#the black-haired guy in those panels in particular -- i really love how he's drawn

[tvrningout-a]

what if... timeskip/adult chiyo gets a haircut....... what if : )

[writerwrites]

Yuánfèn | 02

Ch. 2: Retrouvailles: “An overwhelming feeling of happiness caused by seeing someone after a long separation.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 3.3k Chapter Warnings: Smut - 18+ Only - Minors DNI, male masturbation, one night stand mentioned but not detailed, slow burn, grief, fluff

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The first week Steve took it slow, only texting you when you texted first or if he hadn’t heard from you at all. He’d taken your advice, balancing his time between preparing the team for another altercation with the Maximoff twins and finding out as much as he could about them. It was a welcome distraction from the lack of news on his hunt for the Winter Soldier. Natasha was the only one that seemed to notice that he would periodically glance at his watch or his phone and go quiet for a moment before getting back to work. When she finally cornered him, he felt like he should have seen it coming. Arms akimbo and eyebrow quirked, she called him out with no hesitation, “You’ve got a secret.” 

“Don’t we all?” Steve could immediately feel the regret in challenging her, busying himself with packing up his bag to head to his room and shower after a long morning of training. Nat didn’t hesitate to follow suit, tagging along with her own bag as she took long strides to keep up with him, even slipping into the elevator before he could. “How’s the search for the Maximoff twins going?”

Nat stood in front of the panel before he could select a floor. “Who have you been texting? Finally ask that SHIELD agent out, Sharon, or is the moping about a certain fossil?” She raised an eyebrow, her fingers tapping her arm impatiently.

Sighing, Steve reached behind her and hit the button. “Neither. I’ve just got a lot on my plate.” Before she could make another snarky comment, he asked. “Clint went home. Did you check in on him?” Though he didn’t use the tone of encouraging her to mind her own business, as he respected the effort she was putting in to build their friendship, he couldn’t help but hope she’d drop the subject.

“Yeah, I’ve checked in. Clint’s good, just like Doc said he’d be. Cho’s kind of a genius and it’s a relief to know that there’s someone that can piece us mere mortals back together when we’re out there saving the world with you.” Steve nodded as he listened, like a captain listening to a report on one of his troops, but his shoulders went ridged with her comment about Dr. Cho. She reminded him too much of Tony and not enough of Dr. Erskine. Luckily, it went unnoticed as she stepped out of the elevator with him and they walked toward their rooms.

There weren’t many memories in Steve’s life, even before the serum, where things simply went black. Taking a beating from his brainwashed best friend was one of them. Steve could picture the metal arm pulling back, the sting of pain as the bones in his face shattered over and over, and could even recall the conversation between swings, but he knew there were moments that were just blank from the concussion- especially after Bucky pulled him from the water. The fading image of him walking away, the ache of being put onto a stretcher, the gentle touch of small hands on his swollen face as the hum of medical machinery tried to pull him back to reality. It didn’t happen for days, but there were moments when he could still hear her talking to him or someone else in the room and always gave his hand three small squeezes before saying her goodbyes.

Steve had been in his head, remembering the music that woke him up and Sam waiting there for him. They’d stopped at Steve’s door, closest to the elevator, and Natasha pretended not to notice how quiet he’d been until she finally added, “Clint’s probably going to take another week before coming back to work, but we’re going out for drinks tonight. Are you thinking about coming with us this time? Might help you clear your head.”

“I’ll think about it.” It was a surprisingly genuine response. He didn’t need to get drunk to have a good time with friends and knew Sam could use the break from hunting a ghost and was itching to see Nat again. There was no doubt in Steve’s mind that if he said yes that Kristen from Statistics would be there and he wasn’t going to open that door, let alone walk through it.

“Aren’t you full of surprises today.” With a slight smirk she kept walking toward her room, calling back, “We’re heading out at eight. Take a nap old guy.”

By the time he was alone in the shower, the idea of going out with the team seemed all the more appealing. Regardless of Natasha still trying to set him up with random colleagues. He was lonely and reaching one of those breaking points of needing to find some comfort to balance out a minute sense of normalcy to his bizarre life, be it good conversation or bad sex. The water cascaded down his toned body and he brushed away the beads of dew and bubbles of soap that trailed down the lines of his muscles before reaching for himself. A part of him that was still very much stuck in the 1940’s hated this need, always feeling some level of shame in finding comfort in the palm of his hand. Typically, these moods resulted in an act of non-sexual frustration, a stress reliever that was easiest to address with his fist and a punching bag.

He told himself that he wasn’t the kind of person to think of someone in particular that way during the solitary act. When he did ‘indulge’, his thoughts had always trailed back to the singular heated kiss with Peggy Carter. But now, with one arm on the tiled wall and the other stroking his length, Steve took an uncommonly slow pace and his mind went to the little things that he’d thought about over and over throughout the week. Small warm hands on his skin, her hand in his. How small would her hands look wrapped around him? How soft would she feel? The smell of her hair and the way she clung to him in a simple hug. Did she know how warm she felt as she held on so tightly to him? Steve gripped himself more tightly, strokes still slow and steady, as he worked out the loneliness with a twist of his wrist. Thoughts passing from little moments and his own stolen glances. The sound of her little hums when she was thinking or satisfied with a solution she’d come up with, how she always bit her lip when she was in a room full of people. Then there was the way she held her breath every time she managed to make eye contact with him as his hands moved over the lace panties she'd passed him to pack. Was she always wearing something like that under her scrubs? Did she do this, think about him getting off to the thought of her in them? The thought of the doctor slipping her hand between her thighs while she wore nothing but lace, scrolling through their messages, and thinking of him finished the soldier off. A long deep groan of her name echoed in the bathroom as he made a mess of the shower wall and floor.

Steve was panting, exhausted but satisfied, as the water washed all evidence down the drain. Slowly, he started to realize what he’d done, but the familiar weight of guilt couldn’t settle in as he realized he wanted something other than a past he couldn’t have. As he dried off, Steve tried to rationalize the thought away, they’d had a nice moment between two colleagues and she was undeniably pretty. It was easy for his mind to drift there, he thought, to think about someone who was naturally beautiful and kind when they were so wholly unaware of it. As he got dressed, Steve put a pin in it, telling himself that even if there was a little spark, she needed a friend. That thought alone seemed to settle the decision to go out or not for him. He chose to drag Sam along for Nat’s sake and make the most of it all.

Sam and Nat were hitting it off well, making Steve wonder what was really going on between her and Clint. The pair of them together had been a force and, despite not feeling ready to date- especially someone as modern as Lilian-with-a-lip-piercing from Accounting, he found himself heading out with her for the night. She was chatty and outgoing, and he found some relief in her questions about his past or job. It stopped him from having to open up on a deeper level when that wasn’t what they were doing. What they were doing was rough and exhausting. She was vocal about what she wanted; hair pulled, ass spanked, fast thrusts, and a firm no kissing rule. He obliged, getting his pleasure from the sounds of her own and his name on her lips, but by the third round she was exhausted and he was left thinking about how he’d never made love to a woman.

Slipping out of Lilian’s place with less awkwardness than he’d expected, Steve checked his phone. He still hadn’t heard from you all day, and it was 2 am in New York, which meant a new morning for you in Spain. He wondered if he should’ve asked Sam for an update on Bucky at the bar, but hesitated to reach out and ask at this hour. Despite socializing and the workout he’d just had, he was too in his head to go to sleep. Spinning his keys around his finger he found himself riding his bike over to the small, quiet apartment with books and a hungry fish.

As if you knew he’d turned up in your space, he heard his text tone just as he was screwing the top back onto the fish food. “I know you said that if I needed anything, to just ask. Probably didn’t expect a text this early and I’m guessing you’re probably asleep… this is so dumb and a big ask, but…” Steve stared at the screen, eyebrows drawn together as he wondered if the smartphone had eaten a text or had some feature that shortened longer messages that he didn’t know how to open. He watched the typing bubbles pop up again and waited, taking a seat at one of the two bar stools at your kitchen counter, the other containing a pile of your neatly stacked mail from the week. “I know I didn’t think I’d get through the goodbyes alone, but I managed. Thanks for the encouragement. It's everything else that I realized I just can’t do alone. The packing… all the pictures. There’s so many memories and I can’t take everything back to my place in New York- my place is just too small.”

Steve clicked the ‘call’ icon and waited for you to pick up on the other end. He thought about his mother’s funeral and how Bucky had been there for him, told him he knew he could manage alone but didn’t have to. His stomach twisted with emotion and then the call went to voicemail.

You didn’t expect him to see your panicked messages until later in the morning. You sat there, runny nose and bleary eyed, staring at the name on your screen. Five minutes, just staring, no text response, no new call- and then he was back, a FaceTime call this time. Pulling your hood over your head so he couldn’t see how disheveled you were, wiping your face on your sleeve, you answered with your face hidden mostly between your knees where you rested your chin and the hood. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” The apology that excluded the ‘I’m sorry’ was still very obviously an apology.

“You didn’t.” You were unconvinced, his hair was a little mussed, clothes wrinkled. He could tell that it seemed like you hadn’t fully thought through what you were going to ask of him, so he offered up a different question.“What do you have left to do in Spain? We’ve managed to stay out of trouble over here, just for you.”

The soldier tried to study your expression, noticing the glimmer in your eyes that wasn’t just from the sunrise. “I have to pack up what I want to take home. I was thinking I could get a scanner and digitize the pictures, but I don’t know how long that will take.” You let out a puffed up sigh, “I don’t think I have the heart to sell the place, but I’m so bad at taking vacations that it seems like a waste to keep it.”

“Don’t sell it. If your gut is telling you to keep it, go with your gut. There are other options, AirBnB or renting it out.” You sniffled, burying your face further in your arms and legs, leaving Steve to stare at the view behind you. “I know I’m getting a sideways view here, but it looks really beautiful.”

That managed to squeeze a small smile out of you as you nodded and turned the phone toward the balcony to give yourself a moment to wipe away the tears and snot once more. “Yeah, under any other circumstances it would be a proverbial paradise. You probably need a vacation more than me.”

“You’re probably right.” Steve laughed softly, trying to coax you out of what looked like the tail end of a lot of crying. “Send me the location, I’m curious what’s around the place.”

With a long hum you sent him your location. “Not going to send Stark tech to stalk me, are you?”

“I’m sure if Tony wanted to keep tabs on you he was already doing it.” Steve clicked on the marker and looked around the place, its stone streets and little shops. “Doesn’t look like there’s any modern shops, as cute as all these little places are. Where are you going to find what you need to scan the pictures?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Just using my phone’s camera, I guess.” You looked at him as you watched the colors reflect off his face, blues and greens that mirrored the same flecks of color in his eyes. He probably didn’t even realize how beautiful he could look just staring at a phone. You relaxed a little, having someone to talk to for the first time in a week and let out a quiet yawn. “Is 8 am too early for a nap?”

Steve laughed and your face ached as you nearly smiled again. He bit his bottom lip, tempted to tell you that it was nice to see you smiling when he knew your heart was hurting, but he could already hear how cheesy it sounded and instead, chose banter. “Is 2 am too early to still be awake?”

“Go to bed. You know the second that you all even think you know where the twins are you’ll be on a Quinjet to find them. You can’t be pulling all nighters, even if you’re a super soldier. Doctor’s orders.” You added with a small smirk.

“Even if I headed back to the Tower this very minute, I bet I’d still beat Nat back. I think she left the bar with my friend, Sam.”

You knew Sam, just a little from one brief patch up. He had the same charm Steve had, clever and driven. “Nat and Sam? Good for her. He seems like a great guy and he could keep her on her toes.” With his phone so close to his face you couldn’t help but wonder, “Wait, it’s too quiet for you to be at a bar. Steven Grant Rogers, are you FaceTiming me from the bathroom of an O.N.S.?”

A part of you wanted to laugh, the thought of Steve just sleeping with some random person from a bar. Another part of you, the one that had a hint of a crush on the sweet guy who helped you when you were desperately in need of a friend, felt a pang of jealousy. “I’m not sure what an O.N.S. is, but I’m actually at yours feeding your nameless fish and named plants. You really got to figure out a name for him before I do.”

Somehow, a smile found your face, this big hero wanting to name a fish and zipping over to your place to feed him at 2 am. “If you’re too tired to head back to the tower, you can crash at my place. It’s late, you look like you could fall asleep at any moment. The bed’s clean, towels are in the bathroom cabinet, and coffee and it’s fixings are right over the pot. I’m not fancy enough for a Keurig, sorry.”

You watched him stop scrolling, his eyes meeting yours as you rambled. He didn’t look tired, he looked disheveled but perfect, as always, but it was cute to see him try to flatten out his hair nevertheless. “You forgot about the books.”

“I thought that was a given.” You stuck your tongue out before yawning one more time. “I’m serious though, best to stay off the road if you’re tired. Besides, the bills are paid even though no one’s there to use anything. I’ll probably be gone another week.”

Steve sighed, not in some defeatist way of you being right but, to your surprise at the mention of how much longer you would be gone, “One more week…”

“Feels like I’ve been gone for months.” You looked away, eyes stinging as the weight of your reality settled on your shoulders again. There was no one left in this world to actually miss you. The truth was that despite being in this beautiful place, you couldn’t help but feel all the more hollow and alone in it. If it wasn’t for the little check ins you would’ve never managed to drag yourself through the house, to the lawyers, or out to the shops to eat. “I’m not texting you too much am I?”

“Not at all.” He replied quickly, then worried it might have been too fast. He could tell you were off somewhere else, wondering if you heard him or if it even mattered. The way you clung to him just a few feet away from where he currently sat, a tight hug now in the forefront of his mind. Before he knew what he was saying, the thought spilled out. “I wish I could give you another hug. I know it’s not easy to do this alone.”

The confession choked you up, sniffling you nodded, “I wish you were here to give me a hug too. A1 hug game, big guy.” Despite the tacked on joke, tears silently spilled from your cheeks and you were eager to get off the phone so he didn’t have to hear the incoming wave of heavy breathless weeping. “Get some sleep, Steve. I’ll keep texting signs of life.”

He nodded, eyebrows knit together with concern and curiosity, “We’ll catch up soon, darling. Goodnight.”

Steve took you up on the offer, showering and climbing into your bed somewhere around 3 am with one of the other books that had been stacked on your bedside table. He hardly comprehended a single word, replaying the conversation as he drifted into a heavy sleep, overwhelmed by the sense of happiness in just seeing your face through a screen as he was surrounded by the comforting scent of you. For the first time since seeing Bucky, he didn’t dream of his best friend falling off the train or the dance he never had.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love feedback from you. Do you think these two miss each other? Are they crushing or just some horny adults? We shall see, we shall see!

Also, if it wasn’t obvious: In this house we stan bisexual Cap and ship Sam x Nat over Bruce x Nat.

As my followers know I have an obscenely demanding job, but I always try my best to keep you posted on if there will be a delay in a chapter posting. This series should be posting every Sunday until it finishes. Also, while I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina writer and I write fics I want to read.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics​​

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

[thewarriorandtheking]

Beyond Erebor

Readers over on FanFiction are hitting this one hard...I was not sure anyone would be interested in Thorin in outer space, I guess this gives me an excuse to write another one ;-) 

********

As the airlock cycled Thorin Oakenshield watched the indicators in his helmet go green then joined his teammates in retracting his armor. Interfacing with his armor still made his neck itch, but he was getting better at ignoring the sensation. The air was stale, but breathable. Conner led the way down the corridor, it was roughly hewn out of the rock of the tiny moon, lighting panels spaced every few meters. As they proceeded down the metal walkway, guns at the ready, Thorin found his attention being drawn to the walls of the tunnel. Something about them was just wrong.

“Why are we doing this again?” Kynes asked, addressing no one in particular. They were passing a side tunnel, he brought his rifle up to cover as he moved past.

“Because someone has to rescue the princess,” Thorin replied. He brought his rifle up as he walked past the dark opening. He saw something, some kind of ripple. He fired a burst almost without thinking, then stared at the black body lying on the floor in front of him, long tentacles twitching.

“Displacer beast,” said Sinclair. “Nice shooting.”

“A displacer nest,” Warrior said, he was leading the second squad behind them. The Kzin shook his head. “We will be lucky to find anyone alive down here.”

Thorin took a deep breath. Displacer beasts, one of the galaxy’s nastier predators. Large, black-furred and ravenous, able to teleport short distances and “displace” their vital signs so they could appear to be somewhere else. They were often found out on the Rim in abandoned installations where they could feed on old power sources. That explained what had happened to the princess’s Imperial escort. Unlike the Sardaukar, Imperial troops fought in armor all the time. It was useless against displacers, the power sources attracted them and you would never see them coming.

“Let’s just find the princess and get out of here,” Wallace said. He was the leader of the second squad Conner had requested for backup. “Then to Dorsai for some downtime.”

“Back in time for Samhain,” Thorin said, which got him thinking about seeing Kaylea. It had been nearly a year and he could not wait. He was coming off his last section of field training, it would be back to Belka now for a while where they could be together every night.

“What is the first thing you are going to do when you get back to Dorsai?” Kynes asked, grinning at him.

“Kiss my wife,” Thorin replied, grinning back.

“Spoken like a true newlywed,” Conner said. The lighting panels ended and the corridor stretched out into darkness. He adjusted his glasses, scanning for life signs. “How long have you been married again?”

Thorin had to think, the last couple years had been a blur and he always calculated it in Middle Earth time. “Almost 16 years.”

“That long and you are still that crazy about her? She must be some woman,” Conner chuckled. The scuttlebutt was Oakenshield was married to General Wolf, but nobody really believed it. Most in the corps considered it a sort of urban legend, the only evidence he had seen was Thorin and the general were wearing the same wolf and raven design on their armor; it was common practice on Dorsai for married couples to combine their House crests. Thorin had been training in his squad for almost eight months and had talked very little about his wife, or about himself for that matter. The man had such an aristocratic air about him, Connor was certain he was a member of one of the Great Houses. The long hair and beard had to be a disguise.

“She is indeed,” Thorin said softly, smiling to himself. Whenever he started thinking about Kaylea he found it very hard to stop. Her smile, the smell of her hair, the way her skin felt under his fingers.

“Wait a minute,” said MacLean from behind the Kzin. “Didn’t I hear you were married like two years ago?”

“That was the third time,” Thorin replied, adjusting his glasses. “I always count from the first time.” The tunnel they were in suddenly opened up into a huge space, more than a hundred meters across. It was designed to look like a natural cavern, but to Thorin’s practiced eye it clearly was not. What is this place?

“You have married the same woman three times?” Warrior asked, the Kzin was obviously puzzled. “That seems like odd behavior, even for a human.”

“It is a bit of a long story,” Thorin said. And I am not a Man. He refrained from trying to explain the difference to the Kzin, which would be pointless. “We appear to have found the escort.” 

The floor of the cavern in front of them was littered with armored bodies, there was no telling how many displacers were out there. Kynes was adjusting his glasses. 

“Could be life signs ahead,” he said. The material of the tiny moon was so dense it had defeated all their surface scans. Wallace came up beside them, nodding his head. 

“Looks like six, on the other side of this hangar. Form up, switch to swords.” Thorin swung his rifle over his back and drew his sword. He felt much more comfortable with the familiar weapon in his hands, the sword Kaylea had given him so many years ago. Edged weapons were much faster in close combat. His mind went back to how he had come to be on this rock at the edge of known space. 

Just two days ago they had been on a transport to Dorsai for some well-earned leave after six months of desert training when the call came down. An Intergalactic Expeditions party was investigating a moon around gas giant T16 with some pre-First Empire tech on it, the party had landed six days ago and had not been heard from since. To make it worse, the moon seemed to be in a decaying orbit. Normally the Sardaukar would not rescue a private company, but this one was the Princess Vasha’s pet project. They were the closest rescue, and as the most experienced leader aboard, Conner had been chosen to take point. He had called Wallace’s squad in for backup. The princess would have had a sizeable Imperial escort. Something had happened to them, which meant they were possibly walking into a very dangerous situation. Not wanting to repeat any of the expedition’s mistakes, Conner had brought their ship close and jumped to the moon in armor. The Intergalactic ships were there, undamaged but with no crew in sight. They had found an airlock, centuries old but still functional, and were now hoping one of those life signs was the princess. 

Conner led the way out into the cavern, Thorin to his left and Kynes on his right. Wallace and his squad came behind, the Kzin Warrior and MacLean. They kept a tight fighting formation, backed into triangles, moving carefully and quickly. They had gone about 10 meters when the displacers started to hit them. Thorin found he had to anticipate where they were going to be and swing his sword before they appeared. He watched for the ripple in the air he had seen before. He swung at one beast but it outguessed him and suddenly appeared on his right, wrapping a tentacle around his arm. He felt like his life was being sucked out for a second before Conner took the creature’s head off. Thorin took a deep breath, feeling his body recover with a rush of adrenaline, he was almost used to the feeling now. He was able to return the favor a moment later when a displacer grabbed Conner by the leg.

They had left twelve dead displacer beasts on the floor when they reached the other end of the cavern. Warrior had just sliced the head off one with his long claws when a door swung open in the wall in front of them, they hurried through and an Imperial guardsman swung it shut behind them. They were in a sizable semi-circular room lined with odd, pointed rock formations sticking out of the walls and up through the floor. In the room were the four remaining members of the princess’s guard, a scholarly-looking little man who was probably the expedition leader and the Princess Vasha herself. 

“We are glad to see you!” The guardsman who had closed the door exclaimed. He extended a hand to Conner, who grasped his arm in the forearm to forearm handshake of the Imperial troops. “The displacers have left us alone in here but our comms can’t get through.” 

“You guys would need help finding water if you fell out of a boat,” Conner replied, with a grin. The princess came up to stand in front of him, Conner and the other Sardaukar all bowed low, Thorin not as low as the others.

“What took you so long?” She demanded, her manner all imperious annoyance.

 “You are at the edge of known space, your highness,” Wallace replied as he straightened up. “None could have reached you sooner.” He did not say it, but his tone was clear. The Rim is not for amateurs. He looked around the walls of the room. “The orbit of this rock is deteriorating rapidly, we need to move.” 

The party looked like they had been holed up in the room for a few days, the guardsmen started ordering the equipment. “Did you get all the displacers?” The first one asked. 

“No way to know,” Conner replied. “But we can probably make a few trips before they start hitting us again. It will take time to recover all the bodies.” Just as he finished speaking the room began to tilt sideways, it slid about ten degrees then righted itself. The Sardaukar all exchanged glances. “Has it been doing that often?” 

“It does that a few times every day,” the civilian said, closing up his case. “Don’t know how long we have until this thing falls into the planet. It’s too bad, I would love to be able to study this place further, find out what it was used for.” 

The room tilted again, more sharply. “That is new,” said the guardsman who had first greeted them. This time it did not correct itself. 

Kynes activated the arm of his armor and looked at the display. “The planet is pulling us in. We have maybe a couple hours to clear out.” 

“Maybe we can fly out,” Thorin said. He was looking at the odd pointed shards of stone coming up out of the floor, there were a line of three in front of him. He put a hand on one, it was definitely not stone. This is a machine. 

Conner looked at him quizzically. “What are you talking about?” 

For answer Thorin closed his hand on the stone formation and pushed, it resisted then slid forward with an audible click. He quickly pushed the other two forward, the floor began to vibrate, lighting panels flickered overhead. There was a distant low hum and the room leveled out. Everyone was staring at him in astonishment, then it tilted hard the other way. 

“Hit those levers above you,” Thorin barked at MacLean, he turned to his right. “And those,” he said to Sinclair, the command in his voice was such the soldiers instantly obeyed. Thorin moved quickly back and forth, pushing whatever would move and trying to find some kind of steering control, the ship was obviously built for something much larger than himself. When Conner pushed the last piece of rock over his head forward a wide view screen materialized on the wall just in front of them. The planet beneath them loomed ominously close. As each control arm had been pushed the rock-like covering had fallen away, revealing burnished metal that looked oddly as though it was growing out of the walls and floor. In front of the viewscreen were two widely-spaced control arms that Thorin guessed might be for steering. He put his hand over one, felt it roll and the ship angled slightly away from the planet. They probably needed to be used in conjunction and they were too far apart for any of them to use, except for the tall Kzin. 

Thorin looked up at Warrior expectantly. “Think you could get us out of here?” 

Warrior did not move, he regarded Thorin impassively with his green eyes, his ears flat against his head. The cat-like Kzin had a rigid caste system, Warriors were at the top, Pilots were several rungs down. Kzin were not known for their multi-tasking. 

“Go on, give it a try,” Wallace said, he was Warrior’s team leader but one really couldn’t order a Kzin. “We promise not to tell anyone.” 

Warrior sighed and reluctantly took the pilot’s place in front of the console, the end of his long tail twitching in annoyance. “If any of you speak about this I will rip out your spine,” he said, putting his hands on the controls. 

Thorin stood to one side, next to the four levers he had originally moved. He felt these had to be the engines, and as Warrior tested the steering he moved the levers forward and back to see how it affected the ship’s moves. Together they were able to steer the moonship into a higher, stable orbit. The Kzin could not wait to step away from the controls, wiping his hands with a cloth as if they were contaminated. 

Thorin pulled the levers for the engines back to were he had originally found them. He turned away and nearly bumped into the princess, who had come up right next to him. 

“What is your family name?” She asked. “I feel you must be a member of one of the Houses, but I do not recognize you.” She smiled. “You I would remember.” 

“My family is indeed a very old one,” Thorin said politely. “But it is not a name you would know. I am called Thorin Oakenshield.” 

“Which is not your family name,” the princess replied, not accustomed to being disobeyed. “I could compel you to tell me.”

Thorin drew himself up, his royalty suddenly obvious to everyone in the room. He looked at the princess as if she were something he had scraped off his shoe. “You are welcome to try,” he said coldly.The soldiers all blinked at him. It was not everyday you heard someone tell a member of the royal family to go fuck themselves. Conner smiled inwardly, he had seen Thorin do this before, he thought of it as him ‘putting on his majesty’. Thorin could practically crush people with it. To the princess’s credit she kept her body straight, but she could not meet his gaze. 

Sinclair came to her rescue by walking between them and bowing to the princess. “We are ready to move out, your highness” 

The princess shot a quick glance at Thorin. “Very well, keep your secrets,” she said. “I am ready to get out of this place.” Conner’s squad formed up around the princess and took her out, Wallace’s squad did the same for the expedition leader, who they were all calling Professor. The Imperial guards took up the rear and they reached their ships without incident. The Professor spent the whole time trying to convince Conner and Wallace that Intergalactic Expeditions still had a claim on the moonship, even though they had been there six days and had no idea what it actually was until Thorin had shown them. Conner was having none of it – Thorin found it, it belonged to the Sardaukar. Pre-Empire tech like this was incredibly valuable, there was no way he was giving it up. The princess remained silent, letting them argue it out. He eyes went often to Thorin, studying him curiously, but she did not speak to him again. 

Once they had the princess and the Professor safely settled the soldiers started recovering the bodies of the fallen. It took a couple hours to get them all and they did have to fight off another displacer attack. One of the Imperial guards was hit, but they were able to get him to a medunit in time. 

“How did you know this was a ship?” Kynes asked Thorin as they were carrying out the bodies. 

“Stone speaks to me, I knew this thing was not stone,” he replied. “Where I come from we live underground, and my people have a natural understanding of machinery.” 

“You live underground?” Kynes shook his head, as if to clear it. He looked at Thorin closely. “I am having a weird feeling that we have met before somewhere.” 

“Do you mean seven months ago when we were assigned as a squad?” Thorin asked with a smile. He had recognized Kynes and Conner immediately as two of the soldiers Kaylea had brought to Middle Earth to fight in the War of the Ring. Their minds had been wiped but there were always some residual impressions that remained.

“Yeah, that must be it,” Kynes laughed, shrugging it off.   

Once they were back at the transport, it was only two more days before they landed on Dorsai. The princess’s rescue had been all over the media for a day and a half, she gave many tearful interviews thanking her brave Sardaukar rescuers, though she neglected to mention any of their names. The media reported that the moonship had fallen into the gas giant and the expedition was a total loss. Thorin could only imagine what fun Lord Blackwolf was going to have with that thing once it had been towed to Troyius, Conner said the tech was completely unknown. 

It was one of those perfect fall days when they arrived on Dorsai, the sun shining brightly, the crisp smell of autumn in the air. As they walked down the transport ramp Thorin saw Kaylea Wolf leaning against an ATV waiting for him. She smiled when she saw him, coming forward to greet him. She was not in uniform, her hair was down, the beads on her braids sparkling in the sun. Inside the open neck of her shirt he could see she was wearing the stranded jeweled chain he had given her many years ago. Thorin dropped his bag and swept her into his arms, drawing her mouth down to his and lifting her off her feet to swing her around as he kissed her. 

“How I have missed you, my love,” he said, kissing her again. He reached to run his finger along her necklace. “You know what it does to me when you wear my gifts,” he whispered in her ear, pulling her tight against him. 

“Why do you think I am wearing it, husband?” Kaylea said softly, running her hands inside his coat. Her body against his felt so good. 

The rest of the soldiers coming down the ramp froze in their tracks, watching them. Odin’s teeth! Conner thought to himself. It’s really true! He exchanged glances with his companions as the general separated herself from Thorin and walked toward them. They came to attention smartly. 

“As you were. Carry on,” Kaylea said, she motioned for Conner to follow her and they walked out of earshot of the others. Thorin was loading his bag into the ATV across the ramp. 

“That was good work on T16,” she told him. 

Conner smiled. “Thank you, sir, that was mostly Oakenshield. The rest was just taking out a few displacers and securing the princess.” 

“You have been training with Thorin for almost seven months. What’s your opinion?” 

“I can send you my preliminary evaluation, if you like, sir,” Conner replied, getting out his handheld. Kaylea unlocked hers so he could throw her the report.

 “Permission to speak frankly, sir?” Conner saw the slight smile as the general nodded her assent. “I am impressed. He works hard, trains harder, he’s a natural born leader. The only thing that would keep him from commanding this whole outfit is that stubborn streak of his. Six leagues wide and six deep, as the saying goes.” 

Kaylea chuckled softly. “I think it is bigger than that,” she said. “But I do know him better than you do.” 

Conner grinned. “And he is going to have to learn to keep that attitude in check. Watching him tell the princess off was priceless, but that kind of thing is going to get him in trouble one day. If I may ask, which House is he from? I’m not buying the primitive planet story for a minute.” 

Kaylea was scanning through his report, Conner could not help noticing the spectacular ring she was wearing on her left hand, the same wolf and raven design as Thorin had on his armor, with a luminous blue-white stone. The wedding band with it sparkled with tiny blue gems. 

“He is not a member of any of the Great Houses, but in his own land Thorin is from a long line of great kings,” Kaylea said as she slipped her device into her pocket. “It is hard to put aside something you have been your entire life.”

Conner looked at her questioningly, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement. “If he is a King, and you are married…does that make you a Queen?” 

“I will ask you to leave that line of inquiry alone, soldier,” Kaylea said curtly.

 Conner snapped to attention, smiling. “Sir, yes, sir!” Kaylea shook her head at him. “You are dismissed. Enjoy your holiday.” She walked back to where Thorin was waiting by the vehicle. He slid an arm around her and kissed her neck. 

“What was that all about?” He asked. 

Kaylea smiled at him. “Just asking how you did on your training,” she said. “He says he is going to fail you.” 

Thorin chuckled. “I will sort him out later,” he pulled her close against him, inhaling deeply. He ran his hand over her body and down between her legs. “Right now, I am going to take you up to the room and have my way with you.”

 Kaylea smiled, her hand against him below his belt. “I like the sound of that, husband.” 

******

Read the whole story on AO3 or FanFiction, links on my homepage, or search for akdogdriver. This is the latest chapter in my Beyond Erebor collection. 

@fizzyxcustard

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc (Damien) x reader (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here's my orc boy Damien, who's a chocolatier (!) with a gender-neutral, bi reader. I really hope you like this one! You folks seemed really excited about this concept, so I hope you like it! If you missed my post about the tiefling in this story, make sure you check out a drawing I did of him here! I hope to give Alexios a male reader in the future. 

The reader has just broken up with their girlfriend, who wasn't really able to deal with the fact that they're into both guys and girls, but other than that, no warnings. (Very very light nsfw (kiss) at one point)

___

Everything hurt. Your throat was raw, your eyes pink and puffy, your cheeks blotchy. You had been crying for what felt like hours in a quiet corner of the park – what had been your bench, where you’d shared your first kiss with her, and where you’d met every day for lunch. To say that you hadn’t seen it coming would have been an understatement. The words she’d used struck you more deeply than you’d care to admit, even to yourself. Nothing felt real, and everything hurt.

Eventually you managed to scrape together the scraps of your pride and courage, and you pushed yourself upright, dusting your palms off reflexively on the front of your jeans. You’d always been quick to laugh and quick to cry, wearing your heart on your sleeve, and you’d been no slower to fall in love this time. But apparently two years of dating no longer meant anything to her, and she was heading back to your apartment to start clearing her stuff out.

No way you wanted to go back there just yet. You trusted her just enough not to be vindictive and take anything that wasn’t hers, so you just wandered round town aimlessly with your hands in your pockets until you saw a sign swinging in the bleak autumn wind, and decided on a complete whim, to go inside.

You actually passed the shop every day on your way to and from the bus station, but you’d never really taken much note of it. Now, however, you saw the welcoming, softly-gilded front window and hand-carved sign, and decided you’d like nothing more than to duck into the beautiful chocolaterie out of the cold and perhaps even buy yourself some fancy-ass chocolates. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do after you had your heart broken after all?

Tastefully decorated in dark teal wood panelling, with temperature controlled glass cases and brass edgings, the interior was gorgeous. The décor trod the line between ‘ostentatious’ and ‘antique’ without ever tipping over into ‘pretentious’. Baskets of sugared almonds and marzipan fruits rested on the top of the glass cases, and pre-boxed packages were arranged in delicate pyramids. There was even a werewolf-friendly chocolate stand, laden with delicious, theobromine-free goodies.

At the back of the shop, a massive marble counter stretched the width of the room, and behind it, the owner and his assistant were engrossed in their work.

On the right, opposite the display cases on your left, was a fin-de-siècle style bar which had been tastefully divided into three levels to accommodate patrons of most sizes. Tall, gilt-frame mirrors lined the wall behind it, and bar stools befitting a range of customers dotted the length of it. There was a space for everyone, from the enormous, snow-white minotaur who sat reading a book at one end, leaning on his elbow and occasionally chatting with the owner, to the tiny goblin who sat at the other, lower end of the bar near the door, debating something heatedly with his human companion, who sat with her wheelchair tucked neatly to one side. Their intense discussion filled the room at that end, but every now and again they broke off, laughing, and sipped frothy mugs of chocolate.

You paused just a moment, a deep, sharp yearning twisting your gut as you watched the goblin reach his hand out delicately towards the woman he was with and let her take a bite of the chocolate from his slender, sharp-clawed fingers. His slate-grey skin looked like condensed shadow and his coal-black eyes glittered, his mouth full of sharp teeth smiling sweetly as she giggled and took it from him, leaning her elbows on the low bar-top.

Already, you had no one to do things like that with, to be silly with, to share food and conversation with, and all because you liked boys as well as girls, and she hadn’t been able to deal with that. The memory of the last time you’d been able to do that with her lanced through your chest suddenly and you turned away, fighting unexpected tears. She’d truly broken your heart and you weren’t sure you’d ever trust anyone again.

“Stop it,” you hissed to yourself, turning your blurry gaze to the rows of immaculately-laid out chocolates and truffles in the glass cases, all labelled in elegant cursive handwriting, with allergy warnings in little symbols. It was a beautiful, beautiful shop and the urge to scoff everything like a baby troll at a birthday party was suddenly almost overwhelming.

By the time you made it to the end of the counter, you could plainly see that the owner was as beautiful, enticing, and delicious as the things he made.

The orc stood at nearly seven feet tall, with a white apron stretched across his impressive chest and embroidered with the symbol of the shop in appropriately cocoa-brown stitching. He had his long hair pulled back off his forehead in a braid which then fell into a long, black ponytail down his back. Thick, tortoiseshell-framed glasses were slipping down the bridge of his nose, and he shunted them back up with a knuckle, barely pausing as he went to lift a huge bowl out of a bain-marie, first testing the temperature with a thermometer. Satisfied, he turned the temperature down a little, and then heaved the big bowl aloft as though it weighed nothing at all.

You watched, entranced, as he poured glistening, liquid chocolate over the bare marble counter, his assistant standing back with a smile as his boss set to work. Using a broad, flat, palette knife, the orc swirled it through the chocolate with the confidence of someone who had been doing that for many years, before scraping it with another tool into the centre, beginning all over again, cooling the chocolate gradually, evenly.

His assistant, a tiefling with unusual, cloudy-grey skin and stunning, marbled black and white horns cast his gaze up at you for a moment. He wore his blue-black hair half-tied back in a bun, though some had slipped out of the knot and was beginning to hang into his astonishing, silver-blue eyes. He smiled shyly, long canines flashing, before turning back to watch the enormous orc at his work. You couldn’t fail to miss that his slim, lean body was peppered with beautiful, geometric tattoos, including one right over his throat and Adam’s apple and then down his chest beneath the collar of his shirt. It was only as you gazed at the gorgeous designs that you realised with a little jolt of surprise that his left arm was missing from just above the elbow joint, the shirt sleeve tied in a knot.

Your attention was drawn immediately back to the orc, however, who checked the viscosity of the chocolate with an ostentatious scoop, somehow spilling nothing. He then repeated his routine: drawing it into the centre, spreading it out, drawing it in again and spreading it out All the while his thick arms – beautifully bared up to the short sleeves of his t-shirt to show incredibly toned and sculpted muscles – worked seamlessly without hitch or stutter, as fluid as the chocolate he was tempering.

Once he was happy with it, he returned the chocolate from the counter back into the bowl it had come from with a few economical scrapes, mixing it in with the remainder. His gorgeous arms worked it with ease, muscles flexing and rippling, until he was again satisfied with the consistency. With a final check of the temperature, he set it back in the bain-marie and waved at his assistant, who smiled, nodded, and took over.

Wiping his hands off on his already chocolate-smudged apron, he looked up and saw you watching him with obvious wonder in your still-slightly-pink eyes. He laughed then, a sound so kind and rich, warm and rough, that you forgot how to breathe for a few seconds.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he smiled, using a knuckle again to push his glasses back up his nose.

Kicking your brain back into action, you snorted. “Uhh, is it socially acceptable to say I’m looking for a pick-me-up for myself?”

He laughed, the corners of his warm, brown eyes crinkling. “Absolutely it is! That’s one of the reasons I started this place. Now, would you like to choose something, or perhaps you’d like me to surprise you?”

You licked your lips and then sank your teeth into your lower lip, thinking. His eyes were fixed on you, which was somewhat nerve-inducing but also rather exciting. Fuck it, you thought, and sighed. “Surprise me,” you said coyly.

“Alright,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes, which you now saw were actually dark on the outer rim of the iris and a warm caramel colour on the inside. “Any allergies or extreme dislikes?”

You shook your head. “Honestly, anything will do right now.”

A flash of concern flickered across his handsome face, and your stomach lurched wildly as his eyes lit up again, this time with empathy. Standing there, you felt small and fragile, and the desire to be swept up into those massive arms – ridiculous as it was – almost overwhelmed you.

“Sit tight,” he said gently, “And I’ll bring something out to you.”

He waved at the bar against the wall behind you with a massive hand, and as you turned to follow the gesture, the white-haired minotaur grinned at you. Even his horns were pale as cream, with just the very tips fading to a blue-grey. He had ice blue eyes, and a warm smile waiting for you as you took your seat.

“You’ve not been here before, I take it,” he said conversationally as you wiggled inelegantly onto a slightly-too-tall bar stool so you could chat with him rather than sit on your own in the middle of the bar, which was lower. His white tail dangled down behind his seat, swinging casually from side to side, and he had propped his hooves on the low rung of his bar stool, and somehow, despite being easily a full two feet taller than you, and colossally wide at the shoulders, he was far more elegant than you could ever hope to manage.

You snorted a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

He blew out a friendly laugh through his nose, the smooth, silver ring glittering for a moment, and a white-tufted ear twitched. “People always get that look in their eyes when they first see Damien work.”

“Can you blame them?” you replied, adjusting your weight on the bar stool. “It’s amazing watching him work.”

“Oh yeah. See those awards up there?” The minotaur pointed at a series of framed certificates on the wall above the tiled lower section where the other two were working away in perfect harmony, safely out of the way of any splashes or mess.

You nodded, intrigued. There were lots of gold stars and seals visible even at that distance.

“Our Damien only trained with the best chocolatier in all Paris he did…” the minotaur laughed, “A succubus by the name of Elurien. She taught him all he knows… And rumour has it, not just in the kitchen, if you know what I’m –”

“Nik!” the orc growled over the marble countertop. “Come on now…” He raised a beautifully sculpted, dark eyebrow at the minotaur, who only laughed.

A deep flush coloured your cheeks as Damien raised his finger in mock threat at his friend, and you turned your gaze elsewhere. He was really very good-looking. You’d never been with an orc before, but you’d always found them very attractive.

To distract yourself from his looks, you found yourself focusing instead on his assistant, unable to keep looking at the big orc without feeling self-conscious. You watched, fascinated, as the lean tiefling worked with great concentration and focus. He was making what looked like decorative bird cages in chocolate. With stunning precision he laid out the filigree design in semi-liquid chocolate, piping it onto a sheet of acetate, and then, using his cool fingers, and no doubt a little tiefling magic, deftly rolling it up until he had created a perfect cylinder of lace-like chocolate. Having only his right arm to do it didn’t seem to hinder him in the slightest, tucking the piping bag under his chin when he needed to squeeze a little more further down the bag.

Damien obviously saw you watching the tiefling work, your eyes focused on the tip of the piping bag as he traced out filigree swirls for the bird cages. “Alexios is my development chef,” he grinned, slapping the tiefling on the back which inevitably made him mess up the very beginning of the next design.

He looked up and raised a dark eyebrow before casting a look over his shoulder at you.

“You’re both very talented,” you said rather lamely.

“I’m just his assistant,” Alexios said in a warm, dry voice.

“Rubbish,” Damien scoffed, grinning. “You came up with my latest best sellers!” he said, and he beckoned you excitedly over to a refrigerated display cabinet.

There was something indescribably endearing about seeing someone so big being quite so childishly excited. Unable and unwilling to refuse, you slid off the bar stool – on which you’d only just got comfortable – and followed him round on the customer side of the counter. Hanging off a display tree were a myriad of the little bird cages, some in white chocolate, some in dark, some marbled, with a tiny, coloured fondant bird inside, sitting on a trapeze.

“They are stunning,” you said.

“Aren’t they!” Damien boomed, leaning back, hands on his hips.

Alexios’ cheeks flushed a darker grey. “Says the guy who won an award for making an entire doll’s house out of chocolate…”

“What?” you asked, and it was the orc’s turn to look bashful.

“That was a one-off,” he mumbled, turning away and getting back to whatever he’d been doing for you.

Alexios caught your eye over the counter top. “He made it for his little sister’s sixteenth,” he said. “It had chocolate furniture and marzipan food and everything. He ended up winning an award for it.”

You couldn’t keep the grin off your face as you saw the huge orc trying to make himself smaller, shoulders hunching as he kept his back turned to you. You took the opportunity to admire the way his long ponytail fell down the length of his spine, sleek and thick and shiny.

“Well, like I said, you’re clearly both very talented,” you said.

You returned to your seat, and Alexios to his work, and in no time, Damien was coming over to you with a little hand-made ceramic mug full of steaming chocolate. “Try that,” he said, “And if that doesn’t make you feel better, I’ll close up shop right now, and spend the rest of the day trying out different things with you.”

Something about the way he said it nearly made you burst into tears again, and as you raised your head to look at him, he blushed, but he didn’t break eye contact, only smiling encouragingly.  

Nik returned to reading his book, and you let Damien set the mug down on the bar for you. He then went back behind the counter and fetched a tiny saucer in matching glazed blue and grey earthenware, and gently set that down beside your mug. As he leaned across, he almost touched you, and you could smell the cocoa lingering on his olive green skin.

“Cognac truffle,” he said. “You look like maybe you could use it…”

Swallowing thickly, you smiled and thanked him.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” he said, “But don’t thank me til you’ve tried it, ok?”

You smiled weakly and he placed his hand quietly on your shoulder for just a moment. It was enough to set you off. Your lip wobbled, and then silent tears spilled down your cheeks. You turned away, embarrassed.

“Hey now,” he murmured. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry…”

“It’s not you,” you sobbed, desperately trying to stop. “I literally just split up with…”  you gulped, the words choking your throat.

“Oh that’s rough,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Look, that’s on the house, ok? Take all the time you need.” You weren’t sure but it seemed like when he spoke that his ears went back like a sad puppy’s. “When you’re done, do you wanna come back and help me with some stuff?” Yes, his ears definitely perked up a little at his question, as though in hope.

“I… I’m not… I’m not sure I’d be any good…” you sniffled.

He smiled, the silver cuffs around his beautiful thick tusks gleaming in the soft light of the shop. “Nonsense,” he smiled. “I think you’d be beautiful at it. Finish that first though, and then decide. Up to you.”

He left you with another gentle touch on your back. His huge hand left a warm imprint that seemed to sear through your woollen jumper to your skin, leaving a lasting impression.

You sipped the hot chocolate and honestly it was the best thing you’d ever tasted. A warming hint of cinnamon with the deep sweetness of vanilla beans and cocoa made you moan out load and you forgot everything, even her, for as long as it took you to finish it.

As you set the mug down for the last time, you saw him looking up at you from the other side of the counter. “Any good?” he asked, but it was clear he already knew the answer.

“Ex girlfriend who?” you said, smiling.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he grinned.

At his side, Alexios muttered something which you could have sworn sounded like ‘maybe not quite what you wanted to hear, boss…’ but before you had the chance to tell him that the cognac truffle had had more kick than a frisky centaur, the orc’s mobile rang, and he stepped into the back room to answer it.

The doors had large glass circles in, and you watched curiously as he clearly began to argue with the person on the other end. At one point he ripped his glasses off his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing little circles there, alleviating tension that was building up rapidly in his handsome features.

Alexios caught you staring as you returned the mug to the counter, and he sighed, taking it from you and putting it carefully in the big butler sink behind him. He turned back to you and said, “He’s got his own relationship issues going on…”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Look, let me pay for this, please,” and you glanced up at the chalk board on the wall. Not quite seeing anything that matched what you’d had, you drew out a note and laid it on the counter. “I insist.”

The tiefling looked at you for a moment, and then sighed, picking up the money and putting it in the til. “Alright,” he said, “But on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

He paused, looking shy but determined. “That you come back here again.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “No doubt about that.”

He flashed you a grin.

“Say goodbye and thank you to Damien, for me, will you?”

He nodded. “Take care now.”

“I will,” you said, trying to be brave.

Honestly, being at home in the now-empty apartment was awful. Everything reminded you of her, and you spent the entire evening browsing estate agents’ websites for apartments you knew you couldn’t really afford on your own. The rent was paid for this month, but next month you weren’t sure you’d be able to make it.

Despite promising Alexios that you’d go back to the shop, you didn’t return for another week. After the shock of what had happened truly hit you, you had barely felt like leaving the apartment outside of work, let alone going outside and being sociable. But eventually, on your way back from work one rainy afternoon, you stepped into the shop on a whim.

Damien saw you immediately and grinned as you pushed the door open.

“Hey!” he called the moment the little brass bell announced your presence.

“Hey,” you returned shyly.

“Good to see you again,” he said, dusting his hands off on his apron. “You come to help me this time, or to enjoy the peace and quiet of an empty shop?” he asked, looking around the deserted room.

You shrugged shyly.

“Fancy helping me dip these?” he said, eyeing a batch of fresh truffles to one side as he obviously spotted your discomfort. “Alexios is off with his new boyfriend today and I could really use a hand…”

“Isn’t that, like, against some kind of health and safety laws or something?” you asked playfully, shrugging out of your damp coat and dumping your work bag under the furthest end of the bar.

He hitched a lopsided smirk. “Not if you wear these gorgeously sexy gloves,” he said, waggling his fingers in a pair of his own latex gloves, “And agree to be my intern for the day.”

“Your intern?” you laughed.

His smile was infectious.

“Fine, fine,” you said. “I’ll do it. Though I should warn you, I’m not very artistic…”

“I don’t need you to make sculptures,” he said. “I just need you to dip these in that white chocolate for me. You think you can do that without eating half of them?”

“Half?” you smiled. “How about a quarter?”

“Done,” he chuckled easily, holding up the hinged counter-top for you to pass through. “Grab Alexios’ apron from over there,” he said, pointing at the dark green apron that hung on a peg in the doorway to the back room.

As you slipped it over your head, you felt him standing close behind you and he took the strings at the back and murmured, “Here, let me,” his quiet, gentle hands tying a bow before you could object. Your heart began to hammer at the proximity of the big orc, but he was kind and sweet, and the gesture was oddly intimate in the confined space behind the counter.

“Thanks,” you smiled, turning slowly. “So, show me what I’m doing?”

The rest of the afternoon passed in the blink of an eye, and it was well after closing time before you finally drew back from your work and cracked the tension out of your neck.

“You did great!” Damien smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners again. “Would… Would you like me to walk you home?” he asked, eyeing the deepening sky outside.

You turned, picking up your bag and jumped slightly as he appeared right behind you again, silent despite his big stature, and picked your coat up to help you into it. “Thanks,” you whispered. “Sure.”

He locked up the shop, nipping  back inside briefly when he said he’d forgotten something, and once he was done, you headed down the nearly-deserted street together, your collar turned up against the worsening weather.

“I should have grabbed an umbrella for you,” he muttered as you slid your hands into your pockets.

“It’s fine,” you said. “I don’t mind the rain that much.” After another few paces you said, ��Can I ask how you got into all this?” you said, gesturing vaguely behind you. “The chocolaterie, I mean…”

He laughed, a natural, beautiful, booming, rich laugh that made your own lips quirk at the corners. “Not the first job you’d think of for an orc, is it?”

You shook your head bashfully.

“My mum and I used to bake all the time when I was a kid. When my mum died, my dad and I raised my lil sis, and I ended up doing all the little things that she used to do for Melody, and it turns out I was pretty good at it…”

“That’s really sweet,” you said, feeling something aching in your chest.

He shrugged. “I enjoy it, and it means I get to meet nice people like you, so…”

“Even when we have mini meltdowns in your shop?”

He chuckled. “How are you doing, by the way?”

“Oh, you know,” you said, gesturing vaguely.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I do.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said heavily. “My girlfriend and I split up a few days ago.”

“Shit,” you murmured.

Damien shrugged his massive shoulders. “It was a long time coming, you know?”

“No,” you said honestly. “When I got dumped I didn’t see it coming at all.”

“Ah, shit,” he said. “I’m sorry. I always put my big foot in it… Look, I’m not going to pretend I know what happened or anything, but…” he pushed his rain-spattered glasses up his nose one more time before apparently deciding to take them off altogether and tucking them into his breast pocket. His big brown eyes peered down at you from his great height as he went on. “I think she made a big mistake, ditching you… Her loss, you know?”

“I wish I could see it like that,” you said.

He paused, and then said, “Let’s go somewhere and grab a drink and something to eat…?”

You paused, the rain sheeting down in a dreary mizzle around you as you stared at the toes of your boots for a moment.

“No pressure if you don’t want to,” he began, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

“I’d like that,” you said. “Thanks…”

He grinned, his beautiful, thick tusks gleaming. “C’mon, I know the perfect place.”

He ended up taking you to this olde-worlde pub down by the river, and it was absolutely perfect. You shared a bowl of chips and drank a rather silly amount of craft beer, and chatted about everything from culinary school to family, and by the end of it, you’d both almost forgotten your heartache.

Damien was big and muscular and sweet and funny, clever, kind and he had a wonderful laugh. You could have sat there for the rest of forever, listening to him and trying not to stare in wonder at the vast expanse of his chest and shoulders as he gesticulated with gentle hands and laughed a rumbling, warm laugh that made your insides ache.

More than a little tipsy, you made your way back home afterwards with him by your side, his hands clasped politely behind his back.

“Well, this is me,” you said as you reached your modest apartment block. “Thank you for tonight, and for letting me help out in the shop earlier too. I had fun.”

“My pleasure,” he said. He sighed suddenly and then started to worry his top lip with his tusk.

“Damien?”

He huffed a nervous laugh. “I… um… I guess I want to kiss you,” he said, shuffling anxiously, “But I don’t want you to think it’s just a rebound thing… And, I don’t know if you’re even interested in guys, or orcs so… you know…”

Your heart erupted into a million spasming, fluttering butterflies, and you beamed up at him. “You can, you know,” you said. “I’d… I’d like it if you did.”

And then his big palms were pressing gently around your jaw, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and he lowered his head down to you. His kiss was gentle, almost chaste, and it was surprisingly easy to avoid his big tusks, simply because he was so much bigger than you.

It was the kind of kiss you never wanted to end. It was the kind of kiss you’d not had in over a year, or possibly even ever. It was the kind of kiss that told you that you were beautiful, and loved, and valued, and brave, and kind, and everything you wanted to be, all in a breathless, brief moment.

Stunned, you almost swayed as he pulled back. He ran his fingers through your hair just above your ears, and smiled down at you, brown eyes glassy and bright. “Can I see you again?” he asked in a hoarse, deep rasp.

You nodded mutely, then swallowed. “I’d like that,” you said.

“Perfect,” he smiled. “You should get inside out of this rain. I’ll call you, I promise.”

“You need my number first,” you giggled, fishing your phone out. “What’s yours?”

He laughed. “Right,” he said, and dictated his number to you before taking yours down.

He turned to go in a bit of an awkward rush, leaving you standing on the step into your apartment building, but you grabbed his massive wrist in your fingers before he did. His skin was warm despite the rain and his lack of a jacket. He had only his t-shirt on, and it stuck blessedly to every beautiful contour of his sculpted chest and arms. “Thank you,” you murmured, fighting off tears. “I needed this.”

“Me too,” he said with a smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

Before he left this time, he leaned down and put his hand behind your head, bringing his lips to the side of your head and leaving the softest, gentlest kiss on your temple before he went. His other hand went to your hip, near your jacket pocket but he didn’t hold you there.

“Take care,” he said, and then he was walking away through the rain.

You watched him go, dizzy with emotion, and finally let yourself into your apartment building. As you fished for your keys, however, your fingers brushed against something in your pocket that you didn’t recognise.

Once inside your apartment, you drew out the mystery object from your pocket and discovered it was a small box of truffles from his shop. He must have grabbed it on a whim when he darted back into his shop, and slipped it into your pocket before leaving that night. On the gift label which hung from an elegantly-knotted gold ribbon, read the words ‘Forgive me for saying this, but these are not half so sweet as you. D.”

Giggling, you tried one, and moaned aloud at how good it was.

Already you couldn’t wait for your next meeting with Damien, and not just because of the sweet chocolates.

___________________________

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[deitiesofduat]

I was wondering if u can do a bunch of random facts/headcannons for the main cast?

Oh man, I mean, I’m happy to try, but I’m not sure where to start for the entire cast of 10… well, now 11 gods. I know have some that are scattered around the blog’s tags, and also in places other than tumblr, but It’ll take me a bit to find them or think of new ones without revealing spoilers, hmm…

So here’s what I’ll try that’s similar to the 1 Like 1 Fact meme I did on twitter a while ago: for every note this post receives, I’ll add a DEITIES-related headcanon or fact about the main cast. The main cast includes Set, Horus, Anubis, Osiris, Isis, Nephthys, Bastet, Sekhmet, Thoth, Ra, and nowwwww Sobek – and maybe the Set Spawn and the big bad serpent too, if relevant. You can add a note by +liking this post, and if you’re interested in learning about a particular deity, you can mention their name in a comment (and it’s not necessary to reblog this, unless you want to!).

This should help give me a bit more focus and time to think of some decent non-spoiler headcanons/facts to share. I’ll come back to this post in a few hours and add any many as I can, depending on the amount of notes it receives, and I’ll bump and place them under the cut for easy access. So yeah, go for it /o/!!

[1] Been playing with a headcanon where Horus’s Eye can see an object’s or person’s weak spots – though only for like, a moment once it’s activated, cuz I’ve wanted to avoid him being OP (but then again… he’s a literal god… so >>)

Also a related-headcanon where he can see a person’s past injuries thru his Eye too, including the hidden ones that have long-ago healed and left no visible scar. I’d like to draw the ones he “sees” on others one day if I keep it…

[2] Set is the only one of his siblings that doesn’t have an avian sacred animal, and for a while I wanted to keep it that way and literally keep him “grounded” compared to his family (sans Anubis). But I found that he’s sometimes also associated with crows (and falcons??? interestingly enough), and even though I haven’t found solid evidence of this yet, I also like the idea of him being associated with bats even before I read about it in Kane Chronicles I swear– So those 2-3 animals are probably some alternate animal form that he has but just rarely takes.

[3] Actually while I’m at it– aside from the Sha Animal, here’s a list of 30-ish animals that I keep as Set’s canon forms in DEITIES verse (based on a combination of historical speculation, recorded myths, and personal headcanons), and would love to eventually draw him as one day:

Aardvark, African Wild Ass (and Donkey), Giant Anteater, Baboon, Bat, Boar/Pig, Bull, Camel, Crocodile, Crow/Raven, Dog (some sort of sighthound?), Fennec Fox, Fish (Eel?), Gazelle/Antelope, Giraffe, Goat, Goose, Hare/Rabbit, Hippopotamus, [Spotted] Hyena, Jackal, Jerboa, Okapi, Oryx, Panther, Rat, Scorpion, Shark, Snake (Viper), and Zebra/Quagga.

[4] RELATEDLY… I REALLY REALLY like the idea of Set somehow acquiring a Thylacine form even tho it’s in no realistic way in the current timeline because thylacines weren’t native to Africa let alone Egypt. BUT… I JUST… THEY REMIND ME OF SHA ANIMALS SO MUCH o)——–

[5] When I was considering the color schemes for the main cast, I once briefly envisioned a purple/violet scheme for Nephthys, but decided to scrap it because (1) I wanted her colors to contrast with her sister’s and match a bit more with her husband’s and son’s and (2) I found that purple was nigh impossible to find in AE wall art and admittedly worried “maybe it won’t look authentic if I use those colors;;;”

Even though I’m happy with her orange/black/red scheme now, I’ve recently found that purple is a common association / kemetic UPG (or doxa?) with her?? SO THAT WAS INTERESTING… I don’t think I’ll change her color scheme for DEITIES, but maybe I’ll draw her in an alternate purple outfit one day to see how it looks on her >>

[6] One of the reasons why I like Horus, Anubis, and Bastet as their own casual friend group in DEITIES verse is that, because they’re all relatively young gods, they all share the experience/pressure of being measured up against their older royal relatives – Horus being seen as both his father and mother’s legacy and feeling the pressure to restore his family’s throne; Anubis being know for his infamous father, and even having his paternity questioned (via rumors and “myths”); and Bastet being the youngest of Ra’s daughter, sometimes being compared to her sister’s roles and achievements.

They’re all really good at masking any pressure they feel, but they also probably confide in each other about it more than with others, cuz they’ve all “been there.”

[7] Relatedly, one of the earliest version of DEITIES Project, before it was known as “Deities Project,” had Horus, Anubis, and Bastet as the main trio. That’s been changed “for reasons” since then, and their characters were quite different back then, but it might be fun to explore a story that focused on the 3 of them someday.

[8] Okay ya’ll know the part during The Contendings where Horus and Set are racing in stone boats and Horus “wins” by painting his wooden boat to look like stone? I have ideas for how that entire race happens in DEITIES verse that would be fun to explore as a side story, but in order for me to give Horus a “legit” way to win without outright cheating, he covers his boat with stone casing/accents, and after he wins and is confronted about it… well…

HORUS: “The rules we agreed on were to sail a boat made with stone. They said nothing about it needing to be made entirely out of stone.”SET: “…”HORUS: “ :)c ”SET: “…” *Internally raging*

[9] I’ve headcanon’d that Nephthys has her own set of ~7 Shabti who act as her personal assistants while she’s conducting her nightly duties, or working around her home, but I haven’t decided much more past that (still debating on how she acquired them, and if she more-than-likely named them…).

The concept and number were loosely based on how many of the other goddesses had their own sets of 7 as extensions of their power and/or control (7 Ribbons of Hathor, 7 Arrows of Sekhmet, Isis’s 7 Scorpions), and I thought it’d be neat if the Goddess of Service had her own Shabti that exemplified that part of her domain.

[10] Thoth is an avid lover of puzzles, trivia, and strategy games, and he’s also exceptionally skilled at games of chance. He doesn’t gamble or make bets often because he understands the risks, but when he does he tries to be calculative about it… and also has a natural knack for luck going his way (EX: That one game of senet that he won to help assist Nut with having her children�� which is another story for another day)

[11] Ummmmm Isis is the only one of the main cast who I haven’t drawn a ref of her sacred animal form yet… or at least, not digitally. Her animal is the kite, but I’ve been debating on a while for what species to base her design on. I like the idea of her kite form looking like the Black-winged Kite, although those species aren’t native to Egypt… but some are native to Africa… and they’re so fricken pretty and they fit her colors so well so I might cave on this ffffffffffff–

[12] While we’re on the subject of sacred animals (and to help me get somewhat closer to the note count lmao I’m trying guys–), Horus’s falcon form is based on both the Peregrine falcon and the Lanner falcon, with more simplified markings for my own sanity when I draw him in dozens of panels.

At one point, I considered making his falcon form leucistic to contrast more with Anubis and Set, buuuuuut I also liked the brown colors on the falcons’ normal coloration, so I kept it. (That and more leucistic birds of prey are hawks, so… maybe for Khonsu tho if I don’t change him to an owl, hmmmm…)

[13] Okay continuing thoughts on animal forms, Bastet is able to shift her cat form into nearly any coloration or breed she desires (aside from her eyes, which remain green), but for the purposes of DEITIES I draw her as a brown cat with light gradation markings. I knew of the Egyptian Mau but also realized the spots would take a lot of effort to redraw in the panels where she appears as a cat (much like the spots on falcons for Horus). I also personally really like solid-colored coats on cats, and in particular I liked the coloration of the Havana Brown, so it may be a little less authentic but it did factor into her colors as well.

[14] I'm still debating on Sekhmet's main hairstyle and want to play with it a bit more -- not the arrangement per se but whether to keep it as locks or to make them more obvious twists -- or perhaps a combination -- since I can see her with both style at certain points in time. Either way, at full length Sekhmet's hair is very long: if she were to loosen her tie and let it fall, her longest locks would reach past her hips.

[15] I initially gave Set yellow eyes because even though he's often depicted with red eyes, I didn't want to over saturate his design with just... well, red -- especially in his animal form where his entire body is covered in red fur (red eyes + red sclera would have been, a lot). I like how his yellow eyes provide some contrast, and I've since found some story-related reasons where his eyes might play some role in the plot… but anything further might be spoilery 8')c

[16] It took me a while to settle on Osiris's "resurrected" skin tone because there were a lot of sources that describe his skin as being green, or blue, or black in coloration. I even tried them out in an earlier color test that I shared on patreon, but I eventually went with black since the color has had various meanings in Ancient Egypt that include both life and death. (It also gave me some opportunity to give green skin to Ptah and blue skin to Hapi to help vary the designs for each of those gods).

[17] Relatedly, Osiris's mortal form is a naturally dark skin tone, but following this death he can no longer appear in that form. He is also unable to travel to the overworld / realm of the living, though I'm still debating on how restrictive this is (if it's limited to his physical body or if he can split his soul under special circumstances, or with assistance). Regardless, most of his correspondence with other deities have to be arranged within Duat for this reason.

[18] I haven't made any plans to designate a spouse or romantic partner for Ra. I understand that there were a number of goddesses that were associated with him in the myths and often said to be his wife, but for that reason it was hard to settle on choosing one -- or multiple, and I realized that for the purpose of the main story it might not be necessary. I also kinda like exploring the idea of this high king and powerful creator deity who's also a happily single father, and where it's not for tragic reasons like the separation from or death of his spouse (not to knock that trope at all tho sdjfdsf). I'm not opposed to him being shipped with anyone though, I just don't think I've been inclined to do it myself lmAO;;

[19] RELATEDLY, while Ra's daughters (Sekhmet, Mafdet, Hathor, Serqet, Bastet) don't have a biological mother, I like to think that they were raised in an environment with a lot of parental figures and mentors to go around, aside from just their father. I haven't quite settled on how it was organized though, but I know that the daughters regard Thoth as something of an uncle/secondary dad (tho their dynamic with Thoth is can vary a lot from the one the have with Ra), as well as their teacher and mentor. I can also see where other gods like Khnum, Khepri, and Bes, and goddesses like Neith, Seshat, Taweret, Ma'at, and Mut, might also have played some direct mentor role in the daughters' upbringing and sense of self.

[20] (squick + implied nsfw) I uh… have this minor gag headcanon where Horus, Isis, and Osiris just don't eat fish. They just… don't. And it's entirely based on that one part of the myths after Osiris's death, where a certain part of Osiris's desecrated body ended up in the river and was swallowed by a fish 8')c (should be noted that I'm not saying that event did happened in DEITIES canon, but I'm also not disputing it either >>).

Apparently that was considered a bad omen, and I still find conflicting information on whether consumption of fish was taboo for some or all in Ancient Egypt (I think "for some" makes better sense, cuz why would an entire society that resides near the Nile river pass up on a perfectly available food source?? But I digress, I might need to review this again so take my thoughts with a grain of salt--). I also admit that I've seen it mentioned that fish are not ideal food offerings for Isis and Osiris?? and I can imagine that maybe Horus adopts the distaste for them as well. Either way, I go with the DEITIES canon that while most people and deities happily consume fish, Horus and his parents will not, and they don't enjoy it as offerings either.

I’MMMMMM gonna end it here for now cuz my headcanons have run dry for the time being, thank you guys!!

[jiveammunition]

Title: I’ve Got You in My Slice - Chapter 5 - The Reaper Comes for Your Rolls!! Pairing: Reaper76 Rating: Teen Tags: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Police, Bad Puns, Fluff, Slow Build, Slow Burn Chapter: 5/? Summary:

“Reaper?” he asked.

“Yeah! Reaper!” Jack got up to fetch his phone from behind the counter, and fiddled with it briefly before sitting back down and showing it to Gabriel. There, on the small screen, was a picture — a bathroom selfie, no less — of Jack with a rather peculiar-looking cat, all black save for white markings on its face that made Gabriel think of a bird’s skull.

After 6 months of waiting, here’s an update for you all. Thank you guys for your patience! <3

Surprisingly, despite the impending barrage of holidays, not much had changed in Gabriel's day-to-day life. As usual, he made sure to go back visit his family the day after Halloween to celebrate Dia de los Muertos — bringing abuelo’s favorite brand of mezcal to drink and leave at the family altar, which he also helped with, and staying the night — as well as on Thanksgiving, when the only particular thing of interest that happened was the turkey exploding in the fryer because his brother-in-law — the husband of his oldest sister, Isabela — hadn't thawed it as completely as he originally thought. Thankfully no one had been injured, nothing had burned down, and his second-oldest sister, Carmen, had the forethought of making another turkey ‘just in case’. But nevertheless, the story was interesting and amusing enough to get a few laughs out of Jack when he told it, which made the Thanksgiving migraine worth it in the end, at least.

“What did you do for Thanksgiving? You spend it with your family too?” Gabriel asked when Jack returned to his table with a refill of coffee in his travel mug.

“Oh, no, it's too expensive and too much of a hassle for me to fly back to Indiana for Thanksgiving. Especially when I'm going to be flying back for Christmas anyway,” Jack replied, shaking his head. “I spent most of Thanksgiving at home with Reaper, before I came here to prep for the Black Friday rush.”

It made sense that Jack had the sense to prep and open the bakery to take advantage of Black Friday and all the people that were out getting their shopping on. If Gabriel remembered properly, Jack even had a sign outside the entire week before, announcing the bakery’s special hours on Thanksgiving and the day after. A part of him wondered how well it went, given the nightmare stories he'd heard from some of his fellow officers about needing to assist certain stores with crowd control — Gabriel himself was on patrol that night — and Jack had to change the store's hours to accommodate his morning rushes and allow for midday baking and restocking. How on earth did Jack manage to handle the floods of people no doubt prowling for early-morning munchies and coffee?

But as Jack hadn't looked all that much worse for the wear, and the store opened without incident the next day, Gabriel decided not to ask. He also wondered when Jack would finally get some help with the store, but also kept his mouth shut, knowing it was a rather touchy subject. As open-minded and keen experimenting with things — baking recipes and the like — Jack was surprisingly stubborn.

Instead, he raised an eyebrow and looked at Jack curiously. “Reaper?” he asked.

“Yeah! Reaper!” Jack got up to fetch his phone from behind the counter, and fiddled with it briefly before sitting back down and showing it to Gabriel. There, on the small screen, was a picture — a bathroom selfie, no less — of Jack with a rather peculiar-looking cat, all black save for white markings on its face that made Gabriel think of a bird’s skull. It was kind of spooky looking, to say the least, and though it certainly fit with Gabriel's aesthetics, for some reason the hairs on his neck stood on end and a shiver of something both strange and familiar ran up his spine.

He didn’t dwell on it for too long, and shook it off as much as he could before handing Jack back his phone. “It certainly looks the part, at least. And I should've known you'd name your cat something punny too, given how much you love your jokes. Don't tell me, it's spelled R-E-A-P-U-R-R?”

Jack merely laughed and shook his head. “As amazing as that spelling would be, no, it's not. I wasn't the one that named him.”

“Oh, you adopted him, then?”

“Something like that. You know how there are a lot of strays that like to hang out in the alley behind the store? Reaper showed up in the bunch one night — the day after Halloween, if I remember right — and just kinda… attached himself to me?” Jack shrugged. “I checked his collar to see if he had an owner, but he only had a nametag on him. I checked for a chip too, but he didn't have one of those, either.”

“Still... You sure it's such a good idea to just take in some random stray like that?” Gabriel asked, recalling some horror stories several years back about someone taking in a stray only to learn the hard way after it died suddenly that it also had rabies.

“Yeah! I took him to the vet to get a quick look at him and got him all up-to-date on shots,” Jack nodded, “Plus, Reaper is a really smart — if a little clingy — cat, he follows me to and from the store every day. Even knows how to use the toilet!”

Just as Gabriel was about to comment about how bizarre that last tidbit was, both his and Jack’s attention were drawn to the front door.

As if on cue, a loud but muffled meow was heard from outside, followed by a light scratching at one of the glass panels. Sure enough, there sat the spitting image of the cat from Jack’s picture, staring into the store as if demanding entrance. Its gaze settled onto Gabriel, and after several moments of staring without blinking — Gabriel could swear the cat was glaring at him or sizing him up — it meowed again and slapped a paw onto the glass. It turned its head towards Jack, and gave one last meow before dropping its paw and sat patiently waiting.

“Oh shit, Reaper!” Jack cursed slightly as he got up from his chair, “You’re not supposed to be out front like that!” He opened the door enough for himself to slip outside and not let the cat in, and picked it up when it appeared to meow at him again. It seemed to settle down in Jack’s arms, at least, and if the look on its face and swishing tail were any indication, it was likely purring like a motor as well.

As amusing as it was to watch from inside as Jack bounced slightly in place while petting the cat in his arms, and apparently scolding it, Gabriel couldn’t say no when Jack nodded at him from outside, beckoning him to go outside. Sighing, Gabriel stood up, taking his mug with him and hiding a few bills underneath the empty plate as payment for the food plus a small tip — something he resorted to doing after Jack kept refusing to accept more than half the normal price of his food due to his ‘guinea pig’ status — before going out to meet Jack’s new kinda-sorta-pet-slash-stalker.

“Reaper, say hi to my friend, Gabriel,” Jack said, turning slightly so the cat was facing him. Reaper gave Gabriel the same kind of soul-piercing stare as it did before, watching him silently until Jack gave it a nudging scratch behind the ear. It purred lowly until Jack’s coddling stopped. Almost reluctantly, it meowed in greeting at Gabriel. When Gabriel reached over to give it a pet, however, Reaper lept out of Jack’s arms and darted away, turning the corner to no doubt disappear into the alleyway.

“Guess he’s not a fan of me,” Gabriel shrugged.

“I wouldn't take it personally. He might just be a little catty around strangers,” Jack ribbed.

“You said he follows you around though, right?” Gabriel asked, pretending like Jack hadn't made any pun at all.

“Are you trying to say I'm strange?” Jack huffed, holding a hand to his chest as if Gabriel had hurt his feelings.

“I didn't say anything,” Gabriel snorted, smirking as he took a sip from his travel mug.

“You're hilarious,” Jack replied, crossing his arms. The look of amusement on his face did nothing to help sell how horribly Gabriel's barb had injured him.

“Anyway,” Gabriel began, looking at his watch, “My shift’s about to start. I'll see you tomorrow.”

He took a few steps forward before he felt a tugging on the back of his jacket.

“Sorry. Hold on a sec,” Jack said. He let go of Gabriel and began rummaging in his apron pocket before fishing out a worn, brown leather wallet and holding it out. “This belongs to Officer McCree. He left it here last night. I texted him to ask for his address so I could drop it off, but he told me to just hand it to you. He's on duty today too, right?”

“Yeah, he is,” Gabriel replied, taking the wallet, and opening it up. Sure enough, there was Jesse's ID, the grin on his portrait even goofier than how Gabriel remembered his last ID picture looked. He tucked the wallet in his breast pocket and began to walk off again before he stopped in his tracks. “Wait. Texted ? Why does McCree have your number?”

“He asked me for it?” Jack shrugged, “I told him I wasn't interested, and he's not my type, but he insisted. Said something about wanting it anyway in case I wanted another friend to hang out with that wasn't — and I quote — ‘a grump with a stick-up-his-ass.”

Gabriel tried to school his expression and keep it as neutral as possible, and surprised even himself when he somehow managed it. He let out a short, “Huh,” and took another sip of coffee to gather his thoughts. “I'll have a word with him later, then.”

Jack laughed, and waved his hand dismissively, “Don't tell him I told you he said that!”

“Oh, I'm not gonna talk to him about that,” Gabriel muttered under his breath. When Jack tilted his head in confusion, Gabriel simply shook his head. “Don't worry about it,” he said, giving Jack a quick wave before heading off to the station.

“Oh, okay…” Jack replied, still looking slightly confused as he waved back, “Have a nice day, then!”

Sure enough, when Gabriel got to the station, Jesse was at his desk, typing up something or another on his computer. Gabriel took the wallet from his pocket and tossed onto the desk in front of him, drawing Jesse's attention away from the screen when it thudded gently on the wooden surface between his forearms.

“Oh, hey! You got it! Thanks, boss!” Jesse laughed happily as he tucked the wallet back into his pocket. “Mornin’, by the way!”

“Morning,” Gabriel grunted. He folded his arms and frowned slightly. Unable to help himself, he went on to ask, “Mind telling me why you have Jack's number?”

The grin on Jesse's face grew even wider. “No reason! Just thought the guy could use another friend around these parts, what with him still being new-ish to the neighborhood and all!”

Gabriel tilted his head, expression still unimpressed and looking doubtful.

Jesse laughed, and held his hands up in surrender. “Honest ta god, boss. I was just bein’ friendly! You got nothin’ to worry ‘bout, anyhow. Said he wasn't interested when I first asked.”

Gabriel let out a quiet ‘harrumph’ before he went to his desk. Shrugging off his jacket, he draped it over the back of his chair before he sat down, still clearly displeased. He'd known Jack for several months now and he still didn't have his number. Granted, he stopped by the bakery at least three times a week — down from the four originally; didn't want to come off as a creep, after all — and there was no real need to have Jack's number when they met in person so often, but still...

He was briefly torn out of his foul mood when Lena walked over with a bridal magazine in hand, asking him what he thought about her fiancée’s, Emily’s, choice in wedding gown.

“Oxton, why the hell are you asking me?” Gabriel asked, after realizing he had spent the last several minutes looking over pictures of dresses.

“I figured you'd be able to help us narrow down what would look best with my dress, since you know fabrics and drapings and all,” Lena replied, looking at Gabriel with wide eyes as if the answer were obvious.

“Oxton, I make costumes as a hobby. I don't design dresses or work as a wedding planner! Didn't Emily hire someone to help you guys for this reason?” Gabriel frowned, gathering the various pictures strewn across his desk into a neat pile and handing it back to Lena.

“Yeah, but I also figured since you're the one that's gonna be actin’ as my dad durin’ the ceremony, it'd be nice to get your opinion, at least…” Lena answered in a quiet voice, looking slightly like a kicked puppy. Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He never could stand up against that look.

Still frowning, he flipped through the stack of pictures in his hands again, reorganizing the pile after a bit of quiet deliberation, and holding it back out once again. “The top three would be the ones that flatter Emily's figure and complement your dress the best. Now get back to work before Amari catches me helping you pick out your wedding cake and yells at me for ‘slacking off’,” Gabriel turned to his computer and waved Lena off.

“Thank you!” she chirped happily. “And you don't need to worry about that! Emily and I already narrowed down what kind of cake we want.” She smiled, taking the stack of pictures, and turned to start heading back to her desk when she suddenly jolting in place.

“Oh! That reminds me! I need to text Jack and let him know what time Emily and I will be there for the taste-testing!” she exclaimed in realization, mostly to herself. With a renewed cheer, she quickly zipped off back to her desk, fishing out her phone and tapping away at it with a smile plastered to her face.

Gabriel's bad mood quickly sunk back in. Lena had Jack's number too? That was-!

He took a deep breath and shook his head. It would make sense that the Lena would have Jack’s number if he was to be the one making their wedding cake. Jack wasn't giving out his number to just anyone and everyone.

...everyone but Gabriel, that was.

Things came to a head near the end of his shift when Liao, of all people, offered to text Jack and see if he would be able to make a cake in time for the station's holiday party in two weeks. Why the heck did Liao have Jack's number?! If he recalled correctly, Liao had only ever been to Jack's bakery once, and that was with Gabriel after they had coincidentally run into each other on their day off and during their morning jog. Unless he went there again sometime after, and asked Jack for his number… which dredged up even more questions in Gabriel's already-preoccupied mind.

He left the station that night with the same contemplative frown he had that morning, internally grumbling at how it seemed everyone but him had Jack's number and struggling to figure out the best way to ask without seeming too desperate or forward. He enjoyed Jack's company, and didn't want to ruin their casual friendship just yet. Plus, if Jack were to reject him like he did with Jesse, Gabriel wasn't sure if he'd be able to set foot into For Goodness’ Cake ever again.

Surprisingly, his opportunity to get Jack's number came in a way he never would have expected. When he got home to his apartment, he was met with the sight of an all-too-familiar black-and-white cat lurking outside his window.

“Reaper?! What the heck?!” he scrambled to open the window, quickly and carefully as to not startle the cat to the point where it would fall of the rather small ledge and injure itself. With a tiny huff through its nose, the cat jumped from the opened window into his apartment and skittered off to curl up on his couch.

“Hey, Reaper, this isn't your home. Why are you even here? Why aren't you with Jack? He's gonna be worried sick about you,” Gabriel scolded, and tried to pick Reaper up. He got a hiss and furry slap across the face for his trouble — thankfully Reaper had the courtesy not to let out its claws — and quickly reeled back in shock.

“Shit!” he yelped, “What the hell, Reaper?! Did you come here just to make my day even worse?”

Reaper ignored him, and curled up the same way as it did before, closing its eyes and sleeping. Or pretending to sleep. Gabriel couldn't tell, and to be frank, he couldn't be bothered. He growled under his breath and let the cat be, huffing as he left the living room to shower, make a quick dinner, and head to bed.

To his knowledge, Reaper stayed curled up and asleep on the couch until the very next morning, when it jolted right up at the sound of the apartment door unlocking. Without any sort of prompting, it darted out of the apartment as Gabriel held the door open, and even waited at the bottom of the stairs for him to catch up.

Jack was right, Reaper was a very smart cat. It was almost unsettling how smart it was. As if keenly aware of Gabriel's usual route, it led the way to the bakery, with Gabriel trailing behind it the entire time.

When they finally reached the bakery, sure enough, Jack was outside, as usual, setting up the sign of the day's special bakes. The expression on his face was more contemplative than usual, his brows furrowed and forming a rather obvious line on his forehead. Reaper meowed loudly as it approached Jack, and almost immediately, Jack seemed to cheer up at the sight of Reaper. His expression brightened up even more when his gaze landed on Gabriel, causing Gabriel's heart to skip a beat as it usually did whenever Jack looked at him like that.

Crouching down, Jack held out his arms for Reaper to leap into, catching the clever cat, and spoiling it with affectionate pets and scratches.

“How did this happen?” Jack asked, utterly bewildered. “Reaper didn't follow me home last night or to the bakery this morning, so I was worried sick something might have happened to him!” The way Jack's hands unconsciously continued to spoil the cat with affection didn't escape Gabriel's notice, and he couldn't help the small smile that crept its way onto his face at the look of contentment on Reaper’s face.

“I don't know why or how he even got there, but I found him hanging outside my window last night. Reaper didn't want to seem to want to budge from my couch at all, and I figured since it was so late and you'd already closed and I didn't have your number, I may as well let him stay the night and bring him back here in the morning,” Gabriel shrugged. Reaper opened its eyes to stare at him, as if fully aware of his white lie, and judging him, but Gabriel ignored it in favor of maintaining eye contact with Jack.

“Thank you for doing that. I really appreciate it,” Jack said appreciatively, relief written across his face as clear as day. “Like I said, I was really worried about this little guy. My apartment felt kinda empty without him around.”

“No problem,” Gabriel replied, feeling nervous about what he wanted to say next.

After a few moments, he swallowed the lump in his throat and gathered enough nerves to finally ask, “Um, in case this happens again, do you have any way for me to contact you? Like a phone number or something?” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, terrified that Jack might jump to the conclusion he catnapped Reaper just to get the chance to ask for Jack’s number.

“Oh, yeah, sure!” Jack beamed. “Let's head inside so I can get yours too!” He crouched back down to let Reaper down, and with a quiet meow, the cat dropped from his arms and scampered away, slapping Gabriel's leg with its tail as it passed. �� You owe me for this,’ it almost seemed to say, and Gabriel inwardly thanked the cat for the setup.

“Sure,” Gabriel replied, trying to control the grin beginning to form on his face, and fighting the urge to pump his fist in triumph. He was going to get Jack's number, and he managed to ask without making things awkward or a fool out of himself! The urge did overtake him before he was able to make it through the front door, and with a quiet, “Yes!”, Gabriel did a small fist pump when Jack disappeared into the bathroom to wash his hands and likely dust off whatever cat hair Reaper shed on his clothes. Gabriel would later attempt to do the same to his couch when he returned home that night, only to be utterly surprised to find not a single cat hair anywhere in his apartment.

“Did you say something?” Jack asked as he exited the bathroom, tossing away the paper towel in his hands before the door swung closed behind him.

“No, nothing,” Gabriel replied, shaking his head.

Jack shot him a quick look of confused amusement before fetching his phone. He unlocked it and set it on the counter.

“I can never remember what my number is, so could you punch in yours and call yourself while I get this bread out of the oven? They're the prosciutto, cheese, and balsamic onion ones you tasted the last week and said you really liked. I figured I'd roll them out this week and see how popular they are.”

“Sure,” Gabriel answered, ignoring the pun completely. He focused his attention onto Jack’s phone, doing exactly what was asked of him as Jack disappeared behind the swinging steel door. He could almost feel his heart racing slightly when entering in his number, and when his own phone rang, it figuratively soared into the stratosphere.

Finally getting Jack's number put his spirit in such a good mood that day that he couldn't even find it in himself to get angry when he got to his desk and he discovered Jack snuck two extra rolls into his bag. Nor did he even bat an eye when Jesse approached him at his desk, and handed Gabriel $5. “Jack said you dropped this in his store yesterday. It's not like you to be so clumsy, boss,” Jesse scolded playfully before walking off.

Gabriel would just get Jack again next time.

[celestenoel]

Ain’t No Deer in Queens

CHAPTER ONE: Fresh meat

 “WE’RE ALL DEAD HERE” had been etched into the yellowing wood paneling next to the bed that I had been assigned. More gloomy messages and scratchy black initials joined by jagged hearts decorated the wall. No vague inclinations or niceties in rehab. You were either dying or in love or both.

I was riding out the unbearable, itchy, damp, nervous, sick feeling that made my skin feel like the enemy. It would get worse before it got better. The prophecies on the wall made me feel less alone somehow. The room smelled like cleaning products and mold. The blanket that I had wrapped around myself was over bleached and brought as much comfort as a delousing. Frustrated, I peeled it off and pummeled it with my feet into a pile at the foot of the bed.

My assigned roommate was asleep. I envied her restfulness. Dianne had told me that she was at Cornerstone because her boyfriend wanted her to get help because she smoked too much weed. I had deductively figured out that her boyfriend had simply wanted to get rid of her, and that she hadn’t figured it out yet. She was short and round, with a pretty plump face and dark eyes. Her innocence confused me. It made me want to take care of her. But strangely, her sweetness also triggered a whisper of anger in me, as innocence in adults always did. Because I had never had the chance to experience innocence. And I suspected that the other patients would feel similarly about her Doe eyed saintliness. I hoped that she wouldn’t reveal too much. I felt embarrassed and scared for her already.

I had been given anxiety medication for the withdrawals. In a few days, I would be able to get some actual sleep. Until then, I would continue to exist in a sort of anxious, yet exhausted state. And there would be nightmares too. The nightmares were always my least favorite part of withdrawals. They were truly gnarly. I was almost impressed that my subconscious could amalgamate such grotesque and brutal imagery. I would be sinking into sleep, and a high resolution image of my head being lopped off by a deli slicer blade would dart through my mind. Yet Dianne slept deeply, making soft puttering sounds. My luck at acquiring a roommate like her hadn’t escaped me.

When I first arrived, I’d been led around the building by another patient. She’d casually shown me all of the common areas, moving urgently through the hallways with a confident and sexy strut. Her Apricot hair was wrapped in a thick, rope-like braid from the left crown of her head to the base of her neck, and hung like a serpent over her right shoulder. She vibrated with animal intensity, and possessed a strange, mutant beauty. She flirted and called men’s names out as she moved through the hallways, passing and laughing at inside jokes. She didn’t care how large her presence was, each stride punctuated with a bump of a hip, and none of the men seemed to mind.

“First time?” She guessed correctly. I nodded. “What’s your drug of choice?” She’d asked upon first meeting me. The words didn’t register. I went blank. Anxiety rose and sweat started springing out of my pores all over my body all at once like tiny, itchy pin pricks. I was naturally a socially nervous person and had never been asked so bluntly about my lifelong problem by a stranger. The withdrawals intensified my anxiety to a full panic. I struggled to keep my face neutral. “Ummm…booze.” I muttered, brows drawn together. “That’s it?” She asked. “Yeah, it’s plenty. Trust me,” I said. My throat tightened. I desperately wanted to hide. I learned to have my “drug of choice” answer ready after that. She told me that her name was June and that her drug of choice was crack. It was like being a shaky third grade kid on the first day of school, but with a lot more addicts.

We were waiting in line for medication from the nurse’s station when a woman abruptly attached herself to June’s side. The encroaching woman’s bangs were parted down the middle and gelled into a downward V. She locked her glacial blue eyes onto mine with a penetrating stare that made me feel exposed. She spoke in high energy animated spurts. “I’m a mutha of two,” she said with a firm sort of pride, anticipating my surprise. I feigned astonishment. But my percolating bowels and the possibility of a disaster happening in the unforgiving fluorescence of this foreign place would barely allow me to think of anything else. She shouted at the nurses from line, begging cutely for nicotine gum.

Her comfort around the nurses made sense after she told me that she had been one. She’d been in a car accident and injured her back, which led to an addiction to pain pills, which led to dubious actions within the medical practice that she worked at to acquire pills, which led to prison time, which eventually led to associations that gifted her with a hefty heroin addiction. Her cheeks were flushed pink circles as she spoke, her piercing eyes darting aimlessly around the room. And then she would suddenly become still, seeming to find something in the distance that interested her, as if preparing for attack. I could tell that she was going to assume that I was sweet because I was quiet, and only a silly little alcoholic. And I was fine with her thinking that.

I was on day one of 19 days of treatment that had been approved by Medicaid. I needed to make those two women like me somehow. I was raised by women whose edges were too sharp to hide. Women without delicacy or grace, who found power in anger, and whose anger was severely misguided. They wore their anxiety like a warning flag. But I had learned how to recognize and navigate through turbulent people. I remembered what the man at the intake office had said, If you’re here for recovery, just keep your head down and do the work. You probably won’t stay friends with anyone that you meet here. Most of the people here have priors and are court mandated.

I was noticing that most of the patients were men. Tattooed men. I swooned. Hardened, well-groomed men with small t-shirts to show their hard-earned brawn. I sighed inwardly. I hated myself for being so predictable. But what else was I gonna do for 19 days, if I couldn’t indulge my eyes? It had been a year and a half since I’d been with a man, and I hadn’t expected this difficult turn of events. A surprising amount of the patients were attractive. My complicated love/hate/fear relationship with men couldn’t be avoided in this lock down environment. A few of them had already locked eyes with me as I was led, along with the other newly admitted “patients”, through the building.

Men leaned languidly against walls. They draped themselves over bannisters. They drummed their knees, drummed the walls, and clapped creating skillful individual rhythms to themselves. They laughed raucously in small groups, insulting each other. When we were led through the rooms, many of them stopped and gave their full attention to us newbies. One man got very close to me and asked me to marry him, jokingly. I gave him what I thought was a patronizing smile, not really knowing or caring about how to respond. I felt nauseous. My insides shifted. It was the worst time to be introduced to a train of horny, intimidating men. Some of them were shockingly pleasant to look at. And I felt like I was literally going to shit my pants. Withdrawals are not conducive to confident flirting, setting boundaries, or any other sort of thing involving confidence.

One man in particular snagged my attention involuntarily. He leaned against the wall with his thick arms across his chest. Do not go gentle into that good night… was tattooed across his forearm. Dylan Thomas, for fucks sake. And a big, well-groomed beard and mane. I had been known to drop my “I’m a published poet” line to shamelessly impress men when I was younger. If I’d known that most of them cared not a lick about anything that I said I wouldn’t have bothered. But this guy would obviously get it. Our eyes connected across the room. A lot happened within that glance. “You guys just eye fucked”, June said, stifling a guffaw. I hadn’t expected rehab to be so…sexy. I’d spent a good portion of the last five years trying to ignore men. This was going to be difficult in unforeseen ways.

I was relieved to finally be led to my assigned detox room after receiving anxiety meds and having blood drawn to test for hepatitis and HIV. The day had been truly awful and panic inducing for someone with my level of social discomfort. I’d been relieved at my roommate’s quiet reticence. I was also relieved to know that I had 5 days of detox before I’d be forced into the groups. I struggled to hold a water glass and my voice was weak and shaky, which was embarrassing. My embarrassment made me sweat copiously. Not to mention the inevitable gut issues that added to the already sour experience. The place had such a penitentiary aura that I was almost surprised to see a door on the shared bathroom. The room had three beds and one was cleanly made, awaiting another body. Dianne still puttered softly. I could finally rest in peace.

The door opened and a thin woman was ushered in. She darted toward the empty bed. She was pallid and rawboned, with black makeup crudely smudged around large brown eyes set deeply into her skull, a sharp blade like nose, and a small mouth. Her bitter expression warned against niceties, so I didn’t say anything to her. Her movements were quick and viper-like. She snatched a blanket around her shoulders, collapsed on the bed, and fell asleep immediately. Fuck. I thought. Her Drug of choice was probably heroin. Our slumber party wasn’t going to be so quaint after all. Who knew how withdrawals would make our unfriendly new roommate act? What antics would us girls get into?

I stared at the words WE’RE ALL DEAD HERE, thinking that it was half true, and eventually settled into an uneasy sleep.