#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.

[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.

[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

[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.

[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!

[samatedeansbroccoli]

I posted 8,416 times in 2022

706 posts created (8%)

7,710 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@satan-incarnate-666

@risingphoenix761

@little-boats-on-a-lake

@dreydel-fatale

@inthetags

I tagged 3,350 of my posts in 2022

#thebroccolitalks - 301 posts

#thebroccoliresponds - 184 posts

#hot damn op - 115 posts

#call of duty - 114 posts

#<< prev tags - 55 posts

#future ref - 46 posts

#thanks khushi! - 44 posts

#wow callout - 41 posts

#modern warfare - 25 posts

#hotd - 24 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#if it’s plot relevant then maybe a’s parents are pressuring them to have kids and b is like ‘nah we good without them’ and then a and b kis

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

This game is honestly such a gem

From Deadpool (2013) played by RabidRetrospectGames

70 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

#4

Soap: I made tea.

Ghost: I don’t want tea.

Soap: Not for you. This is my tea.

Ghost: Then why are you telling me?

Soap: ‘Tis a conversation starter.

Ghost: That’s a lousy conversation starter.

Soap: But we’re conversing anyway. Checkmate.

76 notes - Posted November 7, 2022

#3

Likely to no one’s surprise, @/smokeywhalee / smokeyshawarma isn’t the person she says she is. I was going to stay quiet and let people choose their friends, but after I heard about all the people she’s wronged in the past, it’s no longer something I can ignore. Over the past year, Smokey has:

•Bullied others for their race

•Compared minute fandom problems to real racist political agendas

•Failed to properly credit using other’s ideas and words in her works

•Paraphrased other’s posts without acknowledging the original poster

•Ignored triggers and squicks of others

•Condemns others of vaguing but proceeds to do the same

And many, many more.

Although Smokey is no longer relevant to the Call of Duty fandom, what she has done to others surpasses the fandom. This is more than just about her. This is about those who’ve stayed quiet because they felt she had too big of a following to say anything.

To those that were affected, please add your story via a reblog. To those that weren’t, please listen to the voices of others.

It’s time we speak up like we should have long ago.

102 notes - Posted February 12, 2022

#2

IMPORTANT: DO NOT PARTICIPATE IN WATTPAD'S OPEN NOVELLA CONTEST

I won't waste your time: it's a scam. And as someone who participated in the contest on its debut and loved participating in it, this year's contest is nothing but a horror show waiting to happen.

If you don't want to know the reason behind it, that's all you need to know! Feel free to keep scrolling. If you'd like to know more about what's going on with Wattpad, please continue reading.

This post does not have a break due to the potential severity of the contest.

What is the Open Novella Contest?

The Open Novella Contest (ONC) is a yearly Wattpad event in which writers are tasked with writing a story between 20K-40K words in 12 weeks, basing their story around a set number of prompts created by Wattpad. For the past five years, the ONC has been received well among the Wattpad community, with tens of thousands participating. Some of the stories would later be sent/picked up by publishing companies, and with Wattpad's recent Premium update, authors are allowed to publish their stories through Wattpad.

So what's wrong with that?

Well, it should have been nothing. Previously, there was wrong with participating and having fun. This year, however, Wattpad decided they'd change the rules up, the first change being that mature stories are no longer allowed. Wattpad has always had strict guidelines regarding mature stories, and yet the platform is also a hotspot for mature stories. Previously, this was fine as long as it didn't break creative legal rules (ex. pornography) , This year, any mature story is likely to be disqualified from the contest.

But that's not the fun part, the publicity grant is:

Straight from Wattpad's rules:

Entry in the Contest constitutes permission for [Wattpad Corp.] Sponsor and its designees to use each entrant's and Prize Winners' Entries, as well as entrant's name, [Wattpad account] or other social media handle or ID, biological information, address (city and state) and likeness, for advertising and promotional purposes, in any manner, in any and all media now or hereafter devised, worldwide, in perpetuity, without further compensation, notification, or permission, except where prohibited by law and as otherwise provided herein. The preceding expressly includes, without limitation, any video associated with any winning Entry.

That's a lot to read, so let's break it down:

"Entry in the Contest constitutes permission for [Wattpad Corp.] Sponsor and its designees to use..."

By entering the contest, Wattpad and others associated with the contest can...

"...each entrant's and Prize Winners' Entries..."

Every entry is now Wattpad's and you don't have control over your own work.

"...as well as entrant's name, [Wattpad account] or other social media handle or ID, biological information, address (city and state) and likeness..."

Wattpad may use your real name (might not be preferred), your Wattpad name, your social medias, your birth date, your gender, your address, and all things needed to sign up for a Wattpad account...

"...for advertising and promotional purposes..."

Wattpad will use all of the above for "promotional purposes."

"...in any manner, in any and all media now or hereafter devised, worldwide, in perpetuity..."

Your name, address, social medias, and all others will be advertised freely and you'll have no control on which corners of the world it will reach.

"...except where prohibited by law and as otherwise provided herein."

If there's a law that will stop advertising, congrats. Your name, address, social medias, and all others won't get promoted there.

"The preceding expressly includes, without limitation, any video associated with any winning Entry."

Wattpad allows writers to add a video to your chapter which can help set the tone of the chapter. Basically, they're saying here that if you put Billy Joel's "Piano Man" with your writing, they don't care about the copyright. They'll still promote the story, which also breaks copyright rules in the music department. And if the company behind "Piano Man" decides to sue, the author takes the blow.

It doesn't stop there: let's talk Intellectual Property (aka copyright):

Straight from Wattpad again:

Each Prize Winner grants to [Wattpad Corp.] Sponsor and its designees the exclusive, irrevocable, perpetual, worldwide, royalty-free, transferable, sublicenseable right and license to use, perform, exhibit, reproduce, and/or otherwise exploit their winning Entry in any manner and in any and all distribution channels, venues or media no known or hereafter devised, without further notice or any compensation to entrant. The preceding grant of rights is subject to any rights retained by a social media operator in its social media platform. Each Prize Winner further waives any "Moral Rights of Authors" or similar natural rights of ownership they may have in user content. Each Prize Winner further agrees, upon Sponsor's request and without compensation of any kind, to execute any additional documents so as to effect, record, or perfect the grant of rights contemplated by this subsection.

By participating, entrants acknowledge that Sponsor may be working on or receive other Entries (or Sponsor's employees or third party independent contractors may create materials on their own), that are similar to identical in theme, format or other respects to that summited by entrant. By submitting an Entry, Sponsor does not waive any rights to use similar or related ideas previously known to Sponsor or developed by its employees, or obtained from sources other than entrant. Sponsor shall not have any liability to entrant for any direct, indirect, contributory, vicarious, secondary or other infringement or protection of any copyright in or to entrant's Entry.

See the full post

109 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I think it's important for people to see just where the bombings in Ukraine have taken place. Just to show that this is even bigger than I think most people outside of Eastern Europe realize.

Source

146 notes - Posted February 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[through-lines]

Reposted from Dreamwidth on account of "I found the prompt here"; edited for phrasing and censoring names.

I had (still have) no plans to participate in the Alterhuman Writing Challenge, but the OP's ✨ Writing Wednesday! ✨ post graced my dashboard, so here are some unsolicited thoughts inspired by this prompt:

If your alterhuman identity focuses on atypical or fictitiously human experiences, does that affect how you feel about or interact with cultural norms?

(Disclaimer: This post focuses more on generalities rather than specific examples.)

Here, My Qualifications

Rather than assign required reading and chucking some links to my other blog posts down here (though I should probably say for posterity that this post is basically an elaboration on "A Walk Through My Lives"), lemme give a brief rundown of what's going on alterhumanly-speaking over here:

I am a Fictional human. I have a kardiatype that's also a Fictional human. I have another suspected past life that's also a Fictional basically-but-not-technically-entirely human. And my one other kintype--Fictional, of course--is pretty damn humanoid, both in form factor and cultural/societal behavior. I also have beliefs about reality that makes "fictional" less a literal identity/species label and more acknowledgement of my stories' place in this world. You know, classic multiversal fictionkind nonsense.

And I very strongly and vehemently consider myself human. I'm a human-y human. I'm a Nightmare/n who's human. I got horns and they don't stop me being human.

RE: The Question

To reiterate the question: Does being "fictitiously" human affect how I feel about or interact with cultural norms?

Well, sure!

I'm very human, but I will fully concede that the various humans I have been don't fully align with the humans of this reality. Hell, they don't all necessarily align with each other, either. They look different, they act different, we all got our own norms. This is more so a Nightmare/n (that is, nonhuman) feeling for me than it is Fictional Human, but it still applies to my humanity: there's very much a sense of something like a cultural exchange here. There may be minor things like, "oh, that reminds me of something we did slightly differently", or "oh, I don't think we'd have/do that", or "oh, they don't have/do this like we did". Sometimes that's just a casual fun-fact observation, and sometimes it's a source of homesickness.

Consider things like marriage ceremonies--how big or small they are and why we do them. Or consider superstitions around love and relationships; you have things like love locks, we have things like sharing a pa/opu fruit. Consider things like relationships to agricultural and hunting/fishing practices; there seems to be a bigger disconnect between those concepts and the general population in my present culture than is true for a good few of my past lives. There are areas of intolerances and tolerances in my present culture that are strange to me. Some of them I'll adapt to; others, I'll keep on keepin' on if I can help it.

Mind you, I don't intend to leave behind my previous homes' cultures. I like to explore ways of incorporating my home worlds into this one. That was the inspiration behind the xenogastronomy concept, it's the inspiration for art pieces, it's the inspiration as I experiment with magical practices.

To be clear, though, that's not about superiority or even incompatibility; it's not about the society or culture I was born into being "Not Enough" for me. Those worlds were real to me, and so I would like to make them as real as this world's societies and cultural norms are. They do not exist in opposition. Maybe in defiance of the idea that these concepts are fictional, but they are not meant to supplant. For one, supplanting doesn't go well very often from what I've seen. For two, I really don't dislike the cultural norms I live in--not wholesale.

As for Alienation

I feel there's an assumption fueling questions like these, and maybe this question was purposefully avoiding that assumption, but addressing it feels unavoidable if we're going to broach the subject of "experiencing humanity differently to Real Humans(tm)."

The answer to the question of "does being fictitiously human affect your perception of cultural norms" is "yes". But if the question here is about feeling alienation--and that's not in the question above, but it sure as hell is in quite a few individuals' justifications for fictionkind/etc. being alterhuman and/or nonhuman--then that's a hard "no". That may be true for other fictionfolk, but it's really not that simple for me. (There's a reason I hold the "alterhuman" label at arm's length...)

On the level of personal narrative, I experience being a nonhuman entity who broke away from wants of my creator, was (possibly) forced to experience the lows of humanity, and made the conscious decision to be human over and over again. Many different kinds of humans who are all very, very human. To that end, there's one assumption that's accurate: as I said before, a human from one world is not going to be the same as humans from other worlds, this reality included. That's true on a "species" level, and it's definitely true on a cultural/social level (though you'll inevitably see parallels).

But if I really am here to experience humanity in all its shapes, sizes, and norms, what good is it for me to get caught up exclusively in one specific manifestation of humanity?

It's not to say that I don't feel attachments to different cultural norms--that's true of both my human fictotype and nonhuman fictotype, for the record--but my philosophy here brings me to the interpretation that this isn't necessarily an issue of being "Not Human Enough" or "Not Human Correctly". I feel as other in my humanity as I'm sure a migrant feels in a foreign land. They are not any less human for being othered or feeling out of place, and they sure as hell aren't being human incorrectly. And if there is anything that leaves me feeling alienated in my day-to-day life, it is my gender, my sexuality, my health conditions, my politics--things that are very, very, so very human (or should I say, very normal and present in humans; Nightmare/ns, Mob/ians, etc. may disagree with the notion that all of those matters are exclusive to humans ;P).

As for Alienation, Cont. (a Human is a Human)

Peoples are great and wonderful and I'm happy to have been a part of what I have throughout my lives. The things that stuck with me the most, however, are interpersonal connections. I've connected with all manner of humans, all manner of non-humans and "non-persons". I'm a pack-bonding sonovabitch, and like hell my Fictionality is gonna stop me from finding connections in this mode of humanity.

If anything, the differences between cultural norms just allows me to better appreciate what's going on the culture I was born into. I can appreciate it; I can disagree with it; I can vehemently oppose it. It's not uniquely bad over here, y'know. Nor was it uniquely good over where I used to be. In fact, you see a lot of similar problems crop up wherever you go. You see a lot of the same wonders and joys, too. If those other worlds can be my home, with all their good and their bad, then I can make this world my home too.

I feel alienated in very human ways, and I connect with others in Fictional ways. "Alterhuman" in the sense of "experiences disconnect from Normal Human Experiences" is always gonna be flimsy for me, if at all applicable.

As I said, my feelings on the differences between my otherworldly cultural norms and this-worldly cultural norms are less "this stinks, my way was better" and more in the realm of "cultural exchange". My perception of the cultural norms of the here is colored by my previous homes, yes, but they are not in opposition to one another. I won't let go of the worlds I still consider home, but neither do I intend to turn away what this world has to offer.

Human cultures are human cultures. That's pretty neat in my opinion; it's why I believe I'm here to begin with.

[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!

[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

[pirates-pirates-pirates]

Monster Mash Day One

So I almost forgot about the monster mash event but managed to do this little piece for day one, I had fun, I love these boys. @op-pirate-fleet are hosting the event!

Mild Marco x Ace SFW Prompt: Jack o' lanterns Word Count: 602

“What are you doing with those?” Ace asked as he walked towards the older pirates, Thatch laughed as he cut the top off the large orange pumpkin, rolling up his sleeve, digging his hand into the pulp and guts, yanking out a large handful and dumping into a bowl.

“Pumpkins?” the chef asked, Ace shrugged.

“Pumpkins, sure” He nodded hands in his pockets as he eyed them up, he hadn’t really seen many other traditions when he was growing up, he knew about Halloween and how it could be celebrated, he used to tell his brothers ghost stories after all.

“Basically, you cut n’ gut these, cut out a face and put a candle in it at night” Thatch passed a completely empty one to Marco who wiped down the front with a rag, getting a knife to roughly trace a design.

“Why?” Ace sat down next to the doctor, watching how the blond focused on his work, tip of his tongue poking out in concentration, he leaned on his hand waiting to see the result.

“Fun yoi”

“Fun?”

“I’ll gut this one and birdbrain will help you, you’ll see, fun”The 4th division commander chuckled as he once again sunk his knife into the large orange vegetable.

“I didn’t know you could draw” Ace said watching as Marco started to etch out the jack o’ lanterns eyes.

“Are we not looking at the same thing? I can’t yoi” Marco chuckled, somehow feeling proud the younger pirate was impressed with his basic art skills.

“Here” Thatch passed another empty one down the line, Marco took it and handed it to Ace, passing him another small knife.

“Don’t cut all the way inside, not yet, this is just the planning stage” Marco instructed, watching as Ace squinted back at him, clicking his tongue as he glanced between what Marco was doing, the big goofy smile and the triangle nose and then to his blank canvas.

Thatch finished one for himself joining the other two, for a few minutes there was a comfortable silence between the three men, just the sound of each knife scoring the surface of the pumpkins. Ace put down his knife and turned the pumpkin to face Marco and Thatch.

“Like this?”

“That… that’s pretty damn good freckles…” Thatch blinked, looking at the planning stages of Ace’s versus his and Marco’s. Thankful it wasn’t a contest, maybe Ace had beginners’ luck, the chef scolded himself for underestimating the younger pirate.

“Right! now you get the bigger knife and poke through” Thatch said taking the reins, Ace watching, seeing how the chef cut around the shapes, pulling out a large chunk, the pumpkin now had a large grinning mouth.

“Alright, I can do that” Ace nodded, taking up his own tools, working on his project. Once again everyone focused on their work, it was nice getting to spend some down time together.

-

“Well, I think you can tell who has the talent and who ah, better luck next year” Izou smirked when all the candles were lit and the three jack o’ lanterns sat in all their glory.

“I think we did a good job” Thatch crossed his arms and stared at the pumpkins, seeing how his and Marco’s looked like a child had gotten on board and made a very bad attempt.

“I’m proud of us all yoi” Marco placed an arm around Ace’s shoulder and smiled “You did great firefly”

Ace mumbled, still not used to compliments, watching the flames inside the pumpkin’s mouths flicker, he was glad the darkness hid the slight blush across his freckled cheeks.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 10 first part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Palaver) 

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Meet the Hotties

Since there have been only 7 or 8 brutally hot men in this show so far, which is clearly not sufficient, this episode drops three fresh ones right from the jump. Meet true loves cultivation partners travel buddies SongXiao. The ethereal one, Xiao Xingchen...

The forceful one, Song Lan...

...and their nemesis Xue Yang.

Xue Yang has some Yin Metal...oh hai I just noticed, his name is Yang and he has Yin Metal. Which...probably doesn’t mean anything. When he first appears he’s so fey and over the top he could be taken for a comic relief character, except for all of the corpses he’s scattered around, and the one moment where he is caught off guard in the fight and looks genuinely angry. 

Later, of course, we discover that he’s a fucking psycho an extremely complex person with a fascinating range of emotions, none of which are good. 

Did OP make a fighting fanvid just for this charming asshole? She did. Spoiler: Hanguang Jun fucks him up. [Is OP a shameless self-linker? She is.]

(more after the cut!)

Not Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting

Wei Wuxian tells Jiang Cheng not to join the fight but just to watch Xiao Xingchen’s moves; then he proceeds to join the fight by using his web shooter binding talisman to keep Xue Yang off guard and in the field of battle. 

Do as I say, not as I do, bro.

It’s all right it’s all right it’s all right, Cocaine

Far from comic relief, Xue Yang is one of the strongest fighters in the show and is a master of his own variety of crafty tricks--the chemical variety. He launches a devastating white powder attack at our gang. His powder attacks later in the show will blind Song Lan and will poison the junior cultivators. 

This powder attack does...nothing. Well okay then. 

Fanmeet

After Xue Yang has been properly suspended tied up to a rafter, the cultivators introduce themselves, and Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng proceed to squee over their idols. Lan Wangji drops some flowery titles for both of them and offers to organize a mass donation of their brand of spring water. 

Jiang Cheng is so happy he shows nearly all of his teeth without being angry. 

Xue Yang butts in to harsh on their fandom and call them hypocrites. Can’t let the nerds have too good of a time. 

Two Minutes in the out of the Closet

Now we have an interesting moment in which characters discuss queerness directly, albeit briefly. Wei Wuxian searches Xue Yang to see if he’s carrying the Yin Iron. 

Most other instances in which queerness is lampshaded in CQL are about Lan Wangji’s discomfort, or growing comfort, with Wei Wuxian and his stripping flirting. 

In this instance, Wei Wuxian fondles Xue Yang’s chest and ass while Xue Yang  asks “what will people think about this M/M action?”

We Wuxian responds, for the whole room to hear, that he DGAF; in fact, he’s proud of being a disaster bi “cheeky.”

I don't give a damn 'Bout my reputation I've never been afraid of any Qi deviation An' I don't really care If ya think I'm strange I ain't gonna change An' I'm never gonna care 'Bout my bad reputation

While Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, Lan Wangji takes note. 

Clan with a Plan 

Nie Huaisang and his entourage arrive, and once again the Netflix subtitles take away the meaning of his words as he calls out for Wei-Xiong, Lan-Xiong, and Jiang-Xiong; Netflix has him using surnames only, like an English public school lad. 

The group decides to send Xue Yang to Nie Mingjue for judgement. Meng Yao invites them all to come hang with Nie Mingjue at the Unclean Realm, to decide how to best fuck up the Wen clan.

Note: “Unclean” seems to be an accurate translation but it has particular connotations for western audiences who grew up steeped in the Bible or Monty Python. Like, “would you like to come to the plague castle?” type of connotations. 

Meng Yao: Can you all come with me? I’ve got another hot man to add to this episode. 

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian look deeply into each other’s eyes in order to decide if they’re going to go to Unclean Realm with the Nie gang , and they opt yes. 

SongXiao do the same thing and opt no, with a speech about how the clans are a bunch of eugenicist snobs, or words to that effect. 

This speech convinces Wei Wuxian to immediately join their fan club.  He is...really not cut out for clan life. 

Night Swimming Hunting

September's coming soon I'm pining for the moon And what if there were two Side by side in orbit Around the fairest sun?

Wei Wuxian praises SongXiao for their egalitarian values, and compares himself and Lan Wangji to them, giving Lan Wangji one of his sweetest, warmest smiles.

This moment is clearly embarrassing to Lan Wangji, but most things are embarrassing to Lan Wangji, and unlike the “shut up!” moment in Episode 09, this time it doesn’t make him angry, barely earning a tiny glare. 

It’s different this time for Wei Wuxian as well, because he’s not teasing or being provocative; he’s genuinely moved to tell this roomful of people that he cherishes Lan Wangji. 

It does make Jiang Cheng angry, and he tells Wei Wuxian, not for the first time, that because of his attachment to Lan Wangji, he should not come home. 

This is a standard jealous response from Jiang Cheng, and he doesn’t mean it...yet.  But there’s a direct line between each of these false banishments, and the moment when he actually does banish the two of them from the Jiang family shrine. 

Baoshan Sanren

Wei Wuxian quickly goes from being cheerfully aflutter over these kindred spirits, to being stunned and even devastated when he discovers an unexpected family connection. 

Xiao Xingchen: My grand master is Baoshan Sanren

For once Lan Wangji doesn’t seem all that attuned to WWX’s feelings, while Jiang Chang super is. 

Jiang Cheng: Should I say something? Words? About feelings? Yeah no.

Outside of the compound, Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian talk about WWX’s mother. In this moment we see how kind Xiao Xingchen is, when he carefully softens the blow of his revelation that Baoshan Sanren is not accepting students or visitors or new patients at this time or at any time. 

I hope that finding Baoshan Sanren is what Wei Wuxian did with his solo road trip at the end of Episode 50. 

XXC and WWX acknowledge their clan relationship, which takes Wei Wuxian another step away from his membership in the Jiang clan, and creates a filial obligation to his newfound shishu that he will fulfill much later, in Yi City.

Once again Jiang Cheng sees and understands Wei Wuxian’s pain, and gazes at him with love and concern, but he doesn’t reach out or speak. They are not a reaching out & speaking pair of people. Once we see their whole family together, we will understand why.

Farewell to SongXiao

When SongXiao hit the road, Lan Wangji watches them with a look of pure yearning, and then turns that look, with total openness, to Wei Wuxian. 

Lan Wangji: Ow

The open road and the chivalrous path pull equally at both WWX and LWJ, but Lan Wangji lives under a weight of formal obligation that he will carry for his entire life. During WWX’s second life he will find ways to compromise between the forces that are pulling him, but not escape them.

Wei Wuxian’s obligations are just as heavy, eventually costing him his family and his life, but they are dictated only by his heart and conscience. Yet he never suggests that Lan Wangji should follow his path. He constantly insists on LWJ’s attention, but he accepts that their roads are different, which is part of what makes Lan Wangji’s declaration on the Carp Tower steps so touching; he is giving Wei Wuxian something he never, ever asked for. 

Here, WWX acknowledges both of their sorrows with a nod, and they walk away together to play their parts in the coming war. 

Keep an Eye on the Psycho

Nie Huaisang sighs in admiration of the departing hotties, while Xue Yang tells Xiao Xingchen not to forget him. Which is very, very, very good advice.

Meng Yao is put in charge of guarding Xue Yang. I hope that doesn’t awaken anything in him. 

Soundtrack: 1. Joan Jett, Bad Reputation  2. REM, Night Swimming 3. INXS, Devil inside

Smut Prompt: If the story of Wei Wuxian searching Xue Yang does get out among the clans, what will it have morphed into by the time Clan Leader Yao hears it?

[seriouslyhooked]

The Bast Bad Idea (Part 2)

Three-part CS AU where Emma and Killian are doctors working at the same hospital (world without pandemic). They’ve yet to meet, but Emma has definitely seen the sexy Dr. Jones in her travels at Mist Haven Medical. It’s generally a bad idea to get involved with a colleague, but a little fantasizing never hurt… right? Inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea’ by Ariana Grande and a TV couple who set the bar for true love stories.

Part One Here. Story available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hello everyone! First and foremost, I want to start with a huge thank you to all of you who have reached out about this story. The response was so far beyond what I was expecting, but I am thrilled to know that all of you enjoy a CS Doctor AU as much as I do. As someone who grew up watching Grey’s Anatomy, it’s essentially engrained in my DNA to love a medical romance, and this story is one I have wanted to write for a long time. I’ve had more than a month away from writing thanks to my busy schedule, but finally my muse came to play and add a bit of fluff to this sweet short story. Chapter two picks up with a critical question – what was Dr. Jones going to propose to Dr. Swan…? Without further ado, here is our answer. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…”

His eyes strayed down to her lips, and Emma wet them absentmindedly. She heard a low growl, and realized it was coming from Killian. She shifted in her seat, turned on in a way she had never been before. Instinctively she moved closer, sensing the sinfully sweet current between them, like lightning just before it cracked across a summer sky. The instant attraction was breathtaking. It felt almost out of time and space.

“We could…” she continued, nudging him along and hoping he would elaborate. She wanted so badly for him to say aloud what she herself was wishing for.

Yet where Emma expected words, she was instead met with action, tantalizing and surprising, but inspiring something in her she never expected. Before she knew it, Emma was in Killian’s arms, aching for this moment, kissing him and knowing she was positively senseless. All that existed was this kiss, this touch. It was electrifying and invigorating, a blaze rushing through her blood stream that emboldened a part of her she’d always held back. Desire. That was what this was, and it was luscious and intoxicating.

Following his lead, Emma broke away from the kiss only to gasp for air as he crowded her body against the wall. The hardness of the cement blocks behind her, coupled with the heat and definition of Dr. Killian Jones was too much to handle. She arched into him, striving for contact, and reveling in the feel of his skin on hers. The only problem was these damn clothes between them. Never in her life had she been irritated at this doctor’s coat she’d worked so hard to earn. For years she studied and poured everything she was into medicine, all for the authority this coat portrayed, but she practically purred when Killian stripped hers off and tossed it to the ground. Pushing his off of his body in return made her mind race. The muscles of his chest and arms were driving her to distraction. Then they flexed, and she swallowed harshly, earning a deep, decadent chuckle from this man who drove her crazy.

“See something you like, Swan?”

God that cockiness. They’d never had any kind of real conversation before now, but the way he smiled spoke volumes. His air and his persona were dripping in assuredness. Emma used to think that she hated so much confidence, but when it came to Killian, she craved it something fierce. It was somewhat infuriating, the way his eyes shone with mischief and conceit, but it was also hotter than anything she’d ever known. Still, part of her would rather die than admit that aloud. She had her pride, no matter how wrapped up in this moment she may be.

“It’s hard to say,” she replied, her voice sounding out with a shredded silkiness that she’d never heard before. “I haven’t seen much of anything yet.”

“My apologies, love. Allow me to rectify the situation.”

Emma watched as this ridiculously attractive man purposefully teased her. With deft fingers he reached for the base of his scrub top, inching the material higher up his body. The trail of dark hair he revealed was evocative, but it held no candle the shape and tone of those abs underneath. Sweet Jesus, were those real? Emma bit back a groan at the sight, her lip pressed tight between her teeth. It took everything in her to keep her hands from reaching for him. She lay them flat on the wall behind her at her sides instead, but they balled into fists unconsciously as Killian eventually tossed the shirt away.

His black hair was mussed now, both from removing the scrubs with that always-present swagger, and from her fingers having run through it during their never-ending kisses. His eyes were dark navy blue, but still they shone with hunger and delight. His grin was a mix of charming and predatory, but instead of inciting a fight or flight response, Emma only wanted to surrender. This was a man who knew he was in complete control. He had hooked her, totally and beyond any shadow of doubt, and all she wanted was for him to have his way with her.

The curses he whispered while helping her shed her own scrubs were like prayers on high, a sweet song to her ears that only added to his allure. Killian’s eyes never strayed from her, but his reactions were so open and transparent. He hid nothing, allowing her a glimpse to the world inside, and it caused the power between them to shift. If Emma was being hunted, then she was also hunting in return, and Killian seemed ready to be caught.

“Emma, I -,”

His voice faded out, and she struggled to hear him. Instead, there was a blaring alarm. Was this a fire drill? Why had the light in the room gone hazy? Still, Emma heard herself whisper his name.

“Killian?”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The screech of the sharp, incessant chiming by her ears wrenched Emma’s eyes open, and immediately she groaned in disappointment. All of that – every exquisite moment – was a dream. Ugh, of course it was! Because this was her life now: fantasizing about a hot trauma surgeon ceaselessly and wishing that her memories of him were more than mere imagination.  

“Damn it,” she muttered aloud, covering her eyes with her hand in frustration. With her vision blocked, Emma was more aware of the feeling that her body was wrapped up in her sheets. She’d obviously been tossing and turning through the night, restless in ways she rarely was before seeing Doctor Jones. These freaking dreams just felt so real, and they’d only gotten worse since officially meeting him.

That was three days ago now, but things had been chaotic in the meantime. The level four trauma that came in when they’d been formally introduced totally swamped the ER. Emma was called down for consult on multiple patients, needing to give life and death assessments and treatment plans for half a dozen people. While down there, Emma had the chance to see David and Killian in action. She was struck, even in the grips of adrenaline, by their cohesion and capability. They were cool and collected, battling odds that were dire to say the least, but they prevailed. Emma had worked for years to hone her craft, to heighten her skills, and to meet the moments of medicine that her work provided. But the energy in the ER had shifted, and she felt her own abilities elevated by the camaraderie and collectiveness of everyone in the hospital.

That shared experience only lasted a short while, for after initial inspections and emergency consults, Emma was quickly rerouted to the surgical wing. For 16 hours straight she worked to save the lives of four people, and through something that felt like magic, or maybe divine intervention, she was successful each and every time. That good fortune held, not only for her, but for all of her colleagues as well. The hospital had managed something next to impossible – they had saved every victim of the horrible accident, but the work had been backbreaking. When she’d finally scrubbed out of her last procedure, Emma admitted defeat, heading home and sleeping for twelve straight hours.

Her next shift was markedly slower, and Emma had the chance to see the progress of her post-op patients, and to connect with the others in her unit. It was critically important that the doctors, nurses, admins, tech teams, and other staff were all feeling strong and secure. Patients needed everyone working as a collective whole, and Emma took it upon herself to monitor that. It was unusual for a Doctor, especially one who wasn’t overseeing daily operations, but it mattered to Emma. Saving lives took so much more than her medical degree and steady hands. She needed each and every person in the cardiac wing to be successful, and she valued every one of them for what they brought to the team.

Unfortunately, while Emma’s day was slower and steadier, there was also a favorite element now lacking. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she’d willingly joined Ruby on the daily trip to the coffee cart. Actually, she’d been the one to page Ruby this time, earning more than a bit of teasing from her best friend, but Killian and David never showed. Only later, when Emma was at the tail end of her workday and helping with a consult in the ER, did she learn why.

“He was here for sixty-eight straight hours,” David said bluntly, after having confirmed his diagnosis for a patient presenting with a blood circulation issue.

“I’m sorry?” Emma asked, confused for a moment at David’s turn of topic.

“Killian,” David said, prompting Emma’s face to heat. Here she was, hoping it wasn’t totally obvious that she was looking for a man she hardly knew beyond imaginings, but David had seen through her in a matter of moments.

“Oh, um – that’s, well that’s… crazy. Sixty-eight hours?” That beat even her record, and she’d been called a workaholic on more than one occasion.

“Mhmm. We were on the end of a twelve-hour shift when the call came in and he stayed, until every last patient in the trauma department was seen and attended to. I left for eight hours and was dead to the world the entire time. Still felt laggy when coming back. Meanwhile, he caught maybe four hours sleep total interspersed between rounds, crashing in on call rooms. You’d never know though. He was totally unfazed. Brilliant as ever. It was like being back in the field again.”

“Seriously?” Emma asked, amazed at that. She was no stranger to long shifts, but to work that hard for that long was a herculean feat. Somehow, though, she wasn’t surprised to hear Killian had pulled it off.

“Yup. I had to force him to go back to his hotel. Actually, Regina had to. I tried, but until the Chief said something, he wouldn’t budge. She had to spew all sorts of protocol and legal jargon at him to get him to go. Even then, I could tell he was debating whether to stay or not.”

“He has a real connection with his patients,” Emma commented, vocalizing a fact she’d ascertained by watching him in action. Killian cared deeply, and while his main job may be all about stemming the flow of crisis, and bouncing around from one case to the next just to keep people holding on, he kept track of all those he helped, and invested in each patient no matter what.

“Maybe. I think it had more to do with the fact that it was only eight am and you wouldn’t be at the coffee stand yet.”

Before Emma could respond, David was paged for something else. He’d left her with a polite goodbye, but also a knowing smile. Another time, Emma might have tried to fake that she wasn’t interested or deny that there was something between her and Killian, but instead she was too busy fixating on what she’d just heard. Emma carried David’s assessment around with her for the rest of the day, well after leaving the hospital and heading home. She spent the night wondering if what David said was true. Was Killian as interested in her as she was in him?

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…”

“We could what?” she whispered, getting out of her car, heading inside to her next shift. “What was he going to ask me?”

“Did you say something, Emma?”

Emma jumped at the unexpected question, senses on high alert as she stood before the elevator in the parking garage. When she found Mary Margaret only a few feet from her, and clearly the orator of the previous question, Emma relaxed slightly. She tried her best not to show her embarrassment, but it was difficult. Now she was talking to herself? Jeez, she was truly losing it at this point.

“Oh, uh, nothing. How are you today?” she asked her friend. Mary Margaret smiled widely. Her excitement was palpable, filling up the elevator car as the two of them stepped inside.

“I’m great! Just eager to get to work.”

“Any interesting cases on the schedule?”

“Oh, uh, sure, there’s a few, I guess. Well really most of my day is going to be in consult with the Chief’s office.”

“Wait a second, you have to spend a prolonged period of time with the Evil Queen and you are smiling? Who are you and what have you done with Mary Margaret?” Her friend now looked flustered, clearly trying to grasp at an explanation and then it dawned on Emma. “This is about David isn’t it?”

“David?” Mary Margaret asked, her pitch higher than it had been just moments ago. Emma laughed at her friend’s terrible play acting. Trying to pretend that this wasn’t about David Nolan was a lost cause. Eventually Mary Margaret realized that, and she sighed, releasing the tension in her shoulders as she exhaled. “Okay, yes, I am seeing Dr. Nolan today.”

“Let me guess, he’s also going to be at the admin meetings.”

“They’re about coordinating long term therapies better with our emergency protocols and treatments. So yes, the head of the ER is likely to make an appearance.”

“I see,” Emma said, biting back a smirk so as not to make Mary Margaret too uncomfortable. In the end though her curiosity won out, and she had to ask. “So, any movement there?”

“Movement?”

“Has he asked you out yet?”

“Not exactly.” Emma waited for her friend to explain herself. Mary Margaret held off for a few seconds before blurting out the truth. “I actually asked him.”

“Really?” Emma was shocked. Not because she thought any less of Mary Margaret. In fact, quite the opposite. She was proud of Mary Margaret for going for what she wanted. She just had never ever seen Mary Margaret step outside of a comfort zone like that, and certainly not with a hospital colleague. “Good for you. And he obviously said yes.”

“Why is it obvious?” Emma rolled her eyes, but in a teasing way.

“Come on, you know you two were making heart eyes at each other the other day. There was a definite spark. We all saw it.”

“I’m honestly surprised you noticed since you had your own, what did you just call them? ‘Heart eyes’? Well, you definitely had heart eyes for a certain trauma surgeon.”

Now it was Emma’s turn to blush, and what perfect timing, because the elevator doors had just opened to the lobby. They exited the quiet of the elevator to a hustle and bustle found only at a top tier hospital. It felt like a swarm of people, buzzing every which way, on their own individual paths.

“David and I going to dinner tomorrow,” Mary Margaret said quietly, looking around and finding no eavesdropping colleagues. When the coast was clear, she smiled, looking back at Emma with excitement all over her face. “That’s all I know though. I may have asked him out, but he made it very clear he had plans for how our first date was going to be.”

“I have a good feeling about this guy,” Emma said, referring to David. She had known Mary Margaret for a long time, and she knew how much her friend wished for a real and solid love in her life. Few people desired and deserved that kind of connection like Mary Margaret, and for Emma, there was a real satisfaction in seeing her friend’s instant connection with a stand-up man. Based on past experience, there weren’t too many of those to go around.

“Which one?” Mary Margaret asked. Emma stammered something non-committal out, causing her friend to laugh once more. “And that right there is all the answer I need. See you later, Emma. Oh, and when you see Killian again, just go for it. Believe me, it’s so much better than waiting and wondering.”

With that, Mary Margaret headed towards the wing of the hospital where the Chief and her admins worked. At the same time, Emma turned her attention to the cardiac unit.  She had a ways to go to get there, but while still in the main entrance of the hospital she was stopped short by a gruff, and somewhat uncertain voice.

“Excuse me, Doctor Swan?”

“Yes?” Emma replied, looking to the young man who approached her. Taking in his features, she realized she knew him peripherally. He was one of the new interns cycling through the hospital this year, but he hadn’t worked in the cardio wing or in a surgical capacity. Taking in his lanyard, which bore his ID card over plain clothes, she saw he was an ER intern. Interesting. “Can I help you?”

“This is for you.” The young man offered her a paper box. Emma accepted, thoroughly confused before the intern elaborated. “Curtesy of Doctor Jones.”

“Oh,” Emma said, suddenly incredibly interested. Unable to resist, she opened the box. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but what she found made her smile widely. “These are flowers. Paper flowers.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m not entirely sure of the significance, but Doctor Jones told me there is a note inside as well. He wanted me to be sure to mention that.”

Emma was more than excited to read what this astonishing man would write to her, but something the intern said reminded her of the awkwardness of this situation. Had Killian used his authority over the interns to have this delivered? It wasn’t a crazy assumption. Many of the residents and attendings here saw interns as the low rungs on the ladder. They were meant to be learning and training, but often they were sent on coffee runs and foolish errands. Emma never believed in that though. She found it unkind and unnecessary.

“To be honest, it was hard to convince Doctor Jones to let me bring these,” the intern said, perplexing Emma further while eerily reading her mind. “I had to offer about a half dozen times. My shift was ending, you see, and I’ve been looking for a way to thank Doctor Jones since he got here. You know he created extra hours in the ER skills lab? He’s working with first years too. We get very little access usually, because the third years are prepping for exams and stuff, but he convinced Doctor Nolan to extend the hours. He’s even hosting classes himself. Cool right?”

“Very cool,” Emma said with a nod, and another smile. She breathed out a sigh of relief, genuinely happy to realize this man she’d been thinking of was good to others. It also made accepting this thoughtful gift so much easier.

From there, Caleb said goodbye, heading out for whatever interns did with down time these days. Oh, who was she kidding? Sleeping. That’s what she’d done, and no doubt that was what all interns still wanted most of all. Emma though, felt more awake now than she had in a long while. She found a quiet corner in one of the corridors leading to the cardio unit and took a seat, opening the box away from prying eyes.

Inside the box there were six different types of what looked like origami flowers. They were beautiful and delicate, and she wondered where he could have bought them. Only when she opened the note did she realize the truth.

Emma,

As you know, I’ve been away for quite a while, out in the field in a completely different world. In the desert there’s not really that much to do, except survive and keep as many of your people as well as you can. The downtime is long and hot and quiet. I picked up these tricks from a fellow soldier. It kept my hands at the ready and my mind clear, and there’s an honest beauty in them that reminds me of you. 

Truth be told, there’s a flower for each time I’ve tried to catch you at the coffee cart since our meeting. Clearly my missions have been unsuccessful, so this calls for a change in tactics…

Emma smiled at the thoughtfulness and felt the pull of butterflies low in her chest.  He thought she was beautiful, and he said it without fear. Had a man ever said so much? Had it ever mattered? Certainly not like it did now. Reading on, Emma laughed at the lightheartedness of the note and the bit of cheeky humor that accompanied it. His easygoing candor and transparency enchanted her, drawing her in even more than she already was. Then she memorized the time and place he suggested that they meet at the bottom of the page, knowing nothing and no one was going to keep her from this meeting.

Only after reading through his handwritten thoughts three or four times did she realize an added layer of perfection: these flowers weren’t just handmade and crafted with intention. They were also safe for her to take with her to her ward of the hospital. Being in and out of the ICU and cardiac units, Emma couldn’t bring real flowers into her offices without putting some patients at risk, but she could have these. From within the box she selected a bright yellow blossom, beautiful and intricate and folded to perfection. Wordlessly she tucked it away in her pocket. The others were deposited for safe keeping in her office as soon as she arrived back in the East Wing, and displayed on her windowsill, brightening the space.

The hours between the start of her shift and the time she was meant to meet Killian passed by slowly. Her rounds usually distracted her, but not today. While she still gave all due attention to her patients, Emma had that sense in the back of her mind that this afternoon would bring so much more to the forefront. The promise of seeing him again kept her heart pattering faster than it should be, and by the time the clock was minutes from their meeting, she was positively bursting with anticipation.

“Okay, usually I would give you a hard time and pretend to tag along, but even I can’t mess with a smile like that.” Ruby’s words snapped Emma’s focus back to the hallway where she was standing, pretending to read a chart. As she looked to her friend, however, she would never be able to recall what was on the screen in front of her. Ruby grinned when their eyes met. “He gave you the flowers, didn’t he?”

“You knew?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded.

“Yup. Ran into him at the cart a couple of times. He was really starting to piss off the kiosk guy with all his loitering. Had to give him a hundred dollars just to shut him up.”

“He didn’t!”

“No, I wouldn’t let him. I told Boris to shut it unless he wanted a hospital wide nurses strike. Guy knows better than to cross me. He just acts tough for clout.” Emma laughed, knowing her friend truly ran this place in most ways. But then the apprehension of the moment caught up to her again, and Emma’s brow furrowed in worry. “Oh no you don’t. No doubting this, Ems. I’ve vetted this guy. Run all the background, checked all the sources. He’s a good one, a one in a million, needle in a haystack, diamond in the rough kind of man. And, to top it all off, he’s crazy about you.”

“You think?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded.

“I know, but that’s all I’m saying. Let Killian speak for himself, okay? And, even though it’s hard, try and trust this.”

“I think I already do,” Emma whispered. “Trust him, I mean. But that’s crazy, right?”

“Love tends to be that way.”

“Ruby.”

“Emma,” her friend parroted, taking her hand and squeezing gently. “Just go for it. Go for it and see for yourself.”

With a nod, and the validation that she needed to hear from a trusted friend, Emma headed off. It felt natural and expected to make her way towards the center of the hospital once more. This time though, she passed the coffee cart, with only a fleeting glance. Killian wasn’t meeting her there today. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure where they were meeting. She followed the directions he’d given her, up a few more flights of stairs and through the wing with pediatric patients and newborns. She had been here many times before, for consults and comfort. It was a draw here in the hospital – the cuteness of babies just starting their journeys in the new world. Emma looked at them today, noticing the vibrancy inside the nursery, but didn’t linger. Instead, she followed the last of the route that Killian had given her and ended up somewhere she’d never been before. A place that must have just finished being renovated.

“Wow,” Emma whispered, walking into the sunlight on the open terrace.

With the glass surroundings and the plant life everywhere, this place was beautiful. There were pergolas and hanging vines, topiaries and flowering plants, daffodils and tulips, all breathing in the spring. It felt like a park, floating in the air, with the sounds of the city barely audible below. Emma could imagine the kids and the families who would come here someday. She hoped it would be a space for them to find some peace and happiness while staying in this unfamiliar and often stressful place. Hospitals were rarely any fun for patients, necessary as they may be, but this space was beautiful enough to distract from that.

“You made it, love.” The deep rumble of that familiar voice sent a shiver through Emma’s whole body. She cast a glance over her shoulder, finding Killian, leaning against the stone façade of the building behind them. In his hands were two coffees, and as he moved towards her, he offered her one with a boyish smile. “This is for you. Didn’t want you missing a routine caffeine fix for my sake.”

“Thank you,” Emma said automatically, feeling his fingers brush across hers, sending a zing of awareness through her. Her eyes flashed up to his, and she knew he felt it too. Suddenly she had no want or need for this coffee. She cleared her throat slightly before continuing on. “Where exactly are we? And how, might I ask, does the new guy know about it before I do?”

“It’s the Hubbard Family Wellness Gardens, gifted by one of the hospital’s most loyal benefactors” he said, full of knowledge. Emma was shocked that he actually knew what this place would be but then he smiled, gesturing to the plaque bearing that information. She bit back a laugh. “And as for how I found it, that’s easy. I never leave well enough alone, and I’m curious by nature. I’ve been nearly everywhere in the hospital now, but this place seemed the best for what comes next.”

“What comes next?” Emma asked, her voice hitching up as she repeated the words.

“Aye,” Killian murmured, his tone dipping sensually low. She swallowed harshly as he entered into her space, and he tracked the motion. She felt the heat of his closeness, and caught his scent in the air, clean, and male, and with a hint of spice.

“I’m afraid I didn’t think this through,” he said, close enough to kiss her. God, how she wished he would kiss her. Emma vocalized her first thought.

“Really? I did. Like a lot.”

His smirk told her she’d said that aloud even though she never meant to, but before she could react, he took hold of her cup once more.

“I meant these,” he gestured to the coffee in her hand. Oh, right. “May I, love?”

Emma nodded, and shakily let go of the cup she forgot she was holding. With deft hands, Killian  placed their drinks back on a table beside them with far more poise than she could muster at the moment. When that was done, he stepped towards her again, looking at her with a glint in his blue eyes that made her heart skip. His hands came to her body, one to her hip, the other to cup her cheek. The rightness washed over her, and so did the realization that none of her dreams could actually prepare her for real intimacy with Killian Jones.

“Last time we spoke I intended to ask you something. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from wanting this so badly. Without thinking, she wet her lips, and he caught the action, letting out a groan that mixed pain with passion and pleasure. Then he cursed, a totally British ‘bloody hell’ falling past his lips before dipping his mouth to hers and giving them both a taste of temptation.

The kiss was… beyond incredible, but Emma was so deep in it she had no ability to comprehend anything at all. She was consumed with the moment, arching against Killian, feeling the silky strands of his dark hair and the scruff of his beard. His kiss was assured and passionate, dominant and indulgent all at once. She succumbed to the sensations, and let the rightness surge within her, not caring at all that they were outside or at work or that they’d just met. Instinct took over, and her gut, which Emma had always trusted, was telling her that this man was even more than she imagined, and someone she should choose to let in.

Pulling back from the kiss, Emma and Killian stayed close, and Emma took stock of all the places they were touching. His hold on her was firm but caring, like she was precious, and he wouldn’t let her slip away. In his eyes she saw so much emotion, and again she was struck by his transparency and trust. He wasn’t shying away from her or the moment. He was in the depths of desire with her, and their kiss, that perfect, sexy as all hell kiss, had left him tongue tied. The quiet wasn’t awkward, but assuring, and Emma felt secure here, safe even, while also being filled with more unknown wonder than she’d ever been before. Like someone at the start of a glorious adventure, she took a next step born of passion and hope.

“I’m off at six tonight… so, you want to pick me up at seven thirty?” she asked, referencing a date he hadn’t actually asked her out on. She feigned ignorance even though she could read him like a book. “Unless you were going to ask me something else…”

His hold on her tightened, and he shook his head immediately. She was right. He wanted a date – and she saw no reason to wait when she wanted one just as badly. She grinned at him, loving how the tables had turned. This time he swallowed harshly, and she was oh so tempted to kiss him again and see if he’d stay shy or rise to her challenge.

“It’s a date, Swan,” he said dazedly. 

Emma hummed out her agreement, going in for one last fleeting kiss. But where she meant to only tease, he took the reins again, kissing her senseless and leaving her breathless when they finally broke apart. Only when her pager beeped with an incoming call did they end their inevitable interlude, and as they did, Emma felt a pang of longing, wishing this moment could last so much longer than this.

“Tonight, love,” he whispered, running his thumb against her lips. “Far away as it may seem, I promise the wait will be worth it.”

“Good,” she replied, nipping his thumb ever so softly, and bringing the fire back in his eyes, before taking a step back. And with that, and just enough presence of mind to grab her coffee, Emma headed off, back through the hospital to the work that awaited her, knowing she could and would get through anything today for the promise of tonight.

Post-Note: Ah!! Finally!! I got the words on the page!! I did the thing!! I wrote the story!! And honestly, it’s such a relief. It felt, at some points, like I may never get this chapter written, but finally today it came. I know many of you were waiting, and I cherished every comment and review and message along the way. I hope all of you who wrote me, and those who read along with chapter one, all enjoy this installation. I write these stories for me and to brighten my world ever so slightly, but also in the hopes that they’ll spark joy for others too. In a time like this, a little joy goes an awful long way. Anyway, thank you all for reading, sending you the best, and hope you’ll join me next time for the final chapter of this CS AU! xE