#there's something holding me back from endin it all

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

[dearharriet]

It; Remus Lupin 🦟

summary: remus is the feral swamp animal you fed that keeps coming back (18+)

word count: ~2K

warnings: explicit sexual content—MDNI, fem!r, fingering, oral (both parties), unprotected piv, squirting(ish), religious content (mentions of god, sin, etc.), southern!remus, southern!r, remus is unwashed and unhoused (and also the poorest little meow meow of all time)

authors note: if u couldn’t tell, this is based on it will come back by hozier

Remus said he wanted you breathing, so he never came at night. Never, though you wanted him to, and he left long before dusk. You knew he’d rather not come at all, or rather he never met you, but you didn’t care. What he insisted was sin usually made you feel the best you ever had, and you weren’t repenting.

You thought sin could be beautiful sometimes. Remus certainly was, and he insisted something was wrong with him—in the head, in the body. The way he talked about himself made him sound like a sticky bog mud, sucking unsuspecting people down to be ‘gator food; like any day soon he’d sink his teeth into you and drag you off into the woods.

Still you waited for him. Every day was his last, and every morning he crawled pale-faced onto your back step, a heat wilder than a Louisiana summer in his eyes.

He didn't have to speak, but he’d recant anyways, eating words he’d said only hours before. His big hands would claw at the threshold, like he was undone from being away from you so long, and his deep voice would settle between your thighs.

“Won't you let me in, Sugar? Missed you somethin’ awful last night.”

Lacerations colored his face, some new and some old. You’d have found the fucker that made them if they didn’t give you an excuse to be closer to Remus.

“Don’t know why you leave at all, if you come back lookin’ this way, honey,” you cooed, ushering him inside.

He tended to track mud in, but you didn’t mind. When Remus first came and went, you had a hard time figuring it was real, but an hour on your knees made you believe again.

You sat Remus on the edge of your tub.

“Easier to see you when it’s light,” he replied. “The dark’s the only thing that’ll take you away from me.”

Carting antiseptics and cotton his way, you landed just beside him, dumping the supplies onto the toilet.

“Y’know there’s such thing as a lamp, don’t you baby?” He hung his head, but you pushed it back up, fingers lost in his matted hair. “Let light shine out of darkness, he said.”

“Stop,“ he chided softly, his eyes fluttering shut. You leaned in to kiss his weary cheek, your lips coming away sticky with his copper blood. It was tangy on your tongue when you cleaned it off, earthy. You went back in for seconds.

Remus groaned as you licked a stripe over a gash by his eye. In pain or in pleasure, you weren’t sure, but you thought he liked it either way.

“This won’t end well for ya,” he croaked. Your tongue laved over a shallow cut on his throat, sucked. “I ain’t—ah—ain’t no good.”

His breath came heavy all the time, but it kicked up something awful when you were on him, when he was in you. You were working up to that, shimmying his shirt up to suck all the way down his slender torso.

“W’bout you,” you said into the hair on his navel. “It don’t bother you, endin’ up alone?”

A stunted breath escaped him, barely contained, as you slid to your knees. When your fingers weaseled under his peeling belt, Remus caught your wrists, eyes on yours.

“I’ll always end up alone.” He swallowed. “The question is if I’ll be a killer or not.”

There was that word. Killer. It was like a third party to the light-switch relationship you had with Remus.

“What difference does it make if you are,” you ask.

The leather folded out of the buckle, and he didn’t stop you. His eyes hid away again.

“Get up.”

“Y’already said God won’t forgive you, right?” You pulled him out of his ratty boxers, holding him firmly by the base. “What’s one more sin…?”

“This ain’t about God, sugar.” His hands were still caging your wrists, but they shook with restraint, and tightened when you suckled on the head of his cock.

“What, then?” You prodded, and then took him into your mouth. A whimper scraped out of him, lecherous and disturbed, and you drank it in.

“‘S ‘bout…your smile,” he whined, “on the backs of my eyelids when I go t’—to sleep.”

You hummed around him, pushing him into the back of your throat and swallowing. He struggled to continue.

“‘S about my—ah—my guilt, followin’ me like a ghost.”

Remus was shaking like a leaf, hands leaving your wrists to white-knuckle the tub. You came up for air, staring up as you played with him.

“God’s made a lotta evil things, Remus, but love ain’t one of ‘em.” Leaning back down, you kissed the tip of his cock. “You ain’t one of ‘em.”

As you blew on his slicked length, Remus squirmed and panted.

“It ain’t the love that scares me, it’s—‘s the lust, the—“ His leg spasmed and he doubled over, mouth breathing hot and shaken over your hairline. “When I see you, I wanna—I want—“

You shushed him, reaching a hand over his neck to scratch and rub the space there.

“I know,” you assured him, “I know.”

His head rocked a shake against yours, and he moaned in despair as you let go of his cock. Looking up, you took Remus’ face into your hands and pressed your forehead to his.

“Are ya gonna waste me,” you pressed, nipping at his bottom lip. “Go to hell in vain?”

Remus’ nostrils flared, his tortured brows settling. Then he was lowering himself to the floor and laying you out on the bathroom tile. You knew what he was thinking—there was no time to slither into bed, no need. The sun was Remus’ minister, and it was closer to dying than the minute before.

He crawled over you, prowling and hungry, and didn’t waste a second with your clothing. He always said he wanted you as you came, no dress-up or makeover. He was a creature of priority, and his time felt much better spent sucking between your thighs than staring at them.

His tongue swept in and out of your sopping hole, cleansing you and then ruining you all over again. The stubble on his face was surely leaving burns on the soft inner skin of your legs, but it felt right. Your combined dissolution only made you cry louder, made him press harder to your navel to keep you down.

“Remus,” you whined, closing your thighs over his head. He only groaned and smiled, finally finding some release from his aching hopelessness.

“I’m starvin’, sugar,” he panted into you, pressing his bruised nose into your folds. “Gimme something worth payin’ for.”

You arched and writhed, the tile warming underneath you as you begged Remus not to stop. His thick fingers pushed into you, pressing up into your ribbed walls as he sucked your clit cruelly, and you fell apart. You reached down to hold his head in place, pulling his hair, and Remus moaned into you. The vibrations topped what you thought was already insurmountable pleasure, and your eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open.

When you came to, Remus was still between your legs, relentlessly stuffing your wetness back into you. His tongue was like sandpaper on your clit suddenly, and shocks rolled through your body.

“Uh-uh,” you shook your head, grasping at his hair.

“Uh-huh,” Remus moaned into you, making you moan in return.

“Rem—uh—please,” you wailed, “please, please—fuck me before you have to go.”

Remus laid his forearm over your stomach and sucked harder. A tear slid down the side of your face, overstimulation pushing you to incoherence.

“Remus—Remus, please. B’fore the sun goes down,” you sobbed, desperate.

Remus breathed a laugh.

“Eight AM, baby,” he retorted, his voice like liquid smoke, “we got a little more time than that.”

You braced yourself and accepted your fate, pouring the inescapable buzz out of your eyes, chest heaving. Remus just petted your hip where he held it still and groaned into your cunt when you choked and shook through a second orgasm.

Lax on the floor you laid, legs shaking and core pulsing. Belatedly, your moans registered in your mind, how needy they were. You must’ve been out of your mind to ask for more.

“Rem.” Reaching blindly, you found his hand on your stomach and squeezed.

“I know, precious,” he drawled, and you heard his belt buckle clang against the floor. He snuck over you, kissing damply on your chest and neck.

“Didn't that God ever teach you patience,” Remus whispered into your mouth. You grinned wildly.

“He tried.”

Your laughs morphed into moans as Remus’ cock nestled into your cunt.

“Fuck,” you swore, “‘s big.”

Remus snapped his hips and groaned into your jaw. He set a steady rhythm, engulfed in you. He was breathing in your scent, squeezing the meat of your hips in his hands. It always surprised you how lost he became, almost drunk on the feeling of you wrapped around him.

You were a goner, too, nails scratching down Remus’ back every time his pubic bone grinded onto your swollen clit. It only spurred his thrusts faster, grunts escaping him in tight gusts.

“C’mon,” he rasped, “c’mon, sugar, please.”

He was close, his voice tense and his abdomen tensing over yours. You hiked up a leg and he took it into his own hand, propping it up for you. You were spread wide for him, your cunt suctioning and gushing around him lewdly, and his cock only felt bigger. It might’ve been prodding at your stomach, and when his met yours with every slap of his hips it squeezed at your bladder.

“Oh, God,” you whimpered, head falling back.

Remus knew not to fix something that wasn’t broken. He kept his angle and pace as best he could until your feet curled.

“Want ya, sugar.” He was untethered, whining and consumed. “Can’t letcha go—I can’t.”

Enraptured, you held Remus tight as you shook and twitched against your will, a mess of fluids soaking the hair at the base of his cock. Remus followed immediately, grinding mindlessly into your gripping cunt and howling into your neck.

You stayed glued together as you both panted, his cock softening in you. Neither of you liked to escape the feeling sooner than you had to, so you basked on the bathroom floor for a long while before washing up.

Remus always stayed for lunch, and you always cleaned him up, and you always let him shower and sleep as he wished. Your bed was an obvious option, but he wouldn’t lay in it; wouldn’t even look at it, most days. He took the couch, if anything, and he wouldn’t hear your admonishments about back pain.

When the frogs started croaking, it was time for him to leave.

“M’sorry to come back like this,” he said, like he’d never done so before. “Won’t happen again.”

“I’m sure,” you sang with a glint in your eyes.

“I mean it, baby. Y’gotta stop bein’ so kind to me.” He pressed you against the wall by your door, stony-faced. “If I drag my sorry ass back here tomorrow, promise you won’t let me in.”

You kissed him softly in response. “I promise.”

Breathing labored, he pushed away.

“Good.” Remus stepped outside. “Now you lock this door when I’m gone, y’hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sighing, Remus turned and crept back to the bayou, and—like every night—you waited for the coyotes to sing you to sleep.

+

thank you for reading <3

masterlist

[little-de-vil]

The First Song (Lyrics and Explanation, oral and written)

The First Song

We come down from mountain-land Down to quarries, past the pine We swim by the river side and skip rocks from mountain mines We take the crystals and the stones Our lovers and loved ones, we’re not alone Us who live on top of good ‘ol mountain-land We hear word from down below, whispers of the life  The ones they lead, the ones who leave to desert, southern life We know not what will ‘come to them, but pray that all is well For foreign land is close at hand with war not endin’ well Yet some still stay in mountain-land, with miners and quarrymen And the old smith takes their men and wreaths it ‘round our land We climb into caves and mines And stand on quarry flats And keep our kin close at hand on good ‘ol mountain-land And in come new folk, bold and strong No hammer or pickaxe Just guns and armor, waving banners of country flag Ain’t got no space to hold ‘em, but they make space themselves Takin’ our homes, our pride, our love, our work They don’t do much in mountain-land ‘sides work us to the bone And push and shove their posca down our throats But I ain’t ever had a taste for the stuff Filled with poison to the brim of every cup No, I ain’t licking no boot or bowin’ down All I’m gon’ do is make my people proud Cut my rocks, mine my stones, hammer and anvil down My love to you, sweet mountain-land for all you’ve done for me I hope to pay it back someday, someday when we are free

I can’t remember how I came about writing this, I just know that I wanted a song that existed after the Dark Days right at the cusp of the Peacekeepers entering. I wanted it to be something that reads as if it’s being written throughout moments of time. The first part is closer to a pre-Dark Day sort of image where there is more freedom among the people and are openly practicing their culture. The second part is after the Dark Days, and the people are noticing the changes that are happening within their community and people are fleeing their native land because of that. For the third part I really wanted to have it be more present and more angry, and not as distant like the other verses with a firsthand view of the Peacekeepers coming in as an oppressive force and butchering their culture and their people. The last part, I wanted it to be more hopeful, but it is ultimately the most treasonous line out of the entire song, which is why it is usually hummed during this pre-harvest tradition and not sung. I wanted the locations to be important culturally, regardless of the song. I keep thinking of this post by @julietasgf where mountains are sacred, respected places for both the living and the dead (hence the ofrendas I mentioned in this post).

[e-dubbc11]

400 Follower Celebration | Song Lyric Prompts

*You know I'm a sucker for a good song lyric game. XD

Muse: Donald Pierce Song Lyrics: "I turn my back and you're messin' around. I'm not bein' jealous. Don't like lookin' like a clown." -Joan Jett & the Blackhearts ;)

If not that one, then here's another encouraging nudge from yours truly… ;)

Muse: Quinn Mckenna Song Lyrics: Runnin' just as fast as we can, holdin' onto one another's hand. Tryin' to get away into the night and then you put your arms around me and we tumble to the ground and then you say, "I think we're alone now."

LMAO! I couldn't resist. I figure that whole scenario would make for a great getaway scene that could lead to something hot and heavy with Quinn endin' up on top of the other muse or somethin'. LOL! Either way, I have absolute faith in your abilities to tap into both muses, sweetheart! Just have fun with it and go for whatever gets those juices flowin'! Happy 400 Followers, darlin'! *hugs tight and smooches yer cheek* MUAH! <333

DAX!!! Thank you so so much for following me and I know we haven’t had any lately (I’m sorry) but I love our little chats, they always make me smile 😊 I send you all the hugs and smooches right back to ya! ♥️

And thank you for sending in this prompt and being a part of my celebration . I chose Pierce for this one (maybe I’ll do Quinn too at some point) but I wanted to get this one out for you. But please be gentle, this is my first time writing for him. I hope you like it ♥️

I Hate Myself for Loving You

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Donald Pierce x F! Reader

Warnings: A swear word or two, bit of angst, fluffy bunnies and unicorns

Word Count: 2k-ish

Summary: Your new job at Alkali-Transigen has you crushing on the head of security

A/N: This is my first time writing for Pierce, I hope I did an ok job. Thank you for reading!

You accepted the job at Alkali-Transigen because it was the only place willing to hire you with little laboratory experience but you also hoped it would be temporary. You were very familiar with what they did there.

Yes, they were mutants but they were children. They didn’t have families, they grew up inside the facility, treated like science experiments, and were designed to be used as weapons.

But they were just kids and they deserved to grow up in a place where they could just be…kids, not in a holding room or being watched by armed guards outside their rooms.

Even though you didn’t work directly with the kids, you did everything you could to make them feel like someone cared like by bringing them candy, little toys, coloring books, and crayons.

You just felt bad for them and always wished you could do more.

Donald Pierce was head of security and leader of a militant group called the Reavers and when you saw him on your first day at Transigen, you were smitten even though you knew you shouldn’t be. Everyone told you to stay away from him but you didn’t listen.

You had heard he dated a couple of the nurses at Transigen that didn’t end well. And he was also the one they sent out to bring back anyone that tried to run, so you did your best to keep your head down and do the job you were hired to do.

Temporary…it’s only temporary.

He found you working on a Saturday morning in the lab, finishing up some paperwork you didn’t get done the day before.

“Oh…I’m sorry, darlin’. I didn’t know anyone else was here.” He said.

God, his accent was sexy. You played it cool though.

“Oh it’s alright, Mr. Pierce. I’m just finishing up and I’ll be leaving soon, if you need me out faster I can just—“ You stated before he cut you off.

“Now, now I didn’t say you had to leave. You just took me by surprise, is all. That’s not easy to do either. And Mr. Pierce is too formal for someone like me, so please call me Donald or Donnie is fine too. It’s nice to meet you Miss…” He trailed off.

You were hypnotized by his sly smile and southern charm but you snapped out of your trance long enough to answer him.

“Oh! It’s y/l/n…y/f/n y/l/n. I just started a month or so ago.”

One side of his mouth curled up into a slight smile.

“Oh no, I remember. You had your hair pulled back in a low bun that day and I noticed you had a little skull and crossbones pin on your lab coat there.” He said. “As you can see, I’m a fan of the skull and crossbones also.” Chuckling a little, he pointed to the tattoo on his throat.

His memory was impressive. There were a lot of new hires that started that day and he remembered you.

“You have a good memory Mr. Pierce.” You said, completely forgetting that he said it was alright you call him by his first name.

“Well, I never forget a pretty face.” He said with a warm smile, flashing his gold tooth.

Heat rose to your cheeks and warmth spread across your chest as you felt yourself turn different shades of red which is when he asked you to go out for a drink with him. It was the first of many dates with Donald Pierce.

He definitely did not look like Prince Charming, however he could be VERY charming and sweet. That slight southern drawl when he’d call you “sweetheart” or “baby,” made you weak in the knees. The bad boy type always enticed you, gripped you tightly and never wanted to let go and Donnie was no exception.

It was difficult to explain why you were attracted to a guy who had a mechanical arm, a throat tattoo, and a gold tooth but he really was handsome and his bad boy persona made him irresistible to you. He couldn’t be all bad though, could he?

But you weren’t the only one who found his bad boy image irresistible.

It seemed like everywhere you went together, women found Donnie attractive and they never tried to hide it either but what really upset you was when he would flirt back. Who knows what he did when you weren’t around. Maybe you were starting to regret not taking the advice from your co-workers, they did warn you after all.

You wondered if any of them had developed deeper feelings for Donnie so they hated seeing him with you and you hated the fact that you might be in love with him. Was he husband material? Or were you just having fun?

He hasn’t said what his feelings are toward you either so maybe it was just a fling and that’s why he flirted with other women. There was never talk of being exclusive and Donnie did seem like the guy you used as a fling between boyfriends rather than being an actual boyfriend.

He seemed to really like you too though.

“You haven’t run screamin’ for the hills yet but I’m not exactly the kinda guy you bring home to meet mom, ya know? The things Transigen has asked me to do…you don’t know the half of it, sweetheart. But I have to be a strong leader and I relay the orders I get to the Reavers. I can’t appear weak. I’m just not a good guy. I promise you, I do my best not to hurt them when I bring them back after they run.” He told you.

“I know the kind of work you do. I tell myself that ‘it’s just his job, it’s not all that he is’. You’re not a bad guy, Donnie.” You told him.

It scared you to think of telling him how you actually felt about him. He said he was surprised that you didn’t even flinch a little when he touched his mechanical hand to your skin. It was something that he was always a little ashamed of and it surprised you that he actually shared that with you.

“I’m not whole, darlin’.” He had said.

You had touched his mechanical hand, held it in yours and told him that it was just a part of him. It didn’t make him any less of a person in your eyes but he worried. He worried about hurting you, if he gripped your skin too tightly there wasn’t any sensation in his hand so he didn’t know how much pressure he was applying.

“I know you’d never hurt me, Donnie. You never have.” You had said.

But that was a lie.

True, he had never hurt you physically but emotionally, it hurt to watch him flirt with other women though and more than you cared to admit to. It wasn’t necessarily jealousy, it was just humiliating.

And it all boiled over one night when you met him out for dinner and drinks at your favorite local bar. Earlier on the phone, he said he was having a rough day and that he just wanted to relax with dinner and drinks with “his girl.”

As you stepped into the crowded bar, you scanned the crowd for Donnie and found him sitting at a low table in the dimly lit bar area. A wide smile stretched across your lips as you got closer to him but that smile disappeared when you saw the beautiful blonde in a short tight dress sitting across from him.

“There she is. Hey baby.” He waved and turned to the blonde and said, “you’re in her seat, darlin’.”

Your cheeks flamed with anger and your tightly clenched fists rested at your sides with your knuckles showing white.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Ya know what? I’ll go. You can have dinner with “legs” here.” You said, turning on your heels and heading for the door.

You heard him call out after you.

“Baby wait! Y/N!”

Suddenly, you felt cold hard metal wrap around your wrist and then your body was being pulled into the coat closet.

“Let go of me, Donnie…NOW!” You yelled.

He shook his head and pressed his lips together in a straight line before saying, “No, I’m not letting go until you tell me what the hell that was all about, sweetheart.”

He gazed down at you with his sky blue eyes, standing close enough to you that you were sharing the same air and because he was holding onto you with his mechanical arm, he couldn’t feel how hot your skin was from the pent up anger you’ve been holding on to for awhile now.

“I don’t like lookin’ like a fool, Donald! How do you think that makes me feel when you flirt with other women like that? And that’s not the first time!” You said, sternly.

Still holding onto your wrist, he replied, “They flirt with me, baby. I don’t wanna be rude. Are ya jealous?” He asked calmly.

“I’m not jealous, I’m embarrassed and I am mad at you and I hate myself for it because it’s not like we’ve ever talked about being exclusive or anything, so I know I don’t really have any right to be angry or jealous but...” You said trailing off with tears burning the back of your eyes and turning away from him so he wouldn’t see the tears that were about to spill over and streak down your cheeks.

He let go of your wrist and with his other hand turned your head toward him and tilted your chin up so you were looking into his eyes.

“Baby, I don’t want you to feel that way. Why would you say that you hate yourself?” He asked.

You inhaled sharply before letting out a long exhale.

“Because…I’ve fallen for you, Donnie.” You whispered. “And I’m afraid you don’t feel the same way because of the way you are always flirting with other women in front of me.”

Your tears had spilled over.

“Well, number one that’s no reason to hate yourself, I am pretty easy to fall for. It’s the accent isn’t it.” He said with a smug smile on his face as you rolled your eyes. But his tone changed as he said, “I really don’t mean to flirt back, I am just tryin’ be polite, darlin’ but I’ll do better because…I’ve fallen for you too, Y/N.” He said, brushing the tear away from your cheek.

Shaking his head, he said. “I don’t hear the L-word very often. But that is what you meant, right?”

You snaked your arms around his neck and gave him a warm smile.

“Yes Donnie, that’s what I meant.” You said and gently pressed your lips to his. “I do love you, ya know when you’re not sitting with hot blondes in tight dresses.”

He let out a little laugh.

“Your ass is the only one I wanna look at in a short tight dress. I love you, sweetheart.” He said.

You pulled him into a tight embrace and Donald winced in pain.

“Easy darlin’, I got shot today.” He said with a slightly wicked smile.

Your mouth dropped as you lifted his shirt and saw the bloody bandage on his oblique but it didn’t look bad.

“Is this what you meant earlier when you said you had a ‘bad day!!?’” You asked with concern in your voice.

He captured your lips again, his were warm and firm as his tongue parted your lips to tangle with yours. The bristles of his beard lightly tickled your cheeks, causing you to giggle. His mechanical hand gripped your waist tightly, pulling you flush with him while his other hand tangled in your hair.

He winked and gave you a sly smile, showing off his gold tooth. “It’s just a flesh wound, baby. C’mon, I’ll tell ya all about it over dinner.”

Tagging: @munsonownsmyass @ilovewhiteroses (I know you ladies love Boyd also) feel free to ignore 🤣

[billysgirllol]

“no, because they’re two different things.” lucy gray reiterates, “but you wouldn’t know that because whoever that girl is— well, you clearly didn’t love her or you would’ve stayed with her. and it was all in one night, so that tells me all you felt was lust. did you have any other girlfriends?” questioning to try and understand if he’s even felt love at all. the only way he has if he’s had another girlfriend she doesn’t know about. but that would mean he’d know the differences, wouldn’t it? then again, how did she know it, without experiencing either one. she didn’t know how she knew how, she just knew she was right about it though. “i thought he was cute, bein’ a coal miner— workin’ hard and putting a lot on the line. it takes someone brave to do that type of job so a little bit younger me thought that was just so swell. so fascinating and something to find attractive, i’m guessin’.” she awkwardly recalled all of it, shy doe eyes looking else where. but why was he snorting? that brought her attention back to him right away, with a tiny scowl on her soft features. why’d he look so pleased? “whenever he thinks i’m old enough to date boys. he says they ain’t mature enough yet…guess he was right about billy taupe.” so far this billy was more mature than billy taupe, other than being reckless with his body.

“i can’t do that, cause you already got one back wherever you crawled out from over that way.” she catches his wrist, pulling his hand away from her itchy nose due to his tap and points at him with her free hand. “and not me endin’ up bein’ a single mother, like flossy sue back over yonder.” the more annoyed she gets, the more her home accent grows thicker. and annoyance— something she’s GRATEFUL for because he just spoke about how he can arrange her having a baby which had her heart pounding in how bashful that made her feel. even if it was all just a joke. “mhm…well, they got no respect for themselves.” neither do men, but she couldn’t point that out because that would look like she was attacking him too. “it applies for all the species.” so he wouldn’t think she was just attacking women either. suddenly her attention picks up, becoming alert when the bottle splashes in the tub— oh well, probably a good thing because her father probably would notice. watching him get all bent out of shape, it starts successfully lifting amusement on her face, starting in her belly then a devious smile breaks across her lips without being able to help it. “well, hold on a second. if i didn’t care about that though, that’s what would happen.” surprise deepened in her eyes, brows shooting up. then he starts speaking spanish which encourages that surprise, “do what, billy antrim? i thought you were irish, not spanish.” she turned in place from where she was leaving, watching him avoid her. this was definitely what she’d call satisfaction. never did she find herself a revengeful person, but this must be the first time she enjoyed the thrill of it. getting him back for all of those things he said.

“or lust. i don’t think that’s love, i think that might just be lust. which are two different things.” the songstress points out, kind of feeling sad he thinks his body shouldn’t be treasured more. but that is all up to him, of course. it's not her thoughts to make him feel guilty for. “well, the attraction between me and billy taupe was there but i didn’t make a beeline to get his bloomers off.” her cheeks flushed, matching the same color as his. “hm… i thought i was. but that was all just because billy taupe was the first guy i saw. the preacher’s always made an effort to keep me from guys, until the ‘time’s right’.” she doesn’t think that’ll ever happen, he'll ever actually give her the announcement he's okay with her finding a boyfriend if she wants one. unless he picks the guy out for her which then…she’d have to run away. she’d have to leave all of her beloved animals behind and just run at that point.

“mhm…well, if that’s so. you need to get back on home to your two kids.” lucy gray gently scolds, finding her own self jealous. if he really was a dad, she’d find herself pretty mad right now. for disappearin' on the babies and for....something she couldn't put a finger on. “yeah, sure is. and so i won’t be known as the town’s hussy, so that’s a plus too.” saying passively, pursing her lips and gently sticking her nose up as she slowly looks the other way in disdain. cause that’s what that girl is to her, the one he got tangled up with. a hussy, a floozy. she bets his mama would feel the same cuddling up with floozies, too. but that'd be wrong to say out loud.

“so that’s how it goes, then.” accordin’ to him. now her mind is brewing up something good to say, that’ll probably embarrass them both. but it’ll be something worth it. “say you were attracted to me and me attracted to you… that’s what would happen? that’s what we’d do? and us bein’ these strangers still.” brows lift as she feels the heat on her ears touch her locks framing them. that sounds surreal, she can’t get past it he feels so differently when she feels how insane and embarrassing that'd be.

“well,” she thinks on it as he makes her sit back down, she really doesn’t want him cleaning it himself, “that’s fine…on a day when you’re not needin’ to rest and heal your body.” but she could tell he wouldn’t stop arguing her on that either, which was sweet but it wasn’t right while he’s still weak and just needs to rest. “i’ll tell you more about it soon,” he grabs his wrist to assist standing back up again, “but i’ll gather my pajamas first to get ready for my bath. and be careful- don’t get any glass in your skin too.”

[glade-newts]

How would you have made Newtmas canon if you were the creator of tmr books?

It starts with Newt bringing Thomas his dinner after he gets back from running the Maze. They sit and eat dinner together, talking about nothing in particular, just enjoying each other's company.

When Teresa arrives in the box, and Thomas seems so encaptured by her, Newt feels hurt. He asks Thomas if he knows her, not sure what answer he is looking for, but feeling betrayed either way.

Thomas sleeps in the woods at the corner of the walls to clear his mind. He wakes up to Newt- possibly the one person he cares about in the whole Glade, the one who has never been unkind to him- lying a few feet away from him, blankets put over both of them. When he asks Newt about it when he wakes up, the older boy just says "Figured you could use some company. That, and everyone's busy talkin' about bloody end times and all that stuff."

***

In the Scorch, Thomas and Newt remained close. As they walked miserably in the heat, Newt would be by Thomas's side, occasionally making snarky remarks about various things. Newt's humor was as dry as the ground they were walking upon, yet it never failed to make Thomas smile.

After their encounters with the Cranks, Thomas notices that Newt stays even closer now, almost like keeping an eye on him. At some point, Newt grabs a hold of Thomas's hand.

"Don't want you endin' up lost, Tommy."

But Thomas knew it was more like, "Don't want to lose you, too."

The nights are cold and bitter in the Scorch. Thomas is just glad no one says anything when he and Newt end up sharing a sleeping bag. For warmth, obviously.

They talk about their feelings, eventually. But, for two people who can't remember if they've ever loved before, it's difficult.

They're sitting by a campfire. It's gotten low and the whole group is tired. Newt and Thomas lightheartedly joke about the time Newt saved Thomas's ass from a Crank that wanted to eat his face off.

After a loud chuckle at some painfully British insult Newt threw at the creature, things grew quiet, and Newt's face changed from giddy laughter, to a genuine fondness.

"I'm glad you came up that box, Tommy."

And Thomas could joke, could say something like Yeah I got you guys the hell out of there, but this time was different. When he looked up at Newt's eyes- a color he never appreciated near enough as he should have, why did he only just notice- Thomas saw honesty, and he didn't want to ruin that.

"I'm glad you were one of the ones who believed me," Thomas said, and turned to lean his head on Newt's shoulder. Not looking into his eyes now, it felt easier to say, "And I'm glad you didn't throw me back down the box hole."

Newt snorted at that, a fond sound, and said, "Believe me, Thomas, I wanted to a few times but... I guess I just like ya too much." Against his shoulder, Thomas could almost feel Newt wince at the cheesiness of that last bit.

"Newt?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise me, when all this is over... when WICKED is done with us, if that ever happens... we'll still be close, right?"

Newt rested his cheek against Thomas's head. "Of course, Tommy. You won't get rid of me that bloody easily."

-

This is a bit all over the place, but here you go! I just think they care about each other so much until both of them are like "oh wait, i love him"

Thanks for the ask!

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Life size mannequin.

Erik’s girl uses him as a mannequin but Erik takes it too far and it back fires.

If you were to ask Y/N how she gets everything done she wouldn’t be able to give you a straight forward answer. Juggling school, a full time job, and a side hussle isn’t for the delicate and inadequate. Staying up until 2 AM with flash cards sprawled out on the living room table and a ratty mannequin head between her legs every night, Y/N fights much needed rest to recharge for the next days events. That’s not the only thing her teeming life has to offer. Y/N’s new boyfriend, Erik would be seen as a distraction to some but she can hold her own without slacking on her studies, missing a days work, or forgetting to do a clients hair. He’s handsome, fun, intriguing, smart, and that dick...it needs its own SSN and certificate. It’s own area code even. If she had to admit it, whenever her mind drifted to their bodies tangled in her sheets, moaning and groaning, she lost focus just a little bit.

Y/N is off on a Friday for once and instead of catching up on rest, Y/N decided to use her entire day making a closure wig for a friend and client. It’s a 24 inch body wave natural black lace frontal. No shedding, very soft, bouncy, with overall great quality. If only her lousy mannequin head would keep still!!! Y/N gave up after the mannequin head slipped from her grip. She usually has a wig stand with a mannequin head attached to the end but all of them are covered with other wigs that didn’t need to be ruined. The old fashioned way brought her back to how frustrating it was to practice. And to make things worse, Erik is strolling back and forth in front of her naked after his shower and completely ignoring her closet stocked with plenty of towels. When he stopped in front of her, his strapping thighs and that lethal weapon dangling she felt her face grow warm and her belly grow butterflies.

“You’re not helping, jerk,” Y/N said as she continued sewing. She was almost finished.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days and the one time I have a chance to spend time with you, this is what you do.”

“This wig is past due, Erik. I was supposed to get this to her two days ago. Thank God she had some shit going on herself otherwise I would be losing a client.”

Erik gave up trying to seduce Y/N and grabbed a pair of briefs from his travel bag.

“Whatever, you owe me some after this,” Erik sat down on the bed, leaning on one elbow, “You really into this.”

“And?” Y/N sassed.

“I’m just saying. Why not be a full time hair stylist?”

“Because I don’t want to do this for a living. Why else would I be in school for something that has nothing to do with hair? It’s just money to make on the side.”

The mannequin slipped again and Erik burst out laughing.

“I wanna see you try it since you find my struggle funny.”

“Oh, you don’t want me to do it I’ll fuck that whole wig up.”

Y/N ignored his smart remark.

“I’ll come over there and mess that shit right up and make you start over.”

“Erik, I’m not in the mood right now leave me alone,” Y/N cut her eyes at him, “Try me if you want I will take the end of this needle and dig it in one of them keloids. Make it pop like bubble wrap, think I’m playing.”

“You forget you’re talking to someone with a pain kink. Why you think my pain receptors fucked up?”

“So, you mean to tell me, if I boil some hot water right now and pour it on your leg...you wouldn’t feel pain?”

Erik frowned his face into a mug at Y/N as he cocked his head back. The widening of his eyes is what made her giggle.

“You don’t know how to love me all you wanna do is hurt a nigga. What is wrong with you?”

“I’m only messing with you—”

“No you’re not. If I say some shit you don’t like I get slapped upside my head. If I want to be in a playing mood you threaten me with that little fist of yours. Just admit it, you enjoy tormenting me.”

“You’re so Goddamn dramatic,” Y/N tilted her mannequin head forward, “Can you do me a huge favor?”

“If it involves getting up off this bed the answer is fuck no,” Erik said while lying on his back now with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed.

“I already know you’re about to say no but...I want you to let me use you as my mannequin.”

“Huh?”

The way his voice rose an octave has Y/N laughing.

“Can you let me put this wig on you so I can finish this?”

Erik’s brows shot up as his eyes landed on her, “Why? So you can sneak and take a picture? I’m not falling for that.”

“Erik c’mon now. I just need your head for a second and that’s it.”

“I can think of other ways you can use my head but instead you wanna put some weave on me.”

Erik sat up and swung his legs around to face Y/N. Erik leans forward on his knees, staring at the wig with a steady blink.

“What size is that shit anyway? You know I have locs so...how the hell is that supposed to fit on my head?”

“I’ll just...fit it over that pineapple on top of your head.”

“Jokes,” Erik reached up and took out the elastic band that held his tapered locs. Shaking his head, his locs fell over his eyes, “I’m not putting that on my head.”

“Not even for me?” Y/N pouts, “Not your favorite girl?”

“I know you, Y/N. You’re gonna put that shit on my head, take a picture, and post it. I’m not falling for the shit. I told you that.”

“Whatever. You got a big ass dome anyway and this wig is average size.”

“Now you’re tryna clown me?” Erik said with a half smirk on his full lips flashing a bit of his gold canines.

“It’s like...mad wide from front to back...no wonder you keep your hair long—”

“I know you ain’t talking shit with that ginormous ass forehead, girl.”

“I thought you said all the fine girls got big foreheads?” Y/N bat her lashes at Erik.

“That’s what’s helping you out. First time I saw you I was thinking damn, this bitch got a big ass forehead. And don’t think I forgot about how you played me when you sent that cropped picture.”

“Boy, fuck you!!” Y/N shouted over Erik’s laughter.

“I was—I was looking at the picture like where the rest of her face go?!”

Y/N glared at Erik as he dissolved into laughter.

“It’s really not that funny. Now are you gonna help me or not?!”

“Aight, I’ll do it this one time.” Erik sat up with one hand resting against his abdomen while the other wiped away tears, “Where do you want me?”

“On the floor between my legs, DUH where the fuck else would you be?”

He began dying laughing again from Y/N’s obvious annoyance. Erik took his place on the floor while Y/N climbed behind him onto the bed with each leg dangling on either side of him. Y/N takes the wig from the mannequin and before she placed it on Erik she tilted his head back more for easier access. Grabbing the half-done wig, Y/N fluffed out the ends before arranging it over Erik’s locs. Even at their short length it was a challenge to fit the wig the way she needed it.

“Can you PLEASE keep still?” Y/N prompted.

“I’m not even moving. This wig just don’t fit.”

Y/N applied force and wiggled it over his locs causing Erik’s head to rock back and forth aggressively. He growled before reaching behind him to grab her hands. The wig looked much shorter on him in the back from how prominent his back and shoulders are. Erik turned to face her with his lips tight and face frowned, the wig making him look ridiculous and silly. Y/N folded her lips into her mouth but the urge to laugh caused her cheeks to puff out.

“If only you knew how tight my fucking head feels right now. I can’t even smile without this shit feeling like my scalp is being pulled. This better come off when we’re done or that’s your ass.”

“Erik, turn around. I only have one section to do and then you’re free. Next time, don’t ask me to help you with shit if you’re gonna act like this.”

Erik sucked his teeth and faced forward so Y/N could continue. He lowered his head so she could work on the back area.

“Can I ask you something, babe?” Y/N said.

“What?” Erik replied.

“Do you mind modeling this for me—”

“See, I knew this shit—”

Erik stood up before Y/N could wrap her arms around him. He walked over to the full body mirror in her room to look at himself and that’s when he couldn’t hold back his own laughter.

“Yo, what the fuck do you have on my head!” Erik played with the strands while turning his head from side to side, “I look like James Brown, AYE!!!!”

Y/N was in stitches when he mimicked James Brown in the mirror. She fell back against her bed hollering from the way he looked.

“Nah, I’m not drunk right now I need to be drunk to enjoy this,” Erik leaned into the mirror, “I look better than half the bitches that come in here to get their hair done. Let me find out.”

“You are so STUPID!!!!” Y/N yelled between giggles.

“I’ll be back,” Erik left the room with the wig swaying from side to side since it wasn’t fully secure.

“Where are you going?!” Y/N shouted from the bed.

Erik didn’t respond to her loud voice. When he returned two minutes later he had a cup in one hand and his bottle of Hennessy in the other. Erik sat both the cup and the bottle on Y/N’s cluttered dresser to make himself a drink.

“This was supposed to be a quick thing now you’re drinking.”

Y/N watched Erik from her relaxed spot on the bed. Erik took two sips of his drink before standing in front of her mirror again.

“What are you doing?!”

Y/N couldn’t even finish her words when Erik started shimmying his shoulders and snapping his fingers to a soundless beat. Hooting with laughter Y/N could feel wetness on her cheeks.

“IM DONE!!!”

“This shit give bad bitches super powers.” Erik said

“Let me find out you wanna wear a weave now.” Y/N jokes.

Erik brought his cup to his lips and drank more Hennessy while moving his hips. This was too good not to get a video. With Erik being his usual silly self, Y/N snatched up her phone from the floor before pulling up her Instagram to record him. On her story, Y/N focused the camera on her boyfriend when he started singing the lyrics to Lady Marmalade.

“Gitchi gitchi, ya ya, da da. Gitchi gitchi, ya ya, here!!”

“Oh my God!!” Y/N cried out with a chuckle before ending the video. She uploaded it to her story before quickly tossing her phone towards the end of the bed.

“Creole Lady Marmalade!!!!!!!!”

“You hardly had anything to drink and you’re acting like this? Lord.”

“Aight, I’m done for now,” Erik made his way back over to Y/N with his cup, “put on a movie or something.”

“Ohhhhhh!!! So you’re asking me to pick this time?! I get to make a decision, Erik?! Wowwwwwwwww!!!”

“Girl, shut up.”

Y/N chose a random movie for background noise while she finished. She was surprised at how content he was and it made her consider asking him to help more in the future. It was fun and it made her laugh. That’s one thing about Erik that she adores. He matches her sense of humor. Y/N heard a vibration and when she glanced over to look at her phone the screen is still black. Between her legs she could see Erik staring at a text message from his Lock Screen

“What the fuck is this nigga talking ‘bout.”

“Erik keep still—”

“Nigga who is Miss Man?!”

Y/N paused to peer over Erik’s shoulder.

“This nigga just called me Miss Man from Scary Movie.”

Erik tapped on the microphone on his keyboard to speak.

“Who the fuck randomly texts somebody that at 11 PM? Fucking weirdo ass nigga. Let me find out you want Miss Man for yourself.”

“Who is Miss Man— OH! The PE teacher that was sniffing the underwear?!!! hahahahahahahahahahaha!!!”

“This nigga...he said all you need is the underwear, skirt, nails, and makeup—wait.”

“And some long ass balls!!” Y/N snickered.

Erik whipped his head around and when Y/N met his fiery eyes she swallowed her laugh and it left an uncomfortable lump in her throat.

“Did you post me online wearing this wig, Y/N?”

“No.”

“I’m gonna ask you again. Did you post me online in this wig?

“Mm—mm. I did no such thing.”

“Then let me see your phone.”

Erik reached out for Y/N’s phone but she snatched it away. Erik moved his head to the side to flip some of the wig hair form his face but it fell forward again disobeying him.

“Did I? Uhhhh—OKAY OKAY!!”

It happened so fast. Erik has Y/N by the waist and up in the air.

“Yes, I did!! I’ll delete it.”

“You don’t listen to shit I tell you to do—”

“It was cute! You looked cute with it on—”

“You know what’s about to happen right?! I told you not to do that shit!”

“Erik, it’s all in fun. I’ll get rid of it—”

“That shit is embarrassing! What if I posted you online at your worse?”

“I don’t have a bad moment I always look good.” Y/N sasses.

“Says the girl that always complains about me taking off guard pics.”

“Erik, you’re not even at your worse. You act like I posted you looking bummy!”

Y/N kept her word and went to Instagram to delete. When she got there, she was met with at least ten DMs replying to her story.

Corythemua_: gurllll who is that? 👀 ooooh he is fione!!! Is he into guys?

Jermaine_87: Wtf is he doing?! 🤣🤣🤣🤣 let me text this nigga

Katriceee: how did you convince him to do this?! LOL

Amethyst1993: when he find out about this you are in trouble girl!!!

“did you delete the video yet?! Don’t let me find out it’s still there!”

“It’s gone! Happy?! What happened to being in a playing mood?!!”

“Now all my friends texting me and clowning me! You play too many games. Hurry up and help me take this shit off!”

Erik brushed some strands from his lips with his fingertips and Y/N squealed. Nothing he could say or do would make her listen. He looked absolutely hilarious with the wavy tresses of the wig moving in tandem with his brawny physique.

“Erik, I can’t take you seriously with that wig on.”

“Then take this off!!”

Erik attempts to pull it off but suddenly stops when he realizes he needs help.

“I want this shit off now, Y/N.”

“FINE! Come here.”

Y/N tapped the floor with her foot for Erik to take a seat. When he does, Y/N does the opposite of what he asks and begins to place his hair into two buns. She silently laughed behind him, praying that he wouldn’t hear her falling apart. When she was finished, Erik assumed she was done because he didn’t feel the hair tickling his skin. When he stood up to look in the mirror, Erik groaned loudly at his appearance before flexing his jaw at her threateningly to make her listen. It didn’t work at all for him. She couldn’t stop laughing.

“You look so crazy!!!!!” Y/N hugged her sides and rolled on the bed with laughter, “And that evil look is making it even funnier!!”

“I’m about to beat your ass if you don’t take this shit off!!! It wouldn’t be funny if this shit stuck now would it?!!! I gotta go to work and all that nah take this off—

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“Aight, are you finished?!” Erik said impatiently.

“Baby...you don’t understand...oh my God.”

“Y/N, for real, take this dumb ass wig off before I cut it off!”

“Okay okay!! Before I do...you gotta do one last thing for me...pretty please? With caramel sauce and a cherry on top? I’ll do whatever you want if you do this last thing for me.”

“.....”

“PLEASE BABY?!!”

“.....”

“Erik, look, it’ll be funny! I just want you to cat walk for me and then I’m done—”

“Ahhhhh HELL no—”

“Please—”

“For what?! So you can keep laughing?!”

“I’ll suck your dick, lick your balls—”

“Girl, that won’t work on me—”

“You sure about that?”

Y/N poked her tongue out and started doing tricks with it to show off her tongue ring. Erik’s eyes squinted at her but she could tell from his breathing that he wouldn’t be able to fight it much longer. He even said so himself that her head game makes him weak and no woman before her has ever made him weak.

“...from here to the bed and that’s it.”

Y/N smiled victoriously.

Erik placed his hands on his tapered waistline before lowering his head. Y/N could hear him silently laughing to himself before he lifted his head displaying an adorable dimpled smile. He started strutting towards Y/N with stiff hips and two left feet. All this from her flicking her tongue. Y/N stared at him with her mouth hanging open and eyes wide. He had a focused look on his face and the wig with its two buns flopped up and down messily like bunny ears. He struck a pose with his hip jutted out before he started to vogue. At that point, Y/N couldn’t take it any longer. She had to grab onto Erik so she could catch her breath. Soon, Erik’s deep laugh could be heard.

“You get on my nerves,” Erik sat beside Y/N, “now, can you take this off of me?!”

“Turn around,” Y/N took down the buns before carefully sliding the wig off from front to back, “You’re off the hook after that I’m gonna go back to using this mannequin head.”

“Yeah, finish up so I can spank that ass for posting me on social media.”

Y/N did a double take, “I’m still in trouble?!”

“Yeah, you’re not off the hook.”

The remaining time Y/N finished her clients wig, she thought up all possible ways he could punish her this time.

“Can I have a kiss?” Y/N asked with a sweet sounding voice.

“Yes,” Erik poked his thick, moist lips out and Y/N pressed her soft lips against them.

“Mmm...still in trouble, ma,” Erik whispered.

[ejzah]

A/N: This idea came to me after hearing “Bad Habits” by Ed Sheeran. He’s not usually my favorite, but a couple lyrics spoke to me. Set sometime between Kensi being rescued from Afghanistan and “Humbug”.

My bad habits lead to late nights, endin' alone

Conversations with a stranger I barely know

Swearin' this will be the last, but it probably won't

I got nothin' left to lose, or use, or do

My bad habits lead to wide eyes stare into space

And I know I'll lose control of the things that I say

Yeah, I was lookin' for a way out, now I can't escape

Nothin' happens after two, it's true, it's true

My bad habits lead to you

***

Bad Habits

Deeks knows it’s a terrible idea. It’s after 11 at night, he needs to work in the morning, yet he’s driving to Kensi’s apartment anyway. All it took was a four-word text, “What are you doing?”, and he was already reaching for his keys.

It doesn’t matter that he’s promised himself he wouldn’t respond anymore. That he wouldn’t drop everything and anything he was doing to see Kensi. Even though it makes the ache in his chest grow stronger every time.

As he stands outside her door, waiting for her to answer his quiet knock, he pulls in a deep breath. He dreads this moment just as much as he anticipates it.

“Hey,” Kensi says, looking relieved when she sees him. Like she wasn’t sure if he’d actually follow through this time. As usual, she’s dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt with half the letters worn off. Something in Deeks’ chest clenches at the sight of her. It’s so much worse than during the day, when they have work and other people to distract them.

He follows her in, sits on one end of the couch while Kensi grabs a beer. There’s an open bag of pretzels and an empty takeout container on the table, suggesting that Kensi has been camped out for some time.

When she comes back, she puts two bottles of beer on the table, and then sits on the opposite side of the couch.

“So, what are we watching tonight?” he asks, resting his head on his fist. He’s tired, in more way than one. “Models or bad cooks?”

“Actually, I found this version of the Scarlett Pimpernel I used to watch with my dad, sometimes,” she says, flipping to a different channel. Deeks raises an eyebrow at the period costumes that fill the screen, which definitely isn’t in Kensi’s normal wheelhouse. “It’s set around the French Revolution,” Kensi continues.

Deeks would like to say that he’s not interested as she explains the premise of the movie, but that would be an outright lie. He’s thrilled to learn another little thing about her, that she’s willing to share another piece of herself with him.

At some point, the distance between them begins to shrink,-Deeks restlessly shifts a few inches towards the center, Kensi moves closer to whisper something in his ear-until Kensi’s leaning against his shoulder. Her body heat is overwhelming and simultaneously not enough. Deeks wants to pull her closer just as much as he needs to move away. He does neither.

Kensi snuggles in closer, both of them pretending that there’s absolutely nothing wrong, that this doesn’t cross the shaky boundaries they’ve established. It would be so easy to turn his head just a little. Kensi’s cheek, her lips, are so close.

She sighs, head shifting on his shoulder, falling onto his chest, as Kensi succumbs to sleep. He wants to kiss her so badly, to hold her like he’s only been allowed to on a few occasions. He wants this. All the time and not just in the few moments when they let their control slip.

Closing his eyes against a fresh wave of regret, Deeks starts to maneuver his way out from under Kensi, needing to escape. Just as he frees one arm, one of Kensi’s hands clenches in his shirt.

“Where you going?” she mumbles, eyes still closed, barely awake, but concern in her voice. Deeks stops immediately, even though he could easily pull free.

“Nowhere,” he lies, resting his hand on her back. “Go back to sleep.” She settles back in with a contented sigh.

His heart aches more than ever and he knows that it will be so much worse in the morning when they pretend it never happened. It kills every time he leaves in the early morning, “friends” once more.

Every time he swears he won’t do it again and every time he fails.

It’s a bad habit. One he can’t ever seem to break.

***

A/N: Lyrics from “Bad Habits” by Ed Sheeran.

[lilfellasblog]

King Roman and the Fake Harem

Summary: King Roman has enemies directly outside his walls, pressure from inside his walls to get a harem, and no solution in sight. Until he sees the solution has been right under his nose the entire time. This is the story of how an aroace King gets a harem of advisors.

A/N: If you liked this, please reblog. It is the only way to help this fic reach a wider audience.

TW: Two brief instances of sexual harassment, one instance of groping, swearing (because Virgil), and people sneering at sex workers/ presumed sex workers.

Word count: 2385

AO3 here!

Fic Masterlist here!

King Roman sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Ugh, give me a few hours to think of something,” he groaned.

His lead advisor that he’d inherited from his father, who Roman refused to refer to as anything but Orange, protested “But sir, we need a decision soon. It’s already been a week since enemy troops positioned themselves just outside our walls, and we’ve done little besides ask them to leave. That, on top of your lack of harem-”

“I’ll have something for you in two hours, regarding the troops,” Roman said, waving Orange away.

Orange huffed and spun on his heel, leaving the throne room grumbling. Roman brushed a hand over his face. A week into being king and the enemy decides to attack? The nerve!

“You know, if you roll out the catapults to the front gate, that would take care of the troops outside the walls on that side, and then you could concentrate your archers on the rear of the kingdom walls.”

Roman looked over to the side of his throne. Sir Virgil had been his best knight, until he’d been shot by an arrow that had permanently damaged his shoulder. That was 4 weeks ago, he was still in a sling, and ever since he’d been released from the medical wing he’d been making his lack of work everyone else’s problem.

Roman raised an eyebrow. “And just how would you propose moving the catapults from the armory down 100 feet of stairs to the front entrance, hm?”

Sir Virgil shrugged. “Ramps.”

Roman stopped short. Oh, he’s smart. “...very well.” He appraised Virgil. He’ll never be able to be a knight again and he needs something to do, and he’s not too unfortunate-looking… “How would you like a job?”

/////

Virgil adjusted the silks that hid exactly nothing of his upper body so they’d sit comfortably over his still-bandaged arm and shoulder. He was about to join his first ever advisor meeting, and he was beyond nervous. He’d been rather enjoying his life as the first member of Roman’s harem (that so far hadn’t even resulted in a single flirtatious remark, which Virgil wasn’t complaining about but he was certainly confused by), and he didn’t want to do anything to fuck it up.

“Ready?”

Virgil jumped and hissed through his teeth as his shoulder was jostled by the sudden movement.

Roman was frowning. Before Virgil could apologize, Roman asked, “Are you alright? I can have a healer come over. If you’d prefer to sit out this meeting and rest, that would be a more than acceptable course of action.”

Virgil was stunned. “Huh?”

Roman nodded at him. “Your shoulder, it seems to be causing you pain.”

“Oh! It’s not too bad, I’ll be fine. Still getting used to not moving it too much.”

Roman laughed. “Yes, that I have been witness to. Are you ready?”

“Yeah. Do I need to walk, like, meekly or whatever?” Virgil asked, cheeks already heating up at the future humiliation.

A look of disgust came over Roman. “No, I wouldn’t expect that of anyone under my employ.”

Virgil let out a breath. “Alright, cool cool.”

The meeting started out as expected, a few snickers from his former co-workers who were still knights, but nothing Virgil couldn’t ignore. Virgil recognized Orange by his blaze orange ensemble that hurt his eyes (no wonder Roman refused to give Virgil his actual name). When it came time to discuss military tactics, Roman spoke first.

“I would like to introduce my military advisor, Sir Virgil. Sir Virgil, if you would, please announce your strategy for driving off the enemies.”

Before Virgil could get a word out, Virgil’s former boss blurted out, “You’re trusting your military strategy with a common whore?!”

Virgil levelled him with his best death glare. “Call me that again and I’ll cut off your balls and shove them down your throat.”

Only Virgil was close enough to hear the King swallow his laughter at the general’s paling face. Roman cleared his throat and spoke.

“To answer your question, yes. Sir Virgil, if you wouldn’t mind continuing?”

Virgil smirked. “Gladly.” For the next 20 minutes, Virgil confidently discussed his strategy with the catapults and archers, fielded questions, and specified the ideal placements. As the meeting drew to a close and Roman went to do the obligatory schmoozing with top leaders (Virgil noticed with glee how the military personel scrambled to get out, supposedly to “update the troops”), the Lead Advisor of Common Education approached Virgil. Virgil did the customary respectful bow, which the advisor returned.

“I trust King Roman is treating you well?” he inquired, blue eyes sparkling from beneath a sandy fringe.

“Yes, very much so. This fucked up rotator cuff is the best thing to happen to me,” Virgil internally winced at his choice of words. Gonna have to work on that.

The advisor just laughed. “I suppose it must be! Surely, being part of a harem is much more comfortable than being a knight.”

Virgil shrugged, and winced as he once again forgot about his injured shoulder. “Yeah, it is. I’m just glad I can help in some capacity by being a strategic advisor.”

“Yes, yes, that must be quite fun for you,” the advisor purred. Virgil bristled at his condescending tone. “Do let me know if you require more… attention than what King Roman provides.”

Virgil wrinkled his face. He focused on Roman, and heard his attention was on Orange who was insisting that one person could hardly be considered a harem. “I think I’m good.”

“Oh, of course, of course, but do keep me in mind.” And before Virgil realized what was happening, the advisor had patted his ass.

Virgil used his good arm to grab the man’s offending hand, twist him around, bring him to his knees, and place a foot on the middle of his back.

“Ow! You stupid whore, get off-”

“What is the meaning of this?!” King Roman thundered.

Virgil released the advisor. “This guy was perving all over me, and I get I’m part of a harem but I don’t stand for that shit.”

“It was just a love tap!”

King Roman’s face was red with anger. “Sir Virgil, he encroached on your person?”

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“You are relieved of your duties.”

Virgil sagged while the advisor smiled smugly. Welp, the grapes and silk were fun while they lasted. “Yeah, okay.”

Roman jerked back a bit in confusion. “What? No, you,” he glared at the now-ex-advisor.

The advisor was aghast. “Excuse me? How dare you!”

“How dare you, touching a man without his consent and then having the gall to speak to me in such a tone!”

Virgil was in too much shock to process the rest of the conversation. He came back to his senses just outside the medical wing. Roman was instructing the doctor to recheck Virgil’s bandages as they didn’t seem to quite hold his shoulder still, and sighed in relief when he caught Virgil watching them.

“Virgil, there you are! Are you alright? Say the word, and I’ll arrange for you to speak with our mind doctor.”

Virgil blinked a few times.

Roman turned back to the doctor. “Could he have gone into shock? Does he need-”

Virgil shook his head to unfreeze his brain. “No, I’m fine. I’ve had people trying to kill me, part of the job, I’m okay.”

King Roman furrowed his brow. “Are you sure? Truly, if you need to talk to someone-”

Virgil held his good hand up. “I’m fine, promise. I’ll talk to someone later if I need to.”

Roman sighed in relief. “Thank goodness. Oh! The military is deploying your strategy as we speak! I thought I’d let you know before the good doctor looked you over.”

“Dope! Wait, what?”

King Roman was walking away. “I’ll see you once you’re tended to!” he called over his shoulder.

“What are you talking about, my shoulder… actually kinda hurts, okay fine.”

/////

One successful defeat of an opposing military later, and Roman had removed yet another advisor from his circle for creepy behavior.

“Hey Princey, I appreciate you defending my honor and shit, but that was the Lead Advisor of Trade,” Virgil began.

“And I’m better off without him!” Roman declared.

Virgil scratched his chin. “I mean yeah, but also you have a trade meeting with neighboring kingdoms coming up in a week, and two days after that you have an internal trade meeting with surrounding villages and the farmers within the city walls.”

Roman started stretching his arms and back in a way Virgil had identified meant he was stressed. “And there has been even more talk of my small harem, which does not bode well for external negotiations,” Roman murmured to himself.

Virgil shifted. “Yeah, that. Why don’t you just have your new advisors be part of your harem like me?”

Roman paused. “That’s… brilliant! Thank you Virgil!”

Virgil shrugged. “Yeah, no problem. It’s a pretty sweet gig. Although I don’t know why you haven’t-” he cut himself off with an awkward cough.

King Roman looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m afraid I’m not… particularly interested in those activities. I apologize if I’ve disappointed you.”

Virgil let out a breath. “I mean, I’m kinda relieved, not that you’re not hot! But I’d rather not break my two rules.”

Roman preened at the compliment. “What are your two rules?”

“Don’t shit where you eat and don’t fuck where you work.”

“Ah.”

“Look, there might be enough time to get someone else up to speed before the trade meetings. But you’ll have to choose someone quickly.”

Roman sat down in his throne and looked skyward in thought. “Are you familiar with Patton Hart? He’s already organized the internal farmers into their current union. What of him?”

Virgil remembered running into him right after a difficult mission and somehow ending up with a bag of tomatoes, a bag of bell peppers, and strict instructions to bathe and sleep. “Yeah, he’s a good guy.”

“How do you think he’d do as an advisor?”

Virgil didn’t have to think for long. “I think he’d be awesome. Want me to talk to him?”

“If you’d be so kind. And please assure him that his role would be strictly as an advisor.”

Virgil smirked. “You mean a shirtless advisor.”

Roman turned beet red, and Virgil cackled.

/////

Before Virgil knew it, the harem quarters weren’t so lonely. Patton had agreed to join, very happy with the wardrobe and quickly making a name for himself. Patton had, in turn, recommended Logan Logos to replace the other creepy advisor. Logan had run a very successful pre-K Montessori program before joining the palace harem, and he fit in with the rest of the advising circle well, already creating reforms to account for diverse learning styles. In fact, Virgil had noticed that the advisors who weren’t part of the harem started taking him and Patton more seriously once the proper and strong Logan had joined them.

The day of the inter-kingdom trade meeting had come, and Logan and Virgil would both be attending along with Patton. Everyone was nervous about how the sweet and gentle Patton would do at such a fierce and antagonist event.

Virgil’s shoulder was out of the cast and sling, although it was still tender. He clapped a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “Go get ‘em,” he said, trying to be encouraging.

Patton flushed. “Thanks Vee.”

The meeting began, along with the customary hour-long political niceties, and finally it came time for the trade advisors to speak on their leaders’ behalf.

Virgil ground his teeth at the open snickering of Patton’s garb, and he could tell Logan and Roman were feeling the same way. Patton, however, seemed to be unaffected by it all. As expected, the Kingdom of Fiery Fields spoke first.

“King Roman, we propose a 5% increase of taxes for the crops we export to your kingdom, lest we cease all wheat exports to you.”

“You may call me Advisor Hart, and for what reason? We already pay you 12% more for your crops than other kingdoms.”

The platinum blonde man stared at Patton with haughty hazel eyes. “Because, Advisor Hart,” he sneered. “our crops are unmatched in quality!”

Patton nodded his head. “Fair point. I suppose you won’t mind a moratorium on all exports of our steel to your kingdom then?”

It was as if all the air was sucked out of the room.

Platinum Blonde was outraged. “You wouldn’t!”

“Actually, we would. You are now meeting with the new King’s new advisory circle, and we won’t stand for pointless tax increases that a review of the books show only go to pay the noblewomen you’re cheating on your wife with,” Patton stated, smiling sweetly the entire time.

Half of the trade advisors around the table laughed, while the other half gawked. Platinum Blonde backed down, and the trade meeting lasted for only 2 days instead of the typical 3 since Patton effectively shut down any ego-based bullshitting that occurred.

/////

Virgil and Patton were taking turns trying to toss grapes into each others’ mouths, laughing, while Logan pretended to be irritated by their antics. The doors opened suddenly to show Orange, in his eye-burning all-orange ensemble.

“Hiya!” Patton chirped, hiding his own discomfort. They were all intensely disliked by Orange, who seemed to blame them for Roman not being interested in sex or romance.

Orange sniffed. “Advisor Logos, the noble King would like to extend his congratulations on the tax reform that redirected many of the fees of our noblepeople to educational supplies.”

Logan nodded at him. “Thank you. I’m quite proud of that myself and am very glad it came to fruition. Was their anything else you required, Advisor Wrath?”

“What?!” Virgil and Patton shouted at the same time. They whipped their heads over to Orange.

“No. Good day.” With that, Orange - or rather, Advisor Wrath - left their room.

Virgil and Patton turned back to Logan, who was seemingly reading again.

“Dude what the fuck-”

“How the heck did you know?!”

Logan just raised an eyebrow while continuing to read. “I have a way of finding things out,” he said, looking up for a second to smirk at them before going back to his book.

Virgil and Patton decided to not test Logan’s abilities.

[musehyacinthus]

Shoot Your Shot: Part 1

This is my first published work in over a decade, and I'm so excited to share it with everyone! Dash is my oldest and most treasured oc, and I'm so happy that I finally have the confidence to allow everyone else a peek into her life. This was originally supposed to be a short one shot, but is now going to be a 2(?) part series. I will hopefully be posting more work in the future that explores more of her background, as well as introducing some of my other oc's.

It was June, and the air was warm and sticky, which wasn’t ideal; the humidity made Dash’s hair all frizzy, and it always seemed to happen on a day when she wanted to make meringue.

This morning in particular, her eyes snapped open, bolting upright in her bed with a gasp. She had been having the most amazing dream, in which she was about to take a bite of the biggest, most beautiful lemon meringue pie she had ever seen. However, just as the fork reached her mouth, she woke up, returning to the sad reality where she did not have a mouth watering dessert in front of her. She smacked her lips, trying to recall what the pie had tasted like, but it was already gone. Tragic.

It was then that it dawned on her that she had the ingredients to bring that beautiful pie to life in the kitchen. In an instant, she rushed to her bedroom window. Maybe, if she was lucky, the weather would be on her side today. She pried open the window, a warm, thick breeze blowing against her skin. She groaned. No good; meringue wouldn’t peak in the humidity. No matter how good at baking someone is, they’re no match for mother nature. Pursing her lips, she pulled the latch shut, deciding to settle for banana bread muffins instead.

A couple of hours later, the muffins were nestled in her bag as she hopped off the trolley that crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Thanks!” Dash chirped to the driver, exchanging waves with the man before she bounced away, not noticing the large, gray clouds looming on the horizon.

She clicked her tongue rhythmically as she walked, matching the beat to her steps and scanning the docks for her friend, Twitchy. The purpose of her trip had been to return a book he lent her, but he was nowhere to be seen.

A group of four other teenagers had gathered nearby at the edge of the docks, crouching in a large circle on the ground. Curious, she inched forward, craning her neck to see what was going on.

As she approached, she could see they were surrounding a long piece of brown string that was tied in a circle, surrounding a cluster of marbles.

Her heart skipped a beat. She was fantastic at marbles! She always kept her own pouch on her in case of a marble emergency, which happened more often than one might think.

Now that she was closer, Dash knew the kids to be Newsies like herself from her other visits to the borough. Among the group was a short, round faced girl with glasses and hundreds of freckles who Dash remembered was named Abigail. Her curly, brown hair was pulled back into two braids, her eyebrows knit with frustration as she gazed down at the ring. There was also a pale, skinny boy with sandy, blond hair and brown eyes that Dash didn’t recognize, and a tall boy with broad shoulders and dark hair standing just behind Abigail and watching the game intently. The way he hovered over her, he seemed almost like a bodyguard. What was his name again? Something with a chuh sound…. Chuck? No. Chatter! That was it! She remembered now, she found it funny the first time she learned it because Chatter really didn’t say very much at all. He was a friendly enough guy, but he seemed to like observing and listening more than he liked talking. He and Abigail seemed to always be around one another when Dash saw them, their significant height difference almost comical. Finally, Dash’s eyes rested on the figure closest to her with their back turned. Their brown cap was pulled down low on their face as they knelt on the ground, but she could recognize those bright red suspenders anywhere. He was at an angle where she could just see that was holding a red shooter in his hand, weaving it through his fingertips thoughtfully.

Dash’s feelings toward Spot were… mixed; she could never stop herself from riling him up, and the two would often butt heads due to their wildly different personalities. Spot took himself so seriously, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. It frustrated her that he tried to make himself seem so high and mighty, and she knew the kids in Brooklyn respected him, but as far as she could tell, he was just… some guy. The way he constantly tried to have the attention of those around him was so silly, and just made him come off as a bit of a show off.

She hadn’t seen him do anything particularly intimidating, but the Newsies back in Manhattan would often go on and on about how nervous he made them. She just failed to see any real reason for their apprehension. Then again, she really hadn’t been living in New York all that long; his reputation had been around for a good while. Maybe they all knew something she didn’t.

In any case, as far as she was concerned, he was just a kid who wanted attention. That was fine, of course, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to tease him. It was fun to challenge him, and she found herself getting extremely competitive in his presence. Of course he wasn’t going to back down from a challenge.

Dash would come to Brooklyn every once in a while to exchange books with Twitchy, who she knew was pretty close with Spot. He never seemed to show any signs of being intimidated either, and was an even bigger culprit than she was when it came to pushing Spot’s buttons. He would go to great lengths to make him look silly, like the time he filled Spot’s pockets with bread crumbs and got the neighborhood pigeons to follow him around all day. There was also a time when he dressed up in the same clothes as Spot, and had bribed the other Brooklyn kids with candy to pretend that he was the real Spot for an entire day.

Dash watched as the boy she hadn’t recognized leaned forward, closing one eye and taking a deep breath. He flicked his thumb, his yellow shooter zipping forward and smacking into another large, purple marble. Both marbles rolled over the string, coming to a rest on the other side. The boy whooped with delight, and Abigail let out a cry of astonishment.

“That was a cheap shot, Sonny!” Abigail crossed her arms in front of her chest, staring daggers at the boy. “You know I just got that marble yesterday!”

“It ain’t my fault I got good aim!” Sonny grinned, shrugging and walking over to claim the purple shooter for himself. “Sorry, toots.”

Dash thought Sonny didn’t look all that sorry.

Abigail huffed, sitting back and crossing her legs.

“Fine, whatever. Your turn, Spot.”

Spot, who had been silent the entire time, was already leaning down to shoot his own red marble. He extended his arm, appearing as still as a statue as he aimed the little glass ball toward the center.

At that moment, an idea popped into Dash’s brain. Slowly, without making a sound, she crept up behind him, biting her lip to keep herself from giggling and giving herself away. Finally, just as Spot started to release the shooter, Dash exclaimed “HI, SPOT!”

The boy let out a rather undignified yelp and his hand jerked, the marble rolling into the ring and bouncing gently on one of the mibs. It hardly budged, and Spot’s shooter halted beside it. The other three Brooklyn newsies broke out into laughter, and Spot’s shoulders tensed, turning his head slowly to glare up at Dash.

Dash just smiled, waving down at him.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said hi.”

Spot grunted and rose to his feet, his hazel eyes narrowing at Dash. Despite his intense stare, her expression remained unchanged.

“I heard ya, I heard ya.” He grumbled, glancing her up and down. “You messed me up, y’know.”

“Golly, did I do that?” she feigned surprise, her eyebrows raising. “Whoopsie daisies. Can I play?”

“We’re in the middle of a game.”

“Actually, it’s just endin’!” Sonny chimed in from behind him with a smile. Spot glanced back and shot Sonny a look, who quickly clammed up.

“Aw, that’s okay.” Dash shrugged, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “It’s no big deal, Spot’s just afraid that I’ll beat him at his own game.” she looked back to Spot, and she swore she saw his eye twitch.

“No. I am not.” He replied firmly.

“Are too.”

“Am. Not.”

“Are tooooo.”

“NO, I am-” Spot’s voice had grown higher pitched in the heat of the moment, but he quickly paused, giving a sideways glance at his Newsies who were all staring at them. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, his voice now sounding much lower than it had a moment ago.

“Fine.” He said cooly.  “Fine, you wanna play? We’ll play. Clear the ring, Sonny.”

In a matter of moments, the ring was reset, thirteen mibs resting in the center in a cross. Dash fished her sack of marbles out from her bag, a little blue pouch that her father had fashioned for her out of some spare fabric. She had about a dozen shooters she had collected over the years, but there was a very special one she wanted to use for this occasion.

She rummaged around in the pouch for a moment before pulling up a shooter that was minty green and blue with little white swirls. Sonny whistled, leaning in to look at it.

“That’s real pretty.” He mused. Dash beamed, tossing it up in the air once and catching it.

“Thanks! It’s the first marble I ever won back when I was younger.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow. “You sure ya wanna use that thing, then? Seems pretty special to be usin’ in a game. Don’t wanna end up like me and have it taken from ya.” She glared pointedly at Sonny, who only grinned back at her innocently with large, doe like eyes.

Dash nodded. “Oh, yeah! This guy is my go-to shooter, he’s real lucky!” She held it up proudly, admiring the way the colorful swirls glistened in the light. “I’ve never lost a match with him!”

Spot was also staring at the marble, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Huh. Oh, well, it’s your funeral, girlie.” He stretched his arms over his head, shifting his gaze back to her. “You better say your goodbyes now, ‘cause that thing’s gonna be in my pocket real soon.”

Dash stuck out her tongue at him. She wasn’t nervous; her lucky shooter had never failed her before, and this game would be no different.

The two knelt on opposite ends of the circle, and the others sat off to the side as spectators. Spot motioned his hand toward her.

“Ladies first.”

Dash positioned herself in front of the ring with her shooter. Without any delay, she flung her marble forward, grinning at the satisfying clack it made as it smacked into one of the mibs, sending two of them rolling out of the ring. Dash whooped loudly, and Spot continued to watched in silence with a serious expression.

“Nice!” Abigail grinned.

Her shooter was still within the circle, which meant she was able to shoot her marble again from the inside the ring. She hummed, hopping to the other side and returning to her knees to the left of Spot. As she reached for her shooter, her shoulder briefly brushed against his. Spot jumped as if he had been shocked, scowling and moving a few inches to his right. Dash barely even noticed him, focused on finding the right angle to shoot her marble. She flicked it once more and the marble struck another mib, but it didn’t have as much force as the first hit. It rolled a few inches and stopped just before reaching the edge. Dash shrugged, flopping backward onto her behind. “Oh well. Your turn.”

Spot nodded, adjusting his cap. Dash saw him glance over at the other kids for a fleeting second, then returned his gaze to the marbles. He cracked his knuckles loudly, which Dash found rather unnecessary, and flexed his hands at his sides. He scooped up his red shooter, assuming the position. His eyebrows knit together and he bit his lip.

This was ridiculous; the longer she waited for him to make his move, the more restless she felt. She drummed her hands on her lap as she waited. After what felt like centuries, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Can’t you go any faster?” She huffed.

“I’m focusin’.”

“Focus faster!” she urged.

Spot’s jaw clenched, still not looking at Dash. He exhaled, finally releasing his marble. It hit two mibs at once, sending them flying out of the circle in opposite directions. Sonny cheered loudly and Abigail nodded with approval while Chatter clapped politely beside her. The marble stopped right where it hit its mark, meaning it was still in play.

Spot grinned, clearly pleased with himself as he turned his attention back to Dash. She clapped, nodding slowly.

“That was great, yeah! Hey, at this rate, maybe we’ll have a winner by Thanksgiving!” she teased. Abigail let out a cough that Dash could have sworn was a laugh.

Spot’s grin snapped back to a scowl, squinting hard at her. Dash smiled back. Sometimes it was just too easy.

Spot closed his eyes briefly, regaining his composure. When he opened his eyes again, the look in his eyes had changed.

“Oh, I ain’t movin’ fast enough for ya?” he asked, stretching out his arms and making a big show of moving into shooting position once more. Slowly, he leaned forward, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time. “That’s no problem. I can go faster.”

He set his eyes on Dash’s lucky shooter, and before she could even process what was happening, he shot his red marble straight for it.

Dash’s eyes widened in horror, and she gasped as the shooter crashed into her minty blue sphere, causing it to roll right out of the ring.

Her heart sank, realizing what he had just done. She looked up at him in dismay and was met with a smug smile.

“Oh, would ya look at that? Seems like ya lucky marble ain’t so lucky no more.” He snickered. “Oopsie daisies.”

The other Brooklyn kids appeared stunned at what their leader had done, exchanging nervous glances with one another. Sure, he had joked about taking the marble, but it didn’t seem like they thought he would actually take it.

“Spot…” Abigail started, but Spot ignored her, plucking the shooter from the ground and rolling it across his palm as he stood.

“You were right, Abby. She shoulda listened to your advice, don’t’cha think?”

For a minute, Dash was speechless. Did that really just happen? Was he being serious right now?

Her shock quickly turned to rage. She rose and stormed up to him, lunging toward the marble.

“No! That’s not fair, you can’t-”

“What exactly ain’t fair here?” Spot interrupted, snatching it away and holding her prized shooter high in the air. “I ain’t no cheater, ask anyone here! I won this here marble fair and square!” He looked over at the others for confirmation, daring any of them to argue. “You all saw it, right? No rules broken, yeah?”

Reluctantly, the three nodded in agreement, which only fueled Dash’s anger. She grunted and jumped toward his raised hand in an attempt to grab it, but he stepped back, barking out a laugh.

“Better luck next time, short stuff!”

Dash grunted, jumping up and down as she tried snatch her marble. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you! You’re barely three inches taller than me at most!”

“Still, it’s three inches you ain’t got!” he snickered. “I’m playin’ the game the way it’s s’posed to be played! When ya shoot your opponent’s marble outta the ring, you claim it! That’s the rule!”

They danced around one another, Dash hopping up toward his hand and Spot pulling away at the very last second. Dash could feel her cheeks burning. She grit her teeth and let out a loud groan. “Why are you being such a jerk?!” She exclaimed, taking another swing just as he jumped out of the way.  “You only shot at my marble to be mean!”

“I’m the jerk?” He scoffed, side stepping when she tried to snatch it again. “You’ve been pickin’ on me this whole time! ”

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“WAS NOT!”

“WERE TOO!”

“Hey, now,” Chatter spoke up for the first time, stepping forward. His voice was deep and soft. “Maybe we should all calm down…”

But Dash didn’t want to calm down. She was fuming, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Logically, she knew she shouldn’t be getting so worked up over a silly, little marble, but she couldn’t control it; she was livid! How dare he take something from her that he knew was special to her! How dare he hold it over her head and taunt her with it! The way he smirked down at her made her stomach bubble with anger. She wasn’t going to let him get away with this.

She lunged once more, but this time, she wasn’t aiming at his hand.

She reached for his head, plucking off the brown cap from his head in one quick swipe and scurrying backward with a triumphant “HA!”

Spot blinked in surprise, his free hand instinctively moving toward his head. His caramel hair was now in disarray, falling in wisps across his face.

“Ha ha. Very funny, girlie, give it back.”

“No.”

“Seriously? Dash, c’mon.”

Dash was already scooping up her bag of belongings and throwing it over her shoulder, a wild grin on her face. It was juvenile, sure, but it was the only thing she could think to do in the heat of the moment. She offered him a quick salute, then bolted from the scene of the crime, leaving a flabbergasted Spot behind her.

She was already halfway down the block before she heard an enraged bellow behind her:

“DAAAAASH!”

---------------------

End of Part 1

[inkribbon796]

Egotober 2021 Ch. 17: A Waste of a Good Jumper

Summary: Yancy and Memento come across a fight in the streets.

A/N: Visitation Day. Now because Yancy has Visitation Day and a birthday in Egotober, he technically gets two days.

Prompt: Sweater (Jumper)

Characters: Phantom, Memento, and Georgenotfound

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

“I’s[1] don’t know ‘bout[2] this,” Yancy sighed as he looked at Memento.

“Come on, I need to test it out, and Mori’s not here,” Memento complained. He was holding up what looked like a normal sweater.

“What’s it do?” Yancy asked.

“Nothing,” Memento looked away from him.

“Yeah, like I’s[1] believe that,” Yancy rolled his eyes. “What’s it really do?”

“It,” Memento stalled, “might, possibly, be made of human hair.”

Yancy tossed it back at Memento’s face.

“Hey, hey,” Memento snapped. “This is quality, premium, hair humano[3] here.”

“An’ I’s not wearin’ it,”[4] Yancy started walking off.

“Fine,” Memento draped the sweater over his arm and hurried to catch up after, “I’ll find some rube to hawk this off on.”

Yancy rolled his eyes at Memento, “Really? Youse got nuthin’ better ta do?”[5]

“Mori’s with Chase,” Memento told him. “And I’m bored.”

“World might as well be endin’[6] then,” Yancy told him.

“Exactly, the world’s ending, bit by bit, day by day,” Memento pointed out. “We’re all dying.”

“Geez, no wonder youse[7] are so fun at parties,” Yancy rolled his eyes, just letting Memento follow him as they made a slow trek back to the heroes’ base. Yancy was trying to get in a healthy walk, when he was found by his younger brother.

“Hey, I’m great at parties,” Memento smiled and jabbed his thumb at himself.

“Stay fucking still!”

“How ‘bout[2] you fuck off!”

“Oooh,” Memento perked up and looked over. “Is that a fight?”

And then he was off, and it took Yancy a second and a couple of steps to realize he was already gone.

“Shit,” Yancy looked around, and raced after his trail.

Yancy caught up with Memento when the spawnling caught up with the fight. Phantom had picked a fight with George, one of Dream’s closest allies and a close friend to the Server gang leader. George usually just walked around in his white rimmed glasses and blue shirt and jeans attire. But mushrooms were now growing from his body and he was glaring at Phantom. George had on a red cape with fur lining it, a collapse with an eye orb in the center that had a dark green aura to it and a yellow “X” where the iris should have been.

The ex-convict pulled Memento back before he could accidentally get hit.

Phantom glared at the two of them, “Stay out of my way before I have to roll two coffins over to Ent.”

“Keep your eyes on the prize, you overcompensating talent scout,” George spat as mushroom spores came off George’s body, and began to spread out.

Yancy and Memento raced to cover their noses and mouths but George’s spores moved with unnatural precision. Instead of just moving wherever errant winds took them, they directly targeted Phantom and only Phantom.

Phantom used his cane, and the aura that came from it to push the spores away from him. The aura formed a protecting bubble that the spores tried to eat through.

“I think it’s time to dream a nice, pleasant dream,” George said with a tone of malice. “You don’t get to just come onto our turf and expect me to do nothing.”

Phantom lunged for George, his cane made contact with George’s face, hard, and the eye on George’s cape blinked. The Server member was knocked back as blood went flying and the entire world seemed to freeze, or at least Memento felt something similar to Tempus’s powers but so alien and different at the same time. He felt like something had frozen time and then a millisecond later for Memento time snapped back to normal. George was picking himself off the ground and there were a couple long, fluffy white feathers surrounding George.

Phantom was gone, his aura fading as if he’d disappeared but not discorporated.

George coughed, his nose bleeding and he was coughing up some blood from when he’d bitten his tongue. “Dammit.”

Memento walked closer. “You okay?”

Yancy yanked him back when George moved a little too aggressively.

But when George realized who it was, he calmed down and the mushroom spores stopped spilling out. “Oh, sorry, I thought you were Phantom.”

He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, “Ugh, I need a shower.”

“I’s[1] think, youse[8] also need a doctor,” Yancy commented.

Memento held the sweater out for George, who looked at it questioningly before taking it.

“Seems like a waste of a good jumper,” George told him.

“Keep it,” Memento told him.

“Okay, cheers, mate,” George started using it to clean up the blood.

“Youse[8] sure youse[8] don’t need a doctor?” Yancy repeated.

“Nah, I’ll be fine, I’ve fought worse,” George dismissed, looking down at himself. “I lost a bet with a ram demon and had to sew an ear to my leg once.”

“What?” Memento smiled.

“Yeah,” George pulled up a pant leg and there was the ear. “Like I said, I’ve picked worse fights.”

“Can youse[8] hear with that?” Yancy asked, pointing to it.

“I mean, not at first,” George lowered his pant leg. “But after a couple of spells, and a lot of pain, I can now.”

“Why?” Yancy asked.

George shrugged, “Why not?”

The orb on his cape began to glow incessantly, and George rolled his eyes.

“He’s like a worried mother,” George smiled, and pulled out an eye orb. “Gotta[9] go, thanks again for the jumper.”

Then he tossed the orb and was gone.

“We prolly should’a told him ‘bout the hair,”[10] Yancy told Memento.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Memento told his older brother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations:

1. I

2. about

3. human

4. And I’m not wearing it

5. Really? You’ve got nothing better to do?

6. ending

7. you’re

8. you

9. Have to

10. We probably should have told him about the hair

[bates--boy]

Well, at least it wasn’t performing in a mall, but the gap between doing a public performance at a mall and performing for the opening of a boutique wasn’t that wide, and it certainly wasn’t doing an opening for a bigger band that they can wiggle into the limelight with. (Peter couldn’t wait until a bigger label signed them on.)

          He finished helping their DJ set up the table and let Adel take over going through the setlist with her so he could scan the place. The boutique was urban, heavy on the hip-hop money aesthetic. The racks were few and bare, probably some of the cheaper stuff so that should anyone start feeling their fingers get sticky during the party, the boutique wouldn’t be at such a huge loss. Black velvet walls with velvet chairs like the VIP section of a club, with epoxy floor tiles through which rainbow neon LED lights glowed like a portal to a land of sin.

          (It made Peter miss the nightclub, and Van. And the Mad Hatta.)

          (It made Peter miss Wonderland.)

          (Shit, he was completely out of Wonderland at home.)

          He hurried to Naseem to help set up the huge speakers, and Tarsha to plug in and test the mics, and he scurried over to help set up the stacks of flyers when Mike looked him right in the eye and said, “Peter, sit your ass somewhere and calm down.”

          So Peter perched himself on one of the loudspeakers, watching the mingling in the crowd. Everyone appeared in black clothing or as dark as their closet had, and Peter, with his all black hoodie, jeans, and  Just a hint of a smile appeared on his face, as if it’s cautious to fully form until Peter decided with full conviction that the knot in his stomach that traveled as prickly static to his fingers and toes all came from either mind-blowing excitement or world-ending anxiety. He noticed movement from the corner of his eye, and the smile shone fully as Naseem ambled back up the lit platform, a flute of bubbling champagne in each hand.

          “Don’t drink too much,” Naseem said, holding a glass out to Peter. He shrugged, raising his own to his mouth. “Or do. This stuff’s pretty cheap.”

          Peter took the glass with a nod and took a sip, managing to stifle a disappointed sneer as he resigned to twirling the flute in his fingers. “Thanks.”

          “Whatcha doin’ up here, all Batman and shit?” Naseem said.

          “Scoping out how high our chances are of getting somewhere with this performance.” Peter angled a bit to give Naseem some room to sit, and he prayed the speakers were sturdy enough to hold their weight without caving in. 

          “Whattaya mean?”

          “You know, like...” Peter gestured to the air. “This is a first step to our dream, but it’s such a small step. This place isn’t even big enough to pack a hundred people. I’ve seen birthday parties bigger than this. And how are we gonna get these people to visit our website or listen to our music? No one’s taking the flyers! Would they even remember us once our show’s over? That guy’s on his fourth glass!”

          And when Naseem’s hand patted Peter’s back, Peter suddenly felt deflated. Silly. Embarrassed, even, his cheeks gaining something past their usual color as he rewound through his thoughts like a cringeworthy cassette. 

          Despite his soothing back rub, Naseem spoke with a scolding baritone as he said, “You know, most first-time artists would kill for even an opportunity like this. Have you ever thought about keeping a gratitude journal?”

          Peter only gave a low, throaty “Hmmm...” and Naseem went on, “Anyways, we’ll figure something out. Mike’s thinking of hitting up those writers of... what the hell was that podcast called? The one with the weird town and the music as weather?”

          “Welcome to Night Vale,” Peter replied.

          “Yeah, that weird shit Adel’s crazy about.” Naseem said. “We’re advertising and putting our music out there. Shit, maybe we’ll get lucky and one of our songs become TikTok-able.”

          Peter made a face, and turned partway to Naseem so Naseem would see that face. “That’s lucky to you?”

          “Yeah? Why wouldn’t it be?” Naseem snickered. “Don’t act like you don’t use it, TikTok user shuggaondarimm.” At the mortification that suddenly paled Peter’s face, Naseem threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, I know about your account, dude. By the way, nice twerk videos, but really stupid of you to hop on that nutmeg craze.”

          Naseem didn’t even seem to notice Peter’s lips pulled tight and his eyes boring into the floor when he asked, “So, about your scoping... what’s the verdict?”

          Peter passed his tongue over his lips and cast his gaze back over the crowd. “Well... everyone’s drunk, so they might be hyped up enough to like our music--”

          “Or be so brutally honest about hating our stuff that they’ll throw things at us.” Peter raised a brow at him. “What? Weren’t you trying to be realistic?”

         “And weren’t you trying to be uplifting?” Peter shook his head. “Anyways, we already have some hip-hop fans here, judging by their dress and their decision to show up for our show first thing instead of arriving fashionably late, so that could be to our advantage. Though the boutique’s closed off for a private opening, our music can maybe carry out to the other mall shoppers, and there has to be at least a handful of people who are into the obscure, underground hip hop scene who can then share this new collective with their friends--”

          Peter checked over his shoulder, finding that Naseem’s eyes were indeed burning into the back of his head, and sighed. “Basically, we have a 30% chance of getting anywhere with this.”

          “Wow, all those factors, and we still come up short?” Naseem snorted. He shook his head. “You’re too sprightly to be a pessimist.”

          “That’s not pessimism. Besides, it’s not exactly a bad thing.” He shrugged and raised his glass to his lips. “God likes underdogs.”

         “I thought you don’t believe in God?”

         Peter cleared his throat mid-sip. “Can’t you let me be fake deep for a moment, please? I’m nervous, you know!”

          Naseem started to reply (probably something witty, judging by the return of that smooth and disarming smile) when Tarsha came up behind them and tapped Naseem on the shoulder. “We’re set up. Let’s get this started!”

          Naseem and Peter got off the speaker and drained the rest of their drinks. “Well, Attrossity, looks like we get to gamble.”

          The background music, an unidentifiable trap-hop bass, died slowly, and the glow from the platform grew brighter. Mike stepped up front and center, the professional, the veteran, the man who carried this dream for years on his shoulders.

         “Ay yo yo, what is up, my peopleeeeee?!”

          “WHOOOOOOOO!” cried the half-drunk and fully-drunk crowd, sloshing alcohol as they raised  their cups in the air. 

          “We gotta little treat for ya tonight, hosted graciously by BoomBox Boutiques.” Mike turned halfway to the crew behind them, heads bowed and one hand clasped around the other wrist, a pose they all agreed on. “Nefertiti!”

         Tarsha raised her microphone.

         “Cassius!”

          Adel’s mic shot in the air.

          “Bet Chaker!”

          Naseem raised his mic.

          “Attrossity!”

          Peter, fighting the giggles bubbles up from his stomach (yes, it was excitement. It was definitely excitement) as his fist-clenched microphone shot in the air.

          Mike slapped his chest, an audible thump so close to his microphone. “And yours truly, Mickey V, just like the boxer. MizFists. Remember our name, because we are gonna tear the fucking! Roof! Dooooown!”

          Oh, shit, these people really liked the idea of the ceiling collasping on their heads, because they were already throwing their arms out and screaming before Mike even signaled with his chin for the DJ to start the music.

        A shift in the air. Bass in his blood. The house was gonna jump and they were gonna tell them how high. There should be a camera to document this moment, a slowmo pan-out of shots of Karlstad’s newest and greatest. Peter, even in this small space and this go-nowhere event, felt like a god among his people as Mike led them in with the first verse.

          Comin’ in like hawks, now, ta pick ya bones           Swoop ya up, send ya crashin’ to da stones           Get to the meat of the matter, but not with cherrypickers           Can’t live a life off their knees, these fucking bootlickers!           Try to copy what’s fly, think they can land on their feet           And endin’ their lives as outlines on the streets           Can’t even say it’s a shame            They heard the sirens, they knew about the game.

[babbushka]

My dear friend, hello and happy Sinday to you and your flip. Im really excited about this one. Holiday season is my favorite time of year. Can I please get my fave country boy, cheering up his girl who’s being a complete Ebenezer Scrooge about christmas? Just pure tooth rotting fluff. But only if the muse takes you there. I’ll be happy to ready anything you write. Love you boo!

You ain’t usually one to sulk. Usually you’re the one pullin’ everybody out of their shit moods, the one with smiles and good cheer. Usually you’re the one pushin’ everybody out of their beds, bright eyed to go face the holiday season with some tradition or other. So to see you curled up on the couch scrollin’ through your phone in the middle of the night, sighin’ next to a cracklin’ fire, is a strange image for Clyde to try and process.

But you’re his wife, and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna let his woman feel alone and upset on Christmas Eve. He makes his way over to where you are, your mis-matched socks peekin’ out from the quilt Clyde’s Mama had made him a lifetime ago, and he settles next to ya on the couch, pulls ya close.

“Alright, what’s goin’ on in your head darlin’?” He asks, kissin’ the side of your face, makin’ you chew at your cheek.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You mumble, already turnin’ towards him, moving into his embrace with happy sighs now that he’s back from an early shift at Duck Tape.

Clyde does his best to gather you up in his arms, holds ya real tight, hums out low in his chest the way that you like, the way you always call purrin’, like he’s some great big cat content to be near you. And he is, but he’s worried too, he ain’t used to seein’ you like this, all scowly.

“C’mon, we both know I got all the poutin’ and glarin’ covered for the both of us. And we both know you don’t like to go keepin’ your feelin’s all to yourself so why don’t ya just tell me all about it like I know ya want to.” Clyde tugs on the hem of your sleep-shirt, and you smile a little at how much you love him, before that smile falls and you shrug.

“I’m just…I don’t know Clyde, I’m not feeling very festive this time around. With everything going on in the world, all the pain and suffering and mind-numbing stupidity, it’s hard to care about something so commercial like Christmas.” You look down at your hands, fingers pickin’ at nonexistent dirt under your nails, and Clyde gets it.

He looks deep into the fireplace for a moment or two, the flickerin’ glowin’ embers no doubt havin’ brought you some peace while he was out pourin’ drinks for the folks that don’t got nowhere else to go for the holidays.

“You know, the true meanin’ of Christmas ain’t about parties or presents or nativity scenes or carolin’ or decoratin’ a damn good tree.” Clyde prompts. It ain’t quite a question, but his voice tips up like it is one. You give in to his game, raisin’ and eyebrow at him and fighting a small smile at his tactics.

“What is it then?” You ask, because you know he wants you to.

“It’s here.” Clyde replies softly, covering your heart with his hand. He can feel the steady beat of it underneath his flesh and blood palm, and he can feel the warmth of your own as you cover his hand with yours. “It’s love. Love for your friends and family and folks you don’t even know. Sure shit’s rough right now, but hell, when ain’t it? Year after year the world feels like it’s endin’, I used to get that way. But it ain’t over yet, and if nothin’ else, we’ve got these next few nights filled with light, ‘n love. And as long as we’ve got that, well then we’re winnin’ the fight against pain and sufferin’ and mind-numbin’ stupidity, wouldn’t ya say?”

You’re quiet for a few seconds, trying not to blink too much on account’a if you do you’re gonna get tears all over your face. You lean your head back on his shoulder and look up at the ceiling, willin’ the little droplets to absorb back into your eyes.

“That’s quite the speech Clyde Logan.” You say, your throat tight as some of the tears spill over anyway.

“Someone real smart told me all that once, good couple years ago. I never forgot it, not even through rough times of my own when I was overseas.” He wipes the away with his thumb, brushes them off your cheeks and tilts your head to face him.

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?” You whisper, lookin’ right at his lips in just about as obvious a way as he was being with you.

“I’m lookin’ at her.” He quirks up a smile, and leans in to press the most gentle of kisses to your lips, a kiss which you happily sigh into, already feelin’ better, better now that he’s home with you. “Now c’mon, whaddaya say the two of us get on goin’ up to bed? I hear Santy Claus don’t visit houses when folks are awake.”

“You expecting a big gift this year?” You tease, and Clyde pretends to not know about the new lawn mower he’d been hintin’ at for damn near six months that’s waitin’ out in the shed.

“I hope so, I’ve been good.” Clyde nods, and you huff out a little laugh then, smiling for him.

“Yeah, you have.” Your eyes are real soft when you say it, giving his hand a squeeze. “Thanks Clyde, I love you.”

“I love you too darlin’.” He stands up, takin’ you with him and leadin’ you through the trailer, where he stops suddenly to point at the doorway with a little, “Oh shit, would ya look at that? Mistletoe.”

And as the two of you lean in to smile and chuckle against each other’s lips, Clyde can feel the tension slippin’ and slidin’ away from your shoulders, and he feels like your words an age ago have never felt more real and present than right now.

[the--highlanders]

for the drabble game, situation 17 (because I'm predictable dklsjnb) and sentence 2, or situation 6 and sentence 28? :3 <3

“I just want to let you know that I love you. A lot. Never forget that.” 

on ao3.

“Can I see him?”

The nurse bobbed back and forth before him, dithering as if their size alone did not block his view of the door entirely. They towered over him, tall and solidly built, but the tendrils that ringed their face were twitching in alarm, waving back and forth as he tried to peer past them to catch a glimpse of the Doctor.

“I’m sorry, sir,” they were saying with the practised patience of someone who had given the same explanation a thousand times to a thousand different people. “He’s still in a fragile state. We can’t allow him to be disturbed just yet.”

Disturbed. Like he was just some interloper, come to bother the Doctor. Like he had not been the one to carry him into the hospital, cradling him in his arms, Victoria rushing ahead to push open the doors and snap at the reception staff to call for help. “I want tae see him, I’ve – I’ve got tae see him.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the nurse said, as infuriatingly patient as before. “I simply can’t allow it.”

“Please.”

“I can’t. Unless...” The nurse’s tentacles paused in their waving, twitching in place. “Are you family?”

Wordlessly, Jamie reached inside his shirt, tugging out the chain that hung around his neck to hold it out towards the nurse in triumph. The silver of the ring that hung from it glinted in the cold, white light of the hospital, almost making him blink with the brightness of it. “Is this good enough for ye?”

“O – oh.”The nurse looked as if they wanted to ask for something more, papers or tablets or whatever ridiculous system they used to document such things on this planet, but something in Jamie’s eyes must have made them decide against it. Instead they stepped aside, flicking one hand towards the door. “Go right ahead, Mister – er -” They floundered, mind visibly ticking over. “Sir.”

It was kind of them, Jamie thought, to be letting him inside. “Not sir,” he said gently. “Jamie.”

Stepping into the doorway, he hesitated. He had stormed his way through from the reception to the Doctor’s ward – but for what? To see him lying battered and bruised in a hospital bed? To sit and hold his hand until he fell asleep over him and dreamt of how small he had looked when he had collapsed, his limbs all bent at odd angles? Could he really stomach seeing him like this?

“He still needs quiet,” the nurse was saying. “And time. I’m not sure how long it will take for him to wake up.”

“Alright.” He held his hand out to grip the door handle, but did not turn it. “Can I – can I touch him?”

“Gently. No sudden movements.”

“Alright.” Scrunching his eyes shut to brace himself, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

Closing the door to lean against it, he dared to squint out at the room before him. It was not so bad as he had feared, he supposed. The walls were painted a soft blue, and the vase beside the bed held a spray of yellow flowers. There was a low bookshelf against one wall, curtains rather than shutters over the windows to the corridor outside, and the chair in the corner was comfortably upholstered. It could almost have been called homely, he supposed, were it not for the bed itself, clothed in starched white sheets and netted in by a web of softly beeping machines. No amount of homey touches could take away from the horror of that, of seeing the Doctor curled beneath the covers, frighteningly small against a mattress designed for a far larger species.

Stepping closer, Jamie reached out to bump his fingertips against the bars at the end of the bed. He pulled his hands back as soon as he felt the shock of cold metal, looking around as if alarms might start blaring at any moment, but the quiet was unbroken. The machines kept on murmuring away, burbling out the ups and downs of the charts that snaked their way across their screens. Gripping the bars more tightly, Jamie leant forwards to examine the machines, trying to make out what they might be measuring. One of them was clearly monitoring the Doctor’s heartbeats – he had seen the same lines before, on machines hooked up to himself after he had taken one too many risks. The lines on this one were doubled, one for each heart – and wasn’t it terribly lucky, that this had happened on a planet where people knew what to do with two hearts?

Sidling around the bed, he drew the chair up to perch on the edge of it. It was as comfortable as it looked, and somehow that only made him feel worse. There was something permanent about the way the room was furnished, the threat that the Doctor would be staying here a long time woven into the very fabric of it. The Doctor had snuffled a little at the sound of the chair legs scraping against the tiled floor, but he did not wake, nor did he move. It was odd, Jamie thought, to see him sleeping so peacefully. He had always been such a restless sleeper, as busy at night as he was during the day, shuffling around the bed and snoring and occasionally muttering to himself in some incomprehensible language. To see him so still was unnerving.

He lifted one corner of the sheets, just enough to reveal the Doctor’s hand, and drew it out into the open tentatively. The Doctor gave another mumble, but his fingers did not so much as twitch.

“Hello,” Jamie said. “Erm -” What did he think he was doing, talking to someone who would not hear him?

“You’re gonnae wake up soon,” he carried on awkwardly. If talking to the Doctor felt silly, then saying something so confident felt even sillier. Like he was saying it for the benefit of a small child rather than himself. “You’re gonnae get better, aye?”

A Dhia, he hoped the Doctor really could not hear him. It would be awfully embarrassing for him to wake up and remember everything.

“Ye shouldn’t have done that, ye know,” he added, sternness creeping into his voice. That was something he wished the Doctor could hear – and that he knew he would say again, one he was recovered enough to take it. “Ye can’t just go around throwin’ yourself in front of things like that. That’s my job.” He squeezed the Doctor’s hand just a little too tight, and let go hurriedly. “I don’t know what I can do for ye if I can’t protect ye. You’ve got tae let me help ye.”

There was no use replaying the moment it had happened in his mind, he told himself. No use imagining the Doctor shoving him out of the way to take the full impact of the blast himself, the split second in which Jamie had seen him lit up with the flash of it before he crumpled to the ground. The acrid energy-weapon tang that had drowned out his normal honey smell, seeping out of his clothes and hair and skin. But when he turned the Doctor’s hand over, he found his palm bandaged, the skin around its edges still reddened from where he had thrown his arms up to shield himself. Well, he had no choice but to think about it now.

To wish that their places had been reversed.

Was that selfish of him? To wish that he was the one unconscious in a hospital bed, and the Doctor the one left to wait for him?

Maybe it wasn’t. The Doctor would surely be much more rational about the whole thing than he was. Or so he wished he could believe.

��Victoria’s been worried sick,” he carried on. “She pretends she’s not, but she is. They’re lucky she’s good at puttin’ a brave face on things, else they’d be out of tissues by now.”

They should be going home, she had told him. They should have been back at the TARDIS by now, setting off on some other adventure. Not stuck here, waiting for the Doctor to come round again. But the Doctor had made a slight miscalculation, and Jamie had been paying just a fraction less attention than he should have been, and now they all had to live with it. Victoria had not said that last part out loud, and he knew she never would – but surely it was there at the back of her mind.

“Ye know what the worst thing is,” he said flatly. “That they never even caught Wilkins. He’s gone, sure, we chased him off – but he’ll just go on tae the next place through that portal he made, an’ he closed it behind him so we couldnae see where he went. Nothin’ we did will have made any difference. It was all for nothin’, ye endin’ up like this.”

Maybe he should have thrown his knife, he thought. Or better yet, taken some sort of gun of his own, before they had left the city. If he had just thought a little more about it, then maybe he might have struck first. Wounded Wilkins before he could fire back. The Doctor would have disapproved, of course – but then, he would never have known what might have happened. Better to have him a little offended than lying in a hospital bed.

But it was not just the Doctor’s injuries on his conscience, he thought with a pang. The Doctor might have gotten the timing wrong, but it had been his own slowness that had allowed Wilkins to escape. He had run to the Doctor’s side as he collapsed, and only looked up again just as the hateful little man was vanishing through his portal, and all the evidence of his wrongdoing with him. They could have brought him back to the city, put him on trial for his experiments, called on someone to come and take care of him. As it was, he had only moved on to do the same thing somewhere else. All the destruction he could dream up next time – that was all Jamie’s fault, too.

He wondered if the Doctor ever felt the same way. He wondered how he bore it.

“I just want ye tae know -” Drawing in an unsteady breath, he scrubbed his hand over his face. His eyes were blurring with tears, and he rubbed at them until they stung. “I just wanted tae tell ye that I love ye. A lot, ye know? Don’t forget that.” He squeezed the Doctor’s hand one last time, then shoved the chair backwards to stand up. “I’ll be back. I”ll come an’ see ye tonight, aye? An’ tomorrow. Maybe I’ll bring Victoria, if she wants tae come.”

Opening the door, he threw another glance up at the machines. This ought to be the moment when the Doctor revealed that he had been awake all along, he thought. They would have a teary reunion, and Victoria would arrive, and the three of them would bundle together, and he would be able to breathe again. But the graphs were as even as ever, and the Doctor still slept soundly. He had rolled over a little, drawing his hand back into the safety of the covers, looking quite unwilling to open his eyes.

Well, then. No use waiting around and dwelling on it in here.

Jamie stepped through the door and closed it behind him with a click.

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

New Beginnings

I’m back with more Whiskey! (Of the Agent variety, not booze)

Guess who’s hanging up his Cowboy hat for good?

Merlin x Ginger if you look, warning for Tequila being annoying, plus an extra surprise in the form of millions of tons of fluff :DD

Tagging @sunshinepascal because she always reads stuff first and tells me its not horrendous and I’m forever in her debt cause she’s amazing

Masterlist

You know that Ginger definitely had a funny look on her face when she sent you to take whiskey his latest mission report (well, her corrections on it). But she didn’t leave you any time to question and now you’re on your merry way so you suppose it doesn’t matter. You hum a little in the hallway, swinging the tablet as you go (why hadn’t she emailed it to him anyway? Wasn’t this the 21st century?), breathing in deeply as you stand at the end of it before pushing the door open with your hand.

Boxes.

Wait, what?

“Jack? What’s going on?”

Your eyes finally make it to the desk he’s usually at (after taking in the two small boxes stacked by the door) and you find him standing at the corner of it.

“Hey sunshine.”

You tilt your head immediately. “What’s going on Jack? Something feels—”

“Different?”

“Yes”

“That’s because it is. You’re looking at a full-time manager of Statesman.”

Now you smile a little, starting to laugh at him. “You’ve always been a full-time manager silly.”

He shakes his head, smile growing into a grin and biting his lip. “Nope.” He’s somehow already crossed his desk to be barely a foot away from you, hands coming up to rest at your elbows. “I’m home to stay darlin. Not another mission you’ll ever have to share me with if you don’t wanna.”

The smile drops from your face.

Home?

You blink, mouth falling open. “Home?” Your voice is laced with disbelief and more than a little breathless. “To stay?”

Your mind is lagging, mired in the full extend of the declaration and he nods, face growing more serious.

“If that’s still what you want? Champ had a desk openin’ and well, we talked about settlin’ the other night and I figured, why not? I wrapped the Cuban mission, the world ain’t endin’, can’t think of a better time darlin.”

“Jack, Jack I don’t know what to say I—”

“Say you’ll have me?”

Oh God. Oh God now he’s on his knee and you can’t breathe and your hands are flying to your mouth because, that. Is a ring. A wedding. Ring.

“Say, you thought about this too and you meant it the other day when you said you’d marry this old cowboy? Because he loves you. Hasn’t thought about nothin but you all day, couldn’t think about anything but you that whole meetin about the job. Can’t think about anything but carryin you over a doorway to our house, getting a dog together, havin little ones with your eyes. I want it all baby, and I want it all with you.”

You’re crying. There’s no way around it, but you manage to nod and squeak out a yes (or something that sounds like it) and then he’s standing and sliding it on your finger and you’re both somehow suddenly out of breath and then his glassy eyes are on you and he’s pulling you close and kissing you hard and your hands are in his hair and around his shoulders and everything is wonderful.

You pull away eventually (reluctantly) and gasp for the breath that he’s stolen, hands cradling his face that’s blurred by your tears and a little damp from his own, brushing the leftover ones away.

“Jack, Jack I—Oh God I love you.”

You’re trying to pull him in again but he’s stopping you, hands coming up to hold your own before he answers. “Love you more than anything. More than this job, more than the thrill of the chase, God darlin I’d give it all up again, just to keep the chance at getting to love you.”

“Boy ain’t even gave it once and he’s ready to do it again that’s love right there!”

Tequila’s (blasted) voice shatters the moment, sends it scattering like dry leaves in the wind outside.

You both turn, Jack glowering and you just barely not, to find not only Tequila, but Ginger and Merlin as well.

“The Kingsman send their congratulations Miss, you both make a lovely couple.”

Tequila elbows him, raising an eyebrow. “They ain’t the only ones.”

Ginger gives a shove and a mumbled ‘shut up T’ before turning back to you with a smile. “We’re all very happy for you both.”

Jack pulls you to his chest and you squeeze him a little tighter as you nod at her. “Thanks Ging, he uh, hasn’t seen your edits—”

She laughs, “Oh honey, I didn’t make any, he just needed ya up here”

You turn to him with your mouth open in offense. “You--?”

He blushes, looking down at the floor. “I might’ve, helped things along, gotcha where I needed ya”

Your eyes flit over his face and you breathe a soft laugh of disbelief that isn’t surprised. “I love you” comes your quiet whisper and his eyes dart back to yours immediately.

“I love you too”

You bring your hand around to rest on his chest before jerking your head toward it, grin growing as you speak. “Even without this, but especially with it.”

His eyes are crinkling in the corners, sparkling as he looks down at you and mirrors your care-free grin. “Well it’s good to know this old man’s worth somethin” he teases you good-naturedly but the man just gave up what’s been his life for the last 20 years, and you aren’t about to let it stand.

“I’d love you forever even if you never gave it to me, even if you never gave this up, I love you for who you are, I always will.” You keep it short, suddenly remembering your doorway admirers, but he seems to take it to heart all the same, bringing you in for a hug and burying his face in your neck.

There’s a chorus of ‘awwww’s from the doorway that last about a half second before he manages a ‘Get.’ From his place in your arms. It’s heeded. A little reluctantly. But it is.

(And if you heard Tequila ask Merlin when he plans to propose you don’t plan to ask Ginger about it. Until next week anyway.)

[one-shot-plus-size]

Crossbow Love - Chapter Five - Family

The work was created, through collaboration with @bladeroseocrp​ https://www.wattpad.com/user/BladeRose_18

Blade smiles and nods as she walks with him back to the house walking a little behind, and she smiles and jumps on his back and laughs. Daryl releases the package of meat from his hands, his hands catching it under her knees to keep it on his back. "Jesus woman" He laughs. Blade smiles and giggles and kisses him on the cheek and quickly jumps off his back and runs home, blushing and laughing. Daryl laughs and picks up the package and moves behind her. Rick leans against the patio pole and grins from ear to ear. "How cute," Rick says. Daryl blushes and walks into the house. Blade smiles and hides from him to be funny and have her find she stays quiet to make sure he doesn't hear her. Daryl looks around as he enters the house, he places the package of meat on the kitchen counter and looks around, leaning on his sides. "You think you’re a cool girl, huh?" He mutters under his breath.

Blade giggles quietly, having her mouth covered, hiding in the pantry, and making sure he doesn't find her. He looks around the kitchen and then the living room. His feet carry him upstairs, he looks in the bathroom and then her bedroom. "Blade?" He finally speaks up. Blade hears him and comes out of the pantry and hides in the closet near the front door and smiles waiting. "Blade? I know you're home." Daryl says combing the hair on his head and looks around the living room.

Blade smiles and has the closet door slightly cracked open to see him looking for her and looking up and down at him. He is so handsome and sweet. She is definitely falling for him. Daryl hears the porch boards creak. "5 minutes of quiet anything is going is going is all I ask," He mutters to himself and runs his hands through his hair. Blade smiles slowly, opens the door and looks at him, blushing. “Really?" He asks, raising an eyebrow, walking over to her, and holding out his hand to help her out.

Blade smiles and giggles grabbing his hand "I thought it would be fun to hide from you." She says Daryl laughs and shakes his head as a knock on the door sounds. Blade smiles and looks at him then glances at the door. "Who is it?" She asks him. "Someone who can't give us a moment's peace." He says smiling slightly, Daryl opens the door and on the other side stands Rick along with Michonne.

Blade smiles and moves away leaning against the arm of the couch in the living room she sees Rick and the woman he is with. "Rick walks into the house without waiting for an invitation. No problem. Come in, Rick," Daryl mutters and Michonne laughs. Blade smiles and laughs. "Daryl is the leader, glad you didn't come out of the shower in just a towel," She says with a giggle. Daryl rolls his eyes and Michonne bursts out laughing. "Are you here to laugh at me or do you need something?” He asks. He closes the door behind the woman. "We're hosting a dinner for the family tonight and we wanted to ask if Blade is coming too?” Michonne asks, smiling.

Blade smiles back and confusedly points to herself "Me? Really?" She asks looking at them with a slight tear in her eye. "Yes, you." She says pointing her finger at you. "Daryl doesn't let anyone jump on his back," Rick says laughing. "He doesn't blush like that around anyone." He adds. Blade smiles and looks at Daryl smiling and blushing at him."I like to be funny and playful sometimes to make it fun and not so depressing." She says keeping her arms crossed and shrugs her shoulders. Daryl walks over to her, puts his finger on her chin, and lifts her head slightly. "If you agree, I'll be there with you, if you don't agree, we'll make our own dinner, the decision is yours." He says smiling slightly. Rick exchanges a look with Michonne. Blade blushes and stares into his eyes, she smiles softly and nods "Alright, we'll go." She says looking deep into his eyes. "Okay." He whispers softly and kisses her forehead. He smiles slightly at her and turns back to his friends. "We will." He says. Rick grins from ear to ear, "So stop by at 6." He says.

Blade smiles and blushes red, she quickly hides her face under her hair and goes upstairs to get ready. As Michonne and Rick leave Daryl closes the door behind them and looks towards the stairs smiling to himself. He felt incredibly attracted to this woman and couldn't help himself, and he had only known her for two days. He bit his lower lip and went to his basement. He too must prepare himself somehow. Blade smiles at her reflection of feeling pretty and feels her heart beating fast knowing she is thinking about Daryl. She has definitely fallen in love with this man and it has only been two days. Daryl buttons up his shirt, leaving the first two buttons undone, he stares at the mirrors in the basement and wonders if he should button it up more.

Blade walks downstairs after she's finished getting ready, goes to the basement, stands, and leans against the door frame, looking at him through the mirror. "Man Dixon you clean up good. Very handsome." She says smiling and blushing. Daryl smiles slightly, "Nothing special." He mutters under his breath. Blade smiles and walks over to him and stands in front of him and looks at his outfit and smiles and fixes his collar and stares into his eyes and then turns around standing next to him and looking at each other in the mirror and smiles. "You look great Daryl. It's better than dirt and blood-covered clothes." She says as he snorts under his breath and looks at them together in the mirror. "You look different too, I mean good" He smiles slightly.

He has to be very careful not to wrap his arms around her body and pull her to his chest. He doesn't want to scare her and send her into a panic. Blade smiles and blushes, looking down, hiding her face, but she leans against his chest, looking into the mirror, seeing how great they look together. "Thank you, Daryl. It's nice to look nice and not dirty or look like I haven't showered in 5 years." She says giggling. Daryl's chest shakes from the giggle that has taken over his body. He stares into the mirror and marvels at how good he looks with you, how good he feels with her. He towers over her and smiles slightly. Blade stares into his eyes through the mirror, smiling and blushing. "You know I feel comfortable and safe around you, Daryl. Like I could tell you anything and you would just listen," She says smiling. "I'm glad," He smiles, "I feel comfortable with you, I'm glad you came here with me and didn't kill me.” He says.

Blade smiles and giggles and nods "Yeah, I'm glad I didn't kill you either." She says she wants to tell him how she feels, but she wants to wait and get to know him better. "Okay, no more sentimentality," He  says shaking off his feelings, "Let's go, or Michonne will shove Katana up our ass if we're late." He says chuckling. Blade smiles softly and giggles, and she walks upstairs to the front door and leans against the porch railing. Daryl lights a cigarette after walking out onto the porch. He inhales it and walks down the stairs and starts toward his friend's house. Blade nods and follows him, looking around and crossing her arms close together. "It will be alright," He says to her "they're awfully loud, so if you want to leave, just say so, okay?" He adds

Blade smiles slightly and nods, walking towards Rick's house. She hopes to enjoy the dinner party and not get overwhelmed. As she approaches their house, she can already hear laughter and a voice coming from the garden, Daryl leads her through the side of the house into the garden. A bonfire is burning in the middle, and people are crowded around it. Some are sitting on the ground, others are standing at a table and laughing. The conversations stop when they walk inside. Blade becomes shy, knowing that she hates being the center of attention, she hides her face and keeps to herself. Daryl stops and extends his hand to her. "I'm here." He says smiling slightly. Blade grabs his hand and smiles softly, she stays close to Daryl and puts her arm around him as they walk together. Carol walks up to you and says. "Let me kidnap your girlfriend and introduce her to the others." She says smiling broadly and extends her hand to Blade. Blade blushes and looks at Daryl then looks back at Carol, smiles, and grabs her hand. Daryl moves away from Rick and the other men, and Carol pulls Blade to the girls. "How are you and Pookie?" Carol asks. Blade smiles and giggles at the nickname she keeps hearing her call, Daryl. "Oh you know just give each other space he sleeps in the basement I sleep upstairs in the bedroom we get along we haven't had any problems yet," She says hooking her arm with Carol's shoulder "Daryl can be rough with another person but if anything goes wrong to come to me and I'll kick his ass" She laughs and pulls you over to the rest of the women "Girls this is our Daryl's new swoony roommate, Blade," She says smiling "Blade this is Rosita, Michonne, Tara, Denise, Endin," She says as she points to each of the women Blade smiles and waves. "Hello, I've already met Rosita and Michonne. Nice to meet you lovely ladies. And don't worry if anything goes wrong, I can kick ass too. I know martial arts. But Daryl was just being cute." She says smiling.

There is consternation on the women's faces. "Are you sure you live with our Daryl?" Tara asks laughing. "He's never cute."  She adds Blade smiles and giggles. "He's been so sweet and caring to me ever since we met in the woods. He's just lucky I didn't kill him. I literally aimed my crossbow at his back and chest and took his crossbow, but I was wary of danger. The whole time I was in the woods, you never know who's going to take an opportunity and might kill you, so you know" She says smiling softly. "That explains how he found you," Rosita says smiling.

Daryl watches you from a distance, standing next to Rick and Aaron and occasionally interjecting a word or two. Blade smiles and nods. "Yeah, his motorcycle broke down and he looked exhausted, so I helped him out by staying in camp while I stayed and looked out for walkers, even though I never slept anyway. He offered me to come back with him. I'm very grateful to him for doing that." She says smiling softly and looking up at him, blushing softly and sighing. "That sounds like Rick," Michonne says laughing, "and not like Daryl," Carol says as she looks over at you, standing close to you, and when the girls return to their conversation, she looks in his direction. "What do you like?" Carol asks her. Blade smiles and giggles. he looks at Carol "What?" She asks, staring at her after staring at Daryl for too long. "Do you like Daryl?" She repeats the question without taking her eyes off him.

Blade blushes and looks at her shocked and looks around nervously "I mean... We just met and I want to get to know him better. I like him as a friend..." She says stuttering and pulling at her shirt sleeves. "Like a friend, huh?" Carol questions as she directs his gaze to her. "Just like that?" Carol questions more. Blade blushes and looks down and shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know, we have something there, a connection. I guess I just don't know my feelings yet we only met two days ago. He's mysterious and quiet." She says softly hiding her blush "Sounds like Daryl" Carol laughs. "Come on eat," Rick says loudly.

Everyone disperses to the others, Daryl walks over to her with a plate of food. "Please," He says holding up a plate for himself and two bottles of water under his arm. He leads her over to the campfire, sits you down on a log, and makes room for her beside him. Blade smiles, takes the plate, sits down next to him, holds up the water bottle, and takes a sip. "How many walkers do I have to kill to get a pina colada," She says and giggles. "A whole fucking platoon," Daryl snorts under his breath and shakes his head.

Blade laughs and starts to eat and she looks at Daryl, smiling, she doesn't know what she's feeling, it seems like she's definitely falling in love with him, but after only two days she has to make sure her feelings will be that way or go away. Daryl quietly devours the meat, which he bites into with bread and carrots. He wrinkles his nose but eventually eats, watching the people around the campfire. Everyone is talking and laughing, and if someone was watching from the sidelines and didn't know what was going on behind the fence, they would think it was a simple family gathering. Blade is still eating and smiling at how cute he is. Carol said something about feeling for him, but I don't know how he'd feel or what he'd do if I told him how I feel right now, so she'll keep that in the back of her mind until she's ready to talk to him about her feelings. Daryl turns his attention to her, smiles slightly, and returns his gaze to the campfire. He plays with his fingers and thinks about how he felt when he saw her get dressed and go down to the basement.

How his heart leaped at the sight of her, he thinks back to their shared view in the mirror as she leaned against him. He bit his lip and lifted his gaze to meet Carol's cocky smile on the other side as if she knew what was on his mind. Blade blushes, she won't stop eating and looks into the fire to occupy her mind with something, but she can't when Daryl is sitting right next to her, but she doesn't want to talk about how she feels with all these people surrounding her, she prefers to be alone in a quiet place so maybe when they get home she can tell him about it. The conversations continue at their best, Carol pulls you into a conversation with her and Aaron over time. The man is very friendly and constantly smiling, his boyfriend Eric is sitting next to him. Blade smiles and looks at Aaron and his boyfriend Eric. They look so cute together. "Alexandria is very beautiful." She says “Oh yes I agree with you," Eric says smiling "and rest assured though the fence we have is ugly it protects us from our friends," He says laughing.

Blade giggles and nods. "Yeah, but I'm not likely to stay behind that wall for too long, I don't want to forget how to survive by pretending the world isn't the way it is." She says "I bet Daryl will make sure you get outside" Aaron smiled widely. Blade smiled and giggled. "Yes, he will. But sometimes I'd like to go alone, to be alone. That doesn't mean I'll be gone forever, just be outside for a while. I used to live out there since I was seventeen years old." She says “Oh fuck" Eric curses, Aaron scolds him. Blade smiles and shakes his head. "No, it's okay I really feel like a badass anyways for being out there so long. I think I’m in my mid 30's now I've learned to live this way. When I ran away from home for the first time it was hard for me but it makes me a strong badass" She says. "The perfect tough girl for our Pookie" Carol says smiling and pokes her with her shoulder.

Blade smiles, shakes her head and looks around for Daryl, not seeing him anywhere. "Hey, where did Daryl go?" She asks."I saw him walking with Rick" Eric says nodding towards the house. Blade confused "Oh, I wonder why he didn't tell me he was going to talk to Rick.” She says looking down. "He will come back don't worry, I'm sure they want to talk about the run tomorrow that Daryl has to do" Carol pats her knee "Maybe you want to come inside?" Carol asks. Blade smiles and nods. "Yeah, sure, I think I'll be part of that conversation unless I'm not running with Daryl tomorrow," She says. "I don't know what Rick is up to," Carol shrugs her shoulders, "But don't worry, I'll get you a job if you need one." Blade smiles and nods. "Don't worry about getting me a job Carol, rather I'll have the same job as Daryl, that is I have hunted, tracking, and fast stockpiling skills." She says.

Carol smiles and pats her knee. At the same time, Daryl is discussing tomorrow's run with Rick, Rick shows him the route plans and what to collect. "Take her with you, you're the only one in control and I'd rather she not be left here alone when she doesn't fully know us yet," Rick says. Daryl nods. Blade smiles at her, knowing that she is just looking at me she is starting to feel at home and getting a little more comfortable around everyone but not fully yet. Rick finally ends the conversation and they both walk out the patio door, Daryl stops at a post and lights a cigarette. He looks around at the people, searching you with his eyes, smiling when he sees you relax. Blade sighs and looks around, seeing him, and decides that she will go for a walk around Alexandria alone to clear her mind. so she slips away when Daryl isn't looking and starts walking around the neighborhood.

Daryl is quietly smoking a cigarette, thinking about Rick's plan and how he needs to talk her into it. He is considering whether to take just his motorcycle or if she will ride her. Blade walks over to where her motorcycle is and smiles remembering the good old days when she would just ride it down the road with no walkers insight only the sunny wind blowing through her hair. She decides to sit on it and rubs the surface of the bike. Daryl looks around at the people looking for her, his heart racing when he doesn't see her in the seat she was just sitting on. Blade smiles, sighs, grabs the handlebars and kicks, starts the engine, unleashes the bike, and smiles, she wants to ride it a little past the gate, so she pulls up to the gate, opens it, and walks out, locking it behind her, she gets on the bike, her knife is in her belt, just in case. Daryl runs out from behind the house as she closes the gate behind her, he rests his hands on his knees. "Fuck." He says out loud "You couldn't fucking stop her? He shouts to the guard.

Blade drives down the road and smiles at the breeze in her hair and frowns softly, realizing how mad Daryl will be when he finds out, hoping he won't hate her for it. Daryl, meanwhile, goes back home furious, slams the front door, throws off his shoes in a hurry. If she won't talk to him about trips like this, he won't care. He sits on the couch with the map in his hands and stares at it. His emotions inside are boiling over. Blade sighs, turns and rides back to Alexandria, makes herself open the gate and slowly drives it, and stops in front of Daryl and her house. She turns off the motorcycle, looks at the house and crinkles her eyebrows, gets off the bike and walks to the front door, sees him through the window on the living room couch. Daryl heard her motorcycle, he heard her footsteps on the porch but he didn't react. If he goes out now he would yell at her and it wouldn't end well. Blade puts her hand on the doorknob and takes a deep breath reminding herself that she doesn't want to feel like walking into her childhood home and gets yelled at by her father or mother. She slowly opens the door and then closes it behind her as she steps inside and quickly walks to the stairs. "Stop," He says groggily. Blade stops and has her back to him and gasps at how harsh his voice is. Blade stops, flinching at how sharp his voice is.

Daryl walks up to her from behind. "I'm not going to yell at you, even though I'm angry. You are your own person, I won't keep you here if you don't want to." He says putting the map on her shoulder "I'm going for a run in the morning, if you want to come with me then come, if not, then don't. Carol will find you another job" He mutters.

Blade looks at the map, grabs it and opens it, then turns back to him and wrinkles her brow "I want to come. I'm so sorry I left without telling you. I just wanted to go for a ride on my bike. I haven't driven my bike for a while and I just wanted to enjoy the ride without having to go on run, just to ride." She says tears up a little and slowly walks up the stairs. "One day you will understand what it is like to be in a group and once you understand that, you will never do stupid things like that again. Knowing that people are worried about you." Daryl said and went to his basement.

Blade looks at him walking away and frowns and looks down she goes upstairs and sits on the bed and holds herself close realizing that she was stupid for doing that to him, making him worry. He really cares about her and worries about her. she touches one of the knife’s handles on her belt. Thinking. Daryl took off his shirt and sat on the bed with his back to the basement entrance, burying his face in his hands and just sitting like that without moving. He too had been reckless in the quarry, now he could control it, he was getting better at controlling his emotions. He didn't want to yell at her, he knew what she went through with her parents. Blade pulls out a knife from behind her belt, holds it up, and applies it to her wrist, knowing that all the scars she has are mostly from her parents, but she has made a few "battle-scars" for herself, at least that's what she calls them so it doesn't seem so bad that she hurts herself sometimes. She goes to the bathroom, sits down on the toilet, and puts the knife to her wrist.