looks like he’s seen some horrible stuff. Hell, he’s been traumatized to the point of muteness. Flynn had triple-checked his medical records for anything that would render him mute, but he found nothing.

Why willingly put yourself through that?

Flynn pulls into a small section of town, and he drives the car into a Chick-fa-la drive-through. He wants something in his stomach before he goes and lifts bricks all day from some rich guy. His eyes trail back to Kai, “Do you want anything bud?”

Kai’s bright green eyes look at him. For a moment, Flynn thinks that he’s not going to respond. But, instead, Kai tilts his head slightly, strands of silky red hair fall across his face. Some deep inside Flynn, a side of him twisted by the horror he lives with every day, understands why someone would buy a little box boy like Kai.

So tiny, adorable.

Flynn curses himself and says, "Do you want a milkshake?"

Kai nods silently. His thin fingers pull at the shorts Flynn gave him a week ago. Flynn pretends not to notice; Kai seems to panic when he does.

"Wjat flavor?"

Kai blanks again. Green eyes looking wide at the menus that glow in the early morning light. His eyes grow distant, and he just looks back at Flynn.

Flynn sights and raises a hand. Kai flinches, Flynn pretends to ignore it. Then, he holds up a finger, "Can you hold up fingers?"

Kai nods. The tiny box boy is as tense as hardwood cut against the grain.

"Okay, one for vanilla, two for chocolate, and three for cookies and cream."

Flynn watches the gears turn in Kai’s head. Three pale fingers raise for a second before shooting back to his thigh. Flynn gives Kai a warm smile as he pulls around to the speaker.

As Flynn orders, he sees Kai shift in his seat. Kai pulls his knees into the hoodie and tries to hide his nose in his knees. Flynn notices the boy shivering, and once he finishes ordering, he leans into the partial backseat and pulls out an old quilt.

"I know it's chilly bud, the heat doesn't work in this car," Flynn says as he wraps the quilt around Kai's body. Kai looks with wide eyes at Flynn. He seems to lean into Flynn's touch, no matter how brief the contact.

The drive over, and Flynn hands the woman cash and grabs the food. He sets in it the cup holder area and pulls out. As he drives, he gives the milkshake to Kai. The box boy gingerly takes the cup and holds it. His eyes on Flynn, the entire time, waiting in his eyes.

"That's yours Kai, you can drink it."

Kai instantly puts the straw in his mouth and tries to suck down all of the liquid. Almost immediately, he regrets it. Flynn holds back a chuckle, "You can't drink it so fast Kai you'll get a brain freeze."

Kai blinks at the drink and puts the straw back in his mouth, this time drinking slower. Flynn tosses a chicken mini into his mouth, and he keeps driving.

He drives mindlessly for a few lights until Kai sneezes, ripping him back to reality.

At a red light, Flynn looks over at Kai. He put the milkshake into a cup holder and is now quietly sleeping against the seat belt. Flynn smiles subconsciously and then memories of a few nights ago.

He had awoken to Kai sleeping against his chest. Flynn shoved him aside in a panic and freaked the little guy out. Guilt gnawed at his throat all day after that.

Kai has not tried to touch him since.

Flynn swears under his breath. Why did he put him? There were so many ways to handle that, and you chose aggression.

Why am I so much like my father?

Flynn shoves those thoughts aside. Now wasn't the time for self-loathing; he had the stuff to do. He needs to drop Kai off at Chloe’s and get to work. Gritting his teeth, Flynn pulls through onto one of the highways near his home.

Usually, he wouldn't mind leaving Kai home by himself. Since he got home before his Father, Kai stayed in his room, so even if he did, he would be fine. Not today.

His Dad will have his drinking buddies over to watch the game tonight. Flynn rubs his thumbs across the leather of the steering wheel, anxiety crawling up his spine.

Dad expects him to cater to his friends.

One of those friends is Morrie Mitchell.

Flynn holds back a gag as he pulls into the shopping district of the town. A small bakery with its backlights on sits off to the right. Flynn, with white knuckles, pulls into the back parking.

Putting the car in park, Flynn sets his head on the steering wheel. Bile rises in his throat, but Flynn bites it back.

Hands, he can feel ghost and across his back. The man's voice is a specter across his mind, whispering twisted sweet nothings. He wants to hide away from a voice and hands that are not there.

Tap tap.

Flynn rips his head up and locks eyes with Worried dark eyes. He sighs and opens the door; Chloe stands out in the dawn light. The golden light crosses her face and makes her skin look like golden chocolate.

"Sorry," Flynn says, "I'm just out of it this morning."

Chloe smiles, "Not an issue, I have coffee inside if you want some."

Flynn nods, "Yeah, thanks."

Hopping out of the car, he walks over to the car’s passenger side and opens the door.

Kai stirs. He wakes up and looks at Flynn, confusion and worry across his face.

"Hey bud," Flynn says calmly, "Chloes going to watch you while I'm at work today."

Chloe walks up behind him and wakes at Kai. Flynn guides Kai out by the hand. Kai hops out of the car and lands next to Flynn. Chloe looks down at Kai’s hands and says, "Hd drew on his hands."

Kai freezes and starts to shake. Flynn mentally curses and tries to soothe him, "Its alright bud, it's okay."

Flynn reaches into the car and grabs Kai’s milkshake. Then, leaning into the back of the truck, his fingers wrap around an old math notebook. He hands both to Kai and says, "How about the draw in here okay?"

Kai nods profusely, his eyes begging out apologies. Flynn guides Kai towards the bakery.

Chloe trots out in front of them and opens the door. She steps into a sitting area in the back for the staff that's linked to the pantry.

"I explained the situation to Ma as you explained to me and she's perfectly fine with him staying here."

"Thank you Chloe," Flynn yawns, "I seriously cant thank you enough."

Chloe smiles, "Dont mention it."

She turns to Kai, who holds his things in a death grip, "How are you Kai."

Kai just steps behind Flynn and inches as close to him as possible.

"He doesn't speak," Flynn says softly as he leads Kai over to the worn couch, "He'll listen to you though."

"Mute or nonverbal?"

"I don't know, he just doesn't talk."

Kai sips on his milkshake and bundles in both the quilt and the jacket.

Flynn walks towards the door and pulls out his wallet. Before he can pull out a twenty, Chloe shakes her head, "Flynn, you and I both know you need every penny, see this as a favor from a friend."

"Are you sure, I really don't want to put a burden on you all."

Chloe gives Flynn a look worth an entire essay; we both know you'll need it to escape.

Flynn pierces his lips and nods. He turns back to Kai and says gently, "You can draw back here; let Chloe know if you need anything.

Kai nods sleepily.

Flynn turns to Chloe, "Just remember to give him lunch around noonish and check on on him every so often, if you show him where stuff is hell usually take care of himself."

"Aye aye captian."

Flynn chuckles and waves to Kai. Kai blinks back at him and continues drinking his milkshake.

Flynn hops in his car and drives off to work. But, he still could not stop thinking about Kai.

#flynn #kai #box boy whump #box boy au #whump #whump community #box boy #box boy universe

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cajunquandary · 4 years ago

Text

Hands that Heal

Link: (coming soon to Ao3)

Summary: Sometimes all you need is a little push the right direction...

Created for: @negans-lucille-tblr SPN Secret Santa Fic Exchange

Rating: 18+ only

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Jay)

Warnings: Jealous Dean, fluff, smut, smidge of angst, medical IV (briefly), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap the willy)

Wordcount: 3.8k

A/N: Happy Holidays, @jay-and-dean! I was so ecstatic to have received your name and hope that my ramblings make you smile a little.

It’s a funny thing, the way everyone goes on about the eyes being windows to the soul. Of course, they can be very telling, and if you ever catch yourself getting lost in those of the Winchesters, how could you believe anything else? Or perhaps you are more like Jay.

Jay has been with the Winchesters for quite some time. She’s been lost in those eyes. And she’s been found. The pure green folds of Dean’s have scooped her up, swaddled her, saved her. So have Sam’s hazel, but not in quite the same way. Not that either brother knows. Only Cas.

Cas has seen the way her deep brown eyes linger just a little longer than they ought to, can feel the ache in her chest. There are times when Jay meets the angel’s gaze just afterwards but looks away just as quickly. They both know, but they won’t talk about it. And that’s okay.

But for Jay, she can see beyond the green. Beyond the freckles and blushing pensive lips, the curve of his jaw, the gently rolling hills of his chest and arms. She traces the majestic waves and ripples beneath his warm skin with only her eyes and her heart. They come to rest just past strong wrists and fall like weighted feathers upon Dean’s weathered hands.

You see, that’s where the soul really reveals itself closest to visible flesh. Each scar and busted knuckle tell a story. The pattern of freckles and tan lines speak of years in the sun. The calluses of his palm and fingertips disclose a rough life, a tough job. They are toned with skill, accurate in all things. They can field strip a gun and put it back together in the blink of an eye, tie complicated knots with dexterity, bait a hook and cast a line without hesitation, and even mold and create custom parts for Baby as they fix her up.

And yet, the skin between those marks is soft, no longer as elastic as it once was, but still full of life and love. The very muscles that hold together the bone and sinew have the capacity to both take life, and give it. Jay has watched them rip apart monsters and gently caress and hold victims within the same minute.

Such an extreme duality shouldn’t be so neatly wrapped up in one man, but it was. It was both Dean’s light and his curse. Jay shivered as she hesitated just a moment too long on the fantasy of those thick muscled, deadly, yet oh-so-gentle hands, imagining how they might tickle as they might glide over her smooth skin. Of course, Dean notices.

“There’s no way you’re cold, Jay. It’s a hundred friggin degrees outside!”

Right. Jay had to remind herself that they were on a case. No distractions. “Yeah, I-I’m good. Just got a chill because, ya know, we’re next to human refrigerators.” She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth to help ground herself back to reality.

It really was hotter than a witch’s tit out there and not much cooler inside the mortuary. Dean continued to read silently from some forms on the coroner’s clipboard before licking his thumb and index finger to turn the page. Heat washed over Jay, spreading like drunken honey from her scalp all the way to her toes. She tried to steady her breathing, remain in persona as a stoney FBI agent, but the hot red of her cheeks was giving her away.

She tore her gaze away to inspect the body. Not that anything she made mental note of would stick at this point. Dean cleared his throat and pulled the clipboard closer to his face before setting his thumbnail between his teeth the way he always did when he was laser-focused on something. She only caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, but it was the final bit to break her.

With a huff, Jay exclaimed a little too loudly, “There’s nothing here for us, Dean. I’ll be in the car.” Her legs carried her much too quickly out the swinging doors and up the stairs.

“Um, okay?” Dean grumbled to himself before setting the paperwork back in its place and following Jay. “What the hell got into her?”

Jay was glad to leave Texas. Mid-July heat drained her, along with every plant and tree scorched under the unrelenting and searing white sun. The world around them was bleached and bathed in the almost-eerie too-bright light. Well, everything except what existed in the shadows of the Impala. The sparse countryside rolled away mile by mile as time ticked by with every song on Dean’s favorite cassette.

The air conditioning just couldn’t keep up, so Dean rolled down the windows. Jay tied up her locks in frustration, leaving a messy excuse for a bun resting on top of her head. The leather seats did nothing to help as she sweat through her shorts until she was nearly sliding off the seat.

“How much longer until Oklahoma?” She sighed. For the third time that hour.

Dean shot a glare in her direction before settling his attention back on the highway. The heat was getting to him too, and even with sunglasses on, spots were gathering in his vision and impairing him with every piercing flash of the sun off of the windshields of passing cars. “Jay, I swear if you ask me ‘are we there yet’ one more time, I’m going to friggin pull over.”

“Ugh, FINE.” Jay wished to be nearly anywhere but here. Resignation set in and she slumped in the seat and let her bare feet hang out the window, crossing her arms.

Dean turned the music louder, trying to drown out his own misery rather than her. He began to belt out slightly off-key to “Dazed and Confused.”

Jay cracked a half smile but hid it from Dean.

He rapped out the solos on the steering wheel, his hands keeping perfect time as they danced upon the taught leather.

Maybe pulling over wouldn’t be a half-bad idea, Jay thought.

She closed her eyes, allowing the steady rumble of the engine to echo through her as hot wind whipped through the cab. She cracked them open again just long enough to witness the stretch of tight skin over Dean’s knuckles, the way the washed out wilderness blurred past behind them and accentuated the tan he’d gained from driving.

The image was burned into her mind. To help pass the time, Jay granted herself permission to linger on it, explore it. Despite the heat outside, a new, different heat grew steadily in her core, stirring somewhere deep between her heart and soul.

Not too long after, the Impala slowed and turned into a run down gas station--the first one in an hour. As Dean filled up, Jay took the opportunity to find shelter in some air conditioning and hopefully an ice-cold drink. Inside the store was no better. In fact, it was worse. The air was still and thick with humidity from the cooler, which buzzed and whirred as if it were possessed.

“Sorry, Miss. Cooler is out. Hot drinks only,” a disheveled and sweat-drenched employee slouched over the register.

“Thanks… got any pie?” Jay decided that if they had to drink hot water, they may as well have some comfort food.

“Whatever we got is over there.” The clerk motioned with his eyes, no strength to even lift a finger.

Jay stalked back to the car empty handed and more pissed than ever. If the summer heat was something tangible, she could just strangle it. Kick it, punch it. Anything to fight it.

Dean finished up just in time, careful not to touch the scorching black paint and chrome on the car. “What, you go pee and come out with nothing? I’m dyin’ here!”

Jay snapped. “NO DRINKS. NO PIE. NOTHING. K?!”

Dean was taken aback by the outburst. It was then he noticed the sunken look and dark circles under her eyes and the red sheen over her face and neck. She was getting pale and wasn’t sweating anymore.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.” His brows knit as he drove slowly through the town, hoping for a decent motel to rest at for a while. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait but a few blocks before The Moonlight Motel came into view.

Pay by the hour may not be the greatest, but at least it was cheap and would likely be empty this time of day.

Jay was losing touch and the following events were a blur. The next thing she truly could grasp and remember was lying mostly clothed in a cold shower. Dean sat facing her atop the closed toilet seat, a worried face perched upon clasped hands. Still a bit out of it, Jay relaxed into the cool water as it slowly washed the fever down the drain. The world slipped away, replaced by a gentle, dark nothing.

When Jay stirred, the room was too dim to still be day and shadows were held at bay by only a small lamp on the far side of the dingy room. She couldn’t remember how she got there at first, but as she woke, things gradually came back to her.

Dean had practically carried her to the room. He’d carefully set her in the bathtub and removed her belt, overshirt and boots. He’d turned on the cold water and at first, she’d protested, but slipped in and out of consciousness. He’d retrieved ice from the machine down the hall and poured it over her as he constantly monitored her vitals and temperature.

He’d withdrawn her, a soaking wet dead weight, stripped away the sopping clothes while careful not to look where it would make her uncomfortable, and buttoned her up in the softest flannel he had.

Jay glanced down at her right hand, as it felt stiff and sore. A needle was taped there, no longer hooked to the empty bag of saline, taped down and left in place just in case. Jay wiggled slightly when she realized that her other arm had gone quite numb beneath her and--Dean?

His soft snores disrupted as she shifted, equally mortified and elated to be nestled into the crook of his arm. Dean woke and rubbed his eyes, as if pretending he’d been awake the whole time. His voice was low and gravely from sleep.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He looked down at her, so small in his arms, furious with himself for not taking better care of her.

“M-good,” Jay choked out, completely entranced by being so close to the hunter. Close enough for their breath to mix and his cologne to shroud her senses. Close enough to see the flecks of golds and blues and dark greens in the folds of his irises. Her breath caught and she shivered. Again. Jay mentally kicked herself for that tell. “Thank you… Sorry I was being a brat.”

“No. No, this is on me. You were sun-sick. I’m sorry. I should’ve--”

Jay put a finger to his parted lips with only the intention to stop Dean from blaming himself (like always,) but the touch sent electric pulses through her fingertips and set fire to every nerve in her body. They were impossibly soft and warm.

Dean caught her hand tenderly in his before she could pull away and planted a slow kiss on her knuckles. He watched anxiously as her pupils dilated and her breathing became more shallow. Pulling their hands out of the way, Dean leaned forward just slightly and planted a firm, reassuring kiss to her forehead.

Jay’s mind was a mess. This was more than familial. Were they crossing a line? Or maybe it just meant that Dean was comfortable with her, and concerned. But even as the thoughts swirled, her lips had a mind of their own. As Dean traced his nose down hers until their heads were pressed together, Jay angled upward to meet him.

When their lips locked, there was no more question. Jay loved Dean, and he knew and he loved her back. It was soft and sweet, with their eyes shut tight, just exploring and tasting and sucking gently.

The remainder of the trip back to the bunker was spent with Dean humming, a stupid smile plastered on his face, and Jay resting across the front seat, her head in his lap. Dean stroked her soft, brown hair adoringly. The night was much cooler and comfortably dark with only dim, scattered stars to blanket the hunters.

Everything was different after the motel. The kiss.

Almost six months had gone by and for the most part, they’d been wonderful. Jay spent more time in Dean’s room than her own, and the hunts had been good so far, like old times.

Until this one.

Jay, Sam, and Dean were doing a bit of recon at a local bar to dig up some answers, or at the very least, a lead. Jay had dressed to stun, as usual. (After all, men’s lips tended to be a bit more loose around a pretty girl.)

Dean was hovering. Everytime Jay got close to some useful information, Dean would scare off the burly locals with a death glare.

Until this one.

This man was built like a tank. He towered even over Sam by a few inches and dwarfed Jay in comparison. Sam eyed her uncomfortably from a few tables over, but he always got like that when someone was bigger than him. Dean didn’t adjust his tactics at all, and when the big guy had enough of Dean dancing around him and bumping his chair with an insincere, “sorry, man,” the guy stood up and puffed out his chest. Dean moved to both protect Jay and get in a prime fighting position, but Jay yanked him away by the collar of his jacket faster than he could complain.

She didn’t stop until they were completely outside the bar, then shoved him into the soot-covered brick wall. Dean opened his mouth to spout something pigheaded, but stopped himself as he felt the chill of her glare more than the chill of the snow flurries swirling around them.

“Would you just trust me to do my job? What is your problem?”

“I do! I just--” Dean waved in a flustered motion, unable to find the words. All he knew was that when she got a little too... comfortable... with anyone, he saw red.

Still, Jay seemed to understand. She reached up and held his face firmly between her palms, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

“I’m yours. I know that you worry, what you fear. I’m not going to leave you. Ever. No one can ever take me from you, either, because I’ll haunt your ass and you know it.”

Dean’s bottom lips quivered just barely, and he quickly bit it back. “Don’t you even joke about that,” his voice broke.

“De- I’m right here, okay?”

He nodded and leaned into her until his face was buried in her neck. He squeezed his arms around her, never wanting to know what it would feel like to have to let go.

A muffled “let’s go back to the motel” emanated from somewhere within Jay’s scarf and she nodded in response.

Dean grasped her hand as they walked the short distance back to the rented room. Jay stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide and pointing over to the edge of the woods. A startled “Dean!” escaped her, and Dean dropped her hand and withdrew his gun, ready for a fight. His plumes of hot breath on the air slowed to nearly nothing as he steadied himself and visually searched the area.

What had she seen?

Before he could ask, something hard, round and icey struck the back of his shoulder with decent force. He spun on his heels and lowered his weapon to find Jay wide-mouthed and laughing, another snowball forming in her hands.

“Son of a bitch! You want to play dirty, huh?” Dean howled. He holstered the pistol and raced to close the distance between them. With a squeal and a grunt, the two ended up in a heap in the wet, mushy snow.

Jay managed to end up on top of him and leaned in for a deep kiss. She could feel the smile on his lips as his tongue graced across hers. When at last they came up for air, Dean was moving his arms and legs haphazardly.

“A slush-angel?” Jay giggled at the sorry creation.

“What, my art not good enough for you?” Dean retorted while wearing a shit-eating grin. “And no, actually, it’s a Yeti.”

The wet chill began to sink into their bones, so they hurried onward. Dean fiddled with the key card but the lock gave him fits.

“C’mon, Dean! I’m freezing to death!”

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Hold your horses.”

At last, the door swung open and Jay rushed inside, leaving Dean to close and lock the door behind them. She’d already started stripping off the wet outer layers when Dean approached. With every step bringing him closer, his heartbeat rose and he wrestled out of his own layers.

Jay moved to lift off her shirt, but Dean covered her hands with his, intertwining their fingers. He stood against her, and in one swift move, wrapped both of her wrists in a single firm grip behind her, and with the other, pressed an open palm against her belly.

Jay gasped, her knees going weak with what she knew was coming next. Despite the weather, his touch was toasty. Coarse skin slid over her soft flesh, causing a friction that left Jay needing more. Heat flushed her cheeks and pooled deep in her stomach. Dean melted with every shuttered breath of hers as he stroked up and down beneath the fabric of her shirt, making sure to linger over the more sensitive areas as she twitched and bit down on her lip.

Dean massaged her breasts with skilled fingers for a few moments, but a sensual twist of her nipple sent Jay reeling backwards, supported only by Dean’s other arm. With her head tilted back, Dean took the opportunity to kiss and suck and nip zig-zagged lines over the most delicate parts of her neck and along her collarbone.

Jay squirmed and panted with lust-blown pupils and a cry just on the tip of her tongue. Dean’s grasp only steadied her against him more until he found himself grinding into her, faint moans already filling the air. The growing bulge in his pants drove Jay mad. She wanted to be covered by him, skin on skin, needed him inside her.

“D-Dean please, please…” Jay whimpered and attempted to wiggle out of his hold once more to no avail.

“Please, what, pretty girl? Tell me what you want.” Dean breathed against her ear, just above a whisper. He sucked and nibbled in the hollow behind it.

A shudder wracked Jay, but this time, she didn’t mind the tell. She had him. He was hers. But right then, she needed more and she knew he was holding back. “Unnghh, please… need you, now,” she managed.

“Okay, Baby,” Dean crashed his lips to hers and shifted until Jay was suspended in the air and straddling him as he walked them towards the bed. He dropped her playfully and they scrambled to see who could lose their remaining clothes the fastest.

In a fray of scattered clothing, Dean climbed on top of her, comfortably crushing Jay into the lumpy mattress. He let his full weight rest upon her.

“Stop it,” she giggled as his scruff tickled her cheek.

“Why don’t you make me?” Dean grinned between planting kisses everywhere he could reach.

Before he could react, Jay had him rolled onto the floor. She straddled him and tried to concentrate despite his hard cock resting perfectly between her hot, dripping folds. Her hair created a curtain around their faces, blocking out everything but that moment and the sensations it was riddled with. Dean’s eyes closed and mouth opened like a fish out of water. His breaths were shallow and shaky. Jay fought the urge to lift her hips just so, knowing that if she did, and she came back down upon him, his throbbing dick would line up just perfectly… and they’d end up on the floor for the remainder of their romp.

She rose to her feet, grasping his hand and pulling him up with her. Dean’s eyes were full of question, longing. His cheeks were flushed and hot to the touch. He was melting at every touch and could do nothing about it but wait for her.

Jay led him over to the chair and pushed him into it. He nearly tripped on his way down. That stupid smile she loved so much spread across his face again as he dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her onto him. She let out a yelp as the broad head of his large cock spread her entrance, dripping with precum, and buried itself deep inside until her walls stretched almost uncomfortably. The shock of his size was something she’d never get used to. Each time was like the first, the same butterflies swarming in her stomach, the same jolts of pure lust burning through her veins.

Dean gasped and held her close to him, trembling hands roaming her back and squeezing her ass. Jay carded her hands through his hair and pulled just slightly at the nape of his neck as he whined in approval. Those laments made her head swim and her limbs weak. Drunk on Dean, she adjusted her position until he was sunk deep into the spot that was just right, then began to move back and forth, slow and steady. Dean’s breaths stuttered and his head fell back, leaving his neck open for Jay to take into her mouth.

“Fuck--Baby you feel s-so good,” he stammered between increasing moans and grunts. She could see in his eyes that he was losing control.

Jay cried out as he began to fight her movements with his own, pounding up in all the right spots. She arched her back as the coil wound tighter… higher… tighter… higher... until she shattered in his arms, his name and curses spilling from her gaping mouth.

He held her through it and chased his own orgasm, sucking a mark onto her chest before he spilled into her. Everyone would know she was his, and only his. Her walls clenched in waves and he pulsed within them, his delicious sounds filling her ears as she came down.

Jay crashed her lips into his, and he returned with fervor until they were both completely breathless. Wrapped there in Dean’s arms, Jay was home.

No, nothing was ever the same after that first kiss. And that was okay. It was amazing.

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @taste-of-dean @impala-dreamer @arryn-nyxx @idk-life01 @attorneyl @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby @wonder-cole @itsangelpie @thinkinghardhardlythinking

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling @abbessolute @emptywithout

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278 @will-winchester

@waywardbaby* the smut was heavily inspired by The Scene. Tagged as promised lol

Tag List now open!

#spnsecretsantaficexchange #hands that heal #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x ofc #dean x jay #fluff #smut #supernatural

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painless-innit-colourful · 4 years ago

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‘Come Home’

A TommyInnit & Clingyduo Fic ahead of the final showdown tomorrow - spoilers for today’s (19th) Tommy stream.

tw for events of Exile Arc (skippable if you miss out the entire middle section of the fic, marked by three dashes on their own separate line)

The rush, the high. He’s been chasing this feeling since forever. It’s not a perfect replacement for the real thing, which he hasn’t felt in such a long time. It’s not a fluttering but an explosion, not the strumming of the guitar but the crash of the drums, not the rain but the thunder and lightning, though even that’s become fraught for him recently. He remembers the last time, a wonderful five minutes sandwiched by pain and chaos and destruction. His best friend standing on a stage, new leader of L’Manberg. A fresh start, the promise of peace and prosperity for all around them. But then it was all over, all brought down so quickly. The Tommy that cheered at his best friend’s inauguration is unrecognisable now.

But Tubbo is not, and between the scars and the new outfit and all the words, both spoken and unsaid, it’s still them. Tommy tastes the potion they’ve just made and hears his best friend’s laughter, and if he closes his eyes, he can pretend for a few fleeting seconds that nothing has changed at all. If he opens his eyes, he’ll be back in the camarvan, and Wilbur will walk in through the door with more blaze rods and laugh at the two of them and ruffle his hair. The discs will be in his ender chest if he wants to listen to one with Tubbo. There’s a lake outside the door and a forest and a whole wide world to explore, and Tommy’s only worry is that Punz will yell at him if he sees him for having a ‘Fortnite build battle on his front lawn’ a little while ago. He opens his eyes and then takes another swig of potion to dampen his disappointment.

“Aye careful,” Tommy’s vaguely aware of Tubbo pulling the bottle away from his face before he accidentally upends it on himself. “Don’t want you looking like Sapnap earlier.” Tubbo’s grin is brighter than the sun on snow. “I have no idea what was happening with Cracknap other than he still needs help.” Tubbo’s laughter is soft, “He’s not the only one anymore.”

“Too shay.”

They drift upstairs, and then eventually out the door. It’s around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and there are clouds drifting on the edge of the horizon. They’re dark and heavy-looking, but for now too far away to block the pale winter sunlight keeping the outside temperature a stubborn 10 degrees C. “I should go back to Snowchester.” Tubbo looks restless as they step onto the Prime Path. Tommy knows the feeling. Suddenly tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

“You’ll come back though, right? Tonight, one last ride?” They embrace, squeezing tightly as Tubbo hums an agreement. “Of course. One last ride.” And then they withdraw, and Tubbo gives a small wave as he disappears down the hill towards his highway, and Tommy watches him go. And when he finally looks up, alone with his thoughts once more, he realises he is leaning on the back of his bench; here again, always retreading the same ground. He briefly entertains the idea of putting on a disc and staying a little while, but he doesn’t have any music to live up to the occasion. Not Far, nor Pigstep or Wait, and he still hasn’t sorted out his complicated feelings over his version of Blocks. Besides, he still has things to sort out before the showdown. He walks away to prepare, humming Mellohi lightly as he goes.

---

‘Home’ is a fraught word for Tommy now. Every home the boy has had in this land is either steeped in blood and bad memories, or blown to bits beyond repair. Somedays Tommy wakes up alone and forgets that L’Manberg was wiped off the map, and it comes as a nasty shock when he rounds the corner by his home to see a crater that stretches all the way down to bedrock. Pogtopia never really felt like home, but it was bad enough when it was only soulless stone walls and bashing your head on the lanterns hanging from the ceiling that its inhabitants and visitors had to contend with. After the Manberg Festival, there was an entire room in there that’s sole purpose was to remind Tommy that he didn’t save his friend and couldn’t have if he’d tried, dried blood on the walls and all. Then there's the fact that it’s practically server tradition at this point: if you want to send TommyInnit a message, leave it on signs in his house. Don’t forget to blow up the house first though! Tommy forgets how many times he’s had to put his abode back together; probably about as many times as he’s had to reconstruct himself.

That leaves Logstedshire. Sometimes he agrees with himself that that place doesn’t deserve to be considered a home of his. He sure as hell didn’t want to live there, barely survived his stay, and the place is mostly blown up, the awful icing on the dreadful cake that was his second exile from L’Manberg. He supposes it could be considered weird that he finds himself stepping down a path he never wanted to walk again, but today… Today is about closure. And if he can look Technoblade in the eyes with a belt-full of potions stolen from his chests, he’s brave enough to face his fears in Logsted. As he arrives at the portal, he hesitates, his gaze drifting away from the swirling purple and to the bubbling orange, much further below. So many times has he been here, only then his mind was a much worse thing to own, a clouded mass of hateful thoughts, most of them not his own. Where the bridge meets thin air there are patches of a shimmering wind where the heat takes the place of the nothingness, and if he squints Tommy can imagine himself standing on the edge, wondering what would happen if he'd just let go. He’s glad now that he was in the Overworld when he made the pillar, even if it seemed like he had nowhere to go.

Logstedshire is haunted, even more so than the Nether path. It’s exactly how Tommy remembers it: the broken Nether portal missing a single piece of obsidian, the craters untouched, the pillar still stretching skyward. He can see himself again; on the beach, repairing the chests, standing at the top of the tower. It’s like being in a haunted house where all the ghosts are yourself. But Tommy isn’t afraid. The ‘Drista’ sign makes him laugh, the ocean where he’d wake up drowning (trying to make it home to where? A country that no longer exists) gets a small wave, even the pillar gets a smile, because he’s here to look at it from the ground. It was a bad time in his life - possibly the worst - but he made it out the other side. And that’s what matters.

There are some craters though, some specific memories that Tommy can’t face yet. The smiling mask of the green man, snatching items out of Tommy’s hands to then force him to watch as he blew them to bits. How he specifically said “I want you to watch.” when he blew up everything Tommy and Ghostbur had managed to scrape together for themselves out there alone. The two-by-two hole in the centre of the largest crater, and how just glancing at it summons Dream’s voice to his mind, taunting him as he grabbed him by the front of his already ripped shirt and hoisted him over the short drop, “Why don’t you get in the hole, Tommy?”

Those still sting. There’s a reason, he supposes, why Wilbur went mad after losing L’Manberg. Why he asked Philza to kill him instead of facing the wreckage all around. But Tommy refuses to be just another repeat of history. Tommy looks into the pit made by Dream’s TNT where scraps of happiness were burned, and he spits at it.

No more.

TommyInnit heads home.

---

Hours pass. Tubbo returns from Snowchester soaked through to the skin but smiling. Tommy helps him peel off several layers of frozen clothing (he decides not to ask in regards to the hazmat suit), finding out that the nukes project is going well but they are presented with the usual issues of living in a frozen tundra: cold.

After Tubbo’s showered and changed, they share a dinner giggling about really dumb topics like Tommy pulling a fast one on Technoblade, Jack Manifold being weird and unhelpful again, and good old GeorgeNotFound. The hours fly by, and it's much later that they’re getting ready for bed when the heavens finally open, and the sound of a heavy downpour seeps in through the cracks of Tommy’s dirt house. Tommy can feel the smile crossing his face until he remembers his house is a dirt shack at present, and mud houses aren’t generally known for being the most watertight. Tubbo gets a good laugh out of his expression when he comes bustling down the stairs dragging his bed behind him, crying out, “Our clothes! Beds! Tubbo-” Their plans changed and they put their beds in the storage room, the room voted Least Likely To Have a Leak by a grand majority of two. The sound of the rain is somehow less muffled down there, and it clatters against the ceiling almost melodically.

Tommy picks up the crossbow from the pile of clothes and other bits and bobs he grabbed from upstairs when the downpour started. ‘Chekhov's Gun’. Wilbur’s gun. As in, actual Alivebur’s weapon, from before he blew up L’Manberg. It feels heavy in his hands. Too heavy. Wilbur’s voice echoes through his head, not the usual line he hears in his nightmares, but similar.

“You’re never going to be president, Tommy.”

It doesn’t hurt anymore. Wilbur gave him that choice, and he declined. He wonders, with a certain detachment, how it all would’ve turned out if he’d chosen to take the presidency. He certainly wouldn’t have exiled Tubbo.

Tubbo, who’s looking at him with a lopsided grin, standing by his bed and holding his covers aloft, one leg already in bed. It seems like an invitation. “You alright?” Tommy nods and sets down the crossbow and clothes on top of one of the chests, “Yeah… Goodnight Tubs.”

“Goodnight Tommy.”

In the split second before either of them can commit to getting into bed, Tommy hears Wilbur again. This time though, he doesn’t mock him, nor does he sound too far gone to be saved. This iteration of Wilbur Soot wears a captain’s hat instead of a beanie, and speaks with soft conviction, and puts his hands on Tommy’s shoulders like he can shield the teen from the choice that he’s made.

“I want you to do whatever your heart says you should do.”

“Tubbo wait,” Tommy catches his best friend by the arm. Two pairs of blue eyes meet briefly as Tommy pulls him into a hug, putting one hand on the back of Tubbo’s head and messing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. Tubbo’s surprise doesn’t last long, and he hugs back, burying his face in Tommy’s shoulder and balling Tommy’s shirt into his fists. Tommy breathes a deep sigh, trying to make the moment last, but knowing no one lives forever. Eventually they split, and Tommy ruffles Tubbo’s hair as they grin at each other with tired eyes and heavy limbs. “Okay, goodnight Tubbo.”

The older boy in question takes two steps back and sits down on his bed, shuffling back quickly and holding the covers open, smiling invitingly. “Tommy,” His voice sounds like honey, so sickly-sweet it shouldn’t be nice, but is. There’s also a heavy undertone of teasing going on to start with, but it becomes more genuine suddenly. “Come home.” And Tommy understands and climbs in beside him, and they tease each other for being clingy and sappy as they try to get comfortable, and then they quiet to the odd remark as they find the right place, Tubbo’s head resting on Tommy’s collarbone, their arms wrapped around each other and Tommy’s head leaning on Tubbo’s. Tubbo drops off first, and Tommy is waiting in the noisy quiet for sleep to claim him too, listening to the rain pattering on the roof and his friend’s breathing beside him. And in the quiet, he realises a couple things.

He realises he rather likes the rain without the thunder, and that maybe the guitar is better than the drums, and that the fluttering in his chest is more uplifting than the explosion of a vibrant heart. It’s not the triumphant high he’s been chasing. It’s quieter, it’s comforting, it’s a warm feeling in his whole being. It’s just as good as the victorious moment. It’s perfect.

The second thing he realises is that he’s been wrong since the beginning. Home was never Logstedshire or Pogtopia, but neither was it L’Manberg or even the building they’re currently in. Home was the togetherness L’Manberg brought, sitting around a campfire singing the national anthem and putting more effort into the ‘fuck Eret’ part every time it came around. Home was listening to Wilbur’s guitar echoing through the caverns at Pogtopia and complaining about eating Technoblade’s potato stew for the third day running while your comrades laughed. Home is right here, wrapped in the arms of your favourite person, belly full of good food, listening to the rain as sleep slowly takes you. He sees that now.

TommyInnit is home.

#WHOO OKAY SO #do not. heckin. read/tag this as ship #you can pry platonically intimate clingyduo out of my cold dead hands #however if you ship them i will personally manifest into your house and start throwing things #dream smp #mcyt #crim writes #tommyinnit #tubbo #dreamwastaken #wilbur soot #ghostbur #pogtopia #manberg #l'manberg #logstedshire #clingyduo #mmmm this was cathartic to write

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beware-of-you-98 · 4 years ago

Text

Ice Cream (BAU Family Fluff Fic)

BAU fam getting ice cream on a road trip featuring Hotch being a disgruntled dad, Emily being a rebellious little shit, Derek being an annoying big brother, Spencer just existing (seriously, all he wants is a Dilly Bar for god sake!!), Penelope egging them on, JJ being a sweet baby angel and Rossi being the only sane one in this entire fic

ao3 link

Aaron Hotchner loosely grips the wheel of the SUV, briefly looking in his rear view mirror to check on the rest of the team and ensure they're ready for the nearly two hour drive back to the jet (and to make sure they're buckled because, well, it's the dad in him that wants to check.)

Derek sits directly behind him, buckled up and lounging back comfortably in his seat. His earbuds are in, and no doubt his music is on full blast to drown out the rest of the team crammed into the van.

Penelope sits in behind the passenger's seat on her iPad, a set of thick, chunky headphones plugged into the device. She's buckled, immersed in whatever game she must be playing.

Directly behind her in the very back is JJ, who has her chin resting on her palm as she looks out the window even if the van isn't in motion yet.

Buckled.

Spencer sits in the middle at the very back, his long legs stretched out between Derek and Penelope. He has a thick, worn book in his hand, his finger gliding quickly down the pages as he takes in the words. ("Yes, he really can read that fast," Hotch often has to tell skeptics. "Yes, he can really process all that information. No, he's not a robot.") By the speed the young profiler is reading, Hotch knows that he'll be done with that book by the time they make it to the jet.

Buckled.

Sitting just behind Derek is Emily. She leans her head against a pillow she must have somehow smuggled in the back (Hotch also thinks it's entirely possible JJ gave her travel pillow to Emily, but none of that really matters.) The brunette is struggling to keep her eyes open, will probably be out as soon as the van is in motion.

Not buckled.

"Emily, put your seatbelt on," Hotch reminds her patiently.

Emily grumbles, grouchily reaching behind her. "You put your seatbelt on," she mutters, laying her head back down on the pillow.

Hotch let's the comment slide because he hears the click of her belt buckle.

He turns to briefly check on Rossi, whose sitting beside him in the passenger's seat. He's designated himself as the map reader, the large square piece of paper folded out on his lap. (Hotch doesn't really think they need a map because they have a GPS right there but whatever. He'll let Dave do what the hell he wants.)

"Everyone ready to go?"

A chorus of "yes" and affirmative hums (and a disgruntled grumble from Emily) is all the motivation Hotch needs to start up the van and head out for the long trip they have to make back to the jet.

The highway is lit up harshly under the bright, unforgiving Arizona sunlight, heatwaves practically radiating from the asphalt. The air conditioning is on full blast in the van, providing semblance of relief from the harsh and unforgiving heat. The van is sandwiched between the desert landscapes, long, green cacti and orange canyons towering like giants in the sand. Despite the time of day, the flat roads are virtually clear, sparse amount of other vehicles littering the highway.

Spencer looks up from his book after forty-seven minutes of straight reading, using his finger to mark his place. He brings up his other hand, uses the back of it to wipe his eyes as he yawns. He stiffly stretches his limbs, blinking hard as he stares out the bright windshield.

He focuses his attention up ahead on a blue highway guide sign, eyes scanning through the fast food and gas station logos without much thought. His eyes light up, though, when he spots a white square, signature red lip shaped logo stamped in the middle. "Hotch, there's a Dairy Queen at the exit coming up in the next five miles!"

"I saw that," Hotch says with a nod, using a tone much like he would with Jack when his son would bring him something the boy deemed really interesting. It's a tone that suggests the unit chief is listening, but has other things preoccupied on his mind. Probably getting the team to the jet on time.

But Arizona is hot. Unbearably hot. Like, if Spencer didn't consider himself a very logical man of science, he would swear his skin would melt off his bones hot. Even with the air conditioning on full blast, the sun's rays are completely and totally unforgiving and heat up the inside of the van like it's a god damned toaster oven.

A frozen treat from Dairy Queen, honestly, a Dilly Bar, sounded so perfect right now.

Spencer's mouth waters at the thought. "Can we get ice cream?"

"Reid, we're on a schedule," Hotch reminds the young profiler patiently. "We have to be on the jet to go home in a little over an hour and we're making great time."

Spencer can't help but pout a little. "But, Hotch, it's Dairy Queen!"

Derek pops out one of his earbuds. "Did somebody say Dairy Queen? Are we getting ice cream?"

With extreme patience, Hotch replies. "No, Derek, we're not getting ice cream."

"Ice cream?" JJ perks up from the back, lifting her head off her hand.

"I wan' a Blizzard," Emily mumbles with a start, sitting up in her seat and rubbing her eyes with both of her hands.

Hotch sighs, looking at Rossi. "Dave, tell them we can't get ice cream."

Rossi stares down at the map in his hands, flipping it over to read the facts printed on the back about the desert dwelling horned toad. (It shoots blood from its eyes. Gross.) "Why not?"

Hotch scowls, feeling betrayed that the senior profiler wasn't on his side. "Because we have to get to the jet!"

"Actually, if we take a quick five minute ice cream break, get back on the highway and maintain the speed you're going, we would make it back to the jet with ten minutes to spare," Spencer calculates, leaning around to look at the speedometer.

Emily reaches over and ruffles his hair with a sleepy grin. "And that's why we keep you around, wonder boy!"

Penelope slips her headset from her head and hangs it around the back of her neck. "What's going on?"

"Dad's getting us ice cream," Emily fills her in.

"I'm not getting you ice cream!" Hotch declines, sounding a bit more firm. He shoots Emily a glare from the rear view mirror.

She sticks her tongue out at him childishly in response.

Penelope pouts at Hotch's answer. "Why not?"

"Because I said so!"

"Mom, dad won't get us ice cream!" Emily whines in a pathetic tone.

Rossi looks up from his map in surprise when he realizes he is in fact "mom" in this situation. Glancing at the "kids" in the back of the van, he turns to Hotch with a shrug. "You're on your own for this one, Aaron."

"Gee, thanks, Dave," Hotch scowls.

"Wait, now I'm confused," Penelope starts up. "Are we getting ice cream or not?"

"We're not getting ice cream!" Hotch says in a louder tone, trying his best to put on his "chief voice", the one that let's everyone know that what he says goes.

"I just wanted a Dilly Bar," Spencer quietly says, pouting as if Hotch just killed his puppy or something equally as serious occurred.

"A chocolate milkshake sounds so good right now," Derek agrees with a hum. "Come on, Hotch. It's hot as hell out. You're telling me you don't want any ice cream?"

"No."

"I say we take a vote," Emily pipes up rebelliously.

"Emily, no," Hotch says firmly.

Emily ignores him, because of fucking course she does. Pain in the ass. "All in favor of ice cream, say I!"

"Emily Elizabeth Prentiss! Do you realize you are way too old to pull this childish sh—"

"I!" Emily cries out over Hotch's scolding.

"I!" Derek says just as boldly.

"I!" Penelope and Spencer say in softer voices.

JJ stays silent, but shyly raises her hand up in the air.

"Majority rules. We get ice cream," Emily says with a smug smirk.

Rossi raises his hand and draws an invisible checkmark in the air.

Hotch huffs in annoyance.

Unbelievable.

"Unless one of you is bleeding out, we're not stopping," he declares firmly. "And that's not an invitation for you to start, Emily!" he adds, glancing back in the rear view mirror.

Emily frowns, throwing her arms across her chest. "I wasn't even going to do anything!"

"Ooo, princess is in trouble. Princess is in trouble," Derek smirks in a sing song voice.

"Oh, go eat a dick, Derek Morgan!" Emily snaps at him.

His eyes shine gleefully. "Was your nap cut a little too short there, sunshine?"

Emily and Derek continue to bicker, their voices slowly being drowned out by Spencer and Penelope slowly chanting "Dairy Queen! Dairy Queen! Dairy Queen!"

The van screeches to a halt in the middle of the highway.

Emily lurches forward, busting her head off of Derek's seat with an angry cry, Spencer and Penelope nearly choke against their seatbelts, and Derek stumbles, reaching his hands out on the window to steady himself.

JJ has the foresight to brace herself with her palms against the back of Penelope's seat. She leans over Spencer, checking Emily's forehead with a concerned frown.

Emily's breath hitches as her soft fingers brush against her forehead, forgetting for a split second what just happened. JJ's fingers brush against the upper corner of her head, causing her to wince. Ow.

"What the fuck, Hotch?" she starts to demand, holding a hand to her forehead. She closes her mouth immediately, only getting out "Wha-" before she's silenced by Hotch swiveling around in his seat.

The unit chief shoots them a steely glare that even has Derek squirming uncomfortably in his seat.

"All of you, knock it off!" he snaps.

"I didn't do anything," JJ says quietly, eyes wide and innocent.

Hotch ignores her.

"Now, all of you, listen to me!" he continues on in his most stern "dad voice". "We are not stopping for ice cream! If I hear another word about it, we're turning this van around!"

"You made me bust my head!" Emily points out defiantly, pointing to the bruise already starting to form on her head.

"My neck hurts from the seatbelt," Penelope adds with a scowl, rubbing the side of her neck slowly.

"I didn't even do anything!" JJ cries out a bit louder. "Why am I getting yelled at?"

"I'm not sure about the legality of this situation," Spencer points out, rubbing his own neck. "We could be pulled over for being stopped on a highway."

"Enough!" Hotch's voice booms.

The van falls silent again.

"We're not getting ice cream, and that's final!"

They get their ice cream.

Derek happily sips on his chocolate shake, staring in content out the window of the van. Penelope is enjoying her vanilla cone covered in rainbow sprinkles, iPad slotted in the space behind Rossi's seat. In the very back, Emily eats a spoonful of Reese's Blizzard with a satisfied look on her face. JJ quietly but happily eats her own Butterfinger Blizzard. Spencer takes a bite of his Dilly Bar with a satisfying crunch, eyes glowing in delight.

(No one comments when, five minutes later, JJ is eating a Reese's Blizzard and Emily is now enjoying the Butterfinger's Blizzard.)

Hotch bites off the remaining portion of his Buster Bar, cleaning off the wooden stick between his teeth before he throws the trash in a designated garbage bag (thanks, DQ) situated between Rossi and himself. He leans back in his seat with a content sigh, pressing his foot down on the gas. The sun is starting to set and the sky is painted in beautiful colors.

Most importantly, though, the car is finally fucking silent and he can finally focus on getting them all back to the jet in one piece.

He turns to Rossi, frowning when the older man just smirks back at him. "What?"

"Aren't you glad that the kids got their ice cream?" Rossi asks with another smirk, eyes gleaming in amusement.

Hotch scowls, both hands wrapping around the wheel. "Shut up and drink your Orange Julius, Dave."

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tagsecretsanta · 4 years ago

Text

From @MissSquidTracy

to @scattergraph

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Gordon liked to think of himself as the fashionista of the family.

Sure, his Hawaiian shirts sometimes drew attention of the unwanted kind, but the aquanaut was a firm believer in using clothing as a means of non-verbal communication. John was living proof of this theory.

Unfortunately, all of the freedom associated with self-expression went down the toilet with a resounding ‘flush’ when tradition dictated your attire, even if only for a day.

“Seriously, grandma?” Alan grouched, his bottom lip poking out to form his signature pout when he spied the Tracy matriarch descending the stairs with an armful of colourful sweaters.

“Zip it, kid,” Sally rasped, her tone offering no room for negotiation, “This year marks the tenth anniversary of the Tracy Christmas Album, and I’ll not have your attitude souring the occasion.”

Scott and Virgil shared a look of mutual disgust as Sally handed them two hideously baggy and itchy looking jumpers.

“Don’t you two start as well,” Sally warned, yanking a loose thread off the sleeve of John’s before tossing it towards the redhead, “Anyone caught sulking will be in the kitchen with me for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve just finished a fresh batch of liver and onion stuffing and could use a taste tester.”

Five jumpers were yanked over five heads in perfect unison.

A nod from Sally affirmed her satisfaction with her grandson’s new-found cooperation.

Gordon grimaced and scratched absently as the coarse fibres tickled the soft skin of his neck. Posing for the annual Christmas album photograph was a tradition that stretched right back to their days on the ranch, yet he found himself becoming more disillusioned with it the older he got. Maybe it was the discomfort of wearing an unnecessary extra layer in Tracy Island’s heat. Maybe it was the disappointment of no longer having snow to wake up to on Christmas morning. Maybe it was the absence of his parents, and for the last three years, at least one of his brothers.

“Who’s on the roster for today?” Kayo asked, striding into the room and wordlessly scooping up the one remaining jumper that was equally as ugly as the abominations adorning the torsos of her male colleagues.

In an effort to preserve the family element of the season, Scott had devised a strategy where just one member of International Rescue acted as the primary point of contact for any rescue calls that came through on Christmas Day, be them sea, earth or space based. Last year, Virgil had volunteered and been called to Nigeria to deal with a flash flood. The year before, Kayo had drawn the short straw and ended up assisting with the evacuation of a small town in Chile when a nearby volcano blew it’s top. The year before, Gordon had helped clear away the debris caused by a three-way semi collision on one of Australia’s busiest highways. The aquanaut had been instrumental in ensuring three hundred people made it home in time for Christmas, despite it coming at the expense of his own.

Fairness dictated that Virgil, Kayo and Gordon were exempt from being called upon this Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Accordingly, the honour of being ATD (available to deploy) fell to Scott, John, and Alan to hash out.

One quick round of rock, paper, scissors later, and Scott found himself wondering what brothers three and five would look like with their heads shaved.

“Alright, scoot in!” Sally ordered, returning with Alan’s tablet which she held aloft in an attempt to get a good angle, “Scott and John, you two stand at the back. Gordon and Virgil, you kneel in front of your brothers. Kayo and Alan, I need you both to sit at the front. We’re going for a tiered approach this year.”

A healthy amount of shuffling ensued as each Tracy (plus Kayo) moved into position and tried desperately to make himself/herself look decent. Scott yanked on the hem of his jumper in an attempt to cover up his belt. Virgil tried to hoist his up so that he wasn’t rocking the off the shoulder look. John scrubbed at his nose as the acrylic material began to trigger one of his many allergies. Gordon fanned his face with a hand as sweat began to bead across his forehead. Alan tugged fruitlessly on sleeves that fell woefully short of his wrists, and Kayo demanded that Virgil tell her honestly whether the shape of her jumper made her look fat.

Sally was firmly of the opinion that jumpers had to be vomit-inducingly ugly in order to be ‘festive’. The designs adorning each of the six knitted atrocities in front of her offered indisputable visual evidence of this belief.

Scott was brandishing a bright blue snowman, while Virgil sported a dark green reindeer (complete with light-up antlers). John was the unwilling wearer of an orange gingerbread man, and Gordon was proudly modelling a yellow penguin (complete with a squeezable beak that sang Jingle Bells if you so much as looked at it). Alan appeared indifferent to the red elf plastered across his chest, and Kayo was trying to make the best of her rapidly unravelling black turtledoves.

“Smile!” Sally sang, her finger poised, “On the count of three, everybody say cheese! One…two…three!”

“CHEESE!”

Click.

Flash.

The end result was less than impressive. Scott had blinked at precisely the wrong moment. The grin plastered across Virgil’s face was nothing short of horrifying. John’s eyes were almost as red as his hair. Gordon was shamelessly modelling a chunk of leftover spinach in his right canine. Alan had twisted his head to peer at Virgil at the last second and was a blond and red blur…

Unsurprisingly, Kayo was the only one who’d managed to look straight at the camera and smile like a normal person.

After reviewing her rather substandard snap and tutting in disapproval, Sally tightened her grip on the tablet and ushered her dispersing grandsons back into formation with a ‘shoo’ motion of her free hand, “Come on you lot, form up. Nobody leaves this room until we have a decent photo. How you boys can look so good in real life but so bad on canvas is beyond me. Your dad always said-“

The sudden departure of an elf wearing Tracy brought all dialogue to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry, grandma!” John yelled as he made a beeline for the stairs, the redness of his nose akin to Rudolph, “But this wool is giving me a nosebleed. You’ll have to take the next shot without me, or just make the one we have work. It might be for the best, as you know how Alan gets unforgivable gas whenever he’s forced to pose.”

The youngest Tracy let loose a honk of outrage, but was dutifully ignored as, one by one, his other brothers began to filter out of the lounge. Excuses of varying degrees of believability bounced off the walls as three more bodies scampered to freedom.

It took all of ten seconds for most of the lounge’s inhabitants to disperse, leaving Kayo and Alan alone with a somewhat disappointed looking Grandma Tracy.

“Oh well,” the Tracy matriarch sighed, reaching to pick up the blue snowman that had been ejected over the first floor bannister, “There’s always next year.”

Kayo smiled thinly and made a mental note to spend next Christmas with her father.

-x-

As well as being the family fashionista, Gordon was also a self-appointed expert in gift giving.

His affinity for making people smile helped tremendously, since it made the process of choosing something his recipient would find meaningful much easier. He wasn’t adverse to buying his brothers practical gifts that they could use in their everyday lives (the tea cosy he’d bought for John the Christmas of fifty four was still in active service), but he knew they had all of the utilitarian gadgets they could ever want or need, courtesy of Brains and their nine figure bank account.

Cue unicorn poo bath bombs, flamingo slippers, and personalised face cushions.

This year however, he’d outdone himself.

Unbeknownst to anyone outside of the family, Gordon was quite the expert on upcycling. He had a knack for seeing potential in things that other people had written off as trash (like Scott, for instance), and took great delight in working with his hands.

It had taken several days, but he’d finally managed to relocate one of their dad’s old hoverbikes from the ranch to Tracy Island. It had taken up most of the room inside Thunderbird Four’s dry tube station, however he’d managed to offload it in the hanger and perform the desired modifcations in the (relative) privacy of Four’s module.

Alan had stopped believing in Santa when he was seven. With Lucy dead and Jeff away for three quarters of the year, Scott had taken it upon himself to safeguard whatever remained of his youngest brother’s innocence. Every year on Christmas Eve, without fail, the eldest Tracy donned a red suit and beard and made a big (and often loud) show of depositing presents under the tree. Unfortunately, a rather heated debate one year over Santa’s handwriting (which looked suspiciously similar to Virgil’s), had culminated in the death of Alan’s wide-eyed belief.

Gordon had found the whole debacle rather heart-breaking. Sure, he’d been a year younger than Alan when he himself had stopped believing, but the process had been much gentler. He’d made the innocent mistake of asking John one year to help him with some basic calculations regarding the speed and size of Santa’s sleigh, however had ended up on the receiving end of a lecture from his redheaded brother on reindeer anatomy and wind resistance.

His belief had died peacefully in its sleep nine hours later.

Still, having a belief squished verbally was a lot less harsh than having it squished visually. Poor Alan.

Gordon smiled to himself as he inspected his handiwork. He’d outfitted the storage compartment on the back of the red hoverbike he’d abducted to look like the back end of a sleigh. He’d toyed with the idea of enlisting the help of a couple of real life reindeer (or ponies) to act as draught animals, but had decided against it after reviewing the vaccination and transport requirements.

Despite managing to complete the modifications inside Four’s module, Gordon had been forced to relocate his creation elsewhere when he and Virgil had been called away on an impromptu rescue involving a couple of unqualified divers. With his back against the wall, the aquanaut had picked the first alternative hiding place that had come into his head.

The roof.

As ridiculous as it sounded, the glass roof of Tracy Island’s lounge was anchored into numerous rocky outcroppings that, when utilised effectively, provided excellent cover. So long as nobody glanced up, of course.

A sigh of pride bubbled up Gordon’s diaphragm. He might not be able to reverse the damage caused by Virgil’s handwriting gaffe, but he could at least give his youngest brother a laugh and deliver his gifts in style instead.

So preoccupied was the aquanaut with buffing out an imaginary mark from the hoverbike’s bumper, that he failed to notice the Island’s automated weather system bark out the alarm for a storm warning.

Thankfully, John didn’t.

-x-

Scott had checked high and low.

And then high again, just to be sure.

The eldest Tracy was stumped. Gordon had somehow managed to vanish clean off the face of the earth.

Not that such a discovery would usually cause the eldest Tracy any concern (the aquanaut had a knack for evading capture), but Christmas lunch was due to be served any minute and they were one body short at the kitchen table.

“Gordon?” Scott called, shoving his head into the bathroom for what felt like the billionth time that hour. He’d tried calling the aquanaut’s phone, but had been sent to voicemail both times. His biometric tracker showed that he was still on the island, however couldn’t generate an exact location for him. EOS’s heat signature scans weren’t much better, courtesy of the wonky connection brought about by the oncoming storm.

“I’m stumped,” Scott huffed, admitting defeat with a bemused shrug, “He’s gone. I’ve checked the hanger, the changing rooms, his room, the bathroom, and the gym. Nothing. It’s like he’s poofed into thin air.”

Virgil opened his mouth to reply, however was cut off by the arrival of John, whose expression was an expert blend of concern and flippancy.

“I’ll give you three guesses as to his location,” the redhead began, “If you win, I’ll do your laundry for a week. If you lose, you have to eat my portion of grandma’s stuffing.”

Scott quickly did the math. It was a risk he was willing to take.

“Is he stuck inside his launch chute?”

“No.”

“Is he swimming in the lagoon?”

“No.”

“Is he hijacking Thunderbird One again?”

“No.”

….

“Well?” the eldest brother demanded, hands on hips. He had no interest in John drawing out his victory for any longer than necessary.

The redhead allowed a small smile to grace his face before gesturing with an index finger towards the ceiling.

Scott blinked as his blue gaze clapped onto a jean-clad butt scrabbling around atop the reinforced glass, oblivious to the small audience he’d amassed as he tried to evade the rapidly intensifying rain.

“The roof?” Scott honked, one hand fisting itself through his hair, “I take my eyes off him for two minutes, and he ends up on the roof?”

“Whoa, whoa!” a new voice piped up, it’s baritone depth failing to bring Scott any relief, “He’s where?!”

The eldest Tracy said nothing, opting instead to stab a finger upwards. Ever the cooperative one, Virgil cast his eyes in the desired direction, a small frown infecting his face as he did so.

“We should probably get him down,” the engineer announced, cringing when Gordon slipped on the now wet glass and starfished on his back, “He’s still wearing his Christmas jumper, and the blasted thing will short-circuit if it gets damp.”

A loud ‘thwack’ echoed around the lounge as Scott’s palm got itself well acquainted with his face.

-x-

John had never been one for big displays of emotion.

A polite smile or, in extreme cases, a shoulder pat were usually the preferred methods his brothers employed whenever they wanted to convey feelings of endearment towards him.

Christmas was an exception, however, and it was without a shred of his usual awkwardness that the redhead enveloped his fish brother in a tight hug, the scent of singed fabric tickling his nostrils.

Virgil’s extraction of their younger brother hadn’t quite been quick enough, and it was with a suitable amount of humility that Gordon shuffled back into the safety and dryness of the lounge, a thin trail of smoke rising from the beak of his thoroughly soaked penguin jumper.

“How bad was it?” John queried, biting his cheek to keep his humour in check as he took in the static strands of hair atop Gordon’s head. The aquanaut looked as if he’d just stuck his finger inside a plug socket which, on reflection, wasn’t as much of an inaccurate analogy as the redhead had originally thought.

Gordon ignored his space brother in favour of slowly shuffling towards the staircase, an involuntary yelp escaping when his traitorous jumper suddenly gave off a stray spark.

Virgil snorted and flicked a hand through his hair to rid it of the rainwater it had collected, “Nothing to worry about on the health side of things, but man John, you should have seen it. He nearly took off like a firework.”

The redhead quirked an unimpressed brow, “Serves him right for skipping over the electrical safety briefings I sent down last week. You’d think he’d have a better understanding of how water and electricity don’t mix, what with his ‘Bird being the only one kitted out for aquatic reconnaissance.”

A shrug was offered by Virgil in lieu of a response, “I’m sure all will be revealed once he’s properly earthed himself. Meanwhile, I’d better get that hoverbike down before it crashes through the roof and lands on someone’s head. Can you send Scott up to help? I could use a couple of his grapples.”

John threw his brother a mock salute before breezing off towards the kitchen, only to stop when he caught sight of a familiar blue outline on one of the sofas.

“Be there in a minute!” Scott mumbled, his cheeks bulging like an oversized hamster as he chomped his way through an indulgent looking doughnut.

John felt his gaze darken as he took stock of the stray sprinkles in the corner of his eldest brother’s mouth, “Where did you get those?”

Scott held a finger up as he swallowed, thumping his chest when a stubborn piece of dough got lodged, “Mainland, to make up for grandma’s sprout and salmon tart. Help yourself, there’s plenty left. I’ve only had three.”

The lack of control Scott had when confronted with unhealthy snacks never failed to amaze his brothers.

“You want to take it easy,” Virgil warned, motioning with one hand to his waistline, “Too many of those could send you to an early grave.”

Scott flicked his hand dismissively and reached for a fourth doughnut.

“Don’t care. I won’t be the one carrying the coffin.”

- FIN -

#thunderbirds are go #Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #tag team secret santa #secret santa 2020 #MissSquidTracy

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enkelimagnus · 4 years ago

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A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 1, 3966 words

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

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

On her first day at the Alabaster Sierras’ National Park, Vex’ahlia finds an injured cub.

She’s looking through the reserves that Regae, the last ranger, left behind when she hears whining and groaning, mournful and low, right outside of her new home. The cabin stands in a small clearing in the forest there, almost disappearing into the moss-covered stone of a stone spike.

The noise is heart-breaking, but it doesn’t stop her from grabbing her bow and her quiver, taking one of her white-fletched tranquilizing arrows in hand before she steps out, notching it into the bow, ready to do her duty. She wishes she had more time, more preparation, and a better lay of the land than the one she got from studying her maps in the motel rooms she slept in while on the road.

The door creaks as she opens it. There is a hard, ragged huff from an injured animal. She will need to grease the door hinges, she can’t have them making that much noise all the time.

Her sharp eyes catch the light reflecting on dark fur the second she looks out of the cabin. The animal is partially hidden behind some bushes, but it’s not moving a lot. It’s crying, looking around, seemingly hurt. As it turns, Vex catches a dark stain on the fur. Probably blood.

She needs to shoot it, shoot well and right so she can take care of it. Hopefully, a Cure Wounds will be enough.

Now that she’s away from the creaking door, her steps are much quieter. She moves forward with slow grace, her body used to the exercise of trying to get to an injured animal. She’s seen many, too many. People are violent and cruel to defenseless animals. She was hoping to have a couple days before she had to deal with one here…

She stops moving once she has a clear shot towards the tiny, maybe two months old bear cub. There is a crossbow bolt in its shoulder, and the poor creature is obviously in pain. There is no mother to be seen, and Vex’ahlia will need to scout the surrounding wounds for its corpse. She draws back the string and shoots.

She’s an excellent shot. The white arrow impacts, sticking into the fur of the cub, but not piercing the skin. At most, it’ll get a bruise from this. She sees the crackle of the magic effect around the white fletching and the whines and cries of distress slowly quiet.

Once she’s sure the bear isn’t moving anymore, she stands from her crouched spot and walks towards it.

She was right, it’s barely a couple of months old, small and fuzzy and probably incredibly adorable when awake and alright. She reaches down to examine him. There’s the crossbow bolt she previously saw. It’s not too deep in, and she assesses a Cure Wounds and a couple of healing potions mixed with its food for a couple of days should be enough to get this taken care of.

Her planned run to the nearest town, Whitestone, has just gotten much more urgent. The previous ranger left some things, but very few, and she definitely does not have enough to feed both her and the bear cub for the next couple of days.

Without much trouble, she picks up the animal, pulls it into her arms and walks back towards a small enclosed space next to the cabin, with an awning that allows for cover from the elements. It’s a rather standard feature of a lot of Ranger cabins, and she knows it’s where she can house the sleeping animal.

She sets him down there.

The inside of the cabin is still messy from her getting there and the healing kit hidden under the bed is outdated, so she grabs her own emergency kit from her backpack and goes back to the still sleeping animal. Now the hard part.

Vex takes her own arrow out of the fur first. The enchantment is still working on the cub, and taking it off won’t undo anything. She needs it out of the way to extract the crossbow bolt correctly. Her Cure Wounds is definitely not high enough to repair anything she messes up by being sloppy.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she whispers at the sleeping cub. She’s more talking to herself than to it at this point.

She focuses. She does the best she can really, but it’s definitely not the best work she’s ever done. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, and casts Cure Wounds twice. She examines it more, but it seems her work was good enough to close the wound. She’ll have to keep an eye on it though.

She sighs heavily and cleans up the fur and the area again, just in case. The sleep effect will last for a few hours more, enough that she probably has time to drive into town and then come back. And of course, before that, she needs to find the mother. She hopes it’s already dead, deep down.

She can’t leave the animal free though, even tranquilized. She needs to keep an eye on him. There’s probably some crates around, she thinks, trying to remember if she saw something useful there. She rummages through everything, finding a very chipped Alabaster Sierras National Park mug, some old instant coffee that rolled under the bed next to the healing kit and…

A foldable dark blue crate, probably originally made for a small wolf or a fox but that will fit the cub perfectly. She puts some blankets and soft padding on the bottom of it and goes back outside, where the animal is still asleep and quiet. She gently puts it in, arranging the blanket so it’s comfortable. She tucks it under the table in the secluded care area.

She pulls her bow back to herself and gets ready for the worst part of her work. There are times when the only thing to do is to kill, and she cannot stand it, but she’s used so much of her strength on the cub that she fears she won’t be able to heal the mother, if it is even doable.

She notches another tranquilizing arrow, and starts walking.

Tracking the path of the injured cub isn’t hard. He was awkward and heavy, putting blood on leaves and shoving his way through the vegetation, leaving marks of his passage behind him. It’s a little heart-breaking.

It takes her a few minutes of walking, her bow ready to shoot before she sees it. The body of the mother.

There’s blood everywhere over the fur, crossbow bolts sticking out of the body. Vex stops and pauses. She watches and listens for anything, for a breath, for a groan, for anything.

Nothing.

The silence is deafening and the bear is dead. There’s no saving this one. A part of her wants to kill those who did that, and she’ll keep an eye on people with crossbows. She has one of the bolts back at the cabin, and she’ll commit it to memory, make sure she can recognize the killers.

She exhales. Mechanically, she tucks the arrow back into her quiver and starts walking home.

The cub, now officially orphaned, is still asleep in the small crate when she comes back. She’ll need supplies to care for him, he doesn’t look old enough for solid food. She’ll need so many things. Her grocery list lengthens in her mind as she tours the cabin to see what she already has.

She manages to haul the crate onto the passenger seat of her pick-up truck, tethering it securely with some extra belts she added there a long time ago for this exact purpose.

She has bags, her purse and everything she needs already in the truck, so she closes the door and hops into the driver seat of the truck.

It’s seen things, that truck, she’d gotten it second-hand and worn-in a few years ago when she started out. It’s hers now, with its bumper stickers and its muddy tire guards. She had it repainted in a dark blue-green color, more fitting for the forest.

Vex leaves her newfound home, setting the GPS on her phone. She doesn’t know the tracks of roads well yet, and the Rangers have a special app that tracks forest tracks and little mud paths as well as highways. It has saved her ass quite a number of times.

She sets the destination for Whitestone and gets going. With every bump of the road as her truck bounces around, she checks on the sleeping cub, hoping it won’t wake up. She’s taken her quiver and bow with her of course, and she still has some tranquilizing arrows, but she doesn’t want to use them right now, she’ll need them later.

The Alabaster Sierras are a wild sort of place, with legends upon legends baked into its name. So much that any sort of documentation you can find on both the park and the area is littered with myths. It’s enough to discourage many people, especially when Regae, the last person to man the outpost, died there under mysterious circumstances. No one volunteered to take their place. So Vex did.

She had been desperate to get away from Shademurk Forest, anyway. If she was already leaving, she might as well hide away in one of the Northernmost parts of the continent, the spike of land that bit into the Shearing channel. The inhabitants of Whitestone have a rather misanthropic reputation, which is absolutely to her liking. The fewer nosy assholes wandering the forest paths, the better.

It’s not that she dislikes hikers. She just really dislikes the mess they leave behind. Broken branches and trash and sometimes injured animals. People could be cruel in how they interact with nature and it lights an anger in her heart. Vax says it’s her projecting her own issues onto the parks, and he says it in that voice he uses when he gets serious, when his cutting remarks are softened by his concern. She hates agreeing with that voice.

She’s so far away from him, once again, and she kind of hates it. No, she absolutely hates it. He’s her twin, her other half, and she hates knowing he’s probably still hanging around in Syngorn committing burglary on their father’s shitty friends. Maybe she should call him and ask him to come and stay here.

She shakes away the thought. The cabin is too small, and there’s no reason for him to come here. He’s relatively happy working in Syngorn with his gang of misfits, she doesn’t need to pull him away from his life. She already made that mistake once in Shademurk Forest, and she’s not going to do it again.

It takes her about thirty minutes to drive carefully down to Whitestone.

The treeline stops abruptly as Vex drives out of the forest into farmlands. Her eyes trace the vegetation to check for the telltale signs of abuse but enough of it bleeds into the fields to show a healthy respect for the wild. The area is protected though, so as long as those lines are not changed without permission, she doesn’t have to worry about excessive deforestation.

That’s the thing with parks. They’re protected. It allows for her to worry less about some aspects of the small city’s presence there.

She drives onto a road made of something that isn’t dirt and stops thinking as much about the animal by her side. There’s a light jam at the Western Gate of the city, but nothing that irritates her more than normal.

She parks in a big, mostly empty, lot and leaves her windows cracked open for the cub still inside.

The town has wooden buildings, most of them one-level. She seems to be not far from the center square where an enormous tree stands; she can see it bows over the rooftops of the buildings. The roads are a little quiet and empty, with occasional trucks passing-by similar to hers.

Vex grabs supplies for twelve gold at the general store and one gold’s worth of ammo at the weaponry. People don’t seem to pay much attention to her. It makes sense, she’s new in town and they’re used to hikers and people on holiday; a new face isn’t ground-breaking.

The cub is still sleeping like an angel when she finishes loading most of the supplies in the truck. She still has one more stop however.

Late afternoon sunlight is bathing the streets in orange when Vex pushes open the door of the Alcove. It’s a plain little building made of dark wood, with an old metallic sign jingling about over the door. As she walks in, a bell rings, shoved by the door.

The inside is small, a little cramped, with a little too much dust. It’s less well-kept than the ones she’s frequented in Syngorn or that one she’s visited on the way here when she’d driven through Westrunn. She knows better than to judge however. As long as she can haggle down some prices, she’s all good with whatever the shop looks like.

She’s not the only client here. In front of the register is a tall half-elven person with long red hair and skin that is quite well-tanned. There’s a circlet around their forehead, with antlers sprouting from it and vines wrapped around the headband. They’ve got a worn backpack on their shoulders, and they’re talking animatedly with the person on the other side of the counter.

“-made this one last month and he tried to improve on his previous design. He’s expecting a little more from that one though, if you don’t mind?” The redhead asks, looking absolutely sweet and unsure.

Vex positions herself in parallel to the redhead, eyes on an ornate piece of clockwork. She isn't trying to figure out what it is, she’s only looking at it so she doesn’t stare at the two others while she listens in on their conversation.

The store employee sighs a little. There’s a light noise of metal scraping against wood.

“I’ll see what I can do, Keyleth, but times are hard right now. He’ll understand, I think,” they say. Their voice is heavy and wary.

“I… I’ll explain,” the redhead - Keyleth - replies. “But… he’s trying to keep Cass afloat too, and it’s getting hard. They’re still not giving her the money.”

Maybe she shouldn’t be listening to this conversation. That Keyleth person seems genuinely sad and Vex starts feeling a little bad for them, and whoever they’re talking about. It sounds like legal trouble as well as financial, and Gods she really is being a nosy asshole, isn’t she?

She turns her attention back on the clockwork on the shelf. It’s a miniature clock that ticks slowly with passing of time. It’s pretty, delicate, with little etched markings in the metal for the minutes. She reaches out for it.

“Please, don’t!” The shopkeeper calls out right as she’s about to touch it and she turns towards them.

The one called Keyleth is looking at her with wide green eyes. There’s a smattering of freckles over their face.

“Is it fragile?” Vex asks curiously.

“It’s a weapon,” Keyleth replies, cutting off the shopkeeper. “You shouldn’t touch it without knowing what it does. Creator’s request.”

Vex raises an eyebrow and takes a couple of steps towards the register. “Are you the creator?”

The wooden top of the desk has two more of the clockwork machines on them, one that looks like a watch and another like a wind-up toy.

Keyleth laughs, a bright but kinda snorty sort of laugh that is immediately endearing. “Oh, no! I’m way too clumsy to make stuff like this!” They smile. “I’m a friend of the creator.”

“He makes them and then sends her to sell them to me at high price,” the shopkeeper grumbles, but they don’t seem to be mad at the redhead or her creator friend.

Vex eyes the redhead a little closer. Her ears are pointier than a human but not as elongated as an elf. She’s a fellow othlir , and she’s wearing sturdy hiking shoes under her flowy green-colored ensemble.

“I’m Keyleth of the Air Ashari,” she holds out her hand, not knowing Vex has been listening in. “Nice to meet you.”

Vex shakes the offered hand. “Vex’ahlia. I’m the new ranger for the Alabaster Sierras park. There to keep a good eye on the hikers and the area.” Her tone is firm. If Keyleth is smart, she’ll get that Vex won’t allow anything to slide. Maybe Regae did, or maybe he didn’t. Either way, Vex means business.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Keyleth grins. “Should I hope to see you around when I’m out there?”

Vex winces. “Probably not. I tend to appear when people fuck up.”

“Well, she’s a druid, so you shouldn’t worry much about her disrespecting nature,” the shopkeeper chuckles. “I’m Simon Whisk, by the way. Owner of the Alcove.”

Keyleth points at the staff resting against the register which appears to be both a walking stick and a druidic focus. Vex relaxes a little.

“Well I’m glad, that’s one less person I have to worry about,” she chuckles. “Nice to meet you, Mr Whisk.”

They seem to be nice people, even if Vex has many questions about the creator, about the weapons. Whitestone just got marginally more interesting.

“Can I help you in any way, Vex’ahlia?” Whisk asks after a moment of quite awkward silence.

Vex nods, smiling a little. “Oh, yes, yes. Do you have any tranquilizing arrows or blow gun needles?”

“Let me check,” the shopkeeper turns around and pushes through the curtain that leads to the backroom, leaving Vex alone with Keyleth.

The redhead is moving a little, shifting from one foot to the other, seemingly trying to find something to say. Her boots have a little bit of dried mud on them, the end of her staff as well. She seems like she just came back from a hike. Vex decides to put her out of her lack of conversation-induced misery.

“What trail were you on?” She asks, motioning towards the backpack.

“Oh,” Keyleth smiles. “The one on the west side of the castle? It snakes around the bottom of the platform the castle is on.”

That’s not a trail. At least not one that’s on Vex’ map. She takes note of that, of the fact she’s going to have to work the trail, make it safe and write it into the maps and softwares of the area.

“Do you take it often?”

Keyleth shrugs. “Every time I’m in town. That’s about… once a month?”

So it’s her favorite too. “How many people do you see there usually? Is it well used?”

“Oh, not really,” the woman shrugs again. “It’s pretty forgotten, I think. Only me and a couple of friends know it.”

That’s good news, as far as Vex is concerned. It makes working it less urgent. She still puts it on her to-do list for the next few days. She needs a good lay of the land if she wants to do her job correctly. She’s already understaffed enough for the size of the park.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Vex smiles professionally, her mind already working. She really needs to go. The druid is sweet but she needs to check on the cub again, and then she really wants to call Vax.

Simon Whisk comes back at about that moment with a small box of what seems to be blowgun needles.

“No arrows, but there’s these. They’re one gold, for ten of them,” he points out. Vex pays in coin and thanks both of them.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” she nods. “I’ll be around for more purchases later.”

“Pleasure,” the man nods.

Keyleth waves lightly with her right hand and Vex walks away.

She shoves open the door, her purchases under her arms. The sun has almost disappeared behind the buildings and she needs to drive home fast. She doesn’t really want to try through unknown forest paths in the middle of the night, even if she has darkvision.

Vex straps the boxes and crates she got in the back of her pick-up truck so they won’t fly off while she drives. She puts her bow down in between the passenger seat and the dash, and looks down into the plastic crate.

The cub is asleep still, knocked out. He’s curled up on himself, fluffy brown fur rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing. Eyes closed and little claws tucked into the blanket. Vex melts.

Poor baby, all alone in this world now. She’s going to need to be his mother for a while and she wishes she didn’t have to. She’ll do the absolute best she can though. He deserves that, if anything.

Vex slides into the driver seat and starts the drive back to the cabin, back home. No. She’s not there yet, not ready to call it home. It’ll come though, it always does. She needs a moment, and a phone call with her brother.

She sets the GPS to the fastest route and it guides her out of the Eastern gate this time, driving in between the city and the cemetery. Right as she engages herself into the surrounding motorway, traffic slows down into a jam. Vex huffs, putting on the heating. She doesn’t turn on the radio, despite how she wants some noise to fill the silence. She doesn’t want to wake the cub up until she’s ready to care for him.

Her eyes slide over the cars in front of her, a lot of trucks and a couple of slicker cars, probably from the richest inhabitants of the city. Her teenage home of Syngorn was filled with these and only these, dark and smoked-out, driving around assholes who pretended to be better than everyone else.

She looks away from the cars that bring back memories. Two structures tower at the Southern and Northern sides of the cemetery and she’s currently stuck by the southern one to go back to the cabin.

It’s a tall stone edifice with stained glass windows. It’s a rather common feature of temples of Pelor; these ones were ten feet tall and the usual design of the sun was half-hidden behind a gigantic beautiful tree. In front of beautifully-carved double doors stand two figures. Vex probably shouldn’t stare at them; she does it anyway.

The one standing in the arched opening of the doors is tall, with salt and pepper hair. From afar, Vex can’t exactly make out the features of their face. They’re wearing a cream, gold and red robe with a gold sash around the waist. She assumes they’re a priest of this temple.

The other one is shorter, slighter and wearing much darker clothes; a dark blue woolen coat and dark brown thigh-high boots are as much as Vex can make out from her car. Their hair is brown, but streaked in an interesting way with white: a few strands at the temples.

The two of them seem deep in conversation, the blue-wearing one clutching at their coat. Just as Vex tries to focus to see their lips and try to read their conversation, a loud honking noise makes her almost jump out of her seat.

The cars in front of her have moved and her lack of following irritates those stuck behind.

Vex rolls her eyes and gets back to driving home. As she makes her way from motorway to road to mud, mist falls over the forest, slipping through the trees and making it a little harder to get to the cabin safely. It blurs the lines of the trunks. A shiver runs down her spine.

#perc'ahlia #percy de rolo #vex'ahlia #fic #mine #critical role #vox machina

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semperintrepida · 4 years ago

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Spark Check

The truck's gas pedal had long been stomped to the floor when Kyra drummed her palms against its steering wheel and tried to coax a little more oomph out of its tired motor. "Come on," she pleaded.

Without her little Toyota, she couldn't have fled Portland and her on-again, off-again relationship with Thal. Their latest blow up had flipped them back to off-again, and this time she had to get away, get out of the city. She was sick of green — she wanted shades of brown: dust and sagebrush as far as her eye could see and sketch and paint. So she'd packed her things and headed for Oregon's high desert, the road taking her southeast into the Cascades, past Mount Hood, and into dense forest dotted with blue lakes.

But it seemed this was as far as her pickup could go, on a long climb up a mountain in the middle of nowhere. The truck had slowed to a crawl, and she pulled over as soon as the roadway widened enough for it to be safe.

"Fuck," she said into the silence.

She jumped out and popped the hood open. The smell of hot rubber and oil surrounded her, and she shook her head at the confusion of belts, cables, and tubing she found inside. Fuck. She'd seen three cars during the hours she'd spent on this road, and when she swiped her phone's screen awake, it showed no signal.

Breathe, Kyra. Think. She was okay for now. She had her backpacking gear, plenty of food and water. She could overnight here just fine. All she had to do was wait. She took another deep breath, then launched a psychic message into the universe: Please send someone to help me.

She glanced around. It was pretty here, at least, with a postcard view of a forested valley from the shoulder of a mountain. The light was decent, if a little harsh, but it wouldn't be long before the sun's angle changed and sent shadows knifing across the road.

All she could do was wait.

A few hours later, she was dozing in the front seat when she heard a far off sound: a deep, loping rumble that grew louder, quickly, into noise that slapped her ears as a dirtbike blew past her without stopping. She slumped back against her seat.

Then brake lights lit up, and the dirtbike made a sharp u-turn in the middle of the road and backtracked closer. Damn, she was kinda hoping for a minivan driven by a soccer mom. She was all by herself out here. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and she got out of the truck and stood by the hood and waited.

Her stomach knotted and her chest tightened as she watched the bike roll to a stop a little ways away. The bike's engine fell silent, and then its rider hopped off and approached her.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, face hidden behind a helmet and mirrored goggles, and his jersey and pants were patterned in brash splotches of black, blue, and yellow. He wore plastic armor slung over his chest, guards over his elbows, and chunky boots. He looked like some futuristic video game warrior.

The boots must have been stiff. He clomped gracelessly towards her while stripping his gloves off to reveal large hands, and then he reached up and unbuckled his helmet. He pulled it free, shook a long dark braid loose over his shoulder, and Kyra froze like a leaf in a cold snap as she realized the rider was a woman.

A fucking hot one, too.

It took Kyra a few moments to recover her poise. "Hi," she said, to keep things simple.

The woman was even hotter when she smiled. "Hey there." Her cheeks and forehead were coated in dust, but it only made the unusual color of her eyes more prominent. 'Brown' and 'hazel' didn't do them justice. They flicked away from Kyra and over to the truck's engine. "Trouble?"

"Yeah. We barely made it up this far."

"Huh. No power?"

Kyra sighed. "Not as much as it should, which isn't much to start with."

"Mind if I take a look?"

"Go right ahead."

The woman bent down to put her helmet on the ground, but Kyra held out a hand and said, "Here, give it to me."

It was lighter than Kyra expected, its dusty white shell covered in scratches and scuffs. She placed it carefully in the truck's front seat, and when she circled back to the engine, the woman had already starting taking things apart.

She held a rubbery cable up to her eye, murmuring to herself as she inspected it. "You got a tool kit?"

"No." Kyra's cheeks warmed. Probably not a great idea to be traveling through BFE without a tool box, but her pickup had never let her down before.

"I've got one that might work. And lucky for you, my bike's Japanese too."

Kyra wasn't sure what that had to do with anything, and she mulled it over as she watched the woman walk to her bike and open the small pack strapped across its tail. Maybe the Japanese had a different school of arcane engine knowledge than anyone else.

The woman returned soon enough, and unfurled a canvas roll of tools that reminded Kyra of the paintbrush case that sat with her art supplies in the passenger seat of her truck, a variety of implements lined up in a neat row. Then the woman was plunging the length of a socket into the engine, turning the wrench with strong hands, pulling it out.

A frisson of excitement shivered out from behind Kyra's eyes, down her spine, and into places between her legs. Her cheeks warmed again, and she ducked her head and hoped she'd gone unnoticed.

The woman tapped something out of the socket into the palm of her hand. A spark plug. She plugged it into the cable. "Let's give it a check. Can you start your truck?"

Kyra hurried off, glad to be given something to do. She moved the helmet aside and slid behind the wheel. "Ready?" she called out.

"Yeah. Go for it."

Kyra turned the key. The engine coughed over unhappily.

The woman's voice floated out from under the hood. "That's enough. Come on back."

When Kyra returned to the front of the truck, the woman held up the cable and said, "You've got a bad spark plug wire. And if one's going bad, the others are too."

Kyra winced. "Perfect." Her breath squeezed out from her, as if a load of sandbags had landed on her chest. If she couldn't get the truck running here, she'd have to get it towed — and she didn't have the money for something like that. She'd have to call Thal, beg him for help—

"Well, Detroit Lake's just down the road. Maybe twenty or thirty miles, but it's downhill the whole way. If you want, I can follow you to make sure you make it there, and then we can figure out what to do next."

That we made the weight on Kyra's chest lose a few pounds. "That sounds great," she said. "I really appreciate it."

"Happy to help."

She extended a hand. "I'm Kyra, by the way."

The woman set the wire down and wiped her hands on her jersey, leaving a dark smudge of grease behind. It would stain if someone didn't soak it in detergent first before washing. She shook Kyra's hand with a firm grip. "Kassandra," she said, along with another smile. "Nice to meet you."

She put the truck back together in short order, and then she was pulling on her helmet and saying, "I'll pass you when we get close to town and you can follow me in." Kyra climbed back into her truck, buckled her seat belt, and tried the key. The engine fired up on her third attempt, and Kyra sighed with relief to be moving again with a clear plan ahead.

It took an hour to coast down that narrow and winding road, and once they reached Detroit Lake, Kassandra led her to a rustic-looking resort nestled among giant trees. The dirtbike came to a stop in front of a small cabin, and Kyra parked alongside it.

While Kyra locked her truck and walked to the steps up to the cabin's porch, Kassandra pushed the bike up the porch's ramp and parked it next to the front door. Kyra waited on the steps as Kassandra removed her gloves and helmet.

"Back to civilization, safe and sound," Kassandra said.

Kyra nodded. "And I owe it all to you." She supposed the tiny gas station across the road counted as civilization. It did have a pay phone.

Awkward silence. Kassandra straightened her braid over her shoulder. "Well, then." Her hands played with the straps on her helmet.

"Can I buy you dinner?"

She looked surprised. "You don't have to do that."

Was she being careful for a reason? Maybe she was taken, and there was someone waiting for her in that cabin. But she was too damn gorgeous for Kyra not to try again. "I insist," she said, letting an amused grin sneak across her lips. "I'm starving, anyway, and you did say we'd figure out what to do next."

Kassandra's hesitation was brief. "All right, then," she said. "But let me change out of"— a gesture at herself —"this, first."

When she emerged from the cabin a few minutes later, her face and neck were damp and she was wearing a grey t-shirt and jeans and a worn pair of work boots. The shirt was tight enough to jolt Kyra's clit wide awake: Kassandra had muscles for days, in the long lines of her forearms, the swell of her biceps, and the curve of her shoulders into honest-to-God traps framing her neck. Generous lips smiled and her eyes sparkled with amusement as she asked, "Are you all right?"

Kyra suddenly wanted nothing more than to kiss those lips while running her hands over the washboard abs she knew were hiding under that t-shirt. She swallowed hard and tried not to wriggle out of her skin with want. "I'm fine, yeah."

Kassandra eyed her for a moment. "There's a decent place to eat, up the highway a bit," she said.

Kyra gestured for her to lead the way. Far safer than opening her mouth.

The hamlet of Detroit was bigger than Kyra expected. A marina full of houseboats sprawled by the lakeside, and a handful of shops stood in a cluster a short distance from the cars hurtling up and down the highway.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a building that wore the facade of a hunting lodge, with weathered clapboard siding and a dozen chromed-out motorcycles parked in front. There was probably a deer head mounted on the wall inside.

There was a deer's head mounted on the wall inside, a great big rack of antlers spread above the stone fireplace. They sat, ordered drinks — beer for Kyra and a Jack-and-Coke for Kassandra — and fussed with place settings.

"You come in from Estacada?" Kassandra asked her.

"No, I spent last night camping at Timothy Lake."

Kassandra smiled. "I love it up there. It's gorgeous, and the riding's perfect."

"Is that what you're here for?"

"Yeah, I've got a few days between assignments. My crew just got back from three weeks in Tahoe."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a firefighter." Of course she was. Something must have escaped Kyra's expression because Kassandra grinned at her and added, "Wildland, not the firetrucks, ladders, and dalmatians kind. I work on a Hotshot crew based out of Redmond."

"Hotshot?"

"We work the toughest parts of a forest fire, without any other support. And we direct a lot of the action around us. We go where others can't."

"So you're good at what you do, then."

"I'm very good at what I do." And she had the confidence to match.

They were still smirking at each other when the waitress returned with their drinks. They ordered food. Handed over menus. Kyra excused herself to wash up, and when she came back to their table, Kassandra was staring out the window, showing off a profile so perfect it should have been struck on coins like royalty.

"So what do you do?" Kassandra asked her as she sat down.

"I don't, really." Kyra fought back her embarrassment. Very attractive, not having a job. No, she did work at something — it just didn't pay. Yet.

Kassandra's eyebrow raised.

"I'm an artist."

"Oh yeah? What kind?"

"I paint, mostly." She was acutely aware of Kassandra's silent scrutiny. She sipped her beer and kept talking. "Small studies in acrylics, for now. I'm chasing that perfect light."

"Perfect light?"

"Yeah. You know, after sunrise, or before sunset. That golden glow?"

Kassandra nodded.

"It's so perfect it's a cliché. But I'm interested in other kinds of perfection: rays of sunlight moving ahead of a rainstorm, or light passing through ocean waves. Things like that."

"Lots of that around here."

Their eyes met. "Lots of beauty around here, too," Kyra said.

Under the table, Kassandra's leg jerked.

The food arrived just in time to distract them. Kassandra dug into a steak — rare — and an enormous salad. "I eat nothing but processed food and MREs while I'm on assignment," she explained. "The other six months of the year, I eat every vegetable in sight while doing odd jobs to make ends meet. Construction. Fabrication. That sort of thing."

So Kassandra knew about the gig life. "I usually end up finding work as a barista to pay the bills," Kyra said between forkfuls of potatoes au gratin. "I like slinging coffee well enough, but what I really want is to get paid for my paintings."

"A worthy goal."

"I've sold a few here and there, but I can't get my foot in the door of any galleries." She shrugged. "I'm not making the work I want to be, and it shows, I think."

"What's stopping you?"

"Money. Oil paints and canvas get expensive at large scale. I want to paint like J. C. Dahl or Bierstadt did. Huge canvases. Big views. When you look at one of my landscapes, I want you to feel like you could lose yourself in it." She scraped her fork through the remnants of potato on her plate. "But that kind of neo-luminism isn't exactly burning up the auction houses these days. I'd be better off learning how to paint with a spray can and a stencil." She gave Kassandra an apologetic smile. "And look at me, boring you with all this talk about my nonexistent career."

"I'm not bored. It's just that everything I know about art went into the finger paintings I made when I was in grade school."

Kyra laughed. "Well, I don't know a single thing about fighting fire, so I won't hold it against you."

"At least we've got something in common."

"What's that?"

"You make sacrifices to do what you love. You live with the uncertainty, and I bet you know how to make a dollar go a long way." She smiled faintly. "I know... because I do the same."

"Maybe you can give me some tips on dealing with the uncertainty part," Kyra said. That was what was hardest, not having control of her life, not having a plan.

"Ask away, if there's something you want to know."

There were a lot of things about Kassandra that Kyra wanted to know, but she steered the conversation in a lighter direction, and the second round of drinks became a third while their knees kept brushing under the table, and the biker gang peeled out of the parking lot with a cloud of exhaust and noise, and the shadows grew long across the highway.

"Sun's going to set soon," Kassandra said. "Where were you planning to stay tonight?"

"I was hoping to make it to Bend today, but that plan's been shot to hell. And I bet there aren't any vacant hotels around here."

"Not this time of year. I got lucky finding this room — someone bailed on a reservation." She slid her empty glass back and forth on the table in front of her, as if the coaster was a raft she was guiding through rapids.

"Looks like I'm sleeping in the canopy of my truck, then. Wouldn't be the first time."

Kassandra's glass lurched to a stop. "Tell you what. You're welcome to crash in my room tonight. We can take my truck in to Stayton in the morning, find you some new spark plugs and wires. You'll be back on the road well before noon." She'd said it in a rush, as if she'd reached a chute in the rapids and had no choice but to follow it on down.

Kyra breathed in slowly. It wouldn't do to seem too eager. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm grateful for the help."

They bickered gently over the check, when it came; Kyra wanting to pay the whole thing like she'd promised, and Kassandra insisting on covering her share. Kyra sensed her digging in, unwilling to cross some line of propriety she'd set for herself, and so Kyra relented. There were too many hills around her for all of them to be ones to die on.

On the walk back to the cabin, Kassandra told her about a wildfire she'd worked not far from here, felling trees and digging fireline along a ridge in a forest dried-out from years of drought, the flames in the canyon below burning so intensely that the heat had created its own thunderstorm right above it. She'd dug and dug, rain and hail pelting her hard hat while bright blue skies stretched behind her all the way to Mount Hood on the horizon.

"That sounds... beautiful and terrifying," Kyra said as Kassandra opened the door to the cabin and gestured her inside.

"It's often both, yeah."

The room wasn't large, but the bed was. Bed in the singular. Kyra kept her smirk internal.

A small sofa sat across from the bed, a TV hid in the corner, and two doorways led to rooms unknown. Wood paneling on the walls, simple wooden furniture. Kassandra's belongings were organized neatly in an open wardrobe.

Kassandra made a beeline for the sofa. She plopped down onto it, stretched her arms out to both sides. Her arm span was wider than the sofa was. "I'll sleep here." She bounced up and down, ignoring the dire creaking of its springs.

"This is your room."

She shrugged, then leaned forward so her elbows rested on her knees. "So? You're my guest."

"You're six feet tall and that sofa's the size of a postage stamp. I'll sleep on it before you do." Kyra crossed her arms. "But really, there's no reason why we can't share the bed."

Kassandra had started twisting her fingers together; locking them in place, breaking them apart. "I can't have you thinking that I brought you here because I'm wanting something from you, for helping you with your truck. I'll sleep right here. It's fine."

Kyra had to shoot her shot, right now, or she'd end up sleeping in that big bed all alone. "Maybe I'm wanting something from you."

Troubled eyes looked up. God, she was gorgeous. "I... " she started. Stopped. And Kyra's heart sank. This is when Kassandra would tell her she was taken, that she had someone back home to soak those grease stains out of her jersey, to worry about her when she was working a fire, to—

"I was hoping you'd say something like that," Kassandra said softly.

Kyra took her by the hand, pulled her to her feet, and then Kyra slid her palms along the undersides of Kassandra's forearms. Heavy. Solid, like bronze. But that was the color of Kassandra's eyes, and when Kyra kissed her it was like a circuit closing like an arc lamp turning night into day like a quality of light she'd never seen before but knew she'd be chasing the rest of her life.

When they parted, Kyra was breathless, and she tucked her face into the curve of Kassandra's neck, feeling the steady cadence of her breathing. "Kassandra?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm so glad you didn't turn out to be some redneck."

Kassandra's laugh filled the room, and she gathered Kyra's face in her hands and looked at her. "Honestly, when I saw your rig, I was expecting some dried-up gold miner with shaggy hair and missing teeth."

"You thought wrong, Bubba."

Kassandra laughed again. Kissed her again. But when Kyra's hands strayed down to her belt, she pulled away. "Hey, slow down there, forty-niner. I'm pretty sure I have dust in unmentionable places."

"Do you really think I'd let a little dust get in the way of working my claim?" She reached for Kassandra again.

Her paydirt maneuvered away a second time. "I kinda want to take a shower..."

She waited for the rest.

"Think you might like to join me?"

She answered by curling her fingers around Kassandra's belt, and she glanced about the room, considering her doorway options.

"That way," Kassandra murmured along with a tilt of her head.

She pulled Kassandra to the bathroom, each step driving her to even giddier heights. Was this even happening right now?

Kassandra flipped the lights on. Clean, white tile and a matching shower. Nicer than Kyra had expected.

"This could either be really awkward or really hot," Kassandra said.

"You think this'll be awkward?" Kyra smirked and reached for Kassandra. There was no hiding in this light, no place for anything but want and confidence, and Kyra found her confidence in wanting to get Kassandra naked. Kassandra's t-shirt and sports bra ended up getting tossed in a corner, and then Kyra couldn't resist, she just had to kiss Kassandra while her hands found leather and metal to unbuckle, and she pushed fabric down over hips and thighs until Kassandra kicked it all free and stood naked before her in full glory.

Oh my God. Not only did Kassandra have muscles for days, she had them for weeks and months and years. Her proportions were perfect, in the horizontal of her shoulders to hips and the vertical of her torso to legs. Kyra's mouth went dry, her moisture draining to places south of her waist.

Kassandra flashed a rakish grin, then stepped into the shower, turning knobs while Kyra waited. Water jetted against tile with a loud hiss. Kassandra seemed to take a very long time — or maybe that was Kyra's thirst wringing out the clock in its search for droplets of satisfaction — but when Kassandra finally came back, she undressed Kyra with a touch both careful and reverent, her eyes drinking in the sight of Kyra's skin with every slow reveal.

Heat burned between Kyra's legs. Steam filled the bathroom. Her clothes joined the pile in the corner, and Kassandra's hands came to rest on her hips. She reached for Kassandra's braid, untied it, and worked the thick mane loose — along with a puff of dust.

Kassandra truly was covered in it, in streaks running down her steam-dampened skin. Kyra laughed and traced her finger through the grime between Kassandra's breasts, then drew an X on Kassandra's stomach. The hands on her hips shifted, nudging her towards the shower until she stood basking under its pleasantly hot spray.

The pressure was good: in the stream of water and the feel of Kassandra's hands on her skin. Calloused palms scratched and tickled the sides of her breasts, and she wriggled away, prompting an insincere "Sorry" as Kassandra played with her, alternating soft strokes from her fingertips with rougher ones from her palms.

Kyra bit back her want, slipped out of Kassandra's grasp, and said, "Your turn."

As Kassandra stood under the water, Kyra enjoyed the way it beaded over her skin, the way she glistened in the light. Then looking wasn't enough, and Kyra had to sample Kassandra's broad shoulders, the firm planes of her chest, the soft weight of breasts and plump nipples so different than a man. She smelled different too, none of that tang that men always had about them. It had been too long since Kyra had been with a woman, and Kassandra was showing her how foolish that was.

Kyra pulled Kassandra closer, pressed her up against the wall, and kissed her. Wet lips, water in her mouth, soft slick tongue. She was delicious, and Kyra grew greedy, wanting more more more as she ran her hands over sculpted abs and slid them lower—

That earned her hands a playful slap from Kassandra. "Ah, ah, ah. Hands off. I don't want to be distracted," she said, as she snagged the soap from a niche in the shower wall.

She knew exactly what she was doing, making Kyra wait, making Kyra watch as she soaped her skin and scrubbed it into a lather, making Kyra thirst while surrounded by water as she washed her hair. Her shampoo had the fresh, airy smell of citrus. It filled the shower, wrapped Kyra in its enticing steam.

This was a fierce kind of want. She scowled, snatched up the shampoo bottle, washed her hair as Kassandra emerged from the water clean and magnificent. The sight was too much; she turned her back to Kassandra as she rinsed herself. But as the last of the suds swirled down the drain, Kassandra's hands gently turned her around and soaped her from head to toe and she forgot everything except the hand slipping over her belly into the crease of her hip, slipping between her thighs, so close to where she needed, hovering without touching, moving from thigh to thigh—

"Fuck," she gasped.

"Is that what you want?" Kassandra asked. Her smirking grin was an inch away from Kyra's lips.

Kyra stared daggers at her.

"Sorry, you'll have to wait a bit longer," she said, and then she carefully rinsed Kyra clean. It was thorough, and luxurious, and melted Kyra's pique into forgiveness. She closed her eyes and her muscles went soft and pliant under Kassandra's hands, and she felt herself being guided out of the shower. She stood in the middle of the bathroom, waiting. Kassandra moved away. Kassandra came back. She rubbed Kyra down with a fluffy towel, wrapped her in it, then picked her up with breathtaking ease and carried her to the bed.

The length of Kassandra's body settled against hers. Dangerous weight. She could pin Kyra down, crush her with all that muscle. The towel bloomed open. Goosebumps sprouted across damp skin. The only illumination in the room came from the light in the bath. It snuck past the drape of Kassandra's hair and threw shadows across her face, and her eyes captured the sparks of want passing between them.

All that muscle on top of her, mouth at her throat, hands on her hips. Kyra's want buzzed and flickered, like a spotlight warming up. Now, find out now. She fit her thigh up between Kassandra's legs, pressed hard. A gasp from above. Kyra's heartbeat doubled-up, and there was no stopping her leg twining around Kassandra's. "Roll over." A demand, not a question.

Kassandra blinked, tilted her head as she searched Kyra's face. The sparks in her eyes danced. Really?

Yes, really. Kyra shifted her weight, used her leg as a pivot... and felt Kassandra yield.

All that muscle moved beneath her, hips made to be straddled, shadowed curves meant to be explored. Kyra's blood pulsed with an illicit thrill as she leaned forward. Skin pressing together. Breasts nestling together. Damp heat, water turning to sweat.

She kissed Kassandra, tasted her hunger, her soft mouth opening to let Kyra in. No games and no playing hard to get. Her want, Kyra's want, their want speaking in tongues. Kassandra's fingers tangled in her hair. That mouth should be on her clit. Those fingers should be inside her.

Wait. Wait longer. She sucked at Kassandra's lower lip, raked it with her teeth, apologized with her tongue. She pulled her mouth away, smiled as Kassandra groaned and stirred, muscles bunching, eyes burning like carbon filaments, captive and captivated. Kyra moved her mouth lower: the silvery scar on Kassandra's chin, the rapid pulse at her throat, the wings of her collarbones. Lower, until her lips found the soft swell of a breast, the nipple she could persuade to grow harder with teasing lips and tongue. First one, then the other. And Kassandra's back arched: Yes.

How sweet of her to offer. Kyra slid off to the side, surveying the chiaroscuro of the exposed planes of Kassandra's body. Choices, choices. Kassandra's spectacular abs, or the inviting shadows between her thighs?

Both. Kyra was getting greedy again. She ran her tongue along the sculpted grooves of Kassandra's stomach and slid her hand into soft curls. Swollen heat. Desire soaking her fingers, satisfying in a way arousing a man never was. And making this particular woman so wet... She smiled and drifted her mouth lower, tasted her own desire in a trail she'd left on Kassandra's belly, and her clit was bright and burning and her ache went deep, wanting to be fucked, wanting to fuck.

She stroked slick fingers everywhere but the places Kassandra wanted. Hard to be so patient, when every touch felt like it reflected back at her, teasing and being teased. She was dripping. Kassandra was dripping, her body twisting restlessly in a tangle of sheets and towels. Kyra stopped moving. Her fingertips hovered, waiting. And Kassandra's hips lifted: More.

Kyra's mouth was almost too close to Kassandra's clit. It tempted her, nestled in dark, feathery curls, proud and swollen and hard. That was Kyra's doing. She'd made that happen. Hard not to let that surge of power go straight to her clit, and she closed her eyes against the bright flare of her own need.

Focus. Come back. Breathe in air heavy with warm, damp arousal. Breathe it out across Kassandra's sensitive flesh. Kassandra squirmed under her cheek and let out a frustrated moan.

That sound was pleasing, and she dipped the tips of her fingers into silky wetness. The tiniest taste, no more. Kassandra's moans grew louder. Kyra's blood beat in her ears. So easy, capturing Kassandra's full attention in the spotlight of her breath and the smallest movements of her fingertips.

Wait. Move slowly. Kassandra's muscles corded and strained, and Kyra wound them tighter and tighter with every touch. All that strength in thrall to her fingers — the rush lifted Kyra to stratospheric heights. She could glide on it, never come down. She lost all track of time in the artificial, unchanging light. How long had she kept Kassandra like this? How long could she?

Beneath her, Kassandra was panting with her thighs spread wide. She rocked her hips, chasing Kyra's fingers, and Kyra made her fail again and again. Her attempts grew half-hearted. She gave up trying.

This was Kassandra primed like a canvas: body taut beyond trembling, senses tuned to Kyra, clit starved for attention.

Kassandra's sounds devolved into one long, unbroken whimper. And then, finally, Kyra went to work, sucking Kassandra into her mouth and easing her fingers all the way inside.

Nothing fancy: steady strokes, tongue on clit, the way women have been getting each other off since ancient times. She'd already tested Kassandra's patience at least that long.

Kassandra whispered Yes and Fuck to guide her. Kassandra angled her hips just so. Kassandra snapped at the point of release with a sudden growl, her hands grabbing fistfuls of bedsheets as she writhed, lost in pleasure.

Kassandra throbbed against her tongue and pulsed around her fingers and Kyra lay there not moving not wanting to move in the golden glow, wanting it to stay wanting to capture it and keep it.

But it faded, eventually. She slid up the bed and rested her head on Kassandra's shoulder and smiled for a long, long time.

"I'll be damned," Kassandra said quietly, once she caught her breath. "Is that how you always say thank you?"

"When I'm feeling inspired."

"You really are an artist."

Kyra smirked. No matter how the rest of their time together played out, she'd always have the memory of Kassandra writhing around her fingers.

The mattress compressed as Kassandra knelt above her. Kassandra rested a hand on her belly, and though there was no weight behind it, it pinned Kyra right to the bed.

"Well," Kassandra said. "You certainly set the bar high, honey. But it's my turn now."

Kyra opened her arms wide and gave Kassandra her dirtiest come-hither look. "Show me what you've got, hotshot."

Kassandra smiled, and did.

Part of the Heat Index...

#kyssandra #kassandra #ac odyssey #shameless smut #plot what plot #wildland firefighter kassandra #there was only one bed #kyra's on top #tropetacular but i dun curr #heat index #once upon a time #i may have been riding my dirtbike on this road #when i came across a hot lady firefighter with a broken down truck #alas that encounter did not end like this story did #bc i was on my way to meet up with a riding buddy #but man what perfect writing fuel that experience was

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sinceileftyoublog · 3 years ago

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Riot Fest 2021: 9/16-9/19, Douglass Park

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Much like Pitchfork Music Festival earlier this month, this past weekend’s Riot Fest felt relatively normal. Arriving at Douglas Park every day, you were greeted by the usual deluge of attendees in Misfits t-shirts and dyed hair, the sound of faint screams and breakneck guitars and drums emanating from nearby stages. The abnormal aspects of the fest, at least as compared to previous incarnations, we’re already used to by now from 2021 shows: To get in, you had to show proof of vaccination and/or a negative test no older than 48 hours, which means that unvaxxed 4-day attendees had to get multiple tests. Props to the always awesome staff at Riot Fest for actually checking the cards against the names on government-issued IDs.

For a festival that dealt with a plethora of last-minute changes due to bands dropping out because of COVID-19 caution (Nine Inch Nails, Pixies, Dinosaur Jr.) or other reasons (Faith No More/Mr. Bungle because of concerns around Mike Patton’s well-being), there were very few bumps in the road. Whether Riot Fest had bands like Slipknot, Anthrax, or Rise Against in their back pocket as replacements or not, it very much felt like who we saw Thursday-Sunday was always supposed to be the lineup, even when laying your eyes on countless “Death to the Pixies” shirts. Sure, one of the fest’s main gimmicks--peeling back the label on Goose Island’s Riot Fest Sucks Pale Ale to reveal the schedule--was out of date with inaccurate set times and bands, and it still would have been so had Faith No More and Mr. Bungle stayed, since Fucked Up had to drop out last minute due to border issues. But the festival, as always, rolled with the punches.

The sets themselves offered the circle pit and crowdsurfing-inducing punk and metal you’re used to, with a few genre outliers. For so many bands of all styles, Riot Fest represented their first live show in years, and a few acts knew the exact number of days since their last show. For every single set, the catharsis in the crowd and on stage was palpable, not exactly anger, or elation, but pure release.

Here were our favorite sets of the festival, in chronological order.

WDRL

Last October, WDRL (which, amazingly, stands for We Don’t Ride Llamas) announced themselves with a Tweet: “y’all been looking for an alt black band,, well here you go”. A band of Gen Z siblings, Chase (lead guitar), Max (lead vocals), Blake (drums), and Kit Mitchell (bass guitar), WDRL is aware, much like Meet Me @ The Altar (who, despite my hyping, I couldn’t make it in time to see) that they’re one of too few bands of POCs in the Riot Fest-adjacent scene. Their set, one of the very first of the weekend during Thursday’s pre-party, showed them leading by example, the type of band to inspire potentially discouraged Black and brown folks to start punk bands. Max is a terrific vocalist, able to scream over post-punk, scat over funk, and coo over slow, soulful R&B swayers with the same ease. The rest of the band was equally versatile, able to pivot on a dime from scuzzy rock to hip hop to twinkling dream pop. Bonus points for covering Splendora’s “You’re Standing On My Neck”, aka the Daria theme song.

Joyce Manor

Joyce Manor’s self-titled debut is classic. The best part of it as an album play-through at a festival? It’s so short that you can hear it and you’ll still have half a set for other favorites. So while the bouncy “Orange Julius”", “Ashtray Petting Zoo”, and ultimate singalong “Constant Headache” were set highlights, the Torrance, CA band was able to burn through lots from Never Hungover Again, Cody, Million Dollars to Kill Me, and their rarities collection Songs From Northern Torrance. Apart from not playing anything from Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired (seriously, am I the only one who loves that record?), Joyce Manor were stellar, from the undeniable hooks of “Heart Tattoo” to the churning power chords of “Catalina Fight Song”. After playing “Christmas Card”, Johnson and company gave one final nod to the original fest cancellation, My Chemical Romance, who were slated to headline 2020, then 2021, and now 2022. If you ever wondered what it would sound like hearing a concise punk band like Joyce Manor take on the bombast of “Helena”, you found out. Hey, it was actually pretty good!

Patti Smith

Behold: a full Patti Smith set! After being shafted by the weather last time around, a sunglasses-laden Smith decided not to fuck around, leading with the inspiring “People Have The Power”, her voice as powerful as I’ve ever heard it. Maybe it was the influence of Riot Fest, but she dropped as many f-bombs as Corey Taylor did during Slipknot’s Sunday night headlining set. After reluctantly signing an adoring crowd member’s copy of Horses, she quipped, “I feel bad for you have to cart that fucking thing around.” It wasn’t just the filthy banter: This was Smith at her most enraptured and incendiary, belting during “Because The Night” and spitting during a “Land/Gloria” medley, reciting stream-of-consciousness hallucinogenic lyrics about the power of escape in the greatest display of stamina the festival had to offer.

Circa Survive

“It feels good to dance,” declared Circa Survive lead singer Anthony Green. The heart and soul of the Philadelphia rock band, who cover ground from prog rock to post-hardcore and emo, Green was in full form during the band’s early Friday set, his falsetto carrying the rolling “The Difference Between Medicine and Poising Is in the Dose” and the chugging “Rites of Investiture”. While the band, too, can throw down, they’re equally interesting when softer and more melodic, Brendan Ekstrom‘s twinkling guitars lifting “Child of the Desert” and “Suitcase”. Ending with the one-two punch of debut Juturna’s introspective “Act Appalled” and Blue Sky Noise’s skyward “Get Out”, Green announced the band would have a new record coming soon, one you hope will cover the sonic and thematic ground of even just those two tracks.

Thrice

Thrice played their first show since February 2020 the same day they’d release their 11th studio album, Horizons/East (Epitaph). To a crowd of fans that came to hear their favorite songs, though, the Irvine, California band knew better than to play a lot of the new record, instead favoring tracks like The Artist in the Ambulance’s spritely title cut and Vheissu standout “The Earth Will Shake”. Yeah, they led with a Horizons/East song making its live debut, the dreamy, almost Deftones-esque “Scavengers”, and later in the set they’d reveal the impassioned “Summer Set Fire to the Rain”. But the set more prominently served to emphasize lead vocalist Dustin Kensrue’s gruff delivery, on “All the World Is Mad” and “in Exile”, the rhythm section’s propulsive playing buoying his fervency. And how about Teppei Teranishi’s finger tapping on “Black Honey”?!? Thrice often favor the slow build-up, but they offered plenty of individually awesome moments.

Smashing Pumpkins

William Patrick Corgan entered the stage to dramatic strings, dressed in a robe, with white face paint except for red hearts under his eyes. He looked like a ghost. That’s pretty much where the semi-serious theatricality ended. The Smashing Pumpkins’ first Chicago festival headlining set in recent memory was the rawest they’ve sounded in a while, counting when they played an original lineup-only set at the United Center a few years back. It was also the most fun I’ve ever seen Corgan have on stage. Though they certainly selected and debuted from their latest electropop turn Cyr, Corgan, guitarist James Iha, drummer Jimmy Chamberlin, guitarist Jeff Schroeder, and company more notably dug deep into the vault, playing Gish’s “Crush” for the first time since 2008, Adore’s “Shame” for the first time since 2010, and Siamese Dream barnburner “Quiet” for the first time since 1994 (!). Best, every leftfield disco jam like set opener “The Colour Of Love”, “Cyr”, and “Ramona” was quickly followed by something heavy and/or recognizable, Chamberlin’s limber drum solos elevating even latter-day material like “Solara”. At one point, Corgan, a self-described “arty fuck,” admitted that years ago he would have opted for more experimental material, but he knew the crowd wanted to hear classics, the band then delving into a gorgeous acoustic version of “Tonight, Tonight”. And while Kate Bush coverer Meg Myers came out to sing Lost Highway soundtrack industrial ditty “Eye”, it was none other than legendary local shredder Michael Angelo Batio who stole the show, joining for the set closer, a pummeling version of Zeitgeist highlight “United States”. Leaning into the cheese looks good on you, Billy.

The Bronx

Credit to L.A. punk rock band The Bronx, playing early on a decidedly cooler Saturday early afternoon, for making me put in my earplugs outside of the photo pit. Dedicating “Shitty Future” to Fucked Up (who, as we mentioned, had to drop out), the entire band channeled Damian Abraham’s energy on piercing versions of “Heart Attack American” as well as “Superbloom” and “Curb Feelers” from their latest album Bronx VI (Cooking Vinyl). Joby J. Ford and Ken Horne’s guitars stood out, providing choppy rhythms on “Knifeman” and swirling solos on “Six Days A Week”.

Big Freedia

The New Orleans bounce artist has Big Diva Energy, for the most part. After her DJ pumped up the crowd to contemporary Southern rap staple “Ayy Ladies” by Travis Porter, Big Freedia walked out and showed that “BDE”, firing through singles like “Platinum” and “N.O. Bounce” as her on-stage dancers’ moves ranged from delicate to earth-shaking. At this point, Freedia can pretty much do whatever she wants, effortlessly segueing between a cover of Drake’s “Nice For What” to “Strut”, her single with electropop DJ Elohim, to a cover of Beyone’s “Formation”. Of course, the set highlight was when she had volunteers from the crowd come up and shake and twerk--two at a time to keep it COVID-safe--all while egging them on to go harder. Towards the end of the set, after performing the milquetoast “Goin’ Looney” from the even-worse-than-expected Space Jam: A New Legacy soundtrack, she pulled out the beloved “Gin in my System”. “I got that gin in my system,” she sang, the crowd singing back, “Somebody gonna be my victim,” a refrain that compositionally not only leaves plenty of room for the thundering bass but is thematically a statement of total power--over sexism, racism, the patriarchy--even in the face of control-altering substances.

Les Savy Fav

During Les Savy Fav’s set, lead singer Tim Harrington at various points--*big breath*--went into the crowd, deepthroated an audience member’s mohawk spike, found a discarded manikin head with a wig on it, revealed the words “deep” and “dish” painted on his thighs and a drawing of a Red Hot on his back, rode a crowd member like a horse, made a headband out of pink tape, donned ski goggles, surfed on top of a door carried by the crowd, squeezed his belly while the camera was on it to make it look like his belly button was singing, and referred to himself as a “slippery eel.” Indeed, the legend of Les Savy Fav’s live show starts and ends with Harrington’s ridiculous antics, as he’s all but out of breath when actually singing dance-punk classics like “Hold On To Your Genre”, “The Sweat Descends”, and “Rome (Written Upside Down)”. We haven’t heard much in terms of new music from Les Savy Fav in over 10 years--their most recent album was 2010′s Root For Ruin--but I could see them and the extremely Aughts genre in general become staples of Riot Fest as albums like Inches, The Rapture’s Echoes, and !!!’s Louden Up Now reach the 20-year mark. Dynamic vocalists, tight bands, and killer grooves: What’s not to love?

State Champs

This set likely wins the award for “most immediate crowd surfers,” which I guess is to be expected when you begin your set with a classic track 1--album 1 combination. “Elevated” is the State Champs number that will cause passers-by to stop and watch a couple songs, the type of song that can pretty much only open or close a set. And because they opened with it, the crowd immediately ramped up the energy. It’s been three years since the last State Champs full-length, Living Proof, so they were in prime position to play some new songs. As such, they performed their bubblegummy “Outta My Head” and “Just Sound” and faithfully covered Fall Out Boy’s “Chicago Is So Two Years Ago” (releasing a studio version earlier this week). But the tracks from The Finer Things and Around the World and Back were, as usual, the highlights, like “All You Are Is History”, “Remedy”, “Slow Burn”, and set closer “Secrets”. At the end of the day, it didn’t entirely matter: The crowd knew every word of every song.

Bayside

Putting State Champs and Bayside back-to-back on the same stage made an easy decision for the many pop-punk bands at Riot Fest. Bayside’s been at it for twice as long, so the breadth of their setlist across their discography is more variable. Moreover, they’ve thrice revisited their discography with acoustic albums of old songs, so even their staples are subject to change. They provided solid versions of Killing Time standouts “Already Gone” and “Sick, Sick, Sick”, Cult’s “Pigsty”, and older songs like their self-titled’s “Montauk” and Sirens and Condolences’ “Masterpiece”. For “Don’t Call Me Peanut”, though, they brought out--*gasp*--an acoustic guitar! It was a rare moment not just for one of the most popular pop punk sets but the festival in general, a breather before Vacancy shout-along “Mary”.

Rancid

“Rancid has always been anti-fascist and anti-racist,” said Tim Armstrong before the band played “Hooligans”. It was nice to hear an explicit declaration of solidarity from the street punks, reminding the crowd what really matters and why we come together to scream and mosh. The band expectedly favored ...And Out Come The Wolves, playing almost half of it, and they perfectly balanced their harder edges with more celebratory ska songs like “Where I’m Going” from their most recent album Trouble Maker (Hellcat/Epitaph). My two favorite moments? The breezy, keyboard-laden “Fall Back Down” from their supremely underrated 2001 album Indestructable, and when they asked the crowd whether they wanted the set to end with “Time Bomb” or “Ruby Soho”. “We have 4 minutes left, and it’s disrespectful to play over your set time,” said Armstrong. It’s easy to see why Rancid continues to make an impression--instrumental and moral--on touring bands new and old.

Run the Jewels

The brilliant hip hop duo are masters of balancing social consciousness with the desire to fuck shit up for fun. Live, the former tends to come in between-song banter, the latter with their actual charismatic, tit-for-tat performances of the songs. However, Run the Jewels also are probably the clearest live performers in hip hop today, Killer Mike and El-P’s words, hypersexual and woke alike, ringing in the ears of audience members who don’t even know the songs. (Looking around, I could see people smiling and laughing at every dick joke, nodding at each righteous proclamation.) Some of the best songs on their most recent album RTJ4 (Jewel Runners/BMG) are perfect for these multitudes. Hearing both RTJ MCs and the backing track of Pharrell Williams and Zack de la Rocha chanting “Look at all these slave masters posin’ on yo’ dollar” on “JU$T” as the rowdy crowd bounced up and down was the ultimate festival moment. For those who had never seen RTJ, it was clear from the get-go, as Killer Mike and EL-P traded bars on “yankee and the brave (ep. 4)” that they’re a unique hip hop act. For the rest of us, it was clear that Run the Jewels keep getting better.

The Gories

It felt a little weird that legendary Detroit trio The Gories were given the first set of the final day--I’d have thought they’d have more draw than that. No matter what, they provided one of the more satisfying and stylistically varied sets of the festival, showcasing their trademark balance of garage punk and blues. Mick Collins and Dan Kroha’s guitar and vocal harmonies were the perfect jangly balance to Peggy O’Neill’s meat and potatoes drumming on “Sister Ann” and “Charm Bag”, while folks less familiar with The Gories were treated to their fantastic covers of Suicide’s “Ghost Rider” and The Keggs’ “To Find Out”. Smells like time for the first Gories album in 20 years!

FACS

I thought it would be ill-fitting to watch a band like FACS in the hot sun, early in the day. Their monochrome brand of post-punk seems better suited for a dimly lit club. But the hypnotic nature of Brian Case’s swirling guitar and Alianna Kalaba’s slinky bass was oddly perfect in a sweltering, faint-inducing heat. Just when you thought you might fade, squalls of feedback and Noah Leger’s odd time signatures picked you back up. Songs from their new album Present Tense (Trouble In Mind) such as “Strawberry Cough” and “XOUT” were emblematic of this push-pull. And everything from the band’s red, white, and black color palate to their lack of stage banter suggested a cool minimalism that was rare at a festival that tends to book more outwardly emotional bands.

Alex G

On one hand, Alex G’s unique combination of twangy alt country and earnest indie rock makes him an outlier at Riot Fest, or at the very least a mostly Pitchfork/occasional Riot Fest type of booking. On the other hand, like a lot of bands at the festival, he has a rabid fanbase, one that knows his back catalog hits, like “Kute”, “Kicker”, and “Bug”, as much as if not more than hyped Rocket and House of Sugar singles, like “Bobby” and “Gretel”. Backed by a band that knows when to be loose and when to tighten up--and the instrumental chops to do so--Alex G was better than he was a Pitchfork three years ago. He still sings through his teeth, making it especially hard to hear him on louder tunes such as “Brick”. But when the honesty of his vocals combines with the dreamy guitars of “Southern Sky” and circular melodies of “Near”, it’s pure bliss.

HEALTH

The formula for the LA industrial noise band has pretty much always been Jake Duzsik’s soft vocals contrasting John Famiglietti’s screeching bass and pedals and BJ Miller’s mammoth drums. Both in 2018 and Sunday at Riot Fest, the heat affected Famiglietti’s pedals, which were nonetheless obscured by tarp. Or so HEALTH claimed: You wouldn’t know the difference given how much their sound envelops your whole body during one of their live sets. Since their previous appearance at the festival, the prolific band has released two new records on Loma Vista, Vol. 4: Slaves of Fear and collaboration record Disco4: Part 1. Songs from those records occupied half of their excellent set, including battering opener “GOD BOTHERER”, “BODY/PRISON”, and “THE MESSAGE”. It was so wonderfully loud it drowned out K.Flay’s sound check drummer, thank the lord.

Thursday

Last time Thursday played Riot Fest, Geoff Rickly was battling heroin addiction, something he talked about during the band’s triumphant late afternoon set on Sunday. He mentioned the kindness of the late, great Riley Gale of Power Trip in extending a helping hand when he was down and extended his love to anybody in the crowd or even the world at large going through something similar. To say that this set was life-affirming would be an understatement; after 636 days of no shows, Rickly was at his most passionate. He introduced “Signals Over The Air” as a song the band “wrote about men beating up on women in the pit,” that a record exec at the time told them that it wouldn’t age well because he thought--no kidding--sexism would eventually end. Rickly’s voice, suffering from sound issues last time around, simply soared during Full Collapse’s “Cross Out The Eyes”, No Devolucion’s “Fast to the End”, and two inspired covers: Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” and Texas Is The Reason’s “If It's Here When We Get Back It's Ours”. The latter the band played because TITR guitarist Norman Brannon’s actually on tour with them, though Rickly emphasized the influence the NYC post-hardcore greats had on Thursday when they first started. Never forgetting where they’ve come from, with self-deprecating humor and radical empathy, Thursday are once again a force.

Devo

Much like the B-52′s in 2019, Devo was the set this year of a 70′s/80′s absurd punk band with some radio hits that everybody knows but with a swath of die-hard fans, too. It’s safe to say both groups were satisfied. You walked around the fest all day wondering whether the folks wearing Devo hats were actual fans or doing it for the novelty. By the time the band actually took the stage after a career-spanning video of their many phases, it didn’t really matter, because it was clear the band still had it, Mark and Bob Mothersbaugh and Gerald Casale’s vocals booming throughout a massive crowd. They ripped through “Peek-a-Boo”, “Going Under”, “That’s Good”, “Girl U Want”, and “Whip It”, which caused the fans waiting for Slipknot (and presumably some Devo heads) to form a circle pit. And that was all before the first costume change. Mark passed out hats to the crowd, fully embracing converts who might have only known “Whip It”. The feverish chants of “Uncontrollable Urge” and synth freakouts of “Jocko Homo” whipped everyone into a frenzy. And the band performed the “Freedom Of Choice” theme song for the first time since the early 80′s! I had seen Devo before, opening for Arcade Fire and Dan Deacon at the United Center, but the atmosphere at Riot Fest was more appropriately ludicrous.

Flaming Lips

“The Flaming Lips are the most COVID-safe band in the world,” went the ongoing joke, as throughout the pandemic they’d give audience members bubbles for their bubbles to be able to play shows. The normally goofy and interactive band scaled back for Riot Fest. Before launching into their traditional opener “Race For The Prize”, Wayne Coyne explained that while the band is normally proud of where they come from--Oklahoma City--they’re saddened by the local government’s ignorant pandemic response and wouldn’t risk launching balloons or walking into the crowd because they might be virus spreaders coming from such an under-vaccinated area. To his and the band’s credit, they wore masks during the performance, even when singing; Coyne removed his only when outside of his bubble that had to be deflated and inflated many times and that sometimes muffled his singing voice even more than a mask. Ever the innovative band, they still put on a stellar show. Coyne autotuned his voice on “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 1″, making it another instrument filling the song’s glorious pop melodies. Less heavy on props, the band favored a glitchy, psychedelic setlist that alternated between beauty (”Flowers Of Neptune 6″, “Feeling Yourself Disintegrate”, “All We Have Is Now”) and two-drummed cacophony (“Silver Trembling Hands”, “The W.A.N.D.”). They’ll give a proper Lips show soon enough, but in the meantime, it was nice to see them not run through the motions.

Slipknot

Apart from maybe moments of Slayer, I’ve never witnessed a headliner at Riot Fest as heavy as Slipknot was. Even the minor ethereal elements present on their most recent and very good album We Are Not Your Kind, like the chorus of voices during “Unsainted”, were all but abandoned live in favor of straight up brutality. Sure, there were moments of theatricality--Corey Taylor’s menacing laugh on “Disasterpiece” and pyrotechnics in sequence with the instrumentation on “Before I Forget” and “All Out Life”--but for the most part, Slipknot was the ultimate exorcism. Taylor’s new mask, with unnaturally circular eyes, seemed like it came from a particularly uncomfortable skit from I Think You Should Leave. They bashed a baseball bat to a barrel during the pre-encore performance of “Duality”. And the songs played from tape, like the gasping-for-breath “(515)”, were designed to contrast Slipknot’s alien appearance with qualities that were uncannily human. For a band whose performances and instrumental dexterity are otherworldly--who else can pull off tempo changes over a hissing, Aphex Twin-like shuffling electronic beat on “Eyeless”--the pure seething emotion on songs like “Psychosocial” and “Wait and Bleed” shone through. Like Smashing Pumpkins, and like so many other successful Riot Fest headliners, Slipknot abandoned drama for pure, unadulterated dirt.

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naerysthelonesome · 4 years ago

Text

Time spent together

Part 5:

Road trip

It was the morning after Apollo had sent Lit that email. The email that had revealed to him that his subconscious was trying to sabotage him. The damned email in which Apollo had given Lit summaries of a dozen Greek retellings, most of them chock full of piney love stories. Apollo felt like he could kick himself.

He truly hoped Lit wouldn’t read too much into them… Was Lit the kind of guy that noticed symbolism?

He told himself it didn’t matter anyway. There wasn’t any reason he should see Lit again. They could complete the rest of the project from the safety of their dorm rooms, thank you very much. Even so, he realized, the thought of not seeing Lit again hurt. He wanted to see him again. He wanted to joke and flirt with him, to push his buttons, and have him get snarky and mad. He wanted to tuck that stray curl of hair back under his bandana and cup his face.

Wait what?

Apollo buried his face in his hands and groaned. He’d have to figure out a way to keep talking to Lit after this project was completed.

The next day was mostly spent emailing Lit, reading his drafts, and editing. Maybe a little daydreaming also. And the day after that, they’d submitted their project. It was good, but apart from feeling relief at its completion, Apollo didn’t care much for it. His heart was hammering most irritatingly as he looked for Lit, after class.

He was just a little bit surprised that the boy had been waiting for him.

“Hallelujah we’re finally done”, Lit said grinning.

Apollo rubbed the back of his neck. Was Lit happy to be done with him?

“Um yeah”, he replied with a hesitant smile, “So I wanted to ask you for a favor…”

Lit nodded. “Oh?”

“My sister’s having a party this weekend and-”

“Wait! Please tell me she isn’t named Artemis”, Lit interrupted with a laugh.

“Uh… she is my twin, so”

Lit snorted. “Dear God. Okay, continue”.

“Right. So my sister’s having a party this weekend, and I was wondering if you could come along”.

“Oh”, Lit’s still smiling, but a little confusedly this time, “Why?” he cocked his head to the side, and Apollo wanted to kiss his neck or something.

“I love my sister. I do. But I really do need some company if I’m gonna have to deal with her ass”. This wasn’t a lie. Artemis loved to tease Apollo about him never bringing his dates over, despite being single herself. Except in her case, it was a choice and not cowardice, another fact she liked to tease him with. “She lives with some friends of hers, a couple hours away. We could make a road trip of it”

Lit looked hesitant, and Apollo’s heart dropped a little, but then he nodded firmly, “Yeah! Sounds like fun. When do we leave?”

Well that went well. Lit was even starting to look excited.

“Tomorrow?”

…..

Apollo found Lit waiting beside his car, a light backpack slung from his shoulder, and a book under his arm. Upon coming closer, he realized it was one he’d asked him to loan from the library. The thought that Lit was seriously reading his favourite books made him feel both warm and scared at the same time.

“Hey! You ready?”

Lit turned to reply, and Apollo saw his eyes widen a little when he saw him.

“Ready as I’ll ever be”, he said a little shakily.

Apollo knew he looked good that day, with his olive green polo shirt and ray bans, but damn he wasn’t expecting that reaction. He felt quite pleased with himself as he got into the car.

Lit tossed his bag into the backseat and climbed in, securely locking the seat belt in place. Then they were off. Apollo saw Lit sigh back against the seat as they made their way out campus.

On the way to Artemis’, they drove past a big field that Lit seemed to really like looking at, and a then over a highway that he did not care for at all. Lit was flitting through the pages of his book, chewing on a pencil. Occasionally, he’d very lightly underline something in the book. Apollo wondered why, as he wouldn’t get to keep the book anyway.

“So you also desecrate public property”.

“Hmph. At least it’s an upgrade to the pasta sauce I found two chapters ago”, Lit replied shutting the book.

Since the road was long, straight, and utterly deserted, Apollo looked over at him. He had intended to ask him about the book but was caught off guard by how beautiful he looked. Apollo was fond of poetry and felt the immediate urge to write some about Lit. He wanted to write, or maybe sing, about the delicate hair curling at the nape of his neck, the faint white tracery of old scars, the brown skin seeming to almost glow in the afternoon sunlight, his long, dark lashes hanging over the pools of dark coffee that were his eyes. Instead, blood rushing to his cheeks, he turned away.

Lit reached out to pick up his phone and change the music.

“Whoa what’s wrong with Lorde?” asked Apollo, now slightly offended.

“Nothing at all”, Lit replied with a shrug, “I just fidget with stuff when I’m bored”.

The car was filled with beat of Daydreaming by MISSIO, and Apollo found he didn’t mind the change in music.

“Maybe we should play 20 questions”, Apollo said jokingly.

Lit sat up. “Okay”.

“Wait I was just kidding”

“Nono, let’s do it. But please don’t ask stupid questions. Some asked me to read ‘Serpent and Dove’ a couple weeks ago, and I did because I hate myself. It had the most uninteresting sequence of 20 questions I’ve ever read, I don’t want that for us.”

For us?? There was an us?

“Cool. I’ll go first. Why do you annotate books that you aren’t going to keep anyway?”

Lit let out a little sigh, and said, “It’s like leaving behind a small piece of myself. Of course, the next person to pick up the book won’t know it’s me, but that’s not the point”. He breathed in as if this wasn’t an easy thing to share, and continued, “I don’t tell people much about myself. I don’t make a lot of friends, and I’m definitely not an open book. I think this is way for me to just let people see me, but… anonymously. I know that probably doesn’t make much sense, but it’s what works for me”.

Apollo sat stunned, but tried as hard as he could not to show it. For someone that didn’t share much of himself, Lit had shared a lot with Apollo, and he didn’t quite know how to feel about it. Maybe he was grateful. Maybe he was terrified of Lit’s trust in him. The last thing he wanted to do was let Lit down.

“Well that was definitely interesting. Your turn.” Apollo thinks he did well enough at playing it cool.

“Um”. Lit fidgets around, shifting his legs and squeezing his own fingers. Gods above! It’s making Apollo nervous. “So the books you asked me to rent out…” Apollo’s heart starts to speed up. Surely Lit hadn’t noticed! “Was there any… particular theme to them, or?”

“Theme? Well duh. Mythological retellings”, Apollo managed, with a laugh that sounded fake to his own ears.

An embarrassed blush crept up Lit’s cheeks, and Apollo almost regretted lying to him. “I know… but, anything… else?”, he asked, waving his hand about like it could explain what he wanted to say more eloquently than words could.

Apollo decided to play dumb. It wasn’t like he’d been lying anyway. He really hadn’t meant for all the books to be so damn piney.

“Not that I can think of…”, he said, feigning a look of confusion, “Why?”

“Never mind”, Lit said, turning away to hide flushed cheeks, “Your turn”.

Apollo cleared his throat. He hadn’t meant to ask this next question so early on. Maybe he was doing it because he didn’t like lying to Lit. Maybe he was doing it so Lit would be distracted from his embarrassment. Maybe he wasn’t doing this for Lit’s benefit at all. Maybe he just had to get this off his chest.

“So this is a slightly serious question. If, you know… hypothetically speaking, I were to tell you that you had to…” If he weren’t belted to a car seat right now, he’d be squirming, “I may or may not have told Artemis that we’re dating!” he finally blurted out.

Lit turned to stare at him.

“I mean, of course we aren’t, but would you mind faking it for the weekend?”

Lit just looked like he was in pain.

Then his face broke out in a cheeky smile, and he said, “Let’s do it. And let’s make it convincing”.

#litpollo #litpollo fanfic #lityerses #apollo #toa apollo #trials of apollo #modern day au #apollo's mind this time

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herradhighpriestess · 3 years ago

Text

Deliberate Exchange

Chapter Eleven: Forgotten History and Rotten Smiles

As Bane and Elka enjoyed the silence, hours away, Calvin clicked on the remote until he found the high-definition Faux & Pals News Hour.

He watched as his earlier interview was replayed, this one was his favorite and he leaned forward and lip-synced his own words. In this interview he had perfected his solemn expression and the calls to the emergency line was flooded with calls as people called in sighting tips on every tall, dark blonde they saw.

Calvin fell asleep after he consumed a third of a bottle of a barrel-aged whiskey. The news replayed itself, Breaking News, announcing itself every fifteen minutes as fresh and new with brighter and more colorful graphics.

As Calvin passed out on a numbing sea of grain alcohol, Esau and the other men were locked on the tracking signal from the phone Bane had attached to the big rig.

The signal beeped steadily, indicating it was heading southwest on a major highway. The dangerous men loaded weaponry and slipped into tactical gear and headed for the steady flashing red light.

Bane stretched his arms overhead and listened to his shoulders pop, “we should get going soon,” he whispered to the back of her head.

She mumbled an agreeable sound and rubbed her eyes. She sat up and pushed her hair back as Bane was already in the bathroom washing his face. “I have a different hat I would like you to wear,” he said walking out of the bathroom, drying his face and hands.

“Sure,” she said and pulled on her clothes and took the hat he handed her. She tucked her hair under the dark green hat that was decorated with a four-leaf clover.

Bane watched her with a small smile as she shoved her hair out of sight. He quickly frowned as she gingerly dabbed a damp cloth on her palm.

“How is that looking?”

Elka held out her palm towards him, he could see the skin swollen and pulled tight, filled with liquid from the sudden and searing burn.

He kneeled in front of her and helped her with her shoes. “Where are we headed today?” she asked as his hands lingered on her calves.

“I’d like to get a full ten or twelve hours on the road, if we both drive it would work.”

“That sounds fine,” she said letting him help her slip into a light zippered sweatshirt.

Bane slipped his fingers into his pants pocket and pulled the keyring out, his fingertips brushed against the priceless band of metal at the bottom of his pocket.

He squeezed the ring tight, feeling the diamonds and rubies press sharply into his palm, he remembered the first time he had held the ring up to the light.

Bane closed his eyes and watched her as he let his mind return him to where there was sand everywhere underfoot and in every molecule of air he breathed.

Bane had become separated from his team and ended up being cornered by two enemy mercenaries. The two rebels spoke rapidly to each other in a language that was vaguely familiar to him and he could pick out a few dangerous words in the two men’s excitable chatter. The two men had bet money to fight Bane first, the bigger man had won and snorted loudly and spit a green blob to the sand in front of him.

The tall man swung his arms towards him, clutching a serrated switchblade, Bane slipped sideways and kicked his leg out to catch the man squarely in the center of his knee. The man screamed curses at him as his knee bent backwards and he ended up face down in the sand. Bane seized the moment and yanked the blade from the squealing insurgent and cut his throat from ear to ear.

Bane was on his feet in the next instance as the shorter enemy advanced on him. On the rebel’s left hand’s pinky finger, he saw a brilliant ring of rubies and diamonds.

The enemy saw Bane’s eyes fall upon the weighted treasure on his finger and gave him a smile of yellowed, rotting teeth and yanked the ring off his finger. Bane watched as the man swallowed the ring and gave him an even wider rotten smile.

Bane dodged a punch and caught the man’s extended hand, he quickly chopped at the man’s elbow joint and heard the bones break loudly. The man screeched and then went silent within the space of a heartbeat. He never registered the curved knife slide under his chin and open up his throat. The steel blade traveled through the flesh easily and was stopped by the spinal column.

Bane let the enemy’s warm body flop to the sand and pushed him onto his back. He ripped at the rebel’s clothes, exposing the chest and plunged his knife into the freshly dead flesh. Bane dug through the flesh and carved through muscle and viscera until he could close his large hand around the swallowed priceless antiquity. He yanked the ring free from its corpse coffin and wiped it clean of viscera before holding it up and letting it be kissed by the rays of the hot sun.

Bane was shaken from his trip down memory lane by Elka’s voice, he realized she had been speaking to him. “Are you okay?” she repeated for the fourth time.

“Yes,” he said, feeling emotions fill his heart until his chest ached. “Just fine,” he reiterated with a small smile.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked as she zipped up her sweatshirt.

“Quite ready,” he said and followed her from the room.

They took the rear access stairs to the parking lot and were quickly on the road. “I’ll have to stop for gas,” he said looking at the gauge.

“That’s good, we can get some snacks while we’re there.”

When they parked under the canopy of gas pump number seven, Bane handed Elka a fifty-dollar bill for the gas and snacks. “Do I need to be concerned about you going in there alone?”

“No,” she said without a quaver in her voice. “I’ll be back as quick as I can, would you like anything in particular.”

“Yes,” he said and put the pump into the trunk until the fuel started flowing. “Nothing from in there, but I’ll tell you when we’re back on the road.”

“Well that’s mysterious,” she said and slammed the heavy passenger door. Bane watched her go and pulled the ring from his pocket and let it settle in his palm. He had had it professionally cleaned and appraised decades ago and the value was obscene then, he could only imagine how much money was sitting in the center of his palm now.

Elka returned promptly with a bag filled with soda and bottled water, she had grabbed a variety of shelf stable snacks and whatever fresh fruit she could find.

She put the receipt and change in the console and cracked open one of the sodas.

“Got everything you need?”

“I think so,” she said and fastened her seat belt as he pulled onto a side road that eventually merged onto the interstate.

Bane’s heart gave itself freely to her while Esau and his band of murderous thugs headed in the opposite direction, Bane couldn’t keep from staring at the smooth skin on the top of her unburned hand as she gripped the plastic bottle. He kept glancing over to catch a glimpse of the line of her neck, the curve of her earlobe and the small valley created in her collar bones.

“What’s up?” she asked as she caught him staring at her lips, his eyes memorizing the shape of mouth.

He cleared his throat, the barest of fluster at being caught staring. “I have something that I would like to give you.”

“What’s that?” she said intrigued at his tone and near nervousness. He remained silent until he could exit the fast-moving multi-lane roadway and pull off onto a shady side-road and put the truck in park.

Elka watched him shift on the seat and reach into his pants pocket, he paused before he spoke. “Don’t feel you have to say anything, we’ll be driving for a while, so you’ll have some time to think.”

Elka held her breath as he dug deeper in his pocket and dropped the ornate ring into her hand.

“I’ve been carrying this with me for more than two decades,” he said as her eyes widened at the heavy ring fashioned originally for the empress of a long-forgotten civilization.

Elka stared down in unashamed awe at the antique ring that gleamed dully even without bright light.

“This is quite a ring, it’s too much though,” she said entranced by the sharp lines of the brilliant diamonds and rubies nestled in its platinum bed.

“This ring used to belong to a powerful, beautiful ruler, it needs to be worn again by one of beauty and grace,” Bane whispered as he slipped the ring onto her left finger.

Elka swallowed hard as she stared down at her ring finger which had been naked for only a couple of days. It now wore a ring that belonged to a once powerful empress who had been cut down in war and nearly forgotten by history.

“It’s too much,” she repeatedly lamely and proceeded to tug it free from her finger. Bane dropped his hands over hers, stopping her movement. “Please don’t take it off, it’s finally found its home.”

Elka kept her eyes firmly focused on the hollow at the base of his throat. He placed the fingertips of one hand under her chin and lifted her gaze to meet his.

“This ring has been with me all over the globe, from an island in the Indian Ocean to the top of Machu Pichu. But this is its true home,” he whispered as he grasped her left hand and lifted it towards his mouth. He took two large gulps of medicated air and pulled his mask free so he could place a soft kiss on the ring, his lips touching the soft warm skin around the ring.

“What happens now?” she whispered, the cool ring pressing against her heated skin.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he chuckled and gently kissed her forehead. Bane returned her serious, searching expression and revised his original answer. “I want you by my side willingly, return my affection, be at my side.”

Elka nodded, “can we talk more about what we both want and expect?”

“Yes, we can talk right now,” he said as he engaged the ignition a single click in order to run the engine and adjusted the vents. He pressed his face to his mask and inhaled deeply to hold off any encroaching discomfort as she spoke on a breathless rush. “I don’t want you to hurt me, put me through deprivation or degradation, forget that I’m a person.”

Before Bane could interject, Elka quickly added. “And I want toiletries and personal care products, be able to bathe daily.”

Bane smirked, “anything else?”

Elka felt her breathing increase under his direct stare. “I don’t want to end up broken and discarded in a ditch.”

Any sarcasm Bane thought immediately fell away as he closed the small distance between them on the bench seat and swept her up in his strong embrace.

“Don’t allow those kinds of thoughts to enter your beautiful brain, don’t allow yourself to think that my touch holds future pain,” he murmured and ran his fingertips through her tangled hair. “I want your heart, your love,” he whispered as he traced his fingertip along the shape of her lips.

“What else do you want?” she whispered as he lowered his lips to hover over hers. “I want you always by my side,” he muttered and brushed his lips quickly against hers. “I’ll do anything for you if you give me your heart, life and body,” he growled and aggressively pressed his lips to her, Elka moaned as he jabbed his tongue against hers before he groaned and slid back abruptly to behind the steering wheel.

“Are you okay?” she gasped and smoothed her clothing back into place.

Bane shook his head, almost embarrassed he muttered. “I really want to fuck you on that seat, but I’ll never be able to marry you legally or share a life with you as long as your husband is alive, or you’re married.”

“I’m not exactly sure what you’re saying,” she stammered and sat up straighter.

“Your marriage needs to end, you no longer can be listed as abducted, Calvin would need to agree to the divorce and calling off law enforcement or he will have to die, and you become a widow.”

Elka sniffed hard and blinked, she couldn’t move any further on the seat. “I assume you have an idea to share.”

Bane’s shoulders tension and rigidity eased out of his limbs, “you can call Calvin, say you’re fine, you want a divorce and fresh start, nothing more. He would also need to tell law enforcement that you’re fine, you escaped from your abductor and want to start your life over somewhere else.”

“So, I ran away from Calvin and right into you,” she stated.

Bane slid closer and recaptured her bejeweled left hand, “no,” he said shaking his head adding as he squeezed her hand urgently. “I saved you from the good justice.”

“You saved me,” Elka whispered as she brought her face close to meet his, the tips of their noses touched. “You swear to keep me safe?”

“Yes,” he growled into her mouth as their lips met.

“I’ll call Calvin when we get settled at our next stop.”

Bane nodded; he stifled a moan at the ache in his cock. Elka watched his obvious discomfort as he settled behind the wheel and adjusted his pants.

“We don’t have to leave this very minute, we still have ….time.”

Bane smiled at her, lust pushing to the surface of his emotions. “We should probably get going, then you can get to calling Calvin.”

Bane reached for the keys to turn over the engine and was surprised when Elka’s unbandaged hand grabbed the keyring and clutched it tightly in her palm. “’What are you…?” Bane started to say until Elka partially struggled out of her drawstring pants, lace panties and slid closer on the seat to him. “Help me unzip your pants,” she said in a raggedly demanding whisper as she crawled onto his lap and fumbled with the stainless-steel zipper pull of his slacks.

Bane nodded mutely and freed his aching cock and felt the smooth palm of her hand slide and close around his hard length. They both moaned as she raised up and settled her tight, wet femininity around his rigidity

“Please hold onto me,” she breathed as Bane lifted his hands to settle around the smooth skin of her waist and increased the pressure each time she thrust down on his enthusiastic stiffness.

Elka rocked her hips as he sheathed her wet intimacy and earned an involuntary gasp from him. “This might not last much longer,” he muttered with an embarrassed chuckle and squeezed the flesh of her hips and thighs as he yanked her body down roughly to meet him. The sexual wet sound of their bodies touching, and their increased breathing were the only sounds in the vehicle.

Bane felt his pleasure turn into a tight coil, “say you’re all mine,” he demanded as he crushed her body tight. “Tell you me you are only mine,” he groaned as he filled her as much as he could, he shuddered as he felt her internally tighten around his engorged his length.

“I’m all yours,” Elka moaned as her body stretched to accommodate the length of time he pushed himself into her.

“All mine,” he said on a strangled whisper and lost control over his body as he let his orgasm crash over him.

Elka nodded, “yes,” she whispered and felt the warmth spread deep inside her from where he spilled his seed. He stayed sheathed inside her until his cock had grown completely flaccid and slid from her.

“Thank you,” Bane said after she had climbed off his lap and he helped her slip back into her clothes.

Elka gave him a curious nod as he assisted her slide her feet back into her shoes. “’I was thanking you for the one-sided pleasure, I will repay you later,” he added with a wink.

Elka ducked her head initially and fought a blush, “you’re welcome and thank you in advance for your repayment.”

Bane chuckled and stared at the time on the radio face. “It’ll be getting dark if we leave now and drive straight, you up for a while in the truck?”

Elka nodded as he adjusted the mirrors, “let me know when you need a break,” he murmured as stopped at the four-way intersection at the bottom of the deserted road.

Bane handed her the burner phone, “call Calvin and tell him you’re fine, you want a divorce.”

The tension and rigidity eased out of his limbs as she immediately began tapping out Calvin’s number.

Elka’s hand shook as she cradled the phone in the crook of her arm and dialed with her good hand. Her thighs shook she felt lingering jolts of pleasure from her intimate center.

She blew out a sharp breath as the phone rang twice before it was answered.

Elka felt her breath catch at the sound of her husband’s voice. “Justice Green.”

“Hello Cal,” Elka said cautiously.

She only heard Calvin’s breathing for a few beats and just when she was going to say his name again, he spoke.

“Elka where are you? Are you okay? I thought you were fucking dead. What happened? Wh…?”

Elka cut off his litany of questions, “Cal I’m okay, I hitchhiked out of town for a while after those guys from the bank left me in a ditch. I discovered I need a break; I’m not holding on to things well right now and I’d rather get ahead of the storm. I’m sorry for the abruptness of everything and making people worry.”

“Elka are you on something? Are you intoxicated? Do you know how many people are looking for you?”

“No, Cal, I’m not on drugs. I just needed some time to think and realize that I want a divorce, we shouldn’t be together anymore.”

Calvin scoffed, “Elka please, tell me where you are, I’ll send a car and call Dr. Kirk, he’ll have something to help you relax.”

Elka interrupted him, “shut up Calvin, I don’t love you and you don’t love me. Give me access to my money, you can have everything else. Call the police and say you were just embarrassed about a divorce with your politics and campaign run.”

Calvin was seething and silent as Elka continued. “Write me a check Calvin and then you can fill the house with your courthouse whores.”

“Cal?”

“Fine Elka, whatever you want, I’ll get some money together for you and get a hold of the investigating detective, call me in a couple days.”

“Thank you, Cal,” Elka said and was ready to end the call when Cal started stammering.

“El, El wait, are you still there?”

“Yes Cal, I’m here.”

“You’re right El, we probably shouldn’t have been together, and I know you never loved me, but you’re a beautiful and lucky prize for whomever you share yourself with.”

Elka’s expression softened, “thanks Cal, I’ll call you in a few days,” she said and ended the call.

She spoke without looking over at him, “I think I’ll call my boss next.”

“Do you and your manager have a good rapport?”

Elka shrugged, “for the most part, I did get invited to her exclusive Christmas party,” she added with a giggle.

Bane open his mouth to speak and then stopped.

“What is it?”

He cleared his throat, “have you two ever discussed female problems, depression…”

Elka cut him off, “oh should I tell her I’m sad and have cramps?” she scoffed.

“No,” he said with measured patience. “I merely thought you could ask for some time off, a leave of absence. Assure her that you didn’t disclose any financial information, if she is speaking to you directly, she could calm down the potential investigation that you leaked secure information.”

Elka nodded, considering his words, she wasn’t sure if Trisha would buy a need for a leave of absence, especially the job abandonment. “I’ll try,” Elka said and stared at the keypad. “But I need some water or something first.”

Bane handed her his half- empty bottle of water and she quickly guzzled a quarter of it before she dialed the Reserve’s main number, it rang twice before she reached the call desk. “Trisha Stevenson please,” Elka said to the nasally voiced woman, a few clicks later, Trisha’s phone rang.

“Stevenson.”

“Hi, uh, Trish, it’s Elka, Elka Green.”

“Elka!?! Holy shit, where are you, are you okay?” Trisha shrilled loudly.

“Trish I’m okay really, I kind of lost my mind for a minute. I’m divorcing Calvin. I’m sorry for the abruptness of everything and making people worry, I was hoping I could apply for a leave of absence.”

“Elka I’m so sorry too, your disappearance made some people suspicious, and being no one has heard from you…we need to get the chaos cleaned up, he said you were…” Trisha trailed off.

“What? I’m what?” Elka asked in a high voice.

“I’m sorry Elka, you were fired on the spot. Your last check, unused sick and vacation pay has already been mailed to your house.”

“Oh well, then I guess that’s that.”

“I’m sorry Elka, I really am, I swear I will give you a recommendation letter or verbal referral.”

“Thanks Trisha, it was nice working with you.”

“It was truly my pleasure, good luck.”

The call ended, and Elka set the flimsy phone aside. “Well there’s no job, so nothing to worry about there.”

“Are you okay?” Bane asked in a gentle tone and rested his large hand on top of her thigh.

Elka shook her head and nodded. “I’m not sure yet,” she said honestly.

“That’s understandable,” he said and added. “Anyone you think you should call? Someone close?”

Elka thought about that, there were co-workers but no genuine friends. She shook her head and gave a sad laugh, “there’s no one I’m real close to. If I’ve been fired since the start and no one has heard from me, assumptions and rumors have already prevailed, and I’ll just muck it up and get upset with what I’ll probably hear.”

Bane watched her press the button to scan radio stations until a classic rock station filled the truck. “This is best, a clean break, no loose ends that I can think of. You’ll need to make some calls too,” she added.

Bane nodded and glanced at the dashboard clock, “I’ll call them in a few hours, the sun will up there then.”

“Do you have a lot of people to call?”

Bane regarded her for a moment, “just a few. I need to secure us new identifications, credit cards and other important individual documents. A different vehicle also.”

As Bane merged onto the fast-moving interstate, Elka adjusted volume of the ultimate classic rock song and settled back against the seat. He glanced over at her and smiled to see her lip-syncing the lyrics.

As they proceeded north in comfortable silence, hours in the wrong direction, Esau and four of the other mercenaries continued to track the phone Bane had tucked into the big rig. The dangerous men were fully armed and one of the Russian men pressed the accelerator to the floor and urged the vehicle to move faster. Esau kept his phone close; he had posted a reward for information on Bane and his monetary whore on the dark channels of the web. There were now a lot more eyes that could potentially spot Bane and Elka.

As the fearsome men continued in the wrong direction, at the penthouse, Justice Calvin Green stared at his phone. “Should I be worried or just call the detective and say all is well?” He was conflicted and found himself leaning to cutting Elka a check and going their own ways, it would be so easy to call the accountant and move funds around.

Calvin set down his phone and nearly filled a high-ball glass with an extra-dry martini, he was generous with his olives and settled back on the designer sofa.

As he tried to decide what to do next and steadily drained his glass, Bane turned the heater on the lowest setting and glanced over at her as she stared out the window.

“Do you need it warmer?” he asked as his fingertips hovered over the matte black plastic knob.

Elka turned towards him and gave him a gentle smile, “this is fine.”

“Feel free to nap, we’ll be on the road for a while.”

“I’m okay for now, where are we headed next?”

Elka opened a fresh bottle of water as Bane told her about the sleepy town that was their destination.

“There’s not much to do there but it’s quiet and isolated.”

As the miles passed under the heavy tires, Esau and his dangerous companions all gave guttural shouts of homicidal anticipation when the flashing beacon of Bane’s cell phone came to a standstill on the screen of the square tracker. Esau glanced at the odometer; they were less than one hundred miles from the now stationary red dot that was supposed to represent Bane and his financial whore.

#Batman #Bruce Wayne #Bane #Bane x OC #barsad #talia al ghul #Miranda Tate #grey consent #Selina Kyle #The Dark Knight Rises #violence #murder #assault #language #fanfiction

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