#just me being morose today. sorry dash

[kickingitwithkirk]

Greetings From Austin: Part II

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Alpha!Jared Padalecki x Omega!OFC

Summary: Jensen and Jared are at odds over a monumental decision that changes their lives in a way they couldn’t have envisioned.  

Word Count: 3985

Warnings: a/b/o, bisexuality, angst, cursing, self doubt, depression/anxiety, married life/disagreements, medical stuff, sexual dysfunction, infertility, surrogacy

*Jensen acting out of character

*additional warnings to be added in future parts.

A/N: series Inspired by this art.

A/N II: For this part I did some research & delved into a bit of reproductive/genetic testing-please don’t dink me on details, I altered it a bit to fit A/B/O verse.

A/N III:  There is no intentional hate or malevolence intended towards any of the Ackles or Padalecki families. This is a purely fictional piece containing real and created persons/names/events set in the fictional  A/B/O verse. Some dates/events altered to fit story.

Part I

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

*photos found online

One hour later

Jensen sets two sealed cups in the small niche shutting its door and grabs his jacket sliding it on, his inner Alpha purring with satisfaction watching his husband's fumbling fingers working at a button on his shirt, “Need any help babe?”

Jared’s all dilated pupils and glowing cheeks above his thick beard, “I’m good, I'll be out in a few.” Jensen leans in for one more soft, lingering kiss before leaving. Locking the door behind him Jared leans against it, closing his eyes, savoring the last vestiges of his oxytocin high.

He can’t stop recalling that mischievous glint in those luminous green eyes as Jensen slowly licked his plush lips before diving in to kiss him stupid, his long, sinful tongue doing things that’s probably illegal in twenty states, hands with ooh, so thick, talented fingers capable all sorts of magical things.

Shaking himself out of the memory he crossed over to the sink and caught his debauched reflection in the mirror. Shit, he can’t out looking like this.

Turning on the tap cups his hand to catch some of the running water splashing his face to cool off when his phone starts vibrating in his back pocket. Drying his hands and face he pulls it out checking the text. Glancing up he runs a hand over his thick beard, smoothing it down before leaving the room.

Completely preoccupied typing a reply he rounds the corner heading for the doctor's office slamming into a woman knocking her off her feet, the contents of the bag she’s carrying scatter loudly across the floor.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!”

From her seated position she looks up...and up, his long, long legs clad in low riding jeans barely held up by a loosely buckled leather belt, his shirts rucked-up, a bit of his treasure trail and toned abs flanked by the sharp V of his hip peeking out.

“FuckI’mfuckingsorryFuckdidn’tfuckingsee....”

Jared, embarrassed, keeps apologizing, laced with fuck every other word, squats down gathering scattered items, dropping them back into the bag continuously babbling until she bursts out laughing. “And here I be thinking I said fuck to much,” a subtle lilt in her voice making it sound like she’s saying fook instead.

They move around each other picking up the last of her stuff. Jared reaches for a scarf when the central air catches a few loose strands of her hair, lightly dancing them across his cheek.

He inhales sharply as her piquant scent travels through his system eliciting a rumbling purr deep in his chest, “Fuck..” She breathes out gazing directly into his kaleidoscope eyes, watching mesmerized as they bleed into red with arousal as her eyes flash gold in response.

“I..I..fuck..I’ve gotta go!” She sputters, scrambling to her feet, grabs the bag hurrying away, leaving him holding the scarf.

Lifting the forgotten fabric to his face Jared deeply inhaled her scent, reaching down presses against his cock chubbing up the second time that day. He morosely stares in the direction she fled in once more, a low whine of loss escapes before he tucks the scarf into his back pocket and resumes heading towards the doctor’s office.

Dr. Rodgers, standing just inside in a doorway observing unnoticed, makes a mental note.

***

Jensen watches amused as Jared sits down with a slight wince, a not unpleasant reminder of their recent interlude, teases, “Did I make that much of a mess out of you Jay?”

Jared shrugs with a nonchalant “eh.” Jensen lowers his chin leaning close growling his displeasure at the flippant response, Jared internally shivers knowing he’s gonna pay for it when they get home, much to his delight.

Jensen abruptly stops growling, “You stink like Omega!”

Dr. Rodgers comes in carrying a binder saving Jared from responding, “We’ll get your test results in about two weeks unless we see something that needs further investigation.” He sets down the binder in front of them, opening it to the first page revealing a dossier and picture.

“Now, the next bit is selecting an egg donor. I’m sure you're wondering how we select the donors. I rely on a protein compatibility test, similar to the markers blood test used when matching Alphas and Omegas, narrowing down prospective candidates.

All of our donors are Betas and Omegas. Several of the Betas are willing to be the surrogate too. If you choose to go with an Omega donor we will have the extra step of selecting a Beta surrogate but that’s something to discuss later if needed.

We also take into account your personal preferences when it comes to physical traits, personality, etc. I’ll introduce you to the top three that are the best matches. If for some reason none of them work out, we’ll try the next most compatible candidates.”

Dr. Rodgers clicks his pen, “Let’s get started shall we.”

***

Flipping off the light switch Jensen walks out of the bath to find Jared already asleep. Crossing over to their bed he stopped at his side admiring him.

How had he gotten so lucky to have Jared as his? Over fifteen years since that life changing meeting he was more in love with his mate than ever, the ups and downs in their relationship that could have torn them apart made their marriage stronger.

Jensen took hold of the book Jared had been reading, gently pulling it out of his hand, slid in a bookmark and placed it on the nightstand turning off the lamp.

Easing into his side of the bed he leaned over pressing a soft kiss to Jared’s bare shoulder, who only wore bottoms since he always ran warm. Shifting, Jared buries his face into Jensen's neck, draping a long arm across his chest snuggling close, “Thank you.”

“For what babe?”

“Helping me today,” he could feel Jared’s breath warm against his skin, “I know you're against having more but please don’t decide not to, I want to have pups with you.”

Jensen mentality sighed, he’d be forty-three before they were born and didn’t want to be the old dad. Jared had argued that he'd never be, they knew lots of people were having their families later, look at Reedus, fifty when his daughter came and JDM, he was almost fifty-two when George was born.

“I’ll make you a deal, I’ll say yes if we find one donor we both agree on,” he felt Jared’s emotions shifting more positive, “but if you like one and me another, I’m not doing it.”

Jared pressed several soft kisses to the side of his neck, “Okay Jen,” he agrees, shifting to lay his head on his shoulder, “we’ll find the one, I can feel it.” he sleepily finishes.

Jensen rests his cheek against the top of Jared's head, not fallen asleep for ages. How was he going to handle Jared’s inevitable disappointment, knowing it will happen since they have always had vastly different tastes in females.

***

Five days later

7:00 A.M.

Jared was up to mile three of his daily workout on the treadmill in his office. He usually ran outside this early in the morning but a surprise thunderstorm altered his plans for the day when his phone rang. He dialed the machine down to walking speed to answer.

“Hello, Mr. Page, this is Sissy from Dr. Rodgers office, I’m sorry to be calling so early. He would like for you to come back in for a follow up about your semen testing.” Jared’s throat tightened, closing off his ability to respond.

He stepped off the machine and sat down on the large leather couch, “Sorry I..what time can I come in?”

“We have an opening at 8:45, will that work?”

“Yes ma’am, I can be there then.”

“Great, we’ll see you in a bit Mr. Page.”

Jared sat back not caring he was getting sweat all over the leather and started his breathing exercise to calm himself, telling his brain to knock it off, surely it wasn’t anything major with how calm Sissy was on the phone.

Ten minutes later he was still anxious but able to handle it. He glanced at his watch and knew he had to get his butt in gear to make the appointment.

Walking into the bedroom he found Jensen softly snoring so he moved as quietly as he could grabbing some clean clothes and headed for the shower. He left a note by the coffee pot saying he had an errand and be back ASAP.

He pulled into the clinics parking lot with five minutes to spare. Tucking his hair into his ever present beanie, Jared slipped on his mask and dashed through the downpour into the clinic.

After being temperature checked, Sissy walked him to the doctor's office. Knocking on the door she opened it and Jared saw the doctor on the phone gesturing for him to come in as he finished his call.

“Hello Mr. Page, thank you for coming in. I wanted to go over a discrepancy the lab found with your test, I'll try not to use too much doctor jargon.” He layed three pages on the table in front of him, a color printout of a sperm DNA strand broke down into segments and the others Jared recognized as chromosome mapping. “These are part of the Alphas sperm DNA sequencing. Normally, this one has a wide band in this segment,” he pointed to a circled area on the right page demonstrating a normal sequence. “This is your sperm's DNA. What I wanted to show you is a variant in the same section,” he circled a column on the left page, “which contains a narrow band instead,” he highlighted one piece of the chain.

“What does it mean?” Jared asked nervously.

“I’m going to be honest with you, I don’t know, I’ve never encountered this variant before. I looked at your previous testing from 2016 and it was also present on that test, not sure why it was overlooked. I’ve consulted with a few colleagues of mine to get their take,” he paused resting his arms on the desk watching Jared’s expression, “Mr. Page, I didn’t ask you to come in to upset you, I prefer to keep my clients in the loop if anything unusual does present with their testing. It’s possibly something that's genetically unique to you and affects nothing. I’d like to run a Tunel test, it’s a sperm chromatin structure analysis, it’ll give us more information to work with.”

Jared fidgeted, desperately wanting to chew on his fingers, “Umm…okay.”

“Good, it's not invasive at all, we just need some more sperm.” Dr. Rodgers says.

~~~

Jensen was stumbling around the kitchen working on his first cup of coffee when Jared walked in carrying a box from his favorite bakery.

“Those aren’t what I think they are?” Jensen asks as Jared sits the box down on the counter. He opens the lid inhaling the scent of decadent cinnamon roll goodness before pulling out one and taking a huge bite moaning pornographically, “Babe, whatever I did to warrant these remind me to do it again,” he says with his mouthful.

Jared chuckles as his mate continues making obscene noises before bending down taken a bit from the other side earning warning snarl.

“You are so not a morning person.” Jared chided sliding the box over to retrieve his own taking it setting down at the island bar pulling a chunk off.

“You wanna share what’s rattling around in that big head of yours?” Jensen inquires. Jared chews slowly before answering. “I got a call from the clinic, something showed up in my test.”

Jensen snapped fully alert, his roll forgotten, and sat down next to him, “Jared, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Jared fiddled with his roll, pulling it apart, “No, not that I’m aware of but they found something off and don’t know what it is. Dr. Rodgers said it’s probably nothing but wanted to run another test to see if he can figure out what it is what if something is wrong and turns out I was the reason Genevieve couldn’t get pregnant I don’t know if I can handle it the possibility of not being able to have pups I’ve wanted them for so long I can’t imagine our lives...”

“Jared,” Jensen sharpness interrupts Jared’s incessant rambling, making him go quiet, “I know you want to go to the worst possible outcome but let’s wait till all the tests are back. If it’s something, we’ll deal, we always do.”

***

August 3rd

“Jen, move your ass, were gonna be late!” Jared bellows from downstairs.

“I’m coming...dammit!” Jensen cursed as he tripped over the boxes left sitting by the bottom step. “You need to get the rest of this shit out of the way, about killed myself again!”

“I’ll stay up tonight moving the rest of this fucking shit if you’ll get a fucking move on!”

The sniping at each other had gotten worse since the house renovations were barely completed before heading back to Vancouver.

Jensen moved his music studio into the newly created space in the basement from the former guest quarters, now relocated to the spacious pool house. The empty upstairs rooms were converted into the eventual nursery/kids rooms with a Jack and Jill bathroom between them.

“You better start watching your goddamn language cause the last thing we need is for our kids to have a trash mouth like…don’t roll your eyes at me!” Jared threw his arms up in disgust before storming out to the garage getting in Jensen’s truck. They drove to the clinic in silence.

They were flying out tomorrow to quarantine for two weeks before resuming shooting on the eighteenth. Then the clinic called their tests were back and Jared didn’t want to wait till they got back for the results.

After their temperature check they were immediately escorted to the doctor’s office finding him already there. “Mr. Bonham, Mr. Page, pleasure to see you, please have a seat.” They sit next to each other not touching. “Is there something wrong gentleman?”

“Why do you ask?” Jensen barks, “Fuck man, don’t be rude!” Jared bit back earning a glare that makes most sane people back away from Jensen.

“Gentleman, no need to fight. It may surprise you but I actually see a lot of hostility between my clients. I’m sure the added stress of the quarantine while trying to start a family is putting your Alpha instincts more on edge, is it not?”

Jensen sighed, “I’m sorry sir, I was raised better.”

Jared gave an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry too sir, and you're right.”

“I’ve been doing this for a long time and understand the situation from your side, my wife and I had trouble conceiving. We ended up having two sets of twins within three years, now that’s stress.”

Jensen blinked, “And I thought mine were a handful.”

Dr. Rodgers laughed, “They are a blessing but honestly, it’s an absolute madhouse at times. So, let’s get back to you two. Mr. Bonham, everything looks good, you are in the top percentile when it comes to mobility and live sperm count for your age group. One of the advantages of being an Alpha, unlike us poor Betas who’s diminish with age.”

“Mr. Page, I also have your results and the Tunel tests which turned out to be something.. unique.”

Jared eyes widened as he paled, his breath hitching, feeling his stomachs spastic tightening making him about vomit. He knew it, he knew something was going to go wrong, his brain didn’t lie to him this time.

Jensen was out of his chair and utilizing his Alpha strength turned Jared’s towards him before kneeling between his legs reaching up to firmly grip the sides of his head forcing him to focus on him opens up his side of their bond he’d shut the other day when they were arguing to gauge how bad this one was.

“Hey Hey, concentrate on me, I need you to breathe with me,” he held Jared’s gaze for several minutes as their breathing cinqued up, feeling him relaxing.

“There you go big guy. It wasn’t that bad, focus on your breathing okay.” Jared nodded embarrassed as Dr. Rodgers sat a bottle of water in front of him, “Do you need me to get you anything else?”

“No, he’s fine, thank you,” Jensen answers, getting up retaking his chair as Jared took a long drink from the bottle, “he’s usually more aware of these attacks but since the damn lock-downs.” Jensen shook his head in disgust, “We're heading back to Vancouver tomorrow to finish our sh..job before his new one starts late October. I guess it’s really hitting us both that it's finally ending.”

“Mr. Ackles, you can say show,” Jared and Jensen stare at him in surprise, “my daughters are fans, I know more about the Winchester brothers than a man my age should.” Dr. Rodgers ruminates, “Mr. Page, are you ready for me to continue?” Jared nodded as Jensen wrapped both of his hands around his free one.

“After I received the results I spoke with a specialist in Alpha genetics. They looked at all your tests and came back with a conclusion I’ve never heard of before.” The doctor laid a printout on the desk, “This is a visual aid to help me in explaining.”

“Chemoattactants are what a female's egg releases to attract the sperm to it. You know how it works from there; sperm meets egg, sperm penetrates egg and viola, fertilization. Alphas sperm has evolved allowing them to inseminate all three sub-genders, whereas male Omegas sperm is sterile since they possess both sets of reproductive organs but only need to utilize one.”

The doctor sets all three of Jared’s tests and the normal example on his desk for them to see, “This chromatin structure you carry Mr. Page,” he points to the highlighted section, “has altered so that the eggs of Alphas and Betas are chemorepellent to your sperm, rejecting fertilization.”

Jared sat still-shocked, blankly staring at the results lying before him, vaguely feeling Jensen reaching across their bond again. “Does this mean he’s...infertile?” He can hear Jensen hesitant inquiry, like he's standing across a vast chasm.

“In conventional terms, yes. This is the reason you were unable to conceive with your previous spouse, being a Beta, and there is still no medical intervention available that would have helped. What’s unique is his sp...”

Jared was numb. His dreams of a little Padackles tearing around their home had literally been salt and burned before his eyes with those test results.

In the recesses of his attention he’s aware of the continuing conversation around him, the longer it goes on, the more his brain is tuning out.

~~~

The first thing he becomes aware of are fingertips caressing his face, softly wiping away wetness damping his cheeks. Slowly blinking the blurry shape in front of him comes into focus.

Jensen is sitting in front of him. More accurately, he’s sitting cross legged in between his own splayed legs on the floor. Jared frowns as his senses are coming back online.

He was sitting on the chair that’s now off to his right so how did he end up with his back against the desk?

“You passed out,” Jensen answers his unspoken question, “and scared the ever-living shit out of me! I thought you were having an aneurysm the way your eyes rolled back into your big head!”

“I..I..don’t know what happened, I was looking at the results, you were asking questions..then nothing.”

“Stress Jared, you are completely stressed out and it's fucking with your illness!” He opens his mouth, “No, I’m not done so be quiet.” Jensen’s voice dropped with his Alpha tone overlaying it,

“Between that final script having you nuts all year, this quarantine fucking up your meds, dealing with your businesses shutdowns, getting Walker started, you had to add pushing for pups, it’s no wonder you couldn’t handle the doctor explanation of...”

“Explanation of what?” Jared lashes back in own Alpha voice, leaning forward into Jensen’s space, his eyes flashing red, “That I’m infertile, sterile, shooting blanks..”

“Shut that fucking mouth for two minutes or I swear I’ll deck you.” Jensen’s normally warm green eyes bleed into a fierce red, becoming hard.

Jared’s mouth snapped shut in surprise. They had gotten into plenty of arguments over the years, gotten in each other’s faces a few times but this was a first. Jensen had never, ever threatened physical harm.

Well, somewhat that time Misha set him off during a panel and he went for him afterwards. Misha stupidly goaded him again before Jensen gave him a shove, ordering him to cool off before he had to do something.

Jensen’s jaw ticked as he mentally counted to ten, “Dr. Rodgers said that you couldn’t impregnate another Alpha or Beta right?”

“Right.”

“The part you zoned out is that your sperm wants to only fertilize an Omega’s eggs.”

Sighing heavily, Jensen crawls over a leg to sit against the desk next to him. Jared pulls his legs up and wraps his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees processing this information as Jensen reaches over and gently rubs his hand in random patterns over his back.

They had mutually agreed on a Beta donor. Now this threw a wrench in the plans.

“Maybe this is a sign we’re rushing into this again. Let’s take a step back and consider all our options.” Jared’s muscles stiffened under his hand.

“I’m not considering anything else and I’m not stopping.”

“Wait...what?”

Jared lifted his head, “I’m not considering anything else and I’m not stopping. I realize this isn’t what you want so don’t worry, I’m not gonna hold you to our agreement.”

Jensen exhaled sharply knowing when Jared spoke in that tone, that was it, end of discussion, mind made up.

Jared gets up, “I’m going to find Dr. Rodgers and see if he's still willing to help me. If you want to leave, go. I’ll get an Uber when I’m done.” He walks out quietly shutting the door behind him.

“Fuck!” Jensen closed his eyes thumping his head back against the desk. He knew he had screwed up and there was only one way to make it right.

***

Jensen asked Jared to let him stay, he was wrong for saying that and he'd be open to one of the Omegas as a possible donor too. Jared wasn’t completely appeased but he was happy Jensen didn’t take the out given him.

The three candidates were smart, attractive, lovely scented Omegas in their twenties that any Alpha looking for a prospective mate would seriously consider, leaving Jensen wanting something else.

“I like aspects of all three Jay, but honestly, I'm not feeling it with any of them.”

“Maybe you’ve reached the stage you’re looking for more substance, less aesthetic.”

“Did you just call me old?” Jensen gaped at his husband.

Before Jared responds, Dr. Rodgers enters, “I see from your expression Mr. Bonham that you haven’t decided on a candidate.”

“It’s not that I didn’t like any of them, there isn’t a..”

“Connection. It’s normal, just because your Alpha doesn’t mean you..desire every Omega you cross paths with. With some it takes time to find the right one.” He looks at his watch.

“We’re at the end of our appointment but I have one more donor I’d like you to meet today. She’s doesn’t exactly fit your personal physical preferences but this omega is...special..and she’s willing to be the surrogate too.”

The doctor opens the door gestures to someone. They stand up to greet her and as she enters they are enveloped by her piquant scent.

“Mr. Page and Mr. Bonham, this is Quinn.”

***

tbc

Part III

GFA: @babypink224221 @waywardjoy @let-me-luve-you @all-4-wincest

SPN: @donnatix @lyarr24

Sam/Jared @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @flamencodiva

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Summary:

What if Juno didn't have time to heal properly from the soul incident before he and Ransom went on their first mission in the Aurinko crime family?

__________________

“I recommend we turn our walk into a run.” Nureyev said, not daring to look at the scene Miss Nova Zolotova was making.  “A very fast run, Go!”  and gave a gentle shove to the small of Juno’s back as they broke into a sprint, Juno hitching up the golden skirt as they fled.  His footsteps fell farther and farther behind, glancing back Nureyev saw his face twisted into a grimace “Quickly now Detective!” he called.

“I’d like to see you run in 6 inch heal-ahh!” he stumbled and Nureyev grasped his elbow to keep him upright at the very least.  He’d have to have a chat with Buddy about practical footwear later.  Hopefully. 

The security was closing in fast, one of them even throwing a flashy prop blaster at their retreating backs; the shot went wide.  It was no matter.  There was their ride up ahead, hovering just over the precipice of the floating mansion.  He’d rarely been so glad to see a car.

“When I say jump-”

“What are you crazy?! I’m not gonna-”

“Jump!” 

The pair dove into the transport’s open door, Nureyev never loosening his hold on a screaming Juno’s arm as they fell into a heap in the back seat.  

“Hello.” said Jet “please fasten your seatbelts.”

“A little busy- at the moment.” Nureyev disentangled an arm to pull the door shut.  “For now, might I suggest we make our getaway.”  Several drones shot out of crevices.  While the security inside had to meet aesthetic requirements, there were no such restrictions on the outer team.

“I’m merely pointing out that our escape may be bumpy.” said Jet, nonetheless plugging their route on the controls. Doing a complicated maneuver to avoid a hasty trap.  Juno hissed as the pair were jostled about, clinging to Nureyev in a peculiar fashion “The security is different from the schematics Buddy provided.” Jet grunted, pulling hard on the steering console.  

“They updated the security system at 2 a.m.” Nureyev supplied, throwing out a hand to brace against the car’s side.  

“2 a.m.?  A last minute security switch then.”

“Quite, not the most organized affair, but a switch nonetheless.” It was Juno that found that out, Juno that had saved his overly cocky self from being caught by the cameras.  He was still rattled from the whole affair.  

The lady in question was unusually quiet, the quietest he’d been all evening.  Huddling into Nureyev’s side where he’d landed; a hand wrapped around his middle, breath coming in fast and shallow.  Nureyev was reminded of Juno's less than favorable reaction to their joy ride in the Ruby 7.  Was this his motion sickness?  or- something else- concern welled up in his chest.

“Juno?” he asked softly, struggling into an upright position moving the other with him “You didn’t get hurt, did you?” 

“Wha?  No- it’s juss-'' he pushed away and leaned over “hard for a lady to catch his breath in a get up like this.  Besides'' he winced, reaching into the folds of the skirt “landed on something kind of hard.” and produced the Gilded Globe of Reaches Far with a weak smile, that made Nureyev’s nerves flutter.  The golden circuitry and intricately carved gems glinting in the faint light of the floating mansion.  Nearly losing it after a sharp maneuver from Jet.

“Might I suggest you put that away until we are back in the carte blanche?”  

Once back, they were informed to make a showing for the family meeting to debrief the others on the mission.  Juno disappeared to change, hobbling into the meeting room a half hour later looking morose. 

“So kind of you to make it darling. I was just about to send Jet after you.” Buddy greeted.  

“That dress is a nightmare to get out of.” he shot back.  

“Yes, well, if you need help, all you have to do is ask.  Ransom,” Juno made a funny sort of cough “has just been telling us the details.  It worked for the best this time, but for future reference, when you have an account filled with fake credits, best not draw too much attention to it.”

Juno sighed, collapsing into a seat.  Something seemed to be weighing on the detective, something other than the disaster of a mission the pair had endured.  Nureyev kept glancing over, noting the way Juno sat hunched over on himself, the tired way he recanted the mission, the way he tore their performance to shreds.  They had finally started to work as a team near the end, but before then- well, they both had a lot to say about the faults in their plans.  The only thing Buddy scolded them for was failing to keep her in the loop, and chastising Nureyev for not relying more on Juno.  

They had successfully retrieved the globe but it did not feel like a victory.  

Later, after the debriefing and a private word with Buddy, Juno came to his room to talk.  Well, Juno talked, a long winded apology Nureyev barely managed to listen to as his mind whirred with the information Buddy left him.

“Point is I’m jus- sorry.”  he stopped, eye over bright and wide in anticipation.  

Nureyev couldn’t think of what to say, it was clearly his turn, as it were, clearly the time to speak, but….

“Juno-” his voice came out soft and strained.  

The other man stood unsteadily “I-I’m too late aren't I, damn it, I- I should leave-” 

Nureyev swallowed, catching Juno’s hand in his “Not too late, Juno, not too late at all.” he gave a short humorless laugh “In fact, I can’t think of anyone I would want to stay with more than you.”  

Relief washed over Juno’s face as he pulled away.  “Hell, don’ tell me that’s it!”  He started to laugh, there was something off about it though, “You know how s-scared I was of-of this?  Of us?  Of- ahhh-'' he doubled over clutching his stomach for the second time that day.  

Nureyev dashed to his side “Juno?  Juno what’s wrong?” He grasped his shoulders trying to get him to look him in the eye.  They sank to the floor, Nureyev pulling him close like he had done in Miasma’s compound.  

That’s when he realized what was so off putting about the situation, Juno was in pain, serious pain and had been for quite some time.  Only he’d been too caught up in his own stupid thoughts to notice it before.  Just like the mission.  

The last instance he saw Juno this bad off was during Miasma's experiments in an old Martian Tomb.  

“Juno!”

“N-Nothin- jus feelin a bit woozy-”

“Woozy?” Nureyev pulled him closer, ghosting a hand down his side and- there was something damp there, sticky even.  

“Yeah, being swept off your feet has that effect on a la-ahh!” he curled tighter into his chest, like he did in the car, breathing far too hard.  “Don’ touch.”  Nureyev wasn’t paying attention now, thoroughly distracted by the russet smear cross his fingers.

“Juno you’re bleeding.”  His mind reeled.  Juno had been hurt, but when- how?  Why hadn’t he said anything.  

“Oh yeah, what do you know?  Thanks for the update.”

“Let me have a look.”

“N-no, it’s fine.”  He struggled to push himself upright, “shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh don’t be such a baby.” he pushed Juno back gently so he was resting against the dresser.  Juno let him, leaning his head back and closing his eye in exhaustion.  Lifting his shirt elicited a soft “ohhh-” from the thief.  

He was covered in injuries that couldn’t be more than a few weeks old, judging by the angry red and pink of the lacerations.  The corset couldn’t have been doing his healing process any favors.  Some of the wounds had opened, and Juno had placed large Band-Aids over the top.  Those would need tending to, but the one that was most concerning was one where a bandage was wrapped around his lower ribcage, blood dying the once pristine fabric a deep red.  

“May of had a lil’ more f-fun than anticipated today-”  

“Juno, what happened?” Nureyev cupped his face, gently stroking a thumb over Juno’s cheek bone.  He felt hot to the touch.  It only added to the concern.  

“Stupid really- I hit some space junk- and-” he paused, pulling in air “it hit back.” 

“Space junk-? Never mind that, why didn’t you tell us?”

“I did-”

“What? When?”

“At the meeting family thing.  Wasn’t- feelin my best-”

Nureyev thought back to the family meeting hours ago, he hadn’t been paying attention.  He remembered Juno supporting his resume and spilling his coffee moments after a defiant declaration to Buddy he could drink it.  The situation had been comical at the time, but he remembered how his hands had shook-  Same when he tripped on the carpet to the galla.  

Juno was many things, but he wasn’t a novice to heals or an elegant gown, his performance on the dance floor spoke to his skill.  His impatience to end the auction, and the way he’d bulled him over when he tried taking the globe prematurely.  The way his face had twisted, and how tightly he squeezed Nureyev-  Was that what had done it?  Or was it when they escaped to the transport-   

The truth was, Nureyev hadn’t been paying attention.  He didn’t pay attention and Juno was hurting because of it.

“Wasn’t feeling your best?  Juno, these are serious injuries.”

“N-not anymore-” Juno sighed “And we needed- the map- the Cure Mother-” he drew in another ragged breath “It could do a lot of pe-eople a lot a good.” 

Fear coiled in Nureyev’s gut as he thought of the words Buddy had said to him mear hours before ‘We are not legends- legends are dead things-’

How many times had Juno almost become a legend himself?  How many times had he tried to sacrifice himself for the greater good? 

“I’m going to get Vespa.”

“N-no!” Juno gasped, grabbing hold of the other’s wrist “Nureyev, please- I- I don’t want her to see me- right now.  Don’t need it-”

“Detective, you need more than I can give you.”

“It’ll stop- soon-” he was almost pleading “please, jus’ stay.” 

Nureyev looked at Juno Steel for a good long moment- he loved this man- it was a simple truth that he’d tried to run from- even going so far as to let him walk away on those soft feet in the dead of the night all that time ago-

He could live without Juno Steel- but it was getting harder and harder to understand why he’d wanted too.  

“Oh- have it your way Detective.  But you’re going to let me patch you up at the very least; I will not have you bleeding out on my watch.”

Juno gave an exhausted, wicked grin “Thanks Toots.” 

Nureyev relieved Juno of his soaked shirt and unwounded the bandage; careful as to not interfere with the clotting blood to reveal a truly evil wound.  A jagged V carved into the side of his ribcage, deviating into the vulnerable flesh of his stomach; half-healed bruises blotching his skin.  It wasn’t hard to believe Juno lost a fight with space junk.  The stitching had torn apart, none too neatly either.  

It wasn’t wise to stitch him up again, best let the doctor do the proper patching.  But, maybe, he could hold it off till morning.

He cleaned it best he could, Juno occasionally letting out little piteous sounds as he worked.  It was intimate, he could feel every stuttering breath under his long fingers, every twitch and tensed muscle.  He had him like this before, under more enjoyable circumstances, delighting in the honesty that played across his face-  But now- there were only gasps of pain and watery smiles.  Worry settled heavily in his chest, he’d just gotten him back, and now this-

Fresh gauze packed tight and back the bandage went.  Juno’s feverish head resting in the crock of Nureyev’s neck as he wound it tightly around.  He was given a fresh bed shirt, the largest one Nureyev had packed.  Juno was more muscular than he was, smaller in stature but broader of shoulder.  He was lucky to find anything to fit him at all.

“Okay, to bed love.” and pressed a kiss into his curls, marveling at how easy the term of endearment slipped from his lips.  “You’ve got a doctor’s appointment in the morning.” 

“I- don’ want too-” Juno whined, but placidly allowed Nureyev to maneuver him to the mattress.  He curled on his good side, laying his head in the hollow point of Nureyev’s arm.  

Nureyev found himself hoping that this time, he would stay.  

In the morning- he’d see Juno treated and that would be that.  He ran his fingers along his back in a soothing fashion and fell asleep to his lady’s gentle breath.  

 It was that same breath that woke Nureyev some odd hours later-

[fuckin-nancy]

Refiner’s Fire

rating: T words: 3,134 characters: Jacob Seed, Joseph Seed, John Seed additional tags: pre-cult, child abuse tw summary:

After being taken away from their abusive father, 15-year-old Jacob Seed held little hope that the lives of his brothers and himself would improve. His suspicions are confirmed when they are thrust into the care of the Isaacs, a couple who treat them little better than slaves. Jacob bides his time, until the night he can finally set his family free. 

[AO3]

Jacob watched fields and copses pass by with a sense of foreboding, tuning out the animated chatter of the social worker in the driver's seat. Jen, she insisted they call her. She seemed like a very nice person, but if the past few weeks had taught him anything, it was that he couldn't stand nice people, with their nosy concern and worthless platitudes.

She spoke cheerfully of the new life Jacob and his brothers were about to embark on. Occasionally she'd regard each of them in turn in the rearview mirror, her patronizing smile never wavering.

Neither of his brothers shared his feelings. Oh, Joseph was his usual reserved self, hardly saying two words together, but Jacob could tell by his rapt gaze and relaxed shoulders that he was content in his anticipation of what lay before them. John, on Joseph's other side, eagerly watched their passage along the highway and exclaimed at any grazing farm animals. As the youngest he was originally supposed to sit in the middle, but after begging his brothers to switch with him, Joseph had been all too happy to oblige his little brother.

"... Don't hesitate to call them Mom and Dad," Jen went on. Jacob gave a start, glancing at his brothers, but neither of their demeanours had changed.

He wanted to be cautious. He didn't want to get his hopes up, lest they be dashed yet again, and he especially didn't want that for John and Joseph. But it was getting harder to remain circumspect when this was the most carefree his little brothers had ever been.

"Looks like we're here," Jen said, as she turned into a long gravel driveway. In spite of himself, Jacob eyed the yard as interestedly as his brothers did. The house certainly didn’t look as nice as some they’d passed, but compared with the hellhole they’d grown up in, it was a palace. Chickens pecked at the ground inside their pen, and a few cows grazed in a nearby field. A sizable garden lay beside the house, and on its other side sat an old barn, its red paint all but chipped away.

Farm life could suit him very well, he thought.

When Jen smiled as his eyes met hers, he quickly turned away, suppressing a grimace. He had to keep his guard up.

John bounded ahead of them, down the overgrown path and up the creaking porch steps. Though it was late in the morning, curtains covered the windows, hiding the inside from view. Jacob gripped a garbage bag containing his and his brothers' clothes in his fist, careful not to let it drag on the ground.

 "Can I ring the doorbell?" John asked.

"Of course," Jen said, smiling.

John glanced back at them. At Jacob's nod, he turned, and gave the button a pronounced press.

After a full ten-second wait—Jacob counted—the door opened.

"Why, hello there." The woman looked middle-aged, with heavily greying hair pulled back into a bun, and a broad yet angular face. Her smile didn't meet her eyes. "Are these the three strong boys I've heard so much about?"

Jen laughed. "Yes, Mrs. Isaac, I've brought your three strong boys. Is Mr. Isaac around?"

"Yes, he's just inside. Come on in."

Two things immediately piqued Jacob's interest: the TV in the living room, showing a baseball game, and the sweet scent of fresh pastry, wafting from somewhere farther in. They'd never had a TV in their old house. Who he could only assume was Mr. Isaac sat in an old, stained armchair. He didn't stand to greet them; he only muted the TV and turned to stare at them. He did not smile.

Jen and Mrs. Isaac did most of the talking, but it wasn't long before Jen glanced at her watch and exclaimed at how late it was. "Sorry, but I gotta run. I'm sure you guys don't need my help settling in and getting to know each other, right?"

"We'll manage," Mrs. Isaac said, smiling. Mr. Isaac said nothing.

"Don't hesitate to call the agency if you have any questions. I'll visit in a few weeks to see how you're settling in. Well, bye then!"

The door shut behind her.

Without another word, Mrs. Isaac swiftly turned away, going into another room. Mr. Isaac had already turned back to the television, the volume of his baseball game back at full blast.

Jacob and his brothers stood awkwardly, bunched in the entrance. Doubt etched itself onto John's face, and Jacob silently fumed. If these people hurt his brothers ...

Mrs. Isaac returned with several pairs of boots in her arms. She dropped them at the boys' feet. "Try these on, see how they fit."

John and Joseph immediately did as they were told, Joseph helping John to find the smallest pair. Jacob waited, though.

Mrs. Isaac quickly took notice of his inaction. "Well, Jake? Get to it. We don't have all day."

"Don't call me Jake."

"Pardon?" She squinted at him.

"You heard me."

The sound of squeaking springs tore Jacob's attention away from her. Mr. Isaac stood facing them. There was nothing striking about his appearance—he wasn't particularly tall or short, thin or broad, pale or tan. He stared Jacob down, saying nothing.

Gritting his teeth, Jacob crouched and began searching for the pair that looked closest to his size. One day, he told himself. One day. 

Mr. Isaac returned to his seat as if nothing had happened.

The largest pair were a little tight, but they would have to do. John's were worse—they had to be at least three sizes too big.

Mrs. Isaac led them out into the yard. Not wanting to leave their belongings unattended, Jacob carried the garbage bag with him.

The midmorning sun warmed their backs, threatening an even hotter day to come. Mrs. Isaac entered the old barn, and the inside, though dark, was already as hot as a midsummer's afternoon. The faint stench of manure tickled Jacob's nose. John, always sensitive to such things, covered his nose and mouth with the top of his oversized T-shirt.

Mrs. Isaac seemed entirely unaffected by the smell. She gave the barn a quick look-over, then gestured to some shovels leaning against the wall. "You'd better get cleaning," she said. "This'll be your bedroom."

"Are you fucking serious?" Jacob blurted out.

"Watch your language," she said sharply. "I don't joke around, boy." She paused. "Well, what are you waiting for? We don't have all day—the chicken pen needs to be cleaned today yet, too, and dozens of other things need to be done besides." She left.

Joseph and John looked to Jacob, both stricken.

He wanted to rebel. He wanted to catch up to Mrs. Isaac and demand proper treatment. He wanted to take his little brothers and their garbage bag of clothes, hitchhike across the country, and fend for themselves until they found somewhere safe.

But the system wouldn't let them.

They couldn't run. They couldn't fight. So they'd have to bide their time, until ...

He sighed, taking a shovel. "We'll have to do what she says." For now, he silently added.

As the morning progressed, the barn only grew hotter. They found some old rugs, beat them to get most of the dust off, then lay them down as a sort of mattress. John cried, off and on, while Joseph remained silently morose. Jacob pummeled dust off the rugs with more force than was strictly necessary to vent his frustration. He hadn't known he still held on to a little bit of hope that the system could be good, could help to save his brothers and himself, but now, it was smashed to pieces even tinier than the dust motes that floated through the air.

Mrs. Isaac, exemplar of kindness as she was, brought them a lunch of raw vegetables and cold ham at noon. No sign whatsoever of the pie they'd smelled that morning. After, she made good on her promise of having them clean the chicken coop, and not only that, but feeding the chickens, mowing the lawn, hanging the laundry out to dry, weeding the garden, watering the garden, and sweeping the porch. It dawned on Jacob that she really wasn't kidding about there being dozens of things to do.

As Jacob knelt in the garden late in the afternoon, pulling weeds, Mrs. Isaac came out and, after a little deliberation, recruited Joseph to help her make supper. Annoyed that Joseph knew little about cooking besides the most rudimentary of basics, she all but dragged him to the house. Jacob half stood, wanting to stop her, but Joseph gave a quick shake of his head. Jacob reluctantly respected his wishes. He knew that for himself, he'd rather spend the rest of the week weeding in the sweltering heat than spend even one minute alone in that house, with those people.

After supper, they were sent ungraciously to bed, each given a coarse blanket and thin coverless pillow, with their only source of light being a single flashlight. John cried himself to sleep, leaning against Joseph. Exhausted as he was, it was only in the early hours of the morning that Jacob's fury ebbed enough for him to succumb to sleep.

*

It seemed like he'd just shut his eyes when Mrs. Isaac came barging into the barn. "Why aren't you up yet? I know you boys never worked a day in your life before yesterday, but even you must know farm work starts early."

Jacob wanted to ask, Ever heard of knocking?, but he wasn't in the mood for a fight. When they left the comfort of the barn, the sun wasn't even a sliver on the horizon.

Mrs. Isaac wasted no time in starting to teach them various farm chores, turning especially nasty when they weren't learning fast enough for her liking. After a vicious put-down for spilling a bucket of water, John trembled. Jacob silently took the bucket from his little brother, seething.

"You won't be getting any breakfast until all this is finished," Mrs. Isaac threatened.

It was like that for the rest of the day—they were only fed when Mrs. Isaac had deemed they'd worked hard enough.

It wasn't just farm work, either. Jacob got to experience life in the home first-hand when Mrs. Isaac selected him for helping her cook supper.

Not once, in the two hours that Jacob spent in the house, did Mr. Isaac get up from his chair in the TV room. Occasionally he'd call to Mrs. Isaac to remind her of something, or tell her to fetch something for him, which she would then make Jacob do. Mr. Isaac never thanked Jacob, or even acknowledged his existence with a passing glance. Jacob was almost shocked to have met a person even more worthless than his biological father.

Tasked with bringing Mr. Isaac's plate to him, Jacob spit into the mashed potatoes when he thought no one was looking, only to be met with Joseph's disapproving stare. Although he'd been planning to, he didn't do the same to Mrs. Isaac's plate.

That night, Jacob was almost thankful to be sent back to the barn, considering the atmosphere of the house. A blessing in disguise, it appeared, at least until a large spider crawled across his face in the middle of the night.

*

Jen the social worker never ended up checking on them, nor anyone else from her agency. Not that Jacob would have told anyone the truth about their situation, anyway. He couldn't trust a broken system.

Soon enough, they all started out at new schools—John at an elementary school, and Jacob and Joseph at the high school. Jacob hated not being able to check on John during the day, but he watched out for Joseph as best he could. Joseph seemed as much of a loner as he was; Jacob's classmates steered clear of him, which suited him just fine. He and Joseph always spent their lunch period together, never saying much.

*

Jacob sat with John in the garden on a mercifully cool Saturday afternoon, weeding yet again. Though it was his least favourite chore, he was at least glad to be doing it together with his baby brother.

Then came Mrs. Isaac's furious shout from the porch:

"John!"

John flinched.

"John!" She tramped across the yard, some wet garment in her hand. "What's this?" she demanded.

John stammered so badly, not even Jacob could make out what he said.

"You little jerk—don't you know you're supposed to wash whites separately? Are you some kind of retard?"

"It was me."

Her head swiveled toward Jacob. "What?"

"I put the clothes in the wash. My mistake—won't happen again." He looked her straight in the eye.

She frowned. Sized him up. Then said, in a quieter tone, "You make sure that it doesn't, or you'll be sorry." She trudged back to the house.

John didn't cry. He only kept on weeding, face expressionless. Jacob would've felt better if he'd cried.

*

There wasn't a muscle in Jacob's body that wasn't sore, but he pressed on. He worked mechanically, or at least tried to: break the ground with the shovel, scoop up some dirt, lift it to the wheelbarrow, upend it. His head was killing him—his throat, too. He knew he was sick. But he couldn't stand the thought of Joseph and John having to pick up his slack. They had too much on their plates already.

After yet another coughing fit, Joseph approached him, his thin face pinched with worry. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Jacob straightened up on wobbly legs, trying his damnedest not to show it.

"You're sick."

"So?"

"You should take a break."

"I told you, I'm fine." He stabbed at the earth with the shovel, and the momentum was nearly enough to knock him over.

Joseph, of course, didn't miss it. "No, you're not fine. You need to rest. I can finish it later if she thinks it needs to be done now."

"No." The urge to cough bubbled up his throat, but he kept his mouth firmly shut. He turned to dump the dirt.

He felt a hand on his arm. "Jacob—"

"I told you, I'm—!" Coughs exploded out of him. He couldn't breathe. He bent over, eyes watering, hoping it would end soon so he could get back to work.

Eventually it did subside, leaving him shaking. He reached down to pick up the shovel.

But Joseph grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing Jacob to look at him. "You're going to kill yourself at this rate! Can't you see that?"

Jacob stared. His scrawny little brother, with fire in his eyes. A night came to mind, so long ago—the night Joseph had convinced him not to confront their father. He'd had the same fire in his eyes then, too.

"You don't need to push yourself so hard," Joseph said. "You do enough already. John and I will be fine."

"Okay." Somehow, Jacob found himself stepping away—relenting.

Joseph may have convinced him, but he didn't have to like it. He rested for a week until he finally recovered, and hated every second of it.

*

It was the sight of Atlanta burning that gave him the solution to their problems.

He'd lost count of all the times he'd seen Gone With the Wind at school. Georgia just loved to toot its own mediocre horn. He chuckled at the memory of his father yanking him and Joseph out of the classroom while drunkenly prophesying hellfire for the teachers and students, though there wasn't really any humour in it. The good old days.

But this time, as he watched the greyscale flames flickering over the city, he suddenly knew exactly what he had to do in order to save his little brothers.

*

That night, Jacob didn't sleep. He waited.

When he was certain John and Joseph were asleep, he crept to the door, and opened it just a crack. The house was dark.

He slowly made his way to the shed, careful to stay in the deepest shadows. Once he reached it, he found the gasoline canister just inside, right where he'd left it.

Upon his return to the barn, he silently woke his brothers. John rubbed his eyes, groggy and confused, but Joseph took one look at the bright red canister in Jacob's hand, just barely illuminated by the moonlight spilling in from the open door, then led John out, blankets draped over their shoulders like mangy capes. Jacob was pleasantly surprised that Joseph wasn't going to try to stop him.

He poured gasoline over everything, though he made sure to only use about a third of the canister: he wasn't done with it yet. As he exited, he pulled a box of matches from his pocket, pilfered from one of his classmates.

He lit a match. Threw it into the barn. Poof—up went the flames.

After releasing the cows from their stable and the chickens from their coop, he lit those on fire, too. The canister now depleted, he chucked it. He picked up an axe handle.

Finally came Mrs. Isaac's shrieks from the house. Half a minute later Mr. Isaac shambled out the front door, still in his pajamas, so distracted by the inferno that he didn't even notice Jacob until he bumped against his shoulder. "What the hell—"

Five consecutive hits with the axe handle, and Mr. Isaac was down. Jacob gave him a couple more for good measure.

As he stood over the groaning man, Jacob was struck by just how weak he was. Jacob could've easily done this on the first day. He'd just built Mr. Isaac up in his mind as an untouchable giant, one he couldn't dare disobey, because that's what the system had taught him—that adults had intrinsic power over him.

One look at Mrs. Isaac had her squealing, running off into the night.

At that point, Jacob figured he may as well burn the rest, too. He didn't have any more gasoline, but he still had plenty of matches. Up in flames went the house, the shed, the truck, the car.

Until finally he joined his brothers, huddled together, watching the flames. They sat in comfortable silence for hours, until the sounds of sirens broke the night.

All he could see, all he could think of, was his little brothers. "I'll come back for you," he shouted over his shoulder as they pushed him into the cop car. "It'll be okay. I promise."

Whatever his punishment was, it wouldn't last forever. And once it was all over and he reached adulthood, he'd go out and he'd find them. Even the system couldn't stop him from doing that.

They'd be together in the end, no matter what.

[monstersandmaw]

Male tiefling x male reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here, for your delight and delectation, is Killygren the tiefling, another character from Starfall Springs! See this dashing rogue’s character art and bio info here in case you missed it.

His story has been up on Patreon for a little while, and now it’s time to put it up on here. There’s another Starfall Springs story that’s been up on there too, but you’ll have to wait for that one, featuring an orc.

Halfway through one of the hottest summers on record, you bought a bus ticket and rode it to the end of the line.  

Unconventional, unpredictable, and possibly unwise though the decision may have been, you simply snapped and needed a break.  

The city was stifling, the traffic overwhelming, and you needed green fields, perhaps some cool, breezy woodland, or the soft caress of an ocean breeze. Starfall Springs, you knew from an advertisement you’d seen on the Underground, had all three. And a huge number of non-human residents as well, which, you had to admit, made you curious.  

Your travelling companion on the bus was a very elderly harpy lady who saw that you were travelling alone and proceeded to talk your ear off about the local area as you drew near to the town. In fact you didn’t mind because she was actually quite interesting and very sweet.  

“That’s Jaime’s farm,” she said, nodding out of the dusty window at an old farmhouse in the distance, surrounded by open pasture. There was a round-pen for training horses, and a number of horses were standing in the shade of some huge beech trees beside a field of sheep and goats and another with a small herd of russet red cows. “He’s a sweetheart,” she said, but you had begun to tune the rest of it out by then. The lilting movements of the bus, and the warmth in the air, made you feel slightly sleepy, and it was hard to focus on her voice.  

Eventually, you helped her off the bus and inhaled deeply. Already the air was different here; fresher, sharper despite the haze of pollen in the air. She thanked you for being “Such a polite young man,” and made her way off along the banks of the fast-flowing river which carved through the centre of the old collection of buildings.

Alone once again, you decided to head off towards the wide, paved market square in front of you. Stall holders yelled and called jovially, selling everything from fresh fish and meat to summer produce, cakes, handmade goods, knives, and even little witchy charms. You caught sight of a palomino centaur selling cider and apple juice, apple jelly, apple compote, and even dried apple crisps, and beside her was an orc wearing an apron which bore the logo of a local dairy. His stall had the most amazing array of different cheeses, and you paused long enough to be offered a free sample.  

“Visitor?” he asked jovially.  

You nodded. “Yeah, just thought I’d make an escape from the city for the day. Maybe even for the weekend…”

“Well, if you need a place to stay, Killy’s inn - the Inglenook over there - is great,” he said, pointing towards an old timber-framed building on the far side of the market square. 

“Thanks,” you grinned.  

The orc smiled back at you, and you marvelled at how open and friendly everyone seemed here, unlike the city where the majority of inhabitants were human, and they seemed singularly morose and unfriendly.  

You wandered through the market for a while, your rucksack bashing uncomfortably against your back, until you came to the far side of the open plaza. Down the length of the main road out of the small town of Starfall Springs, you glimpsed the rolling countryside beyond. Gods, but it was idyllic.

The hills in the furthest distance were raked with lines of grapevines, the terracotta roofs of the vineyard buildings glowing in the heat of the summer sunshine, and a few miles away there looked to be a vast fruit orchard. Heat haze marred any real details, so you turned away and made your way back into the town, winding your way down cool, narrow, ancient streets where any number of little shops were tucked away, from antique stores to craft shops, some with pottery and ceramics made locally, to small greengrocers.  

You emerged at the other end of town near the duck pond and you paused a moment in the cool shade of the poplar trees and gazed into the murky depths. A bubbling near the far edge drew your attention, and you stared, astonished, as a horse’s head surfaced from the murky water. The horse heaved itself out of the water at the opposite edge of the pond, duckweed and little water flowers clinging to its greenish-black coat and studding its flowing black mane. It shook itself and you continued to stare openly as it trotted off towards the temple which stood not far away from this end of town, in the middle of an open meadow.  

“What the…?” you breathed, realising it must be some kind of water spirit, probably a kelpie. That just wasn’t the kind of thing you saw everyday in the city though; there were very few places left which were pure and unpolluted enough for creatures like that to survive. As if to drive home the point, a tiny, glowing fairy zipped past your face, laughing and trailing a wake of sparkling dust behind them that made you sneeze and take a step back. Wherever the dust hit, the plants turned a violent pink for a few seconds before fading and returning to their usual hues.  

As enchanting as the whole place was, eventually your stomach started to rumble, and you looked about for somewhere to eat. Perhaps you might even get a cheeky lunchtime pint while you were at it. It was a weekend after all.  

Back in the central marketplace, you saw the old, traditional pub sign of the Inglenook swinging slightly as a breeze sighed around the square. The orc’s recommendation from earlier floated back into your mind, and you decided that you’d pop in and see what it looked like at least. You didn’t have to commit yourself to staying there if you didn’t want to.  

The inside was tastefully decorated, with both traditional and modern features, though the bar at the far end was a very old fashioned, high pub bar, with a huge number of beers and ales on tap, and a vast array of spirits displayed on the wall behind.  

Tables dotted the bar area, and the place was packed. You sighed, thinking it’d take ages for you to be served, and were on the verge of turning round and finding a quiet cafe somewhere else when the shattering of a glass made you halt.

You glanced around, drawn by the noise, and saw a beautiful tiefling standing beside the bar, as if he’d been about to come around the end of it and go to a table with a drink. At his dark blue, cloven hooves lay the scattered remnants of a glass tankard, foam and beer spreading in a wide pool around him. And, improbably, his eyes were locked on you.  

Well, one eye was locked on you. The other was covered by an elegant sash of cloth. His long hair was a very dark blue-black, tied back in a low ponytail, and his skin - flawless save for a pale scar that bisected his mouth from upper lip to chin - was a dusty, cornflower blue. There was no white sclera to the visible eye, and the iris was an intense, fiery gold, with a slit, catlike pupil, while his left eye was covered by a sash of Tyrian purple silk with gold thread here and there, as if to accentuate the colour of his right eye.

After a second or two of staring dumbly at you as if you were some long-lost friend, the tall, slender tiefling shook his horned head, and seemed to come to his senses. A faun appeared from behind the bar with a cloth and a dustpan and brush and told him to step back while they swept up the mess.  

You turned to go, not wanting to linger, despite feeling there was something going on that you’d missed. A few patrons were looking from the tiefling to you and back again, but most had either ignored the incident or returned to their lunchtime chatter.  

You’d barely made it to the door before you felt a soft tap on your bicep and you glanced around to see that the tiefling had come over to you. This close up, you took in the beautiful horns that curled first backwards over his thin, tapering ears and then up towards his forehead again. The left horn ended in a gold tip and you saw tiny gold hoops flashing at his earlobes too. He was a bit taller than you, and you swallowed nervously. He was stunningly handsome, and apart from the fact that you’d never been with a non-human before, he was exactly your type.  

He smiled, showing sharp, white canines and a warm smile with little dimples in his chiselled cheeks. “Hi,” he said in a warm baritone. “I’m sorry about all that just now,” he went on, waving a hand and you caught the sparkle of silver on his fingers too. “Listen, to make up for being such an ass, how about I let you have some lunch and a drink on the house?” He had an airy, lyrical, lilting accent that reminded you, for absolutely no reason at all, of summer evenings and mayflies dancing over still water.  

“Really, you don’t have to do that,” you said, perplexed. “I mean…”

He smiled again and stretched out his hand in a more formal greeting. His were those beautiful kind of hands with everything in the right proportion, the dusky blue skin flecked with intriguing scars here and there, and the sight of it suddenly, strangely, made you ache to feel his touch. Things had become a bit lonely in the city, and you raised your own hand and shook his.  

The skin of his palm was smooth and callused, but warm, and he held you firmly for a moment and then grinned, “My name’s Killy. Well, Killygren, no one except my mother calls me that, and I’d thank you not to use it…” he chuckled. “It’s hot out there today - let’s get you a drink at the very least…”

“I don’t understand,” you murmured.  

He laughed again, a free, musical sound, and winked. “I was so struck by the sight of you, I dropped that one and made a fool of myself. We don’t get a lot of humans passing through Starfall Springs you know, and I know all of the regulars.” He jutted his sharp chin at a distant corner where an orc and a young woman were deep in conversation, their hands linked. “She was the last one to arrive. Inherited a run-down old farm not too far from town.”

“The way you speak makes it seem like the humans who do come tend to stay…”

He winked again and turned back towards the bar. He had a tail, you noted, and it hung elegantly behind him like a panther’s as he walked, hips swaying slightly, hooves clonking lightly on the wooden floorboards of the old pub. It was only then that you remembered the name that the orc had said, and realised that this must be his pub.  

Emboldened, you followed him to the bar and set your rucksack down at the foot of one of the worn old bar-stools, and clambered up onto it.  

“Will you let me guess your favourite?” he grinned from behind the bar.  

You frowned slightly, but then allowed a slow smile to creep across your lips. “Alright.”

The faun, who had finished clearing up the shattered glass, looked up and giggled. He had a nest of golden curls and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen, his cheekbones smattered with a myriad freckles. “Don’t encourage him,” he said, shaking his head and making his wavy hair toss this way and that. “He’s incorrigible, and he rarely gets it wrong… Must be that tiefling magic…”

Killy did not look away from your face for a while, and you thought you saw a faintly glowing light through the fabric of the sash covering his eye, but it was gone in a heartbeat, and you chalked it up to mild heat-stroke or dehydration or something.  

As if he’d read your mind, Killy said, “Well, first things first, a pint of water for the gentleman, but after that…” he made a show of stroking his chin with his long fingers.  

“Like you don’t already know,” the faun snickered. “Just serve it to him and stop flirting.”

Your cheeks heated slightly, but the reaction was welcome enough, as was the attention.

Killy clutched his heart and shook his head. “I’m hurt, Dizzy. I’m hurt.”

The faun, presumably named ‘Dizzy’, thwapped him round the backside with a damp tea towel and retreated to take another customer’s order.  

When Killy turned his attention back to you a few moments later, with, yes, what just so happened to be your favourite drink in his hand, he was still laughing softly. “I'm sorry about him,” he said, sliding your glass across the bar. “So, how’d I do?”

“The hype is well-founded, it seems.”

He fist-pumped playfully and turned back to the faun, sticking his tongue out at him - it was dark blue, you were surprised to see - and then turning back to you. “So, what brings you to Starfall Springs?”

“You can’t work that out as well?” you asked, somewhat acerbically, sipping the drink and trying not to show just how much you liked it.  

He made a slightly odd expression, somewhere between strained and embarrassed, and said, “I could, I’m sure, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

You snorted, but soon found yourself telling the tiefling everything. You felt stuck in your job, your social and sex life was stagnating, you’d not had a decent boyfriend in years, and that morning you’d felt like a change of scene would be a good thing. “So I bought a bus ticket, and here I am.”

“And here you are,” he murmured softly. Killy listened to the whole thing. He’d sunk quietly onto a stool on his side of the bar, leaned his elbows on the counter top, and had listened; really listened. You’d not had anyone do this for you since… well… not even your brief stint at the therapist had been this cathartic. You found your hand resting on the ancient, beer-stained wood of the bar, tracing idle circles with your fingertip, and you noticed how close his fingers were to yours.  

“Tell me something?” you asked bluntly after your third or fourth drink.  

“Anything for you, handsome,” he grinned back. Coming from anyone else, that line would have been nauseating, but the way he said it, with that flippant, light-heartedness just made it seem somehow astonishingly sincere.

“How’d you know this was my favourite?” you said. “And how’d you get so good at listening?”

“I know things,” he said with melodrama in his one visible eye.  

“No,” you countered, “No, that’s not…”

He chuckled and gripped your hand. The touch was so sudden, so unexpected that you let out a little moan that was way more sexual than you’d intended.  

Killy only smiled and reached both hands up to undo the sash around his face. His long, blue-black hair was tied back off his stupidly handsome face in a low ponytail, and as he dislodged it to untie the covering, you felt the urge to touch it and run your hands through it, maybe even grip it and tug it. Your fingers twitched, but you remained still as he revealed the other half of his face.  

“I don’t show just anyone this,” he said conspiratorially. “This eye was a special gift from someone who shall remain nameless at the moment, but it lets me see all sorts of things.”

You snorted, but then you looked at him anew.  

He just laughed and you stared openly at his now-revealed left eye. A perfect, black pentagram hung in the middle of a glowing, ice blue iris, ringed with two black outer circles. It was unusual to say the least.  

You leaned closer, fascinated. “That’s… kind of…”

“Gross?” he said. “Unnerving?”

“I was just gonna go with ‘cool’…” you finished rather lamely. “Why do you keep it covered?”

He shrugged and wrapped it up again. “I don’t always want to be poking into people’s business, you know? That way it helps reduce the ‘unexpected visions’ factor. Though when you walked in, I got an eyeful - quite literally - of you and me.”

“Wait… like…” you gestured vaguely and he laughed.  

Killy leaned across the bar and whispered right in your ear, his breath tingling, “I mean, I can give you specifics.”

“Go on then,” you said, feeling oddly bold.  

Without preamble, he murmured, “I saw me with my mouth around your cock…”

“Holy shit…”

He shrugged and drew back. “I’ve never had that with anyone, by the way. Must be something special about you.”

“You sure you don’t say that to all the boys?” you sneered.  

Something softened in his face and he leaned back. “It’s not set in stone, you know? You can still say no. But something must be keeping you here. You’ve been here all afternoon. It’s getting late, and the last bus back to the city leaves in half an hour.”

“Shit.”

“You can still catch it if you leave now.”

The moment hung heavily between you, but one look at the way his sharp Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed got you thinking about him swallowing your release, and you felt heat pool between your legs. “What the hell,” you said. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said with open bitterness in his voice, turning away from the bar. “You’ll have to wait til I’m done working though.”

“Fuck, that’s not what I meant,” you hastened to add. “Look, you know my whole life’s story now. You know this was a spur of the moment trip - something I’d never normally have done. It feels… I don’t know… right?”

The corner of Killy’s mouth, near the vertical scar, twitched, and he smiled. “Drink some water. I’ll be done in an hour.”

You watched him work from a quiet corner of the bar, and you definitely sobered up a fair bit in that time. Not that you’d been necessarily drunk, but something about the atmosphere had gone a long way to helping you release your inhibitions. With the water in your system, you started to note the way Killy behaved a bit more closely. He was attentive with his customers, quiet and patient, and you couldn’t help noticing from your new vantage point that he rested one hock slightly against the other whenever he paused to hear someone speak. His eyes constantly darted around, and he had a nervous habit of playing with his right earring when someone lingered too long or got too close.  

His trousers were loose linen, cuffed tight around his elegant, almost cervine ankles, and but from what you could see, his legs were hairless. He was not built like a faun, despite having the hooves.  

Eventually he washed his hands and swapped shifts with a huge minotaur who came in and high-fived him as he left. Killy glanced around the bar and then spotted where you had parked yourself, and he smiled.  

“You’re still here,” he said when he had drawn level with your table.  

Your mouth was still dry from watching the way he had dropped his shoulders in relief and the elegant way in which he had walked over to you, hips swaying softly as though he wore heels. You croaked. “Yeah.”

“Look, just because I saw one future possibility… I really mean it. You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“No strings attached, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Ok.”

“Just like that?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ve had a couple of pints of water and an hour to think it over. Why can’t I have something that’s still meaningful with a complete stranger?”

His lips twitched again. “Right. C’mon.”

He led you upstairs, his hooves clunking softly on the bare wooden tread of the staircase, and into a very humble bedroom at the top of the old pub. A double bed occupied one wall but the sloping ceiling took out practically half of the other side of the room. A little free-standing wardrobe stood against the far end, and a pair of low bookcases stood on either side of the bed, doubling as beside tables with little lamps. It was surprisingly spartan for such an apparently flashy tiefling.  

As you dumped your bag in the corner, you looked at him in surprise and he smiled softly, standing so close you could smell the soft scent of jasmine on his long hair. He had a freckle on his cheekbone. Your eyes drifted to the scars on his lip, and you wondered where he’d got them from. Before you could ask, he was kissing you. He began slowly, hesitantly, but something about the way he treated you made you ache for more.  

Blood pooled in your groin and you felt your cock stir as his hands took hold of your jaw and he groaned. He had a slight shadow along his own jaw and you relished the rasp of it against your skin. He pressed his body close, his hips rearing against yours, and you grunted softly as you felt the hardening line of his cock against your hips.  

Killy backed you against the closed door and as the air left your lungs with another softly articulated grunt, his fingers found their way to your waistband. He glanced at you and saw the acceptance in your face before continuing. He let your jeans fall to the floor and he freed your cock, stroking it slowly, apparently enjoying the feeling of wrapping his hand around it, getting to know the way you felt in his hand.  

He stroked you, working you slowly, luxuriantly, while your knees felt like they were going to turn to water. “Killy,” you hissed, and he caught your meaning.  

You stepped out of your jeans and abandoned them, allowing him to pull you over towards the bed and push you down onto it. The tent in his own soft trousers was obvious now, and you reached your hand for it, intending to palm him briefly and tease him, but he grabbed your wrist and placed it back on the bed as he tipped you expertly down onto your back.  

He took your shirt off and let his palms play over your torso. As much as you may have been underwhelmed by your own body, he seemed to relish the chance to touch it. He lingered on your collarbones and on your nipples, even lowering his lips to them and kissing you over and over while his hands painted slow circles over your lower torso and hips, down towards your thighs.  

“Fuck, Killy… please!” you grunted as your cock pulsed again, printing pre-come onto your skin. You felt like your skin was a size too small all over as he trailed a fingertip down the line between thigh and hips, dangerously close to your sensitive balls. “Fuck! Stop teasing me!”

He laughed and took you by surprise by lapping the tip of his dark tongue against the head of your cock, tasting you. His one visible eye rolled closed at the taste of you, and in one swift motion he licked his lips and took you all the way to the back of his throat.  

As your tip hit the silky soft flesh of his throat, you gasped and cursed.  

He closed his fingers around the base of your cock as he withdrew, keeping his cheeks hollowed, and he began to suck. The heat and slide of his mouth over your hard cock was incredible, and he clearly enjoyed the feeling too.  

He was as clever with his hands as he was with his lips and tongue. Killy worked your cock with his mouth, alternating between long, regular strokes and teasing sucks and licks around the head of your cock, just sliding you in and out of his lips before dipping his head and letting you hit the back of his throat again. Time slid by, but all too soon you were shuddering on the edge of release.  

“Killy…” you hissed. “I’m…”

White heat built rapidly and you knew you were very close.  

He sucked just a little harder, his fingertips tracing just behind your balls, and you came hard into his mouth. He swallowed you down without breaking eye contact with you.  

The intensity of your release had taken you somewhat by surprise.  

Sure, it had been a while since someone had blown you, but still, the way he’d lavished attention on you had been something else. He stayed there while your cock throbbed and leaked the last drops of your release onto his tongue, only drawing back and licking his lips when you had completely finished.  

“Did the vision live up to reality?” you finally rasped as you lay back, slightly dazed.  

He smiled. “You don’t want to know what else I just saw…”

“Something tells me I might enjoy it?” you hedged. “Just… gimme a minute…”

Killy lay down on his back, still fully clothed, and smiled, glancing sideways at you. “I’m yours for the night.”

************************************

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[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book One: Death (Noctis x Reader) Chapter Three

A/n: The bold text is a dream/nightmare. Besides that little side note, I hope you all enjoy!! Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

Opening his eyes, Noctis glanced around at his surroundings. "Where am I?" Seeing as he wasn't in the caravan or any place he'd visited before, the prince got to his feet and walked around. He walked up a set of stairs that led out of the small, dimly-lit room he had awoken in. Once outside, he saw a large waterway and could only think of one place he had yet to visit. "Is this... Altissia?"

Noctis saw numerous of people walking through the pristine streets, smiling and laughing as they headed to their destinations. He knew it was their destination on this journey, but a strange feeling washed over him. Something inside him gnawed at his sense of direction and found himself walking in a particular direction.

When Noctis reached a large fountain, he saw a familiar-looking girl standing beside it. "(Y/n)?" Walking closer to the girl, he saw she had (h/c) hair instead of black, but he knew it was (Y/n). "Hey, (Y/n)!" He shouted. When the boy went to touch her shoulder, his hand passed through her body.

"What the hell?" Noctis muttered, stepping back a few inches and staring down at his hand. A theory came to mind and the boy quickly tested it. He dashed towards another random person by the fountain and his entire body passed through them as if he were a ghost.

As he was flabbergasted at his findings, Noctis heard (Y/n) call out to someone. "There you are, Caspian! I've been waiting for an hour!"

"Sorry 'bout that, (Y/n)." A boy around Noctis' age ran up to the (e/c)-eyed girl with a smile. He had spiky brunette hair accompanied by green eyes. Watching as the two linked hands, the raven-haired boy decided to follow them through the streets of Altissia as they seemed to be on a date of sorts. Noctis saw how happy (Y/n) was with Caspian and couldn't help but wonder what led her to commit suicide at such a young age.

After what felt like an hour, Noctis found his surroundings slowly changing. "What now?" He groaned in annoyance. When he saw he was at what seemed to be the docks, he sighed in annoyance. Unlike before, it was pouring. Noctis didn't feel the cold droplets hit his skin as he glanced down the docks. A figure could be seen through the downpour, their clothes drenched as they sat at the edge of the docks and hugged their knees. Even through the rain, Noctis could hear the sniffles and sobs that left the person as he slowly approached.

Seeing who it was, Noctis stopped in his tracks. "(Y/n)." Her shoulders shook as she cried and the raven-haired boy was confused as to why she was weeping. Before he knew it, (Y/n) stood up and rushed off as tears continued to rush down her cheeks. Quickly taking chase, Noctis ran after the sobbing girl.

When Noctis saw her climbing to the roof of one of the buildings that bordered the ocean, he followed after her. Reaching the roof, he saw (Y/n) was standing at the edge of the building, her eyes trained on the stormy ocean below. The tip of her shoes hung off the edge of the roof as she began mumbling incoherently. Taking a few steps forward, Noctis kept his balance on the slippery roof. With only a couple of feet between him and (Y/n), he came to a halt.

"There's no one left..." Noctis heard the girl mumble.

The raven-haired boy had no clue what she was talking about. Since Noctis knew he couldn't talk to her, he tried reaching out to her and hoped he'd be able to touch her just this once. "(Y/n)-"

Before he could reach her, she jumped off the roof and into the raging water below. Not wasting a second, Noctis dove in after her. He found he could breathe under the water and felt his body was light. As he reached for (Y/n), his hand fazed through hers. "Dammit!" Trying over and over again, Noctis desperately tries to save the girl from drowning.

Suddenly, a force begins dragging Noctis' body back to the surface. Fighting against the force, he tries to reach (Y/n) with all his strength. As he fought the invisible assailant, he watched as the (h/c)-haired girl closes her eyes and sinks further into the depths of the sea. "(Y/n)!" Noctis shouted, his voice slightly cracking.

***

With a sharp inhale, Noctis shot up from where he slept. He had a death grip on the blanket that laid over his body as he focused on his surroundings, realizing he was back in the caravan. Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and gently patted it. "You alright there, buddy?"

Looking to his left, Noctis recognizes Prompto as he stood by the bed. Shaking the fog from his mind, the raven-haired boy nodded. "Y-Yeah. Just a nightmare."

"You look pale as a ghost," another voice said. At the foot of the bed stood (Y/n), who was eyeing Noctis with worry.

"Wanna talk about it?" The blonde boy suggested.

Noctis swallowed hard, glancing at (Y/n) for a brief second before casting his gaze downward. "No, it's fine."

The Horseman knew he was lying, but she decided to respect his decision. "Alright."

The door to the caravan opened, revealing Gladio and Ignis as they stepped inside. The brute scoffed as he stared at Noctis. "Look who's finally awake."

"Whatever," the younger boy sighed in annoyance as he got out of bed and ready for the day ahead.

(Y/n) dismissed herself from the caravan, who was followed by Prompto. The two meandered around the Chocobo post as they waited for the others. When they passed the pens, the bird (Y/n) had been so friendly to the night prior recognized her. It squawked loudly, grabbing hers and Prompto's attention. The blonde boy was puzzled as to why the Chocobo was trying to get their attention, but (Y/n) approached the yellow creature in silence. The moment she opened her arms, the Chocobo rested its head on her shoulder and nuzzled its beak into her cheek.

Shocked at the sight, Prompto scrambles for his camera and managed to secure the device before it shattered on the ground. He snapped a few pictures of the scene before he scanned each one and determined which one was the best. A giddy smile spread across his face when the bird flapped its wings as if it wanted to return the hug.

Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis emerged from the caravan just as (Y/n) unwrapped her arms from around the Chocobo's neck. "So," the prince said, eyes glued to the Horseman. "Where to, (Y/n)?"

"Leide. There's a tomb in the abandoned mines just southeast of Hammerhead," Death responded.

"Then, let's head out," Gladio stated.

<------<<<<<<<

After hours of navigating through Balouve Mines, Noctis claimed another royal arm and the five companions left the dark, damp mines. Back outside, everyone heard a low grumbling. (Y/n) glanced to her left and saw Prompto was blushing slightly with a hand over his stomach. "S-Sorry. We didn't eat breakfast today and I'm starvin'."

Death smiled at the boy. "No need to apologize."

"I'm hungry, too. Let's head to Lestallum," Noctis said.

"What?! That's so far! Why don't we eat at Takka's?" The blonde suggested.

"It is, but we need to tell Talcott about what we found behind the waterfall."

"Kinda got sidetracked," Gladio said, gesturing to (Y/n).

Said girl blinked owlishly in confusion. "Why're you pointing at me?"

Gladio chuckled at her question. "Because His Highness wanted to check out the abandoned tomb we heard about from His Majesty before we left the city."

(Y/n) turned to glance at Noctis. "Why didn't you do that before I dragged you back to Leide?"

The prince shrugged at her question. "Just wanted to find another royal arm before headin' back."

The Horseman sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Alright. Now that you have another royal arm, let's head to Lestallum." (Y/n)'s gaze bounced over to Prompto. "Think you can hold on a bit longer?" The sharpshooter nodded and the five climbed into the Regalia, Lestallum being their next destination.

<------<<<<<<

In the city, (Y/n) decided to head to the outlook while the boys made their way to the hotel and have a quick bite to eat. Her sable locks whipped in the breeze as she stared into the distance at the Disc of Cauthess. Her thoughts ran wild as she leaned against the stone railing, admiring the eerie but beautiful sight of the Meteor. She hadn't sensed the presence of the man behind her until the last second. The girl spun around, eyeing the stranger with a hint of fierceness in her (e/c) gaze.

The man had red-velvet locks, piercing amber eyes, and an odd sense of fashion. (Y/n) leaned against the stone railing as he bowed politely. "A pleasure to meet such beauty."

Death crossed her arms, unamused at the obvious pick-up line. "Does that line ever work?"

The man chuckled lightly, grinning slightly. "I am merely stating a fact, my dear." He grabbed (Y/n)'s hand and placed a kiss atop it. She grimaced at the feeling of his lips against her skin and unconsciously took a step back, her body hitting the stone railing. The stranger kept a stronger grip on her hand as she tried to be gentle and tug it away from him.

The girl glared when she realized the man wouldn't let go of her hand. Before she could snap at him, someone pried their hands apart and stood in between them. (Y/n) recognized the boy as Noctis when she spotted the familiar spiky hair. She glanced behind her and saw the other three only a few feet away.

"What a coincidence," the man smiled eerily as Noctis and (Y/n) backed away from him to join the others.

"I'm not so sure it is," Gladio huffed, his amber eyes narrowed and glued to the stranger.

"You four know him?" The Horseman inquired, glancing between the four boys and the man.

"Morosely, yes," Ignis replied, his jade eyes seemingly holding a strong foreboding in them.

"Aren't nursery rhymes curious things?" The strange man suddenly began rambling. "Like this one: "From the deep, the Archaean calls... Yet on deaf ears, the gods' tongue falls, The King made to kneel, in pain, he crawls."

Unable to hide his curiosity, Prompto had a slight jolt in his step as he questioned the stranger. "So how do we keep him on his feet?"

"You need only heed the call. Visit the Archaean and hear his plea." The man stopped, turning on his heels with a grin plastered on his face. "I can take you."

"Are you serious?" (Y/n) mumbled in disbelief, eyes slightly narrowed and glaring harshly at the stranger.

"We in?" Prompto turned to his companions, wondering what their opinions were.

The prince sighed in annoyance. "I don't know."

"We take a ride..." Prompto started.

"But watch our backs," the shield finished.

The tactician agreed after muddling over the current predicament for a few seconds. "Fair enough."

"Hold it!" (Y/n) shouted, grabbing everyone's attention. "What am I missing here?"

"Noct's been having these headaches after seeing a vision of the Disc," Gladio said, gladly filling the Horseman in.

"Oh," Death gasped. "That's why you were holding a hand against your head in the mines. You were experiencing a headache."

"You noticed?" The raven-haired hoy asked. He was shocked at how close she was truly watching over him. (Y/n) nodded with a small smile, causing Noctis' own smile to come forth. When he saw the smile, his thoughts raced back to the nightmare he had. He stared into Death's (e/c) eyes, wondering if she would ever smile like she did with Caspian.

The Horseman waved a hand in front of the prince's face, wondering why he fell silent all of a sudden. "Noctis?"

Blinking a few times, the boy shook his head. "Sorry. Let's do it."

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [526]

“Brother dearest, you came in terribly early. I feel sorry for the carriage driver who had to fetch you at such a horrific hour,” Ellana says, flicking open her napkin and laying it on her lap, eyeing her brother as he swans into the room with all the forlorn grace of a thespian playing a tragedy’s opening act.

Mahanon sighs, “You weren’t waiting up for me, were you?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Ellana replies, sliding him cup of tea she’d prepared for him when she heard him coming down the stairs. Mahanon wrinkles his nose. “You have a terrible hang over, and you know that mother’s brews are the best. She left it just for you before she went for her early morning ride around the gardens.”

“Oh, mother,” Mahanon shakes his head as he sips the tea, grimacing. “It burns.”

“That’s how you know it works. Drink it up, it will only scald for a moment before you lose sensation altogether. And you won’t even have to taste it, then,” Ellana points out. “I thought it was just a social visit?”

“I thought so too, did you know Varric is in town?” Mahanon says. “It’s as though all of our acquaintances are converging at once and haven’t seen each other in years. Trevelyan was there, as well. He had tickets for a play. And then afterwards Varric talked us into meeting some of the actors back stage. And then Mahariel — Theron, Ellana, of course — somehow talked the actors, our group, as well as some people who just happened to be nearby into going into a pub nearby and the next thing I know it’s almost dawn and I’ve wasted an entire evening being social with those louts. Can you imagine? It was awful and I’m never doing it again willingly. I would have left after the play if it weren’t for the fact that Kaaras seemed quite eager to socialize.”

Ellana narrows her eyes at Mahanon as he gingerly sips his tea, looking very morose about having to drink it at all. Serves him right.

“Well,” Ellana says as she waits for her own cup to cool down. It’s not meant to treat any lingering ills so she’s permitted to let it cool and she’s going to taunt her brother with this fact by idly stirring it and making sure he can see t hat she’s testing it. Mahanon scowls deeply at her. “Well, to be fair it is because all of our mutual acquaintances are converging at once and we haven’t seen each other in years. And so rarely all at once. You, yourself, my dear, have been missing in action for almost a year and a half. And before those few months you were back you were off galavanting in — where was it? It was beyond the Anderfels. Never mind, it is of no relevance where you were then, rather that you are here now along with everyone else we know. And don’t know. Speaking of…news?”

“Could you talk a little less in the mornings?” Mahanon asks. If this table were just an inch or two smaller she could kick him underneath it. Perhaps that’s why mother and father acquired it to replace their old table. “The Iron Bull asked after you. I think, sister, he has intentions towards you.”

“Of what sort?”

Mahanon’s always been a fair judge for people’s intentions. Ellana’s always been a little bit slower on the uptake, but once she has it she knows what to do. It’s something about her…sensitivities, she supposes. She simply doesn’t have the eye for certain types of things, because she, herself, does not think about them overly much to start with. And truth be told, Mahanon has always looked out for her interests in that regard. Even when he is cross with her.

He’s a good brother. And she’s missed not having him with her the past year or so.

“He would like to know you,” Mahanon replies. “From what I can tell he finds you interesting. A puzzle, perhaps. Something he did not expect to find.”

“I do not appreciate being considered as an amusement.”

“I do not think it is mere amusement,” Mahanon says. “Amusement seems too shallow a word for his current interest. But we did not speak overly much about you in specific, and his questions were light in nature. He did not ask me about knowing you in a more intimate manner - in both senses of the word. It was a large gathering, Ellana. And he was asking questions about everyone to everyone else when appropriate. Nothing out of the ordinary. It seems he is a friend of Rutherfords, here at the man’s request. No doubt it has something to do with Rutherford’s engagement.”

“I need to speak with Cullen then,” Ellana decides. “Mahanon, do you have plans for today? Escort me to Peace Tree row. I’ll send someone on ahead to let Cullen know to be expecting us. Hm. I’ll have to let mother know we’ll be out for the day and not to wait on us. Perhaps she and father can go visiting with Nana.”

“Well, if I had plans prior they’re certainly dashed now, aren’t they?” Mahanon muses. “Are you going to interrogate the poor man? His hang over is probably worse than mine. He doesn’t have mother’s herbal teas to help him.”

“That’s why I am going to give him until noon to prepare, and then we are having a nice luncheon in which we discus several important matters. I will also remind him that I am a member of his fiancé’s bridal party, one of the people responsible for helping him court said fiancé, and one of his staunchest supporters and allies.”

“All this over a man, Ellana? One that you’ve only met once? I’m impressed,” Mahanon says, “Normally you aren’t invested in them until they’ve offended you.”

“The Iron Bull isn’t normal,” Ellana replies, reaching for the jar of preserves to put onto her toast. “And with all the questions he’s asked about me and all the information he’s begun to gather about me, it is only fair I do the same.”

[analogscum]

ENEMY TERRITORY (1987, d. Peter Manoogian)

I don’t often like to bring up social or political issues on this site. For me, and I assume for many of you, these movies that I write about are a respite. When I want to escape the reality of what modern life in this country has become, then I want to watch something that looks and feels as far away from that reality as possible. And furthermore, I don’t want to shove my own social and political beliefs down anyone’s throat. I don’t know what you believe, and I don’t want to alienate a reader on a site that’s about exploitation cinema based on something that is outside of that sphere. Or even worse, you already agree with me, and I’m preaching to the converted, which is a complete waste of both my time and yours. Anyway, this is all a preamble to say that I find it impossible to talk about today’s movie, 1987’s Enemy Territory, without talking about social and political issues. Because, while this movie is undeniably entertaining, it’s also undeniably racist as hell.

These types of movies were all over the place in the 80s, the Assault on Precinct 13, Escape From New York type of urban jungle, ragtag group of heroes have to survive the night with a bunch of psychopathic baddies hunting them down. And yes, it is no secret that New York City in the 80s was a grimy, crime-ridden hellhole. So perhaps it is not that shocking that Enemy Territory does not present, shall we say, the most subtle or diverse view of black life in America. But this goes far beyond being a product of its time and environment: Enemy Territory represents a conservative white male’s nightmare vision of the black experience. Nearly every black character in this movie is either a gleeful villain or a morose victim. There are scenes in this movie where I couldn’t help but hear our internet troll President droning on about how crime-ridden and poverty-stricken and joyless he and his ilk think modern black life is in my head while it was playing. I’d like to think we’d have gotten better with understanding race relations in the 31 years since this movie was released, but all signs point to nope.

Enemy Territory opens with one of those urban blight montages, just scenes of infrastructure decay and abject poverty, while a Grandmaster Flash knockoff blares on the soundtrack. Everything is covered in graffiti. In fact, we see the title itself being spray painted on a wall, before it pops out onto the screen. Movie magic! We then meet our protagonist, Barry. Barry is an insurance salesman, and it seems that things aren’t going so well for him. He’s arguing with his ex-wife over the phone about money problems. Then he opens his desk drawer, and wouldn’t you know it, but there’s a giant bottle of Jack Daniels inside. Say it ain’t so, Barry! For some reason, Barry’s boss is like, ok Barry, you’re a total drunk fuckup, but I like you, so go get a signature from this old lady named Elva who just took out a $100,000 life insurance policy, and collect the premium. By the way, this old lady happens to live…in the ghe-ttooooooooooo.

Meanwhile, we meet a phone company repairman named Will, who is played by Ray Parker Jr. Yes, THAT Ray Parker Jr. I’m going to do my best to refrain from Ghostbusters puns here, but no promises. As it turns out, Will is also headed over…to the ghe-ttoooooooooo, because he has a lady friend there that he wants to pay a visit to. Makes sense, because I heard he likes the girls! Dammit!

So Barry arrives…in the ghe-ttoooooooooo, and immediately these kids are like, hey you white cracker honkey ass piece of shit motherfucker, give us two dollars to watch your car. And since Barry is so white he makes Dave Chappelle’s uptight white guy character look like Rudy Ray Moore, he’s like well gee golly, here’s your money, I don’t want any malarkey! And he walks away, at which point the kids start robbing his car. He’s not even out of earshot. Ugh, whatever, movie. Inside the building, Barry taps a kid on the shoulder and asks where Elva’s apartment is. The kid responds very reasonably, and is happy to help him find…nah, I’m joking, the kid is like what the fuck you say to me you white devil cracker ass jive bitch motherfuck shit cracker ass punk, and pulls a switchblade on him. UGGGGGGH, whatever, movie. Luckily, the building’s ancient security guard shoos him away, and helps Barry find Elva’s apartment. Every single line that this security guard has is about how bad the building is, how crime and gang-ridden it is, how they’re probably going to die because they’re roaming the building at this hour, etc. When Barry goes and gets the signature and the premium from Elva, every single line that SHE has is about how bad the building is, how crime and gang-ridden it is, how he’s probably going to die because he’s roaming the building at this hour, etc. Tomi Lahren probably thinks that this movie is a documentary.

Barry and the security guard head back to the elevators, but oh no, there are a bunch of gangsters waiting for them! Turns out that the kid that Barry tapped on the shoulder was a junior member of The Vampires, and now he must pay, with his blooooood!

OK, time out. This is how you know a white conservative wrote this screenplay: there has never been a street gang like this in reality ever. The Vampires are corny as hell. They refer to white people as “ghosts” and black people who help white people as “blood traitors,” have silly nicknames like Psycho, and do a little salute to one another where they make fangs with their index and middle finger, and hiss. Oh, and their leader calls himself The Count, and the most evil thing he does for the entire movie is break Elva’s glasses. Speaking of Dave Chappelle, the Player Haters Ball would have a field day with these clowns.

However, despite being totally unrealistic and silly, Tony Todd, who plays The Count and went on to play Candyman, is easily the best part of this movie. He takes all of this nonsense about how The Vampires own the night and the building is their castle and plays it with the verve and seriousness of Shakespeare. He chews the scenery, yes, but his presence is magnetic. You can’t take your eyes off of him whenever he’s on screen. The movie gave him a bunch of garbage to sell, and he sells the HELL outta that garbage.

So there’s a scuffle, and both switchblade kid and the security guard end up getting shot and killed. Ray Parker Jr., having heard something strange in the neighborhood (shit, sorry!) runs out of his lady friend’s apartment and helps Barry get to safety. The movie really kicks into gear here, and I’ve gotta say, becomes rather exciting. They keep the pace going, keep the characters on their toes, and I was surprised to find that I started to become really invested in these characters. I know I’ve been giving him a hard time, but Ray Parker Jr. really isn’t that bad of an actor, you could at least say that he skates by on charisma. But anyhow, these two eventually meet up with Elva’s granddaughter, Toni, played by Stacey Dash (who must’ve felt right at home with all this right wing dog whistling). They decide that the safest place in the building is Mr. Parker’s apartment, as he’s the only person that The Vampires are scared of.

We finally get to Mr. Parker’s apartment, but not before Barry has to stab a Vampire to death, which reduces him to a blubbering mess. Mr. Parker’s door looks like a maximum security jail cell door, and there’s a slot through which he sticks out a gun. Eventually he lets them in, and holy shit, his entire apartment is covered in reinforced steel, wired with booby traps, and Mr. Parker himself turns out to be a kooky crazy Vietnam vet in a fancy, weaponized wheelchair (!!!) played by none other than Jan-Michael Vincent. He goes on and on about how he left one war and found himself in another and says some pretty racist stuff about his fellow tenants and is like, you know why I’ve got this pet bird? So that if there’s a gas leak, I’ll know about it because he died first! And then he’s like, you know why I got this pet cat? So that it can eat my food first, and test it for poison!

At this point, I knew that this character wasn’t going to be in the movie much longer. One, because when you introduce a character this larger than life this late in the narrative, then it’s too good to be true. Two, because at the time, Jan-Michael Vincent was well into his torrid love affair with drugs and alcohol. Despite the fact that Mr. Parker is in a wheelchair, his legs are constantly twitching. You can’t help but speculate that they gave the character a wheelchair because JMV was too drunk to stand up, and considering the sorry state of his health today, that wheelchair becomes almost a harbinger of things to come. Anyway, The Vampires show up and almost immediately kill Mr. Parker. But not before he can give his machine gun to Elva. Chekhov’s machine gun!

Barry, Toni, and Ray Parker Jr. somehow manage to escape, and they find a little boy who claims to know a secret way out of the building that not even The Vampires know about. On the way, they encounter the aforementioned Psycho, who has a giant geri curl that made me chuckle, and they throw him down an open elevator shaft, which also made me chuckle. So they get down to the basement, gingerly stepping over Psycho’s corpse, and make their way to the secret exit. But guess what? PSYCHO ISN’T DEAD! At this point, I got very excited, because, holy shit, what if The Vampires…ARE ACTUAL VAMPIRES?!?! If the movie suddenly went in THAT direction, that would’ve been so awesome. But, alas, they just kill Psycho again, this time for good. RIP, Psycho.

Eventually the kid leads them to the secret exit, but its a really tight squeeze, so Toni decides to run to the nearby NYPD building for help. Of course, she is almost immediately raped and murdered by an entirely DIFFERENT gang as soon as she leaves the building, because the movie hadn’t shoved its racism in your face in awhile. Without giving too much away, eventually Barry and Ray Parker Jr. also get out, The Count has an amazing, borderline operatic (seriously!) death scene, the rest of The Vampires are shot at by Elva and her new machine gun (yaaaaay!) and in the ultimate example of this being a right wing fantasy, the NYPD, yes, the NYPD, arrives right on time to save the day. Hoooooo boy.

So what else is there to say about Enemy Territory? Yes, it is entertaining. It is a well-constructed action movie with some surprisingly good performances to back it up. I haven’t even discussed the cinematography, which is easily the film’s best technical asset, seeing as it was done by the legendary Ernest Dickerson, who shot all of Spike Lee’s best movies. I can’t imagine it was easy for Ernest to look Spike in the eye after participating in a movie like this. And here’s the thing: Enemy Territory isn’t just racist now, it was considered racist for the time, if you can imagine that. After it was released, on May 22, 1987 (the day I was born!), the film played in New York City for a week before it was pulled from theaters due to overwhelming outrage and protests from black activists and civil rights groups. Though it would make its money back on VHS, the film has never made it to DVD, and there seem to be no current plans to change that. Which is fine by me. Enemy Territory is a shiny piece of entertainment that rots from the inside; what purports to be a gritty look at the big bad city is really nothing more than a collection of racist dog whistles directed at a section of the white population whose view of other races is myopic and bigoted. There are plenty of great 80s action movies that won’t make you queasily think of Bernie Goetz, or the Central Park Five, or Amadou Diallo. After all, real life is bad enough, wouldn’t you rather escape?

[gutsybitsies]

bakery au (oldie but a goodie)

Part 1

“He hates me,” Bitty moaned, flopping on his couch. Holster was raiding his kitchen, listening to his rant about Jack Zimmermann.

“I don’t even know what I did wrong! Maybe it was because I told him that he played a hard game last night the first time he came into the bakery? All he does is glare at me and say stuff like ‘Eric, the coffee is too sweet,’ or ‘Eric, you need more protein.’”

“Brah, maybe Zimmermann just has a total resting bitch face,” said Holster as he pulled out a leftover pie from Bitty’s fridge. “Guy seems fucking intense. At least he’s good for business.”

“He keeps on glaring at me! And he comes in, like, three times a week. Orders a coffee and just drinks it in his corner, ignores my attempts at conversation even though, mind you, he has already said some pretty rude stuff!”

“The guy’s a celebrity, he probably has his head so far in his ass and doesn’t care about shit, and also just wants some privacy. Bits, you haven’t been taking pictures of him and posting it on twitter have you?” Holster asked, alarmed.

Bitty gasped, “Adam Birkholtz! I would never!”

“Then just treat him like an antisocial customer, he can’t be the only one going to the bakery who doesn’t want conversation and just wants service and food,” Holster said, dropping down next to Bitty on the couch with two tins of pie.

“I know,” Bitty sighs. “He’s just...so handsome. And he was so nice to Nursey when that fool tripped. And he tips generously. And he’s just so gorgeous, even when he’s glaring at me and speaking in grunts whenever I ask him how his day has been. I just want him to like me!”

Holster navigated the TV to a rerun of Golden Girls and handed Bitty one of the pie tins. “I think that’s your problem. You’re an amazing person, Bits, but maybe you can be a bit too friendly for resting bitch face robozoid Zimmermann. Maybe stop asking him about his day and just let him chill.”

Bitty stayed silent for a while before turning to Holster. “You don’t think it’s because I look...you know.”

“What?” Holster asked, spraying pie over Bitty’s nice floor (it’s hardwood because he knew how his friends are like, and it’s so much easier cleaning liquor and other fluids off of hardwood floor).

“Gay,” Bitty whispered.

Holster considered that for a moment. “Nah, I don’t think so. Anyway, Ransom would’ve mentioned it.”

“You’re right,” Bitty said. “That just means it’s something personal with me.”

“Brah, you can’t make everyone like you, man,” Holster said.

“That’s easy to say from someone who hates everyone,” Bitty said.

“I don’t hate everyone, I’m just in a constant state of mild annoyance at a majority of the population. For example, you’re excluded from that demographic.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

Holster glanced at Bitty, shifting a little. Alarms started ringing in Bitty’s head.

“No. Holster. Bad boy. Stay there. No.”

“Too late!” Holster flung his empty tin away and tackled Bitty. “It’s time for bro cuddles!”

“Adam Birkholtz!”

“This is just to show how much I love you, brah!”

“I don’t want your friendship anymore!!”

Jack had a routine, usually governed by whatever calendar event Georgia’s assistant hands him and the rest of the team. Recently, his routine underwent a change the moment he first entered a small bakery around ten blocks away from where he lived. It had a homey atmosphere, but still managed to look adorable and modern. There were a few customers in line already, and a few more sitting down on cute tables and eating breakfast.

He had rushed out of bed that morning, upset about a phone call with his father the night before and hadn’t had any breakfast. Ransom had always said stuff about finding new places to eat at, so Jack figured he’d take a risk with the one shop that caught his eyes.

“Good morning! How’s your day been!” Before he knew it, Jack was at the front of the line and a handsome young man was beaming up at him. He had warm brown eyes and peeling skin on his nose, with a dash of pale, almost imperceptible freckles dusting his face.

“Um.” Jack replied.

“Well, what would you like today, mister?” The young man, Eric (and his name tag was also so fucking cute), asked.

“Coffee,” Jack spit out.

“Anything else with your coffee, sir?”

“Um,” Jack said again. His vocabulary was immensely impaired at the sight of Eric’s pearly whites.

“Very well sir, here’s your order number and it’ll be ready in a jiffy!”

Jack wondered if Eric recognized him, the other patrons certainly haven’t. They were either in a hurry or too tired and engrossed in their own business. Maybe Eric didn’t watch hockey? Jack knew that Poots would humble brag about being a hockey player to get dates, but he never felt comfortable about that sort of behavior.

“Number 45!” A clear voice called.

Jack turned and accepted his coffee from a tall, sleepy looking man. When he turned to leave, he heard another voice call out to him.

“It was a hard game last night, Mr. Zimmermann, but you played really well! We’re all rooting for you!” It was Eric, smiling and waving at him.

“Um.” Jack said. Think! Say something! Say anything! Do something!!!! “You should really wear sunscreen unless you want skin cancer.” What the fuck.

At the sight of Eric’s confused face, Jack hightailed out of the bakery and tried to push the whole embarrassing experience out of his head.

That was supposed to be the end of that. But Jack found himself standing at the entrance of the store a few days later. There were a few customers at the shop, but no one on line at the register. A familiar sleepy looking young man was manning it, and there were no signs of Eric.

Good, Jack thought. He just wants a cup of good coffee and maybe a croissant. No need to embarrass himself in front of a stranger.

He walked into the store, and browsed the pastry selection. Jack didn’t eat sweets often, or at all. But Nate said that today can be a cheat day, so he can have a slice of cake.

“Can I have a slice of key lime cake and a coffee, please?” He asked the man, Derek.

“Right on,” Derek replied. What happened next happened fast. One moment Derek was walking over to get a slice of cake out, and the next moment he’d tripped and smashed his face into the counter, fell on the floor, and was clutching his nose.

“What in tarnation is that noise?” From a door located behind the counter, Eric rushed out and gasped at the sight of Derek on the floor. “Nursey! Oh sweetheart, are you okay?”

A few of the other patrons walked over to see what was happening.

“Should I call an ambulance?” A kind looking old woman asked.

“No, no, I’m fine,” said Derek. “Think I just sprained my ankle and bruised my face.”

Eric felt Derek’s nose, the other man winced but stayed still.

“Good thing is that you don’t have a broken nose. I am so terribly sorry for this commotion, y’all!” Eric apologized to the customers. “We have this all under control. Derek, I’m going to call Chowder and have him pick you up, okay?”

“What? That’s bullshit, I can still work.”

“Honey, your ankle is the size of a tennis ball.”

“I can take him to the hospital,” Jack offered. Both Derek and Eric looked up at him in surprise. “I’m free this afternoon, I can drive him over. It’s partly my fault he’s injured, he tripped when he was getting my order.”

“You will do no such thing, mister. But I’m awfully touched that you offered.” Eric smiled at him, and Jack wondered if he himself needed a checkup at the hospital because his heart was acting strange. “No, I’m going to call someone and pick up this walking disaster-”

“Hey,” Derek complained.

“-this walking disaster, and he’ll be taken care of by his overprotective roommates. And unless you’re feeling miraculously fine later,” Eric said to Derek. “Take tomorrow off, too. Wait just one moment, Mr. Zimmermann!” He led Derek into the backroom and then popped back out. “What was your order again?”

Jack was back in the bakery two days later, this time a little down when he found out that Eric wasn’t in.

“Um, Eric’s not here today?” He asked Derek, who was moving with a slight limp.

“Nah, he’s visiting our flour suppliers. Gotta make that cake from something, y’know?”

“Oh.” Crestfallen, Jack took his coffee and cake and walked back to his apartment in a strange, morose mood.

The fourth time Jack was in the bakery was probably when he started mentally compartmentalizing the visits into his routine. Jack liked the way that Eric smiled at him and asked him about his day, even though Jack was usually too tongue tied to do anything but grunt “Mmhm” roughly and then turn tail to hide in a corner table of the place.

“Good morning! What would you like today?” Eric would ask him.

“Coffee and a ham and egg sandwich,” were Jack’s usual reply.

“Coffee and a Key Lime Cake,” were his responses when he was on a cheat day.

“Mmhm,” were used whenever Eric asked him how his day went.

Small throaty grunts were whenever Eric started talking about his own day and what he had planned for the bakery.

“Oh, sorry I must be always annoying you with this talk, it’s just me, I’m a natural born chatterbox!” Were variations of what Eric said, apologizing for talking too much, then proceeding to chatter on and on about the different types of apples and pears used in his pies.

The worst responses, however, were when Jack tried to say something witty and funny to Eric in response to whatever Eric said, and they would backfire so terribly and he would be so embarrassed he almost sprinted away from the bakery.

“You’ve never tried one of my pies before, you really should order one today!” Eric had told him one day.

“No thanks,” Jack said. Then, panicking at the fact that Eric was now looking directly at him instead of all those moments when Eric talked to him but was busy with making coffee and orders, he blurted out, “You need to eat more protein.”

“Excuse me?” For once, Eric seemed a bit offended at what Jack said.

“Um. It’s good for you.” Without another word, Jack grabbed his coffee and sandwich and dashed out the door. He didn’t know why his heart is beating so fast, maybe it was because of how he kept on embarrassing himself in front of Eric. He couldn’t help it. For some reason Jack was hyperaware of himself in front of Eric, afraid that whatever he said would be terrible, and whenever he said anything it became a self fulfilling prophecy of embarrassment.

The day of American Thanksgiving, Jack walked into the bakery after two weeks out on a roadie. He almost didn’t expect to see Eric, because he figured he’d be spending that holiday down in Georgia. But there Eric was, twiddling his fingers in an bakery unusually empty of customers.

“Good morning! How can I help you?” He smiled at Jack, and Jack knew it was a good idea to come here immediately after a roadie. Eric made him feel warm and stable, and like he’d come home. 

“Coffee and a ham and egg sandwich please,” Jack said. He waited for Eric’s usual barrage of words. Maybe he’ll tell him why the bakery was so empty, or why he wasn’t home for Thanksgiving.

The words didn’t come. Eric stayed quiet the whole time, except for a perfunctory “Enjoy your meal!” when he handed Jack his order.

Maybe it was an off day, Jack mused, as he tried to catch Eric from the corner of his eye.

But it wasn’t just one off day. Eric stopped asking him how his days went, and stopped rambling at him about how his own day went and what kind of new recipe he was looking at. Jack noticed that Eric was speaking like normal to the other regulars, but he himself only had the standard customer service “Good day!” and “Enjoy your meal!” He still smiled at Jack genuinely, but the rest was. Short. Did he catch on to how terrible Jack was being? Did Jack say something wrong?

Well.

Jack remembered all the things he had said to Eric.

“This is too sweet.” When he tried to chirp him about a sweet tooth.

“I only listen to John Mayer and that’s it. Who’s Beyoncé?" When he tried to say something about music.

“You shouldn’t ask a professional athlete to eat so many empty calories.” When he tried to joke about his cheat day.

Okay then.

He said a lot of things wrong.

It was okay, since Jack only went to Bitty’s Bites because Eric was a soothing presence and their coffee was amazing. Eric doesn’t need to be talking to Jack. Eric can talk to other people and Jack can listen in like a creep and think about how good he looks in that apron and bask in his presence indirectly.

Jack groaned and let his head fall against his steering wheel. He glanced at the coffee in his cup holder and the empty sandwich wrapper.

Pull yourself together.

[libraryscarf]

How to Charm a Witch Who Hates You ( AO3 / FF.net )

the inevitable fourth chapter to a series that was only supposed to be three, thanks to @yatorihell​ who commissioned it. <3 (also ties in pretty strongly with this artwork by @eerna​)

...it so happens that this is by far the longest chapter, and disgusting with fluff.

Chapter 4: The Incident At the Three Broomsticks

Yukine rushes along the abandoned corridor, slinging his Hufflepuff scarf haphazardly around his neck. His designated meeting spot with Yato is beneath one of the gargoyles—affectionately and accurately nicknamed “One-Eyed Carl.”

He turns a corner, sees Yato waiting under One-Eyed Carl, and lets out a yelp.

“Merlin’s beard, did you sleep?”

The older boy’s eyes are sunken pools of exhaustion, but he nods. His mouth promptly stretches in a yawn big enough to swallow the castle and most of the lake along with it. Yukine shakes his head.

“Good thing Hiyori already knows you’re mental,” he observes. Yato groans, turning to fall face-first against the stone wall.

“Why—did—I—think—this—was—smart,” he moans, punctuating each word with a thump of his forehead against the wall. Yukine hauls him away before he can bruise himself.

“Don’t be daft. If we’re this late, she’s going to think we’re not coming.”

As they walk quickly through the corridors and toward the castle’s entrance, Yukine does not find Yato’s dead stare to be the least bit encouraging. He finds himself pondering if a good slap would be efficient.

“I can’t believe I have to pep talk you,” he grumbles, flicking a speck of gargoyle dust from Yato’s shoulder. “After you’ve been going on about this for weeks.”

Yato sighs impressively.

“Yes…but I kind of thought the castle would catch fire before that, and I could rescue her from a flaming death instead.”

Yukine snorts.

“You can save her life, but you can’t go with her on a”—he lifts his fingers to heavily air-quote— “’date’?”

Yato nods again, his expression somehow both contemplative and miserable. Yukine huffs, tugging Yato along behind him as they approach the castle’s front door.

: : :

Hiyori first spots them through the crowd of students making their way past Professor Tsuyu. Yukine seems to have Yato leashed by the front of his robes, and Yato himself has the demeanor of someone being marched into Azkaban for a life sentence. The pits of deep gray under his eyes suggest he hasn’t seen sleep since the weekend.

Hiyori ignores these discouraging observations, elbowing her way forward to greet them.

“Hi, Yukine!”

She gives him a short hug, then turns to his companion. Up close, Yato’s skin has an unfortunate greenish tinge, and he looks like he might be ill all over his clean robes.

“Hello Yato,” Hiyori says dubiously.

She doesn’t approach him for a hug, but offers her hand instead. Yato casts a panicked glance at Yukine, who has found something very important to stare at in the rafters. At last, he gingerly takes Hiyori’s hand, handling it like he would an easily startled reptile.

Tsuyu gives them a meaningful glance. Nearly everyone else has already passed through the front door and had their names cleared for the Hogsmeade visit.

Yukine elbows Yato, and he drops Hiyori’s hand quickly. Swallowing the pang of hurt at the back of her throat, she lines up in front of him to exit the castle.

After they make their way past Tsuyu and her checklist, Hiyori pretends not to notice the vicious and completely silent argument Yato and Yukine are having behind her. After appearing to lose, Yato shrinks deeper into his robes, snuggling the Slythern scarf up over his nose. He lags behind them on the snow-packed road.

Yukine trots ahead to keep up with Hiyori’s longer strides.

“So, where do you usually go first in Hogsmeade?” he asks in a too-bright voice.

“Yama always makes us take her to Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop,” Hiyori says, and bestows a smile upon Yukine for his valiant effort at conversation. At the smile, Yukine promptly turns the rich, luminous orange of a ripe pumpkin. Behind them, Yato gives an obscene snort.

“But,” Hiyori continues, maintaining perfect composure, “I’d like to try the Three Broomsticks this time, if that’s all right with you.”

“You’ve never been to the Three Broomsticks?!” Yukine asks in shock.

Hiyori gives a wry smile and shakes her head, thinking him fortunate for being spared Yama’s obsession with Madame Puddifoot and her overwhelmingly pink tea shop. From behind them, Yato makes a small noise that sounds like a cat being stepped on. Hiyori turns her head.

“Something wrong?”

She catches the flash of panic in his eyes before he returns them to his toes, and the ill, suspicious feeling in the pit of her stomach yawns wider.

Yato is not himself today—and Hiyori suspects it is her fault.

She turns back to Yukine, asking him some mindless questions about his classes. He answers her with enthusiasm, and as a result she is required to do very little talking until they arrive in the town.

Once the lopsided rooftops and smoky chimneys of Hogsmeade emerge among the snowbanks, Yukine immediately drags Yato and Hiyori into an ancient, swaybacked bookshop before either of them can protest. He comes out with seven new texts on Herbology, all of them dirt-cheap and colossally dusty. Yukine staggers under the books’ weight as the three of them walk along the town’s thoroughfare.

“I guess Yama isn’t the only one who prefers Madam Puddifoot’s,” Hiyori observes, watching Kofuku’s pink head bouncing toward the tea shop, a resigned Daikoku in tow.

Neither Yato nor Yukine hear her, as they are too busy bickering about the wisdom of spending all one’s money on extra textbooks.

“Oh, do shut up,” urges Yukine. “You can criticize my choices once you stop begging me for help on all your homework.”

Yato grits his teeth. “We have. A library,” he growls.

“Which has none of these. Look, Yato—The Herbologist’s Grimoire, First Edition. This isn’t even in the restricted section.”

Yato grunts. “Since when do you like magical plants so much, Yukine?”

Yukine stutters on his response, fumbles, and drops three of the books. Hiyori bends down to help pick them up and notices the tip of his nose has gone very pink.

“Shall we go somewhere warm?” she asks kindly, and Yukine gives her a grateful glance as she hands him the last book. He nods once, saying:

“Yeah, I think we should all warm up.”

Hiyori looks up at Yato. He avoids her eyes, rubbing his gloved hands together and breathing into them.

“Sure,” he says morosely. “Whatever you two want.”

Hiyori’s heart sinks into the tips of her boots. When she returns her gaze to the busy snow-covered road, the whole town of Hogsmeade starts to blur in front of her eyes. She blinks ferociously to clear her vision.

“Hey.” Yukine tugs on her elbow.

Hiyori dashes her knuckles across her eyes, still trying to blink tears away as Yukine points toward the door of the Three Broomsticks.

“Kazuma’s going in there—maybe we could catch up with him!”

Hiyori forces a smile. “That sounds good,” she says. “I am looking forward to trying the butterbeer.”

Yukine gives a generous sigh. “It’s amazing.”

Hiyori can feel Yato’s silence, but she doesn’t look back at him. The trio follows Kazuma’s disappearing form into the pub.

: : :

As soon as they’re inside, Yukine seizes the sleeve of Yato’s robe and drags him behind the door.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing?!” he whispers fiercely. There is little need to lower his voice in the loud pub—but Hiyori isn’t too far away.

Yato collapses against the wall in despair, the back of his head colliding with a dull thump against the wood.

“My best,” he groans.

Yukine yanks him back by his collar, showing no remorse as Yato claws at his throat.

“Your ‘best’ is pathetic,” he hisses. “By now Hiyori probably thinks you hate her! If you can’t share an innocent butterbeer with her without falling apart, then I’m giving up on you entirely.”

Yukine watches the last vestiges of hope drain from Yato’s eyes at his cruel words.

“You’re—you’re leaving?” he whispers, his voice quavering in desperation.

“I told Suzuha I’d meet up with him today.”

Yato’s mouth levers open and shut.

“Y-you did what?”

“Yato, I can’t chaperone you constantly!”

“Why not?!”

Yukine frantically shushes Yato’s agonized wail. He peeks around the door at Hiyori, who is turning around and around in the middle of the pub—presumably searching for them.

“Listen,” he says. He ducks behind the door again to take Yato by the shoulders and give him a gentle shake. “Just talk to her. Wasn’t it fun when the two of you took care of Buckbeak?”

Yato gives a single nod, his expression forlorn.

“That was different, though,” he moans.

“How, exactly?” Yukine growls. His patience can only take so much.

“I don’t know,” Yato says, his pitch creeping up into a whine. “Maybe that was back when I thought she was less—less cu—”

“There you are!”

A hand lands heavily on Yukine’s arm, and he lets go of Yato’s shoulders. Whirling around, he finds himself confronted by a pink-cheeked and very aggravated Hiyori.

“Excellent to know you two are such reliable guides,” she says, injecting venom into the last two words.

“I’m so sorry, Hiyori,” Yukine says in all sincerity. “But I need to…er…run somewhere for a moment. Yato will stay here with you though. Right?”

He gives Yato a loaded look, and Yato returns him a stricken one. Without waiting for a response, Yukine ducks between the two of them and escapes outside into the bracing cold.

Suzuha is already there, leaning against the weathered outside wall and holding a package close to his chest. Seeing Yukine come out the door, he turns and smiles.

“Yukine!”

“Hey,” Yukine says. His cheeks begin to turn cherry-red in the cold, and pulls his scarf up over his nose. “Sorry, that took a bit longer than I thought.”

Suzuha shrugs. “I didn’t mind waiting.”

The two of them stand in awkward silence for a few moments before Suzuha clears his throat.

“I, erm, got you something,” he says, holding the package out toward Yukine.

Yukine stares from Suzuha to the package and back again. He says: “Oh.”

A rush of heat floods his face, making it easy to forget he’s standing outside in midwinter.

Yukine slowly takes the package, tucking his new books under his arm in order to open it. Once he removes the lid, he sees inside a hibernating pygmy puff: snug and warmly nestled within several layers of fabric.

“I know you couldn’t bring a cat with you to school,” says Suzuha. “So I thought…maybe…”

“It’s so cute,” Yukine murmurs. He tickles the pygmy puff with one finger. It squeaks, burrowing deeper into its nest.

Yukine looks up, beaming.

“I love it.”

: : :

Meanwhile, Hiyori fast approaches a disappointing realization: the talkative, entertaining Yato of their hippogriff adventure is a completely different person from the morose, tight-lipped Yato who sits across from her. If she weren’t so bloody uncomfortable, she might be tempted to feel sorry for him.

“So,” she begins. “Yukine’s taking quite a while in the bathroom, isn’t he?”

Yato jerks his head up at the sound of her voice. He glances over to the bathroom’s entrance. Floating serenely next to it, a jar shaped like a turnip has been enchanted to shout scathing insults at anyone caught trying to bypass the requisite three-Knut fee.

“Probably ate something weird,” he mutters.

Hiyori nods sagely, then does her utmost to avoid thinking about Yukine’s gastrointestinal tribulations. Fortunately, she finds a distraction in the table nearest them, where three Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff have just sat down with enormous mugs of something foaming and honey-colored. Her mouth waters.

“We don’t have to wait for him,” she points out. Yato does not respond.

Seconds pass. Then minutes. Hiyori’s skin crawls with discomfort. She spares Yato another glance, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. Going by the look on his face, he would rather be anywhere else than here, or possibly dead.

Hiyori’s elevated seat on a barstool gives her a good view of the rest of the rest of the pub, so she turns her attention away from her dour companion. For a few moments, she occupies herself by observing the rest of the room. Across the large, loud pub, she spots Professors Tenjin and Tsuyu sharing an amiable gillywater. Next to their table is a group of uncomfortable Slytherin sixth-years who are obviously hiding shots of firewhisky in their laps. Hiyori’s eyes keep traveling across the room, eventually landing on a sight that twists her stomach in knots.

Kazuma and Bishamon share a small table in the very corner of the pub. As Hiyori watches, Bishamon bashfully twirls a lock of her hair around her fingers—rather shocking behavior for the notoriously un-bashful captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Kazuma leans forward to listen, his face rapt, completely captivated more with each word. On top of the scratched wooden tabletop, their hands rest half an inch apart.

Hiyori swallows the enormous lump in her throat, and hops down from the barstool.

“I’m leaving,” she says tersely. She doesn’t look at Yato. “Tell Yukine I hope he feels better.”

As soon as she turns to go, one of the many servers carrying wide trays of drinks walks by, blocking her path.

In the bare moment she’s stuck there against the table, a screeching of chair legs makes her jump. Someone seizes her wrist.

“Hiyori, wait.”

She turns back, shocked. Yato has leapt down from his stool and grabbed her hand in both of his. His eyes are blown wide, desperation written all over his features. In Hiyori’s ears, the noise level in the pub drops drastically.

“Stay a bit longer?” he asks quietly. “Please?”

The tips of his ears start to turn dark red. Hiyori gives her trapped wrist a feeble tug.

“Yato, I’m tired. I want to go back.” She pauses. “I’m not…having a good time.”

Her words have an unprecedented effect on him. His face crumples and he releases her wrist.

“I know,” he says wretchedly. “I’m sorry.”

Hiyori doesn’t move, even though her hand is free once again.

“What’s been going on with you?” she asks. “You’ve been…well, dreadful today, and Yukine was trying so hard to make this a nice day for us all. And now he’s ill—”

Hiyori cuts off, surprised at how quickly her misery has transformed into aggravation. This could have been such a wonderful time. It should have been such a wonderful time.

It’s all Yato’s fault.

“No,” Hiyori insists, though Yato has said nothing. Her voice climbs to an unpleasantly shrill note. “I’m going now. I hope you have a lovely time all by yourself, Yato.”

His look of mute horror drops a boulder of guilt into her gut, but she stands straight, deepening her frown. After a split second of silence, she whirls away from him and in the direction of the bathrooms.

Yato calls after her: “Wh—Hiyori, where are you—”

“To check on Yukine, of course!” she hurls back at him. “Since I’m the only one who seems to care.”

“No—wait a minute—Hiyori, please.”

Yato trips over a stool in his rush to catch up with her, and manages to catch her by the elbow as she is about to enter the bathrooms.

“He’s not inside,” Yato says breathlessly. “He’s not even here anymore.”

He makes an abstract, interpretive gesture toward the rest of the pub, indicating that Yukine is indeed nowhere to be seen.

During her moment of bewildered silence, the turnip jar floats gently up to them. When it becomes obvious that Yato and Hiyori are not about to pay the three-Knut fee, its toothy mouth opens wide, unleashing a volley of unrepeatable obscenities. They quickly scoot off to the side, which appeases the irate little turnip.

“What do you mean?” Hiyori asks, once the turnip’s insults have stopped echoing in her ears. Her brow furrows. “You said he was—”

“I know,” Yato interrupts. “I know. I, erm…lied.” His mouth twists downward in a guilty frown.

Then, he massages his temples, muttering: “He’s probably off talking about Venomous Tentacula, or picking shrivelfigs, or whatever he and that herby little friend of his do for fun.”

Hiyori’s brow furrows still further, adding this interaction to the long, long list of things Yato says that make exactly as much sense as the existence of Wrackspurts.

Yato gives his head a quick shake. Taking her other elbow, he pulls her slightly toward him, out of the path of a group of girls headed for the bathrooms. Yato seems numb to their stares and giggles, but Hiyori feels their eyes on her like needles in the back of her neck.

He holds her close to his chest as the group passes through the doorway, and Hiyori burns bright pink all the way from her collarbones to the top of her scalp. When the coast is clear, she pushes him away from her with enough force that he actually stumbles backward a step.

“Hiyori?” he asks with a stricken face.

To her utter dismay, moisture prickles the corners of her eyes. She scrubs her sleeve over her face and gives a short, harsh laugh.

“Sorry,” she blurts. “I’ll just—I’ll just go. I wouldn’t want you to feel—obligated to spend time with me, or anything.”

A single drop trembles at the corner of her eyelid, sliding down her cheek before she can catch it with her sleeve.

“No!” Yato shouts, covered from head to toe in mortification. “Merlin’s beard—no, Hiyori, that’s not it at all!”

Hiyori tries to keep her nose covered with the sleeve of her robe as she sniffles determinedly, but Yato pulls her arm away from her face.

“I did everything wrong,” he groans. “I’m so sorry. I wanted Yukine here because I was, erm—”

He chokes off, a muscle twitching in his clenched jaw. Fascinated, Hiyori lets a second tear go unwiped in favor of watching his face grow steadily darker.

“I was scared,” Yato says. His voice is so quiet Hiyori can hardly hear it.

“Scared…” she repeats in disbelief.

“But that was a mistake,” he says quickly. His hand tightens around hers. “I shouldn’t have dragged Yukine into this, especially when—”

Once more, his voice suddenly chokes off. He tries again:

“When—when…”

Beads of sweat are actually forming on his forehead. One of his eyelids has started twitching spastically.

“Yato—” Hiyori begins, but he holds up one finger, determined to either finish his declaration or perish in the attempt. He lets go of her hand.

“When I…sort of…fancy you,” he mumbles, his eyes fixed on the tips of her shoes.

The racket in the pub suddenly melts away, leaving nothing but the sound of Hiyori’s heart thudding arrhythmically at the bottom of her throat.

“Oh,” she says at last, her voice squeaking.

Both her ears and Yato’s burn a matching shade of lobster red. Despite the silence, an unspeakable weight has lifted off Hiyori’s chest. She feels light enough to float right off the ground.

Slowly—very slowly—a smile sneaks onto her lips.

“I’m rather thirsty,” she says suddenly. She twists her fingers together, pressing her hands against each other to stop them trembling.

Yato’s eyes snap from her shoes to her face. When he sees the smile she wears, his shoulders sag in relief.

“Yeah?” he asks hopefully.

“I’ve heard some good things about the butterbeer here,” Hiyori says, feigning a casual tone. In a wave of shyness, her eyes dip away from Yato’s, down to the messy knot of his tie. His Adam’s apple bobs.

“It’s all right,” he says. Hiyori looks up again, only to see that his grin mirrors hers. “Although I’m partial to the tea at Madame Puddifoot’s.”

: : :

Several of the remaining customers at the Three Broomsticks glance upward in pleased surprise when a girl’s sunny laughter chimes above the clamor.

The familiar sound captures Bishamon’s attention, and she looks for its source. As soon as she finds it, her blood curdles in her veins.

Across the room, Hiyori Iki—Bishamon’s friend and protegé (and future Quidditch champion, if she has anything to do with it)—is sharing a table with that insufferable Slytherin seeker.

And they are fraternizing.

Bishamon watches in increasing anxiety as the seeker’s hand begins to creep along the tabletop, closer and closer to where Iki’s rests.

“Kazuma,” she hisses, jerking her head in their direction. Kazuma turns slightly in his seat, enough for him to see what has Bishamon so upset. His eyes widen.

“We have to do something,” she insists, half-rising from her seat. Kazuma swivels his seat back, catching her wrist before she can storm over and snap Yato’s neck.

“Maybe give it a few more minutes before you hex him through a wall?” he suggests mildly. Clenching her teeth, Bishamon sits back down.

Now that she looks a bit closer, Yato isn’t behaving at all like the arrogant boy she knows from the Quidditch pitch. He leans over the table, completely engrossed in whatever Iki is telling him. His eyes never break away from her face.

With a jolt, Bishamon recognizes the intense, almost hungry expression on his face. It’s exactly the same as the one he wears when he’s chasing the Snitch.

Kazuma notices she’s still staring behind him, and once more he turns around—just in time to see Yato close the last crucial distance between his hand and Iki’s. When his hand covers hers, Iki’s face turns an instant and furious shade of pink.

Kazuma returns to his butterbeer with a chuckle. He mutters something under his breath that Bishamon doesn’t catch.

“What was that?” she asks.

His eyes, crinkled with amusement behind thick glasses, flicker up to hers. There is something deep and yearning in them. Flustered, Bishamon drops her gaze to her own empty drink.

“Nothing, Viina,” he says quietly. “Nothing important.”

: : :

Yato keeps a firm hold on Hiyori’s elbow as the two of them trundle through the unpacked snow. Ahead of them, the Shrieking Shack’s sharp angles and jutting beams appear among the snowdrifts. The haunted building is a black gash in the landscape of sprawling white.

“Yato, I’ve seen this place before,” Hiyori points out. “And it’s not exactly, erm—a dynamic view.”

“But you’ve never seen it in the snow!” Yato exclaims, his face alight with childlike glee. Hiyori stumbles along next to him, trying to keep pace with his longer legs.

Suddenly, her foot encounters a particularly stubborn snowdrift, and she cries out, toppling into Yato’s side. He catches her around the waist, holding her upright as she works her leg out of its snowy depths.

“Thanks,” Hiyori says, breathing heavily from the effort of freeing herself. To keep her balance, she had grabbed Yato around the neck, clinging to him as the fresh, powdery snow nearly dragged her to the ground.

Now that she’s free, she should probably let go.

“Are you all right?” Yato asks. Hiyori’s fingers brush against the hair at the nape of his neck. His hands are against her waist and back, still holding her close to him.

“I’m fine,” she breathes.

Between the winter sky and Yato’s eyes, there is almost too much blue for Hiyori to think straight. Her breath turns to mist in the frigid air, crystallizing like microscopic diamonds.

“D-did I ask you if you were all right?” Yato asks after a few seconds, his voice shaking. Hiyori nods once, unable to unlock her gaze from his.

Suddenly, Yato’s head snaps forward, nearly cracking their foreheads together. He swears—a prolonged and creative series of words, most of which Hiyori has never heard before—while shaking a great deal of snow out of his dark hair. The remains of a firmly packed snowball slide down the back of his robes and plop into the snow.

Behind Yato, Hiyori sees two heads—one blond and one dark—disappear behind a tall snowdrift.

“Who the hell would hit me with a snowball?” Yato asks in irritation, stomping around and shaking his robes to get the last of the snow out of them.

“Maybe it was someone else you hit with a Firebolt,” Hiyori innocently suggests.

“H-hey! Not fair!”

“Well then, maybe it’s someone who lives around here.” She grins wickedly, sliding her wand out of her sleeve. “Or maybe…something.”

Yato glares at her, his eyes narrowing to cold slits. “You’re not suggesting…”

While Yato’s attention is diverted by Hiyori, another snowball zooms from behind the snowdrift. Flicking her wand, Hiyori skillfully misdirects it. It still hits him, but this time it comes from the direction of the Shrieking Shack. Yato yelps, dancing around in the snow and patting himself down in search of his wand.

“I am not being snowballed by a ghost!” he shouts, even as his gaze flits nervously toward the abandoned building. Loud laughter erupts from behind the snowdrift, and Hiyori manages to cover it with an authentic-sounding coughing fit.

“I’m sure it was just the wind,” she assures him after both the laughing and coughing have subsided. Yato sidles away from the fence that divides them from the Shrieking Shack, edging closer to Hiyori.

The next time she looks toward the giggling snowdrift, Hiyori’s jaw drops. A small mountain of powdery snow now levitates seven feet off the ground, and as she watches, thunderstruck, it begins meandering through the air toward her and Yato.

“Um, Yato.” She tugs on his robe, but he is still regarding the Shrieking Shack through skeptically narrowed eyes.

“I could beat some ghosts,” he mutters, starting to roll up his sleeves.

Meanwhile, the floating snow-mountain steadily approaches.

“Yato!” Hiyori grabs his chin, jerking his face around to look where she’s pointing.

He takes one look at the floating snow-mountain, then lets out an earsplitting shriek. Seizing Hiyori’s hand, he makes a break for it, and once more she is dragged along behind him.

: : :

Behind the snowdrift, Yukine and Suzuha collapse into hysteria. The pile of snow they had both been struggling to levitate crashes heavily to the ground. In the distance, they both hear Hiyori trying to pacify Yato, who—from the sound of it—seems to be sobbing gently into her shoulder.

“That wasn’t exactly the plan,” Suzuha wheezes, holding his aching ribs with one hand and wiping away tears with the other.

Next to him, Yukine snorts.

“I should have known Yato would run away screaming rather than manage to look cool in front of a girl.”

“Is he gonna be mad?” Suzuha asks.

“Nah,” Yukine says offhandedly, chancing another look around the edge of the snowdrift. “If anything, he should probably thank me.”

With his escape hindered by the deep snow, Yato has indeed resorted to burying his face in Hiyori’s robes. As she pats his back in resignation, Yukine catches her throwing reproachful looks in the direction of their snowdrift.

He scrambles back into hiding and looks over at Suzuha. A sunny grin splits his face.

“Yeah,” Yukine says, bursting into laughter again. “He should definitely be thanking me.”

[calix-daesyn]

Thank You All So Much

Calix Daesyn: 400 Followers

Lotus-of-Noxus: 460 Followers

I remember when I first came to the tumblr rp community a little over two years ago. I had no idea how to get started. However, I had been reading a lot of stuff by @prodigal-ezreal and their RP partners and I missed roleplaying so badly that I knew I wanted to jump in. I couldn’t decide who to play though: I had never played canon characters in any rp - and while I thought about trying my hand at Ezreal I just wasn’t sure. So, I made Calix. And he has evolved a HELL of a lot since then. 

It has been a bit rough getting into rp, I’ll admit. When I first made Calix I decided to try and take the advice of a lot of people and just start sending things out. About 80% of those were never answered or I received a ‘sorry I don’t rp with OC’s’ or jus t ‘no’. But some people answered and we soon started having a great time.

A lot of people I started RPing with just aren’t really around any more. Like @cutthroat-diplomacy who was my first SERIOUS ship (with poly allowances of course) for Calix and a great RP partner. @axesrevolution has always been wonderful and a great friend for Calix @timeforatruedisplayofskill helped me get into RP so much, welcoming me readily. @soulreaverdraven did the same and answered my asks and helped boost my confidence early. @spirit-of-an-exile I’ve seen more recently, but not as much - but still her riven mama was the guidance Calix needed and often ignored and got in trouble anyway but she would still sigh and call him bambi and pat his head. Someone who I’ve seen around more recently, but still not much: @the-malevolent-rose I loooove all your interactions with poor Calix. He may have danger kink and monster boyfriends but even he stays ten feet away from Rose when he can. Like I said, they aren’t really around any more, but I’m still so grateful. And there are a ton more I haven’t mentioned. I don’t want this to become a huge wall, just everyone know how much I appreciate everything. 

Now on to some people I interact with today all the time:

@uncle-touchy-lich You are such an amazing writer, artist, rp partner, and friend. I can’t express how happy I am that we clicked. I started following you and was so amazed by your Karthus and wanted so badly to RP with you that I reached out cautiously expecting kind refusal and instead I found someone who was excited to rp with me. I couldn’t believe someone with such a great muse and such great ideas thought my writing and my character were compelling. I’m so happy we started RPing and even happier we started to talk as friends. I adore you and your lich and all your work and characters and I hope we can continue being buddehs for a long time.

@thelanternwretch You are so fkn awesome bruh. Starting with your character and your RP - I LOVE EVERY BIT OF IT. Every dark twisted thing, every vodka thresh moment, every truly horrible villainous thing Thresh says, all of your history and your writing - I just love it. And you the mun are an amazing, sweet, beautifully twisted humor-having person. I really do consider you a friend and I am amazed that you like writing with and talking with me and I thank you so much for the interactions and for just talking to me.

@thecrimsonexecutioner Bab I know you feel insecure about some stuff some times but let me be the tell you that you are AMAZING. Your art is SO GOOD. Your characters are SO GOOD. I love writing with you and talking with you. You are awesome and your muses are fantastic. <3

@cervantestheferryman Dude bro bruh friendo you are a cool ass muthamuffin and I’m glad to see you back and active again. You’re great to rp with, great to build characters and AU’s with, and great for a fun time. Thanks for taking an interest in my bb’s and giving them good bruises.

@thefallenstarchild We don’t really RP, but I just want to note how much I love your Soraka and your art and just how sweet you are. Every time you answer something from Calix it makes me smile so much. <3

@definitely-not-altair You are one cool dude!!! I love watching your streams and reading what you do with Talon. Thank you for ever answering anything I send you from my Kat you are an angel. I really adore your writing and your art and we don’t talk or RP much, but I really appreciate that you put up with me at all lol.

@ace-of-spades-ezreal OOOAH YOUR BOY IS SO GOOD KAT WANTS DAT - ahem. Anyhow. I love your art, your writing, your character and I love every interaction between Ace and Kat - just so so so very good. And I love reading your interactions, your character building, just so much. You are one shiny muffin, acey.

@hook-and-chains Bab you are lovely!! <3 We don’t talk as much but I love your Threshie and adore seeing you on my dash!! <3

@morose-deserter You are such a sweetie and so is your Seryn bab and I loooove talking with you - in RP, in messenger, just everywhere. You are so great <3

@cup-cait Thank you so much for all the entertainment and for trying to keep Kat in line keep trying I believe in you bab. <3

Anyhow I should probably stop there before I take up everyone’s dashes completely. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to everyone I want to thank, but please know that I appreciate you all so much and I just love that anyone follows me at all. When I started Calix I couldn’t believe I had twenty followers - and now I have twenty times that. 

Thank you - so very much.

[chasingthecosmos]

By Any Other Name

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: G Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Eleventh Doctor/Rose Tyler (The Doctor/Clara Oswald, Eleventh Doctor/Clara Oswald) Chapters: 10/26 Read on AO3 here.

“Rose Tyler was dying - or, at least, she was relatively certain that that’s what was happening …” A Season 7 AU where Rose returns to her home universe only to find that 100 years have passed and nothing is quite the way that she remembers it. She wakes up with a new body, a new life, and a new Doctor. What has the Bad Wolf gotten her into this time? The 50th Anniversary will be included in this story. Rating may go up as the story continues.

Rose had already said her regretful goodbyes to Professor Palmer and Emma when the Doctor suddenly received his next eye-opening revelation and they realized that their adventure with the Caliburn "ghost" wasn't quite finished yet.

"It's the oldest story in the universe - this one or any other," the Doctor explained cheerily as he turned and ran for the TARDIS once more. "Boy and girl fall in love, get separated by events - war, politics, accidents in time. She's thrown out of the hex, or he's thrown into it ..."

Or they're trapped in two parallel worlds, Rose agreed silently, her smile strained as the Doctor casually threw his arm around her shoulders and continued gesturing wildly with his free hand.

"Since then, they've been yearning for each other across time and space, across dimensions! This isn't a ghost story, it's a ... love story!"

Rose turned to glance at him out of the corner of her eye, but as soon as her gaze met his, the Doctor's arm flew off of her shoulder as though she had physically shocked him. His happy smile disappeared as well as he awkwardly fidgeted with his now-empty hands. "Sorry," he finally muttered, wheeling about in the direction of the TARDIS once more.

"It's alright," Rose replied lightly as she eagerly followed after him. "It was a nice story. It actually ... sounded a bit familiar, if I'm being honest ..."

"Oh?" the Doctor asked distractedly over his shoulder as he swung open the doors to his ship.

"Yeah," she agreed as she followed him in. "And I think ... maybe there's a reason you tell it so well, too."

"Personally, I'd rather hear your story," the Doctor replied, still not facing her as he began flipping levers on the console and preparing to send them back into the pocket universe to rescue the monster that they had unknowingly abandoned there.

"My story?" Rose repeated dubiously.

"Yes," the Doctor answered, his head bending over the controls as though he were concentrating especially hard on them. "For instance, I'd like to know how a perfectly normal human girl managed to fly a TARDIS into a pocket universe and back without putting a single scratch in the exterior paint."

Rose licked her lips nervously and cast her eyes to the time rotor, as though the sentient ship might somehow help her come up with a plausible lie for him. Honestly, she wasn't quite sure how she had done it, either - she just knew that the Doctor was in trouble and that she had had to rescue him. She had run to the TARDIS and let the ship guide her through all the rest. It had actually been extremely simple - she had barely had to think about what she was doing before she simply ... did it.

"The TARDIS helped me," she explained with a simple shrug. "I think she knew that you were in trouble."

"So you communicated with her," the Doctor replied, his tone insinuating that this was a statement and not a question.

"Yeah ..." Rose muttered slowly, casting around desperately in her memory and trying to remember how the TARDIS had communicated with her back before she had met the Bad Wolf and changed everything. She couldn't very well tell him the truth - that she could hear the TARDIS's song in her head as though the ship were a part of her own mind. But how had the ship spoken to her back when she was still just a normal human girl?

"There was this hologram-type thing ..." Rose explained haltingly. "She gave me instructions through it."

The Doctor paused in thought for a moment before eventually nodding, but Rose could tell by the stiff posture of his spine that he still didn't believe her weak excuse.

"Oh, come on, Doctor," she sighed, finally bridging the nervous distance between them to stand at his side and run a comforting hand over his back. "I promise you're still her favorite. And we won't go and try to gang up on you or anything like that."

The Doctor laughed humorlessly and flashed her a small grin out of the corner of his eye as he returned to his frantic button pushing and dial-turning. "Yeah, you say that now," he muttered under his breath. "But it's always the same with you women."

"Excuse me?" Rose demanded haughtily, feeling an unwelcome wave of jealousy pricking at her insides.

The Doctor just shrugged innocently as he began to race in circles around the console, but Rose wasn't about to let him off of the hook that easily. She chased after him and demanded, "'You women'? What are you talking about 'you women'? How many of us have there been?"

"Well, really only one," the Doctor called back to her cryptically as he continued his mad dash around the console. "Or I guess now you would make two ... Or is it technically three? Oh, but there was that one time ... Oh, well, never mind."

"What are you talking about?" Rose demanded irritatedly.

"The TARDIS!" the Doctor replied with a boisterous bark of laughter. "Flying the TARDIS. Not many have done it, but what do you say?"

"What ...?" Rose asked dazedly, his words immediately stopping her in her tracks.

"Want to learn? It's been ages since I've gotten to teach anyone," he admitted as he finished his last lap around the console and came to a stop behind her. When she turned to look at him, he added casually, "I mean, I don't really plan on having to leave the TARDIS behind again any time soon, but I have to admit that it was handy having an extra pilot around when I needed it today. And she clearly already likes you, so there's that."

"You're ... going to teach me how to fly the TARDIS ..." Rose repeated in complete disbelief.

The Doctor merely smiled that joyous, boyish smile of his that she really had no choice but to reciprocate as he shrugged and eagerly awaited her response.

Was this a thing that happened now? Did he do this with all of his companions? He said that there had been others, but even he seemed confused on those details. In her previous life with the Doctor, Rose could never have dreamed of him making an offer like this. He had showed her some basics over time, sure - but never had he offered her (or anyone else) driving lessons.

The TARDIS hummed a note of reassurance in the back of Rose's mind, calmly reminding her that a lot of time had passed for him since then and many things had happened. The silent support gave Rose the courage that she needed to straighten her spine and smile up at the Doctor with an expectant, teasing expression. "Alright, then," she agreed. "But don't think that this gives you an excuse to go wandering off whenever you like. I don't want to become your designated driver or whatever."

The Doctor gave her a hearty laugh in reply and Rose decided that she quite liked the sound of it. The smile definitely looked much better on him than the weary, lost expression that she had found him with not so very long ago. And the thought that maybe - just maybe - that smile was there because of her was enough to make her own heart flutter with a giddy happiness that she hadn't felt in years.

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

TARDIS flying lessons quickly ended in a smoking, sparking disaster, however, as something (or some

one

) locked onto their ship and began to mercilessly pull them in. Everything went distinctly pear-shaped after that, and Rose awoke to find herself completely alone, deep within the bowels of the time ship with a sharp, painful burn on her hand and no idea what was going on.

The TARDIS was keening morosely in the back of her mind and Rose reached out on instinct in an attempt to reassure her. "What is it now, Old Girl?" she whispered aloud into the silent, empty hallway. "What's happened?"

Death, chaos, destruction, worry, sorry, have to help ... run ... save ...

The jumble of words and emotions made no sense to her, but they still filled Rose with an impending sense of doom as she gazed around the darkened hallways of the old ship. Where is he? she asked silently.

Searching, searching, not fast enough ... dead, dead, dead ...

Rose set her feet in the direction that she knew the console room should be, but the TARDIS was a disorganized, confused mess, and she ended up wandering aimlessly instead. The ship took her to all of the old rooms that she had once lived in and loved during her previous travels. The memories seemed to ring off of the very walls, and Rose swore that she could hear, at times, a familiar Northern accent or see the flash of brown coattails just around the corner.

Finally, the TARDIS brought her to a room that she didn't immediately recognize. It took Rose a few minutes to realize that it was a dimly-lit storage room - filled to overflowing with memorabilia from different times and places. Some of it she recognized as her own - an old jacket, some faded pictures, a locket that she had bought from a shop on Berantis Zeta. She quickly came to realize that this was a graveyard, of sorts - a place for the Doctor to bury his old hurt and memories.

"Oh, Doctor," Rose whispered aloud as she ran her fingers over the priceless old items. "What's happened to you?"

Rose suddenly realized in that moment that there was still so much about this thousand-year-old alien that she still didn't even know yet. He had traveled for nine centuries before meeting her, and then another century in between. How many had he loved and lost, in all that time? She felt the weight of his sorrow as her own as she turned her back o the room and made sure that the door was securely locked behind her.

It wasn't long after that that Rose realized that she was being stalked by some sort of humanoid creatures with glowing red eyes and black, charred skin. One of them had just managed to chase her down and trap her into one of the corners of the empty console room when a familiar hand suddenly grabbed hers and Rose found herself being pulled into the safety of the Doctor's arms once more.

Their reunion and promise of escape was predictably ruined, however, when a warning light flashed on the console screen and alerted them and their two new companions of an impending explosion. "Okay, detour!" the Doctor announced brightly.

"Where are we going?" one of the newcomers asked curiously.

"The center of the TARDIS."

They didn't make it far, though, before the old time ship began leaking memories all around them. Along with the charred, ashen zombies chasing them down, there were now voices (both familiar and new) and conversations echoing through the long, dark corridors as well.

"Doctor ...?" Rose asked in wonder as she rounded a corner and almost ran headlong into a man with floppy brown hair dressed in an unfamiliar tweed coat.

The man turned towards her, but his eyes gazed right through her as though she wasn't even there. Before Rose could say anything else, he grinned cheekily and then straightened his bowtie before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

"Stay away from them," the Doctor - the proper one, this time - commanded as he rounded the corner behind her and quickly took Rose's hand. "Don't touch them."

"Why? What happens if we touch them?" Rose asked as they continued to run full tilt down the winding hallways. "Doctor, what is going on?"

"Well, there seems to be a small tear in the fabric of the continuum," he explained, his hand still gripping hers tightly as he led her deeper into the TARDIS. "It must have happened when the TARDIS was pulled in by the ..."

But the Doctor's words were cut off as they rounded a corner and both of them let out a startled cry of fright and immediately froze in place. At the end of the hallway before them was a tall man with cropped hair wearing a leather jacket and leaning over a young blonde girl. The Doctor and Rose watched in wide-eyed wonder as their previous selves smiled at each other before the memory-version of him suddenly grabbed young Rose's hand and the two of them ran off out of sight.

"What ...?" Rose breathed quietly in disbelief.

"Rose! This way!"

The Doctor and Rose turned in tandem to see a man in a brown suit behind them, reaching frantically back for someone just out of sight.

"Come on, we don't want to be late!"

"What ...?" Rose asked again as she watched a younger, blonder version of herself skip forward and easily take the younger Doctor's outstretched hand.

"Just ... old memories," the Doctor assured her quietly as he stared after the images like a starving man staring at a meal that he could never have.

"Oh, you never learn, do you, Sweetie?"

Rose turned towards the new, unfamiliar female voice to see a woman with a playful smirk and wild, gold curls. Her hands skimmed against the walls of the TARDIS hallway, effectively caging in the Doctor in tweed who was cowering away from her and looking around frantically for a way out.

"But you can't do that, River, you just can't!" the younger Doctor insisted.

"I'll do what I like," the woman named River stated simply, leaning in and forcing her lips solidly against his.

"What?" Rose demanded, whirling on the current Doctor as a sudden flare of anger fired up within her.

"Best ... keep moving," he replied sheepishly, tugging on her hand and forcing them down the hallway in the opposite direction of the memory of River.

Rose allowed herself to be carted off further into the TARDIS, but she didn't try to hide her look of disgust and disappointment as she glared at the Doctor out of the corner of her eye. So there had been others in her absence - and some of them from not so long ago, if the Doctor's face was anything to go by.

She had asked him once if she was just the latest in a long line. Unfortunately, it seemed that that was just one more thing that hadn't changed ...

[demonicserenade]

Personal, so just scroll

Almost three years ago, my best friend passed away from cancer. It’s been really hard on me because, I mean, no shit. But I’ve been getting better about accepting everything and it hurts a little less these days.

But today I was looking through my followers and I saw her name, and it’s like losing her all over again. I’d completely forgotten that she’d had a blog. We’re mutuals, so I’m guessing I probably made her get one even though she always judged me for my addiction to this “hellsite.”

It’s weird because I didn’t realize how much of her I’d forgotten until I started scrolling through her blog. Of course I remember the feeling of being with her and the things we used to do. But like, we were such a unit, so it’s hard for me to remember what she was like outside of our friendship. It’s hard to remember what she believed in, her sense of humor, and just...how much she influenced my personality. I’m literally sobbing because she reblogged a vine of a dog scurrying around a kitchen floor a year ago and fuck. She used to send me videos like that all the time and I miss her.

And I feel guilty about it because it’s been three years and I should be done with this whole morose, self-centered bullshit because I promised her I wouldn’t be like this if she died. I promised her I’d write her a good eulogy and I didn’t even do that right and idek. She was just...so fucking good. And I’ve never been that good. I’ve never even come close and if I could’ve switched places with her, I would’ve. She had a plan for her future. She had attainable dreams and she was grounded and just...fucking appreciated everything she had and didn’t ask for anything more than decency.

And I spend my life fantasizing about anime boys and barely having the motivation to get up in the morning, much less do something productive with my life.

Anyway, if you want to meet her, this was her blog: @laurelszorcsik. You should check her out. It doesn’t nearly do her justice, but it should give you a little glimpse into who she was.

Sorry about the depressing interruption to your dash lol. I appreciate you making it this far.

[seafearing]

i was supposed to post my latest a week ago but there is a huge Block in place which idk how to shift. this is just a silly lil hobby. how to stop thinkiinggg