#posting all the parts here before i upload to ao3 later

[syluss-karaoke-teacher]

Love and Deepspace - Nightly Rendezvous - Part I, Xavier

The teaser for the new quad banner has me in such a chokehold I needed to drop everything and write some smut scenarios! The first one up is Xavier~

Word count: 2534 words

MDNI! Tags and main text under the cut. You have been warned.

NOTE: As of now this fic hasn't been posted on AO3, but if I do decide to post it, it will be under the username @/n_moonbreeze. All other uploads on any other websites are non-authorized. I do not own any part of Love and Deepspace as an IP, but I do own this piece of fanfiction, and you are not allowed to repost it, copy it or otherwise claim it as your own.

That's it, enjoy! ❤️

Tags: reader!MC, fem!reader, PWP, semi-public sex, PIV, oral (f!receiving), ripping clothes, dom!Xav undertones, not beta-read we die like Grandma

Xavier – Misty Silhouette

Xavier!! Could you and Miss Hunter do me a favor? I need to be out of town for the weekend and there are a few new saplings that need daily watering. If you can pop into Philo, that’d be great! : ))

Xavier reads through the message again with a frown as you two walk down the alley towards Philo. Not only was most of the night spent at the annual charity ball organized by the Hunters’ Association, the rest of it would now waste away helping his so-called friend to water some dumb plants. Time Xavier could have spent with you in the barbeque restaurant that just opened in your neighborhood, for example.

He couldn’t help the impatience quickening his steps, not with how radiant you look under the street lights, hanging onto his arm as you chat with Tara over the phone. Your attention had been stolen at the ball by so many of your out-of-town colleagues you hadn’t seen in a while, so you decided to make up for it by exchanging gossip with her on the phone on your walk over to Philo. Very considerate of you towards your friend. However, it meant even less attention given to your boyfriend, who had extended his social battery to its limits ages ago.

When you finally say goodbyes on the phone and hang up, he can barely keep the sigh of relief inside himself.

“Sorry about that, Xav,” you smile and pat his arm, “it’s been a long night huh?”

“It’s alright,” he replies, “though the way here would have been faster if we had teleported.”

“But then I couldn’t have talked to Tara about the new Lumiere merch that’s launching soon!” you frown playfully, and Xavier’s eyebrow ticks in annoyance.

*

Oh, you knew exactly what you were doing. Before tonight you both had been exceptionally busy with your missions, too tired to do more than fall asleep on either one of your couches after having a quick dinner. Xavier might have a better poker face than most, but having dated him for a while now, you knew his limits well. And you especially knew what tended to happen when you pushed him to those limits.

It is no coincidence that your new dress is sinfully short, your heels high and your perfume his favorite kind. He had barely been able to tear his eyes off you ever since you exited your apartment in this get-up, doubly so at the charity ball with so many onlookers vying for your attention. You had kept up a façade of obliviousness the whole night, as if you hadn’t even noticed all the eyes on you, his especially. You knew what it did to his patience, as did the mention of his alter ego.

You feel his arm wind tighter around yours as you turn toward Philo that’s only a short distance away.

“Come on Xav, we can’t keep the saplings waiting!”

You try to hasten your steps, but instead of heels clacking on the pavement you hear a soft whoosh as Xavier’s Evol grabs the both of you. One blink later you are in the greenhouse of the flower shop, facing the snowy inner courtyard of the apartment block.

“Was that really necessary?” you say as you shrug off your winter jacket. Xavier says nothing as he removes his own coat as well and picks up the watering can, heading straight to the flower beds you assume Jeremiah had meant. You roll your eyes and sit on a cushioned garden bench near him, crossing one leg over the other as he goes over the flowers one row after the other.

“If something is bothering you, tell me. Don’t take it out on the poor plants.”

When he still doesn’t answer you tap his shin with your heel. That finally makes him turn towards you. As he does, you feel heat creeping up your neck: when did he manage to unbutton his dress shirt? You can’t help but ogle at his bare chest, barely registering him putting the watering can down and taking a few measured strides towards you.

You are brought back to your senses by him grabbing your shin. Your skin shivers under his touch, goosebumps rising against the sheer fabric of your pantyhose: expensive ones that make your legs look amazing and that accentuate your butt nicely. Xavier’s fingers warm up your skin as they travel upwards and under the hem of your dress.

“You honestly have the gall to pretend you don’t know what’s bothering me?” he asks quietly. Now you know you are pushing it. You don’t trust your voice, so you merely widen your eyes in feigned innocence and let your lips fall apart slightly.

His hand grasps your thigh tighter, and a small sigh escapes you as you feel the first sparks run up your core. He leans down towards you, and your heartbeat quickens as you feel the sapphire blue in his eyes intensify every passing second.

“We could have gone home together after making our appearances. Instead, I have to watch you talk to unimportant people for hours on end, then listen to you fawn over the phone with Tara about Lumiere of all things, and then be dragged here to tend to Jeremiah’s stupid plants. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you planned the whole thing.”

He supports himself against the bench’s backrest with his other hand as he brings his face near yours, your breaths mingling together in the chilly greenhouse air.

“I would do no such thing. How dare you accuse me of such mischief,” you puff out, your eyes boring into his in a challenge. His lips curl into a mean smirk as his fingers slip between your thighs, ghosting over your center.

“I sincerely hope you are telling me the truth. Otherwise…” his voice drops as his lips graze your earlobe, “I would be very mad indeed.”

He slides his fingers over your covered pussy, and you shiver at the contact. He circles the area around your clit lazily as he places featherlike kisses on your ear and neck. As an attempt to carry on the charade a little while longer, you gently push him further by his shoulder.

“Xavier… we can’t… do it here,” you say to him, squeezing your legs together and hoping to appear as bashful as you can in your current position. Xavier straightens himself, and you are about to freak out that he is actually going to stop, but then he grabs your knee again and pulls you further down on the bench so that your ass is hanging in the air.

“Don’t move,” he commands and pulls your legs apart. You gasp and try to balance yourself on your tippy toes as Xavier pushes your dress up to your waist. He kneels in front of you between your spread legs, placing one thigh on his shoulder and grasping the other in a firm grip.

“You had your own fun tonight, now it’s my turn,” he tells you, and before you have chance to retort, he reaches for your crotch and rips your pantyhose clean apart. Your panties are next, the equally expensive lace thong ripped at its seams and just as quickly replaced by his mouth. The moan that you let out is nothing short of lewd as Xavier licks long stripes up your pussy, collecting the slick that’s already gathered there before proceeding to tease your clit.

Xavier has many skills honed to perfection, and eating you out has to be in his top three. In an embarrassingly short time he has your thighs quivering in need, your slick dribbling down his chin and his hands bruising your thighs as he drinks his fill. When he concentrates his efforts once more on your pulsing clit, you hope that it means he is impatient enough to make quick work of you and fuck you stupid sooner rather than later. He lets you rock your core against his face, bury your hands into his hair as you chant his name into the empty greenhouse, chasing your high shamelessly. It’s when you catch his eyes in the darkness, his pupils almost completely blown and staring straight into your soul that makes you unravel: your body tenses like a primed bowstring, back arching off the bench as you spill into his mouth.

He leads you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, which lulls you into a false sense of hope. It is when he releases your other thigh only to push two fingers into your heat that you realize there is no easy release in sight.

“Xavier—” you try to interrupt but a light suck on your oversensitive bud is enough to cut you off. Xavier pumps his fingers steadily, curling against your sweet spot with practiced precision. Heat pools inside you quickly, but the oversensitivity from your first orgasm keeps you on an uneasy edge: never too much, never enough. You try to eye the bulge straining against his pants, but another measured lick at your core is enough to distract you.

“I told you I would have my fun,” he finally responds, lifting his head up just enough to lock eyes with you. Your thigh that’s not on his shoulder has started to shake, so he takes off your shoes and guides both your thighs around his face and neck, effectively burying his face in your crotch as his fingers continue to tease you towards another release. “You are done only when I say you are.”

And just like that he continues to wreck you as you struggle to retain some semblance of dignity, still vaguely aware of the fact that you are debasing Jeremiah’s place of work. After teetering on the edge for god knows how long the second orgasm hits you like a bolt of lightning, and you feel yourself leaking an embarrassing amount. By the time Xavier finally pulls away he looks positively pussy-drunk, his face red with arousal and a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

“You are divine,” he drawls as he pulls his fingers out and massages your quivering thighs. “By the stars, you make me weak.”

“Xav… please, take me,” you plead, already close to tears and hoping your begging would be enough to make him forget his ire. Xavier stands up and pulls you with him, kissing you ferociously. You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips and use the opportunity to slide your hands across his bare chest, scratching the pale skin with your nails. Xavier growls into your mouth at the contact and lifts you up by your hips, carrying you to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

He puts you down and twirls you around so you are facing the snowy courtyard. The lights in the greenhouse are out, and there aren’t many people walking outside at this hour anyway, but the possibility of someone passing by and looking in is still non-zero. The thought of it makes your heart race, but Xavier gives you no time to ruminate on it.

“Lift up your dress.”

You swallow heavily as you lean your cheek against the cold window and follow his order. His thumb circles the hole he ripped in your pantyhose, spreading your slick around your shivering skin.

“Such a pretty girl when she’s obedient,” he sighs and kneads the flesh of your ass. You make a keening sound and your hole clenches around nothing. You perk your ass upwards in a silent plea and you hear Xavier curse softly. He unzips his pants, and after a small eternity you feel his thick cock slide against your folds.

“Just so you know… I won’t be easily satisfied tonight,” he says as he pushes inside you, your sopping pussy making the intrusion effortless. “So you better give me a good show if you want to make up for your earlier behavior.”

He slips two fingers into your mouth and presses down on your tongue as he begins a brutal pace, the filthy sounds echoing in the greenhouse. Soon enough his cock renders you dumb, makes you babble nonsensically as you try widen your stance to take his cock in deeper, deeper—

“Xav, s-so good, just like that, can feel you in my fucking stomach,” you groan as he pistons into you. You see his dim reflection on the glass, a steady presence behind you. He uncovers your breasts by yanking down your dress and grabs them to ground you to him better. He seems and feels completely unbothered by the possibility of anyone seeing you.

The glass fogs up and you draw nonsensical patterns onto it as you desperately try to hold yourself up. Your core buzzes, bordering on uncomfortable, your senses assaulted from all directions. The moment you feel your hold on the window slipping Xavier pushes you further into it, winding an arm around your waist and lifting your other thigh with his other arm. You are now completely pushed up against the window, and if anyone was to pass through the courtyard, they would have no trouble seeing Xavier pound into your sopping cunt. The thought of it makes you shake and whine in his grasp.

“You like this, don’t you?” Xavier groans into your ear. His thick length pushes now even more firmly into your g-spot in this angle, and you swear you see stars appear in your vision. “So needy for my cock that you don’t care who might see?”

You make an affirmative whine and let your head fall back on Xavier’s shoulder. He uses the opportunity to suck a hickey on your neck, biting down so hard it makes you cry out in pain.

“Promise me you won’t ever tease me like this again, not after such a long break. Otherwise…” he trails off as he pulls you against his chest impossibly tight, his thrusts becoming fast and shallow, “I can’t guarantee I won’t do this in the bathroom of the next ball, or whichever event you decide to act out at.”

You feel your eyes roll back into your head at the image of it and you feel yourself clench down on his cock. You both moan in unison and Xavier’s grip on you tightens into a bruising one.

“My filthy girl, fuck—” he moans and ruts into you like an animal in heat. The hand around your waist dips down to rub your clit, and the already burning nerves explode, rushing you to the most intense orgasm you have felt in a while. Your pulsing core brings him to completion as well, and Xavier buries himself inside you to the hilt, vocalizing his pressure through open-mouthed kisses he leaves on your upper back.

Later he has to teleport you back to your apartment, as along with the evidence of your nightly activities running down your thighs, your dress is a crumpled mess, and your neck and shoulders are littered in hickeys. Xavier has the decency to look at least a bit guilty, but you both know it won’t be the last time the two of you decide to act out.

-----

A/N: let me know your thoughts in comments and tags, and please reblog this if you liked it!! It helps the post find a bigger audience ^_^ My ask box is also open for requests. Zayne is probably next on the list, so stay tuned!

[unscrupulousartist]

hellerby fic, part 8/10

19 August 1929

Leaning over the small sink in his tiny bathroom, Mordecai used a comb and scissors to meticulously trim the ends of his fur back into its usual shape. He was dressed down for the task, in loose sleep pants and an undershirt he didn’t mind getting littered with hair. In this manner, he was only able to tense and sigh when he heard his apartment lock scrape open. The door caught on the chain, barring the entrance of his wouldbe intruders.

“Mordecai!” Mitzi yelled. “Let us in, it’s an emergency!”

“We were supposed to meet at the Marigold at eight,” he called as he resumed trimming. “If you really need someone murdered, it can wait until tomorrow.”

“Mordecai Elijah Heller, open this door!”

Pausing to take a deep breath, he put down the comb but took the scissors with him to the little entranceway. Through the crack in the door he could see Mitzi, already ready for the Marigold event, glaring at him. “My name isn’t Elijah,” he said as he closed the door. Unslotting the chain, he pulled it open again and saw that Rocky, with violin-case in hand, stood beside the matriarch. 

“Three names sounds more dramatic, honey, you know this,” Mitzi huffed. Then she pulled Rocky in with her, pushing past Mordecai.

“Hullo,” Rocky smiled awkwardly, his ears low. He looked over Mordecai’s frame, eyes lingering on the exposed scar on Mordecai’s chest.

“D’you still have that hoity toity suit you’d wear to the theatre?” Mitzi asked over her shoulder, dragging Rocky along with her towards Mordecai’s bedroom.

“Why?” Mordecai followed, loitering in the doorway as Mitzi deposited Rocky and his instrument beside the bed, where Mordecai’s suit for the evening was laid out. 

“Asa called with a request,” Mitzi growled as she tore open Mordecai’s little step-in closet. It wasn’t as grand as her’s, but it was better organized. 

Slowly turning, Rocky's grin grew as he took in the number of plants about the room, the neatness of the shelves, and—most embarrassingly for Mordecai, who flushed and looked away as Rocky noticed—a large book on the bedside table.

Mitzi continued: “Apparently, he heard we have a Concert Musician on staff. He was hoping we’d indulge him with some Classical pieces, for his birthday.”

Mordecai’s tail flicked and he crossed his arms. “And what does that have to do with Mr Rickaby?”

Rocky perked and blinked at him just as Mitzi sighed and turned. “Really, sugar?”

“I can passably play Tchaikovsky,” Rocky explained. He held an unusually humble air, tail tucked between his legs. “Ravel and Mendelssohn, as well. Paganini of course, and a handful of others. My Aunt would say Mozart most fits my temperament… but, I’ve never played with an orchestra.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart,” Mitzi purred at him, then began rifling through Mordecai’s clothes. “There won’t be an orchestra, just you.”

“Of course, Ms M,” Rocky grinned at her, but it pulled a little awkwardly at his face. “You can count on me.”

“Mordecai, honey, do you know what sort of songs Asa likes?”

“Pieces,” Rocky corrected. 

“... no,” Mordecai looked between them. “I was usually preoccupied with the Savoys whenever we went to a concert.” Talking about the siblings made his chest itch, and he scratched at the old scar.

The motion seemed to catch Rocky’s attention, and his ears cocked forward.

Somewhat familiar with the past, Mitzi sent Mordecai a concerned pout as she pulled the first of a three piece suit from the closet. "Are they gonna be a problem?"

"Let me worry about them," said Mordecai. "Instead, explain what emergency requires you to destroy my closet?"

That caused Mitzi to snort. "Why? You hiding something in there?" She wagged her brows as she tossed pants and a jacket onto the bed, overlapping the clothes already there. Then she continued digging.

"Nothing you aren't already aware of."

Biting his lip, Rocky’s eyebrows quirked and his tail waved. 

Laughing, Mitzi picked out two nearly identical shirts. “I’d think the emergency was obvious, honey.”

Mordecai shook his head and sighed, then stepped away from the scene to return to the bathroom. “Don’t make a mess.”

“No promises!" said Mitzi.

Listening to her fuss over Rocky was strangely reminiscent of days long gone, waiting around in a penthouse suite as Atlas and Mitzi donned themselves for whichever excursion or event they required Mordecai to escort them to. As such, he became an unwitting eavesdropper.

"Here we are—Rocky, sweetheart, put that down."

"Ah ha, sorry—it's hard to resist the siren song of the bard."

“Best to keep your hands off Mordecai’s things, if you want to keep them.”

“Will that, perhaps, be a problem with—?”

“This? No, don’t worry about that, sweetheart. Now, get yourself ready.”

“Sure thing, Ms M.”

Shaking his head at his reflection, Mordecai combed his fur for inspection. In his peripheral, he saw Mitzi step out of his bedroom with a familiar book in her hands. She took it with her across his little livingroom to sprawl across the chaise by the window. Letting the book rest on her stomach, she pantomimed strangling the ceiling. “I can’t believe Asa!”

“It’s a show of power,” said Mordecai. He angled his head one way and then the other, and found another couple of hairs that needed to be trimmed.

“I know that,” Mitzi whined and kicked her feet. “It’s also childish. After all the trouble he caused, he asks for favours?”

“You could’ve said no,” Mordecai offered. He turned to peer out the door, and paused when he caught sight of Rocky, staring, across the apartment. 

A dozen or so feet away, Mordecai spied the musician leaning from the throughway to the bar. Rocky worried his lip, brows upturned, tail low and still. Music and laughter filtered past him, the speakeasy still in full swing.

Mordecai squinted from his seat on the stairs.

A grin quirked across Rocky’s face, and he waved. Mordecai rolled his eyes and stepped out of the bathroom.

“I know,” Mitzi sighed, head dangling over the single armrest. “But then he’ll start being all patronizing again, and we just got past that.”

In the middle of the space, out of sight from the doorways, Mordecai stopped. He brushed trimmed hairs from his shoulders as he spoke. “If it’s his murder you want, it really should wait until tomorrow. It would be a little gauche to kill him on his birthday.”

Mitzi snickered and smiled at him. Then, the sound of a tuning violin drifted, somewhat quietly, from the bedroom. Sitting up, Mitzi scowled. “Rocky!”

The sound glissed to a stop. “Sorry!” Rocky called from the other room. “You said to get ready!”

“I meant, dressed!” Mitzi yelled. She shifted as if to stand, book falling from her lap to thunk on the floor. “Oops—”

“Sit, please,” Mordecai waved her down automatically. “Before you knock over something expensive. I’ll sort Rickaby."

She leaned to scoop the book as he turned toward the bedroom. "Anything expensive you got from me, sugar.”

Shaking his head, he heard her scoff. Then he had to pause in his own bedroom doorway. Fur raising on the back of his neck, his mind replayed his absent assertion as his lungs quietly seized.

On his part, Rocky didn't notice. He had dressed down to his undershirt, suspenders hanging at his sides, but had abandoned the task to prop his violin on his shoulder. While he had bow-in-hand, he refrained from pressing hair to string and instead mutely practiced chord transitions as he leaned over his open case. There, a collection of loose papers were gathered in the space that should've housed his instrument. 

From this angle, Mordecai could see the bitemark on Rocky’s neck; he exhaled. "Last minute studying rarely works."

"Doesn't it?" Rocky replied without looking. But his bow-hand moved, trilling along a cluster of notes. "I haven't had any opportunities to know, but I'd've thought last minute study to be better than no study at all."

Forcing his shoulders to relax, Mordecai hooked his ankle around the door and kicked it close. It banged, and Rocky startled upright to blink at him. "Instrument away, please—" said Mordecai. He convinced himself to continue normally to his still open closet, where his laundry basket sat beside his dresser. "—before Mitzi has a heart attack."

Rocky laughed, but the sound aborted awkwardly. "She's not at risk to, is she?"

"At her age?" Mordecai glanced to raise a brow at Rocky. "You never know."

"She isn't that old," Rocky shook his head and moved to put his instrument away. He fussed for a moment, ears angling back towards Mordecai. It wasn't until Rocky peeked again over his shoulder that Mordecai realized he'd left too long of a pause. "... is she?"

"Best not to think about it," said Mordecai. Pulling off his undershirt, he leaned over the laundry basket for one more vicious scrub over his head and neck to rid himself of the last of his trimmings. "The last person asking those types of questions ended up taking a long walk off the Eads."

Rocky’s snickering drew Mordecai's attention; the musician grinned at him. "I take it you had something to do with that?"

"I held her purse."

Smile drawing back to reveal his fangs, his focus seemed to flicker up and down the length of Mordecai's body. After a moment, Rocky gestured to the scar carved into Mordecai's chest. "That looks like a story I haven't heard yet, Mr Serious Face."

Finding a clean undershirt, Mordecai shucked his sleep pants. "No one likes hearing stories from when I ran with the Marigold."

"Ah—" Rocky grimaced. "Sor—"

"Don't," Mordecai interrupted. "Just get dressed. Quickly."

"Yes sir," Rocky spread his arms and mock bowed, then perched on the edge of the bed to untie his shoes. Only to get distracted by the bounce of the mattress and the feel of the quilt. "Oh—this is nice." His tail swung up, wiggling.

"We've places to be, Rickaby," Mordecai shrugged into the clean shirt. Then he approached to dig his tidy suit out from the heap of fabric Mitzi threw on top of it.

"You're a poet now?" Rocky raised his brows. "Feeling inspired?"

"What?"

"The rhyme."

"That hardly counts as poetry."

"Sure it does," Rocky shrugged. "Anything could be poetry if you call it poetry."

"Ridiculous," Mordecai's tongue clicked. He started with charcoal pants, fresh from the tailor. "Poetry has rules, structure. You can't just call every accidental rhyme a poem, or the streets would be flooded with half wit poets and no one would know who to read. Next you'll say cereal boxes are poetry."

Rocky’s eyes dilated, the dark of his pupils obscuring the blue of his iris. "Quite the observation, Mr Serious."

Mordecai suppressed a shivver. "It would be best if you referred to me as Mr Heller this evening."

Expecting banter, Mordecai frowned when Rocky dimmed. "Right," he toed off his shoes. "Tonight."

Pausing, Mordecai's brows drew together. "You're nervous."

"Me?" Rocky forced a laugh, rocking backwards as he shimmied out of his blue pants. "Nervous? Why would you think—" twisting, he slipped off the side of the bed and careened to Mordecai's patterned rug. "—ow—that?"

"You tell me." Mordecai secured his slacks and picked up a crisp dress shirt. "Playing music is already your job."

Rocky popped up onto his knees, elbows indenting the mattress. "I play jazz."

"You're always bragging about panini—"

"Paganini."

"—and all those other motifs," Mordecai methodically worked the buttons closed. "You clearly have enough expertise to accept."

"Classical soloists are different," Rocky insisted. "Jazz is easy, you flub a note and improvise a phrase and the rest of the band are there to riff off of. When Classical musicians mess up they get run out of the theatre and left to get sick and—ah—" Biting his lip, Rocky shook his head.

"You're assuming people will notice," Mordecai  noted. He glanced at his bedside clock, slightly askew; weeks prior, he'd shifted it to make space for his new book. "It's a guarantee that everyone has already started drinking, and more than likely that no one will be sober enough to realize the genre has changed."

For a moment, Rocky stared and blinked at Mordecai; then his smile blossomed back. "You're trying to reassure me."

"Mitzi needs the night to go smoothly." He tucked the shirt into his pants, then found his suspenders. "That means whatever harebrained scheme the two of you devised on the way over here needs to succeed. I'm guessing the plan amounts to you being yourself while Mitzi flaunts non-existent assets to Asa and his boys."

At odds with the rest of his expression, Rocky’s ears drooped. "You think I can do it?"

Mordecai rolled his eyes. "Stop overthinking," he snagged the pile of clothes Mitzi had picked and tossed them all at Rocky's head. The musician guffawed with laughter. "Or do you need a head pat and empty platitudes as well?"

Pulling the clothes away from his face, Rocky’s tail wagged low and slow above the carpet. He bit his lip, brows upturning.

Mordecai sighed. "Just get dressed."

Shifting away, Rocky sat crossed legged with his back against the mattress. He leaned forward to sort the clothes on the carpet, both ears cocking to point at Mordecai. "Getting ready is more than just getting dressed. First, rehearse your song by rote—"

For the first time that evening, Mordecai's eyes were drawn to Rocky’s mouth. Vision glazed in spite of lenses, the musician seemed to split into two. Two of Rocky, both sitting cross legged with a hand resting on Mordecai's exposed sock. Two of Rocky, both leaning forward to soliloquy beneath the table-canopy. Two of Rocky, both petting a line along Mordecai's ankle. It made his head swim, and something selfishly fond dripped warmth along his senses. 

Rocky recited: "—to each word a warbling note." 

Mordecai watched the syllables take place. He tried to interrupt: "Obviously you rehearse—"

"Shh," Rocky lifted one hand from Mordecai's ankle to wave between them. "It's rude to cut into someone's plagiarisms. Listen—" something thunked to the floor, then Rocky raised both arms to gesture. "—hand in hand, with fairy grace, will we sing and bless this place."

Focusing on the task of dressing, Mordecai managed to tune Rocky’s voice into the background as he layered on his clothes. A holster over the vest, pistols procured from the night table, a matching set of shoes and jacket. For his part, Rocky bounced between characters nonsensically, sometimes pantomiming along lines Mordecai had yet to recognize. Often Puck or Bottom, sometimes Rosencrantz or Guildenstern, occasionally Oberon or Titania. But Mordecai's thoughts were preoccupied with piecing together disjointed moments.

Eventually, as Mordecai looped a tie around his upturned collar—he'd have to seek the aid of his bathroom mirror to make sure it laid evenly against his shirt—Rocky rolled up to a stand. The borrowed white vest was still undone, and he awkwardly turned in place as he fought with the buttons. "This is strange, isn't it?"

"Hm?" Mordecai's ears twitched. He moved to where his cufflinks were stored, on the small table in front of the window, and stopped to poke at one of his plants. 

"Getting dressed," Rocky replied, then cringed. "Together, I mean. Not that getting undressed isn't strange! The whole process is bordering on the phantastical—" he slowed, looking at Mordecai as he raised a finger to emphasize. "—and I mean that in the eerie sense."

"Mhm…" Mordecai leaned against the little table as he carefully folded his cuffs together. 

"Like a dream and deja vu rolled into one—" he spun his hands around each other, then paused to touch his chin. "Dreamah-vu?"

"Jacket next," Mordecai instructed.

"Right," Rocky snapped his fingers, then scooped the jacket from the floor. "Have you ever told yourself something so many times that you begun to believe it?" He shrugged on the jacket. "Only for something to happen to conjure a near perfect memory of the thing you were trying not to believe?"

Something tingled low against Mordecai's spine. "Are you believing or not believing?"

"Both," said Rocky. "Believing in the not believing."

"That's nonsense."

"Perhaps," Rocky nodded. Then he moved to fish through his discarded clothes. "But have you?" He retrieved his monogrammed tie.

"Of course not. Lies are things you tell other people, not yourself." Mordecai’s eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"

"Embarking on a perilous parley, I think," Rocky looped the material around his neck and began to tie it from memory.

"You can't wear that," Mordecai clarified. Abandoning his second cufflink, he crossed the small space. "Mitzi picked out a bowtie."

Blinking, Rocky remained stunned until Mordecai reached to pull the tie away. "No!" He dodged backwards a step, the back of his legs hitting Mordecai's night table. He tried to compose himself. "I mean—this is my lucky tie. Surely a smooth evening requires every superstitious ritual to be observed. It's too risky not to."

Mordecai squinted at him. 

"It's a perfectly fashionable tie," Rocky argued. He adjusted his loops, fumbling with the tail.

"It's stained," Mordecai pointed out. "I'm fairly certain with blood. If history is anything to go by, probably your blood."

"I need it," Rocky pleaded. He craned his neck, attempting to see his work. "Jazz is one thing, but I've only ever performed a successful concerto with this on. And Ms M is counting on me."

"Mitzi is counting on you to wear a bow tie," he reached again, stopping Rocky’s hands. Slowly pulling the tie from the musician's grip, Mordecai considered the fabric. He made a small concession. "We'll compromise."

Rocky perked, looking. "Compromise?"

It struck Mordecai how close they were standing. Folding the tie around one hand, he gathered it into a small bundle and tucked it in Rocky’s breast pocket. For a moment he futzed to make a sort of pleat, then he pressed the fabric against Rocky’s chest.

Which was when he noticed the musician's hands, still raised but now with palms forward, as if to surrender or placate. And Rocky’s eyes, dark and wide. And Rocky’s lip, bitten.

He pushed Rocky against the side of the car, lips pressing together in a kiss as Mordecai pulled on his lapels.

"Dreamah-vu," Rocky muttered.

"That's not a real word," Mordecai countered, voice too soft for a real debate. Gravity invited him forward, and he felt the world lean.

Then Mitzi knocked on the door. "You boys decent?" she called courteously, only a second before turning the handle. Mordecai had just enough time to stumble back a step before she poked around the doorframe. "Are you nearly done? I swear, Mordecai, you take longer than Zib on Swingers Nights."

"You could've met me at the Marigold," Mordecai reminded her. Face burning, he stalked back to the little table under the window to retrieve his matching cufflink. "And I know how many hours it takes for you to put your face on; don't go throwing stones."

"Whatever, sweetheart," she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe as she looked both him and Rocky over. "I suppose this will have to do. Rocky dear, where's your bowtie?"

"Uh—" he tugged on the short cut of the jacket and shifted on his toes. "I don't know how to tie it?"

"Oh, dear," Mitzi sighed fondly, then snapped her fingers at Mordecai. "Cufflinks."

"The black ones—" Mordecai picked out another simple set, holding them out as he beelined to exit. "—I won't miss them if they disappear."

Mitzi took them. "Didn't I get you these?"

"My sister," he corrected. Angling past her, he folded his lone loose cuff together and secured it. "And your musician needs some encouragement. Perhaps a sincere atta-boy and a treat."

"My musician?" Mitzi exaggerated a scoff. "We pilfer one suit, and suddenly he's my musician? When is he your musician?"

Hands flexing, his footsteps fell a little heavily across the apartment. "You hired him, he's always your musician."

"I suppose that's true," he heard her sigh and step into his room. "Rocky, come here and hold still—"

Scowling into the bathroom mirror, Mordecai finished putting himself together. His fringe was brushed back with a little product, his tie was secured, and his glasses polished with time leftover for his thoughts to spiral into a dark mood. He returned to the little livingroom to wait, and picked up his newest book—The Complete Works of William Shakespeare—from where Mitzi had discarded it on the chaise.

Leafing through, he found and dismissed the one play he had read and reread—the marginalia made it easy—and moved instead to the sonnets. The regular form and structure, while playfully executed, appealed to him. He traced the edge of a page.

"Hurry, hurry," Mitzi urged Rocky out of the bedroom, one dainty hand clamped around the musician's wrist.

Mordecai snapped the book shut. "What's the rush?"

Even being dragged by the small matriarch, Rocky cleaned up nice. The clothes fit well enough, if a little long in the sleeves and leg, and the splash of orange at his breast was charming in spite of its asymmetry. The hand not captured by Mitzi held tight to his violin case, and his eyes flashed in Mordecai’s direction.

"I left Viktor downstairs," Mitzi explained as she fumbled with the front door.

"What?" Mordecai frowned. Placing the book on his desk, he followed Mitzi and Rocky into the hallway. "Why didn't he come up?"

"Oh, you know Viktor…"

"There's an elevator."

"He's just a little sore."

Sighing, he pulled the door shut. They made the short trip with little interaction, save for Mitzi's habitual banter with the lift operator and the doorman. She quoted the time and unconsciously started the groundwork for a plausible alibi; or she was just being polite, Mordecai always had trouble telling the difference. 

Outside, Mordecai glared at the three steps that separated his building's stoop from the sidewalk. But he inhaled, slowly, as he approached the familiar car—and its familiar driver—parked halfway down the block.

Not bothering with the back seat, he pulled open the front passenger side and leaned to scowl at Viktor. "For the millionth time, I'm sorry."

Viktor shrugged, and Mordecai felt the car shift as Rocky opened a door for Mitzi. "Bad veather today," said Viktor. He rubbed his knee. "Is going to rain."

"Move over—" Mordecai reached and tugged his old friend's arm, bullying him across the bench seat. "I'll drive."

"You von't—"

"I will—" Mordecai hissed. A leveraged pull put Viktor off balance.

Laughter from the backseat caused both hitmen to look up; Rocky closed the door behind him.

"This is cute and all," Mitzi smiled. "But we really should go. Viktor, let Mordecai drive."

Rocky’s face squashed under the pressure of his grin.

"Fine," Viktor gruffed.

Slamming the passenger door, Mordecai rounded the front of the vehicle to slide behind the wheel. As he was getting comfortable, Mitzi leaned forward over the seat. “Viktor, dear, pass me my purse.”

“Ya, ya…” the old slav grumbled as he reached down to where it had apparently fallen from the seat. He passed it back, and Mordecai started the car.

Digging a couple bills from her purse, Mitzi handed them to Viktor. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“Vhat’s this for?” Viktor frowned, but took the money.

“Can I have some?” Rocky asked.

“Mordecai’s reading Shakespeare,” said Mitzi.

“Ha!” Viktor grinned and counted the bills. “Told you.”

“How is this news?” Mordecai complained as he maneuvered the vehicle onto the road. “And why are you betting about it? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

"McMurray owes me, too," Viktor flaunted a rare smile.

"Freckle?" Rocky leaned forward to interject.

"Is the band in on it?" Mordecai asked. "Can't you stick to betting on Zib?"

"Oh we are, Sugar, don't worry," Mitzi demurred. "We've got a pool going for how long it'll take Wick to realize Zib’s flirting—five dollar buy in, if you're interested."

"McMurray ask if you vould read Shakespeare," Viktor explained. "Zib couldn't resist."

"Oh shoot," Mitzi snapped her fingers. "I owe him too."

"You bet against me?" Mordecai glanced at Mitzi in the rearview mirror, and caught a glimpse of Rocky trying to keep up with the conversation.

"Can you blame me?"

"Yes."

Viktor twisted, propping an arm on the back of the seat to speak to Mitzi directly. "He hate not knowing. Only matter of time before he go and figure out."

"I suppose," Mitzi sighed, and returned to sorting through her purse.

“I saw your edition,” Rocky admitted. In the rearview mirror, Mordecai watched the musician’s ears rotate forward and his hands come up to rest on the front seat before realizing that he wasn’t looking at the road. Rocky continued: “The Complete Works is ambitious to take on—have you read much of it?”

“I thought it might make a convenient projectile.”

"You should read it, sugar," Mitzi pitched. She pulled lipstick and a compact from her purse. "It's good to do somethin' other than work all the time."

Mordecai gripped the steering wheel tighter as he maneuvered through a turn. "Hypocrite."

"Ooo—we startin' the name callin' early?" Mitzi pursed her lips at her mirror and applied a fresh layer of lipstick.

"Remind me, how many prospective patrons are attending tonight's festivities?"

"I never said I wasn't a working girl, but A-plus deflection, Sugar." Mitzi snapped her compact closed and tossed it back into her purse. "Speaking of tonight… Rocky, honey, there's a few things you need to keep in mind—" and she launched into an impromptu lecture of who to expect and how to act. Occasionally, Mordecai would see Rocky’s reflection nodding along or hear the musician pose a question.

A quarter hour crawled past, and they arrived at the Marigold Hotel. Mitzi herded Rocky and his instrument out, taking the young musician by the elbow for a final look over on the sidewalk. Mordecai took a moment to gather himself as he got out of the car; he rounded the vehicle to see Viktor waiting with a narrowed eye.

He pointed at Mordecai. "Keep Rocky out of trouble."

"Why me?" Mordecai growled.

"Well, Viktor can't do it," said Mitzi. She tugged on the ends of Rocky's bowtie to straighten it under his chin. "Shoulders back, dear. Don't let them see your nerves."

"Ha ha," Rocky chattered. "Of course, Ms M."

Mordecai glared at Mitzi, then Viktor. "If this is about your knee again—"

"This not about apologies," Viktor began a slow march toward the door. "Is simple fact. I not keep up, you can. You keep Rocky out of trouble."

"Fine," Mordecai ground out.

"Relax, sugar," Mitzi stepped away from Rocky to slip a hand around Mordecai's elbow. "Just make sure he gets on stage unscathed. And doesn't burn the place down."

"No need to worry about that, Ms M," Rocky kept pace as they started after Viktor. "I left all my matches at the Lackadaisy."

"Somehow, that doesn't reassure me," Mitzi sighed, then gestured at Rocky. "Try to be a little less… yourself, Sweetheart. We don't need any extra theatrics."

Rocky slumped, ears drooping.

And Mordecai found himself adding: "Just the regular theatrics." Something warm tickled down his spine as Rocky grinned, perking.

"Don't encourage him," Mitzi teased. Stepping into the building, she looked around.  "We want to get out of here before sunrise. Oh, there's Asa—Rocky, come here—" switching partners, she pulled Rocky with her towards a crowd of people and away from Mordecai.

Something about the way Rocky looked back over his shoulder, past Mitzi's immaculate hair to check Mordecai's reaction, triggered another memory.

"Come along, Rocky—" Mitzi guided him away. "Time to leave the Big Bad Mordecai alone."

Mordecai blinked after them. "Where are they going?"

"Back to the stage," Zib answered. Hands slipped under Mordecai's armpits to pull him upright: he stumbled. "Easy there, tiger."

"'M fine—"

"Dere he is!" A familiar voice made Mordecai cringe, but he knew better than to avoid the arm that fell across his shoulder. Jostling him, Serafine Savoy grinned and prodded him along. "Nico is gonna be happy; he were sure you weren't gonna come."

"I considered it," Mordecai admitted. Carefully, he pushed on the frame of his glasses. "But it'd be worse if you two showed up at the Lackadaisy."

"Ha!" Serafine snickered. "We woulda."

"I know."

The crowd started filtering toward the ballroom, and Serafine rearranged herself to lead Mordecai after them. "Saw who you were runnin' with."

"Are running with," Mordecai corrected. "And it's not any concern of yours."

"Of course it is, cher," Serafine nudged him with her elbow. "We family."

He rolled his eyes, disguising the motion with a look around the foyer. "Where is Nico, anyway?"

"Oh, you know. Around."

"How reassuring."

"Awe, cher! He missed you too."

Shaking his head, he stepped into the main ballroom with Serafine. The party was already in full swing, a thirteen piece band accompanying a chorus of dancing girls. Tucked in the back, there was a queue at the bar that ringed dozens of tables. Every full seat—and they were all full—offset dancing and chatting couples and groups. Not too far into the room, Mitzi and Rocky were standing with Asa and a couple of gentlemen.

Spying his entrance, Mitzi raised a hand to wave at him, gestured at Rocky, then made loud goodbyes to Asa. The gentlemen all turned and Asa spotted Mordecai next; he hollered something unintelligible over the noise of the room. Mitzi took the moment to slip away, patting Rocky on the shoulder and abandoning him to chit chat with sharks. 

Mordecai sighed. "Excuse me—" he brushed off Serafine's arm. "I'm required to supervise my co-worker."

"The slippery one, non?" Serafine let him take the lead.

"That would be an accurate description of Mr Rickaby, yes."

"Always up for a good time dou," mirth decorated Serafine's voice.

"That depends on your definition of a good time," Mordecai drawled.

As they stepped up to Asa's circle, Mordecai took notice of the gentleman caller speaking with Rocky. Inhaling, he recognized a familiar blue handkerchief first pointed out by Mitzi months previous. The gentleman handed a long-stemmed glass to Rocky—who had to juggle his violin case to accept it—and let his hand linger by the musician's wrist.

Asa called: "Mordecai! Have you had a drink?”

“Not yet,” Mordecai answered. He sidled into the group, next to Rocky. “I should be taking Mr Rickaby to the green room.”

“Serious-face!” Rocky grinned at Mordecai, and lifted his glass towards his gentleman-compariot. “This is—”

“I don’t care,” said Mordecai. Reaching, he took the drink from Rocky’s hand. A few cats in the circle chuckled—Asa loudest—and the gentleman next to Rocky frowned. Mordecai continued: “Let’s get this over with.”

“Why, Mordecai—” Asa interjected. “You make it sound like work. I don’t have to worry about any corpses tonight, do I?”

“Admitting it would be inconceivably stupid,” Mordecai spared his ex-employer a look. He raised a brow. “So likely not. But the night is still young, and Nico isn’t here—”

As if summoned, Nico’s voice shouted above the noise of the room. “Peekon!”

Sighing again, Mordecai tipped back the stolen drink. He had just enough time to cringe at the taste, hand the empty glass off to Serafine, and wipe his sleeve across his mouth before brawny arms wrapped around his torso and lifted him in a bear hug. Tensing to stop himself from bloodshed, he stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “Put me down, please.”

“Is been too long!” Nico laughed. Dropping his suspecting victim, Nico left no recovery time before bodily turning Mordecai around to face him. Then he cuffed Mordecai’s neck with calloused hands, to keep Mordecai from moving while he pressed multiple loud kisses to both of Mordecai’s cheeks.

“Please stop,” Mordecai repeated. In his periphery, he saw Rocky staring. 

“Careful, Nico,” Serafine tugged on her brother’s arm. “You know how he is. Remember Remy?"

Nico leaned back on his heels to bark with laughter.

"Remy?" Rocky asked.

"You never told me he was an informant," Mordecai glared at Serafine. Then, breaking away from Nico, he took Rocky by the arm and pulled him away from the group. "Good evening, Mr Sweet."

"Don't mind him—" he heard Asa say as he dragged Rocky away. Liquid fire burned a line through his stomach, and he aimed for one of the employee exits near the stage.

Nico and Serafine flanked them. On Mordecai’s right, Nico pressed close to brush shoulders. On Rocky’s left, Serafine wrapped an arm around the musician’s waist. “Co-worker, hm?” She squeezed Rocky close, but spoke past him.

“Don’t remember you evah draggin' us off,” Nico added in a purr. “Eh, Sera?”

“Nah, never.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t have worked, anyways,” said Mordecai. “None of you are particularly good at listening.”

“Have we been introduced?” Rocky asked, voice raising as he looked at Serafine. “I’d shake your hand, but, well—” he awkwardly flailed both his arms, one still held by Mordecai and the other still clutching his instrument.

Propping an elbow on Mordecai’s shoulder, Nico leaned to wink at Rocky. “Don’t t’ink we’ve ever been on dah same side of a pistol, cher.”

“There’s no need for introductions,” said Mordecai. "If I'm lucky, you'll never be in a room together again."

"Don't be like dat, Peekon!" Nico whined through a grin.

Serafine shook Rocky, which jostled Mordecai's arm. "We just wanna be sure you're nice to your… co-worker," she grinned at Rocky. "You be tuggin' him pretty hard, Cher. He gonna get hurt."

"This?" Rocky laughed. Wiggling, he dislodged himself from Mordecai’s grasp. There was somewhat of a recoil as the tension between them broke, Mordecai double stepping as Rocky waved his arm vaguely at Serafine. “This is nothing compared to the time Ol’ Serious Face broke my nose.”

There was a beat of silence, then the Savoys burst into laughter. Nico shifted to grip Mordecai’s shoulder as he leaned over to slap his knee, and Serafine pressed her face to Rocky’s collar.

“You aren’t helping,” Mordecai intoned.

“So mean, cher!” Serafine boasted. She pulled just enough away to give Rocky a proper look over. “Dou, maybe not so mean…”

“His murderous inclination is part of his charm,” Rocky added. 

Nico snorted and bat his eyes at Rocky. “Wha’d about your charm, cher?”

“Nope, no more charm,” Mordecai shook off Nico and went to grab Rocky again. But when he pulled, fist tightening over Rocky’s elbow, Serafine tugged. “Mr Rickaby will be performing—”

“A performer, ah?” Loosening her hold, Serafine lifted a hand to tug on one of Rocky’s ears; in response, the musician’s tail wavered upright. “What will you be performing for us?”

“I haven’t decided,” Rocky admitted. “Mr Smith suggested Paganini.”

“Who?” Mordecai’s eyes narrowed.

“Paganini,” Rocky repeated. “He’s a famous composer from—”

“Not the music,” Mordecai interrupted. “Who is Mr Smith?”

“No one you care about, cher,” Serafine winked at him.

“We don’t like Smith?” Nico asked. “Wha’d he do?”

“Told bad jokes about money, mostly,” said Rocky. “Which Ms M said is a good thing, but I like it better when Zib’s around to take over. Some things are harder to ad lib.”

The details aligned close enough for Mordecai to grasp, and he scowled. "Unless Mitzi's plan was for you to seduce prospective patrons, I suggest against taking any suggestions from Mr Smith. Now come on—" another tug, and this time Serafine let Rocky go.

He stumbled along a couple of steps. "That wasn't the explicit plan—" he managed to regain  his balance.

"A contingency, then," Mordecai scoffed. Anger narrowed his field of vision; most people recognized something in his expression and cleared out of their way. In this manner, it slipped his notice that neither Nico nor Serafine were following.

"Well, anything can be a contingency," Rocky reasoned. And he continued babbling some excuse that Mordecai didn't hear.

Nostrils flaring, annoyance boiled up Mordecai's ears. But he contained the steam as they marched the last few yards to the employee exit, passing through a subtle haze of tipsiness. A couple staff were loitering about; they jumped as the doors opened and recoiled as Mordecai dragged Rocky past. It wasn't far to the green room, but Mordecai didn't pay attention to where he was going. At each corner and intersection he checked for people and chose the quietest route.

Eventually, he found a deserted stairwell and stopped.

"Do you know where we're going?" Rocky asked. "I thought I saw a sign; we could retrace our steps—"

Facing him, Mordecai pushed Rocky toward the wall. "Is Mitzi's plan to have you seduce unsuspecting philanthropists with classical violin?"

Stumbling, Rocky leaned against peeling wallpaper. "No?" His voice squeaked, and he held his violin case in front of him. "I'm not sure? She was fuzzy on the details."

Unconsciously, Mordecai stepped closer. "And you didn't think to clarify?"

"I didn't think it mattered?"

"So you would."

"Would what?"

"Sleep with him."

"Is that what we're talking about?" Rocky’s brows upturned and he attempted a smile.

"Yes," Mordecai growled.

"Um—" Rocky’s gaze drifted down, then back up to meet Mordecai's eyes. "... is that a problem..?"

"Yes."

A grin quirked on Rocky’s face, only to be washed away by concern. "How much did you have to drink?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Mordecai's claws scratched at the violin case.

"You usually only have one," Rocky managed a small shrug. "Did you have something else in the ballroom? Or before—"

"Stop talking—"

Instinct and momentum collaborated; Mordecai pushed forward and kissed Rocky. A moment of awkward shuffling softened into shared sighs, and the instrument case was abandoned to clatter to the floor.

Their pants, somewhat heavier than their other shed clothing, thumped onto the roof of the car. 

From his perch at the edge of the backseat, Mordecai shook his head at Rocky. "Why..?" He caught Rocky’s wrist and tugged him closer, between the cradle of his knees. 

"I won’t be the one to ruin those pants,” Rocky explained. His hands slid up Mordecai’s thighs, rucking the material of Mordecai’s drawers. “The clothes make the cat, you know.”

“Do they?” Mordecai questioned rhetorically. Then he took fistfulls of Rocky’s undershirt and pulled him forward.

Licking the fur of Rocky’s cheek, Mordecai’s hands moved to grasp at the small of the musician’s back. Idly, he could feel the steady wag of Rocky’s tail, the pant of Rocky’s breath, the clutch of Rocky’s claws. “Don’t you think—” Rocky’s voice hitched when Mordecai’s teeth grazed the shell of his ear. “—that—that Helena is a tragic figure?”

Head swimming—he’d eventually question why one drink would have snuck up on him in such a capacity—the seemingly dramatic shift in subject caught him off guard. He tilted somewhat back, just enough to look at Rocky’s face. “What?”

“Midsummer is a comedy,” Rocky explained. His voice rushed out, and his fingers anchored on Mordecai’s shoulder blades. “And all the couples end the play happily married. But would Helena still be happy if she knew Demetrious only loved her because of an Elixir?”

“It’s a play,” Mordecai drawled. But his shoulders relaxed with the meaningless banter, and he nosed back into the fur on Rocky’s neck. His eyes closed, somewhat heavy. “She’s happy because Shakespeare wrote her that way.”

“So you did read it,” a pleasant note in the musician’s voice washed over Mordecai’s mind. 

“Hush—” and Mordecai tried kissing him again.

“Mm!” Rocky tilted his head away. “Are you sure—”

“Certain.”

“Your haste makes me believe you less,” a shallow chuckle echoed from Rocky’s mouth, and he conceded to a peck before tilting away again. “You’re out of character.”

Mordecai snorted against Rocky’s cheek, and the stairwell swayed into darkness.

The taste of blood snapped Mordecai's attention, and he pulled away to blink at the body beneath him.

Tension releasing, Rocky sighed and relaxed into the seat. His tail, still twitching, moved to loop around Mordecai's leg. "Murder," he muttered.

"Sorry," said Mordecai. Stretching out, he used his hands to investigate the bite on Rocky’s neck. It bled sluggishly, and some baser instinct prompted Mordecai to lick at it.

Shuddering, Rocky panted. "Sorry?" He turned his head to rest his cheek on the seat and chuckled. "I see no reason for your sorrys, Mr Serious Face; thou I admit I am a little confused as to your current—ah—state of mind?"

Mordecai hummed and nosed deeper into Rocky’s scruff.

With his arm slung over someone’s shoulders, Mordecai was distantly aware of being walked through a door.

“Almost—” Rocky’s voice was strained in his ear, and he could feel the musician trembling. Then his body experienced freefall, and he crashed into a couch. “—there.”

"You told me to stop?" Rocky prompted.

"No grooming," Mordecai clarified with a lick across Rocky’s jaw.

Someone brushed the hair back from Mordecai’s forehead, and he groaned. “No grooming.”

"No grooming, cher," someone repeated. "Your musician is on stage."

Blinking, cross eyed, up at a vague silhouette, Mordecai tried and failed to lift his arms. "I can't…"

Arching, Rocky whimpered. "No grooming for Mr Serious," he repeated back. "But you like to—?"

"Stop talking," Mordecai growled into his ear; then he set his teeth around the delicate cartilage to tug.

Rocky squirmed. "That may be somewhat of a problem—I've been told I have a great propensity for rambling."

For a few fleeting moments, a familiar violin playing an unfamiliar piece grounded Mordecai in the present. Opening his eyes, he recognized the dingy air of the Marigold's tiny green room. It was full of silent musicians—an entire band's worth—all quietly craning toward the open door, where Serafine leaned to look, presumably, to the stage. 

Then the world split in two and glazed over.

Sighing, Mordecai pulled back until he was braced, on hands and knees, above Rocky; it was space enough for the musician to roll awkwardly onto his back. "Is there a cure for your rambling?" Mordecai's brows rose.

"I can think of no true remedy," Rocky bit his lip. "Perhaps, if I were tasked with some other performance—?"

"Up we go, Peekon—" brawny arms scooped him.

Flopped against a broad chest, Mordecai looked up and frowned. "Why do you have blood on your face?"

"Never mind dat," Nico chuckled. "We found your friend."

"One job," came Viktor's grumbling voice. "Should have told Rocky to keep you out of trouble."

"Oh yay, Viktor is here." At ease, Mordecai closed his eyes to succumb fully into darkness. "Viktor's great."

[fushiglow]

satosugu mailman au 💌

a very special delivery for @kymsys's birthday! how many days will it take for satoru to fall in love with his new mailman? let's find out!!

here's part one for my tumblr pals to enjoy! however, i'll be posting this work over quite a few days over on twitter/x, so please head over there if you want to follow along! if you don't have an account, i'll be uploading the entire thing to my ao3 when it's done — so don't fret ♥️ enjoy the fic!!

There were three things Gojō Satoru loved above all else: sweets, scale model kits, and sleep. He was a simple man in that sense — really, he asked for very little except a healthy supply of sugary treats, the occasional plastic mech, and an undisturbed lie-in seven days a week. So, when the shrill ring of his doorbell wrenched Satoru from a beautiful dream at exactly 8am on a Monday morning? Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased. Now, Satoru wasn’t an unreasonable person. He understood that the rest of the world started moving a little earlier than him — which is why Satoru had taken special measures to protect his precious rest without hindering anyone else. He’d chosen a job that allowed him to work from home, forgone the company of a housemate in favour of living alone, and — most importantly for a hobbyist like Satoru who ordered more kits, paints, and crafting tools than any one person needed — installed a secure parcel drop box outside his front door, preventing the need for anyone to pester him. That’s why Satoru didn’t bother getting out of bed after the first ring, assuming that the person who’d decided to disturb him would eventually figure it out for themselves. Perhaps they were a bit slow though — because less than thirty seconds later, the doorbell came screaming through the house again. Swearing into his pillow, Satoru pulled the duvet up to his ears. All he could do was hope they’d leave quickly so he could snatch at least some sleep in the 45 minutes left until his alarm went off. No such luck. Right when Satoru thought it was safe to relax, the doorbell started up again — and this time, it didn’t stop. With a stream of profanities falling from his lips, Satoru hauled himself out of bed, seeing red as he stomped down the stairs and marched across the hallway to the front door. He flung it open with a frustrated snarl, preparing to share some choice words with the impatient piece of shit on the other side — only for his insults to die on his tongue at the sight of the man standing before him. The broadest shoulders he’d ever laid eyes on; thick arms, tanned and toned; a muscular torso tapering down to a tiny waist — and all packaged in a uniform, for god’s sake. When Satoru finally managed to lift his jaw off the floor, he looked up at the man’s face and the damn thing unhinged from his skull all over again. He was all sharp cheekbones and sunkissed skin and the sweetest smile Satoru had ever seen. Perhaps a little too sweet now that he really looked at it. ‘I think your doorbell is broken.’

Sure, the guy was hot — easily the prettiest person Satoru had ever seen — but that didn’t stop his eye from twitching at the blatant passive aggression masked behind that sickly sweet smile. Satoru matched it with one of his own. ‘I assure you, it’s not.’ ‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ Satoru didn't think he seemed sorry in the slightest — even if his voice did sound like melted chocolate. ‘I’ve got a parcel for Gojō Satoru?’ When hot mailman tilted his head to the right, a lock of glossy black hair fell into his face. Too short to secure in his bun and too short to tuck behind his ear, he simply brushed it away from warm eyes the colour of honey. Satoru wondered if every part of him was as gorgeous. ‘It needs a signature.’ Shocked out of his stupor, Satoru's gaze travelled to the box at the right of the door. ’The regular guy always puts them in there.’ Hot mailman simply beamed at him. ‘Do I look like the regular guy to you?’ No, Satoru thought. There’s nothing regular about you. As though he could read minds, hot mailman winked at him. ‘Then I’ll need a signature, please.’ And god — he was so effortlessly charming that, for the first time in his life, Satoru found himself speechless. For a long moment, he simply stood there, gawping like an idiot. When hot mailman eventually quirked an amused eyebrow in his direction, Satoru had no choice but to take the signature pad being waved at him, managing to make a hash of his name before wordlessly handing it back. Having completely and utterly embarrassed himself, Satoru had started to retreat into the safety of his home when a strong hand closed around the edge of the door. Hot mailman popped his head around the side. ‘You forgot your parcel.’ Satoru watched those amber eyes as they slid down the length of his body — and hot mailman's sickly sweet smile morphed into a devilish grin. ‘Your clothes, too.’ Glancing down at himself, Satoru’s heart stopped in his chest when he realised he’d answered the door in nothing but his boxers — and not fitted Calvin Kleins that emphasised what he was working with either. No, the ratty, stretched out Digimon boxers he’d owned since he was 17. With a mortified squeak, Satoru snatched the parcel from hot mailman’s hands and slammed the door in his face, uncaring of whether his stupid bangs got caught in the doorframe. Tossing the package onto the floor, Satoru brought his palms to his rapidly heating cheeks, taking a moment to stare into the silence of his hallway. Then, he summoned all the air in his lungs and let out the single loudest ‘fuck!’ he’d ever produced. Hot mailman’s beautiful laughter travelled down the entire length of the driveway.

[alwaysshallow]

gorgeous, part 6

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

You come home with...special guest. (3,4k)

READ ON AO3

previous part || next part

A/N: I am SOOOO sorry uploading it to tumblr took so much time; my internet was in veeery bad place and later on, when it got better, i forgot lmao. also; new aesthetics on the posts, i hope you're gonna like it!! love

Being drunk as hell had its disadvantages.

"You're fuckin' unbelieveable," he said, and it seemed like he was almost disappointed that you asked for extending your adventure with him a bit.

"Come on, Simon." You tugged at his jacket, whining a bit, hoping that's gonna get him on your mercy. "You have to eat too, it's a perfect occasion."

And that was the disadvantage; the urge to eat something unhealthy. You had this desire more often than not, something inevitable on your ride back home. Kebab, McDonalds, Taco Bell, anything unhealthy and quick seemed like the best meal.

It wasn't different the night you were coming home from the gala, Soap still being your personal driver, now listening to your and Simon's ramblings if it was a good idea to drive to the nearest fast food restaurant.

Honestly, if you were him, you'd probably kick the two of you out of the car to sort it out, but Johnny always seemed too invested with drama to just give up so easily. Especially if it was something about his best friend.

"Already ate," he murmured, looking at you. “Can’t you just wait ‘till home?”

“You barely ate, liar. And, it won’t be the same, Riley.” You pointed at him, grinning a little, when he rolled his eyes, scoffing under his nose. Knowing his real surname brought you a lot of fun, considering that it fitted him more than basic “Harris”. “Besides, it’s not like we’re gonna sit here for years.”

“You’re so—”

“—you have somewhere to be, or you just like whining?”

He shook his head. “Whinin’ is my specialty, actually. Johnny, you see somethin’ ‘round us?”

“Right ‘n clear, LT.” Man chuckled, receiving a death glare from his comrade, but you? You were pretty satisfied that he agreed finally considering how hungry you felt, even if you ate something at the military gala.

“Something” was horrendous, though; as drinks were just spectacular, their food was pretty… basic, tasteless? A lot of meat that you certainly didn’t like in portions, meat that was the center of this gala. Maybe it was a preference (or being picky), but some vegetables to it, or something other than meat-centered food wouldn’t kill them to prepare, yeah?

At least, you thought this way. You were more creative with preparing food than they were.

Fifteen minutes later, you arrived; at this point, you didn’t even pay attention where you landed, what fast food restaurant it was, you just went outside before Simon did, hungry and tired of this evening, even if you were happy with you going. After all, every chance to get closer to this giant was a win.

That hurry could be your first mistake, since you didn’t even notice how your dress got stuck between the car's door when you closed it. The outcome? Ripped material, almost to your upper thigh.

“Fuck,” you groaned, suddenly getting sad about that dress. Not like you could wear it anywhere else, it looked too fancy and you wouldn’t have many occasions to represent it properly. But your whiny-alcohol self wasn't pleased when she was looking at the scene of the tragedy.

“What did you…” Simon frowned, his eyes darting from your face and the bottom of your dress, now not looking as good as it was before.

“Ripped it,” you explained it briefly, sighing to yourself, when you two entered the local. “I’ll just have to throw it in the trash later.”

He seemed genuinely confused. “Can’t buy a new one?”

You shook your head. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea, if I’d have somewhere to wear it. But I don’t, so it’s a sign that I should get rid of it, you know?”

Simon only hummed in response.

The two of you entered the restaurant and ordered food; or, it would be more accurate to say that you ordered and he, like a princess, took a seat near the window.

He still stayed with his “I don’t want anything” statement, so you took something for yourself and an additional burger, if he’d want to bite into something—you could say that you cared about him. Not only did he take you to the gala after Soap basically pranked the two of you (even if you seemed like a bigger loser in the outcome), but he also was here. Spending time that he could spend on anything else.

Cheesy thought, but you liked that he seemed genuinely pleased with your companion, even if it was something so simple.

And he wasn’t irritated with you being loud. Something that he should be praised for, honestly.

“Mm. This?” You pointed with your finger at the burger, completely not caring about messing your fingers. “This is food.”

“Not really a fan of fancy cookin’, then?” Ghost raised his eyebrow, chuckling, when you gave him a judgy look. “What? Simply askin’.”

“I am , but I prefer this. Or, cooking at home,” you explained, as you took a bite of your fries. Then, you grabbed a few, trying to offer them to him since he didn’t order anything. He shook his head. “What? Come on.”

“Not really hungry, dove.”

“Doesn’t seem like my problem, dove,” you said right back, shaking the fries between your fingers, expecting him to take it. “Come on, Riley, you can certainly be a good boy and take them.”

You were pretty satisfied when he leaned in your direction. You even moved food closer to his hand, just to make it easier for him to snatch the fries with his fingers.

But he did something entirely different than you thought, he just bit them, and when you couldn’t be more surprised, he munched them whole, his teeth lightly touching your fingers.

His teeth.

Touching your fingers.

In theory, it wasn’t anything particularly deep, something like this could happen with everyone, but your attention had the way Simon looked at you. Your gazes, locked in together, a spark in his eyes, like he was challenging you to do something about it. To have a reaction , just like he had you blushing earlier on.

You cleared your throat slowly, to move on to your diet coke with ice, now melted; just like your dignity. Probably if he’d ask you to come to his apartment, you’d agree without any resistance.

“Not gonna say anything?” He asked after a few seconds, tilting his head to the side. Cocky smile on his lips, knowing one; he wasn’t dumb after all, he noticed the way you looked at him, the way you reacted to things.

Very attractive, but very irritating as well, especially when you had enough embarrassments this evening. You didn’t need him being all cocky and shit.

“What, you need compliments? Scratching behind your ear?” You raised an eyebrow, trying to mess with his attitude. You didn’t want to make this game easier for him than it already was, it wouldn’t be in your character.

“Well, since you named me… what was the word? Good boy, mhm.” He nodded, slowly, like he was recalling it all. “Then, it would be only proper to be treated like I did somethin’ good.”

Cheeky bastard.

“Real smooth,” you murmured, barely keeping yourself from rolling your eyes at him.

When you stood up, Simon’s hand automatically went to the corner of the table; you raised an eyebrow at it, confused why he did it. You wanted to even joke about this, but the words died in your mouth, when your eyes met his, and you instantly knew .

Previously, you banged with your hip against it. Hurt like hell, and now he decided to…

You gulped, walking out of the restaurant with his hand around your waist, protectively. It was hard not to say anything about this, about this warm, bubbly feeling in your belly, but you decided it wasn’t the right time.

Especially when there was a third wheel in Soap’s form that could very easily disturb your moment, or observe everything, which would make the whole situation awkward. But, that feeling slowly melted away.

Your curiosity was bigger than trying to act like nothing happened. Your nature was just begging .

“Personal protection?” you asked in a low tone, glancing at him after ten minutes on the road. His eyes automatically went to you, and when he raised an eyebrow, confused a bit, you chuckled. “That hand on the corner of the table? And your hand on my waist?”

“Drunk ones need protection,” he murmured, shrugging. So casually, like it was nothing , even if you could feel the chemistry between you two, even in the car, when your gazes were crossed.

You tried to hide your amusement at his words. Like he tried to cover his care to not ruin the “big man from the military” facade. “Mhm. Whatever you say.”

“Callin’ me a liar, dove?”

You had to take a breath; his low tone, eyes on you, didn’t help. If it would only depend on you, you’d kiss him without thinking twice, but the enigma this man was, you had to hold yourself back.

Scaring him wasn’t even an option, not when you just got closer to him. Good things needed time and you were willing to give him all the time he needed.

“Just agreeing with you,” you replied, nudging him with your elbow. Simon raised his eyebrow, scoffing under his nose.

“Whatever you say,” he mimicked you.

You didn’t comment on this - just chuckled and looked out of the window, to appreciate the view.

Outside got really overwhelming for you though, when keeping your eyes open started feeling like a challenge - the aftermath of today and the last couple of days. Twelve hours of work with animals, stress coming up with a few operations you had to do and this gala just got to you, the want of a simple rest. And this alcohol in your system wasn't helping in this situation.

It could even put you to sleep more.

So, you just closed your eyes, trying to get them to rest for a moment, as you thought about today. You thought about the beauty of the old casino, all the people that were here, but most and for all, you thought about Simon Riley.

How he wanted to hide his little smile under this balaclava, but you caught it anyway, since you were aware that he was proud of himself. Being awarded in front of all those sergeants, captains, generals, knowing that you’re doing a damn good job and they could only be jealous. His special force, whatever he served in, was blessed to have him.

And God, you couldn’t get rid of the image of his eyes. His dark brown eyes, sparkling under that warm, orange light when he came to you after his medal was proudly put on his chest. Simon didn’t even look at anyone else in the room thanking him, his gaze was only on you, and for a few seconds, you thought you’re gonna kiss this man in a form of silent “congratulations”.

This would be a great idea, if you’d have more courage and knowledge that he won’t push you away in front of all these people. You didn’t, so you stuck just to a compliment and a smile; a kiss could come later, in the right moment, where you’d handle the possible disappointment of him telling you “no”.

After all, he was still an enigma. Puzzles to solve, where you lacked several of them, and even if you saw the whole picture, those pieces were needed to see the details.

Thoughts transformed into dream, ruined by sudden touch under your knees and on your neck; you opened your eyes wide, just to be welcomed with a quick, smooth sssh like it was supposed to calm you down. It kinda did, considering you estimated the situation slowly, acknowledging that you were right in front of your apartment. Simon handled the situation with you in his arms, as you were hugged to his chest with his jacket on you.

“Your number?”

"Hey, you can… put me down. I have legs, you know. And I'm heavy, and-"

His huff interrupted your blabbing, as you raised your eyebrow, almost offended by his behavior. "Y'think that you're heavy? Try to lift a dead man thrice your weight, completely on your own, then we'll talk. Not to mention, with military gear, so he was probably even heavier."

Well, in this comparison, you really seemed like a feather for Simon. He was big himself, full of muscles, he lifted heavier things, people, than you. "…drastic. But, I'll take it."

“Mhm. Your number?” he repeated the question, looking at you with urgency.

You sighed, defeated. “114b. Fourth floor, you have a lift if you’re gonna turn left right now.”

“Got it, dove.”

As uncomfortable it was for a few seconds, you got used to your presence on his arms. It was almost like you were the right fit for him, the way his arm easily fit under your knees. The difference between you two was pretty visible too, considering that his palm was almost the size of your head. A couple of inches and it would be there .

You couldn’t help but think of other places where you could compare him to you. A familiar heat appeared on your cheeks and you tried not to look at your company for a few seconds, ashamed.

“You never gave me a dance, actually,” you murmured. Almost inaudibly; a bit of shame went through you. It was better to ask these questions when you were wasted like shit, not when you were sobering up a little.

“A dance?” He raised his eyebrow, looking at you with confusion. Visible one, as he tilted his head, stopping right in front of your door.

“Something that you do on occasions like this one, you know.” You shrugged, as you grabbed your key from the purse, giving it to him. After turning it two times, you two entered the apartment.

“You sound disappointed,” he remarked, as he put you down, eyes observing you carefully. It seemed like he wanted to make sure, and it made the whole thing awkward even more.

“No, it’s…” you shook your head, praying to lord or whoever was listening to you, to make him drop the topic. You had enough humiliation today, you didn’t need another one.

Especially with something trivial, where your thoughts just flew out of your mouth before you even acknowledged the meaning behind them. The possible consequences of scaring him away because you wanted too much and he wasn’t the type to dance with someone.

Or to be closer with someone, in that matter.

To your surprise though, he took a few steps in your direction. “Do you want to dance with me?”

His ask made you gulp; you wanted to say that he’s not obliged to do this, lie that you don’t want it, but the look in his eyes… you just couldn’t lie. “I want to, but you probably have…”

“…just shut up”, he murmured, as he located his hands on the small of your back. Big hands, making you feel ridiculously small in comparison. “Play the music you like. From the phone, even.”

Despite feeling awkward, you picked out a song to play in the background; something slow, something that you can sway to, without being too pressed about making this perfect. Honestly, you just wanted his arms around you with good music to it, where the worries would simply go away. You thought he would have this effect on you.

And he had, despite being a little clumsy in dancing - you didn’t care about instructing him from time to time, as long as you had your head against his chest, eyes closed for a moment. You wanted to drown yourself in that pleasure, melt and never let go of this warmness that he gave you so easily.

You wondered if he was always this hot, a walking heater, or it was just tonight.

”My dance abilities are mortifyin’,” he sighed, right to your ear. Hot breath made you shudder a bit, as you acknowledged how close he actually was to you. Chest to chest level, level where you wouldn’t expect him to be.

The closest you were… was that one moment back in the clinic - you slipped, and he caught you. Things were different back then, more stiff and official than it was when he danced with you, not only because you knew a bit more about him.

You never would’ve thought that it’s possible to maintain contact with him, not with a man that felt like a ghost among others. Ghost that probably never looks back, never interacts with someone more than a couple of times, just for his egoistical needs. For a sense of calmness that he probably hasn't experienced in a long time because of his job - without people, in his own apartment, he had it. Maybe for a brief moment, but you were pretty sure that he had it somehow.

Surprisingly, iit got to the point that you went to a military gala with him, it got to the point where he recommended you a mechanic, it got to the point where you met his comrades. Completely accidentally, but still. For some reason, you felt like something was working for the first time, and you couldn’t be more happy; it felt like you tamed him, if a man like him was capable of that. Of becoming… a home cat. Home cat that scratches you from time to time, but he’s around anyway.

You got him to trust you enough. If it wasn’t a gift, you didn’t know what it was.

“You’re doing great, actually,” you chuckled under your breath, hands comfortably around his neck. Eyes locked with his rich brown, staring so carefully into yours, like he was trying to see something between them; and you’d let him, if only he wanted to.

Simon’s lips opened for a moment, until it quickly closed again with a curse, his foot crashing yours

You hissed with pain, your teeth biting into your lower lip. This man had power in his legs without even trying , you could only guess how strong it could be if he’d do it on purpose.

Simon tried to back off, but you didn’t let him, your fingers snaking around his hand to let him know that you, pretty much, didn’t care.

“That much of doin’ great, dove,” he sighed, looking down at you. “Not made for dancing.”

“You’re made for other activities, though. Sure of that,” you whispered out, as you wrapped your hands around his neck again when his hands got back at your waist. The innuendo, completely not planned by you, hit you the moment he raised his eyebrow with curiosity. The spark in his brown eyes was evident, when the heat of your words dawned on your cheeks. “I didn’t mean it that way—”

“—surely.” He chuckled, tilting his head to the side. You wondered how he was so cocksure all the time; was he like this from the start, or something, someone shaped him this way? “Tell me, would you like to test it? My other activities ?”

You were pretty sure that if he wouldn’t drop the attitude he had, you’d faint on spot. “You’re so insufferable, Riley. I swear to God. Should we stop dancing, then?”

Something ignited in him when you said that; he didn’t waste any more time, just started slowly swaying with you again. “And they are tellin’ me that I don’t have sense of humour.”

“Well. Maybe it's the elite one,” you snickered. As you felt a sudden wave of fatigue going through your body, you rested your cheek against his chest, hoping that he wouldn’t say a thing about you doing this again . Or, wouldn’t push you off, at least. “You could tell me some, if you want to. Jokes, I mean.”

“Could I…” he muttered. His grip around you tightened more, his hands going up and down your spine, making you feel at home in his arms. You suddenly didn’t need a bed to rest, a couch or anything else. Simon’s arms were enough. “Maybe I could. But I don’t know if you have ‘elite humour’, you know.”

“I might have, if those jokes aren’t about Americans being the worst people alive,” you chuckled, looking up at him with a smile, when you heard that he laughed too.

“They are, though.” He shrugged, locking eyes with you again. “But you’re the exception to the rule, dove.”

[effortlesslytired]

Master Post

It looks like I'm becoming more active on Tumblr again (thanks Hayley) so instead of changing my pinned posts weekly and losing them in the dumpster fire that is my brain rot, a master post seemed like the best solution.

Come join my Steddie-centric 18+ discord server!! (Link is down below)

ao3 profile - tomlenson

Good Omens

Crowley's Fall & Aziraphale's Awakening - ao3 link Summary: "If anyone has a fic where Aziraphale finds out how/why Crowley fell and it’s soul crushing with a happy ending. " Rating: Mature Word Count: 3,190 Important Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of blood (but not like graphic)

Current WIP, not yet posted (will update later) This fic is going to be a fully extended version of the one-shot posted above and heavily based off songs for a playlist I've been working on. Also want to note that the way Crowley falls in this fic is going to be vastly different than originally written in the one-shot (a lot more graphic and no elevators involved).

A preview of this WIP fic can be found here!

Good Omens Playlist

I’d Shoot my Shot (I’d Risk it All) Current Summary: Aziraphale leaves for Heaven, the truths of the Metatron's plans and Crowley's fall are revealed. Word Count: N/A Rating: Currently Mature, (predicting) Explicit Important Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of blood (possibly graphic), Eventual smut (will be tagging appropriately when it comes time)

Fic Asks, linking in case someone sees and knows of one

Aziraphale looking like Michael Sheen's character Miles Maitland in Bright Young Things

The original tumblr post that took me into a nose dive of writing my own Good Omens fic

A post asking for websites best used for uploading photos on ao3

Ghost (COD)

Wraith - ao3 link Summary: Sgt. Eleanor "Wraith" Knox earned her codename for her specialist skills in marksmanship and knife handling, being the last thing her targets see before their timely end. She joined Task Force 141 under Laswell's recommendation, with praises even coming from Price himself. Eleanor fit in with the team perfectly, except for one - the one who works alone, the man with the skull mask and hardened shell, the one who doesn't like his authority being challenged. Relationship: Simon "Ghost" Riley/Original Female Character Rating: Explicit Word Count: 21,305 Important Tags: Porn with Plot, Angst, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Military combat, Enemies to Lovers (technically), Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Hospital, Not a Y/N

Tumblr posts and edits made for Wraith

Mood Board

Photo/Text edit for part 2

Photo/Text edit sneak peak of part 3

Another photo/text edit sneak peak of part 3

The final tumblr post for part 3, finished and posted on ao3

[rosalinrabbit]

Wildflower, Wildfire

Over-Pollination part 2 / Blue Banisters Track List

Pairing: Morpheus x Nymph!Fem!Reader 

Warnings: Slight hurt w/ comfort, fluff and feelings, relationship doubts, pre-existing relationship, soul mates?, Morpheus likes to tease reader, smut, sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), praise kink, possessive sex, slight dom!Morpheus x sub!Reader, cum obsession, begging, breeding kink? Porn w some plot. 

Summary: Since Desire’s interference in your relationship with Morpheus, things have been going very well for the two of you. Yet you can’t deny the aching worry in your heart that you’d end up like his other lovers. When you begin to question your place in Dream’s realm, it appears that Desire is trying to interfere once more.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Continuation of Over-Pollination :> Also author makes up some bullshit about how the Dreaming works lol enjoy. Will cross-post to Ao3 later today.

SMUT 18+ / Minors DNI / You are in charge of your own media consumption. Please read responsibly.

Do not translate or re-upload any of my work. Works are only cross-posted on AO3.

< I’ll be like a wildflower

I live on sheer willpower

I’ll do my best never to turn into something

That burns, burns, burns… >

-Lana Del Rey, Wildflower, Wildfire

Entering through the back doors of the palace, you sighed, stretching your arms over your head. Your dress was unwrinkled and your feet, while bare, showed no signs of where you’d been, such was the magic of the Dreaming. You had spent most of the day in the gardens among the flowers, and while you greatly enjoyed the work, you always felt sleepy by the end of the day. Morpheus may not need to sleep, but you were not originally from the realm. Though not human, your body still required some sort of rest to maintain function. However, you never liked going to sleep without seeing your partner.

As Morpheus would likely be busy for a while longer, you made your way to the library, bare feet padding through the castle quietly until you arrived at the familiar door. You often came by at least once a day, picking up or dropping off books and chatting with Lucienne.

“Lucienne?” You called, voice traveling through the long halls with books from floor to ceiling. 

“Up here!” You heard her faint voice from above, and ascended the stairs to find her. When you finally found her, she was pulling books off a particular shelf into a stack on the floor, likely going through a certain topic and re-arranging.

“Do you need any help?” 

“No, no, my Lady, I’m quite alright. There is, in fact, a method to all of this.”

“I can well believe that,” you smiled. “And stop calling me ‘my lady!’ You know that is a title I do not possess.”

“Perhaps one day,” she smirked. “I know you are still worried that he is not sincere, but I promise you, it is different this time.”

“I hope you’re right. I just couldn’t bear for him to one day regret it, yet live amongst those in his realm that call me their lady. There have been others before me, there may be more after.”

As much as you loved Morpheus, and as much as he seemed to love you now, fear remained in your heart that you would be like the others. Even Queen Titania, who ruled over the fae and the nymphs, was rumored to have had a brief and tumultuous affair with the King of the Dreaming. And yet, people had begun to call you “my lady,” and as it went on, you started gently correcting them, not wanting to take a position that was not truly yours.

“I would never lie to you, y/n. If I say it is different, I mean it. For all of the loyalty I have to my King, I’d never see you hurt. If I had doubts, I’d tell you.”

“I know,” you assured her. “I trust you whole-heartedly, dear Lucienne.”

“I am glad you’re here, as there have been plenty of new books appearing in the non-fiction section regarding the effects of deforestation and pollution on the greater environment of the waking world. Seems like you’ve been making some progress.”

“I am just happy Morpheus lets me interfere in the dreams sometimes,” you laughed, elated that you were successful in turning attention towards mother earth. “It’s a slow process, influencing the waking world. Seeing any improvement is exciting.”

“Y/n!”  Matthew cawed from somewhere nearby, and as you and Lucienne looked up, you spotted the black raven hurling toward you. You quickly stepped to the side, and he crashed into the bookshelf next to Lucienne instead of you, causing the pile Lucienne had been making to fall. “Y/n- OW!”

“Matthew,” she scolded. “What have I told you about being careful in the library!”

“Sorry- sorry,” he spoke, shuttering slightly as he righted his wings. “It was an emergency! Morpheus wanted me to warn you that Desire has been spotted in the Dreaming. He has gone to look for them now!”

“Not again,” you sighed. While you didn’t harbor any ill-will towards the other Endless, you certainly did not appreciate being drugged without your will. You would think that would be a given, but even though Desire had successfully meddled in yours and Morpheus’s lives, you feared they wouldn’t stop while they were ahead. What’s to say they wouldn’t ruin your relationship as easily as they started it?

“Maybe you should leave the library, this is where they found you last time,” Lucienne suggested, sending you an apologetic glance.

“I’ll be in Morpheus’s solar,” you spoke, leaning down to pick up a book that had landed by your feet. “I doubt they could have gotten in there- right?”

“Unlikely?” Matthew gave what seemed to be a shrug, before flying over to you and resting on your shoulder. “I’ll come with you! If Desire causes trouble again for you, Lord Morpheus surely will never let me hear the end of it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you rolled your eyes and gave a playful swat to the worried bird before bidding goodbye to Lucienne and heading back down the stairs of the library. The halls seemed quiet as usual, and you made it to Morpheus’s solar without trouble. Matthew left your shoulder and perched on one of the arm chairs by the fireplace as you closed the door.

Matthew would not sit still, hopping from chair to chair as you settled into a loveseat by the window, overlooking part of the gardens that you worked in nearly every day. He wasn’t in here often, usually if he did rest he went to his chambers which were connected by a short hallway between, but you wondered if he had ever spotted you working from the windows. Despite Matthew’s endless rattling on, you found your eyes growing tired, and slipping closed. You wouldn’t sleep, you told yourself, you tried to keep listening to the raven talking nearby.

You definitely had fallen asleep, and your only tell was how much the sound of the door opening startled you. Your head tilted up, and you saw a very distraught Morpheus in the doorway.

Matthew had squawked when the door slammed open as well, but was collecting himself. “My Lord! There you are! I watched over Y/n the whole time, Desire didn’t find her.”

Morpheus showed no indication of hearing what Matthew was telling him, for as soon as his dark eyes met yours, they were locked on you. 

“Matthew?” He eventually spoke, still not looking at the raven and keeping a quiet, even tone.

“Yes, sir?”

“Thank you. Now get out.” He ordered quietly, and Matthew immediately followed his command, probably just thankful not to have angered him.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, now that it was just the two of you. Morpheus calmly closed the door behind him, and you watched that calmness break as he strode over to you quickly, leaning down and kissing you hard.

You gasped at his sudden change in demeanor, and at the fervor with which he was kissing you. “Ah, Morpheus-”

He leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closing for a moment. “They really didn’t get to you?”

“No-no I feel fine,” and you gasped once again when the King of the Dreaming pulled you into his lap as he sat down. His arms wrapped around you tightly and as you shifted to put your head on his shoulder, you felt his arousal against the underside of your thigh. You froze, unsure if what had affected you the last time Desire came to visit had been given to your King.

“Did they-”

“They didn’t drug me,” he spoke softly, anticipating the question. He seemed very sure of this by the way he was looking at you, but you had to ask again.

“Are you sure? You’re- you seem worked up,” your voice trailed into a whisper as he set his hands on your hips and started grinding your ass against his hard length.

“I’m sure, but I need to be inside of you, my dear,” he murmured against your lips. He was riding up the skirt of your dress, eventually finding your underwear and ripping them clean off of you. He could have gotten rid of it with ease, but Morpheus always tended to enjoy ripping the clothes off of you more. It sent flutters through your stomach and heat directly to your core. 

“Get up for a moment, love.” You obeyed immediately. 

He pulled his hard cock from the confines of his pants, opting to leave his clothes, as well as your dress, on. Morpheus sat back down on the loveseat and leaned back slightly before reaching for your hips again, pulling you gently to straddle his lap. You were already wet from the way he had grinded you against him, so as he aligned himself with your entrance, he was able to slide in with ease, pulling you down so he could sink into you further. You let out a whimper as you were stretched open on his cock, filling you completely. It was still overwhelming, your eyes rolled back, no matter how many times he’d been inside of you it overwhelmed you. You were convinced it was just Morpheus himself, because truly, nothing else felt like him. Nothing else compared to how much the King of Dreams showed you he wanted you and showed you that you were, in fact, his.

As you tried to move your hips a little, his hands harshly gripped your hips, lifting you up before pulling you back down onto him.

“Ah!” you gasped, your legs struggling to match the pace he was setting you at. Riding him was something you rarely did unless the sex was on the gentler side, which was once again unusual for the two of you. But when you did ride him, he was still in charge of you, and you loved to have him remind you of that.

His hands roamed across your still-clothed body, ghosting over your breasts and squeezing your waist, until his hand was cupping your jaw, making you look him in the eyes. 

“Look at me, little one,” he spoke softly and evenly, as if he wasn’t currently all the way inside if you.

“Please, please touch me,” you begged, longing to feel his hands on your bare skin. The teasing was overwhelming, and you wanted nothing more than his touch. Even though he could have removed both of your clothing in a mere instant, he had left it all on.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he ordered. When you only whimpered in response, he pulled you flush to him, slowly grinding you on his cock and hitting spots deep inside of you. “Tell me who you belong to,” he said once again with a sharper tone.

“You! ‘M yours!” You stuttered as he was at just the right angle inside of you. He seemed satisfied with your answer as he brought up a hand behind your head and grabbed your hair, gently pulling your head back and exposing your neck fully to him. 

“That’s right, you’re mine. No one else can have you,” he growled and sucked marks into your neck. You clawed desperately at his shoulders, the pleasure in your core rising with every movement from him. 

“Take me,” you panted, desperate to have Morpheus fuck you the way only he could. “Please!”

“Cum for me first. I wanna see you come apart, my love,” he murmured into your ear, voice as sweet and dark as sin. He moved one hand to your waist, and the other pulled up your skirts to rub tight circles over your clit. You moved your hips against him, arms around his neck as you began riding him once more. “Good girl, keep going, fuck, I can feel how you’re tightening around my cock. No one else makes you this desperate, do they?”

“N-no, never, just you,” you whimpered, growing closer with each passing moment. His voice and his words kept pushing you nearer to the edge, you felt yourself getting warmer and your legs were shaking.

“Cum, cum for me,” he whispered in your ear, and it broke you. You felt the pressure in your core tighten and burst, sending waves of pleasure through your whole body, cunt spasming around his cock as you cried his name. Your legs became useless nearly the instant your orgasm hit, but Morpheus continued to thrust up into you, letting you ride it out and extending the pleasure further until you collapsed against his chest. “That’s it, good girl,” he praised, running a hand through your hair for a moment before fulfilling his promise to you.

He pulled you off of his cock and had you hips up and face-down into the couch cushion in seconds, causing you to cry out loudly at the overstimulation when he swiftly re-entered you in a single thrust. Your inner walls were sensitive, and as he began fucking into you at a brutal pace, you could barely form a single coherent thought. It was at least twenty full seconds until you realized that the room had gotten colder because Morpheus removed both of your clothing. You could do nothing but take what he was giving you, and as he continued to hit the spot inside of you that made you see stars, you felt yourself getting closer again.

His hands gripped your hips so deeply you knew there’d be marks to admire later, and as you glanced over your shoulder, you could see the intensity in his eyes. His lips curled when your eyes caught on his, and he leaned over you to grab you by your neck and pull you up so you were kneeling with your back flush against his chest, changing the angle. Your head was on his shoulder, and your cries mixed with the lewd sound of skin against skin.

“Who’s making you feel so good, hmm?”

“Y-you!”

“Say my name, little one.”

“Mor-Morpheus!” you cried as his hand found your clit once more, pushing you closer and closer.

“Yes, that’s right,” he groaned, movements becoming more erratic as he neared his end, too. “I’ve marked you all up, but I still have to claim your insides, my love. Have to fill you so much it starts dripping out of you- that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Oh, fuck,” you mewled, he knew those words would send you over the edge. The knowledge he was going to cum inside of you just to re-claim you as his had the cord inside of you snapping and your orgasm hit you like a wave, each of Morpheus’s thrusts sending you further into a state of bliss as you cried out, unable to even hold yourself up as you felt his cock twitch from the way your walls were squeezing him. “Cum in me, please, breed me, Morpheus,” you babbled out as your orgasm continued to wash over you.

“Good girl, asking so nicely for it, that’s my girl,” he moaned as his movements slowed. He was fully holding you against him as he reached his peak with a deep groan, pressing as far into you as he could and his cock releasing so much that you could feel it hitting deep inside of you and beginning to drip down his cock and out of your soaking entrance. He kissed your neck as you both came down from your highs.

You shuttered at the feeling of him dripping from you, and he carefully slipped out of you before gently setting you on your side on the couch. Your body was still twitching with aftershocks as he moved to push the cum that was leaking out of you back inside with his fingers, causing you to sigh with contentment.

“After all this time, you’re still obsessed with my cum, hm?” Morpheus hummed in amusement.

You giggled despite your exhausted state, swatting his hand away from your entrance. “Can’t help it. I know it isn’t gonna get me pregnant, it’s just the whole nymph and fertility thing…”

He smiled tenderly at you, placing a soft kiss to your lips before shifting to lay behind you, arms wrapping around your naked form on the plush couch. “I know. Besides, it drives me crazy hearing you beg.”

You hummed in response, his chest pressing against your back making you feel drowsy and safe.

“Are you really okay? What did Desire want, anyway?”

“I’m perfectly alright, it’s just that they are always looking to stir up trouble. I can’t believe Desire thinks they could come anywhere near you after last time. I was worried what I would do to them if they got to you again. But I did hear something interesting…” He pulled you even closer, speaking in that suave voice of his directly into your ear. “It seems that someone doesn’t want to be the Lady of the Dreaming.” His voice was low, and while he didn’t seem angry, you could not tell what he was feeling. “What do you have to say to that, little one?”

“I-” You began to speak, but you felt yourself blushing furiously when the words got stuck in your throat. “I- I didn’t want to take the title just because we’re together,” You confessed. “I know you’ve had other lovers in the past and those relationships didn’t turn out well, I don’t want to take a title that is not rightfully mine… It feels wrong to establish myself so firmly in this realm when we have only been together a short time.”

You craned your head to the side to look at him, and his eyes twinkled slightly in amusement, which confused you, as you were on the brink of tears. He lovingly brought a hand to cradle your cheek as he spoke to you.

“Little one, this is not the first time you’ve told me of your doubts, but I am surprised at this. You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“If people living beyond this castle have been calling you “my lady,” that is because it is your rightful title. Your rightful place. Destiny made certain of that, long ago.”

“But what does that mean?”

“It means that this realm and its inhabitants are not capable of recognizing someone as their Lady unless it was truly meant to be. While I had always hated Destiny’s interference in my realm, I see now that he has given me the greatest gift.” You were in disbelief, and you rolled over to face him on your side, looking for any signs of him joking. But Morpheus would never make a joke like this… No, he must be completely serious.

“What if- what if one day you no longer want me?”

“That day will never come, darling. Trust me, I’ve lived long enough to know. Even if I did not feel this way, Destiny is unchangeable. Even if you correct the townspeople and the visitors, they will still refer to you as the Lady of the Dreaming because it is ingrained into the fabric of this world. When you rejected it… well, that’s why Desire paid us a visit. They seemed to be worried that I wasn’t holding onto you quite tightly enough… I had to give them a very very firm reminder that you’re mine.” His hands wrapped around you tightly when he spoke, and you smiled, tucking your head into his neck. “I made a decision, quite some time before we met, that if I were ever to love again, it must be reserved for the right person. The way I felt for you, long before Desire interfered, it was indescribable. I waited so long to tell you because I was terrified knowing that if I had you, I would never be able to let you go. Desire could apparently feed off of that knowledge, off the desire I held for you, and got annoyed by it. That’s why they interfered.” 

Morpheus had never told you any of this before, and while you had never doubted his love for you, his admission pushed away all other doubts you had about the two of you. And about your place in the dreaming.

“I do feel like I belong here,” you whispered. “I just didn’t want to overstep.”

“The Dreaming is your home now, love. Will you take the position of Lady?”

You pulled your head back to look in his eyes, and a soft smile was on his lips.

“Morpheus… was that a proposal?” He shrugged.

“I suppose it was half of one.”

“Half a proposal?” you stifled a laugh.

“I would not propose to you in this state,” he chuckled. “No, not a real proposal. Though, it did kind of sound like one, didn’t it?”

“If I am the Lady of this realm, doesn’t that make me… your wife?”

His face broke into a grin at your question. “One day, yes. It doesn’t have to be now. Might as well have you get used to being called “Lady,” first,” he teased.

You smiled at him as you spoke. “Okay.”

“Yes?” you nodded in affirmation. “Would my Lady be so kind as to kiss me, then?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he was teasing you, but you still obliged him, leaning your head up to meet his lips in a loving kiss.

As the Lord of the Dreaming stroked your hair and held you close as you drifted off to sleep, you felt completely sure that you were where you belonged.

[i-give-u--art]

*SIGHHHH*

i was supost to post this during thanks giving as a gift to @theosphobia but i just never got around to posting it- 😬

anyway 🏃‍➡️

get ready for the most cringe worthy tooth rotting fluff you’ve ever seen, because I finally let one of my fave characters be happy. (They are usually ether dead or in extreme pain 🤣)

I’m posting the first part here, the full thing (including the rooftop make out session) will be uploaded to ao3 later today 😚

I’m stupid Wrif one shot and your watching Disney channel

Washington sat on the roof, his legs dangling over the side.

The setting sun painted the sky with vibrant shades of orange, casting a warm glow over the gulch.

He sighed.

Recently that color had started to mean more to him than he was willing to admit.

He was a freelancer, a fighter and a damned good soldier, yet he could barely get the strength to talk to the guy.

“Damned Grif” he thought, his mind involuntarily drifting to the man with that infuriatingly charming, chubby face, flawless hair, and those stupid, deep dark chocolate eyes that seemed to peer right through his façade.

Washington was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching on the roof. He turned to see Grif walking over holding two cans of beer.

“Hey Wash, thought I'd find you here, mind if I sit?”

Washington nodded a little too quickly “y-yea sure” he said his voice flat.

Grif huffed as he sat down next to Wash, their legs almost touching as Grif offered him a beer.

Wash accepted it trying to ignore the way his stomach did a flip when their hands touched.

“So…..” Grif starts scratching the back of his neck “you got any plans- you know for when this is all over?”

Washington sighed again trying to compose himself as he looked out at the horizon.

“You know, before I met you guys…I never really planned for a life outside the military.”

Grif chuckled lightly looking down at the beer can in his hands. “Don't worry, with your looks, you could easily find some chick to settle down with.”

“I don't want some chick,” Washington thought to himself “I just want you.”

. . .

“Wut-” Grif stuttered, his eyes widened in surprise, a flush creeping up his cheeks.

Shit he had said that out loud hadn't he.

The realization of what he had just confessed hit him like a ton of bricks.

Washington's face flushed a deep crimson, and he quickly looked away.

He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

They both sat there, the two men flustered and awkward like school boys.

“Wash-”

"Sorry Grif, I- just-"

He stood up abruptly, turning to leave, but Grif was faster.

The man reached out and grabbed Washington's hand, stopping him in his tracks. Their fingers intertwined instinctively, and Washington felt a jolt of electricity course through him. "Don't go," Grif said softly, his grip firm but gentle. Washington looked back, his heart pounding in his chest.

Washington swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I just… I didn't want to make things weird between us and-“

Grif chuckled, a warm sound that eased some of Washington's tension.

"Weird? Wash, life's been nothing but weird. This," he lifted their joined hands slightly, "this is probably the most normal thing in this entire gulch."

Washington took a shaky breath, his mind racing.

Grif- Grif liked him back?

Gathering his courage, he stepped closer, his free hand gently cupping Grif's cheek, and before he could second-guess himself, he leaned in, pressing his lips against Grif's. Grif responded immediately, his free hand coming up to tangle in Washington's hair, pulling him closer. When they finally pulled apart, both men were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other.

"I…" Washington began, his voice trembling. "I can't believe I just did that."

Grif grinned, his eyes looked beautiful in the orange of the sky. "Well, I'm glad you did."

Washington's face was still flushed,as he looked at Grifs blushing cheeks, he leaned back in.

————————————-

I MAY BE CRINGE BUT I AM FREEE

anyway you’ll be able to find the full fic on Ao3 it’s going to be called “sweet Orange” (so original Ik 🤓)

[thecoramaria]

How to insert images into ao3 in the notes?

Thanks for your ask! I know this can be incredibly frustrating, so here is my method:

Upload your image onto the Internet Archive: Since AO3 doesn't host images itself, you'll need to host it elsewhere, and ensure it's the kind of place that won't delete content or cause your link to break. That's why I use archive.org, because like AO3, it values preservation and runs off of donations (which you should totally contribute to if you can).

In your notes, paste this HTML code: <p><img src="[IMAGE LINK]" alt="[ALT TEXT]" width="1200" height="600" align="center" /></p>

Get the right image link: Alright, this is the part that I always get tripped up on and takes me forever to figure out. You cannot trust any embed text the Internet Archive gives you; it won't work! You also can't just use the link from the page for your item. What you have to do is right click on the item and open the image in a new tab, and then use that link. It should look something like this, as the percentages in there gives it away: https://archive.org/download/tli-part-iii-banner-for-ao3/TLI%20Part%20III%20Banner%20for%20AO3.png

Fill out the blanks in the HTML: So you take that image link and paste it to replace [IMAGE LINK], then you delete [ALT TEXT] and describe your image in words. This is important because it means screen readers can tell vision-impaired readers what the image is, and also if the image does not load for whatever reason, the alt text will be displayed instead. You may also need to adjust the width and height in the HTML as well, but I've heard that part generally doesn't matter so much.

Preview your story: Before you hit post, you'll want to ensure the embed is working correctly. That's why you should preview before you post. I will warn you that AO3 does like to add random spaces and such around HTML code after you exit from preview back to editing, so watch out for those and fix them before you hit post.

If your code works, SAVE IT! Copy and paste it somewhere it will always be in reach and easy to use later. Trust me: you don't want to have to figure out how to do this all over again.

I reckon the next time I post a fic that involves an embedded image, I should record a tutorial, since it'll give you something to follow along with visually. What does everyone think?

[solar-halos]

i’ve skipped so many mood board mondays, so here are a ton of mood boards. they’re all Annie Cresta themed and how i think she’d dress/accessorize in a modern au. this one is gonna be lengthy tho i luv fashion

don’t keep the devil waiting, old friend: queer couture*

comments: this one was the hardest only bc i couldn’t find a lot pics of patchwork jeans + smudged (and ugly in an on-purpose-fuck-beauty-standards type of way) makeup and i feel like that is a fundamental part of annies style in this fic. also shes in hs and i feel like that is the peak of diy-ing things that are ugly but obv pinterest didn’t have much of that. but in the fic she loves red+black color combos and sanrio and also mitski so i included that here. also, had to include a heathers pic. and before anyone says that this doesn’t count as alt pls remember something: i don’t care

* (as in annie is queer in this fic, not that u have to be queer to wear this. just btw)

fond boy with a flower in his heart: lipstick lover*

comments: her style isn’t rlly described that much in the fic but i think it’s very much winx and barbiecore. lipstick lover* to the max. she is also the queen of sporty spice athleisure

*in a “pink panther” by Scene Queen (the musician) way, not a luver of lipstick way. although annie is both in this fic

a deep dive into the mind of annie cresta: man eater couture

credits, first and foremost!

i found the first pic (starting from the top left hand corner) on pinterest. this is the second pic dress pattern. third pic is also pinterest but it gives me johanna and annie vibes. this is the fourth pic (it’s still a tester pattern so i just linked her account!). this is the fifth pic. this is the sixth pic. i found the seventh pic on pinterest. this is the eighth pic. i found the ninth pic on pinterest. this is the tenth pic (can you tell i love madebymolly? lol)

comments: okay, so at first i wanted to focus more on materials like linen bc i think d4 would be more focused on practicality than glam, but as you can tell it’s mostly crochet pieces bc i’ve saved SO many pics that gave me boho beach vibes. but also some outfits (like the green dress!) are outfits i described in the actual fic and then found on instagram later like “wait….. this was literally something i had in my head and they made it into something real.” like how fucking cool is that imagine sewing something from ur own two hands (esp lace!). but also the cheetah (leopard?) print underwear is so annie cresta after she won the games bc i feel like she’d embellish everything she owns like the fashionista she is

miscellaneous: i-t g-i-r-l

ok when i was first pondering abt annie cresta’s style @turtlesandwhales678 put this into the universe and i haven’t been able to stop thinking abt it: vintage styled annie cresta! i know i didn’t do this concept justice bc most of the outfits are condensed to a select few decades but there was an era in my life where i would refuse to post anything on my instagram stories except vintage pictures/photoshoots, so here are some i had in my arsenal that i dug up:

credits!

first pic (top left corner) is from the nanny! love that show u should watch it. i know the second pic looks like an invasion of privacy but i swear it was for a photoshoot in 1969 for life magazine. i found the third pic on pinterest, it’s lisa bonet on “a different world” i believe. the fourth pic is from my instagram stories archive arsenal. same with the fifth pic. this is the sixth pic. seventh pic is from my stories archive. this is the eighth pic

comments: i kinda said everything i needed to at the beginning. the ninth pic is giving me odesta vibes

okay, that’s it! i know this was sooo long but i was scared of uploading it to ao3 cos the last time i did something like that it got taken down. but to be fair it was sorta my fault. anyway this was sooo fun and im in a very big procrastinating mood so i will literally make a mood board out of anything / any other styles. i was thinking abt doing a cottagecore one but i heard that style has racist undertones? idk i haven’t looked into it but i should. anyway bye hope these were pretty

[kissmetwicekissmedeadly]

4 years, 40 facts about me loving napo... let's go 🏃🏻‍♀️

...or as @leonscape called it, 40 "Mopoleon" facts?! (picrew link)

the date of our "anniversary", June 19th, is one day after the date of the battle of Waterloo 💀

both our given names are of Italian origin

we're both leo zodiac signs

our birthdays are 8 days apart, in the same month

he's my first otome route ever played

i've only played his route once, in July 2019

i've never seen his dramatic ending

my first impression of him on a teaser tweet of ikevamp EN was that he looks like an asshole, and I didn't like his looks either...

my falling for him was utterly illogical as despite these thoughts I put him on my phone wallpaper a few days later (still before the release of ikevamp EN)

as of right now ao3 says he appears in 59 of my posted works: the total number of fics I have published with him is higher as a few of those are stand-alones in a multichapter fic (napoleon bday prompts 2019 +9, yumeweek 2020 +5, mini requests +4, headcanons +11 ) ...he appears in about 1/3 of all my fics!

we share a hobby of reading biographies! the official ikevamp character sheets state it as his hobby

our height difference is 18 cm

the @xxsycamore blog exists solely because of him, as well as my passion for writing - I started this blog because I wanted to express my love in some kind of creative way, as previously (and for the longest time) I thought my medium would be art instead of writing

despite that, my first ever posted fic is not with him but with Arthur!

I've always loved languages but he had influence over my choice of learning especially french in uni. It's hell but I don't regret it at all

I have a playlist with sleepy-themed songs for him 🥺

birds are my favorite animals (any kind) and he has a pet eagle!!

our mbti personality types are a so-called perfect match! infp + enfj

I don't like black-haired, blue-eyed men because of him, it was my type before him too! (not many such ikemens around but I have a handful of faves like that from other media)

as the fictional napoleon bonaparte is light years away from the historical figure, I thought I wouldn't be interested in learning about him - until I ended up reading multiple books on him, the thickest of which 680 pages... while I don't mix the two in my head, the napoleonic era history (+ russian empire history) is still pretty cool to know imo!

there's hardly any writer around here who hasn't received a napoleon request from me at least once... I'm so sorry...

it is implied in the game that napo has kissed boys (they were taking turns waking him up and they all know of his habit......) which gives me enough reason to headcanon him as bi....like me 🥺

I really suck at completing the bday creation challenges I host for him, as last year I did 0 prompts and the year before that 2....but in 2019 I did 10!

I love making bday gifts. I love birthdays. I don't have the exact number but last year a lot of characters received a bday fic from me but not napo 💀 partly because I was shadowbanned back then!

the only real tradition I have when it comes to his bday is to make homemade crepes since it's his favorite food! but my favorite part is eating them...

I still haven't watched the movie "Napoleon & Me"...

I don't have much napo merch, but I do have the Naplushieon doll which is plenty

I was still in highschool (11th grade) when I fell for him 🥺🥺🥺 it feels like ages ago

I love the song written for the ikevamp stage play and sung by his voice actor Nobunaga Shimazaki, "Lucida", so much you can even find it and play it on my blog... recently some kind soul uploaded the whole version on youtube (I've been waiting for so long....) and I haven't been the same since

my dream napo merch is the clothes hanger with his neck and face so that I can hang my silly little sundresses on him (I'm going to make it on my own actually, just watch)

after having so many random fic ideas for him that will never see the light of day, I accepted the facts at last and now I feel so much better and more chill

I'm currently working on fanart series where I try to post one tablet-drawn art of him every month... I have trouble keeping them simple as desired sometimes but I'm having lots of fun while learning (I still consider myself fairly new to drawing with my tablet)

once I wrote a death anniversary fic for napo!

the best napo song i've discovered so far is Wings by Su!YoON!

I don't know. anything. about his sequel. i just know the cgs. not that is hard to avoid spoilers LMAO

my most favorite napo cg is the 5th bday one (where they're in a field of roses) (it was on my phone's background for a very long time)

my most favorite napo card...that's a trick question but I think the one that is on the left banner in my blog (desktop view)

yes, yes I do want to go to Corsica one day what about it. I have a lot of other dream trip destinations too!

yes, I do love Napoleon cake (It's a russian recipe) (it was my bday cake in 2020)... but so do I love a whole lot of other cakes...!

Fact number 40 is that I love Napoleon a normal amount 😇 nono listen!! I do talk a lot about him, and here I tried compilating facts that are not too cheesy: believe it or not there are days I don't think about him, ok! I never pressure myself to get all the event bonus stories, or to always have a fic ready for him... in a world where im a worrywart about anything and everything, he's my safe place? my chill place? And if I begin to think about the gigantic mass of things surrounding him that are exactly aligning with what I love, with what comforts me, with what traits im looking for in a person, i'm going to get dizzy. So let's end this here with me saying, ily so much Napoleon 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 im such a nunuche sometimes but im your nunuche ‼️‼️

[madsworld15]

I Am Still Right Here Chapter 2 Part 4 (Brian x Justin, QAF, Support Group AU)

I have uploaded all of Chapter 1 on AO3.

You can find Part 1 of Chapter 2 here and Part 2 here and Part 3 here.

This is the final part of Chapter 2 I will be posting it in its entirety on AO3 later on today.

As always, I wouldn't be here today writing for the QAF fandom if it weren't for the support of @winderlylandchime @maryp50 and @lostcol

Enjoy the end of this story!

One Month Later

Brian felt like shit. Not the “oh my stomach kinda hurts” kind of shit, but the “death would be better than this” kind. Ever since his scan had come back showing that the cancer had spread, Brian’s doctor had been much more aggressive with treatments. He was now lucky if he managed to make it into the office 2 days out of 5. If he thought radiation treatment was bad, it had nothing on the hell chemo put his body through.

He’d finished his chemo treatment for the day and had every intention of going back to his loft and passing the fuck out for a few hours. But, the nausea and body aches had hit him almost immediately after leaving the hospital. So, instead, he had told his cab driver to take him to the Bloom Gallery. Justin was working a full shift today since his school was on a three-day weekend. He figured he could grab Justin from work and get him to come back to his loft with him. Brian wouldn’t say it out loud, but the way he was feeling right now had him terrified of being alone.

“Hey, Bri.” Lindsay greeted him the minute he stumbled through the door. “Are you sure you should be out and about in your condition?”

Brian adjusted the face mask he now wore when out in public to protect himself. “Fuck you, Lindsay.” Brian gasped, already out of breath from the short walk.

“Seriously, you look like shit.” Lindsay came over to him and helped guide him to a nearby chair. 

“I’m on the chemo diet. I heard it’s all the rage for cancer patients.” Brian quipped, looking sideways up at one of his oldest friends.

“Besides,” Brian grimaced at the pain shooting up from his joints. “I came to see Justin.”

Just as the words left his mouth, Justin came from the back carrying a large canvas. He saw Brian and immediately put it down against the nearest wall and rushed over.

“Brian! What are you doing here? You should be home. Resting.” Justin’s hands roamed along the planes of Brian’s face and his upper body before Justin’s eyes met Brian’s gaze.

“I realized…” Brian stopped to catch his breath again. Then he gave Lindsay a pointed look. Justin nodded in understanding. He stood up straight and faced the blonde woman.

“Hey, Linds, could you go get Brian a glass of water?” Justin asked, giving her his best pleading look.

“Of course!” Lindsay practically hopped into action.

Once she was gone, Brian crumpled against Justin, who was back to kneeling in front of him. “I realized I didn’t want to be alone. I know you are working, but could you…” Brian looked up at Justin, who nodded.

When Lindsay returned, Brian was breathing better, and Justin had called a new cab to take them to Brian’s loft. Brian accepted the glass of water, moved his mask, and took a big drink.

“Hey, Lindsay. I know I said I could work the whole day, and by leaving, I put you in a bit of a bind, but I think I should help Brian home and get him settled.”

For good measure, Brian protested, “Justin. No. Stay at work. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You couldn’t even make it all the way home. You came here.” Justin fixed Brian with a meaningful glance.

“Of course, Justin. I will be fine. The next gallery opening isn’t until next week. We have time.” Lindsay gave them both a smile and sent them on their way.

Brian had honestly expected more pushback from Lindsay on the matter but wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She had given Justin the day off with no fuss; he would take that win any day. On the cab ride over to his loft, Brian leaned against Justin’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He was so tired.

Before he knew it, Justin was nudging him awake and helping him out of the cab. The blond handed the cab driver a handful of bills and told him thanks. Brian’s bed couldn’t greet him soon enough. As soon as Justin slid the door to the loft open, Brian was slowly walking over to it, stripping as he went. Justin followed him shortly after with a bottle of water and some ibuprofen, just in case. Brian was almost half asleep by the time he lay down. Justin sat on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on his thigh.

“Get some rest. I will be right here if you need me.” Justin moved his hand up to stroke Brian’s hair.

“Stay with me,” Brian mumbled, his eyelids feeling heavy.

“Yeah, I’ll be over on the couch drawing,” Justin whispered, still stroking Brian’s hair.

Brian nuzzled into Justin’s touch. “No, stay here with me.” And so, Justin did.

Brian fell asleep, curled up against Justin as he lay with his back propped up and his sketchpad on his lap. When he woke up sometime later, Justin was still in the same spot drawing away. Brian sat up enough to put his head onto Justin’s shoulder. He felt the smile creeping on his face as he and Justin lay there in silence, just existing together. Brian loved watching Justin make art. He nuzzled into Justin’s neck and gave him a kiss.

“Hey, you feeling okay?” Justin brought his drawing hand up and cupped Brian’s cheek without turning away from his sketch pad.

Brian nodded sleepily. He was about to wrap his arm around Justin’s torso when his stomach lurched. He got up from the bed quickly and managed to get to the bathroom just in time to vomit everything in his stomach. Justin followed him a few minutes later, he had an open can of ginger ale in his hand. 

“I figured you could use this.” Justin smiled and handed over the can.

Brian moved away from the toilet and leaned against the shower wall. He took a sip, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

“This chemo shit sucks.” Brian finally muttered.

Justin plopped down on the floor next to him. “Yeah, I figured it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. Let’s just hope it helps.”

“If my cancer continues to spread after all this, I’m going to kill myself.” Brian scoffed, taking another sip of ginger ale.

Justin ran his fingers through Brian’s hair and came back with some of it. Brian’s eyes landed on the strands in Justin’s hand. With a sigh, Brian shrugged. His eyes stung with unshed tears. He knew the chemo was going to kill his hair, causing it to fall out. But, the reality of it was still hard to bear. Brian loved his looks, and now his outside finally matched the sickness that had been raging on the inside for months.

“There goes the last bit of me.” Brian muttered. He knew Justin wouldn’t understand, but he needed to say it.

“Your hair will grow back.” Justin pointed out. Bless this young, blond man for his insane amounts of optimism, even in the face of weakness and death.

Brian scoffed, pulling himself up off the floor. “But my reputation will never recover.” 

He shuffled back to his bed and crawled back in it, under the covers. Justin didn’t say anything, but Brian hadn’t expected he would. There was a reason he’d asked Justin to be here with him instead of someone like Michael or Lindsay. Brian didn’t need someone who would continue to placate him after he’d made it clear the point was moot. He needed someone who would understand enough to let him sit in his feelings however long he needed to.

Justin was about to rejoin him on the bed when someone knocked on the door. He leaned over to place a kiss on Brian’s cheek and then went to check the door.

“I’ll go see who it is, and send them away,” Justin whispered alongside his kiss.

Brian couldn’t do much more than nod, his body already on the verge of falling asleep. A few minutes later, Justin was back. Instead of getting on the bed, he came around to Brian’s side and kneeled down so they could be face-to-face. 

“I tried to send them away, but she’s insisting on seeing you. She said she didn’t care if her son’s assistant said no. She would be the judge of his condition herself.” Justin whispered, placing a hand on Brian’s arm in support.

“Fuck.” Brian groaned, turning his head into his pillow. What the fuck was his mother doing here?

“Go tell Saint Joan I’ll be out shortly and offer her a drink,” Brian mumbled, not taking his face out of his pillow. Justin squeezed his arm before departing. The thought of his mother alone sent a new wave of nausea through his body.

Brian took a deep breath and crawled out of bed. He hadn’t wanted to tell his mother that he had cancer, but there was no way she’d see him today and not figure it out. He might as well rip the bandaid off. Brian slowly made his way across his loft to the kitchen. His mother stood there awkwardly, looking around at all his designer fixtures, a judgmental look on her face.

“Brian!” Her face lit up the minute she saw him. “I went by your office, and they said you were out sick. I knew it couldn’t be good if you called out of work.” 

Brian went to the fridge and grabbed a cold can of ginger ale. Then he went to the cupboard and grabbed himself a glass. Only then did he stop right next to Justin and face his mother.

“So, I have cancer.” Brian decided the ripping the bandaid off approach was probably best. 

Justin reached over and grabbed Brian’s hand. He wanted desperately to allow him, but his mom didn’t know he was gay. He figured one bombshell was enough. He didn’t want to be responsible for his mom’s sudden heart attack over that. But she must’ve seen the movement anyway.

“It’s a sin.” She gave him a stern look, much like she used to when he was a kid and had pissed off his dad in some way. “God punishes those who act immorally.”

“So, you think I have cancer because I like to fuck guys?” Brian scoffed. “Gee, thanks, mom. I always look forward to our chats.”

“Mrs. Kinney,” Justin spoke up. 

“Justin.” Brian grabbed his hand and subtly shook his head. “I got this.”

“It’s not too late.” Joan continued as if Brian and Justin weren’t even there. “God still loves you. You can still change.”

Brian started to see red. It was one thing for his mother to force him into taking her to church a few Sundays a month, but it was another to spout her rhetoric at him while he was battling cancer.

“You have to fight temptation. Stay strong. Harden yourself.” Joan gave Brian more of her religious bullshit.

“I would love to harden myself, Mom. God, I would much rather be hard so I can fuck every hot guy I see. Instead, I get to puke my guts out and wonder if my body will ever stop hurting.” Brian spat at her in return. After he felt a little dizzy so he sat on a stool and closed his eyes.

“I think you should leave.” Brian heard Justin say. For once, he was grateful that he didn’t have to face down Joan Kinney alone. By the time Brian was able to fight off the dizzy spell and open his eyes, they were alone once more.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Brian mumbled as Justin stepped into his personal space and wrapped him in his arms.

“Me? What about you? She basically said God gave you cancer because you’re gay.” Justin exclaimed.

“It’s not as though I haven’t thought it before.” Brian got up and moved out of Justin’s touch, back toward his bed once more.

A few minutes later, Justin joined him on the bed. “Do you really think that?” 

Brian rolled his head into his pillow for a moment before turning back to Justin, giving him an answer.

“You try to avoid it, spending multiple Sundays a month escorting your mom to church while during the week, your body is being put through hell just to survive.” Brian’s eyes met Justin’s in the most vulnerable move Brian has ever made in his life.

Justin didn’t respond. Instead, he wrapped Brian up in his arms and hugged him tight. 

“Your cancer isn’t a punishment for you being gay. I hope you know that.”

Brian traced shapes onto Justin’s arms as they lay there in comfortable silence. It usually took him ages to get out of the negative headspace his mom always put him in. And yet, Justin managed to get him there in less than thirty minutes. He realized then that he always wanted Justin around. For the good parts and the bad.

“Move in with me,” Brian whispered against Justin’s temple. 

“What?” Justin turned so that they could look at each other.

“I know we’ve only known each other a few months, but I like it when you are here. And when you aren’t, I wouldn’t exactly mind it if you were.” 

One Year Later

Brian shuffled around the kitchen making coffee to go and putting the finishing touches on his outfit. He was trying to tie his tie and eat some toast when a pair of hands wrapped around his chest and took over. Brian smiled to himself, around the toast, and turned to face the owner of the arms.

Justin smiled at him, moving his arms from Brian’s chest up to his neck and pulling him closer for a kiss. They both deepen the exchange, almost forgetting about the coffee being made until the coffee maker goes off.

“I would love to stay here and keep doing this, but I’m going to be late for my meeting with Brown Athletics.” Brian smiled against Justin’s lips as he placed another quick kiss there.

“First day back after getting a clean bill of health. How does it feel?” Justin grinned. 

“Like a million bucks.” Brian handed Justin his own to-go mug of coffee. “What time is your gallery event tonight?”

“Seven, but you don’t have to come.” Justin looked down at his feet and shrugged. 

Brian gripped his chin and lifted it back up so they made eye contact once again. “You're showing your art. Of course, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The two grabbed what they needed and left the loft together. On the elevator, Brian leaned over and kissed Justin again.

“Besides, Emmett would murder me if I didn’t come.”

“Yeah, he really would.” Justin laughed. “He might seem mild-mannered on the surface, but don’t piss off a gay Southerner.”

“I would hate to find out what his Aunt Lula might’ve taught him about getting revenge,” Brian smirked. The two climbed into Brian’s Jeep, and he drove off toward Justin’s job.

Pulling up outside the Bloom Gallery, they were met by Lindsay, who was holding onto Gus’ hand. 

“Hey, Justin! Excited about tonight?” Lindsay smiled as she opened the back door of Brian’s Jeep and put Gus up into his booster seat.

Once Justin was out of the front seat, Lindsay leaned through the window to talk to Brian.

“Please drive carefully. Melanie will come and get him around 4.” Lindsay looked toward Gus and blew him a kiss. “Thank you again for doing this. I know you have that important meeting today.”

“Don’t worry about it. Sonny Boy and I are going to have a blast. Isn’t that right?” Brian looked in the review mirror at Gus, who threw him a thumbs-up.

“Okay. Call if you need anything.” Lindsay worried her lip, looking between Brian and Gus.

“I’ll be fine. I’m 100% healthy and want to spend more time with my son. Besides, he loves Ted, not sure why.” Brian shrugged and waved Lindsay off before he turned the Jeep back on and threw the gear into drive.

Later that night, Brian was dressed in his nicest Armani dress pants and button-down. It was open at the collar, showing off a bit of his chest. He had a glass of water in his hand. There were at least a hundred people milling about the gallery, all looking at the various pieces of artwork available. Brian hung back and just watched. He tucked his lips in and smiled as he made eye contact with Justin across the room.

It blew his mind to think a year and a half ago, Justin wouldn’t have been able to even walk through that door. Much less mingle with a hundred people, most of them strangers. Justin had come a long way since the first night they met. Now, he was out almost every night hanging out with Daphne or Emmett or joining Brian at Babylon, which he bought for himself as a “congratulations for beating cancer” present. Things were so different, and yet Brian still felt compelled to watch over Justin and protect him from himself.

It didn't escape Brian's notice that Justin's support group leader and his friend from the group, Margaret, were both in attendance tonight. Brian's heart swelled with pride, knowing that Justin had more people than ever before rooting for him to succeed. Even his mom had shown up to lend her support, though Brian couldn't currently locate her.

With that thought, Brian strode across the hall and swung his arm around Justin’s chest from behind. He brought his lips to Justin’s ear and whispered.

“Who created that abstract painting with all the blues and reds and greys? The one that looks like Emmett’s street at night.”

Justin grinned and turned in Brian’s arms. “I wasn’t sure you’d understand it. I wanted it to be vague enough that anyone could buy it but specific enough that if you or I saw it, we’d remember.”

“I put a bid on it. It’ll look great in my office.” Brian leaned his forehead against Justin’s and smiled into a kiss.

Then he leaned forward and whispered, “Do you think anyone will miss you if I take you to the studio and show my appreciation?”

“Brian! We’re in public!” Justin leaned back. But his mouth was in the biggest smile of his life, and his eyes were alight with excitement. “As long as we are quick.”

“Alright, we can wait til later. I’d much rather take my time. Paint a canvas of my own.” Brian looked at Justin as if he hung the moon. Which in Brian’s world, he had. Not that he would ever admit it out loud.

“Sounds perfect.” Justin smiled as he pulled Brian in for another searing kiss.

[jokeringcutio]

Update: The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours

Now that I have finally continued, I have rewritten the outline, adjusted the estimated length of the tale from 12 chapters in total, to 20 chapters. [ For those of you who don't know what I am talking about, you can check the story here ] As those of you who have read and been following the tale online know, I have uploaded 9 chapters in the past. That was with the original outline. The tale ended with Arthur having turned into the Joker and successfully kidnapping you, dear reader, already pregnant with his child. Can't have you all left stranded there, can I? What happens next: Things become more gritty and violent. I have rewritten chapters 10 and 11, and have kept some parts of 12 aside to be used in the tale later on. I had a bit of difficulty finding the right vibe now that the location has changed (no longer in your comfortable home or at the job) and Arthur has become the Joker. I didn't want to lose the feeling of the past chapters, which were mundane and full of smut. In my first drafts, the chapters lost that feel. Not enough smut. Too much I wanted to say in one go. Didn't work. I eventually found back the vibe and the right plot bunny to keep the tale interesting. Between chapter 9 and 10, I have added an interlude (so basically, an extra chapter), describing how the reader is taken by Joker and his new followers to a secret hide-out. I am currently writing chapter 14. This means we have 10, 11, 12 and 13 all written out as a draft. These chapters contain scenes which include cunnilingus, smut, a new friend for our Reader, a rescue plan, plotting against the Joker, violence and maiming (not against our Reader), jealous Joker, visibly pregnant Reader (and Arthur/Joker being all touchy because he wants to feel the baby kick) and well, there's loads more to come! Keep following me for more progress on the tale, snippets, and tidbits about what is going to come next. I plan to write the entire story till the end before I will publish it.

In the meanwhile, if you like my writing, feel free to browse my masterlist. New tales, drabbles and headcanons appear regularly. Feel free to send in suggestions and prompts as well, though I might be slow in responding to them. Make sure to check out my account for recent updates, as I usually post in a European time frame and I notice that many of my posts are overlooked because of it (which is why I sometimes decide to post prompt fills on different sites as well such as on AO3 ). If you liked The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours and are into Dark Romance/being kidnapped by an older man (with gorgeous dark hair and mental issues rofl) I can recommend my Black Phone Fanfic The Chance to make a Change. This story is complete in draft (so you won't have to wait 2 years or more to know the ending), and is currently being uploaded. It has the same kind of vibe as TMWCTBY. If you want to stick to our Arthur Fleck/Joker then I have tons of little fills written about him, as well as plans for new longer fics. I still want to continue The Princess and The Clown, perhaps rework it. But if you want something short that is complete, can I recommend No Family Man? If you like long-haired men, villains and age gap fics, then I would like to point you at the many Arthur Harrow fills I have written (don't worry, you don't have to have seen the Moon Knight series or read the comics. I haven't either). I am currently working on an asylum patient Harrow x Reader fic as well. Now, to end this post, I have posted a gif that is fitting for The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours. It's not the gif that inspired the entire tale, but it is pretty meaningful to it. I think many readers will know why. Hope you are all having a wonderful day, Yours sincerely, JokeringCutio

[unscrupulousartist]

hellerby fic, part 10/10

19 December 1929

Sprawled across two booths in the Lackadaisy Cafe, the senior staff loosely gathered for a breakfast meeting. Furthest from the door, Mordecai had a table to himself to accommodate the piles of paperwork and books he was referencing. As such, Mitzi half kneeled in the other booth with Viktor and Ivy, both to be able to lean over the divide to bother him and also so she had a clear view of the doors. Outside, the streets were white with snow. The people of St Louis were bundled in colourful scarves and bulky jackets, and fewer cars were out and about. 

“Where is he?” Mitzi grumbled.

“Who?” Ivy asked, voice muffled with food.

Shuddering, Mordecai hunched over his ledger and started a second count of the day’s proposed expenses.

“Zib!” Mitzi answered. “He knows we don’t have a whole lotta time!”

“Perhaps you should get him a watch?” Mordecai pitched in without turning. “Though I doubt it would help. Why are we hiring jugglers?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mitzi reached to smack his shoulder lightly. “You’re goin’ home at noon.”

“Yes, so you’ve said.”

“A nice, relaxing, stress free weekend for you while the rest of us frolic and play.”

“Sounds delightful,” he made a tally in the margin. “And suspicious.”

“Don’t worry so much,” Mitzi ruffled his hair, then straightened as the bell over the door dinged. “There you are!”

Zib’s voice carried across the cafe: “Here I am. Be grateful I’m even awake.”

“And with company,” there was a note of mischief in Mitzi’s voice.

Explained by Wick’s response: “Hullo.”

“Great,” Viktor grumbled. “Who do I owe money?”

“Money?” Wick questioned.

“No one, yet,” Zib answered. “Don’t worry about it, Wick. Ivy, budge over—”

There was some shuffling as three people squeezed together onto a two person bench, all of which Mitzi seemed to have no patience for. She turned to sit properly beside Viktor, leaving Mordecai as an eavesdropper. “Did you get it?” she asked.

“Who do you think I am?” said Zib. There was a fwump as something hit the other table. “Cost an arm and a leg, but I got it.”

Mordecai rolled his eyes and asked: “Is that why—?”

“Shush,” Mitzi shot back at him, then returned to the conversation. “And the recipe?”

“All sorted; I just need an hour in the kitchen before the festivities start.”

Wick cleared his throat. “Is this about the kissing booth..?”

The whole table laughed.

“No, no, Wick, that’s separate,” Mitzi purred. “But we’re still payin’ off Mozzie’s new piano, and there’s always something or another to fix.”

“I definitely have another kissing campaign in me,” Zib added. “You done with the paper?”

“Yea,” said Viktor. 

“So…” Wick started. “The mushrooms were for—?”

“Shhh,” Mitzi, Ivy, and Zib all chorused.

“Nothing to worry about,” Mitzi continued.

“Suspicious,” Mordecai repeated.

The bell rang again. “Goooood morning!” An exuberant Rocky sang; Mordecai slumped lower in his booth, out of sight. “Horatio! Good sir! Are there pancakes?”

“Come here, Rocky,” Mitzi called. Someone scrambled to remove something from the other table. “Horatio knows your order.”

“Of course, Ms M—”

“We weren’t expectin’ you this early.”

“Is it early?”

“Oi, Rocky—” Zib waved something in the air. “—says here your boy was found in the Missouri.”

“Freckle?” Rocky questioned. He came close to stand at the edge of the other table. “What was he doing there?”

Quietly groaning, Mordecai reached for his tea to sit and stare at; but he could still see Rocky in his peripheral.

“No,” Zib laughed. “Not him.”

“Freckle’s my boy, Rocky,” said Ivy. “But I forgive you.”

“Ha, of course,” Rocky’s arms flailed high as he rubbed his neck.

Zib’s voice lowered to near a whisper, and Mordecai’s ears twitched to hear him. “The one you kept awkwardly flirting with.” There was a beat of silence as Rocky inhaled, and Mordecai felt something twist in his gut. Zib continued: “Says right here—” there was the smack of flesh on paper; Mordecai pulled his tea close to sip. “—cops finally identified the body they found back in October—”

“Oh good,” Rocky interrupted, sighing. “You had me going there, but I saw Ol’ Serious Face yesterday.”

Sputtering, Mordecai spewed his mouthful of tea across his tableful of paperwork. He continued into a coughing fit as Rocky tensed and twisted to look at him.

“Oh my gosh,” Ivy squeaked. “Rocky!”

“Oh—uh—hey, Mordecai,” Rocky managed a laugh. “Didn’t see you there.”

Staring up at him, Mordecai froze. He could feel his face flushing hot, and his ears angled low and away. But he managed to pick out the details of Rocky’s outfit; a dark gray overcoat obscuring the blue of his usual suit and a hideously yellow scarf, half unwound from his neck. His clothes slowly dripped, a scattering of snowflakes disappearing in the cafe’s warmth. His pupils were narrow, his smile panicked, and he brought his hands up in front of him to pull awkwardly on his sleeves.

“Jeez, Rocky, you can’t just say that stuff!” Zib said loudly. It drew the violinist’s attention, briefly. Just long enough for Mordecai to start gathering his work things into messy piles; he sorted by wet and dry.

“Can’t he?” asked Wick.

“Not about Mordecai,” Zib added. “Not unless you have some sort of death wish. It was a joke, right?”

“Uhhhhh—” Rocky frowned.

“You gotta work on your delivery.”

“Mordecai?” Mitzi knelt again, leaning over the booth to look at him. 

“I’ll start that evening off now,” Mordecai rushed. “Should I take these upstairs or—?”

“I’ll get them, sugar.”

“Perfect,” he shifted along the bench, trying not to look at Rocky. “Don’t burn anything down.”

Flinching, Rocky managed a chuckle as Mordecai stood.

Wick asked: “Aren’t you staying for the party?”

“Definitely not,” Mordecai hissed. Standing, he could see the entire second table; they all stared, wide eyed, at him and Rocky. "I was promised ignorance and relaxation. Not jugglers and—"

"It was good to see you, Sugar!" Mitzi shouted, too loud. It drew the attention of several other morning visitors. "And don't you dare take any work home with you! I wanna hear about a boring weekend, full of plants and crosswords."

“So long as I don’t have to hear about tonight’s—”

“Shhh!” Ivy and Mitzi said again.

Shaking his head, Mordecai slipped on his overcoat and reached for his hat and scarf. 

Rocky startled into motion, stepping towards him again. “You’re leaving?”

Tense, Mordecai bit his tongue and glared as he looped his scarf around his neck. He turned toward the door.

Rocky motioned as if to block his path, but Viktor reached out and snatched his arm.

“Take the hint, kid,” Zib interpreted. The musician draped across a confused Wick to point at Rocky. “We’re all lucky he hasn’t gone feral again. Remember what happened to Sully?"

"No?" Rocky frowned at the table.

Mordecai used the moment to slip away.

"Miriam?" Zib tried again. "Chance?"

"I don't think Rocky was around yet," Ivy mused.

"Ah—wait!" Escaping from Viktor's hold—he contoured out of his overcoat, leaving the article in Viktor's hand—Rocky stumbled after Mordecai. "I got you something."

Slowing at the doorway, Mordecai was very aware of the room full of potential witnesses. Behind the counter, Horatio stood with a tray piled high with pancakes, and every third table sat one or two people. Still, his traitorous body paused to stare at Rocky, mortified, and he noticed a familiar pair of black cufflinks at the violinist’s wrists. He didn't speak.

"For the candle Holiday?" Rocky explained. He bit his lip.

Back at the booth, Mitzi spoke up: "You mean Chanukah, sweetie?"

"Yes!" Rocky shot her a brief but dazzling smile. Mordecai managed to shift an inch closer to the door before Rocky looked at him again. "It's in the garage? I could go get it right now." And he took a single step backwards, raising his brows at Mordecai.

“Oh, Rocky—” Ivy sighed. “Chanukah isn’t really a gift giving holiday?”

“It isn’t?” Rocky turned again toward the booth, face contorting into a puzzle. 

It gave Mordecai the final opening he needed to flee the cafe. As the door shut behind him, he heard Mitzi add: “and it’s next week, sweetie.”

An overcast sky accompanied Mordecai as he stormed home, carefully picking his way over compounded snow and slushy ice as he darted between people and cars. But the short walk wasn’t long enough to calm his swirling thoughts, and he continued past his building and down the block. 

“These are nice shoes,” Rocky remarked. Leaning closer, he disappeared out of sight beneath the table.

But Mordecai felt fingers on his feet a moment later. “Stop that—” he pulled his legs up out of reach. Squirming in his seat, he rearranged himself to put the violinist back in his sights. “How much longer are you going to sit down there?”

Half propped against the table leg, Rocky shrugged. “Use me but as your spaniel—” he hiccoughed, blinking, and continued. “—spurn me, strike me, neglect me—oh, hm, purrhaps that’s too romantic a prompt.” He pursed his lips and frowned at the underside of the table. “Someone wrote something under here.”

“Not falling for it,” Mordecai rolled his eyes. Looking across the room, he saw Mitzi and Viktor still watching them—Zib had wandered back to the stage. “Congratulations, Mr Rickaby, you’ve successfully drunken yourself under the table.”

“Not yet successfully,” Rocky countered. Then he listed onto his side, rolling. “But I can feel the first thralls of elixir, so it isn’t so bad.”

Eventually, Mordecai returned home.

Shucking his wet outer garments to dry in the bathroom, he methodically checked his plants. Most of them were dull as they overwintered, but they were still green and healthy. It was a five minute distraction he drug a whole hour out of. 

Frazzled, he made tea and a sandwich for a late lunch, which he took in the living room. Bundling up beneath a thin blanket, he curled in the chaise and stared out the window for the exact amount of time it took to steel himself to pick up Shakespeare. He leafed through the pages—now completely graffitied with notes and questions—until he found the sonnets, and read until his eyes felt heavy and his mind could drift.

It was full dark when the phone rang. Unused to the reasonable mode of communication, Mordecai chased the sound through the remnants of a dream, flailing away from a despondent violin player on a burning stage. 

Sitting up fully, ears perked and eyes wide, his consciousness clued in to what was happening just in time for the ringing to stop. He sighed, slumped, and straightened his glasses.

The phone rang again. Standing, he crossed the small apartment in a few long strides and picked up the device. “What is it?”

“Mordecai!” Ivy shouted, too loud. Then she giggled and shushed someone.

Mordecai looked for his nearest clock. “Ivy?”

“Yes!”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Is it? It is! Can you come get me?”

He rubbed his brow. “Isn’t Viktor there?”

“His knee hurts.”

Mordecai groaned.

Ivy continued: “Because you shot it.”

“I know,” he hissed. “I was there.”

“Right,” Ivy giggled. “It’s late and I want to go home but everyone is too drunk to drive. Come get me.”

He knocked his head against the wall. “Sleep upstairs, Mitzi won’t mind.”

“Mordecai!” her voice dipped, crackling low over the line. “I’m bringing Freckle with me, I can’t take Freckle upstairs!”

“This seems like a phenomenal lack of planning on your part.”

“Mordecaaaii…”

“I’m not even working tonight.”

“Pleeeeease—”

“Why isn’t McMurray taking you home?”

“I tooold you, everyone is tooooo drunk. Just come get us!”

Waffling a moment longer, his other hand clenched into a fist. “Fine. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” And he hung up.

Not too bothered about being witnessed during the drunken hour, and still mostly dressed from falling asleep, Mordecai made short work of getting ready to leave. He took the stairs for haste, and nodded at the doorman on his way out. The weather, while mild, still held a midnight chill. The sidewalks had glazed over, and troughs had frozen in the streets. Very few people were out and about, and even fewer cars. So it was somewhat of a spectacle to see the dim glow of light coming from the Lackadaisy Cafe, and a small gathering of people outside the doors.

And, as he drew closer, Mordecai saw two unexpected individuals.

“Dere he is!” Serafine noticed him first, and nudged her brother.

“Peekon!” Nico cheered, but stayed in place leaning against the glass beside Viktor, who nodded a greeting. Mitzi, Zib, and Wick closed off the smoker’s circle, each of them bundled against the cold.

“What are you doing here?” Mordecai’s eyes narrowed.

Serafine grinned and shrugged. “Your musician invited us a while back.”

“Dou, he said you’d be here,” Nico added. He tapped the ash off his cigarette.

“Kid’s ballsy,” Zib sighed. Shaking his head, he leaned into Wick’s side. “I swear, he’s got nine fucking lives.”

“None of you could take Ivy home?” Mordecai glared at the group.

“We’re waitin’ for a taxi,” said Mitzi. “We offered to take her, but she doesn’t wanna hang out with the adults.”

“She’s twenty.”

“You try tellin’ her that, sweetheart. Lemme know how it goes.”

Mordecai shook his head.

“We could take her?” Nico offered.

Viktor and Mordecai spoke together: “No.”

“I’m hurt,” Nico pouted, first at Mordecai and then at Viktor. “T’ought we were gettin’ along.”

“Nothing personal,” Viktor over-enunciated in an uncharacteristic voice. Then Nico and Serafine started to laugh. 

“I feel like I missed something,” Mordecai remarked wryly. He peered in through the glass, where a dozen strangers were having coffee pick-me-ups before heading home. Horatio was again behind the counter, this time bustling back and forth between percolators.  “But I don’t want to know. Where’s Ivy?”

“Garage,” said Viktor. He rubbed at his knee.

“Be sure to knock,” Mitzi added.

Zib snickered into Wick’s side.

“Noted,” Mordecai drawled. 

Instead of risking going through the building, he continued on around the block. Bright headlights turned the corner as he darted into an alleyway, and he supposed Mitzi and the rest would be gone soon.

Someone had shoveled the drive, all the way back to the discrete garage, but Mordecai paid the snowdrifts very little attention as he spied the open door. There was no one outside, but he could almost discern the intimate whisperings of a couple. Before he stepped inside, he announced himself: “I’m here.”

There was a scrambling, and he entered to see Freckle awkwardly side stepping away from Ivy, who sat on the hood of their dodgy vehicle. “Mordecai!” Ivy hopped down, swaying. “It took you long enough.”

“Mhm,” he propped his hands on his hips and gave her a practiced look, flat. “This feels unnecessary.”

Freckle cleared his throat and straightened to a stand; but his voice slurred around his words. “Faank you, Missir Heller.”

“Come ooooon,” Ivy urged. She stumbled to Freckle, pushing him at the back seat; but she climbed up front to sit next to Mordecai.

“Did you not have a plan?” Mordecai asked as he came around the vehicle. He pulled open the door. “What were you going to do if I didn’t pick up?”

“Slept here and hate you about it,” Ivy answered simply.

In the backseat someone—not Freckle—groaned. Mordecai tensed as Rocky’s voice floated up from the floor. “Issit t’morrow yet?”

“Yes, Rocky,” said Freckle. He reached down to pat his cousin's head. 

“Oh, good… ma’by thin’s’ll be differen’ now…”

Frowning, Mordecai peaked over the seat. Sprawled out on the car floor, Rocky drooled into the upholstery. Slumping behind the wheel, Mordecai turned to hiss at Ivy: “What’s he doing here?”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Well, usually Rocky drives us home, but, uh—Zib made something?” She scratched her head. “It was sorta like Rocky’s tea? But mush—much stronger.”

“He doesn’ ushully get like this,” Freckle added, then hiccoughed. There was a pause before he continued. “He’s got a tall—a taller—a tall-shurance?”

“Ignore him,” said Ivy. “He can barely tell his reds from his greens right now. Le’sss gooooo.”

Reluctantly, Mordecai started the car. He took care of the garage door himself, opening it, driving through, closing it again, and then they bumped down the little alley and out to the street. A couple more people were leaving the Lackadaisy, but the senior staff—plus guests—were all gone. And then they crawled, extra slow, through the streets of St Louis.

Ivy took up the cause of conversation. “You missed out on a fun party,” she sighed, drifting across the seat.  “There was a bit of a theme? The twelve days of Christmas. You know it?”

“Yes,” Mordecai growled. “It’s the worst carole.”

“It’s not that bad, you sourpuss. But ins’ead of the regular days of Christmas, Mitzi mixed it up. You know?”

“The juggler?” Mordecai guessed.

“Jugglers,” Ivy corrected. “Ten clowns-a-juggling, nine swingers swinging, eight—” and she rattled off a whole stream of nonsense as Mordecai tried his hardest not to bend the steering wheel beneath the force of his grip. In the backseat, Freckle occasionally nodded or added a comment, but Rocky was quiet. Oblivious, Mordecai hoped. He still found himself straining to hear any noise the musician might make. 

When they finally pulled in front of the midtown apartment Ivy kept, paid for by her inflated paycheque, the girl was still waxing about the three Dutch dancers that had taken up a whole segment of the evening. 

"We're here," Mordecai noted.

"Oh—" Ivy squinted out the window, then perked. "We are! Freckle, come on—"

Opening the back door, Freckle stumbled and tripped onto the ground. "Ow."

Ivy giggled, and carefully disembarked the front seat. "Thank you, Mordecai! Have a good—"

"Wait—" Mordecai leaned to catch her door, forcing it open so he could address her. "What about Rickaby?"

Taking on an air of innocence, she blinked at him. "What about Rickaby?"

He grit his teeth and waved toward the back seat. Ivy raised her brows and tilted her head. Mordecai narrowed his eyes and flattened his ears.

“Roooocky,” Freckle sing songed himself upright, and leaned into the car. 

Ivy giggled as Rocky snuffled to semi-consciousness. “Whaaaaaa’—”

“Haaaaappy biiiiirthday,” Freckle pushed on the frame of the car, rocking it.

Rocky snickered quietly.

And Mordecai froze, frowning.

Ivy cleared her throat. “You can just take the car back—Rocky will be fine.”

“Goodnight—” Freckle continued. “Sleep tight—”

“No bed buuuuuugs—” Rocky whined.

Mordecai’s ears twitched. “He’s not staying with you?”

“Nope,” the word popped from Ivy’s mouth, then she leaned forward to whisper. “Mitzi doesn’ know—he sleeps in the garage. Shhh…”

“He sleeps here?” Mordecai’s claws dug into the seat. “In the car?”

The backdoor shut, and Freckle stumbled around the vehicle.

“Shh,” Ivy reiterated. Then she leaned into the car to kiss Mordecai’s cheek. “Thanks again. Goodnight, Rocky!”

“Night, Mssssss Pep…”

Smiling, Ivy retreated, slamming the door. Meeting Freckle on the sidewalk, the two walked towards the building. Creeping across the bench seat, Mordecai watched until they greeted the overnight doorman and disappeared inside. Then, sighing, he slowly moved to peer again over the back of the seat.

At some point, Rocky had rearranged himself onto his back. His knees were bent, one foot resting against the back door and one arm sprawled beneath the seat. The thin blanket, wrapped around his waist, had tangled and lowered, showing the wrinkles forming in Rocky’s shirt and vest. His jacket was missing.

Mordecai shivered. “What am I going to do with you?”

Inhaling, Rocky’s eyes snapped open. They were a luminous blue in the darkness, his pupils rapidly growing and shrinking as he tried to focus. 

Mordecai held his breath.

Then Rocky relaxed, eyelids drifting partway closed. “‘Mmmmm I dreaming?”

Biting his lip, Mordecai looked around the car pointlessly. “Yes,” he decided.

“Tha’ makes sense,” Rocky sighed and closed his eyes.

Another moment, and Mordecai tapped his claws against the upholstery. “Get up here.”

“Hmm?”

“Up front.” Half crawling, Mordecai reached behind the seat. He caught hold of the blanket first, and tugged.

The motion caused Rocky to roll. “Whaaaaa—” he fell into snickers as he wedged under the backseat. Shifting, he scrunched his face up at Mordecai. “Why?”

“The symmetry,” said Mordecai. “Obviously.”

“Symmetry?” Rocky puzzled. But he climbed up, tipping over into the front cushions. 

Sliding back into place, Mordecai threw the blanket overtop of Rocky again. Clearing his throat, he restarted the car. “Well?”

“Well what, silly duck?” Rocky laughed as he fought his way out of the blanket. He managed to nearly kick Mordecai’s head as he awkwardly rolled around the seat, falling off the front. Snickering, he smiled up at Mordecai. 

“What should I do with you?” Mordecai asked.

Perking, Rocky struggled back into the seat. “Take me home?”

“I would,” Mordecai drawled. But his carefully measured tone did nothing for the goosebumps rising beneath his fur. He stepped on the gas. “But, apparently, your home is the garage.”

“Well…” still half on the floor, Rocky swayed close. “You could take me to your home…”

Shivering, Mordecai drove.

It wasn’t long before Rocky yawned, eyes drooping. He nodded several times, seeming to catch himself, before finally falling against Mordecai’s thigh. “This’s nice,” he mumbled, eyes closed. 

“Is it?” Mordecai replied softly. Overhead the clouds cleared, letting a handful of stars sparkle through the light pollution. The moon was out, gibbous and waning. “We’re just driving.”

“Is nice,” Rocky repeated. “I’s like our first drive.”

“Is it?” Mordecai repeated, panicking.

“Yes—no—” Rocky sighed, and turned to rub his face against Mordecai’s leg. “I couldn’t’ve dreamed that drive, I’m too dull.”

“You?” Mordecai scoffed. And, inexplicably, he relaxed under the pretenses. “Dull?”

“Dim-witted,” Rocky nodded, continuing. “Dotty, daft, dopy, dumb, brain-dead—”

“Sit up,” Mordecai interrupted. 

“What?”

“Sit up,” he said. “You’re throwing off the symmetry.”

“Nooooo—” Rocky whined. Pawing, he pulled one of Mordecai’s hands from the steering wheel and held it against his head. “It’s my dream.”

While the drive was relatively easy—nearing five in the morning, the day was too cold and quiet for the general public—Mordecai left his hand where it was. He traced along the nearly-even pattern of Rocky’s fur, listening to him purr and ramble. “Through the forest have I gone, but Athenian found I none—” Rocky spoke Puck’s part as he nosed into Mordecai’s palm. “—on whose eyes I might approve, this flower’s force in stirring love. Night and silence; who is here? Weeds of Athens he doth wear—”

They’d both shifted, laid out facing each other on the roof of the car. Rocky still performed, “Now, until the break of day—” But his voice softened, eyes hooded as he studied Mordecai’s reactions. And Mordecai, transfixed, watched the words as they formed on Rocky’s lips. At some point, his hands lifted to grasp at the front of Rocky’s vest, claws catching in the fabric. Their ankles were intertwined and their tails brushed together. Rocky continued: “—through this house each fairy stray. To the best bride-bed will we—”

Mordecai interrupted: “I think I want to kiss you.”

When they came close, Mordecai idled the car in front of the Lackadaisy. Still lying on the bench—though now he faced the seat more than Mordecai—Rocky continued reciting every line, regardless of character, straight into the third act. He didn’t seem to notice the pause in the journey, nor when Mordecai made up his mind and continued driving home.

Parking in the alley behind his building, he tried corralling Rocky out of the car. But the violinist frowned for a long moment before sitting himself up. “I have presents for you,” he announced; then he climbed again over the seat, falling into the back.

“I don’t need presents,” Mordecai sighed. Stepping out, he moved to open the back door.

Squirming, Rocky searched for something under the seat. Two somethings, which he produced with a flourish and a smile. “Ta da!”

Hesitating, Mordecai observed both objects. One was lumpy and wrapped in newspaper. The other was a cactus, decorated with googly eyes and planted in a familiar old shoe. “Well, I think this is already mine,” he remarked and tapped on the shoe’s toe, then leaned to inspect the unhappy plant. Its needles were shedding and its soil was dry, but it still seemed alive. “And you’ve killed the cactus.”

“Have I?” Rocky frowned and pulled the plant closer to look at.

Mordecai took the other present and tucked it under his arm. “Inside first,” he instructed. “Can you walk?”

“Pssh,” Rocky rolled his eyes, but moved to crawl awkwardly out on all fours.

“Stop, stop—”

“What?”

Mordecai sighed, tilting his head. “Your feet should be underneath you.”

“I’s fiiine,” he insisted. But he still teetered out the door, performing a miraculous shoulder roll to flatten himself on the icy pavement; somehow, the cactus remained intact. Rocky blinked, then grinned up at Mordecai. “See?”

“I see that your feet still aren’t under you.”

“The little details don’t matter.”

“You’re inebriated.”

“Am I?” Rocky’s puzzled. “There was, purrrrrrrhaps, more inbide—imblide—impride—” Scowling, Rocky stuck his tongue out. “Words.”

“Come on,” Mordecai shook his head. 

Somehow, he convinced Rocky to teeter on two feet. The trek inside was practice in balance and patience, and Mordecai tried to feel indifferent about the polite non-attention of the doorman and the lift operator. Rocky leaned next to the door while Mordecai fished for his key, and then they were inside.

“This is an awfully long dream, isn’t it?” Rocky remarked as he waited for Mordecai to shed his outer layers.

“I suppose typical dreams are short,” Mordecai agreed. A tinge of guilt crept into the corners of his mind, dark and sour. He tried to shake it off. “You should change into something dry.”

“Present first,” Rocky reminded. His tail twitched, and he watched Mordecai eagerly.

Mordecai frowned, but picked at the newspaper packaging as he wandered across the little apartment. “Isn’t it your birthday? Why get me a present?”

“I’ve never been good at birthdays,” Rocky shrugged, following with cactus-and-shoe in hand. "And I missed yours."

“Hm—” he ripped away the paper and sighed. It was a scuffed menorah, second hand. But… "I don't light candles for Chanukah."

"Oh." Ears lowering, Rocky frowned. "Then, what do you do?"

"Usually? Call my mother." Mordecai threw the candle holder onto the chaise and moved to take the cactus from Rocky’s hold; their fingers overlapped. “This one seems more like you.”

A snort drew from Rocky. Instead of yielding the plant, he moved as if Mordecai were pulling him along, too. “I’ve had it for years. I thought, well—” he let go to gesture at some of the many potted flora dotting the apartment, and Mordecai wrestled the shoe from his hold. “—if anyone could keep it alive, you could.”

“It’ll need new soil,” Mordecai noted. Walking into the bedroom, he moved to the little table by the window. Rocky followed him. “Dry clothes are in the closet. You can borrow something from the dresser, and put your things in the laundry for tomorrow.”

Rocky’s fingers rasped together. “Tomorrow?”

Mordecai tensed. Setting the cactus down next to a flowerbox of ferns, he kept his fingers busy by unbuttoning his cuffs. “Only if you’d like.”

There was a moment of silence, then Rocky stumbled to Mordecai’s little closet. It took a few minutes, but they both dressed down from their day, slipping into clean sleep things. Neither of them looked directly at the other, both awkwardly lost in thoughts and memories, until the floor was littered with clothes and their bedtime preparations were complete. Then Rocky waited, tail twitching, until Mordecai could again meet his eye. Reaching, he took Mordecai by the wrist and pulled him toward the bed.

Even inebriated—especially inebriated—Rocky was a force of chaos. The bedding seemed to rearrange around him as he maneuvered Mordecai into a little spoon. Nested, Mordecai arched back into Rocky’s torso. He tensed as Rocky licked a line up his neck, but slowly relaxed to the gentle pull of teeth across fur. The ministrations went no further.

Eventually, Rocky fell asleep with his face pressed against Mordecai’s scruff. 

The hitman was less fortunate. The afternoon’s early sleep, combined with the usual hours of his profession and a dash of nerves, kept his heart beating and mind racing. He tried everything from solving complex algebraic problems to mapping out the most efficient route around the great lakes and couldn’t settle his thoughts. It was worse when Rocky pulled close, an arm snaking around Mordecai’s waist. Then worse again when Rocky shifted to nose at the back of Mordecai’s ear.

And worser still when the first hints of morning finally invaded the room. A glow out the window suggested daylight, and the start of traffic sounds drifted up from the street. All at once, Rocky inhaled, sat up, and scrambled away. Mordecai curled a little tighter around his knees and feigned sleep.

Falling out of bed, Rocky made muted noises as he searched around the room. Mordecai heard him pick up his clothes and tip toe away. 

Consumed, Mordecai buried under his pillows and bit his cheeks. Minutes passed. The pain grounded his thoughts, and he tried listing all the reasons he was being stupid. It had been a mistake. A long, drawn out farce fuelled by alcohol and other intoxicants that, yes, perhaps both of them played into on occasion but neither of them had business pursuing. Outside of a penchant for the philosophical—and a precocity of word that often sent others racing for the exit—they had little in common. The idea of them together was a joke to their friends, an inconceivable notion that went unnoticed and unthought of; and even if it had, it would only be as betting fodder. He didn't even like to be touched—usually. And there was blood in Mordecai’s ledger, too much for any person to deserve—

“Shit shit shit!” Rocky’s voice chorused from the other room.

Sitting up, Mordecai smelled smoke. The blankets tangled around his ankles and he tripped from the bed. Half the bedding shed with him as he scrambled from the bedroom, only to pause in the doorway to watch as Rocky dropped a flaming pan into the little kitchen sink. The musician turned on the water, dousing the flames with a hiss.

“Not ideal,” Rocky cursed.

Mordecai took notice of the state of his kitchenette. Flour was spread across his small countertop, where a bowl of something sat balancing a whisk. His fridge was open, the contents disheveled as if they had been riffled through. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Startled, Rocky twisted to blink at him. Still undressed, his eyes were manically wide and ringed with exhausted circles. “Uhhhh—” the water was still running; he scratched at his disheveled neck. “—making pancakes?”

Habitually, Mordecai’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders hunched. “That’s cast iron. You can’t leave it in the sink.”

“Sorry—” Rocky darted to turn off the water. “It sort of caught on fire—”

“And—” continuing, Mordecai cast a quick look around the rest of the room. Seeing a pile of material on his coffee table, he pointed at it. “—I told you to put those clothes in the laundry.”

Biting his lips together, Rocky leaned against the little sink and raised his brows. He considered Mordecai. “So… it wasn’t a dream?”

Hand dropping to his side, Mordecai frowned. “... no.”

“I mean, the part where you seemed to reciprocate,” Rocky added. “You know I like you.”

“Yes.”

“And you—”

“Rocky,” Mordecai interrupted. “Please, get out of my kitchen before my cast iron rusts, or you manage to blow up the stove.”

Rocky’s nose scrunched as he grinned. “So bossy.”

“That’s not new,” he replied. Then, hesitant, he walked closer. “I thought you’d left.”

Rocky shrugged. “Technically, you weren’t wrong.”

“You know what I mean,” Mordecai intoned. “I would’ve left.”

Cautiously, Rocky reached out to hold Mordecai by the waist. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Slotting together, Mordecai nestled against Rocky’s neck. “I’m not good at this.”

Rocky snorted. “Neither am I.” He pet a line down Mordecai’s spine. “But… I think I’d like to kiss you. If that’s okay.”

Shuddering, Mordecai pulled back just enough to peer into Rocky’s eyes. “I don’t usually like kissing.”

“Oh.”

“But yes,” Mordecai added. “It’s okay.”

Tentative, Rocky pressed his lips to Mordecai's cheek. He started butterfly soft, leaving a trail of affection across Mordecai’s eyelids and up to his temple. "I don't understand kissing—" Rocky admitted in a whisper.

Mordecai snorted.

"I should say, didn't understand," Rocky corrected. He rubbed his face against Mordecai’s, knocking his glasses askew.

"What's not to understand?" Mordecai asked, aiming for condescending even as his heart beat with sincerity.

Rocky shrugged and tugged him closer. Boxed in against the sink, his hands pushed under Mordecai’s shirt to scratch claws down his back. "Usually people would act nice to get kisses, then hurt me and leave."

He couldn't help purring, even as another twinge of guilt had Mordecai leaning back against Rocky’s hold. Cadling Rocky’s neck, Mordecai pet the old bite wound. "That's what I did."

"You didn't act nice," Rocky snickered, nosing close. "You didn't pull your punches, or go along with things you didn't care about, or pretend."

"I pretended you were still dreaming just to get you up here."

"To kiss me?" Rocky raised a brow at him

Mordecai rolled his eyes.

"That's what I thought," Rocky hummed. "I like kissing you; I didn't realize it was fun for everyone."

"Who were you kissing before, that it wasn't fun?" Mordecai's eyes narrowed. "There's reasons we throw people into the river, Rickaby, and—"

"Hush—" Rocky licked Mordecai’s nose. "Who cares about them? You're fun to kiss—but only when you want to. No need to be a Miriam—or Arty—or Chance—or—"

Mordecai kissed him, licking into his mouth until they were both left panting. He scratched down Rocky's chest, enjoying the soft hiss that angled the musician's jaw wider and sighing as Rocky’s claws combed through his fur. Something reminiscent of flickering warmth and summer nights coloured in the corners of his consciousness, and he leaned closer, closer, closer until he felt Rocky’s spine arching backwards over the sink. Then, nipping at Rocky’s bottom lip, he pulled away. "You aren't like anyone else," he said. "You're very…"

A smile split across Rocky’s face. "Oh?"

"Tolerable," he settled on. “Now—get out of my kitchen, and I’ll see if I can salvage pancakes.”

Snickering, Rocky kissed Mordecai’s cheek before ducking away. He winked. “Yessir, Mr Heller, sir.”

As Mordecai scrubbed and reseasoned the cast iron, Rocky regathered his clothes to dump somewhere in the bedroom—presumably in the laundry basket, but Mordecai couldn’t be sure. He returned to the livingroom as Mordecai was inspecting the lumpy pancake mix, and curled up on the chaise with a well-read copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare.

When Mordecai served a tray of pancakes with jam—he made a mental note to consider adding syrup to his shopping list—Rocky tucked his feet under his knees and used his finger as a bookmark. “You’ve worked your way through the whole volume,” he noted with a smile.

“You do quote the bard a lot, Roark,” Mordecai replied.

Rocky’s nose scrunched. “Only Aunt Nina calls me Roark.”

“You’ll have to add me to that list,” said Mordecai. And when Rocky blanched, he conceded. “At least some of the time.”

Rolling his eyes, Rocky held up the book. “Do you have a favourite play?”

“I may have formed a preference along the way,” Mordecai sidled onto the chaise next to him. “But I’m afraid it isn’t the frivolous one you like so much.”

“You think Macbeth is frivolous?”

Mordecai narrowed his eyes at Rocky. “Your favourite play is Midsummer’s Night.”

Settling to sit closer to Mordecai, Rocky reached to fill a plate. Undeterred by the lack of syrup, he spread an inch of jam between two pancakes. "Yes, Midsummer is a little frivolous; but why did you think I would prefer Midsummer?"

"You quote it constantly."

"Ah—" Pausing to think, Rocky nodded. "—I suppose I do."

"You convinced the band to do the third act."

"A thematic choice, for Mayday."

"Why quote it if it isn't your favourite?"

Rocky shrugged and pulled the plate into his lap. “It’s a famous tale of lovers, drugged by faeries and left to frolic overweekend in the woods.” Picking up his jam-pancake-sandwhich, he shoved the whole thing in his mouth. “Id feld ap—”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Mordecai admonished. “Or I’m changing my mind about everything.”

Cheeks puffing as Rocky strained his lips together, he raised his brows at Mordecai. Frowning back, Mordecai’s ear twitched; so Rocky tapped a sticky finger against the volume of Shakespeare as he chewed.

Sighing, Mordecai glanced out the window in pretense of annoyance. Really it was an attempt to stop his face from heating in embarrassment. Outside, the occasional snowflake drifted by. From memory, he recited: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

The rest of the morning passed both slowly and too quick. Food was finished and set aside, but instead of leaving the two cats reclined together. Mordecai dozed on Rocky’s chest; Rocky peered over Mordecai’s shoulder to keep reading; and both of them occasionally purred or whispered to the other. Everything was on track to becoming the most relaxed day off in Mordecai’s recent memory.

And then the window slid open.

“Mordecai!” Ivy’s voice yelled. Both him and Rocky flinched. “What did you—! Oh.”

Looking up, Mordecai and Rocky saw Ivy and Freckle perched on the living room windowsill. The four cats looked at each other for a long moment; then, Ivy continued climbing inside.

“I have a front door,” Mordecai noted. He pushed himself up until he was kneeling, more or less in Rocky’s lap.

“There was no time for the door,” Ivy snapped her fingers at him. “We thought you had killed him!”

“Who?” Rocky blinked.

“You,” said Freckle. He tripped as he tried to follow Ivy, falling to the floor.

“I have to call Mitzi,” Ivy continued, beelining across Mordecai’s apartment. “I think she owes Zib money.”

Sighing, Mordecai slumped against the back of the chaise. “So much for a peaceful day.”

Then Rocky took hold of his hand. “Good day, though,” he said with a smile. “Right?”

“Right—” Mordecai entwined their fingers. "—but if you tell anyone, I'll deny it."

Scoffing, Rocky lifted the limb to press a kiss to Mordecai's knuckles. "Deny it all you want," he said. "I've got you figured out."

[xeenok-laboratories]

So I mentioned a while ago that I'm writin' a DBZ au that I'm postin' up on ao3 (titled Intergalactic Vigilantes -- I'll add another link at the end in case y'all lost it or yer new t' my blog)

A few things t' note from my currently sleep deprived self:

1, I'm slow as shit at writin' 'cuz I'm dumb an' ferget how t' write sometimes -- an' also I have a job 'cuz a guy's gotta get that fuckin' coin, baby, my country's economy's ASS JESUS CHRIST I SWEAR-

2, I may or may not have a slight obsession with Raditz an' Krillin an' their relationship in this fic an' I will be focusing on them fer pro'lly about 70-80% of the entire story 'cuz my boys don't get enough screen time (especially Raditz -- that poor bastard was fuckin' robbed of screen time). I wanna explore how their brains an' their personalities work in this fic so bad. I will do it, I swear. There's so much potential fer how well they could mesh together.

3, I've actually been conceptin' another small fic (on an' off) focusing on Raditz an' Krillin (ofc) an' I don't wanna spoil it but at the same time I really wanna spoil it, but I should pro'lly actually get sketches done up of the characters in it before I say any more. It's absolutely a self-indulged fic, though, jus' like IV.

4, and the whole reason fer this post, the smut. The smut I've been secretly writin' an' keepin' on my phone's notepad this entire time. Everything is radikuri. Everything. But they're all unfinished an' all solely fer practice writing 'cuz I've got no idea how the fuck I could (potentially) even slip any of these into the later chapters of IV. There's a high chance I'll pro'lly leave all of 'em unfinished, unless there's a particular one that tickles my brain. An' if there is, I'll let y'all know when that chapter gets uploaded.

5, I've been workin' on chapter 3 fer the last few hours an' I swear to God, it feels like it's takin' longer than it should 'cuz I've been thinkin' about it almost every night at work the past few weeks!! But I think I've got what I want -- fer the most part. Unless I change my mind on the fly like I did an hour ago with this one scene I've been stuck on this whole time. Gods help me an' my brain. I really need sleep before my ability t' write completely vanishes fer the next week an' a half

Anyway, I'll stop rambling. Here's a link to the fic, in case y'all wanna peruse my bullshit: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52500985/chapters/132813154

Remember t' eat an' drink water, you fucking nerds (lovingly)

[mittensmorgul]

idle musings on the spngeorg podcast under the cut, mostly just me muttering so i can get some thoughts out of my own head... but also there's a poll at the end, because I honestly don't know what to do with all this paperwork :'D

i was just looking through my notes on past episodes. When i first started this, I didn't script anything, just noted a few key points for my reference while I talked. I quickly realized I needed to impose some sort of structure on episodes because they were... wildly out of control and meandering, and far too long. I know, I can and will talk forever if given the chance. So by the end of season 1, I was writing far more detailed notes. But I didn't start saving those documents until 3.13 Ghostfacers. All my notes before that episode are just... gone.

(well, they're probably in previous versions of that document, but there's no way I'm going back to try and recover them now lol)

It wasn't until episode 138 - 7.12 Time After Time-- that I started writing out what amounts to a full script. If you'll notice, episode lengths have become more manageable and consistent since then, and I probably forget to mention fewer things too. It's also far easier for me to actually record episodes and I save about four hours every week on editing. So it's a system that works very well for me, personally.

But this means that I do have the full text of my scripts for episodes beginning with 7.12. I don't follow them exactly, but for the most part, they're fairly accurate as a transcript.

And I was wondering if, despite the fact I only have rough notes and a full script of the intro section of episodes between 3.13 and 7.11, would anyone actually like me to like... post those notes and scripts online? either here or on tumblr?

I hadn't up to this point, because they are just messy little notes to myself for the most part, but I realized my archived episode post is now approaching 100k words, and was thinking I should probably post them all somewhere, you know? For reference, the document stats where I've been stashing notes since 3.13:

That's a screenshot of the doc, showing it's 214 pages long, and almost 93k words. And this is only for episodes that have already posted (including 7.17, which hasn't posted but has been uploaded and scheduled to post later this week).

There's two more completed episodes in another document totaling 21 pages and over 11k words. The next episode I'll record is 7.20! wheee!

So... what to do with all these things? Just post the complete scripts? Post all the notes, even though I don't have anything for the first 56 episodes of the series? Jump in with episode 57 and then just keep going? or only start with 7.12 with the complete scripts?

Does anyone have any interest in any of that at all? Or is it a good idea to stash these on ao3 at least? I mean, yeah, probably on that last question, but that means a lot of work. So I'd like the thoughts of listeners and other random folks who might be interested in my notes for whatever reason. Help a mitten out:

[chihoshisai]

A Desire to Live

Pairing : Snape x you / genre : angst, fluff, hurt-(no)comfort (depends on the chapter), (dark) comedy

summary : Everyone knows not to defy a Death Eater for murder is all that awaits them. You found yourself treating one in the intimacy of your home. Severus Snape, recently injured. Thankfully he let you live out of gratitude yet ironically, you couldn't help but to cling to someone who brought death and disaster on their path in order to ensure your survival.

A/N : This is only a part of chapter 1 which is around 3.1K words and I felt it was a bit too long to post on tumblr and didn't want to break it down into parts like my other fic. If this sneak peak interests you, you can continue reading here on ao3 !! There are a couple of chapters uploaded already. If you're waiting for a lonely flower amidst a garden update no you did not see this

word count : 1738

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

You had just finished a good reading session. This is what you liked the most about living in the countryside, endless fields, nature and most importantly a well deserved suspension of the usual buzzing sound that came from cities and human interactions. Even if everything was far from you, the peace and quiet from your surroundings made up for it. As you held your book loosely by your side, you saw a figure covered in dark clothing limp in the distance, clutching their lower abdomen. You slowed down, now hesitantly putting one foot before the other. Thanks to Voldemort, the entire wizarding world lived in darkness, fear and chaos now overtaking every citizen. Being wary of anyone outside of family members and close friends was now the norm. The fact that you were adventuring outside was already dangerous. Except that you lived in such a recluse area that it never crossed your mind that danger would come, until you saw that black figure hobble in the direction opposite yours. 

The source of your worries collapsed on the ground. Rather than feeling relieved, you felt panic surge inside you. You rushed over the individual to see a puddle of  blood forming around the body. Long black hair, as dark as the robe he wore, the figure indicated that of a man. You kneeled before him, careful not to soil yourself in the pool of blood. 

“Are you alright?!” You raised your free hand towards him, as he groaned for an answer causing you to stop in your tracks. You could tell by the amount of blood spilling that it was only a matter of time before this man was at death’s door.

 “Damn it.” Forget about the dark times and being wary of strangers, there was a person about to die in front of you and if anything, enough of them had died already. With enough luck, this might just be an Auror and you could be rewarded handsomely if you saved his life. You carefully threw your book a few feets away from you, making a mental note to come back for it later whilst you grabbed the now unconscious man by the arms before disapparating so as to appear in front of your house. 

You struggled to open the door. In fact you struggled as you dragged him all the way to your room. Thankfully your little cottage only had one floor. With difficulty, you took off his robe and his shirt revealing the true nature of his wound and most importantly, the Death Eater mark on his arm. You backed away, an almost inaudible shriek escaping your lips. You stared at the man in pain with horror as you debated what the correct course of action was.   

“Lily…”  

The unexpected wailing brought you back to your senses. Having regained consciousness, you saw the eyes of the man fixated upon you, sweat dripping all over his face while his eyes reflected tenderness, seemingly at the thought of mistaking you for someone else. You remained motionless. Right, these people also have loved ones. And right now it seemed to you that your only chance of survival was to play it off as his while the misunderstanding lasted. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” He panted, and winced in pain, making you feel bad for him. Slightly. 

“I don’t think you should speak.” You could feel your palm getting sweaty by the second. Whatever happened to him, he probably deserved it being a Death Eater and all but still, seeing a man at death’s door in your room didn’t leave you indifferent. 

“I know. I simply wanted to tell you–” He coughed, spitting blood. You twitched at the sight of yet more gore sullying your neatly polished room. 

God no. It sounded like the last words of a man ready to die. “I told you not to speak. I won’t let you die.” You reluctantly said. Your mind had made a decision, but your body refused to cooperate. 

“I see. If it’s not too much trouble then, I’m in your care.” He gave you a smile that seemed to cost him all his energy, before he turned his gaze to the ceiling. 

You stood there for a while. It took a lot of willpower for your body to finally move. You knew you were heading to an early grave, yet you couldn’t find a way out of this. If you left him alone, his death would weigh on your mind for the rest of your life and if he lived well, at least you felt satisfied with the number  of books you had the chance to read.

As you exited the room, you wondered if his wand was in his robe you just took off or hidden somewhere in his pants. You shuddered at the thought. You fetched a bucket of water along with multiple towels, alcohol, bandages and painkillers. You steeled your nerves as you were about to reenter the room, ready to lay hands on one of the most wanted criminals. If anyone were to learn of your forthcoming actions, Azkaban would most likely be the outcome.  

You treated him with caution, thanks to your love for books, you had gathered knowledge on the matter. Yet, your hands remained uncertain and his simple movements were enough to make you whimper in fear. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to take notice of it.  

“Do you remember the day we first met?” 

Nope. 

You clutched the bandages tightly in your hands as you wrapped them around his wound, having helped him into a sitting position with much difficulty. “Yeah.” You made sure not to meet his gaze, and prayed he didn’t ask for the exact circumstances. Dammit, why couldn’t he just stay silent?

“I feel like I’m meeting you again for the first time. Weird isn’t it.” His voice sounded less painful thanks to your medical attention yet was still that of a wounded man. 

You gave a nervous laugh in response. What nonsense was this man saying? You wanted to run out of the room as quickly as possible. So you did.

“Alright, I’m done.” You helped him lay down before adding, “I’m gonna get these cleared out.” You grabbed the bucket and handful of other things you brought along with you. Walked to the door with such speed while saying just as quickly, “do call me if you need anything.” You shutted the door behind you knowing damn well he couldn’t properly call for you in the position he was in. 

“I’m doomed.” The thought of death didn’t scare you, hence why you merely sighed as you made your way to the bathroom, before taking in the full impact of the blood trail this individual had left on your floor whilst you dragged him around. Suddenly death by the hands of a Death Eater seemed like the least of your concern as you quickly grabbed all you needed to disinfect your cottage.      

Evening’s colors started creeping from the windows, soon announcing the dread and fear that nighttime now brought for everyone. This made you remember that one of those instigators of nightmares was now residing in your chamber. You grabbed a couple bandages on the way, thinking his might need a change. As you opened the door to your room, you found him in a sitting position. This will make things easier, you thought. Except that you noticed the gentle gaze he had before was now replaced by a dangerous glare. 

You stood in the doorframe. “Your bandages need to be changed.” You mechanically said. 

“Right.” He said in a manner just audible enough. “Do come over then.”

You carefully walked, taking notice of the wand that rested in his right hand, ready to attack at any given moment. You also noticed that his robe weren’t how you previously left them. So his wand was in his robe all this time. Nonetheless, you cursed yourself for not taking it back with you earlier. You consoled yourself by thinking that anyone gutsy enough who isn’t an Auror trying to defy a Death Eater is delusional. Better listen and execute their request than risk dying. 

You took care of him with steady hands, now more careful than ever not to hurt him. He remained silent, simply doing motions with his thumb on his wand, as a reminder. 

That you were at his mercy.

That you could die at any moment. 

“You’re a bad person aren’t you?” A stupid question to ask really, but the silence was making you suffocate. 

“It depends.” He said.

“On what?” Now you were starting to play with fire and you knew it.

“On you.” He gave you a glance and you instantly understood what he meant. He would let you go if you didn’t cross any line. What a relief. 

“Oh. But do tell me your name then.” You ignored the warning look he gave you. “I’m not going to sell you out or something. If I wanted to do so I would've done it by now rather than save you. I’d just like to know the name of the Death Eater I had the fortune to save.” You introduced yourself first, thinking it would make him more eager to tell his name. 

Yet, he remained silent as you finished treating his wound. He put his clothes back on with difficulty, refusing your help as you stepped away from him. You felt a sense of relief seeing that he was finally about to leave. He crossed the room to reach for the door. “You will speak of this to no one. Understand?” 

You nodded in approval. 

He gave you a last glance, just as he was about to close the door behind him. “The name’s Severus Snape.”  

Your knees gave up and you stumbled on the floor. Severus Snape huh? You certainly would remember him for the rest of your life. You felt your heart pumping in your head, despite the reassurance that your life was now free of danger, while also taking deep breaths so as to calm yourself. You distracted yourself by an intense cleanout of your room, refusing to sleep in the eventuality that he might come back to claim your life. This was the biggest incident to ever happen in your existence after the death of your parents, as you hoped it would be the last anomaly in your little country girl life.