#she is four times his size (in my head) neither can resist the call to do stupid and illegal shit impulsively

[kinokoshoujoart]

[palbabor-writes]

oh my god! your writing is amazingggg. may i please have a creepy! shiggy, dabi or hawks whichever one is easier for you where they really like the reader so they do yk normal creepy stuff like stealing her underwear and humping her bed and one day they get caught and they thought she’d be disgusted but she’s lowkey into it and she’s just super sweet and praising and a HUGE SERVICE TOP. I think they just need some good pussy �� if you decide to do this then THANK YOUUUU

｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡ you’re too nice nonnie & tysm. i’m glad you’re here!

warnings: general degeneracy, masterbation, handjobs, SMUT, panty sniffin’   

You make a point to leave your room unlocked.

Oh, you’ll switch it up, every so often, just so he has something to work for, but  you prefer to pressure him with a time crunch instead of a locked door. It’s always so much fun. You make a show of dashing up the steps, feet thudding heavily on the warped wood. Then, right when you’re on the threshold, gosh, how could you be so daft, so thoughtless! You’d left your supplies downstairs, again! You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders. Silly, silly, silly.

The display does what you need it to, namely, giving him the chance to slink away. He’s always whisper quiet when he creeps into your space, it’s a miracle you’d caught him. But, even super-villains find themselves on the back foot sometimes, and boy, was he clumsy about this. 

It wasn’t like him. That was the slip up. No, his one, original, mistake was a simple one.

He’d left evidence of his arousal, of his lewd, heated, heart thudding, want. It was tacky, sticky, absolutely dripping with the milky residue of him. He’d tried to bury it deep, pressing it down into the bowels of your hamper, likely praying that it would remain hidden and you wouldn’t question it further when you did stumble upon it, hopefully weeks later.

You didn’t like to leave your hamper open and you certainly never, ever, left it beside your bed. It had been another long day and, at first, you’d only given it a swift glance, replaying the events of the night before. Maybe you’d lugged it over, too tired to pace the small distance? You had been in a rush. It was plausible.

Kicking your boots to the floor, you raise a hand to lower the lid of your plastic hamper when you spot the cascade of clothing. Again, it’s a tiny, tiny, fragment, but he should know better. It’s your job to notice the small, the obscure. Retcon is your bread and butter and this is too much, too tempting to ignore. 

Fingers follow the hollowed space his arm has left behind and you hit the panties, seconds later. They’re warm, wet, and you clutch them into your palm and pull.    

Fuck.

The lace is soaking. Fresh lines of cum run in thick rivulets, falling down your upturned hand and along your wrist, dribbling onto your bare feet. For a moment, you can’t seem to process the image that’s before you, your mind whirring through the possibilities, the faces. Who...no...which one of them did this?

The next morning, you’re quiet. It’s not unnatural. After all, it’s freaking 7 am, no one at the bar is talking. As you sip on your chilled, canned, coffee, your eyes carefully size up the men who are lounged around you. 

Shigaraki is perusing a newspaper, the pallid hand of father obscuring his face, but you can still catch sight of the red glint of his eyes. He looks bored. He hadn’t even looked up when you walked in, his back bowed and head down, engrossed in his search.

Dabi is perched on one of the dilapidated couches, his long legs curled under him, flicking a bashed lighter, open and closed, open and closed. Like Shigaraki, he hadn’t lifted his gaze to you at first. He had, however, answered a question. Just the one, when you’d asked him if he had found any newbies, any potential recruits. He’d snarked his reply, his cerulean irises latching onto you with a cruel sharpness. No was his answer and you hadn’t pressed for any further elaboration.

Compress was shuffling a deck of cards. Spinner was ticking through his phone. Twice was chittering with Toga. Nothing was out of the ordinary. You finish your breakfast and tell them that you’re heading out. 

No one replies.

******

Unsurprisingly, it happened again. 

It’s a different pair of panties but the glisten of the cum is the same. So is the lowered placement, the bevel of the clothes, and the position of the hamper. However, it’s a little more calculated this time around. The lid is closed and there are no traces of his entry, no cuts or nicks on the door handle or key hole, no scattering of your things, no dip on your bed. There’s nothing. 

Alright. Two can play at this game. 

The hamper is moved, strategically maneuvered into the bathroom that your room holds. You’re careful to leave the lid propped. It looks haphazard, but it takes a precise click of the plastic to lock it into that position. You’ll be able to tell if it’s been moved. 

You tug your panties out of your dresser and count them, noting the colors, patterns, the imperfections in the lace. If you’re going to do this, you need to know what you’re working with. The inventory must be precise, each variant recognized and tallied. 

Every day, it’s a rinse and repeat process. Yank the flutter of fabrics out, spread them across your sheets and count. It’s tedious, bordering on annoying, but you wanna know. It’s like an itch. It sits right where you can’t reach and it tickles at the back of your mind. Besides, you’ve always liked a good puzzle. Although, this isn’t quite what you had in mind, you’ll take it and you’ll solve it, if it’s the last thing you do. 

Two days after you start this mind-numbing task, four pairs go missing. 

******

It’s late when you stumble back into the hideout, padding past the darkened bar and up the steps. The mission, despite its lower ranking, and pay, you think bitterly, had taken almost three days. Thankfully, the information you’d gleaned was worth it, but you’re exhausted. You’re wiping a sleepy hand across your face when you notice your door.

It’s ajar.

Instinctually, you fall to your haunches, tip toeing toward the crack, eyes narrowed, fingers curled into fists. The room is pitch black but there’s something, no, someone, in there. You can make out their outline. It’s a jagged cut that sits upon your bed and you can hear the tiny hitches and groans that they’re gasping out.

As your eyes adjust, you can see more. Your knees fall to the floor, digging into the wood and you steady yourself against the wall, eyes wide. He’s propped along your pillows and his hand is working over himself, using the friction of another pair of your panties to rub himself to completion. You can’t make out the exact shape of his cock but from the rapid fire tugs of his fist you can tell it’s long. It must be thick too, since he needs to adjust his pulls toward the tip.

He’s quiet, but you can still hear the catches and moans he’s making. Your name slips out too and the utterance makes your mouth go dry. So that’s who it is. Well, wonders never cease. 

In the months that you’d known him, he hasn’t paid you much mind. Even through the haze of this strange obsession, he hasn’t altered his day to day routine, hasn’t broken character, hasn’t spoken to you unless the situation absolutely called for it. 

Damn. It’s too much, it’s way, way...no. No. It’s not that it’s too much, you think, mesmerized by the sight that’s splayed across your sheets. It’s nowhere near enough. 

You want to march in there, yank your soiled panties off his dick and hear what kind of noises he would make for you then. Would he shove you off, or would he welcome your notice? Either way, he’s too close now.

His hips have started to rut upwards, unable to resist the rhythm he’s created. The moans have drifted into hisses and his back arches when he cums, those familiar ropes of white splashing across the pastel of your lace. He’s careful to catch the drops, pinching the end of his cock and shuddering at the overstimulation. As he sits up, you cautiously rise, unsteady on your wobbling legs. 

You’re halfway down the stairs when your door shuts. His footsteps recede down the hallway and you can hear him as he thuds into his own space, the click of his lock reverberating in your ears. 

******

Thus, the game of cat and mouse continues. 

Outwardly, neither of you reveal your hand, keeping your cards close to the chest, out of each others line of sight. Your door locks, unlocks, and you keep losing more panties. You’ve marked the one that will make the difference. It’s your new, favorite, pair. You haven’t worn them yet, but they’re a lush item, expensive, luxuriant, an excess that you don’t usually allow yourself. You’d purchased them the day after you’d finally caught sight of him. You couldn’t help it. 

Most people, you reason, would be horrified by this situation, but not you. Oh no, you’re so turned on you can barely sleep. You start to masterbate in the early evening, when you know the others are moving around, your fingers trailing past your dampened curls, a careful fingernail pricking along your clit. You’ve even left your door open, cracked, welcoming the attention of anyone passing by. Once, you could have sworn you’d heard him. The whisper of that gasp, imagined or not, had bowled you over, your thighs clamping around your wrist, your cunt pulsing around nothing, hungry, slathering, desperate for more. 

You want to just toss those panties on your bed and provoke the interaction. Goddamnit, how much longer is he gonna make you wait?

****** 

Not even 24 hours later, they’re gone. 

He’s getting reckless, too. Your hamper is knocked over, the dresser drawer that holds your underwear is a crumpled mess, and he’s deliberately left a vacant hole where the panties used to lay. It’s screaming for your attention and you can feel your heartbeat thrumming against your breast. 

Finally.  

The next mission you’re assigned is easy, too easy. It’s mid-afternoon and there’s no reason for you to be back this early. Well, that’s an oversimplification. There is a perfectly excellent reason for you to be back, you’re just hoping the sliver of intel that was dropped for you will pay off. 

Apparently, while the rest of you were out pounding the pavement, he’s elected to stay behind. He had something he needed to take care of. 

“It sounded important,” Toga informed you, her voice lilting, rising with that sharp toothed smile of hers. 

“Why are you telling me this,” you’d asked her, biting your lip and crossing your legs, soothing the throb that’s pricking in your core. 

“He just told me to tell you, didn’t ask him anything more. You know how he is. He can be, prickly,” Toga winks, popping her head to the side, bouncing her golden locks. 

“Alright,” you reply, adding a mask of disdain and disinterest to your performance. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” 

Lies, lies. 

So many fucking lies, but he must know that you realize, that you know. Why else enlist Toga? He hated having to lay things out. No, he must know, he has to.    

The bar is empty and the upper floors are deathly still.

Your door is sensibly shut but you can make out his jerks, his gasps, and those choked whimpers that echo past the flimsy wood. Your hand catches against the knob and you take one, last, steadying breath. 

Here we go.       

When you swing the door open he startles upward, his white hair curtaining the flush of his cheeks. Those vermillion irises land on you and he vaults away, nearly tumbling off the side of your bed. His pants are still bunched around his thighs, so that hinders him from making a true getaway. As he’s fumbling with the dark material, you don’t miss the shake of his hands and the spread of that lovely blush.

Oh, this is too perfect.

Before he can finish tucking himself back in his pants, you’re dashing across the top of your bed, ignoring the discarded panties, ignoring the dark glare that he gives you, ignoring everything but that heated bulge that’s giving him so much trouble. 

Impatient, your fingers curl around his wrists and you use the millisecond of surprise that your swift action has gifted you. With a low gasp, he falls forward, his knees sinking into the softness of your mattress. One hand lowers to brace himself, but he’s careful to keep a finger arched away, preserving the permanence of your bed. Before he can get his bearings, you’re pressing him onto his back, straddling his lean hips and lowering those dark pants back down. 

His cock, badly concealed by the upper line of his boxers, springs out, curving proudly toward his muscled stomach. For his part, Shigaraki squirms under you, his scarred lip set in a forbidding scowl. His deadly hands lower to yours, but you ignore his unspoken threat, knocking his trembling digits away. Your  fingers lace around his cock, squeezing at the heft of him, stroking up the spidery veins and grooves until he’s dropping his defiant head back against your sheets. 

“Wh-what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls, his raspy voice halting over the question. 

“Who? Me?” you laugh, tugging a few more gasps from his shaking lips. There’s a pale strand of precum that’s leaking from his tip and you brush your thumb over it, gathering it against the pad and using it to ease your motions. His hips buck up and he shoves himself into your fist, a long string of curses slipping through his clenched teeth. 

“I don’t think you get to ask that, dear leader,” you tease, leaning over his prone form. You’re glad he’s forgone wearing that creepy hand. It hadn’t even come into your calculations of how all of this would go. “No, not with the way you’ve been behaving.”

“I-I didn’t...fuck–” 

“What? Didn’t think I’d find out?”

“You’re not supposed to be here. I sent you on that– ah– that mission for a reason,” Shigaraki bites out, shifting away from your close inspection. You smile at his discomfort and cup your free hand around his chin, yanking him back to you, forcing him to look up. 

“That’s too bad, cus’ I finished early. Looks like I’m just that good, huh?” 

He’s seething up at you, his eyes gleaming in the low light of your room, but he’s not making any attempts to leave. He may want to, but it seems his body has other plans. His cock is swelling as you pick up your tempo, your fingers clenching and releasing as you go, edging him along. 

“You ever fucked a girl?” you ask, leaning back to admire the tense enjoyment of the man under you. The muscles of his stomach, coil and writhe, flexing each time you hit his tip and relaxing as you make the swift pass back down. 

“N-no,” he moans, jerking his hips up, silently demanding that you pick up the pace. 

“Did you want to?” you whisper, lowering to his face again, letting your soft lips trace along his temple. His skin is rough, but you like the contrast. Shigaraki seems to enjoy it too, his eyes slipping behind his eyelids as he turns toward you. When he doesn’t answer, you slow the hand that’s passing over the strain of his length. Shigaraki hisses at the shift and his eyes pop open again. They burn as they blaze up at you, clearly echoing his displeasure. 

“Asked you a question,” you scold. He’s quiet for a long breath, but, after a few tense seconds, he lowers his eyes and nods, his jaw tight. “Should I take that as a yes?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Shigaraki grumbles, flashing a quick glare your way. “Was that clear enough for you?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, one delicate eyebrow arching at his disgruntled expression.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he huffs, grimacing as you lift your hand from him, freeing yourself to yank your shirt off. 

“What do you want me to call you?” you ask, unbuttoning your jeans and easing them down the curve of your hips. 

“My fucking name.”

“Shigaraki?”

“No. Tomura,” he replies, his voice falling into that deep rasp again. He’s watching you closely and you grin down at his frank assessment. 

“Alright, Tomura,” you begin, testing out the unfamiliar acknowledgement. “Let’s make this good for you, hmm? What are you wanting to try first?”

He’s silent and you can hear the grinding of his teeth. “What’s better for you?”

Oh. Well, that’s not a question you were expecting. “For me? Uh, I guess I prefer to be on top. Let’s me control things and–”

“So do that,” he shrugs, finally peeling those dark pants off his long legs. He leaves his shirt on, but it doesn’t matter, if you’re riding him it’s not like you can’t tuck your hands under the tattered fabric.

“After acting like such a creep, you’re being pretty nonchalant about all of this,” your fingers wander along his sides and he shudders again, his neck bowing off the bedding. 

“You’re one to fucking talk. Think I didn’t know what you were doing?”

“Ha! Well, well. No wonder you took my bait so easily. When did you figure me out?”

“That night you sat outside your door and watched me,” his hands raise to your hips and he urges you to hurry up, grunting when your dripping cunt traces over his tip. “Then you left your fucking door open. Not just once, either, no, you did it for days. It was a whole fucking week of that shit. Didn’t even need to steal a pair of your slutty little panties to smell you then. You reeked. I could smell you from my room.” 

You laugh, helping him to press up and he glides into you, stretching you, radiating a satisfying ache along the slippery heat of your walls. His legs lift and his hands fall from your hips. Once you’re fully seated, your pelvis flush with his, you give him a few gulping breaths. 

“Ahh, fuck, oh– fucking damn it. Ohh, this feels nice. God, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbles, his voice falling into a hysterical edge. You bite your lip and raise up on your knees, making sure you grip him tightly as you go. Another mantra of obscenities drop from his lips and his feet brace against the bed, his hips rutting blindly as you begin that slow lift and lower.

“How’s that?” you query, moaning when he returns those broad hands to your hips. His reply is a sharp thrust and you’re tipped forward, forced to sprawl over him, fingers digging for purchase in his dark shirt. He grunts at the weight of you but he keeps his pace up, using the bed as leverage. 

You’re so close to him and you can’t help but reach for his face, suddenly desperate to feel his lips against yours. He doesn’t fight your hold, but he does let out a long groan when you tentatively kiss him. It’s slow at first and you’re very conscious of those dangerous hands of his. They’re still braced against your hips, but the four digits are starting to dig into your skin, sinking into the vulnerable dips until you’re whining. 

He’s unsure, so you help him along. 

You suck and nip at him, teasing him until he’s raising his head for more. Finally, one of those powerful hands detaches from your waist and he snatches at the back of your neck, insisting that you let him explore you further. After a time, you need air more than you need his lips, so you shake yourself free, pulling away and grinding your hips down as he ruts into you again. 

“Not bad,” you tell him, grinning when he swipes his tongue over his swollen lips, his eyes lifting to peer up at you curiously. “Want me to take it up a notch?”

“No,” he replies sharply. “I like this.”

You snort at his blunt response and give him what he’s asked for. You keep the drags of your lifts slow, enjoying how he throbs and swells inside you. Each time you rise, you roll your hips and he sighs at every minor clench that your pussy does. After a time, you can’t ignore the pulsations of your impatient clit, so your fingers trail downward, delicately rolling and grinding against the bud. 

Tomura tilts his head at this and his hazy vermillion snags your attention. “Does...does that feel good?” 

For a second, you’re unsure what he means, but when his hand ghosts over yours, you realize. “Mmhm,” you gasp, giving yourself a quicker tweak, delighting in the widening of his eyes when your cunt flushes another wave of arousal around him. It slicks between your thighs and pools around his pelvis, gleaming against the dark curls that rest there. 

“Lemme try,” he demands, batting your hand away and replacing your fingers with his own. He’s clumsy and he’s not expecting it to be that slippery, but he’s a quick study and he watches your face expectantly each time he tries something different. 

“Y-you’re doing so good, Tomura,” you praise, lingering on his name, pleased that he reacts so positively to it. “Just a little bit...oh fuck...yeah, right there is perfect.”

You’re not being facetious either, he’s honestly killing you with those earnest looks and careful prods. Each time you gasp, he presses just a fraction more, testing out his new skills and expanding on them. As a reward, you keep the positive reinforcement coming, calling out his name as you fuck him into you, loving how he keeps pulsating and groaning each time you sink down. 

A thin misting of sweat is beading over both of you, but you ignore the heat, too close to care that you’re starting to falter a bit in your rhythm. Tomura is panting also, losing some of that focus as he races toward his own release.

“Harder, ride me fucking harder, (Y/N),” he commands. The sight of him gasping and groaning out your name gives you an idea. You acquiesce to his demand but as you start those quick pumps your fingers reach behind you, searching for something that you think he’ll like even more. 

Ah-ha!

It’s an older pair, not as frilly as the one’s you’d saved for him, but you’ve been wearing them all day, so that scent he was complaining about should be nice and ripe. His eyes have winced shut, so the flop of your lace panties startles him. He tenses for a second, but once he notices what you’ve given him a wicked smirk curls his lips. Instantly, his hand leaves your clit and he presses the fabric to his face, huffing heavily against the crotch. 

“You fucking tease,” he groans, his tongue tracing along the seams, lapping at the thin residue that you’ve undoubtedly left behind. “Ahhh, yes. I think I would have rather had you sit on my face, but this will work, for now.” 

The threat in his voice makes you shiver and you rock forward as you lower, snagging the sharp edge of his pelvis against your clit. Tomura takes in another deep breath at the sensation, his hand still holding your saliva filled panties to his lips. Just a little bit more. Your fingers tweak and pull, rolling the way you need. The heavy sting of Tomura’s cock is helping too and your pussy greedily begins to tighten around him, earning you a sputtered groan from the man beneath you.

“D-do that again,” he sighs, shifting your panties down his face so he can watch you. Obediently, you flick at your clit again and that stimulation, plus the heady knowledge that Tomura is watching, memorizing every move you make, hurtles you over the edge and you can’t help but slump forward as your orgasm crashes over you. Tomura lets out a guttural moan, flinging your panties away and yanking you to his parted lips. His kiss is frantic, nonsensical, more bites and slurps than any kind of caress, but you fall into his arms, overwrought and too turned on to think. 

Once he’s had his fill of your lips, he resumes that steady pounding, his powerful hips canting into you, peppering you with jagged thrusts that leave you gasping. 

“What’s the matter?” he taunts, his voice a wild rasp in your ear. “Can’t take anymore? Am I too much for you?” 

You don’t trust yourself to reply, already seconds away from another shuddering release. All it takes is the feeling of him swelling and the heat of his cum to reduce you to a gasping mess again. This time, a thin line of drool escapes your lips. Delighted, Tomura snags his hand in your hair, tugging until you’re hovering over him. Gluttonously, he laps at your lips, sucking until you’re not sure who’s making the bigger slob of themselves. 

When he’s finished, he rolls you off of him, splaying you out on the bed. As the world falls back into focus, you catch sight of him, leering over you, his white hair cascading around the two of you. 

“I don’t think I’m done yet,” he grins, one hand cupping under your jaw. “Besides, you could have given me this weeks ago. I think you owe me a few back payments. Don’t cha’ think?”

notes: ahaha. this is basically a full fledged fic. whoops. 

did i have anyone wondering if i was gonna pick Tomura or Dabi?                                        

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 5

A/N  Sorry for the long break between chapters.  As some of you might have seen from my Tumblr blog, I’ve been off on vacation these past two weeks.  Plus, when I felt the urge to write, it was my new Vaquero AU that kept calling to me (21,000 words and counting!), rather than this fic.  Which is probably a good argument for why I don’t like to post WIPs.  In any event, here is the next chapter some of you have been asking for, entitled Third Appointment.  Be careful what you wish for.  Angst ahead, plus a trigger warning for infertility trauma, miscarriage.

The first four chapters are available on my AO3 page.

The Thursday after her impromptu encounter with Jamie and his niece at the Royal Hospital for Children, Claire woke with a strange twisting pain in her gut.  Skipping breakfast, she was halfway to her office before she diagnosed herself with an acute case of nerves, the kind that sprouted between her lungs and ribcage like a vestigial organ whose sole purpose was to unsettle her.

She wasn’t in the habit of meeting patients outside of the clinical confines of her practice, but it was more than that.  Jamie had caught her in a moment of weakness, with both her personal and professional armour missing.  What he might have seen and how he could have interpreted it had occupied her thoughts ever since.

Eating lunch was out of the question.  By the time two o’clock approached, her insides were a buzzing hornets’ nest of anxiety, her palms clammy with sweat.  A half-empty bottle of Xanax called to her from the bottom of her purse.  Before she could weigh the implications of taking one at work on an empty stomach, Jamie’s familiar knock intervened.

She could tell as soon as he entered that Maggie hadn’t needed a transfusion that week.  His russet curls shone like garnets in the midday sun and his uncanny eyes glittered like sapphires.  Still, he avoided looking directly her way as he settled into his usual chair, and she wondered if the overlap of their personal and professional lives had left him feeling unnerved as well.

“No wheat grass smoothie,” he commented, his gaze running over her desk.

“No, I didn’t have time for lunch today.”  It was a blatant falsehood, since she’d spent her lunch hour picking her cuticles until they bled, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Ye should eat more, Sassen..., Doctor Beauchamp.  Ye canna help anyone else if ye’re no’ properly nourished.”  She caught the slip, and for some reason it angered her.

“Is this your attempt to negotiate a reduction in your fees, Jamie?  Dietary advice in return for counselling?  Because if so, I’m afraid I don’t bill on the barter system,” she snapped, despising her churlish tone.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, then dimmed.  Message received, he sat up straighter in the armchair and crossed a foot over his knee, assuming a position of poised and detached calm that had no doubt served him well during business negotiations.  She regrouped by pretending to glance at her journal for the notes from their previous session, although the space next to his name was accusingly blank.

Boundaries thus defined, the session went surprising well.  Jamie spoke of his relief that Maggie’s latest round of chemotherapy was over, allowing her to return home and to some semblance of a regular life for a child of six.  Claire coaxed him gently towards the topic of his overwhelming guilt for abandoning his family when he was most needed.  Jamie processed pain through the recounting of stories, coming to terms with his self-decreed transgression by weaving together the tale of those he loved and pointing to the holes his absence had caused.

As his resonant voice spun its web of words, Claire became aware of an underlying hum.  At first it was subtle, like the mumble of traffic from a far-off motorway.  But as their hour together ticked by, it grew in strength until she could no longer ignore the buzz that pressed against her from all directions.

“... saw that it was really Jenny and Ian who I was... Claire?  Doctor Beauchamp, are ye well?”  Jamie was watching her with concern, and she realized she’d been shaking her head, trying to dislodge the omnipresent hum.

“Yes, I’m... yes.  Sorry.  Just a funny noise that’s...  Please, continue.”  When Jamie didn’t immediately pick up the thread of his narrative, she tried again.  “You were saying something about Jenny and Ian?”

Instead of continuing his previous thought, Jamie picked that moment to broach the topic she’d desperately hoped he would avoid.

“I hope ye’re no’ upset about the other day, at the hospital.  I didna mean tae impose or tae... o’erstep the bounds of our relationship.  No’ that we have a relationship, mind,” he hastened to add.  “Only a professional one.  But when I saw ye, I couldna resist introducing ye tae wee Maggie.  I hadna told ye about her yet, and I thought...”

“Jamie, it’s fine,” she cut in, halting his rambling explanation.  “She’s a lovely girl.  They all are.  It’s only that, I’m sort of...”

“Ye’re verra good with them.  Children, that is.  Ye’ll make a fine mother one day.”

All the oxygen left the room at once.  Her heart beat so hard there was a bruised feeling behind her sternum.   Launching to her feet, Claire stumbled blindly away from her desk.  She wanted to run, to scream, but her vision was a narrow chasm and a now-deafening throb filled her ears.  She only made it a few steps before her knees buckled and the carpet floated upwards to meet her.

“Ifrinn!”  Jamie leapt to her side, catching her by the shoulders before her head could hit the floor.  He lowered them both carefully to the ground, resting her body against his lap.  “Sassenach?  Claire?  Can ye hear me?  Do I need tae call an ambulance?”  The words reached her from very far away, but the threat of medical intervention acted like a dose of smelling salts.

“No,” she groaned, the room spinning around her like a kaleidoscope.  “No hospital.  I just... need to eat,” she grasped at the most innocuous explanation for her current state.

Without dislodging her, Jamie stretched his long arm and brought back the small basket of miniature muffins that were the day’s offering from Geillis.  With surprising dexterity, he peeled away the paper one-handed and broke apart a bite-sized morsel, holding it gently against her lips.  Realizing that her dignity couldn’t get any more battered, Claire opened her mouth and allowed Jamie to feed her.  After only a few bites, the buzzing disappeared and she was able to sit up on her own.

“Thank you,” she murmured, afraid to look into his eyes for fear of the pity she knew she’d see there.  “You were right. I  should have eaten lunch, I guess.”

“Claire.”  Jamie made a prose poem of the single syllable of her name.  She looked up at him through her lashes, stunned to find him looking back, not with pity, but with something akin to adoration.  “Mo nighean donn,” he ran a tender hand through her loosened curls.  “Ye need tae care more for yerself.”

“I will.  I’ll try.”  And when she said it to him, she really meant it.  Jamie made the impossible seem probable.

They stared at one another, shoulder to shoulder on the floor of her office.  She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but nor did she move.  Her gaze flitted over his face, noticing a vestige of boyish freckles across the bridge of his nose, a mole hidden in the harvest stubble on his cheek.  Jamie was performing a parallel inventory, eyes finally coming to rest at the level of her mouth.

“Ye’ve got a wee crumb, jus’ there.”  Unconscious, her tongue swept out, triggering a predatory response, twin blue laser beams narrowing on the target she had just painted on her lower lip.

“I... I’d verra much like tae kiss ye, Claire.  May I?”

An amputated moan was all she could manage in response, but Jamie must have understood its meaning.  He bent his head until only a whisper separated them.  The air crackled, sending that extra organ plummeting towards her hollow womb.  Clenching her eyes shut in defeat, she closed the infinitesimal gap until they met in an effervescent caress of lip and tongue.

Cold washed over her skin, bathing her in gooseflesh.  Jamie tasted like he looked; a banquet of fresh, volatile flavours that called to mind a picnic in a meadow, a spray of sea foam, the warmth of hearth and home.  She could feel him trembling against her, his moist breath rushing against her cheek in shallow pants.  For a score of heartbeats, Claire was the happiest she had ever been.  Then, reality crashed down around her.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, pulling away.  “I... this can’t... I’m sorry.”

Jamie leaned back with a mixture of longing and resignation.  She hated adding herself to his list of regrets, but it was for the best.

“I’m your doctor, Jamie.  This isn’t right.”

“Aye, I ken.  I should apologize, but I canna seem tae find it in me tae repent.”

Jamie stood, reaching down to help Claire up as well.  As soon as it was apparent she was able to stand on her own, he dropped her hand as though it burned.  The line between his brows deepened, and she could see the question forming before he gave it voice.

“What if ye werena my doctor?  Would it be right then?”

“That’s neither here nor there, because I am, Jamie.  A relationship between patient and doctor of a romantic nature is ethically off-limits.”

Jamie nodded, apparently accepting her explanation at face value. Her heartbeat calmed.  He moved slowly, gathering his coat and starting to leave.  

“But what if ye weren’t?” he said, facing the door.  “If we’d met at the hospital, or out on the town?”

“I...” she stammered, searching desperately for any answer except for the truth.  “No, Jamie,” she said at last, watching as she destroyed his last bastion of hope.  “I’m sorry.  I just don’t feel that way about you.”

Nodding abruptly, Jamie let himself out of the office.  She listened to his low murmuring voice through the door as he spoke to Geillis, heard him make an appointment for the following week, then the loud snap of the main door closing.  Only then did she allow herself to collapse once more to the floor, angry sobs overtaking her.

***

“Are ye out of yer fuckin’ mind?” Geillis inquired with her usual brutal eloquence.

With the help of a Xanax, Claire had managed to see her last two patients of the day, and only needed to navigate the shoals of her office manager’s ire before she could go home and fully medicate herself into a dreamless sleep.

“Jes so we’re clear, ye want me tae write a letter terminating your services as a doctor an’ suggesting suitable alternative providers?  An’ ye want me tae send this letter, over email, tae Jamie Fraser?”

“That’s right.”  She had determined that icy calm was the best antidote to this conversation, which was fortuitous, since she felt numb all over.

“An’ what reason am I tae give fer this abrupt conclusion tae yer association wi’ Mr. Fraser?”

“I don’t owe him an explanation.  Only sufficient notice and an opportunity to seek counselling elsewhere,” she said, feigning reasonableness.

Pushed past her limits, Geillis rose from behind her desk, a tiny tempest of moral indignation.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, ye are a good friend, a fine doctor an’ a fair employer.  But I swear by the Almighty that if ye dinna drop the façade and tell me wha’ is going on I am going tae smack ye until yer ears ring!”

There was a certain relief in knowing that Geillis wouldn’t take no for an answer.  And unlike Jamie, she knew where Claire lived and would not let her rest until the truth came out.

“He kissed me.  Or rather, I kissed him.  And I liked it!  That’s why, Geillis.”

Her friend’s shoulders sagged, all righteousness gone in an instant.  She reached around Claire’s frame and held her in a bone-crushing one-sided hug.

“Och, hen.  An’ ye figured ye could deal wi’ those pesky feelings by jes, what? firing him as yer patient?”  

“I can’t deal with this right now, Geillis.  I can’t feel the way he makes me feel.  And this practice is all that I have left.  There’s no way I can risk losing it just for an affair that won’t even last the summer.”

She didn’t need to elaborate on her reasons for that dire prediction.  Geillis knew them as well as anyone.

“He’s an intelligent man, Claire. He’s gonna ken something is up.  Moreover, he’s a good man.  He deserves tae hear the truth.”

Shaking her head sadly, Claire walked towards the door.  Just before exiting, she called back softly to her friend.

“Geillis?  Make sure to include Dr. Rafferty’s name on the list of referrals.  I think they’d be a good match.

***

Monday morning dawned with little promise for the fledgling week.  Moving robotically through her weekend routine, Claire thought frequently of chickens.  How their bodies kept moving once their heads were lopped off, nerves and muscle and bone continuing to function for a time despite the fatal blow.

The elevator chimed its arrival on her floor.  As the doors slide open, Jamie was the first thing she saw.  He loomed by her still-locked office, a sun-topped thundercloud gripping a sheet of printer paper.

She’d worn her best black suit and a pair of chunky heels that brought her closer to his height.  Perhaps, on some subconscious level, she’d anticipated this confrontation.  Perversely, she relished it.  Vitriol and deceit didn’t suit her, but it was preferable to feeling absolutely nothing.

“Do ye mind tellin’ me,” Jamie began before she’d even set foot in the hallway, “jus’ what this is about, Claire?” He brandished the paper like a wanted poster.

“I would think it was self-explanatory, actually.  I’m terminating our professional relationship,” she huffed, golden eyes coming to life for the first time since Thursday.

“Via email.  Sent tae me by Miss Duncan, because ye dinna have the guts tae do it yerself.  Christ, Sassenach, even my ninth grade sweetheart didna dump me so cruelly!”

“I’m not your sweetheart!” she burst out, a flood of emotion cresting with her rising anger.  “Don’t call me that!  I was your doctor, Jamie, and now I’m nothing to you.  Nothing.  Just go.  Please.  Just go,” she finished weakly and without any hope that he’d listen.

“All this jus’ because I kissed you?” Jamie persevered.  At her stubborn silence, he continued, “Nah, I dinna think so.  Ye’re many things, Claire, but a coward isna one of them.”

She found this hysterically funny, since a coward was the only role she played to perfection.  She didn’t have time to laugh, however, because Jamie was suddenly standing much closer, forcing her to lift her chin to meet his stormy eyes.

“Nah,” he continued smoothly, a big cat alerted to the smell of its prey.  “If ye’d objected tae the kiss, ye would have told me so.  Read me the riot act or kneed me in the bawls.  I think ye’re scared, Doctor Beauchamp.  I think that kiss terrified ye, because ye realized ye liked it.  Somethin’ ye couldna  plan for in yer wee journal, right there under yer nose.  Bet it made yer heart beat so fast. So fast, jus’ like it is now.”

Jamie’s hand rested gently over the placket of her suit jacket, where he could surely feel the trip hammering of her pulse.

“Please,” she begged.  “Don’t.  I can’t...”

“Can’t what, Sassenach?” he whispered back, goading her.

The truth hung on her lips, and the toll of the past few days meant that she no longer had the strength to stop it from spilling forth.

“Can’t have children.  Ever.  I tried, for years.  Fourteen miscarriages, fourteen lost chances.  And seeing you with those children last week.  I know it’s presumptive, but I could never deny you that chance, Jamie.  That’s why I can’t see you anymore.”

She was looking down, watching the buttons of his shirt rise and fall with his agitated breath, but as she finished speaking, their movement ceased.  Chancing a glance upward, she was stunned by the fury that had overtaken his expression. 

Jamie opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to speak in a gritty growl.

“Mutation of the RUNX1 gene tha’ causes leukemia.  I was tested, along wi’ Jenny an’ Ian, after Maggie was diagnosed.  I have a fifty percent chance of passing it along tae my children.  An’ since I canna stand the thought of ano’er bairn havin’ tae suffer as Maggie has, as soon as I got the test results, I went out an’ had a vasectomy.”

Claire recoiled as though she’d been slapped, a high pitched whine in her ears.

“Ye’re no’ the only one who’s hurting, Claire!” Jamie continued, voice dashing against the rocks of her name.  “We’re no’ meant tae suffer alone.  Ye, of all people, should ken that.”

Stunned in the silence following the thunderclap of his revelation, she couldn’t find the words to express her sorrow, her outrage, and her crippling shame.  By the time the power of speech returned, Jamie was gone. 

[softlass27]

an ibhfc version of emmerdale's first pride (plus another one in the future) to make up for this week's upcoming episodes with aaron and the village's resident kayaking creep

AO3 link here

Pride 2021

“Right, that’ll be £7.99, please.” Victoria pushed Aaron’s lunch towards him.

“Cheers.”

“Oh, almost forgot!” She grabbed a brightly-coloured collection tin that was sitting on the end of the counter. “We’re taking donations for the Pride festival if you’ve got any spare change?”

Aaron frowned. “What Pride festival?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear? Charles is organising it.”

“In the village?”

“Yeah, he says it’s mad that we’ve not had one before. Apparently it was always a big event at his last parish. He’s not wrong, really, it’s about time we did more than your mum sticking a bit of multi-coloured bunting up behind the pub each June.”

“Huh.”

“Think you’ll go? It’s next weekend.”

“I – ”

“From what Charles and Ethan said, it should be fun,” Vic spoke over him, hands waving animatedly. “There’s music, food and games, all sorts! It’s family-friendly too, so you can bring Seb. We can go together if you want? I was planning on meeting up with Matty and Amy but – ”

“Vic, stop for breath would ya?” Aaron huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I'm up for it.”

*

On the morning of the festival, Victoria let herself into Mulberry Cottage and cast an appraising look over Aaron. He shuffled uncomfortably.

“What?”

She gave a quick wave to Seb, who was sitting on the sofa, and looked Aaron up and down again. “That’s what you’re wearing, is it?”

He glanced down at his black t-shirt and jeans. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing! Except, well, it’s not very colourful is it?”

“You’ve known me, what, 13 years? When have you ever seen me do colourful?”

“But it’s Pride!”

“So?”

“Oh come on, you have to get into the spirit of it. Speaking of which – ” She rummaged in her oversized handbag and pulled out a small, light blue article of clothing, passing it over. “I saw this in town and I couldn’t resist.”

As Aaron unfolded it, he realised it was a child-sized pair of dungarees with a bright rainbow stitched across the chest. His mouth quirked upwards.

“Alright, that’s pretty cute.”

“I know, right? Should’ve got something for you too, you big grump.”

The retort Aaron was about to give her was cut off when he felt tug on his trousers and looked down to see Seb standing next to him.

“Is that for me?” He asked, looking at the dungarees with curiosity.

“Yep, Auntie Vic got them for you to wear to Pride today. What d’you say?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. You’d better hurry and get ready, though, or we’ll be late!”

Seb grabbed Aaron’s hand and started tugging him towards the stairs. “Daddy, come on!”

Although he was a little young to quite get what Pride was all about, he’d been full of beans about the whole thing ever since Aaron had told him they were going to a party, especially once he’d found out Isaac and Dotty would be there, too.

“Alright, let’s get you changed.” He looked back at Vic and rolled his eyes. “I’ll get changed, too.”

She grinned at him.

*

“Did you and Robert ever go to Pride?” Vic quietly asked as the four of them made their way to the field where the festival was being held, Seb in his new dungarees and Aaron in the one green t-shirt owned (“It’s a colour that’s on the flag, Vic, that’s as good as you’re getting.”)

“Nah.” Aaron shook his head. “Never got round to it. We used to talk about maybe going to the one in Leeds or something, but somethin’ always came up. Then we'd always say we’d go the next year but… ”

But we ran out of years.

“Yeah.” Vic’s face fell a little and she squeezed Aaron’s hand lightly. “But we’ll have a nice time, won’t we?”

“Daddy, there’s music!” Seb called from where he was walking just in front of them. They could indeed hear the sound of upbeat pop music blasting through a speaker as they got closer to the festival. “Hurry!”

“Coming, mate.” Aaron called after his retreating back, smiling at his enthusiasm. He sighed and squeezed Vic’s hand in return. “Yeah, we’ll have a good time.”

*

Considering Emmerdale’s tiny size, the village’s first Pride event had a pretty good turnout. The festival was full of so much colour and noise that Aaron ended up hoisting Seb up on his hip, slightly wary of losing track of him in among the chaos. The three of them wandered around for a while, taking in the party-like atmosphere and watching Charles and Ethan both make heartfelt speeches on the small stage that had been set up.

At some point Marlon called Victoria's name and she went over to catch up with him and April, leaving Aaron and Seb to carry on exploring alone. The little boy seemed to love it so far, taking in the sights and sounds with increasing delight.

“You wanna get your face painted? Aaron asked, pointing to a tent where Matty and Amy were emerging hand in hand, both of them covered in body paint.

Seb clapped his hands enthusiastically. “Yeah!”

They made their way inside and sat across from a girl who looked barely 20 and was covered head to toe in paint and glitter.

“Hello.” She smiled brightly at Seb, who predictably turned under the attention bashful and tucked himself against Aaron’s chest. She tilted her head down to catch his eye. “What’s your name?”

“Seb.”

“Nice to meet you, Seb, I’m Freya. Do you want some rainbows?”

Seb nodded shyly and sat as still as a three year-old could while she carefully painted a small pride flag on each of his cheeks, Aaron holding his waist to stop him from squirming too much under the tickle of the brush.

“There, all done.” She brandished her brush towards Aaron. “Are we doing your face as well?”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“Yes.” Seb smacked a palm on Aaron’s cheek enthusiastically. “Rainbows for you, too!”

Aaron sighed. The things he did for his son.

“Alright. Do your worst.”

When they emerged from the tent five minutes later and bumped into Vic again, her eyes lit up with glee.

“Aaron Dingle with glitter on his face.” She fumbled frantically for her phone. “Don’t move, I need a photo.”

“No, don’t – ”

“Moira!” Vic ignored him and called over his shoulder. “Both of them, can you believe it?”

Aaron turned around to see Moira coming towards them with Cain just behind her – Cain whose cheek was adorned with a rainbow flag identical to Aaron’s. He let out a snort that had Cain’s eyes narrowing dangerously at him.

“Not a word out of ya.”

“Wow, how’d they get you?”

“This one made me.” Cain gestured to Isaac, who dropped his hand to run towards Seb, the two of them immediately chasing each other in circles around the adults' legs.

“Come on, you two!” Moira was stood next to Vic, both their phones held up. “Smile!”

Neither of them smiled, but they let them take a couple of snaps.

“Perfect,” Moria smirked down at her screen and turned the phone so Aaron could see a photo of himself and Cain both with matching scowls and rainbows on their faces. “This one’s going on the fridge.”

*

“You have fun today?” Aaron asked Seb as he carried him home.

Seb’s arms were wrapped loosely around Aaron’s neck and he could barely keep his eyes open, exhausted like most of the other kids in the village. The daytime part of the festival was over, only the child-free people sticking around into the night to keep drinking and dancing.

“Mhm,” Seb hummed tiredly, head flopping around on Aaron’s shoulder. “C’n we do it again?”

“If they do another one next year, then yeah. We can go again.”

He unlocked the door to Mulberry Cottage one-handed, depositing Seb on the sofa and carefully easing his shoes off. He glanced at the photos on the mantlepiece, Robert’s smiling face looking back at him. Aaron straightened up and moved to stand in front of them, adjusting one of the frames slightly.

“Finally went to Pride,” he said quietly. “Can you believe it?”

Just wish you could’ve come with me.

****

Pride 2025

“Morning!” Vic let herself into Mulberry Cottage, Harry in tow. “Happy Pride.”

“Happy Pride!” Seb shouted back from where he was fiddling with Molly’s rainbow-coloured leash (a purchase he’d talked Aaron into making from one of the stalls the previous year).

“Hiya.” Aaron jogged down the stairs. “Thought you’d be goin' with Ryan this year. He’s got the girls, right?”

“Yeah, we're spending the day together but I told him that me and Harry would meet him there. Us lot always go to Pride together, I’m not breaking tradition now.” She gave Aaron’s blue jeans and red t-shirt an approving nod. “Wow, red and blue this year. Really pushing the boat out.”

“Shut up, you.”

“Where’s that brother of mine?”

“He was just dropping some stuff from the cafe off at the festival, cakes and sandwiches an’ that. Said he’d come back before we set off, though.”

“Well he’d better hurry himself up, I don’t wanna miss whoever Ethan’s got opening the festival this year. And it’s Robert's first one, we can’t be late!”

“Alright, keep your hair on.” Robert appeared in the doorway, nudging past her to come inside. “You can’t be late to a festival, Vic, they’re sort of all day things.”

“You get the food sorted alright?” Aaron asked, shoving his wallet and phone into his pockets.

“Yeah, Jimmy and Nicola are all set up. They’ve roped Angelica into helping out, poor kid.” Robert ruffled Harry's hair before grabbing a bottle of suncream from the coffee table and kneeling down in front of Seb. “Right, suncream on then we can go.”

“I can do it myself,” Seb protested, batting Robert’s hands away from his face.

“Hm. See, I believed you when you said that at the beach the other weekend and we ended up coming home with you looking like a lobster. Keep still.”

Seb sighed and let Robert rub suncream all over him with only a bit of squirming, giggling when Robert finished by poking him sharply in the ribs.

“Dad, not on my t-shirt!” He said, smoothing a protective hand over his new rainbow-striped top. “Don’t get it dirty.”

“Alright, you big fusspot,” Robert teased, kissing him on the head and rising to his feet.

“Leave him alone, you’re no better,” Vic said with a tut. “Right, come on. Chop chop!”

She opened the door to let both Seb and Harry run outside, following closely behind them. Aaron picked up Molly’s leash and held out a hand to Robert.

“Ready?”

Robert grinned and took it.

“Let’s do it.”

*

The thing about Charles and Ethan was, they always had to one-up themselves. Aaron had no idea how they did it, but every year they somehow managed to increase their budget enough to make Emmerdale Pride bigger and better until now, four years on, the first festival they held looked tiny in comparison. Huge crowds of people swarmed the village, taking in the countless stalls, games, music, drag acts and and live bands playing all day. There were even a few rides this year.

As they made their way through the madness, Aaron gave Robert a quick nudge.

“Okay?”

They were only in the village and they knew a lot of the people there, but there were still some days where Robert and large crowds didn’t mix well. Thankfully, it seemed that today wasn't one of those days, as Robert shot him a small smile and nodded.

“I’m good.”

“Dads!” Seb shouted, running back to tug both their hands. “Can we do the face-painting first?”

Robert let out a mock groan. “Do I have to?”

“If I’m not getting out of it, neither are you,” Aaron muttered.

“Doesn’t have to be rainbows,” Seb said to Robert, shrugging matter-of-factly. “You can get the bisexual colours if you want?”

Aaron watched Robert’s eyes widen ever-so slightly in surprise, before he nodded and let Seb lead him towards to the face-painting tent.

*

After a few hours of exploring and mingling with the other villagers, Aaron and Robert collapsed with a couple of pints at one of the picnic tables, both of them in need of a breather. They’d picked a spot in the shade, keeping half an eye on Seb playing with a group of other kids while they listened to the band currently playing on the stage. Molly drank from the bowl of water they’d put down on the grass for her, before jumping up into Robert’s lap.

After sitting in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Aaron took a long, cooling gulp of his pint and looked away from Seb to glance at Robert. His husband was absently stroking Molly, watching the festival with a slightly pensive look on his face that made Aaron’s brow furrow.

“You alright?”

Robert blinked and turned to look at him. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“If you're tired, we can go home, y'know.”

Robert gave him a reassuring squeeze on the wrist. “I know. Honestly, it's nothing, just... ” He trailed off and stared once more at the festivities around them. “Could you ever have imagined anythin’ like this in the village when we were growing up?”

That was an easy question to answer.

“No.”

Aaron knew for a fact that the teenage version of him would have never imagined in his wildest dreams seeing the village transformed this way, decked out in bright colours, full of people like him, every resident open and accepting. And he knew the idea would’ve seemed even less likely when Robert was a teenager.

“Bet your dad’s rolling in his grave.”

Robert barked a surprised laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

They watched the party for another couple of minutes, then Robert nodded towards where Seb was tackling Dotty in an overly-enthusiastic game of tag.

“I’m glad that he gets to grow up in this version of the village,” he said softly. “Whether he turns out to be straight or gay or bi – whatever – I don’t want him to ever be scared of being different, like you an’ me were back in the day.”

“Don’t say ‘back in the day’, makes us sound ancient.”

“Well if you keep complaining about your back aching every time we – ”

“Oi!” Aaron gave his shoulder a punch, before trailing his hand down his arm to link their fingers together as they both watched Seb. “Yeah, me too. It is different for him, he knows he can be whoever he wants here. No one’s gonna have a go at him over who he does or doesn’t fancy. And he knows we love him no matter what.”

“Course he does.”

Robert grinned warmly at him and leaned across the table to press his lips to Aaron’s. The two of them kissed lazily until Molly jumped up between them to lick at both their chins and they broke away with a laugh.

“Can't go more than five minutes without needing attention, can you?” Robert pulled her back into his lap, scratching her behind the ears until she settled again. The pink, purple and blue stripes on his face were smudged from where Aaron’s thumb had just rubbed over his cheekbone.

“Sounds like someone I know.”

“Piss off.”

Aaron drained the last of his pint and put the glass to one side, resting his elbows on the table. “Good first Pride, then?”

“Great first Pride.” Robert quirked an eyebrow at him. “It’ll be even better if we carrying on celebrating at home. Y’know, once the kid’s in bed.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Think we've got a bottle of champers in the fridge; I say we crack that open, take it upstairs and then – ”

“Daddy!” Seb ran up to them, grabbing Aaron’s elbow with a pleading look in his eyes. “Can we go on the dodgems? Isaac says him and Uncle Cain are going on.”

Aaron groaned and stretched his arms over his head. “Right now?”

“Yeah, we have to get them!”

Aaron huffed a laugh and dropped his arms. “Well in that case.” He paused and turned to Robert. “Unless you’d rather have a go?”

Robert shook his head rapidly. “Nah, me and Molly are good here, we'll save the table. Go crash some cars, boy racer.”

“Come on, then.”

As they headed in the direction of the bumper cars, Aaron looked back to see Vic appearing at Robert’s side, looking a little tipsy as she sat down next to him. By the time they were standing in the queue for the ride with Cain and Isaac, he could see the Sugden siblings had been joined by Ryan and his girls, plus Diane and Harry, all of them piling onto the table and surrounding them. Robert was laughing at something Ryan was saying, eyes crinkling. When he saw Aaron watching, he shot him a small wave. He looked happy and content, and the sight of it made something warm settle in Aaron's chest.

It wasn't his first Pride, but it was the best one he'd had so far.

“Dad,” Seb piped up, grabbing his attention. “It's our turn”

“Alright, let’s show Cain and Isaac how it's done.”

[fantasyfan]

Coming Out: Nico di Angelo Oneshot

Summary: Nico summons Bianca to talk to her, and ends up spilling a lot more than he intended to. Characters: Nico and Bianca di Angelo, Hades Slightly angsty

(I apologize in advance if I get any Italian wrong, or put the words in the wrong place. I only used two words, but Google Translate was used for both of them.)  There also might be some italics missing, since I copy pasted from Google Docs, so apologies and if you think an italic is needed, reply to the post or smthn and I’ll add it. 

Without further ado, here it is!

12-year-old Nico sat on his bed, head in his hands. The Labyrinth was gone, and the battle was over, gone and over like all the praise he received. 

For once, Nico had been a part of the camp; he’d sat around the campfire, eaten and laughed, having fun. 

But all it took was a week for the excitement to die down, and the other campers became wary of him.

He was only 12, for Gods’ sake! Why were they so scared? Sure, he was a son of Hades, but Percy was a son of Poseidon (and older than himself, Nico might add), yet they all gushed over him.

This annoyed Nico to no end, so eventually, he found his way to his father’s palace, back to his old room. The one Hades had offered him after he ran away from Camp Half-Blood. 

The room was hardly touched. Nico had only spent a few days here before running off, trying to find a way to bring his sister back. 

Of course he’d been convinced to let her rest at peace. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to talk to her.

“Bianca,” he greeted softly, reaching out to touch her before drawing his hand back, reminding himself he couldn’t. 

“Nico,” Bianca smiled, brushing ghostly lips over his forehead. “Mio fratello.”

Nico closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, trying to imagine that Bianca was really here with him, in a physical body instead of a ghostly one.

Sighing, he sat back down on the bed. Bianca was here, able to talk to him at least. He couldn’t resurrect her, so speaking to her was the next best option. 

His mind subconsciously piece things together and he had a horrible thought. Panic shot through him as he jumped up and tried to grab Bianca by her shoulders, hands falling right through her image.

Gritting his teeth, Nico crammed his hands into his pockets and instead fixed Bianca with the most serious gaze he could muster.

“Are you going to reincarnate?” Though they were hidden from sight, deep in his jean pockets, Nico’s hands were clenched tightly into fists, knuckles white. In his head, he said a prayer to the Gods who screwed up his life so badly, hoping with all his might that his sister would say no. 

“Oh Nico,” Bianca began, looking at him regretfully, eyes filled with sadness. 

That was all the answer he needed. Trying to control his panic and the tears threatening to form, Nico clenched his hands even tighter. Nails cut into skin, and the son of Hades could feel blood seeping out from underneath his fingers. Even worse than that was the fact that even Nico himself could feel the absolute fear radiating off him. 

If Bianca reincarnated, then he would fully, truly, lose her. She was his only family, and Nico felt tears pricking his eyes at the thought of being completely alone.

“Don’t.” It was all he said, biting his lip to try and keep the tears from escaping.

Bianca stared at him in surprise, and Nico realized what he just said probably sounded like to his sister. 

Reminding himself that no matter what he wanted, it was his sister’s (regretfully ended, now ghost) life, and he couldn’t guilt her into staying in Elysium forever, just so he could be happy.

“Don’t answer my question,” Nico whispered, voice cracking. 

It was what he meant, when he said ‘Don’t’ but certainly not what he wanted. “Don’t tell me, Bianca. Not now, and not before you go.” 

Breathing sharply, his nails were now digging even deeper into the wounds they had inflicted. The pain was the tipping point for the tears that had been gathering in his eyes, and he began to cry, biting his tongue in a fruitless attempt to hold them back.

Gasping as he unclenched his fists, Nico drew his hands out of his pockets. There were four cuts on his right palm, each around the size of a fingernail. Identical wounds were on his left hand, and Nico bit his lip, watching as blood slowly seeped out, crimson red against his pale skin.

“Nico!” Bianca frowned, biting her lip in concern as she reached out for his injuries before realizing she couldn’t help.

That gesture hurt even more than his palms, and Nico clenched his teeth to keep his silent tears at that volume.

Trying to still his desperately shaking hands, Nico pulled open the nightstand drawer. Inside were squares of ambrosia and bottles of nectar that Hades had put for him, and Nico silently thanked his father. 

Pouring the golden liquid over his hands, Nico could feel cuts slowly closing, and the physical pain was soon gone with the injuries. 

Emotional hurt was harder to fix, and usually couldn’t be resolved with Gods’ food. That didn’t mean Nico wouldn’t try though, so he lifted the bottle to his mouth and took careful sips of the golden liquid. 

Pulling some ambrosia out as well, he slowly ate it, restricting himself so he didn’t accidentally burn up from consuming too much of the Gods’ food.

By the time Nico was done, the yellow square was gone, as was about half the bottle of nectar. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked back at his sister, who had patiently waited while her brother silently sobbed while taking swigs of nectar and bites of ambrosia. 

She was sitting on the bed next to him, handout of pure spite and anger, he cursed that Bianca was able to touch the bed but not him.

Using the (now) healed palm of his hand to brush away stray tears, Nico cleared his throat. 

“Bianca, since um, you’re not, uh, not,” his voice cracked and he stumbled over his words, but Nico forged on. “Since you’re not going to be here much longer, I figured I might as well make the most out of this time.” 

Before Bianca could say something to comfort him, Nico blurted it out. “I’m gay.” 

A ghost of a smile appeared on his sister’s face, and she reached out as if to touch his face, cup it with her hands like she used to.

“It’s okay, mio fratello.” She moved closer to him, and Nico could swear he felt her breath by his ear. “I am too,” Bianca breathed. 

Nico managed to somehow choke on nothing, beginning to gasp and wheeze as he clawed at his throat. Vigorously coughing, he stared at his sister in shock as he pounded his chest, trying to get air in.

Bianca nearly burst out in raucous laughter, but with a lot of struggling, she managed to keep it to a few quiet giggles. 

When he was finally able to speak, Nico simply choked out, “You are?” before blushing so hard he looked like he was still choking. 

“Yes, Nico, I am.” Binaca smiled, though looked slightly concerned at his reddening face and so pointed to the bottle of nectar on the drawer. 

Nico took a sip of the drink, letting the cool liquid run down his tortured throat, which hurt like hell from his (concerningly long) coughing fit.

Bianca snarkily pointed to the closet while her brother drank, smirking. “Do you want to try this the proper way?” she asked, batting her eyelashes innocently.

Nico rolled his eyes but complied, chuckling as he slipped into the closet. He stayed there for a good minute before bursting out, wearing a colourful pride shirt with many accessories.

“I’m gay, Gods dammit!” he screeched, looking like a rainbow in the cemetery, with his messy black hair and pale skin. 

Bianca burst out laughing at the thought, proudly watching her brother as ghostly tears (Ghosts can cry. Who knew?) threatened to trickle down her cheeks.

“I’m not going to ask where you got those things,” she smiled, pretending to brush an unruly curl from his forehead. The two of them ignored the fact that the hair stayed right where it was when her hand passed straight through it.

“Nico, go show Hades. Tell him.” Nico’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open like a fish’s. Bianca smiled again, her brother’s facial features hilarious. “Nico, I’m serious though. Come on, before your courage wanes.” 

“Why should I tell him?” Nico asked, scoffing as he turned away. The two had been chatting for a few minutes about all the troubles of being gay when Bianca ruined the mood by demanding he tell their father.

“Nico.” His sister’s voice forced him to look at her, straight into translucent eyes. “I’m not your only family. When I’m gone, you still have Hades.” She chose not to add the part about how Camp Half-Blood could be his family too, if he let them get closer. One step at a time.

“Hades,” Nico snarled, putting as much venom as he could in the name, “killed our mother. Hades put us in this situation.”

He knew that neither of those were true, but said them anyway; truthfully, he was just scared, finding excuses so he wouldn’t have to tell his father.

“Nico,” Bianca sighed quietly. Eyebrows raising for a second as she began to fade, Bianca quickly understood what was happening.“You’ve summoned me for far too long already, I have to go.” Nico let out a strangled sound, restraining himself from reaching out to try and keep her here with him, because he knew it would be useless. 

“It was lovely talking to you again, and I’m sure that Father will say the same when you tell him.” Nico’s lips thinned and he frowned, and Bianca knew that look well. “Please, for me, mio fratello?” She asked, voice barely audible as she faded away, back in Elysium.

Nico could never resist it when his sister spoke in Italian. It would only be used when she was expressing extreme admiration or happiness, which was why he absolutely melted when Bianca called him ‘mio fratello.’ 

That was also why he was tugging on a jacket to cover his pride shirt, buttons, pins, and bracelets as he went to find Hades.

Besides, what kind of brother would he be if he didn’t grant his sister’s last, true, dying wish? Nico felt like Bianca had been waiting for him to summon her one last time before choosing to be reborn. To let them have one more conversation before she was truly gone.

Pushing that thought away, Nico wandered the halls of Hades’ vast palace, looking in every room for the God himself.

“Father?” Nico finally picked the right room, opening the door to find Hades in a chair, reading a book.

“Yes?” He didn’t even bother to look up from whatever he was reading, and that slightly deflated Nico’s already waning confidence. 

“I have something to tell you.” Anxiously shifting from foot to foot in the doorway, Nico awaited his father’s response. 

Eyebrows raising by a fraction, Hades raised a hand, beckoning his son into the room. Nervously shuffling in, Nico stood a good meter away from the God of the Underworld, afraid. 

Not that the distance would do much since, well, Hades was the God of the Underworld.

“Do continue,” his father drawled, idly flipping a page as he spoke. 

“It’s kind of a serious confession,” Nico mumbled, almost visibly shaking from having to restrain himself from turning tail and running, as well as the feeling of absolute terror bubbling in his stomach.

Still not bothering to look up, Hades rolled two fingers, gesturing for him to continue.

“I’m...g-ga-” Nico stuttered, already feeling his face heat up. It took him a good minute to compose himself and finish his short sentence, during which Hades hardly blinked an eye at the awkwardness. “I’m gay,” he finally managed to choked out, voice barely above a whisper.

Immediately, Nico began to panic. His dad was the literal God of the Underworld, so even if he died, then he could still be sent to the Fields of Punishment. Afterall, who cared about the small Italian boy enough to argue with a God?

Bianca cares, he reminded himself. But she’s dead, you idiot! She’s a ghost, and going to be reborn soon. If you go to the Field of Punishment, what will she be able to do?

Panic overwhelmed him, and Nico was on the verge of hyperventilating. Until his father spoke and somehow calmed every nerve in his body.

“Okay.” That was it. One syllable to assure Nico that everything was alright. His breathing slowed, but he wasn’t so easily convinced that Hades was okay with him being gay.

“Father, I don’t think you heard me properly. Perhaps you were distracted with reading? I said I was gay.” Unzipping his jacket, Nico let it fall to the floor and made wild gestures at his clothes and accessories. 

“Nico, I heard you fine. What’s your confession?” Hades’ eyes flicked up but he hardly seemed surprised at the rainbow wear, going back to read his book right after looking.

“I…” Nico stared in disbelief. Was Hades just dismissing his coming out as if it were a regular occurrence? Dismissing the fact that he was gay as though it hadn’t been something that Nico had fought tooth and nail to keep secret?

“Nico?” The God prompted, flipping another page.

“That’s it. That was the confession,” Nico whispered. “I’m gay. That’s the confession.” For the first time in their (admittedly short) conversation, Hades properly looked up from his book, frowning at Nico. 

“That’s your confession?”

The boy silently nodded, looking at his feet. “Well, I...I thought you’d be mad or something.” 

“Mad at the fact you’re gay.” Hades (somehow) looked Nico in the eyes (even though he was staring at the floor as though it were the most interesting thing in the world) for confirmation, and he nodded again.

Sighing, Hades closed his book and stood, gently placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m not and won’t be mad.” 

“Really?” NIco gasped, looking up at him with shining eyes.

“Of course,” Hades scoffed. “There’s no way you can be more gay than Apollo, and he’s been my nephew for thousands of years.” He paused for a second before summoning a chair. “That reminds me. You are long overdue for a Greek Mythology review if you think that I, a Greek God, would have a problem with a gay son.”

[twoidiotwriters1]

Post-credits scene II (Iron)

Words: 1,931

Chapter 11  Chapter 12

Masterlist

2011

Part of the deal to train Lily is for an agent to be aware that each aspect is carried out according to the directions of S.H.I.E.L.D. The little girl, hearing this, did her best to make that agent just be Natasha. Although she did not imagine what she was waiting for her.

The thump of her body against the ground is not so loud, but that doesn’t mean it was less painful.

"If this had been real, you would be dead,” says Nat looking at the girl.

"I can't feel my body,” she complains she dramatically.

"Time's up," says Tony arriving at his new home gym. He approaches the ring. “Come on, Kid. It's movie time.”

"I can’t, I’m dead.”

Nat laughs, Tony watches her.

"I know you and Fury are trying to turn my daughter into James Bond, but even I think this is too much."

“We’re not trying to turn her into nothing. This is just for her to be prepared."

“Whatever," replies Tony, Lily is slowly exiting the ring. "C'mon, spykid.”

After a bath, Happy, Pepper, Tony and Lily get ready in front of the TV to see the next Star Wars movie.

"Have fun!" Nat yells as she walks out of the room.

“Wait!" says Lily getting up from the couch. She runs to the redhead. “Don't you want to see the movie with us? We have popcorn.”

"Honey, I think Natasha has things to do," says Pepper.

Lily looks at Nat with a pout. She laughs.

"Which movie?"

"The return of the jedi.”

"Star Wars?"

Lily nods.

“You'll stay?"

“Sure."

Lily takes her hand and guides her to the individual chair, hands her a blanket, and goes back to her place.

"Why doesn't it surprise me that the Starks are geeks?"

"Hey!" Tony exclaims. "I'm just trying to teach my daughter culture,” He excuses himself when he sees Nat's mocking smile.

From that moment on, movie night has been held twice a month and Natasha is always invited, regardless of whether it is training day or not.

***

"I'm not sure about this," says Lily shivering on the edge of the pool. She has floaties on each arm.

"Easy, I'll be with you,” affirms Happy.

Lily's heart is pounding, she can hear it. She had never been near a pool before.

She slowly sits on the shore and tucks her legs in, feeling the warm water.

“We'll go little by little,” says Happy taking her hands. He pulls and she falls into the water.

"No!" She squeals clinging to the man's body.

"Lily, calm down, I won't let you go, I promise…”

"Class is over,” She says.

"We haven't even started!”

"I see that we’ve progressed,” says Nat walking towards them.

"C'mon, Smarty. Don't you want to show Nat how great you are?" Happy tries to cheer her up.

"I'm not a little girl anymore,” She complains, moving away a little. "And I don't need to prove anything to anyone," She frowns.

"Well said," Nat adds.

“Okay," says Happy defensively.

Lily nods, but then she remembers where she is. She squeals and hugs Happy again, making him laugh. The abrupt movement makes her a little dizzy.

"C'mon, Lils. The floaties will help,” encourages Nat.

"I don't think it's a good idea," She answers, blinking. Her vision begins to blur.

"Trust a little," continues Happy.

Lily sighs and loosens her grip on him. Little by little Happy takes her away to know how to use her arms and legs. She holds onto the shore while Happy swims to show her his movements.

She sighs, shakes her head trying to focus her gaze, thinking that it was her nerves that caused that.

"Your turn,” says Happy.

Lily gets into the position and with awkward movements begins to swim slowly, she smiles.

"I'm doing it!" She squeals. Nat and Happy celebrate behind her, but her excitement ends as their voices grow farther and farther away until they are replaced by a high-pitched, piercing beep.

She gasps and stops. This time, she feels a pressure in her chest, which started with a strong heartbeat, now it seems that her heart is getting weaker.

"I don't feel good," She whispers. Her eyelids weigh down on her and she loses her vision fast. Her weakened body slips away.

"Lily?" shouts Happy when he sees her still in the middle of the pool.

Nat frowns and walks to the other side, she kneels when she’s in front of Lily.

"Lils?" She calls her.

Both adults panic when the girl stops moving. Natasha jumped into the water to help her, Happy swims towards them. The redhead takes Lily and climbs her up, neither wasting time to get her out of it.

The door of the mansion is open, Tony runs to see Natasha trying to make the girl react.

"What the heck happened?" Tony demands kneeling on the other side.

"She was swimming and suddenly she didn't move,” explains Happy, upset.

"Jarvis," says Tony.

“Apparently her body had a reaction against the water, sir. Her pulse is stable now, but I register a drastic change in molecular compounds,” reports Jarvis.

Lily slowly opens her eyes.

"Kid?" Tony calls. She turns to see him. She inhales deeply and exhales trying to speak. He leans in to hear her better.

"I can't move,” She whispers.

"What?" Happy asks.

"Do you put any other chemicals in the pool?" Nat asks.

“No, and that doesn't make sense. You would also have some reaction,” He answers confused.

He takes Lily in his arms, the four enter the mansion.

Thanks to Tony's technology and intelligence -with the help of S.H.I.E.L.D.- They discover that Lily cannot be in large amounts of water. The pool, the sea, she can't even spend a long time in a tub.

"I told you it was not a good idea,” says Lily taking the mug of hot chocolate that Happy gives her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was going to be so bad," He says. He sits on another bench next to her.

"Don't worry, I didn't know it either,” She adjusts the blanket that surrounds her.

They both drink chocolate, waiting for Pepper to finish scolding and asking Tony a thousand things. Ever since she found out what happened, she hasn't stopped yelling at Tony and hugging Lily.

***

"Fix your eyes on the mannequin," Nat says behind the girl.

Now both are in a special room of S.H.I.E.L.D, something similar to a shooting range, the difference is in the fire extinguishers in the back.

“Now," Continues the redhead. "Imagine flame in your hands, feel it, do not stop the tickling.”

Lily sighs and obeys. A soft flame spreads in the palms of her hands.

"Don't limit yourself, nothing bad will happen," She assures.

The flame increases in size.

"Concentrate and launch it towards your goal.”

Lily takes her time. She pushes the invasive thoughts away from her. As if it were baseball, she throws the fire at the mannequin. The projectile hits the target's chest directly. The girl smiles satisfied, she turns to her left, meeting Nat's smile.

“Again."

**

"I was thinking.”

"I hear you,” answers Nat.

“The guns are supposed to have a spark. They can produce fire.”

“Correct."

“So, do you think I can stop the bullet from coming out? As soon as the spark is produced, make the bullet explode?"

Nat frowns.

“We could try, with certain measures, but not for now. What made you think that?"

“You’ve told me that this is all to defend myself,” She shrugs. “Many times someone will try to hurt me with a simple gun. I did some research on the structure of one and came across that."

“It’s good to learn things about your enemy.”

"How do you know who your enemy is?" She looks right into her eyes. “You've told me that I should not trust anyone except my family, but how do I know that someone is my enemy and who wants to be my friend?"

Nat sighs.

“For now, I can help you with that and I know Tony will too. It's not easy, Lils. That's why I told you not to trust anyone. It’s complicated, but you should always be aware of who tries to enter your life. We will not always be with you, so you must keep an eye out.”

The girl nods, processing.

"C'mon, just one exercise and you can take your break.”

“Finally!"

***

Outside the facility, Natasha looks closely at the girl.

“I saw the video in a workshop where you made something similar to a shield. I want you to do it again,” demands Nat from the other side of the glass.

“But I don't know how I did it."

"What did you think when it happened?"

“Well, the armor was going to explode near me. I thought: I don't want to die!"

The agents monitoring the exercise and Nat laugh.

"That works. Think that again. We have practiced, now I want you to imagine fire as protection.”

"That makes no sense. The fire only hurts,” replies Lily.

“Fire also serves as survival, light, warmth, and protection. Imagine a shield, remember what you told me about that night.”

“Good," the girl sighs.

She closes her eyes, remembers the orange particles around her, the thin layer that protected her from the big explosion.

"Good girl,” says Nat.

Lily opens her eyes. The shield surrounds her, almost touching her skin, but it doesn't last long.

“Again."

***

“Kid, come to the workshop. I have a surprise for you,” says Tony from the intercom in Lily's room.

"Did you make me an armor?" She sits on her bed quickly.

“Nice try, but no."

She follows his voice and enters the workshop.

“What's the surprise?"

“This," says Tony standing up from the chair. In his hands he shows a black suit, similar to what surfers or divers wear. She frowns without understanding. Tony rolls his eyes. “I designed it to withstand high temperatures. I could see the expense on my card when replacing a half of your clothes.”

"They were accidents,” She defends.

“Well, they won't happen anymore. Try it on,” He says, holding out the suit. She goes to the bathroom and in minutes she comes back. She caresses the soft, flexible material. “How is it?"

"It's comfortable,” She says moving.

"Are you trying to burn it?"

She looks at him in surprise.

“You sure?"

“You're supposed to have it under control now, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah,” She answers nervously.

"Just try to burn the sleeve.”

Lily concentrates, makes a small flame and puts it on the opposite sleeve. She waits a few seconds and then pulls it away from her. The material of the suit resists.

“It’s a good start. I did several tests, I guess in time we’ll know for sure. I’ll ask the super agents to do more.”

"Do I have to use it all the time?"

"If you don't want to burn your clothes, yes.”

“Fine,” She looks towards her desk. "What are you doing?"

“Investigating," He answers returning to his seat. She follows him.

Desktop screens display many pages and reports along with some photos of a WWII soldier.

"Who is he?"

“Steve Rogers. Captain America. Fury gave me some files on a possible team."

“But he was in the war. Why do you want him now?” She asks without taking her eyes off the files.

Tony watches her, he knows that face. He knows that won't be her only question.

"Sit down, Flower. It's time for a lesson.”

Taglist:

@silenthappyplace​​​​ @yourbonesareinmybody​​​ @aylauwuuniverse    @skittles-skittles​​​ @hufflepuffzutara​​​ @poetryislife0715 @21bruhs​​​ @heavenlymistakes​​​ @my-love-of-books​​​ @dielgonacoffee​

[wtnrscap]

Cursed Words- Freight Car

Pairings- Bucky Barnes x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Bruce Banner, mentions of past Natasha Romanoff x Clint Barton, mentions of past Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes.

Summary- Bucky begs a favour as the last week of treatment approaches. Steve offers you advise and the words become no more.

Warnings- (18+) Mentions of blood, death, injury detail, PTSD, panic and anxiety attacks. Swearing, fluff. Dirty talk, dirty fantasies. Eventual smut.

A/N- Accidentally brought past Stucky into this. Yes, it’s a lousy way to get the freight car in there. Offically, this is the last chapter but there’s also a smut epilogue to come and then, although it may be badly written, you’ll see the effects of reading fanfiction for 5 years. I am opening a permanent taglist for future fanfictions as well as putting writing on hold to sort out my masterlists. This will all be done when this series over, so don’t worry yet. 

Also, look out for the Infinity War line! Taglist is open. Prompts list is here.

Cursed Words Masterlist

A small smile brightens your face as Steve reads the last word slowly. A few seconds later and Bucky produces a shaky thumbs-up.  You sigh in relief, “Did that just happen? Did with just have a successful run?”

Steve nods his head and you squeal, jumping into his arms, hugging him tightly. Bruce releases the door as Tony pats you on the shoulder, “Which means the last stage of the treatment has arrived.”

“Reassociation...” the four of you say simultaneously. A brief silence. Slowly, you turn back to Steve as Bucky staggers out of the cell, “Guess you’d better pick some really strong memories, Cap. Ready to go, Bucky?”

Bucky nods his head. When you got back off the holiday, he’d insisted on walking himself out the cell. Something about building up strength and resistance. You hadn’t really been listening due to the fact he’d been parading around the military uniform again, trying it on for size. Or so he claimed. It wasn’t like the dreamy look you’d had on your face had gone unnoticed. 

The cast had been off for 3 weeks and although Helen had told you to take things easy, you’d been wondering when you and Bucky would have sex. He’d said as soon as your leg was free but then changed his plan. He wanted the treatment to be completely finished. Which left you extremely sexually frustrated. Especially when he walked around in those stupidly tight shirts.

“Doll, you with me?” Bucky voice jolts you and you smile, clasping his hand and making your way back to his room, which, frankly, was more yours now.

-

“How are you feeling?” you ask as Bucky climbs out of the shower and you close the floor-length drapes. He shrugs and pulls on a grey shirt, the short hair falling across his forehead. When he’d had the long hair, hiding his eyes has been his defence mechanism but he couldn’t hide from you any longer. You sign, walking over to him and brushing the hair away, “You look tired.”

“I am almost 100, Y/N...”

“Really? What’s your secret?” 

Bucky chuckles and you smile, sitting cross-legged on the bed, “What do you wanna watch? I really wanna finish the Harry Potter films so we can start Fantastic Beasts and--”

“Can I ask you something?” interrupts Bucky, his eyes no longer meeting yours. Immediately you can tell that something is wrong. A metal hand touches yours, “Please?”

“Yeah... yeah, of course. Anything...” a smile to hide the worry. He’d never know.

Bucky bites his lips slightly and you cup his cheek with your hand, “Stop overthinking. We’ve been together a few months. I trust you. Just ask me already.”

“Okay... Um... You know we have to do the reassociation bit?”

“Yes...”

“Well... I don’t want Steve to do it...”

“Bucky, who else is going to do it? You don’t have powerful memories with anyone else and--”

“You.”

Your mind goes blank, “What?”

“I want you to do it. We’ve known each other for a few years and have been dating a few months. My memories with you are so powerful. I daresay more powerful than the ones I have with Steve. Please. Can you do this one thing for me? As a favour?”

To you, it feels as though the world has stopped turning. How could he ask you to do something like this? Did he really think you’d just agree?

You shake your head, “No. Absolutely not.”

“Baby... Come on... I need this...”

You stand and go to the window your heart pounding. At his words, you snap your head around to stare at him in disbelief, tears slipping down your cheeks, “DON’T YOU DARE ‘BABY’ ME! I don’t care if you need this, Buck. What if it didn’t work, or went wrong? It would be my fault! I can’t do this for you! I’m sorry. Steve has already said yes, and you should be grateful for it!”

He stands too, arms outreaching, “Okay... Okay... I’m sorry. I want you to do this. I trust you completely. I know you won’t mess it up, but if you don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I urge you to sleep on it, but it’s your call, I promise. Just come back to bed, please.”

Admitting defeat, you slip back beneath the covers and Bucky turns the bedside lamp off, his arms slipping around you, “I love you, Y/N...”

“I love you too, Buck. I’m sorry I can’t be enough. I’m sorry I can’t be what you want.”

“You are more than enough, more than I deserve. You are all I want...”

-

Tony and Bruce allow Bucky a few weeks rest, letting memories be made and giving his mind a chance to reset. Bucky lapped up the relaxation. Weeks of electrifying torture and yet he still seemed to wear a bright smile.

You, on the other hand, were not happy. Bucky continued to ask you say the words for him. He’d ask on Monday, you’d say no and he’d ask again on Wednesday. The days were counting down till the last week of treatment and Bucky could no longer he wasn’t worried. He was getting desperate. So he went to the one other person he could rely on.

“Steve, please! I need you to convince her!” Bucky cries and Steve sighs, putting his head in his hands, “Why can’t you?”

“I’ve tried and now she’s starting to avoid me! And you’re her best friend and we both know that there is a big difference between friends and lovers!”

Steve flushes, remembering the summer of 1935 and the time he spent with Bucky. There was no going back to that relationship, but neither Steve nor Bucky had regretted it, as it had helped to develop them as people. He sighs again, “Okay, okay, I’ll talk to her.”

“Thank you!”

-

You sit on the roof watching the sun go down. It’s crazy to you that just a few months ago you had your first date with Bucky here. So much had happened since then. You sigh, fingering the dog tags, the last of the sun rays dancing across your face. A voice calls out to you, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Steve sits next to you on the ledge and you lean into him, nodding your head, “Yeah. I like it up here. Gives me a chance to think.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Bucky asked me to read the words.”

“Yeah, he told me about that. Apparently, you said no. Wanted me to do it.”

You nod your head, but it’s halfhearted. Steve notices, “Oh, you’re actually considering it.”

“I’ve had time to think about it...” you mutter. Steve smiles, “No. You know it has to be you. The memories I have with Bucky are powerful but you are his lover, and there is a difference between lovers and best friends. You know that as well as me.”

“Steve...” you look up at him with big eyes, “I want to help, I really do... But what if it goes wrong?”

“Want to know something interesting?” asks Steve, “I spoke to Tony and Bruce, and they said it doesn’t matter who does it because both our memories with Bucky are powerful enough. However, if I do the job, then that chances are, we’ will have to do it again.  If you do it, we will only have to do it once. Do you understand?”

You nod your head as a peaceful silence descends on the two of you. You’ve had a few weeks to think about it and now, you know you’ve made your mind up.

“Steve, if I do this... You have to promise me a few things.”

“Anything.”

“If I can’t finish it, then promise me you’ll take over.”

“Done.”

“You have to let me use you in the association.”

“Done.”

“And finally, let me hold your hand. Let me squeeze it really tight and just be near me. Because I don’t think I can do this by myself.”

Steve stares you with his huge blue orbs and clasps your hand in his, “I promise. Absolutely.”

“Thank you, Steve, that means a lot...” you lean your head on Steve’s shoulder, enjoying what feels like your last night of sanity.

-

The lab is swathed in sunlight, but you sit in the darkest corner, away from Tony, and Bruce and Steve. You watch the cameras as the clasps tighten around Bucky’s wrists and ankles and the door closes with a snap, the locks clicking into place. Tony and Bruce mutter to each other as Steve watches you apprehensively as you hold the damp towel to your burning hand. You’ve just had the worst morning.

-

Bucky was overjoyed that you were going to read the words, and decided to pamper you all night long. Long baths and cuddles, lingering kisses and whispers of sweet nothings to reassure you, but come morning and you had 3 panic attacks.

One in the bathroom, sobbing quietly, trying not to wake Bucky. You thought you’d had it under control till you’d hit the floor. Bucky had woken and rushed to your side, carried you back to bed and comforted you.

The second one had been in the kitchen. Your hand had been shaking as you made coffee, trying to wake yourself up. You could feel all eyes on you as the pot brewed and when you poured some int a mug, the pot slipped, burning your hand bright red. With a scream, you ran from the room and began to cry, the pain triggering the panic attack. Steve and Natasha had followed you and comforted you through that one.

The third one had happened on the way to the lab. You’d tried to stay calm despite the aftershocks of the previous attacks still hitting you. Your tongue felt woolly in your mouth and your heart rate had sped up. Both Bucky and Steve could hear your heartrate and managed to shove you into a conference room before you broke down again. Once your breathing was regulated, you thanked your boys, giving Steve a gentle kiss on the cheek and Bucky a kiss on the lips.

-

“Are you ready?” Steve offers you his hand and you take it, squeezing it tightly. Steve rolls your chair to the camera and the mic, “That’s it... Squeeze my hand as tightly as you want. I’m a supersoldier, I can take it.”

“Until I crush your fingers...” you mutter which makes Steve laugh. The lights in the vibranium room dim and Bucky’s shaky voice comes through the speakers, “Ready when you are. Don’t worry, Y/N... You could never hurt me...”

“Really? How are you feeling right now?” you counter nervously and Bucky chuckles. Bruce turns around to look at Tony, “Are we good to go, Tony?”

“Ready when Y/N is!”

You glance at Steve and he nods his head, his fingers now squeezing yours. Tony and Bruce smile encouragingly at you and you turn back to the camera, looking at Bucky. He looks directly in the camera, “You asked me what I was feeling? It’s not what, it’s who. I feel you... I just feel you...”

-

“James Buchanan Barnes, when I first met you, you were cold and unsocial, but immediately, I was longing to know you. We both have such twisted pasts and I knew, despite that, your rusted heart was secretly golden. You’re a big softie. At seventeen you had your first love, our own dear Stevie... You shared a kiss at daybreak, do you remember that day? I bet it was beautiful. When I met you, you made me feel like a furnace, my whole face was on fire with embarrassment. I tripped over in front of you and you roared with laughter. Ever since that day, I tried to make you blush back, My record was nine times. I tried to be benign because you deserved a little kindness and love in your life. Do you remember when I told you about homecoming? You made me feel so loved and so protected, a feeling so foreign to me. When we went to that cabin, and we sat in front of the fire with hot drinks and smiles, I knew then. You were the one for me. You hit me like a freight car, and I wasn’t expecting it. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you, James Buchanan Barnes...”

-

Bucky grunts and growls, his arms twitching, sweating profusely. As soon as you’re done, he looks at the camera, “Steve! Read the words! Read the goddamn words!”

Steve leaps forward, “Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car! Soldier?”

Bucky screams, his arms straining to get out of the clasps. You throw your hands over your ears, falling to the ground, another panic attack coming. You begin to mutter to yourself, “It didn’t work... It didn’t work... It didn’t work...”

The whole room is plunged into darkness and Tony swears, “I think we just overpowered the grid...”

Steve is yelling your name, Bruce and Tony are arguing, everything is dark and cold and then... silence.

A voice rings out through the speakers, chilling you to the bone.

“I will never fucking comply again.”

Taglist: 

@indecisivedolly

[bittercoldbrew]

PLEASE tell me about the alien plant girls im so gay for anthropomorphic fem plants

omg thank you SO MUCH for asking and i apologize in advance for the infodump because i have been thinking about these alien plant people for literal years now, i love them so much. I first started thinking about these guys a little after TFA, because of an oc i was working on for a lil star wars fic that i have mostly abandoned by now--so sorry to the like 3 people who were reading my sidon ithano fic but tlj/tros really killed whatever passion i had for the franchise for a good long time :/ but Mando is great so i've been thinking about them'st again...

anyway i am sticking this under a cut because a) im very attached to these characters and if someone steals my shit i will kermit and b) sweet jesus this got so long, i am so sorry

in the SW universe at least, these plant people (that i still for the life of me cannot settle on an actual name for) were the primary inhabitants of a dwarf planet way out in wild space; they had a pretty symbiotic relationship with a race of sentient insectoid people (basically human-sized bees) who could travel between the planet and their home on one of its three moons (affectionately called the Honey Moon). what the plants didn’t know was that the bees were also able to travel to different planets, and had been doing so for a couple centuries before everything went to shit--but we’ll get to that in a bit.

the plant people weren’t particularly interested in the galaxy around them--they had a decent understanding of astronomy and cosmology, but little cultural interest in journeying to the stars. since the planet was pretty small and distant from the galactic core, it was pretty rare that a visiting ship would even pass them by, and scanners didn’t register them as genuine life-forms separate from the natural flora, so even if someone happened to end up out there it’s not the sort of place anyone would really choose to land. on rare occasions, a pirate or smuggler would try to hide out on what they thought to be an unoccupied planet, and would return to the Outer Rim with tales of mobile, sentient trees and bizarre, organic cities found on some uncharted world; likewise, occasionally a plant person would turn up at the local bar with tales of crashed space-ships and strange aliens that seemed almost like people. neither would ever be taken seriously.

the plants aren’t a particularly verbal people. they understand spoken language (a somewhat-modified Basic, at least, which is what the bees speak hmm i wonder where they picked that up from) and many can talk, but most don’t really bother learning to do so. mostly they rely on an ESP-like combo of pheromones and body language, highly attuned to the point that it’s essentially a kind of telepathy. i think i mentioned in the tags on that post that my character Antheia is sorta kinda a jedi? for these people, force sensitivity tends to manifest as an extra-extra-sensory-perception that causes you to be hyperaware of every living thing in your environment, not just the other sentient ones.

this made her uhhh extremely off-putting as a youth, easily distractable and often disinterested in the other people in the small community she grew up in, where she was already pretty disliked to begin with. there’s quite a lot of diversity among the plant people (a wide variety of skin tones/textures and body types, though few if any secondary sex characteristics; four limbs are most common, though occasionally some have two or more sets of arms; different types of leaves/vines/blossoms/etc in lieu of hair), and though they have a barter-based economy there’s still a lot of classism that’s mostly based around lineage (and thus evinced by one’s appearance and the traits one manifests). to protect (or attempt to bolster) those lineages, prospective parents can apply for a spot in a nursery, where their offspring are propagated and tended--mostly just through infancy before going to live with parents, though sometimes longer, and the very high class have private nurseries that will do all the rearing so they don’t have to.

But, on very rare occasions, certain wild plants will spontaneously develop sentience, and even more rarely will survive on their own long enough to find their way to a community. Hundreds of years ago (or “before the bees could speak”, which is their version of “once upon a time”), these spontaneous growths were revered and cherished, and whoever was first to encounter one would see it as a great honor to be responsible for their care and upbringing. now, with a much more striated society, these “weeds” (derogatory) are considered inferior, feral, dangerous. fortunately for Antheia, the man who found her, tangled in marsh reeds under the light of the Honey Moon, didn’t buy into any of that bullshit. he was a really sweet dad, very attentive and doting on his increasingly-strange adopted daughter; they were very close. but the older she got, the more her unusual ability developed, and the more he realized he was well out of his depth to help her understand that part of herself. eventually, she’s sent away to a kind of temple/convent for other people like her, where she’s trained to hone and control her extra senses, rather than be overwhelmed by them.

many years later, the sudden appearance of several large starships in their atmosphere turns their society on its head. it turns out, the bee-people have been traveling to other planets, forging alliances, brokering deals; they claim they just want to facilitate inter-planetary trade. Antheia is among the first to mistrust these invading aliens and their fleet of well-armed droids who seem hell-bent on mining their planet (which is, apparently, rich with cortosis, which--thank you wookiepedia--is apparently capable of repelling lightsabers and blasterfire alike). She flees her convent, joins up with an underground network of resistance fighters, discovers that her hyperawareness makes her a truly formidable force on the battlefield, and helps lead her people in defending the sovereignty of their home. And then things take a turn for the worse...but we don’t need to get into that right now.

ANYWAY.

my other oc, Shoal, is from the same planet but not even remotely star-warsy; either from a different time period well before the droid incursion, or just like an AU of my own stuff, idk. but she’s great, i love her deeply even though i dont really know what i even want to do with her yet. i mostly just was thinking about what a normal, average person in this world would be like, but then i got too attached. she’s also one of the spontaneous “weeds”, a semi-aquatic plant girl that washed up on a sandbar that occasionally connects a small island with the mainland when the tide is out. she was sort of “found” by multiple people at the same time, since they were making their way across to go trade goods at the mainland market, so to avoid the confusion of who should be responsible for her, she’s just sort of raised by the village as a whole. they name her Shoal, since that’s where they found her (it started as a joke, but then no one could agree on anything else to call her so it just sort of...stuck).

she grows up without realizing that it’s a pretty unusual upbringing. as a teen, she gains the reputation for the island’s best fisher (it helps that she can breathe as well underwater as above, and she’s always been a good swimmer). one thing that’s pretty consistent among all the plant people are their teeth--they all have long, sharp incisors and canines because sexy and also as more of a defense mechanism than a dietary one. they don’t eat much, typically absorbing nutrients from the sun/water/air/soil (mud baths are such a beloved experience, like for the most part they are very dignified people but find them some good mud and they will wallow for days) but when they do it’s pretty meat-heavy. they don’t really enjoy the process of eating very much, especially because they don’t have much gut bacteria so they typically have to swallow some stones to break up their food and nobody wants to do all that. but, at least in the coastal towns near where Shoal grew up, fresh-caught fish is considered a delicacy, and they can trade for quite a lot in return.

as she gets older, though, she starts getting restless. she loves her village, but it’s all she’s ever really known. also, it is so hard to even consider dating when literally everyone your age is practically your sibling, i mean, yeesh. so one day she just packs her bags and says her goodbyes and waits for low tide, then sets off to find her own way in the great wide world. she stops wherever she can, sees everything she can, but eventually settles down working at a tavern in a medium-sized town that’s mostly acclaimed for being a crossroads between bigger and better places. she likes it there, likes getting to know lots of new people and hearing about someone else’s travels more than she actually liked traveling herself. after a few years, the tavern-keeper retires and decides to leave the place to her, and she finds she’s become a permanent fixture in this new community. that’s really all i have for her so far, and i have no idea whether i’ll ever actually do anything with this character lol, but still she is very precious to me so i hope i find a story she’d be a good match for sometime soon.

[amydancepants-peralta]

26 and 61 pleaseee 💕♥♥♥

26: Do not. Tempt. Me. & 61: Can’t we hug this out?

(This image is 1. V important to the story and 2. V V adorable for a mini-Jake 😍)

“Do not. Tempt. Me”

Four threatening words: falling straight from Jake Peralta’s mouth, and aimed directly at the phone screen in front of him. He dares his thumb to keep on scrolling, and for his brain to completely ignore the adorable outfit that is staring at him, but neither seem interested in complying. “Amy will kill me.”

Her voice appears as if from nowhere, and in hindsight it’s more likely to be that she’s just left their bedroom, but it still shocks him all the same when suddenly Amy is in the vicinity, asking - “Why am I killing you, exactly?”

His phone is out of his hand and flying across the couch before he has a chance to respond (seriously, has his mind just packed up and left?!), and all Jake can do is splutter a “Oh, heyy babe! Nothing at all, just rambling to myself you know how I be!”

It doesn’t work at all, which comes as a surprise to absolutely no one, and Amy just gives Jake a weird look as she passes right by his position on the couch, reaching for the phone before he has a chance to grab it. And damnit for making his passcode their anniversary; and damnit for being married to an ace detective, because she unlocks his phone with ease, and proceeds to stare at the screen with raised eyebrows.

There’s a moment of silence; partly because Jake knows he’s just been busted looking at baby clothes after swearing to his wife that he would stop, and partly because he’s still kind of hoping she will see just how damn cute this outfit is.  It’s plaid, and tiny, and he’s fairly certain he owns the exact same pattern - and if he doesn’t, he will by the time their son has arrived.  

It feels like thirty minutes, yet it’s only been seconds, but still Jake feels he needs to speak up.  “Okay, before you get mad, I swear it’s a total accident, I was on another page and then one of those stupid ads popped up and my thumb didn’t hit the x properly and I -”

(There’s just enough truth in it to get by.  He definitely was on another page at some point, and he definitely hadn’t googled ‘baby + plaid’.)

“It’s actually really cute.”  Her voice is soft enough for him to know that she means it, and when Amy looks up Jake notices that her eyes have taken on that squidgy I totally love this look that she tends to get whenever they shop for baby related items and they find something far too tiny to be real.  “Like … ridiculously so.  We need to get it, if for no other reason than our son can match his Daddy.”

And it happens again: his heart goes squish and the kaleidoscope of butterflies that somehow manage to live in his stomach take flight again.  It’s been happening a lot lately, especially whenever someone mentions that they’re having a baby, or that he’s having a son, or he remembers that the sweetest being that is Amy Santiago is the mother of said child.  Some would call it excitement; others a bundle of nerves, but Jake doesn’t care enough to name it.  He and Amy are having a son, and they’re going to wear matching plaid outfits, and it’s going to be awesome.  His smile is ridiculously big, and he nods.  “Yeah.  Little Shrek and I, cruising down the halls of the precinct in our matching plaid like the badasses we are.”

Amy laughs, that kind of gentle tinkering sound that will always remain at the top of the list of Things Jake Loves To Hear (soon to be closely rivalled by the sound of his son’s laugh), and he cannot help but close the gap between them to land a quick kiss against her lips.  She’s the love of his life; and is growing their son inside her amazing body, and really he truly loves to kiss her and will take any chance that comes his way - for long as they both shall live.

“Okay babe, we’re doing this.  Adding to cart.”  She glances up at him, the tiny warning clear in her eyes.  “I’m going through to the checkout before another thing can be added.  We’ve bought so much already.”

Jake nods quietly, already knowing that he’s onto a good wicket and really shouldn’t say anything that could jeopardise it.  “You’re totally right babe,” he adds for good measure.

“Oh wait, they’ve just shown me a few things I ‘might be interested in’ and oh my god Jake there’s tiny sneakers too!”

He throws out another nod, taking a heavy swallow to keep his voice level before replying.  “Uh, cool!  That sounds really awesome Ames, but … we don’t really need more baby shoes, do we?  I mean it’s not like they’re walking around everywhere amiright?”  The sentence is punctuated with a nervous laugh, and oh, he is SO done for.

Amy’s eyebrows knit together, and she lowers the phone slightly to study him closely.  “You don’t even want to see them?”

A quick shake of the head, and Jake suddenly finds the embroidered pattern of the throw pillow on their couch fascinating.

(He knows what they look like.  They’re mini Converse all-stars, all black with the white edging that are on sale for 12.99, and they’re already in transit to their apartment.)

She lowers the phone completely, and leans in.  “Out with it, Peralta.”

“I love you?”

“I love you too.  Out with it.”

Jake feels his shoulders begin to slump, and he lets out a defeated sigh.  “They may or may not be arriving tomorrow.”

“May or may not be?”

“Well, you know how unreliable the postal service can be, I mean ..”

“Jake!”

“Ugh.  I know, I’m sorry!  I wasn’t going to buy anything else.  But then Charles sent me the link and I fell down the rabbit hole and next thing I was creating an account.  We get a discount on our next item, babe, so really we’re saving money.”

“It’s amazing how after all this time, your handle on finances still manages to make me sweat behind the knees.”

“You must admit, though.  They are pretty cute.”

Her arms are folded, and she gives him the side-eye that she does so well.  “Okay so I might have already added them to cart before I even told you about them.”

“SEE!  They’re totally adorable, and we’re all too powerless to resist.”

Amy laughs again, running her hand down his right arm, and suddenly everything is right with the world again.  “By the way - now would be a good time to tell me about the secret baby-sized Ninja Turtles costume that is currently hiding at the back of our wardrobe, babe.”

Double Damnit.

“…. Our baby needs to have a costume for Halloween, and it’s cheaper if you buy ahead?”

She’s shaking her head again, but this time Amy has that smile of hers to accompany it - the one that says oh how I love this man, even though he’s a massive dork - and honestly, he’ll take it as a victory.  “Fine, I’ll give you that one.  Just promise me there’s no more, Jake.  We need to budget for the baby, and if we keep spending our money on outfits we’re going to go broke.”

His responding nod is earnest, eyes wide with sincerity.  “I promise, Ames.  No more surprise purchases.”  

(There’s one coming next week, but this one’s for Amy, and he’s pretty sure he can get it diverted to Charles’ place.)

Amy leans forward, and Jake reaches his arms out in the assumption that she’s coming in for a hug - it is, after all, one of the more common ways to find them when on the couch - but instead she stands, walking past Jake with his phone back in her hand. 

His eyes follow her, confused.  “Wait.  Can’t we hug this out?”

She turns her head back towards him, smiling as she walks down the hallway again.  “We can hug in a minute, babe.  I’m buying this outfit before it’s gone, and putting your phone on charge and out of your hands.”

“Yeah, that tracks.”

*

*

It’s another few months before Jake gets to act it out; the slow-motion walk from the elevator door into the bullpen with his baby son in his arms, whipping off his aviators and proudly showing off to anyone and everyone that they were wearing matching plaid and he is clearly the coolest Dad in the universe.  

And maybe Rosa rolls her eyes, and the slow-mo doesn’t seem quite as slow in real life, but point is - it’s the best entrance he’s made into the precinct, ever.  And it’s entirely because of the World’s Coolest Baby, just hanging out with his equally cool Dad.  

fin.

(you can find the baby TMNT costume here, because it is equally adorable.) 🐢

[anubislover]

A Family Matter - Chapter 1

(As far as Ikkaku was concerned, deep down, every Marine was a corrupt scumbag. Some were just better at hiding it than others)

“Really hope Law doesn’t take too long to rescue us,” Shachi sighed, laying against the cool tiles of the prison floor, staring at the florescent lights in the ceiling, “otherwise I’m gonna die of boredom.”

“Agreed,” Penguin said from the cell next to him, using his shoelaces to make a cat’s cradle. They’d been locked in there for two days, and he had managed to tie and untie every type of knot he could think of for the sake of having something to occupy his brain. “They could have at least let me keep the deck of cards I’d brought.”

“Or given us a checkerboard or something. Hell, I’d take a book on Marine rules and regulations at this point—at least I could use it to beat my own skull in.”

“Ah, it’s not so bad,” Ikkaku chuckled from her cell across the room, folding her hands behind her head as she settled against the wall. “There are worse places to be incarcerated than Drake’s ship.”

It was true; while the brig was grey and boring, it was undeniably clean and well-kept, which was far more than they could say for other prisons they’d seen. On top of that, while the three Heart Pirates were locked up in separate cells, they weren’t chained to the walls or even cuffed, there were small cots with pillows and blankets, and no one was being tortured or interrogated. Hell, they’d even been given regular meals that resembled actual food, which was a pleasant surprise.

Really, the only concerning part was the cell in the far back corner that, from the look of things, had Seastone bars and shackles. Anyone could guess who Drake had reserved that one for. He might as well have hung a welcome banner.

Of course, the brig could have resembled a 5-star spa resort with meals prepared by a personal chef and Ikkaku would still have a fairly low opinion of the commodore. He was still a Marine, and she’d never known a Navy dog that wasn’t some kind of corrupt scumbag deep down, especially those that attained an officer’s rank. Some were simply better at hiding it than others.

But for now, she’d appreciate the decent-by-Marine-standards captivity, then take great pleasure in wrecking their shit.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t make me any less antsy,” Penguin stated quietly, suspicious of any guards that might be listening just out of sight. “We’ve got to be ready. Remember the plan.”

The mechanic rolled her eyes. “Of course we remember the plan.” Law had basically drilled it into their heads; the three of them had been dropped off on Einer Island to cause a commotion as a decoy while Law took the ship to Zwei Island to quietly raid the Marine base housed there.  He’d known Drake would take the bait and capture the three of them, and the Polar Tang would intercept his ship a few days later so Law could sneak aboard, free them, and they’d set about causing some wonderful havoc for the commodore and his crew. It was convoluted and complicated and she had no doubt Law would get the exact result he wanted. Which was, she suspected, the ire and attention of a certain Allosaurus.

Her grin widened as she connected the dots. “You’re not worried about the plan; you just don’t like thinking about the last time we were aboard this ship.”

Shachi sniggered while Penguin blushed from his neck to his hairline. His expression was nearly as mortified as it had been during the incident in question. “Damn it Ikkaku! I was so close to repressing that, too!”

“When we next hit land, I’ll buy you a bottle of grain alcohol as brain bleach,” she cackled without remorse. Really, being locked in a Marine prison cell would never be her idea of fun, but she was glad she was stuck with these two—teasing Penguin was far more entertaining than any poker game.

The good cheer was swiftly vanquished as a deep, cold voice from the doorway stated, “Honestly, Ikkaku, are you really still such an idiot? Or do you find the idea of dying in prison amusing somehow?”

No. It can’t be, she thought, freezing as her mind registered the familiar, intruding voice. She hadn’t heard in years, save the occasional nightmare, but it still made a wave of dread crash over her like a tsunami. Her palms immediately began to sweat while her heart pounded in her ears. He’s supposed to be stationed in the West Blue, not the North.

In sync, Penguin and Shachi turned to observe the unfamiliar man that entered the brig. He was about Law’s height but with at least three times the muscle mass. He wore the crisp white suit of a Marine officer, his coat dutifully perched on his broad shoulders. His hair was jet black and gelled back, but it was clear that the locks were naturally curly despite his efforts to tame them. There was something vaguely familiar about him, though neither man could put their finger on it. He wasn’t that different from most Marines they’d encountered; he held himself with the same over-bloated self-importance to match his too-polished appearance. His smile was especially disconcerting—there was nothing genuine about the curl of his lips, as not a hint of warmth reached his dark brown eyes.

The newcomer approached Ikkaku’s cell with measured, slightly-too-loud steps. “What, not going to greet me properly? It’s been at least four years.”

“…hi, Ushi.”

His insincere smile dropped as he scowled in disapproval. “Tch. Try to say my name with more respect, you worthless little brat. I’m a Marine captain now.”

“Good evening, Captain Ushi, sir.”

Shachi’s jaw dropped when Ikkaku didn’t make some sarcastic, biting comment. The woman he knew never let someone talk to her like that. She’d certainly had no trouble sassing the Marines when they’d been captured. Hell, once she’d gotten comfortable among the Hearts, she’d taken to back-sassing Law on the regular. It was funny as hell to watch the two of them go at it like a couple of squabbling siblings. In fact, he suspected Law enjoyed and even encouraged it to an extent, as he’d just argue right back instead of pulling rank or disciplining her. The crew occasionally wondered if their captain spoiling her like that was a good thing, as it reinforced her lack of respect for more powerful figures.

To see that fire doused so easily by one man set Shachi’s teeth on edge.

“Better,” the Marine said blandly, pulling a key out of his pocket. “Though, it’ll be Commodore Ushi soon; there’s been talk of promoting me. I’ve made a good impression among some important people. People who want to see me advance. Unfortunately, that’s unlikely to happen unless I clear up a few loose ends first.”

Instinctively, Ikkaku shrank back, pressing herself hard against the wall as if it might open up and swallow her. Her big brown eyes were fixated on the floor, and her lips were pressed together so tightly they’d turned white.

It was easy to guess what “loose ends” he was referring to. Ushi had always been ambitious. Praised for his strength, intelligence, sense of responsibility, and charisma, the whole island had loved him, giving him a grand send-off the day he left for the Marines. On the few occasions he’d had time to visit home, everyone was quick to call him the pride of Rivet and a future hero.

The handful that knew better had learned to keep their mouths shut long ago.

In the cell across from her, Penguin’s hands clenched as he watched the interaction before him. This was very, very wrong. In the year and a half that he’d known her, Ikkaku didn’t shrink. From anyone. Not Law, not enemy pirates, not drunken brutes twice her size—even Drake had gotten a few bruises when he’d been forced to subdue her during their capture. She was feisty and scrappy and wasn’t afraid of slamming her foot into some asshole’s groin when threatened.

It became clear that this particular Marine was the exception when he unlocked her cell door, marched inside, grabbed her by the collar of her jumpsuit, and dragged her to her feet.

Ikkaku didn’t resist. Resisting had never done her any good in the past. Ushi always took it as a personal offense and would come up with worse punishments. Or make Hapushiru, Nausagi, and Fukuro beat her up instead so he could keep his hands clean and maintain his image as the “responsible” one.

Of course, she was swiftly reminded that he’d never been shy about taking matters into his own hands when he was in the right mood when he sharply smacked her across the cheek so hard she saw stars for a moment.

At the loud smack, Penguin and Shachi sprang to their feet, ready to fight. “What the fuck—”

“You’ve got some balls hitting our crewmate!”

Ushi ignored them in favor of sneering down at the woman in question, “Can you believe the twins were actually bragging about you being part of the most wanted crew in the North Blue? As if you’re the one the family should be proud of! You’re going to come with me, nice and quiet, or we’re going to have problems. And you remember how I tend to make problems disappear, right?”

She shuddered at the memory. Three days. She’d spent three days wandering alone in the woods, cold and hungry and terrified that she’d be eaten by wolves. Three days wondering if Ushi was right—that Mama and Papa would be better off without her. Without a worthless daughter than would never amount to anything holding everyone back…

Gramps had been the one to find her. Nausagi and Fukuro had realized that, even if their baby sister annoyed them, and even if having one less mouth to feed meant more money for toys and treats, leaving her out there to die was sick and wrong. The twins had defied Ushi and told their grandfather she was missing. The old lighthouse keeper had searched the woods in the middle of a storm for the sake of finding his seven-year-old granddaughter, and she could still remember his wrinkled face lined with worry and raindrops when he’d finally found her shivering in a hollowed-out tree.

As relieved as her parents had been that she was safe, Ikkaku had been scolded for causing such trouble and forcing Gramps to abandon his post and risk something happening, like the light going out and a ship crashing into the rocks. How dare she run off without telling anyone? She’d put herself and others in danger! Why couldn’t she be more responsible like Ushi?

Neither she nor the twins had told anyone that it had been Ushi’s fault—no one would believe them, and he’d just make them pay for it.

He had made them pay for it. He’d taken his aggression out on Nausagi and Fukuro, beating them both bloody while making Ikkaku watch, telling her that it was her fault, that he wouldn’t have to hurt his beloved little brothers if she’d just stayed gone…

CLANG! Shachi threw himself against the bars of his cell, desperately grasping for Ikkaku in hopes of getting her away from the Marine. She hadn’t even noticed that Ushi had dragged her out of her cell—she’d been too caught up in the past. Of the memory of how pointless it was to fight Ushi.

“Buddy, I don’t give a shit if you’re an Admiral—you let Ikkaku go right the fuck now, or so help me I’ll rip your goddamn throat out!”

Meanwhile, Penguin was yelling towards the doorway, “Hey! Is somebody out there? I know this asshole isn’t part of Drake’s crew! Get him out of here!”

Ushi gave the younger men a death glare. “Shut the hell up. I sent the guards to get some coffee so I wouldn’t have any interruptions. Not that they’d step in anyway; what self-respecting Marine would help a bunch of pirates?”

As if to prove his point, he slammed his fist into Ikkaku’s stomach, his grip on the collar of her boiler suit the only thing keeping her from crumpling to the floor.

She would have sobbed if she had the breath to. He was right. Ushi could do what he wanted, and no one would help them. Hell, they’d probably thank him for taking them off their hands; no need to expend resources on prisoners, after all.

Men like Ushi were the reason she could never trust the Marines. The fact that they’d allowed such a violent bastard to advance to a position of authority—that “certain people” wanted to give him even more power—told her everything she needed to know. The World Government was just a gang of bullies who liked to push people around just for kicks. She’d seen it plenty of times; Navy dogs refusing to help innocent civilians, valuing the glory of arresting a notorious pirate over human decency.

Hell, Commodore Drake was probably lounging in his cabin, greedily counting however many belli her brother had paid him to take a single problematic prisoner off his hands.

No one would come to help the Heart Pirates.

That didn’t stop Shachi from straining against the bars harder, the veins in his neck bulging as he struggled to rescue his friend. “Go fuck yourself!”

Smirking, Ushi moved so he was just out of reach of Shachi’s grasping fingers, making sure to harshly shove Ikkaku behind him to keep her out of the way. “Do yourself a favor and stand down, scumbag, before I break that spindly arm of yours. This is a family matter, anyway.”

“Then it definitely involves us! We’re nakama!” Penguin snapped, turning away from the door to face the Marine. If the guards couldn’t help them, he’d just have to figure out how to take down this asshole himself.

Ushi raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Seriously? You wanna fight me for her? Why? Is it because she’s the only woman on your ship?” He glanced over his shoulder at Ikkaku, who was still clutching her stomach in pain, silently praying that the boys would back down before they got hurt. She knew from experience that breaking an arm was far from an empty threat. “Are you the ship’s whore or something? God, you’re an even bigger disgrace than I thought.”

Eyes lighting up with fury, Shachi pulled his arm inside his cell, took several steps back, and then rushed forward, slamming his shoulder against the door in an attempt to break it down.

“She’s our mechanic!” Penguin defended, teeth grinding as he tried to figure out some kind of plan. Damn it, there had to be something in that stupid cell he could use as a weapon. He couldn’t just stand there while this bastard manhandled and insulted Ikkaku! He’d throw his boot at the son of a bitch if he had to!

“Tch. You people must have been really desperate to hire a talentless brat like her.”

“Ikkaku! Are you really gonna let this guy talk to you like that?!” Shachi shouted as he futilely slammed into the door again. He winced at the pain the shot through his shoulder, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when his shipmate was in trouble.

“She’s the best damn mechanic in the North Blue,” Penguin stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Soon she’s going to be the best in the whole world. And you’d better let her go right now; otherwise, you’re in for a world of pain when Law finds out you’ve threatened his nakama.”

A pang went through Ikkaku’s chest at their words, warm and stronger than even the pain in her stomach. It was still such a foreign feeling, having people that genuinely cared about her. That believed in her abilities and her dream. Only the twins had really ever had her back, and it had been too dangerous to show it until Ushi had finally left…

She was given a stark reminder of why that was when her oldest brother drew his pistol.

“Ugh, arguing with you two is a waste of time,” he scoffed, pointing it casually at Penguin, whose eyes widened beneath the brim of his hat as he realized there was no space to dodge in the cramped cell. “I’m on a tight schedule, and I’m pretty sure Drake doesn’t need both of you alive to lure out Trafalgar.”

Without even thinking, Ikkaku lunged forward, desperately grabbing Ushi’s arm and jerking it upwards so the bullet hit a ceiling light instead of her friend.

“Don’t you fucking touch them!” she screamed, spinning around and slamming her foot into his ribs. For a moment, her boot appeared black as it made contact, and the blow made the Marine faulter, the gun falling from his hand to clatter on the tile floor.

Unfortunately, he recovered quickly, and before Ikkaku could dive for the gun he grabbed her by the shoulders, lifted her up, and bashed her right against the bars of her empty cell. The impact shook her to her core, and she once again curled into herself, the blood pounding in her ears sounding like frantic footsteps to her dazed mind.

“You stupid fucking bitch!” he shouted, shifting one of his hands so it wrapped around her throat. “You just never fucking learn!”

Thinking fast, Penguin reached through the bars for the pistol, but it was just out of reach. He yanked off his hat, planning to use it to catch the gun and drag it towards him before Ushi could strangle the mechanic.

Everything came to a halt when the sound of stomping boots became unmistakable.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” Drake bellowed from the doorway. He charged into the brig, sword drawn, ready to end whatever fight had resulted in a gun being fired on his ship. His eyes widened at the sight before him; a Marine officer choking his sole female prisoner—who for some reason was out of her cell instead of locked up tight like he’d ordered—while another prisoner reached through the bars for the smoking pistol at their feet. Shards of glass littered the floor of Penguin’s cell, the remains of the florescent light sparking dangerously above him while Shachi clutched his shoulder in pain.

Instinctively, the two guards that flanked Drake drew their rifles, though no one was quite sure if they were aiming at the Captain or the pirates.

“It’s about fucking time,” Shachi said shakily, gripping his shoulder. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and the pain was making its presence known. He was sure he’d injured himself trying to break the door down, but there was no way he was going to stand down until he knew his comrades were safe.

Drake didn’t spare him a glance, his intense grey eyes solely focused on the two figures that weren’t locked up.

“Captain Ushi,” he growled, “while I gave you permission to come aboard my ship, I don’t recall giving you leave to visit the brig. Mainly because you didn’t request it.”

“Ah, yes,” Ushi said, releasing Ikkaku’s throat. His grip on her shoulder remained firm as he lowered her back down to the floor. “I apologize for that. You seemed extremely busy planning Trafalgar Law’s capture, so I planned to bring it up at dinner.”

“Dinner started ten minutes ago. I was waiting for you.”

“Must have slipped my mind.”

“Much like I’m sure your hand slipped when you fired that gun.”

“More like it was forcibly jerked about,” Ushi replied, sparing the wheezing Ikkaku a disdainful glance. “I drew my weapon in self-defense.”

Drake sheathed his sword, mainly so he could cross his arms in disapproval. “Against three unarmed prisoners, two behind bars and one of which is a woman a third your size?”

He had the gall to shrug. “From what I’ve heard, you shouldn’t underestimate the Surgeon of Death or his men. I mean, they’ve been crafty enough to slip through your fingers before, Commodore.”

Grey eyes narrowed at the small show of disrespect. “While this is true, I’m curious as to what business you have with them. And why you sent the guards that were stationed here away. Surely if you’re intent on not underestimating them, you’d want backup? And given the state I’ve found everyone in, I’d say it’s a damn good thing they came to find me instead of taking a coffee break like you suggested. Otherwise you’d have been shot in the back by Trafalgar’s first mate, and the woman could have unlocked the cells, thus allowing them to slip through my fingers once again.”

Ushi glowered at the man in question before grimacing, fully aware that Drake had backed him into a corner. “Fine. I’m here because I’m taking custody of the Heart Pirate woman.”

“Do you have some sort of official paperwork formally requesting a transfer?” he asked, lifting a critical eyebrow.

“Well, no. I was hoping I could make that request of you personally. Of the record, so to speak.”

“Why?”

Shooting Ikkaku a sharp warning glare—the kind that promised unimaginable pain if she dared speak against him—Ushi indicated the woman he had pinned against the bars. “You see, sir, I’m ashamed to admit it, but Ikkaku of the Heart Pirates is my baby sister. She’s always been a spoiled, disobedient brat, but I’d never expected her to devolve into piracy. Maybe it’s my own fault; I left to join the Marines when she was twelve, and I guess without me around, there was no one willing to discipline her.”

Drake looked thoroughly unconvinced, giving a meaningful glance at her cheek, which was already darkening into an ugly bruise. “Is that what you were doing? ‘Disciplining’ her?”

Penguin and Shachi could practically hear the air quotes around the word, and the duo found their hopes beginning to rise just the slightest bit. Drake was their enemy, but they knew for a fact that his tolerance for bullshit was exceptionally low.

Ikkaku was less convinced. There had been plenty of times when it seemed like someone would finally see past her brother’s lies, but he always managed to talk his way out of it and push the blame back onto her. Partially because people didn’t want to see the town’s Golden Child as anything but the perfect, responsible young man everyone had set him up to be.

Seeing that his superior was less than impressed with him, Ushi immediately set to justifying himself. “Look, our parents worked long hours to put food on the table for five kids; keeping them all in line fell to me. I did my best but, well, I guess her career choice shows she’s always been a bad seed.”

Drake actually scoffed. “Your failure as an authority figure among your siblings does not fill me with confidence, Captain Ushi. Get to the point—why do you want me to hand the woman over to you?”

His jaw tightened in frustration. “Because this is a family matter. I’d rather spare our poor parents the shame of the world finding out their daughter became a pirate.”

“You fucking liar!” Shachi shouted.

“You just care about your damn promotion!” Penguin grabbed the bars of his cell in a fruitless attempt to break down the barrier and get to the man who held his crewmate hostage.

“Like he’d listen to scum like you,” Ushi jeered.

“And yet I find myself inclined to believe their side of the story over yours,” Drake snarled, jerking his head towards the prisoners. “I have no time for games. If you don’t start telling the truth in the next three seconds, I will report you—and your little ‘off the record’ request—to Headquarters.”

Frustration finally coming to a boiling point, the Marine captain snapped, “Look, I know it’s a bit unconventional, but my superiors say I could be up for a promotion soon, and I can’t let her cost me everything I’ve worked for. Surely you understand just how difficult it is to advance your career when the Navy knows you’re related to a pirate, right Commodore Diez?” he finished with a sneer.

Silence filled the room at the utterance of the ginger’s surname. Penguin and Shachi actually froze; they vividly remembered the name Diez Barrels, the pirate captain that had made the neighboring Minion Island his base of operations. They’d never seen the man himself, but their parents would often whisper about bodies of those he’d brutally murdered washing up on Sparrow Island’s beaches.

Drake was the son of a pirate?

Meanwhile, the man in question took a deep, calming breath as he assessed the situation. As tempting as it was to rip the man to shreds for daring to bring up his father, doing so would do nothing but make things spiral into blood and chaos. He needed to keep his temper in check and be rational before he made his call.

He regarded his colleague carefully. Captain Ushi had been perfectly cordial when he’d requested permission to board his ship. Had commended Drake’s bravery and impressive record, and the way he led the men under his command. He’d been polite, professional, and while perhaps a bit heavy-handed with the praise, a generally respectable man.

Now, he had his little sister pinned against the cell he’d dragged her from, a smoking gun at his feet, and two prisoners declaring he’d basically tried to kill her for the sake of a promotion.

Drake turned his full attention to the woman. She hadn’t spoken a word since he’d arrived—very odd based on what he knew of her, though their interactions were limited. What he did know was that the mechanic was mouthy and quite the plucky fighter. After all, she’d tried to break his nose and had called him a rather colorful array of curse words during her arrest. Yet now, she was silent.

Her body language spoke volumes, however. Glistening eyes averted to the floor so as to make her assailant feel dominant. Shoulders hunched in pain. Teeth digging into her bottom lip so as to hold back any defiant words that might slip out. Hands and knees trembling ever-so-slightly.

It was when a pair of tears bubbled over and trailed down her bruised cheeks that he made his decision.

“You’re right,” he said slowly and calmly, taking a few casual steps forward. “I do know how difficult it is. It takes an exceptional amount of hard work and ambition to overcome the stigma that comes with being related to a pirate. You may have her.”

One of Drake’s hands shot out to rip Ikkaku from Ushi’s grasp while the other fisted the collar of his shirt, lifting him up so his toes dangled over three feet off the ground as the ginger growled, eyes momentarily burning orange, “When you have the appropriate transfer paperwork, signed by an Admiral, stating the exact reason you wish to take this particular pirate into custody. Until then, she remains my prisoner on my ship. And speaking of, I’m revoking any permission I gave you to come aboard. As such, I’m going to ask you—once—to leave quietly. Immediately.”

For his part, Ushi stared at his superior in unconcealed shock, however any argument he might have made was swiftly silenced as Drake unceremoniously dropped him to the floor. He crumpled a bit, but at the larger man’s ferocious glare he backed off, clumsily scooping up his gun before marching out of the brig with his head held deceptively high, not even sparing Ikkaku a glance.

“Athos, escort Captain Ushi to his ship so he doesn’t get lost,” Drake ordered.

One of the guards nodded and lowered his gun, running off after the chastised officer.

Silence weighed down the cramped room until the pair’s footsteps faded. It didn’t escape Drake’s notice that Ikkaku’s slight shoulder still trembled beneath his hand. Duty momentarily fought with compassion in his mind. Her reaction to her brother’s presence was painfully familiar. And while he shouldn’t give any preferential treatment to a pirate, even a female one, he had no doubt this would not be the last time Ushi came after her.

“It’s Ikkaku, correct?” he asked her, voice gentle but firm.

She blinked up at him, surprised at his tone. “Uh…yeah.”

Nodding to the remaining guard, he shifted his grip so his large hand wrapped almost entirely around her bicep. “Given the current circumstances, I believe it is no longer safe for you to reside in your cell, at least until I can be certain your brother is well and truly gone.”

Loathe as she was to agree with a Marine, Drake was right on the money; Ushi may have retreated for now, but there was no way in Hell he’d let Drake’s ship out of his sight so long as she was on it, especially with the added threat of his superiors finding out about both their relation and his attempt at an under-the-table transfer.

Marines were shady bastards, but they liked to pretend to be squeaky-clean. Ushi’s screw-up might have cost him his promotion, but that didn’t mean he’d give up. If anything, he’d be even more determined to kill her.

She glanced at Penguin and Shachi, who seemed just as conflicted. Separating them wasn’t in Law’s plan. Sure, there was no place on the ship they could put her that he couldn’t find, the it could cost him the element of surprise if he had to Scan the whole ship.

Then again, if Ushi did manage to sneak aboard before Law arrived, there was the very real possibility that he’d come to find a dead engineer, and potentially even the corpses of his first and second mates, too.

On top of that, Drake’s firm grip on her arm and the fact that he’d managed to throw Ushi around like a rag doll made it clear that, as polite as he was being, she didn’t really have a say in the matter.

Heart in her throat, Ikkaku found herself nodding. “Ok. Yeah, that’s…that’s reasonable.”

Pleasantly surprised at the Heart Pirate’s compliance, Drake gave her a brief smile before leading her towards the hallway, turning to the remaining soldier. “Porthos, double the guards in the brig, and if anyone you don’t immediately recognize as a member of this crew shows their face, notify me at once.”

“Hey, where are you taking her?” Penguin called, eyes narrowed. In all honesty, he didn’t disagree with either Drake’s or Ikkaku’s decision—it was more important for his crewmates to be safe than conveniently together. Law should be there to get them tonight, and it didn’t matter if they were on opposite sides of the ship or not; he’d rescue them all. The plan would be fine. Drake wouldn’t know what hit him…

His blood ran cold when Drake actually smirked at him over his shoulder. “When he comes to rescue you, tell your captain that he can find Miss Ikkaku safe and sound in my quarters. And that the cell in the corner is reserved just for him.”

To Be Continued...

[psychadelickate]

NCIS - Gibbs: New Year’s Eve

Imagine: New Year’s Eve Word Count: 1733 Fandom: NCIS Pairing: Gibbs x Reader Gif: Not Mine Requested: Prompt: New Year’s Eve

“Gibbs would never agree to it,” McGee says. Yes, Gibbs has apparently softened in the last few years, but that doesn’t mean he’s okay with having more than four people in his house at a time, more so when he’s there as well. “Oh, come on McGee, how bad can it really be?” you’d asked. The look he shared with Bishop and Torres was more than you needed to know. “Fine, if you’re so sure he’s not going to blow a gasket, go ahead and plan it,” he tells you. “Then again he does seem more into you than he does on the rest of the team,” Jimmy adds and you turn to glare at him. Yes, Gibbs hasn’t head slapped you yet, or reamed you out as he did the others at times, but giving you more leeway… you weren’t sure. “You’re crazy,” you reply. There’s no way Gibbs is interested in you. Sure, you flirt and joke around, but there has never been a time where you’d thought it would go beyond that. “Besided, he has Rule 12. Remember?” Still, there was nothing lost in trying and so you’d went and planned the dinner anyway… reeling in Palmer and Kasie as well. For all his protesting and arguing, you’re almost sure Gibbs has enjoyed hosting New Year’s dinner at his home this year. Normally, Dr Mallard would host, but you had decided to make a change this year. Gibbs had looked murderously at you when you’d come up with the idea, but you’d ignored him and went ahead anyway. The worst he could do was stay in his basement the entire evening.

You’d organised everything with the rest of the team with each of them bringing a dish or two, whatever they fancied. There were no rules, though you were thankful when Jack had offered to make the turkey. You’d decided to stick with making dessert, it was what you were good at. Granted, you weren’t bad at cooking, but you didn’t want to risk it. Gibbs had wondered just how everyone would fit in the small area, but you assured him there was enough space for the entire team. You’d procured a round table, with chairs, that seated twelve and actually fitted in Gibb’s dining room space, and you’d found a rotating serving board that would make it easier for everyone to help themselves. Soon enough there were sounds of screeching and shrieking laughter. Victoria, Morgan and John McGee Jr were having the time of their lives. Yes, their parents were horrified at their behaviour, but kids were kids and they weren’t breaking things, they were merely having fun. You did remember the safety gates to cordon off the staircases though and the fireplace. Dinner had been lively and fun with everything being grateful for everything they had. Sure, it wasn’t their own families, but this dysfunctional one worked for some odd reason. Gibbs’ house had been transformed at evening; from the quietest, darkest house on the street to one where warm soft light and gentle laughter had escaped through the windows. The roaring fire in the fireplace had added to the cosiness of an intimate family dinner. Jack had been the first to start clearing up, informing everyone she had no intention of spending the countdown wiping and packing dishes. There was certainly more to life than that! “You really need to get a dishwasher, Gibbs,” Jack informs him though he simply shakes his head. “Not happenin,” he responds. “Well if you did, (Y/N) wouldn’t have to be using elbow grease to wash everything,” Jack continues. “I’m almost done, Jack. Just wiping down the counters,” you inform her. “Well in that case, I’m going to get a drink and join the rest of the team on the porch,” she says as she grabs a mug filled with one-part scotch and two rocks. You hear the click of the closing door a few seconds later. By the time you’re done with the counters and sink Gibbs is leaning against the doorframe, shirtsleeves folded halfway up his forearm. You have to remember to breathe… After all the noise and talking, Gibb’s house seems uncharacteristically quiet now, save for the iPod and speakers in the corner softly playing Christmas songs. “All done,” you tell him and turns to look at you. You see something flit in his eyes, but its too quick to call him on it. “(Y/N),” he says, and you meet his gaze. “Thanks.” You frown at his words. He has no reason to be thanking you, if anything, you should be thanking him for allowing you to use his home to entertain the team. “Gibbs -,” you start, but he stops you as takes a step closer to you. “No (Y/N), my house hasn’t felt like a home in years and this today… Thank you.” “Well there was only two ways this would go. You could have spent the evening holed up alone in your basement, or you could’ve joined us. I’m glad you chose to join us,” you tell him. “I know people don’t do New Year gifts, but I got you something, just to say thanks for allowing us to use your home tonight. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it, but I thought it was an apt gift for you.” You can see he wants to protest but you don’t let him, instead holding the bag out for him to take. “Aren’t you going to open it?” you ask, your enthusiasm bubbling out. He shrugs his shoulders and then proceeds to open it. There’s a fair amount of tissue paper, light blue, which he places on the counter and proceeds to pull out the gift from the bag. It’s a plush toy. A teddy bear, to be exact. A medium sized, soft, plush, white teddy bear, clothed in a red sweater, with the Eagle, Globe and Anchor emblems on it.  You’d also managed to get it personalised with Gibb’s name on the back of the sweater. It’s a marine bear… You’d thought of him as soon as you’d seen it. Sure, he was gruff and stoic on the outside, but once you got to know him, he was a total softie on the inside… A genuine laugh escapes him. “I’ll take that as approval,” you tell him. “Yeah,” he says, still examining the bear. “I’m glad you like it.” He straightens from the doorframe and takes a step closer to you. “Thank You, (Y/N),” he says again, this time with a kiss to your cheek. “Happy New Year, Gibbs,” you say in reply. He’s cheek is still pressed against yours, neither of you ready to move. You breathe him in. He smells like wood and Cool Water, and something essentially Gibbs. And then you feel his hands on your back, pulling you into him. You don’t resist. You know this is a turning point in your relationship with him. Yes, you’ve flirted, but he’d never asked you out, officially. But this… this feels completely different. “That’s not how you give a New Year’s Kiss,” he deadpans, lazy smirk gracing his mouth. Your heart starts racing… You feel him move against you, his cheek brushing yours until his mouth is almost touching yours, just a few millimetres separating you. He whispers your name and you look up at him, giving him permission to kiss you. He’s about to do so when you hear McGee calling out for the two of you. “Hey guys, the countdown’s started, you’re going to miss the fireworks,” he says and the moment is broken. Gibbs is the first to break away and you internally cuss at the disruption. “Don’t wanna miss the fireworks,” you tell Gibbs as you grab a coffee mug and head outside, Gibbs two steps behind you. Everyone’s out on the porch, kids included, and you come to a stop at the wooden railing. The countdown is at six already. You feel heat behind you and then a body come into contact with your back. Five… You don’t need to check who it is, you’re already intimately aware of Gibbs’ scent. Sawdust, and something innately Gibbs and for some odd reason Cool Water perfume; even though he claims not to use the stuff. Four… He places a hand on your hip, warm and heavy and you know nothing is going to be the same after this. Three… You’re so surprised at his next action that you lose focus of everything else but the feeling of him placing open mouthed kisses on your neck. Your hands squeeze into fists. Two… “Gibbs,” you whisper when the world comes exploding back, wanting to ask him if he’s sure about this. One… You don’t get the chance to because the countdown has stopped and the ball has dropped and everyone’s cheering and the next thing you feel his Gibb’s mouth pressed to yours, his lips brushing gently over yours, waiting for you to give him access. You do. And then he’s deepening the kiss, putting his everything into it. It’s hard and fiery and passionate and you really can’t get enough of him. You pull him closer to you, one hand on the back of his neck making sure he can’t pull away from you while the other cards through his hair. You don’t want to stop kissing this man… And then the need for oxygen overrides everything, and you pull away from him, but he doesn’t let you go. He allows you just enough space to note that he’s panting, his pupils are blown and his cheeks tinged pink with the cold. He keeps you in his space and as soon as he gets some semblance of his breath back, kisses you again. This time it’s hot and heady and it makes your toes curl, and you cling to him afraid if you let go, you’ll fall, your knees weakened by the intensity of his kiss. “That’s how you do a new year kiss,” Gibbs tells you and this time you’re the one that can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Nick looks confused, Jack, Bishop and McGee less so, but Jimmy, Jimmy is the one to voice it. “Took you long enough, Agent Gibbs,” he says and Gibbs fixes the medical examiner with a glare, but it doesn’t scare Jimmy. Not tonight when there’s promise of new things to come.

tag list: @cameronmonaghantrashaf​ @pinturicchio13​ @diaryofafan17​ @iwritetoavoidmyproblems​ @ladyzombiielove​ @stanathanxoox​ @mahc1562​ @evy-lyn​ @anycsirp​ @kitty-kat2018 @mackenziepart2 @kittenlittle24​ @manicmarsupial​ @fullmoonshadowwrites​ @nocturnalherb16​ @countrygirl17​a 

If you’d like to be tagged, let me know.  Happy New Years to everyone out there, Hope this year brings you all you want and need

[dzamie-oc]

Smaugust 04 - Knight

"When I grow up, I wanna be a knight in shining armor!" The happy shout of an eager youngster, raised on tales of valiant knights who rescued fair maidens or wayward, foolish princes from the clutches of evil wizards, and who took in wicked bandits and recovered ancient treasures from long-forgotten strongholds of traps and undead. To be a knight in shining armor was something which many kids in the kingdom aspired, and this one was no exception.

There was, however, one thing that set Torix apart from the others. He had weapons and armor already: to protect himself, a tough covering of scales, and to defend others, sharp claws, sharper teeth, and... well, a few sparks that would eventually grow into a proper gout of flame from his jaws. In short: he was a dragon.

His mother took heart in seeing him so spirited, but at the same time, knew he would have to be disabused of such a dream. True, she had cultivated her collection of storybooks to avoid dragonslayers, and as such, she suppose she could take partial blame, yet... either way, there was nothing to be done about it. In the meantime, she would offer him other, more draconic hobbies, such as hoarding, hunting, roaring, spellcasting, and, if he takes a shining to it, some light kidnapping.

And for a while, it worked. Torix hoarded, he hunted, he roared, and he managed a light binding spell. He even gained a hot, steady flame! However, when his mother looked a bit closer, she was disheartened: the young dragon hoarded longswords and lost or discarded armor, which he softened and shaped with his breath and claws to better fit himself; he hunted highwaymen and pickpockets, then bound them and left them for towns to find. But, although she suspected he roared for justice, that at least was a fine roar to claim dominion and intimidate his foes. And so, with the determined resolve of an experienced, adult dragon, she set about teaching him the ways of dragons, and let him experiment with using them for knightly things. He took to it like a kelpie to water, and was soon a fine dragon in his own right, even with his eccentricities.

However, no dragon is ever content to stay in their hatching cave forever, and Torix, too, had things to prove: to himself, to other dragons, and to everyone else. So, one day, in his best-crafted armor, and with his bags slung over his back, he bade his mother well until they met again, and was off to a human town.

---

"Uh, Sir Fernal?"

"Yes, Sir Jenkins? What is it?" Fernal braced himself for whatever inspired the rookie knight to seek him out at lunch. His mind went through the banal stuff first: someone lost their sword, someone got locked out of their room, someone decided to be "creative" about getting into their room, or Ronald got stuck in a doorway again.

"Well, you see, they - the others who were there - told me that you're the one to deal with unusual things. Unique events. And, well, I'm pretty sure that this one is very, eh, very unique."

Fernal struggled to resist rolling his eyes. It wasn't the first time someone had said their problem was unique, nor would it be the last. Though it did clear out a lot of potential reasons. Maybe someone's handle broke off and left the blade in their hilt. Or they got another one of those weirdos who WANTED to be thrown in jail. Wait, no - someone had been caught with their pants down around a kobold, and is arguing they should be charged with pedophilia rather than bestiality. Or they're seeking justice for the obvious outcome of playing around with something that sharp-toothed. He looked at the younger knight again, and realized he was waiting for him to say something. This time, he didn't hide his eyeroll. "Well, then? Out with it, Jenkins."

Jenkins jumped and glanced behind him, looking for his words. "You see, Sir Fernal, there's a... well, there's a dragon at the entrance. About twice the size of a horse."

The more experienced knight leaned forward and pressed his fingers to his temples. "A dragon the size of a horse... and neither you nor the three other knights stationed there thought you could do anything about it? Stab it until it stops trying to eat livestock and steal our women." He gave Jenkins a tire, condescending look. "By which I mean, kill the damn thing before it causes more damage than what it's already done."

"I... don't think I can do that, Sir Fernal, without violating my principles as a knight of the crown."

Fernal froze. He fixed Jenkins with a nigh-inscrutable look, as one certain he was about to hear something terribly fascinating, either because of its newness or because of its sheer, utter, unmatched stupidity. "Sir Jenkins," he commanded, "explain."

"Well, you see, it's that, well," the young knight started, unsure of how to phrase the news, "the dragon, he walked up nice and calm, and says he wants to join us."

"We have ample cautionary tales as to why we ride horses, and not anything with a mind."

Jenkins shook his head. "No, Sir Fernal, as a knight. He has armor and everything."

This earned him a long, steady stare, before Fernal stood and began to walk to the door, beckoning Jenkins to walk with him. "Well, whatever prank you four have set up, I'll at least see what it is. Least I can do for such an entertaining lie."

The pair walked through the halls of the order's building. Jenkins continued to try to convince Fernal that he hadn't been lying, but to no avail. Finally, the two of them pushed open the main doors and squinted in the bright midday sun. As soon as he recognized the shape in front of him, he drew his sword quick as a flash and brandished it in front of him.

Torix stepped one paw back, but otherwise looked at him curiously. "Hello. I am called Torix. Are you the one to speak with about becoming a knight?"

Fernal pretended he hadn't heard the dragon, in his glinting, metal armor, speak. "Foul beast, why have you darkened the door of our city?"

Torix blinked, looked to the door guards, then back at Fernal. "I just said, I would like to be a knight. I admire them for their brave deeds and moral code, and it has long been my dream to join their number." Jenkins and the other non-Fernal knights nodded; it was the same thing Torix had told them when he introduced himself to them.

"So the vain lizard seeks fame, and protection from meeting the well-deserved end of his kin?" Fernal growled.

"I did not know knights grew indiviually famous; I thought it was just 'knight' in general that was well-known. Either way, I want to help people. Foil assassinations, recover long-lost treasures to their owners or to museums, and rescue innocent maidens and princes from evil wizards and cults!"

"And dragons," the skeptical knight appended.

"Yes, and dragons," Torix nodded, "though I do not think dragons are as likely to be captured by evil wizards and cults as maidens and princes are."

The two of them stared at each other in silence for a while. The other knights quietly talked about what they thought would happen.

"So... IS it you I go to about becoming a kni-"

"Queen's grace, you're actually not lying," Fernal muttered in disbelief, lowering his weapon.

"I try not to. So?"

Fernal sighed. "I'll... draw up the paperwork while Sir Jenkins here runs you through the entrance exam. If, and I do mean IF, you pass, you can start your training." He waved Jenkins over to him. "Sir? A word in private."

Jenkins walked over, and Fernal took him aside, an arm over his shoulders. "Okay, so the lizard's too dumb to realize dragons can't be knights. I don't want you newbies injured if I can avoid it, so we're going to make him fail the test so he can go away and get himself killed somewhere else." He thought for a moment, then continued, "First task, grab the info of our #1 most wanted. Don't tell him the reward, don't tell him the difficulty, just give him the target. Even better: he has to take the guy in alive, not dead. And if he somehow manages that, we'll go with an old classic: he has to find and bring back a snipe."

Jenkins nodded along, but paused at the last one. "Wait, Sir Fernal, you said that's what I need to do to get my next rank. You're saying it's impossible?"

"No," Fernal lied, "not for a human. But they're very afraid of dragons."

With that, they broke the huddle, and Jenkins explained Torix's trials while Fernal went back inside to finish his lunch. Torix looked over the drawing of his target and listened to the description of the bird he was to find as well, then bowed and took to the sky.

---

Jenkins led the new prisoner into the warden's office. The warden's eyebrows shot up when he saw the spitting image of the most wanted criminal in the city, Grindel Vilswarn, arms bound behind him, soaking wet, and looking more terrified than anyone might think the mad mage could ever be. After he recovered from the shock, he pointed through a door. "Right. Cell 16D, then."

"Please no..." Grindel begged as Jenkins pushed him along, "not a cell... they're so dark and small and... and damp, and small, and..."

The warden gave Jenkins a questioning look, and the knight replied, with an apologetic smile, "new guy's being tested. He has a rather... unorthodox method of transporting targets."

"Tight... wet... dark..." the traumatized mage mumbled as he was led to his spot in prison. "Nothing I could do..."

---

"And just why am I needed outside when I'm off duty?"

"Well, Sir Fernal, Torix is back, and he looks proud of himself."

"Torix."

"The dragon."

Fernal grimaced. "Right, that bespangled lizard. I don't see why this concerns me, Sir Jenkins."

"Quite simple, really," Jenkins said with a bit more smugness than Fernal thought the junior knight had been capable of in his entire life, "you said you'd get the paperwork ready for if he passed the tests. So, naturally, you should present it to him."

The two strode through the door, where they saw the armored dragon sitting, one paw off the ground and closed. Torix and two of the other knights on door duty were having a spirited conversation, with one of the humans appearing to exaggerate the size of a fish he caught once. They all turned to face Jenkins and Fernal when the pair approached, save for the knight doubled over with laughter.

"Look!" Torix said excitedly, his tail flicking back and forth. He held out his forepaw, turning and opening it to reveal a small, brown-and-black speckled bird with a long, slender beak, unmoving in death. It would say 'peent' no more. "I caught it as it flew from the marsh."

The knights looked at the bird. "Sure looks like a snipe to me," one said.

The dragon looked to Fernal expectantly, but the knight stared placidly back; a good knight was prepared for many setbacks, and this was no exception. "I was... not expecting such speed, even just for the entrance exam. It may be some time before-"

"Oh, that reminds me," the knight who had been laughing spoke up, holding a rolled-up parchment, "we finished today's report, including the arrest and the snipe. Just gotta light this sucker up and it'll be off to Her Majesty's people."

Fernal glared at him. "If you think for one second that thing will get near a candle before I review it..."

"I wouldn't dream of it. I know how fond you are of candle duty," the man replied, before turning to Torix. "Say, Torix, you can breathe fire, right?"

Torix beamed. "Yes! In fact, that's how I fashioned my armor!"

With a grin, the knight held forward the rolled-up parchment. "Then could I get a light?"

Two seconds later, Torix was hastily apologizing to the man, who had thrown off his metal gauntlet and was rapidly shaking his hand. But the parchment's spell had gone off, and the ash swiftly sped through the air.

---

The flat of a blade gently struck Torix's right horn, then his left. He remained still, belly and chin low to the ground as he crouched for the Queen.

"The Crown recognizes the deeds of Torix the Dragon, and grants him the title of Knight." The composed woman took several measured steps back, then held the sword out, point-down, where it was taken by an attendant. She nodded just enough to convey authority without displaying weakness or familiarity. "Sir Torix, you may now rise."

Every muscle in his body begged him to crash through the enormous stained-glass window and joyfully soar through the skies, roaring in celebration. Yet Torix steadily pushed himself to a standing position, keeping his head low to avoid the ceiling. Sir Torix, the knight who was also a dragon.

[ninjakasuga]

Sonsal Celebration Year 2, Day 4: Choice

Here we go again; prompt number four for day four. I hope everyone is enjoying the fun we’re having with the Sonsal celebration hosted by @boundforfreedomsonsal and hope you all look forward to the rest of the celebration prompts as they come!

Choice: “Nrghh, I can’t make up my mind Sal!”

Sitting in the chair by her desk desk in their bedroom; Sally continued to dry her hair with a towel, while another was wrapped around her figure. Craning her head towards Sonic as he stood by a full-length mirror, with two different dress coats in hand. A small smile curls on her lips as she instantly figured out his problem. “Having trouble deciding on what suit to wear Sonic?”

Turning to face her, the hedgehog’s expression was that of a childish pout, two clicks away from blowing a blood vessel. “I don’t do clothes besides my gloves and shoes on principal, but now I gotta wear a monkey suit. Pants and a shirt and jacket, man it’ll drag me down! Plus, I dunno which of these things looks good, they’re both fancy as heck!” He ranted, holding up, each suit and jacket pair to place emphasis on his points.

As she finished tying the towel around her head, she got up from the chair and walked over her main squeeze, eyeing each outfit as she spoke to him sympathetically. “I know a fancy dinner isn’t your thing, but it’s a dinner with both of our parents and my brother and his family. A family get-together and celebration of our recent good fortunes.” Gently she brought a hand up to run through his head-quills, allowing herself a content smile as he made a soft murring sound and closed his eyes. Obviously enjoying her handiwork very much. “Your Mother’s pregnancy, my Father’s health taking a turn for the better, your Dad being deroboticized, the recent victories.”

“-Getting you back.” He added, opening his eyes, his gaze looking upon her with slight concern. When he didn’t see the ‘dead dread’ in Sally’s eyes, relief flooded Sonic. That was a sign Sally was slowly making progress recovering from the mental distress of that ordeal. Often times bringing it up, she would get quiet, nervous, and starting to relive events in her mind. Putting the two outfits on small hooks on the wall, he turns to face her and takes her hands into his as their eyes meet again. “You good Sal?” He inquired gently, wanting to confirm things were alright regardless.

With a wry smile and a nod, Sally leaned in so their noses brushed together. “I’m good hun, the nightmares happen less and less, and I don’t, start having vivid flashbacks from just bringing it up.” Inching closer, she kissed him, looking deeply into his emerald orbs seeing the worry and love in them for her. “You don’t need to be on eggshells around me with that topic.”

Squeezing her hands the speedy hedgehog let himself chuckle. “Just checkin’ Sal, I know you’re no pushover, but a Hedgehog worries from time to time.”

“Worry no more my love, now as for your outfit woes…” Looking over at the choices, she points to the right one. “That one.”

Eyeballing the outfit, a simple black pair of slacks, and matching sports coat with a white button-up shirt, and a solid red tie. “Why that one?”

“It’s nice and the colors compliment your blue quills and your tan fur.” She replied, reaching up to run a finger along his tan-colored muzzle. “Plus, it’s simple, no extra frills, but stylish, at least I think you’ll make the suit look good.”A laugh erupted from Sonic’s throat, unable to help himself at her compliment. 

“Well, do make cool, look cool so I’ll take your word for it.” He smiled, wide and knowing he was full of bull, to which both of them enjoyed a long chuckle and a hug. “Thanks for the assist hun.”

“Anytime.” Kissing his cheek, she walked over to her own dressing area and removed her towel around her figure. At the wolf-whistle coming from her boyfriend, she looked over her shoulder. “Behave, you’ve seen me fully unclothed plenty of times.”

Waggling his eyebrows, Sonic flashed one of his trademark cocky grins. “Doesn’t mean I ever tire of it. Especially with that tail wagging at me.”

As if to defy him she shook her booty and even wagged her tail, but held up a hand, wagging her finger in a ‘no-no’ gesture. “We have dinner in a few hours. I want to get ready in time. So this time my dear Sonic, fight the urge to jump me. I’m doing the same if it’s any consolation.”

Crossing his arms, the blue hedgehog sighed dramatically. “Oh, aaaalllright. I guess I can not jump my beautiful, smart, sexy, amazing girlfriend this once.” After playfully sticking his tongue at her; to which she had a good laugh, (which made him smile inside) he turned away and walked out of their bedroom to let her finish her ‘fancying up’ without giving into ‘temptation’. 

He wasn’t that bad, well most of the time he wasn’t. Maybe, occasionally he let his ‘lower brain’ do the thinking. After all, who could resist that fluffy tail wagging at them? He sure couldn’t!

“Oh Sonic, you have it bad.” He chuckled to himself, smiling and stopping in the middle of their shared living space, and just, admiring their relatively new home. Not long after his Mother announced her pregnancy; Sally and he had a sit-down and talk about the other… thing that happened that day. Specifically being busted for having a ‘sexy sleepover’ at his folks home. Suffice to say, they were a bit gun-shy about it happening again, and both cringed if there was a repeat concerning Sally’s folks instead of his. Sonic rather liked not being on Max’s bad side, and undoing any respect he gained from both her folks in general nor did they want to wear out any welcome or leeway his parents were already giving them.

So they made a choice and opted to get a home together. Of course, Nicole built it via her nanites, but they both had input on the interior set up and design. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs. The only real hurdle was doing so without stirring up any hubbub with their parents, well more Sally’s than his given their traditional sensibilities. His folks as expected instantly supported the idea, so it was down to a discussion with the Acorns. Suffice to say, Sonic was gobsmacked when Sally and he explained their plans to Max and Alicia, neither objected and gave their blessing.

“All I ask is you keep loving and protecting our daughter as you always have Sonic, and yes you can have our blessing.” Max had said plaintively as if the topic was a simple affair. Alicia chimed in her own words of blessing, and well, boom, here they were. To this day Sonic was still unsure what happened to improve his standing with Sally’s folks but he was grateful for it. Having their own home; felt like a big step in their lives, and one both of them were ready to take.

Oh sure, they had some small arguments about this and that, habits both had that got on the other’s nerves, or each having a preferred method to solving a home issue. Yet for any bickering or actual argument they had, to Sonic it felt like they came out of it wiser, and closer. Cleaning the house, making meals together, tending to the small garden outside, even decorating felt new and another experience to strengthen their bonds. Not to mention the privacy was nice; they could walk around practically naked without care if they wanted, and well the improvement of their sex lives could not be understated.

They’d only been living together for two months now, but it felt longer and, almost magical in how soothing having something that was ‘theirs’ to call their own. Everything gave Sonic optimism about their future co-habitation. In fact, as such optimism swelled in his chest, he walked over to a small alcove and reached into a vase and retrieved a small black box hidden within it. Opening the box, he admired the simple, forged re-sized power ring topped with a special gemstone he recovered on one of his adventures. Closing the box he looked up towards the doorway to the bedroom, wondering if he should wait a bit longer, or make the choice and ask Sally the big question now?

The hedgehog’s answer came almost instantly as his brain seemed to work in tandem with his heart. Smiling, he holds the box behind his back and walks back towards the bedroom. “Hey Sal, got a second?”

“What is it Sonic?”He smiled as he strode in, his tone playful. “Oh, nothing much, just a question I’ve been burning to ask ya’ hun.”

That night, Sonic not only got a resounding ‘YES!’ to his question; but the two were, a little ‘late’ to the dinner party, but luckily for them, they had a proper excuse that made the celebration that night, all the more memorable.

Author Notes: I admit this one gave me some trouble and I found myself kind of ‘adding’ to the actual ‘choice’ into several choices. The first choice being Sonic’s outfit, then the choice of the two acquiring a home together, as well as making the leap to being a live-in couple together. Lastly, Sonic’s deciding to propose to Sally that night.   

[saywhatjessie]

Toss a Coin to Your Spin Class

I did a Fandom Trumps Hate and had a great time. Witcher gym au, fuck it. 3.3k [Ao3]

Yennefer collapsed in the wrong direction on the weights bench next to him and Geralt didn’t even turn his head. 

She let loose a huge dramatic groan of agony, her usual lead-in to gym-time conversation. Geralt grunted in response. His usual response to everything.

“I despise the double standard of conventional beauty requirements more than I could possibly say,” she started. “For you it’s completely fine to bulk up like some barely sentient mountain but for me I must add cardio and endurance training to my weightlifting regimen if I’m to maintain any kind of toned physique as is required of me by our terrible misogynistic society.”

Geralt grunted in response.

Yennefer sighed and flipped over, back to the weightlifting bench so she could at least look as if she would be using the equipment properly. “I took that spinning class they keep advertising on the front bulletin board. It kicked my arse.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow but paid her no attention beyond that, continuing with his reps.

Yennefer generously waited for him to place his bar back on the rack, letting him take his time to respond to that clearly outrageous statement.

“I have seen your arse, Yen.” Geralt responded, finally. “I have to imagine you’re exaggerating.”

Yennefer preened a bit at the compliment but let loose another sigh. “I’m not. The relentless twink who teaches is a vicious tyrant. He picked on me immediately.”

Geralt’s attention had already been caught by Yennefer’s specific mention of a twink but the last bit about being picked on compelled him to respond with words. “Picked on you? How?”

Yennefer groaned again, theatrically flipping her hair over her shoulder in a respectable display of defeat. “He called me out as a weightlifter straight away and wouldn’t leave me alone all class, telling me that I wouldn’t last a day in his world and yelling at me to keep up. He was more than lovely by the end when I had actually managed to hold on for the whole class but I was so exhausted I couldn’t move. He laughed at me even as he helped me out of his room.”

There was far too much in that to unpack, Geralt just latched on to the first part. “He thinks weightlifters are weak?”

Yennefer shrugged. “It’s not like he’s wrong. Look at me.”

“Yes, but you’re…” Geralt trailed off, Yennefer’s expression working like a spell to dry his words right up.

“Yes?” She prompted, poisonously.

Geralt grunted in a way that would have sounded like someone clearing their throat in embarrassment if Geralt ever did anything as pedestrian as that. 

“I’m not weak,” he answered, simply.

Yennefer hummed. A dangerous sound. The rattle of a snake before it lunges.

“Well,” she said, flipping her hair the other way, to punctuate her ‘well’. “Care to place a bet on that?”

Geralt found himself scanning his gym pass that next Wednesday at 6 o'clock in the morning.

This wasn’t unprecedented: Geralt worked from home, so most of his self-appointed socialization came from visiting the gym. And he often went early in the morning because, even if the gym was mostly empty, it still counted as socialization to be in a place other people were. 

The difference was, instead of heading straight to the rowing machine to warm up or the weightlifting benches for his daily reps, he waited, glumly, outside the dark, glass-encased studio where the spin class was supposed to take place.

He took Yennefer up on her bet. He hadn’t wanted money: he was mostly doing this for pride (and bragging rights), but if Yen won, she got to pick Geralt���s outfits for the week.

Geralt’s outfits usually defaulted to the gym clothes he worked out in, seeing as that was his only reason to get dressed, and that consisted mostly of black cutoff sweats and a black muscle tank. Which is what he wore now.

The assembled crowd seemed to be mostly chattering moms, here for an early morning workout before they had to get their kids to school. Or there were some professional looking women, getting their class in before a day at the office. Mostly women.

There were at least two other men, speaking to each other, but from what Geralt could guess, they were likely here to ogle the twink spin instructor Yennefer had mentioned rather than any desire to ride a stationary bike to music for an hour.

All of them gave him a wide berth. 

The doors opened at exactly 6:15, a mousy looking brunette guy peeking his head out with a grin. “Okay, true believers, who’s ready to sweat?”

Some of the moms sent up a practiced sounding “Whoo!” but the professional looking women just offered the guy a smile and made their way past him through the door, beelining toward the bikes in the middle.

Geralt hung toward the back, letting everyone head in before him, sure there would be a bike in the back corner he could claim when he got in there.

The mousy guy stopped him at the door with a hand on his chest.

“You’re new,” the guy said, looking up at Geralt with a teasing curiosity.

Geralt didn’t bother to reply. What he’d said hadn’t been a question.

The guy grinned, taking a step back and crossing his arms, blocking Geralt’s entrance to the studio. His frame was slight but muscled, his outfit a neon-hooded but sleeveless crop-top and a pair of running shorts like something out of postcard from South Beach from the 90’s. This was definitely the twink Yennefer had mentioned. 

“And not very friendly,” the guy observed, looking Geralt up and down. “What, were you planning on sitting in the back of the room to brood?”

Geralt grunted. It was close enough to what he’d come to do.

The guy grinned wider. “I’m afraid that won’t do. You see we like to welcome every new student to my class of spin with a featured front row seat. That way I can best review your performance and decide what best to focus on in upcoming classes.”

Geralt grunted again, showing his teeth in a way that was more sneer than smile. “I just came to finish one class.” he growled.

The guy’s eyebrows hitched up and he actually let out a surprised little scoff. “Oh, you think you’re going to finish class today?”

Geralt grunted in a way that couldn’t have more clearly conveyed ‘Obviously’ if he’d said the word aloud.

Mr. Twink Spin Instructor clicked his tongue sceptically, again looking Geralt over, his eyes lingering on his shoulders and neck. “We’ll see about that.”

  Geralt felt like he was going to die. 

“That’s right everyone! We’re feeling it, we’re loving it, and now get ready to kick it up! Here we go! Everyone off your seat!”

Geralt attempted to stand in his stirrups but his legs gave out immediately. His tailbone connected painfully with the seat of the stationary bike.

The instructor had been perfectly accommodating at the start, leading Geralt to a bike at the front and helping him adjust his settings. He showed Geralt how to adjust the bike’s resistance and helped strap his feet into the stirrups that were in place of pedals. For safety.

Or just to keep him as a prisoner as he struggled and was verbally abused for it.

“Everyone is doing so wonderfully except our lovely blond mountain up front. Come on Mr. Grumpy, where’s your spirit?”

Geralt didn’t even have enough breath to grunt. He had no idea how this man could talk so much.

“Couple more pushes and then we have our decline. Then we’re onto sprints!”

Geralt huffed in a way that only vaguely resembled the word ‘fuck’.

He finished the pushes but couldn’t physically sit up in his seat for the decline. He was collapsed on the handlebars and couldn’t move.

He’s not sure when his legs stopped, only that the instructor was very loudly making fun of him.

“And it looks like our big strong muscle man is down for the count. Now, friends, let’s not mock him. It’s unkind to lambaste someone’s weaknesses.”

Geralt couldn’t pick up his head, but he curled four of his fingers down in a very weak approximation of the bird. The instructor laughed, jovially.

Geralt’s breath evened out in time, but his limbs would not cooperate with him as he tried to pick up with the workout. He managed to undo his feet from the stirrups, his arse slipping off the seat, slick from his sweat. He got his feet on the ground and stumbled out from the dark and loud room to spare himself the second half of the class. And his torment.

The instructor did take a parting shot as he left: “Excellent work finishing class, Mr. Muscles! Please do come back soon.”

  Yennefer was extremely smug.

Geralt was nothing if not a man of his word so he arrived at the gym the next day and took her proffered garments without comment, ducking into the locker room to change.

It was the loudest leopard print jumpsuit he had ever seen. Geralt was disgruntled and impressed: where had she even found something like this in his size?

He did his workout as normal. He noted the extra stares he got from surrounding lifters but they said nothing so neither did he.

Yennefer talked a mile a minute, her breath not even stuttering with her reps, and all Geralt could think about was that damn twink who’d made fun of him. How had he instructed that whole class and still had the energy and breath to talk and cheer everyone on the entire time? He’d never even paused in his litany: constant encouragements and critiques and instructions and, in Geralt’s case, cheerful insults. It would have been admirable if it hadn’t been so annoying.

Perhaps there was value in such high intensity cardio.

  Geralt scanned his gym card at the same time the next week, back for the spin class.

This time he had brought a 32 oz water bottle, a sweat towel so he wouldn't slip off the seat (again) and even more resolve.

He was also wearing an obscenely tight and tiny crop top and booty shorts with “Are u Nasty?” printed across the arse. This was the last day of Yennefer’s punishment and of course she’d saved the most ludicrous outfit for last.

The outfit did make him more interesting to the assembled crowd, it seemed, but all it took was a sneer from Geralt and they were minding their own business again. Or they weren’t outwardly gawping, at least, which was something.

When the instructor peeked his head out to welcome them to class that week his eyes instantly caught on Geralt and he positively lit up.

“You’re back!” he said, not even bothering to greet the other students. “I did not think you would be! Much less dressed like this.”

“Lost a bet,” Geralt volunteered for no reason he could discern. He didn’t need to explain himself to this guy. Nor justify what he was wearing. What business was Geralt of his?

“I’ll have to thank the bet commissioner should I ever meet them.” the guy mumbled, his eyes lingering on Geralt's exposed sternum. It really was an extremely short crop top.

Geralt just grunted, watching the instructor watch him.

“I didn’t properly introduce myself last time,” the instructor said, dragging his eyes up from Geralt’s navel to his face. “I’m Jaskier.”

Geralt grunted again but, after a moment of consideration, answered “Geralt.”

Jaskier grinned. “Glad to be acquainted,” he said. “Shall we begin class?”

Geralt was able to grab a bike in the back this time for which he could only be grateful: he knew his arse was falling out of these shorts and he was reluctant to subject the others to it. 

He did better in this class. He drank water when they had a moment, though the guzzling of it did serve to make him feel ill. He wiped his sweat at intervals but dropped his towel halfway through and had to do without it for the rest of class. He couldn’t bend far enough to the floor to pick it up.

Even if Geralt was doing better, Jaskier still picked on him, even in the back of the class. Jaskier seemed to have decided he liked him. He told Geralt to lift his knees higher or try to hold his core and not bounce as much or “Do this bit without holding the handle bars”.Geralt followed his instructions, because he wasn’t a quitter, but he was sure each time he tried he embarrassed himself more.

He made it longer this time but still found himself collapsed over the handlebars before the end of class, unable to move. He didn’t bother dismounting his bike and making his way out this time, knowing he’d have to walk all the way through the other bikes to get there: the door was at the front of the room. And Geralt was happier to wait out the class than suffer that humiliation again.

So Jaskier teased him for his useless vanity muscles again (and, seriously, why were all of the insults about his muscles?) but by the time Geralt was officially spent, Jaskier didn’t linger on his presence for long.

By the time class was over, Geralt was feeling relatively back to normal if not completely sore all over. He undid his stirrups and bent to retrieve his towel, coming face to face with Jaskier when he stood back up.

He was grinning, of course. “You did better today.”

Geralt grunted, ignoring the dirt and grime from the towel’s time on the floor and using it to wipe his neck. “I always aim to improve.”

Jaskier smiled wider. “An admirable quality in a man.” he winked.

Geralt grunted again, turning his attention to his water bottle, unscrewing and re-screwing the top. “Any tips?”

Jaskier hummed, leaning against the front of Geralt’s bike. He was dressed similarly to last week, but this time with a blue-purple color palette, more berry look than the lemon-lime of last week.

“Try doing cardio between classes, too,” he answered, his eyebrows arched in a superior looking way. “Build up your endurance.”

Geralt grunted in a way that could have been construed as a ‘thanks’ before pushing off the bike and making his way out.

He heard Jaskier call out behind him: “See you back next week!”

Jaskier did see him back next week. And the next week, and the week after that.

After those first two classes, Jaskier got extremely, weirdly supportive. Every minute longer Geralt made it in class from the week before, Jaskier would praise him and give him compliments. Geralt was equally put off and flattered by it. Once, Jaskier said "Look at this white-haired Hercules, moving his muscle around. He's struggling but he's getting there!” when he’d had them do a lot of increased resistance sprints. And another time, during a speed run, he’d said “How do you move your huge body so fast? You're doing amazing!" Which was at once patronizing and nice to hear. He did not need to be babied, to be treated like a toddler just learning to ride a bike. But the way the spin instructor smiled at him did make him feel as if he’d achieved something. 

Whether that something was an achievement with spin classes or something else was hard to say and no one’s business.

Yennefer had not been keeping up with Geralt’s continued attendance of the spin class. She was not usually at the gym that early and didn't catch Geralt until he was well into his workout, so she didn’t even know he’d been practicing cardio. She herself had been weighing the merits of taking up lap swimming which, while with the unfortunate side effect of making her feel like she’s drowning, also meant she could show off her fabulous physique and look sexy coming out of a pool, which were both extremely important to her.

Geralt, as someone who was fond of watching Yennefer get out of a pool, supported this. He also supported this as a way to steer her away from the spin classes, but one ulterior motive was enough. Yen wouldn’t go looking for another.

It wasn’t until the fourth class – a full month of failure and doing cardio as a warm-up before he lifted in the days between classes – that he could make it through a full class, not only having completed the exercise, but not feeling as if he wanted to die.

Jaskier made the whole class clap for him. Geralt gave them an awkward wave in acknowledgement.

His goal was to make it through an entire class. And now he had. He could give up the secrecy: there was no reason to come back.

Except Jaskier was skipping over to him after the class, smile wide in congratulations.

“Well done Mr. Muscle Man!” Jaskier said, clapping Geralt on each shoulder, shaking him a bit with his enthusiasm. “Oh what a journey it’s been! And now here you are!”

“Here I am,” Geralt growled, but in a fonder way than he’d thought himself capable of.

This instructor was extremely annoying. But somewhere along the way Geralt had become incredibly endeared to him.

“You really have done great,” Jaskier told him, his face less bright and more soft. He stood with his hands on his hips, swaying a bit as if the loud music from the class were still affecting him. His outfit was softer today as well: a forest green rather than neon monstrosity. It matched closer to Geralt’s usual black. “I do hope you come back.”

Geralt grunted. He didn’t have any reason to come back. He’d proven he could make it a whole class. He’d done what he’d gone there to do.

But–

“It’s not like I have anything else going on at this time,” he admitted, voice low.

Jaskier’s answering grin was loud.

“Excellent! Now I don’t have to do something stupid like ask you on a date just to see you again.”

Geralt blinked, fumbling his water bottle, the lid of which he’d been carefully unscrewing and rescrewing.

“Why would you do something like that?”

“Haven’t I just said?” Jaskier answered, his eyes glittering with the same mischief Geralt had seen when they’d first met. “To see you again.”

Geralt grunted, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “But now I’ve said I’ll come back to class you’re not interested in a date?”

Jaskier cocked his head, his sweaty hair falling past his eyes. “Are you asking?”

Geralt blinked again, biting his lip. He felt like he had been tricked, but he wasn’t completely angry about that.

“If I did,” he started, his already deep voice going deeper as he took half a step closer. “What would be your answer?”

Jaskier looked up at him, his neck stretching back the further he had to look up. “Why don’t you ask and find out.”

Geralt growled and Jaskier just continued to grin at him. The spark in his eye had become a smoldering fire and Geralt was becoming more and more interested in being consumed.

“Let’s go for a drink.” He said, his voice getting even lower, stepping even closer.

It wasn’t a question but Jaskier grinned and answered anyway.

“Yeah, okay.”

Jaskier didn’t take a single step back. He didn’t lean away. He stiffened his chin and met Geralt’s eye.

Yennefer was going to be so smug.

[wkm-detective-abe-squad]

All Together, Prologue and Part 1

Making A Plan

Word Count: 2257

Based on this AHWM AU

Warnings: None

Author’s Notes at the end

Some say that the night is dead, that it is silent and empty, but that is never quite the case. As the moon rises and the world is lulled to sleep there is always someone, somewhere who resists the darkness’s lullaby. An owl, willingly or not, left to their own devices as the stars above make their journey across the skies.

Tonight, however, seemed to be filled with a whole flock, ruffling their feathers as wide eyes search for something far from their grasp, something that cannot be hunted by one alone.

With their skills, their experience, and their hints of jumbled memories, success appears to be in reach, despite the secrets, the conflicts, and the haunting truth.

However,

It is also important to note the average owl’s brain only takes up about ⅓ of its skull.

Which can equate to roughly the size of a thimble in some species.

…

Do with that information as you will.

________________________________________________________________

Blue and red hues colored the moonlight gently streaming into the lab, as the steady hum of machines filled the void with quiet noise. At the hour of 4 am, the halls should have been emptied hours ago, but of course science never sleeps, so neither did the scientist. It wasn’t healthy, she that more than anybody, but she considered it a small price to pay for what was at stake.

At least that’s what she told herself. It was difficult to label what exactly was at stake when nothing simply made sense anymore. Nothing was adding up in the way they should, and the scientific method she held on to appeared to be failing her at every turn.

The first indicator of something being amiss was the time. Yes, staying up till 4 in the morning was horrendous for a person’s circadian rhythm, but that wasn’t the major issue. The major issue was that the sun was shining bright, and the clock was reading 2:37 pm up until she had turned from her desk until just moments ago to be met with darkened windows. Yes, perhaps Einstein’s theory of relativity could be to blame, but she wasn’t that absorbed in her work… okay maybe she was, but even she had to get up once in awhile in the span of roughly 13 hours that had somehow passed in an instant.

The second indicator was a feeling that was gnawing at her from the inside out. A sense of Deja vu that would never leave, a constant feeling of a word stuck on the tip of her tongue, and bits and pieces of memories in her brain that seemed logically impossible, even in her dreams.

What did it all mean?

Despite the piles of handwritten notes strewn across her desk, she felt completely at a loss. At least she had the newly built Time Anomaly Tracker… that she had no recollection of building, to show for.

Maybe she just needed a break from it. Maybe things would make more sense in the morning after what little sleep she could get.

But first she needed to slow down the wheels turning in her mind. It was a good thing there was an old TV in the break room, that should do the trick. It didn’t take her long to plop down onto a dusty couch and grab the remote. Hopefully it would be enough to distract her from all her thoughts. 

-click-

“Order your bubbles today-”

-click-

“Welcome to Warfs-”

-click-

“You think she cares? Bad Dog!”

-click-

So picky, she couldn’t help but drone through the different channels until a shaky camera and a stuttering voice caught her attention.

“Hello everybody this is Jim, and this is my associate Jim. Welcome to this Jim News Exclusive -stay low, stay low- Tonight, we bring to you-” the reporter paused for a moment to dramatically point to the camera, as if this was a message directly to Rose Beauregard herself, “live footage from the scene of the crime. The crime of robbery. A robbery so mysterious, so mystifying that no one could even pathom how the the robberors could have broken into this heavily guarded museum in the first place!”

From the way they were sneaking around, it appeared that the reporters had broken into the museum. It was actually quite impressive considering the lines of caution tape that wrapped some exhibits like Christmas presents, the addition of a laser based alarm system, and the obscene number of patrolling guards and policemen that could be easily seen in the background.

"We must be careful Jim we don’t know what dangers may be lurking abo- oh hand me the steak," it was thrown off camera, quickly followed by a distant voice cheering in delight about the free snack, “The Old Steak Trick, works most of the time.”

Soon, maybe a little bit too soon, the Jims approached a very much unlocked and strangely unprotected vault. 

“Here it is, the grisly scene. Not one, not seven, not four, but two insidious individuals committed the reprehensible act of theft in this very vault. Yes, the item that once here is no longer here. It has disappeared, off with the perpetrators. We have no confirmation about exactly what it is they actually stole, but we have our theories. It could have been a treasure map or an ancient salt shaker, it may be from another world or the source of a time anomaly, it could be fairy (like the ones we learned about in history class) or the world’s oldest picnic basket, it could be all of these, it could be nothing at all, the possibilities are endless.”

“Now I’m sure many of you watching at home are shaking in utter fear, I am too, but fear not. Thankfully for you innocent, or perhaps not so innocent civilians, justice hit them hard, even harder than how Cousin Jim was hit by that bus, and a great many times quicker. Our inside resource has informed us Jims about the fates of Mark Iplier and his assistant Y/N. They are already locked up, far, far away at Happy Trails Penitentiary to never see the light of day again. We are safe, for now.”

“However, there is still a mystery to be solved. For unknown reasons, the object of question has not been returned to its rightful place. It’s tragic on every degree, that poor stolen object, it must be so scared and alone now that its captors are behind bars. But that is why we have taken it upon ourselves to get answers. And this time I swear, on every Jim ever to Jim, that we will find an answer to whatever, wherever, whenever, and whyever this thing is-”

The Jim’s voice was cut off by another’s, which resulted in the reporters and their sole viewer being being thrown off guard. In their hasty escape, the camera tumbled to the ground, making it even more difficult to decipher who the new person was. From the small glimpse, it didn’t appear like they worked at the museum, nor were they dressed as any law enforcer. Nevertheless, they didn’t seem so glad to see the trespassers.

“You two again!? Why won’t you quit?!?” was the last thing to be heard before the screen was claimed by static.

The scientist simply sat on, dumbfounded by whatever the hell she just watched. Her head was filled with so many questions she wasn’t even sure where to begin. There was a heist at a public museum, yet no one knows what was stolen? How were the perpetrators already in jail? Didn’t the crime just happen? When was the trial? And why did everything seem like it was…

Out of order.

“Mark Iplier… Y/N… A time anomaly”

It all finally clicked. 

This had all happened before. Well, sort of. The events were different as far as she remembered. Thankfully it appeared she was no longer in a timeline riddled with the undead and raiders, and undead raiders. However… if she had already destroyed the anomaly before, all of the time-space issues should have been fixed right? Unless, of course, her original hypothesis about of all this was wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t the box causing all the trouble, maybe, it was Y/N and maybe this Mark causing the trouble. The strangeness always seemed to be triggered by them afterall. 

Too many of her questions were still left unanswered, which only served to fuel her curiosity and need to fix this once and for all. However, this time Rose was no longer at a complete loss, she now had a lead, which only meant one thing:

Off to Happy Trails Penitentiary.

________________________________________________________________

Blue and red hues colored the moonlight blanketing the courtyard, as the blaring call of ambulance sirens added to the usual chaos of the night. 4 am was too late for any of this, but crime never slept, and apparently neither did any of the criminals. Which in turn led to a very sleep deprived and grouchy warden that now that had to deal with one prisoner being punched through the wall and another pulling off a magic disappearing act.

Not to mention the holes. There was a giant hole in the bottom of his office, several even larger holes in the cell walls, and another that was vaguely human shaped and a little bit too disturbing to deal with at the moment. It felt like the place was built out of goddamn graham crackers.

At least the injured prisoner was properly dealt with, Mark Iplier, or Asshole Mark as the other prisoners called him, broke too many bones for the staff to handle so he was sent off to a nearby hospital to recover. The warden didn’t mind, he was causing too much trouble anyways going off and asking for his personal belongings.

And speaking of the two’s personal belongings, the box they had arrived with just so happened to disappear with Y/N, who was otherwise known as *Insert Ridiculous Prison Nickname Here*. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to open it yet and now it was gone. However, that wasn’t the worst of it. Y/N was gone, or perhaps very good at hide and seek. He was hoping for the latter but after several hours of guards and prisoners counting and looking, it didn’t seem very likely.

The warden was offended on all accounts by the newest prisoner's conduct. There hadn't been a breakout in years and then suddenly they waltz in and think that they could just waltz back out like it was no big deal. Though yet again, he doubted the charade would last long. Most of the criminals of Happy Trails wouldn’t last a day out in the real world. They even sang a song about how they never wanted to leave. It would be soon enough until they came crawling back again, and when they did, they were going to face all the wrath of Warden Dave Murderslaughter. They were going to get rehabilitated harder than they would ever get rehabilitated before, whether they liked it or not.

But for now he had to play the waiting game. Somehow, someway or another, he was going to take the reins over once again. This was his penitentiary after all, and what kind of warden would he be if his jail wasn’t in proper order?

________________________________________________________________

At this hour the world seemed almost monochrome. It was an hour in which one should be snuggled up in bed, or in some cases, a jail cell safe from the dangers of the world. It was for sure not an hour where someone should be braving the summer night’s heat as they wander through tall grass, with no one other than the insects eating them alive as a companion.

Y/N had escaped, that was a given, but that didn’t mean they felt free. Once everyone knew they escaped, the hunt would be on. All they could think of at the moment was to carry on forward, but they knew they’d have to think of a plan eventually. If only Mark was there with them… he was always the one to point out their options.

But now they were all alone, truly alone… Wow, when was the last time that happened? Of course they couldn’t remember, during all these adventures memory never seemed like a necessity. With every bizarre scenario that came along, it was difficult to process the present as it was. Trying to analyze the past was a whole other be a feat in itself. As Yancy said, “The past ain’t the kind of thing to be trifled with.” It was the future they really needed to worry about right now.

They had to forge their way out of this mess somehow, but they couldn’t do it all by themselves. They needed to find Mark, or at least some they could trust, they needed to make sure no one else would be looking for them, and they needed to learn the truth about the box they had gone through so much trouble to steal. In it was a key as far as they knew, but inside they knew that there had to be more going on. Something that perhaps Mark wasn’t telling them about.

So now they had… something that resembled a plan. They were still unsure of the road ahead, but perhaps if they followed that plan… and don’t deviate from it… everything might just turn alright in the end after all. 

________________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading, it’s much appreciated :) Future parts should have less POV switching, this is just mainly to set up where each character is at starting out. (Also please don’t quote me on the owl facts, I was just trying my best to make a dramatic metaphor) 

Tagging: @thatforgottenbasilisk @thecatchat @statictay @gay-spaghetti @captainsaltypear @chelseareferenced

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Se A Vida É

Summary: A May Day parade changes how Mason sees his best friend.

Rating: T -  Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Canonical character death. Reader discretion is advised.

Words: 1313

Notes: Based on this Pet Shop Boys song.

So, I like clichés and best friends to lovers, so I tried justifying it. The thing that is not working with these bite-sized chapters in MTFL is that every sense of character and time is warped.

Why on Earth are Mason and the MC friends? What does they like about each other? What about Noah, why does the MC likes him? “He’s pretty!” is not very good of an answer. Furthermore, what day is today in the story?! It’s like, nothing ever happens, and time passes but it still feels like the first day of school. I don’t think even the writers know what time it is.

And the reuse of faces is egregious. Production value is very low.

Alas, I still have hope for this book, so mamma gotta paper over the holes. Hope you like it.

I consider myself to be a simple person. It does not take much to make me happy.

I have a nice house in the suburbs, where I live with my mom, my dad and my dog, Maverick. I had a beat-up but cool car, a red fixer-upper my parents gave me on my sixteenth birthday I use to go around if I want to. I had football to relax and I went through school with little hassle. Finally, I had good friends, more specifically, I had the best best friend a guy can have.

Everything considered, I think I have a pretty good life.

Of course, there was things I wanted. A new jersey, a golden watch I saw at the mall, the latest PlayStation, win the state championship, make into the honor roll. Nothing that I feel too much the lack of, though.

Until recently, that is.

Emma is my best friend. She has always been my best friend, ever since we moved into our neighborhood when I was six, right next door to her family. My parents did not care much for the family of four, but Mrs. Price was the deserved and uncontested star of the street and it was unavoidable for us to cross paths in the numerous barbecues, fairs and dinners thrown all around.

Being the only two children in the street our age, we soon became attached at the hip, sharing all kinds of imaginary adventures as children, and secrets and emotions and dramas as we grew up.

Then… One day, she was my best friend, the dearest person in my heart, and in the other, she was still that, but much, much more. It was like she became my whole world, like if she was what was fundamentally missing in my life. Even if she was in it the whole time.

What happened, you must be asking. Well, some two years ago, when we were freshmen in high school, the City Council was organizing a parade to celebrate May Day. Mrs. Price was all into the idea, designing floats decorated with flowers from local vendors and dancing numbers and marching bands from the schools in the district.

Emma, of course, was roped into participating, together with the other cheerleaders from their school. They rehearsed a dance number, with throwing petals and gifting May baskets of sweets and flowers to the attendees.

So, wearing a black crop top and skirt decorated with leaves, the girls paraded down the avenue, with smiles on their faces and light on their feet. I, of course, watched it all from the first row on the sidewalk.

As she skipped through the street, the sun hit her right on the crown of her head and I thought for a moment she must be a mirage, so pretty she looked. Her straight white teeth shone at the attendees, her wrist making the soft movements of the dance as her eyes looked like a pair of sapphires, blue as they were.

She was just absolutely beautiful, and I felt the need to touch her.

It was, then and there, that my world began to spin in the other direction. I fancied myself in love with my best friend, and it was much scarier than what you might be led to believe.

For a few weeks, I did not really know what to do. I mean, I am a teenage boy, I have seen my fair share of pretty girls, and I was, er… Fixated, on one or another. They all went away as quick as they came about, though, so it did not seem either fair or useful to say anything.

Yet, I wanted to say something to somebody. That somebody should be Emma, but that would defeat the purpose. I had no one else I could trust that much, so I kept quiet.

As the days passed, and I continued to spend time with her, my sentiment grew and grew, and I started to think it would not go away anytime soon. Then, it would be cool if I just told her how I felt and took myself out of my misery, but I started to develop a fear of… Not only rejection, though that would not be nice, but also, I was afraid she would not be my friend anymore if she was not interested in being my girlfriend.

A few weeks after that started plaguing my thoughts, Mrs. Price came back with a terminal cancer diagnostic. Emma could not take two steps straight, so lost she was on her own mind and concerns. I do not think she would be in a place for having to think about boyfriends and romance, so I let slide.

I tried to be there for her, I really did, but, again, I am a teenage boy and I am not very well equipped to deal with those kinds of emotions. So, I began backing off, and by doing so, I began developing my own strategies to distract myself from thinking too hard about Emma and whatever I was feeling. These distractions usually wore short miniskirts and heavy make-up, or came in red cups and tasted at the same time too strong and too diluted.

Soon enough, too soon, Mrs. Price died overnight at a hospital and Emma was whisked away to Wyoming, to grieve.

I stayed behind and continued to fill her absence with whatever stimulated my senses the most. Sometime in late June, Ava took interest in me and began to seriously pursue me, and it was hard to resist her. Not only she was stunning, she was determined and insistent.

Eventually, I managed to get through a call with Emma, determined to tell her what was happening and how I felt. At least we would be on the same page.

I thought to begin with the most innocuous subject, that my family would be moving across town. I barely made it out with the announcement and she starts to bawl her eyes out, shouting and crying and lamenting.

Between the bad service and Emma’s crying, I could not get another word across, and so I hung up the phone without even hinting at what I meant to say.

I took it as a sign. Perhaps me and Emma drifted apart too much, perhaps I messed up and should not have left her be with her pain, or at least I should have told her my feelings immediately.

It was with a heavy heart that I gave up on my feelings and asked Ava out.

July and August, everything was coming up roses. We went out, we were the MVPs of every party, and, most importantly, we had a lot of fun with each other.

September came, and with it, Emma returned. That very same night I gave her our shell back, I understood reality would come crashing at my relative contentment and tranquility with Ava.

Funny thing was, I thought I would change, not that Ava would change, too. Each step I take away from her, she takes another, and neither party seem too invested in the relationship. It is jarring.

I also thought Emma would be free, since she had never attracted much attention from the other boys at school, but Noah Harris seemed awfully taken with her, and she was reciprocating it. I was not OK with that, and the more I did to scare him away, the more he seemed to take hold on her.

I know what I want, I know what I need to be happy, but it seems like the world was not on board with me getting it. Well, I waited for the right moment for too long, now I am making my own opportunities.

While it does not happen, I remember the song Emma danced to that day.

Se a vida é, I love you.