#this is a damned good story prompt OP

[russenoire]

For several years now, you've dreamt of putting down ink to paper and writing a manuscript. In this work, everything makes sense. When you wake up, you forget it until the next dream.

One day, a book arrives in your mail. It's the same book you've been dreaming about writing all this time. The name of the author is unfamiliar to you, and it seems they are real and this book of theirs was recently published.

Nevertheless, the words and the sentiments are yours, you are sure of it.

What do you do with the book and the knowledge of authoring it?

tbh, this is one of my worst nightmares... i would donate it? just get it out of my sight by any means necessary, so i could forget the book's existence again. tangible proof of more ideas i failed to take seriously enough to write down and act on? endless regret in the form of a book i could hold in my hands? no thank you.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Black Velvet, If You Please

12 Days of Christmas Prompt: Velvet | Word Count: 1113 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Steve | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Famous Corroded Coffin, Corroded Coffin Guys, Steve Trolling Eddie, Because He Loves Him

It's tacky. Kitsch. An oversized eyesore. 

And it's perfect. 

Steve couldn't be more pleased. It's exactly what he envisioned and more when he commissioned it.

He watches the artist carefully wrap it, then with their help, Steve picks up one side of the frame, both of them wrangling it carefully so they don't drop it, and carry it out to the waiting car. Gareth's behind the wheel, engine running, like he's the driver of a getaway car. 

He kind of is. Eddie's gonna consider this a crime.

And Steve loves it.

They very carefully place it in the folded down backseat of Gareth's ridiculously huge SUV, which for the first time in history actually came in handy. Steve shakes the artist's hand, and then climbs in the passenger side. 

"Well. Let me see it," Gareth says.

"It's wrapped, you can see it when we get it to the house," Steve explains. He's definitely not unwrapping it until they get it home safely.

Gareth mutters, but agrees, and puts the car into drive. 

Heist over, bounty secured.

Once it's safely hidden away inside the pool house, Steve gently peels back the brown paper and cardboard that has been protecting it.

Gareth leans forward, as if that'll help him get a better look. It's huge. He could see it from across the lawn. 

"Holy shit," Gareth says. 

"I know," Steve laughs, delighted. 

"It takes talent to craft something so magnificently ugly," Gareth says, and Steve agrees. It's ugly because it's on black velvet. That's kind of its thing. But it's not technically bad, nowhere near. It looks just like Eddie, and cost a pretty penny, but Steve definitely got his money's worth. Because the painting is damn good, and exactly what he commissioned.

But utterly and completely ridiculous.

Eddie — on black velvet. 

Christmas is gonna be so good this year.

"Why are you talking all the pictures off the wall?" Eddie asks, laying on the couch, eating popcorn, watching the annual A Christmas Story marathon. He's said he isn't moving today, and Steve is taking advantage of that. Eddie won't ask too many questions, for once in his life. Because if he does, he's scared he'll have to help.

"Gonna dust the frames, maybe change things up," Steve says, clearing off the entire wall behind the couch.

Eddie just shrugs, and goes back to watching the Bumpus hounds wreak havoc on the turkey dinner.

And Steve turns back towards the wall, grinning to himself, as he carefully measures, then drills the new holes in the wall to anchor it. 

It's like a black ops mission. Steve crawls out of bed just after four a.m. and when he gets downstairs, Gareth, Jeff and Goodie are all standing around waiting. 

"Sorry. Overslept. I couldn't set an alarm," Steve whispers, and they just nod, looking tired. He appreciates them all getting up early on Christmas morning just to help pull this off. 

Steve stands on one of the dining room chairs, Jeff on another while the other two hold the bottom of the giant frame.

"This is a ridiculous way to spend money," Goodie grumbles.

"Says the man with so many basses that he needs storage units, plural," Gareth banters back.

"Those are for work," Goodie snaps, a little too loudly.

"Sshh!" Steve shushes.

And in an unprecedented move, they stop fussing and fighting. 

It's a Christmas miracle.

They get it hung, and the holes Steve drilled yesterday actually work perfectly. He was worried his measurements would be off, and then they'd be screwed. Eddie can sleep through anything, but maybe not power tools in the middle of the night.

"He's gonna shit," Jeff says, and Steve giggles. That about sums it up.

They scatter, back to their own homes, their own families, and Steve goes back to bed. 

With no kids, Eddie isn't exactly raring to hop out of bed first thing in the morning, even on Christmas. This will work in their advantage.

Steve stays still in bed, waiting until he hears the first signs of movement from downstairs. They're back. After having Christmas morning with their families, they've all returned to see Eddie's face when he notices this thing for the first time. 

Steve gets up, and heads down, and with help gets brunch started. They always do a full spread, the works, and today is no exception. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, biscuits and gravy, ham steak, hash browns, and every burner and the oven are being fired up all at once.

The kids are all screaming at a dull roar, showing each other their new toys from Santa, and Harrington House feels like a home in a way it never did while Steve was growing up.

He loves it.

They finally hear Eddie moving around upstairs. He's loud, by nature, so there was no chance he was gonna sneak up on them.

Steve carefully wrapped the front of the painting after it was hung, anyway, so even if he did, they wouldn't miss his reaction. 

"He's coming," Gareth says, stating the obvious.

"He's gonna kill you," Goodie says to Steve, "and I'm gonna tell him Gareth helped."

Gareth makes a noise, and Jeff steps in to intervene. They can't have bloodshed before breakfast.

Then Eddie's coming, heavy feet bounding down the stairs, and they all freeze. Waiting for him to go through the living room.

"What the fuck is that?" Eddie hollers, "Steve?!"

Steve just smiles, and throws his tea towel over his shoulder. When he walks through the doorway, everybody following, Eddie is standing in front of the wrapped painting. 

"I don't know. Santa must have brought it," Steve lies, and Eddie turns to look at him.

"What'd you do?"

"Open it and find out," Steve says, and Eddie grabs a corner of the wrapping paper and tears. It doesn't come off in full, but it reveals a hint at what's to come.

"You did not," Eddie says, as he pulls more of the paper loose.

Steve did. He definitely did.

Eddie bends over at the waist and laughs, "I hate you. I hate it."

Then, he stands up, throwing his arms around Steve's neck, "I love it. I love you."

Steve laughs, that's about what he expected. And Eddie pulls away to study it again, as all their friends hoot and holler in the background, riling him up further as they all look at it. 

Eddie, painted in his onstage glory, young and wild, on black velvet.

Steve watches as Eddie reaches out to touch the canvas, "Black velvet. Like I'm Elvis."

Yep. That's exactly what Steve had in mind.

Eddie turns back to grin at Steve, "Has Wayne seen this yet?"

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

Notes: The "painting" image is from this statue of Eddie that's for sale. I thought I could make it look more like a painting than an actual picture from the show.

The title come from the song Black Velvet by Alannah Myles.

[tranceinnumerabletabs]

When Johnny Comes Back pt13

I'd like to mention some of these 'titles' were from AO3 and I'm sorry for how some of these sound. I know a lot of these were truly bonkers and some were character-specific. Y'all better like them they're legit funny at times AND have plausible deniability. Also, just like...2 hours after posting part 12, I REACHED 100 REBLOGS!! LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Sorry it took so long! I guess I hit a writer's block.

tags: @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl, and @beelzebee

part1, part12

“Poison Breaker. Affirmative Sir. Operation: Deep Infiltration. Whispers of the Damned.”

Huh…those sound familiar?

“Undercover assets. Trapper Keeper. The Art of Subtlety. Hotline.”

Those….are just titles of sites you’ve visited? You think. You don’t memorize the hundreds of sites you visit.

“Tactical Submission. All That’s Said In Low Light. The Captain’s Private Orders. All the Sins You Never Had the Courage to Commit. Silent Weapons, Soft Target. To Drive a Man to Madness. Covert Rendezvous.”

Soap looks confused, which isn’t a good look right now. ‘What’s all this?’ He seems to say as he looks at you. You look confused as well.

You Don't remember this as being a part of your research.

This Wasn't Part Of Your Research.

“Sir Yes Sir. Directive 69: Breach & Enter. Man In Uniform. Under the Hood: Sensitive Material. Bravo Six: Going Dark. Decompression Protocol. Advanced Recon: Close Quarters. Mask-On Compliance. Command Authority: At Ease.”

Johnny looked even more confused. That’s…a lot more than you showed him. You didn’t tell him about any of this and by the sounds of it it seems important.

“Low-Profile Insertion. Kylassified BBC. Private Briefing: The Captain’s Touch. The Alpha Lieutenant. Engagement Protocol.”

Wait. Alpha Lieutenant? that sounds so familiar to you.

“Explosive Affairs. Now You See ‘em, Now You Don’t. Help Me Out (Get Me Off).”

“Hen what’s this?” Soap whispers sharply to you.

“Someone to Bleed. Silent Takeover. Behind Enemy Lines (Barracks Edition). Black Ops Ships.”

Ships?

Ships??

SHIPSSS??

SHIIIIIIPPSSSS??!!

No

no please god no

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“Modern Warfare Collection. C4 & Chill. Op Order: Stand to Attention.”

Soap looked worried at your panicked look.

'What are you hiding?'

“Slow Burn Deployment. Headcannon: Operator Edition. Cold War AU. Warzone AU. Infinite Warfare AU. Ship Week Prompts.”

“This isn’t what it looks like” you whisper back but it’s not very convincing when the words Cold War, Warzone and Warfare is coming out of Ross’ mouth

“Modern Warfare Drabbles. Modern Warfare Oneshots. Multi chapter AU Missions. Modern Warfare PWP. Kinktober: Advanced Warfare Edition. Fix-it-Fic: After Action Report.”

He’s literally reading your fucking fanfic history.

“Canon-Divergence ABO AU. WIP Modern Warfare 2.”

ABO?! fml that’s like the worst one?! What could be worse!?

“CoD x Reader."

tHaT wAsN't a fUcKiNg cHAllEnGe rOsS!!

"Reader Inserts: Classified Quarters. Modern Warfare Imagines.” Ross finishes as if he didn’t completely and utterly demolish your dignity in one fell swoop by reading your fanfic history right in front of Johnny

.

.

.

.

“Care to explain all that ma’am?” Ross asks innocuously Now, all three men turn towards you for answers, though Soap is still on your side, he wanted your explanation

You clear your throat, finding it suddenly dry. Was it always hot in here or was it just you?

“I….um…”

At the hesitation, Milton and Ross perk up “Those are just….fictional stories I like reading.” You vaguely say

“Hmm. That’s an awful lot of them military themed”

You nod hastily “yep!” You squeak “I’m just….really into it”

yeah I’m sure you are you whore

All three of them seem to scrutinize you under their gaze. The agents gaze spoke of suspicions and Soap’s never knew you were into that bonny

“So all of this is just a curiosity? You seemed to stay up late on these sites. All these titles are cause for suspicion in one way or another”

you doubt that but I guess they wouldn’t understand what some of these terms would be

“Y-yeah…the stories aren’t….focused on military stuff anyway it’s just….silly stories about the characters” you force out as you wish the ground would swallow you whole. They don’t even seem convinced as you experience an ego death right next to Soap. “It’s harmless! Honest!” You say, digging yourself into a deeper grave.

“Could you show us one of them” Milton challenges

I’d rather you shoot me but okay! You pull out your phone and go on AO3

“Lass what are you doing?” Soap whisper hisses at you, thinking it’s bad.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it” you whisper back. You try to find……nothing too weird. That shouldn’t be too hard right?

right?

You show him the beginning of some slow burn. Nothing crazy happens in the beginning of a slow burn right?

You all sit in silence as old ass men read fanfiction titles right fucking in front of you with varying expressions. But you only had one expression: Pain.

Soap looked like he wanted answers but is waiting till they leave “So they’re really just…..stories..?” Ross gruffs

“Yep! Nothing classified here!” You wheeze Ross of course decided to scroll all the way to the top before you could stop him and read the fucking tags you unwillingly flinch in embarrassment and take back your phone so he doesn’t seen any…..inappropriate tags….and you pray they didn’t. You look at your phone and Daymn these tags are pretty good but not something you’d show your parents. He…didn’t read them did he??

DID HE?

Milton doesn’t seem to notice and continues with the questions “so they’re unrelated to earlier searches?”

“YEP!” Your voice cracks

“Does your ’friend’ also have these….‘interests’”

“Uhhhh……maybe? I’m sure she’d like some of them”

Ross seemed to have enough “alright. Seems….harmless enough”

“Does your friend know anything about deeper searches or your husband’s occupation?” Milton checks again

husband

“U-um….she knows he’s in the military…” you dodge the fist part of the question but “And the searches?” Milton wasn’t having any of that

“I didn’t send her anything I know is classified” technically not a lie

“Did you tell her anything classified?”

“I never knew I even read anything bad! I was just curious”

please leave please leave please leave

They didn’t like that. But what could they do? They shoot Soap a look. He shoots one back, as if to say “leave it to me gentlemen”

The men nod “thank you both for your cooperation.” Ross grunts. They move to stand up and you relax slightly Ross straightens his tie as he talks “Be mindful of where you look and who you share it with. Curiosity could get you in serious trouble if you end up on the wrong side of a security breach“

“If you have any questions about classified material, there are legitimate channels.” Milton eyes you both.

pfff! ‘Legitimate Channels’?! If you wanted to watch hours of propaganda you’d watch marvel movies

Ross casually pockets his notebook filled with information the CIA couldn’t waterboard out you. They start to see themselves out but then-

“Hold it right there folks” Soap objects. The men turn to look at him. “Are ye gonna stop watching us? I’m not too keen on being monitored”

The men exchange glances “we’ll be in touch”

Soap doesn’t seem satisfied with that. Seems he still needs to….do things under your table and need their heads away.

“Aye. Aye. I Ken it’s yer jobs tae be cunts. I’m one myself” he reminds “but I’d like tae take a look at her ‘investigation’ myself and dinae want tae be watched”

Oh so that’s why

The men look at each other, straighten up, and try to make him understand “It’s not in our hands sergeant” Milton speaks “we can try to put in a good word. But we can’t make guarantees”

Soap thinks for a moment “aye, I shoulda known...Hmph. That’s alright gentlemen. I’ll just tell my captain and Laswell”

The men look even more serious “alright. I’m sure they’ll clear her name for you.” They start to see themselves out again but before they could fully leave, the older one, Ross turn his head back and says “It’s got to have you back sergeant” before finally leaving.

Both of you sigh in relief, the tension seeming to leave you both as you relaxed but neither of you are relaxed at all. Your dignity was in complete shambles, you had a lot to explain and Soap now had another mission as soon as he came back.

A long silence befalls both of you. Neither of you knowing what to say and needing to contemplate. You were there, reality crashing on you realizing how you’ve just stumbled into and Johnny? He’s now just had a new list of objectives to complete:

1. Interrogate you, why didn’t you tell him about those? are you hiding something from him? Have you been lying about what you know?

2. Tell Laswell and Price everything he knows and everything that happened. He already sent screenshots, they haven’t responded, and there’s been…..recent updates to suspicious activity he has to investigate.

3. Try to clear your name. But only if he’s concluded you deserved it. And he’s worried you didn’t deserve it. Those titles did sounded suspicious

4.Contact the shadow. How dare he talk to his wee bonny lass? Was it random? Was it bait? Was it targeted? Was it a part of something bigger he might not survive?

As both of you were processing the events, neither of you knew what to say. Soap braved a glance at you, you were looking right at him…wanting to speak but not knowing how to start. His eyes softened. How could he think anything malevolent of you? He’s sure you have an explanation. He put his signature teasing smile on his face.

“Husband eh? Looks like they made it official for us.” He jokes

You look surprised, before slowly cracking a small laugh and shaking your head. He smiles at the sight: you, on laughing at his antics on his bare chest. His solider brain impelled him from the side of his mind that he usually shut down when he came back to demand

To demand answers now.

But you were precious.

Too precious

But he had a job to do. His Call of Duty

“Lass” he clears his through and tries to keep his tone lighthearted as to not alarm you but the look in his eye was serious. “Care tae explain all tha’? Ye said ye told me everything”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks start heating up, you shove your face back into his chest, an action that would usually have his heart beating faster and his grin wider, but not now, cuz that’s MiGhTy sUsPiCioUs. His eyes grow even more serious. “What’s wrong bonny” his pet name sounds forced “are ye hiding’ something?”

You don’t seem to catch the weight of his tone, too engulfed in the absolute embarrassment of the events. Bad news. “Lass” he says through clenched teeth. “Care tae explain?” He fights the urge to grip your hair and force eye contact. He needs answers.

You catch on and snap your head up “I-i-it’s not what I-it l-l-looks like! I can explain!”

no you can't

oh god how am I going to explain I read smutty military fanfiction?! HE’S IN THE FUCKING MILITARY

“Ye said ye told me everything”

“I did!”

“Then what was all that? You didn’t show me all those.”

“I-I-I answered truthfully! Honest!”

“So all th’ was jus’ stories?” He asks, suspicious

“Yes! I promise!”

“About what?”

"Just….some..military stuff”

“Ye seemed eager tae make sure sheriff Sunburn and Deputy Mustache dinnae read it.” He presses

“It’s just….um….about the characters themselves. Like about lieutenants, soldiers, sergeants, mercenaries. Not about combat or battle….usually..”

So you’re learning about their means to an end? The average person doesn’t read hours of Mein Kampf, Das Kapital, The Art of War, The Turner Diaries etc for the writing style. So he scowls more as if that’s worse “an’ why would ye want tae know that?”

“Just……for fun..”

“Fer fun?”

“Hmm hmm” you force out.

Oh lord, if you’re listening, please help. I know we haven't always gotten along with my reading history and every thought I have when Johnny is shirtless but please!

“Then why don’t I have some ‘fun’ too? Give me your phone” he challenges, determined to find you out. Your eyes widen and your throat goes dry

oh lord please no

Your reaction seemed to confirm his suspicions and I look of betrayal and denial seeped into his face. You lied to him? You lied?! What were you plotting?

The look on his face broke your heart and you panicked more “I-i-it’s not bad! Honest! C'mon I need you on my side Johnny! You know I’d never do anything bad!”

“Honest?” He seemed to mock “well if ye wanna talk about honesty. Let’s talk about how ye went behind my back and learned everythin’ I’ve been trying tae hide from ye, only for you to end up being someone I’d fight against and ye won’t even let me not believe it!”

“Nononononono” you shake your head. Then. You sigh, defeated

“…..don’t laugh…”

Soap seemed to ease up at that.

“It’s…..uh…transformative works based on preexisting concepts made by regular civilians”

“Does it end with the army lads plantin’ a bomb or rescuin’ a kitten? I’m sure ‘The Captain’s Private Orders’ and ‘Operation Deep Infiltration’ sound like stories with happy endings. Next thing I see is you pitching’ American Sniper tae our wee Simon fer a bedtime story”

oh they have happy endings alright

You groan and place your hands in your hands “they’re not even about military bullshit! They’re about military video game characters!” You slip

“….stories…..about video game...military…” he mumbled to himself. Then…slowly, his entire demeanor shifts. His shoulders drop and his face twist into disbelief

“No. fucking. way” he looks at you but there was no malice, making you foolishly relax as well “what?”

“Lass…”

“Johnny?”

“…were ye readin’ fanfiction?!” He yells in absolute disbelief!

“W-what! I-I-I”

“Don’t try tae lie tae me sweetheart!” He laughs, and despite it being at your expense pride swelled in your heart at making him laugh so hard. “Ye wee filthy lass!” He laughs.

“N-no!!” You yell in a blushing defense but that just confirms his suspicions further and he wasn’t having any of that. You're dignity was going for a round two and there is no tap outs avaliable

“I cannae believe it! The wee Innocent Princess has a dark side! Tell me lassie, do ye like the idea of a big mean soldier tossin’ a wee ting like you and fuckin’ her silly?”

“It’s not all smutty!” You slip up. Well shit now you’ve confirmed it!

“Is that so? are they all big dark, brooding and misunderstood?” He keeps going, merciless “or are they too busy shagging each other? An’ I’m right here! Without the plot holes or filers! I’m proper jealous! Am I not strong enough fer ye Bonnie? I promise I’m a better fuck than Audie Murphy!” He laughs, clutching his chest in faux heartbreak

“Noooooo!”

“Dae the lads recite Shakespeare tae woo ye? I should try tha’! O, my sweet lass, how doth thy beauty compare to a well-placed grenade?’”

“Okay well fuck you too Johnny”

“ye wish! Is this what ye’ve been reading at night?! All cozy in yer Jammies readin’ about an alpha male in yer bedroom? I gotta see this!”

“Jounnyyy!!” you shove your face into your hands, unable to face him

“What’s yer favorite one lass? ‘Tactical Submission’? ‘*Deeeep* Infiltration’” he leans in close to you, making sure to be right in front of your hands on your face

“What was it again? ‘Captain’s Private Orders’? I could give ye orders if ye like lass”

“Oh I’m sorry Sergeant jealousy, I didn’t know it was part of protocol to get your CV before reading in what I thought was the privacy of my home!” You whine into your hands then he grips your wrists and rips them away to revel in your shattered dignity

“I dinae think the day would ever come where I’d find this about ye! Are ye that patriotic or have I swooned ye? I shoulda went in tae makin’ porn! Then at least ye’d be Diddling tae a proper braw belter!”

You groan so loudly you sound like an angsty teen on their phone. You look away, your face too hot to breath properly “Who needs recruiters when they have me! Are you tryin to tell me somethin lass?” He leans in way too fucking close making it hard to breathe.

You whine indignantly “yeah!” You choke out. His eyes brighten and it pisses you off more right now “l found that that military men are really sexy! You’re just a shit example!” You yell out.

He throws his head back in laughter. Finally you can breathe without his smothering proximity. “Awww lass! Don’t be like tha’!”

You huff and don’t meet his face

“Lassie” he calls out, still holding your wrists

“Fuck off Johnny”

“Awww don’t be like that hen. I’m sure it’s a nice way tae keep warm when the real thing isn’t there”

“Johnny I swear to god I will sell you to foreign forces for a corn chip if you don’t shut the fuck up”

“Fee a corn chip? Nae I’m sure you can bargain fer better.” He grins wider and leans back in “like…say….a night with one of their soldiers.”

“Johnny I swear to god-“ He gasps as if he suddenly got an idea “Ye really should show me some!” Your eyes shoot open in horror

“absolutely not!” You yell “ain’t no way!”

He whines and places both hands in the couch ‘wall’ behind you, encasing you. You knew he was going to try and roll persuasion. He rolls a 19 but you roll a 20 on insight and see his roguish mischievousness through those twitter-blue eyes. He lowers himself a bit and looks up at you with those big blue pupper eyes, it’s especially ethos with those bandages “Bonny-” he starts, dripping with faux sincerity

“No.”

“Lass pl-“

“I said no Johnny”

“Hen”

“I said NO Johnny! I will throw Simon at you don’t test me!”

He whines like a dog and encircles me more, trying to apply pressure.

“Princess.”

You sigh, hot faced with anger and embarrassment “what.” He grins.

“I love ye”

Though those sad puppy eyes were optimized to disintegrate your will, they were gleaming with mischief

“shut it” you shove him off to run away but he throws himself on top of you like a clingy dog and pinning you on the couch “don’t gooo, say it baack”

“Get off me!” You whine, fantasizing about locking yourself into your bed room and scream into your pillow

“Not until he tell me I’m more braw then the Bawbags ye read about!”

“Fat chance sergeant suds!” You struggle under his the immovable object that is Johnny with the unstoppable force that is your rage.

But then-lightbulb!

💡💡💡

He’s taught you many things, some of which includes how to evade capture by government agents and how to get out of being pinned. You decide to use one of the tricks he taught you. Usually it might not work on the big bad sergeant soap, but he’s sore, fresh out of the hospital, and hasn’t worked out in weeks. He’s not at full strength. You’ve got this!

“Well then yer stuck here!” He taunts and continues to make fucking fun of you “Why don’t ye write naughty fanfiction of me? I’m amazin’!”

“Oh I’ve got a naughty story for you Sergeant!”

You hook your legs around his waist, shutting him up quick. You shift your hips, buck up hard, pushing your knee against his hip. The unexpected momentum makes him yelp and it rolls him enough to loosen his hold as he instinctively tries to catch himself from falling off the couch.

“long. live. the king!”

You snake an arm free and shove his shoulder with all your Disney movie might, tossing him off the couch with a thud

You scramble to your feet as he stares in surprise “I know all your tricks Sudsy!”

“I taught ye that! Y-ye traitor!” He groans. You turn to skiddadle away.

“Honey wait!” He calls after you but nope! You’re gone! He shoots up to chase you. You slam your door and lock yourself in your bedroom to sulk, scream, punch something and pout.

“This isnae over Bonny!” He says truthfully, not only was there the other stuff to take care of but he has to read some of that! “You cannae escape me forever!”

“I just did!” You scream through your bedroom door and flop on the bed to scream.

“This is war bonny! And I don’t lose!” You can hear his laughter from the other room. He stands there, arms crossed as if waiting for you to come out. After a few beats of silence he decides to grant you a shred of mercy and leave you to your pain. He moves to drop on the couch. He still has work to do, but at least he’s sure you’re definitely innocent. Well, innocent in terms of crime. He still hasn’t read those fics.

He sees Simon and tries to pet him. Simon, however was having none of that. He was being malicious mean and scary and stares at Johnny with a sneer that could curdle dairy as if to say that crime wise his hands are not the cleanest.

He has concluded that Johnny Upset You and refuses to be pet by him till an Official Pardon has been issued by the princess herself.

He hisses grumpily like he’s saying ‘you’ve angered the queen’s envoy, human. No cuddles for you’ and enters your room to comfort you. How? Oh he’s got a dream. Lol jk. Like this:

https://youtube.com/shorts/a-MvV2Oo4cE?si=UMNuw2ndX3Oxj9uC

[captainsophiestark]

Partners

Grant Ward x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: Marvel

Day Thirty Prompt: "I won't let you down."

Summary: Grant's SO is tackling the biggest project SciTech has to offer an academy student, and he's about to be dragged into helping with it.

Word Count: 2,879

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Out of every single other member in your class, the board has decided to trust you with this assignment. Do you think you're up to the challenge?"

I kept my face carefully neutral, a skill I'd learned from my Ops boyfriend. Inside, my heart was racing and threatening to make an escape across the room and out the door, but in front of the entire SHIELD SciTech Academy board? I could not let that show.

Instead, I kept my back straight, and forced the slightest of smiles onto my face.

"Yes, ma'am. I am up to the challenge. I promise, I won't let you down."

"Good. We look forward to seeing what you come up with."

I kept the smile on my face and nodded, leaning forward enough to be at the very edge of a bow. Then, I turned on my heel and kept my head high as I walked out of the room. My boyfriend had taught me exactly the body language required to convey confidence, and I was putting all of it to use right now.

The second I cleared the doors, I let everything drop.

I took off at a sprint through the hallways of the main SciTech building, ducking through the hallways I knew better than anywhere else on earth, avoiding anybody that might try to stop or question me. I didn't slow down, even once I made it outside. Instead, I sped up, heading for the edge of the SciTech campus.

I was in my last year at the Academy. I was at the top of my class, so for a final project, the board had tasked me with creating a new tool for Field Agents and Specialists. They wanted something the agents could have on them that worked like an emergency button, transmitting information and location if the need arose. But, they also needed it to be basically undetectable to any sensor, easy for agents in the field to operate and conceal, and durable enough to do its job no matter what punishment it got put through. A nearly impossible task outside of these walls, and despite my preparation, still pretty damn hard for me.

I'd been workshopping a prototype for a similar idea all semester, and the board knew it. They liked what they'd seen, so they'd made it my job to finish a true prototype for them to present and then further develop on Monday. It was currently Friday, and my project still had one gigantic, glaring weakness.

No matter what we could come up with in the lab, our field inventions almost inevitably came back with complaints from the agents who actually used them. We could run simulations and tests and try to recreate conditions pretty well in the lab, but it never stood up to the hardships of actually being in the field like we thought it would. Which meant, if I wanted to keep my promise to the board and my standing within SciTech, I needed to get creative.

Fortunately for me, I happened to be dating the best Operations student in generations. Grant Ward and I had met last year and we'd been happily dating ever since, despite how hard it could be sometimes to spend time with each other from different Academy campuses. We'd found workarounds whenever and wherever we needed to.

Thank goodness we'd both agreed to spend time breaking the rules at the beginning of our relationship. I was on the brink of a crisis, and I didn't have time to try to find a way to break into the Fort Knox that was the SHIELD Operations Academy.

In almost record time, I made it to Grant's dorm, using the routes we'd scouted together forever ago. Luckily for both of us, he was a senior enough student with high enough standing to have his own small apartment. I quickly scaled the wall to his second story window, something else I'd learned how to do from Grant.

I didn't even pause as I climbed through the window, landing in Grant's bedroom. I didn't see him, so I closed the window behind me and then hustled into the small living room/kitchen at a jog. I found Grant in the middle of the room, apparently halfway through walking to the kitchen, but he froze in his tracks and was already looking at me as I burst into the room.

"Grant! Thank god you're home. I need your help."

Before I knew what was happening, Grant had pushed me behind him. He kept one hand on my waist, and when I turned to see what the hell he was doing, he had a gun in his other hand and was alternating pointing it at his bedroom door and the front door.

"What's wrong?" he asked me without turning around, his voice deadly serious. I fought to hold in a laugh and didn't bother fighting back against the smile.

"Not that kind of help," I said. "Sorry for scaring you, though."

Slowly, Grant holstered his gun and turned around to face me. Both his eyebrows were raised in a demanding type of question.

"You run in here like you're being chased by a murderer and it's not that kind of help?"

"No, but it is the kind of help that will determine my entire future and has the potential to ruin me and everything I've ever worked for in my entire life ever."

Grant just stared at me for a moment. He blinked, slowly, then let out a long breath. Finally, he nodded.

"Alright. What do you need help with?"

I blew out a breath of relief, then quickly explained the situation to Grant. He'd heard plenty about the leadership of SciTech and how important it was to me to keep impressing them, so this latest project and its associated stakes weren't news.

"So... what exactly do you want me to do?" he asked once I'd finished telling him about the events of my meeting. I gave him the most charming, persuasive smile I could manage, and he immediately frowned.

"I want you to try out the device I've put together. I have a few prototypes, and it's easy enough for me to make another handful for testing. I need feedback on how well they actually work for the intended purpose, for field and ops agents, in a way that I can't predict or test in the lab."

Grant sighed, then nodded and held out one hand towards me.

"Alright. Give me the thing, let's do this."

I grinned. "I love you so much."

****************

Grant and I spent the rest of the day and then some putting my device through various tests. Exactly as I'd been expecting, when Grant took it through various exercises that he went through at Ops, the device had weaknesses I hadn't predicted. From static electricity via crawling across the carpet turning the thing on before its time to the waterproofing failing after being submerged for too long, Grant and I found one problem after another, and each time, I fixed the issue.

"Okay, what if we had standard placement be on the stomach," I suggested, sticking the little round disk of my latest prototype just above Grant's belly button. "Would that protect it from the kind of weapon strikes we don't want it taking on your forearm?"

Grant hummed. "Maybe, but it's no garuntee. Besides, you want an agent to be able to activate the thing when we don't have another option. If my hands are tied behind my back, I won't be able to get to it."

"Dammit. You're right. Okay... what do you think, then?"

"How about the wrist, on the pulse point? I can probably find a way to activate that no matter what, and if a weapon really hits hard there, it won't matter if the device is destroyed."

I frowned. "I hate it when you talk like that."

"I thought you wanted good, honest feedback to improve this device for the SciTech board."

"Yeah, but I still don't like to hear my boyfriend talking about ways he could potentially die." I huffed and crossed my arms. "Still, you're right, and it's a good idea. But... maybe I can find a way to give the device a little death sequence."

"...Meaning?"

"Meaning, if it gets fatally hit like that, it automatically activates. And maybe I could even get it to deploy something that'll have a chance at stopping the bleeding."

"That would be pretty impressive," Grant agreed. I nodded, my mind already whirling with the possibilities.

"Okay. Okay, let's try to add that in, and then we can run it through the tests again."

Grant's eyebrows shot up. "The same tests we just did? Again?"

"Yeah. If I make major changes like that, we need to make sure it doesn't compromise any of the existing systems. Which means re-checking the systems we've already figured out."

Grant let out a long sigh and shook his head. He walked over to me, put an arm around my shoulders, and placed a kiss on the top of my head, then moved towards the kitchen.

"I don't understand why you like all this stuff. But I'll brew some coffee, since you're gonna need it. And I'll make sure the Ops pool is reserved for us when you finish your updates."

I grinned. "You are seriously the best boyfriend in the world, you know that?"

"What was that?" Grant asked, looking up from the coffee pot and feigning innocence like he hadn't heard me. I just smiled and shook my head.

"I said, you're the best boyfriend in the world."

Grant's feigned surprise immediately morphed into the charming smile I loved so much.

"Good. Just checking."

We spent the rest of the weekend like that, making updates and improvements to my little device and then testing how well they worked. Despite Grant's differing opinion, I genuinely loved doing this, more than just about anything in the world. But, even if I'd hated it most of the time, I would've put in the same amount of work for this project. It could very literally save my boyfriend's life some day in the future, after all. Now was not the time to half-ass something and call it good, even without the pressure of the SciTech board looming over me.

Finally, by about two in the morning on Monday, we'd managed to put the device on the wrist through every single test without fault or flaw. It worked as intended, and not a moment before it was supposed to, and if it was destroyed it sent out a final beacon and deployed some emergency blood clotting tech before it went. It was perfect.

"Thank you so much for all your help on this, babe," I muttered, the sleep finally digging its teeth into me now that my task had been accomplished. Grant and I had flopped down on the couch while I'd been going over the data, and now I curled against his side, resting my head on his chest. "I seriously couldn't have done it without you."

"Yeah, you could've," he said, stifling a yawn of his own as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "It would've taken you longer, but we both know you still would've pulled this off eventually."

I hummed, a smile on my face as I curled further into Grant's chest.

"Thanks, babe. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

He kissed the top of my head, his arms wrapped tight around me, and that's the last thing I remember before the world faded to black.

****************

"Babe. Baby. Come on, you need to wake up."

I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut tighter and rolling away from the voice of my boyfriend trying to wake me up for god knows what reason.

"Sweetheart, you have your presentation today. You need to get up."

And just like that, I was wide awake.

I shot straight up, my heart dropping all the way to my stomach. I was in Grant's bed—I guess he'd moved us before passing out himself—but I had no idea if he'd remembered to set an alarm last night. If I missed this presentation, after all the work we'd done-

"It's okay, you have plenty of time," Grant said, probably reading the panic on my face. "It's six thirty, you have another two and a half hours to get ready and get back to SciTech."

I turned to Grant with a scowl.

"You woke me up at six thirty in the morning?" I demanded.

"...You wanted me to let you sleep later?"

I huffed and threw the covers off my legs, scowling as I stood.

"No. I need time to wake up, get back to SciTech, get ready, put together my presentation materials, practice my presentation... I need the two and a half hours. But I'm still mad you woke me up at six thirty."

Grant snorted, but I caught him staring at me with a fond smile in the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

I moved as quickly as I could, gathering the materials I needed and that I'd brought with me to Grant's apartment, then giving him a quick kiss and heading back to the SciTech campus. I showered, put on my most impressive professional outfit, and then spent almost all my remaining time putting the finishing touches on my presentation. Luckily for me, I knew the device in and out after how I'd spent my weekend, and I was absolutely confident in what it could do. Both things helped immensely when it came to giving a good presentation.

I walked into the main building of SciTech with my head held high, and this time it wasn't an act. I found the board waiting for me, and I didn't hesitate to launch into my presentation with absolute confidence. The surprised, excited reactions came almost immediately, and they only fueled my confidence and excitement.

Of course, everyone had a few questions, but I answered them easily. When I'd finished answering questions and officially completed my presentation, the board literally clapped. I beamed at them; I wasn't sure they'd ever done that before.

"Excellent work," said the SciTech chair, her smile beaming. "This is above and beyond what we could've expected. We'll put it through a few final tests, but honestly, I don't expect it to need much. I know you're in the middle of your final semester here, but be prepared to take a trip to the Hub before graduation to help us present this development to Director Fury himself."

My heart exploded in my chest, and I couldn't wipe the smile off my face as I shook hands and said thank yous before heading out of the room. I had a slightly dazy smile on my face as I walked through the SciTech halls, and my shoulders were relaxed for the first time in days as I stepped through the front doors and into the bright sunlight.

"Hey!"

I jumped so high I might've cleared the first floor windows at the sound of a voice coming from the bushes. I whirled around to find Grant crouched there, lurking in the shadows like a murderer.

"Grant? What the hell are you doing?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice low. He wasn't technically supposed to be on our campus, and I didn't want to get him caught, but he'd also just given me a damn heart attack.

Instead of answering, Grant reached up and grabbed my forearm, pulling me into the bush with him. I landed hard against his chest, but I didn't totally mind it as he wrapped his arms tightly around me. Still, I met his gaze with a slightly raised eyebrow. He just smiled.

"I wanted to know how it went. And maybe get a little payback for the heart attack you gave me on Friday."

I huffed a laugh. "Well, mission accomplished."

"Great. So how'd it go?"

I grinned. Grant smiled back, his arms tightening around me, but he waited to celebrate.

"It went amazing. They loved it. I'm gonna help them present it to Fury sometime in the next few weeks."

Grant's eyebrows shot up, and he actually took a shocked half-step back from me.

"You're going with them to present it to Fury?" I nodded. "They never let recruits do that!"

"I know!"

I squealed and jumped up in the air, and a moment later, Grant caught me. He let out a breathy laugh as he spun me around, and neither of us let go for even a second when he set me back down on my feet.

"We need to do something to celebrate," Grant declared, his low voice right beside my ear. "Are you working on any world-changing inventions this weekend?"

I leaned back just enough to grin at him. "No. For once, my schedule's actually pretty clear."

"Good. You wanna come to me, or you want me to come to you?"

"Mm, I'll come to you. As much as I love what I do, I also wouldn't mind a little break from all the work I've been doing lately."

"It's a deal. Come over after your last class on Friday. I'll take care of the rest."

Grant and I shared a smile, then we closed the distance between us for a long, sweet kiss. From making out in the bushes to letting me test my most important projects on him, Grant was always there for me. And no matter what else came out of my career at SciTech, in the Academy and as an agent afterwards, the relationship Grant and I had built together would always be my proudest accomplishment.

***************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Marvel Taglist: @valkyriepirate @infinetlyforgotten @sagesmelts @gaychaosgremlin

[stardusthuntress]

Fanboy

Rex x femaleMandoMedic!reader 

Word Count: ~5.7k (I cannot write shorter fics than that anymore, so have a long one) 

Special thanks to @mybrainislostinagalaxyfarfaraway for the inspiration for this one! Link to original post idea, below (but the original idea post and the tumble of the person who posted it seem to have vanished - if you can, please help me find them and tag them and repair my tags and links)! FYI, I did modify the original prompt slightly, but OP approved of the change before I even wrote it, so we are all good! Sorry it took me so long! 

Summary: He’s a fan of your erotica work - he has no idea you write it, and you have no idea he reads it, and yet you work side by side every day! This part ends before the smut so other writers can dream up their own scenarios with details relevant to their works! 

TW: reader writes smutty fics while living onboard the Resolute. Reader has own room (no roomies). Reader has okay relations with family, but not great ones, prefers distance from them. 

Mando’a: Ner = my Mesh’la = beautiful Verd = warrior Shebs = butt/ass 

Other SW Terms: Kark/kriff = both common expletives used in place of “shit” or “fuck” or “damn” Dank ferrik = commom expletive used in place of “oh shit” or “damn it” 

*************************************************

Slowly, the harmless acronyms of your secret writing world began to permeate your everyday war-focused acronyms. 

Memos telling your troopers to keep things G-rated around children became “and remember, anything NSFW that isn’t a part of your standard kit stays on the ship, today’s mission is protecting a large town with lots of families so keep it clean for the kiddos, please!” 

the typical “IP” note to Captain Rex turned into “WIP” when you were tired. He never questioned it, so you assumed it must be commonplace for others to use too. 

Rex never told you where he learned it. He couldn’t! It wasn’t the sort of thing a Captain, of all people, went and told everyone. Ranking officers had a reputation to uphold. Their men looked up to them, especially bright-eyed young shinies who’d yet to be introduced to galactic nightlife. 

And yet, somehow, it was the thing that kept him sane while fighting a war. The thing that reminded him that not everyone in the galaxy was out to get them. The thing that reminded him that the galaxy was worth saving because it was filled with beautiful moments and not just the pain of war. 

The horrors of war had long since left a deep scar in the Captain’s mind, but it was a price he was willing to accept to protect the galaxy. And no matter how hard the worst days became, he would always go back to reading stories about the most beautiful aspect of the people he fought so hard to protect: the way they made love. Besides, reading about making love instead of war every night was the only thing that let him find his way to sleep. War was beyond brutal. 

Rex had long since accepted that very few people would be willing to be partners with a man who did not know if he would live to see the next sunrise. He himself spent every day facing the fact that each battlefield could be his last. And even if it wasn’t, the loss and heart-wrenching difficulties of war had a tendency to leave him as a different man at the end of each one. So, if he couldn’t have a partner in real life with which to share the difficulties, and do all the small, mundane, domestic things, just like the rest of the galaxy, and share the joys of sensual love, then no one could stop him from dreaming about it. And that gave him hope. And hope was an essential part of continuing on in war. 

But he had decided long ago, when he became a Captain, that he would never tell a soul about this. It was his little secret thing. Besides, if his troopers ever did find out, he’d never hear the end of it. 

If Fives ever found out… Rex didn’t want to think about it. This was Rex’s special, secret. And he loved it. 

He always did everything in his power to keep it out of his troopers' hands, and far away from the battlefield. 

And now, now that the post-battle reports were almost done, he could start to let himself think about it a little bit. 

*************************************************

Tonight your goal had been to finish the last WIP you’d started months ago when inspiration had hit between grueling battles. And tonight, you’d succeeded. You proofed the polished piece one last time, took a deep breath, and tapped “post”. 

As you sat back in your seat, a call from Rex came in on your comm, making you nervous you’d posted it somewhere the rest of the ship could see it. 

“Lieutenant, can I get the list of the soldiers your shift deemed medically cleared for duty from you? I’m wrapping up reports, and that’s the last piece of data I need.” Rex’s voice showed no hint of anything other than the same post-battle paperwork as usual, and you loosed a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. 

Beside him, his personal datapad beeped and lit up, a banner across the screen notified him that his favorite author had just posted a new work! Rex couldn’t wait to get to it when these last few reports were done. 

“Sure thing, Captain! I take it Kix forgot to send it again.” The normalcy in your voice surprised even yourself. 

“You know Kix, but he keeps everyone on their feet, so I don’t mind having to ask for them. Besides, it’s handy to have you onboard. You have all the same medical clearances he does, and you’re much more fun to talk to.” Rex finished. The exhaustion and potential to read a NSFW story tonight seemed to be making Rex bold, even to his inner dialog. Where normally he’d be all business, tonight he was opening up a little, dare he even consider it flirtatious?  

The voice on the other end of the phone laughed. “That’s sweet of you! But don’t tell Kix you said that, Captain!” 

Rex laughed, “Oh, don’t worry, I think they all know. Everyone enjoys your company in a sea full of identical faces.” 

“Haha, well I hope being one of the few different faces isn’t the only thing I have going for me!” 

“Certainly not! Like I said, you’re fun to talk to, Sweetheart.” Rex felt the heat rising in his neck, he didn’t usually let himself call you Sweetheart so openly like that… what had become of his filter tonight? 

Rex’s work datapad beeped with a new notification, both of which were audible over the comms, but he didn’t know that. “Thanks for the reports! Talk more tomorrow,” Rex yawned. 

You snickered, suppressing a yawn of your own, and wished him goodnight. 

Rex glanced over the list of names, clicked approve, attached it to his last report and submitted it. 

Finally, Rex had time for himself, time to read his favorite author’s new piece! 

Rex wondered who the mystery author was, no one used their actual names on this site, that’s what made Rex comfortable with using it. There was no way to trace it back to him, except through his personal datapad, so he felt comfortable using it on a republic ship. Besides, he knew there were much weirder things getting pulled up on republic ships, war was rough after all, and he wasn’t about to judge anyone for however they decided to cope with it. 

So, Rex settled in for the night, your cheerful voice on his mind, and decided he needed to picture this new scenario in your voice, with you attached. No matter how risqué that seemed, something about it filled a need for him. There had always been something about you that attracted Rex, though he couldn’t put his finger on what specifically. But that didn’t exactly matter. What did matter was that he finally had someone real who made him feel like he wanted the scenarios he always read about. You! 

The comm next to him beeped again. Rex sighed and looked at it. Speaking of, it was you, again! 

Rex got nervous. “Everything ok, Sweetheart?” He asked hesitantly, and didn’t even notice he had once again used his internal pet name for you. 

Suddenly you were glad you were just on comms and he couldn’t see you, it was hard not to smile when he called you that, and he always did it after particularly grueling battles, like this one. And this was the second time this evening!

“I can’t find my blaster cleaning kit. Did I leave it with you earlier when I dropped off the General’s saber after the battle?” 

Rex silently breathed a sigh of relief and looked around the room. 

Sure enough, there it was! 

“Yup, I have it right here. Want me to bring it to you this time?” he asked. 

“Na, I need to get up and stretch a bit anyways, been sitting at my desk too long. I’ll be by in a minute… if that’s okay?” 

“Sure thing, see you in a minute!” Rex took a deep breath and looked around the room. He could feel the warmth rising in his face. Why had he just agreed to that? He was all disheveled from a post-battle shower, his personal datapad was still right there with the new fic he was starting to read pulled up, and he had nothing to do until you came by. Not to mention that he’d just been thinking about you… sexually… he knew you couldn’t read his mind, but he still felt guilty about it. 

A quiet knock on his door pulled him out of his reverie. Kark! That was fast! Rex shoved his personal datapad under the pillow of the makeshift bunk he sometimes used for a nap in this closet of a space Skywalker and Kenobi had set aside for him. Then he straightened his blacks, scooped up the item you had asked about, and opened the door. 

“Hi, thanks, Rex! Sorry, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything!” 

Rex found himself a little extra flustered when he opened the door to find you standing in your nightclothes - a slightly too large shirt you’d cut the neck out of, and shorts. Probably more of you than he’d ever seen exposed before. He hoped he was the only man who’d see you like this tonight… or any night for that matter. 

“Na, you’re fine I was just…. Uh… reading… before I turn in for the night.” His flustered brain was doing anything except being useful, of course. The one thing he’d been trying to avoid talking about was what he’d just been reading, why did he have to say that? 

“Ooo! I like to read! May I ask what you were reading?” 

“Uh…” Rex couldn’t say no, so he tried to think fast, “Just something new from my favorite author.” 

“Oh! What author?” 

Kriff! He hadn’t thought about that question coming next, but in hindsight, he should have. It’s the obvious follow-up question. 

“Oh, not books, just, uh… short stories!” Rex was proud of himself, this was going OK! Which is to say: better than he’d expected. Was that too low of a bar to set for himself, or too high? 

“Ah, cool! Well, I love to read, but I don’t often have much time anymore either, if you find any good short stories, let me know! I’m curious to know what a strong leader like you likes to read in his downtime!” 

Aaaaaand there went his good luck. The bar was indeed too high. Rex felt the warning lights going off in his own mind, warning him of an imminent crash if this conversation continued. Much to his dismay, he did like talking with you. 

Rex laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes drifting to the floor. “Sure thing!” He lied, and faked a yawn, “but for tonight, I think it’s time for bed for us both! It was a long day, I’ll see you in the morning, Lieutenant.” 

You smiled, nodded, and headed off down the hallway, back to your quarters. 

Rex closed the door and sighed. That was close. Too close. He hoped he hadn’t given anything away. Maybe he should start to think up excuses for when you inevitably ask about what he was reading… but for tonight, there was still a whole fic waiting to be read! 

*************************************************

The next morning, Rex made a point to check in on the medbay patients while you’re on shift. 

He hadn’t told you, or anyone really, but he always planned it that way. He liked to drop by the medbay when you were around. So far, he’d managed to keep it off his brother’s radar and make it appear somewhat random. He just hoped he could keep that up for a while longer. 

“You mentioned that you were up late working on something when we spoke last night,” Rex commented, somewhat worried about you. “I thought you’d finished all your reports and sent them in already, hours before. I hadn’t seen any more come through the pipeline that late in the evening, nor this morning. Did I miss anything, Lieutenant?” 

“Oh! No, you didn’t miss anything. It was just, uh… some personal things. That’s all! Nothing to worry about, Captain!” Your cheeks felt warm. Hopefully, Rex wouldn’t figure out that he was the cause of your suddenly shy demeanor! There was no way he knew he was on your mind when you were writing last night, could he? Wait, how could he, he didn’t even know you wrote things like that! Probably for the best, you didn’t want to imagine how sorry he’d feel for you to know that was how you were satisfying your cravings for lust these days. Then again, this was war. Maybe it wasn’t so unusual on a ship packed full of men with no relief, no break, no love in sight for weeks, months, years even sometimes. But something told you there were only 2 potential reactions to him finding that out about you: awkward curiosity or disappointment, and you didn’t know which was worse. 

“Well, if you need time off to focus on family or friends, I want to make sure you don’t feel bad asking for it. You know I’d grant it. You’re a civilian. I know you need breaks to attend to things at home.” Rex assured you. 

“Thanks, but I don’t need time off. I’m actually grateful to have time away from them. Family is family, but being around them wasn’t helping me figure out who I am. I like being farther away from them, if I’m being honest. Allows me to just be…” your voice trails off for a moment, but your mind returns to his comment. “I was just working on some of the things I enjoy in my downtime. It’s nice to have time for those sorts of things, don’t you think?” 

“Couldn’t agree more. But now I’m curious,” Rex smirks, intrigued but doing his best to keep the comments light and appropriate for a medbay check-in, “What sorts of fun things occupy your time when these rowdy troopers aren’t flirting with you all day?” he gestures to the men in the bunks lining the walls as he refers to them. “What does your mind need to do to slow down and relax after a grueling battle?” Rex’s eyes are beginning to hint at something on the edge of flirtation, but it couldn’t be… could it? Rex isn’t the type to break his Captain’s demeanor to flirt. Your mind races away into the star-streaked black of hyperspace, too many thoughts flashing by for you to grasp at any one at a time. 

Rex nudges you with his shoulder, a raised eyebrow bringing you back to reality. 

“Uh, not that different from you, actually, it seems. Reading, writing, music, a good holofilm. An escape from war. Though the company of this war is better than I’d expected,” you teased. 

“Did you say you write?” Rex zeroed in on the one thing you hadn’t mean to let slip. 

“Uh, not that I have much time to write, haven’t really done it in a while, to be honest,” you babbled, lying through your teeth, trying to detract from his interest. 

“That’s too bad,” Rex’s comment paused your ramblings, “I was hoping I’d get a chance to learn more about you, by reading what you write about when you need a break from war.” 

You stared at him for a moment. He was flirting with you… right? Or was he just trying to be nice and befriend the civies on his ship so they would feel comfortable amongst his troops like any good Captain would? It must be the latter, right? Rex didn’t seem the type to flirt this openly… 

“Lieutenant,” Kix called, “I need 50 cc’s of pain reliever, please” 

“Oh, sorry Captain, I have to, uh,” you pointed to Kix, already moving to the supply cabinet for the pain meds. 

Rex just nodded and continued walking around the room, checking in with his men as they recovered. Unknowingly, giving you the chance to steal glances at him as you continued your work healing his men. Meanwhile, he did the same thing from across the room, pretending he was simply keeping an eye out behind him like any good officer would, but anyone who knew him could tell his gaze lingered just a little too long on a certain medic… 

*************************************************

One evening finds you just sitting with Rex, chatting around a campfire for the first watch of the night after a long battle and hearty meal. It’s just the two of you on watch, for this quadrant of troops, soft snores from nearby tents telling how draining this battle was. 

“Rex, when you said you’d like to read what I write…” you find yourself poking around with a stick in the dirt when you say it, watching him out of the corner of your eye. 

Rex sits up a little straighter, nodding encouragingly. 

“Did you mean, whatever I wrote? Like… anything at all? Even if it’s a little… unusual? Or strange compared to a normal book or story?”

“I don’t just read adventure stories, if that’s what you’re getting at?” He asks, head tilted, curiosity piqued. 

There’s no going back now. 

“Well, what if it was… kind of… uh………” of all the times to struggle with words, this sure wasn’t a great moment for that to plague you. 

“Kind of…” you stalled, mentally shuffling through his previous statements about what he liked to read for hints of words you could borrow, trying to avoid the words you didn’t want to say that were the only things actually populating your mind, like vulgar or lewd. “Wait, are you implying the stoic Captain reads romances and poetry in his spare time?” 

“Well…” Rex suddenly can’t hold eye contact with you as he answers, his shyness peaking through, “On occasion, though, I admit it’s not something I read often.” 

“So what does the fearless Captain read in his spare time, then?” 

Now it was Rex’s turn to search for stall tactics. “Uh, well, I don’t often have time to read.” 

“But you were reading just the other night,” you pressed, glad you weren’t the one under scrutiny again, even though it had been your own comment that put you there, you’d gotten too shy to be able to fess up to a man with as strong of a reputation as Rex, even though you knew his kind side. 

“Like I said, short stories,” he filled in, knowing it wouldn't be enough, “adventure, strategy, and I guess some romances too.” He hoped that would be enough. So he turned the table back on you, “But you brought up the topic about things you write. What sort of… unusual?” he quoted your own words back at you. 

Kark, you were in it now. Damn the dark of night for giving you courage to say something in the first place. Though you knew you could just tell Rex you weren’t ready to talk about it after all and he’d let it go, and act like nothing had happened if that was what you wanted. But, if there was anyone who wouldn’t hate you for it, nor treat you like a piece of meat ready for the taking because of it, it was Rex. On the other hand though, if Rex hadn’t really meant that he’d be comfortable reading anything, if he’d meant that he had limits and that was beyond what he normally read, he’d never be able to look you in the eye or sit at the same table or campfire anymore. You weren’t sure you could take that. 

Apparently you stalled too long, and Rex jumped in, words coming out a bit rushed like he was nervous. “You don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t want to. I hope I didn’t make you feel like you should tell me anything. I won’t pry. You seem a bit nervous. I won’t ask any more questions about it, I know how it feels to be stuck trying to figure something out. Let’s give it some time so you can think, yeah? If you want someone to read something, never feel bad asking. I want to be there for you in any way that I can. You are welcome to decline that, or accept it, or pretend it never happened if you like. I just want to encourage you if you need it, or be there for you if you need me.” 

“Thanks, Rex,” you smile at the campfire, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

*************************************************

Days pass, battles take their toll, and once again you find yourself needing to write something… especially after another moment with Rex leaves you a little, well… distracted. So you sit down to write one night, and what comes out surprises even you! 

You write a fic heavily inspired by something that actually happened in battle, without revealing too many details… or so you think… 

The fic depicts a simple damsel saves the knight scenario in a woodland, setting the two characters facing off with a wild animal. All in all, a common trope… and after prepping the fic with all the necessary warnings and notes, you click “post”. 

On the other side of the ship, unbeknownst to you, someone’s personal datapad lights up with a notification of a new post from his favorite author. Having finished his work for the evening and searching for a way to fall asleep in his bunk in his tiny little office space, Rex picks up his datapad and starts to read. 

But something about this fic strikes him as oddly familiar. The Deja vu only growing stronger as he reads on, until Rex’s own past takes the reigns and he’s whisked away into his memories… 

Attempting to sneak up on an enemy outpost, alone, during a critical battle, Rex finds himself alone and face-to-face with an unusually large Nexu. 

He’s pretty sure he’s lunch and this is how it ends. 

Until a jetpack-powered shove from his favorite Mandalorian saves his ass and drops the Nexu down a short cliff that curves away and forces it away from the battleground. 

“Never thought I’d see the day the tough Captain of the legendary boys in blue became the damsel in distress…” you laugh, touching down a few feet away, surprisingly lightly considering your heavy armor kit. 

He chuckles, taking the hand you offer to pull him to his feet. “As great as it was to see a badass woman save my shebs [ass], we still have a battle to win.” 

She can practically hear the smirk he wears beneath his helmet as he nudges her playfully with his arm. 

“Then I’m glad you weren’t some wild animal’s lunch. We’re gonna need you to get through this one, Cap.” 

“Then let’s take this tower offline, ner mesh’la verd [my beautiful warrior]!” As soon as it was out of his mouth he realized his mistake. That nickname for you was something he only ever said in his head, he hadn’t intended to say it out loud to you… or ever, really… so, to cover his mistake, he turned and ran off back into the heat of the battle, both blasters drawn. And you follow. Soon, Rex finds himself in one of his favorite spots, taking down droids, back to back with his favorite Mandalorian warrior… 

That was how the real scenario went. 

Rex knew. He was there! He was the one whose shebs you saved, and the one that slipped and called you ‘his beautiful warrior’! Just like the character in this fic did when a strong beautiful woman saved his ass from a similar creature… 

And it would seem that 1) you wrote this fic, 2) you had not only caught that Rex had called you that, but remembered it all these weeks later, and 3) perhaps were a little aroused by it… considering that you used it in a fic? 

But that had been many, many battles ago! And by the way that things had gone back to normal since then, you still fought every battle you could at his side, he had thought you hadn’t noticed his slip-up! 

Rex scrolls down a ways, skipping ahead to see if this was going in the direction he hoped it was. And sure enough, this scenario was only the beginning, feeding life into the love depicted a few paragraphs down. 

Kriff, if you were gonna write a fic this steamy about a moment like that staying on your mind… maybe he could think about it in that way too? 

Very quickly, this day turns into the best night in a long while as he imagines you and him in place of the lead characters in your fic, learning about your mind and all the things that one little moment makes you want to do with him! Or, at least, given that you chose a moment with him to inspire this fic, he can only hope you want to finish the scenario with him too! 

As he attempts to drift off to sleep, Rex finds himself ecstatic that you are his favorite author.  

The trick is figuring out how to tell you that he loves your work and would like to make your dreams come true… without seeming like a creepy stalker… 

But, if the little moments between the two lead characters continue to be inspired by little moments with Rex, then he needs to tell you the feeling is mutual, or he will lose his chance with you. 

Since he seems to be inspiring several of your fics, the odds must be in his favor. He just has to make a move. Easier said than done… 

So… how does he tell you he’s your biggest fan without making it awkward and weird? 

Maybe if he starts slow? With little things to make sure he’s reading into it correctly (pun intended). 

So, he tries to replicate a look you described as a focused, methodical soldier, who can see right into your soul, because you mentioned that the look, made you shiver because no one had seen you as clearly as he seemed to in that moment.

When he tries it in real life, your eyes widen slightly and you barely suppress a shiver. You have to look away and clear your throat before answering his question. 

He acts like he didn’t spot your reaction (his men don’t need to know). 

And a few days later, during a moment alone with you, he calls you ‘my beautiful warrior’ in Mando’a again, and smiles when you melt into shyness and look pointedly at the floor, trying not to smile. 

But that’s all he gets a chance to say and do before another few particularly rough battles steal your attention from each other back to the life and death of the galaxy you live in. 

*************************************************

It’s a few weeks before you find yourself sitting across another campfire from Rex as the two of you sit on watch for the night, the post-battle rhythm settling back in, and the need for distraction from the last few battles has both your minds drifting towards the sultry and suggestive. 

After you each share a few flirty remarks and laughs as your watch draws on, he decides it’s time he just went for it. 

“Ya know, I’ve been thinking. You asked me what I read in my spare time… and if it’s romance…” Rex picks at a twig on the log he sits on. 

Your gaze moves straight to him, an eager look in your eye. 

Now it’s his turn to get a little shy as he scratches the back of his neck. 

“And to share it with ya if I’d read any good stories, lately…” He tries his hardest to meet your eyes, even just for a few seconds at a time. 

“Yeah?” You prompt him, careful not to tease, but to encourage, though you couldn’t help but sit up straighter, focusing all your attention on him. 

Before Rex can answer, the sound of approaching boots and laughing troopers draws your attention. You glance at your chrono and realize your shift is over, and it’s time for Fives and Echo to take over the watch. 

Rex offers to walk you back to your tent, and you let him. Echo and Fives are too engrossed in their own discussion to notice that you two both seem a little cozy and flustered. 

Once out of earshot of the duo with a nose for trouble, Rex offers to show you his favorite short story he’d found recently. 

It’s hard not to smile when you invite him into your tent while telling him you’d love to read it. 

In the safety of your tent, with the light dim and high above your head so no one can see your shadows, sitting next to you on your cot, he has no reservations about using his personal datapad to access his little secret site. 

And then he hands it to you so you can see his url and that he’s looking at your fic  - the one where you save his ass from getting eaten, and it’s clearly him. 

You stare in awe. 

The url he’s using… you know that url! You’ve seen it in your notifications! He usually only reblogs them, rarely ever commenting, and now that you know the man behind it you know why. He’s shy and reserved! 

And that’s when the fact that he’s just handed you your fic actually settles in. 

You cover your mouth with your free hand as your eyebrows shoot upwards, stunned into silence for a few moments, struggling to find something to say like a fish out of water. 

Rex is watching with rapture as you process it all. 

And not only is this your fic, but it’s the one that you finally let it be totally inspired by clearly identifiable, real life moments that had happened with him, of all people! 

Kark… so thinking no one will know in real life when you’d finally had 20 seconds of courage to post it might have been totally out of line, in hindsight, but dank ferrik, now he knew and it has become his favorite fic? 

“But I —this… my… you’re [jaigB51]? Of course that’s you!” You finally manage, clutching the datapad tightly. 

“That’s me…” Rex is getting shy, so he tries to push past it, “—and [url] is you, right?” He asks, heat rising in his cheeks. 

“Yeah,” you mutter, still stunned, still staring at the little letters at the top of the page, in disbelief that this is really happening. 

You look up at him, lost and awed. 

He only smiles and tugs the datapad from your hands. 

“I’ve noticed that several moments from real life have made it into your fics. Several moments that were just… us… did you mean that you are attracted to me, or just the moments that we shared? Because if it’s not me, I’ll back off and we can pretend this never happened, if you want, if you didn’t mean it like that?” He covers, fiddling with his own fingers as he asks, suddenly struggling to look at your face. 

You scoot closer and take a deep breath, preparing to say it. 

“I like you, Rex. I did it because I like you, not just the moments we shared.” 

Relief washes over Rex as his eyes meet yours again, “I like you too, ner Mesh’la Verd… a lot, if I’m being honest…” 

He opens his arms to you and you throw yours around him. 

This moment has been a long time coming for Rex. He’d figured it out months ago when you’d posted the fic, but he hadn’t had the courage to say anything for weeks. Now that he finally has, and it’s gone so well, all he can do is hold you close and enjoy the warmth of your arms and the feel of your heartbeat against his own. 

”Oh, Rex!” You whisper into his shoulder as you nuzzle in. 

He chuckles faintly, the comforting grip of his arms, unrelenting. “Would I be correct if I guessed that those scenarios were things you wanted to do together then? …like a wishlist of sorts?” He whispers into your temple, hesitantly asking the question that’s been on his mind since he first read the fic. 

You look up at him with excitement. “Yes,” you whisper as though you’re still not sure this is real. 

Rex decides to prove to you it is real, slowly dipping his head to meet your lips. Giving you plenty of time to move away if you wanted, but you don’t. You hold fast, and let him approach, even closing your eyes and tilting your head back to give him a better angle, as the distance closes. 

And when he lets his lips touch yours, your hand slips into his buzz cut and he groans against you. 

Finally getting to kiss you was heaven. Rex couldn’t get enough. He kept going back for just one more. 

“Let me make your dreams come true, ner mesh’la verd!” His voice is hushed as he whispers it against your skin, his arms secure and strong as he holds you tightly. 

”Yes, please!” You pant, trying to keep your voice low, aware you are in a tent surrounded by Rex’s brothers who need to look up to their commander without teasing him endlessly about it in the morning. 

”I wish we didn’t have to keep quiet,” he winks at you, well aware you like it when you both make a bit of noise. 

You pause for a moment, “Well, when we were on watch, you did say there was a shuttle full of spare parts and equipment that needed a pilot to bring it back up to the ship. Does it still need a pilot or two? I think my quarters are undamaged, we could slip aboard the ship and have practically the whole thing to ourselves?” 

Rex chuckles against your cheek, checking the ship status on his datapad. “It does still need a pilot. I’ll let Cody know the men on the ground are all his,” he wraps his arms around your waist to scoop up the datapad he’d tossed aside and type out a message as quickly as he can, clicking send without even caring if autocorrect changed anything. “Let’s go, ner Mesh’la Verd!” 

*******************************************

The two of you race over to the temporary shipyard, and inform the night guard you and Rex are going to go ahead and bring the shuttle of damaged equipment back to the ship so it’s ready to go in the morning. And off the two of you go, alone in the shuttle as it rises from the planet’s surface and heads into orbit. 

Rex turns to you and pulls you into his lap. 

You giggle, and kiss his cheek. 

”So,” you ask, intentionally suggestively, “I know you said that one was your favorite, but do you have a favorite scenario from my fics that you want to try first?” You can barely believe this is real and you’re actually getting to ask the man you’ve pictured far too many of your fics with the question you’ve always wanted an answer to. 

Rex smirks, “I like the shower scenarios…” his eyes continue to monitor the ships progress as he maneuvers it towards the Resolute, but his mind is racing with a thousand dirty thoughts. 

“Do I have permission to picture you and I in every one of the stories you’ve written, Sweetheart?” He asks, fervently. 

“Yes!” You answer. 

He is interrupted by the shuttle bay manager checking in as he maneuvers the ship into the hold. 

There is little time to answer as you two disembark the shuttle, exchange nonchalant nods with the hangar bay crew, and make your way through the halls to your personal quarters. 

Finally in your room, Rex smiles, “But I think my favorite of the scenarios you’ve written…” his voice darkens a bit as he steps up to you, his eyes finally reflecting his hunger for you as he begins to remove your armor. “Hmm…” Rex playfully debates which of your fics he’d like to recreate first, letting the anticipation make you a little feisty. 

You lend a hand, removing his armor as he works on yours. 

“I liked the one where you had me kissing up your wrist and arm to your lips, down your neck to your breasts, and then down to your legs and thighs and back up… I admit I reread that one most often… ” He asks, scooping you off your feet, effortlessly. 

As he lifts you with one arm behind your back and one hand raising your thigh to his hip, your legs automatically wrap around his hips. Rex pauses and closes his eyes, swallowing hard, and clutching you to him. 

“Oh?” You tease. 

Rex takes a moment to just try to figure out how to breathe normally again before answering. “What’s your favorite, so far?” He tosses the question back at you, though the rise and fall of his chest is far less collected than his voice. Trying to use his Captain’s skill at hiding any emotion in his voice as a cover when he is actually unraveling quickly. 

You laugh lightly as he reaches the bed, tossing the covers back and climbing in with you still wrapped tightly around him. “I think it’s that one too, actually.” 

Rex smirks and his eyes gleam in the low light of the room, “May I, then?” 

“Why would I ever say no to that?” You laugh, though it fades on your lips as his connect with yours quickly in his hunger. 

“I love knowing what you want already, I have a long list of all the items I want to do with you tonight, ner Mesh’la Verd!” Rex pants against your skin. 

“But… I don’t know what you like, Rex,” Your concern for his own pleasure fills his heart with warmth. If he didn’t already love you, he certainly does now. 

Your legs squeeze more tightly around his waist as his lips trail down your body. 

Rex groans, gripping your thigh. 

“I like…” he pants, “the way your legs grip me.” He licks a stripe across one breast and then the other. 

“I love the way your back arches and you cling to me.” He lightly nips at your abdomen as he moves southward, soothing it with a sensual kiss. 

“I love your little noises. And I’m dying to feel you around my fingers, tongue, and cock. And I like the way your writing describes me as protective when I’m on top like this. And I love being able to read about exactly what you want. And I like the feel of your breasts in my hands and mouth. Kark, I could suck on your breasts all day! And I’d make sure to keep it evenly distributed between both breasts,” he teases, moving up to nip at your ear when he says it. 

“So you noticed that, huh?” You blush, shyly. You weren’t expecting to ever have a partner that had read your fics before. You hadn’t thought about what was usually contained only in your mind and never said out loud when you had been writing. 

He chuckles, “Hard not to notice.” He winks up at you. “Why, is that something you wouldn’t have told me otherwise?” His eyes and tone reflect that teasing, fun side he rarely lets show. 

“Maybe…” you admit as he clutches you tightly to him, pressing every inch of skin that he can against every inch of yours. 

“Then I’m glad I read your fics. I like already knowing what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours as I make love to you.” Rex’s breath is hot on your neck as he begins his open mouthed kisses down your shoulder towards your wrist. 

A shudder racks your body as you realise this might be a long night ahead of you, but it will also be one of the most fun nights in a long time, and with a man worth every second of it all! 

Please don’t steal my work! I pour my heart into these so if you like it please reblog to share instead of reposting it! And NO dropping it into an AI to finish it for me! That’s stealing my work and feeding it to an AI without my consent. It is not okay to give an AI something you didn’t write yourself! 

Taglist: @cw80831

[riotwritesthings]

Who Guards the Bodyguard

T, 3k - No-Powers AU, Humor, bodyguard!Bucky

One college bar, one bodyguard, one sleazeball who can't take no for an answer. Shaken, not stirred.

Hey remember when I took birthday prompts, like… 9 months ago? Good times. Anyways guess what I finally finished.

The prompt was some combination of “You’re my new bodyguard and you’re cute” / “Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second” / “I’m going to save you from the terrible date you’re having” So I really just mashed all of those together and ended up with this lol. I hope you enjoy it @clarajanedesperaux!

~

This job is supposed to be easy.

All Bucky has to do is keep an eye on a billionaire’s spoiled, wild son and make sure the kid doesn’t end up kidnapped or otherwise killed. Easy.

And yet, it has not been easy, most notably because Tony Stark can’t know that Bucky is guarding him. Howard had been very insistent about his son’s ability and determination to ditch his previous bodyguards, and half of the stories were honestly impressive if true. So Bucky has a very strict set of guidelines to follow that most days make him feel more like a stalker than anything else.

He gets a ping whenever Tony leaves the Stark family’s Fifth Avenue mansion, and satellite tracking makes it quick work to follow him anywhere in the city. Bucky’s not exactly sure how Stark has GPS-tagged his son, but he’s not paid to ask questions.

He’s paid to put his experience in black ops and undercover work to good use and not be seen while he’s following a twenty-year-old around the city making sure no one kills the kid.

Totally normal, super easy.

Yeah right, Bucky thinks to himself in bemusement as he watches Tony over the rim of his beer.

This is the third bar the Stark heir has been to tonight, and Bucky really must be getting old because all he wants is to go home.

He’d kind of like to tell Tony to go home too, and not just because it would mean Bucky could go back to his apartment to hang out with his cat. It’s because he knows what Tony is doing, he knows the rotating cast of friends that meet Tony at one bar just to abandon him at another. He knows how damn lonely that is.

He might be watching from a distance, but Bucky is pretty damn good at what he does and he can tell there’s a lot more to Tony than the kid lets on. He’s got a bigger heart than he likes to show and hidden scars, he deserves better than fake friends and a father who won’t even give him a chance.

But that’s none of Bucky’s business.

Two more bars later, Bucky is feeling a lot less generous towards his charge. This place is too damn crowded, and loud, and Bucky has to keep moving around to keep Tony in his sight. And for what, just to watch him half-heartedly flirt with some asshole in a trucker hat, of all things? The kid could at least have the decency to have some taste.

Bucky forces down some more unsavory thoughts about trucker-hat-douche as he slides onto another seat at the bar and waves for a refill on his beer. He pointedly ignores it when the guy on the next stool spins to face him, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on Tony near the pool table across the bar. Even if he wasn’t working right now, he is in no mood and he does his best to convey that with the side of his face.

The asshole doesn’t take the hint though, and Bucky can feel the weight of his sleazy smirk as he asks, “Well hello, you come here often?”

“Nope,” Bucky says shortly, which is conveniently both true, and will hopefully cut off any further conversation.

"That makes sense,” the man says with a nod and a widening smirk, continuing to ignore all of Bucky’s not-so-subtle hints, “I would remember seeing you before.”

He probably thinks it sounds flattering, but he just comes across as gross. Bucky takes his eyes off his charge just long enough to glance over at the man next to him, taking in his flushed, sweaty face. The asshole is definitely drunk, probably completely hammered, and Bucky doesn’t want to deal with this.

He fixes his eyes forward again, hoping the guy will at least take one of his hints if he just keeps throwing them in the asshole’s face.

“C’mon, I’ve seen you moving all around the bar,“ the man says, because of course he can’t just give up. ”It’s obvious you’re looking for something, only to wind up next to me,“ he continues in what he probably thinks is an alluring tone, ”there’s no reason to play hard to get now.”

"‘M not playing anythin’,” Bucky snaps, cutting his gaze to the side just long enough to give the man a sharp glare, "and I’m not interested."

The asshole on the next stool just laughs, and Bucky can smell the vodka on his breath as he leans closer. “Don’t be like that,” he says with another slimey laugh, “you don’t even know me yet, and I’m very interesting.”

Bucky lets himself outright scoff at that, because he very seriously doubts that this bar-regular who can’t take no for an answer has any sort of hobby that Bucky would find interesting. He can see it from the corner of his eye when the asshole scowls, when his fingers curl tighter around his drink, and Bucky sighs internally.

“What, you think you’re too good to even give me the fucking time of day?” The guy demands, abandoning his attempt at a sultry tone in favor of a snarl. It sounds more natural for him, honestly.

There are a lot of ways Bucky could answer that.

He could point out that technically at this point it would be ‘time of night.’ Or he could get brutally honest and say that while he doesn’t usually think very highly of himself at all these days, he does still think he can do better than this random bar asshole. Maybe not a whole lot better, but better.

Instead of saying anything at all though, Bucky reluctantly tears his eyes away from the Stark heir across the small bar. He turns to finally face the man next to him and fixes him with a dry, expectant stare, quirking an eyebrow and letting the man fill in how ‘interesting’ Bucky thinks he is for himself.

The asshole’s face starts to twist with rage, but he smooths it out again with what looks like a fair amount of effort before saying, “Well, how about you let me buy you a drink and give me sixty seconds to change your mind.”

“No,” Bucky says shortly and starts to turn away. But then the man starts to reach for him, like he’s going to grab Bucky’s shoulder to stop him, and Bucky goes tense all over.

Part of him, a big part, wants to break this asshole’s wrist and be done with it, but that would draw way too much attention. He doesn’t trust himself to grab the man’s hand without breaking something, and he can’t even risk punching the jerk when his entire job relies on Tony never noticing him.

So Bucky has to settle for moving out of the asshole’s reach, shifting half off of his stool to accomplish it, and glaring harder as he snaps, "Do not touch me."

If the man was less drunk, and less of a dick, there’s no doubt that Bucky’s best death glare would be enough to chase him off. But he is a drunk asshole, so instead of running he grits his teeth and narrows his eyes.

“Listen, asshole,” the guy starts and Bucky does outright laugh at that, sharp and mocking.

He’s not surprised that the man’s face flushes an angrier shade of red, but Bucky really couldn’t help himself. The asshole continues to sputter for a second before sliding ungracefully off his stool and pulling himself up to his full height, wobbling slightly in the process.

“I don’t appreciate you- fuckin’- talking down to me,” the asshole spits furiously, but Bucky isn’t listening to him anymore.

With a sigh, Bucky slides the rest of the way off of his own stool and he can only hope that Tony is still distracted with the trucker-hat-douche because this is definitely about to become a scene. At least it’s somewhat gratifying to watch the drunk stumble back half a step when Bucky pulls himself up to his full height and squares his shoulders, but it doesn’t look like the man plans on backing down.

“Last chance to walk away,” Bucky warns because he has had it with tonight. At this point he will be perfectly happy to get kicked out of this shitty bar and fuck this job.

The asshole has his mouth open to respond, but then his eyes go wide as Bucky feels someone winding their arms around his and plastering themself tightly to his side. Bucky feels his own face twitch in shock when he jerks his gaze to the side and realizes that it’s Tony clinging to him.

Tony, who Bucky is supposed to be keeping an eye on, and who is not supposed to even be aware of Bucky’s existence. Tony, who is smiling up at him like Bucky isn’t a complete stranger to him, like he knows Bucky.

“There you are, hot stuff,” Tony says, his tone as familiar as his grin, and Bucky has a terrible feeling about the future of his employment. “I was starting to think you were standing me up,” Tony continues, fluttering those long eyelashes up at him.

The eyelashes that Bucky has tried so hard not to notice, but he’s sure as hell noticing them now.

Even caught off guard, and maybe a little distracted, Bucky isn’t a complete moron. He knows what Tony is doing, so he quickly pulls it together and works up a smile of his own.

“Wouldn’t’ve been so hard t’ spot you if you’d picked a less crowded place,” Bucky finds himself saying, because he can’t not complain about this dive bar now that he’s been given the chance.

Tony throws his head back with a laugh, and Bucky does not let himself get caught up in the sound of it. Not even a little.

“I * knew* you would hate it,” Tony says gleefully and the light in his eyes isn’t just teasing, it’s knowing.

Like Tony actually chose this bar just to annoy him, and Bucky is officially in so over his head.

He is also reluctantly charmed, and Bucky can’t fight down a tiny grin of his own even as he shakes his head and says, “You-”

“Hey,” the asshole interrupts, apparently not happy with being completely ignored.

He’s glaring at both of them now, and Bucky automatically shifts so he’s a little more between the drunk and the person he’s supposed to be secretly bodyguarding. He can at least still do half of his job. Tony grins at him like he knows exactly what Bucky is thinking, and hell, he probably does. Just like it’s probably no accident that Tony is wrapped around his good arm, making it much less likely that he’ll throw a punch.

Nothing would really surprise Bucky at this point, Tony is so damn smart and apparently Bucky has been underestimating him, too. And apparently, Tony has been watching him back, and Bucky has no idea what to do with that.

When the asshole makes another impatient sound Tony finally deigns to look over at him, barely tearing his gaze away from Bucky long enough to flit his eyes over the man from head to foot.

“Bye,” Tony says, his tone artfully dismissive, and then goes right back to grinning up at Bucky like the other man doesn’t exist.

To Tony’s credit, his cold, superior tone has the asshole automatically taking a step backward, even as he sputters, "Dude, wh- what the fuck-"

“What part are you not getting?” Tony asks, one sharp eyebrow crawling up his forehead as he slowly turns to face the asshole again, like he’s still unconvinced that the man is worth the effort. ”He was looking for someone, now he’s found me,“ Tony continues as he smoothly fits himself under Bucky’s arm, ”no part of this has anything to do with you, so you can go ahead and leave now."

Bucky can’t quite bite down his laugh when the drunk man sputters dumbly again, and the tiny grin that Tony flashes up at him has Bucky’s heartbeat doing truly concerning things in his chest. But he’s not thinking about that, just like he’s not thinking about the way his arm has automatically fallen around Tony’s shoulders, the way Tony fits perfectly against his side.

“L-Listen here, you little-” the asshole stutters and then trails off, his face going scarlet as he seems to notice all of the people staring at them.

"Little what?" Tony asks coldly, the look on his face just daring the asshole to come up with something that Tony hasn’t been called before. Bucky is equal parts impressed, enraged at his employer all over again, and trying his best not to be completely smitten.

The asshole’s face is nearly purple as his eyes dart from side to side, taking note of the increasing number of people watching them with open interest and amusement.

“Fuck this,” he grumbles and finally starts to back away, deciding to save what little face he has left in front of this crowd of college douchebags. He apparently has to try and get the last word though, because as he turns he shoots Bucky a final glare he loudly mutters “I could do better anyways.”

“Doubt it!” Tony calls after him gleefully, and the on-looking crowd laughs. Then he turns his bright grin up at Bucky, and oh, fuck.

Bucky is so fucking fucked.

“Do you want to get out of here, now?” Tony asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” Bucky groans instantly and emphatically, all thoughts of his imminent unemployment momentarily forgotten in the force of his relief over getting to leave.

Being caught by Tony is the least of the rules he’s broken, but he can worry about that later, or maybe never. It’s not like anyone needs to know that he’s been slowly but surely failing the first rule of bodyguarding over months of catching glimpses of the real Tony. Except Tony might know, because he’s been watching Bucky back.

And Tony is still grinning smugly as he starts to drag Bucky out of the bar with his arm still looped comfortably around Bucky’s waist, staying plastered to his side. Bucky has no idea if it’s necessary or not, he can’t tear his eyes away from Tony to see if the asshole is still hanging around.

He does spare the most fleeting thought for the trucker hat douche that Tony was flirting with before, but that’s only to think that at least this mess is getting Tony away from that asshole. Tony deserves so much better, of that Bucky is sure, he’s had way too much time to think about it while watching Tony flirt with every type of douchebag.

Once they’re out in the cool night air Bucky drags in his first deep breath in what feels like hours, relishing in the slightly less disgusting smells of the city. At least there’s less old-vomit smell.

When Tony snickers Bucky looks over at him again, honestly not sure what to make of the teasing, knowing smile on Tony’s face.

”So, where to now?“ Tony asks innocently, like he’s not still actively throwing Bucky’s life into chaos.

”Off to look for a new job, probably,“ Bucky grumbles, but he can’t actually force any annoyance into his voice. It’s not like he actually likes this job, after all, but…

He’ll probably never see Tony again, once he’s fired, and that thought sends a sharp pang through his chest that Bucky is trying not to think about too hard. Tony is still staring up at him as they start to aimlessly wander down the sidewalk, apparently trusting Bucky not to run them into any street signs, and Bucky is trying not to think about that either.

”Why?“ Tony asks, sounding genuinely confused, and then he pouts as he adds, ”I can go back to pretending not to notice you, is that more fun? Little weird, big-time stalker vibes, but I can work with that.“

Bucky huffs out a laugh, then raises an eyebrow as he asks, ”“S that what you’re into? That why you haven’ ditched me yet, like all th’ others?”

“Give yourself some credit,” Tony says, patting his side, “I did try at first, but you’re hard to shake. Plus, you’re much cuter than the rest of them were.”

Bucky tears his eyes away from Tony’s teasing, flirty grin, looking back down the dark street and trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. ”Maybe I’m jus’ sick of bein’ dragged to college bars,“ he says after a pause that’s probably tellingly long.

”Okay,“ Tony says agreeably, and when Bucky looks over at him in surprise, he finds Tony grinning up at him with an almost hopeful look in his eyes as he asks, ”How do you feel about burgers?“

Bucky finds himself trailing to a stop, still staring at Tony, who stopped right along with him and is now watching with a nervous little smile, like maybe he thinks the ‘better’ that he deserves is somehow Bucky.

For a second all Bucky can do is stare, his mouth gone completely dry. He has to lick his lips, watching Tony’s clever gaze track the motion, before he can croak out, “Seems like I’m gonna be fired for a different reason.”

Tony laughs, delighted, and starts leading him down the street again as he asks, ”What are you talking about? What better place to guard me from than up close and personal?“

Bucky is pretty sure that the elder Stark would not agree with that statement, but like hell is he going to be the one to point that out. He knows this is probably a terrible idea, and he’s definitely going to get fired for this sooner or later, but with any luck, it won’t be the last time he sees Tony.

”So, burgers?“ Bucky asks as he tightens his arm a little more around Tony’s shoulders, and when Tony smiles wider Bucky finally lets himself acknowledge the way it makes his heart flip over itself in his chest.

[fangbangerghoul]

Hi! 5 or 14 for the Rook story time prompts!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING A PROMPT!!! It means a lot! Especially from the post's OP!

I chose to do 14 and I tweaked it a bit. It's my Rook getting ready for a celebration because by the time I would have gotten to the celebration I probably would hit 2k+

This prompt helped me with a scene I was planning for a future chapter in Elgara Vallas so thank you! Everyone also gets a sneak peak of a later scene, so I think that's a win-win.

My Rook's name is Ghoul but is still refereed to Rook by companions.

Prompt under the cut! Feel free to submit one! They are so much fun!

The mirror reflected her appearance with a bit of a shine. The dress she wore hugged her curves lovingly and the lilac color seemed to compliment the flush of her skin. Ghoul was not usually dressed up for occasions like this, but she loved crashing parties. She pulled up the slip of her dress to check how tight the harness was around her thigh; it held two short daggers that would rest between her thighs.

Once all felt right, she leaned in close to the mirror checking the makeup she had applied on her eyes and cheeks. The dark liner made the complimenting browns pop against her citrine irises. Her curls were loose, framing her face and she contemplated whether she would try to tie back her hair. There was a deep royal blue ribbon on the side of her nightstand and she reached for it with one hand while the other wrangled the curls into place. She placed the base of the pony tail high on her head so it would will look formal. Ghoul looked at herself for a moment and wondered what felt like it missing and that was when she noticed her naked ears.

Ghoul was finally finished getting ready for the occasion and she sighed at herself. She knew this fit would either get ruined or slow her down but damn if she didn’t look good. The top half of the dress was thin straps that crossed her chest and held her breasts perfectly in place, revealing not only cleavage but the underside of her breasts as well. The hips of the dress had more fabric as it curved around her and draped down to her knees where the ends of her leather knee high strapped sandals began on her legs. The shiny bits of jewelry that glittered on her body were enough to bring it all together. There was a rust red rope on her floor futon and it was the last addition to the outfit and it held her sword with as much faith as her dress would hold her breasts in place.

She gathered herself and exited out the window of her attic, she made a mental note to consider making the door to her room more accessible at a later point. Ghoul climbed down the trellis that the Fade had manifested for her once she started to live in her room more and as she decesnded the pointed leaves and ends of vines tickled her bare arms and legs. She dropped onto the stone below and that was when she had noticed there was company waiting for her.

“Is that your chosen battle dress, Rook?” Davrin had a curled smile on his face as his eyes drank her in, looking at possibly all the ways this dress was going to slow her down. Or appreciating the view Ghoul despised his poker face.

“Yes, we are crashing an Antivan party!” Ghoul scoffed at how ridiculous his questioning was, “If anything you have underdressed, Warden.”

His smile did not wane instead widened and the amusement reached his amber eyes making them twinkle in the permanent twilight of the Lighthouse. Ghoul now had her arms crossed debating if the fellow elf was making light of her instead of appreciating her choices.

“When we arrive and I am slaying Venatori you are going to be feeling very out of place in that bland set of armor, mark my words, Davrin.” Ghoul was in front of him now, her finger jabbing at the steel breast plate he wore.

“We will see.” Davrin said and that was when Assan chimed in with his excited chirping before nuzzling into Ghoul’s hip. The griffin was getting taller every day.

“Assan approves.” She said with satisfaction, rubbing his head affectionatly.

“As does Spite.” The gravely familiar voice said with nonchalance until she turned to see him and suddenly Lucanis coughed, looking away, “He wont stop pestering me to tell you.”

Lucanis was dressed almost as formal as Ghoul was, a feathered shawl hid the straps that kept some of his hidden daggers in place. The pants were like a second skin revealing a little more than she was customed to seeing but his blouse was loose with a V neck adding an extra umph to the appearance. He was dressed in various shades of purple as most Crows did, but the colors complimented him in ways she never noticed on other Crows.

“See?” Ghoul pointed a thumb over at Lucanis and gave Davrin a smug look, “I am not the only one who understood the assignment.”

[myhandisforced]

MULTIPLE DIRECTORIES I GUESS.

MISCELLANEOUS, CONTENT WARNINGS, PEOPLE, PERSONAL TAGS.

NOT (Necessarily)FANDOM RELATED:

Animals ->

Humor (because sometimes you just can't categorize why sticking a skeleton in an Ikea bag is funny) ->

Memes ->

Music ->

People ->

Bureaucratic Drama

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Computers & Technology The Internet

Tumblr | Funny Dashboard Reblog Game Shitposting Tag Game The Screenshot Treatment | AO3 Wikipedia | Social Media | Social Media Storytelling | Facebook Twitter (maybe this collection just becomes "websites" idk)

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Dreams

Echolalia

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Food : Dessert Candy Chocolate Fruit Ice Cream Mint Savory Fancy Drinks Breakfast Sweets Food cw Recipes Plating The Art of Transience (aka I don't want to write out every type of dessert you can decorate in one or more fucking tags) Supernormal Shareable Stimuli (ridiculous instagram desserts) *I don't wanna cook (junk/fast food) *popcorn* snacks*

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Creative Problem-Solving | Malicious Compliance

Fuck I need _

the Indignities of Childhood

Languages

Menstruation

Mental Illness / Mental Health for when the brain fuckery is not whimsical or cute (and documented counters)

Nonfandom | Satisfying Things

(nonfandom aka wtf do I tag this so I can find it later? - hey this might become a usable tag)

Prompts: Art Prompts I Want A Movie Writing Prompts [fanfic prompts(also goes under fanfic) art prompts & w/e else]

Queer Stuff (We're bisexual and failed gender in this house) Gaying Your Agenda (Gaying up something hateful to spite the people saying it) the forces of thrust and drag (physics pun)

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ref(erence) | ''Acting'' Art Advice A Cool Thing GM Ref ImgRef House Shit Job Shit Maintenance Shit Recipes Site Discovery Something to Share (freedia :P) Tutorials (& How-To) Well That Looks Useful

old ref (for ones I don't think I need anymore - get a better name)

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Romantic Prospects (because two words sounds ''better'' for this I don't fucking know)

Schoolniversity (one sounds juvenile, one sounds haughty, so I chose a tag that sounds stupid as a third option)

Shenanigans | Party & Drinking Games (FMK) Sibling Behavior Love a good Insult Fucking With the Police

Short Stories (comics and written fiction that's original to OP, as far as I know. might phase out microfic because this and fic snippets have it covered)

Social Issues : (Womens') Clothing Crimes Copyrights & Wrongs Design Double Standards the Bechdel Test Education Issues Misogyny Racism Sexism Homophobia Queerphobia Public Health Risk

Taking Civil Liberties (Relating to civil and legal matters and services, real or fictional)(get it?)

That Sports Thing People With Working Lungs Do | Archery Figure Skating Martial Arts Dance HikCampWildering Sportsball (*gymnastics*) Phys-Ex (grr)

Toxic Jesus Fandom (christianity. mostly memes and mockery. Don't worry, I have a license.)

Unrelated Related Posts (Either they're actually a 2-part, or they're funnier when seen alongside (an)other post(s))

Vehicles | Motorbikes | Public Transport

Video

WANT (You've seen cat macros/lolcats. if you haven't. uh. try your luck with a search engine of your choice.)

World&History (this is mostly a trivia tag, and one for subjects tied to a particular time or place. I do not really want to tag every country in the fucking world, much less do so *incorrectly,* and when you have a time, you usually also have a place anyway.)

PERSONAL USE:

TEMPORARY: Morgan's AU Rambling | castle-mountain pitch

Ignore Morg My Edits (hijacking to talk about) My OCs (OC - Sigi, OC Resource) [morg derails a post] [Morg Rants] A little extra in the tags [casual fic outlines] Morgan's TTRPG Blogging Morg's FRblogging Morg's fandragons *damn you link rot/Wayback Machine my beloved * Re-reblog moderalgorithm fail I'm in this photo and I don't like it

Content Filters: asshole discussion tag Current Events (Derogatory) negative Why we don't like Moffat

CONTENT WARNINGS: animal death cw, Blood/Blood cw, Children, Drug Mention, Flashing Lights, Food cw, Gore, Gore cw, cw Food, hanging imagery, Misinformation, Needles cw, pregnancy mention, Racism CW, Sexism CW, suicide mention, tobacco mention, unsanitary, food contamination, weed mention, (alcohol mention/booze/alcohol cw consolidate these with tag replacer when done)

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

*TAG* for now will indicate a tag I've used but isn't likely to be worth a link.

bicycles* car racing* chalk * dolls* keys* *skateboard* skates* soap bubbles * umbrellas*

[gradual medium decay] - I needed something short and poetic and I'm going to change it lay off

[rowiewritesstuff]

Hello! I saw you were taking requests and I was wondering if you could write a fic or a small prompt in T.F.P. where the human!reader is new to the team and is very outgoing and flirty but shy around her curhses and she becomes friends with her teammates as an agent herself? Maybe O.P. becomes smitten after a while with her? Hmmm? And everyone just notices and teases them about being a couple when they aren't, but they're both in denial and drunk shenanigans ensue with the reader being drunk and flirty towards him and teasing him? ^^ You can always add anything new of course! I got this idea when reading fluff and the song "Moves Like Jagger" kind of reminded me of the potential dynamic? Especially, the- "Take me by the tongue And I'll know you Kiss til you're drunk And I'll show you"

TFP Optimus Prime X Flirty! Reader

Mentions of Drinking Alcohol! 

Hope this is okay lol

Fowler had brought you into the fold simply out of desperation- the poor man just wanted to take a vacation and all of the paperwork prevented him from doing so. He knew that while you weren’t always professional, you were the best damn agent they had.

When you were introduced to the bots, the first thing you said to Optimus was “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” while winking.

Agent Fowler immediately face palmed. 

You became quick friends with pretty much all of the bots. Arcee because of your war stories, Bulkhead because you always had time for his ‘stupid’ questions, Ratchet because of your aptitude for Cybertronian medicine, and Bumblebee because you were just generally friendly. Optimus was hard to make friends with at first because of his reserved personality, but you both discovered your shared love for reading.  

You and Optimus often read books at the same time and talked about them- like a book club, but just for the two of you. For someone who takes almost nothing seriously, you are very intelligent. He sees why you are one of the best agents.

While they all became friends quickly, that didn’t mean they supported your flirting. You would often flirt to ease an awkward silence, or lighten the dark mood that so often sets on the base. 

There was a great victory against the Decepticons- a mine was taken right from under their noses which led to a lot being added to their reserves. Some of the energon was of a higher concentration- to which you learned was called high grade. 

Optimus noticed that the morale in the base was low, despite getting a great win against their foes. This led you to suggest a party. So a party he had. All of the kids were sent home early, and you drove with Bumblebee to pick up vodka and some mini-shot bottle shots. 

Once you got back to the base, you all began the party. Somehow, you managed to get the normally serious Prime to have a drinking challenge with you. So there you were: chugging down straight vodka while Optimus chugged an energon cube. The other bots (with Ratchet being the loudest somehow) began cheering. You beat Optimus much to everyone’s surprise. They didn’t think a small thing like you could beat them in any drinking game.

Once the excitement of the drinking game calmed down, everyone but you and Optimus went to bed. 

You both sat across from each other talking about your pasts. What you did before you came to be at the base and all that.

“You used to be an archivist? Like a librarian?” A grin pulled onto your face. "Can I get a reference number?” Optimus blinked a confused look. “So I can, y’know, check you out?” You slurred.

A loud bark of a laugh came from the Prime. “Damn, if being sexy was a crime, you’d never be a free person.”

You nearly spit up your vodka with laughter. “Didn’t know you could flirt, Op!"

An uncharacteristic smirk came across his face as he made his way over to you. He leaned down near your ear, and whispered “There’s a lot I can do.” 

You couldn't help the huge blush that covered your face as you suddenly got shy. "Better cool it before I have to kiss you!" You tried to maintain your cool persona, but when he leaned in and grabbed your chin you just melted into a flustered mess.

In the morning, Ratchet had the worst hangover. He grumbled as he made his way into the medbay, only to freeze. There you and Optimus were. Optimus was laying up against the wall at an angle while you laid on his chest snoring away. 

Ratchet couldn’t help the small smile that wormed onto his face as he left the room, shutting the lights off behind him.

[theladyofbloodshed]

If you still need prompts: Nesta was banished to live outside the village and comes across an injured Cassian

I might write a part two to this as it was lots of fun!

The Exile and the Injured

Chosen one. Sacrificial lamb. Different sides of the same coin. Every twenty years, a maiden was chosen at random to be sent to the small cabin located near the Wall that separated the mortals from fae-kind. Those girls were banished until their screams could be heard in the dead of the night. Weeks later, the cabin would be checked; it was said that scratches were etched into the stone floor, claw marks traced into the wooden beams, and blood left permanent stains across the stoop. Nobody knew what took the girls – fae or a creature just as foul – but as long as the sacrifices happened, nothing stepped foot further than the forest, the harvest was always bountiful, and the winters mild.

Families prayed for sons. The Archerons had been cursed with three daughters, so when their name was the one selected, terror squeezed their father’s heart. Of the three, the middle was engaged to a handsome, young male of good status but she had already given her maidenhead to him; the youngest though wild and strong, had her fun rutting in the hay with a local boy and could not be chosen for the task. It left only the eldest to carry her people’s duty on her shoulders.

Nesta’s sisters wept on her final morning with them though the cold terror that ought to have numbed her, never came. The villagers prepared her, some saying prayers of thanks, some saying ones of mourning. Blessed-one. Cursed-one. Saviour. Victim. Being sent to her death had some perks at least: a hot bath had been drawn for her with fresh water only for her use. It had been filled with bubbles and pressed flowers. Women from the village combed her hair, buffed her nails, plucked her, massaged her then rubbed fragrant oil onto her body. A new gown had been produced solely for her; something like a wedding dress made of delicate white silk and spider-web gossamer fibres. A large spread of food was laid out solely for her; a final feast. It was more food than Nesta had eaten in all their years of poverty and she felt a stab of anger that she couldn’t fill her stomach with more to make up for all those bitterly cold nights of starvation.

When the dark night drew in, still the fear did not come. She was little more than a baby when the last girl had been damned. Her mother had witnessed two maidens taken and told her stories that the woman had wept and begged. That one had been carried into the woods and her own mother had collapsed from the horror of it. After a day spent amongst so many fussing women, Nesta was quite glad to have peace that night.

She was allowed a final goodbye to her family. Elain sobbed, Feyre fought to hide her tears, and their father lacked any words. That was no surprise. There was probably relief on his part that he and Nesta weren’t forced to share a roof anymore.

Nesta was accompanied through the dense wood by a group of soldiers either holding swords or torches to light the path. One recited ancient vows to her, confirming that if she tried to leave her cabin and return to her home, she and all of her family would be slaughtered. She was reminded that this was an honour. The stories were known to Nesta. Most maidens were dead within a couple of nights. Oddly, she found that she did not care. She had no prospects otherwise in their tired, little cottage. She had punched Tomas Mandray in the nose when he’d tried to rip her bodice from her – and he'd ensured she had a reputation in the village as a tempestuous wench so other men steered clear. A life as a lonely spinster or a sacrifice - what a selection.

There was no key for the cabin, but there was a bolt on the inside though she doubted it would be much of a defence. When the males left her alone, with a basket of food, Nesta let out a sigh of relief. The cabin was dusty, but liveable. Despite the night, she opened the single window and lit a couple of lamps. It had more space than their cottage, and only she would be sleeping in the bed tucked into the corner. There was a humble stove that looked as if it had never been used as well as a couple of pans, a set of cutlery, and a large carving knife. The sheets on the bed definitely needed to be washed tomorrow. There was even a bookshelf with a number of yellowed books on it. She’d devour those in a few days. It was odd to plan for a future when something would likely come to drag her off either tonight or the next, but Nesta was loathe to sit idle.

The dawn broke early. Blackbirds rustled in the tree outside, their song waking Nesta. She’d slept little, not through fear, but because she had been mentally cataloguing everything that needed to be done in the cabin. While porridge cooked on the stove, she swept the singular room and removed the cobwebs. The bed was stripped. She lugged a bucket of water from the stream and heated it to wash the sheets in. Without a line, she hung them from a tree to dry.

Time passed quickly; when she prepared dinner – more food than she’d ever had the luxury of eating in the past – she saved the seeds to plant in the soil she had tilled earlier. All those hours listening to Elain prattle on about her beloved garden had a use after all she supposed.

When night fell for the second time, Nesta lay on the clean bed only in her chemise reading a book. Animals scurried by outside, an owl hooted as it swept through the air, but no monster came to take her away. Nothing rattled the door or coaxed her from the cabin. So, when Nesta had read enough, she returned the book to the shelf and stretched out in bed, content to be alone.

Days passed. Every week, Nesta left out her basket and it would be replenished with food from the village. They were likely wondering – just as she was – how she still drew breath. Perhaps Nesta’s temper was even too much for a monster. She missed her sisters, sometimes, but mostly she was content to potter around at her own leisure. Daringly, she had asked for material and sewing supplies one week and they had arrived with the next week’s basket of supplies. Heavens forbid they upset the chosen one.

Autumn bled into the beginnings of winter. The food came less frequently now. Once, there had been a note ordering her to stop doing whatever it was she was doing to drive the creature away. In all the nights spent cloistered away in the woods, Nesta had not seen nor heard any signs of something sinister. Once, there had been a fox screaming but she chased after it with a broom and it soon kept away. Perhaps the other maidens had simply gone mad with boredom or loneliness. All Nesta knew was that she was alive still and keeping herself busy by sewing and writing. Her house was always tidy.

What she did lack, however, was an axe. When she had requested one from the village, she was informed that weapons were not allowed. She gathered fallen branches and snapped them into pieces, but the thicker ones were too strong for her. Much of the wood was damp and her stores ran low with the encroaching winter. She had been rationing her supplies with the anticipation of the colder weather, choosing to save the long-lasting ingredients for winter.

A thump woke her. The sheer force of it made the whole roof tremble. For a moment, Nesta thought a tree had fallen and braced her hands over her head for the roof to collapse.

In the distance, there were shouts. A low rumbling of men’s voices laced with the snarls of dogs. Could it be the monster had finally come? Or perhaps it had been, found Nesta lacking, and was approaching the village for a new maiden. But what was the thump?

Her heart beat quicker than usual as she gripped the carving knife and exited the cabin. The voices came from the south, from the mortal lands. Hesitantly, Nesta held her lamp out and began to search the perimeter of the cabin in only her boots, her cloak, and her night gown. Her rigorous modesty had faded with only herself for company.  

There, hunched over on a side, was a man. Not a monster at all. A dim red light pooled from spots on his clothing. It was a strange sort of leathery skin.

‘Are you hurt?’

There was no response. She edged closer then recoiled with horror at the sight of his wings. Fae. Not a man. A male.

And the humans hunted him. Three large, ash arrows had shredded through his body.

Stories of the fae were ones used to scare children, she always believed. Still, she had always worn her iron bracelet. She’d expected him to look more other. Pointed teeth or black eyes or mottled skin. He was handsome in a rough sort of way. Ebony hair spilled over his face. Nesta held her hand close to his mouth and could feel he was breathing, slowly but detectable. She ought to have left him there. Ought to have gone back inside, pulled the covers up to her chin and forgotten about him. But she could not. She was transfixed by this fae male. By the beautiful, broken wings draped across the undergrowth.  

The humans came closer. Not knowing why she did it, Nesta threw her cloak over the male’s clothing, blocking out the red glow. His eyes opened groggily. She pressed a finger to his lips. His hand gripped hers, keeping her finger on the soft skin of his lips. His own hand was warm, rough with callouses but still gentle.

The dogs would scent him, she realised with horror.

‘Stay,’ she whispered, not knowing if he could understand her tongue.

She strode forwards, holding her lamp aloft, meeting the humans near the ring of trees that surrounded the cabin.

‘Do you mind not waking me up in the middle of the night? It’s terribly rude.’

‘Move aside. There’s a fae in the woods.’

‘Maybe it is my beloved, here to drag me to Prythian.’

The male closest to her shifted slightly. The dog he was holding by a leash, pulled and whined.

‘It’s injured in these woods somewhere.’

‘You will ruin our land,’ she warned. ‘If there is a fae here, he has come to claim me. Your intervention will spell twenty years of bad luck on our people. Leave.’

They stared at her with a wary curiosity. Most women, she supposed, might have begged to be taken back to safety rather than usher in their demise. The threat of cursing the village had worked though. Although the dogs still tugged forwards, the men relinquished their pursuit.

‘He’ll die anyway,’ one said as they turned. ‘Tomas hit him twice, Ivorn a third time.’

Nesta waited until their footsteps died down before she approached the male. He’d sat upright, wincing slightly. One of the arrows had lodged itself in his shoulder after ripping through his wings, two more pierced the membrane.

‘Are you here to kill me?’

‘It wasn’t in my plans for the night, sweetheart.’ With a groan, he hauled himself to his feet. ‘You’re the one with the knife pointed at me. What are you doing out here in the woods at night?’

‘Witchcraft.’

The male cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘What are you really doing?’

‘Summoning a demon. And look, he hit my roof and woke me up.’

He rested a palm against the wooden cabin to steady himself. Each breath seemed to lance pain up his broad body.

‘You can’t fly,’ she realised.

He grimaced. ‘Not with these arrows in me.’ He reached around as if trying to snap one, but yelped with pain. ‘They’re ash. Typical mortals. You’ve always been savage creatures.’

The snarl in his voice did not scare her, even as the deep reverberations shook the ground.

‘I didn’t shoot you,’ she protested. ‘I’m the one stood in my nightgown while you wear my cloak protecting you. I’m waiting in this godforsaken cabin for one of your kind to kill me.’

That snapped him out of his rage. He glanced down at the grey cloak covering his glowing stones. He’d draped it over her shoulders before she could argue with him. His hand lingered around her upper arm, the warmth seeping through to her goosebump covered skin.

‘You should go inside. It’s too cold for you out here.’

His head bowed towards hers and Nesta realised exactly how tall this fae male was. His body caged hers against the cabin wall.

‘Do you want me to remove those arrows?’ Why was her voice so breathless? Why was her pulse hammering with thrill when it should have been quaking with fear?

‘Your husband won’t mind if you bring a handsome male home?’

‘Where is this handsome male you speak of? Will you introduce us?’

The fae tipped back his head in low laughter than sent a ripple of pleasure down Nesta’s spine. His hand gripped hers, inspecting the fingers and finding them absent of a wedding ring. She should have drawn her hand away. Shouldn’t have let him look at her with such an aching hunger.

‘Follow me.’

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 313: Deku VS Lady Nagant

Previously on BnHA: Hawks’s super-hot badass murder senpai Lady Nagant showed up to fire a cupid’s arrow into my heart, and a bunch of literal bullets into my son. Deku was all “oh shit it’s Hawks’s super-hot badass murder senpai, what do I do, let me think back to Hawks’s advice for a sec.” Flashback!Hawks was all “anyway Deku so if my super-hot badass murder senpai ever shows up you’re basically screwed so you’d better abscond the fuck out of there.” Present!Deku was all “lol idek why I flashed back to that conversation since I’m just going to do the exact opposite of what Hawks said” and charged directly toward Nagant because WHY NOT. Overhaul was all “waah I need to get back to my boss who I put in a coma out of love” and Nagant was all “jesus christ why did I even bring you here” and had a flashback to AFO who was all “ILU NAGANT IMMA GIVE YOU AN EXTRA QUIRK SO PLEASE CAPTURE DEKU FOR ME PLEASE AND THANKS” and yeah. Shit is all over the place right now and I love it.

Today on BnHA: All Might gets attacked by a pair of discount assassins and is all “Call an ambulance! ...BUT NOT FOR ME” and it’s really badass but also I really wish he would stop tempting fate like this. Lady Nagant is all “[casually flies around town shooting shit]” and I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t read an entire chapter of just that. Deku is all, “[gets shot (≥_<)]” and releases a giant Smokescreen which prompts En to show up. En is all, “( •᷄⌓•᷅ ) (⌣̀ Δ���́) ( •̀_•́ )σ (¬､¬) (눈_눈)” which I consider to be a high point of both the chapter and of my life. The chapter ends with Deku using the Third’s quirk to launch a bunch of random objects at Nagant so that he can jump up and grab her arm all sneaky-like, and I’m sure this is going to prompt another week’s worth of discourse that I don’t care about at all, but fuck it, I’m having a good time.

OH WE’RE CUTTING BACK TO ALL MIGHT WELL THAT’S NICE I GUESS. CONGRATS ON NOT BEING DEAD

you named your car??

you named it Hercules??

I love you so much??

please marry me you giant fucking dork???

lmao speaking of huge fucking dorks

who the fuck are you clowns. la dee da we’re gonna murder All Might with our synchronized spear attack!! I mean... they’re clearly trying their best... maybe I should just be nice and politely hype them up like All Might is so clearly trying to do

like okay, but we all agree that this is actually the least intimidating attack any of us has ever seen, right?? these guys zipped up their hoodies all serious-like and are trying to attack All Might and Hercules with their Walmart tiki torches, but just, no?? right?? like the only way this could possibly be effective is if they were trying to kill All Might with secondhand embarrassment

“those are assassins” this is a VERY generous assessment, All Might

OH MY GOD THE TIKI TORCHES ACTUALLY KILLED THE FUCK OUT OF HERCULES

[slaps roof of car] this baby can fit so many weaponized festive backyard lighting solutions in it

and yet, even after watching this with my own two eyes, I still can’t take these dudes seriously. idek what it is. anyways r.i.p. Hercules, I loved you a lot but I guess you weren’t actually a very good armored car were you

omg they didn’t know it was All Might??

okay 1) for a moment there I was like “oh hey maybe they’re not so bad after all” but then a moment later it was like “ah nope, they are.” like, that was an interesting .06 second emotional journey there. anyways 2) All Might you have my permission to kick their asses for this disrespect, and 3) anyone else all of a sudden getting “wouldn’t this be an interesting time for Stain to suddenly show up” vibes?? no?? just me???

(ETA: hmm tbh I’ve still got those vibes and they haven’t gone away lol. Stain?? you out there buddy?? do you want to be cool for just once in your life. ball’s in your court pal.)

OH SNAP ALL MIGHT ARE YOU REALLY GONNA DO IT ARE YOU GONNA KICK THEIR ASSES

PROTECTIVE DAD MODE ACTIVATED?? BECAUSE YOU KNOW I’M HERE FOR THAT SHIT, SO YEAH, FEEL FREE

omg he’s shouting at them about how much Deku has suffered lmao and they’re just like falling over from being scolded

so they have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about though, right? “SIR THIS IS A WENDY’S” well whatever, you killed his pet car so he’s in a bad mood now

OH MY GOD

LIKE, JUST SO WE’RE ALL CLEAR, THESE FOUR PAGES SO FAR HAVE MADE ALMOST ZERO SENSE. LIKE MAYBE 2% SENSE TOPS. BUT ASK ME IF I CARE. GO AHEAD AND ASK. I SAID GO AHEAD, IT’S OKAY. ...NO I DON’T CARE AT ALL THANK YOU FOR ASKING

(ETA: also, the more I look at this panel, the more I’m just like, why the hell would you phrase it like that though, sob. way to doubly tempt fate?? are you trying to give Horikoshi a challenge??)

and now back to Deku who is randomly bouncing around the city and narrating it to himself just in case he was confused about why he was doing this

who are you talking to Deku. but thanks we appreciate it

man you gotta love that overconfidence. the smartest guy in the world warned you away from this lady, so SURE, LET’S RUN RIGHT UP TO HER. “I APPRECIATE YOUR INPUT, FLASHBACK!HAWKS, BUT I’LL TAKE IT FROM HERE” well okay then!!

I think it would be funny if RHA.com put little Buzzfeed-style polls in between the chapter pages so they could survey people at random intervals as they read their way through the chapter. like, you finish this page and then there’s a little poll there asking “do you think Deku’s plan of catching up to Lady Nagant and finding out where Shigaraki is will work?”, and you click “no” just like everyone else and then nod as the results show that 97% of your fellow readers also picked “no”, and you chuckle to yourself wondering how many of the 3% accidentally clicked on the wrong option by mistake, and then you keep on reading

ANYWAY, SO

HOW’S THAT PLAN WORKING OUT FOR YOU SO FAR DEKU. nice kick, though!!

omggggggg

ouch

update: Deku’s plan not really working out. sources tell me my boy has been fucking shot. this is an ongoing story and we will keep you posted with the latest developments as they come in

wait what

feel free to explain to the rest of us what all of this “UNLESS...” and “THAT POSSIBILITY...” shit means anytime, Deku

oh lol did he realize she could fly??

BREAKING NEWS UPDATE, CNN’s John King reports that Deku is still fucked. eyewitness reports now coming in that Nagant is doing no-look shots and basically not even giving a fuck. sources described her mannerisms and expression as “sexy, but in like an effortless sort of way.” we will continue to bring you the latest

so now there’s basically an entire page of Deku being all “ah fuck so she’s basically closing in and she could already hit me with impossible accuracy even from Far Away, so if that’s the case then her being Up Close is probably going to be even worse!” making good use of that Big Hero Brain there, Deku

so now what, you’re doing some kind of spiraling kick thing?? how is that going to help

oh lol he’s using Smokescreen to create some cover. aww, good for you Deku you named one of your Smokescreen attacks

OH NO LADY DON’T TELL ME AFO DIDN’T EVEN FILL YOU IN ON THE BASICS

seriously, AFO?? you basically told her what Deku’s exact strategy was going to be but then couldn’t be assed to drop that little, small, barely notable piece of knowledge that Deku is rocking multiple quirks?? is it supposed to be a secret or something?? you dropped the ball here man

damn this is getting intense now

(ETA: the way En is poking Deku’s head in that first panel is fucking sending me, I love this guy so much omg.)

well then what are you planning, Deku?? I’m actually really curious!! I am genuinely starting to be invested in this fight scene not only in the “wanting to see who wins and how that impacts the plot” sense, but also in the “wanting to see how it happens because the choreography and strategy is actually pretty cool” sense, which honestly hasn’t happened for quite a while now! this is fun

anyway so what’s up Deku, are you going to use another quirk?? I’ve been speculating that he hasn’t actually unlocked the last two yet (since Two and Three didn’t exactly seem convinced when we last saw them), but maybe I’m about to be proven wrong

(ETA: well he clearly has Three’s obviously, but Two’s is still MIA, and that’s the one I am of course the most curious about. that’s the one we’re all curious about, let’s be real.)

OH SNAP???

AHHHH I’M HYPED LOL. ANOTHER SHINY NEW QUIRK LOL SHOULD I PUT UP THE USUAL DISCOURSE DISCLAIMER

(ETA: so yeah, after thinking on it, I’m not gonna say “please no Deku discourse on my blog” this week, but I probably will ignore any discourse that does come my way though, just because I don’t have much interest in getting involved in what would probably be a pretty repetitive discussion. like, I can just sum up my opinions (which is what they are) here instead. in fact here they are lol:

1) I like the SIXQUIRKS and I like seeing Deku be a badass.

2) I also don’t think Deku is too OP. more like he’s exactly as OP as he needs to be at the moment, given that we’re approaching the end of the series. I expect the other kids will also be pretty damn OP when we see them fight again. we’re just at that point now where they’re all badasses (as well they should be; they’ve grown a lot and they deserve it). it’s just that Deku’s the one we’re getting to see right now.

3) of course I miss Kacchan and the others, but for me this vibes much closer to the MVA arc where even though I missed them, I was still having a blast (as opposed to the dark days of the Basement arc where I was pretty much losing it lol). like, even though Kacchan’s my favorite, I still love Deku a lot and this arc has been amazing for him getting to shine on his own (for like the first time, really).

4) y’all know I love the OFA plot and I’ve never been shy about that lol. I like all of the Vestiges a lot. Banjou and his over the top personality; En and his “guy you thought would be serious and :| all the time but is actually hyper-animated and ALL OVER THE PLACE” energy; Shiro who actually is a :| sort of guy lol; Three who I still expect will be fleshed out in a more detailed flashback at some point; and of course Two, who, well. you know what I think about him lol. Bakuverse is still on the table and I’m still hyped. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we still have yet to see Two actually talk to Deku (as opposed to talking to the other Vestiges while Deku is distracted). did he lend him his power yet?? or is he still holding out?? either way it’s definitely going to be a Big Thing when it finally happens and I can’t wait to see it.

5) Lady Nagant is Everything and just because Deku grabbed her arm doesn’t mean the fight is over yet lol. Overhaul hasn’t come into play yet either. not to mention that even if the fight is over, the “where do we go from here” part still has me excited either way. her connection to Hawks and the HPSC is very intriguing and we’ve barely touched on that as of yet; she definitely has more of a role to play in this.

6) last but not least, I feel like every week the discussion is all about how much focus Deku’s getting, and how OP he is or isn’t, and OFA this and OFA that, but meanwhile I’m actually so invested in the character development here though?? the way Deku has distanced himself from everyone (except for the Vestiges, because of course they’re already dead so it’s not like they can die again lol)?? the way he’s pushing himself far too hard and we can see the shadows in and under his eyes, and the fact that he never smiles, and even All Might has remarked on how he isn’t taking care of himself at all?? the fact that he’s so single-mindedly obsessed with focused on stopping AFO?? the fact that he’s still the same sweet old Deku despite everything and was so kind to that fox lady with the umbrella, but there was also something so sad about that scene because it felt like a reminder of the type of hero that he wants to be, but that he’s not allowed to be right now?? because the stakes are too high and the world is falling apart?? and he feels like he’s the only one who can do something about it?? and that he has to be?? and that he is putting so much pressure on himself right now, and it’s absolutely too much pressure for any one person to bear, and I feel like no one is fucking talking about this lol goddammit.

anyway so yeah. I have feels about this, and every week that slow-burn angst is getting more and more intense behind the scenes, and I feel like it’s all going to hit a breaking point eventually. sooner rather than later. it really feels like a mirror of Katsuki’s post-Kamino arc. where all that angst was just churning below the surface for like twenty chapters and then it finally was like “okay it’s time” and it all came bursting out and we got the best five chapters of the fucking series (in my admittedly biased estimation lol).

basically, I know that most of fandom is billing this as either the “villain hunt” arc or the “solo Deku SIXQUIRKS fighting arc” or whatever. but for me, it’s always been and still is the Deku Angst arc lol. the cool fights are a sexy bonus (the worldbuilding less so because even though it’s interesting to see society at such a low point, it’s also very depressing and gets old pretty fast), but for me the thing that’s really keeping me engaged chapter after chapter is seeing Deku like we’ve never seen him before. seeing him all quiet and withdrawn and brooding and focused on AFO, AFO, AFO, and seeing that “he just doesn’t take himself into account” mentality taken to extremes. I am invested in that. I’m soaking up that angst each and every week, and I’m invested in seeing what comes of it. it’s a big picture thing. week to week this arc might just seem like a bunch of villain fight scenes, sure. but Deku’s emotional journey is the thread that’s going to carry this arc through from beginning to end, and for that I’m willing to be patient.

anyway that turned into a BIG OL’ RANT there but yeah! so those are my thoughts on the disk horse as it currently stands. and like I said, I’m open to discussion, but tbh I will probably just wind up repeating these same talking points endlessly so just a fair warning lol.)

anyway so Three says Deku has yet to use his quirk at ALL but now he’s trying to combine it with another quirk?? damn. also please check out En’s face here you guys

En launching a sneak attack up my favorite character list by the sheer power of his expressions alone. he really knows how to make the most of his screentime

OH DAMN DEKU

at this point the 3% from that hypothetical poll earlier are starting to feel prettttty damn smug, I’ll bet. well shit

what in the fuck

?? so like releasing his chi or whatnot?? isn’t that basically just like base OFA all over again?? also Deku did you seriously just apologize to Gran’s cape

update: Nagant has turned her eyeball into a gun

hm. hmmmmmmm. ...okay yep, still somehow sexy

anyway so she’s just floating up there building suspense, as one does. lord I sure hope she has good reflexes because something tells me she’s going to need them

OH SNAP HE THREW GRAN’S CAPE AS A DECOY WHAAAAT OKAY THAT’S SOME SMART SHIT DEKU

LOL SHE’S MAD NOW

JESUS CHRIST SHE JUST NEVER TAKES A GODDAMN BREAK FROM BEING AWESOME HUH

DEKU ARE YOU JUST THROWING EVERY DAMN THING IN YOUR INVENTORY

but without the cape and the hood how will you continue to look like an enigmatic badass. you really can’t. which means we might finally be moving on from the wandering nomad part of this arc, stay tuned

LOL YOU MANIAC

I hope he went full Kacchan with the dialogue there. his face sure looks like it lol. popped out of a building all mad fdskljlkj omg

well this was fun, shit. I still have basically no idea what Three’s quirk does though lol. like, can he use it to charge up objects with kinetic energy or something?? but then what was all of that talk about combining it with one of the other quirks?? or was that just because he was using Smokescreen at the same time??

(ETA: having seen and read an additional half-dozen explanations of Three’s quirk, I can say with confidence that I still have basically no idea what it is or does.)

anyway so!! Deku is a badasssssss but something tells me not to count Nagant out just yet even so. also I really enjoy seeing Deku flip out on people like he doesn’t have a fucking hole in his torso because it reminds me of A CERTAIN SOMEONE and I always love to see him channeling that feral energy; I feel like it’s been a while

anyways good luck to you both!! I truly wish that both of you could win. but if not, then maybe you can at least become friends instead. you have so much in common, you both can fly and have multiple quirks and you’re both badasses, and plus it would just be really funny to see the look on Hawks’s face lmao

[scorchrend]

Can you info dump about dragalia more, as a fan I like hearing what other people like about it!

oh yeah sure!! i tend to not know what to talk abt when there are no prompts so if you want me to talk more send in those asks!! rn i'll talk abt the gameplay though

while the game doesnt have much of the exploration aspect outside of maybe the kaleidoscape (which is still not much) since its a bite sized arpg, more for cool boss battles and stuff, the sceneries in the main story really do make it feel more like an adventure. but im not here for that im here for the gameplay baby.

ok so you can play this game entirely one handed. so cool. so convenient. may be a hassle seeing where youre moving if you have big hands, cannot say for sure? but controls also feel really fluid. i dont think a joystick would have fit this game tbh so im kind of glad its not in

tap to attack to get sp to get skills. very easy but its satisfying to get rotations correctly. i especially love adventurers that use special combos like dragondrive, etc.

btw, free dream summon ends in an hour! i picked up a farren from it. if you play dragalia, be sure to log in and claim your free 5 star of choice

timing skill animations with the red attacks for iframes is so fun. ik you can dodgeroll to avoid now but it feels very good to be able to stay on the offense. i personally really like the agito series of bosses since their gimmicks are fun to play around.

maybe i was insane but also i could grind this game forever in co-op. i couldve autod it (now i do since the game kind of shifted to more of a solo player focus) but like playing coop in this game is so much fun. sticker spamming, discussing plans with friends, etc. its at its best with a full team of 4 i promise you but playing with literally anyone. maybe i just like co-op. btw theres no pvp in this game outside of a self contained battle royale mode

i love the game mechanics so damn much that i made fanmade kits. theorycrafting is so fun. wish i could play them tho lol.

and thats all i have as of rn! but i definitely have more i just dont know what to add lmao

[ejzah]

If you don't mind writing fanfic about the team learn about what Deeks had had to do to the clerk in Afghanistan to save them, and they try to talk to him about it?

A/N: Once again, this is quite an old prompt.

***

It All Comes Out

Deeks yawned, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. It didn’t make the words on his laptop screen any less blurry. He hadn’t slept much since bringing Kensi home from Afghanistan three days ago.

Today was the first day they were back on active duty after following the requisite psych evals. As usual, Deeks had lied through his teeth, pushing down all his fear, trauma, and guilt to pass his and only provided a few tidbits to satisfy the psychologist.

In truth, he couldn’t get the image of Kensi laying lifeless in a pool of her own blood. It didn’t matter that he now knew the image was fake, it haunted his dreams, hence his exhaustion. Still, he was willing to put up with a thousand sleepless nights to have Kensi alive and well. Or at least on her way there.

The sound of several people coming down from OPS snapped Deeks out of his thoughts and he tried to refocus on his half-finished case report.

“Hey Deeks, you got a minute?” Callen asked as he, Sam, Eric, and Nell gathered in front of his desk. Something about his tone, purposely devoid of any specific emotion, instantly put him on edge. As did Nell’s worried expression. She kept flicking glances in Eric’s direction, apparently unable to help herself.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to face an inquisition,” Deeks joked, not having the energy to carry off his usual sarcasm.

“We need to talk about something,” Sam said, unusually vague.

“Yeah, I figured that much out.” Deeks pushed himself back from his seat, folding his arms over his chest as he looked at each of them in turn. “Seriously, why the intervention?”

“Before we left Afghanistan, the interpreter who stayed with you approached me,” Callen started. Deeks stilled, not needing him to finish to know what he was about to say. “He said you got a little…rough with your interrogation.”

Guilt and shame suffused Deeks, and he dipped his head, unable to face them.

“You mean tortured,” he whispered.

“That’s not the word he used,” Sam said. Oddly enough, he didn’t sound judgmental.

“But it’s essentially what happened.” Far too late, Deeks remembered that they were in a very public place for this discussion. Nell must have read his expression because she stepped forward, resting her small hand on his.

“Deeks, don’t worry, everyone else is gone for the night and I made sure to pause all video and audio feeds for now,” she told him. “This conversation stays between the five of us.” Even now, given what she knew, she was still protecting him.

“And we’re not here to judge you,” Sam added quietly. “We just want to know what happened.”

“Makar didn’t tell you?” That surprised him a little. Deeks knew Makar had anticipated he would go too far. He seemed like a good man and Deeks didn’t fault him for reporting his actions to Callen. It was what an honest, moral man would do.

“No, he just said it got a little out of hand,” Callen answered. “But the rest was your story to tell if you decided. So, what happened?”

Deeks pursed his lips, swallowing the acid that rose in his throat.

“I was questioning the cleric and um, I got the staged photo of Kensi…Uh, the picture that made it look like she died, and I snapped,” Deeks explained in a low voice.

Eric hissed something under his breath, but Deeks ignored him.

“I yelled at him, kicked his chair down, pulled my gun on him, determined to make him pay for Kensi’s death. And then, when he still wouldn’t tell me anything, I tried to waterboard him.” Deeks swallowed again, nausea rising in his stomach, and tears filling his eyes at the memory of what he’d done.

“Damn,” Sam muttered.

“Makar tried to convince me to stop,” Deeks continued doggedly. Now that he’d begun, he needed to get it all out. “He told me that it wouldn’t change anything, that it wouldn’t bring Kensi back, and the cleric would never talk, but I was too caught up in my anger and need for revenge.”

“Something must have changed because you did stop, Makar told me that much and the cleric didn’t have any noticeable injuries when we returned,” Callen pointed out. “So what happened.”

“I started pouring the water on him, and he was shaking, making the most horrible noises, anything to try to get free,” He gasped softly, tears filling his eyes. “I couldn’t keep doing that to him, no matter what he’d done or knew. I’m not that person.”

There was a long silent after he finished and he dully stared up at them. Nell had tears in her eyes and after hesitating a little, moved forward, bending across his desk to hug him. It caught him by surprise and he remained stiff, barely returning her embrace.

“This is all our fault,” Eric said quietly from behind her. At Deeks’ confused look, he explained, “If we hadn’t sent that picture to you—”

“Eric, don’t you dare blame yourself. I’m responsible for my own actions and I demanded that you send me that picture even though you warned me it wasn’t a good idea.”

“Maybe, but we knew you were already in a stressful situation,” Nell said, taking a step back. “We also knew that the picture might be fake. Hetty never should have given in and we shouldn’t have sent it to you. That’s on us.”

“Either way, I crossed a line that I promised myself I never would, and I’ll spend the rest of my life and whatever career I might after this, trying to make up for that,” Deeks told them all.

“Relax, Deeks. We’re not looking to get you kicked off the team or seeking formal action of any kind. I think we all know what it’s like to cross a line when it comes to someone we care about.” Callen glanced at Sam, who nodded back. “That being said, you need to talk someone about all of this. We all know how this kind of case can effect you in the long term. It doesn’t have to be someone in-house..”

“And that’s it?”

“No. Remember you can always come to one of us if you need it,” Sam added. “You’re a good man, Deeks. Don’t let one mistake define you.”

Deeks nodded, appreciating their support, but he knew no amount of therapy, or apologies, would ever fix what he’d done to that cleric.

***

A/N: Obviously some of Deeks’ thoughts are a reflection of his own feelings about himself rather than what I think or feel. Additionally, I almost feel that Deeks would have admitted what he did to Kensi, if not someone else not the team.

Thanks for the prompt!

[chordsykat]

You should run the Klok fan events in the future. There’s sus drama with past events that I feel like you’d take no bs and not play with the trolls about it or be weird on discord, and genuinely have better prompts that fit the Dethklok theme.

Well, first, credit where credit is due -- it's fucking HARD to moderate anything. Especially fan spaces. I'm so sorry you're dealing with drama, OP, because that really sucks. And I'm flattered you'd think of me for taking on a leadership role within our fan community, but that is a damn tough job.

I assume this is on the Discord server(s?) and I'm not on there because #1, I'm not a fan of the Discord format and haven't bothered to learn it because I'm old as shit and stuck in my ways, I guess. :) and #2, I'm just here to share stories and comics and art and stuff while being a cheerleader for others, so I don't think I'd be a good fit. My fandom involvement is one of my favorite hobbies, and the less it feels like work, the more sane I can be. :)

That said, I have reached out to Lampmeeting when it comes to our Tumblr events and would happily run some prompt stuff here on Tumblr. Too, a dear friend of mine and I are in discussion to do a limited-run podcast where we discuss a few fan theories about MTL lore and junk... something to build hype as we wait for the movie, I guess. And you'll hear more on that, soon!

[notepadsandtealeaves]

Javier Escuella x GN!Reader in: (Home is) Wherever I’m With You

Reader Requests || Immy’s 200 Follower Event 🎊 🎉 🎊

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

|| ao3 version | event tag | rdr tag | m.lists | main blog ||

↠ Requested By: @team-baku-is-blasting-off-again ((for my 200 Follower Event)) ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: Angst-y H/C vibes that get NSFW at the end ((minors kindly fuck off, pls and thank)) ↠ CWs/TWs: Javier’s being over-protective like to a very uncool degree, as well as insecure in himself/his relationship with Reader. Likewise Reader has their own baggage/insecurities that don’t help matters at all. It all gets worked on and rectified by the story’s end, but feelings are indeed Hurt. ↠ Check below the cut for a more comprehensive list of tags. ↠ No betas—we die like damn near everyone you’ve ever dared to love in this damned series lol. ↠ Total WC: 14k~ ((my b, my uhh, my hand slipped??))

↠ Prompts:

“I’ll never be good enough.”

“Tell me to stop, tell me or I won’t be able to.” / “Then don’t.”

“No.”

“‘No’, what?”

“No, you’re not goin’.”

“I’m sorry,” you start, your own awakening anger transforming the words into sharp and dangerous things, “somethin’ must be gettin’ lost here because that didn’t sound like a question.”

The smoldering embers that had been in his gaze before are fully alight now with a flame that’s just barely checked as he regards you. “That’s because it wasn’t, mi amor…”

↠ In which what should be little more than a simple misunderstanding turns into something quite other. But no matter the storm, the pair of you are always willing to weather it so long as you can come home.

In which OP not-so-subtly simps for Arthur in the background lol. Let me love you, Mister Morgan, pls 😭

Sorry for the wait, dear requester. Between non-fun adult type stuff and my need to reboot in between fills this took far longer to write than what either of us wanted lol. Doesn’t help that there’s angst involved (which always induces a certain amount of metal strain); add to that the fact that three out of the four fills I got for this event were angst-y H/C type deals and you get an even slower turn around.

But anyways!

This is long—way longer than anything I intended on writing for this event, but tbh this is a work I already had partially done. It’s a short story that’s been hanging around in my drafts since January of 2019 (yeah, I know -_-), but despite how long it’s been since last I touched it, reading the prompts put me in mind of it right away. Here’s to hoping it was worth the wait!

Translations ((As always, if any of the Spanish in this is wrong feel free to take it up with Google Translate lol)):

No gracias, Tilly, estoy bien—No thank you, Tilly, I’m fine

Mi amor—My love

Joder—Fuck

Dios, soy un jodido idiota—God, I’m a fucking idiot

Nunca seré lo suficientemente bueno—I’ll never be good enough

Mi corazon—My Sweetheart

Cariño—Sweetie

Siempre me tomas tan bien—You always take me so good

General Tags: Arthur Morgan + Reader (platonic, affectionate) | Arthur and Reader have a close, sibling-type relationship | Arthur Morgan being a Good Man™ as well as a good brother | Relationship strife | Public arguments (and the embarrassment that comes with that lol) | Various insecurities on both Reader and Javier’s part | Javier gets over-protective/insecure, arguments ensue | Mildly toxic behavior (unintentional, but still; see aforementioned tag) that is worked on/rectified | Also Reader’s own insecurities/baggage leads to an overreaction on their part as well | ((I hate writing all this angst, but it needed to happen for ✨~plot~✨ lol)) | Light Micah bashing lol (tho no shade intended towards his fans) | Hosea and Charles giving good advice

General Tags: Arthur Morgan + Reader (platonic, affectionate) | Arthur and Reader have a close, sibling-type relationship | Arthur Morgan being a Good Man™ as well as a good brother | Relationship strife | Public arguments (and the embarrassment that comes with that lol) | Various insecurities on both Reader and Javier’s part | Javier gets over-protective/insecure, arguments ensue | Mildly toxic behavior (unintentional, but still; see aforementioned tag) that is worked on/rectified | Also Reader’s own insecurities/baggage leads to an overreaction on their part as well | ((I hate writing all this angst, but it needed to happen for ✨~plot~✨ lol)) | Light Micah bashing lol (tho no shade intended towards his fans) | Hosea and Charles giving good advice

“So are you in or out?” Arthur asks as he reaches the end of his spiel.

The stagecoach robbery seems straight forward enough, but given the fact that everything the gang has put its collective hand to since the infamous Riverboat Incident back in Blackwater has gone tits up he knows you have a right to be wary. And you are, just a touch, though you hate to admit it. This string of bad luck has been hard on everyone and many bear the scars—both inside and out—to prove it, yourself included.

But you trust Arthur and you know that if this is a job he’s sniffed out himself that it’s probably solid; the fact that Charles and Lenny will also be tagging along means that the chances of success are just that much higher. The three of them usually make wise enough choices, last month’s misadventures in Valentine’s bar notwithstanding. You quickly agree before you can think better of it, and the smile that it pulls from the bearded man makes the potential risks more than worth it.

It had taken Arthur a bit to warm up to you when you’d first joined the gang, but once he did the pair of you fell into a close-knit, sibling-type relationship. A few people around camp—namely Sean, Bill, and damn near all the girls—had insisted that there had to be something more there in the time since, and it was only once you and Javier became an item that the rumors were (mostly) put to rest. The close nature of your relationship was actually the reason that it took Javi so long to ask you out. He’d been thoroughly convinced by the others that you and Arthur were sneaking around behind the gang’s collective back, and it wasn’t until you explained to him that firstly, you were adults who wouldn’t have to stoop to such a juvenile level, and secondly that you’d adored him from nearly the moment you’d met that he finally got past that foolishness.

Though it was annoying at the time you can’t say that you blame anyone for thinking you and your best friend had something going. Despite all his posturing to the contrary, Arthur Morgan is and always will be a far better man than what your lifestyle allows for, and a damned handsome one to boot, and well, you ain’t too bad yourself. You complement each other in a way that just seems ‘right’, apparently, but even if Javi hadn’t come into the picture your relationship’s always been destined to be a platonic one.

Arthur’s hurts are old things that run deep and jagged, tainting his perception of everything—himself especially. Both life and love have never looked on him kindly, and so he’s stopped expecting to receive the latter. Of course this has never stopped you from extending the sentiment to him after a fashion, but years passed and experiences gained have taught you that trying to force feelings when they just aren’t there will only ever end in heartbreak. Because of this you’ve never pushed for anything more and the pair of you are all the closer for it. Having him in your life has definitely made it fuller in so many ways, and it’s a blessing that you’re always striving to return, so whenever you get him to smiling like this you always feel as if you’re one step closer to your goal.

“Great,” he drawls, pushing off of his knees as he rises from the milk crate-turned-chair. “We ride out at the end of the hour so be ready. And make sure your gun’s actually loaded this time.”

His comment earns a few snickers from the others that share the space with you, though most of them quiet down when they feel the weight of your stare. The only one who doesn’t is Tilly, but then again the woman knows that you’d sooner kick a dog before ever doing anything more scathing to her than glaring.

“Wasn’t. My. Fault,” you grit out as you chuck an abandoned tobacco tin at his back.

A drunken prank compliments of Sean had led to a mildly embarrassing incident involving a bet and some bottle shooting, and nearly a year later you’ve still yet to live it down. Though he teases you about it now, Arthur had nearly taken the Irishman’s head off at the time; had the blond not challenged you, you could’ve easily found yourself unknowingly unarmed in a situation far more dire than a simple test of skill.

For his part the man just chuckles as he tosses a sarcastic “Sure” over his shoulder.

“Jerk,” you mutter, though there’s no real heat behind it.

“Want me to kick his ass?”

Had the voice not been so familiar you might’ve been startled by its sudden nearness, but the dulcet cadence is one that you know better than even your own. Unfortunately you’ve not been hearing it nearly as often as you’d like these past few days. Between duties to the camp and following leads in town, you and your man haven’t occupied the same space for any extended amount of time outside of sleeping together—done in the most literal sense, sadly—and even that’s been choppy as a you’d both been assigned guard shifts that made your overlap damn near nonexistent.

Javi’s just finished one such shift and it shows. His usually warm eyes are dull with fatigue and his posture’s a bit stiff from the strain that comes with making rounds of the area for the better part of the last several hours, but despite it all he’s just as handsome as ever and your pulse quickens as it always does whenever he’s near.

“Mmm, maybe later,” you say with half a laugh as he plops down on the log next to you. Depending on how this job goes down you just might take him up on that offer—if the law doesn’t beat you to it, that is.

For his part the man just snorts before pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your temple. He wraps his arms around you then and hoists you over into his lap, heedless of the scalding contents of your tin mug. A few moments of careful shuffling—and an unnecessary amount of cooing from Tilly and Sean—later sees you comfortable in your new seat. Javier had told you once that holding you like this feels like home, and sitting here with his head resting heavily against your shoulder and his hum of contentment warm against your ear, the statement rings especially true. Your free hand smooths over the pair of his where they rest against your thighs in a loose clasp, your fingers mapping out the ever increasing expanse of nicks and scars that mar the skin there; one scab feels especially fresh under your touch and you know that it’s compliments of yet another five-finger match, though who his opponent was you couldn’t say.

“You want something to eat, Javier?” Tilly asks from where she sits next to you—or rather next to your previous spot. Her thin, nimble fingers are making quick work of the trousers she’s mending with a level of skill that could put many-a seamstresses to shame.

“No gracias, Tilly, estoy bien.” (No thank you, Tilly, I’m fine.)

The young woman giggles at that. “Poor thing. You must really be tired because I didn’t understand half of what you just said. Sure sounded pretty though.”

“It always does,” you agree. Hearing Javi speak in his native language is truly a thing of beauty and, in your opinion, there isn’t much out there that can rival it.

He chuckles a bit at that, but makes no further comment. When you ask if he’d like a cup of coffee or even a sip of your own he turns this down too. “I’ll eat before I go to sleep,” he promises before you can get on him about looking after himself. “I just want to stay like this for a bit, mi amor. I’ve been missin’ you.”

His words leave your heart aching in the best of ways, but before you can reply a commanding bellow of “Miss Jones!” rings out across the camp. To Javier’s credit he doesn’t jump like the rest of you, but this is probably due him being far too tired to react in time. Everyone, from Dutch on down to Kieran, respects—and in some cases, fears—Ms. Grimshaw, and with good reason. The woman’s mouth can put any military official to shame, and her right hook is the stuff of legends. Anything with even the smallest amount of self-preservation knows not to get in her way when she’s scented her prey; the way the material of her skirt flutters out and away from her as if attempting to not further impeded her stride only serves to punctuate this point.

“Why ain’t you helpin’ out Mister Pearson?” she continues on as she comes to stand directly in front of the woman in question. “You’re not a goddamn workin’ girl, we don’t pay you to sit around on that ass of yours an’ look pretty.”

The blonde snorts loudly into her mug. “You don’t pay me at all.”

“Oh, love—no.” Sean’s plea is little more than a breath from where he sits beside her. Reckless though the young man may be, even he knows that there are some fights you just don’t pick.

“That girl’s really gotta learn when to keep her fool mouth shut,” Tilly comments under her breath.

“Is she drunk?” Javi asks. “‘Cause she sounds drunk. And it’s not even eight yet.”

You shrug as much as your position will allow. “I haven’t seen her drinkin’ anything other than coffee, but that don’t mean nothin’. She was goin’ at it pretty hard last night, though—she could still be drunk from yesterday.”

As the three of you converse the other two women continue to go back and forth, with volume and tempers both steadily rising all the while. Ms. Grimshaw might be a pill, but she’s a fair and caring woman in her own way. She never assigns anyone more than their due, and is always willing to work with anybody that’s suffering from an illness or injury severe enough to keep them from performing their duties properly. So long as a person’s able to provide for the camp in some major way—be that via money, labor, or acquiring much needed provisions—she generally leaves them alone.

Unfortunately for Karen she’s been bringing very little to the table as of late, well besides that lead on Valentine’s bank. Despite the fact that she’d pitched it well over a week ago she’s quick to bring it back up yet again for what little good it’ll do her. Even if Dutch does okay the job it’ll still take at least another couple of weeks of reconnaissance and planning before he’ll even think of making a move on the place which means that the blonde’s “–got one iron in the fire, but no damn legs to stand on”, as the older woman puts it.

“Well they’re not workin’!” Karen yells lamely, gesturing towards where you’re currently all hugged up with your boyfriend.

“That’s because I’m getting ready for a job!” you quickly call out. The last thing you want or need is one of Susan’s lectures on ‘pulling your own damn weight.’

“Sure don’t look it,” she shoots back in yet another blatant attempt to get the attention off of her. “Not unless you’re chargin’ your man by the hour these days.”

Her words leave Javier quaking with near silent laughter and he earns a sharp elbow to the ribs for his troubles. His apology comes in the form of a kiss placed just behind your ear, and though it’s a chaste thing you still feel a shudder run up the length of your spine. It’s been damn near a week since the two of you have had the combination of time, energy, and the minimum amount of needed privacy to do much more than some heavy petting, and given the state of your libidos, a week’s more akin to a month.

Of course he notices the way his kiss affects you, and of fucking course the jerk decides that now would be a good time to pepper more of them along the column of your neck. Knowing that telling him to stop will only lead to him doing something far less innocuous you decide that ignoring him to the best of your ability is the better course of action. If anyone else takes issue with his amorous display they keep it behind their teeth; whether this is because they’re too used to seeing shit like this by now, or out of fear of what the man’ll do to them if he thinks they’ve offended and-or embarrassed you, you cannot say—though if you’re being honest you know it’s probably mostly due to the latter.

“Fuck you Karen, I’m helping Arthur ‘n’ ‘nem rob that stagecoach outside of Valentine.” Your voice only catches once as you speak and you count that as a victory.

“You hear that, Miss Jones? They have an actual task to tend to, but you? You’re just sittin’ around–”

The rest of Ms. Grimshaw’s tirade is lost to you when Javi breathes a quiet “Qué?” into your ear.

“Oh, right, guess you wouldn’t ‘ve heard yet. Arthur’s got a lead on some rich fucks that’re passin’ through the area on their way to Golden Planes so me, him, Lenny, and Charles are gonna hit ‘em up. Should be a pretty decent sized haul from what I gathered. Apparently the feller’s some actor preparing for a role by ‘roughing it’ like us common folk, ‘cept not really since he’s got himself a nice little caravan-type-deal goin’ on complete with all the comforts that he’s so accustomed to.”

You roll your eyes hard at the absurdity of it all. You remember hearing a traveling preacher once say something about a fool and his money being easily parted, and while you’re pretty sure that armed robbery’s normally considered to be a sin in this case you just might be doing the Lord’s work. The thought leaves you snorting out half a laugh as you continue on.

“The man sounds like a asshole, and a dumb one at that. Hell, given why he’s on this fool’s quest we just might be helpin’ him out—ya know, lettin’ him experience the true grit of America’s untamed land and the hounding terror of the roguish gangs that rove its planes, or, yanno, some equally flowery bullshit. Anyway, it’s pretty poorly guarded, relatively speaking, and sure to be full of loot if Arthur’s contact is to be believed—and I’m sure she is. Barmaids hear everything and she’s sweet on Arthur besides. She’s been doin’ everything she can to help ‘em in hopes that he’ll take more of an interest in her, the poor girl. She’s so hung up on him she can hardly see straight. Kinda wish I could tell her better, but she probably wouldn’t believe me anyways.”

You aren’t expecting too much in the way of reply aside from a snort of amusement, or maybe even an offer to come along, really anything but the growled “No” that you get.

“Excuse me?”

You couldn’t have heard him right, you think, but then he says it again.

You lean off to the side so that you can get a better look at him. His expression is just as straight forward as the uttered word and twice as hard. You arch a brow as you look from the pursed set of his lips to the banked fire in his eyes. He’s clearly upset, though for the life of you, you cannot understand why.

“‘No’, what?”

“No, you’re not goin’.”

“I’m sorry,” you start, your own awakening anger transforming the words into sharp and dangerous things, “somethin’ must be gettin’ lost here because that didn’t sound like a question.”

The smoldering embers that had been in his gaze before are fully alight now with a flame that’s just barely checked as he regards you. “That’s because it wasn’t, mi amor. I don’t want you anywhere near something that risky.”

You scoff loudly at that. Who does he think he is? That you are? There have only ever been a few people in your life that could ever even begin to think of forbidding you to do anything, and they’ve all long since died, so needless to say Javier Escuella is not among their number. And that’s not even touching on his blatant disregard of the skills that you’ve earned through the literal shedding of your blood, sweat, and tears. You can handle yourself just fine, and had been doing so for literal years before you even knew he existed. You’re not some goddamn damsel from out of one of Mary-Beth’s books, and you’re definitely not looking for someone to save you. When you tell him as much he just sighs.

“I never said you were. I know you can take care of yourself.”

“Well you’re sure as shit not actin’ like it,” you give back. He sighs again before muttering something under his breath in Spanish and for some reason that makes you even angrier. “If you’ve got somethin’ to say, Javier, then say it. And at a volume that I can actually hear, if you goddamn please.”

“I said, you’re acting like a child,” he bites off.

“I’m acting like a child? Me? Are you fuckin’ serious right now? You’re the one that started all of this!”

“I didn’t start anythi–”

“Oh so the whole ‘you’re not going’ bit—that wasn’t you startin’ it?” The sound you let out is a bitter shadow of a laugh. “I lost my father a long time ago, Escuella, and I’m not lookin’ to replace him, least of all with my goddamn boyfriend.”

He pinches his eyes shut in frustration. “I’m not trying to replace anybody! Fuckin’– I just want you to be safe.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I never said that you couldn’t.”

“Then what are you sayin’?” you demand with a toss of your hand. “‘Cause from where I’m sittin’ it sounds a whole damn lot like you think I’m too fuckin’ incompetent to get the job done.”

When the only reply you get is a hard, agitated breath you just nod your head. “And there it is. Hm. Well, regardless of your estimation of my skills, Mister Escuella, I’m more than capable of handlin’ a simple robbery. Now if you’ll kindly excuse me, I’ve a few things that need doin’ before I go and I don’t want Arthur and the rest waitin’ on my account.”

You give him a look when the arm that bars you in doesn’t immediately fall away. Javier meets your stare then and the tumultuous mix of emotions that you find in those warm brown irises leaves your indignation faltering, but before you can even begin to make an attempt at deciphering any of it he’s dropping both his eyes and his arms.

No further words are exchanged, though the small part of you that’s not currently pissed the fuck off feels as if you should say something. Leaving things like this is hardly wise, especially since there is a possibility—relatively slim though it is—that you may not come back, but you just can’t bring yourself to open your mouth. Javier has stepped squarely on a rather sensitive nerve, and that he can’t see that, that he won’t make the first move to apologize…

It hurts more than you care to admit, even to yourself.

You’re both adults and should be able to talk about this like the reasonable people you usually are, but you can’t be the bigger person right now. For a long time people had put you down and made you feel as if you and your abilities had no real worth and you believed them. It had taken years for you to realize that they were wrong, that you’ve always had value beyond anything they—and even you yourself—could ever know. Your self-confidence is a thing hard earned and you’ll die before you ever allow anyone to strip you of it again. Having one of the people closest to you threatening it, unintentional though it may have been, hits you hard and you just can’t.

Don’t. Won’t.

As you go you feel more than just Javier’s eyes on you. It seems as if you gave the gang a show to go with their morning meal and the thought leaves your face uncomfortably warm. Where’s Abbi and John when you need ‘em? you think as you make your way back to your tent. When compared to the screaming matches that the pair of them frequently engage in what you and your man had done can hardly even be called a proper fight.

Abandoning the mug that you hadn’t even realized you were still carrying, you grab everything you’ll need from the little box that sits tucked away in the shared space of your makeshift shelter; afterwards you head over to the medicine wagon and collect a few items, just in case worst comes to worst. Now fully kitted out, the only thing left to do is join Arthur and the rest over by the horses—which means cutting through the middle of the camp. Eyes forward, shoulders squared, and face set in a way that says ‘stay the fuck away’ you head towards your destination. Thankfully the pointedly unwelcoming combination works as intended and the short trip is blessedly uneventful.

Arthur and Charles are both in the process of loading up their horses, but Lenny is nowhere to be found. You breathe out a sigh of relief at that as it would’ve been beyond mortifying if your argument had caused you to be the last one to arrive.

“Gents,” you greet as you approach your horse. The cheer that you infuse the word with sounds fake, even to your own ears, but if the men pick up on this they don’t mention it.

You’re sure that your spat with Javier hadn’t been loud enough to reach them all the way over here, but gossip in the camp spreads faster and easier than legs in a cathouse so they’ve probably gotten an embellished account by now. Thankfully the pair of them are some of the most kindhearted men you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and they won’t pry or shame you for your actions regardless of what they’ve been told.

True to form, they greet you in kind before asking if you’ve seen the youngest of your little party, and you shake your head. “Thought he’d be over here by now,” you say with a shrug.

“I swear to god if that boah’s still sleepin’,” Arthur mutters as he turns his eyes back towards the camp proper. Charles is already one step ahead of him, however. Sitting atop Taima gives him a better vantage and he easily spots the teen over by Strauss’s wagon. The older man doesn’t even bother with looking himself, instead choosing to scream, “Lenny! Get the molasses outta yer ass, boah!” across the expanse.

Lenny picks up the pace at the beckoning. Long legs carry him across the distance at a decent clip and within a minute he’s sliding up next to you. He gives Arthur a sheepish grin as he shrugs helplessly. “I uhh, I had a hole in my pants, man; had to get that seen to first.”

Remembering the trousers that you’d seen Tilly with before you look him over and—yup. Same ones. The sight leaves you huffing in amusement, but the feeling is quickly shadowed by everything that came afterwards.

We were okay, fine ‘n’ fuckin’ dandy—how the hell did that change so fast? You quickly shake the melancholy away. Now’s not the time or place to deal with your personal shit; distracted minds only ever lead to people getting hurt or worse.

Unaware of you inner turmoil, the men share a laugh before moving on to talking about the plan.

“Alright,” Arthur starts, “Charles is gonna ride on ahead and look for a good ambush spot outside of town, and I want one of you to go with ‘em.”

“I’ll go,” Lenny offers, as eager to help as ever.

His older flashes him a smile as he claps him on the shoulder. “Good man. That means me and you,” he nods his head in your direction, “are heading into town. Ruth says that they’re not supposed to be leaving out until sometime after ten, but I’d rather keep eyes on them all the same.”

“Fair enough,” you concede with a shrug.

“I already have a couple of places in mind,” Charles says as he gives his horse a few loving pats to the neck, “so it shouldn’t take too long. Want us to meet you back in Valentine after?”

Arthur nods. “It’s better if we’re not all seen in one place, so you two should head on over to Keane’s. I’ll linger around Smithfield’s, and ____ can take the hotel. Sound good?” When he gets answers in the affirmative he gives a gruff hum of approval. “Good. Alright folks, this should be an easy one, and if everything goes accordin’ to plan we’ll be done well before noon.”

“Aw come on Arthur, don’t say that,” Lenny moans as he swings himself up into Maggie’s saddle. “You’ll jinx us for sure.”

“Never took you for the superstitious type,” Charles comments.

“Never was, not before all this. I’m not usually one for all that ‘curses and bad juju’ stuff, but with everything that’s been goin’ on lately–”

The rest of their conversation is lost to you under the sound of their steeds’ combined hoof-falls. You and Arthur both mount up yourselves then before following after them at a more leisurely pace. A comfortable silence lingers as you steadily make your way towards Valentine and not for the first time you find yourself being distinctly grateful that Arthur is who he is. He’s not one to meddle, but he’s always there to offer an ear or a shoulder to cry on when you need it.

And he thinks he isn’t a good man. The musing leaves your lips twisting wryly.

“It’s nice to see Charles opening up more,” you comment after several long moments have passed. And it really is. You liked the man from the moment you met him, and more often than not you found yourself seeking out his quiet presence when things around camp got too rowdy. Charles has mastered the fine art of being and you can only hope that one day you’re as at peace with yourself as he so often appears to be.

Arthur hums his agreement. “Yeah. He’s a good one, that Charles—one of the best Dutch has brought into the fold in a long while.”

Unlike Micah, the unspoken subtext reads. You, like most people in the camp (and probably the world at large) can’t stand the rat bastard, but you also don’t feel like talking about him either. That man exhausts you to no end, and you’re fairly certain that just saying his name aloud has the potential to shave several hours off of your lifespan. Thankfully Arthur doesn’t seem too keen on bitching about him at the moment—odd given that it’s one of his favorite pastimes, but ‘gift horses’ and all that.

“You should’ve seen what he did to Uncle last night, nearly drove the old lush crazy,” he tells you around a laugh before laying out the scene.

Apparently the man had tried to strike up a conversation with his younger over supper only to have every starter shot down with one word answers. By the end of it all Uncle had walked away red faced, frustrated, and in dire need of something stronger than the beer he’d been drinking.

“And-and Charles, he just–” a hard spurt of laughter, “he just looks over at me and the rest of the boahs and he’s got the sliest little smirk on his face and we just lost it. He knew what he was doin’.” Though the retelling leaves much to be desired, the mirth in your brother’s voice is contagious and you find yourself laughing as well.

“That is funny. Wish I could’ve seen it for myself.”

“Mmm. Guard duty’s a bitch, huh?”

“Who you tellin’? I know why we have to do it, but dammit if it doesn’t get up my ass. At least I got one of the better shifts this time around. I was barely able to stay awake long enough to finish my stew, but at least I got a full night’s rest. Plus I didn’t have to worry about waking up Javi, so…” His name is out of your mouth before you realize it and just like that your mood loses what little levity it had managed to gain.

The man at your side sighs, though the sound isn’t one born of impatience or long-suffering; he’s always hated to see anyone within the gang at odds with one another, but especially people that are as close to him as you and Javier.

He flicks up the brim of his hat so that his eyes are fully visible when he looks over at you. “If you wanna talk about it…”

“I… I do,” you admit with a sigh of your own, “but I also don’t, not right now at least. Work first, emotional bullshit second—yeah?”

“If you’d like,” he drawls back.

You smile at him then, small and grateful, before reaching over the gap and giving his arm a squeeze. “Thanks.”

No more words are exchanged after that, none are needed. He gets it, gets you—so how is it that the man whose affections are supposed stretch far beyond that of a brother’s doesn’t?

They aren’t coming back.

Clink. Thud.

Not that they should.

Clink. Thud.

They can do better than you. Already have, really.

Clink. Thud.

He is perfect for them, has known ‘em longer, understands them in a way that you probably never will. They have history; no matter how hard you try, there’s no competing with that.

Clink. Thud.

They’re perfect together—they should be together.

Clink. Thud.

And what else did you expect? You already had your shot at love, how could you possibly think that you’d get another?

Clink. Thud.

And on the off chance that you did—have—how do you know it won’t all be snatched away from you again?

Clink. Thud. THWACK!

Javier embeds the axe into the stump with enough force to send large splinters of wood flying out from around the heavy metal head. An especially wayward piece nicks him just under his left eye, but he’s too numb—both inside and out—to notice the sting of it. His thoughts have been relentlessly following the same misery-fueled loop of self-degradation since he’d watched his amor ride out of the camp this morning.

Things had gotten awkward fast around the firepit, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. It was as if his body and mind both ceased all higher functions once he let you out of his arms, leaving him with only the capacity to hollowly stare after you as you went about readying yourself to go. Your movements were hard and jerky as you checked over your weapons and filled your pouches with tonics and salves, as clear a sign of your anger—your rage—as you were willing to show. And when you had walked past him to get to the horses… It was like he was air to you, no less than that. Some useless thing that was undeserving of even a scrap of your time or attention. Your expression was hard and your eyes blank as you passed him by without so much as even a parting glare and that’s when he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had fucked up bad.

His amor is done. Their relationship is done. And it’s all his fault.

“Joder!” He hisses out the curse as he sends one of the newly quartered logs flying with a hard kick. It’s mildly satisfying, seeing the chunk of wood sail through the air, so he kicks another one. And another, and another. It’s only when the last one lands some several feet away that he pulls the axe from its resting place to start in on the pile of lumber once more.

“Dios, soy un jodido idiota,” he all but growls as the tool’s metal head embeds itself in the wood’s pale center. “Nunca seré lo suficientemente bueno–” (God, I’m a fucking idiot. / I’ll never be good enough.)

“I’ll admit my Spanish isn’t the best, but I know the sound of a man beratin’ himself when I hear it.”

Of course Hosea would be the one to come find him. He’s the only one with enough balls to approach him when he’s this pissed and welding an axe, but also enough heart to actually care—the bowl of stew and bottle of beer he holds are both further testament to the latter.

“If I said that I was fine, would you believe me and go away?” the younger man asks between chops.

Hosea chuckles a bit. “Given that you were mumblin’ to yourself somethin’ fierce just a few seconds ago—no. Look, if you don’t want to talk about it I’m not gonna make you,” he assures him. “But what I am gonna ask you to do is to sit down for a bit.”

“Why?”

“Because workin’ yourself half to death won’t help anything.”

“What if I don’t care?”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“Well then I do, and I can guarantee you it’s more than enough to carry the both of us ‘til you come back to your senses.”

He cuts his eyes over to the conman. “My ‘senses’ rode out of here this morning  without so much as a backwards glance.”

“So I saw,” Hosea starts as he moves to sit on the repurposed barrel. “Does this mean that you want to talk about it then?”

Javier groans loudly as he embeds the axe into the stump once again. “No. Dios mío, Hosea, please—just drop it.”

“Fine,” the man concedes with a shrug. “I’ll drop the subject, you’ll drop that axe, and we’ll both go about the rest of our day.”

“Is that an order?”

“Don’t get your hackles up, Mister Escuella—givin’ orders is more of Dutch’s thing than mine. I’d much rather lay out your options and hope that you’ll make the best choice.”

“Yes, because clearly I’ve been makin’ quality decisions all day.”

Eyes nearly as dark as his own pin him with a pointed look. “While your sarcasm isn’t appreciated, it is telling. There’s no point in cryin’ over spilled milk, my boy—all you can do is clean up the mess and try to move on. Stewin’ over what you should’ve done or said isn’t helpin’ anything. Calm yourself, get some food in your belly, sleep if you can; you’ll need a clear head if you want to fix things between the two of you.”

“How can you sound so sure?”

“Well I was married for nearly fifteen years,” Hosea reminds him. The smile that accompanies his words is as bittersweet as it always is whenever the topic is broached, though as he looks the younger man over it softens. He nods for Javier to take the seat next to him and after a few seconds of hesitation he does; when offered the bowl and bottle he accepts them without further prodding. The patriarch waits until he’s got a few good spoonfuls in him before speaking again.

“You know, the pair of your remind me a lot of me and my Bessie. We had our fair share of rough patches, especially when I couldn’t settle into the humdrum of domestic bliss she seemed so intent on—but that’s a story for another time,” he says with a wave of his hand. “The point I’m tryin’ to make is this: if you both want to make this work, you will.

“Some people think that being in love means never havin’ to say you’re sorry, but that’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard. Love is all about sayin’ you’re sorry and forgivin’ in turn. It’s reachin’ consensuses and occasionally conceding, but never compromisin’. And above all else it’s all about how much work you’re willin’ to put in. The sentiment alone won’t keep you afloat—you have to choose to stay together.”

Javier has to admit that that all makes sense—even if it takes him several long, thoughtful moments to do so—but–

“What if they don’t want to? What if they don’t come back?”

“Oh they’ll definitely come back.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well it’s actually quite simple, Mister Escuella,” Hosea starts with a chuckle, “it’s because their home is here.”

The sound he makes in reply is equal parts rude and dismissive. “This place isn’t home to any of us, Hosea.”

“Not here, as in the ground we’re standing on, dear boy—their home is you.”

His first instinct is to argue, but there’s so much confidence in the old man’s voice that he finds himself faltering. If someone who’s on the outside looking in can believe it so emphatically, why can’t he? His amor completes him in so many ways, and they’ve told him countless times now that he does the same for them… Surely they wouldn’t throw all of that away—their love away—over one stupid little fight?

They wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

Not so long as he has some say in it.

If, once all is said and done, they still wants to part ways he’ll let them go, but he’ll be damned if he’ll let what they have die without a fight.

“Ahh, now there’s the right kind of fire!” Hosea stops just short of clapping him on the shoulder, having long since learned that his younger isn’t overly fond of undue contact. Instead he gives him a broad smile before using his knees as a push off point to rise to his feet. “I know it all feels like a bit much, bein’ your first major spat and all, but when you sit down and think on it rationally, nine times outta ten you’ll find that it’s not such a big thing.”

Javier’s reply comes in the form of a noncommittal huff followed by a long pull from the dark tinted bottle. His continued sullenness only serves to make the old man smile.

“You’re a tough nut to crack, Mister Escuella, but I’ll get there yet. In the meantime please try and get some sleep. None of us want to see you passin’ out from exhaustion, and that’s to say nothin’ of the tongue lashin’ you’ll get from Susan if she thinks you’re making a burden of yourself.”

“With all the wood I just chopped, both she and Pearson should stay off my case for a while yet.”

“True. Which is why you shouldn’t bother with any further tasks. Take a rest–”

“I’d rather take a bath,” he admits. Thanks to the tight schedule he’s been forced to keep it’s been damn near a day and a half since he’s had an opportunity to do more than a cursory rubdown and he’s long since started to feel grimy.

Hosea hunches up a shoulder. “Fine then. Bath first, sleep after, yeah?”

“…Yeah.”

The older man gives him a smile and a nod before leaving him to finish the rest of his meal in peace. Now that his mind isn’t so weighed down with sorrow he’s able to enjoy the freshness of the rabbit meat and the fine blend of herbs that accompany it—compliments of Charles’ snares and one of Mary-Beth’s ‘acquisition jobs’ in town respectively. Within a few minutes the bowl is empty and the bottle soon follows suit. Not looking to make more work for the ladies than necessary, he takes both over to the washing station and cleans up his mess before gathering up what he needs and heading down to the river.

The bath does wonders for his mood, with every swipe of the rough cloth over his skin rubbing away a portion of his self-loathing and doubts, and by the time he’s dressed in a fresh set of clothes he has mostly come back to himself. Taking advantage of the noonday sun he doesn’t gather his hair up as he usually does but instead leaves it to hang loose. Though the feeling of the heavy, damp locks against his neck is unpleasant he knows it’ll be dry soon enough. As he plops down onto his makeshift bed, his lover’s scent wafts up to greet him; it leaves his heart twisting with longing and just a little bit of dread, though he’s quick to push the latter away.

Soon, he promises himself. Soon they’ll come back to this place—back to his arms, back to their home—and when they do the pair of them will talk this thing out and reach an understanding, he’s sure of it.

“Now I do want to thank you all so very kindly for your cooperation,” Arthur starts as he swings himself up into his saddle and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

It seems as if spending the better part of his life under Dutch’s tutelage has endowed him with the same grandiose flair that plagues your illustrious leader, and you can only thank the Almighty that he doesn’t indulge in it overmuch.

“Now remember: going back towards Valentine will get you nowhere—well, nowhere you’ll want to be, anyway. The only place there’s a future for you is out there, across the Dakota at Wallace Station on the train that waits for you. Right?”

A dozen-plus voices, shrill with fear and just a touch frantic, rise up in agreement; the owners of said voices are tied to the wheels of the ransacked wagons that sit before your little group of outlaws. Though they’re all more or less in the state in which you’d found them, they’re a bunch of gentle folk; all it took to cow them were a few well-placed shots and some rather colorful language.

Arthur and Lenny had walked them through tying themselves up while you and Charles had made sure that there weren’t any enterprising guards among them lying in wait. In the end it hadn’t taken you more than a solid twenty minutes to get them squared away and their valuables stashed on your respective horses. All the while the captives behaved as they were expected to. Crying, cursing, praying—all typical responses to being held at gunpoint and relieved of all your worldly possessions–

“Thank you for this, sir! I won’t soon forget the lesson you and your compatriots taught me here today!”

–and then there’s Slias Spatchcock.

Apparently the man’s some type of up-and-coming actor known for his portrayal of outlaws like yourselves. You can only shudder to think what that says about the state of the industry as a whole because this jackass can barely tell the business end of a pistol from his goddamn elbow.

Arthur had entertained a few of his questions—mostly just as a way to get the idiot to shut up—and in exchange the man had promised to model his next performance after the “–rough ‘n’ tumble gunslinger, whose eyes are as green as jade, but as hard as flint.” You’re pretty sure that nobody besides you had noticed the slight flush that had crept up the older man’s neck at the words, but you’re enough, really. You’d never tease him about it, he gets enough shit from everyone about everything as is, but you like to think of it as further proof of his allure.

Everywhere he goes just about every one of every gender finds their eyes trailing after Mister Morgan for one reason or another, though he’s loathed to notice this, let alone admit it. Hell, even now, with several of the women (as well as Silas) looking up at him with a curious combination of lust, fear, and anger he still doesn’t see it.

“See that you don’t, Mister Spatchcock,” the man of the hour replies with a tip of his hat.

“Here.” Charles’ voice is much louder than usual in deference to the distance between him and the captives; the dull thud of a knife embedding itself into the ground just a few scant feet away from one of the men’s boots punctuates the extremely short sentence. “Remember—if you try to give chase we will shoot to kill.”

It’s with this last grim reminder that the four of you set off back towards Valentine. Once you’re a good ways away you find a nice secluded spot to divvy up the loot. Surprisingly there isn’t too much of note in the haul; a decent amount of jewelry, some actual cash, and a few books whose value is found in their ability to entertain. Of course the camp gets its due right off the top, but you’re all still left with nearly sixty dollars and a few trinkets apiece. With that last bit of business taken care of you all go your separate ways.

Charles turns back the way you came, citing a need to make sure your victims don’t get any cute ideas. Lenny’s heading back to the camp to drop off the offering as well as to catch some sleep before his shift on guard duty, and you can only assume that Arthur will be joining him; this leaves the three of you to fall into step as you headed back towards civilization.

The men chat as you go—mostly about the heist itself, with Arthur giving his younger a few pointers—and you’re content enough to let them talk around you. Though the mildly euphoric feeling of a job well done rests warm in your chest, you can’t quite shake the melancholy that still shrouds you. You rather enjoy this particular aspect of your life, being a Robin Hood for a new generation, and the only thing that makes it better is having the people you love best at your side as you partake in it. You’ve always loved pulling off jobs with Javi, and you had thought he felt the same, but the way he acted this morning…

You sigh heavily as you mentally push the thought, and the anger that follows it, away; you’re not going to let him ruin the rest of this day for you. In fact, you’re going to treat yourself. You’ve already rented a room at Saints as part of your cover, and you don’t see any reason why you should let it go to waste. Yes, a nice hot bath will do you a world of good, as will a decent meal–

And the camp’s doing pretty well for itself. Between all of us workin’ and Charles and Arthur’s huntin’ skills we aren’t exactly wantin’ for too much. I could get myself something nice, maybe look into getting a new part for my pistol…

Lenny’s farewell snaps you back into the present and you return it with a nod of your head, as well as a warning for him to look after himself. The young man huffs a bit at your words, but doesn’t brush them off completely—can’t, not with the manner of luck you’ve all had lately. After one last tip of his hat he’s spurring Maggie on as they speed back towards the Overlook.

“You’re not going with him?” you ask your brother. He’s been running himself especially ragged these past couple of weeks and you’d thought that he would jump at the chance to sleep in his own bed.

“Much rather sleep in an actual bed,” he replies when you say as much. “Besides there’re a few things I want to do in town before we inevitably get run out of it.”

You laugh a bit. “Fair enough. Would you… care for some company?”

Despite your bond the question is posed tentatively. Arthur doesn’t take nearly enough time for himself and you feel no small amount of self-loathing for impeding on his rare allowance, but you’re not exactly thrilled with the idea of being left alone with your thoughts right now. Thankfully the “Sure” you get is quick and genuine.

“Feels like forever since we’ve done anything, just you ‘n’ me. But first I’d like to take a bath, if you don’t mind. I’ve got to smell like a goat’s ass by now and can’t look much better.”

“You’re not alone there. Meet you at Smithfield’s in a couple of hours then?”

He tosses you a wink that leaves you scoffing. “It’s a date.”

Freshly scrubbed and donned in the clean clothes you always leave stored on your horse’s pack, you meet a rather dapper Arthur in Smithfield’s Saloon at a quarter past three. Apparently he hadn’t spent quite as long soaking his cares away as you did; his hair and beard both have been seen to, with the former being a good several inches shorter and well tapered on the sides, and the latter not nearly so shaggy as last you seen him. You let out an appreciative whistle when you slide into the chair across from him at the table for two.

“Lookin’ sharp, Mister Morgan.”

“I–” He stops short when he sees the look on your face. You’d already told him to lay off that self-depreciating bull, and while you’re sure he still gets up to it when you’re not around, when you are he knows it’s a no-go. “Thanks,” he starts again. “You’re lookin’ mighty nice yourself.”

There’s nothing special about the plain ensemble you’ve thrown on, but you don’t feel the need to contradict the statement. “Well thank ya kindly, sir. Now what’s a fine specimen such as myself gotta do to get a drink ‘round these parts?”

Arthur rolls his eyes even as he chuckles before heading over to the bar. A few minutes later he returns with two glasses and a bottle of mid-shelf whiskey. “I took the liberty of putting in our lunch order,” he tells you as he pours you both a measure. “They said it should be out shortly.”

You hum your thanks as you accept your glass. You have no idea what’s on the menu today, nor does it rightly matter; the place serves what it serves and either you eat it or you don’t. Luckily their house chef is a good cook, much better than Pearson these days—though to be fair to the man, up until very recently he didn’t exactly have the best environment or ingredients to work with.

The pair of you chat about everything and nothing, mostly just catching one another up on what you’ve been getting into since settling in at the Overlook. By the time the barmaid is bringing out your meal you’ve fallen into reminiscing about the members of your cobbled family that you’ve lost. You share a toast in their honor before digging in.

“So, what do you want to do with the rest of the day?” Arthur asks once your plates have been taken away.

You shrug. “I was thinking about investing in a new pair of boots since these have certainly seen better days, maybe a part or two for my pistol too. If there’s anything left after that I’ll pick up a few things for the ladies just ‘cause.”

He hums in that way he does as he leans more fully back in his chair, a truly contented smile playing at his lips. “Lookin’ to treat yourself then?”

“You sayin’ I don’t deserve it?”

“Not at all. Well if that’s what you wanna get into, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“I never intended to monopolize your time, Arthur. I’m sure the absolute last thing you wanna do is putter around from shop to shop with me.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he assures you as he rises from his seat. You give him a skeptical look as he nods expectantly towards the door, looking for any sign that he’s being overly selfless again, but for a wonder he doesn’t seem to be putting on airs.

“Well far be it from me to turn down such a strapping escort.” Ignoring his scoffing laugh you finally rise as well and head out into the town proper.

Javier awakes to the smell of coffee, much to his confusion.

It’s far too late in the day for anyone to be brewing the stuff, and the sleeping area is purposefully situated far away from the ‘kitchen’ besides. It isn’t until sleep-bleary eyes land on the little crate-slash-bedside table that he finds the culprit: the mug that you had been nursing this morning.

His brain stalls hard as memories of the harsh words and heated glares you’d exchanged come flooding back.

“God, I’m such a jackass,” he mutters under his breath as he pinches at the space between his brows.

Had he been less sleep deprived then maybe things wouldn’t have veered off so badly. He hadn’t meant to insult you or try to assert some control over you that he most certainly knew he didn’t have—he just wanted to keep you safe. That’s not so unreasonable, is it? He doesn’t think so, not with the way things have been going since the Massacre. In the time since the pair of you haven’t been apart too often, his brief trip into Valentine aside. And even then he hadn’t been too keen on the idea of leaving you alone, even if you were within the relative safety of the camp.

Logically he knows that you cannot be tucked under each other’s arms twenty-four seven—your responsibilities, as well as your sanity, won’t allow for that, but… Javier Escuella has always been a man who often times puts heart before head. It’s a habit that has gotten him into more than a few scrapes, but what went down between the pair of you may be his biggest blunder to date. Still, he has to believe that he can fix things. Even the darkest of nights have a dawn, he knows—I just need to find my sunlight.

To that end he quickly scrambles to get dressed before checking the time. It’s just a little past three in the afternoon. He has no idea when you all were set to hit up that caravan, but with any luck you’re already back and cooled down enough to tolerate his presence again.

People extend him more grace than what he probably deserves when he exits his tent, treating him as they normally would despite him showing his ass earlier. Unfortunately nobody has seen hide or hair of you, which is strange given the fact that half of the crew you set out with returned over an hour ago.

Charles and Lenny had rode in separately, with the former having broken away from the group early on. He had assumed that the others were heading back to camp, but clearly that wasn’t the case. What’s more the only one that would more than likely know where you are is fast asleep and Javier doesn’t want to wake him. That would be a dick move and a display of desperation that—well, he’s not exactly above, but not quite at the point of just yet.

“If they aren’t here they’re more than likely still in Valentine,” Charles tells him. “That would make the most sense as ____ rented a room there.”

The outlaw can feel his face harden with this new bit of information. While he knows there’s nothing more to it—to you and the man that is your brother in everything but blood—that treacherous little part of his brain that never fails to remind him just how inadequate he is when compared to the likes of Arthur Morgan rears its cruel head. Though he stays quiet it’s very obvious to the other man exactly what roads his mind have traveled down.

Charles gives him a disapproving look as he shakes his head. “Don’t do that, Javier. It’s a disservice to yourself as well as the both of them. Neither of them would ever betray your trust like that, and ____ would certainly never disrespect themselves or your relationship in such a way. I don’t know what you’ve gone through to make you think otherwise, but you’d be better off putting those issues to rest sooner rather than later.”

Though the unsolicited advice grates, Javier hears the wisdom in it. Old betrayals and past hurts have left their mark in mind and heart both, but if wants to have any hope of recovering and moving on—if he’s ever to have a real and solid future with you—then he has to move past it all.

From character to aptitude, never once in all the time that he’s known you have you ever given him any reason to doubt you in any capacity. You’ve only ever been good to him; radiating a kindness that warmed him from the inside out to melt away the ice around his heart so that love could blossom once more. How could something as inane as insecurities, ones that he’d convinced himself that he’d come to terms with long ago, come between that? Why was there ever even any room within him for that to take root and fester in the first place?

He knows the answer to this of course, and it’s a simple thing: because he let it. Had he at least tried to deal with his inner demons sooner instead of just sweeping them under the rug then maybe the pair of you wouldn’t be in this mess.

You really are a jackass, his brain silently reminds him yet again, as if it had no parts in this disaster once so ever.

Aloud, he breathes deeply before saying—admitting—“You’re right. I, uh… Thanks, Charles.”

The man nods before turning his attention back to the knife he’d been sharpening. Taking the sign of dismissal for what it is Javier heads over to the stables. He knows that fixing things won’t be so easy as uttering a simple two word apology, but as he preps Boaz for travel he’s positive that it’s definitely the perfect place to start.

“So, about that ‘emotional bullshit’…?”

You can’t help but to snort a laugh at that. “As tactful as ever.”

Arthur shrugs, chuckling a bit himself. “Never claimed to be anything other than what I am, you know that.”

“Fair enough,” you concede with a shrug. “As for the ‘bullshit’, I… I don’t even know what went wrong, honestly.”

As you proceed to lay out the whole of the situation to him, Arthur mostly keeps quiet aside from the occasional hum of acknowledgement. Once you’ve gotten it all out he goes quiet for a long moment as he considers all that has been said. When he finally does speak again he isn’t saying anything that you don’t already know, but hearing it from an outside source gives it more weight than what your thoughts alone could provide. He speaks of context and meaning, inferences and biases, and how at the end of the day you shouldn’t allow what’s little more than a simple misunderstanding to impede on what it is that you and Javier share–

“–but that’s just my thoughts on the matter. I’m nobody’s Romeo, as you well know–”

“That’s probably for the best, given the way that particular story ended.”

“Smartass. You know what I mean. But in all seriousness, I think things’ll work out in the end so long as you’re willin’ to let ‘em…” He lets the sentence trail off with a resolute nod as he takes a cigarette from an intricately engraved tin—an actual present from an admiring actor, overly-eager to please. He offers you one, shrugging again when you decline, before lighting up.

“You make it all sound so easy,” you reply as you fiddle with your bracelet. The simple gold number’s a gift from Javier for your birthday just passed, one made all the more special by the fact that he had gotten himself one to match.

“I know it’s probably not the best time to be thinking about rings and the like, but…” His words had left you both blushing at the implications as he secured the thing around your wrist with uncharacteristically shaky hands. “I still like the idea of letting the world know you’re mine, just as much as I’m yours, even in this small way…”

“That’s because it is easy,” Arthur assures you, snapping you out of the brief reverie. “Just because I’ve got shit luck with love don’t mean I don’t know it when it’s sittin’ squarely in front of me. The two of you are made for each other, and no doubt about it, but your being perfect for each other doesn’t mean that you’re actually perfect. You’re bound to make just as many mistakes as the rest of us, especially with you being so close to one another.

“Toes get stepped on, feelings get hurt—it’s only natural. The only time you need to worry is when you feel like there’s no coming back from it. You don’t feel like that, do ya? And before you answer, I’m gonna need you to push all of the dramatics aside and think on it logically.”

The look that you give him says that you can do without the sass, but you do as you’re told all the same, not that it takes much prompting. You’re hurt, sure, but even that isn’t as prominent as it had been this morning. Now you mostly just feel sad over the fact that you’re at odds with the man you love; sad and a touch embarrassed at your very public altercation. This isn’t going to be the end for the pair of you, of this you are sure, but it does shed some light on areas that you both need to work on if your relationship is to be a long and healthy one.

After letting out a drawn out breath you say, “I– No, I don’t think that at all. Clearly there are some issues that need to be addressed, but it’s nothin’ so dire as all that. I know that Javier would never purposefully hurt me in any manner any more than I’d do so to him. We both just let our emotions get the better of us this mornin’, but that ain’t exactly surprisin’, all things considered.”

Your brother hums his agreement. Though things have been markedly better this past month that isn’t saying much. The gang has only just begun to fish itself out of the mire, but there’s no saying when fate’ll decide to throw you right back into the shit. You’ve collectively got the temperament of a beaten cat, and honestly thinking on it now it’s a miracle that you and Javier managed to go this long without really snapping at each other. When you say as much Arthur laughs hardily as he gives your shoulder a fond pat.

“And just like that you’re finally able to see the forest for the trees. You’ve pretty much solved your own problem there, not that I’m surprised. You’ve always been a smart one, ____; I knew you didn’t need me telling you what you already know. All there is left to do now is kiss and make up.”

There’s an amused tilt to his lips as he jerks his chin at some unseen point behind you. You arch your brow at him, but when all he does is grin wider you turn around to find–

“Javier.” He’s here. He’s come to you.

Seeing him standing outside of Saints loosens the last bit of tension in your chest. Your feet carry you forwards without any conscious thought on your part just as Javier’s seemingly do the same. Ignoring your brother’s quip about him “–actually wanting to get some sleep tonight, so try to keep it down, alright?”, you pick up your pace until you’re standing face to face with your man.

Javier breathes out your name like a prayer to some higher power, eyes traveling over the whole of you almost as if he cannot believe that you’re actually right here in front of him. Tentative hands reach out for you, stopping just an inch short of touching, though you’re quick to bridge the gap. Despite the fact that it hasn’t even been a full half a day since last you saw one another, those interim hours felt like they ran longer, colder—and how could they not, with the way you’d left things?

An apology is slipping from between both of your lips at nearly the same time, a thing that leaves Javi taken aback.

“No-no-no,” he starts, head shaking hard, “you’ve got no reason to be sorry, amor. It doesn’t matter how worried I was, I never should’ve said what I did—or, at least, not the way that I said it.”

“But I do need to apologize,” you insist. “I know you would never belittle me like that. The way you said it definitely could’ve been better, but… I shouldn’t ‘ve, I dunno, come out swingin’ like that. I’m better than that, we both are, even if we didn’t exactly show it.”

“I… Alright then. This, uhh… This went down a lot smoother than I was expecting it to, honestly.”

You laugh a bit a that. “Yeah, well, I guess us both being at fault make it easier to forgive and be forgiven.”

“Yeah,” he replies, voice a touch sheepish, “guess so.”

You smile then, soft and sweet, as you cup his cheek with your palm. Javier is quick to lean into your touch, his own lips curling up as well before he turns to cuddle them against your hand. The tickle of his mustache against the sensitive skin causes your fingers to twitch against him, but his own hand comes up to cover yours and hold it in place; he trails his ministrations down the length of your arm, heedless of your shirt, until he’s able to kiss you properly.

Javier licks hotly into your mouth, greedily swallowing up the least little sound you make even as he strives to draw more from your throat. His hands drift down to your hips to pull you in closer as he continues to stake his claim on your lips with teasing nips and soothing swipes of his tongue that you succumb to with a sigh that is content, if laced through with longing. Your hands curl feebly against the silky brocade of his vest, needing something—anything, really—to help keep you grounded. But for all your efforts, you’re sure that the only thing keeping you upright is the arms that have since coiled around your middle.

You know that your not-so-little display of affection has to be scandalizing the good people of this small town, but neither of you have a mind to care overmuch. It isn’t until a familiar voice tells you that “You’ve already got a room, goddammit, so kindly go and use it” that you finally decide to make the short trek into the hotel’s interior. Either the receptionist recognizes you, despite the man that’s all but affixed to your face, or he wisely chooses not to confront you—again, due to the man that’s all but affixed to your face. In any event you make it to your room without incident, with Javier only pulling away long enough for you to open and then quickly close the door behind you.

When he kisses you this time it isn’t nearly as frantic as before. He’s thorough, taking his time as he remaps the whole of your form with eyes and lips and hands, as if he were actually able to forget the look and feel of you in such a short span of time. Or maybe his touch is more reverent than that, an act of worship for the body that he thought he might never be able to touch again—it would certainly explain the promises to do better for you and by you that he’s been steadily murmuring in between kisses.

There’s a ceremony to the way he removes your clothes, and it turns the simple act into a supplicant’s display of devotion. The hesitancy that he’d shown earlier is nowhere to be found as he traces over the lines of you now with calloused fingers and heated breath. There is no part of you that goes untouched, no bit left unseen, and by the time the last article is removed you’re left naked in more ways than the obvious.

Still on his knees from where he helped you out of your pants, Javier looks up at you with an expression that can only be described as awestruck, though as he kisses his way back up your body it changes into something a bit more love drunk.

“Mi corazon,” he sighs as he cradles your face between his work-rough palms, “so beautiful. How did I ever get so lucky, huh?”

You’re sure that he can feel the heat that creeps into your cheeks at that, and you’re quick to cover up your flustered state with another kiss. What starts off as an innocuous little peck soon turns into something that has you writhing against one another. Javier captures your bottom lip between his teeth, giving the plush flesh a little suckle before slipping his tongue into your mouth. He owns the kiss, owns you—body, heart, mind, soul—and all you can really do is receive this outpouring of affection and lust.

When he finally pulls away some long moments later he doesn’t go far. His forehead leans heavily against your own as his hands pull you tighter against the bulge that has been growing impossibly harder this whole time.

“Tell me to stop, amor,” he says, the words breathed directly against your parted lips, “tell me right now, or I won’t be able to.”

You regard him through half lidded eyes that flutter close as you sigh out your simple reply of, “Mm, then don’t.”

And he doesn’t.

Slow ministrations are replaced by harried breaths and eager fingers and the all-consuming need to touch, claim—to feel and be felt in turn. It transforms the removal of his clothes into a nearly feral affair, one that sees seams ripping and buttons popping. Later you’ll both come to regret the fruits of your impatience, but in the now your only real concern is the more-more-more your bodies are crying out for.

Javier backs you up until you’re tumbling backwards onto the bed with a startled squawk. He follows you down with a chuckle, a dark and deep roll of a sound that would’ve surely turned your knees to smoke had you not already been lying down. Of course your man knows the effect he has on you, and ever as always he’s quick to take advantage of it, telling you to lie back so that he can “–love on you a bit, yeah?”

He leans back just enough for you to make yourself comfortable and then he’s on you again. Hot, opened mouth kisses are slurred from jaw to neck—where he stops to leave a few bites and sucks that are sure to blossom into bruises come nightfall—and beyond. His trek stops just past your bellybutton, with him nosing at the skin there. He looks up at you then, eyes impish as he takes in your mussed state and annoyed pout.

When you whine out his name he responds with a cheeky “Yes, amor?” that leaves you gritting out a sound that’s caught somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

“Your eagerness is cute, baby, but you’re gonna have to use your words.”

“Ugh, fine! Fuckin’– Touch me, please.”

You realize your mistake a moment too late. And when he’s laving over your nipple, its twin caught between teasing calloused pads, you know that you have no one but yourself to blame.

“Patience is a virtue, cariño,” he reminds you when you start to whine, his thumbnail giving your nipple a pointed flick. “Now be good, and let me have my fun. It’s been too long since last I had you writhing all pretty-like underneath me, and I’m gonna take my time with you…”

When he puts it like that how can you do anything but lay back and receive his care?

Suckles that leave you sighing out his name are punctuated by nips that see the appellation scaling up into a whine. Tugs and pinches and the scrape of blunted nails—the roughness is always followed by something to soothe, and the dichotomy leaves you writhing with anticipation.

“Ja-vi~” the second syllable sticks in your throat as the pleasure-pain of an especially vicious pinch shoots through you, “ahhh, fuck! Please. I-I need…”

The desperation in your plea sees him finally pulling his attention away from your chest. You have no idea what it is he sees when he finally looks at you properly, but it softens his gaze. His expression goes gooey as he comes to hover over you; the position that he takes up is familiar, but one that long hours and disparate schedules have lent a level of elusiveness. Having it—him—back leaves you almost delirious with several types of longing. You want everything, from him and with him, and you want it all at once. The whole of your desire is laid out on display, you’re sure, but there’s no shame in it—and how could there be, in a love so pure?

Needy hands reach out and are instantly quelled by a warm body that is more than willing to oblige. The heated press of lips is accompanied by wandering hands that drag themselves along your torso. With experience guiding him, he alternates between feather-light caresses and purposeful strokes, always choosing the one that will leave you gasping out your pleasure into your shared kiss.

By the time he finally reaches your center you’re soaked, a thing that comes as no great surprise to either of you. Javier runs playful fingers through the proof of your arousal, gathering up a portion and smearing it across their pads before popping them into his mouth. You swallow thickly as you watch the near hypnotic way his tongue laves over the digits’ length, damn near cum on the spot when he slides the whole of them past his lips with a satisfied groan. You both know exactly what it is he’s doing to you, but that knowledge does little to detract from the provocative display.

When he releases his fingers some long seconds later they’re still glistening, albeit for another reason entirely, and you find yourself biting your lip at the sight. For his part Javier just smirks at you as he comes to lean into your space once more.

“Fuck, you always taste so damn good, baby.” As if to prove his point further he kisses you hard and deep, his tongue dragging heavily along yours to make sure you’re able to savor the fullness of your tangy musk.

His laugh is breathy when he finally pulls away with a little smack of lips—lips that he licks soon after, almost as if he cannot bear to waste even a smidge of your flavor.

“I gotta get a little bit more of that– You don’t mind, do you?”

“Fuck no.”

“Heh. Didn’t think so…”

His tongue is molten when it finally drags along the length of you. He groans deeply as he laps up the fluids that all but coat your twitching sex, and the vibrations leave your hips bucking wildly against his hold. It’s a practice in futility as every pass of the slick muscle against your heated flesh creates a bigger mess for him to clean—not that either of you are complaining.

Pursed lips suckle at your weak spot in a move that leaves you keening while long, calloused fingers prod at your entrance. The sheer amount of pre alone would probably be more than enough for him to slip comfortably inside, but he spits anyway—the hot, viscous glob allowing him to slip two fingers inside in one go. Pain and pleasure briefly mingle at the stretch, though the discomfort soon fades out leaving only a burning want that has you bearing down. Javier curses hotly at the added pressure against his digits, his movements’ efforts redoubling as he strokes and prods at your fluttering walls, focusing in on that spot that always leaves you seeing stars.

“‘M close,” you tell him, the words so slurred that you barely recognize them, “‘M close, so damn close, baby—fuck!”

“Mmm, then do it, amor, cum. I wanna feel it, taste it– Give it to me.”

With how wound up you are it doesn’t take much more than a few rolls of your hips to send you careening over the edge. A week’s worth of denial sees your orgasm washing over you with all the force of a tidal wave, overwhelming you completely as it drags you into an abyss of pleasure. The gasping of your man’s name is prayer and plea both—for just as he is the only one that could ever lead you to this beautiful ruin, he’s likewise the only one who can see you through to calmer shores.

“So good for me, pretty baby, cumming like that. God, you’re beautiful.”

Though he has been steadily murmuring such words of praise since you first fell apart, you’re just now lucid enough to fully comprehend them. You feel your face flush even as your core gives a nearly painful throb. You know it’s greedy of you, wanting more when you’ve only just come down from your high, but that’s what this man does to you—and thankfully for you as well.

If your eyes are alight with flames then Javier’s are a roaring inferno from where he hovers over you. He kisses you deeply, easily stealing what little air you’ve managed to take in before asking, “Think you can give me one more?”

The question is rhetorical, of course, but you give him a shaky nod anyway. He slots his hips in against your then, and the fit is as perfect as ever. Having him so close to where you need him most is too enticing a thing, and you find yourself rutting against him without thought. The drag of his heavy cock over your heat is exquisite, pulling whimpers and whines from you as you continue to grind yourself against him. You man humors you for a few moments, allowing you to wet his cock with your arousal—all the while a decadent little smirk pulls at his lips despite the light pant he keeps up—though once he thinks your efforts are sufficient he’s lining himself up and sinking slowly in.

“Fucking tight” he growls at the same moment you groan out something about the stretch. Were you any less wrapped up in your pleasure you might’ve laughed a bit, but as it stands you only cling to the body above you as he sets up a steady pace.

Javier takes you deep and slow, with the sinuous roll of his hips only interrupted by the little snap that punctuates them. You can’t help the breathy whimpers and choked moans that push their way out of your throat any more than you can keep your fingers from digging into his shoulders, scalp, arms, and any other bits of him that your restless hands can get ahold of. Javi is just as bad off as you, having dropped his head back into the cubby between your cheek and shoulder long ago to nose at your sweat-slicked neck, the hot, wet drag of his tongue against the overly-sensitive skin there oftentimes turning into a nip or suck. His moans are almost deafening from this close, the feeling of them breaking hot and moist against you making you shiver.

“Dios, ____, baby, amor—fuck, I’m–” The rest of his sentence devolves into a growl that originates somewhere deep in his gut. “Ooooh just like that, baby, siempre me tomas tan bien. (You always take me so good.)

“I’m close,” he starts again, “so fuckin’ close, I can—hah! I can tell you are too. You wanna cum with me, yeah? You gonna do that for me, amor?”

Your replying nod is frantic as you pull him impossibly closer. “Yes, yes—please, I wanna…”

Javier promises to give you what you want—what you both need—and he delivers with hips angled just so and calloused fingers furiously rubbing against your most sensitive area.

Thoughts turned hazy from your mounting bliss whiteout completely before fireworks erupt throughout the whole of your being. You arch hard against Javi’s hold on you, hips bucking in spastic little thrusts that you could never hope to contain. Your shuddering sob of a moan holds for an impressively long time before petering out into something weaker as you finally collapse back onto the bed.

For his part you man rides the wave of your body, somehow managing to match your jerky movements enough to see himself through to his own end, shuddering his way through his release. With his eyes pinched shut and your name falling from his lips like a litany you’d almost swear that he was petitioning some exalted being. You cannot help but to admire his beauty in this moment, pushing his hair away from his sweat-slicked face before running your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks as you wait for him to come back to himself.

Once he finally settles, Javier presses a sloppy kiss to the corner of your mouth before maneuvering you both so that you’re tucked in against his side. His fingers skitter back and forth over your ribs as he presses a few more kisses against your dewy skin in between declarations of love and praise. The moment is tender and perfect, everything you want and need, so why do you feel like you’re on the verge of tears?

You push back against the prickling heat that stings your eyes and tightens your throat, burrowing in deeper against Javier’s side in hopes of comforting yourself as well as to keep the sudden burst of melancholy hidden away. It’s not something you want to deal with right now, not when your emotions have been all over the place for the better part of a day, but Javier has always been able to read you like an especially well-loved book. He urges you from your hiding spot with gentle hands and soft pleas for you to “–look at me, please, baby?”

When you finally gather up enough courage to meet his gaze your heart stalls for a beat or two. There’s just so much love there—raw and unfiltered—that you almost cannot bear to hold his stare, but something within you, perhaps that selfsame unadulterated love, won’t allow you to turn away.

“No tears, sweetheart,” he murmurs despite the fact that any have yet to fall. “I’m here, and I’ll always be here. Always. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Your voice is small, and your smile laced through with something vulnerable when you ask, “You promise?”

“I promise. There’s nowhere else for me. My heart, my home, my whole entire life—it’s all in you, amor. Wherever you go, I swear I’ll always be right there, by your side.”

His words are simple, deceptively so, but they’re your shared truth and they’re more than enough.

© notepadsandtealeaves, 2021 || Please do not repost, translate, or otherwise alter or distribute my works without my express permission. And for the love of god keep it away from Youtube and TikTok lol…

[unknowngenius85]

I went to a horror convention called Mad Monster Party in AZ and there is a story I want to share

The first day, I met Jeffrey Combs he was in Dr. Morded, From Beyond, Reanimator, The Pit and Pendulum and a lot of Star Trek episodes incliluding Deep Space 9, Voyager, etc. Yeah, very large range

Now he is a big inspiration to me as an actress in independent film. My husband and i had run into him on the elevator but didn't want to bother him. I also didn't know who he was until my partner told me but that's besides the point. When we met again he seemed...moody and snipped at me a bit because I had gotten the difference between SAG and an equity card wrong. Oops.

I was embarrassed and really wanted to cry. My husband has a cabin here in AZ in the mountains and he hawks it every chance he gets and he handed Jeff my card cause he was out of his cards. My card states I am an actress, model and writer. He looked at it and asked, seeming surprised "You're an actress?" I straightened up, looked him in the eye and said "Yes sir." He said "Very good." And smiled slightly. We left shortly after.

On Saturday, we had aphoto op with him and Barbara Crampton. I was avoiding looking at Jeff because I was still very embarrassed from our last encounter but my husband told me that his face lit up when he saw me.

When we were getting the first photo done, he wanted me in the middle and I was saying I was so damn short and he said just before the photo was taken he said to "You aren't short. My mom was 4'11." While he said that he was giving me what I term as a "Dad Hug" around the waist. A firm, short, yet comforting and hidden squeeze that shows the receiver affection and his way of saying he was sorry for being mean. It took me by surprise.

The second pose was prompted by Barbara who is a huge ray of Sunshine and encouraged me to look scared and a little silly. I love her dearly