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choerypetal · 11 months ago

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Catton's Little Puppet / Oliver Quick & Felix Catton

summary: Oliver had harbored a long-standing obsession with both the reader and Felix. Despite his discomfort at witnessing the two together, he saw it as a chance to strategically earn their trust in an unconventional manner. It was an opportunity for Felix to potentially welcome him into their partnership, transforming the dynamic into a trio where they would all be equals, yet each holding a unique role—masters entwined in the intricate dance of their own puppetry.

ps: English is not my primary language, so I apologize for any errors or mistakes. If you choose to use or replicate my work without proper credit, it may be subject to being flagged.

tag list: @bananzaa @sisgotdemons enjoy!

Oliver hated everything about you when you two first met.

Oliver hated the way your hips seamlessly moved to the rhythm of the music. Your smile captured the essence of every words from the songs you knew by heart. As you clutched the now-empty beer cup, poised to pour another for yourself, Felix's arm effortlessly wrapped around your waist. In a swift motion, he pulled you to his side, mirroring the smile Oliver had admired the first time actually meeting Felix. Oliver couldn't help but think that if he averted his gaze for even a second, Felix's and your lips would meet. The scene drew him back into the room later that evening, only for Felix and you to vanish until the sunrise.

Oliver hated when, the next day, you walked into class looking all polished and preppy. Although he knew that it was only an illusion, as you had once shared with him that it was simply a matter of practice. Even suggesting he follow suit that same morning. During Oliver's first week, you didn't have much information about him, like everyone. Oliver had found himself completely withdraw by your beauty upon entering on that same morning when you arrived late– clearly hungover from the homecoming of the school’s first day and an obvious amount of hickeys left from Felix. How Oliver wanted his to also be marked through Felix’s.

Oliver hated witnessing your interactions with Felix. Typically, he would pay no attention if it were any other girls, but there was something about you that intrigued him. It all truly began when Felix introduced you to him on the same evening after borrowing Oliver's bike. "So, you're the faithful hero who saved Felix. But in the end, who can resist such charm, am I right, dear?" That marked the second time Oliver had heard your voice, yet this time it felt genuine – natural and almost too angelic to let go until its last breath. “Oh, right! Where are my manners? I'm Y/N. And you?”

“Oliver, but you can call me Ollie.” He said without insistence, a departure from his earlier encounters with Felix in person. A surge of confidence enveloped him, particularly as you extended your hand for a proper handshake, a gesture Felix took delight in complimenting, deepening Oliver's infatuation. “And thanks to Y/N's wonderful parents for bringing such a polite daughter into the world.” Oliver, if he had the courage, would have agreed wholeheartedly, envisioning a passion and intensity in a kiss that rivaled Felix's. However, the reality weighed on Oliver, when he heard your beautiful voice once more. “Oh, stop it. Felix has a way with compliments smoother than butter. But I'll remember your gratitude, Ollie.”

And he did remember to. How you would lean in to give him a peck on the cheek. Not that he was special, considering the fact that you always did that whoever you had meet. Nonetheless, for Oliver it meant something more, something that he too would be able to feel, to feel that same love you have for Felix just as you would for Oliver.

Being in proximity to Felix and his circle of friends was coveted by many at the school, and an invitation to Saltburn was a sought-after opportunity. Unless someone had established connections within the group, receiving an invitation was usually contingent on existing friendships. Such was the anticipation for Oliver, who found himself in this situation when Felix enthusiastically proposed the idea of inviting him. It wasn't merely an act of gratitude; rather, it stemmed from Oliver's generosity in lending his bike to a stranger, who had now become a valued friend to him.

Upon your arrival, Oliver caught sight of you standing alone. From the outset, what captivated him was your independence; you didn't always rely on Felix's wealth, and you had a sense of self that wasn’t easily spoiled. “Ollie!” You exclaimed, swiftly kicking off your overly tight heels and dashing towards him. You cupped his face and planted quick pecks all over, leaving him delighted by the touch of your moisturized lips on his cheek. But quickly caught up by someone’s chuckle echoing in a distance. “Jesus, Y/N. You're going to suffocate the poor thing.” Remarked Venetia, welcoming the playful scene with a teasing tone. She observed Oliver's reaction to your enthusiastic greeting, as a way to make the new comer even more relentless of his own. As soon as you released from him, you excused yourself from the exuberance and headed towards the Catton's mansion. “She's a firecracker, this one. Quite surprising that she's into nerds. I wonder what Felix will think.” She mused with a smirk.

Felix's potential thoughts were the constant contemplation in Oliver's mind during the initial days of his stay at the Catton residence. Beyond that, he marveled at how effortlessly open and welcoming you were, despite having only briefly connected during your time in school. While he appreciated the sound of your voice and the way you interacted with him and Felix, it was observing you in quiet moments that truly captivated Oliver. This fascination grew into an unexpected and almost unbelievable obsession, especially considering his initial attraction to Felix. The idea of being paired with anyone else was inconceivable, yet, over time and thanks to Venetia's indiscretions, Oliver discovered that you and Felix were in an open relationship, a decision made to explore new dynamics. You had said. What Oliver didn't know, among the many selected for this unconventional pairing, was that he would be the chosen one.

“You think this is a good idea?” You questioned one morning, adorned in your favorite gown, a cup of coffee in hand, awaiting breakfast as a drowsy Oliver entered the room. “Don't worry.” Felix reassured, leaning in close with his lips almost grazing the crook of your neck. His fingers traced a playful path around your waist, eliciting a chuckle from you at his teasing. "Remember when you said you wanted to fuck a nerd this year? Well, he's all yours." Felix declared confidently, causing a subtle blush to tint your cheeks. “But also yours too, don't forget.” You reminded him. As much as Felix hesitated to acknowledge his feelings, he too harbored an attraction to Oliver. The catch, however, was Felix's love for control. Witnessing you with Oliver was, in fact, more thrilling for him than you might have anticipated.

Upon Oliver's entrance, a palpable tension filled the room as he observed Felix already standing close to you, a subtle fear gripping him that his presence might disrupt the connection you shared. Foolish man you are. Oliver would mutter to himself whenever he glimpsed the slightest hints of Felix's protective or controlling demeanor, not just towards you but anyone. Dismissing the notion, he decided to join both of you for breakfast, putting on a smile as he noticed the exclusive trio occupying the mansion today. “Where is everyone?” Oliver was the first to inquire, scanning the surroundings, even the garden, to find no one but the three of you. The idea began to dawn on you that this could be the perfect setting for something a bit more adventurous, something spicy involving all three. Innocently shrugging, you played along, and Felix couldn't help but laugh at your little game. “Haven't seen them, probably still in their beds, completely oblivious from last night's revelry. Wouldn't be surprised. What a shame to miss a beautiful breakfast with such lovely companions.”

What a shame, indeed, thought Oliver, his gaze penetrating yours as he found himself momentarily lost, only to be brought back by the server serving him a cup of coffee. He awkwardly thanked the server, prompting laughter from both Felix and you at his clumsiness. “You know,” Felix began, his confidence evident, especially when it came to matters of relationships and involving others. “Y/N and I have been... intrigued by you, you know? Perhaps attracted to how quickly you became part of our group. But a little bird told me that she's really drawn to you. Maybe if she had the courage to tell you instead of resorting to these daunting tasks.” Felix said casually, causing you to gasp in response to his unexpected comment. Despite your initial shock, you quickly realized he meant no harm or shame. In fact, Felix wanted Oliver to express his feelings – emotions that could harmonize with yours and eventually be shared behind closed doors.

"Do I happen to know this little bird?" Oliver quipped, his gaze shifting between the two of you with a hint of surprise. Even though he already knew who Felix was referring to, Oliver decided to play along, much to Felix's delight, as he too wanted to please his friend. Felix nodded in acknowledgment. “Certainly, and if I may say so myself, she has a penchant for the nerdy type. However, she seems to be enjoying this new side of him much more recently.” Felix admitted openly, his arm remaining securely around your waist. He was well aware of the complexities of a polyamorous relationship, but if it meant your happiness and the joy of seeing you smile, it was all he could do. Plus, it certainly added to Oliver's amusement in seeing a different facet of Felix.

"Keep it discreet." You whispered to Felix, who, in response, leaned in so uncomfortably close that your words seemed almost ignored. This added an enticing and thrilling dynamic to your relationship. At that precise moment, Felix rose from his chair and planted a tender kiss on your forehead. “Behave now. For me– and for Ollie.” He advised, leaving you feeling utterly defenseless in the hands of someone who had evolved into an obsession similar to the initial intensity when you both first met. Your pout, intended as a defense mechanism, only seemed to amuse Felix, prompting him to gently cup your face. He teasingly bit at your lower lip, evoking a soft whine before he kissed you. “If anything happens, call me, okay? I won't be far away.” He assured you with a softer and more passionate tone, shifting his gaze from yours to acknowledge Oliver with a nod. Ultimately, Felix's interactions with Venetia were not entirely unfamiliar to Oliver, especially when it meant being alone with the most captivating woman in all of Saltbun.

Oliver had carefully chosen his outfit for the occasion, opting for a stylish blue t-shirt that complemented his complexion. In an attempt to break the ice between you two, you remarked it so lively starting with the missing glasses. “I see someone ditched their glasses.” Noting his uneasy glances from side to side, as if hiding something. However, upon hearing your voice, his gaze softened, and he offered a gentle smile, reminiscent of the one he gave Felix when they first met. “Glasses are so last season anyway. Prefer the contact lenses.” He casually remarked, initially giving the impression of a more reserved demeanor than you had originally perceived. This perception lingered, especially during moments when it was just the two of you alone. However, recent events, including spending a night at Farleigh's room and Oliver recounting what he had witnessed, left you uncertain about whom to trust. Consequently, you rose from your chair and approached him. His adorable gasp was the only sound as he watched your sudden movement. “What... are you doing?” he asked, stuttering mid-sentence.

“Nothing…” You casually said to him although it was quite the obvious as you leaned to sat on his lap. His fingers trying his best to mimic Felix’s as you hushed him not to do so but to do it like how he did it to Venetia. Which at first surprised him because he began to think that you knew about it too– but you had said nothing to him since that event. After all– it was a game that Felix and you wanted. Turned out however that it was both Felix and Oliver who wanted you. To be their puppets as the masters take charge to their own demise, sadistic pleasure. Although contracting themselves perfectly, it was one of the many reasons why you had though Oliver to be fascinated in the first place. “Just admiring you.” Was what you said to him next, before continuing as you gently touched the collar of his shirt.

“Make me love like you never have before—a love you've been craving since you arrived here. I know your little game, Ollie. We all do.” You whispered, leaning even closer until your lips grazed his, your hand cupping the side of his jawline. In that moment, you took charge, reversing the dynamics of control. However, the atmosphere shifted abruptly when your final confession made Oliver tense. His muscles stiffened, and his fingers gripped your waist, guiding you onto the table, rendering your body completely at his mercy. Gently crawling on top of you, a cocktail of excitement, lust, and a desire to submit to him filled the air. “Then..” He said softly, lifting your lacy gown casually and placing a few kisses before continuing. “I'll make sure you don't have to remember it, Princess. I’ll fuck you until your screams for more are heard at an even distance.” His eyes barely left you as your head leaned back, moans escaping your lips. However, before you could fully respond, Oliver's gaze intensified with each kiss, and he uttered. “I want you to say my name, just like you do for Felix's. Say that you are mine and mine alone.”

“Yes, I'll do anything you ask.” You affirmed. Your eyes pleaded, craving to be cherished and made to feel like a loved woman once more. It wasn't that Felix wasn't providing that, but the allure of someone unknown, a complete stranger, added an extra layer of excitement. “Make love to me as if you've never experienced anyone before. Have me begging for you until the break of dawn. I want your marks all over me, Ollie.” You confessed. With those words, Oliver eagerly removed his shirt, hunger evident in his desire to kiss every inch of your skin. Starting from your inner thighs, you couldn't help but release a soft giggle as you felt his tongue slowly traveling down.

However, there was one crucial detail both of you remained oblivious to – Felix had meticulously orchestrated this entire scenario, intending it to unfold as an exclusive spectacle for himself. His curiosity lay in observing Oliver's actions when left alone with all of you. Yet, the setup lacked a crucial element: Felix himself. Mere miles away, Felix sensed a tightening sensation in his groin beneath his pants. His fingers delicately caressed the sensation, attempting not to draw attention to himself. Seizing the opportune moment, he approached quietly as your back remained turned, your arms securely wrapped around Oliver's neck. As he neared, Felix gently untangled your shoulders, skillfully removing every piece of clothing he could manage before eliciting a surprised gasp from you. “Fe—”But Oliver's lips silenced you, a deliberate move to divert attention. Even though Oliver feigned ignorance of Felix's game, he too realized it was just a matter of finally being alone together – a scenario briefly alluded to by Felix before arriving in Saltburn. “Shh, Princess. Remember, he’s all yours.” Had Felix said upon continuing to admire your fully undressed body.

In that moment, you realized you belonged entirely to both Oliver and Felix. They came as a combined package, a connection deeper and more intricate than anyone in Saltburn could fathom. Following the encounter at the pool, the three of you continued these clandestine rendezvous. Sometimes it was Oliver gazing into the distance, and other times, it was Felix. Yet, a constant remained – whenever you were out, they were with you. Over time, Oliver acknowledged, opening up to himself, that he truly felt at home, especially when you nestled yourself in a lacy gown between both of them, indulging in endless kisses until sleep embraced you all. This routine became a comforting ritual, repeated again and again.

#felix catton x reader #reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagie #oliver quick imagine #felix catto x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x you #saltburn imagines #farleigh x reader #venetia catton #jacob elordi #barry keoghan

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verxsyon · 2 years ago

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·:*¨༺ ❝ 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖 (𝐈𝐈) ❞

with your auto workshop at risk of closing down, your best friend offers to introduce you to people who are definitely in need of your high quality services: underground street racers of blue lock, whose obsessions are winning the races. however, your arrival at the track makes them think otherwise.

✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. yukimiya kenyu, otoya eita, karasu tabito, shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, oliver aiku, alexis ness, & michael kaiser x gn!reader

✧ 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭. headcanon (written) ; 1.1k

✧ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. e2l au, f2l au, street racer au ; fluff

✧ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. allusions to violence (shidou & rin)

✧ 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚. here’s the second part containing characters who are more egoistic than the last batch… nah, that’s debatable lol. did i actually spend the entire day working on this? yes, i was a roll; love it here. anyways, my other fave, yukki, is here! i didn’t mention it last time: this au was originally written for another fandom years ago, moved to genshin but that didn’t happen, and then here! egoistic soccer boys as street racers? yes, please.

[ 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖 (𝐈) ]

𝐲𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐮. the model. he’s a member of the neo egoists and is ranked fifth of the top six racers in blue lock. his charm is the focal point of his character, driving the audience nuts. curious by nature, he wonders what important qualities you possess other than being “kira ryosuke’s date”. he also wonders how you managed to get the likes of barou, who treats everyone like trash, and nagi, who thinks of only going home, wrapped around your finger. seeing you teach nagi about car anatomy gives him the chance to introduce himself. he thinks there’s something special about you, which he intends to find out, but a teammate of his believes so otherwise.

𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐚 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐚. the ninja. he’s a member of the neo egoists and is ranked fourth of the top six racers in blue lock. he claims to be not like his fellow racers and teammates and prefers to operate in the shadows. unlike them, he doesn’t see you as an angel who was sent by god in the form of a mechanic to fix their cars. he fails to see why they’re smitten by you, therefore not interested in interacting with you at all. that turns out to be a lie when yukki gives you a tour of the turf of the neo egoists. it’ll be rude not to make you feel welcome, so he wants to give you a chance. a crow-themed racer laughs at him for fooling himself that he doesn’t find you attractive one bit.

𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐨. the assassin. he’s a member of the neo egoists and is ranked third of the top six racers in blue lock. all about good vibes and having a good time, he doesn’t want his team to act “mediocre” around you. most newcomers are notorious for never setting foot in this place again. he’s so relieved to hear that you came at your own volition thanks to ryosuke’s persuasion, and everyone you’ve met is nice to you… sans certain others, so he doesn’t need to worry about making an impromptu spiel of why blue lock, aka his team dare you add, is great. if you think he’s too friendly for your taste, let’s see if the next guy who’s stalking you right now takes the top of your list.

𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐲𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐢. the joker. he’s ranked second of the top six racers in blue lock. unrestrained both in words and action, he goes about his day and does everything as he pleases. judging by how karasu and the rest of the neo egoists are quick to stand either by or in front of you, he’s bad news. the altercation got team z’s attention, especially kunigami who he has massive beef with. you being “ryosuke’s date” doesn’t phase him, nor your best friend going for his head for being near you. ever since the older itoshi brother joined forces with u20 and chose him to be at this side, he’s been “behaving”. the younger itoshi brother isn’t amused, as if he didn’t break his nose last race .

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐫𝐢𝐧. the puppeteer. he’s the unofficial leader of the neo egoists and is ranked first of the top six racers in blue lock. the youngest of the itoshi brothers, has a score to settle with his older brother, sae, who’s participating in the upcoming race as a member of u20 along with his personal choice shidou. it’s already bad enough for racers to use physical violence to settle arguments, but it’s even worse for him to be involved in another fight with shidou, especially before a race that determines his fate and prove to sae that he’s the best of the best. he doesn’t spare a glance at you or ask if you’re alright, as sae walks into the neo egoists’ garage to check out the commotion.

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐞. the prodigy. he’s one of the new generation world 11, the best eleven racers in the streets and a member of royale. as he’ll be the only one representing his team in the upcoming race, he joined forces with u20 since they’re short by two members and personally chose shidou to fill in the other spot. even if it’s not obvious at face value, everyone can tell there’s bad blood between the brothers by the intense atmosphere created from their staring contest. sighing, he breaks contact first to search where you are, then looks at rin to scoff at his lack of concern for you when shidou approaches you. in the distance, claps are heard from a man with “u20” on his jacket.

𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐮. the player. he’s the captain of u20, the name of the team you’ve heard from literally everyone who won’t shut up about them for the past several hours. he’s highly respected among his team for his patience; dealing with sae and shidou, the most difficult people to work with on earth, is like a drive around the neighborhood. he intrudes with a reminder that the streets don’t approve of violence and that they’re going to race soon. in addition, a blue lock racer by the name of kira ryosuke has a special guest and they should be on their best behavior. yet he’s a hypocrite, flirting with you in front of his current date and promising you an autograph when he wins.

𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬. the magician. he’s the mechanic of bastard münchen. he understands your position as the center of attention, claiming to be just like you — having a partner for an adrenaline junkie and being the “fixer” to clean up your mess. he invites you to see his partner’s car at the special garage as he’s on his way their to fix its engine, to which you happily accept as there’s finally someone with the same job who you can geek about car anatomy and share techniques. the way he repairs the engine is like clockwork, fluid and in tempo. he really is on a different level. you hear a chuckle behind you, asking if you’re fascinated by his work.

𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫. the thorn. he’s one of the new generation world 11, the best eleven racers in the streets and one of the major forces of bastard münchen. he puts in so much faith and trust in his partner, ness, the “fixer” of his messes. also known as “blue rose” in his turf, he’s shrouded in mystery and seems like the type who can turn the impossible to infinite possibilities. but in reality, he’s a pain in the ass. within minutes of your encounter, he keeps bragging about his abilities and declaring that his victory will lead to the disbandment of blue lock, so they won’t get in his way of his career. the race’s up, and you’re hoping that a blue lock racer wins to shut his mouth.

✧ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬. if your url is in bold, that means i can’t tag you!

@2018-01-20 ; @astranne ; @kamiiyaka ; @keqism ; @lilikags ; @thetruepair ; @wanderersbell ; @venexus

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gars-weaponeer · 2 months ago

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CLONE KINKTOBER 2024 (DAY 1)

Clone Kinktober list made by @olives-and-lilies You can see the list HERE

Day count: X | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31

Prompt: Kama Kink

Paring: Echo X GN!Reader

Word count: 1,168

Tags & Warnings: NSFW, oral sex, kama kink

You can also read it on AO3:

His kisses had always been the most sweet. Gentle but passionate, the dance of your lips combines stole your breath with ease as you were backed away into the bunk.

Moments like these where you were alone and had the ship all to yourselves were very rare, so you needed to take advantage of every situation and make the most of what little time you had.

Your back hit the bunk and the kiss was broken for a moment, Echo backing away to begin removing the pieces of his upper armor with practice ease.

Despite his body being leaner than other clones, thanks to the horrors Echo had to endure in Skako minor, you couldn’t help but admire the way the blacks clinged to his torso. Every line and every dip, you drank it up with hunger in your eyes, mesmerized by the clone’s movements. At least until Echo’s hand reached his own belt.

-Wait! Don’t take it off. - you called, one hand reaching for the clone’s to stop his movements.

-W-what?- Echo for a moment seemed worried that his lover was having second thoughts about the whole ordeal, a sudden self-awareness taking over his body. However, your hands gently took his and bringing them up to your lips, kissing Echo’s knuckles gently one by one.

-Your Kama, don’t take it off. - You repeated, looking up at Echo with such intensity, it made the ARC trooper blush.

-Oh, so that’s what you meant…- Echo smiled back at you, the initial confusion washed away into relief and realization. You just smiled moving one hand towards Echo’s hip, caressing the belt and lower, towards the black and red material that adorned your beloved’s thighs.

You could not exactly explain what made the Kama so attractive, maybe it was the overall silhouette it gave Echo as he walked around with his armor on. Maybe it was the prestige that such an item symbolized amongst the clones. Or Maybe it was the texture of the heavy material and the sensation it gave you as it brushed against your skin.

-It will get dirty if I don’t take it off you know?- Echo says, but doesn’t stop your fingers from moving through the fabric, gently, slowly, as if trying to memorize every inch of the Kama. -Just a little while longer. - You insisted, looking up at your lover with fierce adoration, pulling him closer by the hips. In this position, with the trooper standing up and you kneeling on the lower bunk, Echo’s crotch was aligned with your face and already waking up with interest.

Your deft fingers moved from Echo’s hips to the helm of his pants, slowly pulling them down as best as you could to release the clone’s dick.

You started slowly, holding the length in delicate hands and stroking it up and down gently, aiding yourself with the droplets of pre-cum that welled up from the tip.

Hearing Echo’s gasps and raspy breathing was enough to encourage you to keep going, lowering your lips to lick at the tip of the trooper’s dick, enjoying the taste of him.

Deliberately, you began to spread kitten licks and kisses along the length of Echo’s shaft, making sure not to leave any inch untouched. Your left hand kept stroking Echo's member while the other slowly slid up the side of his Kama, just feeling the texture of it.

Echo had to hold himself up by leaning on the upper bunk with his mechanical arm, forehead resting on his forearm as he looked down at the vision that was his lover. It was taking every single ounce of self-control not to thrust his hips against your face, but damn it if he was not desperate to give into his urges.

After a while, you finally decided to take Echo into your mouth, slowly but carefully sucking at the tip before sliding more of your lover inside your throat, earning him a long, deep moan.

-K-Kriff kair’ta, you feel so good!- Echo growled through gritted teeth, using his free hand to slide his fingers through your silky hair, gently urging you to go deeper.

Which you compiled, slowly but surely slipping more and more of Echo’s shaft until your nose touched the clone’s pubic hair.

Echo was in complete bliss, the tight heat of your throat engulfing his cock was enough to send him to overdrive. But he wanted to be patient and wait for his lover, caressing your hair with gentle strokes of his fingers, taking deep breaths to push down his orgasm for a little while longer.

After a short while, you slowly pulled Echo’s shaft out until only the tip was left between your plump lips. Your hands searched for the hem of the trooper’s kama, enjoying the texture under your fingers as they slid slowly through the fabric.

Then, you grabbed Echo's Kama in tight fists and pulled him close, forcing the clone's hips forward and his shaft into your throat once more in a swift motion.

Echo let out a gasp at the sudden movement and held onto your head, moaning curses into his arm. Stars, that felt amazing!

Understanding now what his lover was planning, Echo began to rock his hips, aiding your movements as you kept using his kama as handles to pull him roughly into your throat, effectively making Echo face-fuck you deeply.

With each thrust, your movements became more and more rough, fast, desperate. The obscene wet sounds and the low moaning and growling from Echo filling the empty ship.

Soon it was becoming a little too much to bear and Echo palmed at your head to try and warn you of his upcoming release.

However, this did not deter the you in the slightest, your grip on the Kama became tighter and your movements more determined, urging Echo to cum down your throat.

With one final harsh pull, Echo sank as deep as he could into you, roaring your name as he came with thick hot sprouts down his lover's throat.

You swallowed eagerly, caressing the Kama with your fingers as Echo emptied himself in you. Once satiated, Echo slowly pulled out, leaving you panting, looking up at your beloved with half-lidded eyes and a devilish smile.

-Been wanting to try that for a while.- You purred, tongue darting out to lick at your upper lip. -You can take it off now if you want, before we continue. -There was a hunger in your eyes that sent a shiver down Echo’s spine. You were far from done, not that the ARC trooper was complaining.

Gently, he caressed your face, moving to gently grab at your chin.

-I might leave it on a bit longer.- Echo said, voice deep and tainted with lust before gently pushing you back into bed, slowly crawling on top of your body.

You felt a spark of excitement as the fabric of the kama began to brush against your naked skin.

This was really going to be an enjoyable night...

Welcome to my self-indulgent collection of drables for the clone Kinktober!

If you enjoyed it, please consider linking/re-blogging my work!

ᴰᶦᵛᶦᵈᵉʳ ᵇʸ stars-n-spice & Cafekitsune

#Starting with Echo cause he is my beloved #tbb echo #the bad batch #tbb #clone wars #sw clonekinktober #Clonekinktober #my writing #kinktober 2024 #sw clone wars #star wars #echo x reader

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charlesf1leclerc · 2 months ago

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Prolouge

Prince!Lando Norris x Duchess!reader

Summary: Prince Lando Norris of Windsor and Lady y/n are set to marry, however unwilling they are. Can they make this work and push past the arrangement and form a relationship…?

Warnings: Arranged marriage, * not proofread *please let me know if any drastic mistakes I missed and should fix

I stood in front of the mirror, the two young girls moving around me ensuring that my outfit was perfect.

Today was the day my life was about to change I was off to the palace to meet my future husband. I say that with high levels of annoyance and disgust because I do not want a husband, I do not need a husband and I should not be forced into marriage.

But again it’s the life I lived as a high member of society, a duchess , it was my duty to marry so my father had picked out the wealthiest prince there was and soon I would become a princess and wife.

I would leave my home today the home I had known for 20 years and take the journey to England to meet His royal highness Prince Lando Norris of Windsor. In a perfect world my father would have thought Lando’s older brother Oliver would be more agreeable as he was first in line to the throne but being as he was already married Lando was the second best option.

I had seen paintings of his royal highness before but I had never met the man in person and yet here I was.

“ Everything to your liking ma’am” one of my dresses spoke

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Starting from the top of my head my hair in a low braided bun sitting at the bottom of my neck. A bonnet of beige material was placed upon my head , adorned with a fabric flower on the top and a white ribbon that tied the bonnet under my chin. My makeup was subtle and porcelain like making me look far more beautiful then I ever was. Down to my dress that consisted of a corset of Buttermilk yellow, tiny purple flowers that looked like specks of dust they were so tiny. My overlord two was the same buttermilk yellow colour with tiny purple flowers as well. Covering my shoulders was Pale blue Coat that stopped at the waist with pearl white buttons. finally down to my hands covered by gloves the colour of Swan White. I looked as good as I could in this situation and if his royal highness didn’t like it he would just have to suck it up.

“ yes thank you “ I responded as they scurried away

I took one last look in the mirror before turning around to look at my room one last time.

I left down the long corridors and headed for the front entrance where the carriage awaited to take me , my mother and father to formally greet the royal family or shall we say my new family.

I joined them in the carriage while the footman loaded my bags. Sitting in the soft cushioned seats I looked out the window waiting for the journey to begin.

“ you look beautiful darling “ my mother spoke

But I didn’t respond I don’t know it i could ever forgive them for turning my world upside down.

Comment to be added to the tag list

#f1 x reader #x reader #fanfic #imagine #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando x you #lando x reader

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corpsebasil · 7 months ago

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hiii could i pls request something w modern prince nikolai?? i’m dying to know how they get back together😭

YES

Modern Nikolai part 3 I think!

The cafe is quiet at opening hours, but then again it always is now that it’s public knowledge that Nikolai avoids your former workplace.

The multitudes of ‘princess-hopefuls’—a term Oliver coined that refers to the women who think a casual run-in with Prince Nikolai could be the beginning of their own royal love story—have long since stopped haunting the corners of the coffee-scented establishment, the gentle hum of an espresso machine and the soft music in the background replacing excited whispers and gossiping.

That’s why when Nikolai, clad in a baseball cap and a sweatshirt from the university he graduated, sits across from you, the elderly patrons and younger customers that tend to mind their own business barely bat an eye. Only the currently working barista, a girl named Margery who replaced your own position, lifts her eyebrows briefly before going back to her work, the prince a minor distraction in her routine of grinding coffee beans and steaming milk.

“Y/N.” He starts immediately, his familiar voice raw and soft as he sits across from you. Your fingers, already wrapped tightly around a warm cappuccino, tighten further. “You look…I mean, I missed you. You..”

When you allow yourself to meet those sad blue eyes, so vivid even under the slight shadow of his visor, a feeling of longing overtakes you. You still love him. Of course you do. But he hurt you.

“Switzerland.” You say, ignoring his statement as you move forward. “Oliver invited me.”

He’s quiet for a second. His jaw twitches—the only sign of his irritation.

“He told me.”

“And?” You ask. You’ve always been able to read him like a book. Seeing him become slightly annoyed by his brother’s actions is only another reason on your rapidly growing list as to why you shouldn’t go. “You don’t want me there. I don’t want to be there. Olly—“

“I do want you there. Christ, Y/N.” His hand darts out to touch yours upon instinct before he squeezes his eyes shut, clearly frustrated with himself as he tucks his hands together under the table, safe in his lap. It’s too late though—his warm fingers have already brushed your knuckles and now you want to hold his hand again. God, you feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle after a dry spell. “I’m sorry. I—Jenna misses you. Olly won’t stop talking about how excited he is for you to come. My mother—” Nikolai pauses. “My mother would be…absolutely relieved to see you.”

“Your mother, lied to me.” You say, eyebrows furrowed as you let go of your cup and tuck your own hands into your lap as well, mirroring his actions. Two sides of a coin, the two of you are. Two halves of one soul. Inseparable. Irreplaceable. “And Jenna, and Olly. And you.” Your voice catches and you both seem to tense at the same time. “You lied to me. You said you loved me but you—”

Oh shit, your voice is doing that thing where it sounds a bit croaky before you start crying.

Not here. Not here.

“Y/N,” Nikolai murmurs, reaching out again. His jaw is clenched tight as he splays his fingers, laying himself bare for you if you want him. “I’m sorry. For everything for—“ he squeezes his eyes shut. “I never should have lied to you. I know that. But I love you, okay? That’s real. I’m real.” When you don’t reply, only watch him with misty eyes, he swallows roughly. “I love you.”

Hesitantly, you take his hand. It sends a jolt through your body, the both of you taking in a slight inhale.

“I’ll come.” You say, trying not to tense when his fingers curl instantly around your own, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. His blue eyes are soft and full of relief.

“Thank you.” Nikolai tightens his fingers on yours for a moment, his voice tight. He clears his throat when you tug away, a forced, slightly nervous smirk on his mouth as he relaxes into his seat. “So…matching boards this year?”

You snort, remembering his awful attempts at teaching you to snowboard a year or so ago during a similar trip.

“You have to stand up.” Nikolai laughs, lifting the visor of his helmet as you crouch in the snow, gripping the board below you for dear life. “It’s not a sled.”

“It’s whatever I say it is.” You grumble, raising an eyebrow at the prince. He reaches down and, as if you weigh nothing, scoops you up under the arms and sets you down in the powdery snow.

“You didn’t even bother to strap in.” He scolds as you beam, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. Nikolai’s helmet taps yours in a semblance of a kiss before he’s guiding you towards the warmth of the resort, the prospect of hot chocolate and fireplaces raising your spirits.

You smile involuntarily at the memory and shrug, fidgeting with the gold bracelet on your wrist. The both of you seem to realize it’s one he got you at the same time but, thankfully, he doesn’t comment. Pride still lingers in his tone when he speaks, though.

“I’ll pick you up for the airport, then?” Nikolai says, tilting his head to the side in that boyish way of his.

You bite your lip, worried you’ll regret this, but nod.

WELLLL WHAT COULD HAPPEN ON THIS TEIP?

#nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #shadow and bone imagine #modern nikolai lantsov #modern nikolai #nikolai smut #wattpad #fluff #patrick gibson

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faketrex · 2 months ago

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18, please!!

Thank you, friend ash! 💝 Prompt 18 is, "the end of the line at a b-list movie star’s meet-and-greet."

RWRB AU with a meet-cute. Obviously.

...

"He's not a fucking b-lister, he's an independent."

"Okay–"

"The Maple Season made me cry, Nora. Twice. It's fucking art. When's the last time a movie made you cry?"

"And that's not related to the fact that for two months each year, your blood turns into pumpkin spice syrup, like some kind of extremely basic seasonal werewolf?"

"Nora–"

"I'm happy for you, really. So are you going to come to dinner and tell us all about it after you meet your idol, or not?"

Alex shuffles forward. There are only two people ahead of him in the line now; only fifteen feet or so between Alex and Rafael Luna. He might need to lie on the floor in his apartment for a while after this is over. Then again, hanging out with Nora and June might help him chill the fuck out. And carbs, carbs would definitely help, in both beer and French fry form.

"Save me a seat. I'll be there." He hangs up. The line inches forward.

And then, all of a sudden, it's his turn. Rafael Luna is seated right in front of him, all dramatic cheekbones and horn-rimmed glasses and crisp button-up with the sleeves rolled and the collar wide open.

Alex panics.

"The Maple Season made me cry," he blurts.

Luna smiles and raises his eyebrows. "In a good way, I hope?"

"Fucking–I mean, yes, definitely, in the best way." Alex sets his poster down on the table between them, watching as Luna pulls it closer and peels off the sticky note with ALEX written on it. "That scene in the barn? After Oliver loses the race? It's fucking heart-wrenching. I can't believe you didn't win the Best Supporting Actor Oscar."

"You're very kind," Luna says with another grin, "but usually you have to be nominated for an award in order to win it."

Alex laughs. "Well, yeah, of course. I'm sure you're going to get there someday, though. The Academy would be criminally stupid not to recognize you for everything you've done. And–" He takes a deep breath. This is it. "And–I wish I'd seen queer Latino representation like yours on-screen ten years ago."

"Thank you. I really appreciate that, Alex." Luna, Rafael fucking Luna, looks right into Alex's eyes as he says it, making Alex's knees wobble in a way that he's already planning to leave out of the story when he tells it to Nora and June. "I'm lucky to have fans like you who make it so rewarding to keep doing what I love."

"No, thank you," Alex responds. "I mean–seriously."

"Would you like a photo with Mr. Luna?"

"Oh, sure." At the assistant's prompting, Alex turns to face the camera, trying to focus on smiling while wracking his brain about whether there's anything else he absolutely needs to tell Luna now, during what might be his only shot to ever do so. When the assistant steps away again, though, all Alex's thoughts come to a complete halt.

The next person waiting in line is tall and broad-shouldered, with blond hair that sweeps over his forehead. He's got a rolled poster under one arm and a book under the other, like he's been spending his time in line reading instead of scrolling on his phone like a normal person. Alex blinks slowly at him as their eyes meet, feeling like a deer in headlights. Luna is right behind him still, but all Alex can focus on now is this man–

"Alex?"

"Thank you," Alex repeats reflexively, breaking out of his daze and turning back around to pick up his signed poster and roll it carefully. "It was so great to meet you."

"Take care," Luna replies, and that's it, it's over, Alex moves to the left, out of the line, and out the door.

When Alex gets outside, it feels like he's forgotten to do something important–like breathe, maybe–for the entire time he was talking with Luna. He zips up his jacket with his free hand, still holding the poster in the other. He closes his eyes for a second. He needs some French fries and a beer, for real.

"In my opinion," someone to Alex's left says, "he's one of the best artists of his generation."

"What?"

"I mean, there's no one who compares, really," the man continues. It's the blond who'd been in line just behind Alex. "Did you hear that his next project is going to open at the Venice festival?"

"Fucking finally, right? He deserves it."

"He certainly does."

Alex watches while the guy pulls a rubber band out of his pocket and slides it around his own rolled poster. He should probably say something, but his brain seems to have called an intermission on thinking. It's the post-Luna effect, probably. Or maybe–

"I apologize if I've bothered you," the man finally says after a few moments of silence, fiddling with his poster. "I'll–"

"No, no, you're good," Alex interrupts, reassuring. "It's cool. I think we're on the same page. I'm Alex."

"I'm Henry."

"Nice to meet you."

"It's my pleasure," Henry replies. "And I hope you don't mind my saying so, but I really just wanted to tell you–The Maple Season made me cry, too. I went through a entire box of tissues."

Maybe Alex should feel embarrassed or something, but the shy, sheepish smile on Henry's face is making his knees do the wobbly thing all over again.

"Tell me about it," Alex drawls, and when he blinks slowly at Henry from under his eyelashes, he's gratified to see that Henry's cheeks turn pink, enough that it's visible even in the dim evening light.

...

(Alex is late to dinner, but he ends up getting not only Luna's autograph, but also Henry's phone number. It's a pretty stellar evening, all things considered.)

#faketrex writes #setting prompts #do they watch The Maple Season together at some point?#yes they do #and Alex crows about it when Nora eventually watches it and cries too #firstprince fic #fandom: intro to international relations #fic: sugar chemistry

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thelavendercatalogue · 2 months ago

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Lavender Jacket Series Jacket Overview: Jigen Daisuke

Find Yata's Overview Here: Thank you @pixelateddork for the art.

Next on the list for the Jacket Overview series is a fan-favorite and one that I'm especially happy with.

Jigen Daisuke For his BASE PALETTE, Jigen sports his tradition getup, but it is more of the TWCFM set up of colors: his typical wardrobe as always sticks to the ashy-grayish black suit, light-blue dress shirt, white-tie and his traditional fedora which like the rest of his outfit ranges within the ash-grey tones see here (thank you screenshot recolors)

His SECOND OUTFIT

Like many shows we have seen regarding the pair, Jigens palette is often made to coincide or at least generally fit well with Lupin’s palette, even if he often does head toward the more traditional route with his colors- the blues, the blacks, the grays and so on and so forth. While Lupin took on the more softer Lavender colors in this series, Jigen however sports, not so much a different look, but one that I believe fits well with Lupin’s as well as the Lavender Jacket series as a whole

In LJS, Jigen’s tradition of typically wearing a darker set of colors compared to Lupin’s lighter shade still stands strong. However those traditional colors have since moved on from the typical colors he’s most famously known for and instead now he sports colors that one may not have typically seen on Jigen outside of Part 3.

The First of the new colors presented are a Green Suit and Pants. Traditionally Green has always been a color that symbolizes many things, though the meanings of green can vary by shade similar to blue or red. For example: Bright green often symbolizes rebirth and spring while Olive green represents tranquility, earthiness and elegance. In Jigens case, Dark green or various shades of it, can often represent things such as fertility, greed, money and drive. For some shades, it also carries connotations of wealth and success but can sometimes signify greed and envy.

In Jigen’s case, the color green is often a double-edged sword; while things like tranquility do not come easy for him until much much much later in the storyline, his drive to right his wrongs at times may also to many seem admirable at best and maybe suicidal at worst. Despite this, he still holds an elegance to him even during some of the worst times of his life which fits him strutting around in green very well. The Darkish Red of his hat and tie also symbolizes things as well. Wine Red is a deep Red that often comes in many shades and often symbolizes traditional things like sophistication, passion, and luxury, few things that Jigen can’t afford to lose yet enjoys all the same as well while he can.

Especially passion. Throughout LJS, Jigen often finds himself being thrust into Lupin's role in more ways than he often anticipates, outside of simply just Leadership. In addition to this, he often finds himself shocked, about how often he ends up trading one vice, his alcoholism, for something better. The Act of Sex The moment Fujiko and him hook up in LJS, Jigen is often led to believe it’s the sex in which his body craves, like some new hyper-drive in his borderline dead sex-drive. While this turns out to not fully be the case, (he realizes later on down the line that its not simply the sex but the touch his body craves, not just the outcome that comes with it because Jigen usually hides how touch starved he really is) the need for sex is often a driving force between the pair. It’s why he often goes to her for "companionship" when he’s drunk. Because, as shocking as it is for him, he had found something he finds fun, entertaining. In fact it revitalizes him, entices him, he finds that he enjoys it and it's strange because he never thought he would, especially with a woman like Fujiko, because it's also strange to him how quickly he fell into Lupin's role in the group

even down to his preference in partners.

Since red is the color of blood, it has historically been associated with sacrifice, danger, and courage. Modern surveys in Europe and the United States also often show that red is also the color most commonly associated with heat, activity, passion, sexuality, anger, love, and joy. All emotions Jigen knows well and is slowly getting to know.

And it's not just the colors that often hold symbolism. Since their creation, cufflinks and lapel-pins have been seen as a symbol of status for gentlemen with luxury gold and gemstone cufflinks seen as a symbol of wealth, power and reputation, while Lapel pins are frequently used as symbols of achievement and belonging. While not shown directly on the reference sheet, Jigen does happen to wear and own two

In addition to being the Lupin Family Flower, The lupine flower stands for imagination, admiration, and overall happiness. Whether given as a gift or grown in your garden, the lupin brings the energy of inner strength to recover from trauma.

For Jigen it often fits all too well. But while he is not versed in the language of flowers like his partner might just be, he knows deep down that the flower means something to him. Ever since he was younger, the Lupin family, often consisting of just Lupin’s Grandpa and Lupin himself but now extending to the mains and servant’s, had been more of a family to him than even his own. The stability, while crazed and dangerous, was something that he had come to love and enjoy.

Jigen pledging his loyalty to Arsène the First, thus essentially pledging his loyalty to the entire Lupin family, was something that he never thought he would ever do again since leaving the Mafia life behind him for good. But Issei had become almost a father figure to him, let alone someone who had earned his loyalty and his admiration. And following Jigens official pledge to the Lupin Family, he has always keep on him a little piece of Lupin and the new life he was given in the form of a Lupine Flower Pin. He never wore it, but after everything that had happened during the events of LJS, he figured now would be the best time.

The Pin always stays on his Lapel, close to his heart no matter what, where it will always stay.

Jigen’s third and “secret” palette is often used as a joke palette in a way, but is also just another I've grown to love.

Essentially, I had come across this palette in a Discord server I am in

And naturally I had fallen in love with it. It had part 4 vibes but gloomy and tired and somewhat sad which seemingly worked very well. Lupin's design in LJS IS his Part 4 design but tweaked. Of course since the palette felt right I decided to give it to Jigen as sort of a “party” outfit; one that he often uses when he goes out with Fujiko, or for special occasions!

But then a friend had pointed out that Zenigata got the jigen palette in the picture set, with the blue vest and orange undershirt and green tie, and I thought of course it was funny. . . Until I realized that this image also exists

Which fits because Jigzeni, or as we lovingly refer to the ship as Hattrick, is a ship found in LJS

It seems Zeni can’t stop stealing the gunman’s clothes How they fit him we will never know

#lupin iii #lupin the third #lupin the 3rd #jigen #daisuke jigen #jigen daisuke #inspector zenigata #Lupin III: The Lavender Jacket Series #Jigen #Jigen Daisuke #lupin iii hattrick #hattrick

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ratcatcher0325 · 1 year ago

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A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #31)

Chapter #31. ... Something Wicked this way comes... Or so Alexander thinks. Who is at Nat's door?

So this is by far my longest chapter yet! I guess that makes up for how long it took me to write and edit it? Maybe? Anyway thanks for continuing to read!! I love and appreciate you all!

Previous: Chapter #30

Next: Chapter #32

Word Count: 10,045 Read Time: Approx. 60+ mins

CW: adult language

Tag list: @gatlily @patrocolus3 @beautifulunknowntrash @titan-god-420 @andraimeide @themarlo @cup-o-chai @lucentbliss @raccoontoaster @tolsizedlove @not-a-space-alien @thegodmother007 @honey-olive @bittykimmy13 @aceouttatime @imvenusasaboy @liminaldaze @windshield-patent @joxter-coded @rosella35 @narrans @rubeau-art @littlescaryinternetguy @jae-from-discord @kitn-underfoot @secretly-small @writing-forever @iinogongju @itsgothgirlthyme @make-me-giant @reborrowing @whatthisfemsheplikes @soapysoap69 @tinystrawberryshifter @thetinylittlespider @bigboicol-theflamingcol @certainwizardlady

Btw, DM me if you wanna be added to the tag list!

___________________________________

A Fraction of Justice

Chapter #31: The Pricking of Thumbs... and Eyes

[Alexander’s POV]

I strained to listen through the bedroom door, thicker than I measured shoulder to shoulder, through walls of drywall and insulation, through distance. While it was only a few dozen steps for the human who’d just told me to hide, it may as well have been the better part of a mile for me.

Damn my little frame!

My throat tightened as my spinal column was washed with adrenaline. What was happening out there? Was she okay? What was my best course of action? On the desktop I had the advantage of some height, sure, but I was also a sitting duck, with no chance to outrun a pair of malicious human hands if it were to come down to that. Did I risk clamoring to the floor? Or did that just guarantee my doom, underfoot? Down there, I’d have more places to hide out of sight before springing into action with this makeshift weapon I currently hefted under my arm. If push came to shove, would I be able to get to her in time to make any difference at all? Even if I crashed my way into the room with two absolutely massive beings before me, was there anything I could do to help?

My few milliseconds for strategizing were abruptly cut short as the creak of the door opening far off in the distance hit my ears. My blood froze in my veins and I admit, I held my breath as I ground my heels into the wood of the desk, waiting to discover what was taking place far beyond where I stood.

The door opened. I strained, wincing and wishing I wasn’t banished to this far off room, like some weak little coveted prize to be stashed away when danger called. I couldn’t be certain, but I swore I heard a gasp.

Her gasp.

My heart thundered ever more feverishly. That was it. I had to do something. Anything. Even if it got me killed. I would not lie down and cower in fear like some weak little waste of oxygen. If she needed my help, I’d try my damndest to give it.

Without a second thought, I hobbled over to the edge of her desk, contemplating the cables I’d shimmied down once before. I now had the much more logistically challenging job of navigating this vertical drop with a letter opener towering a whole 3 inches above my head and mobility aid tucked under my arm. I heard a shuffling of feet as I swung my own over the cliff’s edge that was the desk’s ledge. I tried not to think about how a drop from this height could kill me as I heard her exclaim, “What the fuck? What’re you doing here?” Was this someone she knew? To my ears, it didn’t sound good.

I needed to move, and quickly. I heard a male voice, deep and wholly unfamiliar ring in response, but I hardly had the bandwidth to pick up on his exact words. I managed to hear “Worried… Own good… Don’t freak out…” I launched myself over the edge, both hands gripping the cord as I swung precariously, trying not to drop the two objects carefully hooked under my right shoulder joint and pressed to my side with the crook of my elbow. I had to make sure to apply adequate pressure to keep them from slipping.

Hand under fist, I began to slowly lower myself down the length of the cord. The progress was abysmally slow. I bared my teeth, sweat forming on my brow, as a muscular burning began to blossom in my shoulders and arms. No! Not now, I’ve only just begun my descent.

I pictured Natalie’s face in my mind. I’d no doubt she could hold her own quite well. The incident with the driver in her alley and her unapologetic shouting match with the impatient man came immediately to the forefront of my thoughts. She did not hesitate to come to her own defense, and I knew that. What she’d failed to remember when she’d commanded me to hide myself away, is that I would not hesitate to do the same.

I was ripped back to reality by two concurrent events that occupied my full attention. First, I could feel my crutch slipping dangerously from my hold on it, threatening to fall out of my grip entirely, as my arms shook with the effort to hold myself aloft. I could hardly afford to risk letting go with one arm to catch it, let alone be able to twist around in time to stop its fall. I doubted I’d be able to support my full weight with just one fist gripping tightly to the slippery rubber casing of a wire. Yet, if it tumbled to the ground, and out of reach, I’d be royally screwed in trying to hobble even a few paces.

As I hung in place, tightening the pressure between my elbow and ribs to try to keep the objects from falling, the second event tore me away from my current disaster unto another. There were footsteps, loud and unmistakable, thundering toward the door. This human, whoever he was, would be bursting through the threshold in only a few seconds’ time, judging by the cacophony of shoes on wood flooring.

I was much too high off the ground to risk jumping, but too far down to have enough time to clamor back up again. This was a huge mistake. I was stuck, midair, probably about level with the average human’s thigh, swinging uselessly, and utterly exposed. Like ripe fruit ready to be plucked from its vine, I was at high risk of being snatched up.

Steel yourself, Alexander, now’s not the time for succumbing to fear. I had a weapon after all, and a sharp one at that.

The gigantic footfalls continued with ever growing intensity in my direction. The stranger’s voice seemed far too casual and familiar for my liking, “Aww, come on, I gotta see what’s been goin’ on… what’re you trying to hide?” Who was this man? Why was she not stopping him and what gave him any right to invade her home on such unexpected notice, no less?

What was she trying to hide? Me. You unwelcome invader of privacy. She’s trying to hide me. So much for keeping out of plain sight and giving her peace of mind.

“No, you really don’t! N-no I’m not hiding– I just… now’s not a good time and–” Her voice was softer than his, quieter and more distant. He was charging ahead and she was scrambling after him. What was wrong with this human? Did he not know how to listen?

The footfalls were so close now, I could feel them as they ricocheted through the hardwood floor of the hall, and shook my makeshift climbing rope ever so slightly.

How embarrassing. Just their steps were enough to rock me to and fro like a fragile leaf on the breeze. I swallowed hard. This was it. In the next millisecond I’d be face to face… well… make that face to body with an unknown enemy.

I gripped tighter, tucking the cable between the sole of one shoe and the toe of the other, so that I didn’t have to bear all my weight with just my arms. This muscular effort tweaked my injured leg, as my trembling hands gained some small relief. With my crutch still barely able to balance, I readied myself to use my weapon if needed. I was almost certain it would be needed.

That’s when he crashed through the door.

He towered over me, of course. The gusts of wind generated from his massive form erupting into the room threw my hair about my face and made me grit my teeth. Why did humans have to be so big?!

He stopped just inside the doorway, his left thigh upsettingly close, yet maybe just an inch or so shy of being within stabbing range. Damn. Still, he was much too near for my liking. I could practically smell him. Was that fresh soap and a hint of cinnamon? I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

He hadn’t noticed me yet: of course not, I was far below his eye line, why would he? He stood comfortably, as if he owned the place. He looked a few years older than Natalie, perhaps about my age, though it was impossible to know for sure. His bespectacled visage was bright, excitable. He seemed amused, as he cast his gaze around. His beard, dark in color, just like his neat, tightly curled hair, was cut close to his jawline. The wide-necked cable-knit sweater he wore sported a geometric pattern in black, royal blue and crisp white. His left hand relaxed inside the pocket of his corduroy slacks, as he took in the room before him.

I hated him at first glance.

He played the part of a perfect Nantucket dandy, clearly hailing from wealth, and with the added benefit of an Ivy League university education, he seemed out of place in Natalie’s humble living conditions. Everything about him oozed with pretension and privilege. And yet, the two of them seemed well acquainted, so there must’ve been some common ground.

While this strange and wholly unwelcome intruder delighted in the view, my muscles were screaming for relief. Sweat poured from my brow and down the back of my neck. My arms, in spite of my best efforts, were starting to tremble and that damned cane was ever closer to tipping out of my grasp and down to the floor, a deadly distance away. I couldn’t hold on for much longer, but I’d be damned if I’d let this supercilious interloper’s first encounter with me be one of pitying condescension because I required any form of assistance.

A moment after he’d paused in the doorway, the third party in this equation, and second human, my human, practically crashed into him in her hurried attempt to stop him in his tracks. Great job, on that front, Natalie. She managed to stop just short of colliding directly into his back by gripping to the threshold of the door and halting her momentum. Much to my surprise, I noticed she was significantly shorter than him. Was Natalie short? That seemed impossible, given just how towering she was to me. Or was this unannounced visitor just abnormally tall? From my vantage point they both may as well have been city buildings, so the difference hardly mattered.

I watched as her eyes flitted feverishly over the desk’s surface, no doubt searching for me. She was red faced and breathless. I couldn’t tell if she was more relieved or panicked by not knowing where I was. Maybe luck was on my side and I’d go unnoticed by them both, left to gasp and tend to my sore muscles in the sanctity and peace of a humanless space. She sucked in air as if about to speak, no doubt to usher him out of the room, when he, oblivious, his back to both of us, cut her off.

“Damn Nat, since when did you start picking up? This place always looked like a tornado blew through here but now it should be on the cover of a home decor magazine or something… What’s changed?” Me. I’m the change that made her clean up her pigsty of a home. You’re welcome. If I hadn’t been convinced already, it was painfully clear now that these two knew each other. He had this smug, easy going familiarity about him that made the bile rise in my throat. Who did this man think he was, waltzing into Natalie’s home uninvited and entirely unexpected and then parading around as if he owned the place? Was he expecting to stay for dinner? Spend the weekend on her couch? How dare he interrupt her work, our work, as if we had nothing better to do with our day than entertain him!

I glanced over at Natalie, she didn’t seem the least bit offended or wary of his presence. So he’d been an unplanned but not altogether shocking visitor? How often did this stranger make himself comfortable in her home? They must’ve been quite close if he had unfettered access to her space and had been here frequently enough to note her change in personal organization. Why hadn't she mentioned him before?

As he spoke, he took another step into the space and went so far as to sweep a finger tip across the surface of her dresser to check for dust, his expression one of impressed intrigue (as he should be, that was my meticulous and thorough dusting he was observing).

While he remained occupied, I suddenly felt the invasion of her gaze alighting on me. She finally spotted me, dangling there like some marionette in the world’s most boring puppet show.

Her eyes bulged from her skull, as she set her jaw and her nostrils flared in that capricious way she always did when she was upset with me, which was infuriatingly often.

Her gaze flitted with anxious intensity from my dangling form to the back of this other human, and then returned to me. With a frantic, utterly confounded gesture she mouthed at me with a serpent’s intensity “What the fuck are you doing?!”

I hissed back, the heat in my face beginning to rise, “What am I doing? Why is he–” I jutted my chin in the stanger’s direction, which I immediately regretted as the force of my gesture forced me to swing in counterbalance, making the challenge of keeping my grip steady and the objects in my arms from falling all the more difficult, “--even here?” I cast my eyes down to the letter opener, and then back to her, “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m protecting you!”

Somehow, her eyes managed to widen even farther as her gaze followed mine toward the letter opener in my grip, its blade as long as I was tall, sharp and menacing, “Don’t you dare! Alexander! No! Do NOT.”

While she spat through gritted teeth, she made all kinds of emphatic gestures: shaking her head, swiping her hand in one fell motion across her throat, and staring daggers at me. If she hadn’t learned by now that telling me what to do would get her absolutely nowhere, then there really was no hope for her. If the man deserved to be stabbed, a stabbing he would get. Simple as that.

She seemed to read my mind, “Alexander–” She was about to continue, her eyes narrowed to slits, even taking half a step in my direction, no doubt on the verge of expressing more disapproval for my very reasonable reaction to an invader in her home, or perhaps to simply snatch me up and disarm me, which I was prepared to fight tooth and nail over. Just as she drew another breath, however, the seemingly spatially unaware invader himself, clearly having no idea of this fiercely whispered conversation behind his back, uttered a noise of delight and intrigue which made both our heads whip in his direction.

“Oh! This is adorable!” During the length of our heated exchange, our interloper had graduated from the dresser to the bedside table, where he was now leaning, hands on knees, marveling at the miniature wonder that was my neatly made bed, my dresser, and a few other furniture items, all to my scale: my open air bedroom of sorts. Oh give me a break! Have you never seen a bed before? What’s wrong with you?

Defensively, Natalie stepped in his direction, still trying to keep my presence a secret; a smart move if his fascination with just my furniture was any indication of how he’d react to seeing me. A few beads of sweat traced down my spine as I grit my teeth, struggling to hold on. He continued to stare, adjusting his glasses for a better look, “What’s all this for? It’s so cute!” Come back over here and I’ll show you cute.

Realizing with simultaneous intuition that we had about half a second before he’d turn over his shoulder to look back in her direction, we exchanged a swift, knowing glance before she turned on her heel, and planted herself firmly between him and my hiding spot, obscuring me from view.

“Oh! All that? It’s… nothing… I thought my niece might like them, I just haven’t wrapped them up for her yet…” Ah yes, thank you Natalie, for reminding me that I and your niece’s playthings could do a furniture swap if we wanted. Excellent. At least she was giving me a chance to escape my predicament. She got points for that.

I wasted no time in re-engaging my muscles for the upward climb. As my shoulder joints buckled, I felt my stomach drop. Did I have the strength to pull myself up?

Now was not the time for doubt. I had to try.

She continued to cover for me, speaking louder than was normal, as I made laughably little progress towards the lip of the desk, “Anyway, look, I really appreciate you coming to check on me. You have literally been saving my ass with the lectures and stuff, I owe you, big time…” My whole body was trembling, my breath escaping my lungs in ragged gasps, my hands, now slick with sweat, were struggling to maintain traction, as my hurt leg burned from the far too great strain I was putting on it just to keep from slipping. As I struggled against gravity, Natalie crossed the room to the other human, trying her damndest to usher him toward the door.

I was only a bit too preoccupied at the moment to clock whether her encouragement was proving successful. Hand over fist, feet wrapped tightly around the thick, rubber casing, I was getting ever closer to sweet relief. Only about two inches of distance left. I could do this.

No sooner had I encouraged myself, than my next handhold gave way and I was left to cling fast by one arm, as I instinctively hugged the letter opener and cane to my chest with my now free hand, both objects swaying wildly along the same pendulum trajectory of my own form. My heart rate spiked and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to make a sound as I happened to peer down at the floor, seemingly a million miles below me. That was close. Taking advantage of the gravitational force that bandied me about, I managed to grab back on with my right hand.

Okay, crisis averted, I could do this.

“...But, you did your check-up on me and as you can see I’m totally fine, so…”

Nevermind. I could not do this.

No sooner had I steeled myself for the homestretch, my grip gave way again and this time I had much less luck in righting myself. My favored hand, my left, failed me, as did my foothold. I was now dangling, precariously, by one arm, legs flailing, as I swung with a violent rhythm. But that wasn’t the end of my troubles. In my scramble to right myself, my movement was enough to finally knock the crutch from my grasp.. and down, down, down it fell.

"...Thanks for stopping by. Like I said I do have a bunch of shit to do today–” CLANG!!!

The aluminum cane collided with the metal rim of the trash can below. My shoulders flew up to my ears as I cringed and grit my teeth.

So much for keeping a low profile.

The gasp of pure delight that came from the man across the room made my stomach churn, as I hung, wrapped tightly around the cable, my one line of defense still pressed between my chest and arm. The speed with which he turned on his heel, alerted by the sound I’d accidentally made, only to almost instantaneously break into a, frankly, disturbingly joyful smile made my countenance twist into a snarl. He practically bounded over to me, with so much enthusiasm that his footfalls shook me from head to toe.

Why, oh why, did I ever delude myself into thinking the company of humans was ever worthwhile?

Much to my utter frustration and embarrassment, all my swinging and thrashing about for a steady hold left the wire above me twisted, and, therefore, I found myself being turned so that his rapidly approaching gigantic face was greeted with only my back.

This was all much too humiliating. I kicked and writhed in a minimally successful attempt to right myself. What I was greeted with made me regret the effort.

His bespectacled gaze was a mere few inches from my body, his dark eyes, widened and glowed with patronizing fascination.

“Awwwww…” His voice was booming, the intensity of his stare far too all-encompassing, he was close enough that I could smell him, that hint of soap and cinnamon striking my nostrils like a biochemical warning signal. He smiled, his massive eyes staring directly down into mine, “You need help, there, little buddy?” I could practically feel the steam erupting from my ears. Before I even had a chance to snap back, the pad of a finger, huge, rough and jarring, pressed into my ribs to turn me fully about.

I writhed away from his touch, swinging to and fro and snarling, “DO NOT TOUCH ME.” Even a rattlesnake gives one fair warning before he strikes, this is mine and you’d do well to adhere to its call.

Simultaneously with my outburst Natalie stepped forward, clearly forecasting what was to come. She knew me well enough by now to know just how I would take such condescension. As she came forward, I felt myself tensing, Don’t you dare swoop in and rob me of my moment. I don’t need your help here, I’m well armed and perfectly capable. I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, hungering for the now inevitable moment of confrontation with a being twelve times larger than myself.

She continued to close the distance between us, and I couldn’t help noticing how her hand rested on his trapezius muscle with easy familiarity. She glared at him, an eyebrow raised “Yeah. Don’t, dude. Don’t do that…” Her eyes darted from him to me, her right hand poised to reach forward and tear me away. As much as I relished the idea of not having to hang here any longer, I craved the opportunity to give this dimwit a piece of my mind with far greater fervor.

But it seemed unnecessary for me to advocate on my own behalf, because he immediately laid the groundwork of his own demise, “Aw, come on, Nat. Don’t stress. I’ve got this. Just watch, we’re gonna be the best of friends after today, aren’t we? Aren’t we little fella?” How perfect. Keeping digging your own grave, you cable-knit clown.

He stared expectantly, awaiting a response. His brows furrowed when he received nothing but an unrelenting glare from me, “He’s not much of a talker, huh?” His eyes darted uncomfortably away from my stone cold stare, as he looked to Natalie for an explanation.

“Quite the opposite, actually. That’s why I’m worried…”

“Aww, don’t be! I’m not gonna hurt him!”

“… for you, jackass. You’ve pissed him off into silent rage, that’s a level farther than even I’ve gotten.”

The bespectacled man burst into laughter. Not only did the volume at this distance threaten to blow out my eardrums, but the boiling of my blood quickened my heart rate and I couldn’t help but snarl. The ignoramus wiped a tear from his eye and managed to speak between bouts of belly laughter, “You’re joking, right? That’s adorable! Uh oh, somebody’s grumpy! We all better be very afraid!” He threw his hands up in mock terror. His voice cascaded and echoed in a sing-songy voice reserved for the condescension of human babies or cute animals. Come just a little closer, you ignorant bastard, I dare you.

“I’m gonna say this one more time, you’re gonna regret saying shit like that, I promise. So either move and let me disarm him, or you’ll see what happens when you piss him off!”

Another round of incredulous laughter. Could he manage to be any louder and more obnoxious? I highly doubted it. He continued, unphased by Natalie’s apt warning, “Look at him! He’s harmless! What’s he gonna do? That letter opener is bigger than he is. I’m actually surprised he’s even able to hold it!” You’ll be even more surprised how much force I can put behind it when its razor edge sinks into your flesh, “Yeah, you’re not gonna hurt me, are ya? I bet you’re just a sweet little guy, deep down. I just frightened you, is all. Don’t be scared…” Scared?! Who did he think he was dealing with? “Did you drop something? Here lemme help you….”

He sank all the way to his knees now, searching the carpet fibers for my long lost cane. I waited, practically salivating in anticipation. He rose back to a neutral spine, his knees still planted in the carpet, as he held the walking aide triumphantly between finger and thumb, it looking no more durable than a twig in his massive grip. He grinned brightly, clearly pleased with himself. Alright, just a little closer…

He waved it wildly in front of my face, like teasing a dog with a stick before playing fetch. Needless to say I was less than amused. He leaned forward, to place it on the surface of the desk behind me. Yes, you’re doing great, A+ for hitting your mark. You’re almost exactly where I want you to be. Just a tiny bit closer… His massive face was mere inches from mine, I could see every pore, every eyelash, every detail I’m sure most humans would prefer to be left to the imagination. He was so near I could feel the cascading tide of his breath stirring tendrils of my hair. He looked down at me, his dark brown eyes bright with bubbly self satisfaction, “There ya go. See? We can be friends. I’m not out to getcha…” As soon as the object clattered to the wooden surface, his hand descended from over my head, careening down, closer and closer until his fingers were right on top of me, aiming for my hair. Was this man about to try and pet me?!

Without a second’s hesitation, I wrapped my right arm firmly around the chord, hefted the letter opener over my head, tucked it securely on my left side, and then shoved it forward with all my might.

The trajectory of the weapon was suddenly halted when its point hit home, jarring my shoulder as it absorbed the ricochet of force.

This four-eyed Polyphemus roared in shock and surprise, his hand flying up to the origin of sudden pain. The letter opener had glanced off the rim of his glasses, and the blade hit its mark just an inch or so shy of his right ocular organ. He whipped away, batting the letter opener as he went with such force that he very nearly pulled the weapon and me right along with him, but, somehow, in spite of our significant disparity in strength, I managed to hold fast.

His initial exclamation, loud enough to deafen me, was not one of articulate words, but rather garbled shouting. He’d flung himself backwards, crumpled in a heap on the floor.

And thus, Saint George slayed the dragon.

Did I feel a swell of pride enlarge my chest? You bet I did.

Raising my voice over the din, I shouted at the top of my lungs, “I TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH ME, YOU INSUFFERABLE WRETCH!” I couldn’t help but laugh as I swung on the wire, all muscular exhaustion temporarily forgotten in the wake of this newfound excitement.

“ALEXANDER!!!” Uh oh.

Here came Natalie, her shadow casting a pall, literally and figuratively, over my gleeful celebration. She was pissed. I didn’t care.

Meanwhile, her friend had scrambled across the carpet until his head crashed into the dresser behind him, “WHAT THE FUCK?!?! HE ALMOST STABBED ME IN THE EYE!” The timbre of his voice had gone from saccharinely sweet baby talk to one of whiny disdain and flustered disbelief. He pointed at me emphatically with his free hand, looking to Natalie for some sort of recompense.

I beat her to the punch.

“WHAT DID I SAY? HM? WHAT DID I TELL YOU? I WARNED YOU!!!” I shouted across the cavern between myself and him, until my throat was raw. By this time, Natalie had fully crossed the few feet between her dresser and desk, settling before me on her knees, her brow furrowed and her jaw clenched.

“Alexander! Hush! You’ve done enough damage already…” Her fingers descended around me, her thumbs pressing into my sternum and across my abdomen, her coinciding index fingers reaching under my arms and just above my hips to support my weight. Her grip was a bit harder and swifter than I’d become used to. She was trying to pluck me up quickly, and I sensed it wasn’t simply due to a desire to relieve me of holding myself up.

Nevertheless, I was grateful for the relief, letting out a breath I hadn’t noticed I was holding. Carefully, she untangled me from the wire and shifted me to a seated position in her right palm. As she gathered me in her hand, she paused just long enough to cast a glance over her shoulder, “He did warn you though, like, in a multitude of ways…”

“Ha! See??” I burst with pride, unable to keep a wide grin from painting my features.

She whipped around immediately, “Oh shut up, Alexander,” She pointed her index finger at my chest, “You’re in as much trouble as he is! He was being a fucking ass, yes, but you didn’t have to shank him! Give me that!!” Her finger and thumb dove for the plastic handle of my weapon, still dutifully tucked under my arm.

I resisted, jerking my shoulder in the opposite direction, “Me? What did I do except protect myself… and you?”

She looked utterly incredulous, motioning with a sweeping, exaggerated gesture at the injured party, who had now managed to scramble to his feet, examining his battle wound in the vanity mirror, “You STABBED my fucking friend! That’s the TA!”

I was baffled by this newfound information.

“THAT’S the TA? Who’s been sending the taped lectures and keeping your attendance afloat? That pretentious imbecile? Well, he shouldn’t have been so condescending to me! And… besides, you could’ve led with that, you know! Maybe then I’d have gone for his hands instead!” I found myself escalating in volume as I spoke, getting increasingly more emphatic, until I was practically shouting.

“You didn’t give me a chance before you went all Zorro on his ass!!!!!”

“What’s Zorro?!?!?”

“Oh my god! Give me the sharp object Alexander, do not make me pry it out of your tiny little hands!” My face flushed hot. I knew she was keenly aware I resented that completely unnecessary addition of ‘tiny’ and ‘little’ into her request. Nothing about me was little, everything and everyone else was just huge. End of story.

She held out her free hand, flat, just below my chest, raising one eyebrow expectantly. I held off for a second, then another, “ALEXANDER!” Fine!

I trusted our intruder understood his limits now and would not be making the same mistake twice. I relented, laying the slightly bloodied object across her fingers. She pursed her lips as if to say “That’s what I thought.” I had a feeling she had a few choice words for me after this unexpected visit. No matter. I regretted nothing.

“Uh, Nat?” It’s bleeding… like a lot…” His voice from across the room drew our attention once more. He turned over his shoulder as he spoke, revealing a rivulet of blood springing from his cheek, down the fingers he’d pressed against it to staunch the flow, and down farther still, staining his pristine, white, woolen collar.

“Fuck!” Natalie practically groaned, before flashing me an extremely dirty look, “Here, lemme… uh, here…” she half rose, seeming to suddenly remember she was holding me. With a grimace, she set me down somewhat roughly on the desktop. She wasted no time in quickly swiping the letter opener up and away from my grasp, before securing it in the back pocket of her jeans. Taking a quick glance around, she decided to pluck up the entire metal cup of pens and other writing utensils, “Please, just stay right here.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared. When she realized that was all she was going to get from me, she rolled her eyes and sighed.

With that she rushed over to her friend who was cupping his other hand beneath the first to catch drops of crimson as they fell. She threw the pencil holder down on the vanity and ushered him hurriedly to the bathroom, turning over her shoulder and pointing both fingers at her eyes, before reversing the gesture to be aimed at me. I held my hands up, what could I possibly do now? I was unarmed, and stranded. The object of my disdain far away from my radius for harm.

As they retreated, I heard the wounded man grumble, “Fuck! He’s a little… demon!!” I had the sense that a different word had come to mind first, but he’d chosen the latter.

“… Yeah, believe me, I know…” Hey! Natalie, you’re supposed to be on my side!

“Why in the hell do you keep him around, then?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, but, believe it or not, he actually kinda grows on you after a while.” I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Should I be offended or flattered?

“I can’t believe he actually stabbed me…” And I’d do it again without hesitation.

After that, their voices became so muffled beyond the partially closed bathroom door that it was hardly worth straining to listen.

I sat alone, isolated and small, feeling a burning sensation in all my exhausted muscle groups, as my heart and lungs worked to steady themselves to a more even tempo. The gift of solitude meant that I no longer had to maintain my composure. I collapsed back onto an elbow, breath coming in ragged fits and starts, no longer having to maintain a defensive stance. Air couldn’t come fast enough as I choked and sweat dripped in my eyes and down my back and neck. My arms and legs were spasming as I tried my best to come down from the excitement of all that had just transpired. Damn, my leg hurt. Everything hurt. I focused on my breathing for a few moments, eyes craned to the ceiling so far above where I lay. I was utterly exhausted. A long rest in my bed which had been the object of such condescension and ridicule just a while ago sounded utterly delightful. But what could I do? I had no means of crossing the vast room in any practical way. I was much too pathetically little for such luxuries of inhabiting two different corners of a room with ease. As if I needed any more reminders today of how small I was. What was a man in my situation to do but sit and ponder? I had no other recourse, after all.

So, this was her friend who’d helped make all this time working from home possible? I was beginning to think Natalie had very poor taste in friends. I wrinkled my nose in disgust remembering how his eyes had lit up in fascination like I was some shiny, new, coveted object. What was wrong with humans? What was so delightfully fascinating about me anyway? In any case, he got exactly what was coming to him.

The muffled sound of voices honed into sharp focus as, suddenly, a voice with a male timbre could be heard whining, “Fuck! OWWW!!!”

A female voice followed with zero hesitation, “Oh don’t be such a fucking baby!”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. You got what you deserved, you overly enthused idiot. Of course, in fairness to him, I knew firsthand how dangerous Natalie could be when armed with a cotton swab soaked in hydrogen peroxide.

*********

If I was in the mood to be generous, which I wasn’t, all I could say is that the tension in the air between myself, leaning over the kitchen counter prepping two whiskey cokes, my friend, nursing his wounds at my kitchen table, and the positively tiny man, petulantly sulking on the opposite side of the table and somehow, even from this distance, palpably radiating with vitriol, was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. The only sound was the groan of the living room heater, as ice clattered in the glass while I poured.

We’d shuffled from bedroom to kitchen without so much as a word between us. And now here we were, all avoiding eye contact like put out children. This was fucking stupid. They were both being wildly immature about this. Build a bridge guys. Don’t condscend and don’t be a fucking dick, it’s not that complicated. Did this whole crazy day say something about me? Was I like a drama magnet or something?

Tired of the exhaustive pity party, I swept my hair from my eyes, and swirling them for a final time, I set the drinks down by a wool sweater covered elbow. Neither of them bothered to respond.

I stood there for a moment before breaking the ice myself, “Alright then… Alexander? Meet Charles. He’s a teaching assistant in most of my main lectures this semester. He was just coming over to check on me since I’d kinda gone AWOL these last few weeks. That’s all. He’s not a threat to either of us, okay? He’s a good guy and he means well. He just… had a pretty major… lapse in judgment. One of the smartest people I know… Oh, don’t glare at me like that! Besides you, of course. Okay, Charles, meet Alexander. I found him in my pantry… well, actually, my roses… well, I technically found him in the trash, I just didn’t know it yet… anyway, he’s incredibly intelligent, fiercely independent, and he’s been through some fucking major shit, yet, he still manages to come back swinging every time. To be super clear, he’s here only as long as he wants to be, he’s his own man and he has my utmost respect, even though he pisses me off every five minutes for doing gremlin shit like stabbing my friends in the fucking face. Oh, and he’s almost as big a nerd as you, so I’d like to think you two can find some common ground. So, with that said, it’s time to kiss and make up.” They each bore holes into the surface of the table. I refused to take no for an answer, “Apologize to each other, now.”

Both their heads whipped up, brows furrowed, incredulous sputters erupting from both mouths, big and small. Then, upon realizing I was serious, and almost as if on cue, both shouted, “Me?! What did I do?!”

“Jesus Christ, do I have to do all the heavy lifting around here?” I couldn’t help but massage my temples, a stress headache no doubt on the near horizon, “Charles? Gimme your eyes…” My friend’s lips flattened into a line as he raised one eyebrow as if to say, ‘Really, Nat?’ My bad. Wrong turn of phrase, given that one of his seeing organs was nearly lost just a few minutes ago.

I sighed, settling into the chair between the two uneasy parties, each glaring over his shoulder at the other, “Sorry, well, your one good one, then… Look…” Fuck, bad phrasing again, what was wrong with me? “…I haven’t even had a chance to properly thank you for braving this shit weather to come check on me. I know I haven’t been super responsive and you’re a good friend…”

The tiny scoff in the vicinity of my right elbow made me, albeit briefly, change course, “Zip it, Alexander!” Instead of acquiescing quietly, he, of course, had to make a big show of his dislike of being told what to do. He threw his small weight dramatically against the ugly, chipped, ceramic salt shaker my grandma gifted me years ago.

The object hardly even rocked as he pressed against it, rolling over his shoulder to turn away from me and obscure himself from view behind the white and blue patterned flowers, “…Anyway, where was I?” I turned my attention back to Charles, “Yes, you’re awesome, thank you for always watering my plants when I go home on break and for making the hellscape that is lawschool slightly more bearable. However… As you can see, there’s something significantly different from last time we really talked and there’s some important things you need to know: He may look like the cutest little blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel that you’ve ever seen, he may be so adorably small that he can fit in just the palm of your hand and, yes, in theory, if you were really determined to pick him up you could do so without too much resistance, but when I tell you it is against your own self interest to fuck with this little man I am speaking from extensive experience. He deserves as much respect as anyone else, big or small. He’s fought for that all his life and at least in the confines of this apartment, he’ll get what he’s worked so hard for. Believe me, he had to train me too, in the beginning. Listen to him and everyone will be much better off for it, I promise. Do not condescend to him, do not touch him without his permission and do not, under any circumstances, treat him as anything less than the hyper intelligent, wonderful little nightmare he is.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught tiny movements on the table’s surface below, a pair of blue eyes staring up at me through blonde, curtained bangs as he listened intently. I didn’t dare flash my gaze in that direction, knowing full well once he’d been caught in the act, he’d turn away again.

Charles was quick to respond, applying pressure with a few fingers around the banadage on his cheek, as if spot checking for blood, “Little nightmare is fuckin’ right. What did I do? I was kind. I helped him. I tried to be as gentle as I could. Look at him, he’s adorable… er, was… Can I really be blamed for that?” He shrugged defensively, “I mean, c’mon, they’re tiny, they’re cute, isn’t that, like, the whole point?”

I was going to strangle him, “Dude, did you listen to a single thing I just said?”

“What?! I thought they liked it!”

“You thought I… what?” No longer satisfied with lingering behind the salt shaker, Alexander rose to standing. Without his cane, which, in all the fuss, I’d stupidly left in the bedroom, he steadied himself with one hand on the painted ceramic, his chest puffed out, a defiant gleam in his eye. Oh boy, here we go. I knew better than to get in his way, but I couldn’t help taking a long swig from my glass in preparation for the tirade that was about to transpire, “Please, repeat yourself, you thought I… what was that again?”

Charles stuttered, flashing glances at me. His face was drawn, he instinctively leaned back, away from the little man before him who was unflinchingly glaring up in his direction. He knew he’d been caught, “W-well, I just… you know what I meant…”

“You thought I liked being talked down to and treated with disregard? Interesting. What part of my reaction gave you that impression?” Even from this distance (perhaps a foot or so across the surface of the table) I could see his blue eyes were burning. Charles failed to respond, simply sputtering instead. I knew Alexander was just loving every second of this… smart little bastard, “No, I’m curious. You’re an aspiring attorney, aren’t you? Go on, then. Defend your case.”

Charles looked at me and I offered no solace, instead, I simply raised an eyebrow and downed another substantial fraction of my drink. As the little man spoke, goading the much larger recipient into a debate, he stepped away from the shaker, crossing toward Charles’ end of the table. I immediately bit my lip as he left the support behind and bore weight on his still weak leg. I did my best not to intervene, holding my breath as he made a few steps forward, a painful limp evident in his gait. Despite the pain, no doubt shooting through his body, his voice never waivered. Goddamn, I was proud of him, even if he was insulting my friend left and right. He tucked a hand into his side pocket, the other resting on his chest with a poised ease, his fingers spread from his solar plexus down the length of his sternum. This little nightmare knew precisely what he was doing, and I couldn’t help but watch, “Charles, wasn’t it? Tell me, Charles, how would you like it, if–” Just then, as he took another step forward, his knee failed to bear his weight, and he buckled.

Gasping, my hand flew toward him, offering him support with a few fingers. He fell forward into my grasp, a snarl curling his mouth as his hands spread on my fingertips. He leaned against me until he regained his balance, gripping onto the segments of my fingers to pull himself back up. My heart was in my throat, as I searched his little face for signs of pain, noticing the rhythm of his own tiny heartbeats, though they spiked for a moment, didn’t seem to be going into overdrive. Setting his shoulders, he pushed forward, against my hand, attempting to continue on his path. I hesitated, providing the slightest resistance. His brow knit and those burning irises locked with mine again, “Natalie, I’m fine. Let go.”

He wasn’t scared. His face was flushed and his bangs were disheveled, but his eyes were steeled and determined. I pulled my hand away without hesitation, wincing internally at each furious little limping stride he took, his fists balled at his sides.

He regarded the man before him, whose eyeline may as well have been the summit of a sizable cliff face in their proportion to each other. The little man stood fearlessly beside a tumbler full of alcohol that he could have bathed in, sucked in a clean breath and laid into the larger man, “What you fail to understand is that there is not a single cell in my body that likes my current predicament,” As he spoke, his left pointer finger sawed and jabbed the air like some sort of rhetorical blade intent on wounding his target, “I did not ask for you to loom over me, to touch me, to condescend or pacify me. I am not your friend, I don’t know you in any familiar way, yet you see someone like me, adorable and tiny, as I believe you put it, and you immediately assume that makes me somehow less valuable as a sentient being. You think that just because you can overpower me you have every right to do so. And I concede, in the current political landscape, you are legally allowed, no… not allowed, you are, in fact, encouraged to do so. And why shouldn’t you? I exist explicitly for your entertainment, don’t I? And, in any case, what am I going to do about it, even if I don’t like it? I couldn’t possibly, out of a desire for self-preservation, consider the idea of fighting back, could I? No! No, of course not. Because, as you put it, I’m just a ‘sweet little guy’, who ‘likes it’ when you treat me like an object. Indeed, it feels about as wonderful as a letter opener lodged in your face!”

There was a pregnant pause between all three of us, as the gravity of his words pervaded the room. Both Charles and I couldn’t help but stare ashamedly into the inky depths of our drinks. I knew I was no saint, myself, when it came to the little man. He stood now with a rod straight spine, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as his lungs heaved with the task of receiving oxygen again, his unflinching gaze trained on the avoidant eyes of his opposite. I knew I’d fucked up hundreds of times: pissed him off, disspointed him, failed him. He was so right, and it was important we shut up and listen.

The only sound was the heater rattling away, once again.

“... Fuck…” Charles sighed, leaning all the way back in his chair now, his head in his hands. He was full of remorse “I’m… I’m really sorry. I wasn’t… You’re right, I just jumped to… I’m sorry, Alexander.” I watched the little man who wore his every thought on his sleeve, as he took this in. He was shocked. His head cocked to the side, his brow furrowed, his lips parting just slightly from their usual tight, pensive tension. He hadn’t expected this. Not at all. He blinked rapidly, his rigid posture softening ever so slightly as he was taken off-guard.

Charles, taking precautions not to move too suddenly, pushed his chair out and leaned on the lip of the table, his chin resting on his forearm. As he moved, Alexander took a half step back, wary and uncertain about the whole situation, still, he never cowered and his eyes showed no fear. As the larger man settled himself, he was still a good distance from the baffled little man with whom he was now almost eye level. Slowly, he offered his index finger, “I’m sorry I insulted you. Can you forgive me?” Alexander regarded the man with suspicion, his brows knitted and his lips turned down into a sort of puzzled caution.

Still, to my utter surprise, instead of using this moment of genuine vulnerability against his opponent, the little man stepped forward in all his five and a half inches and, albeit not all that enthusiastically, took the offered digit in the palm of his hand and shook it tersely before quickly breaking away.

Charles didn’t linger in his space for long and soon returned to an upright position, as Alexander rubbed the center of his palm with the ball of his opposite thumb. It was clear we all needed some air.

“Hey,” Charles met my gaze as I got his attention, “Could you do us a favor and go get his cane?” He and I exchanged a knowing glance. It was clear he understood what I was really asking for, “Just… just in case…” With a terse nod, the man in the wool sweater rose and disappeared down the hall.

As the sound of his steps faded, I turned my full attention to the five and a half inches of a little life before me. It was just us again, after what’d felt like an eternity of drama. For the first time since that knock on the door, the air seemed to come a little more freely into my lungs. I propped my head on an elbow and looked him over. I watched his little body release pent up tension, his defensive spine melting into the everyday rigidity of his usual posture. Poor thing. Did he ever really allow himself to relax? He thrust his hands into his pockets, leaning his weight on his left side. I wondered how his leg was holding up. He hadn’t strained it this much since his surgery. I wanted desperately to offer him a hand to lean on but didn’t want to patronize. I bit my lip.

Seeming to read my mind like a book, his keen eyes flitted in my direction, “I’m fine.” Are you, though? Or are you putting on a brave face? “I can tell you want to touch me as some form of physical comfort. So, go ahead, get it over with…” he lowered his head and spread his arms, as if surrendering.

A pang of guilt shot through me, “No, I don’t want to make you endure it. If you want me to leave you alone, I will.”

“You’re going to pout if I don’t allow for some form of contact. So, go on, just do what you’d like, within reason…” his head had stayed lowered to the ground until his very last few words, when his icy irises flashed up at me, and I caught a glimpse of a very different kind of glow in his eyes, one that was much softer, more vulnerable. I’d opened my mouth to rebuff him again when those eyes changed everything.

Oh.

This was his way of asking for it. His pride would never allow him to directly request what he wanted at this moment, especially not after chastising us both for our sins of condescension. I didn’t blame him. He’d been threatened, humiliated, laughed at, and stressed out. Maybe a minute or two to rest would do a world of good for him but, of course, he couldn’t admit to wanting something from me, that would be far too weak. We couldn’t acknowledge the reality of that truth for the sake of his ego, so I played along instead, “Just for a minute, please? You tell me when you’ve had enough torture for one day and I’ll let you go.” He nodded, eyes still fixed to the ground. Although it was almost impossible to see his face, I swear I saw more color in his cheek.

“Yes, yes, let’s get this over with.”

I slid my hand over to him, very gently wrapping my fingers around his legs and back, pressing the ball of my thumb into his chest and torso. Even though his face stayed neutral and he hardly moved at all, I couldn’t help but notice a release of his strained muscles as he was finally able to release all the pressure off of his injury. It’s okay to get help when you’re hurting. I couldn’t keep my brows from knitting together in concern. It pained me that he tried so very hard to be strong and independent. I completely understood where the impulse came from but I hated that he was in pain and toughing it out when I was happy to help. I sat with my hand propping him up for a few moments, wanting nothing more than a closer look, “May I pick you up?”

“Yes, fine.” His face was a little pinker than it had been, I was sure of it. Gently, I settled him across the platform of my fingers, his right leg placed carefully along the length of my palm with his heel balanced on my wrist. The ball of my thumb remained in his lap with a looser grip as I drew him up to the level of my eyes.

He sat there stiffly, not allowing himself the luxury of relaxing fully into my hand. I wished he’d stop being so uptight but now was not the time to fight him on it. Still, as I looked him over, I felt an immediate swell of pride expand my chest and warm my face. I didn’t realize he’d been watching me with equal attention to detail, until he spoke, “What is it, Natalie?” His voice lacked its usual defensive edge. He was genuinely asking.

“I just think you’re absolutely incredible. You are literally the bravest, most unhinged person I know.” Did his face get a little redder? All he could manage as a response was to roll his eyes, “No, I mean it! You looked at someone over ten times your size and without hesitation were just like, ‘Yeah I can take him’. Who does that?!” The tiniest ghost of a twinge of a smirk uplifted the corner of his crooked little smile. There you are, Alexander, the real you underneath it all. “When I really think about it, I can’t even be mad at you. You are one badass little motherfucker. Don’t ever change. Okay?” I rubbed my thumb across his chest, as he begrudgingly nodded, the smirk cracking into a half smile, while he rested a hand over the bed of my thumb nail. I admit, I felt the blood in my veins pump a little faster, “We can all stand to learn a thing or two from you on how not to take other people’s bullshit.”

“I hope you plan to take copious notes after all this.”

“Oh, it’s a must!”

He cleared his throat and shifted in my hand, sitting himself up a bit straighter, his gaze took a moment to land as he settled, clearly preparing to speak in greater earnest, “I suppose… I feel at least a modicum of remorse… for staining his otherwise high quality sweater.”

I had to slap my hand over my mouth to keep from cackling out loud, “You’re such a bastard! Of course all you care about is his fashion sense!”

Alexander was smiling too, as he pressed against my thumb, emphatically gesturing to the bedroom far off to his right, “What?! It’s the only redeemable quality about him! Did you expect me to lie for the purpose of overt flattery? Have you met me?”

Just then we heard the opening of a door down the hall, as the man in question began to re-emerge. I stroked the side of the little man’s head with my thumb, as I cocked an eyebrow at him, as if to say “Do you want to be put down?” He nodded brusquely, and I did as I was asked, gently lowering him and tipping my hand so he could find his feet before letting go entirely.

As the footsteps approached ever nearer, I leaned down and whispered so only Alexander could hear, “You know, if you wanted a sweater like that all you had to do was ask, you didn’t have to destroy his!”

“Says the woman who still hasn’t made good on her promise to fulfill my modest suit requests.”

“Three piece Italian suits and silk ties are not modest. Even for someone of your size! I’m saving up, alright? Get off my back!” I prodded him playfully in the chest as he batted at my fingertip.

In a moment, Charles would be standing before us, and there would begin a new matter as we all awkwardly tried to reset and start over, each much more aware of the others’ feelings on the whole situation. But for now, it was just the little blonde devil and me and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Was it weird that I was kinda excited to watch him lose his shit at us again? Not that I had any intention of provoking him, but it wasn’t far from feasible that we’d inevitably do something to offend him. It just made me proud to watch him unapologetically stand up for himself, even if I got caught in the crossfire. Looking down at him now, I couldn’t imagine my life without him. Had his opinions towards me shifted in that direction at all? Or was I a target for spite and disdain like my friend approaching the table? I didn’t think so. At least, not to the same degree. The way his eyes had softened when we were finally alone, the way he’d asked me to hold him in the most passive aggressive roundabout way possible… I thought deep down in that little stone heart of his was a warm spot for me, even if it was microscopic in size at this point.

Maybe, just maybe, with a lot of effort I could fan that ember into something bigger. But who knew? There was only so much room in a chest the size of my finger tip.

#Well that was a rollercoaster #Stranger danger!#Angry little man he attacc he protecc #g/t related #g/t writing #g/t community #giant/tiny #g/t angst #a fraction of justice #g/t #size difference #gt

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sagesolsticewrites · 3 months ago

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for @winniemaywebber; sorry lovie, I can’t find your ask 😭 but thank you so so much for the request, these were so fun!

from this prompt list! Inbox is still open if y’all would like to request anything!

Benny & Vika

8.) "... you trusted in me when everything else was pointed against me.."

9.) them tenderly tucking a hair behind ur ear

“What?”

“What ‘what’?”

Vika smiles, her eyes still closed as she leans against the railing of their hotel balcony, her face tilted up towards the sun.

“I can feel you watching me, Benny. So… what?”

“I can’t just admire my wife?”

That prompts Vika’s eyes to open, her smile growing as she turns back to where Benny sits in an armchair in their hotel— the honeymoon suite that’s theirs for a luxurious two weeks.

“You can…” she says slowly, “But I have a feeling it’s more than that.”

His lips quirk up into a smile as he admits, “And you would be right. I’m just… thinking about how we got here.”

Vika’s brow furrows adorably, “We drove…?”

He barks out a laugh.

“No, I mean,” he stands, walking towards her to take her hands in his, “Thinking about how we met, how we spent months dancing around our feelings, those secret dates, that, uh… first meeting with your parents…”

Vika groans, “Oh goodness, don’t remind me—”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Benny chuckles before continuing, “But the point is… You knew that being with me wasn’t going to be easy. And you still—”

He swallows around the growing lump in his throat, trying to keep his voice steady as he gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “You stayed, tesoro. You trusted in me when everything else was pointed against me, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that. For trusting enough to give me— give us— a chance. And for where it led us.”

“Oh, Benny,” Vika breathes, eyes glassy. Seemingly at a loss for words, she leans up onto her tiptoes to press a tender kiss to her husband’s mouth and looks deep into his eyes as she pulls away.

“Have I told you how much I love you?”

A cheeky grin crosses Benny’s face.

“I could do with a reminder.”

With a mock-exasperated shake of her head, her lips crash into his once more as the couple blindly follows the now-familiar path to their bed.

Brady & Jules

10.) listening to their heartbeat while laying on their chest.

11.) a soothing, and tender "come here, sweetheart"

He was falling.

Flak was exploding in the air all around him. He couldn’t see where Bucky had gone, but he could just make out M’lle Zig Zig making her smoky descent towards a crash landing. He could only pray that the rest of the crew had made it safely to the ground.

Pressing a hand to his side, a wave of relief crashes over him as he feels the paperback he had tucked into his inside pocket still there. As the ground rushes up towards him, he yanks the cord of his parachute, and—

Nothing.

Fighting back the crushing wave of terror threatening to drown him, he tries again.

And again. And again.

The ground is rushing up towards him and there’s nothing he can do but pray. Squeeze his eyes shut tight, picture Jules’s face, and pray that when he doesn’t make it back, Olive manages to get word to her before she gets one of those awful telegrams. Thank God he’d finally given her Jules’s address like he’d been promising to for so long.

His lips move in a prayer that he can’t hear over the roar of wind in his ears, but eventually it morphs into Jules’s name, over and over and over again, and he’s sure he’s going to hit the ground any second now—

“Johnny, wake up, please!”

He jolts upright with a gasp, dazedly trying to orient himself.

A hand carefully comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Johnny, it’s me, it’s Jules. You’re safe, it’s alright.” He nods as he turns to face her, eyes wild and chest heaving.

“Just breathe, sweetheart; remember what Olive taught us?” Juliet says softly, hand moving to rest over his heart as if that could help slow its racing tempo, “Slow, deep breaths. Count to ten.”

He mentally counts as he follows the slow rise and fall of her chest with his own, his heart rate slowing to a somewhat more normal pace.

“You were calling for me,” Juliet says once he’s calmed down, green eyes scanning carefully over his face as if she could see the contents of his nightmare if she only looked hard enough, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head, gasping a firm, ragged “No.” He doesn’t want to talk about it, he wants to forget it ever happened.

“Alright,” she acquiesces, her tender voice a far cry from the terrifying roar of wind rushing past him, “Come here, sweetheart.”

She pulls him into her, resting his head on her chest as she wraps her arms around him. Her heartbeat is a steady lullaby in his ear as she brushes a kiss to the crown of his head.

“You’re home,” she whispers, “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

“Thank you, honey,” John breathes.

“Always, Johnny.” Juliet murmurs, “Now sleep, my love.”

He snuggles deeper into her embrace and inhales the sweet scent of her perfume as he drifts off, safe in his wife’s arms.

#sage answers #winnie!!#masters of the air #oc: juliet thompson #love’s light wings #brady x jules #oc: ruthvika ‘ruthie’ patel #pyaar dosti hai #benny x vika #mota #mota oc #john brady x oc #benny demarco x oc

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powderblueblood · 11 months ago

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Hiya hiya!! I am a massive fucking fan of your writing it is so stimulating for my little distracted brain. On the topic of hai I would LOVE to know more about Lacy's part-time gig at The Bookstore!!!! How often does she work there? Does Lacy get to set up displays and recommend books? Do Eddie or Ronnie ever hang out with Lacy there? (And subsequently does Ivana threaten to perma-ban them from The Bookstore for being so goddamn loud and distracting her best employee???) I am so fucking curious and would love to see it explored a little more 🧡

LEE!!!! thank you so much for your kind kind words and THANK YOU for giving me an excuse to touch upon one of my favorite little elements of the hellfire & ice universe-- THEE BOOKSTORE

i'll be the first to admit that i don't know a goddamn thing about the TARDIS but what i do know is that it's bigger on the inside. same logic applies to the bookstore. place is an intricate network of atriums and ventricles separated by bookcases that are so overstuffed, they seem like they're going to keel over like dominoes any second. it smells like warm and dust and it's always semi-dark in there, with lamps seemingly having sprung from the ground in the most strategic of places. wall sconces sprout from the woodwork, supported by dodgy, illegal wiring. you take your life in your hands any time you walk in there, essentially. but you'd never know it! because it's serene and it's peaceful until--

lacy starts working there. and for some reason, it seems that lacy, eddie, ronnie and chaos are a package deal. eddie and ronnie use the darkened corners of the bookstore to the full extent of their danger, playing endless games of 'who can scare lacy by hiding in the world history section' which has earned more than one heavy biography of ferdinand magellan being aimed at eddie munson's head.

one even made contact, and eddie insisted that lacy stand there holding an ice cream sandwich to his 'poor brutalized' head because he 'couldn't move his arms' due to the 'concussion'.

ivana, the owner, our beloved ivana, hates these kids. even if eddie is convinced that she's trying to take him as her next controversially young husband-- her fifth. ivana hates them, but never actually follows through on her threatened lifetime bans because ivana also occasionally drinks at the hideout.

a moment for ivana: ivana is so, so fucking cool. ivana used to sell fetish mags in brown paper bags back in the 50s. ivana once lived in new york, and according to legend, threw an olive at norman mailer (eddie: "who?" lacy: "don't worry about it") and it bounced off his head and into andy warhol's drink. ivana is approximately four hundred years old with a platinum blonde beehive, a list of lovers longer than mae west's, a voice like a cement truck and she will never die.

lacy wants to be exactly like her when she grows up-- only, not living in indiana, of course.

ivana has lacy on weekends and some evenings; basically, if her spidey sense tingles and she figures that girl could use something to do. lacy, inflicted with the pathological need to be the best at fucking everything, is a good worker and the best kind of salesperson a place like that could have.

which is to say that she's kind of snooty and derisive of people's pedestrian tastes. it oscillates from customers storming out to customers buying whatever she tells them to, in some misguided attempt to impress her.

precocious and pretentious eighteen year olds have this effect on people. many such cases.

one person it does not have any effect on is eddie munson.

he watches lacy put like, painstaking effort into her staff pick of the week! (she always fights for three) or her display of russian literature ranked by themes of romanticism v nihilism! (the brothers karamazov sits on the top of the display like an angel on a christmas tree)... and then he fucks with it. swaps out a room of one's own with are you there god? it's me, margaret, even if that does prompt lacy giving eddie a keynote speech on the importance of judy blume's forever.

"... and yeah, it's about as thrilling as a slice of wonderbread, but that book is probably why i'm on the pill."

this seems to give eddie pause. "... you're on the pill?"

"what's that look?"

"no, uh-- no, just. good. decision. smart, responsible decision-making. good to... know."

#powder room talk #bastardstevie #THE BOOKSTORE!!! THE BOOKSTORE!!!!!#THANK U LEE <3 #hai brainrot #eddie munson x reader #l. doevski by powder

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winniemaywebber · 4 months ago

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stop - muse a holds muse b back from walking back out into the fray

courting - muse a rests one hand on muse b’s back and holds out the other for muse b to hold to help them climb up/down something

for whichever of your girls you feel inspired for today, please!

-lestweforget5

hiiiii friend! thanks so much for this. I loved writing this one (from this prompt list, feel free to drop them in my ask box if one seems to pique your interest!) I wrote for Olive and Dougie 🥰

She is a little miffed. The effects of being apart from her best friend Valencia were beginning to take hold, despite her traveling back to Brooklyn only two days ago. Val and Ev had made the journey to Michigan with Olive, the pair of them staunchly certain on making sure their girl got there safely.

courting: muse a rests one hand on muse b's back and holds out the other for muse b to hold to help them climb up/down something.

Olive awakens with a sigh, patting the empty space next to her. She had hoped that Dougie would still be sound asleep next to her, whimpering slightly as he dreamt before curling himself around her when he feels she's shuffled closer to him. Alas, he is nowhere to be found, his side of the bed cooled off making it obvious that he'd been up for quite some time.

“You don't have to, Ernest,” she had protested after they'd been told the price of three train tickets to Lansing. “I can make it myself!”

“No,” he had replied sternly, his eyes darting towards his fiancee, Val. “We are coming with you.”

“Too right,” the Brooklyn native had interjected, her hand going to grab Olive’s and their fingers intertwining. “Besides,” she sighs. “If he doesn't see his guy, he'll be upset. Think he's having withdrawal symptoms.”

“Hey!” he teases, hand comically on his heart. “How did you guess?”

The girls had, of course, spoken on the phone the very second Val and Everett had arrived back in Val's hometown, the pair of them chuckling down the phone receiver. It was a strange feeling, sharing the same sleeping and living space, the same air and body heat for almost two years to now being apart like this. The pair of them feel as if a part of them is missing, and it's a part they both need in order to function. At this realization, Olive feels her chest tighten as tears stream down her cheeks, wiping them away quickly when she hears the creak of the wooden stairs as someone climbs up them. There is a soft rap on the door, before the golden door knob rattles as it opens.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Dougie greets softly, retrieving a tray and closing the door by kicking it closed with his leg. “Thought you might be hungry,” he says, gesturing towards the tray that he puts down on the blanket. She looks down and sees toast, coffee, a bowl of fruit and a delicate pink daisy he'd stuck in a small jam jar. Before she can help it, she feels a sob rise up from her chest to her throat once again, two fat tears dropping into the coffee.

“Hey, sugar,” he soothes, moving closer to her to wipe his thumb under her eyes in order to dry them. “What's up?”

“It's so silly,” she sniffs. “This is just all so different and I don't do well with change. I'm still used to waking up with Val in the hut and now–ugh, I'm sorry. I'm happy to be here with you, truly I am. It's just…”

“Strange?” he asks, finishing the sentence for her. “You've had a lot of changes all at once, Ollie. I get it, honey.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, wiping her nose quickly. “You got up early. I thought you'd still be asleep.”

“Well,” he shrugs, his hand on top of hers. “I had a feeling you'd be a little sad today, so I did something for the two of us and thought we could go out.”

“Oh, Dougie,” she cries. “I don't think I'm feeling good enough to even go beyond the backyard.”

“Then that's where we'll go. Saves on gas,” he jokes, leaning over and kissing her forehead. “No rush, okay? Eat, relax, come down when you're ready.”

“Okay,” she breathes, biting into her toast and sipping the coffee. “Perfect.”

—

Eventually venturing down the wooden stairs, Olive takes one last look in the mirror that hangs on a wall at the bottom of the stairs, smoothing her dress of a final few wrinkles.

“Hey,” she smiles, as Dougie turns around to greet her. His eyes soften the moment he sees her. “I know we're only going in the backyard but I thought I'd feel better if I made myself pretty.”

“You look beautiful, sweetheart. As always.”

“Thank you, darling,” she replies, her cheeks turning a sweet shade of pink. Her eyes crinkle as she smiles at him, that dimple he's crazy about showing itself as she grins. He takes the two steps that separate them and kisses her deeply, her arms winding around his neck while his fall to her waist, momentarily running his hands over the soft material of her dress as he pulls her even closer.

“Come on,” he says. “Everything is set.”

—

A simple, large gingham blanket lays on the slightly overgrown lawn under three large trees, the blossoms just beginning to bloom at the turn of the season. They sit with their faces toward the sun, the soft warmth of it already making Olive feel a little less alien in her surroundings. Right above them is a tree house, the wood creaking in the gentle breeze of the day.

“Is this a picnic?” she asks, eyes narrowing playfully at him.

“Sure is, Ol. Do you like it?”

“I love it, James. This is gorgeous.”

“Phew,” he breathes out, comically wiping his brow. “I'm still trying to figure out what we both like to do together. So much of our time used to be taken up that we never really discussed it.”

“War tends to do that, my love,” she laughs, kissing his cheek as he sits beside her. “Thank you,” she murmurs, nesting into him.

“Anything for you, doll. Here,” he says, rummaging in a picnic basket. “Made your favorite.”

“PB and J?” she asks keenly, unwrapping it right away. “And how did you cut it? Crank’s way or Gale's?”

They both laugh, reminiscing on Olive's first PB and J where the whole gang had convened in the Mess Hall kitchen to give British Olive the true American experience of her first peanut butter and jelly sandwich. All had helped, including Croz spreading the peanut butter, Val spreading the jelly, Helen finding a plate. Ev even cut the crusts off before handing it to Egan, who, instead of making himself useful, took what he called a “tester bite,” all while Charles and Gale debated whether it tastes better cut into rectangles or triangles. Crank had won the toss, Olive presented with two neat white triangles on a small plate.

“Crank's way - the only way,” Dougie says, taking a bite of his own. “I'll never forget the moment I saw your life change after taking your first bite.”

“Yep,” she giggles, the bread sticking to her teeth a little. “Been my favorite ever since; but only if you make it.”

“Why?”

“Tastes better that way.”

Olive turns her head up slightly to shade her eyes from the glowing afternoon sun, finding a wooden board on top of a few conjoined tree branches.

“What's up there?” she asks, pointing to what she's just seen.

“Oh, that?” he asks as he looks up. “My old treehouse. Dad and I built it one summer.”

She stands, wiping her hands on her skirt and finds a small set of stairs leading up to a doorway.

“Can I go inside?”

“Nuh-uh,” he says, shaking his head. “Read the sign, please.”

“No Girls Allowed,” she reels off. “James Douglass, you are–”

“I know. And there's proof that I've always been this way. Cheeky and insufferable.”

“Let me in, meanie.”

“Only because it's you,” he winks, leaving the blanket and joining her at the stairs. He goes up first, making sure the old, rotting wood would hold the pair of them. When he is sure, he places one hand on the small of her back and pushes a little, allowing his free hand to grip on to hers to help her up a little.

“This is adorable, James,” she squeals, taking practically tiptoe like steps to avoid the wood creaking or anything falling. “So cute.”

“Don't let Mom catch you up here with me,” he laughs, once again nodding towards the sign.

“Insufferable,” she sighs, shaking her head.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “But you love me.”

“I do,” she smiles, taking his hand in her own and stroking the back of it with her thumb. “Gimme a smooch,” she giggles, pulling him towards her. “No-one's around to see you break your own rule.”

#honeysuckle rose #oc: olive lewis #james douglass #Olive x Dougie #james douglass x oc #masters of the air #masters of the air fic #masters of the air x oc #mota #writing prompt #ask answered #winnie writes

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tea-plantz · 2 years ago

Text

~Marcy Wu x fem!reader~

Just straight up fluff (and maybe a little bit of angst), in which Marcy moves after the whole Amphibia incident, and has trouble settling in at her new school… until she meets you that is.

!spoilers!

Marcy hated this.

She tried so hard to find a loophole, but even after going to another world it was still no use.

She was moving away, leaving everything she knew and loved behind.

The raven haired girl was currently standing outside of a huge schoolhouse with a lump in her throat, hands shaking and a nauseous feeling in her stomach.

Marcy had always been bad in social situations and on top of that she didn’t know ANYONE here at all, so this was literally hell for her.

With shaky steps, the nervous girl made her way to the principal’s office, which she had gotten some instructions on the day before as to where it was. She just hoped she didn’t accidentally take a wrong turn or something.

At last the ravenette finally stood in front of a big black door with the words “principal” printed on it.

She took one last shaky breath before knocking and entering the room…

“Aah, Miss Wu! Welcome”

Marcy just looked down and nodded.

“Please, take a seat” said the man behind the desk in a brownish suit.

She did as she was instructed and took a seat at the wooden chair in the middle of the room.

The principal told her a bit about the school policy, classes, dress code and blah blah blah. You know, the usual.

“Oh, and you will get a guide for your first week here at (your school)”

Marcy looked up at this. A guide? I mean that would definitely make things easier, but Marcy was internally panic at this. I’ll have to make a good first impression! I can’t screw this up! Ugh why is being social so hard sometimes! Ok ok calm down Mars don’t panic, it’s going to be ok, just like mom said. Don’t overthink it!

“Miss L/n, please come to the principals office, I repeat, miss L/n to the principals office”

The door creaked open as a h/c girl peeked in, “yes?”

Marcy looked up as she saw a beautiful girl standing before her. Her breath caught in her throat as she frantically started darting her eyes around the room, focusing anywhere else then directly at that gorgeous girl. She couldn’t help it, you just made her so nervous! The brown eyed female settled on her feet, as she could feel a weird tingling sensation in her stomach. She looks so cute! Now I’m just gonna stress even more! She thought as her hart rapidly threw itself around in her chest.

“Miss L/n, this is miss Wu, our new student. I would like you too be her guide for the week.”

The girls e/c eyes moved over to Marcy, who was nervously looking at the ground while messing with her hands.

“Of course I will, it’ll be my pleasure!” The h/c girl said with a smile, as she walked over to the black haired girl.

“Come on! I’ll show you around!”

—————————————————————————

“So, you’re the new student huh? What’s your name?” You asked as you and Marcy walked down the hall, you in the lead and Marcy close behind.

The olive skinned girl squeaked at your sudden question, before looking away with her face flushing bright red with embarrassment .

“I-it’s Marcy” she stammered quietly in a shy manner.

“Marcy Wu! That’s a really pretty name! It suits you” Marcy stopped dead in her tracks for a second. She could feel her face heating up before mumbling a ‘thanks’ with a small smile.

For the rest of the tour, you continued to talk and point, while Marcy mostly listed with a few ‘okeys’ and ‘yeses’ here and there, when suddenly a loud bell echoed through the hall.

“Yes! It’s finally lunch time! Augh I’m staaaarving!” You semi-shouted with a groan, before walking in the direction of the cafeteria.

Oh no. She’s leaving now! I guess I should have seen it coming, she’s done with the tour after all and there’s no way she would wanna hang out with me! She’s just so cool! Must be popular too…but I don’t wanna be alone. Marcy thought while her heart sank. She could feel her eyes watering a little as thoughts of Anne and Sasha crawled their way into her mind.

She misses them so much.. why did she have to move! She’s scared, she’s alone.. wh-

“Hey! You coming?”

A voice interrupted her thoughts. Huh? Marcy looked up to see you standing a few feet away from her with your head tilted slightly to the left.

You wanted to eat with her? Even though you guys only just met, and she had barely spoken to you?

Marcy looked behind her too see if you were asking another student, but no one was in sight. She thought for a moment before questioning quietly “me?”

“Yes you silly! You seem really fun to be around, plus, you’re really cute! I wanna get to know you better!”

The ravenhead could’ve just passed out at that point. She couldn’t believe you were interested in being friends with her! And you called her cute…

Marcy’s face was now at the redness scale of a tomato as her mouth slightly fell open. The girls mind could only muster up one sentence …wow.. she’s amazing.

—————————————————————————

-about a week later-

“So, Mar-mar, how’s it going so far?”

Marcy was facetiming with Anne and Sasha, talking about how things are going in her new home.

“It’s actually been really great you guys! At first I was so afraid that everything would just turn out really bad, but honestly it’s been pretty fun! And well, I have y/n to thank for that, she’s been a real life saver heh…”

Anne and Sasha glanced at each other with a questioning look on their faces, as Marcy looked a bit lost in thought with a slight blush on her features.

Why was Marcy acting so strange when she talked about you? Could it be….*gasp* :0

The two girls looked at each other with a slight smirk, both thinking the exact same thing before returning their attention back to the black haired girl.

“Marcy, tell us more about this y/n person!” Anne squealed, startling Marcy a bit, while Sasha was watching with an amused expression. “Yeah loser, tell us!”

“Oh, um well” Marcy begun as her blush returned. “She’s the first friend I made here and she’s really nice! Her eyes are e/c, along with h/c hair and s/c skin. Honestly, she’s really pretty. Oh! And she even eats lunch with me and her other friends. They’re nice too, but not as much as y/n though hehe” The ravenette got more and more enthusiastic as she continued talking, much like how she is when she’s rambling about an interest of hers.

“They also have a great music taste and style! I love her clothes, and oh my, don’t even get me started on her art! (selfinsert much👀) We share a lot of the same interests as well, and the best part is that she cares about what I care about! She even lets me rant about it, and she doesn’t think I’m a wierdo! She just really gets me y’know? Aah she’s so cool.” Marcy finished with a dreamy expression.

“Yup, she’s totally in love”

“WHAT!?”

—————————————————————————

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years ago

Text

Broken Glass Chapter 4 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

TW: None really. The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: T (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 5k

A/N: Happy Broken Glass Friday, y'all! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹 Thanks for your patience as I get this out later than expected! Chapter 4 hopfully begins to show the awkwardness of two people in forced proximity trying to figure each other out, and as you can imagine, it is not going smoothly lol.

I highly recommend listening to Frank Sinatra's Dolores before/during your reading because...well, you'll see why! And it will definitely come back into play in later chapters...😉 Also, this song was a huge inspiration on naming her Dolores cuz just imagining Elvis singing it to her made me all fluttery inside. ❤️

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! Reblogs are super helpful in getting eyes on the story, so extra thanks for those! 🥰

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, and added those who requested it, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences!

The first thing Elvis notices about you when you walk through the door is how even though you are out of uniform, you still carry yourself with an air of helpful confidence, but the second thing he notices is how exhausted you seem, the dark circles around your eyes so pronounced that it’s worrisome.

And the third thing, well, it’s something he recognizes in himself: a tinge of resignation, as though something terrible has happened but you are moving forward anyhow. But there is something haunted behind all of it. He doesn’t know you, not yet, but it’s like some of the fire that had colored your personality that first night you met has dimmed. Like someone has tried to extinguish you in some way.

He prays it’s not him who has done this. He knows this situation is unusual and he understands completely why you might be apprehensive. In fact, he still can’t believe you said yes to this at all. When the Colonel had come back so quickly yesterday with your answer, Elvis was sure he’d heard wrong. Even Colonel seemed surprised.

But here you are.

Elvis brings himself to standing, both because there’s a lady that’s entered the room and he’s nothing but a good Southern gentleman, but also to prove to himself that he can stand on his own two feet. He’s got to if he’s gonna pull this off. His olive green uniform hangs half done on him, and at least he managed the pants and undershirt himself before you entered, though it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

He already can sense you’re gonna be a tough nut to crack because he’s intuitive about things like that and if there’s one thing he knows besides music, it’s women. You’re wound tight as a drum. He can see it in your countenance, in the carefully guarded way you take him in. He’s got his work cut out for him.

The air in the room is thick with tension, the silence pregnant with awkwardness.

Starting to button up his shirt, he shoots you a coy look. “You don’t gotta be nervous, little bird. I don’t bite…unless you want me to,” Elvis says, a smile spreading, pouring on the charm, hoping it might help ease the friction in the air.

And it does. He can see the way you bite your tongue, the way you stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him. There’s that fire.

“Look, sir, I…I know this is an unusual situation, but we’re going to need some ground rules. First being that you stop calling me ‘little bird,’” you huff.

“Well, I can’t very well call ya Nurse Cannava, now can I? Not with us needing to be so secret and all that. Not when you’re supposed t’be my girl,” he replies with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “And you definitely can’t be callin’ me ‘sir,’ so we’re both gonna have to adjust, ain’t we?”

You’re cute as you flounder for a retort, your cheeks flushing the slightest bit. He can tell you are struggling to be professional, but he knows that’s no good, not with how close you two will need to get to make this thing work.

Finally, you relent, after an inner struggle that reads clearly on your face. He can tell you hate that he’s right.

“I suppose so…Elvis,” you say through gritted teeth.

He chuckles at that, which too quickly turns to coughing and wheezing, forcing him to sit back on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, enough of that now,” you say in a much gentler tone, walking over to him purposefully and handing him the oxygen mask hanging near the bed. He watches the switch flip in you as you move into caretaker mode. It’s fascinating how your annoyance with him fades so fast, your face softening, just as it did the other night. If he wasn’t so frustrated by his body rebelling against him, pushing down the panic of how the hell he’s going to sell that he’s healthy as a horse in a matter of hours, he’d dwell on it longer.

Yet the more his emotions start to run away with him, the calmer you seem to become, standing near him watchfully, adjusting the flow of air. After what seems like an eternity holding the mask to his face, his can finally feel the air enter his lungs again, less encumbered. His hand grips the mattress for a moment, and he pulls the mask away. Then, almost angrily, he attempts to finish buttoning his shirt, but his damn hands are shaking too badly.

“Here, let me,” you say, swatting away his hands. His heart was already beating too fast, but now it picks up for a completely different reason as you stand so close in front of him, deftly doing up the rest of the buttons.

Rose water and jasmine, he thinks, taking in your scent for the first time. This coupled with suddenly being up close and personal with your ample figure has him gulping and trying not to let his gaze linger on your bust at his eyeline. He looks up at you through his lashes instead, seeing a concentrated stare on your striking face. You’re completely focused on doing up his shirt, which is such an intimate thing, really, yet you are unselfconscious in your need to assist him.

His fingers curl into his thighs, fighting the impulse to wrap his arms around you to pull you closer, to bury himself comfortingly into your supple body. It’s not new, this deep need he has for physical contact with women, and it’s not entirely sexual, but with the emotional toil of the last few days, the urge is great. Tensing, it takes everything in him not to do something stupid and embarrass himself. Unlike lots of other girls, he doesn’t think you’d be welcoming of the embrace whatsoever.

Elvis blinks away his baser desires and finally finds his voice. “What’s your name, honey? Gotta call you somethin’,” he says quietly, clearing his throat.

You freeze on the final button, the one at the base of his neck, then look down into his eyes. It feels quite vulnerable, this moment, with you so close and your eyes searching his, as if deciding how far to let him in, how far to trust him. And he gets the sense you don’t trust easily. Perhaps it’s the way your guard slips from your icy eyes just for a millisecond, how they soften in the slightest, and he feels a hesitant shift.

“It’s Dolores,” you say softly, doing up the last button.

Because his mind is made of music, instantly he remembers Frank Sinatra’s love song of the same name. It’s too perfect, really. He can’t help himself as he croons out the beginning of the song:

How I love my kisses of Dolores.

Aye aye aye! Dolores.

The way your eyes widen and then roll with exasperation amuses him, but it’s the how your cheeks go pink that really tickles him.

Not Marie or Emily or Doris.

Only my Dolores.

“Of course. Of course, you know that silly song,” you say, shaking your head as you step back.

“Silly song?! Naw, it’s a wonder,” Elvis replies, smiling wide, enjoying every second of your embarrassment. “And now I know how to call ya when I need ya…just a loud, ‘Aye aye aye! Dolores!’”

“Oh, don’t you dare!” you say through gritted teeth.

He continues, being campy with it, just to really drive it home:

I was made to serenade Dolores

Chorus after chorus!

“I swear, Elvis, you—” you start.

But he’s on a roll now, interrupting you. “You swear?! Now that ain’t very ladylike or professional,” he teases. “Hand me that tie, now will ya, Dolores?” He sings the last bit just to bug you even more.

You glare at him, eyes blazing, and he can tell that you want to strangle him with the tie. Biting your tongue, you set your mouth in a line and settle for throwing the tie in his general direction instead.

“What, you ain’t gonna help me?” he says in faux surprise, quirking a brow. He grabs the tie from where it landed on the end of the bed.

“You can do it yourself,” you snap.

“But what if I can’t?” he nudges, batting his eyes at you as he puts it around his neck.

“Oh, Madone, I wasn’t hired to be your dresser. It’s a bit beneath my skillset,” you throw back at him.

He chooses not to mention how you were just doing up the buttons on his shirt not a minute ago. But you read it on his face, nevertheless.

“Ooh, you’re incorrigible!”

“And you’re cute when you’re angry.” It just slips out, really it does, but it’s the truth. And now you are completely flushed, which sends a different sort of thrill through him.

Your mouth opens, then closes again, like a fish out of water. He thinks that’s pretty cute, too, how he’s managed to fluster you speechless in such a short amount of time.

But then your body language shifts in such a way that he suddenly thinks he may have taken it too far. You look at him with wide eyes, like you want to bolt out the door and never look back.

Elvis softens instantly. He can’t afford to have you running off because he needs you. They won’t let him out of this damn hospital without you by his side.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, I’ll stop, I’ll stop.”

You take a long, deep breath that seems to quell your urge to flee. Silence fills the room again. A wave of uncertainty, of fear, crashes over him.

“I-I-I’m sorry, I just…I guess I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around all this. I don’t mean to upset ya, I was just havin’ a little fun is all. Please don’t go,” Elvis says quietly, in a moment of unbridled honesty.

Blinking at him, as if surprised by his change in demeanor, you consider his words. Your wide mouth softens from the hardened line it was and he can’t help but wonder what you look like when you smile. His guess is that it’s stunning and he silently vows to make it happen sometime in the future.

Finally, your body relaxes a bit. “Call me Lori,” you say.

“Okay, Lori,” he repeats softly, conceding.

You bite your lip, then shift from one foot to the other, as if mulling over whether to say something. He just waits. Finally, you speak, “I know you’re going through a lot, Elvis. But to be completely honest, this…I might be in over my head here. I don’t really know what to expect. But I’m not a fawning acolyte and I do have a job to do. So please let me do it.”

All business, Elvis thinks with a smile. It’s been a while since a woman hasn’t fallen immediately at his feet. Perhaps this is God’s way of continuing to knock his ego down a peg or two, though for him, it just feels like a challenge.

He likes you a little too much already. You’re obviously more than just a pretty face. In fact, in what very little time he’s spent with you, it’s clear you are intelligent and caring but also feisty and stubborn. Plus, that guarded look in your eye makes him curious about what makes Dolores Cannava tick. Something in him itches to know you. But he’s not quite sure how far he can push you yet and acquiescing for the time being seems his best bet at getting you to stay.

So, he nods. He ties his tie. And you grab his uniform jacket to hold out for him. An olive branch, of sorts. He takes a deep breath and stands, a little unsteadily, but you are right there to help, holding his jacket as he slips into it. Once again, it feels more intimate than it should, especially when you straighten his jacket and his tie, fixing him like a lover might. He takes in another breath of you, of that lovely rose and jasmine scent in your deep chocolate hair, noticing the undertones of copper threaded through the dark strands now that he’s standing.

When you step back to examine him and your eyes widen in the slightest, taking him in while he wears his uniform, he knows you find him attractive, no matter how quickly you blink the idea away. He knows he looks good in this uniform, which is why he’s wearing it to the press conference at Fort Dix. But despite your now-neutral gaze, that quick look on your face coupled with his newfound impulse to be physically connected to you makes him wonder how in the hell he is going to remain professional with you.

Elvis clears his throat again and turns away from you to the bathroom, leaving the door open. His hair is a mess, so he begins sculpting it in a well-practiced routine. It’s the longest it’s been since he was drafted, but still not quite the coiffed pompadour of his pre-army youth. The back is shorter and so are his sideburns, but the sides and the top give him enough length to comb it precisely where he wants it. He doesn’t go too heavy on the Brylcreem, wanting the look to appear more natural.

There’s a fine line he knows he’s skating here, between a more polished adult look and the rebellious one he is famous for. He’s an All-American boy—no, man—now and must look as such, to please his aging audience. As much as he doesn’t love it, he knows his natural hair helps, not quite the sandy blonde of his teenage years, but more of a light chestnut, that little strip of gold in the front reminding him he is indeed a natural blonde. It’s darker than it used to be, at least, but lighter than he likes. But for today, it’ll serve its purpose.

He catches your eye in the mirror briefly as you watch his routine carefully, arms crossed with an air of scrutiny. You do not look away like he expects you to, however, and he holds your eyes for a moment before going back to making himself look halfway decent. Luckily for him, even at halfway decent he still looks pretty good, but if it will be enough to satisfy the throngs of reporters waiting for him, he does not know.

Rummaging in his leather kit, he finds the new mascara he had Elisabeth purchase for him in Germany. He darkens his long lashes carefully, not in the heavy-handed way of his youth, but just enough to make his naturally lighter lashes curl and pop on camera.

“Huh.” He hears your surprised reaction from behind him. He’s betting you’ve never seen a man wear makeup before.

“Come on, honey, this is show business. Can’t let the ladies have all the fun,” he winks at you.

He thinks he sees a possible twinkle of amusement in your eyes, but it is gone in a flash, replaced by your stoic and careful gaze so fast he’s unsure it was ever there at all. You turn away, walking back into the room and leaving him to his primping.

He shakes his head. Oh, Lord, I have my work cut out for me.

Despite the lingering exhaustion that hasn’t faded even with days of rest, Elvis’ leg vibrates with unspent nervous energy. It’s always been this way, the way his limbs go buzzing and tapping and wiggling beyond his control. Somehow, he managed to make a career out of it, which never ceases to amaze him.

But the little white pill you administered on the way out the door of the hospital is helping to keep the fatigue from dragging him completely under. Only one, you’d said, which had made him a little wary because he’d been popping the things like candy overseas and he wasn’t sure one was gonna do much at all. But having been off them in the hospital seems to have lowered his tolerance a bit because he can feel the familiar wave of clarity and alertness cut through the ever-present need to close his eyes.

After two long hours of staring out the car window at the snowy landscape on the way to Ft. Dix, you finally look at him—well, you look down at his leg as it brushes against yours, since he’s managed to spread his legs over almost the entirety of the backseat, and he forces himself to reel it in and stop the unconscious bouncing.

Elvis tries not to be perturbed that you’ve barely given him the time of day since getting in the limo. He thought that you two would spend the trip getting to know each other better, but his charms didn’t get him much past small talk in those first minutes getting out of the city. You fell into silence and made yourself small, curling close to the door, as far from him as possible.

Thank God for the Colonel and Lamar sitting opposite, who were equally baffled by your behavior when they received only short, clipped answers to their questions. The men finally gave up trying to include you and were at least able to contribute some conversation to the long drive.

Lamar’s confusion is evident, however, as he thinks you’ve dropped everything to be with Elvis because you’ve fallen head over heels for him, not because you are there to tend to him, and God knows you’re not acting like a little girl in love. Elvis just shrugs off the questioning looks as if to say, “Who knows what women are thinking?”

Meanwhile, you seem quite preoccupied up there in your head, wheels turning, an inner voice he’s not privy to whirring away. He’s noticed that you don’t seem particularly sad about leaving New York, only pensive and withdrawn. Considering that you are upending your life to come work for him, he supposes it makes sense. You’re likely just nervous, though it’s not in the way he expects. He’s not unaccustomed to the strange reactions of women to his presence, but it’s quite obvious that is not your problem. In fact, you barely seem to register his presence at all.

It bothers him more than he likes.

But nerves are funny things, he reminds himself, and it takes time to adjust to something new. The way your hands white knuckled your purse and your shoulders were nearly up to your ears when you stepped into the limo outside Bellevue have at least dissipated into something more relaxed. Definitely not relaxed relaxed, as he has noticed your natural state seems to be just this side of well-masked anxiety, but the latent worry in your eyes has drained away some, and they have stopped shifting to your surroundings quite so diligently.

And now you are looking at him in a way he can’t read.

“You ever been to a press conference before, honey?” he asks, breaking the silence as the car approaches the base.

He watches you bristle a bit at the pet name. “Can’t say that I have,” is all you give him.

“Well, there’s gonna be lots of shouting questions and flashbulbs, so don’t be alarmed. But they most likely won’t be payin’ too much attention to ya anyway.”

Your eyes widen with realization. “They—they won’t be asking me questions, will they?” For the first time, he sees true panic dart in your eyes, as if you’ve just realized the situation you’ve put yourself in.

He chuckles softly. “When we get out of the car, they’ll probably ask some, but you don’t need to answer. Just ignore them and let me or the Colonel take care of the rest.” He pats your knee in what he thinks is a comforting gesture, but you nearly jump out of your skin at the contact. He pulls back right away.

We’re gonna need to work on that, he thinks. But it’s too late to talk about it now, as the car finally pulls through the gates of the base and into the throng of waiting press corps.

“Are you nervous?” you ask suddenly.

“About them? Naw, not really. I’m used to it, though I guess sometimes I stutter a bit cuz it gives me time to think of answers. Today, I’m more worried about staying upright and breathing than anything,” he mumbles, leg back to jittering.

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” you say softly enough that the men across from you can’t hear, “but from what I’ve seen the last few days, I have no doubt you can do this. Just focus on those deep breaths, like I showed you.”

Elvis is pleasantly surprised by the relief he feels at your surprisingly gentle words, though he’s not sure if it’s the words themselves or the fact that your caretaking mode is so comforting compared to your usually well-guarded exterior.

The car comes to a stop, and the press advance through the swirling snow, held back by well-trained MPs. That’s when he hears your shuddering breath and sees the swell of alarm in your bright eyes.

“Stick with me, kid, and you’ll be fine,” he says, winking, plastering a press-dazzling smile over his features. Then, he grabs your cold little hand and pulls you out of the car with him.

Elvis Presley was born for this.

He reminds himself of it again and again, every time the blinding flashes of the cameras make him want to wince from the pain in his head. He reminds himself of this as he forces himself to slow down and catch his breath, so he doesn’t start wheezing in front of all these microphones.

“Elvis, there are rumors that you’ve been unwell since your homecoming was delayed. Can you speak to that?” The question comes right away, and luckily he’s rehearsed it in his head a million times, so it comes out as endearing as possible.

“Well, you see, I was stricken with a bout of tonsilitis on the trip back and then made the dumb mistake of standing up in the plane when there was turbulence. Won’t be doin’ that again, sir, I tell you for sure!” he laughs, rubbing the back of his head in an exaggerated manner, a bashful look on his face. “Nothin’ but a little fever coupled with a big ole’ bump on the head. Everyone just wanted to be more safe than sorry.”

The press corps laughs along with him and seems to take his explanation at face value. Truly, none of it is a lie—only an omission—but for that he is grateful because it falls off his tongue easily. Everyone moves on quickly, asking him about Army life and what’s next for him.

He tries not to look over to you in the wings, as he is under such scrutiny, but he knows you must be overwhelmed. He forgets sometimes how intense the press and fans can be, and he is aware this is only the beginning for you. Also, focusing on you is keeping him from focusing too much on the fact that he’s a little afraid to stand up by himself in front of all these people and cameras.

He endures the rest of the interview with as much grace and humor as he can. He enjoys the few ladies who surround him asking for autographs, including the woman who slyly slips her number into his breast pocket right in front of the camera. He admits he’s impressed with her fearlessness. And he certainly doesn’t mind sidling up to a pretty, young Nancy Sinatra who gives him a gift from her father as the press take their pictures, even though he feels a bit wobbly on his feet.

But through the lingering fear of being exposed or embarrassing himself, he’s also excited. He’s back. And a huge part of him loves this, sucking it up like oxygen. He can’t understand the stars who are dismissive of their fans. His fans have given him his blessed life, and they’ve been waiting for so long for him to come back to them.

Certainly he can’t let a little thing like dying get in the way of who he needs to be for them.

So, Elvis smiles his megawatt Hollywood smile. Posing for pictures, he laughs and winks and autographs his way through the crowd. And he lets the high of adoration carry him because it starts to feel like he’s under water, where it’s hard to breathe and his vision starts to swim and suddenly, he can’t quite feel his feet anymore.

Then a somewhat familiar cold little hand slips into his and squeezes. He looks down into your intelligent eyes and wonders how in the hell you made it through the crowd to him, how in the hell you knew he needed you to steady him without him knowing it himself until this very moment. You breathe through your nose as obviously as you can without taking your eyes from his, prompting him to remember to stop and breathe. And he does, trying to fill his traitorous lungs with air, and you resolutely guide him away from the throng as the MP’s hold back the crowd.

He can’t take his eyes off the back of your head; you’re the lighthouse in the darkness, guiding him away from the rocks.

You don’t let go until you’re all back in the car. It’s only then that he seems to awaken from whatever spell he was under that was keeping him upright, finally collapsing onto the seat next to you. You wait until the car has pulled away and the press is behind you to put your fingers to his neck and your wrist to his sweaty brow. His eyes flutter closed at the comfort of your touch, reminding him of the way his mama would tut over him when he was sick.

His heart pounds with overuse, which is frustratingly stupid enough that he wants to shove his fist through the damn window, but he’s got no energy to do so. Instead, he keeps his eyes shut and lets his head loll back on the seat as you tend to him, murmuring words he doesn’t absorb.

It really hits him then, just how fucking hard this is going to be, this battling his weak body to continue the life he needs to lead. Despair washes over him.

Please, God. Please just let me live. Let me do what I need to do to support my family and please my fans. Please give me the strength to get through this.

He drifts off then, singing spirituals in his head because he hasn’t the energy to get them out of his mouth.

“…vis. Elvis. Elvis, wake up. We’re almost to the train station.” Your voice cuts through the exhaustion and the prayers. He lifts his head, blinking suddenly against the light, coming back into himself. Your face appears first, your brow furrowed with a concern that he thinks you’re trying not to show. He presses his pointer finger to the folds above your nose and between your eyes.

“Relax, little Lo. You’re gonna give your pretty face wrinkles if ya keep on like that,” he drawls sleepily at you.

Your eyes narrow and you swat his hand away. “My face is just fine, thank you very much,” you snap back at him, though you let the new nickname slide. He hears the little huff of air through your nose as you cross your arms and look out the window, obviously annoyed at him once again.

He can’t help but chortle a little. It’s gonna take a mountain of work to get anyone to believe that you even like him, much less that you are swooning with love for him.

“It looks like we have a particularly large crowd to get through to get on that train,” you say tersely, but then that gentle thing you do—the one where you suddenly care about him—cuts through your annoyance. “Are you going to be able to—”

“I can do it,” he retorts, harshly. There’s something suddenly maddening about the way you seem to shut on and off regarding him, and when he’s feeling better, it doesn’t bother him much, but right now it just feels fucking confusing because it’s taking everything in him to rally to get onto that waiting train. And with the way his head is swimming, he’s not so sure he’s gonna make it without some divine intervention.

You sigh, a soft, pliant sound that slides down his spine and settles in his belly, pulling his attention back to your profile as you take in the looming crowd from afar. That thing in you clicks into place again, and when you turn your head, your face is calm and poised.

“I know you want to do this, Elvis,” you start, then seem to mull over how best to continue, and realizing you need to be discreet, you lean close to him to whisper, “but remember not to push it. My job is to help you stay well, and I’m telling you today is not the day to stop and sign every autograph.”

Oh, how badly he wants to argue with you, to insist that he can do it all, that he’s fine, dammnit, but his body feels heavy and his brain swimmy and Lord help him, he just needs to get from point A to point B without being a fool.

“But the fans have been waitin’ so long t’see me…” he trails off, both the sound and the excuse thin.

You consider him for a moment before speaking. He is distracted by you being so close, the scent of you filling his nostrils again, sending his heart galloping.

“Live to fight another day, Elvis.” Then you pull back, a sad, small smile on your pursed lips.

You’re right. He knows you’re right but he’s not happy about it.

He’s also not entirely sure how to feel about the fact that when he clasps your hand in his to pull you out of the limo and towards the train, something about it feels oddly settling.

It’s as if it is supposed to be there, your smaller hand wrapped in his. This strange thought, along with the racing of his heart, pushes him forward—away from the Army and firmly back into the life of Elvis Presley, superstar.

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slippinmickeys · 1 year ago

Text

Madam Scully’s Spiritual Services, Inc. (1/?)

Okay kids, I’m posting the first five chapters of this for Halloween. No idea when I’ll have more. You can thank the Merlot I had on Saturday.

Aunt Olive had the Sight, at least that’s what everyone in her family claimed. Melissa had been obsessed with the idea of inheriting it, from even before Dana could remember, and was constantly carrying around a deck of tarot cards or I Ching, offering up readings to whoever she could pin down.

Dana thought it was ridiculous. Once a person died, their body broke down and nourished the earth and their soul rose up to nourish the heavens. And honestly, she still wasn’t sure about that last part. But the idea that the dead could reach out and communicate with the living - through a human medium no less - was farcical. She was agnostic about the idea as a child and was now a hardened skeptic. But belief structures change, as do you when people come into your lives. Still, Belief? That was Missy’s thing. Not hers.

The irony that Dana found herself working as a diviner in her sister’s fortune teller shop was immense.

It had all started innocently enough. Missy’s shop sat in between a taqueria and a dry cleaners in a strip mall outside of the District - the only place whose rent she could afford. Dana had moved in with her when their parents had passed away suddenly two years before, Dana’s sophomore year of college. Missy had been adamant that Dana continue her studies, if that’s what she wanted to do, and she helped Dana with tuition and books as much as she could. All she asked was that Dana help out in the shop now and then, manning the phones and handling the scheduling, and occasionally sitting up front to greet walk-ins. It was the absolute least Dana could do, and she was happy to help her sister out. They had leaned on each other that first year, orphaned as they were. Dana maybe thought that what her sister did was ridiculous, but it put a roof over their heads and food on their table, and kept Dana at university; her eye to a microscope, her nose in a book, the only place she felt truly alive.

It had been a Tuesday evening, one of their slowest times, and Melissa had popped over to the taqueria to pick them up dinner while Dana studied at the front counter. Only a few minutes after Melissa had left, a bevy of twenty-something women came tittering into the front of the shop, dressed in sequins and high heels, clutching tightly to each other and smelling of booze. They wanted a palm reading “or maybe some of that medium shit” (their words) for their friend, the drunkest of the lot, who they shoved to the fore, listing slightly off balance and wearing a sash emblazoned with the word ‘BRIDE’ across the front. Would she have a happy marriage? they wanted to know. How many babies would she have? Was her husband-to-be possessed of a straight and generous member (not their words)? Dana had explained that Madam Scully wasn’t in, but if they wanted to wait twenty minutes or so, she would be back and would be happy to do a reading.

They agreed, but not ninety seconds into their tenure in the lobby, they’d broken a decorative crystal and knocked over a lamp and Scully ushered them into the curtained room in the back and offered to do the reading herself, just to get them out of there.

And she found that she was good at it. Fortune-telling, as far as Dana was concerned anyway, wasn’t about reading the spirit world, it was about reading the person. A lot could be gleaned about people just by observing them, and Dana assured the bride that her husband would be good and true, and so would his dick. She’d told the tall brunette girl that she would be soon getting a promotion and the quiet blond one that her boyfriend was bad news - the finger-shaped bruises on her arms telling Dana everything she needed to know. The women were thrilled (mainly that Dana had convinced Candice to dump her boyfriend) and effusive in their praise, and tipped almost a hundred dollars before teetering out and into a waiting limo. Melissa had walked in just as they were handing Dana the cash, and her sister announced that anytime she wanted or needed to make some extra money, she should feel free to take on as many clients as she cared to.

And, having decided that med school was in her future, Dana Scully, lacking the Sight of their departed Aunt Olive, but knowing how to read a person, had done just that.

XxXxXxXxXxX

It was oppressively hot, even for the Capitol in mid-summer, the air in the shop as if it were a solid entity filling the space, the rattling window A/C unit puffing along like an out of shape jogger, unable to keep up.

Dana had her hair pulled up messily in a clip, a damp ring of sweat under each arm, the tank top she wore clinging uncomfortably. She wanted the credits, but had decided to take the summer off of school to study for the MCATs, and had her materials spread out before her on the shop’s countertop, the pages fluttering limply every time the oscillating fan in the corner made its humming pass.

It had been slower than usual, the inhabitants of the Capitol opting to stay home instead of venturing out in the heat, and so Melissa had left early, leaving Dana to oversee the last hour or two of business, where she could study in relative peace.

Dana looked up from her work when the bell above the door gave a melodic ring, and she watched as a young yuppie walked in uncertainly, eyeing the gauche new age decor with a dubious moue of skepticism.

“We don’t have a public bathroom,” she informed the man before turning back to her studies. She expected to hear the door once again open and close, and when it didn’t, she glanced back up.

The guy was younger than she’d initially pegged him - maybe only a few years older than herself - and good looking, in a tall, nerd-ish way, his brown hair thick and a little unruly, his nose slightly too big for his face.

“It’s a good thing I don’t have to go,” he said, giving her a small smile.

“Sorry,” Dana said, sitting up and setting down her pencil. She reached for the scheduling book. “Did you have an appointment?”

“Ah, no,” he said, a little sheepishly, and then pointed toward the wall. “Your sign out there says walk-ins are welcome?”

“Yes,” she said, “they are.”

The guy put his hands in his pockets and took another look around, turning on his heel and nodding as though psyching himself up. So to speak.

“What kind of service are you looking for?”

“I um,” he began, blushing slightly, which Dana found charming, much to her own annoyance. “I’m not sure. What do you offer?”

“Normally, we offer tarot readings, palmistry, numerology, graphology, and occasionally offer medium services, but I’m afraid my sister is the one with the Sight, and she’s left for the night.”

“Ah,” the man said, looking at her directly, “so you’re not Madam Scully, then?”

“Sadly not,” Dana said. “We share a name, but not a gift.” His eyes were brown, she thought. No, green. Either way, they were giving her a look so acute that she felt the need to turn away. She resisted the urge.

“I’d be happy to make an appointment with her though, if you’re looking for a spiritual medium.”

“That’s not necessary,” he said, licking his lips. “This was more of an impulsive stop than a planned outing. I’m not even sure why I came in. I pulled into your parking lot thinking I would pick up some tacos, but found myself walking through your door instead.”

“Well,” Dana said, giving him a smile and an out, “don’t let me keep you from your dinner. The pollo is flavorless, but the carne asada is the best in the city.”

The man smiled, but didn’t turn to go, and instead, hands still buried deep in his pockets, shrugged at her. “I don’t want to have bothered you and wasted your time. How about a quick palm reading?”

Despite the heat, gooseflesh broke out on Dana’s arms. For some reason, the thought of touching the man’s skin, of holding and studying his hand brought out a feeling so uncomfortable, she didn’t dare try to name it.

“That’s not necessary. You didn’t waste my time. Go get your dinner.”

“Are you normally in the practice of turning away business when it comes to you?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him, picking up on a bit of flirt. “Only when it walks through the wrong door.”

He grinned, which lifted the brown smudge of a mole on his cheek and crinkled his eyes. He pulled a hand from his pocket and held it up. “I promise it’s not hairy.”

Dana couldn’t help but snort a small laugh and stood from behind the counter.

“You wouldn’t prefer tarot?” She moved toward the back of the shop, and held open a heavy sweep of dark velvet curtain, inviting him inside. It was sure to be even more oppressively hot back there, but Missy would have her head if she found out she’d done a reading on the scratched glass countertop of the lobby, bent over two years worth of MCAT practice books.

The man stepped through the velvet opening. “You trying to upsell me?”

“Is it working?” she said, letting the curtain fall behind her.

He looked down at his hand, his smile faltering. “If my hand has a story to tell, I want to hear it.”

“Well,” Dana said, affecting a bad Eastern European accent. “Sit down, and I tell you all.”

The lighting in the back room was subdued, and as they each sat and pulled themselves closer to the small round table at its center, the candles in the middle of the table guttered and briefly gave off long curls of thick gray smoke.

“That’s a nice effect,” the man said, and Dana once again gave him a small smile, and then gently moved the candles off to the side. If he thought she had the wherewithal to monkey with a few candles for dramatic effect, let him.

“What’s your name?” Dana asked.

“You mean you don’t already know?” the man joked.

“Well, I’m not Madam Scully,” she answered and he had the decency to look abashed.

“Sorry,” he said. “You probably get that a lot.”

“I’m Dana,” she said, holding out a friendly hand for him to shake.

“I’m Fox,” he said, reaching out to firmly grasp her. Fox? “But you can call me Mulder.”

“Mulder?” giving his hand a shake. “You ready to get started?”

He was still holding her hand, and it was warm but dry, despite the stuffy temperature of the room, and she felt an odd little tingle at the base of her spine.

Mulder nodded, and she reached up with her other hand and turned his wrist, gently unfolding his hand and giving his palm a quick sweep with her thumb before turning it a bit toward the light of the candles.

Toward the top of his palm, under his pointer finger, she ran her finger over a small line. “See this line, here?” she said, and he leaned in to get a better look. “It tells me you’re hungry and craving Mexican cuisine.”

He chuffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, you’re good.”

Scully chanced a look at his eyes and smiled once again before turning back to his palm. He was harder to read than many of the people she’d served in the short time she’d been doing this, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to play the mentalist game with him, and so she thought back to the palmistry books that lined Missy’s shelves and stuck with the script of the craft, giving him a standard read.

When she set his hand gently on the table, the reading over, he left his hand sitting there face up, an odd look on his face.

“Can you,” he began, and then sighed, before speaking again. “Can you tell by looking at my hand about any siblings I might have?”

Dana clocked the odd way he asked the question, and reached forward to grasp his hand again. As she touched him, a cool current of air wafted through the room, causing the candles to gutter again.

“Guess your A/C is finally kicking on,” he said in relief.

Dana didn’t know how to respond, as the only A/C unit they had was up front in the lobby and surely couldn’t penetrate the heavy material that cloaked the room, and so she said nothing, bending her head down to look closely at the skin below his thumb.

“The lines of brothers and sisters,” she explained, feeling the need to fill the silence, “generate from the mount of Venus, here” she pointed, “and gradually move toward the region of Mars. The number of such lines denotes the number of siblings that a person will have. I see one.”

Mulder nodded and swallowed thickly. Dana kept talking.

“Generally palmists can recognize the lines of brothers and sisters separately. Out of all the lines of brothers and sisters, the deep and wide lines indicate the number of brothers, and comparatively, the faint and thin lines denote the number of sisters. The single line you have here is thin and faint. So, a sister.”

Dana sat up. There was more she could say, but the story that Mulder’s palm was telling seemed not to be a happy one, not that she really believed in any of this stuff. She wasn’t going to ruin the guy’s day when all he’d come in here for was the Taco Trio and a cold Mexican Coke.

“Is that all it tells you?” he asked her, his voice quiet.

“That’s all I see,” she lied, and squeezed his hand.

Mulder sighed heavily and pulled his hand back, adjusting the fit of his watch band, as he seemed to contemplate standing.

“Ask him about the red scarf,” said a voice right next to Dana, and she turned her head sharply, wondering who had walked into the room. She’d neglected to lock the front door which she normally did if she was working on her own in the shop and in the back with the client.

There was no one there. Mulder pushed his seat back and stood, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet.

“Ask him about the red scarf!” came the voice more urgently this time, and the hair on the back of Dana’s neck stood on end. Mulder appeared not to have heard the voice, and looked over at her with a politely expectant smile.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Ask him! Now! ” the voice said, and the candles on the tables guttered yet again, the smoke the flickering produced rising up faster than it had any right to.

“Um,” Dana stuttered. Ten dollars , is what she was supposed to have said, but what came out instead was a hoarse whisper: “The red scarf.”

“What did you say?” Mulder said, looking startled.

Dana felt a compulsion stronger than any she had ever felt. “Ask him about the red scarf,” she said, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, the candles on the table, all of them, went out at the same time.

She looked up to catch Mulder’s reaction to the odd series of events, but he was no longer there. She heard the bell above the door jingle, and by the time she got to the door to see where he had gone, the taillights of a ten year old Land Rover were bouncing out and away from the parking lot on an urgent chirp of squealing tires.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #au #wip #psychic AU #I have no business posting this

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