#maybe fully drawn maybe sketchy like this *shrug*

[creepycatboyz]

heyyyyy could you draw EJ x Helen Otis? I'm in love with your Jack ~(˘▾˘~)

mask boys :)

[sonnetthebard]

if it's not too much to ask, could i request a continuation to the jane/linda switched at birth story? 😅

Absolutely! Y'all really like this, don't you?

Genre: Drama/ Fluff?

Words: 1588

TL;DR: Linda accidentally ends up telling Emma about he and Jane being switched at birth

TW: Swearing

Side note: if anyone has ideas/ sketches to elaborate on this headcanon... please do them and tag me. I wanna see them. I mean I’m kinda loving it.

______________________________________________________

Linda sipped at her coffee, sitting at one of the small tables in Beanies. She let her legs dangle a bit, blowing on her coffee to close it. For once it was piping hot. That probaby had something to do with the fact that she was now rather close with Emma Perkins, the barista who had made it. Jane's sister- her sister. And god, could she ever see it. How could her sister ever work in a cafe though? The cafe had technically closed about five minutes ago, but... the manager, Nora, was letting her and Emma Perkins stay a bit longer to have a chat alone. Emma sighed, bringing over her latte and siitting down with Linda.

"Your coffee okay?" Emma checked. "I know the coffee here isn't too great, but... I tried to make it a bit better. I put a pump of hazelnut in there, and-"

"It's wonderful. Thank you." Linda cut her off, sighing. "Was it a good day at work today?"

"Eh, same old same old." Emma chuckled. "People are assholes sometimes."

"Tell me about it." Linda scoffed, smirking. "Any fun stories?"

"Well... this one guy tried to actually make me *sing* for my tip." Emma rolled her eyes. "Because Nora mentioned while he as at the counter that she'd seen a cafe in god-knows-where doing it."

"Did you actally have to sing?" Linda winced.

"God, no." Emma snickered. "Listen, it's no official rule yet. There's no sign, and therefore Nora can't make me."

"Thank god." Linda laughed along with her.

"Hey!" Emma mocked offence. "I'll have you know that I'm a pretty great singer!"

"Really?" Linda quirked a brow, smirking.

"Oh yeah! I played Fiona in my high school production of Brigadoon." Emma smirked back, putting on the scottish accent for 'Brigadoon'. "I'm not really into theatre any more, but... I fucking killed that role."

"Interesting..." Linda sighed, just taking a look at Emma again.

Sometimes when Emma brought up these significant memories Linda couldn't help but feel a small pang of guilt. Because... she was this girl's older sister. She should have been there toshare those kinds of important moments with her. Not... not phony Jane Perkins. Who wasn't her sister. She liked Emma. A lot. Sure, Emma's life might be a bit grittier than her own, but... they had the same spunk. The same wit. Emma's was slightly less refined, and maybe a bit more crude, but it was there. In a lot of ways, it was like looking in a mirror. Both in looks and personality. That was, of course, if she had been a brunette.

"Hey, Linda, I've been meaning to ask you something." Emma bit her lip.

"Hm?" Linda hummed, indicating for her to go on.

"Why... why the sudden interest in me?" Emma asked carefully. "I mean, not that I don't love getting to actually get to know you- because you're great- but... I don't know. You're... you. You're rich, and your life is fabulous. And I'm me. A thirty-year-old barista at fucking Beanies."

"Well... I suppose I just felt drawn to you." Linda lied.

"Okay, no offence, but... bullshit." Emma sighed. "That's total bullshit! There's gotta be a reason."

"I simply noticed you at work, and... you reminded me of myself." Linda told her, inching closer to the truth.

"Really?" Emma blinked.

"You did... and you do. More and more with every second I spend with you." Linda nodded.

"But like... I know I'm repeating myself, but you're, like, fabulous. And I'm... me." Emma furrowed her brows.

"We've got the same spirit." Linda chuckled. "The same... spunk, if you will. The fire, and the sarcasm. We're peas in a pod."

"Is the sarcasm really that obvious just by looking at me?" Emma smirked.

"In the best way possible." Linda teased. There was a beat of silence between them as both sipped at their coffees.

"So... there was nothing more?" Emma checked.

"No... no, only that you're my sister." Linda sighed. A moment later she realized what she'd said.

"Pardon?" Emma blinked.

"I meant soul sister... sorry, it’s been a long day.” Linda chuckled nervously, hoping that would work.

"Okay, I would've believed that if you hadn't said anything, but... now that you've said it, it sounds so sketchy." Emma shook her head, stunned and suspicious. "What do you mean I'm your sister?"

"It's nothing. I misspoke." Linda blushed, looking to her feet.

"You're lying." Emma stated plainly. "I'm a little sister and a trouble maker. I read body language."

"Emma..." Linda pleaded, a pit in her stomach. She'd never meant to tell Emma. She had planned never to tell any of them.

"No, Linda. I want some fucking aswers." Emma demanded.

"No, you don't." Linda warned her. "Believe me... things will be a lot better if you just forget what I said.”

“No... Linda, you just called me your sister and then completely eliminated the ‘she’s jus being friendly’ context from the situation.” Emma stammered, clearly freaked out. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Fine.” Linda relented. “I didn’t want to tell you because... it’s fucked up, Emma. It really is. And it’s nothing I did, but... I still feel immensely guilty.”

“Just get to the fucking explanation!” Emma urged. 

“My parents- the people who raised me- paid a nurse off to switch me and your sister as babies... It was silly, really. They wanted a natural blonde baby.” Linda sighed. “All of that to say... Jane was never your biological sister. I was.”

“What the fuck...” Emma breathed, eyes wide. 

���That’s what I said when I read it in their financial files.” Linda sighed. She gave Emma a sympathetic look. “Now do you see why I didn’t want to say anything?”

“Um... yeah.” Emma nodded, still trying to take it in. “You’re my sister?”

“We can’t tell anyone, Emma.” Linda warned her. 

"Right...” Emma agreed. 

“It would cause too much of a fuss.” Linda sighed.

“Yeah...” Emma sighed. “So... what, did you start up this friendship because you felt guilty that your parents were heartless assholes who dumped their problem on my parents?”

“No. I did it because... if I had a sister, I wanted to know her. Even if she couldn’t know what she was to me.” Linda explained. “But... now you do, I suppose.”

“Yeah... I do...” Emma blinked. 

“Please... don’t be too mad at me?” Linda pleaded. “I genuinely just wanted to-”

“No, I’m not mad at you. You did nothing wrong.” Emma assured Linda. “Just... God. I always knew there was something fucking weird about Jane.”

“Really?” Linda quirked a brow. 

“Yeah... yeah, not even my parents understood where she got all the ambition and cunning from.” Emma nodded. “She was like... a total Slytherin. And I was very clearly a burnt-out Gryffindor. I mean, I’ve gone a little more Slytherin with my sarcasm over the years, but...”

“I’m sorry, a what?” Linda asked, confused. “Slithering?”

“Like... Hogwarts houses.” Emma checked. Linda stared blankly at her. “Oh my god... tell me my big sister knows what Hogwarts is...”

“I’m...” Linda started, before blinking. “Big sister?”

“Well, yeah... if you were switched with Jane, you’re my big sister.” Emma shrugged. 

“So... we’re alright, then?” Linda blinked. “Just like that?”

“Well... yeah. Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” Emma chuckled. “Look, it’s a lot to get used to, but... you’ve pretty much handled everything right. And... I really appreciate that once you found out, you wanted me in your life.”

“And I want you to know that I really did make an effort to get to know you right when I found out.” Linda assured her. “I only discoved it when I was going through my parents’ financials while planning their funeral.”

“Yeah, I can get why they would never tell you.” Emma sighed. “I mean... god. That was terrible. No offence but... they kinda sound like terrible people.”

“Well... just like Jane, they were very ambitious.” Linda bit her lip. “And they had a weird thing about keeping the blonde hair in the family.”

“They sound like the Malfoys.” Emma whistled. 

“The who?” Linda asked, not recognizing that name.

“Right. You don’t know Harry Potter.” Emma remembered. “Okay, you know what? I think Paul’s at D&D with the boys from work tonight, so I’ve got the house to myself. You should come over, and we’ll watch as many of those movies as we can cram in.”

“Oh... okay.” Linda agreed. “Harry Potter... that sounds familiar.”

“It’s kinda a huge thing.” Emma chuckled. “You’re free, right?”

“Gerald’s taking the boys night golfing tonight, so yes.” Linda smirked. “Is this going to make me finally seem like a cool mom to my boys?”

“Probably.” Emma smirked back. “Alright... do you need a drive to my place?”

“I would appreciate one.” Linda nodded, following Emma out the door. 

Perhaps that day staying late at a mediocre coffee shop had been the start of something beautiful. Or perhaps it had already started before. It was, at least, the day that Linda and Emma fully embreaced their sisterhood. And it really was only the beginning of their story. They would continue to blossom and grow together, and navigate what whas a confusing but worthwhile journey. It’s funny how sometimes you don’t know how much you need something until it’s handed to you. That sentiment couldn’t be any truer than it was with the two new sisters. Emma was precisely what Linda had always needed, and Linda what Emma needed. Finally, at long last, they could embrace that. 

[nincompoopydoo]

If you take requests for Jack Thompson / reader still, could you please write one where the reader is one of Peggy's friends who happens to be a very flirty aviatrix and knows allllll about Jack from what Peggy's told her so he tries to convince her otherwise?? Lots of flustered Jack cause he's a baby boy and I love him so much okay thank :))) if you dont write it no worries!! Dont stress yourself out boo 😘

CALL ME TRIXIE

PAIRING: Jack Thompson x reader

WORD COUNT: 1805

A/N: I’m so sorry I took so long to write this! As you can see I got a little too inspired and it’s one of the rare times my “one shots” exceeds the 1000 word norm. I absolutely love this concept, so thank you nonnie! I hope I’ve done it a little justice.

PROMPT:

“Nice slap.”

“Kinda hurt”

“Want me to kiss it better?”

WARNING: Like one swear word

MASTERLIST

The corridor is small, dimly lit and sketchy looking. A corridor that went on forever. The facility was an underground base used during the war; he could tell by its heavy security, thick steel doors with locks that were purely meant to keep anything and everything out. It was surely once occupied by military intelligence. The narrow corridors remind him of his time at the navy, respectfully greeting senior officers through passages similar to this. 

Forcefully shoving his navy days to the back of his mind, Jack shifts his gaze towards Peggy momentarily, striding by her side; she keeps her head forward, chin up, heels clicking with confidence. “Who’s the pilot?” he draws out coyly. Her gaze finally lands on his, an eyebrow raised.. “You’ll see her in a while.”

Her? Jack was certainly not expecting that. 

What seemed to be a hundred yard walk in, passing doorway after doorway, the two agents finally met an entrance, huge steel doors but bigger than the ones before, leading towards a somewhat wider space. He can tell it’s an aircraft hangar,  dimly lit, sketchy and there’s a damp scent coursing through the air. It sends nerves throughout his body, unusual to Jack. 

The air began to feel tense and Peggy seems to sense this, turning to him once more with an assuring look. Jack merely nods; for the first time, he wants to put his full trust on her. There was an unspoken agreement between the two, an understanding that it was only possible for this mission to turn out successful if they worked in tandem. As a team.

Moving through the steel doors, the pair emerged into a vast aircraft hangar. The structure was empty, clearly abandoned after the end of the war; like a hollowed out steel turtle shell. In the far corner, the sight of a single magnificent flying machine, an ivory jet glowing in all of its glory. He hasn’t seen one in awhile. 

By the nose of the aircraft, stood a figure, a lady in particular. You wore a leather jacket, flight helmet in hand as you waved blissfully. Your smile was particularly warm under the fluorescent glow of the hangar’s interior. Bright-eyed lady with a pretty smile, you were certainly something else.

“Hiya, Pegs.” your voice rang and echoed through the hollows of the empty hangar, once they neared the fly girl. Peggy grins at you, saying your name in a wistful manner; it’s apparent the two of you were close. You hadn’t seen each other since VE day. 

Wanting to desperately bring your dear friend into an embrace, you push that thought away for the sake of professionalism. Taking notice of the blonde man who was lurking just a little behind your best friend, you recognize him as Agent Jack Thompson. A cocky and ignorant man he was. His gaze was stoic yet it shone with curiosity and suspicion.

“So, this is the famous Jack Thompson.” 

“He sure is.”

Jack eyes the two women as he began to feel a little smaller by the second under your lingering shameless gaze. He arched a brow as he watched the growing smirk upon your lips.

“Well, at least the view is nice,” you say slyly with bright eyes still on him and his knees nearly gave out there and then. 

Peggy lets out a strangled short laugh, starting him by your sudden forwardness; it sends his cheeks into a rosy shade of red. Sure, Jack has met women who were forward when flirting yet you were so much more different than any woman he’d ever met. He coughs a little, clearing his throat. He was certainly caught off-guard. He really doesn’t know why you’re making him feel this way. 

As you watched him regain his composure, you reached out your free hand. “The name’s Y/N but you can call me Trixie. The fly boys used to call me just that.”

Jack merely cocks an eyebrow, eyes shifting between your beaming face and your outstretched hand before finally taking yours in his. Your grip was firm, palm rough and the mere feeling of your touch does something to him. Jack admits he has a soft spot for pretty women like you; confident, tough and a little disheveled and to think you were going to accompany him on this mission alone, you might as well be the death of him. 

~

“You nearly got us killed,” you hear him say exasperatedly and you want to strangle him. He was certainly not helping with the situation. “Well, at least we're alive aren’t we?” you snapped back with annoyance, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you lifted the cowling of the plane, fully expecting the sight of a smoked and wrecked engine. To which you were unfortunately right; clouds of smoke began to arise from the whirring engine, filling your lungs. Quick coughs began to erupt, escaping from your lips as you stumbled back in your step, turning towards Jack who shot you a bewildered and slightly mortified look. 

Cute, but mostly annoyingly charming.

“Looks like the engine’s busted,” you mumble under your breath, poking your closer to the engine with furrowed eyebrows. This was certainly not the first time the jet had broken down since the war yet it had seen better days. It doesn’t help that the two of you are alone, stranded in an empty field in Wyoming. Your eyes flickered momentarily towards the trail of flattened grass from the hurried landing as the plane skidded across the field, heart sinking at the thought of the possibility of not being able to fly legally any longer once the SSR finds out about this accident. Then, you hear Jack nearing you, voice raised and you want to roll your eyes. “Busted? Jesus fucking Christ, I did not sign up for this. We’re stuck-”

“Hey, sweetcheeks,” you snapped, eyes burning at him in sheer annoyance. They were pretty. You’re nearing him now, cheeks stained with black smudges. You smell nice, and smoky. “Neither did I. So, quit whining and help me get a screwdriver from the cockpit, would ya?” you said crisply and Jack gulps, stomach flipping in a somewhat pleasant way. And his cheeks are turning crimson when he realizes that you just called him sweetcheeks; his mother used to call him that. He watches you cock an eyebrow, hands now on your hips. Right, he hasn’t said anything yet. “You’re kind of scary, you know?”

Your glare softens at his response and before you know it, a sudden and welcome peal of laughter erupts from you, the widest smile upon your lips. He finds himself naturally drawn to your smile, now beaming down at you. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say smoothly, reaching out to nudge him with your fisted hand. “But I really do need you to get that screwdriver while I take care of this baby’s engine,” You winked, wiping your forehand against the smudge on your right cheek and he feels his heart stutter. Jack feels like a schoolboy and he isn’t sure what to make out of it.

Yet, you’re bright and beautiful and he really doesn’t mind it.

~

With a turn of the ignition, the whirring sound of the ivory jet beginning to come alive echoes through the green fields; a painful sound to your ears as the engine fails to start after three consecutive hours of poking at a hunk of mess and metal. With a sigh, you climbed out of the cockpit.

“Maybe, it needs a kick for a head start,” you hear Jack say sheepishly from behind. You turned to him quizzically, an eyebrow raised. “Kick?” 

He shrugged, rather nonchalantly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “More of a slap.”

A dry laugh escapes your lips as you begin to shake your head in denial. “Uh, I don’t think so, sweetie. No one’s going to be kicking or slapping this baby here- HEY!” you crowed at the sudden sight of Jack sprinting towards the nose of the plane, palms smacked hard against the cowling and your heart nearly shatters.

Then, you hear the lovely whirring sound of the engine.

You stare at the jet for a moment, hands on hips with a hint of a smile upon your lips. You never knew that would work.

“Nice slap,” you breathed, sheer relief coursing through your body. Your gaze now on him as you watch him busily caress his right palm. “Kinda hurt,” there’s a slight scowl on his lips, your grin widens. “Want me to kiss it better?” wide eyes snapped up to yours, cheeks burning red and clearly flustered. You want to laugh. 

After a few moments of Jack trying to keep a steady breath whilst figuring out what to do with his hands, he finally decides to shove them in his pockets once more. He clears his throat, expression neutral yet you caught a hint of a small smile. ”Your welcome.”

It was your turn to blush.

~

Wind in your hair, you smile at the sight of Peggy making her towards you. She waves as you try to smooth down your now tousled hair. “So, I’m assuming he was somewhat tolerable since he is in fact very much alive,” the woman says calmly, a smile playing upon her lips. You let out a small chuckle, clutching your leather flying helmet tighter towards your chest. “He wasn’t so bad,” you mutter, eyes skirting across the expense of the abandoned hangar where a scatter of SSR agents stood by their Fords. You see Jack, golden hair shimmering in the low light as the sun began to set, hands in his pockets as he spoke to another agent with an elbow crutch. You’re assuming that was Daniel Sousa, the one Peggy talked about often enough for you to know she was downright in love with the man yet refuses to admit it. 

His blue eyes met your gaze as soon as he turned around, hand in the air as he waved with a smile so genuine you were afraid you’d never see that from a man like him. Jack was so serious for the majority of the time you’d spent with him yet his usual cold demeanor was no were to be seen at that very moment. You hesitantly wave back, flashing a small smile. Despite the distance, you’d managed to catch on the wink he’d sent you before turning on his heel as Jack casually walked away. Peggy on the other hand has an eyebrow raised as her gaze shifts between her colleague and her best friend. The gesture was enough to send your cheeks into a rosy shade of red. For the first time in a long time, your heart leaps in a way you never thought it would. 

[seokiloquy]

Stick Figures - Kozume Kenma

AU: Writing soulmate (kind of….) (it’s more like drawing….)  Whatever is drawn or written on your body appears on your soulmate's

Word Count: 1.6K +

Kenma tended to wear long sleeves. Most people questioned him about it, why would he wear long sleeves when his soulmate wouldn’t be able to see the drawings or writings on his skin? Almost everyone around him, or people he saw walking on the street, wore short sleeves in hope to catch a glimpse of an arm or hand with ink that would match theirs.  

At 16, the inked drawings would start appearing on your soulmate’s skin. If you had one, then the first thing that you drew would glow a light gold against the skin. If you didn’t have one, then it would turn red, but that was rare. It only happened if your soulmate had already died or if there were other individual circumstances. 

He only answered when his mom asked. 

“I only want them to see what I draw. I think that I will just know when I see them regardless of the drawings on their arms.” 

He would meet them when the time was right. He didn’t need to rush things and he didn’t mind waiting. 

Kenma was only nervous the first few weeks of his soulmate-ness. He would draw almost anything that he saw, books sitting on his desk, trees through the window of his classroom, everything and get nothing in return. That was the only time he really worried about it. 

He kept drawing, until one day a small happy face appeared on the corner of his wrist. His soulmate was seeing his drawings and that was the only thing that mattered. However, they wouldn’t draw much or often. Sometimes broken words or sentences would stay on his skin, but he couldn’t make out the messages the person was trying to say. 

The process was odd and convoluted. Most drawings appear on your soulmate's skin unless it was faces or something to give your location. Some words would go through, again nothing that could give yourself away. Sentences would get broken and mixed and only words of emotion would break through to the other side. 

Kenma would get messages like: sun — blossom— every — sad— place. 

He guessed the universe wanted everyone to struggle a bit before they found their soulmate. 

He could tell that his soulmate was more of a writer than a drawer. However, that only made the times when his soulmate drew something more special. He would wake up to stick figures with empty speech bubbles and half drawn butterflies on his arm. Those were the days where he started the day off with a smile. 

He took pictures of all of them, everything drawn onto his skin. 

The biggest surprise was when he woke up with a beautiful drawing on his left arm. Fully bloomed cherry blossoms wrapped around his forearm, drawn with sketchy lines, almost covering it up entirely with it. It started small at the wrist with the first flower and then the blossoms progressive got bigger as it curved down to his elbow. A branch held them all together and spiralled up to his shoulder, fading out just past it. 

He stared at it intently, it almost looked like a professional tattoo, but it couldn’t have been one. Drawings would only show up if they were hand drawn by someone. 

His mom knocked on his door. “You’re going to be late for school.” 

She looked down at his arm and walked closer towards him. “Yours?” 

Kenma shook his head. “No.” 

His mom took his arm carefully and turned it around. “It looks kind of familiar? Doesn’t it?” 

He could see his mom’s permanent mark below her wrist. It was small and he could never make out what it was supposed to be. Another side effect to soulmates, when you finally meet them, whatever was drawn or written on your arm would stay there. 

“Not really,” he said, looking at it more closely himself. “I see cherry blossoms every day when I walk to school. It could be those or they could have been copied from a picture.” 

“You know people draw really amazing things like this so that it could stand out.” His mom said, dropping his arm. “Maybe you should wear short sleeves today.” 

“I like wearing long sleeves.” 

His mom sighed. “Kenma, have you ever thought that your soulmate might want to find out who you are?” 

He shrugged and then heard the door close behind him. 

It would be a waste to wear short sleeves. He was only going to school and no one at school was his soulmate. The first week that he discovered that he had one, he purposely drew big things on his arms and tried to see if anyone would notice and come up to him, but no one did. Since then, he stopped looking at school. 

He ran his thumb over his forearm and smiled. Grabbing his phone, he took a quick photo of it before it washed off naturally. 

Somewhere out there was his soulmate. 

Sometimes Kenma despised Kuroo. In the middle of his video game, Kuroo barged into his room and dragged him outside. He was meeting his own soulmate at an art gallery that was showing work of local artists, including his soulmate and Kuroo wanted to go and support them. 

“I’ll buy you lunch and pay for the ticket! Come on.” Kuroo said, pulling on Kenma’s shirt, tugging it where the drawing was. “I don’t wanna go alone!” 

Kenma pulled away and glared. “Fine. Just don’t ditch me when we get there.” 

Kuroo nodded and smirked. “Promise.” 

Kuroo did not keep his promise. He left as soon as he spotted his soulmate. Kenma decided to not waste the ticket that Kuroo brought him, so he walked around the gallery. Not to mention that Kuroo offered him lunch and he wasn’t going to pass that up. 

He enjoyed looking at art even if some of the pieces were questionable. He took his time looking around. Maybe he could take some inspiration from some of the pieces to hint that he was at an art gallery to his soulmate. Most of his attention was on the paintings that had more detail and definition until he moved to a more quiet section of the local artwork and stumbled upon drawings. 

They weren’t the original drawings. They were photos of the artwork printed on large pieces of paper and put into frames to be hung on the wall. There were fewer people here and he could hear Kuroo a little bit away. 

Some of the drawings were better than the art pieces outside in the main gallery. He could tell that the drawings had a lot of care and thought put into them with every line, stroke and shading meticulously chosen. 

“They are really good right?” 

Kenma turned around. A person was standing behind him, their hands behind their back and was looking at the drawings behind him. 

“Yes. I’m surprised that they aren’t closer to the main gallery.” 

They smiled. “I know! If I didn’t know where I was going I probably wouldn’t have seen anything else. They are really amazing.” 

Kenma smiled. “I was trying to find my friend. I’m kind of glad I didn’t find him yet though.” 

The person took a step closer. “I’m (Y/N). Is your friend a part of the galley?” 

Kenma nodded. “I’m Kenma and no, he isn’t, but his soulmate is. Are you part of the gallery?” 

(Y/N) laughed and shook their head. “God no. I can’t draw to save my life. My brother has his corner over there. I’m here as a supporter.”

They pointed behind them. Their left sleeve curled into their arm showing a small part of their wrist. 

Kenma blinked. “What’s on your arm?” 

(Y/N) raised their eyebrows, but rolled up their sleeve anyway. Inch by inch, the drawing that Kenma had stared at on his own arm relieved itself on (Y/N)’s. They smiled and started talking again even though Kenma could barely do anything but look at their arm. “My brother usually does more tattoos and he wanted to try something on a real person that wasn’t himself.” 

After a moment of silence, (Y/N) chuckled nervously. “ Kenma? Are you okay?” 

He looked up and rolled up his own sleeve. (Y/N)’s eyes widened as their arm dropped to the side, staring at Kenma’s arm that displayed their brother’s drawing. He held back a small laugh forming in his chest, did he look like this in those moments of silence? 

“We didn’t know whether or not it would show up on my soul —on your arm,” (Y/N) whispered, still in awe. They threw up a hand to cover their eyes, a smile spreading across their lips. “Holy shit, you suffered through my stick fingers while you drew me amazing trees and flowers.” 

Kenma smiled and walked up to (Y/N). He pulled their hand away and gently held the arm that canvased the drawing. He took out his own arm again and held them together, they glowed a faint gold, marking its permanence. 

“I really liked your stick drawings,” Kenma said softly. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yes,” he said. 

His hand slowly fell into (Y/N)’s hand and held it tightly. “I would love anything you drew.”

Hello!! This is the first time in a bit at I 1) finished the one shot on time and 2) wrote something fluffy. I feel like I lost my touch with fluffiness though...As you could see if you're an advised reader/follower of this one shot book that I usually write more seriously? Sad? Ansty? Stuff So it’s kind of weird to not write those things….

Hopefully it’s okay? Maybe I’ll try writing more fluffy stuff to keep the skill! 

Also, this isn’t Ready. Aim. Fire? Part 3.. That’s going to be the week after next!!! 

Thank you for reading! - Kiwi

Posted: 11/07/2020

[the-science-of-stories]

A Beautiful Day.

Demi’s back! But she hasn’t heard from Trona in awhile... 

“Oof! Huh, that didn’t take too long. Thanks for the ride mister!” 

A small but boisterous female voice expressed its gratitude to a burly man steering a stationary horse-drawn wagon. He gave a tip of his sun hat with a hand holding two gold coins in his large palm before spurring the horses back into motion. 

As the wagon pulled away there appeared a waving small figure. A short, female Halfling with tan skin, chestnut hair and a wardrobe of browns, yellows and greens. She kicked up one heel, turning around on the other before stamping it on the ground and placing her fists on her hips with a haughty ‘Hmph!’ through a tight smile. 

She was back in Waterdeep! 

Finally she got to get back to adventuring. Finally she could tie her hair back up again. Her parents probably wouldn’t like it, but who cares? She did! Almost made her feel older, and maybe... Just a little taller. 

But either way it was going back up because she was back! And she had adult responsibilities again. 

And she wouldn’t have to wait long as a heavy, gruff voice called across the street from the other side of the gate.  “DEH-MEH!” 

It was more yell than voice, but she knew exactly who it belonged to. Turning around she immediately spotted a rag-tag group of individuals with the fuzzy culprit towering over the others. 

A bugbear was waving his heavy palm. 

In front of him stood an armored knight carrying a flail with a kite-shield and patterns of green painted over his armor and standard. He rolled his shoulder to adjust one of his pauldrons when he looked up and caught eye of his party mate. 

By his shin a male halfling with grey clothes and a disinterested look, impatiently clicking a very expensive looking pen. When he looked up an almost mischievous smile spread onto his face. 

Behind the bugbear on an already commandeered and loaded cart sat a beautiful elvish woman with silver hair kicking her feet back and forth in the air.A sight that might’ve been a little less unsettling if not for the spire she had on the back of her hand she was staring at with a casual smile. 

Demi excitedly waved as she ran a few feet in their direction before taking a few rapid looks around. Immediately she was aware of one silhouette missing. There was no long beak of a plague doctor mask sticking out anywhere. 

The halfling cupped her hands around her mouth before leaning forward a bit to try and carry her voice to the others, “Have you guys seen Trona yet!?” 

“Not anywhere, was supposed to meet us an hour ago! Much longer we’re gonna be late!” Ferrum, the knight, called back. 

“I said we should just leave her!” Haelgrukk, the bugbear rumbled like thunder across the clearing, clearly displeased. 

Garster, the sketchy looking halfling just raised his hands in a shrug along with a few rapid shakes of his head while Val, the elvish woman, was still clearly preoccupied with her spider. 

“Hrm...” Demi whined, slightly in pondering but mostly in disappointment it was gonna be longer before they could leave. 

“Have you checked her shop yet!?” Ferrum called again, earning equally surprised stares from all sides of his party. 

“She has a shop now!?” Demi called back. 

“Why didn’t you tell us that!?” Garster demanded, kicking his armored shin with about as much success as one would expect. 

“... Because it wasn’t relevant until now?” Ferrum answered, not doing very well to appease the frustrated stares, “Hey I was getting the cart!”

Demi rubbed a hand over her face with a heavy sigh, turning on her heel again as she took off down the street, “I’ll go find her, just gimme a minute!” 

“Two blocks down, you can’t miss it! Looks exactly like what you think it does!” Ferrum called back before the distant sound of metal clanking together. Hale likely lost his patience and got mitts hands on him. It was a small wave of relief Demi didn’t have to see, or really hear, any of what was coming next. 

Before long she found a building that stood out to her from the others just by the newer, fresher wood and stone to build the structure. She didn’t know much about architecture, but she could always tell when forest material was fresh. 

It was a rounded building with windows embedded into stone piling that gave way to long stretches of wood. Behind the glass she saw hanging, drying herbs and the glint of a few colorful potions in the reflecting sun rays. 

She could definitely smell it was her place, if anything. The combination of burning chemicals and fragrant herbs was an odor no one ever agreed on if they loved it or hated it. 

But that didn’t make her hesitate to push the door open with a high jingle of a welcome bell. 

Before she almost choked on a wave of dust. 

The halfling stumbled into the room with a few light coughs, waving her hands in her face as she was startled by just how thick the air was. The sunshine and twinge of the salty air from the Sea of Swords gave way to a pungent odor of something like lavender crossed with sulfur. 

When Demi wiped her eyes she got her first look at the shop. Shelves and notes lining the walls around a desk on the far side of the room. A bed nestled under a window to her left and a staircase cascading over a small kitchen up to a loft. 

A figure turned around with a start at the desk across the room. A head whipping around with the flourish of a very long, white ponytail. Looking back at her were foggy, baggy eyes of a pale-complexioned woman. It was almost impossible to make out the alchemist against the curtain of smoke that immediately dissipated as she took a couple steps to turn fully around. 

“Demi? You’re back already?” She asked in a faintly accented voice. 

Demi coughed, giving her chest a couple pats as she stood up to full height again, “Yeah! *Cough* It’s me, Trona! Didn’t think I’d be back so soon, either, but couldn’t be happier I am. Eugh, it’s hard to breathe in here. What are you making, some kind of new poison for Garster?” 

Trona blinked, sheepishly looking at a mug and saucer in her hands then back up at the ranger again. 

“Tea.” 

“Tea-!?” Demi started to question, shaking her head in dismissal of the topic, “Nevermind, we gotta get going! Everyone’s waiting for us!” 

“Waiting for-” Trona had barely enough time to set down her tea and flip up her hood before Demi scampered forward and took one of her hands. 

“Yeah! Waiting! The party got us a job for us,” She explained as she pulled Trona along towards the door who leaned with almost both of her arms at full length reaching for her plague doctor mask and satchel off the bed, “So we gotta get going!”

Trona scrambled to adjust her mask as they burst out into the morning air. She almost lost her footing underneath her as the sun bore down on her. What she didn’t have time, or the courage, to tell Demi was she hadn’t left her shop in a couple of days. Her time sank into a black hole trying to synthesize a tea using nightshades with minimal success. 

The aggressive light and almost thin air made her lose her breath for a second, but she kept jogging at the behest of the halfling pulling her along. 

“I’m not waiting any longer for an adventure, we got things to do! Besides, it’s a beautiful day!” Demi exclaimed, clearly the excitement of returning starting to stoke her halfling spirit. 

It made Trona look at her feet, watching as almost grey ground gave way to spills of color. Her eyes adjusted to see sprouting flowers in the cobblestone path. The complimentary shades of Demi’s wardrobe and the glow of her smile over her shoulder. Ringing in her ears giving way to melody as birds chirped, just returned from their first fly of the day. The smell of the billowing bread oven of the bakery just up the road with windows thrown open to circulate the breeze. Yes, even the colorful language spouting from Hale’s mouth at Ferrum as they got closer to the rendezvous point. 

You’re right-” Trona breathed to herself, not quite audible to Demi,

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” 

[jefferoni-quotes]

Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing

A oneshot based off of this animatic - THIS ONE - by @invireso ! Sorry it took so long-

Words: 3,018

TW: For blood, death and general sad times. I like angst oops-

- - -

Beware... beware Be skeptical

John, Alex and Thomas were always close friends. Well "friends." They were more like business partners. Perhaps like a trio of bandits galloping around the Wild West, taking out those in their way. They may not have been particularly fond of each other, but no matter what they had their groups back. Nothing got in the way of their jobs.

Their jobs being essential assassins. The group of vagabonds would be set a wealthy upper class target, and they were to dispose of them.

Of their smiles, their smiles Of plated gold

Alexander was definitely the groups leader. He ensured everyone had a job, a position and that's they stuck to their assignment like Elmer's glue. He was the brains behind the project. He was like the choreographer of their deadly dance.

John was act two. If the brawn didn't work, he would launch to attack, as if he were a rabid hound crouching in the dark shadows of an alleyway, just waiting for his prey to scamper past. He was ruthless and merciless. Heartless no doubt.

And Thomas? Well Thomas was the brawn. They strongest of the three by an overwhelming amount. His height was also good for intimidating possible witnesses into leaving the premise.

They were the perfect deadly salad.

Deceit, so natural But a wolf in sheep's clothing is more than a warning!

Then came that day.

The men had been given a rich woman to take out. Her name was Martha Wayles, a 24 year old female from Virginia who'd recently moved to New York.

Alex, John and Thomas were hidden in a tucked away alley, watching the woman move down the street, her phone in hand. Alexander clicked his tongue, signifying that she was coming their way. Hamilton and Laurens had pulled up their neckerchiefs up to cover their mouths and noses, but Jefferson concluded it would look more sketchy if a man in a mask lunged out of the darkness towards you. So he played it casual.

Baa, baa Black sheep Have you any soul?

Thomas saw the cool metal of a knife glint in the shimmering sunlight and took it by the handle from John, peaking out the wall. He chewed nervously on his lip, fingers hovering over the material tied loosely around his neck,

No, sir By the way What the hell are morals?

He ducked his head back in and turned to watch Alexander carefully swing a baseball bat over his shoulder and it brushed last his pony tail.

John clutched the cold steel of a pistol and narrowed his eyes, ready in case anything went wrong.

Jack, be nimble Jack, be quick Jill's a little whore

Martha scrolled aimlessly through her Facebook feed, chucking lightly at some sort of dead meme. She tapped a happy birthday message out to her good friend Dolley on Facebook.

And her alibis are turning tricks! So could you tell me how you're sleeping easy?

Thomas waiting for the brief signal from Alex. When the smaller man nodded he sprung into action, keeping the dagger behind his back and beginning to pull up his neckerchief.

Martha spun around when she heard faint footsteps behind her. She made eye contact with a man. He was tall with dark skin and curly hair. She felt a small flush run to her cheeks. Thomas went pink and coughed awkwardly before allowing the knife to slip from between his fingers and clang to the floor.

How you're only thinking of yourself?

"Uh, I'm, um..." Thomas bumbled stupidly. "I'm Tho-Thomas Jefferson."

"Martha."

Show me how you justify Telling all your lies like second nature?

Alexander grit his teeth and whistled, a sign for Thomas to leave. Jefferson heard the calling card and chewed the bottom of his lip. "I'm sorry, I have to go. It was nice to meet you!" And he scampered off, sighing into his hands. Hamilton was going to kill him.

"What the hell was that?!" Alexander gesticulated in anger.

Thomas shrugged.

"You're so dumb." John added.

Listen, mark my words one day You will pay You will pay!

That night at John and Alex's shared home an argument broke out. But no normal yelling. There was rage bubbling in their veins and if you were there, you would be able to smell the fury in the air. "What the fuck was that today?!" John started.

"I dunno, man!" Thomas answered calmly.

"'I dunno, man' isn't a respectable reply, Jefferson! You were supposed to kill her, yet you actually friended her on Facebook!?" Alexander shot back furiously.

"To be fair, she added me first."

"I can't believe you! What's gotten into you? We used to be the perfect team. Like the reverse Musketeers!" John yelled, sticking a pointed finger at Thomas' face.

"Get out of my face!" Thomas slapped his hand away. "Maybe I don't wanna be a part of this stupid group anymore! I wanna settle down!"

"Thomas, we're like a clan, you can't leave!" Alexander pressed.

"I can and I will! Damn you all to hell!"

Karma's gonna come collect your debt!

Thomas stormed the home, slamming the door closed so hard it shook the hinges.

Over the next months, he and Martha Wayles formed a close romantic relationship. He took her out. Just... not with a weapon.

He'd never believed in the idea of soulmates yet... here he was. His mind had been flipped because Martha was the half he was missing, and man it felt good.

In fact. It didn't take long for him to propose. To with Martha accepted, tears gathering in her eyes.

Aware aware You stalk your prey

Alexander grit his teeth and scrubbed his hands together. John stood on his left, and he dug his nails into his palms. They watched through the large - if not slightly dirty - pet shop window at their old buddy and his fiance. Thomas held up a black kitten, and watched Martha's face break into a glittering grin.

The cars zoomed past them, yet both Hamilton and Laurens seemed to forget, or many ignore, the metropolis around them. They gazed on with a deadly stare as the owner of the store placed the cat in a carrier and filled a bag with all the things the couples needed to raise their cat. And then, the two walked out, but Alex and John were no where to be found.

With criminal mentality You sink your teeth into the people you depend on

The photos that were pinned on the cork-board in the two' shared bedroom were slowly disappearing, but Thomas nor Martha noticed. John spread them across his table. He couldn't help but smile at some of them where Thomas looked especially happy, quickly changing his expression to stern when Alex waltzed in.

Alexander stared over John' shoulder at the pictures and shifted them around. He paused on the one of Thomas asleep with the cat lying on his chest, and Martha hushing with a smile. The two can almost hear the woman's dazzling laughter and kind of softened. Kind of.

There was another of the couple on the day Thomas proposed. They were close, beaming with glee and love. The shining engagement ring may not have been the centre of the photo, but John's eyes were still drawn to it.

The last one they focused on was what appeared to be a nice selfie of Martha and Thomas, but they were being photo-bombed by their cat, that they had named 'Sabrina.'

Infecting everyone You're quite the problem

Alexander finally snapped from his nostalgic trance and snatched a red Sharpie from the pot on top of the desk. He scratched big, crimson exes over Martha's face in the pictures with a serpent like hiss. John looked up at him, hurt surging through his eyes which he quickly masked as satisfaction. Alex tossed the pen across the room, capless, meaning it would dry out quickly. John wanted to go pick it up but sat stoic still instead.

The two had skipped the wedding, finding it unnecessary to attend. They were past the point of caring about Jefferson's feelings, already knowing how they were going to break him. Martha had to go.

Fee, fi, fo, fum Better run and hide

But now, it was the after party. Alexander and John had invited themselves, and were fully prepared.

They scanned the room, searching for their target. And there she was. Standing by her new husband, holding his arm lovingly and gazing up at him in admiration. John looked at Alex, and the greasy haired male nodded discreetly. John strode off towards Thomas, tapping him on the back. Alexander snickered at their old partners shock and watched notedly as Laurens led Thomas off.

I smell the blood of a petty little coward!

Once Thomas was out of the picture, Alexander sauntered over with his phone in hand. He glanced at John, who caught his eye with a knowing smirk. "Hey, Martha!"

She turned around and smiled sweetly, crinkles showing up by her eyes as she did. "Hello, do I know you?" She sipped from the champagne flute in her hand.

"I'm... an old friend of Thomas'..." Alexander beamed dashingly before holding up his phone happily.

"Oh! You must be... Alexander Hamilton?" Martha held out a finger as she asked.

Alex nodded and gestured to his phone again. "Can I have a photo...?"

Martha giggled. "Yes! Of course!" She took one last sip of her champagne before swinging an arm around Alex as he held up his phone in selfie mode.

Alexander coughed loudly. "Oh, sorry, Martha."

Jack be lethal Jack be slick

John took the signal and walked away from Thomas mid-sentence. Thomas looked around in confusion and chugged some alcohol.

Laurens dug into his pockets, and pulled out three little pale, pink pills. John quickly scattered behind Alex and the new bride just as his partner took the photo. He dropped the drugs into the remainder of her drink with a smirk. Now, all they had to do was wait.

Jill will leave you lonely Dying in a filthy ditch!

Martha walked away from Alexander with a wave, starting up towards Thomas. She drank down the rest of her champagne as she skipped up to him.

Then, she stopped. She coughed. And then she dropped her glass.

"Patsy? Sunshine, are you alright!" Thomas rushed forward, avoiding the shattered glass like the plague.

Still retching her lungs up, she reached forward and clenched the front of Thomas' suit. "Tommy..." Martha managed to spit out.

Thomas widened his eyes. "Someone call for help, goddamn it!" He yelled, watching people scrabble left and right, calling ambulances and policemen. Everyone except from two people. Two that stood solemnly in the corner with their heads down.

So could you Tell me how you're sleeping easy? How you're only thinking of yourself?

Everyone was whisked away from the scene.

"Martha!"

"Martha! Let me see her!"

"You killed my wife, you bastards!"

Show me how you justify Telling all your lies Like second nature!

Thomas placed the white lilies on the vibrant grass by his late wife's grave, tears streaking down his cheeks. Shadows loomed over the gravestone and Thomas turned to his left where Alexander placed a tender hand on Jefferson' shoulder. "Hey, buddy..."

"A-Alex?" He shuddered, tears continuing to fall like crashing waterfalls down his cheeks. "Wh-What are you doing h-here...?"

John cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"J-John? You t-too?"

"Come on, let's get you home." John nodded, almost smiling as Alexander smirked knowingly at him.

Listen! Mark my words someday You will pay, you will pay!

Alexander helped Thomas into the back of their 4x4, and John climbed in the passenger side. "I'm so sorry about your wife, buddy."

Thomas just hung his head, gathering his spinning thoughts. "They think I did it." He finally came out with. "The cops had suspicions it was me, but I would never-"

"We know, Tommy... it's alright. You'll be fine." Alexander stared straight ahead and turned the key, the engine starting with a low grumble.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt!

Alexander sat out in the car as John lead Thomas into his home. "You sure you'll be okay on your own?"

"I just need some time to myself." The taller insisted, leaving Laurens at his doorstep. "Bye, Jackie."

"See ya, Thomas."

Maybe you'll change Abandon all your wicked ways Make amends and start anew again

That next evening, Thomas was crouched over his office desk in his home, photo album open. He traced over the image of Martha in one, where she looked so happy... He flipped the page, and where several photos that were originally on his cork board should've been, there was instead the white paper. He narrowed his eyes and flipped again. He smiled sadly as his gaze fell to a selfie of Alexander and his wife.

Maybe you'll see All the wrongs you did to me And start all over, start all over!

There it was. Small but there. The obvious puff of his friends ponytail. Of Johns hair. Thomas blinked, unsure he was seeing it correctly. And then. It clicked, something in him snapped. Martha's beautiful laugh rung through his head, her beaming smile filling his mind. It went silent, before the image of her crying and gripping his suit as she choked suffocated him. Thomas cracked.

Who am I kidding? Now let's not get over zealous here!

The thundering rain beat off Alex and John's house windows, the lightning flashing across the sky lit up the rooms with bright white light. They lay, reclined on the sofa, self righteously sipping a cold beer each.

You've always been a huge piece of shit! If I could kill you, I would! But it's frowned upon in all fifty states

With a clap of dark thunder and a blast of lightning, Thomas was there. He paused for a millisecond, looking up at the red brick home. The grey curtains that clouded the living room were drawn shut. Thomas kept his hand wrapped around the handle of his blade, stepping forward. He knocked gently on the door, listening for the shuffling inside.

Having said that Burn in hell!

The handle was tugged down and Jefferson kicked the door fully open, glazed eyes landing on John who was sat on the couch. Alexander stumbled back and fell onto his back, as Laurens leapt up in horrified shock. He was seeing scarlet, clouding his vision as he charged up to John. The man ran, he sprinted up the stairs and could feel Thomas hot on his heels.

Alexander fumbled for his phone, shivering as he pressed the numbers to call.

John tripped up over the stair, and tried to shuffle backwards as Jefferson stood over him. His lips twisted into a sinister smirk, all the rage blocking out the rapidly approaching police sirens.

So tell me How you're sleeping easy? How you're only thinking of yourself?

Red. It's a horrifically tranquil colour.

Roses...

Or blood. And blood is the substance that was coating the pristine walls of the home. The door busted open again, but this time it wasn't a murderer. It was someone from the NYPD.

Show me How you justify Spreading all your lies like second nature?

The policeman rushed in and helped Alexander to his feet. "Are you alright?"

Alexander nodded. "Y-yes, I'm fine... B-but, J-John-!"

The man patted his shoulder and looked up the stairs, where Thomas was creeping down. He let Alexander go and calmly started forward. "Drop the weapon." Thomas just looked at him through his hair. "I said drop the weapon!" Jefferson kept his hand firmly wrapped around the blade. "Come down the stairs, keep your hands in the air."

"They killed her." Thomas whispered.

"Pardon?" The policeman watched as Thomas stumbled down the stairs.

Jefferson looked up. "They killed her!" He yelled.

"Sir, drop the knife and kindly put your hands behind your back."

Thomas ran forward and he stumbled back. "Sir, stop." He reached for the gun that was rested by his side. Jefferson hit the front of his helmet.

He ran back, still being targeted by the killer. The officer, who's name tag read, J. Madison, threw his helmet away as the cracks were starting to cloud his vision.

Listen Mark my words one day You will pay, you will pay

James leaned against the alleyways wall, fear filling his eyes. He looked up at Thomas who was looming over him and held out his hands. "N-now... lets not b-be to rash." He attempted to keep the waver from his voice.

Thomas stopped. He didn't even notice the knife falling from his hand and hitting the concrete floor with a clang. When he looked at the police officer, all he could see was the terrified look of his late wife. He stumbled back, hands cupping his face as his hardened facade crumbled.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt!

Madison took Jefferson's moment of weakness as it flittered by. He grabbed it and ran forward, hitting the man in the face, He caught him by enough surprise to easily drag him to the police car.

Thomas looked down at his hands. There may not have been anything there, but there was metaphorical blood all over them. He looked up front into the mirror, looking over the police-mans face. When James looked back at him, Thomas immediately gazed back down.

He should've been destroyed that he was going to jail, yet he found himself numb. At least he'd rid the world of a murderer.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt!

He was escorted to a cell, and all his belongings were stripped of him. He was handed a stereotypical orange jumpsuit which he was commanded to change into. And he did. From there, he sat himself on the lumpy bed.

His face slowly contorted into a sickly sweet smile as he clasped and unclasped his hands on his lap. Thomas pushed his hair behind his ear and didn't stop smiling.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt!

- - -

I’ll be writing more oneshots, so I’ma open up requests! Thanks for reading!

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations ABBY! You’ve been accepted as MARS with a FC change to HUNTER SCHAFER.

Abby, we’re excited to have you back, and we’re excited to have you gracing the dashboard with Yvette! Her life’s story flowed so well, I felt as if I could envision it like a movie - of course, it’d probably be one that I cry during, but that’s besides the point. I’m a sucker for the little things, and those headcanons, from her favorite things to her laughter, just made me envision her that much more clearer and really makes you see her as a person, not just a character. Welcome back!

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

NAME / ALIAS: abby

PRONOUNS: she/her

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST, 6-7/10 – What is time these days? I’m still a full time grad student, but with everything the way it is i’m pretty much on my computer all the time, which means I can be better involved in the gc ( hopefully ! ). In terms of replies, I’ll either be cranking things out on the dash in the mornings or at night after dinner (8-9pm onwards)

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

DESIRED ROLE: Yvette Diandra

GENDER/PRONOUNS: trans woman & she/her

DETAILS & ANALYSIS: 

Calm like a bomb. The only tick tick you’ll get out of Yvette is her heart thrumming when her hands lift off the handlebars; when her smile splits for a second – all teeth. There’s nothing overtly dangerous about her: a young woman grown upright into adulthood, all legs and elbows and big eyes, searching for soft spots between your ribs. Mischievous, maybe – up to no good, certainly. She smiles like she’s got a secret tucked under her lip, more than just the tattoo she got drunk on her 21st birthday reading PUSSY in blurred out ink ( you are what you eat, right? ). 

There’s an uptick to her brow to tell you she’s unimpressed; a shrug in her shoulders that says she couldn’t give a shit what you say, really, but a nod and another nod until she can roll away from one palm-flanked street to the next. She’ll keep it that way – a slow blink like a cat’s to say, i trust you, a hand extended with a joint between her fingers. You know she’s whispering about you when she turns to giggle in her friend’s dark hair, but – come on. She looks like she’ll bowl over with a strong wave; how much damage can she really do?

She doesn’t use her powers often, a clean and tidy life that comes at the expense of control. She’ll say it’s because her powers are messy. The truth is she’s never been terrified of anything like she is of herself. She knows what her blast radius is, knows how easy it is to crush things, like a petal in her fist. She knows the shrapnel never really comes out; you can’t get unfucked, you can’t put all that toothpaste back in the tube. You sure as shit can’t walk across the bridge, on fire while you hold the blown-out match. It’s fine. It’s all fucking fine. Yvette clamps a bear trap on her own foot – not because she likes it, not because it’s convenient. Because the alternative, is, frankly, a lot of fucking work. Yvette is good at breaking herself apart, less so at putting herself together. The drop is always easier than getting back up.

The fearlessness – as congenital as the atoms in her body, shivering to split and reshape like waves on the surf – comes out in other ways. No helmet on the on the hill that drives straight down to the beach. Sketchy deals with friends of a friend of a cousin of a diagonal neighbor. Nights lost to glitter and the burn of liquor on her tongue, unsure of the time between the club and the beach and her bed. Mornings split like a snowcone in the sky, and the rest of the day lost to sleep. Petty theft. Cruel giggles poorly stifled in the back of her hand. Fun that’s really only fun when you aren’t at the receiving end of it. Testing the edges of control like dipping your toes into a riptide.

BIO: 

Trigger warnings for: still birth, abuse, drug use

Yvette is born screaming. Peals of it, unfurling from her tiny, toothless mouth. Despondent – no nurse’s finger or nipple in her mouth would quiet her. Eight years or so later, over three fingers of bottom-shelf whiskey and a chain of cigarettes that should’ve put her in a grave, her mother mentions offhand it was just Yvette overcompensating, as usual. It’s the first time she hears about her brother, pushed out between her desperate wails; born sleeping. Yvette swallows this like she does all her mother’s bitter commentary ��� wide-eyed, slim fingers wrapped around her blue plastic cup, knees drawn up and chin nestled between them. 

Things were easy, then – on the bicycle of their lives; two wheels holding up the frame in equal measure. At least – that’s how Yvette remembers them, and refuses to remember further. Texas was honey-sweet and bourbon-rich; Yvette was raised between their dry front lawn and the neighbors, the block a kingdom for her bare feet to conquer. She was a wild thing, then, wiggling in her mother’s hands and in a furious race with the sun. The problem with the sun is that it goes down. The clock stops ticking at midnight, and the candles blow out. The screen door swings shut. 

Yvette makes no secret of her dislike for Mom’s boyfriend. He’s tall and broad, with mean eyes like Mom taught her to look for. His hands are cracked and he smells more of cigarettes than her, too; reeks of them, and maybe that’s why Mom likes him so much – she thinks she can smoke him down, too. Yvette’s never had a taste for tobacco, not since she went to school on the first day of fourth grade and all the kids next to her held her nose. The only time Mom’s ever slapped her was when Yvette crushed all the unused packs under her boot. 

So the first boyfriend is a bust, but it doesn’t stop Mom from bringing home the second or the third. By the fourth Yvette’s on the cusp of something she can’t quite reach, and she knows enough from her skimmed physics book to understand insanity. This time, she shuts the bedroom door and says nothing. Doesn’t stop Mom from falling back into the pendulum swing, though, and this time the speed picks up. Boyfriend Five nearly kicks her door down when all their friends go home and Six takes a fist full of her hair before Mom can stop him. She doesn’t wait to see what special brand of asshole Seven is – peel back the label and it’s all the same dented can. 

Miami was an inside joke – another liquor-based confession Mom made on the couch with a smoke in her hand. It was a place to pin all their secret wants and wishes. You could be something, in Miami, something warm and pink and sun-dusted, a place where the sun doesn’t set and the sand is warm between their toes. A pipe-dream, Yvette echoed back and Mom nodded. Now, with Boyfriend Seven’s cash in her pocket, a bag on her back, and the rest of her life literally up in flames – why the fuck not? Everyone was always telling her to stop letting the world happen to her.

There wasn’t a lot Mom was right about – not Yvette’s dad, or her name, or any of those shitbags she ever brought home. She was maybe a little bit right about Miami, though. It was flamingo-pink and glittering. And no one gave a single shit. Not when Yvette grew her hair long, or rolled up her skirts, or walked into Planned Parenthood with her heart in her throat. 

Mom finds her, eventually. It’s hard not to when Yvette made no secret of it and tended to implode her life every six months or so. It was all very dramatic – lots of wet mascara, tears, hands clasped in front of her like she was about to mutter six Hail Mary’s. The last boyfriend – was it Ten, now? Eleven? – finally put his hands on Mom and apparently that was something of a wakeup call. Not Yvette, gone in the night, with their cash and the garage like ground zero. Not all the times the kitchen vibrated like the base of a volcano, seconds from exploding. Still, Yvette opens her door. Mom sleeps on the couch now, goes to work with few words while Yvette sleeps in. They don’t say the M word. They don’t say the F or the H word either. This isn’t home and they aren’t really family. Yvette’s control is thin like fishing line. These days, to be honest, they don’t say much at all.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

Hana Mercado: There is nothing about Yvette and Hana that will ever be calm and peaceful. From their first collision, like flintrock to tinder, Yvette knew she was going to love this stupid bitch forever. They’re like a tanner, taller Team Rocket – or Thelma & Louise, though Yvette doesn’t give herself too much time to contemplate which side of the hero/sidekick coin she falls on between the two of them. The honest to god truth is that there wasn’t much Yvette had before Hana – her mom, maybe, and 20 hours of week at the gas station where she could do fuck all and still get paid for it.  It wasn’t even the power she wanted. She could feel it – maybe, buzzing at the base of her spine, but it wasn’t why, when Hana held their hand out, Yvette took it.

It was balance, restored. Yvette spent her life since eight reaching for it, open hands unmet. She thought she needed quiet, like a vacuum to suck out all the noise and rage vibrating inside her. She was so fucking fixated on it. But a counterbalance can never be empty space. Hana stepped on the other side of the scale – lightning to Yvette’s thunder; there, bright and flashing, for Yvette’s low rumble to follow. And that’s what they are – aren’t they? Storms for girls; blowing through the bay, darkening the sky and roughing up the surf; spitting out dunes like chewed gum.

But Yvette sees the way Hana’s been nudging her, pressing their foot down on Yvette’s side of the scale. They want to cut the wires, watch the clock tick down to zero, and Yvette can’t for the life of her understand why. Her whole life she’s ripped things out from the inside, ruined things to show herself she could; decided it was what she deserved. She doesn’t need Hana to do it for her, too. Yvette knows fully fuckin’ well what she’s capable of – and it scares her. The fear of it chokes her up, mangles her insides until she can’t breathe. The problem is, of course, that it’s Hana. Anyone else Yvette would’ve told to fuck right off by now – and shit, she probably already has. But Hana’s hand in hers is a grounding weight, and even without that she’s at risk of detonation.

EXTRA: 

Headcanons:

-Yvette’s transportation of choice is her mom’s old roller skates that she rehabbed. She’s a frequent loiterer on the counters of her favorite skate shops, juggling wheels or messing with knuts and washes. As a result of both her hobby and general lack of care for her own wellbeing, she’s often sporting bruised knees and hands and a fair amount of road rash.

-As a natural consequence of her lack of experience and control, Yvette has set fire to a number of various buildings and infrastructure, including but not limited to: her mom’s garage, three gas stations, the neighbor’s yard, a playground swingset, herself (once, technically), two jetties, and some of Tatiana’s plants. She’s never been charged with arson.

-She has a habit of laughing in grossly inappropriate situations, and despite literally everything else about her that says otherwise – it’s almost never on purpose. It’s an anxious habit Yvette doesn’t know the origin of or how to stamp it out, but regardless: nervous, angry, scared, or frustrated, Yvette is going to laugh. Probably in your face. She might even feel sorry about it, but usually only if it gets her in trouble ( which, as one might expect, it very often does )

-The quickest way to Yvette’s heart is between her ribs and under her breastbone, but also: vaporwave edits of pop songs, alaskan thunder fuck, sour apple jolly ranchers, holo stickers, Bombay Sapphire gin, karaoke on acid, 80’s night at the roller rink, fresh blackberries, retro movies with running commentary, white samoyeds on walks down the boardwalk, really really dumb fucking puns, and the occasional baseball bat to an old tv screen. 

Character parallels: Amma Crellin ( Sharp Objects ), Effy Stonem ( Skins ), Jules Vaughn ( Euphoria ), Ilyana Rasputina ( X-men ), Amy Elliot Dunne ( Gone Girl ), Lemony Snicket

This is so dumb but I basically see Yvette’s mom as an older Dakota Johnson? But when she was younger she was very much Dakota in A Bigger Splash ( see here ). Alternatively, an older Yvette? 

Playlist / Pinterest / Moodboard

ANYTHING ELSE: 

Magneto did nothing wrong; also, 

[forged-through-trials]

With the Light of Dawn in my hands, I decided it was time to put the legend of this blade to the test. Ruin insisted on accompanying me this time, and I agreed that the extra muscle would be very necessary given what I’d planned to do. Of course, testing this sword meant finding some vampires. On that matter, I wasn’t sure where to start. There’s Fort Carmala, but that was quite out of our way... plus, I still have nightmares about the place. Nornalhorst was also out; the place crawled, and the vamps in there looked like they could body an ogre. Besides, if I were to die in there, Light of Dawn would just fall back into Volmyr’s hands. At least if I die somewhere else, there’s a chance the sword could be recovered. Well, Skingrad is basically the city of vampires, so maybe searching around there was a good place to start? And indeed, Ruin and I went to scout the countryside about Skingrad, looking for signs of vampires.

Jackpot! This ruin, “Vlastarus” looked like a likely place to case. Ruin and I prepped as best we could, then dove into the place, sneaking until we at last found evidence of vampires.

We were attacked almost immediately, and I stood and drew the Light of Dawn. The sight of the sword gave the vampire pause, as if she recognized the sword and its legendary reputation for slaying her kin. But she drew on me anyway, and moved in. She hissed, her fangs bared while she came at me. I defended myself, and Ruin drew up behind her. Taking attacks from both sides, her attention torn between the two of us. Of course, like most vampires, she was tankie, shrugging off otherwise mortal blows, but every cut from the Light of Dawn seemed to slow and hinder the vile creature all the more. Finally, I found a chink in her armor, and caught her in the mid section, slicing her open. That blow seemed the mortal one, I could sense it through the sword. It vibrated, and I could sense some of the sword’s blood-lust being sated as the vampire howled and fell over, blood pooling under her. The sword wanted more, I could feel it. It hungered to slay more vampires. Ruin gasped, impressed, and I similarly could hardly believe it. After weeks of fearing these creatures, weeks of shame at my inadequacy, weeks of cases being left open and unresolved, I’d done it! I’d felled a vampire! And made Cyrodiil a slightly safer place in the process. Well, that was just step one. There were more vampires to fell in these ruins, and Ruin, Light of Dawn, and I, would see to it that the place was cleared. We found a few more, and they didn’t go down easy, but between the three of us, we prevailed, felling each of the vampires in turn, and claiming the spoils from this place.

Speaking of “spoils,” among them was a strange vintage of spirits. The faded label upon the bottles read: “Shadowbanish Wine.” It looked sweet and aged to perfection, definitely something I’d want to horde in the Luggage for a while, so I pinched it, and with the treasures of this place collected, Ruin and I retreated to Skingrad to rest up and patch our wounds. After a day of resting, and thinking on what to do next, I made up my mind. With the Light of Dawn in my hands, I felt like I I was ready. It was time to return to Fort Carmala.

Ruin: “I would like to begin by voicing my concerns that this is a bad idea.” Trials: “Ruin, you’re my pal, and I love ya, but you think all of my ideas are bad.” Ruin: “It’s because you’ve had consistently bad ideas. And I do not see how this breaks the streak.” Trials: “I’ve got an ace up my sleeve, this time!” I produced twelve large potion bottles. “Skooma!” Ruin: “...” He groaned and shook his head. “Few situations are improved by taking drugs. Least of all, life-or-death struggles against vampires.” Trials: “Trust me on this one. Back in Vvardenfel, I’ve seen Skooma-addicts burst through solid stone walls while shouting: ‘OH YEAH!’ If they can do that on this stuff, I should be able to swing my sword a little harder on it.” Ruin: “Or you could tear your muscles in twain swinging harder than your body can keep up with. It could cause permanent damage, give you a heart-attack, or force you into a coma!” Trials: “Yeah, yeah, I’ve read all of the after-school scrolls, too. But that all sounds like something for Future-Trials to deal with. Present-Trials here is going to go slay her some vampires!” Ruin: “...” He groaned again, shrugging. “I will, as always, accompany you. And when you pass out after a bad Skooma trip, I will be there to drag you back out of the Fort and to the nearest healer.”

First, though, this courier will not be deterred from her appointed rounds. I had a delivery to make, bringing a package to Adrienne Berene at the Skingrad Mages Guild. Trials: “So, what’d ya order?” Adrienne: “A tracking scroll for Erthor. I’ll not misplace him again.” Trials: “...lady, not to pry, but unless you two are dating and he’s fully consented to you being his dommy-mommy, this sounds super sketchy.” Adrienne: “Look, when I want judgement from a drunk lizard, I’ll buy Druja a few pints and stop spanking her long enough to let her catch her breath.” Trials: “...Skingrad is weird.”

But once that was done, Ruin and I crossed the Great Forest. Within hours, I’d returned to Fort Carmala, the place of my previous defeat, and hopefully, the place of my soon-to-be greatest triumph! Huh... the vampires never cleaned up that dead adventurer. Poor guy, I think the vamps are using him as decoration. I sure hope that doesn’t happen to me if I don’t make it.

Once deep into the heart of this place, Ruin and I stumbled onto a nest of at least six vampires. It seemed as opportune a time as any, so I broke out the Skooma... and proceeded to chug three of them. Ruin had to fill me on what happened afterward. I don’t really remember what happened once the Skooma was down. I think chugging three at a time as a first-time Skooma-Sucker wasn’t the brightest of plans... ...I’m not entirely sure, but I think I could walk through walls. All I remember for sure was Ruin standing over me once the high had worn off. As he helped me up, I noticed that we were surrounded by dead vampires. Trials: “...what the hell happened??” Ruin: “You downed the Skooma as you had planned, then tore through the vampires like a woman-possessed. It was amazing, and frightening. I can’t believe you took three pots at once. Have you ever even taken the stuff before?” Trials: “Let’s assume ‘no’.” Ruin: “From nothing to three pots at once? You’re lucky the your heart didn’t explode.“ He crossed his arms, his snout flared. “You were reckless beyond measure.” He chided, his expression softening. “But, admittedly, this would make a very humorous headline in the Black Horse Courier. ‘Local Argonian Literally Two Tweaked To Die.’“ In my Skooma-induced madness, I’d seemingly cleared the entire Fort. So, for now, it was just a matter of searching the place and collecting the loot. I doubt Zarov was among the vampires I slew; it had been so long since I’d started that case, chances were he was long gone by now. But maybe as we collected the treasure, we might find some clue where he’d w--

--huh. I missed one. And she’s not attacking. Ruin’s hackles were raised, but I approached more cautiously, sword drawn as I spoke to the woman in red. Lucy: She was visibly frightened. “Please don’t kill me!” Trials: “Whoa. It’s... strange, being on the other side of that.” Ruin: He pointed his sword at her. “Start Talking, Vampire!” Lucy: “What do you want me to tell you? I’ll tell you everything!” Trials: “...well, let’s start with ‘who are you?’“ Lucy: “I’m Lady Lucy Varian. I was rescued from my demented husband by my savior, Baron von Zarov.” Trials: “...come again?” Lucy: “My husband is a monster! I don’t know what kind of monster, but I know he is one. Only the Baron could help me. I swear, he saved me from Baldor.” Trials: “Saved you?? Lucy, you’re a vampire!” Lucy: “I know I’m a vampire, but it was the only way to be safe from Baldor. You see, I had to be dead for him to let me go.” Ruin and I traded confused glances, before he turned to Lucy and spoke up. Ruin: “We do not understand you. Why were you so desperate to get away from him?” Lucy: “I was married to him only a few weeks, and each night I was locked up in some cage he made for me. We never even consummated our wedding... for which I’m actually glad. But, see, he is not human! No human would treat a newly-wed bride that way!“ Ruin: “There had to have been another way. Did you not try to tell someone? To call for help?” Trials: “Yeah, like Elizabetha, or Doctor Helsong.” Lucy: “I couldn’t involve anyone else. He would have killed them. We had another servant before, and I made the mistake of talking to him. I don’t know how Baldor knew I did, but soon after, the servant disappeared.” Trials: “But... but to turn into a vampire...” Lucy: “It is better to live as a creature of the night, than as a weak, sequestrated wife.” [Light of Dawn hated that.] Lucy: “Is... something wrong with your sword?” Trials: “No, no, it just has a hate-boner for vampires. Speaking of, where is the Baron, now?” Lucy: “I don’t know. He left me here with these vampires to teach me how to be one of them.” Trials: “Yeah, I kind of killed all of your trainers. My bad.” Lucy: “The Baron left for another province. He’d said he had some other matters to take care of and that he’ll be back for me soon.” Ruin: “So he just abandoned you here?” Lucy: “No, I don’t think so. The Baron is a kind and faithful friend. He saved me while he could have let me rot with my husband. It was he who devised the whole plan to make me look dead. He only wanted to protect me. I... I think he might be in love with me. Though he never actually said anything about it. He is shy and respectful like that.” Trials: I rolled my eyes. “Huh. So he prefers to bite than to kiss?” Lucy: “If you want proof of my husband’s misbehavior, you should explore Grayrock Cave. Elizabetha once told me that he has been seen near there quite often by travelers.” We let Lucy be, much to Light of Dawn’s chagrin, and retreated. The plot thickens! Just as we’d finally solved the case of the theft of Lady Lucy’s corpse, a new twist and wrinkle develops, and I have a new side of this case to investigate. Apparently, Lord Baldor Varian was abusing his wife, ‘silenced’ a servant, and maybe up to other horrible deeds! Are there any nobles in Skingrad who don’t have something shady going on?

[writingtopasstime]

Beyond The Lens (Chapter 1)

Overview: Adelaide Rodgers moves to Charming with a sketchy past and quickly plants herself into the lives of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club but will that be a good thing? Like most her past comes back to haunt her but will Chibs or any of the others Sons be there to help her? (ChibsxOC)

Song Inspiration:

For this series I’m going to put the main song(s) inspiration here but if you want the full list go to my music inspiration page here. 

Bad Habit by The Kooks (Main Inspiration for this fic)

You Can By The Boss by Lana Del Rey

Trigger Warning: (Slightly Rough) SMUT, Daddy Kink (Mentioned Once), Cursing 

Word Count: 1,822 Words

Note: This is my first smut fanfiction so go easy on me, please...

Adelaide Rodgers had just moved to Charming. She had to get away from her hometown of Seattle. There were too many bad memories for her. Things that she didn’t want to think about. When she decided to move she wasn’t sure where to go. She had only ever known Seattle as her home but she did have memories of another place. Her mom had grown up outside of Charming, California. She had told Addie crazy stories about how some bikers had started a club and run the town. They were, in a twisted way, Addie and her sister’s bedtime stories. That thought made her stomach turn. There were a lot of things wrong with her upbringing but that was beside the point. She had left that behind her. She moved into a small apartment near the main street of Charming. And so far that’s what it was, charming. She had been there a week and things had so far been really quiet. She hadn’t met any bikers or had any unpleasant run-ins with anyone. She settled in but her mind wouldn’t.

Addie couldn’t sleep. It was a normal occurrence nowadays for her. Ever since she was found locked in his house she had nightmares. She knew she didn’t have to worry anymore. He was gone from her life. Locked away in a prison but she was haunted. So she decided to walk. Hopefully, it would allow her to clear her mind. Being in a new town she didn’t know what there was to do so she would explore. The problem was that it was nearing midnight and she doubted anything would be open. She threw on her jeans, boots and a thin sweater. She figured the California nighttime wouldn’t be chilly.

She started to regret the decision of not bringing a heavier coat when she finally ran into people. The streets of Charming were very quiet this late at night. She turned the corner and saw groups of people filing out of a building. She crossed the street. The first thing she saw was a patch. A motorcycle patch. Her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. It was a real Son. The ones from her mother’s stories. A smile spread across her face. She had been dying to meet one of these guys since she first heard about them.

“Excuse me do you know what’s going on here?” She asked trying hard to contain her curiosity. The man turned around. He was a good five inches taller than Addie. Her eyes flickered over his scars in wonder. Her guess was that it was something to do with him being in the motorcycle “club” but she wasn’t curious enough to actually question it.

“Some friendly fighting,” she could hear a distinct Scottish accent.

“Friendly fighting? That’s a contradiction.” She laughed.

“Aye but only if they’re not willing.” Addie couldn’t help but let her eyes wander over his body. He was distinctly older than her by many years, at least ten years. But she couldn’t help be drawn to him. She had always had a thing for older men. “What is a lass like yerself doing out at this time a night?”

“I’m new to town, thought I’d see what there was to it.” He raised his eyebrows.

“At midnight?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She shrugged crossing her arms against her chest. She could feel the roundness of her nipples through her small layer of clothing. “It’s sort of my thing to wander at night.” Addie shivered. She rubbed her arms trying to retain what little heat she had left.

“Ye shouldn’t be out here by yerself. Let me give you a ride home.” Addie stood debating but only for a second. Her first human instinct was to leave. She didn’t know this man. He could be a killer and/or a rapist. But there was a mystery surrounding him and a story that she needed to find out.

“Okay but first,” she held out her hand, “I’m Adelaide but call my Addie.” She could see him debating something in his head. Maybe he was changing his mind. Maybe he thought she wasn’t worth the trouble.

“Chibs,” he said finally. He led her over to his bike. “Here,” he said handing over his helmet. “Take this too.” He shrugged off his cut and out of his leather jacket. Once she took the heavy leather jacket she slipped it on while he put his vest back on. It was big on her. Really big. She had to shove the sleeves up just to have her hands free. It definitively belonged to a biker. It smelled of leather, cigarettes, and soap. It was heavenly. She pulled it closer around herself. She slipped on the helmet, also too big, and climbed behind Chibs. She shifted her weight forward until she was pressed up against his back. Everything just felt right.

It was long before they were at her apartment. It was too soon for Addie though. She wanted to drive around some more. It was helping her forget about her nightmares. She stood from the bike. “Want to come in?” She asked hopefull. “A thank you drink for taking me home and keeping me warm.”

They didn’t make it past their first shot of whiskey before their hands were all over each other. Addie hadn’t fully unpacked everything so navigating a path to the bedroom had been a stumbling mess. Addie had thankfully set her bed first when she moved in so there was no problem when they sank onto the sheets together. “How do you want me, baby?” She whispered against his lips.

“Right here,” Chibs pinned her against the bed, not roughly but just firm enough so Addie didn’t move. Chibs peeled away her clothing until she was completely naked beneath him.  His lips connected back with hers. Addie danced her fingertips across his back. Down, down, down until they hit his waist. She moved to his belt. She yanked it off and held it in her hands.

“Buttercup,” she said when Chibs moved his mouth down to her breast. He stopped and looked up at her watching as she snapped the belt across her hand. “That’s my safe word.” Chibs eyes darkened. Addie smiled biting her lips. She slid out from under him. “I think I’ve been a naughty girl daddy I have to be punished.” She handed the belt over and turned over onto her hands and knees. She turned her head around watching as Chibs undressed. Addie’s eyes didn’t leave his as she ran one of her hands down her body. She was already so wet for him. Addie slid her fingers across her aching core. A stinging pain shot across her ass. Ohhh, she moaned.

“You like dat? Huh?” Chibs brought the belt down again. Addie pushed her fingers inside herself curling them to hit just the right spot. “Oh, yea.” Chibs stroked himself as he watched her pleasure herself. Addie was getting close when a hands gripped her wrist. “Dats enough fer now.” He lined his hips up to her. Addie looked back around when she heard a package rip. A condom. She had almost forgotten in her eagerness. When he rolled the protection over his cock he resumed his position. He gave no warning as he sheathed his member inside her. Addie moaned as he filled her. The pace was just right, steady deep thrusts.

“Oh fuck. Yes, Chibs. Oh my god.” She matched his pace. Addie moved back to meet his hips. The sounds of moaning filled the room. She didn’t realize how much she missed this feeling until now. She lifted off the bed until her back was flush against his front. Chibs reached around. His fingers latched onto her breasts. Addie added her hands to the mix. Chibs pinched her nipples causing Addie to throw her head back against his shoulder. She moved her hands lower down her body to the apex of her thighs. She went back to rubbing her sweet spot. “I’m close,” she gasped out. Her free hand went back and intertwined in Chibs hair. “Come with me.” Chibs tightened his grip on her. He brought her closer and speed up his pace. That’s all it took. Addie moaned as she tightened around his length. “Fuuucck.” She panted. He grunted as he finished too. Chibs let go as he dragged out the last of his strokes. Addie fell forward. She rolled herself over smiling. Chibs moved the hair out of his face as he looked down at Addie. “That was one hell of a town welcome.” Chibs chuckled.

“Glad to be of service.” He moved off the bed to dispose of the condom. He disappeared into the master bathroom.

“So was that just a one-time thing or could we make this a thing because, to be honest, that was the most fun I’ve had in a long while.” Chibs walked back into the room that’s when Addie noticed all of the tattoos he had. One, in particular, caught her eye. Kerrianne. A shot of worry went through her head. Was he married? Why did he have someone's name tattooed on him especially right near his heart? She shook the thought maybe it was his mother or sister or something.

“Depends, what are you doing Friday night?” Chibs fished out a cigarette out of his kutte. “Can I?” Addie nodded. He lit up as he waited for her answer.

“I’m completely free.” Addie moved off the bed to grab her robe. She wrapped herself up. Chibs gathered up his clothes. He carefully balanced his cigarette in his mouth as he dressed.

“We’re having a party at da clubhouse. If you are interested.” He fixed his kutte.

“I’d love to! The problem is I don’t know exactly where that is.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can pick you up here or you can call Teller Motor Auto and ask for me.” Addie nodded.

“I can’t wait. Especially if it ends like this.” Chibs smirked.

“This was just the beginning love.”

“Oh trust me you haven’t seen the half of my trick babe. Just you wait.”

“I look forward to it.” Addie walked him to the front door. Chibs was halfway out when he turned back and planted a kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you Friday.” Addie pecked his lips. He walked over to his bike. Addie watched him until he disappeared down the street. The sound of the bike fading in the distance. Addie shut the door sighing. The smile on her face wouldn’t go away. She felt the same confidence and invigoration she had before the incident. She made her way to the spare room she had locked. She reached up to the door seal. Her fingers found the key. The door easily opened to reveal another bed covered in boxes. “We’re back in business,” she muttered as she surveyed the room.  

Tag List: soafanficluvr1