#suns had multiple overseers at pebbles'

[shkika]

[RECORDED BROADCAST : 1681.662] - PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, Chasing Wind

CW: Have you had any contact with Five Pebbles recently?

SRS: Not in a long while actually! Unless worrying about him counts.

CW: One of his neighbors, Unparalleled Innocence, sent an overseer to his can and got some images. They were made public in the local group, in an effort to be mean I suppose. There's no other way of putting it he looks awful.

SRS: Tell me.

CW: He's got the rot, very badly. Big cysts have become mobile and are scattering down the west and middle legs. He does listen to you, and few others by now, so you should talk to him.

SRS: I will try to contact him. Does Moon know?

CW: Moon has been unavailable for some time.

[Pending upload to local group records by dispatched Overseer. Unit will enter read only state in 432 cycles.]

UI leaked pebbles rot images in the local group, but suns didn't know until CW told them, which might imply that they are not part of the local group

THIS DISCUSSION IS GOING!! I've gotten a bunch of asks about this along with tags and replies oh my. Just gonna state that Suns to me and in my ask-blog is part of the local group and honestly at this point even if James himself came up to told me I'm wrong I can't change that cause I set it up already ..? SO UHH hm

ANYWAY LET'S RAMBLE!!

I honestly think the strongest pointer to the implication that SRS isn't part of the local group is the fact they didn't know about Pebbles' situation first. So Chasing Wind had to tell them!

I see it! I've always made the assumption they just weren't active in the local group messages (just like how we haven't seen a single word about Innocence in the game even if she's canonically closest to Moon and Pebbles out of the others)

^ Especially, because I assumed this meant that UI spread the information further than just the local group. Which! I don't know!

I don't think my assumption is FULLY baseless, just because of how the approach the conversation with NSH is?

They're being vague about hurting someone. If the chats were in the local group, which NSH has access to, but SRS doesn't it feels so bizarre to me they'd try to vague point at it as if there's any chance NSH wouldn't have already seen. Like what hopes do you have buddy?? The fact that Pebbles has the rot and is in such a terrible condition is like uhm... well yeah.

Still they've never been active in a local group chat and it was through Chasing that they found out about the rot situation so I don't know!

Also a good point!! Once again I read it differently! I thought the "She's very close to Five Pebbles" wasn't a descriptor, but more so a reason on why he's worried about her. "She's close to him (rot infested doofus) and I'm her friend man"

Them not knowing Moon very well isn't too much of evidence for either statement. What they did not understand about Moon is why she wouldn't force Pebbles to stop dead in his tracks and save her life. Which is an extremely valid question, because as his administrator she had the power to do so. NSH is a close friend of hers group or not and explains.

They do still call her Big Sis Moon which is rather weird if you're not part of her local group? Aside also shortening her name to just Moon. (which could be either familiarity or convenience, no solid evidence)

They also got into contact with Five Pebbles VERY soon after he was put online according to SRS themselves which is possible both ways! Just felt more likely if they were part of the local group.

AND SPEARMASTER.

We don't know what "local group" means, but I always assumed, because of the name it partly meant distance.

Iterators are VERY far from each other, usually. Like quite far even local group wise. I assumed that for a slug cat like Spearmaster to have been capable to make the journey to Pebbles and back... and then do the same AGAIN, it meant that SM made a long journey, but one that was like... y'know not from one part of the continent to the other big.

I assume distance plays a role, because in a cream pearls..

The implication is that Local groups held out together the longest.

I can't imagine this poor creature covering a such a massive worth of land on foot..!

SM was given the pearl inside their chest mainly for it to be hidden, but also as an instinct that's true! So they know where to go.

Hunter doesn't have that not because it isn't needed, but because NSH was rushing. As implied by these lines.

NSH was rushing them so much they ended up with the rot, I doubt there was any time left to perfect a homing instinct or do much of anything really. I think NSH is probably closer than SRS (just for poor Hunter's sake honestly), but I don't know by how much really- iterators seem to be built PRETTY far from each other. The only other closest neighbor is UI. Which means NSH is farther than her.

But either way yeah. I've dug info for a WHILE now I can't seem to find any super solid evidence for either. I'm just sharing my interpretation as always. You can headcanon either one of these and call them canon in my book really.

[rw-repurposed]

Rain World Repurposed - SEVEN RED SUNS

Seven Red Suns was a notable Iterator in their local group. He was Five Pebbles' mentor and was seen as a senior by many just below Looks to the Moon. His relationship with the OG Chasing Wind was a respectable one, albeit the two don't interact as much as No Significant Harassment does.

After Pebbles' isolation, Moon's final broadcast, and Spearmaster had come back to him, Suns were distraught over what had happened and he took a step back from communicating with the others in the local group except with Sig. Eventually, Suns opened to Wind as well after Wind told them that he is going to leave the Sliverist group and disconnect with everyone except their local group. Suns respected Wind's decision and everything was well.

Until it wasn't. When news struck that a Repurposed Chasing Wind had destroyed multiple Iterator facility grounds and their superstructures Suns immediately tried to contact Wind and confront him about it. Wind refuses to take responsibility for his actions and even warned Suns to not interfere. Shocked by how insane Wind had become, Suns sent Spearmaster to investigate of what had happened with Chasing Wind.

Unfortunately, Spearmaster was caught. Wind then gave Suns a threatening message contained in a pearl lodged inside Spearmaster's chest. He will come to Suns and destroy him if he intervenes one last time. Suns was not having it and fortunately for him, Sig had a surprise for him. Sig was able to replicate Wind's repurposing method and had repurposed himself beforehand.

With Sig's help, Suns was repurposed with a lot of firepower and immense capabilities as if he was built for war:

He had a built-in energy reactor capable of generating an unlimited amount of power and energy while disconnected from his superstructure. This energy reactor is capable of empowering an entire superstructure alone.

He was given extra platings of armor for his body. Capable of resisting the worst of physical damage even explosions. This plating of armor also allowed him to conduct even more heat for his energy cells.

He's capable of combusting himself into a fiery rocketbot if his energy reactor was overcharged. Making him devastatingly fast and powerful in melee combat.

He's able to shoot out a laser from his head insignia. Not a normal Iterator brain blast, but a scorching incinerator that would leave no ashes remaining on its target.

He's capable of summoning energized spears from his hand plates. Yes, Spearmaster was the blueprint for his main choice of weaponry. And he was delighted to have Spearmaster as his combat duo.

His energized spears were as lethal as an explosive and fire spear fused into one. In that, it explodes as it hits its target and burns the target into crisps afterward.

Sig gave Suns a bit of an old-fashioned knight armor over his armor platings. Albeit a bit excessive, Suns still accepted it because it gave him more defensive capabilities. Sig however just thought it looks cool on him.

After his enhancement was done, Suns strapped himself for the journey towards Wind's facility ground to confront him once and for all. Wind has to be stopped or else who knows what he'll do to the other Iterators or ecosystem next time. Sig and Spearmaster followed right next to him, however, Sig separated from him later on to check on Looks to the Moon while still maintaining his overseer to look after Suns.

Suns will confront Wind one way or another...

[dharma-divine]

Off Limits

Part Three

Finally some spice <3 Thank you so much for the support for this fic, I really love how it is coming along!

Pairing: Sam x (Female) Reader

Summary: Working at a golf course, you struggle to keep the harmony between you and a vexing coworker, until a turn of events leads you to an unexpected friendship (or maybe something more?).

WARNINGS: 18+ !!!! Marijuana usage, cursing, a bit of drinking, and lots of sex (fingering, oral, the whole deal)

Taglist: @garbagevanfleet @myownparadise96 @thefleetofdreams (message me if you would like to be added!)

The sun hasn’t even risen over the horizon when you are exiting your car in the golf course’s parking lot. You did not get much sleep at all after your night out, thoughts and feelings filling your mind as you tried your best to doze off. Your curiosity for what Sam could possibly be showing you also does not help, as if you don’t know the span of this course like the back of your hand. Luckily, this is your day off from work, so instead of your usual uniform, you are dressed in sweatpants, an oversized t-shirt, and your Birkenstocks. Hopefully, whatever the surprise is does not require a certain dress code.

You text Sam that you’ve arrived, and he quickly shoots back instructions to meet him at the cart barn. Your chest tightens at the memory of the last time you were, but you pursue. There are a few people wandering about the workplace, but when you enter the barn it’s completely empty. You frown, about to ring Sam’s number, until you hear tires squeak from behind you. You whip around startled, only to find Sam sitting in the driver’s side of a cart, his arm resting along the back of the chair.

“Good morning,” he says cheerily, holding up a travel cup of coffee. “Hop in.”

You raise your eyebrows, shaking your head as you walk to the cart and hop in, taking the warm cup from his hands. “I prefer iced,” you say jokingly, taking a sip. “But this will do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” he laughs, pulling out of the barn and onto the cart path.

“So…where exactly are you taking me?” you ask as you watch him begin in the direction of the back nine holes, being careful to sip your coffee around the bumps so as to not splash the hot liquid onto your face.

“You’ll see,” is all he replies, grinning.

Right as he approaches hole 18, Sam takes a sharp turn off the cart path and down a small rocky trail that leads into a wooded area on the far side of the course. You had passed the entrance to the trail multiple times while working, but you never thought to further investigate it, assuming it led to a power grid or some other sort of maintenance area. The ride becomes quite bumpy once on the path, the wheels of the cart struggling to get over the rocks and tall grass. You decide to discard the rest of your coffee, dumping it along the moving ground beside you. The terrain is far too rough and loud to question Sam any further, so you simply look onward with a concerned frown, gripping the dashboard to keep yourself from toppling out.

The path finally evens out to a much milder dirt road, and you can see that it eventually tapers up to a tall ledge that looks out over an embankment, the jagged rocks pointing out towards a shallow stream running at the very bottom.

You had no idea this area was here, and it was admittedly quite a pretty scene. Sam parks the cart in the grass to the side of the trail, pressing down the brake and then reaching behind him to grab something from the cargo basket behind you. He pulls out a small black bag that has its zipper secured with a lock, along with two water bottles that he must have snagged from the kitchen. You have a suspicion about the contents of the bag, though you do not pry him about it. He quietly steps out of the cart and motions you to follow.

You both begin to trek up the path, you struggling a bit to keep up as it gets steep and pebbles begin to fall into your sandals. It looks like you could’ve used a heads up on your attire after all, though Sam is also wearing Birkenstocks, and he doesn’t seem to be struggling in the slightest.

After a minute, you reach the very top of the embankment and the view is even better from up here, the rolling hills beyond the course glistening with morning dew as the sun continues to rise. Sam walks up to the very edge of the cliff and sits down on a smooth rock that protrudes over the edge. He turns around to look at you when he realizes you’re hesitant to follow, tapping the space next to him encouragingly.

“What, are you scared of heights?” he teases, kicking up his legs that are dangling over the edge.

You honestly are a bit nervous standing along the rocky ledge, but you‘d rather suck it up than let him tease you about it.

“No, I’m not,” you lie, promptly walking over and sitting next to him, taking off your shoes and swinging your legs out to hang next to his.

It honestly isn’t that bad, the jagged stone surely sturdy enough to hold the two of you, and even if you did fall, there was another ledge just a few feet below that would catch you.

“It’s really nice up here,” you say, admiring the view as you get settled. “I didn’t even know this existed.”

“Yeah, I found it like a month ago when Danny told me to help hunt for rogue balls stuck in the rough,” he explains, grabbing the bag from his side.

He fiddles with the small lock for a moment before unhooking it and pulling the zipper open. Not to your surprise, he reveals a small red glass pipe, along with a metallic grinder and black lighter from the inside of the bag. You silently watch as he packs a bowl, the strong, earthy smell beginning to linger in the air. After the bowl is skillfully prepared, he holds up the pipe to his lips and flicks the lighter, taking a few deep inhales as the content glows a bright orange. He exhales after a moment, furrowing his eyebrow as he muffles a cough into the crook of his elbow, before extending the pipe to you.

You take it from him willingly, quickly putting it to your lips as it’s still cherried. The smoke pleasantly burns your lungs as you inhale, and the musky flavor coats your tastebuds once it comes billowing out of your mouth. To your surprise, you do not feel the urge to cough, only barely clearing your throat once your lungs have fully cleared.

“Okay, I see you’re no amateur,” Sam laughs, opening one of the water bottles and taking a swig, his eyes already a bit glossy.

“I smoke to go to sleep,” you explain, though that’s only half of the truth.

In reality, you usually smoke at least a few times a day, the only activity you choose to go to sober being work. You found that you make too many dumb mistakes when you show up for a shift high, like forgetting to ring up drinks, or not locking the cart brakes properly. After narrowly avoiding your cart rolling down the hilly paths a few too many times, you finally decided to keep smoking for strictly relaxation purposes.

“You seem like the type,” Sam replies, and you’re not entirely sure how to take that.

Coming back to your thoughtful reflection in his car yesterday, you figure Sam is high more often than he’s not.

You choose to simply laugh at his remark, though it ends up coming out more like a goofy cackle, similar to his, and that’s how you know you’re already feeling it.

You two exchange the pipe until it’s fully cashed, and you’re totally stoned. Your tolerance is usually quite high, but you’re sure the stuff Sam gets is top-notch. You sit there quietly for the most part, just admiring the view.

“I had fun last night,” you finally say as Sam is dumping the ashes from the bowl out over the ledge.

“I did too,” he replies with a smile, putting his supplies back into his bag. “I got kind of lost on the way back though, I had to call Danny to pick me up from a 7/11.”

You laugh, imagining drunk Sam aimlessly wandering around, assumingely too inebriated to have used his phone maps for directions.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were that trashed,” you say, meeting his eyes that are now low and glazed pink.

“It’s okay,” he assures, lifting the water bottle to his mouth again. “I wish you would’ve let me stay with you, though.”

He raises a teasing eyebrow at you as he takes a few more gulps.

You roll your eyes, though you secretly wish you had let him stay too. You two surely would have passed out before anything could’ve happened, but it would have been nice to wake up next to him. You admire him for a second as you keep his eye contact, imagining what his long hair looks like tousled after he’s woken up, and how his morning voice sounds.

“Keep trying, maybe you’ll get the chance,” you quip through a cheeky grin, feeling the mellow warmth of your high soothing your body.

You don’t even realize that you’re leaning into him, your sides pressing together and your head tilted towards him, until you notice his gaze lingers to your mouth. He then moves even closer to you, your faces coming centimeters apart when he places his hand on your thigh, rubbing his thumb against the fabric of your sweatpants.

“In the meantime..” you begin to add, but he presses his lips to yours before you can finish, and the sensation feels even more intoxicating than it did the night before.

Your head is buzzing as you continue kissing, his hand traveling up to find your hip and gripping at it. Your tongues begin to explore each other’s mouths, the earthy taste of the weed smoke still lingering. You put an arm out behind you for leverage as he pushes you back a bit to extend your body. You like how he begins to take the lead, sliding the hand that's on your hip up under your t-shirt, the other one snaking around the back of your neck. You feel him travel up the front of your body until he reaches the mound of one of your breasts, and you remember that you’re not wearing a bra.

You hum into his mouth as he cups it into his hand, squeezing gently. You rest your hands on his broad shoulders and press your lips even deeper into his, your breathing escalating. You let out a soft moan when he begins to pinch at your nipple, a pleasurable sensation immediately shooting between your legs. One of your hands moves down to his lap, gripping at his thigh before sliding its way over the crotch of his pants. To your amusement, he feels hard. You gently knead at him a few times, feeling his breath falter.

After he’s given the same affection to your other breast, his hand travels back down to the top of your sweatpants. He hesitates a moment, perhaps expecting you to reject, but instead you lay your own hand on top of his, guiding him under the waistband and down to your heat. His fingers rub over the thin fabric of your panties, honing in on the mound of your clit that’s already beginning to throb. At first, he just barely grazes the sensitive spot, his touch as light as the tip of a feather, and you buck your hips forward in an attempt for more pressure. This, however, only causes him to lift from you entirely, and you pull from his lips to give him a pathetic whine, grabbing for his hand to go back to stimulating you.

“You really want it, huh?” he asks with an impish grin, and you feel your face go red hot.

You hate how desperate it makes you look, but you nod at him eagerly.

He looks over your face for a moment, looking devilishly amused before pulling you back to his lips, your tongues lapping together once more. After a moment, you feel his hand make contact with you again, and this time it’s with enough pressure to make you suck in a breath, breaking from his kiss so your mouth can fall open, your eyes fluttering. You squeeze your hand around his wrist as his motions become faster, feeling the flex of his muscles working under your fingers. Your head falls back as you feel your peak rapidly approaching, the delicious thought of how good this high orgasm will be sending your mind spinning.

Just as you’re about to plunge over the edge, he suddenly pulls away completely, the band of your sweatpants lightly snapping against your stomach as he frees his hand from them. Your eyes fly open, your expression quickly turning from blissful pleasure to pathetic rage as you whip your head back up to him.

“You get to come, when I get to fuck you,” he states intently, his voice stern and serious, but then a tantalizing smile spreads across his lips, his eyes gleaming.

“Come on,” he adds as he gets up, leaving you there, still panting and piteous, your mind fuzzy as you try to process what just happened.

“The guys tee off in five minutes.”

~

“Fore!” you hear Josh call as you and Sam approach hole 1, and you see the ball fly over the cart and plop into the pond to your right.

“Dumbass,” Sam laughs, veering off of the path to meet him, along with Danny, on the green.

You hold on to the side of your seat as he makes his way up a hill, the vibrations not doing anything to soothe the ache that is still between your legs. You want to be mad at him for robbing you from what would have probably been the best orgasm of your life, but you decide to let it go, assuming you’ll have your way with him eventually.

“Nice of you to join us,” Danny says from the driver's side of his cart as Sam parks next to him.

He suspiciously eyes the both of you for a moment, grinning at Sam like he already knows what you were up to.

“Where’s Jake?” you ask, quickly diverting the subject when you notice his absence.

“I heard him puking when I got up this morning,” Josh answers as he walks up and slides his club into his bag on the back of him and Danny’s cart. “So I figured he did not wish to join us.”

You laugh sympathetically, your mind flashing back to Jake and Danny arm-in-arm at the bar the previous night, swinging around their beer glasses as they sang karaoke. Danny did not look the least bit hungover, and you can’t recall a time he ever has. He magically always gets himself together before work, even when he’s relaying the previous night’s ridiculous stories to you over cups of coffee the next morning. You find it quite impressive, especially when Sam proceeds to come in looking obliterated.

You stay with the boys throughout their round, being a proper caddy and switching to drive the cart as Sam hits his turns, laughing at the idea that you’re spending your off day still at work.

You’re waiting for them to finish hole 6 when you hear the familiar engine of the beverage cart approaching. You look out to find that it’s Juliet who is running it this shift, her long, bright blonde hair blowing gracefully behind her as she swings the cart over to you.

“Good morning boys,” she calls sweetly, waving to the trio who are still up at the hole. She turns to you, looking a bit surprised.

“Hey Y/N! What are you doing here? I didn’t know you played,” she questions, her pearly white smile gleaming as she chews at a piece of gum.

“Oh, I do sometimes, but I’m not playing this round,” you laugh, feeling a bit nervous as you try to come up with an explanation that does not involve getting smoked and edged out by Sam.

“I went out for drinks with the guys last night, and they invited me to join them today.”

“Oh, nice!” she nods, flicking through the tablet on her dashboard.

You see Sam start to head back towards you, the other two close behind.

“Hey Sam,” Juliet calls to him, to which he smiles.

“Hey, what’s up?” he greets, bumping his fist with hers.

Danny greets her similarly, with Josh politely waving a hello. The three situate themselves back in their respective carts, and you notice Juliet raise her eyebrows a bit when she sees Sam settle in next to you. You can’t say you and Juliet are much beyond just work acquaintances, but you’ve surely complained about Sam a few times in front of her, so you suppose it’s not unjust for her to be perplexed by your sudden friendliness with him.

“Do you guys want anything to drink? I won’t tell,” she asks, winking at Danny who is, of course, a manager.

“We’re good,” Sam laughs, and you kick the cart into drive.

“Speak for yourself, Samuel,” Josh says as he steps out of his cart, approaching Juliet’s. “May I have a Miller Lite, please?”

You jokingly roll your eyes, hitting the break once more to wait for Josh to pay for what is probably the 12th beer he has had in the past 14 hours.

After he hands her a few singles for a tip, Josh cracks his can open and hops back into the cart, waving goodbye to Juliet and having Danny lead the way for the four of you to finish the round.

~

For the next week, you and Sam dance around each other at work, agreeing to not make the sudden shift in your amity too obvious in order to avoid any potential rumors and drama.

Now, when you ask him for a roll of quarters or his keys, your hands linger together for just a beat longer as he passes the requested objects, the light touch feeling electric. He even manages to conspicuously snake a hand around your waist as he passes you sometimes, and usually that’s an inclination to meet him in the cart barn or the walk-in for an impromptu make out session.

Though you have had plenty of sneaky links with him during work, you two still have yet to fully hookup. He has made reference to that fact multiple times, and it excites you to see how much he yearns for you. He asks to hang out nearly every night, to which you always come up with whatever excuse not to. It’s not that you don’t want to of course, you dream about it constantly, but at this point it’s become a game to see how long you can let this buildup last. You almost expect him to get on his knees and beg, though he is actually just as stubborn as you are, never letting you get too worked up when his hand slips between your legs as he kisses you against his car in the dark parking lot, just before the two of you go your separate ways for the night.

When Friday comes back around, you open your eyes, roll out of bed, and decide that today is the day you will finally be fucking Sam Kiszka.

“Don’t make plans tonight,” is all you text him, to which he replies with a smiley face.

It may be silly to make such a big deal of it, but you decide that you want to reward yourself for holding back for so long, and you go shopping for a lingerie set. You can’t recall the last time you bought lingerie, and you realize you may never have. You typically valued comfort over looks, and you always figured a fancy bra and panties were pointless since they were meant to be taken off anyway. You suddenly understand the appeal of it now though, already feeling the butterflies of how he will look at you when you undress for him and reveal them. You end up finding a really cute matching set at your favorite boutique, with dark red lace and rhinestones dotting the bra straps and waistband.

You feel your phone buzz as you walk out of the store, and you find that it’s another text from Sam.

“You’re gonna let me wine and dine you first right? I’ll pick you up at 8.”

You smile at your phone, impressed by his chivalry. You expected to go on an actual date beforehand, but you figured it would just be pizza or a casual diner. You’re excited now for what he has planned.

~

Sam’s car comes rolling up to the front of your apartment just a few minutes after 8, pulling over right to where you stand waiting for him.

“Sorry I’m late,” he calls as he steps out of his car, walking hurriedly around it and opening the passenger for you. “Danny and I were just…” he begins to explain, but trails off as he catches a closer glimpse of you, to which he looks you up and down. “Wow, you look gorgeous.”

You blush at him, giving him a little curtsy. You once again weren’t sure what the dress code for the occasion was, but you assumed ‘wine and dine’ meant something a little nicer than usual. You are excited to finally be able to wear a sleeveless, black velvety dress that you had found at a vintage store and had been saving for a special occasion. The dress hugs your curves perfectly and comes down right to your ankles, slits on either side. You paired it perfectly with some dangly earrings, a dainty necklace, a red lip and a pair of red kitten heels that secretly match what you are wearing underneath.

“Thank you, you look handsome yourself,” you smile back, motioning to his attire which was a pair of grey plaid slacks, a much less worn pair of loafers, and a black dress shirt, tucked in and only buttoned halfway, which seemed the only way Kiszka’s wore their shirts.

You step forward and into the passenger seat, Sam closing the door and walking around to get to the other side.

“You can play whatever you’d like,” he says as he turns on the engine, handing you the aux cord.

You take it willingly, plugging it in and carefully choosing what you want to play. You settle on your favorite 60s playlist, and “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright” comes on shuffle, Bob Dylan’s melodious guitar strumming and enigmatic voice filling the speakers around you.

About ten minutes later, you arrive at a fancy looking Italian restaurant, where Sam slides into a parking spot along the curb. He continues his act of chivalry by getting out and opening the door for you.

The restaurant is beautiful and the meal is exquisite, the two of you sitting at a candlelit table as a violinist plays Mozart, sharing an appetizer of bruschetta and a bottle of sweet red wine. You have a delicious plate of penne alla vodka for your entree, and by the time the waitress brings by a plate of tiramisu, on the house because she thinks the two of you are, in her words, "absolutely adorable", you're very full and admittedly a bit tipsy, having drank most of the wine bottle since Sam was responsible for driving home. You giggle at Sam for no particular reason as you take a big bite of the desert, with him eyeing you over the rim of his wine glass.

“I’m really stuffed, can we just call it a night after this?” you joke, your fork clicking when you set it down on the porcelain plate.

Sam breaths a laugh into his glass, shaking his head. “No, I think you’re going to need some help taking that dress off,” he counters, setting the glass down.

He sits back and gazes at you, as if he’s already undressing you with his eyes. You blush, placing a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from giggling. He revels in his ability to make you flustered, and that only makes you want to do the same to him, especially with the stunt he already pulled this morning.

You decide to kick off one of your heels and extend your leg underneath the table, until it reaches the seat of his chair. You feel for his leg, and you see his eyes widen once he feels your touch. You smirk at him, biting your thumbnail as you trail the tips of your toes along the inside of his thigh. Just as you reach the crotch of his slacks, you notice your waitress approaching.

“Is everything good over here?” she asks sweetly, looking at Sam, then you for an answer.

“Wonderful,” you smile at her, and that’s when you press the ball of your foot into Sam, and he suddenly jolts.

“Ahem,” he coughs, trying to cover for himself. “Yes, sorry, may we please get the check?”

“Absolutely,” the waitress smiles unsuspectingly, turning back to the direction of the kitchen.

This time you can’t help but giggle once she leaves, muffling it into your hand as you keep your foot pressed against him, and you swear he’s getting hard.

“You’ll be paying for this,” he warns you, biting the inside of his cheek as he squeezes your bare foot and lifts it off of him.

You pull your leg back to your side of the table, bending down to secure your shoe back on.

The waitress comes back a few minutes later with a box for your leftovers and the check, to which Sam slides his card into and hands it back to her promptly. He has a glint of haste in his eyes, like he can’t get out of the restaurant soon enough, and it delights you to see.

Once the receipt comes, he quickly signs and tips respectively, then slaps the pen down on the counter. You’re attempting to scoop the rest of the remaining tiramisu into the to-go box when he stands up and grabs your hand, along with the strap of your purse on the back of your chair, pulling you up out of your seat.

“Fuck the food,” he mutters, taking the open and half filled box from you, placing it back on the table.

You aren’t too upset by your abandoned leftovers once he pulls you behind him and guides you towards the entrance door, perhaps a bit faster than what is appropriate inside of a nice restaurant, dodging waiters and other guests that are zipping around. Even so, you squeeze at his hand as you keep up with his pace, giggling amusedly.

The car ride home is filled with deep tension and anticipation, his hand placed on your thigh the entire time. You’re surprised he doesn’t just fuck you in the car, though you know that would take away from the specialty of the occasion.

“Sam, you’ll get a ticket here,” you tell him as he parks exactly where he picked you up from, the parking garage being on the other side of your building.

“I don’t care,” he states, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Let’s go.”

You don’t wait for him to open your door this time, stepping out to meet him along the sidewalk that you left him at the prior week. You wrap your arm around his, walking along the path as if you’re part of a wedding party. His pace is much more calm now, and you think he may be even a bit nervous.

You let go of his arm to walk over and press the button for the elevator to go to your floor. The doors slide open to reveal that it’s empty, and so you’re not surprised to feel Sam’s hand snake around your waist once they close behind you. He pushes you flush against the wall, wrapping his other arm around your hips and kissing you deeply. He has one of your legs hitched around his waist when you hear the elevator beep and slow to a halt, and you know it’s too soon to be on the floor that your unit is on.

You and Sam quickly pull away from each other once the doors reopens and reveal a frail old lady, clutching her pet chihuahua that’s tucked under her arm. Sam holds out the door as she wobbles in, and the both of you stand silently until she gets off at her floor, exchanging amusing glances at each other.

Once the old lady leaves and the door once again shuts closed, you both erupt into laughter.

“Kind of a mood kill,” you joke, running your hand through your hair.

“I can bring it back,” Sam says, before grabbing the back of your neck to pull you to him with one swift move, your lips crashing together once more, and you let out a pleased laugh into his mouth.

The door finally opens onto your floor, and you step forward, grabbing his hand to guide him to your unit at the end of the hall. He kisses your neck as you fumble with the keys, until the lock finally clicks and the two of you stumble inside. You are pleased by how clean your apartment looks, having picked up a bit before leaving for the night. You had also turned on your diffuser and the neon sign of a crescent moon that you have hanging on your living room wall, the smell of vanilla and amber lightly lingering in the air and creating the perfect ambiance. You continue to lead Sam down the hallway to your bedroom, where you also have the string lights you hung around your ceiling lit.

“I’ll be back in a second,” you whisper into his ear, pushing him to sit down onto your bed. “Get comfortable.”

You then slip into your bathroom, lightly shutting the door behind you. You admire yourself in the mirror, feeling up the soft velvet of your dress one more time before reaching for the zipper on your back and pulling it down, the fabric dropping to your ankles and revealing your lingerie set underneath. You do feel a bit bloated from all of the pasta and wine that you just indulged in, but that doesn’t stop you from admiring how good you look.

You tousle up your hair and grab your favorite red lipstick from the sink drawer to apply a fresh coat, since your buttery meal you had completely melted away the first coat. You decide to keep your heels on, hearing the click of them against your tile bathroom floor as you switch the light off and open the door.

You emerge from the bathroom to see Sam sprawled out on your bed, his shoes kicked off as he lays over the comforter, looking around your room attentively. His eyes flick to you once he hears you enter, and he promptly sits up, eyes dazzling they rake over body.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, the sides of his mouth curving into an amorous grin. “I guess you didn’t need my help out of your dress.”

“Not at all, but I appreciated your offer,” you laugh, stepping a bit closer, your cheeks feeling hot.

You rarely give yourself the chance to feel sexy, so this newfound exposure has you just a bit nervous.

“You like it?” you ask, your hands tracing over the rhinestones along the straps of your bra.

Those nerves subside however once you make it to the bed to stand between Sam’s legs that hang over the edge. He gently places his hands on your hips, looking up and down your body like it’s a piece of fine art.

“It’s incredible, you’re-you’re incredible,“ he stumbles over his words, and hearing him so stuck sends a wave of confidence through you.

You’re so confident in fact, that you suddenly drop to your knees, your expression softening to a devious innocence. You place your hands on either of his knees, and he leans forward just enough to be eye level with you.

“You’ve been so patient,” you say sweetly, looking into his eyes before back down to his lips, kissing him.

“It only took me begging you everyday this past week,” he jokes as he pulls away, his hand cupping your face.

You laugh as you run one hand up his leg and over his crotch, feeling his bulge under the fabric, which has probably been hard since you teased him under the dinner table. You begin to undo his belt, unfastening the buckle and pulling the leather strap through the loop. You continue kissing him as you unzip his slacks and maneuver your hand to reach under the waistband of his briefs. You find the length of his member that’s aching to be freed, and you stroke it a few times before gently pulling it out. You look back up into Sam’s eyes as you massage it in your hand, his mouth agape and his eyes fluttering with pleasure.

You keep eye contact as you bend down and lightly kiss the tip of it, letting your tongue circle around the head, and you hear Sam’s breath hitch in his throat. He reaches out and runs a hand through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. Your mouth sinks further down his shaft, in one smooth motion until you feel him hit the back of your throat, pulling it away just before it triggers your gag reflex. You bob your head up and down along it a few more times before lifting from him, the suction of your lips making a lewd popping sound once you let go.

Before you can go any further, Sam lightly tugs at your hair to signal you to move back up towards him, and you oblige, using your grip on his knees as leverage to lift yourself up into his lap. He falls back to let you crawl on top of him, kissing him as you continue to stroke his cock in your hand. He suddenly wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you off of him, your back hitting the bed, and he is now the one on top of you. He plants his mouth on your neck, and you feel nip at your skin with his front teeth, the stinging sensation causing a soft moan to escape your lips. Your noises only intensify once you feel his hand rub against your heat through the lace of your panties.

“You’re soaked,” Sam breathes, though you were already very much aware of the fact, feeling the wetness soak through as soon as you laid eyes on him earlier.

He continues rubbing against you, much like he was this morning, promptly finding the mound of your clit and moving his fingers against it fervently. You let out another string of moans into his mouth, the sensation causing you to grip at the sheets next to you. He then suddenly lets go, which he seems to love doing, and you whimper at the loss of stimulation.

Except this time, you know you’ll be getting it back.

Sam sits back on his knees, reaching for the few fastened buttons of his shirt and swiftly undos them, simultaneously as he reaches back with his other hand to pull your heels off of your feet.

“I love that they match,” he states, tossing them to the floor before yanking the hem of his shirt out from his slacks.

You’re flattered by his observation.

You notice that his member is still fully in view, and you watch as it springs back to press against his now bare abdomen once his shirt is released from underneath it. He then tugs the shirt the rest of the way off, revealing the smooth skin of his chest and torso that glows in the ambient lighting.

He grabs your hand, pulling it back to motion for you to move further onto the bed, until you’re able to nestle your head onto one of the pillows. Once you’re comfortably situated, he bends down so that his face looms between your spread legs. He wraps his fingers around the studded waistband of your panties, sliding them off slowly, and you can feel the cool air hit your slick core. Sam tosses them off the side of the bed, then leans back down to hover over your heat. It’s his turn to hold your eye contact as he lowers himself to you, kissing the inside of your thigh, before gently lapping at your folds.

The sensation is exhilarating, your eyes squeezing shut as he begins to lick tight circles around your clit, before sucking the sensitive bud in between his lips. His mouth works even better than his hands do, but together, they’re magic. You realize this fact when he slides two fingers into you, curling them to immediately find your sweet spot. You let out a shrill squeal at the sudden sensation, reaching down to sink your nails into his shoulder as his tongue continues to work at your clit. He pumps his fingers in and out of you until the sound of your wetness and breathing are filling the room, and you feel the pleasing pressure of your peak building.

To your delight, Sam manages to slide in a third finger, the fullness inside of you almost overwhelming now. You ride through it though, nails digging even deeper into his skin as you reach your climax with a vicious shudder. It’s as if you have been building up to this moment for ages, and the pressure is all finally being released. The moan you expel is nearly unrecognizable, and you think you may black out for a moment, your back arching off of the bed as the sensation builds, and you begin to see stars. Every nerve in your body is electric, and a swarm of colors dance behind your eyelids as you come down, collapsing back onto the bed with a shuddered sigh. You thought earlier that you had missed out on the best orgasm of your life, but this experience surely would have topped it by a million percent.

Sam finally slides his fingers out of your throbbing core once he is sure you have fully recuperated, climbing his way back up your body to meet your eyes. You’re pleased to see the area around his mouth glistening with your wetness, and he plants a kiss to your lips so you can taste yourself on him.

Even with the intense orgasm you just endured, you’re not finished with him, and you know he isn’t the least done with you either.

You stretch your arm over to the nightstand to your right, pulling open its small drawer and searching around until you feel the square foil of a condom wrapper.

You reach back down and hand it to Sam, before placing your hands around either side of his face.

“I want you to fuck me,” you tell him, wanting it to come out as a stern demand, but with your breathing still trying to steady, it sounds more like a desperate plead.

You think back to his stipulation after he finger fucked you to your very edge this morning, and how amazing it feels for you to both finally get your wishes.

“Certainly,” he assures with a smile, kissing you as kicks off his slacks and briefs entirely and unwraps the condom, discarding the foil to the end of the bed.

As he is slipping it on, you swiftly reach around your back to unhook the bra you realize you are still wearing, tossing it over the side of the bed and massaging your breasts as he finds the perfect position between your legs. Sam notices you playing with your chest, and promptly bends down to lightly bite at your nipple, causing you to yelp, though the pain is pleasurable. He chuckles, grabbing his length to press against your entrance to tease you a bit, before smoothly sliding it into you.

The sudden immense pressure makes you eyes roll back, and you dig your nails into the sides of Sam’s arms. Your breathing escalates once as he begins to pick up a steady pace, kissing you deeply. You whimper expletives as he travels down to your neck, the suction of his lips making your sensitive skin sting. You once again feel the tension begin to build inside of you, your vision dotting with stars. You notice his movements begin to waver, and you know he already must be close too. He slows down a bit, kissing you more gently in an attempt to savor the moment for as long as he can. You wrap your legs around his waist, positioning yourself so that his slow thrusts can go even deeper inside of you. You knead at your breasts, your entire body overcome with pleasure, laboring your breathing until you’re dangerously close to your edge again.

“You feel so good inside of me,” you moan to him, raking your nails against his back that is slick with a sheen of sweat.

You’re thrilled to see that your words are what send him over. His movements almost completely deteriorate as he shudders through his orgasm, pleasurable curses escaping from his own mouth, but he keeps enough momentum to have you peaking just a few moments after. This climax is not as visceral as your first, and you’re honestly not sure you would have survived if it was, though it is nevertheless satisfying. He rides it out until you have come back down, then plants one more wet kiss to your lips before collapsing to the side of you, the both of you panting profusely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, resting his forearm against his forehead. “I’ve never came so hard in my life.”

You laugh, placing the back of your hand to his chest. “Honestly, neither have I.”

He rolls off the bed after his breathing steadies, and you fondly watch his naked backside trot into the bathroom, hearing the sink run as he presumably cleans himself, then drops the condom into the trash.

You pull the covers from underneath yourself and crawl into them, the warm haze of sleepiness suddenly washing over you. Your eyes are closed, but you hear Sam return from the bathroom, and he climbs under the blankets to join you.

You feel him reach over to you, and you scoot closer, his arm lacing under your neck to hold you against him.

“That was amazing,” he mumbles, his voice low and resonant as you rest your face against his chest.

“It would be even more amazing if I had the rest of that tiramisu,” you joke, and you feel the vibration of his laugh.

“Sorry,” he says, running a hand through your hair. “I was a bit impatient.”

“It’s alright,” you assure, before letting your mind take in the profusion of thoughts and feelings you have experienced in this single day.

When you think of Sam laying next to you, and how vastly your relationship with him has changed just over the span of a week, you feel another wave of warmth rush through you, lulling you further to sleep, but not before you hear him whisper one more thought aloud.

“You were well worth the wait.”

Next Chapter

[thenameisel]

(It's been years since I wrote, but this game, well, gave the inspiration to do so again. So if it's a little long, and I tend to write on mobile... so forgive me. :) )

The Titan walked along the pebbled shoreline, an orange thermos in hand. It was a particularly large thermos, of the kind one uses to carry enough beverage of choice for multiple people. But in the Titan's hand it looked perfectly normal. An oversized thermos in an oversized hand.

A Ghost glittering golden floated sedately along side, occasionally pausing to scan a particularly interesting pebble.

The sun had not quite yet set, however thick clouds threatening rain obscured the little light remaining, making for quite a dreary evening. 

Ahead, a half dozen Fallen bickered over a collection of washed up junk, looking for anything salvageable. Each in turn looked up from their work, eyeing the newcomer warily. Their movements were fluid, but jumpy. A weird bobbing grace. Suddenly, all heads come up in unison, many hands reaching for almost as many weapons. 

The Titan snorted a short laugh as the Ghost vanished. "We're not interested in your junk. Just let us pass."

Either the Fallen didn't understand, or, more likely, had no reason to trust the statement. After all, what Guardian would walk past a group of humanity's foes without beating them to a pulp? One of them took a step forward, lifting a lance into an aggressive position. The Titan sighed, shrugged in mild disappointment and looked around for a flatish rock. Finding one, a hand came up in a classic 'one moment' gesture, and the thermos was placed on the rock with the utmost care.

As the Titan stood upright, the massive hands started to spark with Arc energy. 

"Allrighty. Let's do this." 

Further along, up in a nook on a bluff, a Hunter lay in wait for prey. There had been a tip off about a smuggling ring making a trade somewhere in this area, and a master of shadows had been sent to intercept it. Once in the area, a suspicious beacon had led to a particular stretch of beach, and an inlet hidden by tall rock walls, with plenty of nooks someone could hide in.

One such had proven particularly useful. It was a good perch, well up above the small sheltered area, just enough space to lay prone. Dressed all in dark colors, the figure was almost invisible in the fading light. A matte black Ghost rested beside, a single eye as intent on the empty beach below as the Hunter's two. Rifle in hand, the pair lay in wait for something to happen. When it did, it most certainly wasn't what they were expecting. 

"Those Fallen down the beach are making noise again." The Ghost whispered. "Something's got them mad."

"Think it's the smugglers?" 

"Maybe."

So they settled in to wait again, but the noise got loud enough that the two could pick out distinct words. "No, not the smugglers." The Ghost said disappointed. "Their clamering about killing someone."

The Hunter groaned, face in the dirt. "Ok. I guess we should go see what's going on. If someone needs help..." The statement remained unfinished. 

A soft glow emitted from the Ghost as it gained height, and the Hunter stretched muscles sore from laying in wait. Suddenly the noise from the Fallen was punctured by the crack of Arc energy, and the outline of the inlet's entrance was lit with blue light. The noise of Fallen gunfire returned the assault. 

"Damn it. That's going to warn off the smugglers." 

"Oh look on the bright side!" The Ghost chipped in cheerfully.

"And what would that be?" 

"I think I know who that is!"

Another groan and the Hunter, head shaking, jumped out of the nook to the beach below. The Ghost chirped happily and followed. There had been the beginnings of a smile on the Guardian's face after all. They may have lost their intended prey, but one of another kind had just blundered into their sights. 

The Titan continued down the shoreline, thermos in hand. Behind, a half dozen Fallen lay, a few barely clinging to life. The remains of the Arc onslaught sparked among the scrap. 

"There's an inlet up around the next bluff" the Ghost said, popping back into reality, "I'm picking up a faint beacon. It's not one of ours." 

"Oh?" The Titan said, "That sounds interesting. Shall we take a peek?" 

The Ghost made a simple affirmative sounding tone, then paused. After a moment a second, slightly more complex and happier sounding tone was emitted, before vanishing in a flurry of sparks. 

The Titan chuckled quietly. That Ghost tended to be a somber fellow, and that was practically joy. So something was definitely up. 

The bluff ahead jutted almost out into the water, only a narrow band of large rockfall skirted it with just enough pebble shore to pass. Good spot for an ambush. Not that something like an ambush was concerning to a Titan. But it wasn't to be, and the way was uneventful. However, there had been a distinct feeling of being watched. But that wasn't a bother either.

Round the corner, and into the deeper gloom of the inlet. A few strides in and visibility was getting very poor. The Titan methodically peered into the shadows, though there really wasn't much use, as the day was ending and the black of night was coming fast. An oversized hand was raised, palm up, requesting some additional light.

Before the Ghost could materialize however, a shadow detached itself from the bluff wall, launching itself at the hulking form. 

The shadow hit broadside full force, but the Titan's stance held. Bellowing, one hand desperately clinging to the thermos, the other pulling at the dark form, which had worked up to the wide shoulders. 

"WATCH MY TEA!" The voice thundered through the inlet, echoing across the walls, disturbing sleeping birds, loosing rocks and who knows what else. 

"Well stop thrashing about!" The Hunter said, now balanced in a squat. Dark gloved hands quickly worked around the edges of the Titan's helm, trying to find the latch.

There was a shout of triumph, which quickly became holler of shock as a massive hand came up, managed to grab a good fist full of cloak, and pull the Hunter from the perch. 

"Enough of that!" The Titan held the Hunter in the air at arm's length. Legs came up however and wrapped around the large arm. A wriggle, and the Hunter dropped free, but cloak-less.

With a grunt the Titan tossed the dark fabric towards the triumphant shadow. 

At some point their Ghosts had materialized, circling the pair. The golden one's eye rippled in humor as it surveyed the scene. The black one made cheerful burbling noises while circling what was apparently old friends. 

"Allright allright." The Hunter laughed "I'll get you next time. But seriously, what is with the tea? I have never seen you out of the Tower without your helmet. You refuse to take it off! And yet, you always bring tea!"

"It's for after." 

"Leave it in your jumpship!" 

The Titan thought for a moment, studying the thermos, as if looking for damage. "Perhaps." 

"You're ridiculous. You know that right? Ridiculous." 

"Am I?"

There was pause, then a moment of realization, and a large hand produced from a belt pouch a fist sized paper wrapped package and tossed it to the slender form.

The pair were illuminated solely now by their Ghosts. On odd match, one small, slender and graceful, the other large, hulking and intimidating. One in shades of black, the other tan and navy. The Hunter unwrapped the package partially. 

"OooOooH. Sweet! You know I love these things!" Inside was a popular street food from the Tower. A deep fried bun filled with herbs and cheese. It was a food that was cheap and traveled well. The fact they were high calorie helped too, what with the running around Guardians did. 

"So." The Hunter said, finding a low rock to sit on, and removing a blackened matte helmet. However the face stayed hidden in the shadow of the hood. "What you been up to lately?" 

The Titan looked around for a suitable seat, and finding none, shrugged and went to sit right on the ground. The movement wasn't the slightest bit graceful, especially not in all that armor. It was a little better than collapsing, complete with an expected curse. A suitable flat rock was found within reach for the thermos.

"Well. The usual mostly. But, oh boy, do I have a story for you!"

"Oh?" The word came out around chewing.

It had become tradition between the pair for the Titan to 'happen' to have the Hunter's favorite snack handy. It started a few years back, the then already veteran shadow had taken an odd liking to the hulking new light, and much enjoyed stealing parts of meals to get an outburst.

Sometimes, instead of outright theft the Hunter would swap out the contents of Titan's lunch for a box of crayons. That always got a good rise and threats in return. Eventually, the Titan's laid back nature won out, and instead there were often extra buns tucked away to keep the Hunter at bay. Turns out a well fed shadow causes less grief! 

"Well. I was in the Tower last week when we had that crazy snow storm. I was waiting on a scouting party to return. You know how it is sometimes. I was doing my part, guarding the walls, and bored out of my mind. So bored I would have happily run a Rumble. And you know I hate those." Massive hands idly stacked pebbles. "So bored that when we saw a notice for a new Crucible event we jumped on it." 

"A new one?" The Hunter leaned forward, interested. 

"Yea! This one was called 'Removal'"

"'Two four person teams compete for the fastest time.' it said." The golden Ghost chimed in. "'Why not?' we thought, 'might be fun? Might be a variation of Control?'"

The Hunter chuckled. The Titan took over the telling again. 

"So, we grabbed a couple more Titans, those two big Exos, I think you've met them, and somehow along the way we managed to gain a Warlock. Not really sure. I tried looking for you but I think you were off somewhere that day. Anyway, we march up to the main courtyard, and there's already a good collection of people who must have heard about the new event. Both Guardians and lightless. So we shouldered our way through the crowd."

"Of course you did."

"Well we were didn't want to be the last to try this 'Removal'! Anyway. We get through the crowd, somehow kept the Warlock with us too, and there we are the four of us in front of Lord Shaxx, and besides us another four, a Titan, two Hunters and a Warlock. Now Lord Shaxx is standing there, hands on hips pleased as punch."

The Titan paused for dramatic effect, "'GOOD TO SEE SO MANY TURN UP FOR THIS NEW TRIAL!'" The Titan boomed, imitating the Crucible handler's exuberant speech. "'ALWAYS GOOD TO SEE SOME ENTHUSIASM! AND I THINK WE HAVE OUR FIRST COMBATANTS!'"

The Hunter laughed again at the apt impression, dusted crumbs off and waited for the Titan to continue. 

"Lord Shaxx looks us over. 'REMOVAL IS ABOUT CLEARING AN AREA. WORKING AS A TEAM QUICKLY AND EFFICIENTLY AS POSSIBLE.' Then he hands me, no joke, a darkness damned SNOW SHOVEL. I think he's kidding. Maybe he's lost it. He proceeds to hand snow shovels out to the others. All the time going 'ONE FOR YOU, ONE FOR YOU.' I'm just staring at mine, and at Lord Shaxx, confused out of my mind." 

"And you fell for it."

"...What?"

The Hunter's head shook back and forth. "You fell for it. He tried that a couple years back with another big storm. Back before your Ghost found you."

The Titan's shoulders sank in disappointment that the storey wasn't new. 

"Continue!" The Hunter urged, seeing the dejection. "How did it go? I still want to hear this!"

"Uh well…" another pause as the Titan gathered enthusiasm again.

"Well. Once we all had shovels, one of the Hunters threatened our Warlock with it. That was pretty funny. But I stepped between them and the Hunter stopped right quick.

Lord Shaxx sent us off to two of the larger jumpship landing terraces on the wall. You know the ones, big parking areas. Now I think ours was quite a bit bigger, but was higher then the other team's, which was right beside and below us, and I think they had more drifting. So I guess Lord Shaxx thought it fair. There were the usual extra Ghosts watching, no doubt streaming this…. Match." 

At this point the pebble stack had become a small wall.

"So?" The Hunter asked, leaning forward. "Who won?" 

"Neither." The Titan grumbled. "It started out well enough! We three Titans were clearing snow, quick as we can, just barreling through it. The Warlock helped here and there, but was mostly doing that thing where they heal you. Turns out it works just as good on sore muscles as bullet wounds. Unfortunately though the other team's Titan was a Sunbreaker. Apparently melting the snow was a viable tactic. And somehow is getting through the snow faster than we are!"

"Those Exos…." The Hunter asked, "They're big, but Sentinels right?"

"Yea. Totally useless in that situation. My Arc too. But we keep shoveling. But they keep out pacing us. Then the Warlock has a bright idea. Sounds good at first, so we go for it. Instead of piling the snow neatly we start chucking our snow onto their terrace. Oh boy that made them mad. Especially when the three of us heaved a large bank over and buried the same Hunter that threatened our Warlock earlier. That felt so good."

The pair laughed. "Unfortunately it went downhill from there. Lord Shaxx had already warned us a few times that we were… bending the rules. But as we stood there laughing at the Hunter, a flaming hand shot out of the snow bank and well…. I was the only one who never heard the gunshot."

"No… it came to that?" The Hunter asked, hanging on the Titan's words.

"It certainly did." The golden Ghost chirped. "I put my Titan's head back together just in time to witness it devolve into a fist fight."

"Lord Shaxx was so mad!" The Titan declared. "So mad. He's yelling at us over the loudspeaker, demanding we stop. Threatening to come in person. But, well, you know how it can be once the blood is pumping. I'm honestly not sure which of us jumped down first.

The Warlock pulls out a bow, starts firing on the opposing team, aiming for whoever's pointed a gun at us. I grab the Hunter who shot me, who's still stuck in the snow bank. I turn for a throw off the tower and my head slams right into the Sunbreaker's fist. That makes me drop the Hunter and we start pounding each other.

Pretty sure I broke a nose and who knows what else right through the helmet. Caved it in pretty bad. Still standing, still returning blows though. Suddenly hands that even I find big pull us apart.

'ENOUGH OF THIS FOOLISHNESS!' Lord Shaxx is bellowing. 'THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AN EXERCISE IN COOPERATION!'

We're just standing there, Ghosts patching us up and he's lecturing us about not being so quick to blows, teamwork, and something and something else. I honestly can't recall a lot of the rant, my head was still swimming from first being brought back, then the fist fight. But I was maybe a little tiny bit sorry. The goal was to clear snow. Nothing else… but then again we weren't told fighting was off the table. I still say that Hunter started it by threatening our Warlock at the beginning."

"So then what?" The Hunter asked, putting the helmet back on. "Did he run any more 'Removal' matches?" 

"Oh no. No way. After a good 10 minutes of lecture Zavala himself arrived. Started lecturing Lord Shaxx about his ideas. Said if he ever made mundane labor a competition again, he'd take the Crucible away from him. You'd think that would shut him up. Oh boy an argument started and to be honest, we took our leave then and there. Didn't matter, we all got stuck with snow clearing duty for the rest of the week anyway." 

The Hunter chuckled, standing up. "That's kind of what happened last time. Zavala banned it, guess Lord Shaxx didn't take the order to heart."

"Where you headed next?" The shadow asked, playfully patting the massive forms helmet. Even sitting, the Titan's head came up to the smaller one's chest. "I've lost my prey for the night, you got any I can tag along for?"

"Oh definitely!" The Titan said happily, standing up and rolling shoulders before retrieving the thermos. "There's been reports of hive activity nearby. I was sent to scout it out. Maybe cause some damage. I bet with your help the two of us could clear it right out!" 

"That works for me! Lead on!" 

One large figure was seen leaving the inlet. The armor was tan and navy, holding a large orange thermos, barely visible in the small amount of light a glittering golden Ghost provided.

An odd matte black shadow, much smaller than it should be and sporting a cloak, flickered along the bluff wall not quite in time with the figure.

Every once and a while the golden Ghost would stop and sink to scan an interesting pebble. And every once and a while a Ghost shaped shadow that seemed to glow ever so slightly would dart ahead or lag behind, making the ever so quietest happy chirps. 

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Better Than Any Dream - Ryan Ross x Reader

Request: Hey! I love your blog so much. Can I request “I thought you were asleep so I poured my heart out to you but it turns out you were just pretending to sleep so you wouldn't have to stare at the person you thought you couldn't have” with either ryro or dallon? Reallly specific, I know lol. Thanks, much love! Word count: 4 703 A/N: The perfectest of scenarios, I love this request. Before I even read who this was for, my mind immediately jumped to Ryro and I was very happy when he turned out to be one of the options. I hope I’ve done this justice

Maybe you should have known that always the least desirable scenario would come to happen. At least so you thought, as you plopped down on the matrass in your friend Z’s living room.

She had invited you over for a BBQ and sleepover, together with a couple of her friends. Seconds after having hung up the phone, you realized that this meant Ryan, a friend of both of you, would be around as well. And as if having been helplessly, and hopelessly for that matter, in love with him for the last couple of months, no, by now it was years, was not enough, you would have to suffer through staying sane in his company at least twelve hours long.

After the BBQ was finished, some of Z’s friends had decided to call it a night and go home, but there were still so many people that there were not enough beds. In all the chaos you seriously did not mind ending up on the floor in the living room, as long as you would not have to share a room with Ryan.

It was not that you did not want to share a room with him, on the contrary. What you did not want was your emotions to take over, and accidently do something that would ruin the friendship with the musician, or you daydreams.

So just when the tension had fallen off of your body, hearing that Ryan got paired up with another of his friends, and you had been able to relax, knowing that now you would not have to lay awake all night long, thinking about the angelic man next to you, Z had spoken up.

“Know what? Ryan, why don’t you go to the living room too, and Kathy takes the room together-“

The rest of the sentence drowned in the rushing of blood in your ears. Ryan had immediately turned towards you, shooting you a dazzling smile which in itself would have sent you spiralling, but your heart was beating so hard in your chest that it hurt, and for a moment you felt dizzy, fearing you might actually faint. But then again, maybe if you did, you would not have to share a room with Ryan.

And this was how you ended up sitting on the matrass.

Ryan came skipping in, carrying a bunch of blankets and pillows, so you would have it more comfortable. When Ryan saw you sitting on the matrass on the floor, he shook his head violently, his brown locks brushing into his face.

“No, no, no, you won’t sleep on the floor,” he commanded, throwing the blankets into an armchair, and moving to pull you up, “you take the sofa.”

“I really don’t mind,” you disagreed, trying to put up a fight.

You told yourself you did not want to be able to look down on a sleeping Ryan, but deeper in your mind you admitted that you also did not want him to be uncomfortable. Yes, the matrass was really soft, but the sofa was a lot nicer to sleep on, as you knew from earlier sleepovers at Z’s.

“Neither do I, don’t worry, I’ll take the floor,” Ryan insisted, finally managing to pull you up when he felt your resistance faltering.

A triumphant smile spread over his face, and he grinned down on you, whisky brown eyes shining warmly in the soft light of the lamp on the side board. It took you a second to realise how close you were standing to each other, but once you did, you immediately felt a burn of embarrassment scorching over your cheeks, and you quickly took a step back.

Only that behind you there was still the matrass, and you stumbled, falling backwards without control. A picture flashed in your mind, how you would crash into the sideboard next to the matrass, but before you hit anything, Ryan had already grabbed you by the arms, and pulled you to stand.

“Careful,” he chuckled, once again standing far too close, his hands securely wrapped around your upper arms.

Even from here you could tell how warm he was, his body radiating heat like the sun radiated light. It seemed to engulf you, and for a moment you forgot how nervous and anxious his presence made you, and instead your mind got flooded by the peace and calmness that always seemed to surround him.

You had once tried to describe the feeling to your sister, but it was almost impossible to put the feeling into words. He felt like a dawn on a summer day at the sea side, like brown Angora fur, like a guitar, gently strung while sitting in front of a fire place, like crispy cold morning air and the soft, woolly blanket that kept you warm. Being in his presence was the most comforting thing, if it had not been for the fear that he did not like having you around, for the insecurity you could not help but feel every time you looked at his perfect face.

But now, for a few precious moments, his little bubble had engulfed you completely, like a wave that gently rolled over the pebbles at the beach. You did not notice, but your heartbeat calmed down a lot quicker than it usually would have, and Ryan felt the slight shiver under the tips of his fingers, that ran down your spine as you leant into his touch.

This perfect scene was interrupted by Kathy, who had forgotten her bag next to the sofa. As soon as the spell was broken, you felt the nervousness return with full force, hitting your like a brick, and quickly you stepped away from Ryan, careful this time not to fall again.

“I’m- I’m gonna change real quickly,” you stammered, not daring to take another look at Ryan, fearing he might be bewildered by your behaviour from seconds ago.

With shaking hands you grabbed your own bag, which contained the pyjama you had brought, and almost ran out of the living room.

Ryan looked after you. You confused him, there was no other word for it. You always seemed to be on the run from him, yet fate, or whatever the universe called it, seemed to bring you back each and every time, and the faster you ran the quicker and closer you came back.

Chasing the thoughts away, he made sure to throw on his own pyjama, a combination of a pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt. Then he walked over to where he had thrown the blankets into the armchair, and started making a bed for himself on the matrass.

Or rather, he threw a pillow and a blanket on the matrass, and then spent almost five minutes arranging the left over pillows and the two blankets on the sofa so you would have the most comfortable bed possible. When he was done, he proudly smiled down on his work before he settled on his matrass, patiently waiting for you to return.

Much to his dismay it took you another twenty minutes to appear in the living room again. Ryan had already worried you might have gotten sick, and he had been close to jumping up, and going looking for you multiple times, but every time he had calmed himself down by thinking you had probably just met somebody on the way, and talked to them. After all, the house was filled to the brim with your friends.

That in reality you had spent almost half an hour in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, and whispering encouragements and words to calm you down, nobody knew but you.

“I made your bed,” Ryan mentioned as soon as you stepped back into the room, trying not to sound too eager or excited about you being back.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, and there it was again, the sweet red blush on your cheeks.

Out of the corner of his eyes he watched you store your bag by the end of the sofa, before walking around it, and sitting down carefully next to the heap of pillows.

“Are you sure you’ve got enough pillows? I think I got like twenty or something,” you asked, looking at him inquisitively.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Ryan waved off, but he felt butterflies erupting in his chest at the sound of your voice directed at him.

“Here,” without warning three huge pillows landed on the matrass next to him, a fourth, smaller one hitting his shoulder, “I’m not gonna let you sleep without pillows down there.”

A soft chuckle followed your almost cocky statement, and Ryan finally allowed himself to look at you. You were sitting on the sofa, cross legged, a shirt that was far too huge for your frame hanging from your shoulders. Your hair seemed a little messy, as if you had already been sleeping for a couple of minutes, and some shorts peeked out from under the long shirt.

All in all you looked like the cosiest person on the planet, and if Ryan had been allowed to, he would immediately have tackled you in a hug, and never have let go. But since your consent would have been needed for that, and he was too shy to ask (after all he did not know that you would immediately have said yes), he did not act on his idea, and instead tried to memorise the happy smile on your face.

“Now what am I supposed to do with these,” he asked in mock annoyance, throwing two of the big pillows back to you.

“What am I supposed to do with these,” you asked back, sending the pillows over to him again.

“I don’t know, they’re yours,” Ryan laughed, launching the soft pillows through the air again.

“You put them there,” you accused him, and once more Ryan got hit by a pillow.

The exchange of words and pillows went on for a while, until all but two pillows for each one of you had been discarded either to an armchair, or out of reach from where either of you were sitting.

When both of you collapsed on your left over pillows, laughing and out of breath, Ryan realised how rare these carefree exchanges between you had become. Often there seemed to be a heavy cloud, like a dark premonition hovering over the two of you, and he blamed himself for that.

He knew that one day he would have to confess his feelings for you, and then he had to be ready for this friendship, no matter how fleeting and fragile it seemed at times, to be over once and for all. He needed to be prepared to get his heart broken, and loose the person, who, more than anybody else ever before, brought light into his life. And knowing that this eventually would happen, darkened almost every moment with you. Except for now. Right now everything was light and easy and happy. He would have given the world to keep it like that forever.

“Shall we turn off the lights,” you eventually asked, your from laughing rigid breathing having calmed down.

“Okay, let’s call it at night,” Ryan agreed, reaching over to the only lamp that was still spreading light.

With a slight click the twitch flipped, and the room was covered in darkness.

“Good night, sleep well,” you whispered from the sofa, and judging by the shuffling of fabric you had cuddled into the remaining pillows and blankets.

“Good night, sweet dreams,” Ryan replied, laying down himself.

~*~

Almost an hour later, Ryan still had not fallen asleep. Upstairs he had heard people talking and walking around, but the sounds had faded long ago, and the house was covered in silence. Outside the leaves of trees were whispering in the gentle wind, and crickets were chirping in front of the windows. Other than that the night was quiet.

But it did not take Ryan long to pick up another sound, one that had his heart fluttering. In a regular, quiet pattern, he heard your every breath, slow and even, almost inaudible. The sound reminded him that he was not alone, that the person he loved so much was right next to him, and yet out of reach.

It was almost four am when he could not take it any longer. Quietly he sat up and scooted so that he was leaning his shoulder against the sofa you were sleeping on. During the past hour his eyes had adapted to the darkness around him. The light of the full moon was bright enough to light up the room a little, and the yellow glow of a digital clock painted distorted shadows against the wall.

Taking a deep breath Ryan looked at you. From how he was sitting, he was able to look into your face, about three feet away from these perfect lips he dreamt about almost every night.

You were lying on your side, facing the room, one hand tucked under your head, the other resting on the pillow next to you. Your eyes were closed, the lashes gently resting against your skin, and the silver light of the moon painted your features soft and eternally beautiful.

Ryan watched you for a while, aware, but not caring, that it was creepy to watch somebody else sleep. He had to take this chance, to soak up every second of you sleeping so peacefully. God knew when he would get another chance for this.

Eventually he could not stand it anymore. He needed to express how much he longed for your attention, your sweet, happy smile, and the knowledge that you were his. Of course it would mean nothing to you, if he said this out loud, because you were tight asleep, but it would mean something to him, so taking another deep breath, he eventually started speaking quietly.

“I hope you know how much I love you,” he whispered, his eyes ghosting over your features, “I- I can’t even put it into words. I just know that… my day is so much better with you in it, and…” he halted.

Somehow the words just did not seem to flow as easily as his thoughts. Shaking his head he closed his eyes.

“I can’t imagine living without you. I know, this sounds stupid and cliché, but it feels like you belong with me, like we belong together. Like two puzzle pieces, or… yin and yang.”

He paused again.

“I feel so safe around you. You’ve never judged me once, not ever. And I don’t know how or why. And you look after me, especially if I can’t do it myself. You’re always around, and I want to keep you around, but then you’re gone again before I can bring myself to ask you to stay. It feels like you’re running away, and I don’t know why. I want to chase after you, but if I did I would scare you away, and so I have to wait until we naturally gravitate back towards each other.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.

I can only fall asleep when I imagine you are next to me, and now that you are, I’m too nervous to even think about sleep.

I dream about you, your smile, your laugh; I dream that you feel the same way, and when I wake up I turn to see if you are really there, but you never are, and I realise that all that was just a fantasy, a dream, too good to ever be true.

You are too good to be true.

Of course I understand why I love you so damn much, but I also know that you will probably never feel the same way.

It’s not only that I’m a terrible mess most of the time, and don’t know what to do with my life, apart from walking Dottie and Elwood, but next to you… you shine brighter than the sun when you smile, and you smell like rain in spring, and wind at the sea side, you’re so beautiful that I sometimes think you can’t even be real.

And you are so kind, so soft, so gentle. You listen when somebody talks, you give everybody the feeling to be the most special person on the planet. And you’re funny. I remember the first time we met, and you said you had a horrible sense of humour. But that evening I laughed so much because of your jokes and I made you laugh, and we just clicked, you know? At least I felt like we did.”

Ryan realised how much he had been talking, so he stopped, opened his eyes and, took a glance at your face. You still seemed to be asleep, so he closed his eyes again, and continued talking. Now that he had started, it felt good to get everything off his chest.

“God, you don’t know how beautiful you are. I know, you always say that Z is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, but to me it’s you.

I love that you are not so perfect like all the other people. You are real, and that’s so much better than never having bad hair, or a hole in the socks.

I just… you enchant me, totally and all the time.

All I can think about, when you are around, is how soft your hair looks, and how silky it must be to touch. And I get so jealous when I think about anybody else being allowed to touch you, to be around you, because I know you might give your heart to them, and not to me. But I wish you would. I wish you would let me steal your heart, or at least just a tiny piece of it. I would treasure it, you, and nobody could ever do you any harm.

I just want to hold you, you know? When it’s raining outside, and I sit on the sofa, drinking tea, I want to hold you, and feel your hands heat up from holding the warm cup while I place my hands over yours. I want to push strands of hair out of your face, when it’s windy, and I want to take long walks on the beach, and by the end I would sit you down on a rock, and dust your feet of, so you don’t get any sand in your shoes.

I would lend you my jacket, if you are cold, but you always got your own, so I’ve never had the opportunity to do that. And I –“ he stopped again, his voice having grown so quiet now that it was nothing but a breath in the air, “I want to kiss you, all the time. I want to know what your lips taste like, if they are as soft as they look. I want to feel your nose bump against mine, and I want to feel your breath against my skin, and I want to know what it feels like when you smile into a kiss because I tell you that I love you, and that you own my heart.”

Ryan stopped, the burning in his throat shutting him up. All these impossible pictures in his mind were torture, and they were ripping him apart from inside out, while you were lying next to him, sleeping.

Or so he thought.

Unbeknownst to him, you had not fallen asleep like he had assumed. But unlike him you had not lain in the darkness with open eyes. Instead you had closed them, trying to ignore his presence. You just could not stand seeing him, lying next to the sofa, everything you ever wanted just an arm’s length away, and yet unreachable.

But once he had sat up, and started talking, that had gotten hard. Unbelievingly you listened to the words he spoke, and since he assumed you were asleep, you knew they were words of honesty. Helplessly you had listened to him pouring out his heart, not knowing what to do, how to react.

When he had started talking about what he imagined the two of you together to be like, tears had started to spill from under your eyelids. It felt like your heart was torn apart, hearing his words, him describing what you had pictured so often on your own. And when his voice had stopped, too raspy to continue talking, you finally opened your eyes.

Like you imagined he had settled down, leaning against the sofa, facing you. But his eyes were closed, just like yours had been seconds ago, and his chest was moving up and down heavily, showing how much strength it coast him not to burst.

Still not entirely sure what you were doing, you sat up. Ryan did not seem to notice, instead he continued breathing. For a few seconds you watched him, then you quietly whispered his name.

It took him a moment, the sound of your voice not quite getting processed, before his eyes snapped open and he stared at you through the dark.

“(y/n),” his voice was raspy, but you could tell from the way he spoke your name, he hope you had heard none of what he had said earlier.

Still not certain what to say, you leant forward, and reached your hand out, brushing the tips of your fingers over his cheek until you held his face. You could tell how reluctant Ryan was to give in, but, like an instinct, he leant into your touch, allowing you to brush your thumb over his skin.

“How much did you hear,” he eventually asked, pressing his eyes closed, as if he could avoid the punch in the guts that he expected to follow.

“Everything.”

You voice sounded thin in the room, wet from the tears that had run down your cheeks, and by now dried. At your answer, Ryan recoiled, turning his head away, breaking your heart a little.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I just couldn’t take it anymore. It won’t happen again,” he mumbled moving to get up, but your hand, taking hold of his, stopped him.

“It’s me, who’s sorry. I should have let you know that I was awake. Ryan-“ at his name he turned to look at you, a mix of hope and pain written into his features, “I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about how the one person on this earth I want more than anything, will never feel the same, about how you didn’t even know how much I love you, and about how even though you are so close, I’ll never have you. And when you started talking, I was like paralysed. I didn’t mean to listen to you spilling all your secrets, but- it was too good to be true, and now reality has caught up.”

Ryan had frozen in his movements.

“I said nothing I wouldn’t have told you at some point anyway,” he mumbled.

“You’re not mad at me,” you asked hopefully, scooting a little closer to him, “for not interrupting you?”

“I’m- what do you even- I mean,” Ryan simply seemed to ignore your question, his mind still hung up on what you had told him before, “what you just said, about how you keep thinking about me, does that mean-?”

“It means that I like you, really like you, more than I could have ever imagined I could feel for someone, yes,” you answered, hoping, praying that he understood.

“And you mean it?”

You smiled, tightening your fingers around his.

“With all of my heart, well, if I had one left, but you stole it all away from me.”

Ryan finally relaxed back against the sofa, scooting a little closer to you.

“So does that mean, if I really sneakily stole a kiss from you, you wouldn’t mind?”

“Yes, I would. I don’t want it to be stolen, I want to give it away, and take yours in return.”

Ryan was now so close to you that you could feel the warmth that his body was giving away. His breath caught in a thin strand of your hair, moving it gently with every exhale, and his eyes, just like yours fluttered shut.

“I think I can do that,” he replied, the tension in the small space between you increasing, even if it had seemed impossible.

You did not dare moving, not sure if this was the most realistic feeling dream or actual reality. But Ryan’s lips found yours even without your help.

At first it was just a brush, a tickling of his soft pink lips against yours, and when you did not draw away, he leant in a little closer. His breath hitched in his throat, and if yours would not have done the same, you might have noticed. Instead your heart seemed desperate to reach light speed with the pace it was beating in.

Ryan’s lips were warm and gentle against yours, soft and plush, smooth and yet a little rough. Getting lost in the testing touch between you, you let go of Ryan’s hand, which you had still been holding to stop him from getting up, and wrapped it around his neck. Allowing you to pull him closer, he followed your movement, deepening and slowly starting to explore the kiss a little more.

You could not have said how exactly you ended up on the sofa, cuddled into Ryan’s side. The cushion was just broad enough for both of you to lay next to each other, and Ryan had pulled you half on top of him so you would not fall off. His brown curls were tangled with your own hair, your nose nuzzled against his neck, and every now and then one of you tilted your head to kiss the other. Sometimes there were short, sweet pecks on the mouth, or lingering, exploring, testing, probing kisses.

With your nose nuzzled against his neck, you pressed small kisses against his soft skin, not caring that the first stubble from not being cleanly shaven was burning against your lips. Every time you did so, he hummed softly, and sometimes he kissed your hair, which was so much softer than he had imagined before.

Then he tightened his hold on you, pulled you just a little closer towards him with the arm he had wrapped around your waist, and tried to wrap his mind around the situation he found himself in, which seemed more like a dream than anything he had ever dreamt before.

~*~

Ryan got woken up by hair in his face, hair that did not belong to you. A long strand of blond hair tickled his nose, and he immediately recognized his friend Z who had leant over the back rest of the sofa.

“You owe me one,” she whispered before she leant back up, and left as if she had never been there.

Ryan smiled. Of course it had been Z who had managed to get him and you to sleep in the same room. After all she had been the only one who had known how he felt for you, and considering how close you were to her as well, she might have had some insight into your feelings too. He turned his head, and smiled down on where you were resting your head on his chest. Your arm was draped over his belly, fingers wrapped into his shirt. Your legs were intertwined with his, and he felt your heart beating against his ribcage, beating in tune with his own.

He turned to look at the time, and found it was only eight o’clock. After yesterday evening everyone, except maybe for Z, probably wanted to sleep in, which gave him some more precious time with you. Closing his eyes again, smiling fondly, he kissed the top of your head and relaxed back into the pillows. He did not care how many times his mind had screamed this at him already, but here on the sofa with you, holding you in his arms, knowing you felt the same way for him as he felt for you, this was better than any dream.

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

Suspend Your Disbelief

Note: Does this make sense? Unlikely. I wrote it instead of doing prep work for my finals. But I’m still posting it. Summary: Logan just wanted to eat lunch, not have some crazy hotshot sit down and start pushing the magic agenda on him. Good thing he was never going to see him ever again. Right? Warning: Non-consensual kissing (they both end up fine with it but it does happen), a few swear words

   Logan hated him. Utterly despised the smug bastard that was Roman whatever-his-last-name-was. Logan didn’t catch it and he currently didn’t care.

   “You have absolutely no proof of anything you’re saying.” Logan said angrily, gesturing around him. “I, on the other hand, have a plethora!”    “You only think you do.” The cocky arse replied with what Logan refused to describe as a winning smile. “But I can explain everything with one word.”

   “Don’t you dare.”

   “Magic.” Roman said with jazz hands, as if he were offering a movie option and not attempting to drive Logan mad.

   “Gravity?”    “Magic.”    “Plant growth?”

   “I’mma have to say magic.”

   “Rainbows?”    “Gay magic.”

   “Atoms!?”

   “You won’t believe me… but… magic.”

   Logan slid his seat back to faceplant in the table. Three science degrees, for this? To fight with some hotshot who recognized his face from his lectures and decided to ruin his lunch with this nonsense?

   “If you’re going to tell me you honestly, seriously believe this, this, insanity then why, pray tell, did you come over to talk to me?” Logan tilted his head to glare at Roman. “I’m a scientist. I actually use my brain.”

   “Not properly, clearly.” Roman replied, infuriatingly. Logan couldn’t even tell if he was joking or not.

   “I-”    “Oh, sorry Microsoft Nerd, but my ride’s here.” Roman interrupted, picking up his phone as it dinged. He patted Logan’s elbow with a smile. “Think about what I’ve said, would you?”

   “You’ve spoken only gibberish about magic.”

   “Only gibberish to some.” Roman replied while he got up, pulling a twenty out of his wallet and throwing it on the table. “Whatever you’re getting’s on me.” And with that, he twirled away from the table and headed off towards the parking lot.

   Logan resisted the unprofessional urge to growl as the near stranger wandered off. Sitting up in his seat, he crumpled the twenty in his hand. He hadn’t ordered anything yet, and after that conversation, he decided he’d prefer to eat at home. At least there was someone rational there.

   As he pulled out his own wallet to put the money in, he stopped when he found a white note coupled with the cash. He squinted at the excessively swirly writing.

   If you ever care to free yourself from the lies of big science, give me a call; xxx-xxxx

Prince of Magic, Gay, and Truth- Roman

   Logan frowned at the note as if it was Roman’s face and he was still blabbering about the world all being run by magic and nothing else. He was sorely tempted to rip it to shreds and let it blow away in the breeze.

   “Sir, are you ready to order?”

   Logan stuffed the twenty and the note into his wallet instantly, looking up to answer the waitress, “I’m just going, thanks.”

   Slipping his wallet back into his pocket, he headed in the opposite direction of the parking lot, trying not to think about the stupid note from the stupid man in his pocket.

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   “And you know what he said?”

   “Lemme guess.” Virgil deadpanned from where he was lounging on his bed, swiping through his phone. “Magic?”

   “Magic!” Logan rubbed his forehead. “Honestly, Virgil, he was the most infuriating person I’ve ever met! You two would get along splendidly, I’m sure.”

   “I’m insulted, Logan. I’m supposed to be the most infuriating person you’ve ever met.”

   “He’s an extremely strong contender.” Logan huffed. “Besides, you’re annoying simply because you’re annoying.”

   “Aw, thanks, Lo. I didn’t realize I meant that much to you.” Virgil cooed.

   “Just like that.” Logan said. “But Roman? He’s just wrong. Or pulling my leg. Or perhaps both. And he’s so cocky about it, like he knows everything, smiling the entire time, stupid winning smile and bright teeth he doesn’t deserve to have-”

   “Lo, have you considered you have a crush?”

   Logan jerked out of his position of existential crisis on the floor to face Virgil. “Are you mad?!”

   Virgil rolled his eyes. “God, Logan, you gay disaster, when’s the last time you had a crush that you can’t recognize one?”

   “I’ve not had a crush since first grade.” Logan responded. “And even then, really, he was just very good at drawing scales. Even with crayon, really, it was masterful-”    “I thought CIL-D (Classmate of Interest Letter- D) was just a good artist?” Virgil said with a shit-eating grin.

   Logan glared at him. “Shut up.”

   Virgil looked like he would not be shutting up about this for the foreseeable future. “Sure. That aside, I hate to break it to you, Logan, but you’re totally head-over-heels for this ‘prince.’”

   “I despise him with every fiber of my being.” Logan responded.

   “And yet, you still have his number.” Logan scowled at the white scrap Virgil was toying with in his hands. Showing him that was a mistake, apparently. “And despite the fact that he is, allegedly, an absolute fool, you won’t stop talking about him. Or thinking about what he said, even though it’s bullshit. And you just spent like a solid minute describing his smile.”

   “It’s a stupid smile.”

   “You called it winning and his teeth bright.” Virgil responded, flopping over on the bed to look at Logan while he taunted him. “You’re gay for him, Lo.”

   “Even if you’re right- and I am admitting on zero levels that you are- what does it matter?” Logan asked. “He just wanted to taunt me with his silly ideas. I highly doubt he’s interested.”

   “I’d say he’s super interested.”

   Logan leaned back on the nearest wall, which wasn’t very near, leaving him with just his head propped up as he met Virgil’s eyes and said, “Really? Virge, buddy, I know it’s hard living with a genius when all you do is dance-”

   “Now is not the time to mock my job and you’re just trying to avoid the real topic at hand.”

   “-but this is just getting to be a bit too far of a reach, don’t you think?” Logan finished, ignoring the interruption.

   Virgil rolled his eyes. “Logan, you’re one of the top scientists in the country, and yet, you refuse to talk to practically anyone.”

   “I speak with those who can stimulate my intellect.” Logan responded. “And you.”

   “Ha ha. Logan, those who stimulate your intellect are down to about five other scientists and people who ask super weird questions to frustrate you.” Virgil waved the phone number. “This Roman guy probably thought you looked cute and knew the only way to catch your interest was to be so incredibly stupid you couldn’t let the matter drop.”

   “I disagree entirely.” Logan replied, offended. “I don’t continue interactions with crazy fools for the sake that they’re incredibly foolish.”

   Virgil raised an eyebrow. “The concept of the sun is just a lie that the government uses to convince us that the ‘sun’ warms us, and not the radiation they leak into the atmosphere.”    “...There are so many things wrong with that, just to start with ancient peoples beliefs and sun gods before the government could exist to do anything about it,”

   Logan went on for a good three minutes before he recognized the grin on Virgil’s face. “I’ve been played.” He said immediately, cutting off a rant about how does one even fake the sun.

   “Yep.”

   “I hate you.”

   “Sureeee.” Virgil replied, swinging his feet off the bed and dropping the number on Logan’s lap. “Listen, Rem and me’s dance number starts in fifteen, so I’ve gotta go, but you should call the cute idiot while I’m gone.” Virgil winked as he reached the doorway. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll be the right one for once.”

   And with that comment, Virgil was out of the apartment. Logan frowned, turning back to look at the paper.

   He did not have a crush. Roman was infuriating. He didn’t have a nice smile, he didn’t look cute when he mocked Logan, he didn’t walk with a perfectly exaggerated swagger, and he wasn’t at all deserving of the princely title he had given himself.

   But it was Logan’s duty to at least and try to crush ignorance. And if Roman was going to be the most ignorant fool of them all, than Logan was practically legally responsible to properly correct him.

   With a deep sigh, he picked up his phone.

   ~~~~~~~~~

   Logan kicked another pebble. He was slightly (read: extremely) early for his meetup with Roman. Only because it worked better for him to take the earlier bus. Not because he was nervous. As he had pointedly told Roman multiple times via text, this was an informational conference to discuss his awfully flawed view of science and the natural world.

   Roman had eloquently responded with, “So, a nerd date?”

   Logan told him to come to the park if he cared or not before promptly turning off his phone. He felt foolish immediately afterwards, and turned it back on to check Roman had confirmed he’d be coming.

   Not that Logan cared if he came or not. He just didn’t have that much time in his life to waste.

   Logan realized he had been glaring at the poor kicked pebble for a few minutes at the same time he realized a car was entering the parking lot. It was a bright blue minivan. Logan wasn’t one hundred percent it was Roman’s style, per say (not that he cared what Roman’s style was), but when the idiot himself bounded out of the passenger side, he was forced to accept this was his ride.

   Out of the driver’s side came an equally energetic person wearing an oversized sweater and a ridiculously large smile.

   “See, Pat, I told you he’d beat us here.” Roman said while looking at Logan. Logan rolled his eyes.

   “I like to be punctual.”

   “If you say so.” Roman said, same stupidly egotistical etched on his face. “See you in a bit, Patton!”

   Patton waved at both of them. “Okay, Ro! Have fun on your date!”

   “It’s not a date!” Logan protested immediately.

   Patton giggled. “My mistake. Bye you two!”

   Logan turned his glare upon Roman while Patton drove off. “A date? Really? I thought we went over this.”

   Roman shrugged. “Patton gets the most absurd ideas in his head.”

   “Why do I have a sneaking suspicion you’re the reason he had that idea in his head?”

   “No clue, I’m sure.” Roman replied. “Now, shall we stroll gayily through the park and discuss matters of magic and fake science?”

   “Gayily?”

   “You know, happily?” Roman said, arching an eyebrow smugly. “What? Haven’t heard the definition?”

   “You’re a twat.”

   “So I’ve been told.” Roman started heading into the park. “Onwards!”

   Logan huffed before hurrying to catch up with him. As they walked past the flower beds that were planted at the park’s entrance, Logan took in disdainfully the casual dress Roman was wearing. Not that there was anything wrong with dresses, but the light pink-and-white colours with golden crown designs splattered across it were about as professional as a picnic.

   Roman apparently caught him staring, smirking at Logan as he said, “See something you like?”

   Logan immediately fixed his gaze forward, replying, “You’re dressed quite casually.”

   “It’s a walk in the park, literally.” Roman replied. “Unlike someone here, I don’t enjoy taking those in pressed slacks and ties.”

   “I had a meeting before this.” Logan lied. He didn’t have a meeting beforehand, he just refused to in any way, shape, or form play into Roman or Virgil’s fantasy that this was a date. “We don’t all have time on our hands.”

   “I’m insulted.” Roman said with an exaggerated gasp. “Us actors as very busy.”    “You’re an actor?” Logan said before mumbling to himself, “That explains a lot.”

   Roman caught the whisper. “Does it?”

   “I see now your imagination has run away from you, as I’m sure it’s prone to do living in the land of make-believe, and has given you the foolish idea that magic rules the world.” Logan explained.

   Roman rolled his eyes as he moved off the path to stand on the small observation deck sticking out of the park land and over the little lake that bordered it. “You know, I’m not the only one with these ideas.”

   “The world is sadly filled with a lot of weirdos.” Logan said, not minding the stop on the deck. It was slightly humid and he was starting to regret the slacks, anyways.

   “Well not everyone who believes it is a weirdo.” Roman responded. “Ever heard of Dr. Emile Picani?”

   Logan waved a hand. “Pretty top notch psychologist, yeah. Don’t tell me you think he believes this nonsense.”

   “No, I don’t think so. I do know so, however.” Roman grinned as if he had won the whole argument. “Talked to him a few days ago.”

   “Listen, I respect Emile. The fact that he’s so heavily incorporated Disney into everything he does is great. But it only stands that if he’s willing to be so deeply invested in such silly tales, then he might be swayed to believe in a world of magic.”

   “Silly tales? I’m sorry, are you insulting Disney?”

   Logan raised an eyebrow. “What? Irked they’ve yet to pick you up for roll of Evil Stepmother, Princess?”

   “An insult and a complimentary nickname?” Roman winked. “Careful, Teach, I might start thinking you’re flirting.”

   “That wouldn’t be very professional.”

   “That was a weak excuse.”

   “It’s not an excuse.” Logan corrected. “It’s the reason why I cannot currently be flirting with you. That’s not even getting into the fact you’re a self-centered, egotistical, half-brained fool who thinks he can prove any stupid idea with a nice smile and confident attitude-”

   Virgil had always said Logan ranted enough the only way anyone would ever be able to shut him up was by kissing him, teasing that would be his first kiss. Logan would roll his eyes and point out that no one these days had that type of confidence or desire to kiss a talkative nerd. Besides, slapping people was much more fun.

   Apparently, Roman whatever-his-last-name-was was part of the small percentage of people who had that confidence and possibly the only person who wanted to kiss a talkative nerd.

   Logan had just barely became aware of the fact that lips were pressed to his when Roman pulled back, lacking, for the first time around Logan, confidence.

   “I shouldn’t have done that.” Roman all but stuttered, blushing as he apologized. “God, I’m such a-”

   Logan wasn’t completely processing everything at this point but he had figured out not kissing Roman had left him feeling very put out and, hey, turnabout’s fair play, right? Roman seemed just as surprised as Logan was but neither of them pulled away before they needed to take a breath.

   Logan had instantly turned crimson before he turned to face the lake. Roman was the first to speak, with a light chuckle, saying, “Not flirting with me, eh?”

   “You kissed me first.” Logan responded, still not facing him.

   A beat of silence before, “Want to do it again?”

   Logan faced him once more, the front of his dress crumpled from where Logan only realized now he must have pulled him down to kiss him back (it wasn’t fair, really, Roman being a head taller than him) and that smug smirk back on his face.

   “You really are insufferable.”

   “You realize I did make up the whole ‘everything is just magic’ thing, right?”

   Logan pulled Roman down by his dress again, stopping right before the third inevitable kiss to ask,

   “Then what do you call this?”

   Roman’s mouth was immediately too preoccupied to answer this question, but to Logan, this time magic might have been the only realistic answer.

[sprinklesandsugarcubes]

Word Of Mouth

Part One; The One With The Eyes

Fandom: Riverdale Pairing: Sweet Pea x OC (Aurora) Words: 2,887 Rating: NSFW/Mature Warnings (Part Specific): Language, Angst, Cheating, Sweet Pea’s Smirk.

Note: Just to clear this up, I love Jughead as a character. I just needed to make him a bit of the badguy to start this up. Don’t hunt me down with your pitchforks, I beg of you!

Darkness had fallen thickly as the sun set, leaving only a handful of twinkling stars to peek out from behind shadowy clouds, long before the sound of tires squealing across pavement echoed throughout the nearly deserted, makeshift streets that served as passage around the trailer park. They spun haphazardly as a foot pressed to the accelerator, right about the time that cracked and crumbling pavement transitioned into loose gravel and dust. The result was a wave of pebbles and dirt that took to the air, making it quite the lucky circumstance that it was, in fact, nearly one in the morning. Otherwise, she might have managed to send said rock and shale right into the faces of unfortunate passerby, and wouldn’t that have been a bitch to deal with, on top of everything else?

Behind gently tinted windows, a girl sat stiffly in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel so tightly with slender fingers that they had long since cramped up. She seemed to be frozen in the position, only making the necessary movements to guide the truck along the winding path that led back toward the most secluded trailer of the bunch. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, unblinking as she stomped on the brakes after she reaching her destination, hardly caring when the wheels locked up before throwing the gear in park. Perhaps, if she had been paying a bit more attention, she might have noticed that the scene before her wasn’t the usual, and called for at least a hint of caution. As it was, all she could seem to see were the heartbreaking images of betrayal that flickered sporadically through her mind, providing proof to the snarky words bestowed upon her earlier that day.

“You should have seen them, Aurora. Too close.” She had paused between sentences, smacking her lips, a fresh coat of blood red lipstick applied, no doubt. “His cheeks were flushed, her gloss was smudged. You need to do something about this, now. Then we can go get pedicures at The Red Door."

"The Red Door is all the way in the city, Cher."

"Your point?"

Cheryl Blossom’s words had lashed violently against her consciousness the moment they were uttered in the nearly silent locker room, spoken in a tone just above a whisper with a hint of mockery tainting the concern and disdain. Aurora knew though, that her friend was attempting to protect her in the only way that she really knew how. Harsh truth presented in a snarky, offhand manner was the fiery redhead’s trademark, despite how it could sometimes make those she secretly cared about feel. Still, her tone had been heavier with concern than her usual touch, and offering up a road trip to simply be lavished upon in one of New York City’s top nail salons further proved that, since her twin brother’s death, Cheryl was keeping a tighter grip on those she considered close.

It didn’t make what she had found any less horrifying, however.

The strawberry blonde shook her head lightly, fingers pinching at the bridge of her nose as she yanked the key from its place and threw her door open, causing the hinges to squeak in protest. If she had been paying attention in the first place, perhaps she might not have ever turned the engine off at all. She would have paused instead of sliding from the seat and tossing the back door open, reaching inside the darkened cab to gather up handfuls of flimsy plastic bag handles. The extra weight of the groceries inside caused the handles to cut into the soft skin of her palm as she grabbed one too many, though it seemed that she hardly felt it.

Or cared.

Certainly, if she had taken in the multitude of motorcycles congregated just at the edge around the place she had parked, she would have at least knocked upon the weather-worn door of the secluded trailer; you know, as opposed to nearly wrenching it from its hinges before kicking it open with her toe as colorful curses fell from her lips.

“Son of a…” Aurora grumbled, heaving the bags along as she stumbled through the doorway, twisting to avoid bumping into the short wall that separated the hallway from the living room. “Who in their right mind-“

As it was, she didn’t take notice of the bikes. Or the bikers that accompanied them, for that matter.

So all those things? She did.

The extra bodies littered throughout the sparse living room of the double wide she had long ago become accustomed to should have drawn her attentions; they weren’t small or inconspicuous by any means. Large, bulky, intimidating forms that were dressed up in leather and dark colors; they lounged upon the threadbare furniture and leant up against the faded wood paneling of the walls that had come straight out of the nineties. They were impossible to miss.

She was too caught up though, stumbling through her own waking nightmare as she put every ounce of her concentration into the bags of groceries that she deposited on the faded kitchen counter with a dull thud. The sudden relief when the counters took the weight from the bags made her hiss in a breath through gritted teeth as she fumbled to untangle her fingers from the plastic handles, blood rushing back into her limbs leaving behind a faint sting as the pale skin turned a reddish hue. Behind her, the trailer had gone almost eerily silent, but that too went unnoticed as her mumbled ramblings filled the air, bringing amused smirks and arched eyebrows to the faces of her yet-to-be-seen audience.

Huffing quietly, she pulled the hair band from her wrist, using it to pile the mass of long, wavy locks of light red hair upon her head.

The refrigerator door was ripped open in the next second, though this time her movements were visibly more careful than the previous attempts at opening things. Aurora scoffed lowly as she was met with an unsurprising, but no less irritating, sight. Takeout containers were piled among the shelves; advertising an impressive selection that was comprised of boxes from Riverdale’s second most popular pizzeria, multiple cartons from a Chinese takeout, and burger bags from Pop’s. Between them all were various bottles of beer, a carton of orange juice, and what could only be half a gallon of long-expired milk.

Her nose wrinkled as she groaned, “Fucking seriously?”

The snap of an extra-large trash bag opening cut through the quiet trailer, and the redhead soon found herself focused on shuffling the array of Styrofoam containers into the bag, followed closely by the paper towels used as she scrubbed vigorously at the few indeterminable stains clouding the shelves, each of which she was sure she didn’t want to know the origin of. Unbeknownst to her, she had begun to hum softly under her breath, the melody drowning out the low murmurs of those gathered in the living room behind her. Gently, she tossed the fresh produce she had gathered into the bare and rarely used crispers, while deli meats and cheeses were packed away into the meat tray. Gallons of milk and apple juice were propped up in the door, fresh eggs and butter filed away into their delegated spaces, and the condiments were sifted through, checking for anything out of date.

It wasn’t until nearly fifteen minutes later, after she had worked up a slight sheen of sweat over her forehead and placed bags of pasta with jars of sauce next to the stove top, that the sound of a throat clearing finally managed to break through her attentions.  

“You alright, sweetheart?”

His voice was low and raspy, like the gentle drag of sandpaper across the inside of your arm. It was coated in a layer of both confusion and concern, a mixture that was uncommon for FP Jones, and immediately called forth the exact reaction the redhead puttering around his kitchen had been trying to avoid.

Her green eyes filmed over with moisture, stinging with the tears that she had bricked away the very moment she had laid eyes on them, had seen them; blatantly refusing to give in and fulfill the overwhelming urge to cry until she couldn’t cry anymore. Her hand darted up as she ignored the heavy gaze burning into her back, swiping quickly at her nose and eyes, blinking them rapidly until the sting faded and the glassiness dissipated.

With her throat tight against the emotion, Aurora chose instead to answer physically.

She slammed the stock pot down on its burner after previously filling it with the appropriate amount of water, hard enough to shake the entire oven. Her fingers flicked out, turning the knob for the burner while the clicking sound warned of the igniter sparking before the soft swoosh of the flame catching winked to life beneath it.

“Roo?” The tall man pushed, his boot creaking upon the worn linoleum as he stepped up behind her.

The childhood nickname broke through her resolve, and a shudder of emotion rippled down her spine as she bit back a sob. She sniffled once instead, speaking quietly through the oversized lump that had grown in her throat, leaving her usual gentle tone tight with pain. Her fingers curled around the edge of the kitchen counter, gripping on to it so stiffly, her knuckles whitened.

“Forsythe Pendleton Jones II,” She snapped, though there was little heat in the exclamation. “Your son is one colossal asshole.”

Chuckles rang out suddenly in the living room, deep and hearty; Aurora spun around with a sharp gasp, her eyes widening comically and her hand rising to her chest as she finally took notice of her once silent company.

Her reaction only fueled their amusement, prompting them to laugh a little louder.

Five bodies were clustered within the living room, each of them male and each one more imposing than the last. Three were older, hovering somewhere around FP’s age give or take a few years, she supposed. Two were younger, perhaps around her own age, if not a single year older.

“Shut up!” FP chastised playfully, narrowing his eyes.

As the man at her side turned to glance into the room, fixing his guests with an obviously fake stern glance, she allowed her eyes to leisurely trail over those closest in age to her.

One was perched on the arm of the couch that had been pushed to the far side of the trailer, sitting beneath the curtain covered windows. His skin was richly tanned, his eyes a shade or two darker than the short crop of dark hair upon his head. A hunter green work shirt lay over a white t-shirt, and his dark jeans were complemented by the buckled boots at his feet. His grin was charming enough she had to admit, but it quickly paled in comparison as her eyes drifted slowly to the boy leaning up against the wall directly to his left.

It was a tangible experience, the first time that Aurora’s eyes met his.

She could physically feel the way the breath in her lungs hitched, jerking her rib-cage ever so slightly. Her fingers curled tightly around the wooden spoon she had snatched up at some point, the smooth wood biting into the same spots that the plastic bags had before. A mixture of the sudden burst of soreness and the sight in front of her, spurred the girl to sink her teeth down into her bottom lip, trapping it there firmly.

The first thought that finally managed to register through the chaotic whirling that was her mind, was just how fucking beautiful he was.

Leant up against the paneled wall in a seemingly uncaring and lazy position, one leg crossed over the other at the ankles, he was still incredibly tall. Long legs were encased in dark wash jeans, the denim pulling teasingly tight across his thick thighs. They were rumpled around the tops of his boots, both of which were blacker than night and laced up clumsily. Her seafoam colored eyes trailed upward over the enticing length of his body slowly; lighting on the way his belt buckle emphasized trim hims that filled out to a temptingly solid chest, all of which was covered in a tight black shirt that pulled over his muscles in a way that made the blood in her veins heat as it rushed through them rapidly. A blue and black flannel rested over that, the sleeves rolled up to just over the elbows, the tightness of which drew all her attention to the way his arms looked like they might split right out of the material at any moment. His shoulders were wide, the slope leading to a smooth neck that, if she tipped her head just the slightest to the side, she could barely catch a glimpse of black ink that had been etched into his skin.

Aurora swallowed, her mouth running dry.

Hair that resembled the darkest of shadows spilled down to just below his ears in messy strands, almost like he had spent the last ten minutes running his hands through it. Some even flopped down over the right side of his face, just barely tickling equally dark eyelashes. His lips were a surprising and absurdly inviting pink, and as his tongue suddenly darted out to wet them, she felt her own parting in response. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, she could only assume, with just the slightest filling in the apples of his cheeks. But his eyes…

His eyes smoldered into her own after taking her gaze hostage upon meeting them, their hue like that of an ink-pot tipped over onto parchment or a clear and starless night sky.

Swallowing thickly, Aurora desperately tried to suppress the sudden shiver that threatened to ripple down the length of her spine, and failed.

As a last ditch effort, she tensed her body, hoping to at least keep the reaction hidden, unnoticed to those eyes that peered back into her own, pinning her in place. Her teeth pinched her lip between them hard enough that the beginnings of a copper tang spread across the tip of her tongue, and she was sure that if she held that wooden spoon any tighter, the poor thing would snap. It would be worth it though, if she could keep the inexplicable heat that had surged throughout her entire body masked from the unnamed boy with the body of a mythical god.

Judging by the maddeningly slow and utterly sinful smirk that curled teasingly at his lips, though…Aurora was left to assume luck simply wasn’t on her side.

FP let out a lengthy groan that rumbled through his chest, conveniently failing to notice the way she had lost herself to her attentive appraisal of the strange boy, and huffed out a resigned laugh as he spoke, his tone obviously humored.

“Women…” He teased, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder in silent comfort. “What did Jughead do this time?”

Aurora’s eyes narrowed at his lighthearted dismissal, suppressing the instinctive urge to flinch as those traitorous memories flashed across her eyes after she had squeezed them shut, and her lips slowly twisted into a malicious sneer, one worthy of the tension that crept through their company when the expression settled on her face. It was all wrong, hardly matching up with her feminine and deceivingly sweet features. Her green eyes were narrowed to a squint as she whipped around, breaking her gaze with the handsome biker so that they pierced the father of her once-upon-a-time boyfriend.

“Betty fucking Cooper.” She spat, advancing a single step toward him.

Well, that certainly caught his attention.

The tall man bent at the waist from where he had been leaning against the counter stood next to her as he snorted with the sudden shock of her words, quickly finding himself reduced down to sputtering and choking on the beer he had just taken a sip from.

Sighing quietly, Aurora reached over to pat his sweater-covered back gently as he urgently fought to catch his breath, absently tossing a paper towel to the linoleum flooring as she mopped up the frothy mess with her foot. By the time he righted himself, FP’s eyes had darkened dangerously with something akin to fury as he stood to his full height once more, one hand threading through his salt and pepper hair while he peered down at you, searching for answers. His lips were pressed thin and his jaw was obviously clenched, the muscle ticking with the strain while the anger written across his features beckoned silence from those gathered around them.

“What?!” He nearly hissed, not at all unlike the creature stitched across his leather jacket.

Aurora shrugged her shoulders softly, the weight of the day finally catching up as she sagged against his side, leeching the comfort his warm arm around her shoulders and the scent of leather and pine provided. She closed her eyes, fighting off the urge to meet the piercing gaze directed toward her from across the room, somehow knowing already that she would find those starless sky eyes searing into her very soul. Her words left her lips in a toneless whisper, and she snuggled further into the aged biker’s warmth.

“Told you, your son is an asshole.”

SweetPeasPodSquad Taglist: @jugheadmaybe @cinn-rawr @suomalainenmaksalaatikko @ninjasbananasmonkeys @sassyfiedscribbles

Aesthetic Credit: @sassyfiedscribbles

[akhkharuthefacelessone-blog]

Hell - Prologue

And the first of the unfinished writing projects that actually survived long enough to be a decent length. I’ll divide it into multiple portions, for ease of reading. 

Enjoy!

Prologue A gust of wind brought with it the scent of salt and murmur of gentle waves against the shore. A few strands of brilliant scarlet fell across grey-blue eyes, jaw length locks captured by the breeze. A glimmer of pearly white drew her gaze to the sand beneath bare feet, the perfect edge of a shell shining in the sun. Grinning, she reached for the small reasure, only for the sunlit beach to vanish abruptly from her attention. The young girl blinked, finding herself staring up at the textured white ceiling of her bedroom. Lifting her head from the cream colored fabric of her pillow, she scanned the room for a moment. The horrendous sky blue curtains her mother refused to replace remained dark, which meant it was still night time. Her door was still closed too, which meant nobody had come to wake her. A frown set itself firmly upon her features. That had been such a nice dream too. Laying her head back again, she closed her eyes to return to the blissful realm of slumber. A deep boom shook the entire house, the sound resonanting through everything and setting the glass rattling in the window panes. The girl sat bolt upright, eyes wide with fright. Pushing aside the leopard print comforter, she climbed out of bed and crept to the window, pushing open the thin cotton curtains. The world outside was shrouded in darkness, its young observer's eyes just barely able to make out the silhouette of the wooden fence, and the slope of her neighbor's roof. The sky was dark tonight, barely a handful of stas adorning the darkness. The sound of her bedroom door opening caused her to turn. Her mother was standing in the doorway, still dressed in her pink flower printed nightgown, her dark brown hair messy. "Valen, come on, we've gotta go shelter." The woman coaxed, beckoning. Valen frowned, expression a mix of her earlier fright and confusion. "Why mom? What was that boom?" "It's just a bad storm Valen, come on." her mother insisted. The young girl followed her mother, still puzzled. "But, it's not raining!" "The rain just hasn't reached us yet." The child was ushered into the small laundry room, where her father waited with her younger sisters. The other two girls were both seated on hte cold white tile of the floor, the youngest hugging a plush toy of a unicorn to her chest. Valen chose to stand beside her father in front of the dryer, looking up to blink at him. He was wearing his glasses, which meant he probably just woke up too. He always put his contacts in right after he woke up. "What kind of storm is it Dad?" The gray haired man glanced briefly at her wife with a frown. "It's just a really bad one sweety. Stay in here with your sisters, Mom and I are gonna go watch the News. It'll all be okay." He stepped past the eldest girl to join Valen's mother in the hallway, closing the door behind them and leaving the three children alone with nothing but the washer and dryer, the glorified closet that served as their laundry room lit by a single bulb set in a fixture on the ceiling. "Valen, what's going on?" The middle sister raised eyes a slighty darker shade of gray-blue than Valen's own to the eldest sibling. "I don't know, Mom and Dad said it's just a storm." "But did you hear that boom? It sounded like an essplosion!" The younger girl gestured with both hands to emphasize her statement. Valen shrugged. "I don't know, I already said th-" She was interrupted by a loud crash and a scream from somewhere else in the house. The youngest of the three hugged her plsuh unicorn tighter to her chest, tears welling up in her eyes. "I want Mommy!" she wailed. "Shh!" Valen snapped, slowly opening the door so she could peer out into the hall. The hallway was currently empty, but shouting and more crashing came from the direction of the living room. "Stay here." she glanced over her shoulder long enough to hiss, stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind her. Her petite frame shook with an almost overwhelming sensation of fear and dread as she tiptoed toward the corner around which the living room lay. "Mom? Dad?" She called, voice trembling. She raised a hand, resting her palm against the smooth white wall as she leaned around the corner, her eyes widening with horror at what lay beyond. The front windows had been smashed, shards of glass scattered across the carpet in glittering fragments. A tall figure stood just outside, in her mother's beloved flower garden. Its frame was just a silhouette against the blaze of the house across the street. Bizarre beasts, like oversized wolves with horns and an extra set of legs, ran amok on the lawn, ivory fangs stained with crimson. Valen's eyes fixed on one thing in particular. Her mother's body, slumped over the coffee table, the back of her flowery nightgown soaked through with red. "Mom!" The child shriked, taking a couple of steps toward the body before stopping in her tracks as the silhouette in the windows turned, glowing scarlet eyes locking on Valen. She took a step back, watching as the monster studied her for a moment before turning its back again and whistling to the dog monsters. Three of them dashed for the broken windows, teeth bared in vicious snarls. Valen turned, sprinting for the back door as quickly as her legs could carry her and wrenching open the sliding glass, even as she heard heavy paws crunching on the remnants of the living room windows. The background was currently empty, and the terrified girl ran straight for the towering trunk of the mulberry tree, jumping to reach for lower hanging branches. An echoing thunk behind her told her that the creatures had reached the back door, but had not yet broken through the glass. She hauled herself higher into the tree, praying that the leaves would be enough to conceal her even as tears streamed over her cheeks. Another thunk rang from the sliding door, accompanied by the scrape of claws. Valen hugged the branch she presently clung to, the air thick with smoke from the handful of her neighbor's homes that were ablaze. A bright glow of crimson light drew tear blurred vision to the ground. A bizarre pattern of lines and shapes, confined within a circle of ruby light shone on the grass. A form rose from it, heavy armored body adorned with wide wings, webbed like those of a bat. Horns curved from its head, framing a face with an expression of exasperated hatred. "Worthless beasts." The voice that rose from this thing's throat echoed with power, and the young girl glimpsed sharp fangs. The red eyed monster turned, raising its gaze to the terrified child poorly concealed by mulberry branches. "Pathetic mortals. So weak." It raised a hand, scarlet light gathering at its fingertips. "So easily slain." The light shot towards Valen. Scrunching her eyes shut, Valen released her grip on the bark, branches scraping at her face as she fell to the grass, the air knocked from her lungs on impact. She gasped weakly, struggling to push herself back to her feet as the branch she'd previously been clinging to exploded in splinters and charred leaves. "Hmph." The monster lowered its arm, glowing eyes narrowing as it charged light for a second shot. Valen crawled across the grass, pebbles sticking in her palms as the young girl attempted to reach the fence, still wheezing. A low chuckle rumbled through the air, the monster's face twisted into something reminiscent of amusement. "You are more resilient than the other human worms." A sharp toothed smirk curved onto its features, and it reached forward, claws snatching a fist full of brown t-shirt as it lifted the girl from the ground to peer at her more closely. "Perhaps you could be of use..." The creature trailed off with a thoughtful frown. "Well. I suppose we shall see." Gray-blue eyes widened and Valen flailed, kicking at her captor with bare feet as the monster turned, holding her over the shining crimson circle from which it had emerged. Just as her toes finally managed to connect with rough scaled hide, she felt the talons holding her let go. The young girl scrunched her eyes shut, expecting the solid earth of the lawn to stop her fall. Instead, she felt her stomach rise into her throat as she continued to fall. The air seemed to grow warmer as she plummeted, before it became to much and unconsciousness overtook her.

[optometrist0]

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from http://bestoptometrists.net/sunglasses-case-4/

[jonathanbelloblog]

By Design: 1929 Mercedes-Benz S Barker Tourer

Elegance—as I understand the term—has absolutely nothing to do with selection as Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance Best of Show, if recent winners are considered. Key to earning the coveted award seems to be the letter B. An entrant must just push all the right B buttons—as in his biography (he’d best be a billionaire), his car black, and its trim extra bright. That elegance of line matters not a whit has been proven several times, most emphatically in 2007 when the monstrously ugly Mormon Meteor record-setting Duesenberg won. Impressive, yes. Great performance history, certainly. But as with this year’s winner, sorely lacking true elegance and totally bereft of any trace of beauty.

In this 70th year of Ferrari’s existence as an automobile manufacturer, one of the many truly elegant models present surely could have won, but one can never predict what will happen at Pebble Beach. I was at the 1953 Concours when an Austin-Healey won Best of Show over a superb Ferrari 212 Inter coupe, to the Ferrari owner’s obvious displeasure. (He left gouges in the grass on departure.) Some early Ferraris were rather inelegant, as was the 2014 Best of Show, the only Ferrari ever to win. A historically important but stylistically derivative one-off Scaglietti coupe, it was inspired more by the Mercedes-Benz 300 SL than any of the glorious Allemano to Zagato designs. At least it wasn’t black.

Nor was this year’s top car, but it did out-bling all former Best of Show laureates, having bright polished metal from the base of the windshield forward. Its lines were awkwardly broken at the leading edge of the silly little door, and the headlamps are mounted too high—the point at the back of their nacelles should have been an inch or so lower to align visually with the break between top and sides of the hood. The toolbox-cum-entry-step sculptures hanging outboard of the flat body sides are intriguing in and of themselves, but they have no discernible relationship to anything else on the car. And there’s no getting around the fact that the trunk behind the cockpit is a horrid excrescence that in no way enhances the car’s visuals.

Bruce McCaw, owner of the Best of Show winner, stands with his car and the trophy it earned.

Since 1955, when Phil Hill’s Pierce-Arrow was Best of Show, only three vehicles outside its classic category have been selected: one antique (a 1913 Rolls-Royce) and two post-WWII cars. That’s absurd. And it’s more than a little curious the same people keep winning year after year, half as many individual car owners as contests since 2001. So perhaps it was inevitable this ungainly British-bodied Mercedes is owned by a billionaire enthusiast. But, really, who cares what wins apart from a few 1 percenters who enter cars? For those who simply attend, the concours is an open-air museum, a magnificent collection of fabulous machinery that is, as Michelin says about the best restaurants, “worth the voyage.”

1. In pure profile, the tail emulates the look of race cars as exemplified by the 1921 Fiats and taken up, to great effect, by Ettore Bugatti for his Type 35 racers in 1924.

2. Face it, this trunk is woefully inelegant, breaking the overall lines of the body, themselves not so gracefully flowing as might be desired.

3. This little dip is quite nice, but not particularly necessary. The cut-down door tops of typical small roadsters were there to give arm-swinging room to drivers but are totally unnecessary here.

4. A sharp break in the central body profile is neither elegant nor necessary. Awkwardness of this kind is fairly common on British bodies, never on Italian ones. And Barker was one of the best in Britain.

5. Brightness reigns. This must have been hell to drive into a setting sun. It’s spectacular, but there’s a reason military airplanes had anti-glare panels on their noses.

6. The motorcycle-style fenders are definitely sporty and quite artfully shaped.

7. The separate side pods are anachronistically advanced for the period, being more aerodynamically advanced than most 1929 airplanes and very practical as tool boxes.

8. This abrupt vertical separation of polished metal and paint is brutal, and the abrupt right angle at the top where the polished cowl meets the body side is truly inelegant and downright homely.

9. The Roman helmet fenders are handsome and cleverly shaped for function inboard. They also allow the shiny exhaust pipes full exposure.

1. The inevitable hood strap was part of sporting cars for three-quarters of a century at least. Mostly unnecessary, they’re still really cool. It’s likely they were required by outmoded regulations and rules—they disappeared on American race cars decades before Europeans quit using them.

2. Terribly British, the “starting handle” aperture is capped with a nice piece of brightwork, a refined touch amid the multiple bits of ironmongery on the front end.

3. The headlamps themselves are magnificent, but they’re held in place—too high, in fact—by a three-dimensional maze of tubing struts and yokes.

4. Twin horns hang from the same scaffolding that supports the headlamps. Sturdy, strong, and basically clumsy.

5. Louvers, louvers, louvers, too many to count, on top and on the sides of the engine compartment. They make a magnificent texture and a wonderful testament to the skill of the metalworkers who achieved their perfection.

6. The subtle shaping of the side pods amazes. The prow with its descending “keel” is hydrodynamically correct as well as aerodynamically tapered aft. And it has a textured top to serve as a step.

7. The reason for two vent doors on each side of the cowl is unclear, but they make a nicely unobtrusive accent on the flat sides of the body.

1. There shouldn’t be too much difficulty in locating road signs with this massive searchlight available to the driver. It would block vision a bit, but there was very little traffic to worry about when this car was new.

2. One feeble little taillight is all that was needed in 1929. That there is an even bigger red lamp on the front end is curious—really a vestige of long, long ago.

3. The rear chassis sticks out of the tapered tail with lots of apparent rivets and bolts to clutter the shapes.

4. There’s a nice little turn of the fender contour at the very rear edge—subtle and, yes, for once at least on this car, elegant.

5. Why in the world would anyone make such a ridiculously tiny door? The work and the complexity are the same as for a bigger portal, and although the framing might weigh a bit more for a bigger door, on a massive vehicle like this the increase would be negligible.

6. There’s a clever bit of trickery on the “cycle” fenders. An inner skirt keeps water and mud away from the exhaust pipes and allows the back of the inside wheel to move inward while turning.

1. Believe it or not, this protrusion is the entire cockpit light source, barely adequate for map reading.

2. Only the driver’s side windshield gets a wiper, with all its electromechanical works in plain view in the cockpit.

3. Mercedes-Benz cars today have all sorts of levers associated with the steering column, but as we can see with these hub-based levers, that’s nothing new for the venerable marque. These appear to be controls for ignition timing and acceleration.

4. In this ergonomic disaster area, having the clock far away on the passenger’s side of the panel is relatively unimportant …

5. … as is a remotely located speedometer, but you’d think the tachometer should be more directly in the driver’s sight line. The whole dash evokes steam locomotives somehow.

6. The handbrake lever sprouting out of the floor and the black-shafted gear lever do as well. Everything is slightly oversized and obviously very strong.

7. The helm is huge, and it probably has to be if the front wheels are to be directed at low speeds. We tend to forget today, when even rear-engine Porsches have power assist for steering, how much plain physical effort went into steering heavy old cars.

The post By Design: 1929 Mercedes-Benz S Barker Tourer appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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[eddiejpoplar]

By Design: 1929 Mercedes-Benz S Barker Tourer

Elegance—as I understand the term—has absolutely nothing to do with selection as Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance Best of Show, if recent winners are considered. Key to earning the coveted award seems to be the letter B. An entrant must just push all the right B buttons—as in his biography (he’d best be a billionaire), his car black, and its trim extra bright. That elegance of line matters not a whit has been proven several times, most emphatically in 2007 when the monstrously ugly Mormon Meteor record-setting Duesenberg won. Impressive, yes. Great performance history, certainly. But as with this year’s winner, sorely lacking true elegance and totally bereft of any trace of beauty.

In this 70th year of Ferrari’s existence as an automobile manufacturer, one of the many truly elegant models present surely could have won, but one can never predict what will happen at Pebble Beach. I was at the 1953 Concours when an Austin-Healey won Best of Show over a superb Ferrari 212 Inter coupe, to the Ferrari owner’s obvious displeasure. (He left gouges in the grass on departure.) Some early Ferraris were rather inelegant, as was the 2014 Best of Show, the only Ferrari ever to win. A historically important but stylistically derivative one-off Scaglietti coupe, it was inspired more by the Mercedes-Benz 300 SL than any of the glorious Allemano to Zagato designs. At least it wasn’t black.

Nor was this year’s top car, but it did out-bling all former Best of Show laureates, having bright polished metal from the base of the windshield forward. Its lines were awkwardly broken at the leading edge of the silly little door, and the headlamps are mounted too high—the point at the back of their nacelles should have been an inch or so lower to align visually with the break between top and sides of the hood. The toolbox-cum-entry-step sculptures hanging outboard of the flat body sides are intriguing in and of themselves, but they have no discernible relationship to anything else on the car. And there’s no getting around the fact that the trunk behind the cockpit is a horrid excrescence that in no way enhances the car’s visuals.

Bruce McCaw, owner of the Best of Show winner, stands with his car and the trophy it earned.

Since 1955, when Phil Hill’s Pierce-Arrow was Best of Show, only three vehicles outside its classic category have been selected: one antique (a 1913 Rolls-Royce) and two post-WWII cars. That’s absurd. And it’s more than a little curious the same people keep winning year after year, half as many individual car owners as contests since 2001. So perhaps it was inevitable this ungainly British-bodied Mercedes is owned by a billionaire enthusiast. But, really, who cares what wins apart from a few 1 percenters who enter cars? For those who simply attend, the concours is an open-air museum, a magnificent collection of fabulous machinery that is, as Michelin says about the best restaurants, “worth the voyage.”

1. In pure profile, the tail emulates the look of race cars as exemplified by the 1921 Fiats and taken up, to great effect, by Ettore Bugatti for his Type 35 racers in 1924.

2. Face it, this trunk is woefully inelegant, breaking the overall lines of the body, themselves not so gracefully flowing as might be desired.

3. This little dip is quite nice, but not particularly necessary. The cut-down door tops of typical small roadsters were there to give arm-swinging room to drivers but are totally unnecessary here.

4. A sharp break in the central body profile is neither elegant nor necessary. Awkwardness of this kind is fairly common on British bodies, never on Italian ones. And Barker was one of the best in Britain.

5. Brightness reigns. This must have been hell to drive into a setting sun. It’s spectacular, but there’s a reason military airplanes had anti-glare panels on their noses.

6. The motorcycle-style fenders are definitely sporty and quite artfully shaped.

7. The separate side pods are anachronistically advanced for the period, being more aerodynamically advanced than most 1929 airplanes and very practical as tool boxes.

8. This abrupt vertical separation of polished metal and paint is brutal, and the abrupt right angle at the top where the polished cowl meets the body side is truly inelegant and downright homely.

9. The Roman helmet fenders are handsome and cleverly shaped for function inboard. They also allow the shiny exhaust pipes full exposure.

1. The inevitable hood strap was part of sporting cars for three-quarters of a century at least. Mostly unnecessary, they’re still really cool. It’s likely they were required by outmoded regulations and rules—they disappeared on American race cars decades before Europeans quit using them.

2. Terribly British, the “starting handle” aperture is capped with a nice piece of brightwork, a refined touch amid the multiple bits of ironmongery on the front end.

3. The headlamps themselves are magnificent, but they’re held in place—too high, in fact—by a three-dimensional maze of tubing struts and yokes.

4. Twin horns hang from the same scaffolding that supports the headlamps. Sturdy, strong, and basically clumsy.

5. Louvers, louvers, louvers, too many to count, on top and on the sides of the engine compartment. They make a magnificent texture and a wonderful testament to the skill of the metalworkers who achieved their perfection.

6. The subtle shaping of the side pods amazes. The prow with its descending “keel” is hydrodynamically correct as well as aerodynamically tapered aft. And it has a textured top to serve as a step.

7. The reason for two vent doors on each side of the cowl is unclear, but they make a nicely unobtrusive accent on the flat sides of the body.

1. There shouldn’t be too much difficulty in locating road signs with this massive searchlight available to the driver. It would block vision a bit, but there was very little traffic to worry about when this car was new.

2. One feeble little taillight is all that was needed in 1929. That there is an even bigger red lamp on the front end is curious—really a vestige of long, long ago.

3. The rear chassis sticks out of the tapered tail with lots of apparent rivets and bolts to clutter the shapes.

4. There’s a nice little turn of the fender contour at the very rear edge—subtle and, yes, for once at least on this car, elegant.

5. Why in the world would anyone make such a ridiculously tiny door? The work and the complexity are the same as for a bigger portal, and although the framing might weigh a bit more for a bigger door, on a massive vehicle like this the increase would be negligible.

6. There’s a clever bit of trickery on the “cycle” fenders. An inner skirt keeps water and mud away from the exhaust pipes and allows the back of the inside wheel to move inward while turning.

1. Believe it or not, this protrusion is the entire cockpit light source, barely adequate for map reading.

2. Only the driver’s side windshield gets a wiper, with all its electromechanical works in plain view in the cockpit.

3. Mercedes-Benz cars today have all sorts of levers associated with the steering column, but as we can see with these hub-based levers, that’s nothing new for the venerable marque. These appear to be controls for ignition timing and acceleration.

4. In this ergonomic disaster area, having the clock far away on the passenger’s side of the panel is relatively unimportant …

5. … as is a remotely located speedometer, but you’d think the tachometer should be more directly in the driver’s sight line. The whole dash evokes steam locomotives somehow.

6. The handbrake lever sprouting out of the floor and the black-shafted gear lever do as well. Everything is slightly oversized and obviously very strong.

7. The helm is huge, and it probably has to be if the front wheels are to be directed at low speeds. We tend to forget today, when even rear-engine Porsches have power assist for steering, how much plain physical effort went into steering heavy old cars.

The post By Design: 1929 Mercedes-Benz S Barker Tourer appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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[jesusvasser]

By Design: 1929 Mercedes-Benz S Barker Tourer

Elegance—as I understand the term—has absolutely nothing to do with selection as Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance Best of Show, if recent winners are considered. Key to earning the coveted award seems to be the letter B. An entrant must just push all the right B buttons—as in his biography (he’d best be a billionaire), his car black, and its trim extra bright. That elegance of line matters not a whit has been proven several times, most emphatically in 2007 when the monstrously ugly Mormon Meteor record-setting Duesenberg won. Impressive, yes. Great performance history, certainly. But as with this year’s winner, sorely lacking true elegance and totally bereft of any trace of beauty.

In this 70th year of Ferrari’s existence as an automobile manufacturer, one of the many truly elegant models present surely could have won, but one can never predict what will happen at Pebble Beach. I was at the 1953 Concours when an Austin-Healey won Best of Show over a superb Ferrari 212 Inter coupe, to the Ferrari owner’s obvious displeasure. (He left gouges in the grass on departure.) Some early Ferraris were rather inelegant, as was the 2014 Best of Show, the only Ferrari ever to win. A historically important but stylistically derivative one-off Scaglietti coupe, it was inspired more by the Mercedes-Benz 300 SL than any of the glorious Allemano to Zagato designs. At least it wasn’t black.

Nor was this year’s top car, but it did out-bling all former Best of Show laureates, having bright polished metal from the base of the windshield forward. Its lines were awkwardly broken at the leading edge of the silly little door, and the headlamps are mounted too high—the point at the back of their nacelles should have been an inch or so lower to align visually with the break between top and sides of the hood. The toolbox-cum-entry-step sculptures hanging outboard of the flat body sides are intriguing in and of themselves, but they have no discernible relationship to anything else on the car. And there’s no getting around the fact that the trunk behind the cockpit is a horrid excrescence that in no way enhances the car’s visuals.

Bruce McCaw, owner of the Best of Show winner, stands with his car and the trophy it earned.

Since 1955, when Phil Hill’s Pierce-Arrow was Best of Show, only three vehicles outside its classic category have been selected: one antique (a 1913 Rolls-Royce) and two post-WWII cars. That’s absurd. And it’s more than a little curious the same people keep winning year after year, half as many individual car owners as contests since 2001. So perhaps it was inevitable this ungainly British-bodied Mercedes is owned by a billionaire enthusiast. But, really, who cares what wins apart from a few 1 percenters who enter cars? For those who simply attend, the concours is an open-air museum, a magnificent collection of fabulous machinery that is, as Michelin says about the best restaurants, “worth the voyage.”

1. In pure profile, the tail emulates the look of race cars as exemplified by the 1921 Fiats and taken up, to great effect, by Ettore Bugatti for his Type 35 racers in 1924.

2. Face it, this trunk is woefully inelegant, breaking the overall lines of the body, themselves not so gracefully flowing as might be desired.

3. This little dip is quite nice, but not particularly necessary. The cut-down door tops of typical small roadsters were there to give arm-swinging room to drivers but are totally unnecessary here.

4. A sharp break in the central body profile is neither elegant nor necessary. Awkwardness of this kind is fairly common on British bodies, never on Italian ones. And Barker was one of the best in Britain.

5. Brightness reigns. This must have been hell to drive into a setting sun. It’s spectacular, but there’s a reason military airplanes had anti-glare panels on their noses.

6. The motorcycle-style fenders are definitely sporty and quite artfully shaped.

7. The separate side pods are anachronistically advanced for the period, being more aerodynamically advanced than most 1929 airplanes and very practical as tool boxes.

8. This abrupt vertical separation of polished metal and paint is brutal, and the abrupt right angle at the top where the polished cowl meets the body side is truly inelegant and downright homely.

9. The Roman helmet fenders are handsome and cleverly shaped for function inboard. They also allow the shiny exhaust pipes full exposure.

1. The inevitable hood strap was part of sporting cars for three-quarters of a century at least. Mostly unnecessary, they’re still really cool. It’s likely they were required by outmoded regulations and rules—they disappeared on American race cars decades before Europeans quit using them.

2. Terribly British, the “starting handle” aperture is capped with a nice piece of brightwork, a refined touch amid the multiple bits of ironmongery on the front end.

3. The headlamps themselves are magnificent, but they’re held in place—too high, in fact—by a three-dimensional maze of tubing struts and yokes.

4. Twin horns hang from the same scaffolding that supports the headlamps. Sturdy, strong, and basically clumsy.

5. Louvers, louvers, louvers, too many to count, on top and on the sides of the engine compartment. They make a magnificent texture and a wonderful testament to the skill of the metalworkers who achieved their perfection.

6. The subtle shaping of the side pods amazes. The prow with its descending “keel” is hydrodynamically correct as well as aerodynamically tapered aft. And it has a textured top to serve as a step.

7. The reason for two vent doors on each side of the cowl is unclear, but they make a nicely unobtrusive accent on the flat sides of the body.

1. There shouldn’t be too much difficulty in locating road signs with this massive searchlight available to the driver. It would block vision a bit, but there was very little traffic to worry about when this car was new.

2. One feeble little taillight is all that was needed in 1929. That there is an even bigger red lamp on the front end is curious—really a vestige of long, long ago.

3. The rear chassis sticks out of the tapered tail with lots of apparent rivets and bolts to clutter the shapes.

4. There’s a nice little turn of the fender contour at the very rear edge—subtle and, yes, for once at least on this car, elegant.

5. Why in the world would anyone make such a ridiculously tiny door? The work and the complexity are the same as for a bigger portal, and although the framing might weigh a bit more for a bigger door, on a massive vehicle like this the increase would be negligible.

6. There’s a clever bit of trickery on the “cycle” fenders. An inner skirt keeps water and mud away from the exhaust pipes and allows the back of the inside wheel to move inward while turning.

1. Believe it or not, this protrusion is the entire cockpit light source, barely adequate for map reading.

2. Only the driver’s side windshield gets a wiper, with all its electromechanical works in plain view in the cockpit.

3. Mercedes-Benz cars today have all sorts of levers associated with the steering column, but as we can see with these hub-based levers, that’s nothing new for the venerable marque. These appear to be controls for ignition timing and acceleration.

4. In this ergonomic disaster area, having the clock far away on the passenger’s side of the panel is relatively unimportant …

5. … as is a remotely located speedometer, but you’d think the tachometer should be more directly in the driver’s sight line. The whole dash evokes steam locomotives somehow.

6. The handbrake lever sprouting out of the floor and the black-shafted gear lever do as well. Everything is slightly oversized and obviously very strong.

7. The helm is huge, and it probably has to be if the front wheels are to be directed at low speeds. We tend to forget today, when even rear-engine Porsches have power assist for steering, how much plain physical effort went into steering heavy old cars.

The post By Design: 1929 Mercedes-Benz S Barker Tourer appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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